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Ave  Maria,  Gratia  Plena.' 


f  HENCfFOIU-H  MLjGElTEHATIOlirSAAlL  CAUXE  BIE^EDT 


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XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JUI>Y  6,  1889. 


No.  I, 


[Published  every  Satttrday. 

Amongst  Women  Blessed. 

BY    MAURICK    KRAXCIS    ECxAN. 

DARK  was  the  world,  the  hours  with  death 
were  shod ; 
No  hope! — tho'  roses  bloomed  beneath  the  sk}- ; 
No  jo\'! — tho'  brimming  cups  were  lifted  high  ; 
The  slaves  that  brought  them  writhed  beneath  a 

rod 
That  threatened  death  ;  and  at  a  Caesar's  nod 
Mce  virtue  was,  and  hoi}'  truths  were  lies  ; 
When  women  grow  unholy  all  hope  dies, 
And  there  is  left  naught  but  the  power  of  God  : 

Aspasia,  Cleopatra,  these  thy  love, 

O  ancient  world!  how  wretched  was  thy  fate! 
IVIercy  and  pit}",  purity  were  dead, 
And  all  sweet  acts  that  these  are  motives  of 
Men  looked  to  God  and  cried,  "Too  late!  too 
late!" 
Then  came  the  Virgin,  angel-heralded. 


My  Pilgrimage  to  Genazzano. 


BY  CHARIvES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


I. 


HE  Augustinian  Abbot  at  San  Carlo 
al  Corso  in  Rome  had  most  kindly 
provided  me  with  a  few  lines  to 
the  Abbot  of  the  Augustinian  Hermitage  at 
Genazzano.  The  very  friendly  director  of  the 
Albergo  Alamagne  in  the  Via  Condoti  had 
assured  me  that  I  would  be  called  at  a  season- 
able hour ;  and  so,  to  make  sure  of  a  rest,  I 
hastened  to  a  kind  of  prophet-chamber  upon 
the  roofs  among  the  tiles  that  overhang  the 


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

Piazza  di  Spagna,  and  scarcely  closed  my  eyes 

the  whole  night  through.   I  was  afraid  the 

porter  might  forget  me  ;  I  was  afraid  I  might 

oversleep  myself,  or  miscount  the  slow^  strokes 

of  the  bells  that  struck  the  quarter  hours  in 

I  the  campanile  of  the  Trinita  di  Monte  at  the 

i  top  of  the  Spanish  steps ;  I  w^as  afraid  it  might 

j  storm,  and  so  prevent  my  reaching  the  shrine 

of  la  Madre  Nostra  del  Buon  Consiglio.  How 

can  one  hope  to  sleep  upon  the  eve  of  a  little 

pilgrimage  winch  he  has  been  looking  forward 

to,  lo!  these  many  years? 

The  bells  chimed  more  and  more  faintly  as 
the  night  progressed ;  the  noisy  rattle  of  the 
wheels  died  away  on  the  pavements  far  below 
me  ;  a  few  large  stars  looked  calmly  and  stead- 
ily through  my  uncurtained  window,  as  if  to 
assure  me  that  the  heavens  w^ere  propitious. 
And  then  there  came  a  sharp  rap  at  my  door ; 
for,  behold,  it  was  time  for  me  to  arise,  and 
gird  up  my  loins  and  set  forth  for  one  of 
the  sweetest  and  the  prettiest  and  the  most 
secluded  of  the  holy  places  of  Italy. 

How  dark  it  was !  I  had  to  feel  my  way 
down  the  long  winding  stairs  to  the  street, 
and  awaken  the  porter,  who  had  already  fallen 
asleep  in  his  cot  by  the  door — since  he  had 
called  me  and  set  his  mind  at  rest.  The  street 
was  like  a  tunnel.  Alas!  in  these  degenerate 
days  not  many  votive  lamps  shed  their  hope- 
ful ray  upon  the  dusty  shrines  of  the  past. 
There  was  no  coflfee,  no  roll,  to  be  had  so  early. 
There  w^as  little  prospect  of  securing  a  ve/^u- 
rino,  for  the  carriage-stands  were  not  yet 
occupied.  Evidently  I  had  begun  my  pilgrim- 
age, and  had  begun  it  alone  and  in  the  dark. 

It  was  a  long  walk  to  th2  stati    i 
feared  I  might  miss  my  train ;  but  I  struck 


The  Ave  Maria. 


out  bravely,  for  I  know  the  streets  of  that  dear 
old  city — even  in  their  new  giiise — as  well  as 
I  know  the  streets  of  any  city  under  the  sun 
or  the  stars.  Presently  I  took  heart ;  for  in  the 
distance  I  saw  a  dim  light  moving  aimlessly 
hither  and  3'on — like  a  Will-o'-the-wisp, — 
and  I  thought  it  might  be  some  half-awakened 
cab-man  with  his  half-aw^akened  horse.  Such 
it  proved  to  be  in  very  truth ;  and  as  soon  as 
I  had  fished  him  out  of  the  distance  and  the 
dark,  we  all  jogged  merrily  on  toward  the 
station,,  where,  of  course,  we  arrived  an  age 
too  soon. 

Still  no  coffee  and  no  roll !  Only  a  gathering 
throng  of  sleepy  folk,  that  clustered  about 
the  shut  windows  of  the  ticket-office  in  silent 
resignation.  The  train  I  was  to  take  was  the 
train  for  Naples.  It  was  to  pass  the  lovely 
fields  that  grow  more  lovely  as  they  ripen  in 
the  southern  sun ;  it  was  to  pause  for  a  mo- 
ment under  the  shadow  of  Monte  Cassino; 
it  was  to  thread  a  hundred  hamlets  of  the 
highest  historical  renown,  and  at  last  come 
to  a  breathless  halt  beside  the  shore  of  the 
Vesuvian  Sea.  All  this  I  thought  of  as  I 
waited  patiently  in  the  dull  station  until  my 
turn  came  and  I  \vas  able  to  purchase  a  ticket 
for  Valmontone. 

It  is  saying  enough  for  Valmontone  when 
one  says  that  it  is  not  much;  but  let  it  be 
borne  in  mind  that  in  Italy  even  the  desert  is 
something — something  out  of  the  ordinary ; 
something  worth  casting  one's  eye  upon  with 
kindly  interest.  If  Valmontone  is  not  much, 
the  way  thither  is  considerable.  It  is  a  good 
two-hour  ride  to  begin  with — and  the  sun  rises 
vSomewhere  along  the  route ;  and  it  lies  in  a 
country  that  is  fruitfiil  and  flowerful  and  bird- 
ful  and  beautiful.  This  land  was  the  ancient 
Latium.  It  lies  between  the  Tiber  and  the 
Volscian  mountains.  It  was  the  Elysian  fields 
of  the  gods  and  goddesses  of  mythology.  Their 
temples  crowned  ever\^  height ;  their  legends 
haunted  ever>^  hollow.  The  Floi'alia  was  cel- 
ebrated there,  upon  the  very  rock  where 
Genazzano  now  sits  securely.  The  Sabine 
Flora  was  chiefly  honored  in  that  locality. 

As  I  jounic}^  thither  the  dawn  breaks.  In 
the  first  glimmer  of  day  I  skirt  the  solemn 
Campagna;  it /^solemn;  even  the  full-throated 
larks  can  not  lighten  its  sad  spaces,  its  sadder 
people,  its  saddest  pictures  of  decay — those 


ruins  of  the.Claudian  and  Anio  Novus  aque- 
ducts. But  yonder  under  the  eastern  sky  I 
mark  the  pale  walls  of  the  monastery  on 
Monte-Cavo,  and  the  cloud-like,  clustering 
villas  in  Frascati,  Rocca  di  Papa,  Castel- 
Gandolfo,  Albano,  Ariccia,  and  Velletri  — 
dotting  the  ample  slopes  of  the  Alban  hills. 

And  later,  w^hen  we  are  all  hungering  and. 
thirsting  in  concert,  with  one  accord  we  fall 
upon  the  modest  booth  of  a  contadina  at  a 
primitive  way-station,  who  speedily  provides- 
us  with  gourd-like  flasks  of  wine  encased  in 
delicate  wicker-work,  and  small  loaves  of 
coarse  bread,  for  a  modest  compensation.  Then 
we  break  bread  in  the  train — an  omnibus  train 
that  deliberates  on  its  way  to  Naples,  and  is 
overwilling  to  stop  on  the  slightest  provoca- 
tion; and  betw^een  the  bread  and  the  wine, 
and  the  sunrise  and  the  smiling  spring  land- 
scape, we  are  much  happier,  no  doubt,  than 
erring  mortals  deserv^e  to  be. 

Thus  we  come  to  Valmontone,  and  a  hand- 
ful of  us  dismount;  the  train  lingers,  as  if 
it  thought  we  might  change  our  minds  and 
go  on  with  it — for  this  is  the  insinuating 
manner  of  the  almost  too  obliging  omnibus; 
but  as  we  stow  ourselves  more  or  less  uncom- 
fortably away  in  the  rather  contracted  interior 
of  a  dusty  diligence,  the  train  blows  the 
feeblest  of  whistles  in  a  childish  sort  of  fashion, 
and  creeps  reluctantly  down  the  iron  road. 

We  were  a  queer  lot,  I  fear,  on  that  bright 
moniing :  a  patient  mother  with  a  peevish 
child ;  a  patient  father,  who  looked  and  acted 
as  a  widower  should  look  and  act,  and  whose 
seven-year-old  boy  was  quite  the  ideal  half- 
orphan  and  the  pet  of  our  diligence;  then 
there  was  a  withered  old  couple  that  looked 
on  and  listened  with  feeble  interest — they 
belonged  to  another  and  no  doubt  a  more 
interesting  if  not  better  age;  two  stalwart 
huntsmen  with  guns  and  ammunition;  two 
spruce  young  military  officers,  perhaps  off  on 
leave  of  absence  and  homeward  bound ;  and 
such  a  pastoral-looking  husbandman,  whose 
brow^n  throat  was  bare,  and  whose  untrimmed 
locks  were  faded,  and  whose  hands  were  like 
mailed  hands  they  were  so  hardened  with  toil 
and  exposure ;  and  with  him  a  son  not  more 
than  eighteen  years  of  age, — a  son  who  was 
just  down  fi-om  the  Capital  for  a  little  vacation,, 
and  who  showed  his  unbounded  affection  for 


The  Ave  Alarm. 


liis  father  in  the  fearless,  impulsive  Italian 
fashion.  He  held  a  cigarette  in  his  fingers; 
relighted  it  at  frequent  inten'als,  but  was  so 
fond  of  discoursing  that  he  had  no  time  to 
moke ;  so  the  wisp  of  paper  burned  itself  away 
during  the  journey,  while  the  lad  talked  on 
with  immense  spirit  to  a  diligence  full  of  de- 
lighted auditors. 

This  was  Young  Italy,  the  son  of  older  Italy, 
and  the  grandson  of  the  Italy  that  is  no  more 
and  never  shall  be  again.  With  what  gusto 
he  pictured  life  in  the  Roman  Capital !  He  had 
brought  one  of  the  sensational  biographies  of 
Padre  Agostino,  illustrated  with  poor  wood- 
cuts in  the  most  shocking  taste,  to  the  olive- 
browned  sire,  who  was  bred  among  the  olives 
of  Olevano,  and  who  perhaps  had  never  set 
foot  within  the  walls  of  Rome. 

Thus  we  toiled  up  hill  and  spun  down 
hill,  while  the  brakes  groaned,  and  the  wee 
baby  moaned,  and  the  lively  lad  raised  his 
voice  at  one  or  two,  showed  his  fine  teeth,  de- 
voured his  pastoral  papa  with  big,  fond  eyes, 
and  relighted  his  cigarette  for  the  twentieth 
time. 

The  dust  rose,  the  day  grew  hot  and  tire- 
some, and  the  way  seemed  almost  endless. 
Sometimes  we  got  down  and  walked,  and  then 
the  bells  of  the  horses  tolled  all  the  way  up 
the  long  hill.  The  olive  orchards  afforded  us 
no  shelter,  the  shrines  no  comfort ;  two  hours 
and  a  half,  added  to  those  we  had  endured  in 
the  slow  early  train,  made  a  morning  that 
-vvas  beginning  to  wear  out  our  patience. 

Just  then  we  came  to  a  fork  in  the  road. 
Another  diligence  was  already  there  awaiting 
us,  and  into  it  hurried  all  our  company  save 
three — two  others  beside  myself.  We  waved 
a  friendly  ''Addio'"  and  resumed  our  journey. 
The  diverting  element  had  departed,  but  I 
■could  now  stretch  my  legs  ;  and  after  we  had 
rounded  a  fair  hill  my  eyes  fell  upon  a  little 
city  founded  upon  a  rock, — a  little  city  that 
looked  like  a  carving,  a  bit  of  oniamental 
stone-work,  so  grey  it  was,  so  picturesque  and 
so  perfect,  and  pronounced  a  feature  in  a 
landscape  that  was  itself  perfectly  and  pro- 
nouncedly Italian.  "What  is  its  name?"  I 
asked  of  the  patient  woman  whose  impatient 
baby  was  at  last  lulled  to  rest.  In  the  sweetest 
and  the  proudest  voice  imaginable  she  replied: 
^'Genazzano!" 


At  last  mine  eyes  beheld  it,  the  chosen  city, 
the  refuge  of  the  miraculous  effigy  of  Our  Lady 
of  Good  Counsel!  Above  us  and  al^out  us 
vSwelled  the  Volscian  foot-hills — indeed,  as  far 
as  the  eye  can  see,  from  this  point,  roll  the 
Alban,  the  Volscian  and  the  Sabine  billows, 
green-crested  in  the  reawakening  spring ;  and 
in  their  midst,  upon  the  very  summit,  and 
spreading  to  the  dizzy  edge  of  a  high-towering 
rock — an  island  in  the  air, — stands  Genazzano. 
The  outer  walls  of  the  little  city  almost  over- 
hang the  deep  and  narrow  valley  far  below. 
From  most  points  the  approach  is  difficult  or 
impossible.  We  slowly  climbed  the  steep  grade 
that  leads  to  the  single  gate — a  warlike  gate 
though  a  small  one,  and  architecturally  quite 
the  suitable  background  for  a  dramatic  situa- 
tion,— and  there  we  halted  and  dismounted. 
One  can  not  hope  to  drive  into  a  town  so  com- 
pact and  so  picturesque  as  this ;  it  is  a  pilgrim- 
age city,  and  all  those  who  seek  it  should 
come  with  stafi"  and  script  and  palmer's  shell, 
and- sandal  shoon. 

Two  beggars,  only,  greeted  us, — a  jovial 
pair  of  dilapidated  old  fellows,  the  one  blind, 
the  other  halt,  and  both  arm  in  arm  insepa- 
rable. The  soldi  they  gathered  were  shared 
between  them,  and  right  merrily  they  blessed 
the  giver.  In  all  the  town  of  three  thousand 
souls  I  saw  no  other  beggar ;  and  when,  as  I 
was  wandering  to  and  fro  in  calm  delight,  one 
little  child  extended  its  tiny  hand  in  serio- 
comic supplication,  it  was  at  once  sharply 
reproved  by  its  mother,  and  called  away  from 
the  juvenile  circle  where  it  was  playing. 

No  importuning  guides  beset  me  at  the 
gate  of  Genazzano :  I  was  suffered  to  wander 
at  my  own  sweet  will,  saluted  now  and  again 
with  gracious  gravity  by  the  matrons  of  the 
town  ;  for  the  husbands  and  the  brothers  and 
the  sons  were  scattered  among  the  vineyards 
on  the  neighboring  hills.  It  was  as  if  the 
freedom  of  the  city  had  been  silently  extended 
to  me ;   and  O  how  thoroughly  I  enjoyed  it ! 

(TO  BK  CONTINUED.) 


"Do  not  strive  to  hide  y 
that  of  your  family.  When 
stood  that  you  are  not  asha 
will  try  to  make  you  blush  ov 
Quijano  advised  his  servant. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Footprints  of  Heroines. 


BY    THE    COMTESSE    DE    COURSON 


I.— Jane  Dormer. 

THE  recent  beatification  of  many  of  the 
English  martyrs,  and  the  researches  or- 
ganized for  the  purpose,  have  revived  in  the 
hearts  of  the  English  Catholics  of  our  day  the 
memory  of  the  sufferings  endured  by  their 
ancestors  during  the  dark  and  troubled  times 
when  the  ancient  faith,  now  professed  in  peace 
and  safety,  entailed  upon  its  faithful  adherents 
poverty,  imprisonment,  torture,  and  death. 
The  state  papers,  carefully  sifted,  have  yielded 
up  their  dread  secrets  to  the  patient  student ; 
old  family  records  have  been  brought  to  light ; 
and  the  archives  of  the  English  convents  and 
seminaries  abroad  have  contributed  many 
valuable  details, — all  of  which  help  to  com- 
plete a  picture  full  of  deep  and  pathetic  inter- 
est. From  these  different  sources  sufficient 
materials  have  been  drawn  to  form  an  accu- 
rate account  of  the  condition  of  English  Cath- 
olics under  the  Tudor  and  Stuart  kings, — an 
account  rich  in  deeds  of  faith  and  heroism,  of 
patient  endurar^ce  and  steadfast  fidelity. 

At  every  page  of  these  bloody  records  we 
find  Catholic  women  nobly  bearing  their  part : 
now  harboring  the  hunted  priests  at  the  peril 
of  their  lives ;  at  other  times  enduring  impris- 
onment and  even  death  with  cheerful  serenity ; 
while  many  among  them,  driven  by  the  penal 
laws  from  their  own  country-,  sought  shelter 
in  the  cloisters  of  France  or  Belgium,  where 
for  three  hundred  years  all  the  old  English 
Catholic  families  had  their  representatives. 

Among  the  brave  women  whose  courage 
shed  a  lustre  over  the  English  Church  in  her 
days  of  trial  we  find  three  who  were  more 
especially  celebrated.  Very  different  in  rank, 
in  education,  in  mode  of  life,  their  paths  lay  far 
apart ;  their  characteristics  are  widely  dissim- 
ilar; but  each  in  her  own  sphere  faithfully 
served  God  and  His  persecuted  Church.  The 
first,  Jane  Dormer,  Duchess  of  Feria,  English 
by  birth,  Spanish  by  marriage,  witnessed  the 
last  days  "of  Catholic  England,  and^  became 
during  the  first  persecutions  the  generous 
benefactress  pf.  her  oppressed  countrymen. 
The-^ea^ond^^'Jklargaret  Clitheroe,  wife  of  John 


Clitheroe,  the  butcher  of  York,  after  giving 
help  and  shelter  to  the  hunted  priests,  finally 
laid  down  her  life  for  the  faith.  The  third, 
Luisa  de  Carvajal,  a  Spaniard  of  almost  royal 
birth,  prompted  by  her  passionate  love  for  the 
persecuted  Catholics  of  England,  abandoned 
for  their  sakes  her  home  and  her  country,  and 
came  to  live  among  them  as  their  helper  and 
sen-ant. 

Each  of  these  three  has  found  an  English 
biographer.  The  Life  of  the  holy  Duchess  of 
Feria  was  written  soon  after  her  death  by 
Henr>'  Clifford,  an  Englishman  attached  to 
her  household;  and  the  original  manuscript, 
in  possession  of  the  present  Lord  Dormer,  has 
lately  been  reprinted  by  Father  Stevenson,  S.  J. 
The  history  of  Margaret  Clitheroe,  written  by 
her  confessor,  was  published  some  years  ago 
with  explanatory'  notes  by  Father  Morris,  the 
indefatigable  historian  of  the  English  martyrs; 
while  the  graceful  pen  of  Lady  Georgiana 
FuUerton  had  made  known  to  the  English 
public  the  strange  and  touching  career  of 
Luisa  de  Carvajal. 

According  to  ancient  genealogies,  when 
Edward  the  Confessor  came  to  England  to 
take  possession  of  the  throne,  he  brought  with 
him  from  France  Thomas  d'Ormer,  a  Norman 
noble  who  had  followed  his  fortunes  during 
his  exile.  From  Thomas  d'Ormer,  through  a 
long  line  of -ancestors — all  of  whom  were  faith- 
ful Servian ts  of  their  king  and  country, — de- 
scended Sir  Robert  Dormer,  head  of  the  family 
under  Henry  VIII.  He  married  Jane  Newdi- 
gate,  who,  by  the  Nevilles,  was  descended 
from  John  of  Gaunt,  younger  son  of  King 
Edward  III.  Sir  Robert's  only  child  William 
was  twice  married;  by  his  first  wife,  Mary 
Sydney,  he  had  two  daughters — ^Jane,  the  fut- 
ure Duchess  of  Feria,  and  Anne,  who  became 
Lady  Hungerford ;  by  his  second  wife,  Dorothy 
Catesby,  he  had  a  son,  afterward  Lord  Dormer, 
and  three  daughters — Lady  Montagu,  Lady 
St.  John,  and  Lady  Constable. 

Our  heroine  was  born  on  the  6th  of  January, 
1538,  at  Ethrop,  her  grandfather's  countr>'- 
seat,  in  Buckinghamshire.  She  was  only  four 
years  old  when  her  mother  died,  and  her 
father  appears  then  to  have  given  her  up  com- 
pletely to  the  care  of  her  grandmother,  whose 
name  she  bore,  and  to  whom  she  was  ever  a 
true  and  most  loving  daughter.  When  Jane 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Dormer  first  opened  her  eyes  on  the  world 
dark  and  anxious  times  had  dawned  for  Eng- 
lish Catholics.  Henry  VIII.,  carried  away  by 
his  ruthless  passions,  had  already  broken 
with  Rome  and  declared  himself  head  of  the 
Church;  all  through  England  monasteries 
and  convents  were  robbed  and  ruined ;  honors 
and  riches  were  lavished  on  apostates;  for 
the  faithful  Catholics  an  era  of  persecution 
had  begun,  and  already  martyrs  had  shed 
their  blood  for  the  ancient  faith. 

Only  three  years  before  the  birth  of  little 
Jane  her  grandmother's  brother,  Sebastian 
Newdigate,  a  brilliant  courtier  and  accom- 
plished man  of  the  world  before  becoming  a 
Charterhouse  monk,  died  the  hideous  death 
of  a  traitor  upon  the  gibbet  of  Tyborne  in 
defence  of  the  Pope's  Supremacy.  We  may 
imagine  how  Eady  Dormer,  who  tenderly  loved 
her  brother,  often  related  to  the  child,  grave 
and  thoughtful  beyond  her  years,  the  tragic 
tale  of  her  uncle's  martyrdom.  I^adj'  Dormer 
herself  was  w^orthy  to  be  a  martyr's  sister; 
-during  her  brother's  worldly  career  she  had 
wept  over  him  far  more  bitterty  than  when 
she  saw  him  imprisoned  and  condemned  for 
the  love  of  Christ.  Eiving  as  she  did  under 
the  shadow  as  it  were  of  torture  and  of  death, 
her  thoughts  and  aspirations  were  naturally 
drawn  above,  to  the  world  where  sin  and 
sorrow  are  unknown ;  and  the  little  girl  who 
grew  up  under  her  vigilant  care  learned  early 
the  emptiness  and  instability  of  worldly  hon- 
ors. Sir  Robert  Dormer,  a  brave  and  loyal 
•gentleman,  was  in  those  dark  days  the  gener- 
ous protector  of  the  persecuted  Catholics,  and 
from  her  infancy  the  child  was  accustomed 
to  see  hunted  priests  warmly  and  fearlessly 
welcomed  at- her  grandfather's  house. 

The  large  household  at  Ethrop  was  gov- 
erned by  I^ady  Dormer  with  a  wise  and  liberal 
hand.  In  her  brightest  days  she  had  given 
God  and  His  poor  a  large  place  in  her  life ; 
but  when,  after  forty  years  of  a  most  happy 
marriage,  she  was  left  a  widow,  the  interests 
of  God  became  more  than  ever  the  one  object 
of  her  thoughts,  and  the  education  of  her 
granddaughter  the  only  link  that  bound  her 
to  the  world.  It  was  no  doubt  with  a  view  to 
strengthen  the  sensitive  child  against  future 
struggles  and  temptations  that  Eady  Dormer 
trained  her  to  practices  of  pietj^  almost  above 


her  years:  at  the  age  of  seven,  little  Jane 
used  to  recite  the  Office  of  Our  Lad}^  daily. 
But  she  responded  to  her  grandmother's 
teaching  with  loving  eagerness ;  it  seemed  as 
though  a  special  blessing,  due  perchance  to 
the  prayers  of  her  martyred  uncle,  had  rested 
on  her  cradle,  so  extraordinary^  was  her  love 
for  prayer  and  holy  things. 

In  1553  Edward  VI.,  who  in  the  hands  of 
the  Protestants  had  been  made  an  instrument 
for  securing  the  establishment  of  the  schism, 
died  at  the  age  of  sixteen.  In  spite  of  the  at- 
tempt made  by  the  Protestant  party  to  place 
Lady  Jane  Grey  on  the  throne,  Mary  Tudor, 
Henry  VIII's  eldest  daughter,  by  her  courage 
and  promptitude,  secured  the  crown  which 
was  hers  by  hereditary  right.  Ver>^  dissimilar 
are  the  judgments  passed  on  this  Princess, 
whom  Catholics  honor  as  the  restorer  of  their 
faith,  and  whom  Protestants  have  stigmatized 
as  Bloody  Mary.  From  her  cradle  to  her  grave 
the  fair  daughter  of  Catherine  of  Aragon 
had  experienced  more  sorrows  than  joys. 
Hailed  as  Princess  of  Wales  and  heiress  of 
England  when  a  mere  baby,  sought  in  mar- 
riage by  all  the  sovereigns  of  Europe,  she 
passed  at  the  age  of  seventeen  from  the  zenith 
of  earthly  splendor  to  the  depth  of  humiliation 
and  suffering.  Separated  from  her  mother, 
whose  lonely  captivity  and  death  she  could 
neither  share  nor  soothe ;  persecuted  for  her 
faith,  insulted  by  Anne  Boleyn,  she  was  cast 
aside  and  humbled,  while  ever>^  honor  was 
lavished  on  the  children  of  the  woman  for 
whose  sake  her  mother  had  been  put  away. 

During  twenty  years  Mary  sufifered  in  her 
royal  dignity,  her  filial  love,  and  her  religious 
faith ;  she  came  out  of  the  ordeal  a  saddened 
woman,  worn  out  in  mind  and  body,  but  with 
the  proud  consciousness  of  having  preserved 
unstained  her  spotless  purity  of  character  and 
her  devotion  to  the  ancient  faith.  When  in 
1553  she  ascended  the  throne,  a  ray  of  joy 
seemed  for  the  first  time  to  brighten  her  Hfe, 
and  she  gave  herself  up  with  enthusiasm  to 
the  work  of  restoring  the  Catholic  Church  in 
Engfand.  But  even  in  this  great  undertaking, 
the  supreme  desire  of  her  heart,  Mary's  joy 
was  mingled  with  many  misgivings.  The  year 
after  her  accession  she  had  married  Philip  of 
Spain,  and,  misdoubting  the  sincerity  of  her 
sister  Elizabeth,  she  passionately  longed  to 


The  Ave  Alarm. 


have  a  child,  who  should  continue  her  great 
work.  Her  ardent  desire  was  doomed  to  dis- 
appointment, and  her  lo\'ing  labors  for  the 
restoration  of  Catholicity  in  England  were 
embittered  by  anxious  fears -for  the  future. 

Such  was  the  Queen  to  whose  person  Jane 
Dormer  was  attached  when  only  fifteen;  al- 
ready two  of  her  aunts  had  faithfully  served 
Mary  Tudor  during  the  sad  years  of  her  des- 
olate youth,  and  it  was  perhaps  through  their 
influence  that  Lady  Dormer  obtained  for  her 
granddaughter  the  post  of  maid  of  honor  to 
the  ne\y  Queen.  Very  soon  a  warm  friendship 
sprang  up  between  the  anxious  and  saddened 
woman  of  thirty-seven  and  the  fresh  young 
girl,  grave  and  wise  beyond  her  years,  pure 
and  faithful.  Sharing  the  daily  life  of  her  royal 
mistress,  Jane  soon  learned  how  many  thorns 
are  hidden  under  the  splendor  of  a  crown,  and 
in  her  ready  sympathy  and  absolute  devotion 
the  Queen  found  rest  and  comfort. 

Jane  Dormer's  biographer  tells  us  that  the 
Queen  and  her  young  companion  were  in  the 
habit  of  reciting  together  the  Office  of  Our 
Lady ;  and  also  that,  when  staying  at  Croy- 
don wdth  her  cousin.  Cardinal  Pole,  Mary 
loved  to  visit  the  poor  people  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, without  making  herself  known  to  them. 
Accompanied  by  Jane,  she  would  enter  their 
cottages,  inquire  into  their  wants  and  troubles, 
and  distribute  abundant  alms. 

The  marriage  of  Queen  Mary  with  Philip 
of  Spain,  w4iich  took  place  in  1554,  was  in  an 
indirect  manner  the  cause  of  Jane  Dormer's 
own  marriage.  A  number  of  Spanish  noble- 
men accompanied  the  King  to  England,  and 
among  them  Don  Gomez  y  Figueroa  y  Cor- 
dova, Duke  of  Feria,  was  disthiguished  for 
his  personal  qualities,  high  rank,  and  for  the 
favor  with  which  he  was  treated  by  his  royal 
master.  It  seems  that  on  his  arrival  Feria  was 
struck  by  Jane  Dormer,  whose  extreme  youth 
and  brilliant  beaut>'  were  joined  to  an  earnest 
character  and  multure  judgment,  likely  to  im- 
press the  dignified  Spaniard.  Already  several 
suitors  had  aspired  to  the  hand  of  the  young 
maid  of  honor,  among  them  Edward  Courtney, 
the  Queen's  cousin;  the  Duke  of  Norfolk; 
and  Lord  Nottingham,  High  Admiral  of  Eng- 
land, who  fifty  years  later  used  to  say  that  he 
never  met  a  sweeter  or  more  perfect  woman. 
But  none  of  these  proposals  touched  the  young 


girl ;  and  Mary,  far  ft-om  exercising  any  press- 
ure upon  her  favorite,  often  said  that  she  did 
not  know  a  man  in  the  whole  w^orld  who  was 
worthy  of  her  Jane.  Matters  changed,  how- 
ever, when  the  Duke  of  Feria  came  forward ; 
and,  with  the  full  approval  of  the  Queen,  Jane 
promised  her  hand  to  the  stately  Spanish 
nobleman,  who  used  to  declare  that  all  the 
honors,  riches  and  pleasures  the  w^orld  could 
give  were  nothing  when  compared  to  the  pos- 
session of  such  a  wife. 

It  was  arranged  that  the  celebration  of  the 
marriage  should  be  put  off  till  King  Philip's 
return  from  Flanders,  where  he  was  carrying 
on  the  war  against  France.  In  the  meantime 
Mary  Tudor,  who  from  her  youth  had  been 
fi-ail  and  delicate,  fell  dangerous!}^  ill;  the 
King  was  then  besieging  the  town  of  Doullens, 
and,  with  characteristic  indifference,  he  did 
not  offer  to  return,  but  sent  the  Duke  of  Feria 
to  visit  his  dying  sovereign. 

The  peace  and  joy  that  had  been  so  wanting 
in  the  life  of  Mary  Tudor  illumined  her  death- 
bed, and  in  her  dreams  the  childless  Queen 
seemed  to  see  angels,  under  the  shape  of  little 
children,  hovering  round  her  pillow^ ;  her  past 
troubles,  present  sorrows,  and  haunting  fears 
for  the  future,  were  merged  into  sweet  resig- 
nation to  God's  holy  will.  For  her  beloved 
maid  of  honor  she  had  many  tender  w^ords ; 
the  thought  of  her  marriage  seemed  to  give 
her  unmingled  pleasure.  Perchance  she  fore- 
saw dark  and  hard  times  for  the  Catholics  of 
England;  and,  if  so,  she  rejoiced  that  the  lot 
of  her  favorite  should  be  cast  in  more  peaceful 
and  happier  lands.  To  her  sister  Elizabeth  she 
nevertheless  spoke  grave  words  of  warning, 
charging  her  solemnly  to  remain  faithful  to 
the  Catholic  Church. 

On  the  17th  of  November,  1558,  while  Mass 
was  being  said  in  her  presence,  Mary  was  seen 
to  bow  down  her  head,  and  at  the  same  time 
her  weary  spirit  took  its  flight.  In  spite  of 
all  that  has  been  said  and  written,  there  must 
have  been  something  lovable  about  this  sad, 
pale  Queen,  of  whose  death  the  Duchess  of 
Feria  never  could  speak  without  bursting  into 
tears,  and  whose  memory  ghe  cherished  with 
passionate  loyalty  and  love. 

About  a  month  after  the  death  of  her  royal 
mistress,  Jane  Dormer,  who  had  returned  to 
live  with  her  grandmother,  was  married  in  the 


The  Ave  Maria. 


■Savoy  Chapel  to  the  Duke  of  Feria,  appointed  | 
by  King  Philip  to  be  his  ambassador  at  the 
English  court.  The  bride,  then  in  her  twentieth 
year,  was  in  the  full  flower  of  that  bright 
beauty  of  which  her  portrait  at  Grove  Park, 
the  seat  of  the  present  Lord  Dormer,  gives  a 
•charming  picture.  The  Duke  was  eighteen 
years  her  senior, — a  high-minded,  Christian 
nobleman,  the  trusted  servant  of  his  King,  and 
the  protector  of  the  poor  and  weak.  Seldom 
was  a  marriage  so  perfectly  blessed. 

Soon,  however,  Feria' s  position  as  Spanish 
Ambassador  became  one  of  great  difficulty.  Al- 
though under  the  reign  of  her  sister  Elizabeth 
Tiad  made  outward  profession  of  the  Catholic 
faith,  her  sincerity  was  more  than  doubtful,  and 
we  have  seen  how  Queen  Mary's  short  reign 
was  poisoned  by  anxious  fears  for  the  future  of 
the  Catholic  Church  in  England.  On  ascending 
the  throne  the  new  sovereign  threw  off"  the 
mask ;  and  the  Duke  of  Feria,  after  straining 
■every  nerve  for  the  maintenance  of  the  ancient 
faith,  declined  to  assist  at  the  Queen's  corona- 
tion, as  it  was  to  be  performed  according  to 
the  Protestant  rite.  After  this  his  recall  be- 
came necessary;  but  before  leaving  England, 
at  his  wife's  request,  he  begged  the  Queen's 
permission  to  take  in  his  train  all  the  priests, 
monks  and  nuns  who  wished  to  leave  the 
country.  The  young  Duchess  knew  well  Eliz- 
abeth's relentless  determination,  and  she  re- 
membered too  the  horrors  of  the  reign  of  Henry 
VIII.,  wh^n  the  blood  of  her  own  kindred  had 
been  poured  forth  for  God  and  His  Church. 
Days  of  persecution  no  less  dark  and  terrible 
were  close  at  hand,  and  her  heart  j^eamed  to 
help  her  faithful  countrymen  before  bidding 
adieu  forever  to  her  native  land.  The  Duke's 
request  was  at  first  opposed  by  the  Queen  and 
her  councillors ;  but  Feria  w^as  an  important 
political  personage,  whom  it  was  w4se  to  con- 
ciliate, and  when  in  May,  1559,  the  Duke  set 
sail  for  Flanders,  he  had  on  board  his  ship 
the  Charterhouse  monks  of  Sheene,  the  Brid- 
gettine  nuns  of  Sion,  the  Dominicanesses  of 
Dartford,  and  a  large  number  of  secular  priests. 
On  arriving  in  the  Low  Countries,  the  Duke 
recommended   the  little   band   of  exiles    to 
the  kindness  of  King  Philip,  who  generously 
helped  them  to  make  new  foundations.  What- 
ever may  have  been  his  political  and  private 
sins,  Philip  II.  was  a  true  friend  to  the  Eng- 


lish Catholics,  and  they  at  least  owe  a  debt  of 
gratitude  to  this  generally  unpopular  prince. 
Tlie  Duchess  remained  in  London  two 
months  after  her  husband's  departure;  but 
at  the  end  of  July  she  started,  under  the  guar- 
dianship of  Don  Juan  de  Ayala,  who  had  been 
sent  to  escort  her.  Among  those  who  left 
England  under  her  protection  were  her  grand- 
mother, Lady  Dormer,  and  many  Catholic 
priests  and  laymen.  We  may  imagine  the  feel- 
ings of  the  little  band  of  exiles  as  the  shores 
of  their  native  isle  faded  from  their  gaze.  For 
the  young  Duchess  of  Feria  all  was  fair  and 
bright  in  the  future :  her  husband's  heart  and 
home  awaited  her ;  but  her  companions'  souls 
were  darkened  by  many  fears.  All  of  them 
knew,  by  a  sad  experience  in  the  past,  the 
exceeding  bitterness  of  religious  persecution. 
Under  Mary  their  hopes  had  revived ;  but  now, 
by  the  ruthless  hand  of  the  last  Tudor,  they 
felt  that  England  was  torn  once  more  from 
the  bosom  of  Mother  Church — and  for  how 
long! 

Jane  Dormer's  loving  heart  responded  to 
her  companions'  sadness ;  in  the  midst  of  her 
happiness  she  too  mourned  over  her  apostate 
countr}^  and  the  honors  that  awaited  her  in 
Flanders  were  a  painful  contrast  to  the  scenes 
of  sin  and  sorrow  she  had  left  behind.  At 
Calais,  Gravelines,  Dunkirk,  Bruges,  Ghent, 
and  Antwerp,  the  ^'^oung  Duchess  was  received 
with  royal  splendor;  her  biographer  tells  us 
that  she  entered  the  great  Flemish  towns  on 
horseback,  surrounded  by  ladies  in  waiting, 
who  were  also  riding.  At  Malines  she  was  the 
guest  of  the  Archbishop,  Cardinal  Granville  ; 
and  here  she  remained  for  the  birth  of  her  son, 
which  took  place  on  St.  Michael's  Eve,  1559. 
Magnificent  festivities  were  given  to  celebrate 
the  baptism  of  the  baby,  whose  godparents 
were  the  Cardinal  Archbishop  of  Malines  and 
Margaret  of  Austria,  Duchess  of  Parma,  King 
Philip's  sister. 

(to  be  continued.) 


The  highest  poetical  sentiments  are  found 
in  the  people,  and  in  those  w^ho  are  called 
ignorant  and  uncultivated,  who  can  not  ex- 
press their  thoughts  with  as  much  elegance  as 
sincerity ;  the  people,  finally,  who  in  Spain,  as 
Trueba  observ^es,  describe  the  Mother  of  Jesus 
as  "the  Mother  of  the  Beautiful  Love." 


The  'Ave  Maria. 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY   NUGENT  ROBINSON. 


CHAPTER  I.— "/260." 

UNDER  the  perfumed  blossoms  of  the  hix- 
uriant  and  venerable  hawthorns  in  the 
Phoenix  Park,  Dublin,  two  young  men  strolled 
arm  in  arm  on  a  lovely  evening  in  May,  the 
Month  of  Mar>'.  They  were  about  the  same 
age — two  and  twenty, — and  were  plainly  but 
neither  richly  nor  fashionably  attired.  One, 
Harry  Considine,  was  tall — over  six  feet, 
— with  the  form  of  a  youthful  Hercules :  ease, 
suppleness,  and  strength  in  ever>'  movement, 
his  head  setting  his  broad  shoulders  with  the 
grace  of  a  Greek  statue.  His  companion  was 
somewhat  shorter,  and  slightly  built,  the 
rounded  shoulders  betraying  the  "dreary 
drudgery  of  the  desk's  dead  wood." 

"I  can  not  stand  it  any  longer! "  suddenly 
exclaimed  Considine,  dropping  his  friend's 
arm  and  plucking  a  fragrant  blossom  of  haw- 
thorn. "I  can  not  stand  it!"  he  repeated, 
casting  the  beauteous  flower  from  him.  "I 
never  was  meant  for  indoor  work.  It  gives  me 
no  interest.  I'm  not  half  bad  at  figures,  but  I 
could  tot  up  a  column  a  yard  long  under  God's 
sunshine  before  I  could  do  a  dozen  lines  at  the 
best  upholstered  desk  that  ever  a  merchant 
prince  stretched  his  legs  under.  You  see, 
Gerald,"  he  added,  "I  was  always  in  the  open 
air  at  the  farm  at  home.  From  sunrise  till 
moonrise  I  was  out  after  the  horses  or  the  cow^s, 
or  roaming  over  the  fields.  Except  when  I 
was  at  school  or  in  bed,  I  never  had  a  roof 
over  me  that  I  could  help  except  the  sky, 
and  now  it's  roof  all  the  time — a  low  roof  that 
seems  as  if  it  was  pressing  down  the  top  of 
my  head.  And  gas  even  on  a  May  morning 
— even  on  a  May  morning  ^vz^/  Just  think  of 
it !  It's  profanation  !  No,  Gerald,  my  boy,  I 
can  not  stand  it!  I  must  try  my  hand  at 
something  else. ' ' 

"But  what  else  are  you  fit  for?"  queried 
his  companion,  in  a  fretfiil  tone.  "Where  else 
could  you  gain  a  footing  or  earn  ten  shillings 
a  week?  It's  better  not  to  throw  dirty  water 
out  till  you  get  clean  in." 

"That's  very  true!"  sighed  Harry  Consi- 
dine. "A'fellow  must  get  broken  in,  I  suppose, 


like  a  horse.  Oh,"  and  he  struck  his  clinched 
hand  on  his  open  palm,  "if  I  could  onh^  gfet 
to  Ailierica ! ' ' 

"Bah!  That's  the  cry  of  old  and  young 
now.  Go  into  a  bank,  and  the  clerks  are  whin- 
ing to  get  to  America.  Go  into  a  shop,  and 
the  assistants  are  howling  to  get  to  America. 
It's  El  Dorado,  is  it?  Did  James  Redmond 
find  it  El  Dorado  ?  Did  Tom  Fitzpatrick,  who 
had  to  black  boots,  find  it  El  Dorado?  Did 
Joe—" 

' '  Pshaw  ! ' '  interrupted  Considine.  ' '  These 
are  the  chaps  that  come  back.  They  had  no- 
staying  power,  no  backbone,  no  grip!  What 
good  are  they  doing  here  I'd  like  to  know? 
Isn't  James  Redmond  living  on  his  old 
mother,  when  he  should  be  ashamed  to  take  a 
shilling  from  her  miserable  life-annuity  ?  Isn't 
Tom  Fitzpatrick  a  regular  sponge,  hanging 
round  the  public-houses  in  Grafton  Street? 
Isn't  Joe  Dempsey — or  wasnH  he  living  by 
playing  billiards  in  Dawson  Lane  till  his 
father  died  and  left  him  four  hundred  a  year  ? 
I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Gerald  Molloy,  no  fellow 
with  the  stufif  of  a  man  in  him  will  remain 
here,  and  no  fellow  with  the  stuff  of  a  man  in 
him  will  come  back  once  he  has  crossed  the 
Atlantic.  I  see,"  he  continued,  with  a  burst 
of  earnestness,  "that  steerage  passages  are  to 
be  had  for  almost  nothing,  and — " 

"Oh,  bother  your  steerage  passages!'* 
burst  in  Molloy,  impatiently.  "Let  us  enjoy 
this  glorious  May  evening.  Just  look  at  the 
way  the  sun  is  lighting  up  Mount  Pelier  and 
the  Three-Rocked  Mountain !  Whqt  a  mag- 
nificent purple  is  over  the  valley  at  Rathfam- 
ham,  and  how  silvery  in  this  light  the  Liffey  ' 
looks!" 

At  this  moment,  as  if  to  add  a  little  color 
to  the  picturesque  scene,  a  troop  of  red-coated 
dragoons  clattered  past  en  roiite  to  Island 
Bridge,  the  setting  sun  flashing  off"  their  brass 
helmets;  while  down  one  of  the  elm-lined 
avenues  came  the  chariot  of  the  Viceroy,  at- 
tended by  outriders  and  a  squadron  of  lancers, 
the  gaudy  pennants  attached  to  the  lances 
fluttering  in  the  evening  breeze.  Beneath  the 
"perfumed  snow"  of  the  hawthorn  blossoms 
were  groups  of  merr>'  city-folk  out  for  their 
Maying,  the  work  of  the  day  being  over. 
Children  frisked  and  romped ;  lasses  and  lads 
whispered  the  old,  old  story ;  while  the  steady 


The  Ave  Maria, 


elder  people  enjoyed  the  glorious  May  even- 
ing after  their  own  more  sober  fashion. 

A  game  of  cricket  was  being  played  out  in 
the  reserved  grounds  of  the  Phoenix  Club ;  an 
awkward  squad  of  the  Royal  Irish  Constab- 
ulary were  being  marched  from  the  magazine 
to  the  depot ;  a  company  of  the  boys  of  the 
Hibernian  Military  School  were  returning  on 
jaunting-cars  from  a  plunge  in  the  briny  at 
Sandymount ;  a  few  swells  were  cantering 
their  horses  on  the  springy  greensward ;  cars 
were  conveying  wearied  citizens  to  country 
residences  at  Chapelizod,  Clondalkin,  and 
Castleknock ;  half  a  dozen  lads  were  playing 
at  hop-step-and-jump;  and  the  faint  notes  of 
"God  Save  the  Queen!"  came  over  the  haw- 
thorns from  the  Royal  Barracks,  mingled  with 
the  shriek  of  the  locomotive  starting  from 
King's  Bridge  depot,  mayhap  with  the  Ameri- 
can mail. 

With  the  two  young  men  who  were  stroll- 
ing in  the  Phoenix  Park  on  that  beauteous 
May  evening  this  story  has  much  to  do. 

Every  person  who  knows  "dear  dirty  Dub- 
lin" is  acquainted  with  that  ill-kept  but 
busy  thoroughfare  called  Georges  Street.  It  is 
through  this  narrow  way  that  one  strikes 
Wexford  Street;  Protestant  Row,  "where 
there  are  more  pigs  than  Protestants"  ;  Kev- 
in's Port,  famous  for  its  Dublin  Bay  herrings, 
and  the  tongues  of  the  female  venders  thereof; 
Camden  Street,  and  Portobello.  The  chief 
attraction  j^of  Georges  Street  is  the  monster 
dry  goods  establishment  of  Pim  Brothers, — 
a  house  of  great  commercial  integrity  and 
honor,  founded  and  operated  by  a  Quaker 
family  of  that  name,  one  of  whom,  Jonathan, 
sat  for  Dublin  city  in  Parliament.  The  Pims 
w^ere  "fine  employers,"  and,  if  not "  advanced," 
belonged  to 'that  practical  class  of  Irishmen 
who  borrow  "canniness"  from  the  Scotch, 
and  who  are  diplomatic  enough  to  argue  Irish 
wrongs  through  the  medium  of  very  able  but 
utterly  useless  essays,  read  before  such  influ- 
ential societies  as  the  Social  Science  Associa- 
tion and  the  Statistical  Society. 

In  the  establishment  of  Pim  Brothers  both 
Harry  Considine  and  Gerald  Molloy  were  as- 
sistants, at  the  respective  salaries  of  ten  and 
fifteen  shillings  weekly  exclusive  of  board 
and  lodging ;  for  the  Pims  were  hobbyists  on 
co-operation.  Considine  was  the  son  of  a  snug 


farmer  residing  in  the  County  of  Wicklow, 
close  to  Wexford,  whose  father  had  been 
"out"  in  '98,  and  was  hanged  on  the  bridge 
of  Gorey  for  being  true  to  old  Ireland.  Harry 
was  the  third  son,  and  he  had  five  brothers 
and  two  sisters.  The  two  elder  brothers  were 
on  the  farm. 

"What  will  we  do  with  Harry?"  became 
the  burning  question  of  the  hour  at  Togher- 
beg ;  for  the  lad  had  done  schooling,  and  there 
was  no  room  for  him  on  the  little  Wicklow 
freehold. 

The  question  was  replied  to  in  the  person  of 
Mr.  Joseph  Pim,  who  came  down  to  Togherbeg 
to  look  at  a  horse. 

' '  What  are  you  going  to  turn  your  hand 
to?"  he  asked  of  Harry,  who  had  been  de- 
tailed to  show  off"  the  points  of  the  animal 
referred  to. 

"I  don' t  know,  sir, ' '  replied  the  lad,  fiercely 
crimsoning. 

"Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  know?'* 
said  the  practical  Quaker. 

"Indeed  I  ought,  sir,"  was  Harry's  reply. 
' '  How  do  you  stand  in  accounts  and  writ- 
ing?" 

"Here's  my  writing,"  observed  Harry, 
pulling  out  a  manuscript  book  into  which  he 
had  copied,  as  is  the  habit  of  youthfiil  en-  * 
thusiasts,  poems  of  Gerald  Griffin,  Davis, 
Speranza,  and  other  gifted  children  of  poesy. 
"Very  clean,  very  neat.  Have  you  been 
taught  book-keeping  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  sir,  and  algebra,"  added  Harry,  tri- 
umphantly; "and  euclid  and  trigonometry. 
Father  Luke  will  tell  you  w^hat  I  done  in — •* 
' '  'Did, '  not  done !  Give  me  a  penny  for  cor- 
recting you.  Yes,  I'm  in  earnest.  Thanks," — 
as  the  lad  handed  him  the  copper  coin. 
"You'll  never  forget  this  lesson,  because 
you've  paid  for  it.  I  'have  done  so  .and  so,' 
not  'I  done.^  That's  bad  grammar  and  offen- 
sive to  educated  ears.  My  lad,  that  single  error 
might  injure  you  on  the  upward  path.  Could 
I  see  Father  Luke?" 

"Certainly,  sir.  He  drops  in  to  see  us  every 
day.  It  keeps  my  grandmother  alive  to  hear 
the  sound  of  his  foot." 

The  result  of  Mr.  Pim's  interview  with  the 
good  priest  led  to  a  family  council,  the  out- 
come of  which  placed  Harry  Considine  in  the 
seven  o'clock  train  on  the  following  Monday 


lo 


The  Ave  Maria. 


morning,  to  enter  the  great  establishment  of 
Pim  Brothers,  South  Great  Georges  Street, 
Dublin. 

Gerald  Molloy,  Harry's  companion  in  the 
Phcenix  Park,  was  Dublin  bom,  the  son  of  a 
commercial  traveller  of  scanty  and  spasmodic 
income.  He^^had  been  originally  intended  for 
the  law,  but]the  house  for  which  Molloy' s/»^r^ 
was  then  travelling  having  failed,  it  behooved 
the  lad  to  add  to  the  now  dilapidated  income 
to  the  best  of  his  ability  and  power ;  and  Mr. 
Molloy,  having  had  business  and  social  rela- 
tions with  one  of  the  most  respected  buyers  at 
Pims' ,  was  enabled  through  the  kindly  offices 
of  Mr.  Dresher  to  obtain  a  berth  for  Gerald 
in  the  counting-house  of  that  eminently  re- 
spectable establishment. 

"My  son  is  in  the  counting-house,"  Mr. 
Molloy,  who  was  a  weak-minded  and  vain 
sort  of  man,  would  say.  "  He  is  not  a  counter- 
jumper — a  shop-boy.  Oh,  no  indeed!  He  is  in 
the  counting-house,  and  never  mixes  with  the 
herd." 

Gerald  was  a  sharp,  clever  lad,  endowed 
with  the  bump  of  caution.  He  was  a  devourer 
of  books.  He  did  not  care  a  whit  what  the 
book,  what  the  subject,  so  long  as  it  was  a 
.  book.  Everything  was  fish  that  came  to  his 
net ;  and  from  a  novel  by  Sir  Walter  Scott  to 
a  dreary  pamphlet  on  Poor  Law  Reform  by 
Neilson  Hancock,  LL.D.,  Gerald  would  browse 
with  an  earnestness  that  bespoke  the  acquis- 
itive mind.  Considine  scarcely  ever  read  anj'-- 
thing,  not  even  the  Frccmaii's  Joiwnal.  "I 
hear  the  best  of  everything, ' '  he  would  say  ; 
"and  I  use  my  eyes  on  such  books  as  Dublin 
Bay,  the  Mountains,  the  river  Dodder,  and 
HowthHill." 

The  MoUoys  resided  in  a  shabby  little  house 
on  the  Rath  gar  Road.  Mrs.  Molloy  had  been 
a  Miss  Daly  of  Castle  Daly,  in  the  County  of 
Galway,  and  dearly  loved  genteel  people  and 
blue  blood.  Emma,  Gerald's  o\Ay  sister,  be- 
longed to  that  class  knowm  as  an  upsetting 
young  lady,  and  if  not  unamiable  was,  to  say 
the  least  of  it,  somewhat  disagreeable  at  home. 
She  loved  finer}^  and  was  unhappy  when  un- 
-  able  to  array  herself  in  the  same  gorgeousness 
as  the  fashionable  girls  whom  she  encountered 
at  the  bands  in  Merrion  or  Mountjoy  Square, 
or  on  Kingstown  Pier  or  Donnybrook  Road. 
Her  father  and  mother  both  encouraged  her 


to  keep  her  head  very  high,  and  nearly  suc- 
ceeded in  spoiling  her.  Harry  Considine,  who 
had  been  brought  out  to  Rathgar  to  spend  a 
Sunda}',  could  not  get  on  with  her  at  all. 

"She's  awfully  pretty,"  he  mused  as  he 
walked  back  to  Georges  Street;  "but  she's 
murderingly  grand.  How  was  /  to  know  about 
the  Dalys  of  Castle  Daly  ?  And  the  idea  of  my 
being  acquainted  with  Lord  Wicklow'  s  family ! 
Why,  it's  too  absurd!  It's  a  pity  she  hasn't 
some  of  her  brother's  solid  sense." 

Harr}^  and  Gerald  had  come  together  on  the 
very  first  day  of  the  former's  appearance  at  the 
house.  Considine  had  to  wait  for  Mr.  Joseph 
Pim,  and  w^as  ushered  into  the  elegantly  ap- 
pointed office,  wherein  Molloy  w^as  perched  on 
a  revolving  stool. 

"Coming    to  join   the    brigade?"  asked 
Gerald. 

"Yes,"  laughed  the  Wicklow  lad. 

"Can  5^ou  jump  across  a  counter?" 

"I  can  do  a  five-barred  gate  without  a  run." 

"Is  this  your  first  break  into  business?" 

Harry,  glad  of  an  opportunit}'  of  speaking 

to  any  one,  opened  his  heart  to  Gerald,  and 

they  became  intimates.  They  were  up  with 

the  lark,  and  did  their  six  or  seven  mile  walk 

before  half  the  assistants  were  out  of  bed.  They 

spent  their  evenings  together  roving  in  the 

green  lanes  of  Clontarf,  on  the  sands  at  Boot- 

erstown,  or  in  the  leafy  dells  of  the  Phoenix 

Park.  After  Mass  on  Sunday  they  would  start 

for  the  Dublin  Mountains,  or  the  Hill  of  Howth 

in  Killiney.  But  of  all  their  haunts  the  Phoenix 

was  their  favorite,  and  here  we  find  them  on 

this   lovely   evening   in    May,    inhaling   the 

firagrance  of  the  hawthorn  blossoms,  and  one 

of  them,  Hany^  Considine,  building  castles  in 

—the  United  States. 

They  were  passing  down  to  the  Chapelizod 
gate,  w4th  the  intention  of  returning  to  towTi 
by  the  banks  of  the  river  Liffey,  when,  as 
the}'  crossed  the  road,  Considine' s  foot  struck 
against  something  that  responded  with  a 
chink.  He  stooped  and  picked  up  a  canvas  bag 
tied  at  the  neck  with  a  piece  of  thick  twine. 
"A  bag  of  money,  Gerald!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Never!" 

"I  think  so  "—shaking  it.  "It  chinks.  It's 
ver>^  heavy.  Yes,  it's  money.  Who  could  have 
dropped  it?  Some  one  on  a  car, — some  poor 
farmer  perhaps." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


II 


He  looked  up  and  down  the  road.  Not  a 
human  b^ng  was  within  sight. 

"Put  it  up,  Harry,"  said  his  companion  in 
a  whisper.    "Hide  it  away." 

"Why  should  I?" 

"Because  some  rogue  might  claim  it, — 
some  person  who  is  not  entitled  to  it.  Hide  it." 

"It's  not  so  easy  to  hide,"  observed  the 
other,  endeavoring  to  stuff  the  bulging  bag 
into  his  coat  pocket.  "I'll  give  it  to  the 
next  policeman. ' ' 

"No,  you  won't !"  cried  Gerald.  "You'll 
bring  it  to  the  house.  It's  sure  to  be  adver- 
tised for  and  a  reward  offered.  You'll  get  the 
reward  if  it's  advertised ;  if  it's  not  advertised 
you'll  keep  the  money." 

"Not  a  farthing  of  it,  and  not  a  farthing  of 
a  reward  will  I  touch ! ' '  exclaimed  Harry, 
hotly.  "What  should  I  be  rewarded  for?  Is 
it  for  doing  what  is  right  ? ' ' 

"Anyhow  keep  it  till  it's  claimed." 

"No,  I  won't.  I'll  advertise  it  at  once — 
to-night." 

"That  will  cost  money." 

"It  can't  be  helped.  Perhaps  some  poor 
farmer  dropped  it  on  his  way  home.  /  know 
what  the  loss  of  a  few  pounds  would  be  to  my 
father.  lyCt  us  go  to  the  Freeman' s  Journal  ^rv'^ 
Irish  Times,  and  advertise  it.  You  will  lend 
me  half  a  crown,  won' t  you  ?  " 

"I  suppose  you'll  ask  for  the  expense  of 
tlie  advertisement  froni  the  rightful  owner  ?  " 
said  Molloy. 

"Yes,  certainly.  That's  fair." 

They  walked  to  King's  Bridge,  took  the 
tram-car  to  Carlisle  (now  O'Connell  Bridge), 
and  turned  down  Sackville  Street. 

"Half  a  crown,"  said  the  clerk  at  the Free- 
m,an's  Journal  office.  "But,  I  say,  you  aren't 
such  a  pair  of  asses  as  to  give  up  that  money! ' ' 

* '  I^et  me  have  my  receipt,  please ! ' '  said 
Considine,  in  a  short,  sharp,  curt  way,  very 
unusual  with  him. 

At  the  Irish  Times  the  clerk  suggested  an 
advertisement  so  vague  as  to  afford  no  clue 
whatever  to  the  lost  money. 

"You  see,"  he  confidentially  observed, 
"you  have  done  the  right  thing,  young  man, 
— eased  your  conscience, — and  now  you  ckn 
spend  the  tin.  I'  11  be  round  at  Mooney's  tavern 
at  two  o'clock,  and  I  think  you  ought  to 
'stand  Sam.'" 


"Come  along! "  said  Gerald  to  his  compan- 
ion, as  the  latter  was  about  to  open  fire  on  the 
clerk .   "A  row  doesn '  t  pay . " 

And  next  day  the  following  advertisement 
appeared  in  the  Freeman' s  J ouriial  and  Irish 
Thnes: 

Found. — In  the  Phoenix  Park,  on  Tuesday  even- 
ing, a  bag  containing  a  sum  of  money.  The  owner 
can  have  the  same  by  describing  contents,  or  on  ap- 
plication to  H.  C,  Office  of  this  paper. 

The  bag  contained  two  hundred  sovereigns, 
fifty-five  Bank  of  Ireland  notes  in  single  notes 
of  ;^i  each,  and  a  cartridge  of  silver  ^half 
crowns  making  ^5. 

(TO  be;  continued.) 


A  Mother's  Memory. 

BY  EI.EANOR  C.   DONNEI,I,Y. 

3  WENT  to  the  grave  of  our  dearest,— 
A  rose-bush  grew  by  the  stone, 
Ivaden  with  ripe  red  roses, 
Laden  with  buds  unblown. 

The  bees  buzzed  into  their  sweetness, 
And  bore  their  honey  away, — 

I  knelt  at  the  feet  of  our  dearest, 
And  gathered  a  bright  bouquet; 

Gathered  a  wealth  of  blossoms. 

Glittering,  every  one. 
With  a  fragrant,  delicate  cordial. 

The  vintage  of  dew  and  sun. 

And,  at  night,  when  the  friends  she  treasured 
Were  filling  the  dear  old  room, 

They  spake  with  a  praise  unmeasured 
Of  the  roses  from  her  tomb; 

But  one  of  them  said:   "Death  closes 
The  door  of  the  days  that  were! — 

Naught  save  a  spray  of  roses 
Remains  to  tell  oi her!'' 

*'  Not  so,"  her  child  made  answer: 
' '  Death  can  not  close  the  door 
Of  the  past.  It  but  unfastens 
The  gate  of  the  Evennord! 

"  Beyond  the  gulf  that  'feft  us, 
She  lives — this  love  of  ours, — 
And  the  memory  she  hath  left  us 
Is  sweeter  than  the  flowers ! ' ' 
June  13,  1889. 


12 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Favors  of  Our  Queen. 


A  SINGULAR  CONVERSION  BY  MEANS  OF  THE  ROSARY. 


ABOUT  forty  years  ago  Mr.  and  Mrs.  G., 
who  had  for  some  time  resided  in  Dublin, 
were  induced  to  return  to  their  country  home 
on  account  of  the  health  of  Mrs.  G.,  whose 
medical  adviser  deprecated  another  summer 
spent  in  the  hot  cit>'.  Their  estates  were  situ- 
ated in  a  part  of  Ireland  where  "Orangeism" 
-was  rampant,  and  the}'  themselves  were  strong 
haters  of  the  old  faith.  This,  however,  did  not 
prevent  Mr.  G.  from  acting  as  became  an  up- 
right and  generous  landlord  to  his  tenants, 
Protestant  and  Catholic  alike,  and  he  was  con- 
sequently greatly  esteemed  by  all. 

Not  far  from  his  own  gates  stood  a  convent 
of  Sisters  of  Mercy.  Their  poor  schools  were 
attended  by  many  of  the  children  of  the  ten- 
antry; and,  in  recognition  of  the  good  services 
of  the  nuns,  Mr.  G.  was  in  the  habit  of  paying 
a  visit  of  courtesy  to  the  convent  once  a  year, 
somewhat  to  the  annoj^ance  of  his  wife,  who 
was  far  more  bigoted  than  himself.  The  annual 
visit  had  been  paid.  Mrs.  G.  had  perhaps 
chafed  more  than  usual  under  the  infliction 
of  the  enforced  act  of  politeness  to  Papists, 
which  no  persuasions  of  hers  could  induce  her 
husband  to  omit,  notwithstanding  his  ordinary 
readiness  to  comply  with  her  least  desire. 

In  order  to  make  up  for  his  unaccustomed 
obduracy,  Mr.  G.  proposed  a  winter  in  Italy, 
which  greatly  delighted  his  wife.  Their  prep- 
arations were  soon  made,  and  in  a  very  short 
time  the  travellers  found  themselves  at  Naples. 
Here  for  a  time,  despite  the  "popish  atmos- 
phere," Mrs.  G.  forgot  her  dislike  to  the  faith 
of  the  land  in  her  enjoyment  of  the  balmy 
breezes,  and  the  beautiful  sights  that  met  her 
eye  on  every  side.  But  a  little  incident  awoke 
her  hatred  of  Rome  in  all  its  intensity. 

Strolling  one  day  through  the  streets  with 
his  wife,  Mr.  G.  was  attracted  by  some  rosaries 
made  of  lava  that  were  exposed  for  sale  out- 
side one  of  the  churches.  He  was  an  indus- 
trious collector  of  curiosities,  and  had  a  large 
museum  at  home.  He  proposed  to  add  this 
new  treasure  to  the  rest.  "What!"  said  his 
wife.  * '  Buy  that  popish  thing !  Pray  don' t,  my 
dear ;  for  I  could  never  bear  to  look  at  it."  So, 


after  some  unavailing  attempts  to  mollify  her 
bigotry,  Mr.  G.  compromised  matters  by  pro- 
posing to  present  it  to  the  Reverend  Mother  at 
the  Con^-ent  of  Mercy.  He  accordingly  sent 
the  rosary  off,  and  Mrs.  G.  rejoiced  that  she 
had  seen  the  last  of  at  least  one  popish  charm. 

Time  passed,  and  after  a  few  more  weeks 
the  travellers,  wending  their  way  homeward, 
arrived  in  Paris.  Seated  at  breakfast  in  the 
hotel  on  the  morning  after  their  arrival,  Mrs. 
G.  took  up  the  Times,  whilst  her  husband  was 
busily  engaged  with  his  letters  at  the  opposite 
side  of  the  table.  A  sudden  exclamation  on 
her  part  startled  him  from  his  task. 

"Oh,  here  is  the  announcement  of  the  death 
of  the  Reverend  Mother  of  the  convent!  It  is 
strange  indeed  that  I  should  see  this  to-day, 
for  I  dreamt  last  night  that  I  saw  her  stand- 
ing by  me  with  the  rosary  that  you  sent  her  in 
her  hand.  She  said  to  me :  '  You  will  be  lost 
unless  y 021  iyiquire.iiito  the  t?'uth  of  the  Catholic 
Church!'  I  will  go  this  very  morning  and  call 
on  my  old  friend,  Madame  Chatel." 

"Do  so,  by  all  means,  if  3^ou  wish,"  replied 
her  husband,  concerned  to  see  the  evident  per- 
turbation of  his  wife,  and  somewhat  startled 
himself  by  the  coincidence  of  the  dream. 

Hastening  to  the  house  of  her  Catholic 
friend,  Mrs.  G.  told  her  of  the  strangely  vivid 
dream,  and  of  her  desire  to  speak  with  a  priest. 

"There  is  no  need  for  you  to  put  it  off,"  said 
her  friend.  "See!  there  is  one  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street,  and  it  happens  to  be  Pere 
Ravignan,  whom  I  know  well.  I  will  send  a 
servant  to  ask  him  to  come  in." 

Pere  Ravignan  was  soon  seated  in  the  salon 
of  Madame  Chatel,  answering  the  questions  of 
Mrs.  G.,  and  bringing  a  flood  of  light  to  bear 
upon  the  ignorance  that  had  so  long  darkened 
a  mind  naturally  candid  and  generous.  A  few 
weeks  later  he  had  the  happiness  of  receiving 
not  only  Mr.  and  Mrs.  G.  into  the  Church,  but 
along  with  them  another  family  who  had  ac- 
companied them  on  their  homeward  journey. 

These  conversions  made  a  great  stir  in 
County  T.,  where  the  bigotry  of  Mrs.  G.  had 
been  so  well  known  and  felt.  For  a  consider- 
able time  the  neighbors  refused  to  believe  in 
the  truth  of  the  report,  saying,  "They  are 
only  amusing  themselves  by  going  to  Catholic 
churches,  and  'doing  in  Rome  as  Rome  does.' 
Wait  until  they  come  back  to  Ireland."  When 


The  Ave  Maria. 


13 


they  did  return,  however,  all  the  gossips^^were 
silenced  "^t  the  sight  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  G.  driv- 
ing off  on  the  Sunday  after  their  arrival,  not 
to  the  fashionable  Protestant  church,  but  to 
the  heretofore  despised  Catholic  chapel,  where 
they  knelt  amid  the  crowd  of  humble  poor. 
On  her  first  visit  to  the  Convent  of  Mercy 
Mrs.  G.  was  told  that  on  the  arrival  of  the  lava 
rosary  from  Naples  the  Reverend  Mother, 
assembling  the  community,  had  tried  to  make 
them  guess  who  sent  it ;  and  when  at  last, 
all  their  guesses  at  fault,  she  said  that  it  was 
Mr.  G.,  she  added:  "And  now  some  one  of 
you  must  be  constantly  on  th:  prie-dieu 
before  Our  Lady,  saying  the  Rosary  for  his 
conversion  and  that  of  his  wife." 


A  National  Flower. 


MESSRS.  PRANG  &  CO.  have  issued 
artistic  little  books  illustrative  of  two  of 
the  most  beautiful  distinctively  American 
flowers,  and  have  asked  the  people  of  the 
United  States  to  vote  as  to  their  respective 
qualifications  for  the  office  of  a  national  em- 
blem. The  blossoms  which  the  art  publishers 
specify  are  the  trailing  arbutus  and  the  gold- 
enrod,  but  they  in^dte  the  public  to  designate 
others  which  may  seem  preferable.  The  polls 
will  be  open  until  the  beginning  of  next  year. 
All  faithful  lovers  of  our  Blessed  Lady  w^ould 
naturally  prefer  the  lily  or  the  rose  the  suc- 
cessful competitor ;  but  both  France  and  Eng- 
land have,  with  the  privilege  of  elder  children, 
already  chosen  them.  Sweden  has  claimed  the 
mignonette,  Italy  the  marguerite  or  daisy, 
Japan  the  chrj^santhemum,  the  Napoleonists 
the  violet,  tiie  Boulangists  the  red  carnation, 
the  Scotch  the  thistle,  the  Irish  the  shamrock, 
the  English  Tories  the  primrose,  and  the  Ger- 
mans the  corn-flower.  Still,  there  is  such  a 
profusion  of  floral  wealth  remaining  that  it 
would  seem  easy  for  Americans  to  choose, 
and  it  is  only  when  one  carefully  examines  the 
merits  and  demerits  of  the  competitors  that 
the  difficulty  becomes  apparent.  The  arbutus 
or  New  England  May-flow^er,  for  instance,  is  a 
mountain  flower  with  a  Puritan  pedigree,  and 
would  not  fitly  represent  a  land  of  limitless 
prairies;  the  goldenrod  is  not  compact  enough, 
and   would  not    "conventionalize,"    as   the 


artists  say ;  the  clover  blossom  has  a  relative 
in  the  emblem  of  Erin ;  the  poppy  is  Oriental  ; 
the  nasturtium,  hyacinth  and  narcissus,  clas- 
sical ;  and  the  magnolia  sectional. 

What  objection  is  there  to  the  pansy,  the 
flower  of  recollection,  except  that  it  belongs 
to  the  violet  family  ?  It  is  patient,  grateful 
and  sturdy,  flourishing  wherever  the  sun 
shines  and  the  rain  falls ;  it  lingers  late  in  the 
autumn  and  is  an  early  harbinger  of  spring. 
It  would  suit  well  for  decorative  purposes,  and 
would,  from  its  endless  variety,  adapt  itself  to 
all  occasions  and  uses.  Besides,  does  it  not 
commend  itself  to  the  devout  when  its  other 
name  is  remembered — "heart's-ease"  ? 


A  Word  to  Our  Readers. 


MANY  subscribers  in  renewing  their  sub- 
scriptions to  The  "Ave  Maria"  are 
kind  enough  to  say  very  pleasant  things  in 
praise  of  its  management,  and  to  express  the 
hope  that  the  little  magazine  may  long  flour- 
ish. This  is  gratifying,  and  we  trust  we  are 
properly  grateful.  But  may  we  venture  to 
remark  that  a  more  satisfactory  way  of  show- 
ing appreciation  would  be  to  try  to  procure 
new  readers?  This  would  be  to  honor  the 
Blessed  Mother  of  God,  and  make  her  better 
known  and  consequently  better  loved — the 
primary  object  of  the  publication.  Editors 
pass  away,  and  praise  of  their  efforts  is  less 
important  than  so  to  second  them  that  men 
better  equipped,  and  many  of  them,  may  be 
encouraged  to  cultivate  the  same  field. 

The  "Ave  Maria,"  it  may  be  said,  has  no 
cause  to  complain  of  lack  of  support:  it  has 
zealous,  appreciative  finends  in  almost  every 
part  of  Christendom;  but  we  can  not  help 
thinking,  all  things  considered,  that  its  circu- 
lation should  be  much  greater  than  it  is.  We 
hope  our  readers  will  agree  with  us.  If  so, 
they  have  it  in  their  power  to  give  the  in- 
crease. There  is  hardl}''  one  among  them  who 
could  not  with  slight  effort  procure  another 
reader.  Sample  copies  of  this,  or  any  number 
of  the  magazine  that  may  be  preferred,  will 
be  sent  to  any  address ;  and  all  are  invited  to 
furnish  the  names  of  persons  in  any  part  of 
the  world  likely  to  be  interested  in  such  a 
periodical  as  we  publish. 


H 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

There  are  some  points  connected  with  the  Feast 
of  the  Visitation  that  are  of  interest  to  all  devout 
Catholics.  The  Feast  was  instituted  by  Pope 
Urban  VI.,  and  published  to  the  Christian  world 
hy  Pope  Boniface  IX.  in  the  year  1389.  The  occa- 
sion of  its  institution  was  a  dangerous  schism 
which  arose  in  the  Church  on  the  accession  of 
the  former  Pontiff,  and  the  object  of  the  Feast  was 
to  obtain  the  restoration  of  unit}'  through  the 
intercession  of  the  Virgin  ^Mother.  Readers  of  the 
history  of  the  Church  during  this  century  will 
remember  that  it  was  on  this  feast-da}'  in  the  3'ear 
1849  that  General  Oudinot  de  Reggio  took  posses- 
sion of  Rome  and  restored  it  to  Pope  Pius  IX., 
who,  as  a  token  of  his  gratitude  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  raised  this  Feast  to  the  second  class,  on 
May  31,  1850. 

The  contemplation  of  the  mystery  of  the  Vis- 
itation has  suggested  works  of  the  most  precious 
devotion  and  the  most  magnificent  art.  It  led  St. 
Francis  de  Sales  to  establish  his  Order  of  the  Vis- 
itation, of  which  St.  Jane  de  Chantal  was  the  firsit 
superior,  and  Blessed  Margaret  ]\Iary  Alacoque  one 
of  the  brightest  ornaments,  the  latter  being  chosen 
by  God  as  His  instrument  to  quicken  among  man- 
kind the  devotion  to  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus, 
One  of  the  best  known  paintings  of  the  Visitation 
is  by  Rubens,  on  the  inside  cover  of  his  "Descent 
from  the  Cross,"  preserv^ed  in  the  Church  of  Our 
Lad}'^  at  Antwerp.  Another  valuable  representa- 
tion of  this  mystery  is  that  cut  by  Albrecht  Diirer 
in  whetstone,  which  is  now  in  the  possession  of 
the  Seminary  of  Bruges. 


Very  gratifying  to  Catholics  is  the  sympathy 
of  Protestants  the  world  over  for  the  brave  priest 
who  lately  died  a  willing  exile  among  the  lepers 
of  the  Sandwich  Islands.  In  England  Father 
Damien's  name  is  on  every  tongue,  and  ever>'one 
seems  eager  to  honor  his  memory.  The  London 
Times\^d&  pleaded y^r/;/.?  beatification  without  the 
usual  delay!  Every  periodical  in  the  country  lij^s 
had  a  tribute  to  him,  and  his  photographs  are 
selling  by  the  thousand  among  Protestants.  The 
Prince  of  Wales  presided  at  a  large  meeting  of 
Father  Damien's  sympathizers  at  Marlborough 
House,  and  a  committee  was  fanned  to  collect 
and  administer  a  Memorial  Fund  which  was  in- 
augurated by  an  Anglican  clergyman,  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Chapman.  It  was  decided  (i)  to  erect  a  mon- 
ument over  Father  Damien's  grave  at  Molokai ; 
(2)  to  found  a  leper  ward,  to  be  knowm  as  the 
Damien  Ward,  in  connection  with  one  of  the 
London  hospitals;    (3)  to  endow  a  travelling 


studentship  for  the  study  of  lepros}'  in  various 
parts  of  the  world,  and  to  send  a  commission  to 
India  to  investigate  the  subject  of  leprosy  in  the 
hope  of  finding  a  means  to  alle\'iate,  if  not  to 
eradicate,  this  terrible  disease. 

What  abundant  fruit  Father  Damien's  sacrifice 
has  borne!  A  wicked  and  perverse  generation  has 
received  a  sign,  and  Christianity  has  had  no  more 
eloquent  witness  to  its  divinity  in  our  day  than 
the  martyr  of  Molokai. 


Cardinal  Taschereau  does  not  propose  to  let 
honors  and  adulation  become  necessar)'  to  his 
happiness.  In  a  circular  issued  to  the  clergy  of 
the  Archdiocese  of  Quebec  before  beginning  his 
pastoral  visit,  Plis  Eminence  forbids  the  custom 
of  lining  roads  with  young  trees  and  erecting 
triumphal  arches  of  the  same,  "as  it  is  destructive 
of  immense  quantities  of  valuable  young  timber, 
and  as,  moreover,  it  is  exceedinglj^  difficult  and 
expensive  to  procure  decorations  in  older  par- 
ishes." He  also  prohibits  fireworks,  cannonades, 
and  fusillades  in  his  honor,  as  "another  cause  of 
useless  expense."  The  faithful  clergy  and  laity 
of  Quebec  will  find  fitter  marks  of  respect  to 
pa\'  to  their  chief  pastor,  and  their  regard  for  him 
will  probably  not  be  lessened  by  his  outspoken 
dislike  of  ostentation. 


The  Diocese  of  Natchez,  of  which  the  Rt.  Rev. 
Thomas  Heslin  has  just  been  consecrated  Bishop, 
comprises  the  whole  of  the  State  of  Mississippi, 
the  Catholic  population  being  about  15,000. 
Bishop  Heslin  is  a  native  of  Co.  Longford,  Ireland, 
and  was  born  in  1847.  He  was  formerly  rector  of 
St.  Michael's  Church,  New  Orleans,  and  was 
known  as  one  of  the  most  zealous  and  efiacient 
priests  in  the  Archdiocese. 


The  Comte  de  Paris,  who  has  never  been  ashamed 
to  practise  his  religion,  is  forty-ei^t  j-ears  old. 
In  spite  of  Boulanger — or,  rather,  because  of  Bou- 
langer  — he  may  be  King  of  the  French  sooner 
than  is  generally  expected:  the  present  Republic 
having  "no  hope  in  heaven  and  a  very  doubtful 
hope  of  earth."  The  Comte's  mother  was  a  Lu- 
theran princess,  but  one  of  the  gentlest  of  creat- 
ures, who  rejoiced  when  her  boys  made  their  First 
Communion,  and  who  loved  the  ceremonies  of  the 
Catholic  Church.  She  encouraged  the  devotion  of 
her  children.  The  Comte  is  thug  described  by  a 
writer  in  the  Figaro:  ' '  The  blonde  beard  in  which 
his  mobile  face  was  at  one  time  set  has  disap- 
peared, and  he  now  wears  a  moustache  only.  His 
hair  is  turning  gre^',  but  his  tall  figure  is  as  robust 
and[supple  as  ever.  He  rises  at  half-past  fiVe  in 
summer  and  at  six  in  winter,  and,  lighting  his 
lamp  if  necessary,  begins  the  labor  of  the  day. 


The  Ave  Afaria. 


15 


He  has  a  little  breakfast  with  his  family  at  eight, 
then  he  returns  to  his  work.  His  correspondence 
is  extentTive,  and  he  makes  a  point  of  repljnng  to 
all  his  letters.  At  noon  the  dining-room  door  is 
opened  for  Ic  grand  dejefiner.  Immediately  after 
this  repast  the  Comte  gives  audience  to  his  vis- 
itors, and  this  goes  on  sometimes  until  seven 
o'clock." 

Seven  converts,  all  Anglican  clergymen,  were 
received  into  the  Church  on  Trinity  Sunday  by 
Cardinal  Manning.  The  Pilot  informs  us  that 
some  years  ago  they  associated  themselves,  under 
the  direction  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Townsend  (one  of 
their  number),  into  the  Oxford  Mission,  for  the 
conversion  of  the  natives  of  Northern  India.  They 
took  vows  as  they  are  taken  by  Catholic  religious 
communities,  and  gave  themselves  up  without 
reserve  to  hard  and  self-denying  missionary 
labor.  God  rewarded  their  sincerity  by  giving 
them  the  substance  instead  of  the  shadow. 


It  is  pleasant  to  read  of  the  innocent  and  ap- 
propriate manner  in  which  the  French-Canadians 
of  Chicago  celebrated  W^^fete  of  their  patron,  St. 
Jean  -  Baptiste.  After  the  religious  ceremonies 
there  was  a  procession  in  which  two  thousand 
people  paraded,  as  part  of  the  allegorical  represen- 
tation of  Canadian  history  ;  and  the  display  was 
said  to  compare  favorably  with  those  in  the  large 
■cities  of  the  Dominion.  The  tricolor  of  France 
and  the  American  flag  waved  side  by  side  in  the 
French  Quarter,  and  the  people  were  exhorted  by 
their  leaders  and  the  clerg}^  not  to  let  their  love 
for  la  belle  Frarice  prevent  them  from  being  loj-al 
Americans  as  well. 

It  ought  to  be  recorded  to  the  credit  of  the 
French  capitalists  of  Nimes  that,  although  some 
of  the  property  of  that  diocese  has  been  seized  by 
the  French  Government,  none  of  them  have  of- 
fered to  buy  it.  It  remains  on  the  hands  of  the 
Government. 

One  who  has  recently  gone  over  much  of  the 
ground  traversed  by  Father  IMarquette,  La  Salle, 
and  the  other  intrepid  explorers  of  the  North- 
west, tells  of  the  mementos  of  their  journeys  which 
are  still  reverently  preserved  in  the  valley  of  the 
Illinois,  There  is  a  little  cannon  near  Starved 
Rock  with  which  La  Salle  used  to  salute  the 
rising  sun,  and  there  is  a  crucifix  believed  to  have 
been  worn  by  Marquette  himself.  It  is  of  the 
double-cross  form,  with  Christ  Crucified  upon  the 
obverse  and  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  her  Child 
upon  the  reverse  side.  The  tiny  ring  which  fas- 
tened it  to  a  rosary  has  been  worn  through,  show- 
ing how  it  was  lost.  Then  there  are  fiiiger  rings 


of  silver,  corroded  and  worn,  engraved  with  the 
letters  I.  H.  vS.  ;  and  a  cross,  and  the  camp  kettle 
of  La  vSalle  bearing  the  mark  of  the  Rouen  man- 
ufacturer ;  and  rude  Indian  rosaries  carv^ed  from 
pipe-stone  or  native  metals ;  and  a  jewelled  sword, 
or  one  that  was  jewelled  once,  of  which  no  one 
knows  the  owner. 

The  da}^  of  fortunate  "finds"  apparently  is 
not  yet  over,  observes  a  writer  in  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette,  who  a  short  time  ago  bought,  at  a  well- 
known  shop  in  the  west  end  of  London,  a  sketch  in 
red  chalk  representing  a  "Nativity,"  measuring 
about  thirty  square  inches.  Beneath  it  was  in- 
scribed ' '  Raphael  d'  Urbino, ' '  and  the  two  corners 
bore  the  famous  collectors'  marks  of  "B.  R.  H." 
and  "Sir  I.  R." — being  those  of  Benjamin  Robert 
Haydon  and  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  "Eighteen 
pence"  was  all  that  was  asked  for  the  sketch, 
which  is  valued  at  many  hundred  dollars. 


The  progress  of  Christianizing  Western  Bengal 
is  satisfactory  beyond  the  wildest  hopes.  It  is 
remarkable  that  English  writers  have  either  failed 
to  notice  or  entirely  ignored  the  strides  made  in 
India  by  the  Catholic  Church.  Whole  districts  are 
embracing  the  faith  ;  the  Jesuits,  Father  Huyghe 
and  Father  de  Smet,  recently  added  five  thousand 
new  Christians  to  the  Fold  in  the  province  of 
Chota-Nagpoor, 

Cardinal  Lavigerie,  following  the  example  of 
Mgr.  Freppel,  protests  forcibly  against  the  appli- 
cation of  the  French  conscription  laws  to  the 
Catholic  clergy.  He  says  that  French  priests  have 
never  refused  to  accept  the  responsibilities  of 
patriotism;  he  claims  the  dangers  of  the  battle- 
field for  priests,  but  he  will  not  admit  the  obliga- 
tion of  carrj-ing  arms. 

Among  the  names  of  the  English  committee 
who  countenanced  the  sacrilegious  statue  to  Gior- 
dano Bruno,  atheist  and  blasphemer,  are  Algernon 
Charles  Swinburne,  poet  of  unnamable  filth ; 
Bradlaugh,  openly  immoral  and  infidel ;  and 
Huxley,  who  puts  Science  in  place  of  Our  Lord. 

The  annual  report  of  the  Church  of  the  Immac- 
ulate Conception  in  New  York,  of  which  the  Rev. 
John  Edwards  is  rector,  has  reached  us.  It  shows 
a  condition  of  constant  progress,  particularly  in 
the  matter  of  schools, — Father  Edwards  being  one 
of  the  most  consistent  and  strenuous  advocates 
of  Catholic  education  in  this  countrj\ 


' '  Laicization ' '  was  a  word  lately  invented  in 
France  to  express  the  tearing  of  hospitals  and  in- 
stitutions of  charity  from  the  care  of  the  religious. 
Les  Annates  Catholiques  announces  that  another, 


i6 


The  Ave  Maria, 


now"delaicization,"  is  becoming  fashionable.  At 
Macon,  for  instance,  the  trustees  of  the  principal 
hospital  passed  a  resolution  recalling  the  Sisters. 
And  there  are  indications  that  this  movement 
will  become  general.  In  fact,  a  glance  over  the 
religious  world  shows  us  that  a  reaction  against 
materialism  is  setting  in. 

A  complete  and  well-preser\'ed  collection  of 
Italian  plants  was  lately  discovered  by  the  sub- 
director  of  the  Hertarium  at  Oxford.  The  collec- 
tion was  made  in  1605  by  a  Capuchin  named 
Gregorius  a  Reggio,  who  was  able  to  indicate  the 
names  of  the  plants  and  the  localities  where  they 
were  gathered.  The  AthencEimi  in  a  notice  of  this 
interesting  discovery  says  that  nothing  is  known 
of  Gregorius,  "though  he  must  have  been  a  good 
botanist."  

M.  Louet,  Mayor  of  Plumieux,  in  Brittany, 
declined  to  officiate  at  the  civil  marriage  of  a  man 
divorced  from  a  living  wife.  He  was  dismissed 
from  his  office,  and  the  whole  communal  council 
has  expressed  its  sympathy  by  resigning.  All 
honor  to  these  true  Bretons ! 


The  contents  of  the  volume  of  The  "Ave 
Maria"  just  concluded  will  be  ready  in  about 
ten  days.  Those  who  preserve  the  magazine  for 
binding — it  is  gratifying  to  notice  that  their 
number  is  constanth'  increasing — are  expected 
to  apply  for  these  additional  pages,  which  are 
sent  free  to  all  who  desire  them. 


New  Publications. 


Manuals   of  Catholic  Philosophy.    Logic. 

By  Richard  F.  Clarke,  S.J.    New  York,  Cincinnati 

and  Chicago :  Benziger  Brothers. 

This  is  another  of  the  "Stonyhurst  Series"  of 
;Manuals  of  Catholic  Philosophy,  two  volumes 
of  which — "The  First  Principles  of  Knowledge" 
and  "iNIoral  Philosophy" — have  already  been 
given  to  the  public.  The  present  volume,  though 
not  the  first  to  appear  in  the  order  of  time,  is,  as 
the  student  will  readily  understand,  the  first  in 
the  order  of  thought.  For  Logic,  or  the  Science 
and  Art  of  the  Laws  of  Thought,  is  at  the  vory 
foundation  of  all  philosophy  ;  in  fact,  it  enters 
into  the  other  branches  of  the  science  and  into  all 
sciences  ;  for  we  can  not  think  a  thought  without 
Logic  having  control  over  it.  How  important, 
then,  is  that  science  which  determines  the  laws 
by  which  the  mind  should  be  directed  in  the 
proper  exercise  of  those  grand  intellectual  facul- 
ties with  which  it  is  endowed,  and  by  which  one  is  I 
made  acquainted  with  those  processes  of  thought 


in  which  the  mind  engages  in  its  investigation 
of  truth,  and  in  the  exposition  and  destruction 
of  sophistries  and  false  reasonings  that  lead  into 
error!  It  becomes,  therefore,  a  matter  of  prime 
importance  to  place  in  the  hands  of  the  young 
student  a  text-book  of  Logic  in  which  such  correct 
principles  are  taught,  that  thus  he  may  not  only 
be  provided  with  a  safe  guide  for  himself,  but 
also  be  the  better  equipped  for  the  contest  with  the 
false  theories  now  so  extensively  disseminated. 
For  this  purpose,  a  good  solid  foundation  for 
proper  mental  culture  must  be  laid  at  the  outset ; 
and  as  a  means  to  this  end  nothing  could  be 
better  adapted  than  the  text-book  of  Logic,  which 
the  Rev.  Father  Clarke  has  prepared.  In  his 
preface  the  reverend  author  sums  up  in  one  sen- 
tence the  many  points  of  excellence  to  be  found 
in  his  book,  which  it  would  require  pages  to  de- 
scribe. He  says  :  "  It  is  the  object  of  the  present 
Manual  of  Logic  to  lead  back  the  English  student 
into  the  safe  paths  of  the  ancient  wisdom,  to  point 
out  where  it  is  that  the  speculations  of  modem 
philosophizers  have  quitted  the  well-trodden 
high-road  of  truth,  and  to  at  least  indicate  the 
precipices  of  inconsistency  and  self-contradiction 
to  which  they  conduct  the  unhappy  learner  who 
allows  himself  to  be  guided  by  them."  And  the 
student  who  has  read  and  carefully  studied  the 
contents  of  this  volume  will  realize  how  well  and 
successfully  Father  Clarke  has  attained  the  object 
which  he  proposed  to  himself  in  this  work. 

The  need  of  a  good  Catholic  text-book  of  Logic 
in  English  has  been  long  felt  in  our  colleges  and 
academies.  There  are  indeed  Latin  treatises  that 
are  excellent,  and  have  proved  productive  of  much 
good,  thanks  to  the  indefatigable  labors  of  com- 
petent instructors  ;  but  the  books  themselves  are 
quite  unsuited  for  young  students,  apart  from  the 
mere  difficulties  of  the  language.  Their  strange 
phraseology,  the  technicalities  of  their  style^ 
"the  cut-and-dried  method  they  pursue  in  their 
advance  from  principles  to  conclusions,"  their 
complete  separation  from  modern  habits  of 
thought  and  speech,  render  them  unintelligible 
to  ordinary  students  without  an  elaborate  ex- 
planation on  the  part  of  the  teacher.  All  these 
difficulties  are  removed  by  the  present  Manual, 
wherein  this  important  branch  of  study  is  put  in 
a  more  simple  and  attractive  form.  The  scholastic 
system — the  only  safe  sj'stem — has  indeed  been 
closely  adhered  to  throughout  the  work,  but  the 
scholastic  terms  have  been  carefully  explained 
and  rendered  into  words  which  readily  convey 
their  true  meaning. 

The  work  may  well  be  recommended  as  the  best 
treatise  on  Logic  in  English  that  has  thus  far 
appeared.  Father  Clarke  has  brought  to  its  prep- 


The  Ave  Maria* 


aration  the  resources  of  a  more  than  ordinarily 
gifted  mind,  correct  literar>^  taste  and  expression, 
and  a  d^ep  philosophical  acumen  and  power, 
joined  to  the  advantages  resulting  from  years  of 
practical  experience  in  the  class  and  lecture  room. 
>Ve  have  no  doubt  that  his  ' '  Logic ' '  will  long 
remain  a  standard  work  in  our  colleges,  and  we 
earnestly  trust  that  it  will  speedily  meet  with 
the  extended  circulation  it  richly  merits. 

Campion.    A  Tragedy  in  a  Prologue  and  Four 
Acts,    By  the  Rev.  G.  Longhaye,  S.J.    Translated 
into  English  Blank  Verse  by  James  Gillow  Morgan. 
London  and  New  York:  Bums  &  Gates. 
Father  Longhaye' s  dramatic  works  deserve  to 
be  better  known.   Attention  was  drawn  to  him 
by  the  author  of  "The  Theatre  and  Christian 
Parents ' '  several  years  ago ;  but  it  led  to  noth- 
ing, except  an  ephemeral  interest  and  an  attempt 
to  translate  "Les  Fils  d'O' Conor"  for  a  boys' 
school.  It  is  a  pity  that  Catholic  preceptors  who 
hold,  with  Racine  and  Madame  de  Maintenon, 
that  the  dramatic  art  should  be  a  part  of  edu- 
cation, should  content  themselves  with  vulgar 
farces  or  Shakespearean  parodies,  when  plays  of 
real  dramatic  worth  specially  written  for  their 
purpose  are  at  their  service. 

Father  Longhaye  is  well  known   in  France. 
He  has  been  mentioned  with  respect  by  competent 
critics,  and  he  occupies  a  niche  of  his  own  in 
recognized  dramatic  art.  To  the  American  reader, 
his  plays  are  best  expressed  in  the  form  Father 
Morgan  gives  to  ' '  Campion. ' '   In  French  they  are 
trammelled  by  the  recurrent  rhj'me  of  French 
tragedy, — a  rhyme  which  not  even  the  modula- 
tions of  Coquelin  could  make  endurable  to  the 
English-hearing  ear.    Father  Longhaye' s    dra- 
matic expression  is  admirably,  almost  literally, 
re-expressed  by  Father  Morgan.  The  dignity,  the 
pathos,  the  dramatic  force  of  "Campion"  gain 
rather  than  lose  in  the  translation.  For  instance. 
Campion,  the  martyr,  says  in  French: 
"  O  milord,  vous  approchez  la  reine: 
Eh  bien!  que  voire  voix  porte  a  Sa  Majeste 
Ce  cri  d'un  pretre  an  seine  de  son  eternity ; 
Vous  tenez  de  plein  droit  le  sceptre  h^reditaire, 
Vous  tenez  dans  vos  mains  I'ame  d'Angleterre, 
Et  quel  terrible  conipte  en  rendrez-vous  un  jour? 
Du  centre  d'unite,  de  luniiere,  d'amour 
Pourquoi  la  detacher,  cette  ame  g^nereuse  ? 
La  ferez-vous  ainsi  plus  pure,  plus  heureuse?  " 

The  sentiment  in  this  speech  is  high,  nobly 
passionate;  but  the  rhyme  is  irritating.   Father 
Morgan  re-expresses  it:    ^ 
"  So  let  thy  voice  bear  to  Her  Majesty 
This  weighty  message  which  a  humble  priest 
Sends  from  the  threshold  of  Eternity  : 
'  Thy  crown  is  thine  by  right  of  heritage,    i 
And  England's  soul  thou  bearest  in  thy  haiids. 


A  dread  account  thou  needst  must  one  day  give, 

Wliy  wrench  that  soul  entrusted  to  thy  charge 

From  out  the  centre  of  unfailing  Light, 

Of  unity,  of  love,  of  lasting  Truth  ? 

Wilt  thereby  render  it  more  glad,  more  pure  ? 

Doth  it  behove  a  wise  man  or  a  king 

To  poison  faith  within  a  nation's  breast?  '  " 

This  scene  between  Campion  and  Leicester  is 
dramatically  strong,  and  Father  ]\Iorgan,  unlike 
most  translators,  has  not  weakened  it.  We  hope 
that  "Campion"  may  be  followed  by  the  other 
plays  of  Father  Longhaye,  who  is  both  a  Jesuit 
and  a  man  of  genius, — and  that  is  a  dazzling 
combination. 

The  Pope  and  Ireland.  By  Stephen  J.  Mc- 
Cormick.  San  Francisco :  A.Waldteufel.  New  York, 
Cincinnati  and  Chicago  :  Benziger  Brothers. 
The  talented  editor  of  the  San  Francisco  Mon- 
itor has  given  us  in  this  volume  some  new  light 
on  an  old  question — viz.,  the  relation  of  the  Popes 
to  Ireland.  He  shows  by  a  complete  array  of 
authorities,  old  and  new,  that  the  bulls  in  regard 
to  Ireland  attributed  to  Pope  Adrian  IV.  and  Pope 
Alexander  III.  are  nothing  but  forgeries ;  and 
this,  not  by  means  of  a  dry  historico-theological 
treatise,  but  in  a  series  of  sprightly  and  interest- 
ing articles,  which  the  most  inveterate  newspaper 
reader  will  not  find  too  heavy  for  him.  The  sketch 
of  the  union  existing  for  seven  centuries  between 
the  Catholic  Church  and  Ireland  is  admirably 
drawn  ;  and,  taken  as  a  whole,  we  may  say  that 
the  book  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  we  have 
read  for  some  time. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bunds,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii,  3. 

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

The  Rev.  Patrick  Farrelly,|the  venerable  rector  of 
St.  Michael's  Church,  Galena,  111.,  who  died  last 
month,  aged  ninety  years. 

Sister  Mary  Michael,  of  the^Sisters  of  Notre  Dame, 
Baltimore,  Md.;  Sister  Mary  Gertrude,  O.  S.  F.,  Glen 
Riddle,  Pa. ;  and  Sister  M.  Barbara,  of  the  Sisters  of 
Charity,  Cleveland,  O. 

Mr.  Louis  P.  Kilpatrick,  who  departed  this  life  on 
the  13th  ult.,  at  Aiken,  S.  C. 

Mrs.  Mary  Chausse,  of  Vermilion,  Dakota,  who 
passed  away  last  month. 

Mrs.  Sarah  Meagher,  whose  happy  death  occurred 
on  the  27th  of  May  at  Newark,  N.J. 

Michael  J.  Kerwin,  of  Newark,  N.J. ;  Mr.  E.  Moran, 
San  Mateo,  Cal. ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hennessey,  Dorchester, 
Mass. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


i8 


The  Ave  Maria, 


PARTMENT 


Our  Mother  All  the  Same. 

'  "^  IS  Our  Lady  of  the  Roses, 
U^    Or  Our  Lady  of  the  Snow,— 
One  when  the  spring  uncloses, 

One  when  the  cold  winds  blow; 
But  whether  winds  are  calling, 

Or  roses  burst  in  flame, 
Or  April  rains  are  falling, 

'Tis  Our  Mother  all  the  same! 


The  Jose-Maria. 


BY   E.  t.  DORSEY. 


That  was  a  very  black  day  for  the  inmates 
of  the  little  grey  cottage  just  beyond  Glouces- 
ter,— the  day  the  Elizabeth  Jane  q.2,vi\^  stalking 
in  like  a  ghost  out  of  the  clinging  mist:  the 
first  ship  home  of  the  long-looked-for  fishing 
fleet.  It  needed  only  a  glance  to  discover  that 
there  was  something  wrong  with  her;  for  her 
flag  hung  at  half-mast,  and  her  anchor  was  let 
go  without  the  usual  cheer.  The  groups  on 
shore  looked  at  one  another  with  pallid  faces, 
and  hearts  beat  fast  in  the  grip  of  fear ;  for  no 
one  knew  just  where  the  blow  would  strike. 

But  not  even  these  anxious  ones  shrank 
from  the  truth  as  nerv^ously  as  the  stalwart 
skipper  of  the  Elizabeth  Jane ;  for  he  had  to 
break  it  to  the  little  woman  who  stood  some- 
what apart  from  the  others,  with  two  babies 
hanging  to  her  skirts,  and  a  sturdy,  barelegged 
boy  standing  at  her  side.  He  would  rather 
have  faced  the  fiercest  "norther"  that  could 
rage;  for  his  news  was  that  her  husband, 
Eliakim  Barlow,  A.  B.,  had  met  with  the  fate 
of  so  many  who  go  to  the  Grand  Banks  for 
the  "catch," — that  he  would  never  hand  and 
reef  and  steer  again,  nor  look  on  the  faces  of 
his  children,  nor  answer  any  hail  fi-om  mate 
or  fi-iend,  "till  the  sea  gives  up  its  dead." 

It  was  a  story  old  in  the  monotone  of  a 
hundred  years  of  happening  on  that  coast,  but 
as  new  and  awful  to  the  widow  as  if  she  had 


never  started  up  fi-om  her  sleep  a  score  of 
times,  shrieking  aloud,  with  its  terror  fore- 
shadowed in  her  dreams. 

And  the  wa}'-  of  it  was  old,  too.  He  had 
gone  in  the  dory  early  one  morning  to  look 
at  the  trawls — 3^oung  Dan  Frost  with  him, — 
and  the  fog  had  come  down  on  them,  and  then 
— well, well!  God  help  the  sailor-man  adrift  on 
the  great  Atlantic,  with  the  fogs  smothering 
his  chances  for  life,  and  the  mysterious  tides 
that  ebb  and  flow  about  the  Banks  clutching 
at  him,  and  dragging  him  to  his  death! 

The  captain  got  through  his  stor}^  some- 
how, but  he  combed  the  sweat  from  his  fore- 
head with  his  honi}^  hand  and  shook  his 
bushy  head  when  he  finished ;  for,  instead  of 
shrieking  and  fainting,  she  listened  in  abso- 
lute silence,  after  the  first  gasp  of  anguish ; 
and  then  turned  in  a  dazed,  blinded  way,  and 
stumbled  unsteadil}^  back  to  the  hut,  where 
everything  was  scrubbed  to  shining  neatness, 
and  some  humble  attempt  had  been  made  at 
decoration  to  welcome  the  sailor's  return.  She 
sat  in  the  corner  all  evening,  looking  stonily 
in  front  of  her,  till  the  two  little  children  cried 
at  her  knee,  frightened  by  her  silence  and  the 
strange  look  in  her  face.  But  though  she 
patted  the  little  tow-heads  mechanically,  it 
was  one  of  the  neighbors  who  put  them  to  bed 
and  hushed  their  sobbing;  while  another 
kindly  heart  tried  to  comfort  her  with  words 
and  sjmipathetic  tears,  shed  half  in  memory 
of  a  similar  grief,  and  half  because  of  the  dry, 
stricken  ej^es  of  the  other. 

But  not  then  nor  for  years  after  did  poor 
Idella  Barlow  know  the  relief  tears  bring; 
and  the  old  wives  shook  their  heads  and 
whispered  to  one  another  that  she'd  been 
"  called, ' '  and  would  soon  follow  her  husband 
to  the  heaven  of  such  grieved  hearts, — the 
heaven  "where  there  is  no  more  sea." 

Far  into  the  night  the  women  came  and 
went,  and  'Liakim's  shipmates  stood  in 
couples  and  threes  about  the  doorwaj^,  their 
sou' westers  off"  in  the  presence  of  that  silent 
grief.  But  in  a  few  days  the  ripple  was  past ; 
other  ships  came  staggering  in  fi-om  the  flying 
death  of  the  great  deep,  and  some  never  made 
port  at  all ;  and  in  niany  of  the  fishermen's 
huts  the  fierce  struggle  for  bread  choked  the 
cries  of  the  widow  and  orphan,  and  numbed 
sympathy  and  heart-break  alike. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


19 


Ah !  those  women  of  Gloucester  know  what 
is  meant  by  that  strange  verse  in  tlie  Old 
Testament:  "Weep  not  for  him  who  dieth, 
but  for  him  who  goeth  into  a  far  country ;  for 
he  shall  return  nevermore. ' '  The  wind  means 
death  to  them,  the  mist  is  a  shroud,  the  sea  is 
a  vast  grave,  and  the  fish — they  have  a  song 
about  the  fish,  learned  from  their  Scotch 
sisters,  and  one  verse  runs : 
' '  Buy  my  caller  herring ! 

They're  boiinie  fish  and  wholesome  faring. 
Buy  my  caller  herring,  new-drawn  from  out  the  Forth. 

When  yovi  are  sleeping  on  your  pillows 

Dream  you  aught  of  our  poor  fellows. 

Darkling  as  they  face  the  billows, 

All  to  fill  our  woven  willows?  (creels) 
Buy  my  caller  herring ! 

They're  not  brought  here  without  brave  daring. 
Buy  my  caller  herring.  You  little  know  their  worth. 

Who'll  bu}'  my  caller  herring? 

O  you  may  call  them  vulgar  faring! 

Wives  and  mothers  most  despairing. 
Call  them  '  Lives  of  Men. '"  * 

That  was  a  dreadful  season ;  and,  though 
Dick  did  all  a  boy  of  twelve  could  do,  affairs 
grew  worse,  until  one  day  the  end  came.  He 
missed  his  mother,  and  only  after  a  long  search 
found  her  on  the  shore,  dressed  in  her  poor 
best,  and  gesticulating  and  talking  to  herself. 

'^He  ain't  dead.  It's  all  a  mistake.  Seth 
Baxter' a  a  reel  good  man,  but  he  ain't  got 
'I^iakim's  message  straight.  He  didn't  stay  in 
thet  dor3^  He  got  aboard  his  own  ship  thet 
was  anchored  off  the  Banks,  an'  went  a-cruise 
to  the  West  Injies;  fur  thet  left  lung  was  a 
lee-W!^  tetched.  An'  now  he's  a-comin'  home, 
an'  we're  goin'  to  be  reel  comf  table.  I  kin 
see  the  topsails  of  the  Idella — yes,  thet's  what 
he  calls  her, — the  Idella  d  Gloucester.  Them's 
^  the  topsails  arisin'  over  theer,  an'  I  shouldn't 
be  a  mite  s' prised  ef  he  made  port  to-night." 

She  spoke  so  confidently  that  Dick  looked 
seaward  quite  bewildered,  but  he  only  saw 
two  little  white  clewds  drifting  and!  shifting 
on  the  horizon  ;  and  then  he  looked\again  at 
the  face  of  his  mother,  and  her  glittering  eyes, 
bflght  color  and  strange,  eager  look\bore  in  j 
upon  htm  the  awful  fact  that  she  had  ' '  gone 
luny."  He  would  have  liked  to  sit  doWn  and 
bur>^  his  face  in  her  apron  and  cry;  but  he  was 
the  man  of  the  family  now,  and  not  only  had 

*  Their  "  faring ' '  is  the  cod,  but  it  is  the  principle 
that  makes  them  akin. 


to  keep  up  his  courage  but  to  think,  and  think 
quickly,  what  had  best  be  done. 

"Don't  you  see,  Dick?"  she  said,  waving 
her  hand  and  nodding.    * '  Daddy's  comin' ,  an' 
then  you  kin  go  to  school,  an'  MoUie  an' 
Ginnie"  (these  were  the  twins,  whose  "given 
names"    were   Mary    Ginevra   and   Ginevra 
Mary)  '  *  kin  have  some  little  shoes  an'  some 
new  dresses,  an'  /'U  take  it  easy  fiir  a  spell. 
Gimme  some  of  them  hollyhocks  here ;  your 
daddy  al'ays  liked  to  see  me  with  'em  in  my 
hair  when  I  was  a  gell.   Gimme  the  red  ones  ; 
he  says  they  look  best  with  my  kind  o'  hair. 
Don't   stand   starin'  like   a   stockfish,   boy ! 
Theer's  the  posies — under  your  nose  theer." 
Dick  did  look  like  a  stockfish  as  he  gaped 
in  astonishment;   for  the  "hollyhocks"  his 
mother  pointed  to  were  nothing  but  a  bunch 
of  sea-weed — kelp  or  pulse — of  such  a  dull 
sage-green  that  only  a  mad  fancy  could  have 
imagined  it  a  bright  flower.  And  his  dismay 
grew  when,  snatching  up  the  weed,  she  shook 
down  her  hair — streaked  through  all  its  black 
tendrils   with   broad  bands  of  white, — and 
twined  it  fantastically  in  and  out,  the  "  Jacob' s- 
tears ' '  and  bits  of  sea-grass  fluttering  in  the 
wind  that  blew  softly  in  with  the  turning  tide. 
"Theer!"  she  said.    "I  guess  thet'll  do. 
Now  I'd  better  go  home  an'  cook  a  mess  of 
picked-up  cod  against  his  comin'  in.  He  says 
I  kin  beat  any  cook  he  knows  a-doin'  thet.''' 
And  she  walked  by  his  side,  talking  on  and 
on  till  they  reached  the  hut;  and  then  Dick 
shot  off  as  fast  as  he  could  go  to  the  summer 
hotel  to  ask  the  gentleman  he  had  been  row- 
ing about  all  day  to  come  down  and  look  at  his 
mother,  for  he  had  heard  him  called  Doctor; 
and  on  his  way  he  asked  the  Widow  Bascom 
to  go  up  and  stay  with  her  till*  he  got  back. 
It  was  a  long  tramp  there  and  back,  but 
the  Doctor  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the  boy  in  the 
fishing  and  rowing  excursions  they  had  made 
together,  and  he  came  without  a  word.  And 
Dick  never  knew  till  long  after  that  he  had 
oalkd  in  one  of  the  most  famous  nen^e  physi- 
cians of  the  day,  and  that  he  had  been  given 
gratis  that  which  money  could  hardly  pur- 
chase.  Doctor  M prescribed  a  sedative, 

and  said,  "Humor  her,  but  watch  her.'' 

lyuckily,  the  madness  ran  in  the  one  groove, 
and  every  day  its  phases  were  repeated  with 
the  regularity  of  clock-work  :  the  morning 


20 


The  Ave  Maria. 


would  see  her  hopeful,  the  afternoon  excited 
over  the  imagined  sails  she  had  sighted ;  the 
evening  was  busily  and  happily  filled  with 
household  cares ;  but  the  night  would  leave 
her  prostrated  with  the  disappointment.  The 
only  change  apparent  was  in  bad  weather. 
Then  she  grew  restless,  and  could  not  be  kept 
in  the  house  at  all,  but  would  stand  for  hours 
exposed  to  the  force  of  the  storm,  her  eyes 
shielded  under  her  hand,  peering  through  rain 
and .  fog  for  the  ship  that  was  never  built  by 
mortal  shipwrights;  and  any  effort  to  take 
her  home  or  to  restrain  her  resulted  in  violent 
struggles  and  screaming  attacks  that  ex- 
hausted her  terribly. 

The  town  committee  took  up  the  matter 
finally,  and  made  arrangements  to  put  her  in 
the  Asylum  for  the  Pauper  Insane,  to  put  the 
twins  into  the  poor-house  till  further  provis- 
ion could  be  made  for  them,  and  to  bind  Dick 
out  to  Seth  Baxter  as  cabin-boy  aboard  the 
Elizabeth  Jane.  But  the  morning  the  properly 
commissioned  authorities  came  to  put  their 
well-meant  plans  into  execution  the}^  found 
the  hut  closed,  the  key  hung  on  the  door,  and 
a  badly  spelled  but  honestly  meant  card  asking 
that  the  "  funicher  will  be  soled  to  pa}^  the 
rent,  as  we  ain't  got  enny  munney  fur  it." 

Some  one  remembered  vaguely  hearing  of 
a  brother  of  Idella's,  who  lived  "down  South, 
in  Jersey  or  Virginia  or  some  place  about 
theer."  Some  wondered  at  the  silent  flitting, 
the  majority  commended  it — for  there  is  noth- 
ing a  native-boni  American  fights  so  shy  of  as 
a  poor-house, — and  all  agreed  that  "thetboy 
had  a  hefty  load  to  kerry."   As  indeed  he  had. 

II. 

Of  late  years  this  brother  had  been  almost 
as  vaguely  remembered  by  Idella  herself  (for 
when  she  was  bom  he  was  a  bearded  man  sail- 
ing round  the  Horn  and  trading  in  the  marts 
of  China  and  the  East  Indies)  as  iiis  name 
and  whereabouts  were  by  the  good  folks  of 
Gloucester ;  but  there  was  one  member  of  the 
family  who  cherished  him  as  a  hero,  and  this 
w^as  Dick.  Ever  since  he  had  first  heard  of 
him,  and  though  the  material  on  which  his 
imagination  had  to  feed  was  scanty,  he  had 
erected  him  into  such  a  substantial  being  that 
it  seemed  perfectly  natural  to  bear  dowh  on 
him  when,  bv  the  doctor's  aid  and  connivance, 


the}^  gave  the  slip  to  the  well-disposed  public 
officers  who  wished  to  provide  for  them  at 
the  public  expense. 

So  one  fine  afternoon,  as  Jonas  Judkins  sat 
in  front  of  his  house  in  the  to^^^l  of  lyewes, 
Delaware,  comfortably  smoking  his  pipe,  with 
one  or  two  brother  tars,  a  small,  ragged  urchin 
darted  up  to  him  and  piped  shrilly  :  "A  crazy 
woman's  a-askin'  fur  you  at  the  deppo"  (de- 
pot);  then  ran  to  the  curbstone  to  enjoy  the 
effect  of  his  announcement. 

It  was  not  what  he  expected;  for  Jonas, 
serene  in  the  consciousness  that  he  didn't 
know  any  crazy  women,  and  did  know  little 
Tic  Stokes  and  his  ways,  said  nothing,  but 
went  on  smoking  with  a  disregard  of  the 
youngster  peculiarly  galling  to  the  bearer  of 
really  stirring  news. 

"I  say,  Mr. Judkins,  this  is  honest  Injun. 
Thar's  a  crazy  woman  a-askin'  an'  a-hollerin- 
fur  you  at  the  deppo,  an'  a  boy  'bout  as  big's 
me  a-tryin'  to  hush  her  up,  an'  two  little  baby 
gals  a-whimperin',  an'  a  whole  lot  o'  people 
a-tryin'  to — " 

"I  think,"  said  Jonas  slowly,  taking  his 
pipe  from  his  mouth  and  blowing  aside  the 
smoke,  "that  a  good  rope's  end  laid  on  that 
boy  lively  would  be  a  blessin'  and  a  kindness ; 
and  I,  fur  one,  don't  never  grudge  a  kind- 
ness to  a  widder's  son  that  ain't  got  no  father 
to  bring  him  up  the  way  he'd  ought  to  go." 

And  the  other  skippers  took  their  pipes  out 
of  their  mouths  and  grunted:   "Aye,  aye! " 

Whereupon  Master  Tic,  sorely  alarmed  for 
his  wiry  legs  and  muscular  back,  bawled: 

"'Deed  an'  'deed  an'  double  'deed,  cross- 
my-heart-an'-die-like-a-dog,  ef  it  ain't  so!" 

Now,  this  along  the  coast  is  a  stronger  proof 
of  truth  than  an  affidavit,  and  so  Jonas  knew ; 
wherefore,  laying  down  his  pipe,  he  got  up 
and  walked  toward  the  boy,  saying  harshly, 

"Stop  your  foolin',  you  little  sprat,  and  tell 
me  what  you're  drivin'  at."  (He  had  no 
notion  he  was  rhyming.) 

"Thar's  a  crazy  woman  at  the  deppo,"  be- 
gan Tic,  whimpering  and  ducking  away  from 
the  big  sailor;  '^an'  she's  a-askin'  fur  you  an' 
a-cryin' — look  here,"  he  broke  off  suddenly; 
"I  ain't  agoin'  to  tell  you  no  more.  I  done 
give  yoa  the  fac's  oncet,  an'  I  ain't  agoin'  to 
do  it  agin,  with  you  a-swaggerin'  an'  a-bull3in' 
me  that  a-way.  'Tain't  fair,  so  thar! " 


The  Ave  Maria. 


And  he  dug  eight  surprisingly  dirty  knuc- 
kles in  "two  aggrieved  ej-es, 

"Thet's  so,"  said  Jonas.  "Here's  a  penny 
an'  my  'pology  along  with  it.  But  you're  such 
a  little  liar,"  he  added,  with  the  frankness 
peculiar  to  primitive  peoples,  ' '  I  never  know 
when  to  believe  you.  Thar  was  a  boy  oncet 
that  hollered  wolf — ' ' 

' '  I  say  there,  Cap'  n !  There' s  a  queer  racket 
at  the  deppo.  You're  wanted,  and  wanted  bad, 
I  should  say, ' '  broke  in  a  new  voice. 

It  was  one  of  the  firemen  off  the  evening 
train  just  in  from  Wilmington ;  and,  as  he  was 
a  steady-going  young  fellow,  of  verbal  habits 
quite  different  from  those  of  Master  Stokes, 
Judkins  with  a  puzzled  ' '  I  vum ! ' '  started  for 
the  little  Gothic  cottage  which  did  duty  as 
a  station.  He  pushed  his  way  through  the 
crowd  gathered  in  a  compact  ring  at  one  end 
of  the  platform,  and  saw  a  woman  wringing 
her  hands  and  plucking  at  the  arms  of  a  boy 
who  held  her  with  a  strength  far  be^^ond  his 
years.  Two  little  girls  clung  to  each  other 
near  by,  crying  in  a  silent,  suppressed  way, 
as  unnatural  as  it  was  pathetic. 

"I  want  my  brother!"  she  was  panting — 
' '  my  brother !  Won' t  somebody  go  tell  him  his 
own  sister's  here? — the  one  he  brought  the 
vases  and  shoes  to  from  Chiny,  tell  him.  Go 
quick,  fur  they're  a-tryin'  to  drag  me  away!  I 
can't  git  word  to  my  husband,  an' ef  Jonas 
don't  come,  'lyiakim  an'  the  childern'll  never 
know  wheer  I've  gone  to.  I've  lost  my  boy 
and  my  little  gells" — sobbing  most  pitifully, 
— "an'  I  do  w^ant  my  brother.  Please  go  tell 
him!" 

And  then  she  would  begin  all  over  again, 
repeating  it  until  it  was  incoherent,  and  she 
would  have  to  stop  from  exhaustion.  And  all 
the  time  the  boy  held  her  close,  with  set  teeth, 
saying  now  and  then,  "Theer,  marm,  theer! 
Don't  take  on  so.   He'll  come  presently." 

"Who's  a-wantin'  me  ? ' '  asked  Jonas,  in  his 
clear,  sharp  voice.  ' 

"Be  you  Cap'n  Jonas  Judkins?"  cfied  the 
bo}',  Avith  new  courage  and  hope  lighting  his 
face  and  tightening  his  tired  arms.      \ 

"Yes.  Wniat  of  it?"  1 

"Then  you're  \\\y  uncle,  an'  we've  cbme  to 
live  with  you."  1 

' '  The  Dickens  you  have ! ' '  Jonas  \Tas  on 
the  point  of  saying;   but  the  forlorn  group 


struck  him  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  he 
said  instead:  "An'  who  arejj'^/^.^" 

"I'm  Dick  Barlow;  an'  this  here's  marm, 
your  sister;  an'  these  is  the  twins." 

"Lord,  Lord!"  muttered  Jonas,  with  an 
inaudible  whistle.  "That  can't  be  Idella ! 
Why,  she  was  a  baby  only  t'other  day,  an'  th.' s 
here's  a  old  woman  with  white  hair  and  a 
handful  of  children !  W^hat's  gone  o'  your 
father?"  he  asked  aloud,  eying  Dick  sharply. 

' '  He's — he  didn't  never  come  back  from  the 
Grand  Banks.  He  went  out  to  the  trawls, 
an'  — the — fog — ' ' 

And  poor  Dick,  too  proud  to  cr}%  too  mis- 
erable to  go  on,  stopped,  choking. 

"Sho  now  ! "  said  Jonas.  '.'Thet's  too  bad. 
What  sort  of  a  skipper  did  he  hev?" — and  a 
spark  of  fire  burnt  in  his  grey  eyes. 

'  'A  good  un, "  answered  Dick.  * '  He  sounded 
the  horn  an'  tolled  the  bell  an'  fired  the  old 
flintlock  all  day.  Then  when  it  got  dark  he 
sent  off  the  blue  lights.  But  it  come  on  to 
blow  that  night — " 

"Humph!  Then  he  done  his  duty,  an'  theer 
ain't  no  call  fur  wrath  flim  me.  But  we  must 
get  away  fum  here.  Hi  there,  Marshall!  Fetch 
up  one  o'  your  teams.  An'  you' git  out!"  he 
said  unceremoniously  to  the  crowd,  who  lis- 
tened as  eagerly  to  the  conversation  as  they 
had  stared  before.  "Come  Idella,"  he  went 
on,  not  ungently ;  "come  along  home." 

"Is  'Liakim  theer?"  she  asked,  looking  out 
tow^ard  the  breakwater  against  whose  black 
breast  the  spray  surged. 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised,"  he  answered, 
desperately — though  nothing  would  have  sur- 
prised him  more ;  for  '  a  lie,  big  or  little,  yaller 
or  brown,  stuck  in  his  craw,'  as  he  always 
said  of  himself. 

"Then  I'll  go,"  she  said,  promptly.  "You're 
his  mate,  I  presume?"  she  added,  with  an 
interested  look.  "How  is  he ?  And  how  does 
the  Idella  go?  She's  a  pretty  ship,  an'  it  was 
reel  clever  (good)  of  him  to  name  her  after 
me.  Did  he  have  an}-  luck  out  theer  in  the 
West  Injies?  I  hope  so,  fur  then  he  kin  stay 
to  home  a  spell." 

"What's  she  a-talkin'  about?"  asked  Jonas, 
dismayed.  And  when  Dick  tapped  his  fore- 
head behind  her  back,  and  whispered  to  him 
to  agree  to  everything  she  said,  he  hurriedly 
told  him  :  "Here,  toy,  jw^'d  better  take  your 


22 


TJie  Ave  Maria. 


ma  ill  tow,  and  I'll  manage  tlie  yonngsters." 
And  he  swung  Gine\T:a  Mary  and  Mary 
GinevTa  up  in  his  arms  pretty  much  as  a  big 
mastiff  might  pick  up  two  miserable  stray 
kittens,  and  made  for  the  day  ton  Marshall  had 
brought,  at  a  pace  that  set  their  little  heads 
bobbing  furiously,  and  impressed  them  with 
the  fact  that  this  big  uncle  was  another  sort 
of  "steam-car"  (locomotive),  differing  only  in 
degree  from  the  one  that  had  shrieked  and 
puffed  all  day  long,  trailing  them  so  fast  across 
the  country  that  their  eyes  were  dazzled,  and 
jarring  them  so  that  ever)^  bone  in  their  thin 
little  bodies  ached. 

(to  be  continued.) 


A  Legend  of  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne. 


Several  years  before  the  foundation  stone 
of  the  famous  Cathedral  was  laid,  there  lived 
a  man  who  was  far  in  advance  of  all  his 
contemporaries  in  the  cultivation  of  human 
knowledge.  This  was  Albertus  Magnus,  of  the 
Order  of  St.  Dominic*  At  this  period  Conrad 
von  Hochstaden  occupied  the  archiepiscopal 
throne  at  Cologne,  and  had  for  some  time  been 
engrossed  with  the  thought  of  erecting  a  vast 
and  majestic  cathedral.  With  this  object  in 
view  he  caused  the  friar  to  be  summoned  be- 
fore him,  and  directed  him  to  design  a  plan  for 
the  erection  of  a  building  which  should  eclipse 
in  splendor  all  then  existing  structures. 

Albertus  cogitated  day  and  night  in  his 
lonely  cell  over  the  grand  idea  which  had 
been  entrusted  to  him;  he  praj-ed  fervently 
and  continuously  that  God  would  assist  him. 
But,  notwithstanding  all  his  meditation  and 
prayer,  a  mist  seemed  to  enshroud  his  imag- 
ination ;  no  picture  that  he  could  reduce  to 
shape  would  present  itself  His  heart  was 
bowed  down  with  anxiety  as  in  the  silent 
watches  of  the  night  he  sat  immersed  in 
thought  and  reflection;  and  yet  the  shadowy 
outline  of  a  superb  temple  floated  before  his 
mind  and  seemed  to  fill  his  thoughts.  When 
he  was  tired  out  with  the  strain  of  mental  ex- 


*  Albertus,  born  in  the  j-ear  1193  at  Lauiugen  in 
Suabia,  was  descended  from  the  noble  house  of  Boll- 
stedt.  He  died  at  Cologne  on  the  15th  of  November, 
1280,  in  his  eighty-seventh  year,  much  respected  and 
admired  for  his  piety  and  learning. 


ertion,  he  would  cast  himself  upon  his  knees 
and  implore  the  Blessed  Virgin  to  assist  him 
in  the  task  which  he  was  unable  to  accomplish 
alone.  In  this  way  weeks  passed  by. 

On  one  occasion,  when  Albertus  had  been 
sitting  by  the  flickering  light  of  his  lamp, 
deeply  immersed  in  the  construction  of  a  de- 
sign, after  offering  a  fen'ent  prayer  for  help, 
he  became  overpowered  with  sleep.  It  may 
have  been  midnight  when  he  awoke.  His  cell 
was  filled  with  a  heavenly  radiance,  and  the 
door  leading  to  the  hall  of  the  monastery  was 
standing  open.  Albertus  rose  in  terror  from 
his  seat ;  it  seemed  as  if  a  flash  of  lightning 
had  passed  before  his  eyes,  and  he  became 
aware  of  four  men  dressed  in  white  cassocks 
entering  his  cell,  with  crowns  of  burnished 
gold,  glistening  like  fire,  on  their  heads.  The 
first  was  a  grave  old  man,  with  a  long,  flowing 
white  beard  covering  his  breast;  in  his  hand 
he  held  a  pair  of  compasses ;  the  second,  some- 
what younger  in  appearance,  carried  a  mason's 
square ;  the  third,  a  powerful  man,  whose  chin 
was  covered  with  a  dark  curly  beard,  .held  a 
rule ;  and  the  fourth,  a  handsome  youth  with 
auburn  locks,  brought  a  level.  They  walked 
in  with  grave  and  solemn  tread,  and  behind 
them,  in  all  her  celestial  beauty,  came  Our 
Lady,  carrying  in  her  right  hand  a  lily  stalk 
with  brightly  gleaming  flowers.  She  made  a 
sign  to  her  companions,  whereupon  the}^  pro- 
ceeded to  sketch,  with  practiced  hands,  a  de- 
sign in  lines  of  fire  upon  the  bare  walls  of 
the  cell.  The  pillars  rose  on  high,  the  arches 
curv'ed  to  meet  them,  and  two  majestic  towers 
soared  into  the  blue  vault  of  heaven.  Albertus 
stood  lost  in  contemplation  and  admiration  of 
the  glorious  picture  thus  presented  to  his  gaze. 

As  suddenly  as  it  had  appeared,  the  heavenly 
vision  again  vanished,  and  Albertus  found 
himself  alone;  but  the  plan  of  the  splendid 
edifice,  which  had  been  drawn  by  the  four 
celestial  architects,  under  the  direction  of  the 
Virgin  Mother,  was  traced  upon  his  memory 
in  ineffaceable  lines.  Very  soon  after  this  he 
presented  a  plan  of  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne 
to  Archbishop  Conrad.  The  most  high-flown 
aspirations  of  the  prelate  had  been  surpassed 
beyond  measure.  The  foundations  of  the  build- 
ing were  soon  afterward  laid,  and  future  gener- 
ations carried  on  the  erection,  until  completed 
as  we  now  see  it,  a  wonder  of  the  whole  world. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


23 


A  Song-  from  the  Heart. 


To  the  Heart  Immaculate, 


Andante  con  espress. 


By  F.  J,  LiscoMBP 


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24 


The  Ave  Maria. 


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^BE 


Vol..  XXIX. 


NOTRE   DAME,  INDIANA,  JUI.Y  13,  1889. 


No.  2. 


[Published  every  Saturday. 


A  Hidden  Church.* 

BY    ARTHUR    J.     STACK. 

Q  TANDING  to  gaze  in  Concord's  troubled  Place 

"^^  (Troubled  b3'ru,sh  of  wheels  and  hurrying  feet), 
Clotilda's  spires,  across  the  river,  greet 

Your  grateful  eyes,  pointing  the  path  of  grace. 

You  seek  them,  pass  the  bridge.  High  walls  efface 
The  wished-for  view.  You  thread  the  mazy  street, 
Whose  lab3^rinthine  coils  j^our  loss  complete. 

Till  perseverance  finds  the  missing  trace. 

So,  in  the  busy,  troubled  marts  of  trade, 

A  gleam  of  heaven  sometimes  cheers  the  view. 
And  heaven's  self  is  nearer  than  we  knew. 

Follow  the  beckoning  gleam,  nor  be  disma3'ed 
Should  obstacles  to  thwart  you  seem  designed. 
Is  it  not  written  :  Those  who  seek  shall  find? 


The  Feast  of  Our  Lady  of  Mount  Carmel 
in  Havana. 


BY   n.  IDA   WILLIAMS. 


UIvIA  WARD  HOWE,  in  her  book 
"A  Trip  to  Cuba,"  speaks  of  the 
Cubans  as  a  people  enveloped  in  a 
profound  melancholy;  and  that  was  before 
the  devastating  war  had  in  a  measure  impov- 
erished the  country.  Yet  I,  who  first  set  foot 
there  after  her  brave  sons  had  shed  their  blood 
for  liberty,  formed  a  very  different  opinion  of 
them ;  nor  has  it  changed  in  my  several  trips 
there  since.  From  personal  experience,  I  do 
not  think  that  the  Cubans  equal  the  French 

*  Seen  from  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  Paris, 


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

in  gaiety,  but  no  people  that  I  have  seen  ap- 
pear more  ready  for  a  "good  time"  than  these 
whom  it  has  pleased  our  author  to  describe 
;  as  melancholy.  Balls,  processions,  musical  en- 
tertainments, informal  evening  and  matinie 
dances  are  frequent  and  most  enjoyable.  How- 
ever, notwithstanding  the  festive  taste  of  the 
race,  merry-making  is  set  aside  for  religious 
fetes,  and  the  devotion  of  the  Cubans  is  as 
deep  and  sincere  as  if  Terpsichore  had  no  part 
in  their  lives. 

Our  Lady  of  Mount  Carmel  is  Patroness  of 
the  village  of  Carmelo,  lying  less  than  two 
hours'  ride  by  rail  from  the  city  of  Havana. 
This  village  is  exceedingly  pretty  and  pictu- 
resque. The  architecture  being  very  similar, 
the  variety  is  given  by  the  colors  upon  the 
outside  of  the  houses;  cream  with  blue  lines 
marking  off  the  bricks,  deep  Roman  yellow 
squared  with  red,  and  light  blue  lined  off  with 
several  shades  darker  of  the  same  hue,  have  a 
charming  effect.  The  gardens,  too,  are  beau- 
tiful, and  the  flower-beds  are  laid  out  with 
great  taste. 

Henry  Ward  Beecher  once  said :  "Religion 
is  the  bread  of  life, — you  make  it  the  cake. 
You  never  have  it  but  when  you  have  com- 
pau}^,  instead  of  treating  it  as  bread,  to  be 
used  every  day  and  every  hour."  Alas!  his 
words  are  too  true.  Americans  are  Sunday 
Christians,  if  Christian  at  all ;  and  well  might 
the  faithful  of  every  land  emulate  the  Cubans, 
who  take  their  religion  into  everything.  They 
cross  themselves  in  a  storm  with  every  peal  of 
thunder  and  flash  of  lightning ;  they  scarcely 
give  an  order  to  their  servants  without  ac- 
companying it  with  an  ^^Ave Maria''  or  ''Dios 
Mio";  and  the  priests  bless  everything,  from 


26 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  house  in  which  they  dwell  to  the  book 
from  which  they  pray. 

The  Feast  of  Our  Lady  of  Mount  Carmel  is 
a  day  of  great  rejoicing  at  Carmelo,  and  the 
celebration  during  my  visit  was  very  edifying. 
The  church,  in  course  of  erection,  not  being 
ready  for  use,  the  car-house  served  for  one 
temporarily, — the  floor  covered  with  carpet, 
the  walls  hung  with  crimson  damask,  and  a 
very  handsome  altar  extemporized  ;  the  front 
having  the  appearance  of  silver,  and  the  top 
almost  banked  with  flowers.  Above,  at  the 
right  and  left  comers  of  the  altar,  were  sculpt- 
ured angels,  and  at  equal  distances  were  dis- 
posed in  silver  candlesticks  twenty  -  eight 
lighted  candles. 

After  a  few  moments  of  silent  devotion  the 
vestry  door  opened,  and  four  priests  in  white 
and  gold  brocaded  vestments  came  out,  pre- 
ceded by  an  indefinite  number  of  acolytes 
bearing  lighted  candles,  and  one  swinging  a 
censer  of  sweet-burning  incense.  They  passed 
solemnly  down  the  aisle  to  receive  the  throne 
and  Our  Lady  ;  and,  meeting  it  at  the  door,  to 
the  music  of  a  sacred  march  by  a  well-trained 
band,  they  slowly  returned  to  the  altar. 

The  throne  was  borne  upon  the  shoulders 
of  four  sailors,  as  symbol  that  Our  Lady  is 
also  Patron  of  Navigation.  It  was  an  open 
floral  dome,  the  supporting  columns  of  which 
were  wound  with  white  illusion  and  studded 
with  roses.  In  this  regal  bower  was  the  image 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  a  rose-colored  gown, 
with  a  white  spangled  mantle  falling  to  her 
feet ;  a  crown  of  gold  and  gems  ornamented 
her  head ;  also  that  of  the  Divine  Infant,  whom 
she  carried  on  her  left  arm,  while  in  her  right 
hand,  extended,  were  several  Scapulars.  At 
her  feet  burned  numberless  candles  covered  by 
cut-glass  bell-shaped  shades.  The  effect  was 
more  than  beautiful,  and  involuntarily,  as  it 
were,  the  immense  congregation  dropped  on 
their  knees.  After  the  recitation  of  the  Rosary, 
the  ''Ave  Maiia''  was  sung  by  the  choir,  and 
the  procession  passed  out  to  the  street. 

It  was  twilight  when  we  started  from  the 
church.  The  incomparable  blue  of  the  Cuban 
sky  still  held  the  glorious  hues  of  the  setting 
sun.  The  faint  rose,  like  the  blush  of  morning, 
had  almost  faded ;  rich  gold  had  become  pale 
yellow,  and  was  vanishing  in  fleec}'  clouds, 
fading  from  dark  smoke  to  limpid  white.  The 


quiet  sea,  upon  the  banks  of  which  Carmelo- 
is  situated,  had  given  its  hue  to  the  heavens, 
and  ether-like  clouds  in  every  shade  of  azure 
rose  as  mighty  w^alls,  bringing  out  figures 
engaged  in  battle  and  in  prayer ;  and  these, 
with  the  rapidity,  of  a  kaleidoscope,  formed 
themselves  into  creatures  both  of  land  and 
sea,  and  then  floated  awa3%  like  great  birds,, 
into  infinite  space.  Ever}^  house  had  hung 
out  the  bunting  of  its  kingdom,  and  the  red 
and  yellow  Spanish  flags  floated  upon  the 
soft  breeze  in  honor  of  Our  Lad}'. 

The  procession  was  preceded  by  some  dozen 
of  the  civil  guard,  handsomely  mounted ;  then 
came  a  body  of  acolytes,  the  first  two  bearing 
lighted  candles ;  then  some  smaller  boys,  alsa 
with  candles ;  following  them  came  the  throne 
and  Our  Lady ;  behind  this,  priests  in  gor- 
geous vestments  of  white  brocade  with  trim- 
mings of  gold  gimp  and  embroidery ;   after 
these,  borne  by  sailors,  were  two  vessels  all  of 
flowers, — the  sails  of  solid  white  roses,  the 
masts  of   red   ones ;    then  followed  a  large 
concourse  of  people — old  and  young,  rich  and 
poor,  white  and  black,  indiscriminately  mixed 
together, — all  with  one  intent :   to  do  honor 
to  Our  Lady.  They  carried  candles,  banners, 
standards,  and  a  silver  crucifix.   Finall}^,  at 
the  rear,  came  the  band  of  music  and  a  small 
battalion   of  soldiers..  As  they  passed,  each 
house  did  honor  in  its  particular  wa^-.  Some 
fired  a  salute,   others   sent   up  rockets   and 
Roman  candles,  while  others  burned  lights  of 
various  hues.  It  was  evening  now  :   the  moon 
and  stars  lighted   the  sky,  and  the  myriad 
candles  illuminated  the  streets  like  midday* 
The  procession  lasted  about  three  hours; 
it  passed  down  the  main  street  (which  runs 
directly  from  the  village  of  Carmelo  through 
the  village  of  El  Vedado),  and,  turning  north- 
ward  to   the   main   avenue  at   Calle  de  los 
Banos,  retraced  its  way  to  the  Carmelo  church; 
after  which  all  adjourned  to  the   house  of 
the   President  of  Arrangements,  where  they 
had   refreshments   and  enjoyed  a  dance   till 
morning. 

Calumny  hurts  three  persons — him  who* 

utters  it,  him  who  hears  it,  and  him  of  whom 

1  it  is  spoken  ;  but  the  last,  happily,  not  always, 

j  or   not  for  a  long   time.  —  Spanish  Popjilar 

Sayings. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


27 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY  NUGENT  ROBINSON. 


CHAPTER  II.— Alderman  Ryan,  J.  P. 

CONSIDINE  found  several  letters  awaiting 
him  at  both  newspaper  offices  when  he 
•called  next  evening.  The  greater  number  were 
from  rogues  and  dishonestly-disposed  persons, 
who  wrote  vaguely  and  put  wily  queries  with 
a  view  to  obtaining  a  clue  to  the  lost  sum  of 
money.  One  person  threatened  the  severest 
penalties  of  the  law  unless  the  money  were 
instantly  handed  over,  adding  that  the  finder 
was  known.  This  caused  Considine  and  Molloy 
a  hearty  laUgh. 

''Here  we  are!"  exclaimed  Harry,  as  he 
read  aloud  the  following  epistle.  "Here's  our 
man!" 

47  RUTI.AND  Square  East,  May  25. 
To  H.  C.    Office  of  the  Dublin  Freeman' s  Journal. 

Last  evening,  at  half-past  seven  o'clock,  I  left  my 
country  house,  114  Middle  Abbey  Street,  for  a  drive 
on  my  private  jaunting-car,  with  my  wife  and  daugh- 
ter. I  took  out  of  my  safe  the  sum  of  ^260 — made  up 
of  200  sovereigns,  ^55  in  one-pound  notes,  and  ^5  in 
silver, — put  the  money  in  an  old  canvas  bag  and  tied 
it  up  with  a  piece  of  twine.  My  coachman  entered 
the  Phcenix  Park  by  the  Park  Gate  Street  entrance, 
and  passed  up  to  the  Phoenix,  then  turned  down  by 
the  Chief  Secretary's,  and  past  the  Hibernian  Military 
School,  to  the  Chapelizod  gate.  The  money  was  be- 
side me  on  the  car  cushion,  and  I  suppose  it  fell  off 
while  I  was  walking  on  the  sod  with  the  ladies.  If  you 
return  me  ^200  I  will  not  ask  for  the  loose  money. 
Henry  Joseph  Ryan,  Alderman, 
Justice  of  the  Peace  for  the  City  of  Dublin, 
Tobacco  Importer. 

"Let  us  go  back  to  Pims'  for  the  money," 
said  Harry.  "The  sooner  Alderman  Ryan 
gets  his  own  the  better. ' ' 

"You  will  only  let  him  have  two  hun- 
dred?" 

"I  will  let  him  have  every  penny  that  I 
found,  and  will  throw  the  bag  and  cord  in," 
laughed  Considine. 

"But  this  is  business  !  The  man  is  willing 
to  let  you  have  this  bonus  of  sixty  pounds." 

"Because  he  imagines  that  he  is  dealing 
with  a  sharper. ' ' 

*' A  shaper  would  not  advertise  the  find." 

"Yes,  he  would,  with  the  idea  of  making 
terms  with  both  the  owner,  the  law,  and  an 
elastic  conscience." 


The  east  side  of  Rutland  Square  is  gloomy 
in  the  extreme.  I  doubt  if  the  sun  ever  '  *  gives 
it  a  good  shine,"  as  a  child  would  say.  The 
houses  wear  a  dirty,  dingy,  bankrupt  appear- 
ance. The  hall  doors  require  paint,  the  win- 
dows cleaning,  the  brasses  polishing.  Oppo- 
site is  the  Rotunda,  the  arena  in  which  some 
of  Ireland's  most  famous  oratorial  gladiators 
have  fought  the  glorious  fight, — a  building 
hallowed  by  the  burning  fervor  of  patriotism. 

"Is  Alderman  Ryan  in?"  asked  Considine 
of  a  very  ill-dressed  man-servant  bearing  a 
gentle  aroma"  of  the  stable. 

' '  He  is  at  his  dinner,  sir.  Do  you  want  to 
see  him  particular?" 

"Well— yes." 

* '  Corporation  business  ? ' ' 

"No." 

"Justice  of  the  Peace  business?" 

' '  Not  that  either, ' '  said  Harry,  with  a  smile. 

"Tobaccy?" 

"No." 

"Well,  I'd  advise  you  to  step  back  in  half 
an  hour  if  you  want  to  get  at  him  in  good- 
humor." 

"All  right." 

The  two  young  men  entered  the  Rotunda 
gardens  through  the  favor  of  a  friendly  nurse- 
maid, the  possessor  of  a  key,  and  strolled 
under  the  noble  old  elms  that  might  have 
shaded  the  fevered  brow  of  Henry  Grattan. 
Cavendish  Row,  with  its  palatial  houses — 
inhabited,  when  Ireland  was  a  nation,  by  the 
nobles  who  formed  her  House  of  Lords, — was 
lighted  up  by  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun ;  and 
as  they  gazed  at  those  superb  mansions,  the 
two  young  men  fell  to  talking  of  Ireland  be- 
fore the  Union ;  of  her  glories  in  the  past,  of 
her  hopes  in  the  future ;  of  the  light  for  her 
in  the  West. 

"  If  I  could  only  get  to  the  States  ! "  sighed 
Considine,  as  they  returned  to  the  residence 
of  Alderman  R3'an. 

*  *  He's  to  be  had  now, ' '  observed  the  servant 
confidentiall}^  ushering  them  into  a  small 
room  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  hall. 

There  was  a  great  pretence  of  books  in  the 
apartment.  A  portrait  of  a  gentleman  of  dark 
complexion,  in  a  choking  stock  and  a  frilled 
shirt,  stood  over  the  mantlepiece.  A  chrome 
of  a  tobacco  estate  in  Cuba  faced  the  window. 
Samples  of  the  fragrant  weed  were  scattered 


28 


The  Ave  Maria, 


everywhere.  In  the  place  of  honor,  in  a  comer 
all  to  itself,  in  a  golden  frame  set  in  crimson 
plush,  was  an  illuminated  address  from  the 
burgesses  of  the  ward,  congratulating  the  Al- 
derman on  his  triumphant  election.  Stuck  in  a 
tape-adorned  rack  were  numerous  summonses 
from  the  Town  Club  to  attend  various  com- 
mittee and  other  meetings  of  the  Municipal 
Council ;  while  the  annual  reports  of  the  Cor- 
poration shone  conspicuous  in. elaborate  if  not 
gorgeous  bindings. 

A  portly  gentleman  of  cadaverous  hue, 
black  hair,  side  whiskers  that  would  do  credit 
to  a  Spanish  bull-fighter,  and  a  mouthful  of 
showy  teeth,  received  the  two  young  men.  He 
did  not  bow,  he  did  not  move  a  muscle ;  he 
gazed  at  them,  and  after  a  pause  induced  him- 
self to  utter  the  single  word,  "Well?"  inter- 
rogatively. Considine  was  for  hurling  the  bag 
of  money  into  the  middle  of  the  Corporation 
reports,  and,  with  a  contemptuous  "There!" 
flinging  himself  out  of  the  Alderman's  pres- 
ence. Molloy  perceived  this  and  opened  fire. 

"You  are  Alderman  Ryan,  sir?" 

"Justice  of  the  Peace.  Yes." 

"You  lost  some  money  last  evening  in  the 
Park?" 

The  Alderman  lighted  up  considerably  at 
this.  Assuming  a  most  magisterial  air,  he  ex- 
claimed in  the  tone  of  one  addressing  a  vast 
assemblage : 

"Let  me  warn  you  both  that  I  have  only  to 
touch  the  gong" — laying  a  very  white  finger 
on  a  silver  bell — "to  place  you  both  in  the 
hands  of  a  policeman.  I  am  a  Justice  of  the 
Peace  for  the — " 

"There  is  no  use  in  telling  us  that  again!" 
burst  in  Considine.  "I  found  money  last  night 
in  the  Park,  near  the  Chapelizod  gate.  I  ad- 
vertised it  last  night.  This  is  your  letter!" 
— flinging  it  on  the  table.  "This  is  your 
money !  " — banging  it  after  the  letter.  ' '  I  will 
trouble  you  to  count  it,  and  see  that  it's  right.' ' 
And  he  sturdily  added:  "I'll  sit  down  till 
you  have  completed  the  operation.  Sit  down, 
Gerald!" 

In  his  pleasure  at  the  restoration  of  his 
lost  treasure,  and  his  hurry  and  excitement  in 
opening  and  counting  it,  the  Alderman  paid 
no  heed  to  Considine's  utterances;  so  the 
two  men  seated  themselves  and  stared  grimly 
^vS  the  trembling  white  fingers  tossed  over  the 


notes,  turned  over  the  chinking  sovereigns, 
and  tumbled  over  the  ponderous  half  crowns. 

' '  Quite  correct,  "said  the  Aldenuan .  '  *  You 
have  done  a  very  honest  and  respectable  thing. 
You  must  be  honest  and  respectable  youths. 
Be  good  enough  to  name  the  reward  you 
expect.  In  fact" — shoving  the  gold  toward 
them , — "  help  yourselves. ' ' 

This  was  so  unexpected,  so  unlooked  for, 
that  Considine  was  completely  dumfounded. 

"I  said  in  my  letter  that  I  would  give  the 
finder  the  odd  sixty  pounds.  Take  thirty 
pounds  a  piece,"  said  the  Alderman. 

"You  are  very  good,  sir,  and — "  began 
Molloy,  when  Considine  burst  in : 

"/  found  that  money,  and  I  don't  want  any 
reward.  I'm  thankful  to  you  all  the  same." 

"I  am  a  man  of  my  word,"  said  Ryan, 
expanding  his  chest  till  his  capacious  white 
waistcoat  creaked.  * '  No  man,  woman  or  child 
can  say  that  Alderman  R3'an,  J.  P.,  ever  went 
back  of  his  word.  Take  your  money." 

"No,  sir.  I  have  done  nothing  but  what  I 
ought.  All  I  will  take  is  two  half-crowns,  the 
price  of  the  advertisement." 

' '  Really,  Harry ! ' '  interposed  Gerald.  * '  I—' ' 

"Don't  bother  me!"  retorted  Considine, 
rising,  proceeding  to  the  table,  and  helping 
himself  to  the  coins  in  question. 

"Are  you  in  business?"  demanded  the 
Alderman. 

"I  am  doing  business  in  Pims',  in  Georges. 
Street." 

"A  very  respectable  house.  I — ah — pre- 
sume that  you  would  have  no  objection  to — 
ah — bettering  your  condition?" 

"None  at  all,"  replied  Considine. 

'  'Just  favor  me  with  your  name  and  address. 
Write  it  down.  Sit  here.  I  shall  return  in  a 
moment." 

"Well,  of  all  the  drivelling  idiots  I  ever 
came  across  you  are  the  beat  of  them!"  cried 
Molloy.  ' '  You  have  j  ust  thrown  sixty  pounds 
into  the  Liffey.  Why,  man,  you  could  have 
gone  to  New  York  first  class  for  half  the 
money ! " 

"That's  true,"  said  Considine,  simply. 

"Well,  and  why  didn't  you  think  of  it?" 

"I  did." 

' '  And  you  said  '  No. '    Bah ! ' ' 

At  this  moment  Alderman  Ryan  reap- 
peared, followed  by  the  servant  bearing  a  great 


The  Ave  Maria. 


29 


dish  of  strawberries,  and  a  couple  of  decanters 
with  their  accompanying  glasses. 

* '  Help  yourselves,  gentlemen  ! — George  ! 
plates  and  a  bottle  of  champagne ! " 

"No  wine  for  us,  sir.  We  are  teetotalers," 
observ^ed  Molloy. 

"Well,  you  will  smoke.  I  am  in  the  trade, 
and  can  give  you  a  cigar  that  the  Prince  of 
Wales  would  pay  ready  money  for." 

"We  don't  smoke  either,"  laughed  Harry. 

"So  much  the  better,"  rejoined  the  Alder- 
man. "It's  a  bad  habit,  a  demoralizing  one, 
and  leaves  many  an  honest  lad  with  shabby 
clothes  and  broken  shoes.  Why,  the  money 
that  goes  in  tobacco  would  clothe  a  young 
fellow!" 

"Shall  I  turn  the  gas  on  in  the  dining- 
room,  uncle?"  cried  a  girlish  voice  from  the 
now  darkened  hall, 

"I  think  not.  Come  in,  dear.  These  gentle- 
men have  found  and  have  brought  me  the 
mone}^  I  lost  last  night  in  the  Park. ' ' 

* '  Oh,  how  good  of  them ! ' '  And  an  earnest- 
looking  girl — petite,  low-browed,  starry-eyed, 
with  a  smile  of  radiant  beauty, — entered  the 
room,  and  made  an  old-fashioned  courtesy  to 
the  3^oung  men. 

' '  This  is  my  niece,  Miss  Esmonde, ' '  said  the 
Alderman.  "Caroline,  help  the  strawberries ; 
and,  as  the^^  do  not  drink  wine  or  spirits,  be 
liberal  with  the  cream." 

The  dainty  young  lady  was  liberal  with 
both  strawberries  and  cream.  She  flitted  about 
the  table  like  a  good  fairy,  and  placed  her 
uncle's  guests  at  ease  by  the  gracious  manner 
in  which  she  both  talked  and  acted. 

She  interested  Harry  on  the  subject  of 
horses,  and  Gerald  in  reference  to  a  new  book 
on  the  question  of  animal  life  in  the  moon. 
Both  the  young  fellows  came  out  strong  with- 
out being  aware  of  it,  and  a  good  hour  passed, 
as  though  old  Time  had  used  his  wings  as  well 
as  his  scythe. 

"You  will  hear  from  me,  Mr.  Considine," 
said  the  Alderman  as  he  escorted  Harry  to 
the  hall  door.  *  *  I  have  something  in  my  eye 
for  you,  which  I  hope  will  prove  suitable.  I 
am  not  an  Alderman  and  a  Justice  of  the 
Peace  for  the  city  of  Dublin  without  possess- 
ing some  little  influence.  Good-evening! " 

* '  What  a  delightful  young  lady ! ' '  observed 
Molloy  to  his  friend  as  they  turned  into  Great 


Britain  Street.    "I  wonder  if  she  has  any 
money  ? ' ' 

"She'd  be  a  treasure  without  a  farthing," 
was  Considine's  remark  in  reply.  "What 
splendid  strawberries!" 

"Well,  Harry,  you've  just  paid  Alderman 
Ryan  sixty  pounds  for  them, — that  is  at  the 
rate  of  one-pound-four  a  piece,  as  I  suppose 
we  didn't  eat  more. than  fifty  between  us.  A 
pretty  costly  dessert ;  quite  in  the  old  classic 
style,  — Sybaritic ! ' ' 

"I  wonder  if  the  Alderman  meant  business 
when  he  said  he  had  something  in  his  eye  for 
me,  Gerald?" 

"It's  all  in  his  eye  and — Betty  Martin!  I 
wouldn't  give  you  a  penny  for  your  chance. 
No,  my  excellent  young  friend  from  the  coun- 
try, your  delicious  verdure  has  cost  you  a 
year's  salary  and  more." 

(to  be  continued.) 


Footprints  of  Heroines. 


BY   THE    COMTESSE    DE   COURSON. 


I.— Jane  Dormkr. — (Continued.) 

TWO  months  later  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of 
P>ria,  with  their  son  and  a  brilliant  retinue, 
set  out  for  Spain ;  but  lyady  Dormer,  who  had 
lovingly  tended  her  granddaughter  during  her 
confinement,  decided  to  remain  behind.  Her 
task  was  now  fiilfilled — her  children  settled, — 
and  she  yearned  to  consecrate  to  God  in  prayer 
and  solitude  the  last  years  of  her  life.  She 
therefore  retired  to  lyouvain,  where  a  little 
colony  of  English  exiles  had  established  them- 
selves. Many  of  these  were  holy  and  active 
priests,  who  employed  their  time  in  writing 
books  of  religious  controversy  to  be  distrib- 
uted in  England.  Here,  among  them,  I^ady 
Dormer  felt  that  she  could  still  serve  her  un- 
happy country.  For  twelve  years  more  she 
lived  at  lyouvain,  where,  says  Sanders,  she 
was  "a  foot  to  the  lame,  an  eye  to  the  blind, 
a  support  to  the  weak."  Her  abundant  char- 
ity extended  to  all,  and  during  the  wars 
that  ravaged  the  lyOw  Countries  she  often  fed 
and  clothed  forty  soldiers  a  day.  But  her 
heart  went  out  with  still  greater  love  to  her 
own  countr^^men ;  and  to  exiled  priests  firom 
England  or  to  poor  students  preparing  for  the 


30 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


English  mission  she  was  ever  a  true  mother, 
and  her  house  a  home.  When  she  died,  in 
July,  1 57 1,  the  whole  town  of  Louvain,  prel- 
ates, doctors  of  the  University,  magistrates 
and  students,  followed  to  the  grave  the  remains 
of  her  who  had  become  an  exile  for  the  love 
of  Christ. 

Her  heart  still  sore  from  parting  with  her 
beloved  grandmother,  the  young  Duchess  of 
Feria  continued  her  journey  through  France. 
At  Amboise  the  travellers  halted  in  order  to 
pay  their  respects  to  King  Francis  II.,  and  to 
his  wife,  Mary  Stuart,  Queen  of  France  and 
Scotland.  At  first  sight  the  lovely  young 
Queen  conceived  an  enthusiastic  admiration 
for  her  guest,  whose  winning  grace  and  sweet- 
ness gained  all  hearts ;  in  her  honor  she  put 
off  the  mourning  garments  that  she  was  wear- 
ing for  her  father-in-law,  Henry  II.,  and  a 
guard  of  her  faithful  Scotchmen  was  appointed 
to  wait  upon  the  Duchess  during  her  stay  at 
Amboise,  as  though  she  had  been  a  royal 
princess.  Mary  also  insisted  that  her  guest, 
who  was  attired  according  to  the  custom  of 
the  Spanish  court,  should  dress  in  French 
fashion.  Jane  sweetly  yielded  to  this  girlish 
caprice,  and  Mary  herself  assisted  at  her  new 
friend's  toilet,  and  with  her  own  hands  helped 
to  array  her  in  the  latest  fashions  of  the  Valois 
court. 

The  irresistible  sympathy  which  at  once 
drew  together  the  Queen  and  the  Duchess 
gave  rise  to  a  correspondence  that  continued 
through  all  vicissitudes  and  changes  in  the 
life  of  each.  Mary  always  signed  her  letters, 
"Your  perfect  friend,  old  acquaintance,  and 
dear  cousin,  Maria  Regina. ' '  And  to  this  warm 
affection  the  Duchess  responded  by  a  friend- 
ship no  less  faithful  and  tender.  More  than 
ten  years  later,  when  she  heard  that  the 
lovely  Queen  whom  she  had  seen  at  Amboise 
in  the  flower  of  her  beauty  was  a  prisoner 
in  England,  deprived  of  all  save  the  bare 
necessaries  of  life,  she  immediately  sent  her 
20,000  ducats. 

At  length,  in  August,  1560,  six  months  after 
their  departure  from  Malines,  the  travellers 
reached  Toledo,  where  King  Philip  held  his 
court.  The  Duchess  of  Feria  made  her  state 
entrance  on  horseback,  followed  by  six  maids 
of  honor  and  twenty  pages.  She  was  gra- 
ciously welcomed  by  the  King,  and  the  sight 


of  him  must  have  recalled  to  her  affectionate 
heart  the  remembrance  of  her  beloved  mis- 
tress, Queen  Mary  Tudor.  The  following  day- 
she  was  received  by  Elizabeth  of  France, 
Philip's  third  wife,  who  gave  her  a  magnifi- 
cent jewel  as  a  token  of  welcome.  The  King 
of  Portugal,  Sebastian,  also  visited  her  and 
presented  her  with  valuable  gifts;  in  short, 
the  first  months  of  Jane's  stay  in  her  adopted 
country  were  but  a  dazzling  series  of  festiv- 
ities, in  the  midst  of  which  the  young  English 
bride,  who  had  learned  long  since  to  value 
at  their  true  price  the  goods  of  this  world, 
remained  unspoiled  in  her  sweet  humility. 

It  is  true  that  some  thonis  were  hidden 
under  these  brilliant  appearances.  The  cli- 
mate of  Spain  was  a  sore  trial  to  this  child 
of  the  North,  and  all  through  her  life  Jane 
suffered  from  its  enervating  influence;  her 
position  toward  her  husband's  mother  was  at 
first  difficult  and  painful.  From  family  reasons 
the  Duchess  Dowager  had  wished  her  son  to 
marry  his  niece,  and  on  hearing  of  his  mar- 
riage with  Jane  Dormer  she  had  transferred 
to  his  younger  brother  certain  lands  that 
ought  to  have  been  his.  Soon,  however,  the 
sweetness  of  her  new  daughter  won  over  the 
old  Duchess,  who  never  ceased  regretting  the 
unjust  act  she  had  committed  in  a  moment 
of  anger. 

At  last  the  Duke  and  his  wife  were  able  to 
retire  to  their  country-seat  at  Zafra,  in  Estre- 
madura,  where  for  the  first  time  since  her 
marriage  Jane  found  herself  really  at  home. 
Her  first  care  was  to  organize  her  daily  life, 
and  as  she  did  so  many  loving  recollections 
of  Ethrop,  her  childhood,  and  her  grand- 
mother's beautiful  and  holy  life,  must  have 
come  before  her  mind.  God  and  His  poor  held 
an  important  place  in  the  household  at  Zafra, 
as  they  had  done  in  Jane's  far-away  English 
home.  Between  her  and  her  husband  there 
existed  the  closest  sympathy  of  mind  and 
heart.  Her  biographer,  in  his  quaint  language, 
tells  us  that  "in  mirth,  the  Duchess  was  to 
him  sweet  and  pleasing  company ;  in  matters 
of  discontent  he  found  in  her  a  lively  comfort  ; 
in  doubts,  a  faithful  and  able  counsellor;  in 
adverse  accidents,  a  solace."  It  was  a  touch- 
ing sight  during  Holy  Week  to  see  the 
husband  and  wife  retire  to  the  Franciscan 
Convent  at  Zafra,  where,  in  memory  of  Christ's 


The  Ave  Maria. 


31 


bitter  Passion,  they  spent  their  time  in  prayer 
and  p^iance. 

The  Dnke  of  Feria  seems  to  have  been  a 
singularly  noble  character ;  gentle  and  affable 
to  the  poor  and  weak,  he  was  keenly  sensi- 
tive where  his  honor  and  integrity  were  con- 
cerned. On  one  occasion  his  wife  happened 
to  remark  that,  although  he  had  always  been 
the  special  favorite  of  his  sovereign,  and 
had  filled  posts  of  responsibility  and  impor- 
tance, his  personal  fortune  had  never  benefited 
by  the  marks  of  favor  lavished  upon  him. 
**What!"  he  said.  "Would  you  that  I  take 
gifts  and  bribes,  or  that  my  honor  remain  in 
the  point  it  doth  and  should?  To  this  day  my 
honor  hath  not  been  touched  with  bribes,  and 
shall  I  now  begin?"  The  Duchess,  whose 
heart  gratefully  echoed  her  husband's  noble 
words,  replied :  "In  God's  name  let  it  be ;  for 
to  uphold  3'Our  honor,  I  had  rather  be  poor 
than  give  way  to  the  least  decay  thereof."* 

A  warm  friendship  united  the  Duke  of  Feria 
to  Father  Ribadeneira,  one  of  St.  Ignatius' 
early  companions ;  and  it  was  in  great  meas- 
ure owing  to  his  influence  that  the  first 
colleges  of  the  Society  of  Jesus  were  founded 
in  Spain.  His  love  for  his  wife  made  him  the 
special  protector  of  the  English  Catholics 
abroad ;  indeed,  his  interest  in  them  was  so 
well  known  that  in  1571  a  petition  was  made 
to  the  King  that  the  Duke  of  Feria  should  be 
appointed  Governor  of  the  I^ow  Countries, 
where  the  English  refugees  had  founded  a 
large  number  of  convents  and  colleges.  Philip 
II.  received  the  petition  favorably ;  the  same 
year  the  .Duke  wrote  to  his  wife  the  joyful 
news  of  his  nomination,  and  in  after  years 
Jane  Dormer  used  to  say  that  nothing  had 
ever  given  her  and  her  husband  more  "ex- 
traordinar}^  consolation." 

But  just  when  all  on  earth  seemed  best 
and  brightest,  it  pleased  God  to  shatter  the 
happiness  of  those  two  noble  souls.  The  Duke 
of  Feria  had  gone  to  the  Escurial  to  take  the 
King's  final  orders  before  departing;  he  was 
there  seized  with  a  violent  fever,  and  after  a 
short  illness  he  expired,  on  the  8th  of  Septem- 
ber, 1 57 1,  tended  to  the  last  by  his  wife,  to 
whom  on  his  death-bed  he  bequeathed  three 
things — his  soul,  his  son,  and  his  honor. 


Life  of  Jaue  Dormer,  Duchess  of  Feria,"  p.  133. 


Thirteen  years  of  a  happiness  as  pure  and 
perfect  as  this  world  can  give  had  been  Jane 
Dormer's  portion;  and  now,  at  the  age  of 
thirty-three,  she  found  herself  a  widow,  with 
an  only  son  to  educate  and  vast  estates  to 
administer.  In  his  will  her  husband,  after 
recommending  her  to  the  special  protection  of 
the  King,  adds,  alluding  to  the  education  of 
his  son :  "I  beseech  of  the  Duchess  no  par- 
ticulars ;  for  I  know  she  will  do  much  better 
than  I  know  how  to  ask."  We  shall  see  that 
she  proved  herself  worthy  of  the  trust  reposed 
in  her. 

In  the  midst  of  her  unspeakable  grief,  the 
desolate  heart  of  the  widowed  Duchess  was 
deeply  moved  by  the  despair  of  the  English 
Catholics  of  Belgium,  who  had  looked  forward 
to  the  speedy  arrival  of  the  Duke  of  Feria 
among  them.  The  most  eminent  members 
of  the  exiled  colony,  and  at  their  head  Wil- 
liam Allen,  the  future  Cardinal,  drew  up  a 
petition  to  King  Philip,  imploring  him  to 
allow  the  Duchess  to  come  and  live  in  the  Low 
Countries ;  and  from  her  English  prison  Mary 
Stuart  wrote  to  urge  this  step  upon  her  friend. 
But  the  interests  of  her  son,  now  her  one  link 
with  the  world,  bound  the  Duchess  to  her 
adopted  country.  Five  years  after  her  mar- 
riage she  had  lost  a  second  son,  who  had  lived 
only  a  short  time,  and  it  was  now  upon  her 
elder  born  that  she  concentrated  all  her  ten- 
derness and  all  her  care. 

Our  heroine's  biographer  gives  us  but  scanty 
details  of  this  boy,  whom  he  calls  an  * '  angelic 
child, ' '  and  who  was  most  lovingly  and  care- 
fiilly  educated  by  his  holy  mother.  We  are 
told,  however,  that  at  his  father's  death  he 
was  invested  by  the  King  with  the  important 
"  Encomienda, "  or  command  of  Segura  de  la 
Sierra,  belonging  to  the  military  order  of 
Santiago.  According  to  the  rules  of  the  order, 
all  the  youths  on  whom  this  honor  was  be- 
stowed were  bound  to  spend  several  months' 
probation  in  the  monastery  of  Santiago  at 
Urles;  but  it  generally  happened  that,  for  some 
reason  or  other,  they  obtained  a  dispensation 
from  this  duty.  The  Duchess  of  Feria,  on  the 
contrary,  insisted  that  her  sotl>i?tf^;Ic^>^form 
his  time  of  probation  in  the  9^iiif^Te!>s2Cbbcrd- 
ing  to  the  letter  of  the  h 
wise  and  manly  training- 
owed  the  reputation  whicl 


32 


The  Ave  Maria. 


joyed  of  a  brave  and  loyal  Christian  nobleman, 
such  as  his  father  had  been  before  him.  Like 
his  father,  too,  he  was  appointed  by  his  sover- 
eign to  posts  of  importance  and  confidence :  in 
1593  he  assisted  at  the  "Etats  Generaux"  in 
France ;  he  then  became  Viceroy  of  Catalonia, 
Viceroy  of  Sicily,  and  finalh'  Spanish  Ambas- 
sador at  the  court  of  Pope  Paul  V.  In  mem- 
ory of  his  mother  he  always  showed  himself 
the  protector  of  English  Catholics,  and  his 
intimate  companion  and  secretary  was  the  cel- 
ebrated Jesuit,  Father  Thomas  Fitzherbert. 

A  widow  in  the  prime  of  life,  Jane  Dormer's 
old  age  was  saddened  by  the  death  of  her  only 
son.  The  Duke  of  Feria  was  on  his  way  to 
Rome,  when  he  fell  ill  at  Naples,  and  died  on 
the  26th  of  January,  1607,  at  the  age  of  forty- 
eight.  The  strong  faith  that  had  supported 
the  young  widow  in  her  greatest  sorrow  en- 
abled the  childless  mother  to  bear  this  new 
cross  with  undaunted  courage  and  sweet  res- 
ignation, and  it  was  upon  her  son's  children 
that  she  now  poured  forth  all  her  tenderness. 
When  the  young  Duke  of  Feria,  her  grandson, 
came  into  possession  of  his  estates,  he  found 
that,  owing  to  his  grandmother's  wise  admin- 
istration, the  heavy  debts  which  encumbered 
them  had  been  gradually  paid  off. 

Her  activity  and  vigilance  in  the  manage- 
ment of  her  children's  interests  did  not  pre- 
vent her  from  being  full  of  love  and  compassion 
for  her  farmers  and  tenants,  by  whom  she  was 
literally  worshipped.  The  following  anecdote 
serv^es  to  illustrate  the  affectionate  relations 
existing  between  them.  On  one  occasion  her 
son,  who  was  then  Viceroy  of  Sicily,  wrote 
home  to  his  mother,  asking  her  to  lose  no  time 
in  buying  for  him  certain  lands  that  had  to  be 
paid  for  immediately.  In  the  Duke's  interests 
it  was  necessary  that  the  transaction  should 
be  concluded  without  delay,  and  a  sum  of 
40,000  ducats  had  to  be  forthcoming.  The 
Duchess  was  then  in  Madrid,  w^here  she  easily 
found  14,000  ducats ;  for  the  26,000  that  were 
still  needed  she  appealed  to  her  tenants  at 
Zafra,  to  whom  she  wrote  a  letter  stating  the 
case,  and  promising  that  the  money  should 
be  repaid  in  a  few  months.  Her  letter  was 
read  in  the  market-place  of  the  little  town 
at  two  o'clock,  and  at  seven  the  same  evening 
the  whole  sum  had  been  collected.  When  the 
Duke's  steward  proposed  to  give  receipts  to 


those  who  brought  the  money,  they  indig- 
nantly replied  that  the  word  of  their  good 
mistress  was  enough  for  them. 

In  the  government  of  her  household  the 
Duchess  showed  the  same  combination  of 
ability  and  gentleness.  When  her  husband 
died  she  put  aside  forever  the  garments  of  the 
world,  and  adopted  a  religious  habit,  which 
she  wore  till  her  death.  Always  royal  in  her 
generosity,  she  bade  adieu  to  all  personal 
gratifications,  and  embraced  the  austere  life  of 
a  religious.  Her  household  had  an  almost 
conventual  aspect,  and  as  time  went  on  prayer 
and  good  works  absorbed  her  more  and  more. 
(to  be  continued.) 


The  Alleged  Ante-Mortem  Funeral  of 
Charles  V. 


BY  THE  REV.  REUBEN  PARSONS,  D.  D. 


THE  thought  of  abdication,  first  took  posses- 
sion of  the  mind  of  Charles  V.  in  1535, 
after  the  successful  issue  of  his  expedition 
against  Tunis;  and  not,  as  is  generally  asserted, 
at  a  time  when  reverses  had  disgusted  him 
with  human  ambitions.  This  is  shown  by  his 
own  remarks  to  Lourengo  Pires  de  Tavora, 
Portuguese  envoy  at  his  court,*  and  to  the 
monks  of  San  Yuste.f  He  was  then  only  forty 
years  of  age,  and  at  the  height  of  his  power. 
But  not  until  1542  did  he  manifest  his  design 
to  the  Cortes  of  Aragon,.};  and  not  before  1553 
did  he  begin  the  necessarj^  preparations.  From 
among  many  places  which  seemed  fitted,  nat- 
urally, spiritually,  and  artistically,  to  fiimish 
his  tired  and  then  ascetically  inclined  mind  a 
soothing  and  profitable  retreat,  he  selected  the 
Hieronymite  Monastery  of  San  Yuste  in  Estre- 
madura ;  §  and  as  he  did  not  propose  to  become 

*  Miguel,  "  Cliarles-Quiut,  son  Abdication,  et  son 
Sejour  au  Monastere  de  Yuste,"  p.  6,  n.  i."  Paris,  1854. 

t  Sepulveda,  "  Opera,"  vol.  ii,  b.  30;  Madrid,  1740. 

%  Ribadeneyra,  "Vida  del  [Padre  Francisco  de 
Borja,"  c.  13;  Madrid,  1605. 

\  This  Spanish  congregation  was  approved  by 
Pope  Gregory  XI.  in  1374.  Its  first  members  had  be- 
longed to  the  Third  Order  of  St.  Francis,  and  they 
now  adopted  the  rule  of  St.  Augustine.  Their  chief 
houses  are  those  of  St.  Lawrence  at  the  Escurial,  St. 
Isidore  in  Seville,  and  this  of  St.  Justus.  Another 
congregation  of  Hierony mites  was  founded  in  Italy 
in  1377  by  the  Blessed  Peter  Gambacorti  of  Pisa. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


33 


a  monk,  or  even  to  follow  the  community  life, 
as  is  generally  believed,  and  as  he  could  not 
expect  the  religious  to  associate  familiarly 
with  his  retainers,  he  gave  orders,  in  1553,  for 
the  construction  of  a  becoming  habitation  con- 
tiguous to  the  monastery.  In  this  edifice  he 
could  preserve  his  own  independence,  and, 
while  respecting  that  of  the  monks,  he  could 
occasionally  enjoy  their  companionship;  while 
his  proximity  to  the  church  enabled  him, 
when  so  disposed,  to  join  in  the  offices  of  the 
choir. 

On  October  25,  1555,  Charles  resigned  his 
crowns  of  Naples,  Sicily,  and  Milan  in  favor 
of  his  son  Philip.  On  January  17,  1556,  he 
ceded  to  the  same  Philip  the  crown  of  Spain, 
and  all  his  other  dominions  in  the  Old  and  the 
New  World ;  and  on  September  7  of  the  same 
year  he  resigned  the  imperial  sceptre,  presum- 
ing, in  defiance  of  the  rights  of  the  Holy  See, 
to  do  so  in  favor  of  his  brother,  Ferdinand  of 
Austria.*  On  February  3, 1557,  Charles  arrived 
at  San  Yuste,  accompanied  by  only  twelve 
domestics,  and  here  he  constantly  resided 
during  the  remaining  nineteen  months  of  his 
life.  He  generally  assisted  at  the  Office,  and 
at  the  High  Mass  which  was  celebrated  every 
morning  in  the  church.  He  frequently  com- 
municated, and  on  the  Fridays  of  I^ent  he 
joined  the  monks  in  taking  the  discipline. 
Much  of  his  time  was  spent  in  the  study  of 
mechanics  and  in  clockmaking ;  and  it  is 
narrated  that  one  day,  when  he  had  failed  to 
make  two  clocks  agree,  he  moralized :  "And 
how  foolish  it  was  in  me  to  think  that  I  could 
produce  uniformity  in  so  many  nations,  differ- 
ing so  much  in  race,  language,  and  character! " 


*  Pope  Paul  IV.  refused  to  acknowledge  Ferdi- 
nand's claim  to  the  crown  of  the  Holy  Roman 
Empire  ;  for  the  consent  of  the  Pontiff,  the  suzerain 
of  that  Empire,  had  not  been  obtained  by  Charles  V. 
for  his  action.  Ferdinand,  like  all  presumptive  heirs 
to  the  Empire,  had  been  elected  "King  of  the  Ro- 
mans" (1532),  and  had  been  confirmed  by  Pope 
Clement  VII. ;  but  Paul  IV.  declared  that  a  "King 
of  the  Romans"  could  succeed,  ordinarily,  to  the 
Empire  only  by  the  death  of  its  incumbent.  The  cases 
of  resignation  or  deprivation,  insisted  the  Pontiff,  had 
always  depended  on  the  will  of  the  Holy  See,  and 
only  the  Pontiff  could,  in  such  cases,  name  the  new 
Emperor.  Again,  the  resignation  of  Charles  was  null, 
it  not  having  been  made  in  the  hands  of  the  Pope. 
However,  Pope  Pius  IV.  deemed  it  prudent,  in  1560, 
to  recognize  Ferdinand  as  Emperor. 


During  the  early  summer  of  1858  the 
health  of  the  Emperor  caused  disquiet  to  his 
attendants.  According  to  two  Hieronymite 
chronicles,  which  have  been  followed  by  most 
historians,  and  highly  embellished  by  Rob- 
ertson, the  last  illness  of  Charles  V.  was 
preceded,  if  not  caused,  by  one  of  the  most  ex- 
traordinary ceremonies  which  any  mind,  sane 
or  insane,  could  conceive.  The  Prior  Martin  de 
Angulo  narrates  that  the  monarch  observed 
one  day  to  an  attendant  that  he  could  not 
devote  two  thousand  crowns,  which  he  had 
saved,  to  a  more  worthy  object  than  his  own 
funeral;  he  added :  "In  travelling  it  is  better 
to  have  light  in  front  of  rather  than  behind 
oneself"  It  was  then,  says  the  Prior,  that  the 
Emperor  gave  orders  for  the  obsequies  of  his 
wife,  his  parents,  and  himself  Here  we  must 
note  that  Sandoval,  whom  historians  generally 
cite  in  proof  of  this  strange  event,  does  indeed 
report  the  above  remarks  as  made  by  Charles 
V. ;  *  but  as  he  says  nothing  about  the  antic- 
ipatory obsequies  of  the  Emperor  having 
been  celebrated,  we  may  safely  conclude  that 
he  gave  no  credit  to  the  tale.  In  fact,  Sandoval 
tells  us  that  part  of  these  same  two  thousand 
crowns  saved  by  the  monarch  were  ultimately 
used  to  defi-ay  the  expenses  of  the  real  funeral. 
But  there  is  another  testimony  which  enters 
more  into  details. 

An  anonymous  Hieronymite,  whose  man- 
uscript was  probably  copied  by  Siguenzaf 
(another  authority  adduced  in  favor  of  the 
truth  of  the  story  in  question),  and  published 
also  by  Gachard,  %  narrates  that  while  Charles 
was  still  in  perfect  health  he  caused  Requiems 
to  be  offered  in  his  presence  on  three  succes- 
sive days — August  29,  30,  and  31, — for  the 
•souls  of  his  father,  mother,  and  wife ;  and  that 
on  the  last  day  he  called  for  his  confessor, 
Juan  de  Regola,  and  asked  him :  **Do  you  not 
think,  Father,  it  would  be  well,  now  that  I 
have  done  my  duty  by  my  relatives,  if  I  were 
to  cause  my  own  funeral  to  be  celebrated,  and 
thus  contemplate  what  will  soon  be  my  own 
condition?"   Father  Juan  replied  in  an  eva- 


*  "  Vida  del  Emperador  Carlos  V.  en  Yuste,"  vol. 
ii,  §3. 

t  "  Historia  del  Orden  de  San  Geronimo,"  p.  3, 
b.  i,  c.  308. 

X  "Retraite  et  Mort  de  Charles  -  Quint, "  vol.  i. 
Appendix  C. 


.34 


The  Ave  Mana, 


-sive  manner ;  but,  continues  the  anonymous 
monk,  the  Emperor  pressed  his  confessor  as  to 
whether  the  proposed  obsequies  would  profit 
him,  even  though  still  on  earth.  "Certainly, 
sire,"  Father  Juan  is  represented  as  answer- 
ing ;  "for  the  good  works  which  one  performs 
in  life  are  of  more  merit  and  much  more  sat- 
isfactory than  those  done  for  him  after  his 
'death.  Would  to  God  all  of  us  had  such  ex- 
cellent intentions  as  those  announced  by  your 
Majesty!" 

Thereupon,  continues  the  chronicler,  "the 
Emperor  commanded  that  everything  should 
be  made  ready  to  celebrate  his  obsequies  that 
evening.  A  catafalque,  surrounded  by  torches, 
was  arranged  in  the  church.  All  the  attend- 
ants of  his  Majesty,  in  full  mourning,  and  the 
pious  monarch  himself,  also  in  mourning  gar- 
ments and  with  a  candle  in  his  hand,  came  to 
celebrate  his  funeral  a7id  to  see  him  buried.  The 
spectacle  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  all,  and 
they  could  not  have  cried  more  if  the  Emperor 
had  really  died.  As  for  his  Majesty,  after  his 
funeral  Mass  ho:  made  the  offering  of  his  candle 
in  the  hands  of  the  celebrant,  as  though  he 
had  already  resigned  his  soul  into  the  hands 
of  God.  Such  symbolical  action  was  custom- 
ary among  the  early  Christians.  Then,  with- 
out waiting  for  the  afternoon  of  August  31  to 
pass,  the  Emperor  called  his  confessor,  and 
told  him  how  happy  he  felt  now  that  he 
had  celebrated  his  funeral. ' '  The  anonymous 
monk  then  tells  us  how  the  imperial  physician, 
Mathys,  discouraged  the  continuation  of  the 
meditation  in  which  Charles  was  buried,  and 
how  his  Majesty  suddenly  experienced  a  chill. 
"This  was  on  the  last  day  of  August,  at  about 
four  of  the  night.  Mathys  felt  the  Emperor's 
pulse,  and  discovered  some  change.  Charles 
was  therefore  borne  to  his  chamber,  and  from 
that  time  his  malady  rapidly  gained  force." 

When  a  Hieronymite  monk  expects  us  to 
credit  this  fantastical  story,  we  need  not  won- 
der that  Robertson  (a  Protestant  of  more  than 
ordinary  prejudices,  and,  what  is  more  derog- 
atory from  any  claim  to  impartiality,  a  royal 
historiographer  in  England,)  repeats,  colors, 
and  renders  it  more  acceptable  to  the  credu- 
lous 3^eamers  for  papistical  absurdities,  by  his 
own  exaggerations  and  even  unwarranted  ad- 
ditions. "The  English  do  not  love  Charles  V. ,' ' 
remarks  Barth61emy ;  "Protestants  love  him 


less ;  and  finallj',  a  writer  is  not  a  histori- 
ographer with  impunity.  Independence  and 
impartiality  can  scarcely  be  found  in  one  who 
fills  that  position."  Again,  Robertson  is  too 
apt  to  deduce  conclusions  such  as  are  formed 
by  the  Voltarian  school ;  though  he  does 
not  betray  the  Satanic  spirit  of  these  gen- 
try, "he  has  all  their  coldness,"  observes 
Cantii,  "and  he  reflects  in  the  same  man- 
ner." *  As  to  the  reliability  of  his  "History 
of  Charles  V.,"  one  of  the  most  impartial  his- 
torical writers  our  country  has  yet  produced 
— Henry  Wheaton,  a  Protestant, — has  ably 
demonstrated  that  it  is  full  of  errors. f 

According  to  Robertson,  the  Emperor  suf- 
fered from  gout  so  intensely  about  six  months 
before  his  death,  that  from  that  time  there 
appeared  scarcely  any  traces  of  that  healthy 
and  masculine  reasoning  power  which  had 
distinguished  him ;  a  timid  and  servale  super- 
stition took  possession  of  his  mind,  and  he 
passed  nearly  all  the  time  in  chanting  hymns 
with  the  monks.  Restlessness,  diffidence,  and 
that  fear  which  ever  accompanies  superstition, 
continues  Robertson,  diminished  in  his  eyes 
the  merit  of  all  the  good  he  had  performed, 
and  induced  him  to  devise  some  new  and  ex- 
traordinary act  of  piety,  which  would  draw 
upon  him  the  favor  of  Heaven.  He  resolved 
to  celebrate  his  fimeral  before  his  death, 
and  caused  a  catafalque  to  be  erected  in  the 
church.  His  domestics  repaired  thither,  carrj^- 
ing  black  candles  in  their  hands,  and  he 
himself,  wrapped  in  a  slwoud,  was  laid  in  the 
coffin.  The  Office  for  the  Dead  was  chanted 
by  both  Charles  and  the  assemblage,  as  well 
as  the  plentiful  tears  of  all  would  allow.  At 
the  end  of  the  ceremony  all,  save  the  chief 
participant  in  the  coffin,  left  the  church,  and 
the  doors  were  closed.  Then  the  poor  victim 
of  superstition  emerged  from  his  coffin  and 
returned  to  his  apartments.  Probably  on 
account  of  the  impression  produced  on  his 

*  "  Storia  Universale,"  b.  xvii,  c.  20. — We  are  sur- 
prised on  finding  that  Cantu  receives  this  story  as 
truth,  comparing  the  fantasy  of  Charies  with  the 
"melancholy  "  freak  of  the  Emperor  Maximilian  I., 
who,  disgusted  with  his  newly-built  palace  at  Inns- 
bruck, resolved  on  providing  a  better  one ;  and  ac- 
cordingly sent  for  a  coffin  and  all  the  paraphernalia 
of  a  funeral,  and  kept  them  always  with  him. 

t  See  his  letter  to  the  Secretary  of  the  National 
Institute  at  Washington  (1843). 


The  Ave  Maria. 


35 


mind  by  the  fancied  contact  with  death,  he 
was  seized,  concludes  Robertson,  with  his 
fatal  illness  on  the  following  da3^ 

Were  it  not  for  the  too  pronounced  bathos 
of  this  Robertsonian  climax  of  Charles  coming 
out  of  his  coffin,  climbing  down  the  catafalque, 
and  creeping  home  stealthily,  lest  his  too 
lively  appearance  should  dispel  the  impres- 
sion supposed  to  have  been  produced,  this 
scene  would  furnish  elements  most  attractive 
for  some  ambitious  playwright  and  enterpris- 
ing manager.  As  for  historical  value,  the 
picture  of  Charles  in  his  shroud  and  coffin, 
as  well  as  that  of  his  being  left  alone  in  the 
church  after  the  ceremony,  has  none;  the 
Hieronymite  chronicles,  the  only  sources  on 
which  Robertson  can  draw,  are  precise  in 
representing  Charles  as  assisting  at  the  cere- 
mony, candle  in  hand,  and  as  giving  his  candle 
to  the  celebrant  at  the  close. 

We  shall  merely  allude  to  the  assertion 
that  during  the  last  six  months  of  his  life  the 
Emperor  had  lost  his  wonted  mental  acumen ; 
that,  in  fact,  he  was  little  better  than  insane. 
Authentic  documents  are  adduced  by  Mignet  * 
to  show  that,  to  the  very  last,  Charles  took  an 
active  and  directive  interest  in  the  affairs  of 
his  late  Empire;  and  that  he  was  frequently 
consulted,  especially  as  to  Spanish  matters,  by 
Philip  II.  Let  us  rather  see  whether  there  is 
any  truth  in  the  presumed  Hieronymite  narra- 
tion. We  say  "presumed  " ;  for  it  seems  incredi- 
ble that  any  Catholic  writer  could  have  penned 
the  tale.  Protestant  polemics  regale  us,  even 
unto  nausea,  with  arguments  against  the  re- 
liability of  ' '  monkish  chronicles '  * ;  but  if  ever 
any  such  chronicle  merited  distrust,  nay,  to  be 
despised — and  there  are  such, — these  by  the 
Prior  Angulo  and  his  anonymous  Brother  are 
in  that  category ;  and  if  they  are  authentic, 
their  authors  deserved  whatever  severe  pun- 
ishment monastic  discipline  and  the  proper 
tribunals — ecclesiastical  and  lay — could  inflict 
on  religious  who  elaborated  a  baseless  charge 
of  sacrilege  against  an  entire  community. 

To  have  sung  the  Office  of  the  Dead  for  the 
benefit  of  a  living  person  would  have  been  a 
solemn  mockery,  a  profanation;  but  we  are 
told  that  the  monks  of  San  Yuste  offered  a 


*  Loc.  cit. — See  also  Stirling's  "Cloister  I^ife  of 
Charles  v.,"  1852. 


Requiem  Mass  for  the  repose  of  the  soul  of, 
and  in  the  presence  of,  the  living  Emperor.* 
However,  this  reflection  on  the  nature  of  the 
ceremony  alleged  to  have  been  performed 
would  not,  of  itself,  compel  us  to  reject  the 
tale  as  a  fabrication.  But  there  are  many  good 
reasons  why  this  course  should  be  taken.  The 
anonymous  monk  states  that  the  Emperor 
caused  Requiems  to  be  sung  on  August  29,  30, 
and  3 1 ,  for  the  souls  of  his  father,  mother,  and 
wife ;  that  after  the  last  function  he  ordered 
everything  to  be  prepared  for  his  own  funeral 
service  on  that  evening;  and  he  expressly 
states  that  not  only  the  Office  was  chanted,  but 
Mass  was  celebrated  at  that  service.  Here, 
then,  we  have  Mass  celebrated,  in  the  Western 
Church  in  the  sixteenth  century,  in  the  even- 
ing! This  is  an  absurdity.  Nor  can  it  be  alleged 
that  probably  the  Office  alone  was  recited  at 
that  time,  and  that  the  Requiem  was  celebrated 
on  the  following  morning,  September  i ;  for  the 
writer  says  that  after  the  Mass  the  monarch 
experienced  a  chill,  and  was  removed  to  his 
apartments ;  adding  also  that  "this  happened 
on  the  last  day  of  August,  at  about  four  of 
the  night."  f 

Another  intrinsic  evidence  of  falsity  is 
furnished  by  the  magnitude  of  the  sum — two 
thousand  crowns, — which  the  anonymous 
chronicler  assigns  for  the  expenses  of  the  ser- 
vice in  question.  If  we  consider  the  metallic 
value  of  the  Spanish  crown  of  that  day — eleven 
francs, — and  then  note  its  relative  buying 
capability,  we  must  conclude  that  the  alleged 

*  ' '  How  can  we  admit  that  this  service  was  per- 
formed ?  The  Church  reserves  it  for  the  dead,  never 
applying  it  to  the  living.  Celebrated  without  an 
object,  it  would  lose  its  eflScacy  with  its  only  motive, 
and  would  become  a  kind  of  profanation.  The  Church 
prays  for  those  who  can  not  any  longer  pray  for 
themselves ;  she  offers  for  their  intention  that  Sacri- 
fice in  which  their  condition  will  not  allow  them  to 
take  part.  This  pious  and  solemn  association  with 
the  soul  in  its  passage  from  transient  to  eternal  life 
has  its  merit  and  grandeur  only  when  it  is  real.  More- 
over, Charles  V.  well  knew  that  it  is  much  better  for 
oneself  to  pray  than  to  be  the  object  of  another's 
prayers ;  much  better  to  appropriate  to  oneself  the 
Holy  Sacrifice  by  Eucharistic  Communion  than  to  be 
indirectly  associated  with  it  by  a  merciful  attention  of 
the  Church.  He  had  done  so  a  fortnight  before,  and 
he  did  so  again  very  soon."  (Mignet,  loc.  cit.,  p.  414.) 

t  "  Four  of  the  night "  (that  is,  four  hours  after  the 
evening  Angelus)  would  be,  as  moderns  measure  time, 
about  eleven  in  Spain,  during  August  and  September. 


36 


The  Ave  Maria. 


funeral  cost  more  than  twelve  thousand  dol- 
lars,* which  is  incredible.  The  only  real 
expenses,  since  there  was  no  royal  pomp,  etc., 
would  have  been  that  of  candles  and  the  hono- 
rarium, Sandoval  says  that  these  "two  thou- 
sand crowns,  saved  by  the  Emperor,"  were 
afterward  drawn  upon  for  the  real  funeral;  and 
that  six  hundred  of  them  were  sent,  just  before 
the  monarch's  death  and  by  his  order,  to 
Barbara  Blomberg,  the  mother  of  Don  John 
■of  Austria,  t 

A  third  reason  for  rejecting  the  fable  of  the 
mock  funeral  is  found  by  Migiiet  in  the  phys- 
ical condition  of  Charles  V.  at  the  time  when 
it  is  alleged  to  have  been  held.  The  letters 
of  his  physician  and  his  secretary  all  show 
that  he  could  not  have  withstood  the  fatigue 
of  four  consecutive  functions.  On  the  15th  of 
August,  wishing  to  communicate,  he  had  to 
be  carried  to  the  church,  and  he  received  the 
Blessed  Sacrament  in  a  sitting  posture.  On 
the  24th  the  gout  temporarily  ceased  from 
troubling  him ;  but  an  eruption  in  the  legs 
ensued,  and  he  would  scarcely  have  been  able 
to  participate  in  the  supposed  services  of  the 
29th,  30th,  and  31st.  Charles  V.  was  not  of 
such  calibre,  spiritually  speaking,  that  he 
would  have  forced  weak  nature  to  obey  his 
pious  will,  having  himself  carried  to  ceremo- 
nies at  which  his  presence  would  have  been 
superfluous.  He  was  far  removed  from  those 
saints  who  have  asked  to  be  laid  on  ashes  to 
meet  their  deaths.  And  his  occupations  just 
at  this  time,  as  shown  by  his  intimate  attend- 
ants, manifest  no  extraordinary  detachment 
from  the  affairs  of  earth ;  still  less  do  they 
indicate  any  of  that  semi-insane  religiousness 
by  which  Robertson  would  account  for  the 
commission  of  the  freak  under  consideration. 
Down  to  the  very  day  before  his  fatal  attack 
(September  i)  he  was  engaged  in  business  of 
state  and  in  matters  of  family  interest.  Finally, 
neither  the  imperial  physician  nor  the  secre- 
tary, whose  letters  enter  into  the  most  trivial 
details  of  their  master's  life  at  San  Yuste, 
especially  where  his  health  or  religious  dispo- 
sitions are  concerned,  say  anything  about  this 
ante-mortem  funeral. 


BJ 


*  Barth^lemy,  "Erreurs  et  Mensonges,"  vol.  iii, 
p.  142. 

t  Loc.  cit.,  vol.  ii.,  §  3,  lyctter  of  Quijada  to  Philip 
II.,  October  12,  1558. 


Mother  Love. 

Front  the  Gertnan,  by  Mary  E.  Mannix, 

EARILY  treads  the  wanderer,  staff  in  hand, 
Homeward  returning  from  a  foreign  land. 

Slowly  he  passes  through  the  city  gate, 
The  self-same  keeper  smiles  behind  the  grate. 

Once  they  were  jolly  comrades,  true  and  fast ; 
Full  many  a  wine-cup  hath  between  them  passed. 

Now  to  his  brow  upsprings  the  crimson  flame — 
The  whilom  friend  can  not  recall  his  name! 

Wounded,  surprised,  he  lifts  his  tired  feet. 
And  passes  slowly  down  the  sunnj^  street. 

Behold,  his  true  love  waits  beside  the  door! 

He  cries :  ' '  Heart' s  treasure,  I  am  here  once  more ! ' ' 

Alas!  the  maid,  unconscious,  stands  unmoved; 
She  knows  not  e'en  the  voice  of  her  beloved. 

He  bends  his  steps  toward  his  childhood's  home. 
While  to  his  eyes  the  tear-drops  slowly  come. 

His  mother,  spinning,  sits  within  the  door. 
"Beloved,  God  bless  thee! " — he  can  say  no  more. 

The  wheel  o'erturning  in  her  sudden  joy, 
With  happy  tears  she  clasps  her  wayward  boy. 

She  sees  not  tangled  beard  nor  sun-bleached  hair : 
To  her  his  eyes  are  bright,  his  face  is  fair. 

O  faithless  maid  !  O  fickle,  careless  friend  ! 
Only  the  mother  loves  him  to  the  end. 

So  as  we  toil  along  the  rugged  way, 
Lefl;  lagging  or  forsaken  day  by  day, 

Out-distanced  in  the  fierce,  wild  march  of  life, 
Or  guiltless  victims  of  unequal  strife. 

Only  our  mother  closer  draws  the  strands 
Forever  lying  in  her  gentle  hands. 

To  her  our  souls  are  dearer  that  they  hold 
Sad  tryst  with  care,  and  sorrows  manifold  ; 

Our  stricken  hearts  are  nearer  that  they  bleed  ; 
And  if  they  break — then  they  are  hers  indeed. 

O  hard,  cold  world!  O  fickle,  faithless  friend! 
Mary,  our  Mother,  loves  us  to  the  end. 


Of  all  the  names  bestowed  upon  the  Mother 
of  God,  none  is  more  touching,  says  a  Spanish 
writer,  than  Mater  Dolorosa,  the  shelter  of 
sorrow  and  poverty. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


My   Pilgrimage  to  Genazzano. 


BY  CHARI.es  warren  STODDARD. 


II. 

THE  pilgrim  of  piety,  of  poetry,  and  of 
passion  is  no  more — there  can  be  no  ques- 
tion as  to  his  utter  and  final  extinction.  The 
spirit  of  holy  fervor  which  inspired  him  and 
sustained  him  has  been  chilled  by  the  ear- 
splitting  neigh  of  the  steam-horse,  and  the 
coldly  practical  character  of  the  new  genera- 
tion that  has  come  in  with  the  march  of 
improvement. 

I  thought  of  this  as  I  strolled  leisurely  up 
the  Via  Colonna,  and  remembered  how  the 
feudal  lords  of  Genazzano  had  been  members 
of  the  great  house  of  Colonna ;  and  how  one 
Giordan  Colonna,  **by  the  exercise  oi\n$,jus 
patronatus,''  called  thither  the  Augustinian 
Fathers  from  their  small  convent  without  the 
walls,  and  gave  into  their  keeping  the  church 
and  parish  of  the  Virgin  Mother  of  Good 
Counsel.  This  was  in  the  year  of  Our  I,ord 
thirteen  hu7idred  and  fifty -six. 

I  said  to  myself:  "What  right  have  I  to 
come  steaming  down  from  the  City  of  the 
Caesars  and  of  the  Pontiffs  and  reach  the 
threshold  of  a  thrice-hallowed  shrine  between 
dawn  and  the  dinner  hour?"  Truly  I  might 
have  come  by  another  and  a  thousand  times 
better  route,  had  I  had  more  time  at  my  dis- 
posal and  an  escort  at  my  command.  I  might 
have  come  by  the  wa}^  that  escapes  the  hor- 
rible though  convenient  locomotive  atTivoli, 
and  skirts  the  lovely  valley  of  the  Licenza, 
where,  perchance,  lay  the  Sabine  farm  of 
Horace ;  though  the  true  site  of  the  villa  and 
the  farm  of  Horace  is  ever  in  dispute  among 
the  archaeologists. 

That  pastoral  road  grows  wilder  and  more 
beautiful  as  it  wends  its  way  among  number- 
less chapels  of  the  Madonna,  until  it  reaches 
Subiaco  with  its  memories  of  St.  Benedict. 
There  one  finds  the  three  monasteries  of  St. 
Scholastica,  in  the  first  of  which  is  concealed 
the  grotto  where,  in  A.  D.  530,  St.  Benedict 
lived  his  hermit  life.  Beyond  these  monaster- 
ies is  another  called  S.  Benedetto,  or  //  Sacro 
Speco.  It  is  built  against  the  rock,  overshad- 
owed by  cliffs  and  a  cluster  of  ancient  oaks  ; 


and  within  its  garden  are  the  roses  which 
were  thorns  until  St.  Francis  worked  a  miracle 
among  them. 

From  Subiaco  there  are  three  inviting  routes 
to  Olevano,  which  is  not  far  from  Genazzano. 
This  is  the  route  I  would  advise  the  reader 
to  follow  when  he  makes  his  pilgrimage  to 
the  shrine  of  Our  I^ady  of  Good  Counsel.  Or 
he  can  drive  all  the  way  from  Rome,  if  he 
will,  via  Frascati  and  Palestrina.  In  any  case, 
he  can  .hardly  do  better  than  to  avoid  the 
railway,  that  is  certainly  in  nowise  calculated 
to  aid  one  in  achieving  that  state  of  spiritual 
exaltation  which  is  so  desirable  when  one  is 
about  to  approach  the  Holy  of  Holies. 

Under  such  circumstances,  I  am  sure,  the 
town  of  Genazzano  would  greatly  refresh  the 
heart  of  the  pilgrim.  It  is  so  sweet,  so  simple, 
so  serene  a  spot !  The  very  narrow  streets  wind 
in  and  out  among  the  houses, — the  two  or 
three  very  narrow  streets,  for  the  very  much 
narrower  passages  that  diverge  from  them 
are  unworthy  of  the  name  of  street ;  they, 
indeed,  are  the  merest  slits  in  some  cases,  or 
crevices  between  the  grey  old  houses  that 
seem  to  dissolve  into  the  original  rock,  and  the 
grey  old  rocks  that  seem  to  turn  into  houses 
under  one's  very  eyes.  Indeed,  too  often  it  is 
hard  to  say  whether  the  rocks  are  hollow  and 
inhabited — the  windows  and  doors  cut  out  of 
their  flinty  walls, — or  the  town  through  some 
mysterious  agency  has  been  petrified  and 
become  an  integrant  part  of  the  great  foun- 
dation stone.  At  any  rate,  it  is  the  completest 
little  town  imaginable ;  a  fortified  city  on  the 
smallest  possible  scale ;  a  wee  city  in  a  citadel, 
but  without  one  visible  gun,  and  with  an 
atmosphere  expressive  of  that  peace  that 
passeth  all  understanding.  Let  Genazzano 
shut  her  one  great  gate  and  she  would  look 
very  much  as  if  she  might  defy  the  world, — 
for  by  that  gate  alone  may  you  hope  to  enter 
without  wings. 

There  was  a  very,  very  small  chapel  down  by 
the  gate ;  very,  very  broad  steps,  cut  in  the 
rock,  led  up  to  it.  Its  door  was  shut,  and  tufts 
of  grass  were  sprouting  in  the  chinks  there- 
about. I  thought,  "This  is  not  the  Chapel  of 
Our  Lady  of  Good  Counsel! "  and  walked  on 
through  the  quiet  but  friendly  street. 

There  was  another  chapel,  more  pretentious, 
farther  on.  Its  doors  stood  open;  groups  of 


38 


The  Ave  Maria. 


aged  women  sat  upon  the  steps  spinning  with 
the  distaff-thistle ;  this  distaff,  Hke  the  wand 
of  the  Fates,  they  held  in  their  left  hand,  while 
with  their  right  they  deftly  drew  the  thread, 
that  was  twisted  into  shape  by  the  weight 
of  the  bobbin  to  which  it  was  attached ;  the 
bobbin,  having  been  spun  between  thumb  and 
finger,  was  suffered  to  swing  near  the  ground 
and  twirl  the  thread  to  an  even  fineness.  There 
is  not  a  spinning-wheel  in  the  land,  that  I 
know  of;  certainly  nothing  so  modern  would 
be  tolerated  in  Genazzano. 

I  entered  this  chapel,  but  I  found  no  shrine 
of  the  Madonna  del  Buon  Consiglio.  There 
are  but  four  churches  in  the  whole  town,  and 
I  had  gone  nearly  the  length  of  it — it  is  as 
narrow  as  a  town  can  be.  I  said,  "I  will  now 
begin  at  the  top  of  the  street ' ' — it  had  risen  on 
an  even  and  easy  grade  from  the  great  gate 
at  the  foot  of  it ;  so  I  went  to  the  upper  and 
the  last  of  the  four  chapels.  Here  I  found  a 
citizen,  who  took  off  his  hat  to  me;  and  I 
asked,  pointing  to  the  church  before  which 
we  stood :  "  Is  it  the  Chapel  of  Our  Lady  of 
Good  Counsel?"  No,  it  was  not!  But  the 
citizen  graciously  volunteered  his  services  as 
cicerone,  and  brought  me  in  a  few  paces  to  a 
door  in  a  wall,  where  he  begged  me  to  enter, 

The  Augustinian  Monaster^',  though  by  no 
means  small,  is  not  an  imposing  structure; 
the  church  of  Our  Lady  and  the  monastery 
are  one.  I  had  been  shown  to  the  door  of  the 
sacristy,  where  a  gentle  acolyte  received  me, 
and  conducted  me  through  several  apartments 
in  search  of  the  sacristan.  I  delivered  my 
letter  of  introduction,  and  was  speedily  made 
welcome,  and  assured  that  the  miraculous 
picture  would  at  once  be  unveiled  for  me. 

The  spirit  of  serenity  possessed  the  place. 
Friars  were  passing  to  and  firo,  silently  and 
with  the  sweetest  unconcern.  The  acolyte 
who  bore  me  company  fi-om  the  threshold,  and 
who  was  to  assist  in  the  litany  which  is  always 
said  upon  the  unveiling  of  the  holy  picture, 
seemed  graver,  with  a  kind  of  primitive  grav- 
ity, than  any  other  acolyte  I  had  ever  known ; 
it  was  as  if  he  lived  and  moved  and  had  his 
being  in  recollection,  and  dwelt  apart  fi*om  the 
inhabitants  of  the  highly  decorous  town. 

One  of  the  Augustinian  Fathers  soon  joined 
us.  Having  vested  himself,  we  passed  solemnly 
through   the   church    and    approached    the 


Chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  Good  Counsel.  It  is  a 
beautiful  chapel,  enclosed  in  a  high  and  very 
elegant  bronze  grating,  the  gates  of  which: 
were  unlocked  and  opened  to  receive  us.  The 
miraculous  picture  is  suspended  over  the  altar, 
and  above  the  chapel  is  a  rich  canopy  sup- 
ported by  columns  of  verd-antique.  Twenty 
splendid  lamps  of  silver  bum  night  and  day 
within  that  hallowed  spot,  and  sumptuous  are 
the  embellishments  of  the  shrine.  A  curtain 
hung  before  the  miraculous  picture  ;  when  it 
was  withdrawn  I  saw  the  golden  screen  which 
still  hid  it  from  view.  A  prie-dieu  was  placed 
for  me  directly  in  front  of  the  altar ;  the  gentle 
acolyte  knelt  near  by,  with  smoking  censer; 
the  friar  slowly  raised  the  golden  screen,  and 
I  saw  with  m}^  own  eyes  the  extraordinary 
effigy  of  Our  Lady  of  Good  Counsel.  Then 
the  litan}^  was  said ;  clouds  of  incense  floated 
about  us;  a  few  of  the  faithful  who  were 
kneeling  without  the  grating  when  we  entered 
the  chapel  joined  heartily  in  the  responses, 
and  the  hour  was  in  the  highest  degree 
edifying. 

Then  I  was  invited  to  ascend  the  steps  of 
the  altar  and  examine  more  closely  the  mirac- 
ulous picture  of  Our  Lady.  This  I  did  rever- 
ently and  earnestly.  It  is,  as  probably  the 
reader  knows,  a  fresco  not  more  than  eighteen 
inches  square.  The  connoisseurs  have  never 
been  able  to  determine  the  age  of  this  most 
remarkable  production.  It  is  painted  upon  a 
crust  of  ordinary  plaster  not  much  thicker 
than  a  sheet  of  paper ;  for  more  than  four  hun- 
dred years  it  has  remained  where  one  now  sees 
it — ^invisibly,  mysteriously,  miraculously  sus- 
pended in  mid-air.  Viewed  from  the  front  of 
the  altar,  one  would  not  suspect  this.  Nor  is 
it  permitted  the  faithful  to  make  any  critical 
examination  in  order  to  strengthen  their  feeble 
faith;  but  such  examinations  have  been  made, 
and  competent  authorities  have  solemnly  tes- 
tified that  the  miraculous  picture  rests  sta- 
tionary in  mid-air,  and  comes  in  contact  with 
no  palpable  or  visible  substance.  It  hangs  a 
few  inches  fi-om  the  wall  in  the  rear  of  it, — the 
wall  of  the  chapel  which  was  completed  after 
the  phenomenal  advent  of  the  picture  on  the 
25th  of  April,  1467. 

I  do  not  question  the  veracity  of  those  who 
have  testified  in  verification  of  this  fact ;  I  do 
not  for  a  moment  entertain  the  suspicion  that 


The  Ave  Mar 


2a. 


39 


the^  may  have  in  anywise  been  deceived.  I 
heartily  recommend  the  careful  perusal  of  the 
exhaustive  work  on  this  subject  by  Monsignor 
George  F.  Dillon,  D.  D.  It  seems  to  me  that 
his  very  excellent  history  and  dissertation  en- 
titled ' '  The  Virgin  Mother  of  Good  Counsel ' ' 
should  satisfy  the  sceptical — if  such  there  be 
among  my  readers. 

In  a  little  treatise  now  open  before  me  it  is 
stated  in  reference  to  the  miraculous  picture 
that  "its  colors  and  its  delineations  are  as 
fresh  as  ever. ' '  If  this  is  true,  then  they  were 
never  very  fresh.  Leaning  upon  the  altar, 
where  the  picture  was  almost  within  my 
reach,  and  straining  my  eyes  until  they  fairly 
ached  with  anxious  eagerness,  it  was  with  the 
utmost  difficulty  that  I  could  distinguish  the 
outlines  of  our  Blessed  Lady  and  her  Divine 
Child.  The  picture  is  almost,  if  not  quite,  as 
dark  as  a  St.  Luke  Madonna.  Even  the  faces 
are  shadowy — or  so  appeared  to  me,  notwith- 
standing the  aid  of  glasses  with  which  I  had 
provided  myself.  ^*  Pope  Innocent  IX.  ordered 
the  chapter  of  St.  Peter's  in  Rome  to  crown 
with  diadems  of  jewels  and  gold  the  image  of 
the  Virgin  Mother  and  her  Divine  Infant  in 
Genazzano, ' '  says  a  chronicler.  The  diadems 
ser\^e  only  to  exaggerate  the  obscurity  of  the 
original.  The  picture  seems  to  be  framed,  but 
it  is  hanging  heyond  the  glazed  frame  which 
is  placed  before  it  for  a  protection ;  this  also 
helps  to  throw  the  effigy  in  shadow,  and 
perhaps  it  is  not  surprising  that  one  sees  so 
little  of  the  original.  Surely  too  many  precau- 
tions can  not  be  taken  to  secure  the  precious 
witness  of  God's  providence  from  all  possible 
harm. 

An  eminent  dignitary  of  the  Church  who 
visited  Genazzano  some  years  ago  thus  wrote 
of  his  experience  at  that  altar :  ' '  While  offer- 
ing the  Holy  Sacrifice  for  some  in  suffering 
in  whom  I  took  much  interest,  I  was  aston- 
ished to  find  that  the  sweet,  pale  face  of  Our 
Lady  became  joyous,  illuminated,  and  suf- 
fused with  a  deep  crimson  or  vermilion  hue. 
The  eyes  became  more  open  and  brilliant, 
and  this  continued  during  the  remainder  of 
the  Holy  Sacrifice."  Monsignor  Dillon  says 
that  the  miracle  above  referred  to  is  of  fre- 
quent occurrence,  and  is  a  presage  of  favors 
being  granted.  I  would  that  that  shadowy 
face  had  shone  on  me! 


Within  the  church  of  the  monastery  is 
a  painting — a  Crucifixion  of  ancient  origin. 
Tradition  says  that  on  a  certain  occasion  a 
scoffer  plucked  out  his  sword  and  pierced  the 
effigy  of  Our  Lord ;  upon  the  sword  being 
withdrawn,  blood  issued  from  the  wound. 
The  wretch,  now  furious,  made  a  second  lunge 
at  the  helpless  figure,  and  the  sword  twisted 
itself  double  without  touching  the  canvas. 
The  sword  and  the  picture  are  still  shown 
the  faithful ;  I  saw  them  both. 

It  was  such  a  solemn  pleasure  to  linger  in 
that  church  that  I  was  sorry  when  one  of  the 
friars  volunteered  to  show  me  over  the  mon- 
astery. The  gentle  acolyte  was  dispatched  to 
a  neighboring  locanda  to  order  a  good  dinner 
for  me — it  was  to  be  ready  in  an  hour, — and, 
following  the  footsteps  of  the  good  Augus- 
tinian  friar  who  preceded  me,  I  climbed  to  the 
roof  of  the  venerable  convent,  where  we  went 
forth  in  company  to  walk  upon  the  battle- 
ments. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Our  Pet  Vice. 


BY  MAURICE   FRANCIS   EGAN. 


THE  author  of  a  celebrated  pamphlet, 
"We  Catholics,"  and  the  author  of  a  less 
celebrated  but  equally  clever  work,  "Mostly 
Fools,"  have  lamented  the  lack  of  fellow- 
feeling  and  the  apathy  on  matters  of  national 
importance  of  the  Catholics  of  England.  It  is 
strange  that  in  our  country  similar  complaints 
may  apply.  Mr.  Randolph,  in  '  *  Mostly  Fools, ' ' 
thrusts  sarcastically  at  the  exclusiveness  of 
the  Catholic  aristocracy  and  gentry  of  Great 
Britain, — an  exclusiveness  and  Lady-Vere-de- 
Vere-ishness  which  has  left  them  open  to  the 
reproach  that  the  only  clever  Catholics  in 
England  are  converts.  Certainly  the  names  we 
most  often  hear  connected  with  public  move- 
ments in  England  are  those  of  converts,  such 
as  Cardinal  Manning,  Cardinal  Newman,  and 
Lord  Ripon. 

In  England  one  might  find  excuse  for  the 
torpor  of  Catholics  in  the  fact  that  for  cen- 
turies they  were  forcibly  excluded  from  public 
life,  and  that  the  old  habits  of  seclusion  still 
cling  to  them.  Again,  there  is  no  more  firm 


4« 


The  Ave  Maria. 


believer  in-  caste  than  the  Catholic  aristocrat 
in  England ;  no  man  more  jealous  of  his  priv- 
ileges, or  more  anxious  to  draw  around  him 
the  sacred  circles  of  rank.  He  may  bend,  but  he 
never  for  a  moment  places  himself  on  a  level 
with  those  fellow-Catholics  without  "blood" 
whom  he  occasionally  meets  at  reunions  where 
religion  is  the  only  bond. 

But  in  the  United  States  we  have  no  aris- 
tocrats— except  those  few  haughty  people 
whose  pedigrees,  like  Becky  Sharpe's,  improve 
with  age ;  and  we  have  had  no  penal  laws. 
There  has  been  nothing  to  repress  us,  because 
we  have  been  irrepressible.  And  yet  the  cloud 
of  apathy,  of  exclusiveness,  of  sneering  criti- 
cism, darkens  our  horizon. 

If  Catholics  have  a  pet  vice,  it  is  that  of  in- 
considerateness  in  speech.  We  are  constantly 
saying  to  ourselves  and  to  others  how  superior 
we  are  to  the  pagans  around  us.  We  do  not 
marry  several  times  under  cover  of  a  divorce ; 
02ir  Sunday-school  superintendents  do  not 
embezzle  money  and  go  to  Canada  (we  have 
no  Sunday-school  superintendents,  but  that 
doesn't  matter);  and  we  are  too  ready  to 
pick  out  any  example  of  ministerial  bad  con- 
duct and  throw  it  into  the  Protestant  face. 
We  assert — and  everybody  admits — that  we 
possess  certain  virtues  on  which  the  perpetu- 
ity of  the  family  and  of  the  State  depends.  We 
possess  these  in  proportion  to  the  practical 
heed  we  give  to  the  teachings  of  the  Church. 
But,  as  if  by  way  of  indemnifying  ourselves  for 
avoiding  the  flesh-pots  of  the  Egyptians,  we 
wallow  in  unkindness  of  thought  and  word, 
particularly  as  regards  the  affairs  of  those 
brethren  in  the  sweet  yoke  of  our  salvation. 

The  Protestant  who  imagines  that  Catho- 
lics admire  one  another, — that  they  are  a  solid 
phalanx  banded  together  for  the  conquest  of 
America,  headed  by  the  Jesuits, — ought  to 
attend  some  informal  reunion  of  Catholics, 
when  conversation  and  cigar  smoke  are  unre- 
stricted. He  would  hear  nothing  against  the 
Pope,  and  he  woiild  discover  that  there  was  no 
discussion  of  deep  religious  problems -which 
Protestants  are  in  the  habit  of  approaching 
with  an  interrogation  point ;  for  in  matters  of 
faith  Catholics  are  a  unit.  Except  the  Pope, 
he  w^ould  find  no  man  mentioned  without  a 
''but."  He  would  come  away  with  the  opin- 
ion that,  in  matters  not  considered  essential, 


Catholics  are  the  most  go-as-you-please  folk 
on  the  face  of  the  earth ;  and,  moreover,  that 
to  be  a  Catholic  was  at  once  to  become  a  tar- 
get for  innumerable  criticisms;  and,  moreover, 
that  no  Catholic  can  amount  to  anything  until 
he  has  received  the  iviprimahw  of  non- Cath- 
olic approval. 

"A  Catholic  paper!"  he  would  hear;  "who 
reads  a  Catholic  paper?"  He  would  be  justi- 
fied in  thinking  that  to  be  a  Catholic  writer 
is  to  be  afilicted  with  an  intellectual  leprosy 
which  causes  horror  and  pity.  A  few  minutes 
ago — we  presume  that  the  Protestant  enjoys 
this  symposium  after  some  great  sacerdotal 
fimction, — a  few  minutes  ago  he  has  seen  the 
Right  Reverend  Bishop  treated  with  every 
mark  of  respect  worthy  of  his  august  dignity, 
on  the  steps  of  the  altar:  he  has  hastily 
driven  away  because  he  has  another  engage- 
ment—  for  bishops  in  this  country  have 
plenty  of  work.  Now,  to  his  horror,  he  sees 
every  stitch  in  the  mitre  toni  out ;  the  Bish- 
op's sermon  is  analyzed — its  doctrine  unim- 
peached  of  course,  but  its  manner  much 
condemned.  It  is  old ;  the  Bishop  has  a  brogue, 
offensive  to  pious  ears  accustomed  to  hear 
the  voice  projected  through  the  nose ;  or  his 
mannerism  would  be  condemned  by  a  master 
of  elocution;  or,  again,  he  appropriated  sev- 
eral passages  from  Bourdaloue  or  Faber,  and 
so  on. 

In  the  meantime  the  prelate  is  giving  Con- 
firmation to  a  large  crowd  in  a  sultry  church, 
glad  that  his  sermon  is  over  his  head;  and 
glad,  too,  that  Bourdaloue  or  Faber  said  some 
things  better  than  he  could  say  them.  But  the 
little  coterie,  in  its  criticisms,  does  not  mention 
the  difficulties  that  stand  in  the  way  of  pol- 
ished literary  work  when  the  preacher  is 
obliged  to  labor  like  a  bank  clerk  every  day 
of  his  life.  Why,  it  asks,  have  we  not  better 
preachers?  It  forgets  that  our  priests  have 
something  more  to  do  than  to  preach.  And  it 
also  forgets  that,  compared  with  preachers  of 
other  "denominations,"  our  priests  have  the 
advantage:  for  they  speak  "as  having  au- 
thority." It  is  easy  to  show  this, — but  a  fatal 
defect  in  the  eyes  of  the  Catholic  critic  is  that 
our  "pulpit  orators"  have  not  the  Protestant 
imprimatur.  In  dwelling  on  the  defects  of  the 
pulpit,  we  lose  sight  betimes  of  the  inestimable 
benefits  of  the  altar. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


4^ 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


There  are  many  right  ' '  reverend ' '  and  wrong- 
"reverend"  Protestant  preachers  and  lecturers, 
who  are  never  tired  of  having  a  fling  at  what 
they  consider  Catholic  misrepresentations  of 
histor}'.  "Rev."  Joseph  Cook,  of  Boston,  has, 
it  seems,  been  tickling  the  ears  of  the  Toronto 
public  by  discoursing  at  length  on  the  evils  of 
the  "Jesuit  aggression."  He  remarked  that  man}^ 
lies  were  taught  to  children  in  Roman  Catholic 
schools,  and  among  these,  "in  a  geography  in 
use  in  the  parochial  schools  of  Boston,  the  chil- 
dren were  taught  that  the  Jesuits  were  the  first 
settlers  in  New  England."  Another  lie  nailed! 
thought  the  audience.  How  unblushingly  these 
Catholics  pervert  the  plainest  truths  of  history! 
And  the  laughter  that  followed  the  exposure  was 
loud  and  long.  Now,  w^e  think  it  would  be  some- 
what  of -a  surprise  to  both  lecturer  and  audience 
to  be  informed  that  one  of  the  most  famous  author- 
ities on  the  early  history  of  this  country,  and  one 
who  can  scarcely  be  suspected  of  a  bias  in  favor 
of  CatholiCvS — Mr.  Francis  Parkman,  in  his  "Pio- 
neers of  France  in  the  New  World, " — points  out, 
as  a  writer  in  the  Boston  Pilot  notices,  that  the 
"Jesuit  colony"  was  established  in  New  England 
more  than  seven  years  before  Plymouth  Rock  was 
heard  of.  "From  which,"  remarks  the  Pilot,  "it 
follows  that  it  is  always  well  to  know  what  one 
is  laughing  at." 

In  responding  to  the  toast  ' '  Our  Faith ' '  at  the 
third  annual  reunion  of  the  Young  INIen's  Catho- 
lic Lyceum,  Manchester,  N.  H.,  held  on  the  26th 
ult.,  the  Rev.  R.J,  McHugh  employed  these  elo- 
quent words,  as  true  as  eloquent : 

"  'AH  the  great  ages  have  been  ages  of  belief. '  I  will 
make  bold  to  go  a  step  further  and  say  that  it  was  our 
faith — the  faith  of  our  fathers  from  time  immemorial, 
the  same  glorious  faith  we  pledge  to-night, — that 
made  the  ages  which  the  world  calls  great  worthy  the 
name.  It  was  this  faith  of  ours,  this  vivid  realization 
of  the  supernatural,  this  deep  and  earnest  contempla- 
tion of  things  spiritual  till  they  become  palpable  as 
the  material  universe,  that  enabled  men,  in  ages  long 
gone  by,  to  rise  superior  to  their  mortal  destiny, 
and  fashion  works  so  grand  and  deathless  that  we 
of  these  late  times,  when  faith  is  cold  and  weak  in 
human  hearts,  can  but  gaze  upon  them  and  admire, 
but  never  hope  to  imitate.  It  was  this  faith,  laboring 
not  for  time  or  man  alone,  but  for  eternity  and  God, 
that  inspired  the  brush  of  Raphael  and  Murillo,  the 
chisel  of  Angelo,  and  the  pen  of  Dante.  It  was  this 
faith  that  drew  heavenly  music  from  the  soul  of 
Mozart,  and  kindled  the  fire  of  matchless  eloquence 
in  O'Connell's  Irish  breast.  It  was  this  faith,  whose 
effects  are  the  same  in  every  age,  that  fired  with  the 
most  unselfish  heroism  the  heart  of  man  and  gave  the 


world  that  host  of  noble  souls  that  fill  the  gap  from 
John  de  Matha  to  Damien  of  Molokai.  Our  faith  it 
was  that  in  the  Age  of  Iron,  when  might  seemed  right, 
upraised  its  tegis  over  the  oppressed,  and  dared  ta 
vindicate  the  rights  of  the  poor  and  trampled  serf 
against  the  tyrannous  exactions  of  brutal  masters." 


The  old  palm-trees  which  give  a  truly  Oriental 
coloring  to  the  Southern  California  landscape 
are  especially  interesting  to  the  thoughtful  trav- 
eller ;  for  they  tell  of  the  days  of  Spanish  occu- 
pation, when  the  Franciscan  friars  dwelt  in  the 
land,  founding  missions  and  leading  the  Indian 
tribes  to  God.  The  Brothers  everywhere  planted 
trees  and  vines  ;  the  olive,  with  its  silver  foliage  ; 
the  first  mission  grapes,  the  descendants  of  which 
now  cover  the  land ;  the  fig  and  the  palm-tree. 
There  are  two  of  the  latter  at  Lbs  Angeles.  They 
are  of  the  fan  species,  gigantic  in  size,  and,  to  the 
casual  observer,  as  much  alike  as  two  peas.  They 
are  each  ninety-five  feet  in  height  and  seven  in 
diameter.  They  are  at  least  one  hundred  years 
old,  and  have  seen  the  City  of  Our  Lady  of  the 
Angels  grow  from  a  small  collection  of  adobe 
huts  to  be  the  metropolis  of  that  region.  Near 
these  trees  is  a  well,  of  the  origin  of  which  the 
oldest  inhabitant  has  no  knowledge,  but  savants 
think  it  a  relic  of  the  Aztec  days. 


Millet's  "Angelus  " — that  wonderful  picture  of 
devotion,  in  which  sound  seems  to  be  painted, — 
is  to  remain  in  France,  after  all.  It  was  hoped  at 
one  time  that  it  should  be  brought  to  this  coun- 
try. It  was  put  up  at  the  Secretan  sale  at  Paris  on 
June  30,  The  competitors  were  the  agents  for  the 
Louvre,  for  the  Corcoran  Art  Gallery,  and  for  the 
Art  Association  of  New  York,  After  a  period  of 
suspense,  this  exquisite  painting  was  knocked 
down  to  the  agent  for  the  Louvre, — the  price  paid 
being  553,000  francs,  or  $110,600, 


A  large  harvest  of  souls  is  being  gathered  in  in 
Turkey  and  the  neighboring  provinces.  Mission- 
aries from  the  Propaganda  have  always  regarded 
the  Balkans  as  a  fruitful  field  ;  and  now  that  His 
Holiness  has  succeeded  in  allaying  to  a  great 
extent  the  prejudices  of  the  peoples  of  Servia, 
Montenegro,  Bulgaria  and  Roumania,  great  re- 
sults are  following  the  labors  of  those  who  have 
given  their  lives  to  the  work  of  spreading  the 
faith  among  them,  Bulgaria,  happily,  is  under 
the  rule  of  a  Catholic  prince ;  and  the  people  them- 
selves are  Catholics,  but  have  a  political  hostility 
to  Rome  and  everything  coming  from  Italy,  It  is 
very  satisfactory,  however,  to  be  able  to  record, 
on  the  testimony  of  Father  Gorlin,  the  superior 
of  the  Bulgarian  Seminary,  that  this  prejudice  is 
fast  disappearing.  His  late  report  shows  that  Mac- 


42 


The  Ave  Maria. 


edoiiia  ha.s  a  Catholic  population  of  nearly  thirty 
thonsand,  with  thirty-three  churches,  tvvent3--four 
schools,  and  fort^'-five  priests.  "These  figures," 
adds  Father  Gorlin,  "have  their  eloquence  when 
it  is  remembered  that  at  the  time  Mgr.  Bonetti 
undertook  the  charge  of  this  mission,  Macedonia 
reckoned  two  villages,  partly  Catholic,  containing 
hardly  a  hundred  houses.  Our  progress  is,  then, 
satisfactory,  if  we  consider  simpl}'  the  road  trav- 
ersed during  the  last  thirteen  years.  But  if  we  cast 
our  eyes  over  the  immense  field  to  be  still  har- 
vested, the  result  is  small.  There  are  about  a 
million  Bulgarians  in  Macedonia.  We  have,  then, 
gained  about  a  twentieth  of  them.  It  is  true, 
nevertheless,  that  the  har^'est  is  ripening,  and 
that,  with  the  grace  of  God,  whose  action  among 
this  people  is  manifest,  success  will  be  in  direct 
proportion  to  the  number  of  evangelical  workers, 
and  to  the  pecuniar}'  resources  we  may  be  able  to 
command." 

In  France  a  change  has  taken  place  in  the  at- 
titude of  the  Government  toward  the  Church. 
M.  Carnot  has  restored  the  religious  ceremon}'  in 
investing  the  new  French  Cardinals.  This  had 
been  abrogated  by  that  ' '  Liberal ' '  father-in-law, 
M.  Grev}'.  Even  M.  Jules  Ferry  asks  for  religious 
peace,  and  declares  that  he  always  was  a  friend 
to  religion  !  A  very  amusing  comedy  might  be 
written  on  this,  and  IMoliere  might  well  have  ex- 
claimed, "We  have  changed  everything!" 


Archbishop  Walsh's  gift  of  five  hundred  dol- 
lars to  the  sufferers  by  the  Johnstown  floods,  and 
the  donation  of  five  thousand  dollars  b}''  the  city 
of  Dublin,  .show  that  Ireland,  in  spite  of  her 
own  distress,  is  very  grateful.  These  gifts  are  as 
precious  in  the  eyes  of  the  American  people  as 
the  widow's  mite. 

There  is  only  one  "State  priest"  left  in  Ger- 
man}- to  recall  the  dark  days  of  the  Kulturkampf. 
Herr  Lizak,  of  Schrott,  has  resigned  his  post 
and  given  up  the  keys  of  the  church,  much  to 
the  delight  of  the  parivShioners. 


The  London  Tablet  recently  copied  from  the 
*' Proceedings  of  the  Society  of  Antiquarians"  a 
description  of  a  French  MS.  book  of  prayers  pre- 
ser\'ed  in  Trinity  College,  Dublin.  One  illumina- 
tion represents  our  Blessed  Lady  seated  on  two 
crimson  cushions  in  a  field  decked  with  flowers  ; 
by  her  side  stands  the  Divine  Infant.  He  seems 
to  be  contemplating  and  pointing  to  the  flowers 
before  Him,  probably  in  allusion  to  the  divine 
command  to  "consider  the  lilies  of  the  field."  The 
right  hand  of  the  Mother  of  God  rests  on  the 
Divine  Infant's  shoulder,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of 


steadying  His  infantine  steps.  The  left  hand  holds 
a  red  fruit,  which  may  probably  be  a  pomegran- 
ate, and,  if  so,  was  almost  certainly  intended  as 
an  emblem  of  the  Passion.  The  figure  of  Our 
Lady  is  .somewhat  stiff",  but  is  of  singular  beauty. 
The  subject  is  set  in  a  framework  of  delicate  floral 
decoration. 

Thomas  Ewing  Sherman,  son  of  General  W.  T. 
Shennan,  was  raised  to  the  dignity  of  the  priest- 
hood by  the  Most  Rev.  Archbishop  Ryan  of 
Philadelphia  on  Sunday,  July  7.  He  is  now  in 
the.  thirty-third  year  of  his  age,  and  a  member  of 
the  Society  of  Jesus,  which  Order  he  entered 
about  ten  years  ago  ;  abandoning  at  the  time 
brilliant  worldly  prospects,  held  out  to  him  by 
reason  of  a  thorough  collegiate  education  and  a 
high  social  position.  In  the  noble  devotion  of  his 
talents  to  God's  service  he  was  no  doubt  encour- 
aged by  the  beautiful  life  of  his  pious  mother, 
who  was  ever  the  model  of  the  Christian  woman, 
and  whose  careful  training  fostered  and  strength- 
ened faith  and  piety  in  her  children. 


The  new  Cathedral  of  SS.  Peter  and  Paul,  Prov- 
idence R.  I.,  which  was  consecrated  on  the  30th 
ult.,  is  said  to  be  the- grandest  church  edifice  in 
New  England.  Work  was  begun  on  it  in  1878  by 
the  late  Bishop  Hendricken,  and  at  the  time  of 
his  death  the  building  was  nearing  completion 
and  entirely  free  from  debt.  Bishop  Harkins,  his 
successor,  in  finishing  the  structure  declared  that 
he  would  go  ahead  only  as  fast  as  contributions 
were  received  to  enable  him  to  do.  Such  was  the 
generosity  of  the  Catholics  of  Providence  that 
within  three  years  the  building  was  completed. 
It  is  an  ornament  to  the  city,  and  a  monument  to 
the  religious  faith  and  zeal  of  its  Catholic  resi- 
dents of  which  they  may  well  be  proud. 


One  of  the  best  conducted  parishes  in  the  West 
and  one  of  the  most  flourishing  is  that  of  Kala- 
mazoo, Mich. ,  dedicated  to  the  great  St.  Augus- 
tine, and  presided  over  by  the  Very  Rev.  Francis 
O'Brien,  assisted  by  the  Rev.  Fathers  Ryan  and 
de  Gryse.  No  effort  is  spared  for  the  welfare 
of  the  congregation,  and  the  result  is  excellent 
schools,  literary  societies  of  which  the  largest  city 
parish  might  be  proud,  flourishing  sodalities,  well 
attended  Sunday-schools,  etc.,  etc.  On  the  30th 
ult.  the  corner-stone  of  a  new  hospital  was  laid,  a 
work  in  which  great  interest  is  shown  by  all 
classes  of  citizens.  Kalamazoo  was  not  always 
free  from  bigotry,  and  there  were  circumstances 
that  once  made  the  lot  of  its  pastor  anything  but 
enviable.  God  has  blessed  the  labors  of  Father 
O'Brien;  may  they  be  blessed  still  more  abun- 
dantly in  the  future! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


43 


New  Publications. 

Essays,  Literary  and  Ethical.  By  Aubrey  de 

Vere,  LL.  D.    London  :  Macmillan  &  Co. 

The  first  in  importance  of  these  essays  is  "Lit- 
erature in  its  Social  Aspects."  After  reading  Mr. 
Matthew  Arnold's  exquisite  essays, which  seem  to 
be  premises  without  conclusions  ;  Mr.  Frederick 
Harrison's  stronger  utterances,  w^hich,  however, 
in  critical  places,  vSeem  to  lack  backbone ;  M, 
Scherer's  and  M.  Taine's,  whose  frequent  false 
premises  make  their  conclusions  impossible, 
— Aubrey  de  Vere's  "Literature  in  its  Social 
Aspects"  fills  one  with  a  happy  sense  of  safety. 
A  sure  hand  guides  ;  and  that,  above  all,  we  ask 
in  a  critic.  Arnold  and  Harrison  and  Scherer  and 
Taine  have  the  admirable  qualities  of  their  re- 
spective talents  ;  but  we  feel  that  we  are  as  little 
safe  with  them  as  we  are  with  Renan, — we  can 
not  tell  at  what  moment  our  luxurious  parlor-car 
may  be  brought  to  the  verge  of  a  precipice — 
' '  the  Unknowable. ' ' 

The  closing  words  of  this  truly  noble  and  in- 
cisive essay  give  De  Vere's  dictum  on  a  literary 
subject  which  is  now  agitating  those  circles  in 
which  literature  is  made.  ' '  Literature, ' '  Aubrey 
de  Vere  says,  "has  its  three  distinct  periods, 
which  correspond  with  those  of  social  develop- 
ment. Let  us  glance  at  these.  It  begins  by  being 
a  vocation  or  an  art ;  it  becomes  subsequently  a 
profession ;  in  decline  it  sinks  into  a  trade. ' '  In 
America,  at  present,  literature  is  in  its  second 
stage.  But  the  professors  of  it,  tired  of  the  re- 
strictions imposed  on  them  by  the  modesty  of 
their  readers,  are  crying  out  that  the  example  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  Thackeray  and  Dickens  should 
be  no  longer  followed  ;  in  a  word,  that  the  novel 
and  the  poem  should  be  made  after  the  fashion 
of  Balzac  and  Flaubert  rather  than  after  that  of 
our  great  English  masters.  Recently  The  "Ave 
Maria"  printed  Father  Hewit's  opinion  on  this 
subject. 

Mr.  Aubrey  de  Vere  grandly  responds  to  those 
who  would  introduce  "realism"  into  our  liter- 
ature. He  says  that  what  Dante  did,  Boccaccio 
and  the  writers  of  the  novelle  undid  hy  their 
immorality;   "and  in  Chaucer's   poetry  a  dark 

stream  ran  side  by  side  with  the  clear  one 

In  ages  of  less  simplicity,"  he  continues,  "the 
same  evil  again  and  again  recurred,  marring  the 
heroic  strength  of  the  Elizabethan  drama,  scatter- 
ing plague-spots  over  the  dreary  revel  of  Charles 
the  Second,  and  in  France  pushing  aside  the 
Bossuets  and  Racines,  and  sealing  a  large  part  of 
literature  by  its  own  confession  against  the 
young  and  the  innocent, — that  is,  against  those 


who,  owing  to  their  leisure,  their  vivid  percep- 
tions, quick  sympathies,  and  unblunted  sensibili- 
ties, can  best  appreciate  what  is  beautiful,  best 
profit  by  what  is  ennobling,  and  best  reward,  by 
innocence  confirmed  and  noble  enjoyments  ex- 
tended, the  great  writer  who  has  ever  regarded 
them  as  his  glory  and  crown." 

This  essay  of  De  Vere's  is  of  the  noblest  type. 
There  is  no  line  in  it  that  a  thoughtful  man  can 
afford  to  leave  unread.  It  was  delivered  at  the 
request  of  Cardinal  Newman  when  he  was  rector 
of  the  Catholic  University  of  Ireland.  Altogether, 
the  contents  of  this  book  are  so  varied  that  a  sepa- 
rate article  ought  to  be  devoted  to  consideration 
of  each  essay.  "A  Few  Notes  oh  Modern  Unbe- 
lief," "Archbishop  Trench's  Poems,"  "Church 
Property  and  Secularization,"  and  "The  Personal 
Character  of  Wordsworth's  Poetry,"  are  subjects 
which  no  serious  reviewer  can  leave  without 
regret. 

For  a   King.    By  T.  S.  Sharowwood.  London : 

Bums  &  Gates. 

"For  a  King"  is  a  good  novel.  Mr.  Sharow- 
wood has  literary  art  and  good  taste.  His  style 
is  charmingly  simple  and  quaint ;  and,  so  far  as 
we  can  judge  from  our  reading  of  the  story,  it 
is  absolutely  true  to  the  facts  of  history.  King 
Charles  I.  and  his  Queen  Maria  Henrietta  are  ad- 
mirably sketched.  There  is  a  human  quality  about 
them  which  makes  them  as  real  as  the  Pretender 
in  Thackeray's  "Esmond."  It  would  be  a  shame 
to  forestall  interest  by  telling  the  plot.  It  is 
enough  to  say  that  Maud  and  Digby  are  life-like 
characters,  and  that  they  seem  in  such  a  difficult, 
not  to  say  hopeless,  position  that  one  is  tempted 
to  look  at  the  end  of  the  volume  before  one  has 
finished  it. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii,  3. 

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

The  Rev.  Francis  J.  Tewes,  rector  of  St.  Mary's 
Church,  Washington,  D.  C,  who  died  last  month. 

Mr.  Robert  Rice,  who  departed  this  life  in  Milwau- 
kee, Wis. ,  on  the  20th  ult. 

Mr.  William  Davis,  of  Ottawa,  Canada,  whose  death 
occurred  on  the  i6th  ult, 

Mrs.  Jane  Hall,  of  Wilmington,  Del. ;  Mrs.  Annie 
Dwyer,  Thurl6w,  Pa. ;  Mr.  Daniel  Scannell  and  Mrs. 
Mary  Walsh,  Millbury,  Mass. ;  Mr.  Michael  Rourke, 
New  York  city ;  and  John  Smith,  Green  Island,  N.  Y. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faith- 
ful departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in 
peace! 


44 


The  Ave  Maria. 


F^RTMENT 


BY   K.  I..  DORSEY. 


III. 


"Cap'n"  Judkins  had  serv^ed  his  trick  at 
life's  wheel  manfully,  and  had  determined 
again  and  again  to  settle,  when  "he  was  turned 
of  fifty,"  on  a  farm  where  cattle  and  crops  and 
grass  and  garden  "sass"  were  to  spring  in 
abundance  all  the  year  round — spontaneously 
it  is  to  be  presumed,  for  he  knew  no  more 
about  farming  than  any  other  sailor.  But 
when  ' '  eight-bells  struck ' ' — his  way  of  saying 
he  was  called  for  the  evening  watch  of  his 
days — he  found  the  farms  he  looked  at  unsat- 
isfactory. He  missed  something,  just  what 
he  could  not  define;  but  you  may  guess  it 
from  his  complaint :  "Smells  kind  o'  sweet — 
yes,  buty^a//  an'  it's  so  'tarnally  ^/z7//  Them 
hay-ricks  and  them  houses  hev  been  theer 
days,  an'  I  bet  they'll  stay  theer  days." 

At  last,  after  wandering  through  devious 
and  sundry  farming  tracts,  he  fell  upon  lyCwes, 
in  a  day  when  he  had  desperately  rushed  to 
the  sea  *to  git  the  smell  o'  straw  out  o'  his 
nose. '  And  there  he  found  rest ;  for  the  bloom- 
ing orchards,  laughing  fields,  and  emerald 
grazing  lands  of  Delaware  run  down  to  the 
very  water's  edge ;  the  fish-hawks  carry  their 
squirming  prey  over  the  com  tassels ;  the  sea- 
gulls pipe  above  the  peach  blossoms,  and  the 
masts  of  the  shipping  are  seen  between  the 
tree-tops ;  while  around  and  beyond  the  break- 
water, away  to  the  silver  streak,  the  restless 
sea  heaves  or  sleeps,  raves  or  smiles,  as  the 
great  winds  of  the  Lord  bid  it. 

But  he  bought  a  boat  instead  of  a  farm,  and 
soon  became  known  as  the  cleverest  new  pilot 
that  had  ever  taken  out  a  certificate  among 
the  natives ;  and  he  had  followed  this  trade 
for  about  ten  years,  when  one  night — it  was 
in  the  November  before  the  disaster  at  the 
Grand  Banks — ^he  was  invalided  for  life.  He 
was  bringing  in  a  ship  bound  from  Norfolk 
to  Philadelphia.  She  had  discharged  one  cargo 


and  was  coming  around  "in  ballast"  for  an- 
other. The  sky  was  queer,  and  Judkins  told 
the  captain  a  heav}^  blow  was  at  hand,  and 
that  he  had  better  shorten  sail.  I^ike  most 
merchant-men,  however,  she  was  sailing  short- 
handed;  and,  though  such  an  order  was  given, 
either  the  sailors  were  too  slow  or  the  wind 
too  quick ;  for  while  they  were  still  aloft  the 
gale  struck  her,  some  of  her  top -hamper 
jammed,  and  over  she  went.  How  they  got 
through  that  night  is  a  mystery  no  landsman 
could  understand. 

The  younger  men  pulled  out  of  it  with  no 
worse  result  than  a  few  scars  and  the  loss  of 
their  sea-chests,  but  Judkins  got  an  inflam- 
matory rheumatism  that  stiffened  his  joints 
and  made  him  so  sensitive  to  cold  that  only 
"fancy  work" — summer  piloting — was  possi- 
ble. Then  he  leased  his  boat,  bought  a  bit  of 
ground,  and  proceeded  to  build  a  small  house 
according  to  his  own  plans,  all  of  which  were 
drawn  on  the  lines  of  a  ship.  There  were 
cuddy-holes  and  lockers ;  swinging  tables  and 
fixed  berths  for  winter ;  hammock-hooks  and 
hammocks  for  summer;  and  a  flag-stiafF  and 
"quarter-deck"  roof,  with  a  hatchway,  such  as 
they  have  in  Nantucket,  where  every  fair  even- 
ing (and  many  that  were  not  fair)  he  took  his 
exercise,  with  his  glass  under  his  arm,  and  al- 
most tasted  the  sensation  of  again  being  afloat 
as  the  wind  whistled  or  sighed  about  his  ears. 

And  this  was  the  home  to  which  he  brought 
Idella  and  her  children.  With  Dick's  aid  he 
tucked  the  twins  up  very  neatl}^  and  comfort- 
ably for  the  night  (after  a  supper  that  ought 
to  have  given  them  a  violent  indigestion)  in 
one  of  the  winter  berths,  and  he  even  set  a 
bed-board  in  the  edge ;  for,  although  it  was  a 
fine,  starlight  night,  with  only  a  crisp  Octo- 
ber breeze  frisking  among  the  cat's-paws  in 
the  Bay,  he  felt  there  was  stormy  weather 
ahead  for  the  two  poor  little  lasses,  whose 
father  was  dead  and  whose  mother  was  crazy. 

The  evening  passed  quietly, — Idella,  either 
from  bodily  fatigue  or  the  distraction  of  new 
surroundings,  making  no  attempt  to  leave  the 
house  or  to  do  her  usual  work,  and  falling 
asleep  without  her  accustomed  attack  of  cry- 
ing ;  so  Dick  and  his  uncle  had  a  long  talk 
together,  which  made  them  good  friends — 
although  it  was  conducted  on  much  the  same 
plan  as  a  cross-examination, — and  gave  Jonas 


The  Ave  Maria. 


45 


a  full  insight  into  the  history  of  the  family 
so  suddenly  foisted  on  him.  After  getting  all 
the  bearings,  and  smoking  out  three  pipes 
over  them,  he  charted  a  plan  of  life  that 
verified  all  Dick's  dreams,  and  bound  the 
boy's  heart  to  him  with  steel  grapples. 

For  several  days  these  plans  worked  well, 
but  one  Sunday  morning  a  fog  crept  up  the 
Bay  and  cast  anchor  alongside  the  town,  and 
about  ten  o'clock  Idella  was  missed.  Jonas 
felt  helpless  for  once  in  his  life ;  but  Dick  im- 
mediately suggested  "beating  up"  the  beach, 
reminding  his  uncle  how  she  used  to  spend 
hours  at  home  keeping  watch  for  the  Idella  of 
Gloucester.  And  he  pointed  seaward,  saying, 

"She'll  make  fur  thet  by  her  scent." 

Jonas  thought  this  reasonable,  but  suddenly 
his  bronzed  face  went  white  and  his  breath 
came  almost  in  a  gasp. 

'  *  Lord, ' '  he  thou  ght,  "  the  mesh !  She  ain'  t 
gone  a-wanderin'  theer,  I  hope!" 

A  look  at  the  boy's  careworn  young  face 
decided  him  to  say  nothing,  however ;  so  he 
tore  off  a  great  wad  of  tobacco,  crammed  it  in 
his  mouth — to  stop  it, — and,  chewing  fiercely 
at  it,  led  the  way  toward  the  beach,  followed 
by  Dick,  who  trotted  hard  at  his  heels,  like  a 
faithful  little  dog. 

The  white,  breathless  air  wrapped  them  so 
close  they  could  not  see  an  arm's-length 
ahead  of  them ;  the  roar  of  the  sea  was  hushed 
— for  the  fog  and  the  wind  never  come  to- 
gether,— and  only  the  occasional  voice  of  a 
sailor  in  the  Bay  or  the  church  bells  from  the 
town  broke  the  stillness. 

Before  them  out  of  the  dimness  started  a 
fantastic  shape,  which  the}^  thought  for  an 
instant  was  the  lost  woman ;  but  it  proved  to 
be  Master  Tic,  who  was  spinning  round  and 
round  like  a  teetotum.  He  brought  up  with  a 
crash  against  Jonas,  then  carromed  against 
Dick,  and  sat  down,  hard,  on  the  shell  road. 

"You  little  varmint!"  said  Jonas,  angrily; 
*  *  what  you  doin'  here  ? '/ 

"I'm  a-practisin'  my  callers-thenics  fur 
school  to-morrow,"  answered  Tic,  blinking 
furiously.  "Hullo,  Dick!  's  that  you?  I  seen 
your  ma  a  while  back,"  he  added  conversa- 
tionally, scrambling  to  his  feet. 

"Wheer?"   asked  man  and  boy,  excitedly. 

"Agoin'  along  thar,"  he  answered,  pointing 
up  the  Bay  shore. 


Jonas  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  and  started  off  at 
a  great  pace,  not  knowing  that  Master  Tic 
had  entirely  lost  the  points  of  the  compass  in 
his  whirling.  And  they  tramped  several  miles 
before  seeing  a  sign  of  life,  and  then  it  was 
only  an  old  net-mender,  who  was  cobbling  a 
seine  against  the  next  day's  fishing. 

"A  'ooman?"  he  said,  peering  up  at  them, 
and  rubbing  the  wet  from  his  beard  with  the 
back  of  his  hand.  "Naw,  I  ain't  seen  none. 
Though,  toe  be  shore,  she  might  a-parst  me  in 
this  here  fog  close-to.  Look  an'  see  ef  that's 
any  prints  on  the  sand — it's  slack- water  now  " 

But  there  were  none,  and  Dick  repeated 
once  more  his  belief  that  she  had  made  for 
"th'  open";  and  they  retraced  their  way, — 
Jonas  assailed  again  by  fears  of  the  "mesh," 
and  Dick  spent  but  plucky. 

Arrived  at  the  causeway  that  leads  across 
the  marsh,  Jonas  felt  obliged  to  put  his  anx- 
iety into  words.  But  the  boy  answered: 

"I  don't  b'leeve  she's  went  that  a- way; 
fur  we  ain't  got  no  sich  thing  to  home,  an' 
it  wouldn't  be  nateral  fur  her  to  go  in  new 
tracks.  I  sorter  guess  she's  followed  the  bend 
o'  the  shore,  wheer  her  feet' 11  tetch  sand  all 
the  way." 

Poor  little  fellow,  he  was  wise  with  the 
wisdom  of  sorrow! 

' '  Is  that  so  ? "  asked  Jonas,  eagerly.  ' '  Then 
we'll  steer  'long  the  foot  o'  the  Ridge  here,  an* 
mebbe  come  up  wi'  her  afore  she's  gone  fur. 
I've  heem,  aye  an'  knowed,  ef  people  lost  in 
a  space,  'thout  compass  nor  log,  an'  they'd 
just  go  round  an'  round  in  a  circle  tell  they 
was  wore  out." 

And  they  went  on  and  on,  through  the  heavy 
sand,  until  Dick  began  to  wonder  if  he  wasn't 
having  one  of  those  dreams  in  which  the 
dreamer  strains  every  muscle  and  moves  legs 
and  arms  in  violent  effort  to  get  ahead,  but 
for  all  that  finds  himsoM pla7itS  Ih.  After  what 
seemed  an  interminable  time,  Jonas,  who  was 
in  front  of  him,  stopped  suddenly  and  started 
back,  with  a  look  of  discomfiture  on  his  face. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Dick. 

"Nothin',"  was  the  answer.  "But  we're 
midway  to  the  Light.  What's  that  noise?" — 
as  a  strange,  sad  wail  drifted  to  their  ears. 

"Sh-h!"  said  Dick.  "Tliet's  her  now. 
Hear  her  a-singin' ?  Wonder  wheer  she  is? 
Why,  here's  a  house!"  he  cried  in  surprise, 


46 


The  Ave  Maria. 


as  a  small  frame  building  loomed  up  out  of  the 
mist.  "Won't  the  folks  just  be  s' prised  when 
they  come  home  fum  meetin'  to  find  marm 
a-scrubbin'  an'  a-polishin'  their  pots  an'  pans!" 
And  he  chuckled.  But  Jonas  shook  his  head, 
and  the  sombre  look  on  his  face  deepened. 

' '  Who  lives  here,  uncle  ? ' ' 

*' Nobody,"  said  Jonas,  shortly. 

**Land!"  said  Dick,  with  wide  eyes.  "I 
want  to  know !  Why  don' t  nobody  live  here  ? ' ' 

Jonas  looked  around  uneasily,  and,  lower- 
ing his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper,  said : 

"On  account  o'  the  Crawl  bein'  so  near." 

"What's  the  Crawl?" 

But  Jonas  only  said :  "Belay  theer.  Let's 
get  your  ma  out,  an'  make  fur  home."  And 
he  strode  ahead  and  pushed  open  the  door 
that  hung  on  one  hinge. 

Idella  knelt  at  an  open  hearth,  on  which 
burnt  a  large  fire  of  drift-wood ;  and  she  was 
crooning  as  she  polished  a  tin  plate  half-eaten 
with  rust. 

"Thet  you,  Dick?"  she  called,  cheerily.  "I 
cert'n'y  am  glad  you've  come  in.  I  thought 
/'d  got  lost  oncet,  an'  ef  it  hadn't  a-ben  fur 
the  sound  o'  th'  old  organ  out  theer  a-swellin' 
an'  a-heavin'  I  don't  b'leeve  I'd  a-made  it. 
Wheer's  the  fish,  boy,  and  whatever's  gone 
with  the  dishes?  I  can't  find  a-one  excep' 
this  here,  an'  it's  a  sight  to  see." 

"Wh}^  marm,  we've  moved — don't  yov, 
'member?  An'  all  the  fixin's  is  up  at  th'  other 
house." 

"Is  thet  so?"  she  asked,  dubiously. 

"'Course  it  is.  Don't  you  see  the  cobwebs 
a-hangin'  all  aroun',  an'  the  sand  blowed  in 
at  the  windows?  An' jest  look  at  thet  plate. 
It's  a  inch  deep  in  rust." 

Just  then  a  puff"  of  wind  thumped  softly  in 
at  the  door,  and  the  sand  that  lay  drifted  over 
the  floor  stirred  and  eddied.  Jonas  looked  at 
it  with  a  strong  repugnance,  and  said : 

"  Hurr>^  up  theer,  boy.  The  locker's  empty" 
— tapping  his  stomach, — ' '  an'  it  must  be  nigh 
on  to  eight-bells." 

"Who's  thet?"  asked  his  sister. 

"Thet's  the  mate  o'  th'  Idella,'"  said  Dick, — 
then  he  made  a  pretence  of  whispering — "an' 
I  think  he's  hungry,  marm." 

"O' course  he  is,"  she  said,  briskly ;   "an' 
'Liakim  would  think  hard  of  me  ef  I  let  him^^^  I 
hungry.  Won't  you  come  home  to  take  a  bite 


with  us  ? "  she  added,  turning  pleasantly  to 
Jonas.  "Will  the  Cap' n  be  ashore  to-night?" 

"N — not  to-night,"  stammered  Jonas,  trip- 
ping again  over  what  seemed  a  lie  to  him. 

And  they  started  out  the  door,  to  find  that 
the  fog  was  stirring  and  wavering  in  a  wind 
that  began  to  cut  wide  lanes  and  furrows 
through  it  before  the}^  had  gone  a  mile  on 
their  homeward  way. 

(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 


One  Careless  Act. 


What  a  Little  Bird  Told  Me. 


BY  SYLVIA  HUNTING. 


There  was  once  a  little  girl  (whispered  the 
bird  to  me)  whose  mother  sent  her  with  a 
note  to  the  seamstress,  telling  her  to  be  sure 
and  deliver  it  on  her  way  to  school,  as  it 
contained  money  which  it  was  important 
the  woman  should  have  that  morning.  The 
little  girl  was  very  thoughtless,  somewhat 
selfish,  and  altogether  indifferent  when  her 
own  pleasure  and  feelings  were  not  concerned; 
so  she  speedil}'  decided  that  she  would  have 
to  walk  too  fast  in  the  summer  sunshine  if  she 
went  to  the  woman's  house  before  school  that 
morning.  Then,  well  satisfied  with  herself, 
she  skipped  off  with  the  note  in  her  pocket, 
and  slipped  it  under  the  door  of  the  poor 
woman's  cottage  as  she  returned  from  school 
in  the  evening. 

' '  Did  you  take  the  note  to  the  seamstress  ?  " 
said  her  mother,  meeting  her  at  the  door. 

"Yes,  mamma,"  answered  the  child. 

' '  What  did  she  say  ? ' '  asked  the  mother. 

"Nothing,  mamma,"  was  the  reply. 
.    "Nothing?    That    is    strange,"   said    her 
mother ;  ' '  when  I  was  so  particular  to  tell  her 
to  let  you  know  if  she  could  do  some  work 
for  me  this  week !    TJiat  is  strange ! " 

The  child  went  off  to  play,  and  the  mother 
entered  the  house  to  moralize  on  the  indiffer- 
ence of  work-people  in  general.  After  a  few 
days  she  gave  the  sewing  to  another  woman, 
thereby  losing  a  good  seamstress,  while  the 
seamstress  also  lost  a  valuable  patron.  But 
human  nature  and  wounded  feelings  are  not 
confined  to  the  wealth}-  and  prosperous. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


47 


The  seamstress  had  relied  on  receiving  the 
money  early  in  the  morning.  She  had  work  in 
the  house  which  she  had  promised  for  that 
evening  to  a  l?dy  who  was  about  to  leave  the 
city.  At  eleven  the  sewing-machine  agent 
came  for  the  ten  dollars  which  had  been  due 
two  months.  She  did  not  have  it,  and  he  went 
away  reluctantly,  but  with  the  promise  that 
he  would  try  to  have  her  time  extended  till 
the  next  day. 

When  he  returned  to  the  office  the  proprie- 
tor was  in  an  irritable  mood,  and  reproached 
him  for  not  having  collected  the  money. 

"She  is  such  a  poor  woman,  sir!"  pleaded 
the  agent.  '  'And  I  feel  certain  the  ten  dollars 
will  be  forthcoming  to-morrow." 

"Is  this  a  pauper  asylum?"  shouted  the 
proprietor.  "Send  for  that  machine  at  once. 
I'll  show  you  who  is  master  here!" 

"I  have  promised  to  wait  till  to-morrow," 
said  the  agent. 

"Go  this  moment,  or  leave  my  employ!" 
retorted  the  irate  manager. 

"I  am  no  slave,"  answered  the  agent.  "I 
will  leave  3'our  employ."  And  he  left,  though 
he  did  not  know  where  his  bread  and  butter 
were  to  come  from  thereafter. 

In  the  meantime  the  seamstress,  indignant 
that  the  money  had  not  been  sent  as  promised, 
and  too  proud  to  make  inquiry  about  it, 
started  out  to  endeavor  to  obtain  an  advance 
on  the  garments  she  was  making,  hoping 
thereby  to  stave  off  the  necessity  of  parting 
with  her' machine. 

The  lady  received  her  with  freezing  cold- 
ness. "Well,  indeed!"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
think  I  see  myself  paying  for  work  I  have  not 
yet  received,  especially  a  stranger  whom  I 
have  never  before  employed!  I  believe  it  is 
only  a  scheme,  and  that  you  either  intend  to 
send  home  the  work  unfinished  or  to  keep  it 
altogether.  You  must  have  very  little  custom 
and  be  a  poor  seamstress  if  you  can  not  pay 
five  dollars  a  month  on  a  sewing-machine. 
No  indeed,  my  good  woman,  not  a  dollar  will 
I  pay  you  till  the  work  is  done." 

"But  it  will  not  be  done  at  all  if  my  ma- 
chine is  taken  away,  madam,"  pleaded  the 
seamstress. 

"It  is  all  a  scheme  of  some  kind  to  defraud 
me!"  cried  the  angry  woman.  "I  shall  order 
the  carriage  at  once  and  see  for  myself." 


"You  may  spare  yourself  the  trouble, 
madam,"  exclaimed  the  now  thoroughly 
aroused  seamstress.  "  Send  your  maid  and  I 
will  give  her  the  garment.  Not  another  stitch 
would  I  put  in  if  you  paid  me  at  the  rate  of  a 
dollar  a  piece." 

When  she  reached  home  the  machine  had 
been  removed. 

The  sewing-machine  agent  was  a  delicate 
3"0ung  man.  After  his  dismissal  by  his  em- 
ployer he  walked  up  and  down  the  street  in 
the  blazing  sun  for  an  hour,  then  climbed  to 
his  attic  room.  There  the  landlady  found  him 
about  four  o'clock,  in  a  raging  fever.  It  was  a 
case  of  sunstroke.  She  hurriedly  sent  for  the 
doctor,  a  fussy,  irascible  old  bachelor,  who, 
after  making  his  patient  comfortable,  made  a 
misstep  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  fell  to  the 
bottom,  badly  injuring  his  head  and  spine. 
He  was  conveyed  to  his  home,  where,  con- 
scious of  his  danger,  he  summoned  both  priest 
and  lawyer, — the  former  to  hear  his  confes- 
sion, the  latter  to  draw  up  his  will. 

The  law3^er  was  not  to  be  found  in  his  office. 
After  a  search  it  was  discovered  that  he  had 
gone  sailing.  A  telephone  message  was  sent 
to  the  island  where  the  party  had  expected 
to  land,  and  the  answer  that  came  was,  "Na 
business  to-day."  The  message  had  not  been 
understood.  But  the  doctor  was  suffering  too- 
much  to  be  lenient  in  judgment;  he  became 
very  angry,  and  sending  for  another  attorney, 
made  his  will,  whereby  the  original  lawyer 
lost  a  legacy  of  several  hundred  dollars. 

The  priest  had  not  been  remiss,  but  his 
light  method  of  treating  the  doctor's  accident 
served  still  further  to  irritate  his  mind.  He 
refused  to  make  his  confession  then ;  and  when 
the  good  Father  endeavored  to  soften  his  re- 
sentment against  the  young  lawyer  b}-  saying 
there  must  have  been  some  misunderstanding, 
his  rage  knew  no  bounds.  "You  are  in  league 
together  against  the  old  man,  now  that  you 
have  got  him  on  his  back!"  he  exclaimed. 
Vainl}'  did  the  priest  attempt  to  show  that 
neither  one  nor  the  other  could  have  any 
possible  motive  for  such  conduct.  "Go  back 
to  your  church,  Father,"  he  said.  "I  have  not 
been  to  confession  for  twenty  years,  and  if  I 
get  up  again  I  shall  not  go  for  twenty  more. 
But  I  shall  make  m}-  will,  nevertheless;  and 
St.  Monica's   shall  vot  get  a  penny  of  my 


48 


The  Ave  Maria, 


money."  Seeing  it  was  useless  to  argue  fur- 
ther with  such  an  unreasonable  man,  the  priest 
retired. 

And  here  my  little  bird  flew  away.  Whether 
the  doctor  recovered,  and  took  the  young 
lawyer  back  into  favor,  and  apologized  to  the 
priest,  I  shall  never  be  able  to  tell  you.  Or 
whether  the  sewing-machine  agent  also  re- 
covered, and  regained  his  situation,  or  one 
equally  good  if  not  better;  or  whether  the 
poor  woman's  machine  was  restored  to  her,  or 
whether  she  was  prosperous  or  otherwise,  I 
am  equally  unable  to  say.  But  this  I  know : 
that  the  story  the  little  bird  told  me  has  its 
counterpart  in  everyday  life,  every  day  of  our 
lives ;  that  there  is  no  act,  good  or  evil,  care- 
less or  premeditated,  without  its  consequences, 
— sometimes  so  hazardous,  always  so  fraught 
with  ill  or  beneficent  results,  that  we  can 
never  realize  too  deeply  the  responsibility  that 
rests  upon  us  as  creatures  of  God,  who  will  all 
have  to  answer  to  Him  for  our  immortal  souls, 
as  well  as,  indirectly,  for  all  other  souls  whom 
our  actions  influence  from  day  to  day. 


A  Legend  of  Our  Lady. 


From  the  Spanish  of  Fern  an  Cabellero,  by  "jE"." 

I. 

There  was  once  a  man  who  was  very,  very 
poor.  He  had  no  bread  for  his  seven  children,  ; 
who  were  crying  with  hunger ;  and  the  stork  : 
was  bringing  him  an  eighth  baby,  and  he  knew  , 
that  he  had  nothing  wherewith  to  clothe  it.  So  | 
he  went  out  of  the  house,  and  wandered  about  ; 
until  night  came  on,  when  he  found  himself  at  i 
the  entrance  to  a  robbers'  cave.  The  captain 
came  out,  and  demanded  in  a  voice  of  thunder,   i 

"Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you  want?" 

"Sir,"  replied  the  poor  man,  "I  am  only  an  ' 
unfortunate  being,  and  I  have  left  my  home 
because  my  children  were  crying  for  bread, 
and  I  could  not  stay  and  see  them  starve." 

The  captain  took  pity  on  him,  and,  giving 
him  some  food  and  a  purse  full  of  money,  said : 

"Go  home  now,  and  when  tlie  stork  brings 
3^ou  another  child  let  me  know,  and  I  will  be 
its  godfather." 

Andrew,  for  such  was  his  name,  went  home 
rejoicing.  When  he  arrived  he  found  another 
little  boy,  whom  the  stork  had  already  left 


him.    Next   day   he   returned  and    told   the 
captain,  who  at  once  fulfilled  his  promise. 

II. 

But  after  a  little  time  the  child  died  and 
went  to  heaven.  St.  Peter,  who  was  standing 
at  the  gate,  smiled  upon  him,  and  told  him  to 
enter ;  but  he  answered : 

"I  don't  want  to  go  in  unless  my  godfather 
can  come  too." 

"And  who  is  thy  godfather?"  asked  the 
Saint. 

"A  captain  of  robbers,"  replied  the  boy. 

"Then,  my  child,"  continued  St.  Peter, 
"thou  mayst  enter,  but  not  thy  godfather." 

The  little  fellow  very  sadly  sat  down  by  the 
gate,  and  w^aited.  After  a  time  the  "Blessed 
Virgin  appeared,  and  addressed  him  thus : 

"Why  dost  thou  not  enter  into  heaven, 
little  one?" 

The  child  replied  that  he  did  not  wish  to 
enter  unless  his  godfather  might  come  too, 
and  that  St.  Peter  had  said  that  was  impossi- 
ble. Then  he  knelt  down  and  wept  so  bitterly 
that  the  Mother  of  Mercy  was  moved  to  com- 
passion. She  handed  him  a  golden  cup,  saying, 

"Go  and  seek  thy  godfather,  and  bid  him 
fill  this  cup  with  tears  of  repentance,  and 
then  he  may'  go  with  thee  into  heaven.  Take 
these  silver  wings  and  fly  hence." 

III. 

The  robber  lay  asleep  under  a  rock,  with  a 
gun  in  one  hand  and  a  dagger  in  the  other. 
When  he  awoke  he  saw  before  him  a  beautiful 
child,  whose  silver  wings  shone  like  the  sun  ; 
he  was  seated  on  a  lavender  plant,  and  he  held 
a  golden  cup  in  his  hand.  The  robber  rubbed 
his  eyes,  for  he  thought  he  was  dreaming; 
but  the  child  said : 

"No,  thou  art  not  dreaming;  I  am  thy 
godchild." 

And  then  he  told  all  that  had  happened. 
And  as  the  frost  melts  away  when  the  sun 
shines  on  it,  so,  at  the  stor>'  of  the  goodness  ot 
God  and  the  loving  tenderness  of  the  Blessed 
\''irgin,  did  the  soul  of  the  robber  .dissolve 
in  tears.  His  sorrow  for  sin  was  so  sharp  and 
his  repentance  so  keen  that  his  heart  was 
pierced  as  by  two  daggers,  and  he  died. 

And  the  child  took  the  cup  full  of  tears,  and 
flew  with  the  soul  of  his  godfather  to  heaven, 
where  they  entered,  and  where  God  grant  we 
all  ma}-  one  day  enter  too. 


TH£: 


"->^^^^^<^^^jir^^^ 


Vol.  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JUI.Y  20,  1889. 


No.  3. 


[Published  every  Saturday. 

Eve's  Consolation. 

BY   MARION   MUIR   RICHARDSON. 


"TV    MAN   from  the  Lord  I  have  won!"    she 

-2»v       cried — 
When  the  young  dawn  broke  over  wave  and  plain, 
In  that  far  land  wherein  the  mourning  twain 
That  nevermore  in  Eden  might  abide, 
lyit  their  lone  beacon  by  Euphrates'  tide, — 
And  clasped  her  joy,  with  all  night's  bitter  pain 
Merged  in  the  glory  of  a  mother's  reign. 
So,  little  darling,  nestled  at  my  side. 
You  are  my  own,  the  gift  of  the  Most  High,— 
A  man  unsullied  by  the  sins  of  men, 
Within  my  arms  a  precious  charge  to  lie 
Ere  Life's  stern  call  commands  you ;  then,  ah  then, 
Mother  of  Mercy,  Queen  of  love  and  dole, 
Set  thy  white  seal  upon  this  tender  soul! 


The  Martyrs  of  Molokai. 


BY    CHARI^ES    WARREN    STODDARD, 


VER  since  the  news  of  Father  Da- 
mien's  death  startled  the  world  into 
momentary  seriousness  I  have  been 
getting  by  post  and  by  word  of  mouth  mes- 
sages of  condolence.  Out  of  a  grand  Roman 
palazzo,  not  a  stone's- throw  from  the  Quirinal, 
came  this  cry : 

"  O  weep  for  Father  Damieu  :  he  is  dead! 
.  .  .  till  the  future  dares 
Forget  the  past,  his  fate  and  fame  shall  be 
An  echo  and  a  light  unto  eternity! — 
**My  dear  friend,  ever  since  the  sad  news 
came  to  us  these  lines  have  been  on  my  brain, 
— 'Woe  is  me!   Whence  are  we,  and  why  are 


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

.we?'    I  have  no  words  to  express  the  deep 
j  interest  I  have  felt  in  the  devotion  and  self- 
sacrifice  of  that  man  of  men." 

And  Francesca  of  Florence — she  who  wrote 
the  "Story  of  Ida" — writes  now  to  say: 
"Since  receiving  your  letter  I  have  heard  that 
your  saintly  friend  has  gone  to  his  reward. 
All  must  rejoice  for  him,  and  no  doubt  you 
do  so ;  still,  for  yourself,  the  loss  out  of  your 
life  is  a  great  one — too  great  ever  to  be  made 
good  until  you  go  where  he  is.  You  can  never 
hope  to  see  such  another ;  but  the  memory  of 
such  a  friendship  is  a  great  blessing,  and  my 
heart  aches  when  I  think  of  those  poor  afflicted 
people  who  have  lost  their  best  friend  — 
though,  of  course,  no  one  could  have  wished 
to  keep  him  to  suffer  longer." 

Other  messages  have  come  from  near  and 
far,  and  they  have  thrown  me  into  a  retro- 
spective mood,  out  of  which  I  find  it  difficult 
to  extricate  myself.  As  the  sky  is  overcast 
to-day,  so  is  my  heart,  and  I  take  a  kind  of 
sad  pleasure  in  turning  over  a  bundle  of  letters 
— very  precious  in  my  eyes — which  I  have 
laid  away  for  safest  keeping.  I  wonder  if  it 


will  be  thought  indelicate  if  I  quote  a  little 
from  some  of  these  letters?  As  they  betray  a 
nobility  of  soul  in  the  several  writers  that 
redounds  to  their  lasting  credit,  and  as  the 
letters  are  not  marked  "confidential,"  and 
are  not  of  a  private  nature,  it  seems  to  me  that 
I  may  venture  to  let  my  readers  share  with  me 
the  pleasure  such  communications  afford.  Let 
us  return  to  the  gentle  Francesca  of  Florence, 
and  listen  to  her  for  a  moment.  She  says : 

' '  The  story  of  Father  Damien  is  the  most 
wonderful  record  of  Christian  life,  and  of  what 
the  grace  of  God  can  do.    I  could  not  read  it 


so 


The  Ave  Maria. 


without  tears ;  yet  I  can  give  thanks  to  know 
that  such  a  man  lives  [he  had  been  dead  three 
weeks  when  she  wrote  that  line,  and  none 
of  us  knew  it  or  even  suspected  it].  What  a 
blessing  to  you  to  have  such  a  friend !  Thank 
you  a  thousand  times  for  a  copy  of  'The 
Lepers  of  Molokai.'  It  will  be  kept  among 
my  most  precious  things,  and  if  I  am  not  the 
better  for  it  it  will  be  my  own  fault. ' ' 

Shall  I  permit  3^ou,  my  reader,  to  peep  into 
these  several  pages  that  conclude  thus,  "Now 
you  have  a  long  letter  in  a  most  horrible  Eng- 
lish. God  bless  you!" — shall  I?  The  writer 
of  these  lines  is  the  author  of  ^*  Die  Geier- 
Wally"  (The  Vulture  Maiden)  ;  ''The  Hour 
will  Come,"  "A  Graveyard  Flower,"  etc.,  etc. ; 
and  of  her  and  of  her  home  in  Ober-iVmmergau 
I  may  have  more  to  say  anon.  She  had  been 
reading  "The  Lepers  of  Molokai,"  and  with 
that  enthusiasm  which  is  her  chief  character- 
istic she  says,  in  a  brave  attempt  at  English : 

"Your  book  has  made  to  me  a  great  im- 
pression. Oh,  this  Father  Damien  has  all  my 
love!  Your  gentle  and  poetic  feather  has  de- 
picted a  character  we  must  love  and  admire, 
and  to  whom  whole  humanity  should  feel 
obliged.  How  lovely  and  moving  is  your  epi- 
logue and  your  words  of  kindest  farewell  to 
the  afflicted  friend !  Yes,  indeed,  you  have 
recommended  him  and  his  unhappy  people  to 
the  Christian  humanity,  and  you  have  lift 
[lifted?],  by  this  description  of  martj^rdom, 
upon  a  higher  step  in  patience  and  resigna- 
tion, in  judgment  and  admiration,  our  better 
veneration  for  the  power  of  Catholic  mind. 
We  readers  of  this  book  are  with  your  hero 
priest,  standing  upon  his  highness,  with  him 
triumphant  of  disease  and  death.  I  think  you 
will  find  my  best  thanks  in  these  words." 

Now  I  must  offer  a  translation,  for  the  writer 
has  not  the  courage  of  the  noble  lady  from 
whom  we  have  just  quoted.  The  letter  before 
me  runs  about  as  follows : 

*  *  With  the  liveliest  interest  I  have  read  your 
chronicle  of  the  unhappy  ones  of  Molokai, 
and  I  thank  you  right  heartily  for  the  infor- 
mation contained  in  this  most  remarkable 
little  book.  It  has  touched  my  soul  here  and 
there,  as  does  the  descent  of  Dante  into  the 
Inferno — la  perdiite  gente, — but  at  the  same 
time  the  touching  and  heroic  figure  of  Father 
Damien  spreads  a  glimpse  of  comfort  and 


glorification  over  the  horrible  picture  of  the 
deepest  human  misery.  For  me  to  look  into 
that  distant  world  was  the  more  interesting  as 
I  have  made  the  fate  of  one  of  the  victims  of 
the  dreadful  plague  the  subject  of  a  novel: 
and  for  this  purpose  was  obliged  to  make  my- 
self familiar  with  the  traditions  concerning 
leprosy,  lazar-houses,  etc.,  and  all  the  manners 
and  customs  which  attach  to  them.  I  beg  to 
present  you  with  this  novel,  which  has  been 
published  under  the  title  of  '  Lichentrost '  [a 
compound  word  most  difficult  to  translate, 
and  probably  invented  by  the  poet-novelist  ; 
it  means  'consolation  for  those  who  are  fatally 
ill.'  O  the  possibilities  of  this  comprehensive, 
cornucopious,  all-digesting  Teutonic  tongue!] 
"Unfortunately,  I  am  not  sufficiently  master 
of  the  English  tongue  to  answer  you  in  your 
own  language,  but  my  book  should  prove 
to  you  that  yours  could  hardly  find  a  more 
grateful  reader  than 

"Yours  trul}^ 

"Paul  Heyse." 

As  for  myself,  when  I  saw  in  the  telegrams 
of  the  day  that  the  long-suffering  martyr  of 
Molokai  had  passed  to  his  reward,  for  a  mo- 
ment I  felt  as  if  there  were  a  blank  in  the  life 
that  now  is, — a  loss  to  the  world  which  must 
be  felt  for  an  age  to  come ;  but  in  the  next 
moment  I  was  overwhelmed  with  a  thought 
of  the  welcome  that  awaited  him  in  the  king- 
dom of  heaven.  It  was  almost  too  much  to 
think  of;  it  is  still  enough  to  make  the  honors 
of  this  life  unspeakably  foolish  by  comparison. 
That  his  example  has  not  been  lost,  that  he 
has  not  suffered  in  vain,  is  amply  proved  by 
the  eulogies  that  are  now  emanating  from 
every  conceivable  source.  Of  the  writers  from 
whom  I  have  quoted  above,  two  are  Protes- 
tant and  one  a  non-believer — no  member  of 
any  sect  under  the  sun.  It  is  well  for  the  age 
that  the  sacrifice  of  Father  Damien  can  touch 
the  heart  of  every  one  who  hears  of  it ;  that 
in  the  glow  which  seems  to  hallow  the  mem- 
ory of  this  archtype  all  sectarian  bigotry  and 
prejudice  are  forgotten,  and  the  sentiment  of 
grief  for  the  fate  of  this  modem  martyr  be- 
comes common  and  universal. 

That  he  was  the  most  humble  and  modest 
of  men  has  been  amply  proven ;  but  I  would 
like  to  state  here  that  when  the  first  draft  of 
my  sketch  entitled  "The  Lepers  of  Molokai"" 


The  Ave  Maria. 


51 


was  submitted  to  him  for  criticism,  correction 
and  approval,  I  called  it  "The  Martyrs  of 
Molokai."  I  considered  Father  Damien  and 
his  then  coadjutor,  Father  Albert,  martyrs.  I 
must  evei;  consider  those  who  sacrifice  their 
lives  for  the  glory  of  God  in  His  church  at 
Kalawao  and  Kaulapapa,  and  the  spiritual  and 
temporal  welfare  of  the  victims  of  leprosy  con- 
gregated there,  martyrs,  and  glorious  martyrs. 
But  Father  Damien  disclaimed  the  honor  for 
himself  and  his  followers,  and  forbade  me  to 
iise  the  word ;  therefore,  at  his  wish  and  with 
his  approval,  the  sketch  is  called  * '  The  I^epers 
of  Molokai." 

Father  Damien  was  not  the  first  priest  to 
die  of  leprosy  at  Molokai,  but  he  was  the  one 
priest  who  went  there  in  the  beginning  and 
stayed  there  even  unto  the  end — through  six- 
teen horrible  years.  In  November  last  a  good 
soul  silentl}^  passed  away  ;  on  the  i  ith  of  that 
month  Father  Gregor>'  Archambaux  died  of 
leprosy  at  Molokai.  How  well  I  remember 
Father  Gregory — so  we  always  called  him, 
and  I  doubt  that  a  dozen  people  in  the  whole 
Kingdom  knew  his  name  was  Archambaux. 
I  used  to  see  him  at  Father  Leanor's  pretty 
chapel  in  Wailuku,  on  the  island  of  Maui. 
I  think  I  have  written  something  for  The 
"Ave"  concerning  that  chapel  in  a  sketch 
called  "A  Mission  in  Mid-Ocean." 

Often  I  have  ridden  up  to  the  grove  that 
shelters  the  mission  house  at  Wailuku,  and 
dismounted  to  seek  a  little  rest  there.  Usually 
the  place  seemed  deserted ;  doors  stood  wide 
open,  windows  likewise — one  does  not  care  to 
shut  in  the  heat  in  that  hot  land.  I  used  to 
walk  through  the  small,  stuffy,  scantily  fur- 
nished rooms,  calling  on  Father  Gregory  in  a 
hioderately  loud  voice ;  sometimes  he  would 
reply  from  a  cramped  office,  hardly  bigger 
than  a  packing-case,  where  he  was  busying 
himself  with  the  business  affairs  of  the  parish 
-^these  also  must  receive  the  closest  attention. 
Sometimes  he  would  be  weeding  in  the  vege- 
table garden  ;  sometimes  inspecting  the  school 
close  at  hand, — a  veiy  fine  school,  in  the 
hands  of  the  good  Brothers  of  Mar>'.  Oftener 
I  would  wander  over  to  the  chapel  and  find 
him  there,  hearing  catechism,  teaching  the 
choir  children  a  new  hymn,  absorbed  in  the 
confessional,  or  tidying  the  sanctuary  with 
careful  and  loving  hands. 


All  this  time  I  had  noticed,  what  no  one 
could  help  noticing,  that  the  uncomplaining 
Father  was  a  great  sufferer.  In  walking  even 
a  short  distance  he  was  suddenly  seized  by  a 
kind  of  cramp  that  would  sometimes  almost 
throw  him  to  the  earth.  The  pain  he  suffered 
at  such  times  was  excruciating.  Great  drops 
of  cold  sweat  stood  upon  his  forehead,  and  his 
face  was  almost  unrecognizable  in  its  convul- 
sions. It  was  wnth  the  utmost  difficulty  that  he 
refrained  from  shrieking  in  anguish.  I  know 
not  how  many  times  I  have  seen  him  so  af- 
fected, yet  I  never  heard  a  word  of  complaint 
escape  his  lips.  He  was  always  amiable,  even 
cheerful — as  I  knew  him  ;  always  glad  to 
welcome  a  guest  to  the  mission  house — there 
were  few  calls  upon  his  hospitality ;  always 
quick  to  set  forth  the  best  the  place  afforded 
— which  was  seldom  more  than  a  sea-biscuit 
and  a  glass  of  moderately  good  French  claret 
— but  claret  was  a  luxur}'  reserved  for  the 
honored  guest. 

The  affairs  of  his  parish — a  new  hospital 
had  been  lately  opened  under  the  care  of  the 
Franciscan  Sisters — kept  him  busy  enough ; 
but  when  I  dropped  in  to  interrupt  his  mo- 
notonous routine  I  found  that  I  could  divert 
his  mind  for  a  moment  with  a  little  gossip 
concerning  the  varying  fortunes  of  his  fair 
and  well-beloved  France.  Probably  he  thought 
this  a  kind  of  dissipation,  and  cried  ''Mea 
culpa ! ' '  when  I  had  ridden  away  and  left 
him  to  an  examination  of  conscience. 

A  newspaper  clipping  which  lies  before  me, 
in  referring  to  the  death  of  Father  Gregory, 
says:  "He  had  never  an}^  exterior  wound; 
but  his  inward  pains  were  the  more  excruciat- 
ing, and  he  lingered  for  a  long  time."  Doubt- 
less the  fatal  seed  was  sown  even  when  I  knew 
him,  though  he  did  not  go  to  Molokai  for 
some  time  after  that;  his  sufferings  were  the 
same  in  the  two  places,  and  I  know  how  ter- 
rible they  were. 

Ah  me !  martyrs  in  very  truth  are  they ;  and 
the  martyrology  of  Molokai  may  yet  prove  to 
be  the  one  record  of  the  age  that  shall  touch 
the  heart  and  enlighten  the  understanding  of 
posterity. 

Repress  a  certain  disposition  to  treat  as 
enemies  those  who  do  not  believe,  pray,  think, 
act,  nor  speak  as  thou  dost. 


52 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY  NUGENT  ROBINSON. 


CHAPTER  III.— Introducing  Young  Ladies. 

ON  the  following  Sunday  the  two  employis 
attended  the  Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass 
at  the  beautiful  Gothic  church  of  the  Domin- 
ican Fathers  in  Lower  Dominick  Street. 
Father  "Tom"  Burke  preached.  Never  had 
this  heaven-inspired  orator  been  more  elo- 
quent. The  golden  tide  poured  from  his  glit- 
tering tongue,  holding  the  congregation  in 
charmed  and  holy  ecstas3^ 

"He  preached  as  if  he'd  never  preach  again, — 
As  a  dying  man  to  dying  men." 

"Let  US  wait  for  the  Ryans,"  observed 
Molloy  on  gaining  the  street.  "I  saw  the 
Alderman  and  Miss  Esmonde,  and  a  young 
lady  whom  I  am  sure  is  the  Alderman's 
daughter,  she  is  so  like  him." 

"Stand  at  the  door  with  those  overdressed 
silly  puppies?  Not  I,  indeed!  I  consider  it 
profaning  the  sacred  soil  of  the  church.  It's 
an  insult  to  a  young  lady, — that's  what  it 
is!"  retorted  Considine,  with  his  accustomed 
warmth. 

"We  can  wait  in  the  street.  Let  us  walk 
slowly.  We  might  be  asked  home  to  lunch. 
Every  man  ought  to  improve  his  chances. 
This  is  a  social  chance.  We  have  got  in  the 
thin  end  of  the  wedge.  It  will  cost  us  nothing. 
People  like  these  expect  no  return." 

As  Molloy  spoke,  Considine  was  tapped 
with  a  cane  on  the  shoulder.  He  turned. 
Alderman  Ryan  extended  his  hand. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Considine.  And  you 
too,  Mr.  Molloy.  What  a  noble  sermon!  I  hope 
Father  Burke  is  not  overtaxing  his  strength. 
I  never  overtax  mine.  My  speeches  in  the 
Corporation  never  exceed  half  an  hour.  I  could 
go  on  for  an  hour  or  two,  but,  then,  I  would 
feel  the  ill  effects.  This  cane  was  presented 
to  me  by  the  ward.  A  beautiful  design,  sir," 
— pushing  the  handle  under  Harry's  nose. 
"Wicklow  gold.  You  perceive  the  round 
tower,  the  Irish  wolf-dog,  and  the  shamrock  ? 
I  wish  it  hadn't  been  quite  so  national.  The 
address  was  not  liked  at  the  Castle,  I  can  tell 
you ;  but  my  reply  was  very  guarded.  One 


has  to  be  cautious  when  one  is  looking  for 
the  mayoralty." 

"You  ought  to  have  had  it  last  year,  papa! " 
exclaimed  a  young  lady  at  his  side,  the  liv- 
ing image  of  her  father, — pale,  black-haired, 
and  with  showy  teeth.  Her  eyes  were  un- 
pleasantly close  to  each  other,  and  imparted 
the  unpleasant  idea  that  they  would  sooner 
or  later  fuse  together  in  some  mysterious  way. 
She  was  tall  and  slim. 

"This  is  my  daughter.  Jane,  this  is  the 
gentleman  who  found  my  money  in  the  Park.'* 

"Oh!"  was  all  that  Miss  Ryan  deigned  to 
answer. 

The  Alderman  invited  the  young  men  to 
turn  in  to  luncheon.  Considine  was  for  re- 
fusing, but  Molloy,  who  had  walked  on  in 
advance  with  Miss  Esmonde,  accepted  with 
empressement.  Miss  Ryan  did  not  seem  at  all 
pleased  that  the  invitation  had  been  extended, 
and  was  cold  and  silent,  if  not  absolutely  rude, 
during  the  meal.  Her  cousin,  on  the  other 
hand,  made  up  for  her  deficiencies,  and  was 
all  that  a  gracious  and  sunny  nature  could 
display. 

"My  daughter  will  have  to  act  as  Lady 
Mayoress,"  the  Alderman  observed;  "my 
poor  dear  wife  died  in  1 860.  Jane  will  be  the 
youngest  lady  who  ever  presided  in  the  Man- 
sion House." 

"She  will  take  precious  good  care  of  her 
invitation  lists,"  was  Miss  Ryan's  remark, 
soto  voce. 

"She  will  be  assisted  by  her  fair  cousin 
here,"  said  the  Alderman. 

"Oh, — I — I  hope  not,  dear  uncle!  I  hope 
next  year  to  be  with  —  to  be  in  the  United 
States." 

"The  United  States,  Miss  Esmonde!"  ex- 
claimed Harry. 

"Yes.  I  have  relatives  there." 

"We  all  have  relatives  there.  Who  is  it 
that  hasn't  a  relative  in  America?  That's  the 
country!  New  Ireland — Old  Ireland  with  all 
the  most  recent  improvements!  How  I  long 
to  get  there!  The  moment  I  shall  have  saved 
my  passage  money  and  a  ten-pound  note  I'm 
off.  There  is  no  career  for  me  here.  I — but  I 
beg  your  pardon  all  for  talking  so  much  of 
myself ! ' '  And  he  blushed  a  crimson  that 
became  him  well. 

"What  would  you  do  if  you  got  there?'* 


The  Ave  Maria. 


53 


sneeringly  inquired.  Miss  Ryan.  "Become 
President?" 

"  Do  ?  I  would  do  all  that  becomes  a  young 
and  strong  man  to  earn  an  honest  living." 

* '  Fearfully  vague ! ' '  said  Miss  Ryan,  shrug- 
ging her  shoulders. 

"Mr.  Considine,"  cried  Miss  Esmonde,  "you 
are  right.  If  you  have  to  fight  the  battle  of 
life,  let  it  be  on  the  biggest  field." 

"That  he  may  be  able  to  run  away," 
laughed  her  cousin. 

"No,  Jane:  that  he  may  have  plenty  of 
elbow-room,  and  plenty  of  chance  for  every 
blow  that  he  strikes." 

The  beautiful  smile  had  yielded  to  an  ex- 
quisite seriousness  of  expression,  that  afforded 
Considine  absolute  delight  to  gaze  upon. 

"Ton  my  word,"  laughed  the  Alderman, 
"you  are  doing  well,  Mr.  Considine,  to  have 
two  young  ladies  arguing  over  your  future 
career. ' ' 

"Thank  you  very  much,  papa! "  exclaimed 
his  daughter,  rising  and  bouncing  out  of  the 
room,  her  nose  in  the  air. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Jane?"  asked 
the  Alderman  of  Miss  Esmonde. 

"Oh — nothing,  uncle."  And  turning  to 
Harry :  '  *  What  part  of  the  States  do  you  yearn 
for  most,  Mr.  Considine?" 

"The  great  West, — that  peaceful  ocean 
where  even  the  smallest  may  live.  Do  you 
know,  Miss  Esmonde,  that  when  my  brothers 
and  sisters  used  to  be  listening  to  fairy  stories, 
I  always  asked  our  old  nurse  for  some  tale  of 
American  life  ?  For  she  had  a  brother  some- 
where on  the  Mississippi,  and  the  name  of  that 
river,  to  me,  bore  all  the  mysterious  ecstasy 
of  a  charm." 

After  luncheon  the  gentlemen  repaired  to 
the  Alderman's  study,  where  he  entertained 
them  with  a  full  and  detailed  account  of  his 
election  to  the  Corporation,  reciting  passages 
from  several  of  his  speeches,  and  generally 
indulging  in  reminiscences  of  that  great  and 
important  event  in  his  life. 

"I  shall  now  let  you  into  the  secret  work- 
ings at  the  Castle  in  regard  to  my  being 
honored  with  the  magistracy  for  the  city  of 
Dublin." 

And  the  Alderman,  with  a  preliminary 
"Ahem!"  was  about  to  commence,  when  a 
tremendous  clattering  was  heard  in  the  Square, 


and  a  yellow  chariot,  with  a  gorgeous  hammer- 
cloth,  attached  to  a  superb  pair  of  bays  in 
brassy  harness  that  glittered  again,  and  driven 
by  a  coachman  in  yellow  livery  with  a  pow- 
dered wig,  the  footman  resplendent  in  powder 
and  silk  stockings,  dashed  up  to  the  door. 

"Here's  the  Lord  Mayor,  papa,  and  the 
Lady  Mayoress!"  shrieked  Miss  Ryan  fi-om 
the  drawing-room  lobby.  * '  Come  up  at  once ! ' ' 

Alderman  Ryan  leaped  to  his  feet,  cast  a 
hasty  glance  over  the  wire  blind  into  the 
street,  and  exclaiming,  "Gentlemen,  I  must 
say  good-day  to  you,"  fairly  bolted  up-stairs. 

The  Lord  Mayor  and  Lady  Mayoress  as- 
cended to  the  drawing-room,  and  the  employSs 
of  the  Pim  Brothers  passed  out  into  the 
Square. 

"What  a  stunning  turn  out,  Harry!" 

"It's  awfully  showy,  just  right  for  a  Lord 
Mayor.  But  that  oflf  horse  is  gone  on  the  off 
foreleg."  And,  stepping  up  to  the  coachman, 
Considine  informed  the  gorgeous  fiinctionary 
that  the  horse  was  unfit  for  work,  and  that  it 
would  be  well  to  let  the  animal  have  a  week's 
respite. 

The  look  of  contempt  cast  upon  Harry  by 
the  bewigged  occupier  of  the  gilded  box  would 
have  made  the  fortune  of  a  melodramatic 
actor. 

"Say,  William,"  addressing  the  resplendent 
footman,  "just  ask  this  young  man  if  his 
mother  knows  he's  out,  will  you?" 

"I  tell  you  it's  a  crying  shame  to  have 
that  horse  at  work!"  said  Considine,  angrily. 
"And  if  I  were  the  Lord  Mayor — " 

'^You  were  the  Lord  Mayor!  Ho-ho!  Just 
you  go  and  take  a  bite  of  a  trotter!"  And, 
lightly  tipping  his  horses  with  the  whip,  the 
coachman  took  a  spin  up  the  Square. 

The  young  men  started  for  a  walk  to 
Rathfarnam,  as  they  were  engaged  to  dine  at 
Molloys'  on  the  Rathgar  Road.  They  could 
not  account  for  Miss  Ryan's  uncourteous  bear- 
ing, and  contrasted  the  graciousness  of  her 
cousin. 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Harry,"  exclaimed 
his  companion.  "If  I  were  a  marrying  man, 
I'd  marry  Miss  Esmonde  without  a  sixpence 
before  I'd  marry  Miss  Ryan  with  ten  thousand 
pounds — though  I  don't  know,"  he  reflec- 
tively added.  "Ten  thousand  would  make  up 
for  a  lot  of  deficiencies ;  and  if  a  man  were  to 


54 


The  Ave  Maria, 


make  a  study  of  his  wife,  he  would  know  how 
to  avoid  the  shoals  and  quicksands  of  her 
tantrums." 

They  were  walking  at  a  slapping  pace. 
Harry  suddenly  pulled  up. 

"Do  you  know,  Gerald,  that  you've  got  a 
fearful  lot  of  mean  ideas?  But  I  don't  believe 
you  would  put  one  of  them  into  actual  prac- 
tice. The  idea  of  marrying  a  girl  for  her 
money,  and  then  watching  her  temper  to  save 
yourself anno3'ance!    Fie!  fie!" 

The  Sunday  dinner  at  Mr.  Molloy's  was  in- 
variably a  roast  shoulder  of  mutton  and  a  rice- 
pudding.  Mr.  MoUoy,  when  not  engaged  in 
decoying  unwary  shopkeepers  through  the 
country  to  order  alpacas,  merinos,  and  other 
such  like  goods  (he  represented  a  Bradford 
house),  always  carved,  while  his  conversation 
was  a  mixture  of  regrets  at  chances  missed, 
and  of  bounding  hope  in  chances  yet  on  the 
checquered  board  of  existence.  No  matter  how 
Utopian  the  scheme,  Mr.  Molloy  was  ever 
ready  to  take  it  into  consideration ;  and  if  the 
question  of  seeking  the  ofi&ceof  Prime  Minister 
were  gravely  put  to  him,  he  would  begin  to 
trace  out  the  road  by  which  it  could  be  most 
readily  reached. 

Mrs.  Molloy,  a  somewhat  faded  lady,  ad- 
dicted to  cheap  and  showy  garments,  seldom 
spoke  save  on  some  fashionable  or  aristocratic 
subject,  that  of  the  doings  at  the  vice-regal 
court  being  the  pi'^ce  de  resistance. 

Miss  Molloy's  whole  idea  in  life  was  to  be 
presented  at  court.  This  idea  haunted  her. 
The  first  item  of  news  pounced  upon  in  the 
morning  paper  was  under  the  heading  of 
"Fashionable  Intelligence."  She  was  ac- 
quainted with  one  young  lady,  a  Miss  Tiffin, 
whose  father,  having  served  the  office  of  High 
Sheriff,  had  caused  his  daughter  to  be  pre- 
sented at  the  drawing-room.  Miss  Tiffin  from 
that  moment  became  an  object  of  veneration 
to  the  silly  Miss  Molloy.  She  imitated  her 
movements,  her  accent,  her  dress,  and  never 
tired  in  detailing  the  singularly  interesting 
incidents  in  connection  with  the  presentation. 

Miss  Molloy  admired  Considine  after  a  fash- 
ion, but  he  was  not  socially  in  a  position  to 
command  attention.  She  could  not  quote  him 
as  she  did  Mr.  Evans,  a  clerk  in  the  Hibernian 
Bank ;  or  Mr.  McBvoy,  a  clerk  in  the  Custom 
House.  The  cup  of  her  happiness  was  pretty 


well  filled  when  she  was  escorted  down  Rath- 
mines  Road  by  Mr.  Tuke,  of  the  City  of 
Dublin  Militia,  and — in  uniform!  She  w^ould 
have  cut  Harry  Considine  that  day  if  he  had 
happened  to  be  passing. 

Her  brother's  description  of  Miss  Esmonde 
deeply  interested  her.  "People  who  live  in 
Rutland  Square  are  worth  knowing,"  she  ob- 
served. "Gerald,  you  must  cultivate  them  for 
my  sake."  On  this  particular  Sunday  she  put 
the  two  young  men  through  their  facings  as 
to  the  fashion  of  the  garments  worn  by  the 
young  ladies  in  Rutland  Square, — the  cut, 
material,  and  trimming.  "They  are  very  nice 
people,  Mr.  Considine,  and  move  in  a  verj^ 
select  circle.  Next  year  Miss  Ryan  as  I,ady 
Mayoress  will  go  to  the  Castle  as  a  right. 
Oh,  dear!  why  don't  you  go  into  that  horrid 
Corporation,  papa,  and  get  elected  lyord 
Mayor?" 

"It  might  come  to  pass  yet,  my  child.  There 
are  such  chances  on  the  board.  Now,  if  I  had 
only  joined  Fritsby  in  that  little  venture  in 
American  bacon  in  '60,  I  should  be  living  in 
Merrion  Square,  with  a  country  house  at  Bray 
or  Killiney.  Or  if  I  had  thrown  up  Calico  & 
Printem's  agency,  and  taken  Russell  &  Tom- 
ford's,  Tomford  would  have  taken  me  into 
partnership  as  he  did  McCann.  I  think  I  see 
my  way  now,  though.  I  can  steer  through 
Scylla  and  Charybdis  without  a  pilot,  and — 
who  knows?" 

'^1  do  want  to  go  to  the  Castle,  papa!  Why 
it's  quite  easy,  and  it  gives  one  such  a  tone. 
There  are  Mr.  Dempsy's  two  daughters.  Surely 
you  are  as  good  as  Mr.  Dempsy.  He's  only  in 
the  glue  trade,  and — " 

"Yes,  my  dear,  but  he's  a  Justice  of  the 
Peace." 

' '  Yes,  my  dear, ' '  echoed  Mrs.  Molloy ;  *  *  but 
he's  a  Justice  of  the  Peace." 

"Well,  papa,  you  get  made  a  Justice  of  the 
Peace.  Go  and  boldly  ask  the  Lord  Lieutenant 
or  Lord  Chancellor  or  Lord  Mayor,  or  who- 
ever it  is  that  has  the  giving  of  it,  to  make 
you  one.  That  will  entitle  us  to  go  to  the 
Castle." 

"I'll  turn  it  over  in  my  mind,"  said  Molloy. 

"If  my  family's  influence  would  be  of  ser- 
vice, James,  you  can  command  it.  They'll 
help  you  in  any  way  but  in  money,  for  they 
have  none.   Surely  if  a  Daly  of  Castle  Daly 


The  Ave  Maria. 


55 


asks  the  Lord  Lieutenant  for  such  a  trifle,  his 
Excellenc}^  will  be  only  too  glad  to  oblige." 

"It's  worth  thinking  of,"  observed  Mollo}^ 
slightly  scratching  his  head.  "I  could  write 
a  pamphlet  against  the  National  party — a 
stirring  thing  from  the  Castle  point  of  view, 
— get  a  few  copies  printed,  send  one  to  each  of 
the  chief  officers  of  state  ;  call  for  more  Cath- 
olic magistrates  to  preserve  law  and  order, 
and  put  down  veiled  sedition  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  Yes,  that's  one  way  of  getting  at 
the  J.  P." 

"Capital,  papa  ! "  cried  Emma.  "Set  about 
writing  the  pamphlet  at  once.  I'll  copy  it  out 
for  3'ou  for  the  printer.  Gerald  will  help  us. ' ' 

"I  could  agitate  at  ward  meetings  between 
my  journeys,  and  step  into  the  Corporation. 
Then  I  should  be  sure  of  the  J.  P. ;  for  when 
an  educated  man  joins  those  boors,  they  have 
sense  enough  to  confer  every  honor  upon  him. 
Yes,  I  must  confess  there  is  a  charm  about 
the  Castle  and  the  vice-regal  court,  and  it 
is  worth  a  struggle  to  get  one's  foot  on  the 
magic  carpet.  What  say  you,  Considine?" 

"What  do /say,  sir?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  want  fny  opinion?" 

"Why,  certainly." 

"Then,  Mr.  Molloy,"  said  Harry,  knitting 
his  brows  and  clinching  his  hand,  ' '  I  consider 
the  vice-regal  court  the  meanest  sham  in 
existence.  It  is  a  hotbed  of  corruption. .  It 
decoys  men  from  the  path  of  honor,  and  makes 
them  lickspittles,  toadies,  and  flatterers.  It 
produces  a  false  state  of  society,  and  raises 
barriers  in  families  that  lead  to  discord  and 
enmity." 

"Pooh!  this  is  an  impeachment!"  said  Mr. 
Mplloy,  nervously. 

"Take  the  case  of  Mr.  Byrne,  the  respect- 
able grocer  in  Kevinsport.  One  son  is  behind 
the  counter ;  the  second  son  is  a  doctor,  and 
because  of  his  M.  D.  goes  to  the  Castle.  He 
comes  with  stories  of  the  mock  grandeur  of 
the  court ;  the  jackass  is  dazzled,  he  begins  to 
feel  ashamed  of  being  the  son  of  a  tradesman, 
and  turns  his  back  on  his  family.  All  for 
what?" 

"Oh,  this  is  some  of  Mr.  Considine's  dem- 
ocratic American  notions! "  cried  Kmma,  with 
a  giggle. 

"There  are  people  in  this  country  who  are 


entitled  to  go  to  this  sham  court — the  old 
county  families,  the  officials,  the — " 

"That's  as  much  as  to  say  we  are  not  fit 
to  go!"  burst  in  Miss  Molloy.  "Let  me  tell 
you  that  my  mamma  is  a  Daly  of  Castle  Daly, 
and  is  third  or  fourth  cousin  to  Lord  Ventry's 
niece.    There!  " 

"It's  time  to  be  going,  Harry,"  laughed 
Gerald. 

"Oh,  it's  this  horrid  American  way  of 
thinking  that  is  spoiling  our  people!"  cried 
Emma.  "Because,  forsooth,  they  have  no 
court,  no  titles,  no  nobility  out  there,  we  are 
to  copy  them!   Oh  pshaw!" 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  America,  Emma," 
said  her  father.  "  I  have  my  eye  on  it.  John- 
son, who  travelled  for  Spidnooks  of  Capel 
Street,  is  travelling  there  now  at  a  thousand 
pounds  a  year,  and  two  guineas  a  day  ex- 
penses. He  is  called  a  'drummer'  in  the 
American  language.  Now,  a  thousand  a  year, 
and  two  guineas  a  day  for  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  a  new  country  and  a  new  people  is  just 
the  sort  of  thing  that  would  suit  me,  and,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  my  eye  on  the  United 
States." 

"You  will  never  induce  me  to  go  there," 
said  Emma. 

* '  There  is  a  Daly  of  Castle  Daly  somewhere 
in  the  West,"  observed  Mrs.  Molloy.  "He  is 
engaged  in  agricultural  pursuits,  but  face- 
tiously calls  himself  a  'cowboy.'  The  idea,  a 
Daly  of  Castle  Daly  a  cowboy!  He-he-he!" 
As  Mr.  Molloy  was  bidding  his  guests  good- 
night at  the  front  garden  gate  he  remarked  to 
Harry  in  a  careless  tone : 

' '  By  the  way,  Considine,  that  pompous  ass, 
Alderman  Ryan,  is  under  an  obligation  to 
you.  Do  you  think  I  could  get  the  sale  of  his 
tobacco  on  commission  in  the  South  and  West 
of  Ireland  ?  You  see,  tobacco  comes  from  Vir- 
ginia, and  Virginia  is  in  the  United  States. 
After  a  little  I  could  be  sent  out  to  Virginia 
to  look  up  the  tobacco  growing  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  Yes,  I  see  a  road  to  become  .  a 
drummer  in  the  United  States.  I'll  think  it  out 
to-night  and  let  you  know  my  line  of  action." 
(to  be  continued.) 


Say  nothing  good  of  yourself :  you  will  be 
distrusted ;  say  nothing  bad  of  yourself :  you 
will  be  taken  at  your  word. — Abbi  Roux. 


56 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Footprints  of  Heroines. 


BY   THE    COMTESSE    DE    COURSON 


I. — ^Janb  Dormer. — (Conclusion.) 

AI^THOUGH  Spain  was  her  adopted  coun- 
try, and  its  customs  and  language  were 
familiar  to  her  as  her  own,  Jane  Dormer's 
heart  remained  faithful  to  the  land  of  her 
birth,  and  an  immense  compassion  now  min- 
gled with  her  love  for  England.  In  the  midst 
of  her  peaceful  and  honored  life,  surrounded  by 
all  the  splendors  and  consolations  of  religion  in 
a  Catholic  country,  her  heart  yearned  toward 
those  who  suffered  for  the  faith  in  England, 
and  her  tears  would  flow  when  she  thought 
of  the  tortures,  the  prisons  and  the  cruel  death 
of  countless  confessors  and  martyrs.  In  her 
own  family  she  numbered  many  sufferers  for 
the  faith,  among  others  her  sister  I^ady  Hun- 
gerford,  who,  driven  into  exile,  took  refuge 
at  I/)uvain,  where  she  lived  for  many  years 
entirely  supported  by  the  Duchess  of  Feria, 
who,  adds  her  historian,  deprived  herself  of 
many  things  in  order  to  give  more  to  her 
sister.  All  the  English,  Scotch  and  Irish  that 
came  to  Spain  received  from  her  abundant 
alms ;  when  they  were  ill  she  fed  them  from 
her  own  table,  and  every  year  she  curtailed 
her  expenses  in  order  to  give  more  largely 
to  others.  Although  English  Catholics  had 
the  first  place  in  her  heart,  and  she  deemed  it 
an  honor  and  a  privilege  to  help  them,  yet 
the  mere  fact  of  being  an  Englishman  was 
sufficient  to  excite  her  sympathy,  and  she 
once  caused  thirty-eight  English  prisoners  to 
be  set  free,  though,  quaintly  adds  her  biogra- 
pher, they  were  not  all  saints  by  any  means. 
Loving  her  country  as  she  did,  Jane  Dormer 
could  not  accept  the  fact  of  its  total  separa- 
tion from  Rome ;  she  remembered  that  under 
Henry  VIII.  all  had  seemed  hopeless,  and 
that  Mary  Tudor  had  happily  restored  the 
ancient  faith.  Like  many  other  Catholics,  she 
founded  great  hopes  upon  James  I.,  heir  pre- 
sumptive to  the  English  crown ;  and  it  seemed 
to  her  impossible  that  the  son  of  Mar}^  Stuart 
should  not  give  peace  and  freedom  to  the  faith 
for  which  his  mother  had  died.  In  1596,  when 
only  King  of  Scotland,  James  sent  an  ambas- 
sador, Lord  Simphill,  to  Spain.  The  Duchess 


became  acquainted  with  him,  and  it  was  prob- 
ably through  him  that  she  wrote  King  James- 
a  long  letter,  dated  1600,  which  is  preserved 
in  the  Advocates  Library  at  Edinburgh.  After 
reminding  the  King  of  her  great  affection  for 
* '  the  blessed  Queen, ' '  his  mother,  she  develops- 
the  many  urgent  reasons  that  make  it  impe- 
rious upon  him  to  embrace  his  mother's  faith. 

Although  England  and  her  religious  inter- 
ests held  the  first  place  in  the  heart  of  our  holy 
Duchess,  she  nevertheless  gave  largely  to  the 
churches  and  convents  of  her  adopted  country. 
Both  she  and  her  husband  had  a  great  affec- 
tion for  the  Order  of  St.  Francis,  and  she  often 
said  that  her  first  act,  whenever  England 
returned  to  the  true  faith,  would  be  to  build  a 
Franciscan  convent  in  her  native  land.  Mean- 
time she  founded  a  convent  and  a  monastery 
of  the  Order,  of  which  she  was  a  Tertiary,  on 
her  husband's  estates  in  Estremadura.  Num- 
berless other  religious  houses,  hospitals  and 
churches  were  restored  or  adorned  by  her  care, 
and  it  was  through  her  generosity  in  a  great 
measure  that  Father  Parsons,  S.  J.,  was  able 
to  found  the  English  Seminar^'-  at  Valladolid. 

The  Duchess  reached  the  age  of  seventy- 
one  without  changing  her  austere  mode  of 
life.  She  rose  at  daybreak,  and,  after  making 
two  hours'  meditation  alone  in  her  oratory, 
she  heard  two  Masses ;  the  rest  of  the  day  was 
divided  between  prayer  and  works  of  mercy. 
She  loved  to  visit  the  poor,  those  especially 
who  having  known  better  days  had  fallen  into 
want  and  misery.  Her  delicacy  and  tact  in 
dealing  with  difficult  cases  were  no  less  ad- 
mirable than  her  open-handed  generosity.  The 
remainder  of  her  time  was  given  to  needle- 
work, in  which,  like  her  friend  Queen  Mary 
Stuart,  she  excelled ;  with  her  own  hands  she 
embroidered  a  magnificent  set  of  vestments 
for  the  English  Seminary  of  Madrid.  Toward 
the  end  of  her  life  her  failing  sight  obliged 
her 'to  give  up  the  delicate  and  intricate  em- 
broideries in  which  she  had  delighted;  but  to 
the  last  she  continued  to  work  for  the  poor, 
while  her  maids  read  aloud  to  her  the  Medita- 
tions of  St.  Augustin  or  the  Lives  of  the  Saints. 

In  1609  she  broke  her  arm,  which  was  so 
badly  set  that  she  was  obliged  to  remain 
many  months  in  bed,  and  the  year  after  (1610) 
her  general  health  seemed  to  decline.  The 
following   sentence,  which   about   this  time 


The  Ave  Maria. 


57 


she  wrote  in  her  praj^er-book,  was  constantly 
on  her  lips :  ' '  Lord,  Thou  knowest  what  is 
best  for  the  health  of  my  soul;  I  beseech 
Thee  so  to  succor  my  corporal  necessities 
that  I  ma}^  not  lose  the  spiritual."  Among  her 
most  frequent  visitors  was  the  venerable 
Father  Ribadeneira,  the  intimate  friend  of 
St.  Ignatius,  who  had  formerly  accompanied 
the  Duke  of  Feria  to  England,  and  had  there- 
fore known  Jane  Dormer  in  the  days  of  her 
brilliant  and  happy  youth.  Toward  the  end 
of  September,  1610,  the  venerable  religious  fell 
dangerously  ill,  and  the  Duchess  having  dis- 
patched her  faithful  English  secretary,  Henry 
Clifford,  to  visit  him,  he  sent  her  back  the 
following  message:  "Tell  the  Duchess  that 
we  shall  soon  meet  again  in  Paradise."  These 
words  gave  her  such  pleasure,  relates  Clifford, 
*  *  that  she  made  me  repeat  them  to  hef  over 
and  over  again." 

Father  Ribadeneira  died  on  September  22, 
1 6 10,  at  the  age  of  eighty-five,  and  three 
months  later  the  holy  Duchess  was  called  to 
her  rest.  During  the  last  days  of  that  pure 
and  beautiful  life  the  great  ladies  of  Madrid, 
the  president  of  the  council,  priests  and  prel- 
ates, gathered  around  the  death-bed,  where  the 
young  Duke  of  Feria  and  his  wife  kept  loving 
guard.  For  all  the  Duchess  had  gentle  signs 
of  welcome;  but  when  one  of  her  English 
kinsmen,  Sir  Robert  Chamberlain,  came  to 
kiss  her  hand,  she  suddenly  revived  and  spoke 
to  him  these  earnest  words:  *' Cousin,  you 
see  my  speech  begins  to  fail,  but  I  wish  you 
to  stand  strong  and  firm  in  the  Catholic 
faith.  I  know  well  that  Catholics  sufier  great 
troubles  in  England,  but  take  care  you  lose  not 
the  goods  of  heaven  for  the  goods  of  earth." 

The  next  day  Lady  Digby,  wife  of  the 
English  Ambassador,  came  to  see  her;  the 
Duchess  had  almost  lost  the  power  of  speech, 
but  her  eyes  brightened  as  those  assembled 
round  her  bed  made  way  for  the  Ambas- 
sadress, who  afiectionately  bent  over  her. 
Raising  herself,  the  dying  woman  looked  long 
and  earnestly  at  her  visitor,  and,  gathering  all 
her  strength,  "L,ady,"  she  said,  "believe  me, 
I  do  tell  it  3^ou  dying,  that  there  is  no  salva- 
tion out  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church." 
Lady  Digby  retired  weeping  bitterly,  and  the 
Duchess,  exhausted  by  this  last  effort,  fell  into 
a  kind  of  trance. 


Toward  the  end  of  the  day  her  faithful 
English  secretary  having  asked  her  if  she 
wished  for  anything,  she  replied  in  her  native 
tongue:  "Health  in  heaven,  which  I  hope 
will  quickly  come  ;  for  we  are  in  the  Vespers  of 
Our  Lady  of  Peace,  who  in  peace  will  receive 
my  soul  to-night.'.'  Shortly  afterward,  having 
lovingly  blessed  her  grandchildren,  and  great- 
grandchildren, she  gently  expired.  •  It  was 
nine  in  the  evening,  the  23d  of  January,  eve  of 
the  day  when  the  Diocese  of  Toledo  celebrates 
the  Feast  of  Our  Lady  of  Peace.  Around  her 
bed  were  two  Jesuit  Fathers,  two  Franciscans, 
one  Dominican,  and  her  chaplain ;  her  Eng- 
lish secretary  and  Father  Creswell,  an  English 
Jesuit  representing  the  country  she  had  left 
fifty  years  ago,  but  which  she  loved  so  truly 
to  the  end. 

The  body  of  Jane  Dormer,  clad  in  the  Fran- 
ciscan habit,  was  interred  near  her  husband 
and  son  in  the  Monastery  of  St.  Clare  at  Zafra. 
This  long  journey  in  winter,  across  the  bleak 
Sierras,  had  troubled  the  good  Duchess  before 
her  death,  and  more  than  once,  relates  her 
biographer,  when  the  weather  was  unusually 
severe,  she  used  to  say,  anxiously:  "If  I 
should  die  now  what  trouble  should  I  not 
give  my  servants! "  To  which  Henry  Clifford 
would  reply:  "Fear  not:  she  that  gave  no 
trouble  in  life  will  not  give  it  in  death." 
Words  which,  as  he  remarks,  were  fulfilled; 
for  the  long  journey  of  nine  da5^s  was  per- 
formed in  fine  weather  and  in  perfect  security. 

Surrounded  by  the  prayers  and  ceremonies 
of  the  Church  and  the  love  and  tears  of  her 
faithful  vassals,  the  mortal  remains  of  Jane 
Dormer  were  laid  to  rest  under  the  shadow  of 
the  magnificent  church  she  had  founded,  near 
the  husband  she  so  dearly  loved,  and  in  the 
midst  of  the  people  for  whose  happiness  and 
welfare  she  had  lived  and  labored.  The  clos- 
ing words  of  her  will,  addressed  to  her  grand- 
son, fitly  resume  her  own  beautiful  life,  while 
meant  to  express  her  wishes  for  the  heir  of 
her  house  and  name :  "Be,  my  son,  very  char- 
itable and  an  almsgiver;  have  about  thee 
honest  and  virtuous  company ;  exercise  thy- 
self in  the  acts  of  a  Christian  gentleman,  as 
thy  ancestors  have  done ;  govern  thy  A^assals 
with  the  love  of  a  father ;  take  compassion  of 
the  poor,  favor  the  good,  repress  the  wicked, 
and  do  justice  with  equality." 


58 


The  Ave  Maria. 


II. — Margaret  Clitherow,  the  Martyr 
OF  York. 

When  on  the  17th  of  November,  1558,  Queen 
Mary  Tudor  breathed  her  last,  the  hopes  of 
the  Catholics  of  England  died  with  her.  In 
spite  of  her  outward  professions  of  faith,  the 
Princess  Elizabeth,  heiress  to  the  throne,  was 
generally  suspected  of  a  strong  inclination 
toward  the  Protestant  creed,  in  which  she  had 
been  reared,  and  which  she  ha.d  abandoned 
from  motives  of  policy  under  the  reign  of  her 
sister.* 

The  new  Queen,  daughter  of  Henry  VIII. 
and  of  Anne  Boleyn,  was  twenty-six  at  the 
time  of  her  accession.  Her  intellectual  powers 
were  remarkable,  her  talent  for  government 
almost  amounted  to  genius,  and  she  possessed 
the  hereditary  courage  of  her  race;  but  to 
these  great  gifts  she  united  the  vices  that  had 
<;haracterized  her  father.  Cruel,  false  and  re- 
vengeful, utterly  devoid  of  moral  principle,  she 
ascended  the  throne  firmly  resolved  to  main- 
tain the  spiritual  supremacy  that  her  father 
and  brother  had  enjoyed.  To  attain  this  end, 
however,  it  was  necessary  to  proceed  with- cau- 
tion ;  for  the  people  of  England,  after  having 
been  driven  into  schism  under  Henr>^  VIII., 
had  returned  to  their  allegiance  to  Rome  under 
Mary  with  a  hearty  enthusiasm.  To  draw  the 
nation  into  apostasy  once  more,  Elizabeth  and 
her  advisers,  Burghley  and  lycicester,  had  re- 
course to  bribery,  deceit  and  persuasion,  as 
well  as  to  violence. 

The  year  after  her  accession  the  Queen  be- 
gan by  re-establishing  the  laws  of  Henry  VIII. 
that  abolished  the  supremacy  of  the  Pope, 
and  proclaimed  herself  sovereign  head  of  the 
Church ;  at  the  same  time  the  Book  of  Com- 
mon-Prayer was  alone  authorized  for  general 
use.  By  degrees  severe  regulations  were  issued 
to  enforce  these  laws ;  all  men  who  aspired  to 
fill  any  public  employment  were  called  upon 
to  recognize  by  oath  the  Queen's  spiritual 
supremacy,  and  a  heav^  fine  was  imposed 
upon  those  who  failed  to  assist  at  the  Protes- 
tant service ;  thus  the  Catholics  were  cruelly 
and  unjustl}'  debarred  from  all  public  offices, 
and  speedily  impoverished  by  repeated  fines 
and  forfeitures. 


*   "Troubles  of   Our  Catholic   Forefathers,"  J. 
Morris,  S.J.  Third  Series. 


It  was  on  the  Feast  of  St.  John  the  Baptist, 
1559,  only  six  months  after  the  death  of  Mary 
Tudor,  that  the  first  penal  laws  were  put  into 
force ;  but  for  some  years  longer  many  priests, 
in  the  North  especially,  continued  to  say  Mass.- 
Among  the  Catholics,  some  fell  away  from 
ambition  or  from  fear ;  others  outwardly  con- 
formed to  the  new  worship  while  remaining 
Catholics  at  heart ;  many  sought  for  religious 
liberty  beyond  the  seas,  while  the  greater 
number  stayed  on  in  England,  staunch  to  the 
ancient  faith,  and  resolved  to  endure  all  things 
for  its  sake.  In  1571  an  act  of  Parliament 
was  issued,  by  which  any  one  who  introduced 
within  the  Kingdom  a  bull  or  brief  obtained 
from  the  Pope  was  liable  to  the  pain  of  death. 
The  same  statute  contained  severe  penalties 
against  those  who  brought  into  England  any 
beads  or  Agnus  Deis.  In  1581  all  persons  who 
failed  to  attend  the  Protestant  Church  were 
fined  ^20  a  month ;  any  person  who  persuaded 
another  to  embrace  the  Catholic  faith,  who 
gave  or  received  absolution,  was  declared 
guilty  of  high  treason.  Four  years  later,  in 
1585,  all  priests  who  landed  in  England  were 
declared  traitors,  and  liable  to  be  put  to  death 
as  such,  while  penalties  equally  severe  were 
issued  against  those  who  received  or  enter- 
tained them. 

These  barbarous  laws  weighed  upon  the 
Catholics  of  England  for  more  than  two  hun- 
dred years.  They  had  not  yet  reached  their  full 
development  when,  in  1553,  a  child  was  bom, 
who  was  destined  to  be  one  of  their  fairest  and 
most  heroic  victims.  Margaret  Clitherow  was 
the  daughter  of  Thomas  Middleton,  a  prosper- 
ous merchant  of  York.  At  the  age  of  fourteen 
she  lost  her  father,  and  shortly  afterward  her 
mother  was  married  again  to  Henry  May,  who 
later  became  Mayor  of  York.  It  was  probably 
with  her  stepfather  that  the  young  girl  resided 
till  her  own  marriage  with  John  Clitherow, 
a  butcher  in  comfortable  circumstances,  who 
possessed  a  handsome  house  in  the  quarter  of 
York  called  the  Shambles.  To  this  house  he 
brought  his  young  wife,  then  aged  eighteen, 
and  whose  great  personal  loveliness,  if  we  may 
believe  her  contemporaries,  was  only  equalled 
by  the  purity  and  goodness  of  her  soul.  It 
was  in  this  quiet  home,  the  commonplace 
type  of  a  wealthy  tradesman's  abode,  that  she 
passed  the  fourteen  years  of  her  married  Iffe, 


The  Ave  Maria, 


59 


— a  life  simple  and  uneventful  enough  as  far 
as  externals  went,  but  rare  and  precious  in 
the  sight  of  God. 

Margaret  had  been  brought  up  a  Protestant, 
but  three  years  after  her  marriage,  after  many 
months  of  prayer  and  study,  she  decided  to 
embrace  the  Catholic  faith,  in  which  alone  she 
recognized  the  truth.  Her  husband  remained 
a  Protestant,  although  one  of  his  brothers, 
William  Clitherow,  was  a  Catholic  priest ;  but 
he  seems  to  have  left  his  young  wife  full  lib- 
erty to  act  up  to  her  religious  convictions. 
He  gave  her  leave  to  bring  up  her  children 
in  her  own  faith,  and  some  years  later  he  even 
allowed  their  eldest  son  Henry  to  go  to  a  Cath- 
olic college  abroad.  If  he  did  not  openly  coun- 
tenance the  generous  hospitality  extended  by 
Margaret  to  persecuted  priests,  he  let  it  pass 
without  reproof,  and  probably  closed  his  eyes 
to  the  fact. 

Notwithstanding  this  singular  toleration, 
so  rare  in  days  of  fanaticism  and  bigotry,  John 
Clitherow' s  unguarded  speeches  occasionally 
wounded  his  wife  to  the  quick.  We  are  told 
that  on  one  occasion,  when  they  were  dining 
together  at  the  house  of  a  neighbor,  the  general 
conversation  turned  upon  Catholics  and  their 
religion.  John  Clitherow,  somewhat  elated  by 
the  good  cheer  set  before  him,  loudly  declared 
that,  although  Catholics  fasted,  prayed,  gave 
alms,  and  "punished  themselves"  more  than 
others,  he  found  that  they  were  of  as  evil 
disposition  as  other  men.  Hearing  these  words, 
Margaret,  the  only  Catholic  present,  burst 
into  tears;  whereupon  her  husband  roughly 
comforted  her,  declaring  that  he  could  wish 
for  no  better  wife,  and  that  she  had  but  two 
faults — one,  that  she  fasted  too  much;  the 
other,  that  she  would  not  go  with  him  to 
church. 

When  Margaret  Clitherow  first  became  a 
Catholic,  the  penal  laws  had  not  attained 
their  full  severity ;  but,  as  we  have  seen,  new 
and  more  stringent  clauses  were  added  to 
them,  and  these  were  executed  to  the  letter 
with  ruthless  severity  by  Lord  Huntingdon, 
who  in  1572  became  I,ord  President  of  the 
North.  Under  his  iron  rule  the  Catholics  of 
Yorkshire  were  liable  any  moment  to  see 
their  houses  invaded  by  pursuivants,  who 
searched  every  nook  and  corner;  and  if  a  priest 
was  discovered,  imprisonment,  tortures,  and 


even  death  were  the  penalty  of  both  guest  and 
host.  Neither  threats  nor  bribes  were  spared 
to  induce  children  and  servants  to  betray  their 
parents  and  masters,  and  the  testimony  of  one 
child  was  regarded  as  sufficient  to  bring  a 
Catholic  to  the  gallows.  Under  any  pretext, 
the  so-called  Papists  were  dragged  before  the 
Council  of  the  North,  where,  by  means  of 
bribes,  threats,  insidious  and  cunning  ques- 
tions, ever>'  effort  was  made  to  lead  them  to 
compromise  themselves  or  others.  Those  who 
remained  staunch  to  the  ancient  faith  were 
thrown  into  prison,  where  they  were  obliged 
to  pay  rent,  and  where  extortionate  prices 
were  charged  for  their  food. 

The  history  of  the  Yorkshire  prisons  in  the 
days  of  persecution  forms  one  of  the  most 
glorious  and  harrowing  episodes  of  that  heroic 
age.  Country-gentlemen,  whose  useful  and 
quiet  lives  had  been  passed  in  their  ancestral 
homes;  delicate  and  noble  women,  tenderly 
reared  far  from  scenes  of  roughness  and  cru- 
elty; venerable  matrons,  young  girls,  and  mere 
children,  languished  for  years  in  these  foul 
dungeons,  until  hunger  or  jail-fever  set  them 
free.  It  was  not,  however,  till  1582  that  the 
blood  of  martyrs  was  shed  at  York,  although  at 
that  date  more  than  twelve  priests  had  already 
been  executed  in  different  parts  of  England. 
(to  be  continued.) 


Before  Confession. 


BY  THE   REV.  MATTHEW  RUSSEI,!,,  S.  J. 

HOW  art  Thou  pleased,  O  Lord,  with  me? 
How  stand  I  in  Thy  sight  ? 
Now  give  me  grace  my  soul  to  see — 

To  judge  myself  aright ; 
Give  me  the  grace  to  feel  and  know 

The  evil  of  my  sin, 
And  bid  those  contrite  tears  to  flow. 
That  may  Thy  pardon  win. 

Ah!  I  have  wandered  far  astray, 

In  spite  of  all  Thy  care  ; 
Had  not  Thy  pity  tracked  my  way. 

My  lot  were  now  despair. 
Such  sins  of  thought  and  word  and  deed, 

'Mid  graces  such  as  mine. 
Should  make  my  very  heart  to  bleed, 

As  on  the  Cross  did  Thine. 


6o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


My  daily  faults  and  sins,  my  waste 

Of  many  a  priceless  day — 
And  are  my  bygone  sins  effaced  ? 

I  can  but  hope  and  pray. 
All,  all  the  evil  I  have  done, 

The  good  I've  failed  to  do! 
Ah,  when  my  earthly  course  is  run 

How  much  of  it  I'll  rue! 

But  now  once  morfe  I  would  be  shriven 

By  one  to  whom  the  Lord : 
'  Whose  sins  thou  shalt  forgive,  forgiven 

They  shall  be  at  thy  word." 
Lord,  help  me  now  my  sins  to  tell 

With  grief  and  loving  fear, 
And  make  me  henceforth  serve  Thee  well. 

To  prove  my  grief  sincere. 

Dear  Jesus,  melt  this  heart  of  stone, 

And  cancel  all  its  staijis  ; 
l^^'orgive  the  past,  forever  flown  ; 

Forgive  what  else  remains  ; 
Forgive  the  sins  of  all  my  years. 

Forgive  them  o'er  and  o'er. 
My  God,  accept  these  grateful  tears. 

And  bid  me  sin  no  more! 


My  Pilgrimage  to  Genazzano. 


BY  CHARIvES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


III. 


SO  we  walked  upon  the  battlements  above 
the  monastery,  and  looked  down  upon 
the  humble  roofs  of  the  little  city  that  clus- 
tered about  it,  and  upon  the  deep  valley  that 
surrounded  the  high  rock  of  our  foundation 
— making  a  kind  of  island  of  it, — and  upon 
all  the  splendid  hills  stretching  away  on  every 
hand  to  the  horizon.  The  sun  shone  with  the 
ardor  of  summer ;  the  olive  boughs  glistened 
like  sprays  of  silver ;  the  warm,  sweet  air  was 
musical  with  larks.  Up  and  down,  up  and 
down,  among  the  domes  of  the  chapel,  we 
paced — that  gentle  Augustinian  and  I, — dis- 
coursing upon  the  history  of  the  miraculous 
picture,  which,  spellbound  in  space,  remains  a 
prodigy  after  more  than  four  centuries  of  in- 
quisition. It  is  a  thrice-told  tale,  familiar  to 
you  all,  mayhap;  but  it  is  worth  repeating : 
the  marvellous  never  becomes  threadbare. 

It  came  to  pass  that  when  the  Empire  of 
the  Caesars  was  given  into  the  hands  of  Con- 
stantine,  the  first  of  the  Christian  emperors. 


he  delivered  unto  St.  Sylvester  the  villa  and 
the  grounds  at  Genazzano,  where  games  and 
festivals  were  formerly  held  in  honor  of  the 
Goddess  Flora ;  these  he  gave  as  a  perpetual 
endowment  for  the  churches  founded  in  Rome. 
It,  however,  remained  for  St.  Sylvester's  im- 
mediate successor,  St.  Mark,  to  purge  the 
place  of  the  abominations  of  paganism  and  to 
establish  the  temple  of  the  Living  God.  There 
he  gathered  together  a  Christian  people,  and 
in  their  midst,  near  the  ruins  of  the  altars  of 
the  false  gods,  he  built  the  first  chapel  which 
is  known  to  have  been  dedicated  to  the  wor- 
ship of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  under  the  title  of 
Our  Lady  of  Good  Counsel.  What  more 
natural  than  that  the  feast  of  Our  Lady  should 
be  appointed  for  the  very  day  on  which,  in 
former  years,  the  idolatrous  people  had  been 
wont  to  celebrate  the  impious  rites  of  Flora? 
That  day,  the  25th  of  April,  was  formerly  the 
chief  festival  of  the  Genazzanese. 

Well,  in  the  course  of  time — a  very  long 
time  indeed — the  Chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  Good 
Counsel  was  more  or  less  neglected.  The  faith 
was  spreading,  and  perhaps  losing  something 
of  its  original  earnestness.  Newer  chapels  and 
richer  ones  had  been  erected  in  honor  of  St. 
John,  St.  Paul,  and  St.  Nicholas.  How  easy 
it  is  to  neglect  the  old  for  the  new !  The 
rather  primitive  shrine  of  Our  Lady  of  Good 
Counsel  fell  into  disfavor  and  was  almost  un- 
visited. 

Then  came  the  Colonnas  to  be  the  feudal 
lords  over  the  land.  Pier  Giordan  Colonna, 
called  * '  a  wise  and  pious  prince, ' '  gave  the  un- 
fortunate little  chapel  into  the  keeping  of  the 
Augustinian  Fathers ;  but  they  were  poor  in 
all  save  faith,  and  they  found  it  so  difficult 
to  restore  the  fallen  fortunes  of  the  crumbling 
shrine  that  they  were  almost  in  despair.  With 
them  was  a  caretaker  named  John  di  Nocera, 
and  his  wife,  a  holy  woman  called  Petruccia. 
In  the  year  1436  the  caretaker  was  called  to 
his  reward,  and  old  Petruccia  was  left  alone 
to  pass  her  days  in  the  much  neglected  chapel. 
Its  decay  distressed  her  beyond  measure,  and 
she  resolved  to  give  her  little  all — a  widow's 
mite — toward  its  restoration.  The  work  was 
begun,  but,  of  course,  soon  ended;  at  this 
time  the  walls  of  a  chapel  dedicated  to  San 
Biagio  were  but  six  feet  above  the  ground,  and 
there  all  progress  was  indefinitely  suspended. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


In  her  eightieth'  year,  alone  in  the  world 
.■and  penniless,  Petruccia  was  now  the  patient 
and  long-suffering  victim  of  insolent  jeers; 
for  the  heartless,  who  looked  upon  her  faith 
as  fruitless  and  her  charity  as  improvidence, 
could  not  disguise  their  scorn.  But  the  brave 
spirit  within  her  never  fainted,  and,  turning 
upon  her  tormentors,  she  said :  ' '  Fear  not,  my 
children:  misfortunes  are  sometimes  blessed; 
and  I  assure  you  that  before  I  die  I  shall 
see  this  church  completed."  Prophetic  soul! 
Great  was  thy  faith ;  but  little  thou  knewest 
how  soon  and  how  gloriously  thou  wast  to 
receive  the  reward  of  it ! 

It  was  Saturday,  the  25th  of  April,  1467.  The 
Feast  of  St.  Mark  was  being  celebrated  with 
much  splendor  in  the  poor  little  incompleted 
Chapel  of  Our  I^ady  of  Good  Counsel.  After 
High  Mass  the  faithful  adjourned  to  the  Piazza 
of  Santa  Maria,  where  a  great  fair  was  in 
progress;  thousands  of  people  were  present 
— pilgrims  from  all  the  cities  of  Latium,  who 
joined  with  the  ardor  of  the  Italian  in  the 
sports  of  the  hour.  From  this  crowded  Piazza 
one  could  easily  see  the  low,  unfinished  wall, 
which  remained  a  monument  to  the  fruitless 
generosity  of  good  old  Petruccia.  And  she, 
too,  was  there,  her  heart  filled  with  a  vague 
joy;  for  she  felt — she  knew  not  why — that 
at  last  her  hour  had  come.  And  here  we  must 
leave  her  for  a  little  time  in  the  enjoyment  of 
a  glorious  anticipation. 

Reliable  Spirit  of  the  Past,  guide  thou 
my  pen! 

Albania  was  early  Christianized,  and  was 
once  entirely  Catholic.  Croja  was  its  capital, 
but  Scutari  was  a  place  of  more  importance, 
being  the  chief  city  of  defence  in  the  prov- 
inces of  Scutari  and  Jannina.  It  is  built  upon 
a  height,  near  a  lake  bearing  the  same  name, 
and  close  upon  a  point  where  the  river  Bojana 
is  joined  by  the  Drina.  The  Turks,  who  had 
long  besieged  the  strongholds  of  Albania,  at 
last  subjugated  the  people;  they  then  de- 
stroyed the  capital,  but  spared  Scutari  on 
account  of  its  admirable  situation. 

At  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Fortress  of  Scutari,  stood  a 
beautiful  little  Chapel  of  the  Annunciation. 
It  was  the  chief  sanctuary  of  Our  Lady  in 
Albania,  and  was    a   pilgrimage    church   of 


great  renown.  The  secret  of  its  fame  was  this. 
Two  centuries  before — at  the  very  time  when 
Dalmatia  and  Italy  were  filled  with  awe  and 
wonderment  in  consequence  of  the  translation 
of  the  Holy  House  from  Nazareth  to  Loreto — 
a  picture  of  Our  Lady  and  her  Divine  Child 
was  miraculously  conveyed  from  the  far  East, 
as  it  was  supposed,  to  the  small  Chapel  of 
the  Annunciation  at  Scutari.  Albania  was  at 
once  filled  with  new  devotion,  and  the  chapel 
became  a  famous  shrine — the  most  famous 
between  the  Adriatic  and  the  Black  Sea. 

But  devotion  languishes  in  the  hearts  of 
men ;  it  languished  there  in  Albania,  while 
the  Turks  were  doing  their  utmost  to  over- 
throw the  Christian  Government.  So  long  as 
George  Castriota — better  known  in  history  as 
Scanderbeg — reigned,  he  was  devoted  to  the 
sanctuary  of  Our  Lady.  He  has  been  pro- 
nounced a  model  of  Christian  perfection,  and 
it  was  not  until  his  death  that  the  Turks, 
whom  he  held  at  bay  for  twenty  years,  were 
able  to  rush  in  and  seize  the  land.  Then  it 
was  that  the  faithful  began  to  emigrate  to  the 
neighboring  Christian  lands.  Among  these 
were  two  citizens  of  Scutari,  named  Georgio 
and  De  Sclavis,  devoted  clients  of  Our  Lady. 
With  inexpressible  sorrow  they  were  paying 
their  last  visit  to  the  shrine  which  they  were 
compelled  to  abandon  to  the  scorn  of  the  mer- 
ciless Turks :  it  was  on  the  eve  of  their  depart- 
ure from  their  native  land.  Conceive  of  the 
torture  of  those  steadfast  souls,  who  in  this 
final  hour  were  asking  guidance  of  her  whom 
they  had  loved  with  a  passionate  and  endur- 
ing love!  Then  it  was  that  she  spoke  to  them ; 
they  seemed  to  hear  her  very  voice;  both 
received  at  the  same  moment  the  same  im- 
pression. She  said  to  them:  "Fly  from  this 
unhappy  land ;  and  fear  not,  for  I  will  lead  you 
and  protect  you  in  your  exile." 

On  the  morning  following,  being  now  in 
readiness  for  flight,  they  entered  the  sanctuary 
on  their  way  out  of  the  city,  and  lo!  while 
they  knelt  before  their  beloved  image  they 
saw  it  delicately  detach  itself  from  the  wall — 
where  it  had  remained  secure  for  two  centu- 
ries,— and,  floating  upon  the  air  like  a  plume 
from  the  down  of  the  dandelion,  it  was  envel- 
oped in  a  gauze-like  mist,  through  which  it 
remained  faintly  visible  to  their  eyes;  and, 
passing  like  a  vapor  through  the  open  door  of 


62 


The  Ave  Maria, 


the  chapel,  it  ascended  heavenward — though 
never  for  a  moment  quitting  their  sight, — and 
passed  at  an  easy  pace  toward  the  sea. 

They  followed  it  in  rapture  night  and  day ; 
a  pillar  of  fire  by  night,  a  cloud  by  day,  it  led 
them  on  and  on  from  shore  to  shore.  Hunger 
and  thirst  they  knew  not ;  neither  were  their 
feet  weary  nor  their  eyes  heavy,  but  only  a 
rapture  filled  their  hearts  to  overflowing.  They 
followed  it  over  land  and  sea ;  they  knew  not 
the  hills  which  they  surmounted,  nor  the  vales 
they  threaded,  nor  the  waters  over  which  they 
passed  as  upon  floors  of  crystal.  They  knew 
not  the  strange  people  who  turned  to  watch 
them  as  they  strode  ever  onward,  unconscious 
alike  of  time  and  place ;  unfearing,  unfalter- 
ing, unfatigued ;  two  mystics  from  the  mysti- 
cal East  following  with  the  faith  of  infancy  in 
the  invisible  footsteps  of  the  Divine  Mother. 

Thus  they  came  into  Italy,  and  knew  it  not ; 
and  walked  in  the  shadow  of  Italian  groves 
and  temples,  all  unconscious  of  their  extraordi- 
nary beaut}^ ;  and  listened  not  to  the  murmur 
of  fountains,  or  the  tinkle  of  lutes,  or  the 
songs  of  the  sweet- voiced  singers ;  for  their 
eyes  beheld  only  the  image  of  Our  I^ady, 
swathed  in  a  film  of  glory,  and  their  hearts 
were  lifted  up  far,  far  beyond  the  beguilements 
of  this  beguiling  world.  And  at  last  they 
came  to  the  gates  of  a  great  city,  and  they 
knew  not  that  it  was  the  Eternal  City ;  for 
Rome  was  as  a  legend  in  the  knowledge  of 
the  Albanians,  and  these  pilgrims  were  of  the 
simple  children  of  Scutari. 

At  the  gates  of  Rome  the  pilgrims  were 
detained  by  sentries ;  and  while  they  waited, 
behold  the  glorious  image  of  Mary  disap- 
peared from  their  view!  In  vain  they  sought 
it  hither  and  yon ;  those  of  whom  the  seekers 
made  inquiry  only  laughed  and  shook  their 
heads,  for  they  pitied  and  distrusted  the  fol- 
lowers of  Our  Lady.  "These  be  dreamers," 
said  they  one  to  another;  "come  away  and 
leave  them  to  their  dreams."  So  the  pilgrims 
went  to  and  fro  in  the  great  city,  and  sought 
diligently  in  every  place  and  inquired  of  every 
one  they  met;  and  with  a  faith  which  was 
tried  to  the  uttermost,  but  remained  unshaken 
even  unto  the  end,  they  still  sought  through- 
out the  land  for  the  image  of  Mary ;  and,  alas! 
they  sought  in  vain. 

(to  be;  continued.) 


The  Catholic  Congress. 


BY  MAURICE  FRANCIS  EGAN. 


THE  programme  of  the  Catholic  Congress 
to  be  held  at  Baltimore  in  November  has 
been  partially  announced.  There  are  many 
who  doubt  the  usefulness  of  Catholic  con- 
gresses in  this  country ;  but  even  they  must 
admit  that,  however  unnecessary  they  may 
deem  addresses  of  sympathy  with  the  Holy 
Father  from  a  country-  where  Catholics  are 
united  without  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  in  thor- 
ough sympathy  with  him,  a  movement  of  this 
kind  shows  vitality.  And  any  show  of  vitality 
in  the  Catholic  body  is  much  to  be  desired. 
Therefore,  there  should  be  no  cold  water 
thrown  on  the  project  since  it  has  taken  shape; 
there  should  be  no  keen  and  frost-like  criticism 
when  the  programme  is  finally  settled.  Now 
is  the  time  for  suggestions.  Things  have  not 
crystallized  yet,  and  the  Catholic  layman  who 
lets  them  crystallize  with  flies  in  them  without 
having  expressed  his  opinion  ought  afterward 
in  decency  to  hold  his  peace. 

The  Catholic  Review  has  pointed  out  one 
defect  in  the  proposed  programme  which  it  is 
easy  enough  to  remedy.  There  is  only  one 
Catholic  editor  on  the  committee,  and  he,  so  far 
as  we  can  see,  has  not  been  awarded  a  paper. 
Now,  there  is  no  question  more  important  to 
us  all  than  that  of  literature  and  the  press. 
Our  separated  brethren — wiser  than  we  in 
many  practical  matters — rarely  have  a  confer- 
ence in  which  literature  and  the  press  are  not 
considered  seriously  and  given  precedence  of 
other  subjects.  The  Baptists  and  the  Method- 
ists carry  on  a  great  propaganda  by  means  of 
their  book  concerns  and  their  press,  gener- 
ously subsidized.  They  understand  the  vital 
strength  of  the  written  word  in  our  days.  The 
great  question  of  the  press  deserves  careful 
consideration  in  the  Catholic  Congress.  It  is 
expected  that  each  question  will  receive  care- 
ful analysis  firom  the  lay  point  of  view ;  and 
no  social  question  deserves  more  scrupulous 
attention  than  that  of  making  and  distrib- 
uting Catholic  periodicals. 

A  Catholic  practical  press  man — one  now 
an  editor — ought  to  go  over  the  ground.  He 
should  tell  the  Congress  why  the  Catholic 


The  Ave  Maria. 


63 


paper,  as  a  rule,  has  not  the  circulation  it 
ought  to  have.  He  should  be  frank  and  direct, 
as  befits  a  practical  man  talking  to  practical 
men.  High  claims  and  fine  writing  and  com- 
plaints are  not  needed.  What  is  wanted  is  an 
analysis  of  the  obstacles  which  lie  in  the  way 
of  the  circulation  of  a  paper  of  high  principles. 
If  the  speakers  at  the  Congress  are  not  spe- 
cialists, the  whole  thing  will  be  in  the  air,  and 
the  delegates  had  better  stay  at  home. 

Another  practical  matter  which  we  do  not 
see  mentioned  in  the  programme  is,  How 
shall  the  great  mass  of  Catholics  be  encour- 
aged to  be  thrifty  ?  Among  a  certain  class  of 
our  people  there  is  a  prejudice  against  life- 
insurance,  whether  justl}^  or  not;  the  idea  of 
the  necessity  of  thrift  in  other  ways  seems  not 
yet  to  have  been  grasped  by  them ;  and  the 
co-operative  Catholic  insurance  societies  are 
not  as  large  as  some  people,  whether  justly  or 
not,  think  they  ought  to  be. 

The  object  of  the  Congress  is  a  noble  one. 
It  deserves  enthusiastic  encouragement  and 
intense  interest.  It  will  tend  to  produce  har- 
mony of  thought  and  action, — to  make  Catho- 
lics better  known  to  one  another.  *'  It  is  hoped 
that  the  ablest  men  in  the  country  will  take 
part  in  the  discussions,  and  make  the  Congress 
a  credit  to  Catholics " ;  so  writes  the  gentle- 
man who  conceived  the  plan  of  it.  All  eccle- 
siastics and  laymen  are  invited,  but  cards  of 
admission  to  the  floor  must  be  obtained  from 
the  ordinary  of  each  diocese. 

Thoughtful  laymen  are  anxious  to  get  at 
some  practical  means  of  strengthening  Cath- 
olics religiously  and  socially.  The  Congress 
will  not  concern  itself  with  dogma :  that  has 
been  settled  for  it ;  it  will  have  the  more  time 
for  things  in  its  own  line.  The  success  of  the 
Congress  will  depend  on  the  thoroughness  and 
directness  with  which  burning  social  ques- 
tions are  considered ;  for  the  discussions  will 
be  suggested  by  the  drift  of  the  papers  read. 
Now  is  the  time  to  make  suggestions.  In  a 
month  or  two  we  shall  have  no  right  to  do 
anything,  but  put  our  shoulder  to  the  wheel. 


Sorrow  is  only  one  step  in  a  long  journey, 
one  step  in  a  long  growth.  It  is  the  furnace 
from  which  the  steel  emerges  hard ;  another 
process  softens  it.  Many  a  brave  soul  finds 
itself  first,  God  afterward. — Arthur  S.  Hardy. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

One  hears  so  many  extraordinary  utterances — 
more  often,  it  must  be  said,  extraordinarily  vapid 
than  wise — from  Protestant  ministers  that  they 
have  ceased  to  excite  attention.  However,  it  is  no 
wonder  that  the  audience  at  the  commencement 
exercises  of  Fordham  College  looked  at  one  an- 
other in  surprivSe  when  Chancellor  Pierson,  of  the 
University  of  New  York,  said,  addressing  the 
graduates  :  "  I  am  a  Protestant,  but  for  all  that  I 
believe  in  the  Roman  Catholic  Church.  It  is  the 
conservative  power  of  the  day.  It  has  always  and 
everywhere  favored  education,  and  the  world  owes 
to  it  the  preservation  of  learning  at  a  time  when 
destruction  awaited  it.  I  welcome  these  young 
men  into  the  world  gladly,  for  they  are  the  rep- 
resentatives of  that  American  Catholicity  which 
will  be  an  honor  to  America.  I  beg  of  them  never 
to  be  ashamed  of  their  faith.  I  can  assure  them 
of  a  welcome  in  every  Protestant  assembly  in  the 
land  so  long  as  they  stick  to  their  own  religious 
principles  and  never  blush  for  them." 

Mirabile  dictu!  A  Protestant  minister  urging 
Catholic  young  men  to  be  proud  of  their  faith! 
Like  many  another  Protestant,  Mr.  Pierson  has 
probably  begun  to  be  ashamed  of  his  own. 


Evazin  Josef  Jerzmanowski,  of  New  York  city, 
who  was  lately  decorated  by  Leo  XIII.  with  the 
Cross  of  the  Order  of  San  Silvestro,  and  named 
Commander  in  the  same,  is  a  descendant  of  one 
of  the  oldest  families  in  Poland.  He  became  an 
American  citizen  in  1879,  and  has  distinguished 
himself  for  his  great  though  unostentatious 
charity,  particularly  to  the  poor  of  Poland  and  to 
Polish  emigrants  to  America. 

A  beautifully  painted  Madonna  was  among 
frescoes  lately  discovered  on  the  old  fa9ade  of  the 
Roman  Capitol. 

We  applaud  this,  from  the  London  Register: 
"Mr.  Swiuburue  sowed  his  political  wild  oats  in  his 
youth  at  the  expense  of  other  countries,  whose  revolu- 
tions he  fostered,  principall}-,  we  can  not  but  think, 
because  he  had  the  vocabulary  at  his  hand  ready- 
made  ;  and  he  is  one  of  many  poets  and  other  men 
who  do  not  so  much  fiud  words  for  their  emotions  as 
emotions  for  their  words.  By  tliis  time  he  must  be 
convinced  that  the  Mazzini- Victor- Hugo  vocabulary 
has  had  its  vitality  somewhat  written  out  of  it.  In  no 
other  way  could  we  explain  the  fact  that  Mr.  Swin- 
burne had  crowned  himself  an  officious  if  not  official 
laureate  of  the  Unionist  cause;  in  no  other  way, 
unless  we  are  to  take  his  frantic  hatred  of  the  Cath- 
olic religion — which  explains  much  in  politics — as 
the  motive  of  his  passions  in  Italian  affairs,  and  of  his 


6+ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


very  differeut  passions  in  affairs  Anglo-Irish.  This 
explanation,  if  not  so  literary  as  the  first,  would  seem 
to  hold  good  in  face  of  the  oiatbnrst  of  blasphemy 
with  which  the  poet  celebrates  the  feast  of  Giordano 
Bruno,  In  two  sonnets  published  in  the  Athencetmi 
he  screams  at  the  Catholic  Church  as  '  child  of  hell ' 
and  'grey  spouse  of  satan, '  with  other  parts  of  speech 
equally  shrill.  Unionism  is  not  to  be  envied  in  its 
poet. ' '  

Miss  Mar>-  Anderson  is  now  in  London,  her 
health  having  much  improved.  Miss  Anderson 
is  a  great  favorite  with  what  is  called  "good 
society ' '  in  London  ;  her  career  shows  that  indi- 
vidual virtue  will  overcome  the  prejudice  exist- 
ing in  many  minds  against  a  profession  which 
unhappily  too  often  reflects  the  immorality  of 
the  times.  IVIiss  Anderson  is  a  devout  Catholic  ; 
she  assists  at  Mass  ever>'  morning,  and  her  piety 
does  not  in  any  way  interfere  with  her  deep  in- 
terest in  her  profession.  The  stage  is  a  power  in 
social  life,  and  all  thoughtful  men  should  en- 
courage every  promise  of  its  rising  to  a  higher 
level.  

Mr.  Stead,  whose  revelations  of  vice  in  London 
shocked  the  world  and  earned  the  support  of 
Cardinal  Manning  and  other  influential  English- 
men, protests  against  the  expulsion  of  religious 
from  the  hospitals  of  Paris.  He  says  plainly  that 
the  morality  of  the  hospitals  has  sufiered,  and 
that  if  Boulanger  is  ever  elected  in  France  it  will 
be  by  the  votes  of  outraged  Frenchmen,  who  see 
that  the  religious  policy  of  the  Republic  means 
anarchy.  ^  

Five  nuns  of  the  Third  Order  of  St.  Dominic 
lately  arrived  in  Cuenca,  Ecuador,  to  take  charge 
of  a  leper  settlement  there.  The  same  Sisters  also 
conduct  a  large  hospital  for  lepers  at  Trinidad. 


The  Rt.  Rev.  Joseph  P.  Machebceuf,  the  venerable 
and  beloved  Bishop  of  Denver,  Colorado,  departed 
this  life  on  the  morning  of  the  loth  inst.,  after  a 
short  illness.  The  deceased  prelate  was  in  the  sev- 
enty-seventh year  of  his  age,  and  the  greater  part 
of  his  life  had  been  spent  in  the  apostolic  duties 
of  a  missionary  in  the  "wilds"  of  this  Western 
country.  He  was  born  in  France,  and  was  or- 
dained priest  at  the  age  of  twenty-four.  From  1838 
to  1850  he  labored  on  the  missions  ot  the  State 
of  Ohio,  after  which  for  nine  years  he  assisted 
Bishop  Laniy  in  New  Mexico,  going  to  Colorado 
in  i860.  He  was  consecrated  Bishop  of  Denver  in 
1868,  continuing  his  labors  in  the  vine5-ard  of  the 
Lord  with  the  same  ardent  zeal  and  self-sacri- 
flcing  devotion  that  had  characterized  his  life  as 
a  simple  priest.  Two  years  ago  the  infirmities  of 
advancing  old  age  obliged  him  to  seek  the  assist- 


ance of  a  coadjutor  bishop.  His  death  was  not 
unexpected,  as  he  had  been  suffering  from  injuries 
sustained  b}'  being  thrown  from  his  carriage.  We 
may  well  believe  that  a  life  so  wholly  devoted  to 
the  ser\'ice  of  the  Lord  as  was  that  of  Bishop 
Machebceuf  has  been  speedily  rewarded  with  that 
blessing  which  awaits  the  good  and  faithful 
serA^ant.    R.  I.  P. 

The  first  Provincial  Council  of  the  Bishops,  or 
Vicars- Apostolic,  of  Japan  will  be  held  on  March 
19,  1890.  This  memorable  assembly  will  take 
place  at  Nagasaki,  near  the  tomb  of  Mgr.  Petit- 
jean,  the  first  prelate  in  the  country ;  and  four 
bishops  with  their  clergy  will  meet  in  the  very 
church  which  was  the  birthplace  of  the  revival  of 
Christianity  in  Japan.  The  occasion  also  marks 
the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  the  discovery  by 
missionaries  of  those  Christians  who  had  pre- 
served the  faith  implanted  in  the  land  by  St. 
Francis  Xavier. 

The  conversion  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Townsend  is 
considered  a  great  blow  to  English  Church  mis- 
sions in  India.  He  is  a  good  Sanskrit  and  Bengalee 
scholar,  and  a  weekly  journal  he  published  in 
Calcutta  was  as  eagerly  read  by  educated  non- 
Christian  Hindoos  as  by  the  Anglican  com- 
munit}'. 

General  Boulanger  professes  himself  a  Catho- 
lic, and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  attends  Mass 
everj-^  Sunday  at  the  French  chapel  in  London. 
He  denies  certain  anti-Catholic  utterances  lately 
attributed  to  him  by  a  member  of  the  French 
Senate. 

The  Salon  medal  of  honor  has  been  awarded  to 
Dagnan-Bouveret  for  his  "  Bretonnes  au  Pardon  " 
— a  group  of  Breton  peasants  seated  on  the  grass, 
and  listening  to  one  of  their  number,  who  is  read- 
ing, probably,  the  story  of  one  of  the  saints. 


The  first  book  ever  printed,  as  our  readers  are 
aware,  was  a  Latin  Bible.  The  printer,  needless 
to  add,  was  John  Gutenberg,  who  lived  about 
a  century  before  Luther  was  born.  He  is  every- 
where acknowledged  to  be  the  inventor  of  what 
is  called  the  "art  preser\^ative  of  all  arts."  Dr. 
Shea  reminds  the  Catholics  of  New  York  and 
vicinity  that  a  fine  copy  of  this  precious  first- 
printed  book — printed  with  great  difficulty  and 
expense — is  preserved  in  the  Lenox  Library, 
and  may  be  seen  any  day.  "  It  is  clear  and  beau- 
tiful in  its  sharp  type,  its  black  ink,  its  solid 
paper,  and  it  is  something  that  every  Catholic 
can  point  to  with  pride." 

A  copy  of  what  is  known  as  the  Koburger  Bible, 
in  excellent  preservation,  is  in  possession  of  Gen. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


65 


Charles  W.  Darling,  of  Utica,  N.  Y.  It  was  printed 
in  folio  by  Anthon}'  Koburger,  of  Nuremburg,  in 
1483,  the  year  of  Luther's  birth.  In  twenty-six 
years  he  printed  no  less  than  thirteen  editions 
of  the  Bible,  twelve  in  Latin  and  one  in  Greek,  all 
large  folios,  and  extremely  beautiful  specimens  of 
the  art.  But  his  chef-d' ceiivre  was  this  Gennan 
Bible,  which  is  profusely  illustrated  with  extraor- 
dinary^ and  complicated  woodcuts. 

How  can  non- Catholic  Americans,  with  copies 
of  these  precious  Bibles  preserved  in  their  midst, 
assert  that  the  Sacred  Scriptures  were  unknown 
or  unappreciated  in  ante-Reformation  times  ? 


The  Italians  of  New  York  purpose  to  place  a 
statue  of  Columbus  in  Central  Park  as  a  contri- 
bution to  the  celebration  of  the  quarto-centennial 
of  the  discoverj^  of  America.  The  design  calls  for 
a  statue  not  less  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
high,  to  be  made  of  Carrara  marble. 

The  venerable  Mrs.  Tyler,  wife  of  John  Tyler, 
tenth  President  of  the  United  States,  who  died 
recently  at  Richmond,  Va. ,  was  a  fervent  convert 
to  the  Church.  She  was  a  woman  of  superior 
intelligence  and  great  refinement.  The  White 
House  has  never  known  a  more  accomplished 
mistress. 

Princess  Clementine,  of  Bulgaria,  the  energetic 
mother  of  Prince  Ferdinand,  has  received  from  the 
Holy  Father  the  Cross  for  valiant  women, — ''Pro 
Ecclesid  et  Pontifice. ' ' 


New  Publications. 

Henry  VIII.  and  the  Engi^ish  Monasteries. 
An  Attempt  to  Illustrate  the  History  of  their 
Suppression.  By  Francis  Aidan  Gasquet,  O.  S.  B., 
Sometime  Prior  of  St.  Gregory's  Monastery,  Down- 
side, Bath.  John  Hodges,  Newcastle  Street,  Covent 
Garden,  lyondon. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  important  of  recent 
contributions  to  the  histor}^  of  a  very  interesting 
period.  If  it  be  true  in  general  that  "history  for 
the  past  three  centuries  has  been  a  conspiracy 
against  the  truth,"  it  is  especially  true  of  all 
English  history  of  the  Catholic  Church'  and  the 
monastic  orders.  To  the  average  English  non- 
Catholic  it  is  almost  as  unquestioned  as  an  axiom 
in  mathematics  that  monasticism  in  the  early 
part  of  the  seventeenth  century  was  falling  into 
pieces  of  its  own  rottenness,  and  that  the  suppres- 
sion of  the  monasteries  by  Henry  VIII.  was  an 
act  which  the  best  interests  of  the  state  and  of 
religion,  not  less  than  the  national  sentiment, 
imperatively    demanded.    Encased   in    a    triple 


shield  of  prejudice  must  indeed  be  the  man  who 
can  rise  from  the  perusal  of  these  volumes  without 
relinqui.shing  such  an  opinion.  Father  Gasquet 
writes  not  indeed  like  a  partisan :  on  the  con- 
trary, he  is  temperate  and  measured  to  a  degree 
that  sometimes  causes  surprise ;  but  all  his  state- 
ments are  so  clearly  proven,  they  are  supported 
by  authorities  so  unquestioned  and  unquestion- 
able, that  they  can  not  fail  to  bring  conviction  to 
any  one  who  sincerely  desires  to  ascertain  the 
truth. 

The  work  opens  with  a  charming  pen-picture 
of  monastic  life  in  mediaeval  England.  This  is 
followed  by  a  brief  sketch  of  the  difl5culties  whick 
had  lain  in  the  path  of  the  Church  and  the  re- 
ligious orders  for  more  than  a  century  prior  to 
the  age  of  the  Tudors,  and  which  had,  to  a  certain 
extent,  impeded  the  action  and  weakened  the 
influence  of  both  upon  society..  The  ravages  of 
that  dread  visitation  of  Providence,  the  Black 
Death,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  fourteenth  century 
had  been  specially  disastrous  to  the  clergy  and 
the  monks,  of  whom  it  is  computed  that  two- 
thirds  were  carried  off  in  the  space  of  a  year. 
From  the  effects  of  this  blow  the  monastic  orders, 
even  after  the  lapse  of  a  century  and  a  half,  had 
not  fully  recovered.  Add  to  this  the  unsettled 
state  of  men's  minds  consequent  on  the  Greek 
schism  of  the  West  and  the  agitation  of  Wycliffe 
and  the  Lollards,  and  the  demoralization  which 
necessarily  accompanied  the  great  civil  strife 
between  the  Houses  of  York  and  Lancaster,  and 
is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that  malevolent  critics 
should  be  able  to  discover  blemishes  more  or  less 
serious,  not  indeed  in  the  Church  of  England  or 
the  monastic  orders  as  a  whole,  but  in  some 
churchmen  and  monks  of  the  early  sixteenth 
century  ? 

During  the  Hundred  Years'  War  between 
France  and  England  the  monarchs  of  the  latter 
country  had  several  times,  for  alleged  reasons  of 
state,  found  themselves,  or  pretended  to  find 
themselves,  obliged  to  seize  the  temporal  posses- 
sions of  foreign  religious  bodies.  Wolsey,  to  carry 
out  some  of  his  more  ambitious  projects,  had 
extorted  from  the  Pope  permission  to  apply  to 
other  uses  the  revenues  of  certain  religious  foun- 
dations ;  and  when  the  breach  between  the  Papacy 
and  Henry  VIII.  occurred,  these  acts  constituted 
precedents,  of  which  the  grasping  and  unscrupu- 
lous monarch  w^as  only  too  happy  to  avail  him- 
self The  hostility  of  Henr}^  to  the  religious  orders 
is  shown  to  have  owed  its  origin  to  two  causes  : 
ist,  they  refused  to  acknowledge  his  spiritual 
supremacy ;  and,  2dly,  their  wealth  tempted  his 
cupidity.  To  overcome  the  constancy  of  the 
monks  fines,  imprisonment,  confiscation,  torture^ 


66 


The  Ave  Maria. 


death  were  resorted  to,  but  in  vain  :  their  onh' 
effect  was  to  join  Forrest,  Haiighton,  Peto,  Cook,   | 
Whiting,  and  others  less  known,  to  More  and 
Fisher  as  worth\^  to  wear  the  crown  of  martyrdom.   [ 

On  this  phase  of  the  difficult}-  the  world  has  j 
long  since  made  up  its  mind,  and  consequently  ; 
we  are  not  sorr_v  that  the  author  does  not  dwell  , 
on  it  at  any  great  length.  He  attaches  himself  ■ 
with  special  effort  to  show  the  hollowness  and 
insincerity  of  the  charges  brought  against  the 
monasteries,  and  which  have  until  quite  recently 
been  generally  accepted  by  the  English-speaking 
world.  An  historian  who  will  not  be  suspected 
of  partiality  to  the  monastic  orders  or  of  undue 
hostility  to  Henr}-  VIII.,  Mr.  Froude,  acknowl- 
edges, in  speaking  of  one  of  the  larger  monasteries 
which  had  been  the  object  of  his  study,  that  "St. 
Bede  or  St.  Cuthbert  might  have  found  himself 
in  the  house  of  the  London  Carthusians,  and  he 
would*  have  had  few  questions  to  ask  and  no 
duties  to  learn  or  to  iinleani.  ...  A  thousand 
years  of  the  world's  history  had  rolled  by,  and 
these  lonely  islands  of  prayer  had  remained  an- 
chored in  the  stream, — the  strands  of  the  ropes 
which  held  them  wearing  now  to  a  thread,  and 
near  their  last  parting,  but  still  unbroken."  The 
tribute  which  Mr.  Froude  pays  to  the  Carthusians 
is  shown  to  have  been  equally  deserved  by  the 
other  orders. 

From  a  careful  study  of  contemporaneous  rec- 
ords the  author  demonstrates  to  evidence:  (i) 
That  the  great  majority  of  the  religious  houses 
were  not  and  could  not  have  been  the  haunts  of 
idleness  and  dissipation,  which  the  prejudice  of 
after  generations  has  been  pleased  to  consider 
them ;  (2)  that  no  honest  investigation  of  the 
condition  of  these  houses  was  made  by  Henry's 
orders, — the  infamous  Thomas  Cromwell  having 
deputed  his  equall}-  infamous  tools,  not  to  learn 
facts,  but  to  find  pretexts  for  harsh  treatment  of 
the  members  of  religious  orders  ;  (3)  that  the  tes- 
timony of  these  interested  and  unscrupulous  com- 
missioners is  self  contradictory,  utterly  unworthy 
of  credence,  and  would  not  be  accepted  by  any 
impartial  tribunal, — an  enem}^  as  Burke  states  it, 
being  always  a  bad  witness,  and  a  robber  much 
worse ;  (4)  that  distorted,  malicious  and  false  as 
were  the  reports  privately  sent  to  Cromwell,  they 
did  not  make  out  a  case  against  the  monasteries 
which  Henry  dared  to  submit  even  to  a  bod}^  so 
subservient  as  his  parliament. 

That  the  suppression  of  the  monasteries  was 
by  no  means  a  measure  demanded  by  the  national 
sentiment  is  shown  by  the  difficulty  w^hich  Henry 
and  Cromwell  experienced  in  obtaining  for  it  the 
sanction  of  a  House  of  Commons  composed  al- 
most exclusivel}^  of  members  nominated  by  the 


Crown,  and  b}-  the  repeated  popular  uprisings 
which  took  place  in ,  favor  of  the  monks  and  the 
ancient  faith.  The  work  ends  with  a  brief  presen- 
tation of  some  of  the  evils  which  resulted  from 
the  dissolution  of  the  religious  hoUvSes.  Pauperism 
as  distinguished  from  poverty — the  impassable 
chasm  which  in  England  separates  class  from 
class,  rich  from  poor ;  the  destruction  of  all  checks 
upon  the  exactions  of  landlords  ;  the  appropria- 
tion by  grasping  lords  of  the  tithes  intended  for 
the  support  of  the  Church  and  of  the  poor ;  finally, 
the  loss  of  the  foundations  at  schools  and  univer- 
sities established  for  the  children  of  the  deserving 
poor, — such  are  seen  to  be  among  the  results 
that  necessarily  flowed  from  the  selfish,  unjust 
and  tyrannical  action  of  Henrj-  toward  the  mon- 
asteries of  England. 

This  brief  outline  of  the  argument  of  the  two 
bulky  volumes — so  well  deserving  of  a  more  ex- 
tended notice — ^will,  we  earnestly  trust,  inspire 
some  few  interested  in  historical  studies  with  a 
desire  to  peruse  a  work  which,  in  the  language 
of  one  of  its  non-Catholic  reviewers,  "has  forever 
dispelled  the  old  scandals,  universall}^  discredited 
at  the  time,  and  believed  in  by  a  later  generation 
only  through  prejudice  and  ignorance."  Father 
Gasquet's  .stj'le  is  clear,  simple  and  forcible;  in 
his  treatment  of  a  subject  which  would  so  easily 
lend  itself  to  dramatic  situations  he  has  carefully 
avoided  all  straining  after  effect ;  he  has  told  his 
tale  in  an  earnest,  straightforward  manner,  which 
must  carry  conviction  with  it.  He  has  thrown 
down  the  gauntlet  at  the  side  of  truth,  and  we 
are  quite  certain  that  even  those  who  would  most 
willingly  break  a  lance  with  him  will  think  twice 
before  stooping  to  pick  it  up. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  binds,  a*  if  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii,  3. 

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

vSister  Mary  Olympia,  O.  S.  F.,  Philadelphia,  Pa., 
who  was  called  to  her  reward  on  the  Feast  of  the 
Visitation.  Sister  Mary  de  Sales,  of  the  Order  of  the 
Visitation,  Frederick,  Md. ,  whose  precious  death  took 
place  the  day  following. 

Mr,  Patrick  Murphy,  a  prominent  and  highly  re- 
spected citizen  of  Philadelphia,  Pa.,  who  departed 
this  life  on  the  ist  inst. 

Mrs.  Anna  Darnin,  of  Belleville,  N.  J.,  who  piously 
yielded  her  soul  to  God  on  the  24th  of  May. 

Mr.  Dennis  Reilly,  whose  happy  death  occun-ed  at 
Easton,  Pa.,  on  the  2d  inst. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faith- 
ful departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in 
peace! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


67 


pahtment 


Johnnie's  Travels. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "TYBORNE." 


"Mother,  just  look  at  what  the  ladies  have 
given  me!"  cried  Johnnie.  "A  franc,  two- 
franc  piece,  and  half  a  franc  in  gold!" 

"A  ten-franc  piece,  you  little  goose!"  said 
his  mother.  "They  have  been  good  indeed. 
My  poor  children,  let  us  thank  God.  We  shall 
have  food  for  a  week,  and  I  had  not  a  penny 
in  the  house." 

"Mother,  did  you  hear  what  the  lady  said 
to  the  other  lady, — that  in  Paris  I  should  get 
a  lot  of  money  ? ' ' 

"Hush,  child!   Paris  is  too  far  off." 

Paris  was  indeed  far  off  from  the  village  in 
the  Pyrenees,  where  dwelt  the  Widow  Janet 
and  her  five  children.  Johnnie,  the  oldest  and 
the  only  son,  was  nine  years  old.  A  friend  had 
given  him  two  white  mice,  and  the  little  boy, 
with  much  pains  and  ingenuity,  had  trained 
the  tiny  animals  to  perform  certain  tricks. 
His  mother,  who  was  a  dressmaker,  had  made 
him  some  little  dresses  and  hats  for  them.  At 
first  they  only  formed  the  daily  delight  of 
Johnnie  and  his  four  sisters,  who  called  them 
•  Countess  le  Blanc  and  her  lady's-maid  Zoe  ; 
but  by  degrees  they  were  shown  to  neighbor 
after  neighbor,  till  their  fame  had  reached  a 
grand  house  in  the  neighborhood,  where  some 
ladies  from  Paris  were  staying  and  finding  it 
extremely  dull.  They  heard  of  the  white  mice, 
and  made  Janet's  cottage  the  object  of  a  drive ; 
the  white  mice  had  done  their  best,  and  the 
ladies  had  been  generous. 

Johnnie  was  quiet  only  for  a  minute,  then 
he  began  again. 

"In  Paris,  mother,  I  should  keep  myself  and 
help  you.   I  should  get  gold  pieces  and  send 
them  to  you." 
Janet  sighed  and  said  nothing. 

"There,  mother,  there's  Farmer  Green  pass- 
ing! I'll  go  and  ask  him."  And  Johnnie  flew 
out. 


Farmer  Green  was  in  his  cart ;  Johnnie 
jumped  up,  and  the  farmer  drove  on.  Johnnie 
told  his  story;  the  farmer  listened  and  grunted, 
then  set  the  child  down  and  said: 

"Tell  your  mother  I'll  come  to  see  her 
to-morrow." 

Next  day  the  farmer  kept  his  word.  He  was 
one  of  the  best  friends  the  poor  widow  had. 
His  advice  was  that  Johnnie  should  go  to 
Paris.  "Yes,  yes,"  he  said  to  the  weeping 
mother,  as  she  clasped  Johnnie  in  her  arms, "  I 
know  it  is  hard  for  you,  but  what  is  to  be 
done  ?  You  would  not  like  to  see  your  boy  die 
of  hunger,  and  his  sisters  as  well.  The  winter 
is  at  hand,  trade  is  bad ;  we  shall  have  a  hard 
time.  Johnnie  is  tall  for  his  age ;  he  is  strong, 
courageous  and  bright.  He  could  support 
himself  by  showing  his  mice. "  All  the  village 
boys  are  going  off  this  winter  to  seek  their 
fortunes.  Colas'  son  is  gone,  and  Catherine's 
two  boys  are  going.  Surely  it  is  better  than 
begging  at  home." 

Janet  wept  on. 

'  *  I  wish  I  could  prevent  it, ' '  said  the  farmer. 
"I  wish  I  could  help  you  more.  I  will  do 
what  I  can." 

"O  Farmer  Green,  you  are  the  best  friend 
we  have!  You  are  too  good.  Yes,  I  will  take 
your  advice.  I  will  let  the  child  go,  though 
it  breaks  my  heart." 

"Well,"  said  the  farmer,  "in  a  week's  time 
I  shall  have  to  go  as  far  as  Bagneres-de- 
Bigorre,  to  the  fair  there ;  if  you  like  I'll  take 
Johnnie  before  me  on  my  horse,  and  that  will 
help  him  on  fifteen  miles." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you!"  said  Janet.  "I 
will  make  the  sacrifice,  and  Johnnie  shall  be 
ready." 

The  farmer  took  his  leave,  and  Johnnie 
hung  about  his  mother,  telling  her  how  soon 
he  would  get  rich,  how  much  money  he  would 
send  her  from  Paris,  how  his  sisters  should 
have  new  frocks  and  white  bread  to  eat.  His 
mother  seemed  not  to  hear  him. 

" In  a  week, "  she  said ;  "only  a  week!  Poor 
child,  and  I  wanted  to  send  him  to  school! 
O  Johnnie,  you  know  so  little  about  our  good 
God,  and  if  you  were  to  forget  Him!  Let  me 
hear  you  say  the  'Our  Father.'  " 

Johnnie  knelt  down  and  said  devoutly  a 
Pater ^  then  an  Ave,  and  lastly  the  Creed;  and 
he  promised  his  mother  that  he  would  never 


68 


The  Ave  Maria, 


forget  to  say  these  prayers  night  and  morn- 
ing. During  the  week  that  followed  she  taught 
him  the  short  acts  of  faith,  hope,  charity, 
and  contrition ;  and  he  promised  to  go  to  con- 
fession ever}^  month,  and  to  hear  Mass  every 
Sunday  and  feast-day.  And  when  the  last 
evening  came  Janet  made  up  the  little  bundle 
of  clothes,  and  put  into  it  a  small  prayer-book 
— one  of  the  treasures  of  her  girlhood. 

The  parting  moment  was  hard  enough. 
Johnnie  asked  his  mother  for  her  blessing. 
Janet  fell  on  her  knees  and  placed  her  hands 
on  the  boy's  head.  "O  my  God  ! "  she  said, 
**Thou  alone  canst  truly  give  a  blessing. 
Bless  this  child.  Thou  knowest  that  my  heart 
is  full  of  terror ;  I  fear  lest  he  should  meet 
with  an  accident  or  be  taken  ill,  and  above 
all  lest  he  should  fall  into  sin.  O  my  God, 
preserve  him  soul  and  body!  Preserve  him 
from  falling  into  temptation  and  from  bad 
example.  Never  let  him  learn  to  tell  lies  or 
fall  into  any  vice,  but  may  he  grow  up  to  love 
and  obey  Thee!"  Then  the  afflicted  mother 
drew  the  child  to  her  breast  in  a  long,  loving 
embrace. 

Johnnie  mounted  behind  the  farmer  with 
his  tiny  bundle,  the  mouse  cage  well  furnished 
with  bread  and  cheese  and  containing  the  two 
mice,  also  their  toilet- box  with  the  dresses 
and  hats  they  wore  when  performing.  It  was 
hardly  dawn ;  the  horse  and  its  riders  soon 
disappeared  in  the  mist,  and  Janet's  straining 
eyes  could  see  no  traces  of  them. 

II. 

Bagneres-de-Bigorre  is  a  pretty  town,  and 
Johnnie  was  astonished  to  see  all  the  fine 
hoiises  and  churches  and  shops ;  but  he  had 
no  time  for  sight-seeing :  he  must  begin  busi- 
ness. So  he  sat  on  some  steps  opposite  a  large 
house,  dressed  his  mice  and  prepared  for  a 
performance,  which  should  arrest  the  atten- 
tion of  the  passers-by. 

He  heard  the  voice  of  a  lady  from  a  window 
of  the  big  house:  "Why,  there  is  our  little 
boy  fi-om  the  village  and  the  famous  mice!" 

Johnnie  started  up. 

"Come  here,  my  little  fellow,"  said  the 
lad3^   '  *  How  long  is  it  since  you  came  here  ? ' ' 

"This  morning,  ma'am,  if  you  please." 

Several  ladies  were  now  standing  at  the 
open  window.  Johnnie,  looking  in,  saw  it  was 
a  large  room,  with  a  long  table  covered  with 


glasses  and  plates ;  and  many  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen were  seated  at  the  table. 

'  *  Do  you  care  to  amuse  yourself  for  five 
minutes?"  asked  the  hostess,  turning  to  the 
company.  "Yes!"  they  cried.  And  she  or- 
dered Johnnie  to  be  admitted. 

There  was  a  famous  performance.  The  ladies 
and  gentlemen  were  much  amused.  When  at 
the  end  Johnnie  held  out  his  cap,  money  fell 
fast  into  it.  The  lady  who  had  called  him  in, 
holding  a  coin  in  her  fingers,  then  asked: 
"Why  did  you  leave  your  village  and  your 
good  mother,  child?" 

"O  ma'am,  flour  is  so  dear  this  year  there 
is  no  bread  for  the  poor!  I  had  to  leave  mother 
to  earn  money  for  her." 

The  lady  dropped  the  coin  into  his  cap. 

The  child  gave  a  jump.  "O  ma'am,"  said 
he,  "that  is  the  half  franc  in  gold  you  gave 
me,  but  mother  spent  it  in  bread!  How  did  it 
get  into  your  purse  again?  Did  the  baker 
give  it  to  you?" 

There  was  a  peal  of  laughter.  The  lady 
opened  her  purse  and  showed  Johnnie  she  had 
many  gold  pieces.  "Now  tell  me,"  said  she, 
"what  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  money  I 
give  you?" 

"O  ma'am,  send  it  to  my  mother,  of  course!" 

Every  one  laughed  again,  and  one  gentle- 
man threw  in  a  gold  five-fi-anc  piece,  saying, 
* '  Now  you  will  know  there  is  more  than  one 
gold  piece  in  the  world.  I  like  children  who 
work  for  their  mothers." 

It  was  too  much  for  Johnnie ;  he  put  down 
his  cap,  and  danced  round  the  room,  singing 
at  the  top  of  his  voice.  Then  all  of  a  sudden 
he  stopped,  tottered,  and  would  have  fallen 
had  not  a  gentleman  caught  him. 

"It  is  nothing,"  said  Johnnie,  feebly.  "It 
is  joy.  I  am  too  happy." 

^'Too  happy !^'  said  the  young  doctor  who 
had  caught  him.  "Tell  me,  my  boy,  have  you 
eaten  this  morning?" 

"No  really,  I  think  not.  Mother  gave  me 
some  bread ;  I  put  it  in  my  pocket  and  forgot 
it.  I  was  too  miserable  to  eat." 

"But  now  you  are  too  happy.  You  can  eat," 
said  the  doctor,  smiling.  "Pack  up  your  fort- 
une and  come  with  me,  and  you  shall  have  a 
good  breakfast." 

Johnnie's  first  care  was  to  look  for  Farmer 
Green ;  but  as  he  did  not  know  the  town,  he 


The  Ave  Maria. 


69 


could  not  succeed'  in  finding  him.   So  in  the 
afternoon  he  waited  for  him  on  the  high-road. 

"Oh!"  said  the  farmer  when  he  saw  him, 
"so  you  are  tired  already, — you  want  to  go 
home?" 

"No  indeed,  sir.  I  only  want  to  ask  you  to 
take  this  money  to  mother." 

The  farmer  took  the  money.  "What!"  he 
said,  "over  nineteen  francs!  Is  it  possible?" 
He  cast  an  uneasy  look  at  the  child. 

' '  Farmer  Green, ' '  said  Johnnie,  '  *  tell  mother 
that  I  gained  it  all  at  the  Hotel  de  France." 
And  then  he  related  his  story  to  the  farmer, 
who  promised  to  repeat  it  faithfully. 

"And  how  much  have  you  got  for  your- 
self?" he  asked. 

"Nothing,"  said  Johnnie.  "I  had  such  a 
good  breakfast  I  don't  want  anything." 

"Well,"  said  the  farmer,  "I'll  take  all  your 
first  earnings  to  your  mother,  and  here  is  my 
parting  gift  to  you."  And  he  gave  the  little 
fellow  a  two- franc  piece. 

Next  day  Johnnie  left  Bigorre,  but  he  did  not 
travel  by  the  railroad ;  no,  nor  by  coach  nor 
by  steamboat;  he  did  not  mount  on  a  horse 
nor  a  donkey ;  no :  he  went  the  cheapest  way 
— on  foot,  his  luggage  on  his  back. 

One  evening  as  he  was  drawing  near  Bor- 
deaux a  carriage  passed  him,  and  something 
fell  from  it.  Johnnie  picked  it  up  and  found 
it  to  be  a  beautiful  little  cloth  cloak  lined  with 
fur.  "Stop!  stop!"  criedjohnnie,  running  after 
the  carriage.  But  the  coachman  did  not  hear 
him,  and  the  carriage  went  on  and  on. 

"What  do  you  want,  little  fellow?"  asked 
a  man  on  horseback. 

"To  stop  that  carriage,  sir,"  panted  the 
child. 

"Well,  you  can't  stop  it  certainly,"  said 
the  rider;  "but  I'll  try."  So  he  put  spurs  to 
his  horse  and  galloped  off. 

The  carriage  stopped;  up  came  Johnnie. 
"Here  it  is,"  said  he,  holding  up  the  cloak. 

"That's famous!"  cried  the  coachman.  "I 
should  have  caught  it  from  my  mistress  if  it 
were  lost.  Thanks,  my  good  boy.  Where  are 
you  going?"  i 

"To  Bordeaux,"  answered  Johnnie.  | 

"So  am  I,"  said  the  man.  "Jump  up  and 
I'll  take  you  there." 

So  Johnnie  had  a  ride  of  eighteen  miles. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


The  Jose-Maria. 


BY  E.  I,.  DORSEV. 


IV. 


It  was  not  only  nearly  but  quite  eight-bells  * 
when  they  started;  and  before  they  reached 
the  causeway  the  short  October  day  had  drawn 
to  its  close,  and  the  three  figures  toiling  along 
were  the  only  signs  of  life  in  the  strange  and 
desolate  surroundings. 

Sixteen  miles  of  sand-walking  is  no  joke, 
so  poor  Dick  suddenly  sank  in  a  little  boneless 
heap,  and  cried  out — as  steadily  as  he  could, 
for  his  panting  breath  and  trembling,  aching 
muscles : 

"Git  ahead,  uncle.  I'll  follow  'long's  soon's 
I  git  rested  a  bit." 

It  was  good  advice,*  and  Jonas  was  in  favor 
of  it ;  but  Idella  sat  down  by  him,  and,  patting 
his  hand,  asked : 

"Be  you  tired,  Dicky  boy?  Well,  so'm  I. 
An'  it's  a  good  idee  to  rest.  It's  pleasant  here 
too,  bain' t  it?" 

"Whew! "  muttered  Jonas,  "that  is  a  crazy 
idee!  I  wisht  to  glor}^  she  hadn't  took  up  wi' 
sich." 

And  the  deepening  shadows  lent  so  much 
of  their  sombre  mystery  to  the  scene  that 
"pleasant"  it  assuredly  was  not.  The  sun 
was  dropping  below  the  horizon,  red  and  ray- 
less,  tangled  in  the  last  wisps  of  the  fog;  an 
equally  red  and  rayless  moon  floated  on  the 
water-line  of  the  eastern  sky.  The  sea  heaved 
in  long  grey  rollers,  gashed  with  a  wavering 
line  of  crimson  light — "fur  all  th'  world,'* 
said  Jonas  to  himself,  "like  the  man-eater f 
we  once  hauled  aboard  th'  old  Alby-tross  off 
o'  Hayti,  an'  slashed  wi'  our  cutlasses  tell  he 
thrashed  and  bled  to  death,  wi'  his  wicked 


*  The  watches  are  divided  into  periods  of  four  hours 
each,  except  the  two  dog-watches,  which  are  only  two 
hours  long — 4  to  6  and  6  to  8  p.  m.  All  are  counted 
off  by  the  strokes  of  the  ship's  bell,  one  stroke  for 
each  half-hour.  A  sailor's  time-table  is  as  follows  : 

1  bell — 12.30,  4.30,  and  8  30,  a.  m. ;    12  30,  4  30,  and  8.30,  p.  m. 

2  bells — 1,5,  and  9,  a.  m. ;    i,  5,  and  9,  p.  m. 

3  bells— I  30,  5.30,  and  9.30,  a.m.  ;    1.30,  5.30,  and  9.30,  p.m. 

4  bells— 2,  6,  and  10,  a.  m.  ;    2,  6,  and  10,  p.  m. 

5  bells — 2.30,  6.30,  and  10.30,  a.  m. ;   2.30,  6.30,  and  10.30,  p.  m. 

6  bells— 3,  7,  and  11,  a.  m. ;    3,  7,  and  11,  p.  m. 

7  bells — 3.30,  7.30,  and  11.30,  a.  m. ;    3.30,  7.30,  and  11.30,  p.  m^ 

8  bells— 4,  8,  a.  m.,  and  12,  m. ;   4,  8,  p.  m.,  and  12,  m. 

t  Man-eating  shark. 


70 


The  Ave  Maria. 


grey  eyes  a-gleamin',  an'  his  jaws  a-snappin' 
like  castanets  when  the  Kachiiky's"^  a-bein' 
danced." 

From  the  shoal  water  rose  the  masts  and 
cross-trees  of  seven  vessels  that  went  down 
with  all  hands  aboard  in  the  big  gale  of  '77  ; 
the  broken  cordage  still  dangled  about  them, 
swaying  back  and  forth  in  the  wind  as  if 
ghostly  fingers  were  "hauling  home";  and 
high  above  them — invisible  in  the  growing 
night — the  sea-birds  whistled  shrill}^  sound- 
ing for  all  the  world  as  if  the  dead  boatswains 
were  piping  their  men  up  from  Davy  Jones  to 
sail  one  more  race  with  Ruin. 

Between  these  mournful  bits  of  wreckage 
and  the  silent  little  group  of  three  lay  the 
"Mesh,"  its  ooze  laced  with  the  broad  silver 
ribbons  of  the  tide,  now  flowing  in  so  swiftly 
that,  even  as  they  watched,  the  wide  brown 
slashes  were  changed  into  a  shivering  waste 
of  water.  Back  of  them  rose  the  lofty  dune, 
that  trailed  its  blight  through  the  rich  land ; 
and  thrusting  from  its  tidal  wave  of  sand  were 
scores  of  blasted  pines,  that  reflected  in  mul- 
tiplied outlines  the  sea-wrecks  opposite.  The 
wind  gTew  brisker,  and  the  soft  whiz  of  the 
sand  could  be  heard  scudding  by. 

"Look  a-heer,  boy!"  said  Uncle  Jonas, 
somewhat  harshly.  "Be  you  goin'  to  set  theer 
all  night?" 

Dick  looked  up,  surprised  at  the  tone,  but 
scrambled  stiffly  to  his  feet,  and  in  his  sturdy 
way  began  to  make  the  best  of  things. 

"What was  it  you  called  this  place  a  piece 
back,  uncle?"  he  asked. 

' '  Called  what  place  ? " 

"Why,  this  here  place." 

"There's  a  hull  lot  o'  names,"  answered 
Jonas,  reluctantly.  "Some  folks  'round  here 
calls  it  the  Sand  Crawl,  and  some  calls  it  the 
Whirlin'  Dune,  an'  some  calls  it  the  Sand 
Mountain ;  but  I  tell  a'Ou  th^er  ain't  any  name 
that'll  fit  it— 'thout  you  call  it  the  Devil's 
Own." 

And  he  spat  out  angrily  the  last  shreds  of 
his  great  tobacco  wad. 

"Land  o' Goshen!"  said  Dick.  "What's 
the  matter  wi'  it,  uncle?" 

''Ev'y thing!''  was  the  reply.  "Look  at 
them  dead  men  a-layin'  out  theer.    A.  B.'s 


Cachuca? 


ev'y  mother's  son  of  'em,  'cept  the  cabin-boys; 
an'  even  they  died  like  little  men  here  afore 
our  eyes,  an'  not  a  boat  could  be  got  afloat  to 
save  'em.  Look  at  this  here  Mesh.  What  is  it 
but  th'  old  Hoonikille  Flats,  that's  red  wi' 
the  blood  of  the  massacree  that  wiped  out  the 
Dutch,  an'  chock-full  o'  quicksands  that  suck 
down  all  they  can  git  hold  of?  Look  at  that 
crawlin',  smotherin'  devil  theer!  Is  it  like  any 
sand  that  ever  God's  sea  throwed  up  afore? 
Certain' y  not !  Did  y'  ever  see  sand  that 
knowed  how  to  chart  and  navigate  afore  ?  Cer- 
tain'}^ not!  Did  y'  ever  see  sand  that  gripped 
whatever  it  took  a-hankerin'  fur,  an'  wrapped 
around  it,  an'  squeezed  th'  life  out  o'  it,  an' 
chawed  it  and  mauled  it,  an'  then  spit  it  out 
when  it  was  through  wi'  it  ?  I  bet  a  cookie  you 
never  did — no,  nor  anybody  else  neither,  'cept 
them  that's  seen  this  here — " 

Aversion  and  anger  seemed  to  choke  him. 
But  Dick  had  heard  quite  enough  for  the 
Ridge  to  become  invested  with  a  ghastly 
fascination,  and  he  went  the  rest  of  the  dis- 
tance in  a  fashion  that  could  have  been  most 
accurately  described  by  the  phrase  ''barbe  a 
rcpaiilc,''  if  his  sharp  little  chin  had  not  been 
3'ears  too  3'oung  for  a  barbe. 

And  certainly,  as  the  moon  shook  loose 
from  the  mist  and  began  to  climb  up  the  sky, 
getting  brighter  and  cleaner  the  higher  she 
went  (the  way  with  all  of  us),  it  was  an  im- 
pressive oVjject,  lying,  like  one  of  the  great 
dragons  of  legend,  stretched  over  two  miles  of 
ground,  and  ending  far  away  seaward  in  a 
lofty  bluff"  (not  unlike  a  head  reared  for  a 
better  view),  on  the  crest  of  which  burnt  the 
I  Henlopen  Light— a  fier^-  eye  that  watches 
unwinkingjy  over  the  fate  of  all  the  poor 
Jackies  afloat  in  these  waters. 

A  dozen  questions  stirred  in  the  boy's  mind, 
but  he  was  by  this  time  semi-unconscious 
with  fatigue ;  the  last  part  of  the  journey  was 
made  mechanically,  and  he  had  to  be  steered 
into  the  home-door  by  his  uncle ;  then  he 
was  vaguely  aware  of  hot  coffee  and  cold  milk 
being  poured  down  his  throat — inside  and  out, 
— of  being  pulled  and  hauled  at,  and  finally 
of  being  let  blissfull}'  alone  to  sleep,  which  he 
did  from  seven  o'clock  until  nearly  the  same 
j  hour  next  morning. 

This  "next  morning"  was  an  era  in  Dick's 
life.    He  began  school  that  day.    He  had  a 


The  Ave  Maria. 


71 


brand  new  suit  of  clothes,  including  a  hat  and 
shoes ;  and  when  he  saw  the  sunshine  he 
felt  there  was  something  so  personally  jolly 
in  it  that  the  Sand  Crawl,  with  its  gruesome 
association^-,  passed  for  the  time  from  his 
memory.  His  breakfast  was  eaten  standing, 
with  his  precious  satchel  of  more  precious 
books  on  his  back ;  and  as  he  crossed  the 
threshold  there  rose  from  the  curb-stone  to 
meet  him  Master  Tic. 

"Thought  I'd  go  'long  an'  interduce  you," 
he  said.  Then  he  doubled  over  in  noiseless 
and  prolonged  mirth.  "Jimminy!  "  he  gasped 
as  he  straightened  up,  ''won't  thar  be  a  circus? 
Oh,  no,  I  reckon  thar  won't.  Not  much!" — 
this  last  derisively  addressed  to  the  world  at 
large. 

"What's  up?"  asked  Dick,  briefly. 

"Well,  you  see,  thar's  Froggie  Mason — 
call  him  Froggie  'cause  he  swells  'round  so — 
he  said  he'd  giv  you  a  good  lick  in'  the  day 
you  fust  come  to  school,  so's  to  stiddy  3^ou  an' 
make  you  know  your  place.  An'  I'm  just 
a-laughin'  fit  to  bust  to  think  how  'stonished 
he'll  be  when  yoM  git  that  grip  onto  his  wool 
you  got  onto  mine  the  fust  day  /  tried  can- 
traptions  wi'  you."  And  again  he  shut  up  like 
a  jackknife,  while  his  suppressed  laughter 
made  the  tears  stand  in  his  eyes. 

"It's  a  pity 'bout  thet  fightin' ! "  thought 
Dick;  "fur  I  wanted  to  git  a  merit  mark 
straight  along;  but  ef  thet's  the  way  it's 
a-goin'  to  be,  v/hy  thet's  the  way  it  willh^.'" 
All  he  said  aloud,  however,  was,  "Is  thet  so? 
Bring  on  your  Froggie,  an'  I'll  do  my  best  fur 
the  credit  o'  the  family ;  fur  ^'ou  know,  Tic, 
"  'Hardest  whacks 
Is  stiffest  fac's.'  " 

At  which  Tic  rubbed  his  grimy  paws  with 
glee,  and  smacked  his  lips  as  if  he  were  about 
to  eat  something  very  appetizing. 

So  it  happened  that  when  Everard  Comeg^- s, 
schoolmaster,  entered  the  school  enclosure  he 
saw  the  bo3'S  in  a  solid  triple  ring,  their  necks 
well  craned  toward  a  common  centre,  and  the 
girls  darting  about  like  petrels  before  a  gale ; 
and  he  knew  there  was  a  battle  h  Voutrance 
going  oil. 

"What  is  this?"  he  asked,  sternl}-. 

There  was  a  sudden  gap  in  the  circle,  but 
one  of  the  big  boys  seized  him  imploringly 
by  the  arm  and  begged : 


''Don't  stop  'em,  please,  Mr.  Comegys! 
That  little  Yankee  beggar  has  just  got  Frog- 
gie's  head  in  chancery,  and  is  polishing  him 
off  finely." 

' '  Stop  this  fighting  instantly ! "  commanded 
the  master,  though  his  pleasant  mouth 
twitched  under  its  young  moustache ;  for  it 
was  only  last  year  he  had  quit  that  sort  of 
thing  himself,  and  had  got  the  diploma  that 
entitled  him  to  his  present  dignity. 

He  laid  a  forcible  hold  on  the  two  collars 
and  pulled  the  combatants  apart — that  is,  he 
pulled  Dick ;  Froggie  fell  willingly  away,  for 
he  had  been  terribly  punished  :  his  nose 
streamed  blood,  his  eyes  were  shut  up,  and  of 
such  a  color  that  neither  raw  oysters  nor  raw 
beef  would  save  them  from  rainbow  hues; 
one  cheek  stood  out  as  if  he  had  a  small  apple 
stuffed  in  it,  and  his  forehead  was  decorated 
with  several  large  lumps. 

"Who  began  this?"  Mr.  Comegys  asked, 
looking  curiously  at  Dick,  who  stood  passively 
enough  in  his  grip,  although  his  eyes  were  on 
fire  and  his  hands  clasping  and  unclosing  in 
excitement. 

"I  hit  him  fust,  ef  thet's  what  you  mean." 

"Froggie  sassed  him  fust,"  piped  a  small 
urchin,  who  in  his  first  knickerbockers  felt 
ver}'  much  of  a  man  indeed. 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Comeg>^s  of  his 
captive. 

"Richard  Barlow,  o'  Gloucester,  Massy- 
chusetts." 

"Ah,  the  new  scholar!  Barlow,  this  is  a 
bad  way  to  begin." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Dick,  respectfully  enough; 
"it  ain't  neither." 

'  'Ah ! ' '  said  Comegys,  rather  taken  aback. 
"How  do  you  make  that  out?" 

"He  called  my  mother  names,"  said  Dick, 
his  breast  swelling. 

"What's  this.  Mason?" 

"Well,  she  is,''  whined  Froggie  through  a 
most  dilapidated  nose.  "Ain't  she  a  crazy 
Jane?"  he  asked,  appealing  to  two  of  his 
satellites. 

"Ef  you  say  thet  again,"  shouted  Dick, 
"I'll  bang  5'ou  tell  the  bark's  off  your  hull 
body!" 

"Mason,"  said  ComegA'S,  as  the  situation 
flashed  on  him, — "Mason,  I  thought  you 
wanted  to  be  a  gentleman?" 


72 


The  Ave  Maria, 


**Ani  one,"  vStuttered  Mason.  "My  father's 
the  richest  man  in  Lewes — " 

"And  not  all  his  money  can  gild  you  into  a 
■decent  fellow  so  long  as  you  think  it  fun  to 
joke  about  the  misfortunes  of  others.  It  is  bad 
enough  to  laugh  at  their  blunders  and  faults, 
but  when  you  jest  at  a  person  on  whom  the 
hand  of  God  is  laid  you  are  a  brute.  I  am 
ashamed  of  you!"  he  added,  in  a  voice  that 
made  Mason  wince  and  the  other  boys  look 
suddenly  as  if  the  fight  might  have  two  as- 
pects ;  and  they  dispersed  quietly,  and  took 
their  seats  fully  five  minutes  before  the  bell 
rang. 

That  five  minutes  Comegys  spent  talking 
with  the  new  scholar,  who  attracted  him 
strongly,  and  who  outlined  his  pathetic  story 
without  the  least  idea  it  was  pathetic,  and 
wound  up  with, 

"Marm  is  queer  in  her  head,  but  ef  she  was 
as  crazy  as  skeezicks  I'm  not  a-goin'  to  let 
nobody  say  so  to  me.  I'm  all  the  man  she's 
got  to  fight  fur  her  now — daddy's  slipped 
cable, — an'  I'm  goin'  to  fight  hard.'' 

Question  followed  answer,  and  later  in  the 
day,  when  the  schoolmaster  saw  the  boy's 
intelligent  face  kindle  as  the  different  lessons 
went  on,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  "give  him 
a  good  chance";  and  Friday  evening,  as  the 
pent-up  tide  of  children  rushed  roaring  into 
the  street,  he  said : 

"Barlow,  if  you'd  like  to  hear  a  little  talk 
I'm  going  to  give  the  boys  3'ou  might  come 
to  me  to-morrow  evening.  There  are  eight  or 
ten  who  will  be  there ;  they  come  at  six  and 
go  at  half-past  seven.  And  they  are  the  boys 
that  have  so  many  questions  to  ask  during 
school  hours  that  I  can  not  interrupt  recita- 
tions to  answer  them  all." 

"  How  d'  you  remember  'em?"  asked  Dick, 
his  eyes  shining. 

"Oh,  I  don't.  Each  one  puts  down  on  a 
slip  of  paper  the  thing  he  wants  especially  to 
know,  and  then  they  put  all  the  slips  in  a  box 
on  my  desk ;  and  then  we  shake  the  box  up 
well,  and  one  boy,  who  is  blindfolded,  draws 
the  first  slip  his  fingers  touch ;  then  that  ques- 
tion is  answered  first,  and  the  second  slip 
drawn  is  answered  next,  and  so  on." 

"Thank 'u,  sir!"  said  the  boy,  heartily. 
**I"d  like  that  fust-rate.  My,  you  must  know 
a  heap!" 


[  "Not  more  than  you  can  learn,"  answered 
Comeg3^s,  laughing. 

"Is  thet  so?"  asked  Dick,  lys  sad  little  face 
laughing  too.    "Sure  you  ain't  pokin'  fim?" 

"Sure." 

"Well,  then,"  cried  the  boy,  with  an  out- 
burst of  resolution,  "I'll  just  hang  on  tell  I 
learn  it — ev'y  bite,  sup,  an'  crumb!" 

(TO   BE  CONTINUED.) 


Why  the  Blessed  Virgin  is  Praised  at  the 
Seven  Hours. 


A  writer  of  the  fifteenth  century  tells  us 
why  Our  Lady  should  be  praised  at  the  Seven 
Hours  of  the  day. 

At  the  time  of  Matins,  which  ends  before  sun- 
rise, we  are  reminded  of  her  by  the  morning- 
star  which  then  appears,  because  she  is  thfe  Star 
that  guides  us  upon  the  troublous  sea  of  life. 

At  Prime,  the  first  morning  hour,  a  star 
heralds  the  sun,  as  she  came  before  Our  Lord. 

At  the  hour  of  Tierce  laborers  have  their 
food,  and  Our  Lady  brought  to  us  Him  that  is 
the  Bread  of  Life. 

At  Sext  the  sun  waxeth  hot,  as  by  means 
of  Our  Lady  the  Everlasting  Sun  hath  showed 
the  fervor  of  His  love  to  man. 

At  None  the  sun  is  highest,  and  the  highest 
grace  and  mercy  were  brought  by  means  of 
Our  Lady. 

At  evening  time  the  day  faileth ;  as  when 
all  human  succor  faileth,  Our  Lady's  inter- 
cession helpeth. 

Complin  is  the  end  of  day,  and  in  the  end 
of  life  we  need  Our  Lady  most. 


Mary  as  a  Name  in  Baptism, 


In  very  early  days  in  England  it  was  not 
customary  to  name  girls  Mary,  and  the  con- 
trary habit  did  not  prevail  until  the  fifteenth 
century.  Probably  both  of  these  customs  were 
the  result  of  great  reverence, — the  love  for 
Our  Lady  prompting  the  reluctance  to  call 
a  sinful  creature  by  her  sweet  name,  and  the 
same  spirit  in  another  form  impelling  people 
to  give  their  children  the  holy  name  of  God's 
Mother  when  presenting  them  to  Him  at  the 
baptismal  font. 


^BE 


^z^^^^^p^^^^^^ 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JUI.Y  27,  1889. 


Voi,.  XXIX. 


No.  4. 


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


Mother  of  Nations. 

BY    AUBREY    DE    VERE. 

"jlj  HAT  marvel  when  the  crowds  forsake 
"vV    The  ancient  for  the  novel  ? 
AVhen  kings  on  virtue  turn  their  back? 
In  sense  when  nations  grovel  ? 

Who,  when  the  spring  makes  green  and  soft 

The  lime-grove  to  its  centre, 
Thinks  of  the  pine  that  bore  aloft 

The  snowy  roofs. of  winter? 

Mother  of  Nations !  like  thy  Lord 
Thou  sitt'st!   No  angers  fret  thee 

When  realms  created  or  restored 
By  thy  strong  hand  forget  thee ! . 


A  Light  among  Novelists. 


BY   MAURICE   FRANCIS   EGAN. 


HE  novel  is  the  literary  expression 
of  our  time.  Sermons  are  preached 
through  novels,  new  sects  defended 
through  novels,  new  theories  promulgated, — 
in  fact,  if  any  man  or  woman  has  a  message 
to  the  world,  it  is  delivered  by  means  of  the 
novel.  Cardinal  Newman  and  Charles  Kings- 
ley,  Cardinal  Wiseman  and  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes,  have  each  used  the  novel  as  a  lever, 
dropping  their  more  natural  forms  in  prose  or 
poetry. 

The  modem  novel  is,  as  a  rule — I  speak  of 
those  novels  that  are  worth  serious  attention, 
— excessively  modern.  The  theories  of  evolu- 
tion, the  aspirations  of  "United"   Italy,  all 


kinds  of  pagan  ideas  about  love  and  marriage, 
are  introduced.  There  are  few  novels  in  which 
some  allusion  to  the  Church  is  not  made ;  for 
the  modern  novelist,  being  primarily  an  ob- 
server, can  not  get  aw^ay  from  its  influence. 
But  what  we  ask  for  in  a  novel  is  generally 
left  out.  It  does  not  satisfy  us  to  note  that  the 
author  admires  the  incense  as  it  curls  above 
the  tabernacle,  or  the  effect  of  moonlight  on 
an  old  cathedral.  We  had  all  that  in  Macaulay, 
who  had  the  mental  tendency  of  a  great  nov- 
elist, and  we  saw  how  little  it  amounted  to 
when  an  appreciation  of  the  real  meaning  of 
the  Church  was  needed. 

Mr.  Mallock,  whom  we  looked  to  for  a 
novel  that  men  might  read,  has  failed  us.  His 
"Romance  of  the  Nineteenth  Century"  was 
a  descent  into  the  pits  of  realism.  Another 
author,  who  unites  some  of  his  subtlety  to  the 
manliness  without  the  coarseness  of  Walter 
Savage  Landor,  is  F.  Marion  Crawford. 

Mr.  Crawford  is  an  American ;  he  is  a  nephew 
of  Julia  Ward  Howe,  and  consequently  related 
to  a  great  number  of  the  Brahminical  race. 
His  uncle,  Samuel  Ward,  was  a  diplomatist 
who  did  not  believe,  with  Talleyrand,  that  the 
secret  of  success  in  his  profession  was  the  art 
of  using  a  snuff-box  and  sitting  against  the 
light.  Mr.  Ward  believed  in  the  influence  of 
the  dinner;  and  we  see  traces  of  his  gastro- 
nomical  know^ledge  throughout  his  nephew's 
books.  Mr.  Crawford  is  a  cosmopolitan;  he 
has  been  a  journalist  in  India,  and  various 
other  important  things  in  other  parts  of  the 
world.  It  is  rumored  that  he  would  be  pleased 
to  have  the  mission  to  Greece,  in  order  to 
complete  his  foreign  studies. 
J    Mr.  Crawford  has  written  one  book  which 


74 


The  Ave  Maria. 


shows  him  at  his  weakest;  it  is  "To  Lee- 
ward,"— a  novel  too  much  after  the  popular 
French  school.  "Mr.  Isaacs"  was  his  first 
novel.  It  took  the  public  by  storm.  It  had  a 
new  flavor.  There  was  mystery  in  it :  it  dealt 
with  the  magic  of  the  Fakirs.  Its  style  was 
clear,  terse,  devoid  of  fine  writing.  Its  novelty 
made  it  a  success,  and  Mr.  Crawford  became 
a  novelist  who  produces  books  almost  as  fast 
as  Robert  Louis  Stevenson.  Fortunately,  Mr. 
Crawford  is  one  of  the  few  writers  not  ruined 
by  his  versatility.  A  versatile  is  generally  too 
thin.  He  needs  to  concentrate  himself  on  one 
thing  in  order  to  attain  bulk. 

So  far  Mr.  Crawford  has  avoided  the  perils 
of  versatility, — possibly  because  he  began  to 
make  literature  late  in  life,  like  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  with  a  vast  amount  of  experience  to 
draw  upon.  "An  American  Senator"  seems 
to  have  been  hastily  written.  We  shall  pass 
that.  It  was  of  "contemporary  human  inter- 
est,"—  or,  at  least,  the  author  presumed  it 
was.  "Zoroaster"  was  an  historical  novel  of 
the  time  of  Daniel  and  Nabuchodonosor, — full 
of  color,  rich  in  epithets,  like  a  gorgeous 
panorama. 

"  Pr.  Claudius  "  is  a  study  of  character 
somewhat  in  the  line  of  "Mr.  Isaacs,"  written 
in  good  taste,  having  in  it  plenty  of  clever  epi- 
grams. "Paul  Patofif"  is  a  study  of  Russian 
life,  with  one  of  the  most  unpleasant  characters 
possible  as  its  central  point :  that  of  a  woman 
who  hated  her  son.  Parts  of  "Paul  Patofif"  are 
like  the  "Arabian  Nights."  Madame  Patoff 
would  be  a  monster  if  she  were  not  insane. 
jNIr.  Crawford,  in  all  his  works  of  fiction,  never 
fails  to  hit  modern  Agnosticism  when  he  can 
do  so  with  good  taste.  In  "Paul  Patofif"  Mr. 
Griggs  makes  a  good  point  in  answer  to  the 
American  "scientist,"  Professor  Carver,  who 
says  that  when  Christians  argue  against  "sci- 
entists" they  always  fall  back  on  faith  and 
refuse  to  listen  to  reason.  "When  you  can 
disprove  our  position,"  answers  Mr.  Griggs, 
"we  will  listen  to  your  proof.  But  since  the 
whole  human  race,  as  far  as  we  can  ascertain, 
without  any  exception  whatsoever,  has  be- 
lieved always  in  the  survival  of  the  soul  after 
death,  allow  me  to  say  that  when  you  deny 
the  existence  of  the  soul,  the  onus  probandi 
lies  with  you  and  not  with  us." 

"A  Tale  of  a  Lonely  Parish"  is  a  quiet 


story  of  English  life,  whose  strong  human  in- 
terest accounts  for  its  success.  Mrs.  Goddard 
is  a  selfish  creature,  but  Mr.  Crawford  does 
not  seem  to  see  that  fault  in  his  heroine.  As  a 
work  of  literary  art,  this,  perhaps,  is  the  least 
worthy  of  our  author's  productions. 

"A  Roman  Singer"  is  an  idjd  in  prose.  It 
is,  in  the  construction  of  its  style,  a  charming 
imitation  of  the  Roman  dialect.  One  receives 
a  shock  when  the  hero,  at  the  Elevation,  pros- 
trates himself  before  the  heroine  whom  he 
has  just  seen,  and  not  to  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment. This  is.  a  grave  blot, — intended,  no 
doubt,  to  show  the  impulsiveness  of  the  Italian 
character.  Aside  from  this,  there  is  no  irrev- 
erence, and  the  author  goes  out  of  his  way  to 
reconcile  the  machinery  of  his  story  to  the 
discipline  of  the  Church. 

But  it  is  with  Mr.  Crawford's  later  works 
that  we  prefer  to  deal,  and  they  come  from  the 
press  almost  as  thickly  as  Milton's  "leaves  in 
Vallombrosa. ' '  The  novels  we  have  mentioned 
appeared  in  quick  succession.  * ' Greifenstein ' ' 
was  noticed  in  The  "Ave  Maria"  about 
three  weeks  ago.  "Sanf  Ilario  " — probablj^ 
a  sequel  to  "Saracinesca," — is  now  in  press^ 
and  doubtless  before  the  critic  has  time  to 
digest  it  a  new  book  by  Mr.  Crawford  will 
be  announced.  Mr.  Crawford,  by  the  waj^  is 
fortunate  in  his  publishers.  It  is  a  luxury  to 
hold  one  of  Macmillan's  volumes,  so  carefully 
are  they  brought  out. 

Mr.  Crawford's  three  most  important  publi- 
cations are:  "  Marzio's  Crucifix,"  "Saracin- 
esca, "and  "Among  the  Immortals  "  "Marzio's 
Crucifix"  is  almost  worthy  of  the  author  of 
^' I Promessi Sposi,' '  fhe.  incomparable Manzoni. 
It  is  a  simple  story  of  Italian  life,- showing 
how  bitter,  how  cruel,  a  Latin  may  become 
when  W\Qi  formulas  of  unbelief  fill  his  mind.  It 
throws  a  bright  light  on  the  condition  of 
mind  of  many  unbelievers  in  Italy  and  France, 
— a  condition  hard  for  saner  people  to  under- 
stand. 

"Saracinesca"  is  Mr.  Crawford's  great  work 
up  to  the  present  time.  It  has  all  the  qualities 
of  a  good  novel — dramatic  action  without 
exaggeration,  natural  play  of  character,  truth 
to  nature  and  experience,  and  that  artistic 
quality,  or  perhaps,  we  might  sa}^  that  moral 
quality,  which  makes  the  reader  feel  safe  in 
Mr.  Crawford's  hands.    Corona   is   tempted. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


7S 


but  she  conquers  temptation  by  prayer.  Mr. 
Crawford  must  have  known  good  women, 
whose  minds  have  been  moulded  by  Catholic 
influences,  and  who  also  possessed  the  quality 
of  disti7tdio?i,  so  rare  in  fiction.  He  knows 
Roman  politics,  and  is  the  first  wTiter  in  the 
English  language  to  present  a  conservative 
view  of  the  subject.  We  have  had  too  much  of 
Italian  carbonari  aureoled  in  Liberal  red  fire. 

The  Duke  d'Astradente,  the  old  and  the 
young  princes  of  Saracinesca,  Valderno  and 
Del  Ferici,  represent  differing  political  opin- 
ions. The  old  story  that  Rome  is  neglected  by 
the  Pope  comes  up  in  conversation.  Del  Ferici 
speaks  of  the  time  when  there  were  rows  of 
villas  on  the  Campagna.  "Here  is  the  same 
climate,  the  same  undulating  countrj^,"  he 
says.  "And  twice  as  much  water,"  answers 
Saracinesca ;  * '  you  forget  that  the  rivers  in  it 
have  risen  very  much.' '  Saracinesca  shows  that 
conditions  have  so  changed  that  the  reclama- 
tion of  the  Campagna  is  impossible  save  by  a 
body  of  devoted  men,  like  the  Trappists.  Del 
Ferici,  who  is  a  Liberal,  declaims  against  the 
old-fashioned  state  of  things,  in  which  an 
educated  few  governed  an  ignorant  mass. 
Saracinesca,  alluding  to  universal  suffrage, 
asks  why  an  intelligent  few  should  be  gov- 
erned by  an  ignorant  crowed  ?  Schoolmasters 
— as  one  can  see  by  the  example  of  France — 
do  not  necessarily  make  good  rulers  of  the 
people. 

Saracinesca  says  that  the  good  governor 
may  not  be  able  to  name  all  the  cities  and 
rivers  of  Italy  off"-hand,  but  that  he  should 
know  the  conditions  of  property  from  actual 
experience.  "Education  of  a  kind  which  is 
any  value  in  the  government  of  a  nation  means 
the  teaching  of  human  motives,  of  humaniz- 
ing ideas ;  of  some  system  whereby  the  ma-  ! 
jority  of  electors  can  distinguish  the  qualities 
of  honesty  and  common  sense  in  the  candidate 
they  wish  to  elect."  iMr.  Crawford  shows  how 
magnificent  are  the  effects  of  the  Christian 
religion  on  characters  naturally  noble,  and 
how  it  saves  from  shipwTcck  characters  not 
naturally  noble.  His  description  of  the  Rome 
of  Pius  IX.  and  the  Rome  of  the  spoliators 
might  have  been  wTitten  by  Macaulay  at  his 
best. 

'  'Among  the  Immortals  "  is  a  series  of  dia- 
logues after  the  mariner  of  Walter  Savage 


Eandor's  "Imaginary  Conversations."  It  is 
conservative  in  spirit,  elegant  and  witty  in 
diction,  and  Landor  never  gave  us  such  a 
strong  and  delicate  picture  as  that  of  Julius 
Caesar.  We  will  close  our  notice  of  Mr.  Craw- 
ford with  the  remark  that  "Among  the  Im- 
mortals" is  the  best  book  of  its  kind  since 
Mallock's  "New  Republic." 


My  Pilgrimage  to  Genazzano. 


BY  CHARIvES  WARREN  STODDARD. 
(CONCIvUSION.) 

IV. 

ONCE  more  we  return  to  the  piazza  of 
Santa  Maria,  in  front  of  the  unfinished 
Chapel  of  San  Biagio  in  the  Church  of  Our 
Lady  of  Good  Counsel  at  Genazzano. 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  The 
joyous  festivities  were  at  their  height,  when 
out  of  the  air  rang  music  such  as  never  greeted 
mortal  ears  before:  angelic  choirs  hymning 
in  a  harmony  that  ravished  the  soul  and  won 
breathless  attention  from  the  listening  mul- 
titude. They  turned  this  way  and  that  in 
amazement,  the  astonished  listeners ;  for  there 
was  nothing  visible,  only  the  heavens  seemed 
flooded  with  melody^  and,  looking  upward, 
they  beheld  a  cloud  descending, — a  cloud 
charged  with  light,  and  emitting  radiant 
beams  that  shed  new  splendor  over  the  devoted 
town.  Softly  and  slowly  the  cloud  descended  ; 
thousands  of  spectators,  yea  a  whole  city  full, 
were  able  to  testify  as  eA'e- witnesses  to  the 
very  truth  of  this  phenomenon.  The  cloud 
passed  above  them,  and,  settling  upon  the  un- 
finished wall  of  the  chapel,  in  the  presence  of 
all  those  enraptured  beholders,  it  vanished 
away ;  but  there,  where  the  cloud  had  been, 
near  the  unfinished  wall,  remained  suspended 
in  the  air  the  picture  which  we  now  see, — the 
picture  w^liich  I  saw  in  its  admirable  environ- 
ment of  gold  and  precious  stones. 

Still  resounded  through  luminous  space  the 
chorus  of  the  angelic  choirs,  while  winged 
choristers  bore  the  rapturous  refrain  in  finer 
strains  through  the  endless  vistas  of  heaven. 
Then  from  the  tower  of  the  Church  of  Our 
Lady  pealed  the  joy-bells  as  thej^  never  pealed 
before ;  no  hand  was  upon  the  bell-rope,  for 


76 


The  Ave  Maria, 


the  astonishment  of  the  people  had  held  them 
spellbound  in  a  fever  of  admiration ;  but  the 
bells  whirled  jubilantly  of  their  own  accord, 
and  the  happy  delirium  was  caught  by  steeple 
after  steeple,  until  all  the  bells  of  the  little 
city  were  clanging,  clanging,  clanging,  in  a 
tumultuous  storm  of  music  and  a  very  frenzy 
of  irrepressible  delight. 

While  the  wonder  grew  the  people  cried 
with  one  voice:  ^'Evviva  Maria!  Evviva 
Maria!  Evviva  la  Madre  nostra  del  Buon 
Consiglio!''  On  the  instant  miracles  were 
wrought:  the  lame  walked,  the  blind  saw, 
the  deaf  heard,  and  the  dumb  opened  their 
mouths  to  join  in  the  chorus  that  was  spread- 
ing hourly,  and  has  been  spreading  ever  since 
even  unto  the  ends  of  the  earth — ^'Evviva 
Maria!  Evviva  la  Madre  7iostra  del  Buori  Con- 
siglio!'' 

The  rest  is  soon  told.  The  fame  of  the  mir- 
acle speedily  reached  Rome.  Georgio  and  De 
Sclavis,  hearing  of  it,  hastened  to  Genazzano, 
and  at  once  recognized  the  beloved  image  of 
Scutari, — the  lost  was  found  again. 

These  faithful  knights  of  Our  Lady  never 
deserted  her ;  they  settled  in  Genazzano,  and 
ended  their  days  in  peace  within  her  gates. 
Only  during  the  last  century  did  the  family 
of  De  Sclavis  become  extinct  in  the  direct  line. 
That  of  Georgio  exists  to  this  day,  and  is  one 
of  the  most  populous  and  popular  in  the  town. 
But  a  few  years  ago  the  mayor  and  notar}^  of 
Genazzano  was  a  direct  descendant  of  the 
pious  Georgio  of  Albania. 

As  for  the  faithful  Petruccia,  she  lived  to 
see  her  dearest  wish  accomplished,  and  died  in 
the  fulness  of  her  days.  Her  ashes  rest  by 
the  side  of  the  altar  she  helped  to  raise,  where 
a  marble  tablet  records  her  many  virtues. 

Shall  we  glance  for  a  moment  at  the  cata- 
logue of  the  illustrious  clients  of  Our  Lady  of 
Good  Counsel?  Pope  Paul  II.,  reigning  Pon- 
tiff at  the  time  of  the  translation  of  the  won- 
drous image,  aided  the  Augustinians  in  the 
erection  of  the  convent  which  encloses  the 
church  and  chapels  beloved  by  Petruccia.  By 
his  order  the  circumstances  of  the  apparition 
were  investigated,  and  by  him  the  first  pil- 
grimages to  Genazzano  were  approved.  Pope 
Sixtus  IV.,  the  successor  of  Paul  II.,  showed 
his  devotion  to  Our  Lady  of  Good  Counsel 
b}^  erecting  a  vast  church  and  convent  for  the 


Hermits  of  St.  Augustine  in  Rome, — for  it 
was  to  their  care  Our  Lady  had  graciously 
confided  her  sacred  image.  St.  Pius  V.  in- 
stituted the  title  "Help  of  Christians"  in 
her  honor,  and  her  sanctuaries  he  enriched. 
Urban  VIII.  made  a  majestical  pilgrimage, 
with  all  the  pomp  and  splendor  worthy  of  a 
pontiff,  to  the  sanctuary  at  Genazzano.  It  was 
by  the  order  of  Innocent  XI.  that  the  chapter 
of  St.  Peter's  in  Rome  crowned  with  diadems 
of  jewels  and  gold  the  image  of  Our  Lady  and 
her  Divine  Child  at  Genazzano.  The  sanctuary 
was  endowed  with  many  spiritual  privileges 
by  Gregory  XIII.,  Benedict  XIII.,  Clement 
XII.,  and  Clement  XIV. 

Benedict  XIV.  established  by  apostolic  au- 
thority— and  his  Brief  approving  of  the  Pious 
Union — the  devotion  to  Our  Lady  of  Good 
Counsel  in  every  land.  This  Pontiff  was  the 
first  to  inscribe  himself  as  a  member  of  the 
now  almost  universal  Pious  Union.  Under 
other  pontiffs  the  Mass  and  Office  in  honor  of 
Our  Lady  have  been  approved ;  and  Pius  IX., 
in  1864,  following  in  the  footsteps  of  Urban 
VIII.,  made  a  memorable  pilgrimage  to  this 
glorious  shrine.  Our  Holy  Father  Leo  XIII. 
is  a  member  of  the  Pious  Union ;  a  beautiful 
copy  of  the  sacred  image  at  Genazzano,  en- 
throned above  the  high  altar  which  Pius  IX. 
erected  in  the  Pauline  Chapel,  is  the  object 
of  his  special  devotion. 

The  Church  of  St.  Augustine  in  Rome  was 
erected  in  honor  of  Our  Lady  of  Good  Coun- 
sel by  Cardinal  d'Estouteville.  The  magnifi- 
cent altar  and  reredos,  the  pavement  and 
ornamentation  in  varied  colored  marbles,  and 
the  columns  of  verd-antique  which  enclose  the 
original  picture  at  Genazzano,  are  the  gifts  of 
Cardinal  Albani.  Cardinal  Jerome  Collona 
gave  the  precious  'ornaments  in  metal  and 
coral  which  are  used  to  decorate  the  shrine 
on  high  festivals.  In  the  register,  kept  in  the 
sacristy  at  Genazzano,  one  reads  the  names 
of  archbishops,  bishops,  and  prelates  from  all 
parts  of  the  civilized  world. 

And  the  saints  of  God, — those  whom  we 
love  best,  those  who  seem  to  have  been  angels 
from  the  first?  These  also  have  favored  the 
beloved  image  of  Genazzano,  and  found  favor 
in  its  eyes.  St.  Alphonsus  Liguori  was  devoted 
to  Our  Lady  of  Good  Counsel,  and  upon  the 
desk  where  he  composed  his  great  works  he 


The  Ave  Maria. 


77 


kept  a  copy  of  her  image.  It  was  a  copy  of  that 
same  sacred  image,  exposed  for  veneration  at 
Madrid,  which  used  to  speak  to  the  angelic  St. 
Aloysius  Gonzaga,  and  to  Our  Lady  of  Good 
Counsel  he  ever  had  recourse  in  time  of  trial 
and  temptation. 

All  this  one  thinks  of  in  that  dear  spot, 
that  seclusion  which  has  thus  far  escaped  the 
general  tumult  and  disorganization  of  United 
Italy.  The  Italy  of  the  Holy  Roman  Church 
is  dead, — it  is  even  buried  and  almost  for- 
gotten ;  but  in  the  corners  of  that  fairest  land 
under  the  sun  there  are  a  few  shrines  left 
intact, — a  few  shrines  where  the  faithful  seek 
and  find  consolation ;  where  the  dust  is  not 
suffered  to  gather,  and  where  the  votive 
blossoms  bloom  perennially. 

I  love  to  think  of  these  places,  still  hal- 
lowed by  the  love  of  the  pure  in  heart.  Gen- 
azzano  is  one  of  them,  Loreto  is  another.  I 
love  especially  to  think  of  Genazzano  on  the 
day  of  its  %r^2Xfesta;  for  I  know  that  the  town 
is  filled  to  overflowing  with  those  whose  piety 
and  devotion  have  brought  them  thither.  And 
as  I  write  these  lines,  alone  in  my  chamber, 
with  the  summer  sunshine  gladdening  all  the 
land,  I  hear  the  voices  often  thousand  hopeful 
pilgrims  joining  with  one  heart  in  the  lovely 
Litany: 

Virgin  most  prudent!  in  our  doubts  and 
perplexities ;  in  our  tribulations  and  anguish  ; 
in  our  discouragements,  perils,  and  tempta- 
tions ;  in  all  our  undertakings,  in  all  our  needs, 
and  at  the  hour  of  our  death, — counsel  and 
protect  us !  By  thy  Immaculate  Conception  ; 
by  thy  happy  Nativity ;  by  thy  admirable 
Presentation,  thy  glorious  Annunciation,  thy 
charitable  Visitation,  divine  Maternity,  and 
holy  Purification, — counsel  and  protect  us!  By 
■the  sorrow  and  anguish  of  thy  maternal  Heart, 
counsel  and  protect  us!  By  thy  precious  death 
and  by  thy  triumphant  Assumption,  counsel 
and  protect  us!  O  bright  Star!  O  pure  Star! 
most  sweet  Star, — obtain  for  us  the  gift  of 
Good  Counsel! 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY   NUGENT  ROBINSON. 


Our  judgments  are  inspired  by  our  acts 
more  than  our  acts  by  our  judgment. — Roux. 

We  are  more  conscious  that  a  person  is  in 
the  wrong  when  the  wrong  concerns  ourselves. 

How  many  sacrifice  honor,  a  necessity,  to 
glory,  a  luxury ! 


CHAPTER  IV.  — "By  that  Lake  whose 
G1.00MY  Shore." 

AUGUST  came  round,  and  with  it  the  Bank 
holiday  on  the  first  Monday.  Harry  Con- 
sidine  took  advantage  of  the  act  of  Parliament 
to  run  home,  and  started  on  Friday  even- 
ing. Three  clear  days  with  his  dearly  loved 
people,  and  in  the  purple  hills  of  Wicklow! 
His  honest,  affectionate  heart  glowed  with 
rapture  at  the  very  thought. 

He  took  the  4.30  train  from  Westland  Row, 
spun  out  to  Kingstown,  the  Hill  of  Howth  in 
its  purple  mantle  of  heather  seven  miles  off 
across  Dublin  Bay;  then  came  Dalkey,  the 
beautiful  Loreto  Convent  standing  like  a 
carven  gem  beside  the  blue  waters  of  the 
Sound;  and,  after  passing  through  a  short 
tunnel,  the  radiant  loveliness  of  Killiney  burst 
on  his  enraptured  gaze.  The  scimitar- shaped 
bay,  with  its  lace-work  of  foam  and  its  tawny 
sands.  The  beauteous  vale  of  Shangaragh 
embosomed  in  richest  of  foliage,  with  here  and 
there  a  golden  corn-field  like  a  jewel.  The 
two  Sugar  Loaves  standing  on  guard  at  the 
entrance  to  the  Glen  of  the  Downs — that  pict- 
uresque defile  leading  into  the  County  of 
Wicklow, — and  clothed  to  their  summit  with 
Tyrian  dye.  The  chain  of  Wicklow  hills  link- 
ing with  the  Dublin  mountains;  the  white 
farm-houses  surrounded  by  the  yellow  corn- 
fields, and  dark  brown  potato  patches.  In  the 
distance  the  town  of  Bray,  the  spire  of  the 
Catholic  church  lifting  itself  in  exquisite 
tracery  to  the  turquoise  sky. 

Around  Bray  Head,  through  devious  tun- 
nels, over  cobweb  bridges,  sped  the  train, 
passing  Gray  stones,  where  the  bold  Djouce 
Mountain  confironted  the  gaze,  defiantl}^  pro- 
tecting the  hooded  valley  of  Luggelaw.  At 
Wicklow  station  Harry  met  an  old  school- 
fellow, who  travelled  as  far  as  Rathdrum  for 
the  pleasure  of  his  company.  At  Rathdrum  a 
number  of  English  tourists  alighted  for  the 
purpose  of  taking  jaunting-cars  to  the  far- 
famed  Seven  Churches,  where  the  fun  with 
the  witty  and  comical  "jarvies"  was  fast  and 
furious.     From   Rathdrum  the   train   swept 


78 


The  Ave  Maria, 


through  the  sweet  Vale  of  Avoca,  passing 
under  the  trees  of  Avondale,  the  residence  of 
the  man  for  whom  every  true  Irish  heart  has  a 
**God  bless  you! " — Charles  Stewart  Pamell. 

At  Avoca  two  of  Harry's  brothers  came  to 
meet  him — "Billy"  and  "Jiii^/' — fine,  good- 
looking,  dark-complexioned  young  men,  with 
enormous  bones,  and  every  physical  indication 
of  strength  and  endurance.  The  greeting  be- 
tween the  brothers  was  of  "the  right  sort," 
and  the  boys  never  stopped  asking  and  reply- 
ing to  questions  till  the  train  drew  up  at  the 
little  station  of  Ballymast,  where  the  entire 
family  of  Considine  was  congregated  on  the 
platform.  Then  there  was  crying  and  kissing 
and  hugging  and  hand-shaking,  as  though 
Harry  had  arrived  from  Australia  or  India  or 
the  North  Pole.  Honest  and  pure  hearts  are 
always  affectionate,  and  the  Considines  were 
clean-hearted,  clean-lived  people. 

A  gig  driven  in  hot  haste  dashed  up  to  the 
station.  This  gig  contained  a  white-haired, 
sun-kissed  priest. 

"It's  Father  Luke!"  cried  Harry,  as,  leap- 
ing from  the  platform,  he  rushed  over  to  his 
loved,  valued,  and  respected  pastor. 

*  *Ah ! ' '  said  the  dear  old  priest,  after  he  had 
wrung  the  lad's  hand  again  and  again,  * '  God's 
light  is  in  the  windows  of  your  soul,  Harry, — 
your  eyes.  Purity  and  truth  are  shining  like 
lamps  before  a  shrine.  You  are  not  tarnished 
by  your  city  life,  the  Lord  be  praised!" 

Of  course  Father  Luke  was  taken  into  the 
family  coach,  while  two  of  the  younger  Con- 
sidines proudly  mounted  the  priest's  gig. 

At  the  farm  all  the  "boys"  and  girls  were 
at  the  roadside  to  greet  "Master  Harry," 
while  a  score  of  dogs  yelped  and  howled  and 
caracoled  for  very  joy  at  his  well-known  voice. 

This  is  to  return  home.  This  is  the  welcome 
that  a  Christian  home  extends  to  one  of  its 
returning  children.  All  is  joy,  all  is  delight, 
all  is  thankfulness.  God  has  protected  the 
lamb  while  out  of  the  fold,  and  God  is  thanked 
in  the  joy  that  springs  up  in  virtuous  hearts. 

The  next  day  saw  Harry  Considine  in  the 
confessional,  and  the  Sunday  morning's  light 
beheld  the  entire  family  receiving  the  Bread 
of  Life  from  the  hands  of  Father  Luke  Byrne. 

Harry's  brothers  had  a  hundred  and  one 
things  to  show  him — horses,  fillies,  foals,  pigs, 
sheep.  A  "big  leap"  was  tried,  and  hurdles 


were  crossed,  and  five-barred  gates  cleared. 
There  were  the  new  drainage  works,  and  the 
new  stables,  and  a  patent  loose  box  for 
"Faugh  aBealagh"  (a  racer),  and  the  new 
road.  Then  there  were  visits  to  pay  to  the 
O' Byrnes  of  Belly turveen,  and  the  O'Tooles  of 
Inchanappa,  and  the  Kellys  of  Ardmore.  And, 
then,  Judy  Considine,  the  eldest  girl,  had  capt- 
ured young  Rody  O'Hara,  the  son  of  a  neigh- 
boring farmer ;  and  as  a  natural  sequence  Rody 
could  not  do  half  enough  for  Judy's  Dublin 
brother.  There  was  fishing  galore,  and  a  tan- 
dem drive  to  the  Seven  Churches  proposed, 
and  a  dinner  at  the  O'Hara  homestead. 

Two  days  fled  w^ith  electric  rapidity,  and 
Monday  only  was  left. 

"We  must  have  a  picnic  to  Glendalough ! " 
cried  young  O'Hara,  a  motion  seconded  by 
the  Considines  to  a  man. 

"I  can  take  eight  in  the  two  wagonettes." 

"I  can  take  ten,"  added  Billy  Considine. 

"The  O'Tooles  will  join,  and  so  will  the 
O' Byrnes,  and  the  two  Flynn  girls,  and  young- 
Breen  and  his  sister,  and  our  cousins  Polly 
and  Mag  and  Joe  and  Paudheen." 

"x\nd  Harry  will  drive  tandem,  as  he  is  so 
fond  of  it.  We  can  put  Stoneybatler  and 
Bully's  Acre  under  the  dog-cart." 

"And  Father  Luke  must  come." 

With  such  determination,  and  such  special 
means  at  their  disposal,  it  is  needless  to  say 
that  the  picnic  to  the  Seven  Churches  was  car- 
ried nem.  con.;  and  after  hearing  seven  o'clock 
Mass,  and  a  subsequent  ' '  county  breakfast, ' ' 
at  which  the  good  Padre  assisted,  a  cavalcade 
consisting  of  no  less  than  nine  vehicles  started, 
amid  the  cheers  of  the  farm  hands  and  the 
enthusiastic  greetings  of  the  neighbors  along 
the  road.  And  what  happy,  innocent  mirth 
on  that  drive!  How  gallantly  the  young  gen- 
tlemen leaped  from  the  vehicles  to  gather 
blackberries  and  flowers  for  the  young  ladies! 
How  graciously  and  merrily  the  ladies  made 
button -hole  bouquets  for  the  gentlemen! 
What  fun  when  an  itinerant  photographer 
"took  in  "  the  whole  party,  everybody  assum- 
ing a  grotesque  attitude  except  the  engaged 
couple,  who  looked  as  serious  as  if  they  were 
going  to  be  drowned  in  the  lake! 

Sweet,  sad  Glendalough  looked  sweet  and 
sad  as  when  St.  Kevin  kept  vigil  in  his  eerie, 
rock-bound  chamber.  The  party  had  no  need 


The  Ave  Maria, 


79 


-of  a  guide,  for  the  poetic  legends  of  Glenda-  , 
lough  were  written  in  their  hearts.  They 
traversed  the  rocky  way  beneath  the  ruined 
entrance  arch.  They  entered  the  tiny,  ivy- 
embraced,  gray  stone  churches,  and  mused  on 
the  Faith  that  has  erected  all  over  the  world 
such  glorious  edifices  in  His'  Name.  The}^ 
gazed  in  awe  at  the  round  tower,  and  each 
one  knelt  and  uttered  a  short  prayer  at  the 
foot  of  the  ancient  cross. 

What  fun  there  was  in  laying  the  snowy 
table-cloths  and  in  extracting  the  contents  of 
the  hampers!  Who  was  busiest,  who  was  most 
witty,  who  was  the  youngest  of  the  entire 
party  ?  Why,  Father  lyuke,  of  course ;  and  to 
see  him  placing  a  pair  of  fowls  here,  a  tongue 
there,  and  salad  everywhere,  caused  the  pic- 
nickers the  most  unbounded  delight.  What 
appetites  that  party  were  possessors  of !  How 
the  chicken  and  ham  and  cold  beef  and  green- 
apple  pies  disappeared !  What  rattling  of 
knives  and  forks  and  spoons  and  platesj 

This  was  a  real  old-fashioned  picnic,  where 
everybody  helped  everybody  else,  and  fingers 
were  just  as  good  as  forks — aye,  and  better. 
No  servants  to  grimly  set  the  tables,  no  hide- 
ous formality,  no  prefaced  dishes  warranted 
to  give  dyspepsia.  Each  family  had  brought 
its  dinner  cold,  and  there  were  "lashin's  and 
lavin's,"  as  the  poor  people  of  the  valley  dis- 
covered to  their  benefit  and  satisfaction. 

After  dinner  there  was  some  delighful  sing- 
ing. Young  O' Byrne  was  the  possessor  of  a 
pure  tenor,  Harry  Considine  a  rich  baritone  ; 
Miss  Healy,  of  Balbriggan,  was  an  exquisite 
contralto,  and  Miss  Molly  Considine,  of  Asna- 
geelagh,  a  charming  soprano.  The  rich  young 
voices  of  the  quartet  in  some  of  the  choicest  of 
Moore's  Melodies  made  such  music  in  Glen- 
dalough  as  may  never  be  forgotten  by  those 
who  had  the  good  fortune  to  listen  to  it.  But 
the  song  of  the  day  was  Father  I^uke's — "By 
that  lake  whose  gloomy  shore. ' '  The  pathos, 
the  tenderness,  the  feeling  thrown  into  every 
word  sank  into  the  hearts  of  the  assembled 
company, — sank  gently  like  melodious  dew, 
delighting  the  senses  like  a  perfume. 

"I  have  no  voice,"  said  Father  Luke. 

"  Neither  had  Tommy  Moore,  sir,"  retorted 
Mr.  Considine;  "yet  he  was  the  most  sought 
for  singer  of  his  day." 

Some  of  the  party  repaired  to  the  lake  with 


the  intention  of  climbing  up  to  St.  Kevin's 
Bed,  a  veritable  hole  in  the  gray,  pilgrim- 
polished  rock.  The  Bed  is  approached  by 
boat,  also  by  clambering  over  a  rough  and 
somewhat  dangerous  goat  path  on  the  moun- 
tain side.  The  picnickers  chose  the  boat,  the 
gentlemen  taking  the  oars.  The  quartet  was 
on  board,  and  if  skylark  never  warbled  o'er 
the  gloomy  lake,  those  human  larks  gave 
forth  delicious  melody,  that  repeated  itself  in 
a  winsome  and  gracious  echo. 

Another  boating  party  had  already  arrived 
at  the  foot  of  the  rock  in  whiqh  St.  Kevin's 
uncomfortable  couch  is  situated ;  a  gay  and 
frolicsonje  party, — a  little  too  frolicsome  per- 
haps; for  Billy  Considine,  who  knew  Glen- 
dalough  by  heart,  gravely  obser\^ed : 

"If  those  people  are  not  more  careful, 
they'll  be  into  the  lake." 

A  gentleman  attired  in  the  extreme  of  ridic- 
ulous fashion  was  assisting  a  young  lady  up 
the  rock,  his  yellow  gloves  in  strange  and  har- 
monious relief  against  the  cold,  gray  granite. 
Another  young  lady  was  in  front,  climbing  on 
her  own  account.  She  was  careful  and  steady 
enough,  but  the  pair  that  followed  were  indulg- 
ing in  skippings  and  prancings,  which  called 
forth  the  observation  from  Harry's  brother: 

"It's  no  place  for  tomfoolery.  The  rocks, 
from  the  thousands  of  hands  and  feet  that 
have  clambered  over  them,  are  polished  and 
slippery  as  glass.  I  slipped  once  and  fell  into 
the  lake.  Luckily,  I  caught  the  gunwale  of 
the  boat,  or  I  was  gone, — for  I  can  not  swim." 

"Harry  will  have  to  save  us  if  we  follow 
the  example  of  poor  Kathleen — O  heavens ! ' ' 
Miss  Considine  shrieked,  and  all  eyes  turned 
to  St.  Kevin's  Bed. 

The  gentleman  with  the  lemon  -  colored 
gloves,  while  executing  a  feat  only  safe  for  a 
goat  or  a  chamois,  suddenly  slipped.  In  his 
fall  he  caught  his  companion  by  the  skirts. 
With  a  scream  she  threw  up  her  hands  instead 
of  holding  by  the  rock,  and  in  an  instant 
rolled  slowly  but  surely  down  the  side  of  the 
polished  rampart  into  the  cold,  sullen  waters. 

In  a  second  Harry  Considine  flung  off  his 
coat,  made  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  on  his  fore- 
head, and  leaped  overboard.  A  few  rapid 
strokes  brought  him  to  where  the  girl  had 
gone  down,  disappeared.  Here  he  gently  pad- 
dled and   waited, — the  suspense  of  the  on- 


8o 


TJu  Ave  Maru 


la. 


lookers  being  dreadful.  The  body  reappeared, 
and  with  a  wild  shriek  the  terrified  girl  called 
him  by  name.  It  was  Jane  Ryan,  Alderman 
Ryan's  daughter.  Guardedly  keeping  the 
drowning  girl  from  him  despite  her  heart- 
rending appeals,  he  swam  round  and  caught 
her  from  behind ;  then  he  drew  her  toward 
the  rock,  and  landed  her,  half  dead  with  terror, 
on  the  little  plateau,  whither  her  lady  com- 
panion, Miss  Esmonde,  scrambled  with  incon- 
ceivable rapidity  to  receive  her. 

"God  bless- you!"  cried  the  girl,  her  eyes 
suffused  with  tears.  "You  have  saved  her 
from  an  awful  death.  We  came  down  on  Sat- 
urday to  Jordan's  Hotel.  My  uncle  and  aunt 
are  there  now.  Won't  you  come  over  till  they 
bless  you  ?  Jane,  you  must  get  into  the  boat, 
and  have  dr>' clothing.  Where's  Mr.  Spencer?" 

Spencer  was  the  gentleman  of  the  yellow 
gloves,  who  was  half  immersed  in  the  lake, 
and  holding  on  for  dear  life  to  a  verj^  prickly 
thorn-bush  that  had  torn  his  clothes  to  flit- 
ters. He  was  howling  for  help  at  the  top  of 
his  lungs.  Billy  Considine  rowed  for  him 
and  lugged  him  on  board,  where,  instead  of 
thanking  God  for  preserving  his  life,  he  gazed 
gloomily  at  his  tattered  and  water-stained 
gloves,  muttering, 

"Ruined,  by  Jove!  Four  bob  thrown  into 
the  river!   Too  bad!" 

Strange  to  say,  Miss  Ryan  scarcely  thanked 
her  gallant  rescuer.  She  murmured  a  prayer, 
and,  rising,  was  helped  to  her  own  boat  by 
Harry  and  her  cousin. 

"Papa  will  be  very  grateful  to  you,  Mr. — " 
She  had  forgotten  his  name. 

Mr.  Spencer  was  transferred  to  the  other  boat. 

"Just  look  at  my  gloves!"  he  said. 

But  Miss  Esmonde  turned  away  from  him 
with  disgust. 

Harry  got  a  change  of  clothes  at  the  cot- 
tage of  Mr.  Fitzgerald,  the  manager  of  the 
Luggarune  mines  at  the  opposite  side  of  the 
lake,  with  whom  he  was  well  acquainted,  and 
in  less  than  half  an  hour  the  whole  catastrophe 
ceased  to  be  talked  of. 

"Do  you  know  what /think?"  asked  Miss 
Considine  of  her  devoted  lover,  as  they  drew 
back  in  the  lovely  gloaming. 

"What,  dearest?" 

"That  Miss  Ryan  is  in  love  with  Harry." 

(TO   BE   CONTli^UED.) 


The  Lesson  of  the  Smallest. 

BY  ANGEIvIQUE  DE  I^ANDE. 

TTHERE  must  come  to  every  toiler  many  an 

^       anxious,  boding  hour, 

When  there  seems  no  hope  of  union  'twixt  the 

seedling  and  the  flower ; 
When  the  heart  and  flesh  grow  weary,  when  the 

hands  drop  weakl}^  down, 
And  the  Cross  in  heavy  shadows  hides  the  radiance 

of  the  Crown. 

Have  you  failed  to  climb  the  mountain  towering 

proudly  to  the  skies  ? 
Are  you  still  within  the  valley,  gazing  up  with 

longing  eyes  ? 
Do  j^ou  weary  of  the  struggle,  seems  the  goal  too 

far  away  ? 
Are  you  tempted,  O  my  brother,  to  desert  your 

post  to-day  ? 

Come  with  me  o'er  yon  blue  ocean,  taking  flight 

on  Fancy's  wing ; 
See  this  wondrous  coral  island  where  there  reigns 

perennial  spring ; 
Clad  in  robes  of  tropic  beauty,  by  the  hand  of 

Nature  drest, 
Like  a  rosy  infant  smiling  on  its  mother  ocean's 

breast. 

Whence  this  beauteous  child  of  ocean,  whose  the 
handiwork  we  trace? 

'Tis  the  work  of  countless  millions  of  a  tiny  toil- 
ing race ; 

Well  and  patiently  they  labor,  carrying  out  their 
Maker's  will ; 

Dying,  all  their  task  completed,  others  come  their 
place  to  fill. 

Ah  I  no  need  to  point  the  moral :  we  may  each 

the  lesson  heed. 
He  who  guides  the  coral-polyp  will  supply  for  all 

our  need ; 
If  His  hand  in  benediction  rest  upon  our  heads  at 

night, 
We  are  blest,  though  toil  unceasing  mark  our 

course  since  morning  light. 


The  fruit  of  happiness  comes  only  of  that 
which  dies  to  itself.  Set  happiness  before  you 
as  an  end,  no  matter  in  what  guise  of  wealth, 
or  fame,  or  oblivion  even, — ^you  will  not  attain 
it.  Renounce  it,  seek  the  pleasure  of  God,- 
and  that  instant  is  the  birth  of  your  own. — 
'  'But  yet  a  Woman. ' ' 


The  Ave  Ma 


na. 


8i 


Footprints  of  Heroines. 


BY  THE  COMTESSE  DE  COURSON. 


II.— Margaret  Clitherow.— (Continued.) 

THE  first  martyrs  of  York  were  two  vener- 
able priests — Father  Kirkman  and  Father 
lyacy, — condemned  to  death  in  August,  1582, 
for  the  sole  crime  of  their  priesthood.  They 
were  sentenced  to  the  hideous  death  of  trai- 
tors, by  which  so  many  holy  confessors  were 
to  gain  the  crown  of  martyrdom  under  the 
Tudor  and  Stuart  kings.  After  having  been 
drawn  on  a  hurdle  to  the  place  of  execution, 
they  were  hanged,  cut  down  alive,  disem- 
bowelled and  quartered.  The  execution  took 
place  in  the  midst  of  a  wild,  marshy  common 
called  Knavesmire,  at  some  little  distance 
from  the  city ;  and  this  lonely  spot,  hitherto 
regarded  with  horror  as  the  place  devoted  to 
public  executions,  became  henceforth  dear  and 
precious  to  the  Yorkshire  Catholics.  Three 
months  later  it  was  again  sanctified  by  the 
martyrdom  of  Father  Thompson,  a  priest  from 
Rheims.  As  he  was  being  bound  to  the  hurdle 
he  was  asked  how  he  felt.  "Never  in  my  life 
did  I  feel  more  joyful,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

The  following  year  (1583),  in  the  month  of 
March,  Father  William  Hart  went  gloriously 
through  the  same  bloody  ordeal.  He  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  his  charity  toward  the 
Catholic  prisoners  in  York  Castle,  whom  he 
visited  in  disguise.  On  one  occasion  he  nar- 
rowly escaped  being  seized,  and  only  saved 
himself  by  leaping  down  from  the  wall  and 
wading  through  a  moat,  where  he  was  up  to 
his  neck  in  mud  and  water.  Six  months  later 
he  was  apprehended,  tried  and  condemned  for 
the  crime  of  his  priesthood.  The  holy  joy 
with  which  he  welcomed  death  breaks  out  in 
a  letter  written  to  his  mother  on  the  eve  of 
his  execution.  "My  most  loving  mother!  .  .  . 
tell  me,  would  you  not  be  glad  to  see  me  a 
bishop,  a  king,  or  an  emperor?.  How  glad, 
then,  may  you  be  to  see  me  a  martyr,  a  most 
glorious  and  bright  star  in  heaven!  The  joy 
of  this  life  is  nothing,  and  the  joy  of  the  after- 
life is  everlasting." 

Father  Richard  Thirkeld,  who  was  executed 
at  Knavesmire  two  months  after  Father  Hart 
(in  May,  1583),  was  brought  to  the  bar  at  the 


same  time  as  several  other  Catholic  prisoners, 
and  it  was  a  touching  sight  to  see  them  beg 
the  priest's  prayers  as  they  passed  before  him. 
One  good  old  woman,  relates  Challoner,*  was 
still  more  courageous;  for,  coming  up  to  the 
bar,  she  knelt  down  before  Father  Thirkeld 
and  asked  his  blessing  in  the  open  court. 

Two  years  later  a  double  execution  took 
place.  Father  Hugh  Taylor,  a  holy  priest, 
was  put  to  death  at  the  same  time  as  a  brave 
country  squire,  Marmaduke  Bowes,  of  Angram 
Grange,  who,  under  the  pressure  of  persecu- 
tion, had  outwardly  conformed  to  the  new 
religion.  However,  the  faith  of  his  ancestors 
was  still  alive  in  his  heart ;  and  when  Father 
Taylor,  weary  and  homeless,  knocked  at  his 
door,  he  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome.  Shortly 
afterward  Bowes  heard  that  his  late  guest  had 
been  arrested  and  was  to  be  tried  at  York; 
in  an  impulse  of  warm-hearted  charity,  he 
saddled  his  horse,  rode  into  the  town,  and, 
without  even  pulling  off  his  boots,  went 
straight  to  the  Castle,  hoping  to  save  the  priest. 
But  here  he  himself  was  seized,  questioned, 
and  condemned  by  right  of  the  statute  lately 
passed,  which  made  it  felony  to  harbor  or 
relieve  a  priest.  God  rewarded  his  generosity 
by  the  crown  of  martyrdom ;  having  bravely 
confessed  his  faith,  and  expressed  great  re- 
pentance for  having  lived  in  schism, '  *  he  died 
very  Willingly,"  says  Challoner. 

While  Christ's  confessors  thus  bravely  trod 
the  bloody  path  of  the  Yorkshire  Tybome,  a 
woman's  heart,  throbbing  with  holy  envy, 
followed  them  with  ardent  interest.  Most  of 
these  confessors  and  martyrs  had  been  Mar- 
garet Clitherow' s  friends,  and,  at  one  time  or 
another,  had  found  a  refuge  in  the  quiet  home 
in  the  Shambles,  where  at  the  peril  of  her  life 
she  loved  to  receive  the  ministers  of  Christ. 
We  may  imagine,  then,  with  what  mingled 
feelings  of  exultation  and  suspense  she  fol- 
lowed them  through  their  struggles;  how 
her  prayers  accompanied  them  along  the  Via 
Dolorosa,  and  how  fervent  a  thanksgiving 
burst  forth  fi-om  her  anxious  heart  on  hearing 
that  the  goal  had  been  reached  in  safety  and 
the  victory  won. 

Her  soul  since  her  conversion  had  rapidly 
advanced  in  perfection,  and  the  heroic  spirit 
that  breathed  through  the  smallest  details  of 
*  "Missionary  Priests,"  p.  79. 


82 


The  Ave  Maria. 


her  daily  existence  made  her  life,  so  simple 
and  commonplace  in  appearance,  a  fit  prep- 
aration for  the  glorious  end  that  was  to  crown 
its  labors.  She  rose  early,  says  her  biographer, 
Father  John  Mush ;  ^'  and  on  rising  she  spent 
an  hour  and  a  half  in  prayer ;  after  this  she 
heard  Mass  whenever,  as  was  often  the  case,  a 
priest  was  hidden  in  her  house.  Sometimes  it 
happened  that  she  was  able  to  hear  several 
Masses  the  same  day,  and  on  these  occasions 
*'she  would  go  about  her  worldly  business 
laughing  for  joy."  The  rest  of  her  time  was 
spent  in  the  exact  performance  of  those  humble 
duties  that  make  up  the  sum  of  daily  occupa- 
tion in  a  small  household. 

When  the  business  of  the  day  was  over,  she 
used  to  spend  an  hour  in  prayer.  Her  penances 
equalled  those  of  any  cloistered  nun.  She  ob- 
served a  strict  abstinence  three  times  a  week  ; 
on  Mondays,  Wednesdays  and  Saturdays  she 
made  but  one  meal,  and  on  Fridays  she  fasted 
on  bread  and  water  and  took  a  sharp  discipline. 
She  generally  went  to  confession  twice  a  week, 
and  each  time  her  slight  imperfections  made 
her  weep  so  bitterly  as  to  excite  the  astonish- 
ment and  reverence  of  her  confessors.  At 
the  same  time  she  was  the  most  vigilant  and 
devoted  wife  and  mother,  ever  active  and  will- 
ing to  help  others,  combining  admirably  the 
cheerful  performance  of  her  daily  duties  with 
an  inner  life  of  rare  sanctity  and  penance. 

When  the  lonely  mound  on  Knavesmire 
common  became  hallowed  by  the  blood  of 
Christ's  martyrs,  Margaret  Clitherow  loved 
to  go  there  to  pray.  The  spot  being  half  a 
mile  beyond  the  city  walls,  she  was  obliged, 
firom  motives  of  prudence,  to  go  there  only  at 
night.  She  was  accustomed,  says  her  confes- 
sor, to  perform  this  pilgrimage  barefooted, 
and,  kneeling  beneath  the  gallows,  she  spent 
hours  in  prayer.  It  was  a  picture  worthy  of 
the  annals  of  the  early  Church:  the  dark 
night,  the  wild  and  lonely  common,  the  hide- 
ous gallows,  and  beneath  their  shade  that 
solitary  figure  absorbed  in  meditation, — the 
fair  young  face  illumined  with  heavenly 
brightness,  and  the  pure  soul  raised  above 
the  woes  of  earth  to  those  realms  of  peace 
where  Christ's  soldiers  triumph  with  their 
King.  Did  angel  voices  whisper  in  the  ear  of 


*  "Troubles  of  our  Catholic  Forefathers. 
Series. 


Third 


that  kneeling  woman  tidings  of  bitter  strug- 
gles close  at  hand,  and  bid  her  seek  in  these 
midnight  vigils  strength  to  endure  to  the  end? 

As  the  penal  laws  became  more  stringent, 
Margaret's  charity  toward  the  hunted  priests 
seemed  to  expand,  and  her  joy  was  unbounded 
when  an}^  of  them  sought  shelter  under  her 
roof.  But  it  may  be  imagined  that  this  heroic 
spirit,  like  all  things  out  of  the  common,  was 
liable  to  be  misinterpreted  by  lukewarm  Cath- 
olics, and,  in  spite  of  her  great  charity,  she 
was  often  harshly  judged  even  by  those  whom 
she  had  befriended.  She  bore  these  trials  with 
her  accustomed  meekness,  and  rejoiced  ex- 
ceedingly at  being  deemed  worthy  to  suffer 
for  the  sake  of  Christ.  More  than  once  the 
attention  of  the  Council  of  the  North  had 
been  drawn  to  her  uncompromising  zeal  for 
the  Catholic  faith ;  but,  although  she  was  sev- 
eral times  arrested  and  imprisoned,  her  cap- 
tivity had,  so  far,  never  lasted  more  than  a  few 
weeks.  Margaret  herself  was  convinced  that 
severer  trials  awaited  her,  and  when  on  the 
loth  of  March,  1586,  her  husband  was  sud- 
denly summoned  before  the  council,  she  said 
to  Father  Mush,  who  was  then  hidden  in  her 
house :  "They  will  never  cease  till  they  have 
me  again,  but  God's  will  be  done." 

The  same  day,  a  few  hours  later,  the  quiet 
home  in  the  Shambles  was  invaded  by  a  band 
of  armed  men,  who,  says  Father  Mush,  * 'raged 
like  madmen,"  and  searched  every  room, 
corner,  chest,  and  coffer  in  the  house.  Fortu- 
nately, the  priest,  who  was  warned  in  time 
of  their  approach,  succeeded  in  making  his 
escape  in  an  almost  miraculous  manner.  But 
a  Flemish  boy,  whom  Mrs.  Clitherow  had  edu- 
cated with  her  own  children,  terrified  at  the 
threats  of  the  pursuivants,  led  them  to  the 
secret  chamber  where  the  church  linen,  plate 
and  vestments  were  concealed.  These  were 
seized  and  carried  off  with  many  a  rude  oath 
and  brutal  jest ;  and  Margaret  herself,  after  a 
brief  appearance  before  the  council,  was  com- 
mitted a  prisoner  in  York  Castle.  Here  she 
was  joined  two  days  later  by  her  sister,  Anne 
Tesh,  a  Catholic  like  herself,  who  was  accused 
of  having  assisted  at  Mass.  The  sisters  passed 
their  time  in  such  peace  and  happiness  that 
Margaret  used  to  say :  ' '  Sister,  we  are  so  merry 
together  that,  unless  we  be  parted,  I  fear  we 
shall  lose  the  merit  of  our  imprisonment." 


The  Ave  Maria, 


83 


The  Flemish  boy,  who  was  the  ultimate 
cause  of  the  death  of  his  benefactress,  contin- 
ued his  revelations,  and  on  the  14th  of  March 
Margaret  Clitherow  was  summoned  before 
the  assizes,  on  the  charge  of  having  "harbored 
and  maintained  Jesuit  and  Seminary  priests, 
traitors  to  the  Queen's  Majesty."  To  the 
question  whether  she  was  guilty  or  not,  the 
prisoner  replied :  *  *  I  never  knew  or  maintained 
those  who  are  not  the  Queen's  friends."  Be- 
ing asked  how  she  would  be  tried,  "Having 
made  no  offence,"  she  answered,  "I  need  no 
trial;  if  you  say  I  must  be  tried,  I  will  be 
tried  by  none  but  by  God  and  your  own 
consciences."  They  then  brought  forth  the 
chalices,  vestments  and  altar  breads  found  in 
her  house,  and  turned  them  into  ridicule.  The 
martyr  gazed  with  loving  eyes  upon  these 
symbols  of  the  faith  she  so  passionately  cher- 
ished; and  when  the  judge  asked  her  ironi- 
cally in  whom  she  believed,  her  voice  rang 
loud  and  clear  through  the  crowded  court: 
"I  believe  in  God  the  Father,  in  God  the  Son, 
and  in  God  the  Holy  Ghost;  and  that,  by  the 
passion,  death  and  merits  of  Christ  Jesus,  I 
must  be  saved." 

As  she  still  refused  to  state  how  she  wished 
to  be  tried,  the  judges  had  her  removed  for 
the  night  to  the  house  of  John  Trewe,  on  Ouse 
Bridge.  She  walked  there  with  a  firm  step  and 
smiling  countenance,  scattering  money  on 
either  side  to  the  beggars  who  came  to  see 
her  pass.  The  next  morning  she  was  again 
brought  to  the  bar  and  asked  if  she  consented 
to  be  tried  by  jury ;  but,  having  reflected  that 
the  witnesses  against  her  must,  in  that  case, 
be  her  own  children  and  servants,  she  was 
unwilling  to  tempt  them  into  sin,  and  she 
repeated  the  answer  she  had  made  the  day  be- 
fore :  "I  refer  my  cause  only  to  God  and  your 
own  consciences.   Do  what  you  think  good." 

In  spite  of  the  honest  protest  of  Wigging- 
ton,  a  Puritan  clergyman,  who  observed  that 
a  woman  ought  not  to  be  condemned  to  death 
solely  on  the  slender  evidence  of  a  boy,  the 
judge,  at  first  divided  between  his  sense  of 
compassion  and  his  fear  of  seeming  lenient  to 
a  Papist,  ended  by  pronouncing  the  sentence. 
This  sentence,  as  it  was  solemnly  uttered 
amidst  deep  silence,  was  enough  to  strike 
terror  into  the  bravest  heart;  it  condemned 
Margaret  Clitherow  to  the  peine  forte  et  dure. 


— or,  in  other  words,  to  be  pressed  to  death,, 
with  her  hands  and  feet  tied  to  posts,  and  a 
sharp  stone  under  her  back. 

When  the  fearful  words  rang  through  the 
court  all  eyes  turned  upon  the  prisoner.  She 
stood  there,  brave  and  modest,  her  fair  face 
slightly  flushed;  her  beaming  eyes,  lifted  to 
heaven,  seemed  to  look  beyond  the  clouds  of 
earth  on  some  bright  vision  of  inexpressible 
joy.  When  the  judge  asked  her  if  she  had 
anything  to  sa}^  for  herself,  she  replied  :  "God 
be  thanked !  All  that  He  sends  me  shall  be 
welcome.  I  am  not  worthy  of  so  good  a  death 
as  this  is.  I  have  deserved  death  for  my 
offences  to  God,  but  not  for  anything  that  I 
am  accused  of." 

The  Sheriff  Fawcett  then  approached,  and,, 
by  the  judge's  order,  bound  her  arms  with  a 
strong  cord;  at  which  trait  of  resemblance 
with  her  crucified  Lord  she  brightly  smiled. 
They  then  led  her  through  the  streets,  to  the 
house  of  John  Trewe,  on  Ouse  Bridge,  where 
she  had  spent  the  previous  night ;  and  some 
of  the  judges  had  the  curiosity  to  go  and 
w^atch  her  as  she  passed.  They  marvelled  at 
her  firm  step  and  joyful  countenance,  saying,, 
"She  must  be  possessed  of  a  smiling  devil." 
But  others  were  heard  to  remark  that  she  must 
receive  comfort  from  the  Holy  Ghost. 

When  John  Clitherow  heard  of  his  wife's 
condemnation,  we  are  told  that  he  wept  so  ve- 
hemently that  the  blood  "gushed  out  in  great 
quantity. .  .  .  'Alas!'  he  exclaimed, * w411  they 
kill  my  wife?  Let  them  take  all  I  have  and 
spare  her ;  for  she  is  the  best  wife  in  all  Eng- 
land, and  the  best  Catholic  also.'  "  Margaret 
herself,  after  hearing  her  sentence,  asked  to 
see  her  husband  again ;  but  on  being  told  that 
her  request  could  be  granted  only  on  con- 
dition of  yielding  some  point  on  the  subject 
of  her  religion,  she  gently  replied:  "Then 
God's  will  be  done;  for  I  will  not  offend  God 
and  my  conscience  to  speak  with  him." 

As  the  day  of  execution  drew  near,  she 
seemed  to  detach  herself  more  and  more  from 
the  thought  of  her  dear  ones  on  earth.  A 
minister,  named  Harwood,  having  reproached 
her  with  having  no  love  or  care  for  her  hus- 
band and  children,  the  martyr  answered :  "As 
for  my  husband,  know  you  that  I  love  him 
next  unto  God  in  this  world.  And  I  have 
care  over  my  children  as  a  mother  ought  to 


84 


The  Ave  Maria, 


.have;  I  have  done  my  duty  to  them  to  bring 
them  up  in  the  fear  of  God.  And  for  this 
cause  I  am  willing  to  offer  them  freely  to  God 
that  sent  them  me,  rather  than  yield  one  jot 
from  my  faith."  These  words,  which  her  con- 
temporaries have  handed  down  to  us  in  their 
quaint  simplicity,  give  us  the  key-note  of  the 
wonderful  calm  that  seemed  to  envelop  the 
martyr  during  her  last  days  on  earth.  Her 
love  for  her  husband,  her  motherly  anxiety  for 
the  children  whom  she  was  leaving  so  young 
and  helpless  in  the  midst  of  heretics, — all 
these  natural  feelings  and  fears  were  merged 
in  the  love  of  God  and  trust  in  His  providence. 

After  a  few  days'  imprisonment,  John  Clithe- 
row  was  set  free  by  the  council,  and  com- 
manded to  leave  the  city  immediately,  and  on 
no  account  to  return  within  six  days.  From 
this  the  martyr's  friends  gathered  that  the 
day  of  her  execution  had  been  fixed  and  was 
fast  approaching. 

On  the  23d  of  March  the  sheriffs  of  York 
proceeded  to  the  narrow  prison  on  Ouse 
Bridge,  where  since  her  condemnation  Mar- 
garet Clitherow  had  spent  her  time  in  prayer, 
and  informed  her  that  her  execution  would 
take  place  the  following  Friday,  which  hap- 
pened to  be  Good-Friday  and  the  25th  of 
March.  The  spot  chosen  was  the  Tollbooth, 
six  or  seven  yards  from  the  prison.  Margaret 
received  the  news  with  her  usual  sweetness ; 
after  the  departure  of  the  sheriffs,  she  said  to 
a  friend  who  came  to  visit  her :  "I  feel  the 
frailty  of  my  flesh  that  trembles  at  this  news, 
though  my  spirit  greatly  rejoices.  For  God's 
sake,  pray  for  me." 

Since  her  trial  the  martyr  had  observed  a 
strict  fast,  eating  very  sparingly  only  once  a 
day.  She  now  redoubled  her  penances  and 
prayers,  spending  the  greater  part  of  her  time 
on  her  knees,  and  with  her  own  hands  she 
made  herself  a  long  linen  garment  like  an  alb, 
which  she  intended  to  wear  for  her  execution. 
Nothing  troubled  her  peace  and  serenity ;  not 
even  the  unceasing  attacks  of  the  Protestant 
ministers,  who  came  to  argue  with  her,  and 
whom  she  answered  with  unvarying  readiness 
and  patience. 

At  last  the  morning  of  the  twenty-fifth  of 
March  broke  over  York.  Margaret,  with  a 
natural  craving  for  companionship  at  this  the 
most  solemn  hour  of  her  life,  had  begged  that 


one  of  her  maids  might  watch  with  her  during 
her  last  night  on  earth.  This  being  forbidden, 
the  wifeof  her  jailer,  Yoward,  remained  with 
her,  and  it  is  to  this  woman  that  we  owe  the 
record  of  these  last  hours.  She  related  after- 
ward how  Margaret,  having  put  on  the  linen 
habit  she  had  prepared,  spent  three  hours  on 
her  knees,  on  the  bare  stones,  absorbed  in 
silent  prayer.  Toward  morning  she  asked  her 
companion  if  she  would  be  present  at  her 
death,  adding  that  she  wished  some  good 
Catholics  could  be  there  to  remind  her  of  her 
God.  Mrs.  Yoward  replied  that  nothing  would 
induce  her  to  be  present  at  such  a  cruel  scene ; 
but  she  added:  **I  will  procure  some  friends 
to  lay  weights  upon  you,  so  that  3'our  agony 
may  be  over  the  more  quickly."  To  this 
Margaret  answered :   "No,  no :  God  forbid! " 

When,  at  eight  o'clock,  the  sheriffs  came  to 
fetch  their  prisoner  they  found  her  waiting  for 
them.  She  was  standing  ready  :  her  feet  bare, 
the  linen  garment  she  had  made  hanging  on 
her  arm;  her  head  "carefully  trimmed  up," 
says  her  biographer,  "in  sign  of  joy ;"  a  bright 
smile  on  her  lips,  and  in  her  lovely  eyes  a 
look  of  tender,  ardent  expectation,  as  though, 
according  to  her  own  words,  she  was  going  to 
her  marriage  feast.  "All  marvelled,"  says  her 
historian,  "to  see  her  joyful  countenance." 

On  arriving  at  the  Tollbooth  the  prisoner 
found,  besides  the  sheriffs  who  had  accom- 
panied her,  a  Puritan  minister,  four  sergeants, 
several  women,  and  lastly  some  beggars,  who 
had  been  hired  to  act  as  executioners.  Mar- 
garet's first  act  was  to  kneel  down,  and,  un- 
heeding the  interruptions  of  her  persecutors, 
she  prayed  aloud  for  the  Catholic  Church,  the 
Pope,  the  princes  of  the  Church,  and  lastly 
"for  Elizabeth,  Queen  of  England,  that  God 
turn  her  to  the  Catholic  faith,  and  that,  after 
this  mortal  life,  she  receive  the  blessed  joys 
of  heaven." 

One  of  the  sheriffs,  moved  by  the  victim's 
angelic  calmness  and  serenity,  was  now  weep- 
ing bitterly;  the  other,  Fawcett,  turning  to 
Margaret,  " Mrs.  Clitherow, "  he  said,  "you 
must  remember  and  confess  that  you  die  for 
treason."  —  "No,  no,"  she  answered,  in  a 
louder  voice  than  usual  and  with  a  ring  of  in- 
dignation,— "no,  Mr.  Sheriff,  I  die  for  the  love 
of  my  Lord  Jesus ! ' '  Being  then  commanded  to 
take  off  her  garments,  she  let  the  women  pres- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


85 


ent  dress  her  in  the  long  linen  habit  she  had 
made  for  the  purpose;  then,  "very  quietly," 
says  her  biographer,  she  lay  down  on  the 
ground,  her  face  covered  with  a  handkerchief. 
A  door  was  laid  upon  her,  and  she  joined  her 
hands  above  it ;  but  upon  an  order  from  the 
sheriff  the  sergeants  parted  her  hands  and  tied 
them  to  two  posts,  so  that  her  body  made  a 
perfect  cross.  Heavy  stone  weights  were  then 
flung  upon  the  door.  Once  only  the  martyr's 
voice  was  heard — "Jesus,  Jesus,  Jesus,  have 
mercy  on  me ! ' '  Then  no  further  sound  came 
from  that  shapeless,  quivering  mass,  upon 
which  seven  or  eight  hundred  weights  were 
piled,  until  the  bones  burst  through  the  skin. 
It  is  supposed  that  fully  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
elapsed  before  life  was  extinct ;  but  after  her 
first  call  upon  Jesus,  no  sound  passed  the 
martyr's  lips;  and  none  could  tell  the  exact 
moment  when  the  Lord  she  had  so  fervently 
invoked  came  to  bear  away  her  soul  to  the 
haven  of  eternal  peace. 

The  mangled  remains  were  buried  the  same 
night  imder  a  mass  of  rubbish.  A  well- 
authenticated  tradition  relates  that  about  six 
weeks  later  the  faithful,  having  discovered 
the  burial-place,  succeeded  in  removing  the 
precious  body  from  its  unhonored  grave ;  but 
the  secret  of  this  second  burial,  carefully  kept 
during  the  days  of  persecution,  has  been  lost, 
and  no  tradition  or  record  exists  to  tell  where 
Margaret  Clitherow's  holy  relics  at  last  found 
a  resting-place. 

The  Convent  of  St.  Mary's  at  York  possesses 
a  withered  hand,  which  an  unbroken  tradition 
of  two  hundred  years  declares  to  be  that  ot 
the  martyr  of  York.  It  was  probably  separated 
from  her  body  on  the  occasion  of  her  second 
burial.  * 

One  wonders  sadly  whether  the  blood  of  his 
saintly  wife  obtained  for  John  Clitherow  grace 
to  die  in  the  bosom  of  the  Church.  This  is  all 
the  more  probable  from  the  fact  of  his  brother 
William  being  a  priest,  and  it  is  thought  that 
a  certain  Thomas  Clitherow,  who  in  1600  was 
imprisoned  in  York  Castle  for  his  religion,  was 
another  brother. 

Upon  Margaret's  three  children  their  moth- 
er's martyrdom  brought  a  visible  blessing. 
Her  eldest  son  Henry,  whom  she  had  sent  to 
the  English  college  at  Douay,  became  a  priest ; 

*  "  Life  of  Margaret  Clitherow, "  by  L.  Oliver, 


his  name  appears  on  the  list  of  the  English 
college  at  Rome  in  1590.  William,  her  second 
son,  was  ordained  priest  at  Soissons,  France, 
in  1582.  In  1618  he  was  imprisoned  in  York 
Castle  for  his  priesthood,  and  shortly  after- 
ward banished  from  the  kingdom. 

Anne,  the  martyr's  only  daughter,  was 
twelve  years  old  at  the  time  of  her  mother's 
glorious  death;  and  one  of  Margaret's  last 
thoughts  on  earth  was  for  this  beloved  child,  to 
whom  she  sent  her  hose  and  shoes,  to  signify 
that  she  was  to  follow  in  her  footsteps.  Anne 
Clitherow  proved  herself  worthy  of  the  trust. 
In  1593,  when  still  a  mere  girl,  she  was  impris- 
oned in  Lancashire  j  ail  for  the  faith ;  three  years 
later  she  joined  the  English  Augustinesses  of 
St.  Ursula's  Convent  at  Louvain,  in  Belgium. 

We  can  fancy  how  the  memory  of  their 
mother's  heroic  death  must  have  surrounded 
Margaret's  three  children  through  life,  bring- 
ing them  special  graces  from  Heaven;  and 
investing  them  with  a  kind  of  sacred  interest 
in  the  eyes  of  their  fellow-Catholics,  to  whom 
they  were  a  perpetual  reminder  of  the  love 
that  is  stronger  than  death,  and  of  the  faith 
that  endures  to  the  end. 

(to  be;  continued.) 


God  Help  the  Boys! 


THE  boy  is  a  factor  in  social  life.  This  is 
admitted  theoretically,  but  not  practically. 
We  are  always  saying  that  the  boy  is  father 
to  the  man,  and  uttering  similar  truisms ;  but 
the  boy  is  very  much  neglected.  He  does  not 
receive  the  consideration  he  deserves. 

The  girl  is  cultivated,  nourished  like  a  pet 
plant  in  a  greenhouse.  Her  wishes  are  con- 
sulted. The  mother's  solicitude  for  the  boys 
of  a  family  takes  the  form  of  feeding  them 
well.  They  are  supposed  to  be  creatures  who 
need  only  the  coarser  things  of  life ;  and  in 
many  instances  the  result  is  that  the  fond 
mother  brings  up  a  group  of  selfish,  unculti- 
vated bipeds,  who  manage  to  give  her  deeper 
wounds  than  Cleopatra's  asp  could  inflict.. 
Moreover,  they  become  inconsiderate  hus- 
bands and  careless  fathers.  And  the  person 
most  to  blame  is  that  very  mother  whose  life 
would  be  cheerfully  given  up  at  any  moment 
to  have  them  become  true  men. 


86 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Why  is  it  that  we  complain  of  so  many 
mixed  marriages,  which,  in  the  majority  of 
cases,  mean  losses  to  the  Church?  Why  is  it 
that  Catholic  girls  very  often  marry  non- Cath- 
olics, or  do  not  marry  at  all  ?  Why  is  it  that 
"nice"  young  men  are  more  scarce  in  the 
average  Catholic  social  circle  than  "nice" 
young  girls  ?    Why  ? 

It  is  very  easy  to  deny  that  the^e  questions 
are  based  on  facts.  And  it  is  the  habit  of 
some  people  to  admit  in  private  conversation 
the  existence  of  certain  things  which  they 
are  ready  to  deny  when  these  things  are  men- 
tioned in  print.  It  is  impossible  to  solve  social 
problems  unless  we  admit  their  existence  and 
discuss  them  freely.  Let  us,  then,  try  to  find 
an  answer  to  the  questions  we  have  asked. 

We  all  know  that  in  this  country  women 
are  more  liberally  educated  than  men.  We  are 
not  talking  of  the  men  who  go  to  college — 
because  in  our  Republic  they  are  in  the  mi- 
nority, as  they  are  everywhere, — but  of  the 
men  who  go  into  business  after  eight  or  ten 
years  spent  at  school.  Women  read  more,  they 
learn  something  of  music,  they  take  advan- 
tage of  every  bit  of  knowledge  that  might 
bring  them  nearer  to  higher  civilization. 
Young  men  educated  in  the  public  schools 
spend  their  eight  or  ten  years  there  without  at- 
taining those  rudiments  of  cultivation  which 
any  boy  educated  in  Germany  acquires  in  the 
first  six  years  of  his  school  life. 

But  our  business  is  not  with  the  boy  of  the 
public  schools :  it  is  with  the  boy  of  the  paro- 
chial schools.  Why  is  it  that  he  is  so  inferior 
in  many  respects  to  his  sister  of  the  academy  ? 
Why  is  it  that  she  does  not  like  to  see  him 
come  into  the  parlor  on  those  sacred  evenings 
when  she  is  performing  "The  Shepherd's 
Morning  Song"  (with  variations)  ?  Why  is  it 
that  he  flees  from  the  literary  circle  of  which 
his  accomplished  sister  is  the  centre,  and  finds 
comfort  and  refreshment  in  the  smoking  of 
cigarettes,  discussing  the  latest  prize-fight,  or 
the  learning  of  new  clog  dances  on  the  nearest 
corner  ? 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  piano  music 
and  the  part-songs  and  the  talk  about  current 
literature  are  better  for  him  than  the  coarse 
jabber  of  the  street.  And  if  we  could  get  our 
boys  to  spend  their  evenings  with  their  sisters 
and  their  sisters'  friends  in  such  amusements, 


we  should  have  better  men,  fewer  drunkards, 
and  fewer  mixed  marriages. 

But  our  boys  are  neglected.  The  girls  do 
all  the  singing  in  church ;  they  learn  music ; 
they  are  taught  b}^  the  Sisters  that  gentle 
manners  are  necessary  in  good  society ;  they 
are  taught  to  be  self-respectful ;  they  are  not 
dragged  up:  they  are  brought  up.  But  the 
boys — God  help  the  boys!  And  God  help  all 
who  think  that  a  little  catechism  and  a  full 
stomach  are  all  they  need! 


Readings  from  Remembered  Books. 

WHAT   LED  TO   A   CONVERSION. 

THE  wife  of  a  Protestant  clergyman  who  had 
recently  entered  the  Church,  thereby  sacrific- 
ing all  his  earthly  prospects,  was  induced  to  see 
Bishop  Grant.  Her  husband's  conversion  had 
been  a  terrible  trial  to  her,  but  the  grievance  that 
made  her  cup  of  wrath  overflow  was,  not  being 
allowed  to  take  her  children  to  church  with  her 
on  Sundays.  It  was  impossible  to  reconcile  such 
a  violation  of  a  mother's  natural  rights  with 
either  reason  or  religion.  She  had  heard  much  of 
Dr.  Grant's  kindness  of  heart,  and,  making  sure 
that  he  would  take  her  part  against  this  tyranny, 
she  consented  to  see  him  on  the  occasion  of  his 
next  visitation  to  the  Isle  of  Wight.  The  hope 
which  lured  her  to  this  fatal  step  was,  needless 
to  say,  quickly  dispelled.  The  Bishop  remained 
more  than  two  hours  talking  to  her,  and  striving 
to  justify  his  cruelty  ;  but  it  was  all  in  vain  :  she 
would  not  be  pacified.  She  did  not  want  to  hear 
anything  about  the  Catholic  religion  ;  she  knew 
quite  enough  of  it  already. 

' '  I  scolded  him  and  interrupted  him  and  was 
as  rude  as  ever  I  could  be,"  says  Mrs.  X  ;  "and 
he  not  only  bore  it,  but  seemed  perfectly  uncon- 
scious of  any  rudeness  on  my  part.  I  was  too 
angry  to  answer  any  of  his  arguments  ;  I  would 
hardly  listen  to  him,  and  kept  repeating  that  I 
did  not  want  to  know  anything  about  his  Church 
or  her  doctrine.  He  sat  there  meekly  while  I  went 
on  rating  him ;  I  saw  his  lips  moving  quickly 
every  now  and  then,  and  I  knew  that  he  was 
praying  for  me.  In  spite  of  myself,  I  was  greatly 
struck  by  his  humilit}^  but  I  did  not  show  it  by 
a  word ;  I  was  rude  and  indignant  to  the  last.  He 
let  the  boat  hour  go  twice ;  he  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  everything  but  me  and  my  soul.  When 
at  length  he  rose  to  go,  he  said  in  the  meekest 
way :  '  Well,  let  us  kneel  down  together  and  say 
a  little  prayer,  that  you  may  receive  the  light 
when  it  comes.'  '* 


The  Ave  Maria. 


87 


But  this  she  refused  to  do.  "No,  I  reallj^  can 
not,"  Mrs.  X  said  ;  ''  I  am  too  angry  ;  my  heart  is 
too  full  of  bitter  feelings  to  join  you  in  praj^er." 

"Then  I  will  just  say  a  prayer  by  myself,"  ob- 
ser\^ed  the  Bishop.  And  he  dropped  on  his  knees 
as  simply  as  a  child,  and  for  the  space  of  a  minute 
or  so  pra3-ed  as  those  who  have  once  seen  him 
pray  will  never  forget, — his  hands  clasped,  his 
eyelids  quivering,  his  lips  moving  in  rapid  utter- 
ance, every  fibre  of  his  bod}-  thrilling  in  unison 
with  the  act  of  his  soul. 

"I  could  not  help  wondering  at  his  meekness 
and  humility,"  says  Mr.  X;  "and  as  I  looked 
at  him  on  his  knees,  I  remember  asking  myself 
what  any  bishop  of  my  own  Church  would  have 
done  if  I  had  treated  him  for  five  minutes  as  I 
had  been  treating  this  Catholic  Bishop  for  more 
than  two  hours.  When  I  think  of  it  now  I  can 
not  understand  how  my  heart  was  not  smitten 
on  the  spot,  but  it  remained  as  hard  as  a  stone." 

She  had  not  even  the  grace  to  accompany  him 
down-stairs.  He  met  her  husband  on  the  way, 
and  in  answer  to  his  eager  question,  "Well,  my 
Lord?"  Dr.  Grant  said  calmly:  "Oh,  she  will 
come  all  right  by-and-by — she  will  be  a  Catholic. ' ' 
^'It  was  certainly  by  some  supernatural  light 
that  he  foresaw  this,"  says  Mrs.  X  ;  "for  there 
was  nothing  in  my  manner  or  words  to  justify 
the  prophecy." 

In  the  course  of  the  year  it  was  fulfilled  ;  and 
on  receiving  the  glad  news  from  her  husband  the 
Bishop  says  :  "  I  laid  down  your  letter,  and  said 
a  Tc  Deiim  as  soon  as  I  read  the  joyful  tidings. 
How  happy  you  will  be  in  teaching  your  chil- 
dren by  your  united  example,  as  well  as  by  your 
words!  And  how  delighted  you  will  be  to  kneel 
day  by  day  at  the  Holy  Sacrifice  to  adore  the 
boundless  mercies  of  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Our 
Lord,  and  to  ask  His  dear  and  Immaculate  Mother 
to  show  you  how  to  love  and  imitate  Him!  May 
the  goodness  of  our  Blessed  Lady  in  praying  for 
you  both  be  ever  blessed!"  —  ''Life  of  Bishop 
Grant,'"  Kathleen  O' Meara. 

ON   WANTING   TO   BR   SOMEBODY. 

Moderation  and  contentment  have  been  from 
time  out  of  mind  recommended  and  descanted 
upon  as  antidotes  to  ambition ;  and  we  all  of  us 
need  these  antidotes,  because,  with  very  few  ex- 
ceptions, we  are  all  of  us  extremely  subject  to 
the  passion.  The  man  who  carries  letters  would 
choose  to  be  post-office  clerk ;  the  man  before 
the  mast,  a  coxswain  ;  the  coxswain,  a  first  lieu- 
tenant. In  the  army  there  is  the  same  feeling, 
and  with  equal  strength  ;  and  in  statecraft  every- 
body knows  that  there  are  so  many  applicants 
for  certain  places  that  the  minister  is  puzzled 
Ilow  to  bestow  his  favors.  When  Richelieu  gave 


away  a  place,  he  said  that  he  had  made  "one  man 
ungrateful  and  had  offended  fifty."  The  fifliy  were 
the  needy  and  ambitious  nobodies  who  wanted 
to  be  somebody,  and  went  away  disappointed. 
"Fain  would  they  climb,"  and  without  anj^  fear 
of  falling.  What  was  true  then  is  equall}-  so  now. 
Abraham  Lincoln,  a  man  of  much  quaint  word- 
wisdom,  being  applied  to  by  a  dozen  generals 
wanting  commands,  and  a  hundred  captains 
asking  for  companies,  "Truly,"  said  the  puzzled 
President,  "I  have  more  pegs  than  I  have  holes 
to  put  them  in."  And  we  may  be  sure  that  no 
minister  or  king  ever  found  a  want  of  such  pegs 
readily  shaped  and  rounded. 

Any  soul,  however  moderate  in  its  desires, 
can  be  whipped,  pricked,  and  stirred  up  into 
being  ambitious.  And  when  once  the  fiend  is 
raised,  there  will  always  be  a  great  trouble  to  lay 
it  again  ;  for  ambition  is  one  of  those  passions 
that  swell  and  grow  with  success  ;  it  commences 
with  the  lowest  rung  of  the  ladder,  and  is  never 
satisfied  till  it  reaches  the  highest.  Had  Alex- 
ander found  out  another  world  to  conquer,  he 
would  have  looked  up  to  the  stars  after  winning 
it,  and  have  prayed  to  be  allowed  to  mount,  merely 
for  the  insane  purpose  of  worrying  the  quiet,  and 
perhaps  gelid,  inhabitants. 

If  moderation  and  ambition  do  not  dwell  to- 
gether in  the  same  breast  at  the  first,  they  can 
not  do  so  afterward  ;  for,  unless  curbed  with  the 
strongest  will,  and  held  down  with  the  most  de- 
termined restraint,  ambition  will  not  let  any 
other  passion  dwell  with  it,  A  young  cuckoo, 
hatched  in  the  nest  of  a  hedge-sparrow,  by  mere 
force  of  nature,  grows  bigger  and  bigger,  till,  by 
its  increased  size,  and  being  the  most  forw^ard  and 
the  most  hungry,  it  obtains  most  of  the  food 
brought  by  its  anxious  and  deceived  stepmother, 
and  gradually  elbows  the  smaller  and  weaker 
birds  out  of  the  nest.  One  can  see  the  starved  and 
callow  fledglings  lying  on  the  ground  beneath 
their  parent's  nest.  So  it  is  with  ambition.  It 
will  make  a  bad  and  lazy  man  industrious  and 
virtuous.  It  will  transform  a  spendthrift  into  a 
miser ;  it  will  inspire  men  with  supernatural 
activity  and  quickness.  And  at  the  same  time  it 
will  make  a  generous  good  man  a  grasping  and 
hard-hearted  tyrant.  "  It  is, "  writes  Jeremy  Tay- 
lor, ' '  the  most  troublesome  and  vexatious  passion 
that  can  afflict  the  sons  of  men.  It  is  full  of 
distractions  ;  it  teems  with  stratagems,  and  is 
swelled  with  expectations  as  \^'ith  a  tympany.  It 
sleeps  sometimes  as  a  wind  in  a  storm,  still  and 
quiet  for  a  minute,  that  it  may  burst  out  into  an 
impetuous  blast.  It  makes  the  present  certainly 
miserable,  unsatisfied,  troublesome,  and  discon- 
tented, for  the  uncertain  acquisition  of  an  honor 


The  Ave  Maria, 


which  nothing  can  secure ;  and  besides  a  thou- 
sand possibilities  of  miscarrying,  it  relies  upon 
no  greater  certainty  than  our  life ;  and  when  we 
are  dead  all  the  world  sees  who  was  the  fool! ".  .  . 
"All  the  world  sees  who  was  the  fool!"  It  is 
the  old  story.  Restless  ambition,  vaulting  over 
obstacle  after  obstacle,  overleaps  itself  and  falls 
on  the  other  side.  We  need  not  draw  lessons  from 
kings  and  conquerors:  everyone  of  us  has  his 
little  ambitious  aim,  his  desire  to  distinguish 
himself  and  to  make  himself  the  chief  man.  It 
matters  not  much  whether  we  endeavor  to  be 
Pitt  in  Parliament,  or  an  orator  in  a  public-house, 
the  same  love  of  praise,  the  unquiet  wish  to  be 
talked  about,  to  be  first,  inflates  the  breast  of 
both.  Yet,  ambition  is  generally  thought  to  be  a 
high  and  glorious  passion  ;  it  is  one  which  all 
women  love,  because  all  women  share  it ;  but  its 
gorgeous  trappings  merely  disguise  it.  "  If  we 
strip  it,  we  shall  find  that  it  consists  of  the  mean 
materials  of  envy,  pride,  and  covetousness."  The 
desire  of  fame  may  be  the  last  infirmity  of  noble 
minds,  but  it  is  an  infirmity  nevertheless. 

Lord  Bacon,  in  an  essay  on  ambition,  seems  to 
have  written  only  for  kings,  advising  them  when 
to  use  ambitious  men ;  for  such  men,  he  says, 
"will  be  good  servants" — active,  ardent,  full  of 
work,  and  stirring.  But  when  they  have  arrived 
at  a  certain  point,  then  they  are  dangerous  and 
should  be  put  away.  "A  soldier  without  ambi- 
tion," he  adds,  "is  like  one  without  spurs."  In 
fact,  the  "pomp  and  circumstance  of  glorious 
war"  are  the  very  food  this  selfish  passion  is 
most  fond  of.  What  woman  cares  for  the  hundreds 
who  have  been  smitten  down  by  camp  fever,  who 
have  been  bent  double  by  ague,  cramped  with 
cold,  broken  and  diminished  in  war, — who  are 
legless,  armless,  handless,  lying  in  the  bloody 
trench,  or  trodden  into  the  crimson  mud, — when 
she  reads  her  son's  name  in  the  Gazette?  What 
man,  except  a  few  piteous  souls,  thinks  of  the 
misery  which  shall  descend  like  an  inheritance 
after  a  glorious  battle?  The  heart  stirs,  the  eye 
flashes,  the  pulse  quickens,  and  a  thousand  men 
are  broken  and  scattered,  and  a  thousand  others 
are  exulting  victims,  and  the  ambition  of  some 
one  or  some  dozen  has  a  sweet  incense  burnt  upon 
its  altar ! 

Or,  in  a  lower  case,  a  man  may  have  an  ambi- 
tion to  be  rich,  great,  and  much  talked  of ;  and  by 
the  sacrifice  of  his  own  peace  of  mind  he  gains 
the  empty  decoration  of  a  name,  or  adds  field  to 
field,  to  look  back  with  regret  upon  the  hot  and 
weary  path  he  trod,  and  the  sweet  home-pleasures, 
refreshing  both  to  body  and  soul,  from  which  he 
turned  away  in  his  hurry,  or  passed  by  with 
contempt.  After  all,  a  man  had  better  be  content 


with  his  position,  acknowledging  that  a  greater 
than  he  is  has  placed  him  there ;  and  such  con- 
tent will  give  a  man  a  great  deal  of  wisdom.  .  .  . 
We  should  be  content  to  do  good  where  we  find 
ourselves  called  to  do  it — in  our  homes  and  at 
our  waysides.  We  may  depend  that,  did  we  listen 
to  these  calls  upon  us,  we  should  find  oppor- 
tunities enough  of  doing  good  and  ser\dng  God; 
and  it  is  wiser  to  follow  these  quiet  and  hidden 
impulses  than  to  look  for  any  grand  and  promi- 
nent exhibition  of  our  benevolence.  Public  bene- 
factors reap  too  often  their  own  poor  reward  of  a 
still  wider  publicity  ;  a  newspaper  advertisement 
is'  sounded  before  them  instead  of  a  trumpet.  .  .  . 
And  how  many  a  pure  impulse  to  do  good  by 
stealth,  which  at  "first  blushed  to  find  it  fame," 
has  degenerated  into  the  hungry  craving  of  being 
talked  about  I — ' '  The  Gentle  Life. ' ' 

A   UNIQUE   PHENOMENON. 

I  have  often  been  struck  with  the  facility  with 
which  the  Catholic  religion  adapts  itself  to  the 
character  of  every  nation.  I  have  had  some  op- 
portunity of  observation  ;  I  have  seen  the  Catho- 
lic Church  on  three  out  of  the  four  continents,  and 
have  everywhere  noticed  the  same  phenomenon. 
Mahometanisn;  could  never  be  transplanted  to 
the  snowy  regions  of  Russia  or  Norway  ;  it  needs 
the  soft,  enervating  atmosphere  of  Asia  to  keep 
it  alive ;  the  veranda,  the  bubbling  fountain,  the 
noontide  repose,  are  all  parts  of  it.  Puritanism  is 
the  natural  growth  of  a  country  where  the  sun 
seldom  shines,  and  which  is  shut  out  by  a  barrier 
of  water  and  fog  from  kindl}^  intercourse  with  its 
neighbors.  It  could  never  thrive  in  the  bright 
South.  The  merry  vine-dressers  of  Italy  could 
never  draw  down  their  faces  to  the  proper  length, 
and  would  be  very  unwilling  to  exchange  their 
blithesome  canzonetti  for  Stemhold  and  Hop- 
kins' version.  But  the  Catholic  Church,  while  it 
unites  its  professors  in  the  belief  of  the  same 
inflexible  creed,  leaves  them  entirely  free  in  all 
mere  externals  and  national  peculiarities.  When  I 
see  the  light-hearted  Frenchman,  the  fiery  Italian, 
the  serious  Spaniard,  the  cunning  Greek,  the 
dignified  Armenian,  the  energetic  Russian,  the 
hard-headed  Dutchman,  the  philosophical  Ger- 
man, the  formal  and  "respectable"  Englishman, 
the  thrifty  Scotchman,  the  careless  and  warm- 
hearted Irishman,  and  the  calculating,  go-ahead 
American,  all  bound  together  by  the  profession 
of  the  same  faith,  and  yet  retaining  their  national 
characteristics,  I  can  compare  it  to  nothing  but 
to  a  similar  phenomenon  that  we  may  notice  in 
the  prism,  which,  while  it  is  a  pure  and  perfect 
crystal,  is  found  on  examination  to  contain,  in 
their  perfection,  all  the  various  colors  of  the  rain- 
bow.— ''Aguecheek. ' ' 


The  Ave  Maria, 


^9 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

A  very  remarkable  and  edifying  incident  oc- 
curred recently  at  one  of  the  hospitals  in  a  German 
city.  One  of  the  Sisters  had  been  for  a  long  time 
suffering  from  that  dread  disease,  consumption, 
and  was  in  such  extremity  that  the  doctors  gave 
up  all  hope,  and  declared  that  the  end  was  near. 
The  superior  was  inspired  to  begin  a  novena 
to  Our  Lady  of  gourdes.  All  the  inmates  of  the 
hospital  joined  in  the  devotions,  while  the  poor 
invalid  each  day  drank  a  little  of  the  Water  of 
Lourdes.  On  the  morning  of  the  ninth  day  she 
declared  that  she  was  cured.  She  arose  with  the 
other  Sisters,  went  with  them  to  the  chapel,  where 
she  assisted  at  Mass  and  received  Holy  Commun- 
ion. Throughout  the  day  she  joined  in  all  the 
exercises  of  the  community,  and  took  a  long  walk 
without  experiencing  the  least  fatigue.  Since  then 
all  traces  of  the  disease  have  disappeared,  and  she 
has  continued  in  excellent  health,  to  the  great 
wonder  of  the  doctors  and  all  who  had  known  her. 


The  Rev.  Father  Wendelin  writes  from  Molokai 
announcing  the  safe  arrival  of  the  bell  (secured 
throtigh  the  generosity  of  subscribers  to  The 
"Ave  Maria")  for  the  new  church  built  by  the 
late  Father  Damien  in  the  leper  settlement. 
Father  Wendelin,  who  has  succeeded  to  the  self- 
sacrificing  apostolate  of  Father  Damien,  tenders, 
in  the  name  of  the  martyred  Priest  of  the  Lepers, 
his  sincere  thanks  for  the  gift ;  and  in  his  own 
expressive  words  speaks  of  it  as  "  the  coming  of 
a  mighty  voice,  to  call  the  faithful  that  labor  and 
are  burdened  to  Him  who  will  refresh  them." 


A  decree  of  the  Sacred  Congregation  of  Rites, 
just  published,  raises  the  Feast  of  the  Sacred 
Heart  to  the  rank  of  a  Double  of  the  First  Class. 
The  faithful  are  again  exhorted  to  practise  ' '  this 
most  salutary  devotion"  as  a  great  means  to 
obtain  the  increase  of  faith  and  the  peace  of 
Christian  people. 

There  is  a  society  in  Paris  called  the  CEuvres 
des  Liberees  de  Saint  Lazare,  whose  object  is  to 
rescue  unfortunate  women  from  the  temptation 
to  renew  a  life  of  crime  upon  their  release  from 
prison.  The  founder  of  this  society.  Mademoiselle 
de  Grandpre,  saw  that  the  time  for  direct  action, 
in  order  to  prevent  these  unfortunates  from 
sinking  back  into  crime  from  sheer  inability  to 
find  work  by  which  they  might  obtain  food  and 
clothing,  was  their  first  moment  of  liberty,  which 
is  the  turning-point  in  the  lives  of  so  many 
women  and  men.  The  first  duty  of  the  society  is 


to  make  immediate  provision  for  these  persons, 
so  that  it  does  not  leave  them  one  day  or  one 
hour  uncared  for,  or  subjected  to  the  temptation 
of  returning  to  their  former  companions  in  vice, 
who  watch  for  them  at  the  very  prison  doors, 
eager  to  drag  them  back  to  misery  and  crime.  As 
soon  as  a  woman  is  discharged  she  is  taken  to 
one  of  the  society's  little  houses  outside  the  city 
of  Paris.  There  are  only  six  inmates  in  each  of 
these  houses,  and  the  woman  is  at  once  set  to 
some  necessary  household  task,  not  too  laborious, 
but  sufficiently  engrossing  to  occupy  her  mind. 
In  this  safe  and  pleasant  shelter,  decently  clothed 
and  fed  and  tenderly  cared  for,  she  passes  her 
moral  convalescence,  and  not  till  she  has  ac- 
quired some  degree  of  self-confidence  and  cheer- 
fulness is  she  sent  out  into  the  world.  Then  she 
only  goes  after  she  has  obtained  work  that  will 
enable  her  to  earn  an  honest  support. 

Tenderly  reverent  is  the  allusion  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin  in  a  recent  address  by  Viscount  Halifax, 
defending  ritualistic  practices  in  the  Church  of 
England,  "Shall  we  allow,"  he  a.sks,  "the  fig- 
ures of  Our  Lord  on  the  Cross  and  of  His  Blessed 
Mother  to  be  torn  down  from  above  the  altar  of  St. 
Paul's  ? "  "  We  rejoiced  that  the  dean  and  canons 
of  St.  Paul's  had  placed  above  the  altar  of  the 
great  church  representing  the  Diocese  of  London 
the  figure  of  Our  Lord  on  His  Cross  and  of  His 
Blessed  Mother,  in  order  that,  as  we  look  on  the 
one  we  may  think  of  all  He  has  done  for  us  ;  and 
as  we  look  at  the  figure  of  God's  dear  Mother  we 
may  recall  her  who  is  crowned  with  all  glory 
and  honor,  and  who  alone  of  all  God's  creatures 
has  dared  to  say,  'From  henceforth  all  genera- 
tions shall  call  me  blessed.'  " 


There  is  good  reason  to  hope  that  the  "Angelus '' 
will  become  the  property  of  the  American  Art 
Association,  on  account  of  the  withdrawal  of  the 
request  to  the  French  Chamber  of  Deputies  for  a 
credit  to  purchase  it.  The  famous  picture,  it  will 
be  remembered,  was  sold  at  the  Secretan  Sale  for 
$110,600,  but  Mifllet  was  paid  only  $500  for  it. 
The  oblong  canvas  measures  21^^x25^  inches. 


In  calling  the  attention  of  its  readers  to  Cardi- 
nal Gibbons'  paper  on  "The  Dignity,  Rights,  and 
Responsibilities  of  Labor,"  in  the  current  number 
of  the  Cosmopolitan,  \h^ Pilot  remarks :  ' '  Cardinal 
Gibbons  holds  the  esteem  of  his  fellow-countr>'- 
men,  irrespective  of  creed,  by  many  claims,  but 
by  none  more  strongly  than  by  his  championship 
of  the  cause  of  labor." 


In  the  death  of  Mgr,  James  A.  Corcoran,  which 
sad  event  occurred  at  Philadelphia  on  the  i6th 


90 


The  Ave  Maria. 


inst.,  the  Church  in  America  has  suffered  a  great 
loss.  He  was  born  at  Charleston,  S.  C,  in  1820. 
His  ecclesiastical  studies  were  made  in  Rome, 
where  he  was  ordained  priest  in  1842.  Returning 
to  Charleston  the  following  year,  he  organized  the 
diocesan  seminary,  in  which  he  became  professor 
of  theology.  This  office,  together  with  that  of 
pastor  of  the  Charleston  Cathedral,  he  held  till 
1 85 1.  He  was  chosen  secretary"  of  the  Second 
Plenary  Council  of  Baltimore,  1866,  and  was  the 
chief  theological  adviser  of  the  late  Council.  Mgr. 
Corcoran  was  present  at  the  Vatican  Council, 
1869-70.  After  his  return  from  Rome  he  was 
appointed  professor  of  moral  theology  in  the  Sem- 
inary of  St.  Charles,  Overbrook,  near  Philadel- 
phia, Pa.  The  deceased  prelate  was  distinguished 
for  deep  and  varied  learning.  After  Archbishop 
Kenrick,  he  was  the  greatest  theologian  this 
country  has  produced.  He  was  also  regarded  as 
one  of  our  best  Hebrew  and  Syriac  scholars. 
Mgr.  Corcoran  was  the  founder  and  editor  of  the 
American  Catholic  Quarterly  Review,  the  leading 
Catholic  publication  in  the  United  States.  He 
is  said  to  have  been  a  man  of  singularly  amiable 
character,  charitable,  gentle,  and  unassuming. 
Ma\'  he  rest  in  peace! 

Great  interest  is  manifested  by  the  Catholics 
of  England  in  the  recent  discovery  at  the  British 
Museum  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  charter  of  Edward 
the  Confessor  to  St.  Mary's  Abbey  at  Coventr\% 
Warwickshire.  This  abbey  was  founded  in  1043. 
The  document  bears  witness  to  the  piety  of  King 
Edward,  and  his  devotion  to  the  service  of  God 
and  "His  dear  Mother,"  and  is  a  valuable  relic  of 
Catholic  times. 

The  Jesuits  have  macie  an  establishment  in 
Berlin.  No  objections  to  it  were  raised  by  the 
Government.  A  Jesuit  would  eventually  find  a 
way  to  the  moon,  if  there  were  any  good  to  be 
done  there. 


The  Sisters  of  Notre  Dame  are  rejoicing  over 
the  introduction  of  the  cause  of  their  holy  foun- 
dress. Mother  Julie  Billiart,  who  has  just  been 
declared  venerable  by  a  decree  of  Leo  XIH. 


A  picture  scarcely  second  to  the  "Angelus"  is 
Millet's  "Sower,"  in  the  Vanderbilt  collection 
in  New  York.  This  painting,  with  its  shadowy 
figure  of  the  peasant  flinging  seed  to  the  earth 
in  the  early  morning,  expresses  the  mystery  of 
the  sombre  old  earth's  awakening  to  fruitfulness 
and  life,  and  the  greater  mystery  of  the  resurrec- 
tion of  our  bodies,  glorified  and  immortal.  The 
rhythmic  march  of  the  prayerful  and  hopeful 


sower,  as  he  does  what  has  been  man's  appointed 
work  from  the  fall  of  Adam,  is  expressed  as 
though  by  the  sweep  of  noble  music. 

Still  another  painting  by  Millet,  which  is  some- 
times ranked  before  the  "Angelus,"  is  in  the 
gallery  of  ]Mr.  W.  T.  Walters,  in  Baltimore.  This 
is  the  moonlight  scene  called  the  "Sheepfold," 
in  which  a  shepherd,  who  has  thrown  his  heavy 
cloak  about  him,  opens  the  gate  of  the  fold  for 
his  flock.  The  atmospheric  qualities  of  the  pict- 
ure are  very  remarkable.  Another  Millet  of  great 
beauty  was  owned  last  j-ear  by  ]Mr.  William 
Schaus.  It  represents  an  old-fashioned  French 
farm-house,  with  droves  of  sheep  brought  to- 
gether for  shearing,  and  has  a  wonderful  golden 
tone. 

Kwy  academy  or  select  school  for  young  ladies 
in  or  near  New  York,  Boston,  Chicago,  or  Cincin- 
nati, needing  an  accomplished  and  experienced 
teacher  of  vocal  or  instrumental  music  for  the 
coming  scholastic  year  may  apply  to  us  until 
the  20th  prox.  As  the  applicant  has  the  ulte- 
rior view  of  self-improvement  in  music,  salary  is 
not  an  object.  The  highest  testimonials  as  to 
competency  and  character  can  be  furnished. 


Obituary. 


if  you   we7V   bound 
— HEB.,  xiii,  3. 


Remember  i'letn  t'lat   an   in   bunds, 
wi:h  them. 

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

Mr.  Hermann  Fendrich,  a  prominent  and  highly 
respected  citizen  of  Evansville,  Ind.,  whose  death, 
which  is  sincerely  mourned  by  all  who  knew  him, 
took  place  on  the  26th  ult. 

Mrs.  Annie  Young,  whose  fervent  Christian  life 
was  crowned  with  a  happy  death  at  Martinez,  Cal., 
on  the  3d  inst. 

Miss  Bridget  Gallagher,  a  devout  Child  of  Mary, 
whose  precious  death  occurred  at  Davenport,  Iowa, 
last  month. 

Mr.  Michael  Anderson,  of  Kingston,  Canada,  who 
departed  this  life  on  the  nth  inst. 

Miss  Mary  Tooliey,  and  Miss  Catherine  Haggerty, 
fervent  clients  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  both  of  Bridge- 
port, Conn.,  and  lately  deceased. 

Mrs.  A.  McFall,  of  Sacramento,  Cal.,  who  piously 
yielded  her  soul  to  God  on  the  5th  inst. 

Edward  Judd,  of  Bridgeport,  Conn. ;  Mrs.  Isabella 
Buren,  Louisville,  Ky.  ;  Mrs.  Eliza  Beegan,  Fort 
Wayne,  Ind. ;  Nicholas  Maher,  Sr.,  Blairsville,  Pa.  ; 
Dennis  Mallen,  Roanoke,  Va. ;  also  S.  H.  McKinn,  St. 
Louis,  Mo. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faith- 
ful departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in 
peace! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


91 


rahtment 


For  a  Child  of  Mary's  Autograph 
Album. 


BY   A.  B.  O'N. 

BEHOLD  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord!"  she 
said — 
A  Jewish  Maiden  in  the  long  ago ; 
"What  path  soe'er  He  wills,  my  feet  shall  tread; 
No  other  will  than  His  my  soul  shall  know, ' ' 

Wonldst  thou,  fair  maiden  of  a  later  age, 
Partake  one  day  of  Mary's  rich  reward? 

Keep  pure  life's  album  ;  on  its  everj^  page 
Write  first, ' '  Behold  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord ! ' ' 


Johnnie's  Travels. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "TYBORNE. 


III. 


Johnnie  had  been  a  fortnight  in  Bordeaux, 
and  was  getting  on  very  well.  He  had  made  a 
little  hoard, — ^not  that  he  often  received  more 
than  pennies  and  half-pence;  but  he  got  a 
great  many  of  these,  which  the  baker  changed 
for  him  into  francs. 

One  day  he  had  given  an  exhibition  of  his 
mice  to  some  of  the  young  workwomen  of 
Bordeaux.  He  had  received  a  good  handful  of 
pence,  and  went  to  take  a  walk  on  the  beauti- 
ful quays  of  the  city.  He  sat  down  presently 
and  began  to  undress  his  mice. 

*  *  You  great  stupid ! ' '  said  a  voice  in  his  ear ; 
"don't  you  see  that  big  gentleman  looking 
at  you?  Show  off  your  mice  to  him,  and  he 
will  give  you  a  franc,  I  am  sure." 

The  speaker  was  a  big,  ragged  boy,  with 
an  evil  face.  Johnnie  felt  a  horror  of  him ;  but 
as  there  was  a  tall  gentleman,  leaning  on  a 
gold-headed  cane,  looking  at  him,  he  displayed 
his  mice.  The  gentleman  was  much  amused, 
and  gave  his  whole  attention  to  the  mice.  But 
what  is  this?  Johnnie's  eyes  almost  start  out 
of  his  head.  A  hand  is  gliding  over  the  gen- 
tleman's waistcoat,  and  dragging  out  his  gold 
watch  and  his  purse. 


"Help!  help!"  cried  Johnnie,  letting  his 
mice  fall.    "A  thief !  a  thief!" 

The  people  rushed  out  of  their  shops.  There 
was  a  tumult,  and  the  ragged  boy,  throwing 
himself  against  Johnnie,  hissed  in  his  ear: 
"You  have  spoilt  my  game!" 

He  was  gone,  and  at  last  the  old  gentleman 
found  out  he  had  been  robbed  of  his  purse 
and  his  watch.  He  seized  Johnnie  by  the  collar 
and  accused  him  of  being  the  thief.  But,  hap- 
pily for  him,  a  shopman  had  seen  all  from 
his  window,  and  came  forward  in  Johnnie's 
defence. 

The  crowd  dispersed,  and  the  one  thought 
of  terrified  Johnnie  was  to  get  out  of  Bordeaux 
as  soon  as  possible.  So  he  went  to  a  baker's 
to  buy  some  bread,  and  then  he  found  he  too 
had  been  robbed.  Twenty  francs  that  he  had 
been  saving  up  for  his  mother  were  gone. 
Only  a  few  pence  remained. 

Johnnie  left  the  shop,  and  sat  down  on  the 
parapet  of  a  bridge  to  cry.  Just  then  he  saw 
two  policemen  leading  between  them  the 
ragged  boy. 

"Ah,  you  idiot,"  cried  the  prisoner,  "I  have 
paid  you  off,  as  I  said!  Where  are  all  your 
fine  francs  now?  Ha,  ha,  ho!  It  will  teach  you 
to  leave  wiser  folk  than  you  are  alone  another 
time." 

The  policemen  pitied  Johnnie,  but  assured 
him  they  had  searched  their  prisoner  and 
found  nothing  on  him,  and  they  dragged  the 
bad  boy  away.  Poor  Johnnie  burst  out  into 
bitter  sobs.  "Oh,  the  bad  fellow!  the  black- 
hearted boy !  He  has  stolen  my  mother's 
money.  I  am  glad  he  is  caught.  I  am  glad 
he  is  going  to  prison.*  I  hope  he'll  never  get 
out."  But  before  long  his  passion  began  to 
cool.  He  saw  in  imagination  the  cold,  dark 
prison  and  the  wretched  boy. 

' '  Oh, ' '  sighed  Johnnie, "  he  is  worse  off  than 
I!  Mother  taught  me  I  was  never  to  steal; 
perhaps  that  bad  boy  has  no  mother.  Oh,  dear 
God,  I  thank  Thee  for  taking  care  of  me  this 
day!  I  forgive  that  boy;  please  forgive  him 
too.  Make  him  sorry ;  make  him  cry,  and  then 
he'll  be  good  again." 

Johiuiie  wiped  away  his  tears ;  his  heart  was 
light.  The  sun  had  set  and  the  stars  came  out  ; 
Johnnie  threw  a  kiss  to  the  stars  as  he  and 
his  sisters  used  to  do  at  home,  because  mother 
said  there  was  God's  throne. 


92 


The  Ave  Maria. 


IV. 

The  journey  from  Bordeaux  to  Paris  is  long, 
and  more  than  four  months  had  passed  since 
Johnnie  left  his  village.  However,  at  last  he 
was  really  in  the  great  city. 

It  was  evening,  and  all  the  streets  and 
shops  were  lighted  up.  Crowds  of  people  were 
about,  and  poor  Johnnie  was  well  knocked 
and  pushed.  He  hid  himself  in  a  corner.  "Oh, 
what  a  lot  of  people  there  are ! ' '  said  he ;  "  and 
no  one  to  love  me,  and  no  one  to  care  for  me! 
Oh,  when  shall  I  see  mother  again  ? ' '  And  he 
sat  down  and  began  to  sob. 

He  saw  he  was  sitting  in  the  corner  of  a 
large  portico  which  opened  into  a  courtyard 
and  a  house, — or,  as  it  seemed  to  Johnnie, 
many  houses  ran  round  the  court.  Suddenly 
a  door  in  the  wall  of  the  portico  opened  be- 
hind him. 

"Get  up,  you  little  monkey!"  said  a  good- 
natured  voice.    "What  is  it  all  about?" 

Johnnie  scrambled  to  his  feet.  He  saw  a 
very  stout  woman,  with  a  red  but  kindly  face. 

"What  are  you  crying  for?"  she  said. 

"For  mother,"  gasped  Johnnie. 

"Come  in  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

So  she  brought  him  into  her  little  room  and 
heard  his  story,  but  before  he  had  gone  very 
far  she  stopped  him  to  say,  "Supper  is  ready 
and  you  shall  have  a  share. ' '  Delicious  indeed 
was  a  plateful  of  hot  stew  to  the  half-starved 
child.  Bread,  and  sometimes  a  bit  of  cold 
sausage,  had  been  his  fare  during  his  long 
journey.  When  the  meal  was  done  Johnnie 
finished  his  story. 

"An4  have  you  no  money  at  all?"  asked 
Mrs.  Porter. 

"Oh,  yes!  I  have  threepence  half-penny 
now,"  said  he.  "I  have  never  been  one  day 
without  gaining  enough  to  pay  for  my  lodg- 
ing and  some  food ;  and  often  I  had  lodging 
for  nothing." 

"Well,  I'll  give  you  a  room  here  all  to 
yourself  for  a  penny  a  day,  and  then  you'll  be 
safe." 

"Oh,  will  you  really,  ma'am?"  exclaimed 
Johnnie,  transported  with  joy. 

"Wife,"  said  the  porter,  "how  could  you 
put  a  bed  in  that  closet  ? ' ' 

* '  Bed !  Why,  I  shall  give  him  a  good  sack 
of  straw.  As  if  he  could  not  sleep  on  straw! 
Oh,  I  have  not  forgotten  my  country  days  yet, 


my  dear!  And  the  straw  and  the  room  will  be 
clean,  and  the  boy  will  be  out  of  bad  company." 

So  Johnnie  took  possession  of  a  kind  of 
closet  on  the  fifth  story,  with  a  window  the 
size  of  a  pancake;  a  sack  of  straw,  an  old 
blanket,  and  a  broken  stool  for  furniture. 
He  installed  himself  there  with  his  mice,  feel- 
ing, he  said  to  himself,  as  happy  as  a  king. 
V. 

Johnnie  had  a  great  fear  of  losing  himself 
in  Paris,  and  so  he  did  not  go  beyond  the 
streets  of  the  neighborhood  in  which  he  lived; 
and  as  this  was  a  poor  part  of  the  city  he  did 
not  gain  more  than  the  few  pence  needed  for 
his  daily  expenses.  After  a  time  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  a  little  girl  about  his  own 
age,  who  lived  on  the  same  floor  as  himself. 
Her  eyes  glistened  when  she  saw  the  white 
mice,  and  Johnnie  had  a  performance  solely 
for  her  benefit.  Sophie,  of  course,  heard  all 
Johnnie's  story,  and  asked  him  how  much  he 
was  now  gaining. 

"Alas,"  replied  Johnnie,  "so  little  I  am 
putting  nothing  by  for  mother!" 

"But  you  should  not  stop  about  here,"  said 
sharp  little  Sophie;  "you  should  go  to  the 
Tuileries  Gardens  and  the  Champs-Klys6es, 
and  all  the  grand  streets." 

' '  Oh,  I  dare  not ! ' '  said  Johnnie.  * '  I  should 
be  lost." 

"Well,  so  you  might,"  replied  Sophie. 
"Ah,  I  have  an  idea!  I  go  every  day  to  the 
Rue  Bonaparte  to  learn  dressmaking.  Close 
by  are  the  I^uxemburg  Gardens,  and  such  lots 
of  children  play,  there.  You  can  come  with 
me,  and  in  the  evening  I  will  go  to  the  gate  of 
the  gardens  for  you.  I'll  go  and  ask  mamma 
if  I  may." 

Her  mother  consented,  for  she  liked  John- 
nie's face  and  she  trusted  Sophie.  So  the  chil- 
dren went  together,  and  Johnnie  had  great 
success.  What  a  delight  it  was  to  count  the 
money  with  Sophie!  The  first  evening  he  had 
two  francs.  He  soon  learned  his  own  way  in 
the  gardens,  and  also  began  to  understand  the 
lay  of  the  streets  of  Paris. 

Johnnie  was  now  on  the  way  to  fortune. 
But  one  day  Sophie  had  red  eyes. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Sophie?"  asked 
Johnnie. 

"Papa  is  ill,"  replied  the  little  girl;  "and 
the  doctor  says  he  must  go  to  the  hospital.  He 


The  Ave  ATaria. 


93 


says  he  will  be  cured  there  in  a  fortnight  by 
vapor-baths  and  all  sorts  of  things,  and  if  he 
stops  here  he  will  be  in  bed  all  the  winter;  but 
mamma  and  I  can't  bear  to  part  with  him." 
"Is  he  really  going?" 
"Oh,  yes:  this  afternoon  for  sure." 
Two  days  afterward  came  Shrove-Monday, 
and  as  on  that  day  and  the  next  there  are 
gay  doings  in  Paris,  Johnnie  hoped  to  gain 
much.    As   he  was   coming   down-stairs   he 
heard  Sophie  talking  to  another  little  girl  on 
the  fourth  story. 

"Impossible,  dear  Sophie!"  said  a  voice. 
"I  would  do  it  in  a  minute,  but  my  mistress 
would  be  so  angry.  We  are  so  busy  on  account 
of  the  grand  balls  to-morrow. .  We  have  seven 
dresses  to  finish  for  one  princess;  she  will 
change  her  costume  seven  times  during  the 
masked  ball.  And  such  dresses !  How  did 
your  mother  fall  ill?" 

'  *  She  caught  cold  coming  fi"om  the  hospital 
yesterday,  and  to-day  she  is  feverish  and  has 
such  a  cough.  I  know  she  will  have  bronchitis. 
I  wanted  to  stay  with  her,  but  she  won't  let 
me ;  she  says  I  must  go  to  work."  And  Sophie 
turned  sadly  away. 

"Sophie,"  said  Johnnie,  "I'll  take  care  of 
your  mother.  I'll  keep  up  the  fire  and  give 
her  a  hot  drink,  and  I'll  be  ever  so  quiet." 

Sophie  began  to  cry.  "You  are  a  good  boy, 
Johnnie ;  but  how  can  you  stay  in  on  Shrove- 
Monday?  You  might  gain  a  lot  of  money." 
"Never  mind ;  let  me  be  nurse.  I  took  care 
of  my  sister  Angela  when  she  was  ill,  and 
mother  said  I  did  very  well." 

Sophie  consented,  and  when  she  came  back 
in  the  evening  she  found  her  mother  asleep 
and  Johnnie  sitting  by  the  fire. 

Next  day  Mrs.  Tourla  was  no  better ;  but 
she  insisted  on  Sophie's  going  to  her  work, 
and  Johnnie  again  stayed  in.  The  doctor  came, 
declared  the  malady  to  be  bronchitis,  and  that 
the  invalid  required  much  care.  During  these 
few  days  Johnnie  found  out  how  poor  his  new 
friends  were ;  for  while  the  father  was  at  the 
hospital  he  had  no  wages.  When  the  busy  days 
were  over  Sophie  had  leave  from  her  mistress  ; 
to  stay  and  nurse  her  mother,  and  Johnnie  j 
could  go  out.  A  few  hours  after  he  was  gone 
a  noise  was  heard  in  the  corridor.  Sophie  ran 
to  the  door,  and  saw  Johnnie  bending  beneath 
the  weight  of  a  load  of  fagots. 


"Come  and  help  me,  Sophie;  this  wood  is 
for  you.  Get  it  into  your  room,  and  then  I 
will  tell  you  all  about  it." 

The  wood  was  piled  up  by  the  fireplace,  and 
Johnnie  began  to  empty  his  pockets.  There 
came  out  bread  and  cheese. 

"See  here,"  said  he;  "I  went  into  a  baker's 
shop  to  buy  some  bread,  and  there  I  saw  a  soft 
white  kind  of  roll,  and  I  said  to  the  baker : 
'Give  me  that;  and  don't  charge  too  much, 
as  it  is  for  a  sick  person  who  can  hardly  eat 
anything.'  There  was  a  lady  in  the  shop,  and 
she  said :  '  Why,  my  little  man,  you  ought  to 
give  that  sick  person  beef- tea.'  'Ah,'  I  an- 
swered, 'that's  too  dear.'  Then  she  took  out  of 
her  pocket  a  little  red  ticket,  and  said  :  '  Take 
that  to  the  butcher,  and  he'll  give  j^ou  some 
meat ;  and  as  you  will  need  a  fire  to  make  the 
beef- tea,  here  is  a  white  ticket  for  wood.'  And 
she  went  away,  and  the  baker  explained  to 
me  what  the  tickets  meant,  and  then  he  gave 
me  a  bit  of  cheese.  So  I  have  brought  the 
wood,  and  here  is  the  red  ticket  for  the  meat. '  * 

"Let  me  see,"  said  vSophie ;  "it  is  printed. 
I'll  read  it.  '  In  the  name  of  our  Blessed  Lord, 
give  the  bearer  two  pounds  of  beef.'  And  here 
is  the  name  and  address  of  the  butcher." 

"How  good  God  is! "  said  Mrs. Tourla.  "I 
was  longing  so  much  for  some  beef- tea." 

"That's  famous!"  said  Johnnie.  "I'll  be 
off  to  the  butcher ;  and  you,  Sophie,  will  start 
the  fire." 

As  he  was  going  out  he  made  a  sign  to 
Sophie,  who  followed  him.  "I  know  how  to 
make  beef- tea,"  he  said;  "mother  taught  me 
when  Angela  was  ill.  And  you  must  go  and 
see  your  father  at  the  hospital." 

Sophie  came  back  from  the  hospital  radiant. 

' '  Father  was  sitting  up, ' '  she  declared ;  "  he 
will  soon  be  well,  and  you  are  looking  so  much 
better,  mamma." 

VI. 

One  fine  morning  Johnnie  went  out,  mean- 
ing to  go  to  the  Champs-Elysees,  but  he  had 
hardly  reached  the  bridge  when  it  began  to 
rain — such  pouring,  drenching  rain  that  be- 
fore he  could  find  a  refuge  he  was  wet  through; 
and,  unhappily,  he  had  no  clothes  to 
He  would  not  have  minded  that  yrmwoiii.^^ 
he  would  have  rolled  himself  in 
— but  a  worse  misfortune  had  be 
he  had  popped  the  mice,  all  dress 


94 


The  Ave  Maria. 


pocket,  and,  alas !  the  rain  had  penetrated  even 
his  pocket.  The  fine  dresses  and  hats  were  all 
spoiled,  and  the  white  mice  had  turned  green, 
they  were  trembling  also  with  cold.  Poor 
Johnnie  was  crushed.  He  could  see  no  hope  for 
the  future.  Returning  to  his  lodging,  he  threw 
himself  on  the  floor ;  it  was  not  worth  while 
to  take  ofi'his  wet  clothes. 

Sophie  knocked  at  his  door,  for  her  mother, 
seeing  the  rain,  had  said :  "Johnnie  must  have 
got  wet ;  bring  him  in  to  the  fire." 

There  was  no  answer  to  the  knock,  and  for 
a  long  time  they  supposed  he  had  taken  refuge 
somewhere  and  had  not  returned.  Later  on 
Sophie  went  to  knock  again,  and  this  time 
heard  a  low  moaning. 

''Johnnie!"  she  cried,  "open  the  door!" 

No  answer. 

"Johnnie,  if  you  don't  open  the  door, 
mamma  says  she  will  come.  Now,  you  won't 
let  mamma  catch  a  fresh  cold  by  coming  into 
the  corridor  ? ' ' 

Thus  entreated,  Johnnie  opened  the  door, 
and  was  dragged  by  Sophie  to  her  mother's 
fire.  With  his  damp  clothes,  his  tear-stained 
face,  he  was  a  pitiful  object.  He  sobbed  out 
his  troubles. 

"Now,  Johnnie,"  said  Mrs.  Tourla,  "the 
first  thing  to  do  is  to  change  3^our  clothes. 
My  husband's  things  are  too  large  for  yoM. 
Never  mind,  here  is  a  black  petticoat,  and  a 
chemise  and  a  cloak.  Run  off  and  put  them 
on,  and  then  bring  the  mice." 

When  he  came  back  dressed  in  Sophie's 
clothes  she  could  not  restrain  a  burst  of  laugh- 
ter, but  Johnnie  was  too  sad  to  laugh.  He  held 
in  his  hand  the  two  little  green  mice. 

"They  are  nearly  dead!  "  he  sighed. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Tourla;  "but  why 
in  the  world  did  you  leave  these  wet  things 
on  them  ?  They  want  undressing  as  much  as 
you  did,  and,  fortunately,  have  their  own  little 
coats  underneath  ready-made." 

"They  have  turned  green,"  said  Johnnie, 
sorrowfully,  as  he  took  off  the  ruined  garments 
of  the  Countess  and  her  maid;  "and,  then, 
their  clothes  are  all  spoiled. ' ' 

"We'.ll   soon   mend   all   that,"    said  Mrs. 

Tonria..  "Sophie,  give  me  a  little  warm  water 

and  soap.    Now,  then,  Johnnie,  wash  them 

\  gentl): ;  see,  the  green  is  disappearing  favSt.  Go 

^'Qn,  go  on, —there,  the}-  are  whiter  than  ever. 


Now  hold  them  in  j^our  lap  before  the  fire. 
How  you  shiver,  m}-  poor  lad !  Sophie,  make 
some  wine-soup. " 

Johnnie  and  the  mice  soon  revived  under 
this  kindl}'  treatment,  and  then  Mrs.  Tourla 
said :  *  *As  for  the  costumes,  I  think  I  can 
make  others  just  as  nice." 

*  *  Can  you  really  ?  I  thought  no  one  but  my 
mother  could  do  that." 

Another  burst  of  laughter  from  Sophie. 
"Why, /could  make  them,"  she  said;  "and 
I  should  rather  think  mamma  can." 

"Now  it  is  time  to  retire,"  observed  Mrs. 
Tourla. 

"Johnnie,"  said  Sophie,  "  to-morrow  I  must 
go  back  to  work,  and,  as  you  can't  take  out 
your  mice,  will  you  stop  with  mamma,  do  the 
errands,  and  keep  up  the  fire?  She  is  not 
strong  yet." 

"Yes,  indeed  I  will." 

(to  be  continued.) 


The  Jose-Maria. 


BY  E.  L.  DORSEY. 


V. 

Dick  was  the  first  "on  deck"  at  the  school- 
master's on  the  evening  named,  and  felt  quite 
oppressed  b)-  the  evidences  of  learning  he  saw 
— the  quantity  of  books,  the  two  globes,  the 
small  case  of  crucibles  and  retorts,  and  the  dia- 
grams and  charts  on  the  walls ;  for  Comegys 
was  an  enthusiast  on  the  subject  of  teaching, 
and  in  this  his  first  year  was  soaring  high  on 
the  wings  of  faith  and  hope.  But  he  received 
Dick  so  pleasantly  that  he  soon  began  to  feel 
like  a  live  boy  again,  and  to  ask  a  question 
here  and  there;  and  by  the  time  the  little 
"Seth  Thomas"  on  the  mantel  made  it  six 
o'clock  there  was  enough  noise  going  for  a 
small  tea-party. 

Dick  studied  the  boys  who  dropped  in  with 
some  interest,  and  recognized  in  all  of  them 
hard  diggers — ^fellows  that  always  knew  their 
lessons,  and  rarely  relaxed  themselves  during 
study  hours  even  with  crooked  pins  or  "sand 
poppers."  (This  last  is  a  fiendish  instrument 
that  will  silently  and  suddenly  discharge  a 
pint  of  sand  at,  in,  on,  or  down  any  given  point 
the  marksman  chooses.)  But  at  the  very  last 


The  Ave  Maria. 


95 


minute  in  darted  Tie,  as  unkempt  as  usual,  but 
wearing  such  a  wide  grin  one  almost  forgave 
him  for  being  bareheaded,  barefooted,  and 
barelegged.  In  this  last  respect  the  bareness 
was  unequally  divided;  for  while  the  right 
leg  was  clad  to  the  calf,  the  left  leg  could 
boast  of  nothing  from  the  knee  down  except 
one  frayed  streamer,  which  he  calmly  tore  off 
and  pitched  into  the  master's  elegantly  be- 
ribboned  waste-basket. 

The  studious  ones  glared  incredulousl}^  at 
Tic — the  laziest  boy  in  school ;  the  boy  who 
couldn't  or  wouldn't  learn ;  the  boy  who  would 
stand  before  a  blackboard  scratching  dolefully 
at  his  head,  or  rubbing  his  nose,  or  scraping 
one  bare  foot  up  and  down  the  other  bare  leg 
by  the  ten  minutes ;  but  never,  never  \>y  any 
chance  scratching  anything  on  the  board  with 
the  chalk,  as  his  mother  and  his  teacher  ex- 
pected him  to  do.  Well,  it  certainly  was  just 
like  his  "cheek"  to  come  in  here  with  them! 

But  Comegys'  welcome  was  unmistakable. 
'  "Ah,  Stokes!   I'm  very  glad  you  came.  Sit 
down ;  we're  going  to  begin — or,  better  still, 
you  do  the  drawing  for  us." 

And,  according  to  programme,  the  questions 
were  read,  answered,  and  discussed,  until  one 
slip  came  out  which  puzzled  the  schoolmaster 
greatly.   It  was:   "Wot  is  a  werlen  doom?" 

"This  must  be  your  own,  Stokes,"  he  re- 
marked at  last. 

"Nope,"  said  Tic.  "I  didn't  write  none.  I 
would-a,  but  I  lef '  my  Spen-^/-re-an  pen  an' 
ni}^  cut-glass  inkstand  at  home  in  my  escree- 
ter"  {escritoire f^. 

And  then  something  must  have  happened 
to  one  of  Tic's  eyes.  It  seemed  to  get  out  of 
order ;  for  it  winked  suddenly  and  violently 
several  times  in  several  directions,  while  the 
other  remained  perfectly  still. 

"It's — it's  mine!"  said  Dick,  hot  and  flur- 
ried.  "I'm  afraid  it's  wrote  bad." 

"Well,"  said  Comegys,  cheerfully,  "it  isn't 
as  well  written  as  it  will  be  a  month  from 
now,  nor  quite  as  well  spelled.  But  suppose 
you  help  me  a  little  with  it,  eh?" 

"I  mean,"  said  Dick,  "the  werlen  doom 
out  theer  by  the  Mesh — mebbe  you'd  call  it 
the  Crawl, — that  eats  up  all  it  wants,  an'  spits 
out  the  chews,  an'  goes  wheer  it's  a  mind  to. 
an'  ought  to  be  called  the  'Devil's  Own,' — 
my  uncle,  Cap'n  Judkins,  ses  so,"  he  added, 


breathlessly,  as  Conieg\-s  still  looked  puzzled. 

'  *  Gh,  yes ! "  he  said ;  "  I  know  now  what  yoM 
mean,  and  that  is  a  very  curious  thing.  It's 
the  only  real  whirling  dune  I  ever  heard  of. 
Dune,  Dick, — d-u-n-e.  What  is  a  dune?  A 
hill  of  sand  tossed  up  by  the  wind  in  the 
desert,  or  by  the  sea  on  the  coast,  or  by  both 
the  wind  and  the  sea,  like  this  one.  Most  of 
them  shift  within  given  limits — move  as  the 
wind  moves,  grow  as  the  tides  set,  or  form  in 
low^  ridges  or  flat  wastes ;  but  this  one  whirls 
about  a  centre  of  its  own  at  the  same  time  it 
is  moving  ahead.  The  motion  is  something 
like  a  cyclone,  only  the  dune  advances  about 
twelve  feet  a  year,  and  the  cyclone  one  hun- 
dred miles  an  hour.  And  there's  another 
strange  thing  about  it:  although  it  leaves 
such  a  tremendous  trail  behind  it,  the  'head' 
never  diminishes  in  size,  but  goes  on  should- 
ering its  big,  strong  way  into  the  sea,  as  if  it 
was  bound  to  reach  Cape  May  lyight,  as  it  will 
some  da}^ — " 

"  When?  "  broke  in  Dick,  without  the  least 
idea  of  being  impolite. 

' '  Long  after  we  are  in  the  fix  of  '  Imperial 
Coesar' — 'dead  and  turned  to  clay,'  Dick," 
answered  the  master,  pleasantly  if  somewhat 
pedantically  (he  was  very  young).  "So  there 
you  are,  on  the  dune  question.  Its  motion 
gives  it  the  name  of  'the  whirling  dune,'  and 
its  slowness  the  name  of  'the  Crawl.' " 

"But  what  does  it  eat?"  asked  Dick,  who 
naturally  only  understood  about  half  of  the 
explanation. 

"It  doesn't  eat  anything,  but  whatever 
stands  in  its  way  gets  swallowed,  and — " 

"Yep,"  piped  Tic,  suddenly;  "my  maw 
says  when  she  was  'bout  as  big's  me  thar  was 
a  oak  grove  out  thar  by  th'  Light — a  'mighty 
nice  place  fur  picnics  an'  junketin's,  —  an' 
now  thar  ain't  nothin'  of  them  trees  left  'cept 
the  dead  tops  a-stickin'  'bout  a  foot  out  o'  th' 
ground." 

"So  I  have  heard,"  said  the  master,  kindly ; 
and  then  continued :  ' '  Whatever  stands  in  its 
way  gets  swallowed  ;  and,  as  the  whirling  goes 
on  steadily  and  the  pressure  of  the  sand  is  so 
immense,  the  trees  and  bits  of  drift- wreck  and 
lumber  are  apt  to  bear  some  trace  of  this 
grinding  and  gritting  when  they  are  thrown 
out;  the  trees  are  sometimes  stripped  of  their 
bark,  the  drift-wood  is  splint — " 


90 


The  Ave  Mafia. 


"Them's  the  'fang-marks,'  an'  you  may  bet 
your  sweet  life  the  'spit-outs'  is  got  'ehi  on 
always  ! ' ' 

Two  of  the  other  boys  nodded  at  this,  and 
even  Willson,  whose  geography  was  fault- 
less and  w^hose  grammar  nearly  so,  said : 
*' That's  about  so,  Mr.  Comegys."  Whereupon 
Tic,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  finding  him- 
self backed  by  a  respectable  majority,  was  so 
elated  that  he  lost  his  head  a  bit,  and  not  only 
took  the  floor  but  the  conversation  as  well. 

"Hear  that  now?  An'  Mr.  Com-mergiss 
it  does  eat  up  what  it  wantster,  an'  it's  got  a 
meayi  [bad]  temper.'  Don't  you  'member  that 
little  white  house  th'  old  Portugee  used  to  live 
in  ?  Well,  the  Crawl  was  a-headin'  on  to  that 
'bout — 'bout  a  hundred  year  ago, — no,  it 
couldn't  a-ben  that  long,  but  it  was  a  awful 
long  time  ago.  An'  the  man  that  owned  it 
moved  it  on  rollers,  an'  disappinted  the  Crawl 
of  its  snack  [lunch];  so  thar  ain't  no  luck 
thar  sence.  He  got  killed  in  a  battle,  an'  the 
woman  that  come,  she  died;  an'  the  Stuart 
boys,  they  got  drownded ;  an'  th'  old  Portugee 
he  went  crazy,  an' — " 

Tic's  voice  had  a  dramatic  ring  to  it,  and 
he  was  talking  to  those  in  whose  veins  ran 
the  blood  of  sailors, — sailors  who  see  such 
strange  sights  as  they  float  in  the  face  of  God, 
between  His  wide  sea  and  wider  sky,  that 
they  find  it  easier  to  believe  in  the  supernat- 
ural than  not ;  so  a  visible  sensation  was 
gathering  when  Comegys  said : 

"That  all  did  happen,  Stokes ;  although  not 
because  the  Crawl  wanted  to  make  a  meal  of 
the  little  house  and  was  disappointed,  but 
because  Gillette  was  a  man-of-war's  man  ;  the 
woman  had  consumption,  and  the  two  boys 
were  upset  in  a  squall.  Did  you  ever  hear  the 
Test  of  that  story?  Well,  here  it  is.  Fred  and 
Jan  Stewart  were  splendid  swimmers,  so  they 
managed  to  get  back  to  the  boat  and  climb  up 
on  her  keel ;  but  Jan  was  swept  off,  and  Fred 
plunged  after  him,  catching  him  by  the  collar 
as  he  washed  past,  and  holding  on  through 
thick  and  thin.  They  must  have  been  pitched 
against  the  boat  more  than  once ;  for  one  of 
Jan's  arms  was  broken,  and  Fred's  whole  fore- 
head was  black;  but  they  came  ashore  just 
that  way — Fred  gripping  Jan's  collar.  Ever>^ 
one  said  he  could  have  saved  himself  if  he 
had  let  Jan  go,  but  that  was  just  what  he 


wouldn't  do.  And  I  think  to  die  in  trying  to 
save  somebody's  else  life  is  the  ver^^  best  death 
a  man  could  ask." 

And  these  sons  of  a  volunteer  lifeguard, 
such  as  is  to  be  found  on  every  shore  where 
sailors  risk  their  lives  so  willingh^  for  fellow- 
men,  answered  in  chorus,  "Aye,  aye,  sir!"  as 
readily  as  their  own  fathers  would  have  done. 

"As  for  the  old  Portuguese,"  concluded 
Comegys,  "he  had  a  sunstroke  first,  and  a 
hard  life  afterward." 

-  "Mebbe,"  said  Tic;  "but  that  ain't  all. 
Thar's  a  ghost  in  the  hut  now!  "  And  he 
looked  around  triumphantl3^ 

"What  nonsense!"  said  the  master.  "What 
sort  of  a  ghost?  One  of  Marshall's  white 
calves,  I  reckon?" 

"No,  siree!  It's  a  'ooman ;  an'  she  sings  an' 
hollers  like  this  here"  (an  unearthly  falsetto 
yowl),  "an' — an' — she  rattles  chains!''  fthis 
last  in  a  sepulchral  whisper). 

"But  it  goes  wheer  it's  a  mind  to,  don't 
it?"  broke  in  Dick,  desperately.  He  knew 
who  the  ghost  was,  and  what  she  rattled. 

"  No.  It's  only  a  great  hillock  of  sand  that 
shifts  and  moves  by  some  law  we  do  not 
quite  understand,  deflecting  here  and  keeping 
straight  ahead  there,  for  natural  reasons.  It 
couldn't  think  for  itself  or  plan  for  itself,  you 
know.  And  don't  you  remember,  the  ridge 
doesn't  move  or  whirl,  it's  only  the  head  out 
there  by  the  Light?" 

"I'm  mortal  glad  o'  that,"  said  Dick.  "I 
thought  it  went  a-rampagin'  an'  a-gallivantin' 
wheerever  it  took  a  notion  —  like  the  sea- 
serpint." 

"Not  at  all.  Look  here,  boys,  suppose  I  take 
you  over  some  Saturday  ?  There's  a  chance 
in  the  trip  for  a  lot  of  historical  information, 
and  we  can  have  a  good  time  besides,"  said 
Comegys,  pleasantly.  "The  Light  is  scores  of 
years — find  how  many — older  than  the  State ; 
it  has  never  been  out  but  once — find  out  when ; 
and  nobody  knows  how  deep  the  foundation 
is.   Look  up  all  you  can  find  on  the  subject." 

He  had  timed  his  words  so  well  that  "sub- 
ject" and  7.30  came  together;  and  the  boys 
trooped  off  with  their  interest  pretty  well 
roused  between  the  ghost,  the  proposed  trip, 
and  the  three  points  of  local  history  raised  by 
the  master. 

(to  be  continued.) 


^Hs: 


-^^^^^^^^^p^^^^^^r^^ 


Vol.  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  AUGUST  3,  1889. 


No.  5. 


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


The  Saint  of  the  Holy  Rosary. 

DEAR  Lord,  I  know  not  wh\'  it  should  be  so, 
Or  if  'tis  right  I  should  love  one  saint  more 
Than  all  the  rest  on  whom  Thou  didst  bestow 

A  crown,  when  their  work  in  this  world  was  o'er. 
Yet  dear  St.  Dominic  has  gained  so  much 

Of  my  best  love,  and  of  my  earnest  thought, 
That  all  the  other  saints  have  failed  to  touch 
My  heart  with  their  life's  lessons  as  they  ought. 

Forgive  me,  generous  Lord!  and  grant  that  I  may 
gain 
Some  share  of  Dominic's  surpassing  grace. 
Help  me  to  bravely  meet  life's  every  pain, 

That  I  maj'  some  day  meet  him  face  to  face, 
And  share  with  him,  and  his  dear,  white-robed 

priests. 
And  with  Thee,  Lord,  Th}^  everlasting  feasts. 

E.  P.  R. 


Bruno  and  Campanella. 


BY  THE  REV.  REUBEN   PARSONS,  D.  D. 


HE  Italian  Government  has  permitted 
the  erection  of  a  monument  to  Gior- 
dano Bruno  in  the  capital  of  the 
Christian  world.  We  understand  that  the 
work  is  sufficiently  artistic  to  bring  no  great 
discredit  on  the  mistress  of  the  fine  arts ;  but, 
since  its  sole  reason  for  existence  is  based  on 
an  insecure  foundation,  we  are  not  surprised 
that  the  details  of  its  design  are  not  all  true 
to  history.  It  has  been  erected  only  because 
of  the  presumed  fact  that  Bruno  was  done  to 
death  by  the  Papal  authorities.  To  render  it 
more  impressive,  and  to  illustrate  the  event- 


ful career  of  .its  subject,  it  presents  to  our 
contemplation  some  bas-reliefs  of  other  alleged 
"martyrs  to  truth,"  such  as  Huss,  Servetus, 
Arnold  of  Brescia,  and  Campanella. 

Now  it  is  by  no  means  certain  that  Bruno 
was  put  to  death.  We  know  that  in  1592  he 
was  arrested  by  the  State  Inquisitors  of  Ven- 
ice on  the  charge  of  heresy ;  ^^  that  after  six 
years  of  imprisonment  he  was  delivered  to 
the  Holy  Office,  or  Roman  Inquisition,  tried, 
(and  perhaps)  condemned  to  the  stake  on 
February  9,  1600.  But  was  the  sentence  exe- 
cuted, or,  as  frequently  happened  in  similar 
cases,  was  Bruno  burnt  merely  in  effigy  ?  A 
letter  purporting  to  be  from  an  erudite  Ger- 
man then  in  Rome,  Gaspar  Schopp,t  describes 
the  execution,  but  many  good  critics  have  de- 
nied the  authenticity  of  this  epistle.  Again, 
Schopp  is  alone  in  his  assertion.  The  Vatican 
Archives  contain  documents  of  the  trial,  but 
not  of  the  condemnation,  nor  is  there  any 
account  of  the  execution ;  whereas,  in  every 


*  His  denouncer,  Giovanni  Mocenigo,  to  whom  he 
had  taught  his  system  of  artificial  menior^^  accused 
Bruno  of  styling  the  Trinity  an  absurdity ;  of  calling 
Transubstantiation  a  blasphemy,  and  of  finding  truth 
in  no  religious  systehi.  He  had  said  that  Christ  seduced 
the  Jews,  that  He  died  unwillingly,  and  that  the 
apostles  worked  no  miracles.  According  to  him.  there 
is  no  distinction  of  Persons  in  God.  The  worlds  are 
infinite  and  eternal.  There  is  no  punishment  for  sin  ; 
the  soul,  produced  by  nature,  passes  to  another  creat- 
ure. This  world  shows  no  true  religion  ;  the  Catholic 
is  the  best,  but  it  needs  a  refonnation ;  and  he  (Bruno) 
will  effect  this  with  the  aid  of  the  King  of  Navarre. 
(Henrj'  IV.) 

t  Convinced  of  his  errors  by  .the  study  of  Baronio's 
"Annals,"  this  Lutheran  scholar  became  a  Catholic, 
Invited  to  Rome  by  Clement  VIII.,  he  wrote  many 
pamphlets  in  defence  of  Catholicism,  the  Papacy,  etc. 


98 


The  Ave  Maria. 


similar  case,  both  of  these  are  detailed.  Again, 
the  "Relations"  of  the  foreign  ambassadors 
resident  at  the  Holy  See,  which  never  omitted 
any  such  items,  say  nothing  of  this  event:  Not 
even  in  the  correspondence  of  the  Venetian 
Ambassador,  the  agent  of  that  Government 
which  must  have  felt  an  especial  interest  in 
the  fate  of  Bruno,  since  it  had  initiated  his 
downfall,  do  we  find  any  allusion  to  the  alleged 
catastrophe.* 

Cantu  cites  a  MS.  of  the  Medician  Archives 
(No.  1608),  dated  at  Rome  on  the  very  day 
of  Bruno's  trial,  which  narrates  the  burning 
of  an  apostate  friar  a  few  days  before.  Here 
some  mention  of  Bruno's  condemnation  would 
naturally  occur,  but  there  is  not  a  word. 
Finally,  the  celebrated  Servite,  Friar  Paul 
Sarpi,  who  never  missed  an  opportunity  of 
attacking  what  he  feigned  to  regard  as  Roman 
intolerance,  Roman  treachery,  etc.,  although 
he  continued  this  course  for  many  years  after 
the  trial  of  Bruno,  f  and  although  his  own 
position  of  antagonism  with  the  Roman  Curia 
perforce  kept  him  on  the  lookout  for  in- 
stances which  might  inculpate  Rome  and 
justify  the  recent  rebellious  conduct  of  Venice 
toward  the  Holy  See,  never  alludes  to  the 
alleged  fate  of  Bruno.  The  same  silence  is 
found  in  Ciacconio,  Sandrini,  Alfani,  Manno, 
and  Ossat,  all  of  whom  would  scarcely  have 


*  The  "Relations"  of  the  Venetian  ambassadors 
to  the  home  government  are  rightly  regarded  by 
historians  as  the  most  precious,  both  for  detail  and 
accuracy,  of  all  available  sources  for  a  knowledge  of 
the  events  of  the  time. 

t  As  late  as  December  6,  1 611,  we  find  Sarpi  de- 
scribing the  execution  at  Rome  (by  strangling)  of  the 
French  Abbe  Dubois,  for  libels  against  the  Jesuits,  and 
claiming  that  the  unfortunate  had  received  a  safe-con- 
duct before  journeying  to  Rome.  At  the  same  time  he 
greatly  decries  Schopp,  whom  he  describes  as  "merit- 
ing a  greater  punishment  than  burning  in  effigy." 


But  he  was  very  litigious,  and  was  given  to  paradoxes. 
In  his  presumed  letter  he  says  of  Bruno's  errors : 
"The  Inquisition  did  not  impute  Lutheran  doctrines 
to  him.  He  was  charged  with  having  compared  the 
Holy  Ghost  to  the  soul  of  the  world;  Moses,  the 
prophets,  the  apostles,  and  even  Christ,  to  the  pagan 
hierophauts.  He  admitted  many  Adams  and  many 
Hercules.  He  believed  in  magic,  or  at  least  he  upheld 
it,  -and  taught  that  Moses  and  Christ  practised  it. 
Whatever  errors  haye  been  taught  by  the  ancient 
pagans  or  by  the  most  recent  heretics  were  all  ad- 
vanced by  this  Bruno."  (Cantu,  "Illustii  Italiani," 
art.  "Bruno.") 


omitted  to  notice  so  important  an  event,  had 
it  reall}^  occurred.  And  how  is  it  that  the  old 
"Martyrology "  of  the  Protestants  is  also 
silent  on  this  matter?  Truly,  Bruno  was  less  a 
Protestant  Christian  than  he  was  a  Buddhist ; 
but  in  those  days,  as  in  our  own,  any  person  of 
Christian  ancestry  who  antagonized  Rome, 
and  did  not  avow  himself  a  Jew  or  a  pagan, 
was  claimed  for  their  own  by  the  Protestants. 

The  Bruno  monument  places  Huss,  Arnold 
of  Brescia,  Servetus  and  Campanella,  in  the 
same  category  with  the  Philosopher  of  Nola. 
There  may  be  some  general  reason  for  so 
treating  the  Bohemian  fanatic  and  the  cut- 
throat of  Brescia.*  The  comparison  of  Bruno 
with  Servetus,  the  victim  of  Calvin,  may  be 
tolerated,  with  a  smile  at  the  designer's  un- 
grateful disregard  of  the  feelings  of  Protes- 
tants. But  Campanella  and  Bruno !  "Hyperion 
to  a  satyr!"  Bruno  was  a  Christian  only  bj- 
baptism ;  Campanella  was  ever  a  devout  Cath- 
olic. Campanella,  a  martyr  to  science !  His 
devotion  to  science  caused  him  no  trouble 
more  annoying  than  some  cloister  squabbles ; 
politics,  mere  politics,  involved  him  in  serious 
difficulty.  As  well  ascribe  the  fate  of  Savo- 
narola to  his  zeal  for  morals.  Campanella,  a 
victim  of  the  Inquisition  !  His  only  relations 
with  that  tribunal  came  from  its  interposition 
to  save  him  from  the  Neapolitan  courts,  which 
would  have  consigned  him  to  the  scaffold  for 
high  treason  to  the  Spanish  crown. 

Campanella  was  born  at  Stilo,  in  the  King- 
dom of  Naples,  in  1568.  At  the  age  of  fourteen 
he  entered  the  Dominican  Order,  and  in  the 
course  of  time  became  very  distinguished  in 
the  public  disputes  on  philosophical  questions, 
which  were  then  the  fashion  of  the  day  in 
Italy.  But  his  attacks  on  the  peripatetics  f 
procured  him  many  enemies  in  his  own  Order, 
and  in  1590  he  sought  the  protection  of  the 


"  See  our  article  on  Arnold  of  Brescia  in  The  "Ave 
Maria,"  Vol.  xxvii.  No.  19. 

t  "  Italy  produced  the  first  school  of  philosophy 
of  a  modern  character ;  for  the  school  of  Telesius 
soon  followed  that  of  the  platonist  Marsilio  Ficino, 
and  that  of  the  peripatetic  Pcmponazzi.  .  .  .  How  is 
it  that  the  names  of  Campanella  and  Bacon  are  so 
diversely  regarded :  the  latter  as  of  one  who  opened 
the  modern  era,  and  the  former  scarcely  remembered? 
Campanella  devoted  himself  to  all  the  knowable; 
Bacon  confined  himself  to  the  natural  sciences."' 
Cantu,  "Filosofia  Moderna,"  \'\. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


99 


Marquis  Lavello,  one  of  his  Neapolitan  ad- 
mirers. During  the  riext  eight  years  we  find 
him  disputing  at  Rome  and  Florence,  and 
teaching  in  the  Universities  of  Pisa  and 
Padua.  In  1598  he  returned  to  Stilo,  and  it 
was  soon  rumored  that  he  was  occupied  in 
projects  for  the  subversion  of  the  Spanish 
domination.  He  frequently  preached,  and 
wrote  that  the  year  1600  would  unfold  great 
changes  in  the  Kingdom;  that  recent  ex- 
traordinary inundations,  earthquakes,  and 
volcanic  eruptions,  prognosticated  a  coming 
reformation  in  both  civil  and  ecclesiastical 
matters ;  that  he  was  to  be  an  instrument  of 
Providence  in  all  this,  for  he  "was  born  to 
abolish  three  great  evils — tyranny,  sophism, 
and  hypocrisy;  ever>' thing  was  in  darkness 
when  he  struck  the  light."  *  He  reasoned  on 
several  recent  astronomical  discoveries,  and 
announced  that  his  studies  showed  him  the 
near  advent  of  the  reign  of  eternal  reason  in 
the  life  of  humanity. f  Great  revolutions,  he 
said,  occur  every  eight  centuries,  the  latest 
-^previous  one  having  been  the  Incarnation  of 
the  Word. 

Whether  Campanella  was  the  instigator  or 
a  tool  was  never  made  known;  but  a  con- 
spiracy was  formed  against  Spanish  rule, 
and  four  bishops  and  three  hundred  friars  of 
various  orders  were  the  leading  spirits.  Of 
the  three  processes  of  the  trial  now  extant, 
one  tends  to  show  that  the  design  was  to 
establish  a  republic  in  Calabria ;  the  second 
insists  that  the  Kingdom  was  to  be  given  to 
the  Holy  See  ;  and  the  third  indicates  a  wish 
to  hand  the  country  over  to  the  Turks ;  but 
it  is  noteworthy  that  in  the  process  finally 
extended  in  the  Holy  Office  at  Rome  nearly 
all  the  previous  witnesses  retracted.  When  the 
conspiracy  was  discovered  the  viceroy's  forces 
captured  nearly  all  of  the  leaders.  The  laics 
were  hung,  and  the  '' privilegium  forV  con- 
signed the  ecclesiastics,  Campanella  excepted, 
to  the  Inquisition  ;  %  the  viceroy  insisting  on 
this  exception,  probably  at  the  instigation  of 

*  "Poesie  Filosofiche." 

t  "De  Sensu  Rerum  et  Magia,"  iv,  20. 

X  Writing  to  Cardinal  Farnese,  Campanella  says 
that  his  clerical  comrades  pleaded  giiilty  to  the  charge 
of  "rebelling  in  order  to  be  free  to  become  heretics."    1 
Had  they  answered  only  to  the  charge  of  treason,    \ 
he    says,  "all  would   have   been   executed,  without   ' 
any  appeal  to  the  Pope. ' ' 


Campanella's  private  enemies.  Confined  in 
Castel  Sant'  Elmo  for  twenty-seven  years, 
the  Holy  See  again  and  again  vainly  en- 
deavored to  procure  his  release;  but  Pope 
Paul  V. ,  who  sent  Schopp  to  Naples  for  that 
purpose,  succeeded  in  obtaining  permission 
for  him  to  correspond  with  his  friends,  and 
to  receive  ever}^  convenience  for  literary  work. 
Finally,  Pope  Urban  VIII.  availed  himself  of 
the  accusation  of  magical  practices  made 
against  the  philosopher,  insisting  that  such  a 
charge  placed  the  case  within  the  sole  juris- 
diction of  the  Inquisition ;  and  he  succeeded 
in  obtaining  the  friar's  extradition. 

Campanella  was  at  once  enrolled  in  the 
Papal  household,  and  an  annual  pension  was 
assigned  to  him.  Caressed  by  all  that  was 
learned  in  Rome,  he  passed  several  years  in 
happy  study;  but  in  1634  the  Spanish  resi- 
dents, who  continued  to  detest  his  name, 
made  an  open  attack  on  the  French  Embassy 
where  he  was  visiting,  and  tried  to  obtain 
possession  of  his  person.  He  was  saved  by 
the  Papal  police,  but  by  the  advice  of  the 
Pontiff  he  at  once  betook  himself  to  France. 
Cardinal  Richelieu  received  him  with  open 
arms,  and  made  him  a  counsellor  of  state. 
He  was  also  elected  president  of  the  French 
Academy,  lately  founded  by  Richelieu.  To  the 
da}^  of  his  death,  on  May  21,  1639,  he  con- 
tinually corresponded  with  Pope  Urban  VIII. 
What  is  there  in  this  career  to  indicate  the 
martyr  to  science,  the  victim  of  papal  tyranny ; 
In  fine,  the  fit  companion  of  Bruno  as  that 
unfortunate  receives  the  ignorant  or  diabolic 
homage  of  so-called  liberalism? 

We  have  said  that  Bruno  is  wrongly  styled 
a  Protestant.  We  never  find  him  represent- 
ing himself  as  either  Calvinist,  Anglican,  or 
lyUtheran.  While  he  resided  in  Geneva,  the 
headquarters  of  Calvinism,  he  attended,  he 
sa^'S,  "the  sermons  of  the  Italian  and  French 
religionists.  But  when  I  was  warned  that  I 
could  not  remain  there  long  if  I  did  not  adopt 
the  creed  of  the  Genevans,  I  went  to  Toulouse." 
Pie  stayed  but  a  short  time  in  Toulouse,  "the 
Rome  of  the  Garonne,"  only  long  enough  to 
receive  the  doctor's  cap,  and  to  surprise  both 
the  Catholics  and  the  Calvinists  by  his  teach- 
ings. The  year  1579  found  him  at  Paris,  satis- 
fying Henry  III.  that  his  phenomenal  memory 
was  not  the  efiect  of  magic,  and  lecturing  at 


lOO 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  Sorbonne.  As  yet  no  sign  of  Calvinism. 
During  the  three  years  that  he  spent  in  Eng- 
land he  greatly  lauded  Queen  Elizabeth,  "the 
unique  Diana,  who  is  to  us  all  what  the  sun 
is  to  the  stars,"  but  he  manifested  no  leaning 
to  Anglicanism.  At  Oxford  he  taught  the 
movement  of  the  earth,  and  was  obliged  to 
depart.  Arriving  in  Germany,  he  was  well  re- 
ceived at  Wittenberg,  and  he  highly  appre- 
ciated the  toleration  accorded  by  the  Lutheran 
professors  to  him,  "although  of  a  different 
faith."*  In  fact,  Bruno  taught  everywhere 
the  Pythagorean  system  of  the  world,  and  an 
Eleatic  pantheism  dressed  in  Neo-Platonic 
forms,  advancing  both  with  a  pride,  or  rather  a 
vanity,  which  must  have  appeared  ridiculous. 

He  announced  himself  to  the  Oxford  dons 
as  "doctor  of  the  most  elaborate  philosophy; 
professor  of  the  purest  and  most  harmless 
wisdom;  recognized  by  the  principal  acad- 
emies of  Europe;  unknown  ovXy  to  barbarians ; 
the  wakener  of  sleeping  geniuses ;  the  tamer 
of  presumptuous  and  recalcitrant  ignorance; 
a  universal  philanthropist,  as  all  his  actions 
proclaim.  One  who  loves  an  Italian  no  more 
than  an  Englishman,  a  man  no  more  than  a 
woman,  a  mitre  no  more  than  a  crown,  a  law- 
yer no  more  than  a  soldier,  the  hooded  no  more 
than  the  hoodless;  but  who  loves  him  the 
most  whose  conversation  is  the  most  peaceful, 
civil,  and  useful;  one  who  cares  not  for  an 
anointed  head,  or  marked  forehead,  or  clean 
hands,  but  only  for  the  mind  and  for  the  cult- 
ured intellect ;  one  who  is  detested  by  hypo- 
crites and  by  the  propagators  of  insanity,  but 
who  is  revered  by  the  upright,  and  applauded 
by  every  noble  genius."  Could  Cagliostro 
have  excelled  this  as  an  advertisement? 

But  if  Bruno  was  neither  Catholic  nor  Prot- 
estant, his  forced  associate  in  the  Roman 
monument  was  a  profound  Catholic,  albeit  an 
exceedingly  intolerant  one.  He  would  have 
no  disputes  with  an  innovator.  He  would 
ask:  "Who  sent  you  to  preach,  God  or  the 
devil?  If  God,  prove  it  by  miracles."  And  if 
he  fails,  said  Campanella,  "burn  him  if  3'ou 
can.  .  .  .  The  first  error  committed  (during 
the  Lutheran  movement)  was  in  allowing 
Luther  to  live  after  the  Diets  of  Worms  and 
Augsburg;  and  if  Charles  V.  did  so,  as  the}' 

*  "  Non  vestrae  religionis  dogmate  probatum." 
Thus  in  his  work,  "De  lampade  combinatoria. " 


say,  in  order  to  keep  the  Pope  in  apprehen- 
sion, and  thus  oblige  him  to  succor  Charles 
in  his  aspirations  to  universal  monarchy,  he 
acted  against  every  reason  of  state  policy; 
for  to  weaken  the  Pontiff  is  to  weaken  all 
Christianity,  the  peoples  soon  revolting  under 
pretext  of  freedom  of  conscience. ' '  *  He  coun- 
selled the  King  of  Spain  to  have  always  two 
or  three  religious  —  Dominicans,  Jesuits,  or 
Franciscans, — in  his  supreme  council;  and 
every  commanding  general,  he  said,  should 
have  a  religious  adviser. f  Such  sentiments 
must  sound  strange  to  the  Italianissimi  of 
to-day ;  but  they  came  naturally  from  Cam- 
panella, who  thought  that  "the  same  constel- 
lation which  drew  fetid  effluvia  from  the 
cadaverous  minds  of  heretics,  brought  forth 
balsamic  exhalations  from  the  exact  minds 
of  the  founders  of  the  Minims,  Jesuits,  Capu- 
chins, etc."  J  He  advises  all  Governments  to 
allow  no  Lutherans  within  their  limits;  be- 
cause, he  contends,  these  sectarians  deny  the 
free-will  of  man,  and  can  excuse  crime  by  the 
plea  that  they  are  fated  to  sin.  §  As  for  the 
Calvinist  dogma  of  predestination,  "it  renders 
all  princes  wicked,  the  peoples  seditious,  and 
theologians  traitors. "  1 1 

The  following  passage,  *  if  read  by  the  com- 
mittee before  it  accepted  Ferrari's  design  for 
Bruno's  statue,  would  probably  have  caused 
its  rejection  :  "The  Papacy  belongs  to  no  one 
in  particular,  but  to  all  Christendom,  and 
whatever  the  Church  possesses  is  common  to 
all.  The  Italians  ought  to  encourage  the 
wealth  of  religious  corporations,  because  it 
belongs  to  them  all,  and  lessens  the  strength 
of  Italy's  rivals.  .  .  .  No  Italian  sovereign 
should  aspire  to  a  rule  over  the  others,  but  all, 
whenever  the  direct  line  of  succession  becomes 
extinct,  should  proclaim  the  Roman  Church 
heir  to  their  dominions.  Thus  in  course  of  time 
an  Italian  monarchy  would  be  established. 
The  Italian  republics  ought  to  make  a  law 
that  whenever  they  fall  under  the  rule  of 
tyrants  their  Government  devolves  on  the 
Roman  Church." 

In  reality,  Campanella  aimed  at  a  reforma- 


*  "Civitas  Solis,"  c.  27. — "Delia  Monarchia  Spag- 
nuola,"  c.  27, 

t  "Aforismi  Politici,"/«.ww.  %  Idem,  70. 

l  Idem,  84,87.  li   "  Lettere, " /a5«>«. 

*  "Discorso  II.  sul  Papato." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


lOI 


tion  of  the  world,  and  by  means  of  Catholicism. 
His  enthusiasm  descried  a  near  conversion  of 
the  nations,  as  prophesied  by  St.  Bridget  of 
Sweden,  the  Abbot  Joachim,  Dionysius  the 
Carthusian,  St.  Vincent  Ferrer,  and  St.  Cath- 
erine of  Siena,  the  last  of  whom  had  predicted 
that  the  sons  of  St.  Dominic  would  carry  the 
olive  of  peace  to  the  Turks.*  He  declared 
that  the  day  of  Antichrist  was  near,  if  not 
already  come, — "it  is  now  here,  or  will  come 
in  1630;"  and  he  "was  born  to  combat  the 
schools  of  Antichrist,"  which  schools  were 
everywhere  active;  for  "where  Mohammed 
and  IvUther  do  not  rule,  there  dominate  Machi- 
avelli  and  politicians."  f 


Two  Schools. 


Clara  Valley,  Sept.  15,  18 — . 

DEAR  Aunt  Mary: — I  am  very  glad  I 
decided  to  come  here  instead  of  going  to 
Allen  Seminary,  which  is  nearer  to  this  school 
than  I  thought :  we  can  see  the  chimneys  of 
the  house  from  the  convent  grounds.  I  don't 
care  what  the  girls  at  home  think,  I  was  right 
in  feeling  that  this  would  be  a  lovely  place 
in  which  to  spend  a  couple  of  years. 

The  grounds  are  not  surrounded  by  great 
high  walls,  as  you  feared,  but  slope  gently 
down  to  the  road — which,  though  private 
property  for  upward  of  a  mile,  is  considerably 
travelled.  They  are  beautifully  kept,  and  we 
are  allowed  to  roam  about  during  recreation 
hours,  but  are  not  permitted  to  go  beyond  the 
gate,  unless  when  visited  and  accompanied 
by  parents  or  near  relatives.  The  girls  all 
seem  to  be  very  nice  and  pleasant ;  I  have  not 
yet  met  any  "old  fogies"  or  "Miss  Prims," 
such  as  Estella  Gray  told  me  her  friend  Miss 
Thomson  had  assured  her  I  should  find  here. 
You  know  the  Milton  girls  think  me  a  little 
old-fashioned;  while,  thanks  perhaps  to  the 
training  of  my  dear  Aunt  Mary,  I  am  forced 
to  consider  them  rather  too  independent  and 
progressive.  But  I  hate  to  be  critical,  and  I 
sha'n't  say  any  more  about  that. 


*  Campanella's  words  as  given  in  a  contemporary 
account  of  the  Calabrese  conspiracy,  published  in 
1845  by  Capialbi.  —  Cantu,  "lllustri  Italiani,"  art. 
■"'Campanella." 

t  "Letter  to  the  Pope  and  Cardinals." 


You  will  like  to  hear  something  of  our  daily 
life.   We  rise  at  six,  and  after  prayers  and 
Mass,  which  occupy  three-quarters  of  an  hour, 
go  to  breakfast.  This  consists  of  tea,  coffee  or 
milk,  as  we  please;  good  home-made  bread 
and  delicious  butter,  and  plenty  of  both  ;  beef- 
steak, ham  or  chops  (only  one  kind  of  meat 
each  morning),  and  stewed  fruit.  Recreation 
for  an  hour  after  breakfast,  during  which  time 
most  of  the  girls  look  over  their  lessons  for 
the  day;  then  classes  till  twelve,  when  we  have 
dinner.   Soup,  roast  of  some  kind,  potatoes, 
one  other  vegetable,  and  salad,  with  pie,  pud- 
ding or  fruit  for  dessert,  make  up  the  bill  of 
fare.  Recreation  again  till  half-past  one,  when 
studies  are  resumed  till  half-past  three.  Then 
follows  a  recess  of  fifteen  minutes,  after  which 
the  girls  go  to  the  chapel  for  the  Rosary — a 
form  of  prayer  addressed  to  the  Virgin  Mother, 
and  which  is  very  sweet  and  beautiful.   (Prot- 
estants are  required  to  be  present  at  chapel 
with  the  others,  but  are  not  obliged  to  join  in 
prayer  with  them.)   At  four  sewing  for  an 
hour.  From  five  to  six  study — that  is,  prepara- 
tion for  next  day's  lessons.  Supper  at  six,  and 
by  this  time  I  assure  you  we  are  readj^  for  our 
cold  meat,  hot  biscuits  (how  they  do  fly!), 
fried  potatoes,  and  peaches,  pears,  or  some 
other  canned  fruit.  Tea  and  milk  are  served 
at  this  meal.  We  nearly  all  prefer  the  latter, 
it  is  so  cool  and  delicious ;  and  we  are  allowed 
to  drink  two  large  bowls  each.  The  Sisters 
have  twenty  cows,  so  that  there  is  an  abun- 
dance of  milk.  After  supper,  which  is  over  at 
half-past   six,   recreation   again    until  eight, 
when  night  prayers  are  said,  and  nine  o'clock 
finds  us  soundly  sleeping. 

You  will  open  your  eyes  and  perhaps  shake 
your  head  disapprovingly  when  I  tell  you 
that  we  do  not  have  separate  rooms,  but  large 
dormitories,  with  rows  on  rows  of  little  white- 
curtained  beds  ranged  along  the  walls  and 
down  the  middle,  with  room  at  the  head  of 
each  for  a  chair  and  table  with  toilet  appli- 
ances. At  first  I  thought  this  arrangement 
would  be  very  unsatisfactory,  but  I  do  not 
find  it  so.  On  entering  the  dormitory  strict 
silence  is  observed ;  there  is  no  rule  so  rigidly 
enforced  as  this.  And — would  you  believe  it? — 
one  could  almost  hear  a  pin  drop  in  that  room 
where  fifty  persons  are  disrobing  for  the  night. 
We  all  steal  behind  our  curtains  and  are  in 


I02 


The  Ave  Maria. 


bed  in  a  twinkling,  a  novice  walking  up  and 
down  the  aisles  until  we  are  ready.  When 
fifteen  minutes  have  passed  she  says  in  a  loud, 
clear  voice,  Louez  soil  Jesus-Christ,  which 
means  "Praised  be  Jesus  Christ"  ;  and  we  all 
answer,  A  insi  soit-  il — "  A  men . "  Two  Sisters 
sleep  in  each  dormitory^  so  that  we  are  under 
constant  surveillance,  and  could  not  ver>'  well 
be  fractious  or  frolicsome  if  we  would.  -Any  in- 
fringement of  discipline  here  is  at  once  reported 
to  the  Mistress  of  Class,  and  if  repeated  two  or 
three  times  the  offender  is  liable  to  dismissal. 

All  this  may  seem  to  you  very  hard  and 
straitlaced,  as  I  am  afraid  it  did  to  me  the  first 
da}^  or  two ;  but,  being  a  natural  lover  of  sys- 
tem as  you  are,  and  knowing  from  your  own 
experience  as  a  teacher  how  difficult  it  is  to 
preserve  order  among  so  many  girls,  you  would 
be  the  first  to  approve  of  the  plan  if  you  could 
see  it  in  operation.  And  it  is  such  a  gentle, 
kind  watchfulness,  so  free  from  anything  that 
savors  of  coercion  or  tyranny,  that  one  does 
not  feel  it. 

The  dormitories  are  lovely  in  the  day-time. 
The  ceilings  are  very  high  and  the  rooms  well 
ventilated,  having  ten  windows  on  each  side 
and  four  at  either  end.  Between  the  rows  of 
beds  a  strip  of  red  and  black  carpet  shows 
off  the  polished  oaken  floor  to  great  advan- 
tage ;  and  the  sheer,  white  curtains  on  brass 
rings — so  beautifully  ironed  that  every  fold 
hangs  perfectly  even — are  drawn  back  on  each 
side  just  enough  to  show  the  snowy  spread 
and  pillow-shams.  Sacred  pictures  adorn  the 
walls, — no  cheap  daubs,  but  fine  engravings. 
One  of  the  Child  Jesus  is  very  lovely.  There 
is  also  a  print  of  St.  John  and  the  lamb,  which 
is  very  beautiful ;  and  the  Madonna  stands  at 
one  end — a  lamp  ever  burning  on  the  pedestal 
before  her,  and  fi-esh  flowers  always  blooming 
beside  her, — watching  over  us  all.  Don't  laugh 
now,  Auntie!  Why  shouldn't  she?  If  she  was 
really  and  truly  His  Mother,  she  must  be  ours. 
We  have  that  firom  the  Bible — ^from  the  foot 
of  the  Cross. 

The  bell  is  ringing  for  study ;  the  hour  for 
letter  writing,  which  we  are  allowed  on  Thurs- 
days and  Sundays,  is  over.  Next  time  I  will  tell 
you  many  things  I  have  been  obliged  to  omit 
here.  So  far  I  am  very  happy,  and  feel  confi- 
dent I  shall  like  the  place  better  every  day. 
Your  own  Jui.iA. 


Allen  Seminary,  Sept.  15,  18 — . 

Dear  Mattie  : — I  am  sitting  by  the  win- 
dow looking  across  the  country  at  a  white 
cupola  nearl}'  hidden  by  tall  trees — the  mon- 
ument which  marks  the  spot  where  Julia 
Hayes  is  voluntarily  buried.  I  can  not  under- 
stand how  she  could  ever  have  chosen  that 
pokey  old  school,  where  those  horrid  nuns 
rule  over  the  unfortunates  committed  to  their 
charge  with  iron  hands  in  velvet  gloves.  I 
do  not  believe  they  are  really  cruel ;  for  there 
is  a  girl  here  who  once  went  to  school  there, 
and  she  says  they  were  not  unkind,  but  strict, 
terribly  strict. 

One  ought  not  to  be  surprised  at  Julia, 
when  one  considers,  after  all.  You  know  what 
a  precise,  particular  old  maid  Miss  Mary  Haw- 
thorne is,  and  Julia  has  been  so  long  under 
her  tuition  that  she  is  going  to  be  her  exact 
counterpart.  Don't  you  remember  how  de- 
murely the  shy  thing  would  walk  from  school, 
as  though  she  were  trying  to  avoid  the  boys? 
And  yet,  somehow,  the}'  were  all  crazy  about 
her.  She  is  pleasant  enough  in  company — not 
a  bit  stiff,  and  quite  amiable ;  but  I  never  could 
see  why  the  young  men  of  our  town  raved 
about  her  as  they  did.  And  she  never  seemed 
to  know  it. 

Well,  I  don't  mean  to  fill  up  my  Iptter  with 
a  dissertation  on  Julia,  so  here  goes  for  some 
description  of  the  school — our  school. 

The  place  is  not  nearly  so  delightful  as  one 
would  think  from  reading  the  prospectus. 
The  "shaded  grounds"  do  not  comprise  more 
than  an  acre,  all  told ;  and  that  acre  is  shielded 
from  public  view  by  a  high  hedge.  The  French 
teacher  sa^^s :  "The  j'oung  ladees  are  so  vera 
bold  sometimes,  it  is  necessaire."  It  makes 
one  feel  like  being  immured  in  a  convent, — 
which,  by  the  way,  has  no  fence  around  the 
grounds ;  but  as  they  are  very  extensive,  and 
the  house  at  such  a  distance  fi-om  the  road, 
there  is  no  need.  However,  high  walls  can 
not  separate  young  hearts,  etc.,  as  you  will 
learn  later  on,  perhaps, — that  is,  if  I  have  time 
to  get  that  far  in  my  recital  to-day. 

The  course  of  study  here  is  not  difficult, 
many  branches  being  optional,  and  one  can 
escape  from  almost  any  lesson  by  pleading  a 
headache.  You  may  be  sure  mine  aches  dread- 
fully on  German  days,  which  come  twice  a 
week,  and  are  presided  over  by  a  frightful  old 


The  Ave-  Maria. 


103 


Herr  who  wears  hvo  pairs  of  glasses.  There  is 
a  girl  here  from  the  South,  very  pretty,  rich, 
wuth  lots  of  dresses  and  lovely  things  gener- 
ally; slie  doesn't  seem  to  study  much  and  is 
rather  quiet,  but  she  is  devoted  to  German.  She 
spent  some  time  in  Europe,  and  that  accounts 
for  her  being  so  far  ahead  of  the  rest  in  that 
delightful  language.  Dear  me,  how  I  ramble! 

There  are  ten  teachers  in  the  house,  all  told, 
and  they  take  it — easy,  Mattie  mine.  The 
old  doctor  makes  a  feint  of  saying  prayers  in 
chapel  every  morning;  but  half  the  girls  lie 
in  bed  till  the  second  breakfast  bell  rings,  and 
then  have  to  hustle  to  be  ready. 

We  are  two  in  every  room — tiny  mites  of 
cells  they  are ;  but  we  have  lots  of  good  times, 
all  the  same.  I<ights  are  supposed  to  be  out 
at  ten,  but  we  often  talk  till  midnight ;  and 
when  we  are  sure  the  Gorgons  are  asleep  (the 
two  head  teachers)  we  steal  into  one  another's 
rooms  and  have  a  good  time.  The  day-scholars 
smuggle  in  cake  and  cand}''  and  all  sorts  of 
dainties;  we  have  such  miserable  fare  here 
-that  one  is  obliged  to  eat  chocolate  creams  if 
one  doesn't  want  to  starve  to  death. 

Stars  and  garters!  I  wish  you  could  see 
and  taste  the  milk!  One  cow  provides  the 
lacteal  fluid  for  forty  growing  girls  and  ten 
teachers,  not  to  mention  the  venerable  doctor, 
and  his  still  more  venerable  wife,  who  is  a 
tartar,  by  the  way.  We  won't  speak  of  the 
servants;  for  I  don't  believe  they  get  a  drop 
— even  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness; 

Baker's  rolls  every  morning — not  light, 
Vienna  rolls  that  make  one's  mouth  water  to 
look  at,  but  horrid,  crumbly  things  ten  weeks 
old.  I  know  they  buy  them  cheap  at  some 
city  bakery  once  a  fortnight  at  most.  Stringy 
meat  and  ten  -  cents  -  a  -  pound  coffee — that's 
breakfast,  with  a  pat  of  butter  about  the  size  of 
a  nickel.  Dinner  is  a  little  better,  for  we  can 
fill  up  with  soup,  even  if  it  is  weak,  and  made 
like  circus  lemonade,  out  of  the  same  lemons 
**ten  times  running."  Gingercakes  for  dessert 
nearly  every  day — what  do  you  think  of  that  ? 
It  looks  a  little  mean  to  talk  about  the  food, 
but  it  is  a  fact,  and  all  the  girls  make  the  same 
complaint.  Still,  it's  a  comfort  to  know  that 
from  faithful  statistics  all  boarding-schools 
share  the  same  distinction ;  and,  this  apart,  we 
do  have  glorious  times. 

We  take  a  walk  every  day  at  half-past  three, 


under  the  supervision  of  the  Gorgons — one  in 
front  and  one  behind, — when  we  mail  our 
letters,  make  such  sundry  purchases  as  are 
possible  at  the  village  shops,  and  flirt  a  very 
little  when  we  get  a  chance.  There  is  a  woful 
lack  of  masculine  beauty  here ;  even  around 
the  post-office  one  does  not  see  the  customary 
admiring  throngs  three  rows  deep,  and  wall- 
flowers standing  on  tiptoe.  But  a  baseball  club 
€71  route  for  Oxford  stranded  in  the  village  last 
week  for  half  a  day,  delayed  by  an  accident 
to  the  train  I  believe,  and  we  were  fortunate 
enough  to  catch  some  furtive  glances  from 
the  athletes. 

An  amusing  incident  occurred  yesterday. 
A  young  fellow,  ver>'  nice-looking  he  was — 
sh — what  is  that?  Miss  Gorgonia,  I  bet, 
prowling  around  to  see  if  lights  are  out! 
Mine  ought  to  have  been  out  hours  ago  ;  but 
instead  of  writing  to-day  when  I  had  permis- 
sion I  devoured  a  lovely  book  of  "Ouida's" 
that  one  of  the  day-scholars  brought  in  and 
was  afraid  to  leave  over  night.  My  room-mate, 
Sallie  Storm — who  is  a  storm  indeed, — will 
annihilate  me  if  Gorgonia  wakes  her  up  from 
her  beauty  sleep,  which  she  has  been  enjoy- 
ing for  the  last  two  hours.  So  out  goeth  the 
lamp,  and  good-bye  till  next  time! 

Ever  yours,  Esteli^a. 

(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 


Footprints  of  Heroines. 


BY   THE    COMTESSE    DE    COURSON. 


III. — LUISA  DE  Carvajal  y  Mendoza. 

WHEN,  a  few  years  ago,  the  well-known 
pen  of  Ead}'  Georgiana  Fullerton  intro- 
duced Luisa  de  Carvajal  to  English  readers, 
the  book  came  upon  them  like  a  revelation. 
The  Spanish  biography,*  from  whence  she 
gathered  her  materials  and  which  appeared 
shortly  after  DoiiaLuisa's  death,  had  probably 
been  little  known  in  England,  or,  at  any  rate, 
had  long  since  been  forgotten ;  and  the  Eng- 
lish Catholics  of  our  day  were  ignorant  even 
of  the  name  of  her  who,  for  the  sake  of  their 
suffering  ancestors,  had  become  an  exile,  a 

*  "  Vida  y  Virtudas  de  la  venerable  virgen  Dona 
Luisa  de  Carvajal  y  Mendoca."  Published  at  Madrid, 
iu  1632,  by  "  el  licenciado  Luis  Munoz." 


I04 


The  Ave  Maria, 


prisoner,  and  almost  a  beggar.  Hers  was  in 
truth  a  strange  vocation,  and  we  can  under- 
stand that  it  excited  the  surprise  and  disap- 
proval of  man}^  of  her  contemporaries.  It 
would  be  difficult,  however,  even  in  the  lyives 
of  the  Saints,  to  find  a  spirit  more  humble, 
more  heroic,  more  utterly  detached  from  self, 
than  that  of  this  high-bom  Spanish  lady,  who 
to  a  mystic  love  of  the  Cross,  so  characteristic 
of  the  saints  of  her  country,  united  a  sweet- 
ness and  gentleness  that  never  failed  to  win 
those  with  whom  she  came  in  contact. 

Her  parents,  Don  Francisco  de  Carvajal  y 
Vargas,  and  her  mother,  Doiia  Maria  de  Men- 
doza  y  Sacheco,  belonged  to  the  highest  nobil- 
ity of  Spain.  Its  bluest  blood  flowed  in  the 
veins  of  their  daughter;  and  we  shall  see  how 
to  the  last,  in  the  midst  of  every  kind  of  pen- 
ance, she  remained  keenly  sensitive  to  what  her 
Spanish  historian  calls  "the  point  of  honor," 
— a  sensitiveness  that  came  to  her  as  a  natural 
inheritance  from  a  long  line  of  ancestors. 

Luisa  de  Carvajal  was  born  on  the  second 
of  January,  1568,  at  Xaraicejo,  in  Estrema- 
dura,  where  her  parents  possessed  considerable 
property.  She  was  joyfully  welcomed  by  her 
pious  mother,  who,  having  had  five  sons  (only 
one  of  whom  grew  up  to  manhood),  ardently 
longed  for  a  daughter.  She  attributed  the 
birth  of  her  little  girl  to  the  intercession  of 
St.  Peter  of  Alcantara,  the  great  Spanish  Saint 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  whose  prayers  she 
had  asked,  and  who  had  assured  her  that  her 
desire  would  one  day  be  fulfilled.  Maria  de 
Mendoza  was  a  singularly  holy  woman,  dis- 
tinguished especially  by  her  ardent  love  of 
the  poor,  whom  she  treated  as  honored  and 
beloved  friends.  Under  her  gentle  training, 
Ivuisa  grew  up  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere 
of  piety,  charity,  and  love  for  all  high  and 
holy  things. 

One  trait  especially  was  remarkable  in  this 
child  so  tenderly  reared  in  the  comfort  and 
splendor  of  a  happy  home.  When  only  four 
years  old  she  showed  an  extraordinary  love  of 
suffering ;  and  used,  when  a  mere  baby,  to  take 
off  her  shoes  and  stockings,  and  walk  bare- 
footed in  imitation  of  the  Discalced  Friars, 
who  often  visited  her  parents.  Whenever  she 
met  one  of  them  she  ran  to  kiss  his  feet.  Being 
asked  one  day  why  she  did  so,  she  replied: 
**The  feet  of  the  discalced  are  made  of  gold." 


In  1572  Don  Francisco  de  Carvajal  was  ap- 
pointed by  Philip  II.  Governor  of  Leon,  and 
this  change  marked  the  end  of  lyuisa's  happy 
childhood.  Soon  after  her  an'ival  at  Leon, 
Maria  de  Mendoza  was  attacked  by  a  violent 
fever,  caught  from  a  sick  person  whom  she 
had  nursed ;  and  after  a  brief  illness  she  died 
in  peace  and  holiness,  at  the  early  age  of 
twenty-seven.  Ten  days  afterward  Don  Fran- 
cisco, who  had  never  left  the  bedside  of  his 
dying  wife,  succumbed  to  the  same  disease. 
After  receiving  the  last  Sacraments  with  much 
piety  and  settling  his  worldly  affairs,  he  calmly 
breathed  his  last,  leaving  his  little  daughter 
to  the  care  of  Isabel  Aillon,  a  faithful  but 
stem  duenna,  who  for  many  years  had  been 
attached  to  his  household. 

Accompanied  by  this  trusted  retainer,  the 
little  orphan  was  removed  to  Madrid,  and 
placed  under  the  guardianship  of  her  mother's 
aunt,  Doiia  Maria  Chacon,  who  was  governess 
to  King  Philip's  children,  Don  Diego,  and  the 
Infantas,  his  sisters,  and  who  occupied  apart- 
ments in  the  palace.  Here  Luisa  spent  four 
years,  sharing  the  daily  life  of  the  royal  chil- 
dren, carefully  watched  over  by  Isabel  Aillon, 
and  cherished  by  her  aunt,  who  fully  appre- 
ciated the  treasure  confided  to  her  care. 

One  day,  struck  by  the  rare  promise  of 
holiness  in  one  so  young,  she  said  to  her 
daughter,  Madalena  de  Ragos,  a  Dominican 
nun:  "Mark  well  that  little  girl.  A  day  will 
come  when  her  relatives  will  have  reason  to  be 
proud  of  her."  The  sweetness  and  obedience 
of  Luisa,  her  love  of  prayer  and  unvarying 
docility,  had  already  made  her  a  general  favor- 
ite. Her  tenderness  of  heart  was  such  that 
the  sight  of  the  sufferings  of  others  moved 
her  to  tears.  The  first  time  she  witnessed  a 
bull-fight  she  fainted  away;  and  fi-om  that 
day  she  carefully  shunned  those  bloody  sports 
so  popular  with  her  countrymen. 

When  Luisa  was  eleven  years  of  age  an- 
other change  took  place  in  her  life.  The  death 
of  Dona  Maria  Chacon  caused  her  to  be  trans- 
ferred to  the  care  of  her  mother's  brother,  Don 
Francisco  Hurtado  de  Mendoza,  Marquis  of 
Almacan,  of  whom  Luisa's  Spanish  biographer 
draws  an  enthusiastic  picture.  A  distinguished 
Latin  scholar,  a  statesman  and  a  poet,  the 
Marquis  of  Almacan  enjoyed  the  friendship 
and  admiration  of  his  sovereign.  For  seven 


The  Ave  jMc 


ana. 


loS 


years  he  filled  the  post  of  Ambassador  at 
the  Court  of  Germany,  and  afterward  became 
Viceroy  of  Navarre.  Neither  the  important 
political  duties,  of  which  he  acquitted  himself 
with  singular  success,  nor  the  theological 
studies  in  w^hich  he  delighted,  prevented  him 
from  devoting  several  hours  every  day  to 
prayer  and  meditation.  Doiia  Ivuisa's  biogra- 
pher tells  us  moreover,  that  on  the  eve  of  his 
Communions  he  used  to  watch  part  of  the 
night,  fast  rigorously,  and  inflict  upon  himself 
bloody  disciplines  and  other  severe  penances. 
Just,  disinterested,  kind  and  charitable  to  all, 
he  was,  as  may  be  imagined,  much  beloved 
by  his  dependants;  and  his  three  children, 
trained  by  so  holy  a  father,  became  themselves 
models  of  sanctity. 

His  only  son,  Don  Francisco,  afterward 
Viceroy  of  Catalonia,  practised  the  virtues 
of  a  religious  in  the  world;  and  of  his  two 
daughters,  the  elder,  Isabel,  Marchioness  of 
Caracena,  gave  admirable  examples  of  piety  \ 
Francesca,  the  youngest,  became  a  Discalced 
Carmelite  at  Madrid.  The  Marchioness  of 
Almacan  was  herself  a  good  and  pious  woman, 
charitable  to  the  poor,  and,  in  the  main,  kind 
to  her  little  niece ;  but  she  took  an  inveterate 
dislike  to  Louisa's  stem  duenna,  Isabel  Aillon, 
who  with  all  her  sterling  qualities  was  proba- 
bly not  always  a  pleasant  inmate  of  the  vice- 
regal household;  and  the  little  girl's  position 
between  her  aunt  and  her  governess  was 
'sometimes  a  painful  one. 

Her  chief  consolation  and  support  in  the 
midst  of  these  trials  was  the  affection  and 
confidence  of  her  uncle,  who,  whether  at  Pam- 
peluna,  his  usual  residence,  or  at  a  country 
place  some  leagties  distant,  where  he  spent  the 
summer,  made  her  his  constant  companion. 
From  the  first  he  recognized  the  rare  gifts  of 
this  singularly  beautiful  soul,  and  his  passion- 
ate desire  was  that  Louisa  should  become  a 
great  saint.  After  the  death  of  Isabel  Aillon, 
which  occurred  when  her  pupil  was  about 
eleven,  the  little  girl  became  still  more  ex- 
clusively her  uncle's  special  charge;  and  he 
assumed  the  direction  of  her  interior  life,  as 
well  as  of  her  daily  occupations. 

The  Marquis  of  Almacan  was  certainly  a 
very  holy  and,  in  many  respects,  a  remarkably 
intelligent  and  learned  man,  but  scarcely,  per- 
haps,  a   prudent  one;    and  throughout   his 


treatment  of  the  niece  he  so  passionately  loved 
runs  a  strain  of  that  stern  spirit  that  charac- 
terized, as  we  have  said,  the  saints  of  Spain. 
Regarding  Luisa  as  called  to  a  far  more  per- 
fect life  than  his  own  daughters,  he  encouraged 
her  to  spend  much  of  her  time  in  his  private 
oratory,  where  he  himself  used  to  give  her  her 
points  of  meditation.  Her  favorite  subject  was 
the  Passion  of  Our  I/)rd,  upon  which  she 
would  sometimes  dwell  for  hours,  so  absorbed 
by  the  contemplation  of  the  sufferings  of 
Christ  that  she  became  insensible  to  all  that 
went  on  around  her.  From  these  long  hours  of 
solitary  mental  prayer  she  used  to  come  forth 
with  a  radiant  face,  her  heart  burning  with  the 
flames  of  divine  love.  "He  gave  His  life  for 
me,"  she  used  to  exclaim;  "oh,  that  I  could 
give  mine  for  Him!" 

Her  uncle  allowed  her  to  satisfy  this  pas- 
sionate thirst  for  suffering  in  ways  that  appear 
to  us  strange  and  imprudent,  but  which  were 
blessed  by  God,  in  consideration,  no  doubt, 
of  the  pure  intention  that  guided  both  the 
Marquis  and  his  niece.  With  her  uncle's 
full  approval  and  encouragement,  I^uisa  fasted 
severely  long  before  she  attained  the  age  of 
twenty-one ;  she  curtailed  her  hours  of  sleep 
in  order  to  meditate  longer ;  she  slept  on  a 
mattress  stuffed  with  pieces  of  wood,  and  made 
frequent  use  of  disciplines,  hair-shirts,  iron 
girdles,  and  other  terrible  instruments  of 
penance. 

When  the  young  girl  was  about  seven- 
teen, in  addition  to  these  external  penances 
which  had  become  habitual  to  her,  her  uncle 
submitted  her  to  a  strange  ordeal.  He  prob- 
ably feared  lest  the  slightest  breath  of  self- 
complacency  might  tarnish  the  purity  of  her 
soul ;  or  perhaps  he  discerned  among  so  many 
heroic  virtues  a  tendency  to  that  exaggerated 
love  of  the  ^^punto  d'onor,^^  as  her  biographer 
calls  it,  which  throughout  her  after-life  was  her 
great  temptation.  At  any  rate,  while  marvel- 
ling at  his  system,  we  ma}''  safely  believe  that 
his  motives  for  adopting  it  were  excellent. 

With  Dona  Luisa's  full  consent  he  sub- 
mitted her  to  the  absolute  authority  of  two 
duennas,  who  subjected  her  to  the  crudest  and 
most  humiliating  treatment.  For  the  honor 
of  the  Marquis  of  Almacan,  we  prefer  to  think 
that  when  these  two  women  scourged,  reviled, 
and  trod  under  foot  the  delicate  girl,  who 


io6 


The  Avc  iMariu 


never  by  word  or  sign  betra3ed  her  siifFering, 
they  exceeded  the  permission  given  to  them. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  Luisa  came  out  of  this  ex- 
traordinary trial  so  perfected  and  purified,  so 
united  to  God,  so  full  of  supernatural  joy,  that, 
in  the  words  of  her  English  biographer,  "It 
is  allowable  to  suppose.  .  .  .  that  Providence 
thus  prepared  her  to  become  in  after  days 
the  friend,  the  servant,  and  the  companion  of 
martyrs." 

Curiously  enough,  although  so  completely 
trained  by  her  uncle,  who  was  at  once  her 
spiritual  and  temporal  adviser,  Luisa' s  stamp 
of  piety  was  very  different  from  his,  and,  except 
in  her  extraordinary  love  for  suffering  which, 
as  we  have  seen,  was  manifested  from  her 
babyhood,  she  was  singularly  gentle,  simple, 
modest,  and  so  undemonstrative  as  sometimes 
to  puzzle  the  Marquis.  In  his  ardor  and  enthu- 
siasm, he  would  have  liked,  says  lyuisa's  biog- 
rapher, to  have  her  beg  permission  to  under- 
take extraordinar}'^  acts  of  devotion ;  whereas, 
her  habit  was  to  "speak  little,  to  do  much,  and 
to  be  always  ready  to  obey."  She  responded 
with  unreasoning  and  prompt  obedience  to  all 
"his  plans  for  her  advance  in  perfection,  how- 
ever strange  and  difficult  these  plans  might 
be ;  but  she  seldom  took  the  initiative,  save 
in  deeds  of  love  and  charity  to  the  poor.  In 
this,  however,  she  was  as  eager  to  help  and 
assist  her  beloved  poor  as  she  was  ingenious  to 
conceal  her  acts  of  mercy ;  and  she  contrived, 
without  exciting  attention,  to  give  part  of  her 
food  daily  to  a  poor  woman  and  to  an  old  priest, 
who  lived  close  to  her  uncle's  palace.  One  of 
the  pages,  whom  she  had  taken  into  her  con- 
fidence, was  always  on  the  watch  to  remove 
her  plate  with  its  untasted  meats,  and  to 
convey  them  to  hox  proteges.  Her  uncle,  who 
discovered  the  stratagem,  and  also  her  aunt 
and  cousins,  adopted  the  same  pious  practise, 
and  set  apart  each  day  a  portion  of  their  food 
for  the  poor. 

Another  of  Louisa's  joys  was  to  accompany 
her  aunt  on  Sundays  and  feast-days  to  the 
hospitals  of  Pampeluna;  she  passed  like  an 
angel  of  consolation  through  the  sick  wards, 
lovingly  bending  over  each  poor  patient,  her 
sweet  face  beaming  with  happiness,  and  her 
gentle  voice  speaking  words  of  strength  and 
^comfort  to  all. 

(TO  be;  continued.) 


Stella   Matutina;   or,  a  Poet's   Quest. 

BY  EDMUND  OF  THE  HEART  OF  M.\RV,  C.  P. 


T  GREET  thee,  sober  Autumn  of  life's  year! 
J    A  heartfelt  welcome  thankfully  I  sing. 
Little  for  me  thy  wonted  look  of  sere  : 

I  rather  hail  thee  as  a  second  Spring. 

Thou  hast  not  boyhood's  freshness  ;  dost  not 
bring 
Its  rose  and  lily  with  their  virgin  hue  : 

Yet  comest  like  a  breeze  of  fragrant  wing 
From  Eden  wafted — breathing  of  a  dew 
That   falls  for  evermore  where  God  makes  all 
things  new.* 

Ah,  Eden!  There's  an  echo  in  us  all 
To  that  sad  stor>\  Yea,  thro'  every  clime 

And  age  and  creed  some  record  of  a  Fall 
We  trace,  some  legend  of  a  Golden  Prime : 
How  fondly  cherish'd  in  the  lore  sublime 

Of  Greece  and  Rome  amid  the  lingering  light! 
The  river's  course,  where  most  of  weeds  and 
slime, 

Still  here  and  there  has  gleams  of  pure  and  bright, 

And  bursts  and  wellings  up  that  tell  its  native 
height. 

'Tis  thus,  methinks,  the  individual  life 
Looks  back  to  that  fair  morning  of  its  day 

When  cloudless  sky  and  sunny  air  were  rife 
With  health  and  hope  that  promised  no  decay : 
When  the  pure  world  within  us  could  array 

The  world  without  in  such  a  sweet  untruth  : 
Ere  pass'd  our  childish  innocence  away, 

And  left  us  wiser  with  a  poivSon'd  youth — 

Of  Eve's   forbidden  tree  the  pleasant  fruit,  in 
sooth. 

And  how  we  dote  on  childhood !  Dote  and  weep 
With  such  a  tender  yearning  of  regret. 

Would  seem  some  mystic  consciousness  asleep 
At  our  soul's  core,  which  may  not  all  forget  : 
The  hinting  of  a  past  we  have  not  met 

On  earth,  but  which  can  hold  us  in  its  spell 
Till  the  lip  quivers  and  the  cheek  is  wet : 

Some  fair  dream-haunting  state,  where  all  was 
well : 

Some  realm  of  Lethe-zoned  Elysium,  whence  we 
fell. 

Ay,  fell.  How  clear  that  lesson  from  the  past, 
Ev'n  to  the  schoolboy  with  his  musings  wild! 


Apoc,  xxi,  5.' 


The  Ave  Maria. 


07 


And  most,  I  ween,  when  memory  tiirn'd  aghast 
To  mourn  in  vaiii  the  bosom  undefiled, 
The  guiltless  loves  and  longings  of -the  child  : 

How  then  'twas  blessed  freedom  not  to  know  ; 
And  woman  sweetliest  in  the  mother  smiled. 

And  seeni'd  a  swordless  angel  placed  to  show 

Where  stands  the  Tree  of  Life — not  that  which 
beareth  woe. 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 

BY  NUGENT  ROBINSON. 

CHAPTER  V. — Promoted  from  the  Ranks. 

TUESDAY  found  Harry  Considine  back 
at  his  post,  all  the  better  for  his  country 
trip,  not  a  whit  the  worse  for  his  ducking. 
Molloy  was  intensely  interested  in  the  move- 
ments of  his  friend,  especially  as  regarded 
the  mishap  at  St.  Kevin's  Bed,  the  very  recital 
of  which  caused  him  to  silently  wring  his 
fingers,  while  his  face  became  pale  as  death. 

"  Have  you  heard  how  Miss  Ryan  is  ?  Did 
she  catch  cold?  Has  she  suffered  from  the 
shock?"  he  eagerly  asked. 

"How  could  /  hear,  Gerald?  I  left  home 
this  morning  by  the  4.45.  The  last  I  saw  of 
her  was  when  she  left  in  the  boat.  She  seemed 
all  right,  a  little  like  a  drowned  rat  though. 
Oh,  you  should  have  seen  a  chap  called 
Spencer,  he — " 

"Was  that  fellow  with  her?"  demanded 
Molloy,  in  a  tone  of  excessive  irritation. 

"He  was,  yellow  gloves  and  all." 

And  Harry  proceeded  to  give  his  friend  a 
laughable  description  of  the  wretched  Spen- 
cer's howlings  while  in  the  water,  and  his 
despair  at  finding  his  yellow  gloves  destroyed 
after  his  being  rescued. 

"Just  like  him.  A  doll!  a  blockhead!" 
said  Molloy,  bitterly.  "What  Jane  Ryan  sees 
in  that  tailor's  block  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me 
make  out.  When  are  they  coming  to  town  ? ' ' 

"I  haven't  the  most  remote  idea." 

"It  would  be  a  good  move  to  telegraph  to 
Jordan's  Hotel  to  inquire  for  her.  What  would 
it  cost?  Too  much.  A  polite  note  for  a  penny 
will  pay  better.  Perhaps  they  are  in  Rutland 
Square.  Don't  you  think  that  you  ought  to 
call  and  inquire  this  evening?" 

"No.  It  would  look  like  a  reminder  that  I 
had  fished  the  daughter  of  the  house  out  of 


the  lake,  and  a  what-are-you-going-to-give-me 
for  my  trouble  sort  of  visit. ' ' 

"lean  go?" 

"Certainly.  I  will  call  out  and  see  your 
people  and  tell  them  the  news." 

It  was  after  dinner,  two  o'clock,  and  Con- 
sidine was  endeavoring  to  please  the  exacting 
taste  of  an  elderly  rouged  lady,  who  was  en- 
gaged in  the  pursuit  of  matching  a  colored 
ribbon  that  suited  her  Vanity  Fair  complex- 
ion, when  one  of  the  floor  walkers  informed 
Harry  that  his  presence  was  required  in  the 
counting-house. 

"For- ward!"  cried  the  walker,  in  that 
urbane  tone  of  command  peculiar  to  gentle- 
men holding  this  fatiguing  and  onerous  posi- 
tion. 

Considine,  wondering  very  much  what  was 
on  the  tapis,  hurried  to  the  office,  where  he 
found  Alderman  Rj^an  closeted  with  Mr.  Jo- 
seph Pim  in  the  private  corner  allotted  to  that 
stirring  member  of  the  great  firm. 

The  Alderman  rushed  over  to  Harry,  seized 
him  by  both  hands,  and,  in  a  voice  choking 
with  genuine  emotion,  gasped : 

* '  Noble  fellow  !  Brave  youth  1  God  bless 
you." 

"Mr.  Considine,"  said  Mr.  Pim,  "you  have 
covered  yourself  with  glory.  You  have  done 
honor  to  our  house.  You  are,  I  see,  as  brave 
as  you  are  frank  and  loyal  and  honest.  I  am 
seldom  mistaken  in  my  estimate  of  men  and 
the  motives  of  men.  I  have  not  been  mistaken 
in  you.  The  Alderman  here  is  desirous  of 
taking  you  from  us.  He  ofiers  you  a  situation 
and  a  salary  which  would  eventually  be  yours 
here ;  but  this  is  an  age  of  rapid  promotion, 
and,  however  I  might  wish  it,  I  could  not, 
and  would  not,  pass  you  over  others  equally 
deserving," 

Harry  was  silent.  His  thoughts  were  mix- 
ing themselves  up  in  a  sort  of  merry-go-round. 

"Yes,  Considine,"  cried  the  Alderman,  "I 
have  consulted  with  Mr.  Pim  here,  and  I  am 
going  to  take  you  into  my  own  counting-house 
at  a  salary  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a 
year." 

"Two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds!  "  Harry's 
lips  involuntarily  repeated. 

"I  had  other  ideas  in  regard  to  you  after 
your  sterling  honesty  in  that  money  bag  trans- 
action.  In  fact,  I  was  using  my  influence  as 


^o8 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Alderman  and  Justice  of  the  Peace  for  the  city 
to  secure  a  clerkship  in  one  of  the  Corporation 
committee  offices,  for  I  have  a  little  influence, 
ha,  ha!  but  your  noble,  chivalrous,  heroic  con- 
duct in  saving  my  darling  child  from — ' ' 

"Any  of  the  fellows  there,  sir,  could  and 
would  have  done  it.  I  happened  to  be  first, 
that's  all,"  said  Harr}^  modestty. 

"I  recognize  the  one  fact,  sir,  and  that  is, 
that  you,  Henry  Considine,  saved  my  child. 
It  doesn't  matter  to  me  if  there  were  a  regi- 
ment of  swimmers  with  every  life  saving  ap- 
pliance known  on  the  spot ;  you,  sir,  leaped 
firom  the  boat — "  Here  the  Alderman  became 
highl}'-  dramatic,  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  and  flourishing  his  arms  around  like  the 
sails  of  a  windmill.  "  leaped,  I  say,  from  the 
bank,  sprang  into  the  still,  dark  waters,  cleaved 
the  wavelets  with  manly  stroke,  swam  on  his 
mission  of  life  and  death  to  where  my  child 
had  sunk  beneath  the  cruel  tide,  and  when  she 
providentially  rose — for  which  the  I^ord  God 
be  blessed! — seized  in  a  grasp  of  steel,  and 
placed  her  in  a  haven  of  security.  This  fact, 
my  Lord  Mayor  and  gentlemen, — I  mean,"  he 
stammered, — "this  fact  stands  out  in  brilliant 
light  before  my  mind's  eye, — this  act  of  dar- 
ing, of  devotion ;  and  I  would  be  the  veriest 
ingrate  that  ever  wore  a  head  if  I  did  not  in- 
stantly recognize  such  chivalrous  conduct,  and 
endeavor  to  repay  in  kind  a  portion  of  a  debt  ' 
which  I  shall  owe  this  brave  young  gentle- 
man while  I  continue  to  breathe  the  breath 
of  life." 

Here  the  breath  of  life  did  fail  the  worthy 
city  father,  and  he  sank  back  on  an  office  chair, 
snorting  like  a  grampus,  and  mopping  his 
perspiration  bedewed  forehead. 

"Mr.  Considine,"  said  Mr.  Pim,  in  a  low 
tone,  * '  I  most  sincerely  congratulate  you  on 
your  good  fortune — a  just  reward  for  your 
pluck.  Here  is  a  cheque  for  twenty  pounds 
to  outfit  you,  and  believe  me  to  be  sincere 
when  I  tell  you  that  the  oftener  you  come  in 
to  see  us  the  more  we  shall  be  pleased.  Gen- 
tlemen, you  will,  I  am  sure,  excuse  me  as  we 
are  now  engaged  in  stock-taking." 

'  *  Certainly,  Mr.  Pim,  certainly.  By  the  way, 
the  debate  on  the  Land  Question  comes  on  in 
the  Corporation  on  Monday,  and  promises  to 
be  exciting.  I  can  secure  you  a  seat  in  the 
•gallery. ' ' 


"Alderman,"  laughed  Mr.  Pim,  "when  you 
have  cleaned  our  streets  I  shall  come  to  the 
debate,  but  not  till  then.  You  have  given  us 
the  finest  water  supply  in  Europe.  Follow 
this  up  by  cleaning  the  streets."  And  the 
hard-headed  Quaker  laughed  himself  out  of 
the  office. 

"The  ladies  are  still  at  Glendalough,  Con- 
sidine, but  they  will  return  to-morrow.  You 
will  commence  your  new  duties  on  Monday 
morning.  Your  salary  dates  from  the  day  you 
saved  my  child.  Come  in  and  see  me  before 
Monday.  Come  up  to  the  Square  and  see 
Jane." 

Harry  Considine  did  not  know  whether  he 
was  on  his  head  or  his  heels.  Twenty  pounds 
in  his  pocket!  Two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
a  year  salary!  Nearly  five  pounds  a  week! 
Was  it  real?  Was  it  a  dream ?  Was  the  picnic 
to  the  Seven  Churches  and  the  rescue  of  Jane 
Ryan  a  myth?  No:  there  was  the  cheque 
signed  Pim  Bros.  &  Co.  on  the  Bank  of  Ire- 
land. That  was  real,  crisp,  tangible.  There  was 
no  mistake  about  that.  Then  the  rest  vmst  be 
reality.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year! 
What  would  he  do  with  it — with  this  afflu- 
ence, this  wealth? 

"I'll  bring  my  sister  Peggy  up  to  the  nuns 
at  Loreto  Abbey  at  Rathfarnham,  where  she 
will  be  splendidly  taught,  and  I  can  walk  out 
and  see  her  every  Sunday.  I  will  buy  mother 
a  new  shawl;  I'll  get  it  here  at  wholesale 
price.  I'll  get  father  a  vSuit  of  India  rubber,  that 
will  protect  him  against  wind  and  w^eather. 
Billy  must  have  a  gun,  Jim  a  pony  ;  Tom  and 
Joe  and  Larry  something  that  will  make  their 
hearts  dance  for  joy.  What  a  wedding  present 
I  can  make  Sissy!  And  there's  Father  Luke. 
I  know  what  to  give  him :  a  set  of  desks  for 
his  little  school.  Tim  Fogarty  of  Glenmalure 
will  make  them,  and  never  say  a  word.  I  must 
write  home.  I  feel  like  writing  to  every  one 
of  them.  What  a  pity  that  Emma  Molloy  is 
such  a  silly  girl,  her  pretty  head  filled  with 
such  trumpery !  I  'd  like  to  give  her  something. 
She's  spoiled  by  that  horrid  vice-regal  court. 
Oh,  if  I  were  in  Parliament  I'd  never  cry  stop 
till  I  got  a  following  and  swopt  it  away !  Two 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year!  Why,  there's 
not  such  a  salary  paid  in  the  Hibernian  Bank, 
except  to  the  Secretary.  Nearly  five  pounds 
a  week!  That  poor  cripple  that  seems  to  think 


The  Ave  Maria, 


in< 


himself  my  pensioner  won't  lose  by  my  pro- 
motion." 

Considine  asked  permission  to  leave  for 
half  an  honr. 

"Why,  you  are  free! "  said  the  head  of  his 
department. 

"Not  till  Saturday  night,  sir.  I  will  work 
up  to  the  last  moment  as  in  duty  bound." 

And  where  did  Harry  Considine  spend  the 
half  hour?  At  the  Virgin's  altar,  in  Clandon 
Street  chapel,  imploring  the  intercession  of 
our  Blessed  Lady,  and  praying  for  God's  grace 
to  bear  his  good  fortune. 

Gerald  Molloy  heard  the  news  in  piece- 
meal, and  it  was  only  when  the  store  was 
closed  that  he  was  enabled  to  get  at  Harry 
for  the  details. 

"Two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year: 
four  pounds  sixteen  and  a  penny  farthing  a 
week.  Why,  Harry,  you  were  born  under  a 
lucky  star!  I  suppose  you'll  be  setting  up  an 
expensive  bachelor  establishment  now,  and 
come  the  swell  on  us." 

"Not  much,  Gerald.  I  mean  to  educate  my 
sister  Peggy  at  Rathfarnham  Convent,  and  I'm 
going  to  wTite  to  Father  Luke  Byrne  to-night, 
to  see  if  his  cousin,  a  dear  little  old  maid, 
won't  take  me  as  a  lodger.  She  lives  at  Drum- 
condra.  I  don't  know  where." 

"You  will  save  you  coin  then?" 

"Yes,  and  with  the  one  intention." 

' '  Of  marrying  Jane  Ryan  ? ' ' 

"Pshaw!  Miss  Ryan  is  not  for  me,  or  I  for 
her.  No,  Gerald.  I  will  save  my  money  to  go 
to  the  United  States." 

"What  rubbish!  With  such  chances!  Why, 
man,  if  you  play  your  cards  properly  you  will 
be  taken  in  as  partner  by  and  by.  You  will 
marry  Miss  Ryan ;  you  will  succeed  the  Al- 
derman in  the  business,  and  perhaps  in  the 
Corporation ;  and  you  will  die  a  rich,  honest 
citizen,  to  whom  a  monument  will  be  raised 
in  Glassnevin.  Oh,  what  I  would  give  for 
your  chance,  Harry!  You  will  be  always  at 
the  Square.  You  will  never  be  left  out  of  any 
of  their  entertainments ;  you  will  see  her  as 
often  as  ever  5'ou  please,  you — ' ' 

"Do  you  know,  Gerald,"  interrupted  Con- 
sidine, "I  think  you  are  soft  on  Miss  Ryan." 

"Pshaw! "  was  the  reply,  as  Molloy  turned 
away,  crimsoning  even  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair. 


"There's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of  in 
honorable  love,  Gerald." 

"Pshaw!  The  idea  of  a  fellow  in  my  posi- 
tion aspiring  to  Miss  Ryan!  It's  too  ridicu- 
lous. It's  a  farce." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  Didn't  you  hear  her  father 
say  that  he  crossed  Carlisle  Bridge  with  a 
sixpence  and  two  half-pennies  in  his  pocket? 
If  a  man  truly  and  honorably  loves  a  girl  let 
him  work  for  her  truly  and  honorably.  Let  him 
keep  on  the  straight  path,  with  the  one  light 
ever  burning  for  him;  and,  depend  on  it, 
sooner  or  later  he  will  be  rewarded." 

And  Harry  laid  his  hand  on  the  shoulder 
of  his  friend,  as  if  to  impress  the  strength  of 
his  reasoning. 

Molloy  was  silent.  After  a  pause  he  sud- 
denly exclaimed : 

"Would  you  help  me,  supposi?ig  I  was 
spooney  on — " 

"Don't  use  slang  in  speaking  of  so  grave  and 
so  gracious  a  subject!  "  interrupted  Considine. 

"You  are  right,  Harry.  Suppose  I  was  in 
love  with  Miss  Ryan,  would  you  help  me  to — 
to  win  her?" 

"I  would." 

"Will  you?" 

Considine  looked  into  his  companion's  eyes 
ere  he  replied,  then  he  said  simply,  "I  will." 
(to  be  continued.) 


A  Word  Concerning  the  New  University. 


THE  critical  Catholic  paralyzes  the  move- 
ments which  he  condemns  for  not  having 
more  vitality.  He  points  out  the  canker  in 
the  bud,  and,  instead  of  helping  to  remove  it, 
turns  his  eyes  to  the  stars,  and  regrets  that 
human  nature  is  not  more  star-like.  The  most 
exasperating  and  fatal  critics  are  those  who, 
while  refusing  to  take  an  initiative  them- 
selves, keep  up  a  fusillade  of  doubts  on  men 
who  do  take  an  initiative.  Optimism  has  done 
good  in  the  world ;  pessimism  has  never  done 
anything,  except  to  dampen  enthusiasm.  And 
without  enthusiasm  the  world  is  dead. 

St.  Bernard  knew^  well  the  vices  and  sins  of 
his  times,  but  he  was  not  a  pessimist;  he  was 
not  always  pulling  down  and  never  building 
up.  St.  Francis  de  Sales,  like  all  great  men,  was 
a  constructionist.  The  sneer  is  of  the  devil, 


no 


The  Ave  Maria, 


not  of  God.  Constant  criticism  is  a  sign  of 
conscious  inability  or  habitual  sloth  rather 
than  good  intentions,  or  intellectual  acute- 
ness.  There  is  criticism  which  is  stimulating. 
This  criticism  may  prevent  mistakes  by  point- 
ing them  out.  But  criticism  after  the  fact  is 
like  ex  post  facto  laws. 

L,et  us  take  the  greatest  of  the  religious 
movements  now  occupying  the  attention  of 
Catholics, — a  movement  to  which  even  the  re- 
demption of  Ireland  ought  to  be  to  Americans 
of  lesser  importance, — a  movement  to  which 
just  now  free  trade  or  protection  is  only  a 
trifle.  This  movement  is  toward  the  higher 
education  of  priests  and  laymen.  It  means  a 
bound  from  the  trammels  of  intellectual  pov- 
erty. It  means  a  status  in  this  country,  which, 
to  be  frank.  Catholics  have  not  yet  attained. 
It  means  an  emergence  from  the  chrysalis 
state  of  brick  and  mortar.  It  means  not  only 
education,  but  culture. 

For  years  the  critical  Catholic  has  com- 
plained that  priests  are  not  as  ornamental  as 
they  should  be ;  they  do  not  go  well,  as  a  rule, 
with  the  pictures  of  Botticelli,  and,  though 
they  know  their  philosophy  and  theology, 
they  are  not  quite  "modem"  enough  to  hold 
their  own  when  an  aesthetic  hostess  invites 
them  to  dinner.  The  critic,  in  fact,  while 
admitting  the  education  of  the  priest,  has 
bewailed  his  lack  of  culture,  and  complained 
that  all  the  American  people  needed  to  be 
induced  to  enter  the  Catholic  fold  was  "cult- 
ured" priests.  It  has  never  seemed  to  strike 
the  critic  that  the  "culture"  of  the  American 
people  is  not  overwhelming;  nevertheless, 
his  wails  filled  the  air. 

Now  a  means  of  remedying  all  defects  in 
Catholic  educational  training  is  about  to  be 
provided.  The  Catholic  University  is  a  fixed 
fact, — the  Holy  Father  has  done  everything  in 
his  power  to  make  it  so.  The  time  for  criticism 
is  passed.  The  "what?"  orthe  "why?"  isnow 
a  childish  impertinence.  Enthusiasm  in  word 
and  act  is  now  demanded.  The  straight  line 
from  one  point  to  another  has  been  drawn  by 
I^o  XIII.  All  we  have  to  do  is  to  follow  it,  and 
to  hold  up  the  hands  of  that  noble  enthusiast 
who  has  made  the  ideal  real,  and  who  will  save 
us  from  our  own  lack  of  what  the  French  call 
esprit  de  corps,  but  which  is  better  expressed 
by  Christian  fellowship. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

The  Holy  Father  has  never  protested  more 
emphatically  against  his  position  under  the  Ital- 
ian Government  than  in  his  allocution  delivered 
at  the  Consistory  on  the  30th  of  June.  His  words 
have  excited  universal  interest,  and  made  the 
Roman  question  uppermost  in  all  serious  minds. 
No  sane  man  would  longer  say  that  the  Pope  is 
free  in  Rome,  while  the  conviction  seems  to  be 
forcing  itself  upon  the  minds  of  European  sover- 
eigns that  he  ought  to  be  free  and  independent. 
Affairs  have  evidently  reached  a  crisis  in  the 
Eternal  City.  It  is  not  at  all  likely  that  Leo  XIII. 
will  abandon  Rome,  but  a  change  in  his  position 
can  not  be  very  long  delayed.  Crispi  is  having 
his  day,  as  Ganibetta  and  the  rest  had  theirs,  but 
that  day  is  drawing  to  a  close.  Though  Justice 
walks  with  a  leaden  'foot,  she  strikes  with  an 
iron  hand. 


Among  the  poetic  tributes  to  Father  Damien, 
of  which  there  have  been  many,  the  following 
sonnet  in  the  current  ninriber  of  Ma  cm  it  tan's  is 
notable  for  fervency  and  artistic  expression.  It 
was  contributed  by  H.  D.  Rawnsley  : 
No  golden  dome  shines  over  Damien's  sleep  : 

A  leper's  grave  upon  a  leprous  strand, 

Where  hope  is  dead,  and  hand  must  shrink  from 
hand, 
Where  cataracts  wail  toward  a  moaning  deep, 
And  frowning  purple  cliffs  in  mercy  keep 

All  wholesome  life  at  distance,  hath  God  planned 

For  him  who  led  the  saints'  heroic  band, 
And  died  a  shepherd  of  Christ's  exiled  sheep. 
O'er  Damien's  dust  the  broad  skies  bend  for  dome. 

Stars  bum  for  golden  letters,  and  the  sea 
Shall  roll  perpetual  anthem  round  his  rest : 
For  Damien  made  the  charnel-house  life's  home, 

Matched  love  with  death ;  and  Damien's  name 
shall  be 
A  glorious  benediction,  world-possest. 


The  Ladies  of  the  Sacred  Heart  are  rejoiced  at 
the  prospect  of  the  early  beatification  of  their 
holy  foundress,  Madame  Madeleine  Sophie  Barat, 
who  died  on  the  25th  of  May,  1865.  A  preliminary 
decree  to  this  effect  has  already  been  issued.  She 
was  declared  Venerable  by  the  present  Pope  on 
the  1 8th  of  July,  1879. 

The  Ladies  of  the  Sacred  Heart  are  among  the 
most  celebrated  of  the  female  teaching  orders. 
They  number  6,000,  and  have  about  150  con- 
vents in  all  parts  of  the  world.  Madame  Barat 
consecrated  herself  to  God  at  the  age  of  eighteen  ; 
and  at  eighty-five  she  was  governing,  with  unim- 
paired faculties,  more  than  one  hundred  houses 


The  Ave  Maria, 


III 


of  her  institute  in  Europe  and  America.  She  was 
a  woman  of  extraordinary^  ^ifts,  and  man}'  of  her 
traits  resembled  those  of  the  great  St.  Teresa. 
The  Order  was  founded  at  Amiens  in  1801-1802  ; 
it  increased  with  wondrous  rapidity,  and  founda- 
tions were  made  in  different  parts  of  France,  from 
which  it  spread  over  Europe,  and  also  to  America 
and  the  Colonies.  The  first  establishment  in  the 
United  States  was  at  St.  Michael's,  near  New 
Orleans,  in  1818. 

A  lyatin  inscription  in  Gothic  letters  has  just 
been  placed  over  the  centre  porch  of  the  Cathedral 
of  Cologne,  of  which  the  following  paragraph  is  a 
translation.  It  is  an  interesting  summary  of  the 
history  of  the  ' '  eighth  wonder  of  the  world ' ' : 

This  Metropolitan  Church,  the  grandest  architect- 
ural monument  of  this  city  and  the  glory  of  all 
Germany,  was  begun  in  the  year  1248  by  the  Bishop, 
Conrad  von  Hochstaden.  The  choir  was  blessed  in 
1322  by  Archbishop  Heinrich  von  Virneburg.  Con- 
tinued during  the  two  following  centuries,  this  work 
was  hindered  and  interrupted  since  the  sixteenth 
century  by  the  misfortunes  of  the  times.  At  last,  in 
1852, our  august  King,  Frederick  William  IV. ,  laid  the 
first  stone  for  the  completion  of  the  edifice,  which  was 
blessed  by  Johannes  von  Geissel,  Coadjutor  of  Arch- 
bishop Clemens  Augustus.  After  the  formation  of  the 
Cathedral  Fabric  Society,  aid  came  from  all  parts, 
and  the  Cathedral  itself  was  consecrated  in  1848  by 
the  aforesaid  Archbishop  Johannes.  The  erection  of 
the  two  towers  was  begun  during  the  episcopacy  of 
Paul  Melchers.  The  celebration  of  their  completion 
took  place  in  the  presence  of  our  august  Emperor 
and  King,  William  I. ,  the  most  munificent  protector 
of  the  work,  on  October  15, 1880,  in  the  third  year  of 
the  Pontificate  of  Pope  I^eo  XIII. 


Zealous  and  sincere  Anglicans  must  have  been 
greatly  exercised  to  read  in  a  recent  issue  of  the 
Whitehall  Review  the  statement  that ' '  the  Church 
of  England  teaches  contradictories. ' '  The  truth  of 
the  assertion  is  thus  illustrated  :  "  In  one  church 
you  find  the  whole  sacramental  system  as  taught 
by  the  Roman  Church  more  or  less  accurately 
preached  and  proclaimed,  and  the  symbolic 
ritual  practised  as  exemplifying  to  eye  and  ear 
these  verities.  Within  a  stone's  throw  you  find 
another  church,  where  all  these  points  of  doc- 
trine and  practice  are  proclaimed  to  be  perni- 
cious and  soul  destroying ;  while  in  a  third  there 
is  Broad  Church  toleration  of,  or  indifference 
to,  all  or  any  dogma,  if  not  a  denial  of  what  is 
common  to  the  belief  of  High  and  Low  Church 
people." 

Another  difficulty  with  the  Anglicans  equally 
perplexing  is  the  question  of  authority.  Assum- 
ing the  validity  of  the  orders,  ' '  Whence  comes  the 
permission,"  asks  the  writer  in  the  Whitehall, 


' '  to  exercise  the  powers  conferred  by  these  orders  ? 
A  judge,  a  magistrate,  a  bishop,  can  exercise 
their  powers  in  certain  places  only.  But  the  An- 
glican clergy  use  their  powers  anywhere  and 
everj^where,  not  only  without  leave  of  the  bishops, 
but  often  in  spite  of  epivScopal  disapproval.  .  .  . 
Is  it  not  a  curious  anomaly  to  find  ministers  of 
the  same  church,  not  only  contradicting  one  an- 
other, but  invading  episcopal  territory,  and  pro- 
nouncing the  bishop  of  the  same  territory  to  be 
in  heresy?  .  .  .  And  then  comes  a  further  ques- 
tion :  Not  only,  who  is  right?  not  only,  who  is 
wrong?  but — who  is  to  decide?" 


Mother  Teresa  Dease,  who  died  recently  at  the 
Mother-House  of  the  Sisters  of  Loreto  in  Toronto, 
was  a  religious  distinguished  alike  by  her  devoted- 
ness  and  piety,  her  intellectual  acquirements  and 
her  saint-like  gentleness  of  manner.  She  was  the 
foundress  of  the  Order  of  Loreto  in  America, — 
a  work  which  she  accomplished  under  untold 
trials  about  forty  years  ago.  At  the  urgent  solici- 
tation of  Mgr.  Power,  the  first  Bishop  of  Toronto, 
Sister  Teresa,  accompanied  by  four  other  relig- 
ious of  Loreto,  left  the  mother-house  at  Rathfam- 
ham,  Ireland,  on  the  5th  of  August,  1847,  to  found 
a  house  of  the  Order  in  Canada.  On  their  arrival 
in  Toronto  they  received  the  shocking  intelligence 
that  their  friend  and  benefactor.  Bishop  Power, 
had  just  died,  a  martyr  to  his  zeal,  while  minis- 
tering to  fever-stricken  emigrants.  As  the  Dioce- 
san See  remained  vacant  until  1850,  the  Ladies  of 
Loreto  were  left  entirely  dependent  on  their  own 
slender  resources  ;  but  they  persevered,  and  were 
blessed  in  every  undertaking  ;  and  under  the 
energetic  and  prudent  guidance  of  Mother  Teresa, 
the  Order  advanced,  step  by  step,  to  the  grand 
proportions  it  now  assumes  in  the  Province  of 
Ontario.  It  is  said  of  the  departed  religieuse 
that  it  was  impossible  to  hold  converse  with  her 
without  being  deeply  impressed  with  the  rare 
beauty  of  her  character.  Her  charming,  modest 
demeanor  won  all  hearts. 


The  Boston  correspondent  of  the  Critic,  writing 
of  Mr.  John  Boyle  O'Reilly  and  his  selection  as 
poet  on  the  occasion  of  the  dedication  of  the 
national  monument  to  the  Pilgrims  at  Plymouth, 
says : 

"O'Reilly's  generous  sympathies  make  this  cele- 
bration of  the  deepest  interest  to  him,  and  his  fervor 
of  feeling  will  flame  and  glow  in  his  verse.  His  ideas 
have  a  broader  sweep  than  those  of  most  agitators 
for  political  rights.  His  devotion  to  freedom  is  not 
circumscribed  by  the  limits  of  a  nation,  but  is  wide 
and  universal  as  humanity.  There  is  a  philosophic 
grasp  and  insight  in  his  poetic  utterances  on  really 
great  themes  which  invest  them  with  permanent 


112 


The  Ave  Maria, 


value  and  siguificance ;  and  the  fact  that  an  Irish- 
man and  a  Catholic  is  to  be  the  poet  of  the  great 
New  England  celebration  attests  the  hold  he  has 
gained  on  the  hearts  of  the  descendants  of  the  Pil- 
grims."   

The  lyondon  Weekly  Register  considers  the 
enormous  sale  of  Father  Damien's  photograph  a 
sign  of  the  spiritual  earnestness  of  our  times. 
The  portrait  of  the  Martj^r  of  Molokai  is  becoming 
familiar  to  the  public  everywhere.  The  demand 
for  it  is  greater  than  for  that  of  any  professional 
celebrity  or  society  beaut}'.  How  such  a  pref- 
erence would  have  surprised  the  single-hearted 
missionary,  who  desired  to  remain  unknown  to 
the  world ! 

Mrs.  Mary  A.  Livermore,  who  was  prominently 
connected  with  the  Sanitar}'  Commission  during 
our  Civil  War,  and  who  subsequently  gained 
notoriety  by  her  advocacy  of  Woman's  Rights, 
in  a  recently  published  book  containing  a  nar- 
rative of  "experiences  during  the  War  of  the 
Rebellion,"  pays  a  noble  tribute  to  the  labors  of 
Sisters,  of  which  few  persons  have  an  adequate 
idea.   Mrs.  I/ivennore  writes  : 

"The  Mound  City  Hospital  was  considered  the  best 
military  hospital  in  the  United  States.  .  .  .  The  most 
thorough  system  was  maintained  in  every  depart- 
ment. There  were  an  exact  time  and  place  for  every- 
thing. Every  person  was  assigned  to  a  particular 
department  of  work,  and  held  responsible  for  its 
perfect  performance.  A  Shaker-like  cleanliness  and 
sweetness  of  atmosphere  pervaded  the  various  wards, 
the  sheets  and  pillows  were  of  immaculate  whiteness, 
and  the  patients  who  were  convalescing  were  cheerful 
and  contented.  The  Sisters  of  the  Holy  Cross  were 
employed  as  nurses,  and  by  their  skill,  quietness,  gen- 
tleness and  tenderness,  were  invaluable  in  the  sick 
wards.  Every  patient  gave  hearty  testimony  to  the 
kindness  and  skill  of  the  Sisters.  Mother  Angela  was 
the  matron — the  Superieure  of  these  Sisters, — a  gifted 
lady  of  rare  cultivation  and  executive  ability  with 
winning  sweetness  of  manner.  ...  If  I  had  ever  felt 
prejudice  against  these  Sisters  as  nurses,  my  experi- 
ence with  them  during  the  war  would  have  dissipated 
it  entirely.  The  world  has  known  no  nobler  and  no 
more  heroic  women  than  those  found  in  the  ranks  of 
the  Catholic  sisterhoods." 

The  following  extract  also  serves  to  show  the 
general  esteem  in  which  the  Sisters  were  held — 
themselves  and  their  devoted  services.  Order ^ 
comfort,  cleanliness  and  good  nursing,  prevailed 
wherever  they  were  emploj'ed  : 

"  I  found  everywhere  at  this  time  the  greatest  prej- 
udice against  Protestant  women  nurses.  Medical 
directors,  surgeons,  and  even  ward-masters,  openly 
declared  that  they  would  not  have  them  in  the  service, 
and  that  only  the  Sisters  of  the  Catholic  Church 
should  receive  appointments.  I  sought  for  the  cause 


of  this  decision.  '  Your  Protestant  nurses  are  always 
finding  some  mare's-nest  or  other,'  said  one  of  the 
surgeons,  'that  they  can't  let  alone.  They  all  write 
for  the  papers,  and  the  story  finds  its  v^slj  into  print, 
and  directly  we  are  in  hot  water.  Now,  the  Sisters 
never  see  anything  they  ought  not  to  see,  nor  hear 
anything  they  ought  not  to  hear,  and  they  never 
write  for  the  papers  ;  and  the  result  is  we  get  on  very 
comfortably  with  them. '  " 


In  a  letter  to  the  Freeinan' s  Journal  Judge 
IVIorrison  gives  an  interesting  account  of  the 
Rosario  Chapel  near  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico,  and 
of  the  annual  procession  so  faithfully  observed 
by  the  pious  Mexicans.  The  original  statue  of 
Neustra  vSeiiora  Conquistadora  is  preserved  in  the 
Cathedral. 

"One  hundred  and  ninety-seven  years  ago  Don 
Diego  Vargas  led  an  expedition  from  Mexico  to  re- 
conquer the  Indian  Pueblos,  who  had  revolted  against 
the  Spanish  rule  and  laid  siege  to  Santa  F^,  which 
was  defended  by  all  the  warlike  tribes  that  could  be 
hurried  in  to  resist  the  Spaniards.  It  seemed  impos- 
sible that  the  small  force,  scarcely  numbering  300 
soldiers,  could  prevail  against  the  10,000  warriors 
who  held  the  city  and  the  adjacent  heights ;  but 
Vargas  was  one  of  those  invincible  souls  who  are 
never  deterred  by  difiiculties,  and  we  are  told  by  the 
Very  Revi James  de  Fouri,  in  his  'Historical  Sketch 
of  the  Catholic  Church  in  New  Mexico, '  that  after  a 
day's  desperate  fighting,  without  any  definite  result, 
Vargas  made  a  solemn  vow,  in  presence  of  his  weary 
troops,  that  if  the  Holy  Virgin  by  her  interces- 
sion would  obtain  victory  for  him,  he  would  build  a 
chapel  on  the  spot  on  which  he  was  then  encamping, 
and  that  a  statue  of  the  Blessed  Mother,  which  he 
had  carried  with  him  from  Mexico,  would  be  borne 
in  solemn  procession  from  the  principal  church 
of  the  city  every  year  to  the  Rosario,  as  he  pro- 
posed to  name  his  chapel ;  that  Holy  Mass  would  be 
celebrated  during  nine  days,  and  then,  with  the  same 
solemnities,  the  statue  should  be  borne  back  to  its 
shrine.  The  next  morning  Vargas  attacked  the  Ind- 
ians again ;  by  noon  the  entire  force  disappeared, 
and  never  returned  to  Santa  F^.  True  to  his  promise, 
Vargas  built  a  small  chapel,  which  was  dedicated  to 
Our  Lady  of  the  Holy  Rosary.  The  Sunday  after 
the  Octave  of  Corpus  Christi  was  chosen  as  the 
memorial  day,  and  faithfully  indeed  has  the  vow  of 
the  conqueror  been  kept  by  all  successive  generations 
of  his  people. ' ' 

"Cardinal  Newman,"  says  the  London  World, 
"has  returned  to  Binningham  in  improved 
health — ^being,  in  fact,  as  active  at  eighty- nine 
as  he  was  when  he  and  the  century  M^ere  a  dec- 
ade younger.  Though  his  mind  is  as  clear  as 
ever,  his  hands  have  forgotten  their  cunning. 
He  writes  only  with  great  effort,  and  now  the 
dijBBculty  is  increased  by  a  slight  failure  of  eye- 
sight." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


115 


New  Publications. 

A  Short  Cut  to  the  True  Church.    By  the 

Rev.  Father  Edmund  Hill,  C.  P.  Notre  Dame,  Ind. : 

Office  of  The  "Ave  Maria." 

Most  of  the  readers  of  The  '  'Ave  Maria'  '  have 
already  seen  these  articles,  which  now  appear  in 
the  shape  of  a  pretty  and  convenient  little  vol- 
ume. There  are  so  many  books  nowada3^s  record- 
ing the  experiences  of  converts,  or  setting  forth 
arguments  and  truths  which  they  would  fain 
bring  home  to  others,  that  it  may  be  as  well  to 
state  some  of  the  points  which  differentiate  this 
volume  from  others  that  cover  the  same  ground. 
Its  principal  characteristics  are  conciseness  and 
clearness,  lucid  order  of  subjects,  and  the  fulness 
with  which  both  sides  of  the  case  are  presented. 
We  must  sa}-  that  many  works  on  conversion  to 
the  Church  are  either  too  heavy  or  too  drj',  some- 
times both ;  but  the  book  before  us  is  entirely 
free  from  these  defects.  The  writer  is  logical,  but 
he  is  at  the  same  time  enthusiastic ;  he  is  cool, 
but  he  pleads  his  cause  as  a  lawyer  pleads  in  a 
matter  of  life  and  death.  But  what  is  perhaps, 
-after  all,  the  best  feature  of  the  book,  and  one 
which  renders  it  of  almost  unique  value,  is  that 
no  difficult}' ,  however  slight,  is  passed  over ;  no 
argument  against  the  view  that  the  author  cham- 
pions but  is  given  its  full  weight.  The  method 
of  argument  is  above  all  clear  and  candid,  sup- 
presses nothing,  and  admits  frankly  the  weight  of 
evidence  that  there  is  on  the  other  side.  "Read 
anything  you  like,  but  read  the  books  I  give  you 
as  well,"  said  an  old  .priest  to  one  who  was  on  the 
threshold  of  conversion,  and  who  asked  whether 
it  would  be  advisable  for  him  to  read  certain 
anti-Christian  works. 

Father  Hill  believes  in  stating  the  case  of  his 
opponents  as  they  themselves,  if  fair-minded, 
state  it,  so  that  there  be  no  doubt  about  what  the 
real  matter  of  argument  is.  It  is  easy  to  see  that 
the  book  is  the  work  of  a  scholar,  one  who  is 
familiar  with  the  Latin  and  Greek  classics,  and  a 
master  of  Biblical  hermeneutics,  and  we  hope  and 
trust  that  many  scholars  will  read  the  book.  It  is 
written  for  them  as  well  as  for  the  unlearned.  May 
many  of  them  find  in  its  pages  an  entrance  into 
the  school  of  Christ, — that  happ}^  school  which 
Peter  of  the  Cells  describes,  "where  He  teaches 
our  hearts  with  the  word  of  power ;  where  the 
book  is  not  purchased  nor  Lhe  master  paid!  There 
life  availeth  more  than  learning,  and  simplicity 
more  than  science.  There  none  are  refuted  save 
those  who  are  forever  rejected,  and  one  word  of 
final  judgment,  'Ite'  or  '  Venite'  decides  all  ques- 
tions and  all  cavils  forever." 


St.  Basil's  Hymnal.   Published  at  St.  Michael's- 

College :  Toronto,  Ontario. 

St.  Basil's  Hymnal,  containing  music  for  Ves- 
pers of  all  the  Sundays  and  festivals  of  the  year, 
three  Masses,  and  over  two  hundred  hymns, 
together  with  litanies,  daily  prayers,  devotions 
at  Mass,  prayers  for  confession  and  Communion, 
together  with  the  Office  and  Rules  for  vSodalities 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  IMary,  is  a  compilation 
admirably  adapted  to  sodalities,  individually  and 
collectively.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  the  director  of  a 
choir  and  the  leader  of  sodality  singing  to  find  so 
good  a  collection  of  Masses  and  hymns  as  is  here 
given.  The  simplest  child,  with  the  most  rudi- 
mentary knowledge  of  sight  reading,  can  follow 
them  and  sing  them  acceptably. 

The  great  fault  of  Catholic  choirs  is  the  foolish 
ambition  they  show  to  sing  Masses  and  anthems 
far  above  the  comprehension  of  the  individual 
singers ;  and  such  mischief  do  they  make  of 
Haydn,  Beethoven  and  Mozart,  such  absurd  par- 
ody of  La  Hache,  Mercadante  and  Marzo,  that 
musicians  in  the  congregation  suffer  tortures, 
and  are  almost  driven  from  the  church.  Simple 
music  perfectly  sung  is  far  more  effective  and 
acceptable  than  masterpieces  of  vocal  art  wretch- 
edly given  by  average  choirs. 

The  music  in  St.  Basil's  Hymnal  is  all  good, 
some  of  the  hymns  especially  so ;  those  in  the 
collection  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary  are  all  very- 
melodious,  and  may  be  sung  in  two,  three,  or  four 
parts.  Sodalities  especially  will  value  the  ix)ok  not 
only  for  the  music,  but  for  the  devotional  services 
and  prayers  it  contains.  O.  H. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii,  3. 

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

Mr.  Henry  Ellis,  of  Washington,  D.  C. ,  whose  happy 
death  occurred  on  the  nth  ult 

Mrs.  Patrick  Farley,  who  departed  this  life  at 
Newark,  N.  J.,  on  the  same  day,  fortified  by  the  last 
Sacraments. 

Mrs.  Adolphine  Weld,  who  peacefully  yielded  her 
soul  to  God  at  Oakland,  Cal.,  on  the  9th  ult. 

Mrs.  Bridget  Fitzpatrick,  of  Philadelphia,  Pa.,  who 
died  a  most  edifying  death  on  the  eve  of  the  Feast 
of  Mt.  Carmel. 

Mr.  John  McKee,  of  Trenton,  N.  J.;  Matthew 
Tiemey  and  Maurice  Hurley,  New  York,  N.  Y. ; 
Mrs.  Mary  Walsh,  Mrs.  Bridget  Mulhem,  Mrs.  Mary 
Kenna,  Mrs.  Catherine  Roach,  Mrs.  Honoria  Brayton^ 
Mr.  Michael  McCaffrey, — all  of  Albany,  N.  Y. ;  also 
Mrs.  Catherine  McNiemey,  Troy,  N.  Y. 

May  they  rest  in  peace  ! 


114 


The  Ave  Maria. 


PAflTMENT 


BY   MAURICE   F.  EGAN. 

A  WATER-LILY  floats  upon  the  mere,— 
A  water-lilj'  white  and  gold  and  sweet ; 
Though  shadows  pass,  it  floats  and  has  no  fear, — 
Though  little  billows  rise  and  murmuring  meet. 
*Tis  anchored  by  its  stem,  and  so  are  we 
Held  by  God's  love,  though  times  go  stormily. 


The  Jose-Maria. 


BY  E.  ly.  DORSEY. 


VI. 


And  that  trip  to  Henlopen  was  taken  in 
due  time,  but,  although-  there  was  plenty  of 
fun  and  a  fair  amount  of  information  got  out 
of  it,  Dick's  awe  of  the  dune  was  increased 
rather  than  diminished ;  for  as  they  rushed  up 
the  swelling  mound  with  a  whoop  and  a  yell 
the  keeper  of  the  Light  ran  out,  and,  with 
warning  gesture  and  strangely  hushed  voice, 
told  them  to  "be  quiet  and  move  slow,  fur 
sometimes  jest  one  word  sharp-spoken  'ud 
fetch  a  ship  load  o'  sand  a-tumblin*  down  off 'n 
the  edge  o'  the  whirl ;  an'  he  had  seen  things 
buried  out  o'  sight  in  a  wink." 

''Don't  it  do  it  a-puppus?"  Tic  had  asked, 
his  face  so  pale  that  the  freckles  actually 
seemed  to  hover  above  its  surface. 

"No — yes  —  I  dunno,"  said  the  keeper. 
"Thar  come  times  when  I  b'leeve  it  doos.''^ 
And  he  rubbed  his  forehead  so  worriedly  that 
Dick  felt  a  tightening  in  his  throat  and  a 
whirring  in  his  little  heart.  *  *  When  the  Equi- 
noctials is  on  the  whole  thing  gits  to  wrigglin' 
an'  heavin',  tell  it  look  's  ef  it  had  come  alive, 
and  was  a-cruisin'  off  on  its  own  hook.  Then 
agin  it  lays  thar  like  one  o'  them  anny-condors 
in  thejog-afies — a-gapin'  to  bolt  a  meal.  See 
what  I  mean  ? "  And  he  pointed  to  where  the 
white  shaft  of  the  light-house  stood  erect  and 
lonely  in  the  deep  bowl  of  the  dune's  whirl, — 


a  bowl  whose  upper  edges  lipped  hungrily 
toward  the  tower  on  a  level  with  its  second 
story  windows. 

"How  much  longer  can  the  light  burn  afore 
it's  eat  up? "  asked  Dick. 

This  shocked  the  keeper  back  to  reason. 

"Land  o'  glory,  boy,  th'  light  won't  never 
be  eat  up!  Th'  shafVW  go  mebbe ;  but  th' 
light' 11  burn,  please  God,  tell  His  bo's'n  St. 
Gabr'el  pipes  fur  all  them  poor  chaps  out  yan- 
der  to  tumble  up  an'  bear  a  hand  aloft!" 

"What  d'ye  mean,  then?"  asked  Dick. 

"Why,  that  th'  .sand  roller  thar'll  curve 
over  'fore  long  an'  break — same  ez  them  salt 
rollers  down  thar, — an'  a'  other  11  rise  an'  break, 
an'  a'  other,  tell  th'  lantern  ain't  more  'n  a 
story  high  out  o'  th'  smother.  Then  th'  in- 
spectors'11  come  along  an'  h'ist  her  up  agin 
clar  o'  th'  sand,  like  they  ben  a-doin'  fur  two 
hundred  an'  fifty  year.  Ev'y  thirty  year  or  so 
they  splice  her  topmast,  an'  time's  most  up 
fur  another  rise." 

And  after  this,  although  Dick  believed  the 
master  thoroughly  with  his  reason,  his  imag- 
ination took  to  giving  him  nightmares.  He 
would  dream  that  the  dune  had  left  its  bed  in 
the  sand,  and  crawled  to  the  windows  behind 
which  his  mother  and  the  twins  slept,  and  that 
it  lifted  its  head  and  peered  in,  smacking  its 
lips  and  gritting  its  fangs  in  a  way  that  gave 
him  the  shudders.  Or  he  would  dream  he  was 
the  light-house  tower,  and  he  could  feel  the 
stealthy  Crawl  winding  its  coils  closer  and 
closer  around  him,  till  he  would  spring  up, 
fighting  for  breath.  By  daylight  the  phantasm 
and  the  feeling  disappeared ;  but  the  myste- 
rious quicksands  that  changed  their  locale  with 
every  gale,  the  half- ruined  house  to  which  his 
mother  wandered  whenever  a  brewing  storm 
brought  on  one  of  her  "spells,"  and  the  des- 
olation of  bare  branches  and  death-dealing 
sand, — they  were  always  there;  so,  whether 
he  saw  the  dune  under  the  snows  of  winter 
or  the  moons  of  summer,  or  sunning  its  tawny 
length  under  the  noondays  of  August,  or 
frothing  under  the  winds  of  March,  it  came  to 
be  the  shadow  of  his  healthy,  busy  boyhood. 

With  fine  Yankee  reticence  he  kept  this  to 
himself,  however;  and  so  it  happened  that 
Mary  Ginevra  and  Ginevra  Mary,  having 
nothing  to  dread  from  it,  took  first  to  follow- 
ing their  mother  to  the  "Portugee's  cabin"  ; 


The  Ave  Maria. 


'15 


and  finally,  the  next  year,  they  set  up  their 
dolls  and  housekeeping  in  the  same  spot, 
gradually  accumulating  great  treasures  in 
shells,  broken  bits  of  bright  glass,  crockery, 
and  dilapidated  tin-ware. 

Jonas  had  mended  the  door  and  windows 
one  fair  day,  and  the  twins  that  spring  tried 
to  stake  off  a  garden ;  but  the  clams'  shells 
that  marked  its  outlines  had  to  be  dug  out 
so  often  that  they  gave  it  up  in  disgust,  and 
sat  among  "pretend  roses  and  lay  locks  and 
pinks,"  when  the  dolls  needed  sunning.  And 
here  they  met  with  their  first  personal  ad- 
venture. 

It  was  the  day  Miriam  Ethelinda,  the  oldest 
and  dearest  of  the  dolls,  had  been  rescued  from 
a  violent  death,  Ginevra  Mary  having  laid  her 
in  her  sea-weed  crib  the  Saturday  before  with- 
out properly  hunting  for  the  pin  that  marked 
the  whereabouts  of  her  nose ;  she  had  there- 
fore been  sleeping  for  a  whole  week  on  her 
face,  which  made  her  breathing  very  bad  in- 
deed; and  the  two  distracted  little  mothers 
dived  in  and  out,  like  a  pair  of  dabchicks, 
trying  to  revive  their  beloved  rag  darling. 

* '  What  have  we  here,  eh  ? "  said  a  big  voice 
above  them.  And  they  looked  up  to  see  quite 
the  pleasantest  face  they  had  ever  known — 
dark  skin,  red  cheeks,  black  eyes,  curly  black 
hair,  the  whitest  of  teeth,  and  a  pair  of  bright 
gold  ear-rings,  shining  against  a  sturdy  neck 
that  rose  from  out  a  sailor-shirt,  embroidered 
with  a  spread  eagle  on  one  side,  and  a  red 
white  and  blue  flag  on  the  other. 

"A  sick  do — baby,  I  mean,  mamzelles.  Is 
it  not?" 

They  nodded. 

"Let  me  see:  I  am  a  good  doctor,  and  I 
have  a  little  something  will  cure  her  at  once." 

And  his  brown  fingers  went  into  his  pocket, 
and  came  out  filled  with  candied  almonds. 

By  this  time  he  was  sitting  down,  tailor 
fashion,  gravely  examining  Miriam  Ethelinda. 

"Yes,  yes:  she  has  a  fever,  but  I  give  her 
one  little  pill,  so — " 

"Oh!"  said  Ginevra  Mary;  and  Mary 
Ginevra  said, "Don't! "  And  then  they  both 
said:  ''That's  the  back  of  her  head  you're 
poking  at,  'tain't  her  mouth  at  all.  TVs  here." 

And  then  they  explained. 

He  didn't  laugh  a  bit,  but  said :  "I  tell  you, 
she  has  a  fever,  yes;  but  it's  a  sort  of  fever 


that  can't  be  cured  by  taking  the  little  pills 
herself:  you  have  to  take  them  for  her — one 
each,  till  they  are  gone,  so." 

And  he  popped  the  candy  in' each  little 
mouth,  till  even  a  far  sicker  doll  must  have 
felt  quite  cured. 

Then  he  said :  "  Now  tell  me  your  names." 

And  when  they  had  generously  responded 
by  giving  him  not  only  theirs,  but  the  names 
of  the  whole  family  as  well,  and  its  entire 
history,  he  told  them  he  had  two  little  sisters 
at  home,  who  were  just  as  old  as  they  were 
and  had  the  same  names — one  was  called  for 
St.  Genevieve,  and  one  (here  he  lifted  his  cap) 
for  the  Holy  Virgin.  His  name  was  Ren6, 
and  his  ship  was  just  in  from  France.  He  was 
walking  over  to  look  at  the  Light,  and  might 
he  call  on  them  again  ? 

And  that  was  the  beginning  of  the  friend- 
ship which  prospered  daily  for  a  week ;  and 
then  the  Rosette  de  Lyons  was  cleared,  and  all 
that  was  left  in  Lewes  of  Ren^  Lenoir  was  a 
picture  directed  to  ''Les  petites  desmoiselles 
aux  Sables,''  and  the  loving  remembrance  of 
two  childish  hearts. 

The  picture  was  a  cheap  but  very  pretty 
lithograph  of  La  belle  Jardiniere  of  Raphael, 
and  there  was  much  discussion  about  what 
should  be  done  with  it.  Jonas  didn't  care 
much,  but  thought  it  was  "kind  o'  popish." 
One  of  the  ministers  and  several  of  the  elders 
advised  its  being  destroyed  as  "dangerous." 
Comeg\'S  told  them  it  was  a  good  copy  of  a 
famous  picture,  and  added : 

"And,  then,  you  know  when  all  is  said  and 
done,  you  can't  get  away  from  the  fact  that 
the  Virgin  Mary  was  the  Mother  of  Christ, 
just  as  much  as  my  mother  is  mine  and  your 
mother  is  yours." 

"Thet'sso,"  began  Jonas,  when — 

"You  sha'n't  have  our  pretty  Lady!"  sud- 
denly declared  the  two  Ginevras.  "R^n6  give 
it  to  us  an*  nobody  else!" 

And,  seizing  it,  they  marched  off"  to  the 
Ridge  with  it,  where,  by  the  aid  of  sundry 
pins  and  tacks,  they  fastened  it  on  the  wall 
of  the  cabin,  and  it  soon  became  a  part  of  their 
lives  and  a  companion  in  their  plays. 

They  acquired  a  habit  of  saying,  "Good- 
morning,  pretty  Lad  y  ! "  or,  "  How  -  de  -  do. 
Ma'am  !  "  and  "Good-night,  pretty  Lady !  " 
arguing  with  each  other  that  "  'cause  she  was 


ii6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


God's  Mother  they' d^M^/z/ to  be  polite."  And 
they  fell  into  a  way  of  referring  disputes  to 
her  with  varying  results.  And  Idella's  tired 
eyes  found  rest  in  the  soft  color  and  sweet 
face;  and  several  times  the  children  caught 
her  standing  before  it,  looking  at  it  and 
■muttering, 

'^  You'd  ought  to  know  'bout  'I^iakim.  My 
Dick  'ud  tell  me,  an'  seems  to  me  your  Son 
'ud  tell  you — ef  you  asked  Him." 

That  phrase,  "Mother  of  Christ,"  seemed  to 
have  caught  on  some  point  of  the  distraught 
brain;  and  the  two  Ginevras,  after  hearing 
this  repeated  twice  or  thrice,  began  to  discuss 
it  themselves. 

Mary  Ginevra  believed  her  father  was  dead. 

'"Course  he  is.  Don't  uncle  and  Dick  b'leeve 
it?"  she'd  say,  conclusively. 

But  Ginevra  Mary  was  made  of  sterner  stufif, 
and  flatly  denied  the  premises. 

"That  don't  make  him  dead,"  she  would 
answer.  "I  wonder  if  the  Lady  yonder  does 
know  ?  " 

And  then  she  began  what  she  rarely  omitted 
— to  pop  down  on  her  little  knees,  either  be- 
fore the  picture,  or  (when  the  winter  broke 
up  their  journeys  to  the  cabin)  by  her  bunk 
or  hammock,  and  to  say, 

'  *  Pretty  Lady,  Mother  of  Christ,  please  ask 
the  Lord  Jesus  to  send  daddy  home  ef  he's 
alive;  an'  ef  he  ain't,  please  to  let  us  know 
he's  dead — reel  dead!" 

(to  be  continued.) 


Johnnie's  Travels. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  TYBORNE. 


VI. 


The  next  day  Johnnie  worked  hard  for  Mrs. 
Tourla ;  she  also  had  the  kindness  to  dry  his 
clothes,  one  by  one,  by  the  fire.  As  he  swept 
the  room,  kept  up  the  fire,  and  washed  the 
plates,  Mrs.  Tourla  sat  down  to  needlework, 
but  to  Johnnie's  disappointment  she  had  white 
work,  and  there  was  not  a  sign  of  any  new 
clothes  for  the  little  mice,  who  were  having  a 
fine  holiday  in  the  straw. 

"She  has  forgotten! "  thought  poor  Johnnie. 
Once  he  announced,  partly  to  remind  her, 
that  he  would  go  and  feed  his  mice. 


She  said :  "By  all  means^  my  child. ' '  And 
the  hint  was  lost  on  her. 

At  last  came  the  evening  and  it  brought 
Sophie  home,  and  she  had  a  newspaper  parcel 
in  her  hand. 

"Here  you  are,  Johnnie!"  she  said,  tossing 
it  to  him. 

Johnnie  seized  the  parcel  and  opened  it. 
"Oh!  oh!  o/i/"  he  cried.  It  contained  bits 
and  scraps  of  such  splendid  materials — silk, 
velvet,  lul/e,  ribbon,  lace,  gold  and  silver  braid. 
Johnnie  looked  from  the  treasures  to  Mrs. 
Tourla,  tears  in  his  eyes.  "And  I  thought  you 
had  forgotten.  I  am  a  bad  boy." 

' '  Indeed  you  are  not, ' '  said  his  friend.  * '  It 
was  very  natural,  and  I  knew  very  well  what 
you  were  thinking  about ;  but  I  had  promised 
Sophie  to  let  her  surprise  you." 

"Oh,  how  lovely!"  exclaimed  Johnnie, 
•again  examining  his  treasures. 

"I  have  forgotten  something  that  is  also 

lovely,"   echoed   Sophie.    "Mamma,   I    told 

Madame  Verte  about  the  mice,  and  she  says  I 

may  stay  at  home  to-morrow  and  help  you." 

Johnnie's  eyes  shone  with  joy. 

"Johnnie,  I  wonder  how  it  was  the  mice 
never  got  wet  before  ? " 

"I  always  stood  in  the  big  doorways  when 
it  rained, ' '  he  answered.  * '  It  was  while  cross- 
ing that  big  square  and  bridge  that  I  got 
so  wet.  I  won't  cross  the  bridges  again;  I 
shall  go  to  the  Champs-Elysees  by  another 
way. ' ' 

"Find  it  out!  find  it  out!"  exclaimed 
Sophie,  laughing.  "You  will  be  a  very  clever 
boy." 

"The  river  cuts  Paris  in  two,"  said  her 
mother;  "to  go  from  this  side  to  the  Champs- 
Elysees  you  must  cross  a  bridge." 
Johnnie  was  silent. 

"I  have  an  idea!"  cried  Sophie,  clapping 
her  hands.  * '  Mamma,  could  not  I  make  an  oil- 
skin bag  to  hold  the  costumes?" 

"Well  said,  Sophie;  that's  a  capital  thought. 
Now,  Johnnie,  you  are  re-established. ' ' 

Johnnie  jumped  for  joy,  and  Sophie  and  he 
raced  round  the  room. 

Johnnie  did  all  the  errands  the  next  day, 
while  Sophie  and  her  mother  worked  for  the 
mice.  He  was  to  see  nothing  till  evening,  and 
then  what  a  display  met  his  eyes!  For  the 
Countess  a  dress  with  long  train  of  cherry- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


117 


colored  rnoire,  a  black  lace  mantle,  and  black 
velvet  bonnet  trimmed  with  gold  braid.  For 
the  maid  a  dark  blue  petticoat,  and  over  it  a 
light  blue  apron  with  yellow  stripes,  a  black 
velvet  bodice,  and  a  little  lace  cap  with  blue 
ribbons. 

Johnnie  was  speechless.  Words  failed  him  to 
express  his  joy  and  gratitude.  At  last  he  said : 

"Oh,  my  good,  kind  Sophie  !  my  dear  Mrs. 
Tourla!  I  never  saw  anything  like  it.  Now 
I  shall  get  plenty  of  money  for  my  poor 
mother!" 

"Bring  the  mice  and  dress  them,"  sug- 
gested Mrs.  Tourla. 

They  looked  so  beautiful  in  their  costumes 
that  Johnnie  was  wild  with  delight. 

"If  you  promise  not  to  die  of  joy,"  said 
Sophie,  "I  want  to  announce  that  I  have 
plenty  of  scraps  left ;  and  mamma  and  I  intend 
to  make  another  set  of  costumes,  but  we  shall 
do  them  by  degrees  in  the  evenings. ' ' 

When  Johnnie  went  away  that  night  Sophie 
said  to  her  mother:  "Mamma,  how  sweet  it 
is  to  give  happiness  to  others ! ' ' 

"Yes,  darling,  indeed  it  is.  But,  Sophie, 
do  you  know  who  is  worse  off  for  clothes  than 
the  white  mice?" 

"Johnnie  himself,  mamma." 

"Yes,  indeed;  and  I  made  a  shirt  for  him 
yesterday,  when  he  thought  I  had  forgotten 
him,  out  of  an  old  one  of  your  father's,  and  I 
want  to  make  him  some  trousers  out  of  an  old 
pair  papa  will  not  want  this  winter. ' ' 

"And  I  think  Madame  Verte  would  give  me 
some  holland  for  him.  She  often  gives  things 
to  the  poor,  and  you  could  join  some  strips 
of  it  together  and  make  them  into  a  blouse. 
Mamma,  3^ou  are  so  clever,  your  fingers  are 
just  like  fair\'  fingers." 

Mamma  spread  out  her  fingers,  and  said 
she  thought  fairies  were  only  the  size  of  Hop- 
o'-my-Thumb. 

The  kind  friends  kept  their  word,  and  on 
the  Sunday  after  Mr.  Toiwla  came  back  from 
the  hospital  Johnnie  donned  his  new  clothes. 

Good  Madame  Verte  gave  enough  holland 
for  two  blouses  and  calico  for  a  couple  of 
shirts ;  also  three  pairs  of  woollen  socks.  So 
Johnnie  had  more  clothes  than  he  ever  pos- 
sessed in  his  life,  and  he  had  saved  up  twenty 
francs  to  send  to  his  mother.  Mrs.  Tourla  re- 
marked that  he  ought  to  send  a  letter  with  it. 


What  was  to  be  done?  Johnnie  did  not 
know  how  to  write. 

"Tell  me  what  you  want  to  say,  and  I'll 
write  for  you,"  said  Mrs.  Tourla.  "Here  is 
paper,  pen,  and  ink.  Now  let  us  begin." 

' '  I  don' t  know  what  to  say  or  how  to  begin. ' ' 

"Imagine  this  paper  is  a  little  fair>',  who  is 
going  to  your  mother  and  will  repeat  to  her 
all  you  have  said.  Now,  then,  speak  away 
quite  simply." 

"Oh,  little  sheet  of  paper!  "  said  the  child, 
clasping  his  hands,  "tell  mother  that  Johnnie 
is  so  happy  to  send  her  a  little  money.  Tell 
her  it  is  not  his  fault  it  did  not  come  sooner. 
(He  never  had  any  money  to  send  except  at 
Bordeaux.)  But,  mother  dear,  I  forgave  that 
bad  thief  who  robbed  me,  as  you  taught  me 
to  do,  so  I  won't  say  any  more"  about  him. 
But  I  must  tell  you  that  God  has  sent  me 
a  mamma  who  is  as  good  as  you,  and  whom 
I  love  very  much,  but  not  as  much  as  you,  my 
own  dear  mammy ;  and  He  has  sent  me  a  little 
sister  also,  named  Sophie.  Oh,  she  is  so  good! 
And  they  take  such  care  of  me!  I  live  close 
by  them ;  don't  be  afraid  about  me,  mother. — 
Is  that  really  a  letter?"  asked  Johnnie. 

"Yes,  a  very  good  one;  go  on." 

"Mother,  I  so  often  think  of  you  and  of  my 
sisters.  The  mice  are  well.  They  send  you  their 
compliments,  and  also  to  my  sisters.  Mammy, 
I  send  you  twenty  francs.  I  say  my  prayers 
every  day,  and  go  to  Mass  on  Sundays;  I 
have  not  done  anything  that  you  would  be 
ashamed  of"  (Here  Mrs.  Tourla  could  not 
resist  giving  him  a  kiss.)  "  Please,  mammy, 
pray  for  my  new  mamma  and  sister;  for  I 
don't  know  how  to  thank  them.  I  will  ask 
God  to  bless  you,  mother,  and  my  dear  little 
sisters,  and  all  the  neighbors,  especially  good 
Farmer  Green.  That's  all,"  declared  Johnnie, 
drying  his  wet  eyes. 

"Now  I  shall  put  your  address,  that  3^our 
mother  may  answer  you." 

"Oh,  what  a  good  idea!"  said  Johnnie, 
clapping  his  hands. 

VII. 

Mr.  Tourla  was  pleased  with  Johnnie,  and 
soon  grew  very  fond  of  him.  He  declared  it  a 
dreadful  pity  that  he  did  not  know  how  to  read 
and  write.  He  could  spell  out  a  few  words  in 
the  large  print  of  his  prayer-book,  and  that 
was  the  extent  of  his  learning. 


ii8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Sophie  offered  to  give  him  lessons  on  Sunday- 
after  Mass.  Johnnie  consented  with  gratitude, 
but  when  he  found  out  what  lessons  meant 
his  zeal  abated  very  much.  The  lesson  was 
conducted  much  in  the  following  manner  : 

"Now,  Johnnie,"  Sophie  would  say,  "pay 
attention;  learn  these  few  words." 

Silence  for  five  minutes.  Johnnie  jumps  up. 
"It  is  five,  now  I  ought  to  go  out  with  the 
mice." 

"Nonsense !  It  pours  down  rain.  Do  you 
know  your  lesson  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  no :  I  haven't  time  to  learn  it." 

"No  time.  Why?" 

"I  think — I  think  that  the  mice  are  hun- 
gry ;  I  must  go  and  feed  them." 

He  opened  the  door. 

"Johnnie,  if  you  don't  come  back  directly  I 
shall  be  angry  with  you! " 

"Oh,  I'll  come  back!" 

"Johnnie  wants  to  stretch  his  legs,"  said 
Mr.  Tourla.  "Poor  child!  he  is  so  used  to 
run  about  from  morning  to  night." 

"How  shall  we  ever  get  him  to  learn?  Oh, 
papa!  I  hope  we  shall.  Here  he  is.  Now, 
Johnnie,  take  your  book ;  there  is  onl}^  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  left.  At  twelve  we  have  dinner. ' ' 

Silence  again  for  three  minutes.  Johnnie 
yawns. 

"Sophie,  where  is  your  mamma  gone?" 
"Hush,  Johnnie!  She's  gone  to  High  Mass." 

"Have  you  enough  charcoal?  Hadn't  I 
better  go  and  get  some  down-stairs  ? ' ' 

"We  have  plenty.   Learn  your  lesson." 

Silence  again.  "Oh,  Sophie,  how  wet  your 
mamma  will  be! " 

"Hush!  Hush!" 

"Are  you  sure  she  has  an  umbrella?" 

"Yes,  yes:  a  great  big  one.  Do  learn  your 
lesson,  Johnnie!" 

Johnnie  springs  up.  "Twelve  o'clock !  I  hear 
it  striking.  Hurrah!  Oh,  how  hard  we  have 
worked !  I  can  not  do  any  more ;  I  am  more 
tired  than  if  I  had  walked  twenty  miles." 

"That's  because  you  didn't  learn  your 
lesson,"  said  Mr. Tourla.  "If  you  had  you 
would  not  be  so  tired,  I'm  sure." 

"I  don't  like  lessons,"  said  Johnnie,  frankly; 
"and  I  don't  see  the  good  of  them.  I  can  get 
on  very  well  without  reading  and  writing." 

"Can  you?"  said  Mr.  Tourla.  "Take  my 
word  for  it,  you  can  not. ' ' 


A  few  days  afterward,  when  Johnnie  went 
into  his  friends'  room,  he  found  them  all  talk- 
ing very  eagerly  over  a  newspaper  that  Mr. 
Tourla  held  in  his  hand. 

"Johnnie,"  said  Sophie,  "3'ou  say  there  is 
no  use  in  learning  to  read.  Come  and  listen 
to  papa. ' ' 

Mr.  Tourla  read  out  of  the  paper  some  news 
from  Bordeaux. 

'Yesterday  there  was  a  great  crowd  in 
the  Rue  de  Dijon.  A  lady  was  robbed  in  the 
street.  Happily,  the  thief  was  captured,  for  he 
caught  his  foot  in  the  train  of  the  lady's 
dress.  His  pockets  were  searched,  and  found 
to  contain  her  watch  and  chain ;  also  a  brace- 
let, some  lace,  and — a  little  linen  bag  with  a 
good  many  francs  in  it,  and  tied  with  a  red 
string!' 

"Oh!"  cried  Johnnie,  "what  kind  of  linen 
bag?  Did  it  have  'Jane'  in  letters  of  red  cot- 
ton on  it?   Oh,  please  tell  me! " 

"Papa,  j^ou  are  tired  of  reading ;  let  Johnnie 
finish  for  himself." 

"Sophie,  you  know  I  can't  read." 

"But  I  thought  you  said  reading  was  of  no 
use;  you  could  get  on  very  well  without  it." 

' '  I  am  sorry  I  said  that, ' '  declared  Johnnie. 
"I  will  learn  my  lessons  in  future." 

"All  right,"  said  Mr.  Tourla,  smiling;  "I 
will  finish  then." 

'When  the  policeman  saw  the  boy  he  said 
that  this  lad  had  been  in  prison  before  on 
another  charge  of  stealing  a  watch,  and  that 
a  poor  little  boy  declared  he  had  also  stolen 
a  linen  bag  from  him  with  some  francs  in  it ; 
but  this  bag  was  not  then  found  on  the  thief. 
It  was  clear  he  belonged  to  a  gang  of  thieves. 
So  he  was  taken  oif  to  prison,  and  before 
,  night  the  police  had  arrested  the  gang,  and 
discovered  a  quantity  of  stolen  articles.  They 
will  do  their  best  to  find  the  owners. ' 

"Thank  you,  sir,  very  much,"  said  Johnnie. 
"Good-b3''e,  sir;  good-bye.  Mamma  Tourla; 
good-bye,  Sophie,". 

"Why,  where  are  you  going?" 

"To  Bordeaux,"  said  Johnnie.  "I  shall 
start  first  thing  to-morrow.  I  want  to  claim 
my  bag.  I  shall  be  back  soon." 

"What!"  said  Mr.  Tourla ;  "walk  a  hun- 
dred miles  there  and  a  hundred  back,  when 
you  could  get  the  money  in  far  less  time  with- 
out leaving  Paris  ? ' ' 


The  Ave  Maria. 


119 


"How  could  I  do  that?" 

'  *  Write  to  the  Head  Inspector  of  Police  at 
Bordeaux  and  describe  the  bag,  and  tell  your 
story.   He  will  send  you  the  money." 

Johnnie  said  sorrowfully,  "I  don't  know 
how  to  write." 

*  *  I  will  write  for  you, ' '  said  Mr.  Tourla.  '  *  I 
will  go  to  the  police  here,  and  they  will  tell 
me  just  what  to  do.  But  first  give  me  an 
exact  description  of  the  bag  and  I  will  make 
notes. ' ' 

"It  is  a  linen  bag,"  said  Johnnie,  "with 
letters  on  it;  because  Alice  wanted  to  give 
mother  a  surprise  on  her  feast,  and  so  she 
went  every  day  to  a  neighbor  to  learn  how 
to  mark,  and  then  she  put  'Jane'  in  large  red 
letters  on  the  bag," 

"What  color  is  the  bag?" 

"Yellow,  like  the  stuff  for  shirts." 

' '  How  large  ?  ■ ' 

"As  large  as  my  two  hands." 

"How  much  money  was  in  it?" 

"Six  francs  and  eighteen  half  francs, — no 
coppers." 

"All  right,  my  boy.  I  will  see  about  it 
to-morrow. ' ' 

Mr.  Tourla  succeeded  so  well  that  in  less 
than  a  fortnight  the  bag  was  restored  to 
Johnnie  with  its  contents,  minus  one  franc ; 
and  in  gratitude  for  this  great  blessing  John- 
nie began  with  all  seriousness  to  learn  how  to 
read  and  write,  and  of  course  in  a  short  time 
he  was  rewarded  by  the  signs  of  rapid  prog- 
ress. Then  with  what  delight  did  he  send 
off  his  regained  treasure  to  his  mother! 

(TO   BE  CONTINUED.) 


An  Illustrious  Servant  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin. 


Juan  Donoso  Cortes  was  among  the  most 
distinguished  men  of  the  Spain  of  our  day. 
He  was  born  on  the  9th  of  May,  1809,  during 
the  French  invasion,  at  the  village  of  Valle  de 
la  Serena.  The  village  possessed  a  celebrated 
statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  known  as  Our 
lyady  of  Safety.  The  new-born  child  was  pre- 
sented at  this  shrine,  and  received  in  baptism 
the  name  of  Francisco  Manuel  Maria  de  la 
Salud.  His  mother's  devout  instinct  wished 
to  place  him  under  the  protection  of  her  who 


is  the  Seat  of  Wisdom.  It  was  as  if  she  under- 
stood to  what  great  dangers  the  faith  of  her 
child  would  one  day  be  exposed,  and  the  need 
he  would  have  of  extraordinary  learning  to 
combat  doctrines  which  were  just  penetrating 
into  Spain  at  the  time  of  his  birth.  Cortes 
himself  recalled  the  circumstance  with  pecul- 
iar delight.  A  tender  and  jfilial  confidence  in 
Our  Lady  was  always  the  special  feature 
which  marked  his  devotion. 

His  studies  were  rapid  and  brilliant.  At 
sixteen  years  of  age  he  had  finished  the  ordi- 
nary course  with  the  greatest  applause ;  while 
his  unwearied  application  to  the  study  of  his- 
tory, philosophy  and  literature,  testified  from 
the  first  his  vocation  to  the  career  which  he 
afterward  pursued.  But  all  this  time,  strange 
to  say,  neither  the  majesty  nor  mercy  of  God, 
nor  the  triumphant  truth  of  the  Church  had 
strikingly  revealed  themselves  to  him.  His 
soul  was  sleeping,  so  to  speak.  He  had  studied 
too  hard  and  prayed  too  little.  The  hour  of 
awakening  came  for  this  predestined  soul  only 
a  little  before  the  year  (1848)  which  seemed 
to  be  sounding  the  death -knell  of  all  the 
kingdoms  of  the  Continent. 

Juan  had  a  brother  named  Pedro,  younger 
than  himself  by  a  year,  and  the  faithful  com- 
panion of  his  early  studies — one  whom  he 
had  loved  ver>^  tenderly  from  infancy.  Their 
companionship  did  not  create  a  union  of  opin- 
ions, but  yet  their  differences  never  harmed 
their  mutual  affection.  "I  love  Pedro,"  Juan 
used  to  say,  "as  much  as  it  is  right  to  love  a 
human  being — perhaps  even  more." 

In  1847  Pedro  fell  mortally  ill.  Juan,  who 
was  then  in  Madrid,  hastened  to  his  brother's 
side.  The  sufferings  and  danger  of  the  sick 
youth  naturally  turned  the  conversation  on 
that  land  "where  all  is  peace,"  and  Pedro  was 
exhorted  to  prepare  his  soul  for  its  everlasting 
enjoyment.  Juan  recounted  to  his  brother  how 
he  had  met  in  Paris  a  fellow  -  countryman, 
whose  faith,  charity  and  simplicity,  had  im- 
pressed him  very  forcibh'.  "  Ilis  conversation 
made  me  reflect, ' '  said  Juan, ' '  that  in  the  char- 
acter of  a  truly  virtuous  man  there  are  degrees 
of  integrity  of  which  I  was  altogether  igno- 
rant. The  noble  simplicity  and  virtue  of  this 
man  exercised  an  extraordinary  influence  on 
me,  and  I  could  not  help  felling  him  so.  'The 
fact  is,'  replied  my  friend,  'we  are  both  virt- 


I20 


The  Ave  Maria. 


uous  men,  but  there  is  this  great  difference : 
that  I  have  endeavored  to  be  a  fervent  Chris- 
tian, and  that  you  are  a  lukewarm  one.' " 

On  hearing  this,  the  dying  Pedro  turned  to 
his  brother  and  said:  "Yes,  Juan,  he  told 
you  the  truth."  And  thereupon,  with  the 
double  authority  of  love  and  death,  he  began 
to  explain  the  meaning  of  his  words.  Divine 
grace  spoke  at  the  same  time  to  the  great  heart 
which  had  been  slumbering  so  long.  Pedro 
died  the  following  day,  but  not  without  be- 
queathing to  his  brother  the  two  great  bless- 
ings of  enthusiastic  faith  and  ardent  charity. 
Donoso  Cortes,  when  afterward  Spanish  am- 
bassador, told  these  details  himself,  with  the 
greatest  simplicity  and  candor,  in  one  of  the 
drawing-rooms  of  Paris. 

"It  was  truly  an  extraordinary  grace, "  said 
one  of  his  hearers, ' '  that  God  should  enlighten 
you  so  suddenly — in  the  midst  of  your  career, 
and  when  you  least  thought  of  seeking  Him. 
There  must  have  been  some  special  incident 
in  your  past  life  by  which  you  merited  such 
a  favor. ' ' 

"I  can  not  recall  any,"  replied  Cortes ;  but, 
reflecting  a  moment,  he  added:  "Perhaps  it 
was  a  certain  sentiment  of  mine  that  was 
agreeable  to  God.  I  have  never  seen  a  poor 
man  receiving  assistance  at  my  door,  without 
feeling  that  I  beheld  in  him  a  brother." 

The  world  lavished  its  gifts  upon  Donoso 
Cortes.  As  minister  plenipotentiary  in  Paris, 
he  occupied  the  first  place  in  Spanish  diplo- 
matic circle.  He  was  a  Senator,  and  decorated 
with  the  Grand  Cross  of  the  Order  of  Charles 
III.,  a  gentleman  of  the  Queen's  Chamber,  and 
a  member  of  the.  Royal  Historical  Academy. 
While  still  a  young  man  he  had  already  at- 
tained most  of  the  highest  honors  of  the 
Kingdom.  His  political  works  were  admired 
even  by  his  opponents  for  their  literary  merit, 
and  he  was  regarded  as  one  of  the  ablest 
champions  of  the  Church. 

But  God  had  been  still  more  lavish  of  His 
gifts  to  this  illustrious  man.  The  peace  and 
happiness  which  he  had  felt  at  the  first  mo- 
ment of  his  conversion  seemed  to  fill  his  heart 
more  and  more,  and  became  daily  more  visible 
in  his  words  and  in  his  countenance.  There 
was  no  sacrifice  he  was  not  ready  to  impose 
upon  himself  to  alleviate  the  misfortunes,  not 
only  of  those  who  were  dear  to  him,  but  of  all 


who  sought  his  aid.  He  made  it  a  point  every 
week,  and  sometimes  oftener,  to  visit  the 
needy.  The  I^ittle  Sisters  of  the  Poor  espec- 
ially enjoyed  his  munificence,  and  they  de- 
clared that  none  of  their  patrons  was  more 
devoted  and  more  liberal. 

The  piety  of  Donoso  Cortes  increased,  and 
was  strengthened  up  to  the  last  day  of  his  life. 
He  appreciated  his  faith  like  a  man  of  genius 
and  practised  it  like  a  child.  This  perfect  faith 
was  shown  in  a  ver\'  touching  and  edifying 
manner  during  his  last  illness,  a  sudden  and 
terrible  affection  of  the  heart,  which  attacked 
him  in  the  flower  of  his  manhood  and  bore  him 
off  in  a  few  days. 

He  died  with  pra3^er  on  his  lips,  recom- 
mending his  soul  to  Our  Lady,  his  Guardian 
Angel,  to  his  patron  saint,  and  to  the  merci- 
ful God  whom  he  had  loved  and  served,  and 
whom  he  was  resolved  to  serve  with  daily 
increasing  fervor  so  long  as  life  should  last. 
His  last  words — the  last,  at  least,  which  could 
be  understood  by  his  sorrowing  attendants — 
were:  "My  God,  I  am  Thy  creature.  Thou 
hast  said :  '  I  will  draw  all  things  to  Myself.' 
Draw  Thou  me.   Receive  me." 


The  Legend  of  the  Snowdrop. 


A  pretty  legend  is  related  in  connection 
with  the  flower  we  call  the  snowdrop : 

When  Eve,  so  the  story  runs,  was  weeping 
because  of  the  dreariness  of  the  earth  after 
she  had  been  driven  from  Eden,  she  longed  to 
see  a  flower  once  more,  but  none  grew  in  the 
place  of  her  banishment.  The  snow  fell  stead- 
ily, and  Eve,  calling  to  an  angel  who  was 
'  calmly  floating  through  the  chill  air,  told  him 
of  her   woes;    whereupon   he,    pitying   her, 
i  caught  a  flake  of  snow,  breathed  upon  it,  and, 
1  behold!  the  snowdrop  was  born.    And  there 
was  never  a  flower  in  the  Paradise  which  she 
j  had  lost  that  was  as  beautiful  to  her  longing 
i  eyes  as  that  fair  blossom.    And  the  angel, 
j  being  on  an  urgent  mission,  departed,  but  the 
I  snowdrop  of  consolation  remained. 

I  The  brilliant  sunflower  has  been  named 
St.  Bartholomew's  Star,  and  is  gayest  in  its 
brilliant  beauty  as  the  feast  of  that  Martyr- 
Saint  draws  near. 


"XHE 


Vol..  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAMB,  INDIANA,  AUGUST  lo,  1889. 


No.  6. 
■4 


[Published  every  Saturday. 


Stella    Matutina;   or,  a  Poet's   Quest 


BY  EDMUND  OF  THE  HEART  OF  MARY,  C.  P. 


BUT  manhood  came  at  last ;  and,  with  it,  grace 
And  mercy  undeserv'd,  and  timely  ruth. 
Again  the  angel  smil'd  from  woman's  face; 
But  now  led  on  thro'  pureness  unto  truth. 
And  he  that  follow' d  (deeming  it,  forsooth. 
No  bootless  quest,  for  aught  the  common  mind. 

With  \^^t  sarcastic  or  with  jest  uncouth, 
Might  urge  as  wisdom)  set  himself  to  find 
A  fair  ideal — for  him,  the  queen  of  womankind. 

And  something  he  beheld,  of  that  he  sought, 

In  many  :  much  in  few :  but  ah,  in  none 
The  perfect  all! 

Friends,  guessing  at  his  thought, 

True-hearted  spoke:  "  F<?«rprize  was  never  won. 

You  look  too  high.  We  live  beneath  the  sun, 
Frail  mortals  all  and  sinful.  Nor,  indeed, 

Could  we  be  happy  for  a  sennight's  run, 
If  wedded  to  perfection — we  who  need 
The   sympathy  which   chimes  with  penitential 
creed." 

Then  he  :   "You  counsel  sagely,  but  divine 
Amiss.  No  longer  question  of  a  wife, 

But  rather  of  a  higher  love,  is  mine — 
If  higher  you  allow."   "Ay,  higher  life,'" 
Qiioth  one — of  "Oxford  "  leanings,  and  at  strife 

With  all  the  rest — "or  life  and  bride  in  one. 
Enlist  you,  then,  and  march  to  drum  and  fife! 

Join  the  brave  few  who  have  at  last  begun 

With  Church  alone  for  spouse.  It  will  be  nobly 
done ! ' ' 

But  here  the  poet  liglitl}^  laugh' d,  and  said  : 
"Your  pardon,  friend.   No  phantom  spouse  for 
me! 


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

I  seek  a  Queen — to  worship,  not  to  wed : 

One  to  be  serv'd  with  purest  chivalry." 
"How!"  scofi"'d  the  other.   "And "no  phantom 

she? 
What  mean  you  ?  "   "  This  :  that  if  Christ's  Faith 

be  true, 
It  needs  must  yield  in  full  reality 
The  sweet  ideal  I  have  dared  pursue. 
Or  .  .  .  back  to  Pagan  eld  for  taste  of  '  pastures 

new ' ! " 


1 


' '  Yea,  better  again  be  Pantheist  with  the  Greek  ; 

Evolve  me  a  new  goddess,  to  combine 
Each  perfect  womanlj*. loveliness,  and  speak 

My  priestly  vows  at  her  symbolic  shrine!" 

"Such  jest,"  rejoin'd  his  monitor,  "is  sign 
O  f  levity  profane. "   "  Na}^  j  est  afar ! 

A  love  which  is  religion  .  .  .  this  of  mine.  .  . 
Is  bom  of  truth,  not  bred  as  fancies  are. 
Tho'  yet  unseen  the  day,  I  hail  the  Morning  Star! ' ' 


A  Great  Missionary  of  Our  Own  Time. 


BY  HII.IJARD   ATTERIDGE. 


HOUGH  of  late  years  there  are  some 
signs  of  improvement,  it  is  unfort- 
unately true  that  Catholics,  and 
especially  English-speaking  Catholics,  know 
very  little  about,  and  take  a  very  slight  inter- 
est in,  the  wonderful  work  that  the  Church  is 
doing  in  heathen  lands.  The  want  of  interest 
comes  from  want  of  knowledge.  I  remember 
not  long  ago  hearing  a  well  educated,  and  on 
most  matters  well  informed,  Catholic  say  that 
it  was  a  pity  there  had  been  no  successful 
Catholic  missionary  in  India  since  the  days  of 
St.  Francis  Xavier.  Now,  not  to  speak  of  the 


122 


The  Ave  Maria. 


men  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  cen- 
turies— priests  like  De'  Nobili,  De  Britto  and 
Beschi, — there  have  been  in  our  own  day,  and 
there  are  at  this  moment,  eminently  success- 
ful Catholic  missionaries  in  India. 

The  southern  missions  number  their  con- 
verts in  the  last  twenty  years  by  tens  of  thou- 
sands, and  in  the  North  the  Kol  tribes  are 
simply  flocking  to  the  Catholic  Church.  Let 
us  take  one  career  but  lately  closed  as  the  type 
of  the  modern  Catholic  missionary  in  India, 
for  he  was  only  one  of  many  such.  Last  De- 
cember, on  the  eve  of  the  Feast  of  St.  Francis 
Xavier,  there  died  at  Trichinopoly  a  bishop 
whose  name  will  be  remembered  centuries 
hence  as  that  of  a  great  missionar>- ,  though 
probably  it  will  sound  strange  to  most  of  those 
who  read  these  pages.  Indeed  his  death  was 
barely  mentioned  in  the  Catholic  papers  at 
the  time.  A  few  notes  on  his  life  and  work 
will  show  what  manner  of  men  are  laboring 
in  our  own  day  in  '  *  the  Indian  vineyard, ' '  as 
St.  Francis  Xavier  used  to  call  it. 

Like  so  many  of  our  most  successful  mis- 
sionaries, Alexis  Canoz,  the  late  Bishop  of 
Trichinopoly,  was  a  son  of  Catholic  France. 
After  his  college  course  he  entered  the  Society 
of  Jesus,  and  having  volunteered  for  the 
Mission  of  Madura,  then  newly  committed  by 
Pope  Gregory  XVI.  to  the  care  of  the  Jesuits, 
he  sailed  for  the  East  soon  after  his  ordina- 
tion. He  landed  in  India  on  December  1 8, 1839, 
and  began  a  missionary  career  that  was  to 
extend  to  well-nigh  half  a  centur>^  European 
names  are  strange  and  unmeaning  to  the 
natives  of  India,  and  the  missionaries  often 
adopt  a  Hindu  name,  or  the  Indian  form  of 
some  name  already  famous  in  the  history  of 
the  missions.  Father  Canoz  took  the  name 
of  Saver iar,  the  native  form  of  Xavier,  and 
chose  for  the  patron  of  his  life-w^ork  the  great 
Apostle  of  the  Indies. 

The  old  Mission  of  Madura,  founded  by 
Robert  de'  Nobili  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
had  been  the  most  fruitful  of  the  South  Indian 
missions,  until  it  was  all  but  ruined  by  the 
suppression  of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  and  the 
disastrous  events  which  followed  it.  To  quote 
the  words  of  a  great  authority  on  all  matters 
relating  to  India,  Sir  W.  W.  Hunter  :*"...  In 


The  Indian  Empire,"  p.  374.  First  Edition. 


the  absence  of  priests  to  sustain  the  courage 
of  the  Christians  every  occasional  or  local 
persecution  told'.  Man}^  native  Christians  lived 
and  died  without  ever  seeing  a  priest ;  they 
baptized  their  own  children,  taught  them  the 
prayers,  and  kept  up  daily  worship  in  their 
churches." 

It  was  by  this  means  that  a  little  flock  held 
together  through  more  than  sixty  desolate 
years,  relatively  a  longer  period  in  India 
than  in  Europe  or  America ;  for  in  India  the 
average  duration  of  life  is  lower,  and  gener- 
ation succeeds  rapidly  to  generation.  Thus 
when  the  new  mission  began,  even  the  chil- 
dren of  the  men  who  had  known  the  old  mis- 
sionaries were  dead  and  gone ;  the  traditional 
teaching  handed  down  from  father  to  son  had 
become  confused  and  obscure ;  the  Protestant 
missionaries  had  gathered  round  their  mis- 
sion stations  numbers  of  nominal  Christians 
descended  from  the  disciples  of  De'  Nobili 
and  De  Britto ;  and  of  those  who  had  kept 
steadfast  to  the  faith  once  taught  by  St. 
Francis  Xavier,  and  who  still  could  under- 
stand the  prayers  they  said,  there  were  onlj^ 
hundreds  where  a  century  before  there  had 
been  tens  of  thousands.  Left  so  long  without 
priest  or  sacrament  or  sacrifice  the  Church  of 
Madura  had  almost  disappeared. 

Of  the  men  who  in  the  last  fifty  years  built  up 
the  new  Mission  of  Madura  on  the  ruins  of  the 
old,  Alexis  Canoz  stands  in  the  foremost  place. 
As  Saveriar  Swami  (that  is  "  Father  Xavier  "  )  > 
he  began  his  work  in  1840  among  the  villagers 
I  of  the  Maravi  countr\\  The  Maravi  is  a  por- 
tion of  the  plain  of  Madura  toward  the  sea- 
coast  opposite  to  Ceylon;  Ramnad  was  once  its 
capital,  and  it  was  the  scene  of  the  missionary 
life  and  glorious  death  of  Blessed  John  de 
Britto.  It  is  a  country  of  low-lying  fields  with 
here  and  there  tracts  of  unreclaimed  jungle. 
There  are  numerous  villages,  and  the  domed 
mosques  and  the  sculptured  pagodas,  or  gate 
towers  of  the  temples,  show  that  the  villagers 
are  partly  Hindus,  partly  Mohammedans.  The 
climate  of  the  Maravi  is  not  a  very  healthy  one,, 
and  in  those  days  the  Jesuits,  newly  arrived 
in  India,  had  not  learned  by  experience  the 
necessary  precautions  to  take  against  the  two- 
scourges  of  the  country — fever  and  cholera. 
Father  Canoz  had  hardly  arrived  in  the 
Maravi  when  one  of  his  colleagues,  the  saintly 


The  Ave  3 f aria. 


123 


Father  Alexander  Martin,  was  stricken  down 
with  fever,  and  died  after  a  brief  illness.  His 
tomb  has  become  a  sanctuary,  visited  each  year 
by  thousands  of  native  Christians,  and  the 
scene,  it  is  said,  of  numerous  miracles.  Only  a 
few  days  after  Father  Martin's  death,  Father 
•de  Bournet,  the  only  companion  of  Father 
Canoz  in  the  district,  died  after  an  illness  of 
a  few  hours ;  and  the  young  missionary  found 
himself  alone  in  charge  of  a  flock  scattered 
through  a  hundred  villages. 

He  set  to  work,  travelling  from  place  to 
place  under  the  burning  sun;  saying  Mass 
in  mud-built  chapels  or  in  reed-roofed  cot- 
tages; instructing,  with  the  help  of  catechists, 
the  half-educated  Christians  and  the  new 
converts;  baptizing  children;  anointing  and 
hearing  the  confessions  of  the  dying.  At  last 
the  day  came  when  he  too  was  seized  by  the 
deadly  fever.  For  a  week  he  lay  between  life 
and  death;  his  Superior,  Father  Bertrand,  who 
liad  hurried  to  his  side  on  hearing  of  his 
illness,  acting  at  once  as  priest  and  physi- 
cian. He  recovered  and  rapidly  regained  his 
strength,  and  from  that  time  until  a  few  days 
before  his  death  he  enjoyed  robust  health. 
He  never  spared  himself;  he  was  always  at 
work,  but  he  seemed  never  to  be  fatigued, 
and  he  was  always  in  the  best  of  spirits.  This 
cheerfulness  was  no  doubt  partly  the  out- 
come of  a  happy  natural  temperament,  but 
it  was  also,  in  part  at  least,  the  result  of  a 
life  of  singular  union  with  God  and  constant 
conformity  to  His  will,  that  no  anxiety  or 
trouble  could  discourage  or  depress  this  true 
missionary. 

After  having  spent  four  years  in  the  Maravi 
country.  Father  Canoz  was  named  Superior- 
General  of  the  Madura  Mission  on  May  8, 
1844.  The  Mission  extended  over  an  enor- 
mous tract  of  country,  from  the  Ghauts  to  the 
eastern  sea-coast,  and  from  the  Cavery  River 
to  Cape  •  Comorin.  Two  years  later  Gregory 
XVI.  erected  the  Mission  into  an  apostolic 
vicariate,  and  named  Alexis  Canoz  its  first 
vicar- apostolic.  The  humble  priest  begged 
earnestly  to  be  spared  this  promotion ;  in  his 
case  it  was  no  mere  formal  710I0  episcopari. 
But  his  successful  government  of  the  Mission 
as  its  superior  had  marked  him  out  so  clearly 
IS  the  man  for  the  post  that  the  Sovereign 
Pontiff  insisted  upon  lijs  accepting  it.  He  was 


consecrated  bishop  at  Trichinopoly  by  the 
vicar-apostolic  of  Verapoli,  assisted  by  the 
vicars  -  apostolic  of  Pondicherr>^  and  Coim- 
batore. 

As  superior  of  the  Mission,  Father  Canoz 
had  founded  a  college  at  Negapatam,  hoping 
by  means  of  educational  work  to  gain  a  hold 
upon  men  of  the  higher  castes,  to  prepare  the 
sons  of  native  Christians  for  official  positions, 
and,  later  on,  to  find  among  them  native  can- 
didates for  the  priesthood.  Unfortunately,  it 
had  been  built  upon  an  unhealthy  site,  and 
he  had  hardly  been  named  bishop  when  he 
heard  that  cholera  had  broken  out  in  the  new 
college.  He  hastened  to  Negapatam,  where 
several,  both  of  the  Fathers  and  of  the  stu- 
dents, were  at  the  point  of  death.  At  immi- 
nent peril  to  his  own  life,  the  Bishop  was  to 
be  found  night  and  day  at  the  bedsides  of  the 
sick  and  dying.  The  first  victim  was  the 
rector.  Father  Audibert ;  Father  O' Kenny 
and  Father  de  Saint-Ferreol  followed  in  a  few 
days.  On  July  the  30th,  Father  Barret,  a  mis- 
sionary newly  arrived  from  France,  landed  at 
Negapatam ;  next  day,  the  Feast  of  St.  Igna- 
tius, he  died  of  the  cholera,  before  he  had 
been  twenty-four  hours  in  the  Mission.  The 
college  was  closed,  to  be  reopened  a  few  months 
later  in  a  larger  building  and  in  a  more  care- 
fully selected  situation. 

Every  good  work  has  its  period  of  trial. 
Within  four  years  of  its  foundation  the  new 
building  was  burned  to  the  ground.  It  was  a 
terrible  blow  to  the  Bishop,  who  rightly  re- 
garded the  college  of  Negapatam  as  one  of 
the  chief  hopes  of  the  Mission.  He  was  at 
Trichinopoly  when  the  news  of  the  disaster 
reached  him.  One  of  the  Fathers  entering  his 
room  after  Mass  saw  the  Bishop  seated  at  his 
table,  with  his  eyp«=5  fixed  on  the  crucifix,  and 
an  expression  of  deep  grief  on  his  face.  He 
did  not  seem  to  notice  his  visitor,  but  sat 
silent,  absorbed  in  thought,  until  the  Father 
ventured  to  ask  him  what  had  happened.  The 
Bishop  pointed  to  a  letter  just  received,  and 
replied  calmly:  "I  have  just  heard  that  the 
college  at  Negapatam  has  been  burned  down. 
Only  the  ruins  are  left.  The  chapel,  the  librar>', 
the  furniture, — all  is  destroyed.  The  Fathers 
and  the  pupils  are  left  without  shelter.  But 
God's  will  be  done!"  The  same  day  he  set 
ofi"  for  Negapatam.  The  college  was  soon  re- 


124 


TJu  Ave  Mai'ia. 


built.  Its  time  of  trial  was  over.  Each  year 
its  students  won  new  successes,  and  it  gave 
some  thirty  native  priests  to  the  Church  in 
India.  A  few  3'ears  ago  the  institution  was 
removed  to  Trichinopoly,  where  it  has  now 
nearly  a  thousand  students. 

From  1858  to  the  summer  of  i860  Mgr. 
Canoz  was  absent  from  Madura.  During  this 
time  he  resided  at  Bombay  as  administrator 
of  that  vicariate,  which  then  extended  from 
the  neighborhood  of  Goa  to  the  Punjaub  and 
the  Afghan  frontier.  On  the  Feast  of  St. 
Francis  Xavier,  1859,  he  was  at  Goa  on  the 
occasion  of  the  public  veneration  of  the  relics 
of  the  Saint.  It  was  the  first  time  since  1782 
that  the  shrine  had  been  opened.  Mgr.  Canoz 
described  the  event  and  his  own  feelings  in  a 
letter  to  the  Father  General  of  the  Jesuits, 
which  was  published  at  the  time  in  the  Afinals 
of  the  Propagation  of  the  Faith  : 

"I  can  not  describe  [he  wrote]  my  emotion, 
and  the  feelings  of  joy  and  happiness  which 
I  experienced,  when  I  pressed  my  lips  upon 
those  holy  feet,  which  traversed  such  distant 
regions  and  so  often  trod  this  Indian  land, 
bringing  to  so  many  different  nations,  plunged 
in  the  darkness  of  idolatry,  the  good  tidings  of 
peace  and  salvation — Quam  speciosi pedes  evan- 
gelizantium  pace??t,  evangelizantiuni  bona! .  .  . 
I  prayed  with  all  the  fervor  of  which  I  was 
capable  for  the  Church  and  for  its  head ;  for 
all  the  Society  and  for  him  who  governs  it; 
for  our  missions  of  India  and  China,  uniting 
in  my  heart  Madura  and  Bombay,  and  asking 
for  all  our  missionaries  the  apostolic  spirit  of 
St.  Francis  Xavier,  and  for  the  infidel  peoples 
the  grace  of  conversion.  ...  I  myself  helped 
to  raise  the  precious  burden,  and  to  place  it 
on  a  platform  in  front  of  the  shrine,  where 
we  were  able  to  contemplate  at  our  leisure 
the  body  of  the  Saint.  It  is  veisted  in  a  rich 
chasuble,  embroidered  with  gold  and  adorned 
with  pearls,  given  by  the*  Queen  of  Portugal 
in  1699,  when  St.  Francis  Xavier  was  declared 
Defender  of  the  Indies.  One  can  still  distin- 
guish the  features  of  his  heroic  countenance, 
which  the  lapse  of  three  centuries  has  not 
destroyed.  The  skin  of  the  face  is  a  little 
darkened.  The  mouth  is  slightly  open,  so  that 
one  sees  the  teeth.  The  head  is  raised  a  little 
and  rests  on  a  cushion.  The  left  arm,  covered 
with  the  sleeve  of  an  alb,  is  stretched  out 


across  the  chasuble ;  the  hand  is  uncovered, 
with  the  fingers  slightly  apart.  The  right  arm 
was  cut  off  in  1616  by  order  of  the  Father 
General  Acquaviva,  and  sent  to  Rome,  where 
it  is  venerated  at  the  altar  of  St.  Francis  in 
the  Gesu." 

]  t  will  be  noticed  that  although  he  was  then 
actually  in  charge  of  the  vicariate  apostolic 
of  Bombay,  Madura  came  before  it  in  his 
prayers  at  Goa.  He  was  allowed  to  return  to 
his  beloved  mission  before  the  end  of  the  fol- 
lowing year;  and  he  spent  the  rest  of  his  life 
there,  being  absent  from  the  vicariate  only 
twice  for  a  few  months  :  when  he  visited 
Europe  to  obtain  help  for  Madura,  and  to 
assist  at  the  Vatican  Council. 

As  a  missionary  in  the  Maravi,  and  as 
superior  of  the  Mission,  vicar-apostolic  and 
bishop,  he  personally  received  into  the  Church 
no  less  than  20,000  converts.  During  his  long 
episcopate  he  had  the  joy  of  witnessing  and 
presiding  over  the  steady  growth  of  the  Mis- 
sion. Enlire  villages  embraced  Christianity. 
In  some  districts  the  whole  life  of  the  people 
is  that  of  a  Catholic  country.  A  native  clergy 
has  been  formed  to  aid  in  the  work  of  evan- 
gelization. The  college  of  Trichinopoly  has 
become  one  of  the  great  educational  centres 
of  the  South,  and  its  former  pupils  are  to  be 
found  holding  high  civil  positions  in  various 
parts  of  the  Madras  Presidency.  There  are 
two  orders  of  native  nuns;  they  direct  the 
orphan  asylums,  nurse  the  sick,  and  yearly 
baptize  thousands  of  children  of  pagans  at  the 
point  of  death.  Each  year  more  than  a  thou- 
sand adults  are  received  into  the  Church ;  and 
all  this  is  accomplished  with  very  scanty  re- 
sources, and  in  the  face  of  the  difficulties  raised 
by  the  presence  of  the  rival  emissaries  of  the 
Protestant  sects, — a  difficulty  with  which  the 
missionaries  of  two  hundred  years  ago  had  not 
to  contend.  All  things  considered,  there  has 
not  been  such  a  rapid  advance  of  Catholicity 
in  India  since  the  days  of  St.  Francis  Xavier, 
and  the  immediate  future  is  full  of  promise. 
There  if  anywhere  the  fields  are  white  for  the 
harvest. 

When  Leo  XIII.  established  the  hierarchy 
in  India  the  Mission  of  Madura  became  the 
Diocese  of  Trichinopoly,  and  Mgr.  Canoz  was 
named  its  first  bishop.  One  by  one  the  vicars- 
apostolic  appointed  b;^    Gregory  XVI.   had 


The  Ave  Maria. 


12 


passed  away,  and  wheal  the  new  hierarchy  was 
established  he  was  the  sole  survivor  of  the 
illustrious  band  who  had  founded  again  in 
our  own  day  the  missions  of  India.  His  active 
labors  ended  in  the  very  district  where  he  had 
begun  his  mivSsionary  career.  In  September, 
•1888,  he  made  his  last  pastoral  visitation  of 
the  Maravi  country.  He  went  from  village  to 
village,  visiting  churches  and  congregations, 
where  in  his  first  days  in  India  there  was 
hardly  a  Christian  family  to  be  found.  In  all, 
he  confirmed  2,439  persons  during  this  journey 
in  the  Maravi.  Ever>'where  the  Christians 
came  in  crowds  to  welcome  him.  Triumphal 
arches,  the  ringing  of  bells,  the  beating  of 
drums,  the  firing  of  cannon,  made  his  journey 
something  like  a  royal  progress.  He  returned 
to  Trichinopoly  a  little  fatigued  with  this 
expedition  to  the  southern  portions  of  his 
diocese,  but  to  all  appearance  still  hale  and 
strong,  notwithstanding  his  great  age  and 
nearly  fifty  years  of  missionary  labor. 

On  November  the  28th  he  appeared  for  the 
last  time  in  public.  That  day  he  presided  at  a 
distribution  of  prizes  at  the  college.  The  next 
-evening  he  fell  ill ;  at  first  it  was  not  supposed 
to  be  anything  serious,  but  as  the  evening 
went  on  his  illness  increased,  and  he  suffered 
^reat  pain.  He  was  courageous  and  cheerful 
through  it  all,  and,  after  reading  the  Office 
of  St.  Andrew,  he  said  with  a  smile :  * '  Well, 
St.  Andrew  had  the  strength  to  pray  upon 
"his  cross,  but  I  am  quite  upset  by  this  little 
sickness."  On  the  two  following  days  the  pain 
almost  disappeared,  but  the  doctors  declared 
that  the  illness  was  more  serious,  and  it  was 
•evident  that  the  Bishop's  strength  was  failing 
fast. 

On  Sunday  morning,  the  eve  of  the  Feast 
of  St.  Francis  Xavier,  he  was  told  that  he  had 
only  a  few  hours  to  live,  and  he  received  the 
last  Sacraments.  He  was  calm  and  collected 
to  the  end.  He  gave  some  directions  about 
his  papers  and  the  affairs  of  the  diocese ;  he 
blessed  three  times  the  assembled  Fathers  of 
the  college ;  and  a  little  before  2  p.  m.  he  died, 
invoking  the  Sacred  ileart  of  Jesus.  Can  we 
doubt  that  he  had  gone  to  keep  the  Feast  of 
St.  Francis  in  heaven,  and  to  meet  there  thou- 
sands of  souls  who,  under  God,  owed  to  him 
their  salvation?  That  afternoon  he  was  laid 
out  in  his  episcopal  robes,  his  hands,  crossed 


on  his  breast  below  his  long  white  beard, 
holding  his  rosary  and  crucifix. 

Under  the  Indian  sun  a  funeral  can  be  de- 
layed at  most  for  a  few  hours.  The  next  day, 
which  in  other  years  had  been  a  day  of  rejoic- 
ing at  Trichinopoly,  was  devoted  to  the  solemn 
obsequies  of  Alexis  Canoz.  But  such  obsequies 
did  not,  after  all,  accord  ill  with  the  festival  of 
St.  Francis  Xavier,  for  the  funeral  was  like  a 
triumph.  Of  the  100,000  inhabitants  of  Trich- 
inopoly, fully  15,000  are  Catholics;  and  very 
few  of  them  were  absent  from  the  vast  throng 
that  long  before  dawn  had  gathered  round 
the  Cathedral.  Hindus,  Mohammedans  and 
Protestants  were  there  too,  for  all,  whatever 
their  creed,  had  learned  to  love  and  revere  the 
saintly  prelate,  who  was  now  to  be  .borne  to  his 
grave.  The  marshalled  lines  of  the  17th  Madras 
Pioneers  held  back  the  crowd,  and  kept  a 
lane  open  through  it  from  the  Bishop's  house 
to  the  Cathedral  doors.  At  seven  o'clock 
the  body  was  borne  from  the  house  to  the 
church.  It  was  carried  by  native  Christians  of 
high  caste,  while  others  held  over  it  a  canopy 
decked  with  garlands  of  flowers.  The  band  of 
the  Pioneers  played  a  funeral  march.  Before 
and  behind  the  canopy  came  the  Fathers  of 
the  Mission,  Europeans  and  natives,  in  their 
surplices.  As  the  procession  passed  through 
the  crowd  hundreds  of  flowers  were  thrown 
upon  the  bier  by  the  by-standers. 

The  body  was  placed  before  the  high  altar. 
The  church  was  bright  with  lights  and  flow- 
ers in  honor  of  the  feast,  and  it  was  crowded 
in  every  part.  The  European  Colony  in  Trich- 
inopoly was  fully  represented ;  the  Govern- 
ment officials  were  there,  and  the  officers  of 
the  garrison,  but  the  great  mass  of  those  in 
the  Cathedral  were  natives.  After  the  last 
Gospel,  Father  Santiago,  one  of  the  native 
students  of  the  college,  whom  Mgr.  Canoz  had 
himself  raised  to  the  priesthood,  ascended  the 
pulpit,  and  told  in  the  Tamil  language  the 
story  of  his  life  and  work.  But  the  best  tes- 
timony to  the  successful  labors  of  the  dead 
Bishop  was  the  sight  of  the  Cathedral  thronged 
with  native  converts,  listening  eagerly  to  this 
panegyric  of  their  Father,  spoken  in  their  own 
tongue  by  one  of  themselves.  After  the  sermon 
the  last  absolution  was  given,  and  the  body 
was  reverently  placed  in  the  coffin.  Then  there 
was  such  a  scene  as  it  is  hardly  possible  to 


126 


The  Ave  Maria. 


describe.  The  people  in  the  church  broke  out 
into  sobs  and  cries.  They  wept  aloud,  and 
the  storm  of  grief  that  had  burst  out  in  the 
church  spread  to  the  crowd  that  was  waiting 
outside.  Amid  the  tears  and  the  loud  lament 
of  gathered  thousands  the  first  Bishop  of 
Trichinopoly  was  laid  to  rest  in  his  Cathedral. 
Such  was  the  life  and  death  of  this  mission- 
ary of  our  own  time.  Coming  years  will  show 
how  deeply  and  securely  he  laid  the  founda- 
tions of  the  church  over  which  he  presided  for 
so  long  a  period.  All  but  unknown  in  his  own 
day,  except  to  those,  comparatively  few,  who 
follow  from  week  to  week  and  year  to  year 
the  record  of  the  Church's  growth  in  distant 
lands,  he  will  be  better  known  to  future  gen- 
erations. In  the  history  of  the  Indian  missions 
his  name  will  deservedly  rank  with  the  great 
names  of  a  glorious  past, — ^names  whose  glory 
is  surely  not  dimmed,  but  rather  heightened, 
by  the  fact  that  there  are  men  found  in  these 
our  days,  in  the  missionar}^  army  of  the 
Church,  of  whom  it  may  be  said  that  they 
"fight  as  men  fought  in  the  brave  days  of 
old." 


Footprints  of  Heroines. 


lY   THE    COMTESSE    DE   COURSON. 


III. — lyUISA  DB  Carvajal  y  Mendoza. 
(Continued.) 

WHEN  Dona  I^uisa  attained  her  fifteenth 
year  her  uncle  spoke  to  her  about  her 
future  life,  and  in  particular  he  urged  her  to 
consider  the  proposal  of  marriage  that  had 
been  made  to  her  by  one  of  her  cousins,  a 
Knight  of  Santiago,  who  seemed,  in  his  eyes, 
to  possess  every  advantage  that  could  make 
his  suit  acceptable.  But  the  young  girl,  in 
her  earnest  and  modest  way,  refused  even  to 
deliberate  on  the  offer ;  and  when  the  Marquis 
pressed  her  further  she  turned  pale,  tears  filled 
her  eyes,  and  her  distress  was  so  evident  that 
her  uncle  let  the  subject  drop.  At  this  time 
the  thought  of  her  vocation  became  Louisa's 
constant  preoccupation,  and  the  object  of  her 
ardent  prayers. 

After  a  vice-royalty  of  seven  years,  the  Mar- 
quis of  Almacan  returned  to  Madrid,  leaving 
his  family  at  his  ancestral  Castle  of  Almacan; 


and  it  was  during  these  months  of  compara- 
tive solitude,  when  separated  from  her  uncle,, 
who  was  at  once  her  confidant  and  her  adviser,, 
that  the  young  girl,  alone  with  God,  prayed 
more  earnestly  than  ever  for  light  to  discern 
the  path  she  was  to  follow.  With  an  over- 
whelming longing  to  suffer  for  God,  to  belong 
to  Him  alone,  to  lead  a  life  of  humility  and 
poverty  as  near  as  possible  to  His  own  life  on 
earth,  she  yet  had  no  inclination  for  the  life  of 
a  nun,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  Providence 
did  not  call  her  to  it. 

Her  keen  sensitiveness  to  the  point  of  honor, 
or,  as  her  English  biographer  translates  it,  to 
"consideration,"  made  her  realize  that  a  life 
of  poverty,  obscurity  and  humiliation,  such  as 
she  conceived  it,  in  the  world  would  be  a  far 
greater  sacrifice  than  a  religious  vocation, 
which,  in  Spain,  was  esteemed  honorable  as 
well  as  edifying.  Hence  the  violent  struggle 
that  ensued  in  her  soul  between  her  desire  to 
do  that  which  she  deemed  most  painful  and 
most  perfect,  and  the  innate  pride  of  birth, 
that  made  her  shrink  from  common,  vulgar 
poverty,  and  from  the  ridicule  of  her  acquaint- 
ances, who,  while  they  would  have  admired 
her  for  entering  a  convent  of  Carmelites  or 
Poor  Clares,  would  certainly  blame  her  un- 
mercifully for  embracing  the  life  of  a  servant 
or  a  beggar.  The  Marquis  himself  did  not 
understand  her,  and  the  drift  of  all  his  argu- 
ments was  ever  the  same  :  marry  or  become 
a  nun. 

With  her  usual  docility,  Luisa  took  herself 
to  task,  and  endeavored  to  see  things  with 
her  uncle's  eyes;  but  her  efforts  were  vain: 
the  mysterious  voice  that  echoed  within  her 
heart  would  not  be  silenced,  and,  after  forcing 
herself  to  dwell  on  the  security,  peace  and 
perfection  of  a  religious  vocation,  she  felt 
herself  drawn  with  renewed  violence  to  her 
strange  ideal — a  life  of  solitude,  of  ignominy, 
of  complete  abandonment  of  all  that  the  world 
esteems,  of  utter  conformity  with  Christ's 
humiliation  and  suffering.  Some  time  elapsed, 
however,  before  she  could  carry  out  her 
design. 

When  she  was  twenty-four  the  Marquis  and 
his  wife  died  within  six  months  of  each  other, 
and  for  two  years  afterward  I^uisa  was  kept 
back  by  negotiations  on  business  matters  with 
her  brother  Alonzo.  At  length,  at  the  age  of 


The  Ave  Maria. 


127 


twenty -six,  in  spite  of  the  afifectionate  plead- 
ings of  her  relatives,' she  turned  her  back  on 
the  world,  and  with  a  resolute  spirit  and  a 
trusting  heart  entered  on  the  steep  and  narrow 
path  she  had  cut  out  for  herself. 

Although  it  clashed  with  the  ideas  gener- 
ally received  in  Spain,  the  life  embraced  by 
lyuisa  de  Carvajal  was  not  altogether  unpre- 
cedented even  in  her  own  country ;  and  I^ady 
Georgiana  FuUerton  quotes  the  example  of 
several  holy  women  who,  without  entering 
convents,  led  lives  of  solitude  and  poverty  in 
the  world;  such  was  Doiia  Sancha  Carillo, 
I  the  spiritual  daughter  of  John  of  Avila ;  such, 
again,  was  Marina  de  Escobar,  who  from  her 
little  room,  in  her  father's  house  at  Valladolid, 
exercised  a  wonderful  influence  over  her 
•countrymen  and  her  sovereign.  Nevertheless, 
such  examples  were  rare;  and  when  Dona 
Ivuisa,  accompanied  by  three  or  four  women 
•of  humble  birth,  retired  to  a  small  house  in 
the  Via  de  Toledo  at  Madrid  to  begin  her  new 
existence,  her  friends  and  relatives  did  not 
scruple  to  express  freely  their  surprise  and 
disapproval. 

For  thirteen  years,  from  her  twenty-sixth 
to  her  thirty-ninth  year,  the  servant  of  God 
lived,  either  at  Madrid  or  at  Valladolid,  in  the 
strictest  poverty.  Her  furniture  was  of  the 
barest  and  most  common  description  :  her  own 
bed  consisted  of  a  few  planks,  with  a  mattress 
stuffed  with  straw ;  her  dress  was  of  rough 
serge,  and  a  coarse  linen  hood  covered  her 
head.  The  members  of  the  little  community 
attended  themselves  to  the  household  work, 
each  in  her  turn.  The  daughter  of  the  Car- 
vajals,  brought  up  in  refinement  and  splen- 
dor, must  have  been  sadly  puzzled  when  her 
turn  came  to  clean  the  house  and  cook  the 
dinner. 

With  her  passionate  thirst  for  penance, 
lyuisa  had  put  herself  under  the  obedience  of 
one  of  her  former  maids,  who  had  joined  the 
little  congregation ;  and,  anxious  probably  to 
second  her  mistress'  aspirations  toward  per- 
fection, this  good  woman  rebuked  her  unceas- 
ingly, and  submitted  her  to  such  severe  fasts 
that  Luisa  owned  one  day  to  her  favorite 
companion,  Inez,  that  she  nearly  cried  from 
hunger;  but  she  added :  "The  more  I  suffer, 
the  more  I  feel  that  Our  I,ord  gives  me  grace 
to  profit  by  it." 


The  same  Inez,  who  afterward  became  an 
Augustinian  nun,  seems  to  have  followed 
Luisa  chiefly  from  a  deep  personal  affection, 
and  she  occasionally  remonstrated  with  her 
for  leading  a  life  so  strange  and  so  gener- 
ally criticised, —  a  life  that  exposed  her  to 
the  contempt  of  her  relatives,  and  even  put 
her  in  danger  of  "being  run  over  by  their 
carriages."  "Oh,  my  Inez!  how  little  you  un- 
derstand the  spirit  of  this  life!"  was  Luisa's 
gentle  answer. 

So  in  poverty,  humility  and  prayer,  the 
years  passed  by;  Luisa's  passionate  love  of 
suffering  had  now  found  an  outlet;  and  if 
sometimes,  in  past  times,  she  had  dreaded 
being  too  much  cherished  and  praised,  she 
now  reaped,  in  its  fullest  measure,  the  harvest 
of  humiliation  for  which  she  had  yearned.  As 
she  passed  along  the  streets  in  her  poor  gar- 
ments, or  even  mingled  with  the  crowd  of 
beggars  who  sought  for  alms  at  the  gates  of 
monasteries,  she  was  unmercifully  insulted 
and  ridiculed;  some  declared  that  she  was 
insane  and  ought  to  be  shut  up,  others  won- 
dered how  her  relatives  could  permit  a  lady 
of  her  rank  to  lead  so  strange  and  eccentric  a 
life.  Nevertheless,  gently  and  silently,  in  spite 
of  hostile  criticisms  and  unkind  remarks,  her 
influence  for  good  made  itself  felt  around. 

Although  so  hard  to  herself,  she  was  ten- 
derness itself  where  sinners  were  concerned, 
and  few  could  resist  her  loving  exhortations. 
Those  whom  she  brought  back  to  God  and  to 
their  duties  never  forgot  her  teaching ;  and  by 
degrees  her  authority,  so  sweetly  and  mod- 
estly exercised,  extended  to  the  great  ladies 
of  Madrid,  many  of  whom,  like  the  Duchess  de 
rinfantado.  Dona  Aldonca  de  Zuniga,  daugh- 
ter of  the  Count  of  Miranda,  and  the  Duchess 
of  Medina  de  Rioseco,  became  her  fi-iends,  and 
learned  from  her  lips  precepts  of  wise  and 
fervent  piety. 

Luisa's  reluctance  to  speak  about  herself 
was  such  that  comparatively  little  is  known 
of  her  inner  life  and  of  the  wonderful  favors 
with  which  God  rewarded  her  detachment. 
We  learn,  however,  from  the  testimony  of  the 
Fathers  of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  who  were  her 
confessors  during  her  stay  in  Madrid,  that 
from  time  to  time  visions  and  ecstasies,  such 
as  were  enjoyed  by  the  greatest  saints,  became 
her  portion ;  but  it  is  characteristic  of  Luisa 


128 


The  Ave  Maria, 


that  she  attached  far  more  importance  to  the 
practise  of  virtue,  and  to  the  correction  of  her 
slightest  imperfections,  than  to  the  enjoyment 
of  these  wonderful  spiritual  favors. 

To  casual  observers  it  seemed  that  the  ser- 
vant of  God  had  found  her  permanent  vocation 
in  the  heroic  life  of  penance  which  she  led 
with  such  quiet  and  unwearied  perseverance 
during  thirteen  years.  Yet  it  was  not  so,  and 
under  her  calm  exterior  Luisa  was  pursued 
by  a  desire  so  ardent  as  to  cause  her  positive 
anguish,  so  wild  as  to  make  her  reluctant  to 
speak  of  it  save  to  her  confessors.  She  felt 
that  her  present  life  was  but  a  preparation  for 
another  vocation,  the  thought  of  which  had 
pursued  her  since  the  days  of  her  girlhood, 
and  which,  as  years  went  on,  assumed  a  more 
definite  shape. 

We  have  seen  that  an  ardent  love  for  pen- 
ance and  suffering  was  at  all  times  Luisa' s 
chief  characteristic,  and  this  master  passion  of 
her  soul  is  repeatedly  expressed  in  the  poems 
she  has  left  us.  Alluding  to  the  glories  of  mar- 
tyrdom, she  exclaims  in  one  of  her  sonnets : 
"Esposas  dulces,  lazo  descado! 
Ausentes  trances,  hora  vitoriosa! 
Infamia  felicissima  y  gloriosa, 
Holocaiisto  en  mil  flamas  abrasado!"* 

In  her  lonely  meditations  before  the  tabernacle, 
at  Pampeluna  and  at  Aimacan,  her  thoughts, 
after  dwelling  on  the  happiness  of  those  who 
were  deemed  worthy  of  the  martyr's  palm, 
reverted  naturally  to  the  land  where  at  that 
time  Catholics  were  called  daily  to  confess 
their  faith,  and  to  endure  imprisonment,  tor- 
tures, and  death.  By  degrees  the  thought  of 
England  became  closely  interwoven  with  her 
prayers  and  penances.  Before  she  was  twenty- 
one  she  happened  to  read  an  account  of  the 
martyrdom  of  Father  Edmund  Campion, 
written  by  Don  Zuan  de  Mendoza,  the  Spanish 
Ambassador  in  London,  and  this  increased  her 
ardent  longing ;  henceforth  her  prayers  and 
acts  of  charity  and  penance  were  offered  up  for 
the  suffering  English  Catholics,  and,  alluding 
to  her  instruments  of  penance,  she  used  often 
to  exclaim :    "  It  is  not  these  light  chains  I 


*  "Sweet  fetters,  desired  bonds! 

Distant  struggles,  victorious  hour! 
Most  happy  and  glorious  infamy, 
Holocaust  consumed  amidst  a  thousand  flames! ' 
— "Ivife,"  p.  143. 


want :  it  is  the  heavy  irons  of  the  English 
martyrs." 

Her  biographer  does  not  give  us  the  reasons 
that  prevented  her,  after  her  uncle's  death, 
from  carrying  out  her  desire  to  work  and 
suffer  for  the  faith  in  England ;  but  in  the 
meantime  she  kept  her  eyes  and  heart  steadily 
turned  toward  this  cherished  object,  and  as 
time  went  on  circumstances  occurred  to 
strengthen  her  purpose  and  to  facilitate  its 
execution. 

In  1595  an  account  of  the  martyrdom  of 
Father  Henry  Walpole,  who  was  executed  at 
York  after  being  tortured  nine  times,  fell  into 
her  hands ;  she  read  it  over  and  over  again, 
and  henceforth  her  longing  to  go  to  England 
assumed  the  shape  of  an  irresistible  vocation. 
Her  confessor,  who  probably  recognized  God's 
holy  will  in  this  overpowering  desire,  took 
her  to  see  any  English  priest  that  happened 
to  pass  through  Madrid.  During  her  long  and 
frequent  illnesses,  when  her  weakness  was 
such  that  she  seemed  insensible  to  all  external 
influence,  her  companions  had  but  to  talk  of 
the  persecutions  in  England  to  revive  and 
rouse  her.  At  the  same  time  her  confessors, 
and  many  religious  persons  of  great  wisdom 
whom  she  consulted,  were  not  unnaturally 
alarmed  at  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  such 
a journey. 

Luisa  listened  sweetly  and  humbly  to  their 
objections,  inwardly  convinced  that  God's 
will  would  manifest  itself  in  her  behalf;  and, 
in  fact,  after  long  deliberations,  much  deep 
thought  and  fervent  prayer,  her  advisers, 
among  whom  was  the  famous  Jesuit,  Father 
Luis  de  la  Puente,  decided  "that  it  would  be 
rash  to  disregard  the  marks  of  a  true  vocation 
in  the  project  submitted  to  them;  that  it 
might,  after  all,  be  for  the  good  of  religion.  .  .  . 
The  animating  effect  of  her  ardent  faith  and 
charity,  the  sympathy  she  would  show  to 
the  afflicted  Catholics,  would  no  doubt  tend 
to  confirm  them  in  the  steadfast  practice  of 
religion."  * 

About  the  same  time  as  her  directors  ar- 
rived at  this  grave  decision  a  treaty  of  peace 
was  signed  between  King  James  I.,  who  had 
just  succeeded  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  King 
Philip  III.  of  Spain,  and  a  long  and  wearisome 


"Life,"  p.  155. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


129 


lawsuit,  which  made  Doiia  Luisa's  presence 
imperative  at  Valladolid,  was  brought  to  an 
end ;  two  circumstances  that  appeared  to  her 
a  manifestation  of  God's  holy  will  in  favor  of 
her  project.  She  was  now  free  to  dispose  of 
her  fortune,  and  by  her  will,  dated  Valladolid, 
the  22d  of  December,  1604,  she  devoted  the 
whole  of  it  to  the  foundation  of  an  English 
Jesuit  noviceship  in  Belgium.  Two  years  later 
her  intentions  were  carried  out.  Father  Per- 
sons established  his-  English  novices  in  a 
large  house  at  lyouvain,  and  Luisa  had  the 
consolation  before  her  death  to  see  numer- 
ous confessors  and  martyrs  come  forth  from 
the  foundation,  which  remained  as  a  lasting 
proof  of  her  loving  solicitude  for  the  English 
mission. 

She  now  prepared  all  things  for  her  de- 
parture :  she  wrote  a  farewell  letter  to  Father 
Ojeda,  Rector  of  the  Jesuit  College  of  Madrid ; 
bade  adieu  to  Inez,  her  faithful  companion; 
took  leave  of  her  brother,  her  friends,  her 
relatives;  prayed  for  the  last  time  in  the 
-churches  of  her  beloved  Spain;  and  finally, 
on  the  27th  of  January,  1605,  she  set  out  on 
her  distant  journey.  Her  friends  had  endeav- 
ored in  vain  to  soften  the  inevitable  hardships 
of  such  a  voyage :  she  accepted  nothing  from 
them  but  a  mule  to  ride  on ;  and  her  escort 
consisted  of  a  chaplain,  three  men  servants 
and  one  woman,  who  were  returning  to  Eng- 
land, and  whose  services  had  been  secured 
for  her  by  the  English  Jesuits  of  Valladolid. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


In  Memory. 


BY   MARY   E.  MANNIX. 


"IF  there  be  heaven  on  earth  it  must  be  here, 
J   If  there  be  saint  on  earth  it  must  be  thou ' ' — 

So  mused  I  once,  not  many  months  ago. 
The  trees  are  putting  forth  new  foliage  now. 
And  she  who  made  St.  Martin's  shades  more  dear 
Has  put  on  immortality  ;  her  brow 

Is  crowned  with  incorruption,  softly  flow 
Tears,  human  tears,  but  unbaptized  of  woe ; 
For  she  went  forth  without  a  sigh,  so  near 
Her  God  already  that  nor  why,  nor  how, 
She  questioned.  It  was  only  hers  to  go, — 
A  pilgrim  winning  to  the  promised  land, 
A  daughter  clinging  to  her  Father's  hand. 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY  NUGENT  ROBINSON. 


CHAPTER  VI.  — Peggy    Considine    is 
Taken  in  Hand. 

HARRY  lost  no  time  in  sending  for  Peggy, 
a  bright,  gray-eyed,  black-haired,  red- 
cheeked  lass  of  fourteen,  whom  he  placed  with 
the  good  Sisters  at  the  picturesque  Loreto 
Abbey,  Rathfamham,  distant  from  Dublin 
about  five  miles.  Every  Sunday,  rain  or  shine, 
found  the  loving  brother  at  the  convent 
gate ;  and  when  occasionally  Peggy  would  be 
allowed  to  walk  outside  the  convent  walls  he 
would  take  her  for  an  eight-mile  stretch — she 
was  strong  of  limb  and  full  of  health, — up  to 
Mount  Pelier,  or  for  a  charming  ramble  in  the 
direction  of  Dundrum  or  romantic  Enniskerry. 

He  dearly  loved  his  sister,  and  his  love  fell 
like  refreshing  dew  on  a  fruitful  soil;  for 
Peggy's  chief  object  in  life  was  to  please 
Harry,  and  every  prize  she  worked  for  she 
won  for  hhn.  It  was  a  charming  sight  to  be- 
hold Harry's  tall  and  manly  figure  protecting 
the  child  form  beside  him,  as  they  wandered 
lovingly  along  the  wild  mountain  roads,  some- 
times hand  in  hand,  sometimes  the  girl  lean- 
ing upon  him,  sometimes  his  arm  encircling 
her  shoulder.  Both  looked  forward  to  Sunday 
with  pure,  unalloyed  delight,  and  the  good 
nuns  had  ever  a  pleasant  greeting  for  the 
gentle  and  devoted  brother. 

Harry  had  taken  up  his  abode  at  Erin 
Terrace,  Drumcondra,  with  a  Miss  Clancy,  a 
relative  of  Father  Luke  Byrne,  a  cheery  little 
old  maid  of  the  quaintest  pattern.  He  had  a 
roomy  bedroom  and  a  tiny  sitting-room ;  and, 
as  Miss  Clancy  went  to  the  Castle  market 
every  day,  his  food  was  of  the  best  and  most 
wholesome  kind,  and  extremely  cheap. 

Miss  Clancy  would  occasionally  honor  him 
by  inviting  him  to  tea,  when  their  conversa- 
tion invariably  turned  upon  Father  lyuke. 
Miss  Clancy's  tea  was  bought  at  Campbells 
in  Sackville  Street,  and  the  brown-glazed, 
earthenware  pot  was  covered  with  a  gorgeous 
"cozy,"  worked  by  Peggy  Considine,  during 
the  mysterious  process  known  as  "drawing." 
Upon  one  memorable  occasion  Miss  Clancy 
accompanied  Harry  to  L<oreto,  when  she  devel- 


130 


The  Ave  Maria, 


oped  so  much  candy  from  a  Brobdingnaggian 
reticule  as  to  lead  Peggy  to  imagine  that  it  was 
a  conjurer's  trick,  and  that  the  sugar  sticks 
could  not  by  any  possibility  be  real. 

Miss  Clancy  did  not  admire  Gerald  MoUoy. 

"He  is  too  calculating  for  one  so  young," 
she  chirruped ;  and  indeed  she  was  like  a  gay 
little  bird.  "When  one  so  young  commences 
to  calculate  the  chances  in  life,  the  risk  lies 
in  his  own  calculating.  He  was  at  me  about 
the  rent  I  pay  for  this  house  before  he  sat 
down  in  it,  and  calculated  that  the  landlord 
would  let  me  o^  £\o,  if  I  complained  of  the 
condition  of  the  footpaths.  I  have  no  patience 
with'young  calculators,  that  is,  young  people 
who  have  old  heads  on  budding  shoulders." 

The  worthy  little  lady  took  Harry  as  a 
lodger  purely  to  oblige  Father  Luke,  as  she  had 
an  annuity  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds, 
•one  half  of  which  always  went  to  the  poor. 
Her  only  dissipation  was  a  panorama;  the 
very  moment  the  papers  or  dead  walls  an- 
nounced the  arrival  of  one  she  was,  to  use  a 
homely  metaphor,  "like  a  hen  on  a  hot  grid- 
dle"; and  she  knew  no  peace  of  mind  until 
she  was  able  to  discuss  its  merits  after  having 
saturated  herself  with  it. 

As  for  Harry,  he  never  tired  talking  of  her, 
especially  to  the  girls  at  Rutland  Square, — a 
house  in  which  he  was  always  welcome,  and 
of  which,  through  the  persistent  kindness  of 
the  Alderman,  he  saw  a  great  deal.  A  few 
days  and  Considine  had  mastered  the  work  of 
the  office,  simply  because  he -flung  his  whole 
mind  into  it,  and  herein  lies  the  true  secret  of 
success.  Do  your  best!  Let  every  mental 
energy  be  focused,  as  it  were,  upon  the  partic- 
ular object  in  hand,  and  in  ninety  and  nine 
cases  out  of  one  hundred  success  smilingly  at- 
tends the  effort. 

He  was  being  perpetually  bidden  to  Rutland 
Square.  The  Alderman,  in  virtue  of  his  office, 
entertained  a  good  deal,  in  addition  to  which 
he  was  naturally  hospitable  and  fond  of  societj^ 
Never  a  dinner  party  but  Harr>^  was  invited, 
while  at  the  evening  entertainments  he  was 
supposed  to  represent  the  house.  To  many  of 
the  latter  Harry  obtained  invitations  for  his 
friend  Gerald,  and  also  succeeded  in  introduc- 
ing Emma  Molloy,  a  circumstance  which 
afforded  that  j^oung  lady  the  liveliest  gratifi- 
cation. 


j  Emma  was  something  like  Peggy  Consi- 
dine— gray-eyed,  with  a  profusion  of  black 

i  4iair,  growing  low  on  the  forehead,  a  retroussi 

i  nose,  and  a  ver>^  beautifully  carved  mouth. 

j  Poor  Emma,  however,  spoiled  her  lovely  tresses 
by  marrow  oil,  and  her  ivory  skin  by  pearl 
powder,  while  her  manner  was  repulsive  on 
account  of  its  hideous  affectation.  And  yet  she 

I  was  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  room  wherever  she 
went,  and  everybody  said:  "What  a  pity!" 
Miss  Ryan,  since  her  .bath  in  Glendalough, 
had  been  much  more  civil  to  Considine,  but 
there  was  a  streak  of  ice  in  her  tone  that 
chilled  him.  If  not  absolutely  cold,  it  was  a 
sort  of  stand-off  manner,  relieved  occasionally 
by  an  earnest  warmth  that  loomed  up  like  a 
flash  of  light  in  darkness. 

Harry  was  alwaj^s  deferential  and  polite  to 
her.  Intimate?  No.  With  her  cousin  he  was 
on  terms  of  pleasant  intimacy,  and  it  was 
through  Miss  Esmonde  that  the  Alderman's 
daughter  usually  conversed  with  him.  "She 
dislikes  me,"  he  thought.  "She  looked  down 
on  me  as  a  mere  counter-jumper,  and  now  re- 
gards me  as  a  sort  of  adventurer.  It's  too  bad.' ' 
There  were  moments  when  Considine  felt 
inclined  to  rebel,  to  fling  her  coldness  back  to 
her,  and  demand  why  it  was  that  he  was  so 
unpleasing  to  her. 

"I  am  not  a  fop!"  he  argued.  "I  don't 
wear  lemon-colored  kid  gloves.  I  don't  try  and 
say  'shawn't'  for 'sha'n't,'  'cawn  t'  for  'can't,' 
or  talk  of  the  'Cawstle.'  I  don't  squeeze  my 
toes  in  pointed  boots,  or  wear  ridiculous  shirt 
collars.  It  is  because  I  am  plain  Harry  Con- 
sidine that  Miss  Ryan  is  dowm  on  me.  Well, 
I'm  sorry,  awfully  sorry;  but  I  won't  wear 
primrose  gloves,  and  I  won't  say  'Cawstle.'  " 
Whenever  he  got  a  chance  he  put  in  a  good 
word  for  Gerald  Molloy.  More,  he  "coached" 
his  friend  in  the  art  of  pleasing  the  idol  of 
his  affections:  giving  him  instructions  how 
to  act,  speak,  and  the  subjects  that  were  most 
likely  to  please. 

"Hang  it!"  Gerald  would  sullenly  say. 
"She  is  always  talking  about j^^z^ — how  j^ou 
spend  your  evenings;  what  sort  of  rooms 
you've  got;  your  visitors;  how  you  spend 
your  Sundays." 

One  particular  Sunday  Harry  was  walking 
with  his  sister  Peggy  along  the  River  Dodder, 
under  the  grim  gray  walls  of  Lord  Ely's  es- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


131 


tate,  a  lordly  domain  acquired  with  the  title 
by  a  vote  given  to  the  infamous  Castlereagh, 
for  the  Union.  This  portion  of  the  Dodder 
is  most  romantic  and  picturesque,  and  a 
favorite  promenade  with  the  good  and  sound- 
of-limb  citizens  of  Dublin. 

Harry  was  seated  by  Peggy's  side,  his  arm 
around  her  shoulder.  He  had  just  plucked 
some  luminously  green  lichens  from  the  inter- 
stices of  granite  bowlders  supporting  a  mill 
weir,  over  which  the  feathery  foam  leaped 
and  twisted  in  frothy  delight,  and  was  engaged 
in  examining  them  when  a  carriage  drove 
slowly  by. 

"Those  people  are  staring!"  exclaimed 
Peggy. 

"Why,  it's  the  Ryan  family!"  replied 
Harry,  vigorously  doffing  his  hat. 

To  his  intense  astonishment.  Miss  Ryan, 
who  had  been  staring  with  might  and  main, 
instead  of  acknowledging  his  bow,  dropped 
her  parasol,  and  maintained  it  as  a  sort  of 
screen  before  the  occupants  of  the  carriage  till 
the  vehicle  passed  away  in  the  distance. 

"How  singular!"  muttered  Harry. 

"What?" 

"That  Miss  Ryan  should  not  have  saluted 
me." 

"  If  it  was  the  lady  in  gray  with  the  crimson 
parasol,  she  was  too  much  occupied  in  staring 
at  ^?2^,"  laughed  Peggy.  "And  so  thaV sWi^s 
Ryan!  How  pale  she  is,  and  what  black  hair! 
Who  was  the  other  girl?" 

"Miss  Molloy,  sister  of  Gerald." 

^' She  is  immensely  pretty,  Harry." 

"Yes,  indeed  she  is." 

A  few  days  subsequently  Caroline  Ksmonde 
gravely  asked  Considine  who  the  young  lady 
was  to  whom  he  paid  such  marked  attention, 
near  I,ord  Ely's  gate  on  a  certain  Sunday. 

"That  is  my  sister  Peggy." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!  Why  don't  you  bring 
her  to  see  us  ? " 

"She  is  at  lyoreto  Abbey,  Rathfarnham,  at 
school,  and  the  Sisters  don't  like  the  pupils 
to  be  distracted  from  their  studies. ' ' 

"Are  they  allowed  to  receive  visitors?" 

"On  stated  days,  yes." 

*  *  Do  you  see  her  often  ? ' ' 

"Every  Sunday." 

"You  must  take  Jane  and  me  some  Sunday; 
won't  you?" 


'  *  With  great  pleasure,  Miss  Esmoiide. ' ' 

Peggy  did  not  receive  the  news  of  the  in- 
tended honor  with  anything  like  pleasure. 

"I  only  want  you,  Harry,"  she  said. 
"Wouldn't  it  be  awful  if  those  young  ladies 
should  want  to  come  with  you  every  Sun- 
day!" 

When  the  visit  came  off,  however.  Miss 
Considine  was  quite  pleased.  Jane  Ryan  had 
been  most  gracious  to  her,  and  had  said  all 
sorts  of  nice  things,  and  had  proposed  the 
most  enchanting  plans  for  the  Christmas  holi- 
days. She  asked  permission  to  come  again, 
and  kissed  the  dear  little  maid  at  parting. 

"I  like  your  sister  ever  so  much,  Mr.  Con- 
sidine, ' '  said  Jane. 

"I  like  Miss  Ryan  exceedingly,  Harry," 
said  Peggy. 

Somehow  or  other,  Caroline  Esmonde  was 
not  thought  of  in  the  visit,  although  she  had 
been  gracious  and  tender  and  charming. 

And  thus  the  kaleidoscope  of  their  lives 
turned  and  turned,  revealing  new  colors  at 
every  move,  some  of  them  exceeding  beautiful. 
(to  be  continued.) 


Two  Schools. 


(Continued.  ) 
Clara  Valley,  Oct.  8,  18  -. 

DEAR  Aunt  Mary  : — ^Time  flies  fast,  and 
everything  goes  on  smoothly.  I  am  mak- 
ing progress  in  drawing  and  music,  and  find 
no  difficulty  in  keeping  up  with  the  highest 
grade  of  studies.  We  have  very  few  drones  in 
our  hive.  The  Sisters  make  study  pleasant, 
and  are  so  interested  in  everything  we  do  that 
one  must  be  a  dullard  or  ungrateful  not  to 
try  to  do  one's  best. 

There  is  a  dear  little  music  teacher  here, 
Sister  Hilary,  who  was  formerly  a  Protestant 
like  myself,  but  very  prejudiced,  which  you 
know,  dear  auntie,  I  never  have  been.  The 
only  daughter  of  a  spiritualist  father  and  a 
Swedenborgian  mother,  you  will  realize  that 
her  religious  sentiments  must  have  been  some- 
what mixed.  I  scarcely  think  she  had  any 
decided  opinions  on  the  subject  of  religion, 
save  a  strong  objection  to  everything  Catholic. 
Through  the  intervention  of  a  relative,,  her- 
self a  Presbyterian,  she  came  here  as  a  pupil 


13^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


during  the  absence  of  her  parents  in  Europe, 
whither  her  father  was  obliged  to  go  for  his 
health. 

She  refused  to  kneel  in  chapel,  would  put 
lier  fingers  in  her  ears  during  night  and  morn- 
ing prayer,  and  while  catechism  was  going 
on.  One  day  she  went  so  far  as  to  throw  a 
rosary  which  she  found  on  her  desk  across  the 
study-hall.  For  this  she  was  put  in  retire- 
ment, where  she  reflected  that  she  had  been 
guilty  of  unladylike  conduct,  and  dutifully 
asked  pardon.  She  soon  became  attached  to 
one  of  the  nuns,  a  convert,  who  never  men- 
tioned religion  to  her,  but  who,  as  she  naively 
puts  it,  "prayed  for  her  all  the  time."  Her 
•change  of  mind  or  heart,  as  our  Methodist 
brethren  would  say,  was  very  sudden. 

One  day,  passing  the  chapel,  she  saw 
through  the  half- opened  door  that  the  sanct- 
uary lamp  had  gone  out.  (This  is  a  light 
which  is  kept  continually  burning  before  the 
tabernacle  where  the  Blessed  Sacrament  re- 
poses.) She  felt  impelled  to  enter  and  relight 
it.  She  knew  where  the  tapers  were  to  be  found, 
knew'also  that  the  sacristan,  who  was  keeper 
of  the  wardrobe,  would  be,  in  virtue  of  her 
charge,  busily  employed  at  this  hour  in  sort- 
ing clean  clothes.  After  a  moment's  hesitation 
she  entered,  lit  the  lamp,  and  was  about  to 
leave  the  chapel  when  something  literally 
pushed  her  on  her  knees.  A  storm  of  tears 
followed,  and  a  little  later  one  of  the  Sisters 
found  her  hysterically  .  sobbing.  From  that 
moment  she  was  at  heart  a  devout  Catholic. 
Herjparents  made  much  difficulty  about  it, 
and  wished  to  remove  her  from  the  school ; 
but,  after  obtaining  her  promise  that  she  would 
not  become  a  Catholic  for  a  year  after  gradua- 
tion, they  allowed  her  to  remain. 

The  year  came  and  passed,  finding  her 
unchanged.  Subsequently  her  parents  died, 
and  she  entered  the  convent.  I  think  she  is 
the  happiest,  brightest,  loveliest  creature  I 
ever  saw,  and  a  universal  genius.  Harp,  piano, 
guitar,  organ,  are  playthings  to  her.  She  has 
a  splendid  voice;  drawing  and  painting 
seem  second  nature ;  she  is  a  marvel  at  plain 
sewing,  and  a  mistress  of  all  kinds  of  embroid- 
ery and  knitting:  she  can  make  angels  of 
cotton  batting,  old  men  out  of  hickory-nuts, 
and  the  cimningest  figures  of  soap,— just  com- 
mon soap;    models  beautifully  in  clay,  and 


has  arranged  the  finest  herbarium  I  ever  saw. 
She  writes  verses  worthy  of  Mrs.  Browning, 
teaches  the  higher  mathematics,  and  spends 
all  her  spare  time  on  favorable  nights  with 
the  (girl)  astronomers. 

You  may  wonder  if  Sister  Mary's  account 
of  her  conversion  does  not  appear  very  absurd 
to  me,  as  no  doubt  it  will  to  you ;  but,  I  assure 
you,  I  have  the  fullest  confidence  in  the  state- 
ment. It  may  not  have  been,  as  she  considers 
it,  a  supernatural  occurrence,  but  it  certainly 
was  prompted  by  an  interior  voice,  and  that 
must  have  come  from  the  soul.  And  why,  if 
there  be  a  true  church,  a  real  messenger  of 
truth,  why  should  it  not  be  that  which  has 
existed  fi-om  the  beginning  of  Christianity? 
Admitted  that  Catholic  ministers  sometimes 
have  led  irregular  lives,  it  is  not  proven 
that  they  have  ever  taught  new  doctrines. 
I  have  become  more  fully  sensible  of  this 
since  I  have  heard  the  clear  expositions  given 
with  date  and  page,  some  of  them  out  of  the 
mouths  of  the  enemy, — i.  e.,  non  Catholic 
writers.  And  who  can  bring  the  life  of  such 
a  reformer  as  Martin  Luther  as  argument 
against  the  lives  of  the  Catholic  clergy  ? 

But  this  is  dry  stuj0f  for  you,  who  are  not 
averse  to  a  little  harmless  gossip.  I^et  me 
give  you  an  instance  of  the  strict  discipline 
which  prevails  in  the  convent.  As  I  told  you 
before,  we  are  not  permitted  to  go  beyond  the 
gates,  and  it  is  unheard  of  that  any  one  should 
so  defy  the  rule.  The  other  afternoon,  just  as 
the  bell  rang  for  studies,  the  town  bell  also 
rang  for  a  fire.  Two  girls,  more  adventurous 
than  the  rest — new  scholars,  by  the  way, — 
rushed  down  the  path  and  into  the  road,  in 
spite  of  the  remonstrance  of  the  others.  When 
the  roll  was  called  and  they  were  missing, 
Sister  Bernard,  the  class  mistress,  looked  very 
grave ;  and  on  their  return  half  an  hour  later, 
shamefaced  and  fearful  of  reprimand,  they 
were  told  that  they  would  be  deprived  of 
noon  recreation  for  three  days,  and  that  a  sec- 
ond similar  offence  would  be  punished  by 
expulsion. 

We  are  also  forbidden  to  give  commissions 
to  the  day  scholars  without  special  permission. 
Yesterday  a  girl  from  the  village,  who  had 
been  frequently  warned  of  the  consequences, 
undertook  to  smuggle  in  some  French  confec- 
tionery to  three  of  the  boarders.   One  of  the 


The  Ave  Maria, 


13.^ 


Sisters  was  passing  while  the  transfer  was  be- 
ing made,  and  the  culprits  were  at  once  sent 
to  Mother  Superior.  The  boarders,  being  new 
girls,  were  dismissed  with  a  reprimand ;  and 
the  old  offender  expelled,  although  her  father 
is  Mayor  of  the  village,  and  a  very  influential 
man.  By  such  uncompromising  means  true 
order  and  regularity  are  preserved. 

They  have  an  excellent  arrangement  here, 
by  which  the  older  and  younger  pupils  are 
separated  during  recreations,  even  though 
they  may  be  together  in  studies.  For  instance, 
there  are  girls  of  twelve  in  the  more  advanced 
classes,  where  the  majority  are  sixteen,  and 
even  older ;  there  are  also  several  large  girls 
in  the  lower  classes,  but  they  are  entirely  sep- 
arated during  free  time.  Thus  the  younger 
ones  have  amusements  suited  to  their  years, 
and  do  not  become  unduly  precocious.  A  nun 
is  always  present  during  the  hours  of  recess. 
Conversations  on  dress,  amusements,  etc.,  are 
not  entirely  discouraged,  as  one  would  sup- 
pose from  the  popular  idea  of  a  convent 
•school. 

We  are  permitted  to  indulge  in  all  sorts  of 
harmless  pleasantries;  once. a  month  social 
entertainments  are  given,  at  which  the  nuns 
are  our  guests.  We  are  taught  how  to  enter 
and  leave  a  room,  receive  visitors,  etc.  An 
occasional  song  or  literary  selection,  and 
sometimes  tableaux,  fill  up  the  evening.  We 
have  also  French  soirees,  where  the  conver- 
sation is  entirely  in  that  language ;  and  reci- 
tations are  given  with  now  and  then  a  little 
drama.  This  ensures  ease  and  facility  in  con- 
versation. 

This  letter  is  already  too  long ;  next  time 
I  shall  tell  you  of  our  trip  to  the  woods. 
Affectionately  yours, 

Julia. 

Allen  Seminary,  Oct.  9,  18 — . 

Dear  Mattie: — Sometimes  I  get  dread- 
fully tired  of  this  pokey  old  place,  that  is,  when 
there  is  no  fun  going  on ;  but  we  do  have 
"high  old  times"  occasionally,  and  then  we 
girls  pull  the  wool  over  the  teachers'  eyes  with 
a  vengeance. 

One  day  last  week  a  fire  broke  out  in  the 
village,  and  a  crowd  of  us  slipped  through  a 
hole  in  the  hedge  (the  gates  are  kept  locked, 
owing  to  certain  escapades  of  the  dear  girls), 
and   away  we  flew  to  help  extinguish  the 


flames.  The  latter  part  of  the  sentence  may 
be  interpreted  in  two  ways ;  for  several  had 
"flames"  in  the  vicinity,  country  fellows  of 
course,  but  still  desirable  enough  to  save  us 
from  ennui  in  this  forgotten  place.  And  the 
way  we  do  extinguish  them  is  to  be  admired. 
We  were  not  long  without  escorts,  and  we  took 
a  ramble  in  the  woods,  for  the  fire  amounted 
to  nothing.  About  five  o'clock  we  began  to 
grow  timorous,  but  a  plot  was  soon  devised 
by  which  we  hoped  to  escape  reprimand. 

Mar}^  Temple,  the  very  demurest  girl  among 
us,  but  the  slyest  rogue  you  ever  saw,  pre- 
tended to  have  sprained  her  ankle ;  and  we  all 
marched  slowly  to  the  house,  condoling  with 
her  and  helping  her  along.  Miss  Cratchett, 
who  had  been  sent  in  search  of  us,  and  whom 
we  caught  last  week  flirting  with  the  gardener 
(a  handsome  fellow),  knew  we  had  her  in  our 
power,  and,  while  she  may  have  doubted  the 
reality  of  the  sprain,  fell  in  with  the  scheme 
at  once.  She  dared  not  do  otherwise.  We 
managed  to  sneak  in  without  observation ;  the 
principal  and  principaless  had  gone  to  a  garden 
party,  and  our  little  outing  passed  over  with- 
out a  fuss. 

The  girls  are  raving  about  the  violin 
teacher,  a  Hungarian  refugee,  or  something 
of  that  kind.  As  for  me,  you  know  I  never 
rave,  though  he  is  handsome,  and  has  the 
most  melancholy  eyes.  They  say  he  is  a  count 
in  disguise,  some  have  even  called  him  a 
prince.  However  that  may  be,  I  was  sketching 
the  convent,  that  is  as  much  as  I  could  see  of  it 
from  the  music  room  window,  the  other  after- 
noon, when  he  came  in  to  await  a  pupil.  "I 
take  ze  libertee,"  he  said  (he  does  speak  such 
delightfully  broken,English), — "I  take  ze  lib- 
ertee, Mees,  to  say  you  have  great  talente  for 
ze  drawing."  Of  course  I  blushed  and  looked 
flattered.  "But  why,  why  do  you  see-lect  zat 
gloomy  place  for  a  sviki-jectf  Once,  once  was  I 
chosen  to  be  priest  by  my  -^direnies;  but  never, 
never  could  I  be  such  a  ting!  I  run  away 
from  my  aoMaiJe.  I  come  to  zis  countree, 
where  I  find  ze  lovely  eyes  and  ze  beautiful 
voices." 

Think  of  it,  dear  Mattie,  condemning  such 
a  handsome  fellow  to  the  horrible  fate  of  a 
Catholic  priest!  I  asked  him  how  long  he  had 
been  confined  in  the  novitiate, — I  know  that 
is  what  they  call  it,  for  I've  read  "Danger 


^34 


The  Ave  Ma^-ia, 


in  the  Dark,"  which  thoroughly  exposes 
those  institutions.  He  told  me  seven  years, 
from  fourteen  to  twenty-one — "ze  sweetest 
years  of  ze  life."  Poor  fellow!  What  frauds 
those  priests  are!  I  had  always  understood 
that  a  knowledge  of  Latin  was  necessary, 
that  they  conducted  all  the  services  in  that 
language.  But  I  was  soon  undeceived  by 
Professor  Krouck. 

The  next  morning  I  was  reading  a  French 
novel  (a  translation)  in  which  the  words  ''In 
Jide  vivo'''  occurred.  I  knew  they  were  Latin, 
and  profited  by  the  occasion  to  exchange  a 
few  words  with  the  Professor,  asking  him 
what  the  quotation  meant.  To  my  surprise, 
he  did  not  know.  "Excuse  me,"  I  said,  "I 
thought  they  taught  Latin  in  all  Roman 
Catholic  colleges — that  it  was  part  of  the 
theological  course  for  the  priesthood.  He 
laughed  bitterly.  *  'Ah,  my  dear  young  loideel ' ' 
he  replied,  with  a  lovely  glance  from  his  ex- 
pressive eyes,  "you  mistake,  greatlee.  Veree 
leetle  Latin  do  ze  priests  know.  It  is  all  gib- 
berish zot  zey  pray,  all  gibberish."  What 
impositions  they  practise,  to  be  sure! 

We  are  looking  forward  to  a  trip  to  town 

next  week.  Mile. (the  great  cantatrice) 

is  to  be  there  with  her  troupe,  and  the  powers 
that  be  have  promised  that  all  who  have  the 
thing  needful  to  spare  may  go  on.  Flora  Vale 
and  myself,  with  two  or  three  others,  have 
made  arrangements  through  two  of  the  day 
scholars  to  have  cavaliers  in  waiting  at  the 
depot,  who  will  accidentally  take  the  same 
train,  and  endeavor  to  sit  as  near  us  as  possible 
We  can  make  eyes,  if  nothing  else.  If  it  were 
not  for  those  same  day  scholars  we  should  be 
minus  many  sumptuous  enjoyments  which 
are  now  ours.  For  instance,  we  subscribe  to 
the  circulating  library  (forbidden),  get  French 
confectionery  every  day  (forbidden),  send 
and  receive  local  notes  to  admiring  swains 
(forbidden),  and  have  sundry  letters  to  absent 
friends  sent  without  the  supervision  of  the 
Gorgons.  The  teachers  wink  at  these  peccadil- 
loes, for  the  reason  that  most  of  them  are  guilty 
of  like  infractions  of  law  and  order — ah!  there 
is  that  charming  M.  Krouck  stalking  up  the 
gravel  walk  with  his  violin  under  his  arm.  He 
is  looking  up.  I  must  contrive  to  meet  him  in 
the  corridor.  More  anon.  EsTEi<i.A. 

(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 


Notre  Dame  de  Sainte-Esperance. 


BY  GEORGE  PROSPERO. 


MANY  amongst  the  crowds  of  visitors  who 
each  year  visit  the  splendid  Cathedral 
of  Notre  Dame  in  Paris  are  unaware  that  by 
crossing  the  Petit  Pont  leading  to  the  old  Rue 
St.  Jacques,  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine, 
and  turning  into  the  equally  old  street  of 
St.  Severin,  they  will  come  across  the  ancient 
Church  of  St.  Severin.  All  lovers  of  beautiful 
architecture  will  be  amply  repaid  for  thus 
turning  aside  from  the  beaten  track,  usually 
marked  out  to  tourists,  as  St.  Severin  is  one 
of  the  finest  specimens  of  the  Gothic  style  of 
architecture  remaining  in  Paris;  whilst  devout 
servants  of  our  Holy  Mother  w411  be  especially 
delighted  at  finding — in  the  eleventh  chapel 
of  the  right  aisle — the  lovely  oratory  of  Notre 
Dame  de  Sainte-Esperance. 

St.  Severin  was  a  celebrated  Abbot  of 
Agaunum,  in  the  canton  of  Valais,  in  Switzer- 
land, who,  at  the  special  request  of  Clovis,  left 
his  peaceful  monastery  to  repair  to  the  court 
of  the  French  King,  then  stricken  with  a 
grievous  malady.  Scarce  had  the  saintly  monk 
touched  the  royal  patient  than  his  illness  dis- 
appeared. St.  Severin  was  then  an  old  man, 
and  rather  than  again  undertake  the  journey 
back  to  Agaunum,  he  decided  on  remaining 
in  Paris,  where  he  entered  a  monastery — if 
so  it  may  be  termed, — containing  but  a  few 
cells  and  an  oratory,  which  then  existed  on 
the  site  of  the  present  church.  There  the  holy 
man  dwelt  for  the  remaining  period  of  his  life, 
and  there  he  devoutly  breathed  his  last  in  508. 

We  thus  see  that  the  spot  on  which  the 
Church  of  St.  Severin  was  erected  later  on  had 
been  hallowed  by  the  presence  of  the  Saint 
himself  The  little  monastery  in  which  he 
lived  was  destroyed  by  the  Normans  in  the 
ninth  century,  but  immediately  afterward  a 
chapel  was  built  upon  the  spot.  The  founda- 
tion of  the  actual  eglise  was  laid  in  12 10,  and 
it  was  considerably  embellished  at  various 
periods.  To  the  Church  of  St.  Severin  belongs 
the  signal  honor  of  being  the  first  church 
in  France  in  which  a  chapel  was  erected  to 
glorify  the  Immaculate  Conception.  This  was 
in  the  year  131 1. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


35 


For  more  than  a  century  this  sanctuary 
stood  at  the  left  entrance  to  the  choir,  but  in 
1495,  the  apsis  and  the  aisles  being  rounded 
and  enlarged,  the  shrine  was  transported  to 
the  chapel  in  which  we  see  it  now.  A  society 
was  formed  under  the  name  of  Confrerie  de 
V Immacidec  Co7iception,  and  before  long  it  was 
enriched  with  numerous  indulgences.  Persons 
of  all  ranks  and  conditions  belonged  to  this  as- 
sociation, from  the  highest  to  the  lowest  in  the 
land,  and  manj'^  good  works  were  performed  by 
them ;  the  rich  making  costly  offerings,  whilst 
those  less  favored  with  the  fleeting  treasures 
of  this  earth  visited  the  sick  in  their  homes 
and  at  the  hospitals.  In  all  ancient  confreries 
the  corporal  works  of  mercy  were  especially 
marked  out  to  be  practised  by  the  members. 

The  Feast  of  the  Immaculate  Conception 
was  celebrated  at  St.  Severin — a  parish  church 
since  the  eleventh  century — with  the  great- 
est pomp  and  splendor.  Public  criers  went 
through  the  streets  for  some  days  beforehand, 
announcing  the  coming y^%,  and  distributing 
pictures  of  the  Immaculate  Virgin,  together 
with  a  short  account  of  the  various  indul- 
gences to  be  gained  by  those  who  came  to 
participate  in  the  celebration  of  the  beautiful 
feast,  thus  testifying  the  love  and  veneration 
with  which  their  hearts  were  filled  toward 
Mary  Immaculate.  The  parish  of  St.  Severin 
continued  to  edify  Paris,  and  the  confririe 
prospered  more  and  more  until  the  Revolu- 
tion ;  then  the  church  was  closed. 

Strange  to  say,  when  the  church  was  re- 
opened the  famous  confraternity  was  not  reor- 
ganized. It  existed  in  name,  but  that  was  all, 
as  no  new  members  came  to  give  it  new  life. 
When  the  holy  Abbe  Flanicle  became  cure  of 
St.  Severin  in  the  year  1840,  his  first  thought 
was  to  place  his  ministry,  his  new  parish  and 
the  clergy  attached  to  it,  under  the  patronage 
of  yidLTYy  Mater  SaiictcE  Spei.  Deeming  the  best 
manner  of  bringing  his  parishioners  together, 
beneath  the  standard  of  the  Queen  of  Heaven, 
was  to  re-establish  the  pious  association,  he 
announced  his  intention  of  forming  the  Con- 
fririe de  V  Immaculie  Vierge^  Notre  Dame  de 
Sainte- Esperance . 

The  foundation  of  this  association  was  like 
the  dawning  of  a  new  existence  for  the  parish 
of  St.  Severin,  which  once  more  became,  and 
continues  to  be,  a  source  of  edification  to  all. 


The  association  is  now  an  arch  confraternity, 
and  the  Sovereign  Pontiff  allowed  Bridan's 
lovely  marble  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
holding  the  Divine  Infant  in  her  arms,  to  be 
crowned  as  its  patroness.  The  statue  is  truly 
beautiful,  and  the  Infant  Jesus,  holding  an 
anchor  in  His  hands,  seems  to  invite  each 
and  all,  whatever  may  be  the  sorrow  lying 
heavy  on  their  hearts,  to  come  with  confidence 
to  Notre  Dame  de  Sainte-Esperance.  Truly 
Mary  has  shown  herself  lavish  of  favors,  as 
the  walls  are  covered  with  ex-votos  attesting 
graces  received.  Not  one  spot  remains  on  the 
walls  of  the  sanctuary,  and  now  the  votive 
offerings  have  to  be  placed  in  the  large  church. 
No  shrine  of  Mary  in  Paris,  save  Notre  Dame 
des  Victoires,  can  boast  so  many  of  these  sig- 
nificant marble  slabs. 

St.  Severin  lies  in  the  heart  of  the  famous 
Quartier  I,atin,  long  celebrated  for  its  wild 
students,  who  have  not  the  reputation  of 
being  devout  clients  of  the  Queen  of  Heaven. 
Our  lyady  of  Good  Hope  has  not  been  quite 
forgotten,  however,  and  many  of  them  have 
sought  her  aid  on  the  eve  of  passing  an  ex- 
amination on  which,  perchance,  their  future 
depended.  Numerous  ex-votos  prove  her  pro- 
tection was  not  sought  in  vain,  and  many  of 
the  inscriptions  are  touching  in  the  extreme. 
Few  could  visit  this  sanctuary  without  feeling 
consoled,  and  encouraged  to  continue  faithful 
in  their  devotions  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  whose 
aid  it  is  so  sweet  to  invoke  under  the  title  of 
Notre  Dame  de  Sainte-Esp6rance. 


Something  for  Parents. 


BY    MAURICE    FRANCIS    EGAN. 


THERE  is  an  unacknowledged  opinion  in 
the  minds  of  some  Catholics  that  religion 
comes  by  nature, — that  it  is  an  inherited  thing. 
If  a  man  has  a  "Catholic  name"  it  is  under- 
stood that  his  children  who  bear  that  name 
must  be  Catholics.  Now,  although  we  say 
colloquially  that  a  man  is  "boni  a  Catholic," 
no  man  is  born  so  naturally.  It  is  not  until 
he  is  regenerated  supeniaturally  through  the 
SacramenWof  Baptism  that  he  becomes  a  child 
of  Christ  and  heir  to  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 
But  we  do  not  remember  this  sufficiently. 


136 


The  Ave  Maria. 


We  presume  that  we  have  such  an  abundance 
of  zeal,  that  it  must  inundate  our  children. 
Other  peoples'  children  may  lose  the  faith — 
indeed  we  often  wonder  at  the  carelessness 
of  persons  less  firm,  less  supernaturally  and 
naturally  gifted  than  ourselves, — but  ^z^r  chil- 
dren, no  matter  what  the  temptation  may  be, 
must  always  remain  good  Catholics.  There- 
fore we  send  them  to  a  "colorless"  school,  we 
take  no  trouble  to  see  that  their  reading  is 
supervised ;  secure  in  our  faith,  we  allow  our- 
selves great  latitude  in  criticizing  matters 
pertaining  to  it,  and  we  let  our  children  as- 
sociate with  whom  they  will. 

"We  awake  some  day  to  find  an  immense  gulf 
between  us  and  our  children.  They  have  wan- 
dered away.  Their  Catholic  name,  the  faith 
of  their  forefathers,  their  having  been  "born 
Catholics,"  amount  to  nothing.  They  have  no 
Catholic  instinct ;  it  has  never  been  cultivated, 
and  the  responsibility  of  this  lack  of  cultiva- 
tion rests  on  their  parents.  They  have  been 
taught  their  catechism  on  Sunday ;  they  are 
not  ignorant  of  the  fundamental  doctrines  of 
the  Church,  but  there  is  a  coldness,  a  suspi- 
cion, a  blighting  spirit  of  criticism  in  their 
position  toward  the  Church.  This  easily  leads 
to  complete  indifference,  and  when  a  Catholic 
becomes  completely  indifferent  in  religious 
matters  he  is  worse  than  an  infidel. 

It  is  not  easier  to  define  what  the  *  *  Catholic 
instinct"  is  than  to  define  what  any  instinct 
is.  It  is  that  aroma  firom  the  gift  of  faith 
which  neutralizes  the  odors  of  evil.  It  is  a 
parfum  de  Rome,  not  an  odeur  de  Paris.  It  is 
that  sensitiveness  which  makes  even  the  un- 
learned detect  false  doctrine,  or  a  tendency  to 
false  doctrine,  without  knowing  exactly  why. 
It  keeps  us  safe;  it  makes  us  trustworthy; 
it  prevents  intemperance  in  the  assertion  of 
the  truth ;  it  makes  us  obedient  without  the 
necessity  of  our  explaining  to  ourselves  why 
we  should  be  so.  On  the  heart  full  of  Cath- 
olic instinct  the  truths  of  religion  fall  like 
the  "gentle  rain  from  heaven."  It  saves  us 
firom  mistakes  of  over-zeal  or  under-zeal.  It 
is  grace  cultivated  and  conserved.  We  know 
its  effects,  and  our  great  publicists  have 
owed  more  to  this  instinct  than  to  their 
scholarship.  It  is  like  the  bloom  ©n  a  plum, 
however:  it  easily  vanishes,  and  it  is  hard 
to  restore. 


One  of  the  chief  effects  of  religious  educa- 
tion is  the  creation  of  this  instinct.  And  one  of 
the  most  essential  reasons  for  the  struggle  for 
Catholic  schools  is  the  need  of  this  instinct 
for  the  preservation  of  the  Church  and  society. 
Thoughtful  men  of  all  opinions  have  reacted 
from  the  materialism  which  has  controlled 
the  counsels  and  literature  of  the  world  for 
the  last  thirty  years.  Renan,  sitting  in  the 
place  of  skulls,  admits  that  he  would  give 
worlds  to  hear  the  sound  of  the  Angelus  as 
he  heard  it  in  his  youth;  the  disciples  of 
Darwin  are  not  so  dogmatic  as  they  were ; 
Bismarck  has  learned  by  hard  experience  that 
the  suppression  of  Christianity  means  the 
encouragement  of  anarchy.  We  Catholics 
ought  to  learn  from  the  tendency  of  the  times, 
firom  the  example  of  these  men,  the  corrobora- 
tion of  the  words  we  sometimes  hear  with 
unheeding  ears, — that  the  gates  of  hell  shall 
not  prevail,  and  that  the  varying  winds  of 
men's  doctrines  and  opinions  make  a  hurricane 
loud  but  impotent.  The  calm  is  God's,  and 
the  victory  is  ours  through  Him. 

But  how  are  we  to  ensure  the  inheritance 
of  faith  to  our  children,  if  we  do  not  train 
them  from  the  beginning?  The  little  non- 
essential but  beautiful  customs  of  faith  should 
be  encouraged  from  the  earliest  infancy.  The 
public  school  may  teach  what  the  text-books 
call  facts,  but  they  ignore  the  great  Fact  of 
all.  The  basest  result  of  modern  teaching  is 
to  make  us  minimize  the  weight  of  parental 
responsibility.  No  power  can  absolve  the 
parent  firom  the  duty  of  keeping  his  child's 
heart  pure  for  its  Creator. 

lyCt  us  look  into  our  children's  face  and 
then  in  to*  the  face  of  death.  On  our  death-bed, 
rushing  to  judgment  on  the  wings  of  time, 
which  school  would  we  choose  for  them, — 
which  education  ?  L,et  us  answer  that  now,  not 
in  the  spirit  of  the  world,  but  in  the  spirit  of 
God.  Are  they  weeds  to  be  let  grow  on  waste 
place,  to  blossom,  and  to  scatter  evil  seed? 
Or  are  they  precious  flowers,  to  be  tendered 
with  strenuous  care,  even  in  the  heat  of  the 
day  and  with  many  sacrifices  ?  Those  who  look 
on  them  as  weeds  reap  the  seeds  of  poison, 
and  suffer  the  penalty  even  in  this  life. 


Death  should  set  the  seal  of  silence  upon 
lips  that  can  not  praise. — Louisa  M.  Alcott. 


The  Ave  Ml 


ana. 


137 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

The  Diocese  of  Kingston,  Ontario,  has  been 
raised  to  the  rank  of  a  metropolitan  see,  and 
Mgr.  Cleary,  its  Bishop,  named  first  Archbishop. 
A  new  diocese  will  soon  be  founded  in  the  Prov- 
ince of  Ontario,  in  which  there  is  great  rejoicing 
over  the  promotion  of  Mgr.  Cleary,  a  prelate 
eminent  for  the  acquirements  and  virtues  that 
adorn  an  exalted  position. 

Another  noteworthy  ecclesiastical  change  in 
Canada,  where  the  Church  is  making  great  prog- 
ress, is  the  transfer  of  Bishop  Walsh  from  the 
Diocese  of  London  to  the  Archdiocese  of  Toronto, 
and  his  promotion  to  the  pallium.  Mgr.  Walsh  has 
been  a  distinguished  figure  in  the  Canadian  epis- 
copate since  his  consecration  in  1367  as  Bishop 
of  Sandwich,  and  will  be  a  worthy  successor  to 
the  lamented  Archbishop  Lynch. 


The  Sisters  of  Holy  Cross,  who  lately  received 
the  approbation  of  the  Holy  See  and  a  new 
constitution,  held  their  first  General  Chapter  at 
the  close  of  the  annual  retreat.  Mother  Mary 
Augusta  was  elected  Mother  General.  She  was 
formerly  the  Mother  Provincial,  succeeding  the 
late  Mother  Angela,  under  whose  energetic  gov- 
ernment the  community  was  widely  established 
in  the  United  States.  Mother  Augusta  will  be 
assisted  in  her  ofiice  by  Mothers  Genevieve  and 
Annunciata,  both  of  whom  are  eminently  quali- 
fied to  discharge  the  important  duties  that  will 
devolve  upon  them.  The  Sisters  of  the  Holy  Cross 
number  about  five  hundred  members,  and  con- 
duct flourishing  schools,  successful  hospitals  and 
orphan  asylums,  in  various  parts  of  the  country. 
They  have  a  promising  future,  and  a  field  for  the 
exercise  of  their  devotedness  which  saints  might 
envy  them. 

Cardinal  Manning,  notwithstanding  his  ad- 
vanced age,  continues  to  work  as  he  did  twenty 
years  ago.  His  vitality  and  intellectual  vigor  are 
wonderful,  considering  that  his  Eminence  has 
just  completed  his  eighty-first  year. 


The  call  for  the  Catholic  Congress,  signed  by 
Messrs.  William  J.  Onahan,  Henry  J.  Spaunhorst, 
and  Daniel  H.  Rudd,  recites  the  various  reasons 
that  make  opportune  the  holding  of  an  assembly 
of  Catholic  laymen.  The  fact  that  the  celebration 
of  the  centennial  anniversary  of  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Catholic  hierarchy  will  draw  to 
Baltimore  in  November  a  great  crowd  of  priests 
and  laymen,  led  the  committee  to  choose  that 
city  as  the  place  of  meeting,  and  two  days  in 
that  month  for  the  time.  The  Congress  will  be 


Catholic,  local  and  race  prejudices  will  not  color 
its  discussions  or  resolutions  in  the  least.  The 
three  gentlemen  who  sign  the  call  differ  no  doubt 
in  many  matters. — for  one  is  of  Irish  descent 
and  most  zealous  for  the  welfare  of  Ireland,  the 
second  has  been  closely  identified  with  German- 
American  movements,  and  the  third  is  a  gentle- 
man of  the  colored  race.  They  unite  under  the 
banner  of  the  Cross  as  Catholic  citizens  of  Amer- 
ica. The  project  of  holding  the  Congress  has 
been  approved  of  by  his  Eminence  Cardinal 
Gibbons,  and  by  other  archbishops  and  bishops. 
The  Congress  will  be  open  to  all  Catholics,, 
subject  to  an  admirable  regulation.  "To  provide 
for  due  order,  atid  so  that  necessary  regulations 
shall  prevail,  as  well  as  for  the  purpose  of  insur- 
ing general  representation  from  all  parts  of  the 
country,  it  has  been  decided  by  the  committee  in 
charge  to  issue  cards  of  admission  to  the  floor 
of  the  hall,  which  cards  will  entitle  the  person 
named  therein  to  the  full  privileges  of  the  Con- 
gress. These  cards  will  be  placed  in  the  hands  of 
the  bishop  or  administrator  of  each  diocese. 
Catholics  who  desire  to  attend  the  Congress  will 
make  application  accordingly  to  the  ordinary  of 
their  diocese  for  the  necessary  introduction."  To 
the  call,  besides  the  three  principal  names,  are 
appended  a  long  list  of  representative  Catholic 
signatures. 

The  devout  throngs  that  annually  repair  to  the 
little  Chapel  of  the  Portiuncula  at  Notre  Dame, 
to  gain  what  is  known  as  the  Indulgence  of  the 
great  Pardon,  would  be  remarkable  at  any  Euro- 
pean shrine  in  any  age  of  the  Church.  The  pil- 
grims come  from  neighboring  towns  and  villages, 
some  of  them  at  a  considerable  distance  from 
Notre  Dame,  and  from  First  Vespers  of  the  ist  of 
August  until  sunset  of  the  Feast  of  Our  Lady  of 
Angels  the  little  chapel  is  crowded  with  devout 
worshippers.  Masses  begin  at  an  early  hour  and 
continue  till  nearly  noonday.  The  Communion 
rails  are  crowded  at  each  one.  At  eventide  solemn 
Benediction  with  the  Blessed  Sacrament  fittingly 
concludes  the  spiritual  exercises.  The  Chapel  of 
the  Portiuncula  is  connected  with  the  Professed 
House  of  the  community,  and  for  many  years 
has  enjoyed  the  extraordinary  spiritual  privilege 
attached  to  the  Chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Angels 
at  Assisi.  It  is  the  favorite  shrine  at  Notre  Dame, 
and  the  Feast  of  Our  Lady  of  Angels  is  among 
the  greatest  days  of  the  year. 

In  the  course  of  an  eloquent  and  well-merited 
tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  late  Monsignor 
Corcoran,  the  Catholic  Standard  refers  to  his  great 
devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  as  one  of  his  most 
marked  characteristics.  Never  did  the  lamented 


138 


The  Ave  Maria, 


prelate  seem  more  earnest,  or  more  inspired,  as  it 
were,  than  when  speaking  or  writing  about  her 
who  is  the  Immaculate  Mother  of  our  Divine 
Lord.  He  could  not  even  allude  to  her  without 
becoming  aroused  and  filled  with  holy  ardor. 
Thought  about  our  Blessed  Redeemer  was  insep- 
arable in  his  mind  with  thought  about  His  Im 
m.aculate  INIother.  He  loved  especiallj'  to  meditate 
upon  the  countless  references  to  her  and  her 
exalted  office,  which  he  found  in  the  Sacred 
Scriptures,  the  Breviarj^  and  the  Church's  lyitur- 
gies.  Some  of  the  most  beautiful  passages  in  his 
writings  were  written  when  thus  thinking  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  and  our  Divine  Lord.  This  is  illus- 
trated by  the  following  extract  from  an  article 
which  he  wrote  on  "The  Syriac  Grammar"  : 

"The  Christian  who  is  sincere,  whatever  his  creed, 
should  have  but  one  ruling  motive  in  seeking  ac- 
quaintance with  the  Syriac  Scripture,  viz., — ^to  secure 
an  important  auxiliary  in  determining  the  literal 
sense  of  Holy  Writ.  Bat  for  us  Catholics  w^ho  worship 
God,  not  only  'in  spirit  atid  in  truth,'  but  with  the 
whole  outward  man,  who  have  been  taught  to  give 
Him  the  homage  of  all  our  senses,  and  to  make  even 
of  material  things  so  many  helps  to  devotion,  there 
are  other  strong  inducements.  There  is  for  us  an 
ineffable  sweetness  in  hearing  and  repeating  intelli- 
gently not  only  the  interpreted  words,  but  the  very 
identical  articulate  sounds  which  were  hallowed 
long  ago  by  the  lips  of  our  Blessed  Redeemer.  We 
recite  daily  the  Magnificat,  the  canticle  in  which  the 
Blessed  Virgin  sings  of  the  'great  things'  that  God, 
the  all-powt  rful,  had  wrought  in  her ;  and  her  words, 
even  through  the  medium  of  Latin  or  English,  stir 
our  inmost  hearts.  But  how  much  warmer  and  more 
lively  the  emotion  of  the  soul,  how  much  sweeter  the 
fnel  in  ore,  and  melos  in  auribus — 'honey  in  the 
mouth,  and  melody  to  the  ear, ' — to  use  the  words  of 
St.  Bernard,  could  we  read  or  recite,  or  hear  those 
inspired  words,  not  only  according  to  their  sense,  but 
in  the  self-same  sounds  that  fell  upon  the  ears  of  the 
enraptured  Elizabeth  when  the  blessed  lips  of  the 
Bride  of  Light  gave  uttera,nce  to  that  glorious  outburst 
of  deep  humility  and  triumphant  thanksgiving!  " 

In  a  note  Monsignor  Corcoran  tells  his  readers 
that  "The  Bride  of  Light"  is  a  favorite  term  for 
the  Blessed  Virgin  in  the  Liturgy  of  the  Church 
of  Antioch,  and  that  she  is  also  st3ded  therein 
* '  Mother  of  Light, "  "  Mother  of  Glorious  Light, ' ' 
and  "Mother  of  Light  Everlasting." 


The  late  Father  Curley,  S.  J.,  whose  name  for 
more  than  fifty  years  has  been  associated  with 
Georgetown  College,  D.  C. ,  was  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable men  of  the  century.  He  ranked  among 
the  leading  scientists  of  the  day,  though  his  mod- 
esty and  simplicity  of  character  prevented,  to  a 
great  extent,  due  recognition  of  his  merits.  His 
favorite  science  was  astronomy,  and  many  of  the 


results  of  his  studies  are  recorded  in  the  "Annals 
of  Georgetown  Observatory," — a  work  which  has 
gained  great  applause  in  the  scientific  world,  and 
has  always  been  found  to  be  absolutely  correct  in 
its  assertions.  One  of  his  achievements  in  the 
field  of  science  was  to  determine  for  the  first  time, 
with  strict  accuracy,  the  longitude  of  Washing- 
ton. His  life  was  the  manifestation  of  the  harmony 
ever  subsisting  between  true  science  and  religion, 
and  showed  how  the  former  may  be  made  to 
serve  as  the  handmaid  of  the  latter.  For  more 
than  fifty  years  he  ministered  at  the  altar  of  God, 
having  celebrated  his  sacerdotal  golden  jubilee 
on  June  i,  1883.  He  was  in  the  93d  year  of  his 
age  when  death  came  to  crown  a  life  which  was 
truly  a  memorable  one,  and  which  was  blessed  by 
an  abundance  of  works,  productive  of  the  greatest 
good  for  the  minds  and  hearts  of  his  fellow-men. 
May  he  rest  in  peace! 

We  are  glad  to  be  able  to  introduce  a  new  con- 
tributor to  our  readers  this  week.  Mr.  Hilliard 
Atteridge,  who  recounts  a  story  of  missionary 
life  in  our  own  time  as  wondrous  as  it  is  edifying, 
has  been  writing  several  years  for  the  London 
press,  and  is  numbered  among  the  contributors 
to  the  Dublifi  Revieiv,  the  Month,  and  other 
English  Catholic  periodicals.  We  invite  the 
attention  of  all  our  readers  to  the  admirably 
written  account  which  Mr.  Atteridge  furnishes 
of  the  career  of  Mgr.  Canoz,  one  of  the  greatest 
missionaries  of  modern  times. 


Obituary. 

Remember  thein  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
wi'h  them.  — Heb.,  xiii,  3. 

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

Sister  Mary  of  St.  Benedict,  a  venerable  religious 
of  the  Sisterhood  of  the  Holy  Cross,  St.  Mary's, 
Notre  Dame,  Ind  ,  who  >Aas  called  to  her  reward  on 
the  28th  ult. 

John  C.  Barr  Esq.,  a  widely  known  and  highly 
respected  citizen  of  Pittsburg,  Pa,,  who  passed  away 
on  the  same  date.  Mr.  Barr  was  distinguished  in 
literature  and  politics.  He  was  beloved  by  those  who 
knew  him  intimately  and  esteemed  by  all. 

Mrs.  Rachel  A.  Tarleton,  a  devout  client  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  whose  happ}^  death  occurred  at  An- 
derson, Cal.,  on  the  18th  ult. 

Miss  Anna  Mclnnes,  a  fervent  Child  of  Mary,  who 
departed  this  life  on  the  same  day  at  East  Boston, 
Mass. 

Mrs. James  Grant,  of  Belleville,  Out.;  Miss  Mar- 
garet Lynch,  Wilmington,  Del. ;  and  Patrick  Don- 
ovan, Lynchburg,  Va. 

May  their  souls  arid  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


The  Ave  Maria, 


139 


The  Jose-Maria. 


BY  E.  X,.  DORSEY. 


VII. 


Wrecks  and  rescues,  sun  and  storm,  winter 
and  summer  were  told  off  by  God's  great  clep- 
sydi'a  the  sea,  and  one  morning  Dick  waked  to 
find  his  sixteenth  birthday  had  come.  Such  a 
big  Dick  he  had  grown  to  be — tall,  brown,  hard- 
handed,  with  muscles  he  was  secretl}'-  very 
proud  of,  and  a  faint  little  fuzz  on  his  upper 
lip  that  he  was  ver>"  much  ashamed  of,  and  a 
steady,  ready  look  in  his  grave  grey  eyes  that 
gave  Jonas  great  satisfaction ;  for  he  had  at 
last  made  up  his  mind,  after  four  years  of 
closest  watching  and  careful  weighing  for  and 
against,  that  he  could  "tie  to"  Dick,*  and 
that  the  very  thorough  training  he  had  given 
the  boy  in  practical  seamanship  was  so  well 
bestowed  that  he  deserved  a  good  rating.  So 
that  morning  he  made  him  speechlessly  happy 
by  presenting  him  with  his  own  chronometer, 
and  found  a  curious  pleasure  in  thinking  that 
when  he  went  on  the  Black  List  there  would 
be  such  a  fine  fellow  to  step  in  his  shoes. 

The  twins  had  their  presents  ready  too,  for 
they  were  now  quite  young  ladies — being  all  of 
ten  years  old, — with  their  hair  plaited  in  tight 
little  pigtails,  tied,  one  with  a  red  cord  and 
one  with  a  blue  (  "  to  tell  t'  other  from  which, ' ' 
their  uncle  said),  and  fully  able  to  do  many 
useful  things  about  the  house,  and  watch 
over  their  mother  with  a  quaint  fussiness  and 
a  great  paddling  to  and  fro  that  readily  ex- 
plained the  name  by  which  Jonas  often  called 


*  On  the  Mississippi  River,  when  the  great  lumber 
rafts  are  drifting  down  stream,  there  is  often  occasion 
to  lay  over  night  at  some  point,  and  if  the  occasion 
is  emphasized  by  a  gale  of  wind  or  unusually  high 
water  it  becomes  a  very  important  matter  to  find 
deep-rooted  strong  trees  to  which  to  attach  the  stay- 
ropes.  It  is  often  a  diflficult  matter,  and  such  trees 
when  found  are  accounted  great  blessings ;  so  in  the 
slang  of  the  river  a  true  friend  and  honest  man  is 
called  "a  good  man  to  tie  to." 


them — the  Sand  Pipers.  And  these  presents 
they  hid  mysteriously  behind  their  backs  in 
one  hand,  until  with  the  other  they  had  given 
him  sixteen  smacks,  agreeably  diversified  with 
hair  pulling  and  pinching  "to  make  it  even;" 
and  of  course  Dick  said  there  never  were  two 
better  little  sisters  nor  two  better  presents ;  for 
Mary  Ginevra  had  made  him  a  large  crab  net, 
and  Ginevra  Mary  had  made  him  a  needle- 
book  in  the  shape  of  a  dropsical  butterfly, 
with  red  flannel  wings  and  a  green  pincushion 
body.  And  Idella  had  either  understood  some- 
thing of  what  they  told  her,  or  had  caught 
the  infection  of  good  wishes;  for  she  had  made 
a  great  cake,  and  came  into  breakfast  dressed 
■  in  the  prettiest  gown  Jonas  had  given  her, 
and  with  a  bunch  of  red  hollyhocks  stuck  in 
her  white  hair,  and  her  great  black  eyes  a 
shade  less  sad.  It  was  such  a  very  special  day 
that  everybody  felt  aggrieved  at  the  abrupt 
eading  of  its  pleasures. 

About  1 2  o'clock,  just  as  a  delicious  mixture 
of  smells  began  to  come  in  to  Dick  from  the 
kitchen  (where  he  was  not  allowed  to  even 
look),  a  boy  came  running  up  from  the  station 
waving  a  yellow  envelope. 

"Ketch! "  he  yelled,  and  whirled  it  into  the 
window. 

Dick  saw  it  was  addressed  to  his  uncle,  and 
knowing  it  must  be  something  startling,  for 
he  had  never  had  a  telegram  in  all  his  ex- 
perience, he  snatched  up  his  hat  and  hurried 
down  town. 

On  the  coping  of  the  quaint  old  church- 
yard, where  so  many  sailors  are  buried  that 
their  brother  sailors  like  to  muster  there,  and 
smoke  their  pipes  and  spin  their  yams,  he 
found  Jonas  sitting  with  three  or  four  cronies. 
But  uncle  and  nephew  were  Yankees,  and 
neither  spoke  nor  looked  surprised  at  the 
yellow  envelope,  which  the  former  opened, 
deliberately  read,  and  then  quietly  tucked 
away  in  his  pocket  in  the  midst  of  a  slow 
cracking  of  ponderous  jokes  by  his  mates. 

"Plum  duff"  ready,  boy?"  he  asked.  And 
when  Dick  nodded,  he  rose,  brushed  the 
ashes  from  his  coat  and  started  off"  with  him. 

As  they  walked  along  Jonas  said :  * '  Why 
don't  you  ask  'bout  this  tely-grara?" 

"None  o'  my  business,  I  gviess,  uncle." 

"Right!"  growled  Jonas,  with  unqualified 
approval ;  "so  I'll  tell  you.  What'ud  you  say 


140 


TJu  Ave  Maria. 


to  givin'  up  your  day  ashore  an'  goin'  out  to 
■speak  a  ship?" 

"I'd  say  'yes.' " 

"Right  again,  by  hookey!  So  I'll  tell  you 
some  more.  'Member  hearin'  me  talk  'bout 
Jack  Hendershott?" 

"The  diver?" 

Jonas  nodded. 

"Yes,  sir,''  said  Dick,  with  some  excite- 
ment. 

"Well,  it's  him." 

"Is  it  from  Californy?"  asked  Dick. 

^*No:  right  fum  New  York." 

"He  was  there." 

"Yes,  an'  I  thought  tell  you  give  me  this 
he  was  theer  now.  Read  it." 

And  Dick  read : 

"If  you  want  to  speak  the  Madison  from  N.  Y., 
clear  Uwes  at  12.  «j  Hendershott." 

"Wonder  what  he's  up  to  now?  The  last 
I  heard  of  him  he  was  off  to  raise  the  treasure 
of  the  City  d  Peki?i.  She  foundered  with  a 
half  a  million  o'  gold  in  her,  and  a  pretty  lot 
o'  Indian  diamonds  an'  the  mails,  an'  a  hull 
lot  o'  passengers.  It's  cur'ous,  for  I  ain't  seen 
nothin'  o'  that  job  bein'  done,  an'  Jack  Hender- 
shott's  no  lubber  to  leave  a  good  bit  o'  work 
undone,  particularly  gilt-edged  work  like  that. 
No :  we  ain't  got  time  to  go  home.  It's  hard 
on  twelve  now  an'  the  tide  '11  serve." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir!"  said  Dick.  "Hi  here, 
Stumpy !  here's  a  penny  ef  you  tell  Mrs.  Barlow 
that  me  and  the  Cap'n  have  gone  out." 

"A' right!"  sang  out  "Stumpy,"  a  short 
but  fleet-footed  youngster. 

And  without  another  word  he  followed  his 
uncle  aboard,  mechanically  looked  into  the 
biscuit  locker  and  the  water-butt;  and,  after 
the  sails  were  set  and  the  boat  running  free, 
took  his  place  at  the  tiller  in  the  silence  Jonas 
loved  so  well. 

VIII. 

About  daybreak  they  heard  the  short  quick 
throb  of  a  steam-engine,  and  in  due  time  the 
Madison  was  spoken,  and  Jonas  was  aboard 
and  steering  her  into  the  breakwater. 

She  was  an  old- fashioned  side-wheel  steamer, 
and  for  some  reason  had  taken  the  pilot  boat 
in  tow.  No  sooner  was  her  anchor  let  go 
than  Jonas  came  aboard  with  a  weather-beaten 
man,  whom  he  called  "Jack,"  and  treated  in 
a  way  that  proved  him  a  special  friend. 


He  was  about  Dick's  height,  but  of  the 
build  peculiar  to  successful  divers.  He  looked 
rather  worn  though,  and  his  eyes  were  tired, 
and  his  face  pallid  as  if  from  recent  illness. 

As  they  came  alongside  the  landing  he  said : 

"Now,  matey,  ef  you'll  tell  me  a  decent- 
place  to  hang  my  hammock,  I'll  be — " 

"Stow  that.  Jack  Hendershott!"  inter- 
rupted Jonas,  gruffly.  "Ef  it's  come  to  that, 
after  the  cruises  and  bruises  we've  weathered 
together,  it's  time  to  say  good-bye.  You'll 
come  to  my  house,  or  you'll  w^alk  out  o'  my 
'quaintance,  once  fur  all." 

"Sho'  now,  Jonas!"  said  Hendershott,  evi- 
dently touched  and  gratified.  "I'll  be  in  the 
way  of  your  wimmen-kind." 

"Not  by  a  jug- full,"  was  the  answer. 

So  Dick  shouldered  his  bag  and  went  ahead, 
securing  a  welcome  from  his  mother  in  ad- 
vance for  the  stranger,  by  telling  her  he  was 
a  sailor-man  they  had  "picked  up  outside." 

And  she  cooked  a  dinner  that  made  the 
two  men  sniff  appreciatively  from  the  moment 
they  entered  until  it  was  served.  In  the  midst 
of  the  meal,  when  the  business  of  eating 
slackened  and  that  of  conversation  began, 
Jonas  suddenl}^  looked  up  and  said :    • 

"By  the  way,  Jack,  what  about  the  City  d 
Pekinf'' 

Hendershott  dropped  his  knife  and  fork, 
pushed  back  his  chair  with  a  hasty  gesture, 
and,  warding  off  the  question  with  his  hands, 
answered  in  great  agitation  : 

"Don't  never  say  that  word  agin,  Judkins! 
Don't  never  breathe  it, — don't  look  it  even! " 

"Didn't  you  find  nothin'?"  began  Jonas, 
in  surprise. 

*  'Find  nothin'  ?  It  was  what  I  did  find  that 
I'm  a-tryin'  to  forgit.  In  the  name  o'  God 
don't  raise  the  dead  afore  His  time — right 
here  on  the  edge  o'  this  new  contrac'  too! " 

The  last  words  were  muttered  as  he  wiped 
his  forehead  on  quite  one  of  the  most  startling 
"bandanas"  the  Presidential  Campaign  had 
evoked. 

"'Course  I  won't,"  said  Jonas.  And  then 
with  ready  tact  he  began  to  ask  about  the 
Madison,  and  her  crew  and  outfit,  till  Hender- 
shott had  entirely  rallied  from  his  mysterious 
horror  of  the  City  of  Pekin. 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  the  two  men  were 
closeted   together,   and  after   nightfall   they 


The  Ave  Maria. 


HI 


went  off  to  the  house  of  one  McPherson,  a 
pilot  grandson  of  the  pilot  grandfather  who 
had  saved  the  troop-ships  that  famous  night, 
when  the  Henlopen  Light  for  the  first  and 
only  time  was  put  out  by  the  British  in  the 
vain  hope  of  crippling  our  little  Continental 
Army. 

And  after  that  the  three  heads  were  so  often 
in  council,  and  there  was  such  secrecy  main- 
tained aboard  of  the  Madison,  that  the  sharp 
wits  of  the  summer  visitors,  the  natives  and 
the  local  reporters,  soon  dug  out  the  fact  that 
there  was  a  plan  afoot  to  locate  and  raise  the 
treasure  of  the  Jose-Maria,  a  Spanish  galleon 
that  had  gone  down  in  a  Norway  squall  in  the 
Old  Kiln  Roads  more  than  a  hundred  years 
before,  with  her  prize  crew  of  Englishmen  on 
board,  and  two  hundred  Spanish  prisoners 
chained  between  her  decks. 

The  Northern  and  Western  papers  took  it 
up,  and  at  first  fairly  sparkled  with  barbed 
jests,  and  the  diver  and  his  friends  were  made 
the  butts  of  much  ridicule.  But  presently  it 
became  known  that  the  Madison  belonged  to 
a  responsible  company ;  that  a  Charter  for 
the  work  had  been  granted  by  the  United 
States  Treasury,  which  had  such  confidence 
in  the  enterprise  that  it  bargained  for  the 
receipt  of  the  brass  armament  of  the  wreck 
and  a  percentage  of  the  treasure ;  that  McPher- 
son had  the  charts  left  by  his  grandfather, 
which  located  the  exact  position  of  the  wreck  ; 
that  the  company  had  its  agents  abroad  for 
two  years  hunting  in  the  Admiralty  Office 
at  London  and  the  State  Archives  at  Madrid 
for  proper  identification  of  the  vessel ;  that 
they  had  the  very  list  of  the  gems,  the  bars 
of  silver  and  gold,  the  money,  and  even  the 
rolls  of  silks  and  brocades  that  lay  in  her  hold  . 
and  lockers,  for  the  Captain  of  the  prize  had 
mailed  them  at  Lewes  a  few  hours  before  he 
sailed  out  to  his  death.  And  later,  when  the 
doubters* still  clung  to  their  disbelief,  McPher- 
son admitted  to  a  New  York  Herald  reporter 
that  his  grandfather  was  aboard  the  JosS- 
Maria  steering  her  out  when  the  squall 
struck  her,  and  that  he  and  thirteen  Spanish 
prisoners,  who  were  on  deck  taking  the  air 
at  the  time,  were  washed  ashore  clinging  to 
gratings,  oars — anything  they  could  lay  hands 
to;  and  if  they  didn't  believe  there  was  such 
a  ship,  why  they  needn*  t.  But,  there  was  her 


I  English  Captain's  monument,  set  up  by  that 
Captain's  "relict" — as  the  stow  calls  the 
widow — six  months  after  they  sent  her  word 
the  body  had  come  ashore  out  of  the  wreck, 
and  been  buried  in  the  queer  old  churchyard 
named  above, — that  churchyard  where  the 
graves  heave  up  like  a  chop-sea,  and  the  head- 
stones set  askew,  as  if  "  the  watch  below ' ' 
were  stirring  in  their  narrow  berths,  dreaming 
of  the  call  of  "God's  bos' n— St.  Gabriel." 

Then  the  whole  town  caught  the  infection, — 
the  very  children  in  the  streets  talked  about 
it;  the  tone  of  the  press  changed,  and  not  a 
week  passed  that  some  big  journal  did  not 
send  its  special  artist  and  special  correspond- 
ent; the  Vigo  Bay  Expedition  was  cited  in 
support  of  the  expectations  entertained  of  this 
one,  until  every  ship  must  have  been  passed  in 
review.  Hendershott  was  sketched  in  armor 
and  out  of  armor,  on  s^hore  and  off  shore,  under 
the  water  and  in  mid-air,  diving  in  the  scanty 
attire  of  an  Indian  pearl  seeker ;  the  Madison 
was  represented  as  a  side- wheeler,  a  screw- 
propeller,  a  frigate,  a  wrecking  tug, — anything 
the  facile  pencil  of  the  "special"  chose  ta 
make  it ;  and  one  reporter,  more  enterprising 
than  the  rest,  published  a  tabulated  statement,, 
with  an  affidavit  attached — secured  from  New 
York's  great  jeweller, — of  the  gradual  rise  in 
the  value  of  rubies  during  the  past  hundred 
years,  and  the  consequent  enormous  increase 
in  the  value  of  the  sunken  cargo,  which  in- 
cluded hundreds  of  these  precious  stones. 

Hendershott's  contract  gave  him  twenty 
thousand  dollars  the  day  the  treasure  was 
recovered,  and  his  wages  were  enormous  com- 
pared to  the  length  of  his  hours ;  for  he  only 
worked  at  slack-water  (making  two  descents 
a  day),  and  he  was  the  object  of  open  envy 
and  congratulation  among  the  longshore  men, 
fishermen,  and  sailors.  But  he  did  not  seem 
to  appreciate  his  luck  ;  indeed  he  shrank 
visibly  from  the  work,  and  got  paler  and 
more  "peaked"  every  day. 

At  last  he  came  to  Jonas  one  morning  and 
said: 

"Old  man,  it  ain't  no  use  to  kick  agin  this 
any  more.    I  got  to  give  it  up.  Look  thar." 

And  he  held  out  his  hand  that  was  trem- 
bling as  if  he  had  a  chill. 

"No,  it  ain't  drinkin';  I've  quit  that  since 
I  took  to  divin'" — this  in  answer  to  Jona's 


142 


The  Ave  Maria. 


quick  look.  "I'm  a-goin'  to  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it,  tell  the  comp'ny,  an'  then  git.  It's 
all  along  o'  that  City  d  Pekin' '  And  he  groaned. 
"I  wanted  some  mone}^  bad ;  fur  my  Kit,  she 
was  a-goin'  to  be  spliced  (married)  to  as  smart 
a  sailor  as  ever  stepped,  an'  I  wanted  to  give 
her  a  good  send-off;  an' Jack  junior,  he  got 
a  offer  of  a  berth  as  first- mate,  but  a  big  bonus 
was  wanted,  an'  so  I  jumped  at  the  job  of  the 
City  o'  Pekin,  fur  I  knew  it  'ud  pay.  It  was 
easy  work,  fur  she'd  settled  on  an  even  keel. 
Pretty  deep  ?  Yes ;  but  my  lungs  always  hev 
been  out  o'  common  strong,  an'  it  wasn't 
more'n  child's  play  a-locatin'  of  her  cargo. 
I  broached  her  amidships,  an'  things  come 
tumblin'  out  lively.  Fust  I  got  at  the  mail- 
bags  an'  the  bullion ;  an'  then  the  orders  come 
to  go  to  the  purser's  safe  and  the  passengers' 
cabins,  an'  git  out  the  jewels  an'  sea  trunks, 
an '  sich .  An'  I  went ! ' ' 

"Well?"  said  Jonas. 

"Well,"  continued  Hendershott,  drawing  a 
deep  breath  and  mopping  his  damp  face;  "I 
never  mistrusted  nothin'  wuss'n  bones,  fur 
she'd  ben  down  six  months,  an'  fishes  is 
hungry  customers  an'  clean  pickers ;  so  I 
tramped  down  the  gangway,  an'  theer,  at  the 
fust  door — swayin'  up  an'  down  in  the  stir  of 
my  movin',  jest  like  it  was  a-sajan'  'how-de- 
do!' — was  the  awfullest  thing  I  ever  sighted, 
man  or  boy,  in  any  sea  I  hev  sailed  a-top  of 
or  dove  underneath  of.  It  hed  been  a  3^oung 
man,  but  it  was  swelled  tell  it  was  like  nothin' 
words  kin  tell,  an'  the  face  was  set  in  a  look 
so — so — -so  hidjus  I  can't  git  it  out  o'  my  head 
sleepin'  or  wakin' ;  an'  when  I  git  down  below 
in  the  divin'  out  yander  I  don't  darst  to  turn 
the  eyes  in  my  helmet  fur  fear  o'  seein'  him 
a-bobbin'  and  a-bouncin'  at  my  back,  an'  I 
hev  to  keep  a-movin';,  fur  I  feel  as  ef  he  was 
a-goin'  to  grip  me  from  behind  ev'}'  minute  "  * 
"Jack  Hendershott,  that's  a  tough  yarn 
you're  a  spinnin'.  How  could  a  man  look  any 
way,  an'  he  six  months  drownded,  wi'  the 
fishes  a-polishin'  the  blubber  off  his  bones?" 

"Thar  warn't  a  bite  or  a  scratch  on  him — • 
an'  the  fok'sle  a-scramble  wi'crabs  too.  Thet 
look  o'  his'n  hed  tarry fied  'em  off,  an'  he  was 
kep'  thar  by  his  foot  bein'  jammed.  The 
gratin'   hed  slipped  an'   then  sprung  back. 


*  This  was  the  real  experience  of  a  diver. 


ketchin'  him  in  a  trap  he  didn't  have  no  time 
to  git  loose  fum.  Somethin'  like  a  grip-sack 
was  at  his  feet,  thet's  the  reason  I  know  'bout 
his  bein'  caught  thar.  I  made  one  grab  at  it 
fur  the  comp'ny 's  sake,  an'  then  I  signalled 
'up,'  an'  left  fur  home  thet  night.  Thet's  the 
yam.  You  kin  chaw  on  it',  an'  spit  out  what 
you  don't  want  when  you're  done,  but  thar 
ain't  no  more  divin'  fur  Jack  Hendershott, 
thet'sy^^/.^" 

And  he  meant  it. 

(to  be  continued.) 


Johnnie's  Travels. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "TYBORNE. 


VIII. 

Time  passed  and  the  summer  heat  came. 
The  Tourlas  and  Johnnie  used  to  go  to  the 
Tuileries  Gardens  in  the  evening  for  fresh 
air.  One  evening  in  particular  Johnnie  left  his 
friends  under  the  trees,  and  went  to  see  if  he 
could  gain  anything  by  his  mice.  He  came 
back  very  late  full  of  his  adventures. 

"I  went  up  to  a  big  shop,"  he  said;  "but 
no  one  was  inside,  all  were  being  served  on  the 
pavement  outside  at  little  tables,  and  they  were 
eating  white  and  pink  stuff  out  of  glasses." 

' '  Those  were  ices, ' '  remarked  Sophie. 

"Well,  then,  there  were  such  pretty  car- 
riages moving  slowly  along,  and  ladies  lying 
back  in  them,  and  they  had  glasses  with  the 
pink  and  white  stuff  in  them." 

"Yes,  yes:  ices,  I  tell  you." 

"Well,  I  glided  among  the  tables,  found  a 
corner  and  began  to  make  my  mice  play.  I  was 
hoping  some  one  would  see  them,  when  up 
came  a  big  man,  with  a  white  apron,  in  a  rage. 

"'You  vagabond!'  he  said;  'be  off  with 
you  this  minute!  We  haven't  half  room  to 
turn,  and  you  come  blocking  up  the  place!' 
And  he  laid  hold  on  my  shoulder  and  shook 
me,  and  I  thought  he  would  have  killed  the 
mice ;  when  all  in  a  minute  he  stopped,  for 
there  was  a  man  dressed  so  grandly,  all  velvet 
and  gold  buttons, — so  grand!" 

"A  livery  servant,"  said  Sophie.  "Well, 
what  did  he  do?" 

"He  pulled  the  big  man  and  said:  'The 
Countess  wants  you  to  send  that  child  to  her.' 


The  Ave  Maria. 


M3 


— 'The  Countess,'  said  the  big  man,  smiling 
all  over;  '  of  course,  with  the  greatest  pleasure. 
Come  along,  my  child.'  And  he  led  me  so 
gently,  as  if  he  were  very  fond  of  me,  up  to  a 
carriage  in  which  a  little  old  lady,  with  white 
curls  and  such  a  nice  face,  was  sitting.  So 
the  big  man  bowed  low,  and  said  perhaps  the 
Countess  would  take  an  ice  ?  ' No,  thank  you, ' 
said  the  lady;  'm}^  husband  has  gone  into 
your  shop  to  order  fifty  ices  for  to-morrow. 
Please  see  that  they  are  good,  because  they 
are  for  children. ' — 'Be  sure  of  that,  Countess, ' 
said  the  man ;  'I  will  see  to  it  myself.  Here 
is  the  Count.' 

"And  then  there  came  up  a  tall  man  with 
white  hair,  and  a  nice  face  too,  and  he  said  to 
the  lady:  'It's  all  right.  I  have  given  the 
directions.  We  can  go  home  now.' — 'Wait  a 
minute!'  cried  the  lady.  'Where  is  my  boy 
with  the  mice?' — 'Here  I  am,  ma'am,'  I  said. 
*  Well,  child, '  said  theold  lady,  *  will  you  come 
to-morrow  at  eight  o'clock  with  your  mice? 
I  will  give  you  five  francs.'  " 

' '  What  good  luck ! ' '  cried  Sophie.  ' '  Where 
does  the  old  lady  live  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  dear!"  said  Johnnie,  "I  have  forgot- 
ten the  street. ' ' 

' '  Forgotten  !  Oh ,  Johnnie ! ' ' 

"Yes,  it  is  number  ten  or  six,  but  I  can't 
remember  the  street." 

"Oh,  try  to  remember,  Johnnie! ' ' 

"The  old  lady  said  I  would  be  sure  to 
forget." 

'  'Then  w^hy  didn't  you  ask  her  to  repeat  it?  " 

"I  didn't  dare  to  do  that,  because  she  took 
out  her  spectacles  and  a  little  book,  and  she 
wrote  on  a  leaf,  tore  it  out  and  gave  it  to  me." 

"And  you  have  actually  lost  that  paper!" 

"Oh,  no:  I  have  it  quite  safe." 

"Then  what  does  it  matter  if  you  forgot?" 

' '  Because  it's  all  written  in  little  dark  words, 
not  like  ink.  I  can't  read  it." 

"Give  it  to  me,"  replied  Sophie,  somewhat 
impatiently.  And  she  soon  read  out : 

"To-morrow,  at  a  quarter  past  eight,  Rue  de  la 
Paix.  Ask  for  the  Count  de  Besson." 

"How^  clever  you  are,  Sophie!"  exclaimed 
Johnnie. 

Great  pains  were  taken  next  day  with 
Johnnie's  toilet,  and  in  good  time  he  started 
for  his  destination.  He  entered  a  courtyard 
full  of  flowers.  The  porter's  lodge  seemed  to 


him  so  magnificent  that  he  thought  the  Count 
might  live  there.  Before  he  could  ask  a  ques- 
tion an  elegant  3'oung  man  stepped  in. 

"Where  does  the  Count  de  Besson  live?  " 
asked  Johnnie. 

" Second  story,  staircase  opposite,"  replied 
the  porter,  pointing  the  way. 

As  Johnnie's  feet  touched  the  carpeted  stairs 
he  said  to  himself:  "I  shall  tell  Sophie  people 
have  staircases  with  velvet  steps." 

"Where  are  you  going  to,  you  little 
wretch  ? ' '  suddenly  cried  a  rough  voice. 

Johnnie  turned  round  and  saw  the  porter. 
"I  am  going  to  the  Count  de  Besson." 

"And  do  you  think  that  carpeted  stair- 
cases are  for  the  like  of  you  ?  Look  at  your 
feet!   The  mark  would  be  on  every  step." 

"I  didn't  know  the  steps  were  not  made  to 
walk  on,"  said  Johnnie. 

"You  stupid!  the  best  stairs  are  for  the 
gentry,  and  the  servants'  staircase  for  such  as 
you.  At  the  other  end  of  the  courtyard  you'll 
find  that;  be- oft  with  you!" 

Johnnie  found  the  staircase,  and  went  to  the 
very  top  of  the  house ;  then  he  remembered 
that  the  Count  lived  on  the  second  story,  but 
he  was  puzzled  how  to  find  it.  So  he  went 
right  down  to  the  bottom,  and  again  climbed 
the  first  and  second  flight.  At  last  he  saw 
a  young  woman  with  a  white  apron. 

The  servant  bade  him  follow,  and  Johnnie 
was  ushered  into  a  big  salon.  The  blaze  of 
light  dazzled  him  for  a  minute,  and  when  he 
could  see  he  thought  he  was  dreaming.  The 
room  was  full  of  children,  beautifully  dressed 
and  dancing  to  the  sound  of  music.  After  a 
time  the  music  stopped,  and  then  Johnnie  was 
brought  forward  to  display  his  mice.  The 
children  were  delighted,  and  tlie  show  was 
repeated  again  and  again.  At  length  the 
voices  of  the  elders  declared  the  amusement 
was  over  for  the  present,  and  the  attention  of 
the  children  was  drawn  to  a  number  of  trays 
brought  in  by  servants.  On  these  trays  were 
glasses,  each  full  of  "pink  stuff"," — /.  c,  straw- 
berry ices. 

Johnnie  drew  into  a  corner,  and  presently 
the  good  old  lady  with  the  white  curls  brought 
him  an  ice.  Johnnie  thanked  her,  looked  de- 
lighted, but  did  not  taste  the  ice. 

' '  Don' t  you  like  it  ?  "  said  the  lady ;  "  it  will 
soon  melt." 


144 


The  Ave  Maria. 


* '  Will  it  ? "  answered  Johnnie.  ' '  I  thought 
I  could  take  it  home  to  Sophie." 

So  Johnnie  had  to  eat  his  ice  and  found  it 
•delicious. 

After  the  ices,  the  mice  were  shown  once 
more ;  then  the  children  went  to  their  supper, 
and  Johnnie  was  dismissed  with  a  big  five- 
franc  piece,  and  an  order  to  the  serv^ant  to  give 
him  some  cake  and  negus. 

He  stood  in  the  kitchen  eating  and  drink- 
ing, and  the  servant  who  gave  him  the  re- 
freshment was  called  away.  Presently  a  little 
figure  entered — a  lovely  boy  dressed  in  blue 
velvet  and  lace,  with  long  brown  curls.  John- 
nie knew  it  was  the  grandson  of  Count  de 
Besson. 

"I  wants  de  micey,"  he  lisped. 

''What  did  you  say,- please?" 

'*I  wants  de  micey." 

'*  Oh,  sir!  dear  little  sir,  that  is  impossible! " 

'  *  Ess,  the  micey  wid  de  red  coatee :  I  wants 
^     it.  I  vz/lhave  de  micey!" 

* '  Oh,  dear,  good  little  sir !  I  realh''  can' t  give 
them  to  you,  for  by  them  I  earn  my  bread  and 
that  of  my  mother." 

"Ess  you  can — ou  must!  It  is  mine  feastie 
to-day,  and  everypody  give  me  someting — 
all  I  like.  Give  me  de  micey!  "  * 
Johnnie  only  shook  his  head. 

"Ess!  Ess! "  And  little  Master  Jack  stamped 
his  foot.  "Ou  must  refuge  nothing  to  childs 
on  their  feasties." 

"Oh,  dear  little  sir!  there  are  many  little 
children  who  have  no  feast." 

"Vot  is  ou  feastie-day?" 

"Oh,  little  sir!  I  have  none," 

"No,  no:  ou  has  a  feastie!  Vot'souname?" 

"My  name  is  Johnnie." 

"But  dat  iss  inine  name  too,  and  to-day  iss 
my  feastie,  and  so  it  iss  ou  feastie  too.  Vot 
did  ou  have  give  ou?" 

"Nothing,  sir.  I  have  no  good  grandpapa 
and  grandmamma  ;  I  have  no  father,  and  my 
mother  is  so  poor  that  I  send  her  all  the 
money  that  I  can  earn  by  showing  my  mice." 

"Nopody  give  ou  any  ting:  no  sugar,  no 
nice  tings?  I  vill  give  ou  some  tings.  Here 
is  some  cocolat,  and  my  pursey  wid  the  money; 
see,  I  give  to  ou." 

"Oh,  no,  little  sir!  I  can't  take  the  purse. 
I  can't  indeed.  I'll  take  the  chocolate,  and 
thank  you  very,  very  much,  but  not  the  purse  ' ' 


"But  ou  shall!'''  cried  the  child,  forcing  his 
purse  and  chocolate  box  into  Johnnie's  pocket. 

Just  then  the  servant  returned. 

"Make  him  to  go  dis  minute!"  cried  little 
Master  Jack. 

And  the  servant  gave  Johnnie  a  push,  which 
sent  him  on  to  the  staircase,  and  shut  the 
door. 

Johnnie  was  so  frightened  that  he  took  to 
his  heels,  but  soon  stopped  short,  for  he  was 
on  the  velvet  staircase,  and  he  was  afraid  of 
the  porter ;  then  he  knew  very  well  he  ought 
not  to  keep  the  purse.  He  hid  himself  behind 
an  immense  palm-tree  in  a  pot  that  stood  on 
the  finst  landing  place,  and  began  to  consider 
what  he  should  do.  He  was  afraid  to  go  up 
or  down,  so  there  he  crouched,  trembling. 

(CONCI^USION    IN    OUR   NKXT    NUMEKR.) 


Concerninjg  Roses. 


Sir  John  Mandeville  tells  us  that  a  noble 
maiden,  accused  of  grievous  wrong,  lived  at 
Bethlehem.  Being  doomed  by  her  slanderers 
to  death  by  fire,  she  prayed  to  Our  Lord  to  help 
her;  whereupon  the  burning  brands  heaped 
around  her  slender  form  became  red  roses, 
while  the  sticks  not  kindled  were  changed  to 
white  ones.  "And  these,"  says  the  quaint  old 
;  chronicler,  "were  the  first  roses,  both  white 

and  red,  that  ever  any  m.an  soughte." 
j  Naturall}^  the  rose  became  the  flower  of 
j  martyrs.  It  was  a  basket  of  roses  that  St. 
Dorothea  sent  to  the  notary  of  Theophilus 
1  from  the  gardens  of  Paradise;  and  the  angel 
!  chose  a  crown  made  of  roses  with  which  to 
I  adorn  the  martyr,  St.  Cecilia.  Another  legend 
!  tells  how  roses  sprang  up  on  the  bloody  field 

where  the  noble  Roland  fell. 

I       The  origin  of  the  moss-rose  is  said  to  be  as 

:  follows :    A   certain   angel   was   charged   to 

I  sprinkle  dew  upon  the  roses  while  they  were 

asleep,  and  one  day,  being  wearied  with  his 

,  ofiice,  he   laid  down  beside  a  rose-bush  to 

slumber.    When  he  awoke  he  said  :    "Most 

svv^eet  rose,  what  shall  I  give  thee  in  return  for 

this  refreshing  shade  and  delightful  odor?" — 

j   "A  new  charm,"  answered  the  rose.   Then 

the  grateful  angel,  after  thinking  a  moment, 

bestowed  upon  the  ro.se  the  mossy  garment 

which  its  descendants  wear  to  this  very.  day. 


i  THENCEFOKTH  A^IjGE/EI^TIOKs  S^aIl  CAIl^E  BlESSEDT 


Vol.  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  AUGUST  17,  1889. 


No.  7. 


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


The  Assumption. 

BY    WII^LIAM    D.    KEIvLY. 

ACROSS  an  azure  arch  of  starlit-skies, 
Full-orbed  and  fulgent,  moves  tlie  harvest- 
moon, 
Lulled  by  the  lullabies  the  night-winds  croon ; 
^The  flowers  have  folded  fast  their  drowsy  ej^es. 
The  meadow  land  outstretched  in  slumber  lies; 
And  the  soft  splendor  of  the  night's  still  noon. 
Which  garish  day  will  shadow  all  too  soon, 
Enwraps  the  dreaming  world  it  beautifies  : 

On  such  another  night  long  years  ago, 
Methinks,  Madonna,  did  the  angels  come, 

Winging  their  downward  way  to  earth  below 
From  yonder  glorious,  silver,  starry  dome, 

And  bear  thee  backward  with  them  when  the}^  went 

To  be  the  Queen  of  that  bright  firmament. 


Footprints  of  Heroines. 


BY  THE  COMTESSE  DE  COURSON. 


III. — LuiSA  DK  Carvajal  y  Mendoza. 
(Continued.) 
S  may  be  imagined,  the  little  party 
encountered  many  difficulties  and 
dangers  in  the  course  of  a  journey 
which,  at  the  time  of  which  we  write,  was 
one  of  great  fatigue  and  of  some  peril.  They 
began  every  morning  by  hearing  Mass,  and  in 
her  daily  Communion  Louisa  found  a  provision 
of  strength  for  the  labors  of  the  day.  In  spite 
of  her  feeble  health  she  contrived  to  pursue 
her  journey  without  interruption,  riding  from 


early  morning  till  nightfall,  and  enduring  all 
discomforts  with  an  uncomplaining  patience 
that  excited  the  admiration  of  her  compan- 
ions. At  length  Paris  was  reached,  and  the 
holy  traveller  must  have  imagined  herself 
back  in  her  native  Spain  when  she  crossed 
the  threshold  of  the  Carmelite  Convent  of 
the  Rue  d'Enfer,  where  she  spent  a  week. 
Here,  together  with  Madame  Acarie,  Luisa 
de  Carvajal  found  the  little  band  of  Spanish 
Carmelites  who,  a  few  years  previously,  had 
been  brought  to  France  by  Cardinal  de  BeruUe, 
to  lay  the  foundations  of  the  reformed  Car- 
melite Order  in  Paris. 

We  may  imagine  with  what  sympathy  the 
Spanish  nuns  listened  to  their  holy  country- 
woman's past  experiences  and  to  her  plans 
for  the  future ;  how  Madame  Acarie,  whose 
interest  in  the  English  Mission  was  w^arm 
and  constant,  entered  into  the  motives  of  her 
heroic  enterprise ;  and  how  Liiisa  herself,  after 
her  long,  solitar}- jouniey,  enjoyed  the  uncon- 
strained intercourse  with  these  holy  souls, 
whose  encouragement  and  sympathy  soothed 
and  cheered  her. 

From  Paris  she  went  on  to  St.  Omer,  where 
she  remained  a  month,  in  the  house  of  a  cousin 
of  Father  Persons,  while  arrangements  were 
made  to  convey  her  to  England, — no  easy 
matter  in  those  days,  when  the  coast  was 
carefully  guarded,  and  spies  paid  by  the  Gov- 
ernment were  constantly  on  the  watch.  Al- 
though their  chief  object  was  to  prevent  the 
landing  of  priests,  j^et,  as  a  Spaniard  and  a 
Catholic,  lyuisa  would  have  been  exposed  to 
no  small  inconvenience,  and  even  danger,  had 
public  attention  been  attracted  to  her  arrival 
in  England. 


146 


The  Ave  Maria, 


At  length,  under  safe  escort,  she  embarked 
in  a  vessel  which  she  had  engaged  for  the 
purpose;  and  after  a  stormy  journey,  during 
which  the  ship  was  driven  by  adverse  winds 
toward  the  Dutch  coast,  she  landed  at  Dover 
on  one  of  the  first  days  of  May,  1606.  Here,  as 
Lady  Georgian  a  Fuller  ton  truly  observes,  the 
English  reader,  eager  to  know  of  the  persons 
and  places  visited  by  our  heroine,  must  in- 
evitably be  disappointed  at  the  scanty  details 
furnished  by  her  Spanish  biographer,  who, 
writing  only  eighteen  years  after  her  death,  at 
a  time  when  the  persecution  was  still  raging, 
was  necessarily  obliged  to  observe  the  strictest 
caution  and  reserve.  We  are  left,  therefore,  to 
imagine  the  feelings  of  lyuisa  de  Carvajal  as 
she  rode  through  the  smiling  meadows  of 
Kent  to  a  house  in  the  country,  belonging  to 
Catholics,  where  she  rested  some  time  before 
proceeding  to  London.  We  may  safely  believe, 
however,  that  with  her  ardent  love  of  God, 
she  must  have  felt  a  sharp  pang  at  the  sight 
of  the  old  parish  churches,  whence  that  God 
had  been  expelled. 

It  is  difficult  to  say  which  was  "the  devout 
house, ' '  where,  her  Spanish  historian  tells  us, 
she  was  hospitably  received ;  where  she  found 
a  beautiful  chapel,  filled  with  relics  and  sacred 
pictures,  and  where  every  day  several  Masses 
were  celebrated.  Lady  Georgiana  thinks  it 
may  have  been  Battel  or  Battle,  near  Hastings, 
the  abode  of  Magdalen,  Vicountess  Montague, 
and  a  well-known  resort  for  priests  and  Cath- 
olics. However,  Luisa  spent  a  month  in  this 
peaceful  abode,  and  during  her  long  vigils  in 
the  secret  chapel  she  gathered  strength  for 
future  labors  and  conflicts.  Her  stay  was 
abruptly  brought  to  a  close  by  a  notice  given 
to  the  master  of  the  house  that  the  next  day 
the  pursuivants  would  arrive  to  search  the 
premises,  and  in  consequence  of  this  friendly 
warning  the  little  group  of  Catholics  hurriedly 
dispersed. 

Luisa  proceeded  to  London,  where  she  was 
received  by  a  lady  who  consented  to  give  her 
hospitality  until  she  found  an  abode  of  her 
own.  Just  at  that  time  the  great  city  was 
convulsed  by  the  storm  that  followed  the  dis- 
cover}^ of  the  gunpowder  plot, — the  act  of  a 
handful  of  men,  maddened  by  oppression  and 
cruelty,  but  for  which  all  the  Catholics  of 
England  suffered.  Her  hostess,  alarmed  at  the 


sanguinary  measures  taken  against  Catholics^ 
refused  to  shelter  her  any  longer ;  and  Luisa 
would  have  found  herself  homeless  had  not  the 
Spanish  Ambassador,  Don  Pedro  de  Zuniga, 
having  heard  by  chance  of  her  being  in  Lon,- 
don,  obliged  her  to  accept  his  hospitality. 

Out  of  humility,  she  had  refrained  from 
making  her  arrival  known  at  the  Embassy  ; 
but  she  now  had  to  yield  to  Don  Pedro's 
prayers,  and,  in  the  company  of  two  pious- 
l^nglish  girls,  she  created  for  herself  a  solitude 
in  some  rooms  that  were  cut  off  from  the  rest 
of  the  house.  Here  she  began  to  lead  a  life  very 
similar  to  that  she  had  led  in  Madrid,  save 
that  when  she  went  abroad  it  was  not  to  visit 
the  glorious  shrines  and  crowded  churches  of 
her  native  land,  but  to  comfort  the  persecuted 
Catholics,  whose  hiding  places  she  soon  found 
out.  She  used  also  to  visit  the  prisons,  and 
to  minister  with  loving  devotion  to  the  wants 
of  the  captive  priests. 

But  these  first  months  in  London  were 
terribly  painful  to  her,  and  her  Spanish  biog- 
rapher tells  us  that  she  continually  shed 
torrents  of  tears  at  the  sight  of  the  sufferings 
of  the  Catholics.  The  injustice  and  oppression 
with  which  they  were  treated,  the  refinement 
of  cruelty  that  made  their  persecutors  stig- 
matize them  as  traitors  to  their  king  and 
country, — these  things,  far  worse  than  what 
she  had  imagined,  caused  Luisa  exquisite 
pain,  to  which  was  added  a  crushing  sense  of 
her  inability  to  cope  with  such  manifold  evils. 
Her  friends  at  the  Embassy  added  to  her 
troubles  by  their  endeavors  to  make  her  leave 
England,  and  at  times  she  felt  as  though  her 
vocation  was  in  truth  an  illusion.  In  her  per- 
plexity, she  wrote  to  consult  several  learned 
and  holy  persons,  begged  the  prayers  and 
advice  of  her  confessors  in  England  and  in 
Spain,  and  had  many  Masses  offered.  To  these 
fervent  prayers  God  sent  answers  that  dis- 
pelled Luisa' s  doubts. 

Fray  Juan  de  San  Augustin,  chaplain  to  the 
Spanish  Embassy,  after  strongly  advocating 
her  return  to  Spain,  arrived  at  the  conclusion 
that  by  remaining  at  her  post  she  might  be  of 
use  to  many  souls,  while  attaining  herself  to- 
a  rare  degree  of  perfection.  Father  Persons, 
Prefect  of  the  English  Mission,  Don  Juan  de 
Ribero,  Patriarch  of  Valencia,  a  remarkably 
holy  prelate,  also  were  convinced  that  God 


The  Ave  Maria. 


147 


wished  her  to  employ  her  life  for  the  service 
of  His  persecuted  English  Church;  lastly, 
Pope  Paul  v.,  through  Father  Perez,  a  Span- 
ish Jesuit,  expressed  his  strongest  approval  of 
the  work  she  had  undertaken,  and  desired  her 
to  persevere  in  it. 

Her  perplexities  set  at  rest,  Dona  Luisa 
returned  with  renewed  zeal  to  her  charitable 
ministrations  among  the  imprisoned  Catho- 
lics. At  the  end  of  a  year  of  hard  study  she 
had  acquired  sufficient  knowledge  of  English 
to  converse  and  write  correctly ;  and  the  Eng- 
lish Jesuits,  who  were  her  confessors  during 
all  her  stay  in  England,  tell  us  that  her  ex- 
ample and  her  exhortations  greatly  encour- 
aged the  faithful.  "It  would  seem,"  writes 
one  of  them,  "as  if  this  lady  had  been  sent 
hiere  for  the  express  purpose  of  shaming  our 
want  of  courage."  Her  ardent  love  of  the 
Church,  uncompromising  zeal,  and  utter  con- 
tempt for  the  honors,  riches  and  comforts  of 
this  world,  which  she  had  voluntarily  aban- 
doned, braced  up  the  fainting  hearts  and 
^failing  courage  of  those  who  were  in  daily 
peril  of  losing  those  goods  which  she  held  so 
cheap. 

Her  Spanish  biographer  gives  us,  on  the 
whole,  few  details  regarding  the  first  period  of 
her  stay  in  London.  We  learn  that  she  often 
knelt  to  pray  at  the  foot  of  an  old  stone  cross, 
which  had  been  spared  at  the  Reformation  on 
account  of  its  exquisite  workmanship,  quite 
heedless  of  the  insults  that  were  hurled  at  her 
on  all  sides ;  that  she  used  to  buy  the  carica- 
tures of  the  Pope  in  the  shop  windows,  tear 
them  up  and  trample  upon  them,  saying  aloud 
in  her  broken  English  that  she  wondered  how 
people  could  like  such  wicked  pictures.  Soon, 
however,  her  confessor  forbid  her  these  open 
demonstrations,  as  they  might  get  her  into 
trouble  uselessly,  and  hinder  her  in  the  pur- 
suit of  important  works  of  zeal  and  charity. 

One  of  her  greatest  joys  in  the  first  months 
of  her  exile  was  that,  yielding  to  her  represen- 
tations, the  Spanish  Ambassador  consented  to 
have  the  Blessed  Sacrament  reserved  in  his 
hapel ;  and  soon  afterward  the  French,  Flem- 
ish, and  Venetian  Ambassadors  followed  his 
•example.  Thanks  to  Luisa,  the  untold  bless- 
ing of  Our  Lord's  perpetual  presence  was  thus 
extended  to  different  parts  of  London,  and,  in 
the  words  of  her  English  biographer,  "Since 


Elizabeth's  accession  the  Blessed  Sacrament 
had  never  been,  comparatively  speaking,  so 
openly  honored." 

After  more  than  a  year's  residence  at  the 
Embassy,  Luisa  removed  into  a  small  house 
of  her  own,  in  spite  of  the  entreaties  of  Don 
Pedro  de  Zuniga,  whose  kindness  to  his  holy 
countrywoman  never  varied.  This  house  seems 
to  have  been  dark  and  close,  but  it  was  in 
the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  Embassy, 
where  Luisa  could  hear  Mass  and  receive 
Holy  Communion  every  day.  Here  she  con- 
tinued her  life  of  charity  and  zeal,  visiting 
the  prisons,  and  endeavoring  by  all  means  in 
her  power  to  help  the  bodies  and  souls  of 
her  persecuted  fellow-Catholics.  All  her  spare 
time  was  devoted  to  the  study  of  books  of 
theology  and  controversy,  of  which  she,  who 
refused  henself  the  merest  trifle,  bought  a 
large  number.  We  remember  that  the  Marquis 
of  Almacan  was  well  versed  in  theology,  and 
from  her  girlhood  Luisa  had  been  used  to 
hear  subjects  of  this  nature  discussed  in  her 
presence  by  eminent  and  holy  men.  Her  own 
knowledge  of  theology  was  so  remarkable  in 
a  woman  that  the  priests  and  prelates,  who 
had  approved  of  her  remaining  in  England, 
based  their  decision  in  great  measure  upon 
the  beneficial  influence  she  was  likely  to  ex- 
ercise by  her  knowledge  of  the  Bible  and  her 
skill  in  controvers}'. 

These  gifts  were  especially  valuable  at  a 
time  when  Protestants  endeavored,  by  many 
deceitful  and  plausible  arguments,  to  persuade 
the  Catholics  that  the  oath  of  allegiance 
might  be  taken  without  compromising  their 
conscience.  Several  holy  priests  had  doubts 
on  the  subject  before  a  Papal  Brief  decided  the 
matter,  and  among  them  was  Father  Robert 
Drury,  who  was  arrested  in  1607,  and  offered 
life  and  liberty  if  he  would  take  the  oath. 
Luisa,  who  had  probably  known  him  at  Val- 
ladolid,  where  he  studied  for  five  years,  went 
to  see  him  in  prison,  and  discussed  the  point 
with  him  for  two  days. 

Father  Drury  was  quite  willing  to  die,  and 
his  hesitations  were  solely  on  account  of  the 
Catholics,  whose  terrible  woes  wrung  his 
heart ;  however,  he  ended  by  realizing  that 
ev^en  for  seculars  the  oath  was  necessarily 
sinful,  and  that  there  was  no  choice  for  them 
but  to  reject  it.  Luisa,  whose  arguments  had 


148 


The  Ave  Maria. 


contributed  to  lead  him  to  this  decision,  writes 
thus  on  the  subject  to  a  friend  in  Spain  :  "He 
showed  me  more  affection  than  ever  when  I 
went  to  visit  him ;  and  I  tried  by  every  means 
I  could  to  cheer  and  confirm  his  courage,  so 
that  he  should  not  suffer  himself  to  be  over- 
come by  the  vehement  persuasions  wherewith 
they  endeavored  to  induce  him  to  subscribe 
to  the  said  oath  of  allegiance.' '  On  the  morn- 
ing of  the  holy  priest's  execution  Luisa  was 
there,  and  her  heart  must  have  rejoiced  at 
beholding  his  radiant  countenance,  which, 
says  Challoner,  "was  more  like  that  of  an 
angel  than  of  a  man. ' '  At  the  last,  the  martyr 
recommended  his  mother  to  Luisa's  care, — 
a  trust  which  she  faithfully  and  lovingly 
fulfilled. 

The  following  year  she  probably  witnessed 
the  execution  of  George  Gervase,  a  secular 
priest,  who  suffered  at  Tyborne ;  and  of  Father 
Thomas  Garnet,  who  died  with  these  words 
on  his  lips:  " Father,  forgive  them,  for  they 
know  not  what  they  do!"  In  him  lyuisa  felt 
a  peculiar  interest :  he  was  the  first  martyr 
trained  within  the  walls  of  the  novitiate  she 
had  founded  at  Louvain,  and  her  heart  must 
have  beat  with  something  of  a  mother's  pride 
as  she  beheld  his  glorious  triumph.  In  Decem- 
ber, 1 6 10,  a  similar  consolation  was  given  to 
her.  Father  Roberts,  a  Benedictine  monk, 
and  Father  Somers,  a  secular  priest,  were 
condemned  to  death  together,  and  the  execu- 
tion was  appointed  to  take  place  during  the 
same  month.  Luisa  knew  both  these  holy  men 
well,  and  during  their  imprisonment  she  con- 
trived to  visit  them  often,  and  to  send  them 
little  delicacies,  such  as  pear  tarts  made  in 
the  Spanish  fashion. 

Father  Roberts  was  recovering  from  a  recent 
illness  when  he  was  sent  for  to  hear  his  sen- 
tence ;  his  hands  trembled  so  that  he  could 
hardly  fasten  his  coat,  and,  turning  to  Luisa 
who  stood  by,  "See  how  I  tremble! "  he  said. 
She  replied  by  a  few  bright  words  of  en- 
couragement, at  which  the  hoi}-  man  "smiled 
and  bowed  his  head  in  thanks."  By  bribing 
the  jailers,  Luisa  obtained  that  the  two  con- 
fessors should,  contrary  to  custom,  be  allowed 
after  their  condemnation  to  spend  the  night 
in  the  part  of  the  prison  where  the  other 
Catholics  were  confined.  Here  she  joined 
them,  and  on  beholding^  the  two  priests  she 


fell  on  her  knees  and  kissed  their  feet,  wishing, 
as  she  herself  expresses  it,  "to  show  the  just 
and  high  esteem  in  which  the  Spanish  nation 
holds  the  martyr's  name  and  state." 

Many  friends  of  Luisa's  had  accompanied 
her,  and  together,  with  the  other  Catholic 
prisoners,  they  all  sat  down  to  supper.  It  must 
have  been  a  singularly  touching  scene,  such 
as  Luis  Munoz  describes  it  in  his  life  of 
our  heroine  :  the  dark  and  loathsome  London 
prison,  darker  than  ever  on  that  dreary  De- 
cember evening,  but  brightened  and  made 
beautiful  by  the  supernatural  joy  of  those  who 
were  assembled  within  its  walls.  At  the  head 
of  the  table  sat  Luisa,  who  had  been  obliged 
to  take  the  place  of  honor  between  the  two 
confessors;  her  pale  face  beamed  with  un- 
earthly beauty,  and  her  voice  thrilled  through 
the  hearts  of  all  when  she  entreated  the 
martyrs  to  obtain  for  her  a  death  like  their 
own.  In  the  course  of  the  evening  Father 
Roberts  having  asked  her  whether  his  great 
glee  might  not  scandalize  those  present,  she 
reassured  him:  "You  can  not  be  better  em- 
ployed," she  said,  "than  by  letting  them  all 
see  with  what  cheerful  courage  you  are  about 
to  die  for  Christ." 

The  two  martyrs  suffered  the  next  day  with 
admirable  courage,  and  at  the  request  of  Fa- 
ther Scott,  also  a  Benedictine,  Luisa  gladly  con- 
sented to  receive  their  precious  remains  in  her 
house.  They  were  conveyed  there  with  some 
difficulty  and  no  little  danger ;  and  in  a  letter 
addressed  to  her  cousin,  the  Marchioness  of 
Caracena,  Luisa  relates  her  devout  prepara- 
tions on  the  occasion.  "I  will  not  put  off 
telling  you,"  she  writes,  "that  yesterday  I 
had  the  honor  of  providing,  for  the  second 
time,  winding-sheets  for  our  two  last  martyrs. 
My  unworthy  hands  consigned  them  to  their 
shroud  and  sewed  the  linen.  I  wish  it  had 
been  cloth  of  gold,  though  in  the  eyes  of  the 
divine  mercy  what  is  offered  to  Him,  or  to 
His  own  for  His  sake,  has  the  value  of  the 
finest  gold." 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


Thk  church  bells  ringing  from  a  lofty 
steeple  seem  like  the  voice  of  God,  sounding 
above  the  clamor  of  the  world.  —  ''Spanish 
Popular  Sayings. ' ' 


The  Ave  Maria. 


149 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY   NUGENT  ROBINSON. 


1 


HAPTKR  VII.— To  the  Land  of  the 
West. 
R.  MOIylvOY  Sr.,  by  a  series  of  strategeti- 
cal,  diplomatic  and  artful  manoeuvres,  had 
induced  a  confiding  firm — that  of  Wilkinson 
&  Toft — to  allow  him  to  test  the  vast  field  of 
the  United  States  as  a  market  for  a  certain 
class  of  Irish  woollens,  which  he  averred  would 
be  "run  upon"  by  every  man,  woman  and 
■child  of  Hibernian  extraction  under  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  in  possession  of  a  dollar. 

"Why,  gentlemen!"  he  enthusiastically 
argued,  "I  have  only  to  announce  ni}^  coming 
with  this  genuine  article  to  have  a  deputa- 
tion to  meet  me  at  the  quay  at  Harlem."  His 
ideas  in  regard  to  the  river  fronts  of  New 
York  were  somewhat  hazy.  "I  have  only  to 
hang  out  a  strip  of  it  from  my  windows  at  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  to  have  all  the  ships  in 
the  Bay  salute  it.  It  will  be  recognized  as  the 
commercial  flag  of  old  Ireland,  and  will  be 
placed  cheek  by  jowl  with  Irish  harp  and 
shamrock.  I  see  orders  to  the 'tune  of  a  million 
dollars  rolling  in.  Why  not?  Is  it  not  reason- 
able to  expect  an  abnormal  sale?  The  Irish 
race  love  their  home,  and  everything  that 
reminds  them  of  the  old  sod.  Now  I  ask  you, 
gentlemen,  what  could  possibly  remind  an 
Irish  man,  woman  or  child  of  the  home  in  the 
Irish  hills,  or  the  Irish  valleys,  or  the  Irish 
bogs,  more  than  this  Irish  frieze?  Why,  my 
journey  will  be  a  triumphal  progress!  The 
poor  people  are  wearing — what?  I  askyou,  Mr 
Wilkinson ;  I  ask  you,  Mr.  Toft.  You  do  not 
reply.  /  will.  The  Irish  in  America  have  been 
compelled  to  encase  their  frames  in  shoddy. 
Xow,  does  it  not  appeal  to  the  meanest  capac- 
ity, that — ?"  and  so  on,  and  so  on. 

After  grave  deliberation  the  firm  were  talked 
into  entering  the  field  against  shoddy;  and 
Mr.  Molloy,  on  a  dull  November  day,  was 
bidden  adieu  at  the  King's  Bridge  Terminus 
by  his  wife  and  daughter  and  son,  Harr}^ 
Considine  being  of  the  party,  provided  with 
an  armful  of  books  for  the  delectation  of  the 
•excited  and  joyous  commercial  traveller. 

Mrs.  Molloy,  between  bursts  of  grief,  im- 


pressed upon  Harry  her  solemn  conviction 
that  Mr.  Molloy  was  destined  to  so  astonish 
and  captivate  the  American  people  as  to  step 
at  once  into  the  front  rank  of  American  com- 
mercial men,  and  take  his  stand  between  the 
Astors  and  the  Vanderbilts.  "Mr.  A.  T.  Stew- 
art went  to  the  States  under  much  worse 
auspices,  and  I'm  told  he  left  millions!"  ex- 
claimed the  hopeful  lady. 

"If  it  were  to  Australia,  New  Zealand, 
Africa, — any  other  genteel  country  where  they 
have  titles  and  gentry,  I  wouldn't  mind  so 
much,"  sobbed  Miss  Molloy.  But  the  idea  of 
papa's  going  to  that  dreadfully  vulgar  and 
democratic  America!  Oh!  it's  too  bad;  it's 
awfully  hard  to  bear! " 

Mr.  Molloy  was  armed  to  the  teeth  in  hon- 
est expectation  of  having  to  defend  his  scalp 
against  the  wiles  of  the  red  man  even  in 
New  York,  and  his  state-room  was  filled  with 
canned  meats  to  protect  him  against  the  ter- 
rors of  starvation.  He  spoke  of  San  Francisco 
as  "Frisco,"  and  supposed  it  nearer  Gotham 
than  the  Hub ;  in  a  word,  he  was  as  ignorant 
about  "the  States"  as  are  the  vast  majority 
of  Britishers,  and  gaily  conceited  in  his  opin- 
ions on  subjects  of  which  he  knew  absolutely 
nothing. 

"Yes,  Considine,"  he  observed;  "I  shall 
make  American  hay  while  the  American  sun 
shines.  In  a  new  country  like  the  States  a 
man  of  education,  experience  and  manner 
musi  control ;  and  I  hear  the  blacks  are  in  the 
majority.  Well,  a  black  you  know  mtis^  yield 
to  the  odic  influence  of  a  white.  I  shall  make 
a  mark,  and  a  deep  one,  you  my  depend  upon 
it.  The  vast  high-road  of  commerce  has  many 
"sunny  resting-places,  and  'yours  truly'  will 
rest  a  good  deal." 

* '  Mind ! ' '  cried  Mrs.  Molloy,  as  the  train  was 
moving  slowly  out  of  the  depot, — "mind  that 
you  inquire  everywhere  for  Marmaduke  Daly 
of  Castle  Daly!  He's  out  West  somewhere." 

Mr.  Molloy  proved  but  an  indifferent  cor- 
respondent, and  scraps  of  letters  would  arrive 
at  Rathgar  Road  from  the  most  out-of-the- 
way  places,  with  the  most  peculiar  names. 
These  epistles  were  most  unsatisfactory,  since, 
instead  of  giving  news  of  himself  and  his 
doings,  they  were  entirely  devoted  to  asking 
questions  about  home,  home  life,  and  the 
goings  on  of  the  neighbors.  Mr.  Wilkinson  sent 


ISO 


The  Ave  Maria, 


repeatedly  to  Pirns  to  ascertain  from  Gerald  if 
there  were  any  recent  tidings  from  his  father ; 
and,  meeting  the  young  man  one  day  in  the 
Kingstown  train,  ruefully  informed  him  that 
orders  for  Irish  woollens  were  "simply  nil." 

"Your  father  is  hopeful.  We  are  not;  in 
fact,  we  never  were,  and  we  want  Mr.  Molloy 
to  return  at  once.  Will  you  please  tell  him 
this  from  us?" 

At  length,  after  a  silence  of  several  weeks 
— a  silence  as  alarming  as  it  was  vexatious, — 
arrived  a  long  letter  from  a  place  called  Clam 
Farm,  Oyster  City,  Nebraska,  blowing  a  clar- 
ion note  of  triumph. 

"Here  I  am  at  Clam  Farm!"  it  ran,  "as 
snug  as  a  bug  in  a  rug,  with  as  decent  a  fel- 
low as  ever  stepped  in  shoe  leather,  and  sur- 
rounded with  everything  that  any  reasonable 
body  could  desire.  The  house  is,  to  be  sure, 
made  of  wood,  and  there's  only  a  stove  where 
there  should  be  a  grate,  and  windows  are  more 
plentiful  than  blinds,  and  the  hogs  are  as 
familiar  as  on  the  Bog  of  Allen ;  but  there's  a 
single  word  that  confronts  you  at  every  turn, 
though  it's  not  written  up,  it's  in  the  air,  and 
that  glorious  word  is  Independence  !  Yes,  my 
dears,  I'm  in  clover,  and  with  whom  do  you 
think?  Guess  now.  No,  you  can't!  Well,  the 
owner  of  five  thousand  acres,  a  thousand  head 
of  cattle,  ten  horses,  two  hundred  sheep,  and 
fifty  pigs,  is  Marmaduke  (as  you  will  call  him, 
his  name's  Peter)  Daly  of  Castle  Daly,  who 
gave  me  an  Irish  welcome,  and  won't  let  me 
stir  hand  or  foot.  This  letter  is  not  polished, 
or  gilt-edged,  or  veneered;  for,  somehow  or 
other,  with  the  blessed  feeling  of  independ- 
ence I  feel  natural,  and  say  exactly  what 
I  feel,  instead  of  studying  a  sentence  and 
groping  about  in  the  dictionary  for  a  word 
with  the  longest  tail.  Here,  please  God,  I  will 
pitch  my  tent.  Here,  please  God,  you  and 
Emma  will  come.  Daly  is  going  to  sell  a 
dozen  hogs  to  send  you  the  money  to  come 
out;  and  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  you'll  look 
back  on  the  Rathgar  Road,  and  the  mean,  mis- 
erable cringing  after  so-called  fashion  when 
you  get  here  with  such  a  laughing  contempt 
as  will  serve  to  amuse  you  for  many  a  long 
day  as  well  as  a  farce. ' ' 

The  letter  went  on  to  give  a  most  graphic 
description  of  Clam  Farm  and  its  daily  life. 
Mr.  Molloy  also  went  into  details  as  to  how 


the  ladies  were  to  travel,  proposing  to  meet 
them  in  New  York,  together  with  Marma- 
duke Daly. 

"Gerald  may  fling  Pirn's  Counting- House 
to  the  Hill  of  Howth.  This  is  the  place  for 
him.  He  can  start  a  store  in  Oyster  City,  and 
in  a  few  years  be  a  rich  man.  This  is  the  place 
for  Harry  Considine,  too.  I  see  that  that 
pompous  goose,  his  boss,  is  nominated  for 
lyOrd  Mayor." 

Mrs.  Molloy  was  ver>'  much  gratified  that 
her  kinsman  had  turned  up  trumps,  but  she 
regarded  her  husband's  suggestion  as  to  set- 
tling in  Nebraska  as  simply  outrageous. 

"Bury  ourselves  in  the  backwoods,  just  as 
our  daughter  is  coming  out  and  gaining  a 
foothold  in  aristocratic  society!  It's  the  letter 
of  a  lunatic.  Let  Marmaduke  Daly  send  us 
money  if  he  is  so  fond  of  us,  but  his  money 
won't  buy  us  out  of  civilization." 

"Whoever  goes  to  Clam  Farm,  /  won't  be 
one!"  cried  Emma.  "The  idea!  Papa  must 
be  mad.  This  horrid  relative  of  mamma's  has 
turned  a  Democrat.  Imagine,  a  Daly  of  Castle 
Daly  a  Democrat!  It's  enough  to  make  all 
the  Dalys  since  the  days  of  Brian  Boroihme 
turn  in  their  coffins.  What  does  papa  mean,  I'd 
like  to  know?  Does  he  imagine  that  we  are 
to  go  out  to  that  terrible  place  and  vegetate? 
Does  he  imagine  that  /  can  live  without 
society  ? — I  who  am  now  getting  into  the  pick 
of  the  Corporation?  Why,  next  year,  when 
Alderman  Ryan  is  Lord  Mayor,  I  shall  be  at 
all  the  Lady  Mayoress's  balls ;  I  shall  be  in  the 
'house  set' ;  I  shall  be  in  the  vice- regal  qua- 
drille ;  I  may  be  presented  at  court.  No,  no : 
papa  can  not  mean  what  he  says!  It  is  some 
hideous  joke.  I  will  write  him  a  letter  that 
will  set  him  right.  I  suppose  he  wants  mamma 
and  me  to  farm,  to  milk  the  cows  and  chum 
butter,  and  feed  poultry.   Faugh!" 

Gerald  considered  Peter  Daly's  offer  a  splen- 
did chance, — just  one  of  those  chances  that 
will  turn  up  betimes  on  the  board  of  life. 

"How  can  you  think  of  refusing,  mother?  " 
he  said.  "My  income  won't  keep  us,  and 
father,  as  you  know,  has  sent  no  money  home 
for  the  best  reason  in  the  world — he  hasn't 
any.  He  sent  back  Wilkinson  &  Toft  all 
their  monies  in  his  possession,  and  wrote  them 
a  letter,  which  they  are  very  much  pleased 
with,  promising  to  repay  them  the  expenses 


The  Ave  Maria. 


151 


they  were  put  to  in  sending  him  out,  as  it 
■was  at  his  earnest  instigation  that  the  venture 
was  undertaken." 

"I  can  live  on  bread  and  tea  and  stirabout! ' ' 
>cried  Emma. 

"Bosh!"  said  her  brother.  "There  is  no 
girl  in  Rathmines  has  a  better  appetite,  or  a 
"better  appreciation  of  good  lood.  Why  not 
try  Nebraska,  and — ' ' 

"I  won't  try  it!"  burst  in  his  sister. 

"A  trip  to  the  United  States  is  the  most 
fashionable  trip  going.  It  is  the  most  correct 
form,  and — " 

"I  won't  go  a  step  till  the  year  after  next, 
anyhow ! ' '  interrupted  Emma.  ' '  I  won' t  miss 
the  Ryan's  year  at  the  Mansion  House.  I 
might  go  after  that.  Oh!  no,"  she  added; 
"the  American  trip  is  all  very  well  for  my 
lyord  this,  and  my  I^ady  that.  Everybody 
knows  that  they  go  for  pleasure.  Everybody 
would  know  that  we  went  of  necessity.  And 
only  imagine" — here  she  elevated  her  pretty 
nose  in  the  air, — "our  passage  money  paid  for 
by  pigs!   Ugh!" 

Gerald,  aided  by  Considine,  worked  round 
his  mother,  not,  however,  before  she  had 
written  her  husband  a  letter  taxing  him  with 
insanity  in  proposing  such  a  project, — a  letter 
backed  up  b}'  a  twelve-page  epistle  from 
Emma,  pitched  in  the  same  key,  but  more  ear- 
pieicing  in  its  tone. 

"As  for  Mr.  Marmaduke  Daly,"  ran  her 
postscript,  "he  ought  to  be  ducked  in  the 
canal  for  proposing  such  a  thing.  Does  he 
know  oui  position  in  society  ?  Does  he  know 
what  we  would  be  obliged  to  sacrifice?" 

These  letters  were  duly  received  by  Mr. 
Molloy,  who  at  first  burst  into  a  tremendous 
passion,  and  was  for  giving  permission  to  wife 
and  daughter  to  retire  to  the  classic  regions 
of  the  South  Dublin  Union  as  an  alternative ; 
but  better  counsel  speedily  prevailed,  and  in 
sending  them  a  draft  for  one  hundred  pounds 
he  said : 

"Just  try  it  for  a  few  months.  If  you  don't 
like  it,  you  and  Emma  can  go  back.  I  promise 
you  I  shall  not  oppose  you,  and  the  reason 
I  do  so  is  that  I  feel  that  both  of  you  will 
become  as  enamored  of  the  country  as  I  am. 
Cable  when  3^ou  leave,  naming  the  boat,  and 
Daly  and  I  will  go  on  to  New  York  to  meet 
you.  Emma  will  be  delighted  with  New  York; 


it's- as  bright  as  Paris.  I  see  my  way  to  the 
State  Legislature,  and,  later  on,  to  Congress. 
No  one  except  American  born  can  be  elected 
President.  I  am  engaged  on  a  new  system  of 
harrowing.  Daly  is  delighted  with  it.  I  should 
have  been  a  farmer  all  along,  but  better  late 
than  never.  I  am  young  enough  still,  and 
with  energy  sufficient  to  hold  my  grip  as  I 
climb  the  ladder.  Young  heads  turn  giddy 
sooner  than  old  ones. ' ' 

Pending  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  the  two 
ladies  went  amongst  their  friends,  spreading 
the  doleful  intelligence.  Mrs.  Molloy  was 
naturally  elated  at  the  flourishing  condition 
of  her  kinsman,  and  let  her  acquaintances 
become  aware  of  the  fact  on  every  available 
opportunity. 

Considine  happened  to  be  making  a  call 
in  Rutland  Square  when  Mrs.  Molloy  and  her 
daughter  were  announced. 

"I  don't  see  anything  to  be  so  worried 
about,  ma'am,"  said  honest  Harry,  after  the 
excited  lady  had  impeached  her  husband  for 
the  twentieth  time.  "The  country  is  superb; 
the  climate  magnificent;  the — " 

"Oh,  of  course jj/^w  are  against  us,  Mr.  Con- 
sidine!" cried  Emma.  "Whj^  shouldn't  you 
though?  You  are  dying  to  go  to  America. 
Don't  deny  it." 

"Deny  it?  I  would  go  to-morrow,  Miss 
Molloy,  if  I  had  the  chance." 

"What  do  you  call  a  chance?"  sharply 
demanded  Jane  Ryan. 

"Well,  somebody  to  pay  my  travelling  ex- 
penses. In  earnest.  Miss  Ryan  ' '  he  added ;  "  as 
soon  as  my  dear  little  Peggy's  education  is 
finished,  please  God,  1 11  save  money  to  go  out  " 

"And  I  suppose  if  you  got  a  chance  of  going 
this  minute  you  would  stop  there." 

"Undoubtedly." 

"And  leave  your  family,  friends?" 

"I  would  bring  out  my  family." 

"Easier  said  than  done." 

"I  could  name  five  men  of  my  own  ac- 
quaintance in  Wicklow  who  have  done  so." 

Miss  Ryan  was  silent. 

"The  very  name  of  America  is  hideous!  " 
cried  Emma ;  '  *  let  us  talk  of  something  else. 
Do  you  know  who  I  saw  at  Mitchels,  in  Grafton 
Street,  yesterday  ?  Mr.  Spencer." 

That  evening  at  dinner  Miss  Ryan  said  to 
her  father : 


^52 


The  Ave  Maria, 


' '  Papa,  are  you  still-  thinking  of  buying 
that  ranche  with  Alderman  Finn  and  Mr. 
Wilmot?" 

"Well,  yes,  I  think  so.  Why,  dear?" 

"Because  you  might  give  Mr.  Considine  a 
run  out  to  see  it.  I  think  that  would  gratify 
him  more  than  anything  else  you  could  do 
for  him.  He  ought  to  be  a  good  judge  in 
farming  matters." 

"Oh,  the  thing's  only  talked  about  as  yet. 
We  wouldn't  think  of  sending  any  one  out  for 
three  or  four  months." 

"Well,  but  won't  you  give  him  the  chance 
if  it  comes  off  ? " 

"  I — think  not,  dear.  He  is  more  useful  here." 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


Stella   Matutina;   or,  a  Poet's   Quest. 

BY  EDMUND  OF  THE  HEART  OF  MARY,  C.  P. 
III. 

TTHEN  turn'd  the  poet,  with  all-reverent  mind, 
^^    To  fields  he  had  been  early  taught  to  shun  : 
Where  poison-flowers  ('twas  said)  perfume]  the 
wind, 

And  musical,  but  deadly,  waters  run. 
"The  old  idolatry^  still  lives,  my  son. 
In  those  fair-seeming  gardens.  Ah,  beware! 

A  sorceress  woos  thee  with  her  names  of  '  One ' 
And  '  Catholic '  and  '  Holy.'   Flee  the  snare! 
Ev'n  as  thy  fathers  fled  to  breathe  pure  Gospel  air." 

Rear'd  in  the  great  Elizabethan  Sham, 

His  creed  had  well-nigh  dwindled  to  a  ghost 

Now  fed  with  mist  of  Isis  or  of  Cam, 
Now  left  to  cater  for  itself  and  boast 
The  right  of  choosing  what  it  favor' d  most 

And  tranquilly  dispensing  with  the  rest. 
Yet  like  a  sentinel  he  kept  his  post 

For  faith  in  Christ — the  Master  highest,  best, 

And  BlessM]Saviour-God  of  fallen  world  confess'd. 

So  now  unto  the  old  historic  Church 

He  turn'd  him  blithely:  glad  that  he  had  heard 
Her  unquench'd   voice  still  challenge   earnest 
search, 
With  claim  (no  longer  to  his  thirst  absurd) 
To  teach  inerrantly  Christ's  living  Word. 
"  O  ancient  Church,  I  hear  thee  charged,"  he  said 
"(A    charge,  'twould    seem,   right    learnedly 
preferr'd), 
With  bringing  back  the  worship  of  the  dead. 
And  heathen  hero-rites — now  paid  to  Saints  in- 
stead." 


I  But  she,  with  gentle  dignity,  replied  : 
' '  My  child,  was  never  a  more  foolish  lie. 
What  are  the  Saints  ?  Christ's  members  glorified. 
He  gives  them  crowns  and  sceptres :  *  what  can  I 
But  do  them  fitting  homage  ?  There,  on  high, 
They  share  His  very  throne,  f  and  so  complete 

The  triumph  of  His  own  Humanity: 
For  doth  not  each  His  victory  repeat 
Over  the  rebel  hosts  that  writhe  beneath  His  feet  ? 

"What  are  the  Saints?  My  sons  and  daughters, 
borne 
To  Christ  my  Spouse.  Dost  think  them  gone 
before 
To  let  their  Mother  toil  and  weep  forlorn. 
Nor  rather  help  and  comfort  her  the  more  ? 
If  I,  then,  bid  my  children  here  implore 
The  timely  aid  of  brethren  strong  in  prayer. 

Who  watch  the  vessel  from  the  hard-won  shore 
And  beacon  into  port — what  tongue  shall  dare 
This  cult  with  impious  rites  of  demon-gods  com- 
pare ? ' ' 


Two  Schools. 


(Continued.  ) 
Clara  Valley,  Oct.  1 1,  i8 — . 

DEAR  Aunt  Mary  : — I  have  so  much  to 
write  that  I  do  not  know  where  to  begin. 
This  is  an  extra  holiday,  granted  by  the  Arch- 
bishop of  L ,  an  uncle  of  the  Superior, 

who  yesterday  paid  us  a  visit,  and  in  whose 
honor  we  had  a  fine  entertainment  last  even- 
ing. Word  was  received  on  Sunday  to  expect 
him,  and  after  class  on  Monday  afternoon  the 
mistress  of  studies  summoned  the  larger  girls 
to  arrange  tableaux,  etc.,  for  the  next  even- 
ing's festivities.  We  were  allowed  to  remain 
up  an  hour  later  than  the  others,  and  by  ten 
o'clock,  when  the  Sisters'  retiring  bell  sounded, 
with  Sister  Mary's  valuable  assistance,  we  had 
arranged  a  lovely  programme.  It  consisted 
of  songs,  instrumental  pieces  on  the  harp  and 
piano,  with  a  couple  of  recitations,  and  three 
tableaux  from  the  Old  Testament:  "Rebecca 
at  the  Well,"  "The  Finding  of  Moses,"  and 
* '  Esther  before  the  King. ' ' 

Everything  went  on  as  usual  next  day,  no 
one  would  have  thought  there  was  an  enter- 
tainment on  hand,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
hurrying  to  and  fro  of  the  men  and  boys,  who 
do  the  outside  work  of  the  convent,  getting  the 


Apoc,  ii,  26. 


t  Ibid.,  iii,  21. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


153 


exhibition  hall  in  readiness.  During  dinner 
recreation  we  had  a  grand  rehearsal,  and 
studies  were  again  resumed  until  three,  when 
school  was  dismissed,  and  we  filed  up  to  the 
attic,  or  "  wardrobe -room,"  to  change  our 
dresses  for  the  evening. 

The  dark  blue  cashmere  uniforms,  which 
we  wore  to-night  for  the  first  time,  look  very- 
rich  and  beautiful.  True,  there  is  a  sameness 
about  them  which  might  not  please  every 
eye ;  but  the  adoption  of  a  uniform  makes  it 
impossible  for  one  to  outshine  another  in 
dress,  and  thus  striking  contrasts  are  avoided. 
Consequently  there  can  be  no  heart-burnings 
on  this  score,  at  least.  The  dresses  were  gen- 
erally brightened  by  colored  ribbons,  worn  in 
a  knot  on  the  left  shoulder,  with  a  silver  medal 
attached.  These  ribbons  indicate  to  which  of 
the  various  societies  the  wearers  belong.  Dark 
red  and  light  blue  combined  show  that  the 
recipient  is  in  the  first  degree  of  general  excel- 
lence ;  these  are  the  colors  of  two  Societies — 
that  of  the  Sacred  Heart  and  of  the  Sodality 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  Some  wear  either  one 
or  the  other  color,  as  members  of  either  Sodal- 
ity. The  children  of  the  primary  classes  are 
distinguished  by  pink  ribbons,  as  belonging 
to  the  Sodality  of  the  Guardian  Angel ;  while 
non- Catholics,  like  myself,  who  are  considered 
in  very  good  standing  have  dark  blue  for 
their  distinctive  color.  This,  I  am  happy  to 
say,  is  mine. 

The  Archbishop  arrived  at  four  p.m.,  and 
at  five  we  were  summoned  to  the  chapel,  where 
Benediction  was  administered  by  His  Grace, 
after  which  we  were  presented  in  the  large 
parlor.  He  is  a  tall,  strikingly  handsome,  in- 
tellectual looking  man,  with  charming  man- 
ners. When  I  was  introduced  he  surprised  me 
by  saying,  with  a  smile,  "They  tell  me,  my 
dear  child,  that  you  are  a  daughter  of  the  late 

olonel  R ;  I  knew  him  well,  and  think  I 

m  safely  say  that,  though  not  professedly  a 
atholic,  he  was  what  we  call  'within  the 
pale.'  He  was  truly  one  of  Nature's  noble- 
men,— such  a  man  as  we  do  not  often  meet 
nowadays."  This  was  news  to  me,  as  it  will 
also  be  to  you.  Aunt  Mary,  and  makes  me  feel 
as  though  I  would  like  to  have  some  further 
conversation  with  the  Archbishop,  as  I  hope 
to  have  this  evening.  But  to  resume  my 
account. 


Supper  was  hastil3f  dispatched,  and  imme- 
diately after  we  assembled  in  the  exhibition 
hall,  where  we  were  soon  joined  by  the  Sisters, 
the  Archbishop,  and  his  travelling  companion 
and  Secretary,  Father  Ray,  and  our  pastor. 
Father  Humes.  Ever}- thing  went  off  without 
a  hitch  in  the  programme,  and  at  the  conclu- 
sion the  Archbishop  made  a  nice  little  speech, 
thanking  us  for  the  pleasure  we  had  afforded 
him,  and  asking  Mother  Superior  to  grant  us 
a  holiday,  which  she  readily  did. 

It  is  a  lovely  morning,  and  we  are  to  start 
for  the  "Virgin  Woods"  at  ten  o'clock.  We 
will  take  a  light  luncheon  there,  and,  return- 
ing about  four,  will  have  dinner  at  five,  as  is 
customary  on  all  holidays,  when  something  in 
the  way  of  a  treat  is  always  provided.  To-day 
the  girls  predict  turkey,  for  some  of  them  have 
seen  celery  and  cranberry  pies  in  the  pantry. 
Good-bye  till  Sunday,  when  I  shall  finish  with 
an  account  of  our  trip  to  the  woods. 

Sunday  Morning. 

I  wish  you  could  have  been  with  us  that 
day  at  the  "Virgin  Woods. ' '  Our  way  led  past 
the  graveyard  of  the  Sisters,  where  we  paused 
a  few  moments  to  pray.  It  is  a  lovely  spot. 
Each  grave  is  marked  by  a  small  wooden  cross, 
and  roses  bloom  luxuriantly  all  over  the  place. 
You  may  not  understand  why  we  should  pray 
there ;  but,  no  doubt,  you  are  aware  that 
Catholics  believe  in  Purgatory,  or  a  middle 
state  of  souls,  suffering  for  a  time  on  account 
of  their  sins;  and  also  believe  that  prayers 
and  good  works  by  those  on  earth  are  effica- 
cious in  releasing  them  from  suffering. 

Don't  you  consider  it  a  very  consoling  and 
satisfactory  doctrine  ?  Consoling  to  think  that, 
as  "nothing  defiled  can  enter  heaven,"  there 
is  a  place  set  apart  where  siii  may  be  atoned 
for  until  the  soul  is  sufficiently  purified  to 
ascend  to  Paradise  ?  and  satisfactor}- ,  as  well 
as  logical  and  natural,  to  believe  that  heaven 
is  not  opened  as  readily  and  speedily  to  the 
death-bed  repentant  sinner  as  to  him  who  has 
always  tried  to  serve  God?  You  are  so  rea- 
sonable, Aunt  Mary,  that  you  can  not  fail  to 
see  it  in  this  light.  Moreover,  the  Bible  speaks 
of  prayers  and  offerings  for  the  dead.  How 
sweet  it  is  for  those  who  believe  thus  to  feel 
that  their  loved  ones,  unable  further  to  merit 
reward  by  reason  of  their  transition  state, 
may  still  be  benefited,  consoled,  and   their 


154 


The  Ave  Maria. 


time  of  probation  shortened  throvigli  the  in- 
tercession and  good  works  of  friends  and 
relatives  left  behind  in  this  world!  But  this 
is  not  a  description  of  our  walk  and  picnic. 
Pardon  the  digression.  I  know  you  so  well 
that  I  can  see  you,  half  smiling,  half  frowning 
over  the  page,  and  though  you  should  dis- 
miss it  witli  a  little  impatient  "What  ails  the 
child?"  you  will  think  it  all  over  to-night 
before  you  sleep. 

Well,  our  way  led  for  a  mile  through  a 
leafy  lane,  lined  on  either  side  by  tall  beech 
and  elm-trees,  with  here  and  there  a  group  of 
maples  or  poplars;  a  tiny  stream,  flowing 
from  a  spring  in  the  uplands  miles  away,  ran 
along  one  side  of  the  road,  now  widening  into 
a  broad  silver  ribbon,  now  seeming  like  a 
thread,  then  tumbling  into  hollow  pools, 
where  long-continued  friction  had  made  a 
depression  in  the  surface  of  the  pebbly  soil. 
Gradually  the  trees  grew  thicker,  leafy  maples 
and  oaks,  hundreds  of  years  old  judging  from 
their  enormous  size,  now  seemed  to  displace 
the  elm  and  beech-trees,  and  we  soon  found 
ourselves  in  the  heart  of  the  woods.  The 
light  October  frosts  had  crisply  touched  the 
foliage,  and  the  leaves  were  turning  from 
green  to  crimson.  But  why  describe  all  this 
to  you,  who  are  such  a  lover  of  the  woods, 
where  you  are  no  doubt  wandering  this  pleas- 
ant Sunday  afternoon  ? 

After  rambling  about  for  a  while  we  sud- 
denly came  upon  a  large  white  statue  of  the 
Virgin  niched  in  the  trunk  of  an  old  oak.  A 
Virginia  ivy  encircled  the  tree,  dropping  its 
tendrils  like  a  crown  over  the  forehead  of 
"Our  lyady,"  as  the  children  and  nuns  call 
her.  Sister  Mar>^  intoned  the  lyitany  of  lyoreto 
in  Latin,  and  we  all  joined  in  the  lovely  hymn. 
Some  day  I  will  explain  the  meaning  of  this 
litany  to  you.  It  is  at  once  a  prayer  of  sup- 
plication and  an  anthem  of  praise  and  love. 
After  the  singing  was  finished  we  scattered 
about  in  various  groups  till  luncheon  time. 
This  over,  we  gathered  beech  nuts  and  bright 
mosses  until  three  o'clock,  when  w^e  prepared 
to  return.  The  walk  back  was  delightful, 
and  we  reached  home  thoroughly  satisfied 
with  our  outing.  As  3'ou  will  anticipate,  we 
had  excellent  appetites  for  the  fine  turkey, 
mashed  potatoes,  sweet  potatoes,  stewed  toma- 
toes, celery,  lettuce,  cranberry  sauce,  custard, 


cranberry  and  pumpkin  pie,  that  awaited  us 
at  the  dinner  table. 

I  have  never  spent  a  happier  day.  By  the 
way,  I  had  almost  forgotten  to  tell  you  that 
as  we  were  leaving  the  "Virgin  Woods  "  I  saw 
a  group  of  young  men  and  girls  climbing  a 
fence  which  separates  the  convent  grounds 
from  Hope  Farm  (the  Sisters  have  three  hun- 
dred and  sixty  acres),  one  of  whom  looked 
very  much  like  Estella  Gray.  And  yet  this 
could  scarcely  be;  for,  by  the  prospectus  of 
Allen  Seminary,  the  pupils  are  forbidden  to 
receive  visits  from  or  go  out  with  young 
gentlemen. 

After  dinner  I  had  an  interview  with  the 
Archbishop,  who  told  me  much  of  m}^  dear 
father.  He  had  known  him  during  the  war. 

But  for  him  the  church  at  C would  have 

been  fired  by  the  soldiers,  as  nearly  all  the 
Catholics  in  that  place  were  Southern  sym- 
pathizers. The  Archbishop  said  he  had  once 
heard  my  father  say  that,  when  she  was  old 
enough,  it  was  his  purpose  to  send  "his  little 
daughter"  to  a  convent  school.  Maybe  it 
was  an  inspiration  from  that  dear  dead  father 
which  brought  me  here.  The  good  Arch- 
bishop gave  me  his  blessing,  and  promised,  at 
my  request,  to  pray  for  me.  He  also  gave  me 
a  little  silver  cross,  which  I  have  attached  to 
my  watch-guard.  I  had  intended  to  write 
more,  telling  you  about  our  monthly  exami- 
nation ;  but  one  of  the  girls  has  come  into  the 
study- hall,  where  I  am  writing,  with  a  wild 
story  of  a  great  cantatrice ]\is\.  from  Europe, 
who  is  to  give  us  a  concert,  and  I  can  not 
think  for  the  noise.  It  is  probably  some  mis- 
take or  exaggeration. 

Good-bye,  write  soon  ;  and  believe  that, 
although  I  very  often  long  for  a  sight  of  your 
dear  face,  there  is  no  happier  school-girl  than 
Your  affectionate  Julia 

Allen  Seminary,  Oct.  16, 18 — . 
Dear  MATTiE:--We  have  been  enjoying 
ourselves  this  week,  I  can  assure  you.  Sunday 
evening  his  High  Mightiness,  our  esteemed 
Principal,  got  a  telegram  announcing  the 
arrival  of  Bishop-Elect,  or  post-Bishop,  Wad- 
dilone,  I  forget  which  it  is,  but  I  know  they 
were  "boys  together"  and  graduated  at  the 
same  time,  and  now  the  Rev.  Waddilone  is 
going   as  a  missionary  to  the  heathens  in 


The  Ave  Mi 


ana. 


155 


Mexico.  I  once  thought  they  were  all  pious 
Roman  Catholics  there,  but  now  I  am  told 
they  are  only  a  little  better  than  heathens. 

N.  B. — Florence  Howe,  my  room-mate,  has 
just  come  in,  and  is  looking  over  my  shoulder. 
She  says  it  is  a  mistake  about  the  Rev.  Wad- 
dilone  being  a  bishop.  He  was  thinking  of 
accepting  a  call  to  that  office,  but  concluded 
the  duties  were  too  '  *  odious  * ' ;  and  finally 
decided  on  the  Mexican  mission  (no  pun  in- 
tended), where  he  will  not  have  to  travel  about 
much,  and  will  have  a  better  time  altogether. 
The  colporteurs  will  do  all  the  travelling,  and 
he  is  to  have  general  charge  of  affairs.  I  be- 
lieve his  wife  is  delicate,  and  he  does  not  like 
to  leave  her  long  alone.  Still,  it  doesn't  make 
any  difference  to  us,  so  long  as  we  have  had 
a  jolly  time  by  reason  of  his  visit. 

We  were  all  thrown  into  a  great  state  of 
excitement  by  the  announcement.  President 
Allen  and  her  High  Mightiness,  the  Madame, 
announced  that  all  school  duties  were  to  be 
suspended  during  the  two  following  days,  in 
order  to  prepare  and  rehearse  a  programme 
for  the  grand  occasion.  For  tableaux  we  had 
* '  The  Beheading  of  Mary  Stuart, "  '  *  The  Mar- 
tyrdom of  John  Rogers,"  and  an  allegorical 
representation  of  the  States  of  the  Union,  rep- 
resented by  young  ladies  in  white,  each  bear- 
ing the  flag  of  her  respective  State,  with  the 
Goddess  of  lyibert}-  extending  her  hands 
above  them  in  a  fatiguingly  maternal  way, — 
as  I  happen  to  know,  for  I  was  the  goddess. 
But  I  am  anticipating.  My!  how  we  fussed, 
and  hurried  and  skurried  during  those  two 
days !  Costumes  were  to  be  arranged.  The 
girls  say  they  have  piles  and  piles  of  things  for 
tableaux  at  the  convent,  but  we  had  to  fur- 
nish everything.  Then  there  were  also  dresses 
to  be  selected  and  got  ready  for  the  sociable 
which  was  to  follow  the  entertainment.  Every- 
one vied  with  the  other,  and  I  tell  you  we 
were  nearly  all  gotten  up  regardless,  except  a 
few  dowdyish  girls,  that  never  do  have  any- 
thing to  wear  on  any  occasion.  I  think  it's  a 
shame  to  let  half  a  dozen  like  that  reflect 
disgrace  on  the  school,  don't  you? 

When  the  evening  came  with  the  mission- 
ary and  his  spouse  we  were  tired  to  death. 
But  for  all  that  we  were  obliged  to  file  in  to 
the  assembly  hall,  and  listen  to  a  long  dis- 
course from  Rev.  W about  the  ancient 


friendship  of  Waddilone,  Allen  and  company, 
— the  good  they  both  had  done,  and  still  ex- 
pected to  do,  in  the  * '  service  of  souls, "  as  he 
called  it,  though  each  had  chosen  a  different 
field — he  the  conversion  of  the  benighted 
heathen,  and  our  own  dear  president  the  Chris- 
tian training  of  young  hearts.  Waddilone  may 
be  a  religious  man,  I  am  sure  he  ought  to  be 
from  his  calling,  but  I  can't  see  that  his  ft-iend 
Allen  is  seriously  working  in  that  line.  It 
looks  to  me  as  though  his  specialty  was  in 
giving  the  least  and  poorest  fare  I  ever  saw 
for  the  most  money.  We  do  have  a  fearful 
table! 

After  he  had  besought  us  to  remember  him 
in  closet  prayer,  and  also  not  to  forget  the 
benighted  Roman  Catholic  Mexicans,  who  sat 
in  darkness  almost  at  our  very  doors,  he 
subsided ;  and  the  Rev.  Mrs.  arose  and  treated 
us  to  a  homily,  in  which  she  said  she  fancied 
she  saw  missionary  aspirations  in  some  of  our 
bright  young  faces.  Heaven  save  the  mark! 
I  hope  she  did  not  mistake  the  loving  glances 
I  darted  at  Professor  Krouck,  who  sat  in  the 
deep  window  seat  opposite  me,  for  what  she 
calls  "soul  aspirations  fanned  by  the  holy 
flame  of  sacrifice."  For  my  part,  I  can't  see 
what  great  sacrifice  she  is  making. 

She  was  followed  by  our  own  Allen,  who 
delivered  an  eulogy  on  Waddilone,  which  I 
thought  never  would  come  to  an  end;  and 
then  "Waddy"  wound  up  with  Benediction. 
He  did  do  it  beautifully.  He  is  a  handsome 
man  with  a  fine  figure,  and  his  gestures  and 
poses  were  simply  perfect!  He  has  a  sonorous 
voice,  well  modulated.  I  could  not  help  think- 
ing while  I  listened  what  a  fine  baritone  he 
would  make  on  the  opera  stage.  I  am  afraid 
the  rest  of  the  girls  were  not  so  impressed ;  for 
I  counted  twenty-one  with  bowed  heads,  al- 
most convulsed  with  giggles. 

After  tea — and  a  poor,  skimpy  tea  it  was — 
we  went  upstairs  to  dress,  and  such  a  borrow- 
ing of  hair-pins,  crimping- irons,  and  powder 
puffs,  such  a  squeezing  of  dress  waists  that 
wouldn't  meet,  and  tying  of  sashes,  pinning 
of  bouquets  and  scattering  of  Frangipanni 
and  Cologne,  you  never  saw !  At  last  we  were 
ready;  we  of  the  States'  tableaux  were  not 
obliged  to  change  our  dresses  for  the  group- 
ing, but  many  of  the  others  had  to  dress  two 
or  three  times. 


»56 


The  Ave  Maria, 


The  old  things  didn't  amount  to  much, 
but  everybody  said  they  went  off  well.  The 
girls  were  in  shrieks  of  laughter  over  John 
Roger's  wife  and  nine  children ;  John  himself, 
personated  by  the  tallest  girl  in  the  school, 
looked  too  fiinny  in  a  long  coat  and  white 
-choker.  John  Knox,  waving  Mary  Stuart's 
head  aloft  after  the  execution,  reminded  me 
of  some  one  finding  an  infernal  machine,  and 
holding  it  at  arms-length,  for  fear  it  might  go 
off.  A  huge  dumb-bell,  covered  with  a  black 
cloth,  was  made  to  do  service  for  the  head  of 
poor  unfortunate  Mary. 

To  come  to  the  sociable.  All  the  elite  of  our 
fourth-rate  town  were  there  in  best  bib  and 
tucker,  but  they  were  principally  old  and 
middle-aged  people.  Still,  half  a  dozen  young 
fellows  are  not  bad — half  a  loaf  is  better 
than  no  bread,  you  know ;  and  we  managed 
to  entertain  ourselves  and  them  to  our  own 
satisfaction,  under  the  very  noses  of  the 
Gorgons. 

I  will  do  Mrs.  Allen  the  justice  to  say  that 
she  does  not  consider  occasional  sociables  at 
the  Seminary  a  bad  feature,  as  ''they  teach 
the  young  ladies  to  be  at  ease  in  society,  and 
serve  to  initiate  them  in  the  art  of  entertain- 
ing. Besides,  we  only  admit  the  brothers  and 
friends  of  our  best  pupils,  which  makes  it  a 
sort  of  family  gathering,  as  it  were."  I  over- 
heard her  making  these  remarks  to  Madame 
Waddilone.  The  good  lady  did  not  know  that 
two  of  her  masculine  guests  were  commercial 

travellers,  sojourning  in for  a  night,  and 

wheedled  into  the  sacred  precincts  through 
the  medium  of  a  handkerchief  waved  firom  an 
upper  window,  and  a  note  dropped  in  passing 
the  hotel  during  our  afternoon  walk.  They 
were  charming  fellows;  a  Mr.  De  Quincy  Ross, 
and  his  friend,  Archibald  Fairlie.  They  have 
promised  to  be  at  the  concert,  if  possible. 

At  ten  o'clock  we  had  "slight  refresh- 
ments" Hem!  I  think  they  were.  The  thinnest 
bread,  the  faintest  soupgon  of  butter,  a  lady's- 
finger  and  macaroon  each,  and  the  weakest 
lemonade.  We  were  all  starved;  we  are  always 
starved!  And,  to  add  insult  to  injury,  an  hour 
later,  after  the  guests  had  departed,  one  of  the 
girls  saw  Bridget,  the  dining-room  girl,  carry- 
ing up  a  huge  tray  to  Mrs.  Allen's  sitting- 
room,  filled  with  all  sorts  of  good  things. 

At  half-past  ten  the  distinguished  company 


dispersed,  and  we  girls  went  hungry  to  bed, 
though  we  had  a  tolerably  nice  time,  all  in 
all.  During  the  evening  Florence  and  I  made 
an  engagement  to  take  an  afternoon  stroll 
with  our  new  fi-iends  on  the  following  day. 
We  told  them  that  there  was  more  than  half 
a  chance  of  our  not  being  able  to  compass  it ; 
but  they  insisted  that  where  there  is  a  will 
there  is  a  way,  and,  as  we  are  always  ready 
for  a  harmless  frolic,  it  was  not  hard  to  per- 
suade us. 

But  this  letter  is  long  enough.  I  shall  tell 
you  all  about  it  in  my  next,  when  I  hope  to 
be  able  to  give  a  full  account  of  the  concert 
and  the  lovely  time  I  know  we  shall  have. 
Write  soon  to 

Your  loving         Estei<LA. 

(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 


The  Story  of  the  Assumption. 


BY   I,.  W.  REIIvIyY. 


AFTKR  the  ascension  of  Christ  into  heaven, 
sixteen  years  passed  before  the  Blessed 
Virgin  died.*  She  went  from  Mount  Calvary, 
on  the  night  of  the  crucifixion,  to  the  home  of 
St.  John  on  Mount  Sion.  There  she  remained 
as  long  as  the  Beloved  Disciple  stayed  in  Pal- 
estine. She  passed  her  days  in  prayer,  in  re- 
hearsing for  the  instruction  of  neophytes  the 
mysteries  of  which  she  was  the  chief  witness, 
and  in  visiting  the  dolorous  Stations  of  the 
Cross. 

Although  she  was  perfectly  resigned  to  the 
will  of  God,  she  longed,  with  even  a  more  in- 
tense longing  than  St.  Paul  and  other  saints, 
"to  be  dissolved  and  to  be  with  Christ; "  for 

*  The  Blessed  Virgin  died,  according  to  the  Abb^ 
Orsini,  in  the  night  which  preceded  the  15th  of 
August.  The  year  of  her  death  is  very  uncertain. 
Eusebius  fixes  it  in  the  48th  of  our  era;  thus,  ac- 
cording to  him,  Our  I^ady  lived  sixty-four  years ;  but 
Nicephorus  (lib.,  xi,c.  21)  formally  says  that  she  ended 
her  days  in  the  year  5  of  the  reign  of  Claudius :  that 
is,  in  the  year  798  of  Rome,  or  45  of  the  Christian  era. 
Then,  supposing  that  the  Blessed  Virgin  was  sixteen ' 
years  old  when  our  Saviour  came  into  the  world, 
she  would  have  lived  sixty-one  years.  Hippolytus  of 
Thebes  assures  us  in  his  chronicle  that  Mary  gave 
birth  to  our  Saviour  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  and  died 
eleven  years  after  His  crucifixion.  According  to  other 
authors,  Our  I^ady  died  at  the  age  of  sixty -six. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


157 


separation  from  Him  was  for  her,  who  had 
been  so  close  to  Him  for  years,  a  slow  martyr- 
dom. Yet  the  days  lengthened  into  months, 
and  the  months  into  years,  and  still  she  was 
left  on  earth — in  the  world  but  not  of  it, 
"walking  the  ground,  but  with  her  heart  in 
heaven." 

In  the  year  44  the  first  persecution  broke 
out  in  Jerusalem.  It  was  violent  and  bloody, 
and  numbers  of  newly-professed  Christians 
gave  up  their  lives  for  the  faith.  Then  St. 
John,  fearful  lest  any  harm  should  happen  to 
the  Mother  of  the  Lord,  took  her  to  Ephesus. 

Beside  the  Icarian  Sea  Mary  remained  for 
about  five  years.  In  her  exile  from  Palestine 
she  was  comforted  by  the  companionship  of 
Mary  Magdalen,  who,  shortly  after  the  Blessed 
Virgin  went  to  Asia  Minor,  followed  her 
thither  and  abode  with  her  there.  The  sky 
above  her  new  home  was  beautiful,  the  climate 
was  delightful,  and  the  Christians  of  Ephesus 
vied  with  one  another  to  make  her  stay  among 
them  pleasant ;  still,  she  pined  for  the  City  of 
David  and  the  scenes  of  Our  Lord's  life  and 
death. 

One  day  Mary's  heart  was  more  than 
usually  full  of  memories  of  Bethlehem  and 
Nazareth  and  Jerusalem.  So  lonesome  was 
she,  and  so  strongly  did  she  crave  a  sight  of 
Jesus,  that  tears  filled  her  eyes.  Even  while 
she  wept  Gabriel  stood  before  her. 

* '  Hail,  full  of  grace ! "  he  said ;  '  *  Mother  of 
Jesus,  Son  of  God." 

Mary  recognized  the  Angel,  and  her  very 
heart  leapt  for  joy. 

"The  Son  of  the  Most  High,  who  is  at  the 
right  hand  of  the  Eternal  Father, ' '  continued 
Gabriel,  "sends  me  to  call  thee  to  Him.  Re- 
turn to  Jerusalem.  There  He  will  meet  thee." 

Mary  said:  "Behold  the  handmaid  of  the 
Lord." 

And  immediately  the  Angel  left  her. 

When  St.  John  was  told  what  had  occurred, 
he  was  troubled  at  the  coming  loss  of  the 
Mother  whom  the  Lord  had  given  to  him. 
Still,  her  happiness  was  his  first  care.  As  she 
was  eager  to  go,  he  made  haste  to  prepare  for 
the  journey  back  to  Judea. 

As  soon  as  they  arrived  in  the  Holy  City 
they  called  on  St.  James,  the  Bishop  of  Jeru- 
salem. When  he  learned  that  the  Blessed 
Virgin  was  about  to  die  he  sent  word  to  all 


the  faithful  in  the  city,  and  they  came  to  bid 
her  good-bye,  and  to  ask  her  prayers  when 
she  should  be  with  her  Son. 

Finally,  the  hour  approached  that  had  been 
foretold  by  the  Angel  as  Mar>''s  last  on  earth. 
To  be  ready  for  it  she  retired  to  that  upper 
chamber,  wherein  the  Holy  Ghost  had  come 
upon  the  Apostles,  and  there  she  made  her 
final  preparations  for  her  dissolution.  When 
the  moment  predicted  was  close  at  hand  she 
laid  herself  on  a  couch,  and  tranquilly  com- 
posed herself  for  the  sleep  of  peace.  St.  John 
was  at  her  right  hand.  St.  James  gave  her 
absolution.  Then  she  requested  those  about 
her  to  send  greetings  to  the  other  Apostles, 
assuring  them  that  even  to  the  last  she  had 
thought  of  them,  and  would  be  mindful  of 
them  in  the  other  life. 

Lo!  as  she  spoke,  from  the  four  corners  of 
the  earth,  nine  of  the  Apostles,  including 
Matthias,  appeared  in  the  room,  brought  by 
the  power  of  God.  It  was  a  great  comfort  to 
the  Blessed  Virgin — the  sight  of  those  old 
and  faithful  friends.  After  they  had  been 
welcomed,  Mary  spoke  her  last  words.  She 
addressed  all  those  who  were  present,  talking 
of  faith  and  hope  and  charity,  of  suffering  and 
sanctity,  of  time  and  eternitj'',  of  God's  infinite 
love,  of  the  bliss  of  heaven.  As  she  was  speak- 
ing her  face  became  transfigured,  so  that  Peter 
whispered  to  John  :  '  'How  much  she  resembles 
the  Lord ! ' '  The  likeness  was  truly  striking 
at  that  moment.  Her  voice  grew  lower,  and 
finally  she  ceased  to  speak  ;  and  while  those 
about,  thrilled  to  the  soul  with  her  wonderful 
discourse,  wept  silently  because  soon  they 
should  see  her  face  no  more  on  earth  forever, 
she  closed  her  eyes  and  engaged  in  secret 
prayer.  The  room  was  noiseless.  It  was  night. 

Presently  a  sound  as  of  a  mighty  wind 
was  heard,  a  strong  light  illuminated  the 
apartment,  and  an  exquisite  perfiime  filled  it 
with  subtle  sweetness.  The  Lord  had  come. 
Surrounded  by  legions  of  angels  and  a  multi- 
tude of  saints,  He  appeared  to  His  Blessed 
Mother,  radiant  with  the  majesty  of  the 
Divinity,  His  wounds  glittering  like  jewels. 
His  garments  like  robes  of  light.  His  face 
beamed  with  love  for  her,  and  His  hands  were 
stretched  out  to  her  in  welcome.  She  alone 
saw  him, — she  alone  of  the  group  at  the 
couch,  although  the  others  felt  His  presence, 


158 


The  Ave  Maria, 


and  were  filled  with  awe  and  ecstasy  at  His 
nearness  to  them.  Mary  gave  one  look  at  His 
beloved  countenance,  and  for  jo}^  at  seeing 
Him  again  her  soul  burst  its  bonds  and  left 
her  blessed  body. 

On  the  following  day  the  Apostles  bore  the 
precious  remains  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  to  the 
Valley  of  Jehosaphat.  There,  in  a  tomb  hewn 
in  the  rock,  they  laid  her;  there  for  three 
•  days  and  two  nights  they  remained,  in  com- 
pany with  the  Christians  of  Jerusalem  and  the 
surrounding  country,  and  singing  alternately 
with  a  choir  of  invisible  angels  canticles  in 
honor  of  God  and  of  His  Virgin  Mother. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  third  day  the  one 
Apostle  who  had  been  absent  when  Mary  died 
arrived  from  a  heathen  country  that  was 
toward  India,  where  he  had  been  preaching 
the  faith,  when  word  was  borne  to  him  mys- 
teriously that  the  Mother  of  the  I^ord  was 
djdng.  When  the  thought  came  to  him  to 
hurry  back  to  be  present  at  her  death  and  to 
attend  her  funeral  he  doubted  that  God  would 
have  him  transported  to  Jerusalem,  so  he  did 
not  share  to  the  full  in  the  miracle  that  had 
brought  the  others  to  her  bedside  in  time  to 
receive  her  last  words.  But,  even  as  it  was,  his 
appearance  so  soon  afterward  was  a  mystery. 
When  he  came  to  the  place  where  they  had 
laid  her  he  was  overcome  with  emotion,  and 
broke  out  into  lamentations  for  her  death.  He 
recalled  her  virtues,  what  she  had  been  to 
the  Church,  her  goodness  to  him.  He  begged 
to  be  permitted  to  see  her  face  once  more.  So 
pitifully  and  so  persistently  did  he  beseech 
Peter  and  the  other  Apostles,  especially  John 
and  James,  to  grant  him  this  favor  that  event- 
ually they  agreed  to  open  her  tomb. 

Slowly  the  stone  that  closed  the  sepulchre 
was  unsealed  and  moved  aside.  The  last  rays 
of  the  descending  sun  fell  back  upon  the  place 
where  the  body  had  been  laid,  but,  lo!  when 
the  Apostles  entered  the  tomb  they  found 
only  the  winding-sheet  of  the  dead!  But 
Mary  was  not  there — she  was  celebrating  the 
first  Feast  of  the  Assumption  in  heaven. 


The  folly  which  we  might  have  ourselves 
committed  is  the  one  which  we  are  least  ready 
to  pardon  in  another. 

We  are  never  well  served  except  by  that 
which  we  support  well. 


The  Secret  Reason  Why. 


BY    MAURICE    FRANCIS    EGAN 


AMONG  educated  Americans  there  exists 
a  condition  of  mind  which  leads  them  to 
say,  "I  have  great  respect  for  the  Catholic 
Church.  If  I  ever  join  any  church,  it  shall  be 
the  Catholic  Church."  But  it  leads  them  no 
further  for  various  reasons,  and  the  reasons 
are  seldom  expressed  by  them  in  words. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  American  mind 
is  becoming  more  and  more  tolerant — almost 
sympathetic — to  the  claims  of  the  Church. 
Fifty  years  ago  there  was  no  more  ignorant 
or  narrow-minded  creature  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  than  the  average  American,  if  the  records 
can  be  believed.  He  was  without  traditions, 
without  cultivation,  without  experience  ;  his 
common  sense  was  his  one  saving  quality.  But 
since  1876  the  average  American  has  steadily 
improved  in  quality.  Foreign  travel,  and  the 
humanizing  influence  of  peace,  have  made  him 
more  broad-minded  than  the  average  citizen 
of  any  other  country. 

The  paralyzing  effects  of  a  wholesale  sys- 
tem of  education,  which  holds  prizes  only  for 
mediocrity,  has  not  yet  succeeded  in  spoiling 
him.  It  helps  to  make  him  indifferent  to  all 
forms  of  religion,  and  it  adds  to  his  natural 
keenness  in  certain  directions;  he  is  more 
capable  of  judging  of  men  than  of  creeds ;  and 
his  belief  that  a  straight  line  is  the  shortest 
distance  from  one  point  to  another  makes  him 
pitiless  in  his  criticism  of  modem  Protestant- 
ism. If  he  go  to  Europe,  he  is  not  so  easily 
scandalized  as  his  Catholic  brother  by  the 
religious  familiarity  of  the  Italians  or  the  ap- 
parent frivolity  of  the  French.  He  generally 
comes  back  with  a  good  opinion  of  the  Pope 
and  a  wholesome  contempt  for  his  insulters, 
and  a  considerable  amount  of  sympathy  for 
priests,  who  seem  to  be  the  only  sane  and 
conservative  men  among  people  who  are  con- 
stantly in  revolt  for  the  sake  of  revolution. 

But  the  broader  he  becomes  the  less  likely 
is  he  to  become  a  member  of  the  Church.  And 
if  he  would  have  the  honesty  to  analyze  his 
opinions — or,  rather,  feelings, — he  would  find 
that  he  has  not  better  "  reasons  "  for  neglecting 
to  investigate  the  claims  of  the  Church  than 


The  Ave  Maria. 


159 


two  which  we  find  among  nineteen  given  in 
the  London  Tablet.  li'e  is  nominall}^  a  Protes- 
tant because  "people  should  always  stick  to 
the  religion  in  which  they  were  bom,"  and 
because  "it  is  so  convenient  to  believe  only 
as  much  or  as  little  as  one  likes."  He  forgets 
that,  according  to  his  first  reason,  St.  Paul, 
St.  Denis, — all  the  Jews,  all  the  Greeks,  all 
the  Romans,  would  have  stifled  Christianity 
in  the  beginning — if  that  were  possible, — by 
remaining  in  the  religion  "in  which  they  were 
born."  As  for  the  other  reason,  it  is  too  silly 
to  think  of  for  a  moment. 

As  for  the  ladies,  they  get  below  the  surface 
of  religious  matters  earlier  in  life  than  their 
fathers,  husbands,  and  brothers.  And  many — 
who  does  not  know  some  among  his  acquaint- 
ances?— seem  to  stand  on  the  very  threshold 
of  the  Church.  Their  reasons  for  not  passing 
it  are,  too,  seldom  acknowledged;  but  they 
may  be  found  clearly  expressed  in  the  list 
given  by  the  Tablet,  which  introduces  its  bit 
of  "mind-reading"  with  this  preamble: 

"The  following  leaflet  was  picked  up  the  other  day 
in  manuscript  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  offices  of  a 
well-known  firm  of  Protestant  publishers.  Whether  it 
was  to  have  been  submitted  to  the  firm  with  a  view  to 
sub.sequent  publication,  or  whether  it  came  out  of  the 
firm's  waste  paper  basket  it  is  impossible  to  surmise. " 

The  reasons,  slightly  changed  for  our  Amer- 
ican locale,  are  these : 

"Because  it  is  so  respectable.  Because  it  is  so  nice 
not  to  be  obliged  to  go  to  church  on  Sunday  unless 
one  likes ;  and  at  any  rate  to  be  able  to  go  comforta- 
bly in  the  afternoon,  instead  of  having  to  bundle  off 
at  some  ungodly  hour  in  the  morning  to  Mass,  as 
Catholics  have  to  do.  Because  I  could  not  give  up  dear 
old  '  Hymns  Ancient  and  Modern. '  Because  I  should 
not  like  to  be  obliged  to  go  to  confession.  Because 
the  Irish  are  so  horrid.  Because  Catholics  put  artifi- 
cial flowers  on  the  altar.  Because  I  hate  fish.  Because 
if  I  were  a  Catholic  I  should  have  to  subscribe  to  such 
a  lot  of  things.  Because  the  Catholic  services  in- 
volve so  much  kneeling  down,  instead  of  sitting  with 
one's  nose  in  one's  knees,  which  is  far  more  comfort- 
able and  better  for  one's  clothes.  Because  the  priests 
abroad  look  so  sly.  Because  Galileo  said  'it  moves.' 
Because  Latimer  said  something  (I  forget  exactly 
what)  about  putting  out  a  candle.  Because  if  I  '  went 
over '  there  would  be  such  an  awful  row  at  home. ' ' 

Of  course  the  offering  of  this  list  to  one's 
nominally  Protestant  acquaintance  of  the  fair 
sex  might  give  offence.  But  if  they  could  be 
induced  to  examine  their  conscience  with  this 
list  before  them,  it  is  possible  they  would 
look  for  better  reasons  and  not  find  them. 


The  Blessing  the  "Hail  Mary"  Brought. 


WE  have  taken  pains  to  transfer  to  our  col- 
umns the  following  incident,  related  in 
the  "Life  of  Monseigneur  Dupanloup," — a 
deeply  interesting  and  edifying  book,  by  the 
way,  which  we  would  earnestly  recommend 
to  all  our  readers.  The  incident  is  given  in  the 
words  of  the  sainlly  prelate  himself.  It  was 
published  in  The  "Ave  Maria"  during  his 
life- time,  but  the  story  is  well  worth  repeating: 

"There  are  moments  in  a  priest's  life  when  a 
certain  grace  lights  up  the  soul,  and  leaves  an 
infinite  sweetness  which  one  can  never  forget. 
One  da}'  I  had  one  of  these  revelations  ;  it  was  at 
the  death-bed  of  a  child  who  was  very  dear  to  me, 
— a  young  girl  to  whom  I  had  given  her  First 
Communion.  I  had  the  habit  of  always  recom- 
mending to  my  children  fidelity  in  one  powerful 
prayer — the  Ave  Maria:  and  this  child,  who  was 
then  only  twenty,  and  whose  marriage  I  had 
blessed  the  year  before,  had  been  faithful  to  this 
practice  and  said  her  beads  daily.  The  daughter 
of  one  of  the  most  eminent  marshals  of  the  Em- 
pire, adored  by  her  father,  mother,  and  husband  ; 
rich,  young,  beautiful,  enchanted  at  having  just 
given  birth  to  a  son, — well,  in  the  midst  of  all 
this  happiness  she  was  to  die,  and  it  was  I  who 
was  to  break  to  her  the  terrible  news. 

' '  I  went  in.  Her  mother  was  weeping,  her  hus- 
band in  despair,  her  father  broken-hearted  — 
even  more  than  the  mother;  for  I  have  often  re- 
marked in  great  sorrows  that  a  really  Christian 
woman  bears  her  anguish  better  than  the  bravest 
warriors.  I  scarcely  knew  how  to  begin  to  speak 
to  the  poor,  little  dying  wife  and  mother.  To  m}' 
utter  surprise,  she  met  me  with  a  bright  smile 
on  her  lips!  Death  was  hastening  on.  She  knew 
and  felt  it.  And  yet  she  smiled,  though  with  a 
certain  sadness  after  a  moment,  although  joy 
floated  above  it.  I  could  not  help  exclaiming, 
'  O  my  child,  what  a  terrible  blow ! '  But  she, 
with  an  accent  which  moves  me  even  now  when 
I  think  of  it,  replied  :  '  Do  you  not  believe  that  I 
shall  go  to  heaven?' — 'Yes,'  I  replied;  'I  have 
the  firmest  hope  that  j'ou  will.' — 'And  I,'  she 
answered  quickly,  'am  quite  sure  of  it.' — 'What 
gives  you  this  certainty?'  I  exclaimed.  'The 
advice  you  gave  me  formerly.  When  I  made  my 
First  Communion  you  advised  us  to  sa}-  the  Ave 
A/aria  every  day,  and  to  say  it  well.  I  have 
obeyed  you  ;  and  for  the  last  four  years  I  have 
said  the  Rosary  every  day  of  my  life,  and  that 
makes  me  sure  of  going  to  heaven.' — 'Why?' 
I  could  not  help  adding.    '  Because  I  can  not  be- 


i6o 


The  Ave  Maria, 


lieve,'  she  replied,  gravely — 'and  the  thought 
has  been  present  to  me  ever  since  I  knew  I  was 
to  die, — that  I  have  for  four  years  said  fifty  times 
each  day,  '  Holy  Mary,  Mother  of  God,  pray  for 
us  sinners,  now,  and  at  the  hour  of  our  death,' 
and  that  she  will  abandon  me  at  the  last.  I  feel 
sure  that  she  is  near  me  at  this  moment  ;  that 
she  will  pray  for  me  and  conduct  me  to  heaven ! ' 
' '  These  were  her  words  ;  and  then  I  saw  what 
I  can  never  describe — a  really  heavenly  death. 
I  saw  this  frail  and  tender  creature,  suddenly 
carried  oif  in  the  flower  of  her  youth,  from  all 
that  makes  life  dear  to  one — leaving  father, 
mother,  husband,  whom  she  adored  and  who 
equally  adored  her,  her  poor  little  baby  boy,  so 
dear  and  so  earnestly  wished  for — all  this,  I  say, 
vShe  left,  not  without  tears,  but  with  a  kind  of 
radiant  serenity;  consoling  her  parents,  encourag- 
ing her  poor  husband,  blessing  her  little  child, 
and  in  the  midst  of  embraces  which  vainly  strove 
to  keep  her  on  earth,  seeing  nothing  but  heaven, 
speaking  only  of  heaven,  while  her  last  sigh 
was  a  smile,  as  if  she  already  beheld  the  eternal 
beatitude." 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

The  death  was  announced  last  week,  by  cable, 
of  the  venerable  Cardinal  Massaia,  distinguished 
for  missionary  work  in  Eastern  Africa.  He  was 
born  at  Piova,  Italy,  in  1809.  After  completing 
a  brilliant  course  of  studies  he  entered  the  Order 
of  Minor  Capuchins,  and  was  sent  as  a  mission- 
ary to  Africa.  A  bishop  for  forty  years,  devoted 
to  the  evangelization  of  the  heathen  with  an  un- 
quenchable zeal,  surmounting  every  difiiculty, 
he  was  called  to  the  Senate  of  the  Church  in 
November,  1884. 

Cardinal  Massaia' s  career  was  a  remarkable 
one.  From  the  year  1847,  when  he  was  laboring 
at  Guala,  in  the  province  of  Agame,  his  life 
was  threatened  by  the  Chief  Ube,  from  whose 
persistent  pursuit  he  only  escaped  by  a  series  of 
providential  circumstances  ;  in  1849  ^^  was  bit- 
terly persecuted  by  the  chief  of  the  Warrokallis, 
and  in  June  of  that  year  he  was  imprisoned  at  Na- 
gadras.  In  May,  1854,  as  he  was  passing  through 
the  western  provinces  of  Abyssinia,  on  reaching 
Dunkut,  disguised  as  a  merchant,  he  was  recog- 
nized by  the  Arabs,  who  were  on  the  point  of 
murdering  him.  That  same  year  he  was  once 
more  thrown  into  prison  at  Nagadras*  Ten  years 
later  he  began  another  term  of  harsh  captivity, 
on  August  25,  1 861;  November  the  30th  he  was 
accused  of  magic  before  the  kinglet  of  Ennerea, 
who  plundered  him  of  everything  and  exiled 
him.    In  the  following  June  he  was  accused  of 


conspirac}'  against  the  Goggias,  and,  in  spite  of 
clearing  himself,  was  expelled  and  forced  to  re- 
turn to  Gaudra.  On  the  27th  of  June,  1863,  he  was 
arrested  on  the  eastern  frontier  by  the  soldiers  of 
Theodore  II.,  who  robbed  him  of  everything,  and 
brought  him  before  the  king.  The  latter  threw 
him  into  prison  for  a  month.  In  short,  this  noble 
missionary  has  not  escaped  one  of  the  trials 
enumerated  by  St.  Paul.  Such  eminence  in  virtue 
struck  with  admiration  even  those  bitter  foes  of 
the  Church,  thei|Italian  (so-called)  Liberals.  But 
Mgr.  Massaia  gave  them  an  eloquent  rebuke. 
When  the  Minister  of  Public  Worship  offered 
him  a  decoration  with  the  same  hand  that  had 
plundered  the  Propaganda,  the  humble  Francis- 
can, by  refusing,  gave  him  to  understand  that  to 
pretend  a  wish  to  honor  the  missionaries  of  the 
Church,  was  a  mockery,  unless  her  rights  and 
interests  were  first  protected. 


It  is  astonishingihow  much  can  be  learnt  and 
unlearnt  by  the  simple  method  of  examining 
one's  conscience.  We  were  reading  somewhere 
lately  of  an  Anglican  clergyman,  who,  though 
convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  Catholic  religion, 
hesitated  about  acting  on  his  conviction.  A  pru- 
dent priest,  to  whom  he  had  addressed  himself, 
advised  him  to  make  a  retreat.  He  did  so,  and  at 
the  end  of  his  retreat  said  simply  :  "  Now  I  know 
what  made  me  hesitate :  it  was  my  salary  of  ^300 
a  year."  The  optimists  are  always  exhorting  us 
to  look  forward  and  be  hopeful ;  the  pessimists,  to 
consider  the  past  and  be  cautious  ;  but  it  is  well 
to  look  into  one's  own  heart  sometimes  and  be 


A  statue  has  been  erected  in  Paris  to  Coligny, 
who  was  a  conspirator,  a  traitor,  a  renegade.  The 
massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  bad  as  it  was,  might 
be  looked  on  as  a  case  of  murder  in  self-defence 
if  Catherine  de  Medici  herself  had  been  above 
suspicion.  It  was  a  political  crime.  But  if  the 
admirers  of  the  French  Calvinists  will  read  French 
history  they  will  find  that  these  gentle  Calvinists 
under  Des  Andrets,  the  gentle  Jeanne  d' Albert, 
and  other  pious  Protestants,  had  committed  mur- 
ders, in  the  sacred  name  of  religion,  only  exceeded 
in  horror  by  the  massacre  of  priests  during  the 
French  Revolution. 

Agnostics  will  have  it  that  the  evidence  in  favor 
of  Christianity  is  insufficient,  that  it  is  not  scien- 
tific. They  constantly  denounce  faith,  although 
in  common  with  all  mankind  they  are  constantly 
exercising  it.  An  able  reply  to  their  objection 
will  be  found  in  the  current  number  of  the  Dublin 
Review,  in  an  article  on  "Faith  and  Reason,"  by 
the  Rev.  John  S.  Vaughan.  After  showing  that 


1 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


i6r 


much  proof  in  life  is  only  authority,  that  innu- 
merable facts  do  not  admit  of  any  other  proof, 
that  trustworthy  authority  is  as  suflBcient  and 
solid  a  basis  of  truth  as  any  direct  evidence  ad- 
_ducible,  he  points  out  that  such  a  reliable  author- 
exists  in  proof  of  the  truths  of  the  Gospel : 
"Christ  is  our  guarantee,  and  our  reliance  upon 
im  rests  upon  the  testimony  of  (i)  Miracles;   (2) 
rophecy ;  (3)  His  personal  character,  and  the  influ- 
ice  of  His  name  even  at  the  present  day ;  (4)  The 
iture  of  His  doctrine  ;  (5)  The  marvellous  develop- 
lent  and  spread  of  His  teaching  in  spite  of  its  charac- 
jr,  so  opposed  to  man's  corrupt  nature,  so  mysterious 
his  limited  intelligence ;  (6)  The  innumerable  mar- 
who  have  died  in  testimony  to  the  truth ;  (7)  The 
tographies  of  the  saints,  each  of  which,  even  taken 
ingly,  is  inexplicable  without  the»solution  offered  by 
faith ;  (8)  The  history  of  the  Church  since  Christ's 
time ;  and  especially  (9)  The  history  of  the  Papacy 
from  Peter  to  Leo  XIII." 

As  Father  Vaughan  observes  in  conclusion, 
' '  lyong  and  learned  treatises  might  be  written 
upon  each  point  in  succession.  And  while  any 
one  taken  singly  would  be  enough  to  satisfy  an 
unprejudiced  mind,  their  collective  force,  when 
focused,  is  irresistibly  strong  and  cogent." 


The  Angelus"  will  be  exhibited  at  the  gal- 
leries of  the  American  Art  Association  in  New 
York  as  soon  as  it  reaches  the  United  States.  It 
is  not  general^  known  that  Millet's  original 
design  of  the  famous  work  is  in  the  art  collection 
of  Mr.  Walters,  of  Baltimore,  who  also  owns  ' '  The 
Sheepfold,"  a  painting  scarcely  second  to  "The 
Angelus." 

The  nearest  descendants  of  the  ancient  Aztecs 
live  in  Southern  Mexico.  Their  country  has  never 
been  explored.  A  band  of  Jesuit  and  Passionist 
missionaries  who  have  just  set  out  hopes  to  find  a 
city  beyond  the  vast  tract  of  forest.  It  is  supposed 
that  this  unknown  tract  is  peopled  by  twenty- 
five  thousand  inhabitants. 

The  Riforma,  Signor  Crispi's  organ — Signor 
Crispi,  by  the  way,  is  the  most  virulent  hater  of 
the  Papacy  in  Europe, — begs  the  Pope  to  remain 
in  Rome,  lest  His  Holiness  should  compromise 
the  interests  of  the  Church! 


A  writer  in  the  Critic,  reviewing  a  recent  pub- 
lication, presents  a  reflection  that  may  prove 
useful  to  those  who  are  prone  to  carp  at  the  out- 
ward display  made  by  foreign  bishops  and  other 
ecclesiastical  dignitaries.  It  is  well  said  that  one 
holding  so  commanding  a  position  should  rec- 
ognize that  to  his  office  pertains  something  of 
Noblesse  oblige.    The  writer  speaks  of   Victor 


Hugo's  peasant-bishop  of  "  Les  Miserables,"  and 
says:  "F^nelon,  enacting  the  Grand  Seigneur 
in  his  magnificent  halls  at  Cambray,  having  his 
tables  spread  day  by  day  for  stranger  and  trav- 
eller, prince  and  poor  parish  priest — yet  himself 
leading  the  simplest  life,  and  faring  on  the  plain- 
est food, — to  my  view  attained  to  a  more  perfect 
ideal.  One  loves,  one  delights  in  the  portrait  of 
the  poor  cure,  sheltering  the  thief  who  stole  the 
only  treasure  he  had  allowed  himself  to  possess, 
and  turning  his  palace  into  a  hospital  for  the 
aged  and  infirm ;  but  the  Christianity  of  the 
great  Archbishop  embraced  a  wider  range.  We 
in  Europe  cling  to  our  dignitaries  ;  and  if  they, 
as  it  were,  descend  from  their  pedestals,  they 
throw  away  the  golden  opportunities  afforded  by 
rank,  wealth,  and  exalted  position,  and  thus, 
instead  of  reaping  whole  fields  of  grain,  pick  the 
few  ears  that  straggle  along  the  hedge-rows. ' ' 


One  of  the  most  commendable  organizations 
in  Rome  is  known  as  "The  Catholic  Artists'  and 
Workmen's  Benevolent  Association."  Founded 
in  1 87 1  by  a  number  of  artists,  it  was  subse- 
quently extended  so  as  to  embrace  members  from 
all  classes  of  society.  Its  object  is  the  preservation 
of  Catholic  faith  among  the  youth  of  the  city, 
and  to  guard  them  against  the  ever-increasing 
attacks  of  infidelity.  The  society  is  greatly  in 
want  of  means  to  enable  it  to  extend  its  influence, 
and  its  Directors  confidently  hope  that  a  spirit 
of  Christian  charity  will  be  evoked  in  its  behalf 
throughout  the  world.  Mgr.  Jacobini,  Secretary 
of  Propaganda,  has  sent  us  a  number  of  subscrip- 
tion books,  in  which  we  shall  be  pleased  to  enter 
the  names  of  our  readers  who  may  contribute 
twenty-five  cents  or  more  to  this;  worthy  object. 
Please  mark  letters  "personal." 


The  late  Rev.  Edward  Hamill,  of  Shackelford, 
Missouri,  who  was  called  to  his  reward  on  the  4th 
inst.,  was  one  of  those  pioneer  priests  who  have 
done  so  much  and  labored  so  self-sacrificingly 
in  the  vineyard  of  the  Lord  in  these  ' '  Western 
wilds."  He  was  in  the  seventy-fifth  year  of  his 
age  and  the  fortieth  of  his  priesthood.  He  was 
born  in  Ireland,  made  his  studies  in  America,  and 
was  ordained  priest  by  Archbishop  Kenrick,  in 
the  Cathedral  of  St.  Louis,  June  29,  1849.  'I'^ie 
forty  years  of  his  sacerdotal  life  were  spent  in  the 
fulfilment  of  the  arduous  duties  of  a  missionary 
in  Northern  Missouri.  May  he  rest  in  peace! 


The  only  kiijg  who  could  be  induced  to  visit 
the  Paris  Exhibition  was  His  Majesty  of  Greece. 
The  Republican  Parisians  were  rather  undigni- 
fiedly  wild  with  delight  over  this  royal  capture. 


262 


The  Ave  Maria. 


New  Publications. 

The  Holy  Mass.  By  vSt.  Alphonsus  de  Liguori. 
Edited  by  the  Rev.  Eugene  Grimm,  C.  SS.  R.  iNew 
York,  Cincinnati  and  Chicago  :  Benziger  Brothers. 
To  praise  a  work  written  b}^  the  great  Saint  and 
Doctor  of  the  Church,  St.  Alphonsus,  would  be 
manifestlj'  an  impertinence,  at  least  an  act  of 
superfiuit}'.  We  have  only  to  state  that  his  admi- 
able  treatise  on  the  H0I3'  Mass  has  appeared  in 
the  Centenar}'  Edition  of  his  writings,  to  the  mer- 
its of  which  we  have  more  than  once  called  atten- 
tion. The  work  was  especially  written  for  priests 
— it  has  been  called  the  Manual  of  the  Celebrant, — 
however,  the  greater  portion  of  its  contents  may 
be  read  with  profit  by  the  devout  laity.  The  trac- 
tate on  "The  Sacrifice  of  Jesus  Christ,"  with 
which  it  opens,  has  already  appeared  in  Vol.  VI. 
of  the  Centenary  Edition,  intended  for  general 
readers.  The  editor  has  added  to  it  an  account  of 
a  striking  miracle  wrought  at  Naples  in  the  year 
1772,  confirming  the  truth  of  the  Real  Presence. 
A  fitting  conclusion  to  this  volume  is  the  treatise 
on  the  Divine  Ofiice.  Every  page  of  the  admi- 
rable work  reflects  his  burning  zeal  for  the  glorj^ 
of  God — his  desire  that  the  Holy  Sacrifice  should 
everywhere  be  devoutl}^  celebrated  and  the  Divine 
Office  well  said. 

Life  of  St.  Boxavexture,  Cardinal  Bishop  of 
Albano,  and  Superior-General  of  the  Franciscan 
Order.  Translated  \)y  L.  C.  Skey.  Ivondon  :  Burns 
&  Oates.  New  York :  The  Catholic  Publication 
Society  Co. 
•  It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  book  which  contains 
in  an  equal  compass  so  much  to  strengthen  faith 
and  excite  love  as  this.  St.  Francis  of  Assisi, 
having  received  the  last  proof  of  his  seraphic 
vocation,  the  stigmata,  cried  out  for  a  soul  that 
could  understand  him.  Through  the  mercy  of 
God  the  dying  Saint's  cry  was  answered.  His 
prayers  had  brought  back  to  life  John,  the  son 
of  John  Fidenza  and  Mary,  his  wife.  And,  later, 
when  St.  Francis,  suffering  the  pangs  of  an  un- 
quenchable longing  for  God,  saw  the  boy,  he  saw, 
too,  one  who  would  succeed  him, — who  could 
comprehend  his  love  of  Our  Lord.  "O  biiona 
Ventura!''  (O  good  happening!)  Henceforth  the 
boy  was  called  Bonaventure.  The  prophecy  in 
the  mind  of  St.  Francis  when  he  recognized  a  like 
heart  in  Bonaventure  was  fulfilled.  The  govern- 
ment of  the  Franciscans  fell  into  bad  hands, — 
hands  which  were  laid  on  their  most  precious  pos- 
session— poverty.  The  story  of  the  struggles  of 
St.  Antony  of  Padua  and  St.  Bonaventure  against 
the  ruinous  innovations  is  told  with  great  clear- 
ness and  simplicity  in  this  little  work.  Books  of 


this  kind,  when  as  well  written  as  this  is,  tend  to 
broaden  minds  as  well  as  to  elevate  them. 

Germaxy's   Debt  to    Irelaxd.    By  the  Rev. 

William  Staug,  D.  D.    F.  Pustet  &  Co. 

Any  book  from  the  pen  of  F'ather  Stang  is  sure 
to  be  carefully  written.  The  vice  of  the  writers 
who  publish  between  paper  covers  is  too  great  a 
tendency  to  take  loose  statements  without  veri- 
fying them.  F'ather  Stang  not  only  verifies,  but 
prints  his  list  of  reference  books,  so  that  one  feels 
safe  in  his  hands.  In  July  the  Diocese  of  Wiirz- 
burg  celebrated  the  introduction  of  Christianity 
into  Franconia  by  Irish  saints  and  martyrs  ;  and 
German}'  has  never  been  backward  in  acknowl- 
edging her  debt  to  Ireland.  P'ather  Stang,  among 
other  evidences  of  this,  quotes  an  address  of  the 
German  Catholics  to  Daniel  O'Connell.  He  men- 
tions among  the  earliest  of  the  Irish  missionaries 
Fridolin,  Columbanus,  Gall,  Sigisbert,  Trudpert, 
Killian,  Colonat,  Totnan,  Virgilius,  and  Disibod  ; 
and  he  gives  interesting  and  authenticated  bio- 
graphical sketches  of  these  saintly  men,  showing 
that  Ireland  brought  Germany  to  the  Catholic 
Faith,  Germans  in  Germany  have  generously 
acknowledged  their  great  debt  to  the  Irish  race, 
and  brochures  like  this  of  Dr.  Stang  must  have 
the  effect  of  drawing  the  German  and  Irish  races 
closer  together  in  America,  and  of  eliminating 
those  unworthy  prejudices  which  reciprocally 
exist  because  thev  know  each  other  so  little. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii,  3. 

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

Sister  Mary  Stanislaus,  of  the  Convent  of  the  Vis- 
itation, Parkersburg,  W.  Va. ;  and  Sister  Mary  Rosa- 
munda,  O.  S.F.,St.  Agnes'  Hospital,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Mr.  John  B.  Ward,  of  Alameda,  Cal.,  who  passed 
away  on  the  6th  inst.,  fortified  by  the  last  Sacraments. 

Mrs.  John  Byrne,  who  yielded  her  soul  to  God  on 
the  ist  inst.,  at  Hyannisport,  Mass.  She  v\as  one  of 
the  oldest  and  best  known  residents  of  St.  Louis,  Mo., 
where  her  death  is  sincerely  mourned. 

Mrs.  R.  A.  Johnson,  of  Harrisburg,  Pa.,  who  de- 
parted this  life  on  the  same  date,  full  of  years  and 
merits. 

Miss  Mary  Coss,  whose  happy  death  occurred  at 
Waterbury,  Conn.,  on  the  17th  ult. 

Mr.  Matthew  Coveny,  of  Dover,  Ont.,  who  wate 
accidentally  drowned  on  the  25th  ult, 

Mrs.  Mary  Madigan,  of  Schenectady,  N.  Y. ;  Mrs. 
Mary  Roach,  Lafayette,  Ind. ;  and  Mrs.  F.  J.  Curley, 
Holyoke,  Mass. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace  ! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


t63 


Our  Symbol. 

T  N  the  ancient  story, 

J    Once  a  warrior  high 

Saw  a  cross  of  glory- 
Flaming  in  the  sky ; 

While  around  it  reaching,  . 
Writ  by  Hand  divine. 

Ran  the  holy  teaching, 
• '  Conquer  by  this  sign  ! ' ' 

World  and  flesh  and  devil 

Seek  our  deadly  loss, 
We  must  fight  with  evil 

Strengthened  by  the  Cross 
Thus  our  might  renewing 

By  the  symbol  blest, 
'Faint  but  yet  pursuing," 

Christ  shall  give  us  rest. 

Sign  of  our  salvation 

Printed  on  the  brow, 
Ever  fresh  relation 

Of  a  solemn  vow, 
May  we  always  love  thee 

As  our  joy  and  pride, 
Looking  still  above  thee 

To  the  Crucified! 

In  the  time  of  sorrow^ 

Peaceful  we  shall  be. 
Since  from  it  we  borrow 

Lessons,  Lord,  of  Thee  ; 
In  the  days  of  gladness 

We  shall  do  Thy  will, 
For  Thy  Cross  of  sadness 

Keeps  us  humble  still. 

Till  the  cord  is  broken 

Of  our  earthly  part, 
Let  us  wear  the  token 

Near  a  loving  heart ; 
When  the  eye  is  glazing 

With  the  final  strife, 
Still  upon  it  gazing 

Pass  from  death  to  life. 


One  of  the  many  sweet  morals  of  Ossorio 
Bernard,  a  popular  Spanish  author,  is  this: 
"Respect  old  people,  for  it  is  a  dilemma  of 
destiny  to  die  or  to  become  aged." 


The  Jose-Maria. 


BY   E.  I..  DORSKV. 


IX. 


It  seemed  to  Jonas  like  a  criminal  waste  of 
opportunity  and  money,  and  he  was  as  glad 
as  his  aching  bones  would  let  him  be  when 
the  afternoon  brought  up  an  easterly  gale, 
that  blew  so  hard  for  three  days  and  left  the 
sea  so  rough  for  another,  that  work  was  sus- 
pended on  the  wreck;  for  he  thought, ' '  Ef  you 
give  Jack  time,  he'll  git  out  o'  th'  Doldrums* 
an'  sail  free." 

But  he  didn't;  and  before  the  end  of  the 
week  something  happened  that  drove  every- 
thing out  of  the  honest  skipper's  head  except 
his  own  great  trouble  and  the  iniquity  of  that 
machine  a  sailor  hates  worse  than  a  typhoon 
— the  Law. 

He  was  sitting  smoking  his  pipe,  and  won- 
dering if  he  could  venture  to  broach  the  sub- 
ject last  discussed  to  Hendershott;  for  the 
diver  had  not  yet  written  to  the  President  of 
the  Company,  and  the  announcement  in  the 
local  paper  that  Doctor  De  Puy  and  the  Board 
of  Directors  would  be  down  the  next  day  but 
one  made  it  possible  he  might  wait  for  that 
opportunity  to  tender  his  resignation.  He  had 
about  come  to  the  conclusion  he  would  keep 
still,  "Jack  bein'  suthin'  like  a  sperm-whale 
wi'  a  harpoon  in  his  innards  jest  now" — i. «?., 
not  only  suffering  but  "sounding," — when  a 
smooth  voice  at  his  elbow  said : 

' '  Captain  Judkins,  I  believe  ? ' ' 

"An'  suppose  I  be?" 

* '  May  I  have  a  few  moments'  conversation 
with  you,  sir?" 

"Take  a  cheer,"  said  Jonas. 

"Out  here!"  (in  some  surprise.)  "My  busi- 
ness is  very  private,  and  as  it  has  to  do  with 
your  affairs  I  do  not  imagine  you  care  to  dis- 
cuss it  on  the  front  porch  in  the  hearing  of 
your  neighbors. ' ' 

"I  don't  guess  my  affairs  kin  trouble  any 
man  much,  fur  I  don't  tell  'em  'round ;  an*  ez 
fur  my  neighbors,  I  ain't  done  nothin'  I'm 

*  A  part  of  the  ocean  near  the  equator  abounding 
in  squalls,  sudden  calms,  and  light  baffling  winds  that 
keep  a  ship  tossing  within  a  limited  stretch  for  weeks 
at  a  time. 


164 


The  Ave  Maria. 


'shamed  flir  'm  to  hear,"  answered  Jonas, 
gruffly  ;  for  he  had  taken  an  instantaneous  and 
violent  dislike  to  the  slender,  supple  youth 
who  stood  before  him,  with  his  beady  black 
eyes  half  closed,  a  false  ring  in  his  careful 
voice,  and  a  disagreeable  half  smile  on  his 
thick  lips. 

"  'The  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,'  " 
he  quoted  flippantly;  "and  I'm  not  disputing 
it,  but  I  think  you'll  be  sorry  all  the  same 
when  I'm  through  that  you  didn't  come  in." 

"As  fur  thet,"  said  Jonas,  "I  can't  say 
tell  I  hear  the  sart  o'  yarn  you're  a-goin'  to 
spin." 

Just  then  Idella  appeared  at  the  doorway, 
and,  after  looking  fixedly  at  the  young  man 
for  a  few  minutes,  she  said,  quite  as  distinctly 
as  if  she  had  intended  to  speak  aloud  : 

"He's  a  snake.  I'll  tell  Dick  to  git  the 
meat  axe  an'  chop  him  in  two. ' ' 

"Come  into  the  house,"  said  Jonas,  ab- 
ruptly; "my  sister  ain't  well,  an'  you  fret  her  ' ' 

"Ain't  well!"  muttered  his  visitor,  skip- 
ping in  ahead  of  him  with  the  agility  of  a 
flea.  "I  should  smile!  She's  as  crazy  as  a 
June  bug." 

About  an  hour  later  Dick  came  in  and  heard 
high  words  behind  the  still  closed  door ;  then 
it  was  flung  open,  and  Jonas  was  standing 
erect,  his  face  red  with  anger,  his  voice  harsh. 

"I  don't,  don't  I?  What  you  a-talkin'  about? 
Why,  I  bought  an'  paid  fur  ev'y  foot  o'  it,  an' 
fur  ev'y  beam  an'  j'ist  in  it,  wi'  gold  an'  silver 
dollars  thet  was  tried  out  o'  the  whales  we 
caught  in  the  South  Seas  the  las'  four  cruises 
of  t\i^Josiah  Wilkins,  an'  thet  we  squeezed  out 
o'  the  tea  tradin'  we  done  in  China  waters! 
Title  ain't  good?  Why,  man  alive!  I've  got 
my  papers  slick  ez  a  whistle,  ef  thet's  what 
you're  a-jawin'  'bout ;  an'  they're  recorded  an' 
signed,  sealed  an'  delivered  this  ten  years." 

"That  may  all  be,"  said  the  oily  youth; 
**but  the  title  is  not  good,  and  my  clients  de- 
mand possession.  The  house  of  course,"  he 
added,  in  an  off-hand  way,  "will  go  with  the 
land,  as  compensation  for  the  unauthorized 
occupation  of  it  through  all  these  years." 

"What?"  growled  Jonas.  "Turn  me  off 
my  own  land,  an'  take  the  house  over  my 
head?  By  gum,  you  won't!  nor  nobody  else 
neither!" 

"It  isn't  your  land!" 


"It  is ! "  shouted  Jonas,  advancing. 

"Captain  Judkins,  if  you  lay  one  of  your 
fingers  on  me  I'll  have  you  up  for  assault  and 
battery! "  (he  had  got  behind  a  table.)  "You 
are  helpless  in  this  matter;  you  can't  raise 
hand  or  foot.  The  law  is  on  our  side.  But  I 
tell  you  what  I  will  do.  If  you  will  give  me 
your  note  of  hand  drawn  at  thirty  days  in 
favor  of  my  clients  for  $3,000  (three  thou- 
sand) cash,  they'll  give  up  their  claim.  If  you 
can't  or  won't,  they'll  demand  possession  in 
sixty  days.  Come,  what  do  you  say?  /  call 
that  a  liberal  offer,  and  one  that  lets  you  down 
mighty  easy ;  for  my  expenses  and  commis- 
sion— for  I'll  be  your  lawyer  too  for  a  consid- 
eration— will  be  all  you  need  pay.  What  did 
you  say  ? ' ' 

"Git!"  said  Jonas.  "An' ef  you  ever  come 
within  range  o'  my  fists  agin,  I'll  riddle  you 
like  a  colander!" 

"  Oh,  threats! "  said  the  little  man.  "They 
break  no  bones,  but  you  have  to  pay  dear  for 
them.  Thank  Heaven,  there  is  a  law  protect- 
ing honest  men!" 

"It  won't  help  you  none  then!"  said 
Jonas. 

"Oh,  insults!  Better  still.  If  you  are  not 
plucked  to  the  last  feather,  my  friend,  it  cer- 
tainly shall  not  be  the  fault  of  yours  trul}^" 
And  with  a  sweeping  bow  he  lefl:  the  room. 

'  *  Did  you  hear  that  land  shark,  Dick  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  sir.  What's  he  drivin'  at?" 

"I  dunno.  He  come  here  tellin'  me  I  don't 
own  the  land  I  bought,  an'  don't  own  the 
house  I  built;  an'  he  showed  me  a  lot  o'  papers, 
an'  read  out  of  'em  an'  talked  over  'em  tell  my 
head  buzzed  like  a  log-reel  when  the  ship's 
a-makin'  ten  knots  an  hour.  An'  he  said  his 
clients  'ud  take  $3,000  or  the  house, — ez  ef 
dollars  growed  on  trees,  an'  had  on'y  to  be 
shook  down,  or  ez  ef  I  was  a-givin'  away 
houses!  He's  a  fool — no  he  ain't,  he's  a  knave, 
an'  thinks  I'm  the  fool!  But  I  ain't;  so  I'm 
goin'  over  to  Rehoboth  on  the  evenin'  train, 
an'  ask  Judge  Comegys  about  it.  Then  ef  he 
says  I'm  right — an'  I  know  he's  a-goin'  to, — 
I'll  give  that  rascal  a  sockdolager  that'll  last 
him  tell  th'  undertaker  gits  his  measure." 

But,  alas !  Judge  Comegys  did  not  say  he  was 
right;  there  was  a  flaw  in  the  title, — a  small 
matter  that  could  easily  have  been  adjusted 
by  an  honest  or  a  kindly  disposed  person,  but 


The  Ave  Maria, 


365 


^zV/ offer  an  opening  for  the  lawsuit  Mr.  Dixson 
insisted  on  in  default  of  the  $3,000  he  de- 
manded. And  Mr.  Burton  and  Mr.  Rodney,  the 
two  best  lawyers  in  the  town,  told  him  rather 
than  drag  through  a  suit  he  had  better  give  up 
the  property  quietly;  he  could  move  tlie  house 
off,  but  that  had  better  be  thrown  in ;  that 
of  course  Dixson  had  no  right  to  his  expenses 
from  him,  nor  a  commission,  nor  would  they 
permit  him  to  be  bothered  on  the  charge  of 
"threatening  and  insulting  language,"  but 
that  while  much  the  fellow  said  was  "Bun- 
comb"  (empty  boasting),  they  considered 
f  3,000  a  really  fair  estimate  of  the  value  of 
the  property;  that  it  was  a  hard  case,  but 
Dixson  had  him  "hip  and  thigh"  ;  and  then 
each  of  them  offered  his  services  free  of  cost, 
and  the  whole  town  gave  a  warm,  vehement 
sympathy  that  was  balm  to  the  angry,  sore 
old  heart. 

At  the  close  of  the  third  day  of  advising 
and  suffering  Jonas  stood  at  the  mantelpiece, 
gloomily  staring  into  the  empty  fireplace; 
his  pipe  lay  neglected,  his  tobacco  plug  un- 
tquched.  Dick  sat  in  the  shadow  of  the  room, 
weighed  down  by  his  own  helplessness  and 
his  deep  sympathy.  Mary  Ginevra  and  Gin- 
evra  Mary  were  clearing  away  the  neglected 
supper,  and  Idella  swung  contentedly  in  a 
rocking-chair  singing  to  herself,  unconscious 
of  the  trouble  round  her ;  but  she  sang  again 
and  again  with  a  sweet,  plaintive  insistence, 
"Wait  till  the  clouds  roll, by." 

Suddenly  Jonas  started  around,  crying  an- 
grily, ' '  Who  struck  me  ? ' ' 

Then  he  reeled  and  fell,  his  left  side  blasted 
with  paralysis. 

*  *  Run  for  Doctor  Burton,  Ginnie ! ' '  shouted 
Dick,  as  he  caught  his  uncle  in  his  arms  and 
eased  him  down;  and  Mollie,  not  waiting  for 
instructions,  got  a  pillow  and  tugged  at  his 
sea-boots  with  such  a  good- will  that  they 
came  off  (upsetting  her  each  time  by  the 
suddenness  of  it,  by  the  way),  and  set  to  work 
rubbing  his  feet,  as  she  had  once  seen  Dick 
rub  a  sailor-man  who  was  picked  up  half 
drowned  in  the  Bay. 

Doctor  Burton  gave  them  no  hope  of  his 
recovery  from  the  stroke ;  he  said  he  might 
live  many  years  in  moderate  comfort,  but 
would  be  of  course  a  helpless  cripple ;  and  he 
left  them  with  a  promise  to  come  in  again. 


and  the  assurance  that  as  long  as  their  trouble 
lasted  he  would  do  his  best  to  lighten  it. 

This  last  "went  without  saying;"  for 
whenever  death  or  danger  or  sorrow  comes 
into  that  end  of  Delaware,  Hiram  Burton  is  one 
of  the  first  to  step  out  and  lead  the  rescue, — 
whether  it  is  to  take  an  oar  and  pull  through 
a  raging  sea  to  a  wreck,  or  to  take  his  life  in 
his  hand  and  visit  the  ships  that  come  into 
port  reeking  with  yellow  fever,  or  to  spend 
his  brain  keeping  up  with  the  advance  of  his 
profession  for  the  sake  of  his  patients,  gentle 
and  simple,  or  to  empty  his  purse  relieving 
distress.  There  he  stands,  gigantic  of  figure 
and  big  of  heart,— a  worthy  kinsman  of  the 
Caesar  Rodney  whose  ride  was  as  famous  and 
as  vital  in  its  results  as  that  of  Paul  Revere. 

And  as  Jonas  lay  breathing  slowly  and 
heavily  the  evening  train  rolled  in,  bearing 
Doctor  De  Puy  and  the  Directors  of  the  Treai:- 
ure-Saving  Company,  on  whom  Hendershott 
was  waiting  in  ignorance  of  his  friend's  ill- 
ness; and  the  black  shadow  lay  over  the 
house,  and  the  future  held  no  outlook  for  the 
anxious  boy,  whose  brain  ran  riot  with  des- 
perate plans  and  fruitless  contriving  for  and 
against  the  evil  days  that  were  rushing  so 
swiftly  on  the  helpless  family,  whose  protector 
he  had  once  more  become. 

The  night  wore  on,  but  still  the  burning 
young  eyes  saw  no  rift.  Toward  daybreak  the 
walls  seemed  to  melt  away,  the  sea  stretched 
before  him,  the  Dune  behind  him ;  the  swell- 
ing noise  of  the  breakers  raved  about  him, 
undertoned  by  the  deep  moaning  of  the  shat- 
tered waves  as  they  rushed  back  to  begin  again 
their  charge  on  the  sands.  Once  more  the  old 
childish  nightmare  oppressed  him — he  was 
the  light-house  tower,  and  the  sand-breakers 
curved  about  him,  and  the  writhing  coils  of 
the  Dune  were  tightening  and  tightening  on 
him.  His  breath  came  in  deep  gasps;  escape 
seemed  impossible.  Then  a  sweet  face  floated 
before  him — it  was  the  "Sand-Pipers'  "  Lady, 
and  her  eyes  were  fixed  seaward.  Following 
their  gaze  he  saw  a  ship  struggling  in  from 
the  open ;  her  foretopmast  snapped,  its  sails 
bursting  away  like  puffs  of  white  smoke,  while 
the  loosened  yards  hammered  ominously  at 
the  stump,  and  the  stays  jerked  firantically. 
Lashed  in  the  shrouds  was  a  man  whose  hair 
and  beard  streamed  away  in  the  storm.  Under 


1 66 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  bows  of  the  flying  wreck  the  sea  churned 
and  frothed,  and  the  shoals  were  close  at  hand. 

"Cut  loose,  daddy,  and  swhn  for  it!"  he 
cried,  desperately;  for  it  was  his  father's  face, 
with  the  shrewd  kind  eyes,  and  the  long  beard 
in  which  he  had  tangled  his  baby  fingers  "to 
drive  big  horse"  so  often. 

Then  he  woke,  and  the  quiet  Sunday  morn- 
ing was  rising  out  of  the  sea,  with  the  bene- 
diction of  God  for  a  tired  world  that  "rested 
on  the  seventh  day  "  in  its  calm. 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


Johnnie's  Travels. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "TYBORNE." 


(Conclusion.) 
IX. 

At  last  Johnnie  heard  a  door  open,  the 
sound  of  voices  and  laughter  and  farewells, 
and  then  the  door  closed  again.  Two  persons 
were  coming  down  the  staircase.  He  peeped 
out.  "Oh,  it  is  the  good  old  lady  and  gentle- 
man ! "  So  saying  Johnnie  burst  out  on  them. 

"Oh,  good  sir,  if  you  please  I"  cried  he. 

The  old  gentleman  started. 

"Oh,  the  little  boy  with  the  mice!"  (He 
didn't  look  pleased.)  "So  you  are  not  con- 
tented with  what  you  had?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  sir!  I  ask  nothing.  I  only  want  to 
give  you  back  this."  And  he  displayed  the 
blue  velvet  purse  and  the  box  of  chocolate. 

"Little  Jack's  purse,"  cried  grandmamma, 
*'that  I  gave  him  to-day!" 

*'  Miserable  child! ' '  said  grandpapa,  sternly; 
"how  did  you  come  by  these  things?" 

"Oh!"  sobbed  Johnnie.  "I  didn't  steal 
them,  nor  pick  them  up.  Master  Jack  would 
give  them  to  me,  because  he  vSaid  it  was  my 
feast-day." 

Then  Johnnie  told  his  story,  winding  up 
with,  "Indeed,  sir,  I  could  not  think  of  keep- 
ing these  gifts;  give  them  back  to  him  to- 
morrow, please,  and  tell  his  father  and  mother 
that  he  is  an  angel." 

The  old  gentleman  and  lady  pressed  each 
other's  hand.  Their  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 
Then  grandpapa  said : 

'  *  You  are  a  good,  honest  boy.  Keep  them, ' ' 
he  continued;   "not  for  the  world  would  I 


hinder  my  dear  grandson's  act  of  charity.  No : 
I  will  not  give  him  back  either  his  purse  or 
his  chocolate,  and  I  will  say  nothing  to  him 
about  them.  Let  this  first  charitable  act  be 
a  secret  between  him  and  his  God."  Then, 
glancing  upward,  he  went  on :  "  O  vay  God!  I 
thank  Thee.  Grant  that  he  may  daily  love  the 
poor  more  and  more ! ' ' 

"My  boy,"  said  the  old  lady,  "will  you 
make  me  a  present?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  ma'am  !  with  all  my  heart." 

"Very  well,  empty  the  purse  and  keep  the 
money,  but  give  me  this  little  purse ;  I  shall 
treasure  it  in  memory  of  my  dear  grandson's 
good  act  to-night.  Here  is  a  little  box  which 
will  hold  the  money."  And  when  Johnnie 
hastened  to  comply,  she  said:  "Thank  you, 
my  child ;  you  have  made  us  very  happy.  Be 
good  and  honest  all  your  life." 

Then  the  old  lad}^  and  gentleman  went  down 
the  stairs,  and  Johnnie  crept  after  them,  and 
escaped  the  porter's  wrath.  He  ran  nearly  all 
the  way  home ;  but  the  Tourlas  were  gone  to 
bed,  so  he  had  no  one  to  talk  to  but  his  mice. 

Next  morning  Johnnie  burst  in  on  his 
friends,  and  poured  his  treasures  on  the  table. 

Sophie  began  to  count :  "Five  francs,"  said 
she,  "and  a  lot  of  chocolate.  What  is  in  this 
other  little  box  ?  Oh,  Johnnie!  there  is  gold — 
one,  ten  francs  and  two  five-franc  gold  pieces. 
Fancy,  you  have  in  all  twenty-five  francs! " 

Then  the  whole  story  was  poured  out. 

"And  now  I  must  distribute,"  said  Johnnie. 
* '  Please,  Madame  Tourla,  have  the  chocolate 
box,  it  is  very  pretty ;  and,  Mr.  Tourla,  I  want 
you  to  have  the  other  for  your  pens;  and 
Sophie  and  I  will  divide  the  chocolate,  and 
the  twent3^-five  francs  I  will  send  to  my 
mother." 

And  Johnnie  danced  about  the  room  as 
happy, — ay,  happier  than  a  prince  ;  for  none 
are  so  happy  as  good,  unselfish  children.  And 
then  he  sat  down  to  write  with  his  own  hand 
to  his  mother. 

About  a  week  afterward  a  letter  came  for 
Johnnie  from  his  own  dear  mother.  She  told 
him  all  his  little  sisters  had  been  ill,  and  said 
she  did  not  know  what  she  would  have  done 
without  the  money  he  had  sent  her ;  for  with 
her  sick  children  she  could  not  work,  and 
Johnnie's  money  had,  she  declared,  saved  their 
lives. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


167 


They  were  all  well  now,  and  Farmer  Green 
had  taken  Louise  to  help  his  wife,  who  was 
ailing.  Then  an  aunt  of  Johnnie's,  who  had 
lately  gone  to  live  at  Bagneres-de-Bigorre, 
had  invited  her  to  come  over  for  the  bathing 
season  to  help  her  in  her  work,  for  she  was  a 
dressmaker  and  had  too  much  to  do.  "And 
here  I  am, ' '  wrote  his  mother,  *  *  with  Angela, 
and  Mary  and  Caroline,  and  I  am  earning  ever 
so  much.  So,  my  dear  boy,  don't  send  me  any 
more  money,  because  we  can  get  on  verj^  well 
now,  and  I  want  you  to  think  about  yourself 
You  can't  spend  all  your  life  showing  mice. 
God  forbid!  Speak  to  those  kind,  good  friends 
of  yours  about  this.  May  God  bless  and  re- 
ward them  for  their  goodness !  I  ask  Him  to 
do  so  many  times  in  the  day." 

When  this  letter  was  read  to  Mr.  Tourla 
he  said : 

"This  is  famous.  I  have  thought  often  of 
the  same  thing,  that  you  ought  to  be  learn- 
ing a  trade.  I  really  think  my  master  would 
take  you  as  an  apprentice.  Would  you  like 
^  be  a  locksmith  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Johnnie;  "I  would  like  to  be 
whatever  you  are." 

"And,"  said  Mrs. Tourla,  "you  could  still 
show  your  mice  in  the  evenings;  and,  Joseph, ' ' 
added  she,  speaking  to  her  husband,  "get  his 
master  to  let  him  have  Thursday  afternoons 
free;  because  I  want  him  to  attend  the  cate- 
chism classes  next  winter,  so  as  to  be  able 
to  make  his  First  Communion  in  May  with 
Sophie."   - 

"I  am  sure  he  will  do  that,"  said  her  hus- 
band; "he  is  a  good  Catholic.  I'll  take  you 
with  me  to-morrow,  Johnnie,  and  we  shall  see 
what  he  says." 

A  few  days  afterward  Johnnie  was  installed 
in  the  workshop,  and  began  to  learn  his  trade ; 
and  it  would  have  been  hard  to  recognize  in 
the  tidy,  bright-faced  lad,  with  his  quick  step 
and  alert  manner,  the  miserable  little  beggar 
with  his  cage  of  mice  that  had  crept  into 
Paris  only  one  year  before. 

The  winter  soon  passed  away.  Every  week, 
on  Sundays  and  Thursdays,  the  children  pre- 
paring for  First  Communion  had  attended  the 
catechism  classes,  and  took  pains  to  under- 
stand and  remember  what  they  were  taught. 
So  when  the  beautiful  month  of  May  came 
found  they  were  found  ready  for  the  great 


event.  Then  during  three  days  they  attended 
the  instructions  of  the  retreat.  Very  carefully 
did  both  make  their  confession  on  the  pre- 
ceding day,  and  on  their  return  home  both 
knelt  before  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tourla  to  beg  par- 
don for  their  faults,  and  then  Mrs.  Tourla 
gave  Johnnie  a  letter  from  his  mother;  for 
this  good  friend  had  taken  pains  to  write  and 
tell  her  the  exact  day  and  hour  when  her 
darling  would  for  the  first  time  receive  his 
God. 

What  a  beautiful  sight  was  that  memorable 
First  Communion!  Sophie  kneeling  among 
the  girls,  all  dressed  in  white  and  covered 
with  a  veil,  and  the  boys  with  their  broad 
white  ribbon  on  their  arms.  No  distinction 
between  poor  and  rich :  the  son  of  the  noble 
and  of  the  beggar  side  by  side. 

Then  the  lovely  music  and  the  fetvent  words 
of  the  priest,  and  at  last  the  solemn  silence  of 
the  awful  Elevation.  "Surely  this  is  the  gate 
of  heaven."  And  at  last  came  the  longed-for 
moment.  The  boys  went  up  first  to  the  altar, 
and  by  accident,  Johnnie  being  the  last  of  the 
boys  and  Sophie  first  of  the  girls,  they  knelt 
side  by  side  to  receive  their  God. 

Two  years  fled  by,  and  Johnnie  had  become 
a  skilful  workman ;  Sophie  also  an  excellent 
dressmaker,  and  both  had  grown  in  health 
and  strength.  Time  had  not  dealt  so  kindly 
with  their  companions,  of  whom  we  must  give 
the  first  place  to  the  mice.  They  became  too 
old  for  their  tricks,  and  one  after  the  other  had 
peacefully  died. 

Good  Mrs.  Tourla  had  suffered  ver}-  much 
from  bronchitis,  and  Mr.  Tourla  from  rheu- 
matism. Both  had  often  been  ill  together  for 
weeks,  and  Johnnie  and  Sophie  took  turns  to 
sit  up  with  them.  They  were  getting  better 
this  spring,  but  Mr.  Tourla  was  not  yet  able 
to  go  to  work. 

One  day  Johnnie  suddenly  disappeared.  It 
was  the  day  his  apprenticeship  was  finished. 
He  had  received  a  letter  from  his  mother,  and 
he  was  off. 

Sophie  was  displeased ;  she  could  not  bear 
secrets.  She  knew  very  well  that  Johnnie  had 
got  some  grand  scheme  in  his  head,  but  she 
would  like  to  have  been  consulted.  Her  par- 
ents also  thought  it  very  strange  behavior. 
At   last,   however,   all    was   explained.    One 


1 68 


The  Ave  Maria. 


evening  Johnnie  burst  in  upon  tlieni  as  un- 
expectedly as  he  had  disappeared. 

"  Where /z^z^^  5'ou  been?"  they  exclaimed, 
all  in  one  voice. 

Johnnie  was  breathless.  At  last  he  gasped 
out,  "To  Bagneres-de-Bigorre." 

And  then  he  told  his  story. 

At  Bigorre  had  dwelt  for  many  years  a 
locksmith.  He  rented  his  shop  from  Farmer 
Green,  and  the  letter  Johnnie  had  received  told 
him  this  old  locksmith  was  dead  and  the  shop 
to  let.  Hardly  had  he  read  the  letter  than  he 
saw  a  placard  on  the  walls :  ' '  Excursion  trains 
to  Bordeaux.  Tickets  at  a  reduction." 

Off  went  Johnnie.  He  wanted  to  see  how 
matters  lay  first  of  all,  and  now  he  came  back 
with  an  offer  to  Mr.  Tourla. 

Farmer  Green  would  rent  him  the  place,  and 
would  purchase  the  stock  and  good-will  of  the 
late  occupant,  if  Mr.  Tourla  would  pay  the 
price  back  in  instalments.  The  conditions  were 
easy,  and  the  climate  of  Bigorre  well  suited  for 
a  delicate  chest ;  the  baths  most  efficacious  for 
rheumatic  cases. 

The  Tourlas  did  not  hesitate  long.  The 
sale  of  their  furniture  would  provide  for  the 
expenses  of  the  journey  and  leave  a  small 
sum  in  hand.  The  rooms  above  the  shop  were 
furnished,  and  Farmer  Green  had  bought  the 
furniture. 

A  week  after  Johnnie's  return  the  party  set 
out.  I<et  us  follow  them  some  two  months 
afterward. 

The  shop  is  in  full  activity.  Mr.  Tourla 
presiding,  and  Johnnie  working  with  all  his 
heart.  Orders  are  executed  with  far  more 
dispatch  and  diligence  than  in  old  days,  and 
the  shop  is  becoming  popular. 

And  what  a  difference  in  the  household! 
Three  good-sized  rooms  and  a  pretty  garden 
full  of  roses,  and  a  little  room  for  Johnnie.  A 
strong  friendship  has  sprung  up  between  the 
Tourlas  and  the  Lcgras,  the  family  of  Johnnie. 
The  story  of  his  travels  has  become  known 
in  the  town,  and  brought  many  new  friends 
around  them. 

And  so  we  take  leave  of  Johnnie,  feeling 
sure  the  good,  unselfish  boy  will  prove  a 
brave,  self-denying  man,  and  in  his  future 
show  forth  the  virtues  displayed  in  "Johnnie's 
Travels." 


Chopin's  Power  with  the  Piano. 


Chopin  even  when  a  mere  child  could  do 
almost  anything  he  liked  with  the  piano,  and 
all  his  life,  when  in  happy  moods,  he  was  fond 
of  weaving  fanciful  fair>^  tales  and  romances 
in  music  that  the  listeners  were  able  to  follow 
and  to  understand  by  the  mere  tones  alone. 
One  evening  his  father  was  away,  and  there 
arose  a  tremendous  hubbub  among  the  pupils, 
which  Barcinski,  the  assistant- master,  was 
quite  powerless  to  quell.  But  fortunately  little 
Frederic  came  in  in  the  midst  of  it.  Seeing 
how  things  were,  he  good-naturedly  sat  down 
to  the  piano,  and,  calling  the  other  boys  round 
him,  promised,  if  they  kept  quite  still,  to  tell 
them  a  new  and  most  thrilling  story  on  the 
piano.  This  at  once  quieted  them;  Frederic 
extinguished  all  the  lights  (he  was  all  his  life 
fond  of  playing  in  the  dark),  and  then  he  sat 
down  to  the  piano  and  began  his  story. 

He  described  robbers  coming  to  a  house, 
putting  ladders  to  the  windows,  and  then, 
frightened  by  a  noise,  rushing  away  into  the 
woods.  They  go  on  and  on,  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  wild  recesses  of  the  forest,  and  then 
they  lie  down  under  the  trees,  and  soon  fall  off 
to  sleep.  He  went  on,  playing  more  and  more 
softly,  until  he  found  that  the  sleep  was  not 
only  in  his  story,  but  had  overcome  all  his 
listeners.  Then  he  crept  out  noiselessly  to 
tell  his  mother  and  sisters  what  had  happened, 
and  returned  with  them  to  the  room  with 
a  light.  Every  one  of  the  boys  was  fast 
asleep.  Frederic  sat  down  to  the  piano,  struck 
some  noisy  chords;  the  enchantment  was 
over,  and  all  the  sleepers  were  rubbing  their 
eyes,  and  wondering  what  was  the  matter! 


The  Inventor  of  Spectacles. 


In  Florence,  in  a  little  street,  or  chiassuolo,  as 
it  is  called,  between  the  Via  Cerretani  and  the 
Medicean  chapel,  a  memorial  tablet  has  been 
inserted  in  the  fa9ade  of  one  of  the  houses, 
with  an  inscription  in  Italian,  of  which  the 
following  is  a  translation:  "To  honor  the 
memory  of  Salvino  degli  Armati,  inventor  of 
spectacles  in  the  thirteenth  century,  the  Guild 
of  Artisans,  on  the  spot  once  occupied  by  the 
houses  of  the  Armati,  placed  this  tablet." 


"XHE 


Vol..  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  AUGUST  24,  1889. 


No.  8. 


[Published  every  Saturday. 

Dreams. 

BY  JOHN   PURCHAS. 


fl 


S  childhood  wanes  our  dreams  become  less  fair,  { 
Heaven  has  gone  farther  off— the  child  is  dead : 
When  manhood  dawns  upon  us  it  doth  scare 
^  God's  Mother  from  her  watch  beside  our  bed ; 
For  I  believe  that  o'er  an  infant's  sleep 
Our  Lady  doth  a  gentle  vigil  keep. 

II. 
Thus  a  child's  slumber  is  a  holy  thing ; 

It  deems  its  mother's  kiss  upon  its  brow 
Is  the  soft  glancing  of  an  angel's  wing. 

Ah!  I  have  no  such  graceful  fancies  now ; 
Therefore  I  hold,  hearing  of  one  who  can 
Dream  like  a  little  child,  Heaven  loves  that  man. 


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

le  mura  (outside  the  walls),  San  Lorenzo  in 
lyucina,  San  Lorenzo  in  Panisperna,  and  San 
Lorenzo  in  Damns.  The  first  named  has  a 
claim  to  the  interest  of  Catholics  the  world 
over,  for  within  its  walls  is  the  last  resting- 
place  of  our  late  Holy  Father,  Pope  Pius  IX. 


The  Memory  of  St.  Lawrence  in  Italy. 


HERE  is  an  Italian  proverb  to  the 
effect  that  on  the  day  of  St.  Anthony 
(January  17)  the  co'd  is  greatest, 
and  on  the  Feast  of  St.  Lawrence  the  heat 
is  greatest;  but  it  ends  with  the  comforting 
assurance  that  neither  the  one  nor  the  other 
is  of  long  duration: — 

"  Sant'  Antonio  della  gran  freddura ; 
San  Lorenzo  della  gran  caldura ; 
L'uno  e  I'altro  poco  dura." 

In  the  Eternal  City  there  are  four  churches 
dedicated  to  the  youthful  deacon,  who  so 
heroically  suffered  martyrdom  under  the  Em- 
peror Valerian,  August  10,  258.  The  Romans 
have  a  great  devotion  to  him.  An}^  one  of 
these  churches  would  give  renown  to  the  city 
that  possessed  it.  They  are  :  San  Lorenzo  fuori 


It  is  one  of  the  seven  great  Basilicas  of  Rome. 

All  around  San  Lorenzo  extends  the  City 
of  the  Dead.  Most  foreign  cemeteries  are 
forlorn  places  in  comparison  with  our  Amer- 
ican graveyards.  Still,  there  is  much  pathos 
about  the  part  belonging  to  the  poor.  The 
rude  iron  crosses  with  lamps  swinging  before 
them,  the  children's  graves  strewn  with  their 
broken  toys;  but  no  flowers  anywhere,  only 
wreaths  of  white  and  black  glass  beads,  en- 
closing the  photograph  of  the  deceased. 

In  the  open  space  in  front  of  the  church  is 
a  granite  column  surmounted  by  a  bronze 
statue  of  St.  Lawrence.  The  portico  of  the 
Basilica  rests  upon  six  beautiful  Ionic  col- 
umns, four  of  them  spiral,  and  above  is  a 
mosaic  that  glistens  like  molten  gold  in  the 
sunlight.  The  Spotless  Lamb  is  the  chief 
representation,  with  figures  of  St.  Lawrence, 
Honorius  III.,  and  other  saints  and  martyrs, 
grouped  on  either  side. 

The  walls  of  the  portico  are  covered  with 
ancient,  queer  looking  frescoes — scenes  fi-om 
the  lives  of  St.  Lawrence  and  St.  Stephen,  who 
are  both  buried  within.  Four  grand  sarcoph- 
agi, covered  with  sculptures  in  high  relief, 
may  be  seen  inside  the  portico;  one  of  them 
represents  a  vintage  scene,  with  little  cherubs 
gathering  grapes,  and  contains  the  remains 
of  Pope  Damasus  II.,  who  died  in  1048.  On 
either  side  of  the  main  entrance  is  a  marble 
lion,  the  symbol  that  sacred  art  has  given  to 


170 


The  Ave  Maria. 


St.  Lawrence,  and  with  which  the  "old  mas- 
ters" loved  to  paint  him,  as  well  as  with  his 
gridiron.  In  very  old  paintings  I  have  seen 
this  emblem  of  his  martyrdom  embroidered 
on  his  garments. 

Within  the  doorway  one  is  greeted  by  a 
long  vista  of  Ionic  pillars,  separating  the  nave 
on  either  side.  The  pavement  is  a  fine  speci- 
men of  the  far-famed  stone  mosaic  called  opus 
Alexand7'in7im,  the  work  of  the  tenth  century. 
The  ceiling  is  bright  with  patterns  in  rich 
colors  highly  gilded ;  beneath  extends  a  row 
of  saints,  and  beneath  these  again  scenes  from 
their  lives,  all  restorations,  as  is  plain  from 
their  bright  coloring.  The  two  ambons  (pul- 
pits) in  the  centre  of  the  nave  are  of  magnifi- 
cent white  marble,  richly  inlaid  with  porphyry 
and  serpentine.  Near  one  of  them  is  a  spiral 
Easter  candelabrum,  glistening  with  inlaid 
colored  marbles.  They  each  date  from  the 
twelfth  century. 

The  end  of  the  nave  is  spanned  by  an  arch 
covered  with  frescoes  (578-590),  representing 
the  Saviour  seated  upon  a  globe.  On  the 
right,  St.  Peter,  St.  Lawrence,  and  St.  Pelagius; 
to  the  left,  St.  Paul,  St.  Stephen,  and  St.  Hip- 
polytus.  In  the  background  the  mystic  cities 
— Bethlehem  and  Jerusalem.  Passing  beneath 
it  one  enters  the  first  Basilica  built  in  572  by 
Pope  Pelagius.  Twelve  beautiful  marble  pil- 
lars with  capitals  of  acanthus  leaves  and  two 
of  war  trophies,  support  a  cornice  composed 
of  fragments  of  carved  marble.  Before  a  screen 
inlaid  with  squares  of  porphyry  and  serpen- 
tine stands  an  ancient  episcopal  chair  of  mar- 
ble richly  inlaid.  The  canopy  above  the  high 
altar  is  supported  by  four  porphyry  columns, 
where  repose  the  bones  of  St.  Lawrence,  and  St 
Stephen — "the  captain  of  the  martyr  host." 

The  Church  of  San  Lorenzo  in  Lucina  is 
in  the  very  heart  of  Rome,  just  out  of  the 
Corso ;  and  hundreds  of  people  visit  it  to  gaze 
upon  the  picture  over  the  high  altar  —the 
famous  "Crucifixion"  of  Guido  Reni.  To  me 
it  is  the  grandest  conception  of  that  saddest 
of  all  scenes  that  I  have  ever  beheld.  All  is 
darkness.  A  brown  land.scape  in  the  distance ; 
a  black  sky.  Nothing  but  the  Cross  with  the 
suffering  Saviour  in  the  foregTound :  no  kneel- 
ing figures  at  the  foot,  no  color  anywhere,  but 
awful  loneliness  and  divine  compassion  in  the 
noble  face. 


Who  that  has  visited  Florence  ''Firenze 
la  bella''  (the  beautiful),  as  the  Florentines 
proudly  call  her,  can  forget  the  Church  of 
San  Lorenzo  in  the  borgo  of  the  same  name, 
with  its  wonderful  "Tomb  of  the  Medici"? 
The  fagade  of  this  most  interesting  church  has 
never  been  finished,  or,  more  properly,  was 
never  begun.  It  has  a  peculiar  appearance;  but 
there  is  nothing  unfinished  about  the  interior. 
On  wooden  panels  of  the  ceiling  one  notices 
the  coat  of  arms  of  the  Medici,  the  balls  being 
bright  scarlet.  In  the  nave  are  two  exquisitel}'- 
carved  bronze  pulpits,  the  work  of  Donatello. 
They  rest  upon  four  marble  pillars,  and  the 
bass-reliefs  are  scenes  from  the  life  of  Christ. 
Savonarola  preached  some  of  his  most  thrilling 
sermons  from  these  pulpits;  they  are  placed 
facing  each  other,  and  were  used  for  dispu- 
tations. In  the  sacristy  a  table-like  piece  of 
granite,  with  the  five  balls  inlaid,  marks  the 
tomb  of  one  of  the  Medici.  In  a  small  room  off 
this  apartment  may  be  seen  a  beautiful  white 
marble  basin  carved  by  Donatello. 

The  rose- grown  cloisters  are  as  lovely  as 
peaceful.  Until  the  suppression  of  the  monks 
all  the  stray  catsof  Plorence  congregated  there 
to  be  fed,  at  precisely  twelve  o'clock,  daily. 
The  gloom  of  the  church  itself  is  dispelled  by 
the  soft  colors  of  the  altar  pictures,  and  the 
beauty  of  the  painted  glass  windows.  In  a 
chapel  of  the  left  transept  is  an  "Annuncia- 
tion of  the  Virgin,"  by  Fra  Filippo  Lippi 
(1406-1469).  Oh!  the  devout  sentiment  ex- 
pressed by  those  old  Florentine  painters,  and 
by  none  more  so  than  Fra  Filippo,  whose 
portrait  of  himself  has  come  down  to  us,  so 
quaintly  introduced  as  a  spectator  in  a  corner 
of  his  "Coronation  of  the  Virgin "  that  hangs 
in  the  Academy  Belle  Aril  in  Florence. 

Of  a  very  different  kind  of  beauty  is  the 
gorgeous  Chapel  of  the  Medici,  adjoining  the 
Church  of  San  Lorenzo.  It  was  built  to  receive 
the  Holy  Sepulchre,  and  the  earth  brought 
from  the  Holy  Land  to  contain  it  is  now  in 
the  Campo  Santo  of  Pisa.  The  Sepulchre  was 
recovered  b)^  the  Mohammedans  before  it 
reached  the  ship,  and  then  the  Medici  con- 
verted this  costly  tomb  into  a  burial-place. 
Words  are  hardly  adequate  to  describe  the 
splendor  of  this  chapel,  rich  in  all  kinds  of 
precious  stones.  The  walls  are  literally  in- 
crusted    with    marble.    Below    is    Egyptian 


The  Ave  Maria. 


171 


i 


granite,  then  petrified  wood;  next  Sicilian 
jasper  (red  and  white  lines),  black  Oriental 
jasper  and  Spanish  carnelian.  These  marbles 
extend  like  a  wainscot  all  around  the  chapel. 

The  escutcheons  of  sixteen  Tuskan  cities 
are  beautifully  inlaid  on  pillars  placed  at  equal 
distances;  Florence  is  a  coral  dragon  on  a 
background  of  white  chalcedony,  and  all  of 
them  are  studded  with  mother-of-pearl,  rose 
agate,  lapis  lazuli,  etc.,  in  rich  and  varied  de- 
signs. So  highly  polished  are  these  columns 
that  the  whole  chapel  is  reflected  in  each  as 
in  a  mirror. 

There  are  many  niches  of  black  marble,  but 
only  two  are  occupied  by  statues.  The  first 
is  of  Ferdinand  I.  (Medici)  in  gilt  bronze ; 
the  other,  also  bronze,  represents  Cosimo  II., 
who  was  the  patron  of  Galileo,  and  persuaded 
him  to  come  to  Florence  from  Padua.  In  front 
of  the  various  niches  are  gold  cushions  with 
the  ducal  crown,  both  thickly  covered  with 
emeralds,  rubies,  and  other  gems.  The  cupola 
of  the  dome  that  crowns  the  chapel  was 
painted  by  Benvenuti,  a  work  to  which  he 
devoted  eight  years. 

Some  idea  of  the  cost  of  these  marbles  can 
be  formed  from  the  fact  that  the  small  portion 
of  the  chapel  that  was  incomplete  at  the  ex- 
pulsion of  the  Medici  has  remained  unfinished, 
the  city  never  having  been  able  to  aflfoTd  the 
last  touches.  It  all  seems  so  like  the  descrip- 
tions of  the  New  Jerusalem, — the  chalcedony, 
carnelian,  and  agates  of  the  Bible,  that  one  is 
filled  with  admiration  at  the  sublime  thought 
of  those  Grand  Dukes  of  Tuscany  in  planning 
so  magnificent  a  receptacle  for  the  sacred  tomb. 
In  a  chapel  apart  are  two  sarcophagi,  upon 
which  repose  Michael  Angelo's  celebrated 
figures,  "Night"  and  "Day";  while  niches 
above  them  contain  the  famous  "Meditation," 
and  the  statue  of  Julian  di  Medici,  brother 
to  Pope  lyco  X.  and  father  to  Clement  VII. 

The  Feast  of  St.  Lawrence  in  Florence  is 
ushered  in  with  fireworks  on  the  eve ;  the 
unfinished  fagade  is  covered  with  myriads  of 
small  lights  in  cups  of  colored  glass,  arranged 
to  follow  the  lines  of 'the  architecture.  Paper 
lantenis  hang  from  all  the  windows  in  the 
Square,  against  a  background  of  scarlet  or 
yellow  silk,  while  there  is  not  a  macaroni  shop 
in  the  city  that  is  not  decorated  in  the  most 

arvellous  fashion.  Ingeniously  twisted  col- 


umns of  the  raw  material  support  little  pavil- 
ions of  another  variety,  from  which  hang  deep 
fringes  of  vermicelli,  tied  with  scarlet  ribbon, 
or  mingled  with  dried  grasses  and  wild  flow- 
ers, according  to  the  taste  of  the  owner.  Every 
Florentine  family,  rich  as  well  as  poor,  begin 
their  dinner  on  this  day  with  a  large  platter 
of  macaroni. 

The  Cathedral  of  Genoa  is  dedicated  to  St. 
lyawrence ;  Naples,  too,  has  a  church  in  his 
honor,  and  many  other  Italian  cities.  While 
of  Valerian,  the  mighty  and  powerful  Roman 
Emperor  who  sentenced  him  to  his  cruel  death, 
what  has  come  down  to  posterity?  Nothing 
but  the  story  of  his  capture  by  Sapor,  King  of 
Persia.  We  are  told  that  "Valerian  in  chains, 
but  invested  with  the  imperial  purple,  was 
exposed  to  the  multitude,  a  constant  spectacle 
of  fallen  greatness;"  and  that  "Whenever 
the  Persian  monarch  mounted  on  horseback 
he  placed  his  foot  on  the  neck  of  the  Roman 
Emperor. .  .  .  When  Valerian  sunk  under  the 
weight  of  shame  and  grief,  his  skin,  stuffed 
with  straw  and  formed  into  the  likeness  of  a 
human  figure,  was  preserved  for  ages  in  the 
most  celebrated  temple  of  Persia." 

"The  tale  is  moral  and  pathetic,"  says 
the  historian  Gibbon,  in  conclusion.  Does  it 
not  teach  that  only  truth  and  righteousness 
are  eternal?  And  ought  it  not  to  inspire  us  to 
imitate,  in  our  humble  sphere,  the  life  of  this 
hero  of  the  Church,  who  suffered  martyrdom 
rather  than  betray  the  interests  of  the  poor 
widows  and  orphans  entrusted  to  his  care?  The 
saints  of  God,  as  an  ancient  poet*  sings,  are 
like  stars  in  the  dark  night  of  our  mortal  life. 
God's  saints  are  shining  lights ;  who  stays 

Here  long  must  passe 
O're  dark  hills,  swift  streams,  and  steep  ways 

As  smooth  as  glass. 

But  these  all  night, 
Like  candles,  shed 

Their  beams,  and  light 
Us  into  bed. 

They  are  indeed  our  pillar  fires, 

Seen  as  we  go ; 
They  are  that  citie's  shining  spires 
We  travel  1  to. 
A  sword-like  gleame 
Kept  man  from  sin 
First  out ;  this  beame 
Will  guide  him  in. 


E.  M. 


Henry  Vaughan,  1621-1695. 


172 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY  NUGKNT  ROBINSON, 


CHAPTER  VIII.— Harry  Hears  More 
THAN  He  Bargains  for. 

ON  the  strength  of  the  hundred  pounds, 
and  the  promise  that  if  they  did  not  like 
the  country  or  its  mode  of  life  they  might 
return  at  once  to  Ireland,  Mrs.  Molloy  and  her 
daughter  reluctantly  made  up  their  minds  to 
visit  the  New  World. 

"I  won't  stop  there,  I  promise  you  that!'' 
was  Emma's  constant  exclamation.  "I  won't 
bring  a  thing  but  summer  clothes, — not  a 
stitch.  I  have  no  notion  of  being  snowed  up 
in  a  barbarous  wooden  house  with  hogs  for 
company.  Not  much !  If  Alderman  Ryan  had 
not  been  postponed  as  lyord  Mayor  for  another 
year  I  wouldn't  stir  hand  or  foot.  The  idea 
of  leaving  every  comfort  and  luxury  and  the 
best  society  for — what  ?  A  wooden  house  out 
in  the  wilds,  with  red  Indians  howling  around 
the  place  all  the  time!  Oh,  I  have  no  patience 
with  papa ! ' ' 

One  evening,  a  few  days  before  the  depart- 
ure of  his  mother  and  sister,  Gerald  came  to 
Considine's  lodgings  inviting  him  to  dinner. 
Harry  saw  that  his  friend  was  very  much 
agitated,  and  that  the  tenderest  cut  of  the 
"boiled  leg  with,"  as  Miss  Clancy  termed  it, 
was  left  untasted ;  the  snowy  turnips  and  red- 
dish gold  carrots  sharing  a  similar  fate. 

After  dinner  was  over,  the  ladies  gone,  and 
the  cloth  removed — Miss  Clancy  was  justly 
proud  of  a  Domingo  mahogany  table  that 
shone  like  a  polished  chestnut, — Gerald  burst 
forth  with : 

"Harry,  I  have  resolved  upon  testing  my 
fate!" 

"In  what  way?" 

"By  asking  Jane  Ryan  to  be  my  wife.  Why 
do  you  look  so  grave?" 

*  *  Am  I  looking  grave  ? " 

"Oh,  don't  fence  with  me!  You  are  as 
straight  as  a  knife.  Tell  me  " — and  the  young 
man's  earnestness  amounted  to  an  agony, — 
"have  I  a  chance?" 

Considine  was  silent. 

"  Have  I  a  chance,  Harry  ?  " 

"It's  hard  to  say,  Gerald." 


"You  ought  to  know" — and  here  Molloy 
commenced  to  pace  the  floor, — "  you  liavebeen 
with  her  a  great  deal.  You  are  intimate — " 

"Not  with  her!"  interrupted  Harry. 

"With  the  family.  You  go  in  and  out  as 
you  like,  you  have  told  me  that  you  would 
aid  and  assist  me." 

"And  I  have  never  missed  a  chance." 

"I  believe  it,  Harry.  Well,  why  can't  you 
say  there  is  hope  ?  She  has  been  always  most 
kind  and  gracious  to  me.  She  has  been  most 
attentive  to  my  sister.  That's  a  good  sign." 

"A  very  good  sign,  I  should  say." 

"Well,  then,  coupling  this  with  a  thousand 
trifles,  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  hope." 

"  Is  your  sister  in  her  confidence,  Gerald?" 

"No.  I  have  pumped  Emma,  but  she  can 
give  no  opinion.  Anyhow  she  is  so  given  up 
to  idle  folly,  that  I  don't  believe  she  could 
undertake  anything  with  a  grain  of  gravity 
or  reality  in  it." 

"I  differ  with  you  there,  Gerald!"  said 
Harry,  hotly.  "God  has  given  your  sister 
many  gifts,  but,  alas!  she  seems  to  have  no 
object  in  life  save  the  pursuit  of  a  Will-o'-the- 
Wisp." 

"That's  a  fact.  Emma's  a  good  girl, — a 
regular  brick,  but  she  is  in  the  wrong  groove. 
That  time  I  was  laid  up  with  typhoid  fever, 
and  mother  and  father  wanted  to  send  her 
away,  not  a  foot  would  she  stir ;  and  a  better 
little  nurse  never  came  out  of  St.  Vincent's 
Hospital." 

"I  was  right!"  cried  Harry,  smiting  the 
table  with  his  closed  hand. 

"If  Emma  were  earning  her  living  she'd  be^ 
another  sort  of  girl  altogether.  It's  awfully 
hard  to  talk  this  wa}^  of  one's  sister;  but  you 
are  like  a  brother  to  me,  and  I  keep  nothing 
back  from  you.  Advise  me  now,  dear  Harry, 
in  regard  to  Jane.  I  know  that  she  is  a  rich 
man's  daughter.  So  much  the  belter.  I  have 
no  money.  I  can  hardly  keep  myself,  but  as 
there  is  money  in  the  case,"  added  Gerald, 
with  his  usual  prudence, ' '  I  presume  it  is  better 
to  deal  with  it.  Suppose  the  Alderman  is 
worth  three  thousand  a.  year,  surely  he  would 
not  begrudge  his  only  child  three  hundred  a 
year.  This  three  hundred  with  my  one  hun- 
dred will  make  four.  We  could  take  a  house  at 
Sandymount,  or,  what  is  much  more  probable, 
he  might  ask  me  to  hang  up  my  hat  here." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


173 


Harry  could  hardly -refrain  from  smiling  at 
this  house  building  with  bricks  wherein  there 
was  not  a  blade  of  straw. 

' '  Yes, ' '  added  Gerald,  enamored  of  the  sub- 
ject; "of  course  we  would  live  here.  Why 
should  I  take  his  only  child  from  him?  It 
would  be  cruel,  unjust,  ungenerous!  He  could 
in  time  take  me  into  the  house  as  he  has  taken 
you.  i  should  imagine  that  he  could  make  a 
place  for  his  son-in-law — and — "  he  stopped 
short.  ''This  is  all  nonsense!  This  is  count- 
ing my  chickens  before  they  are  hatched. 
This  is  too  much  in  the  line  of  my  father.  No : 
I  must  face  the  situation,  and  it's  this:  shall 
I  ask  Jane  to  be  my  wife — ask  her  now,  or 
wait  until  I  feel  more  secure  as  to  the  result? 
You  can  tell  me  nothing ;  Emma  can  tell  me 
nothing.  Who  can  tell  me  ?  Stay,  I  never  once 
thought  of  her.  Miss  Esmonde.  I  shall  ask 
her.  Surely  Jane  and  she  are  cronies." 

"A  very  good  idea,"  said  Harry.  "The 
two  girls  seem  to  have  no  secrets  from  each 
other." 

"Yes:   I'll  call  to-morrow  evening.   And 
don't  you  go  to  bed,  Harry ;  for  if  the  result » 
is  good  or  bad  I'll  come  and  let  you  know." 

At  about  half-past  nine  o'clock  on  the 
following  evening  Miss  Clancy's  hall  door 
knocker  gave  a  spasmodic  rat-tat- tat,  followed 
by  another,  ere  the  good  little  lady  could  lay 
down  the  Eife  of  our  Blessed  Eady,  which  she 
was  engaged  in  reading,  and  reach  the  hall 
door.  Gerald  Molloy,  his  hat'pulled  down  over 
his  brows,  brushed  rapidly,  if  not  rudely,  past 
her  without  uttering  a  word,  and,  as  she  after- 
ward expressed^  it,  "took  the  [stairs  three  at 
a  time." 

Considine  was  writing  to  Father  Euke 
Byrne — he  wrote  once  a  week  with  the  most 
undeviating  punctuality, — when  Molloy  burst 
into  the  room — his  face  livid,  his  eyes  red,  his 
hair  as  though  he  had  been  engaged  in  tug- 
ging at  it,  his  clothes^in'disorder. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter?"  cried 
Harry,  starting  to  his  feet. 

Gerald,  as'jf  recalled  to  his  senses  by  the 
voice  of  his  companion,  stood  stock-still;  then, 
striding  over  to  ^the  side  of  the  table  opposite 
Harry,  faced  him,  staring  into  his  eyes. 

"Are  you  ill,  Gerald?"  asked  Considine, 
considerably  alarmed.  He  knew  that  he  had 
not  been  drinking. 


"No,"  was  the  reply,  in  a  tone  so  hollow 
as  to  sound  like  an  echo. 

"Then  I  suppose  that  you  have  not  been 
successful,"  said  Harry,  very  slowly  and  very 
sorrowfully. 

Molloy  placed  his  hands  on  the  table,  knuc- 
kles down,  and,  leaning  a  little  across  it,  glared 
at  Harr>^  while  he  exclaimed : 

"Enjoy  your  triumph!" 

"My  what?"  (in  intense  astonishment.) 

"Your  triumph!" 

"What  triumph?" 

"Oh,  you  don't  know!"  (this  sneeringly.) 

' '  Gerald, ' '  said  Considine,  gravely;  '  *  there 
is  something  dreadfullj^  wrong  with  you. 
What  has  happened ?  Won't  you  tell  m&—me, 
your  friend?''' 

"Bah!  I  have  no  friend!" 

"Yes,  indeed  you  have;  one  who — " 

"Cuts  me  out!"  burst  in  the  other.  *'Pre- 
tends  to  ask  for  me,  to  help  me,  and  instead 
of  helping  me  steps  in  himself!  But,"  he 
added  savagely,  "I  might  have  known  it.  The 
course  was  an  open  one,  the  prize  too  tempting. 
Oh,  what  an  idiot,  dolt,  jackass,  I  have  been!" 
And  Gerald  caught  his  head  in  his  hands  as 
though  he  would  pull  it  clean  oflf. 

Harry  could  make  nothing  of  this  strange 
exhibition.  He  had  not  the  faintest  glimmer- 
ing of  what  was  coming.  He  was  intensely 
wretched  that  his  friend  was  suffering,  and  a 
dreadful  fear  was  upon  him  that  Gerald  had 
"gone  by  the  head."  What  could  he  say? 
What  could  he  do  ?  If  Miss  Ryan  chose  to  say 
"no,"  he,  Considine,  could  not  make  her  say 
"yes."  He  had  feared  all  along.  There  was 
nothing  in  the  young  lady's  manner  which 
displayed  any  predilection  in  favor  of  his 
friend.  When  he  spoke  of  him,  as  was  his  in- 
variable custom  in  accordance  with  his  given 
promise  of  support,  Jane  dropped  the  subject 
after  very  little  comment,  or  refused  to  talk  of 
Molloy  at  all. 

"I  have  done  my  best,"  reflected  Harry; 
"and  now  to  soothe  the  poor  fellow  as  much 
as  ever  I  can." 

Molloy  was  walking  up  and  dow^nthe  little 
apartment  at  a  rapid  and  fev^j»^  ^aJj^JsJiis 
hands  thrust  deep  in  his  pocl 

' '  I  told  you ! "  he  burst  01 
come  and  tell  you  what  had^l 
my  word!" 


174 


The  Ave  Maria, 


"What  has  happened,  Gerald?  Sit  down, 
old  fellow,  and  let  us  hear. ' ' 

"And  serve  you  up  a  banquet,  a  luscious 
feast?  Thank  you,  I'd  rather  not!  " 

"You  have  lost  your  head,  Gerald;  I  don't 
know  what  you  mean. ' ' 

Molloy  halted,  came  round  to  where  his 
friend  stood,  and,  bringing  his  face  close  to 
Harry's,  exclaimed:  "Look  me  squarely  in  the 
eye,  and  tell  me  that  you  do  not  know  what  I 
mean!" 

Considine's  eye  was  as  calm  as  that  of  a 
babe's  engaged  in  contemplating  some  new 
wonder. 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,"  he  quietly 
said. 

"Will  you  swear  it?" 

"Gerald,  I  never  took  an  oath  in  my  life; 
I  never  told  a  lie  in  my  life.  My  word  is  all  I 
have  to  give ;  and,  believe  me,  I  value  it  at 
untold  gold! "  There  was  a  superb  dignity  in 
the  young  man's  manner  as  he  uttered  these 
glorious  words. 

For  a  second  Molloy  hesitated,  then,  seizing 
Harrys' s  hand,  he  cried  in  a  husky  voice: 

"I  believe  you.  Forgive  me!  Sit  down,  and 
I  will  tell  you  everything." 

He  seated  himself  opposite  his  friend,  his 
elbows  on  his  knees,  his  chin  in  his  hands. 
His  voice  was  low,  and  each  word  came  from 
him  as  if  it  had  a  special  mission  to  fulfil. 

*  *  I  went  to  Rutland  Square  at  half-past  eight. 
I  asked  to  see  Miss  Esmonde.  She  was  at 
home,  the  Alderman  and  Jane  had  gone  to  a 
Philharmonic  Concert.  I  came  to  business  at 
once,  and  asked  her  plump  and  plain  if  I  stood 
well  with  Miss  Ryan.  She  said  that  I  did.  I 
then  asked  her  if  she  thought  that  Jane  cared 
for  me  enough  to  marry  me;  that  I  was  in 
love  with  her,  and  all  to  that.  Miss  Esmonde 
hesitated ;  I  pressed  her.  Then  she  said  that 
in  her  opinion  Jane's  love  was  given  to  an- 
other. I  thought  I  would  have  fallen  from  the 
chair.  I  asked  her  if  she  was  certain  of  this ; 
and  she  said  she  was :  that  she  knew  it  from 
Miss  Ryan's  own  lips.*  I  then  begged,  im- 
plored of  her  to  tell  me  who  my  successful  rival 
was.  Miss  Esmonde  hesitated  for  a  long, — 
very  long  time ;  then  she  told  me  his  name. 
Guess  it." 

"I  can  not,  Gerald;  I  haven't  the  most  re- 
mote idea,"  replied  Considine. 


"Then  I  can  tell  you.  The  name  she  men- 
tioned was  yours." 

"Mine!" 

"Harry  Considine  ! "  And  Molloy  watched 
his  companion's  face  with  a  fierce  intent- 
ness. 

Harry  crimsoned  to  the  roots  of  his  hair, 
then  became  deadly  pale. 

"If  this  is  a  jest" — he  began;  "no,  no:  I 
beg  your  pardon.  Gerald,  I  have  learned  that 
which  you  should  never  have  revealed  to  me. 
If  Miss  Ryan  has  honored  me  with  her  favor, 
I  tell  you  I  never  sought  it,  and  I  also  tell 
you  that  I  never  suspected  it.  That  she  never 
by  word,  look,  or  gesture,  that  I  can  recall, 
indicated  any  preference  for  me.  On  the  con- 
trary, her  manner  was  occasionally  cold  and 
repellent.  This  is  sad  news  to  me! " 

"Sad!" 

"Yes,  sad;  inexpressibly,  unutterably  sad; 
for  I  never  could  return  her  love.  Does  Alder- 
man Ryan  know  of  this  ? ' ' 

"I  do  not  know." 

"May  I  mention  to  Miss  Esmonde  in  con- 
fidence what  you  have  revealed  to  me  to- 
night?" 

"You  may  mention  it  from  the  base  of 
Nelson's  Pillar." 

"Oh,  no!  Gerald,  dear  old  boy,  don't  talk 
that  way!  A  young  girl's  love  is  a  beautiful 
flower,  and  must  be  protected  from  rude  breath 
of  every  kind.  It  springs  from  the  purity  of  her 
heart,  and  is  as  white  as  her  soul.  God  and 
our  Blessed  Lady  watch  over  the  pure  white 
blossom  of  a  pure  girl's  love.  We  should  speak 
tenderly,  then,  of  such  a  flower." 

As  he  spoke  Molloy  almost  cowered  for 
shame  that  he  had  uttered  so  light  a  word. 
"You  are  always  right,  Harry,"  he  humbly 
said;   "always." 

"What  you  have  told  me,  Gerald,"  said 
Considine,  after  a  pause,  *  *  alters  the  circum- 
stances of  my  life." 

"In  what  respect?" 

"I  will  tell  you  so  soon  as  I  shall  have 
consulted  Father  Luke  Byrne.  I  always  take 
his  advice. ' ' 

"And  I  always  take  yours,  Harry.  You 
advised  me  to  throw  up  my  place  at  Pims  and 
go  out  to  the  States  with  my  mother  and 
sister?" 

"I  did,  most  assuredly.'^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


'75 


didn't  act  on  it,  because  I  was  holding 
to  the  delusive  hope  that  has  bursted  like 
"a  soap-bubble  to-night.  That's  all  over.  I  will 
give  Mr.  Pirn  notice  in  the  morning,  and  will 
sail  with  mother  and  Emma  on  the  seventh." 
"I  wish,"  said  Harry,  as  he  stood  at  the 
gate  of  the  little  front  garden  holding  Gerald's 
hand  in  his, — "I  wish  that  I  was  going  with 
you,  old  boy;"  adding,  "who  knows?" 

(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 


Footprints  of  Heroines. 


Y   THE    COMTESSE    DE    COURSON. 


III. — LuiSA  DK  Carvajal  y  Mendoza. 
(Continued.) 

FATHER  SCOTT,  who  had  asked  Luisa's 
hospitality  for  his  martyred  brethren,  was 
himself  executed  shortly  afterward.  A  secular 
priest  named  Richard  Newport  suffered  with 
him  ;  their  bodies  were  thrown  into  a  deep 
pit,  together  with  those  of  several  criminals 
who  had  been  put  to  death  the  same  day,  and 
it  seemed  an  almost  impossible  task  to  rescue 
them  from  their  dishonored  grave.  Euisa, 
however,  ardently  desired  to  recover  these 
precious  remains ;  and,  moved  by  her  entrea- 
ties, a  young  Spaniard,  Don  Alonzo  de  Velasco, 
who  was  then  in  London,  accompanied  by  sev- 
eral servants  of  the  Embassy,  undertook  this 
dangerous  and  repulsive  mission.  In  the  dead 
of  night  he  succeeded  in  reaching  the  man- 
gled remains  of  the  two  martyrs,  hidden  away, 
though  they  were,  under  the  festering  corpses 
of  sixteen  malefactors,  and  the  precious  burden 
was  carried  in  silent  joy  to  Luisa's  house. 

It  was  a  strange  scene  in  the  heart  of  the 
great  heretic  city.  Luisa  and  her  companions, 
with  white  veils  on  their  heads  and  lighted 
tapers  in  their  hands,  stood  at  the  door ;  fresh 
spring  flowers  strewed  the  ground,  and  the 
walls  of  the  little  oratory  were  hung  with 
green  boughs.  Silently  the  faithful  Spaniards 
carried  their  precious  load  to  the  foot  of  the 
altar,  where  it  was  reverently  deposited  on  a 
red  silk  couch ;  and  the  next  night  was  spent 
in  embalming  the  bodies  previous  to  their 
removal  to  Spain,  where  in  1832  they  were 
still  venerated  in  the  town  of  Gondomar. 


Luisa  spared  neither  time,  trouble,  nor 
expense,  when  the  martyrs  were  concerned. 
Writing  to  one  of  her  friends  in  Spain  she 
thus  alludes  to  a  circumstance,  evidently 
similar  to  that  just  related:  "I  spent  last 
Christmas  seventeen  pounds,  each  of  which  is 
equivalent  to  forty  reals,  for  the  recovery  and 
preservation  of  the  last  martyr.  The  labor  of 
this  undertaking  and  the  danger  attending  it 
were  great."  Her  devotion  extended  to  every- 
thing that  had  belonged  to  the  martyred 
priests;  and  she  carefully  collected  their  books, 
letters  and  clothing,  and  preserved  them  with 
loving  care.  Sometimes  she  sent  certain  of 
these  relics  as  presents  to  her  friends  in  Spain, 
who  fully  appreciated  such  precious  gifts. 

It  may  be  imagined  how  the  thought  of 
the  martyrs  haunted  her  during  her  walks 
through  the  London  streets.  When  she  hap- 
pened to  pass  along  theTyborne  road  her  tears 
flowed  fast,  and  she  would  exclaim :  "O  holy 
and  blessed  pathway,  sanctified  by  the  foot- 
steps of  the  saints  on  their  road  to  heaven ! ' ' 
More  than  once  her  streaming  eyes  rested  on 
the  head  or  limbs  of  some  martyred  confessor, 
exposed,  according  to  the  barbarous  practice 
of  the  times,  on  the  gateway  of  the  city  or  on 
London  Bridge.  At  this  cruel  sight  she  would 
reverently  bow  her  head,  and  breathe  a  fervent 
prayer  for  the  deluded  people  of  England. 

By  degrees  the  gentle  Spanish  lady,  whose 
strange  love  for  England  had  made  her  a  vol- 
untary exile,  became  a  well-known  figure 
among  the  Catholics  of  London.  Persecution 
then  raged  fiercer  than  ever;  but  the  courage 
of  both  priests  and  faithful  vied  with  the  fury 
of  their  enemies ;  and  in  spite  of  banishment, 
confiscation,  torture  and  death,  the  ancient 
faith  was  kept  alive  in  many  an  "ancestral 
home,  secluded  village,  or  secret  haunt  in 
the  great  cities  of  England. ' ' 

At  first,  we  are  told,  the  London  Catholics, 
trained  by  the  force  of  circumstance  to  habits 
of  reticence  and  caution  where  their  religion 
was  concerned,  regarded  the  Spanish  stranger 
with  some  suspicion,  and  their  coldness  gave 
her  great  pain.  Soon,  however,  they  learned 
to  know  her  better ;  and  on  her  side  she  came 
to  understand  how,  living  in  the  midst  of 
persecution,  their  natural  resen^e  had  been 
necessarily  increased.  Besides  the  little  band 
of  young  English  girls  who  shared  her  daily 


176 


The  Ave  Maria. 


life,  many  persons  of  all  ranks  sought  her 
advice  and  assistance.  At  her  request,  the 
Spanish  Ambassador  maintained  in  his  house 
an  English  priest  for  the  benefit  of  the  lyOndon 
Catholics.  Living  under  the  protection  of  the 
Spanish  Government,  he  was  more  easily  to 
be  found  than  the  missionary  priests,  who 
were  obliged  to  move  from  one  hiding-place 
to  another ;  and  to  him  Luisa  often  brought 
those  who  wished  to  approach  the  Sacraments, 
and  who  were  embarrassed  how  to  do  so. 

She  used  also  to  buy,  as  we  have  seen,  many 
books  of  devotion  and  of  .controversy ;  and 
these  she  lent  to  the  Catholics,  who  could 
not  procure  them  for  themselves  without  con- 
siderable expense  and  risk.  Another  of  her 
favorite  works  of  mercy  was  the  assistance 
of  the  Catholic  prisoners,  who  were  obliged 
to  pay  for  their  own  board  and  lodgings ;  fail- 
ing thus,  they  were  thrown,  into  the  common 
prison  with  the  vilest  malefactors.  lyuisa 
endeavored,  by  bribing  the  jailer,  to  secure 
for  them  a  private  room ;  and  except  during 
a  short  period,  when  her  best  friends  advised 
her  to  cease  her  visits  to  the  prisons,  she  went 
constantly  to  strengthen  and  comfort  her  pro- 
teges, to  whom  her  presence  was  a  ray  of  light 
and  joy. 

Sometimes  she  succeeded  in  penetrating 
into  the  cells  of  the  captive  priests ;  and  on 
these  occasions  she  was  generally  accompanied 
by  some  Catholics,  who  took  advantage  of  the 
occasion  to  make  their  confession.  Her  house 
w^as  ever  open  to  all  who  cared  to  seek  its 
shelter.  Besides  the  young  girls  whom  she 
trained  to  a  life  of  singular  holiness,  and  whose 
rule  of  life  resembled  that  of  religious  women, 
she  generally  had  one  or  more  priests  staying 
under  her  roof,  and  all  who  wished  to  see 
them  were  lovingly  received  and  hospitably 
entertained.  She  sent  to  foreign  convents  and 
seminaries  boys  who  had  a  religious  vocation, 
and  the  young  girls  under  her  care  who  as- 
pired to  a  cloistered  life  were  also  sent  abroad. 
The  baptism  of  infants  was  still  another  of 
her  favorite  works  of  mercy.  She  used,  her 
biographer  tells  us,  to  go  into  the  neighboring 
villages  for  this  purpose ;  and  she  often  met 
with  persons  who  were  Catholics  at  heart,  and 
who  gladly  and  gratefully  availed  themselves 
of  her  offer  to  have  their  children  baptized  by 
a  Catholic  priest. 


Luisa's  biographer  tells  us  of  a  few  of  the 
converts  whom  she  brought  back  to  the  bosom 
of  the  Church,  and  to  some  of  whom  she 
seems  to  have  communicated  her  generous  and 
uncompromising  spirit.  Among  them  were 
several  young  men,  who  became,  in  their  turn^ 
zealous  apostles  and  missionaries.  One  of  her 
chief  converts  was  a  Calvinist  minister,  who, 
after  having  discussed  religious  subjects  with 
the  most  eminent  controversialists  of  the  day, 
was  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  convinced  and 
touched  by  Luisa's  arguments.  He  was  event- 
ually imprisoned  for  the  faith,  but  his  "good 
mother,"  as  he  called  her,  procured  his  release 
and  paid  his  journey  to  Flanders,  where  he 
became  a  Benedictine  monk. 

Another  convert  of  a  different  stamp  was 
an  old  woman,  ninety  years  of  age,  who,  since 
the  accession  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  had  con- 
formed to  the  new  religion,  though  she  had 
been  born  and  brought  up  a  Catholic.  Luisa 
made  her  acquaintance  at  Highgate,  where  she 
had  gone  for  change  of  air.  The  old  woman, 
probably  suspecting  a  desire  to  converse  on 
religious  subjects,  kept  Luisa  at  a  distance, 
and  repulsed  all  her  advances.  Luisa  then  had 
recourse  to  prayer,  and  some  time  afterward 
she  was  greatly  astonished  to  see  the  old 
woman  come  to  her  house  of  her  own  accord, 
at  the  bidding,  she  said,  of  a  mysterious  youth, 
who  had  appeared  to  her  in  a  dream  and  bid 
her  seek  the  Spanish  lady,  and  be  reconciled  to 
the  Church.  Luisa  sent  for  a  priest,  and  her 
protegie,  whose  faculties  were  perfectly  clear, 
made  a  confession  extending  over  half  a  cen- 
tury. She  died  most  piously  some  months 
afterward,  under  the  roof  of  her  benefactress. 
These  are  but  a  few  examples  of  the  count- 
less souls  to  whom  the  holy  Spanish  lady 
brought  peace  and  salvation.  But  her  own 
humility,  the  confusion  of  the  times  in  which 
she  lived,  the  difficulty  of  communication 
between  England  and  Spain,  and  above  all  the 
secrecy  that  was  observed  in  all  things  touch- 
ing Catholics,  made  it  impossible  for  her  biog- 
rapher to  give  us  a  complete  account  of  her 
apostolic  labors.  We  know  enough,  however, 
to  convince  us  that  her  sacrifice  was  not  made 
in  vain ;  and  that  the  strange  vocation,  which 
at  first  excited  the  surprise  and  disapproval 
of  her  contemporaries,  was  the  means  chosen 
by  God  to  win  many  souls  to  the  true  Church. 


Tha  Ave  Mc 


ana. 


177 


These  conversions  were  lyiiisa's  one  joy,  and 
she  writes  to  Father  Creswell,  an  English 
Jesuit,  at  Madrid:  "I  am  working  hard  to 
attract  as  many  souls  as  poj-sible  from  heresy 
into  the  Church.  I  feel  no  abatement  of  zeal 
in  this  cause;  on  the  contrary,  an  ardor  that 
increases  every  day."  After  relating  to  her 
cousin,  the  Viceroy  of  Valencia,  her  endeavors 
to  convert  a  lady,  the  sister  of  a  "Councillor 
of  State, ' '  she  goes  on :  "I  make  her  presents 
of  little  things  from  Spain  {cosas  de  Espana), 
which  do  not  cost  much  and  are  thought  a 
great  deal  of  here.  She  is  surrounded  with 
brothers,  children  and  friends,  who  are  violent 
Protestants.  I  shall  now  push  matters  forward 
in  my  visits,  and  give  and  take  boldly  on  this 
matter,  even  at  the  peril  of  my  life." 

As  may  be  imagined,  Luisa's  fearless  spirit 
and  utter  contempt  for  danger  were  not  likely 
to  escape  attention,  and  she  was  twice  arrested 
and  imprisoned  for  the  faith.  On  the  first 
occasion,  as  her  Spanish  biographer  relates, 
the  arrest  was  caused  by  her  brave  defence  of 
the  Catholic  faith  in  conversing  with  some 
shopkeepers  at  Cheapside.  She  was  kept  in 
prison  for  three  days,  to  her  own  great  joy, 
and  finally  released  at  the  request  of  the 
Spanish  Ambassador,  Don  Pedro  de  Zuniga, 
who,  in  spite  of  his  admiration  and  affection 
for  his  hol}^  countrywoman,  seems  to  have 
been  somewhat  distressed  at  her  fearless  zeal. 

Her  second  arrest  took  place  some  years 
later.  She  was  living  at  that  time  in  a  lonely 
house  at  Spitalfields,  in  the  suburbs  of  Lon- 
don, with  her  little  band  of  companions.  They 
were  in  the  habit,  relates  her  biographer,  of 
talking  during  the  hours  of  recreation  over 
future  possibilities  of  persecution,  and  of  dis- 
cussing the  manner  of  acting  when  subjected 
to  it ;  familiarizing  their  minds  with  the 
thought  of  chains,  prisons,  tortures,  and  death. 

(CONCI^USION    IN   OUR  NEXT    NUMBER.) 

Madame  de  Marbeuk,  writing  a  letter  to 
M.  de  Talleyrand  near  the  close  of  his  life, 
slipped  a  medal  of  Our  I<ady  into  the  letter, 
and  he  wore  it  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  On  find- 
ing this  medal,  the  day  after  his  death,  one 
who  had  followed  his  return  to  God  with  the 
keenest  anxiety  could  not  help  exclaiming, 
"It  is  certain  that  ever  after  he  put  on  that 
medal  his  thoughts  turned  toward  God!" 


Stella    Matutina;  or,  a    Poet's   Quest. 


BY  EDMUND  OF  THE  HEART  OF  MARY,  C.  P. 


NOT  mine,"  quoth  he.    "The  charge  was 
never  mine. 
But  hearing  now  the  answer  clear  and  keen, 
Methinks  I  catch  the  Master's  voice  in  thine — 
Authoritative,  luminous,  serene. 
Oh,  tell  me  if  the  vision  I  have  seen 
Be  found  among  thy  daughters  throned  above? 

If  one  be  there — my  heart's  ideal  queen — 
Whom  I  may  chooSe  not  vainly  for  my  love, 
And  chivalrously  serve — as  thy  wise  laws  ap- 
prove ? ' ' 

"If  true  as  fair  the  ideal  thy  fancy  paints, 
'Tis  real,  be  sure,  in  yonder  world.  But  thou 

Within  the  great  Communion  of  Saints 

Must  first  enrol  thee,  child,  and  humbly  bow 
To  faith's  whole  teaching."  . . .  "  Mother,  teach 
me  now!" 

And  all  his  soul  went  out  to  her.  But  she. 
To  test  him  more,  made  answer:  "I  allow 

In  this  request  thy  full  sincerity ; 

But  dread  some  fever' d  craze  of  sensuous  fantasy. 

* '  What  is  this  '  vision '  thou  hast  found  so  good — 
This  fond  '  ideal ' .?   And  whither  doth  it  lead .? 

'Twould  seem  vSome  type  of  fairest  womanhood, 
Whereof  thy  youthful  poet-heart  hath  need. 
As   now   it   thinks :    yet   wherefore  ?    But  to 
feed 

Self- worship  and  a  pride  forever  blind? 
If  so,  my  child,  'tis  oiitcome  of  a  greed 

That  is  but  sensuality  refined. 

The  spiritual  garb  ill  veils  the  carnal  mind. 

"Nor  may  we  rest  in  creatures  as  an  end. 
How  pure  they  be  soever.  God  alone 

Our  All-in-all,  to  Him  should  ever  tend 
The  heart's  affections — most,  if  it  enthrone 
(His  gift  acknowledged)  an  elected  one 

As  dearest  after  Him.    Then,  like  a  grace. 
Our  love  leads  upward." 

"Such  a  love  mine  own," 

Broke  in  the  poet  meekly.    "I  can  trace 

Its  dawn  within  my  soul  to  one  sweet  woman's 
face — 

"My  mother's.  Yet,  of  purity  severe, 
That  face  smiled  rarely.  To  my  boyish  thought. 

When  I  had  lost  her,  less  of  love  than  fear 

Clung  round  her  memory.  But  my  heart  had 
caught 


178 


The  Ave  Maria. 


A  hunger — that  soon  grew,  and  gnaw'd,  and 
wrought 
Into  my  life — for  what  she  would  have  been  : 
For  what  the  3'ears  (so  seem'd  it)  must  have 
brought : 
A  perfect  mother,  ruling  like  a  queen 
With  chaste  and  gentle  sway  o'er  passion's  young 
demesne." 


Two  Schools. 


(Continued.  ) 
Clara  Valley,  Oct.  25,  18 — . 

DEAR  Aunt  Mary  : — We  have  been  busy 
preparing  for  the  first  examinations  of 
the  year.  Every  two  months  the  studies  ^re 
reviewed,  and  these  reviews  are  never  oral, 
but  written.  We  are  given  a  week  to  go  over 
our  lessons  (without  recitation),  and  at  the 
end  of  that  time  a  paper  containing  twelve 
questions  in  each  study  is  given  us,  which 
we  are  required  to  answer  in  writing.  The 
text-books  are  collected,  and  placed  on  a  large 
table  in  the  study-hall,  so  that  if  any  one 
should  be  mean  enough  to  peep  she  will  not 
be  able  to  do  so.  Don't  you  think  this  is  a 
very  good  method  ?  Our  standing  is  afterward 
fixed  both  by  referring  to  our  daily  studies 
and  the  results  of  the  review,  and  these  reports 
are  sent  to  the  parents.  I  hope  mine  will 
please  you. 

Hard  work  has  not  prevented  us  from 
snatching  and  enjoying  a  half-day  of  recrea- 
tion. You  will  remember  that  I  said  something 
in  my  last  letter  about  a  great  singer,  whom 
it  was  rumored  would  visit  us.  I  could  hardly 
believe  it  at  the  time,  but  it  proved  to  be 

true.  Madame ,  the  famous  prima-donna, 

received  her  first  musical  instructions  at  Clara 
Valley.  She  is  an  American,  having  assumed 
her  present  Italian  name,  as  they  all  do  for 
stage  purposes.  The  Sisters  were  the  first  to 
discover  her  wonderful  talent,  and  advised  her 
to  cultivate  it  to  the  best  advantage.  Her  father 
died,  making  it  necessary  that  she  should  do 
something  for  her  livelihood  in  order  to  sup- 
port her  mother,  who  was  an  invalid.  They 
went  abroad,  and  every  one  knows  what  a 
sensation  she  produced  after  the  completion 
of  her  studies.  She  stands  very  high,  socially 
and  dramatically,  and  is  a  good  Catholic.  They 
say  she  never  plays  during  Holy  Week. 


She  had  scarcely  arrived  in  C ,  on  the 

grand  concert  tour  which  she  is  making  pref- 
atory to  her  appearance  in  opera,  before  she 
wrote  to  Sister  Superior,  telling  her  she  would 
pay  Clara  Valley  a  visit  on  the  following 
morning ;  adding,  very  sweetly  and  humbly, 
that  perhaps  the  pupils  might  wish  to  hear 
her  sing,  and  offering  to  do  so  if  desired.  No 
need  to  say  that  the  whole  school  was  thrown 
into  a  ferment.  She  came,  and  we  all  fell  in 
love  with  her.  So  simple  and  gracious,  and 
charming  as  she  is ;  entirely  unafiected,  and 
yet  so  lovely  and  beautiful.  And  her  voice — 
her  marvellous  voice!  We  were  all  assembled 
in  the  exhibition  hall,  where  she  sang  for  an 
hour :  ballads,  cavatinas^  a  waltz  song,  and  a 
glorious  Ave  Maria. 

There  we  sat,  a  lot  of  school-girls,  drinking 
in  the  lovely  music,  while  at  that  very  hour 

in  C men  were  crowding  on  each  other's 

heels,  and  paying  speculative  prices  for  tickets 
to  the  first  concert.  But  it  is  doubtful  if  she 
had  a  more  appreciative  audience  on  that  gala 
night.  After  it  was  over  she  begged  Sister 
Superior  for  a  half-holiday,  saying  she  was  not 
so  old  as  not  to  remember  how  eagerly  holi- 
days were  always  welcomed  at  school.  It  was 
granted,  but  postponed  until  next  week  on 
account  of  the  exhibitions.  Later,  during  an 
impromptu  lunch  served  in  the  parlor,  at  which 
the  graduates  and  under-graduates  were  pres- 
ent, she  made  a  little  speech,  which  so  im- 
pressed me  that  I  can  almost  repeat  it  word 
for  word. 

We  have  a  young  lady  here  who  possesses  a 
fine  voice,  and  who  has  some  aspirations  for  the 
stage.  She  is  somewhat  frivolous  and  giddy, 
and  a  very  pretty  girl.  I  suspect  that  Madame 

must  have  divined  her  character  readily  ; 

for,  after  having  heard  her  sing  and  paid  her 
a  nice  compliment,  she  said:  "A  good  voice 
is  a  grand  gift  from  God.  But,  my  dear  girls, 
I  have  had  experience,  and  let  me  say  to  you 
here  to-day  what  I  have  often  repeated  to 
others,  that  it  is  only  necessity — nay,  dire 
necessity,  that  should  drive  one  to  the  stage. 
Music  and  song  are  glorious  arts ;  but  the  life 
of  a  public  singer  is  full  of  toils,  trials,  and 
temptations.  Our  successes  and  triumphs  are 
dearly  earned,  I  assure  you.  And,  believe  me, 
that  where  one  succeeds  a  hundred  fail.  Mine 
has  been  a  prosperous  career ;  I  have  been  fort- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


179 


unate  enough  to  receive,  and  I  may  confess 
exceedingly  enjoy,  a  fair  proportion  of  fame 
and  applause.  But  many  and  many  a  time  my 
heart  has  wearied  of  it  all,  and  I  have  longed 
for  the  time  when  I  could  retire  forever  to  the 
-olitude  of  home;  especially  do  I  feel  this 
longing  at  times  like  these,  when  reminded  by 
young  faces,  as  I  am  to-day,  of  my  own  happy 
childhood  and  girlhood.  My  dear  girls,  so  long 
as  you  can  dwell  within  the  sanctuary  of  home 
remain  there — it  is  the  only  true  sphere  of 
woman."  Wasn't  it  lovely,  auntie,  to  see  her 
so  unspoiled?  She  was  like  a  child  with  the 
old  Sisters,  who  had  known  her  years  ago, 
and  went  everywhere  through  the  house,  re- 
calling incidents,  and  asking  questions  about 
her  old  friends  and  companions.  I  think  the 
memory  of  that  visit  will  always  be  a  pleasant 
one  at  Clara  Valley. 

We  are  already  preparing  a  Christmas  gift 
for  Sister  Superior.  Several  of  the  older  girls 
talked  of  it  among  themselves,  and  finally 
took  Sister  Mary  into  their  confidence.  A 
collection  was  quietly  taken  up,  or,  rather,  a 
box  was  placed  on  a  table  in  the  library, 
with  the  request  that  all  who  felt  like  giving 
something  toward  the  purchase  of  a  Com- 
munion cloth,  to  be  embroidered  and  presented 
to  Sister  Superior  for  the  chapel  as  a  Christ- 
mas gift,  would  there  deposit  their  contri- 
bution. At  the  same  time  Sister  Mary  said 
those  who  could  not  afford,  or  were  not  in- 
clined, to  give  anything  must  feel  no  hesita- 
tion about  withholding  a  donation.  For  this 
reason  the  contribution  box  would  be  left  in 
the  library,  where  each  one  might  go  simply, 
and  thus  it  would  not  be  known  who  gave 
or  what  they  gave. 

The  collection  amounted  to  seventy-five 
dollars,  which  purchased  fifteen  yards  of  heavy 
red  silk,  with  bullion  and  spangles  for  the 
embroidery.  This  is  all  of  pure  gold.  Six  of 
the  girls  and  three  Sisters  take  turns  at  the 
work,  and  two  are  constantly  employed.  We 
!  get  up  an  hour  earlier  in  the  morning,  and 
every  other  day  three  work  during  the  noon 
recreation.  Mary  Damen,  a  Protestant,  whose 
!  father  is  the  wealthiest  iron  manufacturer  in 

I  B ,  has  given  twenty- five  dollars  for  the 

i  lace  cloth  which  covers  the  silk  as  it  hangs 
I  over  the  railing.  We  are  all  enthusiasm  to 
[  have  it  completed  in  due  time.  The  design 


consists  of  alternate  bunches  of  grapes  and 
sheaves  of  wheat,  representing  the  bread  and 
wine  of  the  Eucharist,  which  Catholics  be- 
lieve is  really  converted  into  the  body  and 
blood  of  Christ  by  the  words  of  the  priest  at 
the  Consecration.  They  do  believe  it,  auntie, 
whatever  their  enemies  or  persons  ignorant 
of  their  faith  may  say  to  the  contrary.  One 
can  see  this  by  the  sincerity  with  which  they 
confess  in  order  to  be  in  a  state  of  necessary 
preparation  for  the  reception  of  the  Sacra- 
ment, as  well  as  the  fervor  and  recollection 
with  which  they  receive  It. 

I  often  envy  them  both  faith  and  privilege, 
and  I  have  already  begun  to  pray  that  my 
heart  may  be  enlightened  to  the  truth ;  for,  if 
I  felt  convinced  that  it  lay  within  the  pale  of 
the  Catholic  Church,  thither  would  I  direct 
my  steps,  within  its  portals  would  I  stay  my 
feet.  But  these  possibilities  lie  in  the  future, 
and  may  never  be  more  than  dreams.  Do  not 
trouble  about  them ;  only  believe  that,  what- 
ever befalls,  I  am 

Your  own  loving     y 

AlIvEn  Seminary,  Oct.  25, 18 — . 

Dear  Mattie: — A  chapter  of  incidents, 
and,  I  might  say,  accidents.  I  think  I  told  you 
in  my  last  letter  that  we  were  to  have  tickets 
to  the  concert  given  by  the  Fautini  troupe,  of 

which  Madame is  tho:  prima-donna,  and 

that  we  anticipated  much  pleasure  and  "some 
larks"  on  the  occasion.  Well,  we  had  pleasure, 
but  no  "larks."  Tickets  were  purchased,  and 
the  whole  school  was  on  the  qui  vive.  But  first 
let  me  tell  you  of  our  expedition  to  the  woods. 

According  to  previous  agreement,  Florence 
remained  in  bed  that  morning  with  a  terrible 
headache,  and  after  recitations  were  over — - 
that  is  about  two — we  asked  permission  to  go 
to  the  village  together  for  some  quinine.  This 
being  graciously  given,  I  further  requested 
that  we  might  be  allowed  a  short  walk,  as 
Florence  thought  it  would  do  her  good  to  be 
out  for  a  while  in  the  fresh  air.  This  was  also 
granted;  and,  once  outside  of  the  gate,  we 
skipped  boldly  and  quickly  on  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  woods.  They  belong  to  the  nuns, 
but  are  ever  so  far  away  from  the  convent.  I 
had  never  been  there  before,  but  Florence  was 
quite  familiar  with  the  locality,  and  steered 
straight  in  the  direction  of  the  path  that 


i8o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


leads  from  the  main  street  of.  the  village,  an- 
ticipating that  in  this  waj^  we  sliould  be  most 
likely  to  meet  our  swains.  We  did  meet  them 
■en  route,  and  strolled  leisurely  under  the  trees; 
for  at  this  stageof  the  journey  we  were  quite 
secure  from  observation. 

The  young  gentlemen  were  quite  charming, 
paid  us  many  pretty  compliments,  and  said  a 
variety  of  nice  things.  They  produced  a  paper 
-of  bonbons,  which  we  ate  seated  on  an  old  log 
by  the  side  of  the  little  brook  which  runs 

through  the  place.  Mr. proposed  that  we 

girls  take  off  our  shoes  and  stockings,  and 
bathe  our  * '  pearly  feet  in  the  snowy  waters ' ' — 
no,  I  believe  he  said:  "snowy  feet  in  pearly 
waters. ' '  Florence  seemed  about  to  grasp  the 
suggestion,  but  I  gave  her  a  look,  and  rather 
indignantly  insinuated  that  I  thought  the 
proposal  decidedly  indecorous.  He  humbly 
begged  pardon,  and  all  was  lovely  again. 

Florence  wanted  to  go  as  far  as  "the  shrine," 
which  is  a  sort  of  altar  the  nuns  have  ar- 
ranged for  the  Virgin ;  but  I  had  fears  lest 
some  of  them  might  be  about,  for  they  often 
go  there.  Sure  enough,  I  was  right.  It  was  not 
long  before  we  saw  the  whole  menagerie  in 
the  distance  walking  two  by  two  with  four 
black  robes  at  the  head,  and  bringing  up  the 
rear  with  another  was  Julia,  our  own  demure 
Julia.  She  did  not  see  me,  for  we  scooted  over 
the  fence  in  a  hurry.  Those  nuns  know  very 
well  that  we  are  not  permitted  to  take  walks 
with  young  gentlemen,  and  no  dOubt  would  be 
mean  and  sly  enough  to  tell  if  they  saw  us. 
'We  parted  from  our  cavaliers  at  the  entrance 
of  the  grove,  and  while  Mr. was  doubt- 
ful, Mr. assured  us  that  he  would  be 

present  at  the  concert  the  following  evening, 
when  he  hoped  to  meet  us,  etc.,  etc.  Florence 
was  quite  Spris  with  him,  but  I  liked  his  friend 
better.  We  were  not  catechised  on  our  return, 
as  I  feared  we  would  be.  Florence  said  her 
headache  was  much  better,  and  we  went  to 
our  room  to  talk  over  our  adventure. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Allen  accompanied  us  to  the 
concert.  Lovely  evening,  train  on  time,  good 
seats,  full  house,  bewildering  toilets,  and  so 
on,  ad  lib.  As  Monsieur  and  Madame  sat  be- 
hind the  two  rows  of  young  ladies  whom 
they  had  been  so  kind  as  to  chaperon  (no  doubt 
getting  in  free  on  the  strength  of  our  num- 
bers), we  were  obliged  to  mind  omx ps  and  qs. 


The  programme  was  charming,  the  performers 

first-class,  and  Madame ,  ^^ prima- donna, 

is  perfection  itself.  Lovely,  graceful,  dignified, 
elegantly  and  tastefully  dressed,  a  glorious 
singer,  she  received  a  grand  ovation.  She 
wore  white  satin,  high  at  the  throat,  and  with 
long  sleeves.  Why  she  did  this  I  can't  say, 
for  she  must  have  a  beautiful  neck  and  arms. 

They  gave  a  whole  act  from  Martha,  with 
many  other  favorite  arias,  and  a  glorious  Ave 
Maria.  When  she  sang  this  last  number  she 
did  really  look  like  a  saint  or  a  Madonna. 
Somehow  it  made  me  feel  very  mean  and 
earthy.  I  closed  my  eyes,  and  actually  wiped 
tears  from  them,  when  the  strain  of  the 
orchestra  called  me  back  to  reality  and  the 
commonplace  once  more.  Fancy  my  embar- 
rassment at  seeing  M.  Krouck  casting  lan- 
guishing glances  at  me  from  behind  the  bass- 
violin  over  which  he  presided !  He  could  not 
have  known  that  the  powers  that  be  were 
with  us,  they  sat  too  far  from  him  to  be  readily 
observed.  On  this  account  I  felt  constrained 
to  ignore  his  admiration,  and  am  afraid  I  must 
have  hurt  his  feelings,  for  he  looked  quite 
melancholy  afterward.  He  is  really  devoted 
to  me  of  late,  and  I  think  I  can  make  it  all 
right  with  him  when  I  explain. 

Florence  and  I  looked  around  cautiously 
for  our  friends  of  the  day  before,  but  saw 
nothing  of  them  until  the  concert  was  over 
and  we  were  filing  out  behind  our  keepers. 
There  was  a  halt  in  the  aisle  for  some  reason 
or  other,  and  lo!  just  in  front  of  us  stood 

Mr. ,  with  a  very  pretty,  stylish  young 

lady  on  his  arm.  And  what  do  3^ou  think  she 
said  to  him  as  we  waited  there?  "O  Charley, 
I  do  wish  we  could  get  out!  It  is  so  late,  and 
I  am  sure  baby  will  be  crying;  he  never  is 
good  with  nurse  after  eleven."  To  which 
' '  Charley ' '  replied :  * '  Well,  if  he  makes  it  hot 
for  nurse  I  sha'n't  have  to  walk  up  and  down 
with  him  the  rest  of  the  night.  He'll  probably 
have  cried  himself  out  by  the  time  we  get 
home."  Florence  and  I  didn't  wait  to  hear 
any  more  than  "You  cruel" — our  only  anx- 
iety was  to  sink  into  the  earth,  or,  to  speak 
literally,  to  slink  into  the  background,  where 
"Charley"  could  not  see  us.  We  succeeded 
in  doing  so ;  he  did  not  see  us  then,  but,  un- 
luckily, we  met  them  again  in  the  vestibule, 
where  he  raised  his  hat  to  a  lady,  who  called 


The  Ave  Maria. 


i8i 


him  "Mr.  Paysoii."  He  was  about  to  salute 
us  I  think,  bat  we  both  stared  at  him.  I 
fancied  his  lips  wore  a  mocking  smile. 

Just  think  of  it!  If  you  were  not  my  dearest, 
dearest  friend,  knowing  every  thought  of  my 
heart,  I  should  never,  never  tell  it.  That  man 
is  ynarried,  and  his  name  is  Payson  instead 

of !    Probably  the  other  one  is  married 

also.  How  foolish  and  unmaidenl}^  we  were! 
I  am  so  disgusted  with  myself  I  don't  know 
what  to  do.  (So  I  became  serious,  3''0U  will 
say.)  I'd  hate  to  be  that  man's  wife!  Poor 
woman!  she  probably  doesn't  know  a  thing 
about  his  flirtations.  Some  one  ought  to  tell 
her.  I  believe  I'll  write  her  an  anonymous 
letter.  But  Florence  says  we  had  better  keep 
■quiet  for  our  own  sakes,  and  I  don't  know  but 
what  she  is  right.  Believe  me,  I  will  never  do 
the  like  again,  and  have  resolved  to  be  cau- 
tious in  such  matters.  The  fact  is,  we  have 
too  much  of  a  swing  here.  Perhaps  the  nuns 
have  the  name  of  being  too  strict  simply  be- 
cause guardians  like  ours  are  not  strict  ^t  all. 
Dinner — adieu.  More  anon. 

Your  faithful        Ksteixa. 

(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 


The  Proposed  Convention  of   Catholic 
Editors. 


BY  MAURICE   FRANCIS  EGAN. 


THE  question  of  holding  a  convention  of 
Catholic  editors  at  Baltimore  is  under  con- 
sideration. Mr.  ly.W.  Reilly,  of  Columbus,  who 
has  won  recognition  in  the  field  of  Catholic 
journalism,  has  taken  the  initiative  by  sending 
out  a  circular  to  all  his  fellow-workers, — a 
circular  as  tersely  expressed  as  it  is  well  con- 
sidered. But  it  seems,  so  far  as  I  can  under- 
stand, to  be  founded  on  a  false  premise ;  and 
this  is,  that  the  committee  of  the  Catholic 
Congress  has  refused  to  put  a  paper  on  the 
Catholic  press  on  its  programme.  Now,  the 
•chairman  of  the  committee  has  distinctly 
stated  that  a  Catholic  editor  had  consented 
to  write  such  a  paper.  His  name  has  not  been 
announced.  It  is  enough,  however,  that  Mr. 
Brownson  has  made  the  statement. 

Although  this  knocks  out  a  plank  in  Mr. 
Reilly 's   platform,  it  does  not   weaken   the 


structure.  His  circular  has  an  excellent  inten- 
tion :  it  means  that  the  time  has  come  when 
Catholic  editors  must  begin  to  cultivate  fellow- 
feeling.  Outside  of  the  editors  of  the  provin- 
cial press — the  editors  who  go  into  raptures 
over  a  monstrous  squash,  and  call  down  the 
thunders  of  Heaven  on  a  rival  because  he  has 
secured  a  bigger  circus  advertisement, — the 
editors  of  Catholic  papers  have  been  more 
fractious,  less  broad-minded,  and  less  generous 
in  war  than  any  others  of  their  craft.  One 
would  think  that  we  were  all  trying  to  capture 
another  man's  few  thousand  subscribers.  One 
could  hardly  believe  that  there  are  millions 
of  Catholics  in  this  country  when  one  observed 
the  struggles  of  certain  Catholic  papers  to 
"down"  others.  Of  course  that  is  all  past  now; 
it  existed  a  long  time  ago,  when  the  present 
writer  was  an  editor,  and  sometimes  put  his 
little  sneer  at  men  much  better  than  himself 
into  print.  But  let  us  live  in  the  past  for  a 
while,  and  draw  from  it  a  lesson  for  the  present. 

In  those  days — about  twelve  months  ago — 
there  were  not  more  than  two  Catholic  papers 
in  the  country  with  a  circulation  of  over 
twelve  thousand ;  and  yet  the  wicked  advertis- 
ing directories  would  insist  on  inflating  their 
circulation  to  such  an  extent  that  mischievous 
people  w^ould  sometimes  reply  to  the  outcries 
of  the  Catholic  press  that  it  is  not  supported, 
by  pointing  to  the  wicked  advertising  books 
with  their  "watered"  circulation.  Whether 
the  Catholic  editors  have  a  convention  in  Balti- 
more or  only  an  informal  meeting,  they  ought 
to  begin  by  forcing  the  unscrupulous  adver- 
tising agent  to  be  honest.  After  all,  it  is  not 
the  number  of  subscribers  that  makes  adver- 
tising pay,  but  the  quality. 

If  Catholic  editors  do  not  unite, — if  they 
do  not  practise  that  charity  to  others  of  their 
craft  which  they  preach,  their  occupation  will 
soon  be  gone.  There  are  not  more  than  four 
papers  in  the  country  which  have  any  real 
vitality.  Does  anybody  want  the  names  ?  They 
can  have  them  in  sealed  envelopes,  accom- 
panied by  an  oath  of  silence  taken  before  a 
notary  public, — and  this  condition  of  affairs 
is  due,  not  to  the  apathy  of  the  public,  but  to 
the  perversity  of  publishers  and  editors ;  for 
we  must  not  disguise  the  fact  that  the  editor 
is  merely  an  appendage  to  the  publisher,  and 
that  the  hand  that  rocks  the  paper  is  the  hand 


l82 


The  Ave  Maria. 


that  holds  the  cash — when  there  is  any.  It 
will  be  understood,  of  course,  that  the  meeting 
of  editors  at  Baltimore  shall  be  largely  con- 
trolled by  the  opinion  of  publishers.  And  this 
reminds  us  of  another  evil  which  weakens  the 
influence  of  the  Catholic  press,  and  that  is,  the 
frequent  change  of  editors.  It  is  the  editor  who 
makes  the  paper,  not  the  publisher,  though 
the  opinion  of  the  counting-room  ought  to 
have  its  weight ;  for,  as  the  Catholic  press  is 
unsubsidized,  no  paper  can  be  independent  of 
* '  canny ' '  considerations. 

Can  the  editor  of  The  Shamrock  come  out 
boldly  against  physical  force  in  the  treatment 
of  the  Irish  question,  when  he  depends  on 
certain  physical- force  advertisers  to  pay  for  a 
large  part  of  his  white  paper?  Can  he  rush 
tooth  and  nail  against  a  certain  abuse,  when 
he  knows  that  he  will  lose  ten  subscribers 
without  gaining  one?  If  a  prominent  gentle- 
man's speech  is  printed,  the  prominent  gentle- 
man sends  for  a  free  copy  or  two,  and  in  a 
high  and  mighty  manner  condemns  the  proof- 
reading. And  the  Catholic  editor  submits, 
and  meekly  permits  himself  to  be  used  by 
that  set  of  professional  philanthropists  who 
are  always  willing  to  get  a  free  advertisement. 

Let  there  be  an  informal  meeting, — by  all 
means  a  press  association;  for,  if  there  be 
not  more  unity,  more  self-respect,  more  regard 
for  the  rights  of  others,  more  good-fellowship, 
more  moderation,  we  shall  soon  see  the  writ- 
ing on  the  wall:  thus  speaks  a  man  and  a 

brother! 

»  ♦  » 

A  French  Lady's  Noble  Work. 


IN  1 865  the  prison  of  St.  Lazare  in  Paris  was 
honored  by  the  appointment  of  the  Abb6 
Michel  to  the  post  of  chaplain.  With  him  lived 
an  orphan  niece,  whom  he  had  reared,  and 
who  had  no  other  home,  and  she  became  one 
of  his  household  in  the  prison.  At  first  her 
horror  of  the  inmates  well-nigh  overcame  her ; 
but  after  a  while,  having  access  to  all  parts  of 
the  establishment,  she  came  to  pity  the  de- 
graded creatures.  After  this  to  love  the  poor 
sinners  for  whom  Christ  died  was  but  a  step. 
She  read  to  them,  wrote  their  letters,  and 
was  their  tender  sympathizer  and  confidante. 
Finally,  as  she  grew  older.  Mile.  Grandpr^ 
became  impressed  with  the  idea  that  it  was 


her  allotted  mission  to  find  homes  and  respect- 
able employment  for  these  unfortunates  as 
they  left  the  prison.  They  needed  clothing, 
and  she  provided  for  their  necessities  until 
her  own  slender  wardrobe  w^as  nearly  depleted 
and  her  purse  empty;  then  she  begged  of  her 
friends,  who  responded  generously.  The  point 
of  supply  is  named  the  Vestiare,  and  has  from 
its  establishment  been  a  flourishing  institu- 
tion. People  vie  with  one  another  in  keeping 
it  supplied  with  useful  garments. 

But  attention  to  bodily  needs  is  only  one 
feature  of  this  beautiftil  charity.  The  niece  of 
the  good  Abbe  is  careful  that  the  spark  of 
goodness  and  religion  in  each  wretched  woman 
is  fanned  into  a  heavenly  flame,  when  it  is  pos- 
sible. And  when  is  it  not  possible  when  earnest 
efforts  are  supplemented  by  God's  grace? 

From  this  comparatively  small  beginning 
has  grown  a  society — Les  CEuvres  des  Li- 
berees — lately  referred  to  in  these  columns, 
of  which  this  good  woman  is  the  head.  Its 
object  is  to  rescue  unfortunate  women  from 
the  temptation  to  renew  a  life  of  crime  when 
they  are  released  from  prison.  All  honor  to 
Mile.  Grandpre,  the  beneficent  and  ministering 
spirit  of  St.  Lazare! 


Readings  from  Remembered  Books. 

THE   FIRST   MAGNIFICAT. 

WITH  swift  step,  as  if  the  precipitate  graceful- 
ness of  her  walk  were  the  outward  sign  of  her 
inward  joy,  and  she  were  beating  time  with  her 
body  to  the  music  that  was  so  jubilant  within,  the 
Mother  traverses  the  hills  of  Juda,  while  Joseph 
follows  her  in  an  amazement  of  revering  love. 
Like  Jesus  walking  swiftly  to  His  Passion,  as  if 
Calvary  were  drawing  Him  like  a  magnet,  so 
the  modest  Virgin  sped  onward  to  the  dwelling 
of  Elizabeth  in  Hebron.  The  everlasting  Word 
within  trembled  in  the  tone  of  Mary's  voice,  and 
the  babe  heard  it,  and  "leaped  in  his  mother's 
womb ' ' ;  and  the  chains  of  original  sin  fell  off  from 
him,  and  he  was  justified  by  redeeming  grace,  and 
the  full  use  of  his  majestic  reason  was  given  to 
him,  and  he  made  acts  of  adoring  love,  such  as 
never  patriarch  or  prophet  yet  had  made ;  and  he 
was  instantaneously  raised  to  a  dazzling  height 
of  sanctity,  which  is  a  memorial  and  a  wonder  in 
heaven  to  this  day.  And  the  inspiration  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  thrilled  through  his  mother  at  the 
moment,  and  she  was  filled  full  of  God,  and  her 


The  Ave  Maria. 


183 


I  first  act,  in  consequence  of  this  plenitude  of  God, 
was  a  worshipful  recognition  of  the  grandeur  of 
the  ^Mother  of  God  ;  and  all  these  miracles  were 
accomplished  before  yet  the  accents  of  Mary  s 
voice  had  died  away  upon  the  air. 

Straightway  the  Word  arose  within  His  Moth- 
er's bosom,  and  enthroned  Himself  upon  her 
sinless  heart;  and  borrowing  her  voice, which  had 
already  been  to  Him  the  instrument  of  His  power, 
the  sacrament  of  John's  redemption,  He  sang  the 
unfathomable  Magnificat,  out  of  whose  depths 

I  music  has  gone  on  streaming  upon  the  enchanted 
earth  all  ages  since.  —  '•'Bethlehem'''  Frederick 
William  Faber,  D.  D. 

■  THE    IRIvSH    HEART. 

Many  of  the  reading  public  will  remember 
the  sad  accident  which  occurred  in  Hartford, 
Conn.,  in  the  year  1853,  when,  by  the  bursting 
of  a  boiler  connected  with  a  car  factory,  several 
of  the  workmen  were  killed.  Among  the  killed 
were  two  Irishmen,  brothers,  each  of  whom  left 
a  widow  with  an  infant  child.  These  men  had 
been  industrious  and  faithful  toward  their  em- 
ployers and  kind  in  their  own  households ;  so 
that  when  they  were  taken  away  in  such  a  sudden 
and  shocking  manner  their  sorrowing  widows  felt 
a  double  stroke,  in  the  loss  of  affectionate  hearts, 
and  in  the  deprivation  of  many  of  the  comforts 
which  the  hand  of  affection  had  hitherto  supplied. 

About  six  months  after  the  accident  the  Hart- 
ford postmaster  received  from  the  Department 
at  Washington  a  "dead  letter,"  which  had  been 
written  by  these  brothers  to  a  female  relative  in 
Ireland,  enclosing  a  draft  for  ten  pounds  sterling, 
to  defray  the  expenses  of  her  passage  to  America. 

This  anxiety  on  the  part  of  these  children  of 
Erin,  who  had  come  to  this  land  of  promise,  to 
furnish  their  relatives  and  friends  whom  they 
had  left  behind  with  the  means  of  following 
them,  is  a  striking  manifestation  of  that  ardent 
attachment  to  home  and  its  circle  of  loved  ones, 
which  leads  them  to  undergo  every  sacrifice  in 
order  to  effect  a  reunion  with  those  for  whose 
presence  they  long  with  irrepressible  desires,  as 
i  they  go  about,  "strangers  in  a  strange  land." 
They  have  often  been  known  to  submit  to  the 
severest  privations  for  the  sake  of  bringing  over 
a  sister,  a  brother,  or  some  other  relative,  without 
whom  the  family  circle  would  be  incomplete.  All 
this  is  but  one  aspect  of  the  "Irish  heart,"  whose 
warmth  of  affection  and  generous  impulses  should 
I  put  to  shame  many  who,  without  their  ardent 
unseljfishness,  coolly  laugh  at  the  blunders  and 
malapropos  speeches  of  its  possessors,  and  attrib- 
ute that  to  shallowness  which  is  in  truth  but  a 
sudden  and  sometimes  conflicting  flow  of  ideas. 

"By  their  works  ye  shall  know  them."  It  is 


comparatively  easy  to  utter  the  language  of  affec- 
tion, and  to  express  a  vast  deal  of  fine  sentiment : 
and  much  of  this  spurious  coin  is  current  in 
the  world.  But  when  one  is  seen  denying  himself 
almost  the  necessaries  of  life  in  order  to  accumu- 
late a  little  fund  for  the  benefit  of  some  one  near 
to  his  heart,  though  far  away,  we  feel  that  there 
can  be  no  deception  here.  Like  the  widow's  mite, 
it  has  the  ring  of  pure  gold. 

The  letter  referred  to  (which  was  sent  back 
from  Ireland  in  consequence  of  some  misdirec- 
tion) was  full  of  kind  feeling,  and  manifested  on 
the  part  of  the  writers  a  firm  and  simple  trust  in 
the  goodness  of  Providence.  The  postmaster  sent 
word  to  the  widows  that  this  letter  was  in  his 
possession,  and  accordingly  was  visited  by  the 
bereaved  women,  whose  tears  flowed  fast  as  they 
gazed  upon  the  record  which  recalled  so  vividly 
the  kindnesses  of  their  departed  husbands.  The 
little  sum  enclosed,  as  they  stated,  was  the  result 
of  the  united  efforts  of  the  two  families,  who 
cheerfully  joined  in  this  labor  of  love. 

The  postmaster  informed  the  widows  that  by 
returning  the  draft  to  the  office  from  which  it 
was  purchased  they  might  obtain  the  money  on 
it ;  but  they  replied  that,  since  it  had  once  been 
dedicated  to  an  object  sacred  both  to  the  departed 
and  their  survivors,  it  must  go  back  to  Ireland 
and  fulfil  its  mission. 

So  these  poor  stricken  women,  to  whom  ten 
pounds  was  a  large  sum  (even  larger  than  when 
the  letter  was  first  sent),  and  who  much  needed  the 
comforts  it  would  purchase,  sent  back  the  draft, 
and  have  since  had  the  happiness  of  seeing  the 
wishes  of  their  husbands  faithfully  carried  out. 

This  is  but  one  of  many  constantly  recurring 
instances  of  generosity  and  devotion  which  come 
to  the  knowledge  of  postmasters ;  and  while  we 
have  put  on  record  some  of  the  blunders  of  an  im- 
pulsive people,  our  sense  of  justice  has  prompted 
us  to  make  public  the  foregoing  incidents,  so 
forcibly  illustrating  the  warm  attachments  that 
grace  the  Irish  heart. — ''Ten  Years  among  the 
Mail  Bags;'  J.  Holbrook. 

THE  TRUE  BASIS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  ORDER. 
The  doctrine  of  Right  is  the  only  true  founda- 
tion of  the  public  order.  Where  shall  we  seek 
that  doctrine?  I  answer,  in  the  moral  law.  The 
very  same  ethical  law  which  reigns  over  the  in- 
dividual reigns  over  the  aggregation  of  individ- 
uals in  civil  society.  And  its  dictates  are  truths 
of  supreme  authority, which  no  gainsaying  of  the 
largest  and  loudest  multitude  can,  in  the  least, 
invalidate.  It  is  the  fundamental  fact,  not  only 
of  individual  life,  but  of  the  social  order.  It  is 
the  supreme  rule  alike  of  private  and  public  ex- 
istence: the  sun  of  righteousness  illuminating 


i8^ 


The  Ave  Maria, 


the  world  of  ratioual  being ;  and  there  is  nothing 
hid  from  the  heat  thereof.  For  the  great  thinkers 
of  the  ancient  world  all  duties— ^r/^ — were  in- 
cluded in  ethics:  jurisprudence  was  a  part  of 
moral  philosophy.  The  masters  of  the  medieval 
school  judged  likewise.  It  is  from  the  time  of  the 
Renaissance  that  we  may  trace  the  de-ethicizing 
of  public  life.  Our  modern  utilitarianism  is  the 
logical  outcome  of  its  anti-nomianism.  Kant  has 
again  pointed  the  world  to  a  more  excellent  way. 
For  him  the  State  is  essentially  an  ethical  soci- 
ety, rooted  and  grounded  in  the  moral  law,  of 
which  he  finely  says  that  should  it  cease  all 
worth  of  human  life  on  earth  would  cease  too. 
The  very  foundation  of  the  public  order,  as  he 
judges,  is  the  rational  acknowledgment  that  there 
are  eternal  immutable  principles  and  rules  of 
right  and  wrong.  This  is  the  everlasting  adamant 
upon  which  alone  the  social  edifice  can  be  surely 
established.  Rear  it  upon  any  other  basis,  and  you 
do  but  build  upon  sand.  However  fair  the  struct- 
ure may  seem,  fall  it  must,  and  great  will  be  the 
fall  of  it.  To  talk  of  the  rights  of  the  isolated 
individual,  abstracted  from  the  moral  law,  is  an 
absurdity.  Such  an  individual  does  not  exist; 
and  if  he  did  exist  he  could  have  no  rights ;  for 
right  is  the  correlative  of  duty. 

What  I  clainv  as  my  right,  due  to  me,  I  first 
feel  as  my  duty,  due  from  me :  an  obligation  laid 
upon  me  by  One  who  is  higher  than  I.  Hence 
every  vindication  of  a  right  means  the  riveting  of 
a  duty.  Every  increase  of  liberty,  which  is  an 
increase  of  right,  requires  an  increase  of  ethical 
discipline.  But  where,  in  an  age  rent  by  religious 
divivsions  and  stunned  by  conflicting  philosophies, 
— where  shall  men  seek  the  oracle  of  that  moral 
law?  The  wise  of  all  ages  are  at  one  in  their 
response :  ' '  Lo,  the  shrine  is  in  thy  own  heart ! ' ' 
"The  true  Shekinah  is  man."  "The  kingdom  of 
God  is  within  you."  Under  the  law  of  that  king- 
dom we  are  born:  "Thou  oughtest  and  thou 
canst."  Destroy  all  creeds  and  all  philosophies, 
and  still  in  the  Categorical  Imperative  of  duty 
there  is  left  the  supreme  rule,  as  of  religion  and 
of  ethics,  so  of  the  political  order.  Make  of  con- 
science,with  the  false  prophets  of  the  new  gospel, 
but  the  crystallized  experience  of  the  past,  or  but 
a  bundle  of  solar  raj^s  stored  up  in  the  brain  ; 
and,  with  religion  and  ethics,  liberty,  which  is 
the  expression  of  personality,  perishes  too.  For 
the  autonomous />^rj<?;^  has  disappeared.  In  his 
place  you  have  merely  the  most  highly  developed 
of  mammals,  which  you  may  class  as  biped,  bima- 
nous,  and  so  forth,  and  of  which  that  is  the  whole 
account ;  a  primate  among  the  other  animals,  and 
as  incapable  as  the  rest  of  rational  freedom. — "^A 
Century  of  Revolution  y'  W,  S.Lilly. 


CHOPIN'S    DEATH. 

The  end  was  indeed  near;  his  sister  Louise, 
Madame  Jedezejewicz,  and  his  pupil  Gutmann 
watched  by  him,  and  nursed  him  with  the  utmost 
care ;  and  his  favorite  pupil,  the  Countess 
Delphine  Potocka,  also  hastened  to  his  side.  It  was. 
Sundaj',  October  15, 1849.  His  friends  were  round 
his  bed,  weeping  at  the  sight  of  his  sufferings  they 
were  so  powerless  to  relieve.  All  at  once  he  saw 
the  Countess  Potocka,  and  in  a  whisper  asked  her 
to  sing.  What  could  she  do  ?  With  an  immense 
effort  she  controlled  her  feelings,  and,  thinking 
only  of  her  dear  friend  and  master,  gained  the 
strength  to  sing  without  faltering  Stradella's 
beautiful  "Hymn  to  the  Virgin."  Chopin, listen- 
ing to  the  lovely  voice  and  music,  murmured: 
"Oh,  how  beautiful!  My  God,  how  beautiful  I 
Again,  again!"  She  sat  down  to  the  piano  and 
sang  a  psalm  by  Marcello.  In  the  room  all  was 
now  still,  save  for  that  voice  intoning  the  words 
of  faith  and  supplication ;  and  the  watchers, 
thinking  the  end  was  near,  fell  on  their  knees  and 
waited,  w^hile  he  lay  apparently  insensible  on  his 
couch.  But  he  lingered  on  till  the  next  evening,, 
when  he  received  the  last  Sacraments,  and,  rest- 
ing his  head  on  his  faithful  Gutmann' s  shoulder, 
repeated  after  the  priest  in  a  clear  voice  the  words 
of  the  Litany.  Soon  the  death  agony  came  upon 
him ;  he  bent  his  head  and  kissed  Gutmann' s 
hand.  Then,  with  a  sigh,  his  spirit  passed  away, 
and  Chopin,  whom  Schumann  calls  "the  boldest 
and  proudest  poetic  spirit  of  the  age,"  was  no 
more — at  least  for  earth. 

It  was  widely  known  how  much  he  loved  flow- 
ers, and  so  many  were  sent  by  his  friends  that  his 
body  was  literally  covered  with  them.  Mozart's 
Requiem,  which  Chopin  had  specially  begged 
should  be  sung,  was  performed  at  the  Madeleine, 
Mesdemoiselles  Viardot  Garcia  and  Castellan, 
and  Signor  Lablache  taking  the  solos,  and  the 
funeral  march  was  his  own  from  the  B  flat  minor, 
sonata,  scored  for  the  occasion  by  Reber.  When 
his  body  w^as  lowered  into  the  grave  a  handful  of 
Polish  earth  was  scattered  over  the  coffin.  Do 
you  remember  that  cup  filled  with  the  soil  of  his 
mother-country,  which  had  been  given  to  him 
nineteen  years  before,  in  the  days  when,  a  youth 
with  glowing  hopes  and  aspiring  genius,  he  had 
left  Poland  to  see  and  conquer  the  world  ?  He  had 
carefully  treasured  it  all  the  time,  and  the  earth 
that  now  fell  upon  his  coffin  was  poured  from 
that  relic  of  his  long-sundered  youth.  His  heart,, 
according  to  Chopin's  desire,  was  taken  to  his 
native  land,  and  it  is  now  in  the  Church  of  the 
Sacred  Cross  at  Warsaw.  —  ''The  Great  Com- 
posers,'' CE.  Bourne. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


'85 


HEROIvSM    IN    A   SOUTANE. 

During  the  war  of  1870-71  t\iQ  franc  -  tireurs 
■uid  killed  several  of  the  enemy's  soldiers  at  a 
\  lUage  near  Domr^my,  in  the  Ardennes.  The 
Germans  demanded  that  six  of  the  inhabitants 
should  be  given  up  to  be  shot  as  a  reprisal.  The 
unlucky  six  who  were  destined  to  meet  their 
death  in  this  way  were  surrendered  about  five 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  were  locked  up  in  a 
room  on  the  ground-floor  of  the  mayor's  house. 
The  Prussian  officer  in  charge  allowed  the  cure 
to  visit  the  poor  fellows,  and  give  them  religious 
consolation.  They  had  their  hands  tied  behind 
their  backs,  and  their  legs  were  tied  too  ;  and  he 
found  them  in  such  a  state  of  prostration  that 
they  scarcely  understood  what  he  said  to  them — 
two  had  fainted,  and  another  was  delirious  from 
fever.  Among  these  poor  men  was  one  who 
seemed  to  be  about  forty  years  of  age,  a  widower, 
with  five  young  children  depending  wholly  upon 
him  for  their  support. 

At  first  he  seemed  to  listen  to  the  priest's 
words  with  resignation  ;  finally,  overcome  with 
despair,  he  broke  into  the  most  fearful  impreca- 
tions ;  then,  passing  from  despair  into  deep  sor- 
row, he  wept  over  his  poor  children  reduced  to 
beggary  and  possibly  death,  and  wished  that 
they  had  been  given  up  to  the  Prussians  with 
him.  All  the  good  priest's  efforts  to  calm  this 
broken  heart  were  useless.  He  went  out  and 
walked  slowly  to  the  guard- room,  where  the  officer 
was  smoking  a  large  clay  pipe,  and  puffing  out 
great  clouds  of  smoke.  He  listened  to  the  priest 
without  interruption,  who  spoke  as  follows : 
"Captain,  six  hostages  have  been  given  up  to 
you  who  will  be  shot  before  many  hours  are  over; 
not  one  of  them  fired  on  your  troop,  and,  as  the 
culprits  have  escaped,  your  object  is  not  to  punish 
the  guilty,  but  to  make  an  example  of  them,  that 
the  same  thing  may  not  occur  in  another  place. 
It  can  not  signify  to  you  if  you  shoot  Peter  or 
Paul,  James  or  John ;  in  fact,  I  should  say  that 
the  more  well  known  the  victim  is  the  better 
warning  he  will  be  to  others.  So  my  reason  for 
coming  to  you  is  to  ask  you  to  allow  me  to  take 
the  place  of  a  poor  man,  whose  death  will  plunge 
his  five  children  into  great  trouble.  We  are  both 
innocent,  so  my  death  will  serve  your  purpose 
better  than  his."  —  "Be  it  so,"  answered  the 
officer  ;  and  four  soldiers  conducted  the  priest  to 
prison,  where  he  was  bound  like  the  others. 
Happily,  the  terrible  drama  did  not  end  here ;  for 
a  Prussian  commander,  hearing  what  had  taken 
place,  liberated  the  six  hostages  in  consequence 
of  the  priest's  heroism.  —  ''Noble  Words  and 
Noble  Deeds:' 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

The  assertion  may  be  made  without  thought  of 
contradiction  that  no  man  of  our  time  has  been 
more  successful  in  imparting  a  thorough  Chris- 
tian education  to  his  pupils  than  Mgr.  Dupan- 
loup,  when,  as  a  young  priest,  he  was  Superior  of 
the  Little  Seminary  of  St.  Nicholas,  at  Orleans. 
The  secret  of  his  success,  which  every  educator 
should  possess,  lay  in  the  fact  mentioned  by  one  of 
hispupils,that  the  "father"  in  him  superseded  the 
' '  master ' '  toward  all  his  students.  He  loved  those 
"dear  boys  "  with  all  the  ardor  of  his  affectionate 
heart, — loved  them  as  if  they  had  been  his  own 
children  by  nature  as  well  as  by  grace.  If  there 
was  any  one  thing  that  he  deprecated  from  the 
bottom  of  his  heart,  it  was  the  idea  that  boys  and 
young  men  were  to  be  governed  by  stern  rule 
backed  by  unbending  authority.  He  ruled  by  love, 
and  he  sought  to  win  their  hearts.  He  gained 
their  affection  and  confidence  by  opening  his  heart 
to  them.  "What!"  he  used  to  say  to  his  subor- 
dinates, "you  have  a  lot  of  young  souls  entrusted 
to  your  care,  to  whom  you  are  to  be  a  father,  and 
you  never  dream  of  opening  your  heart  to  them  ? 
You  may  resign  yourself  never  to  have  a  cordial 
understanding  with  them.  In  what  other  way  can 
a  superior  mould  them  to  his  will,  leave  his  mark 
upon  them,  as  it  were,  and  raise  their  souls  to 
noble  views  of  their  duty  toward  God,  their 
country,  and  their  neighbor?  How  otherwise  can 
he  be  to  them  a  true  father  ? ' ' 


The  writer  of  an  article  on  "The  Women 
of  Spain,"  in  the  Fortnightly  Review,  says:  "I 
remember  that  sometime  ago  in  my  native  town, 
Coruna,  a  meeting  of  freethinkers  was  got  up. 
The  promoter  and  president  was  the  professor  of 
very  radical  opinions,  and  he  gave  notice  in  the 
newspapers  that  ladies  might  be  present.  When, 
after  the  meetiijg,  he  was  asked  why  he  had 
not  brought  his  own  wife,  he  answered,  horror- 
struck :  "My  wife?  My  wife  is  no  freethinker, 
thank  God!"  

Father  Damien  was  attacked  by  leprosy  in 
1885.  In  writing  to  his  family,  some  months  after- 
ward, he  said  nothing  of  what  had  happened,  out 
of  regard  for  his  beloved  mother,  who  was  at  that 
time  in  feeble  health.  But  the  news  crept  into  the 
Belgian  papers,  and  the  hearing  of  it  hastened 
her  death.  She  died  in  1886  at  the  venerable  age 
of  eighty-two. 

Mrs.  De  Veuster  was  a  woman  of  remarkable 
faith  and  piety,  tenderly  devoted  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  as  was  her  sainted  son.  In  her  company 


1 88 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  Gold   Medal. 


A  TRUE  STORY. 


It  was  the  eve  of  Distribution  Day  in  one 

of  the  large  academies  of  East  P .  A  misty 

rdin  obscured  the  glorious  mountain  land- 
scape, which  was  visible  from  any  of  the  long 
windows,  and  the  shady  grove  and  winding 
walks  surrounding  the  imposing  and  beauti- 
ful building  were  deserted,  save  by  the  fearless 
Tobin  or  blue-bird,  who  felt  sure  of  finding 
*  'crumbs  of  comfort, ' '  scattered  by  the  willing 
hand  of  generous  childhood. 

At  a  class-room  window  a  young  girl  stood 
alone,  expressions  of  bright  thoughts  chasing 
each  other  over  her  speaking  face.  She  held 
a  letter  in  her  hand,  and  softly  pressed  it  to 
her  lips  as  she  murmured  to  herself:  "He  left 
Savannah  on  Monday,  he  has  been  on  the 
ocean  a  day ;  then  he  rested,  and  now  he  is 
due  here — this  evening!  Dear  papa,  and  what 
a''surprise  it  will  be ! " 

"Why,  Rosa,  are  you  talking  to  your  An- 
gel ? ' '  interrupted  a  gentle  voice  near. 

Rosa  quickly  turned,  and  the  kind  face  of  a 
religieuse  smiled  on  her  blushing  embarrass- 
ment. 

"No  indeed,  Sister!"  responded  the  girl. 
"I  must  have  looked  foolish  talking  to  myself 
though ;  but  I  was  counting  the  time  until  I 
shall  see  my  papa.  I  can  hardly  wait,  Sister ; 
and  you  know  the  surprise  I  have  for  him." 

"Yes,  Rosa,"  said  the  nun,  "the  fruit  of  a 
long  year  of  self-denial  for  a  very  irrepressible, 
fun-loving  girl.  The  Sacred  Heart  will  surely 
reward  the  many  little  restraints,  the  many 
little  acts  of  mortification  she  has  practised 
for  an  excellent  intention." 

"  Indeed,  Sister, "  said  Rosa,  looking  very 
serious  and  earnest,  "this  year  of  discipline 
and  self-restraint  has  done  me  a  world  of  good. 
It  has  developed  character  I  think,  and  taught 
me  self-control.  This  alone,  were  there  no  gold 
medal  to  crown  my  efforts,  is  a  reward  beyond 
price." 


"More  than  that,  my  child,"  said  the  nun. 
"It  has  made  you  have  recourse  to  prayer, 
and,  as  you  often  told  me,  you  found  yourself 
freshly  strengthened  to  keep  your  resolution 
to  be  good  every  time  you  made  a  visit  to  the 
Blessed  Sacrament.  This  is  a  great  lesson  for 
your  coming  life.  How  many  times  all  help 
will  fail  us  except  prayer?  And  thus  your  gold 
medal  has  taught  you  one  great  lesson  which 
of  itself  is  a  reward." 

Just  then  the  quick  eye  of  Rosa  descried  a 
carriage  rolling  up  the  avenue,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment a  tall  gentleman  had  alighted  at  the 
academy  door ;  and  with  bounding  step  Rosa 
flew  to  the  parlor,  where  she  was  clasped  in 
her  father's  arms. 

Mr.  K ,  who  had  come  this  evening  to 

take  his  daughter  to  her  home  in  the  Sunny 
South,  was  a  fond  and  indulgent  parent — a 
man  who  idolized  his  child.  No  demand  of 
hers  was  unreasonable,  no  wish  too  much  for 
gratification. 

Rosa  was  spoiled  indeed,  when,  two  years 
before,  she  was  placed  in  this  convent  school ; 
and  her  extravagance  and  wilfulness  made 
her  a  wonder  to  the  strictly  disciplined  pupils 

who  were  her  companions  at  St.  X .  But 

the  girl  had  a  fine  nature  and  a  good  heart. 
Slowly  she  yielded  to  the  influences  around 
her;  and  when,  on  her  return  to  school  a 
second  year,  she  announced  her  intention  to 
compete  for  the  "  Perfect  Deportment ' '  medal, 
many  smiled, but  there  were  some  who  thought 
she  would  gain  her  point. 

The  year  passed  by — a  year  of  hard  strug- 
gles with  love  of  fun  and  lOve  of  ease,  of  self- 
repression  and  self-control ;  for  the  competitor 
for  this  special  medal  must  be  a  model  of 
regularity,  amiability,  and  goodness.  And  the 
task  to  poor  Rosa  was  almost  superhuman. 
But  her  daily  efforts  strengthened  her  charac- 
ter, brought  out  her  own  resources,  taught 
her  forbearance,  exactness,  and  to  lift  up  her 
heart  in  prayer  to  God  and  Our  Lady ;  and,  i 
although  more  than  once  she  was  on  the  edge  [ 
of  a  breakdown,  when  the  close  of  the  year; 
came  she  had  persevered,  and  found  the  cov-, 
eted  prize  within  her  grasp.  In  the  meahtime| 
her  mind  had  undergone  a  change :  her  frivol-l 
ity  disappeared,  and  her  teachers  and  com-! 
panions  hardly  knew  this  Rosa  for  the  Rosp; 
who  began  her  efforts  only  ten  months  before  j 


The  Ave  Maria. 


189 


Once  Rosa  had  said  to  lier  father:  "  Papa, 
wouldn't  you  be  pleased  if  I  carried  home  a 
gold  medal  for  perfect  deportment  ? ' ' 

Mr.  K ,  who   thought    such   a    thing 

about  as  possible  to  Rosa  as  to  carry  home 
one  of  the  mountains,  smiled  and  said  : 

"If  you  ever  bring  home  a  ^//z-^rmedal  for 
deportment,  Rosa,  I'll  give  you  a  cheque  for 
a  hundred  dollars." 

"But  a  gold  medal,  papa!  Why,  it  takes 
five  times  as  much  trying  for  a  gold  medal! " 

"Well,  then,  on  the  same  principle,  you 
shall  havey?z'^  hundred  dollars  if  you  ever 
bring  home  a  gold  medal,"  replied  her  father. 

Rosa  said  no  more,  but  thought  to  herself: 
"If  he  only  knew!"  and  then  smiled  and 
worked  all  the  harder. 

The  days  rolled  on,  and  now  on  this  even- 
ing— with  only  one  sunrise  between  her  and 
the  object  of  her  longing — Rosa  was  in  her 
father's  arms,  asking  a  thousand  questions, 
bestowing  a  thousand  caresses,  but  studiously 
avoiding  the  slightest  reference  to  her  "sur- 
prise." So  fearful  was  she  that  her  father 
might  know  it  before  her  name  was  called  out 
on  the  great  day,  that  she  went  around  to 
everyone,  entreating  her  secret  to  be  respected. 
And,  of  course,  no  one  could  refuse  her. 

I^er  father  was  delighted  at  her  animation, 
at  her  improvement  in  grace  and  manner. 
Could  this  self-possessed  young  lady  be  his 
undisciplined  child?  The  truth  was  manifest, 
and  his  heart  overflowed. 

Distribution  Day  came,  and  clergy  and 
guests  and  pupils  were  seated  in  the  beautiful 
hall  of  the  academy.  Graceful  festoons  of  green 
adorned  the  walls  and  wreathed  the  white 
pillars,  and  great  clusters  of  white  and  pink 
roses  and  trailing  vines  made  the  scene  fra- 
grant and  fairy-like;  the  music  struck  a  respon- 
sive chord  in  everyone's  heart.  Mr.  K 's 

eye  rested  proudly  on  his  child,  who  never 
seemed  to  him  so  lovable;  not  that  he  dreamed 
of  her  success,  but  there  was  a  stamp  of  char- 
acter on  her  face — a  something  never  there 
before.  The  exercises  continued  —  honors, 
prizes,  premiums,  were  distributed,  and  then 
came,  with  clear,  distinct  voice,  the  announce- 
ment: "Gold  Medal  for  Perfect  Deportment, 
during  the  entire  scholastic  term  of  forty 
weeks,  awarded  to  Miss  Rosa  K ! " 

Mr.  K started  as  if  a  thunderbolt  had 


fallen  at  his  feet.  His  face  grew  pale,  then  red; 
tears  came  to  his  eyes  as  he  saw  his  daughter, 
with  radiant  face  and  a  smile  directed  to  him, 
advance  to  the  Bishop  and  receive  her  gold 
medal,  and  then  with  easy  manner  retire  to 
her  place. 

A  thousand  thoughts  passed  through  the 
father's  mind.  He  understood  all  the  medal 
had  cost  his  child ;  he  knew  she  had  won  it 
for  him,  and  for  his  pleasure,  and  his  emotion 
was  so  great  he  could  hardly  restrain  it. 

When  all  was  over  Rosa  flew  to  his  arms, 
and  in  his  tremulous  voice  and  dimmed  eyes 
saw  how  deeply  her  father's  heart  was 
touched.  Congratulations  poured  in  from 
teachers,  companions,  and  friends,  as  Rosa 
displayed  her  coveted  prize,  while  her  father 
seemed  never  tired  hearing  hei-  conduct 
praised. 

Soon  farewells  were  spoken ;  excitement 
and  delightful  confusion  reigned  among  the 
merry  girls  of  St.  X .  Carriage  after  car- 
riage drove  away  from  the  familiar  scenes  of 
school  life,  and  the  halls  became  deserted. 

Mr.  K and  his  daughter  were  left  for  a 

few^  moments  alone  under  some  of  the  shady 
trees,  and  once  more  the  medal  was  admired  as 
it  hung  on  the  bosom  of  the  happy  possessor. 

"You  have  richly  earned  your  five  hundred 

dollars,  my  daughter,"  said  Mr.  K .  "You 

shall  have  a  cheque  the  moment  you  de- 
mand it." 

Rosa's  face  grew  serious  in  a  moment.  Some 
expression,  inscrutable  to  her  father,  settled 
there.  She  was  silent.  At  last  she  said,  slowly: 

"Papa,  I  thank  you  from  my  heart.  You 
must  not  think  me  ungrateful,  but  I  would 
rather  have  something  else." 

Mr.  K looked  astonished. 

"Why,  daughter,  think  of  all  that  amount 
could  get  for  you !  What  else  in  this  world 
do  you  wish  for?" 

With  a  caressing  gesture  Rosa  took  one  of 
his  hands  into  both  of  hers,  and  laid  it  against 
her  heart. 

"Something  else,  papa!" 

"Name  it,  then,  darling,  and  you  shall  have 
it,"  said  her  father,  a  strange  feeling  in  his 
throat. 

"Papa,"  faltered  Rosa,  "you  haven't  been 
to  confession  for  five  years.  What  would  be- 
come of  you  if  you  were  to  die  suddenly  ?  Wait 


190 


The  Ave  Maria, 


here  till  Saturday,  and  go  to  confession,  and 
we  will  receive  Holy  Communion  together 
before  we  leave  for  home. ' ' 

Mr.  K started.    At  first   he   felt  like 

rising  and  going  away ;  then  he  determined 
to  refuse  as  best  he  could,  but  grace  was  at 
work.  He  looked  down  and  said  not  a  word. 

' '  Papa, ' '  pleaded  Rosa,  her  eyes  full  of  tears, 
"every  time  it  became  hard  for  me  to  be  good, 
every  time  that  I  had  to  fight  with  myself 
to  restrain  my  long-indulged  propensities,  I 
thought  of  this  request.  I  felt  sure  if  I  perse- 
vered in  my  struggles  to  please  you,  God 
would  bless  me,  and  hear  my  prayer.  And, 
papa,  you  have  given  your  word  to  grant 
whatever  I  asked.  Surely  you  will  not  refuse. ' ' 

Mr.  K was  conquered. 

*'No,  my  child:  you  have  won!  I  will  do 
what  you  say.  And,  after  all,  you  are  right. 
But  do  you  give  up  your  five  hundred  dol- 
lars?" he  added,  with  a  smile. 

"If  it  were  a  hundred  times  as  much," 
cried  Rosa,  vehemently,  "I  would  consider 
it  nothing  compared  to  the  favor  you  have 
granted  me,  dearest  papa!  Oh,  thank  God!" 

Mr.  K was  as  good  as  his  word.  In  the 

seclusion  of  that  convent  chapel  he  reviewed 
the  five  years  of  his  life  where  confession  and 
Communion  had  never  entered,  and  on  Sunday 
morning  father  and  daughter  knelt  together 
at  the  Communion  rail,  and  all  present  blessed 
God  that  such  a  glorious  result  came  from  the 
fervent  prayer  of  that  childish  heart.  To  Rosa 
this  moment  was  more  to  be  prized  than  all 
the  wealth  of  the  Indies. 

Young  girls,  readers  of  The  "Ave  Maria,'  ' 

this  is  a  true  story ;  it  happened  in  the  June 

days  that  have  just  passed  by.   Have  you  no 

darling  wish  that  a  year  of  self-denial  could 

obtain?  Sacrifice  is  precious  in  the  sight  of 

God.   He  will  never  be  outdone  in  generosity: 

"Ask  and  you  shall  receive."  And,  while  you 

strive  and  pray  for  an  earthly  reward,  fix  your 

eyes  on  something  noble  and  beautiful  far 

beyond  it,  and  according  to  your  faith  in  God 

will  it  be  done  unto  you.  , .. 

■^  Mercedes. 


The  Jose-Maria. 


X. 


Decision  of  character  is  one  bright  golden 
apple  which  ever}-  young  person  should  strive 
in  the  beginning  to  pluck  from  the  tree  of 
life. — -John  Foster. 


Hendershott's  grief  was  deep  when  he  got 
back  to  the  house  as  the  church  bells  were 
ringing,  and  found  what  a  dreadful  guest  had 
come  in  during  his  absence. 

At  the  account  of  the  lawyer's  visit  his 
anger  was  too  deep  for  words  at  first,  but 
slowly  expressed  itself  during  the  day  in  dis- 
jointed  sentences,  jerked  out  between  clouds 
of  tobacco  smoke.  About  seven  o'clock  they 
culminated  in :  "Broached- to!  As  fine  a  sailor 
as  ever  stepped;  an'  by  a  land  shark,  drat 
him! "  Then  :  "Jack  junior  kin  jest  wait  for 
that  air  berth  a  while  longer,  an'  Kit  kin  go 
'thout  her  gewgaws.  'Tain't  the  rank  as 
makes  the  man,  nor  the  riggin'  as  makes  the 
gal."  Then:  "Them  dead  men's  a  awful  big 
dose,  an'  that  there  City  0'  Pekin  gives  me  the 
wust  kind  o'  a  turn  to  rickollect,  but  ef  it 
lands  me  in  Davy's  own  I'm  agoin'  to  keep 
on  a-divin'  for  the  Hosy-Mari^ s  money-chists 
whether  they're  thar  or  not;  an'  mebbe  the 
pay  I'm  a-gittin'  fum  the  Comp'ny'll  stave 
off*  that  there  hog-fish  tell  suthin'  else  kin  be 
done,  an'  thar's  my  pipe  on't! " 

And  he  solemnly  laid  his  pipe  on  the  table, 
and  smashed  it  by  a  blow  of  his  open  hand, 
and  next  morning  went  to  his  diving  as  usual. 

The  whole  party — president,  directors,  jour- 
nalists, invited  guests,  and  diver, — came  back 
highly  excited  Monday  evening.  The  pumps 
had  brought  up  a  piece  of  something  about 
the  length  of  a  man's  forearm.  It  had  been 
cleansed,  and,  after  being  submitted  to  the 
microscope,  it  was  declared  to  be  teak-wood. 

Now,  as  the  Jose-Maria  was  entered  on  the 
shipping  lists  of  the  Admiralty  as  "built  of 
teak-wood,"  this  was  accepted  by  the  most 
incredulous  as  an  indisputable  proof  that  the 
wreck  located  was  indeed  the  one  sought;  and 
Hendershott  dreamed  uneasy  exultant  dreams 
all  that  night  of  pounding  Dixson's  head  with 
a  bar  of  solid  silver,  while  a  row  of  dead  Span-  | 
iards  grinned  at  him  through  the  port-holes  j 
of  the  wreck  ;  and  a  dreadful,  shapeless  some-  , 
thing  wavered  up  and  down  and  back  and  j 
forth  in  the  marsh,  like  a  Will- o' -the- Wisp  1 
whose  light  had  gone  out.  | 

A  few  da3^s  later  the  grapples  caught  in 


The  Ave  Maria. 


191 


some  obstruction  that  would  not  give;  but  be- 
fore the  second  turn  of  the  tide  a  squall  came 
roaring  down  the  Bay,  and,  after  holding  for 
twenty  minutes  or  so,  they  fetched  loose,  and 
when  they  were  hauled  up  were  found  to  be 
straightened  out  and  covered  with  verdigris. 

This  made  a  pretty  bustle,  I  can  assure  you! 
And  the  blacksmith's  shop,  where  they  were 
taken  after  being  scraped  and  washed,  was 
irnged-in  ten  deep  with  the  tarry  sailors, 
rugged  pilots,  and  ragged  small  fry,  to  say 
nothing  of  an  interested  group  of  the  Mad- 
ison's officers,  and  several  of  the  professional 
men  and  county  gentlemen,  who  watched 
attentively  as  the  great  bellows  groaned  and 
puffed,  the  sparks  flew  wide,  and  the  short, 
swart  smith,  with  his  leather  apron,  counted 
the  seconds  while  the  irons  lay  in  the  heart 
of  the  flame. 

A  young  chemist,  who  was  at  the  Breakwater 
for  the  fishing,  joined  them  just  as  the  grapples 
were  lifted  out.  He  gave  one  look,  then  said : 

"Galvanized  with  copper,  by  Jove! " 

Then  there  was  a  hand-shaking  among  the 
officers,  and  a  quiet  explaining  to  the  un- 
initiated that  the  presence  of  the  verdigris 
on  the  irons  meant  they  had  gripped  either 
copper  or  brass,  and  as  Xho.  Jose-Maria  was  the 
only  ship  sunk  in  that  part  of  the  Bay  that 
had  both  in  her  hull  (she  carried  brass  guns 
and  was  coppered  to  her  bends),  it  meant  that 
the  lost  galleon  would  soon  yield  up  her  thou- 
sands and  tens  and  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
treasures. 

But  the  days  came  and  went,  and  still  the 
blue  clay  obstinately  held  its  secret,  and  the 
time  drew  nearer  and  nearer  for  the  giving 
up  of  the  house  and  land.  Mr.  Rodney  had 
told  Jonas  that  several  of  their  mutual  friends 
had  determined  to  advance  the  money  to  clear 
the  property,  giving  him  as  long  a  time  as  he 
wanted  to  return  it;  but,  while  the  old  sailor's 
face  twitched  with  emotion,  he  said : 

"No:  I'm  obleeged.  But  a  debt's  a  debt 
any  way  you  fix  it.  It's  a  rock  as  '11  bilge  the 
stoutest  o'  ships.  It's  always  right  thar  in  her 
ribs,  an'  shiftin'  the  ballast  ain't  stoppin'  the 
leak.  Let  the  shark  have  it  when  the  time 
comes,  an'  Dick' 11  manage  somehow  fur  Idella 
an'  me  an'  the  Sand- Pipers." 

These  latter  insisted  on  going  into  ihe  cabin 
to  live,  and  sometimes  Dick  was  half  disposed 


to  try  it;  but  Jonas  held  his  old  horror  of  the 
Dune,  and  told  Dick  "when  the  time  came" 
he  would  tell  him  what  to  do. 

Meantime  Ginevra  Mary  had  begun  asiege 
of  Our  Lady  that  was  as  unique  as  it  was 
fervent ;  for  it  was  a  strange  compound  of 
begging,  scolding,  and  remonstrating. 

' '  See  here,  my  Lady ! ' '  she  said  one  day, 
"please  to  stop  thinkin'  'bout  Heaven,  an* 
listen  to  me  for  a  minute!  Weg-o/  to  have  some- 
thin'  done,  an'  done  s/)iy,  we  reelly  /lave/  The 
Lord  was  raisin'  dead  folks  an'  curin'  cripples 
when  He  was  livin'  in  J'rusal'm,  so  don' I  you 
think  He'd  fetch  daddy  now,  an'  put  uncle 
Judkins  on  his  legs  agin,  an'  h'/I  that  man — 
no,  I  guess  he  wouldn't  do  ^/lat  (I  forgot  He 
loved  everj'body,  an'  we  got  to  too),  but  srare 
him, — scare  him  awful,  so  he'll  run  away  and 
never  come  back  ? ' ' 

And  every  day  found  her  looking  up  at  the 
sky,  her  eyes  screwed  close,  her  nose  drawn 
to  a  button,  and  her  anxiety  dropping  from 
her  lips  in  some  such  phrase  as  this : 

"Be  you  a-goin'  to  do  it  to-day,  I  wonder? 
My!  I  wish  you  weren't  so  fur  off!  Maybe  ef 
I  could  pull  your  gown  you'd  turn  roun'  an* 
listen  tight'''  (earnestly). 

God  bless  her!  She  didn't  know  she  was 
pulling  her  gown,  and  plucking  at  her  heart- 
strings as  well,  by  her  innocent  confidence. 

But  still  the  sun  shone  and  the  waters 
danced,  and  nothing  happened  till  the  last 
day  but  one  of  the  Madison' s  stay.  (Yes,  in 
spite  of  the  bit  of  teak  and  the  verdigris,  there 
was  some  quarel  about  the  amount  of  money 
assessed  for  coal  bills,  and  some  disagreement 
between  the  members  of  the  Board  as  to 
whether  dredging  was  not  surer  than  diving. 
The  dredges  could  be  run  tvvo-and-tweuty 
hours,  and  the  contents  of  every  scoop  run 
through  a  screen  in  full  sight;  while  diving 
could  be  done  only  two  hours  a  day,  and 
then  the  currents  might  wash  away  valuable 
"proofs"  from  the  diver's  very  hands.  And 
the  upshot  of  it  all  was  that  the  work  was  to 
be  suspended  till  the  following  spring.) 

That  evening  Hendershott  came  home  look- 
ing ill.  He  would  eat  nothing,  and  sat  outside 
the  door  with  his  head  clasped  in  his  hands, 
shuddering  now  and  then  uncontrollably,  and 
groaning  softly  to  himself. 

Dick   found   him  in  this   condition,  and. 


192 


The  Ave  Maria. 


after  silently  mixing  liini  a  glass  of  stiff  grog 
and  filling  his  pipe,  he  sat  down  by  him 
waiting  developments.  But  as  none  came  he 
jogged  his  memor3^ 

"Have  a  pipe,  Cap'n,  an'  some  grog?" 

Hendershott  shook  his  head  dismally. 

*  *  Feel  bad  any  wheer,  sir  ? " 

*'I  feel  wuss'n  ef  chagres  and  choleray  was 
a-pullin'  caps  fur  me." 

"Can  I  git  the  doctor?"  (anxiously.) 

"No:  it's  suthin'  I  seen  to-day,  Dick." 
Then  he  broke  out  fiercelj^ : 

"I  won't,  I  darsn't  go  down  to-morrow! 
Here  I've  kep'  myself  under  thinkin'  I  was 
a-servin'  my  old  messmate,  Jonas  Judkins 
A.B., — a-layin'  in  his  bed  by  the  will  o'  the 
Lord  and  through  that  limb  o'  the  law's  in- 
terferin'.  But  to-day  I  seen  that  as  makes  it 
/^possible  to  go  over  the  side  agin  as  long  as 
I  breathe — which  wath  these  here  lungs  o' 
mine  '  11  be  many  a- year — so  help  me !  An'  now 
suppose  the  Comp'ny  holds  back  my  pay  for 
breach  o'  contrac' — they  kin  do  it!  An'  then 
how's  the  $1,800  due  me  a-goin'  to  help  Jonas 
Judkins  ef  it  ain't  paid  to  me?" 

This  was  the  first  mention  he'd  made  of  his 
intention,  his  motto  being,  "Don't  count  your 
barrels  tell  the  whale's  in  tow";  so  Dick  did 
not  quite  understand,  but  he  asked  : 

"What  did  you  see,  Cap'n?" 

"  It  was  off  that  cussed  wreck.  I  was 
a-movin'  the  pipes  o'  the  pumps  to  whar  a 
hole  had  begun  to  make  in  the  clay  when  I 
looked  up — I  dunno  what  made  me  neither, — 
an'  thar,  not  twenty  foot  off,  an'  not  more'n  ten 
foot  over  my  head,  was  two  sharks  a-playin' 
ball  wi'  a  dead  man." 

"Land,  Cap'n!  What  you  sayin'?" 

"I'll  take  my  davy.  They  Avas  a-nosin'  an' 
a-tumblin'  of  him,  like  you  boys  do  of  a  foot- 
ball, an'  his  legs  an'  arms  was  a-whirlin'  like 
he  was  a-fightin'  'em  off.  It  turned  me  so  sick 
I  stepped  back'ards  an'  got  onto  that  hole, 
an'  the  suck  o'  the  pump  caught  my  foot  an' 
most  pulled  it  off.  I  wish't  I'd  a-ben  'pren- 
ticed  to  a  farmer,  or  a  coal  mine,  or  anything 
that  'ud  a-kep'  me  from  livin'  this  sort  o' 
w^ay!"  he  went  on  pa.^sionately.  "An'  now^ 
wi'  all  I've  done  an'  suffered,  here  I've  got 
to  lose  my  money ! ' ' 

"Cap'n,"  b.'gan  Dick,  softly;  "Cap'n?" 

"Well?" 


"What  you  have  to  do  to-morrow?" 

"Nothin'  but  put  on  the  armor  an'  go 
down  fur  a  lot  o'  gapin'  fools,  'at  want  to  see 
a  diver  a-divin',  drat  'em!" 

"Is  that  all?" 

"All!  It's  more  'n  enough  when  you  have 
th'  extensive  acquaintance  wi'  corpses  that 
I've  got." 

"I  know,"  interrupted  Dick,  somewhat 
hurriedl}^ ;  "  but  what  I  was  goin'  to  say  was 
why  couldn't  I  go  in  your  place?" 

"By  the  horn  spoon,  you're  a  good  un!" 
cried  Hendershott.   * '  Do  you  mean  it  ?  " 

' ' ' Course  I  do, "  said  Dick.  "  I  ain'  t  a  mole 
or  a — a — porpuss,  an'  I've  seen  all  you've 
been  doin'  for  uncle  on  the  sly,  an' just  heard 
this  here  last — but  it  ain't  no  use,  he  wouldn't 
take  it;  an'  ef  /  can  slip  down  'stead  o'  you, 
why,  I'm  your  man  twice  over!  How' II  we 
manage  ? ' ' 

"You  leave  that  to  me,"  answered  Hender- 
shott, who  looked  and  moved  and  spoke  like  a 
new  man;  "I'll  fix  all  that  You  know  thar's  the 
risk  o'  the  pressure,  Dick,"  he  said,  anxiously. 

"All  right,"  answered  Dick,  his  steady  eyes 
smiling;  "my  bargain's  like  the  'perish'ble 
merchandise  '  notice  at  the  deppo — '  held  at 
th' owner's  risk.'  Don't  you  ix^tyour  head, 
Cap'n  Hendershott;  I  guess  a  little  blood 
won't  count  much  'side  o'  what  you  been  doin' 
for  our  folks." 

(to  be  continued.) 


\ 


'     A  Great  Artist's  Sobriety. 


Michael  Angelo,  who  lived  to  the  age  of 
eighty- seven,  had  been  most  abstemious  all 
his  life  "Though  I  am  rich  I  have  alwayg.i 
lived  as  though  I  were  a  poor  man."  When  he 
was  working  he  generally  dined  on  a  crust 
of  bread  and  a  little  wine,  which  he  took 
without  stopping  his  work.  This  was  his  rule 
up  to  the  time  that  he  began  the  last  of  the 
paintings  in  the  Sistine  Chapel,  and  then,  asn 
he  was  growing  old,  he  allowed  himself  a  fru- 
gal meal  at  the  end  of  the  day.  With  this  I 
plain  living  he  was  b}^  no  means  avaricious^ ! 
but  remarkably  generous ;  loading  his  friencis, 
and  pupils  with  gifts,  helping  the  poor,  giv-' 
ing  dowries  to  poor  girls,  and  large  sums  of/ 
money  to  his  relations. 


^Ht: 


Vol..  XXIX. 


NOTRE   DAME,  INDIANA,  AUGUST  31,  1889. 


No.  9. 


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


The  Ministry  of  Mary. 


HE  spirit  of  Christianity  i.s  essentially 
a  family  spirit,  and  finds  its  highest 
expression  in  Our  Lord  and  Saviour 
Jesus  Christ.  The  Son  of  God  came  into  this 
world  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  offended 
justice  of  His  Eternal  Father,  and  through 
love  for  Him  He  lived  and  died.  He  left  after 
Him  a  Church,  that  is  to  say,  a  family,  which 
would  realize  the  designs  of  the  Father  in  the 
creation  of  man.  Hence  it  was  that  during  His 
life- time  upon  earth  He  adopted  His  Apostles 
as  His  brethren,  and  constantly  impressed 
upon  them  the  necessity  of  fraternal  love. 
His  last  prayer  for  them  was :  * '  Father,  that 
they  may  be  one  as  We  also  are  one." 

The  da)^  of  Pentecost  marks  the  real  be- 
ginning of  the  Church- of  Christ.  It  was  on 
that  day  that  the  little  band,  assembled  to- 
gether in  the  Cenacle,  received  the  spirit  of 
the  Christian  family,  the  spirit  of  charity  in 
both  its  branches — charity  toward  God,  loving 
God  as  a  father ;  charity  toward  their  neigh- 
bor, loving  one  another  as  brethren. 

It  was  the  glory  of  the  Church  of  Jerusalem 
to  show  to  the  world  for  the  first  time  how 
this  spirit  of  divine  charity  can  be  the  parent 
of  all  other  virtues.  What  heroism  was  dis- 
played in"^  the  infant  Church!  What  family 
ever  numbered  so  many  members,  all  at  the 
same  time  so  closely  united  together?  As 
the  Sacred  ^Scriptures  say,  the  multitude  of 
believers  had  but  one  heart  and  one  soul — 
they  all  persevered  together  in  the  same 
spirit,  and  [the  number  of  believers  increased 
daily. 


And  so  it  continued  until  the  holding  of 
the  first  council,  in  the  year  52  of  the  Christian 
era.  Up  to  that  time  the  Church  at  Jerusalem 
remained  the  maternal  home  of  the  Catholic 
family.  It  was  from  Jerusalem  that  the  Apos- 
tles went  forth  to  evangelize  the  cities  and 
towns  of  Judea  and  Gentile  countries.  It  was 
to  Jerusalem  that  they  returned  after  each  of 
their  missions.  The  city  in  which  Jesus  had 
suffered  was  for  His  disciples  the  fortress 
within  which  they  found  renewed  strength 
and  knowledge.  Those  who  returned  there 
always  met  some  one  of  the  Apostles,  and 
particularly  her  who,  after  the  ascension  of 
her  Divine  Son,  was  the  light  and  glor>'  of 
the  Church — the  ever- Blessed  Mother  of  the 
Lord  Jesus. 

We  may  fix  upon  the  time  of  the  first  council 
at  Jerusalem  as  the  natural  limit  to  the  life  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin.  It  was  after  that  event 
the  Apostles  dispersed  throughout  the  world. 
St.  Peter,  who  had  transferred  his  see  from 
Antioch  to  Rome,  then  fixed  it  definitely  in 
the  City  of  the  Caesars,  and  Jerusalem  ceased 
to  be  the  mother  of  the  other  churches.  So 
that,  though  it  may  be  that  Mary  lived  longer, 
yet  we  are  naturally  led  to  believe  that  with 
this  general  diffusion  of  the  Church  her  work 
was  accomplished,  and  she  was  then  called 
from  earth  to  be  again  united  with  her  Divine 
Son  in  the  kingdom  of  His  glory. 

Suarez,  always  clear  and  profound  in  his 
researches,  after  weighing  well  the  expres- 
sions of  the  most  reliable  authors  who  have 
discussed  the  time  of  the  death  of  Marj',  states, 
as  the  most  probable  opinion,  that  she  lived 
to  the  age  of  seventy- two  years.  This  would 
place  the  date  of  her  death  at  the  time  of  the 


194 


The  Ave  Maria. 


council  at  Jerusalem,  and  with  this  opinion 
as  a  guide  it  is  very  easy  to  discover  the 
principal  events  that  marked  the  last  years  of 
her  life  in  connection  with  the  facts  recorded 
in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles. 

All  the  events  related  in  the  first  fifteen 
chapters,  which  include  the  council  at  Jeru- 
salem, occurred  during  the  life -time  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  She  was  a  witness  to  them, 
and  took  an  active  part  in  them.  It  could  not 
have  been  otherwise :  for  Jesus  had  left  Mary 
upon  earth  that  she  might  be  a  mother  to  the 
infant  Church.  She  was  to  see  that  family 
perpetuated  in  the  generations  of  the  faithful, 
each  one  of  whom  would  become  her  child, 
and,  as  it  were,  the  new  fruit  of  her  divine 
maternity. 

With  what  tender  love  must  not  her  Im- 
maculate Heart  have  been  filled  for  those 
newly  born  to  a  life  of  grace  through  the 
active  ministry  of  the  Apostles!  She  had  all 
a  mother's  love  for  them,  and  with  a  mother's 
care  she  interested  herself  in  all  that  con- 
cerned their  eternal  salvation.  She  had  lived 
for  Jesus  when  He  was  upon  earth  ;  she  lived 
still  for  Him  by  devoting  herself  to  those  who 
followed  Jesus,  And  thus,  though  the  most 
ardent  aspirations  of  her  soul  were  to  be  re- 
united with  her  Divine  Son,  yet  her  heart 
was  in  peace,  because  in  perfect  subjection  to 
the  will  of  God  and  to  the  fulfilment  of  His 
designs,  that  she  should  exercise  those  func- 
tions of  mother  with  which  she  had  been 
invested  on  Mount  Calvar)^ 

The  days  that  followed  immediately  after 
Pentecost  were  then  days  of  consolation  and 
happiness  for  Mary.  Three  thousand  men 
were  converted  by  the  first  sermon  preached 
by  St.  Peter,  five  thousand  by  the  second.  Each 
day  one  of  the  Apostles  preached  the  Gospel 
in  a  new  city.  The  number  of  those  who  be- 
lieved increased  wonderfully.  St.  Peter  was 
the  first  everywhere.  It  was  he  who  preached 
to  the  people,  who  spoke  in  the  Sanhedrim, 
who  performed  the  greatest  miracles.  But,  at 
the  same  time  that  he  maintained  the  suprem- 
acy of  his  pontificate,  he  did  not  forget  the 
other  Apostles,  his  brothers  in  the  episcopate, 
especially  John,  the  son  of  Zebedee, — the 
Apostle  whom  Jesus  loved. 

These  facts  which  stand  forth  so  promi- 
nently in  the  history  of  the  infant  Church, 


will,  if  we  study  them  carefully,  reveal  to  us 
the  part  which  Mary  took  in  a  movement 
that  began  at  the  foot  of  the  Cross  to  renew 
the  face  of  the  earth.  In  all  that  St.  John  did 
the  inspiration  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  may  be 
plainly  seen.  Could  he  engage  in  a  work  con- 
cerning the  Church  without  taking  counsel 
of  her  who  had  been  given  to  him  as  his 
mother,  and  whose  soul  was  filled  with  the 
ineffable  light  of  the  communication  of  the 
Holy  Ghost?  Before  setting  out  upon  his 
evangelical  mission  he  received  her  blessing, 
and  commended  himself  and  his  work  to  her 
prayers. 

Can  we  not  picture  to  ourselves  Mary,  in  the 
solitude  of  her  sanctuary,  pouring  forth  her 
prayers  to  Jesus,  her  Divine  Son,  while  St. 
John,  her  son  also,  follows  the  work  of  his 
apostolic  mission  ?  She  prays  for  St.  Peter,  she 
prays  for  all  the  Apostles.  These  messengers  of 
God — men  burning  with  the  fire  of  divine  love, 
go  forth  to  carry  the  name  of  Jesus  to  all  the 
people.  Mary,  though  separated  from  them  in 
body,  is  their  aid  in  all  their  labors.  By  her 
prayers  she  obtains  for  them  the  spirit  that 
directs  them,  the  light  that  illumines  their 
souls,  the  speech  that  makes  them  eloquent, 
the  power  by  which  they  produce  miracles. 
It  is  through  Mary  that  Jesus  is  pleased 
to  communicate  to  them  His  burning  love 
and  zeal  for  souls.  The  Heart  of  Mary  has 
become  the  centre  of  that  heavenly  fire  of 
which  Jesus  said:  "I  have  come  to  cast  fire 
upon  the  earth,  and  what  will  I  but  that  it 
be  enkindled?" 

Thus  it  is  that  from  the  beginning  of  the 
Church,  beside  the  voice  of  the  Pontifi"  an- 
nouncing the  good  tidings  of  the  Gospel,  there 
arises  another  voice,  humble  and  suppliant, 
that  ascends  to  God  and  asks  for  light  and 
fruitfulness  for  the  missionary.  The  ministry 
of  preaching  is  thus  supported  by  that  of 
prayer,  and  when  these  two  voices  ascend 
in  unison  before  the  throne  of  God,  the  Fa- 
ther sends  His  Spirit  to  renew  the  face  of 
the  earth.  This  is  the  order  that  is  to  subsist 
for  all  time.  Besides  those  who  work  in  the 
harvest,  there  will  be  those  who  will  pray  the 
I^ord  to  send  laborers  to  gather  the  ripened 
grain. 

And  who  are  they  to  whom  the  special 
ministry  of  prayer  belongs?   They  are  those 


The  Ave  Ale 


ana. 


195 


who  illustrate  in  their  own  lives  the  sanctity  of 
the  Church.  They  are  the  angels  of  the  taber- 
nacle of  Jesus ;  those  victims  of  self-sacrifice 
and  self-consecration,  who  pray  unceasingly 
to  the  Lord  of  the  vinej^ard  to  bless  the  labors 
of  His  Pontiffs  and  His  priests; — in  a  word, 
they  are  the  successors  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
who  live  animated  with  her  spirit, — a  spirit 
of  love  and  devotion  toward  the  Church,  the 
spouse  of  Christ  upon  earth. 


Stella   Matutina;   or,  a  Poet's   Quest. 


I 


BY  EDMUND  OF  THE  HEART  OF  MARY,  C.  P. 


OOR  child,  hadst  thou  but  known! 
mothers  age, 


But 


^^fe  However  sweet,  and  pass :  sons  woo  and  wed. 
^^Jomes  other  love  to  help  man's  virtue  wage 
The  holy  war."   "To  me  it  came,"  he  said: 
"Alas!  not  day's  first  blush  of  rosy  red; 
Yet  with  a  promise  of  baptismal  dew, 

To  cleanse  my  spirit  from  the  past,  and  shed 
A  freshness  o'er  it — not  of  youth,  but  new, 
And  potent  with  a  pledge  of  manhood  strong  and 
true. 

"All  this  I  hoped  to  find  in  wedded  love; 

And  form'd  me  an  ideal  wife.  But  soon 
My  heart  became,  like  Galahad's,  'drawn  above,' 

And  craved  (nor  seem'd  it  rash)  a  higher  boon 

Than  mortal  bride.   One  summer  afternoon, 
I  spoke  with  trusted  friends  :  but  all  and  each 

Or  thought  me  struck  with  madness  from  the 
moon. 
Or  moping  for  some  charmer  out  of  reach ; 
And  so  they  miss' d  the  music  I  had  long'd  to  teach. 

"'The  mother  had  absorb'd  the  wife,  to  form 
My  queen-ideal — perfected  womanhood: 

No  cold  abstraction,  but  a  being  warm 
With  all  of  deepest  love  and  highest  good 
In  sister,  spouse,  and  mother :  one  who  stood 

'Mid  joys  and  sorrows  here,  and  now,  in  Heaven, 
Is  crown'd  with  youth  immortal. 

But  I  would, 

O  Church,  I  had  known  thee  sooner!  Have  I  striven 

All  blindly  and  in  vain  ?  Is'much  to  be  forgiven  ? ' ' 

" Th}"  mother,  then,  this  'vision,'  this  'ideal,' 
0;,poet!  It  is  well.  I  see  the  Hand 

Hath^led^thee  to|the  threshold  of  the  Real 

By  one^sure^pathjthy  heart  ;could  understand. 

^_^Not  rash  thejiope  that  in^theTromised  Land  J 


Thy  mother  dwells  already  with  the  Blest; 

Yet  must  our  lov'd  ones  pay  the  full  demand 
Of  justice  ere  they  enter  into  rest ; 
And  till  we  knoiu  them  there,  to  pray  is  ever  best 

"As  mindful  of  their  need.  (If  need  be  none, 
Ivove  earns  not  less  requital.)  The  bright  names 

I  call  upon — my  children  who  have  won 
The  honors  meet  which  heresy  defames — 
T^^^^zV sain tship  'tis  the  King  Himself  proclaims 

By  proofs  infallible. 

But  let  me  show 
This  eager  soul  of  thine,  which  worthily  aims 

So  high,  a  'queen-ideal '  thou  dost  not  know — 

A  Womanhood  that  leaves  all  other  far  below." 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY  NUGENT  ROBINSON. 


CHAPTER  IX.  — Miss  Esmonde's   Sad 
Secret. 

THE  seventh  came,  as  every  date  comes, 
sure  as  death,  and  it  witnessed  the  de- 
parture of  the  Molloys  for  the  New  World. 

Mrs.  Molloy  was  all  tears ;  Emma,  to  whom 
the  excitement  of  the  departure  had  lent  an 
additional  glow  to  her  cheeks,  an  additional 
lustre  to  her  dark  gray  eyes,  looked  absolutely 
beautiful  in  her  trim-fitting  dark  blue  serge 
travelling  suit,  pleated  like  a  kilt,  and  show- 
ing oft"  her  exquisite  little  figure  to  modest 
perfection ;  for  the  girl,  despite  her  general 
silliness,  was  purity  and  modesty  combined. 
Her  hat  was  a  soft,  brown  felt,  with  a  blue 
feather  to  match  the  dress ;  and  her  gloves 
were  buff,  coming  up  to  the  elbows. 

"New  York  is,  I  believe,  passable  enough! " 
she  exclaimed  ;  "and,  depend  upon  it,  I  shall 
stop  in  it  as  long  as  I  can.  They  have  a  very 
fashionable  street  there  called  Fifth  Avenue, 
and  a  park ;  but  it  is  not  safe  to  go  into  the 
park  without  being  armed,  on  account  of  the 
buffaloes  and  Indians." 

The  two  girls  from  Rutland  Square  were  at 
the  King's  Bridge  depot  to  see  the  Molloys 
off.  Poor  Gerald  looked  very  sheepish,  nor 
did  Considine  appear  to  be  himself.  He  was 
flushed,  very  conscious,  and  very  cold  in  his 
manner,  avoiding  Jane  Ryan  as  if  she  had 
been  plague-stricken.  He  had  bought  a  very 
handsome  bouquet  for  Emma,  and  a  box  of 


196 


The  Ave  Maria. 


bonbons  for  her  mother;  also  a  quantity  of  cur- 
rent literature  to  beguile  the  tedium  of  the  trip 

Miss  Esmonde  and  Emma  had  a  great  deal 
of  conversation  aside,  during  which  the  former 
cried  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  This  dis- 
play of  feeling  astonished  both  Harry  and 
Gerald  considerably.  It  was  pitiful  to  see  the 
latter  gazing  mournfully  at  the  girl  he  would 
have  made  his  wife,  while  the  young  lady 
had  no  eyes  for  anybody  but  Harry,  who  never 
so  much  as  glanced  her  wa}-. 

"It's  awful  shabby  travelling  second-class, 
isn't  it?"  cried  Emma.  "I  don't  mind  among 
friends  and  on  the  train,  but  on  board  the 
steamer  it  will  be  miserable." 

"You  are  going  to  a  country  where  there 
is  no  class,"  said  Harry,  impressively. 

"That's  why  I  detest  it,"  retorted  Emma, 
with  amusing  inconsistency. 

The  young  ladies  kissed  and  hugged,  and 
hugged  and  kissed  and  cried.  Miss  Esmonde 
weeping  bitterly  as  the  guard  requested  the 
passengers  to  be  seated. 

"Goodbye,  Harry!"  said  Gerald.  ''1  feel 
that  I'll  get  on  on  t'  other  side.  I  have  a  hun- 
dred and  six  pounds,  seven  and  nine  pence  of 
my  savings  left  to  start  on.  You'll  write  me 
regularly.  Tell  me  all  about  her — all  she  says 
and  does.  I^et  me  have  pages." 

The  two  young  men  wrung  hands. 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Considine!"  said  Mrs.  Mol- 
loy.  "Please  call  on  the  Stanleys  and  Burkes, 
andWhittys.  You  need  not — ahem!  say  that 
we  travelled  second-class.  Tell  them  that  we 
expect  to  be  back  very  soon." 

Emma  gave  Harry  her  hand, — a  nice  little, 
soft,  plump  white  hand;  she  had  removed 
one  glove.  ''Ati  revoir,  Harry!"  she  said — 
it  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  called  him 
by  his  Christian  name, — "you  have  been  a 
dear,  good  friend  to  Gerald  and  to  all  of  us. 
I  hope  we  shall  soon  meet  again.  Oh,  yes: 
we  are  coming  back!  Don't  imagine  I  am 
going  to  fall  in  love  with  America." 

The  guard  locked  the  door,  handkerchiefs 
were  waved,  and  Harry's  eyes  were  eagerly 
fixed  on  the  face  of  Emma  Mollo}^,  as  the  train 
moved  slowly  out  of  sight. 

"Mr.  Considine,"  said  Caroline  Esmonde  in 
a  low  voice,  as  he  handed  her  into  the  Ryan 
brougham,  "when  can  I  see  you?  I  want 
3^our  counsel  and  advice.  This  evening?" 


"Certainl}^" 

"What  can  she  want  me  to  advise  her 
about?"  he  mused,  as  he  returned  on  foot  to 
the  office. 

"Can  it  be  in  reference  to  " — and  he  blushed 
like  a  school- girl  at  the  very  thought — "of 
Miss  Ryan's  caring  for  me?  Perhaps!  Gerald 
may  have  exaggerated  things,  may  have  been 
utterly  mistaken.  I  hope  to  gracious  he  was! 
How  charming  Emma  Molioy  looked!  Oh, 
what  a  pity  that  she  is  so  ridiculously  friv- 
olous, so  absurd,  so  —  oh,  it  is  vexatious, 
mortifying,  and  grilling !  She  should  not  be 
ridiculous  of  all  girls.  She  has  no  necessit}^  for 
affectation.  Her  exquisite  Irish  beauty  should 
be  set  in  a  framework  of  Irish  heartiness,  not 
have  a  veneer  of  cockney  vulgarity.  What 
glorious  eyes!  Pshaw!  It  is  mortifying  that 
so  good  and  beautiful  a  girl  should  have  her 
nature  warped  in  so  narrow  a  groove." 

The  revelation  made  to  him  by  Gerald  had 
caused  him  intense  pain.  He  was  no  cox- 
comb. The  idea  that  a  pretty  girl  was  in  love 
with  him  did  not  find  a  responsive  chord  in 
vanity.  He  was  too  much  of  a  man,  too  much 
of  a  Christian  gentleman  to  feel  aught  but 
sorrow  that  the  seed  of  a  good  girl's  love 
should  have  fallen  upon  barren  soil.  He  did 
not  feel  anything  toward  her  but  friendship — 
an  eager  desire  to  be  of  service.  It  was  not  a 
brotherly  regard,  for  he  had  no  special  regard 
for  her.  Miss  Jane  Ryan  was  absolutely  indif- 
ferent to  him, — as  indifferent  as  one  of  those 
crusty  old  dames  who  sell  apples  at  O' Council 
Bridge.  Yes,  just  as  indifferent  so  far  as  love 
was  in  question.  She  had  not  touched  his 
heart,  not  even  by  a  feather  brush ;  conse- 
quently, when  Gerald  brought  him  the  news 
that  his  employer's  daughter  was  in  love  with 
him,  it  came  like  a  sting,  a  pain. 

Harr}^  Considine  was  honor  itself,  and  consci- 
entious to  the  last  degree.  His  instant  resolve 
was  to  consult  his  dearly-loved  and  valued 
friend.  Father  Euke  Byrne ;  but  not  until  he 
had  something  absolutely  definite  from  Miss 
Esmonde.  He  argued,  naturally  enough,  that 
Gerald,  in  his  worr^^  and  abject  despair,  might 
have  distorted  things,  and  given  a  color  where 
no  color  existed.  The  situation  to  a  man  like 
Considine  was  a  grave  one,  and,  like  the  man  < 
that  he  was,  he  resolved  upon  facing  it 
squarely. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


197 


Miss  Esmoiide  was  alone  when  Harry  called 
according  to  appointment,  the  Alderman  and 
Miss  Ryan  being  at  a  banquet  at  the  Mansion 
House.  She  was  agitated  and  nervous,  and 
her  voice  seemed  scarcely  under  cqmmand. 
She  wrung  a  lace  handkerchief  through  her 
fingers,  bending  and  twisting  them  into  almost 
impossible  contortions. 

"Mr.  Considine,"  she  began,  "I — I  asked 
you  to  come  here  this  evening  because  I  need 
your  kind  services" — she  paused.  "Every- 
body says  that  you  are  clever,  and  good,  and 
honorable,  and — ' ' 

"Everybody  is  too  good  to  me,  Miss  Es- 
monde ! ' ' 

"No,  no!  You  see,  Mr.  Considine,  that  I 
live  here  with  my  uncle  and  cousin,  and  that 
I  am  treated  as  if  I  were  the  pet  of  the  house. 
Jane  is  an  angel,  and  uncle  is  perfection  of 
kindness ;  but — but  I  want  to  go  to  my  father, 
— my  poor  father!  Oh,  my  heart  will  break! " 

And  the  agitated  girl  burst  into  a  fit  of  the 
most  harrowing  sobs.  After  a  little  she  be- 
came more  calm,  and  continued : 

"My  father  was  a  partner  with  Mr.  Ryan, 
and  still  owns  a  share  in  the  business,  a  very 
small  one.  On  the  death  of  my  darling  mother, 
he,  instead  of  seeking  consolation  from  God — 
instead  of  bowing  meekly  to  His  will, — he 
took  to  drowning  his  grief  in — in — intoxicat- 
ing drink,  and  went  down  the  road  to  ruin. 
He  would  make  no  effort.  He  would  not  try 
to  wrench  the  leprosy  from  his  body  and  soul, 
and — and  sank  dreadfully  low.  Alderman 
Ryan  sent  him  to  the  United  States  four  years 
ago,  remitting  him  a  weekly  allowance  to 
keep  him  from  want.  Only  think  of  it — my 
father  in  want,  and  I  feasting  here!  O  Mary, 
Mother  of  Mercy !  A  few  months  ago  I  had  a 
letter  from  him,  telling  me  that  he  had  re- 
solved upon  a  new  life  for  my  sake ;  that  he 
looked  back  with  horror  into  the  abyss  of  sin 
and  desolation;  that  he  had  commenced  to 
travel  on  the  new,  clean  roadway,  and  asked 
me  to  pray  with  all  my  soul  for  him.  He  im- 
posed one  condition,  which  was  a  bitterly  hard 
one :  that  I  was  to  say  nothing  of  his  refor- 
mation to  my  uncle  or  cousin,  or  any  of  the 
people  here.  He  said  he  wanted  to  be  himself 
again  in  name  and  fortune.  Oh,  how  my  heart 
blossomed  with  hope  and  happiness!" 

Miss  Esmonde  now  drew  a  letter  from  her 


bosom,  and  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  it  the  fearful 
sobbing  renewed  itself. 

"Pray  compose  yourself,  Miss  Esmonde," 
said  Considine.  "All  is  in  the  hands  of  the 
good  God.  No  one  ever  applied  to  Him  in 
vain.  No  one,  remember,  ever  heartily  im- 
plored the  intercession  of  His  Blessed  Mother 
without  being  heard." 

Miss  Esmonde  made  a  supreme  effort  and 
controlled  herself. 

"This  morning  I  received  this  letter, — a 
letter  that  has  blasted  my  hope,  that  has 
crushed  me  to  the  earth,  as  if  some  great 
weight  had  fallen  upon  me.  It  is  ft-om  a  Chi- 
cago asylum  for  the  inebriate.  It  tells  me  in 
letters  of  flame  that  my  poor  darling  father  is 
an  inmate,  and  that  he  is  ill." 

The  girl  shuddered,  and  grew  ghastly  pale, 
looking  as  if  she  were  about  to  faint. 

"You  saw  me  weeping  with  Emma  Molloy 
this  morning.  She  promised  to  go  and  see  him, 
and  to  write  to  me.  She  is  a  good,  noble  girl. 
Oh!  what  am  I  to  do?"  cried  Miss  Esmonde, 
in  a  very  agony  of  grief. 

"Have  you  spoken  to  your  confessor?" 
asked  Harry. 

"He  is  on  retreat  at  Maynooth." 

'  'Any  of  the  good  clergymen  would  advise 
you." 

"I  went  to  see  Father  Burke  this  afternoon; 
he  was  on  a  mission.  What  I  want  to  do  is  to 
go  to  my  father.  Oh,  Mr.  Considine!  I  was 
near  jumping  into  the  train  to-day  and  going 
off.  I  envied  the  poorest  and  meanest  emigrant 
on  the  platform.  My  duty  is  beside  the  bed- 
side of  my  father.  I  want  you  to  speak  to  my 
uncle.  I  know  that  you  have  immense  influ- 
ence with  him.  Very  little  money  will  take 
me.  This  bracelet  if  sold ' '  — disengaging  a  very 
handsome  gold  bracelet  clasped  with  diamonds 
— "will  take  me  there  twice  over.  I  would  go 
in  the  steerage;  I  would  work  for  the  emigrants 
— I  would  do  anytJmig  to  reach  the  bedside 
of  my  father!  Oh,  Mr.  Considine!  won't  j^ou 
plead  to  my  uncle  for  me?  Won't  you  urge  it 
upon  him?  Won't  you  help  me  in  this  bitter, 
this  awful  strait?  In  any  case,  I  will  go!  "  she 
added,  a  look  of  great  determination  in  her 
eyes.  "I  will  do  my  duty  as  a  child,  come 
what  may." 

"I  have  misgivings  that  Alderman  Ryan 
will"— 


198 


The  Ave  Maria, 


*  *  He  will  speak  of  my  father  to  you  in  harsh 
terms.  He  will  tell  you  in  coarser  language, 
in  brutal  language,  what  I  have  just  told  you. 
He  will  speak  of  ingratitude  and  the  utter 
uselessness  of  tr>'ing  to  save  a  person  who  will 
not  make  an  effort  to  save  himself ! ' '  cried 
the  girl,  passionately.  * '  He  will  be  hideously 
just  in  his  remarks.  But  my  poor  father  did 
make  the  effort.  I  have  his  beautiful  letter.  I 
can  read  it  in  the  dark  for  the  grace  that 
shines  from  every  word  of  repentance.  That 
letter  was  the  plank  on  the  dark  waters.  The 
devil  tempted  him,  but,  by  God's  grace  and 
the  intercession  of  His  Blessed  Mother,  we  shall 
save  him  yet. ' '  And  she  sank  upon  her  knees. 

She  looked  angelically  lovely,  as,  on  bended 
knees,  her  hands  clasped  and  her  eyes  lifted 
heavenward,  she  implored  the  intercession  of 
the  Mother  of  God. 

Harry  Considine,  deeply  moved,  promised 
to  speak  to  the  Alderman  the  first  thing  in 
the  morning — to  follow  up,  as  it  were.  Miss 
Ksmonde's  pleadings,  as  she  was  to  place  the 
letter  before  Mr.  Ryan  when  he  came  down 
to  breakfast. 

(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 


FootpHnts  of  Heroines. 


BY  THE  COMTESSE  DE  COURSON. 


(Conclusion.) 
III. — lyUiSA  DK  Carvajal  y  Mendoza. 

ON  the  28th  of  October,  161 3,  I^uisa's  house 
was  suddenly  surrounded  by  sixty  armed 
men,  who  scaled  the  garden  wall  and  burst  into 
the  humble  abode.  The  oratory  fortunately 
escaped  their  notice,  and  the  extreme  poverty 
of  the  other  rooms  excited  their  surprise  and 
disgust.  This  attack  had  been  instigated  by 
the  Protestant  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  who 
for  some  time  past  was  on  the  watch  for  an 
opportunity  of  checking  Luisa's  zeal.  So 
stringent  were  the  measures  taken  against  her 
that  when  the  Count  de  Gondomar,  who  had 
succeeded  Don  Pedro  de  Zuniga  as  Spanish 
Ambassador,  requested  that  she  might  be 
detained  in  her  own  house  instead  of  being 
removed  to  prison,  he  was  shown  an  order  in 
the  King's  writing,  in  which  it  was  said  that 
even  if  the  Spanish  Ambassador  should  inter- 


fere in  her  behalf,  no  notice  was  to  be  taken 
of  his  intervention. 

lyuisa  was  calm  and  cheerful  regarding^ 
herself,  but  she  confided  to  the  Flemish  Am- 
bassador^who  had  accompanied  his  Spanish 
colleague,  her  fears  respecting  a  Jesuit  Father, 
who  had  come  that  morning  to  hear  confes- 
sions in  her  oratory;  and  when,  by  a  clever 
stratagem,  the  Ambassador  carried  off  the  dis- 
guised religious  as  though  he  had  been  one  of 
his  servants,  her  sole  anxiety  was  set  at  rest. 

Luisa  was  then  removed  to  I^ambeth  under 
a  strong  escort,  and,  after  being  questioned 
by  the  Archbishop  in  regard  to  heir  mode  of 
life,  she  was  taken  to  the  public  prison ;  and 
instead  of  being  placed  among  the  Catholic 
prisoners,  who  were  very  numerous,  she  was 
shut  up  with  the  common  criminals.  Here 
she  was  visited  by  Simon  de  Arizar,  Chaplain 
to  the  Count  of  Gondomar,  who,  to  her  intense 
joy,  brought  her  Holy  Communion. 

As  for  Dona  Constancia  de  Acuiia  (Countess 
de  Gondomar),  after  sending  a  message  to  the 
King  that  she  had  resolved  not  to  leave  Doiia 
lyuisa's  side,  she  drove  to  the  prison,  and 
during  the  four  days  that  her  friend's  impris- 
onment lasted  this  brave  and  holy  woman 
never  left  her  cell,  even  at  night.  This  fact, 
and  the  Ambassador's  endeavors  to  obtain  her 
release,  drew  public  attention  to  the  prisoner, 
whose  humility  and  poverty  blinded  her  ene- 
mies to  the  fact  that  in  her  own  country  she 
was  a  person  of  high  rank  and  importance. 
The  matter  was  brought  before  the  Council 
of  State,  and  after  some  warm  discussion  on 
either  side,  the  King  gave  orders  that  I^uisa 
should  be  given  up  to  the  Spanish  Ambas- 
sador, who  went  to  meet  her  in  person.  Much 
to  her  distress,  she  was  driven  through  the 
I/)ndon  streets  in  the  Countess'  own  carriage, 
eight  or  nine  other  coaches  following.  "How 
gladly,"  exclaims  her  biographer,  "would 
she  have  exchanged  the  gilded  coach,  with  its 
armorial  bearings,  for  the  real  triumphal  car 
— the  ignominious  cart  in  which  the  victors 
conduct  their  victims  to  martyrdom!" 

Ivuisa's  earthly  pilgrimage  was  now  draw- 
ing to  an  end,  and  if  the  martyr's  death  for 
which  she  had  so  longed  was  denied  to  her, 
her  life,  none  the  less,  was  a  long  and  weary 
martyrdom,  fruitful  in  bodily  and  mental 
sufferings.   The  blessings  that  crowned  her 


The  Ave  Maria. 


199 


t 


apostolic  labofvS  were  her  one  joy  in  England. 
From  a  natural  point  of  view,  we  can  hardly 
imagine  anything  more  trying  than  her  life 
in  lyondon,  and  we  can  not  wonder  that  her 
letters  to  her  friends  in  Spain  should  bear  the 
impress  of  all  she  endured.  Writing  after  her 
second  imprisonment  to  the  venerable  Anne 
of  Jesus,  Prioress  of  the  Carmelites  at  Brus- 
-sels,  she  says:  "They  are  striving  to  banish 
me  from  this  savage  desert.  Will  this  be, 
Senora?  This  I  do  know,  that  those  who 
leave  this  country  are  banished  from  many 
occasions  of  suffering. ' ' 

Her  brother,  Don  Alonzo  de  Carvajal,  hav- 
ing visited  her  during  her  stay  in  London,  was 
so  impressed  at  the  poverty,  loneliness,  and 
peril  of  her  life,  that  on  returning  to  Flanders 
he  wrote  to  tell  her  that  it  had  required  a 
special  grace  from  God  to  give  him  courage 
to  leave  her  in  such  misery.  Her  answer  illus- 
trates with  great  clearness  the  conflicting 
emotions  that  filled  her  soul : 

"Here  am  I — a  woman,  weak  in  health,  as 
delicate  or  more  so,  perhaps,  than  most  others, 
one  subject  to  acute  fears  and  nervous  appre- 
hensions, and  by  nature  most  desirous  of 
esteem  and  affection, — in  a  desert  full  of  rag- 
ing wolves,  in  a  house  poor  and  obscure,  with 
<:ompanions  whom  I  have  to  support,  and  by 
means  of  what  others  choose  to  do  for  us! .  .  . 
Yet  you  would  hardly  imagine  what  is  the 
peace  and  tranquillity  of  my  heart,  how  ready 
I  feel  to  go  into  the  streets,  and  beg  our  bread 
from  door  to  door,  in  a  place  where  most  of 
the  houses  are  inhabited  by  the  enemies  of 
our  faith." 

To  understand  the  poverty  to  which  lyuisa 
here  alludes,  we  must  remember  that  before 
leaving  Spain  she  had  disposed  of  her  fortune 
in  favor  of  the  Jesuit  novitiate  of  Louvain. 
The  English  Fathers,  hearing  of  her  neces- 
sities, wrote  to  beg  her  to  accept  part  of  the 
income  she  had  settled  on  the  house.  This 
she  refused  to  do;  adding,  "It  is  quite  intol- 
erable to  me  to  be  spoken  to  on  that  subject." 
She  regarded  herself  strictly  bound  by  her 
vow  of  poverty,  and  literally  lived  upon  the 
alms  which  were  sent  to  her  by  her  friends  in 
Spain.  Of  these,  she  spent  next  to  nothing  on 
herself,  her  dress  being  of  the  poorest,  and 
her  food  of  the  scantiest  description ;  but  she 
gladly  employed  them  in  behalf  of  the  poor 


Catholics,  whom,  as  we  have  seen,  she  assisted 
by  all  means  in  her  power. 

Although  the  King  had  consented  to  set 
Dofia  Luisa  free,  he  was  resolved  that  she 
should  not  remain  in  England,  and  the  Eng- 
lish Ambassador  at  Madrid  was  instructed  to 
make  representations  on  the  subject  to  King 
Philip  HI.  She  was  much  distressed  at  the 
prospect,  and  wrote  to  the  Due  de  Lerma, 
begging  him  to  represent  her  case  to  the  King 
of  Spain  :  "  I  can  assure  your  Excellency  that 
the  vocation  to  devote  myself  to  England, 
which  I  have  had  since  childhood,  is  agreeable 
to  the  doctrine  of  the  Catholic  Church;  it 
has  been  well  examined,  and  found  to  be  a 
true  vocation  from  God."  In  spite,  however, 
of  her  earnest  prayers  it  is  probable  that  cir- 
cumstances would  have  been  too  unfavorable 
for  lyuisa,  had  not  God  in  His  mercy  spared 
her  this  last  trial  and  called  her  home. 

On  the  20th  of  November,  a  few  weeks  only 
after  her  release,  she  fell  dangerously  ill  at  the 
Embassy,  where  she  had  remained  on  leaving 
the  prison,  and  after  lingering  on  for  a  month 
she  came  to  the  point  of  death.  Her  sufferings 
were  so  agonizing  that  it  almost  seemed  as 
though  God  wished  to  make  her  taste  the 
martyr's  chalice,  for  which  she  had  so  ardently 
longed;  but,  while  her  fragile  body  was  racked 
by  pain,  her  spirit  remained  calm  and  peaceful. 
She  received  the  last  Sacraments  with  fervent 
devotion,  and  seemed  herself  astonished  at  the 
extraordinary  calmness  with  which  she  looked 
forward  to  death.  There  was  none  of  that 
anxiety  about  the  work  she  had  begun,  that 
had  weighed  upon  her  in  previous  illnesses. 
In  fact,  she  seemed  while  yet  on  earth  to 
have  passed  beyond  the  reach  of  its  worries, 
and  already  the  peace  that  "passeth  all  un- 
derstanding" had  descended  upon  her  soul. 

Around  her  bed  were  kneeling  her  compan- 
ions, two  Spanish  priests  attached  to  the  Em- 
bassy, and  two  Jesuit  Fathers,  one  of  whom 
was  her  confessor.  Father  Michael  Walpole. 
Now  and  then  she  spoke  words  of  counsel  and 
encouragement  to  her  young  companions,  for 
whose  welfare  she  had  provided  with  carefiil 
forethought;  but  toward  the  end  she  lay 
almost  silent,  only  ejaculating  from  time  to 
time  in  her  native  tongue,  and  with  an  accent 
of  inexpressible  tenderness:  '' SeTior  inio ! 
Senora  mia!''   (My  Lord!  my  Lady!)  A  few 


200 


Ike  Ave  Ma^^ta 


Protestants  came  to  visit  her;  at  their  sight 
her  apostolic  zeal  revived,  and  she  addressed 
to  them  fervent  words  of  faith  and  love  that 
must  have  borne  fruit  in  God's  good  time.  As 
the  day  went  on  the  silence  of  her  sick-room 
was  broken  only  by  the  voice  of  one  of  the 
priests  present,  who  read  aloud  the  Passion 
of  Our  Lord ;  or  by  the  sobs  of  her  old  French 
servant,  who  often  cried  out :  ' '  My  dear  lady, 
when  you  are  in  heaven  remember  poor  Diego 
Lemetetiel ! ' ' 

At  last  the  end  came,  and  on  the  2d  of 
January,  1 614,  in  perfect  peace,  Luisa  de  Car- 
vajal  y  Mendoza  breathed  her  last.  As  her 
English  biographer  beautifully  expresses  it : 
"  In  a  silent  corner  of  the  proud,  busy,  restless 
city,  where  she  had  worked  and  suffered  for 
nine  long  years,  that  heart  ceased  to  beat 
which  no  human  passion  had  ever  stirred, 
but  which  had  throbbed  with  a  vehement 
love  of  our  Divine  Lord,  and  a  passionate 
desire  to  win  souls  to  God." 

According  to  her  last  desire,  the  servant 
of  God  was  clothed  after  her  death  in  a  relig- 
ious habit,  which  she  had  brought  from  Spain, 
and  carried  into  the  Ambassador's  chapel, 
where  numbers  of  persons — both  Catholic 
and  Protestant  —  came  to  take  leave  of  the 
gentle  Spanish  lady,  who  for  the  love  of 
England  had  died  an  exile  in  a  foreign  land. 
Her  funeral  took  place  with  as  much  ceremony 
as  though  she  had  died  in  her  native  Spain. 
The  foreign  Ambassadors  and  their  families, 
and  the  principal  English  Catholics  were 
present  Fray  Diego  de  la  Fuente,  a  Spanish 
religious,  preached  an  eloquent  funeral  ora- 
tion, in  which  he  extolled  her  virtues. 

Eighteen  months  later,  the  holy  remains 
were  brought  back  to  Spain,  where  the  news 
of  Luisa's  death  had  been  received  with  deep 
grief  by  her  many  friends.  By  the  King's 
express  desire,  they  were  deposited  in  the 
Augustinian  Convent  of  the  Incarnation  at 
Madrid,  where  Inez,  Luisa's  beloved  compan- 
ion during  thirteen  years,  was  a  nun. 

An  inquiry  was  set  on  foot  to  examine  into 
the  virtues  of  the  servant  of  God,  and  her 
Spanish  biographer  gives  us  a  full  list  of  those 
whose  testimony  was  brought  forward  to 
prove  her  rare  holiness  and  perfection.  First 
and  foremost  among  them  was  this  same  Inez, 
whose  love  and  admiration  for  her  holy  mis- 


tress were  unbounded  ;  and  who,  having  lived 
in  her  constani  companionship  for  many 
years,  testified  that  she  had  never  known  her 
to  commit  the  slightest  venial  sin. 

The  King  of  Spain  and  his  pious  Queen, 
the  Infanta  Margarita,  who  became  a  Fran- 
ciscan nun,  the  Count  of  Miranda,  President 
of  Castile,  Luisa's  fi-iend  and  adviser  during 
her  stay  in  Madrid,  numerous  Jesuit,  Car- 
melite, Augustinian  and  Franciscan  Fathers, 
the  different  Spanish  Ambassadors  who  had 
known  her  in  London,  and  many  other  emi- 
nent persons,  came  forward  to  attest  her 
heroic  sanctity,  and  the  supernatural  favors 
obtained  through  her  intercession.  In  the 
words  of  Father  Juan  de  Pineda,  S.J.,  they 
considered  her  as,  "in  strength  of  soul,  more 
than  a  woman ;  in  fortitude  and  courage, 
superhuman ;  in  purity  of  life,  an  angel ;  in 
zeal  for  the  faith,  an  apostle;  in  teaching, 
exhorting  and  counselling,  a  doctor  of  the 
Church ;  in  defending  the  faith  and  bearing 
witness  to  it,  a  martyr,  not  only  in  death  but 
in  life,  by  the  continual  desire  of  suffering." 

Even  the  English  gentlemen  who,  a  few 
years  later,  accompanied  Prince  Charles  to 
the  Court  of  Madrid,  were  loud  in  their 
praises  of  Luisa ;  and,  says  Luis  Munoz,  the 
English  Catholics,  for  whom  she  had  labored, 
greatly  desired  that  she  should  be  canonized. 
It  was  also  the  wish  of  Philip  III.  of  Spain, 
who  addressed  a  petition  to  that  effect  to  the 
Holy  See ;  the  depositions  relating  to  her  vir- 
tues and  to  the  favors  obtained  through  her 
intercession  were  accordingly  sent  to  Rome, 
where  for  a  time  the  cause  of  her  beatification 
was  activel}'  pursued. 

By  degrees,  however,  it  was  neglected  and 
then  forgotten;  and  neither  England,  where 
heresy  still  reigned  supreme,  nor  Spain,  where 
for  many  years  revolution  and  impiety  rose 
in  rebellion  against  the  Church,  were  in  a 
condition  to  advocate  the  cause  of  one  who 
belongs  almost  equally  to  both  countries  Now, 
however,  that  happier  days  have  dawned  for 
Catholicity  in  England, — now  especially  that 
so  many  of  her  martyrs  have  been  raised  upon 
the  altars  of  the  Church,  we  may  confidently 
hope  that  ere  long,  together  with  the  confes- 
sors whose  labors  she  so  faithfully  shared,  the 
Holy  See  may  proclaim  the  heroic  sanctity  of 
their  friend  and  serv^ant,  Luisa  de  Carvajal. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


20I 


A  Letter  from'  Over  the  Sea. 


BY    CHARIvKS    VV  A  R  R  K  N    STODDARD. 


ViKNNA,  Austria. 

DEAR  "Ave  Maria": — When  one  has 
made  the  circuit  of  the  Ring  Strasse  and 
admired  it — as  every  stranger  is  presumed  to 
do, — and  discovered  that  much,  too  much, 
indeed  very  much  too  much,  of  its  impressive- 
ness  is  due  to  an  ingenious  display  of  mere 
stucco,  and  but  skin-deep,  one  begins  to  look 
with  narrow  eyes  at  one  of  the  handsomest  of 
modern  cities.  Certainly  Paris,  architecturally, 
is  less  attractive ;  but  then  Paris  is  the  more 
interesting. 

There  are  splendid  structures  in  Vienna, 
magnificentl}^  massed ;  there  are  splendid 
vistas,  that  top  themselves  off  with  brilliant 
exclamatory  spires.  The  votive  church,  for 
example,  is  of  itself  a  grand  Gothic  Hallelujah! 
St.  Stephen's  is  a  psalm  out  of  the  past,  im- 
bued with  that  spirit  of  rapt  devotion  which 
the  world  is  fast  losing.  The  chisel  of  the 
restorer  does  not  strike  as  deep  as  the  root  of 
its  antiquity,  and  St.  Stephen's  remains  to-day 
one  of  the  most  profoundly  religious  of  Chris- 
tian temples. 

But  Vienna  is  not  over  -  crowded  with 
churches.  It  is  the  Catholic  capital  of  a  Cath- 
olic kingdom,  and  yet,  somehow,  the  church 
is  not  uppermost  in  one's  mind  here, — as  it 
is  in  Munich,  I  was  about  to  add,  and  I  will 
add  it ;  for  Munich,  in  spite  of  its  ever-flow- 
ing beer  and  its  overflowing  beer- gardens, 
its  innumerable  concerts,  its  grand  opera,  its 
martial  music,  and  the  superabundance  of  its 
handsome  military,  is  a  very  churchy  city.  In 
Vienna,  on  the  other  hand,  one  is  more  occu- 
pied with  the  Volksgarten  and  the  Stadtpark  ; 
with  the  Rathhaus,  the  House  of  Parliament, 
the  imperial  museums,  the  new  university, 
the  cursalon,  the  handsome  theatres,  and  the 
charming  cafes,  than  with  the  churches. 

One  is  not  likely  to  hear  in  all  Europe  any 
better  opera  than  is  given  at  the  opera  house 
in  Vienna ;  nor  in  all  the  world  will  he  find  a 
theatre  more  richly  decorated,  or  in  better 
taste,  than  the  Hofburg  Theatre.  It  is  true 
that  the  mad  public  pay  exorbitant  prices 
merely  to  see   the   interior  of  this  palatial 


pleasure- house.  It  is  the  mosque  of  the  Muses! 
But  both  plays  and  players  are  of  the  first 
quality. 

As  for  the  suburb,  one  has  always  the 
Prater;  and  though  the  "beautiful  blue 
Danube,"  when  it  touches  the  hem  of  the 
Viennese  outskirts,  is  neither  beautiful  nor 
blue,  the  Prater  is  almost  more  Parisian  than 
the  Bois !  And  yet  I  am  sure  that  I  shall 
always  associate  with  the  Austrian  capital 
the  memory  of  a  church,  one  of  the  least  of 
her  churches,  and  of  the  deep,  dark  crypt  of 
that  church. 

We  had  been  looking  at  the  cenotaph  of  the 
Duchess  Maria  Christina,  of  Sachsen-Teschen, 
in  the  Church  of  the  Augustinians — one  of 
the  masterpieces  of  Canova;  a  pyramid  of 
marble,  wjth  its  portal  standing  open.  The 
blackness  of  darkness  is  within  that  portal. 
A  train  of  mourners  swathed  from  head  to 
foot,  the  foremost  bearing  a  burial  urn,  ascends 
the  steps  that  lead  to  the  portal  of  the  pyra- 
mid. I  can  never  stand  before  this  rarely  beau- 
tiful creation — and  I  have  stood  there  many 
times — without  longing,  almost  desperately, 
to  enter  and  explore.  The  mystery  of  death 
seems  to  lie  just  hidden  beyond  that  open 
portal;  but  the  marble  mourners,  bowed  in 
an  everlasting  grief,  get  no  nearer  to  the 
threshold  than  I! 

Not  far  away  is  situated  the  unpretending 
chapel  of  the  Capuchins.  How  small  it  is, 
and  how  unhandsome !  On  Sundays  and  feast- 
days  it  is  crowded  with  worshippers,  and 
these  stand  respectfully,  while  a  cowled  friar 
preaches  from  a  little  pulpit  that  hangs  like 
a  bracket  upon  the  wall. 

At  Christmas  all  the  high  altar  is  trans- 
formed into  a  wild  pastoral  landscape,  with 
mountains,  worshipful  Magi,  and  a  manger  of 
the  most  realistic  description.  That  star  in 
the  East  is  not  to  be  put  out  by  any  planet 
in  the  whole  solar  system  ;  it  shines  with  un- 
diminished lustre,  night  and  day,  through  the 
blessed  season.  Meanwhile  W\^ /raters  %o  to 
and  fro  with  brooms  and  sprinklers,  cleansing 
the  chapel ;  their  somewhat  bucolical  robust- 
ness and  their  unfailing  good  temper  put  one 
quite  at  his  ease  with  them. 

One  of  these  good  Brothers  will  direct  you 
out  of  the  chapel  into  a  long,  long  corridor, 
which  is  the  main  arterj-  of  the  adjoining 


202 


The  Ave  Maria, 


<;onvent.  Here  there  are  shrines,  and  twists 
and  turns,  and  you  are  sure  to  get  lost,  or  to 
lose  confidence  in  yourself  and  your  Brother 
and  his  monastery;  but  just  at  this  important 
crisis  you  come  to  a  bell-rope,  which  3^ou  pull 
with  no  gentle  band,  and  the  next  moment 
he  who  is  to  conduct  you  into  the  crypt  you 
are  in  search  of  makes  his  appearance  with  a 
taper,  and  an  air  of  resignation  which  makes 
you  quite  dissatisfied  with  your  late  impa- 
tience. 

A  narrow  stone  stairway  leads  down  into 
the  crypt  of  the  Capuchins.  The  darkness  in- 
creases as  you  descend,  and  the  slender  rays 
of  the  friar's  twinkling  taper  seem  to  be  shorn 
of  half  their  length.  At  last  you  reach  the 
resounding  pavement  that  is  quite  chilly  be- 
neath your  feet.  Thick  darkness  gathers  about 
you ;  thicker  darkness  shapes  itself  in  solid 
black  oblong  masses  that  lie  in  rows  on  each 
hand ;  these  are  soon  lost  in  the  "ebon  gloom 
that  absorbs  the  feeble  light  of  the  friar's 
taper  as  a  sponge  sops  up  water." 

' '  This  way ! ' '  said  the  friar ;  and  we  silently 
departed  with  him  into  mysterious  subterra- 
nean chambers  filled  with  Cimmerian  gloom. 

Gradually  our  eyes  became  accustomed  to 
the  all-pervading  obscurity,  and  we  beheld 
numbers  of  caskets  placed  in  rows  upon  the 
pavement  of  the  crypt.  They  were  of  all  sizes 
and  all  fashions ;  some  merely  chests  of  metal 
of  the  plainest  possible  description ;  some  dec- 
orated with  silver  trimmings ;  a  few,  like  huge 
sarcophagi,  were  wondrous  works  of  art — 
tombs  of  silver  and  bronze,  surrounded  by  a 
multitude  of  figures  in  high  relief  and  crowned 
with  royal  crowns.  These  the  good  Brother 
called  our  attention  to ;  he  even  told  us  their 
value;  it  was  almost  fabulous;  but,  for  the 
most  part,  while  he  held  his  taper  aloft,  he 
tapped  a  casket  lightly  with  his  key,  and 
named  the  name  of  the  one  whose  remains 
were  deposited  within,  and  then  passed  on  to 
the  next. 

These  dead  were  all  royal,  but  they  lie  be- 
neath the  heels  of  the  worshippers  in  the  little 
chapel  above  them,  and  the  pomp  and  glory 
which  were  theirs  in  life  count  them  nothing 
here.  Indeed  they  are  as  of  little  value  and 
as  wearisome  as  the  platitudes  they  suggest; 
and  among  them  all  thei-e  is  not  one  who 
can  inspire  more  than  momentary  pity. 


Through  the  kindness  of  "a  friend  at 
court"  I  have  obtained  a  list  of  those  who 
have  found  their  last  resting-place  in  these 
royal  vauUs — the  crypt  of  the  Capuchins  is 
sacred  to  the  memory  of  royalty  alone.  It  may 
interest  you  to  read  how  many  noble  heads  are 
laid  low,  and  how  many  high-sounding  titles 
are  relegated  to  silence  and  the  obscurity  of 
this  cavernous  tomb.  Here  is  an  ample  field 
for  the  moralizer — and  one  can  hardly  resist 
moralizing  over  a  tiny  coffin,  when  he  learns 
that  it  contains  the  ashes  of  "a  nameless 
prince."  But  I  will  spare  you;  for,  after  all, 
each  man  is,  or  should  be,  capable  of  doing 
his  own  moralizing,  and  of  profiting  by  it 
also. 

The  names  of  the  dead  which  lie  in  the 
crypt  of  the  Church  of  the  Capuchins,  in 
Vienna,  1633-1889: 

The  Emperor  Mathias  {obit.,  1619);  the 
Empress  Anna,  wife  of  Mathias;  Emperor 
Francis  I.;  Archduchess  Elizabeth,  first  wife ; 
Empresses  Maria  Theresia,  second  wife ;  Maria 
Ludovica,  third  wife ;  and  Caroline  Au- 
gusta, fourth  wife,  of  Francis  I.  Archdukes 
Joseph  Francis  and  John  Charles  Francis, 
sons  of  Francis  I. ;  Archduke  Ludwig  Joseph, 
brother  of  Francis  I.;  Archduchesses  Caro- 
line, lyudovica,  Francesca,  Maria  Ludovica, 
and  Maria  Anna,  daughters  of  Francis  I.; 
Archduchess  Amalia  Theresia,  daughter  of 
Francis  II.;  Emperor  Leopold  I.;  Empress 
Margaretha  Theresia,  first  wife;  the  heart 
of  Empress  Claudia,  second  wife;  Empress 
Eleonora  Magdalena,  third  wife,  of  Leopold  I., 
Archdukes  Johann  and  Ferdinand  Wenzel, 
sons  of  Leopold  I. ;  Archduchesses  Maria  Mar- 
garetha, Maria  Anna,  Maria  Josepha,  Maria 
Theresia,  Maria  Magdalena,  Maria  Elizabeth, 
Maria  Antonia,  and  Maria  Amelia,  daugh- 
ters of  Leopold  I.;  a  nameless  Archduchess, 
daughter  of  Leopold  I.;  Emperor  Leopold  II.; 
Empress  Ludovica,  wife  of  Leopold  II. ;  Arch- 
dukes Rudolph,  Anton  Victoir,  Alexander 
Leopold,  and  Carl  Ludwig,  sons  of  Leopold  II.; 
Emperor  Joseph  I.;  Empress  Amalia,  wife  of 
Joseph  I.;  Archduke  Leopold  Joseph,  son  of  Jo- 
seph I.;  Emperor  Joseph  II.;  Empress  Maria 
Elizabeth,  wife  of  Joseph  II.;  Archduchesses 
Maria  Christine  and  Maria  Theresia,  daugh- 
ters of  Joseph  II.;  Emperor  Ferdinand  I.;  Em- 
peror Ferdinand  III.;  Etnpresses  Maria,  first 


The  Ave  Maria. 


203 


wife;  Maria  Leopoldine,  second  wife;  Eleoiiora 
of  Mantua,  third  wife,  of  Ferdinand  III.  Arch- 
dukes Ferdinand  Joseph,  Maximilian  Thomas, 
Philip  Augustine,  Leopold  Joseph,  and  Charles 
Joseph,  sons  of  Ferdinand  III. ;  Archduchesses 
Maria  Anna,  Maria  Eleanora,  and  Maria  The- 
resia,  daughters  of  Ferdinand  III.;  Archduke 
Leopold  William,  brother  of  Ferdinand  III.; 
Emperor  Ferdinand  IV.;  Queen  Maria  Caro- 
line, wife  of  Ferdinand  IV. ,  of  Sicily;  Emperor 
Charles  VI. ;  Empress  Elizabeth,  wife  of 
Charles  VI.;  Archduke  Leopold  Joseph,  son 
of  Charles  VI.;  Archduchesses  Maria  Amelia 
and  Maria  Anna,  daughters  of  Charles  VI.; 
Archduke  Ferdinand  Maximilian,  Emperor 
of  Mexico ;  Empress  Maria  Theresia ;  Arch- 
dukes Charles  Joseph  and  Ferdinand,  sons  of 
Maria  Theresia;  Archduchesses  Johanna  Gab- 
sule,  Maria  Josepha,  and  Maria  Caroline, 
daughters  of  Maria  Theresia ;  Empresses  Ma- 
ria Josepha  and  Maria  Anna ;  the  heart  of 
Queen  Maria  of  Portugal ;  Archduke  Maxi- 
milian, Elector  and  Archbishop  of  Cologne; 
Archduke  Rudolf,  son  of  Archduke  Charles ; 
Archduchess  Henrietta,  wife  of  Archduke 
Charles ;  Archduke  Charles  Albrecht,  son  of 
Archduke  Albrecht;  Archduchess  Hildegarde, 
wife  of  Archduke  Albrecht;  Archduchess  Ma- 
tilda, daughter  of  Archduke  Albrecht ;  Arch- 
duke Franz  Carl;  Archduchess  Sophie,  wife 
of  Archduke  Franz  Carl ;  Archduchess  Maria 
Anna,  daughter  of  Franz  Carl;  a  nameless 
prince,  son  of  Franz  Carl ;  Archduke  Ferdi- 
nand d'Este;  Archduke  Charles  Ferdinand; 
Archduke  Francis  Joseph,  son  of  Archduke 
Charles  Ferdinand ;  Archduchess  Maria  Ele- 
anor, daughter  of  Archduke  Charles  Ferdi- 
nand; Archduchess  Maria  Christine,  wife  of 
Archduke  Charles  Ferdinand;  Archduchess 
Maria  Theresia,  daughter  of  Duke  Albert,  of 
Sachsen-Teschen ;  Duke  Albert,  of  Sachsen- 
Teschen;  Archduchesses  Maria  Beatrix;  Maria 
Caroline,  daughter  of  Archduke  Raimer ;  Ma- 
ria Anna,  Grand  Duchess  of  Tuscany;  Maria 
Ludovica,  wife  of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany; 
Caroline,  daughter  of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tus- 
cany; Margaretha,  first  wife ;  and  Annunciata, 
second  wife,  of  Archduke  Charles  Ludwig. 
Archduchess  Sophia  Frederika,  daughter  of 
Emperor  Francis  Joseph  I. ;  Archduchesses 
Maria  Antoinette  and  Henrietta,  of  Tuscany; 
the  heart  of  Archduchess  Henrietta,  of  Nassau; 


Prince  Charles  Joseph, Elector  and  Archbishop 
of  Trier, his  heart  in  a  separate  urn;  a  nameless 
prince ;  a  nameless  princess ;  Napoleon  Fran- 
cis Charles,Duke  of  Reichstadt  (Napoleon  II ); 
Francis  V. ,  Duke  of  Modena ;  Countess  Fuchs, 
First  Lady  of  Honor  to  the  Empress  Maria 
Theresia;   Crown  Prince  Archduke   Rudolf. 

These  illustrious  titles  are  not  given  chron- 
ologically, nor  in  the  order  of  their  rank,  nor 
as  the  caskets  are  arranged  in  the  crypt, — 
indeed  there  seems  to  have  been  no  attempt 
to  classify  them  there.  The  scattered  families 
have  here,  in  some  cases,  been  gathered  to- 
gether ;  but  even  this  kindly  effort  on  the  part 
of  the  chronicler  has,  I  fear,  proved  not  entirely 
successful.  What  does  it  matter  to  us,  one  way 
or  the  other?  But  there  are  those  to  whom  it 
does  matter — listen! 

Not  long  since  the  Abbot  of  the  Capuchins 
was  called  from  his  light  slumbers  at  mid- 
night ;  his  astonishment  was  boundless  when 
he  learned  that  he  had  been  summoned  at  the 
prayer  of  a  lady  who,  at  that  unseasonable 
hour,  demanded  admittance  to  the  crypt. 

"Poor  creature!  she  is  insane,"  reflected 
the  Abbot  as  he  went  in  search  of  the  strange 
guest.  She  awaited  him  in  the  chapel,  lit  only 
by  the  lamp  which  bums  forever  before  the 
tabernacle  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  She  was 
in  the  deepest  mourning,  and  she  was  un- 
attended. 

"Madam?"  queried  the  Abbot  as  he  ap- 
proached her.  "I  am  the  Empress!"  was  her 
sole  response,  and  it  was  all  that  was  necessary 
to  touch  the  heart  of  the  Abbot.  The  two 
descended  into  the  solemn  crypt — where  she 
anon  will  find  the  rest  she  seeks  for;  and  until 
the  gray  of  the  dawn  the  heart-broken  mother 
was  bowed  in  agonizing  prayer  beside  the 
body  of  her  unhappy  son. 


Man  goes  to  the  dogmas ;  woman  is  satis- 
fied with  sacraments.  Her  instinct  apprehends 
what  his  reason  is  so  slow  to  admit :  that  God 
allows  Himself  to  be  approached  more  readily 
than  to  be  understood. 

"That  which  can  not  be  signed  ought  not 
to  be  written, "  Ferrer  de  Couto  has  said,  most 
pertinently. 

Dignities  are  fruitftil ;  dignity,  alas !  is 
sterile. 


204 


Hie  Ave  lUaria. 


Dead  on  the  Field  of   Honor. 

BY    FLORA    I..    STAN  FIELD. 

A  BLOODY  field,  a  gallant  chevalier, 
Where  banners  thick  were  flying ; 
A  host  of  men,  each  to  some  far  heart  dear. 

Upon  the  brown  earth  lying — 
This  is  the  picture  that  I  fain  would  show 
Of  sunny  France  two  centuries  ago. 

Right  in  advance  the  stalwart  grenadiers 
Their  helmet  plumes  were  bearing, 

T'rance  had  not  seen  for  countless  cruel  years 
A  regiment  so  daring; 

And  at  its  head  the  noble  Philip  rode. 

As  pale  as  the  white  horse  which  he  bestrode, — 

But  not  with  fear, — within  that  valiant  breast 

No  craven's  heart  was  beating. 
^  ^Le  Roil ' '  he  cried ;  perchance  you  know  the  rest : 

An  enemy,  retreating, 
Struck  at  a  life  untainted  by  a  vice. 
And  sent  a  hero's  soul  to  Paradise! 

And  ever  since,  whene'er  thej'^  call  the  roll 

And  Philip's  name  is  spoken, 
^'  Dead  on  the  field  of  honor!  Rest  his  soul! " 

Is  answered  as  a  token 
That  it  is  glorious  to  so  bravely  fling 

One's  life  away  when  fighting  for  the  King. 

We  can  not  all  be  Philips  ;  Heaven  forbid 

A  destiny  so  gory! 
But  some  day  underneath  its  coffin  lid 

Each  face  will  tell  the  story — 
Whether  it  fronted  a  remorseless  foe. 
Or  wore  a  coward's  smile  when  stricken  low. 

No  burnished  coat  of  mail  or  baron's  sword, 

No  helmet's  lofty  feather, 
May  be  the  sign  that  we  are  marching  toward 

The  enemy  together; 
But,  though  the  combat's  smoke  makes  vision  dim, 
The  King  knows  when  we  blindly  die  for  Him. 

The  man  who  gazes  at  life's  tented  fields 

•    Shut  in  by  window  casement. 

Knows  nothing  of  the  joy  a  victory  yields 

When  bought  by  self-abasement; 
Or  when,  as  swans  in  dying  sweetest  sing. 
One  calls  to  those  who  follow  him,  "The  King!" 

And  vSome  poor  soul,  whose  world  is  bounded  by 

The  confines  of  her  dwelling, 
May  hear  at  last  the  ringing  battle  cry 

That  in  his  throat  is  swelling; 
And  angels,  bending  pitying  gaze  upon  her. 
Will  call-to  God  :  "Dead  on  the  field  of  honor! " 


Two  Schools. 


(CONTINUEL*. ) 

Clara  Valley,  Dec.  28,  18 — . 

DEAR  Aunt  Mary  : — Christmas  has  come 
and  gone,  but  the  festivities  are  by  no 
means  over.  If  anything  could  reconcile  me 
to  being  away  from  you  at  this  time,  all  that 
I  have  seen  and  admired  during  the  last  few 
days  would  go  a  long  way  toward  doing  so  ; 
and  if  anything  can  in  some  degree  compen- 
sate you  for  the  separation,  it  will  be  the 
knowledge  that  for  the  first  time  in  my  life 
I  have  really  enjoyed,  felt  and  understood 
Christmas  in  its  true  meaning. 

How  little  we  Protestants  realize  the  full 
significance  of  this  blessed  time!  It  is  never 
brought  home  to  u^>,  therefore  we  are  not  to 
blame.  We  have  festivals,  Christmas-trees, 
with  Santa  Claus  and  his  gifts,  all  very  good 
as  far  as  they  go,  but  they  do  not '  go  far 
enough-— the  Babe  in  the  Manger  with  the 
adoring  Shepherds,  the  Star  of  Bethlehem,  the 
^'glorias''  of  the  Angels,  the  poetry  of  it,  the 
music,  the  spirituality  is  lacking.  But  we  had 
it  at  Clara  Valley  in  all  its  fulness,  I  assure 
you,  and  it  is  something  to  remember  for  the 
rest  of  one's  life. 

The  pupils  who  do  not  live  too  far  from  the 
convent  went  home  for  the  holidays,  leaving 
about  forty  to  .spend  the  vacation  here.  School 
was  dismissed  on  the  2 2d,  after  the  awarding 
of  medals  and  ribbons  for  scholarship  and 
good  conduct;  and  our  time  thereafter  was 
spent  in  preparations  for  Christmas — finish- 
ing souvenirs,  practising  for  tableaux^  deco- 
rating the  chapel  and  the  exhibition  halls  with 
evergreens  and  holly. 

I  will  first  describe  the  "Crib,"  &s  they  call 
it,  but  it  was  in  reality  a  miniature  Stable  of 
Bethlehem.  It  was  arranged  in  the  form  of  a 
grotto ;  at  a  distance  the  roof  seemed  to  be  of 
rock  covered  with  snow,  but  it  was  really 
made  of  tarred  paper,  bent  into  all  sorts  of 
irregular  projections  by  the  cunning  hand  of 
our  dear  Sister  Mary ;  for  this  was  a  new  crib, 
the  old  one,  that  had  done  duty  for  ten  years, 
having  been  pronounced  unfit  for  further  use 
in  the  chapel,  though  still  good  enough  for  the 
little  girls'  recreation-room.  Powdered  sugar 
and  glass  were  scattered  over  it  and  about  the 


The  Ave  Maria, 


20 


threshold,  making  a  very  fair  substitute  for 
snow. 

The  interior  was  also  irregularly  shaped, 
with  here  and  there  patches  of  moss  on  the 
surface.  The^oor  was  thickly  strewn  with 
fine  straw.  A  time-worn  manger  held  the 
tiny  waxen  Babe,  On  one  side  knelt  the 
Virgin  Mother,  while  St.  Joseph,  staff  in  hand, 
leaned  over  both  as  if  protecting  them.  The 
ox  and  the  ass  were  there  breathing,  as  it 
were,  into  the  manger ;  and  in  the  foreground 
were  the  Shepherds,  in  various  attitudes  of 
wonder,  admiration,  and  worship.  The  figures 
were  imported  from  Munich,  and  are  fine 
specimens  of  art.  Fastened  by  invisible  wires 
to  the  background  of  the  stable,  two  angels 
seemed  to  hover  in  mid- air.  In  their  hands 
they  bore  a  scroll  with  the  legend,  ''Gloria 
in  excelsis  Deo! ' '  And  above  them,  also  held  in 
the  same  mysterious  manner,  tremulously  glis- 
tened a  brilliant  star.  The  grotto  was  embow- 
ered in  cedars,  with  pots  of  tall  lilies  showing 
here  and  there  amid  the  green.  The  farther 
^wall  of  the  stable  had  been  scraped  very  thin, 
almost  to  transparency,  and  behind  this  a  large 
lamp  was  placed.  Thus  the  only  light  came 
from  behind,  and  faintly  illumined,  as  with 
a  supernatural  radiance,  the  interior  of  the 
grotto.  The  effect  was  indescribable,  and 
adds  another  laurel  to  Sister  Marj^'s  crown  of 
genius. 

Fatigued  after  a  long  day  of  busy  duties, 
we  retired  at  seven,  in  order  to  have  some 
sleep  before  the  celebration  of  the  Midnight 
Mass,  which  is  always  celebrated  at  the  con- 
vent, as  it  is  in  most  Catholic  countries  to 
usher  in  the  glorious  festival  of  Christmas. 
The  Protestants  were  not  required  to  assist,  nor 
even  those  Catholics  who  preferred  waiting 
till  a  later  Mass,  but  w^e  were  unanimous  in  our 
desire  to  be  present.  Sister  Eulalia  called  us  at 
half-past  eleven  (all  but  the  little  girls),  and 
we  were  soon  ready.  Solemnly  and  silently 
we  entered  the  chapel,  where  the  Sisters  were 
already  assembled.  I  shall  never  forget  it, 
Aunt  Mary ;  never  before  did  anything  im- 
press me  so  strongly. 

Outside  the  full  moon  shone  brightly  on  the 
crisp  snow,  the  trees  were  a  mass  of  gleaming 
crystals,  and  the  window  panes  of  the  corridor 
were  covered  with  frosty  traceries.  Within 
all  was  radiance  and  warmth,  the  altar  a  blaze 


of  lights,  the  organ  faintly  preluding  the  Mass, 
and  the  Sisters  silently  praying  in  their  stalls. 
Soon  the  choir  intoned  the  Gloria  ifi  excelsis^ 
and  so  profound  was  the  silence  and  reverence 
within  those  walls  that  one  could  almost  be- 
lieve we  were  kneeling  at  the  veritable  manger 
in  the  real  Stable  of  Bethlehem.  The  Sisters 
and  Catholic  pupils  communicated;  it  may 
be  that  something  of  the  graces  they  undoubt- 
edly received  was  imparted  to  us  poor  heretics. 
At  least  I  felt  and  hoped  so.  I  longed  to  be 
with  and  of  them. 

Mass  over,  we  returned  to  the  dormitory, 
and  were  not  again  aroused  till  seven.  After 
breakfast  we  assisted  at  two  Masses,  following 
each  other  in  quick  succession.  The  rest  of 
the  day,  with  the  exception  of  half  an  hour 
for  Benediction,  was  devoted  to  holiday  mak- 
ing, exchanging  gifts,  etc.  Nearly  all  the 
girls  had  boxes  from  home,  mine  was  lovely. 
Thanks  for  all  the  pretty  things,  including 
the  mince-pies  and  doughnuts.  They  made 
me  homesick. 

At  eleven  o'clock  we  assembledTin  the 
study-hall,  where  Sister  Superior  presented 
everyone  with  a  souvenir  of  some  kind — a 
thimble,  ivor>^  paper-cutter,  pocket-book,  or 
some  little  trifle.  By  the  way,  I  believe  I  for- 
got to  mention  that  the  altar  cloth  was  finished 
in  time,  pronounced  a  chef  d'ceuvre,  presented 
to  Sister  Superior,  and  used  for  the  first  time 
on  Christmas  morning.  She  was  delighted 
with  it,  said  she  had  seen  nothing  finer  in 
European  convents,  famous  for  their  fine  work, 
which  was  highly  gratifying  to  us,  who  had 
labored  so  hard  to  complete  it.  While  in  the 
study- hall,  on  Christmas  morning,  she  told  us 
she  had  asked  the  Child  Jesus  to  bless  the 
hearts  and  hands  that  had  made  so  beautiful 
an  offering.  Was  that  not  nice? 

We  had  a  grand  dinner  in  the  afternoon. 
Father sent  a  huge  box  of  nuts  and  con- 
fectionery, and  came  himself  in  the  evening, 
when  we  had  a  magic  lantern  exhibition.  They 
have  the  largest  lantern  I  have  ever  seen ;  and 
the  pictures  were  very  fine,  consisting  of 
views  in  the  Holy  Land  and  Rome,  with  cop- 
ies of  famous  statuary  and  pictures  from  the 
galleries  of  the  Vatican  and  the  Louvre. 

Yesterday  we  attended  an  entertainment 
given  by  the  children  of  the  village  school, 
taught  by  the  Sisters.  There  were  songs,  reci- 


2o6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


tatioiis,  and  a  huge  Christmas-tree.  The  pastor 
went  about  like  a  real  father.  They  all  seem 
to  love  him,  and  are  perfectly  unrestrained  in 
his  presence.  To-day  we  went  to  the  "Virgin 
Woods, ' '  and  skated  on  the  pond  for  an  hour. 
To-morrow  we  are  to  have  a  candy  pulling ; 
next  day  an  oyster  supper,  with  tableaux  and 
charades.  After  that  a  general  getting  ready 
for  the  New  Year.  Studies  will  be  resumed  on 
the  4th. 

During  these  days  we  do  as  we  please, 
under  the  supervision  of  the  teachers.  You 
will  divine  that  no  great  mischief  can  be 
hatched  or  performed  with  such  restrictions. 
We  generally  please  to  read,  sew,  sing,  dance 
a  little,  and  amuse  ourselves  quietly  in  one 
way  or  another.  Our  teachers  do  all  they  can 
to  make  the  holidays  pleasant.  There  is  not 
a  sour  face  or  unhappy  heart  among  us. 

With  many  good  wishes  for  the  New  Year, 
your  "little  girl"  often  longs  for  a  sight  of 
you.  Barring  this,  she  is  a  very  contented  and 

""^^^'^^  Julia. 

Allen  Seminary,  Dec.  29, 18 — . 

Dear  Mattie  : — I  have  been  horribly 
homesick  during  the  holidays,  and  am  writing 
without  having  received  an  answer  to  my  last, 
simply  because  I  am  dying  to  talk  to  some 
one  at  home,  and  this  is  the  next  best  thing. 

I  had  expected  to  spend  the  holidays  with 
Florence,  my  room-mate  and  chum,  who  lives 

in  T ,  about  twenty -five  miles  fi-om  here  ; 

but  at  the  last  moment  word  came  that  her 
three  little  sisters  had  the  scarlet  fever,  and 
her  mother  thought  it  best  that  she  should 
stay  at  school.  So  our  plans  were  all  upset.  We 
were  thinking  of  having  a  Christmas-tree;  but 
the  girls  decided  (there  are  eleven  of  us)  that  it 
would  be  altogether  too  childish,  and  require 
too  much  labor  for  the  return.  Tableaux  were 
spoken  of  for  Christmas  Eve,  but  we  would 
have  had  no  audience.  So  we  just  opened  our 
boxes  as  they  came,  and  resolved  to  lunch  and 
munch  till  they  were  all  emptied,  trusting  to 
luck  for  some  other  enjoyment. 

One  of  the  day  scholars  has  been  supply- 
ing us  with  French  novels,  several  of  George 
Sand's  among  the  number.  You  know  how 
unhappily  she  was  married,  so  one  can't  blame 
her  much  for  having  had  lovers.  She  couldn't 
help  it  if  she  was  fascinating ;  could  she  ?  We 


all  love  to  be  so.  Quite  a  plain-looking  woman, 
her  biographer  says.  The  stories  are  nearly 
all  full  of  the  most  delicious  love  passages.  At 
first  I  felt  a  little  squeamish  about  reading 
them,  I  had  heard  they  were* so  dreadfully 
immoral,  but  I  can't  say  that  they  are  so  bad 
as  represented. 

We  have  the  cutest  way  of  hiding  novels 
here.  They  are  forbidden  by  the  rules,  but 
that  doesn't  make  the  slightest  difference. 
We  hide  them  between  the  covers  of  an  old 
history  and  geography,  and  the  teachers  think 
they  are  text-books.  We  spent  nearly  all  of 
our  examination  time  reading  this  way,  and 
of  course  our  averages  were  very  low;  but 
that  doesn't  matter  to  most  of  us.  I  will  do 
the  academy  teachers  at  home  the  justice  of 
saying  that  they  were  very  conscientious  if 
terribly  cross ;  at  this  far-famed  seat  of  learn- 
ing one  can  do  almost  as  one  pleases.  That 
is  probably  because  the  rates  of  tuition  are 
so  high. 

We  had  the  pokiest  old  time  Christmas 
Day!  We  slept  till  eight,  and  had  breakfast 
at  nine.  After  that  we  were  left  to  our  own 
sweet  wills  till  dinner  time.  By  the  way, 
Christmas  Eve  we  presented  his  lordship  and 
her  ladyship  with  a  finely-bound  edition  of 
Thackeray.  It  is  customary  to  make  "an 
offering,"  Miss  Podwinkle,  the  first  assistant, 
told  us.  They  were  elaborate  in  their  thanks, 
but  not  one  of  the  girls  who  remained  for  the 
holidays  received  a  single  thing  from  either. 
The  stingy  old  things  might  have  given  us 
even  bonbons  or  some  little  trifles. 

Mile.  Rameau,  who  teaches  French  to  the 
primaries,  and  a  Catholic  by  the  way,  steal- 
ing over  to  the  convent  to  Mass  on  Sundays 
before  day,  made  a  tiny  pocket- cushion  for 
everybody.  We  girls  just  showered  things  on 
her.  The  dinner  was  good  enough — it  was 
served  at  two,  but  it  was  awfully  prosy  and 
lonesome.  We  all  thought  of  home,  and  what 
lots  of  fun  we  were  missing. 

Two  of  the  bravest  petitioned  for  an  im- 
promptu dance  in  the  parlors  for  the  evening, 
but  Professor  Allen  thought  it  was  not  befitting 
the  solemnity  of  the  day.  Possibly  he  mis- 
took it  for  Good  Friday,  or  was  thinking  of 
the  carpets.  So  we  strolled  about  the  corridors 
in  sheer  desperation,  munching  bonbons,  and 
exchanging  confidences.  At  nine  o'clock  we 


The  Ave  Maria. 


207 


begged  to  go  to  bed,  though  we  had  permission 
to  stay  up  till  ten.  I  am  sure  all  our  pillows 
were  wet  wiih  tears  that  night.  And  so  every 
day  has  dragged  its  weary  length  along. 

Our  walks  are  no  longer  interesting,  the 
cold  weather  keeps  the  cavaliers  of  the  post- 
office  indoors.  Once  we  went  to  town  in  a 
body  to  do  some  shopping.  But  we  were  such 
a  spectacle,  walking  in  couples  along  the 
streets,  with  Mrs.  Allen  in  front  and  Miss  Pod- 
winkle  behind — such  ugly  creatures  as  they 
are  too, — that  I  for  one  vowed  I  should  never 
go  again.  We  had  a  prime  luncheon  at  the 
Woman's  Exchange — the  first  good  meal  I 
have  tasted  since  leaving  home. 

One  little  incident  occurred  on  the  cars 
which  was  somewhat  exciting.  Poor  Miss 
Podwinkle  happened  to  sit  beside  a  middle- 
aged  gentleman,  who,  after  looking  at  her  over 
his  paper  for  about  five  minutes,  suddenly 
reached  out  his  hand,  evidently  recognizing 
her  as  an  old  friend.  It  seemed  so  funny  to 
see  her  in  pleased  and  animated  conversation 
with  a  man  that  we  girls  began  to  giggle. 
This  drew  the  attention  of  Mrs.  Allen  to  the 
group,.and  she  began  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  aisles  as  well  as  she  could,  holding  on  to 
the  seats  on  either  side,  glaring  alternately 
at  our  party  and  the  innocent  Miss  Podwinkle, 
who  was  delighted  at  being  the  object  of  a 
little  attention,  and  so  pleased  to  meet  an 
acquaintance  that  she  never  glanced  at  Mrs. 
Allen,  who  vainly  tried  to  terrify  her  with 
that  stony  gaze  which  she  fancies  is  at  once 
annihilating  and  becoming.  Finally,  seeing 
her  efforts  of  no  use,  the  good  lady  sat  down. 
Arrived  at  our  station  the  gallant  cavalier 
continued  his  journey,  after  politely  helping 
Miss  Podwinkle  to  the  platform. 

Once  en  route  to  the  seminary  Mrs.  Allen 
burst  forth  in  this  wise : 

"Miss  Podwinkle,  did  you  not  see  me  en- 
deavoring to  attract  your  attention  while  in 
the  train  ?  " — "  No,"  answered  Miss  Podwinkle, 
in  surprise.  "I  was  so  busily — absorbed," — 
*  'Ah ! ' '  said  Mrs.  Allen,  * '  and  that  is  precisely 
why  I  was  so  desirous  of  making  you  look  at 
me.  Once  I  had  a  mind  to  address  you." — 
"And  why  did  you  not?"  replied  Miss  Pod- 
winkle.— "I  wonder  you  are  not  abashed  at 
our  conduct,"  continued  the  Gorgon.  **It 
certainly  looks  bad,  not  to  mention  the  ex- 


ample."— "What  looks  bad?"  inquired  Miss 
Podwinkle.  —  "Don't  affect  innocence,  my 
dear,"  said  her  virtuous  principal.  "I  repeat, 
I  am  astonished  that  a  lady  of  your  years  and 
position  in  my  school  should  have  given  such 
bad  example  to  the  young  ladies  under  your 
charge  as  to  flirt  with  a  strange  man  on 
the  train,  in  sight  of  everybody!" — "Flirt! 
Strange  man!"  exclaimed  Miss  Podwinkle. 
"You  are  altogether  mistaken,  ma'am.  That 
gentleman  was  the  brother  of  my  own  broth- 
er's wife ;  I  had  not  seen  him  for  many  years. 
He  is  the  father  of  seven  children  and  the 
grandfather  of  four.  Flirt  indeed!  And  I  am 
not  aware  that  there  is  any  rule  in  your  es- 
tablishment forbidding  teachers  to  speak  to 
their  friends,  wherever  met." — "I  beg  par- 
don," replied  Madam,  coming  down  from  her 
high  horse ;  for  Miss  Podwinkle  is  the  drudge 
of  the  establishment.  *  *  Still,  your  joy  at  meet- 
ing your  friend  need  not  have  been  so  effu- 
sive. It  quite  upset  the  young  ladies,  with 
whom  I  have  also  a  little  crow  to  pluck." 

"  Poor  things!  they  need  some  amusement 
occasionally,"  said  the  valiant  Podwinkle, 
tossing  her  head.  "I'm  sure  I  don't  blame 
them ;  and  let  me  tell  you,  Mrs.  Allen,  that, 
though  I  may  be  employed  by  you  at  starva- 
tion wages,  I  am  not  quite  a  slave.  My  mother 
was  a  lady,  my  people  are  well  connected,  my 
father  was  once  President  of  an  Insurance 
Company !  If  it  does  not  suit  you  to  have  me 
speak  to  my  friends,  who,  few  though  they 
may  be  now  and  seldom  as  I  meet  them,  are 
the  superiors  of  any  persons  with  whom 
you  are  acquainted — please  look  for  another 
assistant ! ' '  After  this  volley  she  flounced  back 
to  the  rear  of  the  column. 

Our  worthy  principal  seemed  subdued. 
Miss  Podwinkle' s  course  was  a  great  surprise  ; 
she  endures  martyrdom  from  that  woman. 
But  the  trodden  worm  will  turn  at  last,  and 
probably  the  meeting  with  her  old  friend  put 
new  courage  into  her  heart ;  or,  perhaps,  he 
had  told  her  of  a  better  situation  somewhere 
else,  and  she  felt  independent.  We  were  all 
pleasanter  to  her  that  night,  having  common 
cause  against  the  enemy ;  and  she  really  isn't 
bad  when  you  take  her  in  the  right  way. 

When  we  got  home  Mile.  Rameau  was 
hanging  up  her  hat  on  the  rack.  Madam 
inquired  where  she  had  been.   When  Mile. 


2o8 


The  Ave  Ala  via. 


timidly  answered  that  she  had  only  attended 
Benediction  at  the  convent,  Madam  coolly 
told  her  she  didn't  believe  her,  and  that  she 
wanted  no  evasions.  I  am  perfectly  certain  the 
poor  little  thing  told  the  truth,  and  Madam 
knew  she  did ;  but  the  old  Gorgon  was  out  of 
humor,  and  attacked  Mile,  on  general  prin- 
ciples. 

I'm  dying  for  the  girls  to  come  back  to  get 
some  news !  Write  and  tell  me  of  all  the  good 
times  you've  had. 

Your  desolate        Esteli^a. 

(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 


A  Word  to  Fathers. 


Y    MAURICE    FRANCIS    EGAN, 


THERE  exists  a  wretched  and  utterly  vile 
tradition — more  common,  perhaps,  among 
people  of  Irish  birth  and  descent  than  among 
9thers,  —  that  children  should  be  brought 
up  principally  by  their  mothers;  that,  as  in 
the  animal  kingdom,  the  dam  should  have 
the  whole  responsibility  of  looking  after  the 
young.  This  works  very  well  among  animals,- 
but  not  among  men.  The  human  child  is  such 
a  delicate,  such  a  complex,  such  a  wonderful 
thing,  that  it  can  not  be  suckled  like  a  mere 
animal,  occasionally^  licked — in  both  senses, — 
and  left  to  grow  up  almost  of  itself 

It  takes  two  to  cultivate  a  child  properly.  It 
takes — although  many  people  seem  to  doubt 
this — as  much  care  to  make  a  child  healthy, 
physically  and  spiritually,  as  to  keep  a  field 
of  potatoes  in  good  condition.  The  farmers' 
journals  tell  us  that  the  field  and  the  orchard 
must  be  watched  day  by  day.  Beetles  and  bugs 
attack  every  green  plant ;  the  apple  falls  be- 
cause a  worm  gnaws  its  stem,  and  it  is  only 
fit  for  the  hogs ;  the  rose  itself,  bom  so  pure 
and  sweet,  has  its  insidious  enemies,  and  needs 
constant  care.  Can  children  need  less? 

When  a  father  dies,  it  is  not  only  the  mate- 
rial loss  that  the  judicious  friends  of  his  widow 
and  children  mourn.  In  fact,  the  privations 
of  the  widow  and  orphans  brought  on  by 
death  may  be  remedied.  But  who  can  supply 
for  the  bereaved  children  the  tender  and  true, 
the  peculiarly  manly  direction  which  children 
can  get  only  from  their  father  ?  A  mother  may 


do  her  best — and  she  can  do  a  great  deal — for 
the  education  of  her  children,  but  her  power  is 
limited  unless  the  father  co-operate  with  her. 

It  is  often  remarked,  as  one  of  the  anomalies 
of  life,  that  the  children — more  particularly 
the  boys — of  good  fathers  and  mothers  some- 
times "go  to  the  bad."  And  this  reflection 
often  induces  a  gloomy  view  of  life,  and  a  ten- 
dency to  let  things  go  as  they  will.  ' '  What 
is  the  use  of  doing  one's  best  for  one's  chil- 
dren?" asks  the  gloomy  observer;  "they'll  be 
failures,  anyhow.  I^ook  at  the  So-and-So's, — 
ever>'thing  that  wealth  could  buy,  father  and 
mother  excellent,  but  such  boys!" 

But  riches  can  not  buy  education,  though 
they  may  buy  instruction.  One  can  pay  a  great 
astronomer  to  teach  a  child  all  about  the  great 
crack  in  that  dead  world,  the  moon  ;  and  yet 
no  money  can  buy  the  training  which  will 
make  a  boy  frank,  affectionate,  respectful  from 
the  heart  to  his  parents,  scrupulously  honor- 
able, and  ready  to  sacrifice  his  life  rather 
than  to  offend  God  mortally.  Schools  may  be 
almost  perfect — and,  thank  God!  Catholics 
have  some  that  are  thoroughly  admirable, — 
but  they  can  not  give  an  almost  perfect  edu- 
cation unless  the  parents — both  parents — lay 
the  foundation,  and  really  build  the  structure 
by  precept  and  example. 

The  neglect  of  children  by  parents  is  an  evil 
pregnant  with  woe  for  religion  and  society. 
Riches  are  piled  up  by  fathers  who  have  no 
time  except  for  the  further  piling  up  of  riches. 
Boys  are  sent  off  to  school  to  be  out  of  the 
way,  and  to  be  made,  if  possible,  pilers  up  of 
more  riches.  Girls,  subject  to  fewer  dangers, 
and  more  capable  of  cultivation  at  the  hands  of 
mothers,  are  instructed  too,  but  not  educated 
— as  girls  should  be.  For  is  a  father  to  be  noth- 
ing in  a  daughter's  life  but  the  bestower  of  an 
occasional  kiss  or  bonbonniere,  the  signer  of 
cheques,  the  giver  of  luxuries ;  or  the  man  who 
says  a  kind  word  to  her  when  he  has  time, 
pays  her  expenses  until  she  is  able  to  pay" 
her  own ;  but  whose  work  by  day  and  whose 
newspaper  by  night  seem  more  real  to  him 
than  her  existence  ? 

What  is  more  sweet,  more  consoling,  than 
the  love  of  father  and  daughter?  But  it  will 
not  have  all  its  sweetness  and  consolation  for 
both,  if  it  be  not  cultivated.  Why  did  Margaret 
Roper  love  the  Blessed  Thomas  More  so  well? 


The  Ave  Maria. 


209 


Not  simply  because  she  was  his  daughter, 
but  because  he  had  cultivated  her  natural 
love  for  him,  and  trained  her  every  day  of  his 
life  as  we  train  clematis  or  honeysuckle. 

You  and  I  may  be  good.  We  may  work 
hard,  that  our  children  may  go  to  good  schools 
and  wear  clothes  as  fine  as  other  people's  chil- 
dren; we  may  reprimand  when  things  have 
gone  wrong  with  us,  we  may  talk  to  them  of 
our  own  goodness  when  the  newspapers  are 
dull  and  time  is  heavy  on  our  hands;  you 
may  even  leave  them  much  money  when  you 
die — more  than  they  know  what  to  do  with, 
— and,  according  to  our  American  ethics,  a 
father  can  not  do  more  than  this  for  his  chil- 
dren ;  and,  having  had  all  these  things  done 
for  them,  they  may  be  so  ungrateful  as  to  be 
unworthy  members  of  society.  And  then  our 
friends  will  talk  of  their  parents'  "goodness." 

God  never  intended  parents  to  be  good  in 
that  way.  He  intended  that  the  chief  duty  of 
fathers  and  mothers  should  be,  not  the  pro- 
viding of  comforts  or  luxuries,  but  the  careful 
tending  of  the  precious  souls  sent  to  their 
guardianship. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

Cardinal  Lavigerie's  letter  to  Archbishop  J anvS- 
sens  has  doubtless  had  the  effect  intended :  that 
of  interesting  manj^  of  the  colored  people  of 
America  in  the  fate  of  their  enslaved  brethren  in 
Africa.  The  Cardinal  was  particular!}'  anxious 
that  our  emancipated  colored  fellow-citizens 
should  be  represented  at  the  anti-slavery  Con- 
gress held  at  Ivuzern,  in  Switzerland. 


Bruges  is  a  very  Catholic  city.  At  the  celebra- 
tion of  the  Golden  Jubilee  of  the  ordination  of  its 
Bishop,  and  the  Silver  Jubilee  of  his  episcopate, 
Mass  was  offered  at  the  same  hour  for  him  in 
every  church  in  the  city,  and  bread  was  distrib- 
uted to  the  poor.  Who  will  introduce  amongst 
us  the  beautiful  old  Catholic  practice  of  giving 
alms  to  the  poor  on  every  such  happy  occasion  ? 


Signor  Crispi  has  doubled  the  guards  around 
the  Vatican,  and  two  carriages  are  kept  standing 
about,  evidently  occupied  by  spies  watching  for 
the  departure  of  the  Pope.  The  Italian  Catholic 
journals  find  this  yery  amusing. 


The  condition  of  Millet  while  he  painted  in 
Barbizon  offers  a  strange  contrast  to  what  his 


I  position  would  be  if  he  lived  to-day,  to  know 
that  his  "  Angelus  "  occupied  public  attention 
throughout  the  world.  Of  his  no  less  beautiful 
picture,  "The  Gleaners,"  he  wrote :  "  I  am  work- 
ing like  a  slave  to  get  ray  picture  done  ['The 
Gleaners'].  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  will 
come  of  all  the  pains  that  I  give  myself  Some 
days  I  think  this  wretched  picture  has  no  .sense. 
At  any  rate,  I  must  have  a  month  of  quiet  work 
on  it ;  if  only  it  is  not  too  disgraceful !  Headaches, 
big  and  little,  have  besieged  me  this  month  to 
such  an  extent  that  I  have  had  scarcely  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  of  my  painting  time.  You  are  right. 
Life  is  a  sad  thing,  and  few  spots  in  it  are  places 
of  refuge.  We  come  to  understand  those  who 
sighed  for  a  place  of  refreshment,  of  light,  and 
of  peace.  One  understands  what  Dante  makes 
some  of  his  persons  say,  speaking  of  the  time 
that  they  passed  on  earth — '  the  time  of  my  debt." 
Well,  let  us  hold  out  as  long  as  we  can." 

One  of  the  successors  of  a  man  of  whom  we 
Catholic- Americans  should  be  proud  died  lately. 
Cardinal  Guilbert,  who  followed  at  some  distance 
our  ow^n  Cardinal  Cheverus  in  the  see  of  Bor- 
deaux, was  born  in  Normandj^  in  181 2,  and  was 
ordained  priest  in  1836.  In  1867  Mgr.  Guilbert, 
whose  philosophical  and  theological  attainments, 
and  his  love  for  the  poor,  had  made  him  respected 
and  beloved,  was  appointed  Bishop.  Later,  as 
Bishop  of  Amiens,  from  which  see  he  had  been 
translated  to  Bordeaux,  he  interested  himself 
greatly  in  the  prospects  of  young  mechanics  and 
apprentices.  He  was  created  Cardinal  on  May  24, 
of  the  present  year.  His  death  took  place  on  the 
Feast  of  the  Assumption.  His  best  known  books 
are  ' '  The  Divine  Synthesis ' '  and  ' '  God  and  the 
World."  ' 

The  English  Protestant  papers  are  regretting 
the  indifference  of  their  dietitt'le  to  the  needs  of 
Irish  Catholics  for  the  pure  Gospel.  It  seems 
that  the  united  subscriptions  of  Bedfordshire, 
Huntingdonshire,  and  Northamptonshire  amount 
to  almost  five  dollars  ;  Birmingham  sends  nearly 
thirty-five  dollars.  ThQ  English  Churdunan  fears 
that  "the  talk  about  Father  Damien  has  made 
England  fear  Popery  less." 


A  correspondent  in  France  informs  us  of  two 
extraordinary  cures  obtained  by  devotion  to  the 
Holy  Face.  The  writer  says  : 

"You  will  be  glad  to  learn  of  new  instances  of  the 
efficacy  of  devotion  to  the  Holy  Face.  Two  wondrous 
cures  have  been  wrought  at  the  monastery  of  the 
Poor  Clares  at  Versailles.  Some  three  years  ago  one 
of  the  nuns  was  attacked  by  a  tumor  of  so  malignant 
a  nature  that  the  physician  declared  her  only  hope 


210 


The  Ave  Maria. 


of  recovery  was  an  operation,  the  success  of  which 
was  most  uncertain.  Hearing  this  sad  announcement, 
the  Mother  Abbess  and  her  Poor  Clares  united  in 
a  novena  i  o  the  Holy  Face  to  obtain  the  cure  with- 
out the  operation.  On  the  third  day  of  the  novena, 
when  the  doctor  came  to  visit  the  invalid,  every  ves- 
tige of  the  disease  had  disappeared,  and  the  physician 
himself  (a  practical  Catholic)  declared  that  nothing 
but  a  supernatural  power  could  have  wrought  the 
prodigy. 

"The  other  da'es  from  last  April.  x\  young  nun  was 
sufiFeriug  from  inflanmiation  of  the  stomach  to  such 
an  extent  that  she  could  hardly  retain  a  teaspoon  ful 
of  milk  ;  the  physician  believed  her  reco-^ery  impos- 
sible, and  informed  the  Mother  Abbess  that  death  was 
at  hand.  A  novena  to  the  Holy  Face  was  immedi- 
ately conmienced,  at  the  end  of  which  the  young 
patient  rose  in  perfect  health,  to  the  intense  joy  of 
the  Sisterhood,  who  render  unceasing  thanks  to  Our 
lyord. ' ' 

The  Catholic  Bishop  of  Middlesborough  protests 
forcibly  against  "the  false  principle  that  what 
we  possess  is  our  own  absolutely."  He  insists 
that  the  poor  have  a  right  to  be  saved  from  star- 
vation by  the  rich,  and  shows  that  Protestantism 
in  England  has  produced  a  condition  of  selfish- 
ness hardly  dreamt  of  by  the  Catholics  of  pre- 
Reformation  days,  when  socialism  was  unknown. 


The  proposed  Catholic  editorial  convention  will 
not  be  held  in  November.  Mr.  Reilly's  experi- 
ment as  to  the  feeling  of  the  press  in  the  matter 
having  shown  that  the  attendance  would  be  very 
small.  Mr.  Reilly  is  now  connected  with  the 
Catholic  Columbian,  of  Columbus,  Ohio,  a  sterling 
Catholic  journal. 

Donna  Lina  is  the  "wife"  of  Signor  Crispi,  al- 
though that  Italian  statesman's  first  wife  is  still 
alive.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  she  protested 
against  the  demolition  of  one  of  the  few  street- 
shrines  of  Our  Lady  left  in  Rome.  But  Signor 
Crispi  refused  to  listen,  and  the  shrine  must  go! 


The  room  in  which  Prince  Rudolph  of  Austria 
died,  at  Meyerling,  has  been  fitted  up  as  a  chapel. 
The  Carmelites  will  occupy  the  countr>'-house 
there  as  a  convent  about  the  middle  of  October, 
by  request  of  the  Emperor  Francis  Joseph, 

The  following  anecdote  of  Father  Damien, 
related  b}-  his  brother,  is  included  in  a  second 
instalment  of  reminiscences  appearing  in  the 
Mo7ith: 

"An  old  woman*  of  eighty  has  lately  expressed  to 
me  her  grateful  remembrance  of  a  signal  service 
which  my  l>rother  did  her  in  old  times.  'We  had,' 
said  she,  '  a  sick  cow,  and  the  farrier  left  us  no  hope 
of  saving  her.  We  were  in  despair  at  the  prospect  of 
losing  what  was  really  our  main  support.  But  Joseph, 


hearing  of  our  misfortune,  installed  himself  in  the  pa" 
tient's  stable,  and  insisted  on  dismi.'-sing  the  butcher, 
who  was  there  to  slaughter  her;  in  fact,  he  took 
such  tender  care  of  the  poor  beast,  sta3dng  all  night 
in  her  stable  without  closing  his  eyes,  that  the  next 
morning  the  danger  was  past,  and  in  a  few  days  she 
was  quite  cured.  Joseph  saved  her! '  In  order  to  ap- 
preciate the  greatness  of  the  service,  as  felt  by  those 
poor  people,  we  must  remember  tha:  a  good  cow  is 
a  fortune  to  them." 

An  English  Catholic  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem, 
the  committee  of  which  consists  of  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk,  Lord  Clifford,  Lord  Herries,  Mr.  Arthur 
Moore,  and  Mr.  W.  S.  Lilly,  will  start  late  in 
the  winter,  with  the  blessing  and  approbation  of 
Cardinal  Manning. 

"Toilers  in  London,"  by  the  "British  Weekly 
Commissioners ' '  (London :  Hodder  &  Stoughton), 
contains  some  truly  pathetic  and  heart-rending 
descriptions  of  the  condition  of  the  poor  of  Lon- 
don. Here  is  a  glimpse  of  how  they  live  : 

"A  Commissioner  reports  a  poor  woman  visited  near 
Shoreditch,  whose  husband  is  out  of  work,  and  who 
has  not  had  work  herself  lately.  She  weaves  fringes 
for  toilet-covers,  and  is  paid  two  shillings  for  a  piece 
thirty-six  yards  in  length.  Her  husband  puts  the  cot- 
ton on  the  loom  for  her  over  night,  and  if  she  gets  up 
at  4  a.  m.  and  works  until  up.  m.  she  can  make  a 
piece  in  one  day.  But  lately  she  has  not  had  any  work. 
When  our  Commissioner  went  into  her  room  it  pre- 
sented a  strange  picture  of  cleanliness.  The  floor  was 
white,  and  the  furniture  had  not  a  speck  of  dust  upon 
it.  A  clean  patchwork  quilt  covered  the  bed,  and  the 
empty  grate  was  spotless.  By  the  table  stood  two 
little  children,  without  shoes  or  stockings,  but  as  clean 
as  the  furniture ;  and  the  mother  was  clean  herself, 
although  her  apron  consisted  of  an  old  sack,  and  she 
wore  a  piece  of  sacking  over  her  shoulders.  The 
poor  thing  burst  out  crying  when  our  Commissioner 
spoke  about  the  fringe  for  toilet-covers,  and  said 
that  she  was  out  of  work.  No  food  had  touched  her 
lips  that  day,  and  the  children  had  been  to  school 
without  any  breakfast. ' ' 

Some  of  the  examples  of  the  effect  of  the 
atmosphere  of  the  London  streets  on  the  poor 
Irish  exiles  are  almost  as  saddening  as  the  records 
of  leprosy  in  Molokai.  Their  best  friend  is  Car- 
dinal Manning,  who  practises  poverty  and  loves 
the  poor. 

The  Holy  Father  has  been  much  pleased  by 
the  protests  of  the  Bavarian  and  other  Catholic 
workingmen's  societies  against  recent  insults  to 
religion  in  Rome. 

The  alarm  occasioned  by  the  announcement  of 
the  illness  of  Cardinal  Lavigerie  is  fortunately 
groundless.  On  August  lo  he  wag  slowly  getting 
better  at  Axenstein,  in  Switzerland. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


211 


New  PubHcations. 

Dependence  ;  or,  the  Insecurity  of  the 
Anglican  Position.    By  the  Rev.  Luke  Riving- 

ton,  M.  A.,  Magdalen  College,  Oxford.    Author  of 

"Authority"  and  "Dust."    London:   Ke'gan  Paul, 

Trench  &  Co. 

This  book — the  work  of  a  distinguished  recent 
convert — was  called  forth  by  the  criticisms  to 
which  the  author's  previous  work,  "Authority," 
had  been  subjected.  It  is  a  contribution  of  some 
value  to  the  literature  of  the  controversy  which 
has  been  almost  uninterruptedly  carried  on,  since 
the  Tractarian  movement,  in  regard  to  the  claims 
of  the  Anglican  Establishment.  While,  therefore, 
the  work  will  be  of  lively  interest  to  only  a  lim- 
ited number  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  it  can 
not  fail  to  receive  respectful  consideration  from 
all  educated  and  thoughtful  members  of  the 
Established  Church  of  England. 

It  is,  in  the  main,  a  discussion  of  historical 
questions  in  their  bearing  on  the  claims  of  the 
Anglican  Establishment,  and  especially  on  its 
claim  of  independence  of  the  Holy  See.  The  de- 
cisions of  the  first  four  Ecumenical  Councils  have 
always  been  accepted  by  Anglicans  as  authori- 
tative; and  after  a  careful  study  of  the  records  of 
the  fourth  of  these  great  councils — the  Council 
of  Chalcedon, — the  author  concludes  that  no 
doctrinal  points  in  the  teaching  of  the  early 
Church  stand  forth  with  more  prominence  than 
the  supremacy  and  inerrancy  of  the  Roman  Pon- 
tiff. The  refusal  of  the  Popes  to  sanction  certain 
disciplinary  canons  enacted  by  the  sixth  General 
Council — a  refusal  persisted  in  notwithstanding 
the  entreaties  and  threats  of  the  jxjwerful  Em- 
peror Justinian, — and  the  consequent  invalidation 
of  the  canons  are  cited  as  conclusive  proofs  that 
the  decrees  of  general  councils  were  never  con- 
sidered binding  on  the  Universal  Church,  unless 
approved  by  the  Holy  See. 

Two  chapters  of  the  work  are  devoted  to  the 
history  of  Popes  Liberius  and  Honorius.  The 
charge  that  the  former  had  erred  in  his  teaching 
< — or,  rather,  had  subscribed  to  erroneous  doc- 
trine— is  shown  to  have  absolutely  no  historical 
foundation.  This  charge  was  unknown  to  contem- 
poraries of  Liberius  ;  it  rests  merely  on  extracts 
from  such  unreliable  historians  as  Sozomen  and 
Socrates,  and  on  fragmentary  epistles  attributed 
to  SS.  Athanasius,  Hilary,  and  Jerome,  which  are 
of  more  than  doubtful  authenticity.  Honorius 
was  condemned  by  an  Ecumenical  Council,  not 
because  his  teaching  was  false,  but  because  of 
his  negligence  in  preventing  the  errors  of  Mon- 
othelitism  from  making  headway.  The  words  of 
Pope  Leo  II.,  to  whom  the  acts  of  the  council 


were  submitted  for  approval,  leave  no  room  for 
doubt  on  this  point.  Honorius  was  censured 
"because  he  did  not  at  once  put  out  the  flame 
of  heretical  teaching,  but  by  neglect  allowed  it 
to  grow  strong."  He  may  not  indeed  have  risen 
to  the  full  height  of  his  tremendous  responsi- 
bilities as  Supreme  Guardian  of  the  Faith,  but 
the  .severity  of  the  censure  passed  on  him  bears 
witness  to  the  general  belief  that  it  was  the  prov- 
ince of  the  Holy  See  to  guard  the  Faith  through- 
out the  world. 

The  chapter  on  Alexander  VI.,  the  political 
ecclesiastic,  has  a  twofold  object — first,  to  prove- 
that,  according  to  the  latest  and  most  accurate 
judgment  of  impartial  historians,  Alexander  is 
very  far  from  deserving  the  infamous  reputation 
which  has  been  given  him  ;  and,  second,  to  show 
that  even  if  all  the  foul  charges  brought  against 
him  were  true,  they  would  in  no  way  militate 
against  the  papal  prerogatives,  since  infallibility 
in  teaching,  and  not  impeccability  in  private 
life,  is  the  privilege  conferred  by  God  upon  the 
papacy. 

The  concluding  chapters  of  the  work — though 
dealing  with  facts  which  can  be  properl}'^  appre- 
ciated only  by  those  who  are  familiar  with  the 
workings  of  the  Anglican  Establishment  and  the 
teachings  of  some  of  its  most  prominent  modem 
leaders — can  not  but  lead  the  reader  to  share  the 
conviction  which,  the  author  sorrowfully  states — 
viz.,  that  the  Church  of  England,  like  all  other 
religious  organizations  which  have  been  lopped 
off  from  the  trunk  of  Catholic  unity,  which  have 
substituted  private  judgment  for  the  authorita- 
tive teaching  of  the  Vicar  of  Jesus  Christ,  is  slowly 
but  surely  losing  her  hold  of  the  dogmatic  prin- 
ciple altogether. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii.  3. 

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

Mr.  Peter  H.  Hopkins,  a  well-known  and  highly 
respected  citizen  of  Syracuse,  N.  Y., whose  exemplary 
Christian  life  closed  in  a  peaceful  death  on  the  13th 
ult. 

Mrs.  James  Redmond,  of  New  York  city,  who 
piously  departed  this  life  on.  the  9th  inst. 

Miss  Anna  M.  Sweeny,  whose  happy  death  occurred 
on  the  ist  ult.,  at  Emsworth,  Pa.. 

Joseph  C.  Agnew,  of  Davenport,  Iowa,  who  passed 
away  on  the  eve  of  the  Assumption,  after  weeks  of 
great  suffering  borne  with  exemplary  fortitude  and 
patience. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace ! 


212 


The  Ave  Maria, 


The  Canary. 

BY    MAURICE    F.   EGAN. 

HER  birdie  flew  away  one  day — 
The  prettiest  birdie  ever  seen, — 
It  flew  away  one  morn  in  May, 
Because  our  lovely  world  was  gay, 
And  in  its  cage  it  could  not  stay. 

Its  head  was  graj^,  its  body  gold, 

With  just  a  little  touch  of  green. 
She  had  kept  it  safe  from  cold, 
And  though  she  was  but  six  years  old, 
She  could  her  little  birdie  hold. 

Of  course  she  cried,  as  you  would  too, 
When  her  dear  little  bird  had  gone  ; 
She  searched  the  barn  and  garden  through. 
She  tramped  out  early  in  the  dew. 
But  no  dear  birdie  could  she  view. 

At  last  she  saw  some  golden  things 
Just  near  the  gate  upon  the  lawa, 
'  My  birdie's  there, — my  bird  that  sings!  " 

She  found  but  flowers  in  many  rings, 
'Birdies,"  she  said,  "but  without  wings." 

And  so,  in  after-time,  in  May 

When  dandelions  arise  from  loam, — 
She  calls  them  "birdies,"  and  alway 
She  watches,  hoping  that  some  day 
They  may  find  wings  and  ' '  peep  peep ' '  say. 

They  never  do  ;  she's  ten  years  old. 

And  yet  her  bird  has  not  come  back. 
She  keeps  for  it  fresh  water  cold. 
And  chickweed  in  its  cage- wires  rolled. 
And  hopes  it  keeps  its  coat  of  gold ! 


When  Linnaeus  was  still  a  student  at  the 
University  of  Upsala  he  eked  out  his  scanty 
income  by  mending  the  shoes  of  his  fellow- 
students;  so  he,  who  afterward  became  one 
of  the  princes  among  scientific  men,  began 
life  as  a  shoemaker's  apprentice. 

' '  Wb  should  walk  through  life  as  over  the 
Swiss  mountains,  where  a  hasty  word  may 
bring  down  an  avalanche." 


The  Jose-Maria. 


BY   E.  L.  DORSEY. 


XI. 


The  next  morning  broke  clear  and  crisp. 
The  little  rollers  chased  each  other  in  shore, 
and  the  waters  shifted  in  as  many  colors  as 
the  sides  of  a  dying  dolphin. 

Dick  made  his  uncle  as  comfortable  as  he 
knew  how,  gave  his  mother  a  big  bear-pat  on 
her  shoulder  as  she  sat  in  her  favorite  rocking- 
chair  ;  and  then,  after  genially  pulling  Ginevra 
Mary's  pigtail  plait,  and  pinching  Mary  Gin- 
evra's  fat  cheek,  followed  Hendershott  down 
to  the  shore,  where  the  Madison' s  boat  waited 
for  them. 

His  veins  tingled  with  the  excitement  of 
the  coming  experience,  and  with  a  certain 
degree  of  nervousness,  which,  while  far  re- 
moved from  fear,  was  nevertheless  shiversoine . 
He  felt  curious  to  know  how  it  was  to  be 
managed,  but  his  uncle  had  taught  him  a 
saying:  "Never  reel  out  your  line  tell  thar's 
a  use  fur  it.  Ef  you  do,  it'll  tangle  an'  muss 
up.  An'  that's  the  way  wi'  words.  Thar  ain't 
much  hurt  done  's  long's  they're  stowed,  but 
they  bain't  easy  to  pick  up  an'  coil  down 
agin." 

So  he  kept  his  questions  '  *  stowed, ' '  and  (as 
always  happens  to  those  who  know  when  to 
wait)  he  soon  found  out. 

The  Madison' s  deck  was  alive  with  visitors, 
and  among  them  fluttered  the  fantastic  and 
pretty  yachting  suits  of  several  ladies,  whose 
light  chatter  met  with  enthusiastic  response 
from  the  officers  and  the  civilians  who  danced 
attendance.  One  dainty  girl  about  eighteen 
was  evidently  the  Queen  of  Hearts ;  for  what- 
ever she  ordered  was  done — and  she  ordered 
everything  she  could  think  of,  and  everybody 
within  reach. 

As  Hendershott  came  over  the  side  she 
walked  toward  him,  calling  back,  with  a  saucy 
look,  to  the  midshipman,  who  had  just  been 
fraying  his  tongue  for  her  benefit : 

*'I'm  going  to  see  now  if  3^ou  know  what 
you've  been  talking  about.  I've  heard  of  sail- 
ors' yams  before,  and  I  know  they  are  not 
made  of  taxable  wool  either,  so  you  are  not 
restricted  in  their  manufacture."  (Her  father 


The  Ave  Maria. 


213 


was  an  M.  C,  whose  hqbby  was  Free  Wool.) 
Then:  "Captain  Hendershott,  please  tell  me 
everything  you  know  about  diving,  and  all 
the  names  of  the  harness — I  mean  armor, — 
and  how  you  feel  under  the  water,  and  what 
you  see,  and  all  about  it.  Begin!" 

And  she  folded  her  arms,  and  leaned  against 
the  taffrail  expectantly. 

"Yes'm,"  said  Hendershott,  with  a  grin. 
But  as  he  did  not  add  anything  else,  she  began 
to  question  him  in  detail,  and  was  soon  deeply 
interested.   Presently  she  said : 

"How  shall  I  know  what  you  are  doing 
down  there?" 

"Well'm,  you  won't,"  was  the  answer. 
"But  you  kin  guess  whar  I  be  by  tli'  air 
bubbles  risin'  ;  an'  when  I'm  through  I  jerk 
the  signal-cord,  an'  up  I  come." 

"Pshaw!  Is  that  all?" 

' '  Yes '  m .  Onless ' '  — and  he  paused  impres- 
sively. 

' '  Unless  what  ? ' '  she  asked.  ' '  I  knew  you'  d 
think  of  something." 

"Ef  you'd  really  like  to  foller  it  'long,"  he 
said  slowly,  "I  might  send  my  'sistant  down; 
an'  then  I  could  stay  up  myself,  an'  tell  3^ou 
'bout  it,  wi'  a  chart  of  his  movin's  round. 
But  that's  the  Cap'n's  say-so." 

"That  will  be  the  very  thing!"  she  cried, 
clapping  her  hands.  "Captain" — this  to  the 
Madiso7i's  commander,  —  "  oh.  Captain!  you 
said  I  might  do/w^/as  I  pleased,  didn't  you?" 

"Of  course.  Miss  Edyth,"  answered  that 
gentleman,  with  his  hand  on  his  heart  and  his 
admiration  in  his  eyes.  "My  ship  and  I  are 
at  your  service." 

"Then  I  can  send  the  young  diver  down, 
and  keep  Captain  Hendershott  up  to  tell  me 
all  about  it,  can't  I?" 

The  gallant  sailor's  expression  changed 
slightly  at  this  literal  interpretation  of  his 
pretty  speech ;  but  his  word,  though  rashly 
given,  was  pledged,  and  all  he  said  was  : 

^"If  Hendershott  says  it  can  be  done,  it 
shall ;  for  Hendershott  is  the  biggest  man  of 
us  all." 

A  look  accompanied  this,  which,  however, 
Hendershott  ignored  altogether,  and  cheer- 
fully sang  out : 

"  O'  course  it  can  be  done,  sir!  An'  ef  Miss 
here '11  step  nearer  I'll  name  th'  belts  an' 
weights  as  he's  a-puttin'  of  'em  on." 


Which  he  did  with  a  fluency  that  entirely 
hid  Dick's  awkwardness  of  movement.  Then 
— still  explaining — he  helped  him  down  the 
ladder  and  into  the  water  without  hitch  or 
accident,  and,  returning,  began  an  elaborate 
description  of  the  bottom  of  the  Bay,  the  lay 
of  the  wreck,  the  legends  told  of  her,  the  efforts 
made  by  an  English  frigate  and  a  74  line-of- 
battle  to  raise  her  two  years  after  she  was 
sunk,  etc. ,  etc. ;  his  tongue  wagging  with  such 
rude  eloquence  that  the  group  of  visitors  were 
delighted,  and  the  officers  thoroughly  puzzled 
as  to  what  could  have  set  the  old  fellow  off  on 
such  a  new  tack  ;  for  they  had  always  found 
him  reticent,  and  hard  to  "tap." 

As  the  waters  closed  oveir  Dick,  and  he  sank 
into  their  icy  depths,  his  very  heart  seemed  to 
congeal,  and  the  blood  surged  and  beat  in  his 
head  so  violently  as  to  fill  his  vision  with 
broad  zones  and  flashes  of  crimson  light,  and 
his  ears  with  a  sound  like  the  drone  of  a  wheel. 
But  he  clenched  his  teeth,  and  steadied  hini- 
self  b3'  the  thought  of  all  that  was  staked  on 
his  venture ;  and  when  he  brought  up  against 
the  bottom  he  determinedly  opened  his  eyes, 
and  looked  about  him  through  the  windows 
of  his  queer  iron  prison. 

Around  him  reached  a  half  obscurity  that 
was  like  a  twilight,  only  there  was  incessant 
motion  throughout  its  extent.  Deep-sea  fish  of 
familiar  shape,  but  enlarged  and  distorted  by 
refraction,  floated  by  singly  or  rushed  above 
him  in  shoals  of  varying  size,  pursuing  or 
pursued.  Blue  fish  chased  "Bunkers,"  only 
to  vanish  in  turn  before  their  proper  foe; 
"sheep's-head"  browsed  among  the  mussels, 
grinding  them  in  their  triple  bank  of  teeth  ; 
a  sword-fish  spitted  a  porpoise;  while  far  up 
a  shadow  took  on  the  form  of  a  shark, — per- 
haps one  of  those  Hendershott  had  seen  "wor- 
rying" the  dead  man. 

Death,  death  everywhere,  and  a  silence  so 
profound  and  so  mysterious  to  one  accustomed 
to  God's  wide  sky  and  broad  open  sea  that,  in 
spite  of  his  courage,  Dick's  spine  pricl^led,  and 
his  scalp  seemed  to  creep  under  his  helmet. 

A  .sense  of  panic  came  over  him,  and  he 
took  himself  severely  in  hand: 

"What's  thirty  minutes!  Didn't  the  Cap'n 
say,  'jus'  long  'nough  to  show  the  folks  how 
it's  done?'  Dick  Barlow, just  s'pose  you  was 
a  castaway  on  a  desert  island,  an'  know'd 


214 


The  Ave  Maria. 


,■-^1 


you'd  have  to  wait  a  handful  o'  years  to  be  | 
picked  up  and  took  home?  That '6.  be  some- 
thin'.  Or  s'pose  you  was  a-floatin'  on  a  spar 
in  mid-ocean,  an'  never  a  sail  in  sight?  That' A 
be  somethin'  too.  Or  you  was  adrift  on  a 
iceberg,  same  as  old  Tyson  that  time,  wi'  th' 
North  wind  a-blowin'  a  gale  ?  Why,  man 
alive!  aside  o'  those  s'posin's,  this  here's  a 
summer  pic-nic,  wi'  a  brass  band,  an'  free  ice- 
cream throwed  in !  I'm  'shamed  o'  you,  I 
cert'n'y  am!  Now,  let's  do  another  kind  o' 
s'posin'.  As  long's  you'r'  down  here,  s'pose 
you  take  a  look  at  the  Hosy-Mari,  an'  s'pose 
you  hello  them  theer  pipes  have  washed  off 
o'  the  wreck,  an'  the  pumps  ain't  suckin'  up 
nothin'  but  water.  I  must  fix  that." 

And  he  scrambled  up  on  the  long  mound  of 
clay  that  cased  the  hull  of  the  wreck,  caught 
the  pipes  that  were  hanging  over  the  side, 
and  was  putting  them  down  where  he  stood, 
when  suddenly  he  remembered  what  Hender- 
shott  had  said  about  a  hole  that  was  making. 

This  he  looked  for,  and  found  readily,  for 
it  was  very  "sizable."  Then  he  set  the  pipes 
over  it,  holding  them  near  together,  and 
steadying  them  with  his  hands;  forgetting 
the  enormous  power  of  the  pumps  above  him, 
and  that  they  were  gathering  **way"  with 
every  stroke  of  the  piston,  until  an  unguarded 
movement  on  the  "scoop-out's ' '  slippery  edge 
made  him  lose  his  balance,  and  in  a  trice  he 
was  on  his  back  in  it,  with  one  of  his  feet 
drawn,  twisted,  held  immovably,  and  a  sen- 
sation of  cracking  muscles  and  bending  bones. 

Like  Hendershott,  he  too  was  caught  in 
the  "suck"!  He  turned  as  nearly  over  as  he 
could,  and,  digging  his  fingers  into  the  clay, 
made  desperate  efforts  to  break  loose.  He 
drew  up  his  free  knee,  and  bore  away  on  it 
again  and  again,  but  it  slipped  from  him  every 
time.  He  tried  with  one  hand  to  shift  the 
weights  toward  his  imprisoned  foot  to  bear  it 
down,  but  they  were  immovable.  He  strug- 
gled and  kicked  with  all  the  force  of  his  tense 
young  muscles,  when  to  his  horror  he  felt  a 
giving-way  under  him,  and  he  sank  into  the 
hold  of  the  old  wreck. 

The  last  thing  he  remembered  was  grasping 
frantically  at  whatever  he  could  reach  to  stay 
his  descent,  touching  something  that  stirred 
in  his  grip,  and  then  giving  a  cry  that  thun- 
dered back  in'his  ears  from  the  walls  of  his 


helmet;  for  he  thought  it  must  be  a  bone — 
maybe  the  hand — of  one  of  those  dead  Span- 
iards who  had  gone  down  to  their  death  like 
rats  in  a  trap,  and  whose  skeletons  still  hung 
in  chains  'tween  decks. 

The  next  thing  he  knew  he  was  on  the 
deck  of  the  Madison^  flat  on  his  back,  his  head 
on  Hendershott' s  knee,  a  pretty  girl  kneeling 
beside  him,  and  a  cluster  of  kindly  faces 
grouped,  apparently,  in  mid-air — for  his  sight 
and  senses  were  still  confused. 

"lyord,  ain't  I  glad  to  see  your  masthead 
lights  agin!"  said  Hendershott — by  which 
fine  figure  he  meant  Dick's  eyes, — and  he 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  that  was  a  young 
breeze.    '  *  How  d'  ye  feel,  boy  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right!"  said  Dick,  but  his 
voice  was  feeble. 

"Is  he,  Doctor?"  asked  Hendershott,  ap- 
pealing to  the  ship's  surgeon. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  let  him  go  diving  again 
to  day,  Hendershott,"  was  the  answer.  "But 
don't  be  scared  at  that  blood — there's  none  of 
it  from  his  lungs.  It's  all  from  his  head  and 
throat." 

Blood?  Dick  put  up  his  hand  mechanically 
and  passed  it  over  his  face.  It  reeked  like  a 
butcher's. 

"Who  did  it?"  he  asked,  wonderingly. 

* '  Nobody,  boy  ;  it  was  the  pressure  o'  th* 
water,  an'  th'  closeness  o'  th'  helmet.  I  hadn't 
oughter  let  you  go  down,"  groaned  Hender- 
shott, remorsefully.  "Why  didn't  you  pull 
the  cord  sooner?" 

'  *  Cord  ? ' '  said  Dick.  "  I — I  forgot  theer  was 
a  cord."  And  he  was  going  to  put  up  the  other 
hand  to  rub  his  stupid  head,  when  he  sat  up 
abruptly,  and  cast  something  from  him.  It 
fell  on  the  deck  with  a  crash  quite  dispropor- 
tionate to  its  size,  for  it  was  the  object  his 
fingers  had  closed  on. 

The  whole  scene  had  rushed  back  on  him, 
and  struggling  up  on  his  sound  foot  he  saluted 
the  Captain  of  the  Madison,  and  began  : 

"I  get  a  hold  o'  that  theer,  sir, — "  when 
Hendershott  interrupted : 

"But  you  did  pull  th'  cord,  you  jerked  it 
so  furious  we  hauled  you  up  a-hummin'." 
(You  see  he  was  not  a  man-o'- war's  man,  so 
to  him  captains  were  not  such  awe-inspiring 
creatures  as  they  ought  to  be  on  their  own 
quarter-decks.) 


The  Ave  Maria. 


215 


"No,  sir,  I  didn't,"  said  Dick,  modestly  but 
firmly;  "I  only  wisht  I'd  'a'  thought  of  it. 
It'd  'a'  saved  me  from  gittin'  hold  o'  that 
when  I  broke  through." 

"Broke  through  what?  " 

"The  wreck." 

' '  Whew ! "  said  Hendershott,  with  a  gesture 
of  dismay;  "his  head's  clean  gone." 

"No,  sir,  it  ain't!  Theer's  the  provin'." 

"What?" 

"That — that — bone,"  pointing  with  keen 
disrelish  to  his  find. 

''Bone!''  There  was  a  whole  sheaf  of  ex- 
clamation points  in  Hendershott' s  voice,  and 
the  Captain  himself  interrupted : 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

Then  Dick  told  him  how  he  had  gone 
aboard,  and  the  consequences;  adding,  "An' 
I  thrashed  'round  so  in  the  scoop- out  that  I 
busted  through  the  Hosy-MarV  s  upper  deck — 
theer  must  a- ben  a  old  hatch  or  suthin' 
handy;  an'  while  I  was  a-scratchin'  tooth- 
an' -toe- nail  to  keep  from  droppin'  I  didn't 
know  wheer,  an'  amongst  I  didn't  know  what, 
— that  is, ' '  corrected  truthful  Dick, — '  'I  mean, 
sir,  'mongst  them  dead  Spaniardse's  bones,  I 
got  a-hold  o'  one  o'  'em.   An'  theer  it  is." 

"Pretty  heav}^  for  a  bone,"  said  the  Cap- 
tain, as  he  balanced  it  in  his  hand.  "Here, 
Mr.  Bayne,  will  you  test  this,  please,  sir?" 
Not  that  he  believed  Dick's  story,  for  he  knew 
the  hallucinations  produced  by  any  undue 
pressure  of  blood  on  the  brain,  but  it  was  his 
duty  to  thoroughly  investigate  everything 
the  pumps  or  divers  brought  up,  even  if  it 
were  the  last  day  of  his  detail. 

Then  everybody  gathered  around  the  boy, 
and  made  him  repeat  it  all  until  he  was  hot 
with  embarrassment,  and  overwhelmed  with 
mortification  to  think  he  had  "ben  doin' 
women's  tricks — a-faintin'." 

It  was  a  delightful  episode  to  the  guests, 
and  they  took  sides  almost  violently  as  to 
the  upshot  of  the  adventure.  One  faction,  led 
by  Miss  Edyth,  insisted  the  treasure  was 
actually  recovered,  and  that  volatile  young 
person  assumed  the  whole  credit  of  the 
affair. 

"Just  fancy,"  she  said  to  the  Captain,  "if 
I  hadn't  sent  him  down  it  wouldn't  have 
happened!  I  think  it's  the  most  romantic 
thing  I  ever  heard  of.    Oh,  do  go  below,  and 


see  what  has  become  of  Mr.  Bayne  and  the 
bone ! ' ' 

And  he  went  readily ;  for  Mr.  Bayne  had 
been  below  quite  long  enough  to  detect  the 
stone,  or  bit  of  drift-wreck,  or  ancient  clam 
shell,  which  the  find  would  of  course  prove 
to  be. 

A  strong  smell  of  chemicals  stung  his  nos- 
trils, the  chief  element  being  the  deadly  fumes 
of  nitric  acid.  Burying  his  nose  in  his  hand- 
kerchief, and  stirred  by  an  excitement  he  re- 
fused to  acknowledge,  he  pushed  ahead  to  the 
state-room  out  of  which  the  vapors  floated. 
There  stood  Bayne,  bending  over  the  wash- 
stand,  pale  and  eager,  the  find  in  one  hand  and 
the  bottle  in  the  other.  The  latter  was  tilted, 
and  the  precious  stufi"  was  slowly  gathering 
to  drop. 

He  halted.  The  globule  of  liquid  grew 
larger,  then  flashed  a  moment  in  the  light  and 
fell.  Another  and  another.  Then : 

*  *By  the  living  Lord ! "  he  heard  Bayne  gasp, 
in  an  awestruck  tone. 

"What  is  it,  Bayne?" 

And  he,  turning,  answered  solemnly : 

"  One  of  the  '  100  silver  virgins '  of  ihe/os^- 
Maria" s  invoice." 

The  treasure  was  found! 

(TO   BE  CONTINUED.) 


The  Bells  of  Cologne. 


The  bells  of  the  magnificent  Cathedral  of 
Cologne  are  in  keeping  with  that  wondrous 
edifice.  The  peal  includes  five  mammoth  bells 
composing  the  gamut  F.  G.  A.  B.  C.  The  Em- 
peror bell  Kaiscrglocke,  C,  cast  1875,  weighs 
27  tons  ;  Pretiosa,  G,  cast  1448,  weighs  a  little 
over  II  tons;  Specie sa,  A,  cast  1449,  weighs 
byi  tons;  "Bell  of  the  Magi,"  H,  recast  1880, 
weighs  sYx  tons;  "St. Ursula's  bell,"  F,  cast 
1862,  weighs  2}<  tons. 

The  Emperor  bell  is  larger  and  heavier  than 
any  other  bell  in  Europe.  It  was  successfully 
cast  by  Andreas  Hamm  in  Frankenthal,  after 
three  abortive  attempts.  The  perpendicular 
height  is  14)^  ft.  ;  the  diameter  at  bottom 
II 54  ft. ;  the  circumference  35 %  ft.  The 
bell  is  suspended  by  means  of  a  screw  to 
which  the  hammer  is  also  attached.  This 
screw  weighs  Yz  ton ;  the  hammer,  or  tongue. 


2l6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


is  lo  ft.  lo  in.  long,  and  weighs  i6cwt.  The 
metal  is  109^8  in-  thick  at  the  mouth,  and  4  in, 
thick  above.  The  casting  required  the  metal 
of  22  large  cannon,  captured  from  the  French 
in  the  Franco  Prussian  war,  together  with 
about  5  more  tons  of  tin. 

The  six  arms  which  form  the  crown  of  the 
Emperor  bell  are  ornamented  with  angels' 
heads,  and  where  they  are  connected  with  the 
bell  itself  they  take  the  shape  of  lions'  claws. 
Immediately  below  the  crown  the  following 
inscription,  in  three  lines,  appears : 

Guilielmus,  augustissimtis  imperator  Gemiauo- 
rum,  rex  Borussorum,  pie  inemor  ccelestis  auxilii 
accept!  in  gerendo  felicissime  conficiendoque  uuper- 
rimo  bello  Gallico,  instaurato  imperio  Gernianico 
bellica  tornienta  captiva  aeris  quinquagiiita  millia 
pondo  jussit  conflari  in  canipauam  suspendendam 
in  hac  adniirandae  structurae  ttde  exaedificationi 
tandem  proxima.  Cui  victoriosissinii  principis  pientis- 
sinicE  voluntati  obsecuta  societas  perficiendo  huic 
tempi o  metropolitano  constituta  F.  C.  Pio  P.  IX. 
Ponlifice  Romano  Paulo  Melchers  Archiep.  Colo- 
niensi,  A.  D.  MDCCCLXXlV. 

"  William,  the  august  Emperor  of  Germany  and 
King  of  Prussia,  in  pious  memory  of  divine  help  re- 
ceived in  can-ying  on  and  most  happily  tenninating 
the  latest  war  with  France,  on  the  German  Empire 
being  restored,  commanded  the  captured  cannon, 
weighing  50,000  lbs.  to  be  cast  into  a  bell,  which 
should  be  hung  in  this  wonderful  building,  at  last  near 
its  completion  as  a  House  of  God.  Agreeably  to  this 
most  pious  desire  of  the  victorious  prince,  the  society 
founded  for  the  completion  of  this  temple  had  the 
bell  made.  Pius  TX.  being  the  Roman  Pope,  Paul  Mel- 
chers being  the  Archbishop  of  Cologne,  A.  D.  1874." 

Over  the  figure  of  St.  Peter  runs  the  follow- 
ing inscription  : 

Voce  mea  coeli  populo  dum  nuutio  sortes, 

Sursum  corda,  volant  aimula  voce  sua 
Patronus  qui  voce  mea  templi  atria  pandis. 
Janitor  et  cceli  limina  pande  simul! 

"When  as  messenger  my  voice  the  people  calls, 

Their  souls  ascend,  their  voices  emulous  do  rise. 
Oh,  patron!  who  at  my  appeal  dost  ope'  this  temple's 
halls, 
Fling  wide,  celestial  janitor,  the  threshold  of  the 
skies! " 

On  the  side  opposite  to  that  bearing  the 
figure  of  the  ' '  Prince  of  Apostles ' '  is  the  Ger- 
man escutcheon,  with  the  following  verse : 

Die  itaifcrplocff  \)n%  id); 
Dfo  .^aifcro  (il^rc  prcio  id) 
^•(11?  hfil'iicr  illMirtc  ftcl)'  id), 
1>cni  X^cutfdicn  ^Kcid)  crfleb'  idi 
Tafi  ^rict)  iiiib  iL'c!)r 
%\)\\\  Wott  bcfdjccr! 


I  "  I'm  called  the  Emp'ror  bell ; 

The  Emp'ror's  praise  I  tell. 
On  holy  guard  I  stand, 
And  for  German  land, 
Beseech  that  God  may  please 
To  grant  it  peace  and  ease!" 

In  the  first  inscription  the  archiepiscopal 
arms  may  also  be  traced,  and  the  mottoes  are 
surrounded  with  garlands  of  Gothic  arabesque, 
which  have  come  out  well  in  the  casting. 
The  form  of  the  bell  is  rendered  also  less  bare 
by  projecting  parallel  rings  of  metal  cast  on 
to  it. 


A  Horse's  Gratitude. 


On  the  plain  between  Montrouge  and 
Vaugirard,  not  far  from  Paris,  stand  at  inter- 
vals a  few  farm-houses,  and  one  of  these 
belonged  a  few  years  ago  to  a  famous  horse- 
breeder,  who  had,  among  other  horses,  one  of 
three  years  old ;  and  this  was  strong  and  un- 
manageable, except  by  a  child  five  j^ears  of 
age,  who  petted  it,  and  shared  any  cakes  or 
sugar-plums  that  he  had  with  the  colt  A  ser- 
vant was  left  alone  in  the  house  with  the  little 
boy  one  day,  and  was  busy  with  household 
work  while  the  child  played  in  the  courtyard. 
In  one  corner  of  this  court  a  tank- was  sunk  in 
the  ground,  and  served  to  hold  the  rain-water. 
All  at  once  a  cry  was  heard.  The  servant  ran 
to  the  window,  and  saw  the  child  struggling 
in  the  tank.  She  hurried  down  calling  for 
help,  but  when  she  reached  the  courtyard  she 
found  the  child  held  by  his  clothes  in  the 
colt's  mouth,  who,  understanding  the  danger 
by  the  child's  cries,  had  come,  and  seizing 
him  by  his  frock  had  taken  him  out  of  the 
tank.  The  child's  father,  who  owned  the  horse, 
declared  he  would  never  part  with  it. 


Edward  Everett  once  said,  illustrating 
the  effect  of  small  things  on  character :  "The 
Mississippi  and  St.I^awrence  Rivers  have  their 
rise  near  each  other.  A  very  small  difference 
in  the  elevation  of  the  land  sends  one  to  the 
ocean  amid  tropical  heat,  while  the  other 
empties  into  the  frozen  waters  of  the  North," 

Never  go  to  bed  without  feeling  sure  you 
have  performed  at  least  one  act  of  kindness 
during  the  day. — Spanish  Proverb. 


Vol.  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  SEPTEMBER  7,  1889. 


No.  10. 


L 


[Published  every  Saturday. 


On  Our  Lady's  Nativity. 


BY  w.  D.  kp:lly, 


I  Pi  thou  who  sole  obtained  of  all  thy  kin 
*4^    Exemption  from  that  universal  doom 

Which  all  beside  thee  at  their  birth  assume 
For  g-uilt}'  portion  in  primeval  sin, 
Words  fail  us  who  would  sing  th\'  origin: 
■-    The  purest  lily  when  its  petals  bloom, 

The  richest  gem  in  royal  treasure-room 
That  flawless  is  without,  and  fair  within; 
Or  the  resplendence  of  the  brightest  star 

On  cloudless  night  that  beautifies  the  skies; 

Are  our  best  types,  and  yet  to  S3'mbolize 
Thy  stainless  birth,  how  impotent  these  are! 

In  whose  fair  form,  O  Maid  Immaculate! 

No  trace  of  disobedience  was  innate. 


The  Symbol  of  Christianity. 


BY    THE    REV 


Iv  A  M  B  I  N G  ,    hh.   D  . 


I. 


HE  execution  of  criminals  in  the  early 
ages  of  the  world,  and  until  a  com- 
paratively recent  date,  was  marked 
by  extreme  cruelty  and  barbarity.  A  favorite 
way  of  executing  among  many  nations  was 
that  of  hanging  criminals  to  trees.  This  prac- 
tice apparently  led  to  the  adoption  of  crosses 
for  a  similar  purpose.  Execution  by  crucifix- 
ion, of  which  traces  are  to  be  found  from  the 
remotest  times  among  the  nations  of  the  East 
and  North,  was  carried  into  effect  in  two  ways: 
the  sufferer  was  either  left  to  perish,  bound 
to  a  tree  or  an  upright  stake,  sometimes  after 


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

being  impaled;  or,  at  other  times,  nails  were 
driven  through  his  hands  and  feet,  and  his 
limbs  were  also  sometimes  secured  by  cords. 
In  time  a  horizontal  bar  was  fixed  to  the  up- 
right post,  and  the  victim's  hands  and  arms 
were  stretched  out  upon  it.  Such,  as  we  learn 
from  the  Gospel  narrative,  was  the  manner  in 
which  our  Divine  Redeemer  was  crucified. 

The  earliest  mention  of  this  manner  of  exe- 
cuting criminals  is  in  the  time  of  King  David, 
more  than  a  thousand  years  before  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Christian  era.  The  Old  Testament 
relates  that  the  Gabaonites  demanded  from 
the  Jewish  King  seven  persons  of  the  house  of 
Saul,  that  they  might  be  crucified  to  appea.se 
that  people  for  the  treacheries  and  cruelty 
practised  by  King  Saul  against  their  nation.* 

Although  the  cross  was  an  instrument  of 
torture,  there  is  the  most  conclusive  evidence 
that  it  was  honored  in  almost  every  nation. 
Says  a  writer  on  this  subject:  "From  the 
dawn  of  organized  paganism  in  the  Eastern 
w^orld  to  the  final  establishment  of  Christianity 
in  the  Western,  the  cross  was  undoubtedly 
one  of  the  commonest  and  most  sacred  of 
symbolical  monuments;  and,  to  a  remarkable 
extent,  it  is  still  in  almost  every  land  where 
that  of  Calvary  is  unrecognized  or  unknown. 
Apart  from  any  distinctions  of  social  or  intel- 
lectual superiority,  or  caste,  color,  nationality, 
or  location  in  either  hemisphere,  it  appears  to 
have  been  the  aboriginal  possession  of  every 
people  of '  antiquity.  .  .  .  The  extraordinary 
sanctity  attaching  to  the  symbol,  in  ever)-  age 
and  under  every  variety  of  circumstances, 
justified  any  expenditure  incurred  in  its  fab- 


II.  Kings,  xxi,  6. 


2l8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


rication  or  embellishment;  hence  the  most  per- 
sistent labor,  the  most  consummate  ingenuity, 
were  lavished  upon  it.  In  Egypt,  Assj^ia,  and 
Britain,  it  was  emblematic  of  creative  power 
and  eternity;  in  India,  China  and  Scandinavia, 
of  heaven  and  immortality;  in  thetwoiVmer- 
icas,  of  rejuvenescence  and  freedom  from  phys- 
ical suffering;  while  in  both  hemispheres  it 
was  the  symbol  of  the  Resurrection,  or  'the 
sign  of  the  life  to  come';  and,  finally,  in  all 
heathen  communities,  without  exception,  it 
was  the  emphatic  type,  the  sole  enduring 
evidence,  of  the  divine  unity."*  The  early 
explorers  and  missionaries  of  Mexico,  Central 
America  and  Peru,  found  numerous  crosses  in 
those  countries;  and  many  are  still  to  be  seen 
among  the  ruins  of  their  cities  and  temples,  f 

That  the  crosses  in  all  the  pagan  nations  of 
antiquity  were  nothing  more  than  the  Egyp- 
tian "Tau,"  or  "Symbol  of  Life,"  a  deifica- 
tion of  the  productive  powers  of  nature,  with 
different  shades  of  signification  attached  to  it 
by  different  peoples,  appears  certain.  %  But  it 
is  remarkable  that  what  was  the  symbol  of 
the  earthly  life  among  pagans  should  be  the 
symbol  of  the  spiritual  and  heavenly  life 
among  Christians.  From  the  dawn  of  Chris- 
tianity the  cross  became  the  symbol  of  hope, 
an  object  of  religious  veneration;  and,  in  later 
times,  it  has  also  become  one  of  the  most 
common  ornaments. 

After  the  discovery  of  the  true  Cross  in  326, 
by  St.  Helena,  the  mother  of  the  Emperor 
Constantine  the  Great,  that  monarch  issued  a 
decree,  forbidding  the  cross  to  be  used  there- 
after in  the  execution  of  criminals.  From  that 
time  the  veneration  which  the  Christians  had 
shown  for  it  in  secret  from  the  beginning 
received  a  fresh  impulse;  and  since  that  auspi- 
cious day  nothing  is  more  characteristic  of 
the  followers  of  Christ  than  the  veneration 
they  show  for  the  sacred  instrument  of  man's 
redemption. 

As  a  religious  symbol,  the  Sign  of  the  Cross 
is  a  sacramental,  and  the  principle  one  in  use 
among  Christians.  As  made  upon  the  person, 
it  is  formed  in  three  different  ways.  That  in 


*  "Edinburgh  Review," July,  1870, 

t  "Conquest  of  Mexico,"  Prescott,  vol.  iii,  p.  368; 
"Pre-Historic  America,"  Nadillac,  p.  320,  et  seq. 

X  "The  Gentile  and  the  Jew,"  Dolliuger,  vol.  i, 
pp.  67,  68. 


use  in  the  early  ages  of  the  Church  was  small, 
and  was  made  with  the  thumb  of  the  right 
hand,  most  commonly  on  the  forehead;  but  it 
was  also  made  on  any  part  of  the  body.  The 
constant  use  of  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  by  the 
first  Christians,  and  much  more  the  fact  that 
they  were  surrounded  by  heathens  to  whom 
the  sacred  Sign  would  have  betrayed  their 
faith  and  put  them  in  danger  of  persecution, 
or  would  have  exposed  the  Sign  itself  to 
mockery,  rendered  it  necessary  for  them  to 
make  it  so  as  not  to  be  observed.  Next,  there 
is  the  triple  sign,  made  with  the  thumb  on  the 
forehead,  the  mouth,  and  the  breast  At  present 
this  form  is  used  more  commonly  by  the  Ger- 
mans, perhaps,  than  by  any  other  people.  It  is 
also  prescribed  in  the  Mass  at  the  beginning 
of  each  of  the  Gospels,  but  nowhere  else  in 
the  liturgy.  Lastly,  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  by 
excellence  is  that  which  is  made  by  putting 
the  right  hand  to  the  forehead,  then  under  the 
breast,  then  to  the  left  and  to  the  right  shoul- 
ders. The  Sign  of  the  Cross  shall  be  consid- 
ered from  two  points  of  view:  as  used  by  the 
faithful,  and  as  employed  in  the  sacred  func- 
tions of  religion. 

II. 

The  devotion  of  the  early  Christians  to  the 
Sign  of  the  Cross  was  extraordinary,  and  it 
attests  the  power  they  found  to  dwell  in  it. 
St.  Cyprian,  Bishop  of  Carthage,  cries  out: 
*  *  O  Lord,  Thou  hast  bequeathed  to  us  three 
imperishable  things:  the  chalice  of  Thy  Blood, 
the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  and  the  example  of  Thy 
sufferings! "  ''^  TertuUian  bears  witness  to  the 
frequent  use  of  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  by  the 
Christians  of  his  early  day.  "At  every  mo- 
tion," he  says,  "and  every  step,  entering  in 
or  going  out,  when  dressing,  bathing,  going 
to  meals,  lighting  the  lamps,  sleeping  or  sit- 
ting, whatever  we  do,  or  whithersoever  we  go, 
we  mark  our  foreheads  with  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross." 

St.  Basil  writes:  "To  make  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross  over  those  who  place  their  hope  in 
Jesus  Christ  is  the  first  and  best  known  thing 
among  us."  Not  to  mention  others,  St.  Gau- 
dentins  says:  "Let  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  be 
continuall}^  made  on  the  heart,  on  the  mouth, 


*  The  extracts  from  the  Fathers  given  in  this  article 
are  taken,  for  the  most  part,  from  "The  Sign  of  the 
Cross  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,"  by  Mgr.  Gaunie. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


219 


on  the  forehead,  at  table,  at  the  bath,  in  bed, 
coming  in  and  going  out,  in  joy  and  sadness, 
sitting,  standing,  speaking,  walking,  —  in 
short,  in  all  our  actions.  Let  us  make  it  on 
our  breasts  and  all  our  members,  that  we  may 
be  entirely  covered  with  this  invincible  armor 
of  Christians."  The  writings  of  the  Fathers 
abound  in  similar  passages;  but  the  following, 
from  St.  John  Chrysostom,  is  worthy  of  the 
prince  of  Christian  orators: 

* '  More  precious  than  the  universe,  the  cross 
glitters  on  the  diadems  of  emperors.  Every- 
where it  is  present  to  my  view.  I  find  it  among 
princes  and  subjects,  men  and  women,  virgins 
and  married  people,  slaves  and  freemen.  All 
continually  trace  it  on  the  noblest  part  of  the 
body,  the  forehead,  where  it  shines  like  a 
column  of  glory.  At  the  sacred  table,  it  is 
there;  in  the  ordination  of  priests,  it  is  there; 
in  the  mystical  Supper  of  our  Saviour,  it  is 
there.  It  is  drawn  on  every  point  of  the  hori- 
zon— on  the  tops  of  houses,  on  public  places, 
n  inhabited  parts,  and  in  deserts;  on  roads, 
)u  mountains,  in  woods,  on  hills,  on  the  sea, 
on  the  masts  of  ships,  on  islands,  on  windows, 
over  doors,  on  the  necks  of  Christians,  on 
'beads,  garments,  books,  aims,  and  banquet 
couches,  in  feasts  on  gold  and  silver  vessels, 
on  precious  stones,  on  the  pictures  of  the 
apartments.  It  is  made  over  sick  animals, 
over  those  possessed  by  the  demon;  in  war, 
in  peace,  by  day,  by  night,  in  pleasant  re- 
imions,  and  in  penitential  assemblies.  It  is  who 
shall  seek  first  the  protection  of  this  admirable 
Sign.  What  is  there  surprising  in  this?  The 
Sign  of  the  Cross  is  the  type  of  our  deliverance, 
the  monument  of  the  liberation  of  mankind, 
the  souvenir  of  the  forbearance  of  Our  Lord. 
When  you  make  it,  remember  what  has  been 
given  for  your  ransom,  and  j^ou  will  be  the 
slave  of  no  one.  Make  it,  then,  not  only  with 
3^our  fingers,  but  with  3'our  faith.  If  you  thus 
engrave  it  on  your  forehead,  no  impure  spirit 
wall  dare  to  stand  before  you.  He  sees  the 
l)lade  with  which  he  has  been  wounded,  the 
•sword  wuth  which  he  has  received  his  death- 
blow." 

It  was  with  good  reason  that  the  early 
Christians  paid  reverence  so  great  to  the  Sign 
of  the  Cross.  They  had  learned. from  expe- 
rience that  it  is  the  symbol  of  power,  as  St. 
Cyril  of  Jerusalem  writes:   "This  Sign  is  a 


powerful  protection.  It  is  gratuitous,  because 
of  the  poor;  easy,  because  of  the  weak.  A 
benefit  from  God,  the  standard  of  the  faith- 
ful, the  terror  of  demons."  Armed  with  this 
sacred  Sign  the  martyrs  went  forth  to  battle 
with  the  wild  beasts  of  the  amphitheatre; 
walked  calmly  to  the  stake  to  be  burned; 
bowed  their  necks  to  the  sword,  or  exposed 
their  bodies  to  the  lash.  They  braved  the 
horrors  of  the  dungeon,  or  went  willingly 
into  exile.  Even  tender  virgins  and  children 
defied  the  power  of  the  tyrant,  and  suffered 
death  in  its  most  terrible  forms;  while  thou- 
sands sought  the  lonely  deserts  to  practise 
a  life-long  penance,  with  no  companions  but 
the  wild  animals,  sustained  and  encouraged  by 
the  same  never-failing  source  of  supernatural 
strength. 

By  the  same  Sign  the  saints  have  wrought 
innumerable  miracles.  It  is  related  of  St. 
Bernard,  to  give  but  one  example,  that  he 
restored  sight  to  more  than  thirty  blind  per- 
sons by  means  of  the  Sign  of  the  Cross. 
"Such  is  the  power  of  the  Sign  of  the  Cross," 
sa^^s  Origen,  "that  if  we  place  it  before  our 
ej'es,  if  we  keep  it  faithfully  in  our  heart, 
neither  concupiscence,  nor  voluptuousness, 
nor  anger,  can  resist  it;  at  its  appearance  the 
whole  army  of  the  flesh  and  sin  takes  to  flight." 

The  Sign  of  the  Cross  is  a  source  of  knowl- 
edge. The  form  of  words  uttered  in  making 
it,  together  with  the  action  that  accompanies 
them,  teaches  the  principal  mysteries  of  relig- 
ion. The  words  "in  the  Name,"  instead  of 
"the  names,"  express  the  fundamental  truth 
of  the  unity  of  God;  while  the  mention  of  the 
Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  declares 
that  in  this  one  God  there  are  three  Persons, 
and  thus  teaches  the  mystery  of  the  Adorable 
Trinity.  The  incarnation,  death  and  resurrec- 
tion of  our  Saviour  are  recalled  by  the  form 
of  the  cross  traced  with  the  hand.  No  formula 
could  be  more  comprehensive  and,  at  the 
same  time,  more  simple. 

The  Sign  of  the  Cross  is  also  a  prayer.  It 
is  an  appeal  to  Heaven,  made  in  the  name  of 
Him,  who,  in  submission  to  the  will  of  the 
Father,  "became  obedient  unto  death,  even 
the  death  of  the  cross;  "  of  Him  who  declared 
that,  "If  you  ask  the  Father  anything  in  My 
name,  that  He  will  give  you."  And  hence 
Christians  have  learned  to  begin  and  end  their 


220 


The  Ave  Maria, 


devotions  with  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  to  render 
their  petitions  more  acceptable  at  the  throne 
of  Grace. 

But  especially  is  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  a 
safeguard  against  the  temptations  and  dangers 
that  threaten  the  spiritual  life.  The  Fathers 
of  the  Church  have  insisted  very  strongly  on 
this  point,  and  extracts  will  be  given  from 
their  writings.  And  here  I  may  pause  to  re- 
mark that  I  have  drawn,  and  shall  draw,  freely 
from  the  Fathers,  preferring  their  own  words 
to  their  ideas  clothed  in  other  language.  Their 
voices,  echoing  down  through  the  vista  of 
ages,  instruct,  encourage,  admonish,  and  at 
times  rebuke  us  for  the  coldness  of  our  devo- 
tion to  that  Sign  which  they  cherished  as  a 
priceless  inheritance. 

Prudentius  instructs  the  Christians  of  his 
day  in  these  words:  "When,  at  the  call  of 
sleep,  you  go  to  your  chaste  couch,  make  the 
Sign  of  the  Cross  on  your  forehead  and  heart. 
The  cross  will  preserve  you  from  all  sin;  be- 
fore it  will  fly  the  powers  of  darkness;  the 
soul,  sanctified  by  this  Sign,  can  not  waver." 
St.  John  Chrysostom  continues  in  the  same 
strain:  "Do  you  feel  your  heart  inflamed? 
Make  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  on  your  breast, 
and  your  anger  will  be  dissipated  like  smoke. ' ' 
And  St.  Maximus  of  Turin:  "It  is  from  the 
Sign  of  the  Cross  we  must  expect  the  cure  of 
all  our  wounds.  If  the  venom  of  avarice  be 
difflised  through  our  veins,  let  us  make  the 
Sign  of  the  Cross,  and  the  venom  will  be  ex- 
pelled. If  the  scorpion  of  voluptuousness  sting 
us,  let  us  have  recourse  to  the  same  means 
and  we  shall  be  healed.  If  grossly  terrestrial 
thoughts  seek  to  defile  us,  let  us  again  have 
recourse  to  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  and  we  shall 
live  the  divine  life." 

St.  Bernard  adds:  "Who  is  the  man  so  com- 
pletely master  of  his  thoughts  as  never  to 
have  impure  ones?  But  it  is  necessary  to 
repress  their  attacks  immediately,  that  we 
may  vanquish  the  enemy  where  he  hoped  to 
triumph.  The  infallible  means  of  success  is 
to  make  the  Sign  of  the  Cross."  St.  Gregory 
of  Tours  says:  "Whatever  may  be  the  temp- 
tations that  oppress  us  we  must  repulse  them. 
For  this  end  we  should  make,  not  carelessly 
but  care  full}',  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  either  on 
our  forehead  or  on  our  breast."  St.  Gregory 
of  Nazianzen  thus  defied  the  demon:  "If  you 


dare  to  attack  me  at  the  moment  of  my  death,, 
beware;  for  I  shall  put  you  shamefiiUy  to 
flight  by  the  Sign  of  the  Cross." 

At  the  risk  of  appearing  to  heap  up  unnec- 
essary proofs  of  the  efficacy  of  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross,  a  few  more  extracts  will  be  given  from 
the  Fathers.  We  are  their  successors  in  the 
Church  and  the  world,  let  their  devotion  to 
the  consoling  emblem  of  man's  redemption 
stimulate  us  to  be  their  successors  in  our  con- 
stant and  confiding  use  of  the  same  sacred 
panoply.  Says  St.  Cyril  of  Jerusalem :  "Let 
us  make  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  boldly  and 
courageously.  When  the  demons  see  it  they 
are  reminded  of  the  Crucified;  the^^  take  to 
flight;  they  hide  themselves  and  leave  us." 
Origen  continues:  "Let  us  bear  on  our  fore- 
heads the  immortal  standard.  The  sign  of  it 
makes  the  demons  tremble.  They  who  fear 
not  the  gilded  capitols  tremble  at  the  Sign  of 
the  Cross." 

St.  Augustine  answers  for  the  Western 
Church  in  tliese  words:  "It  is  with  the  sym- 
bol and  Sign  of  the  Cross  that  we  must  march 
to  meet  the  enemy.  Clothed  with  this  armor, 
the  Christian  will  easily  triumph  over  this 
proud  and  ancient  tyrant.  The  cross  is  suffi- 
cient to  cause  all  the  machinations  of  the 
spirits  of  darkness  to  perish. ' '  St.  Jerome,  the 
great  hermit  of  Bethlehem,  declares  his  con- 
fidence in  the  Sign  of  our  redemption  in  this 
manner:  "The  Sign  of  the  Cross  is  a  buckler 
which  shields  us  from  the  burning  arrows  of 
the  demon." 

Finally,  Lactantius  remarks:  "Whoever 
wishes  to  know  the  power  of  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross  has  only  to  consider  how  formidable  it 
is  to  the  demons.  When  adjured  in  the  name 
of  Jesus  Christ,  it  forces  them  to  leave  the 
bodies  of  the  possessed.  What  is  there  in  this 
to  wonder  at?  When  the  Son  of  God  was  on 
earth,  with  one  word  He  put  the  demons  to 
flight,  and  restored  peace  and  health  to  their 
unfortunate  victims.  To-day  His  disciples 
expel  those  same  unclean  spirits  in  the  name 
of  their  Master  and  by  the  Sign  of  the  Cross." 
Let  this  suffice,  where  much  more  might  be 
said,  regarding  the  use  of  the  sacred  emblem 
of  our  redemption  among  Christians.  Turn  we 
now  to  its  employment  in  the  ceremonies  of 
religion. 

(CONCT.USION    IN   OUR   NEXT    NUMBKR.) 


The  Ave  Maria. 


221 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY   NUGENT  ROBINSON. 


CHAPTER  X.— New  York. 
"  fF  not  detained  at  Quarentine  the  S.  S. 

I  Furnersia  will  arrive  at  her  dock  about 
9  a.  m." 

This  was  the  despatch  handed  by  a  smiling 
waiter  to  a  gentleman  seated  at  breakfast  in 
the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  New  York. 

"Why,  we  '11  only  just  have  time  to  jump 
aboard  the  elevated  train  and  strike  the  dock! " 
he  exclaimed,  after  reading  the  telegram  aloud 
to  a  male  companion,  who  was  breakfasting 
with  him. 

This  male  companion  was  brown  as  roasted 
coffee,  wore  his  gray  hair  long,  and  was  close 
shaved  except  as  to  the  chin,  which  was 
adorned  with  a  goatee.  His  clothes  were  of 
shining  black  cloth,  his  boots  square-toed, 
and  he  wore  a  brilliant  diamond  brooch  in  his 
shirt  bosom. 

"Come  along  then,  Europe!"  cried  this 
gentleman,  hastily  but  dexterously  scooping 
up  the  contents  of  a  tumblerful  of  q:%%.  -  "I'm 
ready  to  travel." 

The  person  addressed  as  ' '  Europe  ' '  was 
none  other  than  our  old  friend,  Mr.  MoUoy; 
the  person  so  addressing  him,  Mr.  Peter  Daly, 
whilom  of  Castle  Daly  in  the  County  of  Gal- 
way,  but  now  of  Clam  Farm,  Oyster  County, 
Minnesota. 

Mr.  MoUoy's  lines  had  fallen  in  pleasant 
places.  "He  struck  it  rich,"  to  use  a  mining 
phrase,  when  he  stumbled  upon  his  wife's 
kinsman.  Life  had  begun  to  claim  a  new  sen- 
sation for  Peter  Daly.  He  had  been  working 
on  farms  for  over  twenty  years,  on  his  own  for 
^en,  and  the  longing  for  kith  and  kin  beyond 
sea  had  commenced  to  flow  in  his  heart  like 
a  tide.  To  pitchfork  it  out  was  a  sort  of  King 
Canute  experiment — hopeless,  absurd.  His 
relatives  in  the  bygone  time  had  ignored, 
had  "sat  upon"  him.  He  was  a  younger  son, 
without  a  profession,  trade,  or  calling.  He 
was  a  loafer  among  stable  boys,  and  around 
the  inn  at  the  village  of  Tobbermoloney.  His 
education  was  of  the  most  threadbare  descrip- 
tion, and  his  attainments  a  good  seat  on  a 
horse,  a  good  shot,  a  keen  eye  for  a  salmon 


or  a  trout;  and  a  sweet,  small  singing  voice, 
which  he  solely  devoted  to  ditties  of  a  myste- 
rious character,  in  which  jolly  little  foxes  and 
jolly  little  dogs  and  jolly  little  horses  became 
mixed  with  jolly  little  jugs  of  punch. 

The  elder  brother  plunged  head  over  ears 
into  debt,  the  estate  went,  and  with  it  Peter, 
who  crossed  to  Boston  in  a  sailing  vessel, 
where  he  encountered  a  former  Castle  Daly 
gamekeeper,  who  was  en  route  to  a  farm  in 
Minnesota.  With  him  gladly  jogged  Peter, 
and  the  little  knowledge  he  possessed  of  farm- 
ing in  the  old  country  rendered  him  yeoman 
service  in  the  new.  He  took  off  his  coat  and 
went  to  work  with  a  will,  simply  because 
everybody  else  was  working. 

Peter  worked  for  many  a  long  year  at  good 
wages,  every  cent  of  which,  save  what  he  spent 
on  clothes,  he  put  into  bank — he  was  boarded 
and  lodged; — and  having  gotten  a  share  in 
a  farm  with  an  astute  "down  Easter,"  whp 
thought  to  "chisel "  him,  to  use  Daly's  words, 
he  found  himself  in  a  position  to  begin  farm- 
ing on  his  own  account,  and  on  a  sound  finan- 
cial basis;  and  having  met  a  "soft  snap"  in 
Clam  Farm  he  purchased  it,  set  the  machinery 
going,  and  in  ten  years  had  '  *  piled  up  "  a  snug 
$6o,ooo,  clear  of  everybody  and  of  ^\^x\ thing. 
It  was  while  balancing  his  bank-book,  and 
finding  the  Cr.  in  so  satisfactory  a  condition, 
that  the  tide  of  yearning  for  "kin  beyond 
sea"  commenced  to  flow;  and  lucky  it  was 
for  Mr.  MoUoy  that,  having  made  inquiries 
for  his  wife's  kinsman  while  sojourning  at  an 
out-of  the-way  place,  where  he  hoped  to  obtain 
an  order  for  the  celebrated  friezes  from  the 
denizens  of  a  huge  mining  camp,  the  person  to 
whom  he  addressed  himself  was  the  identical 
Simon  Pine,  alias  Peter  Daly  of  Castle  Daly. 

MoUoy  did  not  hesitate  to  inform  the  honest 
farmer  that  one  of  his  (MoUoy's)  missions  in 
the  New  World  was  the  discovery  of  his  wife's 
relative, — a  relative  held  in  the  highest  esteem 
and  affection  in  the  breasts  of  all  the  MoUoys. 

Striking  Daly  at  the  psychological  moment 
— being,  as  it  were,  carried  with  his  affections 
on  the  top  of  the  tide, — MoUoy  was  welcomed 
with  open  arms;  and  so  well  did  the  worthy 
drummer  improve  the  occasion  that  he  made 
pretence  of  sacrificing  his  profession,  in  order 
to  bear  his  dear,  new-found  kinsman  company. 

All  this  tickled  the  palate  of  Peter  Daly 


The  Ave  Maria. 


mho  instantly  resolved  upon  bnnging  out 
MfSwand  SCss  MoOcyy.  ''I  am  getting  msty 
and  nuldeired,  Europe;'*  he  would  say — he 
froetioasiy  named  the  dmmmer  "Europe;" 
— "and  I  want  sooidxidy  I  care  for  to  be 
axoond  to  oil  my  mind,  and  keep  the  marhin- 
eiyof  homeafifecticnsa-gaing.  I  gness  there's 
not  a  real  Daly  of  Casde  Daly  over  the  sod 
ta^ay." 

lfr.M<Aoy  haslmfd  to  icaajue  him  on 
this  point:  tiie  dan  was  alive  and  flotmshing. 

*'Wait  tin  yon  see  Emma.  She's  a  real 
Daly!  All  the  maiked  featmcs  of  the  noble 
race.  Eyes  like  yoms,  aye,  and  die  same  nose, 
Peter.— Daly  to  groinid." 

Moiloy  never  infonned  his  host  of  die  iD- 
&v<v  with  whidi  his  pcoOcicd  hospitality 
received;  on  the  oontmy,  he  led  Daly  to 
diat  Mrs.  Molhiy  was  in  the  seventh  heaTen, 
and  Emma  neaily  wild  with  joy. 

"  Men  can  flin^  half  a  dozen  shirtSy  a  po^et- 
cQBib  and  a  toothbfnsh  into  a  pmtmantean, 
and  stait  lor  anywhere  at  an  hour's  notice,  *' he 
would  say,  when  Daly  wondered  at  the  dday 
on  the  odier  side;  "but  widi  women  it  is 
tota%  difiercnt.  You  are  a  fawdidar,  Peter, 
and  know  nodun^  about  I^m^  fai  Imls  that 
occupy  women.  They  won't  come  till  they're 
rea^,  so  make  up  your  mind  to  that.  But, 
old  diap,  won't  it  be  ddightfbl  when  they  ^ 
come!  Emma  will  play  the  piano,  m  learn 
die  bai^a^  and  3rour  cousin  used  to  twamg  the 
light  guitar.  Tour  voice  is  a  real  bang  up 


'It  was»  thirty  yeais  agou" 
'KcBsense,  man!  Ton'^e 


abuse  it." 

"Thafs  a  fact."  Beter  gnv^ 

**And  if  you  pnctise  a  little  it  will  be  just 
as  good  as  ever." 

Daly  did  practise  finom  diat  good  hour,  and 
the  jolly  litde  fazes  and  jolly  little  dogs  and 
joQy  littie  hones  once  more  came  to  the  front 
in  the  company  of  joQylitde  jugs  of  punch, 
•mi  OTMsketM  itanUfMd  aUiMMi. 

Mr.  MoOoy,  once  established  at  Oam  Farm, 
s^  himsdf  to  wQck  to  make  his  sqioum  a  per- 
manent one.  A  man  of  naturally  quick  ideas, 
he  opened  a  battery  of  suggestioas,  that  swqpt 
Peter  Daly's  mind  with  astonishing 
and  after  a  few  wed^  had  so  oompletidy 
posted  himself  on  the  subject  of 


to  leave  his  host  sinq^  "nowhere."  If  many 
of  his  suggestions  were  utterly  impracticable, 
a  few  proved  worthy  of  notice;  and  an  in- 
genions  additicn  to  a  plough  diat  added  to 
its  powers  while  ndievii^  the  horses,  won 
imperishaUe  laurels  for  him.  In  addition  to 
this^  Mr.  Moiloy  toUd  a  good  sUxy,  and  told  it 
wdl,was  a  sympathetic  companiop,  and  would 
talk  about  the  old  country,  her  trials  and  her 
suifeiiugs,  for  long  hours  togedier.  Toe  neigh- 
boring £irmers — and  they  were  very  iew  — 
voted  him  a  "daisy,"  and  came  to  dam  Farm 
on  the  slightest  busineas  pretcact,  in  order  to 
a^oy  a  gossip  with  Augustus  Mc^loy. 

To  do  the  worthy  gendeman  justice,  he  was 
devoted  to  his  wife  and  dnldren;  and,  as  he 
painted  them  with  Kaflarile  and  Tintoretto 
tmtSk  Peter  Daly  ooMceived  an  ahJAm^  desire 
to  behcM  them  in  die  flesh;  and  having  sug- 
gested the  possilHlityof  their  being  aUe  to 
put  up  with  the  rough-and-twmblrism  of 
ferm  life,  ended  by  solicati]^  Moiloy  to  bring 
them  out.  The  hogs  were  sold,  the  money 
despatched,  and  the  two  worthies  repaired  to 
Xew  York,  where  the  «f«wtg  of  diis  chapter 
discovered  diem,  at  fareakfest  at  the  Fifth 
Avenue  HoteL 

They  reached  the  Andior  Line  dock  just  as 
the  Furmarsim  came  alongside.  Mtdloy  was 
frantic  with  excitement,  leaping  from  posts  to 
ropes,  and  unheedfnl  of  ever3rbody  and  every- 
thing in  his  eagerness  to  obtain  a  vantage- 
ground,  while  he  waved  liolendj, — waved  a 
po(±et-liandkerdiief  in  ooe  hand  and  an  nm- 
brdla  in  the  otho^. 

"I  see  diem!  *  he  shouted.  ''Hi,  Mary 
Aime!  Hi,  Emma!  W^cnme  to  the  Stars  and 
Str^Ks!  Hi!  hi!  hi!  Come  here,  Peter,  there's 
3rour  oonsiii — that  one  in  the  gray  doak,  widi 
the  white  handken^iirf  to  her  e3res.  Thafs 
Emma  beside  her  in  bfate;  and,  by  the  mortal 
smoke;  there's  Gerald!  Yes,  it  is  my  boy.  6 
my  God!"  added  the  poor  fellow,  breaking 
down,  "this  is  too  much  lu^piness  all  at 
once!" 

Mrs.MoOoy  kept  up  a  feeble  wmvingof  her 
handkerdiiet  Emma  was  crying  and  lan^^* 
in&  and  kissing  her  han^  and  straining  over 
the  blip's  side;  vdiile  Goald  k^  up  an  ex- 
cited shoutiug  tin  he  was  hoarse. 

I  shall  not  attonpt  to  describe  the  hogging 
and  kissing  and  rdiuggtiq^  and  rekisszng  Mr. 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


225 


MoUoy  received  at  the  arms  and  lips  of  his 
delighted  family.  With  all  their  faults,  they 
loved  one  another  dearly,  and  this  was  a  very 
supreme  moment  of  bliss  in  their  lives. 

Mrs.  Molloy  hugged  and  kissed  Peter  Daly, 
one  of  her  corkscrew  ringlets  becoming  en- 
tangled in  his  diamond  brooch.  Emma  gave 
him  an  honest  smack  on  both  cheeks,  and 
Gerald  worked  away  at  his  right  arm  as 
though  it  were  a  pump  handle. 

"  I  gtiess  I'll  look  after  the  baggage, 
Europe,"  said  Daly,  "if  you'll  take  your  fam- 
ily to  the  hotel.  Give  'em  a  square  meal,  with 
oysters  and  ice-cream,"  he  added,  in  a  whisper 
to  Mr.  Molloy. 

Gerald  remained  with  Mr.  Dal}',  while  his 
father  took  the  ladies  away  in  a  carriage. 
There  was  nothing  dutiable  in  the  baggage, 
and  a  dishonest  custom-house  officer,  in  a 
frenzy  of  vexation  and  disappointment  at  not 
having  received  a  bribe,  tossed  the  contents  of 
each  valise  out  on  the  dock,  and  made  himself 
a  perfect  nuisance. 

"Say,  friend,"  observed  Daly,  "if  you'd 
come  out  square  and  toed  the  mark  like  a 
gentleman,  I'd  have  put  a  i^  in  your  right 
hand.  As  you've  behaved  like  a  brute,  you've 
just  struck  a  monument!" 

At  the  hotel  they  found  the  remainder  of 
the  party  at  breakfast. 

"What  a  bill  of  fare! "  cried  Emma.  "Why, 
it's  a  lesson  in  cooking  to  read  it  through! 
What  vanity!  What  a  lot  of  everything!  Just 
listen,  mamma!  See,  in  eggs  alone:  Boiled, 
fried,  dropped,  scrambled,  shirred,  poached. 
What  is  a  scrambled  ^^%,  Mr.  Daly  ? ' ' 

"You'll  soon  see,  Connemara."  He  had 
already  christened  her;  this  was  a  weakness 
of  the  worthy  farmer's.  Not  a  person  of  his 
acquaintance  for  whom  he  had  not  a  geo- 
graphical name.  Not  an  employe  who  was 
not  identified  with  some  village  or  townland 
in  the  old  country. 

'  *  Waiter ! "  he  called,  in  a  voice  that  caused 
a  nervous  lady  at  an  adjoining  table  to  drop 
her  knife  and  fork  with  a  crash,  "just  bring 
eggs,  scrambled, dropped,  shirred, — every  way 
that's  on  the  bill  of  fare.  These  ladies  have 
just  arrived  ofif  the  steamer  from  Europe,  and 
I  want  to  fix  them  with  an  iron-clad  nickel- 
plated  meal,  square  as  a  die.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 


i 


Emma  was  delighted  with  everj'thing,  and 
ate  with  an  appetite  of  eighteen,  and  that, 
too,  fresh  off"  the  ocean.  Mrs.  Molloy,  between 
peckings,  talked  of  Castle  Daly  and  of  the 
old  home  in  Galway, — a  subject  nestling  very 
close  to  Daly's  heart,  and  which  brought  the 
mist  to  his  eyes  more  than  once.  Gerald  spec- 
ulated how  much  money  was  to  be  made  out  of 
guests  at  five  dollars  a  head  per  diem,  while 
feeding  them  so  sumptuously;  and  entered 
into  the  question  of  the  price  of  food  with  his 
father,  who  only  answered  him  at  random. 

"Oh,  it  is  so  noble  of  you  to  care  for  my 
dear  husband!"  cried  Mrs.  Molloy,  grasping 
Daly's  horny  hand  in  a  gush  of  gratitude. 

"He  is  a  noble  fellow! "  said  Molloy;  "a  true 
friend,  true  as  steel." 

"My  word  is  my  bond,"  said  Peter,  simply. 
"I  ain't  afraid  or  ashamed.  I  come  to  the  front 
door  every  time  the  bell  is  rung." 

Their  first  visit  was  to  St.  Patrick's  Cathe- 
dral, where  they  returned  thanks  to  God 
Almighty  for  preserving  them  from  the  dan- 
gers of  the  deep.  They  were  perfectly  en- 
tranced with  the  grandeur  and  beauty  of  this 
saci*ed  edifice,  this  magnificent  house  of  Christ, 
and  remained  to  examine  its  several  beauties 
in  detail.  The  stained  glass  possessed  a  won- 
drous fascination  for  Peter  Daly,  who  there 
and  then  resolved  that  the  little  church  at 
Ballymoy,  five  miles  distant  from  the  farm, 
should  have  a  stained-glass  window  of  its  own 
ere  the  glorious  festival  of  Easter  came  round 
again — a  resolution,  be  it  said,  that  he  carried 
out  to  the  letter. 

"New  York  is  really  quite  a  fashionable 
place!"  cried  Emma.  "I  had  no  idea  it  was 
half  so  nice, — so  splendid,  in  fact,  or  that  it 
contained  so  many  nice  people.  I  expected  to 
find  it  full  of  wooden  houses  and  blacks.  I 
haven't  seen  an  Indian  yet.  Where  are  they? 
Why,  Fifth  Avenue  beats  Merrion  Square  and 
Fitzwilliam  Square,  and  Upper  Mount  Street, 
all  put  together!" 

"I  guess  our  eyes  have  only  had  a  sort  of 
free  lunch.  We'll  take  a  few  square  meals 
off"  New  York  city  before  we're  through," 
laughed  Daly. 

"Oh,  let  us  stay  in  New  York  as  long  as 
ever  we  can!"  exclaimed  the  girl. 

They  "did"  Gotham  most  conscientiously, 
setting  out  to  early  Mass  each  morning  to  a 


224 


The  Ave  Maria. 


different  church,  and  returning  to  breakfast, 
Daly  issuing  the  order  for  the  meal,  which 
was  of  the  most  elaborate  nature.  They  then 
drove  around  to  the  sights,  lunching  at  Del- 
monicos,  the  Brunswick,  the  Astor  House,  and 
all  the  best  restaurants.  They  did  the  Brooklyn 
Bridge,  not  yet  finished  though,  the  monster 
ferry-boat  exciting  Emma's  astonishment  to 
the  uttermost.  They  did  Greenwood  Cemetery 
and  Brooklyn  generally.  They  visited  Wall 
Street,  witnessing  a  "worry"  between  the 
bulls  and  the  bears  on  the  floor  of  the  mag- 
nificent stock-exchange.  They  ascended  to 
the  top  of  the  Equitable  Building,  and  took  a 
bird's-eye  view  of  Manhattan  Island.  At  the 
Western  Union  Telegraph  Company  they 
gained  access  to  the  operating  room  with  its 
17,000  connecting  wires.  They  rode  on  the 
elevated  road  out  to  High  Bridge,  and  paid 
a  visit  to  the  spacious  convent  at  Manhat- 
tanville.  With  the  Central  Park  they  were 
intensely  pleased,  inspecting  everything  from 
Cleopatra's  needle  to  Tommy  Moore's  statue, 
from  the  Cesnola  collection  to  the  zoological 
gardens.  Here  Peter  Daly  raised  a  laugh 
against  himself;  for,  while  intently  gazing  at 
the  monkeys,  he  exclaimed,  as  if  thinking 
aloud:  "Dear!  dear!  What  strange  creatures 
we  all  are,  to  be  sure! " 

Emma  was  fairly  bewildered  at  the  number 
and  splendor  of  the  various  equipages  and 
"turn-outs"  in  the  Central  Park. 

"My  gracious!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why,  I 
have  seen  more  splendid  carriages  here  in 
five  minutes  than  I  would  see  in  Sackville 
Street  in  a  year;  and  the  houses — why,  they 
are  perfect  palaces!" 

"This  is  the  place  to  plant  my  hundred  and 
odd  pounds  when  I  see  an  opening,"  observed 
Gerald.  *  *  New  York  is  good  enough  for  me.  No 
wild  West,  if  you  please, "  he  added  to  himself 

A  great  and  glorious  sight  was  the  Pontif- 
ical High  Mass  at  the  Cathedral:  the  stately 
celebrants,  the  graceful  acolytes,  and  the 
cherub-faced  choir  boys,  in  their  scarlet  cas- 
socks and  white  lace  surplices.  When  the 
magnificent  organ  pealed  forth,  "lifting  the 
soul  to  God,"  the  majesty  of  our  religion 
revealed  itself  in  all  its  supremacy,  and  Emma 
Molloy  felt  the  hot  tears  coursing  down  her 
fair  young  cheeks,  her  heart  throbbing  with 
holy  emotion,  with  saintly  rapture. 


For  an  entire  week  did  Peter  Daly  board 
and  lodge,  and  show  the  sights  to  the  Molloy 
family.  His  generosity  knew  no  limits.  His 
great  Irish  heart  was  beating  to  the  delicious 
music  of  home  associations. 

One  morning  he  took  Emma  out  alone.  "I 
guess  I  want  to  make  a  present  to  a  young 
lady  friend  of  mine,  Connemara,"  he  said, 
'  *  and  I  want  you  to  choose  it.  Something  in 
the  way  of  wearing  attire.  A  robe  of  some  kind 
to  shield  her  against  the  cold.  Something  that 
will  suit  her  fancy  down  to  the  ground.  It's 
no  question  of  expense,  Connemara,  mind 
that!" 

Emma  suggested  a  seal- skin  sacque. 

"You've  struck  it  fine! "  he  exclaimed. 

They  turned  into  a  furriers,  and  examined 
several  superb  and  costly  mantles. 

*  *  Is  your  lady  friend  tall  or  short  ? ' '  asked 
Emma. 

*  *  Neither  one  nor  the  other;  about  middle 
height,  I  guess." 

"Well,  I  would  take  this  one,"  said  Emma. 
"You  see  it's  a  splendid  fur,  and  the  lining 
is  substantial  and  it  has  a  hood,  and — ' ' 

"That'll  do.  Say,  how  much  discount  for 
cash,  young  fellow  ? ' '  And  Mr.  Daly  produced 
a  roll  of  greenbacks  so  ' '  bulgiferous  "  as  to 
require  coaxing  and  wheedling  to  induce 
them  to  come  out  of  his  breast  pocket. 

"Isn't  she  a  lucky  girl!"  said  Emma,  as 
she  tried  the  sacque  on  before  a  large  glass; 
but  there  was  not  a  particle  of  envy  in  her 
tone  or  in  her  mind.  She  was  honestly  glad 
that  Peter  Daly's  friend  was  about  to  receive 
so  handsome  a  gift. 

"Wouldn't  _yd72^  like  something  in  the  fur 
line  yourself?"  asked  Daly. 

"  I  do  not  require  anything, ' '  replied  Emma; 
"nor  would  I  take  it  from  you.  You  have 
already  done  too  much  for  us" — and  here  she 
gave  the  kindest  and  most  grateful  of  glances, 
—"God  bless  you!" 

That  evening  the  sacque  was  tried  on  Emma 
at  the  hotel. 

"Oh,  my!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Molloy,  "what 
an  elegant  present!  What  a  lucky  girl  your 
friend  is  to  get  such  a  magnificent  gift!" 

"I  intend  her  to  be  a  lucky  girl,  for  I  be- 
lieve her  to  be  a  good  one.  Connemara,"  he 
continued,  "do  not  take  oflf  that  cloak  until 
you  feel  like  it.    It's  yours.  There  ain't  a 


The  Ave  A/ana. 


225 


mortgage  on  it.  I  Vjought  it  for  you,  child." 
And  for  a  second  the  thought  of  sporting 
the  sacque  on  the  Rathmines  Road  and  under 
the  noses  of  the  Rathford  girls,  whose  seal- 
skins, of  which  they  were  so  proud,  werefrouzy 
and  showing  light  brown  at  the  seams,  flashed 
through  Emma's  brain,  to  fade  out  under  the 
presence  of  the  flood  of  gratitude  that  surged 
in  gracious  tenderness. 

An  entire  week  was  given  to  doing  New 
York,  and  then  the  party  started  for  Minne- 
sota via  Niagara,  Gerald  resolving  to  return 
to  Gotham  after  he  had  seen  "a  bit  of  the 
country." 

(TO   BE  CONTINUED.) 


Stella    Matutina;  or,  a    Poet's   Quest. 

BY  EDMUND  OF  THE  HEART  OF  MARY,  C.  P. 
VI. 

AS  one,  long  absent,  who  is  nearing  home 
But  off  his  road,  a  voice  that  points  the  way, 
So  heard  our  poet  the  kind  Church  of  Rome, 
Since  first  she  spoke,  thro'  all  her  patient  say. 
And  ever,  as  he  listen' d,  grew  the  ray 
Of  faith  within  his  mind;  till  now  it  seera'd 

About  to  brighten  into  perfect  day: 
Only  not  paled  his  Morning  Star,  but  beam'd 
A  larger  loveliness — a  joy  he  had  not  dream'd! 

"Give  thanks,  mj'  son.  A  precious  grace  and  rare 
Hath  drawn  thee  to  esteem  whate'er  is  found 

In  womanhood  most  God-like  cliieflj'  fair. 

The  mother-love,  whose  tender  ways  surround 
The  child,  nor  less  befittingly  abound 

When  other  fails  the  man — this  first  compels 
Thy  homage;  and,  in  vSootli,  'tis  holy  ground: 

But  need  I  doubt,  for  thee,  the  lily  dwells 

In  maiden  bower — for  thee,  the  virginal  charm 
excels  ? 

' '  Thy  smile  assures  me.  Thou  canst  follow,  then. 

If  God.  all-wise,  has  fonn'd  not  man  alone. 
But  woman — as  the  Spirit-guided  pen 

Hath  writ — but  equally  woman,  to  His  own 

Image  and  likeness,  and  in  her  is  shown. 
More  than  in  man,  parental  love  Divine; 

Not  less  thro'  virgin  woman  makes  He  known — 
To  eyes  of  chaster  worship,  such  as  thine — 
A  pearl  of  greater  price  the  mother  must  resign. 

"Now  God  Himself,  while  fruitful,  virgin  is. 

If  virgin,  then,  with  mother  could  unite 
In  woman,  there  were  beauty  likest  His: 


That  Womanhood  would  wear  a  crown  of  light, 
As  '  Queen-ideal '  for  men  and  angels'  sight. 

And  know'st  thou  not,  O  poet — hast  not  heard — 
There  is  a  Virgin  Mother.   Has  the  blight 

Of  fatal  error,  guiltlessly  incurr'd, 

So  dull'd  thy  finer  sense  to  ev'n  the  Written 
Word?" 

"Nay,  Mistress:  I  believe  in  Christ  our  Lord, 

Born  of  the  Virgin  Mary."  "Ay,  and  He.^" 

' '  The  Son  of  God. "   "  Or  God  the  Son,  adored 

As  Second  of  the  Consubstantial  Three?" 
"Yea,  verily."    "Then,  His  Mother  .  .  .  what  is 

She? 
Mother  of  God  ? "   "  '  Twould  seem  so. "   "  Seem, 
forsooth ! 
Is  here  no  place  for  seeming.  But  to  me 
The  nebulous  half-gospel  taught  thy  youth 
Has  long  familiar  been.    Now  learn  the  fuller 
truth." 


Two  Schools. 


(Continued.  ) 
Clara  Valley,  May  15, 18 — . 

DEAR  Aunt  Mary: — I  have  not,  as  you 
somewhat  playfully  assert,  forgotten  my 
Presbyterian  forefathers,  but  I  have  become 
acquainted  with  their  Catholic  progenitors, 
at  least  to  some  extent.  Ever  since  Christmas 
time  my  mind  has  been  tending  "Romeward," 
and  if  I  ever  was  certain  of  anything,  I  feel 
assured  now  that  the  Catholic  Church  alone 
holds  in  her  hands  the  keys  of  the  door  which 
leads  to  eternal  life. 

Believe  me,  no  one  has  persuaded  me,  no 
one  has  talked  to  me, — no  one  has  even  hinted 
that  such  an  inclination  on  my  part  was  sup- 
posed, suspected,  or  desired;  for  I  have,  or  had 
until  a  few  days  before  I  wrote  you,  kept  my 
own  counsel  entirely.  What  was  my  surprise 
when  I  informed  Sister  Superior  of  my  resolu- 
tion, and  asked  to  be  instructed  and  baptized, 
to  hear  her  firmly  and  positively  refuse  me 
both  the  one  and  the  other  privilege! 

"My  dear  child,"  she  said,  "I  know  you 
are  sincere,  I  believe  you  will  persevere,  for 
you  are  by  nature  thoughtful  and  serious;  but 
my  experience  with  young  girls  has  been  long 
and  varied.  Religion  with  many  of  them  is 
but  a  whim;  sometimes  the  so-called  conver- 
sion is  due  to  association  with  Catholics,  or 
a  liking  for  our  Church  ceremonies,  or  an 


J226 


The  Ave  Maria. 


attachment  to  some  Sister;  and  we  are  always 
very  slow  to  admit  such  candidates  to  instruc- 
tion. We  never  do  so  without  the  consent  of 
their  parents  and  guardians.  If  this  is  with- 
"held,  they  are  obliged  to  stand  the  test  of 
patience  and  absence  from  the  scenes  of 
their  first  inclinations  to  Catholicity.  If,  after 
leaving  school,  a  young  lady  remains  firm 
in  her  resolution  to  become  a  Catholic  despite 
the  opposition  of  her  parents  or  relatives,  we 
render  her  every  assistance  in  our  power,  after 
she  is  of  age,  either  to  gratify  the  wish  of 
her  heart  or  still  to  wait  patiently,  as  the 
•case  may  be.  So  I  say  to  you,  as  I  have  said 
to  many  another:  you  are  young;  pray,  wait, 
pray.  God  never  abandons  those  who  trust  in 
Him,  and  if  the  great  gift  is  to  be  yours,  it 
will  come  in  His  own  good  time." 

Does  this  look  like  proselytizing,  dear  aunt? 
Therefore  I  must  needs  be  patient  and  pray. 
Next  year,  at  home  with  you  once  more,  I  hope 
not  only  to  become  a  Catholic  myself,  but  to 
convince  you  that  it  is  your  duty  to  accom- 
pany me  into  the  Church.  Sister  Superior  has 
promised,  with  your  permission,  to  let  me 
have  several  religious  works,  such  as  are  suit- 
able for  converts  or  those  seeking  admission 
to  the  Church.  The  "Catholic  Christian  In- 
structed" is  an  excellent  work,  to  be  found  on 
sale  at  any  Catholic  bookstore.  Do  buy  and 
read  it.  You  will  be  surprised  at  the  informa- 
tion it  contains.  "Shade  of  John  Knox!"  I 
hear  you  exclaim,  "what  has  come  over  the 
child  ? ' '  But  you  will  not  oppose  me,  all  the 
same;  and  no  doubt  you  have  already  begun 
to  decide  mentally  which  of  the  two  Roman 
Catholic  booksellers  in  town  you  will  honor 
with  your  patronage! 

To  change  the  subject,  we  are  having  a 
lovely  spring;  the  wild  flowers  are  blooming 
•  everywhere,  and  our  garden  is  beginning  to 
put  on  a  garb  of  loveliness.  This  is  the  month 
dedicated  by  the  Catholic  Church  to  the 
Queen  of  Heaven,  Mary  the  Mother  of  God. 
No  season  could  be  more  fitly  chosen.  Every 
evening  after  tea  we  go  in  procession  to  the 
shrine  at  the  end  of  the  long  walk  in  the 
garden,  singing  the  lyitany  of  Mary;  a  few 
prayers  are  said  before  the  statue,  another 
short  hymn  is  sung,  and  we  return  to  the 
playground.  Flowers  are  constantly  kept 
blooming  before  this  altar,  and  the  girls  vie 


with  one  another  to  see  who  can  procure  the 
prettiest  bouquets. 

We  had  a  Ma}'  party  yesterday,  going  to 
the  woods  just  after  dinner  and  returning 
about  dusk.  In  the  "Virgin  Woods,"  as  I  have 
already  told  you,  there  is  another  shrine,  and 
we  made  our  devotions  there  instead  of  at 
the  grotto  in  the  garden.  We  gathered  wild 
flowers,  botanized  a  little,  fished  some,  and 
amused  ourselves  in  various  ways.  Sister 
Superior  and  six  of  the  others  accompanied 
us,  and  Sister  Eulalia,  who  is  quite  a  mimic, 
sang  a  number  of  comic  songs.  I  wish  you  and 
our  Protestant  friends  could  see  how  light- 
hearted  and  happy  these  devoted  women  are. 
They  are  really  childlike  in  their  innocent 
gaiety,  nothing  like  the  conventional  nuns  of 
Protestant  fiction. 

You  say  that  Mrs.  Gray  has  asked  you  sev- 
eral times  if  I  ever  see  Estella.  I  never  do. 
You  know  we  were  not  intimate  at  home,  and 
the  reputation  of  the  young  ladies  of  Allen 
Seminary  for  giddiness  is  so  bad  at  the  con- 
vent and  in  the  village,  where  the  Sisters  also 
have  a  parish  school,  that  I  would  not  dare 
ask  permission  to  visit  her.  Do  not  fail  to 
assure  Mrs.  Gray  that  Estella's  fears  for  my 
reason,  because  of  our  "enforced  seclusion," 
are  perfectly  groundless.  I  have  all  the  liberty 
I  need  or  desire.  It  is  true  that  we  seldom  go 
to  the  village,  and  never  save  in  the  company 
of  one  or  more  of  our  teachers,  but  there  is 
nothing  to  be  seen  there  that  could  make  one 
wish  to  go  oftener.  If  Estella  is  as  happy  in 
her  school  home  as  I  in  mine  she  is  contented 
indeed. 

Do  not  let  thoughts  of  me  or  my  "defec- 
tion" trouble  you,  dear  auntie.  I  am  always 

Your  own  happy  and  hopeful  little  girl, 

Julia. 

Allen  Seminary,  May  15, 18 — . 

Dear  Mattie: — Such  a  time  as  we  have 
had, — such  a  commotion,  such  a  sensation, 
such  a  rumpus,  such  a  scene! 

It  was  well  done  on  my  part  to  have  seen 
through  M.  Krouck  quite  early  in  our  ac- 
quaintance. When  I  found  that  he  was  devot- 
ing himself  to  several  of  the  girls,  I  at  once 
set  him  down  as  a  professional  flirt,  resolving 
that  he  should  not  have  me  on  his  list  of  con- 
quests. Moreover,  I  soon  discovered  that  his 
*  personal  habits  were  not  the  most  refined — 


The  Ave  Maria, 


227 


dirty  fingernails,  and  wooden  toothpicks  con- 
stantly in  one's  mouth,  are  not  in  accordance 
with  my  preconceived  idea  of  the  foreign  no- 
bility. I  suspect  he  was  masquerading  all  the 
time.  To  be  brief,  I  speedily  gave  him  the  cold 
shoulder.  However,  it  was  not  given  to  all  to 
be  so  discreet.  There  is  a  silly  creature  here 
— I  ^ay  silly  advisedly,  for  she  seems  unable 
to  learn  anything.  Myra  Hamilton,  a  former 
schoolmate  of  hers  at  the  Bonworth  Institute, 
says  they  always  called  her  * '  the  idiot. "  I  do 
not  think  her  quite  so  bad  as  that,  but  she  is 
certainly  deficient  in  intellect.  She  is  pretty,  an 
heiress,  and  an  orphan,  living  with  her  grand- 
mother in  the  city,  and  past  eighteen.  The  sly 
fellow  had  an  eye  to  the  main  chance,  as  you 
will  soon  see.  We  girls  had  noticed  his  atten- 
tions to  Bella,  and  joked  her  about  it.  She 
would  blush  and  say  something  silly,  but  no 
one  ever  thought  things  had  gone  so  far  as 
was  discovered  the  night  before  last.  Let  me 
describe. 

Eleven  o'clock  Miss  Podwinkle  is  awaked 
from  a  sound  and  refreshing  slumber  by  the 
noise  of  a  pebble  striking  against  a  window. 
She  trembles  in  her  bed,  listens — hears  a  foot- 
fall, a  window  raised,  then  voices,  then  foot- 
steps once  more,  and — silence.  Wrapping  her 
dressing-gown  about  her  maidenly  form,  and 
encasing  her  number  five  feet  in  number  seven 
felt  slippers,  she  hies  her  timidly  to  the  front 
hall,  doubtful  as  to  what  course  she  would  best 
pursue.  Was  it  fancy  or  one  of  the  servants' 
party  to  a  clandestine  meeting,  possibly  in 
league  with  robbers?  Should  she  rouse  the 
principal?  Bella's  door  was  ajar!  Strange! 
thought  Miss  Podwinkle,  she  generally  locks 
it.  She  peeped  in:  window  open,  bed  vacant, 
two  forms  espied  seeking  the  shrubbery — 
Bella,  in  the  pink  dress  she  wore  all  day — and 
a  man!  Full  moon,  splendid  view.  Undismayed 
by  the  sight.  Miss  Podwinkle  stole  softly  down 
the  stairs.  Front  door  fast,  side  door  unlocked. 
She  steals  forth,  follows  on  tiptoe.  Voices  in 
the  shrubbery.  Once  more  she  listens.  Can  it 
be — it  is  the  mellifluous  voice  of  M.  Krouck. 
"My  angle! "  he  exclaims,  "fly,  fly  wiz  me — 
now,  dees  moment!  I  haf  a  car-ri-age  outside 
from  ze  citee.  I  haf  brought  him — fly  now  wiz 
me!"— "But  I  can't!"  pleads  Bella.  "I  have 
no  wrap,  no  hat, — nothing  but  this  pink  cham- 
bre  fi-ock.   Where  will  you  take  me  in  this 


plight?" — "We  will  married  be  zis  night.  I 
haf  a  friend,  he  waits  in  ze  car-ri-age.  Come, 
my  angle,  come ! ' ' 

Bella  had  not  calculated  on  anything  more 
romantic  than  a  moonlight  walk.  She  is  not 
such  a  fool,  after  all.  "I  don't  want  to  marry 
you,  not  to-night,  anyhow!  When  I'm  married 
it  must  be  respectably  at  home  in  the  parlor.  So 
please  go.  I'm  sorry  I  came  out. ' ' — * '  Vat!  not 
lofe  me,  not  marry  me  ?  Vat  for  zen  you  prom- 
ees  to  come  out  here  ?  You  make  me  loose  my 
seet-u-ation,  maybe,  all  for  a  fooleesh-ness!" 
said  the  noble  Hungarian,  in  an  angry  tone. 
Here  Miss  Podwinkle  could  withhold  her  in- 
dignation no  longer.  "Begone,  you  vile  for- 
eigner! ' '  she  gasped.  "Yes,  you  will  lose  your 
situation,  indeed!  How  dare  you  come  here  at 
this  hour,  trying  to  abduct  a  pupil!  Come, 
my  dear,  this  will  prove  a  sore  experience  for 
you." 

By  this  time  Bella  was  crying,  and  \i^rpreux 
chevalier  stood  not  upon  the  order  of  his 
going.  Miss  Podwinkle  declares  she  heard  loud 
oaths  from  the  region  of  the  carriage,  which 
rapidly  rolled  away.  Bella  was  sent  to  bed. 
Miss  Podwinkle  again  retired,  and  Monsieur 
and  Madame  Allen  slept  on  in  serene  uncon- 
sciousness till  morning.  Bella  was  threatened 
with  dismissal  if  it  ever  happened  again!  Mr. 
Allen  went  post-haste  to  town,  but  our  Hun- 
garian refugee  had  taken  refuge  elsewhere. 
Peace  to  his  memory! 

It  has  been  quite  an  event  for  us  all,  things 
were  becoming  very  dull.  Miss  Podwinkle  is 
the  heroine  of  the  hour.  The  Gorgons,  male 
and  female,  are  never  weary  of  impressing 
the  necessity  of  silence  on  the  subject,  "for 
the  credit  of  the  school."  Please  don't  say  a 
w^ord  of  this  to  mamma!  It  would  give  her 
a  spasm. 

Well,  have  you  been  a-Maying?  I  know 
you  have,  and  no  doubt  have  enjoyed  yourself 
immensely.  So  with  us — but — such  dull, 
stupid  Mayings  you  never  saw!  No  beaux,  no 
flirting,  no  dancing.  All  wall-flowers,  pluck- 
ing wild  flowers — horrid  things,  that  wither 
in  your  hand  before  you  get  a  chance  to  put 
them  in  water!  You  ask  if  I  shall  return  next 
session.  Not  I.  One  term  here  has  been  quite 
enough  for 

Yours  faithfully,        Estella. 

(TO   BB   CONTINUBD.) 


22\ 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Wonders  of  the  Saints. 


IT  is  not  generally  known  that  the  blood  of  S. 
Lorenzo  liquefies  in  like  manner  (in  greater 
A^olume,  however,)  as  that  of  St.  Januarius  at 
Naples.  This  prodigy  has  frequently  been 
witnessed  at  Amaseno,  formerly  S.  Lorenzo,  a 
large  village  of  Latium,  near  Piperno.  Aringhi, 
in  his  "Roma  Sotterranea,"  *  informs  us  that 
an  ampulla  of  glass,  inclosed  in  a  magnificent 
reliquary  of  silver — the  workmanship  of  Ber- 
nini and  gift  of  Cardinal  Jerome  Colonna, — 
preserved  at  Amaseno,  contains  a  certain 
quantity  of  the  blood  of  the  sainted  Levite, 
mingled  with  ashes,  bits  of  coal,  and  a  piece 
of  burned  skin.  "The  blood  contained  in  the 
ampulla,  suddenly  liquefies  at  First  Vespers  of 
the  feast,  August  9,  and,  as  if  the  Saint  would 
fain  rush  anew  to  martyrdom,  it  seems  striv- 
ing to  issue  from  the  vial." 

Aringhi  further  declares  that  none  knew  to 
which  saint  to  attribute  this  blood,  until  the 
fact  that  it,  yearly,  liquefied  on  the  Feast  of  S. 
Lorenzo,  led  all  to  conclude  that  it  must  orig- 
inally have  flowed  within  his  veins.  This 
report  coming  to  the  ears  of  Pope  Paul  V.,  he 
ordered  the  ampulla  to  be  opened,  and  some 
drops  extracted  thence,  which  he  presented 
to  the  Borghese  Chapel,  erected  by  himself  in 
the  Liberian  Basilica. 

A  recent  writer  states  that  he  witnessed 
this  prodigy  for  the  first  time  on  the  9th 
of  August,  1864.  He  took  in  his  hands  the 
reliquary,  which,  being  in  weight  over  thirty 
pounds,  he  with  no  small  difficulty  turned, 
but  the  blood  remained  firmly  adherent  to 
the  bottom  of  the  ampulla.  Shortly  after  the 
commencement  of  First  Vespers  a  movement 
in  the  dark  opaque  mass  was  clearly  discern- 
ible. Thick  incrustations  slowly  detached 
themselves,  one  from  the  other.  At  the  close 
of  Vespers  he  again  took  up  the  reliquary;  the 
mass  moved,  but  the  liquefaction  was  not 
complete.  Finally,  on  the  day  of  the  feast 
itself,  August  10,  he  perceived  the  blood,  clear 
and  ruddy  as  if  just  issued  from  the  veins,  the 
piece .  of  burned  skin  floating  therein ;  the 
sanguineous  mass  so  increased  in  volume  as 
nearly  to  fill  the  ampulla^  which  has  no  cover, 


*  Tonio  I,  p.  149. 


though  enclosed  within  a  larger  vial  of  rock 
crystal. 

A  similar  phenomenon  is  verified  at  Bar- 
celona in  regard  to  St.  Pantaleon,  physician 
and  martyr,  at  Nicomedia,  in  Bithynia,  under 
the  Emperor  Maximian,  A.  D.  303.  He  is 
honored  by  physicians  as  their  chief  patron, 
after  St.  Luke.  The  little  town  of  Lavello,  in 
the  Kingdom  of  Naples,  still  preserves  in  its 
cathedral  church  a  vial  filled  with  the  blood 
of  St.  Pantaleon,  which  is  exposed  yearly  to 
public  veneration  on  the  feast  of  the  Saint, 
July  27, — which  blood,  it  is  stated,  also  be- 
comes liquid  on  that  day,  although  the  entire 
remainder  of  the  year  it  is  congealed  and  dried. 

A  correspondent  of  the  London  Tablet,  who 
witnessed  the  miracle  of  the  liquefaction  of 
the  blood  of  St.  Januarius  in  1876  under  ex- 
traordinarily favorable  circumstances,  writes 
of  it  as  follows: 

"Naturally,  being  near  Naples  when  the 
Feast  of  St.  Januarius  came  round,  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  go  and  beg  the  favor  of  vSeeing  the 
Miracle  of  the  Liquefaction  from  a  near  dis- 
tance. So  I  started  from  Cava  at  5  a.  m.,  by 
express,  and  arrived  at  Naples  about  7.45 
a.m.,  and  made  my  way  at  once  to  the  Cathe- 
dral and  to  the  Chapel  of  the  Treasury,  as 
that  dedicated  to  the  Saint  is  called,  which 
I  found  simply  packed  with  people.  I  squeezed 
my  way  in  as  near  the  altar  as  possible;  but  I 
soon  found  it  would  be  useless  to  stay  there, 
as  I  should  see  nothing,  and  hear  more  than 
enough  to  give  me  a  headache  in  a  very  short 
time.  The  old  women,  who  are  called,  or  call 
themselves,  the  *  Comari  of  St.  Januarius, '  had 
begun  their  prayers,  and  were  singing  and 
praying  aloud,  each  one  as  her  own  devotion 
prompted,  making  an  uproar  and  a  noise 
hardly  bearable  at  times.  Their  harsh,  loud, 
screaming  voices,  united  with  the  rough 
Neapolitan  dialect,  and  the  simplicity  of  their 
invocations  involuntarily  makes  one  smile:  it 
is  something  so  strange  for  us  Englishmen  to 
hear  such  a  clamor,  such  a  babel  of  tongues  in 
a  church,  and  to  hear  the  Saint  addressed  in 
all  manner  of  endearing  terms  at  one  moment, 
and  in  the  next  instant  with  almost  a  threat. 
But  go  near  those  poor  people  and  look  into 
their  faces,  and  you  will  not  laugh  then;  for 
you  will  see  that  their  whole  souls  are  in  their 
prayers,  and  earnestness  and  faith  are  visible 


TJie  Ave  JSIaria. 


229 


in  every  feature  of  their  sunburnt  counte- 
nances, whether  it  be  of  jthe  younger  girls  or 
of  the  gray-haired,  wrinkled  old  women,  who 
ling  to  the  altar  rails  and  pour  out  a  continual 
supplication  to  their  Saint,  and  turn  round 
occasionally  to  cry  out  to  the  people  to  pray 
more  earnestly  for  the  miracle. 

"These  old  women  with  their  families  come 
into  Naples  from  Pozzuoli  every  morning  dur- 
ing Ihe  Octave  to  be  present  at  the  miracle, 
and  to  take  their  place  at  the  altar  rails  on 
the  Gospel  side,  which  they  are  allowed  to 
have  by  traditional  rite,  and  which  they  take 
care  always  to  secure. 

"Well,  leaving  the  old  women  to  their  de- 
votions, I  elbowed  my  way  through  the  dense 
crowd,  and,  passing  the  sentry,  was  let  through 
the   gate  into  the  sacristy.    I   happened   to 
know  the  sacristan,  a  Neapolitan  priest,  who 
'-eceived  me  most  kindly,  and  expressed  him- 
.  If  only  too  delighted  to  allow  me  to  see  the 
miracle,  and  took  me  into  the  inner  sacristy, 
where  I  found  some  twenty  or  thirty  more 
L  rangers   waiting — several   French   priests, 
<mp  Poles,  Danes,  and  Germans,  a  party  of 
uuericans,  and,  of   course,    some   English; 
there  were  also  two  Spanish  dons. 

"After  waiting  for  some  time,  one  of  the 
canons  of  the  treasury  who  recognized  me, 
although  I  did  not  know  him,  took  me  by  the 
hand,  to  give  me,  as  he  said,  a  good  place  to 
see  the  miracle,  and  conducted  me  into  the 
sanctuary;  for  the  outer  sacristy  was  full  of 
strangers,  and  there  was  quite  a  rush  when 
the  doors  were  opened.  He  placed  me  on  the 
top  step,  just  in  front  of  where  the  priest 
would  stand  who  was  to  hold  the  blood  of  the 
Saint.  So  I  was  literally  kneeling  at  the  feet 
of  the  canon  who  held  in  his  hand  the  reli- 
quary; and  thus  had  a  better  opportunity  than 
any  one  else  present  of  seeing  all  that  passed, 
noting  every  circumstance,  and  of  examining 
the  inside  of  the  reliquary  and  the  two  vials 
which  contained  the  miraculous  blood. 

"The  head  of  St.  Januarius  enclosed  in  a 
silver-gilt  bust,  with  the  reliquary  containing 
his  blood,  are  preserved  behind  the  altar  in 
an  iron  tabernacle,  built  into  the  wall  of  the 
church.  This  tabernacle  is  fastened  with  two 
locks,  of  one  of  which  the  Archbishop  holds 
the  key,  who  sends  every  morning  of  the 
Octave  a  deputy  priest  with  this  key  to  open 


his  lock.  The  key  of  the  other  is  in  the  cus- 
tody of  six  noblemen  of  Naples,  one  of  whom 
is  deputed  on  each  day  to  bring  it  and  open 
the  lock,  and  to  close  it  when  the  relics  are 
again  shut  up. 

"The  canons  of  the  chapel  went  in  proces- 
sion, and  first  brought  out  the  head  of  the 
Saint,  and  placed  it  on  the  altar  at  the  Gospel 
side.  Then  the  priest  brought  out  the  reliquary 
containing  the  blood,  and,  holding  it  in  his 
hands,  let  us  .see  that  it  was  hard. 

"You  can  not  imagine  the  cries  and  the 
almost  shrieks  and  screams  of  the  people  that 
were  going  on  all  this  time.  And  when  the 
priest  held  it  up,  and  cried  out,  E  duro,^—'\\, 
is  hard,'  there  was  a  cry  of  ^ Sayi  Gefinaro, 
7iostro  protettore,  nostro  padrone!  fate  ci  it  mi- 
racolo ' ;  and  they  began  to  weep  and  wail  on 
all  sides  in  the  true  Neapolitan  style".  The  old 
women  round  the  altar  rails  repeated  again  the 
Pater  noster,  Credo,  and  Gloria  Patri,  and  then 
made  a  profession  of  faith,  the  tenor  of  which 
was  'their  belief  in  the  Most  Holy  Trinity,  in 
the  holy  Catholic  faith,  and  in  all  that  the 
Church  commanded;  and  in  San  Gennaro, 
who  could  work  the  miracle  if  he  would,  and 
save  them  from  many  woes.' 

' '  But  for  five,  ten,  fifteen  minutes,  there  was 
not  the  slightest  sign  of  any  liquefaction 
taking  place.  I  had  the  best  possible  oppor- 
tunities of  examining  the  reliquary,  for  the 
canon  held  it  just  before  my  eyes  several 
times  for  some  seconds,  whilst  another  priest 
held  a  lighted  taper  behind  the  glass  to  allow 
me  to  see  plainly  the  vials  inside.  The 
reliquary  is  an  old-fashioned  silver  one  of 
an  oval  shape,  surmounted  by  a  silver  cross 
about  four  or  five  inches  long,  b>'  which  the 
priest  holds  it.  Thick  glass  is  let  into  the 
sides,  so  that  you  see  the  interior  plainly 
when  held  up  to  the  light;  and  it  is  to  show 
you  more  clearly  the  bottles  inside  that  a 
small  lighted  taper  is  held  behind.  One  sees 
two  small  ampulla',  or  cruets,  the  larger  one 
containing  about  an  ounce  and  a  half  of  some 
obscure  congealed  substance  of  a  brownish 
tint,  not  unlike  to  that  of  clotted  blood  when 
it  has  been  exposed  a  long  time  to  the  air. 
It  is  quite  hard;  for  the  priest  reverses  the 
reliquary  and  not  the  slightest  motion  is 
visible  in  the  dark  matter,  which  fills  about 
two-thirds  of  the  vial. 


230 


The  Ave  Maria, 


"The  other  and  smaller  vial,  not  unlike  a 
small  smelling-bottle,  contains  a  mere  stain 
of  blood,  and  some  little  pieces  of  black  stick- 
ing to  the  sides,  which  have  never  been  known 
to  liquefy;  these  are  supposed  to  be  little 
pieces  of  sponge  or  earth  soaked  with  blood, 
sticking  to  the  sides  of  the  glass. 

"Both  bottles  appeared  to  be  hermetically 
sealed.  Another  thing  that  caught  my  atten- 
tion was,  that  resting  on  the  outside  of  each 
bottle  was  that  peculiar  fine,  thin  dust  which 
collects  on  objects  even  closed  in  cases,  show- 
ing they  must  have  been  left  undisturbed  for 
a  very  long  time.  These  vials  appeared  also 
to  be  resting  on  what  seemed  to  me  to  be 
some  wadding,  dusty  and  discolored,  and  be- 
tween the  top  of  the  reliquary  inside  and  the 
vials  there  was  another  similar  piece  of  dark 
wool  or  wadding.  The  reliquary  itself  is  sol- 
dered up  on  all  sides. 

"Twenty  minutes  had  passed  away,  and 
not  the  sign  of  any  movement  appeared;  there 
was  the  dark  brown  substance  filling  up  two 
thirds  of  the  vial,  forming  a  straight  line 
across  it,  still  immovable.  The  groans,  the 
cries,  and  the  tears  of  the  people  increased, 
their  supplications  and  petitions  became 
louder,  and  even  the  most  indifferent  of  those 
around  seemed  to  be  moved.  The  priest  laid 
the  reliquary  down  on  the  altar;  and  began 
aloud  the  Apostles*  Creed,  and  then  an  invo- 
cation to  St.  Januarius;  after  that  a  prayer, 
begging  that  God  would  allow  the  miracle  for 
His  greater  honor  and  glory,  and  for  the  good 
of  His  people.  He  then  once  again  took  it  in 
his  hand,  and  showed  it  to  me  kneeling  on 
the  step,  but  it  was  the  same  as  at  first,  not 
the  slightest  change  having  taken  place. 

"He  had  taken  it  all  round,  had  shown  it 
to  the  many  kneeling  there,  and  had  then 
lifted  it  up  for  the  people  outside  to  see,  when 
he  once  more  lowered  it,  and  put  it  before  my 
eyes.  I  was  not  certain,  but  it  seemed  to  me 
that  as  he  held  the  reliquary  upside  down  the 
straight  line,  which  was  formed  across  the 
bottle,  was  breaking  on  one  side  and  that  the 
substance  commenced  to  move  slowly.  I  am 
sure  my  excited  face  and  the  paleness  I  felt 
coming  over  me  must  have  shown  the  canon 
what  had  happened;  for  he  looked  at  it  and 
said  it  had  commenced.  Yes!  there  it  was, 
slowly  moving  down  on  one  side  of  the  bottle, 


— a  few  reddish-brown  drops;  he  held  it  aloft 
to  the  people,  and  cried:  E  squagliato, — '  It  is 
liquefied!' 

"The  organ  immediately  commenced  the 
Te  Deum;  the  choir  and  the  people  taking  up 
the  alternate  verses,  sang  it  with  all  their  soul 
in  thanksgiving  to  God  that  He  had  allowed 
once  again  this  miracle.  I  joined  too  with  all 
my  heart,  for  I  can  not  express  to  you  the 
strange  feeling  which  crept  over  me  when  the 
canon  again  showed  me  the  reliquary.  I  saw 
the  blood  flow  inside  the  larger  vial  as  freely 
as  water: — there  only  remained  a  dark  globule 
in  the  centre  which  was  not  liquefied — all  the 
rest  in  the  vial  was  perfectly  liquid.  Perhaps 
this  globule  also  became  so.  I,  however,  did 
not  see  it  again;  for  when  I  had  kissed  the 
reliquary  the  canon  took  it  round  to  the  others 
that  they  might  have  a  like  happiness. 

"I  was  sorry,"  the  writer  concludes,  "to  be 
obliged  to  go  away;  but  I  assure  you  I  breathed 
a  fervent  prayer  of  thanks  to  God  for  the 
great  favor  He  had  granted  me  of  seeing  this 
wonderful  miracle,: — of  seeing  so  closely  the 
hard,  dry  blood  liquefy,  and  even  as  fresh  in 
the  bottle  as  if  spilt  yesterday,  instead  of  six- 
teen hundred  years  ago." 

The  entire  region  of  Naples  and  its  environs 
is  fertile  in  prodigies  of  the  like  nature.  St. 
Januarius  was  martyred  at  Pozzuoli,  in  305, 
under  Diocletian.  The  traces  of  his  blood  still 
stain  the  stone  on  which  he  was  beheaded.  It 
is  asserted  that  at  the  very  hour  whereat 
begins  the  liquefaction  of  the  blood  in  Naples, 
the  traces  of  the  same  blood  at  Pozzuoli 
become  liquid  and  red. 

In  the  Cathedral  of  the  ancient  city  of 
Amalfi,  ' '  the  Athens  of  the  Middle  Ages, ' '  are 
preserved  the  precious  remains  of  St.  Andrew 
the  Apostle,  which  were  brought  from  Con- 
stantinople, with  other  relics,  by  Cardinal 
Capuano  (Pietro  de  Capua)  at  the  end  of  the 
twelfth  century.  On  all  the  feasts  of  the  Apostle 
the  sainted  sepulchre  distils  in  drops  an  oily 
substance,  similar  to  that  which  was  known  to 
have  exuded  from  his  body  at  Patras,  the  scene 
of  his  crucifixion  (November  30,  A.  D.  62),  un- 
der the  Emperor  Nero.  St.  Gregory  of  Tours, 
in  his  * '  Glory  of  Martyrs, ' '  relates  that  yearly, 
on  the  day  of  his  death,  a  liquor  exuded  from 
his  tomb  which,  according  as  the  quantity  was 
more  or  less  abundant,  indicated  the  fertility  or 


The  Ave  Maria. 


231 


crility  of  the  following  year.   He  adds  that 
yielded  so  agreeable  an  pdor  that  it  might 
re  been  taken  for  nectar,  or  a  compound 
the  most  delicious  perfumes;   whilst  the 
ck,  who  drank  of  it,  or  bathed  their  bodies 
erewith,  recovered  perfect  health.  This  odor- 
rous  miraculous  oil,  known  as  the  "Manna 
St.  Andrew,"  is  still  prized  for  its  healing 
lalities  by  the  devout  Amalfesi.  It  was  com- 
emorated  by  Tasso: 
"Vide  iu  sembianza  placida  e  tranquilla, 
II  Divo,  die  di  Manna  Anialfi  instilla."* 

The  erudite  Benedictine,  Dom  Piolin,  in 
his  "History  of  the  Church  of  Mans,"  tells 
us  that  a  miraculous  oil,  the  use  of  which 
restored  health  to  the  sick,  exuded  from  the 
tomb  of  St.  Aldericus,  Bishop  of  that  See  from 
S32  to  856.  The  Church  of  Mans  celebrates 
his  feast  January  4,  though  he  is  generally 
lionored  on  the  day  of  his  death,  January  7. 

At  the  translation  to  the  Church  of  Our 
Lady,  in  Buda  Pesth,  of  the  relics  of  St.  Ste- 
phen, first  King  and  apostle  of  the  Hungari- 
ans, on  the  28th  of  August,  1083,  forty-five 
years  after  the  death  of  that  holy  monarch,  his 
remains  were  found,  as  it  were,  floating  in  a 
species  of  balm-like  liquid  which  emitted  an 
unearthly  perfume.  Those  present  sought  to 
absorb  it  with  sponges,  which  they  intended 
later  to  utilize  for  the  relief  of  the  sick;  but  the 
more  they  drew  off  the  more  the  tomb  filled 
with  the  like  liquid,  which  prodigy  led  them 
to  restore  what  they  had  removed;  when,  by 

still  more  astounding  miracle,  the  sarcoph- 
igus,  already  full  to  overflowing,  received 
all  the  former  liquid  without  running  over. 
Amongst  the  distinguished  personages  healed 
at  that  time  was  the  great  Countess  Matilda, 
reduced  to  the  last  extremity  by  an  illness 
of  fifteen  years  duration;  her  attendants  con- 
veyed her  to  the  tomb  of  the  sainted  King, 
where  she  instantly  recovered  her  health. 

In  the  Lives  of  the  Fathers  of  the  Eastern 
Deserts  we  read  that  from  the  tomb  of  St. 
Dalmatius,  to  whom  the  Greek  Menology 
gives  the  glorious  title  of  "Advocate  of  the 
Council  of  Ephesus,"  by  reason  of  his  zeal 
against  the  heresy  of  Nestorius,  flowed,  from 
time  to  time,  a  liquor  which  brought  healing 
to  the  sick,  who  in  a  spirit  of  faith  anointed 
their  bodies  therewith. 


Ger.  Conq.,"  ii,  82. 


The  "Ave  Maria  "  of  September  18,  1886, 
Vol.  XXin,  No.  12,  in  an  article  bearing  the 
title,  "An  Annual  Miracle  in  a  Village  of 
the  Apennines,"  gives  several  interesting  ex- 
amples of  this  marvellous  "  manna,"  or  sweat, 
exuding  from  the  bones,  the  tombs,  or  merely 
the  slab  or  stones,  which  have  sustained  the 
weight  of  the  remains  of  sainted  servants 
of  God.  These  remarkable  manifestations  of 
extraordinary  power  with  the  Most  High  are 
not  un frequently  continued  even  to  our  own 
day,  as  in  the  case  of  St.  Walburga,  Abbess  of 
Heidenheim.  Her  attributes  in  art  are  oil 
flasks,  oil  exuding  from  a  sepulchre,  or  she 
is  represented  holding  a  tiny  vial,  such  as  all 
pilgrims  bear  away  from  her  shrine. 

Truly  may  we  exclaim  with  the  Royal  Psal- 
mist, ''Mirabilis  Deus  in  Sanctis  suis/" 

*  ♦  > 

A  Practical  Way  of  Honoring  the 
Blessed  Sacrament. 


IN  European  Catholic  congresses  the  means 
of  preserving  the  wine  and  bread  intended 
for  the  Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass  against 
adulteration,  so  common  in  all  alimentary 
substances,  have  been  often  discussed.  For  long 
centuries  past  bequests  have  been  made  of 
fields  for  the  cultivation  of  wheat  specially 
intended  for  the  making  of  altar  hosts, — 
'  'Ad  hostias  faciendas  ad  Corpus  Doynini. ' '  An 
unpublished  document  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury, preserved  at  Ligeois,  in  the  Diocese  of 
Limoges  (France),  bears  the  following  lines: 
"Last  will  and  testament  of  Amelius  de 
Carreiras :  I  desire,  for  the  sake  of  public  edi- 
fication, that  all  should  know  that  I,  Amelius 
de  Carreiras,  being  converted — as  likewise  my 
wife  Almonda,  and  my  three  sons,  Doitraime, 
Albert,  and  Adhemar,  —give  for  the  salvation 
of  my  own  soul,  for  the  repose  of  the  souls 
of  my  father  and  mother,  and  for  those  of 
my  deceased  relatives, — give  to  the  Lord  our 
God,  to  St.  Peter,  Apostle,  and  patron  of  the 
monastery  of  Ligeois,  first,  a  portion  of  the 
ground  of  my  estate  of  Alchese,  situated  above 
the  castle  of  Comborn,  with  quit  rent  and 
annual  income ;  second,  I  give  three  setiers  of 
wheat  of  my  land  of  Mambroze  to  the  church 
of  Autjac,  according  to  the  measures  used  in 
said  church,  to  be  given  for  the  feast  of  Our 


232 


j.^i<nia. 


Lady  in  September,  for  the  making  of  the 
hosts  for  the  Body  of  the  Lord, — 'Ad  hostias 
faciendas  ad  Corpus  Domini.'^'  Then  follow 
other  donations  for  oil  and  wine.  The  docu- 
ment is  signed  by  all  the  family,  and  confirmed 
by  Reynold  de  Roffignac,  magistrate.  This  is 
only  one  example  of  what  was  then  a  general 
practice. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  be  able  to  give  a  like 
instance  of  piety  in  our  own  day  at  Montreal 
(Gers,  France).  A  lady  of  fortune — and,  what 
is  far  better,  a  humble  and  fervent  Christian, — 
Madame  Tardit,  devoted  her  whole  life  to  the 
Adorable  Eucharist;  during  twenty  years,  she 
selected,  grain  by  grain,  the  wheat  also  the 
grapes  that  grew^  upon  her  own  land;  during 
twenty  years,  she  kneaded  the  flour,  like  the 
holy  Queen,  St.  Radegundes;  and  like  St. 
Wenceslaus,  she  pressed  the  grapes,  never 
leaving  the  care  of  such  holy  things  to  any  of 
her  numerous  domestics.  When  she  prayed  in 
the  oratory  of  her  castle,  which  was  at  a  dis- 
tance of  two  miles  from  the  church,  she  always 
had  her  face  turned  toward  the  Blessed  Sac- 
rament. 

Before  her  death  Madame  Cardit  begged  her 
children  never  to  neglect  to  furnish  the  bread 
and  wine  for  the  Divine  Sacrifice  in  the 
church  of  Montreal.  She  departed  this  life 
happy  in  the  thought  that  this  devotion  was 
firmly  implanted  in  their  minds,  and  that  it 
would  draw  down  on  them  the  blessing  of  the 
Almighty  from  generation  to  generation.  This 
pious  lady  taught  her  children  to  employ  their 
time  in  this  holy  work,  instead  of  wasting  it 
in  useless  visits.  The  grains  of  wheat  and  the 
grapes  are  still  selected,  and  made  into  bread 
and  wine  with  the  same  pious  care,  while  the 
hearts  of  those  devoted  to  this  labor  of  love 
are  lifted  to  Heaven  in  prayer. 

This  Christian  family  reminds  us  of  the 
monks  of  old,  of  whom  Dom  Martene  tells  us, 
that  they  sorted  the  wheat  on  a  table,  washed 
it,  and  put  it  to  dry  on  a  white  cloth  in  the 
sun ;  the  monk  who  ground  the  wheat  wore 
an  alb ;  the  flour  was  then  placed  on  a  polished 
table,  reserved  for  this  use  alone.  The  priests 
and  deacons  of  the  monastery  meantime  re- 
cite the  Seven  Penitential  Psalms  and  the 
Litany  of  Saints.  The  lay  Brothers  assisting 
in  the  pious  work  wore  white  gloves.  The 
hosts,  after  being  reverently  cut  into  the  pre- 


scribed shape,  were  gathered  on  a  tray  covered 
with  immaculate  linen. 

This  is  what  Holy  Scripture  calls  employing 
oneself  about  holy  things.  It  is  a  custom  in 
many  schools  in  France  for  children  to  count 
their  daily  voluntary  privations  with  grains 
of.  wheat ;  and  these  grains,  ground,  kneaded 
and  baked  by  themselves,  are  transformed  into 
the  sacred  Bread  of  the  Altar,  which  they  re- 
ceive in  Holy  Communion.  They  receive  thus,, 
with  the  Body  of  the  Lord,  the  fruit  of  their 
own  labor.  A  double  blessing,  which  extends 
through  their  future  lives. 

There  is  a  tradition  at  Jerusalem  which 
assures  us  that  our  Blessed  Lady  made  her- 
self, every  morning,  the  bread  that  St.  John 
afterward  consecrated  in  the  Holy  Sacrifice. 


The  Work  of  the  Passionists  in  South 
America. 


A   CHANCE    FOR    THU   CHARITABI.E. 


THP^  well-known  Passionist  Fathers  Fidelis 
of  the  Cross  and  Edmund  of  the  Heart 
of  Mary  have  come  to  the  United  States  to 
solicit  aid  for  their  mission  in  South  America. 
An  outline  of  the  history  of  this  mission 
will  be  interesting  to  the  readers  of  The 
"Ave  Maria." 

It  is  not  generally  known  that  there  exists 
in  the  Argentine  Republic — in  that  portion 
of  it  called  the  shores  of  the  River  Plate — a 
colony  of  Catholics  of  Irish  birth  or  descent, 
to  the  number  of  about  forty  thousand. 

Ten  years  ago  a  request  was  sent  from  some 
of  the  leading  members  of  this  colony  to  the 
General  of  the  Passionists  in  Rome,  for  a 
house  of  English-speaking  Fathers  of  that 
Order.  In  response  to  this  petition,  a  Passion- 
ist from  the  United  States  was  sent  to  Buenos 
Ayres  to  see  if  the  proposed  foundation  was 
feasible.  He  reported  favorably  of  the  project; 
and,  accordingly,  Father  Fidelis,  then  in  Rome, 
was  commissioned  by  the  General  to  under- 
take it.  Together  with  one  companion — Father 
Clement,  an  Irish-American — he  labored  for 
the  first  year  in  the  face  of  great  discourage- 
ment. The  chief  difficulty  lay  in  the  fact 
that  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  did  not 
understand  these  American  priests  with  their 


The  Ave  ATaria. 


235 


business-like   method  of  work.    But  after  a  i 
year  the  cloud  cleared  off,  and  the  Fathers 
were  free  to  make  a  decisive  attempt. 

Now  this  attempt  would  have  had  to  be 
abandoned  but  for  the  zeal  and  generosity  of 
the  IrivSh  girls — God  bless  them! — living  at 
service  in  Buenos  Ayres.  These  noble-hearted 
women,  to  the  number  of  two  hundred  and 
fifty,  drew  up  a  petition  to  some  of  the  princi- 
pal merchants  of  the  city — Catholics  and  of 
Irish  origin — begging  them  to  help  the  Fa- 
thers buy  a  piece  of  land  and  build  a  house 
and  church.  They  bound  themselves  to  devote 
a  certain  sum  out  of  their  earnings  yearly  for 
the  support  of  the  foundation;  and  this  prom- 
ise has  been  faithfully  kept. 

The  movement  met  with  success.  A  suffi- 
cient sum  was  soon  subscribed  to  enable  the 
Fathers  to  purchase  a  suitable  piece  of  prop- 
.erty,  and  to  build  a  neat  chapel  with  a  small 
house  attached  to  it.  And  so  the  foundation 
was  made.  But  scarcely  had  it  been  accom- 
plished when  the  amiable  Father  Clement, 
whose  memory  is  in  benediction  there,  suc- 
cumbed to  sheer  exhaustion,  and  left  Father 
Fidelis  alone. 

However,  in  the  course  of  a  year,  two  Fathers 
and  a  Brother  from  the  American  Province 
joined  Father  Fidelis,  followed  within  a  sec- 
ond twelvemonth  by  Fathers  Edmund  and 
John  Joseph  with  another  Brother  from  the 
same  Province,  and  by  two  Irish  Fathers  from 
the  Anglo-Hibernian  Province.  Other  relig- 
ious came  at  a  more  recent  date  from  the 
English  Province  of  the  Order,  with  one  more 
from  the  United  States,  one  from  Italy,  and 
one  from  Spain.  At  present  the  Passionist 
Mission  in  South  America  counts  twelve  Fa- 
thers and  four  Brothers.  Moreover,  two  other 
foundations  have  been  made  in  the  Argentine 
Republic,  and  a  fourth  is  in  process  of  forma- 
tion near  the  port  of  Valparaiso,  Chili. 

Now,  it  is  for  this  last  foundation  that 
Fathers  Fidelis  and  Edmund  are  here  solicit- 
ing alms.  The  English-speaking  Catholics 
in  Chili  are  comparatively  few  and  poor  at 
present.  (We  say  at  present,  because  it  is 
probable  there  will  be  a  large  influx  of  them 
when  the  Transandine  railway,  now  in  course 
of  construction,  shall  be  finished — a  line  con- 
necting Valparaiso  with  Buenos  Ayres.)  But 
they  are  numerous  enough,  as  it  is,  to  need 


a  church  of  their  own — a  church  where  they 
can  hear  English  sermons. 

This  want,  then,  the  Passionist  Fathers 
hope  to  supply.  After  collecting,  at  great  cost 
of  time  and  trouble,  means  enough  to  put  up  a 
small  convent  on  a  piece  of  ground  generously 
given  them,  they  found  themselves  without 
further  resource  for  the  erection  of  the  church. 
They  could  not  turn  again  to  their  English- 
speaking  brethren,  nor  yet  to  the  native 
Catholics — the  charity  of  the  latter  being, 
constantly  taxed  for  good  works  among  their 
own  people.  But  one  course  seemed  open  to- 
them:  to  come  back  to  the  free  and  prosperous- 
Church  of  the  United  States,  and  endeavor  to. 
interest  her  clergy  and  people  in  their  behalf^ 

Their  field  in  Chili  is  by  no  means  con- 
fined to  English-speaking  Catholics:  for  many 
non- Catholics  there  are  waiting  to  hear  their 
sermons,  and  not  a  few  conversions  may  be 
hoped  for.  While,  lastly,  such  is  the  scarcity 
of  priests  in  Chili  at  present,  that  the  native 
population  also — especially  the  working, 
classes  of  the  rural  districts — will  benefit 
greatly  by  their  missions. 

In  a  word,  this  Passionist  foundation  in- 
Chili  is  one  of  very  great  importance.  To- 
abandon  it  would  be  lamentable.  The  Fathers 
believe  themselves  sent  to  Chili,  no  less  than 
to  the  Argentine  Republic,  at  a  critical  time 
and  for  a  special  work.  There  is  a  bright 
material  future  before  both  countries;  but  the 
outlook  for  religion  is  gloomy — unless  the 
foundation  of  which  we  speak  is  supported 
and  others  made. 

The  Governments  of  both  lands  are  hostile 
to  the  Church;  and  the  withdrawal  of  State 
support  is  imminent.  Protestant  "mission- 
aries" from  the  United  States  are  not  only 
allowed  but  encouraged  to  attack  and  vilify 
the  faith,  and  abundant  money  comes  to  them 
for  the  perversion  of  the  poor  and  the  ignorant. 
Ought  not,  then,  the  favored  Catholics  of  the 
freest  Church  in  the  world  to  do  something  for 
the  cause  of  truth  in  a  country-  where  their 
misguided  fellow-citizens  are  doing  so  much  in 
the  cause  of  erroi;?  The  Protestant  emissaries 
profess  to  represent  American  Christianity," 
doing  all  in  their  power  to  confirm  the  Chili- 
ans in  the  notion  that  the  United  States  are 
so  great  and  prosperous  because  Protestajit.  Is 
it   not  high   time  that  our  Chilian   fellow* 


234 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Catholics  learn  the  true  side  of  American 
ChristianitN-,  and  imbibe  the  spirit  of  manly 
independence  which  will  fit  them  to  do  with- 
out State  support  and  to  make  their  vote  a 
powder  to  be  reckoned  with? 

Once  more:  These  Fathers  have  placed 
their  new  foundation  under  the  protection  of 
St.  Joseph,  who  is  one  of  the  patrons  of  their 
Order.  The  first  stone  of  the  convent  was  laid 
on  the  19th  of  March  last  year.  And  when 
the  church  shall  be  ready,  it  will  be  the  first 
in  that  part  of  Chili  (perhaps,  indeed,  the 
first  in  the  whole  country)  dedicated  to  the 
glorious  patron  of  the  Universal  Church. 

Our  Blessed  Lady,  too,  has  show^n  them  that 
she  has  a  particular  interest  in  the  work.  For 
the  first  Mass  they  said  on  Chilian  shore,  as 
they  were  journeying  toward  Valparaiso,  was 
the  Mass  of  "Our  Lady  of  the  Snow"  (Au- 
gust 5th) — the  feast  of  a  miraculous  founda- 
tion :  and  again,  the  offer  of  a  piece  of  land 
was  made  them  on  the  Feast  of  the  Expecta- 
tion (December  1 8th) ;  while  the  final  donation 
came  on  the  Feast  of  the  Purification — two 
feasts  in  which  St.  Joseph  may  be  said  to 
have  a  special  share. 

It  is,  then,  with  the  more  confidence  that 
the  Fathers  make  their  appeal  for  help,  since 
they  plead  in  the  name  of  Our  Blessed  Lady 
and  in  that  of  her  Spouse  St.  Joseph.  The 
readers  of  The  "Ave  Maria,"  we  are  sure, 
will  generously  respond. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

M.  de  Pressense,  the  French  Protestant  Sen- 
ator, writes  an  article  in  Harper's  Magazine  on 
"  The  Condition  of  Religion  in  France."  He  con- 
demns the  radical  policy  of  the  present  Govern- 
ment in  regard  to  the  hospitals  and  education. 
But,  inconsistently  enough,  lauds  the  claims  of 
the  Gallican  church,  and  writes  of  Pere  Hyacinthe 
as  a  hero.  He  gently  sneers  at  Lourdes  too.  This  is 
especially  unworthy  of  a  man  like  De  Pressense. 
He  ought  to  know  of  a  fact  which  is  common 
property  in  France, — that  three  hundred  physi- 
cians have  attested  the  cures  .at  Lourdes.  Thirty 
years  ago  the  celebrated  Dr.  Vergez,  of  Mont- 
pellier,  declared  himself  assured  of  the  reality  of 
the  cures,  and  of  the  impossibility  of  explaining 
them  on  any  scientific  ground.  He  has  been  fol- 
lowed in  this  opinion  by  the  mo^t  eminent  men 
in  France.  Dr.  Buchanan,  a  professor  of  the  Uni- 


versity of  Glascow,  has  recently  visited  Lourdes. 
He  declares  that  he  is  unable  to  explain  the  curing 
of  caries,  ulcers,  etc.  Nervous  diseases  might  be 
cured  through  the  confidence  of  the  patient.  Dr. 
Constantin  James,  another  celebrated  physician, 
who  visited  Lourdes,  as  well  as  all  the  other 
health  springs  of  Europe,  asserts  that  he  has  seen 
maladies  cured  at  Lourdes  which  he  regarded  as 
beyond  the  resources  of  nature  and  art.  M.  de  Pres- 
sense should  be  abreast  of  the  age.  It  is  bigotry  to 
deny  a  miracle  because  one  is  prejudiced  against  it. 

The  fact  that  the  German  people  owe  to  Irish 
missionaries  their  conversion  to  the  true  faith 
seems  to  be  better  realized  in  the  "  Fatherland" 
than  elsewhere.  About  a  month  ago  the  whole  of 
Franconia  united  in  celebrating  with  great  sol- 
emnity the  1200th  anniversary  of  the  great 
Apostle  of  the  Franks,  the  "Scottish"  (that  is, 
Irish)  St.  Kilian.  Columban  and  Gallus  preached 
the  faith  to  the  Alemani,  and  Kilian  and  his  com- 
panions, Coloman  (or  Colonat),  the  priest,  and 
Donatus  (or  Totnan),  the  deacon,  evangelized  the 
East  Franks,  arriving  about  the  year  650  at  "the 
Castle  of  Wirzburch  in  the  Austrasian  King- 
dom," as  the  chroniclers  tell,  at  the  court  of  a 
duke,  Gozbert,  whom  they  converted.  This  spot 
became  eventually  the  centre  whence  flowed  the 
civilization  and  the  faith  of  all  Franconia.  The 
whole  valley  of  the  Rhone  and  that  of  Neckow 
bear  traces  of  the  missionary  activity  of  the 
great  Irish  missionary,  whose  name  still  lingers 
in  Bischofsheim,  Kilmaunskopf,  Kilianskopf, 
Kilianshof,  Kiliansstein,  Nilkhein,  and  in  many 
other  places.  The  love  and  veneration  for  this 
Keltic  apostle  is  still  keen  and  lively  in  the  hearts 
of  the  people  of  Frankenland. 

Father  Barry's  glowing  paper  in  the  Nineteenth 
Century,  entitled  "Wanted  —  a  Gospel  for  the 
Century,"  has  attracted  the  attention  of  thought- 
ful persons  everywhere.  It  is  a  solution  of  the 
social  problem,  and  enables  one  to  read  his  power- 
ful story,  "The  New  Antigone,"  in  a  new  light. 
The  following  is  a  characteristic  passage: 

"Take  only  one  article  of  the  'Credo  of  Redemp- 
tion,' divine  poverty — detachment  of  the  individual 
from  riches,  use  of  them  for  the  community,  for  the 
brotherhood,  simplicity  of  private  life,  and  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  most  beautiful  things  in  common.  That, 
and  as  much  more,  we  should  see  if  we  were  not  blind 
as  buzzards  in  the  New  Testament  to  which  we  listen, 
languidly  or  not  at  all,  in  church  on  Sunday.  What 
right  has  a  believer  in  Christ  to  live  luxuriously 
while  his  brethren  are  starving  on  an  unjust  wage? 
But  he  pleads  the  interests  of  art  and  civilization, 
which  he  falsely,  not  to  say  criminally,  pretends  that 
his  self-indulgence  subserves.  I^et  him  then,  I  say, 
in  the  name  of  Christ,  take  art  and  civilization  to 


The  Ave  Maria. 


235 


the  savages,  who  are  waiting  for  such  a  renaissance 
all  over  the  land.  Let  him  harmonize  and  socialize 
his  riches,  and  then  the  next  time  he  hears  in  church 
that  Gospel  of  the  Beatitudes  he  will  iniderstaud 
what  it  means,  and  not  be  ashamed  or  dismayed.  The 
Sermon  on  the  Mount  was  not  preached  in  a  mon- 
astery; it  was  addressed  to  mankind.  It  does  not 
condemn  civilization,  which  has  grown  more  perfect 
chiefly  by  laying  to  heart  some  of  its  precepts.  But 
it  does  most  unequivocally  condemn  an  exclusive 
society,  the  doors  of  which  open  but  to  golden  keys, 
while  the  multitude  of  God's  children  are  toiling  in 
hunger  and  cold  outside  for  their  masters. ' ' 


The  new  Sorbonne  was  formally  inaugurated 
on  the  5  th  ult.,  but  the  plan  of  reconstruction  is 
by  no  mean  completed.  It  comprises  the  demoli- 
tion of  the  old  vSorbonne,  excepting,  presumably, 
the  chapel,  w^hich  contains  the  tomb  of  Richelieu. 
The  Sorbonne,  which  took  its  name  from  its 
priestly  founder,  Robert  of  Sorbon,  the  village  in 
which  he  was  bom,  was  the  most  renowned  and 
most  cosmopolitan  university  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
The  Angelic  Doctor  held  the  chair  of  theology 
there  for  some  years,  and  the  names  of  such  illus- 
trious men  as  Blessed  Thomas  More  and  Dante 
adorn  its  registers. 

The  Catholic  Nezvs  makes  a  reply  well  worth 
quoting  to  a  certain  Mr.  Gal  ton,  who  has  been 
asserting  that  Catholic  missionaries  have  done 
nothing  for  science.  Mr.  Galton  thinks  the  ab- 
sence of  great  missionary  collections  substanti- 
ates his  assertion.  Dr.  Shea  observes: 

' '  The  suppression  of  the  Jesuits  in  France  and  Spain 
in  1763,  and  in  Italy,  Germany,  etc.,  1773,  the  destruc- 
tion of  religious  houses  in  1793,  scattered  these  col- 
lections to  the  winds.  But  there  is  evidence  enough 
of  the  contributions  of  missionaries  to  science  with- 
out leaving  North  America.  New  England,  in  colonial 
days,  had  its  ministers,  its  Harvard,  Yale,  and  Dart- 
mouth. Now  what  work  on  the  geology,  botany,  min- 
eralogy, natural  history,  climatology,  of  New  England 
did  New  England  ever  produce?  With  all  its  pre- 
ended  enlightenment.  New  England  was  a  foe  to 
cience  and  produced  nothing.  Canada  has  her  mis- 
sionaries and  her  convents.  She,  by  her  contributions, 
produced  three  works  on  botany.  Sarrazin  studied  the 
medical  properties  of  the  plant  that  bears  his  name, 
the  Sarraconia,  and  described  it;  the  missionary  Lafi- 
tan  discovered  in  New  York  and  described  a  plant 
which  he  identified  with  the  ginseng  of  China,  and 
enabled  France  to  create  a  profitable  trade.  The  first 
accounts  of  salt-springs,  oil  springs,  native  copper,  and 
tides  of  the  upper  lakes,  the  first  study  of  climate,  and 
the  most  extended  studies  of  American  linguistics,  are 
found  in  the  writings  of  early  Catholic  missionaries." 


Cardinal  Massaia  never  accepted  the  grand  cor- 
don of  the  Crown  of  Italy,  which  was  offered  to 
him  by  the  Italian  Government.  But  there  was 


no  bitterness  in  his  refusal.  He  thus  described 
the  visit  of  those  vsent  to  confer  the  order:  "We 
chatted  about  Africa  and  other  things,  and  I  left 
iW^ graft  cordone  on  the  sofa.  I  told  their  Excellen- 
cies that  the  lowness  of  my  state  prevented  me 
from  accepting  it.  I  added,  in  a  jesting  tone,  that 
I  would  not  take  anything  from  a  Government 
that  had  treated  my  college  so  badly." 


We  direct  the  attention  of  all  our  readers  to  the 
article  on  another  page  explaining  the  work  of 
the  Passionist  Fathers  in  South  America.  They 
are  greatly  in  need  of  help  to  support  their  first 
foundation  in  Chili,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that 
the  appeal  which  two  of  their  number  are  now 
making  to  the  Catholics  of  our  country  for  this 
purpose  will  be  so  generously  responded  to  as  to 
enable  them  to  undertake  others.  The  two  Fathers 
of  the  South  American  mission  now  in  the  United 
States,  Fathers  Fidelis  of  the  Cross  and  Edmund 
of  the  Heart  of  Mary,  are  well  known  to  the  read- 
ers of  The  "Ave  Maria,"  and  none  will  be  more 
deeply  interested  in  the  account  of  their  labors  or 
more  generous  in  responding  to  their  appeal.  As 
the  stay  of  the  good  Fathers  amongst  us  is  lim- 
ited, they  will  be  enabled  to  visit  only  a  few  of 
the  places  where  they  have  friends  and  well- 
wishers.  Contributions  may  therefore  be  sent  to 
our  care,  and  will  be  duly  acknowledged  in  this 
column. 

The  editor  of  the  Messenger  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 
in  the  course  of  a  thoughtful  article  on  Catholic 
Iviterature  in  America,  makes  a  remark  which 
we  wish  could  be  read  by  every  Catholic  in  the 
United  States: 

"The  mere  tradition  that  the  Church  is  right,  no 
matter  who  says  she  is  wrong,  a  leciure  heard  oc- 
casionally, and  the  weekly  skimming  over  a  Catholic 
newspaper — all  this  ill  balances  the  heavy  weight  of 
non-Catholic  opinion  daily  taken  in  from  newspapers 
and  magazines  and  the  popular  books  of  the  day. 
The  ideas  which  thus  enter  the  mind  may  not  be 
explicitly  anti- Catholic,  but  they  are  at  best  purely 
natural,  unpractical  for  the  Christian  life  here  and  re- 
gardless of  the  life  to  come,  belonging  to  the  'animal 
man  who  perceiveth  not  the  things  that  are  of  the 
Spirit. '  Where  these  ideas  are  the  only  mental  food, 
it  is  only  a  question  of  time  when  Catholic  public 
opinion  shall  cease  to  exist." 

Catholic  public  opinion  ought  to  be  cultivated 
by  every  means  in  our  power,  and  the  press  is 
surely  not  the  least  of  these.  Many  who  recognize 
it  as  a  power  for  evil,  seem  not  to  realize  that  it  is 
also  a  power  for  good. 


The  bishopric  of  Passau  is  the  oldest  in  Ger- 
many, and  dates  from  the  third  century  after  Our 
lyord. 


236 


The  Ave  Maria. 


New  Publications. 

[Second  Notice.] 

A  Short  Cut  to  the  True  Church;  or,  The 

Fact  and  the  Word.  By  the  Rev.  Father  Edmund 

Hill,  C.P.  Noire   Dame,  Indiana:  Office  of  The 

"Ave  Maria." 

Father  Hill  has  suffered,  it  is  evident  from  this 
little  book, — probably  the  most  compact  and  com- 
prehensive ever  written  on  the  subject  so  dear  to 
his  heart.  But  out  of  this  suffering  has  sprung  a 
power  of  insight  into  the  difficulties  of  others, 
and  a  means  of  smoothing  them,  which  make  this 
little  volume  unique  and  precious.  "I  write," 
«ays  Father  Hill,  "for  all  who  believe  with  me  in 
the  Divinity  of  Christ  and  the  inspiration  of  the 
Four  Gospels,  but  are  not  in  the  community  of 
Rome."  He  asks  that  his  readers  shall  be  in 
earnest.  He  invites  them  to  use  their  common 
sense  and  their  "  private  judgment — not  that  of 
parents,  pastors,  or  masters."  Father  Hill  must 
have  well  considered  the  popular  state  of  mind 
before  he  decided  to  strike  this  note.  It  is  the 
true  note  for  our  time.  To  quote  Cardinal  Gibbons, 
^' What  is  the  use  of  arguing  about  Transubstan- 
tiation  with  men  who  reject  the  Incarnation?" 
Father  Hill,  therefore,  addresses  himself  to  those 
-who  have  acquired  the  rudiments  of  the  Christian 
religion.  His  method  of  argumentation  is  one 
that  might  be  imitated  by  other  controversialists, 
whose  egotism  and  verbosity,  whose  impatient 
disregard  of  the  prejudices  of  the  opposite  party, 
only  cause  irritation. 

Father  Hill's  little  book  is  the  result  of  deep 
thought,  keen  mental  suffering,  and  broad  char- 
ity. It  is  as  clear-cut  as  a  new  arrow.  Put  into 
the  hands  of  Christian  non  Catholics,  it  must 
destroy  hallucinations  and  prejudices;  it  is  a 
mental  ger7?iicide.  It  can  be  read  from  beginning 
to  end  in  an  hour  or  two,  and,  what  is  better,  fully 
understood.  This  book—not  a  book  like  this — 
lias  long  been  needed.  It  is  a  straightforward 
explanation  of  the  truths  of  faith,  and  an  exposi- 
tion of  the  facts  of  faith.  It  needs  no  casuist  to 
interpret  it;  it  has  been  written  with  such  hard 
thought  and  labor  that  it  is  the  easiest  possible 
iDook  to  read. 
Sant'  Ilario.  By  F.  Marion  Crawford,  author  of 

'  Marzio's  Crucifix, "  "Saracinesca,"  etc.  New  York 

and  London:  Macmillan  &  Co. 

Mr.  Crawford's  "Saracinesca "  attained  a  de- 
served success.  It  had  certain  qualities  which  only 
the  greatest  writers  possess.  It  was  a  study  of 
Roman  life,  such  as  no  other  author  had  even 
attempted.  Mr.  Crawford  had  the  courage  not  to 
play  to  the  galleries,  and  he  gave  us  a  contrast 
of  the  Rome  of  Pius  IX.  with  the  Rome  of  to-day, 


which  has  all  that  is  best  in  Macaulaj-'s  famous 
passages  without  Macaula3''s  artificialit}\  The 
characters  we  met  in  ' '  Saracinesca ' '  again  appear 
in  "Sanf  Ilario."  The  book  takes  its  name  from 
the  younger  Saracinesca,  who  has  adopted  one  of 
the  titles  which  belong  to  his  wife. 

The  women  in  Mr.  Crawford's  novels  are  gen- 
erally of  the  highest  type — pure,  high-spirited, 
womanly,  and  well-bred.  Corona,  the  heroine  of 
both  "Saracinesca"  and  "Sanf  Ilario,"  is  one  of 
the  most  admirable  of  them  all.  vShe  is  incapable 
of  distrusting  her  husband;  when  he,  after  all 
the  evidences  of  her  high  qualities  he  has  had, 
distrusts  her,  he  becomes  almost  brutal  in  the 
eyes  of  the  reader, — so  skilfully  has  Mr.  Crawford 
made  her  character  appreciated.  The  scene  be- 
tween Faustina  and  her  father  is  appalling, — so 
appalling  that  Mr.  Crawford  seems  for  a  moment 
to  have  stepped  bej'ond  the  bounds  of  true  art  in 
depicting  a  father  and  daughter  hating  each  other 
for  a  moment.  The  Cardinal,  like  all  Mr.  Craw- 
ford's high  ecclesiastics,  is  done  in  such  a  way 
that  one  seems  to  hear  him  speak.  Mr.  Crawford 
shows  us  Rome  just  before  the  breach  of  the  Porta 
Pia,  and  we  are  grateful  that  he  shows  it  as  it  was, 
— not  as  Garibaldi  and  Crispi  would  have  us 
believe  it  was.  He  almost  promises  us  a  third 
novel  which  shall  show  Rome  as  it  is — Rome 
despoiled  in  the  name  of  atheism  and ' '  progress. ' ' 

Old  Catholic  Maryland  and  Its  Early  Ji;s- 
uiT  Missionaries  By  the  Rev.  William  P.Tre.n  v. 
In  the  preparation  of  this  work  the  author  lias 
diligently  examined  many  old  records  and  man- 
uscripts, and  has  presented  a  new  and  brilliant 
addition  to  the  history  of  Christian  missions  in  the 
United  States.  And  cerlainl}'  the  early  apostle.s  of 
Mar3^1and  deserve  that  their  names  and  their  deeds 
should  be  recorded  with  undying  fame.  Their 
apostolate  was  thrice  blessed,  and  even  non-Cath- 
olic writers  speak  loudly  in  their  praise.  "Before 
the  year  1649, ' '  says  a  Protestant  historian, ' '  they 
labored  with  their  lay- assistants  in  various  fields; 
and  around  their  lives  will  ever  glow  a  bright 
and  glorious  remembrance.  Their  pathway  was 
through  the  desert,  and  their  first  chapel  the 
wigwam  of  an  Indian.  They  came  to  St.  Mary's 
with  the  original  emigrants ;  they  assisted,  by 
pious  rites,  in  laying  the  corner-stone  of  a  state; 
the}'  kindled  the  torch  of  civilization  in  the  wilder- 
ness; they  gave  consolation  to  the  grief- stricken 
pilgrim;  they  taught  the  religion  of  Christ  to 
the  simple  sons  of  the  forest.  The  history  of 
Maryland  presents  no  better,  no  purer,  no  more 
sublime  lesson  than  the  stor>^  of  the  toils,  sacri- 
fices and  successes  of  her  early  missionaries." 

The  work  is  published  by  the  author  at  Swedes- 
boro,  New  Jerse3^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


237 


The  Nativity  of  Our  Lady 


BY   THK   RT.  RKV.  BISHOP   BAG.SHAWE. 


TNFANT  :\Iary!  lovely  flower! 
}      Blooming  on  a  royal  stem, 
Springing  from  the  root  of  David, 

King  of  great  JerUvSalem; 
Thou,  amidst  the  thorns  and  briars, 

Choking  earth's  unfruitful  plain, 
Springest  up,  a  graceful  lily. 

White  and  pure  without  a  stain. 

Lovely  baby!   New-born  maiden! 

Men  and  angels'  gentle  Queen, 
Heavenly  grace  and  God-like  beauty 

In  thine  infant  form  are  seen. 
Yet,  O  daughter  of  the  Father! 

All  thy  glor>^  is  within; 
^0\.nd  thy  spirit's  matchless  splendor 

God  Himself  from  heaven  shall  win. 

God  the  Holy  Ghost  already 

INIakes!  thy  soul  His  temple  bright; 
And  the  fulness  of  His  presence 

Bathes  it  in  celestial  light. 
Wrapt  in  speechless  adoration. 

Thou  before  His  face  dost  lie. 
And  the  love  of  all  the  seraphs 

With  thy  worship  can  not  vie. 

Humblest  of  all  humble  creatures, 

Full  of  grace  and  full  of  love! 
God  the  Son  will  soon  be  with  thee, — 

God  descended  from  above. 
Thou,  among  all  women  blessed, 

Causest  all  the  joys  of  earth. 
And  all  heaven  in  jubilation 

Celebrates  thy  joyful  birth. 

Holy  ]\rary!  loveliest  infant! 

Thou  art  our  dear  mistress  too; 
Teach  our  cold,  ungracious  spirits 

How  to  pay  thee  homage  due. 
More  than  mistress! — sweetest  Mother! 

Oh,  forget  not  we  are  thine; 
Make  us  love  thy  dearest  Jesus, 

Lead  us  to  His  Heart  Divine! 


What  companion  can  be  compared  to  a 
-;ood  book? — The  Spanish. 


The  Jose-Maria. 


BY    K.  I,.  DORSEV. 


XIL 


The  first  impulse  and  desire  of  the  officers 
was,  of  course,  to  get  rid  of  the  guests;  but 
the  captain  realized  the  wisdom  of  detaining 
them  until  it  would  be  too  late  for  them  to 
spread  the  news  of  the  find  that  night  at  leafct. 
So  he  sent  for  the  steward  and  told  him  to 
spread  as  pretty  a  lunch  as  he  could  get  up 
at  short  notice,  and  to  serve  the  courses  as 
slowly  as  possible,  then  to  hunt  up  a  fiddler 
among  the  men  for  a  little  dance  afterward. 

The  ports  were  all  opened  and  a  ventilator 
rigged,  so  as  to  clear  away  the  fumes  of  the 
nitric  acid,  and  then  lunch  was  served. 

As  soon  as  they  were  seated  the  captain  said : 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  take  great  pleasure 
in  announcing  to  you  that  we  have  brought 
up  a  valuable  bit  of  th.Q  Jose- Maria's  treasure. 
Here  it  is — an  ingot  of  silver,  molded  roughly 
into  the  semblance  of  a  woman  with  veiled 
head  and  flowing  draperies;  and  here  is  a 
copy  of  the  old  invoice  that  the  English 
captain  mailed  the  day  he  was  drowned,, 
which  identifies  it  as  one  of  the  '  100  silver 
virgins'  forming  part  of  the  galleon's  cargo. 
Examine  them  at  your  leisure — there's  no 
hurry  in  the  world;  but  permit  me  to  leave 
you  in  charge  of  Lieutenant  Bayne,  for  I  have 
despatches  to  send  and  orders  to  give." 

The  statuette  was  handed  down  one  side  of 
the  table  and  the  paper  down  the  other;  at 
the  foot  they  "swung  corners,"  crossed  over, 
and  came  back  on  opposite  sides — quite  as  if 
they  had  been  doing  a  figure  in  a  quadrille — 
under  a  heavy  cross-fire  of  questions,  exclama- 
tions and  congratulations. 

Once  on  deck  the  captain  called  Hendershott 
aft  and  conferred  for  a  few  minutes,  jotted 
down  several  items,  and  said,  shaking  hands 
with  him  warmly, 

"It's  a  good  day's  work  for  you,  Hender- 
shott. You  know  the  bargain  was  twenty 
thousand  dollars  the  moment  you  touched  the 
treasure — " 

"The  boy  must  git  his  share  of  it,"  broke 
in  the  diver,  anxiously. 

"That  rests  with  you  entirely;  for  you  em- 


238 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ploj^ed  him,  and  a  man  may  do  what  he  will 
with  his  own.  You'll  go  down  at  slack-water 
of  course?  It's  a  pity  he  can't  be  with  you 
until  these — five,  you  say?  Do  3'OU  w^ant  all 
five  of  these  men  telegraphed  for  ? " 

"Aye,  aye,  sir!  an'  even  then  the  wreck '11  be 
a  handful.  See  them  mare's  tails*  a  whiskin' 
over  3^onder?  Well,  thet  means  a  blow's 
a-brewin,'  an'  you  want  to  clar  out  the  hull 
afore  she  gits  here." 

"Why?  She  won't  be  apt  to  go  to  pieces, 
and  her  copper  cradle  ought  to  hold  things 
snug.  You  see,  I  am  only  authorized  to  employ 
such  outside  help  as  is  actually  necessary," 

"She'll  hold  fast  'nough  in  that  stiff  clay, 
but  the  copperin'  ain'  t  a-goin'  to  keep  the  sepi 
out  a-top  wheer  the  boy  bust  through;  an' 
fust,  you  know,  if  a  Nor'-easter  comes  snorin' 
along  here,  a  current' 11  set  up  that'll  scoop  her 
same  as  a  big  hand  would!  'Sides  that,  the 
silt'll  be  runnin'  in  an'  fillin'  her  up." 

"You're  right,"  answered  the  captain, 
scratching  away  vigorously  with  his  pencil 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  handing  him  a 
handful  of  telegrams.  "Take  the  dingy  and 
go  ashore  with  these,  will  you  ?  See  them  sent 
yourself,  and  bring  back  the  duplicate  blanks. 
And  I  say,  Hendershott,  come  off  as  soon  as 
you  can;  for  you've  made  me  feel  as  if  there's 
a  ship-load  of  pirates  alongside,  stealing  the 
treasure  under  my  very  nose." 

So  Dick  and  the  diver  tumbled  into  the 
dingy  and  pulled  ashore  right  enough,  but 
for  the  former  landing  was  quite  another 
question.  His  foot  was  swollen  to  the  size  of 
a  cantaloupe,  and  striped  with  great  bruises, 
while  the  partial  dislocation  made  walking 
an  impossibility. 

" Better  hev  a  lift,  Dick,"  said  Hendershott. 

"Don't  see  e'er  a  wagon  handy,  sir." 

"Lemme  git  one.  I'll  stand  treat." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Dick;  "I  guess  I  bain't  as 
beat  as  that." 

"All  right,"  said  Hendershott.  "I  ain't 
proud, jK<?/^  kin  git  th'  turn-out!" 

Dick  smiled  prett}^  successfully  for  a  fellow 
in  such  pain. 

"What  you  a-grinnin'  at?"  growled  the 
diver.  "Young  fellows  with  bank  accounts 
ought  to  be  willin'  to  give  an'  take." 

*  Ivong,  plume-like  clouds  that  float  up  iu  advance 
of  a  storm. 


"Right  you  are,  sir,"  said  Dick;    "an' 
I  was  one  of  'em  you  should  have  a  coach- 
an'-four,  wi' — " 

"You  be.''  interrupted  Hendershott,  gruffly. 

"What  you  mean,  sir?"  (in  blank  aston- 
ishment.) 

"Why,  you've  got  five  thousand  dollars  o' 
your  own!" 

"Land,  Cap'n,  I  ain't  got  five  cents!" 

"S'pose  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  the  truth?" 
(with  every  appearance  of  indignation.) 

"'Course  I  don't  s'pose  any  such  a  thing!" 
answered  Dick  quickl}-,  thinking  in  his  turn 
that  Hendershott  had  lost  his  head. 

"Then  don't  conterdict,  but  draw  on  your 
'count." 

"Wheer  is  it,  Cap'n?  "  asked  Dick. 

"In  the  bank  at  Philadelphy." 

"Wheer  did  it  come  fum?"  (thinking  tQ^ 
humor  his  fancy.)  -^^ 

"Fum  the  Comp'ny,  for  findin'  the  Hosy- 
MarV s  treasure." 

"Sho'  now,  Cap'n!"  said  Dick;  "thet's  all 
yours." 

"'Tain't!" 

"Why,  /didn't  do  nothin'— " 

"'Ceptfindit." 

"But,  Cap'n—" 

"Young Dick,  shut  up!  Ef  you  hadn't  gone 
down  to  save  my  skeered  old  carcass  a  shiver 
an'  my  rep'tation  a  ruinin'  it  wouldn't  a-ben 
found  at  all." 

"But,  Cap'n,  I  done  it  for  you,  free  and 
willin'." 

"S'pose  I  don't  know  that?  Now  belay 
your  chin-music,  an'  don't  quarrel  wi'  your 
luck." 

"Five  thou- sand  dol-lars!"  said  Dick,  softly 
to  himself.   "That's  a  mortal  lot  o'money!" 

"Not  too  much  for  what's  wantin'  at  home 
just  now,"  broke  in  Hendershott. 

"Cap'n,  it  is,  an'  it  'ud  be  downright 
wicked.  I  can't  do  it.  Make  it  three  thousand, 
if  you  will,  an'  I'll  thank  you  on  my  knees; 
fur  that'll  square  up  the  world  for  Uncle  Jud- 
kins,  an'  marm  an'  the  Sand-Pipers;  an'  that's 
all  it's  needsome  to  think  'bout." 

"Young  Dick,  I  wouldn't  ableeved  you'd 
make  such  a  nat'ral  born  idjit  o'  yourself — an' 
you  ownin'  a  chronom'ter  o'your  own,  an' 
able  to  take  the  sun  wi'  the  best,  too!  Whar's 
your   start  money  comin'   from,   when   yQU 


ail 


The  Ave  Maria, 


239 


want  to  foot  a  deck  o'  your  own  some  day  ? 
Whar's— " 

"Cap'n,  you're — you're — "  then  he  stopped, 
waving  his  hand  with  a  large  comprehensive 
-weep  not  at  all  inappropriate.  "I'm  took  flat 
aback  wi'  all  sail  set!  I  ain't  got  any  words 
that'll—" 

"Ef  you  say  another  one  I'll  fetch  you  a 
crack  over  the  head  wi'  these  here  rowlocks 
that'll  non-compass*  you  sure.  Then'  I'll 
app'int  myself  guardeen  an'  settle  th'  estate. 
You  see  this  here  law  talk's  ben  so  improvin' 
I  know  just  what  to  do."  Then  he  chuckled 
hilariously  as  he  poked  Dick  in  the  ribs  and 
asked: 

"What  you  s'pose  that  land  shark '11  say 
when  he  sees  you  a-shovellin'  out  the  dollars? 
He'd  better  be  a-huntin'  up  a  hole  small 
enough  to  fit  him,  an'  when  he's  found  it  crawl 
into  it  quick;  fur  if  I  catch  up  wi'  him  I'll 
frazzle  him  to  oakum!"  (This  last  with  a 
growl  like  an  angry  old  sea-lion.) 

Just  then  one  of  Marshall's  day  tons  drove 
by,  and  Hendershott  hailed  the  driver,  ex- 
plaining Dick's  hurt  and  bundling  him.  in  with 
a  strong  hand.  Then  he  hurried  to  the  tele- 
graph office,  and  from  there  to  the  house,  where 
between  them  they  told  their  exciting  story. 

Jonas  said  nothing  at  first,  but  he  gripped 
I  hand  of  the  boy  he  had  raised  and  of  the 
friend  he  had  grown  to  through  years  of  blow 
and  shine,  holding  them  in  his  own  sound 
one;  and  as  he  looked  at  first  one  and  then 
the  other,  with  a  gaze  as  deep  as  his  emotion, 
these  words  shaped  themselves  slowly  into 
sentences: 

"Dick,  you're  bread  on  the  waters.  Jack, 
the  pole-star  ain't  no  truer 'n  you  be.  Here 
I  ben  a-mutineerin'  ever  sence  th'  Lord  put 
me  in  th'  brig.t  an'  clapped  His  irons  onto 
my  leg  and  arm.  I  ben  a-callin'  it  all  onjust 
trouble,  an'  seein'  nothin'  but  the  blackness 
an'  the  deadness  of  it,  when  I'd  ought  to  ben 
hangin'  hard  to  th'  weather  brace  an'  trustin' 
to  His  steerin'.  An'  just  when  'twas  'breakers 
ahead  an'  th'  wind  dead  astarn,'  along  comes 
God  for  us  all,  same  as  when  He  was  back 
yander  in  Galilee  a-layin'  the  winds  and 
waves  fur  them  others  o'  little  faith." 

And  Dick  said:    "Aye,  aye,  sir!"  very  re- 

*  He  was  trying  for  nou  plus,  I  suppose. 

t  The  ship's  prison,  the  place  of  close  confinement. 


spectfully;  and  Hendershott,  with  vague  mem- 
ories of  the  few  times  he'd  been  beguiled  to 
"chapel,"  gave  a  deep-throated  "Amen." 
And  then  tliey  shook  hands,  and  were  about 
settling  down  when  in  dashed  the  Sand-Pipers. 

A  few  words  gave  them  the  gist  of  the  news, 
and  then  Ginevra  Mary  showed  her  metal. 
With  a  shrill  "Hooray!"  she  pounced  on  her 
open-mouthed  twin,  and,  shaking  her  vigor- 
ously, said: 

"There,  Ginnie  Barlow!  What'd  I  tell- you? 
She' s  a-beginnin' ! ' ' 

Then  she  flung  her  arms  around  Jonas' 
neck,  crying  triumphantly: 

"What  you  think  o'  my  Lady  now,  uncle? 
Ain't  she  a  bird,  an'  a  darlin'  an'  a  dear? 
She'll  be  helpin'jj/^w  next,  I  guess." 

And  she  laid  her  fresh,  rosy  cheek  against 
his  grizzled  brown  one  and  kissed  him  explo- 
sively. Then  she  charged  at  her  mother,  who 
appeared  in  the  doorway,  hugging  her  like  a 
young  grizzly,  and  bearing  her  down  into  the 
nearest  chair  by  her  impetuosity. 

"Just  you  wait,  lovey!  I'm  prayin'  tight' s 
ever  I  can,  an'  so's  Ginnie — on'y  hers  is 
fits-an' -starts, — fur  somethin'  3^ou  want  awful 
bad.  She  knows,  an'  I'm  most  sure  she's 
a-goin'  to  help  us!" 

The  light  of  faith  shone  so  clear  and  strong 
in  her  eyes  and  her  tone  w^as  so  assured  that 
Idella's  wandering  attention  was  arrested;  she 
made  a  puzzled  effort  to  understand,  but  after 
a  few  minutes  she  smiled  gently,  and,  patting 
the  hot  little  shoulder  that  heaved  and  panted 
on  her  breast,  said: 

"Theer,  theer,  mother's  baby!  Don't  take 
on  so;  daddy '11  come  soon,  an'  then  ev'y- 
thing  '11  be  smooth  sailin.'  " 

"Won't  it,  though?"  was  the  fervent  an- 
swer. Then:   "Come 'long,  Ginnie!" 

And  out  they  both  darted  toward  the  Dune, 
their  flaxen  pigtails  whisking  "seven  ways 
for  Sunday,"  with  the  speed  of  their  flight. 
In  an  incredibly  short  time  they  were  at  the 
cottage,  puffing  and  panting  out  their  thanks 
to  Our  Lady  before  her  picture. 

Mary  Ginevra' s  included  a  ver\'  sincere 
apology: 

"  'Sense  me,  my  Lady,  for  not  bein'  as  set  as 
Mollie!  But  she  is  so  brash  an'  perky  'casion- 
ally  that  I  hcv  to  go  contrairy,  else  she'd 
ride  all  over  me.  I  don't  mind,"  she  added 


240 


The  Ave  Maria 


hastily,  "fur  I'm  downright  fond  of  her;  but 
I  git  perniciousy  sometimes  myself — I  won't 
be  again  though — 'bout  daddy's  comin'  home. 
She  shall  hev  her  own  way  right  'long  now 
as  fur  as  that  goes;  an',  hopin'  you  will  'scuse 
me,  I'll  plump  my  prayers  in  wi'  hers.  Could 
you  bring  him  'long  soon?  Fur,  O  my  Lady! 
waitin'  fur  what  you  don't  feel  sure  o'  gettin' 
is  hard  and  lonesome  work!" 

And  a  whole  college  of  cardinals  could  not 
have  gainsaid  that  last  or  put  it  more  neatly. 
(to  be  continued.) 


The  Angelus  at  Rome. 


Among  the  many  striking  impressions 
which  a  visit  to  the  Eternal  City  produces 
upon  the  religious  mind  there  is  one  peculiarly 
heautiful  and  enduring,  it  is  that  caused  by 
the  bells  of  Rome  as  they  ring  out  the  evening 
Angelus,  or  Ave  Maria,  as  the  Italians  love  to 
call  this  sweet  prayer  to  the  Queen  of  Heaven. 

Every  day  the  sound  of  a  cannon,  fired  from 
the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo,  announces  the  hour 
of  noon.  At  this  signal  the  bells  of  the  city 
peal  forth,  inviting,  as  it  were,  all  the  people 
to  suspend  their  ordinary  avocations  for  a  few 
moments,  and,  forgetting  the  things  of  earth, 
direct  their  thoughts  to  Heaven,  and  invoke 
the  intercession  of  her  who  is  the  help,  the 
consolation,  the  safeguard  of  Christians.  But 
especially  beautiful  is  the  sound  of  these  bells 
at  the  evening  Angelus,  which  is  always  re- 
cited at  sunset.  It  will  be  readilj^  seen  that  this 
time  varies  according  to  the  different  seasons 
of  the  year. 

When  the  Ave  Maria  sounds,  all  labor 
ceases,  the  streets  are  deserted,  students  return 
to  their  colleges,  monks  to  their  convents,  the 
monasteries  are  closed,  and  no  one  can  gain 
admittance  under  any  pretext. 

The  Ave  Maria  is  thus  the  most  solemn  time 
of  the  day  at  Rome;  it  is  also  the  most  impres- 
sive. There  are  three  hundred  and  sev^enty 
churches  in  the  city,  and  the  sound  of  their 
numerous  bells,  forming  a  grai.d  harmonious 
concert  of  praise  to  the  Queen  of  Heaven  and 
earth,  is  of  all  music  the  most  pleasing  to  the 
ear,  and  the  sweetest,  most  touching  to  the 
heart  of  the  devout  listener.  But  this  concert 
of  harmonious  voices,  ever  beautiful,  receives 


additional  beauty  and  grandeur  when  heai 
from  the  magnificent  promenade  of  the  Pincio, 
or  from  the  Forum,  or  from  the  Appian  Way. 

When  heard  from  the  Pincio  the  effect  is 
grand  and  sublime,  for  the  sounds  that  pre- 
dominate are  those  of  the  bells  of  St.  Peter's 
and  the  largest  churches  of  Rome.  From  the 
Forum  the  impression  is  more  calm  and  sooth- 
ing, and  leads  naturally  to  recollection  and 
meditation;  for  there  one  finds  oneself  in  the 
midst  of  the  ruins  of  ancient  Rome — and  the 
sound  of  a  bell,  when  heard  amid  ruins, 
saddens  and  depresses  the  heart.  One  seated 
on  the  side  of  the  Capitoline  Hill,  as  day  draws 
to  a  close,  sees  before  him  workmen  returning 
from  their  day's  toil,  monks  priests,  and  people 
of  all  classes, — all  blessing  themselves  and 
praying  as  the  sound  of  Mary's  bell  is  heard. 
The  shadows  grow  deeper  and  deeper,  and 
forms  are  mingled  and  confused  in  the  increas- 
ing darkness.  Suddenly  all  the  bells  burst 
forth  in  one  glad  peal,  and  the  monuments 
around  seem  to  receive,  renew,  and  send  forth 
again  the  sound  and  to  prolong  its  echoes. 
Soft  and  sweet  come  those  aerial  voices  from 
churches  and  chapels  built  upon  the  ruins  of 
the  palaces  of  the  Caesars,  or  upon  the  envir- 
onments of  the  Coliseum,  hallowed  centuries 
ago  by  the  blood  of  the  first  martyrs. 

It  is  at  such  a  moment  that  one  realizes  the 
emptiness  of  all  things  earthly,  the  instability 
of  all  human  institutions  and  their  grandeur. 
The  power  of  the  Caesars  is  broken;  the  trum- 
pets of  war  no  longer  resound  with  their  notes 
of  slaughter;  the  tiger  and  the  lion  have  been 
changed  by  a  mighty  hand  into  the  inoffensive 
lamb — and  now,  the  sweet  voices  of  bells,  call- 
ing to  prayer,  are  heard  through  these  ruins, 
imposing  still,  but  sombre  and  mute  like  so 
many  gigantic  sepulchres.  One  glory  alone 
remains,  and  one  exalted  far  above  all  the 
glories  so  dazzling  in  their  splendor  of  ancient 
times — the  glory  of  Mary,  the  Virgin  Mother 
of  God,  who,  through  her  divinely  communi- 
cated privilege  of  the  Immaculate  Conception, 
has  crushed  the  head  of  the  serpent,  and  still 
continues  to  destroy  the  work  of  his  emissaries 
upon  earth. 


He  who  receives  a  good  turn  should  never 
forget  it ;  he  who  does  one  should  never  re- 
member it. — Charro7i. 


Vol.  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  SEPTEMBER  14,  1889. 


No.  II. 


[Published  every  Saturday. 


Encyclical  Letter  of  Our  Most  Holy  Lord 

Leo,  Thirteenth  of  the  Name,  by 

Divine  Providence  Pope. 


fENERABLE  BRETHREN:— Health 

and  Apostolic  Benediction.  Although 

i  We  have  already  ordered  many  times 


xtraordinary  prayers  to  be  made  throughout 
Jie  whole  world,  and  Catholic  interests  to  be 
laid  before  God  in  a  more  persistent  manner, 
let  it  not  seem  surprising  to  any  one  if  We 
should  at  this  time  judge  that  this  same  duty 
should  be  again  impressed  upon  souls.  In 
hard  times,  particularly  when  it  seems  that 
the  powers  of  darkness  are  able  to  make  daring 
attempts  to  ruin  the  Christian  name,  the 
Church  has  been  always  accustomed  to  call 
liumbl}^  upon  God,  her  founder  and  avenger, 
with  greater  earnestness  and  perseverance, 
seeking  aid  also  from  the  holy  ones  who  dwell 
in  heaven,  and  principally  from  the  august 
Virgin  Mother  of  God,  by  whose  patronage 
she  sees  that  support  in  her  needs  will  chiefly 
be  afforded.  For  the  fruit  of  pious  prayers, 
and  of  hope  placed  in  the  divine  bounty,  will 
appear  sooner  or  later.    Now,  you  know  the 


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

present  age,  Venerable  Brethren,  is  not  much 
less  calamitous  to  the  Christian  common- 
wealth than  the  most  calamitous  ever  was. 
For  we  see  that  faith,  the  foundation  of  all 
Christian  virtues,  is  perishing  almost  every- 
where ;  that  charity  is  growing  cold  ;  that  the 
corruption  of  morals  and  opinions  is  emitting 
a  foul  odor ;  that  the  Church  of  Christ  is  at- 
tacked on  every  side  by  force  and  craft;  that  a 
fierce  war  is  waging  against  the  Pontificate; 
that  the  very  foundations  of  religion  are  totter- 
ing under  daily-increasing  assaults.  More  is 
now  known  than  it  behoves  to  put  into  words, 
concerning  the  downward  tendency  of  present 
times,  and  what  themes  disturb  the  mind. 

In  so  difficult  and  wretched  a  state,  since 
the  evils  are  too  great  for  human  remedies,  it 
remains  that  we  should  seek  a  total  cure  fi^om 
divine  power.  On  this  account  We  have 
deemed  it  advisable  to  excite  the  piety  of 
Christian  people  earnestly  and  continually  to 
implore  the  aidof  Almighty  God.  Particularly, 
as  the  month  of  October  is  now  approaching, 
which  elsewhere  We  have  decreed  should  be 
dedicated  to  the  Virgin  Mary  of  the  Rosary, 
We  urgently  exhort  that  the  whole  month 
this  year  should  be  spent  in  the  greatest  pos- 
sible devotion,  and  in  associated  acts  of  piet}'. 
We  know  that  a  refuge  is  prepared  in  the 
maternal  bounty  of  the  Virgin  ;  we  are  assured 
that  not  in  vain  have  our  hopes  been  placed 
in  her.  If  she  has  come  a  hundred  times  to  aid 
the  Christian  commonwealth  in  times  of  need, 
why  should  we  doubt  that  she  will  give  new 
examples  of  her  power,  if  humble  and  contin- 
ual public  prayers  are  employed?  Assuredly 
we  believe  she  will  display  her  power  the 
more  wonderfully  as  the  time  during  which 


24-2 


The  Ave  Maria. 


1 

I 


she  desires  to  be  importuned  is  the  longer. 

But  We  also  propose  something  else;  to 
which  design,  as  you  are  accustomed,  Venera- 
ble Brethren,  you  will  give  your  earnest  atten- 
tion. Forasmuch  as  God  will  show  Himself 
more  ready  to  grant  favors  when  the  suppli- 
ants are  many,  and  will  aid  His  Church  more 
quickly  and  bountifully,  We  have  thought  this 
to  be  highly  expedient :  that,  at  the  same  time 
with  the  Virgin  Mother  of  God,  the  Christian 
people  should  be  trained  to  implore  the  aid  of 
her  most  chaste  spouse.  Blessed  Joseph,  with 
special  piety  and  trusting  souls;  that  this 
would  be  desirable  and  pleasing  to  the  Virgin 
herself.  We  judge  from  undoubted  reasons. 
Indeed,  in  this  matter,  concerning  which  We 
are  now  about  to  say  something  for  the  first 
time  publicly.  We  know  that  popular  piety  is 
not  only  favorably  inclined,  but  even,  as  it 
were,  following  a  course  already  entered  upon; 
because  the  veneration  of  Joseph,  which  in 
former  ages  also  the  Roman  Pontiffs  endeav- 
ored to  spread  by  degrees  far  and  wide,  and 
to  foster,  in  these  latter  days  we  see  every- 
where increasing  in  unquestionable  growth, 
particularly  since  our  predecessor  Pius  IX.,  of 
happy  memory,  declared,  in  conformity  with 
the  request  of  many  other  bishops,  this  most 
holy  Patriarch  the  Patron  of  the  Universal 
Church.  Nevertheless,  great  as  may  be  re- 
garded the  veneration  for  him  inherent  in  the 
heart  of  Catholic  manners  and  practices,  for 
that  very  reason  We  wish  that  Christian  peo- 
ple should  be  especially  moved  thereto  by  Our 
voice  and  authority. 

Why  Blessed  Joseph  should  be  named  the 
patron  of  the  Church,  and  why  the  Church 
should,  in  turn,  expect  much  from  his. patron- 
age and  guardianship,  depend  alike  on  special 
reasons — namely,  that  he  was  the  husband  of 
Mary,  and  the  father,  as  was  thought,  of  Jesus 
Christ.  Hence  arise  all  his  dignity,  grace, 
holiness  and  glory.  Certainly  the  dignity  of 
Mother  of  God  is  so  elevated  that  nothing  can 
be  raised  above  it.  But,  nevertheless,  since  the 
marriage  tie  existed  between  Joseph  and  the 
Most  Blessed  Virgin,  there  is  no  doubt  that 
he  approached  more  nearly  than  any  other  to 
that  most  excellent  dignity  by  which  the 
Mother  of  God  is  elevated  far  above  all  other 
created  natures.  For  the  intimacy  and  alliance 
of  spouses  is  the  closest  possible,  since,  by  its 


nature,  it  includes  mutual  participation  in  the 
goods  of  each.  Wherefore,  if  God  gave  Joseph 
as  a  spouse  to  the  Virgin,  He  gave  him,  as- 
suredly, not  only  as  a  companion  for  life,  a 
witness  of  her  virginity,  the  guardian  of  her 
honor,  but  also  as  a  participator  in  her  exalted 
dignity,  by  the  conjugal  tie  itself  Likewise^ 
he,  among  all  others,  is  eminent  by  the  most 
august  dignity  conferred  upon  him  by  divine 
appointment  as  the  guardian  of  the  Son  of 
God,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  men,  His  father. 
In  consequence  of  this,  the  Word  of  God  was 
obedient  to  Joseph,  and  was  attentive  to  his 
commands,  and  held  him  in  all  honor,  as  chil- 
dren must  necessarily  render  honor  to  a  parent* 

Moreover,  from  this  double  dignity,  duties 
would  naturallj^  follow,  such  as  nature  ordains 
to  the  fathers  of  families,  so  that  indeed  Jo- 
seph was  at  once  the  legitimate  and  natural 
guardian,  preserver,  and  defender  of  the  divine 
household,  over  which  he  presided;  which 
duties  and  offices,  he  indeed,  as  long  as  mortal 
life  endured,  faithfully  performed.  He  zeal- 
ously watched  over  his  spouse  and  her  divine 
offspring  with  most  ardent  love  and  constant 
assiduity  ;  he  was  accustomed  to  provide,  for 
both  of  them,  the  necessaries  of  life,  as  food 
and  clothing,  by  his  labor;  he  guarded  them 
from  the  danger  of  death  threatened  by  the 
King's  envy,  in  the  security  of  the  refuge 
sought  for;  on  the  journey  and  in  the  trials 
and  bitterness  of  exile  he  showed  himself 
continually  the  companion,  the  helper,  the 
consoler  of  the  Virgin  and  Jesus. 

Again,  the  divine  household,  which  Joseph 
governed  as  with  paternal  authority,  contained 
the  beginnings  of  the  new  Church.  The  Most 
Holy  Virgin,  as  being  the  Mother  of  Jesus, 
is  thus  the  Mother  of  all  Christians,  since  she 
gave  birth  to  them  on  Mount  Calvary,  amid 
the  unspeal^able  sufferings  of  the  Redeemer r 
also  Jesus  Christ  is,  as  it  were,  the  first-born, 
of  Christians,  who  are  His  brothers  by  adop- 
tion and  redemption.  From  which  consider- 
ations the  conclusion  follows  that  the  most 
Blessed  Patriarch  should  feel  that  the  multi- 
tude of  Christians  are  confided  to  his  care  in 
a  certain  special  manner;  from  which  multi- 
tude is  formed  the  Church — to  wit,  this  innu- 
merable family  spread  abroad  throughout  all 
lands,  over  which,  because  he  is  the  husband 
of  Mary  and  the  father  of  Jesus  Christ,  he 


The  Ave  Maria. 


24-3 


rules  with  a  sort  of  paternal  authority.  It  is 
therefore  conformable  to  reason,  and  in  every 
way  due  to  Blessed  Joseph,  that  as  he  was 
^nce  accustomed  to  watch  most  conscien- 
iously  over  the  family  of  Nazareth,  so  also 
now  by  his  heavenly  patronage  he  should 
;>rotect  and  defend  the  Church  of  Christ. 

These  views,  Venerable  Brethren,  you  will 
easily  understand  to  be  confirmed  by  this: 
ihat  the  opinion  has  been  held  by  not  a  few 
Fathers  of  the  Church,  in  conformity  with  the 
sacred  liturgy,  that  the  ancient  Joseph,  son  of 
the  patriarch  Jacob,  foreshadowed,  both  in 
person  and  office,  this  one  of  ours ;  and  also 
by  his  glory  was  a  prototype  of  the  grandeur 
of  the  future  guardian  of  the  divine  house- 
hold. Even  in  addition  to  the  fact  that  both 
bore  the  same  name — a  name  by  no  means 
void  of  significance, — it  is  well  known  to  you 
that  there  were  between  them  other  similari- 
ties; in  the  first  place,  that  the  former  re- 
ceived peculiar  favor  and  benevolence  from 
his  lord ;  and  when  he  was  placed  by  him  as 
a  ruler  over  his  household,  fortune  and  pros- 
perity accrued  abundantly  to  the  master's 
house  for  Joseph's  sake.  And  this  was  more 
evidently  the  case  when  by  order  of  the  King 
he  was  placed  in  command  of  the  whole 
kingdom  with  supreme  power ;  but  in  the  time 
when  calamity  had  occasioned  a  deficient 
harvest  and  a  high  price  of  the  necessaries  of 
life,  he  exercised  in  behalf  of  the  Egyptians 
and  their  neighbors  such  excellent  foresight 
that  the  King  decreed  that  he  should  be  styled 
"Savior  of  the  World."  So  that  in  that 
ancient  patriarch  we  may  recognize  the  ex- 
press image  of  the  latter.  For  as  the  one  was 
prosperous  and  successful  in  the  domestic 
concerns  of  his  lord,  and  was  later  placed  in 
charge  of  the  whole  kingdom,  so  the  other, 
destined  to  the  guardianship  of  the  Christian 
name,  should  be  believed  to  defend  and  pro- 
tect the  Church,  which  is  truly  the  house  of 
God,  and  the  kingdom  of  God  on  earth. 

This  is  indeed  why  all  the  faithful,  in  what- 
soever place  or  circumstances,  commend  and 
<:onfide  themselves  to  the  guardianship  of 
Blessed  Joseph,  In  Joseph,  fathers  of  families 
have  the  most  excellent  model  of  paternal 
care  and  foresight ;  spouses  have  an  example 
of  love,  unanimity,  and  perfect  conjugal  fidel- 
ty;  virgins  have  a  type  of  chaste  integrity 


and  a  safeguard  of  the  same.  Those  bom  of 
noble  lineage  may,  by  the  example  of  Joseph, 
learn  to  preserve  their  dignity  even  in  the 
decline  of  fortune ;  the  wealthy  may  under- 
stand what  goods  they  ought  chiefly  to  seek 
and  to  collect  with  their  whole  strength.  But 
the  needy  and  laborers  and  all  of  lower  de- 
grees of  wealth  ought,  by  a  certain  special 
right,  to  gather  around  Joseph,  from  whom 
they  may  learn  what  to  imitate.  For  he,  being 
of  royal  blood,  and  united  in  marriage  to  the 
most  eminent  and  holy  of  all  women,  and 
being  the  father,  as  was  supposed,  of  the  Son 
of  God,  devoted  his  life  to  laborious  work, 
and  by  hand  and  skill  effected  whatsoever  was 
necessary  for  their  maintenance. 

Therefore,  if  truth  be  sought,  the  condition 
of  those  of  slender  means  is  not  abject.  For 
all  the  work  of  artisans  is  not  only  void  of 
dishonor,  but  even,  with  the  aid  of  virtue, 
maybe  greatly  ennobled.  Joseph,  content  with 
his  own,  little  as  it  was,  bore  with  a  calm  and 
exalted  mind  the  straitened  circumstances 
necessarily  connected  with  his  slender  means 
of  livelihood,  conformable  to  the  example  of 
his  Son,  who,  having  accepted  the  form  of  a 
servant  while  He  was  Lord  of  all,  willingly 
subjected  Himself  to  the  greatest  need  and 
indigence.  The  poor  and  those  who  earn  their 
living  by  manual  labor,  by  reflecting  on  these 
things,  ought  to  elevate  their  souls  and  calm 
their  minds;  and  though  if  they  can  raise 
themselves  above  want  and  acquire  better  con- 
ditions without  offending  justice,  it  is  allow- 
able, yet  neither  reason  nor  justice  permits 
them  to  overthrow  the  order  of  things  estab- 
lished by  God's  Providence.  For  indeed  it  is 
a  foolish  idea  to  descend  to  force,  and  to 
whatever  of  that  kind  is  attempted  by  sedition 
and  mobs,  occasioning  much  heavier  evils  by 
this  course  itself  than  those  which  it  is  under- 
taken to  alleviate.  The  poor,  therefore,  would 
not  confide  in  the  promises  of  seditious  men 
if  they  were  wise,  but  in  the  example  and  pat- 
ronage of  Blessed  Joseph,  and  in  the  maternal 
affection  of  the  Church,  which,  indeed,  every 
day  cares  more  and  more  for  their  welfare. 

Therefore  principally  relying.  Venerable 
Brethren,  on  your  episcopal  authority  and  de- 
votion ;  nor  indeed  distrusting  that  the  good 
and  pious  will  do  more  and  greater  things  by 
their  own  will  and  free  choice  than  what  are 


24  f 


The  Ave  Maria. 


commanded,  We  decree  that  throughout  Octo- 
ber, in  the  recital  of  the  Rosary,  concerning 
which  We  have  legislated  elsewhere,  a  pra^^er 
to  St.  Joseph  shall  be  added,  the  form  of  which 
is  sent  to  you  along  with  these  Letters ;  and 
that  the  same  shall  be  observed  in  coming 
years  in  perpetuity.  And  to  those  who  shall 
recite  piously  the  said  prayer,  We  grant  to 
each  an  indulgence  of  seven  years,  and  as 
many  periods  of  forty  days,  each  time. 

This  also  is  salutary  and  deserving  of  the 
greatest  praise,  to .  consecrate  the  month  of 
March  in  honor  of  the  holy  Patriarch,  by  exer- 
cises of  daily  piety,  as  has  been  already  done  in 
some  places.  Wherever  this  can  not  be  readily 
done,  it  is  at  least  to  be  desired  that  on  the  ap- 
proach of  his  festival,  in  the  principal  church 
of  each  city  a  triduum  of  prayers  should  be 
made.  And  in  whatsoever  places  the  nineteenth 
day  of  March,  sacred  to  Blessed  Joseph,  is  not 
embraced  in  the  number  of  feasts  of  obliga- 
tion. We  exhort  all  that  they  should  not  refuse 
to  keep  this  day  holy  in  private  exercises  of 
devotion,  as  far  as  they  are  able,  in  honor  of 
our  heavenly  Patron,  as  if  it  were  of  precept. 

Meanwhile,  as  a  sign  of  heavenly  functions 
and  as  a  testimony  of  Our  good-will  toward 
you.  Venerable  Brethren,  and  toward  3^our 
clergy  and  people.  We  most  lovingly  bestow 
upon  you  Apostolic  Benediction  in  the  lyOrd. 

Given  at  Rome,  at  St.  Peter's,  the  fifteenth 
day  of  August,  of  the  year  1889,  the  twelfth 
of  Our  Pontificate. 

LEO  PP.  XIII. 


Garcia  Moreno's  Devotion  to  tine 
Blessed  Virgin. 


ON  the  1 6th  of  September,  1875,  the  Con- 
gress of  Ecuador  accorded  to  Garcia  Mo- 
reno, some  weeks  after  his  death,  this  solemn 
homage:  "Ecuador,  by  the  voice  of  its  legis- 
lators, gives  to  Garcia  Moreno  the  title  of  sa- 
vior of  his  country  and  martyr  of  civilization. ' ' 
The  martyr-President  of  the  Republic  of 
Ecuador  was  a  Catholic  in  the  fullest  sense  of 
that  comprehensive  word, — without  apology, 
without  reservation;  simple  and  submissive 
as  a  child  to  all  the  laws  of  Holy  Church,  his 
mother.  His  resolutions,  which  were  found 
written  on  the  fly-leaves  of  his  "Imitation," 


and  which  we  should  like  to  reproduce  entire-, 
give  us  an  idea  of  his  intimate  union  with  God. 

"Prayer  ever}'^  morning,  during  which  I 
shall  ask  in  particular  for  the  virtue  of  hu- 
mility. Every  day. I  will  assist  at  Mass,  recite . 
the  Rosary,  and  read  a  chapter  in  the  '  Imita- 
tion,' the  rules  and  instructions  thereto  an- 
nexed. ...  I  will  try  to  keep  myself  always  in. 
the  presence  of  God.  ...  I  will  frequently  offer 
my  heart  to  God,  particularly  before  begin- 
ning any  new  work.  I  shall  endeavor,  through 
love  for  Jesus  and  Mary,  to  control  my  im- 
patience and  deny  my  natural  inclinations. . . . 
I  will  make  a  particular  examen  twice  a 
daj^  and  a  general  examen  at  night.  ...  I  will 
confess  my  sins  ever\'  week." 

Such  were  the  sentiments  that  animated 
the  soul  of  Garcia  Moreno.  Those  who  were 
intimately  associated  with  him  have  testified 
to  the  scrupulous  fidelity  with  which  he  per- 
formed the  different  duties  of  this  rule  of  life. 
No  exercise  of  piety  wns  ever  omitted.  In 
camp,  on  the  march,  in  the  middle  of  the  for- 
est, he  recited  the  Rosary  with  his  aide-de- 
camp and  other  persons  present.  He  would  put 
himself  to  great  inconvenience  while  travel- 
ling in  order  to  assist  at  Mass  on  Sunda}^  and 
he  himself  often  served  the  priest.  Frequently, 
after  having  journeyed  on  horseback  for  a  day 
and  a  night,  he  would  arrive  at  the  capital 
utterly  worn  out,  but  would  nevertheless 
always  assist  at  Msss  before  returning  home. 

He  was  too  familiar  with  the  doctrine  of  the 
Church  on  devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  to 
separate  in  his  affection  the  Son  from  the 
Mother.  He  had  a  boundless  confidence  in  the 
intercession  of  Mary,  as  is  evidenced  by  the 
reverence  and  fidelity  with  which  he  wore  her 
medal,  her  Scapular,  and  daily  recited  her. 
Rosary.  After  the  taking  of  Guayaquil  he 
attributed  to  her  all  the  honor  of  the  victory. 
The  24th  of  September,  the  Feast  of  Our  Lady 
of  Mercy  and  the  anniversary  of  this  victory, 
was  always  held  by  him  as  her  grand  patronal 
feast. 

In  order  more  intimatel}'  to  unite  him- 
self to  her  whom  he  called  his  Heavenly 
Mother,  he  resolved  to  join  the  congregation, 
or  society,  which  the  Jesuits  had  established 
in  the  capital  in  honor  of  the  Blessed  Mother 
of  God.  This  was  composed  of  two  sections: 
one  for  persons  of  social  distinction,  the  other 


The  Ave  Maria. 


245 


)r  working  people.  When  he  discovered  in 
ii.e  first  a  number  of  his  political  opponents 

horn  his  presence  might  disconcert,  he  ap- 
plied for  admission  to  the  director  of  the  latter 
section.  The  director  having  suggested  that  his 

-oper  place  was  with  the  others,  he  replied : 

Father,  you  are  mistaken;  my  place  is  in  the 
midst  of  the  people."  Ever  after  he  assisted 
regularly  at  the  reunions,  at  the  general  Com- 
munions, and  other  exercises  of  the  congrega- 
tion, happy  and  proud  to  be  identified  with 
'he  body  of  the  people,  who,  in  their  turn,  were 
lated  at  having  the  Presideiit  of  the  Republic 
111  their  congregation. 

Finding  himself  one  day  in  company  with 
several  Irish  mechanics,  who  had  come  from 
the  United  States  to  establish  a  mill,  he  ex- 
amined their  work;  then,  after  having  treated 
"lem  to  an  appetizing  luncheon,  he  interro- 
ated  them  as  to  their  religious  practices, 
finally  asking  them  if  they  knew  any  canticles 
n  honor  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  Theyrepliedby 

nging  heartily,  in  chorus,  some  very  beautiful 

hymns  in  praise  of  Mary.  "Irishmen,  you  love 

ihe   Blessed   Virgin!"  exclaimed   the   Pres- 

lent. — "Indeed  we  love  her  well,"  was  the 

ply, — "Then  let  us  kneel  down  together  and 

cite  the  Rosary  in  her  honor,  that  you  may 
persevere  in  love  and  devotion."  And  all,  pro- 
foundly moved,  recited  the  chaplet  so  dear  to 
every  pious  Catholic  heart. 

Again,  his  love  for  the  Blessed  Virgin  and 
his  zeal  in  her  honor  suggested  means  by 
which,  through  her  intercession,  he  might 
gain  souls  to  Jesus  Christ.  He  had  at  Quito 
a  friend  whose  good  qualities  he  highl)^  es- 
teemed, and  who  at  various  times  had  ren- 
dered him  invaluable  services,  often  fiimishing 
capital  of  which  he  had  need  in  his  under- 
takings. This  friend  assisted  at  Mass,  was 
kind  to  the  poor  and  afflicted,  and  occasionally 
attended  spiritual  exercises,  but  had  not 
frequented  the  Sacraments  for  a  long  period. 
Garcia  Moreno  often  reproached  him  for  his 
carelessness,  but  could  never  obtain  anything 
in  reply  but  vague  promises  for  the  future. 
It  is  customary  at  Quito,  at  the  end  of  the 
month  of  May,  to  offer  the  good  resolutions 
formed  during  that  season  of  prayer,  written 
on  paper  and  concealed  in  a  bouquet  of  flowers. 
Toward  the  close  of  the  month  Garcia  Moreno 
asked  his  friend  one  day  if  he  had  offered 


Mary  his  bouquet.  The  gentleman  understood 
the  allusion  and  evaded  it.  "Give  me  your 
attention  a  moment,"  continued  the  President. 
"I  have  presented  a  fine  bouquet,  and,  as 
usual,  I  desire  that  you  may  bear  the  ex- 
pense."— "You  know  that  my  purse  is  always 
open  to  you,"  replied  his  friend;  "draw  on 
me  for  what  you  please." — "You  give  me 
your  word  that  you  will  not  deny  me?" — 
"Certainly, certainly,"  said  the  gentleman. — 
"Very  well,  then.  I  have  promised  the  Blessed 
Virgin  that  you  will  receive  Holy  Communion 
on  the  last  daj''  of  her  month;  you  see  that 
without  this  my  draft  will  be  dishonored." 
His  poor  friend,  somewhat  abashed,  replied 
that  the  President  had  singular  ideas,  and  that 
such  an  act  required  great  preparation.  "  But 
I  have  already  warned  you  in  advance,"  re- 
plied Moreno ;  "you  will  have  ample  time  for 
preparation. "  Touched  by  this  mark  of  sincere 
friendship,  the  gentleman  made  a  retreat  of 
some  days,  and  on  the  last  day  of  the  Month 
of  Mary  approached  the  Holy  Table  at  the 
side  of  the  President,  to  the  delight  of  that 
faithful  friend  and  the  edification  of  all  who 
saw  them. 

In  all  his  acts,  public  or  private,  Garcia 
Moreno  united  the  name  of  Mary  to  that  of 
her  Divine  Son.  At  the  end  of  his  term  in  1 869, 
and  before  his  re-election  to  the  presidency 
in  1870,  he  said :  "In  a  few  days  I  shall  have 
completed  the  period  of  office  which  was  con- 
fided to  me  in  1863.  The  Republic  has  enjoyed 
six  years  of  repose,  and  during  these  six  years 
it  has  resolutely  advanced  in  the  march  of 
true  progress.  Let  us  return  thanks  to  God 
and  the  Immaculate  Virgin. ' ' 

The  thought  of  Mary  alwa5^s  accompanied 
him.  A  professor  of  botany  wishing  to  name 
a  flower  not  3'et  classified  among  the  flora  of 
the  country,  asked  his  permission  to  call  it 
"Tasconia  Garcia  Moreno."  "If  you  wish  to 
please  me,"  replied  the  President,  "lay  aside 
all  thought  of  my  poor  personality;  if  your 
flower  is  rare,  beautiful,  unknown  in  Ecuador, 
give  thanks  for  the  discover}'  to  the  '  Flower 
of  Heaven,'  and  call  it  'Tasconia  Maria.'" 
The  man  who  could  so  far  forget  self-love 
could  not  but  be  faithful  to  the  interests 
committed  to  his  care.  Impressed  by  a  sense 
of  his  own  unworthiness  to  merit  aught  from 
on  High,  he  attributed  his  successes  to  the 


2+6 


The  Ave  Maria, 


protection  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  the  blessing 
of  Pius  IX.,  to  the  prayers  of  his  sainted 
mother,  and  a  blind  sister  for  whom  he  had 
a  great  veneration. 

His  table  was  at  all  times  simple,  one  might 
say  abstemious.  He  rarely  permitted  himself 
the  use  of  wine,  and  he  neither  gave  nor 
accepted  invitations.  In  spite  of  weakness, 
excess  of  fatigue,  and  the  lack  of  substantial 
food,  he  scrupulously  kept  the  fasts  of  the 
Church,  especially  the  vigils  of  feasts  of  the 
Holy  Virgin. 

Not  only  did  he  not  fear  death,  which  always 
menaced  him  in  that  hotbed  of  revolution: 
like  the  saints  and  martyrs,  he  desired  it  for 
the  love  of  God.  In  his  letters,  his  conversa- 
tions, in  his  messages  to  the  chambers,  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  repeating  these  words:  "What 
happiness  and  what  glory  if  I  could  shed  my 
blood  for  Jesus  Christ  and  His  Church!"  To 
attacks,  calumnies,  persecutions,  and  plots,  he 
replied  by  an  act  of  abandonment  into  the 
hands  of  God.  He  would  say:  "That  is  my 
salary.  If  my  enemies  persecuted  me  because 
of  blameworthy  actions  of  which  I  am  guilty, 
then  I  should  ask  their  pardon  and  should 
endeavor  to  amend.  But  if  they  hate  me  be- 
cause of  the  love  I  bear  my  country, — because 
above  all  things  I  wish  to  preserve  that  most 
precious  treasure,  the  Faith, — because  I  show 
that  I  am  in  all  circumstances  the  submissive 
son  of  the  Church, — to  these  malicious  men  I 
have  only  to  reply,  'God  dies  not!'  " 

After  a  visit  to  the  Blessed  Sacrament 
exposed  in  the  Cathedral,  the  President  was 
returning  one  day  to  the  Palace  of  Justice 
when  he  was  attacked  by  assassins  and  fell, 
pierced  by  their  poniards.  "Die,  destroyer  of 
liberty ! ' '  they  cried  one  and  all,  striking  right 
and  left  where  he  lay.  ' '  God  dies  not! ' '  replied 
the  Christian  hero,  and  expired. 

The  God  who  dies  not  has  delivered  Ecuador 
from  the  tyrants  who  oppressed  it,  according 
to  the  prophecy  of  Garcia  Moreno.  "After  my 
death,"  said  he,  "Ecuador  will  fall  anew  into 
the  hands  of  the  Revolutionists.  They  will 
govern  despotically  in  the  name  of  I^iberalism; 
but  the  Heart  of  Jesus,  to  whom  I  have  con- 
secrated my  country,  will  release  it  once  more 
from  the  yoke,  endowing  it  with  new  life, 
liberty  and  honor,  under  the  predominance  of 
true  Catholic  principles." 


Our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 


CHE  world  is  very  foul  and  dark, 
And  sin  has  marred  its  outline  fair ; 
But  we  are  taught  to  look  above 

And  see  another  image  there. 
And  I  will  raise  my  eyes  above, — 

Above  a  world  of  sin  and  woe, 
Where,  sinless,  griefless,  near  her  Son, 

Sits  Mary  on  a  throne  of  snow. 
II. 
Mankind  seem^  very  foul  and  dark 

In  some  lights  that  we  see  them  in  ; 
Ivo!  as  the  tide  of  life  goes  by, 

How  many  thousands  live  in  sin! 
But  I  will  raise  my  eyes  above, — 

Above  the  world's  unthinking  flow, 
To  where,  so  human,  yet  so  fair. 

Sits  Mary  on  her  throne  of  snow. 
III. 
My  heart  is  very  foul  and  dark — 

Yes,  strangely  foul  sometimes  to  me 
Glare  up  the  images  of  sin 

My  tempter  loves  to  make  me  see. 
Then  may  I  lift  my  eyes  above, — 

Above  these  passions  vile  and  low, 
To  where,  in  pleading  contrast  bright,     , 

Sits  Mary  on  her  throne  of  snow. 

IV. 

And  oft  that  throne,  so  near  Our  Lord's, 

To  earth  some  of  its  radiance  lends  ; 
And  Christians  learn  from  her  to  shun 

The  path  impure  that  hellward  tends ; 
For  they  have  learnt  to  look  above, — 

Above  the  prizes  here  below, 
To  where,  crowned  with  a  starry  crown, 

Sits  Mary  on  her  throne  of  snow. 

V. 

Blest  be  the  whiteness  of  her  throne 

That  shines  so  purely,  grandly  there, 
With  such  a  passing  glory  bright. 

Where  all  is  bright  and  all  is  fair! 
God,  make  me  lift  my  eyes  above, 

And  love  its  holy  radiance  so, 
That  some  day  I  may  come  where  still 

Sits  Mary  on  her  throne  of  snow! 


B. 


Desirk  not  in  the  least  to  be  reverenced  or 
honored  by  men,  but  rather  with  thy  whole 
heart  and  spirit  flee  from  the  infection  of 
this  pestilence — the  poison  of  praise  and  the 
pride  of  boasting  and  ostentation. — Albertus 
Magnus. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


247 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY   NUGEXT   ROBINSON. 


HAPTER  XI.— Father  Luke  is  Agree- 
ably Astonished. 
I  NT  accordance  with  the  promise  given  to 
1  Miss  Esmonde,  Harr^^  Considine,  on  the 
ioUowing  morning,  repaired  to  his  employer's 
private  office,  after  giving  the  Alderman  time 
to  open  and  read  such  letters  as  were  laid  aside 
for  his  especial  consideration.  He  found  Mr. 
Ryan  in  a  state  of  condensed  excitement,  paler 
than  usual,  and  his  black  hair  all  in  disorder, 
as  though  he  had  been  passing  his  hands 
violently  through  it. 

"Well,  sir?  "  he  sharply  observed  as  Consi- 
dine entered. 

"Can  I  say  a  word  to  you,  sir? "  And  Harry 
felt  that  he  had  come  at  a  sorry  and  inoppor- 
tune moment. 

"Anything  important?"  And  theAlderthan 
impatiently  tossed  an  unopened  council  sum- 
mons to  the  other  end  of  his  desk. 

"It  is,  sir." 

"Well?" 

"The  fact  is,  sir,"  said  Harry,  his  courage 
coming  slowly  back  to  him,  "I  was  at  your 
iiouse  last  night,  and  was  honored  by  the  con- 
fidence of  Miss  Esmonde." 

' '  Humph ! ' '  And  R^^an  tossed  one  leg  over 
:he  other. 

"She  did  me  the  honor,  the  very  great 
lonor,  sir,  of  speaking  to  me  of  her  father." 

"A  scamp,  a  debauched,  drunken  sot!" 
Dellowed  the  Alderman,  flinging  a  ruler  into 
;he  waste-paper  basket.  "I  wish  she'd  keep 
ler  confidences  to  herself.  This  prying — ' ' 

'  I  beg  your  pardon.  Alderman ! ' '  interposed 
Considine,  firmly,  '  *  The  confidence  was  not  of 
ny  seeking.  I  wish  you  to  understand  that, 
jr.  As  to  prying — " 

"Oh,  go  on!  What  is  it  you've  got  to  say? 

didn't  mean  to  offend.  Why  pick  me  up  in 
his  way?"  cried  the  Alderman,  pettishly. 

"Miss  Esmonde,  sir,  is  desirous  of  joining 
ler  father,  and  has  begged  of  me  to  use  my 
lumble  voice  in — " 

"Asking  3^ou  to  help  her!  I  see!"  The 
Vlderman  rose  and  commenced  to  pace  up 
,ud  down  the  office,  his  thumbs  in  the  arrh- 


holes  of  his  vest.  "Do  you  know  what  you 
ask  ?  Do  yoif  know  the  career  of  William  Es- 
monde? Do  you  know  that  he  is"  a  hopeless, 
hideous,  vagabond  drunkard,  who  would  take 
that  poor  girl's  clothes  off  her  back,  if  she 
joined  him,  to  sell  them  for  accursed  drink?" 

"Miss  Esmonde  told  me  all,  sir;  but  she 
also  told  me  that  her  father  had  shown  signs 
of  reformation,  had  actually  taken  a  step  in 
that  direction." 

"Bah!  Reform!  He  couldn't  get  anything 
to  drink.  Hismone>  had  run  out.  His  clothes, 
save  what  were  on  his  body,  had  been  pawned 
or  sold.  No,  sir:  William  Esmonde  is  a  hope- 
less case,  and  the  sooner  he  dies — rots — the 
better." 

"O  Alderman,"  pleaded  Harry,  "that  is 
not  ViY^you!  He  is  in  the  hands  of  God.  God 
in  His  mercy  may  grant  him  the  grace  of  re- 
pentance and  reformation." 

"There  is  no  reformation  in  that  man." 

"So  would  many  who  witnessed  the  awfiil 
scene  on  Calvary  have  said  of  one  of  the 
thieves,  and  yet  he  repented,  and  God's  grace 
fell  upon  him." 

Mr.  Ryan  was  silent,  wincing  under  those 
earnest  words. 

"What  would  you  have  me  do?"  he  at 
length  said.  "Send  a  young  and  handsome 
and  unprotected  girl  alone  across  the  Atlantic, 
— alone  a  thousand  miles  to  Chicago,  for 
what?  To  a  comfortable  home?  No.  To  lov- 
ing kindred  ?  No,  but  to  an  asylum  for  hope- 
less drunkards ;  to  visit  the  bedside  of  a  man 
who  has  thrown  away  everything — wife,  child, 
home,  prospects,  happiness, — for  whiskey." 

"He  is  her  father,"  was  Harry's  reply. 

"An  unnatural  one." 

"And  yet  she  tells  me — " 

"Don't  you  mind  what  she  tells  you.  /  tell 
you  who  and  what  the  man  was,  what  he  w, 
where  he  is.  As  to  allowing  my  niece  to  set 
out  on  this  mad  and  loathsome  errand,  I'd  cut 
off  my  right  hand  first.  That  will  do,  Mr. 
Considine.  I  regret  that  Miss  Esmonde  should 
have  thought  fit  to  bring  an  outsider  into  this 
very  unpleasant  business."  And  Alderman 
Ryan  tapped  a  gong  to  summon  the  corre- 
spondence clerk. 

Harry  felt  very  unhappy  at  the  failure  of 
his  mission,  but  with  the  courage  that  was 
true  to  his  nature  he  resolve*!  to  try  again. 


248 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"I  perceive  a  something  in  his  manner  that 
means  yielding.  His  view,  according  to  his 
lights,  is  correct  enough,  so  far  as  keeping  his 
niece  by  his  side ;  but  I  can  imagine  the 
horror  in  that  true  woman's  heart  when  the 
thought  comes  to  her — and  it  is  now  an  abid- 
ing one — that  her  father  is  dying  perhaps, — 
dying  in  a  hospital,  with  no  one  to  say  a  kind 
word,  no  one  to  cast  a  look  of  compassion  on 
him, — dying,  and  perhaps  with  the  grace  of 
repentance  coming  to  him  like  a  glorious  light 
from  afar." 

Considine,  finding  Mr.  Ryan  alone  after 
luncheon,  renewed  the  subject  of  Miss  Es- 
monde's  father. 

"Do  not  persist,  Mr.  Considine,"  said  the 
Alderman,  loftily.  "True  it  is  I  owe  you  a 
debt  of  gratitude  I  never  can  fully  repay,  but 
there  are  chords  which  if  struck  even  by  the 
gentlest  hand  produce  discord." 

"I  would  only  say  this,  sir,"  urged  Harry. 
"  Put  yourself  in  your  niece's  place.  This  poor 
deluded  victim  of  a  base  passion  is  her  father, 
the  author  of  her  being.  She  knows  that  he 
made  one  effort  toward  reformation.  She  im- 
agines that  had  she  been  with  him  when  he 
was  struggling  with  the  devil,  he  would  have 
come  out  victorious." 

"Possibly,"  said  the  Alderman,  gravely. 

"That  possibility  still  exists.  The  man  is 
ill,  prostrate.  Miss  Esmonde  imagines  that  if 
she  were  with  him  now,  her  care,  her  watch- 
fulness, her  prayers  would  avail.  If  her  father 
had  never  made  the  effort,  had  made  no  sign 
at  all,  the  case  would  be  hopeless ;  but  there 
is  a  chance,  and  that  fair  young  child  would 
risk  everything  that  her  father  should  have 
that  chance." 

'  *  This  is  moonshine ! ' ' 

"Oh,  no,  sir,  it  is  not.  Do  not  cases  occur 
every  day  of  men  being  snatched  from  the 
very  jaws  of  death  by  devotion  and  care  and 
tenderness  ? ' ' 

"  If  he  is  to  recover,  he  is  in  the  best  place 
for  recovery.  He'll  get  no  drink  in  the  asy- 
lum." 

"Very  true,  but  his  mind  as  it  regains  its 
throne  will  have  nothing  to  fall  back  upon, 
nothing  to — ' ' 

"Oh,  my  niece  is  of  age.  She  can  go  if  she 
likes,  but  /will  never  consent." 

Considine  plied  him,  using  every  argument 


of  which  he  was  master, — urging,  entreating, 
and  almost  imploring.  It  was  Harry's  nature 
to  be  thorough.  He  -thoroughly  identified 
himself  with  any  task  he  set  before  him,  fling- 
ing all  his  energy  into  the  scale.  This  under- 
taking was  almost  Quixotic,  yet  so  full  was 
he  of  it  that  he  couched  his  lance  and  tilted 
at  the  windmills  and  stone-walls  of  his  em- 
ployer's defence  until  he  finally  succeeded  in 
making  a  breach. 

"If,"  said  the  Alderman,  "my  niece  is  de- 
termined to  go,  she  shall  go,  but  she  shall  noi 
go  alone." 

Harry  flew  up  to  Rutland  Square.  The  joy 
on  his  expressive  face  told  Caroline  that  he 
had  been  successful.  The  poor  girl  was  fairly 
beside  herself  with  gratitude  and  joy.  Jane 
Ryan  was  present,  and  mingled  her  tears  with 
those  of  her  cousin. 

"I  could  have  gone  with  the  Molloys," 
groaned  Caroline,  "  if  I  had  only  acted  on  the 
letter  at  once.  Oh,  why  did  I  not  act  at  once  ? ' ' 

*  *  I  heard  Miss  Clancy  speak  of  some  friends 
of  hers  who  were  going  to  the  States,"  said 
Jane, 

"I  could  go  with  them." 

* '  Miss  Clancy  has  a  brother  in — yes,  in  Chi- 
cago,"  observed  Harry.   "She  often  talks  of, 
running  out  to  see  him,  and  she'll  do  it  some 
time  too.  Perhaps  she  could  be  induced  to  go 
now.  Shall  I  sound  her  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  ze;z7/you?" 

"Why,  of  course." 

''liyou  try  you  are  certain  to  succeed," 
cried  Caroline. 

"Yes  indeed,"  added  Jane,  with  a  deep, 
deep  sigh. 

"I  shall  do  my  uttermost,"  said  Harry. 
*  *  Miss  Clancy  would  be  a  charming  companion 
for  you.  You  have  no  idea  what  a  sympa- 
thetic little  lady  she  is.  She  has  seen  a  great 
deal,  and  recollects  what  she  has  seen." 

"She  is  a  little  darling,"  said  Jane.  "But 
what  shall  /  do  if  Carrie  leaves  me  ?  I  shall 
have  no  one  to  care  for  me  then — not  one." 

"Why,  Jane  dear!" 

"Not  one — no,  no,  no,  not  one  except 
papa! "  And  her  voice  was  tearful  and  trem- 
ulous. 

Miss  Clancy  was  taken  all  aback  by  Consi- 
dine's  suggestion,  and,  to  use  her  own  phrase, 
gave  it  "the  bothered  ear." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


249 


"I'll  go  some  day,  please  God,"  she  said; 
''but  I  will  take  six  months  to  make  up  my 
mind  as  to  the  date,  and  six  months  more  to 
pack  up." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  Miss  Clancy,"  laughed 
Harry.  "Why,  crossing  the  Atlantic  is  about 
the  easiest  thing  in  the  world.  You  step  on 
the  train  at  King's  Bridge,  run  down  to 
Queenstown,  step  on  board  the  steamer,  and, 
presto,  a  few  days  bring  you  to  New  York." 

"Exactly!"  said  Miss  Clancy,  dryly. 

Caroline  Esmonde,  however,  was  closeted 
with  the  little  lady  for  half  of  the  next  day. 
Miss  Clancy's  heart  was  in  the  right  place, 
and  it  was  soft  and  warm.  The  girl's  devo- 
tion nestled  itself  in  her  heart,  combined  with 
the  desire  to  see  her  brother  Phil.  As  regards 
the  sea- voyage,  she  dismissed  it  with,  "I'm  in 
the  hands  of  God.  If  He  wills  it  that  I  am  to 
go  to  the  bottom,  His  will  be  done.  Danger! 
There  is  no  danger  to  me  where  He  is. ' '  She 
said  she  would  consult  Father  Ivuke  Byrne, 
and  that  if  he  advised  her  to  go,  she  was  off 
by  the  next  steamer.  "I'll  leave  the  house 
in  charge  of  Mary  Maloney  and  Harry  Con- 
sidine.  Mary  makes  the  best  cup  of  tea  in 
Ireland  and  does  a  beefsteak  to  perfection,  so 
the  lad  will  be  safe  till  I  come  back, — that  is, 
if  I  go  at  all.  It  would  heart-scald  me  to  think 
the  lad  should  be  uncared  for  in  my  absence." 

Miss  Clancy  was  full  of  a  brisk  energy  that 
bade  defiance  to  obstacles.  Instead  of  waiting 
to  write  to  Father  Byrne,  she  started  by  the 
five  o'clock  train  from  Harcourt  Street  station, 
and  five  hours  later  found  her  at  the  little  inn 
called  the  "Shamrock,"  within  stone's- throw 
of  the  good  priest's  whitewashed  cottage. 
Father  I^uke's  astonishment  at  seeing  her  in 
the  chapel  was  unbounded,  and  when  she 
came  round  to  the  vestry  after  Mass  he  was 
in  a  state  of  "  great  expectation." 

"Your  health  is  good,  thanks  be  to  God!" 
he  said  after  she  had  unfolded  the  purpose  of 
her  visit.  "Aregular  Trojan,  Mary.  You  don't 
dread  the  sea ;  you  are  bound  on  an  errand 
of  mercy;  the  trip  will  cost  you  nothing" 
(the  Alderman  had  declared  his  intention  of 
deft-ay ing  Miss  Esmonde' s  expenses  and  those 
of  her  companion) ;  "so,  in  the  name  of  the 
Blessed  Mother  of  God,  go.  I  only  wish  that 
I  were  going  along  with  you ;  for  I  long  to 
see  the  land  that  has  taken  the  Irish  people 


to  its  heart  and  has  given  them  a  New  Ire- 
land. If  I  could  do  this  it  wou'd  be  a  great 
joy  to  me." 

How  Father  Luke's  expressed  wish  to  see 
"New  Ireland,"  as  he  christened  America, 
came  to  be  known  in  the  village  is  still  a  mys- 
tery. It  travelled  around  in  some  strange  way, 
though, — travelled  like  a  summer  breeze  from 
homestead  to  homestead;  and  at  the  "warm" 
farm-house  of  Mr.  Thomas  O' Toole,  where 
the  good  priest  had  lately  held  a  "station," 
it  was  instantly  resolved  that  their  beloved 
pastor's  wish  should  be  carried  out  to  the 
letter.  A  meeting  was  convened — Ihe  first  in 
the  parish  from  which  he  had  ever  been  ex- 
cluded,— and  old  Mr.  Considine  was  deputed 
to  inform  Father  Luke  that  certain  of  the 
parishioners  were  desirous  of  conferring  with 
him  that  evening  on  business  of  the  deepest 
importance.  The  poor  priest  was  sorely  puz- 
zled at  this  message,  especially  as  the  bearer 
of  it  would  vouchsafe  no  explanation ;  and  it 
was  in  a  state  of  considerable  anxiety  that  he 
received  a  dozen  of  the  "snuggest"  and  most 
influential  of  his  parishioners  in  the  neat  little 
parlor  of  the  chapel  house ;  Mrs.  Moriarty,  his 
housekeeper,  having  donned  a  fresh  cap — one 
vast  border  of  flapping  frills — in  honor  of  the 
extraordinary  event. 

Tom  O' Toole,  who  was  one  of  the  best 
speakers  in  the  Wicklow  Land  League,  re- 
quested of  his  Reverence  to  be  seated,  and 
then  in  a  few  elegant  and  well  chosen  sen- 
tences informed  the  astounded  priest  that  he, 
O' Toole,  had  been  deputed  by  a  few  of  the 
parishioners  to  request  his  Reverence  to  take 
a  well-earned  holiday;  and  that,  as  they  were 
desirous  that  some  one  whom  they  loved, 
respected,  and  trusted,  should  visit  certain  ot 
their  kinsfolk  in  "New  Ireland, ' '  they  begged 
of  their  beloved  pastor  to  make  his  holiday 
in  the  States ;  and,  with  a  view  to  rendering 
his  travel  at  once  comfortable  and  dignified, 
they  had  collected  a  trifle — tw^o  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds, — one  farthing  of  which  he  was 
not  to  bring  back  with  him ;  and  that  if  he 
required  twice,  three  times  that  sum  he  had 
only  to  cable  for  it. 

Father  Luke  was  so  deeply  moved  that  for 
a  few  minutes  his  voice  fluttered  in  his  throat. 
When  speech  came  to  him  he  could  give  it 
no  shape  or  coherence, — he  whose  impromptu 


rz^o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


sermons  were  wells  of  undefiled  English,  types 
of  beauteous  imager}-,  delivered  with  all  the 
eloquence  of  an  Irishman,  with  all  the  fervor 
of  a  priest.  He  had  never  been  away  from  his 
little  parish  for  more  than  a  few  days.  Once 
a  year  he  went  to  Dublin  to  receive  the  holy 
oils  from  the  Cardinal  Archbishop,  and  this 
was  the  event  of  the  year.  That  his  parishion- 
•ers  should  thus  come  forward  so  nobly,  so 
generously,  and  actually  anticipate  the  great 
desire  of  his  life,  so  completely  overwhelmed 
him  as  to  leave  him  dazed  and  dumb  with 
gratitude. 

The  deputation  retired  in  silence,  awed  by 
the  solemnity  of  their  pastor's  pleasure,  each 
-pressing  his  trembling  hand  at  parting. 

Mrs.  Moriarty,  however,  who  had  been  a 
participator  in  the  proceedings,  took  Tom 
'O'Toole  roundly  to  task  for  "tempting  his 
Reverence  from  his  snug  home  to  go  amongst 
forriners, ' '  and  distinctly  wished  it  to  be  un- 
derstood that  she  would  be  no  party  to  any 
* '  such  gallivanting, ' '  adding  that  the  *  'boys' ' 
ought  to  come  home  and  see  Father  Luke 
instead  of  dragging  the  holy  man  over  the 
iroaring  ocean. 

(TO   BE  CONTINUED.) 


The  Symbol  of  Christianity. 


BY    THE    REV.   A.  A.    I.AMBING,   1.1,.   D, 


(CONCI^USION.) 
III. 

THE  Sign  of  the  Cross  is  found  everywhere 
in  the  liturgy  of  the  Church.  No  cere- 
mony is  performed  without  it.  The  hands  of 
the  priest  are  consecrated  with  the  holy  oil 
to  enable  them  to  confer  blessings  by  the  sign 
of  salvation.  In  the  course  of  the  ceremony 
of  ordination  the  bishop  anoints  the  interior 
of  the  hands  of  the  priest  with  the  Oil  of 
Catechumens,  reciting  at  the  same  time  the 
prayer:  "Vouchsafe,  O  I^ord,  to  consecrate 
these  hands  by  this  unction  and  our  blessing, 
that  whatsoever  they  bless  may  be  blessed, 
and  whatsoever  they  consecrate  may  be  con- 
secrated and  sanctified,  in  the  name  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ! "  With  these  words  is  con- 
ferred on  the  priest  such  power  over  material 
■objects,  no  matter  what  they  may  be,  that  he 


can  bless  them  by  simply  making  the  Sign  of 
the  Cross  over  them,  without  it  being  neces- 
sary- for  him  to  utter  any  form  of  words, 
except,  of  course,  where  the  Holy  See  requires 
a  particular  form  for  the  blessing  of  certain 
things.  He  can,  by  merely  making  the  Sign  of 
the  Cross,  confer  upon  beads,  medals,  statues, 
crucifixes,  etc.,  the  Papal  Indulgences,  so  that 
persons  who  are  otherwise  properly  disposed 
can  gain  all  these  indulgences  by  having  one 
of  those  blessed  objects  in  their  possession. 

The  number  of  times  in  which  the  Sign  of 
the  Cross  is  made  in  the  ritual  blessings  of 
the  Church  is  all  but  countless.  In  the  bless- 
ing of  holy  water,  for  example,  it  is  made 
twelve  times.  All  the  sacraments  are  admin- 
istered with  the  use  of  the  Sign  of  the  Cross 
at  least  once,  while  in  some  of  them  it  is  em- 
ployed a  number  of  times.  In  Baptism  it  is 
made  fourteen  times;  in  Extreme  Unction, 
seventeen  times.  In  the  recitation  of  the 
Divine  Office  it  is  prescribed  a  large  number 
of  times.  But  these  crosses,  unlike  those  of 
the  Mass  and  the  sacraments,  are  not  of  obli- 
gation, except  when  the  Office  is  said  in  choir  ; 
and  hence  they  may  be  dispensed  with  for  a 
sufficient  reason,  at  the  discretion  of  the  per- 
son who  recites  the  Office,  especially  when 
he  has  to  do  so  in  public.  It  is  related  of  St. 
Patrick  that  while  reciting  the  Office  he  signed  • 
himself  almost  constantly  with  the  Sign  of 
the  Cross. 

It  is  superfluous  to  state  that  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross  is  made  very  frequently  in  the  Adorable 
Sacrifice  of  the  Mass ;  but  it  may  not  be  gen- 
erally known  that,  during  an  ordinary  Mass, 
the  celebrant  makes  it  in  the  various  cere- 
monies no  less  than  forty-five  times,  besides 
the  little  triple  crosses,  already  mentioned,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  Gospels.  There  is  one 
point,  however,  with  regard  to  the  Signs  of 
the  Cross  made  in  the  Mass  that  seems  to 
require  explanation.  "It  is  natural  that  the 
Church,  accustomed  to  bless  everything  with 
the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  should  so  bless  the 
unconsecrated  bread  and  wine.  But  it  is  sur- 
prising at  first  sight  that  the  Sign  of  the  Cross 
should  frequently  be  made  over  the  Body  and 
Blood  of  Christ.  Many  explanations  have 
been  given,  but  the  truth  seems  to  be  that  no 
single  explanation  meets  all  difficulties,  and 
that  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  is  made  over  the  con- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


251 


secrated  species  for  several  reasons.  Usually 
the  rite  is  made  to  indicate  the  blessing 
which  flows  forth  from  the  Body  and  Blood 
of  Christ."  The  Signs  of  the  Cross  at  the 
words  immediately  before  the  Pater  Noster — 
"Through  whom,  O  I^ord,  Thou  dost  ever 
create  all  those  good  things,  sanctifiest  them, 
givest  them  life,  blessest  them,  and  bestowest 
them  upon  us," — were  originally  meant  to  be 
made  over  the  eulogia,  placed  on  the  altar  and 
then  given  to  those  who  did  not  communicate. 
And  here  an  explanation  of  the  eulogia  may 
not  be  out  of  place. 

One  of  the  great  characteristics  of  the  Church 
is  the  unity  of  her  members  in  one  body,  with 
Christ  as  the  head.  This  unity  is  admirably 
expressed  in  both  the  elements  from  which 
the  Holy  Eucharist  is  consecrated :  bread  be- 
ing made  from  a  countless  number  of  wheat 
grains,  and  wine  being  pressed  from  myriads 
of  grapes.  The  Blessed  Sacrament  is,  then — 
both  from  Its  matter  before  consecration  and 
from  Him  whose  Flesh  and  Blood  It  becomes 
by  consecration, — the  great  bond  of  union 
among  the  faithful.  As  the  Apostle  says: 
"We  being  many,  are  one  bread."*  "How- 
ever, when  many  of  the  faithful  no  longer 
comrhunicated  as  a  matter  of  course  at  every 
Mass,  the  need  was  felt  of  showing  by  some 
outward  sign  that  they  were  in  full  commun- 
ion with  the  Church.  Accordingly  the  cele- 
brant consecrated  so  much  only  of  the  bread 
placed  on  the  altar  as  was  needed  for  the  com- 
municants ;  the  rest  of  the  bread  was  merely 
blessed,  and  distributed  to  those  who  did  not 
actually  communicate,  though  they  had  the 
right  to  do  so.  The  eulogia  (something  blessed) 
then  was  a  substitute,  though  of  course  a 
most  imperfect  one,  for  Holy  Communion; 
whence  the  Greek  name,  avTidorov  —  *  that 
which  is  g^ven  instead.'  The  custom  could 
scarcely  have  risen  before  the  third  century. 
In  the  fourth  it  was  well  known  throughout 
the  East ;  in  the  West,  we  find  it  mentioned 
by  Gregory  of  Tours  in  the  sixth  century. 
The  bread  used  was  sometimes  the  same  as 
that  which  was  set  aside  for  consecration! ; 
sometimes  ordinary  bread  was  placed  on  the- 
altar  and  used  for  the  eulogies.  Usually  the 
latter  bread  was  blessed  after  the  Ofiertory; 


*  I.  Cor. 


but  sometimes,  as  Honorius  of  Autun  tells  us, 
at  the  end  of  Mass.  The  Council  of  Nantes 
gives  a  form  of  benediction  which  the  Church 
still  employs  in  the  blessing  of  bread  at 
Easter."  Traces  of  this  custom  still  exist  in 
some  French  churches,  as  well  as  among  the 
Greeks. 

' '  The  Signs  of  the  Cross  made  with  the  Host 
in  the  Mass,  immediately  after  those  referred 
to  above,  at  the  words,  'Through  Him,  and 
with  Him,  and  in  Him,  is  unto  Thee,  God  the 
Father  Almighty  in  the  unity  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  all  honor  and  glory,'  probably  arose 
from  the  custom  of  making  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross  in  naming  the  Persons  of  the  Blessed 
Trinity.  Such,  at  least,  is  the  result  of  Bishop 
Hefele's  carefiil  investigation  of  the  subject. 
The  mystical  interpretations  of  Gavantus  and 
Merati  deserve  all  respect,  but  scarcely  explain 
the  actual  origin  of  the  practice. "  *  To  return 
from  this  digression  :  so  frequent  is  the  use  of 
the  Sign  of  the  Cross  in  the  sacred  functions 
of  religion,  that  one  can  hardly  look  for  a 
moment  at  a  priest  performing  any  of  the 
functions  of  his  ministry  without  seeing  him 
make  the  sign  of  our  redemption. 

A  very  important  inquiry  for  all  here  pre- 
sents itself.  It  is :  Has  the  Church  granted 
any  indulgences  to  the  use  of  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross?  We  can  not  familiarize  ourselves  too 
much  with  the  holy  indulgences  attached  to 
the  public  and  private  devotions  which  we 
perform  or  in  which  we  take  part.  What,  then, 
are  the  indulgences  to  be  gained  by  this  de- 
votion ?  They  are  these :  Pope  Pius  IX.,  by  a 
brief  of  July  28,  1863,  granted  to  all  the  faith- 
ful every  time  that,  with  at  least  contrite  heart, 
they  shall  make  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  invoking 
at  the  same  time  the  Blessed  Trinity  with  the 
words,  "In  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of 
the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost,"  an  indul- 
gence of  fifty  days.  And  by  another  brief  of 
March  23,  1876,  the  same  Sovereign  Pontiff 
granted  an  indulgence  of  one  hundred  days 
to  those  who  make  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  with 
holy  water,  with  the  same  conditions  and  the 
same  form  of  words. f  It  is  well  to  note_that 
the  words  to  be  used  in  making  tire' Sjgn /6fy 
the  Cross  with  holy  water  are  woA,  '>($loi 


X,  17. 


*  "Catholic  Dictionary,"  pp.  236,  3IJ 
t  Raccolta,  p.  4. 


'52 


The  Ave  Maria. 


to  the  Father,"  etc.,  as  some  persons  imagine, 
but  the  formula,  "In  the  name,"  etc. 

When  we  are  assured  by  the  Christians  of 
all  ages,  but  especiall}^  by  those  of  the  first 
centuries,  that  we  have  so  powerful  a  weapon 
as  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  at  our  command,  it  is 
much  to  be  regretted  that  we  should  make  so 
little  use  of  it.  Never  did  the  world  array 
before  the  child  of  God  enemies  so  numerous 
or  so  insidious  as  at  the  present  time.  They 
assail  him  on  every  side ;  and  not  with  the 
sword  or  with  fire,  as  the  early  Christians 
were  assailed,  but  with  false  philosophy,  wtth 
pride  of  intellect,  with  religious  indifference, 
with  materialism,  against  which  it  is  more 
difficult  to  combat  for  a  life-time  than  it  would 
be  to  win  the  martyr's  crown  in  a  momentary 
struggle  in  the  amphitheatre.  If  the  first 
Christians,  formed  in  the  school  of  the  Apos- 
tles, regarded  as  necessary  the  frequent  use 
of  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  why  should  we  all 
but  abandon  it?  Are  we  stronger  or  better 
armed  ?  The  very  opposite  is  the  case.  Why, 
then,  do  we  not  return  to  the  pious  custom 
of  our  fathers  in  the  faith  ?  Why  disarm  our- 
selves in  the  very  presence  of  the  enemy  ? 

Still  more  deserving  of  censure  are  those 
who  indeed  make  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  but 
make  it  carelessly.  If  a  person  were  to  spend 
fifteen  minutes  at  the  door  of  almost  any  of 
our  churches  on  a  Sunday  morning,  and  look 
at  the  motions  gone  through  by  not  a  few  of 
those  who  enter,  he  would  be  safe  in  conclud- 
ing that  if  they  were  reproduced  on  paper 
they  might  as  readily  be  taken  for  a  Chinese 
manuscript  as  for  anything  else ;  but  it  would 
require  a  stretch  of  the  imagination  to  see  in 
them  what  they  were  intended  to  represent. 
It  may  be  seriously  doubted  whether  such 
careless  persons  receive  the  graces  or  gain  the 
indulgences  attached  to  a  proper  use  of  the 
sign  of  man's  redemption.  It  is  indeed  true 
that  there  is  a  tendency  to  do  mechanically 
what  a  person  has  to  do  often;  but  for  that 
very  reason,  if  for  no  other,  particular  atten- 
tion should  be  devoted  to  such  things.  A 
careful  examination  of  the  manner  in  which 
they  make  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  would  be 
productive  of  good  to  many  persons. 

But  what  shall  be  said  of  those  who  are 
ashamed  to  make  the  Sign  of  the  Cross? 
We  should  not,  on  the  one  hand,  parade  what 


is  sacred  before  the  world,  on  account  of  the 
disposition  there  is  in  so  many  persons  to 
scoff  at  whatever  others  regard  as  holy;  but, 
when  circumstances  require  it,  we  should  not, 
on  the  other  hand,  hesitate  to  sign  ourselves 
with  the  symbol  of  our  redemption.  The  Sign 
of  the  Cross  inspires  us  with  respect  for  our- 
selves by  teaching  us  our  true  dignity.  It 
reminds  us  that  we  are  the  brothers  of  Jesus 
Christ.  It  sanctifies  our  members  with  the 
sanctification  which  it  derived  from  His.  It 
stamps  the  unity  of  God  on  our  forehead  the 
seat  of  the  mind;  it  seals  our  heart  and  breast 
with  the  remembrance  of  the  love  of  the 
Father;  it  strengthens  our  shoulders  to  bear 
the  Cross  with  the  Son;  and  it  maintains  an 
unbroken  imion  of  love  with  all  Three  Divine 
Persons  by  means  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

"In  making  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,"  says 
Mgr.  Gaume,  "we  have  behind  us,  around  us, 
with  us,  all  the  great  men  and  grand  ages  of 
the  East  and  West, — all  the  immortal  Catholic 
nation.  ...  In  making  the  Sign  of  the  Cross 
we  cover  ourselves  and  ci^eatures  with  an  in- 
vincible armor.  In  not  making  it,  we  disarm 
ourselves,  and  expose  both  ourselves  and 
creatures  to  the  gravest  perils."  * 

All  this  being  true,  what  opinion  are  we  to 
form  of  non-Catholics,  not  a  few  of  whom  have 
an  almost  fiendish  hatred  of  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross  ?  Yet,  were  they  to  use  it,  it  is  the  mark- 
ing upon  themselves  of  the  instrument  upon 
which  the  salvation  of  mankind,  and  their  own 
salvation  if  they  are  to  be  among  the  saved, 
was  wrought.  And,  withal,  how  illogical  they 
are!  Witness  with  what  respect  the  liberty 
bell  is  cherished,  and  how  it  was  almost  wor- 
shipped during  its  recent  trip  to  New  Orleans. 
Witness  the  care  with  which  the  other  relics 
of  Liberty  Hall,  Philadelphia,  are  guarded. 
Witness  the  enthusiasm  of  the  people  to  have 
some  souvenir  of  the  place  where  the  late 
General  Grant  died;  how  they  went  so  far  as 
to  carry  away  branches  of  the  trees  that  grew 
near  where  the  cottage  stood  in  which  he 
■  breathed  his  last.  Witness,  finally,  how  almost 
every  person  has  some  highly-prized  relic  of 
a  departed  parent  or  ancestor.  And  why  all 
this  ?  Because  it  is  natural  to  man,  and  it  is 


*  "The  Sign  of  the  Cross  in  the  Nineteenth  Cen- 
tury," p.  296. 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


253 


nobling  in  him.  But  niiist  Catholics  be 
aligned  and  called  idolaters  for  following 
he  promptings  of  nature  in  the  worship  of 
nature's  God?  Must  w^e  honor  the  sword  of 
Washington  because  it  achieved  our  liberation 
from  the  tyranny  of  England,  and  treat  with 
disrespect  the  Cross  of  Christ  that  freed  us 
from  the  thraldom  of  Satan?  The  man  who 
should  be  so  heartless  as  to  insult  his  mother's 
picture  would  be  censured  by  all  the  world  as 
an  inhuman  wretch;  let  the  same  world  decide 
whether  he  is  less  deserving  of  censure,  to 
put  it  in  a  very  mild  form,  who  insults  the 
Cross  of  Christ.  Of  such  so-called  Christians 
let  St.  Paul  be  the  judge,  who  cried  out :  "God 
forbid  that  I  should  glory,  save  in  the  Cross 
of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ! "  * 

I  shall  conclude  with  two  extracts  from  the 
Fathers.  Says  St.  Ephraim :  ' '  The  Sign  of  the 
Cross  is  the  invincible  armor  of  the  Christian. 
Soldier  of  Christ,  let  this  armor  never  leave 
you,  either  by  day  or  night,  at  any  moment, 
or  in  any  place;  without  it,  undertake  nothing. 
Whether  you  be  asleep  or  awake,  watching  or 
walking,  eating  or  drinking,  sailing  on  sea  or 
crossing  rivers,  have  this  breastplate  ever  on 
you.  Adorn  and  protect  each  of  your  members 
with  this  victorious  sign,  and  nothing  can 
injure  you.  There  is  no  buckler  so  powerful 
against  the  darts  of  the  enemy.  At  the  sight 
of  this  sign  the  infernal  powers,  affrighted 
and  trembling,  take  to  flight."  And  St.  John 
Chrysostom  adds:  "Never  leave  yoMX  house 
without  making  the  Sign  of  the  Cross.  It  will 
be  to  you  a  staff,  a  w^eapon,  an  impregnable 
fortress.  Neither  man  nor  demon  will  dare  to 
attack  you,  seeing  you  covered  with  such 
powerful  armor.  Let  this  sign  teach  you  that 
you  are  a  soldier,  ready  to  combat  against 
the  demons,  and  ready  to  fight  for  the  crown 
of  justice.  Are  you  ignorant  of  what  the  Cross 
has  done  ?  It  has  vanquished  death,  destroyed 
sin,  emptied  hell,  dethroned  Satan,  and  resus- 
citated the  universe.  Would  you,  then,  doubt 
its  power  ? ' ' 

*  Gal.,  vi,  14. 


The  old  serpent  is  slippery,  and  unless  we 
keep  out  the  head  of  suggestion  he  will  get 
in  his  body  of  consent,  and  at  last  tail  and  all, 
and  so  a  habit  and  habitation. — St.  Jerome. 


Stella  Matutina;  or,  A  Poet's  Quest. 


BY  EDMU.MJ  ()!•    tup:  HEART  OF  MARY,  C.  P. 


VII. 

*'  "K  LL  ears,"  hean.swer'd.  "  But  of  Her,  indeed, 

J-<    Sweet  thoughts  would  come  in  boyhood: 

as,  at  times. 

With  Lesson  from  Saint  Luke,  or  say  of  Creed: 

Oftener   when    peal'd    the  merry    Christmas 

chimes. 
And  Bethlehem's  tale  in  carols,  pictures, rhymes, 
Took  clearer  shape.  But  soon  wiseacres  said 

That  none,  O  Church,  of  all  thy  many  crimes, 
Surpass'd  the  idolatrous  worship  madly  paid 
To  heathen  goddess  fused  with  Nazareth's  lowly 
Maid. 

"Erst  Cybele  '  mother  of  the  gods,'  'twas  now 

Mary  the  '  Mother  of  God.'  " 

"Ay,  ay,  my  child: 
And  sorry  dupes  were  they.  No  more  so  thou. 

Through  His  dear  mercy  who,  an  Infant,  smiled 

On  Christmas  mom  to  Mother  undefiled, 
God  born  in  time :  born  to  destroy  the  crew 

Of  demon-godships  with  their  orgies  wild: 
Born  to  set  up  a  worship  pure  and  true — 
A  kingdom  rich  for  all  in  treasures  '  old  and  new.' 

"Of  treasures  old  how  bountiful  a  store 

From  Moses  to  the  Prophets!  Light  to  light 
Succeeding:  endless  mines  of  golden  lore: 

And  Heav'n- taught  poesy's  sublimest  flight. 

But  those  who  scan  the  sacred  page  aright 
Will  find  the  promised  Woman  with  Her  Seed 

Prefigur'd  o'er  and  o'er  to  mystic  sight. 
Fathers  and  Doctors  mine  have  lov'd  to  feed 
Their  contemplation  thus  ...  as,  haply,  thou  shalt 
read 

"In  luminous  tomes  erelong. 

Of  treasures  new 

Still  ampler  store  have  I:  nor  letter'd  page 
Alone:  for  here  is  equal  honor  due 

The  Word  Unwrit,  which  flows  from  age  to  age 

(And  shall  to  the  last,  for  all  that  Hell  maj'-rage) 
Inviolate,  Apostolical,  Divine. 

But  whosoe'er  would  hear  it,  and  assuage 
His  thirst  for  truth,  must  docile  ear  incline 
To  one  unchanging  Voice — one  only  .  .  .  which  is 
mine. 

"But  gift  of  gifts  the  King  Himself,  the  'Word 
Made  Flesh'  to  'dwell  among  us'  evermore: 

'Emmanuel,  God  with  us.'  (Thou  hast  heard 
How  well  His  martyr  prophet  sang  of  yore  ?)  * 

*  Is.,  vii,  14. 


254 


The  Ave  Maria. 


And,  next,  the  Virgin  who  conceiv'd  and  bore 
Is  precious  to  my  love.  Through  Her  alone 

He  came  to  us.  Elected  from  before 
All  ages  She,  and  form'd  His  ownest  own: 
His    Covenant's    spotless    Ark,   His    Wisdom's 
Mercy -Throne." 


Two  Schools. 


(Continued.  ) 
Clara  Valley,  June  4,  18-^. 

DEAR  Aunt  Mary: — Now  that  the  school 
year  is  drawing  to  a  close,  I  regret  very 
much  that  your  arrangements  with  Mrs.  Par- 
sons were  not  for  a  longer  time.  I  should  so 
like  to  remain  here  another  year.  Would 
she  not  consent  to  keep  the  house  longer, 
and  would  you  not  be  willing  to  have  me 
stay?  Sister  Mary  has  said  that  she  thought 
it  might  be  arranged  for  me  to  remain  as  a 
parlor- boarder, — taking  my  meals  and  recrea- 
tions with  the  others,  but  having  time  at  my 
disposal  to  study  what  I  preferred,  without 
recitations.  I  could  thus  improve  myself  in 
history,  geometry,  botany,  drawing,  music, 
French,  and  German.  I  assure  you  I  would 
study  very  diligently,  and  that  the  result 
would  be  gratifying  to  you. 

I  shall  be  very  candid  with  you,  and  say 
that  my  feelings  with  regard  to  religion  are 
unchanged, — indeed  they  are  stronger  than 
ever  in  as  far  as  they  relate  to  my  becoming  a 
Catholic.  Since  you  have  given  me  permission 
to  read  Catholic  works,  reserving  to  yourself 
the  privilege  of  naming  such  others  as  Mr. 
T shall  give  j^ou  in  refutation  of  the  doc- 
trines I  am  supposed  to  be  "falsely  imbibing" 
(to  use  his  not  very  clear  language),  I  have 
been  a  very  assiduous  reader.  The  tracts  al- 
ready sent  by  Mr.  T are  amusing  in  their 

ignorance  of  Catholic  doctrine  and  ceremonies. 
As  for  the  works  of  Maria  Monk,  I  consider 
the  proposition  to  read  them  little  short  of  an 
insult.  They  have  long  ago  been  condemned 
by  every  intelligent  Protestant,  as  not  only 
untruthful  in  every  particular,  but  really  im- 
moral. You  will  please  request  Mr.  T to 

keep  his  copy  at  home  under  lock  and  key. 

There  is  at  present  a  Sister  visiting  here 
for  her  health,  who  was  converted  to  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church  by  means  of  this 
very  book,  and  another  entitled  "Danger  in 


the  Dark" — a  novel  at  one  time  widely 
circulated,  she  tells  me,  in  many  Protestant 
communities,  particularly  those  of  the  Meth- 
odist persuasion,  always  singularly  inimical 
to  everything  Catholic.  While  on  a  visit  to 
an  uncle  in  the  country,  who,  an  extremist 
in  all  things,  was  almost  savage  in  his  hatred 
of  Catholics,  she  asked  for  something  to  read. 
I  should  have  prefaced  this  recital  by  saying 
that  she  had  met  a  Catholic  priest  on  the  train, 
of  whom  she  had  spoken  favorably  to  her 
uncle,  expressing  surprise  that  he  should  have 
been  so  gentlemanly  and  intelligent.  This 
aroused  the  good  man's  fears,  and  he  brought 
her  the  two  books  of  which  I  speak.  She 
could  not  read  them  through — they  were  too 
offensive  to  delicacy, — still  they  awakened 
her  sense  of  justice,  and  she  thought  within 
herself  that  such  monstrous  assertions  as  they 
contained  could  only  have  been  inspired  by 
malice  or  ignorance,  or  both.  Though  not  a 
member  of  any  church,  she  had  habitually  at- 
tended religious  services  since  her  childhood^ 
sometimes  going  to  one  and  sometimes  an- 
other meeting-house.  She  had  also  been  ac- 
customed to  pray.  One  night,  before  retiring 
to  rest,  she  asked  God  to  enlighten  her  as  to 
the  best  means  of  discovering  the  truth  in  this 
matter.  She  suddenly  thought  of  her  fellow- 
traveller,  the  priest.  On  her  return  home  she 
wrote  to  him.  He  replied  immediately,  telling 
her  where  to  look  for  refutation  of  the  slanders 
contained  in  Maria  Monk's  book,  also  of  her 
retraction  of  them  and  her  miserable  end.  This 
led  to  further  investigation,  and  a  few  months 
after  she  became  a  Catholic.  However,  God 
has  chosen  to  enlighten  me  by  other  means. 

Now,  dear  auntie,  to  return  once  more  to  the 
subject — once  more  to  our  plans  for  the  future. 
If  you  do  not  think  you  can  spare  me  another 
year,  or  Mrs.  Parsons  does  not  wish  to  keep 
the  house,  thus  leaving  you  alone,  I  shall  think 
it  all  for  the  best,  and  shall  return  home  cheer- 
fully. But  I  should  so  like  to  remain  longer. 
One  year  in  a  life-time  is  not  much  when  we 
shall  be  together,  please  God,  for  so  many. 

We  are  all  in  the  midst  of  preparations  for 
the  midsummer  Commencement.   Our  exami- 
nations will  be  over  by  Saturday,  and  we  shall 
have  a  full  week  for  rehearsals. 
Always  your  affectionate 

Julia. 


The  Ave  ATaria. 


255 


Allen  Seminary,  June  5, 18 — . 

Dear  Mattie  : — My  heart  felt  like  a  lump 
of  lead  yesterday  morning  when  Mrs.  Allen 
called  me  into  the  study  and  informed  me  that 
mamma  had  requested  her  to  ask  me  if  I  would 
not  like  to  spend  the  vacation  at  school,  as 
papa  was  obliged  to  go  to  Europe  on  business, 
and  was  desirous  of  taking  her  with  him.  This 
means,  or  meant,  another  year  in  the  pen — 
for  one  can  not  call  it  anything  else.  I  lost  no 
time  in  assuring  Madam  that  my  "heart  was 
in  the  Highlands,"  and  that  I  would  go  home, 
if  I  had  to  run  away.  I  have  already  written 
to  mamma  to  say  that  I  am  determined  not  to 
stay ;  and  as  for  another  year  here,  why,  it 
would  simply  kill  me!  If  they  will  not  take 
me  to  Europe  with  them — and  I  would  just 
as  soon  they  did  not, —  Aunt  Amanda  will 
assume  the  responsibility  of  looking  after  me 
until  their  return. 

I  am  nearly  seventeen,  quite  old  enough  to 
enter  society,  which  I  propose  to  do  in  good 
earnest  next  winter.  No  more  school  for  me ! 
I  have  not  learned  a  blessed  thing  this  year, 
except  a  little  French,  and  that  is  due  to  the 
perseverance  of  Mademoiselle  Rameau,  who 
is  the  only  conscientious  teacher  we  have. 

By  the  way,  we  had  quite  a  breeze  last  week. 
Some  one  filched  a  couple  of  books  out  of  Doc- 
tor Allen's  library,  probably  having  nothing 
else  to  read.  They  were  called  "Revelations 
of  Maria  Monk"  and  "Danger  in  the  Dark," 
and  were  all  about  the  Catholic  Church  ^and 
the  wickedness  of  the  nuns, — at  least  that  is 
what  Mame  Saunders  told  me,  who  dipped 
into  them  while  they  were  lying  on  the  prin- 
cipal's desk,  awaiting  their  return  to  the 
bookcase.  Mademoiselle  found  them  in  the 
summer-house,  yvhere  they  had  no  doubt  been 
left  by  the  thief,  who  must  have  been  reading 
them  sub  rosa.  She  took  them  to  the  house, 
and  began  to  exclaim  indignantly  against 
their  contents.  (She  can  read  English  now.) 
The  Doctor  assured  her  that  the  contents  were 
true,  that  she  probably  had  never  been  famil- 
iar with  the  inside  of  a  convent.  She  protested 
that  she  had  been  educated  in  a  convent,  and 
hoped  to  die  in  one.  Then  the  good  Doctor 
declared  that  he  himself  did  not  believe  the 
Sisters  in  this  country  were  other  than  good 
and  virtuous  nowadays,  but-  that  the  occur- 
rences described  in  the  objectionable  volumes 


took  place  early  in  the  century.  "Not  so,  not 
so!  Never,  never!"  cried  Mademoiselle,  with 
tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks.  Hot  words 
followed,  and  Mademoiselle  will  be  minus  a 
situation  after  June  20. 

The  girls  say  she  is  going  to  be  a  nun,  and 
had  intended  to  enter  the  convent  at  the  close 
of  the  term.  Of  course  I  can't  say.  I  do  know- 
she  is  a  sweet  little  thing,  as  good  as  she  can 
be;  and  I  don't  believe  half  they  say  about  the 
nuns.  They  have  the  purest,  sweetest  faces, 
for  we  sometimes  get  a  glimpse  of  them ;  and 
the  girls  all  look  so  rosy  and  happy  that  they 
can  not  be  kept  in  such  durance  as  we  thought. 
In  mamma's  last  letter  she  wrote  that  Julia 
would  probably  remain  at  the  convent  another 
year.  She  must  have  been  well  treated  there  ; 
for,  in  spite  of  her  Puritan  ways,  she  is  the 
last  one  in  the  world  to  be  imposed  upon.  De- 
pend upon  it,  it  is  all  very  fine  sailing  over 
there  when  Julia  likes  the  ship. 

The  most  important  thing  on  the  tapis 
now'is,  what  shall  we  wear  at  the  Commence- 
ment exercises  ?  White  is  recommended,  and 
everybody  has  written  home  for  a  new  dress, — 
each  wishing  to  outshine  the  other.  I  wrote 
mamma  to  send  me  a  nun's- veiling  trimmed 
with  satin,  and  sash  to  correspond.  I  have 
asked  her  to  get  the  widest  and  finest  sash 
ribbon  she  can  find,  and  to  borrow  Aunt 
Sophie's  pearls  for  the  occasion.  You  know 
she  has  a  set — tiara,  necklace,  bracelets, 
ear-rings,  and  pin, — that  belonged  to  Marie 
Antoinette,  or  some  French  woman;  perhaps 
it  was  Rachel.  I  sha'n't  wear  the  tiara,  but 
all  the  rest  would  be  appropriate.  And  Cousin 
Delia  has  promised  me  her  lovely  fan  that 
Uncle  Arthur  brought  her  from  Paris, — pale 
pink  rosebuds  painted  on  white  satin,  with 
pearl  sticks.  We  are  to  have  a  hairdresser 
fi-om  town,  and  the  whole  effect  will  be  gor- 
geous. As  we  have  permission  to  invite  all 
our  gentleman  friends,  the  result  will  be 
many  a  broken  heart.  Some  of  the  girls  who 

live  in  C have  a  crowd  of  admirers ;  they 

will  have  to  share  with  us  who  are  far  away 
from  home.  The  circus  is  to  begin  at  five  p.  m., 
followed  by  tea  refreshments  and  a  dance.  I 
am  dying  for  a  good  waltz  after  a  year  in  this 
dumpy,  mopey  old  place! 

There!  I  forgot  to  tell  mamma  about  white 
kid  slippers !  Just  run  over  and  ask  her  not  to 


256 


The  Ave  Maria. 


forget  them,  will  you  ?  And  be  sure  to  men- 
tion satin  bows.  And,  my  dear,  now  that  I 
think  of  it,  suggest  her  point-lace  handker- 
chief, so  that  everything  may  be  in  keeping. 
Tell  her  I'll  take  good  care  of  it.  It  was  a 
gift  from  Mrs.  Speaker  "Somebody"  when 
papa  was  in  Congress,  and  mamma  prizes  it 
highly.  But  I'll  be  sure  not  to  lose  it. 


Yours  till  we  meet. 


ESTELLA. 


(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


Summer  Cruising  in  a  Northern  River. 


BY    FI,ORA    L.   STANFIEI.D. 


THE  trip  down  the  St.  Lawrence  has  long 
been  a  favorite  one  with  the  summer 
tourist ;  but,  once  having  more  or  less  faith- 
fully explored  Quebec,  this  restless  sight-seer 
usually  flies  to  the  southward,  unconscious  or 
unmindful  that  there  is  a  region  north  o^  him 
whose  charms  are  both  majestic  and  appalling. 
One  bright  August  morning  we  left  Quebec, 
the  "grey  lady  of  the  North,"  asleep  on  her 
rock-crowned  retreat,  and  gave  a  parting 
glance  to  the  drowsing  flag  upon  the  citadel 
as  the  prow  of  our  steamer  swung  swiftly 
around  to  the  east.  Opposite  the  quaint  and 
matchless  city  was  Point  Levi,  with  her  wealth 
of  historic  lore;  and  the  River  Charles,  a 
winding  silver  ribbon,  poured,  from  the  north, 
its  clear  waters  into  the  St.  Lawrence.  At 
once  the  Falls  of  Montmorency,  two  hundred 
and  fift}^  feet  in  height,  flashed  into  view.  In 
winter  one  portion  of  this  narrow  cataract  is 
utilized  as  a  toboggan  slide  by  the  youth  and 
beauty  of  Quebec,  but  during  the  short  north- 
em  summer  the  water  looks  as  if  it  might 
come  tumbling  from  springs  of  tropical  origin. 

"Eight  months  of  winter,"  the  merry 
Lower- Canadians  say  with  glee;  "the  best 
time  of  the  year."  It  may  be  to  the  rich,  but 
Heaven  only  knows  what  the  poor  do  then, 
with  labor  scarce,  and  growing  scarcer  since, 
the  channel  having  been  deepened,  so  much  of 
the  shipping  has  been  transferred  to  Montreal. 

The  Island  of  Orleans,  beginning  seven 
miles  below  the  cit^'  and  extending  twenty, 
is  worthy  to  be  the  original  Isle  of  Beauty  of 
which  the  poet  sings.  This  is  the  island  which 


the  brave  Breton  navigator,  Jacques  Cartier, 
named  the  Isle  of  Bacchus,  from  the  astonish- 
ing amount  of  wild  grape-vines  which  hid  its 
trees.  It  contains  several  villages,  each  clus- 
tered about  its  tin-roofed  parish  church.  One 
of  these  parishes  was  organized  in  1679  ;  not 
so  very  long  ago — for  the  Province  of  Quebec. 

Ste.  Anne  de  Beaupre — which  famous  ham- 
let was  soon  left  behind — deserves  more  ex- 
tended mention  than  can  be  given  it  in  this 
discursive  sketch.  Not  far  distant  is  Grosse 
Island,  the  quarantine  station  for  Quebec.  On 
a  little  marble  shaft  one  of  its  sad  tales  is  told. 
* '  In  this  secluded  spot  lie  the  mortal  remains 
of  five  thousand  four  hundred  and  twenty- 
four  persons,  who,  flying  from  pestilence  and 
famine  in  Ireland  in  the  year  1847,  found  in 
America  but  a  grave."  Poor  fugitives!  they 
opened  their  eyes  upon  this  fair  land  and  it 
faded  like  a  vision.  Let  us  hope  that  they 
found  a  refuge  even  fairer.  Peace  to  their  souls! 

With  uplifted  field-glass  I  watched  eagerly 
for  Cape  Tourmente,  two  thousand  feet  in 
height.  The  cape  itself  was  naturally  a  con- 
spicuous object,  and  on  its  very  top,  nestling 
among  the  pines,  was  a  tiny  white  chapel,  the 
object  of  my  search.  The  place  seemed  as  in- 
accessible as  the  eyrie  of  an  eagle,  but  strong 
hands  had  in  some  manner  borne  the  material 
of  the  little  structure  aloft ;  and  there,  we  were 
told,  the  sanctuary  lamp  is  kept  burning,  and 
God's  servant  ministers  daily  at  His  altar. 

l^he  summer  resorts  on  the  lower  St.  Law- 
rence are,  to  say  the  least,  unique.  It  is  said 
that  when  a  polar  bear  begins  to  feel  too  warm 
the  inhabitants  fly  below.  At  each  landing 
were  swarms  of  these  happy  people,  simply 
dressed,  but  evidently  quite  given  up  to  the 
idea  of  having  a  good  time;  their  gentle,  mel- 
low voices  lending  the  beautiful  language  of 
France  another  charm. 

Whatever  other  tourists  may  say,  we  saw 
nothing  but  a  translated  France,  heard  no 
other  accents  than  those  of  its  people,  and 
the  English  language  seemed  timid  and  ill  at 
ease.  Even  the  English  flags,  which  fluttered 
from  all  the  government  buildings,  looked 
ashamed.  Our  boat  was  manned  by  French- 
men, and  the  officers  gave  their  commands  as 
politely  as  if  they  said,  ' '  Will  you  have  the 
kindness  to  put  that  freight  ashore?"  or, 
"Oblige  me,  if  you  please,  by  doing  this  or 


I 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


257 


at."  I  spoke  my  admiration  of  the  nosegay 
ucked  into  the  hat-band  of  a  gentle  deck- 
hand; and  he,  overhearing,  removed  it,  and 
presented  it  to  me  with  a  smile  and  a  bow 

at  would  have  graced  a  court. 

As  night  came  on,  the  dormer- windowed 
ouses  of  the  habitants,  ranged  along  the 
shore  like  beads  on  a  string,  grew  indistinct, 
and  the  St.  lyawrence,  here  but  an  arm  of  the 
sea,  grew  wider  and  wider.  As  we  steamed  into 
the  black  waters  of  the  mysterious  river  Sague- 
nay,  "the  river  of  death,"  the  granite  walls 
which  hid  it  from  the  world  looked  like  mere 
ghosts  of  cliffs.  Then  the  bitter  cold  drove  us 
to  the  seclusion  of  the  cabin ;  but  we  did  not 
murmur,  for  we  were  to  see  the  famous  stream 
by  daylight  on  the  morrow.  Adjectives  have 
been  exhausted  in  the  description  of  this 
river.  It  is  surely  like  none  other  on  earth. 
Taking  its  rise  in  the  beautiful  Lake  St.  John, 
it  foams  and  boils  until  Chicoutimi,  the  head 
of  navigation,  is  reached ;  then  steals  down- 
ward through  cloven,  rocky  heights. 

We  found  ourselves  at  Chicoutimi  at  sun- 
rise, with  twenty  minutes  in  which  to  go 
ashore.  A  dense  fog  obscured  all  things ;  but, 
as  it  lifted,  the  shining  steeple  of  the  parish 
church  gleamed  upon  its  eminence  like  a 
celestial  finger.  Buckboards,  the  vehicle  of 
the  region,  each  manned  by  a  dark-eyed  peas- 
ant, were  ready  to  carry  us  on  a  tour  of  ex- 
ploration; but  as  the  tide  was  going  out 
delay  was  dangerous.  Down  the  marvellous 
river  we  sped  again,  our  next  harbor  being  in 
Ha  Ha  Bay,  where  twin  villages,  St.  Alphonse 
and  St.  Alexis,  hide  in  peace  and  beauty.  It 
is  said  that  the  French  explorers,  sailing  up 
the  Saguenay,  sought  in  vain  on  its  rugged 
sides  for  a  place  to  anchor  their  barks  and 
thought  themselves  still  in  the  channel  of  the 
river,  when  lo!  shallow  water  was  found  in 
this  exquisite  spot.  "Ha!  ha!"  they  laughed 
in  joy,  and  Ha  Ha  Bay  it  is  called  to  this  day. 

We  had  an  hour  at  St.  Alphonse,  gazing 
upon  the  coffin-shaped  boxes  of  luscious 
blueberries  (you  can  buy  a  bushel  for  thirty- 
five  cents) — the  gathering  of  which  is  one  of 
the  chief  summer  industries  of  this  region,— 
and  strolling  over  the  rocky  hills,  where  the 
goldenrod  and  ox-eyed  daisy  find  a  congenial 
home.  Knowing  that  the  curi  was  a  friend  of 
a  dear  and  venerable  man  whom  the  readers 


of  The  "Ave  Maria"  delight  to  honor,  we 
ventured  to  call  upon  him,  meeting  with  a 
most  cordial  reception.  As  we  hurried  back 
to  the  boat  tiny  maidens  importuned  us  to 
buy  wild  flowers,  but  they  would  not  touch 
our  silver  "from  the  States,"  even  as  a  gift. 
''Ne pas  bon'^  they  said,  with  a  shake  of  the 
head  and  shrug  of  the  little  erect  shoulders. 

When  about  half-way  to  the  river's  mouth 
there  was  a  perceptible  thrill  of  excitement 
among  the  passengers.  The  granite  cliffs  grew 
higher  and  the  steamer  crept  along  under 
their  shadow.  We  were  approaching  Cape 
Trinity.  Steam  was  shut  off,  the  boat  floated 
with  the  current  and  the  tide,  and  all  was 
silent  except  the  never-ceasing  voice  of  an 
English  lord,  who  was  ready  with  his  inces- 
sant, '  *  Ah,  indeed  ! ' '  seemingly  the  only 
words  in  his  vocabulary. 

Cape  Trinity  is  about  eighteen  hundred  feet 
in  height,  and  formed  in  three  distinct  ledges 
which  give  it  its  name  Upon  the  first  of  these 
great  shelves,  six  hundred  feet  above  our 
heads,  was  a  most  exquisite  statue  of  our 
Blessed  Lady — "Our  Lady  of  the  Saguenay. " 
There  she  stands,  through  the  brief  northern 
summer  and  pitiless  winter,  calm  as  the  rocks 
themselves,  as  if  gently  blessing  all  those 
whom  duty  or  inclination  calls  to  this  weird 
region.  Upon  the  second  elevation  a  large 
cross  has  been  placed ;  but  it  is  doubtful  if  the 
foot  of  man  has  ever  climbed  the  third  and 
final  dizzy  height  with  its  crown  of  fadeless 
green.  We  looked  up,  and  were  dizzy  for  the 
looking.  It  was  but  a  few  minutes  past  noon, 
yet  the  sun  was  obscured.  A  million  tons  of 
granite  seemed  about  to  fall  upon  us.  Our  boat 
was,  to  our  startled  fancy,  but  a  paper  shell, 
and  the  water  reached  a  thousand  feet  below 
the  foot  of  that  tremendous  cliff.  One  might 
well  breathe,  awestricken,  "Our  Lady  of  the 
Saguenay,  pray  for  us!" 

Cape  Eternity  is  even  higher  than  its  lofty 
neighbor,  and  beside  it,  at  a  certain  favorable 
spot,  the  boat's  whistle  was  sounded  again 
and  again,  that  we  might  hear  the  wonderful 
echo. 

The  mouth  of  the  Saguenay  was  reached  in 
due  time ;  but,  on  account  of  that  very  incon- 
venient tide,  our  stay  was  limited.  Here  is  the 
historic  town  of  Tadousac,  affluent  in  memo- 
ries and  traditions.    From  here  a  party  of 


258 


The  Ave  Maria. 


early  explorers  set  out  to  visit  the  unknown 
Saguenay ,  and  were  never  heard  of  more.  Here 
Cartier  and  his  men  moored  their  barks  three 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  Here  Father 
Marquette  found  a  home  and  built  a  mission 
house.  The  little  church,  now  in  the  shadow 
of  the  great  summer  hotel,  has  seen  perhaps 
three  hundred  quiet  years.  There  is  a  delight- 
ful discrepancy  in  dates  in  this  far  away  local- 
ity, but  this  church  was  without  doubt  the 
first  one  erected  upon  the  continent  of  Amer- 
ica, antedating  the  one  at  St.  Augustin.  It  is 
the  delight  of  the  antiquarian  and  the  joy  of 
every  pious  soul.  Gay  cavaliers  from  sunny 
France,  steel-clad  soldiers,  hardy  trappers, 
intrepid  priests,  and  gently  nurtured  holy 
women,  have,  with  homesick  hearts  perhaps, 
sanctified  its  humble  walls  with  petitions  for 
the  welfare  of  the  Church  in  the  New  World. 
And  so  we  left  the  Saguenay.  But  the 
mysterious  river,  whose  depths  no  man  has 
fathomed,  still  rolls  on  between  its  borders  of 
everlasting  rock ;  and  high  above,  with  God's 
sunlight  upon  her  brow,  stands  Our  Lady  of 
the  Saguenay. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

In  his  new  Encyclical,  dated  the  Feast  of  the 
Assumption,  the  Holy  Father,  after  dwelling 
upon  the  increasing  evils  of  our  age,  again  recom- 
mends to  the  faithful  the  recitation,  "with  the 
greatest  possible  fervor,"  of  the  Rosary;  and 
orders  that  the  devotions  ifor  October  be  con- 
tinued in  perpetuity,  with  an  additional  special 
prayer  to  St.  Joseph,  whom  His  Holiness  eulogizes 
in  eloquent  terms,  exhorting  all  the  faithful,  in 
whatsoever  place  or  circumstances,  to  commend 
and  confide  themselves  to  his  guardianship.  To 
those  who  .shall  recite  piously  the  said  prayer  an 
indulgence  of  seven  years  and  as  many  periods 
of  forty  days  is  granted  each  time.  His  Holiness 
furthermore  recommends  a  special  celebration  of 
the  Feast  of  St.  Joseph.  A  translation  of  the 
Encvclical  is  given  in  our  present  number. 


The  Feast  of  Our  Lady's  Assumption  seems 
to  have  been  celebrated  this  year  throughout  the 
world  with  extraordinary  fervor.  In  France  the 
vow  by  which  Louis  XIII.  consecrated  that  coun- 
try to  the  Blessed  Virgin  was  renewed  in  every 
parish,  and  crowds  of  people  flocked  to  the 
churches  for  the  morning  and  evening  services. 
In  Belgium  the  Feast  was  kept  with  unusual 


solemnity.  The  annual  procession  at  Antwerp  is 
spoken  of  as  an  imposing  manifestation  of  Cath- 
olic fervor.  In  Rome  and  throughout  Italy  the 
faithful  gave  a  new  and  splendid  confirmation  of 
their  zeal  and  devotion  to  the  Mother  of  God. 
The  celebration  in  Catholic  Ireland  was  no  less 
enthusiastic.  As  many  as  fort}'  thousand  pil- 
grims from  various  parts  of  the  country  and  from 
England  and  Scotland  visited  Knock  on  the  day 
of  the  Feast,  and  there  were  other  pilgrimages 
during  the  Octave.  Nor  were  the  Catholics  of 
the  United  States  wanting  in  fervor.  The  As- 
sumption was  celebrated  in  many  places  with 
great  solemnity,  and  was  everj'where  a  day  of 
pious  recollection. 

The  portraits  of  Washington  and  Archbishop 
Carroll  which  Signor  Gregori  of  the  University 
of  Notre  Dame  is  painting  for  the  Catholic  Uni- 
versity of  Washington  give  promise  of  ranking 
among  the  best  specimens  of  his  skill  as  a  portrait 
painter.  That  of  Washington,  which  is  almost 
finished,  is  in  every  respect  an  admirable  work.  It 
would  be  no  surprise  to  us  to  have  it  classed  with 
the  best  portraits  of  our  first  and  greatest  Presi- 
dent. The  painting  of  the  first  Bishop  of  the 
United  States  is  only  sketched  as  yet,  but  the 
finished  miniature,  which  the  artist  has  prepared, 
promises  another  admirable  portrait, ^admirable 
both  as  a  work  of  art  and  as  a  likeness. 


On  the  5th  inst.  ten  Sisters  of  the  Order  of  the 
Holy  Cross  left  Notre  Dame,  Ind.,  for  the  far- 
distant  mission  of  Bengal,  India.  There  they  will 
devote  themselves  to  the  instruction  of  the  young 
and  the  care  of  the  sick.  The  heroic  self-sacrifice 
of  these  religious  appeals  most  forcibly  to  every 
sentiment  of  the  heart,  and  is  a  striking  example 
of  the  power  of  faith  and  love  for  God's  honor 
and  glory.  Their  zeal  will  certainly  be  signally 
blessed  by  Heaven,  and  abundantly  rewarded  both 
here  and  hereafter. 

The  Shah  of  Persia  has  again  declared  that  his 
Catholic  subjects  should  enjoy  full  religious  lib- 
erty so  long  as  he  ruled.  His  Majesty  has  often 
shown  special  favor  to  Catholic  missionaries, 
and  he  never  loses  an  opportunity  of  promoting 
the  labors  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity.  He  lately 
caused  an  insulter  of  the  Pope  to  be  imprisoned. 


A  correspondent  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  de- 
scribing the  horrible  scenes  which  took  place  at 
a  recent  double  execution  in  Paris,  says:  "I  loved 
the  two  priests  who  were  with  them  {i.  (?.,  the 
culprits)  at  the  last.  One  was  young,  tall,  and 
fair,  and  had  the  presence  of  a  saint ;  the  other 
was  short  and  comfortable,  and  it  was  he  who 


The  Ave  Maria. 


259 


suffered  most;  and  when  he  had  kissed  his  poor 
son  on  either  cheek,  and  for  the  last  time  had 
raised  the  crucifix  aloft,  he  broke  down  and  cried 
like  a  little  child.  Those  who,  quand  mcmt%  attack 
the  Church,  and  are  esprits  forts,  should  watch 
her  ministers  on  such  occasions,  and  then  would 
love  her  and  them  for  all  time  afterward.  I  will 
not  speak  of  the  after-scenes,  when  the  guillotine 
was  down  and  away,  and  the  outer  rabble  was 
let  in  and  came  tearing  down  like  yelping  hyenas 
to  where  it  had  been,  and  sought  for  the  smallest 
fleck  of  blood,  I  try  only  to  remember  the  pallor 
of  the  sanctified  and  noble  youth  and  the  tears  of 
the  old  man.  Thej'-  were  what  alone  was  human 
in  the  terrible  night  that  I  have  passed." 


Growing  out  of  the  masonry  of  the  French  Cath- 
olic church  steeple  in  Biddeford,  Maine,  almost  at 
the  upper  limit  of  the  brickwork,  are  two  young 
trees,  both  green  and  flourishing  in  appearance. 
They  are  so  high  in  the  air  that  they  look 
smaller  than  they  really  are,  yet  masons,  who  are 
able  to  make  comparisons  by  a  knowledge  of 
distances  between  points  upon  the  spire,  say  that 
the  one  upon  the  south  side  of  the  steeple  is  fully 
eight  feet  tall  and  the  other  about  six.  Both  are 
green  and  healthy  -  looking  plants,  and  have 
grown  rapidly  within  a  year.  The  opinion  is  that 
one  is  a  willow  and  the  other  a  poplar.  How  they 
obtained  root  in  the  masonry  is  a  mystery. 


One  of  the  Chicago  dailies  relates  that  two  men 
standing  at  the  door  of  a  north  side  church  last 
Sunday  were  informed  that  the  pastor  was  off*  on 
a  vacation,  and  there  w^ould  be  no  service  there 
until  his  return.  "I  am  sorry,"  said  one  of  the 
men;  "for  I  was  actually  church  hungry  to-day. 
I  suppose  I  can  go  to  Union  Club,  however,  and 
put  in  the  day  there. ' ' — His  friend  replied :  ' '  Let's 
^o  to  some  Catholic  church."' — "They  will  all  be 
closed,  too.  A  priest  needs  a  vacation  the  same  as 
a  Protestant  minister.— "That's  true,  but  there 
is  always  some  one  to  take  his  place.  There  is  no 
such  thing  as  a  vacation  in  the  Catholic  Church." 


The  Catholic  Times,  of  Liverpool,  states  that 
Mary  Anderson  is  enjoying  excellent  health. 

On  Wednesday,  the  4th  inst.,  the  new  College 
of  the  Sacred  Heart  at  Watertown,Wis.,  was  sol- 
emnly blessed  and  dedicated  in  the  presence  of  a 
large  assembly  of  clergy  and  laity.  The  ceremony 
was  performed  by  the  Very  Rev.  William  Corby, 
Provincial  of  the  Order  of  the  Holy  Cross  in  the 
United  States.  After  the  religious  services  the 
faculty  and  visitors  assembled  in  the  large  hall 
of  the  College,  where  addresses  were  made  by 
Very  Rev.  Father  Corby  and  the  Hon.  J.  Hoard, 


Governor  of  the  State.  The  oration  of  the  day 
watj  delivered  by  the  Hon.  Judge  R.  Prendergast, 
of  Chicago,  who  spoke  on  the  subject  of  "Chris- 
tian Education,"  and  made  a  masterly  defence  ol 
the  position  of  the  Church  in  reference  to  the 
purely  secular  education  of  the  public  schools. 
The  new  College  is  four  stories  in  height,  125  by 
85  feet,  and,  with  the  other  buildings  erected  on 
the  site,  makes  one  of  the  largest  educational  in- 
stitutions in  Wisconsin.  The  faculty  is  composed 
of  priests  and  Brothers  of  the  Congregation  of  the 
Holy  Cross,  under  the  able  presidency  of  the  Rev. 
John  O'Keeffe.  

The  Catholic  Columbian  tells  of  an  important 
invention  by  a  priest : 

The  Rev.  Father  di  Marzo,  who  came  originally  to 
this  country  as  a  missionary,  and  became  an  American 
citizen,  is  now  at  the  Convent  of  St.  Louis  Bertrand, 
in  Louisville,  Ky.  He  in\'ented  a  system  of  coal-oil 
illumination  by  means  of  automatic  lamps.  The 
chimneys  can  never  blacken  or  become  overheated ; 
an  explosion  is  impossible ;  there  is  no  odor ;  no  wick 
trimming  is  needed ;  the  consumption  of  oil  is  reduced 
to  a  minimum.  Patents  have  been  secured  for  the 
system  in  this  country  and  in  Europe.  It  is  working 
successfully  in  Rome.  Father  di  Marzo  proposes  to 
give  a  public  exhibition  in  Louisville  of  the  operation 
of  his  invention. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii,  3, 

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

The  Rev.  John  Van  Gennip,  a  saintly  old  priest  of 
the  Diocese  of  Detroit,  stationed  at  Ecorse,  Mich., 
who  was  called  to  his  reward  on  the  3d  inst. 

Bro.  Robert,  C,  S.  C,  whose  devoted  life  closed  in  a 
holy  death  at  St.  Edward's  College,  Austin,  Texas, 
on  the  23d  ult. 

Sister  Marcelline,  of  the  Sisters  of  the  Holy  Cross, 

who  passed  away  at  St.  Mary's  Academy,  Notre  Dame, 

Ind.,  on  the  3d  inst.,  fortified  by  the  last  Sacraments. 

Mr.  Robert  Reid,  who  departed  this  life  on  the 

13th  ult.,  at  Cambridgeport,  Mass. 

Miss  Catherine  Reid,  of  Pittsburg,  Pa,,  whose  ex:- 
emplary  life  was  crowned  with  a  holy  death  on  the 
1 2th  ult. 

Mrs.  Julia  M.  Digons,  whose  happy  death  occurred 
in  Brooklyn,  N,  Y.,  on  the  22d  of  July. 

Mr.  Patrick  Hannon,  who  died  peacefully  at  E. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  on  the  26th  ult. 

Mrs.  M.  Bresnahan,  of  South  Boston,  Mass.;  Miss 
Nellie  Moynahan,  Lafayette,  Ind. ;  Mr.  Patrick  Den- 
non,  and  Mrs.  Mary  Williams,  San  Francisco,  Cal.; 
Francis  White,  Rose  Bagly,  William  Keogh,  James 
LafFerty,  and  James  Cassidy, — all  of  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 

May  they  rest  in  peace  ! 


26o 


The  Ave  Maria.. 


The  Jose-Maria. 


BY   E.  I..  DORSEY. 


XIII. 

The  scene  with  Dixson  fully  realized  Hen- 
dershott's  expectations,  and  gave  that  slip- 
pery young  person  his  first  perception  that 
perhaps,  after  all,  honesty  and  integrity  were 
better  in  the  long  run  than  sharpness  and 
unscrupulous  quibbles;  for  the  settlement  of 
the  claim  was  made  a  very  imposing  occasion, 
Judge  Comegys,  Mr.  Burton,  Mr.  Rodney  and 
Doctor  Burton  being  present  to  see  their  old 
friend  safely  through,  both  legally  and  phys- 
ically. 

The  dignity  of  these  gentlemen,  the  stately 
ceremony  with  which  they  froze  their  scamp- 
ish young  brother,  and  the  calm  deliberation 
with  which  they  scrutinized  the  papers,  deeds, 
etc.,  pointing  out  one  or  two  carelessly  copied 
clauses,  and  suggesting  their  correction  with 
a  citation  of  statutes  and  rulings  that  rang 
sonorously  on  the  air, — all  made  it  a  very 
trying  hour  for  him;  but  this  discomfort  was 
as  nothing  to  that  he  felt  when  he  found  him- 
self sandwiched  between  Idella's  sombre  eyes 
and  Hendershott's  angry  ones.  He  knew 
lunatics  were  very  sudden,  and  he  trembled 
for  his  worthless  body  as  if  it  had  been  really 
valuable;  and  he  also  noticed  sundry  move- 
ments of  the  diver's  fists  that  made  curious 
little  crinkles  catch  his  muscles  and  quicken 
his  breath. 

The  climax  of  the  diver's  satisfaction  was 
reached  when  the  moment  of  payment  came, 
and  the  judge  asked  as  a  matter  of  form: 

"Are  you  ready  to  meet  the  debt?" 

Jonas  bowed  silently  and  looked  at  Hen- 
dershott,  who  was  fearfully  and  wonderfully 
rigged  in  a  suit  of  black  broadcloth,  and  wore 
a  collar  so  large  and  stiff  that  he  literally 
could  not  turn  his  head;  he  could  nod  it 
though,  and  this  he  did  with  an  emphasis  that 
focused  every  eye  in  the  room  upon  him,  as 


he  waved  his  hand  toward  the  inner  door, 
saying, 

"Dick,  No.  i!" 

Dick  rose,  and  presently  a  rumbling  sound 
was  heard,  and  he  came  in  trundling  a  wheel- 
barrow, in  which  lay  big  bags  and  little  bags, 
loose  silver  and  rouleaux.  He  set  it  down  be- 
fore Dixson,  to  whom  Hendershott  ordered: 

"Count  it!" 

This  he  did, — fifteen  thousand  dollars. 

Then  Hendershott  said: 

"Dick,  No.  2!" 

And  Dick  wheeled  in  a  second  load,  at  sight 
of  which  the  diver  grinned,  and  Dixson  cried 
out  angrily: 

"I  can't  take  all  this  silver!  It's  ridiculous 
to  expect  it." 

"Then  you  kin  leave  it,"  answered  the 
diver.   * '  Nobody  '11  cry,  I  guess. ' ' 

"But,"  fumed  Dixson. 

"But,"  mimicked  the  diver,  "look  a- here. 
You're  a  nice  one,  you  are!  Thar  bain't  no 
suitin'  you!  Fust  you  come  a-howlin'  fur 
money  we  didn't  owe,  an'  kicked  up  a  rumpus 
'cause  it  wasn't  paid;  an'  now  we  gone  an' 
paid  it,  you're  a- try  in'  to  raise  another." 

"I'll  have  to  hire  a  wagon  to  take  it  away ! " 
said  Dixson. 

' '  We're  willin'  you  should,"  answered  Hen- 
dershott, cheerfully. 

"Gentlemen,  is  there  no  protection  for  me 
against  insults  in  the  discharge  of  my 
duty?"  (turning  to  the  judge  and  his  com- 
panions.) 

"We're  not  aware  any  have  been  offered, 
sir, ' '  was  the  courteous  response. 

"But  see  how  I'm  paid! " 

"There  was  no  special  form  of  payment 
demanded,  was  there?  I  understood  that  the 
sum  total  alone  was  designated." 

"Well,  who  would  have  guessed  they'd 
raise  it?"   (rudely.) 

"That's  scarcely  to  the  point,"  said  the 
judge,  dryly. 

"It's  a  conspiracy!  I  can't  handle  these 
miserable — " 

"They  ain't  miserable!"  interrupted  Hen- 
dershott; "not  by  a  long  chalk,  they  ain't! 
They're  good  loo-cents-to-the-dollar  bits  o' 
pure  silver!  I'd  ought  to  know;  fur  ain't  I 
ben  a-bitin'  of 'em,  an'  had  Dick  a-bitin'  of 
'em,  an'  the  twins  a-ringin'  of  'em  right  along, 


The  Ave  Maria, 


261 


tell  our  jaws  ached,  an'  the  little  gals  was  dead 
beat?  An'  now,  young  man,  sign  that  recipe 
(receipt?),  an'  git!  We've  had  enough  o'  you, 
an'  a  sight  too  much.  None  o'  your  lip!  When 
I  say  *git! '  I  mean  it,  an'  it's  a  heap  healthier 
than  stayin'.  Thar's  the  door!"  (swinging 
both  arms  toward  it  in  a  way  highly  sug- 
gestive of  pitching  something  out.)  "Dick, 
guess  we'd  better  save  manners  an'  speed  the 
partin'  guest;  bear  a  hand  thar,  an'  I'll  come 
'long  too." 

And  they  trundled  the  barrows  out  and 
down  the  street  to  the  station,  where  Dixson, 
after  much  struggling  and  more  swearing, 
got  the  contents  boxed  and  expressed  amid 
a  far-off  but  audible  atmosphere  of  tarry 
laughter  and  barbed  jokes. 

The  memory  of  it  was  a  sweet  morsel  to 
the  diver;  and  whenever,  in  the  busy  days 
that  followed,  he  could  spare  time  to  smoke 
a  pipe,  he'd  mutter  between  puffs: 

"Three  thousan's  thirty  hundred — thirty 
hundred  o'  them  cart-wheel  silver  dollars! 
Wisht  I  could-a  made  him  carry  'em  on  his 
back!  I^and,  wouldn't  he-a  sagged  under  the 
weight!  Wisht  I  could-a  made  him  take  a 
sep'rate  trip  fur  every  single  one  of 'em,  an' 
walk  both  ways!  Jack,  you  done  a  fancy 
stroke  that  time, an'  don't  you  forget  it!" 

And  then  he  would  chuckle,  wink  at  what- 
ever his  eye  struck,  and  go  back  to  work, 
greatly  refreshed. 

XIV. 

When  a  rain  is  over  and  the  first  ray  of 
sunshine  pierces  the  gloom,  have  you  ever 
noticed  with  what  magical  rapidity  the  light 
broadens,  the  clouds  roll  themselves  off  the 
scene,  and  the  sky  resumes  its  unbroken  arch 
of  blue?  It  is  like  a  stage  transformation  in 
its  swiftness  and  completeness.  That  was  the 
way  with  the  troubles  of  the  little  household 
by  the  sea.  Once  the  rift  was  made,  events 
marched  so  rapidly  they  scarcely  found  time 
for  breath  between  the  happenings,  and  fur- 
nished abundant  material  for  all  the  fireside 
and  newspaper  story-tellers  in  the  state  and 
country. 

It  was  this  way.  November  had  come,  and 
had  dropped  in  the  jvorld's  lap  a  few  days  so 
beautiful  and  mild  that  the  children  went 
wild,  the  late  birds  thought  second  thoughts 
about  migration,  and  a  few  flowers  and  butter- 


flies nodded  and  danced  in  the  soft  air  and 
warm  sunshine.  The  women  brought  their 
household  tasks  out  doors,  windows  were 
thrown  open,  and  fires  put  out.  But  the  old 
men  shook  their  shaggy  heads  and  would 
"take  no  stock"  in  it.  "Weather- breeders!" 
they  growled,  and  rose  and  sat  stiffly  with 
the  aches  and  pains  that  fly  before  a  change. 
"Weather -breeders;  an'  it'll  be  'fare-you- 
well,  my  Mary  Anne!'  when  once  the  wind 
does  slip  cable." 

And  the  event  proved  them  right;  for  on 
the  evening  of  the  6th  the  sun  went  down  in 
a  wild  smear  of  red,  and  there  was  a  metallic 
ring  to  the  surf  as  it  hammered  on  the  beach. 
Ship  after  ship  came  running  into  the  harbor, 
and  each  reported  other  sail  crowding  after. 
By  daybreak  those  that  got  in  did  it  by  dint 
of  sheer  pluck  and  luck ;  and  by  ten  o'clock 
all  the  able-bodied  men  in  town  were  huddled 
on  the  sands,  watching  a  brigantine  and  a 
bark  that  were  struggling  desperately  to  claw 
off  the  shoals,  about  which  the  sea  bellowed 
and  roared  and  the  foam  flew  like  a  snow 
squall. 

The  bark  was  well  handled,  but  something 
seemed  amiss  with  the  brig,  and  she  made 
leeway  so  fast  that  the  swiftest  runner  in  the 
crowd  was  sent  back  to  lyCwes  to  telegraph 
the  life  crew  at  Rehoboth  to  "limber  up"  the 
boat  wagon  and  come  along. 

Did  you  ever  watch  a  ship  going  to  her 
death?  The  waves  lash  her  stern  and  sides 
till  she  shudderingly  labors  up  the  great  green 
ridges  that  fling  their  tons  of  water  on  her; 
she  trembles  on  the  crest  like  a  sentient  creat- 
ure ;  then  she  makes  a  shivering  plunge,  and 
lies  groaning  in  the  trough  of  the  sea  until 
goaded  up  another  height ;  her  anchors  clutch 
at  the  bottom  like  the  fingers  of  a  drowning 
man ;  she  tries  to  spread  her  broken  wings ; 
she  shakes  off  ever}'  burden  that  can  be  spared 
from  cargo  and  armament.  But  all  the  time 
she  crawls  nearer  and  nearer  the  white  death 
under  her  bows,  until  with  a  sudden  leap  she's 
hard  aground,  and  then  the  wind  and  sea  fall 
on  her  and  tear  and  rend  her  to  pieces. 

As  the  brig  took  the  ground  a  half  groan 
went  up,  and  a  great  restlessness  pervaded 
tlie  crowd  until  the  life-boat  hove  in  sight, — 
the  horses  galloping,  the  men  clinging  with 
hands,  feet,  arms,  legs,  even  teeth — anything 


262 


The  Ave  Maria. 


that  would  grip  and  hold.  A  horse  fell  winded, 
but  they  cut  the  traces  and  left  him;  another 
staggered  and  rolled  over :  they  left  him  too ; 
volunteers  sprang  from  the  group  on  the 
sands,  and  men  and  horses  dashed  on  the 
beach  with  a  yell  and  a  whinny  that  brought 
a  faint  response  from  the  wreck. 

The  crew  were  called.  All  answered  until 
"No.  4" — ^Job  Ransom.  Then  an  unfamiliar 
voice  made  the  captain  look  up.  But  when  he 
saw  it  was  a  sturdy  fellow  he  let  the  boat  go ; 
for  a  small  swivel  was  fired  from  the  wreck, 
and  the  foremast  was  bending  like  a  whip. 

"Ready?" 

"Aye,  aye!  "  And  with  muscles  of  iron  and 
hearts  of  steel  they  leaped  at  their  work. 

As  they  rushed  through  the  bursting  surf 
with  the  boat  and  scrambled  over  her  sides 
— she  rearing  and  plunging  like  a  bucking 
bronco, — put  out  their  oars,  and  laid  their 
backs  to  it  with  a  will,  a  strange  feeling  of 
impatience  took  possession  of  Dick.  He  was 
conscious  of  an  almost  uncontrollable  desire  to 
double  his  stroke  and  to  storm  at  the  men — all 
his  seniors — because  they  pulled  so  deep  and 
slow.  The  death- waves*  seemed  to  him  to 
bear  down  on  them  in  groups  instead  of 
singly ;  and  when  the  intermediate  seas  burst 
under  the  bows  of  the  Petrel,  making  her  toss 
her  nose  into  the  air  or  burying  her  under 
their  floods,  he  groaned  aloud  with  vexation 
at  the  time  lost  in  recovering  "way."  His  head 
was  as  if  set  on  a  pivot,  and  turned  so  often  and 
so  restlessly  toward  the  wreck,  that  Truxton, 
the  stroke,  supposing  him  to  be  nervous  as 
to  her  fate,  said  kindly  : 

"All  right,  Dick.  She'll  hold  together  till 
we  get  her  crew  off,  any  way.   Don't  fret.'^ 

"Glad  o'  that,  sir,"  answered  Dick.  But 
still  his  muscles  quivered  so  strangely  that, 
as  the  little  craft  slid  uncertainly  down  the 
side  of  a  transversely  rolling  sea,  the  captain 
had  to  call  out : 

"Steady  there,  No.  4!    Steady!" 

Then  he  buckled  down  to  work  so  resolutely 
that  the  next  minutes  of  roar  and  smother, 
and  shock  and  struggle,  laboring  oars  and 
panting  breath,  blinded  vision  and  deafened 
ears,  seemed  interminably  long,  and  yet  in- 
credibly short  when  word  was  passed  to  "ease 

*  Every  ninth  wave ;  so  called  by  sailors  on  ac- 
count of  their  size  and  power. 


Up,"  for  they  were  as  near  the  wreck  as  they 
dared  go. 

The  moments  that  followed  were  filled  with 
the  noblest  joy  and  deepest  regret  that  can 
come  to  true  men, — the  joy  of  saving  life,  and 
the  pain  of  seeing  it  snatched  back  from  their 
grasp;  for  two  poor  fellows  were  washed  from 
the  line  and  swept  to  their  death  with  wild, 
white  faces,  and  outstretched  arms  that  clasped 
nothing  but  the  unstable  waters;  and  another 
was  dashed  so  violently  against  the  ship's 
side,  just  as  he  cleared  the  taffrail,  that  he  fell 
senseless  into  the  current  and  was  whirled  to 
a  deep-sea  grave. 

Dick  had  never  been  out  in  the  life- boat 
before,  but  he  felt  as  if  he  were  taking  part 
in  a  set  of  perfectly  familiar  scenes,  each  one 
of  which  he  knew  in  detail  before  it  happened. 
The  brig  was  absolutely  a  strange  vessel  to 
him,  but  he  recognized  her  ever/  line  and  spar. 
Her  foretop-mast  had  snapped  off  short,  and 
the  sails  were  bursting  away  like  puffs  of 
white  smoke, — he  knew  they  would.  There 
was  something  in  the  shrouds — "a  piece  of 
sail,"  one  of  the  boat's  crew  had  said;  but 
he  knew  better.  And  when  a  sudden  stir  made 
him  aware  that  the  main-stays  and  braces  had 
given,  and  the  mainmast  was  splitting  and 
wavering  for  a  fall,  he  suddenly  sprang  erect, 
and,  hollowing  his  hands  about  his  mouth, 
shouted: 

"Cut  loose  an'  swim  fur  it,  daddy!" 

The  man  in  the  shrouds  raised  his  head, 
which  had  fallen  forward  on  his  breast,  and 
looked  about  him, — his  long  grey  hair  and 
beard  streaming  in  the  gale. 

Dick  repeated  his  cry,  excitement  making 
his  voice  as  clear  as  a  trumpet  and  nearly  as 
strong.   And  as  he  did  so, 

"That's  right,  young  un!  "  came  from  one 
of  the  rescued  men.  *  *  If  ever  a  one  of  us  ought 
to  be  saved  it's  that  old  codger.  Nussed  us 
through  Yellow  Jack  *  at  Monty  vidday-o  last 
summer,  and's  taken  extry  night-watches 
time'n  again — had 'em  three  nights  hand- 
runnin'  this  spell — for  we  was  all  broke  up 
with  handlin'  the  spars  and  sails,  half  of  us 
bein'  gone  to  Davy  Jones.  Last  night  he  lashed 
himself  thar  for  a  lookout.  Hooray  for  the  old 


*  Yellow  fever. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


263 


And  they  broke  into  a  cheer  that  made  up 
in  intention  what  it  lacked  in  vohime. 

Simultaneously  with  it  Dick  seized  a  line, 
plunged  over  the  side,  and,  stayed  up  partly 
by  the  big  cork  jacket  that  forms  a  portion  of 
the  life-boat  uniform,  and  partly  b}'-  the  excite- 
ment that  raged  in  his  veins,  he  swam  for  the 
wreck  as  *  *  the  old  man ' '  took  out  his  sheath 
knife,  cut  the  lashings,  and  sprang  into  the 
water — not  a  minute  too  soon;  for  the  main- 
mast gave  and  fell,  crashing  against  the  stump 
of  the  foremast,  carrying  it  down  in  the  same 
ruin.  Heaven  favored  Dick's  rashness.  The 
current  and  wash  tossed  them  together,  and 
after  some  hard  hauling  they  were  both  pulled 
inboard,  and  the  boat  headed  for  shore. 

On  the  way  back  the  boy  sat  in  a  half-stupor, 
mechanically  dipping  his  oar,  and  occasion- 
ally pulling  hard  to  trim  the  boat  when  the 
transverse  seas  "chopped"  the  water  under 
her;  but  his  strength  was  spent  and  the  un- 
natural excitement  gone.  He  tried  to  get  a 
look  at  the  man  he  had  rescued,  wondering 
what  in  the  world  had  made  him  call  out 
as  he  did ;  but  the  poor  sailors  had  already 
tumbled  down  wherever  they  could  fit,  and 
some  of  them  were  actually  asleep  from  ex- 
haustion. 

As  they  landed,  a  dozen  willing  hands 
beached  the  boat,  and  a  hundred  throats 
roared  a  welcome.  Then  an  old  greybeard 
sang  out : 

"Another  for  the  barkie!" 

And  that  too  was  a  "peeler";  for  the  bark 
had  thrown  out  anchors  and  grapples ;  some 
of  them  were  holding,  and  she  was  riding 
hard  but  safe,  with  six  feet  of  water  between 
her  keel  and  the  bottom. 

As  the  sound  ceased  "the  old  man  "  turned 
to  Dick. 

"What  be  your  name?" 

And  Dick,  like  a  real  Yankee,  answered : 

"And  what  be  yours,  sir?" 

"'Uakim  Barlow,  o'  Gloucester." 

"  I  knew  it! "  cried  Dick,  with  a  knot  as  big 
as  his  fist  in  his  throat.  "O  daddy,  daddy, 
I'm  Dick!" 

Then  he  must  have  forgotten  he  had  a  fuzz 
on  his  lip  and  a  deposit  in  the  bank, — that  he 
had  done  a  strong  man's  work  that  day,  and 
had  the  biceps  of  a  blacksmith ;  for  he  threw 
his  arms  around  his  father's  neck  and  kissed 


his  bronzed  face  a  dozen  times,  just  as  he 
used  to  when  he  was  a  little  chap.  Then  they 
gripped  hands  in  a  way  that  would  have  made 
you  and  me  cripples  for  life,  and  looked  at 
each  other  till  each  was  hid  from  the  other 
by  a  salt  mist — maybe  from  the  flying  scud 
outside. 

Then  'Liakim  said: 

"Your  marm  an'  the  babies,  are  they — are 
they—" 

"Safe  and  sound,  sir." 

"Thank  the  Lord  A'mighty!"  was  the 
fervent  response.   * '  Wheer  ? ' ' 

"Wi'  Uncle  Judkins,"  said  Dick.  And  then 
he  laughed  from  pure  excitement.  "Land, 
won't  Mollie  justbe  rampagious!  She'll  raise 
the  roof  over  our  heads.  She's  kept  a-sayin' 
ev'y  day  for  most  a  year  you  was  a-comin'." 

"What  made  her?" 

* '  Said  her  Lady  was  a  goin'  to  bring  you. ' ' 

"Her  Lady?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Thar  was  a  French  sailor  giv' 
her  an'  Ginnie  a  picture  o'  the  Virgin  Mary 
an'  the  Infant  Saviour.  An*  she's  took  on  like 
a  kittiwake  ever  sence,  a  prayin'  an'  a-scoldin' 
an'  a  hustlin'  iox you  ef  you  was  alive,  or  for 
news  of  you  ef  you  was  dead." 

"That's  curis!    What  day 's  this?" 

"The  7th  o'  November." 

"That  cert'n'y  is  curis.  An'  she's  ben  sayin' 
her  Lady 'd  do  it?" 

"She  don't  let  up  on  it  a  day,  sir." 

"Mebbe  she  did,"  said  'Liakim,  thought- 
fully; "mebbeshedid.  But  your  marm,  Dickie, 
— you  ain't  said  how  she  is." 

"She's better,  sir, — a  heap  better;  an'  I  bet 
she'll  know  you  quick  as  a  wink.  She's — 
she's — you  know  she's  a  leetle  mite  touched 
up  aloft  ever  sence  the  time  the  ''Lezabeth 
Jane'  come  home  'thout  you, — just  a  leetle," 
he  added  hurriedly;  "but  fur  all  that  she^ s 
stuck  to  it  you  was  a  comin'  home  too." 

"I  know." 

"You — how'd  you  know,  sir?" 

"The  babies'  sailor,  Dick.  Oh,  that's  a  queer 
story,  but  I'm  beat  now — " 

"Don't  talk,  daddy,"  said  Dick,  remorse- 
fully. "I  hadn't  ought  to  let  you,  an'  I  ain't 
goin'  to  ask  you  nothin'  more,  though  I'm 
'most  crazy  to  know  how  we  got  you  home — 
whew,  that's  a  breather,  sir!" 

"Breather"  was  a  mild  name  for  it.   The 


I 


264 


The  Ave  Maria 


wind,  that  seemed  about  to  go  down  at  the 
turn  of  the  tide,  suddenly  leaped  into  the 
west,  and  blew  such  big  guns  it  was  hard 
work  to  make  headway  against  it.  The  two 
men,  being  drenched  through,  were  soon 
chilled  to  the  bone,  and  Dick  heaved  a  long 
sigh  of  relief  as  they  reached  home  and  closed 
the  door  behind  them. 

(TO   BE  CONTINUED.) 


Vienna  Saved  by  Our  Lady. 


The  Turks,  proud  of  the  victory  they  had 
gained  over  the  Imperialists,  were  proceeding 
to  besiege  Vienna.  All  fled  at  their  approach, 
and  the  Emperor  I^eopold  I. ,  powerless  against 
their  numbers,  had  quitted  his  capital  in  haste. 
He  went  out  at  one  of  the  gates,  when  the 
barbarians  appeared  under  the  walls.  Their 
camp  was  soon  set  up,  their  batteries  formed, 
and  trenches  opened,  on  the  very  eve  of  the 
Feast  of  the  Assumption  in  the  year  1682,  and 
pushed  on  with  fearful  rapidity.  To  complete 
the  misfortune,  a  church  took  fire  and  the 
flames  threatened  to  extend  to  the  arsenal:  all 
the  ammunition  would  have  been  destroyed. 
But  Mary,  being  invoked  without  ceasing  and 
with  the  livf^liest  confidence,  did  not  abandon 
her  children.  On  the  day  of  the  Assumption, 
the  fire  suddenly  stopped,  and  brought  back 
hope  and  courage  to  sinking  hearts. 

However,  the  Turks  continued  their  enter- 
prise with  incredible  activity;  their  artillery 
rained,  day  and  night,  a  shower  of  bombs  on 
the  city;  their  works,  from  the  3  rst  of  August, 
had  so  advanced  that  the  soldiers  on  both 
sides  fought  in  the  moat,  with  the  stakes  of 
the  palisade.  Vienna,  that  bulwark  of  Chris- 
tianity, already  nearly  reduced  to  ashes,  was 
on  the  point  of  falling  under  the  yoke  of 
Ottoman  impiety. 

But  what  is  there  that  confidence  in  the 
Mother  of  God  can  not  obtain?  On  the  day 
of  her  Nativity,  whilst  the  inhabitants  and 
the  soldiers  redoubled  their  prayers,  succor 
swift  and  sure  came  to  their  aid.  They  could 
soon  see  standards  flying  on  the  neighboring 
mountains :  it-  was  the  great  Sobieski  with 
his  Poles.  Their  number  was  small,  certainly ; 
but  Heaven  sent  them  to  save  Vienna.  On  the 
morning   of    the    12th    Sobieski   assisted    at 


Mass,  and  served  it  himself,  with  his  arms  ex- 
tended in  the  form  of  a  cross;  he  went  to 
Holy  Communion,  put  himself  and  his  sol- 
diers under  Mary's  protection,  and,  full  of 
ardor  and  fresh  confidence,  he  cried :  '  *  Let 
us  march  now  under  the  all-powerful  protec- 
tion of  the  Mother  of  God!  " 

Soon  the  little  army  saw  spread  out  before 
them  the  vast  camp  of  the  infidels,  their  nu- 
merous squadrons,  their  thundering  artillery. 
Seized  at  first  with  an  involuntary  fear,  the 
Poles  avowed  that  God  alone  could  give 
them  the  victory.  Already  Heaven  had  heard 
their  prayer:  the  Khan  of  Tartary,  alarmed 
at  the  vigor  of  the  first  shock,  fell  back  and 
fled  precipitately;  he  drew  after  him  the 
grand  vizier,  who,  though  trembling  with 
rage,  was  forced  to  follow.  Soon  they  were 
completely  routed,  the  plain  was  strewed 
with  the  dead,  the  Danube  engulfed  in  its 
stream  thousands  of  fugitives ;  all  the  am- 
munition, artillery,  nay  even  the  standards 
of  the  Mahometans,  became  the  prey  of  the 
conqueror. 

Sobieski,  at  the  head  of  the  victorious 
troops,  made  his  entry  into  Vietina  with  the 
Emperor,  and,  full  of  gratitude,  intoned  the  Te 
Dcum  himself.  From  that  time  the  religious 
monarch  carried  everywhere  with  him  a  pict- 
ure of  Our  Lady  of  Loreto  with  this  inscrip- 
tion :  ' '  Through  this  image  of  Mary,  Sobieski 
will  always  conquer. ' ' 


A  Noble  Saying. 


A  poor  Milanese,  who  was  a  porter  at  a 
school,  found  a  purse  containing  two  hundred 
crowns.  The  owner,  having  seen  an  advertise- 
ment of  its  having  been  found,  came  to  the 
school,  and  having  clearly  proved  that  the 
purse  was  his  property  it  was  given  up  to  him. 
V\A\  of  joy  and  gratitude  at  having  found  it, 
he  offered  the  porter  twenty  crowns,  but  he 
refused  to  accept  it ;  then  he  offered  ten,  and 
then  five,  but  the  finder  was  still  inflexible. 
"I  have  lost  nothing  if  you  will  receive  noth- 
ing," said  the  owner,  angrily  throwing  his 
bag  on  the  ground.  The  porter  then  agreed 
to  accept  five  crowns,  which  he  distributed 
among  some  poor  persons,  declaring  that  one 
is  not  entitled  to  any  reward  for  being  honest. 


Vol.  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  SEPTEMBER  21,  1889. 


No.  12. 


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


Homecoming. 

BY   MARION   MUIR   RICHARDSON. 

ACROvSS  the  dtsert  broad  and  bare, 
Across  the  mountain's  purple  round, 
I  feel  its  whisper  in  the  air, 

The  day  that  sets  nie  homeward  bound. 

My  pansies,  white  as  maiden  brows, 
Look  up,  look  up  to  welcome  me! 

Oh,  south-wind,  in  the  poplar  boughs. 
Make  music  like  the  summer  sea! 

Behind  me  lie  the  city  walls, 

All  golden  with  the  sunset's  pride ; 

But  clearer  through  the  distance  calls 
The  promise  of  my  own  fireside. 

In  other  groves  the  branches  wave, 
By  other  paths  the  flowers  bloom  ; 

But  none,  like  those  I  planted,  gave 
The  subtle  balm  of  love's  perfume. 


The.Ignorance  of  the  Laity  in  the  Middle 
Ages.— Could  Charlemagne  Write? 


BY   THE   REV.  REUBEN    PARSONS,  D.  D, 


I. 

E  frequently  hear  that  in  the  Middle 
Ages  the  clergy  systematically  kept 
the  laity  in  ignorance  ;  that  even  the 
nobility  were  so  uncultivated  that  in  the  public 
records  of  those  times  it  is  quite  common  to 
meet  the  clause:  "And  the  said  lord  declares 
that  he  knows  not  how  to  sign  [his  name], 
because  of  his  conditiori  of  geiitlemany  Charle- 
magne himself,  it  is  said,  could_not  write.  But 


are  these  allegations  true?  In  the  early  period 
of  the  Middle  Ages  undoubtedly  ignorance 
was  the  lot  of  the  warriors  who  became  the 
progenitors  of  most  of  the  European  nobles ; 
but  when  these  barbarians  had  become  Chris- 
tians and  members  of  civilized  society,  is  it 
true  that  they  generally  remained  in  that 
ignorance  ? 

The  learned  Benedictine,  Cardinal  Pitra,* 
has  proved  that  in  nearly  all  monasteries 
there  were  two  kinds  of  schools — the  internal, 
for  the  youth  who  wished  to  become  religious; 
and  the  external,  for  the  children  who  showed 
no  such  vocation.  And  do  we  not  know  how 
Abelard's  retreat,  the  Paraclete,  was  filled 
with  hundreds  of  young  laymen,  zealous  for 
knowledge?  Vincent  of  Beauvais  (y.  1250) 
writes  that  "the  sons  of  the  nobility  need  to 
acquire  expensive  learning ; ' '  and  Giles  of 
Rome  (1290)  says  that  'the  children  of  kings 
and  of  great  lords  must  have  masters  to  teach 
them  all  science,  and  especially  a  knowledge 
of  Latin."  The  nobles  are  said  to  have  de- 
spised learning,  but  we  know  that  they  were 
very  zealous  in  founding  schools.  Thus  at 
Paris  alone  six  colleges  were  established  by 
noble  laymen  :  that  of  Laon,  in  1 313,  by  Guy 
of  Laon  and  Raonl  de  Presles ;  that  of  Presles, 
in  13 13,  by  this  Raoul;  that  of  Boncourt,  in 
1357,  by  Peter  de  Flechinel ;  that  of  the  Ave 
Maria,  in  1 336,  by  John  of  Hubaut ;  that  of 
Iva  Marche,  in  1362,  by  William  de  la  Marche ; 
that  of  theGra.ssins,  in  1 369,  by  Peter  d' Ablon. 

The  following  remarksof  a  judicious  critic.f 
concerning  the  widely  spread  opinion  as  to  the 

*  "Histoire  de  St.  Leger." 

t  M.  Louaiidre,  in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  for 
Jan.  15,  1877,  p.  452. 


266 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ignorance  of  the  medieval  laity,  are  worthy  of 
attention : 

"The  researches  of  M.  de  Beaurepaire  con- 
cerning public  instruction  in  the  Diocese  of 
Rouen,  the  'History  of  the  Schools  of  Montau- 
ban '  from  the  tenth  to  the  sixteenth  centur}^ 
and  several  other  local  monographs,  not  to 
speak  of  Du  Boulay  and  De  Crevier,  show 
what  this  assertion  is  worth.  If  the  middle 
class  and  the  peasants  knew  nothing,  it  was 
because  they  wished  not  to  learn,  for  the 
olden  France  had  no  less  than  60,000  schools; 
each  town  had  its  groupes  scolaires,  as  they 
say  in  Paris ;  each  rural  parish  had  its  peda- 
gogue— its  magister,  as  they  style  him  in  the 
North.  In  the  thirteenth  century  all  the  peas- 
ants of  Normandy  could  read  and  write,  car- 
ried writing  materials  at  their  girdles,  and 
many  of  them  were  no  strangers  to  I^atin.  The 
nobles  were  no  more  hostile  to  letters  than  the 
peasants  were;  they  shared  in  the  poetical 
movement  in  the  South,  as  Bertrand  deBorn, 
William  of  Aquitaine,  and  Bernard  of  Vent- 
adour  bear  witness.  The  first  chroniclers  who 
wrote  in  French  were  nobles  (and  laymen) 
— Villehardouin  and  Joinville.  In  1337  the 
scions  of  the  first  families  followed  the  courses 
of  the  University  of  Orleans.  As  to  the  docu- 
ments which  they  are  said  to  have  been  un- 
able to  sign,  'because  of  their  condition  of 
gentlemen,'  such  papers  do  not  exist,  and  we 
defy  paleographers  to  produce  one  containing 
the  alleged  formula.  To  obtain  another  proof 
of  medieval  ignorance,  some  have  recour.se  to 
the  crosses  traced  at  the  foot  of  documents  of 
the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries,  and  to  the 
absence  of  signatures  in  those  of  the  thirteenth 
But  this  pretended  proof  can  not  stand  the 
tests  of  diplomatic  science.  In  those  days  acts 
were  not  authenticated  by  written  names,  but 
by  crosses  and  seals.  The  most  ancient  royal 
signatures  are  of  no  earlier  date  than  that  of 
Charles  V."  (of  France),  who  died  in  1380. 

Even  in  the  early  Middle  Age  every  cathe- 
dral, and  nearly  every  monastery,  had  its 
school  and  library,  in  accordance  with  canoni- 
cal enactments.  Hallam  admits  that  "the 
praise  of  having  originally  established  schools 
belongs  to  some  bishops  and  abbots  of  the 
sixth  century ' ' ;  but — at  least  so  far  as  Ireland 
is  concerned — it  is  certain  that  her  schools 
were   celebrated  throughout  Europe  in  the 


fifth  century.  As  to  the  Continent,  we  find  the 
Council  of  Vaison  recommending,  in  529,  the 
institution  of  free  parochial  schools.  To  cite 
only  a  few  of  similar  decrees,  there  is  a  canon 
of  the  Third  General  Council  of  Constantino- 
ple, in  680,  commanding  priests  to  have  free 
schools  in  all  country  places ;  one  of  a  Synod 
of  Orleans,  in  800,  ordering  the  parochial 
clergy  "to  teach  little  children  with  the 
greatest  kindness,  receiving  no  compensation 
save  the  voluntary  offerings  of  parents ' ' ;  one 
of  Mentz,  in  813,  commanding  parents  to  send 
their  children  "to  the  schools  in  the  monas- 
teries, or  in  the  houses  of  the  parish  clergy"; 
one  of  Rome,  in  826,  prescribing  schools  in 
every  suitable  place. 

As  to  higher  education,  not  only  was  it  not 
neglected,  but  the  most  celebrated  universi- 
ties were  founded  and  perfected  in  the  "dark  " 
ages.  Most  renowned  were  the  Irish  school 
of  Benchor  (Bangor),  with  its  thousands  of 
scholars,  and  the  other  Irish  establishments 
at  Ivindisfarne  in  England,  at  Bobbio  in  Italy, 
at  Verdun  in  France,  and  at  Wiirzburg,  Ratis- 
bon,  Eifurt,  Cologne,  and  Vienna,  in  Germany. 
The  great  University  of  Bologna,  an  out- 
growth of  the  school  for  law  there  established 
by  Theodosius  II.  in  the  fifth  century,  became 
so  famous  under  Irnerius  (d.  1140)  that  of 
foreigners  alone  more  than  ten  thousand 
thronged  its  halls.  ^^  The  University  of  Padua 
frequently  numbered  eighteen  thousand  stu- 
dents. Famous  also  were  the  Universities  of 
Rome,  Pa  via,  Naples,  and  Perugia  ;  of  Paris; 
of  Alcala,  Salamanca,  and  Valladolid;  of  Ox- 
ford and  Cambridge;  of  Vienna  and  Cologne. f 

*  The  University  of  Bologna  was  a  corporation  of 
scholars,  who  were  divided  into  two  great  "nations  " 
— Cismontaues  (ItaHaus)  and  Ul tramontanes  (foreign- 
ers),— each  having  its  own  rector,  who  must  have 
taught  law  for  five  years  and  have  been  a  student  of 
the  University,  and  could  not  be  a  monk.  The  students 
elected  this  rector,  and  none  of  the  professors  had  a 
voice  in  the  assembly  unless  they  had  previously 
been  rectors.  However,  in  the  faculty  of  theology  the 
professors  governed.  Popes  Gregory  IX.,  Boniface 
VIII  ,  Clement  V.,  and  John  XXII.,  addressed  their 
Decretals  "to  the  doctors  and  scholars  of  Bologna." 

t  The  thirteenth  century  was  an  unfortunate  one 
for  letters  in  Germany.  Leibnitz  says  that  the  tenth 
was  golden  compared  with  the  thirteenth;  Heeren 
calls  it  most  unfruitful ;  Meiners  constantly  deplores 
it;  Eichorn  designates  it  as  "wisdom  degenerated 
into  barbarism."  But  the  fourteenth  century  brought 


The  Ave  Maria. 


267 


And  it  must  be  born  in  mind  that  in  most 
of  these  institutions  instruction  was  gratui- 
tous. The  zeal  of  popes,  bishops,  emperors, 
kings,  and  other  great  ones  of  those  days, 
found  no  more  natural  outlet  than  the  endow- 
ment of  these  establishments.  The  celibacy 
of  the  clergy,  well  remarks  Archbishop  Martin 
Spalding,  did  more,  perhaps,  for  this  free  tui- 
tion than  anything  else.  "Clergymen  whose 
income  exceeded  their  expenses  felt  bound 
by  the  spirit,  if  not  by  the  letter,  of  Canon 
I,aw  to  appropriate  the  surplus  to  charitable 
purposes,  among  which  the  principal  was  the 
founding  of  hospitals  and  schools.  The  forty- 
four  colleges  attached  to  the  University  of  Paris 
were  most  of  them  founded  by  clergymen."  * 
II. 

As  to  the  pretended  ignorance  of  Charle- 
magne, we  prefer  more  ancient  and  more  re- 
liable authority  than  that  of  Voltaire,  the 
author  of  this  assertion. f  In  the  "Acts"  of 
the  Council  of  Fisme,  held  in  881,  we  read 

*  "Schools  and  Universities  in  the  Dark  Ages." 
t  Voltaire  makes  this  charge  four  different  times, 
but  in  contradictory  terms.  In  his  "Kssai  sur  les 
Moeurs,"  in  the  Introduction,  he  says  that  Charle- 
magne "did  not  know  how  to  write  his  name."  In 
chapter  xix  he  adduces  Eginhard  to  this  effect.  In 
the  "Annales  de  1' Empire"  he  sa3S  that  "it  is  not 
likely  that  this  Prankish  King,  who  could  not  write 
a  running  hand,  could  compose  Latin  versts";  and 
in  another  place  of  the  same  work  he  s^ys  that  the 
monarch  "could  not  write  his  name  well.''^ 


a  change.  The  University  of  Vienna  was  founded  in 
1364;  thatof  Heidelberg  in  1386;  of  Erfurt,  1392  ;  of 
Leipsic,  1409;  of  Wiirzburg,  1410;  of  Rostock,  1419; 
of  Louvain,  1425  ;  of  Treves,  1454;  of  Freiburg,  1456; 
of  Basel,  1459;  of  Ingolstadt.  1472;  Tiibingen  and 
Metz,  1477 ;  Cologne,  1483.  Gerard  Groot,  a  student 
of  Paris,  founded  in  1376,  at  Deventer,  his  birthplace, 
an  order  whose  members  were  sworn  to  help  the 
poor,  either  by  their  manual  labor  or  by  gratuitous 
instruction.  Very  soon  this  order,  says  Cantu,  "as- 
sociating thus  the  two  passions  of  that  time — piety 
and  study, — taught  trades  and  writing  in  those  monas- 
teries which  were  called  of  St.  Jerome,  or  of  the  Good 
Brethren,  or  of  the  Common  Life;  while  in  other 
places  it  kept  schools  of  writing  and  of  mechanics 
for  poor  children.  To  others  it  taught  Latin,  Greek, 
Hebrew,  Mathematics,  and  Fine  Arts.  In  1433  it  had 
forty-five  houses,  and  in  1460  thrice  that  number. 
Thomas  a  Kempis  transported  the  system  to  St. 
Agnes,  near  Zwolle,  where  were  formed  the  apostles 
of  classic  literature  in  Germany  :  Maurice,  Count  of 
Spiegelberg,  and  Rudolph  Langius,  aftervvard  prel- 
ates; Anthony  Liber,  Louis  Dringenberg,  Alexander 
Hagius,  and  Rudolph  Agricola." 


that  the  members  exhorted  King  Louis  III. 
"to  imitate  Charlemagne,  who  used  to  place 
tablets  under  his  pillow,  that  he  might  take 
note  of  whatever  came  to  his  mind  during 
the  night  which  would  profit  the  Church  or 
conduce  to  the  prosperity  of  his  kingdom." 
It  was  the  celebrated  Hincmar  who,  in  the 
name  of  the  Council,  drew  up  these  "Acts" 
of  Fisme ;  and  certainly  he  is  good  authority 
in  this  matter,  for  he  had  passed  much  of  his 
life  in  the  society  of  Louis  the  Compliant,  a 
son  of  Charlemagne.  But  is  not  the  testimony 
of  Eginhard,  son-in-law  of  Charlemagne,  to 
be  preferred  to  that  of  the  prelates  of  Fisme  ? 
Sismondi,  who  admits  the  extraordinary  learn- 
ing of  the  great  Emperor,  is  so  impressed  by 
the  words  of  Eginhard,  that  he  concludes  that 
the  monarch  acquired  his  great  knowledge 
by  oral  teaching. 

We  would  prefer  the  authority  of  the  bish- 
ops of  France,  headed  by  Hincmar,  to  that  of 
Eginhard ;  but  the  two  testimonies  do  not  con- 
flict. Eginhard  says :  "He  tried  to  write,  and 
he  u^:ed  to  keep  tablets  under  the' pillows  of  his 
bed,  so  that,  when  time  permitted,  he  could 
accustom  his  hand  to  the  forming  of  letters ; 
but  he  had  little  success  in  a  task  difficult  in 
itself,  and  assumed  so  late  in  life.*  Eginhard 
admits,  then,  that  Charlemagne  had  some  suc- 
cess in  his  endeavors.  We  know,  too,  that  he 
could  form  his  monogram  ;  f  and  Lambecius, 
the  erudite  secretary  of  Christina  of  Sweden, 
speaks  of  a  manuscript  of  St.  Paul's  Epistle  to 
the  Romans  "corrected  by  the  Emperor's  own 


*  "Tentabat  et  scribere,  tabullasque  et  codicillos 
ad  hoc  in  lecticulo  sub  cervicalibus  circumferre  sole- 
bat,  ut  cum  vacuum  tempus  esset,  manum  effigiandis 
litteris  assuefaceret ;  sed  pariim  prospere  successit 
labor  praeposterus  ac  sero  inchoatus." 

t  In  the  space  occupied  by  a  K  he  put  the  other 
letters  of  his  name,  "Karolus": 

R 

L 

In  Papal  letters  of  the  Middle  Ages  we  often  meet 
the  monogram  of  "  Bene  valete": 


268 


The  Ave  Maria. 


hand."*  We  are  therefore  led  to  accept  that 
interpretation  of  Eginhard's  remark  which  is 
given  by  lyambecius,  and  since  that  critic's 
time  by  the  best  commentators,  such  as  Mi- 
chelet,t  Henri  Martin,  [j;  and  Guizot;§  to  the 
effect  that  there  is  therein  no  question  of 
writing  in  general,  but  merely  of  a  running 
hand.  In  fine,  Charlemagne  could  write  by 
means  of  what  we  style  square  or  printed 
characters ;  he  found  it  difficult  to  write  a 
running  hand ;  in  other  words,  he  could  write, 
but  he  was  not  a  caligrapher.  Ampere  opines 
that  the  monarch  tried  to  excel  in  the  art  of 
illuminating  manuscripts, — that  is,  of  paint- 
ing the  majuscule  letters  which  so  excite  the 
admiration  of  moderns. 

Since  Eginhard  is  adduced  to  prove  the 
ignorance  of  Charlemagne,  it  is  well  to  note 
what  this  chronicler  tells  us,  in  the  same 
chapter, about  the  Emperor's  learning.  Charle- 
magne spoke  Latin  fluently  and  with  elegance 
Greek  was  familiar  to  him,  although  his  pro- 
nunciation of  it  was  defective.  He  was  pas- 
sionately fond  of  the  fine  arts.  He  drew  to 
his  court  the  wisest  men  of  the  day — e.g., 
Peter  of  Pisa  and  Alcuin, — and  very  soon  he 
nearly  equalled  his  masters  in  their  respec- 
tive branches.  He  began  the  composition  of  a 
Teutonic  grammar,  and  he  undertook  a  ver- 
sion of  the  New  Testament  based  on  the  Greek 
and  Syriac  texts.  He  understood  perfectly  the 
intricacies  of  liturgy,  psalmody,  the  Gregorian 
Chant,  etc.  During  his  meals  he  listened  to  the 
reading  of  histories ;  he  was  especially  fond  of 
St.  Augustine's  "City  of  God."  He  preferred 
to  attend  the  schools  he  had  founded  rather 
than  any  kind  of  amusement.  Furthermore 
and  finally,  he  compelled  his  daughters,  as 
well  as  his  sons,  to  cultivate  the  fine  arts. 


Two  Schools. 


*  "Comment aria  in  Bibl.  Caes.  Vindob.,"  b.  ii,  c.  5. 
Vienna,  1655. 

t  "Histoire  de  France,"  edit  1835,  vol.  i,  p.  352. 

X  "Histoire  de  France,"  edit.  1855,  vol.  ii,  p,  292. — 
"It  would  be  strange  indeed  if  this  great  man,  who 
was  versed  in  astronomy  and  in  Greek,  and  who 
labored  to  correct  the  text  of  the  Four  Gospels,  was 
unable  to  write. ' ' 

^.  "Histoire  de  France,  Racontee  a  Mes  Petits- 
Bnfants,"  vol.  i,  p.  228.  Paris,  1872.  —  "It  has  been 
doubted  whether  he  could  write,  and  a  passage  of 
Eginhard  might  authorize  the  doubt;  but  when  I 
consider  other  testimonies,  and  even  this  very  remark 
of  Eginhard,  I  incline  to  the  belief  that  Charlemagne 
wrote  with  difficulty  and  not  very  well." 


(Conclusion.) 
Clara  Valley,  June  18, 18 — . 

DEAR  Aunt  Mary: — I  was  so  glad  to  learn 
from  the  first  part  of  your  letter  that  you 
had  concluded  to  agree  to  my  plan,  but  the 
last  page  somewhat  modified  my  pleasure ; 
for  I  had  not  counted  on  spending  my  vacation 
at  the  convent.  I  had  thought  that,  instead 
of  taking  the  long  journey  home,  we  would 
probably  meet  at  some  point,  and  go  together 
to  the  seaside  or  the  mountains,  as  you  might 
prefer.  But  if  our  pecuniary  losses,  or  rather 
delays,  are  so  serious  as  to  preclude  our  usual 
jaunt,  so  be  it.  Next  summer,  when  the  divi- 
dends come  in,  we  may  be  able  to  go  abroad. 

But  I  have  an  alternative.  I  shall  need 
nothing  new  this  summer,  as  I  shall  remain 
at  the  convent  during  vacation.  This  will  be 
a  considerable  saving.  Put  your  hand  in  the 
common  purse  (it  is  surely  deep  enough  for 
this)  and  draw  out  enough  coin  to  fetch  you 
here,  where,  in  the  village,  I  can  find  you  the 
cheapest  and  daintiest  little  boarding  place  in 
the  world.  One  of  our  girls — a  dear  good  soul 
she  is — lives  in  the  village  with  her  mother 
and  brother,  who  is  the  only  doctor  for  miles 
around.  They  will  be  glad  to  take  you  or 
us — for  I  have  stipulated  for  both, — having  a 
couple  of  spare  rooms.  Mrs.  Lee,  the  mother, 
is  a  genuine  Southern  matron  of  the  old 
school, — a  perfect  lady,  educated,  refined,  and 
a— devout  Catholic.  I  am  not  trying  to  lead 
you  into  the  lion's  den,  dear  auntie, — at  least 
not  with  closed  eyes.  She  is  too  gentle  a 
woman  to  obtrude  her  religious  sentiments  on 
any  one ;  and  you  can  worship  to  your  heart's 
content  under  the  Rev.  Mr.  Payne,  who  has  a 
very  pretty  little  church  in  the  village. 

I  shall  be  restless  until  I  have  heard  your 
decision.  It  will  be  so  delightful  to  have  you 
here!  You  can  become  acquainted  with  the 
Sisters,  who  will  have  a  great  deal  of  free  time 
in  vacation;  and  the  country  is  so  beautiful 
hereabout  that  you  will  never  tire  exploring 
it.  It  is  too  bad  that  this  plan  was  not  thought 
of  in  time  for  you  to  attend  the  Commence- 
ment. All  might  have  been  "'easily  arranged 
if  we  had  known  how  events  were  going  to 
turn  out. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


269 


June  22,  18—. 

There  was  so  much  to  be  done  that  I  have 
not  had  time  to  finish  this  letter,  though  I  had 
hoped  to  send  it  off  some  days  since.  Now  that 
the  Commencement  is  over,  you  may  like  to 
hear  something  about  it.  Everything  went  off 
with  iclat;  things  always  do  at  Clara  Valley. 
The  evening  was  lovely— just  warm  enough, 
with  a  pleasant  breeze, — the  attendance  large, 
a  special  train  from  the  city  having  brought 
down  the  Archbishop,  many  priests,  and  the 
mayor,  who  has  a  daughter  here  at  school. 
There  were  also  a  large  number  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen — parents  and  relatives  of  the  pu- 
pils,— though  the  line  was  drawn  at  young 
gentlemen,  none  being  admitted.  An  excep- 
tion was  made,  however,  in  favor  of  the 
brothers  of  the  graduates, — of  whom  there 
were  five,  with  brothers  nine,  fully  grown.  I 
thought  the  poor  young  fellows  looked  very 
shy  among  such  an  army  of  girls. 

The  exercises  began  at  five.  For  an  hour  pre- 
vious the  vivsitors  had  been  busily  examining 
the  work,  which  was  exhibited  in  a  room  set 
apart  for  the  purpose.  It  would  have  delighted 
both  your  housewifely  and  aesthetic  heart  to 
have  seen  the  beautiful  display.  Pencil,  crayon 
and  India  ink  drawings ;  oil  and  water-color 
paintings;  specimens  of  wood  carving;  with 
all  kinds  of  embroidery  in  silk,  worsted  and 
linen,  on  velvet,  satin  and  various  other  fab- 
rics, united  to  form  a  lovely  collection.  All 
were  meritorious,  some  far  above  the  aver- 
age. I  wish  some  of  our  amateurs  at  home 
could  have  seen  the  fine  china  painting.  But 
dearest  of  all  to  your  vision  would  have  been 
the  two  long  tables  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
devoted  to  miracles  in  plain  sewing,  mending, 
and  darning.  There  were  under-garments  of 
all  kinds,  made  and  embroidered  by  hand, 
which  would  have  done  credit  to  any  French 
convent ;  and  the  patches  so  daintily  inserted 
that  one  could  almost  wish  to  tear  one's 
clothes  if  they  might  always  be  so  perfectly 
mended.  The  stockings  too — silk,  woollen, 
and  cotton,  coarse  and  fine, — were  a  sight  to 
see,  so  beautifully  darned  were  they.  The 
Archbishop,  who  kindly  remembered  me,  told 
me  in  a  smiling  whisper  that  he  was  "old 
woman  enough  to  like  this  part  of  the  per- 
formance best."  Judging  from  the  time  he 
spent  in  the  exhibition  room,  and  the  interest 


he  seemed  to  feel  in  everything,  I  think  he 
was  perfectly  sincere  in  what  he  said. 

The  exercises  consisted  of  music  and  sing- 
ing—all very  good, — interspersed  with  occa- 
sional five-minute  essays,  and  the  awarding 
of  premiums.  The  Archbishop  crowned  the 
graduates  and  gave  them  their  diplomas,  with 
a  very  pretty  little  speech  containing  some 
very  sound  advice  on  the  duties  of  woman. 
The  Valedictory  was  read  by  Miss  Damen,  of 
whom  I  have  already  written, — a  Protestant 
and  a  very  clever,  bright  girl.  She  was  much 
affected,  and  her  emotion  became  contagious. 
The  larger  girls  all  cried. 

The  white  muslin  dresses,  which  I  thought 
would  seem  so  plain,  were  just  the  thing — 
sweet,  simple,  lovely.  We  all  had  small  corsage 
bouquets,  each  in  accordance  with  individual 
taste;  and  the  flowers  served  to  brighten  the     t 
white  frocks  as  no  jewels  could  have  done.     * 
There  are  many  here  who  could  afford  to  wear    f 
both  silk  the  most  costly  and  jewels  of  the 
rarest,  others  who  could  not;  therefore  the 
Sisters,  wise  and  considerate  as  they  invaria- 
bly are,  make  it  a  rule  that  white  muslin  must 
be  worn  by  all. 

I  received  several  premiums  for  History, 
Mathematics,  Drawing,  French,  and  German. 
I  was  also  honorably  distinguished  in  all  my 
studies  except  Astronomy,  which  I  do  not 
care  for  now  any  more  than  formerly. 

After  supper  we  strolled  about  the  grounds. 
They  were  illuminated  with  Chinese  lanterns, 
and  it  was  pleasant  to  see  the  girls  with  their 
fi-iends  and  relatives.  At  half-past  eight  the 
Rosary  was  said  at  the  shrine,  the  Archbishop 
reciting  it  aloud,  and  at  nine  the  company 
dispersed  in  order  to  take  the  train  for  the 
city.  Many  of  the  pupils  went  home  that  night 
with  their  friends,  but  more  than  half  remained 
till  next  day. 

We  are  now  pulling  the  odds  and  ends 
together,  and  I  very  much  enjoy  this  time  of 
waiting;  for  it  gives  me  an  opportunity^  to 
converse  a  great  deal  with  my  dear  Sister 
Mary,  who  in  every  way  fulfils  the  promise 
of  our  early  acquaintance.  Hers  is  a  beautiful 
soul,  one  in  which  there  is  no  guile,  while  she 
possesses  a  wonderfully  versatile  and  logical 
mind.  I  hope  you  will  soon  meet  her;  the 
more  I  think  on  my  plan  the  less  objection 
does  there  seem  to  its  acccomplishment. 


270 


The  Ave  Maria. 


I  met  Estella  Gray  yesterday  in  the  village, 
whither  I  had  gone  on  an  errand  with  Sister 
Euphrasia.  She  was  walking  with  a  young 
man,  who  did  not  look  verdant,  though  he  was 
not  yet  what  might  be  called  fully  fledged. 
When  was  not  Estella  walking  with  a  young 
man,  by  the  way,  if  there  was  one  to  be  found 
within  a  radius  of  three  or  four  miles?  She 
merely  bowed,  as  did  I,  but  in  a  very  cordial 
wajr ;  for  it  would  have  been  somewhat  em- 
barrassing to  all  to  have  stopped  me  in  the 
wake  of  the  good  Sister. 

Allen  Seminary  closed  its  doors  last  week, 
but  several  of  the  boarders  are  still  there.  A 
little  French  teacher  who  formerly  had  a  class 
at  the  Seminary  has  come  to  us  to  perfect 
herself  in  English  during  the  vacation.  On  dit 
that  she  will  enter  the  novitiate  in  the  autumn . 
She  looks  demure  enough  for  a  nun,  if  that  be  a 
recommendation. 

Your  devoted         j^,^^^ 

Ten  Years  Later. 
Two  ladies  sat  on  the  beach  at ,  a  fa- 
mous Eastern  seaside  resort,  commonly  called 
the  paradise  of  children ;  for  here  they  swarm 
summer  after  summer,  and  play  and  gambol 
on  the  sands  the  whole  day  long.  For  this 
reason  it  had  been  chosen  by  Mrs.  Taylor  and 
her  aunt  during  several  seasons;  as,  being 
neither  ultra- fashionable  nor  slaves  to  dress 
and  consequent  discomfort,  they  preferred  a 
spot  where  they  could  be  more  independent 
than  at  the  so-called  favorite  watering-places. 

Both  had  sweet,  refined  faces ;  the  elder  lady 
seemed  an  invalid,  but  the  younger,  who  could 
not  have  been  more  than  twenty- eight,  was  the 
embodiment  of  perfect  health.  Near  them  two 
children,  a  boy  and  girl,  played  in  the  sand, 
building  forts  and  castles,  only  to  see  them 
gradually  demolished  by  the  rising  tide,  into 
which,  by  way  of  diversion,  they  rushed  time 
and  again,  their  bare  white  feet  twinkling  in 
the  waves  as  they  danced  up  and  down  the 
shingles. 

While  the  ladies  sat  conversing  their  atten- 
tion was  attracted  by  the  antics  of  a  couple  of 
overdressed  children,  also  a  boy  and  girl,  who 
were  defying  all  efforts  of  their  mother  to  take 
them  away  from  the  vicinity  of  the  incoming 
tide,  which  was  rapidly  ascending  higher  and 
higher.  Their  beautiful  shoes  and  stockings 
were  already  wet,  and  the  little  girl's  skirts 


were  draggled  and  stained  with  water  and 
sand.  "Come,  Arthur!  Come,  Edith!"  ex- 
claimed the  mother  in  no  gentle  tones.  "You 
will  have  your  death  of  cold,  and  your  shoes 
are  ruined.  Did  any  one  ever  have  such  chil- 
dren? "  Seizing  each  by  the  arm,  she  endeav- 
ored to  pull  them  by  main  force ;  but  they 
began  to  scream  and  protest,  the  little  girl 
going  so  far  as  to  strike  her  mother  in  the  face. 

By  this  time  the  other  children  had  become 
interested  in  the  contest,  and,  quietly  dropping 
their  shovels,  stole  to  their  mother's  side. 
Finally,  the  distressed  mother,  evidently  mor- 
tified by  the  proximity  of  strangers,  released 
the  young  culprits  with  a  final  shake,  saying, 
"Never  mind.  Papa  will  be  here  to-morrow, 
and  he'll  make  you  obey."  Left  to  themselves, 
and  perhaps  somewhat  afraid  of  future  pun- 
ishment, the  children  slowly  followed  their 
mother,  who  toiled  wearily  along  the  beach. 

As  she  passed  the  two  ladies  a  mutual 
glance  of  recognition  took  place,  and  "Miss 
Mary!"  "Julia!"  and  "Estella!"  followed 
one  another  in  quick  succession.  "Ah,  how 
little  changed  you  are,  Julia  dear!"  cried 
Estella.  *  *  And  you.  Miss  Mary,  look  younger 
than  you  did  ten  years  ago.  I  heard  all  about 
your  marriage,  Julia.  You  were  a  wise  creature 
for  all  your  demureness.  Only  to  think  of  it ! 
Turning  Catholic  and  then  marrying  a  rich 
Catholic,  as  you  did!  But  I  never  thought jk^z^ 
would  have  joined  the  Roman  Church,  Miss 
Mary.  Still,  Julia  could  always  wind  you  round 
her  little  finger.  And  these  arejj/^wr  children, 
I  suppose  ?  I  have  been  wondering  for  the  past 
two  or  three  days  who  the  sweet  darlings 
were.  How  healthy  and  happy  they  look! 
But  don't  you  hate  to  have  them  so  tanned, 
and  don't  you  think  their  feet  will  become  flat 
and  large  if  you  allow  them  to  be  barefooted 
so  much?" 

It  was  almost  impossible  to  answer  this 
outburst.  When  Mrs.  Taylor  attempted  to  do 
so  she  was  again  interrupted. 

"Is  your  husband  here?  I  have  heard  he  is 
very  handsome.  They  tell  me  you  don't  go 
into  society  a  great  deal.  How  can  you  fill 
up  your  time  otherwise?  Don't  you  find  chil- 
dren a  great  trouble  ?  No  ?  Mine  are  terribly 
hard  to  manage ;  but  they  are  so  delicate  that 
I  have  given  them  their  own  way  perhaps  too 
much.    They  have  a  wholesome  fear  of  their 


The  Ave  Maria. 


271 


father,  "however.  He  can  not  get  away  this 
summer;  he  has  so  much  railroad  business, 
now  that  his  grandfather  is  dead.  You  know 
he  was  President  of  the  R.  «&  R.  Road  ?  Didn't 
you  know  it?  Oh,  to  be  sure!  You  were  at 
school  the  year  I  was  married,  and  then  went 
ofif  to  Europe  with  Miss  Mary.  You  heard,  of 
course,  that  it  was  a  runaway  match?  Papa 
and  mamma  were  so  angry,  but  they  had  to 
give  in.  It  was  awfully  romantic,  too.  I  met 
Paul  at  the  Commencement  exercises  at  Allen 
Seminary.  We  were  only  acquainted  a  few 
weeks ;  eloped  while  papa  atid  mamma  were  in 
Europe.  One  soon  gets  over  romance,  though. 
Paul  is  a  good  fellow,  but  we  were  both  too 
young,  and  he  says  it  keeps  him  grinding  the 
mill  all  the  time  to  live  in  any  kind  of  style. 
You  know  papa  failed  before  he  died,  and  left 
nothing.  Mamma  lives  with  Aunt  Amanda. 
She  did  stay  with  me  for  a  while,  but  she 
thought  the  children  made  her  nervous ;  and 
I  have  no  doubt  it  is  pleasanter  for  her  and 
Aunt  Amanda  to  be  together.  Did  you  say 
your  husband  was  here?  I  should  like  to 
meet  him." 

Mentally  deciding  that  she  felt  certain  the 
pleasure  would  not  be  mutual,  Mrs.  Taylor, 
the  Julia  of  our  story,  answered  that  her 
husband  would  arrive  on  Saturday,  at  which 
her  voluble  companion  resumed  : 

**  Isn't  this  a  pokey  place  ?  I'm  sure  I  shall 
never  come  here  again.  Everything  is  fearfully 
dull  and  prosy.  I've  had  such  a  time  with 
the  children!  The  only  decent  people  in  the 
place  —  beg  pardon!  present  company,  you 
know, — are  a  party  of  young  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen with  their  own  yacht,  en  route  to  the 
Bermudas, — the  Howes  of  Brooklyn.  They  are 
friends  of  friends  of  mine,  and  I'm  perfectly 
certain  the}'-  would  have  invited  me  to  join 
them  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  children.  Of 
course  they  have  a  chaperon — young  Mrs. 
Howe.  But  they  can't  be  blamed  for  not  want- 
ing other  people's  children  along.  I  had  a 
lovely  French  bonne,  but  I  found  she'd  been 
stealing,  and  so  had  to  discharge  her.  Right 
here  in  this  place,  the  first  night  we  came,  I 
found  her  taking  money  out  of  my  purse.  You 
don't  keep  a  nurse?  What  a  frump  you  are! 
Just  what  I  would  expect  firom  you,  Julia.  But, 
then,  3'ou  have  Miss  Mary  to  help  you  out. — 
I  declare,  if  Arthur  isn't  hitting  his  sister 


with  a  shovel!  Dear,  dear,  he  has  thrown  sand 
in  her  eyes!  You  wretch,  go  straight  up  to 
the  hotel  and  change  your  clothes!  Go,  both 
of  you!  You're  perfect  sights! — Excuse  me, 
Julia,  but  I  must  run  over  and  say  a  word 
to  Mrs.  Howe ;  that  is  she  coming  out  of  the 
bath-house.  Isn't  she  pretty  in  her  bathing 
suit  ?  That's  why  she  goes  into  the  surf  every 
day, — she  knows  she  looks  too  sweet  for  any- 
thing. I  never  bathe.  I  look  too  horrid.  Good- 
bye! So  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  stay  longer! 
Hope  we'll  meet  again.  Come  and  see  me. 
I'm  stopping  at  the  Burlingame. — Go  home, 
children,  this  instant,  and  get  ready  for  lunch- 
eon!" she  screamed,  waving  her  parasol  at 
the  two  little  ones,  who  had  ensconced  them- 
selves beside  a  shallow  pool  of  water  left  by 
the  tide,  and  making  rapid  strides  in  the 
direction  of  the  bath-house,  at"  the  door  of 
which  her  friend  was  awaiting  her  approach. 

Our  two  friends  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  as 
she  departed ;  and,  after  summoning  her  chil- 
dren, Mrs.  Taylor  said  to  her  aunt,  as  they 
walked  homeward : 

"Aunt  Mary,  how  could  Estella  have  be- 
come such  an  utterly  frivolous  woman?" 

"She  was  a  frivolous  girl,  my  dear, "  replied 
the  elder  lady ;  "always  wayward  and  undis- 
ciplined as  her  own  children  are  at  present. 
That  year  at  Allen  Seminary  did  her  a  great 
deal  of  harm,  only  serving  to  bring  out  her 
worst  points,  as  the  two  years  at  Clara 
Valley—" 

"Did  mine?"  laughingly  interrogated  her 
niece. 

"Developed  the  best  that  was  in  you,  my 
dear,"  smilingly  but  emphatically  continued 
her  aunt.  "Since  I  have  been  a  Catholic  I  have 
observed  that  good  home  training  among 
Protestants  is  often  nullified  by  the  schools 
which  young  girls  attend,  and  is  in  all  cases 
supplemented  and  improved  by  education  in 
Catholic  institutions.  Two  years  in  a  convent 
would  have  done  much  for  Estella.  She  was 
not  without  good  qualities." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Taylor. 
*  'And  with  our  facilities  for  knowing  the  truth 
— a  blessing  for  which  we  can  never  be  too 
thankful, — I  fancy  it  will  not  be  difficult  for 
Clarence  and  myself,  when  the  occasion  arises, 
to  choose  between  the  two  schools." 

Mary  E.  Mannix. 


272 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Stabat  Mater. 


T^Y  the  Cross,  the  Mother  grieving, 
XJ  Naught  her  agony  relieving, 

At  the  Passion  of  Our  Lord  ; 
Her  whole  soul  with  sorrow  bending, — 
Sorrow  with  His  sorrow  blending. 

Pierced  by  the  mystic  sword. 

II. 
Oh,  how  sad  and  how  distressed 
Was  that  Virgin  Mother  blessed, — 

Mother  of  the  Only  Son  ! 
She  so  sorrowfully  gazing 
At  the  suffering  so  amazing, — 

Suffering  of  the  Glorious  One! 

III. 
Who  is  there  his  tears  could  smother 
If  Christ's  most  afflicted  Mother 

He  in  agony  should  see  ? 
Would  he  not  with  triie  devotion 
Sympathize  with  her  emotion, 

As  she  looked  upon  the  Tree  ? 

IV. 

For  the  sins  of  her  own  nation 
Saw  she  Jesus'  condemnation, 

And  His  back  to  scourgings  bent. 
Saw  she  her  own  Son  so  tender 
To  the  Cross  Himself  surrender, 

Till  at  last  His  life  was  spent. 

v. 
Mother,  make  me  feel  thy  sorrow. 
That  from  thee  my  heart  may  borrow 

Love,  that  flows  to  us  through  thee. 
Make  my  heart  to  burn  with  fervent 
Love  to  Christ,  that  I,  His  servant, 

May  serve  Him  acceptably. 

VI. 

Holy  Mother,  do  this  for  me : 
In  His  sacred  likeness  form  me. 

In  my  heart  His  wounds  to  bear, — 
His,  who  deigned  for  me  such  anguish  ; 
Sl^ould  I  not  rejoice  to  languish 

With  Him,  and  His  pangs  to  share? 

VII. 

Virgin,  of  all  virgins  fairest, 
Thou  for  sinners  ever  carest ; 

Let  me  share  thy  grief  so  great ; 
That  the  death  of  Jesus  bearing, 
I  may,  in  His  Passion  sharing, 

On  His  sufferings  meditate. 

VIII. 

Make  my  Saviour's  woundings  wound  me. 
Make  His  Precious  Blood  surround  me, 


Flowing  from  His  Cross  away. 
Lest  I  burn  in  flames  unended, 
Let  me  be  by  thee  defended 

In  the  awful  judgment-day. 

IX. 

When  Thou  callest  me,  Christ,  before  Thee, 
Through  Thy  Mother,  I  implore  Thee, 

May  I  to  the  victory  rise  ! 
Grant  that,  when  the  body's  dying. 
To  the  soul,  on  Thee  relying. 

May  be  given  Paradise. 

A.  P.  G. 


How  One  Father's  Memory  is  Honored. 


BY    SARA    TRAINER    SMITH. 


IN  the  Cathedral  of  Philadelphia,  near  the 
entrance  to  the  Blessed  Virgin's  aisle,  there 
is  a  memorial  altar.  A  large,  full-length  pict- 
ure of  St.  Francis  de  Sales,  in  his  bishop's 
purple,  hangs  over  it,  and  there  is  this  in- 
scription on  its  base : 

PRAY   FOR    THK    SOUI^S   OF    FRANCIS    A.  AND    EMMA 
DREXEI<. 

So  familiar  are  the  names  to  Philadelphians, 
so  closely  connected  with  every  good  work, 
so  suggestive  of  a  charity  always  mindful,  in 
life  and  death,  of  the  poor,  the  sick,  the  widow 
and  the  orphan,  that  few  pass  unheeding  the 
mute  appeal.  Many  a  visitor  pauses  before  it 
with  fleeting,  fervent  aspiration  ;  many  a  knee 
is  bent  in  grateful  supplication;  many  and 
many  a  careless  soul  goes  on  its  way  spurred  to 
better  fulfilment  of  life's  task  by  the  thought, 
thus  presented,  of  these  two  faithful  '^ doers  oi 
the  Word,  and  not  hearers  only."  In  all  the 
simplicity,  sincerity  and  dignity  of  Catholic 
Christians,  they  dwelt  long  in  our  midst,  and, 
dying,  set  the  seal  upon  their  conscientious 
stewardship.  Through  the  years  that  have 
passed  since  then,  there  reaches  down  an  un- 
broken chain  of  noble  charities,  for  which  they 
left  provision.  Only  a  few  weeks  ago  Arch- 
bishop Ryan,  dedicating  a  new  chapel  at  St. 
Joseph's  Hospital,  praised  in  his  eloquent  ser- 
mon after  the  first  Mass  the  generosity  of  the 
departed  from  whence  its  walls  arose.  Truly, 
we  can  not  be  too  often  reminded  of  such 
Catholics.  It  would  be  well  to  find  in  our 
churches  and  our  institutions,  on  our  hill-sides 
and  our  hearts — everywhere  tokens  of  remem- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


273 


brance  which  might,  nay  which  rrnist,  reiterate 
the  charge :  "Go  thou  and  do  likewise,  so  far 
as  in  thee  lies." 

Not  far  from  Philadelphia — at  Eddington, 
on  the  Philadelphia  Railroad  to  New  York— 
we  have  such  a  reminder :  a  memorial  altar 
shrined,  as  it  were,  in  an  imperishable  chapel, 
before  which  burns,  in  a  double  sense,  a  liv- 
ing fire.  The  St.  Francis  de  Sales'  Industrial 
School  and  Home  for  Boys  is  the  affectionate 
tribute  of  the  children  of  Francis  A.  Drexel 
to  his  noble  memory.  It  is  intended  to  afford 
a  comfortable  home  to  orphan,  and  worse  than 
orphaned,  boys  from  the  age  of  ten  until  they 
are  fitted  to  support  and  earn  a  home  for  them- 
selves. Primarily,  farming  and  gardening  are 
to  be  taught  them,  but  other  trades,  other 
followings,  are  not  excluded  from  the  rdle.  A 
sound,  thorough,  manly  and  Christian  educa- 
tion is  provided  for,  and  under  circumstances 
that  are  not  surpassed  on  earth  in  any  similar 
institution.  Extensive  travel,  study,  inves- 
tigation, consultation,  experiments  and  com- 
parisons without  number, — all  went  to  the 
perfecting  of  this  admirable  work.  The  best 
advisers,  the  wisest  business  men,  the  most 
earnest  and  practical  of  teachers  and  govern- 
ors, gave  of  their  best,  and  gave  generously, 
to  the  good  daughters  of  a  good  man  in 
furtherance  of  their  plans. 

One  5^ear  ago — July  19,  1888, — finished  in 
all  essentials  and  beautiful  as  became  such  an 
offering,  the  building  was  dedicated,  and  the 
first  two  hundred  little  wanderers  taken  home. 
There  are  now  over  three  hundred  boys  under 
that  roof,  ranging  from  ten  to  sixteen  years. 
The  major  part  are  between  ten  and  eleven, 
and  not  a  score  are  over  fifteen.  There  is  not 
a  woman  on  the  place.  The  Christian  Brothers 
have  it  in  charge,  and  they,  with  a  corps  of 
skilled  workmen — carpenters,  blacksmiths, 
farm  hands,  gardeners,  engineers,  cooks, 
bakers,  etc., — do  all  the  work  and  all  the 
teaching,  assisted  by  the  boys.  The  most  beau- 
tiful order  prevails.  Neatness,  dispatch  and 
skill  (even  in  housekeeping)  are  the  sure 
accompaniments  of  man's  undivided  rule,  as 
witness  the  army  and  navy  routine  of  every 
civilized  government.  They  are  no  less  visible 
at  St.  Francis'  Home  for  Boys ;  but  there  is, 
besides,  an  air  which  whispers  of  the  over- 
seeing eye  of  that  wise  and  gentle  Saint,  a 


glamour  of  homelikeness  to  which  the  army 
and  navy  are  strange. 

It  was  the  brightest  and  clearest  of  days 
when  we  visited  St.  Francis', — a  half-holiday, 
when  Brother  Anatole  was  at  liberty  and 
the  boys  out  of  doors.  We  met  them  going  to 
the  baseball  ground  as  we  went  up  the  avenue, 
— a  long  line  of  many  heights  and  widths, 
dressed,  not  in  the  uniform  of  a  charity  school, 
but  neatly,  warmly,  prettily,  as  mothers  dress 
their  sons.  They  wore  suits— Norfolk  jackets 
and  knickerbockers  —  of  dark  brown,  scarlet 
stockings, brown  caps,  and  scarlet  silk  Windsor 
ties.  Two  Brothers  in  their  long  cloaks  walked 
with  them  back  and  forth,  talking  and  laugh- 
ing cheerily  enough.  The  long  line  touched 
their  caps  to  us  very  gallantly,  for  we  were 
all  ladies. 

The  estate  purchased  for  the  farm  was  one 
of  the  finest  in  the  vicinity,  and  is  in  good 
order  to  begin  with.  It  has  upland,  woodland, 
cleared  land,  and  meadow-land.  The  bam  on 
it  is  the  handsomest  in  the  State,  built  some 
twenty  years  ago,  of  brown  stone,  lofty,  ca- 
pacious, and  finished  like  a  dwelling-house. 
There  are  all  the  outlying  farm  buildings,  an 
ice-pond,  icehouse,  e.tc, — all  in  place.  The 
old  mansion-house — a  broad,  low,  comfortable 
one — was  the  residence  of  a  wealthy  family, 
and  stands  in  a  grove  of  evergreens,  charm- 
ingh^  sheltered  and  shaded.  It  is  to  sen-e  as 
an  infirmary,  convalescents'  hall,  etc.,  but  at 
present  is  not  in  use.  A  magnificent  avenue 
leads  from  the  highway  to  the  centre  of  the 
home  place.  It  must  have  been  graded,  grav- 
elled and  planted  years  ago  for  St.  Francis  ; 
and  his  children  go  up  to  his  door  as  to  the 
entrance  of  a  palace,  under  a  double  row,  on 
either  side,  of  trees  that  arch  overhead  like 
the  aisles  of  a  cathedral.  The  great  building 
lies  a  little  to  the  left  of  its  termination,  on  a 
broad,  level  green  plateau.  The  Delaware 
River  is  at  its  feet,  and  a  beautiful  stretch 
of  open,  well- watered,  well- cultivated  country 
spreads  on  all  sides.  The  air  is  pure  and 
fresh,  the  neighbors  not  too  close  and  not 
too  numerous.  Orchards  and  scattered  groves 
give  the  necessary  shading  to  the  landscape  ; 
but  for  the  most  part  the  breezy  uplands, 
which  are  the  best  "growing  places"  for  all 
young  things,  prevail. 

In  a  compact  group  to  the  right  of  the  main 


271 


The  Ave  Maria. 


building  lie  the  engine-house,  electric  plant, 
laundry,  and  a  great  swimming  pool  under 
cover,  which  can  be  heated  to  any  degree  of 
warmth  from  the  engine  house  at  any  time  in 
the  year.  All  these  buildings  are  of  brick,  all 
handsome,  substantial,  and  finely  finished.  In 
deed  the  most  casual  observer  must  be  struck 
with  this  fact.  Everj^thing  is  planned  and 
executed  as  one  builds  and  finishes  for  himself 
when  he  is  careful  of  himself,  his  position,  and 
his  dignity, — that  is,  as  a  gentleman  provides 
for  a  gentleman. 

But  the  heart  of  all,  the  very  home  of 
homes.  It  is,  of  course,  a  main  building  with 
two  long  wings,  built  of  brick  and  brown 
stone.  The  ground-floor  opens  directly  from 
the  level  of  the  turf,  and  contains  a  study-hall 
opening  on  either  side  into  paved  courts  for 
play,  and  wash-rooms,  shoe-room,  bath-rooms, 
refectory,  kitchen,  bakery,  a  separate  corridor 
lined  with  comfortable  and  pretty  home  rooms 
for  the  workmen,  and  the  temporary  chapel. 
Every  detail  is  admirable.  In  the  wash-rooms 
there  are  long  rows  of  marble  basins,  each 
with  its  own  faucets,  its  own  mirror  on  the 
wall  above  it,  its  own  little  niche  with  towels 
and  toilet  articles.  In  the  kitchen  the  tables 
were  set  with  all  the  dainty  useful  articles 
needed  for  a  refined  meal, — all  bright  and 
shining,  fresh  and  pure.  Not  a  workman  of 
any  kind  was  in  sight,  except  the  master- 
baker,  who  was  getting  up  his  "rising""  for 
the  next  baking. 

The  grand  entrance  is  in  the  centre  of  the 
main  building,  up  a  circular  flight  of  massive 
stone  steps.  A  square  portico,  tessellated, 
with  an  electric  light,  and  opening  into  long 
porches  on  either  side,  overlooks  the  Dela- 
ware. A  vestibule  leads  to  the  haU — ^^uare, 
and  open  to  the  roof,  with  massive  wooden 
columns  and  a  broad  square  stairway.  Op- 
posite the  entrance  door  wide  double  doors 
open  into  the  chapel,  and  to  left  and  right 
stretch  long  corridors  with  wide  sunken  arches 
at  regular  intervals.  This  is  one  of  the  most 
effective  things  in  the  style  of  building.  The 
doors  to  the  rooms  are  in  these  arches,  in  pairs, 
and  the  difference  between  long  rows  of  bare 
and  cheerless  doors,  and  the  graceful  lights 
and  shadows  of  these  arched  recesses,  can  not 
be  imagined  unseen.  The  various  reception 
rooms,  the  office,  the  Board  Room,  the  Arch- 


bishop's suite — for  he  is  the  representative 
father  of  this  little  family, — the  Brothers' 
study,  and  class  rooms  of  all  kinds,  are  on 
this  floor.  The  second  and  third  stories  are 
devoted  to  dormitories,  clothes-rooms,  more 
wash  rooms,  etc. 

The  infirmary  is  on  the  upper  floor,  in  the 
far  south v.'estern  corner.  It  consists  of  three 
rooms,  large,  airy,  and  sunlit  or  shady  as  pre- 
ferred. Two  rooms  are  regular  sick-rooms, 
but  the  middle  room  is  the  convalescents' 
parlor.  Rugs,  sofas,  easy-chairs  of  all  kinds; 
great  comfortable  tables,  where  whole  games 
can  be  spread  out  with  no  fear  of  crowding, 
and  where  games  lay  waiting  to  be  spread 
out,  make  it  so  cheerful  a  place  that  it  seemed 
almost  a  pity  there  was  no  one  to  use  it.  But 
there  was  not  even  a  sore  throat  in  the  family. 
The  little  diet  kitchen,  the  little  drug-store, 
the  invalids'  bath-room, were  all  ready,  'spick- 
and-span,"  new  and  shining;  but,  happily, 
not  a  creature  needed  them.  That  speaks 
well  enough  for  the  air,  water  and  drainage 
of  the  place. 

The  dormitories  are  beautifully  spacious 
and  comfortable.  In  the  centre  of  one  side 
there  is  a  raised  platform,  curtained  with  white 
at  will,  on  which  stand  the  bed,  the  table  and 
the  chair  of  the  Brother  in  charge  ;  then  row 
after  row  of  little  beds.  Brother  Anatole  called 
our  attention  to  the  beds  with  the  happy  in- 
terest of  a  man  who  knows  he  has  brought 
about  a  really  good  thing.  He  told  us  of  his 
visits  of  inspection  to  houses  of  a  like  order 
in  other  lands.  In  Paris,  I  think,  he  found 
bedsteads  very  like  these.  He  brought  back 
the  idea,  showed  it  to  a  manufacturer,  and, 
with  some  improvements,  had  it  copied.  The 
result  is  beautiful.  A  frame  of  iron,  very  light 
and  strong,  has  a  woven  wire  mattress  7nade 
in  it.  The  bedsteads  are  painted  a  delicate 
green,  with  brass  knobs  on  each  light  post, 
and  there  does  not  seem  to  be  a  crack  or 
cranny  where  even  dust  can  lodge.  They  are 
made  up  with  a  thick  soft  mattress,  two  white 
sheets — not  unbleached  — two  soft,  thick  white 
blankets,  a  large,  smooth  pillow,  and  a  white 
spread.  Beside  each  bed  stood  a  little  stool, 
and  there,  twice  in  the  week,  a  full  suit  of 
clean  and  whole  clothes  is  laid  at  night,  ready 
for  the  next  morning. 

The  clothes-rooms  are  packed  and  crowded. 


The  Ave  Ml 


ana. 


275 


and  the  linen  rooms  are  treasures  of  delight. 
Piles  and  piles  of  those  spreads  and  towels  and 
sheets  and  pillow  cases,  and,  above  all,  those 
lovely  blankets.  "Oh,  how  I  would  enjoy 
shopping  for  these  things!"  exclaimed  one  of 
our  party,  touching  the  blankets  lingeringly. 
"I  do  all  that  myself,"  answered  Brother 
Anatole,  with  his  happy,  hearty  smile.  He 
is  in  very  truth  the  mainspring  of  the  prac- 
tical working  of  the  whole  thing,  and  he 
is  far  from  being  weighed  down  by  his  cares. 
It  makes  one  long  to  be  of  use  to  others — to 
the  whole  helpless,  sufft-ring  world, — when 
one  follows  him  about,  and  sees  how  much  he 
thinks  of,  plans,  understands,  and  takes  in  at 
a  glance.  In  the  class-rooms  he  pointed  out 
all  the  improvements.  They  are  very  pleasant 
rooms,  each  with  its  name  of  some  saint  over 
the  door,  its  picture  of  that  saint  on  its  wall, 
its  holy-water  font,  and  so  forth. 

The  school  furnishings  are  complete  and 
handsome.  There  is  a  drawing- room ;  for  that 
art  is  to  be  carefully  taught  to  all,  no  matter 
v/hat  their  life  work.  The  desks  are  arranged 
to  shift  to  any  angle  and  any  height,  with 
movable  tray  for  pencils,  rubber,  chalk,  etc. 
Brother  Anatole  mentioned  this  as  another  of 
the  triumphs  he  had  achieved  over  minor 
difficulties.  Those  desks  must  be  made  to 
adjust  themselves  to  the  wants  of  growing 
lads,  and  they  were  made  after  many  trials 
and  failures. 

In  a  room  fitted  up  with  all  the  necessary 
cases  for  a  "museum"  in  the  future,  a  circle 
of  little  fellows  were  developing  into  a  brass 
band.  Brother  Anatole  took  us  in  to  watch 
them.  Two  young  Brothers  were  giving  the 
lesson,  and  the  grave  and  sturdy  little  fellows 
were  puffing  out  their  rosy  cheeks  into  all 
sorts  of  horns,  and  banging  their  sense  of 
rhythm  upon  all  kinds  of  drums,  cymbals  and 
triangles.  Each  had  his  little  stand,  a  few 
inches  higher  or  lower  than  his  neighbor's ; 
and  each  kept  his  eyes  glued  to  his  note-book, 
without  regard  to  our  presence.  They  were 
doing  remarkably  well  for  the  time  they  had 
been  learning ;  and  since  then,  I  see,  they  have 
played  at  the  Academy  of  Music,  taking  part 
in  an  entertainment  given  for  the  Johnstown 
sufferers. 

We  went  last  into  the  unfinished  chapel, — 
unfinished  then,  at  least,  but  so  rapidly  ap- 


proaching completion  that  doubtless  the  Lamp 
is  burning  before  this.  All  the  beauty,  all  the 
riches  of  the  house  culminate  here.  It  is  of 
good  size,  the  wall  tinted  richly  and  warmly, 
but  chastel3\  The  woodwork,  the  organ,  the 
confessionals  are  graceful  in  form  and  exqui- 
site in  finish,  and  the  chandeliers  and  side 
brackets  for  lighting  are  works  of  art.  They 
are  of  iron,  twisted,  polished,  wreathed  in 
delicate  spirals,  and  each  bears  the  serpent 
emblem — scaled,  fanged,  close-clasping.  The 
lovely  altar  lay  upon  the  floor,  not  yet  un- 
packed; but  Brother  Anatole  pushed  back 
the  wrappings  and  allowed  us  a  glimpse  of 
the  delicate,  jewel-like  mosaics  in  colored 
marble  and  precious  stone;  and  the  door  of 
the  tabernacle — all  glorious,  our  Risen  Lord 
against  a  background  of  dull  gold.  • 

From  the  chapel  we  passed  to  a  survey  of 
the  grounds  on  our  way  out  of  them.  We  saw 
everything  there  was  to  see,  and  found  it  all 
interesting,  even  the  sevent^^-five  pigs,  housed 
and  washed  and  fed  like  "better  folks. "  They 
were  splendid  specimens,  and,  like  "folks," 
v^ry  different  logking  with  washed  faces. 
There  were  horses  in  the  stalls  and  fine  cows, 
each  with  her  pretty  name  in  gilded  letters 
over  her  stall.  There  were  fowls  with  com- 
fortable and  clean  quarters ;  and  the  farming 
utensils,  the  wagons,  the  very  barnyard,  were 
as  carefully  neat  and  thoroughly  looked  after 
as  a  lady's  kitchen.  The  impression  of  exact- 
ness in  the  discharge  of  the  most  minute 
detail  of  duty  was  certainly  edifying.  Above 
all,  the  boys  looked  well  and  happy,  and  we 
saw  them  all.  Brother  Anatole  appeared  very 
well  satisfied  with  them.  He  smiled  when  he 
spoke  of  them,  and  had  no  complaint  to  make 
of  their  being  boys, — too  often  a  scantly  hidden 
regret  with  "grown-ups." 

All  this  work,  this  order,  this  beautiful  be- 
ginning of  St.  Francis  de  Sales'  new  family,  is 
the  outcome  of  the  Christian  spirit,  nourished 
and  aided  by  prayer,  instruction  and  example, 
in  the  home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Drexel.  What 
a  legacy  to  leave  the  world  which  feels  their 
loss!  And  what  blessedness  to  be  able  and 
willing  to  thus  take  up  the  labor  put  aside 
at  the  call  of  the  Master! 

We  parted  with  Brother  Anatole  at  the  head 
of  the  avenue,  and  left  him  standing  there. 
Looking  back  fi-om  the  gate,  he  was  still  stand- 


276 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ing,  a  slender,  black -robed  figure  against 
the  rosy  flush  of  the  sunset  sky.  Peace  was 
around  him  and  beauty  crowning  the  close  of 
his  busy  day.  The  blessing  of  God  rest  on  him ! 
How  often  in  the  years  to  come — the  years 
stretching  far,  far  beyond  our  little  span, — 
•shall  some  bright,  opening  life  pause  and  look 
back  through  that  vista  of  trees! — look  back 
and  behold  the  glory  of  Heaven  lighting  up 
the  quiet  figure  of  a  Brother  who  has  brought 
Heaven  down  to  it  on  earth;  behold  that 
roseate  flush  lie  soft  upon  the  roof  that  has 
shut  in  the  dreaming  world  of  boyhood;  be- 
hold the  hopes  and  promises  beyond  the  gate 
into  life's  highway,  all  dim  through  tears  of 
parting!  What  shall  be  carried  into  that 
chapel  and  laid  at  those  Risen  Feet?  What 
shall  be  borne  away  from  that  altar  for  the 
glory  of  God  and  the  good  of  man  ?  Blessed 
be  God,  He  knows  !  There  may  be,  there  must 
be,  care  and  disappointment,  trial  and  sorrow, 
in  the  future  of  St.  Francis'  Home;  but  there 
can  not  fail  to  be  untold  happiness,  blessed- 
ness, salvation. 

And  working  thus  with  God  and  for  God, 
giving  to  lyove  out  of  love,  royally  as  men  say, 
reverently  as  God  sees,  who  would  count  the 
costs  or  reckon  up  the  reward?  When  there 
goes  heavenward  from  the  rooms  we  trod, 
from  the  little  white  beds  we  touched  in  pass- 
ing, some  child-soul  seeking  the  Virgin  Moth- 
er's arms,  the  dear  I^ord's  loving  Face, — when 
it  whispers,  *  *  I  was  homeless  and  they  took 
me  in  for  Thy  love's  sake! "  oh,  think  of  Our 
Lord's  answer!  Truly,  "the  half  has  not  been 

told!" 

<  »  > 

Stella   Matutina;  or,  A  Poet's   Quest. 

BY  EDMUND  OF  THE  HEART  OF  MARY,  C.  P. 


**  T\  H  me! "  the  poet  murmur' d,  full  of  awe  : 

-tV  «'  I  scarce  may  smile.  For  while,  no  longer 
blind, 
I  see  a  fairer  Eve  than  Milton  saw — 

The  veritable  Queen  of  womankind  ; 

Yet  dare  I  venture  with  presumptuous  mind 
To  more  than  fondly  worship  from  afar  ? 

And  tho'  in  serving  Her  I  needs  must  find 
Exceeding  joy,  one  missing  note  will  mar 
The  hoped-for  harmony — one  brightness  leave 
the  Star! 


' '  ^ty  Queen,  my  Lady,  She  :  but  not  my  Mother! 
God's  Mother — never  mine!" 

"Still  blind,  then,  thou! 
For,  tell  me,  is  not  Christ  our  first-born  Brother? 
His  Father  not  our  Father  ?    Prithee,  how 
Are  we  His  brethren — as  Saint  John  saith, '  now 
The  sons  of  God '  * — yet  may  not  claim  withal 

His  Mother  for  our  own  ?  Ah,  gladden'd  brow! 
I  see  that  tender  brightness  o'er  thee  fall 
Thou  fearedst  gone  :  Her  light  whom  we  too  love 
to  call 

"The 'Stella  Matutina.' 

Come  with  me 

To  Bethlehem's  stable-cave.  And  while  we  bend 
In  loving  homage  to  the  Blessed  Three — 

The  Babe,  His  Virgin  Mother,  and  the  Friend 
So  tried  and  true,  in  whom  the  honors  blend 
Of  Spouse  and  Father — take  thy  rightful  place 

Where  Jesus  lies  :  and  tell  me  to  what  end 
Art  thou  His  brother — by  adoption's  grace 
Co-heir,  as  saith  Saint  Paul,  to  suffer  a  brief  space, 

"And  then  to  reign  in  glory — if  for  thee 
Mary  and  Joseph  no  such  office  share 

As  here  for  Him?   If  born  in  Him,  and  He 
Not  less  in  thee,  thou  needest  all  the  care 
Of  that  sweet  Mother  with  her  wealth  of  prayer 

To  have  the  Christ-life  in  thee  thrive  and  grow." 
"But  how,"  exclaim' d  the  poet,  "may  I  dare 

Believe  that  She  can  love  a  thing  so  low. 

Or  prize  what  my  poor  heart  must  tremblingly 
bestow?" 

' '  Thine  a  most  natural  wonder, ' '  said  the  Church, 
"At   what,  in    sooth,   nigh    takes    a   mortal's 
breath. 
But  one  thing  bafiles  more  our  deepest  search  : 

How  He  could  love  us  even  unto  death  ? 

Yet  of  all  mysteries  none  so  dear  to  faith. 
So,  let  us  now  to  Calvary — to  *  the  mount 

Of  myrrh,  the  hill  of  frankincense, '  as  saith 
Th'  enamor'd  Spouse.  On  that  perennial  fount 
Of  hope,  a  tale  will  I,  to  thee  still  new,  recount." 


I.  John,  iii,  2. 


Nothing  proud  in  her  looks,  nothing  in- 
decorous in  her  conversation,  nothing  bold 
in  her  movements  nor  affected  in  her  gait. 
Assiduous  at  her  work,  diligent  in  her  pious 
exercises,  she  found  her  delight  in  God  alone. 
Prayer  ascended  from  her  soul  like  perfume 
from  a  flower.  Admirable  Virgin,  whose  life, 
so  unique  in  perfection,  deserves  to  be  the 
model  of  all  lives!— 5"/.  Ambrose. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


277 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY   NUGENT   ROBINSON. 


CHAPTER  XII.— Taking  SoindixXCS. 


ALDERMAN  RYAN  a^ked  Harry  Consi- 
dine  to  dine  with  him  at  Rutland  Square. 

"The  girls  are  on  retreat  at  Rathfarnham 
Convent,  so  I  shall  be  alone.  We  will  have  a 
bachelors'  party." 

There  was  a  certain  significance  in  Mr. 
Ryan's  tone  that  startled  W^xxy  in  spite  of 
himself.  The  Alderman  had  never  bidden  him 
to  a  tete-a-tHe  dinner  before,  and  in  the  manner 
in  which  the  invitation  had  been  given  lurked 
a  something  vague  and  intangible,  but — a 
something,  nevertheless.  As  everything  was 
arranged  for  the  departure  of  Miss  Esmonde, 
Miss  Clancy,  and  Father  Byrne,  which  was 
to  take  place  on  the  following  Saturday  by 
Cunard's,  the  Alderman  could  have  nothing 
to  discuss  on  this  particular  subject;  but  his 
eyes  said  to  Harry  when  asking  him  to  dine, 
'  *  I  have  something  important  to  speak  about, " 
— yes,  as  plainly  as  though  he  had  uttered 
the  words  twice  over. 

It  was  after  dinner,  and  in  the  study,  that 
the  Alderman,  taking  a  few  vigorous  and 
spasmodic  whiffs  at  a  very  fine  cigar,  suddenly 
asked  Considine : 

'  *  How  old  are  you  ? ' ' 

To  which  Harry  made  reply. 

"Humph!  Have  you  ever  thought  of  mar- 
riage, Considine  ?  " 

"Never,  sir." 

"Well,  now  it's  the  best  thing  a  young 
fellow  can  do.  Let  him  settle  down,  say  I. 
You  have  an  instance  in  me.  I  married  at  two 
and  twenty.  My  darling  Jane  was  not  bom 
for  ten  years  after  our  marriage,  and  it  pleased 
God  to  take  four  infants  from  us  unto  Him- 
self. Before  I  married  I  was  spending  all  my 
earnings, — they  were  very  little  to  be  sure. 
But  I'married  a  thrifty  girl — God  be  merciful 
to  her! — who  was  as  good  as  gold;  and  I 
found  that  my  earnings — two  pounds  a  week, 
sir, — not  !only  supported  us  respectably,  but 
that  some  of  them  went  every  week  into  the 
savings-bank.  Marriage,  my  dear  sir,  is  the 
best  thing   for  a  well-conducted  youth.    It 


makes  him  feel  a  man ;  it  conduces  to  good 
conduct,  sobriety, and  good  citizenship." 

"I  am  quite  sure  that  you  are  right,  sir," 
vSaid  Harry. 

"You  tell  me  that  you  have  never  consid- 
ered the  question  ? ' ' 

"I  do,  sir." 

' '  Have  you  ever  been  in  love  ? ' ' 

Harry's  face  grew  as  red  as  a  peony  rose. 

"I  don't  think  I  have,  sir, — at  least,"  he 
added,  "I'm  not  sure." 

The  Alderman  took  another  spasmodic  pull 
at  his  cigar,  sending  out  cloudlets  of  smoke. 

"Have  you  never  met  any  young  lady 
whom  you  would  make  your  wife  if  you 
could?" 

"I — I  suppose  so." 

"Suppose  so!  Can't  you  say  'Yes'  or 
'No'?"  cried  the  Alderman,  pettishly.  "I, 
sir,  at  3^our  age  met  a  dozen  girls  whom  I  would 
gladly  have  elevated  to  the  distinguished  posi- 
tion of  Lady  Mayoress ;  for  I  always  felt  that 
I  would  reach  the  chair,  Considine, — always. 
I  kept  that  steadily  before  me,  and  in  many 
an  hour  of  depression  and  defeat  I  consoled 
myself  by  gazing  into  the  distance  at  the 
'Right  Honorable'  prefixed  to  my  name,  with 
'Lord  Mayor'  after  it,  and  'J.  P.'  added." 

"The  year  after  next,  sir,  will  find  you  in 
the  chair,  and  your  youthfiil  dream  realized." 

"Please  Providence,  j^s,  and — ahem! — it 
may  prove  a  good  thing  for  you,  Considine.  I 
say  may,  for  I  make  no  promises  unless  I  in- 
tend to  perform  them.  The  private  secretary- 
ship is  about  as  nice  a  position  for  a  young 
gentleman  as  can  possibly  be.  Three  hundred 
pounds  for  the  year,  apartments  in  the  Mansion 
House,  and — ha!  ha! — the  run  of  the  kitchen. 
He  is  asked  everywhere  ex  officio  with  the 
Lord  Mayor,  even  to  the  State  banquets  at  the 
Castle.  Oh,  it's  a  fat  thing!  I  have  already 
had  a  dozen  applications  for  it,  but  I  make  no 
promises. ' ' 

Considine  was  silent.  Somehow  or  other, 
the  prospect  did  not  dazzle  him. 

"To  return  to  our  subject,  Considine,"  said 
the  Alderman,  somewhat  nervously.  "As  you 
have  told  me  you  never  gave  a  thought  to 
marriage,  I,  of  course,  believe  you  ;  but  I  may 
as  well  tell  you  in  confidence  that  I  thought 
you  aspired  to  the  hand  of  Miss  Ryan,  my 
daughter." 


278 


The  Ave  Maria, 


"Never,  sir!"  said  Harry,  with  startling 
promptitude.  ' '  Such  a  thought  never  entered 
my  head." 

"Well,  and  if  it  did,  Considine,  it  would 
not  have  been  high  treason, ' '  said  the  Alder- 
man, in  his  softest  tone.  "Not  a  bit  of  it.  The 
Marquis  of  Lome  married  the  Princess  Louise; 
many  an  apprentice  has  become  a  partner  in 
the  house  in  which  he  began  his  career,  and 
has  ended  by  marrying  his  patron's  daughter. 
You  know  that,  I  suppose?" 

"I  know,"  said  Considine,  somewhat  sul- 
lenly. 

"Therefore,"  continued  Ryan,  "I  repeat 
there  would  be  no  high  treason  in  your  as- 
piring to  my  daughter's  hand.  Your  family 
is  an  old  one,  I  believe  ? ' ' 

"The  Considines  were  on  Ballybrisken  and 
Creedlawn  before  Henry  the  Second  planted 
his  mail  heel  in  Ireland!"  answered  Harry, 
proudly. 

"A  good  stock,  sir!  A  fine  stock, — ^finer 
than  the  blanket  lords,  who  gained  their  titles 
by  selling  their  country !  Not  but  that  Ireland 
was  not  and  is  not  fit  to  govern — ' ' 

"Alderman  Ryan,"  interposed  Considine, 
almost  sternly,  "I  come  of  a  race  that  has 
flung  life  and  fortune  into  that  very  question, 
and  I  am  one  of  them.  My  grandfather  was 
hanged  in  '98  for  practically  arguing  this 
question,  and  whenever  it  crops  up  my  blood 
begins  to  leap." 

"Well,  well,  well!  We  won't  discuss  it," 
said  Ryan.  "Better  discuss  marr>ang  and 
giving  in  marriage.  Eh  ?  " — this  with  peculiar 
significance. 

"As  regards  that,  sir" — looking  the  Alder- 
man full  in  the  eye, — "if  I  marry,  I  will 
marry  the  girl  I  love,  whether  she  be  peeress 
or  peasant.  I  have  never  yet  met  that  girl, 
and  until  I  do  so  the  discussion  of  the  ques- 
tion of  marriage,  so  far  as  /  am  concerned,  is 
scarcely  worth — ' ' 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  discuss  this  or  any 
other  question  with  you,  Mr.  Considine,"  in- 
terposed the  Alderman,  in  his  loftiest  tone. 
"Dear  me,"  he  added,  consulting  his  watch, 
"it  is  much  later  than  I  thought!"  And  he 
affected  a  most  prolonged  yawn. 

"I  hope,  sir,"  said  Harry,  contritely,  "that 
I  have  given  you  no  offence  ? ' ' 

'  *  Oh ! — ah ! — no  offence,  sir ;  but  I  must  say 


that  5'our  manner  requires  a  little  rounding 
off  at  the  angles.   Ah,  good-night!  " 

As  Considine  turned  down  Rutland  Square 
he  muttered : 

"I  was  determined  to  do  it.  Some  fellows 
would  have  held  out  false  lights  when  he 
spoke  so  openly  about  Miss  Ryan;  but,  thanks 
be  to  God,  I  am  not  of  that  sort! " 

And  what  caused  Alderman  Ryan  to,  as  it 
were,  fling  his  daughter  at  the  head  of  his 
humble  clerk  ?  Mention  has  been  already  made 
of  a  certain  young  gentleman  possessed  of  a 
fondness  for  primrose-colored  gloves,  named 
Spencer.  This  young  gentleman  held  the 
position  of  clerk  in  one  of  the  Government 
Departments  in  Dublin  Castle.  He  spoke  of 
the  Lord  Lieutenant  as  though  he  were  always 
in  that  august  functionary's  company,  and  of 
the  ' '  Cawstle  people  "  as  if  they  were  his  boon 
companions.  His  salary  was  ;^2oo  a  year,  and 
he  owed  some  ;;^5oo  in  promissory  notes,  for 
which  he  was  paying  at  the  rate  of  one  shilling 
in  the  pound  at  every  three  months'  renewal. 
He  had  met  Miss  Ryan  at  an  evening  party  at 
Alderman  Cautle's  in  Mountjoy  Square ;  and, 
learning  that  she  was  the  only  child  of  a 
wealthy  parent,  resolved  upon  wooing  and  if 
possible  winning  her.  His  position  as  a  bu- 
reaucrat and  his  "Cawstle"  small  talk — he 
had  never  so  much  as  entered  the  vice-regal 
residence  even  as  a  visitor  when  the  Castle 
was  open  to  the  public — ^were  most  agreeable 
to  the  ambitious  daughter  of  Alderman  Ryan, 
and  Mr.  Spencer  soon  found  himself  on  a 
footing  of  intimacy  at  Rutland  Square.  Lack- 
ing nothing  in  the  way  of  "brass,"  he  kept 
hovering  around  Jane,  although  of  late  he 
had  received  but  scant  encouragement ;  and, 
driven  to  bay  by  the  refusal  of  a  Hebrew  who 
declined  to  renew  his  paper,  he  resolved  upon 
proposing  for  Miss  Ryan.  This  he  did,  and 
was  met  by  a  very  unqualified  "No," — a 
"No"  that  could  not  by  any  means  be  tor- 
tioned  into  "Yes  ";  and  there  the  matter  ended, 
so  far  as  the  Castle  clerk  was  concerned. 

Unhappily,  however,  the  Alderman  was 
more  or  less  dazzled  by  Mr.  Spencer's  "Caws- 
tle" stories,  and  yearned  for  his  company. 
'  'Ask  Spencer  to  dinner  on  Monday. "  "  Why 
doesn' t  Spencer  turn  up ? "  "Is  Spencer  ill ? " 
"I'll  invite  him  for  Sunday."  And  so  on, 
and  so  on. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


279 


Caroline  Esmonde  resolved  upon  telling  her 
ncle  how  the  land  lay,  not  only  as  regards 
he  rejected  suitor,  but  as  regards  Jane's />^w- 
ant  for  Hairy  Considine.   The  Alderman, 
ho  would  have  willingly  made  any  reason- 
able, or  indeed  unreasonable,  sacrifice  for  his 
daughter,  was  in  nowise  disconcerted  on  learn- 
ing the  true  condition  of  his  child's  feelings; 
and,  without  consulting  her  in  the  matter, 
determined  to  sound  Harry,  with  the  result 

tf  which  we  are  already  acquainted. 
(TO   BE   CONTINUED.) 
nd^ 
>rot 


Joncerning  Schools  for  Young  Ladies. 


UCH  has  been  said  for  and  against  relig- 
ious and  secular  education  in  general, 
ind  of  the  respective  merits  of  Catholic  and 
'rotestant  boarding-schools  in  particular;  the 
former  have  been  so  misrepresented  by  bigoted 
persons,  for  the  most  part  entirely  unfamiliar 
with  the  smallest  details  of  their  curriculum 
and  general  character,  that  many  erroneous 
and  ridiculous  impressions  have  gone  abroad 
concerning  them. 

It  has  also  been  widely  asserted  and  be- 
lieved by  many  that  the  educational  facilities 
of  convent  schools  were  of  an  inferior  order, 
though  the  exact  contrary  is  the  case.  No- 
where can  we  find  teachers  more  thoroughly 
trained  or  accomplished,  in  the  fullest  sense 
of  the  word,  than  among  the  self  devoted 
Sisters,  who  have  consecrated  their  lives  to  the 
instruction  and  education  of  female  youth. 
Keeping  pace  with  all  modern  improvements 
in  the  art  of  teaching,  they  are  behind  none 
in  all  that  goes  to  make  up  first-class  instruc 
tors.  Nor  is  the  greater  part  of  the  time  that 
should  be  devoted  to  acquiring  the  arts  and 
sciences  occupied,  as  has  also  been  charged, 
in  teaching  catechism  and  reciting  praj^ers. 
An  hour  a  day  would  be  a  safe  average,  we 
think,  by  which  to  estimate  the  time  employed 
in  this  manner.  It  is  the  underlying  religious 
influence,  the  serene  and  pure  atmosphere 
which  prevail  in  these  schools  that  place  them 
immeasurably  above  all  others  in  the  rank  of 
educational  institutions. 

By  way  of  emphasizing  this  fact,  a  valued 
contributor  to  The  '  'Ave  Maria'  '  has  endeav- 
ored by  a  series  of  bright  letters,  concluded  in 


our  present  number — showing  the  general 
routine,  character  and  influences,  visible  and 
invisible,  at  work  in  the  different  schools, — 
to  contrast  the  one  with  the  other,  leaving  the 
reader  to  draw  his  own  conclusions.  In  thus 
presenting  the  obvious  and  predominant  feat- 
ures of  each,  she  has  aimed  to  portray  the 
effect  of  two  systems  of  training  and  education 
on  the  mind  and  heart  of  young  girls  at  the 
most  critical  period  of  their  lives, — at  a  time 
when,  being  most  susceptible  to  impressions, 
those  having  them  in  charge  should  see  to  it 
that  those  impressions  may  be  such  as  will 
profitably  influence  their  whole  future. 

It  may  be  claimed  that  there  are  two  types 
of  character  depicted  in  these  girlish  letters, 
and  that  either  in  the  situation  of  the  other 
would — in  so  far  as  restrained  by  certain 
narrow  lines,  or  permitted  within  broader 
limits, — have  followed  her  natural  bent  and 
inclination.  This  is  true  as  far  as  it  goes,  but 
it  only  proves  that,  to  be  effective,  a  thor- 
ough moral  training  must  be  begun  at  the 
very  beginning. 

Take  any  Protestant  girl  belonging  to  a 
family  in  respectable  social  standing;  place 
her  at  a  convent  school  in  early  childhood,  and 
leave  her  there  until  her  education  is  finished ; 
and  we  will  guarantee,  as  repeated  instances 
have  proven,  that,  in  spite  of  the  worldly 
home  atmosphere  in  which  she  was  born,  has 
lived,  still  lives,  and  in  all  probability  will 
die,  she  will  bloom  like  a  lily  amid  the  hot- 
house flowers  of  society,  which  are  the  prod- 
ucts of  our  forced  and  unnatural  modern 
civilization.  The  deeply  religious  and  moral 
influence  of  her  school-life  may  not  have  suc- 
ceeded in  thoroughly  piercing  the  worldly 
soul-kernel,  hardened  and  solidified  by  gen- 
erations of  religious  indifference ;  but  it  will 
have  insensibly  modified  and  softened  the 
inherent  prejudices  of  that  soul,  and  rendered 
it  capable  of  distinctly  drawing  the  line 
between  vice  and  virtue,  between  real  and 
counterfeit  morality. 

This  Protestant  girl  (we  say  Protestant  by 
courtesy)  may  not  ' '  profess ' '  religion,  but  she 
will  never  entirely  forget  the  teachings  of  her 
youth ;  she  will  not  be  the  first  to  run  after 
new  fancies,  nor  to  lose  herself  in  eccentric 
and  far-fetched  "isms."  She  may  be  worldly- 
minded,  but  her  worldliness  will  not  degener- 


28o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ate  into  looseness  of  principle.  She  may  be  a 
votary  of  fashion,  but  her  gayety  will  be  tem- 
pered with  a  quiet  dignity  and  reserve  of 
manner  that  is  purely  refined  and  womanly. 
She  will  be  a  true  wife  and  a  fond  and  careful 
mother ;  and  though  the  pearl  of  great  price 
may  never  be  vouchsafed  her,  her  better  in- 
stincts, early  awakened  and  kept  alive  by  the 
voice  of  conscience — that  warning  voice  which 
her  teachers  so  often  proclaimed  the  safeguard 
of  morality, — will  always  prevail.  And  thus, 
as  her  influence  and  example  must  always 
have  been  a  potent  factor  in  her  intercourse 
with  others,  such  a  woman  will  not  have  lived 
in  vain. 

How  much  greater,  then,  the  results  when 
we  apply  the  same  criterion  to  Catholic  girls  ! 
Alas  that  there  should  be  parents  among  us 
who,  through  an  absurd  desire  to  appear 
"exclusive,"  should  prefer  a  "fashionable" 
boarding-school  training  for  their  innocent 
daughters!  Foolish  fathers  and  mothers!  they 
will  not  long  remain  innocent.  We  do  not  by 
any  means  wish  to  assert  that  all  Protestant 
or  non-  sectarian  boarding-schools  are  bad,  but 
that  many  of  them  are  bad  there  can  be  no 
doubt.  Often  under  the  control  of  those  whose 
first  and  fundamental  aim  is  to  make  a  good 
living  with  as  little  effort  as  possible,  their 
ver>'  foundation  stone  is  crumbling  and  inse- 
cure. In  many  of  them  the  studies  are  merely 
optional,  often  a  pretence;  the  rules  dead 
letters,  and  the  young  girl  who  has  the  finest 
wardrobe  and  the  most  pocket-money  is  the 
queen  of  the  school. 

What  a  contrast  to  Catholic  institutions! 
There  we  hear  of  no  escapades  such  as  are  of 
frequent  occurrence  in  other  boarding- schools; 
no  surreptitious  letters  or  immoral  French 
novels,  one  of  which  is  sufiicient  to  destroy 
forever  the  purity  of  a  young  heart ;  no  mid- 
night impromptu  suppers,  smuggled  in  by 
the  willing  hands  of  day-scholars,  and  enjoyed 
behind  stuffed  keyholes  and  screened  doors ; 
no  flirtations  with  handsome  foreign  music 
or  language  teachers,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  these  creatures  are  unknown  quantities 
in  convent  schools,  the  Sisters  being  fully 
qualified  to  conduct  a  full  course  of  study 
in  music  and  the  languages.  No  anxious 
parent  need  ever  fear  for  the  daughter  of  his 
heart,  whom  he  cherishes  more  than  the  apple 


of  his  eye,  while  under  the  holy  shelter  of  a 
convent  roof.  While  under  the  gentle  but 
unrelaxing  surveillance  of  the  Sisters  she  will 
never  be  the  heroine  of  an  elopement,  her- 
alded and  precipitated  by  heedless  infraction 
and  disregard  of  slipshod  rules,  aided  by 
temptation  and  opportunity,  and  followed  by 
misery  and  shame. 

To  parents  who  have  been  reading  Mrs. 
Mannix's  letters  from  "Two  Schools"  we 
would  say  that  every  incident  related  in  these 
pages  is  either  true  or  so  based  on  actual  facts 
as  to  be  susceptible  of  proof.  Allen  Seminary 
is  a  type  of  many.  The  truth  is,  she  has  drawn 
very  lightly  what  might  have  been  depicted 
with  much  darker  shadows.  The  pages  of 
The  "Ave  Maria"  are  not  the  medium  for 
such  expositions,  nevertheless  "he  who  runs 
may  read." 


A  Death  that  Recalls  a  Prodigy. 


SISTER  MARY  APOLLONIA,  who  passed 
away  on  the  2d  inst.,  at  Georgetown  Con- 
vent, District  of  Columbia,  was  the  oldest 
professed  Visitation  nun  in  the  United  States, 
and  we  believe  the  oldest  in  profession  in  the 
Visitatiojj  Order.  She  had  reached  the  vener- 
able age  of  eighty- nine,  and  had  been  a  pro- 
fessed religious  over  seventy  years.  Some  few 
words  are  due  to  the  memory  of  one  whom  the 
Almighty  deemed  worthy  of  extraordinary 
favors. 

It  is  now  some  sixty  years  since  a  young 
and  fragile  nun  lay  dying  in  the  infirmary  of 
Georgetown  Convent.  The  community,  in  con- 
junction with  the  saintly  Jesuit,  Father  Du- 
buisson,  and  the  renowned  Prince  Hohenlohe, 
had  made  a  novena,  reciting  the  Litany  of 
the  Holy  Name  of  Jesus,  begging  of  the 
Divine  Goodness  to  restore  this  young  Sister 
to  health ;  but  the  fatal  malady,  consumption, 
steadily  progressed,  and  now,  the  last  day  of 
the  novena,  all  hope  was  gone.  The  convent 
physician,  a  Protestant,  had  considered  the 
case  so  desperate  that  he  declared  he  would  be- 
come a  Catholic  if  the  dying  Sister  recovered. 

The  hours  of  night  sped  on ;  the  death-rattle 
came,  and  dissolution  was  imminent,  when  the 
faint  tinkle  of  the  sanctuary  bell  announced 
that  the  Lord  of  Hosts  was  approaching  the 


™fi 


The  Ave  Maria, 


281 


firmary.  It  was  the  hour  to  coincide  with 
Prince  Hohenlohe's  Mass  in  Germany.  Father 
Dubuisson  entered;  the  Sisters  knelt  around, 
but  the  dying  religious  had  not  strength  to 
ceive  the  Sacred  Host  until  her  tongue  had 
n  moistened  with  water,  when — oh,  the 
onders  of  God's  almighty  power! — life 
shed  throughout  the  dying  frame,  health, 
ength  and  youth  returned,  and  Sister  Apol- 
nia  arose  cured!  The  physician  arrived,  ex- 
cting  to  find  his  patient  dead,  but  she  it  was 
at  opened  the  convent  door  for  him.  In  those 
mote  days  there  were  no  stately  buildings 
t  Georgetown  as  now,  no  covered  porches; 
e  snow  was  on  the  ground,  .yet  back  and 
— lorth  the  newly-risen  Sister  went,  to  meet  first 
one,  then  another  who  wished  to  see  the  sub- 
ject of  a  miracle. 

I  Long  years  have  passed  since  then,  and  one 
ly  one  all  the  friends  of  youth,  middle  age. 
Kid  old  age,  have  departed,  leaving  this  dear 
lister  flitting  about  her  monastery  "like  one 
who  waited."  Nothing  of  the  peculiarities 
of  old  age  characterized  her,  nothing  seemed 
capable  of  eliciting  an  impatient  emotion; 
she  demanded  nothing,  but  accepted  lovingly 
every  little  attention.  Her  mind  was  childlike 
in  its  sweet  fi-eshness  and  innocence.  The 
anniversary  of  her  cure  was  always  religiously 
remembered,  and  her  , sensible  fervor  never 
grew  cold.  She  had  heard  the  footsteps  of 
the  Almighty  (as  a  witness  of  the  miracle  ex- 
pressed it),  and  the  divine  echo  was  always  in 
her  soul. 

At  last  in  the  evening,  when  the  shadows  of 
night  were  falling,  the  almighty  Hand  seemed 
as  it  were  to  withdraw  the  miraculous  life  He 
gave  some  sixty  years  ago,  and  allow  the  fell 
disease  to  complete  what  it  once  began.  A 
hemorrhage — and  the  angelic  spirit  of  Sister 
Apollonia  was  with  that  God  she  so  loved,  and 
whom  she  had  served  for  over  seventy  years. 
She  was  laid  to  rest  in  the  lovely  and  secluded 
cemetery  of  the  convent,  borne  to  her  last 
resting-place  in  a  snow-white  hearse,  as  chil- 
dren are  wont  to  be  buried;  there  were  no 
mourning  emblems,  only  those  denoting  that 
Innocence  had  passed  away. 


Man  must  be  deformed  from  the  creature, 
"conformed  to  Christ,  and  transformed  into  the 
Deity. — Suso. 


A  Touching  Incident. 


A  CORRESPONDENT  of  the  Catholic  Sen- 
tinel (Portland,  Oregon,)  relates  a  touch- 
ing episode  of  Archbishop  Gross'  sojourn  in 
France.  One  would  be  at  a  loss  which  to  ad- 
mire the  more — the  kindness  of  the  amiable 
prelate  or  the  beautiful  piety  and  gratitude  of 
the  young  religious : 

Archbishop  Gross  received  a  request  to  visit 
the  house  of  the  Redemptorist  Fathers  at  Gauna, 
a  pretty  little  old  town  in  the  heart  of  France.  A 
young  student,  in  deacon's  orders,  and  a  member 
of  the  community  founded  by  St.  Alphonsus,was 
far  gone  in  that  dread  disease,  consumption. 
Knowing  that  his  death  was  fast  approaching, 
he  expressed  a  great  desire  to  be  honored  with 
the  sublime  dignity  of  the  priesthood,  and  have 
the  happiness  of  offering  the  Divine  Sacrifice  of 
the  Mass  before  his  death.  Owing  to  unavoidable 
circumstances,  the  bishop  of  the  diocese  could 
not  come  to  confer  the  sacred  order.  The  pious 
young  invalid,  hearing  of  the  arrival  of  Arch- 
bishop Gross  in  France,  sent  his  request  to  the 
American  prelate.  Gladly  consenting  to  grant 
the  pious  petition  of  the  sufferer,  the  Archbishop 
went  to  Gauna. 

It  was  indeed  a  touching  scene  to  behold  the 
beautiful  little  church  ornamented  with  lights  and 
rare  flowers.  Around  the  altar  were  grouped  the 
Fathers  and  Brothers  of  the  community,  and  their 
faces  beamed  with  pleasure  on  seeing  the  poor 
young  sufferer  about  to  realize  the  noble  ambition 
that  he  had  cherished  from  childhood,  and  which 
had  been  the  object  of  his  desires  during  years  of 
hard  study.  His  wasted  form,  his  face  still  hand- 
some amid  the  wreck  caused  by  disease,  all  aglow 
with  peace  and  piety  in  this  sublime  moment, 
presented  a  most  interesting  sight  as  he  knelt 
before  the  Archbishop  from  far-off  Oregon. 

At  the  close  of  this  most  interesting  ceremony 
the  superior  intoned  Mary's  hymn  of  thanks- 
giving to  God,  the  Magnificat,  and  the  affectionate 
audience  crowded  around  the  young  priest  to  offer 
him  their  heartiest  congratulations.  The  next 
day  he  felt  strong  enough  to  say  his  first  Mass, 
which,  in  token  of  gratitude,  was  offered  for  the 
good  Archbishop. 


He  is  no  true  comforter  who  in  the  presence 
of  grief  groans  not  within  himself,  who  knows 
not  how  to  mingle  tears  with  words,  and 
whose  inmost  being  is  not  moved  by  the  an- 
guish he  comes  to  assuage. — St.  Jerome. 


282 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

Negotiations  between  the  Russian  Government 
and  the  Holy  See  in  regard  to  supplying  vacant 
bishoprics  have  concluded  very  happily.  There 
are  at  present  seven  vacant  sees  in  the  Russian 
Empire,  and  appointments  for  these  will  soon  be 
made  by  the  Holy  Father.  No  consistory  will  be 
held,  but,  as  with  all  missionary  countries,  the 
bishops  will  be  named  by  briefs  froiu  the  Prop- 
aganda. 

We  are  told  that  the  gentleman,  then  a  little 
boy,  who  served  Mass  at  Georgetown  Convent 
when  the  prodigy  related  elsewhere  in  connection 
with  the  death  of  the  venerable  Sister  Apollonia 
occurred,  is  still  living  in  Washington,  D.  C.  He 
well  remembers  the  extraordinary  event,  and  de- 
lights to  tell  of  the  marvel  of  which  he  was  an 
awestruck  witness. 


The  National  Pilgrimage  from  Paris  to  Lourdes 
on  the  17th  ult.  included  one  thousand  sick  peo- 
ple, under  the  care  of  Sisters.  Some  wondrous 
cures  are  reported.  An  account  of  the  most  re- 
markable will  be  furnished  later  on  by  our  cor- 
respondent in  Paris. 

The  following  incident,  related  in  Mrs.  Custer's 
*' Tenting  on  the  Plains,"  gives  a  glimpse — the 
more  valuable  for  being  so  incidental — of  the 
work  done  so  unostentatiously  by  priests  and 
Sisters  the  world  over.  And  the  conclusion  drawn 
by  a  soldier's  widow  as  regards  soldiers'  work  in 
the  West  might  well  have  been  applied  by  her  to 
the  nobler  work  of  the  army  of  Christ : 

"  Fort  Harker  was  at  that  time  the  most  absolutely 
dismal  and  melancholy  spot  I  remember  ever  to  have 
seen.  A  terrible  and  unprecedented  calamity  had 
fallen  upon  this  usually  healthful  place ;  for  cholera 
had  broken  out,  and  the  soldiers  were  dying  by 
platoons.  .  .  .  For  some  strange  reason,  right  out  in 
the  midst  of  that  wide,  open  plain,  with  no  stagnant 
water,  no  imperfect  drainage,  no  earthly  reason,  it 
seemed  to  us,  this  epidemic  had  suddenly  appeared, 
and  in  a  form  so  violent  that  a  few  hours  of  suffering 
ended  fatally.  In  the  midst  of  this  scourge  the 
Sisters  of  Charity  came.  Two  of  them  died,  and  after- 
ward a  priest ;  but  they  were  replaced  by  others,  who 
remained  until  the  pestilence  had  wrought  its  worst ; 
then  they  gathered  the  orphaned  children  of  the 
soldiers  together,  and  returned  with  them  to  the 
parent  house  of  their  Order  in  Ivcavenworth. 

•'I  lately  rode  through  the  State — which  seemed, 
when  I  first  saw  it,  a  hopeless,  barren  waste, — and 
found  the  land  under  fine  cultivation,  the  houses, 
bams  and  fences  excellently  built,  cattle  in  the 
meadows,  and  sometimes  several  teams  ploughing 
in  one  field.    I  could  not  help  wondering  what  the 


rich  owners  of  those  estates  would  say  if  I  should 
step  down  from  the  car  and  give  them  a  little  picture 
of  Kansas,  with  the  hot,  blistered  earth,  dry  beds  of 
streams,  aud  soil  apparently  so  barren  that  not  even 
the  wild  flowers  would  bloom,  save  for  a  brief  period 
after  the  spring  rains.  Then  add  pestilence,  Indians, 
and  an  undisciplined,  mutinous  soldiery,  who  com- 
posed our  first  recruits,  and  it  seems  si  range  that  our 
officers  persevered  at  all.  I  hope  the  prosperous 
ranchman  will  give  them  one  word  of  thanks  as  he 
advances  to  greater  wealth,  since  but  for  our  brave 
officers  and  men  the  Kansas  Pacific  Railroad  could 
not  have  been  built;  nor  could  the  early  settlers, 
daring  as  the}'  were,  have  sowed  the  seed  that  now 
yields  such  rich  harvests." 

The  Rev.  J.  F.  Durin.  rector  of  St.  Joseph's 
Church,  West  Depere,  Wis.,  met  with  a  great 
calamity  a  few  weeks  ago,  in  the  destruction  by 
fire  of  his  beautiful  little  church.  This  loss  should 
call  forth  the  sympathy  and  aid  of  all  Catholics, 
not  only  because  of  the  very  poor  condition  of 
the  congregation,  but  also  because  it  was  the 
chief  establishment  in  this  country  of  the  Arch- 
confraternity  of  St.  Joseph,  and  special  devotions 
and  honors  were  there  rendered  to  the  glorious 
spouse  of  the  Immaculate  Mother  of  God.  Father 
Durin  is  the  editor  of  the  Annals  of  St.  Joseph, 
in  which  the  names  of  all  who  contribute  to  the 
rebuilding  of  his  church  will  be  published. 

The  Catholic  Mirror  quotes  the  following  par- 
agraph from  the  Fort  Madison  Democrat,  edited 
by  one  Dr.  Roberts.  It  is  refreshing  to  find  a 
non-Catholic  so  unprejudiced  regarding  a  point 
of  American  history  on  which  few  persons  are 
correctly  informed.  Dr.  Roberts  says  : 

"The  newspapers  call  the  Pilgrim  papas  'the 
Fathers  of  the  Nation.'  So  they  may  be  of  the  nation 
with  a  big  N,  but  the  people  that  first  settled  Mary- 
land are  the  fathers  of  the  Republic  with  a  big  R, 
and  of  religious  and  political  liberty  besides.  It  is  an 
item  of  history  that  not  many  people  know,  and  some 
who  know  will  not  admit,  that  the  birth  of  r'^ligious 
liberty  was  in  Maryland,  under  Lord  Baltimore,  an 
ardent  and  faithful  Catholic. ' ' 

That  the  Pope  is  really  and  truly  a  prisoner — 
as  closely  confined  and  guarded  as  one  may  be — 
is  a  fact  but  little  realized  except  by  those  who 
have  visited  Rome  and  witnessed  for  themselves 
the  situation  in  which  the  august  Head  of  the 
Christian  world  is  now  placed.  People,  generally, 
are  inclined  to  think  that  the  Holy  Father  has  at 
least  the  freedom  of  the  territory  immediately 
circumscribing  the  Vatican  and  St.  Peter's.  But 
even  this  is  denied  him,  notwithstanding  the 
so-called  guarantees  of  the  Italian  Government  ; 
for  the  rabble  soldiery  may  be  seen  at  every  point, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


283 


ready  to  insult  him  and  restrict  his  movements 
when  an  occasion  presents  itself.  In  the  course 
of  a  very  interesting  letter  from  the  Rev.  Father 
Phelan,  editor  of  the  Western  Watchman,  now  in 
Rome,  which  appeared  in  a  recent  number  of  that 
'  iper,  this  fact  is  brought  out  very  plainly  and 
jicibly.  After  describing  an  audience  with  which 
he  was  favored  by  his  Holiness,  Father  Phelan 
says : 

'Before  leaving  the  Vatican  I  took  a  look  at  the 
gardens  where  the  Pope  is  allowed  to  take  exercise 
and  fresh  air.  I  had  been  led  to  believe  that  they  em- 
braced a  fast  park  and  pleasure-ground:  I  found  that 
all  the  land  the  Head  of  the  Catholic  Church  had 
outside  the  four  walls  of  his  dwelling  was  fifteen 
acres,  without  shade  trees,  and  intersected  with  a  road 
without  shade  and  white  aud  burning  under  the  hot 
sun,  which  by  a  wondrous  tortuosity  affords  a  few 
yards  more  than  two  miles  of  a  drive.  A  hotter  or 
less  inviting  spot  in  summer  would  be  hard  to  find. 
lu  the  midst  of  this  patch  of  Sahara  there  is  a  small 
house  which  the  Pope  tried  to  occupy  last  month, 
but  which  he  found  less  comfortable  tnan  his  quar- 
ters in  the  Vatican,  and  soon  abandoned.  Talk  about 
the  Pope  being  a  prisoner :  he  is  in  a  convict's  cell! 
The  miserable  little  fifteen  acres  are  accorded  extra 
territoriality,  but  I  saw  gendarmes  walking  on  the 
wails,  and  was  told  that  Italian  bayonets  bristle 
around  the  Pope's  enclosure  day  and  night.  They 
were  up  to  the  very  steps  of  St.  Peter's  every  time  I 
went  into  that  church." 


It  is  remarkable  that  on  the  Feast  of  the  As- 
sumption only  two  papers  were  printed  in  Rome. 
Even  Crispi's  organ,  which  would  abolish  Chris- 
tianity, took  a  holiday. 


Received  in  response  to  our  appeal  for  the 
missions  of  the  Passionist  Fathers  in  South 
America:  From  Dr.  J.  B.,  $5  ;  "A  great  sinner," 
$5;  "A  namesake,"  50  cts. ;  M.V.  T.,$i;  M.  D., 
Baltimore,  Md.,  $1;  Mary  A.  Keating,  $5;  Annie 
Smith,  $10  ;  Mrs.  W.  E.  Patterson,  $1. 


The  National  Union  of  Catholic  Young  Men's 
Associations  held  its  annual  Convention  in  Prov- 
idence, R.  I.,  on  Tuesday  and  Wednesday,  Sept. 
10,  II.  The  proceedings  of  the  Convention  were 
fittingly  opened  by  the  Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass, 
which  was  solemnly  celebrated  by  the  Rev.  D.J. 
Stafford,  of  Cleveland,  Ohio,  President  of  the 
C,  Y.  M.  N.  Union,  assisted  by  the  Rev.  Father 
McMillan,  of  New  York,  as  deacon,  and  the  Rev. 
Father  McHugh,  of  Manchester,  N.  H.,  as  sub- 
deacon.  Hearty  words  of  welcome  and  encour- 
agement were  addressed  to  the  delegates  by  the 
Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  Harkins.  The  work  accomplished 
in  the  various  sessions  of  the  Convention  mark  it 
as  one  of  the  most  successful  in  the  history  of 


the  Union,  and  is  a  presage  of  future  happy  and 
prosperous  development.  The  temporal  power  of 
the  Holy  Father,  the  coming  Catholic  American 
Congress,  the  centenary  of  the  hierarchy,  the  {pa- 
rochial school  system,  the  needs  of  young  men's 
societies,  the  temperance  cause,  and  other  impor- 
tant points  were  discussed  intelligently,  and  the 
discussions  j-ummarized  in  excellent  practical 
resolutions.  The  Rev.  M.J.  Lavelle,  rector  of  St. 
Patrick's  Cathedral,  New  York,  read  an  instruc- 
tive paper  on  "The  Catholic  Young  Men's  Na- 
tional Union,"  with  special  reference  to  its  scope, 
its  hopes,  and  the  means  whereby  it  can  attain 
greater  success.  Among  the  resolutions  passed  at 
the  Convention  we  may  mention  the  following: 

Resolved,  That  the  Catholic  Young  Men's  National 
Union,  in  convention  assembled,  extends  its  sincerest 
filial  sympathy  to  His  Holiness  Pope  lyeo  XIII.  in 
his  many  misfortunes,  which  have  arisen  chiefly  from 
the  efforts  of  the  Revolution  not  only  to  deprive  him 
of  his  temporalities,  but  to  destroy  the  Papacy  itself; 
and  we  sincerely  hope  that  the  day  is  not  far  distant 
when,  in  the  providence  of  God,  the  Eternal  City 
shall  be  restored  to  him. 

Resolved,  That  the  aim  of  the  Catholic  National 
Union  be  to  bicd  in  the  perfect  union*  of  the  Catholic 
spirit  the  young  men's  societies  of  America,  in  order 
that  their  influence  may  be  more  strongly  felt  in  the 
development  of  the  religious,  social  and  politics^ 
principles  of  the  country. 

The  following  officers  were  elected :  National 
President,  the  Rev.  M.  J.  Lavelle,  of  New  York  ; 
Vice-Presidents  (first),  the  Rev.  W.J.  Birmingham, 
Wilmington,  Del. ;  (second)  Mr.  E.  T.  McAulifife, 
Providence ;  Secretary  and  Treasurer,  Mr.  John  P. 
Leahy,  of  Boston.  The  committee  decided  to  hold 
the  next  Convention  at  Washington,  D.  C,  be- 
tween October  i  and  30,  1890. 


Obituary. 

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

Mr.  John  Scott,  whose  happy  death  occurred  on 
the  i8th  ult,,  at  South  Boston,  Mass. 

Mrs.  Maria  J.  Dellone,  of  Harrisburg,  Pa.,  who  died 
a  holy  death  on  the  i6th  of  June. 

Mr.  John  Shea,  who  peacefully  yielded  his  soul  to 
God  on  the  7th  ult.,  at  East  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Patrick  X.  Walsh,  of  Youkers,  N.  Y.,  whose  fervent 
Christian  life  was  crowned  with  a  happy  death  on  the 
2d  inst. 

Miss  Mary  A.  McCann,  who  departed  this  life  in  St. 
Louis,  Mo.,  on  the  7th  ult. 

Miss  Mary  Hyland,  Lancaster,  Ohio ;  and  Mrs.  Julia 
McMahon,  Chicago,  111. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace  I 


28^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  Jose-Maria. 


BY   E.  I,.  DORSEY. 


(CONCIvUSION.) 

XIV.— (Continued.) 

Judkins  was  asleep  in  his  chair,  and  as  the 
doctor  had  said  he  must  never  be  wakened 
suddenly,  Dick  quickly  hurried  his  father  up- 
stairs, where  he  rubbed  him  down  with  salt 
and  whiskey,  gave  him  dry  flannels,  wrapped 
him  up  in  a  blanket,  gave  him  a  dose  of  hot 
grog,  and  saw  him  comfortably  stowed  in  a 
bunk  and  safely  off"  to  the  Ivand  of  Nod ;  then 
he  shifted  into  dry  things  himself,  and  sat 
down  on  the  edge  of  his  berth  to  pull  on  dry 
socks.  But  if  he  had  belonged  to  the  "Sleep- 
ing Beauty's"  court  he  could  not  have  fallen 
asleep  more  suddenly  nor  slept  more  pro- 
foundly than  he  did,  unconscious  of  the  ever- 
increasing  violence  of  the  gale  and  the  news 
that  was  hurr^^ing  to  meet  them. 

As  the  tumult  waxed  louder  it  gradually 
wakened  Jonas ;  and  on  seeing  that  the  dinner 
hour  was  past,  and  none  of  his  family  had 
turned  up,  he  wheeled  out  into  the  kitchen 
and  began  making  a  cup  of  coffee,  which  with 
a  ship's  biscuit  would  serve  as  a  "stop-gap." 

"Whew!"  he  muttered;  "this  is  a  rip- 
snorter,  an'  no  mistake!  Wonder  how  the  brig 
an'  bark  come  out  ?  Nasty  weather  for  the  Hen- 
an' -chickens  to  be  a-layin'  for  your  bones. 
Hark  to  the  guns — no,  it's  the  seas  a-bangin' 
on  the  Breakwater. ' ' 

The  sound  was  like  a  heavy  cannonading, 
and  the  view  from  the  shore  confirmed  the 
illusion — there  would  be  a  flash  of  curving 
crest,  a  crash  of  smiting  waters,  and  then  the 
spray  wo;ild  go  whirling  off"  in  clouds  and 
long  spirals,  just  like  the  smoke  of  an  artillery 
discharge.  And  the  wind!  It  ripped  the  sea 
into  a  thousand  curdling  furrows,  and  hurtled 
through  the  streets,  beating  and  snatching 
at  the  houses,  until  the  dishes  on  the  shelves 
danced,  the  timbers  hummed,  and  the  very 


atmosphere  seemed  to  reel  under  its  impact. 

Through  it  a  man  came  fighting  his  way 
toward  Judkins'  cottage — head  down,  shoul- 
dering along  as  if  forcing  his  passage  through 
a  turbulent  crowd ;  arms  raised  to  shield  his 
eyes  from  the  stinging,  flying  sand,  and  to 
keep  his  breath  from  being  snatched  out  of 
his  throat.  Arrived  there,  he  brought  up  by 
clutching  the  stanchion  of  the  porch,  and 
hanging  against  the  wind,  clothes,  hair  and 
beard  standing  horizontal.  Then  he  thundered 
at  the  door,  and,  in  a  voice  that  had  been 
trained  in  the  gales  of  all  the  world's  seas, 
bellowed: 

'  'Judkins,  tumble  up  I  say !  ^Vidi-kins! ' ' 

This  last  was  a  prolonged  roar  that  brought 
Jonas  wheeling  down  the  passage  with  a 
shouted  "Ahoy!"  that  roused  Dick  and  his 
father.  But  the  wind  blew  his  voice  back  in 
his  teeth,  so  he  made  a  long  arm,  hauled  his 
visitor  inside,  and  slammed  the  door. 

'  *  Theer ! "  he  said ;  '  *  now  I  can  hear  myself 
think.  What's  the  news,  Mac?" — eagerly. 
"Hev  the  brig  an'  bark  took  the  ground? 
What  ?  One  struck  and  one  held  ?  Which  did 
what  ? ' ' 

"Brig  struck." 

"Any  lost?" 

"Three.  Six  come  off  on  a  line,  and  your 
Dick  jumped  in  an'  pulled  another  one  out." 

'  'Dick  !  How'd  he  git  theer  ? ' ' 

"Took  Job  Ransom's  place." 

"Who  sent  him?" 

"He  went.  Job's  got  a  bone  felon — a  bad 
one, — had  to  hev  it  cut  last  night.  So  when 
Dick  heard  the  life-boat  called  he  run  hard's 
he  could  split,  shook  into  Job's  boots  an' 
jacket,  an'  pulled  wi'  the  best  o'  'em." 

"Sho  now!  I  s'pose  you'll  be  tellin'  me 
next  that  Mollie  an'  Ginnie's  a-prancin'  round 
in  it  too.  That  boy — sho  now! — sixteen  year 
old  and  pullin'  in  a  gale  like  this!  Sich  fool- 
ishness!" 

But,  oh,  he  was  pleased! 

"Hello,  thar  goes  my  coffee! "  as  a  sudden, 
sputtering  sound  was  heard,  and  a  cloud  of 
fragrant  smoke  drifted  out  to  them.  "Run  set 
the  pot  back,  Mac,  an'  then  we'll  hev  a  cup 
together. ' ' 

But  MacPherson  didn't  move;  he  lift;ed  his 
hand  once  or  twice  toward  his  lips,  then 
stopped  midway  in  the  act,  with  a  look  of 


The  Ave  Maria. 


^85 


I 


irresolution  strange  enough  in  such  a  strongly 
marked  face. 

"Why  don't  you — "  began  Jonas,  when, 
eering  keenly  at  his  comrade,  he  stopped  and 
ried:   "Outwi'it!  Isit — is  it  the  boy?  You 
lid  he  pulled  wi'  the  best — " 
"No:  thar  he  is,"  said  MacPherson,  look- 
ing much  relieved  as  he  caught  sight  of  Dick. 
Then  he  backed  toward  the  door,  caught  hold 
of  the  handle  and  cried  out:  "TheDune's  up!" 
"What?" 

'The  Crawl 's  took  her  head,  an'  she 's 
whirlin'." 

"Well? "—but  his  lips  were  stiff. 
"An'  your  sister — " 
'She's  at  Miss  Truxton's,"   inteirupted 
Jonas,  hastily.   "Ain't  she,  Dick?" 

■"I  left  her  theer,  sir,"  began  Dick,  when 
icPherson  broke  in : 
"No,  she  ain't.  When  it  come  on  to  blow 
hard  they  couldn '  t  keep  her.  She  watched 
her  chance,  an'  slipped  out  the  house  like  a — 
like  a  ghost,  an'  run  to  the  Ridge — land,  how 
^he  did  run! — an'  whipped  into  thet  house, 
arC  thar  she  is  now!'' 
_  Then  he  bolted. 

XV. 
Lord  A' mighty,"  groaned  Jonas,  "hold 
onto  that  poor  gell!  Keep  her  in  th'  hollow 
o'  your  mighty  hand ;  fur  she's  a-laborin'  in 
the  trough  o'  the  sea,  an'  no  mistake!" 

But  all  the  time  he  prayed  he  worked.  He 
wheeled  to  the  cupboard,  jerked  down  his 
sou'wester,  pea-coat  and  big  boots,  which  he 
threw  into  Dick's  arms;  then  he  trundled 
over  to  the  tool  chest  for  an  ax,  a  coil  of  rope, 
and  a  crowbar,  which  he  thrust  into  a  pair  of 
eager  hands  that  reached  over  his  shoulder 
and  looked  strong  enough  to  use  them ;  and 
then  he  fell  back,  panting  and  trembling,  as 
he  listened  to  the  thimip,  thump  of  hurrying 
feet,  with  a  dim  sense  of  having  heard  Dick 
say  something  about  his  father,  and  of  having 
seen  a  figure  that  looked  grey  and  ghostly  in 
the  dim  light  of  the  passage  way. 

Was  it  'Iviakim's  spirit  come  to  take  Idella? 
Was  she  already  lying  dead— crushed  under 
the  Dune's  whirling  sands?  A  shudder  ran 
through  the  old  sailor's  blood;  but  his  com- 
mon sense  scouted  the  idea,  and  he  bent  his 
whole  will  to  the  happier  belief  that  it  was 
really  his  brother-in-law ;  and  that,  by  one  of 


those  marvellous  incidents  so  common  among 
seafaring  men,  he  had  escaped  death,  and  been 
led  home  at  the  very  moment  he  was  most 
sorely  needed. 

He  sat  there  an  hour,  struggling  for  hope 
and  patience.  Then  it  was  two  hours.  Then 
a  neighbor  brought  Mary  Ginevra  and  Gi- 
nevra  Mary  home.  On  the  way  from  school 
they  had  heard  some  inkling  of  the  news,  and 
he  had  picked  them  up  half-way  to  the  Ridge, 
and  brought  them  back  in  spite  of  their  hard 
fighting.  They  pitched  into  the  room,  panting, 
sobbing,  crying.  They  precipitated  themselves 
on  old  Jonas. 

''Mayn't  we  go.  uncle ?  All  the  folks  say  the 
Crawl's  a-killin'  marm,  an'  theer's  a  crowd 
o'  men  over  theer,  an'  people  a-runnin,'  an' — 
an' — wed  ought  to  be  theer  to  help." 

"No,  my  birds.  Theer's  quite  enough  o' 
this  here  fam'ly  a-flyin'  round  permisc' us  in 
this  here  gale.  As  fur  your  little  marm,  the 
Lord's  got  her  in  tow,  an'  you  can  help  just  as 
well  stay  in'  here." 

' '  How  ? "  sobbed  Mary  Ginevra. 
But  Ginevra  Mary  knew,  and  dropped  on 
her  knees,  raising  her  earnest  little  voice  and 
shouting  above  the  din  of  the  storm  : 

' '  O  my  Lady,  bend  down  as  fur  as  you  can, 
an'  listen  close;  for  theer's  a  sight  o' noise! 
Beg  Our  Lord  not  to  let  marm  git  swallowed 
up  in  the  Crawl.  Tell  Him  to  'member  how 
lonesome  He'd  a- ben  when  He  was  little  ef 
anything  had  a- happened  \.o you.  An',  O  my 
Lady,  ef  daddy's  alive  keep  an  eye  on  him 
to- day,  for  this  here's  a  storm  an' -a-half,  an' 
wreckin's  awful  easy  this  time  o'  the. year! 
— She'll  do  it!"  she  added  contentedly  as 
she  scrambled  to  her  feet.  "I  didn't  think 
about  it  when  I  was  hollerin'  so.  Come  'long, 
Ginnie;  let's  get  something  to  eat.  I'm  hun- 
gry, an'  uncle — my !  ain't  you  had  any  dinner, 
uncle  ?  Here,  Ginnie  Barlow,  step  round  lively; 
he's  mos'  starved." 

Once  in  the  kitchen,  her  ambition  soared 
higher. 

"It's  as  easy  to  cook  a  lot  as  a  little,"  she 
said  oracularly,  and  the  smut  on  her  nose  lent 
a  sort  of  professional  dignity  and  weight  to 
her  discourse.  "Let's  make  a  big,  hot  dinner 
fur  Dick  an' — an'  marm,"  she  added,  stoutly  ; 
"'cause  when  they  git  back  they'll  be  cold, 
an'  tired,  an'  emptier'n  drums." 


286 


The  Ave  Maria 


And  by  sundown  a  dinner  was  simmering 
and  bubbling  in  pots  and  pans  that  would 
make  a  hungry  man's  mouth  water ;  and  down 
the  street,  through  the  dying  shrieks  of  the 
storm,  came  tramping  not  one  but  five  hungry 
men  to  enjoy  it.  They  were  led  by  %iakim  and 
Dick ;  the  former  carrying  across  his  breast,  as 
lightly  as  if  she  were  a  feather-weight,  a 
little  woman  who  had  been  bleeding  profusely 
from  a  cut  on  the  head,  but  who  was  other- 
wise absolutely  unharmed  by  her  seven  hours' 
imprisonment  in  the  "Portugee's  cottage." 

That  evening,  when  the  confused  emotions 
of  the  household  had  settled  into  some  sem- 
blance of  order,  'Liakim  and  Idella  told  their 
stories. 

The  former,  when  he  drifted  off  in  the  dory, 
lived  out  the  horror  and  the  storm  somehow  ; 
but  there  came  a  time  when  he  lost  his  reck- 
oning from  starvation  and  thirst,  and  the  next 
he  remembered  was  finding  himself  on  the 
deck  of  a  whaler  bound  on  a  two  years'  cruise, 
and  too  far  on  her  voyage  to  make  any  port. 
What  became  of  Dan  Frost  he  never  knew. 
The  sailors  who  picked  him  up  said  he  was 
alone  in  the  boat  when  they  sighted  her. 

'Iviakim  worked  his  way  on  the  voyage,  and 
was  such  a  valuable  hand  that  the  captain 
offered  him  a  mate's  berth  to  reship  at  St. 
John's ;  but  he  was  eager  to  get  home,  and 
travelled  day  and  night  to  do  it,  utterly  un- 
prepared for  the  news  that  met  him:  "Hull 
fam'ly  up  stakes  an'  went  South — Floriday 
some  say.  Ain't  heerd  a  word  sence  they 
left."  He  shipped  at  once  on  a  Florida-bound 
schooner,  and  searched  the  coast  fore-and-aft; 
then  on  a  report  that  "thar  were  a  Yankee 
fellow  j  ist  gone  to  Bermuda  Ivight,  with  a  sister 
an'  a  whole  passel  o'  chil'ren,"  he  crossed  to 
the  islands,  only  to  find  strangers.  Heart- 
sick and  discouraged,  he  there  shipped  on  a 
vessel  bound  for  Rio  and  Montevideo.  On  the 
return  cruise  they  put  in  at  Havana  to  dis- 
charge part  of  a  cargo  and  ship  another.  And 
there  they  cast  anchor  alongside  a  French 
merchantman.  Some  intercourse  sprang  up 
between  the  crews,  and  one  morning,  when 
the  Americans  were  growling  at  the  inter- 
ruption to  business  caused  by  the  religious 
festival  then  being  celebrated,  the  first  officer 
of  the  Rosette  de  Lyon  came  alongside,  hailed 


'Iviakim  and  invited  him  to  go  ashore  with 
him  to  see  the  function.  He  was  a  cheery, 
bright  fellow,  who  spoke  ver>^  good  English, 
and  'I^iakim  went. 

The  Cathedral  was  crowded  and  the  day 
very  close,  so  after  Mass  they  stopped  at  a 
little  cafi  to  drink  orange- water  and  eausucrS. 
The  room  was  decorated  with  cheap  prints, 
the  one  opposite  their  table  being  *  *  La  belle 
Jardiniere."  As  they  waited  the  Frenchman 
said : 

"That  reminds  me  of  two  little  American 
girls  I  met  once — such  pretty  children,  and 
with  a  story  so  touching." 

And  he  proceeded  to  repeat  it.  As  it  pro- 
gressed ' Liakim' s  face  went  red  and  white 
alternately,  and  his  heart  thumped  like  a  trip- 
hammer. 

"What  was  their  name? "  he  cried. 

"Ah,  that  I  can  not  recall." 

"Try  to,  try  to,  for  God's  sake! " 

"I  am  truly  desolated,  but  it  is  gone  from 
me  absolutely.  Stay,  though !  the  names  of 
baptism  remain.  There  was  a  brother  named 
Richard — Deek  they  called  him, — and  the 
little  ones  themselves  were  called  for  St. 
Genevieve  and  the  Blessed  Mother  of  God. 
The  mother's  name  was  strange  to  me ;  but  I 
remember  she  had  a  pretty  fancy  that  the  lost 
father  was  not  dead,  only  sailing  always  on 
a  ship  bearing  that  name.  When  she  saw  the 
clouds  float  by  she  called  them  the  sails." 

Then  'Liakim  had  astonished  Rene  Lenoir 
by  pouring  out  his  story  and  the  hopes  and 
fears  that  centred  on  his  words. 

Rene  had  listened  with  the  quick  sympa- 
thy of  his  race,  and  when  the  Gloucester  man 
finished  he  took  his  hand  and  said  : 

"To-day  is  the  15th  of  August — the  As- 
sumption. It  is  a  picture  of  Our  Lady  that  has 
been  a  clue.  It  is  a  coincidence.  Become  her 
client.  No?  You'd  rather  pray  direct  to  God? 
Well,  but  that  is  what  I  do  precisely,  only  I 
choose  a  powerful  advocate  to  present  my 
plea.  Very  good,  then ;  you  pray  as  seems 
best  to  you,  but  I  will  begin  to-day  a  novena 
to  Notre  Dame  des  Victoires,  and  then  when 
the  Month  of  the  Rosary  is  come — October — 
I  will  say  a  pair  of  beads  each  day  that  you 
find  them.  And  you  will — oh,  you  will,  my 
friend ;  for  she,  the  Lady  of  Victories,  is  the 
sailors'  patron,  their  mother  and   guardian, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


287 


\ 


and  her  ear  is  never  deaf  to  the  cry  of  the 
needy." 

A  few  days  later  the  fever  broke  out  on 
board,  and  they  were  quarantined  for  six 
weeks,  losirg  several  of  their  crew.  They  had 
had  it  at  Montevideo,  but  got  on  so  well  that 
the  men  felt  proof  against  it,  and  exposed 
themselves  recklessly  in  the  city.  It  was  im- 
■possible  to  replace  the  dead  seamen  satisfac- 
orily,  so  the  captain  determined  to  work 
home,  short-handed  as  they  were,  with  the 
result  we  know. 

Fidelia's  story  was  shorter.  She  had  run  to 
the  cabin  to  be  near  the  beach,  and  was  sit- 
ting breathless,  leaning  against  the  wall  tow- 
ard the  Ridge.  Suddenly  there  came  a  blast, 
to  which  the  rest  were  as  penny  whistles ;  and 
then  a  curious  gritting  and  rustling  sound,  a 
crash  on  the  roof,  a  tearing  of  wood,  and  the 
house  seemed  to  heave  and  collapse.  Then 
darkness  settled  on  her. 

She  wakened  to  a  heavy  weight  on  breast 
atJd  arms,  pinioned  feet,  and  a  blinding  stream 
of  blood.  As  this  lessened  she  saw  the  house 
had  been  crushed  in  in  some  way;  the  sand  had 
poured  through,  covering  everything  in  heavy 
drifts ;  and  she  was  forced  up  on  a  heap  of 
beams  and  wreckage,  which  held  her  prisoner, 
but  had  preserved  her  from  being  crushed. 
As  the  sun  swung  over,  the  west  wind  blow- 
ing free,  a  broad  ray  of  light  struck  across 
the  fair  face  of  the  Sand- Pipers'  I<ady — the 
only  part  visible  above  the  sand, — and  it  had 
comforted  her  inexpressibly  as  she  lay  there 
weak  and  weary.  She  could  not  free  her  hands 
to  staunch  the  blood,  and  it  had  flowed  for 
three  or  four  hours.  She  grew  more  and  more 
exhausted,  but  it  seemed  that  as  her  strength 
declined  her  head  grew  clearer,  and  the  fever 
and  fret  left  it.  She  was  conscious  of  a  troubled 
memory  of  some  great  sorrow,  but  it  was 
vague  and  it  seemed  to  be  over — a  peaceful 
expectancy  replacing  it. 

Then  came  the  hum  of  many  voices,  the 
scraping  of  shovels,  and  the  sound  of  axes  at 
work,  and  then — and  then  she  slipped  down 
on  her  knees  and  buried  her  face  on  'Liakim's 
broad  breast,  too  happy  for  words. 

It  was  a  wonderful  day,  and  Ginevra  Mary 
and  Mary  Ginevra  never  tired  of  talking  it 
over  and  chorusing  the  praises  of  their  Lady, 


to  whose  intercession  they  gave  the  whole 
credit  of  the  three  rescues.  Some  believed 
them,  some  laughed,  some  scolded,  and  some 
scoffed.  But  one  day,  about  Christmas  time,  a 
carriage  drove  up  and  a  gentleman  got  out. 
He  was  as  square-shouldered  as  a  soldier; 
his  fair  brown  hair  crisped  in  close  curls  about 
his  head ;  his  blue  eyes,  keen  and  clear,  looked 
from  a  strong,  clean-shaven  face ;  he  moved 
alertly,  and,  entering,  shook  hands  heartily 
with  Jonas  and  'Liakim  congratulating  them 
on   their  separate  and  mutual  good  fortune. 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  former  said,  "the  squall's 
over  an'  gone ;  but  theer  was  a  time  when  we 
was  cert'n'y  on  beam-ends,  all  hands." 

Then  they  detailed  what  he  had  only  heard 
in  general  terms.  When  they  fin  ished  he  said : 

"I'd  like  very  much  to  see  that  little  girl." 

"They've  both  gone  off  to  bespeak  some 
holly  to  dress  the  picture  of  their  Lady  with 
fur  Christmas,"  answered  'Liakim. 

"  Father  Bradford,"  began  Jonas,  suddenly, 
"I  ben  brought  up  to  think  papists  was  to  be 
pitied  an'  steered  clear  of,  but  theer' s  queer 
things  ben  happenin'  to  me  an'  mine.  An' 
thet  theer  MoUie — Ginnie  too — is  so  sot  'bout 
theer  Lady,  an'  thet  Rene"  (he  called  him 
"Rainy")  "was  so  dead  sure  too,  that  I'd 
kinder  like  to  talk  'ith  you  'bout  it." 

"Do.  I'll  be  glad  to  drop  in  whenever  I 
am  down  here,"  said  the  young  priest  in  the 
hearty  way  that  makes  him  so  popular. 
"Meantime" — turning  to  'Liakim — "why 
not  bring  the  little  girls  up  to  the  Christmas 
Mass  at  Dover  ?  I  am  going  to  have  a  tree  and 
a  Crib  for  the  children,  and  I  think  they'll 
enjoy  it." 

He  was  right:  they  did  enjoy  it,  "every 
smidjin, ' '  to  quote  themselves ;  and  the  deeper 
meaning  of  the  day  they  never  forgot.  Ginevra 
Mary,  immediately  on  her  return,  declared 
her  intention  of  becoming  a  Calholic  'soon's 
she  learned  'nough  'bout  it  for  Father  Brad- 
ford to  let  her ' ;  and,  I  am  sorry  to  add,  she 
had  three  pitched  battles  with  as  many  school- 
mates on  the  subject  of  her  decision. 

Busy  as  he  was  with  his  three  churches  and 
his  mission  work,  Father  Bradford  made  time 
to  instruct  the  twins  and  Idella  carefully,  and 
on  the  ist  of  May  received  them  all  into  the 
Church, — the  latter  bringing  a  faith  as  loving 
and  simple  as  did  her  children  to  lay  at  the 


288 


The  Ave  Maria 


feet  of  the  gentle  Christ,  whose  Virgin  Mother 
first  shrined  Him  in  their  hearts. 

Jonas  and  Xiakim  reached  their  conclu- 
sions more  deliberate!}^,  and  many  a  visit  did 
the  young  priest  pay,  and  many  a  long  talk 
did  he  have  with  the  grave,  slow- thinking 
men,  before  they  announced  they  were  ready 
to  sign  articles  and  vship  on  the  Bark  of  Peter. 

Dick  has  not  followed  yet,  but  he  and  Hen- 
dershott  have  had  several  conversations  on 
the  subject,  and  both  have  concluded  that 
there  can  be  only  one  real  Captain,  and  that 
whatever  His  rules  are  they  must  be  the 
right  ones  to  navigate  by.  And  the  diver  says: 
* "s  fur  as  I  kin  make  out.  Barlow  and  Judkins 
hev  hold  o'  the  tow-rope,  an'  are  hitched  to 
the  right  tender. ' ' 


The  Blessing  a  Medal  Brought. 


About  forty  years  ago,  not  far  from  Hal,  a 
city  dear  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  a  child  fell 
into  the  river.  A  passer-by,  hearing  his  cries 
for  help,  rescued  the  little  one  from  imminent 
death,  then  took  him  home  to  his  parents, 
who,  on  hearing  of  the  affliction  they  had  just 
been  spared,  could  not  restrain  their  tears. 
They  wished,  as  a  mark  of  gratitude,  to  make 
some  present  to  the  kind  stranger.  But  he 
refused  to  accept  anything,  declaring  he  had 
only  done  his  duty.  The  mother  then  offered 
him  a  medal  which  hung  round  the  child's 
neck.  "Accept  this  medal  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,"  she  said,  "and  repeat  every  day, '  Our 
Lady  of  Hal,  pray  for  me!'  That  will  bring 
you  a  blessing."  The  young  man  smiled  (he 
had  ceased  to  practise  his  religion),  but  took 
the  medal  as  a  souvenir.  "I  accept  it,"  he 
said,  "to  please  you.  On  my  word,  I  will  say 
every  day,  'Our  Lady  of  Hal,  pray  for  me!'  " 

Some  years  after  the  child  so  happily  saved 
finished  his  studies  at  Malines,  and  enrolled 
himself  under  the  banner  of  St.  Norbert,  at 
Grimberghen,  not  far  from  Brussels.  Scarcely 
was  he  elevated  to  the  priesthood  when  he 
fell  into  a  decline,  and  the  doctors  advised,  as 
the  only  means  of  averting  a  fatal  termina- 
tion, that  he  should  go  to  a  warmer  climate. 
"If  I  went  to  Kaffraria,  where  there  is  a  hos- 
pital and  a  colony  of  missionaries, ' '  the  invalid 
said  to  himself  one  day,  "I  might  perhaps  be 


of  some  use."  Why  to  Kaffraria?  Our  Lady 
of  Hal  was  directing  his  footsteps. 

After  the  young  priest  had  been  laboring 
on  the  shores  of  Africa  for  some  years,  his 
health  greatly  improved,  he  was  summoned 
one  night  in  great  haste  to  the  hospital,  where 
a  man  was  reported  to  be  dangerously  ill.  He 
hastened  there,  and,  recognizing  from  the  first 
words  of  the  dying  man  that  he  was  a  fellow- 
countryman,  he  spoke  to  him  in  his  native 
language.  But  all  in  vain  :  the  sufferer  refused 
his  ministrations. 

With  a  sorrowful  heart  the  missionary  was 
about  to  leave  him,  when,  unconsciously,  the 
sick  man  threw  back  the  bedclothes  and  dis- 
closed a  medal  hanging  round  his  neck.  The 
sight  of  this  encouraged  the  priest.  *  *  What  is 
that  ?  "  he  said  to  him.  * '  You  love  the  Blessed 
Virgin  ? ' ' — * '  It  is  only  a  souvenir.  I  happened 
to  save  a  child  from  drowning  once,  and 
his  mother  gave  me  this  medal  of  Our  Lady 
of  Hal. ' '  At  these  words  the  priest  started ; 
tears  of  emotion  flowed  from  his  eyes,  and, 
throwing  his  arms  round  the  dying  man,  he 
exclaimed:  "That  child  was  myself !  With- 
out a  doubt  Our  Lady  has  sent  me  here  to 
save  your  soul  from  everlasting  death,  as  you 
once  saved  me  from  temporal  danger." 

Nothing  more  was  wanting :  the  softened 
sinner  yielded  at  length  to  grace,  humbly  con- 
fessed his  sins,  and  died  the  death  of  the  just. 


The  Little   Book  that  has  Changed  the 
World. 


Long  ago,  before  the  discovery  of  printing, 
the  holy  Bessarion  owned  a  tiny  manuscript 
copy  of  the  Gospels.  Seeing  an  uncovered 
dead  body  one  day,  he  threw  over  it  his  cloak; 
and  shortly  afterward  meeting  a  poor  man 
with  insufficient  raiment,  he  bestowed  upon 
him  the  tunic  which  he  wore. 

"What  teaches  you  to  be  so  unselfish?" 
was  asked  of  him. 

"This  little  book,"  he  answered. 

Finally  he  sold  the  little  volume  itself  "I 
can  take  no  comfort  in  possessing  it,"  he  said 
to  those  who  would  learn  his  reasons.  "It 
keeps  saying,  'Sell  all  thou  hast  and  give  to 
the  poor.'  The  book  was  all  I  had,  and  I 
obeyed." 


Vol.  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  SEPTEMBER  28,  1889. 


No.  13. 


[Published  every  Saturday. 


Sonnet  by  Lope  de  Vega. 

AS  sign  of  peace  and  of  forg-iving  grace, 
God  in  His  bounty  on  the  wondering  skies 
Spread  the  broad  rainbow  w  ith  its  triple  d3'es, 
Arching  in  blen  ling  hues  enraptured  space. 
The  crimson  told  of  joys  to  bless  our  race  ; 
The  green  was  sign  of  peace  ;  the  gold,  of  love. 
The  waters  to  their  f  )untains  back  He  drove, 
And  spread  with  opening  flowers  each  drying 

place. 
Lamb  full  of  mercy,  on  Thy  Cross  on  high 
Thou  for  our  scarlet  sins  dost  satisfy, 
In  pain  and  blood,  th'  Eternal  Equity. 
'Tis  Thou,  sweet  Jesus,  who  hast  given  us  peace. 
And  ever  from  the  fear  of  hell  release. 
Our  sign  in  heaven  art  Thou  upon  the  Tree. 
Thomas  P.  WaIvSh. 


To  the  Pyrenees  in  Mid-Winter. 


BY   THE    REV.   H.  W.  Cr.EARV. 


I. 


*5^1T  was  January,  1888.  We  were  out  of 
health  and  harness.  Visits  to  medical 
men,  pulse-countings,  head-shakings, 
ended  in  the  prescription  :  "South  of  France 
every  day — and  night— for  a  few  months." 
Yes,  anywhere  in  the  South.  All  the  way  from 
Bayonne  to  Nice  lies  Nature's  great  workshop, 
whither  the  damaged  lungs  and  shattered 
nerves  of  Northern  Europe  are  annually  sent 
for  repairs ;  where  wan- faced  sufferers  and 
wealthy  summer  -  seekers  drink  in  ruddy 
health  with  the  bracing  ozone  and  the  blessed 
sunshine  of  the  South. 


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

The  year  was  but  a  few  days  old,  but  the 
"southern  sea.son  "  had  half  gone  by  when  we 
started,  like  belated  birds  of  passage,  far  in  the 
wake  of  those  that  had  gone  before  us  in  the 
autumn  flitting.  In  a  few  short  weeks  we  over- 
took them;  had  passed  out  of  January  into 
June,  from  the  frozen  death  of  the  North  to 
the  laughing  life  and  smiling  summer  of  the 
Pyrenees. 

Paris  lay  in  our  track — not  a  "gay  capital" 
just  then  ;  for  the  Paris  that  is  "gay"  had  a 
bad  cold  and  stayed  indoors  to  nurse  it.  Out 
of  doors  King  Winter  ruled.  Life  pulsed  feebly 
in  the  city's  wide  arteries,  "where  knee-deep 
lay  the  winter  snow,"  driven  by  a  northern 
blast  that  cleaved  like  a  Lochaber-axe  through 
your  triple  armor  of  flannel,  fur,  and  frieze. 
Not  for  eight  years  had  the  mercury  been  so 
low,  nor  Paris'  proud  thoroughfares  so  meanly 
dirty.  Squads  of  shovels,  scrubs  and  squeeges 
wrought  hard  on  the  cumbered  pavements.  As 
well  might  "seven  maids  with  seven  mops" 
have  tried  to  sweep  the  everlasting  sands  from 
the  sea- shore  ;  for  still  from  the  leaden  sky  fell 
the  unbeautiful  snow. 

The  new  entrance  to  the  Montmartre  Cem- 
etery was  an  Irish  cowgap ;  Pere-la-Chaise  a 
monumental  puddle;  sight-seeing  a  villain- 
ous task.  We  gave  it  up  in  despair  and  went 
to  St.  Sulpice.  There,  an  all  round  evibrassade 
from  the  loved  old  directors.  We  talked  old 
memories  over,  and  future  plans,  by  the  chirp- 
ing log  fire  on  the  hearth;  and  M.  Bieil  told 
us  of  a  quiet,  healthful  home  for  priests  at 
Anielie-les-Bains  in  the  Eastern  Pyrenees. 
Just  what  we  were  in  search  of!  In  a  few  days 
word  came  that  rooms  were  ready  for  us  in  the 
Villa  S.  Valentin,  and  next  morning's  trai 


290 


The  Ave  Maria, 


from  the  Gare  d' Orleans  brought  us  and  our 
fortune  toward  Amelie-les-Bains. 

The  snow  and  cold  gradually  disappeared 
as  the  train  moved  southward.  On  the  uplands 
of  Limoges  we  sniffed  the  first  warm  breath 
of  spring,  that  blew  from  sunny  Spain  and 
waked  the  torpid  vegetation  into  active  life. 
We  halted  at  Toulouse.  Our  next  breathing- 
place  was  Perpignan,  the  Metz  of  Southern 
France,  whose  walls  and  casemates  are  the 
highest  expression  of  Vauban's  and  Sangallo's 
art.  A  little  army  was  engaged  at  mimic  war- 
fare outside  the  grim  walls,  where  the  tide  of 
real  war  often  rolled  and  swift  razzia  swept 
like  whirlwinds  by.  For  Perpignan  is  in  Upper 
Catalonia,  for  centuries  the  cockpit  where 
Frank  and  Spaniard  hacked  and  sparred  and 
skewered  each  other,  till  the  southern  bird  left 
his  spurs  and  glory  on  the  field,  and  "Gallus" 
Jacques  Bonhomme  added  all  north  of  the 
Pyrenees  to  his  native  dunghill. 

A  harsh  mountain  tongue  is  that  of  Cata- 
lonia— CIS  and  citrd,, — clippings  of  Proven9al 
French,  with  exaggerated  nasals,  grafted  on 
a  depraved  Spanish  stock,  and  eked  out  with 
many  a  jerk  and  many  a  shrug. 

We  retain  no  pleasant  memories  of  Per- 
pignan. Its  frowning  walls  could  not  keep  out 
the  pitiless  mistral  that  blew  during  our  stay, 
pawing  up  the  dust  like  an  angry  bull,  and 
playing  everlasting  havoc  with  our  devoted 
eyes.  After  two  days  we  shook  the  dust  of 
Perpignan  from  our  feet.  It  is  in  our  eyes  still. 

We  dashed  along  the  tree-fringed  road  that 
leads  to  Amelie  in  an  open  carriage  drawn  b}'- 
two  spanking  Barbs.  The  distance  is  thirty 
miles,  the  scenery  some  of  the  finest  that 
God  has  made.  Above  us  the  fathomless  blue ; 
over  the  stretching  miles  to  left  and  right 
olive  groves,  aloe-hedged ;  fruit-trees  abloom, 
golden-shawled  mimosa,  golden-ripe  orange:-^, 
and  all  the  emerald  glory  of  a  southern  spring 
Far  away  before  us  the  great,  deep-shadowed 
wall  of  the  Pyrenees,  jagging  the  skyline,  and 
reaching  its  proudest  elevation  in  the  vast 
blue  heights  of  Canigou.  Away  in  those  blue 
depths  lies  Amelie,  in  a  deep  bowl,  whose  sides 
are  lofty  mountains  that  shelter  its  happy 
dwellers  from  every  wind  that  blows.  Here 
were  we  to  sojourn  for  a  season, — Nature's 
own  sweet  hands  to  heal  our  wounds  and  fit  us 
to  fight  our  good  Master's  battles  once  again. 


II. 

Amelie-les-Bains  is  a  pretty,  well-built 
town.  It  boasts  some  fine  hotels,  some  twenty 
rich  sources  of  sulphur  and  alkali  waters,  and 
baths  that  were  used  by  health-seeking  Ro- 
mans when  these  valleys  owned  the  sway  of 
Caracalla  and  of  Nero.  The  air  is  pure  and 
clear,  and  the  mean  temperature  in  January, 
the  coldest  month,  is  7°. 8  centigrade. 

M.  Bouty,  the  director  of  the  Villa  S.  Valen- 
tin, met  us  with  a  warm  French  embrace; 
his  eleven  invalids,  with  a  hearty  welcome. 
Among  them  was  the  Rev.  I,.  W\  Leclair, 
formerly  of  Montreal, — one  of  the  dearest  and 
most  valued  friends  that  we  have  known.  Our 
first  care  was  to  don  the  uniform  of  the  French 
clergy.  Hats  were  ordered  from  Perpignan — 
the  lazy  merchant  took  two  months  to  make 
them.  M.  Marty  called  in  about  our  camailles.. 
After  a  mdnth  of  patient  effort  he  confessed 
that  camailles  were  his  weakest  point:  he 
never  co2ild  make  them.  (Memo.:  get  these 
things  in  Paris  on  your  way.)  M.  Marty  is  the 
tailor  of  Amelie.  He  is  also  its  mayor ;  and, 
like  Polyphemus  and  Lord  Wolseley,  M.  Marty 
has  only  one  good  eye:  the  result  (said  a 
reverend  wag)  of  his  having  "an  eye  out" 
for  the  beggars  that  infest  the  commune  in 
defiance  of  a  statute  in  that  case  made  and 
provided.  That  may  be,  but  I  have  heard  the 
chink  of  coins  as  his  hand  met  the  outstretched 
palm  of  poor  "Titwillow."  "Tit"  was  our 
favorite  beggar,  and  many  a  time  we  rescued 
him  from  the  rude  boys  who  worried  him  for 
his  pygmy  stature,  and  his  harlequin  coat,  and 
his  monkey  face,  and  his  queer,  odd  ways. 
Lavater  would  have  given  him  a  fancy  "cut" 
in  his  "Physiognomic,"  and  Darwin  would 
probably  claim  to  have  found  his  "missing 
link"  in  the  pied  beggar  of  Amelie. 

Our  rooms  looked  out  on  the  garden  in  the 
rear.  Beyond  its  grateful  shade  ran  the  river 
Tech,  taking  wild  "headers"  adown  the  hard 
bed  it  has  hollowed  out  of  the  rock-ribbed 
hills.  Its  sweet  lullaby  comes  nightly  through 
the  whispering  willows  as  our  eyelids  close 
in  sleep;  in  the  morning  its  pleasant  babble 
is  the  first  sound  that  greets  our  awakening 
senses.  And  so  for  many  weeks,  till  the  re- 
tired grocer  in  the  next  casement  began  his 
long-drawn  midnight  violin  exercises  at  an 
age  when  most  men  lay  down  the  fiddle  and 


The  Ave  Maria, 


91 


tlie  bow  forevet.  Night  after  night  the  strid- 
ulous  wailings  floated  in  till  our  wakeful 
nerves  were  beyond  the  good  offices  of  poppy 
uiid  raandragora.  Raphael — he  of  the  dear 
Madonnas — painted  an  angel  playing  heav- 

I  <in's  sweet  melodies  on  a  violin :  our  Abb6 
Quennec  depicted  the  ex-grocer  as  an  angel — 
of  the  Abyss — torturing  out  of  a  violin  the 

j  serenade  of  a  lost  soul.  Never  before  did  we 
understand  the  "philosophy"  of  the  Indian 
war-whoop,  of  the  Olaheitan  conch,  or  the 
wild  tomtom,  that  teach  the  warrior's  feet  to 
stray  not  from  battle.  We  understand  it  now, 
and  we  know  why  the  men-at-arms  that  rushed 
to  the  assault  of  Lerida's  walls  were  preceded 
by  four-and-  twenty  fiddlers  all  in  a  row.  After 
some  ten  nights  the  sleep-slayer — a  good  old 
violin,  by  the  way, — fell  into  the  hands  of  an 
accomplished  musician,  and  at  our  little  cou- 
certs  spoke  music's  unfathomable  speech  with 
the  voice  of  a  Stradivari.  The  violin  was  back 
in  the  hands  of  heaven's  angel  again. 

Thrice  happy  evenings,  when  the  lamps 
were  lighted  in  the  salon,  and  happy  faces  sat 
around,  and  in  laughing  and  in  singing  passed 
the  time  away!  The  Abbe  Goujon  sang  di- 
vinely. He  was  the  friend  and  pastor  of  Robert 
Houdin,  the  prince  of  modern  wizards,  who 
did  away  with  the  flowing  robe  and  sugar- 
loaf  hat  of  ancient  charlatanism,  and  made 
^' white  magic"  a  fine  art.  One  of  our  number 
was  an  adept  in  its  mysteries,  and  wielded 
his  Merlin-rod  before  a  bewildered  audience 
that  included  many  neighboring  priests,  and 
Mgr.  Ruis,  the  exiled  chaplain  of  Don  Carlos, 
who  lived  with  his  brother.  General  Ruis,  in 

a  cottage  near  Amelie.   Feather  K treated 

us  to  varied  reminiscences  of  mission  life  in 
America,  and  captivated  everybody.  Then 
there  was  a  small  subdeaco.i,  who  playfully 
begged  to  difier  with  you  about  everything. 
"He  argued  left,  he  arguj<l  right, 
He  also  art^ued  round  ibout  him." 

Scarce  did  an  assertion  fall  from  your  lips, 
when  he  good-humoredly  snapped  it  up  like 
a  prize-terrier  and  shook  it  to  tatters.  Next 
day  he  gave  it  a  parting  crunch  and  flung  it 
to  the  winds  of  heaven  on  a  storm  of  ridicule. 
The  Abbe  Guachon  did  Sorrento- work.  He 
it  was  who  carved  those  laughable  yf^z^r/wz 
and  "Guignols,"  which  the  Abbe  Boesch  and 
P^re  Camille  put  through  sucli  droll  comedies 


in  Provengal  and  Alsacian  French.  I  wonder 
was  there  ever  such  a  funny  friar  as  Fere  Ca- 
mille ?  His  soirees  amusanies  would  have  won 
him  rounds  of  applause  in  Paris,  and  when 
he  "held  the  boards"  there  was  a  roulade  of 
laughter  that  made  our  sides  ache  till  morning. 
So  ran  the  evenings  by,  and  we  fell  readily 
in  with  the  happy-go-lucky  disposition  that 
lies  at  the  bottom  of  all  that  is  good  in  the 
French  character.  Said  good  old  Dr.  Genieys : 
"If  all  my  patients  had  such  soirees  my  occu- 
pation would  be  gone."  You  smile  at  our 
partial  return  to  the  pastimesof  our  school-boy 
days?  Smile  on,  my  worshipful  gcod  masters. 
Did  not  "Buon  Fra  Filippo ' '  Neri  play  marbles 
with  the  boys  of  Rome,  and  great  Agesilaus 
of  Sparta  spend  some  of  his  leisure  hours 
astride  a  broomstick?  Some  two  thousand 
years  ago  two  elderly  men,  "that  ought  to 
have  had  sense,"  were  seen  amusing  them- 
selves "skimming"  stones  over  the  waters  of 
a  Southern  sea,  and  this  gre}"-  Old  World  still 
bares  its  head  at  mention  of  their  name. 

III.  O 

When  the  risen  sun  had  warmed  the  ground 
we  were  up  and  away  over  the  winding  hill- 
roads  to  bask  with  the  lizards  in  his  rays. 
"Better  to  hunt  in  the  fields  for  health  uubought      . 
Than  fee  the  doctor  for  a  nauseous  draught" 

A  book  is  under  our  arms,  an  umbrella  over 
our  heads ;  for  in  those  sheltered  upland  val- 
leys the  mid-day  sun,  even  in  January,  is  fierce 
and  strong.  We  dispose  ourselves  in  the  shade 
of  an  ever-green  oak,  and  read  or  talk  by  the 
hour.  To  the  east,  the  blue  Mediterranean, 
the  tall  hills  around ;  on  an  opposite  height 
soldiers  at  target-practice,  or  engaged  at  man- 
ual and  platoon  in  the  fortress  that  frowns  over 
Amelie.  Adown  the  winding  valley  patient 
Waltons  woo  the  coy  trout  from  the  shady  pool 
— the  only  "sport"  at  Amelie;  for  net  and 
snare  and  shot  gun  have  all  but  exterminated 
the"birdof  the  wildwood."  and  left  the  moun- 
tain thickets  voiceless.  The  limpid  air  around 
is  laden  with  perfume  that  brisas  de  las  pampas 
can  not  rival,  nor  Rimmel  reproduce:  the 
gathered  fragrance  of  mimosa,  sage,  thyme, 
lavender,  magnolia,  and  flowering  heath.  The 
falling  shades  of  evening  warn  us  homeward 
as  the  sheep  and  goats,  with  their  merrily 
tinkling  bells,  are  led  to  their  pens  by  the 
clog-shod  shepherd  boy. 


Wf2 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Or  perhaps  we  visit  the  towns  around,  the 
hill-side  neighbors  of  Amelie :  Palalda,  old 
and  yellow  and  unwashed,  where  you  see 
nailed  to  the  church  doors  the  shoes  of  horses 
that  bore  many  a  brave  knight  in  the  Crusades 
against  the  Saracen ;  or  Montbolo,  on  the 
heights;  or  Arles-sur-Tech  (Arles-of-the-Mir- 
acle),  where  a  perennial  fount  of  sparkling 
water  springs  from  the  marble  sides  of  a  per- 
fectly isolated  sarcophagus  that  once  held  the 
relics  of  SS.  Abdon  and  Sennen.  Once  we 
walked  to  the  Gouffre  de  la  Fo,  some  miles 
beyond  Aries,  where  convulsed  Nature  split  a 
lofty  mountain  in  twain  as  you  would  snap  a 
twig :  a  fearful,  snaky,  unfathomable  rent.  Its 
steep  sides  abound  with  caverns — the  home 
of  brigands  in  the  days  when  Paul  Jones  was 
a  privateer,  bold,  and  buccaneers  sailed  the 
Spanish  main.  A  merry  crew  were  those  bold, 
ear-slitting,  nose  paring  mountain  outlaws; 
and  many  a  tale  is  told  of  how,  like  Claude 
Duval,  they  shared  their  "swag"  with  any 
poor  wight  that  chance  threw  in  their  way. 
Scarcely  thirty  years  ago  our  coachman  saw 
the  last  of  the  Gouffre  outlaws  guillotined  at 
Perpignan. 

Often  after  breakfast  carriages  are  waiting 
at  the  door,  and  all  go  "peek-neek  "  (as  the 
French  put  it)  on  Spanish  soil,  or  up  the  moun- 
tains, or  to  the  wondrous  Fairy  Grotto  that 
lies  beyond  Aries.  Or  perhaps  you  go  with  a 
fellow-priest  to  Reynes,  or  Montalba,  the  di- 
rector's mountain  parish.  The  way  is  rugged 
and  steep  and  long.  The  director  gives  you  a 
parting  advice  and  a  pair  of  donkeys — none 
of  your  small  "Neddies"  of  Irish  breed, 
"stubborn  as  allegories  on  the  banks  of  the 
Nile,"  but  tall,  well  -  saddled,  sure-footed 
Spanish  mounts,  that  Joseph,  our  valet,  guar- 
antees to  be  as  gentle  as  sucking  doves.  Per- 
haps you  are  a  child  of  the  plain,  and  your 
head  swims  as  you  near  the  precipice  that 
yawns  by  the  up-hill  track.  So  you  dismount, 
and  the  patient  brute  will  help  you  upward 
by  his  tail. 

Yes,  these  were  pleasant  times.  Then  there 
were  doings  in  town — charity  cavalcades,  re- 
views, and  evening  bands,  and  carnival  time, 
when  everyone  put  on  cap  and  bells,  and  none 
dared  say  them  nay.  How  happiness  oils  the 
flying  wheels  of  time !  The  passing  days  made 
weeks,  the  weeks  ran  into  months,  and  all  too 


soon  came  our  last  day  in  Amelie.  A  farewell 
banquet  was  spread,  guests  were  bidden,  and 
toasts  proposed,  while  we  sat  blushing  like 
the  red,  red  rose.  Next  a  parting  speech,  a 
warm  embrace  all  round,  and  then — farewell 
to  dear  old  friends  and  Amelie- les- Bains! 

How  often  in  long  wanderings  through 
Spain,  and  in  our  quiet  Irish  homes,  and  away 
under  the  Southern  Cross,  do  our  minds  run 
over  the  thousand  happy  memories  with 
which  these  four  short  months  are  filled !  Fou!" 
short  months! — and  at  their  close  there  was 
a  picture  of  the  Restoration  in  my  room :  it 
was  my  reflexion  in  the  mirror.  In  January, 
1888 — but  hold!  "lyODk  at  this  picture  and 
look  at  that"  in  the  advertising  columns  of 
the  Tribune.  Here  a  sickly,  gloom-pampered 
man  "before"  he  took  the  almighty  bolus — 
our  portrait  in  January.  In  June  ours  was 
the  "after"  picture,  with  the  young  face  fair 
and  ruddy,  and  the  fresh  glow  of  conscious 
strength.  But  out  upon  your  nostrums,  your 
cathartics,  opiates,  and  alteratives :  our  medi- 
cine was  the  rest,  the  happy  life,  the  bracing 
air  of  Amelie-les-Bains. 


The  Charter-House. 


BY   ANNA   T.  SADTJER. 


THE  very  name  of  the  Charter- House  brings 
with  it  a  calm  and  peaceful  picture  of 
ante-Reformation  England,  when  the  vener- 
able monks  prayed  and  labored,  and  within 
the  shadow  of  great  monasteries  whole  cities 
grew  into  prominence,  and  learning  and 
science  and  the  arts  of  life  flowed  thence  as 
from  a  hearth-stone. 

Yet  the  Charter- House  had  its  beginning 
under  circumstances  of  peculiar  gloom.  A 
dreadful  pestilence  raged  throughout  England 
in  the  year  1348,  and  the  number  of  dead 
requiring  interment  within  the  city's  limits 
justly  excited  alarm.  The  Bishop  of  lyondon, 
Ralph  de  Stratford,  purchased  a  piece  of  land 
outside  the  walls,  which  became  known  as 
Pardon  Churchyard.  Here  was  erected  a 
chapel,  wherein  Masses  might  be  said  for  the 
repose  of  the  dead.  This  little  edifice  stood 
just  between  St.  Peter's  Abbey  at  Westminster 
and  the  Chapel  of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem.  It 


The  Ave  Maria. 


293 


\% 


was  a  historic  neighborhood.  Some  few  years 
later  another  Bishop  of  I^ondon,  Michael  de 
Northburgh,  left  a  sum  of  money  to  found  a 
Carthusian  monastery  at  Pardon  Churchyard. 
He  also  bequeathed  to  this  foundation,  in  per- 
petuity, his  leases,  rents  and  tenements,  some 
silver  vessels  for  altar  use,  and  his  divinity 
books. 

Still,  the  real  founder  of  the  Charter-House 
must  be  regarded  as  the  celebrated  Sir  Walter 
Manny.  He  caused  a  monastery  to  be  erected 
on  this  site,  and  named  it  "The  House  of  the 
Salutation  of  the  Mother  of  God."  He  en- 
dowed it  with  lands  and  money,  and  his  deed 
f  foundation    bore    upon    it    as,  witnesses 

veral  historic  names :  John  Hastings,  Earl 
of  Pembroke;  Edward  Mortimer,  Earl  of 
March ;  William  de  Montacute,  Earl  of  Sarum ; 
Humphrey  de  Bohun,  Earl  of  Hereford ;  John 
de  Barnes,  Lord  Mayor  of  I^ondon ;  and  the 
two  high- sheriffs,  William  de  Walworth  and 
Robert  de  Gay  ton. 

The  Charter-PIouse  was  not,  of  course,  the 
only  Carthusian  monastery  in  England.  At 
previous  or  subsequent  periods  communities 
of  them  were  established  by  various  devout 
persons.  Henry  II.  himself  had  introduced 
them  into  the  country,  while  the  Countess  of 
Salisbury,  Nicholas  Cantilupe,  Michael  de  la 
Pole,  William  lyord  Zarch,  Thomas  of  Notting- 
ham, Earl  Marshall  of  England,  the  Duke  of 
Surrey,  and  Henry  V.,  were  amongst  those 
who  made  foundations  for  them. 

But  at  this  particular  epoch,  wiien  the 
gloom  of  the  late  calamity  had  scarcely  passed 
from  the  minds  of  the  people,  the  sons  of  St. 
Bruno  began  their  life  of  prayer  and  austerity 
under  the  shadow  of  that  great  monastic  pile, 
and  side  by  side  with  the  brave  defenders  of 
Christendom,  the  chivalric  Templars.  Gifts 
and  benefactions  began  to  flow  in  upon  them. 
Some  of  these  are  curious  enough  in  accom- 
panying details.  Thus,  it  is  recorded  that  one 
William  Reindre,  a  citizen  and  barber  of 
lyondon,  deeded  to  the  Carthusians,  on  Christ- 
mas Day,  1429,  an  acre  of  land,  which  they 
were  to  hold  for  eighty  years  at  the  nominal 
rent  of  one  red  rose.  Richard  Clyderhowe,  a 
Kentish  gentleman,  "out  of  reverence  to  God 
and  Our  I^ady,  for  the  health  of  his  own  soul 
and  that  of  his  wife  Alicia,"  bestowed  upon 
them  certain  lands  in  the  town  of  Rochester. 


Many  years  of  uninterrupted  prosperity 
followed  the  foundation  of  the  Charter-House. 
For  well-nigh  two  centuries  the  monks  had 
pursued  their  daily  round  of  unostentatious 
holiness.  The  dawn  saw  them  at  their  sev- 
eral posts,  and  the  stars  of  midnight  beheld 
them  arising  with  song  of  praise  and  peniten- 
tial canticle.  They  never  ate  flesh-meat,  seldom 
partook  offish,  and  only  when  it  was  bestowed 
upon  them  as  alms.  They  fasted  one  day  a 
week  on  bread  and  water  and  salt ;  they  slept 
on  cork  with  but  scanty  covering ;  they  spoke 
only  on  festival  and  chapter  days  ;  they  were 
clad  in  haircloth  within  and  the  coarsest  of 
serge  without.  But  their  very  austerity  made 
them  a  power.  The  world  about  them  was 
Catholic,  full  of  high  ideals  of  heroism  and 
sanctity ;  the  ancient  faith  was  at  the  zenith 
of  its  influence  in  England, — that  faith,  which, 
in  the  words  of  Carlyle,  was  still  "a  heaven- 
high  unquestionability. "  The  great  ones  of 
the  earth,  kings  and  nobles,  bent  in  lowly, 
reverence  to  the  habit  of  the  monk.  The  poor, 
from  the  rising  of  the  sun  to  its  very  setting, 
thronged  the  abbey  gates  for  counsel,  for 
comfort,  for  help  in  their  grievances,  for  pro- 
tection against  the  oppressor,  as  well  as  for 
aid  in  their  material  necessities.  The  rich  be- 
stowed of  their  abundance  with  lavish  hand, 
asking  only  that  these  monks,  the  holiness 
of  whom  they  saw  in  so  clear  a  perspective, 
would  pray  for  their  souls'  weal. 

Many  persons  of  distinction  passed  from 
time  to  time  within  the  cloisters  of  the 
Charter-  House.  Sir  Thomas  More,  the  Chan- 
cellor, lately  raised  to  a  higher  dignity  by  the 
process  of  Beatification,  withdrew  to  this  calm 
retreat  from  the  tumultuous  world  about  him. 
This  was  his  season  of  preparation  for  the 
storm  which  was  about  to  burst,  and  in  its 
furious  course  sweep  away  both  him  and  his 
pious  hosts. 

Evil  times  were  at  hand  for  the  Charter- 
House,  and  the  days  of  its  liberality  and  its 
hospitality  were  well-nigh  numbered.  The  air 
was  full  of  rumors,  and  the  Carthusians,  acting 
with  prudent  reserve,  began,  however,  to  take 
counsel  with  their  brethren  of  the  Brigettine 
and  other  communities  concerning  the  course 
to  be  pursued  in  the  approaching  crisis.  For 
the  country  was  soon  to  be  deprived  forever  of 
these  abodes  of  benediction,  these  breathing- 


294 


The  Ave  Maria. 


.places,  so  to  speak,  where  the  spiritual  life  had 
for  centuries  come  to  be  refreshed  and  invigo- 
rated. The  desolation  of  heresy  was  creeping 
upon  the  land,  and  preparing  the  ground  for 
the  long,  dreary  desert  of  doubt  and  unbelief 
stretching  out  before  England. 

On  the  4th  of  May,  1534,  three  of  the  mo- 
nastic commissioners  —  March,  Bedyll,  and 
Mitchell, — passed  within  the  gates  of  the 
Charter-House  to  begin  the  work  of  destruc- 
tion. As  a  result  of  their  visit,  the  Prior, 
Father  John  Houghton,  with  the  Procurator, 
Father  Humphrey  Midylton,  was  committed 
to  the  Tower  for  refusing  to  take  the  oath  of 
the  Royal  Supremacy.  This  Prior  Houghton, 
or  Howghion,  is  described  as  follows  by  the 
none  too  partial  historian,  Froude:  "Among 
many  good,  he  was  the  best.  He  was  of  a  good 
old  English  family,  and  had  been  educated  at 
Cambridge.  He  was  small  in  stature,  in  figure 
graceful,  in  countenance  dignified,  in  manner 
most  modest,  in  eloquence  most  sweet,  with 
that  austerity  of  expression  which  belongs 
so  peculiarly  to  the  features  of  the  medieval 
ecclesi^tics."  "So  great  was  his  humility 
and  meekness,"  says  another  non-Catholic 
writer,  "that  if  any  one  perchance  called  him 
by  the  title  of  Lord,  or  addressed  him  with 
any  pompous  diction,  he  rebuked  him,  saying, 
^Non  licet  pauperi  monachi  Cartusiano  dilatare 
fimhrias,  aut  vocari  ab  hominibus  Rabbi!'  " 

Froude  gives  us  the  further  information 
that  the  Carthusians  were  particularly  obnox- 
ious to  the  King  and  Anne  Boleyn,  because 
of  their  open  support  of  Queen  Catherine. 
Also  that  many  open  as  well  as  concealed 
Reformers,  jealous  of  their  high  reputation 
for  learning  and  sanctity,  "were  glad  that 
they  crossed  the  King  in  his  inclination." 

After,  a  month's   imprisonment,  the   two 

monks  were  released,  having,  however,  taken 

•  the  oath  with  the  express  stipulation,  "in  so 

*far  as  it  is  lawful."  This  did  not  long  satisfy 

the  King,  and  he  ordered  the  Carthusians, 

under  the  direst  penalties,  to  take  the  oath  in 

'full,  as  it  was  intended  by  him.  The  pathos 

lOf  the  scene  which  followed  is  unsurpassed 

'in  history.  Father  Houghton,  assembling  the 

monks,  burst  into  tears  as  he  announced  to 

them  the  sad  tidings  that  the  Charter-House 

'was  to  shelter  them  no  more.  "What  shall  I 

do,"  he  cried,  in  an  outburst  of  fear  lest  the 


world  might  prove  too  strong  for  some  of  the 
weaker  brethren,  —  "what  shall  I  do  if  I  can 
not  save  those  whom  God  has  entrusted  to 
mv  charge?"  With  one  voice  the  assembled 
monks  exclaimed:  "Let  us  die  together  in 
our  integrity,  and  heaven  and  earth  shall  wit- 
ness for  us  how  unjustly  we  are  cut  off." 

Father  Houghton  and  four  of  his  brethren 
were  speedily  brought  to  trial  They  all  refused 
to  take  the  oath,  and  bore  valiant  testimony 
of  their  adherence  to  the  old  faith.  Father 
Houghton,  on  being  asked  why  he  had  incited 
men  to  disobey  the  King,  answered  that  here- 
tofore he  had  given  no  opinion  on  the  subject^ 
save  when  he  was  asked  in  confession,  where 
conscience  could  be  his  only  guide  ;  but  that 
he  now  felt  called  upon  to  make  a  solemn 
declaration  of  his  convictions  upon  the  matter. 
The  Carthusians  were  accordingly  remitted  to 
the  Tower,  whence  they  went  forth  only  to  the 
place  of  execution.  Their  trial  is  described  as 
"a  grim  and  cruel  farce."  From  his  window 
in  the  Tower,  Sir  Thomas  More  pointed  out 
to  his  daughter  "those  blessed  Fathers  going 
cheerfully  to  their  death." 

At  Tyburn  Father  Houghton  made  a  sol- 
emn declaration  of  his  own  innocence  and 
that  of  his  companions,  after  which  each  one 
made  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  and  walked  firm 
and  undaunted  to  death.  The  five  priors  were 
hung  in  their  vestments.  On  the  4th  of  May, 
1535,  one  year  from  the  date  of  the  inquisi 
torial  visit,  the  head  of  Feather  Houghton  was 
exposed  on  London  Bridge,  and  his  jnangled 
body  at  the  gate  of  the  Charter- House. 

Stephen  Lee,  Secretary  to  the  Archbishop 
of  York,  wrote  in  his  diary  at  the  time  of  the 
execution:  "  I  am  sick  in  my  head  and  in  my 
heart  at  what  I  did  see  this  day.  The  good 
Fathers,  who  were  all  their  lives  doing  good 
for  sinners,  widows  and  orphans,  died  this  day 
very  grandly.  They  told  the  people  never  to 
desert  the  old  religion  of  England,  because 
it  controlled  people's  consciences  and  made 
people  honest.  And  the  people  cried  out:  'It 
is  so!  it  is  so!'"  He  describes  the  Fathers 
being  "hung  up  like  robbers  and  cut  up  like 
oxen,  among  the  heart-sick  cries  of  the  popu- 
lace." 

From  that  time  persecution  after  persecu- 
tion fell  upon  the  devoted  Carthusians.  After 
various  struggles  to  keep  the  remnant  of  their 


The  Ave  Maria. 


29S| 


property  together,  the,  religious  were  hnally 
dispersed.  Nine  of  them  died  of  neglect  and 
starvation  in  Newgate  Prison.  A  tenth,  after 
years  of  confinement,  was  at  length  hanged, 
in  November  ,1541.  A  few  escaped  to  the  Low 
Countries,  there  to  return  to  the  tranquillity 
of  their  monastic  life,  saddened  by  the  tragic 
scenes  through  which  they  had  passed. 

Traditions  of  the  time  point  to  divers  mir- 
acles alleged  to  have  occurred  at  the  Charter- 
House  about  the  time  of  the  final  departure 
thence  of  the  Carthusians.  Strange  lights 
were  seen  in  the  windows  of  the  monastery, 
and  during  the  obsequies  of  one  of  the  monks 
the  great  lights,  only  used  upon  high  festivals, 
were  suddenly  lit  in  the  conventual  church. 
A  letter  is  preserved  from  one  of  the  Fathers, 
John  Darley,  wherein  he  solemnly  deposes 
that  he  was  visited  twice  by  a  monk  of  the 
Order,  long  dead — Father  Raby.  The  appa- 
rition, on  being  questioned  concerning  the 
fate  of  Rochester  and  Fox  and  some  of  the 
other  martyred  Carthusians,  declared  that 
they  were  "in  heaven  next  unto  angels." 

So  the  Charter- House  property  v^-as  confis- 
cated, and  the  pious  intentions  of  its  founders 
put  to  naught.  Little  could  they  have  guessed 
the  ultimate  fate  of  this  work  of  their  benefi- 
cence when,  for  their  souls'  wealth  and  for  the 
telief  of  the  departed,  they  had  made  their 
grand  foundation. 

"Thou,  Walter  Manny,  Cambray's  Lord, 
Didst  take  compassion  on  the  wandering  ghosts 

Of  thy  departed  friends; 
Didst  consecrate  to  th*  Lord  of  Hosts 
Thy  substance  for  religious  ends." 

So  says  the  old  ballad.  But  the  modern 
innovators  spoke  another  language.  "These 
charitable  foundations,"  says  a  Protestant 
writer,  "were coupled  with  a  false  belief,  it  is 
to  be  feared ;  for  they  were  invariably  accom- 
panied with  an  earnest  petition  that  they  who 
were  benefited  by  the  pious  act  would  pray 
for  the  souls  of  their  benefactors."  A  fine  tes- 
timony to  the  devotion  toward  the  dead  which 
distinguished  Catholic  England.  However,  the 
work  of  sacrilege  went  on,  till  the  grand  old 
brotherhood  of  the  Charter-House  had  disap- 
peared forever.  The  voice  of  prayer  and  praise 
was  silenced ;  study  and  contemplation  were 
alike  vanished ;  the  martlet,  the  silence-loving 
bird  of  the  poet,  built  undisturbed  in  nave  and 


belfry ;  the  picturesque,  cowled  figures  were 
seen  no  more  within  the  cloisters,  those  homes 
of  poetic  thought  and  religious  inspiration. 
The  Holy  Presence  had  departed  from  the 
convent  altar,  the  last  taper  had  flickered  to  its 
socket,  and  the  last  hymn  had  lingered  as  if 
reluctantly  among  the  echoes  of  the  great  hall. 

Charter-House  had  become  a  ruin,  its  lands 
and  such  portions  of  it  as  remained  being 
granted  to  John  Brydges.  yeomen,  and  Thomas 
Hale,  groom  of  the  King's  halls  and  tents.  It 
was  not,  however,  destined  to  remain  in  their 
keeping,  and  passed  shortly  after  into  that  of 
Sir  Thomas  Audley,  speaker  of  the  House  of 
Commons.  He,  in  turn,  was  succeeded  in  the 
ownership  by  Sir  Edward,  afterward  Baron 
North,  Privy  Councillor  to  the  King.  When 
Elizabeth  came  into  power  she  "visited  the 
Charter-House  and  remained  there  for  some 
days.  The  honor  was  a  costly  one,  and  was 
said  to  have  ruined  Lord  North,  through  the 
lavish  magnificence  with  which  he  entertained 
his  royal  guest. 

The  Duke  of  Norfolk  became  by  purchase 
the  next  possessor  of  the  property.  It  served 
as  a  prison  for  him.  Becoming  implicated  in  an 
alleged  conspiracy  to  place  Mary  Stuart  upon 
the  English  throne,  he  was  twice  kept  prisoner 
in  his  own  house,  and  finally  put  to  death.  His 
son  Philip,  Earl  of  Arundel,  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  romantic  characters  in  the  whole 
of  English  history,  went  from  Charter-House 
to  a  prison,  where  he  subsequently  died. 
After  the  death  of  Mary  Stuart  the  Howard 
family  once  more  obtained  grants  of  the  prop- 
erty, and  were  regarded  with  marked  partial- 
ity by  James  I.  In  his  reign  royalty  once  more 
lent  its  splendor  to  the  spot,  and  the  chroni- 
cles tell  that  in  order  "to  do. more  abundant 
honor  to  his  host,  the  King  knighted  more 
than  eighty  gentlemen  there  on  the  nth  of 
May."  The  Sutton  family  were  the  next 
owners.  It  was  one  of  them  who  made  the  cel- 
ebrated foundation  of  a  hospital  and  school, 
which  exist  to-day,  and  wherein  the  whole- 
souled  charity  of  the  monks  has  been  finally 
replaced  by  the  cold  philanthropy  of  a  govern- 
ment in.^titution. 

Some  gateways  and  a  portion  of  the  chapel 

are  remnants  of  the  original  Charter- House. 

I  On  the  wall  of  one  of  the  archways  appear 

an  I.  H.  and  a  cross,  which  have  given  rise  to 


296 


The  Ave  Maria. 


considerable  discussion.  Some  believe  them 
to  have  been  the  I.  H.  S.,  others  hold  that 
they  were  the  monogram  of  the  saintly  Prior 
Houghton,  who  was  entombed  in  a  neighbor- 
ing vault.  The  western  wall  of  the  great  hall 
is  also  believed  to  date  back  to  the  monastic 
days.  The  hall  itself  was  probably  built  by 
lyord  North.  There  exists  also  a  music-gallery, 
which  bears  intrinsic  evidence  of  belonging  to 
the  righne  of  the  unfortunate  Duke  of  Norfolk. 

The  chapel,  which  is  partly  of  pre-Reforma- 
tion  origin,  is  destitute  of  all  that  gave  it  life 
and  beauty  in  the  old  Carthusian  times.  Pict- 
ured saint  and  sculptured  Madonna  have 
alike  disappeared.  It  is  true  that  some  carv- 
ings still  remain,  and  that  Thomas  Sutton  is 
recumbent  upon  a  gorgeous  tomb,  with  armor- 
clad  figures  standing  on  either  side,  But  the 
sanctuary  lamp  telling  of  the  solemn  Piesence, 
the  altar,  the  golden  vessels,  the  swinging 
censer,  are  replaced  by  screen  and  table,  and 
the  cold,  still  atmosphere  of  a  lifeless  worship. 
Charter- House  is  Protestantized.  For  genera- 
tions its  hospital  and  school  have  been  a  very 
monument  of  the  spirit  of  the  Reformation. 

A  Catholic  gentleman  of  our  own  day,  the 
late  S.Hubert  Burke,  speaks  of  this  institution 
as  "another  of  the  sadly  misused  charities 
of  London — a  hospitium  for  those  who  have 
friends  sufficiently  influential  to  obtain  an  in- 
expensive provision  for  men  whom  they  have 
not  themselves  the  generosity  to  support." 
So  it  has  come  to  pass.  But  the  Past  mocks 
at  the  Present,  and  the  poetic  instinct,  in  its 
twilight  reveries,  brings  to  mind,  not  the  huge 
pile  of  inelegant  architecture  now  marking 
the  spot,  but  that  older  Charter-House,  as  it 
stood  on  the  site  of  Pardon  Churchyard, 
wherein  the  victims  of  the  pestilential  visita- 
tion slept  in  the  peace  of  God. 

In  the  same  way,  it  is  not  the  figures  of 
governors,  pensioners  and  schoolmasters  one 
would  fain  conjure  up,  but  the  melancholy 
shades  of  the  old  monks  pacing  the  quiet 
cloisters  in  the  days  antedating  their  exile  or 
martyrdom.  And  it  is  the  old  faith  one  would 
recall,  with  its  richness  and  warmth  and  splen- 
dor of  ritual,  with  its  beautiful  illustrations  of 
the  spiritual  life,  in  the  simplicity  and  auster- 
ity of  each  individual  monk,  keeping  forever 
jDcfore  him,  in  his  humble  cell  at  the  Charter- 
House,  the  realities  of  the  unseen  world. 


Stella  Matutina;  or,  A  Poet's  Quest. 


BY  EDMUND  OF  THE  HEART  OF  MARY,  C.  P. 


IX. 

STILL  new!    Have  I  not  conn'd  it  o'er  and 
o'er?" 
"I  doubt  not  thou  hast  ponder'd  it,"  she  said, 
"As  page  of  that  half-gospel  now  no  more. 
But  tell  me  :  whensoever  thou  hast  read 
Or  listen'd — though  the  Saviour's   Wounds 
have  bled 
In  th)'  mind's  picture,  and  each  dying  word 
Made  lingering  echoes,  till  the  thorn-crown'd 
Head 
Droopt  lifeless  — hath  not  one  thing  thou  hast 

heard, 
One  utterance  of  the  seven,  seem'd  out  of  place,  • 
and  stirr'd 

"No  answering  pulse,  as  meaningless  to  theef 
'  Behold  thy  Mother! '  spake  the  lips  Divine — 
To  that  beloved  one  in  whom  we  see 

The  nascent  Church.  Would  Jesus  but  consign 

To  filial  care,  as  heretics  opine, 
This  Queen  of  Virgins,  this  Immaculate  Eve? 

Or  did  He  give  Her  to  be  mine  and  thine — 
As  I  and  mine  know,  rather  than  believe, 
From  sweet  innumerous  proofs  that  never  can 
deceive  ? 

"What!  Silent?    Nay,  that  tear  is  eloquent 

Where  speech  would  fail ;  and  merits  that  I  show 
Why  stands  She  there  with  bosom  pierced  and 
rent — 

Why  has  not  death  forestall'd  the  cruel  woe. 

Alas,  the  new  Eve,  like  the  old,  must  know 
Full  partnership  in  sorrow  with  Her  Lord! 

In  anguish  bringing  forth :  each  mother-throe 
United  with  His  Passion  :  Hers  the  Sword, 
As  His  the  Cross :  that  so  They  work  with  one 
accord 

"Redemption's  plan.    And  He,   thy   King  and 
Brother, 
With  love's  true  thought  hath  waited  for  this 
hour 
To  make  Her  doubly,  by  His  gift,  thy  Mother : 
That  never  mayst  thou  doubt  Her  tender  power 
With  His  rich  mercy  ;  nor  Her  own  Heart's 
dower 
Of  perfect  love,  which  brims  and  overflows 

For  His  dear  sake.  In  Her  the  very  '  Tower 
Of  David '  thou  shalt  find  against  thy  foes  : 
Nor  less  the  '  Enclosed  Garden '  of  a  blest  repose. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


297 


}ut  ah,  how  many  dare  reject  this  gift 
Of  Mary — knowing  better  than  the  King 
His  honor  and  I  heir  need!  One  day  to  lift 
Sad  e3'es  to  Mini  in  vain!  Imagining 
Her  mediation  such  a  worthless  thing! 
He,  then,  less  our  God  because  our  Brother — 
lur  Judge  because  our  Saviour  ?  Can  we  cling 

trustfully  to  Her  our  common  Mother, 
lose  prayer  His  mercy  holds  more  surely  than 
all  other  ? ' ' 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 

CHAPTER  XIII.— In  the  Breakers. 

IN  due  course  Father  Lruke  Byrne,  with  the 
two  ladies  under  his  charge,  left  for  "New 
Ireland."  A  deputation  of  his  parishioners 
accompanied  him  as  far  as  Queenstown,  each 
laden  with  a  basket  of  dainty  provisions,  as 
though  the  good  priest  were  about  to  be  placed 
in  an  open  boat  and  set  adrift  on  the  bound- 
less ocean.  With  bared  and  bowed  heads  they 
stood  on  the  tender  as  their  beloved  pastor 
gave  them  his  parting  benediction. 

Miss  Clancy  was  in  the  highest  state  of 
chirrup  and  excitement,  and  wore  a  bran-new 
Irish  frieze  ulster  that  completely  concealed 
her  from  the  human  eye.  She  carried  two 
gingham  umbrellas  of  ancient  pattern  and  de- 
sign, and  refused  to  be  separated  from  a  deck- 
chair  presented  to  her  by  Harry  Considine, 
with  which  she  kept  barking  everybody's 
shins. 

Caroline  Ksmonde  was  tearful  and  happy, 
and  smiled  through  her  tears  like  a  sunbeam 
in  shower.  Alderman  and  Miss  Ryan  came  to 
Queenstown  to  see  her  off,  to  return  by  the 
lyakes  of  Killarney.  Harry  had  accompanied 
the  party  as  far  as  the  Limerick  junction,  at 
which  place  he  bade  them  Godspeed.  He 
gave  his  sister  Peggy  the  treat  of  the  trip  to 
the  junction,  artd  she  parted  from  Caroline 
Esmonde  in  a  torrent  of  tears.  Miss  Ryan  he 
carefully  avoided, — a  manoeuvTe  which  she 
rewarded  by  almost  cutting  him,  including 
poor  Peggy,  to  whom  such  action  was  desola- 
tion itself.  Jane  hardly  suffered  the  child  to 
kiss  her  ere  the  train  departed,  and  merely 
nodded  to  her  brother.  For  the  remainder  of 


the  journey  she  complained  of  a  splitting 
headache,  and  was  silent.  The  Alderman  sur- 
mised the  cause,  and  was  furious  against 
Harry. 

"The  up;^tart  puppy,"  he  muttered,  "that 
I  took  from  the  gutter,  to — to  not  care  for  stick 
3.  girl!  He'll  return  to  his  gutter.  I'll  not 
have  him  a  minute  longer  than  I  can  help. 
I'll  get  rid  of  him  as  decently,  as  I  can." 

Considine  remarked  the  great  change  in  his 
employer's  manner  toward  him,  and  guessed 
at  its  cause, 

"I  have  done  right,  and  that's  what  /  care 
about,"  Harry  said  to  himself.  "I  spoke  out 
in  such  a  way  as  to  settle  forever  the  question 
of  my  being  a  money -hunter.  If  Mr.  Ryan 
chooses  to  resent  my  candid ness  ke  is  wrong. 
Father  Luke  said  I  did  what  was  honest  and 
straightforward.    ThaV s  enough." 

The  Alderman  found  fault  with  every  trifle, 
and  reproved  Considine  in  the  presence  of 
junior  clerks, — a  humiliation  that  was  as 
mean  as  it  was  uncalled  for.  One  morning, 
his  patron  saint's  day,  Harry  was  late  at  the 
office. 

"This  is  not  business,  Mr.  Considine," 
burst  out  Ryan  ere  the  young  man  could  re- 
move his  hat.   "It  demoralizes  the  staff,  sir." 

"I  was  at  Mass,"  said  Harry. 

"You  should  have  gone  to  early  Mass,  sir." 

"So  I  did." 

"Then  why  are  you  so  late?" 

"Because  I  wanted  to  attend  a  second  Mass, 
sir.  This  is  my  patron  saint's  day.  However, 
you  will  lose  nothing  of  my  services,  Alder- 
man Ryan ;  for  I  purpose  stopping  till  seven 
o'clock." 

The  Alderman  turned  away  with  a  sour 
look  and  a  growl  of  dissatisfaction. 

Harry  now  stared  the  situation  in  the  face. 

"This  place  is  getting  too  hot  for  me.  I 
must  maintain  my  self-respect,  if  I  starve.  If 
this  nagging  continues  I  shall  give  notice. 
Poor  little  Peg!  how  glad  I  am  that  she  is 
paid  for  in  advance!  She  is  all  right  for  six 
months  to  come,  thank  God!  That's  a  com- 
fort." 

He  had  received  one  letter  from  Gerald 
Molloy  from  New  York.  It  was  of  a  severely 
practical  nature,  and  was  more  a  list  of  prices 
of  everything,  from  a  clam-chowder  to  a  Fifth 
Avenue  mansion,  than  anything  else. 


298 


The  Ave  Maria, 


"  I  go  out  to  the  farm  just  to  see  my  people 
located,  but  will  come  back  here  to  start  in 
business.  I  met  fifty  men  in  the  hall  of  this 
hotel  who  posted  me.  You  should  be  here! 
■*rhe  tobacco  business  is  an  immense  one. 
Even  the  truck  drivers  smoke  cigars,  while 
the  chewing  is  enormous  from  the  millionaire 
to  the  boot-shiner." 

"How  I  wi^h  I  had  been  able  to  go  with 
theMoUoys!"  thought  Harry. 

Yes,  Alderman  Ryan  had  resolved  upon 
getting  rid  of  Harry  Considine.  He  had  not 
•spoken  to  his  daughter,  or  she  to  him,  on  the 
subject  of  the  employe's  absence  from  Rut- 
land S-juare, — an  absence  that  was  the  more 
remarkable  since  Mr.  Ryan  w;as  laid  up  with 
-a  touch  of  the  gout,  and,  by  special  desire, 
liad  all  his  letters  and  important  documents 
brought  to  him  by  a  junior  clerk, — a  duty 
which  heretofore  had  devolved  upon  Consi- 
-dine.  His  name  was  a  dead  letter,  and  was, 
as  if  by  tacit  consent,  never  even  mentioned. 

Mr.  Ryan  could  have  forgiven  Harry  any- 
thing but  slighting  Jane.  This  seemed  so 
monstrous,  so  utterly  humiliating,  that  the 
gulf  which  opened  between  him  and  his 
•employ i  after  their  tete-h-tete  dinner  widened 
•every  hour,  and  was  now  bridgeless.  To  see 
Harry  was  irritating,  to  speak  with  him  even 
more  so. 

Alderman  Ryan,  was,  however,  despite  his 
prejudices,  an  honest  gentleman,  and  in  re- 
solving to  get  rid  of  Harry  Considine,  he  also 
determined  not  to  let  him  go  empty-handed, 
— not  to  turn  him  adrift.  There  were  moments 
when  the  recollection  that  Considine  had 
saved  Jane's  life  wiped  out  every  other  feeling, 
and  the  Alderman  would  resolve  upon  letting 
things  take  their  own  course  as  if  nothing 
had  happened ;  but  a  moping  look  which  had 
come  to  his  daughter,  an  almost  habitual 
dejection  relieved  by  evident  effort,  would 
rouse  a  vengeful  savagery  in  his  heait,  and 
then  it  was  that  the/?a/  became  riveted  that 
Harry  must  go.  Fortunately,  it  came  to  pass 
that  Considine  saved  him  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  and  worry  by  announcing  his  inten- 
tion of  leaving,  and  this  in  a  manner  so  de- 
termined as  to  leave  no  loophole  for  parley  or 
half-measures. 

The  freedom  of  the  city  of  Dublin  was  about 
to  be  conferred  on  England's  Prime  Minister, 


Mr.  Gladstone,  at  the  City  Hall;  and,  as 
Alderman  Ryan  was  in  politics  a  whig,  it 
behoved  him  to  be  in  his  place  in  full  robes 
of  office — a  scarlet  cloth  gown  trimmed  with 
sable,  and  a  cocked  hat.  He  had  obtained 
tickets  of  admission  for  his  daughter  and  a 
friend — a  Mrs.  Browne, — and  the  ladies  called 
at  the  warehouse  to  take  the  civic  father  to 
the  Council  Chamber. 

Miss  Ryan  treated  Considine  to  an  icy  nod 
as  she  passed  into  the  private  office.  The 
salute  was  unavoidable,  as  Harry  was  obliged 
to  stand  aside  to  allow  her  to  pass.  The  bow 
was  next  thing  to  an  insult,  for  it  was  ex- 
tended as  if  under  pressure. 

The  Alderman  closed  the  door  of  his  office 
with  a  bang,  opening  it  after  a  few  minutes  to 
order  in  luncheon  from  a  neighboring  restau- 
rant. Later  on,  Mr.  Ryan's  signature  to  checks 
and  other  documents  of  importance  became 
absolutely  necessary,  and,  as  there  was  every 
indication  of  a  "field-day"  in  the  Town  Coun- 
cil— the  extreme  National  section  and  Con- 
servatives being  opposed  to  the  grant, — the 
sitting  might  be  prolonged  to  midnight. 

It  was  Considine' s  duty  to  present  the 
checks  and  documents  to  the  Alderman, — a 
duty  that,  under  the  peculiar  circumstances  of 
the  case,  was  on  this  occasion  ordeal  by  fire., 

"It  is  my  duty,"  said  Harry,  nerving  him- 
self to  the  task;  "and  that's  what  I  have  to 
look  to." 

He  took  the  papers,  and  knocked  at  the 
door  of  the  private  office. 

"Come  in." 

He  opened  the  door. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  disturbing  you,  sir, ' ' 
he  commenced ;   *  *  and — ' ' 

"It  is  a  disturbance,  sir, "  said  the  Alder- 
man, in  a  lofty  tone  of  anger. 

"I  call  it  an  impertinence,"  added  Jane,  in 
a  tone  of  the  coole-t  insolence. 

Harry  became  white.  A  throb  like  deadly 
sickness  smote  him  near  the  heart.  Without 
taking  the  slightest  notice,  he  calmly  said: 

"  These  checks  require  your  signature,  sir. 
These  papers  must  be  signed  before  three 
o'clock." 

"Leave  them  there,  sir!"  cried  the  Alder- 
man, pulling  nervously  at  his  whiskers.  "And 
the  next  time  you  come  into  this  office — " 

"I  shall  never  enter  it  again."  And  Harry, 


The  Ave  Maria, 


299 


with  a  sob  in  his  throat' — it  came  no  farther, 
— ^bowed  grandl}^,  and  turned  on  his  heel. 

Then  he  wrote,  resigning  his  appointment. 
And  while  Mr.  Gladstone  was  uttering  one  of 
his  silver  tongued  speeches,  and  while  Jane 
Ryan  was  crying  bitterly  behind  her  veil, 
and  while  the  city  fathers  were  listening 
spellbound,  Harry  Considine  was  merrily 
whistling  "The  Wearing  of  the  Green,"  as 
he  walked  at  a  rapid  pace  up  the  steep  hill 
that  leads  to  the  village  of  Rathfarnham. 

CHAPTER  XIV.  — "Welcome  as  the 
Flowers  of  May." 

The  Molloy  party  were  in  perfect  raptures 
with  Niagara,  and  Emma,  with  her  father  and 
Peter  Daly,  went  beneath  the  American  Fall. 

*' She's  got  the  real  grit  in  her,"  observed 
Daly  to  her  mother.  "There  aren't  a  dozen 
girls  who  wouldn't  holler  a  bit,  the  guide 
says,  when  they  get  into  the  dark.  And  the 
roar  and  the  awful  feeling  that  a  slip  of  the 
foot  or  of  the  water,  and — whew!  Connemara 
was  solid,  I  tell  you ;  and  when  I  asked  her 
what  she  thought  of  all  the  time  we  were 
under,  she  answered :   '  Of  God. ' ' ' 

Peter  had  business  at  Cleveland,  where 
they  stopped  a  day,  and  spun  along  the  mag- 
nificent Euclid  Avenue  behind  a  pair  of  fast 
trotters.  They  visited  the  Cathedral  and  the 
superb  viaduct,  and  the  pretty  park  by  the 
shore  of  Lake  Erie. 

"Call  that  a  lake!"  cried  Emma.  "Why, 
it's  an  ocean!" 

"Oh,  we  can  fix  you  up  a  bigger  lake  than 
that  if  you  give  us  the  contract,"  laughed 
Daly,  who  took  an  intense  delight  in  watch- 
ing the  effects  of  the  various  sights  upon  his 
young  and  intelligent  companion. 

The  sleeping-cars  bewildered  them,  and 
Mrs.  Molloy' s  astonishment  when  the  colored 
porter  first  "pulled  down  the  ceiling,"  as  she 
expressed  it,  "to  make  a  bed  in  it,"  was  sim- 
ply unmeasured. 

"I'll  strike  a  home  crowd  at  Chicago," 
observed  Daly.  "I  won't  travel  a  block  with- 
out an  invitation  to  'smile.'  " 

"To  what?"  asked  Emma. 

"To  smile." 

"Why  to  smile?" 

"Well,  just  for  acquaintance'  sake.  But  I 
never  smile,  as  you  know. ' ' 


"Never  smile!  You  are  smiling  now." 

"Oh!  I  forgot  to  mention  that  a  smile  is  a 
drink,  and  I  haven't  tasted  a  drop  of  liquor 
since  the  year  1859,  and  never  will  again, 
please  God.  I  have  seen  mort  men  go  to  the 
kangaroos  by  drink  than  I  cculd  speak  in  a 
piece  of  fifty  lines." 

Emma  Molloy,  true  to  her  promise  to  Miss 
Esmonde,  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  inebriate 
asylum,  accompanied  by  Daly. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Esmonde' s  daughter  ? "  asked 
the  superintendent,  a  starry-eyed  man  with  a 
large  forehead  and  a  voice  of  silk. 

"  No,  sir.  I  am  a  friend  of  his  daughter's.'* 

"Ah!  You  must  not  be  startled,  young 
lady,  if  you  see  a  very  pitiful  wreck  of  human- 
ity. To  us  the  sight  is  familiar;  to  one  so- 
young  and  inexperienced  as  you,  it  may  prove 
a  shock.  Perhaps  you  would  be  well  advised 
to  give  up  seeing  this  miserable  man." 

' '  I  have  given  my  promise  to  his  child,  sir, '  * 
said  Emma,  resolutely. 

They  were  shown  into  a  small  room,  the 
walls  of  which  were  padded  without  having" 
the  appearance  of  being  so.  The  furniture  was- 
also  of  a  soft,  yield  ng  substance,  while  the 
carpeted  floor  seemed  to  sink  under  the  press- 
ure of  the  feet. 

'This  is  my  reception  room,' '  said  the  super- 
intendent. "The  patients  when  they  see  their 
friends  are  liable  to  become  terribly  excited, 
and  in  such  cases  I  shorten  the  visit,  bundling 
out  the  visitors  and  leaving  the  patient  here 
alone.  Mr.  Esmonde's  cry  is  for  his  daughter. 
This  is  his  craze.  So  if  he  mistakes  you  for 
her  do  not  be  alarmed." 

Emma  was  pale  enough  as  the  sound  of 
shuffling  and  shambling  came  from  the  corri- 
dor. The  superintendent  entered,  leading  in  a 
living,  doubled-up  skeleton.  The  skin — flesh 
there  was  none — merely  covered  the  bones. 
The  white  lips  were  so  thin  as  when  closed 
to  reveal  the  outlines  of  the  teeth.  The  hair 
was  in  patches  on  a  furrowed  head,  while  the 
eyes  literally  blazed  in  their  red-rimmed, 
sunken  sockets;  handsome  eyes  once — blue 
and  tender  and  winsome.  Did  they  ever  raise 
themselves  in  love  and  devotion  to  those  of 
the  mother  that  bore  him?  Impossible! 
,  Daly,  a  strong,  courageous  man,  turned 
pale  and  started  at  this  hideous  apparition. 
Emma  Molloy,  without  a  second's  hesitation,. 


300 


The  Ave  Maria. 


advanced  and  took  the  horrible,  skinny  claw 
of  this  physical  wreck  in  her  plump  little 
hand. 

"I  come  to  you,  Mr.  Esmonde,  with  a 
message  from  \^our  daughter,"  she  said. 

•'From  Carrie?  "  he  gasped. 

"Yes,  sir,  from  Carrie." 

"Where  is  she?  Here?"  And  the  blazing 
eyes  shot  round  the  room  as  if  piercing  the 
padded  walls. 

"No,  Mr.  Esmonde.  She  is  in  Dublin." 

"Ah!" 

It  was  a  moan,  a  wail  indescribably  despair- 
ing,— a  cry  from  a  heart  that  was  crushed 
by  deadly  pain.  After  this  he  would  not 
speak,  but  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground, 
as  if  gazing  into  a  small  hole  expecting  some- 
thing to  appear.  It  was  uncanny  to  look  at. 
Once  only  he  vouchsafed  a  remark — when 
Emma  told  him  that  his  daughter  was  coming 
out  to  see  him. 

"They  always  tell  me  that.  No:  I  am 
doomed.  I^et  it  be." 

The  superintendent  subsequently  informed 
the  visitors  that  the  unfortunate  being  in  his 
wildest  moments  could  be  soothed  by  the 
nurse's  crying,  "Here  is  Carrie!" 

"Do  you  think  if  his  daughter  were  here 
and  took  him  in  hand  that  he  would  recover? ' ' 
asked  Emma. 

"It's  his  only  chance." 

"Then  he  shall  have  it  if  /  can  urge  it!" 
cried  the  girl,  enthusiastically. 

As  they  drove  back  to  the  city  Peter  Daly 
remarked : 

"If  I  were  a  temperance  lecturer,  Conne- 
mara,  I'd  take  around  a  waxwork  of  that  low- 
down  whittle  of  humanity,  and  I'd  produce 
it  on  the  platform  beside  my  desk.  I'd  stake 
my  boots  that  it  would  be  more  eloquent  than 
a  year's  talking.  I'd  do  more,  girl.  I'd  get 
permission  of  the  city  authorities  to  exhibit 
the  waxwork  right  in  front  of  every  gin  mill 
and  saloon,  and  you  might  take  my  bottom 
dollar  if  the  till  receipts  wouldn't  peter  out 
fifty  per  cent.  I  never  saw  such  an  advertise- 
ment in  favor  of  cold  water  in  all  my  born 
days." 

After  a  few  days  in  Chicago  the  party  started 
for  Clam  Farm. 

"The  reason  my  ranch  has  such  hold  onto 
its  name,"  explained  Peter,  "is  because  the 


man  who  ran  it  before  me  made  his  pile  in 
clams.  ' I'm  real  grateful  to  that  fish,'  he  told 
me;  'for  it  gave  me  not  only  a  square  living, 
but  it  made  me  solid  with  the  bank  ;  and  I 
call  ni}^  farm  after  it  out  of  respect  and  regard. 
And  my  neighbor,  Mr.  Trombley,  out  of  com- 
pliment to  me,  changed  the  name  of  the  town 
from  Concertina  to  Oyster  City.  Clams  and 
oysters  ought  to  be  good  nei ghbors, '  .»•  aid  Sam. 
Sam  was  a  real  picnic  of  fan,  Connemara." 

Two  days' journey  from  Chicago,  and  the 
party  arrived  at  Clam  Farm. 

"Is  that  the  house?"  asked  Emma,  point- 
ing to  a  cosy  frame  dwellij  g,  white  as  snow, 
with  a  grove  of  beautiful  pine-lrees  as  a  back- 
ground. 

"I  wish  it  were  better,  my  dear,"  said  Peter. 
"But  if  it  is  small,  I  tell  you  the  welcome  is 
as  large  as  the  whole  State  of  Minnesota." 

"And  that  is  everything,"  said  the  girl. 

"You  strike  me  right  where  I  live!"  cried 
Daly,  deeply  gratified  at  this  remark. 

The  farm  hands  were  all  on  the  road  fo 
meet  the  "boss,"  and  the  hand-shaking  was 
prodigious.  Mr.  Molloy  was  in  high  favor, 
and  came  in  for  his  share  of  the  honors,  the 
ladies  being  received  con  amore.  A  decoration 
suspended  over  the  hall-door,  and  composed  of 
flowers  and  evergreens  interwoven,  showed 
the  heart-stirring  ^'ords/'CeadAfilleFatlthe!'' 
And  as  Daly,  removing  his  hat,  pointed  to 
them,  a  ringing  cheer  rose  from  the  cheery 
lungs  of  the  assemblage,  with  another  for  the 
ladies,  and  a  "rouser"  for  old  Ireland.  The 
neighbors  mustered  strongly,  having  driven 
over  in  twos  and  threes ;  for  the  country  side 
held  Mr.  Daly  in  high  esteem,  and  lost  no 
opportunity  of  doing  him  honor. 

"This,  Connemara,  is  your  home  as  long 
as  you  like  to  remain  in  it ;  and  yours  too, 
Killiney  and  Europe.  And  God  knows," 
added  Peter  Daly,  "you  are  as  welcome  as 
the  flowers  of  May." 

(TO   BR  CONTINUED.) 

In  all  thy  actions,  in  all  thy  thoughts,  know 
for  certain  that  there  are  two  present — the 
one  thy  friend,  the  other  thine  enemy.  Thy 
friend  is  thy  Creator,  who  rejoiceth  in  thy 
good  works;  thine  enemy  is  the  devil,  who 
mourneth  for  these  same  good  works  of  thine. 
— St.  Anselm. 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


301 


A  Medal  of  "Mater  Admirabilis.' 


MUCH  has  been  said  and  written  both  for 
and  against  the  respect  paid  by  Catholics 
to  holy  relics  and  other  objects  of  devotion, 
but  the  theme  is  far  from  exhausted.  The 
mind  of  man  is  often  inconsistent.  We  once 
knew  a  gentleman,  clever  and  well  informed, 
who  would  shrug  his  shoulders  if  asked  to 
wear  a  medal  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  but  who 
carried,  carefully  attached  to  his  watch-chain, 
a  rough  pebble  that  he  had  picked  up  in  the 
uncertain  bed  of  a  stream  sung  by  Homer; 
and  he  would  show  this  to  his  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances with  a  great  display  of  reverence 
for  it.  Tourists  in  Italy,  who  would  blush  to 
bring  from  Rome  a  Rosary  blessed  by  the  Pope, 
would  willingly  fill  their  trunks,  if  allowed, 
with  scraps  from  the  ruins  of  the  Forum.  Who 
has  not  smiled  when  an  Englishman  shows 
him  the  one  hundred  and  ninety-ninth  pen 
sold  by  the  concierge  of  the  Chateau  de  Ferney 
as  the  very  last  pen  used  by  Voltaire?  The 
weeping-willow  that  stood  near  the  grave  of 
the  unfortunate  Napoleon  in  St.  Helena  is 
said  to  have  furnished  enough  wood  to  relic- 
lovers  in  Great  Britain  to  make  a  three-decked 
ship. 

This  respect  for  relics  and  mementos  has 
been  entertained  by  persons  of  all  creeds,  all 
nations,  and  of  every  age.  The  portraits  of 
our  patriots,  the  statues  of  bronze  or  marble 
that  we  admire  in  our  parks  and  museums  ; 
the  pictures  of  our  parents,  whether  preserved 
in  massive  frames  of  gilt  or  in  the  simplest 
style,  are,  in  reality,  objects  of  devotion.  The 
autograph  and  the  photograph  may  be  placed 
in  the  same  category  ;  and  a  lock  of  hair,  sweet 
pledge  of  friendship,  or  melancholy  souvenir 
of  a  head  beloved,  may  be  justly  deemed  a 
pious  relic.  Why  should  this  homage,  every- 
where admitted  from  a  merely  human  point 
of  view,  be  deemed  ridiculous  from  a  religious 
standpoint  ? 

There  exists  in  the  Convent  of  the  Trinite- 
du-Mont  in  Rome  a  little  chapel  elegantly 
adorned,  and  piously  illustrated  by  the  invo- 
cation Mater  Admirabilis  traced  below  a 
venerated  picture  of  our  Heavenly  Mother. 
Among  numerous  examples  of  mercy  that 
have  been  granted  by  the  powerful  interces- 


sion of  the  ever-Blessed  Virgin  under  this 
sweet  title  the  following  can  not  fail  to  inter- 
est our  readers : 

In  the  second  month  of  the  occupation  of 
Rome  by  the  French  army,  September  1 3, 1 849, 
a  soldier  of  the  second  battalion  of  Light 
Infantry  was  transported,  dangerously  ill,  to 
the  Hospital  of  St.  Bernard.  Like  many  young 
men,  Jean  Coulonnier  had  forgotten,  in  the 
frequentation  of  bad  company,  all  the  relig- 
ious principles  of  his  boyhood.  The  reading 
of  evil  books,  the  clubs  of  1848,  and  secret 
societies,  completed  the  perversion  of  his  natu- 
rally generous  instincts,  which,  under  more 
favorable  circumstances,  would  have  made 
him  a  model  Christian. 

Coulonnier  had  fought  in  the  siege  of  Rome 
without  enthusiasm  ;  for  his  sympathies  were 
more  with  the  besieged  city  than  with  the 
flag  of  its  besiegers.  He  had  combated  with- 
out that  faith  which  excites  one's  energies  to 
cope  with  the  obstacles  to  be  overcome  and 
endure  the  consequent  fatigue.  In  the  triumph 
of  his  brothers  in  arms  he  had  observed,  when 
too  late,  that  the  consequences  of  the  defeat 
would  be  heavy  on  his  political  party.  Amid 
these  reflections  he  received  a  visit  from  a 
French  priest,  a  native  of  Courtezon  (Vau- 
cluse). 

"What  do  you  wish  with  me,  sir?"  in- 
quired the  sick  man,  dryly. 

' '  I  come  to-  offer  you  my  services.  I  heard 
that  you  were  seriously  ill,  and — ' ' 

"Ah!  then  you  are  a  physician?" 

"Yes,  my  good  man — " 

"Indeed!  Well,  it  is  the  first  time  that  I 
ever  saw  a  physician  in  a  cassock.  Here,  feel 
m)'  pulse,  doctor.  Have  I  any  fever?" 

"I  am  a  physician,  as  I  told  you,"  said  the 
Abbe  Masson,  gently;  "but  a  physician  of 
souls ;  so  it  is  not  the  hand  that  I  seek,  but 
the  heart." 

"Ah!  I  understand.  You  have  made  your 
course  of  studies  in  a  seminary.  I  have  no 
confidence  in  that  faculty.  You  had  better  look 
for  employment  elsewhere,  sir." 

"Listen  to  me,  friend.  In  the  interest  of 
your  soul — " 

"You  speak  a  language  that  is  strange  to 
to  me.  Reverend  sir,  be  kind  enough  to  retire. 
I  should  like  to  be  alone  for  a  while. ' ' 

"Well,  if  you  will  not  accept  the  consola- 


302 


The  Ave  Maria, 


tions  I  offer  as  a  priest,  accept  at  least  the 
attentions  of  a  friend  to  the  sick." 

"And  the  infirmarians,  sir?  Do  you  imag- 
ine they  are  incapable  of  performing  the  duty 
assigned  them  ?  Once  more,  I  say,  leave  me. 
I  need  rest. ' ' 

"Good-day,  friend."  said  the  priest,  in  his 
kindest  tone.  ' '  To-morrow  I  will  return  ; 
mayhap  your  disposition  will  be  changed. 
Meanwhile  I  will  pray  for  you." 

The  disease  of  Jean  Coulonnier  progressed 
so  rapidly  that  in  a  few  days  the  doctors  had 
no  hope  of  his  recovery.  The  poor  soldier 
gave  himself  up  to  sad  thoughts,  and  repelled 
not  only  all  religious  ideas,  but  even  closed 
his  heart  to  all  the  human  consolations  which 
his  comrades  offered  him  with  a  generous  de- 
votedness.  He  became  silent  and  melancholy. 

By  no  means  discouraged  by  a  first  repulse, 
the  Abbe  Masson  returned  on  the  following 
day,  seating  himself  by  the  pillow  of  the 
invalid,  but  avoiding  any  allusion  to  the  real 
object  of  his  visit.  At  last,  fancying  there  was 
a  favorable  moment  for  touching  the  subject 
of  religion,  he  ventured  to  ask  Jean  if  he  had 
made  any  preparation  for  death. 

"Sir,"  replied  the  dying  soldier,  "I  am  a 
Protestant." 

"You  are  not  less  my  brother  in  the  sight 
of  God,"  rejoined  the  priest,  in  a  tone  of 
deep  conviction.  "You  have  an  equal  right 
to  all  my  sympathy." 

"I  declare  to  you  again,  sir,  that  I  am  a 
Protestant.  Go  and  look  for  penitents  in  the 
other  wards." 

The  good  Abbe  Masson,  so  rudely  repulsed 
a  second  time,  went  away  sadly,  fully  cgn- 
vinced  that  no  act  of  human  kindness  could 
touch  the  hardened  heart  of  the  unfortunate 
invalid. 

It  was  the  20th  of  October,  the  day  on 
which  the  Religious  of  the  Sacred  Heart  at 
the  Trinite-du-Mont  celebrate  the  Feast  of 
Mary  under  the  title  of  Mater  Admirabilis. 
Pius  IX.,  of  saintly  memory,  had  recently 
instituted  the  festival,  and  a  medal  had  been 
struck  in  her  honor.  The  Abbe  Masson  called 
on  Madame  deCoriolis,  the  superior  at  Trinite- 
du-Mont,  and  recommended  the  poor  sinner 
to  her  prayers  and  those  of  her  community. 
Fervent  and  continual  invocations  ascended  to 
Heaven  during  the  five  following  days. 


On  the  morning  of  the  26th  the  devoted 
Abbe  appeared  again  at  the  Trinite,  and  told 
the  nuns  that  he  had  discovered  that  Cou- 
lonnier was  not  a  Protestant,  but  had  feigned 
to  be  such  in  order  to  avoid  communication 
with  him.  After  celebrating  the  Holy  Sacrifice 
for  the  patient  in  the  sanctuary  dedicated  to 
Mater  Admirabilis,  and  recommending  the 
Religious  to  persevere  in  prayer,  he  took  a 
medal  with  the  likeness  of  the  sacred  picture 
stamped  on  it,  and  once  more  directed  his 
steps  to  the  hospital. 

' '  You  here  again ! ' '  cried  Coulonnier,  when 
he  perceived  the  Abbe  kneeling  at  the  foot 
of  his  bed. 

"Yes,  I  am  here  again, —  still  the  friend 
who  loves  you,  who  desires  to  secure  your 
happiness  above  if  he  can  not  detain  you  here 
below." 

The  death-rattle  was  already  announcing: 
his  agony. 

"Go  away,  sir!  You  worry  me  with  your 
importunity!  lyCt me  die  in  peace!  Go  away, 
I  repeat ! ' ' 

"I  will  leave  the  room  on  one  condition." 

' '  What  condition,  pray  ? ' " 

"That  you  will  allow  me  to  place  on  your 
heart  this  medal  stamped  with  the  image  of 
God's  Holy  Mother,  that  in  your  last  moments 
you  may  think  of  her  whom  you  once  loved."" 

"Well  you  may;  but  be  quick,  and  then 
leave  my  sight." 

Thus  saying,  Coulonnier  raised  his  head, 
bent  it  to  the  breast  of  the  priest,  and  received 
the  medal  of  Mater  Admirabilis. 

"May  your  Mother  in  heaven  preserve  you 
from  an  unprovided  death ! ' '  said  the  priest, 
solemnly.  And  he  saw  a  tear  fall  from  the 
fading  eyes  of  the  dying  soldier,  while  his 
comrades  prayed  near  him  in  silence.  ' '  Shall 
I  leave  you  now?"  asked  the  Abb6,  in  his 
kindest  manner. 

Coulonnier's  heart  was  touched  at  last. 
"Stay,  if  you  please.  Father."  And  he  laid 
his  icy  hand  in  that  of  the  minister  of  God. 
"Speak  to  me  of  my  Mother." 

"Yes,  I  will  speak  of  your  Mother,  God's 
Mother,  and  of  our  Father  in  heaven."  And 
the  priest  continued  to  encourage  and  comfort 
him. 

Coulonnier  wept,  pressed  to  his  breast  the 
holy  medal,  and  murmured  incoherent  words, 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


o% 


— they  were  the  last  throes  of  the  combat.  Tlie 
Queen  of  Heaven  had  triumphed  over  the 
Angel  of  Darkness.  The  sinner,  touched  by 
divine  grace,  humbly  asked  the  priest  to  hear 
his  confession.  One  hour  later  he  received 
Holy  Communion  and  Extreme  Unction.  And 
in  the  act  of  kissing  devoutly  the  image  of 
Mater  Admirabilis  he  calmly  expired. 


The  Seed-Time. 


BY  MAURICE   FRANCIS   FGAN. 


THE  part  of  advising  parents  as  to  the  work 
of  instructing  and  educating  their  chil- 
dren is  generally  an  ungrateful  one.  The  ad- 
viser must  naturally  fall  into  platitudes,  and 
"be  greeted  with  the  assertion,  "We  knew  all 
that. ' '  But  what  is  the  best  teaching  the  world 
has  if  it  be  not  platitudes  repeated  again  and 
again  in  varied  forms?  And  when  we  find  a 
man  who  says  in  poetry  what  we  have  often 
thought  in  prose, we  cry  out,  "This  is  genius! " 
We  have  the  words  of  three  great  moulders 
■of  public  opinion  that  the  secret  of  impressing 
the  minds  of  people  is  the  art  of  repetition. 
"The  advice  of  McMaster,  of  Father  Hecker, 
of  Horace  Greeley,  to  editorial  aspirants  was, 
'  *  Repeat, — always  repeat ! ' ' 

If  repetition,  then,  can  make  the  American 
father  feel  more  deeply  his  responsibilities,  let 
us  by  all  means  play  the  same  tune  with  as 
many  variations  as  possible.  If  the  seed  is  not 
planted  in  the  spring,  the  summer's  crop  will 
be  wanting.  It  is  too  late  to  sow  in  August 
the  crop  that  should  be  sown  in  June.  It  is 
too  late  to  complain  that  the  weeds  have 
choked  up  our  fields  in  September, — too  late 
because,  do  what  we  will,  we  can  not  recall 
the  spring. 

What  children  need  in  this  country  is  home 
life.  Homes  are  common, — that  is,  comforta- 
ble houses  with  all  the  appliances  of  civilized 
life.  In  fact,  this  is  a  country  of  homes  ;  but 
family  life  is  not  sufiiciently  cultivated.  It 
•exists,  of  course ;  but  it  exists  very  often  for 
the  reason  that  both  the  father  and  the  mother 
happen  to  be  fitted  by  nature  for  the  adorn- 
ment of  the  domestic  circle. 

Now,  all  parents  are  not  so  fitted.  Never- 
theless, they  ought  not  to  absolve  themselves 


fiom  the  duty  of  cultivating  the  home  atmos- 
phere. No  duty  is  altogether  easy.  It  is  hard 
for  a  father,  tired  with  the  day's  labor,  to  give 
himself  up  to  the  amusement  of  his  children 
in  the  evening.  He  prefers  a  quiet  nap,  and 
his  newspaper  at  intervals,  perhaps.  He  does 
not  enjoy  the  sound  of  chatter  and  laughter, 
of  rudimentary  music  and  gay  dispute.  "Be 
quiet!"  commands  the  mother,  in  the  father's 
interest.  The  children  are  quiet;  they  yawn; 
home  grows  wearisome ;  the  whistle  of  a 
schoolmate  in  the  street  reminds  the  boys  that 
there  is  fun  abroad,  and  the  girls  begin  to 
long  for  gayer  places. 

If  home  be  not  cheerful  in  the  evenings, 
the  children  are  defrauded  of  something  their 
parents  owe  them.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  when  St.  Paul  spoke  of  the  neglecter  of 
his  own  household  as  being  worse  than  an 
infidel  that  he  alluded  only  to  the  man  who 
fails  to  provide  the  material  necessaries  of 
life  for  his  family.  If  God  had  given  us  this 
world  without  sunshine,  without  flowers, 
without  music,  we  would  perhaps  have  had 
an  abiding  place,  but  nothing  more;  we 
might  have  existed,  we  could  not  have  lived. 

Cheerfulness  in  family  life  is  the  light,  the 
flowers,  the  music.  And  cheerfulness  in  home 
life  does  not  always  come  by  nature.  It  is 
not  always  easy  to  discard  the  cares  of  the 
day  as  one  enters  the  charmed  circle.  It  is 
not  always  easy  to  give  up  the  book,  that 
might  be  enjoyed  selfishly,  for  the  entertain- 
ment of  those  around  us.  The  mother  finds  it 
hard  to  cease  fretting, — hard  to  forget  some 
slight  mishap  or  other, — hard  to  speak  gently 
when  a  fault  has  exasperated  her.  But  she, 
for  the  sake  of  her  children's  future,  must  re- 
member that,  if  they  are  expected  to  learn 
self-discipline  and  self-denial,  she  must  set 
the  example. 

The  duty  of  home-making  is  a  sacred  duty. 
Who,  in  after-life,  dwells  on  the  splendor  of 
his  father's  house?  Who  cares  for  the  luxury 
of  its  equipment?  It  is  to  the  tenderness,  the 
cheerfulness,  the  unity,  the  consolation  there 
that  the  heart  in  after-life  turns.  It  is  the 
memor>^  of  these  that  makes  true  men  and 
women.  Marble  statues  and  brown  stone  fronts 
without  cheerftilness  are  less  to  a  child  than 
an  old  oaken  bucket  fraught  with  happj^  as- 
sociations. 


304- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Cardinal  Manning  and  tiie  London 
Strii<ers. 


*"T^HE  poor  have  the  Gospel  preached  unto 
1  them"  was  one  of  the  works  to  which 
the  Saviour  of  the  world  appealed  in  testi- 
mony of  the  divinit}^  of  His  mission.  So, 
necessarily,  it  forms  one  of  the  marked  charac- 
teristics of  the  Church  which  He  established,  in 
the  accomplishment  of  the  mission  entrusted 
to  her.  Hence  it  is  that  from  the  very  begin- 
ning the  Church  has  sided  with  the  poor  and 
the  oppressed,  and  exerted  her  power  and  in- 
fluence in  their  behalf.  A  striking  illustration 
of  this  truth  was  given  in  the  action  of  his 
Eminence  Cardinal  Manning  in  connection 
with  the  recent  labor  troubles  in  London. 
Obedient  to  the  principles  of  the  faith  which 
he  professes,  this  distinguished  and  zealous 
son  of  the  Church  interfered  in  behalf  of  the 
suffering  workingmen,  and  to  his  kind  offices 
rather  than  to  any  other  cause  is  the  settle- 
ment of  the  difficulties  to  be  attributed.  This 
is  clearly  set  forth  in  the  following  extract 
from  the  cable  correspondence  in  a  recent 
issue  of  the  New  York  Sim: 

The  chief  credit  for  settlement  undoubtedly  belongs 
to  the  venerable  Cardinal  Manning.  When  passions 
on  both  sides  were  at  their  highest,  this  prince  of 
the  Church  left  his  palace  in  Westminster  and  went 
about  from  one  leader  to  another  counselling  peace. 
His  spare  figure  and  pale,  intellectual  face  soon  be-* 
came  familiar  to  the  strikers,  and  his  gentle,  unassum- 
ing manners  quickly  won  confidence  and  respect, 
amounting  to  veneration,  even  among  the  rough 
fellows  who  were  not  of  his  faith.  From  the  moment 
the  Cardinal  intervened  there  was  a  marked  diminu- 
tion in  the  violence  of  language  until  then  habitually 
used  by  the  strike  leaders  in  speaking  of  their  oppo- 
nents ;  and  the  dock  directors'  demeanor,  until  that 
time  insulting  and  uncompromising,  underwent  a 
gratifying  change.  The  Protestant  Bishop  of  I^ondon 
and  the  lyord  Mayor  joined  the  pacific  work  some 
days  after  the  Cardinal ;  but,  although  tardily  offered, 
he  gratefully  accepted  their  assistance. 

After  the  rebuff  caused  by  last  Saturday's  mis- 
understanding, the  Bishop,  considering  his  greatness 
derided  and  his  dignity  offended  by  the  strike  leaders, 
left  London  in  disgust,  and  took  no  further  part  in 
the  negotiations.  The  Ivord  Mayor  sulked  for  several 
days,  but  ultimately  had  the  good  sense  to  return  to 
the  work.  Cardinal  Manning,  however,  never  faltered. 
He  saw  the  misery  which  was  being  caused  by  the 
strike,  and  resolved  that  it  should  end. 

Older  than  Mr.  Gladstone,  and  with  little  of  the 
great  statesman's  physical  vigor.  Cardinal  Manning 


has  all  this  week  been  doing  an  amount  of  work 
which  would  tax  the  endurance  of  the  youngest 
priest.  His  friends  remonstrated,  but  he  answered 
all  with  gentle  words  and  a  kindly  smile  ;  and  to-day, 
when  the  last  difficulty  had  been  removed,  and  Lon- 
don's greatest  industrial  conflict  had  come  to  an  end, 
he  returned  calmly  to  his  study  at  Westminster, 
remarking  that  he  had  but  done  his  duty  to  his 
fellow-men  and  his  country. 


Readings  from  Remembered  Books. 

A  PICTURE    OF    THE    MADONNA. 

I  RECALL  one  picture  in  which  the  Flight  into 
Egypt  is  the  subject  of  the  tenderest  and 
most  delicate  treatment.  The  \'irgin  and  Child  are 
seated  in  a  flowery  meadow  of  varied  landscape, 
and  rings  of  baby  cherubs,  holding  hands,  go 
dancing  round  them.  There  is  nothing  coarse  or 
familiar  in  their  presence  :  they  are  pure  as  morn- 
ing dreams,  and  full  of  Elysian  grace.  It  appears 
a  sort  of  rhythmic  dance,  and  you  have  the  im- 
pression that  it  is  to  no  earthly  music,  but  timed  to 
flutings  of  angels'  ' '  golden  lutes  and  silver  clar- 
ions clear,"  sounded  b}'  unseen  musicians  close 
at  hand.  Other  angel  babies  are  hanging  garlands 
on  the  neck  of  a  Iamb,  and  are  floating  gaily,  ador- 
ing the  Divine  Child.  Balmy  airs  stir  the  lovely 
winged  creatures,  and  soft,  lithe  limbs  keep  time 
to  the  harping  of  the  harpers  with  their  harps. 

It  is  the  most  triumphant  thing  I  have  seen  on 
canvas.  I  wish  I  could  remember  the  name  of  the 
artist  whose  fine,  forcible  hand  fashioned  those 
airy  shapes,  so  the  reader  might  find  it  some  happy 
morning  in  the  nutseum  at  Naples.  The  tranquil 
face  of  the  Madonna  wears  a  rapt,  exalted  ex- 
pression, as  becomes  the  priestess  and  prophetess; 
and  the  painter  has  followed  the  received  accotmt 
given  of  the  Virgin  in  the  fourth  century,  by 
Epiphanius,  derived  b}^  him  from  the  Fathers: 
"vShe  was  of  middle  stature,  her  face  oval  and  of 
an  olive  tint,  her  hair  a  pale  brown,  her  complex- 
ion fair  as  wheat."  The  rejoicing  gladness  of  the 
scene  makes  it  peculiar  among  Riposas.  The 
blissful  cherubs  in  rings,  like  garlands  of  flowers, 
fairly  glide  before  your  eyes,  singing  as  they  sang 
that  first  Christmas  Eve  :  "  I  bring  you  good  tid- 
ings of  great  jo\',  which  shall  be  to  all  people." 

The  day  we  were  there  a  3'oung  peasant  woman. 
— evidentl}-  a  sorrowing  mother — stood  before  the 
picture,  and  returned  time  after  time  to  gaze  her 
fill.  In  some  inexpressible  way  the  Mother  of 
Christ  answered  the  yearning  of  the  sad  heart  for 
the  divinest  of  earthly  loves,  perfected  in  Mary, 
sweetest  of  all  the  sweet  mothers  in  heaven. — 
''The  Repose  i?i  Egypt,''  by  Susan  E.  Wallace. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


305 


A    CROvSS    AMONG   TIIK    PALMS. 

It  must  have  been  toward  sunset — we  were 
threading  the  eastern  coast,  and  a  great  moun- 
tain filled  the  west,— but  I  felt  that  it  was  the 
hour  when  day  ends  and  night  begins.  The  heavy 
clouds  looked  as  though  they  were  still  brimful 
of  sunlight,  yet  no  ray  escaped  to  gladden  our 
side  of  the  world.  Finally,  on  the  brow  of  what 
seemed  to  be  the  last  hill  in  this  life,  I  saw  a  cross, 
— a  cross  among  the  palms.  Hoke,  the  mule,  saw 
it  and  quickened  his  pace  :  he  knew  that  there  was 
provender  in  the  green  pastures  of  Pere  Fidelis, 
and  his  heart  freshened  within  him. 

A  few  paces  from  the  grove  of  palms  I  heard  a 
bell  swing  jubilantly.  Out  over  the  solemn  sea, 
up  and  down  that  foam-crested  shore,  rang  the 
sweet  Angelus.  One  may  pray  with  some  fervor 
when  one's  journey  is  at  an  end.  When  the  prayer 
was  over  I  walked  to  the  gate  of  the  chapel-yard, 
leading  the  willing  Hoke ;  and  at  that  moment 
a  slender  figure,  clad  all  in  black,  his  long  robes 
flowing  gracefully  about  him,  his  boyish  face 
heightening  the  effect  of  his  grave  and  serene 
demeanor,  his  thin,  sensitive  hands  held  forth  in 
hearty  welcome, — a  welcome  that  was  almost 
iike  a  benediction,  so  spiritual  was  the  love  which 
it  expressed, — came  out,  and  I  found  myself  in 
the  arms  of  Pere  Fidelis. 

Why  do  our  hearts  sing  Jubilate  when  we  meet 
a  friend  for  the  first  time  ?  What  is  it  within  us 
that  with  its  life-long  yearning  comes  suddenly 
upon  the  all-sufficient  one,  and  in  a  moment  is 
crowned  and  satisfied  ?  I  could  not  tell  whether  I 
was  at  last  waking  from  a  sleep  or  jUvSt  sinking 
into  a  dream.  I  could  have  sat  there  at  his  feet 
contented  ;  I  could  have  put  off  my  worldly  cares, 
resigned  ambition,  forgotten  the  past,  and,  in  the 
tranquillity  of  that  hour,  have  dwelt  joyfully  un- 
der the  palms  with  him,  seeking  only  to  follow  in 
his  patient  footsteps  until  the  end  should  come. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  realization  of  an  ideal  that 
plunged  me  into  a  reverie,  out  of  which  I  Avas  sum- 
moned by  mo7i  ptre,  who  hinted  th.at  I  must  be 
hungry.   Prophetic  Father !  hungry  I  was  indeed. 

Mon  pere  led  me  to  his  little  house,  and  in- 
stalled me  host,  himself  being  my  ever-watchful 
attendant.  Then  he  spoke  :  '  The  lads  were  at  the 
sea,  fishing  :  would  I  excuse  him  for  a  moment  ? ' 
.  Alone  in  the  little  house,  with  a  glass  of  claret 
and  a  hard  biscuit  for  refreshment,  I  looked  about 
me.  The  central  room,  in  which  I  sat,  was  bare  to 
nakedness.  A  few  devotional  books,  a  small  clock 
high  up  on  the  wall,  with  a  short  wagging  pendu- 
lum, two  or  three  paintings  betraying  more  sen- 
timent than  merit,  a  table,  a  wooden  form  against 
the  window,  and  a  crucifix,  complete  its  inven- 
tory. A  high  window  was  at  my  back  ;  a  door 


in  front  opening  upon  a  veranda  shaded  with 
a  passion-vine ;  beyond  it  a  green,  undulating 
countr}'  running  down  into  the  sea;  on  either 
hand  a  little  cell  containing  nothing  but  a  nar- 
row bed.  a  saint's  picture,  and  a  rosary.  The  boy 
Kahele,  having  distributed  the  animals  in  good 
pasturage,  lay  on  the  veranda  at  full  length, 
supremel}'  happy  as  he  jingled  his  spurs  over 
the  edge  of  the  steps,  and  hummed  a  native  ai^. 

Again  I  sank  into  a  reverie.  Enter  mou  p^re 
with  apologies  and  a  plate  of  smoking  cakes 
made  of  eggs  and  batter,  his  own  handiwork ; 
enter  the  lads  from  the  sea  with  excellent  fish, 
knotted  in  long  wisps  of  grass ;  enter  Kahele, 
lazily  sniffing  the  savory  odors  of  our  repast  with 
evident  relish  ;  and  then  supper  in  good  earnest. 

How  happy  we  were,  having  such  talks  in 
several  sorts  of  tongues,  such  polyglot  effi)rts 
toward  sociabilit}', — French,  P^nglish,  and  native 
in  equal  parts,  but  each  broken  and  spliced,  to 
suit  our  dire  necessity!  The  candle  flamed  and 
flickered  in  the  land-breeze  that  swept  through 
the  house  ;  the  crickets  sang  lustily  at  the  door- 
way ;  the  little  natives  grew  sleepy  and  curled 
up  on  their  mats  in  the  comer.  And  now  a  sudden 
conviction  seized  us  that  it  was  bedtime  in  very- 
truth  ;  so  mofi  ph'C  led  me  to  one  of  the  cells, 
saying,  "Will  you  sleep  in  the  room  of  Pdre 
Amabilis?"  Yea,  verily,  with  all  humility;  and 
there  I  slept  after  the  benediction,  during  which 
the  young  priest's  face  looked  almost  like  an 
angel's  in  its  youthful  holiness,  and  I  was  afraid 
I  might  wake  in  the  morning  and  find  him  gone, 
transported  to  some  other  and  more  lovely  world. 

But  I  didn't.  Pere  Fidelis  was  up  before  day- 
break. It  was  his  hand  that  clashed  the  joyful 
Angelus  at  sunrise  that  woke  me  from  vay  happy 
dream  ;  it  was  his  hand  that  prepared  the  frugal 
but  appetizing  meal ;  he  made  the  cofi'ee — such 
rich,  black,  aromatic  coffee  as  Frenchmen  alone 
have  the  faculty  of  producing.  He  had  an  eye  to 
the  welfare  of  the  animals  also,  and  seemed  to  be 
commander-in-chief  of  affairs  secular  as  well  as 
ecclesiastical ;  yet  he  was  so  j'oung! 

There  was  a  da}^  of  brief  incursions  mountain- 
ward,  with  the  happiest  results.  There  were  wel- 
comes showered  upon  me  for  his  sake ;  he  was 
ever  ministering  to  ray  temporal  wants,  and  puz- 
zling me  with  dissertations  in  assorted  languages- 

By  happy  fortune  a  Sunda}-  followed,  when  the 
Chapel  of  the  Palms  was  thronged  with  dusky 
worshippers  ;  not  a  white  face  present  but  the 
Father's  and  mine  own  ;  yet  a  common  trust  in 
the  blessedness  of  the  life  to  come  struck  the 
key-note  of  universal  harmony,  and  we  sang  the 
Magnificat  with  one  voice. — ''South  Sea  Idyls,'' 
by  Charles  Warren  Stoddard. 


3o6 


The  Ave  Maria 


THE    FOUNDATIONS   OF   OUR   FAITH. 

I  know  that  I  am ;  I  know  that  I  have  the 
light  of  reason,  the  dictate  of  conscience,  the 
power  of  will ;  I  know  that  I  did  not  make  all 
things,  nor  even  myself.  A  necessity  of  my  reason 
compels  me  to  believe  in  One  higher  and  greater 
than  I,  from  whom  I  come,  and  to  whose  image 
I  am  made.  My  perfection  and  welfare  consist  in 
knowing  Him,  in  being  conformed  to  Him.  I  am 
sure  that  He  is  good,  and  that  He  desires  my 
happiness  ;  and  that,  therefore.  He  has  not  hid 
Himself  from  me,  but  has  made  Himself  known, 
to  the  end  that  I  may  love  Him  and  be  like  Him. 
I  find  that  the  light  of  the  knowledge  of  God 
has  filled  the  world,  and  has  been  ever  growing 
by  fresh  accessions  of  light,  waxing  brighter  and 
clearer  until  it  culminated  ' '  in  the  face  of  Jesus 
Christ."  In  Him  God  and  man  were  perfectly 
revealed.  In  Himself,  in  His  words,  and  in  His 
Commandments,  I  find  the  most  perfect  knowl- 
edge of  God  that  the  world  has  ever  known  ;  the 
most  perfect  knowledge  of  himself  that  man  has 
ever  reached  ;  the  most  perfect  law  of  morals 
toward  God  and  toward  man  that  men  have  ever 
received.  All  this  is  to  be  found  in  Christianity 
alone.  Christianity  is,  therefore,  the  fulness  of 
the  revelation  of  God.  Moreover,  I  find  that  the 
maximum  of  human  and  historical  evidence 
proves  this  true  and  perfect  Christianity  to  be 
coincident  and  identical  with  the  world-wide  and 
immutable  faith  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 

On  these  foundations — four  square  and  imper- 
ishable— rests  the  faith  to  which  God  in  His 
mercy  has  called  me,  in  which  I  hope  to  live  and 
to  die  ;  for  which  I  also  hope  that,  by  God's  grace, 
I  should  be  willing  to  give  my  life. — "•Religio 
Viatoris,''  by  Cardinal  Manning. 

A   NOBI.B   BEGGAR. 

Once  he  was  fiercely  abused — when  begging 
for  the  new  church  at  Aston  Hall, — and  as  the 
reviler  had  come  to  a  full  stop  in  his  froward 
speech.  Father  Ignatius  quietly  retorted  :  "Well, 
as  you  have  been  so  generous  to  myself  person- 
ally, perhaps  you  would  be  so  kind  as  to  give  me 
something  now  for  my  community."  This  had 
a  remarkable  effect.  It  procured  him  a  handsome 
offering  then,  as  well  as  many  others  ever  since. 

Another  day  he  knocked  at  a  door,  and  was 
admitted  by  a  very  sumptuously  attired  footman. 
Father  Ignatius  told  the  servant  the  object  of  his 
visit,  his  religious  name,  and  asked  if  he  could  see 
the  lady  or  gentleman  of  the  house.  The  servant 
strode  off  to  see,  and  in  a  few  seconds  returned  to 
say  that  the  gentleman  was  out,  and  the  lady  was 
engaged  and  could  not  receive  him,  neither  could 
she  afford  to  help  him.   He  then  remarked  that 


perhaps  she  was  not  aware  that  he  w^as  the  Hon- 
orable Mr.  Spencer.  The  servant  looked  at  him, 
bowed  politely  and  retired.  In  a  minute  or  two 
Father  Ignatius  hears  a  rustling  of  silks  and  a 
tripping  of  steps  on  the  stairs.  In  came  my  lady, 
and  what  with  blushings  and  bowings,  and  ex- 
cuses and  apologies,  she  scarcely  knew  where 
she  was  until  she  found  herself  and  him  tete-h-tMe, 
Slie  really  did  not  know  it  was  he,  and  there  were 
so  many  impostors.  "But  what  will  you  take, 
my  dear  sir  ? "  And  before  he  could  say  yea  or 
nay  she  rang  for  his  friend  the  footman.  Father 
Ignatius  coolly  said  that  he  did  not  then  stand  in 
need  of  anything  to  eat,  and  that  he  never  took 
wine  ;  but  that  he  did  stand  in  need  of  money  for 
a  good  purpose,  and  if  she  could  give  him  any- 
thing in  that  way  he  should  be  very  glad  to 
accept  it.  She  handed  him  a  five  pound  note  at 
once,  expressing  many  regrets  that  something  or 
other  prevented  its  being  more.  Father  Ignatius 
took  the  note,  folded  it  carefully,  made  sure  of 
its  being  safely  lodged  in  his  pocket,  and  then 
made  thanksgiving  in  something  like  the  follow- 
ing words :  ' '  Now,  I  am  very  sorry  to  have  to 
tell  you  that  the  alms  you  have  given  me  will  do 
you  very  little  good.  If  I  had  not  been  born  of  a 
noble  family  you  would  have  turned  me  away 
with  coldness  and  contempt.  I  take  the  money, 
because  it  will  be  as  useful  to  me  as  if  it  were 
given  with  a  good  motive  ;  but  I  would  advise 
you  for  the  future,  if  yovi  have  any  regard  for  your 
soul,  to  let  the  love  of  God  and  not  human  respect 
prompt  your  alms-giving."  So  saying,  he  took 
his  hat  and  bade  his  benefactress  a  good-morning. 
Many  were  the  anecdotes  he  told  us  about  his 
begging  adventures,  but  it  is  next  to  impossible 
to  remember  them.  In  every  case,  however,  we 
could  see  the  saint  through  the  veil  his  humility 
tried  to  cast  over  himself  Whether  he  was  re- 
ceived well  or  ill,  he  always  tried  to  turn  his 
reception  to  the  spiritual  benefit  of  those  who 
received  him.  He  made  more  friends  than  any 
person  living,  perhaps,  and  never  was  known  to 
make  an  enemy ;  his  very  simplicity  and  holi- 
ness disarmed  malice.  He  says,  in  a  letter,  upon 
getting  his  first  commission  to  go  and  quest: 
' '  I  am  to  be  a  great  beggar ! ' '  His  prognostication 
began  to  be  verified.  Strange  fact !  the  Honorable 
George  Spencer  a  beggar!  And  happier,  under 
all  the  trials  and  crosses  incident  to  such  a  life, 
than  if  he  had  lived  in  the  luxury  of  Althorp. 
Religion  is  carrying  out  to-day  what  its  Founder 
began  eighteen  hundred  years  ago.  He  left  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  to  live  on  the  charity  of  His 
own  creatures. — ''Life  of  Father  Igiiatius  of  St. 
Paul,  Passio?iist  {The  Hon.  George  Spencer),''  by 
the  Rev.  Father  Pius  a  Sp.  Sancto,  C.  P. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


:o7 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

The  German  Catholic  Congress  which  was  htld 
this  year  at  Bochum  in  Westphalia — one  of  the 
most  Catholic  districts  in  all  Germany,  by  the 
way, — was  a  great  success.  The  town  v^^senfete 
during  the  Congress.  Solemn  High  Mass  was 
celebrated  each  day,  and  the  churches  were  all 
filled  to  their  utmost  capacity.  Nearly  6,000  mem- 
bers were  in  attendance,  among  whom  were  some 
of  the  most  prominent  men  in  the  Empire,  includ- 
ing the  venerable  Dr.  Windthorst,  who  made  two 
stirring  speeches.  Every  important  question  of 
the  day  was  discussed.  A  telegram  from  Rome 
conveying  the  Holy  Father's  Benediction  to  the 
members  of  the  assembly  was  joyously  received. 
The  Congress  was  an  event  of  such  importance 
that  even  the  infidel  press  could  not  ignore  it, 
though  of  course  many  false  constructions  were 
put  upon  its  acts.  Munich  was  selected  as  the 
place  of  meeting  for  next  year. 

The  British  Consul  at  Santos,  Brazil,  writes  an 
enthusiastic  letter  on  the  admirable  manner  in 
which  evil  consequences  from  the  sudden  aboli- 
tion of  slaves  in  that  country  have  been  averted.  It 
is  well  known  that  the  primary  movement  toward 
emancipation  was  due  to  the  bishops,  strength- 
ened and  encouraged  by  the  Holy  Father.  Great 
trouble  in  ordinary  cases  would  have  followed  the 
freeing  of  100,000  slaves  in  the  province  of  San 
Pablo.  There  was,  of  course,  some  tension  when  the 
great  event  took  place,  but  foresight  minimized 
it.  A  system  of  immigration  had  been  organized, 
and  the  market  was  well  supplied  with  labor  when 
the  slaves  ceased  to  do  their  involuntary  work. 

It  makes  Catholics  thrill  with  satisfaction  to 
read  of  the  part  which  Cardinal  Manning  took  in 
the  recent  strikes  on  the  London  docks.  He  stood 
bravely  between  capital  and  labor,  representing 
the  Church  which  has  in  all  ages  stood  between 
the  poor  and  those  who  have  become  their  mas- 
ters. Cardinal  Manning  was  converted  to  the 
Catholic  religion  in  1851,  and  since  that  time  he 
has  reflected  steadily  the  graces  he  received. 

At  Karancade  in  the  Madura  Mission,  on  the 
shores  of  the  Indian  Ocean,  is  a  beautiful  sanct- 
uary to  the  ever-blessed  Mother  of  God  under  the 
title  of  Notre  Dame  Sengol,  or  Our  Lady  of  the 
Sceptre.  It  was  during  the  last  century  a  cele- 
brated pilgrimage,  and  it  possesses  a  miraculous 
image  to  which  a  graceful  legend  is  attached. 
After  the  ruin  of  the  Catholic  missions  in  India, 
owing  to  the  Pombal  persecution.  Our  Lady's 


chapel  had  become  a  wreck.  We  learn  from  the 
Indo-European  Correspondence  that  it  was  rebuilt 
only  lately,  by  the  Fathers  of  the  new  Madura 
Mission,  on  a  much  larger  plan  than  before. 
Begun  in  1865,  the  edifice  was  completed  in  1871 ; 
and  to  make  this  pilgrimage  again  dear  to  the 
hearts  of  the  faithful,  the  privilege  of  the  Porti- 
uncula  was  asked  for  it  and  obtained  from  Rome. 
Already  in  that  year,  187 1,  four  hundred  pilgrims 
received  Holy  Communion  and  met  at  Karancade 
to  gain  the  precious  indulgence,  and  the  number 
of  confessions  and  Communions  grew  greater 
every  year.  In  1887  it  had  reached  4,658.  The 
missionaries  love  to  speak  of  the  fervor  of  the 
pilgrims  to  the  sanctuary  of  Notre  Dame  Sengol ; 
especially  of  the  good  paravers,  the  descendants 
of  the  Christians  converted  by  St.  Francis  Xavier. 
"They  flock  to  Karancade  from  every  direction. 
As  soon  as  they  descry  the  sacred  edifice,  they 
prostrate  themselves  on  the  ground  and  remain  a 
few  moments  in  praj^er.  Then  they  continue  their 
journey,  saying  the  Rosary,  with  other  prayers 
and  hymns  to  Our  Lady." 

It  may  be  found  useful  to  note  several  decrees 
of  the  Sacred  Congregation  of  Rites  in  regard  to 
the  use  of  the  vernacular  in  prayers  or  hymns 
said  or  sung  in  presence  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament 
exposed  for  the  adoration  of  the  faithful.  These 
decrees  were  issued  January  16,  1882,  in  response 
to  questions  proposed  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop 
Fink,  of  Leavenworth.  According  to  them  the 
celebrant,  ^either  before  or  after  the  Holy  Sacrifice 
of  the  Mass,  may  recite  publicly  prayers  or  hymns 
in  the  vernacular  in  the  presence  of  the  Blessed 
Sacrament  solemnly  exposed.  Again,  when  a 
priest  celebrates  in  presence  of  the  Blessed  Sac- 
rament solemnly  exposed  through  devotion  to 
the  Sacred  Heart,  he  may  recite  in  the  vernacular 
the  acts  or  other  prayers  in  honor  of  the  Sacred 
Heart,  with  the  responses  made  by  the  faithful 
assisting.  Finally,  it  is  decreed,  in  general,  that 
hymns  in  the  vernacular  may  be  sung  during 
the  exposition  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  except 
the  Te  Deum  and  other  liturgical  pieces,  which 
may  be  sung  only  in  Latin. 


In  a  letter  from  Rome  to  the  Western  Watch- 
man, Father  Phelan  tersely  and  forcibly  sums  up 
the  question  of  the  temporal  power  of  the  Pope 
as  follows  : 

"  Here  is  the  Roman  question  in  a  few  words.  The 
Pope  must  not  be  dependent  ou  any  earthly  prince  for 
anything.  Protection  is  purchased  in  the  long  run 
by  submission.  The  Catholic  world  does  not  want  its 
head  in  the  temporal  keeping  of  any  king  or  prince. 
The  Italian  Government  would  give  the  Pope  palaces 


368 


The  Ave  Maria. 


and  guards  and  a  revenue  second  only  to  that  of  the 
King ;  but  in  the  end  the  Pope  would  be  an  attache 
of  the  Italian  crown. 

"The  Popi  must  be  iadepeuden'  in  tejuporals  as 
well  as  spirituals,  and  must  therefore  have  temporal 
princedom  somewhere.  England  could  give  him 
Malta,  Spain  would  give  him  a  choice  of  a  half  dozen 
snug  principalities,  Austria  would  welcome  him  to 
hospitality  and  independence.  He  must  be  free  some- 
where ;  but  where  more  properly  than  in  a  city  the 
Popes  have  three  times  s  ived  from  destruction,  which 
they  made  what  it  is,  and  which  but  for  them  would 
give  modern  statesmen  as  little  trouble  as  ancient 
Carthage?  The  Pope  must  be  free,  and  free  in  Rome. ' ' 

Furthermore,  Rome  is  the  proper  centre  of  the 
temporal  power  of  the  Pope,  because  the  Pope  is 
the  rightful  owner  of  it. 


At  Lourdes,  during  the  national  French  pil- 
grimage, the  cures  were  most  numerous  at  the 
afternoon  procession  of  the  Blessed  vSacrament. 
The  most  remarkable  were  those  of  a  young  lady 
afflicted  by  a  tumor  and  a  blind  girl.  The  effect 
of  20,000  voices  repeating  the  invocations  to  the 
Blessed  Sacrament  was  pathetic  and  solemn. 

The  society  for  the  study  of  the  Holy  Scriptures 
at  Rome  is  making  great  progress,  under  the 
direction  of  the  Propaganda.  Archbishop  Jacobini 
and  the  celebrated  Professor  de  Rossi  are  among 
the  most  active  and  enthusiastic  members. 


Roman  correspondents  chronicle  the  conver- 
sion of  an  unfortunate  priest,  named  Antonio 
FraaGhi,who  had  been  separated  from  the  Church 
for  forty  years.  He  has  published  a  formal  retrac- 
tation of  all  his  errors,  with  an  apologetic  affir- 
mation of  Catholic  doctrine. 


It  is  rumored,  apparentl}''  on  good  foundation, 
that  Austria  will  at  last  interfere  on  behalf  of 
the  Sovereign  Pontiff. 

The  little  King  of  Spain  is  now  three  years 
old.  So  far  he  has  had  no  important  sickness. 
He  no  longer  needs  Raimunda,  the  nurse  who 
assisted  him  in  his  earlier  j'ears  ;  she  is  waiting, 
proud  and  important,  to  go  back  to  her  native 
place.  At  eight  o'clock,  when  the  palace  guard  is 
relieved,  his  Majesty  appears  on  the  balcony. 
The  music  of  the  regiment  makes  him  jump. 
Then  the  public  waits  for  his  Majesty  the  Baby 
to  speak.  ' '  Good-day ! "  he  says,  adding  the  Chris- 
tian name  of  the  person  addressed.  He  smiles  at 
the  small  boys  and  girls  thai  have  gathered  in 
the  street,  and  bids  them  good-bye,  saying,  "I'll 
see  you  to-morrow, — mamma  is  waiting  for  me." 
The  grave  and  revered  General  Cordoba,  head  of 
the  military  household,  is  always  called  Johnny 


(Juanito),  and  i^  one  of  the  chums  of  the  little 
fellow.  On  Sundays  Alphonso  XII F.  assists  at 
Holy  Mass  with  his  mother.  Sometimes  lie  does 
not  behave  with  perfect  propriety,  and  recently 
he  whispered  to  General  Cordoba:  "Johnny! 
Johnny !  "  He  shows  that  he  can  sing  by  lilting 
the  March  Ro^^al,  which  he  has  heard  so.often.  In 
the  evening  he  prays  "for  papa,  who  is  in  heaven  ; 
for  Spain";  and  then  he  sa)s:  "Good-night, 
mamma!"  "Good-night,  my  child!"  the  Queen 


answers,  and  he  goes  to  sleep, 
only  for  him. 


His  mother  lives 


M.  Eiffel  would  hold  even  a  higher  place  than 
he  does  in  the  estimation  of  some  of  his  country- 
men if  he  were  not  a  stanch  Catholic.  M.  Pasteur, 
another  famous  Frenchman,  is  not  in  favor  with 
the  same  class  for  like  reasons.  The  Paris  corre- 
spondent of  the  Catholic  Times  mentions  that  the 
municipal  councillors  of  the  great  scientist's 
native  town  have  changed  the  name  of  a  street 
there  known  as  Rue  Pasteur,  simply  because  in 
distributing  prizes  to  some  school  children  on  a 
recent  occasion  he  recommended  them  to  unite 
God  and  country  in  their  aff'ections. 

The  following  contributions  to  the  support  of 
the  missions  of  the  Passionist  Fathers  in  South 
America  have  been  gratefully  received  : 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Mcintosh,  $5;  A.  B.  O.,  I1.75;  A 
Friend.  Levis,  Que.,  $5  ;  Mrs.  Mary  Fenlon, ^2  ;  James 
Edwards,  %i\  W.  M.,  in  honor  of  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes, 
|2;  A  Friend,  Lowell,  Ind.,  $1 ;  Nora  Leahan,  |2 ; 
Irish-American,  ^i ;  Friends,  Providence,  R.  I.,  |2. 


New  Publications. 

First  Steps  in  Science.   Translated  and  Ar- 
ranged from  the  French  by  Maurice  Francis  Egan, 
LL-  D.   With  Notes  and  Introduction  by  the  Rev. 
J.  A.  Zahm.  C.S.  C.  New  York  :  William  H.  Sadlier. 
Though  this  little  book  is  elementary,  as  the 
title  indicates,  and  is  specially  intended  for  the 
use  of  schools,  it  contains  much  information  that, 
we  dare  say,  would  be  new,  interesting,  and  valu- 
able to  the  great  majority  of  adults.   It  is  by  no 
means  a  servile  translation.  Sound  judgment  and 
wise  discrimination  were  exercised  by  the  learned 
translator  in  selecting  what  is  most  fitting  for 
the  young  to  read  and  most  profitable  for  them 
to  learn.  The  merits  of  the  work  may  be  better 
understood  and  appreciated  when  it  is  stated  that 
in  the  original  it  ranks  as  the  most  popular  ele- 
mentary treatise  on  science  ever  published  in 
France.  And  as  to  Dr.  Egan's  translation,  it  may 
safely  be  said  that,  with  carefully  prepared  notes. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


309 


language  studiously  plain',  and  over  400  illustra- 
i ions,  it  does  not  suffer  by  comparison  with  the 
Driginal. 

Although    it   is    admittedly  difficult  to  learn 

scientific  principles  accurately,  yet  in  this  text- 

i>ook  they  are  stated  so  intelligibly  and  illus- 

i  rated  so  appositely  that  even  children  can  readily 

understand  them.    In  the  work  devolving  upon 

liim  the  learned  translator  has  exhibited  an  ac- 

'  urate  knowledge  of  the  French  language,  while 

iS  editor  he  has  shown  tact  and  taste  of  a  high 

irder  in  the  choice  and  arrangement  of  the  topics 

Liid  subject-matter.  As  already  stated,  the  book 

may  be  read  with  interest  and  profit  by  adults, 

but  nevertheless  it  is  specially  adapted  for  use 

in  our  Catholic  schools.  We  trust  that  it  may 

meet  with  the  generous  patronage  to  which  its 

merits  entitle  it. 

RECORDS  OP  THE  American  Catholic  His- 
torical, Society  of  Phii^adeIvPHIA.  Vol.'  II. — 
1886-88.  Published  by  the  Society.  1889. 
The  Records  are  a  compilation  of  interesting 
and  instructive  data  and  documents,  articles  and 
])apers,  relative  to  the  history  of  the  Catholic 
Church  in  the  United  States.  They  contain  also 
much  valuable  information  in  the  nature  of  bio- 
c^raphical  sketches.  The  present  volume  deals 
largely  with  matters  more  or  less  obscure  in  the 
early  history  of  the  Church  in  the  United  States. 
It  draws  attention  to  much  useful  information 
hat  would  probably  sink  altogether  into  oblivion 
.  1  not  thus  recorded.  The  paper  and  typography 
of  the  book  are  excellent ;  but,  with  a  view  to 
bringing  it  within  the  reach  of  the  popular  de- 
mand, it  was  thought  best  to  have  it  bound  in 
paper  covers.  The  work  of  the  American  Catholic 
Historical  Societ}^  in  so  discriminatingly  collating 
the  dUa  it  contains,  and  so  creditably  publishing 
the  same,  is  worthy  of  the  highest  commendation. 
Originally  a  Philadelphia  body,  this  Society  has 
of  late  been  steadily  extending  its  scope,  and 
giving  strong  assurance  of  attaining  to  national 
importance. 

An  Explanation    of    the   Constitution   op 
THE  United  vStates.   By  Francis  T.  Furey,  A.  M. 
New  York  :  Catholic  Publication  Society  Co. 
This  meritorious  little  work  is  intended  for  use 
in  Catholic  schools,  academies  and  colleger.   It  is 
reduced  to  questions  and  answers,  and  deals  fully 
and  accurately  with  the  subject  of  which  it  treats. 
This  method  of  explaining  the  Constitution  has 
the  merit  of  novelty  and  clearness.    It  has  sug- 
gested for  the  little  volume  the  title  "  Catechism 
of  the  Constitution."   The  author  very  properly 
states  that  the  study  of  the  Constitution  is  far 
less   general   than   it   should  be.    Even    among 
graduates  of  collegiate  institutions  a  knowledge 


of  that  great  instrument  is  often  wofully  lacking. 
It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  publication  of  this  in- 
structive little  work  will  promote  zeal  in  the 
study  of  the  chart  of  our  liberties. 

Botany  for  Academies  and  Colleges.  By 
Annie  Chambers- Ketchum,  A,  M.  .Philadelphia: 
J.  B.  Ivippincott  Co.  1889. 

An  excellent  elementary  work,  copiously  illus- 
trated with  wood-cuts,  making  a  specialty  of 
the  evolution  of  plant  organisms  passing  gradu- 
ally from  the  simpler  forms  to  the  more  complex. 
Fossil  plants  are  given  due  consideration  in  the 
system,  and  the  connecting  links  in  the  vegetable 
world  are  made  sufficiently  evident.  The  outline 
of  species  and  their  characteristics  at  the  end  is  all 
that  it  professes  to  be,  but  not  enough  to  enable 
the  otherwise  unaided  student  to  determine  an 
unkno.vn  species.  We  are  pleased  to  see  that  the 
interest  in  what  is  known  as  systematic  botany 
is  reviving. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii.  3. 

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

Sister  Mary  Agnes  (Stokes),  of  the  Sisters  of  Mercy, 
San  Francisco,  Cal.,  who  was  called  to  her  reward  on 
the  27th  ult. 

Henry  Kramer,  E^q.,  who  departed  this  life  on  the 
I3tli  of  June,  in  Cleveland,  Ohio. 

Mrs.  S  B.  S!;e2le,  who  lately  die  I  a  holy  deatli  at 
Goshen,  Ky. 

Mr.  Patrick  Bohan,  of  Maspeth  (Iv.  I.),  N.Y.,  who 
passed  away  on  the  nth  inst,  fortified  by  the  last 
Sacraments. 

Mrs.  Margaret  Tuohy,  whose  happy  death  occurred 
at  Bardstown,  Ky.,  on  the  6th  inst. 

Mr.  J.  Gavin  Donnelly,  formerly  of  Philadelpliia, 
who  breathed  his  last  on  the  9th  inst.,  at  Donnelly, 
Minn. 

Mrs.  Jam 2S  F.  Murp'iy,  of  B  itfalo,  N.  Y.,  whose 
exemplary  Christian  life  closed  in  a  happy  death  on 
the  28th  ult. 

William  L-^ouard,  Sibrinia  Ryan,  Mrs.  Hauora  Con- 
sidiae,  Isal)ella  Gaffeney,  and  Jane  Dillon,  of  New 
York ;  Mr.  Thomas  Keilty,  Mrs.  Annie  Tobin,  Mrs. 
Mary  D.  Doyle,  Mrs.  Mary  Kelly,  and  Mr.  James  Hig- 
gins, — all  of  Albany,  N.  Y.;  Mrs.  William  Fitzgerald, 
and  Mr.  James  Malley,  Chicago.  III.;  Charles  Dillon 
Barrett,  M.  D.  (  Bally  faruan).  Mrs.  Margaret  Walsh 
(Cork),  Mrs  Rose  Malone  (Co.  Derry),  Ireland ;  Mrs. 
Margaret  Mulcahey,  Boston,  Mass. ;  Margaret  Kiuny, 
County  Line,  Mich. ;  Mary  E.  Mukantz,  Manistee, 
Mich.;  Peter  and  Mary  McKone,  James,  Patrick  and 
Anna  Berry,  East  Saginaw,  Mich. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace  ! 


3IO 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  Value  of  Exactness. 

BY   E.  V.  N. 

Early  in  May,  some  twenty-five  years  ago, 
Charles  Malloy,  a  young  man  of  twenty,  with- 
out family  or  fortune,  left  a  little  village  in  the 
mining  district  of  Pennsylvania,  the  place  of 
his  birth,  and  set  out  for  Philadelphia.  He 
was  the  bearer  of  a  letter  from  the  priest  of 
his  parish  to  a  lady  whom  we  may  as  well  call 
Miss  Costello,  and  to  whom  he  was  an  entire 
stranger.  She  was  a  woman  of  kind  heart 
and  good  mind,  and,  upon  reading  his  letter, 
she  said  to  him  in  her  old-fashioned  words : 

"You  arrive  at  a  most  favorable  moment. 
Yesterday  Mr.  James,  a  banker  on  X  Street, 
asked  me  if  I  knew  of  any  competent  and 
trusty  young  man  whom  I  could  vouch  for,  as 
he  needed  an  accountant.  The  salary  he  offers 
is  small  and  the  position  modest,  but  it  will 
most  certainly  be  improved  if  you  will  agree 
to  subject  yourself  to  one  condition  which  I 
will  indicate  to  you.  It  may  be  an  old  woman's 
whim,  but  I  know  Mr.  James  well,  and  am 
sure  my  suggestion  will  benefit  you." 

Charles  was  so  pleased  and  grateful  for  his 
kind  reception  that  he  was  ready  to  promise 
almost  anything,  and  so  expressed  himself  in 
polite  terms. 

"At  Mr.  James'  bank,"  said  Miss  Costello, 
"the  employ  is  are  expected  to  arrive  at  nine 
o'clock  in  the  morning;  they  leave  at  five  in 
the  afternoou.  I  ask  of  you  that  each  day 
without  fail  you  take  care  to  be  there  two 
minutes  before  nine,  and  remain  until  two 
minutes  after  five. ' ' 

Charles  had  listened  attentively  to  her  words, 
and  when  she  finished  speaking  he  bowed  in 
token  of  assent.  Nevertheless,  a  smile  played 
around  his  lips,  which  seemed  to  say,  "My 
good  old  lady,  there  was  no  need  of  all  those 
words  and  that  impressive  manner  to  induce 
me  to  heed  a  request  so  simple. ' ' 

Miss  Costello  observed  ihe  smile,  slight  as 
it  was. 


"Ah,  you  feel  like  laughing  at  my  require- 
ment! I  forgive  you  because  you  do  not  realize 
its  importance.  Some  day  you  will  understand 
my  motives ;  now  I  only  ask  you  to  promise, 
and  to  keep  that  promise." 

Charles  did  as  she  desired,  and  in  due  time 
entered  the  bank  of  Mr.  James.  He  had  wor- 
thily filled  his  place  for  about  six  months,  when 
his  employer  paid  a  visit  to  Miss  Costello, 
and  in  her  drawing-room  met  Mr.  Philips, 
another  prominent  banker.  In  the  course  of 
conversation,  in  which  the  hostess  well  knew 
how  to  sustain  her  part,  Mr.  James  said : 

*  'Ah,  my  friend,  I  must  not  forget  to  thank 
you  for  that  excellent  clerk  you  sent  me — 
young  Malloy!  He  is  a  real  treasure.  All  his 
comrades  come  creeping  in  ten  or  fifteen  min- 
utes after  the  bank  is  opened,  and  leave  before 
it  is  closed ;  but  yoyxr protegi  is  always  prompt 
— the  first  to  come  and  the  last  to  go." 

When  he  had  finished  praising  Charles, 
Mr.  Philips  said  to  him  : 

"If  you  will  surrender  this  model  clerk  to 
me,  I  will  double  his  salary.  Yes,  I  will  do 
more :  I  will  give  him  eight  hundred  a  year ; 
for  just  now  I  have  need  of  a  trusty  eviployi^ 
"I  am  sorry  to  part  with  him,"  answered 
Mr.  James,  "but  he  really  deserves  success.  I 
will  sacrifice  my  interests  to  his.  Take  him, 
and  may  God  bless  him! " 

When  Charles  heard  of  the  good  fortune,  his 
first  act  was  to  solemnly  give  thanks.  That 
done,  he  hurried  to  his  benefactress,  and, 
taking  her  hand  with  respectful  and  grateful 
afiection,  he  said : 

"Madam,  you- were  right.  I  owe  all  this 
to  your  counsel ;  for  it  was  you  who  started 
me  on  the  road  to  success,  and  I  thank  you 
from  my  heart." 

Miss  Costello  was  deeply  moved,  and  said : 
"Continue  to  be  faithful  to  that  little  habit, 
and  I  believe  that  your  prosperity  is  only  just 
beginning."  Then  she  added  some  kind  words, 
and  he  took  his  departure. 

Some  months  later  the  two  bankers  met 
again  at  Miss  Costello's  house.  Mr.  James  was 
careworn  and  taciturn.  Finally  he  remarked 
that  an  unfaithful  cashier  had  managed  to  rob 
him  of  a  considerable  sum,  and  he  begged  Mr. 
Philips  to  give  him  back  his  faithful  Malloy. 
Mr.  Philips  would  not  promise,  but  said  that 
he  would  think  the  matter  over,  and  they 


The  Ave  Maria. 


311 


parted ;  Mr.  James  adding  that  of  course  he 
would  give  Charles  the  same  amount — eight 
hundred  dollars — that  he  was  then  receiving. 

The  next  day  Charles  was  called  to  the 
private  office  of  Mr.  Philips,  who  stated  the 
case  clearly  to  him. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  upset  the  plans  of  a  fellow- 
banker  and  good  friend,"  he  said;  "but  I 
value  your  services  highly,  and  to  prove  it  I 
will  raise  your  salary  to  nine  hundred  dollars 
if  you  will  stay  with  me." 

Charles  asked  twenty-four  hours  for  reflec- 
tion The  next  morning,  at  two  minutes  before 
nine,  he  again  presented  himself  at  Mr.  Philip's 
private  office. 

"Sir,"  he  began,  "I  am  very  much  touched 
by  your  generous  offer,  and  still  more  by  your 
kind  words.  You  will  excuse  me  if  I  resist 
both.  When  I  came  here  I  was  friendless  and 
penniless,  and  my  future  very  dark.  God  led 
me  to  Mr.  James,  who  became  my  friend,  and 
now  that  he  is  in  trouble  I  would  like  to  show 
that  I  am  grateful.  Be  kind  enough  to  allow 
me  to  return  to  his  employ." 

Mr.  Philips  was  pleased  with  Charles'  noble 
conduct.  He  allowed  him  to  go,  and  he  was 
reinstated  in  the  bank  of  Mr.  James  at  a 
salary  of  eight  hundred  dollars. 

A  few  weeks  later  the  bankers  met  again, 
and  Mr.  Philips  inquired  how  young  Malloy 
was  getting  on. 

"Capitally!"  said  Mr.  James. 

"What  salary  do  you  give  him?" 

"Eight  hundred,  as  I  said  I  should." 

"Did  he  tell  you  that  I  offered  him  nine 
hundred  to  stay  with  me?" 

"He  never  said  a  word  about  it!" 

Then  Mr.  Philips  told  what  had  passed 
between  him  and  the  valued  clerk,  adding, 
"He  is  not  only  a  faithful  employe,  but  a  noble 
young  man." 

Mr.  James  was  much  touched  by  the  deli- 
cacy of  Charles,  and  immediately  raised  his 
salary  to  the  amount  which  the  other  banker 
had  offered  him.  In  due  time  the  young  man 
was  made  a  partner  in  the  bank,  and,  after  the 
old  and  pleasant  fashion,  married  the  senior 
partner's  daughter — a  modest,  pious  and  ac- 
complished girl.  It  is  said  that  the  wedding 
was  set  for  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  but 
that  Charles  entered  the  church  just  two 
minutes  before  nine. 


Exactness  has  great  advantages.  It  may 
not  bring  wealth  to  all,  but  it  will  lengthen 
days  and  multiply  years.  It  will  make  life 
more  pleasant  to  us,  and  render  every  one 
about  us  more  comfortable.  Indeed,  it  is  such 
a  source  of  innocent  pleasure  to  those  with 
whom  we  have  to  deal  that  it  deserves  to  be 
called  a  virtue.  And  virtue,  we  all  know,  is  its 
own  reward,  even  if  there  should  be  no  other. 


A  Marvel  of  Our  Own  Time. 


On  the  13th  of  December,  1856,  the  mother 
of  the  Rev.  Father  Hermann  died  in  the  Jewish 
faith,  notwithstanding  all  the  prayers  offered 
up  for  her  by  her  son.  He  was  then  preach- 
ing at  Lyons.  "God  has  struck  my  heart  a 
terrible  blow,"  he  wrote  to  one  of  his  friends. 
"My  poor  mother  is  dead,  and  I  am  in  doubt 
about  her.  However,  we  have  prayed  so  much 
that  we  must  hope  something  has  passed 
between  her  soul  and  God  during  her  last 
moments,  which  is  unknown  to  us." 

The  grief  of  the  "good  priest  was  deep  and 
lasting.  On  the  evening  of  the  day  the  sad 
news  reached  him  he  ascended  the  pulpit. 
His  sermon  was  on  death,  and  he  found  ex- 
pressions which  went  to  the  inmost  hearts  of 
his  numerous  listeners ;  and  when  at  the  end  of 
his  discourse  he  poured  forth  his  own  sorrow 
to  his  audience,  his  words  found  in  all  a  most 
sympathetic  echo. 

Some  time  after  he  confided  to  the  holy 
Cure  of  Ars  his  uneasiness  respecting  the  fate 
of  his  mother,  dead  without  the  grace  of  bap- 
tism. * '  Hope, ' '  replied  the  holy  priest ;  ' '  hope. 
You  will  get  a  letter  on  the  Feast  of  the  Im- 
maculate Conception  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
which  will  bring  you  great  consolation." 

These  words  were  almost  forgotten,  when, 
on  the  8th  of  December,  1861,  a  saintly  Jesuit 
Father,  who  has  since  died  in  the  odor  of  sanc- 
tity, sent  Father  Hermann  the  following  letter: 

"On  October  18,  after  Holy  Communion, 
I  found  myself  in  one  of  those  moments  of 
intimate  union  with  God;  and,  recalling  a 
conversation  that  I  had  on  the  previous  even- 
ing with  one  of  my  friends  on  the  efficacy  of 
prayer,  I  ventured  to  ask  our  Blessed  Lord 
how  He  could  refuse  Father  Hermaiui  the 
conversion  of  his  mother.  . .  .  Our  Lord  then 


3^^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


enlightened  me  with  a  ray  of  His  divine  light, 
and  showed  me  what  I  shall  try  to  relate. 

"At  the  moment  when  Father  Hermann's 
molher  was  alwnt  to  breathe  her  last,  and 
when  she  seemed  to  have  lost  consciousness 
and  was  almost  lifeless,  Mary,  our  Heavenly 
Mother,  went  to  her  Divine  Son.  and,  pros- 
trating herself  before  Him,  said  :  '  Pardon, 
pity,  O  my  Son.  for  this  soul!  Do,  I  implore  of 
Thee,  for  the  mother  of  my  servant  Hermann 
that  which  Thou  wouldst  wish  him  to  do  for 
Thine,  if  she  were  in  her  place  and  Thou  wert 
in  his.  The  soul  of  his  mother  is  his  dearest 
possession:  a  thousand  times  has  he  conse- 
crated it  to  me;  he  has  confided  her  to  the 
tenderness  and  solicitude  of  my  Heart.  Can  I 
let  her  perish  ?  No.  no!  This  soul  is  my  prop- 
erty ;  I  want  it,  I  claim  it  as  an  inheritance, — 
as  the  price  of  Thy  Blood,  and  of  my  sorrows 
at  the  foot  of  Thy  Cross! ' 

"Hardly  had  the  divine  suppliant  ceased  to 
speak,  when  a  'itrong  and  powerful  grace  em- 
anated from  the  Adorable  Heart  of  Jesus 
and  illumined  the  soul  of  the  poor  Jewess. 
Vlready  at  the  point  of  death,  this  soul  turned 
toward  our  Saviour,  and  cried  out  with  a  lov- 
ing confidence:  'O  Jesus.  God  of  Christians, 
God  whom  my  son  adores.  I  believe,  I  hoj>e  in 
Thee!  Have  mercy  on  me ! '  At  these  words, 
which  included  at  once  regrets  for  her  obsti- 
nacy, her  baptismal  vows,  and  an  outburst  of 
love,  her  captive  soul  broke  its  bonds,  alid 
went  to  fall  at  the  feet  of  Him  who  had  been 
her  Saviour  before  becoming  her  Judge. 

"Marj^  had  triumphed!  *  Make  this  known 
to  Father  Hermann,'  added  our  Saviour:  *it 
is  a  consolation  !hat  I  wish  to  accord  to  his 
long  suspense,  so  tl'at  he  may  bless  and  make 
everywhere  blessed  the  goodness  of  My  Moth- 
er's Heart,  and  her  power  over  Mine.* " 


Murillo's  Slave. 


\^irgin  was  found  there  one  morning,  at  sight 
of  which  Murillo  was  lost  in  admiration.  But 
no  one  could  tell  by  whom  it  was  done;  no 
one  suspected  the  mulatto  boy.  One  night, 
however,  Sebastian  became  so  absorbed  in 
his  painting  that  he  continued  until  morning,  , 
when  Murillo  entered  the  studio  and  found  j 
him  at  work.  Entranced  with  the  picture,  he 
promised  the  slave  boy  whatever  he  would  ask. 
At  these  words  Sebastian  uttered  a  cry  of 
J03',  and,  raising  his  eyes  to  his  master,  said: 
"The  freedom  of  my  father!  tlie  freedom  of 
my  father!" 

"And  thine  also,"  said  Murillo,  who,  no 
longer  able  to  conceal  his  emotion,  threw 
his  arms  around  Sebastian  and  pressed  him 
to  his  breast.  "Your  work,"  he  continued, 
"shows  that  you  have  talent;  your  request 
proves  that  you  have  a  heart.  From  this  day 
consider  yourself  not  only  my  pupil,  but  as 
my  son.  I  have  done  more  than  paint :  I  have 
[  made  a  painter." 

I      Murillo  kept  his  word,  and  Sebastian  Gomez. 

better  known  under  the  name  of  the  mulatto 

I  of  Murillo,  became  one  of  the  most  celebrated 

I  painters  in  Spain.  There  may  yet  be  seen  in 

!  the  churches  of  Seville  the  celebrated  picture 

;  which  his  master  had  found  him  painting; 

:  also  a  "St.  Anne,"  admirably  done:  a  "St. 

;  Joseph,"  which  is  extremely  beautiful;  and 

others   of    the    highest    merit. — Our  Dumb 

Animals. 

A  Triumph  of  Meekness. 


Sebastian  Gomez  was  a  mulatto  boy,  em- 
ployed in  the  studio  of  Murillo,  the  great 
Spanish  painter.  He  and  his  father  were  both 
slaves.  He  s^ept  in  the  studio  at  night,  and. 
after  all  others  were  gone,  he  was  accustomed 
to  rise  and  practise  what  he  had  o\-erheard  of 
the  instructions  given  to  the  pnpils  during 
the  day.  A  wonderful  picture  of  the  [Blessed] 


When  the  wars  of  the  Empire  raged,  a 
French  priest,  the  Abbe  Caron,  travelled  to 
London  for  the  purpose  of  asking  of  the  rich 
merchants  there  alms  for  the  suffering  pris- 
oners of  war  held  by  the  English.  He  went  to 
one  man  of  wealth,  an  alderman,  who  refused 
his  request.  The  Abbe  gently  repeated  it.  when 
the  alderman  gave  him  a  blow  and  bade  him 
be  gone  at  once. 

"I  don  t  mind  the  blow."  said  the  priest, 
"but  I  would  like  some  assistance  for  those 
poor  people." 

At  this  the  man.  almosi  stupefied  with  as- 
tonishment, handed  his  \nsilor  a  large  sum  ot 
money :  and  the  good  Abbe  smiled,  no  longer 
remembering  the  blow,  but  thinking  of  the 
relief  he  could  now  gi\'e  to  the  prisoners. 


^OL.  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  OCTOBER  5,  1889. 


No.  14. 


[Published  every  Saturday.    Copyright 


To  My  Angel,  on  a  Wakeful  Night. 


BV   MARY   E.  MANNIX. 

ANGEL,  who  guides!  my  days 
And  giiardest  my  rest, 
Lead  me  through  shadovv\'  ways  ; 
Let  me  cling  closely,  closely, — 
Gather  me  near  to  thy  breast ; 
Rock  me  on  billows  of  sleep, 
Wave  upon  wave  as  they  creep  ; 
Soothe  me,  soothe  me  to  rest. 

Fold  thy  light  wings  o'er  my  brow  : 

Fain  would  I  sleep. 
Angel,  thou'rt  near  to  me  now, — 
Let  me  cling  closely,  closelj*. 

Grey  wax  the  shadows  and  deep, 
Dulling  the  anguish  and  pain, 
Resting  the  tired,  throbbing  brain, — 

Softly,  softly— I  sleep! 


The  October  Devotion. 


H ROUGH  the  fall  of  our  first  parents, 
yielding  to  the  siiggestions  of  the 
Evil  One,  suffering  and  death  entered 
into  the  world,  and  the  demon  became  its 
conqueror.  He  caused  men  to  be  wicked  and 
cruel  like  himself,  filled  with  hatred  toward 
God  and  their  fellow-men.  Hence  the  fury  of 
tyrants  in  regard  to  their  subjects  and  their 
slaves ;  hence  those  human  sacrifices,  which 
still  subsist  in  pagan  countries  where  Christ  is 
unknown ;  hence  the  bloody  wars  and  revo- 
lutions that  have  sprung  up  among  peoples. 
It  is  to  this  terrible  and  deadly  influence  of 
the  demon  that  must  be  attributed  the  hor- 


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

rible  deformity  of  so  many  monsters  in  human 
form,  who  devote  to  the  service  of  hell  their 
hearts,  their  lips,  their  talents — all  that  they 
possess. 

But,  thanks  to  the  infinite  mercy  of  God, 
there  stands  opposed  to  the  ravages  of  the 
serpent  the  sweet  Queen  of  souls,  the  Virgin 
full  of  grace.  He  has  given  her  to  the  sorrow- 
ing children  of  Eve  to  crush  the  head  of  the 
venomous  serpent,  and  to  be  the  means 
through  which  blessings  in  abundance  may 
be  poured  down  upon  us.  A  Christian,  through 
Baptism,  becomes  by  right  the  subject  of  this 
Heavenly  Queen,  the  ever-blessed  Mother  of 
our  Redeemer.  Nevertheless,  life  is  so  full  of 
dangers,  the  demon  gees  about  with  such 
fury,  and  besets  our  path  with  so  many  obsta- 
cles and  difficulties,  that  all  who  have  at  heart 
their  best  interests,  and  would  most  securely 
guard  against  the  attacks  of  Satan,  associate 
themselves  with  one  of  the  confraternities  of 
the  Queen  of  Heaven.  Especially  does  the 
venerable  Confraternity  of  the  Rosary  com- 
mend itself  to  the  Christian  soul,  because  its 
object  is  the  propagation  of  a  devotion  that 
is,  of  all  others  in  honor  of  the  Mother  of  God, 
the  most  salutary  to  each  one  of  us.  The  truth 
of  this  will  be  evident  after  a  brief  considera- 
tion of  some  signal  manifestations  of  the  effi- 
cac}^  of  this  form  of  prayer  and  the  spiritual 
advantages  associated  with  it. 

In  the  twelfth  century  the  terrible  heresy 
of  the  Albigenses  spread  its  blighting  influ- 
ence throughout  the  south  of  France.  Its 
followers  blasphemed  our  Divine  Lord  and 
His  Blessed  Mother,  massacred  priests,  relig- 
ious, and  all  who  would  not  take  part  in 
their  crimes.  They  burned  temples  and  spread 


314 


The  Ave  Maria, 


destruction  and  ruin  everywhere.  Catholic 
armies  were  unable  to  exterminate  the  multi- 
tude of  these  wretched  sectaries.  St.  Dominic, 
sent  by  the  Holy  See,  saw  that  his  only  hope, 
his  only  resource  in  this  crisis  was  to  seek 
the  intervention  of  her  who  is  never  invoked 
in  vain.  The  Queen  of  Mercy  appeared  to  him, 
holding  her  Divine  Child  in  her  arms,  and 
presented  to  him  a  Rosary,  promising  that 
help  and  victory  would  be  given  him  through 
its  means.  The  Rosary  was  established,  and, 
more  powerful  than  all  armies,  it  brought  back 
to  the  altars  of  Jesus  Christ  more  than  one 
hundred  thousand  of  these  heretics. 

Two  centuries  later  Europe  trembled  before 
the  invasion  of  the  Turks.  The  Mahometan 
fleet,  more  formidable  than  any  that  had  ev^er 
been  seen  on  the  Mediterranean,  was  advanc- 
ing upon  Venice  to  pour  forth  its  armed 
hordes  upon  the  whole  of  the  West.  Terror 
and  despair  seemed  to  take  possession  of  the 
hearts  of  the  faithful.  While  the  Sovereign 
Pontiff  St.  Pius  V.  was  invoking  the  help  of 
Mary  through  the  devotion  of  the  Rosary,  the 
illustrious  Don  John  of  Austria  advanced  to 
meet  them  with  his  small  fleet,  far  inferior  to 
that  of  the  enemy,  but  full  of  confidence  in 
Our  Lady  of  the  Rosary,  whose  standard 
floated  above  his  ship.  After  a  terrible  con- 
flict the  Christians  gained  a  glorious  and 
decisive  victory  over  the  infidels. 

At  a  later  period  the  Turks  attempted  by 
land  to  gain  their  end,  in  which  they  had  been 
unsuccessful  by  sea.  An  innumerable  army 
besieged  Vienna  in  Austria,  and  once  more 
Europe  was  in  dismay.  The  walls  of  the  city 
were  beaten  down,  and  the  corpses  of  the  brave 
defenders  filled  the  surrounding  ditches.  Sud- 
denly the  noble  King  of  Poland,  John  Sobieski, 
appeared  at  the  head  of  his  soldiers,  few  in 
numbers,  but  strong  and  courageous  in  their 
fidelity  and  devotion  to  Mary,  whose  standard 
was  carried  at  their  head.  Vienna  was  saved. 
Two  hundred  thousand  Mahometans  perished 
in  that  battle,  fought  on  a  festival  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  and  won  by  her  faithful  clients. 
In  connection  with  this  important  victory  the 
title  "Help  of  Christians"  was  given  to  our 
Blessed  Lady  and  inserted  in  her  Litany. 

Thus  Mary  has  delivered  the  world  from 
war  and  heresy,  from  the  cruel  and  unclean 
yoke  of  the  false  prophet ;  that  is  to  say,  from 


the  most  destructive  efforts  of  the  enemy  of 
mankind.  Mary  is  indeed  the  Queen  of  peace,' 
the  Queen  of  victory;  and  even  though  we 
should  be  subjected  to  the  fiercest  temptations 
of  Satan,  he  is  forced  to  retire  defeated  when 
we  invoke  the  powerful  aid  of  Mary. 

The  Holy  Rosary  is  a  devotion  most  salu- 
tary to  the  Christian  soul.  Why  is  it  that  so 
many  plunge  into  the  way  of  perdition  and 
give  themselves  over  to  the  Evil  One?  It  is 
because  they  have  lost  sight  of  the  greatness 
of  their  immortal  souls,  and  the  infinite  value 
which  they  possess  in  the  sight  of  God.  But  to 
recall  these  wretched  sinners  from  the  depths 
of  their  misery  nothing  can  be  more  efficacious 
than  the  consideration  of  the  august  mysteries 
accomplished  by  the  Son  of  God  in  order  to  re- 
deem them.  Now,  this  is  what  is  done  through 
the  devotion  of  the  Rosary.  In  the  practice  of 
this  devotion  each  of  the  great  mysteries  con- 
nected with  the  central  mystery  of  the  Incar- 
nation is  brought  before  our  minds,  and  we  are 
to  dwell  upon  it  in  a  spirit  of  prayer  that  it 
may  produce  its  impression  upon  us. 

In  the  Joyful  Mysteries  we  begin  by  con- 
templating the  mysterj^  of  the  Annunciation, 
when  the  Archangel  Gabriel,  having  been  sent 
by  God,  appeared  to  the  Virgin  Mary  and 
made  known  to  her  that  she  was  the  one 
chosen  to  be  the  Mother  of  the  Redeemer  of 
the  world.  Then  we  consider  the  visit  which 
the  Virgin  Mother  paid  to  her  cousin  St. 
Elizabeth,  and  reflect  upon  the  inspired  words 
that  were  uttered — "Blessed  is  the  Fruit  of 
thy  womb!"  We  then  place  ourselves  in 
spirit  in  the  Stable  at  Bethlehem,  and  think 
of  the  outward  fulfilment  of  the  mystery  in 
the  birth  of  the  Son  of  God.  We  next  enter 
the  Temple  of  Jerusalem,  and  witness  the 
Presentation  of  the  Child  Jesus.  And  then  we 
think  of  the  three  days'  loss  of  the  Divine 
Child,  when  He  was  twelve  years  old,  and  the 
joy  that  filled  the  hearts  of  His  Blessed  Mother 
and  St.  Joseph  when  they  found  Him  in  the 
Temple  in  the  midst  of  the  Doctors.  In  the 
second  set— the  Sorrowful  Mysteries — we  are 
made  to  c  msider  some  of  the  chief  events  of 
the  Passion  of  our  Divine  Redeemer.  We  begin 
with  the  Agony  in  the  Garden  of  Gethsemani, 
and  we  think  of  the  sorrow  that  oppressed 
His  soul  unto  death  when  "His  sweat  be- 
came as  drops  of  blood  trickling  down  to  the 


The  Ave  Maria. 


315 


Wei 


tf 


ground."  Then  we  follow  Him  after  He  had 
been  seized  by  His  enemies,  and  meditate  upon 
the  cruel  punishment  to  which  Pilate  con- 

emned  Him — the  Scourging  at  the  Pillar, 
e  next  think  of  the  Crowning  with  Thorns, 
His  Carrying  the  Cross,  and  finally  His  Cru- 
cifixion and  death.  Then  we  come  to  the 
Glorious  Mysteries,  and  in  these  we  contem- 
plate the  Resurrection  of  our  Blessed  Lord, 
His  glorious  Ascension,  the  Descent  of  the 

oly  Ghost  upon  the  Apostles  and  Mary  the 
Mother  of  Jesus,  the  Assumption,  and  last  of 
all  the  Coronation  in  heaven  of  the  ever- 
blessed  Mother  of  God. 

These  great  mysteries  have  formed  the  in- 
struction and  guide  of  all  the  saints  in  the 
practice  of  virtue.  What  words  speak  more 
eloquently  to  the  Christian  soul  than  the  suf- 
ferings of  Jesus  Christ?  How  the  heart  is 
moved  by  the  thought  of  all  that  He  endured 
in  order  that  He  might  say  to  us :  **  You  have 
been  redeemed  at  a  great  price ' ' !  The  wounds 
of  our  Divine  Redeemer  should  indeed  move 
us  all  to  exclaim  with  St.  Bonaventure :  **No, 
Lord,  I  shall  not  forget  Thy  Precious  Blood ; 
I  shall  not,  by  my  ingratitude,  stifle  the 
merciful  cries  which  Thy  life  and  Thy  death 
cause  to  ring  in  my  ears.  O  adorable  myste- 
ries! they  wash  away  the  stains  of  sin;  they 
awaken  our  faith  and  inflame  us  with  the  fire 
of  divine  love  ;  they  are  our  guide  in  our  exile, 
leading  us  on  toward  our  heavenly  country, ' '  * 
And  how  could  one  remain  at  ease  in  vice 
and  sin  with  the  thought  of  Jesus  and  Mary 
present  before  his  mind,  pleading  with  him, 
through  so  much  sorrow  endured  for  his  sake, 
to  give  them  his  heart  and  secure  his  eternal 
happiness  ? 

The  more  one  studies  all  that  is  implied  in 
this  salutary  devotion  of  the  Rosary  and  the 
many  advantages  which  attend  its  practice, 
the  more  is  he  led  to  realize  the  truth  of  the 
words  of  the  wise  man:  "He  that  honoreth  his 
mother  is  as  one  that  layeth  up  a  treasure."  f 
It  is  a  devotion,  says  a  spiritual  writer,  that 
enriches  the  soul  with  spiritual  treasures  more 
precious  than  the  mines  of  India.  The  indul- 
gences which  are  attached  to  it  are  very 
numerous,  showing  the  sanction  and  strong 
encouragement  of  the  Church ;  and,  as  our  holy 
faith  teaches  us,  Lhe  use  of  indulgences  "is 

*  In  Vita  Christi.  f  Ecclus.,  iii,  5. 


most  profitable  to  Christian  people."  Again, 
this  devotion  is  spread  throughout  the  world. 
In  every  nation  under  the  sun,  wherever  the 
Gospel  of  Christ  has  been  preached,  there  too 
has  been  taught  the  devotion  of  the  Rosary. 
So  that  when  we  are  saying  this  beautiful 
prayer  we  are  united,  in  heart  and  in  word, 
with  thousands  elsewhere,  and  we  share  in  the 
good  that  is  accomplished  and  the  blessings 
derived  through  the  fervor  and  devotion  of  all 
pious  Christians  who  faithfully  and  lovingly 
engage  in  this  lioly  practice. 

A  devotion  so  efficacious  and  so  salutary 
must  commend  itself  to  the  love  of  the  truly 
Christian  soul.  Especially  during  this  month 
of  October,  which  has  been  consecr-ated  by  the 
Sovereign  Pontiff"  in  a  particular  manner  to 
Our  Lady  of  the  Most  Holy  Rosary,  the  faith- 
ful child  of  the  Church  wall  not  fail  to  unite 
with  the  millions  of  devout  souls  through- 
out the  world  in  constantly  sending  up  from 
earth  to  heaven  this  prayer,  invoking  the 
intercession  of  the  Help  of  Christians  that  the 
protection  hitherto  afforded  in  time  of  trial 
to  the  Church  and  her  Head  upon  earth  may 
again  be  secured  and  strikingly  manifested  in 
these  our  own  days,  when  the  Vicar  of  Christ 
is  so  sorely  beset  by  his  enemies ;  and  that  the 
glory  and  triumph  of  the  Church  before  the 
world,  which  her  Divine  Founder  has  prom- 
ised, may  be  vSpeedily  obtained. 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY  NUGENT  ROBINSON. 


CHAPTER  XV— Miss  Ryan  Sends  a  Message. 

HARRY  CONSIDINE,  like  a  prudent 
young  fellow,  had  put  by  about  fifty 
pounds, — this  after  paying  his  way  as  a  man, 
and  providing  for  his  sister's  education  six 
months  in  advance. 

"What  can  I  say  about  leaving  Ryan's?" 
This  puzzled  him  exceedingly.  He  was 
truth  itself;  and,  pressed  into  a  corner,  he 
would  find  it  difficult  to  parry  such  rapier- 
thrust  questions  as  the  family  and  his  friends 
might  put  to  him. 

"I  can  say  that  the  Alderman  took  a  dis- 
like to  me.   But  why?   Well,  that  I  do  not 
bsolutely  know.  This  is  all  I  can  say.  People 


3i6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


are  fully  entitled  to  their  likings  and  dislik- 
ings,  and  I  am  entitled  to  mine,  as  well  as  the 
Alderman  to  his." 

He  wrote  home,  informing  his  family  of  the 
severed  connection  with  the  house  of  Ryan. 

*  *  My  darling  boy ! ' '  his  mother  replied.  * '  I 
am  certain  it  was  no  fault  of  yours.  Come 
home.  You  need  a  rest  in  the  hills  here  after 
all  your  hard  work.  And  your  brothers  and 
sisters  are  dying  to  have  you  with  them." 

"I  can  not  understand  why  Ryan  should 
have  dispensed  with  your  services,"  wrote  his 
father;  "as,  from  all  accounts,  he  thought 
very  highly  of  you.  Of  one  thing  I  am  per- 
fectly sure,  and  that  is  that  you  have  done 
nothing  to  merit  disapprobation.  Come  home 
for  a  while,  and  God  bless  you!" 

Harry  repaired  to  the  old  homestead,  where 
everybody  was  enchanted  to  see  him.  He 
missed  Father  lyuke,  but  the  Padre  was  in 
"New  Ireland,"  and  his  letters  were  hotbeds 
of  enthusiasm,  yielding  the  mo^t  delightfully 
flowery  language. 

"I'll  have  them  printed  at  my  own  expense 
in  a  volume!"  cried  Mr.  O'Toole.  "  I  never 
read  anything  so  beautiful.  Why,  I  am  actu- 
ally with  him  in  New  York  and  Chicago  and 
St.  Paul!  I  know  the  people  he  is  talking  to. 
I  can  tell  what  they  are  like.  I  should  recog- 
nize them  on  the  Ballybarney  road  beyond. 
Yes,  I'll  have  Father  Luke's  letters  printed 
in  a  volume.  All  our  friends  will  give  me 
theirs,  and  it  will  be  a  surprise  for  him  some 
fine  day  to  see  a  volume  written  by  himself 
without  his  knowing  anything  about  it." 

And  Mr.  O' Toole,  as  good  as  his  word,  set 
about  collecting  every  letter  which,  the  pious 
pastor  had  written  home  to  his  devoted  flock. 

Harry's  clumsy  diplomacy  in  replying 
anent  his  leaving  Ryan's  was  not  proof 
against  the  questionings  of  his  eldest  sister. 
Whether  or  not  the  fact  of  her  being  engaged 
sharpened  her  faculties  in  one  particular  di- 
rection is  impossible  to  say  ;  but  by  able  and 
searching  cross-examination,  by  daring  ques- 
tionings admitting  of  no  refusal  as  to  reply, 
and,  as  she  expressed  it,  "by  putting  that  and 
that  together,"  she  discovered  the  secret  of 
the  case. 

"/  thought  so!  I  said  that  Miss  Ryan  was 
in  love  with  you  that  day  at  Glendalough. 
She's  spiteful,  and  a  girl  is  terribly  spiteful  if 


the  fellow  she  cares  about  doesn't  care  about 
her.  /'d  be  spiteful  if  my  sweetheart  didn't 
care  about  me.  Yes,  this  young  lady  is  the 
prime  mover  in  the  affair.  She  set  the  Alder- 
man against  you, — and — here  you  are!  And 
so  much  the  better,  Harry  dear.  We  were  all 
lonesome  for  you." 

For  a  few  weeks  Master  Harry  so  enjoyed 
his  liberty  in  the  purple  Wicklow  Hills  that 
he  scarcely  gave  a  thought  to  work.  Exist- 
ence had  been  made  so  easy  for  him  as  to 
lull  the  busy  spirit  of  industry  to  taking  a 
siesta.  There  were  so  many  people  to  greet, 
so  many  things  to  be  done,  so  many  places  to 
visit!  Then  the  horses  and  cattle  and  sheep 
and  pigs  possessed  attractions  to  his  farm- 
loving  heart,  and  the  various  and  manifold 
duties  appertaining  to  agriculture  consumed 
the  fleeting  days. 

One  fine  morning,  however,  Harry  awoke 
to  the  consciousness  that  life  has  its  stem 
duties,  and  that  duty  is  pleasing  to  God. 

"What  would  I  have  said  so  short  a  time 
ago  if  I  had  had  fifty  pounds  saved?  What 
would  I  have  done  ? "  he  asked  of  himself. 
The  answer  came  now,  as  it  came  then :  * '  Yes, 
I'll  go  to  America." 

This  was  no  sudden  resolve,  the  outcome 
of  no  romantic  impulse.  The  thought  had 
ever  been  before  him,  and  had  only  been  put 
aside  by  the  absorbing  current  of  events. 
There  was  now  a  stronger  inducement  than 
before  for  him  to  cross  the  Atlantic  and  try 
his  fortune  in  the  great  wheel.  Was  not  his 
friend  Gerald  Molloy  on  "t'other  side,"  and 
did  he  not  write  enthusiastically  of  the 
chances  under  the  Stars  and  Stripes  ?  What 
could  he  hope  to  do  by  remaining  in  Ireland  ? 
Luck  had  thrown  him  into  Alderman  Ryan's 
establishment,  and  at  a  salary  he  had  no  pre- 
tension to.  That  he  was  master  of  the  business 
is  true,  but  that  he  could  hope  for  many  a  long 
day  to  receive  similar  pay  wa^^  utterly  out 
of  the  question.  One  hundred  pounds  a  year 
was  about  the  highest  wages  he  dare  fairly 
aspire  to ;  or  a  bank  clerkship,  commencing  at 
thirty  shillings  a  week,  to  increase  by  yearly 
increments  of  ^5  till  the  salary  reached 
^250 ;  and  with  it  gray  hairs  and  a  back  as 
humped  as  a  dromedary's.  The  farm  could 
not  support  another  son, — indeed  there  were 
too  many  Considines  on  the  "old  sod"  as  it 


The  Ave  Maria, 


317 


? 


was.  Yes,  there  was  nothing  else  for  it  but  to 
try  his  hand  in  the  States.  And  what  a  joyous 
alternative!  The  realization  of  all  his  aspira- 
tions, of  all  his  yeanlings,  of  all  his  hopings. 

To  his  honored  father  and  mother  he  un- 
folded his  plans.  His  mother  made  piteous 
objections  to  his  going  so  far. 

"I  want  all  my  children  to  be  around  my 
bed  when  it  pleases  God  to  call  me  away.  The 
prayers  of  such  good  and  pious  children  at 
that  supreme  moment  could  not  fail  to  reach 
the  Throne  of  Mercy,"  the  good  lady  urged. 
.  Mr.  Considine  entered  into  his  son's  idea 
amore. 
You  can  try  the  tobacco  business  if  you 

e  an  opening,  Harry ;  and  in  any  case  you 

n  fall  back  on  farming.    If  you  succeed — 
nd  please  the  good  God  you  will — you  can 

ke  out  a  couple  of  your  brothers.  But,  win 
or  lose,  my  dear,  dear  son,  you  have  always 
the  old  home  to  come  to,  where  your  step 
brings  music  and  joy." 


One  day,  while  Peggy  Considine  was  in- 
dulging herself  in  a  good  fit  of  crying  over 

arry's  approaching  departure,  and  was  wan- 
dering disconsolately  among  the  superb  elms 
for  which  Loreto  Abbey  is  so  famous,  a  turn  of 
the  path  brought  her  face  to  face  with  Jane 
Ryan. 

"I  am  sorry  I  was  so  rude  at  Limerick 
Junction,  Peggy!"  she  said,  in  a  shamefaced 
way.  "I — I  have  been  fretting  over  it  ever 
since.  I  don't  know  what  came  over  me.  I 
want  you  to  forgive  me.  Let  us  be  friends 
again.  Won't  you?" 

There  was  so  much  wistfulness  in  the  girl's 
tone  and  eyes  that  poor  Peggy,  who  was  in 
sore  need  of  sympathy,  flung  herself  on  Miss 
Ryan's  bosom. 

"He's  going  away!"  she  sobbed.  "He — he 
— he's  going  away!" 

Miss  Ryan  put  her  from  her,  as  she  uttered 
the  single  word : 

"Harry?" 

"Ye — ye — yes!" 

Then  across  white  lips  came, 

"Where?" 

"To — to  America." 

Then  coldly,  as  if  the  word  were  frozen, 

"When?" 

* '  On  Sa—Sa— Saturday . ' ' 


Jane  Ryan  turned  aside,  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands,  and  leaned  against  a  tree  for  support. 
When  the  astonished  Peggy  removed  her 
hands  the  face  was  white  as  death. 

"Are  you  ill?  Yes  you  are,  Jane.  I'll  run 
to  the  house  for  water.  Sister  Agnes  will — ' ' 

"No,  no,  no!  I  am  better  now.  A  passing 
faintness.  It's  nothing.  It  has  gone  already." 

"Oh,  you  look  like  wax!  Sister  Agnes  is  a 
splendid  doctor.  She  will — " 

"I  tell  you,  Peggy,  I  am  all  right  now. 
Give  me  your  arm.  Let  us  walk  a  little,  or  let 
us  sit  down  here." 

The  girls  seated  themselves  at  the  foot  of  a 
noble  elm  on  the  soft,  luminously  green  moss. 

"  Is  it  absolutely  settled  that  your  brother  is 
to  go  ? "  asked  Jane,  after  a  long  pause,  during 
which  her  gaze  had  been  riveted  on  vacancy. 

"  His  passage  is  taken.  He  is  going  steerage 
to  save  money.  I  am  making  him  a  comfort- 
able pillow." 

"Poor  fellow!" 

"And  the  good  Sisters  here  are  ever  so 
fond  of  him!  And  Sister  Mary  Magdalene  is 
going  to  give  him  a  relic,  that  will  preserve 
him  from  all  danger  at  sea ;  and  Sister  Martha 
is  giving  him  an  Agnus  Dei,  that  will  save 
him  on  land;  and  Father  O'Hare  is  going  to 
offer  up  a  Mass  for  him  on  Saturday  morning. 
O  Jane,  everybody  loves  him ! ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  sadly, — "yes,  every- 
body loves  him."  Adding,  as  if  thinking 
aloud,  "/  love  him! " 

"Of  course  you  do!"  cried  honest  little 
Peggy.  "We  all  love  him,  even  the  poor  old 
woman  that  sells  apples  at  the  gate." 

"Tell  me,"  asked  the  other  suddenly, 
"does  he  ever  speak  about  me  to  you?" 

"At  first  he  did — I  mean  when  he  first  went 
to  your  papa's  office, — but  latterly  he  hasn't 
talked  of  you  at  all." 

" Ah ! '  '—bitterly.  ' '  What  used  he  say  about 
me?" 

"Oh,  lots  of  things!  I  can't  remember." 

"Did  he  tell  you  why  he  left  papa?" 

"Oh,  yes!" 

"What  did  he  say?" — grasping  Peggy's 
arm  till  the  clutch  hurt. 

"Very  little.  He  said  that  your  papa  didn't 
seem  to  like  him,  or  took  a  dislike  to  him, 
and  that  he  wouldn't  stop  anywhere  if  he 
wasn't  liked." 


3t8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"Did  he  never  refer  to  me  in  regard  to  his 
leaving?" — her  eyes  searching  those  of  her 
companion. 

"Never." 

"You  will  see  him  ofif,  Peggy?" 

"Oh,  don't  speak  of  it!"  And  the  poor 
child  commenced  to  weep  afresh. 

"I  will  want  you  to  bear  him  a  message 
from  me.  Word  for  word,  mind!  Come  into 
the  chapel,  and  let  us  say  an  Ave  Maria  for 
his  safety  and — and  his  future  happiness." 

"Harry,"  said  his  sister  as  she  stood  on 
the  platform  of  the  King's  Bridge  terminus, 
clasped  in  her  brother's  strong  right  arm,  "I 
have  a  message  to  you  from  Jane  Ryan." 

"For  me!''  he  exclaimed,  in  some  aston- 
ishment. 

*  *  Yes.  I  was  to  give  it  to  you  word  for  word, 
and  it  is  this :  *  Tell  him  that  I  am  sick  at  heart 
that  I  ever  was  rude  to  him.  Ask  of  him  to 
forgive  me,  and  say  to  him  that  he  would  not 
refuse  me  forgiveness  if  he  only  knew  all.'  " 
(to  be  continued.) 


The  Dual  City  of  Hungary. 


lY    CHARI^ES    WARREN    STODDARD. 


BUDA-PESTH  has  sometimes  been  called 
the  "Key  of  Christendom,"  this  dual 
city,  saddling  the  Danube  with  its  handsome 
bridge.  It  may  be  Christian, — probably  it  is 
so.  I've  been  wandering  among  its  churches, 
and  have  found  them  full  of  beggars — mere 
bundles  of  barbaric  rags  that  would  not  look 
out  of  place  if  one  were  to  stumble  upon  them 
in  the  edge  of  the  desert.  The  streets,  espec- 
ially those  bordering  upon  the  river,  are  en- 
livened with  outlandish  commissioners,  from 
Heaven  knows  where,  clad  in  fantastical  cos- 
tumes and  having  the  air  of  the  wholly 
uncivilized. 

Probably  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  catch 
a  Tartar  in  Pesth.  Often  stalwart  fellows  of  a 
highly  Janizarian  aspect  pose  upon  the  street 
comers  as  if  they  were  lying  in  wait  for  prey ; 
and  the  women  that  go  about  the  streets  are 
as  mysterious  as  the  mistresses  of  a  Bedouin 
village.  All  these  are  in  Pesth,  but  they  are 
not  literally  of  it.  The  large  majority  of  the 


citizens  one  would  pass  unnoticed  in  Vienna' 
or  in  Paris.  You  know,  one  no  longer  looks, 
for  anything  exclusively  and  unmistakably 
foreign  to  the  eye  though  he  were  at  the  very 
ends  of  the  earth.  Even  the  advent  of  the 
seeker  after  this  Tourists'  Paradise  precludes- 
the  possibility  of  such  an  anomaly. 

But  Pesth  is  foreign  enough,  and  Buda  is 
more  so.  The  murky  odor  of  the  Orient  is 
shaken  from  the  voluminous  garments  of  the 
Asiatic,  who  multiplies  unaccountably  at  un- 
expected intervals,  and  leads  one  to  suspect 
that  the  Christianity  of  the  people  is  but  a 
thin  crust,  through  which  it  may  not  be  so 
difficult  to  drop  into  the  mystical  abyss  of 
Moslemism.  At  all  events,  fanaticism  is  close 
to  the  surface  in  Buda-Pesth,  and  the  Hunga- 
rian is  as  fond  of  his  gypsy  music  o'  nights 
as  if  he  were  born  and  bred  in  gypsyism.  This 
wildest  of  musical  mSlanges  is  characteristic 
of  the  city,  and  nightly  the  hotels  and  cafSs 
are  haunted  by  bands  of  musicians,  who  play 
on  until  midnight,  to  the  satisfaction  of  a 
numerous  and  zealous  gathering  of  votaries. 

If  the  word  '  *  gypsy  "  is  derived  from  Egyp- 
tian, the  gypsies  can  never  have  been  natives 
of  Egypt,  nor  of  India  either ;  for  there  is  noth- 
ing more  typical  of  a  race  than  its  national 
music — I  do  not  mean  the  patriotic  hymns, 
which  are  not  necessarily  characteristic.  And 
the  gypsy  music  of  Hungary,  where  gypsy 
music  is  heard  to  the  best  advantage,  has  no 
echo  of  the  East  Indian  drone  in  it,  nor  any- 
thing suggestive  of  the  plaintive  pipe  or 
murmuring  lutestring;  in  brief,  it  is  as  un- 
Egyptian  as  possible. 

Doubtless  you  know  the  gypsy  music  ?  You 
have  heard  the  orchestra  led  by  the  gentle- 
man with  the  unpronounceable  name?  Pos- 
sibly you  listened  attentively,  patiently,  for  a 
season,  while  your  wonder  grew.  Your  curi- 
osity may  have  been  aroused  by  what  seemed 
td  you  an  endless  tuning  or  testing  of  more 
or  less  discordant  instruments.  "When  will 
they  begin  to  play?"  you  say  to  yourself^ 
somewhat  dubiously.  You  would  have  said 
it  to  your  neighbor  in  an  honest  spirit  of  in- 
quiry, had  you  not  preferred  to  await  develop- 
ments, and  thus  postpone  an  exposi  of  your 
want  of  musical  knowledge. 

My  friend,  they  began  jn  the  very  begin- 
ning !  The  tuning  or  testing  of  the  instruments 


The  Ave  Maria. 


V9 


crc 


W. 


is  the  overture ;  the  wild  and  apparently  aim- 
less groping  after  lost  chords  and  hidden  har- 
monies is  a  fugue  in  the  truest  sense  of  the 
term.  It  is  somewhat  eccentric ;  it  is  rather 
chaotic ;  but  in  your  gypsy  orchestra  each  per- 
former is  a  natural  born  fuguist,  and  sooner 
or  later,  if  you  will  oaly  have  the  patience  to 
listen,  you  shall  hear  refrains  such  as  have 
inspired  Wagner,  such  as  never  failed  to  en- 
rapture lyiszt;  and  these  refrains  shall  be 
harped  upon  by  each  and  every  musician  of 
them  all,  until  at  last,  like  the  myriad  voices 
of  the  wood,  the  whole  shall  overwhelm  you 
with  unaccountable  and  inconceivable  har- 
monies. 

All  this  shall  come  to  you  from  untrained 
players,  upon  instruments  that  are  not  of  the 
first  quality;  it  shall  be  evolved  out  of  the 
depths  of  melancholy,  and  awaken  in  your 
soul  a  kind  of  melodious  despair.  The  rhythm 
of  it  all  is  wave-like.  Listen  and  you  shall 
hear  how  the  sea  rears  upon  the  rocks,  and  is 
shattered  and  cast  back  in  tumultuous  des- 

ration.  The  wave  is  always  climbing;   a 

ousand  defeats  do  not  rob  it  of  its  courage ; 
igher  and  higher  it  climbs,  until  it  has 
crowned  the  top  of  the  rock  with  white  foam- 
wreaths;  and  then,  with  a  long,  sibilant  sigh, 
it  recoils  upon  itself,  only  to  spring  again 
into  the  air ;  for  it  is  the  symbol  of  eternal 
aspiration. 

This  is  the  inevitable  andante,  the  largo  of 
the  gypsy  band.  Until  now  each  performer 
seems  to  have  been  rhapsodizing  at  his  own 
sweet  will.  That  they  are  all  profoundly  musi- 
cal, and  of  a  temperament  that  responds  in- 
stantly to  a  suggested  harmony,  is  what  has 
kept  them  within  bounds ;  but  suddenly  they 
catch  fire,  as  it  were,  and  are  consumed  in  a 
fi-enzy  of  delirious  haste,  which  speedily  ter- 
minates with  a  deafening  crash  —  and  the 
performance  is  at  an  end.  What  a  whirl !  What 
a  transport!  This  is  the  music  that  maddens 
the  listener;  it  is  irresistible  if  its  beguile- 
ments  are  once  yielded  to ;  it  is  intoxicating ; 
it  is  fanatical.  Under  its  fullest  spell  one  might 
ultimately  be  driven  to  do  deeds  of  undreamed 
of  desperation. 

Unlike  this  is  the  quiet  of  the  somewhat  pro- 
incial  Buda.  There  are  magnificent  heights 
yonder,  across  the  Danube, — heights  crowned 
with  an  imperial  palace  and  a  frowning  for- 


tress. It  is  a  hard  climb  up  the  terraced  hills 
— take  the  inclined  rail  if  you  would  rob 
the  place  of  its  wild  and  picturesque  charm. 
Great,  really  impressive,  is  the  river  that 
sweeps  under  the  hanging  gardens;  and 
splendid  the  vast,  dim  baths,  that  were  fash- 
ioned by  the  Romans  of  old,  and  enriched  by 
the  Turks,  who  held  Buda  fiercely  for  many 
a  long  year.  The  vapors  that  flood  the  beau- 
tiful halls  of  these  baths  rise  from  hot  springs 
that  are  numerous  in  Buda.  And  there  are 
baths  there — dark  caverns  hollowed  out  of 
the  hills — where  the  poor  may  bathe  for  the 
merest  pittance.  In  these  stifling  tank  rooms 
they  pass  most  of  their  winter  days, — men, 
women  and  children,  parboiling  in  a  common 
bath.  For  the  very  beggar  can  get  enough 
for  the  asking  to  insure  him  a  tropical  tem- 
perature even  in  the  midst  of  winter. 

Just  over  the  hills  in  Buda  there  is  an  an- 
cient mosque.  It  could  never  have  boasted 
much  of  the  loveliness  of  the  mosques  of  the 
Farther  East.  The  pale  minarets,  like  waxen 
tapers ;  the  pale  domes,  like  ostrich  eggs — if 
I  may  be  allowed  to  belittle  the  beautiful  by 
comparison, — these  are  wanting.  But  the  ruin 
is  there.  And  where  will  you  find  a  mosque 
without  some  trace  of  ruin? — since  the  Ma- 
hometan having  reared  a  temple  to  Allah, 
places  that  temple  in  the  hands  of  Allah,  and 
never  ventures  to  restore  it  afterward.  He 
says:  "If  it  falls  to  ruin,  it  is  the  will  of 
Allah." 

And  so  this  mosque  at  Buda — a  couple  of 
centuries  old  perhaps,  for  Buda  was  in  the 
hands  of  the  Turks  so  late  as  1686,  and  a  cen- 
tury earlier  contained  a  garrison  of  1 2,000  Jan- 
izaries,— this  mosque  is  a  mere  shell,  spared 
utter  destruction  by  a  treaty  with  the  Chris- 
tian powers.  To-day — if  you  are  one  of  those 
fortunate  people  who  always  happen  in  at 
just  the  right  moment — you  may  see  a  dusty 
and  travel-stained  Moslem  put  off"  his  sandals 
at  the  grass-grown  threshold,  and  entering, 
with  a  countenance  the  picture  of  mingled 
scorn  and  grief,  turn  his  sad  eyes  toward 
Mecca.  Then,  in  silence,  with  uplifted  hands, 
with  genuflections  and  prostrations,  with  his 
turbaned  forehead  laid  low  in  the  dust,  he 
prays  his  frequent  prayer. 

Do  you  know  the  nature  of  that  prayer? 
Can  you  read  the  secret  of  his  heart?  Do 


320 


The  Ave  Maria, 


you  doubt  that  the  faithful  follower  of  the 
Prophet,  who  has  sought  this  almost  obliter- 
ated shrine  of  the  Moslem,  upon  territory 
which  was  once  the  stronghold  of  his  tribe, 
is  now  beseeching  the  unseen  God  to  consume 
the  hated  Giaour  from  the  face  of  the  earth 
even  as  chaff  is  consumed  by  fire  ? 

And,  seeing  this,  I  wondered  if  among  the 
desolated  shrines  of  Christendom  a  compan- 
ion to  this  devotee  might  be  found,  who  would 
joyfully,  as  this  one  would,  take  up  arms  at 
a  moment's  notice  and  fight  even  unto  death 
for  the  honor  of  his  faith. 


Stella   Matutina;  or,  A  Poet's   Quest. 


BY   EDMUND   OF  THE    HEART   OF   MARY,  C.  P. 


' '  XT  URE;KA  ! ' '  cried  the  poet.   ' '  She  is  mine  ! 

X-#   My  quest  is  o'er.  I  knew  'twas  not  a  dream. 
But  is  it  twilight  j-et?  Or  why  doth  shine 

My  Morning  Star  with  still  increasing  beam  ?  " 
"  Not  day,  my  child.  We  walk  b}^  twilight's  gleam 
While  pilgrims  here.  The  Vision  will  be  day  : 

The  Vision  Beatific,  where  the  Stream 
Of  Ivife  hath  source — though  not  so  far  away 
But  Heav  n-sent  breezes  waft  us  drops  of  the 
crystal  spray. 

' '  But  fear  not  for  thy  Star  when  day  shall  reign  ; 

For  where  Her  Son  is  King,  there  Queen  is  She  : 
And  thou  shalt  know  thou  hast  not  lov'd  in  vain 

The  fairest  fair  of  creatures  that  can  be. 

The  peerless  beauty  thou  dost  yearn  to  see 
Is  there  ev'n  now — Assumed  to  Jesus'  side. 

Conceiv'd  Immaculate,  and  wholly  free 
From  sin's  inheritance,  She  had  not  died 
Save  to  enhance  Humility's  triumph  over  Pride." 

' '  Then  I  may  take  Her  for  my  own  heart's  Queen — 
My  creature  love  of  loves !  Nor  need  I  pray 

For  grace  preventive,  lest  She  come  between 
My  soul  and  God,  alluring  it  astray — 
As  'tis  with  earth-born  passions  of  a  day. 

But  will  She  make  my  Saviour  less  to  me — 
As  grave-faced  teachers  of  my  youth  would 
.     say?" 

"Not  less,  but  more.    What  teacher  can  there  be 

Of  Jesus'  love  like  Her  through  whom  He  came 
to  thee  ? 

"What  bond  so  safe,  so  tender,  could  unite 
His  Heart  with  thine?   The  more  thou  lovest 
Her. 


The  dearer  groweth  He — known,  lov'd  aright : 
For  She  the  Wa}'  to  Him  where  none  can  err, 
Th'  Immaculate  Way  He  did  Himself  prefer 
To  ever}'  other  when  He  came  from  Heav'n. 

'  Hail,  full  of  grace! '  said  then  His  messenger 
(A  chosen  Prince  from  out  the  Presence  Seven  *) : 
'  With  thee  the  Lord,'  said  he — while  yet  unask'd, 
ungiven 

"The  virginal  consent  that  saved  mankind. 

If  then  so  full  of  grace,  what  now  the  store? 
If  with  Her  then  our  God,  where  seek  and  find 

So  surely  now.  .  .  .  Her  Son  for  evermore  ? 

Thou  thinkest  thou  hast  known  thj^  Lord  before, 
And  prov'd  His  sweetness.  Taste  again,  and  see. 

A  new  wine  waits  in  cup  that  runneth  o'er, 
And  food  of  Angels — all  prepar'd  for  thee. 
Who  bids  thee  to  the  feast?   Thy  INIother — it  is 
vShe!"f 


Notre  Dame  de  Bonne  Garde. 


BY  GEORGE  PROSPERO. 


FEW  dioceses  in  France  ai  e  richer  in  shrines 
of  Our  Lady  than  Versailles.  On  every 
side  the  pious  tourist  meets  a  sanctuary  ded- 
icated to  the  Queen  of  Heaven.  But  if,  having 
taken  the  Orleans  railway,  he  alight  at  the 
Saint- Michel  station,  there,  at  Longpont,  in 
the  smiling  Vallee  de  I'Orge,  he  will  find  the 
celebrated  Church  of  Notre  Dame  de  Bonne 
Garde.  This  shrine  is  undoubtedly  one  of  the 
oldest  in  France,  many  ancient  chroniclers 
stating  that  it  dates  back  to  the  time  of 
Prisons — a  King  of  the  Carnutes, — by  whose 
orders  the  venerable  statue  of  Mary  was  made, 
in  the  time  of  the  Druids ;  whilst  others  de- 
clare that  the  image  was  found  in  the  hollow 
of  an  oak-tree  by  some  wood-cutters  of  the 
Longpont  forest,  the  statue  bearing  the  in- 
scription, "  Virgini  Pariturcs.''  Those  who  re- 
late this  version  of  the  legend  tell  us  it  was  the 
pious  wood-cutters  themselves  who  erected 
the  first  oratory  which  sheltered  the  miracu- 
lous image.  In  the  ninth  century  this  chapel 
had  already  attained  a  high  degree  of  celeb- 
rity; and  in  the  year  looo  King  Robert, 
accompanied  by  the  Bishop  of  Paris,  together 
with  Guy  Seigneur  de  Montlhery,  and  Odieme 
his  wife,  came  to  lay  the  foundation  stone  of 
the  church  which  exists  to  this  day.  A  black 


*  Tobias,  xii ;  and  Apoc,  i,  4. 


t  Prov.,  ix. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


321 


marble  slab  slill  preserved  in  the  sacred  edifice 
bears  testimony  to  this  foundation  having 
been  made  in  1000. 

Ancient  records  relate  how  enthusiastically 
Guy  and  Odierne  entered  into  the  pious  work, 
not  only  contributing  their  fortune  to  it,  but 
helping  toward  the  erection  of  the  church 
by  the  labor  of  their  hands.  Great  was  the 
edification  given  by  the  devout  Odierne  when 
she  carried  the  buckets  of  water  to  the  work- 
men and  helped  to  prepare  the  cement.  Nor 
did  her  zeal  diminish  when  the  church  was 
finished.  In  order  to  make  sure  that  relig- 
ious services  should  be  held  there  regularly, 
she  founded  and  endowed  a  monastery  close 
to  the  sanctuary,  in  which  dwelt  twenty 
monks,  who  had  been  sent  thither,  at  her 
request,  by  St.  Hugues,  Abbot  of  Cluny.  At 
her  death  the  saititly  Odierne  was  buried  near 
the  high  altar,  and  her  pious  consort  Guy  in 
the  right  aisle  of  the  church.  An  inscription 
may  still  be  seen  on  the  slabs  which  cover  the 
resting-places  of  these  holy  clients  of  Mary. 

After  the  erection  of  the  chijrch  the  shrine 
became  more  celebrated,  and  in  1200  various 
historians  make  mention  of  Longpont  as  a 
''lien  de  grande  devotion.'"  In  the  following 
century  Philippe  le  Bel  paid  frequent  visits 
to  Notre  Dame  de  Bonne  Garde ;  whilst  Louis 
de  France,  son  of  Philippe  le  Hardi,  retired 
to  the  monastery,  where  he  led  the  life  of  a 
saint,  to  the  great  edification  of  the  commu- 
nity and  all  the  country  around  St.  Bernard 
often  visited  this  sanctuary,  praying  long  and 
fervently  at  Our  Lady's  altar;  whilst  Ste.- 
Jeanne  de  Valois,  before  retiring  to  Bourges, 
came  to  place  herself  under  the  special  patron- 
age of  the  Madonna  of  Longpont. 

Few  sanctuaries  have  been  more  richly 
endowed  than  that  of  Notre  Dame  de  Bonne 
Garde.  Gifts  of  land  and  revenues,  jewels, 
precious  stuffs,  and  even  a  church — St.  Julien 
le  Pauvre,'=^ — were  offered  to  the  Mother  of 


*  The  Church  of  St.  Julien  has  had  rather  a  varied 
liistory.  Few  visitors  to  Paris  hear  of  this  ancient  and 
interesting  church,  thouf^h  it  is  well  worth  being  seen. 
Within  a  stone's-throw  of  Notre  Dame  and  the  Hotel- 
Dieu,  it  was  formerly  the  chapel  of  that  celebrated 
hospital.  Later  on  it;  was  given  to  Notre  Dame  de 
Bonne  Garde,  as  we  have  seen ;  but  after  the  Revolu- 
tion it  returned  to  the  State.  Since  the  beginning  of 
this  year  (1889)  Mass  is  daily  offered  in  St.  Julien  by 
priests  of  the  Armenian  Church. 


God  in  favor  of  this  shrine.  A  pious  servant 
of  Mary,  the  Chevalier  Etienne  de  Vitry — 
to  whom  the  Church  of  St.  Julien  belonged, — 
having  been  surprised  by  a  fearful  storm 
whilst  travelling  in  a  lonely  part  of  the  coun- 
try, promised  to  dedicate  this  edifice  to  Notre 
Dame  de  Bonne  Garde  were  he  saved  from 
death.  He  escaped  as  if  by  miracle,  and  did 
not  fail  to  fulfil  his  promise  to  the  Queen 
of  Heaven.  All  the  offerings  which  were  not 
appropriate  for  the  ornamentation  of  Our 
Lady's  sanctuary  were  sold,  and  a  part  of  the 
money  employed  in  aiding  pious  pilgrims,  too 
poor  to  come  to  the  shrine,  to  undertake  the 
journey. 

Notre  Dame  de  Bonne  Garde  was  singularly 
favored  by  different  Popes,  who  seemed  to  vie 
with  one  another  in  bestowing  the  choicest 
blessings  of  the  Church  on  this  privileged 
sanctuary.  The  celebrated  Confraternity  of 
Notre  Dame  de  Longpont  was  particularly 
enriched  with  numerous  indulgences.  This 
Confraternity  met  daily  to  chant  the  praises 
of  its  celestial  Patroness  and  recite  the  Rosary 
in  her  honor.  Its  members  also  made  a  sol- 
enm  promi.se  to  visit  the  sick  and  poor,  and 
to  help  them  as  far  as  their  means  permitted. 
The  association  continued  to  flourish  until 
the  year  1792  ;  but  during  the  Revolution  it 
was  broken  up  entirely,  and  the  church  was 
closed.  The  sanctuary  of  Notre  Dame  de 
Longpont  was  reopened  about  1800,  but  the 
Confraternity  was  not  reorganized  until  1850. 
The  Sovereign  Pontiff,  to  encourage  the 
newly -enrolled  members  in  the  exercise  of 
their  pious  practices  in  honor  of  the  Mother 
of  God,  granted  seven  special  indulgences, 
besides  confirming  those  accorded  by  other 
Popes  in  past  centuries. 

The  church  suffered  much  during  the 
Reign  of  Terror,  and  the  rich  treasures  adorn- 
ing Mary's  sanctuary  w^ere  appropriated  by 
sacrilegious  hands.  Happily,  a  portion  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin's  veil  and  a  piece  of  her  robe, 
both  carefully  sealed  in  two  crystal  vases, 
were  rescued  by  a  fervent  client  of  the  Mother 
of  God,  and  restored  to  the  shrine  when 
brighter  days  began  to  dawn.  These  two  relics, 
together  with  the  statue,  were  the  only  treas- 
ures belonging  to  Our  Lady's  sanctuary  which 
escaped  the  hands  of  the  Revolutionists.  Even 
so  far  back  as  the  eleventh  century  various 


32i 


Thj>  Ave  Marta. 


records  speak  of  these  precious  relics  as  being 
preserved  in  the  treasury  of  Notre  Dame  de 
Bonne  Garde. 

The  church  is  far  from  being  as  beauti- 
ful now  as  in  bygone  centuries.  However,  if 
we  may  judge  from  the  large  number  of 
ex-voto  offerings  adorning  the  walls  and  bear- 
ing recent  dates,  it  is  evident  that  the  Holy 
Virgin  is  as  willing  now  as  in  times  past  to 
extend  her  loving  protection  to  all  who  invoke 
her  in  this  venerated  sanctuary.  The  altar 
of  Notre  Dame  de  Bonne  Garde  is  on  the 
left  of  the  church,  and  an  exquisite  lamp  ever 
burning  before  the  Blessed  Sacrament  bears 
the  inscription  :  ''Reconnaissance  8  Septembre, 
1850.''  Since  that  period  the  Longpont 
church  has  been  restored  at  the  expense  of 
the  State,  and  some  fine  paintings  adorn  the 
walls.  An  annual  pilgrimage  brings  a  large 
and  ever-increasing  number  of  Mary's  faithful 
servants  to  this  time-honored  shrine. 


A  Salem  Witch. 


BY   E.  I,.  DORSEV. 


N' 


OT  one  of  those  who,  victims  of  statute 
and  superstition,  of  hysteria  and  hypno- 
tism, were  haled  from  ''Salem  Gaole"  to  the 
dreary  summit  of  Gallows  Hill,  and  there 
hanged  by  the  neck  in  the  name  of  their 
Majesties  William  and  Mary,  and  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  worshipful  High  Sheriffe  George 
Corwin,  amid  a  crowd  of  spectators,  whose 
hearts  were  haidened  by  fear  and  the  stern 
precept  of  the  Old  Law — "Let  not  the  witch 
live  " — into  the  likeness  of  the  rocks  cropping 
out  of  the  scanty  green  hard  by.  Not  one  of 
these,  but  of  the  sort  that  flourish  in  this  year 
of  grace  1889, — far  different  in  appearance 
from  the  poor  old  "dames"  and  "goodies" 
done  to  death  two  hundred  years  ago;  but 
quite  as  dangerous,  believe  me. 

For  bowed  shoulders,  see  a  straight  young 
back ;  for  a  toothless  mouth,  see  a  flash  of 
pearl  between  red  lips — like  the  spray  on  a 
coral  reef;  for  wrinkles,  see  a  forehead  as  white 
as  Salem's  own  Gibraltars,  with  a  rose  in  each 
cheek;  for  witch-pins  wherewith  to  "hurt, 
afflict,  pine,  consume,  waste  and  torment "  her 
victims,  see  two  blue  eyes — each  holding  a 


quiver  full  of  arrows, — and  you  will  have  a 
i  fair  idea  of  her  as  she  looked  the  morning  I 
I  first  saw  her. 

I  I  had  been  surveying  in  the  Dismal  Swamp, 
i  and,  while  intensely  enjoying  the  sombre 
j  mystery,  the  gorgeous  flora,  the  deep  Juniper 
I  waters,  and  the  exciting  conflicts  with  snakes, 
!  centipedes,  and  other  little  tropical  inconven- 
j  iences  that  flourish  in  the  twilight  of  the  great 
I  morass,  I  had  also  foolishly  exposed  myself  to 
1  its  miasmas,  and  a  superb  attack  of  bilious 
I  fever  was  the  result. 

The  fact  that  I  was  as  yellow  as  an  orange 
hurt  my  vanity,  but  that  I  could  not  work  an 
hour  without  a  strange  swimming  in  my  head 
and  a  roaring  in  my  ears  hurt  my  usefulness; 
and  Jack  Nelson,  our  chief,  told  me  to  take 
leave  and  go  North  to  the  sea.  This  jumped 
well  with  my  own  wishes,  and  off  I  started 
from  Newport  News.  The  day  was  hot,  the 
cars  crowded,  and  the  discomfort  was  .so  en- 
hanced by  the  stuffy  velvet  seats  and  cushions 
— which  serve  the  public  on  the  4th  of  July  as 
well  as  the  ist  of  January, — that  by  the  time 
I  got  to  New  York  I  was  swearing  by  this 
little  this  and  by  that  little  that  that  I  would 
rather  sail  round  the  world  than  try  a  tram 
again. 

That  meant  the  Puritan  or  the  Pilgrim  up 
the  Sound.  It  also  meant,  as  it  turned  out,  a 
lively  tumble  off  Point  Judith;  and  (as  I 
wasn't  actively  seasick)  Boston  was  a  very 
dizzy  metropolis  indeed  when  I  landed.  The 
State  House  changed  place  as  often  as  I  looked 
at  it,  the  Common  circled  about  like  a  "wheel 
of  fortune,"  and  the  cap  of  Bunker  Hill's  shaft 
boxed  the  compass  with  a  vivacity  foreign  to 
such  structures. 

I  had  intended  to  go  to  Bar  Harbor,  but  as 
I  sat  in  the  station  waiting  for  my  head  to 
stop  whirling  so  I  could  find  the  real  ticket 
window  among  the  "counterfeit  present- 
ments" that  dotted  the  walls,  I  heard : 

"Marblehead?     Why,    don't    you    know    ,' 
that's  where 

'  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt, 
Was  torr'd  an'  fulherr'd, 

An'  corr'd  in  a  corrt,  | 

By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead '  ?  " 

And  a  deep,  lazj'-  voice  answered : 
"Nice  place  it  must  be.  Do  the  ladies  still 
retain  those  pleasant  little  ways,  and  would 


The  Ave  Maria. 


323 


a,; 

I 


you  like  to  see  me  treated  in  that  fashion?" 
"Nonsense!    You  haven't 

' .  .  .  sailed  away 
From  a  leaking  ship  in  Clialeur  Bay.'  " 

"No :  I'm  only  all  at  sea  as  to  your  mean- 
ing, ma'am." 

And  before  me  passed  a  pair — evidently 
father  and  daughter, — she  clinging  to  his  arm, 
her  happy,  school-girl  face  laughing  up  mto 
his,  and  a  responsive  twinkle  making  his  eyes 
dance  and  his  severe,  clean-shaven  mouth 
twitch. 

Then  a  train  rolled  in,  and  another  rolled 
out,  and  bells  clanged  and  people  hurried, 
and  through  it  all  ran  the  lusty  rhyme : 
"Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt, 
Was  torr'd  an'  futherr'd. 
An'  corr'd  in  a  corrt, 
By  the  women  o'  Morblt'ead." 

Sometimes  it  was  only,  "Flud  Oirson";  or 
"the  women  o'  Morble'ead"  would  detach 
themselves  and  industriously  "mark  time" 
with  the  clamor;  sometimes  the  tar  and  feath- 
ers dashed  across  it;  or  the  cart  rumbled  in 
angry  loneliness  ;  but  in  whatever  grouping 
the  woi^ds  appeared  there  was  such  an  irritat- 
ing repetition  of  the  name  that  when  at  last 
the  ticket  office  came  to  anchor,  and  I  reached 
it,  I  asked  for  a  ticket  to  Marblehead,  and  had 
it  before  I  could  correct  my  blunder.  Then  I 
determined  to  go  there,  but  got  off  instead  at 
Salem,  realizing  my  mistake  only  as  the  train 
plunged  with  a  whoop  into  the  tunnel,  leaving 
me  stranded  on  the  platform. 

By  this  time  I  felt  prett}^  queer,  but  my 
question  as  to  transportation  brought  forth 
such  clear  and  encouraging  directions  from 
the  station-master  that  I  grit  my  teeth  to- 
gether and  started  "up  Essex  Street  to  Far- 
rington's,  where  you  cross  over  to  Lynde." 
Thereabouts,  it  seemed,  was  a  specially  good 
stable,  where  I  could  get  a  trap  of  some  sort 
to  carry  me  over  to  Marblehead  Neck. 

But,  alack!  Salem  was  as  dizzy  as  Boston; 
the  pavement  heaved  under  my  feet,  the 
elm  trees  bowed  and  courtesied  to  one  another 
as  if  they  were  dancing  "Sir  Roger  de  Cov- 
erley ' ' ;  and  at  last  I  stopped  at  the  crossing, 
took  off  my  hat  and  stood  fanning  myself, 
with  a  last  desperate  effort  to  control  my 
shaking  legs. 

"Will  you  let  me  pass,  please?" — a  breezy 


I  voice  with  a  silvery  ring  in  it,  and  the  face 
and  figure  outlined  above. 

"Your  pardon,  madam!  I  am  so  ill  I  did 
not  see — " 

And  then  the  world  gave  a  lurch  that 
threatened  to  pitch  me  off  into  the  blackness 
of  space. 

"I  see,"  was  the  answer.  "Try  to  get  to 
the  drug-store,  though.  And  you  must  let  me 
help  you,  for  there's  no  one  else." 

And  a  firm,  warm  hand  was  slipped  under 
my  elbow,  a  strong  young  arm  steadied  mine, 
and  an  elastic,  easy  tread  guided  me  to  "Far- 
rington's,"  where  a  brisk  young  clerk  gave 
me  some  powerful  stimulant,  sent  for  a  car- 
riage, and  in  a  few  minutes  I  was  tooling  along 
to  my  journey's  end. 

A  three  days'  "turn"  followed;  but  when- 
ever my  banging  temples,  aching  spine,  and 
deathly  nausea  permitted,  I  thought  of  the 
fresh  vision  of  girlhood  I  had  seen  ;  I  felt  again 
the  friendly  hand  ;  and  in  the  fever  that  burnt 
me  I  heard  the  breezy  voice  with  the  silver 
ring :  "You  must  let  me  help  you,  for  there's 
no  one  else."  And  it  was  so  pka>^ant  I  would 
doze  smiling. 

After  a  while  the  sea  air  began  to  get  in 
its  work,  and  within  the  week  I  was  on  the 
sands — watching  the  crowd,  I  told  myself,  but 
really  scanning  every  face  for  the  one  that  had 
become  so  prominent  in  my  thoughts.  She 
did  not  appear,  however;  and  Sunday  morning 
I  rode  over  to  Salem,  and  took  my  stand  near 
the  fashionable  comer  of  the  town. 

Fair  girls,  dark  girls,  plump  girls,  slender 
girls,  pretty  girls,  piquant  girls,  roguish  girls 
with  dimples,  demure  ones  with  dove's  eyes, 
tall  girls  and  short,  passed  me  on  their  way  to 
church,  but  my  good  Samaritan  was  not  among 
them;  and  I  was  turning  away,  bitterly  disap- 
pointed, when  I  came  face  to  face  with  her. 
She  wore  a  pale  blue  gown  of  some  thin,  float- 
ing fabric,  touched  here  and  there  with  white, 
and  her  blue  eyes  looked  out  from  under  a 
Gainsborough  crowned  with  long  ostrich 
plumes. 

I  swept  off  my  hat,  bowing  profoundly, 
then  impetuously  cried : 

' '  I  am  so  glad  to  find  you !  I  have  hunted — ' ' 
I  Here  a  look  of  surprise  checked  me.  "I  have 
been  so  anxious  to  thank  you  for  your  kind- 
ness to  me  the  other  day." 


324 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"You  are  very  welcome  to  ain'  help  I  g^ave 
you,  sir,"  she  answered,  with  a  gentle  dignity 
that  froze  me  to  the  marrow.  Then  she  passed 
on,  with  the  light,  elastic  tread  that  perfect 
health  and  well-trained  muscles  alone  can 
give. 

But  she  had  recognized  me!  I  hardly  know 
what  I  had  expected,  but  now  I  stood  stu- 
pidly watching  her  dii^appear,  conscious  of  a 
profound  discouragement  and  sudden  weak- 
ness, until,  with  a  quick  revulsion,  my  temper 
rose  and  a  sense  of  injury  came  hot  upon  me. 
I  would  not  be  ignored  that  way.  She  should 
not  slip  out  of  my  life,  I  would  follow  her 
until  I  found  out  where  she  lived,  and  then 
manage  somehow  to  meet  her — a  dozen  ways 
must  open  up  to  a  man  of  will.  That  was 
what  I  had  come  for.  And  I  hurried  after  her 
as  fast  as  I  dared,  following  her  down  broad 
streets  and  narrow  streets,  until  suddenly  she 
turned  into  a  plain  wooden  structure,  which 
proved  to  be — shades  of  Endicott  and  Cotton 
Mather! — a  Catholic  church. 

I  spent  two  hours  there,  interested  to  be 
sure,  for  I  had  never  heard  a  Mass  before; 
and  the  devout  kneeling  crowd,  the  mural 
paintings,  the  swelling  Latin  chants,  the  in- 
cense, the  lights,  the  absorbed,  strangely- 
vestured  priest, — each  had  its  attraction ;  but, 
as  "all  roads  lead  to  Rome,"  so  every  thought 
and  glance  of  mine  seemed  to  return  to  the 
graceful  figure  that  sat  or  knelt  lost  in  prayer. 

When  she  went  out  I  noted  the  street  down 
which  she  turned,  and  as  soon  as  she  was 
■well  round  the  corner  I  started  on  the  trail. 
After  the  true  fashion  of  witches,  however, 
she  had  disappeared,  and  I  was  left  fuming  in 
an  empty  square — defeated,  dispersed,  routed 
with  great  slaughter. 

What  to  do  next  I  did  not  know,  but  I 
made  a  desperate  "break  for  the  priest's  house. 
Maybe  if  I  made  a  clean  breast  of  it  to  him, 
he'd  help  me ;  and  if  I  could  only  get  him  on 
my  side  my  battle  was  half  won ;  for  even  then 
I  guessed  at  what  I  now  know  to  be  the  truth 
— viz.,  that  there's  a  deal  of  sympath}^  with 
human  affairs  locked  away  under  every  black 
cassock,  and  a  shrewd  knowledge  of  men  coiled 
down  under  every  bonnet  carri. 

I  found  Father at  home,  and  began  to 

*' place"  myself,  with  the  easy  assurance  and 
confidence  in  the  hearer's  interest  that  seems 


to  characterize  the  Southerner  of  America. 
Courteous  attention  and  a  patient  hearing 
were  given  my  little  biographical  sketch  until 
I  mentioned  the  young  girl ;  then  a  certain 
look  came  into  the  priest's  eyes  that  said,"i5'« 
garde!''  as  plainly  as  words;  and  a  reserve 
into  his  manner  thai  was  like  the  clapping  on 
of  a  mask  before  beginning  the  thrust  and 
parry  of  fencing. 

I  began  to  grow  hot  and  a  trifle  embarrassed 
under  that  searching  gaze;  for  it  made  me 
realize  for  the  first  time  that  my  reasons  might 
seem  unreason,  and  that  success  was  by  no 
means  certain.  But  "the  imp  rious  Gordons" 
had  too  long  been  a  proverb  for  me  to  break 
the  record — none  of  us  had  ever  been  able  to 
back  down  gracefully ,  even  in  the  face  of 
the  inevitable ;  so  I  finished  my  say  rather 
brusquely  with, 

"And  I  want  you  to  help  me  to  meet  her. 
Father." 

"No,  I  can't  do  that." 

"Why  not?" 

"You  are  a  stranger  to  me — " 

"But  I've  just  told  you  all  about  myself," 
I  interrupted. 

"But  I  must  be  sure  you  have  told  me  the 
truth." 

"Do  you  mean  you  doubt  my  word,  sir?" 
I  asked,  now  thoroughly  angry. 

"Personally,  no."  he  answered,  with  a  smile 
that  partially  disarmed  me.  "But  when  it  is 
a  question  of  introducing  you  to  one  of  my 
Sodality  children — going  bail  for  you, — that's 
another  thing.  What  would  you  think  of  a 
sentinel  who  would  let  a  stranger  enter  the 
camp  he  guarded  without  a  challenge  ?   You 

say  you  come  from  .   Perhaps  we  may 

have  some  mutual  friends.  Did  you  ever  know 
Father  de  Ruyter?  He  used  to  be  stationed 
near  there." 

"I  ought  to  know  him.  I  got  the  worst 
whipping  I  ever  had  in  my  life  on  his  ac- 
count." 

"How  was  that?" 

"I  was  up  one  of  his  favorite  trees  stealing 
his  apricots,  and  the  sexton — who  was  gar- 
dener too — came  along  and  caught  me.  He 
had  me  in  his  grip,  and  a  new  cypress  shingle 
raised  to  give  me  what  he  called  'a  little 
tiddery-eye' — i.  e.,  a  sound  thrashing, — when 
suddenly  a  quiet  voice  made  him  lower  his 


The  Ave  Maria, 


325 


arm  and  my  hope  raise  its  head.  'Well,  well! 
What's  this,  Torn?'  — 'It's  a  young  thafe 
that  nades  a  dressin'  down,  your  riverince.' 
— 'What'h  he  bf  en  after?' — 'Your  apricots, 
your  honor.' — 'How  many  did  he  get?' — 
*  Wan  only  this  time,  sir ;  an'  I'm  thinkin'  his 
taste'U  be  spilt  d  for  them  entirely  when  I'm 
through  wid  him.' — 'Oh,  I  reckon  not,  Tom. 
Kvery  boy  loves  apricots.  I  dare  say  you  did 
yourself.' — 'I  did  that,'  said  Tom,  with  a 
broad  grin  suffusing  his  face;  'an'  many's 
the  time  I  slipped  into  the  gardens  at  Bally- 
nashane  to — on  arrants,  your  riverince.'  He 
ended  so  abruptly,  and  with  such  a  dismayed 
wink  at  me,  that  Father  de  Ruyter  laughed 
outright.  'Let  him  off  this  once,  Tom,'  he 
said ;  '  and  the  next  time  he  wants  apricots 
he'll  come  to  the  door,  ring  the  bell,  and  ask 
for  me.  Won't  you,  my  little  one?'  Then  he 
patted  me  on  the  head,  insisted  on  putting  a 
half  dozen  of  the  beautiful  fruit  in  my  pocket 
(where  they  burnt  like  coals  with  the  shame 
of  my  having  robbed  so  dear  an  old  man),  and 
watched  me  down  the  road  home." 

"But  the  whipping?" 

"Oh,  yes!  My  father  gave  me  that.  He 
used  a  rattan,  and  I  tell  you  he  used  it  thor- 
oughly." 

Then  we  both  laughed,  and  I  returned  to 
the  charge,  but  the  priest  was  inflexible ;  and, 
although  on  his  invitation  I  dined  with  him, 
he  sent  me  to  the  right-about-face  afterward, 
with  a  vague  "I'll  see  you  soon "  for  my  only 
comfort. 

Of  course  he  was  right,  but  the  delay  frayed 
out  my  patience,  never  very  extensive  (for 
patience  was  a  luxury  little  known  and  rarely 
used  in  our  family) ;  and  the  haunting  mem- 
or>'  of  my  Salem  witch  became  as  fatal  to  my 
peace  of  mind  as  the  "apparitions"  of  those 
others  were  said  to  be  to  their  victims  "in  the 
dark  and  terrible  days  of  possession." 

I  was  in  a  very  bad  way.  Dreaming  on  the 
porphyry  rocks  of  Marblehead ;  idling  through 
the  pine  woods  of  Beverly  Farms ;  wandering 
on  the  silver  crescent  of  Nahant,  I  saw  her 
eyes  in  the  blue  water,  I  heard  her  voice  in 
the  trees,  and  held  long  imaginary  conversa- 
tions with  her ;  and  a  week  after,  when  good 

Father walked  up  on  the  veranda  and 

handed  me  a  letter,  I  felt  a  crisis  had  come 
in  my  affairs. 


It  was  from  Father  de  Ruyter ;  and  if  some- 
times my  fight  against  temptations  had  cost 
me  a  sharp  struggle,  over  and  above  my  dis- 
taste for  their  vulgarity  and  vileness,  I  got 
my  reward  in  these  lines : 

"I've  known  him  twenty  years.  You  can 
safely  introduce  him  to  your  Sodality  child. 
I'll  answer  for  him." 

The  next  afternoon  my  cravats  got  the  very 
mischief  into  them ;  my  collars  shut  up  like 
accordions;  my  handkerchiefs  crumpled;  my 
gloves  disappeared.  No  dibutante  dressing  for 
her  first  ball  was  more  nervous  than  I  when 
the  cart  came  around ;  and  I  blessed  the  horse 
for  the  hard  mouth  and  high-flinging  legs 
that  diverted  my  mind,  and  strung  up  my 
muscles  to  something  like  their  normal  ten- 
sion by  the  time  I  turned  into  Federal  Street 
to  pick  up  Father . 

He  was  ready,  hatted  and  gloved;  and  in 
a  few  minutes  we  were  in  a  quaint  old  parlor, 
where  dried  rose  leaves  and  spices  made  an 
appropriate  atmosphere  for  the  strangely 
carved  Eastern  furniture  and  bric-a-brac,  that 
told  eloquent  tales  of  the  far-reaching  Indian 
trade  that  made  Salem  Queen  of  the  West  in 
the  days  when  Liberty  still  kicked  in  swad- 
dling-bands, and  the  Eagle  was  just  learning 
to  fly. 

Then  I  was  bowing  to  her  mother;  then 
she  came  in,  and  sat  near  me  in  a  chair  made 
in  the  form  of  a  fabulous  monster.  She  wore 
white,  and  was  so  exquisitely  maidenly,  and 
yet  so  sovereign  on  her  odd  throne  of  teak 
wood,  that  I  could  think  only  of  Una  riding: 
through  the  desert  on  her  lion. 

Heaven  only  knows  what  she  had  been  tell- 
ing me,  or  what  I  had  been  answering ;  but 
I  think,  from  her  dazed  look  and  then  the 
naughty  little  smile  that  crept  round  her 
mouth,  making  all  its  dimples  come  and  go, 
I  must  have  been  as  incoherent  as  Mr.  Toots 
under  like  circumstances. 

It  pulled  me  together,  though ;  and,  under 
the  double  inspiration  of  her  questions  and 
her  interest,  I  told,  her  not  badly  of  the  wild, 
lonely  mountains,  the  crystal  streams,  the 
mysterious  rivers  of  my  native  "Land  of  the 
Sky."   In  the  midst  of  the  legend  of  Lost 

Greek,  Father  rose,  and  I  felt  him  my 

friend  for  life  when  he  said : 

"  I  must  carry  you  off"  now,  but  Miss  Eva 


326 


The  Ave  Maria, 


mustn't  lose  the  rest  of  the  stoty,  for  all 
that.  She  must  let  you  come  again  and  finish 
it.  You  know  Mr.  Gordon  is  one  of  Father  de 
Ruyter's  favorites,"  he  added  kindly,  turning 
to  Mrs. . 

"Then  he  will  be  indeed  welcome,  Father," 
she  answered,  with  a  smile  not  unlike  her 
daughter's. 

And,  although  I  tested  the  truth  of  this 
almost  daily  during  the  next  weeks,  she  was 
as  good  as  her  word,  until  I  asked  for  her 
daughter.  Then  we  had  our  first  and  only 
difference  of  opinion.  She  said  it  was  all  too 
sudden,  Southerners  were  too  impetuous  and 
inflammable,  and  arrayed  reavSons  against  me 
as  many  as  the  heads  of  a  Scotch  sermon.  I, 
on  the  contrary,  declared  I  had  been  a  model 
of  patience,  and  had  waited  with  a  degree  of 
long-suffering  worthy  of  a  Puritan.  And  then 
I  told  her  that,  according  to  statute,  I  had  a 
right  to  demand  justice  and  relief  from  the 
"possession"  under  which  I  labored;  that 
I  was  in  as  bad  case  as  any  of  those  old-day 
plaintiffs  shown  up  in  the  court-house  records, 
and  the  very  least  she  could  do  would  be  to 
give  me  permission  to  win  and  carry  my 
sweetheart  South. 

We  compromised  on  a  year's  engagement, 
and  from  that  day  happiness  has  made  her 
nest  in  our  hearts ;  for  when  my  Una  took  me 
by  the  hand,  she  not  only  carried  me  into  the 
paradise  I  dreamed  of  as  a  lover,  but  led  me 
back  to  the  faith  of  my  fathers  by  the  gate  of 
the  City  of  God.  The  little  wooden  church 
was  the  scene  of  our  wedding,  the  officiating 

priest  Father  .   And,  although  she  has 

swayed  the  sceptre  of  sovereignty  for  eight 
years,  I  pledge  you  my  word  she  never  rides  on 
a  broomstick,  exqept  during  a  spring  cleaning; 
and  she  never  exercises  any  spells  except  such 
as  banish  sorrow  from  our  home. 


The  knowledge  of  God  without  the  knowl- 
edge of  our  own  sins  produces  pride.  The 
knowledge  of  our  own  sins  without  the  knowl- 
edge of  Jesus  Christ  produces  despair.  — 
Pascal. 

Those  deeds  of  charity  which  we  have  done 
Shall  stay  forever  with  us ;  and  that  wealth 
Which  we  have  so  bestowed  we  only  keep ; 
The  other  is  not  ours. 


A  Prayer  of  Faith  and  Its  Answer. 


EMMA  X was  the  gnly  child  of  parents 
favored  with  the  gifts  of  fortune.  Her 
father  had  embraced  the  true  faith  a  short 
time  before  his  marriage  with  her  mother,  who- 
belonged  to  a  worthy  and  well-known  Catholic 
family.  They  resolved  to  place  their  beloved 
daughter  with  the  Religious  of  the  Sacred 
Heart,  who  received  a  few  day-boarders  with 
their  resident  pupils ;  for  the  idea  of  sending 
her  to  a  boarding-school,  and  thus  being  de- 
prived of  the  "light  of  their  home,"  was 
intolerable  to  their  affectionate  hearts. 

lyike  many  men  absorbed  in  business  affairs, 

Mr.  X ,  although  careful  to  assist  at  Mass 

on  days  of  precept,  gradually  abandoned  his 
practice  of  monthly  Communion,  and  finally 
ceased  to  approach  the  Sacraments.  Passion- 
ately fond  of  his  charming  daughter,  proud  of 
her  unusual  success  in  study,  the  merchant 
took  a  sudden  fancy  that  the  child  was  be- 
coming unduly  attached  to  her  teachers,  and 
feared  that  some  day  she  might  possibly  desire 
to  embrace  the  religious  life.  The  thought 
took  such  possession  of  his  imagination  that 
he  at  once  removed  her  from  the  convent, 
and  placed  her  in  a  fashionable  Protestant 
boarding-school  to  finish  her  course  of  studies. 
In  this  school  the  "solid"  attainments  of 
Emma  were  a  constant  theme  of  admiration 
among  her  companions,  while  the  thoughtful 
young  girl  drew  conclusions  highly  favor- 
able to  the  superiority  of  the  convent  plan  of 
studies.  I^ater  on,  other  inferences  of  a  more 
important  character  served  only  to  strengthen 
her  esteem  for  the  teachers  of  her  own  relig- 
ious creed. 

Having  returned  to  the  paternal  fireside  to- 
be  the  consolation  and  the  pride  of  her  family 
and  fi-iends,  Emma,  in  the  midst  of  all  that 
the  world  could  offer,  felt  herself  called  to  em- 
brace a  higher  state,  by  renouncing  home, 
friends,  and  brilliant  worldly  prospects.  The 
announcement  of  her  desire  to  become  a  re- 
ligious incensed  her  father  to  such  a  degree 
that  he  afterward  laid  aside  every  practice  of 
religion.  However,  on  attaining  her  majority, 
with  the  approbation  of  her  generous  mother, 
Emma  entered  the  convent  in  which  she  hadi 
passed  the  happy  years  of  childhood. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


327 


During  her   novitiate  at    K- 


she  fre- 
quently wrote  affectionate  lettt-rs  to  her 
father,  but  he  only  consigned  them  to  the 
flames,  not  deigning  even  to  open  the  envel- 
opes.   In  the   novitiate   with  Emma  was  a 

young  Sister,  Madame  Y ,  who,  like  herself, 

mourned  the  delinquency  of  her  father,  Cap- 
tain Y ,who  had  not  been  to  confession  for 

sixty  years.  The  two  candidates  agreed  to  pray 
together  for  their  parents, confiding  their  cause 
to  the  Sacred  Htart  of  Jesus,  vvhose  glory  they 

desired  to  promote.    Madame  Y ,  being 

sacristan,  alway:*  named  two  of  the  candles 
that  she  lighted  on  festival  days  in  honor  of 
the  two  strayed  sheep,  trusting  that  the  divine 
lyight  of  the  World  would  rekindle  the  slum- 
bering spark  of  faith  in  souls  so  dear.  In  the 
meantime  no  pains  were  spared  by  the  other 
members  of  the  respective  families  to  bring 
about  ^e  desired  result ;  Masses  were  offered, 
prayers  were  solicited,  but  all  seemed  in  vain. 
The  octogenarian,  though  the  son  of  a  saintly 
mother,  refused  to  see  a  priest ;  the  merchant 
openly  denounced  the  creed  that  he  had  em- 
braced with  fervor  twenty  five  years  before. 

After  pronouncing  her  first  engagements, 

Madame  X returned  to  her  native  city  ; 

but  anxiety  concerning  her  mother,  who  was 
then  suffering  from  an  incurable  malady,  and 
the  pain  of  her  father's  refusal  to  listen  to 
her  affectionate  appeals,  told  upon  her  health, 
and  a  rapid  decline  followed. 

It  happened  that  a  lady,  meeting  Mr.  X 

at  a  dinner  party,  inquired  after  the  health  of 
his  daughter.  He  did  not  know  that  she  was 
in  H ,  much  less  that  she  was  ill ;  for,  hav- 
ing shown  so  much  displeasure  to  Emma's 
mother  for  approving  her  withdrawal  from  the 
world,  the  prudent  lady  had  not  told  him  of 
their  daughter's  impaired  health  or  change  of 
residence.    However,  the  following   evening 

Mr.  X was  at  the  convent  gate,  asking 

the  day -pupils  as  they  left  school  if  Madame 

X were  there,  if  she  were  ill,  etc.  The 

<;hildren's  replies  confirmed  the  news  of  the 
previous  day. 

Very  soon  the  superior  of  the  convent  was 
summoned  to  the  parlor  to  meet  the  irate 
father,  who  did  not  hesitate  to  declare  that 
his  daughter  had  lost  her  health  in  conse- 
quence of  her  austere  life,  etc.,  concluding 
with, "And I  presume  I  shall  not  be  allowed 


to  see  her!"  The  superior  assured  him  that 
he    was    nr'sraken,   .md    arrangements   were 
promptly  made  for  him  to  meet  his  child. 
Their  first  interview  was  most   affecting. 

Mr.  X was  overcome  with  grief,  and  his 

daughter,  taking  advantage  of  the  occasion, 
obtained  from  him  a  promise  to  assist  at  Mass 
and  even  to  approach  the  Sacraments  for  the 
repose  of  her  soul.  But  as  the  merchant  studi- 
ousl}'  refrained  from  mentioning  these  good 
designs  to  his  wife,  the  dying  novice  confided 
to  the  infirmarian  her  fear  that  the  promise 
might  have  been  made  merely  to  console  her. 
The  month  of  May  was  drawing  to  a  close, 
and  the  infirmarian,  who  was  a  sister-in-law 

of  Captain  Y ,  expressed  her  fears  that  the 

Queen  of  Heaven  was  not  going  to  be  propi- 
tious to  their  prayers.  "Let  us  not  lose  cour- 
age," said  the  dying  novice.  "I  am  confident 
that  our  Blessed  Lord,  through  the  interces- 
sion of  His  Holy  Mother,  will  not  refuse  the 
petition  of  His  faithful  spouses.  As  soon  as  I 
vshall  find  myself  at  the  feet  of  Him  who  said, 
'Ask  and  you  shall  receive,*  I  will  supplicate 
Him  by  the  mercy  of  His  Sacred  Heart  to 
convert  my  father  and  Captain  Y . ' ' 

Madame  X died  on  the  26th  of  May, 

1889.  Some  hours  later  her  father  asked  to  see 
the  superior  of  the  convent,  and  informed  her 
that  he  desired  to  receive  Holy  Communion  at 
the  Mass  of  Requiem.  Greatly  surprised,  the 
religious  involuntarily  exclaimed :  "But  con- 
fession ? "  "I  have  attended  to  that,  Madame, ' ' 
said  he ;  "I  will  see  the  priest  once  more,  and 
then  I  shall  be  prepared."  On  returning  from 
the  Holy  Table  he  kissed  the  lifeless  form  of 
his  child,  reposing  in  peace  before  the  altar, 
as  if  to  thank  her  for  her  intercession. 

Early  in  the  following  month  Madame  Y • 

received  the  glad  tidings  that  her  venerable 
father  had,  himself,  asked  to  see  a  priest ;  that 
he  had  confessed  with  deepest  sorrow,  and 
prepared  for  Holy  Communion  with  the  most 
edifying  dispositions.  And  until  his  death, 
which  occurred  a  month  later,  he  received 
Communion  every  week. 

This  conversion  is  rendered  the  more  re- 
markable  from  the  fact  that  in  his  youth 

Captain  Y had  so  completely  abandoned 

all  tokens  of  the  Catholic  profession,  that  the 
young  lady  whom  he  led  to  the  altar  believed 
she  was  marrying  a  Protestant. 


328 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Useless  Self-Sacrifice. 


iY    MAURICE    FRANCIS    EGAN. 


IN  this  Month  of  the  Rosary  these  words  of 
Tennyson,  which  can  never  become  old  or 
hackneyed,  recur  irresistibly  to  the  mind: 
"And  so  the  whole  round  world 
Is  bound  by  golden  chains  about  the  feet  of  God." 

The  whole  round  world  is  drawn  together  by 
the  chaplet.  During  this  month  the  family  is 
doubly  bound  together  by  the  sacred  chain, 
and  prayer  revives  and  refreshes  family  life. 
Surely  in  the  quietness  of  the  evening,  when 
inv^ocations  to  Our  Lord  and  His  Mother  arise 
from  the  group  gathered  around  the  father 
and  mother,  all  that  is  good,  pure,  and  true 
is  strengthened.  Surely  then  the  mother  is 
happy;  for  her  happiness  on  earth  may  be 
summed  up  in  the  phrase  of  a  Scotchwoman : 
"All  safe,  thank  God!  and  under  one  roof." 

On  the  mother  depends — more  than  it  ought 
— the  future  of  the  children.  It  is  not  natural 
that  she  should  do  all  for  the  children  except 
earning  the  material  subsistence.  And  yet,  in 
the  present  condition  of  our  societj^  in  which 
the  father  takes  no  leisure  for  the  understand- 
ing or  cultivation  of  his  children,  the  most 
important  duties  as  to  them  fall  on  her,  and 
are  assumed  by  her,  simply  because  there  is 
nobody  else  to  take  them. 

If  the  modern  mother  is  inclined  to  make 
any  fatal  mistake,  it  is  that  of  effacing  herself 
too  much  for  the  supposed  benefit  of  her  chil- 
dren. The  "  dear  boys  "  must  sleep  a  little  later 
after  their  father  goes  to  his  business ;  and  if 
there  be  a  fire  to  make  and  no  servant  to  make 
it,  the  mother  conceives  it  her  duty  to  rise  at 
half-past  five  o'clock  and  see  that  it  blazes 
merrily.  And  the  girls,  fatigued  by  their  prac- 
tising on  the  piano,  or  their  researches  into 
the  'ologies,  must  have  a  little  indulgence — 
and  they  take  it  very  willingly ;  for  human 
nature  is  easily  spoiled. 

The  Southern  slaves  have  been  emanci- 
pated, though  it  took  a  frightful  convulsion 
to  do  it.  It  would  take  a  more  frightful  con- 
vulsion to  free  a  certain  class  of  American 
mothers  from  their  voluntary  bonds.  If  this 
excessive  self-sacrifice  did  good,  one  might 
rank  the  devotees  of  it  among  the  noble  army 


of  earthly  anartyrs.  It  not  only  does  no  good, 
but  is  one  of  the  most  potent  means  of  turning 
ordinarily  promising  children  into  selfish  and 
exacting  creatures.  A  mother  may  think  night 
and  day  of  her  children,  work  for  them  from 
dawn  till  darkness,  stand  between  them  and 
the  slightest  wind,  and  yet  by  this  extreme 
kindness  only  harden  their  hearts.  These 
pampered  darlings  frown  at  her  as  they  would 
not  dare  to  frown  at  any  one  who  did  not 
seem  to  be  their  slave  both  by  her  natural 
position  and  her  own  will.  For  whom  are  their 
smiles  and  gentlest  words?  Not  for  her; 
they  have  learned  to  demand,  not  to  request, 
of  her. 

By  and  by  those  "dear  bo^^s,"  for  whom 
the  tenderest  steak  and  the  pleasantest  seat 
at  table  are  always  reserved,  will  take  these 
privileges  as  rights.  Their  feelings  and  wishes 
will  be  their  guides  in  all  things ;  'for  has 
their  mother  not  taught  them  that  they  are 
beings  so  superior  that  they  are  not  to  respect 
her  desires  or  her  convenience  ?  She  is  fleeced 
of  her  little  savings,  that  they  may  have  the 
amusement  fitting  to  such  gilded  youths ;  she 
hides,  in  fear  and  trembling,  their  faults  from 
the  head  of  the  household,  until  they  become 
chronic  and  past  cure.  If  they  take  to  that 
vice  of  the  selfish  young — the  abuse  of  spirit- 
uous liquors — who  is  to  blame?  The  answer 
is  easy,  though  it  seems  cruel :  Their  mother. 
She  has  taught  them,  by  her  example  of 
slavish  subserviency,  by  her  pampering  of 
their  appetites  on  all  occasions,  that  they  are 
to  deny  themselves  nothing.  Who  can  resist 
the  temptations  around  him  if  he  has  never 
learned  to  bear  the  yoke  of  self-denial  in  his 
youth  ? 

As  to  her  daughters,  she  makes  them  as 
selfish  as  women  can  be ;  and  when  she  dies, 
she  dies  unregretted  by  them,  except  as  they 
would  regret  an  untiring  servant,  with  the 
weight  of  many  of  their  shortcomings  on  her 

head. 

»  i».  » . 

Infinite  toil  would  not  enable  you  to 
sweep  away  a  mist;  but  by  ascending  a  little 
you  may  often  look  over  it  altogether.  So  it 
is  with  our  moral  improvement.  We  wrestle 
fiercely  with  a  vicious  habit  which  would 
have  no  hold  upon  us  if  we  ascended  into  a 
higher  moral  atmosphere. — Anon. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


3^9 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


^P  The  number  of  pilgrims  present  at  the  conse- 
cration of  the  new  Church  of  the  Rosary  at 
Lourdes  was  probably  the  largest  ever  seen  there. 
A  temporary  platform  and  altar  were  erected  in 
front  of  the  church,  and  fully  fifteen  thousand 
persons  were  gathered  in  the  space  in  front.  The 
neighboring  hills,  too,  were  covered  with  pilgrims." 
Twelve  bishops  and  twelve  hundred  priests  were 
present.  The  Rosary  was  recited  aloud  by  the 
entire  assembly.  The  Archbishop  of  Auch  was 
the  consecrating  prelate,  and  the  sermon,  an 
eloquent  effort,  was  preached  by  the  Bishop  ot 
Rodez.  Just  at  the  beginning  of  the  discourse  a 
loud  cry  of  ' '  Miracle ! ' '  was  heard.  It  was  a  young 
girl,  fifteen  years  of  age,  from  Carcassonne,  whose 
limbs  had  been  paralyzed  for  three  years  ;  she 
could  only  walk  on  crutches.  After  being  im- 
mersed three  times  in  the  piscina  she  had  recov- 
ered lier  strength,  and  walked  before  the  amazed 
crowd  that  had  seen  her  a  cripple  only  a  few 
moments  previousl}-.  It  is  remarkable  that  a 
similar  event  occurred  at  the  consecration  of  the 
Basilica,  during  the  sermon  preached  by  the 
saintlv  Cardinal  Pie. 


An  interesting  letter  from  Molokai,  dated  July 
24,  recently  appeared  in  the  London  Spectator.  It 
relates  one  or  two  facts  connected  with  the  closing 
days  of  Father  Damien's  noble  life  not  men- 
tioned by  our  own  correspondent.  The  writer, 
addressing  a  gentleman  who  had  visited  the  leper 
settlement,  says:  "He  [Father  Damien]  called 
our  attention  to  the  remarkable  fact  that  the  first 
joints  of  all  his  fingers  (which  so  often  touched  the 
Blessed  Sacrament)  remained  as  sound  as  on  the 
day  when  he  was  first  ordained  priest.  He  wrote 
to  his  Bishop  entreating  not  to  be  dispensed  from 
the  obligation  of  the  Breviary,  which  he  continued 
faithfully  to  recite  until  his  final  prostration." 
The  same  correspondent,  who  assisted  at  the 
death-bed  of  Father  Damien,  declares  that  during 
his  illness  the  martyr  said,  pointing  to  the  head 
and  foot  of  his  bed  :  "They  are  alwa3'S  with  me." 
The  writer  regrets  now  that  he  did  not  ask  who 
Father  Damien's  supernatural  visitors  were. 


The  official  announcements  of  the  Catholic 
University  of  America  are  that  on  Monday, 
November  18,  after  the  Solemn  Mass  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  the  classes  of  the  Divinity  Faculty  will  be 
opened.  All  students  are  expected  to  be  present 
at  the  beginning  of  the  spiritual  retreat  on  the 
evening  of  November  13  Every  student  in  the 
Divinity  School  must  have  passed  through  the 


seminary  cour»e  with  credit,  or  at  least  through 
the  philosophical  course,  and  three  j-ears  in  the- 
ology. vStudents  may  enter  for  the  degree  or  to 
pursue  an  elective  counse  of  studies.  Priests  will 
be  admitted,  without  examination,  with  the  con- 
sent of  their  ordinary.  There  will  be  lectures 
daily  on  Dogmatic  Theology,  Moral  Theology, 
Sacred  vScriptures,  and  Higher  Philosophy  ;  tri- 
weekly on  PvDglish  Literature  and  vSacred  VAo- 
quence ;  and  at  least  weekly  on  Pxclesiastical 
History,  Liturgy,  scientific  subjects,  and  the 
problems  of  the  day.  The  annual  fee  has  been 
fixed  at  two  hundred  and  fift}'  dollars,  payable 
semi-annually.  The  University  hopes  this  year 
to  bestow  the  fellowships  or  burses.  PC  very  facility 
will  be  afforded  for  the  cultivation  of  ancient  and 
modern  languages. 

Although  Cardinal  Lavigerie's  congress  at 
Lucerne,  in  Switzerland,  has  been  postponed,  the 
sentiment  which  its  announcement  aroused  has 
accomplished  great  good.  Mr.  D.  A.  Rildd,  editor 
of  the  Catholic  Tribiine,  of  Cincinnati,  went  to 
Lucerne,  in  response  to  Cardinal  Lavigerie's  in- 
vitation, as  representative  of  the  Catholics  of 
color  in  the  United  States.  Mr.  Rudd  is  a  fervent 
champion  of  his  people,  and  he  and  the  Cardinal 
at  once  understood  each  other.  A  million  of  hu- 
man beings  are  annually  captured  and  thrown 
into  slavery  in  Africa,  and  this  horrible  fact  has 
stirred  the  heart  of  Cardinal  Lavigerie  to  be  a  new 
Peter  the  Hermit.  Mr.  Rudd  and  his  friend,  INIr. 
Ruffin,  were  cordiall}^  received  by  the  Cardinal, 
whose  sister,  the  Countess  de  Staal,  did  the  hon- 
ors of  the  great  ecclesiastic's  table  for  them.  The 
Cardinal  frequently  said  that  the  sympathies  of 
America  would  give  a  new  impetus  to  the  work  of 
civilization  among  the  outraged  people  of  Africa. 


The  Irish  Ecclesiastical  Record  has,  in  its  Sep- 
tember number,  an  interesting  article  on  "Our 
Lady  of  Aberdeen."  It  is  a  sad  thought  that  we 
so  seldom  find  a  Scottish  localit\^  associated  in 
these  days  with  devotion  to  Mary.  "Our  Lady  of 
Aberdeen ' '  is  the  name  given  to  a  statue  now  in 
Brussels.  In  Aberdeen,  in  Scotland,  it  was  also 
called  "  Our  Lady  of  Good  Success,"  when  Gavin 
Dunbar  was  Bishop  of  that  city,  in  the  sixteenth 
century.  The  Bishop  never  passed  a  day  without 
honoring  Our  Lady  by  praying  before  this  statue. 
When  the  Knoxite  furj-  broke  out  the  statue  was 
taken  from  the  Cathedral  and  hidden.  The  bigots 
at  last  found  it ;  they  were  determined  to  break 
it  to  pieces,  but  none  of  them  dared  to  do  it. 
Another  attempt  was  made,  but  it  failed ;  for, 
though  the  statue  was  in  a  conspicuous  place, 
none  of  the  marauders  could  see  it.  The  Protes- 
tant in  whose  house  it  was  turned  back,  with 


330 


The  Ave  Maria 


his  family,  to  the  true  faith,  so  much  was  he 
impressed  by  the  marvel.  In  1625  the  statue  was 
secretly  conve3-ed  on  board  a  Spanish  vessel. 
After  many  vicissitudes  it  reached  Brussels, 
where  the  Archduchess  Isabel  of  Spain,  sovereign 
of  the  Low  Countries,  showed  it  distinguished 
honor,  and  placed  it  in  the  Church  of  the  Hermits 
of  St.  Augustine.  It  is  now  in  the  church  of 
Finistere. 

Thackeraj^  like  Dickens,  Hawthorne,  Scott, 
Longfellow,  and  a  host  of  other  celebrities  in  Eng- 
lish literature,  seems  to  have  had  a  warm  corner 
in  his  heart  for  what  he  called  the  ' '  old  Church.',' 
Mr.  William  B.  Read,  of  Philadelphia,  who  was 
a  friend  of  the  great  novelist,  and  published  a 
memoir  of  him,  says:  "Thackeray  was  in  one 
sense — not  a  technical  one — a  religious, or,  rather, 
a  devout  man,  and  I  have  sometimes  fancied  that 
he  had  a  sentimental  leaning  to  the  Church  of 
Christian  antiquity.  Certain  it  is  he  never  sneered 
at  it  or  disparaged  it.  'After  all,'  said  he  one 
night  to  the  writer,  while  driving  through  the 
streets  of  an  American  city,  and  passing  a  Roman 
cathedral,  *  that  is  the  only  thing  that  can  be 
called  a  church. ' ' ' 

The  Right  Rev.  Bishop  Keane,  rector  of  the 
Catholic  University  of  Washington,  has  made 
an  announcement  which  excites  much  approval 
everywhere.  He  has  decided  to  have  a  free  lecture 
delivered  every  afternoon  during  the  scholastic 
year.  The  lectures  will  be  delivered  at  half-past 
four, —  an  hour  at  which  the  employ h  of  the 
various  departments  in  Washington  are  free  to 
attend.  This  will  be  found  to  be  an  effective  way 
of  combating  the  errors  that  fill  the  atmosphere 
of  our  daily  life. 

There  has  been  a  flutter  in  Anglican  breasts 
among  * '  our  kin  across  the  sea ' '  over  the  attitude 
of  Cardinal  Manning  as  the  peacemaker  in  the 
late  London  dock  troubles.  The  English  Church- 
man is  sad  because  the  Lord  Ma3^or  of  London 
wrote  the  Cardinal's  name  above  that  of  the 
Bishop  of  London!  A  strange  thing  to  notice  in  a 
time  of  crisis!  A  correspondent  of  another  paper 
explains  that  nearly  all  the  100,000  men  on  strike 
are  Catholics.  "If  true,"  a  Catholic  contempo- 
rary remarks,  "this  would  only  show  that  Arch- 
bishop Manning  is  really  the  pastor  of  the  poor." 
It  turns  out,  however,  that  only  about  25,000  men 
concerned  in  the  strike  are  of  the  faith  of  His 
Eminence. 

Muanga,  the  dethroned  King  of  Uganda,  has 
taken  refuge  in  the  Catholic  missions,  and  is  now 
tinder  instruction  in  the  truths  of  our  holy  faith, 


which  he  intends  to  embrace.  This  Muango, 
during  his  reign,  was  a  furious  persecutor  of  the 
Christians.  About  two  years  ago,  out  of  hatred 
to  the  faith,  he  ordered  one  hundred  youths  and 
children  of  his  kingdom  to  be  burned  alive,  sev- 
eral of  them  being  only  neophytes.  These  martyrs 
were  wrapped  up,  one  by  one,  in  bundles  of  dry 
wood,  and  placed  in  a  circle  on  the  ground  with 
their  feet  toward  the  centre,  where  the  fire  was 
lighted,  so  that  they  might  burn  slowly  from 
the  feet  to  the  head.  Just  as  the  flames  began  to 
spread  the  executioners  exhorted  them  to  deny 
the  Christian  faith  ;  but  not  one  would  do  so,  and 
all  died  singing  the  praises  of  God.  The  Sacred 
Congregation  of  the  Propaganda  is  already  occu- 
pied with  the  process  of  their  beatification. 


The  astronomical  observatory  which  Leo  XIII. 
intends  to  erect  at  the  Vatican  will  be  constructed 
on  the  best  plans  and  supplied  with  all  the  most 
improved  instruments.  It  will  be  in  charge  of 
the  famous  Barnabite,  Padre  Denza,  one  of  the 
greatest  astronomers  of  our  time. 

A  recent  valuable  accession  to  the  numerous 
art  treasures  of  the  University  of  Notre  Dame  is 
an  admirable  copy  of  a  section  of  the  Dispute 
about  the  Real  Presence,  Raphael's  famous  fresco 
in  the  Vatican  Gallery.  It  was  made  by  Prof. 
Gregori  during  his  stay  in  Rome,  and  is  probably 
the  only  fac-simile  of  anything  0/  Raphael's  to 
be  found  in  the  United  States.  It  is  well  known 
that  artists  are  not  allowed  to  approach  nearer 
than  six  feet  to  copy  any  of  the  masterpieces  in 
the  Vatican  ;  but  this  favor  was  granted  to  Prof. 
Gregori  by  the  late  Pio  Nono  at  the  special  re- 
quest of  his  favorite  Minister,  Monsignor  de 
Merode.  "La  Disputa"  is  one  of  the  most  cele- 
brated masterpieces  of  Christian  art.  This  name 
has  been  given  to  it  because,  as  many  suppose, 
the  artist  has  represented  a  conference  among  the 
Fathers  and  Doctors  of  the  Church  on  the  Blessed 
Eucharist ;  while  it  may  also  be  considered  an 
allegorical  council  of  the  Church  triumphant  and 
the  Church  militant,  in  regard  to  the  most  august 
mystery  of  the  Christian  faith,  with  reference  also 
to  the  Council  of  Piacenza,  whose  sovereign  de- 
cree put  an  end  to  all  controversy.  We  quote  the 
following  description  of  this  grand  composition — 
the  portion  of  it  reproduced  by  Signor  Gregori — 
from  the  Notre  Dame  Scholastic: 

It  consists  of  two  parts,  which  may  be  called  Heaven 
and  Earth,  brought  together  in  close  communion  by 
means  of  the  Eucharistic  Sacrament.  In  the  upper 
part  of  the  painting  appears  the  Eternal  Father,  of 
venerable  and  majestic  aspect,  His  right  hand  raised 
in  the  act  of  blessing,  while  in  the  left  He  holds  the 
mundane  globe.   He  is  surrounded  by  glory  and  re- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


331 


splendent  with  light,  which  is  formed,  according  to 
the  ancient  conventional  custom  adopted  in  primitive 
Christian  art,  by  innumerable  heads  of  winged  cherubs 
arranged  in  order  in  so  many  perpendicular  lines 
resembling  rays — the  whole  placed  on  one  arch  of 
clouds,  containing  an  immense  number  of  similar 
! inures.  To  the  right  and  left  a  cho'r  of  seraphs,  three 
v)u  each  side,  bow  in  adoration  before  the  Eucharistic 
mystery.  Below,  in  the  middle  of  resplendent  rays  on 
a  gold  ground,  seated  on  a  throne  of  clouds,  is  the 
Incarnate  Word,  partly  wrapped  in  a  white,  spotless 
robe,  with  an  expression  of  love  and  compassion, 
-bowing  His  sacred  Wounds,  and  extending  His  arms 
as  if  to  embrace  all  mankind  that  He  had  redeemed. 
On  His  right  is  His  Virgin  Mother,  covered  with  a 
royal  mantle,  her  hands  folded  across  her  bosom  as 
she  turns  her  eyes  with  a  look  of  infinite  sweetness 
and  grace  toward  the  face  of  her  Divine  Son.  On  His 
left  is  St.  John  the  Baptist,  the  Precursor,  holding 
the  cross  and  turning  to  the  assembly  in  the  act  of 
announcing  to  them  again,  "Behold  the  Lamb  of 
God!"  Underneath  is  the  Paraclete,  the  Holy  Spirit 
of  God,  in  the  form  of  a  spotless  dove  in  a  circle  of 
light,  sending  forth  brilliant  rays,  which  extend  to  all 
parts  of  the  earth  to  enlighten  the  human  mind  on 
this  most  sacred  mystery.  On  either  side  four  angels, 
supported  by  .heir  wings,  surround  it, — two  on  each 
side  carrying  the  opened  books  of  the  Gospel.  Of 
these  figures  Vasari  says:  "No  painter  could  ever 
produce  anything  more  lovely  and  of  greater  perfec- 
tion."   

The  London  Staridard — certainly  an  impartial 
observer — bears  testimony  to  the  sympathy  with 
which  Spain  regards  Leo  XIII.  The  Spanish  Gov- 
ernment, while  not  offending  Crispi,  has  been  very 
reserved  in  its  expressions  to  him  on  the  Roman 
question  ;  the  Catholic  press  of  all  shades  of  opin- 
ion has  taken  up  cudgels  for  the  Papacy  ;  and  the 
Catholic  Congress,  made  up  entirely  of  laymen 
of  various  political  ideas,  bitterly  attacked  the 
Savoyard  usurpation,  and  cordially  sympathized 
with  the  Holy  Father. 

A  Rubens — "The  Adoration  of  the  Magi" — 
has  just  been  discovered  at  the  residence  of  Sir 
Frederick  Weld  in  England. 


The  Michigan  Catholic  proposes  that  there 
should  be  a  meeting  of  Catholic  editors  and  pub- 
lishers at  some  suitable  time  and  place.  It  sug- 
gests that  the  place  be  New  York  or  Notre  Dame. 
Such  a  meeting  might  be  productive  of  good,  and 
we  assure  our  confreres  of  a  cordial  welcome  at 
Notre  Dame. 

Berlin  has  a  Catholic  population  of  over  1 50,000 
souls. 

The  Rev.  Joseph  P.  Roles,  rector  of  St.  Mary's 
Chtirch,  Chicago,  111.,  and  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished priests  in  the  Archdiocese,  was  found 


dead  in  his  chair  at  the  parochial  residence  on  the 
morning  of  the  25th  ult.  The  deceased  was  gifted 
with  more  than  ordinary  ability  and  had  received 
a  finished  education.  He  was  the  editor  of  the 
first  illtistrated  Catholic  Sunday-school  paper 
in  the  United  States,  and  made  translations  of 
several  French  and  German  works.  Father  Roles 
was  highly  esteemed  by  all  classes,  and  the  people 
of  the  Archdiocese  of  Chicago  lament  his  loss. 
May  he  rest  in  peace! 


New  Publications. 

Selections  from  the  Sermons  of  Padre 
Agostino  da  Montefeltro.  Preached  in  the 
Church  of  San  Carlo  al  Corso,  Rome,  1889.  Trans- 
lated from  the  Original  by  Catherine  Mary  Phill- 
more.  New  York  :  James  Pott  &  Co. 
The  second  series  of  Father  Agostino  da  Monte- 
feltro's  sermons  are  as  refreshing,  as  stimtilating 
and  as  poetical,  highly  religious  and  practical, 
as  the  first.  After  the  explosion  of  a  shell  during 
one  of  his  discourses  he  said  :  "The  pulpit  is  no 
place  for  the  exposition  of  personal  opinions  on 
the  one  side  or  the  other.  It  is  a  place  for  me  to 
speak  to  yoti  of  the  sublime  truths  of  Christian- 
ity, the  lofty  ideas  they  suggest,  the  great  ex- 
amples they  put  before  you  It  is  the  place  from 
whence  to  tell  you  of  a  faith  which  can  remove 
mountains  ;  of  a  religion  which  can  raise  a  man 
above  all  trivial  worldly  concerns,  which  can 
give  a  noble  purpose  to  his  life  on  earth,  and  the 
promise  of  an  eternal  reward  hereafter.  If  my 
words  are  so  insufferable,  so  obnoxious  to  any 
one  that  he  desires  to  take  my  life,  he  is  welcome 
to  it.  However  much  it  might  grieve  me  to  leave 
my  orphan  asylum  at  Pisa  with  a  ftittire  before  it 
yet  insecure,  I  am  ready  and  willing  to  lay  down 
my  life  for  my  faith,  my  religion,  and  my  God, 
who  is  the  God  of  the  poor  and  needy,  the  weary 
and  the  oppressed  ;  who  is  also  the'God  of  pardon 
and  peace. ' '  This  is  the  spirit  of  Padre  Agostino. 
In  another  interlude  between  his  sermons  he 
protests  against  the  Italian  custom  of  applaud- 
ing in  the  church,  but  with  little  effect ;  for  the 
Romans,  as  well  as  the  Neapolitans,  love  to  cry 
otit  Eviva!  when  anything  pleases  them. 

The  sermon  on  "The  Necessity  of  Religion  "  is 
one  of  the  most  satisfactory  and  conchisive  in 
this  volume.  ' '  Not  only  can  we  not  live  withotit 
religion,  because  it  is  the  primary  law  of  our 
being,  but  because  our  happiness  depends  upon 
it!"  cries  Padre  Agostino.  "What,  in  truth,  is 
the  secret  of  happiness  ?  The  happiness  of  man 
consists  in  the  development  and  perfecting  of  his 
faculties.  In  what  does  the  chief  exercise  of  man's 


33  i 


The  Ave  Maria. 


faculties  consist?  Knowledge,  love,  work.  In 
order  that  a  man  may  be  happy,  his  intellect 
must  have  a  firm  grasp  of  truth.  The  intellect  of 
man  is  formed  for  truth.  As  the  plant  turns  to 
light  and  sunshine,  so  does  man's  intellect  seek 
after  truth." 

These  sermons  have  the  keenness  of  an  arrow, 
with  a  touch  of  sentiment,  even  in  their  most 
practical  phases,  which  carries  them  straight  to 
the  heart.  We  praise  the  translation  as  heartily 
as  we  praised  the  first  series.  We  regret  that  the 
translation  was  not  done  by  a  Catholic ;  for,  in 
certain  passages,  one  feels  a  lack  of  confidence  in 
a  medium  unenlightened  by  faith,  Catholic  in- 
stinct and  tradition. 

The  True  Story  of  the  Cathouc  Hierarchy 
Deposed  by  Queen  Elizabeth.  With  fuller  memoirs 
of  its  last  two  survivors.  By  the  Rev.  T.  E.  Bridgett, 
CSS.  R.;  and  the  late  Rev.  T.  E.  Knox,  D.D.,  of  the 
London  Oratory.  London :  Burns  &  Gates.  Limited, 
New  York:  Catholic  Publication  Society  Co. 
The  learned  and  reverend  authors  of  this  in- 
teresting treatise  have  labored  conscientiously 
among  contemporary  documents  to  set  before  us 
the    plain,  unvarnished  truth    concerning    the 
sweeping  measures  taken  by  Elizabeth  against 
the  existing  hierarchy  of  the  Church  in  England 
of  her  day  ;  measures  by  which  the  apostolic  suc- 
cession was  effectually  broken  up  in  that  country. 
Those  who  attach  value  to  the  apostolic  succes- 
sion, as  our  Ritualist  friends  profess  to  do,  must 
surely  be  convinced  of  this,  at  least  now  that 
such  abundant  light  has  been  thrown  upon  the 
subject.  The  little  book  contains  full  memoirs  of 
Bishops  Watson  and  Goldwell,  and  accounts  of 
the  deposition  of  Archbishop  Heath  and  twelve 
other*  bishops,  with   all   the  attendant   circum- 
stances. The  errors  into  which  our  best  historians 
have  fallen    are  exposed,  and  the  book  is  ex- 
tremely valuable  for  reference. 

A  Hand-Book  for  Catholic  Choirs.  Contain- 
ing the  Vesper  Service  for  Every  Day  in  the  Year. 
By  G.  Freytag.    Detroit  Music  Company,  184  and 
186  Woodward  Avenue,  Detroit,  Mich.    1889. 
This  is  a  portable  Vesperal,  composed  by  G. 
Freytag,  the  competent  organist  of  the  Cathedral 
of  SS.  Peter  and  Paul,  Detroit,  Mich.,  and  pub- 
lished with  the  approbation  of  the  ordinary  of  the 
diocese.  As  Catholic  schools  continue  their  benef- 
icent work,  the  time  must  be  approaching  when 
the  greater  part  of  every  congregation  will  feel 
able  and  willing  to  join  in  singing  the  Divine 
Offices,  a  participation  in  public  worship  which 
the  Church  designs,  in  the  simple  forms  of  chant 
which  meet  with  her  particular  favor,  and  which 
derive  their  sublimity  from  the  mass  of  voice 
engaged  in  them.   In  proportion  as  this  desired 


consummation  is  attained,  the  demand  for  such 
manuals  as  the  one  before  us  will  steadily  increase. 
The  clearness  and  elegance  with  which  the  method 
of  singing  the  Gregorian  tones  is  set  before  the 
learner  can  not  be  too  highly  praised. 

Controversy  on  the  Constitutions  of  the 
Jesuits,  between  Dr.  Littledale  and  Fr.  Drummond. 
Winnipeg:  Manitoba /s>r^ /Vr5.y  Print.  1889. 
In  reading  this  pamphlet,  one  knows  not 
whether  to  be  more  astonished  at  the  strange 
perversity  with  which  the  learned  Doctor  mis- 
translates ecclesiastical  Latin — the  simplest  form 
which  the  learned  language  is  known  to  take, — or 
at  the  patience  with  which  his  able  opponent  ex- 
poses his  fallacies.  It  is  merely  the  same  old,  oft- 
refuted  charge  against  the  Jesuits,  that  they  teach 
that  the  "end  justifies  the  means."  Driven  out 
long  ago  from  the  centres  of  learning  and  civiliza- 
tion, the  old  serpent  lifts  his  head  in  Manitoba, 
hoping  to  cajole  the  simple-minded  pioneers  of 
the  Far  North.  But  he  has  been  pretty  well 
"scotched"  by  this  little  pamphlet;  and  in  fut- 
ure he  must  wander  about  in  desert  places,  seek- 
ing rest  and  finding  none.  He  will  not  get  back 
into  the  house  again. 

CoLUMBiADS.  By  a  Random  Thinker.  Columbus, 

Ohio :  August  Ruetty. 

This  is  a  casket  of  brilliants,  with  here  and 
there  a  thought  which  is  a  diamond  of  the  first 
water.  It  is  one  of  the  few  volumes  of  what  the 
French  call  pensees  produced  in  this  country.  At 
times  the  author — the  Rev.  W.  F.  Hayes — has  the 
French  epigrammatic  point,  and  we  think  of 
Pascal  and  the  Abbe  Roux.  There  are  very  few 
platitudes,  and  the  contents  deserve  a  better  form 
than  the  utterly  tasteless  one  which  they  have. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii.  3. 

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

Mr.  George  Bruckner,  who  departed  this  life  on 
the  12th  of  August,  at  JeflFerson,  Pa.,  after  receiving 
the  holy  Sacraments. 

Mr.  Bernard  Lyness,  of  New  York  city,  whose  death 
occurred  on  the  nth  ult. 

Mrs.  Anna  V.  McVay,  who  piously  yielded  her  soul 
to  God  on  the  12th  ult.,  at  Jefferson,  Pa.  She  bore  a 
long  and  painful  illness  with  exemplary  Christian 
fortitude. 

Christina  Rynn  and  Margaret  Donnelly,  of  New 
Haven,  Conn. ;  also  Mrs.  Francis  Fitzgibbons,  Roch- 
ester, N.  Y. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithM 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace ! 


The  Ave  Maria, 


333 


The  Child's  Good-Night  to  Her  Guar- 
dian Angel. 

From  the  German. 
j  r  OOD-NIGHT.  good-night,  dear  Angel ! 
M^    I  can  not  see  your  wings, 
But  I  hear  you  in  the  echoes 

Whenever  mamma  sings. 
And  when  she  stoops  to  kiss  me, 

And  leaves  me  in  your  care, 
I  do  not  fear  the  darkness, 

For  you  are  always  there. 

Good-night,  good-night,  dear  Angel! 

I  can  not  see  your  face. 
But  I  know  that  you  are  near  me 

In  this  dim  and  silent  place. 
And  I  think  you  hung  the  starlets 

For  God  up  in  the  sky 
To  cheer  at  lonely  bed-time 

Such  little  ones  as  I. 

Good-night,  good-night,  sweet  Angel! 

I  can  not  touch  your  hand, 
But  I  fancy  in  the  silence 

I  know  just  where  j'ou  stand — 
Close,  close  beside  my  pillow. 

In  that  long  line  of  light ; 
I'll  fold  my  hands  together 

And  say  once  more :  Good-night! 

Syia'ia  Hunting. 


Lost  in  the  Pines.— A  Story  of  Presque 
Isle. 


BY  MAURICE  FRANCIS  EGAN. 


John  Perkins  was  anxious  to  get  out  of 
school.  He  was  tired  of  it.  He  sighed  when 
he  thought  that  two  years  must  pass  before  he 
could  be  free  to  earn  money  for  himself.  He 
often  said  that  he  did  not  see  the  use  of  bend- 
ing over  books  from  morning  to  night.  A 
bright  boy,  he  added,  could  make  his  way  in 
the  world  whether  he  had  education  or  not. 
His  father  was  of  a  different  opinion,  how- 
ever, and  consequently  John  was  kept  at 
school.   The  unhappy  fellow  grumbled  and 


groaned,  and  spent  valuable  time  in  repining 
instead  of  study. 

His  cousin,  Ferdinand  Esmond — popularly 
known  as  "Ferd," — was  a  hard  worker  at 
school.  John  called  him  a  "bookworm,"  and 
announced  to  everybody  that  he  was  no.  good 
at  baseball.  This  was  not  altogether  true.  Ferd 
could  not  catch  or  pitch  as  John  could,  but  he 
was  agile  and  active  enough.  Ferd  made  his 
studies  the  principal  work  of  his  day,  while 
John  made  baseball  the  principal  work  of  his. 
The  latter  dreamed  of  baseball,  thought  of 
nothing  but  baseball,  and  was  impatient  to  get 
out  of  school  that  he  might  take  his  place  in 
a  celebrated  baseball  "team"  and  begin  trav- 
elling around  the  world. 

Ferd  and  John  were  good  friends.  They 
had  disputes  at  times,  but,  as  a  rule,  they  man- 
aged to  get  on  pretty  well.  About  the  middle 
of  the  vacation  time  John  began  to  grow  weary 
of  New  York.  He  had  read  all  the  books  he 
liked — which  were  mostly  thrilling  tales  of 
Indian  fights, — and  he  had  just  finished  the 
last  in  his  stock — "Reddy  the  Pitcher;  or, 
The  Umpire's  Revenge."  He  had  spent  every 
cent  he  could  scrape  together  in  attending 
baseball  matches.  On  this  particular  occa- 
sion life  did  not  seem  worth  living.  The  two 
cousins  were  sitting  in  the  backyard  of  Mr. 
Perkins'  house. 

Ferd's  head  was,  as  usual,  bent  over  a  book, 
which  had  a  yellow  cover.  Ferd  was  not  quite 
as  tall  as  John ;  both  were  about  seventeen 
years  of  age.  John  had  black  eyes,  black  hair, 
a  good-natured  face,  and  rather  a  restless  e\  e. 
Ferd  was  lighter  in  color,  stouter  than  John, 
with  not  quite  as  much  muscle,  but  with  a 
very  healthy  look.  Both  boys  were  consider- 
ably tanned,  for  they  had  been  much  in  the 
sun  all  summer. 

"Well,  I'm  tired! "  said  John,  with  a  yawn, 
throwing  down  the  book.  "There's  no  ball 
game  this  afternoon,  and  if  there  were  I've 
no  money.  All  the  fellows  of  our  own  club 
happen  to  be  out  of  town  to-day.  Oh" — and 
here  he  nearly  dislocated  his  jaws  with  an- 
other yawn, — "oh,  I  wish  something  would 
turn  up!" 

Ferd  was  silent. 

"Drop  that  stupid  book,  Ferd,"  he  contin- 
ued, "and  talk!  What  would  you  do  if  you 
had  money?" 


33  + 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"I  don't  know,"  said  Ferd,  absorbed  in  his 
book. 

"Oh,  yes  you  do! "  John  went  to  look  over 
his  shoulder.  "What!  Not  'Jack  Harkaway ' 
or  'The  Boat  Club,'  but  Geology,  as  I  live! 
Well,  Ferd  Esmond,  you  are  a  fool!  What  use 
will  Geology  ever  be  to  you?  What's  the  use 
of  any  study,  but  especially  these  'ologies? 
Come,  let's  talk.  Old  Dixon  will  make  you 
swallow  enough  Geology  when  school  opens. 
You  needn't  bother  your  head  with  it  now." 

"Don't  bother  me!"  said  Ferd.  absent- 
mindedly.  Then  he  put  his  finger  between  the 
pages  and  looked  across  at  John's  yawning 
face.  ' '  I  give  only  an  hour  and  a  half  to  study 
every  day  during  vacation,  you  know,  John. 
The  time  is  nearly  up,  and  I'll  be  free  for  the 
day.  But  I  promised  Mr.  Dixon  I'd  pull  up 
in  Geology ;  you  know  I  was  backward  in  it 
last  term.  Let  me  alone  for  ten  minutes." 

During  the  ten  minutes  John  yawned  and 
threw  stones  at  a  cat  on  the  fence. 

"Now!"  said  Ferd,  closing  his  book. 
"What  were  you  saying?" 

"I  was  saying  that  schools  are  humbugs, 
and  that  I'd  like  to  be  out  in  the  world  mak- 
ing money.  I'd  go  to-morrow  if  father  would 
let  me.  If  I  had  enough  cash  I'd  have  a  good 
time.  I'd  see  all  the  games  I  liked ;  I'd  make 
presents  to  all  the  New  York  nine,  and  I'd 
travel  around  with  them,  taking  a  bat  oc- 
casionall}^  just  to  let  people  know  I  was  in 
the  swim." 

"I  don't  think  you'd  do  that,"  said  Ferd; 
"or  if  you  did  you'd  get  tired  of  it,  if  you  are 
any  good  at  all." 

"No,  I  should  not." 

"Yes,  you  would.  What  good  would  you 
be  ?  How  do  you  think  your  father  and  mother 
would  like  it,  after  they  had  taken  the  trouble 
to  send  you  to  school  and  all  that — ' ' 

"I  don't  want  to  go  to  school.  I  know 
enough  already." 

Ferd  looked  at  John  in  surprise.  There  was 
a  twinkle  in  John's  eye,  but  Ferd  saw  that 
he  was  more  than  half  in  earnest . 

"Do  you  see  them — I  mean  those — mus- 
cles?" John  asked,  jumping  up  from  the 
hammock  in  which  he  had  been  lounging,  and 
rolling  up  his  sleeves.  * '  Those  are  the  muscles 
of  a  young  Hercules  or  a  John  L.  With  them 
I'd  hew  my  way  through  the  world." 


Ferd  laughed.  "You  would?  But  if  you 
want  to  earn  money  in  the  world,  John,  you'll 
find,  as  Mr.  Dixon  says,  that  brains  count  for 
more  than  muscle.  The  man  we  saw  carrying 
a  hod  the  other  day  had  bigger  muscles  than 
yours,  yet  he  will  probably  carry  a  hod  all  his 
days." 

"Why  doesn't  he  go  in  for  slugging,  then? 
Look  at  me!"  John  put  himself  into  a  prize- 
fighting position  and  bounced  at  Ferd. 

"Because,  if  he  is  an  honest  man,  he'd  rather 
carry  a  hod  than  be  a  brute." 

"Well,  I'm  not  going  to  argue.  I'd  just  like 
to  know  what  you're  going  to  do  when  you 
earn  money." 

"I  know  very  well,"  said  Ferd.  "I'll  pay 
your  father  back — you  know  how  kind  he  has 
been  about  mother's  rent  and  my  schooling, — 
and  then  I'll  build  a  house  for  mother  and 
Alice,  and  try  to  make  the  best  of  myself." 

"I'd  rather  go  to  school  than  do  that. 
You're  too  slow  for  me.  I'll  go  to  the  wild, 
untenanted  woods  and  find  a  gold  mine,  or 
something  of  that  kind.  *  In  the  hands  of  men 
entirely  grr-r-r-reat,  the  pick  is  mightier  than 
the  sword.'  Oh,  I  wish  we  had  something 
to  do!" 

"I'm  going  to  walk  up  to  Central  Park  and 
find  some  specimens  for  Alice.  You  know  she 
has  to  have  twenty-five  botanical  specimens 
before  she  can  go  in  for  the  botany  class  at 
her  school.   Come  along. ' ' 

"Hear  him,  ye  gods!  "  cried  John,  who  was 
given  to  theatricals  at  times.  "He  asks  me 
to  follow  his  footsteps  whither  I  shall  not  see 
even  a  lion,  a  tiger,  a  bear,  a  wolf,  on  which 
to  try  mine  glittering  sword!  Naught  but  the 
peaceful  policeman  shall  you  meet.  No:  ad- 
venture I  must  have.  Bring  forth  the  living 
flesh  of  lions  that  I  may  feed  thereon.  Ah-a-ha! 
I  thirst  for  gore !  But  stop !—  is  it  not  the  letter- 
carrier  we  see  approaching?  See!  he  tosses 
a  missive  between  the  rails  of  yon  fence.  And 
'tis  forme!" 

John  caught  the  letter  which  the  good- 
natured  postman  tossed  to  him  ;  he  opened  it, 
and  uttered  a  shout  as  he  read  it  and  took  from 
it  a  piece  of  thin  blue  paper. 

"It's  from  Uncle  Will!   Hurrah!" 

John  danced  a  fantastic  figure  and  stood  on 
his  head.  All  this  was  very  foolish;  for  he 
not  only  ktpt  Ferd  waiting  impatiently,  but 


The  Ave  Maria, 


335 


he  ran  the  risk  of  tearing  the  piece  of  blue 
paper,  which  was  very  important. 

"Well,  what  does  he  want?"  asked  Ferd, 
trying  to  catch  John's  feet,  which  were  per- 
forming various  antics  in  the  air. 

John  turned  himself  into  his  usual  position, 
and,  having  gained  his  breath,  answered  :  "I 
don't  know  what  he  says  yet ;  but  I  know  he 
has  sent  a  cheque  for  a  hundred  dollars." 

Ferd,  open-eyed  in  wonder,  approached  the 
cheque  and  examined  it  respectfully.  Then 
they  both  read  the  letter,  which  was  from 
Marquette  in  Michigan,  on  I^ake  Superior. 

"Dear  Boys:  —  I  enclose  some  money  to  be 
equally  divided  between  you.  You  can  spend  it  in 
paying  me  a  visit.  I  am  camping  out  near  Marquette, 
among  the  pines.  I  have  plenty  of  fishing  lines, 
breech-loaders,  and  a  rifle  or  two.  Bring  some  warm, 
old  clothes.  You  can  take  the  boat  from  Buffalo.  Of 
course  this  invitation  must  be  shown  to  your  parents, 
who  have  already  half  consented. " 

It  was  signed,  "William  J.  Perkins." 

"Uncle  Will  is  an — an  angel!"  cried  John. 

Ferd's  face  flushed  with  pleasure,  but  he 
said  nothing.  Would  his  mother  let  him  go? 
This  was  the  question  which  filled  his  mind. 
He  was  sure  that  if  she  saw  Uncle  Will's 
letter  she  would  not.  The  mention  of  rifles 
and  breech-loaders  would  fill  her  with  terror. 
And  yet  the  prospect  seemed  so  pleasant.  Ferd 
had  never  been  away  from  home  before.  He 
had  read  about  the  delights  of  camping  out, 
and  here  was  a  chance  of  enjoying  them. 

John  ran  into  the  house  with  the  note.  As 
it  happened,  Ferd's  mother  was  visiting  her 
sister;  and  while  the  ladies  were  discussing 
the  project  John's  father  came  in.  As  soon  as 
he  was  informed  of  the  invitation  he  said 
that  the  boys  ought  to  go. 

"John  needs  to  learn  that  he  doesn't  know 
everything,  and  that  he  can't  do  everything 
by  mere  force ;  and  Ferd  deserves  a  holiday," 
he  said. 

After  which  Ferd's  mother  consented, 
though  with  a  sinking  heart ;  for  he  was  all 
she  had  in  the  world. 

The  boys  were  called  in  and  informed  of 
the  decision.  Ferd  kissed  his  mother,  and  John 
danced  a  fandango. 

"I  know  that  I  can  trust  you,"  said  Mr. 
Perkins.  "I  need  only  remind  you  that  you 
are  to  go  to  Mass  whenever  you  can,  Sunday 
or  week-day ;  and  you  are  not  to  smoke  cigar- 


ettes. You  may  start  to-morrow  for  Buffalo 
on  the  night  train.'' 

The  boys  were  presented  b}^  John's  father 
with  a  complete  outfit  for  hunting  and  fish- 
ing. Afterward  they  regretted  this ;  for  they 
found  they  could  have  travelled  more  easily 
unencumbered,  and  their  fellow-travellers  told 
them  that  they  could  have  bought  or  hired 
an  outfit  cheaply  at  Marquette. 

They  enjoyed  the  boat  ride  through  Lake 
Michigan.  They  found  great  pleasure  in  watch- 
ing three  canary-birds,  which  the  captain  said 
had  followed  his  steamer  during  all  the  year. 
They  fluttered  particularly  around  a  hanging 
basket  of  plants  in  the  stem  of  the  Jay  Gould. 
During  most  of  the  voyage  through  the  Lake 
the  steamer  kept  out  of  sight  of  the  shore, 
and  the  boys  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  sit  in 
the  stern,  talking  or  reading.  Some  of  the  other 
passengers  were  very  friendly,  and  one  of  them 
had  been  a  mighty  hunter  in  his  time.  He  told 
bear  and  deer  stories  until  the  boys'  mouths 
watered ;  and  his  descriptions  of  his  prowess 
among  the  speckled  trout  were  enticing.  John 
and  Ferd  longed  to  be  on  shore  with  their 
rods  and  guns. 

The  island  of  Mackinaw,  with  its  many 
beauties  and  historical  associations,  was 
reached  in  the  night  The  boys  stayed  up  until 
after  midnight  to  see  their  fellow-passengers 
disembark.  They  hoped  that  the  steamer 
might  have  to  take  on  board  a  great  deal  of 
freight,  so  that  its  departure  might  be  de- 
layed until  daylight;  but  the  captain  said  he 
would  stop  at  Mackinaw  only  half  an  hour. 
They  overcame  their  disappointment  by  re- 
flecting that  they  would  at  least  see  the  town 
of  Sault  Sainte  Marie  by  daylight.  The  boat 
hands  called  this  city  "The  Soo,"  and  Ferd 
in  vain  tried  to  show  them  how  much  more 
beautiful  its  real  name  is ;  and  he  said  to  John 
how  pleasant  it  was  to  be  brought  near  to 
those  early  times,  when  the  name  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  blossomed  everywhere,  like  a 
lily-plant,  in  the  footsteps  of  the  missionaries. 

When  the  passengers  bound  for  Marquette 
had  gone,  the  boys  stood  on  deck  watching 
the  ominous  clouds  overhead.  Every  now  and 
then  a  flash  of  lightning  seemed  to  cleave  the 
sky  from  east  to  west.  The  lake  grew  rougher, 
until  the  steamer  seemed  to  be  a  mere  toy- 
tossed  in  giant  hands. 


33^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


John  and  Ferd,  who  had  the  utmost  con- 
fidence in  the  boat  and  the  captain,  rather 
enjo3^ed  the  scene.  After  a  time  the  rain  fell 
literally  in  torrents,  and  the  noise  sounded 
like  the  clash  of  weapons.  The  boys  went 
into  the  saloon,  where  a  number  of  the  pas- 
sengers were  assembled.  Among  these  was  a 
Canadian  woman  with  several  children.  She 
seemed  so  terrified,  as  she  stood  listening  to 
the  thunderous  noises  around  her,  that  Ferd 
lodged  to  tell  her  that  there  was  not  so  much 
danger  as  there  seemed  to  be.  He  tried  to 
speak  to  her ;  but  she  could  not  answer  him, 
as  she  .spoke  no  English.  The  children  cried 
piteously ;  both  John  and  Ferd  felt  very  sorry 
for  them.  The  steamer  rocked  and  bounded 
on  the  waves.  The  distress  of  the  woman  and 
children  became  very  piteous.  Ferd  suddenly 
thought  of  something.  As  the  woman  spoke 
French,  no  doubt  she  was  a  Catholic.  John 
drew  out  hisRosar3^  The  woman's  eyes  bright- 
ened, and  she  and  the  children  and  the  boys 
made  a  little  devotional  group, — ^John  saying 
the  Rosary  in  English,  and  the  woman  and 
the  children  answering  in  French. 
(TO  be;  continued.) 


The  Story  of  an  October  Saint. 


Neither  will  I  conceal  tha't  which  I  re- 
ceived by  the  relation  of  those  that  are  grave 
and  of  good  credit. 

In  the  time  of  the  Goths  an  honorable 
young  maid  called  Galla,  daughter  to  Sym- 
machus  the  Consul,  was  bestowed  in  marriage, 
whose  husband,  before  the  year  came  about, 
departed  this  life.  Wherefore,  straight  upon 
the  death  of  her  husband,  casting  ofiF  her  sec- 
ular habit  and  attire,  she  rendered  herself  for 
the  service  of  God  to  that  nunnery  which  is 
by  the  church  of  the  blessed  Apostle  St.  Peter, 
where  she  lived  for  the  space  of  many  years  in 
prayer  and  simplicity  of  heart,  and  bestowed 
alms  plentifull}^  upon  needy  and  poor  people. 

At  length,  when  Almighty  God  determined 
to  bestow  upon  her  an  everlasting  reward,  He 
sent  her  a  cancer  in  one  of  her  breasts.  Two 
candles  she  had  usually  in  the  night-time 
burning  before  her  bed  ;  for,  loving  light,  she 
did  not  Only  hate  spiritual  darkness,  but  also 
corporal. 


One  night,  lying  sore  afflicted  with  this  her 
infirmity,  she  saw  St.  Peter  standing  before 
her  bed,  betwixt  the  two  candlesticks ;  and 
being  nothing  afraid,  but  glad,  love  giving  her 
courage,  thus  she  spake  unto  him:  "How  is 
it,  my  lord?  What!  Are  my  sins  forgiven 
me?"  To  whom  (as  he  hath  a  most  gracious 
countenance)  he  bowed  down  a  little  his  head, 
and  said :  "Thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee  ;  come 
and  follow  me." 

But  because  there  was  another  nun  in  the 
monastery  which  Galla  loved  more  than  the 
rest,  she  straightway  besought  him  that  good 
Sister  Benedicta  might  go  with  her.  To 
whom  he  answered  that  she  could  not  then 
come,  but  another  should  ;  and  "as  for  her," 
quoth  he,  "whom  you  now  request,  thirty 
days  hence  shall  she  follow  you."  And  when 
he  had  thus  said  he  instantly  vanished  out  of 
her  sight. 

After  whose  departure  Galla  straightway 
called  for  the  Mother  of  the  convent  and  told 
her  what  she  had  seen  and  heard ;  and  the 
third  day  following  both  she  and  the  other 
before  mentioned  departed  this  life  ;  and  she 
also  whose  company  Galla  desired,  the  thir- 
tieth day  after  did  follow  them. 

The  memory  of  which  thing  contiiuieth 
still  fresh  in  that  monastery.  So  that  the  imns 
which  now  live  there  (receiving  it  by  tradition 
from  their  predecessors)  can  tell  every  little 
point  thereof,  as  though  they  had  been  pres- 
ent at  the  time  when  the  miracle  happened. — 
'  *  The  Dialogues  of  St  Gregory  the  Great. ' '  Old 
English  Version. 


Anecdote  of  Sir  Thomas  More. 


The  Blessed  Thomas  More  was  one  of  the 
most  incorruptible  of  public  magistrates. 
When  he  was  Lord  Chancellor  of  England  it 
became  necessary  for  him  on  one  occasion  to 
give  his  decision  in  a  very  important  lawsuit. 
A  nobleman,  whose  interests  were  at  stake, 
sent  him  two  magnificent  silver  flagons  for  a 
gift,  hoping  for  a  decision  in  his  own  favor; 
but  Sir  Thomas,  having  them  filled  with  the 
best  wine  in  his  cellar,  returned  them  by  the 
servant  who  had  brought  them,  bidding  him 
tell  his  master  to  send  for  more  wine  when 
that  was  gone. 


Vol.  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  OCTOBER  12,  1889. 


No.  15. 


[Published  ever^-  Saturday.    Copyright:  Rev.  D.  E.  Hudson,  C.  S.  C] 

Life's  Rosary.  St.  Cyril  and  the  Murder  of  Hypatia. 


liY  Tin-:   RKV.   R.  J.  m'hugh. 

HOPING  and  toiling  and  grieving, 
Midway  'tvvixt  laughter  and  tears, 
Day  after  day  we  are  weaving 
A  wearisome  chaplet  of  }  ears. 

Day  after  day,  and  the  morrow 

Seems  so  uncertain  and  far. 
Whilst  decades  of  Joy  or  of  Sorrow 

Embellish  our  labor  or  mar  ; — 

Decades  of  Joy — when  we  labor. 

With  hearts  that  are  steadfast  and  brave, 

Our  Saviour  to  honor,  our  neighbor 
To  cherish  and  comfort  and  save. 

Decades  of  Sorrow — when  zealous 

For  honors  or  power  or  pelf. 
With  hearts  that  are  narrow  and  jealous 

We  labor  untiring  for  self. 

So  with  each  day's  little  history 
We  add  to  our  chaplet  of  years 

A  Joyful  or  Sorrowful  Mystery, — 
A  decade  of  smiles  or  of  tears. 

(iod  grant  that  when  Life  with  its  storj- 
Of  evil  and  good  deeds  is  o'er. 

We  may  join  in  the  decades  of  Glory 
With  the  angels  and  saints  evermore! 


BY  THE   REV.  REUBEN   PAR.SONS,  D.  D. 


The  beasts  of  the  field,  created  for  earth, 
carry  their  heads  downward,  and  go  on  all 
fours,  looking  always  toward  the  ground  ;  but 
man,  created  for  heaven,  standeth  upright, 
that  he  may  look  heavenward,  not  downward, 
minding  earthly  things. — Diego  de  Estella' 


FEW  years  ago  the  Rev.  Charles 
Kingsley,  an  English  writer  of  some 
!|  reputation,  saw  fit  to  revive  an  an- 
cient but  often  exploded  calumn}'  against  one 
of  God's  saints.  This  author  is  a  clergyman 
of  the  English  Establishment,  and  being  pre- 
sumably as  well  as  pretendedly  a  man  of  edu- 
cation, one  would  have  expected  from  his  pen 
at  least  a  moderately  appreciative  treatment 
of  the  grand  characters  whom  he  selected  to 
illustrate  an  important,  though  little  under- 
stood, period  of  hi.story.  But,  according  to 
him,  the  great  Patriarch  of  Alexandria  "has 
gone  to  his  own  place.  What  that  place  is  in 
history,  is  but  too  well  known  :  what  it  is  in 
the  sight  of  Him  unto  whom  all  live  forever, 
is  no  concern  of  ours.  May  He  whose  mercy 
is  over  all  His  works  have  mercy  upon  all, 
whether  orthodox  or  unorthodox,  Papist  or 
Protestant,  who,  like  Cyril,  begin  by  lying  for 
the  cause  of  truth ;  and,  setting  off  upon  that 
evil  road,  arrive  surely,  with  'he  Sciibes  and 
Pharisees  of  old,  sooner  or  later,  at  their  own 
place.  True,  he  and  his  monks  had  conquered  ; 
but  Hypatia  did  not  die  unavenged.  In  the 
hour  of  that  unrighteous  victory  the  Church 
of  Alexandria  received  a  deadly  wound.  It  had 
admitted  and  sanctioned  those  habitj 
evil  that  good  may  come,  of  pi( 
and  at  last  of  open  persecution, 
tain  to  creep  in  wheresoever  m( 
set  up  a  merely  religious  empire\ 
of  human  relationships  and  ci\^ 


3i8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


establish,  in  short,  a  'theocracy,'  and  by  that 
very  act  confess  a  secret  disbelief  that  God  is 
ruling  already." 

Such  was  not  the  judgment  of  Kingsley's 
fellow-sectarian,  Cave,*  nor  of  the  I^utheran, 
John  Albert  Fabricius.f  than  whom  Protes- 
tants have  produced  no  critics  more  erudite. 
But  it  is  the  opinion  expressed  by  many  Prot- 
estant polemics ;  for  St.  Cyril  presided,  in  the 
name  of  the  Roman  Pontiff,  at  the  Council  of 
Kphesus  (43 1 ),  which  confirmed  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin  the  title  of  Mother  of  God.  %  It  is  also 
the  judgment  of  Voltaire  and  the  entire  school 
of  incredulists ;  for  St.  Cyril  triumphantly 
refuted  the  work  of  the  Emperor  Julian 
against  Christianity. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  fifth  century  the 
great  city  of  Alexandria  in  Egypt  was  still 
nearly  one-half  pagan,  and  the  Jewish  popula- 
tion also  was  very  large.  No  populace  in  the 
Empire  was  so  turbulent  and  seditious,  and 
therefore  the  emperors  had  invested  the  patri- 
archs with  extensive  civil  authority,  although 
the  force  at  the  prelates'  disposal  was  not 
always  sufficient  to  repress  the  disorders  of 

*  "Ut.  Hist,"  article  "Cyrillus." 

t  "Bibl.  Grseca,"  pt.  iv,  b.5. 

}  Writing  to  the  clergy  and  people  of  Constanti- 
nople, Pope  St.  Celestine  said :  "We  have  deemed  it 
proper  that  in  so  important  a  matter  we  ourselves 
should  be  in  some  sort  present  among  you,  and  there- 
fore we  have  appointed  our  brother  Cyril  as  our 
representative. "  And,  writing  to  St.  Cyril,  the  Pontiff 
says:  "You  will  proclaim  this  sentence  by  our  au- 
thority, acting  in  our  place  by  virtue  of  our  power ; 
so  that  if  Nestorius,  within  ten  days  after  his  admo- 
nition, does  not  anathematize  his  impious  doctrine, 
you  will  declare  him  deprived  of  communion  with 
us,  and  you  will  at  once  provide  for  the  needs  of  the 
Constantinopolitan  Church."  It  is  quite  natural  that 
Protestant  polemics  should  be  hostile  to  the  memory 
of  the  great  "Doctor  of  the  Incarnation,"  who  thus 
apostrophized  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  the  Council  of 
Ephesus  :  "I  salute  thee.  Mother  of  God,  venerable 
treasure  of  the  entire  universe!  I  salute  thee,  who 
didst  enclose  the  Immense,  the  Incomprehensible,  in 
thy  virginal  womb!  I  salute  thee,  by  whose  means 
heaven  triumphs,  angels  rejoice,  demons  are  put  to 
flight,  the  tempter  is  vanquished,  the  culpable  creat- 
ure is  raised  to  heaven,  a  knowledge  of  truth  is  based 
on  the  mijis  of  idolatry !  I  salute  thee,  through  whom 
'  all  the  chu^hes  of  the  earth  have  been  founded,  and 
j'  :  ^11  nations  led  \o  penance!  I  salute  thee,  in  fine,  by 
1  >  Vhom  the  ofaly  Son  of  God,  the  Light  of  the  world, 
lias  enlightened  those  who  were  seated  in  the  shadow 
of  death!  Can  any  man  worthily  laud  the  incompa- 
rable Mary?" 


the  mob.  In  the  year  413  St.  Cyril  was  raised 
to  the  patriarchate,  and  was  almost  immedi- 
ately involved  in  difficulty  with  Orestes,  the 
imperial  prefect.  Often  he  conjured  this  officer 
on  the  Gospels  to  put  an  end  to  his  enmity 
for  the  good  of  the  city. 

At  this  time  the  chief  school  of  pagan  phi- 
losophy in  Alexandria  was  taught  by  Hypatia, 
a  beautiful  woman,  and  of  irreproachable 
morals.  Among  her  hearers  were  many  of  the 
Slite  of  paganism.  The  celebrated  Synesius 
had  been  her  pupil,  and  his  letters  show  that, 
although  he  had  become  a  Chri  tian  bishop 
in  410  he  still  gloried  in  her  friendship.  But 
her  most  important  scholar  was  the  Prefect 
Orestes.  It  is  difficult  to  determine  what  was 
the  religion  of  this  man.  He  himself,  on  the 
occasion  of  an  attack  on  his  life  by  some  monks 
from  Mt.  Nitria,  had  proclaimed  his  Christi- 
anity, but  his  general  conduct  would  inspire 
doubt  of  his  sincerity;  and  we  may  safely 
accept  as  probable  the  conjecture  of  the  Eng- 
lish novelist,  that  he  was  ready  to  renew  the 
attempt  of  Julian  the  Apostate.  The  obstinacy 
of  Orestes  in  refusing  a  reconciliation  with 
their  patriarch  was  ascribed  by  the  whole 
Christian  community  to  the  infltience  of 
Hypatia;  and  one  day  in  the  Lent  of  415  a 
number  of  pai-abolani^^  and  laics,  led  by  one 
Peter  the  Reader  and  some  Nitrian  monks, 
fell  upon  the  unfortunate  philosopher  as  she 
was  proceeding  to  her  lecture  hall,  dragged 
her  from  her  litter,  hurried  her  to  the  great 
church  of  the  Caesareum,  and  there  literally 
tore  her  to  pieces. 

Such,  in  a  few  words,  is  the  substance  of  the 
account  of  this  horrible  event  as  given  by  the 
historian  Socrates,  f  a  writer  contemporary 
with  the  great  vSt.  Cyril,  and  whom  Kings- 
ley  professes  to  have  scrupulously  followed. 
But  Socrates,  hostile  though  he  ever  shows 

*  These  were  an  order  of  minor  clerics,  probably 
only  tonsured,  who  were  deputed  to  the  service  of 
tht'  sick  both  in  hospitals  and  at  home.  Their  name 
was  derived  from  their  constant  exposure  to  danger. 
The  first  mention  of  them  in  a  public  document 
occurs  in  an  ordinance  of  Theodosius  II.,  in  416;  but 
they  are  here  spoken  of  as  having  been  in  existence 
many  years,  and  probably  they  were  instituted  in  the 
time  of  Constantine.  In  course  of  time  they  became 
arrogant  and  seditious,  and  were  finall}'  abolished. 
At  Alexandria  they  numbered  six  hundred,  and  were 
all  appointed  by  the  patriarch. 

t  '-Hist.  Eccl.,"  b.  vii,  l  15. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


339 


himself  to  the  holy  patriarch,  does  not  once 
insinuate  that  this  prelate  was  the  instigator 
of  the  crime;  while  the  Anglican  minister 
does  imply  that  charge,  and  openly  lays  all 
responsibility  for  the  foul  deed  on  St.  Cyril. 
Voltaire,  the  prince  of  incredulists,  natu- 
rally gloats  over  one  of  the  most  delicious 
morsels  ever  furnished  to  his  school.  Hav- 
ing compared  Hypatia  to  Madame  Dacier,  a 
learned  classicist  of  his  day,  he  asks  us  to 
imagine  the  French  Carmelites  contending 
that  the  poem  of  "Magdalen,"  composed  in 
1668  by  Peter  de  Saint-Louis,  one  of  their 
Order,  was  superior  to  the  "Iliad"  of  Homer, 
and  insisting  that  it  is  impious  to  prefer  the 
work  of  a  pagan  to  that  of  a  religious.  Let  us 
fancy  then,  continues  the  Sage  of  Ferney, 
that  the  Archbishop  of  Paris  takes  the  part 
of  the  Carmelites  against  the  governor  of  the 
city,  a  partisan  of  Madame  Dacier,  who  prefers 
Homer  to  F.  Peter.  Finally,  let  us  suppose 
the  Archbishop  inciting  the  Carmelites  to 
slaughter  this  beautiful  woman  in  the  Cathe- 
dral of  Notre  Dame.  "Such  precisely,"  con- 
cludes Voltaire,  "is  the  history  of  Hypatia. 
She  taught  Homer  and  Plato  in  Alexandria 
during  the  reign  of  Theodosius  II.  St.  Cyril 
unleashed  the  Christian  populace  against  her, 
as  we  are  told  by  Damascius  and  Suidas,  and 
as  is  satisfactorily  proved  by  the  most  learned 
moderns,  such  as  Brucker,  La  Croze,  Basnage, 
etc."  *  And  in  another  placet  Voltaire  dares 
to  ask:  "Can  anything  be  more  horrible  or 
more  cowardly  than  the  conduct  of  the  priests 
of  this  Bishop  Cyril,  whom  Christians  style 
St.  Cyril? .  .  .  His  tonsured  hounds,  followed 
by  a  mob  of  fanatics,  attack  Hypatia  in  the 
street,  drag  her  by  the  hair,  stone  and  burn 
her,  and  Cyril  the  Holy  utters  not  the  slight- 
est reprimand."  Again:]:  "This  Cyril  was 
ambitious,  factious,  turbulent,  knavish,  and 
cruel.  ...  He  caused  his  priests  and  diocesans 
to  massacre  the  young  Hypatia,  so  well  known 
in  the  world  of  letters.  .  .  .  Cyril  was  jealous 
because  of  the  prodigious  attendance  at  the 
lectures  of  Hypatia,  and  he  incited  against 


*  In  his  "  Dictionnaire  Pliilosophique";  article, 
"Hypatia." 

t  "Exatiien  Iinportaut  de  Milord  Bolingbroke," 
chap  34,  "Des  Chretiens  jusqu'a  Theodose." 

X  "Discours  de  Julien  centre  la  Secte  des  Gali- 
leans." 


her  the  murderers  who  assassinated  her.  .  .  . 
Such  was  Cyril  of  whom  they  have  made  a 
saint."  And  as  late  as  1777,  when  the  octo- 
genarian cynic  was  already  in  the  shadow  of 
death,  he  wrote:  "We  know  that  St.  Cyril 
caused  the  murder  of  Hypatia.  the  heroine  of 
philosophy."  * 

Since  such  is  the  judgment  expressed  by 
Voltaire,  at  once  the  most  shallow  and  most 
influential  of  all  modern  writers  on  historical 
matters,  it  is  not  stiange  that  the  masses  have 
accepted  the  romance  of  Hypatia  as  recounted 
by  most  of  those  fosterers  of  shallowness,  the 
encyclopaedias  and  dictionaries  of  the  day. 
Even  in  some  of  the  least  superficial  of  these 
presumed  authorities,  such  as  the  "Nouvelle 
Biographic  Generale"  (Didot,  1858),  and  the 
"Grand  Dictionnaire  Encyclopedique  du  Dix- 
Neuvieme  Siecle "  (1873),  the  accusation 
against  St.  Cyril  is  clearly  put  forth.  In  the 
former  work  we  read  the  following  from  the 
pen  of  a  celebrated  writer  if  "It  is  hard  to 
believe  that  the  hands  of  St.  Cyril  were  not 
stained  in  this  bloody  tragedy.  The  historian 
Socrates,  who  gives  its  details,  adds  that  the 
deed  covered  with  infamy  not  only  Cyril  but 
the  whole  Church  of  Alexandria."  In  the  latter 
we  are  told :  "Hypatia  was  massacred  by  the 
Christian  populace,  at  the  instigation  of  St. 
Cyril.  .  .  .  According  to  Damascius,  St.  Cyril, 
passing  one  day  before  the  residence  of  H/p- 
atia,  noted  the  crowd  who  were  waiting  to 
hear  the  daughter  of  Theon,  and  he  thereupon 
conceived  such  jealousy  of  her  fame  that  he 
resolved  to  procure  the  death  of  the  noble  and 
learned  girl."  ^ 

*  "L'Etablissement  du  Christian isme,"  chap.  24, 
"Exc^s  de  Fanatisme." 

t  M.  Aube,  in  vol.  xxv,  p.  712. 

X  Vol.  ix.  p.  505  — Cantu  does  not  touch  the  ques- 
tion of  St.  Cyril's  responsibility  for  this  crime.  This  is 
.all  that  the  great  historian  says  concerning  Hypatia : 
"Theon,  a  professor  in  Alexandria,  commentated  on 
Euclid  and  Ptolemy,  but  became  more  famous  on 
account  of  his  beautiful  daughter  Hypatia.  Taught 
mathematics  hy  him,  and  perfected  at  Athens,  she 
was  invited  to  tea'ch  philosophy  in  her  native  city. 
She  followed  the  eclectics,  but  based  her  s\stem  on 
the  exact  sciences,  and  introduced  demonstrations 
into  the  speculative,  thus  reducing  them  to  a  more 
rigorous  method  than  they  had  hitherto  known. 
Bishop  Synesius  was  her  scholar,  and  always  vener- 
ated her.  Orestes,  Prefect  of  Egypt,  admired  and 
loved  her,  and  followed  her  counsels  in  his  contest 


340 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Voltaire  tells  us  that  the  guilt  of  St.  Cyril 
has  been  proved  by  the  most  learned  men  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  "such  as  Brucker,  La 
Croze,  Basnage,  etc.,  etc."  Let  us  pass,  with 
a  doubting  smile,  this  extravagant  encomium 
on  writers  of  very  ordinary  calibre,  and  see 
how  these  Protestant  authorities  arrive  at 
their  horrible  conclusion.  It  is  by  adducing 
the  testimony  of  Socrates,  Suidas,  Damascius, 
and  Nicephorus  Callixtus.  But  in  vain  do 
they  call  on  Socrates.  This  historian,  although 
very  hostile  to  St.  Cyril,  as  he  constantly  shows 
himself,  and  although  his  Novatianism  * 
would  render  him  very  willing  lo  incriminate 
an  orthodox  prelate,  does  not  charge  the  holy 
patriarch  with  either  the  instigation  or  an 
approval  of  the  murder.  And,  let  it  be  noted, 
Philostorgius,  also  contemporary  with  Hyp- 
atia,  and  an  historian  of  as  much  reliability 
as  Socrates,  narrates  her  death,  but  does  not 
even  mention  the  name  of  St.  Cyril  in  connec- 
tion with  it,  although,  indeed,  he  inculpates 
the  Catholics.  The  same  may  be  said  of  Suidas. 
As  for  Nicephorus  Callixtus,  this  schismatic 
author  should  not  be  brought  forward  in  the 
matter,  as  he  lived  nine  centuries  after  the 
event,  and  could  know  nothing  whatever 
concerning  it,  unless  from  Socrates  and  Phi- 
lostorgius. Furthermore,  the  best  critics  of 
every  school  tax  this  writer  with  a  fondness 
for  fables. 

There  remains,  then,  only  Damascius,  on 
whom  Voltaire  and  his  latest  copyist,  Kings- 
ley,  can  rely  for  justification  in  their  ghoulish 
task.  But  Damascius  was  a  pagan,  a  declared 
enemy  of  Christianity,  and  it  was  the  interest 
of  his   cause  to  besmirch   the   fair  fame  of 


*  This  heresy  was  an  outgrowth  of  the  schism  of 
Novatian,  who,  instigated  by  Xovatus,  a  Carthaginian 
priest,  tried  to  usurp  the  pontifical  throne  of  St. 
Cornelius  in  251.  Its  cardinal  doctrine  was  that  there 
were  some  sins  whi  h  the  Church  can  not  forgive. 
It  subsisted  in  the  East  until  the  seventh  century, 
and  in  the  West  until  the  eighth. 

with  the  fiery  Archbishop,  St.  Cyril.  It  was  said  that 
it  was  owing  to  Hypatia's  enthusiasm  for  paganism 
that  Orestes  became  unfavorable  to  the  Christians. 
Hence  certain  imprudent  persons  so  excited  the 
people  against  her  that  one  day,  while  she  was  going 
to  her  school,  she  was  dragged  from  her  litter, 
stripped  and  killed,  and  her  members  thrown  into 
the  flames. "  ("Storia  Universale,"  b,  vii,  c.  23.  Edit, 
Ital.  10,  Turin,  1862.) 


le  is" 


Alexandria's  patriarch.  And  of  what  value 
his  assertion,  made  a  century  and  a  half  after 
the  death  of  Hypatia,  when  compared  with 
the  silence  of  her  contemporaries,  Socrates 
and  Philostorgius?  Again,  the  very  passage 
of  Damascius  adduced  by  the  foes  of  St.  Cyril 
betrays  the  shallowness  of  this  author's  in- 
formation. He  represents  the  patriarch  as 
surprised  at  the  numbers  awaiting  the  coming 
forth  of  Hypatia,  and  as  asking  who  it  was 
that  could  attract  such  a  concourse.  Is  it 
possible  that  St.  Cyril,  the  best  informed  man 
in  Alexandria  concerning  even  its  most  trivial 
affairs,  the  all-powerful  patriarch  whose  spies  ™ 
were  everywhere  (according  to  Kingsley),  did 
not  know  the  residence  of  the  woman  who 
disputed  with  him  the  intellectual  empire  of 
the  city?  And  Damascius  makes  still  more 
exorbitant  demands  on  our  credulity;  for  he 
gives  us  to  understand  that  until  St.  Cyril 
saw  that  crowd  of  her  enthusiastic  disciples, 
he  had  not -even  heard  a  name  which  for  years 
had  been  renowned  in  Egypt. 

We  are  not  writing  a  Life  of  St.  Cyril,  still 
less  a  hagiological  essay;  but  we  must  remark 
that  the  general  tenor  of  this  prelate's  career, 
his  exhibition  of  constant  zeal  and  virtue  of  a 
strikingly  heroic  character,  which  caused  his 
enrolment  among  the  canonized  saints,  would 
prevent  us  from  supposing  th  it  he  could  ever 
have  been  a  murderer.  Of  course,  absolutely 
speaking,  no  metaphysical  impossibility  is  in- 
volved in  the  supposition  of  Voltaire,  Kingsley, 
etc.;  but  if  it  were  accepted,  we  should  expect 
to  discover  some  trace  of  heroic  repentance  in 
the  after-life  of  the  patriarch.  Now,  in  the 
remaining  thirty  years  of  his  career,  active 
and  open  to  inspection  though  it  was,  we  can 
find  neither  the  slightest  trace  of  such  repent- 
ance nor  even  any  avowal  of  the  crime.  But 
we  need  say  no  more.  The  charge  is  as  gra- 
tuitous as  it  is  malicious,  and  will  thus  be 
considered  by  all  fair  minds  until  at  least 
one  contemporary  or  ^z^^5z-con temporary  au- 
thority can  be  adduced  in  its  support. 

God  keeps  His  holy  mysteries 
Just  on  the  outside  of  man's  dream; 

In  diapason  slow  we  think 

To  hear  their  pinions  rise  and  sink, 

While  they  float  pure  beneath  His  eyes, 
Like  swans  ad  own  a  stream. 

— Mrs.  Browning. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


341 


Ella's  Sacrifice. 


BY    CLARA    MUI.HOIJvAND,    AUTHOR    OF    "a    BUNCH 

ROF  VIOIJiTS,"   "TWO   UTTLK   RUSTICS,"  ETC. 


I. 


ENEDICTION  was  over.  The  air  was  still 
heavy  with  incense,  but  the  candles  had 
been  extinguished  upon  the  altar,  and  the 
congregation  was  dispersing  fast. 

Within  the  Lady  Chapel,  her  hands  tightly 
clasped,  her  eyes,  heavy  with  tears,  raised  in 
loving  supplication  toward  the  Virgin  Mother, 
knelt  EUa  Morris.  "In  the  midst  of  life  we 
are  in  death."  Such  had  been  the  text  of  the 
preacher;  and  to  KUa,  who  in  all  her  young 
life  had  hardly  known  a  day's  illness  or  an 
hour's  pain,  these  words  suddenly  came. as  a 
word  of  warning.  Death!  She  shuddered. 
How  terrible  to  die — to  leave  the  world  and 
all  its  enjoyments  and  pleasures,  young!  And 
A^et  this  was  what  it  meant.  "In  the  midst  of 
fe  we  are  in  death." 

Ella  bowed  her  head  and  prayed  fervently. 
If  it  were  God's  will  that  she  should  live,  she 
asked  that  she  might  be  able  to  lead  a  holy, 
useful  life;  if  she  were  to  die  soon,  in  her 
youth,  when  everything  was  bright  and  full 
of  liope,  that  this  awful,  terrible  fear  might 
be  allowed  to  pass  from  her  heart,  and  that 
she  might  receive  grace  to  enable  her  to  sub- 
mit with  resignation  to  her  fate.  And  presently 
a  great  peace  came  upon  her.  Our  Lady 
seemed  to  smile  reassuringly  upon  her,  and 
she  soon  felt  certain  that,  come  what  might, 
she  would  never  be  tried  beyond  her  strength. 
So,  drying  her  tears,  she  rose  from  her  knees 
and  passed  quickly  from  the  church. 

On  the  steps  sat  a  little  girl  of  some  ten 
years  of  age,  wretchedly  clad  in  a  thin,  scanty 
frock,  an  apron  tattered  and  torn,  and  an  old 
battered  bonnet.  Her  face  was  pinched  with 
cold,  her  hands  were  chapped  and  bleeding, 
and  her  teeth  literally  chattered  in  her  head 
as  she  looked  up  imploringly  at  Ella. 

"For  God's  sake  give  me  something.  Miss! 
My  mother  is  dying,  and  we  are  all  so  hungry  I ' ' 

The  young  girl  paused  and  looked  atten- 
tively at  the  child. 

"Who  is  your  mother?" 

'Mrs.Glinn.  Father  was  a  'Punch-an'-Judy ' 


man,  but  he's  dead.  Mother  went  round  till 
she  got  ill,  an'  Bill  an'  me  is  too  small  for  the 
perfession." 

'  'Are  you  Catholics  ?  " 

"No;  father  was  but  mother's  nothin' — 
leastways  she  never  goes  to  church.  .She's  too 
ill  to  go  anywhere  now." 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

"Just  round  the  corner"— pointing  over 
her  shoulder, — "in  Bright  Street." 

"Bridget,"  said  EUa,  turning  to  a  good- 
natured  looking,  elderly  woman,  an  old  ser- 
vant who  always  accompanied  her  when  she 
went  out  without  her  mother  or  sister,  "I 
would  like  to  buy  some  food  and  take  it  to  this 
woman  and  her  children.  What  do  you  say  ? ' ' 

"Just  as  you  please.  Miss.  It  is  .not  very 
late.  But  we  must  not  delay  too  long.  I  have 
work  to  do  at  home." 

Ella  smiled,  and  looked  gratefully  at 
Bridget. 

"You  are  a  good  soul.  I  will  not  keep  you 
very  long.  First  we  must  buy  some  bread. 
Come,  child." 

"My  name  is  Kitty." 

"Well,  Kitty,  you  must  now  show  us  the 
way  to  your  home.  But  come  in  here." 

And  she  led  the  way  into  a  baker's  shop, 
where  she  bought  a  loaf  and  some  fresh  buns. 
Kitty's  eyes  glistened,  and  when  Ella  handed 
her  one  for  herself  she  seized  it  and  ate  it 
voraciousl3^ 

"Poor. child!  It  is  hard  to  realize  that  any 
one  could  be  so  hungry,"  thought  Ella. 
"How  little  we,  happy  girls,  in  our  own  com- 
fortable homes,  think  of  the  miserable  lives 
that  are  being  led  so  near  us! " 

Then  Ella  purchased  some  butter,  a  little 
tea  and  sugar,  and  a  jug  of  milk,  which  she 
handed  to  Bridget  to  carry. 

"That  is  all  I  can  do.  My  purse  is  quite 
empty,"  she  said.  "So  now,  Kittj',  you  may 
lead  us  to  your  house." 

With  a  light  foot  Kitty  tripped  along  before 
them,  and  at  a  short  distance  turned  down  a 
very  narrow  alley,  and,  entering  a  low  door- 
way, said  to  her  companions  : 

"There  is  not  much  light,  so  just  feel  as 
you  come  up. ' '  And  she  led  the  way  up  a  dark 
staircase. 

When  they  came  to  the  third  flight  Bridget 
paused.  She  was  out  of  breath. 


342 


The  Ave  Maria, 


\ 


"Is  this  the  place?"  she  asked,  as  a  door 
opened  and  a  small  boy  peeped  out,  staring 
with  big,  wondering  eyes  at  the  visitors. 

"No,"  answered  Kitty;  "that's  the  Flan- 
agans'. We  are  higher  up." 

So  on  they  toiled  up  to  the  very  top  room. 
Ella  tapped  at  the  door,  and  a  little  shrill 
voice  within  said : 

"We  are  locked  in.   Kitty  has  the  key." 

Kitty  smiled,  and  drew  a  large  heavy  key 
from  the  bosom  of  her  frock. 

"I  must  lock  them  in,"  she  explained, 
"or  they'd  be  under  the  horses'  feet.  It's 
easier  for  mother  when  she  knows  they  can't 
go  out. ' '  Then  she  opened  the  door,  and  asked 
the  two  ladies  to  come  in. 

Ella  could  not  repress  a  shudder  of  disgust 
as  she  entered  the  room  and  looked  round. 
The  atmosphere  was  close,  and  the  air  heavy 
with  sickly  smells.  It  was  a  miserable  place, 
with  a  sloping  ceiling  and  scarcely  any  furni- 
ture. On  a  bed  in  the  corner  lay  a  thin,  ema- 
ciated figure,  hollow-eyed  and  wasted.  A  boy 
of  eight  was  nursing  a  baby  of  twelve  months, 
whilst  a  mite  of  five  or  six  sat  playing  with 
some  pieces  of  broken  china  on  the  floor. 
There  was  no  fire  in  the  grate,  though  the 
weather  was  cold,  so  the  children  had  wrapped 
themselves  in  some  old  shawls  and  mufflers. 
But  their  poor  frocks  and  other  clothing  were 
threadbare  and  full  of  holes,  and  their  littfe 
noses  looked  red  and  pinched  as  they  turned 
round  curiously  to  stare  at  the  strangers. 

"This  kind  lady  has  brought  us  some 
bread, ' '  Kitty  whispered  to  Bill,  as  she  took 
the  baby  from  his  arms  in  a  motherly  kind  of 
way.    "Sit  down  an'  she'll  give  you  some." 

With  tears  in  her  eyes,  Ella  approached  the 
poor  woman  on  the  bed,  and,  bending  over 
her,  asked  how  she  felt. 

"Weak  and  dying,"  was  the  reply,  in  a 
feeble,  weary  voice.  "I  bore  up  as  long  as  I 
could,  but  I  can  do  no  more." 

"You  want  food,  I  think,"  said  the  young 
girl,  gently;  and,  raising  the  woman's  head, 
she  fed  her  with  some  bread  and  milk  that 
Bridget  had  made  ready  in  a  cup. 

"God  bless  you!  You  are  an  angel!"  the 
poor  creature  cried,  as  her  eyes  rested  on  her 
children,  seated  at  the  table,  eating  the  bread 
and  buns  that  Ella  had  set  before  them.  "I'll 
die  happy  now:  they  have  found  a  friend." 


' '  No,  no, ' '  replied  Ella ;  '  *  you  must  not  die. 
You  must  get  well.  With  good  food  and  a  little 
care  your  strength  will  soon  return.  We  will 
look  after  you  now." 

But  as  the  girl  walked  home  through  the 
streets  her  sweet  face  was  grave,  and  there 
was  a  look  of  anxiety  and  sorrow  in  her  eyes. 

"  If  I  only  had  a  little  money,  Bridget — even 
a  few  pounds, — I  might  really  help  that  poor 
family,"  she  said,  sadly.  "But  I  am  in  a  pov- 
ert3^-stricken  condition  just  now.  That  was 
the  last  penny  of  my  allowance  I  spent  upon 
that  bread.  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  must 
talk  to  Sister  Imelda  to-morrow." 

II. 

As  Ella  entered  her  mother's  pretty  morn- 
ing-room, her  sister  Laura  ran  to  meet  her. 

"Such  a  delightful  surprise  as  I  have  in 
store  for  you,  Ella!"  she  cried.  "Such  a  de- 
licious piece  of  news!" 

Ella  smiled,  and  looked  with  much  amuse- 
ment at  her  sister's  dancing  eyes  and  glowing 
cheeks. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  she  asked,  gently. 

"The  Goldfinches  are  to  give  a  ball  next 
month,  and — " 

Ella's  face  fell. 

"Oh!  is  that  all?" 

"No.  But  you  need  not  look  as  if  you  did 
not  care, ' '  said  Laura,  with  something  like 
pout.   "You  know  their  balls  are  more  enjoy 
able  than  any  we  go  to." 

"Yes,  that  is  true.  But  still—" 

"Well,  perhaps  you'll  be  pleased  to  hear 
that  Aunt  Constance  called  this  morning  and 
left  us  ten  pounds  each,  so  that  we  may  get 
new  dresses." 

* '  Oh,  really !  Is  it  possible  ? ' '  Ella  sank  into 
a  chair  and  looked  incredulously  at  Laura. 
"Ten  pounds  to  do  just  what  we  like  with?" 

"She  said  we  were  to  buy  new  dresses,  but 
I  suppose  we  might  do  something  else  with 
the  money  if  we  liked.  However,  there  can 
hardly  be  two  opinions  about  the  matter.  Our 
frocks  are  shabby,  and  we  have  spent  all  our 
quarter's  allowance.  So,  of  course,  there  is 
only  one  thing  to  do  with  it.  I  shall  get  a 
sweet  dress — pure  white ;  a  satin  slip  covered 
with  layers  of  white  soft,  fluffy  tulle ;  a  moire 
body ;  sprays  of  lilies  of  the  valley  upon  the 
skirt,  and  prettily  mixed  in  amongst  the 
folds  round  the  neck.  What  will  you  get?" 


:t 


The  Ave  Maria, 


343 


But  Ella's  thoughts  were  far  away.  She  had 
heard  nothing  of  Laura's  glowing  description 
or  question,  and  so  she  made  no  reply. 

"How  strange  you  are!  You  look  as  if  you 
had  seen  a  ghost! "  cried  Laura,  impatiently. 
"I  never  saw  you  like  this  before.  However, 
I  will  not  interfere  with  your  meditations." 
And  she  flounced  out  of  the  room. 

A  little  later  Mrs.  Morris  came  in,  and  was 
surprised  to  find  her  younger  daughter  sitting 
there  alone,  wearing  her  hat  and  jacket. 

"Why,  my  darling,  how  late  you  are!  You 
will  not  be  in  time  for  dinner.  Run  away  now 
and  get  ready." 

Ella  raised  her  brown  eyes,  full  of  deep 
feeling,  to  her  mother's  face. 

"Mother,  advise  me.  Aunt  Constance  has 
given  us  ten  pounds  each  for  a  new  ball-dress. 
May  I — am  I — at  liberty  to  use  it  as  I  please? " 

"Certainly.  But,"  smiling,  "to  what  mj^s- 
terious  purpose  do  you  propose  to  put  it?" 

"I  have  no  secrets  from  you,  mother.  I 
wish  to  help — to  save  a  poor  woman  and  her 
three  small  children. ' '  And  she  told  the  story 
of  Kitty  and  her  family. 

"It  is  a  good  object,  dear;  and  we  must 
consider  what  can  be  done  for  these  poor 
people.  But  I  don't  think  you  are  called  upon 
to  sacrifice  your  ten  pounds." 

"But  I  may  do  as  I  please?" 

"Yes,  Ella;  but  you  must  be  careful.  It  is 
not  wise  to  give  money  indiscriminately  to  the 
poor.  And  I  want  my  daughter  to  look  nice  at 
this  ball.  It  will  be  a  very  smart  affair,  and — ' ' 

Ella  put  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck 
and  pressed  her  lips  to  hers. 

"Do  not  say  any  more,  dearie.  Something 
urges  me  to  give  this  up.  I  have  a  strong 
reason  for  wishing  to  make  this  sacrifice.  I 
would  like  a  new  dress  ver}^  much,  but  I  am 
more  anxious  to  help  this  poor  family." 

"I  do  not  like  to  oppose  you,  Ella,"  said 
Mrs.  Morris,  sighing.  "But  we'll  talk  it  over 
again.  Go  now  and  get  ready  for  dinner." 

At  the  next  consultation  Ella  gained  her 
point.  Mrs.  Morris  could  not  take  it  upon 
herself  to  forbid  her  daughter's  making  this 
sacrifice  for  the  good  of  the  poor.  It  was  a 
generous,  a  noble  act  of  self-denial  on  the 
girl's  part,  and  she  felt  bound  to  allow  her  to 
do  as  she  pleased.  She  and  her  husband  were 
wealthy  people,  and  she  would  gladly  have 


allowed  Ella  to  use  her  aunt's  gift  as  she 
chose,  and  have  supplied  her  with  a  pretty, 
fresh  ball-dress  out  of  her  own  pocket.  But 
this  Mr.  Morris  would  not  permit.  He  gave 
his  daughters  a  yearly  allowance,  sufficient  in 
his  eyes  to  cover  all  their  wants,  whether  of 
dress  or  pocket-money.  How  or  when  they 
spent  their  eighty  pound.^,  which  were  paid 
punctually,  in  quarterly  instalments,  he  never 
inquired,  but  beyond  that  sum  he  would  not 
go.  And  his  wife  was  under  strict  orders  never 
to  make  up  deficiencies,  or  help  them  to  make 
expensive  purchases.  Presents  from  aunts  or 
uncles  he  could  not,  of  course,  prohibit,  but 
he  discouraged  them;  and  so,  although  the 
girls  had  many  rich,  indulgent  friends,  such 
gifts  were  rare.  In  an  ordinary  way,  Ella  and 
her  sister  had  as  much  money  as  they  re- 
quired. Laura,  it  is  true,  was  frequently  in 
debt,  and  squandered  more  than  was  neces- 
sary on  ribbons  and  gloves;  but  Ella  was 
tolerably  careful,  and  seldom  exceeded  her 
allowance.  She  was  a  kind-hearted,  gentle 
girl,  beloved  by  all  who  knew  her,  and  a  favor- 
ite in  society,  where  her  golden  hair,  brown 
eyes,  and  graceful  figure  were  much  admired. 
And  in  her  beautiful  home,  surrounded  by 
every  luxury,  blest  with  the  affection  of  a 
kind  father,  an  indulgent  mother,  and  a  lov- 
ing sister,  Ella  led  a  happy,  innocent  life.  She 
had  been  well  and  carefully  brought  up,  and 
in  the  midst  of  gaiety  and  pleasure  could  not 
be  said  to  neglect  the  practice  of  her  religion  ; 
for  she  was  constant  in  her  attendance  at 
Mass,  and  went  regularly  to  confession  and 
Holy  Communion.  But  here,  like  so  many 
girls  of  her  station,  her  duties  seemed  to  end. 
Her  days  were  spent  lightly, — in  visiting  her 
friends,  shopping,  chatting  and  gossiping. 
Her  evenings  were  passed  at  the  theatre,  in 
the  ball-room,  or  listlessly  reading  the  latest 
novel.  Work  had  no  part  in  her  existence. 
There  was  nothing  for  her  to  do.  Her  moth- 
er's house  was  well  ordered  and  carefully 
regulated.  There  was  a  well-drilled  staff  of 
servants,  and  the  young  ladies  took  no  part 
in  the  housekeeping. 

So  Ella  amused  herself  as  she  could,  not 
feeling  bound  to  go  forth  in  search  of  occu- 
pation. But  suddenly,  upon  the  evening  that 
our  story  begins,  as  she  sat  before  the  altar 
and  listened  to  the  words,  "In  the  midst  of 


344 


The  Ave  Maria, 


life  we  are  in  death,"  the  scales  seemed  to 
drop  from  her  eyes,  and  she  reaUzed  for  the 
first  time  what  a  useless,  selfish  life  she  was 
living.  "If  death  were  to  come  to  me  now," 
she  asked  herself,  "what  have  I  to  offer  at 
the  throne  of  God?  What  have  I  ever  done 
for  Him  who  suffered  and  died  upon  the  Cross 
that  I  might  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven? 
Nothing!  alas,  nothing!"  "And,"  continued 
the  preacher,  "Thomas  a  Kempis  says,  'many 
die  suddenly  and  unprovidedly ;  for  the  Son 
of  man  will  come  at  the  hour  when  He  is  not 
looked  for.'"  Ella  shivered  at  the  thought, 
and  there  and  then  she  offered  her  life,  her 
mind,  her  heart  to  God,  resolving  from  this 
hour  to  work  in  some  way  for  Him,  and  to 
change,  as  far  as  possible,  her  frivolous,  use- 
less mode  of  existence. 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


Stella   Matutina;  or,  A  Poet's   Quest. 


BY   EDMUND   OF  THE    HEART   OF    MARY,  C.  P. 


THHRICE  blessed  hour  that  gave  him  "Welcome 
M^        Home" 

(Of  all  reinember'd  moments  dearer  none)! 
When|knelt  the  poet  to  sweet  Mistress  Rome, 

His\iew  faith  learnt,  his  anxious  journey  done. 

For^him  a  fresh  existence  had  begun  : 
He  seem'd  to  stand  on  some  enchanted  shore, 

Where  life  had  other  meaning  than  the  one 
So  thought-confusing  he  had  known  before, 
And  bred  a  sense  of  peace  that  grew  from  more 
to  more. 

He  read  again  the  pages  lov'd  of  old, 

The  Sacred  Volume — now  indeed  Divine. 
Oh,  how  harmonious  now  the  tale  they  told! 

With  what  clear  depths  he  saw  the  waters  shine ! 

And  ever  through  them,  to  his  raptur'd  eyne, 
Look'd  queenfully  the  mirror' d  Star  of  Morn — 

Since  first,  o'er  sad  farewells  of  palm  and  pine, 
She  rose  on  forfeit  Eden's  Pair  forlorn, 
To  when,  mid  angels'  song,  the  Saviour-Child  was 
born. 

How  new  seem'd  Bethlehem's  story!  Newer  still 
The  lore  that  crowns  more  favor' d  Nazareth — 

Where,  at  the  "Fiat"  of  His  Handmaid's  will, 
Th'  Incomprehensible  took  bonds  of  breath ! 
And,  after,  ' '  subject ' '  dwelt,  the  Evangel  saith, 


To  Mary  and  to  Joseph— yet  their  God! 

Born  to  "become  obedient  unto  death," 
Ev'n  then,  in  that  dear  home,  the  path  He  trod 
Which  led  to  Golgotha's  Blood-consecrated  sodi 

"  For  me,  then,  this  obedience  ;  and  for  me 

The  paltern,  first  and  last!"  the  poet  cried. 
"  In  the  soul's  Nazareth  let  me  dwell  with  thee, 

O  Blessed  Mother!  Keep  me  by  thy  side. 

And  since  I  must,  like  Him,  be  crucified. 
Come  with  me  as  I  bear  my  cross,  and  take 

The  place  where  thou  didst  stand  when  Jesus 
died. 
'To  me  to  live  is  Christ,'  so  thou  but  make 
My  rescued  years  thy  care  and  guard  them  for 
His  sake." 

Our  Lady  smiled  ;  and  gently  led  him  on 
Up  to  an  altar,  where  a  bride,  arrayed 

In  spotless  white — Saint  Joseph  and  Saint  John 
On  either  hand — was  waiting.  Then  She  said : 
"If  thou  dost  love  me,  prove  it  undismay'd. 

Receive  my  daughter  for  thy  sister-spouse — 
Herself  a  virgin-mother.  Thou  hast  pray'd 

To  serve  me  with  thy  life.  Here  plight  thy  vows. 

And  trust  me  for  the  wreath  shall  grace  my  poet's 
brows." 


Marienthal. 


BY   THE    COMTESSE    DE    COURSON. 


AMONG  the  many  tourists  from  all  parts  of 
the  world  who  wander  every  year  through 
the  fair  Rhine  country,  few  diverge  sufiiciently 
from  the  beaten  track  to  explore  the  lonely 
though  lovely  valleys  hidden  away  among  the 
forests  of  the  Taunus  range.  Yet  a  ramble 
among  these  picturesque  spots  has  its  charms, 
and  to  the  Catholic  tourist  we  can  recom- 
mend a  pilgrimage  to  Marienthal  as  com- 
bining the  pleasure  derived  from  beautiful 
scenery  with  the  deeper  charm  surrounding 
those  holy  places  that  the  Blessed  Virgin  has 
made  her  own. 

Leaving  the  train  at  Geisenheim,  a  small 
station  on  the  Rhine,  the  traveller  takes  a 
path  to  the  right,  and  at  every  step  a  Calvary, 
a  statue  of  Our  Lady,  a  pious  inscription 
(some  of  them  nearly  two  centuries  old),  re- 
mind him  that  he  has  entered  the  Catholic 
portion  of  the  Duchy  of  Nassau,  now  annexed 
to  Prussia.  An  hour's  walk  over  vine-clad 
hills,  with  every  now  and  then  a  glimpse  of 


The  Ave  Maria. 


3+5 


the  dark  forest  on  the  one  side  and  the  majestic 
Rhine  on  the  other,  brings  him  to  the  summit 
of  a  hill,  whence  Mary's  valley  opens  before 
his  eyes.  Below  him  lies  the  church,  lifting  its 
spire  to  the  dark  blue  sky  ;  close  by,  the  plain, 
whitewashed  Capuchin  Convent ;  farther  off, 
the  primitive  little  inn;  while  on  every  side 
extend  green  woods,  beyond  which  are  the 
loftier  summits  of  the  Taunus  mountains. 

Over  six  hundred  years  ago,  at  the  end  of 
the  thirteenth  century,  a  magnificent  tree  rose 
on  the  spot  where  the  church  now  stands,  and 
among  its  branches  the  pious  hand  of  some 
unknown  client  of  Mary  placed  a  roughly 
carved  wooden  image,  representing  the  Queen 
of  Heaven  bearing  in  her  arms,  not  the  smil- 
ing Babe  of  Bethlehem,  but  the  disfigured  and 
suffering  form  of  the  Man  of  Sorrows.  By  de- 
grees the  woodmen  of  the  forest  and  peasants 
from  the  neighboring  villages  came  to  pray 
before  the  primitive  shrine,  and  it  was  cur- 
rently reported  amongst  them  that  through 
this  pious  practice  many  special  graces  were 
obtained. 

In  1309  a  poor  laborer  of  the  country  was 
suddenly  afflicted  with  total  blindness.  In  his 
despair  he  bethought  himself  of  the  image 
before  which,  in  happier  days,  he  had  often 
knelt  on  his  way  to  and  from  the  forest.  Hast- 
ening to  the  spot,  he  fell  upon  his  knees  and 
poured  out  his  soul  in  one  of  those  ardent 
supplications  that,  as  it  were,  take  Heaven 
by  storm.  He  prayed  on  and  on,  and  we  may 
fancy  how  those  who  loved  him  knelt  around, 
anxious  and  trembling,  their  simple  faith 
making  them,  nevertheless,  hope  all  things 
from  Christ's  mighty  Mother.  At  last  a  cry 
of  joy  burst  forth  from  the  supplicant:  his 
dim  and  sightless  eyes  once  more  beamed  with 
joy  inexpressible, — once  more  he  saw  the  blue 
sky,  the  green  forest,  the  faces  of  his  beloved 
ones.  The  tuiracle  wrought  by  our  Blessed 
Lord  twelve  centuries  before,  in  the  plains  of 
Galilee,  had  been  repeated  in  his  favor  through 
Mary's  intercession. 

From  that  day  we  may  imagine  how  de- 
votion to  the  little  shrine  increased  and  spread 
through  the  Rhine  country.  A  church  was 
built  on  the  site  of  the  old  tree,  and  the  valley 
took  the  name  of  its  Queen  and  Patroness, 
whose  powerful  intercession  was  sought  by 
pilgrims  from  far  and  wide.  Throughout  the 


wars  and  calamities  of  those  troubled  times 
countless  anxious  hearts  came  to  lay  their 
necessities  at  Our  Lady's  feet,  and  none  ever 
left  the  green  shades  of  Marienthal  without 
carrying  away  either  a  favorable  answer  to 
their  ardent  prayers  or  strength  to  bear  life's 
burdens  bravely  to  the  end. 

As  years  passed  on  the  pilgrimage  acquired 
new  celebrity  and  importance,  and  at  length 
it  was  entrusted  to  the  Fathers  of  the  Society 
of  Jesus,  whose  Order,  by  a  special  dispensa- 
tion of  Providence,  was  founded  at  a  moment 
when  the  Church,  attacked  by  Luther  and 
his  followers,  needed  fresh  recruits  to  fight 
her  battles.  Devotion  to  Mary  was  one  of  the 
legacies  bequeathed  to  his  sons  by  the  soldier- 
saint  of  Loyola,  and  under  their-  filial  cnre 
Marienthal  and  its  holy  shrine  entered  upon 
a  new  era  of  prosperity  and  peace,  which  con- 
tinued till  the  suppression  of  the  Society  at 
the  end  of  the  last  century.  Then,  for  the  first 
time  since  its  foundation,  the  pilgrimage  that 
had  survived  the  terrible  political  and  relig- 
ious troubles  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
centuries  passed  through  a  period  of  utter 
desolation  and  neglect.  For  fifty  years  the 
church  remained  abandoned  and  unroofed, 
and  though,  perchance,  during  the  bloody 
wars  that  raged  throughout  the  country  in 
Napoleon's  time,  some  anxious  hearts  may 
have  sought  comfort  beneath  its  half-ruined 
walls,  all  outward  pomp  had  departed  from 
the  once  flourishing  shrine. 

At  last  more  peaceful  da^^s  dawned  for 
Germany,  and  at  Marienthal  the  sons  of  St. 
Francis  came  to  take  up  the  mission  that  the 
children  of  St.  Ignatius  had  so  faithfully  ful- 
filled. The  old  church  was  restored ;  pilgrims 
from  far  and  wide  flocked  once  more  to  Mary's 
altar ;  the  sound  of  hymns  again  echoed 
through  the  long  silent  valley.  But  unbroken 
peace  is  not  the  lot  of  God's  Church  here 
below.  Only  a  few  years  ago  the  tyrannical 
laws  of  the  Kulturkampf  banished  all  relig- 
ious orders  from  Germany,  and  the  Capuchin 
Fathers  had  to  leave.  Many  of  them  then 
sought  refuge  in  America ;  but  three  years  ago 
the  storm  abated,  and  they  have  now  resumed 
their  post  as  the  devoted  guardians  of  Mary's 
sanctuary. 

It  was  from  the  lips  of  one  of  these  good 
Fathers  that  we  heard  the  story  of  Marienthal, 


344 


The  Ave  Maria. 


life  we  are  m  death,"  the  scales  seemed  to 
drop  from  her  eyes,  and  she  realized  for  the 
first  time  what  a  useless,  selfish  life  she  was 
living.  "If  death  were  to  come  to  me  now," 
she  asked  herself,  "what  have  I  to  offer  at 
the  throne  of  God?  What  have  I  ever  done 
for  Him  who  suffered  and  died  upon  the  Cross 
that  I  might  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ? 
Nothing!  alas,  nothing!"  "And,"  continued 
the  preacher,  "Thomas  a  Kempis  says,  'many 
die  suddenly  and  unprovidedly ;  for  the  Son 
of  man  will  come  at  the  hour  when  He  is  not 
looked  for.'"  Ella  shivered  at  the  thought, 
and  there  and  then  she  offered  her  life,  her 
mind,  her  heart  to  God,  resolving  from  this 
hour  to  work  in  some  way  for  Him,  and  to 
change,  as  far  as  possible,  her  frivolous,  use- 
less mode  of  existence. 

(CONCIvUSION    IN   OUR  NEXT    NUMBER.) 


Stella    Matutina;  or,  A  Poet's   Quest. 


BY   EDMUND   OF  THE   HEART  OF   MARV,  C.  P. 


IHRICE  blessed  hour  that  gave  him  '  'Welcome 
Home" 
(Of  all  reiiiember'd  moments  dearer  none)! 
When|knelt  the  poet  to  sweet  Mistress  Rome, 
His\iew  faith  learnt,  his  anxious  journey  done. 
For^him  a  fresh  existence  had  begun  : 
He  seem'd  to  stand  on  some  enchanted  shore, 
Where  life  had  other  meaning  than  the  one 
So  thought-confusing  he  had  known  before, 
And  bred  a  sense  of  peace  that  grew  from  more 
to  more. 

He  read  again  the  pages  lov'd  of  old, 

The  vSacred  Volume — now  indeed  Divine. 
Oh,  how  harmonious  now  the  tale  they  told! 

With  what  clear  depths  he  saw  the  waters  shine ! 

And  ever  through  them,  to  his  raptur'd  eyne, 
Look'd  queenfully  the  mirror' d  Star  of  Morn — 

Since  first,  o'er  sad  farewells  of  palm  and  pine, 
She  rose  on  forfeit  Eden's  Pair  forlorn, 
To  when,  mid  angels'  song,  the  Saviour-Child  was 
born. 

How  new  seem'd  Bethlehem's  story!  Newer  still 
The  lore  that  crowns  more  favor' d  Nazareth — 

Where,  at  the  "Fiat"  of  His  Handmaid's  will, 
Th'  Incomprehensible  took  bonds  of  breath ! 
And,  after,  ' '  subject ' '  dwelt,  the  Evangel  saith, 


To  Mary  and  to  Joseph- yet  their  God! 

Born  to  "become  obedient  unto  death," 
Ev'n  then,  in  that  dear  home,  the  path  He  trod 
Which  led  to  Golgotha's  Blood-consecrated  sodi 

"  For  me,  then,  this  obedience  ;  and  for  me 

The  pattern,  first  and  last!"  the  poet  cried. 
"In  the  soul's  Nazareth  let  me  dwell  with  thee, 

O  Blessed  Mother!  Keep  me  by  thy  side. 

And  since  I  must,  like  Him,  be  crucified. 
Come  with  me  as  I  bear  my  cross,  and  take 

The  place  where  thou  didst  stand  when  Jesus 
died. 
'To  me  to  live  is  Christ,'  so  thou  but  make 
My  rescued  years  thy  care  and  guard  them  for 
His  sake. ' ' 

Our  Lady  smiled  ;  and  gently  led  him  on 
Up  to  an  altar,  where  a  bride,  arrayed 

In  spotless  white — Saint  Joseph  and  Saint  John 
On  either  hand — was  waiting.  Then  She  said : 
"If  thou  dOvSt  love  me,  prove  it  undismay'd. 

Receive  my  daughter  for  thy  sister-spouse — 
Herself  a  virgin-mother.  Thou  hast  pray'd 

To  serve  me  with  thy  life.  Here  plight  thy  vows. 

And  trust  me  for  the  wreath  shall  grace  my  poet's 
brows." 


Marienthal. 


BY   THE    COMTESSE    DE    COURSON. 


AMONG  the  many  tourists  from  all  parts  of 
the  world  who  wander  every  year  through 
the  fair  Rhine  country,  few  diverge  sufficiently 
from  the  beaten  track  to  explore  the  lonely 
though  lovely  valleys  hidden  away  among  the 
forests  of  the  Taunus  range.  Yet  a  ramble 
among  these  picturesque  spots  has  its  charms, 
and  to  the  Catholic  tourist  we  can  recom^ 
mend  a  pilgrimage  to  Marienthal  as  com- 
bining the  pleasure  derived  from  beautiful 
scenery  with  the  deeper  charm  surrounding 
those  holy  places  that  the  Blessed  Virgin  has 
made  her  own. 

Leaving  the  train  at  Geisenheim,  a  small 
station  on  the  Rhine,  the  traveller  takes  a 
path  to  the  right,  and  at  every  step  a  Calvary, 
a  statue  of  Our  Lady,  a  pious  inscription 
(some  of  them  nearly  two  centuries  old),  re- 
mind him  that  he  has  entered  the  Catholic 
portion  of  the  Duchy  of  Nassau,  now  annexed 
to  Prussia.  An  hour's  walk  over  vine-clad 
hills,  with  every  now  and  then  a  glimpse  of 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


3+5 


the  dark  forest  on  the  one  side  and  the  majestic 
Rhine  on  the  other,  brings  him  to  the  summit 
of  a  hill,  whence  Mary's  valley  opens  before 
his  eyes.  Below  him  lies  the  church,  lifting  its 
spire  to  the  dark  blue  sky  :  close  by,  the  plain, 
whitewashed  Capuchin  Convent ;  farther  off, 
the  primitive  little  inn;  while  on  every  side 
extend  green  woods,  beyond  which  are  the 
loftier  summits  of  the  Taunus  mountains. 

Over  .six  hundred  years  ago,  at  the  end  of 
the  thirteenth  century,  a  magnificent  tree  rose 
on  the  spot  where  the  church  now  stands,  and 
among  its  branches  the  pious  hand  of  some 
unknown  client  of  Mary  placed  a  roughly 
carved  wooden  image,  representing  the  Queen 
of  Heaven  bearing  in  her  arms,  not  the  smil- 
ing Babe  of  Bethlehem,  but  the  disfigured  and 
suffering  form  of  the  Man  of  Sorrows.  By  de- 
grees the  woodmen  of  the  forest  and  peasants 
from  the  neighboring  villages  came  to  pray 
before  the  primitive  shrine,  and  it  was  cur- 
rently reported  amongst  them  that  through 
this  pious  practice  many  special  graces  were 
obtained. 

In  1309  a  poor  laborer  of  the  country  was 
suddenly  afflicted  with  total  blindness.  In  his 
despair  he  bethought  himself  of  the  image 
before  which,  in  happier*  days,  he  had  often 
knelt  on  his  way  to  and  from  the  forest.  Hast- 
ening to  the  spot,  he  fell  upon  his  knees  and 
poured  out  his  soul  in  one  of  those  ardent 
supplications  that,  as  it  were,  take  Heaven 
by  storm.  He  prayed  on  and  on.  and  we  may 
fancy  how  those  who  loved  him  knelt  around, 
anxious  and  trembling,  their  simple  faith 
making  them,  nevertheless,  hope  all  things 
from  Christ's  mighty  Mother.  At  last  a  cry 
of  joy  burst  forth  from  the  supplicant:  his 
dim  and  sightless  eyes  once  more  beamed  with 
joy  inexpressible, — once  more  he  saw  the  blue 
sky,  the  green  forest,  the  faces  of  his  beloved 
ones.  The  miracle  wrought  by  our  Blessed 
Lord  twelve  centuries  before,  in  the  plains  of 
Galilee,  had  been  repeated  in  his  favor  through 
Mary's  intercession. 

From  that  day  we  may  imagine  how  de- 
votion to  the  little  shrine  increased  and  spread 
through  the  Rhine  country.  A  church  was 
built  on  the  site  of  the  old  tree,  and  the  valley 
took  the  name  of  its  Queen  and  Patroness, 
whose  powerful  intercession  was  sought  by 
pilgrims  from  far  and  wide.  Throughout  the 


wars  and  calamities  of  those  troubled  times 
countless  anxious  hearts  came  to  lay  their 
necessities  at  Our  I^ady's  feet,  and  none  ever 
left  the  green  shades  of  Marienthal  without 
carrying  away  either  a  favorable  answer  to 
their  ardent  prayers  or  strength  to  bear  life's 
burdens  bravely  to  the  end. 

As  years  passed  on  the  pilgrimage  acquired 
new  celebrity  and  importance,  and  at  length 
it  was  entrusted  to  the  Fathers  of  the  Society 
of  Jesus,  whose  Order,  by  a  special  dispensa- 
tion of  Providence,  was  founded  at  a  moment 
when  the  Church,  attacked  by  lyUther  and 
his  followers,  needed  fresh  recruits  to  fight 
her  battles.  Devotion  to  Mary  was  one  of  the 
legacies  bequeathed  to  his  sons  by  the  soldier- 
saint  of  Loyola,  and  under  their-  filial  cnre 
Marienthal  and  its  holy  shrine  entered  upon 
a  new  era  of  prosperity  and  peace,  which  con- 
tinued till  the  suppression  of  the  Society  at 
the  end  of  the  last  century.  Then,  for  the  first 
time  since  its  foundation,  the  pilgrimage  that 
had  survived  the  terrible  political  and  relig- 
ious troubles  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
centuries  passed  through  a  period  of  utter 
desolation  and  neglect.  For  fifty  years  the 
church  remained  abandoned  and  unroofed, 
and  though,  perchance,  during  the  bloody 
wars  that  raged  throughout  the  country  in 
Napoleon's  time,  some  anxious  hearts  may 
have  sought  comfort  beneath  its  half-ruined 
walls,  all  outward  pomp  had  departed  from 
the  once  flourishing  shrine. 

At  last  more  peaceful  days  dawned  for 
Germany,  and  at  Marienthal  the  sons  of  St. 
Francis  came  to  take  up  the  mission  that  the 
children  of  St.  Ignatius  had  so  faithfully  ful- 
filled. The  old  church  was  restored ;  pilgrims 
from  far  and  wide  flocked  once  more  to  Mary's 
altar ;  the  sound  of  hymns  again  echoed 
through  the  long  silent  valley.  But  unbroken 
peace  is  not  the  lot  of  God's  Church  here 
below.  Only  a  few  years  ago  the  tyrannical 
laws  of  the  Kulturkampf  banished  all  relig- 
ious orders  from  Germany,  and  the  Capuchin 
Fathers  had  to  leave.  Many  of  them  then 
sought  refuge  in  America ;  but  three  years  ago 
the  storm  abated,  and  they  have  now  resumed 
their  post  as  the  devoted  guardians  of  Mary's 
sanctuary. 

It  was  from  the  lips  of  one  of  these  good 
Fathers  that  we  heard  the  story  of  Marienthal, 


346 


The  Ave  Maria. 


and  under  his  guidance  we  visited  the  little 
church,  which  is  now  being  decorated  afresh, 
but  whose  old  doorway,  with  its  quaintly 
carved  figures,  still  remains,  a  venerable  relic 
of  the  past.  How  many  weary  steps  and  anx- 
ious hearts  have  passed  under  that  old  stone 
door  during  the  last  five  hundred  years, — 
steps  that  have  turned  away  lightened  and 
hearts  that  have  been  comforted  after  a  sta- 
tion before  the  holy  image,  which  is  now  kept 
in  a  little  side  chapel  and  enveloped,  German 
and  Italian  fashion,  in  an  embroidered  dress 
and  veil ! 

On  week-days  nothing  can  exceed  the  in- 
tense quiet  of  the  place ;  the  reverent  step  of 
a  solitary  pilgrim  within  the  church,  and 
without  the  song  of  the  birds  among  the  green 
woods,  alone  break  the  silence.  But  on  Satur 
day  evenings  the  scene  changes,  as  large 
bands  of  pilgrims  come  flocking  in  from  the 
neighboring  country ;  for  all  through  the 
Rheingau  the  Holy  Virgin  of  Marienthal  is 
invoked  in  every  spiritual  and  temporal 
necessity.  Those  of  the  pilgrims  who  can 
not  find  room  in  the  little  inn  spend  the  night 
in  the  church,  and  from  dawn  till  dusk  on 
Sunday  the  valley  echoes  with  the  sound  of 
their  hymns  and  prayers. 

Opposite  to  the  church  is  the  convent ;  to 
the  left,  facing  the  church,  extends  a  narrow 
meadow  of  emerald  green,  watered  by  a  little 
stream,  and  surrounded  by  woods,  a  portion 
of  which  belongs  to  Prince  Metternich,  whose 
famous  vineyards  of  Johannisberg  are  at  no 
great  distance.  Indeed  the  meadow  itself, 
around  which  are  built  fourteen  small  chapels 
in  remembrance  of  the  Fourteen  Stations  of 
the  Cross,  was  given  to  Marienthal  by  the  fa- 
mous statesman,  father  to  the  present- Prince. 

Around  this  favored  spot,  Mary's  special 
kingdom,  breathes  an  atmosphere  of  calm- 
ness, freshness,  and  peace ;  it  would  seem  as 
though  the  noise  and  turmoil  of  the  world 
died  away  at  the  entrance  of  the  holy  valley. 
So  at  least  thought  the  pilgrims,  who,  after 
praying  before  the  venerable  image,  wandered 
round  the  valley  in  the  soft  light  of  a  summer 
evening;  and  even  now,  when  far  away, 
amidst  frets  and  cares  such  as  cross  even  the 
happiest  and  most  favored  lives,  there  comes 
upon  them,  as  a  memory  fraught  with  restful 
sweetness,   the  remembrance  of  Marienthal. 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY   NUGENT   ROBINSON. 


CHAPTER  XVI.— "PAI.LIDA  Mors." 

AS  the  good  ship  Britarmic  slowed  up  to 
her  dock  in  the  North  River  on  a  glorious, 
sunshiny  morning,  the  sky  a  brilliant  tur- 
quoise, among  the  little  band  of  persons  con- 
gregated to  welcome  the  travellers  by  sea  was  a 
white-haired  ecclesiastic  and  a  very  charming- 
looking  young  girl,  who  clung  to  his  arm  as 
she  craned  forward  to  gain  a  better  view  of 
the  approaching  floating  palace. 

"I  see  him!"  she  suddenly  cried.  "There  he 
is  in  the  gray  frieze  ulster.  Wave  your  hand- 
kerchief. Father!  wave  your  handkerchief! 
He  doesn't  see  us.   He  doesn't  know  us." 

The  tall,  stalwart  figure  in  the  Irish  frieze 
was  Harry  Considine,  the  priest  was  Father 
Ivuke  Byrne,  the  lady  Miss  Caroline  Ksmonde. 

When  Considine  perceived  them,  he  could 
hardly  believe  his  eyes.  He  had  imagined  them 
in  Chicago,  and  wondered  if  by  any  chance 
he  should  meet  Father  Ivuke.  As  to  Miss  Ks- 
monde, he  did  not  even  hope  to  see  her. 

The  greetings  were  of  the  most  affectionate 
kind.  Father  Byrne  embraced  Harry,  blessing 
him  with  quivering  lips. 

' '  My  father  is  better,  thanks  be  to  the  good 
God!"  exclaimed  Miss  Esmonde ;  "much 
better.  He  was  ordered  sea-air,  and  I  have 
him  down  at  Far  Rockaway.  Oh,  isn't  it  a 
special,  grace  from  God  to  have  Father  Luke 
here  to  bring  my  poor  darling  back  to  the 
practice  of  his  religion, — he  who  had  wan- 
dered so  far  from  the  true  light  ? ' ' 

' '  He  is  being  nursed  with  the  most  devoted 
care, ' '  said  the  priest.  ' '  His  recovery,  wi Lh  the 
help  of  the  Most  High,  is  certain.  He  was  an 
awful  object,  though,  when  we  first  saw  him. 
To-day  he  is  greatly  changed  for  the  better." 

And  then  came  questionings  about  the  dear 
ones  at  home, — the  little  church  ;  Mrs.  Mori- 
arty  ;  Tim  this,  Joe  that,  and  Phil  the  other. 

Father  Byrne  was  enchanted  with  New 
Ireland,  with  the  people,  the  institutions,  etc. 

"I  came  across  your  friends  the  MoUoys  in 
Minnesota,  Harry.  They  are  in  clover.  The 
daughter  is  one  of  the  nicest  and  most  sensi- 
ble girls  I  ever  met." 


The  Ave  Maria. 


.H7 


Is  it  Emma  you  mean  ? "  asked  Considine, 
in  great  astonishment. 

"Yes.  Harry.  She's  already  the  life  and 
soul  and  mainspring  of  the  farm." 

''This  is  n>s,ws,  Father  Luke.  What  about 
Gerald?   Is  hf— " 

"He's  he^e  in  New  York.  I  have  his 
address.  He's  going  to  settle  here." 

Harry  was  brought  next  to  Far  Rockaway, 
to  a  very  comfortable  little  hotel,  where  the 
party  were  stopping — the  United  States.  On 
the  piazza,  inhaling  the  fresh  breezes  from  the 
Atlantic,  sat  Mr.  Ksmonde,  gaunt  and  hollow- 
eyed,  but  singularly  improved  in  appearance. 
He  welcomed  Harry  with  dignified  ease,  and 
spoke  with  tears  coursing  down  his  cheeks  of 
his  daughter's  devotion. 

"I  hope  to  live  to  repay  it.  I  have  been  a 
wicked  and  wanton  sinner.  But  God  is  merci- 
ful to  those  who  repent.   I  hope  for  mercy." 

*  'Amen ! ' '  said  Father  Byrne. 

-^  Harry  found  Gerald   MoUoy  at   a   cheap 
lodging-house  on  Third  Avenue. 

"Your  head  is  level,  Harry,"  said  Molloy, 
after  a  rapturous  meeting, —  "your  head  is 
extra  level  in  coming  out  here.  This  is  a 
country  of  opportunity,  and  this  city  is  the 
centre  of  it.  You  can  live  here  as  cheap  as 
you  like  or  as  expensively  as  you  please.  I 
breakfast  for  ten  cents  (fippence),  dine  for 
twenty-five  (a  shilling),  and  sup  for  ten, — 
making  forty-five  cents  in  all  per  diem.  And 
good,  wholesome  food,  mind  you,  I'll  hitch 
you  on  to  it.  I  could  have  stayed  out  with 
Peter  Daly,  but  I  wish  to  be  independent.  I 
think  I've  got  a  right  grip.  You  see,  I've  quite 
got  into  the  run  of  American  expressions,  and 
aren't  they  expressive!  Well,  sir,  I  met  a 
queer  chap  on  the  front  platform  of  a  Third 
Avenue  car  last  Sunday.  He  is  an  English- 
man by  the  name  of  Raster, — a  six -foot- two, 
lathy  sort  of  fellow.  He  has  invented  a  new 
fire-escape,  and  wants  some  pushing  agents,  to 
whom  he  gives  a  dollar  for  every  escape  sold. 
It  sells  at  five  dollars.  We  are  always  having 
terrible  fires  in  New  York,  and  you've  only 
to  go  out  after  a  fire  and  peddle  your  escapes 
to  find  people  crying  for  them.  After  a  fire 
on  Tuesday  last  in  a  French  flat  house,  where 
two  ladies  were  burned,  I  sold  ten  escapes 
in  French  flat  houses  alone.  I  made  eighteen 


dollars  last  week.  Just  think  of  it !    I'll  intro- 
duce you  to  Mr.  Raster.  He's  clever  and  nice. ' ' 

Gerald  talked  like  a  sewing-machine,  and 
after  a  while  asked  tenderly  about  Jane  Ryan. 
Harry  could,  of  course,  tell  him  nothing. 

"Miss  Esmonde  is  a  glorious  girl,  Harry!  " 
cried  Gerald.  "I've  seen  a  lot  of  her  the  last 
few  days,  and  she'd  be  a  whole  fortune  to  a 
man.  Looks  after  that  hideous  skeleton,  her 
father,  as  if  he  were  a  living  white  man.  I 
wonder  if  the  money  she  gets  firom  the  Ryan 
house  is  in  her  own  right.  Can  you  tell  me 
anything  about  it,  Harry  ? " 

"I  can  not,"  was  Harry's  gruff"  reply. 

Considine  went  to  reside  at  the  same  house 
as  Gerald,  rooming  with  him.  He  was  duly 
presented  to  Mr.  Raster,  a  tall,  thin,  cheerful 
man  of  thirty- five,  who  at  once  appointed  him 
to  an  agency  for  the  fire-escapes  on  the  same 
commission  as  Molloy.  Unluckily  for  Harry, 
there  were  no  sensational  fires,  or  indeed  no 
fires  of  any  account  whatever ;  so  that  after  a 
week's  weary  trudging  around  the  flats,  and 
highest  buildings  in  New  York,  climbing 
miles  of  stairs,  he  failed  to  sell  as  much  as  one 
escape,  while  the  rudeness  which  he  experi- 
enced from  almost  every  person  whom  he 
solicited  brought  the  hot  blood  of  mortifica- 
tion to  his  very  ears. 

"No  more  escapes  for  me^  Gerald! "  he  said 
at  the  expiration  of  the  week.  "I'll  look  for  a 
situation  in  a  tobacco  house." 

He  put  an  advertisement  in  the  papers,  and 
received  half  a  dozen  replies.  On  presenting 
himself  to  the  first  on  the  list,  he  found  that 
he  would  be  required  to  wink  at  the  "under- 
ground railway,"  or,  in  other  words,  to  go  in 
for  smuggling.  This  he  indignantly  refused 
to  listen  to.  The  next  party  to  whom  he  pre- 
sented himself  asked  if  he  could  roll  cabbage 
so  as  to  resemble  tobacco  leaf.  A  third  wanted 
him  to  lodge  $250  to  learn  the  business,  event- 
ually coming  down  by  easy  gradations  to  $10. 
A  fourth  asked  what  connexion  he  could 
bring;  a  fifth  if  he  could  speak  Spanish,  and 
pass  as  the  owner  of  a  Cuban  plantation.  The 
sixth  required  a  book-keeper,  and  offered 
Harry  $5  a  week.  Thinking  five  dollars  a  week 
better  than  nothing,  after  consulting  with 
Father  Luke,  he  accepted  the  position  and 
entered  upon  his  duties.  He  had  not  been  in  the 
place  an  hour  until  his  ears  became  shocked 


348 


The  Ave  Maria,' 


t)y  the  most  hideous  blasphemies  on  the  part 
of  the  proprietor;  and  when  Harry  remon- 
•strated  firmly,  as  became  a  soldier  of  Christ, 
he  was  what  his  employer  facetiously  termed, 
while  relating  the  joke  to  a  kindred  spirit, 
^'firedout, — bounced  like  a  baseball." 

Harry  was  now  thrown  out  of  employment, 
and  became  one  of  that  pitiful  band  of  for- 
eigners who  come  to  our  shores  to  seek  their 
fortunes,  and  for  whom  Hope  gilds  every 
morning  with  a  rosy  smile,  that,  alas!  too  often 
•ere  sunset  turns  to  a  tearful  one.  He  was  the 
welcome  and  honored  guest  at  Far  Rock  away, 
but  the  round  trip  cost  seventy -five  cents; 
and,  save  on  Sunday,  he  denied  himself  the 
luxury  of  even  seeing  dear  Father  I^uke,  whose 
whole  soul  was  now  engaged  in  bringing 
back  to  the  bosom  of  the  true  Church  the 
poor  wandering  sinner  Esmonde,  over  whom 
the  devil  of  unbelief  still  held  a  sort  of  grip. 

One  day  a  chill  struck  Mr.  Esmonde,  and 
with  the  chill  came  the  hour  that  is  to  come 
for  us  all.  Feeling  that  he  was  dying,  he  asked 
Father  Luke  to  receive  him  into  the  Church ; 
and  the  penitent — for  penitent  he  was  at  the 
eleventh  hour — became  reconciled  to  God,  and 
died  with  the  beauteous  faith  of  a  little  child. 

**I  do  believe,"  said  Father  Luke,  "that 
the  good  God  sent  me  across  the  ocean  to 
save  this  poor  soul." 

Mr.  Esmonde  was  conscious  to  the  last. 

"I  have  some  mining  shares,"  he  said,  "  in 
the  Santa  Rita  Mine  in  Mexico.  A  thousand. 
I  got  them  in  a  gambling  debt,  but  I  could 
not  raise  a  drink  on  them.  Mexico  is  coming 
to  the  front  now,  and  some  day  [they  might 
become  valuable.  They  are  lodged  with  James 
O'Brien,  of  State  Street,  Chicago.  You  will 
find  his  receipt  in  my  old  pocket-book.  If 
they  turn  out  anything,  I  want  my  daughter 
to  have  eight  hundred,  the  other  two  hundred 
to  go  for  Masses  tor  my  soul." 

And  neither  did  Father  Luke  nor  the 
sorrow-stricken  daughter  know  that  the  shares 
of  the  Santa  Rita  Mine  were  even  then  at  an 
enormous  premium,  and  going  up  all  the  time. 

A  week  after  the  remains  of  her  father  had 
been  consigned  to  their  mother  earth,  Caroline 
Esmonde,  with  Father  Luke  Byrne,  was  on  the 
w  ide  Atlantic,  bound  for  dear  old  Ireland. 

(TO   BE  CONTINUED.) 


The  Monarch's  Gift. 


1  N  earh'  days  of  Germany, 

)    While  still  the  faith  was  young, 

While  yet  the  name  of  Boniface 

Throughout  the  kingdom  rung; 
Then  valiant  Siegbert  ruled  the  land, 

Renowned  for  deeds  of  fame, 
And  many  a  hostile  warrior  chief 

Trembled  at  Siegbert's  name. 
And  yet,  with  all  his  love  of  power, 

With  all  his  warlike  pride, 
Faith  dawned  at  last  upon  his  soul, — 

Faith  in  the  Crucified. 
Oh,  then  internal  war  arose. 

His  heart  the  battle-field; 
If  Faith  the  conqueror  shall  be, 

His  iron  will  must  yield. 
Nature  and  Grace  for  mastery  strove, 

As  they  vSo  oft  had  done; 
And  Grace  triumphant  gained  the  day — 

Her  victory  was  won. 
King  Siegbert  loved  a  Christian  maid  ; 

In  all  the  country  side 
None  could  exceed  in  loveliness 

The  monarch's  chosen  bride. 
But  gold,  nor  rank,  nor  monarch's  love, 

Could  tempt  her  heart  to  stray 
From  Him  to  whom  'twas  wholly  given 

On  her  baptismal  day. 
To  guard  the  treasure  of  her  love. 

Where  none  might  claim  a  share, 
She  sought  the  holy  convent  walls. 

And  found  a  shelter  there. 
King  Siegbert  followed  in  her  steps, 

In  wrath  and  wounded  pride. 
Attended  by  his  royal  guards, 

Once  more  to  claim  his  bride; 
And,  entering  the  sacred  place, 

He  found  her  kneeling  there, — 
Before  the  altar  bending  low, 

Hands  clasped  in  fervent  prayer. 
He  paused,  and  for  a  moment  gazed 

With  stern  and  troubled  mien. 
And  then,  approaching,  firmly  said,: 
"I  come  to  claim  my  queen. 
Not  here  the  place  for  audience, 

Come  forth  with  me  aside; 
I  bring  thee  royal  wedding  gifts. 

Befitting  Siegbert's  bride." 
He  took  her  hand  and  led  her  forth 

From  altar  shrine  away; 
She  seemed  as  if  to  marble  changed. 

Save  for  her  eyes'  pure  ray. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


349 


He  clad  her  in  a  silktjn  robe 

While  as  the  mountain  snow  ; 
Heneath  a  veil  of  Orient  lace 

Her  golden  tresses  flow; 
A  crown  of  gold  and  precious  gems 

He  placed  upon  her  hejd  ; 
One  moment  sorrowfully  gazed 

Upon  her  face,  then  said: 
'  If  mortal  man  had  won  thy  love 

And  claimed  thee  for  his  bride, 
That  treason  I  would  not  have  borne, 

He  at  my  feet  had  died. 
But  all  too  pure  for  earthly  love. 

Thy  maiden  heart  was  given 
To  Him  alone  who  reigns  above. 

The  sovereign  Lord  of  Heaven. 
As  He  desires  the  sacrifice 

Of  dearest  earthly  things, 
I  yield  thee,  peerless  as  thou  art, 

Unto  the  King  of  kings." 
He  led  her  to  the  altar's  foot. 

Then  turned  and  strode  away, — 
It  was  a  noble  offering 

That  Siegbert  made  that  day. 


Benjamin  Herder  and  His  Work.* 


I. 

FOR  eighteen  years  Catholics,  e>pecially  in 
Germany,  have  been  accustomed  to  see  on 
the  title-page  of  books  and  pamphlets  the 
name  of  Benjamin  Herder.— a  name,  it  is  true, 
not  famous  in  the  public  annals  of  the  century, 
but  which  nevertheless  has  gone  forth  with 
thousands  of  publications  in  a  quiet,  unas- 
suming manner,  thus  rendering  it  a  familiar 
household  word  to  many  Catholics. 

He  is  known  to  every  child  through  his 
Bible  histories  and  periodicals  for  the  young, 
while  those  of  riper  years  have  found  in  his 
excellent  text-books  and  entertaining  style 
sources  of  much  profit  and  pleasure.  Like  that 
of  Alban  Stolz,  the  name  of  Herder  has  pene- 
trated into  the  most  remote  mountain  huts 
and  isolated  hamlets.  His  Church  Lexicon  of 
Wetzer  &  Welte  introduced  him  to  educated 
Europe.  Many  of  his  works  have  found  trans- 
lators in  the  principal  languages,  causing  him 
to  be  known  in  all  parts  of  the  civilized  globe. 

Catholic  Germany  was  plunged  in  mourning 
when  the  death  of  Benjamin  Herder  was  an- 


*  Stimnien  aus  Maria  Laach.   Adapted. 


nounced  as  having  taken  place  on  November 
ID,  iS88.  While  the  millions  to  whom  his 
name  is  so  familiar  were  not  personally  ac- 
quainted with  him,  the  Catholic  savants  and 
standard  writers  of  Germany  were  unanimous 
in  their  conviction  that  by  his  decease  the 
Church  had  suffered  an  almost  irreparable 
loss.  The  gratitude  of  thousands  accompanied 
him  to  the  grave,  and  the  work  to  which  he 
so  generously  devoted  his  life  will  itself  be  a 
perpetual  monument  to  his  fame. 

Nowadays  material  profit  seems  to  be  the 
principal  aim  of  the  public  press.  One  class  of 
publishers  cater  to  the  ever-growing  appetite 
for  light  literature,  at  the  same  tim  -  ostensibly 
lamenting  the  perverted  public  taste  which 
they  are  feeding  and  encouraging.  A  second 
class  seem  to  consider  literary  work  a  mere 
mechanical  performance — quantity  not  qual- 
ity being  their  desideratum  on  all  occasions. 
A  third,  rapidly  increasing,  develop  and  foster 
by  their  publications  the  socialistic  tenden- 
cies gaining  ground  every  day,  thus  widening 
the  already  open  breach  between  capital  and 
labor. 

Hitherto  only  a  small  portion  of  German 
literature  has  been  affected  by  this  spirit,  but 
the  breath  of  materialism  is  gradually  spread- 
ing its  contagion.  While  deploring  this  evil, 
it  is  a  source  of  great  consolation  to  find  a  man 
who  ever  remained  untouched  by  the  irrelig- 
ious spirit  of  the  times,  holding  his  business 
capacity  and  profit  subservient  to  the  highest 
and  noblest  aims,  thus  rendering  incalculable 
services  to  the  Church  and  humanity. 

The  history  of  the  foundation  of  Herder's 
establishment  dates  from  the  beginning  of  the 
present  century,  at  which  time  the  German 
Empire,  under  the  shock  of  the  Revolution, fell 
into  irreparable  disorder,  and  charitable  and 
religious  institutions  became  extinct,  weaken- 
ing in  their  fall  the  influence  of  centuries  of 
culture.  Catholic  literature  became  contami- 
nated by  the  theories  of  the  Revolution,  and 
Protestantism  was  elated  over  its  supposed 
victory  in  the  decline  of  Catholic  ascendancy 
and  organization  in  Germany.  Without  con- 
sulting either  Pope  or  council,  the  Baron  of 
Weissenberg,  Vicar  -  General  of  Constance, 
abolished  feasts  and  vigils,  dispensed  from 
solemn  vows,  and  introduced  the  use  of  the 
German  language  in  all  religious  functions. 


350 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Through  these  disastrous  abuses — misnamed 
reforms,  which  would  eventually  have  led  to 
entire  Protestantism, — the  diocese  was  filled 
with  such  confusion  that  on  the  23d  of  July, 
18 1 1,  the  Protestant  Kingof  Wurtemberg  was 
compelled  to  use  his  authority  for  the  preser- 
vation of  the  Latin  language  in  the  service  of 
the  Church,  as  also  for  retaining  the  original 
liturgy. 

Strange  to  relate,  it  was  in  this  cradle  of 
Weissenberg's  "Enlightened  Catholicism" 
that  the  publishing  house  came  into  existence 
which  was  in  the  future  to  be  so  closely  identi- 
fied with  genuine  Catholic  literature.  Here 
Bartholomew  Herder  founded  the  house,  which 
was  subsequently  removed  to  Constance ;  not 
until  the  year  18 10  was  it  permanently  located 
at  Freiburg  in  Breisgau. 

Although  Herder  was  a  stanch  Catholic,  he 
had  been  reared  in  that  period  of  revolutionary 
thought  which  affected  even  the  clergy ;  thus 
the  idea  had  never  occurred  to  him  of  im- 
pressing any  character  upon  his  work  foreign 
to  the  spirit  of  the  great  Vicar-General.  In 
Freiburg  he  conducted  his  operations  as  best 
suited  his  convictions  until  his  death  in  the 
year  1839. 

The  catalogue  of  this  firm  for  the  first  four 
decades  of  the  century  enumerates  a  great 
variety  of  works — legal,  medical,  philosophi- 
cal and  theological ;  publications  of  the  day, 
school-books,  prayer-books,  and  other  relig- 
ious publications.  Among  the  names  in  this 
catalogue  we  find  those  of  Pichler,  Pohl, 
Khiinl,  Hassler,  and  Hug. 

Rotteck's  "AUgemeine  Weltgeschichte  " 
may  be  considered  one  of  the  most  important 
of  Herder's  publications.  Simultaneous  with 
this  appeared  the  celebrated  panegyric  which 
was  delivered  by  him  in  the  metropolitan 
church  of  Freiburg,  at  the  obsequies  of  Jacobi, 
on  the  i6th  of  November,  1814.  It  may  be  of 
interest  to  the  reader  to  note  the  parallel  which 
Weber  drew  between  Rotteck's  ''History  of 
the  World"  and  Janssen's  "History  of  the 
German  People"  : 

"Rotteck's  History  was  at  one  time  con- 
sidered the  Gospel  of  the  educated  middle 
classes,  and  had  a  circulation  which  far  ex- 
ceeded Janssen's  work,  exerting  a  powerful 
influence  on  the  public  mind,  and  encouraging 
liberal  views  on  religious  and  biblical  ques- 


tions,— being  the  outpouring  of  a  free  soul 
speaking  heart  to  heart.  .  .  .  Janssen's  History 
will  scarcely  reach  so  long  a  duration  of  life 
as  Rotteck's,  as  it  is  the  production  of  the 
Kulturkampf,  and  is  infected  with  a  certain 
servile,  clerical  spirit." 

Strange  fact  that  both  works,  though  at  dif- 
ferent periods,  should  have  been  issued  by  the 
same  publisher.  Who  among  German  Catho- 
lics would  now  speak  of  them  as  good  Hen- 
Weber  did  ?  That  Bartholomew  Herder  saw  no 
cause  of  complaint  against  Rotteck's  work  is 
satisfactorily  explained  by  the  situation  at  the 
time.  The  old,  liberal-minded  school  numbered 
many  honest,  upright  men,  who  had  never 
been  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  consti- 
tution of  the  Church,  and  who  were  conse- 
quently unable  to  overcome  the  prejudices  of 
their  age.  Business  men  are  less  to  be  blamed 
for  errors  of  this  kind  than  savants,  for  study 
leads  to  truth. 

About  this  time  the  fame  of  Herder's  house 
increased  by  reason  of  its  extensive  under- 
takings in  cartography,  and  especially  the 
official  charts  of  the  river  Rhine,  which  were 
of  incalculable  service  to  the  German  army  in 
1 870-1 87 1.  Through  Von  Moltke  they  issued 
the  Turkish  maps,  to  which  were  added  Worl's 
atlases  of  Central  Europe,  South  Western 
Germany,  and  the  country  around  the  Alps. 
These  publications  made  the  firm  widely 
known  and  respected. 

II. 

Benjamin  Herder  was  born  in  18 18,  and 
consequently  was  only  twenty-one  years  old 
when  the  death  of  both  parents,  in  1839, 
together  with  that  of  his  eldest  brother,  left 
him  to  assume  the  position  of  sole  manager 
of  an  extensive  business.  He  was,  however, 
well  prepared  for  the  undertaking,  as  his 
father  had  not  only  initiated  him  into  the 
technicalities  of  busiijess,  but  had  placed  him 
at  a  gymnasium  and  university,  where  he 
received  an  excellent  education,  which  he  per- 
fected by  extensive  reading,  as  also  by  travel 
in  Germany,  Austria,  France,  England,  and 
Italy. 

Being  thoroughly  educated,  but  still  more 
distinguished  by  his  zeal  for  religion.  Herder 
conceived  the  idea  of  placing  his  father's  es- 
tablishment on  a  much  higher  plane  than  had 
previously  characterized  it  as  a  disseminator 


The  Ave  Maria. 


35 


of  secular  learning.  It  is  pnly  through  religion 
that  human  knowledge  attains  its  highest 
dignity,  thus  accomplishing  the  greatest  re- 
sults. Herder  understood  this,  and  wished  to 
concentrate  his  business  in  the  pursuance  of 
this  noble  aim.  He  determined  to  regulate 
the  growth  of  his  enterprise  only  in  accord- 
ance with  these  grand  ideals,  and  inasmuch  as 
it  could  contribute  to  the  advancement  in  its 
widest  scope  of  Catholic  literature  and  teach- 
ing. To  attain  this  end  he  had  to  encounter 
many  difficulties :  the  great  influence  of  Prot- 
estant and  liberal-minded  publishers,  the  want 
of  unity  among  the  newly  revived  Catholic 
powers,  with  various  other  obstacles  not  indi- 
vidually potent,  but  which  united  presented 
a  formidable  array.  Still,  the  times  were  fa- 
vorable to  the  perfection  of  this  great  plan. 
Theology  and  philosophy  in  particular  (which 
should  have  been  the  standard  for  the  other 
sciences)  extricated  themselves  but  slowly 
from  the  influence  which  the  philosophy  of  a 
Kant,  Schelling,  Hegel,  and  the  rationalistic 
sway  of  Protestantism  had  gradually  acquired 
over  them,  despite  the  sincerity  and  good-will 
of  their  teachers  and  representatives. 

This  period  of  transition  in  Herder's  busi- 
ness is  marked  by  the  appearance  of  the 
theologians  Hirscher  and  Staudenmaier.  The 
principal  productions  of  the  former — "The 
Doctrine  of  Indulgences"  and  the  well-known 
treatise  on  morals — were  not  published  by 
Herder;  but,  dating  from  1842,  many  smaller 
works  of  this  popular  author  were  issued  by 
him.  His  catechisms  and  ' '  Life  of  Mary ' '  have 
passed  through  many  editions.  Of  Stauden- 
maier's  principal  works.  Herder  published 
"Die  christliche  Dogmatik,"  which  appeared 
in  1844-1852;  also  "Ueber  das  Wesen  der 
katholischen  Kirche." 

Still  more  important  was  Herder's  plan  to 
unite  the  learned  and  scientific  minds  of 
Catholicity  in  the  publication  of  a  Catholic 
Encyclopaedia — the  "Kirchen  lycxikon,"  — 
and  thus  create  a  work  which  should  establish 
a  solid  basis  for  the  regeneration  of  Church 
literature.  Notwithstanding  the  great  diffi- 
culty which  its  publication  involved.  Herder 
did  not  lose  courage,  though  the  work  was 
not  completed  until  i860,  about  twenty  years 
after  it  was  planned.  A  few  years  later  it  was 
■circulated  all  over  the  civilized  world ;   and 


while  the  theological  and  dogmatic  articles 
it  contains  betoken  but  a  gradual  return  to 
the  status  of  to-day,  and  that  in  an  approx- 
imative way,  still  the  accomplishment  of  the 
task  was  a  brilliant  achievement.  Even  before 
the  I^exikon  was  finished,  one  of  Herder's  most 
prominent  co-laborers,  the  learned  Bishop  of 
Hefele,  began  the  publication  of  his  classical 
"Conciliengeschichte,"  which  was  issued  by 
the  same  house. 

While  the  "Kirchen  Lexikon"  threw  a 
new  light  upon  theology,  so  long  obscured 
and  concealed  b^  blinding  mists  of  error, 
there  arose  almost  simultaneously  one  of  the 
most  voluminous  and  popular  writers  of  our 
time  —  Alban  Stolz,  —  who  had  long  been 
Herder's  friend,  and  whose  works,  issued  by 
him,  still  delight  and  instruct  the  niass  of  the 
people  in  Catholic  Germany.  Alban  Stolz  is 
known  as  the  people's  theologian ;  his  writings 
have  aided  immeasurably  in  promoting  the 
life  of  faith  in  Germany,  and  brought  into 
its  greatest  and  most  distinctive  prominence 
the  extensive  publishing  house  of  Benjamin 
Herder. 

We  can  not  enter  into  details  regarding  the 
works  which  have  contributed  so  largely  to  his 
fame.  Suffice  it  to  say,  however,  that  from 
those  already  mentioned  it  is  evident  that  a 
manual  of  literature  could  be,  and  has  been, 
written  without  making  Martin  lyUther  the 
greatest  benefactor  of  Germany ;  and  that  an 
edition  of  German  classics  could  be  issued 
without  deferring  in  its  criticisms  to  Prot- 
estant authority. 

Herder's  house  was  a  model  of  inflexible 
resistance  in  a  land  of  mixed  creeds  against 
the  aggressions  of  Protestantism, — yet  that 
without  any  violation  of  the  golden  rule  of 
charity.  The  most  bitter  enemies  of  the 
Church  would  find  it  difficult  to  enumerate 
from  Herder's  catalogue  a  list  of  publications 
which  could  be  designated  as-  ill-tempered 
attacks  on  Protestantism.  The  publication  by 
him  of  Catholic  works  only  was  of  great  ad- 
vantage to  Catholic  writers,  and  conducive  to 
a  strong  feeling  of  union  among  them.  Those 
who  see  a  challenge  in  every  outspoken,  fear- 
less Catholic  expression  of  sentiment, — who 
call  Janssen's  History  a  mere  production  of 
the  Kulturkampf,  a  "Bahnhecker  des  Jesuitis- 
mus." — will  not  be  likely  to  do  full  justice  to 


352 


The   Ave   Maria. 


Mr.  Herder's  character.  Through  him,  and 
him  only,  the  house  had  long  since  become 
thoroughly  and  uncompromisingly  Catholic; 
and  the  new  relations  of  business  and  friend- 
ship in  which  he  stood  with  the  Jesuits  corre- 
sponded simply  to  this  very  transition. 

III. 

Now  came  the  time  of  the  Vatican  Council, 
— for  some  German  Catholics  a  critical  time, 
but  not  so  for  Herder's  establishment.  The 
decided  and  determined  answers  given  by 
Cardinal  Hergenrother  to  the  opponents  were 
issued  by  this  house.  To  these  were  added 
other  highly  important  and  timely  books. 
During  this  period  it  reached  its  highest 
prosperity.issuing  many  theological, ascetical, 
and  historical  works ;  rendering  good  and  open 
service  to  every  branch  of  Catholic  literature. 
Now  for  the  first  time  Protestants,  eager  to 
know  the  beliefs  of  their  opponents  on  such 
urgent  questions,  read  with  avidity  from  a 
Catholic  standpoint,  as  it  were;  and  the  Church 
Lexicon  was  highly  instrumental  in  winning 
the  respect  of  the  opposite  party  for  its  ancient 
opponent.  By  the  writings  of  such  men  as 
Hettinger,  Weiss,  and  others,  mission  work 
was  greatly  advanced;  and,  in  the  Stimnieyi 
aus  Maria  Laach,  those  Jesuits  who  had  been 
banished  from  Germany  found  opportunity  to 
devote  themselves  to  the  service  of  the  Cath- 
olics of  their  beloved  country. 

According  to  human  judgment,  political 
power  and  the  means  at  its  disposal  would  be 
enabled  to  crush  the  life  of  Catholic  literature ; 
but  human  judgment  often  errs.  Instead  of 
allowing  themselves  to  become  discouraged, 
remaining  silent  in  what  seemed  to  be  an 
unequal  conflict,  the  Catholic  literati  became 
more  united,  more  harmonious,  gathering 
around  the  banner  of  the  Church  with  untir- 
ing zeal  and  emulation  ;  and  at  last  they  have 
succeeded  in  obtaining  a  hearing  from  reason- 
able members  of  the  Protestant  religion,  as 
well  as  the  respect  of  that  body.  Herder  was 
a  potent  factor  in  these  results,  and  his  fearless 
and  determined  position  soon  inspired  courage 
in  his  brother  craftsmen,  whom  timidity  and 
apprehension  had  long  caused  to  remain  at 
least  neutral.  Without  courting  favor  of  any 
kind  from  whatever  source,  he  was  recognized 
as  the  social  and  professional  friend  of  all  the 
leading  men  of  his  time. 


Benjamin  Herder  was  married  on  the  3otb 
of  July,  1863,  to  Miss  Emilie  Streber,  daughter 
of  the  renowned  numismatist  of  Munich. 
The  genuine  Catholic  spirit  that  breathes  in 
the  many  religious  works  given  to  the  world 
through  the  medium  of  his  firm  was  repro- 
duced in  his  household,  and  was  practised 
in  their  private  Ufe  by  fidelity  to  duty  and 
genuine  benevolence.  Inasmuch  as  Herder 
endeavored  to  instil  the  true  spirit  of  the  re- 
lations between  employer  and  employe  among 
his  workmen,  so  did  he  also  lose  no  oppor- 
tunity to  impart,  in  a  gentle  but  forcible 
manner,  his  sentiments  of  justice  and  equity. 
Order,  hand  in  hand  with  kindness  and 
charity,  reigned  in  all  the  departments  of  his 
extensive  establishments,  as  well  as  in  his 
personal  affairs. 

It  is  related  by  a  particular  friend  that 
Herder  had  at  one  time  fully  decided  on  rer 
tiring  from  the  world  and  devoting  the  last 
years  of  his  life  to  God's  service,  but  was 
deterred  therefrom  by  the  advice  of  a  spiritual 
friend,  who  persuaded  him  that  the  cause  of 
God  and  religion  would  be  more  glorified  by 
his  remaining  in  the  world,  in  the  laborious 
position  in  which  Providence  had  placed  him. 
This  advice  he  followed  with  a  docile  heart, 
and  devoted  himself  thereafter  with  the  re- 
newed energy  of  one  who  was  ever  ready  to 
sacrifice  life  and  personality  in  the  service  of 
God.  Daily  did  the  voice  of  this  good  man 
ascend  to  Heaven  in  behalf  of  all  with  whom 
he  was  associated.  He  prayed  that  God  might 
enlighten  the  faith  and  strengthen  the  efforts 
of  Christian  writers.  He  had  a  genuine  affec- 
tion for  the  religious  orders  whose  literary 
members  were  at  all  familiar  to  him  and  his 
house. 

Herder  was  fond  of  bringing  forward  and 
encouraging  young  writers,  and  also  those 
whose  works,  though  producing  little  or  no 
emolument,  were  still  instrumental  in  promot- 
ing the  progress  of  our  holy  religion.  All 
these  years,  brought  as  he  was  into  constant 
association  with  literary  men  of  the  highest 
order,  his  mind,  already  well  stored  and  well 
prepared  by  an  excellent  education,  was  as- 
similating and  appropriating  new  funds  of 
varied  knowledge.  His  amiable  consort, 
who  was  also  highly  educated  and  mistress 
of  three  or  four  languages,  was  equally  re^ 


The  Ave  Maria, 


353 


moved  from  the  fashionable  frivolities  of 
the  vi'orld ;  and,  like  him,  was  susceptible  to 
everything  grand  and  noble  in  literature,  art, 
or  science. 

Being  of  an  attractive  and  winning  char- 
acter, as  well  as  prompt,  reliable  and  consci- 
entious, Mr.  Herder  succeeded  in  extending 
his  business  on  every  side.  If  the  proposed 
publications  were  to  further  a  good  cause,  he 
gladly  undertook  expenses  from  which  profits 
might  never  hope  to  be,  and  often  never  were, 
realized.  The  long  list  of  his  publications  is 
enough  to  show  what  he  did  for  religion  and 
Catholicity.  Then  it  is  to  be  remembered  that 
the  firm  had  flourishing  branch  houses  in 
Vienna,  Strasburg,  Munich,  and  in  the  United 
States  at  St.  Louis,  Missouri. 

As  a  man,  Mr.  Herder  was  an  honor  to  the 
State,  and  honor  was  always  given  him  no 
matter  how  strenuously  he  declined  it.  For 
thirty  years  a  sufferer  from  a  painful  malady 
(facial  neuralgia),  no  one  ever  heard  him 
utter  a  complaint.  That  the  secret  of  this 
blameless  life,  of  this  patience  in  suffering,  and 
childlike  humility,  was  due  to  his  sincere  and 
beautiful  Christian  spirit  has  been  already 
eloquently  testified  and  proclaimed.  Devotion 
to  the  Passion  placed  him  above  all  human 
suffering,  and  made  him  superior  to  vain 
applause.  Love  for  the  Church  won  for  him 
an  unconquerable  courage,  and  impressed  his 
whole  life  and  works  with  the  stamp  of  a 
lovely  simplicity  and  equable  harmony, which 
shall  render  his  memory  dear  to  succeeding 
generations  of  Catholics. 


The  Age  of  Self-Conceit. 


BY   MAURICE   F.  EGAN. 


A  REFLECTING  observer  finds  much  to 
amuse  him,  but  more  to  sadden  him,  in 
the  strange  imitativeness  of  the  human  race, 
and  its  stranger  unconsciousness  that  it  is 
imitative. 

As  we  all  know — for  we  have  been  told  it 
often  enough,  — we  live  in  an  "  age  of  reason." 
Old  things  have  had  their  day ;  we  are  better 
fed,  better  housed,  better  clothed  than  our 
ancestors.  Above  all,  we  are  better  mentally 
and   physically.    We  take   care   to   make  it 


known  that  we  bathe  oftener  than  our  ances- 
tors. The  Englishman  and  his  "tub"  have 
become  a  proverbial  subject  for  laughter  in 
the  humorous  papers.  But  the  American  with 
his  "modern  improvements"  equally  deserves 
to  be  laughed  at.  It  would  be  hard  to  find — 
except  perhaps  in  the  unwritten  annals  of  the 
untutored  savage  who  first  found  a  military 
coat  and  proclaimed  himself  civilized — more 
evidences  of  artless  self-conceit  than  we  mod- 
erns show  every  day.  The  "thoughtful  mag- 
azine" paper  is  usually  a  laudation  of  the 
nineteenth  century  at  the  expense  of  every 
preceding  epoch. 

Caesar  and  Virgil, 'Constantine  and  Dante, 
would  find  much  to  amuse  them  in  an  age 
which,  having  forgotten  almost  everything 
good  discovered  or  invented  by  previous  ages, 
has  occasionall}^  an  access  of  memory.  It  then 
assumes  the  attitude  of  little  Jack  Hornei* 
in  the  nursery  rhyme, [and  admires  itself  im- 
moderately. 

In  the  United  States  we  are  cursed  by  a 
system  of  public  schools,  which  are  manufact- 
ures of  the  mediocre.  If  they  are  intended  to 
be  machines  for  the  levelling  of  all  American 
human  creatures^to  a[^condition  of  "equality,"' 
they  answer  their  purpose ;  for  they  kill  all 
individuality  as  far  as  possible,  and  grind 
away  all  points  of  interest  in  the  unfortunate 
creature  compelled  to  pass  through  them. 
They  ignore  every  quality  both  of  instruction 
and  education  insisted  on  in  older  countries, 
where  the  vice  of  self-conceit — generated 
through  the  essentiarprinciple  of  that  revolt 
of  Humanism  against  Authority,  called  the 
Reformation, — is  not  so  rampant  as  among 
ourselves. 

We  are  teaching  other  countries  all  about 
electricity  and  its  uses,  though  I  have  no  doubt 
the  old  Egyptians  knew  more  about  the  secrets 
of  nature  than  we  do,  orTperhaps  ever  will. 
We  are  inventing  new  appliances  for  speed  in 
travel,  for  comfort,  for  luxury  ;  and  yet  the  life 
of  the  average  inhabitant  of  a  large  city  is  no 
safer  than  it  was  three  hundred  years  ago.  A 
month  ago  everybody  said  that  the  kind  of 
accordion-like  attachment  to  trains  ''  called 
"vestibule"  was  a  preventive  against  acci- 
dents. Jack  Horner  jumped  up  and  danced  a 
congratulatory  jig,  when  lo!  an '"accident  oc- 
curs near  Chicago,  and  the  closing  of  this 


354 


The  Ave  Maria. 


accordion  business  solidly  prevented  the  sav- 
ing of  lives.  Each  new  improvement  brings 
a  new  risk. 

There  are  many  good  and  pleasant  things 
given  us  by  God  in  this  our  time  through 
human  agency ;  and  yet,  if  we  are  to  judge  by 
the  written  records,  we  are  neither  so  well 
educated  nor  so  capable  of  appreciating  the 
real  good  in  life  as  our  ancestors.  There  are 
more  rich  people  than  there  were  in  the  time 
of  lyorenzo  the  Magnificent;  but,  in  place  of 
Michael  Angelo's  "David"  or  the  Duomo, 
they  build  the  Auditorium  at  Chicago  or  the 
Eiffel  Tower  at  Paris!  People  spell  better  than 
they  did  in  the  time  oi  pater  patrics,  and  there 
are  more  who  eat  with  their  forks  instead  of 
their  knives;  but  one  may  well  believe  that 
there  was  more  real  leisure,  more  true  com- 
fort, and  more  genuine  respect  for  what  is 
good  in  life  at  Mount  Vernon  than  in  the 
thousand  palaces  which  adorn  every  modern 
American  city. 

Does  anybody  read  the  Paston  letters  now  ? 
Or  look  for  glimpses  of  the  home  life  of  Sir 
Thomas  More?  Or  glance  at  the  home  influ- 
ences that  helped  to  make  St.  Francis  de  Sales 
or  Cardinal  Frederick  Borromeo  ? 

The  public  schools — at  which  our  German 
friends  who  know  anything  sneer,  which 
amaze  the  English,  and  surprise  even  those 
French  who  are  not  blinded  by  a  government 
of  pedagogues, — could  not  have  produced 
men  so  humble,  so  simple,  so  great.  Harvard 
and  Yale,  with  their  superficial  Agnosticism 
and  stucco  "modernity,"  could  not. 

I^et  us  not  throw  up  our  caps  too  violently 
over  our  progress,  for  the  bells  may  jingle 
and  show  the  shades  of  our  ancestors  what 
we  really  are.  "Motley's  the  only  wear" 
for  a  time  which  is  always  asking  questions 
and  never  answering  them,  yet  which  holds 
itself  wiser  than  Almighty  God. 


Do  not  demand  in  everything  why  God 
thus  made  this  and  that ;  for  this  word  why 
was  the  word  of  the  serpent  and  the  beginning 
of  our  destruction.  Shut  the  eyes  of  Reason 
and  open  the  eyes  of  Faith;  for  Faith  is  the 
instrument  by  which  alone  divine  things  are 
to  be  contemplated  and  searched  into. — Luis 
de  Granada. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

Leo  XIII.  undoubtedly  ranks  as  one  of  the 
most  illustrious  in  the  long  line  of  Popes.  His 
great  intellect,  rare  prudence,  and  unflagging 
energy  have  evoked  the  admiration  of  the  whole 
civilized  world.  But  no  one  is  more  firmly  con- 
vinced than  the  Holy  Father  that  natural  gifts  and 
human  means,  which  he  employs  as  if  all  depended 
on  them,  go  for  nothing  before  God,  and  are  pow- 
erful for  good  only  when  sanctified  and  strength- 
ened by  faith  and  prayer.  Onr  aid,  he  cries  with  the 
Psalmist,  is  in  the  name  of  the  Lord !  And  he  prays 
as  if  everything  depended  on  prayer,  making 
unceasing  appeal  to  the  intercession  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  The  Rosary  is  his  favorite  devotion,  and 
no  Pope  has  done  more  to  encourage  its  practice 
among  the  faithful,  not  alone  by  frequent  encyc- 
licals, but  by  constant  example.  Nowhere  is  the 
Rosary  more  faithfully  recited  than  in  the  Papal 
household,  and  by  this  means  one  of  the  first 
minds  of  the  age  is  kept  attuned  to  things  divine. 

The  Anglican  Bishop  of  Chichester  has  done 
honor  to  himself  by  reprimanding  one  of  his 
presbyters  for  not  protesting  against  an  attack 
on  the  Blessed  Virgin  made  at  a  meeting  which  he 
attended.  The  defamer  was  the  notorious  Fulton, 
so  well  and  so  unfavorably  known  in  the  United 
States.  "  The  cause  of  truth,"  wrote  the  Bishop, 
"can  not  be  advanced  by  rude  deprecation  of 
Her  whom  all  generations  have  with  one  accord 
called  'blessed.'"  It  is  a  gratification  to  record 
the  Bishop's  action,  but  it  is  sad  that  it  should 
have  been  demanded  in  any  Christian  community. 
The  name  which  the  offending  presbyter  dis- 
graced is  McComiick. 

The  beatification  of  the  French  martyrs,  Fathers 
Gabriel  Perboyre  and  Pierre  Chanel,  together 
with  that  of  the  Venerable  Ancina,  Bishop  of  Sa- 
lencia,  and  Perotti,  a  professed  priest  of  the  Pious 
Schools,  will  take  place,  if  circumstances  permit, 
on  four  Sundays  toward  the  end  of  December  and 
the  beginning  of  January. 

Mrs.  Catherwood,  author  of  "The  Romance  of 
DoUard"  and  the  "Story  of  Tonty,"  about  to  be 
published  in  Chicago,  has  evidently  studied  the 
early  history  of  North  America  with  an  unprej- 
udiced mind.  Writing  from  Halifax,  whither  her 
tour  of  investigation  has  led  her,  she  pays  a 
generous  tribute  to  the  French  explorers  of  two 
generations  ago, and  their  descendants  in  Canada: 

"Doubtless  it  is  a  good  thing,  since  it  has  been  so 
ordered,  that  the  old  French  regime  has  passed  away, 
and  the  Anglo-Saxon's  prevailing  strength  is  pushing 


The  Ave  Maria. 


355 


forward  Canada.  I  have  no,  hatred  of  England,  and 
no  intense  disrespect  for  my  Puritan  forefathers — 
always  excepting  that  reverend  old  Mather,  whose 
conscience  reproached  him  if  he  did  not  shoot  at  least 
one  Indian  per  day.  But  I  have  tremendous  sympathy 
and  love  for  the  Frenchmau,  who  led  civilization  on 
this  continent,  and  trampled  down  the  wilderness  for 
that  slower  race  following  on  his  heels ;  who  was  the 
only  man  of  all  Europe  in  hordes  that  treated  the 
Indian  like  a  brother ;  who  put  his  chivalrous  train- 
iug,  his  fortune,  his  blood,  to  the  roughest  usage  here; 
who  says  his  prayers  to  this  day  with  the  simplicity 
of  a  child,  and  keeps  alive  the  medieval  spirit  of  de- 
votion in  his  churches ;  who  never  had  the  brutal  heav- 
iness, the  sour  piety,  which  has  probably  developed 
into  the  driving  force  of  our  race ;  but  who  stands  in 
history,  in  story,  in  every  visible  trace  that  is  left  of 
him,  the  most  picturesque,  the  most  tragic,  the  most 
winning  figure  in  the  New  World." 


The  announcement  of  Mgr.  Piavi's  departure 
from  Rome  for  the  Holy  Land  recalls  some  inter- 
esting facts  concerning  his  patriarchate.  The 
Latin  Patriarchate  of  Jerusalem  was  re-estab- 
lished in  1847;  it  was  really  founded  in  1391.  At 
the  time  of  its  re-establishment  the  total  number 
of  Catholics  in  all  Palestine  was  hardly  four  thou- 
sand :  to-day  the  Catholic  population  has  almost 
doubled.  Besides,  twenty-three  missions,  contain- 
ing five  thousand  Catholics,  have  been  founded. 
There  are  now  in  the  Latin  Patriarchate  not  only 
ten  thousand  Catholics,  but  seven  religious  com- 
munities of  men  and  thirty-two  of  women,  four 
boys'  orphan  asylums,  and  four  hospitals. 


We  have  hitherto  had  a  certain  respect  for  our 
contemporaries,  The  Congregationalist  of  Boston 
and  The  hidependent  of  New  York.  They  rarely 
went  into  emotional  hysterics,  or  showed  that 
ignorant  and  foolish  bigotry  for  which  certain 
sectarian  sheets  are  remarkable.  They  seemed  to 
be  edited  by  educated  men.  But  the  attack  on 
Father  Damien  in  late  issues  of  these  hitherto 
respectable  papers  is  unworthy  of  that  vulgarest 
of  all  vulgar  calumniators,  the  discredited  Fulton. 
The  articles  to  which  we  refer  are  full  of  false- 
hoods against  Father  Damien,  and  are  not  signed. 
Are  we  to  understand  Ithat  the  editors  of  The 
Congregationalist  and  The  Independent  take  the 
entire  responsibility  for  them  ? 


We  regret  to  announce  the  death  of  Count  John 
Nicholas  Murphy,  which  occurred  last  month  at 
his  residence,  Clifton,  Cork,  Ireland.  He  was  a 
man  of  large  heart  and  broad  mind,  and  his  life 
was  that  of  a  fervent  Christian.  Count  Murphy 
is  known  to  English-speaking  Catholics  every- 
where for  his  able  work  on  the  Papacy,  entitled 
"The  Chair  of  Peter,"  which  has  just  gone  into 


a  third  edition.  It  is  one  of  the  best  works  on 
the  subject  in  the  language.  Mr.  Murphy  was  in 
the  seventy -third  year  of  his  age.  He  was  created 
a  count  by  his  Holiness  Pius  IX.  Our  Irish  ex- 
changes praise  him  for  his  princely  benefactions 
to  the  poor.  We  ask  our  readers  to  unite  with 
them  in  praying  for  the  repose  of  his  soul. 


The  inhabitants  of  the  Isle  of  Majorca  are  de- 
lighted by  the  rumor  that  the  Holy  Father  may 
take  refuge  in  one  of  the  Balearic  Isles.  They 
are  anxious  that  he  may  choose  theirs.  Out  of  a 
population  of  200,000,  over  150,000  have  signed 
a  petition  begging  the  Holy  Father  to  live 
among  them. 

Although  the  Convention  of  American  Catholic 
Editors  has  been  declared  'off" — something  that 
does  not  call  for  much  regret,  we  think, — Mr. 
L.  W.  Reilly  proposes  that  those  present  at  the 
Centennial  celebration  in  Baltimore  next  month 
hold  an  informal  meeting.  This  is  sensible.  A 
personal  acquaintance  with  one  another  would  be 
desirable,  and  the  meeting  might  result  in  the 
formation  of  a  press  association  in  the  future, 
when  better  methods  would  be  in  vogue. 


It  is  hard  to  understand  why  Catholic  French 
and  Italian  journals  are  always  so  ready  to 
blunder,  if  it  be  possible.  The  press  of  the  whole 
world  is  praising  Cardinal  Manning  for  his  recent 
action  in  the  London  dock  strikes.  He  himself 
is  very  eager  to  hav^e  it  understood  that  he  could 
not  have  done  so  much  had  he  not  been  ably  sec- 
onded by  others  The  Italian  Catholic  papers, 
however,  will  not  admit  that  any  non-Catholic 
had  anything  to  do  with  it.  It  is  fortunate  that 
the  English  non-Catholic  press  is  not  so  illiberal. 
If  it  were,  the  Cardinal  would  not  have  received 
the  enthusiastic  praise  that  has  been  heaped 
upon  his  name.  Among  the  tributes  offered  to  him 
was  the  following  well  written  sonnet,  which  ap- 
peared in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  signed  "S.  H." : 
"Steadfast  in  duty  still,  though  on  thy  brow 
The  care -wrought  lines  of  more  than  eighty  years 
Are  graven.  Still  thy  heart  to  suppliant  tears — 
To  calls  of  hunger  which  assail  thee  now — 
Beats  as  responsive  as  when  first  thy  vow 

Set  thee  in  that  straight  path  that  leads  to  One 
Whose  smile  will  greet  thee  when  thy  task  is  done 
And  give  thee  rest,  while  we  in  anguish  bow. 
Wise  counsellor,  true  shepherd,  brother,  friend! 
Strong  soul!  that  on  ihe  furthest  verge  of  life 
Hast  still  the  power  to  end  this  wasting  strife, 
Though  others,  deemed  our  guides,  no  message  send. 
Scouting  thy  faith,  afar  they  stand  and  gaze, 
Whilst  thy  unfaltering  hand  reaps  all  the  praise." 
The  poor  of  London  have  no  friend  so  gentle 
and  so  firm  as  Cardinal  Manning.  His  charity 


356 


The  Ave  Maria. 


for  them  has  all  the  qualities  which  St.  Paul  de- 
scribes. The  Pall  Mall  Gazette  says  that,  were 
England  Catholic,  the  close  of  the  strike  would 
have  been  celebrated  by  a  Solemn  Mass  at  St. 
Paul's,  to  which  all  the  trades,  with  their  banners, 
would  go  in  procession. 

It  is  said  that  the  site  of  the  fort  which  La 
Salle  built  near  what  is  now  Peoria,  Illinois,  has 
at  last  been  discovered.  The  growth  of  under- 
brush is  so  dense  there  that  it  was  only  by  actual 
handling  that  the  outlines  of  the  fortifications 
could  be  traced.  They  had  been  tramped  over 
innumerable  times,  and  were  only  found  by  acci- 
dent. This  is  the  fort  called  Fort  Creve-Coeur,  or 
Br  )ken-Hearted  Fort;  because,  as  Pere  Marquette 
said, "  when  it  was  bailded  our  hearts,  from  many 
ills  and  great  discouragements,  were  well-nigh 
broken." 

Dr.  Huertas  y  Lozano,  a  celebrated  Spanish 
physician,  distinguished  also  as  a  writer,  who  for 
many  years  has  been  prominent  as  a  Freethinker, 
a  Spiritualist  and  a  Freemason,  abjured  his  errors 
on  the  Feast  of  the  Assumption.  His  conversion 
causes  great  rejoicing  in  Spain.  Our  foreign  ex- 
chauges  publish  the  letter  of  recantation  which 
he  addressed  to  the  Archbishop  of  Granada,  and 
announce  that  Dr.  Lozano  will  enter  a  religious 
order. 

Three  Catholic  Indian  chiefs,  including  Red 
Cloud,  will  represent  the  aborigines  of  America 
at  the  Congress  in  Baltimore  next  month.  We 
believe  that  the  credit  of  this  idea — a  happy  one 
— belongs  to  our  good  friend  Judge  Hyde,  editor 
of  the  Michigan  Catholic.  Those  who  meet  Red 
Cloud  during  the  Congress  will  find  him  a  supe- 
rior man  ;  and  if  he  gets  a  hearing  on  the  Indian 
Question,  he  will  say  something  worth  heeding. 

An  approved  translation  of  the  prayer  to  St. 
Joseph  which  the  Holy  Father  has  just  added 
to  the  Rosary  devotions,  printed  in  convenient 
forms,  may  be  had  at  our  ofiice.  We  shall  be 
pleased  to  send  copies  to  ^.ny  one  desiring  them. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  an  indulgence  of  seven 
years  and  as  many  times  forty  days  is  granted  to 
all  who  recite  this  prayer,  each  time. 


The  good  work  of  the  Tabernacle  Society  at- 
tached to  the  Convent  of  Notre  Dame,  Ritten 
House  Square,  Philadelphia,  has  increased  to 
such  an  extent  during  the  past  two  years  that 
its  resources  are  entirely  inadequate  to  meet  the 
demands  of  poor  churches  for  vestments,  altar 
linens,  etc.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  many  new 
members  will  soon  enroll  themselves  in  this  excel- 
lent Society,  the  higher  aim  of  which  is  to  increase 


devotion  to  the  Blessed  Sacrament.  Membership 
involves  only  an  annual  subscription  of  one 
dollar  and  the  promise  of  a  moathly  hour  before 
the  Blessed  Sacrament.  Time  and  place  for  this 
devotion  are  optional.  The  Sacred  Congregation 
of  Indulgences  has  latel}''  decided  that  any  exer- 
cise of  piety  may  serve  for  this  hour  of  adoration, 
even  the  Mass  of  obligation.  The  annual  subscrip- 
tion of  benefactors,  enabling  them  to  participate 
in  the  prayers  and  Masses  offered  for  the  Society, 
is  only  two  dollars. 

All  who  contribute  to  the  support  of  the  mis- 
sions of  the  Passionist  Fathers  in  South  America 
are  promised  a  share  in  the  prayers  and  sacrifices 
of  these  good  religious.  We  are  glad  to  see  that 
many  persons  seem  eager  to  help  in  this  work. 
The  following  offerings  from  generous  friends 
have  been  received  since  our  last  acknowledg- 
ment: 

M.  C,  Holyoke,  Mass.,  |i ;  T.  M.  G.  and  C.  C.  G., 
|3  ;  A  Subscriber,  Stoughton,  Mass.,  %2  ;  J.  L.,  Potts- 
ville,  Pa.,  50  cts.;  Julia  Gordon,  %\ ;  Annie  P.  Fox, 
|5 ;  M.  P.  C,  Limine,  Mo.,  50  cts. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  ij  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii.  3. 

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

The  Rev.  Thomas  Davin,  rector  of  St.  Columba's 
Church,  Cambria  City,  Pa.,  who  died  last  mouth  at 
Denver,  Colo.  His  death  was  caused  by  injuries  re- 
ceived just  after  the  terrible  Johnstowu  fatality, 
during  which  he  rendered  great  service  in  saving  life 
and  alleviating  distress.  Father  Davin  was  a  native 
of  Co.  Tipperary,  Ireland,  and  was  only  forty-one 
years  of  age. 

Sister  M.  Adelguud,  Convent  of  SB.  Benedict  and 
Scholastica,  Chicago,  111.,  who  was  called  to  the  re- 
ward of  her  selfless  life  on  the  3d  inst. 

Mother  Praxedes,  of  the  Sisters  wf  Charity,  Van- 
couver, Washington,  who  passed  away  on  the  25th 
ult.,  fortified  by  the  last  Sacraments. 

Mrs.  William  Forsyth,  whose  happy  death  occurred 
in  Washington,  D.  C,  on  the  6th  inst. 

Mr.  Peter  Daly,  who  peacefully  breathed  his  last  on 
the  26th  ult.,  at  Dun  more,  Pa. 

Mrs.  Mary  Kinsella,  of  Chicago,  111.,  who  piously 
yielded  her  soul  to  God  on  the  7th  ult. 

Mrs.  Margaret  Maloney,  a  fervent  Child  of  Mary, 
who  went  to  receive  the  recompense  of  her  holy  life 
on  the  19th  ult.,  at  Garry  Owen,  Iowa. 

Mrs.  Ellen  Sullivan,  of  Bridgeport,  Conn.,  who  de- 
parted this  li  e  on  the  6lh  ult. 

Mrs.  Agnes  S.  Maitland  and  Ms.  Hannah  Falvey, 
of  New  York  city ;  Charles  H.  Murray,  Cedar  Rapids, 
Iowa ;   Mr.  P.  R.  McCarthy,  Lake  View,  Chicago,  111. 

May  they  rest  in  peace  ! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


357 


Lost  in  the  Pines.    A  Story  of  Presque 
Isle. 


BY   MAURICE   FRANCIS   EGAN. 


II. 


The  next  morning  John  seemed  rather 
ashamed  of  Ferd's  "piousness,"  as  he  called 
it.  The  day  had  dawned  as  if  there  had  never 
been  a  storm  in  the  world.  John  swung  in  the 
hammock  at  the  stern  of  the  boat,  and  Ferd 
stood  near  him,  watching  the  canary-birds 
that  were  playing  hide-and-seek  in  the  swing- 
ing baskets. 

' '  You  may  say  what  you  please, ' '  Ferd  said, 
"but  I  am  no  more  ashamed  of  saying  my 
prayers  before  people  than  I  am  of  eating  my 
breakfast.  One's  as  necessary  as  the  other.  I 
made  up  my  mind  long  ago  that  it's  mean  to  be 
ashamed  of  doing  anything  that  it's  a  fellow's 
duty  to  do.  When  I  went  to  the  public  school 
in  Orange,  the  boys  used  to  make  fun  of  me 
when  I'd  stand  up  in  class  and  tell  the  teacher 
that  the  history  book  we  had  was  full  of  lies. 
I  am  not  sorry  for  it.  And  I'm  glad  I  took 
out  the  beads  last  night  and  said  the  Rosary. 
And  I  don't  care  whether  anybody  laughed 
or  not." 

"Well,  you  needn't  get  angry.  I  was  only 
thinking  how  funny  it  would  seem  to  the 
fellows  at  home." 

"You  need  not  trouble  yourself  about  the 
fellows  at  home.  If  they'll  mind  their  busi- 
ness, I'll  mind  mine."  And  Ferd  walked  to 
the  rail  with  great  dignity. 

John  chuckled.  He  made  several  other  at- 
tempts to  exasperate  his  cousin,  but  Ferd  was 
obstinately  silent.  In  a  short  time  one  of  the 
waiters  came  around  and  gathered  up  all  the 
chairs.  By  this  sign  the  boys  knew  that  break- 
fast was  almost  ready.  The  prospect  made 
them  feel  more  friendly,  and  when  breakfast 
was  announced  they  had  become  entirely 
amiable. 

After  breakfast  the  boys  took  their  station  in 
the  front  of  the  boat.  There  was  a  stiff  breeze 


blowing.  A  group  of  passengers  had  gathered 
in  the  bow,  holding  their  hats  on,  and  enjoy- 
ing the  rush  of  the  wind.  John  found  a  novel, 
and  lost  himself  in  it  at  once. 

Among  the  passengers  was  a  young  man 
from  a  Western  college.  He  wore  eye-glasses, 
a  striped  tweed  suit,  and  carried  a  magazine 
under  his  arm.  Occasionally,  too,  he  drew 
from  a  bag  slung  by  his  side  a  large  field-glass. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  a  Catholic,"  he 
said,  approaching  John,  "until  last  night.  I 
have  been  anxious  to  talk  with  some  intelli- 
gent Catholics  on  historical  subjects.  I  am 
much  interested  in  an  article  on  the  Spanish 
Armada  in  this  magazine.  It  seems  to  be 
rather  one-sided.  It  has  a  good  deal  in  it  about 
the  cruelties  of  the  Spaniards  to  English  trav- 
ellers during  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 
Travellers  in  Spain  were,  I  understand,  treated 
with  the  utmost  rigor,  and  submitted  to 
horrible  tortures  simply  because  they  were 
Prolestants.  I  wish  you  would  explain  how 
Catholics  justify  that." 

John  turned  red,  lifted  his  eyes  from  his 
book,  and  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair.  Ferd 
held  his  hat,  and  did  not  seem  to  notice  what 
was  going  on.  John  looked  up  into  the  serious 
face  of  the  young  man,  who  was  evidently  only 
a  few  years  older  than  himself. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  it  was  mostly  lies!"  John 
stammered.  "I  went  through  the  history 
once,  but  I  don't  remember  much  about  it." 

The  young  man  seemed  disappointed.  "I 
beg  pardon,"  he  said  ;  *'but  I  thought  there 
might  be  another  side  to  the  matter.  At  our 
college  we  hear  only  the  anti-Catholic  view 
presented.   Perhaps  your  friend — " 

John  muttered  to  himself:  "Stupid  prig! 
I'll  turn  him  over  to  Ferd." 

A  gentleman,  an  elderly  man,  who  plainly 
had  a  habit  of  frank  speech,  glanced  at  John's 
novel — "Blue  Eyed  Dick;  or,  The  Rancher's 
Revenge,' — and  said: 

"I  don't  think  a  boy  who  reads  that  kind 
of  books  can  be  expected  to  know  much 
history." 

John  left  his  seat  and  went  over  to  the  rail, 
his  ears  tingling.  For  the  moment  he  felt 
himself  to  be  an  utter  failure 

"  Perhaps  jv^z^  can  answer  this  young  man," 
said  the  elderly  gentleman  to  Ferd. 

It  was  Ferd's  turn  to  blush.  "I  understand," 


358 


The  Ave  Maria, 


lie  said,  with  some  diffidence, — "  I  understand 
that  the  question  is  whether  Catholics  justify 
the  cruelties  which  King  Philip  of  Spain  per- 
petrated on  English  sailors  and  travellers  in 
his  dominions  before  the  Armada  set  sail  for 
England?" 

' '  Exactly, ' '  answered  the  young  man,  whose 
name  was  Henry  Roughton. 

"I  don't  pretend  to  know  much  history," 
continued  Ferd,  "and  I  can't  speak  for  all 
Catholics;  but  I  think  I  can  say  that  Catho- 
lics do  not  defend  every  act  of  Philip  of  Spain. 
If  I  were  a  Spaniard,  I  should  say  that  most 
of  the  English  travellers  who  suffered  in  Spain 
from  cruelties  in  vogue  in  all  countries  at  that 
time  were  either  pirates  or  spies. ' ' 

"Pirates!"  exclaimed  the  young  man. 

"Of  course,"  said  Ferd.  "You  know  as 
well  as  I  do  that  Queen  EHzabeth  patronized 
and  encouraged  piracy.  Hawkins  was  a  pirate; 
the  sons  of  Lord  Cobham  were  atrocious 
pirates.  They  called  themselves  devout  Prot- 
estants, and  did  battle  wnth  Spaniards  *  when- 
ever efforts  in  the  service  of  Protestantis7n  were 
likely  to  be  repaid  with  plunder. ' ' ' 

"But  Queen  Elizabeth  punished  these 
pirates." 

"No,  she  didn't.  She  encouraged  them. 
Thomas  Cobham,  a  great  pet  of  the  Queen's, 
boarded  a  Spanish  vessel,  and  sewed  up  the 
captain  himself  and  the  crew  in  their  own 
sails  and  flung  them  into  the  ocean.  This  was 
in  time  of  peace;  fo  you  see  the  Spaniards 
had  some  reason  for  reprisals,  though  I  don't 
defend  their  cruelties." 

"But,"  said  the  young  man,  who  had 
listened  attentively,  "the  English  Protestants 
were  not  so  cruel.  There  is  no  record  in  history 
of  such  tortures  as  Spanish  Catholics  applied 
to  English  Protestants." 

"But  when  the  English  were  pirates,  mur- 
dering in  the  name  of  Protestantism,  there  was 
some  excuse.  Besides,  I  read  only  the  other 
day  the  story  of  a  venerable  priest,  eighty- 
three  years  old,  who  was  slowly  crushed  to 
death  with  horrible  tortures  by  order  of  good 
Queen  Bess'  government." 

The  young  man  made  no  answer.  The  old 
gentleman  smiled,  thanked  Ferd  for  his  in- 
formation, and  remarked  that  he  hoped  he 
would  continue  to  "keep  up"  his  interest  in 
history. 


Henry  Roughton  did  not  again  refer  to  the 
subject.  He  and  Ferd,  for  whom  he  seemed  to 
have  a  great  respect,  fell  into  a  pleasant  con- 
versation on  the  prospects  of  catching  lake 
and  speckled  trout  when  they  should  reach 
Marquette. 

John  kept  out  of  the  way.  He  was  angry 
with  himself  and  everybody  else.  He  threw 
his  novel  overboard — waiting,  however,  until 
he  had  finished  it, — and  said  to  himself  that 
school  studies  were  of  some  use  on  certain 


occasions. 


III. 


The  steamer,  cutting  the  crystal  waters  of 
Lake  Superior  with  a  gentle  and  almost  noise- 
less motion,  approached  the  great  ore  docks 
of  Marquette  on  a  clear  morning.  John  and 
Ferd  thought  they  had  never  seen  any  place 
so  beautiful.  Presque  Isle — which  seemed  to 
them  a  round-topped  island,  and  which  is,  as 
its  name  implies,  almost  an  island, — towered 
before  them.  It  seemed  like  a  huge  bouquet  at 
a  distance.  Pines  and  spruce  and  cedar,  of  the 
richest  green,  intermingled  with  birch ;  and, 
showing  below  them,  patches  of  rich,  reddish 
soil  were  reflected  in  the  pellucid  waters  of 
the  Lake.  On  the  other  side  was  the  majestic 
Mount  Mesnard,  named  for  the  great  mission- 
ary. It  also  was  clothed  in  the  darkest  green 
from  its  base  to  its  round  top.  The  city  of 
Marquette,  lately  refreshed  by  rain,  seemed  so 
clean  and  bright  that  the  boys  were  delighted 
with  the  sight  of  it.  The  air  was  laden  with 
spicy  odors,  and  was  as  clear  as  the  waters  of 
the  Lake. 

The  boys  made  the  proper  speeches  of  good- 
bye to  their  fellow-passenger.-.  Henry  Rough- 
ton  was  especially  pleasant  to  Ferd.  He  said 
he  was  going  to  camp  out  in  the  woods,  and 
that  no  doubt  he  should  see  the  boys  again. 

John  and  Ferd  gathered  up  such  of  their 
equipments  as  they  could  carry,  and  hired  a 
boy  to  take  the  rest  to  the  nearest  hotel.  Here 
they  were  informed  that  their  uncle  had  a 
shooting-box  about  fifteen  miles  from  the  city. 
He  had  left  a  letter  for  them,  giving  a  map  of 
the  country,  with  their  route  traced  out,  and 
minute  instructions  on  almost  every  point. 
They  could  reach  him  either  by  land  or  water. 

The  boys,  having  rowed  very  seldom,  and 
then  in  a  flat-bottomed  boat  on  the  Harlem 
River,  were  enthusiastic  oarsmen.  They  de- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


359 


cided  in  favor  of  the  boat.  Accordingly  they 
hired  a  neatly  painted  craft,  with  the  legend 
La  Flcur  de  MaV  written  in  red  on  a  white 
Hag  which  floated  from  her  bow.  The  half- 
breed  rented  her  to  them  for  a  month  for  five 
dollars.   He  told  them  that  he  had  a  big  birch 
^anoe,  which  they  might  have  for  seven  dol- 
ars.  When  he  showed  it  to  them,  the  boys 
were  charmed  by  its  light,  springy  motion, 
and  Ferd. remembered  the  lines  about   the 
canoe  in  lyongfellow's  "Hiawatha"  : 
"Like  a  yellow  leaf  in  autumn. 
Like  a  yellow  waterlily." 
But  the  boys  saw  at  once  that  they  could  not 
manage  this  fragile  boat,  although  the  half- 
breed  tried  to  explain  all  its  secrets  to  them  in 
his  broken  French. 

About  half-past  two  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, after  a  comfortable  dinner,  the  boys 
started  in  La  Fleur  de  Mai. 

"She's  as  pretty  as  any  May-flower!  "  cried 
John  with  delight,  as  they  passed  Presque  Isle 
md  cut  out  into  the  Lake. 

The  little  flag  caught  the  sunlight  in  its 
folds.  The  oars  sounded  merrily  as  they  rose 
and  fell — Ferd  holding  the  tiller, — and  the 
boys  were  aglow  with  pleasant  anticipation. 
They  were  delighted  as  they  saw  the  caves, 
floored  by  white,  water-washed  pebbles,  which 
are  visible  on  the  beach  of  Presque  Isle.  It 
seemed  like  a  page  out  of  a  story-book  to 
behold  veritable  caves,  in  which  piratical 
treasure  might  be — but  was  not — hidden. 

An  hour  went  by, — an  hour  of  pure  delight 
for  both  boys.  The  woods,  the  air  of  wildness 
about  the  land  they  skirted,  the  sweet,  healthy 
smell  of  the  pine  and  spruce,  the  soft  motion 
of  the  boat,  and,  above  all,  a  new  sense  of 
freedom  made  them  feel  as  if  the  dream  of  a 
lifetime  had  been  realized. 

John  yielded  the  oars  to.  Ferd,  who  thought 
he  saw  a  deer  among  the  trees,  and  reached 
for  his  rifle ;  but  the  antlers  of  the  deer  turned 
out  to  be  two  crooked  branches.  The  boys 
were  so  greatly  interested  in  the  supposed 
deer  that  they  did  not  notice  the  dark  cloud 
which  had  gradually  overspread  the  sky. 

(TO  BE  CONTINUED.) 


Rose  or  Snowdrop? 


nv    MARION    J.     BR  UNO  WE. 


Hope  is  like  the  sun,  which,  as  we  journey 
toward  it,  casts  the  shadow  of  our  burden 
behind  us. —  T.  Smiles. 


"O  dear.  I  wish  I  were  Julia  Stanton! "  said 
little  Hattie  Palmer,  with  a  sigh  and  a  pout ; 
"then  I  should  be ;^^^/>r/'/y  happy."  And  she 
turned  away  from  the  window,  where  she  had 
been  standing  watching  the  passers-by,  and 
threw  herself  into  a  chair,  with  a  decidedly 
cross  look. 

"Not  near  so  happy  as  you  are  now,  Hattie 
dear, ' '  expostulated  her  mother's  gentle  voice. 

Her  little  daughter  looked  as  if  she  would 
like  to  contradict  that  statement,  and  the  frown 
deepened  on  her  pretty  brow  as  she  continued : 

'  *  I  don't  think  I  am  very  happy  now,  mother ; 
but  if  I  were  rich,  and  did  not  have  to  mind 
the  baby,  and  help  with  the  housework,  and 
mend  my  own  clothes,  and  could  get  a  new 
hat  every  winter,  I  would  be  content.  Now, 
there's  Julia  Stanton  passing  every  day  in  that 
handsome  carriage,  and  with  a  diflerent  dress 
each  time  I  see  her.  Oh,  she  does  wear  such 
beautiful  clothes!  I  don't  believe  she  ever  has 
to  walk  a  step.  Everybody  admires  her.  She 
must  be  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long.  She's 
an  only  child,  too,"  added  Hattie,  by  way  of 
clinching  argument. 

"How  lonesome  she  must  be!"  said  Mrs. 
Palmer,  sympathetically.  "Surely,  dear,  you 
would  not  wish  to  be  an  only  child?" 

Hattie  thought  a  moment,  and,  as  her  eye 
rested  upon  the  dear  baby  sister  cuddled  up  in 
mother's  arms — that  lovely  baby,  with  her 
hundred  cunning  little  ways, — and  then  upon 
the  ball  belonging  to  the  manly,  devoted  little 
brother,  who  only  the  night  before  had  struck 
a  fellow  for  making  faces  at  his  sister, — only 
then  did  it  occur  to  her  that  worlds  would  not 
make  her  consent  to  give  up  either.  However, 
she  had  only  meant  that,  being  without  sisters 
or  brothtrs,  Julia  was  a  greater  pet  at  home, 
—  so  she  now  explained  to  her  mother. 

"There,  again,  I  think  you  are  wrong,"  said 
Mrs.  Palmer.  "Do  you  know  how  often  Julia's 
mother  speaks  to  her?  I  do.  Once  a  day,  and 
no  more.  Mrs.  Stanton's  social  engagements 
leave  her  but  brief  time  for  her  family,  though 
she  has  but  one  little  girl.  So  t  very  evening  at 
dessert  Julia,  dressed  in  the  height  of  the  fash- 


360 


J^he  Ave  Mai^a 


ion,  and  looking  more  like  a  Paris  doll  than 
anything  else,  is  brought  into  the  dinning- 
room,  to  be  patted  on  the  head  and  exhibited 
to  the  guests.  Then  when  they  tire  of  the 
toy,  which  they  do  in  half  an  hour  or  so, 
she  is  sent  back  to  the  nursery,  not  to  appear 
again  in  her  parents'  presence  for  twenty-four 
hours.  When  she  grows  up  she  herself  is  to  be 
a  fashionable  lady.  Whether  she  has  learned 
to  know  and  love  her  parents,,  to  be  a  joy  and 
treasure  in  the  home  circle,  is  a  very  doubtful 
matter.  They  have  never  taught  her  that; 
provided  she  does  them  credit,  that  is  all  they 
desire,  perhaps.  Probably  she  will  disappoint 
them,  poor  child!  But  what  could  be  more 
unhappy  than  such  a  lonely,  loveless  life?" 

Mrs.  Palmer  paused  a  moment,  for  the  little 
girl  was  looking  very  serious  now ;  then  she 
went  on : 

"It  is  like  the  story  of  the  rose  and  the 
snowdrop.  Shall  I  tell  it  to  you,  daughter?" 

"Please, mother,  yes,"  said  Hattie, quietly. 

"It  was  one  night  in  the  early,  early  spring. 
Here  and  there  the  snow  lay  in  pitches  upon 
the  ground,  and  the  air  was  yet  bleak  and 
wintry.  Within  a  brilliantly  lighted  mansion 
a  gay  social  gathering  was  in  progress.  Richly 
attired  ladies  with  their  escorts  passed  up  and  ; 
down  the  long  rooms,  and  lingered  in  the  con-  j 
servatories,  where  delicate  hothouse  flowers 
perfumed  the  air.    Only  in  such  a    forced,   | 
uimatural  atmosphere  could  they  live  at  such  , 
a  season.    'I  must  have  that  bud!    It  is  ex- 
quisite! '  The  speaker  paused  before  the  queen 
of  flowers,  and,  drawing  off"  her  glove,  she 
essayed  to  pluck  the  beautiful  rose.    Alas! 
beneath  the  half-opened  bud  there  was  a  thorn 
concealed.    It  wounded  the  delicate  fingers 
which  touched  it,  and  drew  a  tiny  drop  of 
blood.  She  held  it  in  her  hand  and  admired  it, 
toying  with  it  all  the  while.   An  hour  later 
the  withered  petals  lay  in  a  little  heap  upon  I 
the   ball  -  room    floor.     A    careless    foot   had  j 
crushed  them  in  the  dance.   And  so  it  lay,  the 
beautiful  ro-e,  its  little  life  blown  and  shed  in 
an  hour ;  and  it  had  been  but  the  passing  fancy  ! 
of  a  moment.  ■ 

"That  same  morning  a  troop   of  merry, 
light  hearted  little  ones  were  on  their  waj^  j 
to  school.   One  would  not  think  the  peals  of 
childish  laughter  which  broke  upon  the  frosty 
air  could  be  made  yet  sweeter,  but  so  it  hap- 


pened. In  a  sunny  corner  of  a  big  field  the 
children  suddenly  came  upon  a  hardy  little 
snowdrop,  spring's  first  tiny  floweret.  Oh, 
then  the  shouts  of  glee  and  triumph  which 
broke  from  a  dozen  childish  hearts,  as  they 
gathered  round  the  fortunate  discoverer  of 
the  simple  little  prize!  How  eagerly  they 
searched  for  more,  and  how  they  laughed  in 
very  happiness  as  they  gathered  together  a 
tiny  bunch!  '  Let  us  give  them  to  the  Blessed 
Sacrament — the  very  first  of  the  year,'  said 
a  gentle-looking,  fairhaired  child.  And  the 
others  eagerly  agreed. 

"As  the  fair  young  rose  lay  withered  and 
dead  that  night,  the  hardy,  humble  little 
snowdrop  nestled  close  to  the  Tabernacle,  a 
token  of  the  innocent,  childish  hearts  which 
had  placed  it  there,  and  to  whom  it  had 
occasioned  such  happiness. 

"Hattie,  now  which  would  you  rather  be, 
the  rose  or  the  snowdrop?" 

"Mother,  you  can  guess,"  was  all  Hattie 
said. 

A  Story  of  the  Grand  Monarch. 


One  thinks  of  Louis  XIV.,  of  France,  as  a 
despot  who  allowed  nothing  to  stand  in  the 
way  of  his  ambition,  but  the  following  anec- 
dote may  throw  a  new  light  upon  his  character: 

Early  in  the  eighteenth  century  an  Italian 
chemist,  after  much  experimenting,  invented 
a  compound  which  had  ten  times  the  explosive 
power  of  gunpowder,  and  set  about  to  find  a 
market  for  it.  After  parleyings  with  various 
persons,  he  at  last  took  it  to  the  King  of  France, 
sure  that  he  would  estimate  it  at  its  true 
value  and  use  it  in  his  great  wars.  He  was 
granted  an  interview  with  His  Majesty,  and 
showed  him  by  experiment  the  tremendous 
power  of  the  explosive  he  had  invented.  But 
his  endeavors  had  not  the  effect  he  hoped  for. 

"You  have  made  a  wonderful  discovery," 
said  King  Louis;  "but  gunpowder  is  suffi- 
ciently explosive  for  civilized  beings  to  kill 
one  another  with.  I  will  pay  you  your  price 
for  your  secret,  and  then  I  shall  use  it  as  I 
choose. ' ' 

So  the  inventor  was  paid  a  large  sum  of 
money,  and  the  formula  for  making  the  death- 
dealing  compound  was  handed  over  to  the 
King,  and  by  him  destroyed. 


Vol..  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  OCTOBER  19,  1889. 


No.  16. 


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


* 


The  Higher  Hope. 


itV  KI.K.V.NUKA    I.()riS.\    Hi-.RVKV 


*rY?I  IKN  wincb;  grow  furious,  and  auionster throe 
Heaves  hall"  thesob1)ing  world;  when  baleful 
squalls 
Fling  o'er  the  sun's  cold  beams  their  drifting 
palls; 
When,  swayed  by  forces  n.ightier  than  we  know, 
'I'lie  surged-up  ocean  bursts  in  founts  of  snow; 
When,  to  the  sound  of  plunging  waterfalls, 
All  the  tree-shadows  leap  about  the  walls, 
Whither,  ah!  whither  shall  the  tired  wing  go? 

Only  the  eagle,  far  above  the  cloud. 
Above  the  turmoil  and  beyond  the  woe, 

Shall  float  serene  though  echo  shriek  aloud 
i  he  trumpet-call  of  all  the  gales  that  blow.— 
So  mount,  blest  Hope!  So  spread  thy  wings  on 

high 
While  all  the  storms  of  this  rough  world  sw^eep  by. 


The  Church  of  St.  Mary  Overy. 


X  his  "Walks  in  London,"  Mr.  Hare 
tells  us  that  immediately  beyond 
London  Bridge,  on  the  left,  now  half- 
buried  amid  raised  streets  and  railways,  is  the 
fine  cruciform  Church  of  St.  Saviour.  It  w^as 
sadly  mutilated  in  the  last  century,  but  its 
Lady  Chapel  and  choir  are  still  amongst  the 
best  specimens  of  early  English  architecture. 
In  the  adjoining  churchyard  was  originally 
buried  the  celebrated  dramatic  poet,  Philip 
Massinger,  who  was  found  dead  in  his  bed, 


March  28,  1640,  having  led  so  retired  a  life 
that  the  registers  of  his  parish  mention  him 
only  under  the  laconic  formula:  "March  30, 
1639-40,  was  buried  Philip  Massinger,  a 
stranger."  *  Alas,  such  is  fame  !  An  inscrip- 
tion on  the  pavement  of  the  choir  in. the 
Church  of  St.  Saviour  marks  the  grave  to 
which  his  remains  were,  at  a  later  period,  re- 
moved from  the  churchyard. 

This  was  formerly  the  church  belonging  to 
the  priory  of  St.  Mary  Overy,  which  Stow,  on 
the  authority  of  Linsted,  the  last  prior,  says 
was  originally  founded  by  Mary  Overy,  a 
ferry- woman,  who,  long  before  the  Conquest 
or  the  existence  of  any  bridge  over  the  river 
Thames,  devoted  her  earnings  to  this  purpose. 
She  found  burial  within  the  walls  of  the 
church,  and  its  dedicatory  title  has  been  sup- 
posed by  some  to  allude  to  her,  as  the  Virgin 
Mother  is  not  the  St.  Mary  referred  to,  she 
having  her  own  chapel — the  Lady  Chapel — 
annexed  to  the  building. 

The  foundation  of  Mary  Overy  was  for  a 
house  of  Sisters,  but  it  was  afterward  con- 
verted into  a  college  for  priests  by  a  noble 
lady  named  Swithin,  who  is  said  to  have 
built  the  first  timber  bridge  over  the  Thames  ; 
and  in  1 106  it  was  refounded  for  Canons  Reg- 


*  Philip  Massinger,  the  English  dramatic  poet,  was 
born  in  1584,  at  Salisbury,  where  his  father  was  a 
retainer  of  the  House  of  Pembroke.  Disgusted  with 
scholastic  studies,  he  quitted  the  University  of  Oxford 
before  taking  his  degrees,  came  to  London,  embraced 
the  Catholic  faith,  and  turned  his  a'tention  to  liter- 
ature. He  was  the  friend  of  all  the  contemporary 
poets,  to  none  of  whom  was  he  inferior  in  talent, 
save  possibly  Ben  Jonson, 


3^2 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ular  by  two  Norman  knights — William  Pont 
de  I'Arche  and  William  Dauncy, — whose 
supposed  tombs  are  shown  in  two  niches  in 
the  south  transept.  The  church,  which  at 
the  dissolution  became  parochial,  had  already 
become  known  as  St.  Saviour's;  for  in  the 
year  1510  it  was  brought  as  a  charge  against 
one  Joan  Baker,  that  she  was  heard  to  say 
she  was  "sorry  she  had  gone  on  so  many 
pilgrimages,  as  to  St.  Saviour's  and  divers 
other  pilgrimages." 

The  exquisite  choir,  of  unspoilt  early  Eng- 
lish architecture,  retains  its  beautiful  altar- 
screen,  erected  in  1528  by  Fox,  Bishop  of  Win- 
chester, and  bearing  his  device — the  pelican. 
Here  Edmund  Holland,  last  Earl  of  Kent, 
grandson  of  Joan  Plantagenet,  known  as  "the 
Fair  Maid  of  Kent,"  was  married  in  1406  to 
lyucia,  eldest  daughter  of  Gian  Galeazzo  Vis- 
conti,  tyrant  of  Milan;  Henry  IV.  giving  away 
the  bride.  Here  also  is  the  grave  of  John 
Fletcher  (Beaumont  and  Fletcher),  1625,  of 
whom  Aubrey  tells  us  that  during  the  great 
plague  he  was  invited  by  a  knight  in  Suffolk, 
or  Norfolk,  to  take  refuge  with  him  till  the 
danger  should  be  over ;  but,  lingering  whilst 
his  tailor  made  him  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  fell 
sick  and  died. 

John  Gower,  the  poet,  who  had  contributed 
largely  to  the  restoration  of  the  church,  in 
which,  in  1399,  he  had  been  married  to  Alice 
Groundolf,  by  William  of  Wykeham,  Bishop 
of  Winchester,  lies  buried  in  the  north  tran- 
sept. The  beautiful  tomb  is  thus  described  by 
Stow  in  his  "Survey  of  I^ondon"  (p.  152), 
published  in  1598:  "He  lieth  under  a  tomb 
of  stone,  with  his  image,  also  of  stone,  over 
him ;  the  hair  of  his  head  auburn,  long  to  his 
shoulders,  but  curling  up,  and  a  small  forked 
beard ;  on  his  head  a  chaplet  like  a  coronet 
of  four  roses ;  a  habit  of  purple,  damasked 
down  to  his  feet  (now  repainted);  a  collar  of 
gold  about  his  neck;  under  his  head  the 
likeness  of  three  books  which  he  compiled." 
Gower  became  blind  in  the  early  part  of  1399, 
and  died  in  1402. 

Against  the  pillar  to  the  left  of  this  tomb 
is  the  escutcheon  of  Cardinal  Henry  Beaufort, 
son  of  John  of  Gaunt,  Duke  of  Lancaster,  con- 
secrated Bishop  of  Winchester  and  settled  at 
Winchester  House  beside  this  church  in  1407. 
He  was  transferred  in  1414  to  the  Archbish- 


opric of  Canterbury  under  Pope  John  XXIH., 
and  in  1426  created  by  Martin  V.  Cardinal 
Priest  of  the  title  of  St.  Eusebius,  and  Legate 
a  latere  of  the  crusade  against  the  Hussites 
in  England,  Germany,  Hungar>%  and  Bohemia. 
He  founded  two  colleges  in  Oxford,  and  a  hos- 
pital at  Winchester — that  of  St.  Cross,  which 
had  been  begun  in  the  eleventh  century  by 
Henry  de  Blois,  the  great  Bishop  of  Win- 
chester, brother  of  King  Stephen.  He  further 
restored  and  largely  augmented  the  Library 
of  Canterbury.  He  died  in  1447,  after  twenty- 
one  years  of  cardinalate,  and  was  buried  in  the 
Cathedral  of  Winchester,  where  a  magnificent 
monument  was  erected  to  his  memory.  All  his 
immense  fortune  was  bequeathed  in  charity, 
;^4,ooo — a  considerable  sum  in  those  days, — 
being  assigned  for  the  relief  of  poor  prisoners. 
His  character,  as  depicted  by  Shakespeare,  is 
wholly  fictitious.  He  was  both  learned  and 
the  patron  of  learning,  and  ruled  his  diocese 
in  a  manner  truly  admirable,  in  the  midst  of  a 
busy  political  life. 

Against  the  same  pillar  is  the  curious  min- 
iature tomb  of  William  Emerson  (1575),  "who 
lived  and  died  an  honest  man."  He  is  repre- 
sented in  his  shroud.  Amid  other  curious 
tombs  we  find  that  of  John  Bingham  (1625), 
saddler  to  Queen  Elizabeth  and  James  I.  In 
the  south  transept  is  the  odd,  allegorical  tomb 
of  William  Austen  (1626),  author  of  "Certain 
Devout,  Learned,  and  Godly  Meditations." 
Hare  specially  points  out  the  grandeur  of  the 
figures  of  the  "Sifters,"  sleeping  deeply  with 
their  prongs  over  their  shoulders,  whilst  wait- 
ing for  the  great  final  harvest.  Next  comes  the 
tomb  of  Dr.Lockyer,  the  pill-inventor,  with  his 
figure  in  the  costume  of  the  time  of  Charles  II. 
Other  persons  buried  here  without  a  monu- 
ment are  Sir  Edward  Dyer,  the  Elizabethan 
pastoral  poet  (1607),  who  lived  and  died  in 
Winchester  House;  also  Edmund  Shakes- 
peare, younger  brother  to  the  poet,  inscribed 
simply  in  the  church's  register  as  "Edmond 
Shakespeare,  a  player  in  the  church." 

In  the  lovely  Lady  Chapel— used  in  the 
time  of  Queen  Mary  I.  as  the  consistorial 
court  of  Gardiner,  Bishop  of  Winchester,  and 
where  Hooper,  Bishop  of  Gloucester,  with 
Worcester,  in  cotn^neridam,  and  John  Rogers, 
Vicar  of  St.  Sepulchre's,  were  condemned  to 
the  stake, — is  the  white  and  black  marble 


The  Ave  Maria. 


3^3 


tomb  of  Bishop  I^ancelot  Andrews  (1628). 
'This  tomb  was  removed  hither  from  a  chapel 
cnown  as  the  ''Bishop's  Chapel,"  which  for- 
merly stood  to  the  east  of  the  Lady  Chapel, 
vvhere  it  had  a  canopy  inscribed :  "Reader,  if 
I  thou  art  a  Christian,  stay;  it  will  be  worth 
thy  tarrying  to  know  how  great  a  man  lies 
liere." 

Andrews,  successively  Bishop  of  Chichester 
in  1605,  of  Ely  in  1609,  and  of  Winchester 
in  1 61 8,  is  now  chiefly  remembered  by  his 
' '  Manual  of  Private  Devotions, ' '  composed  in 
his  latter  years.  Archbishop  Laud,  in  his 
JDiary,  laments  him  as  "the  great  light  of  the 
I  Christian  world";  and  Milton  made  him  the 
subject  of  a  Latin  elegy.  Endless  legends  re- 
.main  of  his  kindness,  charity,  and  unfailing 
humility ;  he  lacked  but  the  light  of  the  true 
Faith.  He  is  the  hero  of  the  anecdote  related 
by  the  Poet  Waller,  who  one  day,  assisting 
it  the  dinner  of  King  Charles  II.,  heard  his 
Majesty  interrogating  Drs.  Neale,  Bishop  iof 
Durham,  and  Andrews,  Bishop  of  Winchester, 
who  stood  behind  his  chair.  "  My  Lords,  can 
I  not  take  the  money  of  my  subjects,  when  I 
have  need  of  it,  without  all  the  formalities  of 
!  'arliament  ? ' '  The  Bishop  of  Durham  replied, 
unhesitatingly:  "No  doubt  your- Majesty 
nay  do  so ;  you  are  the  very  breath  of  our 
nostrils." — "And  you,  my  Lord,  how  think 
\ou?"  said  the  King  to  the  Bishop  of  Win- 
:hester. — "Sire,"  answered  that  prelate,  "I 
im  not  competent  to  judge  the  attributions 
)f  Parliament." — "I  want  no  subterfuges," 
rejoined  the  King,  indignantly;  "answer  me 
:learly." — "Well,  sire,"  replied  Andrews,  "I 
think  it  be  permissible  to  you  to  take  the 
money  of  my  brother  Neale,  since  he  offers 
it  to  you." 

Born  in  London,  in  1565,  Andrews  died  at 
W^inchester  House,  Southwark,  1626.  Under 
:he  title  of  "Tortura  Torli,"  he  published  in 
1609  a  Latin  pamphlet  in  refutation  of  the 
mswer  of  Cardinal  Bellarmine,  under  the 
pseudonym  of  "  Matthieu  Tortus,"  to  the 
'Defence  of  the  Rights  of  Kings,"  composed 
)y  the  royal  pedant,  James  I.  Near  this  tomb 
ie  a  number  of  bosses  from  the  roof  of  the 
lave,  preserved  when  it  was  pulled  down. 
Their  ornaments  comprise  the  arms  of  South- 
vark  and  those  of  Henry  de  Briton,  prior 
1462-1486);  the  most  curious  being  that  of 


a  painted  head,  with  a  man  half-eaten.  The 
grand  nave  of  1469  was,  Hare  tells  us,  wan- 
tonly destroyed  in  1831 ;  the  present  nave,  on 
a  different  level  to  the  rest  of  the  church,  is 
wholly  uninteresting.  The  church  tower  con- 
tains twelve  bells,  of  which  nine  are  upward 
of  four  hundred  years  old. 

Such  is  the  historical  origin  of  this  ancient 
and  beautiful  edifice  as  given  us  by  Stow,  by 
Aubrey,  the  eminent  antiquary  of  the  seven- 
teenth century ;  by  Hare,  and  other  writers. 
But,  if  we  may  credit  a  time-honored,  popular 
legend,  the  Church  of  St.  Mary  Overy,  of 
London,  owes  its  foundation  to  the  treasures 
accumulated  by  a  miser.  It  is  well,  however, 
in  the  interests  of  truth,  to  declare  that  the 
will  of  the  miser  had  nought  to  say  in  the 
disposition  of  his  beloved  savings. 

John  Overs  lived  prior  to  the  Reformation, 
as  it  is  called, — in  the  days  when  the  Catholic 
faith  flourished,  and  monasteries  covered  the 
soil  of  Merry  England.  The  vices  and  eccen- 
tricities of  that  personage  were  duly  set  forth 
in  a  curious  little  tract,  now  extremely  rare, 
entitled:  "The  true  history  of  the  life  and 
sudden  death  of  old  John  Overs,  the  rich 
ferryman  of  London,  showing  how  he  lost  bis 
life  by  his  own  covetousness ;  and  of  his 
daughter  Mary,  who  caused  the  Church  of  St. 
Mary  Overy,  in  Southwark  to  be  built;  and 
of  the  building  of  London  Bridge. ' '  The  anec- 
dotes of  this  pamphlet  are,  possibly,  more 
amusing  than  authentic ;  but  the  tradition  of 
the  pretty  daughter  of  John  Overs  has  a 
romantic  flavor,  which  charms  by  contrast 
with  the  often  prosaic  history  of  avarice. 

John  Overs,  the  legend  tells  us,  was  a  boat- 
man of  Southwark  (a  suburb  to  the  south  of 
London),  who,  by  the  payment  of  an  annual 
tax  to  the  city  authorities,  had  obtained  the 
monopoly  of  ferrying  passengers  across  the 
Thames.  He  quickly  amassed  wealth,  and 
before  long  had  in  his  service  a  numerous 
personnel  of  domestics  and  apprentices.  From 
the  outset  of  his  career  he  had  hoarded  his 
gains  and  invested  his  mone}''  in  the  most 
lucrative  manner,  so  that  soon  he  had  a  fort- 
une equal  at  least  to  that  of  the  noblest  lord 
of  the  kingdom.  However,  notwithstanding 
this  enormous  accumulation  of  riches,  he 
changed  nought  in  his  mode  of  life,  his  way 
of  action,  or   his  expenses,  preserving  ever 


3^4 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  outward  appearances  of  the  most  abject 
poverty. 

The  miser,  John  Overs,  had  a  daughter  of 
singular  piety  and  of  equally  remarkable 
beauty,  and,  in  spite  of  his  niggardliness,  the 
old  man  had  given  proof  of  some  measure  of 
affection  for  his  only  child  by  bestowing  upon 
her  a  species  of  liberal  education.  Mary  Overs 
had  not  the  slightest  sympathy  with  the 
avarice  and  sordid  egoism  of  her  father.  At 
the  age  when  young  girls  begin  to  inspire 
aflfection  and  are  capable  of  experiencing  it, 
her  dazzling  beauty  attracted  numbers  of 
lovers ;  all  of  whom,  however,  were  repulsed 
by  the  miser,  who  refused  even  to  listen  to 
any  marriage  negotiations,  notwithstanding 
the  wealth  and  rank  of  those  who  sought  the 
hand  of  the  ferryman's  daughter.  Mary  was 
kept  almost  a  prisoner,  forbidden  to  accord 
even  a  smile  to  any  of  her  admirers.  But  love 
laughs  at  locksmiths,  says  the  old  adage. 
Thus,  whilst  the  miser  was  absorbed  in  bal- 
ancing his  account-books,  one  of  the  adorers 
contrived  to  secure  an  interview  with  the  fair 
young  prisoner ;  his  manners  and  conversation 
pleased  her;  she  arranged  for  a  second  meet- 
ing, and  before  long  the  lovers  exchanged 
vows  of  eternal  fidelity.  Meanwhile  the  unsus- 
pecting ferryman  thought  only  of  his  calling, 
and  dreamed  but  of  one  thing — namely,  that 
his  afifairs  progressed  as  well  on  land  as  on 
the  river. 

John  Overs  was  by  nature  so  covetous  that 
he  barely  afforded  his  servitors  necessary 
food  He  usually  purchased  pudding  then  sold 
in  lyondon  at  one  penny  the  yard,  and  when 
portioning  it  out  to  them  was  often  heard 
to  exclaim:  "Here,  hungry  dogs!  You  ruin 
me  with  your  voracity!"  He  went  himself 
to  market,  and  eagerly  sought  for  marrow- 
bones, which  he  could  purchase  for  a  mere 
song ;  even  were  they  mouldy  he  did  not 
scruple  to  convert  them  into  soup.  He  always 
bought  stale  bread,  which  he  carefully  sliced 
as  thin  as  possible  to  further  the  action  of  the 
air,  that  it  might  be  harder  to  the  teeth. 
Sometimes  he  purchased  meat  so  tainted  that 
his  very  dog  would  not  touch  it;  in  which 
case  he  accused  the  animal  of  daintiness, 
pronouncing  him  better  fed  than  trained; 
then,  by  way  of  example,  the  miser  would 
himself  devour  the  horrible  mess.  He  had  no 


use  whatever  for  cats,  since  the  rats  and  mice 
fled  from  the  house,  finding  therein  nothing 
to  nibble. 

The  legend  states  that  once  the  sordid  old 
miser  had  recourse  to  a  most  singular  strata- 
gem to  succeed  in  economizing  one  day's  food 
in  his  establishment.  He  feigned  sudden  ill- 
j  ness,  and  simulated  the  death  agony.  He  con- 
strained his  daughter  to  aid  in  the  ruse,  and, 
wholly  against  her  will,  the  poor  girl  was 
forced  to  lend  her  concurrence  in  the  scheme 
of  her  miserly  parent.  Overs  persuaded  him- 
self that,  as  Catholics,  his  servitors  would 
not  have  the  impiety  to  eat  whilst  his  death 
caused  mourning  in  the  house ;  he  hoped  that 
all  would  weep  over  his  demise  and  observe  a 
strict  fast,  after  which  he  fully  purposed  to 
return  to  life. 

The />5^«^(?- corpse  was  accordingly  wrapped 
in  a  winding-sheet,  placed  on  the  couch,  with 
a  lighted  candle  beside  it ;  which  prepara- 
tions terminated,  the  numerous  apprentices 
were  informed  of  the  sad  loss  they  had  sus- 
tained in  the  person  of  John  Overs,  their  late 
master.  But,  instead  of  giving  vent  to  grief, 
the  rogues  testified  the  most  lively  joy,  view- 
ing in  the  event  but  the  termination  of  their 
cruel  slavery.  Perceiving  the  miser  stretched 
stiff  upon  his  bed,  they  could  not,  even  in 
the  presence  of  death,  restrain  their  noisy 
delight.  There  was  not  the  slightest  question 
of  tears  and  lamentations.  In  their  exuberant 
joy,  some  hurried  to  the  kitchen,  forced  open 
the  pantry,  and  returned  laden  with  bread; 
others  brought  the  cheese :  whilst  others 
again  secured  an  old  flagon  of  ale,  which 
they  deposited  in  triumph  in  the  mortuary 
chamber.  The  youthful  rioters  eagerly  de- 
voured the  carefully  prepared  slices  of  bread, 
which  they  covered  thickly  with  cheese,  wash- 
ing down  their  meal  with  copious  draughts  of 
the  miser's  precious  ale. 

Beholding  similar  irreverence  and  frightful 
prodigality,  the  pretended  dead  man  remained 
for  a  short  space  petrified  with  horror ;  but, 
incapable  of  remaining  longtr  a  mute  spec- 
tator of  so  glaring  a  scandal,  he  suddenly  dis- 
engaged himself  from  his  funereal  trappings, 
resolved  roundly  to  chastise  the  insolence 
of  his  heartless  apprentices.  But  one  of  the 
latter,  terrified  at  the  sight  c.f  the  corpse 
struggling  in  its  shroud,  and  deeming  it  the 


The  Ave  Maria, 


365 


work  of  the  Evil  One,  seized  a  broken  oar, 
and  with  one  blow  split  open  the  old  miser's 
skull.  Thus,  continues  the  legend,  he  who 
impiously  thought  to  feign  death  fell  a  victim 
.hereto  in  reality.  His  involuntary  murderer 
was  acquitted  before  the  law,  the  death  result- 
ing, it  was  declared,  from  the  personal  fault  of 
the  victim. 

Hearing  of  the  death  of  old  Overs,  the  lover 
of  the  young  Mary  started  in  all  haste  for  Lon- 
don ;  but,  unhappily,  on  entering  the  city  his 
horse,  ridden  at  full  speed,  threw  him  to  the 
ground  and  broke  his  neck.  This  terrible  acci- 
dent, added  to  the  tragic  death  of  her  father, 
produced  such  an  effect  on  the  mind  of  Mary 
Overs  that  she  became  almost  insane ;  and,  to 
the  despair  of  her  numerous  admirers,  she 
determined  to  retire  into  a  convent,  to  con- 
secrate her  life  and  entire  fortune  to  works  of 
piety  and  charity.  She  accordingly  erected 
at  her  own  expense  "a  famous  church,  dedi- 
cated by  her  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary." 
Such  was,  conformably  to  tradition,  the  origin 
of  the  Church  of  St.  Mary  Overy,  in  South- 
wark,  so  called  from  the  name  of  its  beautiful 
and  unfortunate  foundress. 

Another  version  of  the  same  legend  runs : 
"John  Overs  counterfeited  death,  thinking  to 
economize  by  making  his  household  fast  for 
a  day ;  but  they  feasted  instead ;  whereat  he 
arose  in  a  fury  and  killed  an  apprentice,  for 
which  he  was  executed. ' ' 

On  an  ancient  monument  in  the  Church  of 
St.  Saviour  is  still  seen,  crouched  in  an  un- 
comfortable posture,  a  weird  nameless  figure 
in  a  shroud,  ascribed  by  popular  tradition  to 
"Audery,"  or  John  Overs  the  ferryman, 
father  of  Mary  Overy.  This  conclusion  appears 
wholly  gratuitous  and  justifiable  solely  by 
the  analogy  traceable  by  imagination  in  the 
figure  of  stone,  and  the  external  appearance 
wherewith  one  instinctively  clothes  the  vile 
worshippers  of  Mammon.  The  face  is  certainly 
sufiiciently  emaciated  to  suit  that  of  a  man 
who  fed  by  choice  on  marrow-bones  and  stale 
bread ;  the  attitude  is  indeed  such  as  might 
tally  with  that  of  a  miser ;  but,  unfortunately, 
the  marble  tablet  attached  to  the  sepulchral 
monument  informs  all  who  choose  to  pause 
and  read  that  here  reposes  the  body  of 
one  Richard  Blisse,  who  died  in  the  year  of 
grace  1703.  "E." 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY   NUGENT  ROBINSON. 


CHAPTER  XVn.— Harry  Drifts  a  Litti^e. 

THINGS  went  gloomily  enough  with  Harry 
Considine.  He  sought  employment  day 
after  day,  week  after  week,  and  found  every 
position  filled,  every  avenue  choked,  and  a 
small  army  of  applicants,— additional  recruits 
arriving  by  every  steamer. 

"I  have  fifteen  dollars  left  out  of  my  $250. 
When  these  give  out,  Gerald,  I'll  apply  to  the 
Street  Cleaning  Bureau  for  work." 

MoUoy  was  more  fortunate.  Raster  had 
invented  a  head-rest  for  railway  cars,  and  had 
taken  Gerald  as  a  clerk  at  fifteen  dollars  per 
week.  Of  this  fifteen  dollars  he  put  nine  or 
ten  into  the  Bleeker  Street  savings-bank  every 
Saturday.  And  it  is  astonishing  how  pleasing 
a  sight  it  is  to  find  one's  earnings  erecting  a 
financial  monument  under  one's  eyes. 

*  *  Harry,  you  can  pull  away  at  this ' ' — hand- 
ing his  friend  the  bank  pass-book.  "As  long  as 
I  have  a  dollar  you  shall  take  fifty  cents  of  it. " 

This  was  Gerald  Molloy;  for,  although  mean 
and  saving  and  miserly  almost,  his  heart  was 
in  the  right  place. 

"I  have  a  feeling,  Gerald,  like  that  which 
held  Mr.  Micawber's  head  so  erect  over  his 
shirt  collar, — that  something  will  turn  up 
before  these  fifteen  dollars  are  gone.  No,  my 
dear  old  fellow,  not  a  cent  of  your  savings 
will  I  touch,  nor  a  cent  of  any  other  man's 
savings!  I  shall  make  my  own  living,  with 
the  help  of  God  and  my  own  right  hand." 

A  few  mornings  after  this  conversation  a 
letter  arrived  from  Alderman  Ryan  to  Harry. 
The  well-known  handwriting  caused  Consi- 
dine to  start.  The  idea  of  Ryan's  writing  to 
him!  What  did  it  all  mean?  This  astonish- 
ment was  not  in  any  degree  lessened  when  a 
bank  post -bill  for  ;^5o  dropped  out  of  the 
envelope. 

The  letter  ran  as  follows : 

Rutland  Square,  Monday. 

Dear  Mr.  Considine  : — I  write  to  thank 
you  for  your  kindness  and  courtesy  to  my 
niece,  Miss  Esmonde,  under  her  recent  afflic- 
tion.   [Harry  had  arranged  all  the  details  of 


366 


The  Ave  Maria. 


\ 


the  funeral,  etc.]  Her  unfortunate  father,  I 
learn  from  the  Rev.  Luke  Byrne,  has  left  one 
thousand  shares  in  the  Santa  Rita  Mine,  situ- 
ated near  Chihuahua  in  Mexico.  These  shares 
are,  at  last  quotation,  worth  ten  pounds  a  piece. 
The  unfortunate  Mr.  Esmonde  left  the  scrip 
with  one  James  O'Brien,  State  Street,  Chicago 
I  enclose  you  Mr.  O'Brien's  receipt  for  the 
said  one  thousand  shares.  As  I  have  the  high- 
est and  most  complete  reliance  in  your  honor 
and  integrity,  I  now  place  this  matter  in  your 
hands,  together  with  a  draft  for  ^50  to  pay 
your  expenses  in  travelling  to  Chicago  to  take 
up  the  securities, — power  of  attorney  sent 
herewith.  And  upon  receiving  said  securities 
you  will  please  mail  and  register  same  to  me. 
As  your  business  capacities  are  well  known 
to  me,  I  feel  assured  of  an  expeditious  and 
successful  issue  to  given  commission. 
Yours  truly, 

Henry  Joseph  Ryan, 

Alderman,  J.  P. 

P.  S. — I  send  a  Freeman' s  Journal  contoin- 
ing  a  speech  of  mine  in  the  Municipal  Council 
on  the  great  question  of  sewerage. 

H.  J.  R. 

The  same  mail  brought  a  sweet,  tearful 
letter  from  Caroline,  and  a  few  lines  from 
Father  Luke,  hoping  that  his  dear  boy  was 
on  his  legs  and  striding  into  prosperity. 

"  Recollect,  dear  Harry,  that  there's  an  Ave 
Maria  offered  for  you  every  day  at  our  Blessed 
Lady's  altar.  This  beautiful  prayer  will  keep 
you  in  God's  shining  grace." 

Peggy  Considine,  who  wrote  by  special 
permission  of  the  Sisters  every  week,  con- 
cluded her  letter  with, 

"Jane  Ryan  comes  to  take  me  out  to  walk 
e^very  Sunday,  and  always  asks  me  to  take  her 
your  favorite  walk.  We  talk  about  you  all  the 
time.  She  says  I  must  go  and  stop  all  my 
holidays  with  her.  She  is  a  real  warm-hearted 
girl,  but  occasionally  uncertain  in  her  man- 
ner,— being,  I  think,  a  spoiled  pet.  She  is 
either  all  warmth  or  very  cool.  She  asks  the 
queerest  questions  about  you,  and  cried  over 
the  last  letter  you  wrote  me,  which  I  gave 
her  to  read,  and  which  she  has  kept." 

"I  wish,"  muttered  Harry,  "that  poor 
Peggy  wouldn't  write  a  word  about  Miss 
Ryan.  I  must  tell  her  not  to  mention  her  at 
all  in  her  letters.    This  is  horribly  painful! 


Horribly!"    As  indeed  to  him  it  was,  honest- 
hearted  fellow! 

What  a  mail  for  Harry  Considine!  What 
a  lot  of  news!  What  a  turn  in  the  wheel  of 
his  finances!  He  flung  ,the  contents  of  his 
pocket-book  on  the  bed.  Four  dollars  and 
eighty- two  cents.  He  knelt  down  and  uttered 
Q.nAve  Maria,  his  favorite  prayer.  '  *  Perhaps, ' ' 
he  thought,  "Father  Luke  is  saying  it  at  this 
very  moment  for  me."  He  partook  of  a  good 
breakfast — the  first  full  meal  of  the  kind  for 
a  long  time, — and  went  down  to  Raster's,  in 
Beaver  Street,  to  see  Gerald. 

' '  Worth  ten  pounds  a  piece,  and  all  in  her 
own  right!"  exclaimed  Gerald.  "Why,  man, 
Caroline  Esmonde  is  an  heiress,  and  twice  as 
fascinating  as  Jane  Ryan!  If  she  were  here 
now,  I'd — well,  it's  no  matter.  But  I  do  wish 
she  had  gone  out  to  visit  my  people  in  Min- 
nesota. She  was  asked,  you  know;  andEmma 
ojBfered  to  come  along  and  fetch  her, — in  fact, 
had  to  be  stopped  almost  by  force.  Do  you 
know  what  the  interest  on — " 

"I'm  ofi"  to  Chicago  by  the  4.30,"  said 
Harry.  "And  I  want  you  to  get  Mr.  Raster 
to  identify  me  at  the  bank." 

This  the  obliging  Raster  did  with  a  will; 
and,  having  just  disposed  of  fifty  head-rests 
to  the  Raritan  &  Hopetick  R.  R.,  he  treated 
the  two  young  men  to  dinner  at  the  Astor 
House. 

Arrived  at  Chicago,  Considine  did  not  lose 
a  moment  in  calling  on  James  O'Brien  in  State 
Street.  Mr.  O'Brien,  who  kept  a  grocery  estab- 
lishment, was  exceedingly  cautious  in  his 
dealings  with  Harry,  and  read  the  power  of 
attorney  so  slowly  and  attentively  that  his 
lips  moved  with  forming  every  word.  He  then 
deliberately  surveyed  Harry  over  a  pair  of 
thick  gold-rimmed  spectacles,  and  finally  ex- 
claimed : 

"I  have  the  bonds — there,  right  in  that  safe, 
young  man.  You  have  my  receipt,  I  suppose?" 

"Here  it  is,  sir." 

Mr.  O'Brien  carefully  perused  it,  holding  up 
the  paper  between  him  and  the  light. 

"That's  my  receipt,  sure  enough.  But  who 
are  you  ?  Mind,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feel- 
ings, young  man, — not  I,  indeed ;  but  there  are 
so  many  impostors  of  all  kinds  around  that 
I  must  not  only  protect  James  O'Brien,  but  I 
must  protect  Alderman  Ryan.   Now,  do  you 


The  Ave  Maria. 


367 


know  anybody  in  Chicago' that  could  identify 
you?" 

"Not  a  soul." 

"Your  face  is  as  honest  as  a  new  treasury 
note;  ///a/  I  must  say.   But — " 

At  this  moment  Mr.  O'Brien  received  a 
violent  whack  between  the  shoulders  from 
a  stoutish  gentleman  in  a  soft  felt  hat,  and 
whose  pants  were  stuffed  into  a  very  brightly 
polished  pair  of  boots. 

"  I'm  oflf  by  the  next  train,  Jim.  Is  that  tea 
nut  up  for  me?" 

"Goodness  gracious!"  exclaimed  Harry 
Considine.   "Why,  it's  Mr.  Molloy!  " 

"Harry  Considine,  by  jingo! " 

There  was  a  handshaking  that  caused  a 
Chinese  mandarin,  of  china  and  loose  vertehrce, 
on  the  counter,  to  solemnly  wag  his  pigtailed 
head. 

"Why,  Harry,  this  is  immense — e-normous! 
Why,  what  a  fine  fellow  you've  grown!  Won't 
they  be  glad  to  see  you  up  at  the  Farm !  Oh, 
dear,  no,  you  won't  recognize  my  wife.  She|s 
fat,  sir, — stout,  sir, — yes,  sir,  turns  the  scale 
at  a  hundred  and  fifty.  And  as  for  Emma ! 
well,  just  wait  till  you  see  her, — that's  all!" 

The  bonds  were  duly  turned  over  to  Consi- 
dine, and  as  duly  receipted  for.  They  were 
then  registered  and  mailed. 

"There's  no  use  in  your  saying  you  won't 
come,  Harry,  because  you  shall — you  must. 
Why,  I'd  get  my  head  taken  off  if  our  dear 
old  friend,  who  used  to  dine  on  a  shoulder  of 
mutton  and  rice  pudding  at  Rathgar  on  Sun- 
days, was  so  near  and  turned  his  back  on  us. 
Why,  man,  on  your  own  confession  you  have 
nothing  to  take  you  anywhere  in  particular  ; 
and  as  I've  lost  one  train  for  you,  I  will  bear 
the  disappointment  by  taking  you  along  on 
the  other.  Oh,  we're  in  clover,  Harry,  and 
happy  as  the  day  is  long!  Peter  Daly  is  a 
brick!" 

"And  how  do  the  ladies  bear  the  banish- 
ment, Mr.  Molloy?" 

"Banishment!  Na  bocklish!  Just  ask  them 
to  go  back  to  Rathgar  and  the  Cawstle,  and 
see  the  flea  you'll  get  in  your  ear! " 

And  Harry  Considine  arrived  one  lovely 
evening  at  Clam  Farm,  his  heart  beating 
somewhat  rapidly  and  irregularly,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told. 

(CONCI^USION   IN   OUR    NEXT    NUMBER.) 


To  Our  Lady  of  the  Most  Holy  Rosary.* 


From  the  Spanish,  by  Harriet  M.  Skidmore  {Marie), 

PROSTRATE  at  thy  feet  I  fall, 
Virgin  Mother,  j)ure  and  tender, 
Shining  with  celestial  splendor, 
Fairest  of  His  creatures  all ! 

lyove  Divine,  who  deigned  to  be 
Hidden  in  our  nature  lowh% 
Found  thy  heart  a  temple  holy, 

And,  incarnate,  dwelt  in  thee. 

CHORUS. 

Therefore  at  thy  feet  I  fall, 

Virgin  Mother,  pure  and  tender, 
Shining  with  celestial  splendor. 

Fairest  of  His  creatures  all! 

For  the  boon  that  thus  was  ours, 
For  the  treasure  through  thee  given, 
Grateful  Earth  and  joyous  Heaven 

Crown  thee  with  unfading  flowers. 

With  them  at  thy  feet  I  fall,  etc. 

Thou  didst  ope  the  heavenly  gate 

Closed  by  Eve, — thy  strength  supernal 
Crushed  the  head  of  foe  infernal, 

Virgin  Queen  Immaculate! 

Prostrate  at  thy  feet  I  fall,  etc. 

Loss  of  Jesus  makes  thee  sad. 
But  He  soon  that  grief  assuages  ; 
When  thou  find'st  Him  with  the  sages, 

Thrills  thy  heart  with  raptures  glad. 

Humbly  at  thy  feet  I  fall,  etc. 

Sadder  still  thy  fond  heart  grew 
When  He,  for  Redemption's  duty, 

*  The  beautiful  poem  which  I  have  thus  attempted 
to  translate  is  by  the  Most  Rev.  Joseph  S.  Alemany, 
O.  P.,  late  Archbishop  of  Sau  Francisco,  Cal.  It  was 
written  when  he  was  a  mere  youth,  and  was  found 
after  his  death  among  his  papers.  It  was  published 
in  the  Spanish  journals,  and  a  copy  was  sent  to  one 
of  his  former  priests  in  San  Francisco.  In  Spain 
(according  to  an  ancient  and  devout  custom),  at  the 
public  recitation  of  the  Rosary,  a  descriptive  stanza 
is  sung  before  each  mystery.  The  above  hymn  was 
set  to  music  and  chanted  thus  throughout  His  Grace's 
native  land  during  last  October,  the  Month  of  the 
Holy  Rosar}\  How  touching  is  this  proof  of  the 
affectionate  reverence  with  which  the  memory  of  the 
illustrious  and  saintly  prelate  is  cherished  by  his 
compatriots,  among  whom  he  died,  having  exchanged 
the  archie piscopal  mitre  for  the  cowl  of  his  beloved 
Dominican  Order! 


368 


The  Ave  Alarm. 


Quitted  Nazareth  ;  o'er  thy  beauty- 
Grief  then  spread  its  pallid  hue. 

Prostrate  at  thy  feet  I  fall,  etc. 

But  what  anguish  tortured  thee 
When,  in  spirit-contemplation, 
Saw'st  thou  all  His  desolation 

Mid  the  Garden's  agony! 

Prostrate  at  thy  feet  I  fall,  etc. 

Known  to  thee  was  traitor  guile 
Of  Iscariot ;  known  the  sorrow 
Of  that  drear  and  dreadful  morrow, 

With  its  cruel  scourgings  vile, — 

With  its  rending,  thorny  crown, 
And  the  ruby  jewels  glowing 
Of  the  blood  rain's  mystic  flowing 

From  His  royal  wreath  adown. 

Mourning,  at  thy  feet  I  fall,  etc. 

On  the  dolorous  path  He  trod. 
With  His  Cross  of  anguish  laden, 
Sad  yet  sinless,  Mother-Maiden, 

Thou  didst  meet  thy  suif 'ring  God. 

At  His  feet  and  thine  I  fall,  etc. 

Nails  that  rent  Him,  spear  that  passed 
Through  His  side,  thy  heart  maternal 
Pierced  and  cleft, — yet  love  supernal 

Held  thee  near  Him  to  the  last. 

Contrite,  at  thy  feet  I  fall,  etc. 

But  from  scenes  of  death  and  gloom 
Turn  I  to  thy  joys,  when  (risen 
From  His  dark,  sepulchral  prison) 

Jesus  conquers  e'en  the  tomb. 

Gladdened,  at  thy  feet  I  fall,  etc. 

Grief  brings  not  its  dark  alloy 
When  thy  Son  to  heaven  ascendeth  ; 
The?i  no  pang  of  sorrow  blendeth 

With  thy  hope-illumined  joy. 

Prostrate  at  thy  feet  I  fall,  etc. 

Grows  thy  joy  more  full  and  sweet 
When  in  flame-tongues,  brightly  glowing 
(Fadeless  strength  and  light  bestowing). 

Comes  the  promised  Paraclete. 
Humbly  at  thy  feet  I  fall,  etc. 

Brighter  glories  thee  await. 

When,  on  high,  from  peaceful  slumber, 
Angel  legions  without  number 

Bear  their  Queen  Immaculate. 

Prostrate  at  thy  feet  I  fall,  etc. 


But  thy  fairest  triumph  vshone 
When  the  Triune  God,  all-holy. 
Gave  the  crown  that  decks  thee  solely, 

Led  thee  to  thy  heavenly  throne. 

Hail,  then,  at  thy  feet  I  fall,  etc. 

Heaven  and  Earth  proclaim  thee  Queen. 

Mortals  win,  O  Sovereign  gracious, 

By  thy  pleadings  efficacious. 
Holy  lives  and  deaths  serene! 

Hail,  then,  at  thy  feet  I  fall,  etc. 

Aid  me  bravely  to  endure 

Earthly  woes  ;  and  through  death's  portal 
Lead  me  safe  to  realms  immortal. 

To  thy  home  of  peace  secure. 

Pleading  thus,  I  prostrate  fall,  etc. 


Ella's  Sacrifice. 


BY    CI^ARA    MULHOI^I^AND,   AUTHOR    OF    "A    BUNCH 
OF  VIOIvETS,"   "TWO  I,ITTI,E  RUSTICS,"  ETC. 


(CONCIvUSION.) 
III. 

ELLA'S  days  were  now  busy  indeed.  She 
bought  a  supply  of  flannel,  calico  and 
serge,  and,  with  Bridget's  help,  cut  out  frocks 
and  petticoats  for  the  little  Glinns,  which,  by 
dint  of  constant  work  and  industry,  she  man- 
aged to  get  finished  in  a  wonderfully  short 
space  of  time.  Laura  looked  on  for  a  while, 
much  amused  at  her  sister's  sudden  passion 
for  sewing ;  then,  seeing  how  thoroughly  in 
earnest  she  was,  and  how  much  there  was  to 
be  done,  she  too  produced  her  thimble,  and 
began  graciously  to  lend  her  aid. 

Mrs.  Glinn  had  been  sent  away  to  a  con- 
valescent home  by  the  sea,  where  she  was 
slowly  regaining  her  health  and  strength; 
and  the  doctors  said  that  in  a  few  months  she 
would  be  well  enough  to  go  back  to  her  family. 
Kitty  was  placed  in  the  orphan  asylum  be- 
longing to  the  Sisters  of  Charity,  Ella  provid- 
ing her  with  a  suitable  trousseau.  The  baby 
and  her  five-year-old  sister  were  admitted  to 
the  Creche;  and  Bill  was  sent  to  lodge  with 
some  respectable  people, who,  for  the  payment 
of  a  small  weekly  sum,  were  willing  to  keep 
him  until  his  mother  was  able  to  return  and 
look  after  him.  The  rent,  which  was  many 
weeks  in  arrears,  was  paid  up.  And  when  all 


The  Ave  Maria. 


369 


this  had  been  done,  and  comfortable  under- 
clothing, a  respectable  dress,  bonnet  and  shawl 
provided  for  Mrs.  Glinn,  little  remained  of 
Aunt  Constance's  ten  pounds. 

In  thus  providing  for  the  wants  of  this 
poor  family  Ella  was  ver}^  happy.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  had  done  something  that 
was  really  good  and  meritorious,  and  her  joy 
was  indeed  great.  By  denying  herself,  and 
sacrificing  the  natural  desire  of  a  young  girl, 
innocent  and  harmless  in  itself,  to  appear  well 
and  freshly  dressed  at  the  ball,  where  she 
was  sure  to  meet  so  many  friends,  she  had 
accomplished  very  much.  Not  only  had  she 
the  happiness  of  seeing  the  little  ones  grow 
bright  and  rosy,  thanks  to  their  warm  cloth- 
ing and  good  food, — not  only  was  she  able  to 
rejoice  that  the  poor  delicate  mother  would 
one  day  recover  \\kx  health  and  strength,  but 
she  had  the  coiiaolation  of  knowing  that, 
through  her,  owing  to  her  act  of  self-denial, 
these  children  would  be  rescued  from  a  life 
of  ignorance  and  perhaps  of  sin,  and  taught 
to  know  their  Creator.  For,  thanks  to  Ella 
and  her  charitable  exertions,  this  little  family 
was  about  to  be  received  into  the  Church. 
Mrs.  Glinn  was  anxious  that  her  children 
should  be  brought  up  in  their  father's  relig- 
ion, and  expressed  a  strong  desire  that  she 
might  be  allowed  to  become  a  Catholic  herself. 

So  the  time  passed.  And  so  fully  occupied 
was  Ella  that  she  thought  little  about  the 
Goldfinches'  ball,  or  the  preparations  for  it. 
Howev-er,  when  the  night  arrived,  she  put  on 
the  prettiest  dress  her  wardrobe  contained — a 
black  tulle, — with  a  few  crimson  roses  at  her 
breast,  and  tripped  down-stairs,  a  smile  on 
her  lips,  a  look  of  peace  and  joy  in  her  d^k 
eyes. 

In  the  drawing-room  stood  Laura,  radiant 
in  white  satin,  pearls  and  lilies  of  the  valley. 
She  looked  very  pretty  and  graceful,  and  as 
Ella  entered  the  room  she  exclaimed,  admir- 
ingly : 

"How  lovely!  My  dear  Laura,  that  is  the 
sweetest  frock  I  ever  saw!" 

"I  hope  you  are  green  with  jealousy,  my 
poor  Cinderella ! ' '  said  Laura,  laughing.  * '  You 
ought  to  be — perfectly  green ! ' ' 

Ella  kissed  her  and  arranged  a  bow  on  her 
shoulder. 

"No,  dear,  I  don't  think  I  am.  I  am  glad 


to  see  you  looking  so  nice.  Aunt  Constance 
will  have  one  niece  to  be  proud  of." 

"You  should  havt  hadadre-^sjustthesame, 
Ella,"  said  her  mother,  mournfully.  "I  don't 
like  to  see  you  in  black." 

"Now,  mother,  you  must  not  grumble, 
dear, "  replied  the  girl,  putting  her  arm  round 
her.  "I  am  not  exactly  shabby,  you  know; 
and  I  feel  so  happy." 

"No,  you  are  not  shabby,  darling;  and," 
reluctantly, "you  look  very  sweet." 

"Then,"  laughing  and  blushing,  "what 
more  do  you  want?" 

"Ella,  Aunt  Constance  is  waiting!"  cried 
Laura.  "Good -night,  mother!"  And  she 
fluttered  away. 

"My  darling,  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  your- 
self," said  Mrs.  Morris,  kissing  Ella  tenderly. 
"You  have  worked  very  hard  lateh^,  and  de- 
serve a  pleasant  evening." 

Ella  laughed,  and  pressed  her  cheek  lovingly 
against  her  mother's. 

"Oh,  you  dear,  tender-hearted  mother!  I 
have  done  very,  very  little.  But,  please  God, 
I'll  do  more  before  I  die." 

"Ella!  Ella!"  called  her  father.  "Do  be 
quick!  Your  aunt  grows  impatient." 

"Coming,  papa!"  And,  giving  her  mother 
one  long,  lingering  kiss,  Ella  said  "Good- 
night!" and  hurried  down-stairs. 

"That  child  looks  beautiful  to-night,"  said 
Mr.  Morris,  as  he  came  back  from  putting  his 
daughters  into  the  carriage  with  their  Aunt 
Constance,  who  was  to  be  their  chaperon  at 
the  ball.   "I  never  saw  her  look  so  well." 

"Yes,"  sighed  his  wife.  "And  poor  Ella 
should  have  been  dressed  like  her." 

"It  is  Ella  I  mean,"  he  answered,  in  sur- 
prise. "But  I  was  not  thinking  of  her  dress. 
It  does  not  matter  much  what  she  wears. 
Laura  is  a  pretty,  frivolous  little  worldling, 
and  requires  to  be  well  set  off.  But  Ella — there 
is  a  look  in  that  child's  face  that  is  beautiful 
to  gaze  upon.  It  is  easy  to  imagine  that  'the 
peace  of  God,  which  surpasseth  all  under- 
standing, '  has  taken  possession  of  her  heart. 
God  bless  her!" 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Earl  and  her  two  pretty 
nieces  arrived  at  the  Goldfinches,  and  made 
their  way  up  a  crowded  staircase  into  the 
ball-room.  Having  said  "Good-evening!"  to 
their  hostess,  they  passed  on,  and  were  soon 


370 


The  Ave  Maria, 


1 


surrounded  by  a  bevy  of  young  men,  all  eager 
to  claim  the  ^irls  for  a  dance  before  their  cards 
became  filled  up. 

"How  beautiful  the  rooms  are!"  said  Laura, 
as  she  paused  at  the  end  of  a  dance,  and  looked 
round  upon  tlie  brilliant  scene.  "Those  fairy 
lights  in  the  grate  and  on  the  hearth  amongst 
the  flowers  and  ferns  are  too  lovely! " 

"They  are  pretty,  certainly,"  replied  her 
partner.  "But  I  do  not  like  them  in  such  a 
position.  They  are  dangerous  in  the  extreme. 
I  wish  I  could  get  them  removed  at  once.  See 
how  the  dresses  brush  over  them  continually. 
If  one  of  those  glass  tops  should  be  knocked 
off,  the  result  might  be  horrible." 

"Oh,  do  not  suggest  such  a  thing!  I  can 
fancy  how  a  tulle  dress  would  blaze.  But  pray 
put  such  thoughts  out  of  your  mind." 

"I  will  endeavor,  then,  to  think  and  speak 
of  things  cheerful  only.  Who  is  that  beauti- 
ful young  lady  in  black?" 

"My  sister.  But  she  is  not  looking  her  best 
to-night.  Just  fancy,  she  gave  away  all  our 
aunt  sent  her  for  a  new  dress,  and  had  to  come 
in  that  dowdy  old  black,  that  she  has  worn 
numbers  of  times,  instead  of  having  a  pretty 
white  one  like  mine!" 

"Why  did  she  give  away  the  money?" 

"Oh,  because  she  found  some  poor  children 
and  their  sick  mother,  whom  she  wanted  to 
help.  Itwasgoodof  her,  of  course;  but  rather 
quixotic." 

"Very,"  answered  the  young  man,  his  eyes 
following  Ella  as  she  moved  gracefully  round 
the  room.  "Might  I  ask  for  an  introduction? 
I  should  like  to  do  something  to  help  her  in 
providing  for  these  children,  if  she  would 
allow  me." 

Laura  laughed  merrily. 

"What  a  pity  she  did  not  meet  you  sooner, 
Mr.  Dew!  She  might  have  had  her  new  dress, 
and  provided  for  the  Glinns  out  of  your 
pocket." 

"That  would  have  given  me  great  pleasure. 
But  I  fancy  the  loss  of  a  pretty  dress  does  not 
trouble  her  much." 

"Not  in  the  slightest.  That  is  just  what 
annoys  me.  Now  that  she  has  got  on  to  this 
charitable  tack,  she'll  never  be  fit  to  look  at. 
All  her  allowance  will  go  to  the  poor." 

"How  very  good  of  her!  But  I  wish  she 
would  keep  at  a  safe  distance    from   those 


lights.  See,"  speaking  excitedly,  "her  dress 
is  on  them!  It  is  onl}^  tulle,  and  would  bum 
like  paper.   Come,  let  us  warn  her." 

And  he  swept  Laura  through  the  crowd 
toward  Ella,  who,  all  unconscious  of  obser- 
vation, stood  in  front  of  the  prettily  decorated 
fireplace,  talking  gaily  to  her  partner. 

The  band  struck  up  a  fresh  waltz  ;  couples 
poured  in  again  from  the  landings  and  stairs ; 
the  crowd  became  very  great,  and  as  Laura 
and  Mr.  Dew  made  their  way  across  the 
room  they  were  jostled  and  pushed  about 
in  a  most  uncomfortable  manner.  Suddenly, 
Laura  felt  she  could  go  no  farther.  The  crowd 
pres.sed  heavily  against  her ;  it  was  impossible 
to  advance  another  step. 

"What  is  wrong?"  she  asked.  "Why  are 
the  people  all  coming  this  way  ? ' ' 

And  then,  above  the  music,  the  buzz  of 
conversation,  and  the  noise  of  dancing  feet,  a 
sound  was  heard  that  filled  her  with  horror 
and  seemed  to  curdle  the  blood  within  her 
veins.  It  was  a  cry,  a  wild  shriek  for  help — 
and  the  voice  was  Ella's! 

"My  God!  I  knew  it  would  happen!  The 
very  thing  I  dreaded  has  come  to  pass."  And 
he  left  Laura's  side  and  pushed  quickly  in 
amongst  the  dancers.  "Keep  back!  Let  no 
one  in  a  thin  dress  approach!  For  God's  sake 
keep  back ! ' ' 

It  was  scarcely  necessary  to  repeat  his 
words.  The  music  stopped  abruptly.  The 
panic-stricken  dancers  fled  precipitately  out 
of  the  ball-room.  And  Ella  was  seen  standing 
in  a  sheet  of  flame?,  her  eyes  dilated  with 
terror,  her  sweet  face  ghastly  in  its  whiteness 
and  agony. 

•Mr.  Dew  looked  round  in  despair.  The 
room  was  empty ;  the  floor  bare  and  polished  ; 
not  a  rug,  not  a  vestige  of  anything  to  wrap 
round  the  poor  girl,  who  was  being  slowly 
burned  to  death  before  his  eyes. 

'  *  Lie  dowm, ' '  he  whispered,  hoarsely.  * '  Roll 
upon  the  floor.  That  is  the  best  thing  to  do." 

Mrs.  Goldfinch  and  Mrs.  Earl  ran  in  ^om. 
the  refreshment  room  as  soon  as  the  dread 
tidings  reached  them.  But  they  were  utterly 
useless ;  their  presence  of  mind  had  deserted 
them,  and  they  gazed  at  her  in  horror,  wring- 
ing their  hands,  lamenting  and  weeping. 

"Lie  down, — for  God's  sake  throw  yourself 
'  upon  the  floor!"  urged  Mr.  Dew. 


Tlic  Ave  Maria. 


371 


But  the  jiirl  did  not  seem  to  liear  him, 
and  stood  with  outstretched  hands,  clasped 
together  in  silent  agony,  like  a  martyr  at  the 
stake.* 

"My  God.  this  is    terrible!    What   can   I 
do?  Ah!"  cried  Dew.  And  seizing  one  of  the 
heavy  tapestry  curtains,  he   made  a  violent 
effort,  dragged  it  down  from  the  window,  and, 
flinging  it  round  the  unhappy  girl,  succeeded 
^jji  extinguishing  the  flames. 
^B  "Ella  darling,  speak  to  me!"  cried  Laura, 
^%ending  over  her  sister,  who  now  lay  uncon- 
scious on  the  ground.  "  O  Auntie,  she  is  dead! 
— my  poor  darling  is  dead!  " 

"I  hope — I  trust  not.  She  i.s — in  a  swoon," 
Mr.  Dew  replied,  in  a  voice  full  of  emotion. 
^rfMrs.  Earl,  we  must  take  her  out  of  this." 
^f  "Yes.  Bring  her  to  my  room,"  said  Mrs. 
Goldfinch,  with  streaming  eyes. 

"Yes.  It  would  be  impossible  to  take  her 
home."  And,  raising  her  gently  in  his  arms, 
he  carried  her  up  the  broad  stair,  and  laid  her 
upon  a  bed  that  had  been  hurriedly  prepared 
for  her.  Then  he  went  away  to  meet  the  doc  tor. 

"The  shock  to  her  system  has  been  very 
great.  I  fear  she  can  not  recover,"  said  the 
doctor,  with  emotion,  as  the  unhappy  mother 
implored  him  to  tell  her  what  he  thought  of 
her  darling.  "She  has  been  severely  burned, 
and  the  pain  is  considerable.  To  a  strong 
person  these  burns  might  not  prove  fatal ;  but 
to  one  of  her  delicate  organization,  I  fear — 
we  can  not  hope." 

Mrs.  Morris  bowed  her  head.  "God's  will 
be  done!  I  will  try  to  be  resigned."  And  she 
flung  herself  upon  her  knees  by  her  daugh- 
ter's bedside. 

That  night,  and  all  through  the  following 
day,  Ella  lay  in  feverish  agony,  tossing  from 
side  to  side,  and  moaning  piteously.  She  ap- 
peared unconscious  to  everything  but  the 
maddening  pain  that  consumed  her,  and  her 
cries  of  anguish  were  terrible  to  hear.  Then, 
suddenly,  she  grew  calmer.  Toward  evening 
she  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  around.  See- 
ing she  was  conscious,  Mrs.  Morris  sent  for 
the  child's  confessor,  and  she  was  able  to 
make  her  confession  and  receive  all  the  last 
rites  of  the  Church. 


An  accident  of  this  kind  happened  in  Dublin  last 


year. 


"Thank  God!"  .she  whispered,  spme  mo- 
ments later.  "Now  I  can  die  gladly.  All  my 
fear  has  gone. ' ' 

And  then  she  fell  into  a  stupor,  and  they 
thought  that  gentle  voice  would  never  be 
heard  again. 

"She  is  sinking  fast,"  Siid  the  doctor; 
"she  can  not  live  through  the  night." 

But  shortly  after  twelve  o'clock  she  rallied, 
and  putting  out  her  hand,  laid  it  lovingly 
upon  her  mother's  bowed  head. 

"In  the  midst  of  life — we  are  in  death!" 
she  whispered,  in  a  voice  so  low  that  those 
near  could  scarcely  catch  the  words.  "How 
true — how  true!  Laura — do  not  forget!  Work 
— dearest, — live  for  God.  Take  care — of  Kitty 
and  Polly  and — Bill  and  baby.  Mother,  be 
good  to  Mrs.  Glinn." 

"My  darling,  yes!"  sobbed  Mrs.  Morris. 
"She  shall  be  my  special  charge." 

"And  the  children  mine,"  said  Laura, weep- 
ing without  restraint.  "Ella,  I  will  try  to  do — 
all  I  can — to — be  good.  I  have  been  frivolous 
— and  useless — I  know, — but  I  will  change 
my  life." 

A  faint  smile  flitted  over  the  poor  face,  that 
was  drawn  and  haggard  with  pain. 

"I  am— so  glad!  Papa — you — will  pay  for 
Kitty  for  my  sake  ? ' ' 

Mr.  Morris  kissed  her  tenderly. 

"Yes,  love, — yes! " 

*  *  That — is — well.  Pray  now. ' ' 

And  as  her  mother,  in  a  voice  broken  with 
sobs,  began  the  litany,  the  girl  closed  her  eyes 
and  fell  into  a  quiet  sleep.  All  through  the 
night  they  watched  beside  her,  and  as  morn- 
ing dawned  the  color  of  her  face  became  more 
ashen,  the  sweet  mouth  twitched  nervously, 
the  brown  eyes  opened  wide,  then  the  heavy 
lids  fell  once  more  upon  the  pallid  cheek.  She 
gave  a  deep,  long-drawn  sigh;  murmured 
softly:  "Jesus — Mary!"  Then  all  was  still. 
Ella's  pure  spirit  had  gone  before  its  Maker. 

In  the  beautiful  cemetery  at  B is  a  grave, 

with  a  simple  cross  of  purest  white  marble 
standing  at  its  head;  and  a  level  slab,  carved 
in  alio-rilievo,  has  the  following  inscription: 

ELIvA  MORRIS. 

AGED  19. 

R.  I.  P. 

"IN   THE   MIDST  OF  WFE  WE  ARE  IN  DEATH." 


372 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Stella  Matutina;  or,  A  Poet's  Quest. 


BY  EDMUND  OF  THE  HEART  OF  MARY,  C.  P. 


A  DREAM.  y(  t  not  adream.  The  Gatesof  Faith 
Had  open'd  on  a  Temple  old  and  vast, 
Where  nought  unreal  may  bide — though  many  a 
wiaith 
Of  fond  illusion,  soon  or  late  out  cast, 
Doth  haunt  the  entrance. 

As  the  poet  pass'd 
From  court  to  court,  he  ask'd  the  Temple's  name. 
But  She  who  led  him  spoke  not,  till,  at  last — 
The  Bridal  Group!    And  then,  for  answer,  came 
Only  the  light  which  glow'd  in  the  altar's  roj«y 
flame. 

The  Temple  of  Vocation !   Sore  afraid, 

He  would  have  fled ;  but  met  that  smile,  and 
heard 

"If  thou  dost  love  me,  prove  it  undismay'd." 
How  eagerly  he  drank  each  gracious  word. 
That  glow'd  like  wine  within  the  soul  it  stirr'd 

To  holy  daring!  "Yes,  my  Queen — for  thee! 
Full  well  thou  knowest  how  thy  servant  err'd 

In  pardon'd  years.  But  be  it  far  from  me 

To   doubt  that,  knowing  this,  my  surety  thou 
wilt  be." 

The  Bride  ...  no  child  of  heresy  and  schism  ; 

No  phantom,  like  the  one  refused  with  scorn  ; 
But  She  whom  gift  of  Pentecostal  Chrism 

With  fadeless  youth  and  beauty  did  adorn  : 

Christ's   Sister-Spouse — of   His   own    Heart- 
Wound  born 
And  Mary's  Dolors.   But  her  face  unveil'd, 

While  learning  from  her  of  his  Star  of  Morn, 
The  poet  had  not  seen.  Not  strange  he  fail'd 
To  guess  its  music  then,  nor  rapturously  hail'd 

A  hidden  loveliness  of  blended  youth 

And  chastity  and  wisdom  with  the  peace 
Which  ever  tends  the  majesty  of  Truth  : 

But,  gazing  now,  he  felt  all  tremor  cease  ; 

Nor  now,  I  ween,  had  welcomed  a  release 
From  such  espousals.   And  Our  Lady's  face. 

At  every  stolen  glance,  did  so  increase 
His  love  for  Her  and  trust  in  God's  dear  grace, 
He  thought  no  more  of  self — still  fickle,  weak, 
and  base. 

So  gave  the  Church  her  hand.  Her  Angel  clad 
Our  poet  with  the  Priesthood  which  is  Christ. 

The  taken  Cross,  he  bears  it  ever  glad  ; 

For  his  the  portion  which  his  Lord  sufficed : 


And  spurns  what  worldlings  covet,  unenticed 
Toward  woes  to  be  by  fleeting  joys  that  are; 

For  his  the  joys  not  fletting,  gains  unpriced: 
While — sweetly,  calmly  mirror'd  from  afar — 
Within  his  deepest  soul  shines  on  .  .  .  the  Morn- 
ing Star. 


The  Rosary  in  Oceanica! 


MONSEIGNEUR  LAMAZE,  of  the  Soci- 
ety of  Mary,  Vicar- Apostolic  of  Central 
Ocean ica  and  of  the  Friendly  Islands,  sends  to 
La  Coiiro7uie  dc  Marie  the  following  account 
of  his  beautiful  mission.  We  reproduce  it  in 
The  "Ave  Maria"  for  the  edification  of 
English  readers : 

Some  weeks  before  the  day  that  his  Holi- 
ness Leo  XIII.  offered  the  Holy  Sacrifice  for 
the  first  lime  —  that  is  to  say,  at  the  close 
of  the  year  1837 — the  first  apostles  of  Central 
and  Western  Oceanica  arrived  at  the  scene  of 
their  missions.  Pere  Bataillon  remained,  the 
only  priest,  with  a  Brother  assistant  for  com- 
panion, at  the  Wallis  Islands ;  Pere  Chanel,  of 
holy  memory,  under  the  same  conditions  at 
Futuna. 

Fairly  settled,  after  a  >  ear's  perilous  jour- 
ney, in  the  field  of  their  future  labors,  they 
would  immediately  have  begun  to  instruct  the 
natives  in  the  truths  of  religion,  but  they  were 
entirely  unacquainted  with  the  language  of 
the  country.  In  this  extremity  it  became  the 
part  of  the  savages  to  instruct  their  pastors. 
Many  other  difiiculties  not  necessary  to  men- 
tion here  also  hindered  the  missionaries  from 
announcing  the  word  of  God.  To  pass  for 
travellers,  strangers,  not  to  appear  as  apostles, 
was  the  absolute  condition  of  their  establish- 
ment in  these  savage  islands. 

But  if  they  could  not  preach,  they  prayed 
much ;  above  all  they  recited  the  Rosary.  Old 
natives  who  remember  the  venerable  Pere 
Chanel  speak  of  him  as  always  having  his 
beads  in  his  hand  passing  through  the  villages, 
and  scattering,  so  to  speak,  the  seed  of  his 
Ave  Marias  Members  of  a  Society  which 
bears  the  name  of  Mary,  our  devoted  mis- 
sionaries had  placed  all  their  confidence  in 
this  good  Mother.  In  the  midst  of  trials  they 
prayed  unceasingly  that  she  would  deign  to 
bless  their  apostolate. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


37^ 


Their  prayer  and  the  method  of  reciting  it 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  natives.  "What 
is  the  meaning,"  they  said,  "of  those  little 
chains  that  the  white  man  always  carries 
in  his  hand?  And  those  beads  which  are 
always  passing,  one  by  one,  through  his 
fingers?  And  the  words  which  he  seems  to  be 
addressing  to  some  one  he  does  not  see?" 
These  were  also  the  first  questions  they  put 
to  the  missionaries  when  they  began  to  com- 
prehend the  elements  of  their  language. 

Oh,  how  happy  they  were  to  be  able  to  reply 
to  those  simple  people,  and  to  teach  them, 
little  by  little,  the  most  beautiful  prayers 
and  the  principal  mysteries  of  religion!  The 
islanders  were  rejoiced  to  learn  these  prayers, 
so  novel  to  them,  and  later  to  sing  to  European 
airs  the  mysteries  of  the  Rosary.  They  also 
wished  to  own  these  little  chaplets,  to  pass 
them  through  their  fingers  grain  by  grain, 
counting  and  repeating  the  prayers ;  and  to 
chant  them  in  chorus — now  softly  and  almost 
inaudibly,  now  in  a  loud  voice,  according  to 
the  custom  of  their  country.  They  sang  a 
decade  before  instruction,  another  after ;  they 
chanted  the  Rosary  during  Mass ;  it  took  the 
place  of  Vespers.  They  sang  it  also  when  pre- 
paring the  sick  for  death ;  with  the  same  song 
they  accompanied  the  dead  to  their  last  rest- 
ing-place. They  had  no  books;  the  Rosary 
was  for  them  the  book  par  excellence,  as  it 
was  also  the  most  eloquent  of  preachers.  And 
to  this  day,  although  we  possess  printed 
books  in  the  various  languages  of  Oceanica, 
the  Rosary  is  still  the  most  popular  book,  the 
mysterious  power  which  draws  most  sheep 
to  the  fold. 

It  is  customary  among  the  natives,  before 
retiring  for  the  night,  to  say  a  decade  of  the 
Rosary  preceded  by  a  chant  of  the  correspond- 
ing mystery.  It  is  a  kind  of  living  Rosary, 
distributed,  not  among  fifteen  persons  (that 
would  be  very  difficult),  but  among  fifteen 
farriilies  or  communities ;  by  means  of  which, 
in  all  our  stations,  the  entire  Rosary  is 
recited  at  this  hour  of  the  night,  with  the 
chanting  of  the  mysteries.  Every  month  a 
new  mystery  is  given  to  a  community  or 
village.  And  as  the  houses  have  not  enclosed 
walls,  and  the  people  sing  in  a  loud  voice;  it 
follows  that  those  who  are  not  yet  Catholics 
become  familiar  with  the  prayers  and  myste- 


ries of  religion,  as  well  as  the  hymns,  before 
they  are  baptized.  Often,  while  travelling 
through  our  villages,  I  pause  to  listen  to  the 
Ave  Matia  as  it  floats  through  the  air  from 
the  open  houses;  and  I  cry  in  my  soul  :  "O 
Mary,  Mother  of  the  Divine  Shepherd,  Queen 
of  the  Apostles,  bless  these  prayers,  hearken 
to  their  angelical  salutations,  and  deign  in 
return  to  call  to  the  true  fold  your  children 
of  Oceanica  1 ' ' 

Long  before  his  Holiness  Leo  XIII.,  the 
Pope  of  the  Rosar}^,  had  called  upon  the  Cath- 
olics of  the  entire  world  to  practise  this  devo- 
tion in  the  churches  and  with  their  families, 
it  was  recited  in  our  missions,  with  a  fervor  so 
touching  that  we  had  but  to  continue  it  with 
the  same  zeal  as  in  the  past.  In  many  places 
five  mysteries  are  recited  daily  in  the  church, 
and  on  Sunday  the  entire  Rosary.  The  first 
part  is  said  by  the  men,  the  second  by  the 
women,  and  the  third  by  the  children  of  the 
school.  At  other  stations  five  decades  at  least 
are  recited  every  Sunday,  either  before  or 
after  Vespers,  or  instead  of  Vespers. 

Our  catechists,  and  those  among  us  who  are 
particularly  pious,  are  especially  given  to  this 
devotion.  And  what  graces  has  it  not  obtained 
for  those  good  neophytes!  One  of  them  daily 
recited  the  entire  Rosary  to  obtain  the  conver- 
sion of  his  wife.  From  time  to  time  he  would 
come  to  me  complaining  that  his  prayer  had 
not  been  answered.  But  on  one  of  my  latest 
episcopal  visits  she  came  with  him,  also  wear- 
ing the  beads  on  her  wrist.  "Here  she  is," 
said  this  brave  Catholic.  "She  has  been  bap- 
tized; she  comes  to  Mass;  and  we  say  the 
Rosary  every  day  together  in  thanksgiving.  I 
obtained  her  conversion  through  the  Rosary." 

Last  year,  as  you  know,  the  Germans  seized 
one  of  our  islands.  Lately  the  natives  par- 
tially threw  oflf  the  yoke,  and  named  as  King 
Mataafa,  converted  b}'-  my  revered  predeces- 
sor, Mgr.  Eloy.  This  dear  neophyte  recites 
the  entire  Rosary  daily  since  his  conversion ; 
for  a  year  he  has  added  the  Rosary  of  the 
Seven  Dolors,  not  to  speak  of  the  Way  of  the 
Cross,  and  assisting  at  Mass  daily  whenever 
he  finds  himself  near  a  church  where  a  mis- 
sionary resides. 

Tbree  years  ago  the  Pope  entrusted  me  with 
a  gift  of  a  beautiful  Rosary  for  the  Queen  of 
Wallis.  This  royal  gift  was  delivered  in  the 


374 


llie  Ave  Maria. 


I 


presence  of  the  whole  court  and  people,  with 
great  solemnity.  I  was  taken  to  the  island 
by  a  French  man-of-war.  After  Mass  all  the 
highest  dignitaries  accompanied  me  to  the 
dwelling  of  Her  Majesty.  On  receiving  this 
magnificent  present  she  respectfully  kissed  the 
cross,  showing  it  to  all  her  assistants,  and 
giving  them  time  to  admire  the  richness  of 
its  workmanship,  and  the  beads,  formed  of 
precious  stones ;  finally,  she  wound  it  on  her 
wrist,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  country. 
She  is  proud  thus  to  wear  it  before  her  people 
on  great  festival  days.  This  touching,  paternal 
thoughtfulness  of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff  tow- 
ard an  insignificant  Queen  of  Oceanica  has 
contributed  greatly  to  endear  him  to  her  sub- 
jects, as  well  as  to  increase  the  devotion  of  our 
neophytes  to  the  Holy  Rosary. 

Our  Catholics  always  endeavor  to  possess 
a  large  pair  of  Rosary  beads,  which,  as  I  have 
said,  they  wear  on  their  wrists — thus  visibly 
announcing  to  all  the  world  that  they  are  the 
children  of  Mary  and  of  the  true  Church  of  her 
Divine  Son.  But,  with  this  primitive  method 
of  carrying  them,  they  are  in  danger  of  losing 
or  breaking  them,  thus  being  reduced  to  the 
necessity  of  counting  their  Ave  Marias  on 
their  fingers.  This  distresses  them,  and  we  are 
besieged  for  Rosaries.  It  is  the  prayer  that 
greets  every  missionary,  especially  a  bishop, 
when  he  returns  from  Europe,  "the  country 
of  Rosaries." 


The  Pioneers  and  Preservers  of  Liter- 
ature. 


BY   E.  V.  N. 


DURING  the  first  half  of  the  Middle  Ages 
the  literature  of  the  countries  of  Europe 
was  kept  alive  by  the  minstrels  and  the 
monks.  The  harper  of  England,  the  minne- 
singer of  Germany,  and  the  troubadour  of 
France,  sang  of  love  and  war,  and  thus  saved 
from  oblivion  wonderful  traditions  and  veri- 
table deeds  of  national  heroes,  which  they  had 
learned  from  the  lips  of  their  sires  or  their 
contemporaries.  Meantime  the  cloistered  re- 
ligious sat  in  his  cell,  penning  tomes  of 
theology,  valuable  history,  etc. ,  varying  these 
sterner  labors  with  the  more  graceful  task  of 


copying  and  illuminating  those  manuscripts^ 
which  then  took  the  place  of  the  printed  vol- 
umes of  our  own  time. 

The  profession  of  minstrel  was  far  from 
ignoble.  There  was  no  more  honored  or  more 
welcome  guest  than  the  genial  harper,  whose- 
hour  af  triumph  came  when  the  substantial 
supper  was  over  in  the  guest  room  of  the 
monastery  (which  served  as  inn  in  those  early 
times),  and  tlie  cup  of  mead  or  sparkling  wine 
began  to  circulate.  The  wandering  minstrel 
was  attended  by  one  or  more  persons  to  carry 
his  harp  or  guitar.  When  Alfred  the  Great 
glided  among  the  tents  of  Guthrum,  a  servant 
bore  his  harp, — a  circumstance  that  would  at 
once  have  attracted  attention  and  revealed 
his  secret  had  it  been  an  unusual  occurrence. 

The  minstrels  of  Great  Britain,  in  feudal 
times,  were  distinguished  as  "squire  min- 
strels," "yeoman  minstrels,"  etc.  Some  were 
attached  to  noble  families,  and  wore  the  coat- 
of-arms  of  their  patron,  suspended  to  a  gold 
or  silver  chain,  about  the  neck.  The  general 
badge  of  the  profession  was  a  tuning-key. 
The  instruments  they  used  were  various;  some 
carried  a  tabor;  some  played  on  a  vielle — an 
instrument  resembling  the  guitar,  in  the  top' 
of  which  was  a  handle  that  was  turned  by 
one  hand  while  the  other  touched  its  keys. 
The  "harp  that  once  through  Tara's  halls" 
was  far  from  being  the  perfected  instrument 
of  the  present  day ;  its  traditional  form  proves 
it  to  have  been  an  improved  modification  of 
the  ancient  harp  of  the  Jews. 

A  letter  written  in  1575,  and  addressed  to 
Queen  Elizabeth  of  England,  gives  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  dress  of  a  minstrel  who  took  a 
prominent  part  in  the  grand  pageant  given  at 
Kenilworth  in  that  year,  and  at  which  the 
writer  was  present.  "He  was  dressed  in  a 
trailing  gown  of  kendal-green,  with  very  long, 
wide  sleeves;  a  red  cincture  girt  his  waist, 
and  a  ribbon  of  the  same  color  passed  around  . 
his  neck,  and  from  it  hung  the  arms  of  Isling- 
ton. His  ruffs  stood  out  stiffly  with  the  'set- 
ting-sticks' [an  apparatus  that  supplied  the 
place  of  starch].  His  head,  which  was  tonsured 
like  some  clerics,  was  bare,  and  his  shoes  were 
right  cleanly  blackened  with  soot."  This 
picturesque  costume,  however,  belongs  to  the 
minstrel  of  a  later  date,  but  it  may  afford  an 
idea  of  the  style  of  men  who  wandered  from 


The  Ave  Maria. 


375 


palace  to  palace,  from  abbey  to  abbey,  and 
embalmed  in  poesy  the  romantic  stories  and 
warlike  histories  of  former  da)  s. 

As  chivalry  died  out,  the  term  "minstrel" 
was  applied  chiefly  to  mere  musicians, — the 
lay  being  recited  by  the  poet,  and  the  gestures 
made  by  jugglers  and  tumblers.  At  length 
the  brotherhood  of  old  Homtr  fell  so  low  that 
Queen  Bess,  by  an  act  of  Parliament,  included 
the  wandering  harpers  and  minstrels  among 
rogues,  vagabonds,  and  tramping  beggars. 

Let  us  now  turn  from  the  noisy,  brilliant 
circle  in  which  the  troubadour  and  minstrel 
were  most  at  home,  and  enter  the  arched  gate- 
way of  a  monastery,  where  holy  silence  and 
pious  recollection  reign.  We  pass  through  the 
green  courtyard  into  an  arched  cloister,  on  the 
cold  stone  walls  of  which  the  damp  has  traced 
its  grotesque  velvet  mask.  A  few  grave  fig- 
ures glide  through  the  shadowy  stillness.  We 
do  not  linger  here,  but  ascend  a  stone  staircase 
into  an  upper  apartment,  arched  and  pillared 
also,  but  well  lighted.  Here  is  a  long  row  of 
dark-robed  monks,  each  and  all  intent  upon 
their  severe  labors, — rendering  service  to  lit- 
erature for  which  the  mediaeval  monastery 
merits  our  heartfelt  gratitude.  This  is  the 
scriptorium.  Its  austere  bareness  presents  a 
striking  contrast  with  the  well-furnished 
library  of  the  modern  littirateur.  Wooden 
chests  are  placed  around  the  walls  of  the 
scriptorium,  filled  with  precious  manuscripts, 
to  multiply  and  ornament  which  is  the  task  of 
these  holy,  self-denying  men. 

There  is  a  variety  among  the  silent  workers, 
as  we  shall  find  as  we  advance  through  the 
long  hall.  Over  the  desks  and  heavy  carved 
tables  of  that  time  we  see  choir-boys  with 
flaxen,  curly  ringlets ;  meu  whose  circlet  of 
raven  hair,  surrounding  the  tonsured  crown, 
proclaims  the  noonday  of  life;  and  we  also 
meet  with  the  silvered  locks  of  advanced 
age.  Now  and  then  a  novice,  to  whom  a  piece 
of  common  work  or  a  much-used  office- book 
has  been  entrusted,  rises  and  advances  to  the 
presiding  monk,  and  modestly  asks  advice  as 
to  the  form  of  a  letter  or  the  tinting  of  a  sketch. 
Ever  and  anon  that  same  instructor  checks 
with  a  few  calm  words  the  buzz  that  arises 
from  the  boy- workers. 

There  are  articles  in  that  scriptorium  not 
found  on  our  writing-desks  or  study  tables. 


Besides  quills  and  colored  inks,  there  are 
reed  pens,  pots  of  brilliant  paint,  vials  of  gold 
and  silver  size,  and  sable-hair  brushes  of  vari- 
ous shapes ;  for  the  work  of  the  copyist  is  not 
that  of  a  mere  penman  :  it  requires  the  skill 
of  an  artist.  Although  the  figures  which  adorn 
the  brilliant  illuminations  appear  a  little  stiff" 
to  OUT  eyes  in  ihe  nineteenth  century,  yet,  for 
beauty  of  design  and  richness  of  coloring, 
many  productions  of  the  ancient  scriptoria 
remain  unsurpassed  by  the  modern  pencil. 

Let  us  draw  near  to  this  cowled  transcriber, 
who  occupies  a  straight-backed  chair,  and  ask 
leave  to  watch  his  experienced  hand  as  he 
traces  the  Gospel  on  vellum.  He  tells  us  that 
he  has  just  put  the  finishing  touches  to  a  paint- 
ing, glowing  with  crimson  and  gold  and  blue 
lace-work,  intertwining,  in  a  manner  as  grace- 
ful as  fantastic,  flowers,  birds,  and  butterflies. 
This  has  occupied  him  during  an  entire  week, 
yet  the  brilliant  gem  of  art  is  merely  the  initial 
letter  to  a  chapter !  Now  he  takes  his  pen,  and 
traces  in  black  ink  the  thick  strokes  of  what 
we  style  German  text,  or  Old  English,  and 
which  has  given  the  title  of  "black-letter" 
to  certain  manuscripts.  While  his  right  hand 
guides  the  pen,  the  left  holds  a  sharp  eraser, 
ready  to  remove  or  repair  an  accident.  There 
are  no  capitals  except  the  gorgeous  initials; 
no  points  save  an  occasional  little  dash  to 
divide  the  sentences.  The  title-page  of  the 
completed  book,  the  heads  of  the  various 
chapters,  and  the  name  of  the  copyist  and  the 
date,  will  be  inscribed  in  colored  ink — com- 
monly red  ink,  whence  we  derive  the  word 
"rubric." 

Some  of  the  richest  specimens  of  old-time 
manuscripts  are  certain  copies  of  the  four 
Gospels,  on  purple  vellum,  inscribed  in  silver 
letters,  with  the  sacred  names  in  burnished 
gold.  These  were  favorite  productions  in  the 
eighth,  ninth,  and  tenth  centuries,  and  were 
the  remnants  of  Grecian  luxury.  There  are 
beautiful  missals  still  preserved,  whose  pages 
resemble  the  many-hued  splendors  of  a  grand 
cathedral  window,  through  which  the  rays  of 
the  setting  sun  stream  in  floods  of  rainbow 
magnificence.  In  these  manuscripts  bees  and 
birds,  beasts  and  fishes,  flowers,  shells  and 
leaves,  wnth  figures  of  men  and  angels,  were 
combined  with  a  skill  so  exquisite  that  noth-* 
ing  in  our  age  can  compare  with  them. 


3:6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  Agnostic  Girl. 


BY  MAURICE   FRANCIS  EGAN. 


THE  existence  of  the  Agnostic  girl  is  a  fact, 
although  there  are  elderly  people  who 
doubt  it,  just  as  some  of  us  have  doubted  the 
possibility  of  the  griffin  or  the  dragon.  She  is 
generally  found  in  cities.  She  may  have  been 
at  college, — she  has  at  least  gone  through  the 
course  of  one  of  the  public  high  schools.  She 
has  read  Matthew  Arnold's  "lyiterature  and 
the  Dogma," — the  most  impertinent  piece  of 
work  done  by  that  master  of  words ;  she  has 
dipped  into  Draper's  "Conflict  of  Religion 
and  Science," — whose  author  appears  to  have 
been  a  good  physician,  but  a  sciolist  in  every- 
thing else ;  she  knows  something  of  John 
Stuart  Mill,  adores  the  inanities  of  Vernon 
Lee,  and  revels  in  "Robert  EUsmere."     , 

Thus  equipped,  she  faces  the  "eternal  ver- 
ities." She  fancies  that  she  can  look  down 
on  the  march  of  the  ages  with  the  calmness 
of  wise  impartiality.  She  finds  the  Christian 
idea  of  God  "repellent  to  her," — but  she 
"does  not  know";  she  denies  in  one  breath 
and  takes  refuge  in  Know-Nothingism  in  the 
other.  She  strikes  one  with  more  amazement 
than  the  Agnostic  young  man;  and  one  is 
constantly  asking  how  a  young  woman  can 
be  a  fool,  for  fools  are  rarer  among  the  youth- 
ful female  sex  than  among  the  male.  She  is 
aggressive :  she  is  always  affirming  her  dis- 
belief in  God  and  Christianity — for  to  deny 
so  universal  a  belief  amounts  to  an  affirma- 
tion,— yet  she  always  flounders  when  asked 
to  take  the  burden  of  proof  which  reasonably 
rests  on  her. 

It  is  charming  to  hear  a  sweet  young  thing, 
in  the  pauses  of  the  dance,  throw  out  a  few 
fascinating  nothings  on  bythibius  or  proto- 
plasm and  the  foolishness  of  faith.  Perhaps 
before  '93,  young  French  ladies,  who  dabbled  a 
little  in  Voltaire  and  the  Encyclopedia,  made 
similar  pleasantries.  But  if  they  did,  they  suf- 
fered for  it ;  and  when  the  masked  headsman 
faced  them  at  the  guillotine,  it  was  not  on 
Voltaire  they  called. 

In  the  cultivated  society  in  which  the  Ag- 
nostic girl  swims  it  is  thought  rather  low  to 
be  anything  but  a  Know-Nothing  or  a  Buddh- 


ist. The  fashion  may  change  next  year ;  but 
this  year  Buddhism  is  still  the  rage,  and  the 
visit  of  Sir  Edwin  Arnold  will  no  doubt  give 
an  impetus  to  a  form  of  opinion  delightfully 
vague  and  deliciously  incomprehensible.  As 
the  Buddhists  themselves  have  not  yet  settled 
what  the  nirvdna  is,  or  the  exact  meaning  of 
their  adored  golden  lotus,  it  is  easy  for  the 
Agnostic  girl  to  pass  from  Agnosticism  into 
a  more  romantic  form  of  Know-Nothingism. 
And  when  the  empire  gown  and  the  directory 
bonnet  go  out  of  fashion,  she  will  need  a  new 
religion.  When  she  no  longer  shocks  her 
friends  by  her  "advanced"  assertions,  she 
will  cease  to  assert. 

An  analysis  of  the  state  of  mind  of  the 
Agnostic  maiden  has  led  us  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  is  made  up  of  two  very  compatible  ele- 
ments— a  little  learning  and  a  great  deal  of 
vanity.  She  will  tell  you  that  she  grounds 
her  opinion  on  facts.  Facts!  Why,  her  beloved 
apostle,  Matthew  Arnold,  tells  us  that  facts 
have  failed  the  new  believers!  There  is  noth- 
ing now  left  to  them  but  poetry.  And  Mr. 
Arnold  was  almost  infallible  in  his  time — in 
his  time;  but,  poor  man,  he  had  but  a  short 
day  as  an  authority  on  religious  opinion  f 
And  has  it  ever  struck  his  infallible  young 
disciple  that,  if  his  slurs  on  the  manners  of 
her  countrymen  were  as  well  considered  as 
those  on  the  Christian  Faith,  they  are  valua- 
ble indeed  ? 

Given  a  course  of  garbled  history,  a  habit 
of  discussing  conclusions  without  knowledge 
of  premises,  a  tendency  to  the  reading  of  pessi- 
mistic novels  and  current  ^z/a^z- philosophical 
magazine  papers,  a  contempt  for  any  opinion 
that  is  more  than  a  year  old,  a  superficial 
mind,  a  great  deal  of  vanity,  arrogance,  and 
intolerance,  and  you  have  the  greatest  bigot 
of  our  time — the  Agnostic  young  woman. 


If  at  any  time  thou  dost  stumble  and  fall 
and  through  weakness  dost  faint,  do  not  let 
thyself  give  way  to  discouragerfient,  nor  cast 
aside  thy  hope ;  but,  albeit  thou  fall  a  thou- 
sand times  in  a  day,  rise  again  and  be  renewed 
a  thousand  times  in  a  day ;  and  in  what  place 
thy  thread  was  broken  knit  it  together  again, 
and  go  not  back  to  the  beginning. — '^Spanish 
Mystics.'' 


The  Ave  Maria. 


377 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


Hitherto  infidel  scientists  regarded  the  miracles 
wrought  at  Lourdes  as  mere  impostures  or  delu- 
sions ;  but  they  have  become  so  frequent,  and 
many  of  thetn  are  so  striking  and  so  inexplicable 
from  the  standpoint  of  science,  that  its  anti-Cath- 
olic representatives  are  now  forced  to  regard  them 
as  real  phenomena.  Doctors  Charcot  and  Grillot, 
the  famous  hypnotizers,  have  a  way  of  their  own 
to  account  for  these  "phenomena."  They  say: 
"Hypnotism  is  in  reality  produced  hy  the  tiring 
of  one  of  the  senses,  and  it  may  be  induced  by  act- 
ing upon  the  credulity.  Thus,  for  instance,  in  the 
well-known  cases  of  the  pilgrims  to  Notre  Dame  de 
Ivourdes,  the  people  are  first  of  all  fully  convinced 
that  they  are  going  to  be  cured, — in  other  words,  they 
are  hypnotized ;  the  cure  is'then  'suggested '  to  them, 
and  the  result  is  a  so-called  miracle,  which  is  no 
miracle  at  all. ' ' 

The  Indo-European  Correspondence  declares 
that  this  opinion  indicates  great  progress,  and 
says  that  it  ought  to  be  proclaimed  to  the  whole 
world  ;  "for  it  is  an  implicit  confession  that  there 
■>  something  to  he  explained y  That  something  is 
already  known  to  millions.  The  real  hypnotizer 
is  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary,  Health  of  the  Weak 
and  Comfortress  of  the  Afflicted. 

Cardinal  Gibbons,  in  his  Centennial  pastoral 
letter,  says  that  not  only  ecclesiastical  represent- 
atives from  Canada  and  Mexico  will  be  present  at 
Baltimore  next  month,  but  that  the  Holy  Father 
vill  send  a  dignitary  from  Rome  as  delegate, who 
s  both  an  eminent  divine  and  a  personal  friend  of 
Ihe  Sovereign  Pontiff.  This  eminent  Church  digni- 
tary will  be  attended  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  Dr.  O' Cou- 
ncil, Rector  of  the  American  College  at  Rome. 


wrote  from  Diakover,  on  June  i8,  a  letter  to  the 
Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  of  Covington,  in  which  he  says 
that  all  of  the  articles  printed  in  this  country 
prejudicial  to  the  Church  in  his  name  are  "ma- 
lignant inventions — calumnies  cDucocted  at  the 
instigation  of  him  who  goeth  about  the  flock 
of  the  Lord  seeking  whom  he  may  devour."  The 
Bishop  expresses  the  sadness  occasioned  by  the 
fact  that  he,  a  priest  of  sixty  years  and  a  bishop 
of  forty,  should  be  the  object  of  such  infamous 
lies.  He  adds  that  the  sermoi  published  in  his 
name  after  the  Vatican  Council,  and  which  teemed 
with  insults  to  the  Church,  was  the  work  of  an 
unfrocked  priest,  who  confessed  it  on  his  death- 
bed, and  asked  the  priest  who  attended  him  to 
communicate  the  fact  of  his  hearty  repentance  to 
the  Bishop.  The  Willard  Tract  Society  ought  to 
find  some  way  of  doing  justice  to  the. venerable 
prelate. 


On  September  17  the  Sacred  Congregation  of 
Rites  held  a  preparatory  session  at  the  Vatican  for 
the  purpose  of  examining,  for  the  second  time,  the 
life  and  virtues  of  the  Venerable  Nunzio  Sulprizio, 
who  died  in  i<S36,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  and  left 
a  most  admirable  example  of  patience  and  resig- 
nation in  the  midst  of  the  severest  trials. 

The  Willard  Tract  Society  of  Boston  has  been 
the  means  of  circulating  a  sermon  attributed  to 
Bishop  Strossmayer,  an  Austrian,  or  rather  a 
Slav,  prelate,  noted  both  for  his  love  of  the  Church 
and  his  patriotism.  This  sermon,  which  bears  to 
every  Catholic  the  plain  marks  of  having  been 
forged,  has  been  received  by  certain  Protestants 
IS  genuine.  It  is  replete  with  calumnies  against 
he  Church.  Bishop  Strossmayer,  much  moved 
3y  the   horrible  sentime&ts   attributed  to  him, 


Not  long  ago  the  Samoan  King,  Mataafa,  who 
is  a  good  Catholic,  made  an  appeal  for  his  people, 
impoverished  by  the  recent  war.  Cardinal  Moran 
was  empowered  by  some  charitable  people  of 
Sydney  to  send  a  small  sum  to  the  missionaries, 
instructing  them  to  divide  it  among  those  who 
needed  it,  regardless  whether  the}-  were  friends 
or  enemies  of  Mataafa,  Catholics  or  Protestants. 
Cardinal  Moran  took  occasion  lately  to  praise  the 
King,  who  had  thanked  His  Eminence  for  the  gift 
and  for  the  liberality  of  the  conditions.  Congress 
lately  sent  to  Samoa  five  thousand  dollars  in 
recognition  of  the  efforts  of  the  Samoans  to  save 
life  during  the  recent  hurricane.  Four  thousand  of 
this  was  in  gold  ;  the  rest  was  used  to  buy  gifts 
for  the  principal  chiefs. 

M.  Lair,  Mayor  of  St.-Jean-d'Angely,  had,  for 
political  reasons,  helped  to  expel  the  Sisters  of 
Charity  from  his  bailiwick.  The  Freemasons  re- 
joiced thereat,  and  when  he  died  the}-  gave  him 
an  imposing  civic  funeral.  What  was  their  amaze- 
ment to  find  that  this  champion  of  ' '  seculariza- 
tion" had  left  60,000  francs  in  his  will  to  the 
very  Sisters  he  had  expelled!  M.  Lair  represents 
many  Frenchmen  at  the  present  time,  whose 
political  heads  belie  their  non-political  hearts. 

Situated  beneath  the  grand  Basilica,  the  new 
Church  of  the  Rosary  at  Ivourdes  looks  like  the 
stately  basis  of  the  larger  one,  and  harmonizes 
beautifully  with  its  style.  Extreme  difficulties 
had  to  be  surmounted  in  its  erection,  an  entire 
year  being  spent  in  digging  and  laying  the  founda- 
tions. The  former  bed  of  the  Gave,  which  used  to 
flow  within  a  few  yards  of  the  Grotto,  and  which 
is  the  site  of  the  new  edifice,  had  to  be  filled  with 
I  enormous   blocks  of  granite,  in    order   to   give 


3^8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


necessary  solidity  to  the  ground.  The  new  church 
has  the  shape  of  a  Greek  cross,  seventy  metres  in 
length  and  as  much  in  width  at  the  transept ;  the 
principal  aisle  is  vaulted  in  cradling  work,  with 
rounded  windows.  The  central  dome,  ornamented 
with  pendentives,  rises  sixteen  metres  high.  The 
apsis  and  arms  of  the  cross  are  moulded  in  semi- 
cupolas  and  contain  fifteen  chapels— five  in  each, 
— portraying  the  Fifteen  Mysteries  of  the  Rosary. 
These  chapels  are  lighted  from  above,  and  the  re- 
flection of  the  light  on  the  rich  carvings  sets  them 
off  to  admirable  advantage.  The  central  dome  is 
illumined  by  sixteen  rose-windows,  that  form  a 
crown ;  and  beneath  these  sixteen  stars  diffuse 
abundant  light.  Four  doors  give  access  to  the 
sacred  edifice  ;  the  two  lateral  ones  will  be  gener- 
ally used,  while  the  larger  entrances,  merely  shut 
in  by  railings,  will  admit  a  view  into  the  entire 
church.  A  colossal  group  of  the  Child  Jesus,  Our 
Lady  of  the  Rosary,  St.  Dominic,  and  a  figure  rep- 
resenting the  Church,  will  be  placed  above  the 
principal  entrance  ;  at  present  the  Papal  arms  are 
in  the  centre,  those  of  the  Archbishop  of  Paris 
on  the  right,  and  those  of  the  Bishop  of  Tarbes  on 
the  left.  Inside  the  entrance,  two  vast  tribunes 
will  support  the  grand  organs.  A  broad  smooth 
road  on  each  side  of  the  church  leads  up  to  the 
Basilica. 

Two  daughters  of  Count  Taafe,  the  Austrian 
minister,  were  recently  married, — one  becoming 
Countess  Condenhove,  the  other  Baroness  Mat- 
tencloit.  Count  Taafe  is  of  Irish  descent.  His 
ancestor,  Nicholas  Count  Taafe,  Baron  of  Bally- 
mote,  died  fighting  with  James  II.  at  the  Battle 
of  the  Boyne.  His  brother.  Count  Francis,  who 
entered  the  Austrian  service,  was,  by  special 
act  under  William  and  Mary,  allowed  to  retain 
his  Irish  title.  Like  the  MacMahons  and  the 
O'Donnells,  the  Taafes  have  done  honor  to  their 
adopted  country.  The  intermixing  of  Irish  and 
Continental  blood,  through  the  brave  soldiers 
who  followed  the  fortunes  of  James  II.,  seems  to 
have  produced  good  results  ;  and  those  of  their 
descendants  who  have  come  to  America  are  still 
a  credit  both  to  their  faith  and  their  nationality. 

The  Northwestern  Chronicle — Archbishop  Ire- 
land's organ — confirms  the  report, Ifirst  published 
in  the  Catholic  Neivs  of  New  York,  of  the  estab- 
lishment of  five  new  episcopal  sees  in  the  United 
States,  all  suffragans  of  the  ecclesiastical  province 
of  St.  Paul.  The  decree  of  the  Congregation  of 
Propaganda  to  this  effect  was  approved  by  his 
Holiness  the  Pope  on  the  29th  ult.  The  new  sees 
are  :  Sioux  Falls,  in  South  Dakota  ;  Jamestown, 
in  North  Dakota  ;  St.  Cloud,  Duluth,  and  Winona, 
in  Minnesota.    The  Right  Rev.  Martin  Marty, 


O.  S.  B.,  D.  D.,  heretofore  Vicar- Apostolic  of  Da- 
kota, is  made  Bishop  of  Sioux  Falls ;  the  Rev. 
John  Shanley,of  the  Cathedral  of  St. Paul,  becomes 
Bishop  of  Jamestown  ;  the  Rev.  Dr.  Otto  Zardetti, 
Vicir-General  of  the  Vicariate  of  Dakota,  Bishop 
of  St.  CI  md  ;  the  Rev.  James  McG.:)lrick,  of  Min- 
neapolis, Bishop  of  Duluth  ;  and  the  Rev.  Joseph 
B.  C  )tter,  of  Winona,  Bishop  of  Winona. 

All  who  know  these  worthy  ecclesiastics,  and 
are  acquainted  with  the  needs  of  the  fields  of 
labor  to  which  they  have  been  called,  rejoice  for  a 
double  reason — viz.,  that  priests  so  well  deserving 
have  been  raised  to  episcopal  rank,  and  that  such 
excellent  provision  has  been  made  fjr  new  relig- 
ious centres  so  vast  and  so  promising. 

In  Tonkin,  Sister  Marie- Therese,  wounded  at 
least  three  times  on  the  field  of  battle,  who  carried 
a  bombshell  eighty  yards,  to  be  then  wounded 
by  its  explosion,  received  from  the  French  Gov- 
ernor the  Cross  of  Tried  Bravery,  and  the  soldiers 
presented  arms.  At  Paris  the  same  Sister  would 
have  been  driven  from  any  hospital  in  which  she 
happened  to  be  ministering. 

The  folly  of  Ritualistic  pretensions  is  admi- 
rably illustrated  by  this  bit  of  anecdote  which,  if 
not  true,  is  well  invented  : 

Episcopal  rector  (to  Irish  plasterer  on  ladder, 
pointing  to  the  church  wall) :  "That  mortar  must 
have  been  very  bad. "  Plasterer  (with  a  grin):  "Ye 
can't  expict  the  likes  o'  a  good  Roman  cimint  to 
stick  to  a  Protestant  church." 

The  venerable  Bishop  of  St.  Paul,  Mgr,  Grace, 
who  on  his  resignation  of  that  see  had  been  named 
titular  Bishop  of  Mennith.  has  been  raised  to  the 
dignity  of  titular  Archbishop. 

At  the  recent  Congress  of  the  Literary  and 
Scientific  Societies  of  Paris  and  the  various  de- 
partments of  France,  Doctor  Moreau,  a  distin- 
guished physician  of  Tours,  read  a  paper  on  "The 
Contagion  of  Crime  and  its  Remedy,"  which 
aroused  a  great  deal  of  interest.  "The  constantly 
increasing  number  of  crimes,"  he  said,  "has  for 
a  long  time  attracted  the  attention  of  moralists. 
To  combat  this  evil,  its  causes  must  first  be 
known.  The  fact  is,  there  is  a  veritable  epidemic 
of  crime.  Now,  in  inquiring  into  the  causes  to 
which  the  evil  that  is  wrought  may  be  attributed, 
we  are  confronted  by  the  fact  that  its  propagation 
is  due  to  the  press,  the  theatre,  romances,  and  the 
like.  As  for  the  means  by  which  to  stay  this  fearful 
development,  the  only  effectual  one  is  to  enforce 
absolute  silence  in  regard  to  crimes  committed ; 
or  if  they  must  be  spoken  of,  let  it  be  done  in  the 
fewest  and  most  concise  terms  and  with  extreme' 


The  Ave  Maria. 


79 


reserve.  The  cause  will  thus  be  removed  and  the 
effects  will  cease.  In  this  way,  though  crimes 
may  still  be  committed,  they  will  be  greatly  de- 
creased, and  will  cease  to  be  a  terror  and  a  menace 
to  society." 

Commenting  upon  this  resume  of  the  Doctor's 
discourse,  the  Revue  du  Dioctse  d'  Aiinecy  makes 
the  following  refltctions  : 

I.  The  Church  has  always  taught  the  same. 
She  has  always  said,  and  never  ceases  to  repeat, 
that  the  man  who  makes  himself  familiar  with 
crime,  who  sports  with  evil  thoughts,  exposes 
himself  to  the  danger  of,  sooner  or  later,  falling 
into  crime.  2.  Holy  Scripture  teaches  us  that 
scandal — the  evil  done  befare  one's  neighbor — is 
one  of  the  most  grievous  sins,  precisely  because 
the  evil  is  contagious,  and  every  one  may  feel 
tempted  to  imitate,  to  repeat  the  culpable  act. 
3.  The  Church,  in  the  name  of  morality,  forbids 
the  reading  of  papers,  not  only  those  that  are 
intrinsically  evil,  but  also  those  which  it  might 
be  imprudent  to  read.  She  forbids  the  reading 
of  licentious  romances  ;  she  forbids  the  immoral 
theatre,  not  only  to  the  young  but  to  all  Christians 
who  have  at  heart  the  salvation  of  their  souls. 

Thus  these  savaitts  of  Paris,  men  without 
religion,  the  enemies  of  religion,  simply  repeat 
what  the  Church  has  never  ceased  to  teach  and 
to  impress  upon  the  minds  and  hearts  of  her 
children.  Would  that  her  words  of  warning,  espec- 
ially in  regard  to  that  which  is  of  the  greatest 
importance  to  the  individual  and  society — the 
proper  instruction  of  the  young, — were  more 
frequently  heeded  even  by  those  of  her  own  fold! 


Mr.  C.  S.  L.  Bateman,  in  "The  First  Ascent  of 
the  Kasai,"  pays  a  high  compliment  to  Catholic 
missionaries  in  the  Dark  Continent.  He  says  that 
all  the  funds  of  British  missionary  societies  can 
not  compete  with  that  apostolic  enthusiasm 
which  inspires  the  priest. 


The  Pilot  calls  attention  to  the  manner  of  the 
conversion  to  the  faith  of  the  Rev.  Heinrich 
Padenberg,  pastor  of  a  Campbellite  congregation 
at  Allegheny,  Pa. ,  and  remarks  :  ' '  What  a  tidal 
wave  of  conversions  we  should  have  to  record  if 
all  the  anti-Catholic  'crusaders'  and  'evange- 
lists '  had  the  honesty  or  the  courage  to  follow  his 
example !" 

Dr.  Padenberg  was  reared  in  the  tenets  of  Ger- 
man lyutheranism.  He  was  a  sincere  and  God- 
fearing man,  and  on  his  advent  to  America  the 
multiplicity  of  the  divisions  of  Protestantism 
dismayed  him.  In  his  quest  for  unity  and  con- 
sistency he  became  a  Swedenborgian,  but  was 
only  a  short  time  satisfied  with  the  change ;  then 


he  applied  himself  to  a  study  of  the  Hebrew  faith. 
All  the  time  he  was  bitterly  and  irreconcilably 
opposed  to  the  Catholic  Church,  and  felt  him- 
self specially  called  to  carry  on  a  fierce  crusade 
against  her.  It  was  characteristic  of  this  honest 
man  that  he  felt  obliged  to  acquaint  himself  with 
the  doctrines  of  the  Church  against  whom  he  was 
waging  war,  from  the  writings  of  her  own  accred- 
ited exponents.  Believing  her  to  be  intrinsically 
evil,  he  never  doubted  but  that  she  would  be 
condemned  out  of  her  own  mouth.  He  read,  stud- 
ied, and,  of  course,  became  a  Catholic. 


New  Publications. 


Thoughts  and  Counsels  for  Catholic  Young 
Men.  By  the  Rev.  P.  A.  Von  Doss,  S.J.  Freely 
Translated  and  Adapted  by  the  Rev.  Augustine 
Wir  h,  O.  S.  B.  New  York  and  Cincinnati :  F.  Pustet 
&  Co. 

This  work  is  admirably  adapted  to  attain  the 
purpose  for  which  it  was  written  :  to  impress 
upon  the  minds  of  the  young  those  salutary  and 
practical  thoughts  which  will  serve  as  their  guide 
in  the  attainment  of  the  great  end  of  their  exist- 
ence— namely,  to  lead  good  Christian  lives  here 
upon  earth,  and  so  work  out  their  eternal  salva- 
tion. It  is  needless  to  say  that  in  our  day,  owing 
to  the  widespread  dissemination  of  evil  literature, 
thoughts  and  counsels  are  diffused  that  are  un- 
speakably corrupt  and  calculated  to  effect  the 
ruin  of  innocent  souls.  And  therefore  the  true 
friend  of  youth  will  take  advantage  of  every  op- 
portunity to  instil  thoughts  and  impart  counsels 
which  are  assuredly  for  the  good  and  the  spiritual 
progress  of  immortal  souls, — for  their  true  hap- 
piness here  below  and  their  eternal  happiness 
hereafter.  For  this  reason  we  hope  that  the 
"Thoughts  and  Counsels"  of  the  Rev.  Father 
Von  Doss  will  meet  with  a  wide  circulation,  com- 
mensurate with  the  great  good  they  will  certainly 
produce.  It  is  a  work  invaluable  to  the  young 
Christian,  and  will  be  found  of  great  service  to 
directors  of  souls  and  to  all  who  have  the  eare  and 
direction  of  youth.  It  forms  an  octavo  volume  of 
about  625  pages,  divided  into  four  books,  entitled 
respectively:  "The  Return."  "Confirmation  in 
Good,"  "Progress,"  "Consummation."  This  in- 
dicates, to  some  extent,  the  plan  of  the  work.  A 
young  man  has  yielded  to  temptation  ;  he  is 
reminded  of  his  last  end  and  the  value  of  his  soul; 
he  is  shown  how  precious  is  the  season  of  youth ; 
the  malice  of  sin  is  brought  before  him,  and  he  is 
encouraged  to  seek  for  reconciliation  through  the 
saving  Sacrament  of  Penance.  Then,  restored  to 
life,  he  is  guarded  against  future  dangers ;  the 


3^o 


The  Ave  Maria, 


enemies  that  he  has  to  fear  are  pointed  out  to 
him,  ' '  The  road  which  leads  to  relapse  into  sin 
is  paved  with  a  foolish  human  respect,  presumpt- 
uous confidence  ia  sinful  occasions,  reckless  con- 
tempt of  temptations,  and  a  wrong  manner  of 
conducting  oneself  under  them;  a  disregard  of 
those  small  faults  which  so  easily  open  the  way 
to  grievous  sins  ;  the  habitual  neglect  of  prayer 
and  of  the  holy  Sacraments  of  Penance  and  the 
Blessed  Eucharist."  In  the  third  book  counsels 
are  given  for  the  progress  of  the  soul  in  the 
spiritual  life — the  life  of  virtues  which  have  for 
their  object  God,  ourselves,  our  fellow-men,  and 
the  various  duties  and  relations  of  our  state  of 
life.  Finally,  "from  the  practice  of  what  is  good 
one  is  led  gently  on  to  aspire  to  the  '  better  part ' ; 
Christian  perfection,  here  below,  attaining  its 
closest  resemblance  to  God,  is  rewarded  in  the 
world  to  come  by  a  corresponding  degree  of  the 
Beatific  Vision — the  possession  and  fruition  of 
God."  "Thus,"  as  the  pious  author  says,  "the 
young  man  is  shown  the  beginning,  progress, 
and  completion  of  his  whole  spiritual  career." 

A  History  of  the  Seven  Holy  Founders  of 
THE  Order  of  the  Servants  of  Mary.    By 
Father  Sostene  M.  Ledoux,  of  the  same  Order. 
Translated  from  the  French.    London  :    Burns  & 
Oates.  New  York:  Catholic  Publication  Society  Co. 
The  founders  of  religious  orders  have  been  so 
generally  elevated  to  the  honors  of  canonization 
that  it  is  surprising  how  the  merits  of  these 
saints  should  have  escaped  recognition  until  the 
present  pontificate.  Attention  was  drawn  rather 
to  St.  Philip  Benizi,  an  early  Superior-General, 
though  not  the  founder,  of  the  same  Order ;  the 
miracles  wrought  by  whom,  both  before  and  after 
his   translation  to  the  Abode  of  the   Blessed, 
awakened  such  gratitude  and  confidence  that  he 
seemed  to  represent  for  a  while  all  that  was  good 
in  the  Order  itself,  although  he  would  have  been 
the  last  to  pass  over  the  claims  of  the  Seven 
Founders.  The  book  before  us  is  avery  full  account 
of  the  lives  and  good  deeds  of  these  men,  linked 
in  a  bond  of  such  holiness  and  friendship  as  is 
scarcely  known  in  these  degenerate  days.  The 
writer  thinks  that  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  cen- 
turies were  peculiarly  favorable  to  the  attainment 
of  Christian  perfection,  although  he  admits  that 
the  picture  is  not  without  its  shadows.  Probably 
every   century   furnishes    its   special    forms    of 
trial   and  triumph  to  Christian  holiness.    It  is 
better  to  make  a  good  use  of  our  own  advantages 
than  to  mourn  for  mediaeval  privileges,  which 
our  modern  habits  of  thought  would  hinder  us 
from   appreciating  even  if  they  could  be  once 
more  offered.  The  historical  part  of  the  work  has 
been  prepared  with  the  fidelity  to  record  which 


the  culture  of  the  day  exacts,  and  the  book  is 
valuable  as  a  reference  as  well  as  interesting  to 
the  reader. 

History  of  the  Catholic  Church  in  Monroe 
City  and  County,  Michigan.  By  the  Right  Rev. 
Camillus  P.  Maes,  D.  D. 

This  pamphlet  possesses  more  than  a  merely 
local  interest.  It  gives  us  the  history  of  the  old 
pioneer  days  when  a  line  of  French  settlements 
connected  Canada  with  Louisiana,  and  when  the 
aboriginal  Indians  kilelt  with  their  white  breth- 
ren around  the  altars  of  Christ.  There  is  a  flavor 
of  romance  about  those  early  days  that  is  made 
more  attractive  by  the  monotony  of  present  sur- 
roundings. The  Monroe  parish,  when  first  formed, 
had  no  known  western  limit,  and  included  North- 
ern Indiana  as  well  as  Southern  Michigan.  The  old 
French-Canadian  custom  of  distributing  blessed 
bread  at  High  Mass  was  here  in  vogue.  The  names 
on  the  record — the  Navarres,  Thibaults,  Naddeaus, 
Campeaus,  Riopelles,  and  others — are  still  borne 
by  ever-increasing  descendants  throughout  the 
Western  States,  and  have  left  their  mark  upon 
the  vast  region  throughout  whose  primeval  for- 
ests the  coureurs  des  bois  who  once  bore  them 
were  wont  to  range. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii.  3. 

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

Brother  Benedict  Joseph  Labre,  C.  S.  C,  whose 
happy  death  occurred  on  the  6th  inst.,  at  St.  Edward's 
College,  Austin,  Texas. 

Sister  Mary  Gregory,  O.  S.  F.,  St.  Agnes'  Hospital, 
Philadelphia,  Pa. ;  Sister  Mary  Regina,  of  the  Sisters 
of  Holy  Cress,  Notre  Dame,  Ind.  ;  Sisters  Fidelia, 
Regis,  Leocadia,  and  Francis,  of  the  Order  of  Mercy. 

Hon.  Francis  L.  Aude,  of  San  Francisco,  Cal.,  who 
died  a  happy  death  on  the  25th  ult.,  after  receiving 
the  Sacraments  of  Holy  Church. 

Mrs.  Anastasia  Bogue,  who  departed  this  life  on  the 
1 8th  ult.,  at  Sillery,  Que. 

Mr.  Matthew  McCullough,  a  worthy  and  well- 
known  resident  of  Pin  Oak,  Iowa,  who  passed  away 
on  the  2d  inst. 

Mrs  Mary  McNally,  a  fervent  client  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  whose  good  life  closed  in  a  peaceful  death  on 
the  26th  ult.,  at  Oakland,  Md. 

Mr.  Denu  s  P.  Gannon,  of  Bast  Boston,  Mass.,  who 
was  lost  at  sea  on  the  14th  ult. 

George  M.  Bannister,  of  Chicago,  111.  ;  Mrs.  Mar- 
garet Hopkins,  Mrs.  Mary  Masterson,  Miss  Ellen 
Lewis,  and  John  Quinn,— all  of  Albany,  N.  Y. ;  Nich- 
olas O'Leary,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


Tlie  Ave  Maria. 


38' 


w^mm. 


Her  Vocation. 


BY    Iv.  W.     REILlvY, 


"There's  no  use  trying,  Sister:  I  can't  get 
on  at  home." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  yow  say  that,  Mary 
dear,"  said  Sister  Rose  ;  "but  before  you  tell 
me  all  about  it,  let  us  go  out  for  a  walk 
through  the  grounds ;  for  this  Indian  Summer 
day  is  too  beautiful  to  be  spent  in  doors." 

While  they  are  getting  on  their  cloaks,  the 
first  part  of  Mary's  story  may  be  told. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brent  own  a  farm  in  Ohio. 
They  worked  early  and  late,  saved  and  stinted 
themselves,  to  pay  for  it;  and  afcer  fifteen 
years  of  toil  they  succeeded  in  clearing  it  from 
debt.  That  was  six  years  ago.  Then  they  deter- 
mined to  give  to  their  five  children,  of  whom 
Mary  is  the  eldest,  the  gentle  education  that 
they  themselves  had  never  had,  and  the  lack 
)f  which  they  had  often  lamented.  Their  plan 
was  to  send  Mary  to  a  convent  academy  until 
I  she  should  be  graduated,  and  then  to  bring 
her  home  to  teach  Joe  and  Raymond,  Nellie 
and  Grace. 

Accordingly  when  Mary  was  twelve  years 
old  she  was  sent  to  the  Sisters,  and  with  them 
she  remained  until  last  June,  when,  with  di- 
ploma and  medal,  she  returned  to  her  father's 
house.  It  had  required  extra  frugality  on  the 
part  of  the  other  members  of  the  family  to 
meet  the  bills  for  her  tuition,  clothing,  and  in 
cidental  expenses;  but  the  burden  had  been 
cheerfully  boriie,  with  the  expectation  that 
Mary  would  repay  all  their  sacrifices. 

The  month  of  July  was  spent  by  Mary  in 
rest.  She  did  not  seem  to  care  to  help  in  the 
work  of  milking  the  cows,  churning  the 
butter,  feeding  the  chickens,  tending  the 
lambs,  or  picking  the  berries  for  market ;  and, 
while  she  was  useful  in  sweeping  and  dusting, 
she  was  not  of  much  help  to  her  mother  in 
the  kitchen. 

x\nd  that  poor  mother  is  far  from  well.  Hard 
work  has  made  her  old  before  her  time.  Yet 


she  found  no  fault  with  Mary  in  the  early 
summer,  saying  to  the  father  that  "the  girl 
must  have  a  chance  to  get  used  to  home  before 
she  can  be  expected  to  do  her  share  of  the 
work";  bui  when  August  and  September 
brought  no  change,  even  gentle  Mrs.  Brent 
uttered  some  reproaches.  The  home  school, 
from  which  so  much  had  been  expected,  was 
begun  on  the  Feast  of  Our  Lady's  Assump- 
tion. It  was  closed  on  the  Feast  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin's  Nativity. 

"What  is  the  trouble  with  you.  Mary?" 
asked  Sister  Rose,  as  the  two  strolled  through 
the  Maple  Lane,  along  the  borders  of  which 
the  purple  and  yellow  and  scarlet  leaves  lay 
in  fragrant  heaps. 

"Everything  goes  wrong  at  home,"  an- 
swered Mary.  "The  boys  tease  me  and  the 
girls  won't  study.  Joe  made  fun  of  me  until 
father  told  him  to  quit ;  then  he  refused  to 
learn  his  lessons.  And  I'm  blamed  for  it  all. 
Raymond  is  so  slow  I  couldn't  get  him  to 
understand  anything.  And  Nellie  and  Grace 
never  had  their  tasks,  and  were  constantly 
in  disgrace.  Mother  said  she  could  not  bear 
to  See  them  punished  so  often  so  we  gave  up." 

"And  what  have  you  been  doing  since?" 
inquired  Sister  Rose. 

"Well,  I  just  hate  household  drudgery,  and 
I  don't  do  much  of  it.  Mother  said  she'd  sooner 
do  it  herself  than  have  me  worry  ov^er  it,  and 
I  let  her  have  her  way." 

"Ho«',  then,  do  you  spend  your  time?" 

"Oh,  I  read  a  little,  I  crochet  some,  I  am 
going  to  write  a  novel — you  know,  Sister,  you 
said  I  showed  some  aptitude  as  a  story-teller, 
— and  [  practise  my  music  regularly.  We 
have  only  a  parlor  organ,  which,  father  said 
when  he  bought  it,  was  good  enough  for  the 
girls  to  learn  on.  He  promised  me  in  June 
that  he  would  get  me  a  piano,  but  now  I  don't 
know  whether  he  will  or  not.  I  shall  not 
need  it,  though." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I'm  going  to  leave  home." 

"Are  you?   And  where  are  you  going?  " 

"I'm  coming  to — that  i-;,  I'd  like  to  become 
a  Sister." 

A  smile  flitted  over  the  placid  face  of  the 
religieiise  at  this  announcement. 

"So  you  think,  dear,  that  you'd  escape 
trouble  by  becoming  a  Sister?  You  have  failed 


382 


The  Ave  Maria 


so  far  to  achieve  a  victory  in  the  line  of  duty 
at  home,  and  you  imagine  that  you  would 
succeed  under  other  circumstances?  Don't 
you  remember  what  the  poet  says  :  '  They  who 
go  abroad  may  change  their  sky  but  not  their 
disposition'  ?  You're  mistaken,  my  dear,  if  you 
fancy  that  the  habit  acts  like  a  magic  armor 
to  keep  all  trials  away.  It  brings  its  own 
obligations  to  all  who  wear  it,  and  those  obli- 
gations are  as  hard  to  bear  as  any  that  you  are 
likely  to  encounter  in  the  world.  We  have  more 
grace,  but  we  have  need  of  more.  Every  one 
has  his  cross,  and  even  the  most  peaceful  clois- 
tered nun  has  her  burden  to  bear,  fitted  to  her 
strength.  No,  Mary:  your  place  is  at  home. 
There  you  have  a  work  to  do.  You  must  not 
avoid  it  or  do  it  partly.  It  is  a  temptation  to 
think  that  you  are  called  away  from  your  plain 
duty  in  order  to  become  holy  here.  Sanctify 
yourself  in  your  father's  house.  Mortify  your 
will.  Be  patient.  Do  your  duty.  Your  father 
needs  you.  Your  ailing  mother  needs  you. 
Your  brothers  and  sisters  need  you.  Your 
course  is  clear.  Go  back,  with  the  resolution 
to  fulfil  the  hopes  that  were  formed  for  you. 
Make  a  new  beginning.  Start  your  school 
again.  Do  the  work  that  is  at  your  hand,  and 
do  it  with  all  your  might ;  and  some  day,  six 
years  or  so  from  now,  if  you  then  still  believe 
that  you  have  a  vocation  to  be  a  Sister,  I  may 
agree  with  you. 

"Now,  dearie,  don't  grieve  at  my  chid- 
ing," continued  the  Sister,  drawing  Mary  to 
her ;  for  tears  were  falling  from  the  eyes  of  the 
girl,  and  her  form  was  convulsed  with  sobs. 
"Take  my  words  kindly,  for  they  are  well- 
meant.  I  love  you,  Mary,  and  I  want  to  help 
you ;  and  the  best  service  I  can  do  you  is  to 
show  you  your  duty,  and  encourage  you  to 
perform  it.  And  now  let  us  return  to  the  house 
and  get  some  lunch." 

And  so,  with  hospitable  thoughts  intent. 
Sister  Rose  led  her  guest  to  the  refectory. 

That  was  two  weeks  ago.  Yesterday  Farmer 
Brent  said  to  his  wife:  ' '  Mother,  there's  a  great 
change  for  the  better  come  over  Mary  since 
she  paid  that  visit  to  Sister  Rose.  She  and 
the  children  are  getting  on  nicely  together,  I 
notice.  She's  the  best  girl  in  Ohio." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Brent,  with  the  usual  ex- 
aggeration of  mother-love:  "she's  the  best 
girl  in  the  world." 


Lost  in  the  Pines.— A  Story  of  Presque 
Isle. 


BY  MAURICE   FRANCIS   EGAN. 


IV. 


"Rain!"  cried  Ferd,  as  a  big  drop  fell  on 
the  back  of  one  of  his  hands.  The  lake  began 
to  be  troubled,  and  La  Fleur  de  Mai  swayed 
to  and  fro  like  a  leaf  in  the  wind.  It  was 
heavily  laden  with  all  their  paraphernalia.  A 
dash  of  water  over  the  side  of  the  boat  made 
the  boys  think  that  they  had  better  make  for 
the  shore,  which  they  did,  Ferd  rowing  with  all 
his  might.  As  their  keel  grated  on  the  pebbly 
beach,  the  storm  broke.  They  dragged  the 
boat  as  far  ashore  as  they  could,  tied  the  rope 
to  a  pine  which  bent  in  the  blast,  and  rushed 
to  the  shelter  of  a  big  oak.  The  boat  was  well 
covered  by  a  thick  growth  of  spruce.  If  the 
rain  did  not  fall  too  heavily,  the  provisions 
and  powder  would  be  safe.  The  boys  had 
hardly  time  to  crouch  in  shelter  when  the 
wind  broke  forth  like  a  mad  thing. 

John  and  Ferd  listened  to  the  rush  of  the 
rain,  almost  aghast  at  its  violence.  The  water 
literally  tore  down.  So  thick  was  the  foliage 
above  them  that  hardly  a  drop  touched  them. 
The  smooth  leaves  of  the  winter- green  carpet- 
ing the  ground  shed  an  occasional  shower  of 
drops  with  a  gay  and  unconcerned  air. 

Did  you  ever  notice  how  bright  and  jolly 
the  winter  green  is?  It  defies  all  weathers; 
neither  the  sun  nor  the  snow  can  change  the 
lustre  of  its  smile.  It  is  hard  to  say  when  it  is 
prettiest.  Some  people  admire  it  most  when 
its  blossoms,  shaped  like  those  of  the  lily  of 
the  valley,  peep  out;  others  when  the  red 
berries  gleam  like  the  light  of  a  warm  fire  in 
winter.  The  boys,  crouching  there  in  the  dark- 
ne^s,  with  the  roar  of  the  storm  in  their  ears, 
felt  a  kind  of  friendship  for  the  glossy  leaves, 
that  seemed  to  mind  all  the  turmoil  so  little. 

The  lake  threw  hundreds  of  white  capped 
waves  on  the  beach,  and  the  boys  began  to 
fear  that  La  Fleur  de  Mai  and  all  their  treas- 
ures had  broken  loose  and  were  floating  afar. 
They  could  not  see  the  boat :  it  was  hidden 
from  their  sight  by  the  straight  downpour. 

Ferd  felt  something  close  to  his  hand, — 
something  soft  and  warm.   He  closed  his  fin- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


383 


gers  and  found  that  he  was  grasping  a  chip- 
monk.  The  little  fellow  did  not  attempt  to 
get  away;  he  had  crept  close  to  Ferd  in  his 
fear.  Ferd  was  pleased.  John  looked  with 
astonishment  at  the  quivering  little  animal. 

"You're  a  queer  fellow,  Ferd!  Animals  seem 
to  go  to  you  as  if  they  knew  you.' 

"They  know  I  like  them,"  said  Ferd. 
"That  must  be  the  reason." 

Gradually  the  noise  of  the  rain  lessened  ; 
the  thunder  died  away  almost  tremulously  ; 
the  sun  burst  out;  a  rainbow  spread  itself 
across  the  lake.  The  boys  saw  their  boat  on 
the  beach,  safe,  and  they  yelled  "Hurrah!" 
The  chipmonk  concluded  it  was  time  for  him 
to  disappear,  and  he  left  the  shelter  of  Ferd's 
arm.  The  boys  laughed  at  the  funny  way  with 
which  he  took  his  departure.  John  picked  up 
a  stone,  but  Ferd  held  his  wrist. 

"No,  no!"  he  said.  "Let  the  little  chap 
enjoy  the  sunshine." 

The  boys  found  the  contents  of  the  boat 
uninjured.  Though  they  had  been  sheltered 
by  the  trees,  they  felt  damp,  and  John  sug- 
gested that  a  fire  would  be  a  good  thing.  An 
axe,  wielded  by  John,  soon  secured  them  all 
the  dry  wood  they  needed.  At  the  edge  of 
the  lake  there  was  a  large  rock,  from  which 
the  rain  had  flowed  as  it  felt ;  its  top  was  com- 
paratively dry,  and  the  boys  had  no  difficulty 
in  lighting  a  fire.  They  were  not  exactly 
hungry,  but  John  thought  they  could  "  stand  " 
a  roasted  sweet- potato  or  two  and  a  toasted 
sausage.  A  few  links  of  sausage  were  soon 
produced  from  beneath  the  tarpaulin  and 
toasted  on  a  pointed  stick.  The  boys  ate  their 
sausage  and  sweet-potatoes  as  if  they  had  not 
tasted  food  for  a  week.  The  warmth  of  the 
fire  chased  away  all  unpleasant  dampness. 
The  lake  sparkled  peacefully,  and  they  were 
considering  the  necessity  of  embarking  when 
they  heard  a  rustling.  Ferd  turned  to  the  spot 
from  which  it  seemed  to  come. 

'  *  Look ! "   he  whispered, — ' '  look ! ' ' 

John  turned  his  head.  Just  at  the  edge  of  the 
lake,  under  an  arch  made  by  two  birch  trees, 
stood  a  deer.  His  head  and  forefeet  were  visi- 
ble among  the  tall  ferns.  He  had  probably 
scented  the  intruders  in  his  sylvan  retreat. 
His  antlered  head  was  raised  high,  and  his 
eyes  had  a  peculiarly  intelligent  and  alert 
look.  He  was  such  a  noble-looking  stag  that 


Ferd  could  not  forbear  a  slight  utterance  of 
delight.  The  stag*  started  and  disappeared, 
leaving  the  ferns  all  a-tremble. 

John  seized  his  rifle  and  followed  as  softly 
as  he  could.  Ferd  hesitated,  looked  to  the 
fastening  of  the  boat — which  was  no  longer 
aground,  but  balancing  on  the  gently  moving 
lake, — and  then  carefully  went  after  John. 
John  was  determined  to  bring  down  the  deer 
if  he  could.  He  did  not  know  that  it  was 
against  the  law  to  shoot  deer  so  early  in  the 
summer.  Ferd  had  some  regrets  when  he  un- 
derstood his  cousin's  intent.  What  was  the  use 
of  killing  a  magnificent  animal,  which  they 
did  not  ne^d  for  sustenance?  But,  then,  there 
was  such  an  excitement  in  running  after  this 
superb  creature  through  the  cedar  and  ferns! 

The  stag,  unaware  that  he  was  pursued, 
stood  for  a  moment  looking  into  the  cedar 
swamp.  John  raised  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder, 
but  before  he  could  pull  the  trigger  the  stag 
plunged  into  the  brush.  John  turned  away, 
bitterly  disappointed.  • 

"I'm  rather  glad  he  escaped,"  said  Ferd. 
"What  could  we  have  done  with  him?" 

"Glad!    It's  just  like  you!" 

The  boys  saw  that  they  had  gone  farther 
from  the  lake  than  they  imagined.  They 
found  their  own  trail  easily.  Ferd  lingered 
behind  John,  attracted  by  the  beauty  of  the 
ferns.  John  hurried  forward,  disappointed  and 
a  little  sulky.  He  was  out  of  sight  when  Ferd 
reached  a  clump  of  fern,  even  more  graceful 
than  any  he  had  yet  seen.  His  steps  disturbed 
a  brood  of  young  partridges,  and  he  called 
John  to  turn  back  and  take  a  look  at  the  birds. 

John  returned  his  call  in  a  tone  that  sur- 
prised him.  What  could  be  the  matter?  He 
forgot  all  about  the  partridges  in  an  instant. 
He  ran  rapidly  toward  the  beach.  John  came 
to  meet  him,  his  face  very  white  and  changed. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Ferd. 

"The  boat's  gone!" 

"Impossible!"  responded  Ferd,  breath- 
lessly.   "Who  could  have  taken  it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  John,  helplessly; 
"it's  gone! " 

The  boys  went  in  silence  to  the  water's 
edge.  Sure  enough,  the  boat  was  gone.  John 
and  Ferd  looked  at  each  other  hopelessly. 
What  could  it  mean  ?  The  rope  had  not  parted 
in  the  storm,  although  the  waves  had  rolled 


?^i 


The  Ave  Maria. 


far  up  on  the  beach.   Had  some  thief — Ferd's 
first  thought  was  of  Indi  ilis. 

John  picked  up  the  end  of  the  rope  that  lay 
on  the  ground.  It  had  not  been  cut  with  steel, 
but  the  keener  stroke  of  fir*^"  had  sundered  it. 
La  Fleur  de  Mai  had  floated  idly  with  the 
motion  of  the  lake,  and  drawn  the  rope  across 
the  fire.  Wet  as  the  rope  was,  it  soon  broke 
asunder  in  the  flame 

"Why  didn't  we  think  of  it?"  cried  John. 

As  he  spoke  he  saw  the  boat  gliding  fast 
into  the  lake,  out  of  reach  of  the  swiftest 
swimmer.  The  boys  stood  watching  it,  and 
the  shades  of  twilight  began  to  fall. 

'  •  What  can  we  do  ? "  John  asked  a  hundred 
times.  Ferd  said  nothing.  He  measured  the 
distance  with  his  eyes.  He  could  swim  a 
little ;  John  could  not  swim  at  all.  The  oars 
lay  useless  on  the  pebbly  beach.  The  fire, 
warm  and  comfortable,  crackled  away,  un- 
mindful of  the  mischief  it  had  done.  ^ 

"There's  nothing  to  be  done,  that  I  can 
see,"  said  Ferd.  "We'll  hav^e  to  make  the 
best  of  it  " 

"Make  the  best  of  it!"  cried  John,  losing 
his  temper.  "Make  the  best  of  staying  here, 
lost  among  these  pines!  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
talk  nonsense! " 

Ferd  made  no  answer.  When  John  lost  his 
temper,  he  found  it  best  to  be  silent.  John 
threw  himself  down  beside  the  fire.  Ferd  con- 
tinued to  watch  the  boat.  It  was  drifting 
slowly.  Ferd  noticed  for  the  first  time  a  small 
island  directly  in  its  way.  He  hoped,  without 
knowing  exactly  why,  that  La  Fleur  de  Mai 
might  find  this  island  an  obstacle  to  further 
progress.  No — the  boat  was  passing  the  clump 
of  bushes.  He  turned  away  with  a  sigh,  only 
to  see  the  next  instant  that  it  had  stopped, 
probably  entangled  in  some  long  creepers. 

"Ivook!"  cried  Ferd. 

John  raised  his  head.  "Ivook  at  what? "  he 
demanded,  sulkily. 

"The  boat  has  stopped." 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"Can  you  think  of  any  way  of  reaching 
it?"  said  Ferd. 

"I'm  not  a  fool,"  re*:orted  John,  "to  waste 
my  time!  Its  lost, — that's  all  about  it.  We'll 
starve  here,  and  never  be  heard  of  again.  I 
wish  wed  never  come!" 

Ferd's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  boat.   "We 


viust  find  some  means  of  getting  it ;  but  I 
confess  I  can't  think  of  any.  Suppose  we  try 
the  Rosary,  John?" 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  John,  contemptuously; 
"lose  time  with  that  sort  of  pious  business! 
It's  just  like  you!  " 

Ferd  looked  him  in  the  eyes.  "See  here, 
John !  Who's  losing  time — you,  sulking  by 
the  fire  and  giving  up  all  hope,  or  I,  trying  to 
find,  through  the  only  means  in  our  power,  a 
way  out  of  this  scrape?  We've  been  taught 
to  ask  Our  Lady  to  help  us  in  difficulties,  es- 
pecially in  difficulties  from  which  there  seems 
to  be  no  escape.  We've  been  taught  this  every 
day  of  our  lives.  We  either  believe  in  it  or  we 
don't  believe  in  it.  /  believe  in  it,  and  I'm 
not  afraid  to  show  it.  If  there  is  any  means 
of  getting  that  boat,  I'm  going  to  get  ai  it." 

Ferd  knelt  down  among  the  ferns  and 
winter  green  and  began  to  say  the  Rosary. 
John  continued  to  sulk  by  the  fire,  grumbling 
in  a  low  voice.  Ferd,  having  finished  his 
prayers,  rose  and  put  fresh  wood  on  the  fire. 
He  tore  away  a  huge  mass  of  creepers,  and 
chose  several  stout  runners  from  them.  These 
he  stripped  of  their  leaves.  He  was  very  lightly 
dressed,  having  on  the  inevitable  flannel  shirt 
of  the  camper  out,  and  a  pair  of  trousers  to 
match  it.  He  tied  the  oars  together  with  the 
creepers,  threw  them  into  the  lake,  jumped 
after  them,  rested  his  chin  on  them,  and  struck 
out.  John  watched  him  in  amazement. 

"Good-bye!  I  think  I'v^e  found  a  way  of 
getting  the  boat." 

Ferd  was  not  much  of  a  SA-imraer.  The  oars 
supported  his  weight,  and  he  was  enabled  to 
propel  them  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the 
entangled  boat.  The  current  was  in  his  favor ; 
but  the  water  of  Lake  Superior  is  so  cold  that 
he  felt  a  chill  after  he  had  swum  a  few  yards. 
He  kept  on  bravely.  John  watched  him,  with 
his  heart  in  his  mouth.  He  could  not  endure 
the  suspense  of  the  sight.  He,  too,  turned  to 
his  prayers,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  black  dot 
and  the  circle  of  ripples  ?ind  splashing  water 
which  neared  the  boat. 

Ferd  felt  a  chill,  colder  and  colder ;  he  was 
within  ten  yards  of  La  Fleur  de  Mai.  John 
saw  him  throw  up  his  arm  with  a  cry.  He 
strained  his  eyes.  There  was  no  trace  of  Ferd. 
The  oars  were  floating  past  the  little  island. 

(CONCI^USION    IN   OUR   NEXT    NUMBER.) 


r 


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


Regina  Pacis. 


BY  ELKANOR   C.   DONNELLY. 


AROUND  St.  Peter's  shining  bark 
The  raging-  billows  seethe  and  roar ; 
The  angry  waters,  high  and  dark, 

Assail  it  evermore 
O  bid  the  storm's  wild  clamor  cease, — 
Regina  Pads,  grant  us  peace! 

Upon  the  deck,  a  vision  white. 
The  Vicar  of  Our  Lord  appears. 

Besieging  Heaven  day  and  night 
With  a  strong  cry  and  tears. 

From  the  dread  tempest  grant  release, — 

Regina  Pacis,  give  us  p^ace! 

Not  peace  such  as  this  world  bestows, 
The  false,  deceitful  truce  of  hell ; 

But  God's  own  peace,  that  glad  repose, 
Whose  reign  the  saints  foretell! 

O'grant  Christ" s  Kingdom  blest  increase,- 

Regina  Pacis,  give  us  peace! 


The  Apostle  of  Lourdes. 


O  thousands  of  those  who  have  vis- 
ited Lourdes  during  the  last  quarter 
of  a  century,  how  dear  is  the  name  of 
the  devoted  Father  Sempe,  the  friend,  adviser, 
and  comforter  of  the  pilgrim,  and  an  exem- 
plar of  practical  devotion  to  the  Mother  of 
God!  This  zealous  client  of  Our  Lady,  who 
was  the  superior  of  the  Missionaries  attached 
to  the  shrine  of  Notre  Dame  de  Lourdes, 
was  called  to  his  reward  on  the  ist  of  Sep- 
tember last. 


A  brilliant  pupil  of  the  Petit  Seminaire 
de  Saint-Pe,  a  student  of  philosophy  distin- 
guished among  all  those  of  Toulouse,  after- 
ward a  professor  at  Saint-Pe,  then  called, 
though  a  young  man,  to  be  the  secretary  of  the 
Bishop,  adding  to  his  duties  many  good  works, 
prompted  by  his  priestly  zeal,  Pierre-Remi 
Sempe  bade  fair  to  achieve  prominence  and 
distinction  in  the  Church.  All  such  ambitions, 
however,  he  abandoned,  to  hide  his  talents 
and  abilities  in  the  religious  Congregation  of 
the  Missionaries  of  Notre  Dame  de  Garaison. 
His  superiors  soon  appointed  him,  with  several 
companions,  to  conduct  the  services  of  the 
pilgrimages  in  the  crypt  of  Notre  Dame  de 
Lourdes,  which  were  held  for  the  first  time  on 
the  2oth  of  May,  1866.  He  was  placed  at  the 
head  of  the  little  community,  and  now  began 
the  real  work  of  his  ministry. 

When  the  spirit  of  pilgrimage  swept  over 
France,  he  welcomed  it  with  his  whole  soul, 
and  it  is  impossible  to  describe  the  devotion 
and  solicitude  with  which  he  strove  to  foster, 
develop,  and  sanctify  this  new  expression  of 
religious  fervor.  The  needs  and  the  well-being 
of  the  pilgrims  were  his  constant  study.  Mgr. 
I^aurence,  then  Bishop  of  the  diocese,  com- 
mitted to  him  the  responsibility  of  building  the 
Basilica, — an  undertaking  which  was  accom- 
plished under  his  direction.  But  as  time  w^ent 
on  the  great  number  of  pilgrimages  rendered 
another  edifice  necessary,  and  at  the  sugges- 
tion of  Mgr.  Langemieux  the  erection  of  the 
Cliurch  of  the  Rosary  was  begun.  This  beau- 
tiful structure  is  but  just  finished.  The  date 
of  dedication  was  fixed  for  the  present  month 
of  October;    but  during  the  spring  Father 


386 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Sempe  decided  to  push  on  the  work  as  rapidly 
as  possible,  in  order  to  accommodate  the  many 
pilgrimages  which  are  usual  during  the 
summer,  and  the  ceremony  accordingly  took 
place  in  August.  Happily,  he  was  tlius  able 
to  witness  the  completion  of  the  work,  which, 
a  grand  monument  of  devotion  to  the  Mother 
of  God,  is  also  a  memorial  of  the  humble 
client  whose  life  was  spent  in  promoting  her 
honor. 

Of  the  active  zeal  and  charity  of  that  life 
perhaps  we  can  obtain  some  faint  idea  when  we 
remember  that  the  Missionaries  of  Notre  Dame 
at  lyourdes  devote  themselves  absolutely  to 
the  service  of  the  pilgrim ;  that  they  are  at 
his  beck  and  call,  as  it  were,  every  hour  of 
the  day  and  night ;  they  attend  personally  not 
only  to  his  spiritual  wants,  but  provide  for 
his  temporal  welfare.  Their  hospitality  has 
become  a  proverb,  and  their  house  is  always 
open  to  the  pilgrim  priest.  When  a  company 
of  pilgrims  arrive  at  the  railway  station  they 
are  met  by  one  of  the  Fathers,  who  takes 
charge  of  the  sick.  The  latter  are  placed  upon 
litters  and  carried  to  the  hospitals.  The  priest 
accompanies  them ;  he  it  is  who  arranges  for 
all ;  he  has  a  pleasant  word  for  the  sufferers, 
encourages  them  on  the  way,  visits  them  later, 
and  attends  them  when  they  are  carried  to  the 
Grotto  to  bathe  in  the  life  giving  waters. 

The  Missionaries  have  an  office  in  a  little 
house  upon  the  hill-top,  where  two  of  them 
are  always  to  be  found,  ready  to  give  all  nec- 
essary information  to  the  pilgrim  regarding 
the  starting  of  trains,  routes  of  travel,  closing 
of  mails,  etc.,  or  to  help  him  in  any  way.  As 
for  the  spiritual  service,  during  great  pilgrim- 
ages a  band  of  the  good  Fathers  is  constantly 
on  duty  in  the  Basilica  to  hear  confessions, 
etc.  At  all  seasons,  and  day  and  night,  two 
priests  are  in  attendance  there.  During  the 
winter  many  of  them  are  employed  in  giving 
missions  throughout  France. 

What  wonder  that  the  example  of  Pere 
Sempe  and  his  devoted  co7ifr(:res  has  found 
followers  among  devout  laymen!  The  bran- 
cardiers  (litter-bearers)  are  a  branch  of  a  larger 
organization  called  the  Hospitalieres — pious 
modern  Knights  Hospitallers,  who  belong  for 
the  most  part  to  the  old  French  nobility,  and 
come  to  Lourdes  during  the  season  of  pil- 
grimages to  wait  upon  the  sick.   Connected 


with  them  also  is  an  association  of  ladies,  who 
occupy  themselves  especially  with  the  care  of 
the  invalids  among  the  female  pilgrims. 

This  is  the  work  organized  and  directed  by 
Father  Pierre-Remi  Sempe,  and  in  wdiich  he 
ever  took  an  active  part.  He  also  founded  the 
A?inals  of  Notre  Dame  de  Lourdes,  and  con- 
tributed many  forcible  and  earnest  articles  to 
its  pages.  His  correspondence  was  so  vast  as 
often  to  almost  overwhelm  him,  but  he  at- 
tended to  it  with  an  exactitude  which  at  times 
required  genuine  courage.  During  all  his  life 
he  had  many  devoted  friends.  One  of  the 
deepest  gratifications  which  he  experienced  at 
IvOurdes  was  an  acquaintance  with  a  learned 
and  conscientious  physician,  who  initiated  the 
scientific  examination  of  the  cures  wrought 
there,  and  established  at  the  Grotto  a  school, 
as  it  were,  for  the  study  of  the  miracles. 

Father  Sempe  had  the  priestly  ardor  which 
would  have  impelled  him  to  go  forth  as  an 
apostle  to  distant  lands,  were  it  not  that  he 
seemed  distinctly  called  to  the  special  field 
of  lyOurdes.  Although  he  was  so  energetic,  so 
eager  for  work,  the  business  of  his  life  was 
prayer;  when  he  prayed  in  public  his  fervor 
was  contagious.  In  his  last  years  his  devotion 
seemed  concentrated  in  the  beads.  He  would 
have  liked,  he  used  to  say,  to  preach  a  crusade 
of  the  Rosary. 

When,  twenty- three  years  ago,  good  Father 
Semp^  came  to  this  obscure  little  village  in 
the  Pyrenees  to  devote  his  life  to  the  service 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  he  found  only  the  small 
crypt  of  the  Basilica.  The  splendid  structures 
which  have  since  arisen  in  Lourdes  tell  the 
story  of  his  life.  The  bishops  of  Tarbes  and 
Catholics  throughout  the  world  were  indeed^ 
in  the  designs  of  Providence,  the  creators  of 
these  marvels,  but  God  willed  that  Father 
Semp6  should  be  the  soul  of  the  work,  and 
should  have  the  greater  part  of  the  labor. 

Eirly  in  August  the  new  church  was  dedi- 
cated. He  joined  in  the  beautiful  triduum 
which  succeeded,  and  labored  unceasingly  dur- 
ing the  pilgrimages  of  the  following  weeks. 
On  Sunday  morning,  September  i,  he  made 
his  usual  visit  to  the  Grotto  and  to  both  the 
churches.  About  nine  o'clock  he  was  seized 
with  a  fainting  attack.  During  the  day  he 
lay  weak  and  exhausted.  At  about  six  o'clock 
in  the  ev^ening  he  asked  for  the  last  Sacra- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


387 


ments,  and,  after  Hql^^  Viaticum,  responded 
to  the  prayers  of  Extreme  Unction.  While  his 
community,  which  surrounded  him,  awaited 
his  last  benediction,  he  in  a  singularly  strong 
voice  asked  pardon  of  them  for  any  disedifi- 
cation  he  might  have  given  them,  and  blessed 
them  with  a  great  Sign  of  the  Cross.  Then 
he  became  absorbed  in  prayer,  his  mind  re- 
maining unclouded  till  the  end.  At  half-past 
eight  he  sweetly  rendered  his  soul  to  God 
and  to  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes,  whom  he  had 
so  dearly  loved. 

The  sorrow  and  mourning  which  spread 
throughout  gourdes  when  the  event  became 
known  showed  the  hold  which  he  had  on  the 
hearts  of  the  people.  All  the  inhabitants,  rich 
and  poor,  testified  the  affectionate  respect 
which  they  felt  for  the  venerable  deceased. 
From  the  moment  when  his  mortal  remains 
were  laid  in  the  chapel  of  the  mission  house 
the  crowd  never  ceased ;  persons  of  every  rank 
and  condition  of  life  pressed  near  to  pray  be- 
side the  bier,  to  touch  objects  of  piety  to  his 
hands  or  even  to  his  robes.  But  the  great  man- 
ifestation occurred  on  the  day  of  the  funeral 
(Sept.  4).  Then  not  only  the  entire  village, 
but  hundreds  of  people  from  Tarbes  and  other 
neighboring  places,  besides  4,000  pilgrims 
frotn  Agen,  Tours,  and  Niort,  claimed  the 
privilege  of  following  to  the  tomb  the  remains 
of  Mary's  great  Servian t. 

The  ceremonies  began  at  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  As  the  remains  were  borne  from  the 
monastery  to  the  church,  a  religious  silence 
prevailed  in  the  street,  although  it  was  lined 
with  people.  Only  the  tolling  of  the  bell  of 
the  Basilica  mingled  its  grave  tones  with  the 
plaintive  harmony  of  \.\i^  fanfare  municipale. 
The  cortcire  included  many  priests,  after  whom 
walked  the  Bishops  of  Tarbes  and  x\gen.  The 
bier  was  borne  by  the  Hospitallers.  The  escort 
was  an  apparently  interminable  throng  of 
members  of  different  religious  orders,  and 
pilgrims  of  all  countries.  At  the  moment  when 
the  procession  majestically  entered  the  avenue 
which  leads  to  the  Church  of  the  Rosary,  a 
spectator  would  have  thought  he  was  assist- 
ing at  a  triumphant  ovation  instead  of  a 
funeral.  In  the  church  was  a  solid  mass  of 
human  beings.  The  sight  was  grand  and  touch- 
ing; one  could  imagine  himself  again  at  the 
never-to-be  forgotten  celebrations  of  the  feasts 


pf  August,  in  which  Father  Sempe  took  so 
prominent  a  part.  The  greens  and  flowers 
with  which  the  edifice  had  been  adorned  were 
suffered  to  remain ;  a  simply  covered  cata- 
falque, and  the  mourning  which  draped  the 
pillars  of  the  transept,  alone  recalled  the 
object  of  the  service.  The  Bishop  of  Tarbes 
sang  the  Mass  of  Requie?n,  after  which  he 
delivered  the  discourse,  of  which  the  follow- 
ing is  a  synopsis : 

"At  this  hour  of  general  mourning  does  it 
not  belong  to  the  Bishop  of  Lourdes  to  inter- 
pret the  sentiments  of  all?  His  heart  is  full  of 
tears,  but  will  his  Divine  Master,  who  wept 
over  Lazarus,  condemn  the  tears  which  he 
sheds  over  the  friend  of  his  heart,  his  friend 
for  sixty  years  ?  We  can  apply  to  Notre  Dame 
de  Lourdes  the  text,  *Ego  diligentes  me  diligo,  et 
qui  mane  vigilant  ad  me  invenient  me '/  and  by 
the  example  of  her  servant,  our  dear  departed 
one,  she  establishes  the  truth  of  her  words. 
Yes,  she  loved  him  because  he  loved  Irer.  She 
has  come  to  him,  because  he  sought  her  from 
the  morning  of  his  life.  Ah!  who  does  not 
know  how  Father  Semp6  loved. the  Blessed 
Virgin  of  Massabielle  ?  He  loved  her  with  all 
his  heart;  he  loved  her  too  fondly,  according 
to  the  idea  of  the  world ;  he  loved  her  even  to 
suffer  persecution  and  to  be  anathema  for  her 
sake.  Who  does  not  know  it?  Ask  the  echoes 
of  the  Pyrenees,  which  for  so  many  years  have 
heard  him  bless  her  name,  publish  her  favors, 
and  which  bear  even  to  Heaven  the  praises  of 
her  glory.  Ask  the  most  distant  countries, 
where  his  words,  repeated  by  the  echoes  of  the 
press,  cease  not  to  raise  up  new  children  to 
his  Heavenly  Mother.  Ask  the  innumerable 
pilgrims,  who  never  weary  of  coming  from  all 
parts  of  the  world,  and  who  have  seen  him 
always  at  hand,  present  ^ery where,  and  ani- 
mating all  with  his  own  love  and  his  own  zeal 
for  the  Queen  of  Heaven.  Ask  the  river  which 
has  changed  its  course,  and  that  mountain 
which  has  withdrawn  its  massive  front,  to 
allow  him  to  raise  the  immortal  monuments 
which  he  planned  for  Notre  Dame  de  Lourdes. 
The  world  admires  what  has  been  done  here 
in  these  gigantic  undertakings,  these  pro- 
digious transformations,  since  the  celestial 
apparitions  took  place.  There  is  only  one 
word  to  .express  it — it  is  like  a  glimpse  of  the 
eternal  abode. 


388 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"Well,  of  these  wonders  without  number 
there  has  not  been  one — not  a  single  one — 
which  was  not  projected  and  carried  out  by 
Father  Sempe.  If  his  Bishop,  his  friend,  could 
be  silent  at  this  moment,  the  very  stones  of 
the  mountains,  the  waters  of  the  river  Gave, 
would  cry  out  as  witnesses.  To  this  devoted 
son  and  apostle  the  Blessed  Virgin  has  fulfilled 
her  great  promise,  that  she  will  love  those 
who  love  her,  and  let  herself  be  found  by  those 
who  seek  her  from  the  dawn  of  life.  Was  it 
not  she  who  led  him,  as  by  the  hand,  to  the 
sanctuary  of  Garaison,  where,  under  the  direc- 
tion of  the  godly  man  he  was  to  replace,  he 
cultivated  all  the  virtues  which  distinguish 
the  missionar}^  ?  He  was  there,  let  us  notice, 
when  the  Holy  Virgin  appeared  under  the 
rocks  at  Massabielle,  where  she  wished  the 
people  to  come  in  procession.  It  was  necessary 
to  have  apostolic  men  at  this  new  scene  of 
blessings  and  prodigies, — the  men  who  alone 
are  capable  of  bringing  about  the  accomplit^h- 
ment  of  such  mysterious  designs.  Therefore, 
at  the  head  of  these  first  apostles  whom  she 
attracted  was  the  one  she  intended  to  associate 
with  all  t^e  trials  and  all  the  glories  of  her 
work  at  gourdes. 

"Upon  him  who  bore  many  contradictions 
the  Blessed  Virgin  has  showered  much  glory. 
The  name  of  Father  Sempe  is  inseparably 
connected  with  that  of  Notre  DamedeLourdes, 
and  is  known,  loved  and  revered  throughout 
the  universe.  But  to  this  glory  of  time  the 
Immaculate  Virgin  has,  we  are  confident, 
united  another  and  more  lasting  one— that  of 
eternity ;  for  after  saying,  *  I  love  those  who 
love  me,  and  those  who  seek  me  shall  find 
me, '  what  does  she  add  ?  '  Those  who  find  me 
shall  find  life  and  salvation  in  the  bosom  of 
God.'  Life  and  salvation  are  Father  Sempe's.' 
Scarcely  had  he  crowned  the  beautiful  Church 
of  the  Rosary,  when  the  Queen  of  the  Rosary 
said  to  him  from  her  throne  in  heaven  :  '  Now 
the  eternal  crown  is  thine.'  " 

As  the  sun,  rising  in  the  morning,  shines 
into  thy  house  if  thou  dost  but  open  thy  win- 
dows, so  God,  the  unsleeping  King,  will  shine 
in  upon  the  soul  which  unfolds  itself  to  Him ; 
for  God,  like  the  sun  above  us,  is  ready  to 
enter  within  each  of  us  if  we  open  unto  Him. 
^ — St.  Juan  de  la  Cruz. 


Harry  Considine's  Fortunes. 


BY  NUGENT  ROBINSON. 


(Conclusion.) 

CHAPTER  XVin.— God  Bless  Old  Ireland  ! 
GoD  Bless  New  Ireland  ! 

MRS.  MOLLOY  received  them  in  a  sort  of 
rustic  porch,  which  Molloy  had  with 
his  own  hands,  and  at  the  suggestion  of  his 
daughter,  built  before  the  hall-door.  It  was 
now  a  veritable  bower  of  Virginia  creeper,  in 
blood- red  leaf. 

Harry  scarcely  recognized  his  former  host- 
ess of  Rathgar  Road.  Instead  of  the  lankly, 
shabbily-genteelly  dressed,  emaciated  lady  of 
yore,  a  plump,  neatly  attired,  positively  hand- 
some matron  greeted  him, — not  in  the  affected 
jargon  .supposed  to  represent  the  accent  of 
the  "Cawstle  people,"  but  in  a  rich,  mellow 
Galway  brogue,  that  sounded  to  him  like  an 
Irish  melody.  Her  welcome  was  as  hearty  as 
it  was  meant  to  be,  and  the  poor  fellow  felt 
the  tears  coming  into  his  eyes,  as  this  genuine 
touch  of  home  went  straight  to  his  heart 
after  all  his  recent  buffetings  and  strivings  in 
the  waves  of  his  troubled  experiences  of  New 
York  life. 

'  *  Where  is  Emma  ? ' '  This  was  the  question 
close  to  his  lips,  but  only  asked  by  his  eyes. 

"Come  this  way,  Harry,"  called  out  Mr. 
Molloy;  "and  we'll  try  to  steal  a  march  on 
my  daughter." 

They  passed  through  a  large  hall  hand- 
somely decorated  with  what  Molloy  called 
"trophies  of  the  chase,"  through  a  passage, 
and  by  a  covered  way  to  a  barn  smelling 
deliciously  of  the  breath  of  kine.  In  a  stall, 
seated  on  a  three-legged  stool,  was  a  young 
girl  in  a  lavender  muslin  frock,  her  white  and 
shapely  arms  bared  to  the  elbow,  engaged  in 
milking  a  cow. 

Was  it  possible?  Could  this  be  real?  Was 
this  Miss  Molloy,  of  Rathgar  Road.— the 
would-be  fashionable,  the  aspirant  to  the 
doubtful  high  honor  of  being  presented  at  the 
vice-regal  drawing-room  ?  For  a  second  Harry 
felt  inclined  to  rub  his  eyes  and  open  them  to 
find  this  charming  apparit'on  gone. 

Emma — for  'twas  she — leaped  t.o  her  feet, 
upsetting  the  stool,  while  a  beautiful  blush 


The  Ave  Maria. 


389 


shed  its  rose  petals  over  her  in  the  thickest 
profusion. 

"O  Mr.  Considine! "  was  all  that  she  could 
say,  while  extending  a  plump  little  hand  all 
pink  from  the  recent  exertion  of  milking. 

He  looked  into  her  Irish  grey  eyes  to  their 
depths.  Ah,  there  was  the  purity  of  one  of 
the  Children  of  Mary  in  those  truthful  eyes, 
— the  purit^^  that  sin  alone  can  defile !  He 
thought  of  that  last  look  when  they  parted 
at  King's  Bridge,  and  his  heart  gave  a  beat 
backward. 

*'Is  not  this  a  change?"  she  laughed,  as 
she  returned  to  the  house. 

"A  pleasant  one  I  trust,  Miss  MoUoy?" 

"Glorious!"  she  enthusiastically  replied. 
**Life  has  now  its  objects,  its  duties.  O  Mr. 
Considine,  I  quiver  with  shame  when  I  look 
back  at  the  hours  wasted  that  might  have 
borne  fruit!  Do  you  know  that  when  I  think 
of  how  supremely  ridiculous  I  was  in  our  old 
home,  I  shiver  and  feel  as  if  cold  water  were 
being  poured  over  my  head?" 

"I  am  awfully  glad  to  hear  you  say  so," 
said  Harry,  with  intense  earnestness, — so  in- 
tense indeed  that  he  grew  crimson. 

' '  Of  course  you  are ;  so  would  anybody  with 
a  grain  of  common  sense." 

"And  the  Castle?"  he  laughed. 

"The  Caz£^5tle  you  mean!  That  terrible 
Cawstle !  I  declare,  Mr.  Considine,  I  could 
sometimes  sit  down  and  have  a  good  cry  when 
my  silliness  comes  to  pillory  me."  And  she 
wrung  her  hands  together  in  a  passing  spasm 
of  genuine  remorse. 

"Do  you  remember  the  evening  you  at- 
tacked me  for  giving  my  opinion  of  the  sham 
vice-regal  court?" 

"Don't  I!   And  I  was  really  in  earnest." 

"Your  truthfulness  makes  you  always  in 
earnest." 

Yes,  a  great,  a  total  change  had  come  o'er 
the  spirit  of  Emma  MoUoy's  dream.  The  vain, 
frivolous,  silly  girl  had  disappeared  beneath 
the  refulgence  of  the  light  of  freedom  in  this 
glorious  land  of  ours;  and  a  maiden  pious, 
industrious,  self-reliant,  self  -  reverent,  had 
taken  the  place  of  the  poor  tinsel-clad  butter- 
fly to  whom  we  were  introduced  at  the  com- 
mencement of  this  narrative.  Emma  found 
that  life  is  as  we  ourselves  make  it ;  that  labor, 
-while  pleasing  to  God,  keeps  the  heart  light 


and  happy  and  jubilant;  that  that  hydra- 
headed  monster,  fashion,  is  but  a  mockery,  a 
delusion  and  a  snare ;  that  a  lady  can  be  a  lady 
in  a  muslin  frock  as  well  as  in  a  silken  robe ; 
that  the  most  fascinating  manner  is  that  which 
is  most  natural,  and  that  modesty  is  ten  thou- 
sand times  more  attractive  than  all  the  jewels 
ever  poured  forth  from  India. 

Yes,  Emma  MoUoy  was  indeed  changed. 
Up  with  the  lark,  she  was  busy  with  her 
household  duties  ere  the  sun  had  drawn  aside 
the  curtains  of  the  night.  Rain  or  shine  found 
her  at  the  first  Mass  at  the  neighboring  vil- 
lage She  organized  the  Sunday-school,  she 
led  the  choir;  all  day  long  she  was  occupied, 
and  her  evenings  were  spent  in  delightful  con- 
verse with  her  parents  and  honest  Peter  Daly, 
whose  paternal  love  for  her  grew  stronger  as 
the  weeks  rolled  on. 

In  person  she  was  beautiful.  Her  black 
hair  on  a  low  forehead,  her  Irish  grey  eyes 
with  black  silken  lashes  that  swept  her  pure- 
complexioned  cheeks,  her  dainty  nose,  her 
rosebud,  fresh  mouth,  and  delicate  oval  face, 
in  the  delicious  radiance  of  health,  rendered 
her  a  picture. 

Was  it  any  wonder  that  Harry  Considine 
found  out  that  he  had  been  in  love  with  her 
all  along,  without  being  aware  of  the  all- 
important  fact, — in  love  with  her,  aye,  even 
when  she  was  the  pitiful  moth  hovering 
around  the  Cawstle  candle?  How  devoutly 
he  thanked  God  that  this  exquisite  creature 
had  been  transplanted  from  all  such  folly  to 
the  free  and  glorious  soil  of  the  States! 

' '  I  shall  never  be  more  to  her  than  a  friend,' ' 
he  thought;  "but  I  shall  ever  be  thankful 
for  this  gracious  change." 

Peter  Daly  was  delighted  to  meet  Harry. 

"You've  struck  a  home  crowd,  Considine, 
so  make  yourself  as  comfortable  as  a  bunch 
of  asparagus.  We  are  not  gilt-edged  folk  out 
here,  but  we  can  speak  our  piece  with  the  best, 
and  we  come  to  the  front  door  every  time  the 
bell  is  rung." 

Miss  Clancy's  rapture  on  meeting  her  prized 
lodger  knew  no  bounds. 

"You'll  stop  here,  Harry,"  she  said  to  him 
confidentially  when  they  were  alone.  "And" 
— here  she  looked  at  him  with  excruciating 
knowingness  —  "I  have  other  designs  for 
you." 


390 


The  Ave  Maria. 


It  so  happened  that  a  Mr.  Sperling,  one  of 
the  most  useful  of  Daly's  farm  employes,  had 
just  left,  owing  to  coming  into  possession 
of  a  ranch  in  Nebraska,  deeded  to  him  by  a 
brother.  Considine,  whose  practical  knowl- 
edge of  farming  was  invaluable,  was  offered 
the  position,  and  accepted  it  with  gratitude. 
In  a  few  months  he  won  his  spur-i  by  getting 
a  first-class  crop  out  of  impossible  land, — 
land  plowed  by  Mr.  Molloy's  patent  plow. 

I  shall  not  dwell  on  the  idyllic  life  at  the 
Farm.  Love  came  into  the  hearts  of  Harry  and 
Emma  at  the  same  hour, — a  love  such  as  it 
pleases  our  Blessed  Lady  to  witness — pure, 
holy,  full.  A  summer  day  declared  it,  and  a 
day  in  the  beauteous  autumn  found  the  happy 
pair  standing  before  God's  altar. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harry  Considine  are  spending 
the  winter  in  Ireland,  in  the  Considine  home. 

"I  have  a  great  notion  to  marry  you  all 
over  again,"  exclaimed  good  old  Father  Luke 
Byrne,  with  a  laugh  in  his  eyes,  "for  having 
cheated  me  of  what  I  consider  my  rights!" 

Gerald  MoUoy,  who  is  now  in  partnership 
with  the  amiable  Mr.  Raster,  ran  over  to 
Dublin  for  the  purpose  of  wooing  and  winning 
not  Jane  Ryan,  but  Caroline  Esmonde.  His 
disappointment  on  finding  Miss  Esmonde  a 
novice  at  Loreto  Abbey  need  not  be  dwelt 
upon  here. 

Alderman  Ryan,  at  the  request  of  his  daugh- 
ter, took  her  for  a  prolonged  tour  on  the  Con- 
tinent. Jane,  who  is  Peggy  Considine' s  fast 
friend,  begged  of  her  to  tell  Harry  that  he  had 
no  more  earnest  well-wisher  for  his  happiness. 
The  poor  girl  said  never  a  word  of  her  whilom 
friend,  the  bride. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  MoUoy  have  no  desire  to  re- 
visit the  old  country. 

"I  have,  as  Father  Luke  says, New  Ireland 
here,"  MoUoy  is  fond  of  exclaiming ;  "and  I 
guess  I'll  stick  to  the  New." 

There  is  a  whisper  around  Clam  Farm  that 
Peter  Daly  is  "spoons"  on  Miss  Clancy. 

"I  sincerely  hope  so,"  says  Mrs.  MoUoy. 
"She  is  a  whole-souled  little  dear,  and  would 
make  a  splendid  companion  for  our  'boss.'  " 

And  now  my  story  is  told,  and  I  shall  con- 
clude with  Father  Luke  Byrne:  "God  bless 
Old  Ireland!  God  bless  New  Ireland!  " 


Fair  Verona. 


BY    CHARI.ES    WARREN    STODDARD. 


SHE  is  fair  indeed,  in  her  nest  of  hills,  under 
the  shelter  of  a  warlike  castle;  watered 
by  the  rapid  Adige,  that  turns  and  turns 
again  within  the  city  walls,  as  if  loath  to  leave 
them ;  city  of  beauty  and  of  poetry  and  lore; 
city  of  cypresses  and  sighs  and  song.  The 
Gauls  made  her  bed,  and  the  Romans  slept  in 
it  for  a  time;  the  Guelphs  and  GhibeUines 
fought  over  her ;  but  Venice  murdered  her  at 
last, — Venice  the  queenly,  Venice  the  wet- 
nurse  of  many  a  feeble  colony  of  sucklings. 

In  Verona  dwelt  Cornelius  Nepos,  Catullus, 
Vitruvius,  the  younger  Pliny,  and  the  learned 
Scipione  Maffei.  In  Verona  lived  and  loved 
with  a  consuming  love  those  ill-fated  souls 
who  went  down  to  unpremeditated  death  to- 
gether; and  here  dwelt  "Two  Gentlemen  "of 
whose  exploits  we  have  learned  somewhat 
from  the  pen  of  him  who  touched  nothing 
without  leaving  a  kind  of  halo  about  it. 

Must  I  confess  it? — the  town  is  frightfully 
dull,  though  as  pretty  as  a  picture-book ;  clean 
and  pleasant  streets ;  a  market  place,  to  my 
thinking,  without  a  rival  in  all  Italy  ;  quaint 
tombs  tower  at  the  street  comers;  and  there 
is  a  statue  of  Dante,  who  was  cherished  here 
when  Florence,  the  arrogant  and  fickle  mis- 
tress of  Art,  drove  him  from  her  gates, — a 
statue  that  is  swathed  in  the  singing-robes  of 
the  poet,  that  cover  every  part  of  him  as  with 
a  monkish  vestment,  and  seem  to  shield  him 
from  the  world.  The  face  alone  is  visible, — 
the  marvellous  face  that  seems  to  have  the 
settled  shadow  of  the  Inferno  ever  upon  it; 
but  the  eyes  pierce  through  that  shadow, 
through  and  beyond  the  pangs  of  Purgatory, 
and  are  fixed  upon  heavenly  heights.  There 
are  many  statues  of  Dante  in  the  streets  and 
squares  and  galleries  of  Italy,  but  none  of 
them  that  have  brought  me  to  a  sudden  halt, 
hat  in  hand — as  if  I  had  intruded  upon  the 
privacy  of  some  recluse  and  owed  him  a  thou- 
sand apologies, — as  this  one  did. 

Verona  is  the  city  of  balconies ;  nine-tenths 
of  its  chamber  windows  have  dainty  balusters 
overhanging  the  street,  or  a  bit  of  garden,  or 
possibly  an  orchard — which  is  by  all  odds  the 


The  Ave  Maria. 


39 » 


most  interesting  of  the  series.  There  they 
hang,  the  balconies  of  fair  Verona,  like  so 
many  night- traps  to  catch  young  Romeos, 
bated  with  the  darling  Juliets  of  the  period. 
But  alas  for  the  house  of  the  Capulets!  It  is 
quite  like  any  other  house  in  the  neighbor- 
hood,— though  over  the  door  is  carved  a  hat, 
the  distinctive  emblem  in  the  armorial  bear- 
ings of  the  family.  The  garden  of  the  Capu- 
lets has  withered  away,  and  now  how  can  we 
ever  know  which  of  the  balconies  is  the  bal- 
cony ?  Everywhere  we  met  those  citizens  who 
might  be  Valentine  or  Proteus;  they  cer- 
tainly were  gentlemen  of  Verona ;  and  we  even 
chanced  upon  a  clownish  Launce,  who  was 
not  without  his  dog.  Strolling  in  search  of 
familiar  characters,  we  viewed  the  town. 

You  would  scarcely  imagine  that  so  peace 
ful  a  city  is,  next  to  Venice,  the  most  impor- 
tant fortress  in  Italy.  It  shelters  within  its 
walls  sixty  thousand  souls,  and  a  garrison  of 
six  thousand  soldiers,  who  have  two  cents  a 
day  for  spending  money,  and  who  spend  it 
like  gentlemen — at  the  swell  cafe  face  to  face 
with  the  "quality."  The  truth  is,  one  ma}^  sit 
three  hours  in  the  best  establishment,  among 
the  best  people,  over  a  cup  of  black  coffee,  for 
which  he  pays  but  three  cents.  Cigars  are  but 
one  cent  each.  It  costs  nothing  to  test  your 
skill  at  dominos  or  chess  with  a  brother  sol- 
dier; and  in  this  wise  time  is  elegantly  and 
inexpensively   dispatched    by   the   majority. 

You  will  recognize  the  cafe  the  moment  you 
enter  it,  by  the  numerous  stately  columns  that 
support  a  roof  by  no  means  in  architectural 
keeping;  and  by  the  piano  that  trembles  under 
the  iron  fingers  of  an  x^ustrian,  who,  with 
thunderous  fusillade,  accompanies  the  ponder- 
ous prima-donna  and  the  blond  baritone  in 
endless  operatic  contests.  The  air  is  streaked 
with  smoke;  the  refreshment  dishes  clatter 
continually;  'Ctvo. prima-donna  writhes  in  the 
melodious  death  agonies  oi  La  Traviata,  clad 
in  black  silk  and  lead- colored  kid  gloves.  In  her 
vocal  efforts  she  seems  to  be  dodging  behind 
one  of  the  numerous  columns  that  spring  up 
just  where  they  are  least  needed  but  most  in 
the  way.  I  say  she  seems  to  be  seeking  sanct- 
uary behind  something,  but  perhaps  she  is 
only  counting  the  audience ;  for  no  sooner  has 
she  ended  her  cavatiiia  than  the  blond  baritone 
takes  up  a  collection,  getting  a  sou  from  each 


of  us.  This  feature  of  the  entertainment  is  re- 
peated after  every  number  in  the  programme, 
and  yet  there  is  nothing  in  the  shape  of  dis- 
sipation among  the  Veronese  more  popular 
or  more  demoralizing  than  an  evening  at  the 
operatic  cafS. 

The  ladder  forms  the  crest  of  the  Scaligers — 
the  Delia  Scala  family, — who  were  for  more 
than  a  century  (1262-1389)  Presidents  of  the 
Republic  of  Verona.  Their  tombs  are  upon  the 
street  corners — a  unique  exhibition  of  pride 
and  funereal  pageantry;  Christian  heroes. 
Christian  virtues  personified  in  marble;  and 
many  elaborate  pillars  support  a  canopy  upon 
which  is  an  equestrian  statue  of  one  of  the 
tribe.  One  would  imagine  that  these  grand 
old  signori  rode  flying  horses,  for  the  eques- 
trian statue  is  nearly  always  as  high  as  St. 
Simon  Stylites ;  even  the  angels  fly  lower,  in 
marble,  and  are  quite  content  to  hover  about 
a  holy-water  font  that  is  within  reach  of  the 
smallest  possible  Christian. 

Behind  the  columns  of  the  portal  of  the 
cathedral  are  two  paladins  of  Charlemagne — 
Roland  and  Oliver ;  they  are  in  high  relief,  but 
with  worn  surfaces,  and  look  as  if  they  had 
been  pressed  into  the  marble  for  safe-keeping. 
Bat  the  one  sweet,  sacred  spot  in  Verona  is  as 
securely  hidden  as  a  ground-bird's  nest.  At 
St.  Zeno  there  is  a  cloister  which  was  restored 
in  1 121.  Heaven  knows  when  the  double 
columns  that  support  the  arches  w^ere  set  in 
rows,  but  it  was  so  long  ago  that  the  cloister 
seems  to  have  been  secreted — a  thing  holy  and 
to  be  kept  inviolate, — so  that  one  anticipates 
nothing  until  he  is  suddenly  and  most  unex- 
pectedly ushered  into  it. 

In  this  way  the  old  monks  used  to  box  up 
their  sunshine.  Their  cloisters  were  like  quiet 
islands  anchored  afar  off  in  undiscovered  seas ; 
they  resorted  thither  to  bask  under  the  slop- 
ing eaves  that  shed  the  rain  from  moss-grown 
tiles  when  the  day  was  dark,  or  to  watch  the 
brown  lizards  sprawling  in  the  clipped  grass 
that  cushioned  the  open  court  like  velvet  when 
the  sunshine  flooded  Verona.  No  stranger 
sought  them  there;  they  were  secure  from 
all  intrusion ;  the  doves  flew  over  them  like 
winged  arrows,  or  paused  to  croon  in  the 
corners  of  the  eaves.  The  deep  notes  of  the 
prayer -bell  floated  down  to  them,  as  airy 
messengers  of  peace ;  and  they  awoke  to  the 


394 


llic  Ave  Maria. 


A  Legend  of  Cologne. 


NO  one  knows  by  whom  the  plan  of  the  fa- 
mous Cathedral  of  Cologne  was  designed. 
But  the  reason  why  the  name  of  the  architect 
has  not  come  down  to  us  is  given  in  the  fol- 
lowing legend,  as  preserved  in  popular  lore : 

When  the  holy  Archbishop  Engelbert,  who 
had  already  conceived  the  idea  of  erec  ing  a 
grand  cathedral  in  Cologne,  was  murdered, 
and  his  successor,  Heinrich  von  Molenark,  had 
also  passed  away,  Conrad  von  Hochstaden, 
who  followed  upon  the  archiepiscopal  throne, 
took  up  Engelbert's  idea,  and  for  this  pur- 
pose sent  word  to  a  young  architect,  who  had 
already  made  himself  famou-^  by  the  erection 
of  several  imp  3sing  structures,  to  present  him 
self  before  him.  The  Archbishop  announced 
his  intention  of  building  a  fane  which  should 
<iast  all  existing  cathedrals  in  the  world  into 
the  shade  by  its  splendor  and  grandeur.  The 
young  man  was  to  draw  up  a  design  for  this 
purpose,  and  should  be  entrusted  with  the 
erection  of  the  building.  The  architect  was 
rather  nonplussed  at  the  commission,  show- 
ing by  the  expression  of  his  face  that  he  did 
not  much  like  the  job.  The  Archbishop 
smiled  on  seeing  this,  and  added :  *' You  will 
doubtless  be  able  to  carry  out  your  instruc 
tions,  although  your  modesty  does  at  present 
impel  you  to  decline  the  honor." 

The  architect  left  the  presence-chamber, 
and  as  he  stepped  into  the  open  air  his  breast 
swelled  with  conscious  pride,  his  eye  flashed, 
and  the  streets  seemed  too  narrow  to  contain 
him.  Walking  along  in  this  way,  muttering 
to  himself,  "A  fane  which  shall  surpass  every 
cathedral  in  the  world!  A  name  which  shall 
surpass  every  other  name!"  he  came  at  last 
to  the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  Frankenthor.  A  cool  breeze  fanned  his 
temples,  and  the  moon  was  reflected  in  the 
waves  of  the  river,  rolling  on  in  its  majesty. 
The  architect  threw  himself  upon  a  seat  and 
began  to  trace  in  the  sand,  with  his  stick,  all 
sorts  of  straight  and  curved  lines,  till  at  last 
a  drawing  appeared  which  bore  some  resem- 
blance to  a  design.  "I  have  it!"  exclaimed 
the  young  man.  "My  fortune  is  now  made; 
my  name  will  be  handed  down  to  future 
generations." 


Suddenly  he  heard  a  coughing  and  rustling 
close  to  him,  and  a  small  voice  said  softly : 
"That  is  the  minster  of  Strasburg."  The 
architect  looked  up  quickly,  and  saw^  in  the 
shadow  of  the  wall  a  grey  old  man,  thin  and 
tall,  though  bent  and  weak,  standing  near 
him;  and  as  this  person  again,  with  a  mali- 
cious smile,  said,  "You  have  invented  the 
design  of  the  Strasburg  minster,"  the  archi- 
tect waxed  wrath  ;  he  rubbed  out  his  drawing, 
and  drew  a  fresh  outline  in  the  ^and.  "That 
is  the  Cathedral  of  Spires,"  said  the  stranger. 
Whereupon  the  architect  for  the  third  time 
began  to  draw  a  plan  with  his  stick  ;  but  the 
stranger  merely  smiled  as  it  was  completed, 
and  uttered  the  one  word,  "Rheims." 

Beads  of  perspiration  stood  upon  the  brow 
of  the  young  man,  and  he  exclaimed:  "The 
devil  take  you!  If  you  know  everything  so 
much  better  than  I  do,  take  the  stick  yourself 
and  draw  something  better. "  Whereupon  the 
old  greybeard  look  the  stick,  coughed  a  little, 
and,  bending  still  more,  drew  a  plan  in  the 
sand,  as  if  so  doing  had  been  mere  child's 
play ;  but  so  full  was  it  of  grand  conception 
and  beautiful  symmetry  that  the  young  man 
confessed  to  himself  he  had  never  in  all  his 
life  seen  anything  to  approach  it.  When  the 
sketch  was  finished  the  stranger  at  once 
rubbed  it  out.  "Where  do  you  come  from?" 
asked  the  architect.  "I  do  not  come  from  any 
place  in  particular :  I  am  everywhere, ' '  was 
the  reply.  The  young  man  drew  a  small  bag 
outof  his  pocket  and  said:  "Sell  me  the  plan." 
The  stranger,  however,  again  smiled,  and, 
throwing  a  handful  of  gold  pieces  at  him,  said, 
with  a  leer:  "Not  at  that  price!" — "At  what 
price,  then?" — "At  the  price  of  your  soul," 
was  the  reply  of  the  stranger,  who  whilst 
speaking  the  words  seemed  to  grow  taller 
and  taller,  as  though  he  would  at  last  be  able 
to  look  over  the  wall  of  the  town. 

The  architect  gave  a  scream  of  terror  and 
made  the  Sign  of  the  Cross.  He  fell  to  the 
ground,  and  the  cool  breezes  of  the  Rhine  blew 
about  the  locks  of  hair  which  clustered  around 
his  temples ;  but  he  did  not  feel  the  wind,  for 
he  lay  all  prostrate  and  unconscious  in  the 
silvery  beams  of  the  moonlight.  On  recover- 
ing his  senses,  the  stranger  and  the  plan  had 
disappeared. 

The  night  was  far  spent  and  the  morning 


I 


Tlic  Ave  Alaria. 


395 


was  breaking  when  the  architect,  overcome 
with  fatigue,  regained  his  home.  Sleep  was 
out  of  the  question,  for  his  pulses  throbbed 
with  the  fever  of  excitement ;  he  seated  him- 
self therefore  at  a  table,  and  began  to  sketch 
the  outline  which  the  stranger  had  drawn 
in  the  sand,  and  which  was  burnt  with  lines 
of  fire  into  his  imagination ;  but  he  could 
not  hit  the  right  proportions.  The  lengths 
became  mixed  up  with  the  breadths.  At  first 
the  arches  were  too  large  and  then  again  too 
small;  as  soon  as  he  took  up  a  pencil  his 
memory  seemed  to  desert  him.  After  sitting 
and  working  thus  for  a  long  time  in  vain,  he 
went  out  into  the  open  air  and  performed"  his 
morning  devotions  in  the  Church  of  the 
Twelve  Apostles. 

Still  he  could  find  no  rest ;  some  impulse 
seemed  to  compel  him  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  banks  of  the  Rhine.  At  last,  as  the  even- 
ing drew  on,  he  found  himself  again  at  the 
Frankenthor.  The  stranger  was  standing  at  no 
great  distance,  drawing  with  a  stick  upon  the 
moss-grown  surface  of  the  wall;  and  wher- 
ever the  stick  passed,  a  faint  blue  line  of  fire 
followed  it.  The  architect  stood  still  and 
watched  in  amazement  how  the  delicate  arches 
and  spandrels  and  the  rows  of  columns  gleamed 
forth  for  a  moment  and  then  disappeared. 

The  old  man  seemed  to  become  aware  that 
he  was  being  watched,  and,  turning  round, 
said  to  his  observer:  "Will  you  buy  my  de- 
sign now?"  The  architect  drew  his  cloak 
closer  about  him,  for  a  cold  shiver  passed 
through  his  frame  as  he  saw  how  the  stranger 
went  on  with  his  drawing,  without  even  look- 
ing at  what  he  was  doing;  and  yet  the  lines 
seemed  to  fall  naturally  into  their  proper 
places,  forming  a  splendid  Gothic  doorway, 
which  for  a  moment  glistened  in  all  its  beauty 
Upon  the  moss-grown  wall,  and  then  faded 
away.  "Will  you  buy  my  design  now?" — 
"Yes!"  faltered  the  architect,  trembling  in 
every  limb.  The  old  man  let  fall  his  stick, 
and,  drawing  near,  plucked  a  single  hair  from 
the  young  man's  beard,  with  the  words :  "To- 
morrow at  midnight." 

When  the  architect  awoke  next  morning  the 
sun  was  shining  brightly.  He  got  up  in  good 
Spirits,  and  rejoiced  to  think,  as  he  opened 
his  window,  that  soon,  very  soon,  a  gigantic 
building  would  overtop  the  roofs  of  the  houses 


in  the  town,  and  that  his  name  would  over- 
shadow all  those  of  his  compeers.  His  house- 
keeper, who  had  taken  the  place  of  his  mother 
ever  since  he  could  recollect,  now  came  in 
from  the  church,  where  she  had  been  praying 
for  some  poor  soul,  and  found  him  pacing  up 
and  down  his  room  in  feverish  excitement, 
muttering  about  the  plan  and  the  fame  which 
should  once  be  his.  She  begged  of  him  to 
give  up  his  mad  longing  for  fame.  And  when, 
by  her  advice,  he  had  rested  a  while  he 
became  more  calm  and  composed ;  but  as  the 
day  wore  on,  and  the  sun  began  to  sink  in 
the  sky,  the  hours  seemed  to  pass  with  leaden 
footsteps.  He  could  obtain  no  peace ;  at  one 
time  he  would  sit  down  contemplatively  in 
his  room,  at  another  he  would  pace  up  and 
down  like  some  caged  wild  beast.  At  last  the 
witching  hour  of  midnight  drew  near.  He 
could  restrain  his  restlessness  no  longer,  and 
the  faithful  old  housekeeper,  seeing  this,  put 
a  silver  crucifix  into  the  breast-pocket  of 
his  coat,  and  sprinkling  him  with  holy  water, 
made  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  on  his  forehead, 
saying, '  *  May  the  saints  protect  you,  master ! ' ' 

The  architect  went  out  into  the  silent  streets, 
and  as  he  passed  over  the  lowered  drawbridge 
of  the  Frankenthor  the  clock  struck  twelve! 
The  stranger  was  already  there  before  him, 
sitting  on  the  bench  under  the  shadow  of  the 
wall ;  only  the  tassel  of  his  cap  on  his  bowed 
head  was  illuminated  by  a  ray  of  the  moon. 
He  was  evidently  not  asleep ;  for  as  soon  as  he 
saw  the  architect  coming  he  greeted  him  with 
a  nod,  and  moved  a  little  on  one  side  in  order 
to  make  room  for  him  to  sit  beside  him  upon 
the  bench. 

"Give  me  the  drawing,"  said  the  architect, 
going  up  to  the  old  man.  "Well,  then,  sit 
down  a  minute,  my  friend,  and  contemplate 
the  beautiful  effect. ' '  And  saying  these  words 
the  latter  unrolled  a  parchment,  on  which  the 
design  was  clearly  and  distinctly  drawn  out. 
It  was  complete.  Ground,  plan  and  elevation, 
longitudinal  and  transverse  sections,  together 
with  detail  drawings,  were  all  there.  With 
fierce  haste  the  architect  snatched  at  the  plan ; 
the  old  man  made  no  attempt  to  resist  him, 
but  allowed  him  to  stow  it  quietly  away  in 
his  breast-pocket,  whilst  he  himself  drew 
another  parchment,  smaller  than  the  former 
one,  out  of  his  coat  sleeve,  and  proceeded  to 


39^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


unfold  it.  There  were  only  a  couple  of  lines 
written  on  this  deed — for  such  it  appeared  to 
be, — but  they  gleamed  and  j^^lislened  with  a 
bluish,  flickering-  flame.  "No.v,  my  friend." 
said  the  old  man,  "there  is  still  one  little 
formality  to  l>e  gone  through  :  you  must  sign 
this  contract  with  a  drop  of  your  rich,  red 
blood.  You  have  made  a  capital  bargain.  You 
must  admit  the  plan  is  the  finest  ever  con- 
ceived by  an  architect;  and  what  do  I  get  in 
exchange  for  it?  Nothing  but  a  miserable 
soul.  My  dear  fellow,  you  little  imagine  what 
a  worthless  thing  that  is ;  and  who  knows 
but  what  it  would  have  come  to  me  of  its 
own  accord?" 

Talking  in  this  strain,  Satan — for  the  old 
man  was  none  other  than  that  very  personage 
— seemed  like  a  huckstering  old  Jew  trying  to 
enhance  the  value  of  the  ware  he  had  to  dis- 
pose of,  whilst  depreciating  the  price  he  was 
aboiit  to  receive.  During  the  conversation  he 
"Stretched  out  his  finger,  in  order  to  make  an 
incision  with  a  lancet  in  the  arm  of  the  archi- 
tect, in  which  to  moisten  the  pen  he  held  in 
his  lef:  hand.  At  this  moment  the  architect 
drew  from  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat  the 
silver  crucifix,  and,  holding  it  before  the  fiend, 
exclaimed  with  a  loud  voice:  "Get  thee  behind 
me,  Satan!  In  the  name  of  the  Holy  Trinity, 
I  abjure  thee  and  all  thy  works!" — "Ac- 
cursed, priest-ridden  slave!"  yelled  the  fiend, 
recoiling.  He  then  tried  to  snatch  the  drawing 
out  of  the  \^oung  man's  breast-pocket,  but  in 
vain :  the  crucifix  was  always  in  his  way  ;  and 
when  his  claws  came  in  contact  with  it  he 
was  obliged  to  draw  back,  like  a  cat  wetting 
her  paws.  "Keep  the  plan,  then!"  screamed 
Satan ;  "but  as  it  is  not  paid  for,  and  there- 
fore still  my  property,  I  will  curse  it.  It  shall 
never  be  executed,  and  the  work  shall  never 
be  finished ;  besides  which,  as  soon  as  the 
soul  shall  have  quitted  your  body,  your  name 
shall  be  forgotten."  At  this  instant  the  earth 
opened  at  the  young  man's  feet,  and  a  dense 
smoke  seemed  to  arise  from  it ;  but  when  the 
chasm  had  again  closed,  and  the  vapor  had 
passed  away,  the  wicked  spirit  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen. 

The  building  was  commenced ;  but  the 
unfortunate  architect,  instead  of  thanking 
Almighty  God  humbly  and  heartily  for  His 
aid  in  the  hour  of  need,  grieved  so  much  at 


the  curse  of  the  fiend,  by  which  the  work 
should  never  be  completed  and  his  own  name 
should  be  forgotten,  that  one  morning  he  was 
found  dead  in  his  bed. 

Another  version  of  this  legend  makes  the 
life  of  the  architect  to  end  in  a  different  way. 

When  the  devil  saw  that  he  had  been  duped, 
and  that  the  erection  of  the  Cathedral  still 
went  on.  he  tried  in  all  kinds  of  ways  to 
interrupt  the  beautiful  and  holy  work.  It 
irritated  him  to  see  the  walls  rising  higher 
and  higher;  but  when  at  length  the  pillars 
of  the  choir  were  topped  by  the  vaulting 
of  the  roof,  and  when  the  pinnacles  above 
pointed  to  the  throne  of  that  Almighty  Being 
whose  name  was  to  be  worshipped  and  whose 
praises  were  to  be  sung  in  the  edifice  which 
they  surmounted,  then  Satan  did  indeed 
gnash  his  teeth. 

One  day  when  the  architect  was  going  about 
the  finished  portion  of  the  work,  measuring 
with  his  rule  and  giving  instructions  to  the 
workmen,  a  journeyman  came  up  to  him  and 
said :  "Master,  you  are  taking  a  deal  of  unnec- 
essary trouble :  the  building  will  never  be 
completed,  but  will  always  remain  an  unfin- 
ished fragment."  Enraged  at  the  fellow's  im- 
pertinence in  thus  addressing  him,  he  replied : 
"You. have  no  faith  in  a  work  which  is 
intended  to  reach  to  heaven,  and  therefore 
you  are  unworthy  to  be  employed  upon  it." 
The  journeyman  made  a  scornful  gesture  and 
answered:  "You'll  repent  your  words  one 
day,  for  I  will  construct  a  canal  from  Treves  to 
Cologne  to  bring  water  up  to  the  doors  of  the 
Cathedral  before  the  spires  are  finished!" — 
"That  you  will  never  accomplish!"  said  the 
architect.  And  they  parted,  both  men  going 
about  their  immediate  tasks. 

When  the  journeyman,  who  had  at  once  left 
ofif  work  at  the  Cathedral,  had  reached  the 
heights  of  the  Eifel  (a  volcanic  range  stretch- 
ing away  to  Treves),  he  met  a  man  of  with- 
ered aspect,  limping,  and  possessing  a  cunning, 
unpleasant  cast  of  features,  who  wore  a  cap 
with  a  scarlet  feather  in  it.  The  two  walked 
on,  chatting  over  various  topics,  and  amongst 
others  the  journeyman  began  to  talk  about 
the  famous  Cathedral — saying  that  he  had 
been  turned  away,  and  it  never  would  be 
finished;  and  that  .he,  in  fact,  had  pledged 
himself  to  construct  a  canal  from  Treves  to 


The  Ave  Maria. 


•97 


Cologne*  before  the  architect  should  be  able 
to  put  up  the  fiiiials  oh  the  spires.  On  hearing 
this,  the  stranger,  who  had  spoken  of  himself 
as  not  unacquainted  with  architectural  art, 
exclaimed  :  "Take  me  with  you.  I  will  work 
hard  and  help  you  to  finish  the  canal,  if  3^ou 
will  promise  to  work  for  me  as  soon  as  the 
enterprise  is  completed."  The  journeyman 
agreed  to  the  proposal,  and  signed  a  contract 
to  that  effect  with  his  blood. 

The  canal  was  begun,  and  many  years  were 
passed  in  the  laborious  undertaking.  The 
work  was  carried  on  over  hill  and  dale.  The 
stranger  was  acquainted  with  all  the  laws 
appl>  ing  to  waterworks;  and  when  the  canal 
had  reached  the  top  of  the  hills  surrounding 
the  ancient  town  of  Cologne,  at  a  distance  cf 
five  or  six  miles,  the  journeyman  and  the 
stranger  saw  the  Cathedral  standing  before 
them  in  the  plain.  The  choir  was  finished,  the 
south  tower  ro>e  above  it,  and  on  the  latter 
stood  the  crat^.c.  From  their  point  of  observa- 
tion they  could  see  how  industriously  every- 
body was  working,  and  how  much  need  they 
themselves  had  of  straining  every  nerve  if 
they  wished  to  accomplish  their  task  within 
the  given  time.  However,  if  no  unforeseen 
accident  should  interrupt  their  labors,  the 
work  was  as  good  as  done. 

The  Cathedral  architect  had  labored  with- 
out ceasing.  His  fame  was  assured  and  his 
name  was  known  all  over  the  world.  Pride 
puffed  him  up.  He  had  quite  forgotten  that 
the  design  was  not  his  own,  and  that  he  had 
to  thank  God  for  His  assistance  in  that  little 
episode  at  the  Frankenthor.  But  when  men 
are  well  off  they  often  forget  their  own  weak- 
ness, and  gratitude  is  a  virtue  which  few 
possess. 

The  architc  ct  had  frequently  heard  persons 
speak  of  strange,  subterraneous  sounds  which 
had  been  heard  coming  in  the  direction  of  the 
Cathedral ;  but  in  his  self  sufficiency  he  had 
taken  no  particular  notice  of  this.  One  day, 
when  he  was  measuring  about  on  the  scaffold- 
ing and  giving  his  orders  to  the  workmen,  he 


*  This  portion  of  the  legend  refers  to  the  Roman 
aqueduct,  which  was  constructerl  from  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Schmidheim  to  the  Eifel  mountains,  in 
order  to  supply  Cologne  with  water.  Remains  of  this 
aqueduct  may  still  be  seen  in  many  places  between 
Cologne  and  Schmidheim. 


looked  down  from  one  of  the  towers  upon  the 
tow^n.  Suddenly  the  ground  opened  at  his  feet, 
and  a  wicked-looking  worm  crept  out, followed 
by  the  journeyman.  When  the  latter  saw  the 
architect  standing  on  the  tower,  he  called  out 
to  him:  "The  canal  is  finished,  master,  but 
the  Cathedral  never  will  be!"  At  the  same 
moment  the  dam  gave  way  and  the  waters 
came  pouring  out,  bearing  with  them  a  duck 
from  Treves,  which  was  to  be  the  sign  of  the 
accomplishment  of  the  task. 

The  architect  was  vStruck  dumb  with  aston- 
ishment. With  the  words,  "Heavens!  how 
shall  I  avenge  this  disgrace?"  he  threw  him- 
self from  the  tower  into  the  yawning  chasm, 
and  his  faithful  dog  jumped  after  him.  The 
worm  at  the  same  moment  broke  the  neck  of 
the  journeyman  and  carried  aw  ay  his  soul  ; 
for  the  worm  was  no  other  than  the  cunning- 
looking,  limping  stranger — Satan  personified, 
who,  for  once  at  least,  had  not  been  duped. 

On  the  centre  pillars  of  the  first  and  second 
stages  on  the  west  side  of  the  south  tower  may- 
still  be  seen  a  couple  of  ancient  gargoyles, 
which  are  said  by  the  people  to  be  true  like- 
nesses of  the  original  architect  and  his  dog, 
who  came  to  so  untimely  an  end. 

Thus  the  magnificent  building  remained 
unfinished  until  our  day;  but  the  architect 
has  often  been  seen  walking  about  the  desolate 
walls  with  a  measuring  rod  and  pair  of  com- 
passes in  his  hand.  He  is  always  dressed  in 
a  green  coat  wnth  a  grey  cap  on  his  head. 
There  is  no  rest  for  him  in  the  grave.  He  has 
frequently  been  heard  to  exclaim  during  mid- 
night storms :  "I  erected  this  building.  I  can 
not  rest  until  I  hear  the  old  crane  moving 
again;  as  then  I  shall  be  able  to  hand  over  my 
measuring  rod  to  a  competent  successor." 

When,  during  the  present  century,  a  deeply 
religious  and  generous  feeling  again  awoke, 
the  ancient  power  of  the  people  and  the 
national  spirit  arose.  Competent  men  were 
found,  and  among  the  desolate  walls  of  the 
Cathedral  ft-esh  life  began.  The  Evil  One 
had  not  only  been  robbed  of  his  plan,  but  his 
curse  was  overcome ;  and  since  then  the  old, 
unknown  architect  has  never  been  seen.  His 
soul  has  at  last  found  rest. 


You  can  outlive  a  slander  in  half  the  time 
you  can  out-argue  it. 


398 


The  Ave  Maria, 


The  "Nagger"  in  the  Family. 


BY   MAURICE   FRANCIS   KG  AN. 


IT  would  be  a  happy  thing  if  the  art  of 
"nagging"  were  a  lost  art,  or  if  "to nag" 
were  a  less  active  verb.  But,  unhappily,  it  is 
an  art  which  seems  to  acquire  fineness  as  time 
goes  on;  and  as  a  verb  its  possibilities  are 
infinite.  Socrates  was  no  doubt  so  much  dis- 
heartened by  one  of  the  most  eminent  "nag- 
gers" in  history,  that  he  took  the  hemlock 
juice  from  his  ungrateful  countrymen  with  a 
resignation  so  graceful  that,  among  his  other 
great  qualities,  it  is  said  he  knew  how  to  die. 
But  the  historical  writers  do  not  mention  how 
much  of  this  resignation  is  due  to  Xanthippe, 
who  was  not  only  sure  she  was  right  on  all 
occasions,  but  was  equally  sure  that  her  great 
husband  was  wrong. 

This  is  the  state  of  mind  of  the  "nagger" 
in  the  family.  He — the  masculine  pronoun  is 
used  for  the  sake  of  euphony — is  invariably  a 
person  of  exalted  virtue.  At  least,  everybody 
admits  that  he  is  of  exalted  virtue,  because  it 
would  be  dangerous  to  deny  it ;  it  would  be 
like  the  pulling  inadvertently  of  the  string  of 
a  shower-bath  when  one  is  dressed  to  go  out 
to  dinner;  for  the  "nagger"  has  all  the  un- 
pleasantness of  an  inappropriate  shower-bath, 
with  this  dijfference,  that  the  victim  has  no 
power  of  shutting  him  up. 

To  drop  euphony  and  to  be  honest.  The 
she- nagger — be  she  mother,  wife,  or  elder 
sister, — is  more  destructive  to  the  peace  of  a 
family  than  even  a  wilfully  vicious  person. 
A  drunkard  lets  his  family  alone  sometimes, 
but  the  "nagger,"  with  her  ceaseless  stream 
of  talk,  advice,  admonition,  satirical,  ill-tem- 
pered interjection,  her  violation  of  every  rule 
of  charity  while  rebuking  the  uncharitable, 
makes  home  a  place  to  be  avoided ;  and  when 
home  becomes  unendurable  there  is  very  little 
hope  that  the  scattered  members  of  it  will 
come  to  good. 

What  if  her  house  is  neater  than  her  neigh- 
bor's— and  uninhabitable?  What  if  her  car- 
pets are  brilliant  and  beautiful — and  trodden 
on  with  fear  and  trembling?  What  if  her 
dinners  are  excellent  and  served  in  exact  time, 
if  she  presides  at  them  in  stately  censorious- 


ness,  ready  to  pour  down  on  the  luckless  vic- 
tim's head  her  usual  stream  of  fault-finding? 

A  dinner  of  herbs  is  not  to  be  despised, — 
omelette  aux  fines  herbes,  for  instance ;  but  the 
Scriptuie  means  a  much  simpler  repast  indeed 
when  it  contrasts  a  dinner  of  herbs  with  cheer- 
fulness and  the  roast  ox  eaten  in  bitterness  of 
spirit.  And  the  "nagger"  always  produces 
bitterness  of  spirit.  The  "nagger"  is  of  both 
sexes,  exciting  and  thriving  in  the  press,  in 
society,  in  offices  of  business ;  but  the  creature 
ismost  nefarious  in  the  family  circle.  You  can 
escape  this  modern  dragon  (the  fiend  who 
carried  off  Hrothar's  thanes  in  Beowulf  was 
only  an  ancient  "nagger"  exaggerated  by 
popular  vision), — you  can  escape  the  modern 
"nagger"  anywhere  else  but  in  the  family. 
Elle  y  est,  elk  y  reste.  She  knows  her  power, 
and  she  uses  it. 

How  many  unpleasant  things  that  were 
better  forgotten  does  she  recall!  The  value  of 
peace  surpasses  her  understanding.  How  she 
rakes  up  the  imperfections  of  other  folk,  until 
she  has  built  a  huge  mausoleum  of  faults  over 
their  characters!  To  agree  with  her  is  fatal, 
for  it  encourages  her;  to  disagree  is  more  fatal, 
for  it  inflames  that  half-smoldering  malice 
which  the  "nagger"  calls  righteous  indigna- 
tion. No  means  of  discouragement  for  the  well- 
intentioned  is  left  unused  by  this  creature, 
the  breath  of  whose  nostril  is  that  pride  which 
she  censures  in  others.  And  the  worst  of  it  is 
that  she  never  accuses  herself  when  the  ruin 
she  has  wrought  lies  before  her.  She  goes  on 
her  way,  rejoicing  that  her  iterated  prophe- 
sies have  been  fulfilled    ''She  told  you  so!" 

A  little  Christian  charity,  a  little  self- 
discipline,  a  little  reticence,  a  little  softness, 
would  help  the  wavering  one  to  gain  the  goal, 
to  which  she  urges  him  with  a  constantly- 
applied  bunch  of  nettles.  But  though  she  un- 
intermittingly  teaches  self-control,  she  seldom 
exercises  it.  She  has  no  temptations  to  those 
small  lapses  in  daily  life  which  call  forth  from 
her  never-ending  torrents — no,  not  torrents, 
rivulets — of  reproach.  Kn^L  \ie.r  looks  I  They 
carry  terror  and  devastation  and  remorse  to 
their  object^  they  slay  comfort,  they  excite 
rebellion;  but  they  are  unanswerable.  How 
little  she  seems  to  know  that  it  is  her  methods 
that  make  religion  seem  repellent  and  good- 
ness unsympathetic!  Who  dares  to  tell  her  ?  If 


The  Ave  Maria. 


399 


she  reads  this  she  will  apply  it  to  her  neigh- 
bor across  the  way,  arid  go  on  wondering  why 
her  virtue  is  not  rewarded  by  her  relatives' 
giving  up  their  ways  and  adopting  her  own. 

Does  her  husband  dread  the  family  fireside? 
Do  her  children  long  to  be  out  of  her  sight,  so 
that  each  unhappy  mistake — with  her  there  is 
no  felix  adpa — may  not  be  pointed  out  and 
repointed  out,  iterated  and  reiterated?  Does 
her  son  stay  out  as  long  as  he  can,  in  the  hope 
that  she  may  be  silent  in  bleep?  Does  her 
daughter  wish  for  something  more  at  home 
than  fussy  neatness  and  scolding  regularity  ? 
Whose  is  the  fault?  Not  hers,  for  does  she 
not  spend  her  breath,  every  instant  of  her  life, 
in  attempts  at  improving  her  species?  And 
her  reward  ? 

Her  husband's  temper  grows  worse  every 
day,  and  his  outlook  more  gloomy ;  her  sons 
will  not  stay  at  home,  and  it  is  whispered 
that  they  drink  too  often  of  the  cup  that 
inebriates.  Her  daughters  are  low-spirited, 
nervous,  fretful,  and  they  have  caught  some 
of  her  censoriousness.  This  is  her  reward. 
When  she  dies  the  people  she  has  tried  to  im- 
prove will,  perliaps,  speak  of  her  as  a  martyr 
to  duty ;  but  they  will  be  better  off,  and  we 
hope  so  will  she. 


The   Delegates   of  the    Pan-American 
Congress  at  Notre  Dame. 


THE  University  of  Notre  Dame  was  favored 
in  being  among  the  few  institutions  of 
learning  visited  by  the  members  of  the  Pan- 
American  Congress  in  their  trip  across  the 
Continent.  They  were  here  last  Saturday,  and 
received  a  fitting  welcome,  for  which  elaborate 
preparations  had  been  made.  Flags  of  all  the 
American  nations  waved  from  the  different 
department  buildings,  and  in  an  arch  erected 
over  the  main  entrance  of  the  University  was 
the  sacred  emblem  of  the  Congregation  of  the 
Holy  Cross  in  beautiful  evergreen,  surmounted 
by  the  Papal  colors,  and  again  by  the  Stars 
and  Stripes. 

After  seeing  the  great  manufactories  of  the 
neighboring  city  of  South  Bend,  the  delegates 
were  driven  to  Notre  Dame,  where  the  stu- 
dents, over  five  hundred  in  number,  were 
drawn  up  in  lines  to  receive  them.  The  bells 


rang  outajn^ous  welcome,  cheers  lent  the  air, 
and  the  band  discoursjed  lively  music  as  the 
long  line  of  carriages  roiled  up  the  avenue. 
When  the  bells  had  ceased  ringing,  Mr.  Euse- 
bio  Chacon,  standing  on  the  lowest  step  of 
the  main  portico,  delivered  a  brief  address  in 
Spanish,  in  the  name  of  the  students  of  the 
University.  Ascending  the  steps  to  the  grand 
hall,  the  delegates  were  welcomed  to  Notre 
Dame  by  the  Very  Rev.  President,  in  words  so 
well  chosen  and  so  appropriate  to  the  occasion 
that  we  cm  not  refrain  from  quoting  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  the  address  After  express- 
ing the  gratification  which  their  visit  afforded 
the  Faculty  and  students,  Father  Walsh  said : 

"With  the  object  which  your  Congress  has  in 
view,  atid  which  we  are  assured  that  it  will  realize,  it 
is  needless  to  say  that  we  are  in  fullest.sympathy. . . . 
You  have  seen  on  all  sides  during  the  past  month, 
proofs  of  the  wonderful  material  progress  and  pros- 
perity of  our  Republic ;  this  afternoon  it  will  be  our 
privilege  to  present  one  of  the  many  illustrations 
that  might  be  given  of  the  happy  results  effected 
during  the  course  of  a  single  generation  by  the  spirit 
of  the  religion  of  your  fathers,  independent  of  state 
patronage  and  unhampered  by  state  interference. 
The  growth  and  prosperity  of  institutions  like  ours, 
and  the  confidence  which  they  enjoy,  we  look  upon 
as  standing  proofs  that,  wha  ever  may  be  said  or 
imagined  to  the  contrary,  there  is  no  hostility,  no 
incompatibility  between  the  old  Church,  whose  car- 
dinal principle  is  authority,  and  those  modem  insti- 
tutions based  on  the  widest  individual  liberty.  Our 
aim  is  to  show  to  the  world  that  true  patriotism  and 
religion  go  always  hand  in  hand ;  the  task  which  we 
strive  to  fulfil  is  to  prepare  a  generation  of  citizens 
who  will  know  how  to  render  to  Caesar  the  things 
that  are  Caesar's  without  forgetting  to  render  to  God 
the  things  that  are  God's ;  and  our  proudest  boast  is 
that  the  nation  counts  no  sons  more  loyal,  none  more 
jealous  of  her  honor  or  more  devoted  to  her  interests, 
than  those  who  went  forth  from  these  walls.  .  .  . 

"The  flags  that  float  above  }  our  heads,  and  the  pict- 
ured scenes  that  will  greet  you.  will,  we  trust,  pleasur- 
a'  ly  remind  you  that  you  Ijave  no  reason  to  consider 
yourt^elves  strauj.;ers  in  a  strange  land ;  and  our 
highest  ambition  will  be  realized  if  we  can  flatter 
ourselves  thit  your  visit  to  Notre  Dame  has  rot  been 
the  least  interesting  feakure  of  a  trip  destined,  no 
doubt,  to  remain  memorable  in  the  annals  of  many 
peoples,  and  to  mark  the  beginning  of  a  new  era  of 
international  peace,  union,  and  prosperity." 

Meantime  an  elegant  repast  had  been  pre- 
pared for  the  delegates  and  those  who  accom- 
panied them.  The  leading  citizens  of  South 
Bend,  the  Mayor  of  Chicago  and  other  prom- 
inent gentlemen  from  the  Garden  City  who 
had  come  on  to  meet  the  delegation,  and  rep- 


400 


The  Ave  Maria. 


resentatives  of  the  press  from  New  York, 
Chicago,  and  Indianapolis,  were  among  the 
number.  It  was  a  cosmopolitan  gathering, 
perhaps  as  many  as  half  a  hundred  nations 
being  represented. 

The  time  before  the  departure  of  the  train 
which  was  to  bear  the  distinguished  guests 
to  Chicago  was  spent  in  visiting  the  different 
departments  of  the  University,  the  beautiful 
Church  of  Our  I^ady  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  etc. 
Time  was  also  taken  for  a  visit  to  St.  Mary's 
Academy,  and  from  there  the  members  of  the 
Congress  took  their  departure,  expressing 
themselves  greatly  pleased  with  their  visit  to 
Notre  Dame, — some  of  them  declaring  that 
no  institutions  in  the  country  had  had  more 
special  interest  for  them.  Let  us  hope  that 
they  may  visit  other  Catholic  colleges  and 
convent  schools  before  leaving  the  United 
States,  and  lose  forever  the  impression — if 
they  have  it — which  the  infidel  press  of  their 
own  country  and  Protestant  missionaries  from 
ours  have  tried  so  hard  to  convey — namely, 
that  the  United  States  are  great  and  prosperous 
because  Protestant. 


Readings  from  Remembered  Books. 

THE  QUEEN  OF  INDULGENCED  DEVOTIONS. 

I  CAN  not  conceive  a  man  being  spiritual  who 
does  not  habitually  .«-ay  the  Rosary.  It  may  be 
called  the  queen  of  indulgenced  devotions.  First 
consider  its  importance,  as  a  specially  Catholic 
devotion,  as  so  peculiarly  giving  us  a  Catholic 
turn  of  mind  by  keeping  Jesus  and  Mary  perpet- 
ually before  us,  and  as  a  singular  help  to  final 
perseverance  if  we  continue  the  recital  of  it,  as 
various  revelations  show.  Next  consider  its  insti- 
tution by  St.  Dominic  in  12 14,  by  revelation,  for 
the  purpose  of  combating  heresy,  and  the  success 
which  attended  it.  Its  matter  and  form  are  not 
less  striking.  Its  matter  consists  of  the  Pater, 
the  Ave,  and  the  Gloria ^  whose  authors  are  our 
Blessed  Lord  Himself,  St.  Gabriel,  St.  Elizabeth, 
the  Council  of  Ephesus,  and  the  whole  Church, 
led  in  the  West  by  St.  Damasus.  Its  form  is  a 
complete  abridgment  of  the  Gospel,  consisting  of 
fifteen  mysteries  in  decades,  expressing  the  three 
great  phases  of  the  work  of  redemption — joy, 
sorrow,  and  glory.  The  peculiarity  of  the  Rosary 
is  the  next  attractive  feature  about  it.  It  unites 
mental  with  vocal  prayer  It  is  a  devotional  com- 
ndium  of  theology.  It  is  an  efficacious  practice 


of  the  presence  of  God.  It  is  one  chief  channel  of 
the  traditions  of  the  Incarnati-n  among  the  faith- 
ful. It  .shows  the  true  nature  of  devotion  to  our 
Blessed  Lady,  and  is  a  means  of  realizing  the 
communion  of  saints.  Its  ends  are  the  love  of 
Jesus,  reparation  to  the  Sacred  Humanity  for  the 
outrages  of  heresy,  and  a  continual  affectionate 
thanksgiving  to  the  Most  Holy  Trinity  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Incarnation.  It  is  sanctioned  by  the 
Church,  by  indulgences,  by  miracles,  by  the  con- 
version of  sinners,  and  by  the  usage  of  the  saints. 
See,  also,  how  much  the  method  of  reciting  it 
involves.  We  should  firsi  make  a  picture  of  the 
mystery,  and  always  put  our  Blessed  Lady  into 
the  picture ;  for  the  Rosary  is  hers.  We  should 
couple  some  duty  or  virtue  with  each  mystery  ; 
and  fix  beforehand  on  some  soul  in  Purgatory  to 
whom  to  apply  the  vast  indulgences.  Meanwhile,, 
we  must  not  strain  our  minds,  or  be  scrupulous  \ 
for  to  say  the  Rosary  well  is  quite  a  thing  which 
requires  learning.  Remember  always,  as  the  Rac- 
colta  teaches,  that  the  fifteenth  mystery  is  the 
Coronation  of  Mary,  and  not  merely  the  glory  of 
the  saints.  Our  beads  land  us  and  leave  us  at  the 
feet  of  Mary  crowned — ''Groiuth  in  Holiness,'''' 
Faber. 

THE     M.\RTYRDOM     OF     FATHERS     BRftBEUF    ANI> 
I.ALEMANT. 

Br^beuf  was  led  apart,  and  bound  to  a  stake. 
He  seemed  more  concerned  for  his  captive  con- 
verts than  for  himself,  and  addressed  them  in  a 
loud  voice,  exhorting  them  to  suffer  patiently, 
and  promising  heaven  as  their  reward.  The  Iro- 
quois, incensed,  scorched  him  from  head  to  foot,  to 
silence  him  ;  whereupon,  in  the  tone  of  a  master, 
he  threatened  fheni  with  everlasting  flames 
for  persecuting  the  worshippers  of  God.  As  he 
continued  to  speak,  with  voice  and  countenance 
unchanged,  they  cut  away  his  lower  lip  and 
thrust  a  red  hot  iron  down  his  throat.  He  still 
held  his  tall  form  erect  and  defiant,  with  no  sign 
or  sound  of  pain  ;  and  they  tried  another  means 
to  overcome  him.  They  led  out  Lalemant,  that 
Brebeuf  might  see  him  tortured.  They  had  tied 
strips  of  bark,  smeared  with  pitch,  about  his 
naked  body.  When  he  saw  the  condition  of  his 
superior,  he  could  not  hide  his  agitation,  and 
called  out  to  him,  with  a  broken  voice,  in  the 
words  of  St.  Paul :  ' '  We  are  made  a  spectacle  to 
the  world,  to  angels  and-  to  men."  Then  he  threw 
himself  at  Brebeuf 's  feet ;  upon  which  the  Iro- 
quois seized  him,  made  him  fast  to  a  stake,  and 
set  fire  to  the  bark  that  enveloped  him.  As  the 
flame  rose  he  threw  his  arms  upward,  with  a 
shriek  of  .supplication  to  Heaven, 

Next  they  hung  around  Brebeuf 's  neck  a  collar 
made  of  hatchets  heated  red-hot :  but  the  indom- 


The  Ave  iMaria, 


401 


itable  priest  stood  like  a  rock.  A  Huron  in  the 
crowd,  who  had  been  a  convert  of  the  mission, 
but  was  now  an  Iroquois  by  adoption,  called  out. 
with  the  malice  of  a  renegade,  to  pour  hot  water 
on  their  heads,  since  they  had  poured  so  much 
cold  water  on  those  of  others.  The  kettle  was 
accordingly  slung,  an  I  the  water  boiled  and 
poured  slowly  on  the  heads  of  the  two  mission- 
aries. "We  baptize  you,"  they  cried,  "that  you 
may  be  happy  in  heaven  ;  for  nobody  can  be 
saved  without  a  good  baptism."  Brebeuf  would 
not  flinch  ;  and,  in  a  rage,  they  cut  strips  of 
flesh  from  his  limbs  and  devoured  them  before  his 
eyes.  Other  renegade  Hurons  called  out  to  him  : 
"You  told  us  that,  the  more  one  suffers  on  earth, 
the  happier  he  is  in  heaven  We  wish  to  make 
you  happy  ;  we  torment  you  because  we  love 
you ;  and  you  ought  to  thank  us  for  it  ' '  After 
a  succession  of  other  revolting  tortures,  they 
scalped  him  ;  when,  seeing  him  nearly  dead,  they 
laid  open  his  breast,  and  came  in  a  crowd  to  drink 
the  blood  of  so  valiant  an  enemy,  thinking  to 
imbibe  with  it  some  portion  of  his  courage.  A 
chief  then  tore  out  his  heart,  and  devoured  it. 

Thus  died  Jean  de  Brebeuf,  the  founder  of  the 
Huron  mission,  its  truest  hero  and  its  greatest 
martyr.  He  came  of  a  noble  race, — the  same,  it  is 
said,  from  which  sprang  the  English  Earls  of 
Arundel ;  but  never  had  the  mailed  barons  of  his 
line  confronted  a  fate  so  appalling  with  so  pro- 
digious a  constancy.  To  the  last  he  refused  to 
flinch;  and  "his  death  was  the  astonivshment  of 
his  murderers." 

Lalemant,  physically  weak  from  childhood, 
and  slender  almost  to  emaciation,  was  unequal  to 
a  display  of  fortitude  like  that  of  his  colleague. 
When  Brebeuf  died,  his  companion  was  led  back 
to  the  house  whence  he  had  been  taken,  and 
tortured  there  all  night,  until,  in  the  morning, 
one  of  the  Iroquois,  growing  tired  of  the  pro- 
tracted entertainment,  killed  him  with  a  hatchet. 
It  was  said  that,  at  times,  he  seemed  beside  him- 
self; then,  rallying,  with  hands  uplifted,  he 
offered  his  sufferings  to  Heaven  as  a  sacrifice. 
His  robust  companion  had  lived  less  than  four 
hours  under  the  torture,  while  he  survived  it  for 
nearly  seventeen.  Perhaps  the  Titantic  effort  of 
will  with  which  Brebeuf  repressed  all  show  of 
suffering  conspired  with  the  Iroquois  knives  and 
firebrands  to  exhaust  his  vitality ;  perhaps  his 
tormentors,  enraged  at  his  fortitude,  forgot  their 
subtlety,  and  struck  too  near  the  life. 

The  bodies  of  the  two  missionaries  were  carried 
to  Sle.  Marie,  and  buried  in  the  cemetery  there ; 
but  the  skull  of  Brebeuf  was  preserved  as  a  relic. 
His  family  sent  from  France  a  silver  bust  of  their 
martyred  kinsman,  in  the  base  of  which  was  a 


recess  to  contain  the  skull ;  and  to  this  day  the 
bust  and  the  relic  within  are  preserved  with  pious 
care  by  the  nuns  of  the  Hotel-Dieu  at  Quebec. — 
''The  Jesuits  in  North  America  in  the Sevetiteenth 
Century''  Francis  Parkman. 

A   CONVERSATION   IN   MRS.  KALCONKKS   vSALON. 

'There  is  the  least  possible  amount  of  true 
greatness  in  the  world,"  remarked  Lady  Dor- 
chester. "  What  we  have  to  put  up  with  is  mostly 
a  counterfeit  -not  greatness  but  .success." 

"A  distinction  well  made,"  said  the  Marquis; 
"but  a  distinction  which  unfortunately  does  not 
exist  for  the  majority  of  pciple.  To  them^a  man 
who  has  succeeded — a  man  who  has  put  his"foot 
on  the  necks  of  his  fellow-beings,  howsoeverithe 
feat  was  accomplished — is  one  who  has  achieved 
greatness.  Let  him  have  been  guilty  of  what 
falsity,  what  cruelty,  what  injustice  he  .will,  there 
are  thousands  ready  to  do  him  honor." 

"And  to  envy  and  imitate  him,"  added jMrs. 
Falconer.  "The  effect  of  example  is  to  me  one  of 
the  most  terrible  things  in  life." 

"It  is  one  of  the  most  pervading,"  said  Stan- 
hope. "No  one  can  possibly  tell  how  far  it  ex- 
tends. 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." 

"It  ought  to  make  one  tremble,"  said  Lady 
Dorchester;  "only  we  have  got  past  trembling 
at  anything." 

"And  our  standard  of  good  or  evil,  as  far  as 
one  can  make  out,  is  simply  success  or  failure," 
said  Colonel  Bevis. 

"True,"  said  Stanhope.  "It  is  an  absolutely 
brutal  standard ;  but  no  other  appears  to  have 
weight  or  meaning  to  the  modern  mind.  For  ex- 
ample, we  are  told  repeatedly — told  until  our  ears 
are  weary  with  the  sound — that  prosperity  is  the 
standard  by  which  we  are  to  measure  the  worth 
of  a  nation.  Let  a  country  abound  with  material 
wealth,  let  the  earth  tremble  under  the  sound  of 
its  manufactures  and  the  sea  be  white  with  its 
ships,  let  it  build  great  cities  and  impose  its  rule 
on  reluctant  myriads,  and  whatever  virtues  have 
perished  in  the  consuming  flame  of  that  love  of 
riches,  which  we  are  emphatically  told  in  an  an- 
tiquated volume  is  'the  root  of  all  evil,'  there  is 
no  psean  too  lofty  to  be  sung  in  its  praise.  But 
take  another  country,  where  there  is  no  such 
triumphant  prosperity,  but  where  the  people  are 
brave,  honest,  virtuous,  and  above  all  contented, 
—  let  it  be  anathema!  What,  no  factories,  no 
mines,  no  ships,  no  gamblers  on  a  stock-exchange, 
no  extremes  of  immense  wealth  and  poverty  such 
as  cry  to  Heaven  for  vengeance!    Really,  it   is 


402 


The  Ave  Maria. 


doubtful   if  such  a  country  can  be  said  to   be 
civilized ! " 

"  But,"  vSaid  Colonel  Bevis,  "you  surely  do  not 
think  it  necessarily  follows  that  the  virtues  of 
which  you  speak  must  perish  in  the  midst  of 
mateiial  prosperity  ? " 

"Yes,  I  do,"  answered  Stanhope,  unhesitat- 
ingly. "In  the  race  for  wealth,  which  soon  be- 
comes the  controlling  passion  of  such  a  nation, 
there  is  no  place  for  them.  It  is  the  most  debas- 
ing of  all  the  ideals  that  have  ever  been  set  before 
mankind." 

"And  it  is  that,"  said  the  Marquis,  "which  is 
the  foundation  of  the  movement  that  is  threat 
ening  Europe  with  social  and  political  anarchy 
to-day.  When  you  put  material  prosperity  before 
men  as  the  only  end  of  human  effort — when  you 
say  to  them,  '  You  are  of  worth  only  as  j'ou  pos- 
sess the  goods  of  the  world  ' — and  when  you  add 
that  there  is  no  God-  to  fear  and  no  heaven  to 
compensate  for  the  injustices  of  time,  what  can 
be  expected  save  that  which  is  sounding  in  our 
ears — the  mad  cry  of  socialistic  revolt?  For  the 
revolution,  as  we  know  it,  is  simply  Materialism 
carried  to  its  logical  conclusion.  If  the  only  facts 
in  the  world  are  the  properties  and  products  of 
matter,  and  if  the  only  test  of  right  and  wrong  is 
the  will  of  a  majority,  what  answer  can  be  made  to 
the  movement  which  displays  itself  as  Commu 
nism,  as  Socialism,  or  even  as  Nihilism?  What 
can  be  expected  of  men  who  have  for  their  evangel 
the  Bill  of  Rights  of  the  French  Revolution, 
and  for  their  war-cry  'Ni  Dieu,  ni  mattre !'  but 
the  negation  of  every  bond  which  holds  society 
together  and  makes  government  possible?" 

"It  is  a  terrible  outlook,"  observed  Colonel 
Bevis.  "But  I  think  there  is  some  protection  in 
the  common  sense  of  human  nature." 

"Did  the  common  sense  of  human  nature  save 
France  from  the  Reign  of  Terror?"  asked  the 
Marquis.  "Common  sense  is  like  straw  before 
the  flame  of  human  passion.  I  do  not  say  that 
such  a  gigantic  tyranny  as  the  socialists  will  in- 
augurate when  they  get  the  upper  hand  can  last, 
but  it  will  certainly  be  tried.  What  else  is  going 
on  in  France  now  ?  Every  step  is  toward  concen- 
trating all  power  in  the  state — which  is  the  ideal 
of  Communism.  They  have  struck  at  the  rights 
of  paternity  in  making  education  public  and 
compulsory  ;  they  will  strike  next  at  the  rights 
of  property.  'La  proprlete  c'est  le  vol ! '  is  one  of 
the  first  articles  of  their  creed.  No  man  is  to  be 
allowed  to  accumulate  or  to  inherit.  The  state  is 
to  be  the  sole  inheritor.  In  that  way  they  mean 
to  secure  tlie  visionary  equality  which  has  never 
been,  and  can  never  be,  realized." 

"A  more  monstrous  idea  was  never  conceived, " 


exclaimed  Colonel  Bevis.  "Its  palpable  injustice 
lies  in  the  fact  that  it  would  drag  the  industrious 
down  to  the  level  of  the  thriftless,  and  that, 
instead  of  elevating  human  nature,  it  would  de- 
grade it  to  absolute  savagery." 

"That  is  plain  to  you  and  to  me,"  said  the 
Marquis;  'but  it  contains  no  argument  for  the 
multitude  whose  will,  according  to  the  revolu- 
tionary creed,  is  the  last  reason  of  power.  'Since 
we  can  not  rise  to  your  level,  you  shall  come 
down  to  ours!'  they  cry  in  rage  against  all 
wealth,  all  prosperity,  all  distinction  of  rank. 
And  what  appeal  have  you?  That  was  a  wise 
saying  of  a  great  ruler:  *  You  can  not  govern  a 
people  who  have  forgotten  the  life  eternal.'  Elim- 
inate the  idea  of  God — as  modern  thought  has 
eliminated  '\\, — and  the  source  of  all  justice,  the 
sanction  of  all  moral  law,  is  gone.  Nothing  on 
earth  can  stand  without  a  basis,  and  when  there 
is  no  basis  of  acknowledged  right,  when  the  un- 
derlying principle  of  civil  power  is  simply  brute 
force,  as  repre^^ented  in  the  will  of  a  dominant 
multitude,  political  tyranny  and  social  chaos 
must  inevitably  follow.  ..." 

"Speaking  of  Christendom,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, "I  was  reading  the  other  day  'Traits  and 
Travesties,'  in  which  the  author  declares  that 
Christendom  should  now  be  called  anti-Christen- 
dom, inasmuch  as  all  that  is  put  before  modern 
society  as  its  goal  is  directly  opposed  to  the 
teaching  of  Christ." 

"It  is  very  true,"  remarked  Stanhope.  "At 
the  present  time  there  is  not  a  single  govern- 
ment, composing  that  which  was  once  called 
Christendom,  which  has  not  publicly  repudiated 
the  Christian  basis.  As  I  have  observed  before, 
the  god  which  the  nineteenth  century  worships 
is  material  progress ;  and  of  a  worship  so  debas- 
ing, none  other  than  debasing  results  can  be 
expected.  Progress  is  a  word  of  very  attractive 
sound,  and  it  is  the  great  shibboleth  of  our  age; 
but  it  should  be  remembered  that  there  are  two 
kinds  of  progress — one  upward,  the  other  down- 
ward. And  no  progress  can  be  truly  regarded  as 
upward  which,  while  increasing  material  comfort 
and  material  wealth,  while  multiplying  means 
of  transportation  and  inventing  Gatling-guns, 
nevertheless  ignores  utterly  the  law  of  God  as 
the  foundation  of  public  order;  forgets  utterly  the 
divine  precept  of  charity ;  thrusts  the  poor  out  of 
sight,  to  find  them  rising  up  arrayed  in  the  awful 
vengeance  of  class-hatred  ;  and  teaches  men  that 
they  are  not  the  sons  of  God,  but  mere  animals, 
destined  to  an  animal  end." 

''Bien  ditf  said  the  Marquis,  "And  that  is 
a  correct  statement  of  the  progress  which  the 
Catholic  Church  and  her  Supreme  Pontiff  are 


f 


The  Ave  Maria. 


4^3 


I  reviled  for  not  endorsing.  It  is  sad,"  he  went  on 
after  a  brief  pause,  "to  witness  the  rapid  disin- 
tegration of  that  beautiful  and  noble  fabric  of 
Christian  states  that  established  the  splendid 
civilization  to  which  we  owe  all  that  is  good  in 
Dur  civil  and  social  order.  The  civilization  which, 
luring  the  ages  that  the  presumption  of  to-day 
calls  '  dark, '  filled  Europe  with  houses  of  learn- 
ing, founded  chivalry,  and  practised  the  boundless 
charity  toward  Christ's  poor  which  runs  like  a 
thread  of  gold  through  all  its  history,  and  left  in 
the  great  monuments  of  its  genius  achievements 
which  our  boastful  age  is  unable  even  to  imitate. ' ' 
— ''Heart  of  Steel,''  Christian  Reid. 

A   FRIEND   GOD-GIVEN. 

Alone  no  more  forever!  In  the  darkness  of  the 
night,  in  the  solitude  of  the  desert  and  of  the  sea, 
and  in  that  more  awful  solitude  which  the  stranger 
in  a  strange  land  knows  and  suffers,  feeling  him- 
self the  unrecognized  decimal  in  the  infinite  mul- 
titude,— thou  art  with  me,  my  ever- watchful  and 
f)rotecting  Guardian  Angel !  I  know  not  thy  name, 
nor  the  fashion  of  thy  form  or  features ;  but  in  my 
dreams,  waking  or  sleeping,  I  seem  to  see  thee, 
clad  in  robes  of  beauty,  thy  wings  folded  in  per- 
fect peace,  thy  shining  brow  half  shaded  by 
locks  celestial,  and  thy  calm  eyes,  that  never  close 
in  slumber,  fixed  on  mine  with  a  glance  of  love 
unspeakable.  Often  I  must  grieve  thee,  for  I  am 
human  and  thou  art  divine  ;  but  because  thou  art 
divine  thou  wilt  pity  and  forgive  my  human 
weakness.  How  can  I  sin  in  thy  sight,  immacu- 
late spirit!  How  can  I  yield  to  the  temptations 
of  the  traducer!  With  what  anguish  must  thou 
follow  my  wilful  and  stumbling  steps,  throwing 
thine  arms  about  me  in  the  moment  of  my  fall ; 
seeking,  alas!  vainly,  to  lead  me  back  into  the 
straight  way ;  pricking  my  conscience  with  the 
thorn  of  reproof,  till  it  cries  out  against  me  in 
thy  name  and  with  thy  voice! 

Silent  counsellor!  how  often  hast  thou  stood 
between  me  and  the  unseen  or  unheeded  danger 
that  was  threatening  me!  How  tenderly  hast  thou 
smoothed  the  pillow  on  my  bed  of  pain,  and  wit- 
nessed with  grief  the  torments  of  this  poor  body! 
In  my  saddest  hour,  perchance,  thou  hast  min- 
gled thy  tears  with  mine,  and  folded  me  to  thy 
heart  to  compassionate  me — and  I  not  mindful 
of  thee!  Heavenly  guest,  whose  home  is  in  my 
heart,  I  give  thee  a  thousand  times  ten  thousand 
welcomes!  Let  me  not  lose  thee,  nor  forget  thee, 
nor  cease  from  reposing  trustfully  in  thee,  O 
loving  and  beloved!  In  my  last  hour  may  thy 
arms  receive  my  fainting  soul,  and  thy  bosom 
sustain  it  in  its  agony !— '  'A  Troubled  Heart,  and 
how  It  was  Comforted  at  Last.** 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

Madagascar  is  rapidly  becoming  one  of  the 
most  important  astronomical  and  meteorological 
centres.  At  Tananarivou  the  French  Government 
has  erected  a  new  observatory,  which  is  the  highest 
in  the  world.  It  is  in  charge  of  a  Jesuit  Father, 
the  Rev.  P.  Colin,  who  has  made  many  valua- 
ble astronomical  and  meteorological  observations. 
It  is  expected  that  very  important  services  to 
science  will  be  rendered  through  means  of  this 
observatory,  especially  in  the  preparation  of  a 
chart  of  the  heavens  in  the  19th  century,  which 
has  been  undertaken  by  all  observatories  in  the 
world. 

The  Papal  household  assemble  every  night 
between  nine  and  ten  o'clock  for  the  recitation  of 
the  Rosary,  after  which  they  retire  to  rest.  But 
long  after  that  hour,  writes  a  Roman  correspond- 
ent, the  Cardinal  Secretary  of  State  or  the  under 
Secretary  is  often  summoned  to  the  Holy  Father's 
apartments,  where,  by  the  light  of  the  midnight 
lamp,  the  Vicar  of  Christ  watches  and  thinks  and 
prays  for  the  welfare  of  the  Church. 


L 


A  shameful  story  has  been  started  by  Signer 
Crispi's  organ  to  the  effect  that  the  late  Cardinal 
Schiafiino — who  died  of  acute  gavStro-enteritis, 
aggravated  by  his  having  taken  cold  water  when 
overheated, — was  poisoned.  This  ridiculous  state- 
ment is  denied  by  Dr.  Ceccarelli,  who  attended 
him.  The  Cardinal  was  a  close  friend  of  his  Holi- 
ness Leo  XIII.,  a  learned  and  devoted  son  of 
Holy  Church.  

Those  who  possess  relics  of  the  True  Cross 
will  prize  them  all  the  more  to  learn  that,  in  con- 
sequence of  their  present  scarceness,  the  Holy 
Father  has  addressed  a  request  to  all  the  bishops 
throughout  the  world  to  leave,  by  testament,  to 
their  successors  the  relics  of  the  True  Cross 
which  they  are  privileged  to  possess  in  their 
pectoral  crosses. 

Mr.  William  Tallack,  secretary  of  a  great 
association  named  after  the  philanthropist,  John 
Howard,  has  published  a  valuable  book  on  "  Pen- 
ological and  Preventive  Principles."  Mr.  Tallack 
is  exceedingly  prejudiced  against  the  Church, 
and  yet  he  gives  this  testimony  to  her  charity: 

' '  In  the  partially  cellular  prison  of  Sari  Michele 
at  Rome,  erected  in  1703  by  Pope  Clement  XI., 
from  the  plans  of  his  architect.  Carlo  Fontaiia,  the 
necessity  of  combining  the  moral  with  the  deter- 
rent conditions  of  separation  was  permanently 
recorded  in  the  motto  conspicuously  inscribed 
over  the  prison :    *  Parum  est  coercere  improbos 


404 


The  Ave  Maria. 


pcena,  nisi  probos  efficias  discipiina.'  This  motto 
greatly  impressed  John  Howard  when  he  visited 
Rome.  It  is  important  to  notice  this  broad  view 
taken  by  the  Roman  Church,  for  she  was  a  pioneer 
©f  prison  reform.  Clement  Xl's  prison  became  a 
model  for  a  similar  one  at  Milan.  The  long  ranges 
of  cells,  and  even  the  radiating  arrangements  of 
the  wings  and  corridors,  were  planned  by  the 
Roman  architect  and  the  Pontiff.  Long  years  after 
they  were  imitated  by  Belgians  at  Ghent,  then 
by  Jeremy '  Bentham  at  Millbank,  and  also  by 
some  Americans  in  the  United  States." 

And  this   was  the  "horrible"  Castle  of  St. 
Angelo  of  Protestant  romance! 


The  death  of  Archbishop  Porter,  of  Bombay, 
recalls  many  pleasant  stories  of  his  life  at  Stony- 
hurst,  the  famous  English  Jesuit  College.  He 
joined  the  Society  in  1841.  From  1849  to  1853  he 
filled  the  responsible  position  of  Prefect  of  Stud- 
ies at  Stonyhurst.  The  old  boys  recall  his  "jolly 
ways,"  as  they  call  them.  He  was  always  ready 
to  treat  them  as  men  ;  he  never  condescended  to 
them,  but  he  was  never  too  friendly  with  an  idle 
boy.  He  encouraged  the  students  to  read  and  to 
write,  above  all  to  think.  He  had  been  theologi- 
cally trained  by  the  Rev.  Edmund  O'Reilly,  Fa- 
ther Passaglia,  and  Professor  Schrader,  when  he 
was  promoted  to  the  chair  of  Dogmatic  Theology 
at  St.  Beuno's  College,  Wales.  His  appointment 
as  Archbishop  of  Bomba}^  was  a  great  surprise  to 
him.  He  died  at  the  age  of  sixty-four. 


The  population  of  the  Province  of  Quebec  at 
present  is  nearly  two  millions,  of  whom  nearly  a 
million  and  a  half  are  Catholics.  The  total  num- 
ber of  places  of  worship  in  the  Province  is  i ,  280, 
and  of  these  nearly  900  are  Catholic  churches. 


Mr.  Mortimer  Mem  pes  has  finished  etching  a 
plate  of  his  Eminence  Cardinal  Manning.  It  will 
be  the  last  time  the  venerable  Cardinal  will  sit 
for  a  picture. 

The  Belgian  Government  has  taken  steps  to 
provide  the  army  with  Catholic  chaplains. 


Of  the  representative  so  lovingly  sent  by  the 
Holy  Father  to  be  present  at  the  opening  of  the 
Catholic  University  of  America,  and  to  take  part 
in  the  celebration  of  the  centenary  of  the  estab- 
lishinent  of  the  hierarchj^  in  the  United  States, 
the  Loijdon  Tablet  says  : 

"The  Holy  Father  has  commissioned  the  Right 
Rev.  Mgr.  Satolli,  President  of  the  Academy  of  Noble 
Ecclesiastics,  and  Thomistic  Lecturer  at  Propaganda, 
to  preside  in  November  at  the  inauguration  of  the 
Washington  University.  The  selection  is  a  peculiarly 


happy  one ;  for  during  last  winter,  when  Bishop  Keane 
was  in  Rome,  and  the  Pope  wished  to  present  some 
record  of  his  Jubilee  to  the  young  University,  he 
made  choice  of  a  large  oil-painting  representing  his 
brother.  Cardinal  Pecci,  dispnting  with  Mgr.  Satclli. 
On  the  occasion  of  the  unveiling  of  the  picture  Mgr. 
Satolli  was  present,  and  the  learned  prelate  delivered 
a  speech  in  commemoration  of  the  event  with  the 
rarest  fluency  of  an  extempore  Latiuity. " 

The  new  St.  Edward's  College  building  at 
Austin,  Texas,  was  solemnly  dedicated  on  the 
loth  inst.,  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  John  C.  Neraz,  Bishop 
of  San  Antonio.  The  ceremonies  were  very  im- 
pressive, and  were  witnessed  by  many  members 
of  the  clergy  and  laity  and  a  number  of  promi- 
nent State  ofiicials.  The  dedicatory  address  was 
delivered  by  the  Rev.  President  Hurth,  who  was 
followed  by  Ex-Governor  Lubbock,  Major  H.  M. 
Holmes,  and  others,  in  short  but  pointed  and 
eloquent  speeches.  St.  Edward's  College  is  under 
the  direction  of  the  Congregation  of  Holy  Cross, 
and  was  established  in  1880.  Its  rapid  develop- 
ment under  the  presidency  of  Rev.  Father  Hurth 
is  attested  by  the  erection  of  the  present  magnif- 
icent structure,  in  addition  to  the  other  buildings, 
which,  with  its  facilities  for  imparting  a  thorough 
training,  makes  it  one  of  the  foremost  educational 
institutions  in  the  Southwest. 


Further  contributions  for  the  support  of  the 
Passionist  missions  in  South  America : 

B.  M.,  BuflFalo,  N.  Y.,  I250;  A  Friend,  Warren, 
R.L,$r.5o;  E.M.,$2;  Mrs.  M.  McNally,$i ;  AChild 
ofMary,|i;  J.  R.  King,|5;  J.B.,$5;  Mr.  James  Bolau, 
%1 ;  Mrs.  Mary  Fitzgerald,  %\  ;  A  Friend,  in  honor  of 
the  Sacred  Heart,  %\ ;  G.  J.  G.,  I5. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii.  3. 

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

Mr.  Thomas  G.  Carney,  who  peacefully  yielded  his 
soul  to  God  on  the  9th  inst.,  at  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Mr.  Thomas  Healey,  of  New  Haven,  Conn.,  who 
departed  this  life  on  the  loth  inst. 

Miss  Nellie  E.  Ahern,  whose  death  occurred  in  San 
Francisco,  Cal.,  on  the  28th  ult. 

Mr.  Peter  O'Sullivan,  an  estimable  citizen  of  Port 
Huron,  Mich.,  who  met  with  a  sudden  but  not  un- 
provided death. 

Miss  Annie  E.  Benet,  of  Somerville,  Mass.,  who 
passed  away  on  the  7th  ult.,  fortified  by  the  last  Sac- 
raments. 

Mrs.  Catherine  Mahouey,  whose  fervent  Christian 
life  was  crowned  with  a  holy  death  on  the  5th  inst,, 
at  Wilmington,  Del. 

May  they  rest  in  peace  ! 


The  Ave  Maria, 


40S 


A  Song  of  Thankfulness. 

mY  God,  I  thank  Thee,  who  hast  made 
The  earth  so  bright ; 
So  full  of  splendor  and  of  joy, 

Beauty  and  light ; 
So  many  glorious  things  are  here, 
Noble  and  right! 

I  thank  Thee  too  that  Thou  hast  made 

Joy  to  abound ; 
So  many  gentle  thoughts  and  deeds 

Circling  us  around, 
That  in  the  darkest  spot  of  earth 

Some  love  is  found. 


*ost  in  the  Pines.— A  Story  of  Presque 
Isle. 


BY   MAURICK    FRANCIS   EGAN. 


(CONCIvUSlON.) 

V. 

John  saw  Ferd  come  to  the  surface  again, 

jramble  into  the  boat,  and  stretch  out  for  the 
oars.  In  vain.  Then  night  descended,  and 
John  felt  that  he  was  indeed  alone.  He  called 
out.  Ferd  tried  to  answer.  John  called  again. 
No  answer  came  back. 

John  forgot  the  terrors  of  his  own  position 
in  wondering  what  had  happened  to  his  cousin. 
He  yelled  with  all  his  might.  An  echo  re- 
peated his  cry.  John,  in  all  his  li  fe.  never  felt  so 
lonely  as  at  that  moment.  All  the  world  was 
dark,  not  only  with  the  darkness  of  night,  but 
with  the  darkness  of  despondency.  He  called 
out  until  he  was  hoarse  and  could  call  no 
longer.  At  last  he  turned  aside  from  the  lake, 
and  threw  more  wood  on  the  fire. 

The  night  was  unusually  gloomy.  The 
storm-clouds  were  pas-ing  over  the  sky  before 
a  swift  wind.  A  mist  hid  the  lake  from  view. 
No  star  was  visible.  The  fire'  was  the  only 
pleasant  thing  in  all  the  landscape.  He  shiv- 
ered and  crouched  near  it. 

John  had  not  hitherto  looked  on  Ferd  with 


much  respect.  He  had  liked  him,  but  he  never 
could  get  rid  of  a  feeling  that  he  was  Ferd's 
superior.  And  yet  in  any  emergency  Ferd  had 
always  been  the  hopeful  one.  John  could  play 
baseball,  smoke  cigarettes,  and  Ferd  could 
not ;  he  knew  more  about  the  current  novels 
and  he  read  the  newspapers  more  closely  than 
Ferd ;  he  was  more  popular  with  the  boys  of 
the  neighborhood  than  his  cousin, — all  these 
things  had  made  him  feel  that  he  was  the 
better  of  the  two.  He  had  often  imagined 
himself  saving  Ferd's  life  in  a  shipwreck  or 
a  battle,  and  his  own  picture  of  his  bravery 
and  Ferd's  gratitude  had  almost  drawn  tears 
to  his  eyes.  But  now  he  was  unhappy  without 
Ferd.  Ferd  had  done  his  best  to  save  them 
by  using  his  little  knowledge  of  the  art  of 
swimming,  and  John  saw  how  well  he  had  used 
it.  He  had  used  it  too  well,  in  fact,  John  said 
to  himself,  because  he  was  now  lo^t — drowned, 
no  doubt,  in  the  icy  lake. 

The  air  grew  warmer,  and  the  moon  came 
in  sight.  John  said  his  prayers  with  more 
simple  devotion  than  for  many  a  day,  and  lay 
down  close  by  the  fire.  He  felt  more  hopeful 
after  this,  but  he  still  asked  himself  why  God 
had  doomed  him  to  be  lost, — why  should  he 
be  alone  when  so  many  happy  people  were 
enjoying  themselves  in  pleasant  occupations? 
The  boys  at  home  were  doubtless  about  to 
start  for  their  evening  bicycle  ride  along  the 
Hudson ;  his  uncle  was  probably  waiting  some- 
where for  them  very  comfortably;  and  Ferd 
was— John  did  not  dare  to  speak  the  word 
even  to  himself;  and  he  was  alone  in  darkness 
amon  %  the  pines.  Why  was  he  there  ?  For  what 
good?  Asking  these  questions,  he  fell  asleep. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  fresh  smell  of  the  pine 
and  the  spruce,  perhaps  it  was  the  purity  of 
the  air.  that  caused  John  to  awaken  the  next 
morning  exhilarated  in  body  and  mind.  He 
could  see  the  little  island  now,  but  not  the 
boat.  La  Fleur  de  Mai  was  no  longer  in  sight. 
This  gave  him  hope;  it  might  be  that  Ferd 
had  floated  away  in  it.  John's  first  thought 
was  of  his  cousin.  This  was  one  of  the  few 
mornings  in  his  lifetime  on  which  he  had 
thought  of  anybody  but  himself,  or  of  any 
occupations  except  his  own.  If  he  could  only 
feel  that  Ferd  was  safe  he  would  not  care  for 
anything  else.  John's  first  night  in  the  pines 
had  begun  to  teach  him  unselfishness. 


4o6 


The  Ave  Maria, 


It  was  a  glorious  morning,  almost  start- 
lingly  brilliant.  John  went  to  work  to  replen- 
ish his  fire.  Then  came  the  question  of  food. 
He  peered  about  him,  hoping  that  he  might  see 
a  deer.  But  none  appeared.  No  wild  turkeys 
crossed  his  path,  not  even  squirrels.  There 
were  bushes  full  of  wild  berries,  but  he  was 
afraid  to  eat  them.  Marking  the  spot  well,  he 
turned  into  the  woods,  becoming  more  hungry 
at  every  step.  Fortunately,  he  came  to  a  large 
space  filled  with  serrated  leaves,  and  among 
these  leaves  were  red  berries.  He  stooped  to 
examine  them ;  he  could  hardly  believe  the 
testimony  of  his  eyes.  They  were  strawberries, 
ruddy  and  ripe!  John  was  astonished  to  see 
them  so  late  in  the  season ;  he  did  not  then 
know  that  on  I^ake  Superior  fruit  and  veg- 
etables are  quite  a  month  behind  other  parts 
of  the  country  in  growth.  He  thought  he  had 
never  tasted  such  sweet  berries  in  his  life. 

A  clear  stream  ran  across  his  path.  He 
could  see  the  pebbles  five  feet  below  its  sur- 
face, and  the  speckled  trout  gliding  over  them. 
He  thrust  in  his  hand  in  the  hope  of  catching 
one  of  these  elusive  fish ;  but  it  swept,  undis- 
turbed and  graceful,  far  beyond  his  reach. 
While  he  was  engaged  in  this  occupation  he 
heard  a  rustling  near  him,  and  a  stag  broke 
through  the  brush  in  hot  haste.  John  raised 
his  rifle,  but  the  stag  was  too  fast  for  him. 
Close  after  it  was  a  dark  animal, — a  dog  per- 
haps. John  had  just  time  to  fire,  his  sympa- 
thies all  in  favor  of  the  deer.  The  animal 
bounded  back  and  rolled  over  with  a  snarl. 
It  was  a  wolf.  John  picked  up  a  big  stone  and 
finished  it.  Then  he  hid  himself  in  the  cedar 
and  waited  patiently  for  the  return  of  the  stag. 
But  the  stag  did  not  come.  He  examined  the 
body  of  the  wolf,  but  found  no  consolation; 
for  he  had  never  heard  of  anybody's  eating  a 
wolf — though  he  was  hungry  enough  to  eat 
anything.  Unripe  pigeon  berries  and  rasp- 
berries grew  around  him.  He  found  them  as 
'enticing  as  the  wolf's  flesh. 

He  wandered  along  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
keeping  his  eyes  open  for  game.  A  whir 
reached  his  ears.  He  looked  across  the  stream 
and  saw  a  covey  of  partridges.  He  could  not 
ford  it,  so  he  took  aim  as  best  he  could,  bring- 
ing down  one  of  the  birds.  He  threw  aside 
his  gun  impatiently  and  waded  into  the 
stream.  In  his  excitement  he  had  not  consid- 


ered how  deceptive  these  clear  streams  are, — 
how  shallow  they  look,  but  how  deep  they  are. 
It  was  a  hard  struggle;  he  almost  lost  his 
footing;  but  at  last  he  reached  the  opposite 
bank,  dripping  from  head  to  foot,  and  secured 
the  partridge.  He  forgot  his  discomfort  in  the 
pleasure  of  having  killed  such  a  plump  bird. 

A  splash  aroused  him  from  his  triumph. 
He  looked  up  just  in  time  to  see  his  rifle  dis- 
appear under  water.  He  had  laid  it  on  the 
edge  of  the  bank,  on  a  piece  of  rotten  wood; 
the  wood  had  broken  under  its  weight,  and 
rifle  and  powder-flask  had  gone.  This  was  a 
great  shock  to  John.  He  took  the  partridge 
and  hid  it  carefully  among  the  leaves.  Enter- 
ing the  water,  he  tried  to  find  the  rifle.  After 
almost  drowning  himself,  he  got  it.  He  could 
not  find  the  flask,  and  he  had  no  powder.  The 
rifle  was  useless.  Disconsolate  and  uncomfort- 
able, he  walked  back  to  the  lake.  The  sun 
began  to  dry  his  clothes.  He  kept  up  hope 
by  thinking  that  at  least  he  could  cook  the 
partridge. 

As  he  came  in  sight  of  the  lake,  he  thought 
he  heard  the  whistle  of  a  locomotive  coming 
from  the  opposite  direction.  It  sounded  again. 
Forgetting  all  about  the  fire  and  the  partridge, 
he  turned  and  walked  back  toward  the  sound. 
Two  hours  of  steady  walking  tired  him.  He 
was  still  in  a  dense  wood.  He  would  have 
given  all  the  flowers  that  ever  grew — and 
many  grew  beneath  his  feet — for  a  glimpse  of 
railroad  tires.  He  sank  down,  wearied.  There 
was  no  thought  of  cooking  the  partridge  now ; 
for  there  was  no  fire,  and  no  way  of  making 
one.  He  thought  of  using  his  watch  crystal 
as  a  sunglass,  but  he  found  that  he  had 
broken  it.  He  crept  into  a  hollow  log.  When 
he  opened  his  eyes  again  it  was  night.  He 
could  hear  the  peculiar,  whistling  noise  made 
by  a  stag.  Of  what  use  was  it?  He  had  no 
powder;  the  woods  might  swarm  with  deer 
and  wild  turkeys,  but  he  must  starve. 

A  more  thrilling  sound  was  the  distant  baj 
of  wolves.  This  kept  him  awake.  He  was  very 
thankful  when  the  day  dawned,  though  the 
day  brought  him  little  hope.  He  rose,  said 
his  prayers,  and  went  on,  hoping  to  find  the 
railroad.  Squirrels  crossed  his  path;  occa- 
sionally a  partridge  whirred  past  him  ;  but  he 
found  no  more  strawberries,  and  he  dared  not 
eat  the  other  strange  berries.  About  noon  he 


The  Ave  Maria, 


407 


gave  up  nearly  all  hope.  He  would  lie  down 
and  die;  and  so  he  lay  down,  with  the  soft 
air  blowing  against  his  cheek  and  the  glossy 
leaves  of  the  winter  green  touching  him. 

And  then  Ferd's  words  came  to  him,  and  he 
thought  of  them,  though  his  head  ached  and 
he  found  it  hard  to  think  at  all.  They  were 
the  words  Ferd  had  said  about  prayer.  Surely, 
while  God  and  His  Holy  Mother  looked  on 
him  there  was  some  hope.  It  must  be  true 
that  she,  the  Mother  of  the  Blessed  Saviour, 
had  more  influence  with  Him  than  he,  a  poor, 
careless  boy,  whose  prayers  were  so  unworthy. 
He  said  the  Memorare,  slowly  and  devoutly. 
Then  he  rose  and  tottered  onward. 

He  had  walked  for  about  half  an  hour  when 
his  foot  struck  something  hard.  It  was  a 
turnip.  He  picked  it  up,  peeled  it  with  his 
pocket-knife  and  ate  it.  Somebody  must  have 
planted  that  turnip.  He  saw  that  he  was  in  a 
little  cleared  space,  and  that  turnips  and 
parsnips  grew  around  him;  and  in  a  clump 
of  creepers  was  a  little  hut.  He  made  for  it. 
The  door  gave  way  at  his  touch.  The  hut 
was  unoccupied ;  a  glance  showed  him  a  stove, 
a  rude  couch,  a  barrel,  a  tin  box,  and  a  glass 
filled  with  matches.  He  knelt  on  the  thresh- 
old.  His  Mother  had  not  forgotten  him. 

Investigation  brought  to  light  a  good  quan- 
tity of  flour  in  the  barrel  and  some  tea  in  the 
tin  box.  No  discoverer  of  a  gold  mine  was 
ever  happier  than  John.  He  made  a  rude  cake, 
with  water  from  the  well  at  the  back  of  the 
hut.  And,  before  a  blazing  fire,  he  enjoyed  a 
repast  of  cake  and  tea,  which  a  few  days  ago 
he  would  have  despised. 

His  whole  mind  was  bent  on  Ferd's  fate. 
About  sunset  he  sat  near  the  stove,  with  his 
head  in  his  hands,  when  a  shadow  darkened 
the  door.  He  looked  up  suddenly  and  beheld 
Ferd !  The'boys  were  speechless.  At  last  John 
said: 

"Well,  old  fellow!" 

Tears  came  to  Ferd's  eyes.  After  a  while 
he  told  his  story.  He  had  sunk  under  water, 
cramped  and  powerless.  But  as  he  arose 
again  he  caught  the  boat,  and  hung  to  it 
until  he  was  able  to  climb  in.  The  shock  of 
his  descent  had  loosed  La  Fleur  de  Mai  from 
the  entangling  creepers,  and  it  had  floated 
away.  All  night  the  boat  had  been  at  the 
mercy  of  the  wind  and  waves.  Ferd,  protected 


by  the  tarpaulin,  had  been  warm  enough,  but 
very  anxious.  Finally,  caught  by  the  tide, 
the  boat  had  been  carried  against  the  neck 
of  land  on  which  John  was. 

All  night  the  boys  worked  with  their  knives 
to  make  a  pair  of  oars.  In  the  morning  these 
rude  substitutes  were  ready.  At  dawn  they 
paddled  away,  and  in  the  afternoon  landed  on 
one  of  the  beautiful  beaches  of  Ptesque  Isle.- 
There  they  met  a  friend  of  their  uncle,  and 
told  their  story.  He  took  them  back  to  the 
hotel  at  Marquette,  made  them  rest  for  a  day, 
and  invited  them  to  accompany  him  in  his 
steam  yacht  to  their  uncle's  camping  place. 
Of  course  they  accepted  this  invitation. 

"Ferd,"  saidjohn,  "you  were  right.  Prayer 
means  something." 

"I  know  it,"  answered  Ferd.  "I  should 
have  died  that  night  on  the  lake  if  I  had  not 
said  the  dear  old  Rosary  prayers  over  and 
over. ' ' 

During  his  miserable  nights  among  the 
pines,  John  had  wondered  why  such  suflering^ 
had  been  sent  to  him.  I^ater,  when  his  advent- 
ures in  the  woods,  and  the  days  spent  in 
camp  with  his  uncle,  and  the  pleasant  ram- 
bles on  Presque  Isle,  had  become  memoirs,  he 
began  to  understand  that  his  experience  had 
made  a  great  change  in  him.  He  had  always 
been  too  selfishly  independent;  when  his 
wishes  were  fulfilled,  he  had  cared  little  for 
those  of  others.  He  had  not  imagined  that 
anybody  was  necessary  to  hini.  He  had  been 
accustomed  to  look  down  on  other  people. 
Now  he  began  to  understand  how  small  he 
was;  how  dependent  on  God  and  his  neigh- 
bor. Talking  this  over  with  Ferd,  the  latter 
said:  "Why,  even  Robinson  Crusoe,  who 
knew  how  to  take  care  of  himself,  had  to  have 
poor  Friday!" 

John  learned,  too,  to  have  a  greater  respect 
for  study.  He  had  sneered  at  what  he  called 
Ferd's  devotion  to  U!-eless  books.  He  recalled 
his  doubts  about  the  berries  when  he  was 
almost  starving.  If  he  had  known  something 
of  botany  he  would  not  have  had  those 
doubts. 

Another  incident  occurred  which  made 
John  feel  that  his  teachers  knew  more  than 
he  did, — and  he  had  formerly  giave  doubts 
of  that.  While  the  boys  were  in  their  uncle's 


4o8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


camp,  Ferd  had  found  many  interesting  speci- 
mens of  ore,  mostly  iron  and  copper.  But  one 
day  he  came  to  the  log  hut  in  which  they 
lived  with  a  piece  of  quartz.  He  showed  it  to 
John,  his  eyes  sparkling.  John  took  it  care- 
lessly in  his  hand,  and  was  about  to  throw  it 
at  a  robin,  when  Ferd  grasped  it. 

"It's  gold!  "  he  said. 

John  laughed.  " Geology  again !  What's  the 
use  of  bothering  your  head  with  lessons  out 
here?" 

Ferd  took  the  quartz  to  his  uncle.  Jchn 
was  surprised  to  see  the  two  go  off  hastily 
into  the  woods.  The  result  of  Ferd's  keeping 
his  lessons  in  his  head  was  that  a  gold  mine 
was  discovered  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  camp,  on  the  uncle's  land.  It  was 
not  a  great  gold  mine,  and  it  would  take  much 
money  to  work  it ;  however,  it  enabled  Ferd's 
uncle  to  give  him  enough  money  out  of  the 
proceeds  of  the  sale  to  buy  a  little  house  for 
his  mother. 

John  went  back  to  school  with  the  firm  in- 
tention of  working  hard;  and  Ferd  and  he 
were  better  friends  than  ever,  because  their 
friendship  was  founded  on  mutual  respect. 


The  "David"  of  Michael  Angelo. 


A  great  mass  of  white  marble  was  waiting 
in  Florence  for  some  one  to  chisel  it  into 
shape.  The  commissioners  of  the  city  were 
at  a  loss  where  to  find  a  sculptor.  Finally, 
Maestro  Simone  da  Fiesole  said :  "I  will  make 
of  this  enormous  stone  a  giant,  nine  braccia 
in  height,  which  shall  be  a  wonder  to  the 
world."  So  he  measured  and  planned,  and 
worked  with  hammer  and  chisel ;  but  months 
came  and  went  and  the  marble  was  without 
form.  Indeed  the  good  man  only  succeeded, 
as  everybody  whispered,  in  spoiling  the  mar- 
ble, so  that  no  one  else  could  do  anything 
with  it. 

The  commissioners  were  in  despair.  "Who," 
they  asked,  "will  bring  the  waiting  statue 
from  this  stone?"  And  a  sturdy  fellow  of 
twenty-five,  who  had  already  gained  a  fine 
reputation  for  such  work,  answered :  "  I  claim 
the  right  to  try. " — "Show  us,  then,  a  model," 
said  the  authorities.  And  he  put  before  them, 
in  miniature,  the  young  David  of  his  heart 


and  brain;  then  fell  to  work,  with  their 
enthusiastic  consent,  upon  the  discarded  and 
ruined  stone  of  Maestro  Simone. 

This  is  the  way  that  Vasari,  the  old  histo- 
rian of  Florence,  tells  the  story : 

"Michael  Angelo  made  a  model  in  wax  of 
a  young  David  with  a  sling,  intended  for  the 
front  of  the  Palazzo ;  to  show  that  as  David 
had  defended  his  people  and  governed  them 
with  justice,  so  whosoever  governed  that  city 
should  boldly  defend  it  and  justly  govern  it. 
And  he  began  this  statue  in  the  works  of 
Santa  Maria  del  Fiore,  where  he  made  a  tower 
with  wood  and  stone  round  the  marble,  and 
worked  it  out  there,  without  being  seen  by 
any  one. ' ' 

One  notices  to  this  day  that  one  of  the 
shoulders  of  the  statue  is  somewhat  flattened, 
owing  to  the  shape  of  the  block  with  which 
the  young  artist  had  to  contend,  as  he  ham- 
mered away,  bringing  into  sight  the  beautiful 
David,  which  was  destined  to  be  the  central 
ornament  of  the  old  Palazzo.  "Certainly  Mi- 
chael Angelo  performed  a  miracle,"  wrote 
Vasari,  "in  thus  resuscitating  one  who  was 
dead." 

He  was  three  or  four  years  in  accomplishing 
his  task ;  for  artists  in  those  times  were  not 
above  wielding  their  own  tools,  and  were  not 
given  to  standing  by  and  telling  other  men 
how  to  do  the  work,  as  is  the  fashion  now. 
Again,  to  quote  Vasari :  "  I  have  seen  Michael 
Angelo,  at  the  age  of  sixty,  make  more  chips 
of  marble  fly  about  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
than  three  of  the  strongest  young  sculptors 
would  do  in  an  hour, — a  thing  almost  incred- 
ible to  him  who  has  not  seen  it.  He  went  to 
work  with  such  fury  that  I  feared  to  see  the 
block  split  in  pieces." 

It  seemed  as  if  a  sort  of  madness  seized  him 
when  he  attacked  the  marble  which  hid  the 
vision  of  strength  or  beauty  which  he  would 
bring  to  light.  And  if  he  worked  thus  at  sixty, 
how  must  he  have  labored  at  twenty-five,  shut 
up  alone  in  that  great  shed  with  the  white 
mass  which  the  Maestro  had  nearly  ruined, 
releasing,  by  frantic  blows,  the  graceful  David 
who  seemed  to  him  to  be  imprisoned  there? 

The  "David"  of  Michael  Angelo  is  one  of 
the  sights  of  Florence  still,  though  the  arm 
which  wrought  it  has  for  centuries  been  dust. 

Francesca. 


Vol.  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  NOVEMBER  2,  1889. 


No.  18. 


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


AII-Souls'  Day. 


tY    W  1 1, 1,1  AM    D.    KELLY 


BENIGN  Madonna,  who,  beneath  the  rood, 
Beheld,  with  brimming  eyes  and  bated  breath, 

Your  Son  forsake  you  at  the  call  of  death  ; 
And,  sad  and  sorrowful  while  there  you  stood, 
Felt  all  the  anguish  and  amaritude 

Which,  howsoever  gently  Azrael  saith 

His  summons,  lurk  his  language  underneath, — 
lyO,  with  November's  nearing  are  renewed 
The  memories  of  our  dear  dead  and  the  grief 

Their  going  from  us  gave  our  hearts  ;  and  so, 
Lest  in  that  other  realm  they  need  relief. 

We  crave  your  clemency,  that  they  may  know 
That  we,  whose  lot  it  is  here  still  to  stay, 
Have  not  forgotten  them  this  All-Souls'  Day. 


The  Angelus.— Its  Origin  and  History. 


BY   THE   REV.  A.  A.  LAMBING,  LL-  D. 


E  can  not  but  admire  the  wisdom  of 
the  Church  in  summarizing  so  many 
of  her  principal  doctrines  in  certain 
popular  devotions.  It  both  makes  the  devo- 
tions more  attractive  and  intelligible,  and  it 
impresses  the  doctrines  more  indelibly  on  the 
memor3^  When  to  this  is  added  the  perform- 
ance of  those  devotions  at  appointed  times, 
the  child  of  God  is  made  to  live  and  act  more 
perfectly  in  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  the 
ecclesiastical  year.  In  the  devotion  of  the 
Holy  Rosary,  for  example,  is  presented  a  suc- 
cinct history  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary — the 


central  mystery  of  the  Incarnation,  with  the 
life,  passion,  death,  resurrection  and  ascension 
of  our  divine  Redeemer ;  the  coming  of  the 
Holy  Ghost ;  and  the  glorious  assumption  of 
the  Mother  of  God,  with  her  coronation  as* 
Queen  of  Heaven.  In  the  Way  of  the  Cross 
are  represented  the  particulars  of  the  dread 
drama  of  man's  redemption.  When  performed 
on  the  Fridays  of  Eent,  in  the  afternoon,  it  not 
only  brings  the  Christian  into  harmony  with 
the  spirit  of  the  Church,  but  it  also  moves  his 
heart  to  conceive  those  sentiments  of  sorrow 
for  his  sins  and  that  purpose  of  amendment 
which,  though  fitting  at  all  times,  are  espec- 
ially so  at  the  season  when  the  Church  invites 
her  children  .to  repentance.  The  Sign  of  the 
Cross,  too,  is  a  lesson  in  our  holy  faith,  recall- 
ing to  our  minds  some  of  the  principal  mys- 
teries of  religion.  But  still  more  happy,  in 
many  respects,  was  the  Church  in  instituting 
the  devotion  of  the  Angelus. 

When  God  called  Abraham  from  Ur  of  the 
Chaldees  He  said  to  him :  "Walk  before  Me, 
and  be  perfect."*  When  Christ  came  upon 
earth  He  bade  His  followers  pray  always; 
and  when  the  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles  would 
instruct  his  faithful  disciple,  he  admonished 
him  to  meditate  continually  on  the  great 
truths  which  he  had  taught  him,  and  which 
he  in  turn  was  required  to  communicate  to 
others,  t  The  exercise  of  frequently  calling  to 
mind  the  presence  of  God  is  one  of  the  most 
conducive  to  perfection  ;  and  this  is  admirably 
effected  by  means  of  the  Angelus,  which  raises 
the  thoughts  to  God  at  morning,  noon  and 


Genesis,  xvn,  i. 


t  I.  Timothy,  iv,  15, 16. 


4IO 


The  Ave  Maria, 


night,  revives  our  remembrance  of  the  princi- 
pal mj^steries  of  religion,  enlivens  our  faith  in 
them,  increases  our  hope,  enkindles  our  love, 
and  awakens  our  gratitude. 

The  history  of  the  Angelus  is,  to  some 
extent,  involved  in  mystery ;  for  while  certain 
points  are  known,  others  are  disputed,  and  still 
others  unknown.  Nothing  in  either  Jewish  or 
pagan  antiquity  resembled  it.  The  former  had 
indeed  certain  hours  of  prayer*  and  fixed 
times  for  offering  sacrifice,  as  may  be  learned 
from  numerous  passages  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment; and  the  latter  also  observed  a  degree  of 
regularity  in  the  performance  of  some  of  their 
religious  rites.  But  the  Angelus  is  purely 
Christian  in  its  origin,  its  character,  and  its 
scope.  It  originated  in  the  custom  of  ringing 
church  bells  at  sunset.  As  early  as  the  begin- 
ning of  the  thirteenth  century  the  custom 
arose  of  ringing  the  bells  at  that  hour.f  It  is 
most  probable  that  the  ringing  of  the  church 
bells  was  introduced  into  different  countries 
at  different  times ;  and  if  this  be  true,  the  dis- 
crepancies of  different  authorities  may  perhaps 
be  reconciled.  Among  the  Latin  nations  this 
bell  was  called  the  ignitegium  or  the  pyrote- 
gium,  among  the  French  the  couvre-feu,  and 
among  the  English  the  curfew,  all  of  which 
have  the  same  signification — a  signal  for  the 
extinguishing  of  all  lights,  and  retiring  of  the 
inmates  of  the  houses  to  rest.  This  custom  ex- 
isted throughout  all  Europe  during  the  Middle 
Ages,  especially  in  cities  taken  in  war.  It  was 
also  a  precautionary  measure  against  fire, 
rendered  to  some  extent  necessary  owing  to 
the  peculiar  construction  of  the  houses  in 
those  times.  :|: 

It  is  not  probable  that  the  Holy  See  ordered 
the  recitation  of  certain  prayers  simultane- 
ously with  the  introduction  of  the  custom  of 
ringing  the  church  bells ;  for  while,  on  the 
one  hand,  the  greater  number  of  devotions 
are  introduced  by  some  pious  person  or  com- 
munity, extend  until  they  have  gained  a  fair 
hold  on  the  people  of  at  least  one  diocese  or 
country,  or  on  the  members  of  one  religious 
order,  when  application  is  made  to  the  Holy 
See,  and  they  are  formall}^  approved,  and  not 
unfrequently  enriched  with  indulgences ;  on 

*  Daniel,  vi.  13. 

t  "Kirchen Lexicon."  Article,  "Angelus Domini." 

X  " Encyclopeedia Britaunica. "  Article,  "Curfew." 


the  other  hand,  nothing  would  be  more  nat- 
ural than  that  persons  who  were  accustomed, 
as  all  good  Christians  are,  to  the  regular  per- 
formance of  their  daily  devotions,  would  ere 
long  fix  upon  the  ringing  of  the  bell  as  the 
signal  for  doing  so. 

Devotion  to  the  great  mystery  of  the  In- 
carnation, and  to  her  through  whom  it  pleased 
Almighty  God  to  effect  it,  must  ever  be  lead- 
ing characteristics  in  the  spiritual  life  of  every 
Christian.  But  there  were  special  reasons  why 
this  should  have  been  so  about  the  time  that 
the  recitation  of  the  Angelus  was  first  intro- 
duced. The  attention  of  the  Christian  world 
was  then  turned  toward  the  Holy  Land,  where 
the  mystery  of  the  Incarnation  had  been 
accomplished,  and  where  the  supereminent 
virtues  of  Mary  had  shone  in  all  the  richness 
of  living  splendor.  Add  to  these  circumstances 
the  fact  that  so  eminent  a  servant  of  Mary  as 
St.  Bernard  was  one  of  those  most  active  in 
arousing  the  enthusiasm  of  the  people  to  take 
up  arms  for  the  recapture  of  the  holy  places, 
— a  man  whose  love  of  Mary  was  only  equalled 
by  his  eloquence  in  proclaiming  her  praises. 
Not  only  were  his  stirring  appeals  heard  from 
the  pulpit  and  the  platform,  but  also  in  the 
assemblies  of  his  religious  brethren  his  fervid 
discourses  and  inspiring  example  infused  his 
own  spirit  into  them,  and  made  them  so  many 
advocates  of  the  Mother  of  God.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  St.  Bonaventure,  who  a  little 
later  proclaimed  the  praises  of  Mary  in  his 
own  masterly  way  from  the  pulpit,  the  pro- 
fessor's chair,. and  as  head  of  his  devoted  and 
simple  Franciscans.  All  things  considered,  it 
may  be  said  that  the  date,  as  nearly  as  it  can 
be  fixed,  of  the  introduction  of  the  Angelus 
was  a  period  when  the  Christian  world  was 
ripe  for  such  a  devotion. 

The  lapse  of  time  and  the  imperfection  of 
records  render  it  difiicult  to  collect  the  facts 
regarding  the  institution  of  the  Angelus,  but 
such  as  are  to  be  met  with  will  be  given.  Says 
the  Rev.  John  Evangelist  Zollner:  "Accord- 
ing to  the  testimony  of  many  historians.  Pope 
Urban  II.  (1088)  ordained  that  the  bell  should 
be  rung  in  the  morning  and  evening,  and  the 
Angelus  Domini  recited,  in  order  to  obtain  of 
God  the  possession  of  the  Holy  Land.  Gregory 
IX.  renewed  this  ordinance  in  the  year  1239; 
Calixtus  III.  (1456)  required  it  to  be  observed 


The  Ave  Maria. 


411 


also  at  noon. ' '  *  I'he  statements  of  this  author 
do  not  harmonize  with  those  of  other  reliable 
writers ;  but  they  are  supported  by  some  au- 
thorities, and  will  tend  to  throw  light  on  a 
disputed  question. 

St.  Bonaventure,  in  the  general  chapter  of 
his  Order  held  at  Paris  in  1226,  and  in  the 
next  held  at  Assisium,  ordered  the  triple 
salutation  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  called  the 
Angelus Domini,  to  be  recited  every  evening  at 
six  o'clock  in  honor  of  the  incomprehensible 
mystery  of  the  Incarnation. f  From  this  it  is 
safe  to  infer  that  the  Angelus  had  already  been 
introduced,  to  some  extent  at  least,  among 
Christians.  Pope  John  XX IL  issued  a  bull, 
dated  May  7,  1327,  commanding  that  at  the 
sound  of  the  bell  the  "Hail  Mary"  should  be 
recited  three  times.  A  council  held  in  1346  b}'- 
William,  Archbishop  of  Sens,  ordained  that,  in 
accordance  with  the  command  of  Pope  John 
XXII., 'of  blessed  memory,  the  three  "Hail 
Marys"  should  be  recited,  and  it  granted  an 
indulgence  of  thirty  days  to  those  who  did  so. 
This  is  the  first  indulgence  of  which  there 
is  authentic  record  in  connection  with  the 
Angelus.  The  statutes  of  Simon,  Bishop  of 
Nantes,  of  about  the  same  date,  direct  pastors 
of  souls  to  have  the  evening  bell  rung,  and  to 
instruct  their  people  to  recite  three  "Hail 
Marys"  on  bended  knees;  by  doing  which 
they  can  gain  an  indulgence  of  ten  days. 

Up  to  that  time  the  custom  existed  of  re- 
citing the  Angelus  only  in  the  evening;  but 
in  the  year  1368  the  Council  of  Lavaur  issued 
a  decree  requiring  all  pastors  and  curates, 
under  penalty  of  excommunication,  to  have 
the  bell  rung  also  at  sunrise,  and  to  recite  five 
"Our  Fathers"  in  honor  of  the  Five  Wounds 
of  our  divine  Redeemer,  and  seven  "Hail 
Marys"  in  honor  of  the  Seven  Joys  of  the 
Holy  Mother  of  God.  In  the  following  year 
the  Synod  of  Bessiers  decreed  that  "at  the 
break  of  day  the  great  bell  of  the  church  be 
'rung  three  times,  and  that  whoever  heard  it 
should  recite  three  times  the  'Our  Father' 
and  *  Hail  Mary,'  to  which  recitation  an  indul- 
gence of  twenty  da5's  was  granted."  Accord- 
ing to  some  writers,  it  was  Calixtus  III.  who, 
in  1456,  introduced  the  custom  of  reciting 
the  "  Hail  Marys,"  or  Angelus,  at  noon.  But 

*  "The  Pulpit  Orator,"  vol.  vi,  p.  147. 
t  "Butler's  Lives  of  the  Saiuts,"  July  14. 


Fleury  and  Du  Cange  ascribe  it  to  King 
I^ouis  XI.  of  France,  in  the  year  1472;  and 
Mabillon  declares  that  the  custom  spread  from 
France  throughout  Europe,  and  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  sixteenth  century  received  the 
approval  of  the  Holy  See.* 

It  is  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  deter- 
mine when  and  by  whom  the  versicles  and  re- 
sponses, together  with  the  concluding  prayer, 
were  introduced;  or,  in  other  words,  who 
reduced  the  Angelus  to  its  present  form.  We 
have  seen,  however,  the  various  changes 
through  which  the  devotion  passed  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  and  that  its  perfection  was  not 
the  work  of  one,  but  of  several  hands. 

If  we  examine  the  parts  of  which  the  Ange- 
lus is  composed,  its  surpassing  excellence  will 
be  readily  seen.  The  purpose  of  the  devotion, 
as  we  have  remarked,  is  the  commemorat- 
ing of  the  great  mj'-steries  of  the  Incarna- 
tion of  the  Second  Person  of  the  ever- blessed 
Trinity  and  the  virginal  maternity  of  the 
Blessed  Mary.  The  Gospel  narrative  which  is 
so  admirably  summarized  in  it  is  found  in 
the  ist  chapter  of  the  Gospel  of  St.  Luke, 
from  the  26th  to  the  42d  verse,  from  which 
the  first  half  of  the  "  Hail  Mary  "  and  the  first 
and  second  versicles  and  responses  are  taken, 
while  the  third  versicle  and  response  are 
from  the  14th  verse  of -the  ist  chapter  of  the 
Gospel  of  St.  John.  From  this  it  will  be  seen 
that  the  Angelus  holds  a  place  in  the  front 
rank  of  Catholic  devotions.  What  could  be 
more  salutary  than  the  recitation  at  morning, 
noon  and  night  of  this  beautiful  prayer,  which 
keeps  before  the  mind  the  Incarnation  of 
Him  whose  Name  is  the  only  one  under 
heaven  given  to  men  whereby  they  must  be 
saved,  and  the  dignity  of  her  w^hom  the 
Church  bids  us  salute  as  our  life,  our  sweet- 
ness, and  our  hope  ? 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


"Kirchen  Lexicon.' 


When  a  vessel  is  full  of  liquid  the  least 
crack  suffices,  unless  it  be  stopped,  to  let  every 
drop  leak  out ;  so  if  the  soul,  however  filled 
with  virtue  and  grace,  close  not  up  the  aper- 
ture which  a  little  sin  has  made,  grace  will 
ooze  out  little  by  little  until  all  is  spent. — St. 
Jiiayi  de  la  Cruz. 


412 


The  Ave  Maria, 


A  Sin  and  Its  Atonement. 


I. 

I  HAVE  been  asked  to  tell  the  history  of 
some  events  which,  because  they  stirred 
the  sympathies  of  many,  have  been  spoken 
of  widely  and  often  inaccurately.  They  were 
so  intimately  connected  with  my  own  heart- 
history  that  at  first  I  utterly  refused  to  under- 
take such  a  task.  But  I  have  now  reached 
the  border- land,  where  all  the  landmarks  of 
the  past  stand  out  in  true  proportions ;  and 
if  the  record  of  my  mistakes  with  their  con- 
sequences would  only  benefit  one  single  heart, 
the  effort,  and  it  may  be  the  pain,  it  will  cost 
me  to  write  are  not  worth  a  moment's  consid- 
eration. To  sing  the  mercies  of  the  Lord — 
and  such  mercies ! — is  the  greatest  privilege 
which  could  be  conferred  on  me  this  side  of 
the  grave.  *; ".  't-. 

I  was  born  in  Scotland  seventy  years  ago, 
in  one  of  the  most  beautiful  spots  that* eye  of 
man  could  gaze  upon  It  is  spoilt  now ;  rail- 
roads and  tourists  have  invaded  its  seclusion, 
and  telegraph  wires  bring  every  whisper  of 
the  great  world,  bad  or  good,  through  its 
pure,  clear  atmosphere.  But  in  my  youth  we 
had  it  all  to  ourselves ;  and  the  beauty  of  our 
mountain  glen,  with  its  views  of  the  Frith 
and  the  islet-strewn  sea  beyond,  was  an  end- 
less source  of  delight  to  us. 

My  father's  family,  the  Doones  of  Glencairn, 
was  one  of  the  oldest  in  the  neighborhood.  In 
early  times  they  had  distinguished  themselves 
by  rather  startling  feats  of  brigandage ;  but 
for  several  generations  the  Doone  energy  had 
gone  out  on  farming,  and  their  holding  was 
considered  a  trophy  of  the  victory  of  skill  and 
perseverance  over  local  difficulties,  and  quite 
a  model  farm.  My  father  was  exceedingly  well 
educated  for  his  position,  and  had  secured  for 
his  vSon  and  his  three  daughters  every  advan- 
tage within  his  reach.  Our  mother  was  the 
very  personification  of  motherliness  and  true 
refinement,  and  she  tempered  by  her  gentle- 
ness the  asperity  which  sometimes  manifested 
itself  in  my  father's  dealings  with  his  children. 
'^^.  As  often  happens  for  a  brief  period  in  certain 
localities,  everything  combined  to  make  our 
surroundings  pleasant  just  as  life  was  opening 
to  our  young  imaginations.  We  had  a  priest 


of  great  personal  influence  and  power,  who 
kept  us  all  together,  and  who  had  a  special 
gift  for  stifling  in  their  birth  the  little  feuds 
and  jealousies  which  are  so  apt  to  arise  in 
village  communities.  We  exchanged  mutual 
help  at  the  great  seasons  of  farm-work,  and 
the  harves:ing,  haymaking  and  apple-gather- 
ing were  all  occasions  of  neighborly  festivity 
which  we  thoroughly  enjoyed.  The  Presby- 
terians had  a  conventicle  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  village,  and,  I  be;ieve,ze//Mz;z  its  walls  they 
sometimes  indulged  in  bitter  and  violent  at- 
tacks on  the  faith  and  doctrine  of  the  Catholic 
Church ;  but  they  were  in  the  minority,  and 
not  disposed  to  risk  losing  employment  and 
the  patronage  of  the  Master  of  Kilgrachie  by 
any  open  opposition  to  Catholicism.  So  that, 
for  the  time  being,  our  valley  was  a  complete 
ideal  of  what  a  homely,  happy,  independent 
people  might  be. 

Only  a  short  time  ago  I  read  an  'account, 
by  a  daring  traveller  and  able  writer,  of  the 
Yosemite  Valley  in  California.*  Indians  were 
constantly  descending  on  the  farmsteads  of 
the  Sierra  Nevada,  and  driving  away  horses 
and  cattle  into  the  hills.  A  hot  pursuit  of 
course  ensued  ;  the  trail  was  eagerly  followed, 
until,  in  wide  labyrinths  of  rock  and  forest, 
it  invariably  ended  no  one  could  tell  where. 
At  last  a  party  of  the  farmers  met  together 
and  swore  that  they  would  stick  to  the  trail 
and  continue  the  pursuit  until  they  recovered 
their  lost  oxen.  After  struggling  for  miles 
and  miles  through  incredible  difficulties,  they 
came  upon  the  edge  of  a  sheer,  tremendous 
precipice.  The  oldest  settler  among  them  had 
never  heard  of  it. 

Straight  down,  thousands  of  feet  beneath, 
lay  a  fair  and  lovely  land,  watered  by  a  beau- 
tiful river;  and  there,  in  the  green  meadow, 
they  beheld  their  lost  horses  and  cattle,  look- 
ing like  specks  of  life  in  the  immense  distance 
below,  but  distinctly  seen  through  the  intense 
clearness  of  the  atmosphere.  Waterfalls  de- 
scended into  the  valley  from  great  heights, 
breaking  into  jets  of  spray  over  the  edges  of 
the  rock--?.  On  the  opposite  side  the  same  steep, 
wall-like  face  of  dark  grey  rock  shut  in  this 
wonderful  secret  spot  of  Nature.  As  I  read,  it 
seemed  to  me  like  a  picture  of  that  secluded, 


*  See  "Rovings  Far  Out,"  by  Lieutenant  Colonel 
Butler. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


4^3 


joyous  home  of  my  childhood;  and  in  the 
figure  of  the  first  settler  who  looked  over  the 
edge  of  that  sheer  descent  and  discovered 
this  fairy-land  I  seemed  to  see  the  face  and 
form  of  Edward  Carlyon. 

"Margaret,"  said  my  brother  Alick,  "the 
Laird  has  brought  a  friend  of  his  to  see  father, 
and  he  is  out ;  he  wants  to  bring  him  here 
to  see  the  orchard  and  the  apple-gathering. 
May  they  come?" 

"Tlie  Laird  knows  he  is  always  welcome," 
I  returned ;  for  we  had  known  the  Master  of 
Kilgrachie  from  babyhood,  and,  though  he 
belonged  to  a  rank  above  us,  we  were  quite  at 
our  ease  with  him,  and  were  always  treated 
by  him  with  the  greatest  courtesy. 

How  distinctly  I  remember  that  glorious 
September  day !  The  air  was  full  of  the  exhil- 
arating freshness  which  makes  the  sense  of  ex- 
istence a  joy.  The  small  bo3^s  in  the  trees  were 
shouting  with  merriment  as  they  knocked 
down  the  clusters  of  red  and  gold  apples; 
while  Stuart  McDougall,  the  young  farmer 
who  was  our  nearest  neighbor,  was  helping 
Alick  with  long  poles  to  shake  down  the  fruit 
from  the  higher  branches  which  the  boys 
could  not  reach. 

Not  a  shadow  of  annoyance  assailed  either 
Arabella  or  myself  at  beiug  caught  in  the 
midst  of  work,  though  w^e  were  respectively 
seventeen  and  nineteen  years  of  age,  and  knew 
that  we  were  considered,  both  for  beauty, 
accomplishments,  and  probable  dowry,  quite 
the  cream  of  Glencairn.  We  all  held  in  the 
bitterest  contempt  boardino^  -  school  misses 
who  came  home  too  fine  to  work;  we  had 
put  their  airs  and  affectations  into  Christmas 
charades.  We  were  exceedingly  proud  of  our 
father's  orchard,  and  spent  the  few  moments 
that  elapsed  before  the  appearance  of  our 
guests  in  collecting  some  of  the  choicest 
apples  in  a  basket,  which  we  put  into  the 
chubby  hands  of  our  little  sister  Flora,  and 
sent  her  to  the  gate  to  welcome  the  Laird. 

"Let  me  introduce  to  you  my  young  friend 
Mr.  Carlyon,"  said  the  Master  of  Kilgrachie,  a 
noble  and  genial  specimen  of  the  old  Scotch 
nobility.  "This  is  Miss  Margaret  Doone,  Mr. 
Carlyon,  the  pearl  of  our  valley;  this  Miss 
Arabella;  and  this,"  patting  Flora  on  the 
head,  "is  the  bonniest  Scottish  maiden  whose 
foot  ever  trod  the  heather." 


Flora's  baby  face  dimpled  all  over  with 
smiles.  She  made  her  offering  of  apples  with 
infantine  grace,  saying  as  she  did  so,  "All 
these  for  the  Laird ! ' ' 

"And  the  Laird's  friend,"  he  added  gra- 
ciously, passing  on  the  basket  to  the  stranger, 
who  stood  looking  on  the  scene  with  undis- 
guised admiration. 

For  a  moment  I  was  spellbound  and  could 
say  nothing.  I  was  thinking  :  "At  last  I  have 
seen  a  man!'' 

It  was  not  that  Edward  Carlyon  was  so 
unusuall}^  handsome — though  even  in  outline 
and  coloring  his  face  would  have  been  a  study 
for  an  artist;  it  was  the  majesty  of  genius 
and  of  will  which  revealed  itself  in  the  pene- 
trating glance  of  those  dark  eyes,  the  curves 
of  the  resolute  mouth,  the  tones  of  a  voice 
which,  once  heard,  could  never  be  forgotten. 
He  was  a  born  leader  of  men;  and  the  influ- 
ence he  exercised  came  partlj^  from  the  in- 
tensity and  singleness  of  aim  with  which  he 
devoted  all  that  he  possessed,  whether  of  ex- 
terior or  interior  gifts,  to  one  noble  purpose. 
Men  of  one  idea  are  masterful  even  when  they 
are  narrow;  but  when  a  man  of  powerful 
intellect  and  varied  gifts  ransacks  heaven 
and  earth  for  resources  for  a  single  purpose, 
it  gives  a  simplicity,  a  charm  to  intercourse 
with  him  which  carries  all  before  it.  There 
was  nothing  Edward  Carlyon  could  not  do, — 
nothing  except  to  submit  in  humble  faith  and 
obedience  to  the  revelation  and  the  will  of 
his  Creator. 

"Mr.  Carlyon  has  his  head  as  full  of  plans 
as  a  nest  is  full  of  eggs, ' '  said  the  Laird ;  ' '  and 
you  can  not  do  him  a  greater  favor  than  to 
let  him  see  the  apple-picking,  and  not  let  us 
interrupt  your  work.  I  shall  sit  down  on  this 
seat  and  wait  for  Mr.  Doone," 

"That's  famous!"  said  Mr.  Carlyon,  as, 
without  waiting  for  further  invitation,  he 
threw  off  his  coat  and  began  helping  to  knock 
the  apples  down,  talking  and  laughing  all  the 
time  as  if  we  had  known  him  for  years.  He 
got  on  with  every  one  alike;  even  Stuart 
McDougall,  who  never  could  find  words  to 
express  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  his  big, 
warm  heart,  said  that  evening  he  had  never 
before  met  any  one  so  pleasant. 

Meanwhile  my  father  had  returned,  and  he 
and   the  Laird  sat  talking  together  on  the 


414 


The  Ave  Maria. 


rustic  seat,  watching  us  at  our  merry  work. 
"That  young  Carlyon  is  a  character," 
said  the  latter;  "and  a  man  who,  if  I  am  not 
greatly  mistaken,  will  make  his  mark  in  the 
world.  His  father  was  a  common  soldier,  but 
he  married  a  German  lady,  above  him  in  so- 
cial position. — a  clever,  intellectual  woman. 
When  the  father  died,  the  mother's  one  am- 
bition was  to  make  a  distinguished  man  of 
this  only  son.  She  saved  and  starved  for  him, 
and  sent  him  first  to  a  high  school,  where  he 
developed  extraordinary  abilities;  and  then, 
with  the  help  of  friends,  to  a  celebrated  Ger- 
man college,  where  he  carried  everything 
before  him.  An  old  and  wealthy  uncle,  who 
had  been  desperately  wroth  with  Madame 
Carlyon  for  marrying  beneath  her,  was  so 
delighted  at  the  splendid  position  the  young 
man  had  taken  by  his  talents,  that  he  left 
him  his  whole  fortune,  exclusive  of  all  his 
other  relations.  This  made  them  so  angry 
that  the  young  man  found  his  position  in  the 
family  very  disagreeable  ;  while,  as  far  as  his 
public  career  was  concerned,  there  was  no 
escape  from  the  military  destiny  which  hung 
like  Fate  on  every  young  man  in  Germany. 

"The  whole  nation,  from  the  Kaiser  down, 
was  wild  to  wash  out  in  blood  the  insults  of 
Napoleon.  That  destiny  Edward  Carlyon  de- 
tested and  was  resolved  never  to  accept.  So, 
without  asking  any  one's  leave  or  advice,  he 
and  his  mother  suddenly  disappeared,  and  the 
next  thing  their  friends  heard  of  them  was 
that  they  were  living  in  lyondon  in  great  style, 
their  house  the  resort  of  the  cleverest  men  of 
the  day,  and  that  the  immense  fortune  Herr 
Woronzon  had  left  was  all  transferred  into 
English  bonds  and  laid  safe  in  the  Bank  of 
England.  No  one  could  complain;  for  his  father 
was  not  of  German  birth,  but  English  or 
Welsh ;  still  the  authorities  were  sorely  angry 
when  they  found  such  a  prize  had  escaped 
them." 

"His  mother  must  have  been  a  proud  and 
happy  woman,"  said  Farmer  Doone,  watching 
with  interest  the  athletic  figure  of  the  young 
man  at  the  top  of  a  tree,  whose  golden  clusters 
had  defied  the  efforts  of  men  and  boys  alike. 

"She  was,"  answered  the  Laird.  "And  yet, 
poor  lady!  she  must  have  had  a  sorer  heart, 
on  one  subject,  than  he  ever  dreams  of;  for 
he  says  she  was  a  devout  Catholic,  whilst  he 


has  been  completely  carried  away  by  the  tide 
of  German  philosophy.  I  don't  think  he  has 
any  faith  at  all." 

"Why  does  he  come  to  Glencairn,  and  what 
is  he  going  to  do  with  himself? "  asked  Farmer 
Doone,  uneasily ;  for,  though  not  much  up  in 
religious  questions,  he  knew  that  infidelity 
was  beginning,  like  the  first  far-reaches  of  an 
incoming  tide,  to  get  into  English  literature 
and  English  education. 

"He  has  determined  to  devote  his  large 
fortune  to  founding  a  colony  in  North  Amer- 
ica. He  has  already  induced  one  or  two  clever 
men  to  join  him,  and  I  believe  they  have  pur- 
chased land  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Manitoba.  His  idea  is  that  if  people  of  sub- 
stance founded  colonies  and  picked  their  men^ 
and  had  patience  and  perseverance  enough  to 
fight  through  first  obstacles,  and  wait,  the 
experiment  would  be  found  to  open  a  career 
worthy  of  men  of  genius  and  power,  and  in 
the  end  would  prove,  besides,  a  most  profitable 
investment  of  money." 

"Hum!"  said  Farmer  Doone.  ''If  and  iff 
If  people  will  labor  and  wait,  and  persevere 
from  generation  to  generation,  I  well  believe 
the  most  splendid  triumphs  could  be  attained ; 
but  young  men  won't  do  it  nowadays,  Laird; 
they  have  not  the  stuff  in  them,  least  of  all 
those  who  have  money  and  could  at  any 
moment  turn  round,  give  up  the  struggle  and 
enjoy  themselves." 

"Carlyon  has  the  stuff  in  him  if  any  man 
ever  had,"  answered  the  Laird.  "You  would 
not  believe  the  practical,  far-seeing  wisdom 
of  some  of  his  ideas.  One  of  these  has  brought 
him  here.  He  heard  that  some  splendid  tri- 
umphs, as  you  say,  had  been  obtained  in  our 
valley  over  difiiculties  of  soil  by  careful  culti- 
vation. He  came  here  to  see  whether  he  could 
put  himself  under  you.  as  a  sort  of  agricultural 
pupil,  for  two  or  three  months.  You  could 
name  your  own  terms ;  for,  though  he  is  lay- 
ing by  everything  he  can  spare  for  the  first 
great  start,  he  grudges  nothing  when  the 
future  advantage  of  his  colony  is  concerned. 
One  of  his  very  practical  ideas  is  that  the 
leader  of  such  an  undertaking  ought  to  be 
able  himself  to  do  every  kind  of  work  required, 
or  at  least  to  understand  it.  Lord  Cobham 
sent  the  young  man  to  me,  with  the  request 
to  further  his  plans  as  much  as  I  could ;  so 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


415 


that  I  shall  take  any  kindness  done  to  him  as 
a  personal  favor  to  myself." 

There  was  much  in  this  speech  which 
gratified  my  father :  first,  that  the  fame  of  his 
skill  in  farming  had  attracted  such  a  brilliant 
youth  to  the  valley  ;  next,  that  it  was  in  his 
power  to  confer  a  favor  on  the  Laird  of  Kil- 
grachie;  and  last,  not  least,  that  there  was  an 
opportunity  of  obtaining  some  loose  cash, 
which  would  enable  him  at  once  to  put  up  a 
mill  at  the  lower  end  of  the  valley,  which  had 
for  some  time  been  a  great  object  of  ambition. 
So,  when  Edward  Carlyon  came  to  the  seat 
where  the  two  had  been  discussing,  his  face 
radiant,  he  was  received  by  the  usually  cau- 
tious Scotch  farmer  with  great  affability. 

"You  do  not  seem  disappointed  with  the 
Doone  homestead,"  said  the  Laird.  "We  have 
not  overpraised  it,  have  we?" 

"It  is  my  dream  realized,"  answered  the 
young  man,  his  eyes  full  of  light.  "If  onl}' my 
future  colony  can  produce  scenes  like  this  I 
shall  feel  I  have  lived  for  something." 

All  was  arranged  that  same  evening.  He 
was  to  stay  three  months  at  Glencaim,  to  be 
initiated  into  the  secrets  of  cultivation,  which 
my  father  undoubtedly  possessed.  He  gave  a 
promise  not  to  divulge  these  secrets  until  he 
was  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic ;  and  he 
offered  such  a  handsome  premium  for  the 
advantages  which  he  was  to  reap  from  the 
arrangement,  that  my  father  felt  he  could  put 
his  cherished  scheme  into  execution,  and  that 
the  mill  would  really  rise  on  the  spot  where 
he  had  long  seen  it  in  his  dreams  before  the 
winter's  frost  made  building  impossible.  Be- 
fore the  interview  ended  he  was  quite  be- 
witched with  his  future  pupil,  who  seemed 
equally  pleased  with  him.  He,  however,  felt 
it  his  duty  to  make  one  stipulation  strongly. 

"We  are  all  good  Catholics  here,  Mr.  Car- 
lyon, and  I  very  much  regret  to  hear  that  you 
are  not.  I  would  not,  for  any  advantage  you 
could  offer  me,  receive  you  into  relations  with 
my  family  and  dependents  unless  you  will 
give  me  your  solemn  promise  never,  in  any 
way,  to  do  anything  to  unsettle  the  mind  of 
any  one  during  your  stay  at  Glencairn.  I  have 
confidence  that  if  you  give  that  promise  you 
will  keep  it  as  a  man  of  honor  ought." 

Edward  Carlyon  lifted  his  frank,  clear  eyes 
and  looked  at  my  father. 


"I  make  the  promise,  Mr.  Doone,  and  I 
will  keep  it  as  a  man  of  honor  should.  The 
strongest  affection  of  my  life  is  bound  up  with 
reverence  for  the  Catholic  faith.  My  mother, 
when  she  was  dying,  put  a  rosary  round  my 
neck  and  implored  me  to  wear  it ;  and  for  her 
sake  I  will  wear  it  till  I  die.  Am  I  likely  to 
insult  or  to  interfere  with  a  faith  that  was 
hers?" 

"You  will  need  something  more  to  rest 
upon  than  an  earthly  mother's  love  when  you 
come  to  die,"  said  my  father,  touched  by  the 
unaffected  emotion  of  the  young  man's  man- 
ner ;  "but  I  accept  your  promise  with  absolute 
confidence.  You  will  finish  the  week  with 
your  friends  at  Kilgrachie  Castle,  I  presume, 
and  by  that  time  I  shall  have  arranged  a  com- 
fortable lodging  for  you.  But  you  had  better 
spend  your  evenings  at  the  farm,  as  it  would 
be  too  lonely  for  you  to  have  no  companion- 
ship but  that  of  old  Mrs.  Pitcairn." 

Our  father  repeated  the  whole  conversation 
to  us  as  we  sat  round  the  fire  in  the  evening, 
and  dwelt  especially  on  the  concluding  part. 

"Now,  girls,"  he  said,  "remember  this 
promise  is  to  be  kept  on  our  side  also.  You 
are  not  to  enter  into  conversation  with  Mr. 
Carlyon  on  any  religious  topic  whatsoever; 
you  are  not  to  try  and  persuade  him  to  be  a 
Catholic.  He  is  far  more  clever  than  you,  and 
would  soon  twist  you  round  his  finger  in 
argument.  You  will  do  far  more  for  him  by 
being  kind  and  genial,  and  showing  him  what 
Catholic  life  is.  I  think  your  mother  would 
convert  anybody  by  the  sight  of  her." 

And  so  Edward  Carlyon  came  into  our  lives, 
and  for  two  months  we  saw  him  almost  every 
evening.  Alick,  Arabella  and  I  had  good 
voices,  and  we  used  to  sing  Jacobite  songs 
together,  to  the  great  delight  of  our  guest. 

"I  must  have  music  in  the  colony, — music 
of  the  cause.  There's  hothing  binds  people 
together  more  than  that,"  he  remarked  one 
evening  after  we  had  been  singing. 

"You  must  get  the  cause  to  live  and  die  for 
first,"  said  my  mother,  "before  you  can  have 
your  music.  The  Jacobite  songs  are  the  expres- 
sion of  a  people's  intense  devotion  to  a  royal 
race,  consecrated  by  the  touch  of  suffering. ' ' 

' '  Do  you  think  I  have  not  found  the  cause 
for  which  I  can  live  and  die — aye,  and  which 
shall  have  a  music  of  its  own  some  day?" 


4i6 


The  Ave  Maria, 


he  asked,  with  an  enthusiasm  the  more  con- 
tagious because  it  was  so  entirely  free  from 
rhapsody.  "Is  it  not  a  cause  worthy  of  any 
sacrifice  to  show  the  world  that  men  can 
keep  their  advantages  of  riches  and  of  intel- 
lectual power  in  their  own  hands,  and  yet  by 
their  great-heartedness  dislodge  selfishness 
from  the  social  structure,  and  force  men  to  see 
with  their  eyes  and  touch  with  their  hands 
the  reality  of  fraternal  co  operation  ?  Will  the 
workman,  to  whom  I  have  opened  a  career 
in  which  his  skill  and  industry  can  secure  a 
happy,  respectable  home  for  himself,  and  a 
sure  hope  for  the  future  of  his  children,  grudge 
me  advantages  of  leisure  and  of  wealth,  which 
he  sees  I  am  using  to  secure  his  welfare  ?  We 
who  are  educated  know  well  enough  what 
blindness  it  is  to  think  we  can  do  without  one 
another,  and  how  necessary  each  one  is  to 
perfect  the  common  work  and  the  common 
happiness.  If  men  can  live  and  die  far  a  royal 
race,  for  a  religion — nay,  for  one  single  being 
whom  they  love  with  their  whole  heart, — 
why  not  for  the  victory  of  love  in  the  human 
family,  and  the  deathless  fame  of  a  benefactor 
to  the  human  race  ? ' ' 

There  was  a  silence  after  this  apostrophe, 
this  first  declaration  Edward  Carlyon  had 
ever  made  of  his  views  and  the  hope  that 
prompted  him;  but  it  was  a  silence  which 
thrilled  with  sympathy.  We  young  ones  had 
never  heard  such  noble  thoughts  clothed  in 
such  attractive  form  before.  Even  my  cautious 
father  was  completely  carried  away  by  the 
young  adventurer,  whose  practical  good  sense 
and  powers  of  hard  work  were  so  diflferent 
from  the  ravings  of  red-hot  republicanism 
which  "stank  in  his  nostrils."  It  must  be 
remembered  that  in  those  days  there  was  ab- 
solutely nothing  between  the  deadest,  dullest 
conservatism,  which  the  reaction  from  the 
horrors  of  the  French  Revolution  only  made 
more  obstinate  in  refusing  any  light,  and 
the  hot-headed,  unpractical  schemes  of  those 
whose  only  aim  was  to  upset  all  existing 
forms  of  social  life  and  government. 

Carlyon' s  conversation  opened  to  me  a  new 
world  of  thought,  and  responded  to  a  secret 
longing  of  which  I  was  intensely  conscious, — 
a  longing  to  make  my  life  more  heroic,  more 
full  of  real  romance  than  that  of  the  quiet 
farmer's  wife  in  the  valley  of  Glencairn,  which 


was  the  probable  destiny  that  awaited  me; 
for  I  knew  (though  nothing  formal  had  passed 
between  us)  that  Stuart  McDougall  had  loved 
me  from  childhood,  and  that  my  parents  liked 
the  match  well,  though  they  would  not  allow 
him  to  ask  for  any  promise  until  I  was  twenty. 
I  reverenced  Stuart  for  his  goodness,  for  his 
tenderness  to  his  widowed  mother,  for  his 
unswerving  rectitude  in  all  the  affairs  of  life  ; 
but  I  always  felt  there  were  longings  in  my 
heart  to  which  he  could  never  respond.  I 
learned  afterward  that  there  were  depths  in 
his  noble  nature  of  which  I  had  not  the  slight- 
est conception. 

I  remember  well  how  I  longed  that  night 
for  some  one  to  break  the  silence  which  fol- 
lowed the  speech  I  have  related,  and  how 
delighted  I  was  when  my  dear  mother,  with 
the  ready  tact  and  courtesy  which  she  inher- 
ited, I  suppose,  from  ancient  blood,  replied: 
"Well,  Mr.  Carlyon,  when  the  national 
music  of  the  Carlyon  Colony  is  composed,  you 
must  be  sure  to  send  it  to  us,  and  we  shall 
sing  it  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  with 
enthusiasm." 

There  was  a  general  chorus  of  assent  and  ap- 
probation, and  Edward  Carlyon  was  delighted 
at  the  gracious  response  he  had  received. 

"That  is  a  really  kind  promise,"  he  said, 
turning  on  my  mother  one  of  those  frank, 
sincere  looks  that  took  every  one  by  storm. 
"When  one's  heart  is  in  a  thing,  I  don't  know 
which  tries  one  most — the  rhapsodical  admi- 
ration of  sentimental  young  ladies  who  do  not 
understand  a  word  of  what  one  is  saying,  or 
the  blind  opposition  of  men  who  will  not  so 
much  as  listen  to  a  solution  of  their  objections. 
But  a  bit  of  sincere  sympathy  and  compre- 
hension, such  as  I  meet  with  here,  is  the  very 
elixir  of  life  to  me." 

And  so  we  went  blindly  on  for  the  two 
most  beautiful  autumn  months  that  had  been 
known  in  Glencairn  for  years.  My  father 
looked  on  young  Carlyon  as  his  exclusive 
property,  and  fulfilled  his  part  of  the  contract 
in  the  most  generous  way.  His  pupil,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  continually  giving  him  new 
ideas  and  bits  of  knowledge  he  had  picked 
up  here  and  there,  which  made  his  society 
full  of  charm  to  my  father. 

When  the  mill  was  being  built,  which  was 
to  be  paid  for  by  the  sum  named  for  his  agri- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


4L7 


cultural  tuition,  Edward  suggested  an  im- 
provement which  would  add  considerably  to 
the  estimate.  After  having  thought  the  matter 
over,  my  father  reluctantly  gave  up  the  idea. 
"I  should  have  to  take  up  capital,"  he  said, 
when  Edward  pressed  him ;  "and,  with  all  my 
children  growing  up,  I  never  will  do  that." 
That  night  he  found  a  sealed  packet  on  his 
rough,  square  desk,  containing  the  sum  neces- 
sary for  the  improvement,  with  a  note  from 
Edward  Carlyon,  saying  the  premium  he  had 
offered  was  business,  but  that  he  wanted  the 
mill  to  be  a  memorial  oi  friendship  and  grati- 
tude, and  therefore  entreated  his  acceptance 
of  this  small  offering. 

(TO   BE  CONTINUED.) 


Hymn  for  All-Saints'  Day. 

BY  GERAI,D   MOUI^TRIE. 

Ill  E  give  Thee  thanks,  O  Lord  our  God, 
^^    For  all  the  saints  Thy  path  who  trod- 
The  path  of  pain,  the  path  of  death. 
The  path  of  Him  who  triumpheth ! 

For  they  have  braved  the  hour  of  shame, 
The  cross,  the  rack,  the  cord,  the  flame, 
The  dagger  and  the  cup  of  woe. 
If  only  Jesus  they  might  know. 

All  this  they  counted  not  for  loss, 
For  they  were  soldiers  of  the  Cross  ; 
They  recked  not  of  the  grief  or  pain, 
If  only  Jesus  they  might  gain. 

He  is  their  Saviour,  He  their  Lord, 
He  their  exceeding  great  reward  ; 
Though  lost  be  all  that  fills  our  cares. 
If  Him  they  have,  then  all  is  theirs. 

From  us  their  forms  have  passed  away — 
Mere  viewless  spirits,  mouldering  clay  ; 
Some  live  upon  the  life  of  fame, 
Some  leave  no  vestige  but  a  name. 

But  when  shall  sound  the  trump  of  doom. 
To  call  the  tenants  of  the  tomb, 
A  mighty  army  they  shall  stand 
Arrayed  in  white  at  God's  right  hand, — 

A  mighty  host  to  man  unknown. 
In  glory  ranged  around  the  Throne  ; 
He  knows  His  own  who  ruled  the  strife — 
Their  names  are  in  the  Book  of  Life. 


Miraculous  Episodes  of  the   Annual 
Pilgrimage  to  Lourdes. 


A  THOUSAND  sick  persons  left  Paris  lor 
Lourdes  on  Saturday,  August  17,  arriv- 
ing there  two  days  Inter.  Fifty  Petites  Soeurs 
Gardes  Malades  des  Pauvres,  assisted  by 
many  charitable  men  and  women,  ministered 
to  them  during  the  journey.  Sunday  was 
spent  at  Poitiers,  both  as  a  rest  for  the  suf- 
ferers and  to  enable  them  to  visit  the  tomb 
of  St.  Radegonde.  Two  cures  took  place  dur- 
ing the  stay.  The  rest  of  the  sick,  encouraged 
by  this  speedy  answer  to  prayer,  redoubled 
their  supplications,  edifying  everj-one  by  their 
spirit  of  sacrifice  ar.d  patience  through  all  the 
unavoidable  discomforts  of  travelling.  On 
the  way,  between  Poitiers  and  Lourdes,  three 
other  cures  occurred.  A  cripple,  a  blind  man, 
and  a  deaf-mute  recovered  the  use  of  their 
limbs  and  senses. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  21st,  duriug  the 
procession,  the  Blessed  Sacrament  was  carried 
to  the  spot  where  the  sick  were  collected  to- 
gether. The  most  heartrending  cries  burst 
forth  as  the  officiating  prelate  held  the  daz- 
zling ostensorium  over  them  for  about  half 
an  hour,  during  the  invocations,  "Lord,  heal 
us!"  "Lord,  if  Thou  wilt  Thou  canst  make 
us  whole!  '  etc.  Several  then  rose  from  their 
litters  and  threw  themselves  on  their  knees. 
At  the  same  moment  the  Magnificat-  was  in- 
toned, caught  up  by  twenty  thousand  voices, 
and  re-echoed  by  the  mountains  around.  The 
torch-light  procession  was  a  long,  enthusiastic 
act  of  thanksgiving,  in  which  even  those  who 
had  not  obtained  relief  heartily  joined. 

After  this  marvels  were  wrought  on  all 
sides.  One  hundred  well-authenticated  cures 
were  obtained  during  the  pilgrimage.  The 
following  are  among  the  most  striking : 

Pierre  Delannoy,  aged  forty -nine  years, 
born  at  Watrelos,  department  of  the  Nord, 
was  brought  up  piously  by  his  mother,  who 
devoted  all  her  spare  time  to  teaching  cate- 
chism to  poor  children.  On  the  death  of 
his  parents  he  went  to  Paris,  in  the  hopes  of 
earning  higher  wages.  He  was  then  only 
twenty-six,  and  soon  found  a  good  situation 
as  gardener.  He  lived  comfortably  for  several 
years,  during  which  time  he  seems  to  have 


4i8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


quite  forgotteu  the  precepts  and  example  of 
his  devout  mother.  However,  at  length  sick- 
ness overtook  him,  and  afforded  him  leisure 
to  call  to  mind  early  impressions  and  early 
lessons.  In  18S3  he  was  obliged  to  give  up 
his  profession  of  gardener,  and  passed  tl^rough 
seven  hospitals,  one  after  the  other — Cochin, 
Laennec,  Necker,  Lariboisiere,  Beaujeu,  Brous- 
sais,  and  finally  the  Hotel- Dieu.  In  these 
hospitals  he  was  treated  by  the  most  eminent 
physicians  for  a  disease  called ."  moving 
ataxia."  The  patient  relates  that  among  the 
remedies  tried  upon  him  was  snspension,  and 
declares  that  he  underwent  "hanging"  fifty 
times.  Ataxia  is  an  involuntary  and  violent 
motion  of  the  muscles,  which  can  in  no  case 
be  cured  instantaneously. 

Poor  Pierre,  seeing  all  human  remedies 
prove  fruitless,  bethought  himself  of  Our 
Lady  of  gourdes — for  he  had  read  Henri  Las- 
serre's  book, — but  he  deemed  himself  wholly 
unworthy  of  a  miraculous  cure,  and  made  up 
his  mind  to  wait  until  he  had  prayed  longer 
and  suffered  more  in  expiation  of  his  sins, 
before  making  the  pilgrimage.  This  thought 
absorbed  him.  Prayer  in  the  Paris  hospitils 
may  be  counted  a  courageous  act,  since  all 
religion  has  betn  banished  from  them  with  the 
expulsion  of  the  devoted  nurses — the  Sisters 
of  Charity,  the  Augustinians,  and  other  hos- 
pital orders.  During  eight  months  Pierre  re- 
cited the  entire  Rosary  daily  in  preparation 
for  the  blessed  day  when  he  could  set  out  for 
lyourdes. 

After  Holy  Communion  one  morning,  at 
the  H6tel-Dieu,  Pierre  Delannoy  felt  that  the 
hour  for  his  pilgrimage  was  come,  and  wrote 
to  the  committee  of  Notre  Dame  de  Saint.  The 
answer  to  his  request  was  favorable.  We  can 
imagine  with  what  fervor  he  made  the  prepar- 
atory no  vena  before  setting  out.  At  length 
the  happy  day  arrived;  he  shed  tears  of  joy 
on  reaching  the  railway  terminus,  so  sure 
was  he  of  obtaining  a  cure.  The  night  passed 
between  Paris  and  Poitiers  was  very  trying, 
yet  in  the  morning  he  was  able  to  go  to  Holy 
Communion  in  the  Church  of  St.  Radegonde, 
limping,  with  the  help  of  a  stick  and  the  arm 
of  a  poor  blind  man,  to  whom  he  lent  his  sight. 
He  and  his  companion  prayed  long  and  fer- 
vently at  the  shrine  of  the  saintly  Queen  of 
IFrance. 


Pierre's  first  act  on  arriving  at  Lourdes  was 
to  go  to  the  Grotto,  and  tht  re  receive  Holy 
Communion,  and  beg  to  be  cured  '  if  it  were  for 
the  good  of  his  soul  and  the  benefit  of  others.' 
The  same  moment  he  seemed  to  bear  a  voice 
whisper  to  him:  "Go  to  the  Basilica  and  make 
your  thanksgiving  there. "  The  upper  church 
was  less  crowded  than  the  Grotto,  so  he  stood 
up  and  said  to  his  blind  comrade  :  "Here,  take 
my  stick  " — "  Have  you  become  mad, friend?" 
was  the  rejoinder. — "Don't  be  afraid:  I'll  not 
fall.  And  I  am  not  mad." 

From  that  moment  Pierre  Delannoy  was 
perfectly  cured.  The  medical  men  confirmed 
the  fact  on  that  day  as  well  as  on  the  last 
day  of  the  pilgrimage.  He  has  since  found 
an  excellent  situation  as  gardener  to  the  Mar- 
quis de  Villeneuve,  in  his  Chateau  of  Barge- 
mont  (Var). 

Another  miracle  no  less  striking,  and 
which  may  be  called  a  triumph  of  the  Blessed 
Eucharist,  is  the  cure  of  Mile.  Marie-Louise 
Horeau,  a  pious  young  girl,  aged  nineteen, 
comp'etely  blind  for  two  years,  and  who  re- 
ceived the  gift  of  sight  after  a  pilgrimage  to 
Lourdes.  This  favored  cliild  is  an  inmate  of 
St  .Joseph's  Orphan  Asylum  at  Alen^on,  under 
the  care  of  the  Sisters  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul. 
From  early  childhood  she  was  subject  to  differ- 
ent infirmities.  Up  to  the  age  of  four  years 
her  right  leg  was  covered  with  running  ulcers, 
her  general  health  being  deplorable.  After 
suffering  from  erysipelas  in  the  head  and 
chest,  she  was  attacked  by  kerato-coyijedivita. 
The  eyes  became  quite  opaque,  and  these 
complaints  brought  on  complete  cecity,  as 
stated  in  a  detailed  certificate  of  her  attend- 
ing physician. 

Nevertheless,  Marie-Louise's  confidence  in 
the  mercy  and  goodness  of  our  Blessed  Lady 
was  unbounded ;  she  felt  convinced  of  her  cure 
beforehand,  and  arrived  at  Lourdes  with  the 
National  Pilgrimage.  She  was  twice  bathed 
in  the  piscina  without  any  result.  After  Bene- 
d  iction  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament  at  the  Grotto, 
the  procession  fell  into  order  to  return  to  the 
Basilica.  All  the  sick  were  lying  helpless  ofl 
their  pallets,  their  eyes  turned  toward  their 
Divine  Saviour  in  the  Sacred  Host,  who  was 
passing  among  them  to  console  and  heal  them ; 
they  were  surrounded  by  multitudes  on  their 
knees.    On  all  sides  burst  forth  the  thrice- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


419 


repeated  exclamations :  ' '  Hosanna  to  the 
Son  of  David!  Blessed  is  He  that  cometh  in 
the  name  of  the  lyord!"  And  then  from  all 
these  sorrowing  hearts  rose  ardent  suppli- 
cations, such  as,  "Jesus,  Son  of  David,  have 
pity  on  us!" 

Marie-Iyouise  had  not  been  able  to  approach 
the  Grotto,  but  her  heart  was  near  it,  full  of 
love  and  faith,  as  she  waited  for  Jesus  on  His 
passage,  and  begged  the  friend  who  led  her 
to  warn  her  of  the  moment  when  the  Blessed 
Sacrament  would  be  quite  close  to  her.  Ap- 
peals and  invocations  grew  louder  as  Our 
Lord  approached.  "Now!"  whispered  the 
friend  to  the  blind  girl.  Marie-Louise  fell  on 
her  knees.  "Lord,"  she  cried  out  with  saint- 
like fervor, — "Lord,  if  Thou  wilt  Thou  canst 
cure  me!  Lord,  grant  that  I  may  see!"  At 
that  instant  a  dazzling  glare  passed  before 
her  eyes,  causing  excruciating  pain.  Her  eyes 
were  opened!  At  one  glance  she  beheld  the 
Grotto,  the  lovely  image  of  Our  Lady,  the 
kneeling  multitude,  and  her  Saviour  blessing 
her,  resplendent  with  glory  in  the  Sacrament 
of  His  Love. 

Her  sight  is  perfect:  she  can  distinguish 
the  smallest  objects;  the  most  careful  exam- 
ination can  find  no  trace  of  the  ophthalmic 
disease.  The  young  girl  related  her  cure  before 
Mgr.  Berchialla,  Archbishop  of  Cagliari ;  Mgr. 
Petkofif,  missionary  Bishop  of  the  United 
Bulgarians ;  and  before  several  doctors,  some 
of  whom  were  moved  to  tears.  One  of  the 
latter,  who  had  come  to  Lourdes  for  the  first 
time,  said,  after  reading  the  certificates  and 
various  testimonies  describing  the  diseases 
she  had  suffered  from,  and  after  examining  the 
eyes  so  lately  sightless:  "Had  I  seen  only 
this  one  miracle  at  Lourdes,  it  would  suffice 
to  make  me  publish  everywhere  the  power  of 
the  Immaculate  Virgin  and  the  goodness  of 
her  Divine  Son." 

Louis  Charbonnel,  of  St.  Hilaire,  department 
of  the  Manche,  is  thirty  years  of  age.  Up  to 
the  time  of  the  accident  which  completely 
deprived  him  of  his  strength,  he  had  been  a 
very  robust  young  man.  On  the  3d  of  August, 
1886,  he  was  working  as  a  navvy  at  a  railway 
excavation,  when  suddenly  a  great  heap  of 
earth  fell  in  and  almost  buried  him  beneath 
it ;  he  received  serious  injuries  in  the  back  and 
limbs.    Notwithstanding  immediate  surgical 


aid,  paralysis,  with  absolute  insensibility  of 
the  lower  limbs,  set  in,  so  that  he  was  not  con- 
scious of  forty-two  leeches  that  were  applied 
to  his  spine  and  left  leg.  He  was  afflicted 
also  with  another  most  acute  suffering — 
paralysis  of  the  bladder,  which  left  him  no 
rest.  Not  until  eighteen  months  had  passed 
was  the  patient  able  to  move  about  with  the 
help  of  crutches. 

After  some  time  the  poor  paralytic  heard 
of  the  wonderful  cures  obtained  at  Lourdes. 
He  began  a  novena,  during  which  a  slight 
improvement  was  perceptible ;  it  seemed  like 
a  promise  of  the  intervention  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  whom  he  invoked  so  ardently.  He 
was  admitted  without  difficulty  among  the 
sick  poor  of  the  National  Pilgrimage,  and  on 
reaching  Lourdes  went  directly  to  the  Grotto, 
one  arm  round  the  neck  of  a  comrade  and  the 
other  leaning  on  a  stick.  He  received  Holy 
Communion  in  the  Church  of  the  Rosary,  and 
afterward  went  to  the  piscina;  no  change, 
however,  was  yet  visible  in  his  state.  On  the 
same  day  he  returned  a  second  time  to  the 
piscina,  and  while  in  it  felt  such  a  keen  pain 
in  his  loins  that  he  groaned  aloud.  Although 
he  only  experienced  a  slight  amelioration,  he 
had  the  courage  to  follow  the  night  proces- 
sion, in  spite  of  his  difficulty  in  walking.  On 
the  morning  of  the  21st  he  received  Holy 
Communion  at  the  Grotto,  and  then  proceeded 
for  the  third  time  to  the  piscina.  While  in  it 
he  felt  nothing  extraordinary,  but  on  coming 
out  he  was  able  to  ascend  the  steps  alone,  to 
dress  himself,  and  with  a  steady  foot  to  return 
to  the  Grotto,  where  he  poured  out  his  bound- 
less gratitude  to  his  heavenly  Benefactress 
for  restored  health  and  strength.  From  the 
moment  of  his  radical  cure  he  has  had  neither 
pain  nor  weakness,  and  is  now  working  hard 
at  manual  labor.  The  physicians,  who  ex- 
amined his  case  minutely  several  times,  agree 
that  his  disease  has  left  no  trace  behind  it. 

Mile.  Berthe  Charron  Gallot,  aged  thirty- 
five,  resides  at  Lagdaisiere  de  St.  Hilaire, 
department  of  Vendee.  In  February,  1886,  she 
was  seized  with  a  violent  pain  in  her  left  side 
and  stomach,  attended  with  frequent  vomiting. 
After  a  first  diagnosis,  her  physician  treated 
her  malady  as  an  affection  of  the  peritoneum. 
The  invalid  remained  eight  months  in  bed, 
having  the  lower  limbs  so  contracted  that  she 


420 


The  Ave  Maria. 


could  not  stretch  them.  Blisters,  electricity, 
etc.,  were  successively  used  without  any 
benefit.  In  August  of  the  same  ^'■ear  she  was 
removed  to  the  hospital  of  Niort,  and  attended 
by  Doctors  Haymer  and  Tonet;  they  suc- 
ceeded somewhat  in  straightening  her  limbs 
by  the  agency  of  chloroform,  but  her  general 
health  remained  unaltered. 

On  returning  home,  her  own  doctor  dis- 
covered a  tumor  of  a  malignant  nature.  His 
treatment  produced  a  slight  amelioration.  In 
June,  1887.  she  was  able  to  walk  a  little  with- 
out support,  but  her  condition  was  still  dan- 
gerous. Soon  again  she  lost  the  power  of 
movement,  and  was  unable  to  walk  even  as  far 
as  the  church,  about  three  hundred  yards  from 
her  house.  It  was  in  this  sad  condition  that 
she  arrived  at  Lourdes,  suffering  terribly,  yet 
fully  confident  of  obtaining  a  cure.  On  the  sec- 
ond immersion  in  the  piscina,  on  the  22d  of 
August,  she  noticed  with  joy  that  the  tumor 
had  entirely  vanished;  her  digestive  organs 
became  at  once  regular,  and  vShe  could  walk 
with  perfect  ease. 

This  astounding  and  instantaneous  cure 
was  confirmed  by  the  medical  men  at  Lourdes 
on  that  day  and  the  day  following.  Berthe 
Charron  Gallot  continues  as  well  as  if  she 
had  never  been  ill,  and  every  day  blesses  Al- 
mighty God  and  her  benign  Mediatrix,  Our 
Lady  of  Lourdes. 

We  append  the  certificate  of  her  physician : 

I,  the  undersigned,  Emilien  Bourasseau,  medical 
doctor  of  the  Faculty  of  Paris,  residing  at  Foussais 
(Vendue),  declare  to  have  examined,  on  the  25th  of 
August,  1889,  Mile.  Berthe  Charron  Gallot,  in  order  to 
verify  her  sudden  cure,  which  occuired  in  the  course 
of  a  pilgrimage  she  made  to  Lourdes  from  the  i8th 
to  the  24th  of  August.  This  young  person  has  been 
affected  since  1886  with  an  abdominal  tumor.  .  .  . 
This  tumor,  after  remaining  some  time  stationary, 
increased  considerably  of  late,  and  had  deplorable 
effects  on  the  general  system.  A  fortnight  ago,  seeing 
the  progress  of  the  disease  and  her  alarming  debility, 
I  insisted  upon  a  surgical  operation,  which  had  here- 
tofore been  postponed  by  the  patient  and  her  family. 
This  young  lady  went  to  Lourdes  last  week,  and  on 
Sunday,  the  25th,  she  came  to  ask  me  to  authenticate 
the  sudden  and  radical  change  in  her  health.  I 
verified  it  on  Sunday  and  I  confirm  it  again  to-day, 
August  29.  The  tumor  has  entirely  disappeared,  and 
the  cachexy  into  which  the  invalid  had  fallen  has 
given  way  to  all  the  signs  of  perfect  health.  In  proof 
thereof,  I  deliver  this  certificate,  which  I  declare  con- 
formable to  truth. 

Doctor  Bourasseau. 


Another  man.  ly.  V.,  came  last  year  to 
lyOurdes,  merely  through  curiosit}',  although 
in  ill  health.  It  would  seem  as  if  his  curiosity 
were  punished ;  for  three  days  after  leaving 
Lourdes  he  was  in  peril  of  death.  The  last 
Sacraments  were  proposed  to  him.  His  faith 
awoke  in  face  of  imminent  dissolution ;  even 
then,  at  the  last  hour,  he  be  ought  our  Blessed 
Lady  to  obtain  for  him  a  prolongation  of  life 
until  the  National  Pilgrimage  of  this  year. 
His  prayer  was  granted,  and  he  joined  the 
pilgrims  with  the  most  lively  faith.  During 
the  first  two  days  his  sufferings  increased, 
but  on  the  third  day  he  besieged  Heaven,  and 
would  not  depart  from  the  Grotto  until  he 
was  cured.  When  the  brancardiers  (litter- 
bearers)  wanted  to  carry  him  to  the  hospital,  he 
said:  "No,  no!  Let  me  be  a  sentinel  and  watch 
here  through  the  whole  night."  The  Blessed 
Virgin  smiled  upon  her  faithful  knight,  and 
on  coming  home,  some  hours  later,  he  had 
difiiculty  in  making  his  wife  believe  it  was 
he.  From  being  a  very  careless  Christian,  she 
was  converted  on  the  spot. 


Notre  Dame  de  Nanteuil. 


BY  GEORGE  PROSPERO. 


IN  the  marshy  district  of  Sologne,  divided 
into  the  departments  of  the  Cher,  Loir- 
et-Cher,  and  Loiret,  near  the  town  of  Mont- 
richard,  stands  the  ancient  Church  of  Nan- 
teuil. Few  of  the  numerous  shrines  of  Mary 
which  lie  scattered  over  the  fair  land  of  France 
can  trace  their  origin  to  a  more  remote  date 
than  Notre  Dame  de  Nanteuil.  Scarcely  had 
the  light  of  the  Gospel  penetrated  into  this 
part  of  the  country  than  tender  love  of  the 
Mother  of  God  formed  a  characteristic  of 
the  new  Christians,  and  our  Blessed  Lady 
did  not  delay  to  reward  the  devotion  of  her 
children. 

Some  of  the  pious  inhabitants  of  Nanteuil, 
passing  through  the  wood  one  morning,  found 
a  statue  of  Our  Lady  resting  on  the  branch  of 
an  oak  tree,  from  which  nook  Mary  herself 
seemed  to  look  down  upon  them  smilingly. 
Taking  down  the  statue,  they  carried  it  to 
a  neighboring  fountain.  There  they  placed  it 
on  a  low  wall  surrounding  the  fountain,  and 


The  Ave  Maria, 


421 


hastened  to  call  the  inhabitants  of  the  town, 
that  they  might  witness  what  they  regarded 
as  a  singular  proof  of  Mary's  lov^e  and  favor.. 
On  their  return  the  statue  was  gone,  and 
sorrow  reigned  in  the  hearts  of  all.  The  road 
was  a  very  lonely  one :  who  could  have  come 
during  their  short  absence?  Suddenly  one  of 
the  number — inspired  b}^  Heaven,  no  doubt, — 
thought  of  returning  to  the  forest,  and  there, 
exactly  in  the  same  oak  tree  and  on  the  same 
branch,  lo!  he  beheld  the  sacred  image,  as 
they  had  seen  it  first.  It  became  evident  to  all 
that  Our  I^a  iy  desired  that  a  sanctuary  should 
be  erected  in  her  honor  on  this  spot.  Accord- 
ingly a  chapel  was  built.  It  was  composed  of 
a  ground- floor  surrounding  the  trunk  of  the 
oak,  whilst  the  upper  floor  contained  the  large 
branch  with  its  venerated  statue.  I^ater  on, 
the  parish  church  of  Nanteuil  was  erected 
beside  this  sanctuary,  and  the  pilgrims,  who 
flocked  thither  in  crowds,  reached  the  chapel 
with  its  venerated  shrine  by  means  of  a  stair- 
case placed  in  the  interior  of  the  church. 

Through  succeeding  ages  Notre  Dame  de 
Nanteuil  suffered  much  during  the  various 
wars  which  desolated  France,  but  the  church 
was  always  restored.  Some  of  its  architecture 
bears  evidence  of  dating  back  to  the  early  part 
of  the  twelfth  century.  Again,  it  is  known  that 
Philip- Augustus  rebuilt  various  portions  ot 
the  large  church,  in  testimony  of  his  gratitude 
to  the  Queen  of  Heaven  for  two  favors  re- 
ceived in  the  neighborhood.  Whilst  passing 
through  the  country  with  his  troops,  the  sol- 
diers were  completely  exhausted,  and  some 
died  from  the  effect  of  a  drought  which  had 
long  continued.  Suddenly  a  refreshing  rain 
fell,  which  saved  the  army.  On  another  occa- 
sion, after  fervent  prayers  offered  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  Philip's  men  won  a  brilliant 
victory  over  the  English  at  Montrichard.  At 
the  present  day  there  may  be  seen  in  the 
church  a  column  bearing  the  likeness  of 
Philip,  whilst  several  smaller  columns  near  it 
show  the  heads  of  the  most  distinguished 
leaders  of  his  army. 

One  of  the  Seigneurs  de  Montrichard  and 
his  pious  consort  offered  a  tract  of  land,  to- 
gether with  its  revenues,  for  maintaining  and 
repairing  the  sanctuary.  In  146 1,  the  territory 
of  Nanteuil  having  become  annexed  to  the 
crown,  L<ouis  XI.  visited  the  shrine,  coming 


from  Plessis-les- Tours  on  a  pilgrimage.  His 
first  care  was  to  have  a  large  porch  constructed, 
on  which  the  royal  arms  were  carved,  together 
with  those  of  Queen  Charlotte  of  Savoy. 
Later  on  I,ouis  considerably  embellished  the 
church,  built  a  side  chapel  at  the  left  of  the 
choir,  and  entirely  restored  the  sanctuary 
which  contained  the  statue. 

Beautiful,  indeed,  was  the  devotion  shown 
alike  by  the  great  and  the  humble  to  the  "Vir- 
gin of  the  Oak,"  and  innumerable  were  the 
pilgrims  who  came  yearly  to  offer  their  tribute 
of  love  and  devotion  at  this  shrine.  Whit- 
Monday  was  the  great/^/^  day  at  Nanteuil, 
and  even  so  far  back  as  the  thirteenth  century 
we  learn  that  an  immense  fair  was  held  there 
on  that  day ;  it  was  the  occasion  for  bringing 
together  numerous  pilgrimages  from  different 
parts  of  the  country.  It  is  easy  to  imagine, 
however,  that  many  pious  and  devout  clients 
of  Our  I^ady  preferred  to  offer  up  their  prayers 
before  the  venerated  shrine  on  days  of  greater 
quiet.  A  large  field  near  thie  church  bears,  even 
to  the  present  time,  the  name  of  the  Pre  des 
Pelerins;  here  the  pilgrims  who  came  from 
afar  left  their  horses  and  mules  to  rest  whilst 
performing  their  devotions. 

All  through  the  religious  strifes  and  the 
troubles  of  the  I^eague  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury the  pilgrims  flocked  to  Nanteuil  with 
undiminished  fervor;  it  would  seem  that  the 
more  unsettled  things  were  in  the  kingdom, 
the  more  piety  they  displayed.  A  century 
later  the  same  pious  enthusiasm  was  showm, 
and  amongst  the  pilgrims  of  note  who  visited 
Notre  Dame  de  Nanteuil  was  the  saintly  M. 
Olier,  the  holy  Cure  of  St.  Sulpice.  Toward 
the  close  of  the  following  century  St.  Bene- 
dict Joseph  Labre  remained  a  short  time  at 
Nanteuil  whilst  journeying  to  Rome,  and 
his  stay  there,  needless  to  add,  was  fraught 
with  the  greatest  edification  to  the  pious  in- 
habitants. 

Shortly  before  the  dreadful  days  of  the 
Revolution,  the  features  of  the  statue  of  Notre 
Dame  de  Nanteuil  were  remarked  to  change, 
the  usually  smiling  expression  giving  place 
#to  a  look  of  intense  sorrow.  Many  refused 
to  believe  in  the  miracle  until,  coming  to 
the  chapel,  they  not  only  saw  the  features 
change,  but  beheld  tears  coursing  down  the 
cheeks. 


422 


The  Ave  Maria, 


When  the  Revolution  burst  over  France, 
the  sanctuary  of  Nanteuil  was  completely 
despoiled  of  all  its  treasures,  the  alters  and 
tabernacles  desecrated,  whi'st  the  wretched 
marauders,  throwing  a  cord  round  the  neck  of 
the  statue,  dragged  it  from  its  resting-place; 
it  fell  on  the  j^round,  broken  into  a  thousand 
pieces, — all  except  the  head,  which  esciped 
the  slightest  injury  An  unfortunate  woman 
— then  in  perfect  health —brushed  the  head 
aside,  and  sent  it  rolling  into  a  heap  of  rub- 
bish; and  it  is  related  that  before  the  day 
had  passed  she  was  dead.  Another  woman, 
at  the  risk  of  her  life,  took  up  the  head  ten- 
derly and  carried  it  to  her  home.  When  the 
days  of  horror  and  bloodshed  had  passed 
away,  and  the  church  was  again  thrown  open 
to  the  fiiithful,  the  woman  brought  back  her 
treasure.  Then  a  pious  artist  modelled  a  body 
as  much  resembling  the  old  statue  as  possible, 
and  the  head  having  been  placed  on  it,  the 
image  was  restored  to  the  shrine. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  Holy  Virgin 
manifested,  by  a  striking  miracle,  her  partic- 
ular attachment  to  this  favored  .sanctuary.  At 
St.  Aignan  an  affl'cted  mother  was  almost  in 
despair  on  seeing  her  son  unable  to  walk. 
Every  human  means  having  failed  to  help 
him,  she  carried  him  on  her  back  all  the  way 
to  the  shrine.  After  the  first  visit  there  was 
not  the  slightest  improvement  in  the  poor 
boy's  condition,  and  the  second  pilgrimage 
seemed  to  give  no  more  hope.  But  the  mother 
was  not  to  be  di-couraged,  and  again  returned 
with  her  precious  burden.  Scarcely  had  she 
laid  the  boy  before  the  altar  than  he  rose  up, 
completely  cured. 

Many  other  miracles  followed  this  one,  and 
public  attention  was  again  attracted  to  Notre 
Dame  de  Nanteuil.  The  church  had  suffered 
greatly  at  the  hands  of  the  Revolutionists,  and 
many  generous  donors  came  forward,  offering 
to  restore  various  portions  of  the  edifice. 
Those  who  now  visit  the  sanctuary  wili  find  a 
beautiful  structure,  the  architecture  of  which 
is  in  the  style  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The  church 
is  in  the  form  of  a  Latin  cross,  and  the  stone 
carvings  are  remarkable  for  the  elegance  and* 
variety  ot  their  design.  As  in  pist  centuries, 
so  in  our  days,  the  "Pilgrims'  Chapel,"  with 
the  miraculous  statue,  is  situated  on  the 
second  floor.  A  splendid  portal  in  the  large 


church  gives  access  to  the  staircase  leading 
to  it,  whilst  two  exterior  staircases,  used  only 
ow  fete  days — when  the  affluence  of  pilgrims 
is  vtry  great, — enable  the  visits  to  be  made 
with  the  most  perfect  order. 

Some  years  as  many  as  twenty  thousand 
pilgrims  come  to  this  far-famed  sanctuary, 
and  in  modern  times  many  costly  gifts  have 
been  sent  to  enrich  the  shrine.  Queen  Amelia 
offered  a  beautiful  group  of  Our  Lady  of  the 
Seven  Dolors;  later  on.  Napoleon  III.  pre- 
sented a  valuable  piinting,  and  the  Empress 
Eugenie  a  magnificent  set  of  vestments.  Nor 
have  the  Sovereign  Pontiffs  been  forgetful  of 
Notre  Dame  de  Nanteuil.  Pius  IX.,  as  an  en- 
couragement to  the  fervor  of  the  faithful, 
enriched  the  shrine  with  the  choicest  bless- 
ings of  the  Church.  It  was  gran'ed  the  favor 
of  the  Privileged  Altar,  also  the  celebrated 
Indulgence  of  the  Portiuncula  for  the  2d  of 
August,  and  a  plenary  indulgence  for  nearly 
all  the  feasts  of  the  Ble-sed  Virgin. 

We  thus  see  that  the  ancient  sanctuary  of 
Notre  Dame  de  Nanteuil  is  one  that  has 
suffered  least  at  the  hand  of  time ;  or  which, 
having  suffered,  has  risen  again  as  bright 
and  glorious  as  in  bygone  ages, — a  standing 
memorial  of  Mary's  peaceful  victory  over  her 
enemies. 

Some  Thoughts  In  November. 


BY   MAURICE   FRANCIS    EGAN. 


OLD  Sir  John  Mandeville — the  first  of  Eng- 
lish travellers  to  write  a  book,  but  not 
unhappily  the  last, — says  very  touchingly : 
"Wherefore,  I  pray  to  all  the  readers  and  hear- 
ers of  this  book,  if  it  please  them,  that  they 
will  pray  to  God  for  me.  I  shall  pray  for  them. 
And  all  those  that  say  for  me  a  Pater  Noster^ 
with  an  Ave  Maria,  that  God  forgive  me  my 
sins,  I  make  them  partners  of  all  the  good 
pilgrimages  and  all  the  good  deeds  that  I  have 
done,  if  any  be  to  His  pleasure." 

The  old  knight's  bones  are  dust,  for  they 
were  laid  away  nearly  five  hundred  years  ago ; 
but  the  voice  of  his  simple  faith  speaks  from 
the  past.  Firm  was  he  in  the  belief  of  the 
communion  of  saints ;  and,  if  he  be  still  among 
those  helpless  souls  whom  we  remember  in 


The  Ave  Maria. 


423 


this  month,  let  his  appeal,  embedded  in  the  old 
black-letter  of  his  volume,  be  not  unheeded. 
But  how  real  it  makes  this  old  traveller, — 
how  near  it  draws  us  to  him  across  the  great 
gulf  of  five  hundred  years! 

How  will  it  be  with  us  in  less  time  than 
five  hundred  years?  Will  there  be  any  voice 
pleading  for  us  from  out  the  record  of  our 
works?  Death  is  the  only  certain  thing  in 
life,  as  we  all  know ;  and  yet  how  few  of  us 
really  feel  that  it  is  so!  And,  after  death,  to 
most  of  us  will  as  surely  come  probation  "until 
the  foul  crimes  d  )ae  in  our  days  of  nature  are 
burned  and  purged  away."  If  death  is  sure, 
this  is  no  less  sure.  No  power  can  deprive  us 
of  our  part  with  all  the  Church  sufifering  of 
the  universal  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass, — no  power 
can  limit  the  saving  merits  of  the  unbloody 
Sacrifice  every  time  it  is  ofifered  up;  for  it  is 
supremely  Catholic,  and  he  who,  of  his  char- 
ity, offers  a  Mass  for  his  relative  or  friend 
joins  all  waiting  souls  by  another  link  to  the 
golden  chains  about  the  feet  of  God. 

How  real  dtath,  and  that  which  will  come 
after  death,  ought  to  be  to  us,  since  we  have 
not  only  been  told  of  death,  but  have  seen 
death's  hand  on  those  who  stood  by  our  side! 
Good  and  true  as  these  were,  we  do  not  im- 
agine that  they  were  undefiled  enough  to 
enter  at  once  into  the  pre-;ence  of  the  living 
God.  We  cover  their  graves  with  garlands; 
we  never  speak  of  them  without  a  sigh;  we 
say  life  is  not  the  same  to  us, — but  when  No- 
vember comes  we  do  not  give  them  special 
thought  or  prayer!  And  yet  we  know  as  cer- 
tainly as  we  know  anything  that  it  is  our 
prayers  they  crave. 

"More  things  are  wrought  by  prayer 
Thau  this  world  dreimsof.  .  .  . 
For  what  are  men  better  than  sheep  or  goats 
That  nourish  a  blind  life  wiihin  the  brain, 
If,  knowing  God,  they  raise  not  hands  in  prayer 
Both  for  themselves  and  those  that  call  them  friend  ?  " 

Last  year  we  grudged  nothing  to  the  friend 
that  has  since  left  us.  And  if  any  sacrifice 
could  bring  him  back,  we  say  fervently  that 
we  would  make  it.  To  change  the  allusion  of 
the  Spanish  poet,  "all  things  are  illusive  ex- 
cept the  pearl  of  prayer  deep  in  the  heart," — ^ 
"...  perla  esconida 
En  lo  mas  hondo  del  corazon." 

Last  year  we  would  have  travelled  miles  to 
be  near  him  were  he  ill.   We  should  have  ' 


spurned  the  thought  that  any  mere  inconven- 
ience could  keep  us  from  him  were  our  pres- 
ence needed.  Had  he  not  grappled  us  to  him 
with  a  thousand  hooks  of  steel  during  a  thou- 
sand days?  A  father,  a  brother,  a  friend, — it 
matters  not  which ;  it  may  be  that  we  have 
lost  all.  How,  now  that  the  time  has  come 
for  showing  our  gratitude,  do  we  keep  our 
promise? 

Who  dares  to  say  that  to  give  this  dear 
soul  solace, — to  repay  it  for  the  love  it  had 
for  us. — to  keep  the  pledges  we  made  to  it, — 
we  would  not  cross  the  sea  a  hundred  times? 
And  yet  when  it  comes  to  the  mere  matter  of 
crossing  a  few  streets,  of  rising  a  little  earlier 
in  the  morning,  of  having  some  Masses  said, 
we  hesitate,  we  procrastinate,  we  forget! 

There  are  the  mocking  immortelles  of  last 
year,  scarcely  changed  in  color,  hung  on  the 
railings  around  his  grave;  there  is  the  me- 
morial, on  the  carven  letters  of  which  no  moss 
has  had  time  to  grow;  there  are  all  the  re- 
membrances of  the  dead  mutely  speaking  to 
us  at  every  turn.  They  cry  out  to  us  of  the 
great  fact,  but  we  do  not  hear. — we  have 
"ears  and  hear  not."  In  that  future  which 
shall  come  as  surely  as  next  November,  shall 
we.^  in  our  purgation,  be  heard? 

The  cry  from  out  the  old  tomes  containing 
the  simple  record  of  the  travels  of  Sir  John 
Mandeville  is  the  cry  of  our  friends  who  have 
gone  before  They  can  not  help  themvselves,  but 
they  can  help  us.  A  Pater  and  an  Ave.  a  Mass, 
the  Rosary,  a  visit  to  the  Blessed  Sacrament. 
"I  pray  to  all .  .  .  that  they  will  pray  to  God 
for  me!" 


Where  material  interests  are  concemed,we 
rely  on  work  and  enterprise.  Where  spiritual 
interests  art-  in  play,  we  are  tempted  to  forego 
them,  to  make  room,  as  it  were,  for  divine  help. 
This,  certainly,  is  not  according  to  God's  de- 
signs. He  has  endowed  us  with  natural  facul- 
ties and  energies,  which  He  desires  us  to  use. 
Neglect  of  them  is  a  sin  against  the  Author 
of  natuie,  and  the  Author  of  grace  will  not 
by  miracles  make  up  for  our  neglect.  The 
gospel  of  human  effort  in  the  work  of  God 
needs  to  be  preached  to  the  world  to  day. 
Were  it  understood  and  carried  out,  we  should 
soon  tell  of  marvellous  victories. — Archbishop 
Irelafid. 


424 


The  Ave  Afarta. 


An  Officer  and  a  Gentleman. 

COLONEL  JOHN  M.  WILSON,  U.  S.  A.,  the 
new  superintendent  of  the  Military  Academy 
at  West  Point,  has  been  at  his  post  only  a  few 
weeks,  but  he  has  already  left  his  mark  on  the 
history  of  the  institution,  and  on  the  hearts  of  its 
cadets  and  their  families  and  friends.  Instances 
multiply  of  his  courtesy  and  his  sense  of  the 
fitness  of  things — to  say  nothing  of  his  rigid 
justice  and  military  discipline, — but  two  or  three 
will  sufiice  to  show  the  calibre  of  the  man. 

A  young  cadet  from  Ohio  fell  ill,  and  the 
surgeons  reluctantly  decided  that  recovery  was 
impossible.  His  family  were  poor,  and  it  was  even 
a  tax  for  his  father  to  come  to  him.  But  when  he 
reached  West  Point  he  was  taken  at  once  to  the 
hospital  where  his  son  was  lying,  found  himself 
provided  with  quarters,  his  mess-bill  settled  in 
advance,  and  every  care  that  kindness  could  sug 
gest  was  shown  him.  When  the  son  died  there 
was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  military  funerals 
the  Point  has  ever  seen.  The  whole  battalion, 
with  forty-three  officers  at  the  head,  marched  to 
the  station  ;  bells  w^ere  tolled,  and  to  the  furthest 
limit  of  military  etiquette  the  kindness  of  the 
superintendent  pushed  the  honors  to  the  dead. 
Some  one  asked  :  "Why  should  all  this  be  done 
for  a  man  nobod}^  ever  heard  of?" — "Because," 
answered  the  superintendent,"  he  is  a  Unjted 
States  officer."  But  he  did  not  add  how  gladly  his 
tender  heart  had  availed  itself  of  all  this  panoply 
to  soothe  the  grief-stricken  father,  nor  how  the 
lowly  origin  of  the  young  man  was  the  very 
raison  d'etre  of  the  personal  care  and  attention 
he  gave  the  details 

Another  occurred  at  the  reception  given  the 
Pan-American  Congressmen,  at  which  the  most 
distinguished  people  of  the  three  neighborhoods 
were  present.  Colonel  Wilson  made  a  special 
point  of  inviting  the  Catholic  priest  who  comes 
over  to  say  Mass  on  Sundays  for  the  Catholic 
cadets ;  and  not  only  did  he  greet  him  with  a 
felicitous  grace,  but  detailed  one  of  his  senior 
officers  to  lead  him  through  the  rooms,  and  pre- 
sent him  especially  to  a  granddaughter  of  Mrs. 
Anna  Hanson  Dorsey,  who  was  among  the  ladies 
receiving. 

Another.  A  ' '  plebe ' '  (a  freshman)  made  a 
section  in  mathematics.  Well,  a  "plebe"  being 
outside  the  pale  of  cadet  humanity,  what  if  he 
did?  But  the  superintendent  telegraphed  the 
good  news  to  the  parents  of  the  young  fellow, — 
took  time  from  his  crowded  hours  to  give  pleas- 
ure to  two  hearts  for  whom  that  ' '  plebe ' '  was 
the  best  part  of  the  cadet  corps. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

The  Holy  Father's  letter  to  Cardinal  Gibbons 
on  the  Catholic  Centenar}',  transmitted  by  Mgr. 
O'Connell,  contains  the  most  cordial  congratula- 
tions on  the  faith  and  zeal  of  the  prelates  and 
people  of  the  United  States.  In  conclusion  the 
Holy  Father  says  that  he  earnestly  prays  that, 
under  the  "prosperous  and  favored  public  in- 
stitutions," by  which  bishops  and  priests  are 
enabled  to  exercise  with  freedom  their  sacred  min- 
istry, their  labors  may  continue  as  in  the  past  to- 
benefit  the  Church  and  the  country. 


The  Bishop  of  Salford  has  written  a  very  sensi- 
ble letter  on  the  subject  of  public  amusements 
for  the  people.  He  proposes  that  an  effort  shall 
be  made  by  which  the  poor  can  be  interested  and 
amused  during  the  long  winter  evenings.  The 
present  places  of  amusement — the  theatre  and' 
the  dram-shop — tend  to  keep  the  members  of  the 
family  apart.  The  Bishop  wants  the  municipality 
of  each  English  city  to  provide  a  well  warmed 
hall,  where  light  refreshments  and  innocent  dra- 
matic and  musical  entertainments  shall  be  pro- 
vided for  family  parties  at  a  nominal  expense. 


It  is  curious  how  reverential  a  modern  Repub- 
lican Frenchman  becomes  toward  the  Church 
when  he  observes  her  manifestations  outside  of 
his  own  country.  A  correspondent  of  Lc  TempSy 
which  is  against  "Clericalism,"  goes  into  ecsta- 
sies over  the  achievements  of  Sister  Ignatius, 
who,  through  her  own  exertions,  has  built  a  hos- 
pital in  An  nam  for  lepers — who  arc  isolated — and 
for  little  children. 

The  Pope,  by  a  decree  of  the  Sacred  Congre- 
gation of  Indulgences,  published  since  last 
November,  graciously  accords  to  all  the  faithful: 
who  either  in  public  or  in  private  perform  the 
pious  exercise  of  the  month  of  November  in 
suifrage  for  the  souls  in  Purgatory:  i.  An  indul- 
gence of  seven  years  and  seven  quarantines  each 
day  ;  2.  A  plenary  indulgence  on  one  day  of  the- 
said  month  at  choice,  under  the  usual  conditions. 

A  statue  of  Robert  Cavalier  de  La  Salle,  the 
great  French  explorer,  has  been  placed  in  Lincoln 
Park,  Chicago,  and  is  a  gift  to  the  city  from  Judge- 
Lambert  Tree.  La  Salle,  who  was  an  ardent  Cath- 
olic, was  the  founder  of  the  settlement  of  Creve 
Coeur,  near  Peoria,  111., — the  first  civilized  com- 
munity within  the  borders  of  the  State  of  Illinois. 
"Thus,"  sa3-s  the  Catholic  News,  "our  early 
Catholic  explorers  and  colonizers  are  obtaining 


The  Ave  Maria. 


425 


their  due  honor  in  this  country.  Marquette's 
statue  is  on  the  front  of  a  public  building  in 
Detroit ;  Father  Perez,  friend  of  Columbus,  can  be 
seen  on  the  bronze  doors  of  the  Capitol  at  Wash- 
ington ;  Leif  Ericson,  the  grand  Catholic  pioneer 
of  New  England,  has  a  statue  in  Boston.  Professor 
E.  N.  Horsford,  whose  researches  lead  him  to 
locate  the  settlement  of  the  Catholic  Norsemen 
on  the  Charles  River,  is  about  to  erect  a  tower  at 
Waltham,  Mass.,  in  their  honor.  It  is  to  be  of 
stone,  and  fifty  feet  high,  and  to  stand  on  the  site 
which  he  claims  to  identify  with  Fort  Noruni- 
bega.  A  Catholic  of  later  date,  Miles  Standish, 
of  the  famous  Catholic  family  of  Standish  of 
Standish,  and  Standish  of  Duxbury,  has  a  mon- 
ument nearly  completed  at  the  place  he  called 
Duxbury,  in  Massachusetts,  after  the  home  of 
his  Catholic  family  in  England.  It  is  to  be  116 
feet  high,  and  stands  on  an  eminence  300  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea." 


Mr.  Wilfrid  Blunt's  name  is  familiar  to  Catholic 
readers,  he  and  his  wife,  Lady  Anne — a  grand- 
daughter of  Lord  Byron, — being  devout  Catho- 
lics. At  their  country  home — Crabbet  Place,  in 
England, — they  have  a  private  chapel,  in  which 
Mass  is  said  every  day.  Lady  Anne  is  a  little 
woman,  who  seems  smaller  by  the  side  of  her  tall 
daughter ;  she  has  followed  her  husband  among 
the  Arabs  and  through  many  foreign  lands.  It  is 
remarkable  that  the  only  descendants  of  Byron 
and  Scott  should  be  Catholics. 


A  high  wall  rises  around  the  demesne  of  Mey- 
erling,  now  a  Carmelite  convent,  where  the  late 
Prince  Rudolph  met  his  death.  The  dome  of  the 
chapel — late  the  bedroom  of  the  Crown  Prince — is 
visible  above  the  wall.  On  the  Feast  of  St. Teresa 
twenty -one  Carmelite  nuns  entered  the  cells 
prepared  for  them.  Near  the  convent  is  an  alms- 
house erected  by  the  Emperor. 


The  Rev.  Father  Martinelli  has  been  elected  by 
the  chapter-general  of  the  Augustinians  to  suc- 
ceed the  lamented  Father  Neno,  who  was  known 
to  many  persons  in  the  United  States,  partic- 
ularly Philadelphians.  The  new  General  is  a 
brother  of  Bishop  Martinelli,  the  publicist,  and 
friend  of  Pius  IX. 

The  Franciscans  of  the  Minor  Observance  have 
also  elected  a  new  Superior-General  in  the  person 
of  Padre  Luigi  da  Parma,  Provincial  of  Bologna. 


The  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  Keane  has  found  a  worthy 
successor  in  the  new  Bishop  of  Richmond — the 
Rt.  Rev.  A.  Van  de  Vyver,  who  was  consecrated  on 
the  Feast  of  the  Maternity  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 


Bishop  Van  de  Vyver  was  for  many  years  Vicar- 
General  of  the  diocese,  and,  since  Bishop  Keane's 
resignation,  its  administrator.  He  was  bom  in 
1845,  i^^  Haesdonck,  Belgium.  In  1867  he  entered 
the  American  College  at  Louvain,  to  become  one 
of  those  devoted  Belgian  missionaries  to  whom 
Catholic  America  owes  so  much.  Some  time  after 
his  ordination  he  came  to  his  new  field  of  labor, 
beginning  at  Richmond,  Va. ,  as  assistant  in  St. 
Peter's  Cathedral.  Bishop  Van  de  Vyver  is  not 
only  the  pastor  of  his  people,  but  one  of  them 
bv  affectionate  choice  and  faithful  service. 


The  Count  de  Mun,  the  celebrated  French 
champion  of  the  laboring  class,  is  described  to 
be  a  "Cardinal  Manning  of  forty."  The  Count 
thinks  that  the  surest  way  for  the  Catholics  of 
France  to  get  out  of  their  present  intolerable  po- 
sition would  be  to  drop  purely  political  matters, 
and  to  devote  their  attention  to  the  solving  of 
the  social  question  of  saving  the  working-men. 
Catholics,  he  says,  to  be  potent,  must  be  inde- 
pendent of  all  political  parties.  A  republic  which 
should  not  be  a  religious  despotism  would  have 
no  terrors  for  them.  ' '  Boulangism, ' '  he  observes, 
"is  a  combination  of  all  the  discontents,  an  alli- 
ance of  all  the  dissatisfied.  It  is  not  a  protest 
against  the  Republic  so  much  as  a  revolt  against 
the  mammon  of  unrighteousness." 


A  thoughtful  article  in  the  current  number  of 
the  Contemporary  Review,  on  "The  Triple  Alli- 
ance and  Italy's  Place  in  It,"  is  attributed  to 
Mr.  Gladstone.  In  one  short  paragraph  he  shows 
the  ruinous  condition  of  Italy  : 

"In  the  present  state  of  her  finances,  Italy  has  no 
margin  for  costly  mistakes.  In  less  than  a  quarter  of 
a  century  of  peace — from  the  date  of  her  restored 
independence, — she  has  contrived  to  treble,  or  some- 
thing near  it,  the  taxation  of  her  people,  to  raise  the 
charge  of  her  debt  to  a  point  higher  than  that  of 
England,  and  to  arrive  within  one  or  two  short  paces 
of  national  bankruptcy. ' ' 

When  Italy  actually  does  become  bankrupt, 
the  full  iniquity  of  her  present  rulers  will  be 
brought  to  light.  And  the  Roman  Question  will 
then  settle  itself. 

The  O'Donoghue  whose  mother  was  a  sister 
of  the  great  O'Connell  lately  died.  His  name  is 
one  of  the  most  famous  in  Irish  history ;  some 
of  the  legends  of  the  family  were  versified  by 
Thomas  Moore.  

Cardinal  Gibbons,  in  his  Centennial  Pastoral, 
pays  a  deserved  tribute  to  his  predecessor.  Arch- 
bishop Carroll.  "Knowing  as  he  did,"  the  Cardi- 
nal says, ' '  the  mischief  bred  by  national  rivalries, 
his  aim  was  that  the  clergy  and  people — no  matter 


426 


The  Ave  Maria. 


from  what  country  they  sprung, — should  be  thor- 
oughly identified  with  the  land  in  which  their 
lot  was  cast."  

Mrs.  Lyne  Stephens,  of  Brandon,  Norfolk,  Eng- 
land, a  muaificent  Catholic  lady,  is  building  in 
the  University  town  of  Cambridge  a  Catholic 
church,  which  will  not  suffer  even  by  comparison 
with  the  University  buildings.  Erected  on  one 
of  the  finest  sites  in  the  town,  its  spire  domi- 
nates the  approach  from  the  railway  station.  It 
is  approaching  completion  now,  and  within  is 
ver>'  beautiful,  with  fine  stained-glass  windows, 
and  rich  and  delicate  carving  in  stone,  of  which 
there  is  a  great  qu  intity.  There  will  be  a  rood- 
screen  spanning  it  from  side  to  side,  with  a  great 
figure  of  the  Saviour  in  the  midst.  Mrs.  Lyne- 
Stephens  has  been  a  splendid  though  silent  ben- 
efactress to  the  Church,  and  this  is  the  last  and 
greatest  of  her  gifts.  Its  cost  must  be  enormous, 
but  it  is  kept  a  profound  secret.  Canon  Scott,  who 
is  communicative  enough  on  all  other  points,  is 
silence  itself  as  to  this.  The  foundress  wishes  it 
to  be  so.  Mrs.  Stephens  has  also  built  the  fine 
priests'  residence  in  red  brick  side  by  side  with 
the  church.  

The  London  Tablet  remarks  that  "Luxemburg 
is  so  entirely  Catholic  that  there  are  only  fifty- 
three  persons  out  of  ten  thousand  who  are  not 
Catholics ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  half  million 
Catholics  or  more  who  are  in  China  are  a  mere 
drop  in  the  water  of  the  vast  ocean  of  the  popu- 
lation of  that  Empire.  It  is  interesting  to  see 
how  largely  Australia  exceeds  the  United  States, 
— more  than  a  quarter  of  its  inhabitants,  or  2514 
percent,  being  Catholics  in  Australia  to  i5"37 
per  cent,  in  the  United  States.  It  may  be  well  to 
repeat  that  in  the  countries  subject  to  Propa- 
ganda there  are  believed  to  be  eleven  hundred 
and  twenty  four  millions  to  be  converted.  Surely 
we  shall  not  be  content  to  say  once  only, '  O  Lord, 
Thy  kingdom  come! '  " 

Sister  Martha  Seton,  who  died  in  Frederick, 
Md.,  on  the  8th  ult.,  had  made  her  vows  in  the 
house  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity  at  Georgetown 
seventy-six  years  before  her  death.  She  was 
nine'^y-four  years  old  when  her  career  of  hourly 
self-sacrifice  was  ended.  During  the  late  war  she 
was  a  most  efficient  and  devoted  nurse.  May  she 
rest  in  peace! 

It  is  always  pleasant  to  note  real  progress, 
and  the  news  that  the  Rev.  M.  A.  Lambing,  of 
Scottdale,  Pa.,  has  opened  a  school  with  one 
hundred  and  seventy-five  pupils  is  specially  grat- 
ifying. It  is  taught  by  the  Sisters  of  Charity, 
for  whom  Father  Lambing  has  erected  a  spacious 


convent.  This  is  the  third  Sisters'  school  opened 
in  the  coke  regions  this  year.  Two  churches  have 
also  been  dedicated. 


Mr.  Aymer  Vallance,  whose  name  recalls  "The 
Scotti-h  Chiefs,"  is  one  of  six  Anglican  clergy- 
men who  lately  embraced  the  Catholic  Faith.  He 
has  joined  as  art-adviser  the  staff  of  Burns  & 
Gates.  lie  exhibits,  in  Mr.  Walter  Crane' §  gallery 
of  handicraft  exhibition  in  London,  a  chalice,  veil 
and  burse  worked  in  silk  and  gold  thread, — the 
design  being  conventionalized  roses.  It  would  be 
a  good  thing  if  some  of  our  church-furnishing 
firms  would  secure  "art-advisers  "  There  are  in 
America — witness  La  Farge,  for  instance, — de- 
signers of  stained  glass  and  other  handicrafts, 
who  would  get  nearer  to  the  traditions  of  the 
Church  in  art  than  the  mechanical  and  one- 
ideaed  people  who  send  us  the  "church  art"  we 
import  in  such  quantities. 


We  protest  against  the  confirmation  of  Mr. 
Morgan  as  commissioner  of  Indian  affairs,  and 
of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Dorchester  as  superintendent  of 
Indian  schools,  until  the  charges  against  them 
have  been  met.  The  San  Francisco  Monitor  and 
the  St.  Louis  Republic  insist  that  these  appointees 
of  the  Administration  are  doing  their  best  to  turn 
the  Catholic  Indians  over  to  political  hacks,  and 
discriminating  against  Catholic  teachers.  The 
Republic  gives  an  instance  of  a  one  armed  vet- 
eran, named  Mess,  having  been  discharged  from 
the  Kaw  school  at  the  Gsage  Mission  for  no 
reason  except  that  he  was  a  Catholic.  "We  shall 
return  to  this.  

The  Government  of  Japan  is  rather  favorable 
than  otherwise  to  Christianity  now.  The  aristoc- 
racy holds  to  the  Shinto  belief,  which  resembles 
Agnosticism ;  the  people  are  mainly  Buddhists. 
The  Church,  however,  is  making  great  progress 
in  the  Mikado's  country,  and  the  first  episcopal 
Council  will  be  held  in  March,  1890. 


Miss  Mary  Anderson's  health,  we  are  glad  to 
hear,  has  greatly  improved.  She  has  been  staying 
at  the  house  of  William  Black,  the  novelist,  whose 
last  book,  "In  Far  Lochabar,"  certainly  shows 
Catholic  influence. 

A  bust  of  St.  Thomas  Aquinas  is  the  gift  of 
English  Catholics  to  our  new  University.  It 
was  modelled,  at  the  request  of  Father  Kenelm 
Vaughan,  by  Guglielmi,  of  Rome.  It  is  of  Car- 
rara marble,  a  little  over  life-size. 


An  additional  indulgence  of  three  hundred  days, 
applicable  to  the  souls  in  Purgatory,  to  be  gained 


The  Ave  Maria. 


427 


once  a  day  at  any  lime  of  the  year,  has  been 
granted  for  the  devout  recitation  of  the  prayer 
to  St.  Joseph  attached  to  the  Holy  Father's  recent 
Encyclical  on  the  Rosary. 


We  regret  to  be  obliged  to  conceal  the  author- 
ship of  the  story  the  first  instalment  of  which  is 
presented  to  our  readers  this  week.  The  main  in- 
cidents are  strictly  true,  but  for  obvious  reasons 
are  disguised  as  much  as  possible.  The  story  is 
one  of  surpassing  interest,  and  will  be  read,  we 
trust,  with  profit  as  well  as  pleasure.  It  is  a  heart- 
history,  absorbing  though  sad.  We  must  be  ex- 
cused from  answering  questions  respecting  the 
author,  for  whose  desire  to  remain  unknown  there 
are  other  than  personal  reasons. 


The  Catholic  Standard  quotes  the  following 
passage  from  a  recent  work  by  Mrs.  Mary  H, 
Wills,  remarking  that  it  expresses  a  truth  too 
little  thought  of: 

"I  am  firmly  conviijced  that  posthumous  generos- 
ity is  of  but  Jittle  accouut  in  this  world,  , . .  For  a  man, 
with  no  endearing  trait  of  character,  to  hold  on  to  vast 
sums,  when  he  can  only  use  what  suffices  for  food 
and  raiment,  until,  powers  of  mind  and  body  failing, 
he  reluctantly  deeds  his  property  to  a  charity,  the 
workings  of  which  he  will  never  see.,  while  the  good 
which  he  intends  is  seldom  realized — that,  from  my 
standpoint,  is  not  benevolence.  How  much  belter 
while  in  the  prime  of  life  and  usefulness  to  do  good 
and  forget  not ;  to  be  in  a  measure  your  own  executor, 
and  make  the  world  better  because  you  have  lived  ; 
to  be  active  in  good  works,  philanthropic  in  spirit, 
and  an  honor  to  your  age  and  generation!  " 


New  Publications. 


The  Perfection  of  Man  by  Charity.  A  Spir- 
itual Treatise.  By  Fr.  H.  Reginald  Buckler,  O.  P. 
New  York :  Catholic  Publication  Society  Co. 
The  Christian  who  seeks  to  advance  in  the  way 
of  perfection  will  realize  that  charity  is  the 
animating  principle,  the  crown  of  all  virtues,  by 
the  practice  of  which  he  may  follow  the  counsel 
given  by  his  Lord  and  Master,  "Be  ye  perfect 
as  your  Heavenly  Father  is  perfect."  The  per- 
fection of  the  soul  consists  in  its  union  with  God  ; 
the  closer  that  union,  the  greater  is  its  perfectipn. 
And  it  is  love  that  constitutes  the  bond  of  union 
between  the  Creator  and  the  creature.  To  the  de- 
velopment of  this  grand  thought  the  work  before 
us  is  devoted.  The  pious  and  learned  author  says 
in  his  preface:  "The  principal  scope  of  the 
Treatise  is  to  show  that  the  whole  work  of  our 
perfection  is  reduced  to  the  development  of  the  one 
central  virtue  of  love — namely,  the  habit  of  divine 


charity, — as  being  the  spring  of  our  actions  and 
the  soul  of  the  virtues  in  the  supernatural  order ; 
on  which  all  the  laws  of  God  rest,  wherein  they 
are  all  contained,  and  to  the  perftction  of  which 
they  all  tend  ;  and,  further,  to  bring  forward  the 
important  and  practical  teaching  of  St.  Thomas 
and  St  Bonaventure,  that  the  Spirit  of  God  works 
in  us  through  the  medium  of  His  own  virtue  of 
love  ;  thus  governing  us  according  to  our  nature, 
which  moves  by  means  of  love  freely,  readily,  and 
sweetly  ' ' 

The  work  has  been  written  mainly  for  relig- 
ious, in  order  to  place  "  briefly  before  thtm  what 
may  be  termed  the  science  of  their  profession," — 
to  present  a  compendious  view  of  the  perfection 
of  their  state  by  endeavoring  to  show  wherein 
that  perfection  consists,  and  how  it  may  be  at- 
tained. At  the  same  time  it  will  be  found  accept- 
able to  ecclesi  istics  generally,  and  especially  to 
directors  of  souls,  who  aspire  themselves  to  the 
knowledge  and  practice  of  Christian  perfection. 
And  many  of  the  faithful,  who  have  at  heart  the 
attainment  of  perfection  in  their  state  of  life,  will 
find  suitable  aid  in  much  of  the  volume,  dealing 
as  it  does  with  the  vital  principle  of  Christianity 
— the  highest  love  for  which  man  has  been  made. 

In  the  treatment  of  his  subject,  the  writer 
displays  a  clearness  of  language  and  beauty  of 
expression  that  attract  and  fix  the  attention 
while  providing  most  abundant  food  for  spiritual 
nourishment.  The  materials  are  drawn  from  the 
Inspired  Word,  the  writings  of  the  Fathers  of  the 
Desert,  Doctors  of  the  Church,  and  other  masters 
in  the  spiritual  life  down  to  the  present  day, 
and  presented  in  a  manner  to  appeal  at  once  to 
the  mind  and  heart  of  the  Christian  reader.  The 
work  is  a  valuable  addition  to  the  books  suitable 
for  spiritual  reading,  and  will  no  doubt  be  gladly 
welcomed  wherever  it  is  introduced. 

A  Lucky  Family.    By  Marion  Brunowe.    New 

York :  A.  Riffarth. 

Mr.  Riffarth  has  done  a  good  thing  in  laj'ing 
the  first  stone  in  a  library  for  Catholic  childien. 
We  need  all  the  books  for  the  young  folk  we  can 
get.  We  insist  greatly  on  the  necessity  of  paro- 
chial schools,  and  the  necessity  of  good  books 
for  children  is  little  less  stringent.  The  parochial 
library  is  almost  as  great  a  factor  in  a  parish  as 
a  parochial  school. 

Miss  Brunowe's  stories  are  for  Catholic  Amer- 
ican children.  The  family  of  little  folk  lucky 
enough  to  get  this  volume  will  be  lucky  indeed. 
It  is  as  pleasant,  as  cheerful,  as  gay  as  "Seven 
of  Us,"  the  author's  first  book.  If  "Seven of  Us" 
and  "A  Lucky  Family"  were  put  together  in  a 
neat  box  they  would  make  an  incomparable  pair. 
Miss  Brunowe's  little  people  are  as  lifelike  as 


428 


The  Ave  Maria. 


possible,  and  the  old  grandmamma  who  tells  the 
stories  about  herself  is  just  like  a  very  charming 
and  real  grandmother. 

We  confess  that  we  never  heard  of  Mr.  Riffarth 
as  a  publisher  before  this  book  came  from  his 
press,  but  we  feel  a  kindliness  toward  a  publisher 
who  will  risk  something  in  the  effort  to  supply 
our  children  with  bright  stories,  without  cant, 
without  the  "little  Savoyard."  and  encourage 
Catholic  authors  to  do  the  work  that  lies  at  their 
hand.  If  the  publishers  who  are  always  howling 
about  Catholic  non-support  would  print  sane 
books  for  sane  people  and  their  children,  and 
put  some  of  the  force  into  circulating  them  that 
they  now  put  into  attempts  to  ' '  cut  one  another's 
throats"  in  the  school-book  business,  we  might 
have  a  fair  number  of  appropriate  stories  for 
children.  It  would  indeed  be  a  pity  if  writers  like 
Miss  Brunowe  and  the  author  of  "The  Prairie 
Boy"  should  be  compelled  to  remain  idle  for 
lack  of  a  market, -^a  market  which  any  Catholic 
publisher  might,  with  ordinary  enterprise,  create 
if  it  did  not  already  exist.  Every  father  who 
wants  to  make  his  children  happy  during  the 
coming  winter  evenings  ought  to  send  for  "A 
Lucky  Family." 

Short  Conferences  on  the  Little  Office 

OF  THE  IMMACUI.ATE  CONCEPTION.  New  York, 
Cincinnati  and  Chicago  :  Benziger  Brothers. 
In  these  Conferences  explanations  are  given  of 
the  various  parts  of  the  Little  Office,  together 
with  instructions  on  the  hynins  and  prayers  used 
in  its  recitation.  They  were  originally  delivered 
at  the  Provincial  Seminars  of  Milwaukee,  by  the 
Rector,  the  Very  Rev.  Joseph  Rainer,  before  eccle- 
siastical students,  members  of  the  Sodality  of  the 
BlCvSsed  Virgin.  So  pleasing  and  instructive  did 
they  prove,  that  the  author  was  constrained  to 
yield  to  his  hearers'  urgent  request  and  give  them 
to  the  press.  Many  a  sodality  throughout  the 
land  will  rejoice  that  this  has  been  done,  and  will 
accord  the  book  a  hearty  welcome.  The  publish- 
ers have  done  their  part  yvell,  and  given  us  a  neat 
and  tasty  volume  in  Our  Lady's  colors — blue 
and  gold. 

A  Chaplet  of  Verse  by  California  Cath- 
olic Writers.  Edited  by  the  Rev.  D.  O.  Crowley 
and  Charles  Anthony  Doyle.  Published  for  the 
B;-nefit  of  the  Youths'  Directory.  San  Francisco  : 
Diepenbroch  &  Co. 

The  charitable  undertaking  in  behalf  of  which 
this  little  book  is  published  should  alone  com- 
mend it  to  our  attention.  The  Youths'  Directory 
is  an  institution  for  the  training  of  boys  who 
would  otherwise  be  left  to  the  acquisition  of  such 
knowledge  as  can  be  picked  up  in  the  alleys  and 
^rlieus  of  a  large  city.  But,  apart  from  the  kind 


intention  by  which  they  are  actuated,  the  weavers 
of  this  fragrant  "chaplet"  have  claims  of  their 
own  upon  literary  recognition.  Some  of  them  are 
well  known  to  the  readers  of  The  "Ave  Maria  " 
as  among  our  most  valued  contributors.  We 
commend  this  little  book  to  all  lovers  of  poetry — 
a  class  that  we  know  to  be  daily  increasing, — 
and  to  all  who  are  disposed  to  aid  the  good  work 
in  behalf  of  which  it  is  published. 

Two  Spiritual  Retreats  for  Sisters.  By  the 
Rev.  Ev.  Zollner.  Translated  and  Adapted  by  the 
Rev.  Augustine  Wirlh,  O.  S.  B.    Second  Edition. 
New  York  and  Cincinnati :    F.  Pustet  &  Co. 
These  "Retreats"  will  be  found  acceptable  to 
religious  communities  of  women  generally,  as  a 
great  help  in  making  a  retreat  where  the  services 
of  a  priest  can  not  be  secured.  The  meditations 
convey  instructions  on  all  matters  that  relate  to 
the  ordinary  course  of  convent  life,  and  as  such 
present  the  most  useful  food  for  reflection  in  the 
annual  review  of  one's  dealings  with  spiritual 
things.  And,  inasmuch  as  frequent  admonition  of 
the  fundamental  obligations  of  their  privileged 
state  can  not  but  be  profitable  to  religious  souls, 
the  abundance  of  matter  found  in  this  volume 
makes  it  suitable  for  private  reading,  and  a  fruit- 
ful source  of  great  spiritual  benefit  at  all  times. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with   them.  — Heb.,  xiii,  3. 

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

The  Rev.  Thomas  O'Leary,  a  worthy  young  priest 
of  the  Diocese  of  Fort  Wayne,  whose  unexpected 
death  occurred  on  the  24th  ult. 

Sister  Mary  Elizabeth,  of  St.  Joseph's  Convent, 
Flushing,  L.  L  ;  and  Sister  Mary  Frances,  Visitan- 
dine,  Mt  de  Chantal,  W.  Va. 

Mrs.  Mary  Keas,  who  peacefully  departed  this  life 
on  the  14th  ult.,  at  South  Boston,  Mass. 

Miss  Mary  A.  Smith,  of  Newark,  N.J.,  who  died  a' 
happy  death  on  the  ist  ult. 

Mr.  J.  W.  McSweeney,  who  met  with  a  sudden  death 
on  the  nth  of  September,  at  Norwalk,  Ohio. 

Mrs.  Alice  Comerford,  of  Cambridgeport,  Mass., 
who  passed  away  on  the  9th  ult. 

Miss  Mary  Murphy,  who  piously  breathed  her  last 
on  the  same  dk\,  at  Minneapolis,  Minn. 

Mr.  John  Dunne,  of  Somerville,  Mass. ;  Miss  Mary 
and  M^«s  Nellie  Donovan,  Minneapolis,  Minn. ; 
Mr.  Luke  Crogan,  Newark,  N.  J. ;  Mr.  J.  H.  Harris, 
Dubois,  Pa. ;  William,  Anne  and  Julia  Keogh,  Bidde- 
ford,  Me. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faith- 
ful departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in 
peace! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


429 


Baby's  Secret. 

BY    LAWRENCE    MI  NOT. 

When  Baby  smiles,  I  know  of  what  he's  thinking — 

I  know  it  well, — 
And  wheij  he  cries,  and  his  blue  eyes  are  winking 
To  close  in  sleep,  I  can  his  secret  tell. 

He  smiles  because  he  sees  the  Blessed  Mother, 

So  sweet  and  fair  ; 
He  wants  to  play  with  our  dear  Little  Brother 
In  Sleepland,  and  be  happy  with  Him  there. 


A  Miser's  Gold. 


BY   MARY    CATHERINE   CROWI^EY. 


"Never  mind,  mother!  Don't  fret.  We' 11 
get  on  all  right.  This  little  house  is  much 
more  comfortable  than  the  miserable  flat  we 
have  been  living  in.  The  air  is  good,  and  the 
health  of  the  children  will  be  better.  It  is 
quite  like  having  a  home  of  our  own  again. 
Now  that  Crosswell  &  Wright  have  raised 
my  wages,  we  shall  be  able  to  make  both  ends 
meet  this  winter, — you'll  see!" 

"Yes,  dear,  I'm  sure  we  shall,"  Mrs.  Farrell 
forced  herself  to  respond,  though  her  tone  did 
not  express  the  absolute  conviction  which 
the  words  implied.  But  Bernard  was  in  great 
spirits,  and  for  his  sake  she  assumed  a  cheer- 
fulness which  she  was  far  from  feeling,  as 
she  bade  him  good-bye,  and  from  the  window 
watched  him  hasten  away  to  his  work. 

"God  bless  his  brave  heart!"  she  mur- 
mured. "He  is  a  good  boy  and  deserves  to  sue 
ceed.  It  worries  me  that  he  has  such  a  burden 
upon  his  young  shoulders ;  but  Father  Hamill 
says  this  will  only  keep  him  steady,  and  will 
do  him  no  harm  if  he  does  not  overtax  his 
strength.  What  a  shabby,  contracted  house 
this  is !  Well,  I  must  only  try  to  make  it  as 
bright  and  pleasant  as  possible.  I  wish  the 
girls  were  older  and  able  to  tarn  a  trifle; 


every  penny  helps  nowadays.    Mary,  indeed, 
mi.ht  find  a  place  to  run  errands  for  a  dress- 
maker, or  something  of  the  kind;  but  I  can  not 
bear  to  think  of  her  going  around  alone  down 
town,  becoming  pert  and  forward.    Besides, 
she  is  so  bright  and  smart  that  it  <-eems  a  pity 
to  interfere  with  her  studies.   She  will  need 
all  the  advantages  she  can  get,  poor  child!" 
With  a  sigh  the  mother  returned  to  her 
duties,  prepared  breakfast  for  the  other  chil- 
dren  arid  in  the  course  of  an  hour  hurried 
them  off  to  school.  There  were  three :  Mary, 
just  twelve  years  oM;  Lizzie,  ten;  and  Jack, 
who  had  attained  the  precocious  and  mischief- 
loving  age  of  seven.   Bernard  was  eighteen, 
and  the  head   of  the  family,— a  fact  which 
Mrs.  Farrell  strove  to  impress  upon  the  minds 
of  the  younger  members,  as  entitling  him  to 
special  respect  and  affection    He  was  also  the 
principal  bread-winner,  and  had  ten  dollars  a 
week,  which  was  considered  a  fine  beginning 
for  one  so  young.  Still,  it  was  not  a  great 
deal  for  them  all  to  rely  on,  and  his  mother 
endeavored  to  eke  out  their  scanty  livelihood 
by  taking  sewing,  and  in  various  other  ways. 
Life  had  not  always  been  such  a  struggle  for 
the  Farrells.  Before  the  death  of  the  husband 
and  father  they  had  been  in  good  circum- 
stances   Mr.  Farrell  held  for  years  a  responsi- 
ble position  as  book-keeper  and  accountant 
in  one  of  the  largest  mercantile  establishments 
of  the  city.  He  had  a  fair  salary,  which  enabled 
him  to  support  his  family  comfortably.  But, 
alas!  how  much  often  depends  upon  the  life 
and  efibrts  of  one  person !   An  attack  of  pneu- 
monia, the  result  of  a  neglected  cold,  carried 
him  out  of  the  world  in  three  days.  There 
had  been  only  time  to  attend  to  his  religious 
duties,  and  no  opportunity  to  provide  for  the 
dear  ones  he  was  about  to  leave,  even  if  any 
provision  had  been  possible.  When  the  income 
derived  from  the  father's  daily  labor  ceased, 
they  found  themselves  suddenly  plunged  into 
comparative  poverty.  His  life-insurance  policy 
had  not  been  kept  up ;   the  mortgage  on  the 
pretty  home  had  never  been  paid  off,  and  was 
now  foreclosed.  The  best  of  the  furniture  was 
sold  to  pay  current  expenses,  and  the  widow 
removed  with  her  children  to  the  third  floor 
of  a  cheap  apartment  house, — one  of  those 
showy,   aggressively    genteel    structures    so 
often  seen  in  our  Eastern  cities,  with  walls  of 


430 


The  Ave  Maria, 


questionable  safety,  and  defective  drainage 
and  ventilation. 

Mrs.  Farrell  was  now  obliged  to  dismiss  her 
maid-of-all-work,  and  attend  to  the  household 
duties  herself  This  was  a  hardship,  for  she 
was  not  a  strong  woman ;  but  she  did  not 
complain.  Bernard,  fortunately,  had  taken  two 
years  of  the  commercial  course  at  St.  Stanis- 
laus' College,  and  was  therefore  in  a  measure 
fitted  for  practical  affairs.  He  obtained  a  place 
as  clerk  in  the  law  office  of  Crosswell  & 
Wright.  As  he  tried  to  keep  his  mind  on  his 
duties,  and  was  willing  and  industrious,  his 
employers  were  well  pleased  with  him,  and 
he  had  been  several  times  advanced.  But  the 
means  of  the  family  grew  more  and  more 
straitened.  The  following  year  the  rent  of  the 
flat  was  found  to  be  higher  than  they  could 
afford.  They  sought  other  quarters,  and  settled 
at  last,  just  as  winter  was  approaching,  in  the 
little  house  where  we  have  discovered  them, 
in  a  humble  neighborhood  and  unpaved  street, 
with  no  pretentions  whatever, — in  fact,  it  did 
not  appear  to  have  even  the  ambition  to  be 
regarded  as  a  street  at  all. 

The  young  people  took  possession  of  the 
new  dwelling  in  high  glee.  They  did  not  see 
the  drawbacks  to  comfort  which  their  mother 
could  have  pointed  out;  did  not  notice  how 
much  the  house  needed  painting  and  paper- 
ing, how  decidedly  out  of  repair  it  was.  Only 
too  glad  of  their  satisfaction,  she  refrained 
from  comment,  tried  to  make  the  best  of  every- 
thing, and  succeeded  in  having  a  cosey  home 
for  them,  de.-^pite  all  difficulties.  For  there 
was  not  a  room  of  the  small  house  into  which 
at  least  a  ray  of  sunlight  did  not  find  its  way 
sometime  during  the  day.  It  shone  upon 
threadbare  carpets  and  painted  floors;  upon 
sofas  the  upholstering  of  which  had  an  unmis- 
takable air  of  having  been  experimented  with ; 
and  chairs  which  Mrs.  Farrell  had  recaned, 
having  learned  the  art  from  a  blind  boy  who 
lived  opposite.  Yet  the  sunlight  revealed  as 
well  an  air  of  thrift  and  cheeriness,  for  the 
widow,  despite  her  days  of  discouragement, 
aimed  to  train  her  children  to  look  upon  the 
bright  side  of  life,  and  to  trust'  in  Providence. 

"Bernard,"  said  she  one  evening,  "I  have 
been  thinking  that  if  I  could  hire  a  sewing- 
machine  I  might  get  piecework  from  the 
shops,  and   earn    more   than  by  looking   to 


chance  patronage.   I  have  a  mind  to  inquire 
about  one." 

The  bo>^  was  silent.  She  began  to  doubt  if 
he  had  heard,  and  was  about  to  repeat  the 
remark  when  he  answered : 

"No,  mother,  don't.  There  are  too  many 
women  doing  that  kind  of  sewing  at  starva- 
tion prices.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  would  be 
a  fine  thing  if  you  really  had  the  time  for 
it,  though  I  do  not  see  how  you  could, — it 
seems  to  me  we  keep  you  busy." 

"What  is.  your  idea?"  inquired  Mrs.  Far- 
rell eagerly,  paying  no  heed  to  the  latter  part 
of  his  speech. 

"Well,  if  we  could  manage  to  pay  the  rent 
of  a  type-writing  machine,  I  could  probably 
get  you  copying  from  the  firm  as  well  as  from 
some  of  the  other  lawyers  in  the  building.  I 
was  wondering  the  other  day  if  I  could  do 
anything  at  it  myself,  and  thu-;  pick  up  an  ad- 
ditional dollar  or  two  in  the  week.  Of  course, 
you  would  accomplish  more  than  I  could,  and 
it  w^ould  be  a  hundred  times  better  than 
stitch!  stitch!  How  I  hate  the  whir  of  the 
thing!  "  And  Bernard,  with  his  juggler  gift  of 
mimicry,  proceeded  forthwith  to  turn  himself 
into  a  sewing-machine,  jerking  his  feet  up 
and  down  in  imitation  of  the  motion  of  the 
treadle,  and  making  an  odd  noise  in  his  throat. 

Mrs.  Farrell  laughed,  as  she  replied  :  "  I  do 
not  know  that  there  is  much  choice  between 
this  and  the  click  of  the  type- writer.  But,  any- 
how, your  plan,  though  it  sounds  plausible, 
would  not  do,  because  I  should  not  be  nble  to 
work  the  type- writer." 

"There  would  be  no  difficulty  about  that," 
argued  Bernard.  "You  know  how  to  play  the 
piano,  and  the  fingering  is  very  much  easier. 
It  will  come  naturally." 

His  mother  laughed  again,  yet  she  sighed 
as  well.  Her  father  had  given  her  a  piano  as 
a  wedding  present,  but  this  had  been  the  first 
article  of  value  to  be  dispensed  with  when  the 
hard  times  came.  Bernard  was  so  sanguine, 
however,  that  she  consented  to  his  project. 
He  ?poke  to  Mr.  Crossw^ell  on  the  subject; 
that  gentleman  became  interested,  succeeded 
in  obtaining  a  type-writer  for  Mrs.  Farrell  on 
easy  terms,  and  promised  to  send  her  any- 
extra  copying  he  might  have.  The  manipu- 
lation of  the  machine  did  not,  indeed,  come 
quite  as  'naturally  as  Bernard  predicted,  but 


The  Ave  Maria. 


431 


after  a  few  weeks '  of  patient  practice  she 
mastered  it  sufficiently  to  produce  a  neat- 
looking  page.  Bernard  brought  her  all  the 
work  she  could  do ;  it  was  well  paid  for,  and 
a  more  prosperous  season  seemed  to  have 
dawned  upon  the  little  home. 

Just  at  this  time  the  children  took  scarlet 
fever  at  school.  They  had  the  disease  lightly, 
but  what  anxiety  the  mother  endured!  Thank 
God,  they  got  through  it  safely;  but  there 
was  the  doctor's  bill  to  be  settled,  and  funds 
were  at  a  low  ebb  once  more  To  cap  the 
climax,  when  the  house  had  been  thoroughly 
fumigated  by  the  board  of  Health,  and  Mrs. 
Farrell  was  prepared  to  take  up  her  occupa- 
tion again,  an  attack  of  rheumatism  crippled 
her  fingers  and  rendered  them  almost  power- 
less. Then  it  was  that,  worn  o'ut  and  disheart- 
ened, she  broke  down  and  cried  : 

"Oh!  why  does  not  God  help  us?" 

Her  son's  usually  happy  face  wore  an  ex- 
pression of  discouragement  also  as  she  turned 
to  him  with  the  appeal.  His  lips  twitched 
nervously;  but  in  a  moment  the  trust fulness- 
which  she  had  taught  him  was  at  hand  to 
comfort  her. 

"Indeed,  mother.  He  will— He  does,'"  said 
Bernard  tenderly,  though  in  the  matter- of  fact 
manner  which  he  knew  would  best  arouse  her. 
"You  are  all  tired  out,  or  you  would  not  speak 
in  that  way.  You  must  have  a  good  rest.  Keep 
the  rooms  warm,  so  that  you  will  not  take 
any  more  cold,  and  before  long  you  will  be 
able  to  rattle  the  type- writer  at  a  greater 
speed  than  ever.  That  reminds  me,  mother," 
he  continued — seeing  that  she  was  beginning 
to  recover  herself,  and  wishing  to  divert  her 
thoughts, — "one  of  the  things  we  have  to  be 
thankful  for  is  that  this  house  is  easily  heated. 
It  beats  all  the  way  coal  does  la-^t  here!  The 
ton  we  got  two  months  ago  isn't  gone  yet." 

"That  is  the  way  coal  lasts  when  there  is 
not  any  one  to  steal  it,  as  there  was  in  the  flat, 
where  the  cellars  were  not  properly  divided 
off,"  answered  Mrs.  Farrell,  brightening  up. 

"No,  there's  nobody  living  immediately 
around  here  whom  I'd  suspect  of  being  mean 
enough  to  steal  coal,"  returned  Bernard,  care- 
lessly,—  "except,  perhaps,  Stingy  Willis.  I 
don't  think  I'd  wiger  that  old  codger 
wouldn't,  though." 

"I  am  afraid  I  should  not  have  entire  con- 


fidence in  him  either,"  agreed  Mrs.  Farrell. 
But  the  intelligence  that  there  was  still  coal 
in  the  bin  had  cheered  her  wonderfullj\  Re- 
penting of  her  rash  conclu^iion,  she  hastened^ 
to  qualify  it  by  adding,  "That  is,  if  half  of 
what  the  neighbors  say  is  true.  But,  then,  we 
have  no  right  to  listen  to  gossip,  or  to  judge 
people." 

Stingy  Willis,  the  individual  who  appar- 
ently bore  an  unenviable  reputation,  was  a 
small,  dried-up  looking  old  man,  who  lived 
next  door  to  the  Farrells, — in  fact,  under  the 
same  roof;  for  the  structure  consisted  of  two 
houses  built  together.  Here  he  dwelt  alone, 
and  attended  to  his  household  arrangements 
himself,  except  when,  occasionally,  a  woman 
was  emplo5^ed  for  a  few  hours  to  put  the 
place  in  order.  He  was  accustomed  to  prepare 
his  own  breakfast  and  supper;  his  dinner  he 
took  at  a  cheap  restaurant.  He  dressed  shab- 
bily, and  was  engaged  in  some  mysterious 
business  down  town,  to  and  from  which  he 
invariably  walked ;  not  even  a  heavy  rain- 
storm could  make  him  spend  five  cents  for  a 
ride  in  a  horse-car.  And  yet  he  was  said  to 
be  very  wealthy.  Persons  declared  they  knew 
"upon  good  authority"  that  he  held  the 
mortgage  which  covered  the  two  connecting 
houses;  that,  as  the  expression  is,  he  "had 
more  money  than  he  knew  what  to  do  with." 
Others,  who  did  not  profess  to  be  so  scrupu- 
lously exact  in  their  determination  to  tell  only 
a  plain,  unvarnished  tale,  delighted  in  fabulous 
stories  concerning  his  riches.  They  said  that 
though  the  floor  of  his  sitting- room  was  car- 
petless,  and  the  bay-window  curtainless  but 
for  the  cobwebs,  he  could  cover  the  one  with 
gold  pieces  and  the  other  with  bank  notes,  if 
he  pleased.  Many  were  convinced  he  had  a 
bag  of  treasure  hidden  up  the  chimney,  or 
buried  in  the  cellar;  this  they  asserted  was 
the  reason  he  would  not  consent  to  having  the 
upper  rooms  of  the  house  rented,  and  f-o  they 
remained  untenanted  season  after  season. 
Thus,  according  to  the  general  verdict  (and 
assuredly  the  circunT-tantial  evidence  was 
strong),  he  was  a  miser  of  the  most  pronounced 
type, — "as  stingy  as  could  be,"  everybody 
agreed ;  and  is  not  what  everybody  says 
usually  accepted  as  the  truth? 

Certain  it  is  that  Stingy  Willis  acted  upon 
the    principle,  "A   penny   saved    is  a  penny 


43^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


gained,"— denied  himself  every  luxury,  and 
lived  with  extreme  frugality,  a.s  the  man  who 
kept  the  meat-market  and  grocery  at  the  cor- 
ner frequently  testified.  Even  in  the  coldest 
weather,  a  fire  was  never  kindled  in  the  house 
till  evening;  for  over  its  dying,  embers  the 
solitary  man  made  his  coffee  the  following 
morning.  A  basket  of  coal  lasted  him  a  week, 
and  he  sifted  the  cinders  as  carefully  as  if  he 
did  not  know  where  to  find  a  silver  quarter 
to  buy  more  fuel.  He  had  nothing  to  do  with 
his  neighbors,  who  really  knew  very  little 
about  him  beyond  what  they  could  see  of  his 
daily  life.  They  were  almost  all  working  peo- 
ple, blessed  with  stead >^  employment ;  though 
they  had  not  more  than  enough  of  this  world's 
goods,  there  was  no  actual  poverty  among 
them.  They  were  respectable,  honest,  and  in- 
dustrious; as  Bernard  said,  not  one  of  the 
dwellers  in  the  street  would  ever  be  suspected 
of  being  "mean  enough  to  steal  coal,"  unless 
indeed  Stingy  Willis. 

(conclusion  in  our  next  number.) 


The  King's  Bell. 


BY    FLORA    L.    STAN  FIELD. 


The  Story  of  the  king's  bell  has  been  woven 
into  verse  by  a  true  poet.  In  prose  it  runs 
somewhat  like  this : 

Once  upon  a  time,  after  a  long  and  honor- 
able reign,  a  king  lay  dying.  He  called  to  him 
his  son  and  heir,  and  to  the  prince  he  said : 

"The  rights  of  a  king  will  one  day  come  to 
naught ;  he  who  seems  to  rule  is  the  veriest 
slave  of  all.  You  must  look  for  nothing  but  a 
life  of  trouble,  and  consider  yourself  fortunate 
if  you  can  one  day  die  in  peace." 

But  the  prince  being  young  and  full  of  hope, 
and  having  the  wilfulness  of  inexperience, 
protested,  as  young  persons  will,  that  he  knew 
better. 

"The  cares  of  state,"  he  said  "shall  sit 
lightly  upon  ine.  The  life  of  a  king  should  be 
one  long  holiday.  I  will  show  my  courtiers 
and  all  the  world  what  true  happiness  means. 
What  is  the  use  of  being  a  king  if  one  can 
not  be  happy?  Why,  a  bird  in  the  air  or  a 
peasant  in  the  field  is  better  off  than  that! 
I  am  in  no  hurry  for  \\\\  kingdom, — indeed, 


most  dear  father,  I  am  not ;  but  I  shall  be  a 
happy  king." 

While  he  spoke  his  father  sighed  and  died. 
When  the  royal  mourning  was  over,  the  new 
king  ordered  that  a  bell  of  silver  should  be 
placed  upon  the  top  of  the  palace  in  a  high 
tower.  Attached  to  it  were  many  ropes,  so 
arranged  to  connect  with  the  rooms  below 
that  wherever  the  king  might  be,  one  should 
be  always  near  his  hand. 

"Whenever  I  am  happy  I  shall  ring  the 
bell,"  he  told  his  courtiers  and  his  friends; 
"and  that,  you  shall  see,  will  be  often;  for  I 
am  sure  that  m<y  father's  dying  words  were 
mistaken  ones.  Yes,  I  shall  be  a  happy  king." 

So  the  years  slipped  by,  and,  though  they 
listened,  his  people  never  heard  the  bell.  One 
thing  after  another  prevented  the  king  from 
ringing  it.  "When  I  get  through  this  griev- 
ous affiir  of  state,"  he  would  say,  "I  shall  be 
happy."  But  that  affair  would  be  succeeded 
by  another.  Then  he  would  murmur:  "This 
war  over,  peace  will  come,  and  the  bell  can 
be  heard  afar."  But  before  his  hand  could 
clasp  the  bell-rope  word  would  be  brought  of 
other  outbreaks.  So  the  bell  was  silent. 

At  last  he,  like  his  father,  lay  with  life 
slipping  away.  The  priests  came  in  good  time 
to  administer  the  last  Sacraments.  A  noise  of 
weeping  floated  through  the  palace. 

"What  sound  is  that?"  asked  the  king. 
They  dared  not  tell  him.  "I  command  you  to 
tell  me,"  he  said  to  the  grand  chamberlain; 
but  he  turned  away  his  face.  A  priest  stepped 
toward  him  and  said  : 

"The  people,  your  Majesty,  are  weeping 
because  you  are  so  soon  to  leave  them." 

"Am  I  dying?" 

"You  are  in  grievous  danger  of  death,  and 
should  think  of  your  departing  soul." 

"And  my  people  love  me  so  that  they  weep 
because  T  am  to  leave  them?"  he  demanded 
eagerly,  lifting  his  head  from  the  pillow. 

"Sire,  they  would  gladly  die  for  you,  they 
love  you  so,"  answered  the  priest. 

Then  such  a  beautiful  look  as  no  one  there 
had  ever  seen  overspread  the  whitening  face 
of 'the  dying  king.  He  reached  out  his  hand, 
rang  the  bell,  and  with  its  sweet  and  silver 
clingor  sounding,  and  the  consolations  of 
Holy  Church  filling  his  soul,  he  passed  to 
the  rest  of  Paradise. 


Vol..  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  NOVEMBER  9,  1889. 


No.  19. 


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


A  Century  of  Catholicity  in  tine  United 
States. 


BY  JOHN    C.1I,MARY   SHEA,  1,1,.  D. 


HIS  year,  in  which  the  Catholics  of 
the  United  States  commemorate  the 
centennial  anniversary  of  the  erec- 
tion of  the  first  bishop's  see  in  the  Republic 
— that  of  Baltimore,  established  by  Pope  Pius 
VI.  on  the  6th  day  of  November,  1789, — 
nearly  marks,  too,  the  bicentary  of  the  actual 
and  active  establishment  of  an  episcopate  in 
England.  Vicars-apostolic  had  been  appointed 
as  early  as  1623  and  1625;  but  the  second 
died  in  exile,  and  for  years  there  was  no  one 
in  England  with  episcopal  powers  to  guide 
and  direct  the  persecuted  Catholics  of  that 
country. 

The  little  body  of  the  faithful  who  had  set- 
tled in  Maryland  shared  the  same  privation  ; 
and  it  was  not  till  1685 — little  more  than  two 
centuries  ago — that,  under  James  II.,  a  per- 
manent organization  of  vicars- apostolic  began, 
and  continued  till  that  land  once  more  beheld 
its  ancient  hierarchy  revived.  For  about  a 
century  the  Catholics  in  America  enjoyed  the 
privilege  of  being  under  some  kind  of  ecclesi- 
astical government,  though  they  never  beheld 
the  bishops  appointed  to  guide  them — the 
heroic  Giffard,  confessor  for  the  faith  in  prison, 
in  persecution  and  hardship ;  Bishop  Petre ; 
and  the  illustrious  Bishop  Challoner,  who  did 
so  much  to  spread  Catholic  instruction  and 
devotion  among  his  people. 


We  thus,  in  a  manner,  celebrate  two  cente- 
naries of  episcopacy — that  of  the  English 
vicars-apostolic  and  of  our  hierarchy,  which, 
beginning  in  1789  with  the  single  See  of  Bal- 
timore, and  a  republic  for  its  diocese,  has 
developed  into  thirteen  dioceses  under  arch- 
bishops, sixty-five  under  bishops,  and  five 
vicariates  under  titular  bishops. 

After  three  fruitless  attempts  to  plant  a  col- 
ony in  America  which  would  afibrd  a  refuge 
to  the  persecuted  Catholics  of  the  British  Isles, 
the  great  work  was  accomplished  in  1634  by 
the  wise  and  sagacious,  the  pious  and  equi- 
table statesman,  Sir  George  Calvert,  Baron  of 
Baltimore.  In  his  province  of  Maryland  began, 
in  this  transatlantic  British  territory,  the  work 
of  Catholicity.  God  gave  it  a  few  years  to  take 
root  and  thrive,  then  tried  it  by  the  storm  and 
tempest  of  fierce  persecution  and  long  years 
of  religious  oppression.  The  "little  flock" 
seemed  small,  hopeless,  contemptible  in  the 
eyes  of  worldly  wisdom,  but  Providence  was 
fashioning  the  stones  for  a  stately  spiritual 
edifice. 

From  the  day  the  Pilgrims  to  the  Land  of 
the  Sanctuary  disembarked  from  the  Ark  and 
Dove  on  St.  Clement's  Isle,  to  commemorate 
the  Feast  of  Our  I^ady's  Annunciation  by  the 
first  offering  of  the  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass  in  the 
province  which,  divided  by  the  bay  dedicated 
to  St.  Mary,  Mother  of  God, 
lyand  of  Mary,  the  Catholics 
colonial  days,  directed  and 
of  the  learned  Society  of  Jesus  j 
fifty  years  by  a  few  English  Fn 
Protestant  supremacy  soon 
arrest,  deportation,  imprisonment 


43^ 


The  Ave  Maria, 


pastors  of  a  flock  crushed  by  unjust  and  op- 
pressive laws.  The  primal  church  at  St. 
Mary's  was  taken  from  them ;  the  old  capital 
was  made  a  desert ;  no  Catholic  church  was 
permitted  to  be  reared  in  the  province  which 
Catholics  had  made  a  sanctuary  for  the  vic- 
tims of  religious  oppression.  The  faithful,  de- 
prived of  civil  rights,  crushed  by  double  taxes, 
a  constant  object  of  suspicion  and  hatred,  at 
last  sought  from  the  French  Government  ter 
ritory  on  the  Arkansas,  in  order  to  emigrate 
in  a  body. 

Catholic  Florida  fell  into  the  hands  of  Eng- 
land ;  Catholic  Canada  shared  the  same  fate. 
There  was  apparently  no  hope  for  the  Catho- 
lic or  his  re'igion  in  the  northern  parts  of  the 
Continent.  When  in  1774  Parliament,  by  pass- 
ing the  Quebec  Act,  allowed  Canada  to  retain 
her  ancient  laws,  and  to  enjoy  the  Catholic 
religion  undisturbed,  there  rose  throughout 
the  thirteen  colonies  a  whirlwind  of  wrath. 
Denunciation  of  the  Catholic  religion,  thun- 
dered from  the  pulpit  and  in  newspaper  and 
pamphlet,  roused  the  most  torpid  to  active 
bigotry.  While  chafing  under  what  they 
deemed  the  deepest  of  their  wrongs,  and  filled 
with  anti-Catholic  venom,  the  colonists  beheld 
Boston  closed  as  a  port  and  occupied  by  a  Brit- 
ish army.  Then  a  congress  of  the  colonies  met 
at  New  York,  and  a  revolution  began,  which, 
stimulated  by  bitter  hatred  of  the  Church  of 
God,  was  in  the  designs  of  Providence  to  estab- 
lish a  republic,  sweep  away  penal  laws,  and 
make  the  Catholic  almost  the  equal  in  civil 
rights  of  his  Protestant  neighbor. 

The  moment  the  die  was  cast  Catholics 
joined  in  the  movement.  Charles  Carroll  of 
CarroUton,  as  the  champion  of  popular  rights, 
discomfited  in  argument  the  famous  Delany, 
the  eloquent  advocate  of  British  supremacy. 
Catholics  flocked  to  the  regiments  raised  in 
Maryland  and  Pennsylvania.  The  Continental 
Congress  sought  to  win  Canada,  and  but  for 
anti-Catholic  bigotry  might  have  succeeded. 
As  a  last  resort  she  sent  commissioners — one 
Charles  Carroll,  a  Catholic,  with  the  Rev.  John 
Carroll,  a  Catholic  priest.  Then  Congress 
sought  a  French  alliance ;  fleets  with  Jilied 
flags  destroyed  England's  naval  supremacy 
on  our  coast ;  French  troops  operated  beside 
American  levies,  and  a  French  army  and  fleet 
joined  Washington  in  striking  the  decisive 


blow  of  the  war — the  investment  and  siege  of 
Yorktown. 

The  narrow-minded  colonies  emerged  from 
the  lessons  of  the  war  free,  independent,  and 
more  liberal  States,  bound  together  as  a  Re- 
public, recognized  by  the  civilized  world. 

During  the  war  the  Rev.  John  Carroll  did  a 
bold  act.  In  defiance  of  old  Maryland  laws, 
full  of  faith  in  the  coming  liberty,  he  erected 
a  church  near  his  mother's  home.  It  was  the 
first  erected  by  Catholics  in  Maryland  for 
nearly  a  century ;  for  the  law  permitted  only 
services  in  private  houses,  with  no  outward 
mark  of  religious  character.  Almost  the  last 
official  communication  from  the  Vicar- Apos- 
tolic of  London  before  the  war,  announced  to 
the  Maryland  mission  ers  that  the  great  Society 
of  Jesus,  to  which  they  belonged,  had  been 
suppressed  by  Pope  Clement  XIV.  During  the 
war  the  coadjutor  of  the  aged  Challoner  held 
no  intercourse  with  the  Catholics  beyond  the 
Atlantic;  and  after  its  close,  become  Vicar- 
Apostolic,  he  positively  refused  to  regard 
them  as  part  of  his  flock.  Few  in  number, 
isolated,  with  priests  many  of  them  sinking 
under  age  and  labor,  without  schools,  semi- 
nary, or  means  of  recruiting  the  ranks  of  the 
clergy,  the  Catholics  of  the  United.  States 
could  entertain  no  sanguine  hopes.  Yet  Al- 
mighty God  had  humbled  to  the  very  dust 
only  to  exalt. 

When,  amid  plots  formed  for  their  ruin,  the 
Catholics  timidly  applied  to  the  Sovereign 
Pontifi"  to  organize  them  under  a  superior,  the 
very  intrigues  led  to  the  appointment  of  the 
Rev.  John  Carroll  as  Prefect- Apostolic.  When 
he  looked  over  the  vast  field  confided  to  him 
he  found  not  only  the  old  nucleus  in  Mary- 
land, Pennsylvania,  with  outlying  districts  in 
Virginia  and  New  Jersey,  but  Catholics  in  the 
country  northwest  of  the  Ohio,  and  another 
Catholic  element  in  the  immigration  which 
the  fame  of  the  new  Republic  drew  from 
Europe.  In  the  capital  of  New  England,  in 
the  cily  of  New  York,  in  the  chief  city  of 
Carolina,  in  many  a  smaller  place  there  were 
little  bodies  of  Catholics,  and  they  were 
growing  in  numbers,  and  wanted  priests  and 
churches ;  all  around  these  clusters  of  Cath- 
olics were  multiplying.  He  saw  that  the 
provisional  government  of  a  prefect- apostolic 
could  not  meet  the  wants ;    but  his  fellow- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


435 


priests  for  many  reasons  dreaded  the  appoint- 
ment of  a  bishop.  He  bided  the  time,  and  in 
a  few  years,  taught  by  experience,  the  clergy 
solicited  from  the  Holy  See  the  erection  of 
an  episcopal  see  and  the  appointment. 

Yielding  to  their  fear  of  exciting  odium 
among  their  fellow-citizens,  whose  old  anti- 
Catholic  prejudices  they  dreaded  reviving. 
Pope  Pius  VI.  allowed  the  clergy  to  assemble, 
nominate  a  bishop,  and  determine  the  city 
best  fitted  to  become  the  see  of  the  first  to  be 
appointed  to  the  episcopate.  Under  this  per- 
mission, conceded  in  July,  1788,  the  clergy  met 
at  Whitemarsh  in  Maryland,  and  there  fixed 
upon  Baltimore  as  the  city  best  adapted  for 
the  centre  of  Catholicity ;  by  an  almost  unan- 
imous vote  they  agreed  to  propose  the  Rev. 
John  Carroll  for  the  new  see. 

Dr.  Carroll  had  no  ambition.  He  had  already, 
amid  many  trials  and  difficulties,  been  strug- 
gling to  meet  the  religious  wants  of  his  flock ; 
he  had  encouraged  the  faithful,  where  able, 
to  rear  modest  churches,  and  endeavored  to 
provide  them  with  priests ;  he  had  begun  the 
foundation  of  an  academy,  which  he  hoped  in 
time  would  supply  a  seminary  with  candidates 
for  the  priesthood.  His  powers  were  hampered 
by  restrictions,  and  he  saw  priests  arriving  of 
whose  life  and  qualifications  he  had  no  suffi- 
cient assurance.  No  one  saw  better  the  difficult 
task  before  a  new  bishop,  whose  mitre  would 
be  set  with  many  a  thorn.  The  choice  of  his 
fellows-priests  filled  him  with  apprehension, 
and  he  wished  to  decline  the  appointment; 
but  all  urged  him  to  accept,  as  in  his  refusal 
they  saw  great  difficulties  and  perils  to  the 
Church  in  this  country.  Reluctantly  he 
yielded,  and  when  on  the  6th  of  November, 
1789,  Pope  Pius  VI.  issued  the  Bull  erecting 
the  See  of  Baltimore,  forming  all  the  Catholics 
within  the  limits  of  the  United  States  into 
one  flock,  and  appointing  him  Bishop,  he 
submitted,  and  prepared  at  once  to  receive 
episcopal  consecration,  so  as  to  continue  his 
work  in  a  larger  field  with  moie  extended 
powers,  and  responsibilities  daily  increasing 
in  weight. 

It  is  this  Bull,  issued  by  Pope  Pius  VI.,  and 
countersigned  by  the  Cardinal  who  succeeded 
him  under  the  title  of  Pius  VII.,  that  makes 
the  epoch  whose  centenary  Catholics  celebrate 
this  year. 


The  event  was  great — the  organizing  of 
a  little  scattered  body  of  Christians  by  the 
successor  of  St.  Peter,  coeval  with  the  organi- 
zation of  civil  government  under  a  Federal 
Constitution.  The  Sovereign  Pontiff  was  great 
in  his  labors,  his  snfferings,  and  his  life.  The 
Bishop  elect  was  great.  Dr.  Carroll  was  indeed 
a  providential  man;  and  the  more  the  times 
are  studied,  the  clearer  this  becomes.  A  pure 
and  zealous  priest,  versed  not  only  in  theo- 
logical learning  but  in  the  literature  of  Eu- 
rope, of  tried  patriotism, — he  had  suffered  trial 
and  wrong  without  bitterness ;  he  was  singu- 
larly calm,  prudent,  judicious,  patient;  simple 
in  his  piety,  unostentatious  in  his  benevo- 
lence, charity  and  zeal ;  with  great  adminis- 
trative ability.  To  him,  under  the  Providence 
of  God,  was  committed  the  task  of  blending 
into  one  harmonious  body  the  old  body  of 
Catholic  settlers  in  Maryland,  Pennsylvania, 
and  the  adjacent  States, — the  French  in  the 
West,  the  newcomers  from  Ireland,  Germany, 
and  other  lands.  He  laid  the  foundations  with 
singular  wisdom,  and  the  regulations  of  his 
synod  still  excite  admiration. 

Associated  for  years  with  priests  of  the 
English  Province  of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  and 
employed  for  a  time  in  that  country,  it  was 
among  his  friends,  clerical  and  lay,  in  that 
country  that  he  could  expect  the  greatest 
sympathy  and  aid.  It  was  thither  he  sailed  on 
accepting  his  Bulls,  and  he  received  episcopal 
consecration  on  the  15th  of  August,  1790.  in 
the  elegant  chapel  reared  by  the  Hon.  Mr. 
Weld,  near  lyullworth  Castle.  He  selected  the 
Feast  of  the  Assumption  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
and  chose  her  as  the  Patroness  of  his  diocese. 
Kneeling  before  the  altar,  commending  him- 
vself,  his  clergy  and  flock  to  her  protection,  he 
felt  consolation  and  strength  that  often  in 
later  year.s  filled  his  soul  with  encouragement 
and  hope. 

His  diocese  contained  probably  thirty 
priests  and  fifty  thousand  Catholics.  Now 
priests  and  people  number  two  hundredfold 
as  many, — ten  times  as  great  as  the  increase 
of  the  population  of  the  country.  The  begin- 
ning of  the  wonderful  progress  of  our  holy 
religion  showed  the  protection  of  the  Queen 
of  Heaven,  who  has  been  the  Patroness  of  the 
United  States,  as  she  was  of  the  Diocese  of 
Baltimore. 


436 


The  Ave  Maria, 


While  still  in  England,  Bishop  Carroll  re- 
ceived a  request  from  a  few  Carmelite  nuns, 
some  of  them  of  Maryland  birth,  for  his  per- 
mission to  go  to  America  and  establish  a 
convent  in  his  diocese.  The  daughters  of  Our 
Lady  of  Mount  Carmel  could  bear  no  wealth, 
they  could  promise  no  active  work  in  the  field 
of  missions,  but  they  could  offer  their  morti- 
fications and  prayers,  through  their  Patroness, 
that,  whoso  might  plant  or  water,  God  would 
give  the  increase.  Bishop  Carroll  joyfully 
welcomed  to  his  diocese  these  pious  women, 
though,  to  the  eyes  of  those  who  disregard 
the  supernatural,  his  act  may  have  seemed 
folly.  Then  came  an  offer  from  other  servants 
of  Mary — some  priests  of  the  Seminary  of  St. 
Sulpice,  founded  for  the  education  of  candi- 
dates for  the  priesthood  by  the  Rev.  John  J. 
Olier,  a  client  of  Mary,  who  took  the  keys  of 
l;is  Seminary  to  Chartres  to  offer  them  to  Our 
Lady,  who  made  her  Presentation  the  patronal 
feast  of  his  community,  and  her  monogram 
their  arms.  The  priests  of  St.  Sulpice  offered 
to  go  to  Baltimore  and  found  a  theological 
seminary  for  the  new  diocese.  Bishop  Carroll 
had  no  means,  but  they  ofifered  to  undertake 
and  maintain  the  establishment  at  their  own 
expense.  Thus  Mary  sent  her  servants  to 
meet  his  greatest  want — the  means  of  training 
candidates  for  the  priesthood.  The  College  at 
Georgetown,  the  Carmelite  Convent,  the 
Seminary  of  St.  Sulpice,  exist  to  this  day,  car- 
rying on  their  great  work, — all  harmonizing 
in  extending  devotion  to  the  Mother  of 
God,  Georgetown  being  the  first  to  introduce 
the  Month  of  Mary  and  the  Sodalitj^  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  or  Children  of  Mary,  into  the 
United  States. 

Bishop  Carroll  returned  to  the  United 
States  to  begin  the  episcopal  duties  which 
during  his  administration  of  a  quarter  of  a 
century  gave  life,  order,  uniformity  and 
strength  to  the  work  of  the  Church  in  the 
United  States  Catholics, mainly  from  abroad, 
were  settling  in  the  seaport  towns ;  Catholics 
from. old  settlements  in  Maryland  and  Penn- 
sylvania were  in  the  vast  army  from  the 
seaboard  and  Europe  that  began  to  occupy 
the  rich  lands  between  the  AUeghanies  and 
the  Mississippi.  The  Sulpitians  received  ac- 
cessions from  France,  and  the  Reign  of  Terror 
there  sent  Trappists  and  other  devoted  priests 


to  this  country.  Ireland  sent  priests  of  St. 
Dominic  and  St.  Augustine ;  England  her 
Dominicans;  Germ  my  her  Graessel  and  Gal- 
litzin;  Belgium  her  clergymen,  of  whom  the 
Rev.  Charles  Nerinckx  is  so  noble  a  type. 
Churches  arose  in  the  coast  cities,  in  the 
interior  of  New  York  and  Pennsylvania,  in 
Maine  and  Georgia,  in  Kentucky  and  Illinois, 
—  in  all  perhaps  i6  churches  and  50,000 
Catholics. 

Bishop  Carroll  felt  that  the  care  of  so  vast 
a  territory  was  too  much  for  one  man,  and, 
after  holding  a  synod  to  frame  suitable  laws, 
asked  a  division  of  his  diocese.  Rome  pro- 
posed a  coadjutor, confiding  to  his  wisdom  and 
prudence  the  moulding  of  the  material  from 
all  countries  which  Providence  had  brought 
together  in  this  free  land.  Bishop  Leonard 
Neale  became  his  coadjutor,  and  founded  the 
Convent  of  the  Visitation  of  Our  Lady  with 
its  Academy.  Then  arose  St.  Mary's  College 
and  Mount  St.  Mary's  College ;  Mrs.  Seton 
founded  her  Sisters  of  Charity  for  education, 
care  of  the  sick  and  insane,  the  aged,  the 
orphan,  the  erring.  At  last,  in  1808,  Pope 
Pius  VII.  divided  the  Diocese  of  Baltimore, 
and  erected  Boston,  New  York,  Philadelphia, 
and  Bardstown  into  bishops'  sees,  and  made 
Archbishop  Carroll  head  of  the  ecclesiastical 
province,  retaining  Maryland  and  the  South- 
ern States  as  his  diocese. 

Then  Bishop  Cheverus  gave  new  life  to 
Catholicity  in  New  England,  and,  though 
tried  at  first  as  a  malefactor,  soon  won  the 
hearts  even  of  the  stubborn  opponents  of  the 
faith.  Bishop  Egan  labored  zealously  in  Penn- 
sylvania, but  found  churches  controlled  by 
trustees,  often  men  who  no  longer  practised 
their  religion,  of  w^hich  they  knew  little. 
Bishop  Flaget,  aided  by  Rev.  Messrs.  Badin, 
Nerinckx,  Fenwnck,  David,  instructed  his  peo- 
ple, revived  faith  and  devotion  in  Kentucky, 
Ohio,  Indiana,  Illinois,  and  Michigan  :  Sisters 
of  Charity  and  of  Loretto,  founded  in  his  dio- 
cese by  Bishop  David  and  Rtv.  Mr.  Nerinckx, 
contributing  powerfully.  New  York,  deprived 
of  its  bL-^hop  before  he  could  reach  her  harbor, 
progressed  more  slowly,  though  the  learned 
and  devoted  Father  Kohltnann  founded  a 
cathedral,  a  college,  and  a  convent.  Before 
Archbishop  Carroll  died,  in  18 15,  after  seeing 
the   country   once   more   desolated   by  war, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


437 


Louisiana  had  been  acquired,  and  he  was  made 
adniinislrdtor  of  that  diocese,  founded  in  1793, 
and  embracing  the  country  west  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi, which  was  thus  thrown  open  to 
immigration.  Just  before  he  was  called  away 
from  earth,  the  Rt.  Rev.  William  du  Bourg 
was  consecrated  Bishop  of  Louisiana,  and  pre- 
pared to  revive  religion  where  anarchy  had 
prevailed. 

When  Archbishop  Marechal  succeeded 
Neale  in  the  See  of  Baltimore,  Richmond 
became  an  episcopal  see  for  Virginia,  and 
Charleston  for  the  Carolinas  and  Georgia.  The 
next  j'^ear  Cincinnati  received  as  bishop  the 
Rt.  Rev.  Edward  Fenwick,  who  had  all  north 
of  the  Ohio  as  his  diocese.  Then  New  Orleans, 
St.  Louis  and  Mobile  received  bishops.  Each 
see  became  the  centre  of  new  life  and  activity. 
Numerous  churches,  academies,  schools,  and 
asylums  marked  the  progress  of  faith.  Prel- 
ates like  Cheverus,  Flaget,  England,  du  Bourg, 
Rosati,  Fenwick;  Orders  like  the  Society  of 
Jesus  (now  happily  restored),  Dominicans, 
Sulpitians,  Augustinians,  exerted  a  great  and 
holy  influence. 

In  1 82 1  Archbishop  Marechal  estimated 
the  Catholics  east  of  the  Mississippi  at 
163,500,  with  8  bishops,  117  priests,  and  100 
churches.  Great  public  works,  the  introduc- 
tion of  railroads,  and  finally  steam  navigation, 
increased  immigration  and  the  settlement  of 
the  country.  Within  the  next  twenty -five  years 
sees  were  established  at  Hartford,  Pittsburgh, 
Vincennes,  Detroit,  Chicago,  Milwaukee,  Du- 
buque, Nashville,  Natchez,  and  Little  Rock. 
In  1829  the  first  Provincial  Council  was  held 
at  Baltimore,  followed  from  time  to  time  by 
similar  assemblies,  till,  with  the  growth  of  the 
Church,  St.  Louis,  New  York,  Cincinnati  and 
New  Orleans  became  archiepiscopal  sees  and 
heads  of  provinces ;  while  on  the  far  Pacific, 
Oregon  City  and  San  Francisco  also  became 
metropolitans.  The  Indian  missions  had  been 
revived,  and  under  Rev.  Mr.  Baraga,  the 
Blanchets,  Pierz,  Fathers  de  Smet,  Gailland, 
Point,  Mengarini,  Jacker,  the  redmen  of  the 
upper  lakes  and  Rocky  Mountains  were  re- 
called or  brought  to  the  faith ;  and  in  New 
Mexico  and  California  the  old  converted  Ind- 
ians were  again  cared  for.  Bishop  England 
founded  the  United  States  Catholic  Miscellany, 
and  papers  soon  issued  in  other  parts  of  the 


country  to  refute  false  accusations  on  the  spot, 
and  spread  Catholic  intelligence,  sound  doc- 
trine, and  edifying  reading.  The  Catholic 
publishers  found  a  wider  field,  and  Catholic 
books  multiplied,  and  magazines  gave  their 
regular  reading. 

The  Church  gained  by  the  growth  of  her 
children,  by  immigration  and  by  conversion. 
Governor  Thomas  S.  Lee  of  Maryland,  the 
Barber  family  of  New  Hampshire,  Blyth,  the 
Rev.  Messrs.  John  Thayer,  Kewley,  Ironsides, 
Oertel,  with  many  others  of  influence,  yielded 
to  the  truth,  and  by  their  example  stimulated 
others  to  examine  the  doctrines  of  the  Church. 
By  1839  there  were  16  bishops,  478  priests,  418 
churches,  16  colleges,  and  45  fetnale  academies. 
The  progress  of  Catholicity  was  such  that 
vile  measures  were  adopted  to  excite  preju- 
dice against  it ;  impostures  like  the  books 
ascribed  to  Maria  Monk,  Miss  Reid  and  others, 
were  circulated  broadcast;  a  Catholic  con- 
vent was  burned,  churches  were  destroyed, 
and  a  political  party  formed  which,  in  Phila- 
delphia in  1844,  provoked  deadly  riots.  The 
blood  of  Catholics  was  shed,  and  their 
churches  and  houses  given  to  the  flames. 
A  similar  spirit  was  manifested  elsewhere, 
though  with  less  deadly  results.  Amid  all 
this  Orestes  A.  Brownson,  one  of  the  clearest 
and  most  philosophical  minds  in  the  country, 
embraced  the  faith,  and  his  Review  became 
the  learned  and  able  advocate  of  religion  and 
sound  philosophy. 

Now,  at  the  close  of  the  first  century,  we 
can  look  back  at  the  progress  made.  One 
hundred  years  ago,  one  bishop,  one  see  in  the 
United  States ;  no  literary  or  charitable  in- 
stitutions, no  press,  few  books.  Now  a  bishop 
or  archbishop  in  every  State;  two  in  Massa- 
chusetts, New  Jersey,  Virginia,  Indiana,  Loui- 
siana; three  in  Ohio,  Michigan,  Wisconsin, 
California;  four  in  Illinois  and  Minnesota; 
five  in  Pennsylvania,  and  seven  in  New  York 
State  alone,  which  now  contains  800  churches, 
ministered  to  by  1,200  priests,  with  a  popula- 
tion of  a  million  and  a  half,  and  one  hundred 
thousand  pupils  in  five  hundred  parochial 
schools.  The  poor  and  humble  chapels  of 
early  days  have  in  most  paits  been  replaced 
by  grand  and  stately  churches,  like  the  Cathe- 
drals of  New  York,  Philadelphia,  and  St.  Louis; 
the  log  colleges  and  seminaries  by  edifices 


438 


The  Ave  Maria. 


like  Georgetown  College,  Notre  Dame,  or  tlie 
University  at  Washington. 

We  have  had  men  like  Bishop  England  and 
Archbishop  Hughes  and  Cardinal  Gibbons, 
whose  audience  was  the  nation ;  theologians 
like  Archbishops  Kenrick  and  Heiss,  like 
Fathers  Kohlmann  and  Varela ;  men  of  varied 
ability,  like  Archbishop  Spalding,  Bishops  du 
Bourg,  Fenwick,Timon,  Brute ;  men  of  recog- 
nized sanctity,  like  Bishop  Neumann,  whose 
canonization  process  has  begun  ;  Bishops  like 
Flaget  and  Baraga ;  priests  like  Matignon  and 
Nerinckx ;  men  like  the  venerable  Father 
Sorin,  who  created  the  University  of  Notre 
Dame,  and  built  up  a  communitj^  laboring  in 
many  parts  of  the  country;  Father  Hecker, 
organizing  thePaulists  for  missions,  establish- 
ing periodicals,  and  societies  for  the  diflfusion 
of  books ;  Father  Miiller,  a  type  of  the  great 
Order  of  Redemptorists,  which  has  done  such 
incalculable  work  among  those  of  German  and 
English  speech ;  Abbot  Wimmer  who  intro- 
duced the  Benedictines,  and  built  up  the  great 
Abbey  of  St. Vincent;  Arnauld, whose  "Imita- 
tion of  the  Sacred  Heart ' '  is  the  great  ascetic 
work  produced  in  this  country. 

Trained  by  such  guides,  the  laity  shows 
men  of  eminence  in  all  paths  of  life, — literary 
men  like  Carey,  Walsh,  McLeod,  Hunting- 
ton, Stoddard ;  editors  like  McMaster ;  poets 
like  Rouquette.  Ryan,  Egan,  O'Reilly ;  great 
judges  like  R.  B.Taney,  Gaston,  Manly,  Mer- 
rick; lawyers  like  O' Conor,  Semmes,  Kiernan; 
public  men  like  Charles  Carroll,  Kavanagh  of 
Maine,  Casserly,  Kelly ;  men  great  in  science 
like  McNeven,  Emmet,  Curley,  Haldeman, 
Sestini,  Secchi;  great  military  men  like  Sheri- 
dan, Rosecrans,  Garesch6,  Newton. 

Under  the  patronage  of  Mary  Immaculate, 
Patroness  of  the  country,  our  progress  has 
been  a  marvel  of  marvels.  Assembling  now 
around  Cardinal  Gibbons,  the  successor  of 
Carroll  in  the  See  of  Baltimore,  will  be  more 
than  fifty  archbishops  and  bishops,  heads  of 
Orders  like  the  Jesuit,  Dominican,  Augustin- 
ian,  Franciscan,  Benedictine,  Redemptorist, 
Passionist,  Paulist,  Oblate,  Carmelite,  Sulpi- 
tian,  Trappist;  Priests  of  the  Holy  Cross, 
Precious  Blood ;  with  a  congress  of  laymen — 
men  of  worth,  intellect,  influence  and  ability, 
from  all  parts  of  the  country, — representing 
the  ten  million  Catholics  of  the  United  States, 


and  proving  alike  the  wonderful  growth  o 
the  Church,  and  the  justice  of  our  hopes  of  its 
future  beneficent  conquests. 

But  it  is  not  a  mere  show  and  parade,  this 
Centennial  celebration  of  ours :  it  is  a  holy 
and  a  religious  act.  The  Holy  Sacrifice  will 
be  offered  in  the  Cathedral  founded  by  Arch- 
bishop Carroll, — offered  in  thanksgiving  for 
the  wonderful  development  of  the  Church; 
thanksgiving  for  the  thousands  of  souls  saved 
through  the  Sacraments  and  ministry  of  the 
Church ;  thanksgiving  for  the  freedom  we 
have  enjoyed ;  in  petition  for  all  the  temporal 
and  spiritual  wants  of  the  pastors  and  their 
flocks ;  in  petition  for  the  faithful  departed  ;  in 
petition  for  those  around,  still  tossed  to  and  firo 
on  the  waves  of  human  opinions  and  passions ; 
and  especially  for  those  who  hate  us  and 
malign  and  persecute  us.  We  must  all  join  in 
prayer  that,  faithful  to  our  vocation,  we  may 
raise  no  obstacle  to  God's  grace,  but  labor  by 
word,  deed  and  example  to  extend  His  king- 
dom on  earth. 


Footsteps. 

BY   MARGARET   H.  I.AWI,ESS. 

-llf  HEN  the  day  of  the  toiler  is  ended, 
^^    And  night  draws  the  cloud-curtains  round 
The  world,  while  the  sleep-mist  descending 

Envelops  all  sight  and  all  sound ; 
With  thoughts  between  smiling  and  sighing, 

And  visions  half  hopes  and  half  dreams, 
I  list  to  the  human  current 

That  under  me  surges  and  streams, — 

To  the  sound  of  steps  coming  and  going. 

Strides  hurried,  uncertain,  or  slow, — 
Some  hopeful,  some  plodding,  some  weary  : 

Unceasingly  onward  they  flow  ; 
Some  with  the  ring  of  youth's  morning, 

Some  with  a  tread  full  of  strength, — 
They  gather,  they  crowd,  and  they  scatter, 

Till  the  pavement  is  silent  at  length. 

Where  do  they  lead — all  those  footsteps  ? 

To  the  fireside,  the  workshop,  the  den. 
'Tis  a  story  as  old  as  the  world  is, 

As  sad  and  as  joyous  as  men. 
For  hearts  which  could  never  be  driven 

May  be  drawn  by  the  slenderest  thread ; 
And  the  feet  will  go  on  where  the  heart  is. 

And  take  there  the  hands  and  the  head. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


439 


A  Sin  and  Its  Atonement. 


II. 


THE  only  man  in  the  place  who  kept  Carl5'on 
at  arm's-length  was  our  venerable  priest, 
Father  I^indsay,  who  set  his  face  against  him 
from  the  first.  He  told  my  father  plainly  he 
had  brought  a  wolf  into  the  fold;  and  when  my 
father  angrily  asked  him  what  harm  Mr.  Car- 
lyon  could  possibly  do  when  he  never  opened 
his  lips  on  any  religious  question.  Father 
Lrindsay  only  repeated :  * '  He"  s  a  wolf  in  sheeps 
clothing."  He  seldom  came  to  the  farm  dur- 
ing the  young  man's  stay. 

I  had  remained  away  from  confession  rather 
longer  than  was  my  custom,  because  I  felt,  by 
a  sort  of  intuition,  that  Father  Ivindsay  wanted 
to  sptak  to  me  about  this  stranger.  However, 
I  went  at  last.  As  I  expected,  he  began — but 
in  a  tone  so  unexpected  that  I  was  forced  to 
listen,  and  felt  myself  pierced  to  the  heart. 

"My  bairn,"  he  said  (for  when  greatly 
moved  he  generally  lapsed  into  broad  Scotch), 
"I  baptized  you,  prepared  you  for  your  First 
Communion,  have  watched  over  you  all  these 
years,  and  seen  you  grow  up  to  womanhood 
safe  in  your  faith  and  purity.  I  beseech  you 
give  me  a  hearing ;  for  I  have  struggled  with 
the  Ivord  for  power  to  warn  and  save  you." 

I  could  not  be  wilful  or  impertinent  after 
such  an  appeal,  and  I  answered  humbly  that 
of  course  I  would  listen  attentively  to  what 
he  wished  to  say  ;  but  I  felt  hot  all  over,  and 
wished  myself  away.  He  began  in  a  manner 
that  arrested  my  attention: 

"The  young  man  whom  your  father  has  so 
rashly  brought  into  the  midst  of  you  is  one 
of  the  noblest  and  most  gifted  natures  I  have 
ever  met.  The  task  he  has'^undertaken  is,  in 
itself,  a  grand  one ;  his  philosophical  ideas  are 
elevated,  and  have  a  certain  element  of  truth 
running  through  them;  but  the  only  Begin- 
ning and  the  only  End  is  absolutely  banished 
firom  his  mind  and  life.  Instead  of  saying, 
'Now,  to  the  King  of  ages,  immortal,  invisible, 
the  only  God,  be  honor  and  glory  for  ever  and 
ever,'  he  is  seeking  his  own  glory.  He  him- 
self is  the  centre  of  all  his  world,  and  it  is  the 
very  strength  of  his  ambition  which  keeps 
him  above  the  ordinary  failings  of  men.  Mar- 
garet, child  of  many  hopes,  hearken  to  me 


before  it  is  too  late.  The  happiness  of  your 
whole  life  is  slipping  from  you  into  this  man's 
keeping ;  your  faith,  once  so  strong,  is  already 
weakened,  and  it  will  be  lost  unless  you  make 
one  vigorous  effort  now  to  free  yourself. 
Delay  only  a  little  longer  and  you  will  have 
no  power  to  escape." 

I  never  could  deny  it  before  God,  and  I 
will  now  confess  it  before  men,  that  for  one 
brief  moment  I  saw  the  situalion  in  a  clear 
light.  I  saw  fiilh  on  one  side,  with  all  its 
sacrifices  and  abnegations  ;  and  on  the  other, 
the  pride  of  life,  of  intellect,  of  will,  as  it  had 
lattely  come  before  me  with  so  intoxicating  a 
sense  of  power  and  enjoyment.  I  know  in  that 
moment  a  grace  was  given  me,  which,  if  I 
had  only  used  it,  would  have  set  me  free, — 
not  without  suffering,  but  without  shipwreck. 
I  almost  resolved  to  choose,  with  the  strength 
of  my  will  the  path  which  I  saw  would  land 
me  safe  with  God,  when  a  thought  of  over- 
whelming humiliation  swept  over  me,  which 
served  to  limit  the  univ^ersality  of  the  sacrifice. 

Never,  by  look  or  word  or  manner,  had 
Edward  Carlyon  given  me  any  reason  to 
think  that  he  considered  me  in  any  other  way 
than  as  one  of  a  family  for  whom  he  openly 
expressed  his  esteem  and  admiration.  So  far 
from  giving  any  idea  that  love  and  marriage 
entered  into  his  thoughts,  his  conversation 
had  rather  given  the  contrary  impression,  and 
he  had  expressed  the  greatest  horror  of  ro- 
mantic young  ladies  with  whom  there  was 
any  risk  of  sentimentalities  or  entanglements. 
I  would  have  died  on  the  spot  rather  than 
betray  that  I  felt  he  was  more  to  me  than  to 
any  of  the  others. 

I  answered  Father  Lindsay,  humbly,  that 
I  felt  his  warning  about  the  danger  to  my 
faith  was  a  very  timely  one ;  that  I  would  be 
very  much  on  vay  guard,  and  pray  to  be  kept 
from  all  temptation;  but  as  to  letting  my 
heart  and  my  life's  happiness  escape  into  the 
keeping  of  one  who  had  never  shown  the 
remotest  thought  of  any  such  thing,  I  felt  that 
he  might  have  known  a  maiden  of  Doone  well 
enough  to  have  no  fear  on  that  point. 

My  good,  holy  old  Father!  He  knew  me  well 
enough  to  believe  there  was  no  use  in  saying 
any  more,  but  he  did  all  he  could  to  utilize 
for  me  the  only  admission  I  would  make.  He 
led  me  to  understand  how  unbelief  exhaled 


440 


The  Ave  Maria. 


unconsciously  from  a  man.  even  as  faith  does. 
He  urged  me  to  approach  the  Sacraments 
oftener,  and  to  make  repeated  acts  of  faith.  I 
felt  awed  by  his  manner  and  evident  anxiety, 
but  said  resolutely  to  myself:  "He  shall  see 
he  might  have  trusted  me ! ' ' 

The  next  few  weeks  flew  by  like  the 
rushing  of  a  rapid  river.  The  harvest  was  late 
but  magnificent,  and  there  was  abundance 
of  work,  ending  in  the  great  festivity  of  the 
harvest-home.  Mr.  Carlyon  always  spent  the 
evenings  with  us,  and  they  became  more  en- 
trancing to  us  all  as  we  knew  him  more 
intimately.  He  translated  German  stories  for 
us,  brought  us  new  songs  and  new  books,  and 
openly  expressed  his  regret  at  the  inevitable 
end  that  was  at  hand. 

One  other  friendly  hand  probed  my  heart's 
secret  during  those  weeks.  It  was  just  at 
the  close  of  the  harvest-home.  Stuart  Mc- 
Dougall  had  been  helping  my  father  all  day 
with  the  men,  and  had  come  to  the  merry- 
making in  the  evening.  I  was  desperately 
tired,  and  had  escaped  from  the  crowd  into  a 
low  porch  on  the  western  side  of  the  firm, 
where  I  could  catch  a  distant  glimpse  of  the 
sea,  and  watch  the  last,  intensely  beautiful 
ra>  s  of  the  setting  sun.  No  one  can  imagine 
the  unearthly  beauty  of  that  sight  who  has 
only  seen  Glencairn  since  it  has  become  a 
show-place.  Stuart  McDougall  came  up  with 
the  excuse  that  my  father  was  asking  for  me ; 
but  I  held  up  my  hand  and  would  not  let  him 
speak  till  the  last  quiver  of  light  sank  into 
the  sea,  and  the  grey  mist  of  the  mountains 
gathered  over  the  whole  scene.  It  seemed  as 
if  something  had  died,  and  I  burst  into  tears. 

"Don't  mind  me,  Stuart,"  I  said,  as  his 
face  of  dumb  distress  gleamed  out  in  the  misty 
atmosphere.  "I  am  only  tired  out,  and  that 
makes  me  so  stupid.  I  shall  be  all  right  after 
a  little  rest.  Go  back  and  tell  father  that  I 
will  be  there  in  ten  minutes." 

"We  never  shall  be  'all  right'  again  in 
Glencairn,"  said  he.  in  a  voice  so  changed 
I  hardly  recognized  it.  "The  happy  child- 
hood sunshine  is  gone;  but,  please  God,  we 
can  fight  our  way  into  a  better  light.  Mar- 
garet, I  have  loved  you  all  my  life  with  such 
an  entire  heart!  I  should  receive  you  from  the 
hand  of  God  as  a  gift  to  guard  so  reverently! 
Can't  you  even  yet  give  me  the  right  to  help 


and  comfort  you  in  whatever  trial  you  may 
have  to  go  through?  I  would  wait  patiently 
before  claiming  your  hand  till — till — "  His 
voice  broke  down,  but  I  knevK'  what  that 
generous  spirit  wanted  to  say  but  could  not — 
*  Till  the  deceitful  glamour  had  vanished, 
and  I  could  appreciate  his  pure,  honest.  God- 
fearing love  at  its  true  worth. ' 

His  words,  with  the  sight  of  his  pale,  set 
face,  smote  me  with  the  sharpest  pang.  I 
knew  now  better  than  I  had  ever  known  be- 
fore what  a  faithful  love  he  was  offering ;  but 
in  that  moment  the  veil  fell  from  my  eyes^ 
and  I  was  aware  that,  in  spite  of  my  resolve, 
my  heart  and  my  life's  happiness  had  escaped 
utterly  out  of  my  own  keeping  into  that  of 
Edward  Carlyon.  It  was  a  terrible  revelation. 
I  had  fought  so  long  against  it!  I  had  passed 
hours  in  saying  to  myself,  "I  am  not  in  love, 
— I  will  never  be  in  love  with  one  who  has 
not  asked  me!  No  true  Scottish  maiden  could 
brook  such  a  humiliation."  Yet,  now  I  knew 
it  was  my  fate,  and  I  must  "dree  my  dreed." 
My  one  thought  at  the  moment  was  how  I 
could  best  spare  poor  Stuart's  feelings  and  yet 
give  the  most  decided  refusal.  I  turned  my 
face  toward  him  and  said  in  a  low  voice : 

"It  can  not  be,  Stuart:  we  are  not  made 
for  each  other.  I  know  your  heart  and  soul 
are  far  nobler  than  mine,  and  yet  you  could 
never  give  me  all  I  am  hungering  and  thirst- 
ing for.  I  hope  you  will  soon  find  some  one 
more  worthy  of  your  faithful  heart.  Do  try 
only  to  think  of  me  kindly  as  the  friend  of 
your  childhood." 

"God  help  me!"  the  poor  fellow  said.  "I 
had  no  real  hope,  but  I  thought  I  could  bear 
all  that  is  coming  better  if  I  had  once  said 
everything  plain  out.  It  is  all  buried  out  of 
sight  now ;  but  (I  don't  say  this  as  people  do 
so  often) — but  I  think  I  could  die' to  secure 
your  happiness.  Stay  here,  and  I'll  tell  them 
3'ou  are  coming  soon." 

I  sat  still  as  he  told  me,  feeling  that  the 
whole  of  my  child-life  had  been  gathered  up 
and  buried.  In  a  few  minutes  Arabella  ap- 
peared, bringing  a  cup  of  milk  with  a  spoonful 
of  rum  in  it, — our  single  panacea  for  all  evils. 

"Stuart  McDougall  says  you  have  over- 
worked yourself,  and  asked  me  to'bring  you 
something.  He  looked  pretty  welljdone  up 
himself;  so  I  made  a  double  dose,  and  gave 


The  Ave  Maria. 


441 


him  one.  They  are  all  asking  for  you.  Do  you 
think  you  can  come  now?" 

"Directly,"  I  answered,  and  braced  up  my 
spirits  to  play  eldest  daughter  of  the  house; 
resolved  that  if  I  had  found  out  my  own  heart's 
weakness,  no  one  else  should  suspect  it. 

I  must  hasten  over  the  conclusion  of  the 
drama,  and  merely  relate  that  exactly  at  the 
date  fixed  Edward  Carlyon  disappeared  from 
Glencairn,  leaving  a  message  with  my  father 
to  the  effect  that  he  could  not  stand  good- 
byes, but  that  we  should  all  hear  from  him 
when  he  reached  Edinburgh. 

Three  days  passed,  and  if  father  and  mother 
and  home  had  all  been  suddenly  swallowed 
up  in  an  earthquake,  I  could  not  have  felt 
more  utterly  that  the  world  had  come  to  an 
end  for  me.  I  was,  in  a  way,  sheltered  by  the 
general  grief,  ar.d  T  did  my  best  not  to  betray 
the  suffering  I  was  going  through;  but 
mother's  eyes  are  quick  as  light,  and  I  felt 
sure  that  my  mother  knew  all,  by  the  special 
tenderness  of  her  ways,  and  the  skill  with 
which  she  screened  me  from  observation.  But 
how  could  I  get  through  life,  I  thought,  if  it 
was  always  going  to  be  so  dark  as  this? 

On  the  third  evening  a  messenger  brought 
a  large  parcel,  which  he  said  Mr.  Carlyon 
had  charged  him  to  deliver  into  my  father's 
own  hand-^.  There  were  presents  and  notes 
from  him  to  everybody,  and  in  the  excitement 
and  clatter  of  voices  none  of  them  noticed 
that  I  had  escaped.  My  letter  contained  an 
offer  of  marriage — an  earnest  pleading  that 
I  would  accept  him, — and  a  beautiful  engage- 
ment ring.  When  my  mother,  who  first  missed 
me,  came  to  look  for  me,  she  found  me  kneel- 
ing by  my  bed,  almost  fainting  from  the 
sudden  ecstasy  of  joy.  Edward's  ring  was  on 
my  finger,  his  letter  pressed  to  my  lips. 

There  was  a  letter  for  my  father  (which  I 
was  to  deliver  if  I  consented  to  be  his  wife),  in 
which  he  said  he  had  made  up  his  mind  not 
to  marry  until  the  work  of  his  life  was  accom- 
plished, but  that  when  he  had  seen  me  he  felt 
I  was  destined  to  help  and  not  to  hiiider  its 
accomplishment;  that  he  had  never  dreamed 
of  a  woman  possessing  such  strength,  love  of 
work,  and  practical  resources,  combined  with 
so  much  refinement  and  intellectual  appreci- 
ation; that  he  had  felt  bound  in  honor  not 
to  try  to  win  my  affections,  either  by  word  or 


look,  during  the  time  he  had  been  admitted 
to  the  intimacy  of  the  family  in  so  generous 
a  way,  but  that  he  now  ftlt  that  ihe  happiness 
of  his  life  was  in  my  hands.  He  concluded  by 
saying  that  whatever  settlements  my  father 
considered  right  he  should  be  happy  to  make ; 
and  that  the  promise  which  he  knew  would 
be  required — to  leave  me  free  in  the  exercise 
of  my  religion,  and  if  there  were  children  to 
allow  them  to  be  brought  up  Catholics, — he 
was  quite  willing  to  give ;  that,  though  he  was 
asking  me  to  share  with  him  many  labors  and 
fatigues,  perhaps  even  hardships,  for  some 
years,  yet  he  hoped  eventually  to  place  me  in 
a  position  where  I  should  reign  with  almost 
queenly  influence,  and  have  the  fullest  scope 
for  the  gifts  with  which  I  had  been  endowed. 
If  I  refused  him,  this  enclosed  letter  was  to 
be  burned  unread,  and  I  was,  for  all  answer,  to 
send  him  back  the  ring.  I  could  have  plunged 
a  knife  into  my  heart  more  easily. 

(TO   BB  CONTINUED.) 


The  Angelus.— Its  Origin  and  History. 


by  the  rev.  a.  a.  i,ambing,  lt.  d. 

(Conclusion.) 

INASMUCH  as  the  Rcgina  Cceli  has  been 
made  to  take  the  place  of  the  Angelus  at 
certain  seasons,  it  will  be  proper  to  pause  and 
inquire  into  the  origin  of  that  pra\^er  before 
passing  further.  We  shall  premise  by  saying 
that  at  the  end  of  I^auds  and  Compline  in  the 
Divine  Ofiice,  and  at  the  end  of  Vespers,  as 
they  are  sung  in  churches,  an  antiphon  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin  is  added.  These  antiphons 
are  four  in  number,  are  named  from  the  Latin 
words  with  which  they  begin, and  vary  accord- 
ing to  the  season.  How^evcr,  the  only  one 
with  which  we  are  now  concerned  is  that 
which  takes  the  place  of  the  Angelus  during 
Paschal  time. 

The  origin  of  the  Regma  Cceli  is  thus 
accounted  for  by  a  writer  of  note:  "In  596, 
during  Paschal  time,  a  horrible  pestilence  was 
ravaging  Rome,  and  the  Pope,  St.  Gregory, 
called  the  people  to  penance  and  appointed  a 
procCvSsion.  The  day  having  come,  he  himself 
repaired  at  dawn  to  the  Church  of  Ara  Coeli, 
and,  taking  in  his  hands  a  picture  of  the 


44 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Blessed  Virgin  said  to  have  been  painted  by 
St.  Luke,  he  proceeded  to  St.  Peter's,  followed 
by  the  clergy  and  a  numerous  crowd.  But  all 
of  a  sudden,  while  passing  the  Castle  of 
Adrian,  voices  were  heard  in  the  air  singing 
*'Regma  Cceli.''  The  Pontiff,  astonished  and 
enraptured,  replied  wiih  the  people:  *Ora pro 
nobis  Deum,  alleluia. '  At  the  same  moment  an 
angel,  brilliant  with  light,  was  seen  replacing 
his  sword  in  the  scabbard,  and  the  plague 
•ceased  from  that  day. "  *  '  'After  the  disappear- 
ance of  the  plague,  the  anthem  Regina  Cceli 
was  introduced  into  the  Church  service,  to 
thank  the  Blessed  Virgin,  whose  intercession 
was  believed  to  have  stayed  the  disease."! 
But  it  must  be  said  of  the  Regina  Coeli,  as  of 
the  Angelus,  that  it  did  not  at  once  assume  its 
present  form. 

Not  content  with  approving  and  recom- 
mending so  appropriate  a  devotion  as  the 
Angelus,  the  Church,  anxious  to  encourage  its 
recitation  still  further,  has  enriched  it  with 
indulgences.  Into  this  point  we  must  now 
inquire.  It  has  already  been  seen  that  a  num- 
ber of  bishops  and  local  councils  granted  in- 
dulgences to  certain  devotions  corresponding 
more  or  less  closely  with  the  Angelus.  These 
have  long  since  been  abrogated,  and  it  is  to 
the  Holy  See  alone  that  we  must  now  look 
for  the  indulgences. 

The  following  are  those  granted  at  various 
times  by  the  Vicars  of  Christ  to  the  recitation 
of  the  Angelus:  "The  Sovereign  Pontiff 
Benedict  XIII.,  by  a  brief  of  September  24, 
1724,  granted  a  plenary  indulgence  once  a 
month  to  all  the  faithful  who,  every  day  at 
the  sound  of  the  bell,  in  the  morning  or  at 
noon  or  in  the  evening  at  sunset,  shall  say 
devoutly  on  their  knees  the  Angelus  Domini, 
with  the  'Hail  Mary'  three  times, — on  any 
day  when,  being  truly  penitent,  they  shall 
pray  for  peace  and  union  among  Christian 
princes,  for  the  extirpation  of  heresy,  and  for 
the  triumph  of  holy  mother  Church."  Also 
*'an  indulgence  of  one  hundred  days,  on  all  the 
other  days  of  the  year,  every  time  that,  with 
at  least  contrite  heart  and  devotion,  they  shall 
say  these  prayers." 

*  "The  Divine  Office,"  Bacquez,  p.  564;  "Feraris, 
irerbum  Antiphona." 

t  "General  History  of  the  Catholic  Church" 
((EngHsh  Translation),  vol.  ii,  p.  176,  note. 


Certain  points  are  here  to  be  noted,  as  they 
have  since  been  modified.  The  first  is  that 
the  devotion  was  to  be  performed  at  the 
sound  of  the  bell ;  in  the  second  place,  that  it 
was  not  necessary  to  recite  the  Angelus  three 
times  in  the  day  in  order  to  gain  the  indul- 
gence, as  some  persons  imagine,  but  only  once ; 
thirdly,  it  must  be  said  kneeling ;  and  finally 
that  the  prayer,  "Pour  forth,"  etc.,  did  not 
constitute  an  essential  part  of  the  devotion. 

Benedict  XIV.  confirmed  the  above  indul- 
gences, April  20.  1742  ;  but  at  the  same  time 
introduced  certain  new  features,  which  were 
that  the  Angelus  should  be  said  standing  on 
Saturday  evening  and  Sunday ;  and  that  the 
Regina  Coeli,  with  the  versicle,  response  and 
prayer,  should  be  said  instead  of  it  during 
Paschal  time, — that  is,  from  Holy  Saturday 
evening  to  the  eve  of  Trinity  Sunday,  both 
included.  To  this  prayer  he  granted  the  same 
indulgences  as  to  the  Angelus ;  and  he  more- 
over permitted  those  who  did  not  know  it  by 
heart  to  continue  the  recitation  of  the  Angelus 
in  its  place.  "The  Sovereign  Pontiff  Pius  VI., 
by  a  rescript,  dated  March  18,  1781,  granted 
that,  in  those  places  where  no  bell  is  rung  at 
the  time  stated  above,  the  faithful  may  gain 
the  indulgences  if,  at  or  about  the  hours  spec- 
ified, they  say,  with  at  least  contrite  heart  and 
devotion,  the  Angelus,  or  the  Regina  Coeli  in 
the  Paschal  season."  * 

When  it  was  asked  of  the  Sacred  Congrega- 
tion of  Indulgences  whether  persons  unable  to 
kneel  or  those  on  a  journey  at  the  time  the  bell 
rang  could  gain  the  indulgences  of  the  devo- 
tion without  complying  with  those  conditions, 
a  reply  was  given  under  date  of  February  18, 
1835,  that  the  devotion  must  be  performed 
according  to  the  decree  of  Benedict  XIII.  To 
the  inquiry,  put  by  Canon  Falise  of  the  Cathe- 
dral of  Toumai,  whether  or  not  the  bell  for  the 
ringing  of  the  Angelus  must  be  blessed,  the 
Sacred  Congregation  of  Indulgences  replied, 
August  29,  1864,  that  it  was  not  necessary. f 
Thus  matters  rested  till  April  3,  1884,  when 
a  decree  was  issued  still  further  mitigating 
the  conditions  for  gaining  the  indulgences. 
In  the  words  of  that  decree : 

"Recently  many  pious  men  implored  the 
Sacred  Congregation  of  Indulgences  to  miti- 

*  Raccolta,  pp.  179,  180. 

t  Schneider,  pp.  75  and  200,  note. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


443 


g^te  to  some  extent  those  two  conditions  (of 
reciting  the  devotion  at  the  sound  of  the  bell, 
and  on  bended  knees).  For  the  Angelus  bell 
is  not  rung  in  all  places,  nor  three  times  a 
day,  nor  at  the  same  hours ;  and  if  rung,  it  is 
not  always  heard ;  and  if  heard,  the  faithful 
may  be  prevented  by  reasonable  cause  from 
kneeling  down  just  at  that  moment  to  say  the 
prayers.  Besides,  there  are  any  number  of  the 
faithful  who  know  neither  the  Angelus  nor 
the  Regina  Cceli  by  heart,  and  can  not  even 
read  them  in  print.  Wherefore  his  Holiness 
Pope  Leo  XIII.,  in  order  not  to  have  so  many 
of  the  faithful  deprived  of  these  spiritual 
favors,  and  in  order  to  stir  up  an  abiding  and 
grateful  remembrance  of  the  mysteries  of  Our 
Lord's  Incarnation  and  Resurrection  .  .  .  gra- 
ciously granted  that  all  the  faithful  who  say 
the  Angelus,  with  the  three  'Hail  Marys,'  the 
'  Pray  for  us,  O  Holy  Mother  of  God, '  and  the 
prayer  'Pour  forth,'  etc.,  though  for  reason- 
able cause  they  do  not  say  them  on  bended 
knees  nor  at  the  sound  of  the  bell ;  or  who 
recite  during  Paschal  time  the  Regi?ia  Cocli, 
with  the  versicle  and  praytr ;  or  who  say  in  the 
morning,  about  midday,  or*  in  the  evening, 
five  '  Hail  Marys,'  in  a  becoming  maimer,  with 
attention  and  devotion — in  case  ihey  do  not 
know  the  Angelus  or  the  Regina  Cceli,  and  can 
not  read  them, — may  gain  the  indulgences. ' '  f 

It  is  here  to  be  noted  that,  although  in  some 
points  the  Holy  Father  mitigated  the  condi- 
tions fjr  gaining  the  indulgences,  at  the  same 
time  he  added  an  obligation  which  had  not 
previously  existed — that  of  reciting  the  ver- 
sicle and  prayer  after  the  three  "Hail  Marys." 

To  sum  up,  then.  In  order  to  gain  the  in- 
dulgences of  the  Angelus  given  above,  it  is 
necessary  at  the  present  time  (i)  to  recite  the 
three  "Hail  Marys,"  with  the  versicle  and 
response  that  precede  each  one,  and  the  ver- 
sicle and  response  and  prayer  after  them  — that 
is,  the  Angelus  as  it  is  found  in  prayer-books ; 
or  (2)  to  recite  in  place  of  it  the  Regina  Cceli, 
with  the  versicle,  response  and  prayer,  in  its 
proper  season ;  or  (3),  for  those  who  do  not 
know  these  by  heart  and  who  can  not  read, 
to  recite  five  "Hail  Marys," — one  of  which 

*  Here  the  translation  has '  'and, "  which  is  an  error, 
the  original  being  ''sivemane,  sivecircitermeridiem, 
sive  sub  vesper e. ' ' 

t  The  Pastor,  vol.  ill,  pp.  13, 14. 


devotions  must  be  performed  in  the  morning, 
or  about  midday,  or  in  the  evening.  The 
obligations  of  ringing  the  bell  and  kneeling 
are  not  essential  when  fulfilment  of  them  is 
prevented  by  any  reasonable  cause. 

Instances  might  easil}'-  be  given  of  the 
devotion  of  the  saints  to  the  Angelus ;  such 
as  that  of  St.  Charles  Borromeo,  who,  though 
a  cardinal,  was  accustomed  to  alight  from  his 
carriage  at  the  sound  of  the  bell,  and  kneel  in 
the  street,  or  wherever  he  chanced  to  be,  to 
recite  it;  but  it  is  not  thought  necessary. 
What  has  been  said  with  regard  to  the  devo- 
tion and  the  indulgences  attached  to  it  will,  it 
is  believed,  be  sufficient  to  stimulate  the  zeal 
and  piety  of  the  reader  to  a  higher  appreciation 
and  a  more  careful  practice  of  this  excellent 
devotion. 


ON    RECEIVING    A 


Lines 

I^EAP    FROM    FATHER    DAMIEN'S 
GRAVE. 


A  SIMPLE,  scentless,  faded  leaf. 
Sent  hither  from  a  far-off  shore — 
A  wilted  leaf  and  nothing  more ; 
Yet  how  it  speaks,  in  joy  and  grief, 

Of  patient  toil  and  sacrifice, 

Fit  for  the  old,  heroic  time 

When  man,  through  faith  and  love  sublime, 
Drew  earth  more  near  to  Paradise! 

What  fancies  of  a  summer  sky, 

What  dreams  of  sun-empurpled  seas. 
It  summons  up,  and,  wrapt  in  these, 

What  visions  of  dread  Molokai ! 

For  it  is  from  the  grave  of  him 
Whose  life  lay  in  the  leper-land. 
Who  took  the  outcast  by  the  hand. 

And  spread  God's  light  where  all  was  dim 

And  drear  as  hell's  eternal  night 
With  horrors  few  can  ever  know ; 
Where  leprosy,  "as  white  as  snow," 

Had  fall'n  in  all  its  utter  blight. 

O  sacred  leaf !  be  thou  to  me 
A  silent  monitor  for  aye, 
That  I  may  grow  from  day  to  day 

More  worthy  of  my  ministry  ; 

That  when  my  burthens  seem  to  press 
More  heavily  than  I  can  bear. 
Thy  charm  shall  banish  all  despair, 

And  conjure  courage  from  distress. 


444 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Houses  and  Homes. 


BY   MAURICB   FRANCIS   EG  AN. 


THERE  is  nothing  more  symbolic  of  the 
emptiness  of  life  than  the  modern  parlor 
of  the  average  house.  If  you  are  expected  to 
wait  for  anybody  in  the  sacred  precincts,  life, 
while  you  wait,  becomes  a  burden.  There  is 
such  an  air  of  ' '  touch  me  not ' '  about  every- 
thing, from  the  tidies  that  entangle  themselves 
in  the  buttons  of  your  coat  to  the  "show  vol- 
umes ' '  whose  gilded  edges  bear  no  trace  of  use; 
and  the  worst  of  it  is,  there  is  generally  not 
a  book  in  the  room.  The  unhappy  visitor  has 
the  choice  of  looking  at  pictures  which  he  has 
seen  a  dozen  times  before,  or  of  drumming  on 
the  inevitable  piano, — an  amusement  that  can 
give  him  no  pleasure  and  may  give  pain  to  the 
listeners.  If  the  average  parlor  is  an  index  of 
the  house,  then  the  average  house  is  bookless. 
And  one  recoils  from  the  imagination  of  a 
bookless  existence, — an  existence  in  which  the 
daily  paper,  with  its  vulgarization  of  what  is 
vulgar  in  life,  is  the  highest  literary  monitor. 

The  aim  of  every  prudent  mother  is  to  keep 
her  children  around  her  in  their  times  of 
leisure.  When  they  begin  to  yawn,  and  to 
show  that  the  home  is  tiresome,  she  would 
do  well  not  to  blame  them,  but  to  blame  herself 
for  not  finding  means  to  attach  them  to  that 
circle  with  which  nothing  on  earth  can  com- 
pare. But  how  can  she  do  this  if  an  almanac, 
a  cook-book,  a  novel  or  so  picked  up  in  a  rail- 
way car,  or  one  or  two  *  *  show-books, ' '  bought 
at  Christmas,  make  up  the  library  ? 

Young  people  are  confronted  by  so  many 
"can  nots"  from  their  directors— most  of 
which  are  unhappily  disregarded, — that  it  is  a 
distinct  gain  when  we  can  so  guide  their  lives 
that  a  "can"  or  two  may  be  added.  The  mul- 
tiplication of  innocent  pleasures  is  the  sweet- 
ener and  the  safeguard  of  life.  The  man  who 
finds  a  new  way  of  entertaining  a  group  of 
young  people,  and  at  the  same  time  strength- 
ening their  love  for  home,  is  greater  than  Sir 
Henry  de  Bracten  or  Biackstone  or  Coke,  or 
all  the  analysts  of  what  can  not  be  done  who 
ever  lived. 

A  bookless  home  is  sure  to  be  a  home  of 
which  the  young  grow  weary.  It  is  important 


that  the  right  books  should  be  at  home,  and 
that  a  taste  for  them  should  be  cultivated.  Give 
a  young  man  good  religious  principles  and 
a  taste  for  the  study  and  the  careful  reading 
of  good  books,  and  you  have  taken  the  fangs 
out  of  many  rattlesnakes  that  beset  his  path. 

It  may  be  said  that  the  average  father  or 
mother  has  little  time  to  consider  systemat- 
ically how  to  make  home  pleasant.  It  may  be 
said  that  money  is  necessary,  and  not  always 
forthcoming,  to  make  one's  home  as  attractive 
as  one's  neighbor's.  It  may  be  said,  too,  that 
parents  have  not  always  the  cultivation  them- 
selves to  train  their  children's  literary  taste. 

In  the  first  place,  if  a  father  or  mother  can 
find  no  time  for  his  children's  amusement, 
that  father  or  mother  has  no  conception  of 
his  duties,  and  should  learn  them  at  once,  lest 
disgrace  befall  his  gray  hairs.  In  the  second 
place,  it  is  a  vulgar  error,  and. very  much  a 
new-fashioned  American  error,  to  hold  that 
furniture  and  decorations  make  the  home, 
when  these  are  only  the  frame  of  the  home. 
A  "home,"  in  the  American  language,  has 
come  to  mean  a  * '  house,' ' — as  if  there  were  not 
something  deeper,  more  angelic,  more  beauti- 
ful in  a  "home"  than  chairs  or  tables  or  paint 
or  wall-  paper  or  the  four  walls !  The  New  Eng- 
landers  of  the  past  had  not  this  opinion  :  that 
money  is  necessary  to  make  homes,  or  that 
no  home  can  be  complete  unless  it  be  as  well- 
appointed  as  one's  neighbor's.  The  Germans 
who  come  here  seem  to  know  what  home-life 
is  and  to  cherish  it;  therein  lies  their  strength ; 
for  they  know  the  value  of  simplicity.  In  the 
third  place,  if  parents  are  so  incapable  of  guid- 
ing their  children,  what  has  become  of  our 
boasted  progress?  If  the  average  parent  of  '89 
is  no  cleverer  than  the  parent  of  '12,  of  what 
use  are  all  the  modern  improvements  in  edu- 
cation, the  newspapers,  the  public  schools, 
the  other  things  which  are  supposed  to  make 
us  so  perfect  that  we  should  be  ashamed  to 
speak  to  our  grandfathers  if  we  should  meet 
them  in  public?  Well,  if  this  third  objection 
is  valid  in  some  cases,  the  parents  can  at  least 
seek  advice  in  the  choosing  of  a  small  library, 
without  which  no  house  can  be  a  home. 

So  far  as  we  can  see,  there  is  no  reason  on 
earth  why  the  living-place  of  industrious  and 
pious  people  should  not  be  a  home, — should 
not  draw  the  children  to  it  "with  hooks  of 


The  Ave  Maria. 


MS' 


steel."  There  are  two  requisites  for  making  any- 
place which  is  water-tight  and  weather-proof, 
in  which  there  are  the  ordinary  appliances  for 
ordinary  comfort, — the  cultivation  of  cheer- 
fulness as  an  art  and  a  library  of  good  books. 

If  a  great  abundance  of  money  were  the  best 
thing  in  life,  and  the  attainment  of  it  the 
main  object  of  life,  why  is  it  that  the  children 
of  the  rich  do  not  invariably  take  their  places 
among  the  greatest  doers  or  thinkers?  Why- 
is  it  that  luxury  in  early  life  generally  cankers 
the  "infants  of  the  spring"  ?  And  why  is  it 
that  the  men  who  do  the  best  work  in  life — at 
least  in  this  country — have  worn  the  yoke  of 
comparative  poverty  in  their  youth  ?  If  riches 
do  not  help  to  produce  good  men,  then  riches 
are  not  worth  the  preoccupied  days,  the  neg- 
lect of  precious  young  hearts  and  souls,  the 
feverish  nights,  the  homeless  lives,  which  too 
many  Americans  waste  in  their  pursuit. 

The  question  with  us  ought  to  be  to  make 
homes,  not  to  build  houses.  And  a  home  with- 
out good  books,  without  cheerfulness,  is  not  a 
real  home.  When  a  mother  has  to  resort  to 
threats  and  tears  and  entreaties  to  keep  her 
children  within  precincts  that  should  be  a 
haven  of  rest,  let  her  look  in  her  conscience 
and  see  the  reason  there.  If  these  children 
have  been  led  to  consider  the  clothing  of  the 
body  more  than  the  mind, — if  every  resource 
has  been  strained  for  the  buying  of  fine  clothes, 
— if  idle  and  envious  and  fretful  gossip  has 
been  the  mental  food  of  these  children, — if 
they  have  no  mental  resources  in  the  evenings, 
whose  fault  is  it?  That  is  a  question  whose 
answer  may  show  why  there  are  many  houses 
and  few  homes. 


The  Confessor  of  Queen  Isabella. 


IT  is  very  fortunate  that  common  sense 
generally  discounts  the  abuse  of  the  news- 
papen^.  If  it  were  not  so,  Padre  Claret,  for- 
merly confessor  to  Queen  Isabella  of  Spain, 
would  be  still  looked  on  as  a  monster  of 
iniquity.  The  Spanish  Radicals — ardent  Ma- 
sons and  haters  of  the  existing  government  in 
Spain — calumniated  Mgr.  Claret  with  fury. 
The  Queen,  they  said,  was  a  Herodias,  and  he 
was  her  adviser.  One  may  conclude  that  the 
Queen  was  much  better  that  she  was  repre- 


sented, as  Mgr.  Claret  was  so  innocent.  1 1  has 
not  surprised  those  who  knew  the  sanctity  of 
his  life  to  hear  that  his  name  has  been  pro- 
posed for  canonization.  Father  Claret  had 
the  eloquence  of  sincere  faith,  though  he  was 
not  a  rhetorician.  His  poverty  was  almost 
proverbial ;  he  made  himself  poor  for  the  sake 
of  the  poor. 

An  incident  of  the  visible  protection  of  God 
in  his  cavSe  is  related  in  the  Semana  Catolica  of 
Madrid.  Preaching  a  course  of  sermons  in  one 
of  the  lowest  quarters  of  Madrid,  he  attacked 
the  unholy  unions  common  in  the  wretched 
parts  of  some  European  cities.  It  was  just 
before  Holy  Week,  in  1866.  Among  his  audi- 
tors was  a  woman  who  had  lived  for  fourteen 
years  with  a  man  having  a  wife  and  children, 
whom  he  had  deserted.  The  woman,  filled 
with  contrition,  went  to  Father  Claret  and 
explained  her  position.  The  priest  told  her 
that  there  was  only  one  way  to  regain  God's 
peace — she  must  leave  her  partner  in  guilt. 
At  last  she  consented,  and  went  home  to  tell 
him  of  her  determination.  He  was  furious. 
She  begged  him  to  return  to  his  wife.  Unable 
to  prevail  on  her  to  live  with  him,  he  resolved 
to  assassinate  Father  Claret,  the  author  of  his 
discomfiture.  He  consulted  a  comrade,  took  a 
room  in  one  of  the  lowest  streets,  and  sent 
for  the  famous  confessor  on  the  pretext  of 
having  some  special  sins  to  confess.  After  ten 
o'clock,  in  answer  to  the  urgent  message,  the 
priest  entered  the  house.  The  accomplice  kept 
Father  Claret's  servant  down-stairs,  saying 
that  the  confessor  had  better  go  up  alone.  In 
a  short  time  the  unsuspecting  priest  entered 
the  room.  Then  his  voice  was  heard  calling. 
The  servant  and  the  accomplice  entered  the 
room,  to  find  the  would-be  murderer  dead. 
While  waiting  for  his  victim,  God's  justice 
had  overtaken  him.  The  accomplice  fell  at 
Father  Claret's  feet  and  confessed  his  crime. 
The  good  priest  thanked  God,  and  bade  him 
go  and  sin  no  more. 

Among  the  monuments  of  Father  Claret's 
goodness  is  the  great  seminary  in  the  Escorial, 
where  some  of  Spain's  best  priests  and  prel- 
ates have  been  trained. 


Strange  is  life,  into  which  we  enter  weep- 
ing, through  which  we  weeping  pass,  and  out 
of  which  we  go  still  weeping. — Abbe  Roux. 


446 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Readings  from  Remembered  Books. 


THE   STIMULUS   OF   DF,VOTlON  TO  OUR  LADY. 

HE  who  is  growing  in  devotion  to  the  Mother 
of  God  is  ;j:rowing  in  all  good  things.  His 
time  can  not  be  better  spent ;  his  eternity  can  not 
be  more  infallibly  secured.  But  devotion  is,  on  the 
whole,  more  a  growth  of  love  than  of  reverence, 
though  never  detached  from  reverence.  And  there 
is  nothing  about  Our  Lady  which  stimulates  our 
love  more  efifectually  than  her  dolors.  In  delight 
and  fear  we  shade  our  eyes  when  the  bright  light 
of  her  Immaculate  Conception  bursts  upon  us  in 
its  heavenl}'  effulgence.  W  ?  fathom  with  awe  and 
wonder  the  depths  of  her  Divine  Maternity.  The 
vastness  of  her  science  Iha  s  ihlimities  of  her 
holiness,  the  singtil  irit\'  of  her  prerojjatives,  fill 
ns  with  joyful  admiration  united  witli  rever.-ntial 
fear.  It  is  a  jubilee  to  us  that  all  these  things 
belong  to  our  own  Mother,  whose  fondness  for  us 
knows  no  bounds.  But  somehow  we  get  tired  of 
always  looking  up  into  the  bright  face  of  heaven. 
The  very  silver  linings  of  the  clouds  make  our 
eyes  ache,  and  they  look  down  for  rest,  and  find 
it  in  the  gresn  grass  of  the  earth.  The  moon  is 
beautiful,  gilding  with  ros}'^  gold  her  own  purple 
region  of  the  sky  ;  but  her  light  is  more  beautiful 
to  our  homesick  hearts  when  it  is  raining  over 
field,  and  tree,  and  lapsing  stream,  and  the  great 
undulating  ocean.  For  earth  after  all,  is  a  home, 
for  which  one  may  bs  sick.  So,  when  theology 
has  been  teaching  us  our  Mother's  grandeurs  in 
those  lofty,  unshared  mysteries,  our  devotion, 
becau.se  of  its  very  infirmity,  is  conscious  to  itself 
of  a  kind  of  strain.'  O  how,  after  long  medita- 
tion on  the  Immaculate  Conception,  love  gushes 
out  of  every  pore  of  our  hearts  when  we  think 
of  that  almost  more  than  mortal  Queen,  heart- 
broken, and  with  blood-stains  on  her  hand,  be- 
neath the  Cross! 

O  Mother '.-we  have  been  craving  for  more  hu- 
man thoughts]  of  .thee  ;  we  have  wanted  to  feel 
thie  nearer  to  us;  we  can  weep  for  joy  at  the 
greitnsss  of  thy  throne,  but  they  are  not  such 
tears  as  we  can  shed  with  thee  on  Calvary  ;  they 
do  not  restjus  so.  But  when  once  more  we  see 
thy  sweet,  sad  face  of  maternal  sorrow,  the  tears 
streamingldown  thy  cheeks,  the  quietness  of  thy 
great  woe,  and  the  blue  mantle  we  have  known 
so  long,  it  seems  las  if  we  had  found  thee  after 
losing  thee,  and  that  thou  wert  another  Mary 
from  that  glorious  portent  in  the  heavens,  or  at 
least  a  fitterlmother  forlus  on  the  low  summit 
of  Calvary  than  scaling  those  unapproachable 
mountain  heights  of  heaven!   See  how  the  chil- 


dren's affections  break  out  with  new  love  from 
undiscovered  recesse-;  in  their  hearts,  and  run 
round  their  newly  widowed  mother  like  a  river, 
as  if  to  supply  her  inexhiustibly  with  tears,  and 
divide  her  off  with  a  great  broad  frontier  of  love 
from  the  assault  of  any  fresh  calamity.  The  house 
of  sorrow  is  always  a  house  of  love.  This  is  what 
take.^  place  in  us  regarding  the  dolors  of  our 
Blessed  Mother. 

One  of  the  thousand  ends  of  the  Incarnation 
was  God's  condescending  to  meet  and  gratify  the 
weakness  of  humanity,  forever  falling  into  idol- 
atry because  it  was  so  hard  to  be  always  looking 
upward,  always  gazing  into  inaccessible  furnaces 
of  light.  So  are  Mary's  dolors  to  her  grandeurs. 
The  new  strength  of  faith  and  devotion  which 
we  have  gained  in  contemplating  her  celestial 
splendors,  furnishes  us  with  new  capabilities  of 
loving ;  and  all  our  loves,  the  new  and  the  old 
as  well,  rally  round  her  in  her  agony  at  the  foot 
of  the  Cross  of  Jesus.  Love  for  her  grows  quickest 
there.  It  is  our  birthplace.  We  became  her  chil- 
dren there.  She  suffered  all  that  because  of  us. 
Sinlessness  is  not  common  to  our  Mother  and  to 
us.  but  sorrow  is.  It  is  the  one  thing  we  share, 
the  one  common  thing  betwixt  us.  We  will  sit 
with  her,  therefore,  and  sorrow  with  her.  and  grow 
more  full  of  love,  not  forgetting  her  grandeurs, — 
O  surely  never! — but  pressing  to  our  hearts  with 
fondest  predilection  the  memory  of  her  exceeding 
martyrdom. — ''Foot  of  the  Cross,"'  Faber. 

A  DRFAM-STORY. 

The  prettiest  dream-stor>'  I  know  was  told  me 
by  an  old  Florentine  lady,  the  daughter  of  the 
sculptor  Pampaloni — the  same  who  carved  those 
two  great  statues  in  the  Piazza  del  Duomo.  She 
is  a  ver>'  good  old  lady,  and  never  told  me  a  word 
that  was  not  true ;  and  she  has  told  me  the  fol- 
lowing story  over  and  over  again,  and  never  with- 
out tears. 

Her  father  and  mother,  who  were  very  deeply 
attached  to  each  other,  made  a  promise  each  to  the 
other  to  the  effect  that  if  the  wife  died  before  her 
husband,  she  should  in  some  way  let  him  know 
when  she  "received  her  crown"  ;  and  if  he  died 
first,  he  was  to  do  the  same  for  her.  He  was  the 
first  to  be  taken,  and  he  left  his  wife,  Carolina, 
and  their  young  daughter  quite  poor,  so  that  they 
were  obliged  to  leave  their  home  and  move  intO' 
small  lodgings.  They  found  themselves  con- 
strained also,  with  great  regret,  to  part  with  their 
servant,  Violante,  who  had  been  a  long  time  with 
them,  and  was  considered  quite  as  one  of  the 
family.  Some  months  after  Pampaloni  died  his 
daughter  (now  my  old  friend)  dreamed  that  she 
saw  her  father,  grown  very  beautiful  in  appear-^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


447 


ance,  but  still  himself,  in  a  large  hall,  which  ap- 
peared to  her  like  the  vestibule  of  some  palace. 
She  asked  him  how  he  was,  and  he  answered, 
pointing  to  a  closed  door :  "vSowell!  But  nothing 
to  what  I  shall  be  when  I  pass  that  door."  Noth- 
ing else  happened  until  the  anniversar>'  of  his 
death,  when  he  appeared  again  to  his  daughter  in 
a  dream,  and  said  to  her  :  "  Beppina,  go  to  Caro- 
lina, and  tell  her  that  I  have  received  my  crown." 
On  awaking  she  went  immediately  to  tell  her 
mother,  who  was  much  comforted.  A  little  later, 
as  they  sat  at  breakfast,  Violante,  the  servant, 
came  in  to  see  I  hem  ;  and  the  finst  words. that  she 
said  were:  "I  could  not  help  coming  to-day  to 
tell  the  mistress  about  my  dream.  I^ast  night  in 
my  sleep  I  saw  the  padrone,  and  he  said  to  me : 
'  Violante,  go  to  Carolina,  and  tell  her  that  I  have 
received  my  crown.'  " — ''Roadside  Songs  of  Tus- 
cany,'' John  Ruskin. 

A   MEMORABLE   NIGHT. 

Columbus  was  at  last  deserted  by  every  soul  on 
the  three  ships.  Martin  Alonzo  Pinzon  had  at 
length  lost  heart,  and  the  three  brothers  joined  the 
insurgent  crews,  and  added  their  angry  demand 
to  the  fierce  clamors  for  return.  A  moment's 
hesitation  then  would  have  put  Columbus  at  their 
mercy.  He  stood  his  ground,  and  by  the  moral 
grandeur  of  his  simple  faith  calmed  the  fierce 
storm  of  passion  raging  round.  There  is  some- 
thing bordering  on  the  marvellous  in  the  power 
which  he  suddenly  exerted.  In  the  merely  natural 
order,  a  calm,  determined  refusal  is  the  wisest 
answer  to  an  insolent  demand ;  but  when  one 
hundred  and  twenty  exasperated  men,  under  the 
influence  of  personal  fear,  in  the  strong  instinct  of 
self-preservation  are  clamoring,  as  they  imagine, 
for  their  own  lives,  to  answer  their  demand  with  a 
cool  non  possumus  is  about  as  brave  as  to  take 
one's  stand  in  a  jungle  unarmed,  to  stare  a  tiger 
out  of  countenance ;  and  if  the  tiger,  in  the  act  of 
springing,  yields  to  the  controlling  force  of  the 
human  eye,  and  turns  aside  into  the  thicket,  it 
is  scarcely  less  wonderful  than  the  meek  sub- 
mission of  those  angry  men. 

Columbus,  to  their  furious  demand  to  steer 
them  whence  they  came,  quietly  forbade  all  prot- 
estation or  entreaty,  telling  them  in  so  many 
words  that  remonstrance  was  useless  ;  that  he 
had  started  for  the  Indies,  and  go  there  he  would 
by  the  help  of  Our  Lord.  From  that  moment 
things  grew  brighter.  Columbus  had  been  tried 
like  gold  in  the  furnace,  and  he  was  not  found 
wanting.  "The  Eternal  God  had  given  him 
strength. ' '  Unmistakable  signs  of  very  near  land 
■dispelled  all  mutinous  thoughts,  and  eager  hope 
awoke  in  every  breast.  The  hymn  of  Our  Lady 


was  never  intermitted,  and  on  the;evening  after 
the  outbreak,  .it  the  end  of  the  prayers,  Columbus 
delivered  a  solemn  discour.-e,  bidding  his  hear- 
ers thank  .Almighty  God,  who  in  His  mercy 
had  conducted  them  safely  across  the  "Mare 
Tenebrosum";  advising  them  for  greater  securitj 
to  slacken  sail  in  the  darkness,  and  (but  they 
did  not  need  the  telling)  to  keep  a  vigilant  look- 
out all  night.  He  then  retired,  but  not  to  sleep. 
About  ten  o'clock  he  came  on  deck  again,  and 
immediately  fancied  he  discerned  a  light  moving^ 
in  front.  He  would  not  trust  his  eyes,  and  called 
his  Commissary  of  Marine,  Rodrigo  Sanchez,  who 
confirmed  the  truth  of  the  apparition.  Before 
any  further  corroboration  could  be  obtained  the 
light  had  .suddenly  disappeared.  To  Columbua 
it  was  a  sure  proof  of  inh.abited  land.  After  mid- 
night they  proceeded  cautiously,  the  Pinto. 
being  considerably  in  advance.  Every  eye  waa 
straining  through  the  gloom,  every  heart  throb- 
bing with  expectation. 

What  must  have  been  the  feelings  of  the  great 
and  good  man,  whose  mind  had  schemed,  whose 
will  had  compassed  so  sublime  a  deed !  Before 
him,  wrapped  in  darkness,  lay  a  world  waiting 
discovery  by  the  light  of  morning.  His  name  was 
now  a  heritage  of  fame.  No  history  of  mankind 
could  pass  him  by  unnoticed.  The  memory  of  that 
night  would  live  to  the  end  of  time.  Christopher 
Columbus,  standing  on  the  deck  of  the  Santa 
Maria,  striving  with  fixed  and  earnest  gaze  to 
pierce  the  gloom  which  hid  perhaps  Cipango  or 
Cathay,  must  indeed  have  felt  the  triumph  of  that 
hour,  which  crowned  so  many  anxious  years  of 
hope  deferred.  Historians,  strangers  to  that  one 
true  faith  which  to  him  was  the  light  of  heaven, 
and  unable  even  to  apprehend  the  first  idea  of 
pure,  disinterested  zeal  for  the  service  of  God  act- 
ing as  the  motive  power  to  rouse  a  Christian  soul 
to  deeds  of  daring,  have,  from  the  plenitude  of 
their  knowledge  of  human  nature, decided  that  the 
darling  passion  of  his  life  was  love  of  glory.  It 
is  a  mere  assertion.  His  words  and  actions  show 
that  to  make  Christ  known  was  his  first  thought 
and  chief  concern.  If  some  of  his  admirers  choose 
to  think  that  his  self-gratulation  was  the  joy  of 
gratified  ambition  or  vain  complacency,  at  least 
it  is  lawful  to  oppose  conjecture  to  conjecture. 
Catholics  may  be  more  inclined  to  think  that  in 
the  silence  of  that  midnight  watch  his  active 
mind  was  busy  with  the  praise  of  God,  who  dis- 
poseth  all  things  to  the  good  of  His  elect,  and 
that  he  acknowledged  himself  only  an  instru- 
ment in  the  hands  of  that  high  Providence  ;  while 
with  pious  tears  he  poured  out  his  heartfelt 
thanksgiving  to  Our  Lady,  Star  of  the  Sea,  as- 
cribing to  her  gentle  care  his  wonderful  escape 


4+8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


from  many  dangers,  and  his  marvellous  success 
achieved  in  spile  of  men. 

At  t  wo  in  the  morning,  by  the  clock  of  the  Santa 
Maria,  a  flash  came  from  the  Pinta,  followed 
by  a  loud  report-— the  signal  gun.  It  was  no  false 
alarm  this  time.  Rodrigo  de  Triana  (otherwise 
styled  Juan  Rodriguez  Bermejo),  a  sailor  on  the 
Pi7ita,  had  sighted  laud.  Columbus,  at  the  sound 
of  the  gun.  fell  on  his  knees  and  chanted  the  Te 
Deum,  his  men  responding  with  full  hearts.  Then 
they  went  wild  with  joy.  The  Admiral  ordered 
the  sails  to  be  furled  and  the  ships  to  be  put  in 
a.  state  of  defence ;  for  it  was  impossible  to  say 
what  the  next  daylight  might  reveal.  His  officers 
came  crowding  round  to  offer  their  congratula- 
tions and,  now  at  last,  their  genuine  reverence. 
They  no  longer  blamed  his  obstinacy  cr  spoke  o 
his  infatuation. — "  The  Life  of  Columbus ''  Arthur 
■George  Knight,  S.f. 

A   THOUGHT   FOR   NOVEMBER. 

At  the  time  when  our  Blessed  Lord  walked 
upon  the  earth  there  was  in  Jerusalem  a  cer- 
tain pool,  where  the  sick  and  those  afflicted  with 
bodily  diseases  were  wont  to  congregate.  At 
certain  times  an  angel  of  the  Lord  came  down 
and  stirred  the  waters,  and  the  sick  man  who  went 
first  into  the  pool  after  the  visit  of  the  angel  was 
healed  of  his  infirmity.  When  Jesus  came  there 
He  found  a  man  so  infirm  that  he  could  not,  in 
the  least  degree,  assist  himself,  and  he  had  been 
waiting  day  after  day  for  eight- and- thirty  years,, 
while  others  who  were  stronger  than  he,  or  who 
had  friends  to  help  them,  went  down  before  him 
and  were  healed.  Our  Lord  asked  him  why  he 
had  not  availed  himself  of  the  blessing  which 
God  at  times  had  given  to  the  waters,  and  he 
answered  in  words  that  are  full  of  deepest  and 
most  mournful  pathos:  "Lord,  I  have  no  man 
who,  when  the  water  has  been  stirred,  will  cast 
me  into  the  pool." 

In  those  few  words  what  a  story  is  compressed 
of  the  tedious  passing  of  weary  years!  He  had 
come  there  a  youth,  with  hope  in  his  heart  that 
he  would  soon  be  cured  of  his  infirmity,  and 
many  a  long  year  seemed  to  spread  before  him 
in  which  he  might  enjoy  his  recovered  health. 
But  the  years  passed  by,  and  those  who  were 
boys  along  with  him  grew  to  be  men,  and  many  a 
change  had  passed  upon  the  faces  that  he  knew  ; 
many  a  sunrise  did  he  see  in  hope,  and  many 
an  evening  closed  in  the  disappointment  of  the 
hope  deferred  that  maketh  the  heart  sick;  and  his 
hopes  were  dying  out  and  his  hair  was  growing 
gray,  when,  after  nearly  forty  years,  Jesus  came 
and  cured  him. 

What    a    sorrowful    story !    Eight-and-thirty 


years  of  waiting,  the  certain  remedy  before 
his  eyes,  and  none  to  help  him  to  avail  himself  of 
its  efficacy !  Friends  he  may  have  had— one  friend 
he  surely  had,  when  his  mother  held  him  in  her 
arms.  But  his  mother  was  dead,  and  time  and 
the  chance  and  change  of  life  had  dispersed  his 
early  friends  ;  or,  after  the  manner  of  the  world, 
in  the  day  of  his  distress  they  had  forsaken  him. 
In  that  weary  march  of  lonely  years  what  want 
of  hum  in  feeling  that  man  had  witnessed!  What 
cool  contempt,  what  silent  carelessness!  And  we 
are  tempted  to  exclaim  against  a  city  whose 
annals  are  disgraced  by  a  story  such  as  this. 
But  pause  before  one  bitter  thought  forms  itself 
in  your  minds,  before  one  word  of  condemnation 
rushes  to  yo.ir  indignant  lips.  Stay  a  little. 

There  is  a  certain  place  in  the  Church  of  God, 
— a  place  which  you  have  not  seen  \vith  the 
eye  of  flc-sh,  but  which  faith  teaches  you  exists 
as  really  as  the  places  j^ou  have  walked  in  and 
that  you  know  with  the  familiar  knowledge  of 
everyday  experience.  It  is  a  land  over  which 
hangs  a  cloud  of  silent  sorrow,  of  uncomplaining 
agony,  that  is  voiceless  in  the  intensity  of  its  res- 
ignation. And  in  that  silent  land  of  pain  lies 
many  a  friend  of  yours  whom  your  heart  can  not 
forget, — friends  whom  you  knew  once ;  whose 
faces,  whose  smiles,  whose  voices,  were  familiar 
to  you  in  days  gone  by ;  who  were  members,  it 
may  be,  of  the  same  household  :  who  knelt  with 
you  at  the  same  altar ;  who  worked  and  prayed 
and  smiled,  and  were  bound  to  you  by  every  tie 
which  the  kindly  charities  of  nature  and  of  grace 
can  forge.  They  died,  and  they  are  in  Purgatory. 
Stricken  are  they  by  no  mere  earthly  malady,  but 
by  an  agony  for  which  earth  has  no  image  nor 
any  name.  Consumed  are  they  by  no  mere  earthly 
fever,  but  by  the  fever  of  a  fire  that  searches  their 
very  soul.  And  3'ou  pass  by — you,  their  friends, 
— and  you  have  at  your  disposal  the  healing  flood 
of  the  Precious  Blood  of  Jesus !  You  pass  by — 
heedless  or  forgetful  or  indifferent,  it  matters 
little  which  ;  you  pass  by  and  give  no  help!  You 
leave  the  sufferers  there,  looking  up  with  pain- 
stricken,  wistful  eyes  to  the  heaven  above,  and 
saying,  "O  God,  we  have  no  friend  who,  when 
the  healing  Blood  of  Thy  Divine  Son  is  ready  in 
the  Floly  Mass  to  extinguish  the  flames  of  our 
torment,  will  use  it  for  our  relief!"  Condemn  if 
you  will,  in  what  sharp  terms  indignation  may 
suggest,  the  heartlessness  of  the  citizens  of  Jeru- 
salem, but  do  not  omit  to  compare  it  with  3'our 
own  when,  either  through  carelessness  or  forget- 
fulness,  you  neglect  to  do  your  part, — the  part 
of  friendship,  the  part  of  charity, — to  assist  the 
suffering  souls  in  Purgatory. — Serinons  of  the 
Rev.foseph  FarrelL. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


4^9 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

Next  week,  as  our  readers  are  aware,  will  be 
celebrated  the  centenary  of  the  establishment  of 
the  hierarchy  in  the  United  States.  The  event  is 
of  surpassing  interest,  and  calls  for  thanksgiving 
and  praise  to  God.  "He  hath  not  done  in  like 
manner  to  every  nation. ' '  To  think  that  from  such 
small  beginnings — a  grain  of  mustard  seed — the 
Church  has  grown  to  such  vast  proportions — a 
mighty  tree — in  one  short  century!  It  is  a  wonder 
to  the  world  ;  and  the  wonder  increases  when  we 
consider  from  how  many  countries  and  in  what 
numbers  the  poor  and  persecuted  members  of 
Christ  have  flocked  hither  to  find  peace  and  pros- 
perity under  its  protecting  branches.  Such  a 
change  could  have  been  wrought  only  by  the  Most 
High  ;  and  the  haven,  too,  was  God- given.  As 
His  power  has  no  limits,  and  His  kingdom 
surely  cometh,  another  century  may  witntss  a 
growth  of  Catholicity  in  this  great  country  in 
comparison  to  which  the  one  we  commemorate 
may  seem  but  a  promise.  God  grant  it!  Adveniat 
regnum  tuum! 

It  is  a  sincere  pleasure  to  present  to  our  readers 
this  week  a  sketch  of  the  first  epoch  history  of 
the  Church  in  the  United  States  from  the  pen  of 
Dr.  Shea.  No  man  amongst  us  could  have  told  the 
wondrous  story  so  well.  Future  generations  of 
Catholics  will  count  it  a  blessing  that  the  Amer- 
ican Church  had  such  a  devoted  and  trustworthy 
historian. 

The  Catholic  University  of  Ottawa  is  rapidly 
becoming  the  focus  of  Catholic  intellectual  move- 
ment in  Ontario.  It  is  in  the  care  of  the  Oblates 
of  Mary,  who  are  anxious  that  the  learned  pro- 
fessions in  Canada  should  have  a  thoroughly 
religious  foundation.  This  flourishing  institution 
lately  celebrated  its  Golden  Jubilee.  One  of  the 
events  of  the  occasion  was  the  unveiling  of  the 
statue  of  Father  Tabaret,  superior  of  the  College, 
who  died  on  March  6,  1886.  J.  C.  Curran,  Q.C., 
M.P.,  accepted  the  statue  for  the  University  in 
words  which,  the  Canadian  papers  say,  made  up 
the  best  speech  ever  delivered  by  this  eloquent 
orator.  Mr.  Curran's  tribute  to  such  Canadians 
as  Papineau,  Lemay,  Dorion,  should  be  read  by 
some  of  us  who  fancy  that  there  are  no  states- 
men, orators,  or  poets  in  Canada. 


General  IgnatiefF  lately  arrived  in  Rome  on  a 
special  mission  to  the  Vatican.  He  bore  an 
autograph  letter  from  the  Czar,  accepting  the 
arbitration  of  the  Pope  in  the  Balkan  question, 
and  leaving  His  Holiness  free  to  convoke  a  con- 
gress or  adopt  any  other  course  which  in  his 


judgment  might  lead  to  the  establishment  of  a 
modus  Vivendi  between  Russia  and  Austria.  This 
is  another  instance,  within  the  same  pontificate, 
of  the  fact  that  all  professing  Christians  naturally 
look  upon  the  Pope  as  the  He^d  of  the  Christian 
world.  The  Papacy  alone  among  all  the  powers  of 
earth  remains  fixed  and  immovable, — a  tribunal 
whose  decisions  are  made  in  accordance  with  the 
strictest  principles  of  Christian  ethics,  and  which 
embody  the  wisdom  and  experience  of  ages.  So 
it  was  a  few  years  ago,  when  the  Holy  See 
was  chosen  as  the  arbiter  in  the  dispute  between 
Germany  and  France;  and  it  is  thought  now 
that  the  difiiculty  between  the  United  States  and 
Great  Britain  will  be  submitted  to  the  decision 
of  Pope  Leo  XIII.  This  action  on  the  part  of  the 
civilized  powers  of  the  world  must  have  a  strik- 
ing effect  on  the  weak,  little  Government  of 
Italy,  seeking  to  deprive  the  Papacy  of  its  powers 
and  prerogatives. 

Miss  Margaret  Ay  1  ward,  who  was  the  founder 
of  the  Congregation  of  the  Holy  Faith,  recently 
died  in  Ireland.  She  was  one  of  the  first  Catholics 
to  oppose  the  horrible  system  of  kidnapping  in 
the  name  of  Protestantism  which  was  in  vogue  in 
Dublin,  and  indeed  in  all  Ireland,  before  Cardinal 
Cullen  confronted  this  practice,  by  which  un- 
protected orphans,  in  spite  of  the  wishes  of  their 
parents,  were  seized  by  conscienceless  prosely- 
tizers.  Miss  Ay  1  ward  was  once  imprisoned  for 
refusing  to  surrender  a  child  that  had  been 
entrusted  to  her  by  its  mother.  But  she  bore  it 
bravely,  and,  with  the  approval  of  the  Cardinal, 
established  an  orphan  asylum  in  Dublin,  which 
has  been  the  means  of  saving  many  souls  for  the 
faith.  

The  Dagblad,  the  most  important  organ  of 
public  opinion  in  Norway,  prints  an  article  on 
Cardinal  Manning's  part  in  the  recent  dock 
strikes  in  London.  It  holds  him  up  as  an  example 
to  the  Norwegian  clergy.  It  says  that  the  Scandi- 
navian parsons  might  at  least  interfere  with 
monopolies  which  grind  down  the  poor,  so  that 
they  are  obliged  to  go  to  the  House  of  God  in 
rags,  if  they  go  at  all. 


The  last  words  of  the  King  of  Portugal  were 
addressed  to  the  Nuncio  who  gave  him  the  Sac- 
raments. "Thanks!"  he  said  with  a  smile ;  and 
repeated,  "Thanks!"  He  listened  reverently  to 
the  delivery  of  the  blessing  sent  by  the  Holy 
Father.  

The  Congregation  of  the  Index  has  decided  a 
case  of  considerable  importance.  The  Russian 
educational  authorities  often  insist  on  Polish 
children  attending  the  Russian  religious  service 


450 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Many  Catholic  teachers  were  dismissed  and  two 
sent  to  Siberia  for  resisting  this  tyranny.  The 
Congregation  has  decided  that  under  no  circum- 
stances can  this  abuse  of  power  be  tolerated. 


The  Golden  Jubilee  of  the  Rt.  Rev.  Mgr.  McCol- 
gan,  recently  celebrated  at  Baltimore,  has  brought 
out  many  affectionate  tributes  to  this  worthy  and 
venerable  priest.  Mgr.  McColgan's  work  in  behalf 
of  the  poor  and  the  orphan  children  of  Baltimore 
needed  no  praise:  St.  Mary's  Industrial  School- 
will  be  his  best  monument,  and  the  good  it  has 
done  and  is  doing  is  a  perpetual  reminder  of  his 
virtues  to  his  devoted  friends  in  Baltimore.  Mgr. 
McColgan,  without  any  fuss  or  talk  about  theo- 
ries, has  solved  that  problem  which  now  vexes 
our  educators — how  to  make  education  practical. 
Mgr.  McColgan  has,  too,  done  the  work  of  a  true 
apostle  in  spreading  the  Total  Abstinence  sen- 
timent in  Baltimore.  Cardinal  Gibbons,  in  an 
address  on  the  occasion  of  the  Jubilee,  feelingly 
adverted  to  this  fact.  The  title  of  Monsignor 
when  it  was  given  to  Father  McColgan  seemed 
like  painting  the  lily,  but  we  now  see  that  such 
a  title  hds  its  uses.  It  accentuates  real  worth, 
though  it  can  not  add  to  it. 


Madame  Erard.  a  celebrity  of  the  piano-forte, 
died  recently  in  Paris.  Her  talents  were  greatly 
admired  in  France,  and  she  had  many  friends 
among  celebrated  musicians.  She  owned  an  estate 
in  Burgundy  that  once  belonged  to  St.  Jane  Fran- 
ces de  Chantal,  to  whom  she  was  very  devout. 
Madame  Erard  was  a  model  of  Christian  ^charity 
and  benevolence,  and  her  death  is  mourned  by  the 
poor  as  well  as  in  musical  circles. 


The  latest  act  of  Roman  usurpation  is  j  the 
expulsion  of  the  religious  from  the  famous  hos- 
pital of  the  Santo  Spirito.  Lay  male  nurses  have 
been  put  in  charge  of  the  institution  ;  but,  in 
spite  of  the  motto  "Liberty  of  Conscience,"  it  is 
considered  quite  a  concession  that  patients  are 
permitted  to  see  a  priest. 

The  bronze  doors  for  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne 
are  nearly  ready.  The  design  for  the  door  of  the 
Three  Kings  is  by  the  famous  Professor  Schneider, 
of  CaSvSel.  

A  striking  proof  of  the  affection  in  which  the 
Rev.  Father  Hishen,  one  of  the  assistant  priests 
of  St.  Gabriel's  Church,  Chicago,  is  held  by  the 
parishioners  is  afforded  by  the  fact  that  at  a  recent 
tombola  his  picture  brought  over  six  hundred 
dollars.  This  was  a  spontaneous  tribute  both  to 
Father  Hishen' s  character  and  the  art  of  the 
painter.  The  Archdiocese  of  Chicago  is  blessed 


with  a  large  body  of  efficient  and  devoted  young 
priests,  of  whom  Father  Hishen  is  a  worthy  ex- 
emplar.   

A  Protestant  deaconess  named  Madden  was 
received  into  the  Church  at  Cabra,  Ireland,  on  the 
Feast  of  the  Holy  Rosary.  Miss  Madden' s  father 
was  an  Anglican  minister,  and  the  Attorney- 
General  for  Ireland  is  her  brother.  The  Protestant 
papers  express  great  regret  for  her  "perversion," 
and  declare  that  Sister  Henrietta  can  not  be  re- 
placed in  the  hospitals. 


As  many  as  sixty-three  Cardinals  have  died 
during  the  pontificate  of  Leo  XIII. 


Archduchess  Stephanie,  the  widow  of  Crown 
Prince  Rudolph  of  Austria,  lately  made  a  pilgrim- 
age on  foot  to  M  iriazell,  a  noted  shrine  of  Our 
Lady.  The  Crown  Princess  lives  in  strict  retire- 
ment at  Ischel. 

The  following  contributions  have  been  received, 
in  addition  to  those  already  noted,  for  the  Pas- 
sionist  missions  in  South  America.  This  is  a 
most  worthy  object.  It  may  quicken  the  zeal  of 
some  of  our  readers  to  know  that  these  missions 
are  in  charge  of  priests  among  whom  are  the  Rev. 
James  Kent  Stone  (Father  Fidelis)  and  Father 
Benjamin  Hill  (Edmund  of  the  Heart  of  Mary) : 

"A  Catholic,"  Ogden,  Utah,  $i ;  Joseph  Whalen, 
$1 ;  A  Child  of  Mary,  Chicago  50  cts. ;  A  Friend, 
Santa  Barbara,  Cal.,  $2.50;  A  Friend,  Amertsburg, 
Ontario,  I5  ;  G.  C. ,  $1 ;  A  Friend  in  behalf  of  the  Souls 
in  Purgatory,  |i ;  M.  C.  F.,  Washington,  D.  C,  $2; 
Isabella  McKieman,  |i ;  Jane  McAllister,  $2. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii,  3. 

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

Brother  Augustine,  C.  S.  C,  who  departed  this  life 
at  Notre  Dame  on  the  30th  ult. ,  strengthened  by  the 
last  Sacraments. 

Sister  Mary  Alphonsa  Kropp,  of  the  Visitation 
Convent,  Frederick,  Md.;  and  Sister  Mary  Aloysius, 
Presentation  Convent,  Fermoy,  Ireland. 

Mr.  Richard  M.  Barry,  who  breathed  his  last  in  San 
Francisco,  Cal.,  on  the  9th  uli. 

Mrs.  Edward  Abraham,  of  Philadelphia,  Pa.,  whose 
happy  death  occurred  on  the  6th  ult. 

Thomas  F.Morris  and  Patrick  J.  McGlinchey, of 
Manayunk,  Pa. ;  Mrs.  Hannah  E.  Sullivan,  Fall  River, 
Mass. ;  William  Curry,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. ;  and  Miss 
Catherine  Murray,  Scranton,  Pa. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


The  Ave  Maria, 


451 


Polly  Jones. 


BY    MARION  J.  BRUNOWE. 


I. 

"A  letter  for  ma,  and  with  the  New  York 
postmark  on  it!   I  wonder  who  sent  it?" 

And  as  Mary  Ann  Jones,  commonly  called 
Polly,  stood  in  the  little  country  store  of 
Bilgate,  which  also  served  as  post-office,  and 
turned  a  delicately  scented,  creamy  envelope 
over  and  over  in  her  hands,  her  face  wore  an 
expectant  expression.  Bilgate  was  a  little 
settlement  far  up  in  a  wild  and  lonely  part 
of  the  State  of  New  Hampshire,  and  commu- 
nication with  the  large  cities,  especially  by 
means  of  letters,  was  not  an  event  of  every- 
day occurrence. 

Polly  Jones  was  about  fifteen,  tall  for  her 
age,  and  what  one  might  have  called  a  good- 
looking,  even  pretty  girl,  were  it  not  for  an 
habitual  expression  of  disdain  which  disfig- 
ured her  countenance.  Her  girl  acquaintances 
spoke  of  her  as  being  just  as  full  of  airs  as  an 
^%%  is  full  of  meat,  adding  they  "didn't  see 
what  such  a  pug-nosed,  freckled-faced  thing 
had  to  be  proud  of ! "  But  if  they  didn't,  Polly 
did, — at  least  she  imagined  she  did.  True, 
her  nose  and  her  freckles  were  a  constant 
source  of  worry  to  her,  though  she  tried  to 
console  herself  by  calling  her  nose  retroussi, 
and  reflecting  that  she  must  have  a  peculiarly 
delicate  skin,  or  she  wouldn't  freckle. 

"A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing." 
Polly  was  considered  the  head  pupil  at  the 
deestrid  school,  and  had  but  a  few  months  be- 
fore left  in  a  blaze  oi  deestrid  glory.  The  board 
of  education  up  in  those  parts  had  congratu- 
lated her  on  her  erudition.  "There  weren't 
no  smarter  girl  nowheres,"  they  had  affirmed, 
with  the  truly  delightful  disregard  of  the  rules 
of  grammar  which  such  guardians  of  the 
schools  often  evince.  Then  Josiah  Jones  was 
the  richest  farmer  for  miles  around,  and  cher- 
ished in  his  secret  heart  the  desire  to  make  a 
lady  of  this  only  daughter  of  his.  Therefore 


Polly,  after  her  release  from  school,  began  to 
take  music  lessons,  as  being,  in  her  father's 
opinion,  one  important  step  in  that  direction. 
In  ordinary  household  affairs  Miss  Polly 
rarely  troubled  herself  to  take  a  hand,  nor  did 
her  parents  require  her  to  do  so.  Mrs.  Jones 
was  an  energetic,  industrious  little  woman, 
— a  great  worker,  and  one  who  would  much 
rather  do  any  amount  of  drudgery  herself,  in 
her  quick,  thorough  way,  than  submit  to  the 
infliction  of  standing  passively  by  watching 
her  daughter  dawdling  over  it.  True,  she 
would  occasionally  protest :  "Josiah,  you  are 
spoiling  that  girl, — filling  her  head  with  airs 
and  nonsense. ' '  A  looker-on  might  say :  *  *  Mrs. 
Jones,  you  are  spoiling  her  quite  as  much 
yourself. ' '  And,  in  fact,  everything  and  every- 
body around  her  was  rapidly  and  surely  con- 
spiring to  ruin  poor  Polly. 

Her  parents  had  accommodated  a  few  city 
boarders  during  the  past  summer.  Among 
them  were  a  couple  of  wealthy  ladies,  who 
had  been  in  society  some  years,  and,  though 
unmarried,  were  no  longer  young.  They  were 
recuperating  in  this  retired  spot  to  be  ready 
for  the  coming  winter  campaign,  and  in  the 
meantime  sought  rest  and  refreshment  in  the 
perusal  of  trashy,  yellow-covered  novels.  A 
great  pile  of  these,  when  leaving,  they  had 
been  pleased  to  bestow  upon  Polly ;  and  lost 
in  the  delights  of  this  worthless  fiction  she 
had  spent  her  days,  and  often  even  parts  of 
her  nights,  since  their  departure.  What  dear, 
delightful  creatures  there  were  in  the  world, 
to  be  sure!  What  a  fairy-land — a  scene  of 
enchantment — that  same  world  of  the  great 
cities  must  be!  And  life,  real  life,  how  totally 
unlike  it  was  to  anything  she  had  ever  im- 
agined! As  she  walked  to  the  country  store 
that  day  her  mood  was  particularly  dis- 
dainful ;  for  she  was  repeating  to  herself  the 
words  describing  the  heroine  of  her  latest 
novel: 

"Cynthia  Dorothea  possessed  a  tall,  lis- 
some, sylph-like  figure,  which  swayed  in  the 
balmy  summer  breeze  like  a  young  poplar." 
Why  it  should  sway,  unless  for  some  good 
reason  Cynthia  Dorothea  wasn't  steady  on  her 
legs,  we  are  at  a  loss  to  understand.  That 
question  never  occurred  to  Polly,  but  it  did 
occur  to  her  to  reflect  that  she  too  had  a 
tall,  lissome,  sylph-like  figure,  and  what  was 


452 


The  Ave  Maria 


to  prevent  her  from  swaying  in  the  balmy 
October  breeze?  She  tried  it,  but,  sad  to  say, 
without  success. 

"I  say,  missus,  what  ar'  you  staggerin' 
round  that  way  fur?"  had  been  the  remark 
of  a  disrespectful  small  boy. 

But  to  continue  the  description  : 

"Her  throat,  which  supported  her  shapely 
head,  was  like  an  unbroken  column  of  Parian 
marble." 

Alas!  we  may  be  dull  of  comprehension, 
but  we  do  fail  to  see  what  else  one's  neck 
generally  does  support  but  one's  head;  and 
we  think  the  mention  of  its  being  unbroken 
is  superfluous.  We  never  heard  of  a  live 
Cynthia  Dorothea  with  a  broken  neck.  Per- 
haps Polly  did,  though. 

'  *  Her  head  was  crowned  with  tawny  masses 
of  rippling  hair,  which  in  the  sunlight  shone 
and  glittered  like  burnished  gold." 

Everyday  language  would  probably  de- 
scribe it  as  red.  Such  an  idea  never  occurred 
to  Polly. 

''  Her  eyes  were  of  heaven's  own  azure  hue ; 
her  tremulous  mouth,  a  perfect  Cupid's  bow, 
which  when  she  smiled  revealed  a  row  of 
pearls,  unbroken  save  by  a  single  yellow  gleam 
of  gold,  that  gave  the  one  needful,  brilliant 
touch  of  color  to  the  perfect  whole.  Her 
retroussi  nose,  and  the  little  round  spots  here 
.^nd  there  upon  her  creamy  skin,  revealing  the 
playful  touch  of  the  summer  sun,  doubly  en- 
hanced her  charms  in  the  observer's  eye. 
Taken  all  in  all,  she  truly  was 
'A  daughter  of  the  gods, 
Tall  and  most  divinely  fair.'  " 

In  other  though  less  elegant  words,  Cynthia 
Dorothea  had  blue  eyes,  a  weak  mouth,  a 
pug-nose,  freckles,  and  had  had  a  front  tooth 
filled  in  a  clumsy  manner. 

Polly  knew  very  well  she  could  not  lay 
claim  to  all  these  personal  beauties ;  for  her 
hair  was  dark,  her  eyes  were  brown,  her  teeth 
were  good,  her  mouth  very  firm  and  decided, 
and  her  neck  an  ordinary  flesh  and  blood 
affair,  not  a  column  of  marble.  But,  then,  she 
had  the  * '  lissome ' '  form — oh,  how  she  loved  to 
repeat  that  word! — the  retroussi  nose,  and  the 
little  round  spots  revealing  the  playful  touch 
of  the  summer  sun.  The  novel  had  gone  on 
to  prove  that  with  these  last  two  charms  the 
inevitable  hero,  with  the  adorable  whiskers 


and  the  melting  eyes,  had  first  fallen  in  love. 
She,  Polly,  might  yet  be  the  heroine  of  a  novel, 
if  something  would  only  happen.  And  when 
she  received  that  dainty  envelope  addressed  to 
her  mother,  bright  visions  immediately  rose 
before  her  eyes  of  the  delightful  news  it  might 
contain. 

Polly  knew  her  mother  had  a  married  sister 
living  in  New  York,  whose  husband  was  very 
wealthy.  But,  much  to  the  girl's  chagrin, 
Mrs.  Jones  and  Mrs.  Shepard  never  exchanged 
visits,  and  rarely  even  letters.  Perhaps  now 
this  one  was  from  Aunt  Sara,  and  perhaps — 
oh,  delightful  possibility!  —  perhaps  it  con- 
tained an  invitation  for  her,  Polly,  to  pay 
them  a  visit  in  the  city.  She  knew  her  mother 
had  written  in  the  beginning  of  the  summer 
to  Aunt  Sara,  who  was  also  her  godmother, 
and  probably  she  had  told  her  hov^^  clever  her 
godchild  was.  Bolstered  up  with  this  hope,  and 
in  her  eagerness  quite  forgetting  the  elegant 
Cynthia  Dorothea,  Polly  sped — she  didn't  try 
to  sway  any  more — quickly  home  to  learn 
the  news.  She  was  right :  the  letter  was  from 
Aunt  Sara, — though  it  did  not  invite  Polly 
for  a  visit,  but  announced  instead  that  Mrs. 
Shepard  and  her  husband,  her  son  Raymond 
and  her  daughter  Lulu,  would  arrive  in  a  few 
days  to  spend  a  week  with  their  country 
relatives. 

The  announcement  was  as  overwhelming 
as  it  was  unexpected  to  poor  Mrs.  Jones ;  but 
Polly,  after  her  first  disappointment,  was  in  a 
delightful  flutter  of  expectation.  While  her 
moth^  energetically  scrubbed  and  cleaned 
and  swept  and  dusted  and  baked,  in  grand 
preparation  for  their  visitors,  Polly  industri- 
ously studied  a  book  of  fashion-plates  in  her 
possession ;  for  pa  had  said  she  should  have 
three  new  dresses.  Miss  Dasher,  who  had 
learned  dressmaking  in  the  city,  had  prom- 
ised to  have  at  least  one  finished  before  the 
eventful  day.  Polly  had  chosen  the  material. 
It  was  to  be  of  a  shade  much  in  vogue  at  the 
time — apple-green, — and  she  had  sent  her 
order  to  a  New  York  house.  The  green  arrived, 
but  for  the  life  of  her  Polly  could  not  see  where 
its  resemblance  to  apples  came  in  ;  and,  being 
too  unsophisticated  to  perceive  that  she  had 
been  imposed  upon,  and  was  the  possessor  of 
the  ugliest  shade  of  that  color  which  mortal 
man  has  ever  invented,  she  deluded  herself 


The  Ave  Maria. 


453 


with  the  thought  that  she  could  show  her  city 
relatives  she  could  be  stylish  too. 

One  thing  now  troubled  her.  Her  mother, 
on  state  occasions,  always  addressed  her  by 
her  full  name,  Mary  Ann ;  and  oh,  what  a 
hideously  common  name  it  was!  "Polly," 
too,  was  shockingly  vulgar.  Why  couldn't 
they  drop  both  and  call  her  May  or  Marie 
during  her  cousins'  visit?  May  had  such  a 
stylish  sound,  and  Marie  was  so  nice  and 
Frenchy  !  Thus  Polly  ventured  to  suggest 
one  evening;  but  she  sincerely  wished  she 
hadn't;  for  evidently  her  feelings  were  not 
understood  and  appreciated  by  the  rest  of  the 
family. 

Farmer  Jones  slapped  his  thigh  and  laughed 
loud  and  long,  saying  that  "Polly"  was  a 
sweeter,  dearer  sound  to  his  ears  than  all  the 
Frenchified  "Maries"  under  the  sun.  Ma, 
too,  was  quite  distressed,  and  said:  "M-ary 
Ann  is  my  own  name,  and  it  was  my  mother's 
name  before  me;  and  if  it  isn't  good  enough 
for  my  daughter,  perhaps  /  am  not  good 
enough  either!"  And  poor  Mrs. Jones,  who 
was  utterly  worn  out  and  nervous  from  over- 
work, leaned  her  head  against  the  hard  back 
of  her  chair,  and  shed  a  few  tears  in  the  dim 
twilight. 

But  Polly  had  a  brother,  a  small  boy.  We 
hardly  think  it  necessary  to  describe  "a  small 
boy."  This  one  was,  like  most  of  his  class, 
irrepressible.  He  now  came  to  his  sister's 
relief. 

"Never  mind,  Poll !   I  will,"  he  said. 

'  *  You  will  what,  Jim  ? ' '  inquired  his  sister, 
looking  at  him  somewhat  distrustfully.  She 
had  her  suspicions  of  Jim. 

"Why,  call  you  high-flyin'  names,  ot 
course!"   replied  that  urchin,,  complacently. 

"Which  one  will  you  call  me?"  asked 
Polly,  eagerly. 

"Marie  Polly  Mary  Ann  May  Jones, — all  of 
them — the  whole  five!  "  announced  Jim,  with 
a  secret  chuckle. 

"James  Alphonsus  Jones!  if  you  dare — " 
began  his  sister. 

But  here  a  neighbor  unexpectedly  broke 
in  upon  the  family  group  with  an  important 
piece  of  news  for  the  farmer ;  and  what  would 
happen  to  James  Alphonsus  Jones  if  he 
"dared"  remains  to  be  told. 

(CONCIyUSION    IN   OUR   NEXT    NUMBER.) 


A  Miser's  Gold. 


BY  MARY  CATHERINE  CROWLEY. 


(CONCIvUSION.) 

n. 

Gloomy  days  continued  for  the  Farrells; 
yet  the  outside  world  never  dreamed  of  the 
straits  to  which  they  were  reduced,  for  a 
spirit  of  worthy  independence  and  pardonable 
pride  led  them  to  keep  their  trouble  to  them- 
selves. Mrs.  Farrell  would  have  died,  almost, 
rather  than  reveal  their  need  to  any  one; 
nothing  save  the  cry  of  her  children  asking 
in  vain  for  bread  would  bring  her  to  it.  Well, 
they  still  had  bread  and  oatmeal  porridge,  but 
that  was  all. 

Who  would  have  imagined  it!  The  little 
house  was  still  distinguished  from  the  others 
of  the  row  by  an  appearance  of  comfort.  Al- 
though Mrs.  Farrell  could  not  do  any  type- 
writing, the  children  were  neat  and  trim 
going  to  school;  Bernard's  clothes  were  as 
carefully  brushed,  his  boots  as  shining,  linen 
as  fresh,  his  mien  as  gentlemanly  as  ever. 
And  they  found  great  satisfaction  in  the  re- 
flection that  no  one  was  aware  of  the  true 
state  of  affairs  The  mother  and  Bernard 
agreed,  when  they  began  housekeeping  under 
their  changed  circumstances,  to  contract  no 
bills ;  what  they  could  not  afford  to  pay  for 
at  the  time  they  would  do  without.  So  now 
no  butcher  nor  baker  came  clamoring  for  set- 
tlement of  his  account.  The  doc  or  was  willing 
to  wait  for  his  money ;  all  they  owed  besides 
was  the  rent.  Only  the  landlord  knew  this, 
and  he  was  disposed  to  be  lenient.  Mrs.  Far- 
rell still  tried  to  hope  for  the  best,  but  some- 
times she  grew  dejected,  was  sorely  tempted 
to  repine. 

"Mother,"  little  Jack  once  asked,  "aren't 
people  who, as  you  say, '  have  seen  better  days ' 
and  become  poor,  much  poorer  than  people 
who  have  always  been  poor?" 

"It  seems  to  me  they  are,  my  child,"  an- 
swered the  widow,  dispiritedly.  "But  why  do 
you  think  so?" 

"Because,"  replied  the  young  philosopher, 
"we  are  much  poorer  than  the  woman  who 
used  to  wash  for  us.  She  appeared  to  have 


454 


The  Ave  Maria, 


everything  she  wanted,  but  we  have  hardly 
anything." 

It  was  unreasonable,  to  be  sure,  but  some- 
times Mrs.  Farrell  used  to  wonder  how  her 
neighbors  could  be  so  hard-hearted  as  to  go 
past  unconcernedly,  and  not  notice  the  neces- 
sities which,  all  the  while,  she  was  doing 
her  best  to  keep  from  their  knowledge.  Often, 
too,  as  Stingy  Willis  went  in  and  out  of  the 
door  so  close  to  her  own ,  she  thought :  '  *  How 
hard  it  is  that  this  man  should  have  riches 
hidden  away,  while  I  have  scarcely  the  where- 
with to  buy  food  for  my  children!  Walls  are 
said  to  have  ears, — why  have  they  not  also 
tongues  to  cry  out  to  him,  to  tell  him  of  the 
misery  so  near?  Is  there  nothing  which  could 
strike  a  spark  of  human  feeling  from  his  flinty 
heart?"  Then,  reproaching  herself  for  the 
rebellious  feeling,  she  would  murmur  a  prayer 
for  strength  and  patience. 

The  partition  between  the  two  houses  was 
thin.  She  and  Bernard  could  frequently  hear 
the  old  man  moving  about  his  dreary  apart- 
ments, or  going  up  or  down  the  stairs  leading 
to  the  cellar.  "Old  Willis  is  counting  his 
money-bags  again,  I  guess!"  Bernard  would 
say  lightly,  as  the  familiar  shuffling  to  and  fro 
caught  his  ear;  while  his  mother,  to  banish 
the  shadow  of  envious  discontent,  quietly  told 
a  decade  of  her  Rosary. 

The  conversation  anent  the  subject  of  the 
coal  kept  recurring  to  her  mind  with  odd  per- 
sistency. Repeatedly  of  late  she  had  awakened 
in  the  night  and  heard  the  miser  stumbling 
around  ;  several  times  she  was  almost  certain 
he  was  in  her  cellar,  and — yes,  surely,  at  the 
coal, — purloining  it  piece  by  piece,  probably. 
Then  just  as,  fully  aroused,  she  awaited  further 
proof,  the  noise  would  cease,  and  she  would 
conclude  she  must  have  been  mistaken.  At 
last,  however,  it  would  seem  that  her  suspi- 
cions were  confirmed. 

On  this  oc'casion  Mrs.  Farrell  had  not  retired 
at  the  usual  hour.  It  was  after  midnight,  yet 
she  was  still  occupied  in  a  rather  hopeless  effort 
to  patch  Jack's  only  pair  of  trousers;  for  he 
evinced  as  remarkable  an  ability  to  wear  out 
clothes  as  any  son  of  a  millionaire.  The  work 
was  tedious  and  progressed  slowly,  for  her 
fingers  were  stiff  and  the  effort  of  sewing  pain- 
ful. Finally  it  was  finished.  With  a  sigh  of 
relief  she  rested  a  moment  in  her  chair.  Just 


then  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  peculiar 
sound,  like  the  cautious  shifting  of  a  board. 
That  it  proceeded  from  the  cellar  was  beyond 
question.  A  singular  rattling  followed.  She 
rose,  went  into  the  hall  and  listened.  Yes, 
there  was  no  delusion  about  it:  somebody  was 
at  the  coal, — that  coal  which,  she  remembered 
bitterly,  was  now  but  a  small  heap  in  the  bin. 
That  the  culprit  was  Stingy  Willis  there 
could  be  little  doubt. 

Bernard  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  sofa  an 
hour  or  more  before.  His  mother  stole  to  his 
side,  and  in  a  low  voice  called  him.  He  stirred 
uneasily.  She  called  again,  whereupon  he 
opened  his  eyes  and  stared  at  her  in  bewilder- 
ment. 

"Hark!"  she  whispered,  signalling  to  him 
not  to  speak. 

Once  more  came  the  noise,  now  more  dis- 
tinct and  definable.  The  heartless  intruder 
had  become  daring ;  the  click  of  a  shovel  was 
discernible;  he  was  evidently  helping  him- 
self liberally. 

Bernard  looked  at  his  mother  in  perplexity 
and  surprise. 

"Stingy  Willis?"  he  interrogated. 

She  nodded. 

"And  at  the  coal,  by  Jove! "  he  exclaimed, 
suddenly  realizing  the  situation,  and  now 
wide  awake. 

He  started  up,  and  presently  was  creeping 
down  the  stairs  to  the  kitchen.  Mrs.  Farrell 
heard  him  open  the  cellar  door  with  the  least 
possible  creak.  She  knew  he  was  on  the  steps 
which  led  below,  but  he  made  no  further 
sound.  She  had  no  other  clue  to  his  move- 
ments, and  could  only  distinguish  the  rumble 
of  the  coal.  She  waited,  expecting  momenta- 
rily that  it  would  cease,  dreading  the  alterca- 
tion which  would  follow,  and  regretting  she 
had  aroused  her  son. 

"He  is  quick-tempered,"  she  soliloquized. 
"What  if  words  should  lead  to  blows, — if  he 
should  strike  the  old  man!  How  foolish  I 
was  to  let  him  go  alone! " 

The  suspense  was*  ominous.  What  was  the 
bo}^  going  to  do  ?  Why  all  this  delay  ?  Why 
did  he  not  promptly  confront  the  fellow  and 
order  him  to  be  gone?  In  reality,  only  a  few 
minutes  had  elapsed  since  she  first  heard  the 
noise,  but  it  seemed  a  quarter  of  an  hour  even 
since  he  left  her.  Should  she  go  down  herself, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


455 


or  call  out  to  him?  While  she  hesitated 
Bernard  suddenly  reappeared.  She  leaned 
over  the  banisters  to  question  him ;  but,  with 
a  gesture  imploring  her  to  be  silent,  the  as- 
tonished boy  said,  hardly  above  his  breath  : 
"Mother,  come  here!" 

Cautiously  she  descended  to  the  entry.  He 
led  her  through  the  kitchen  to  the  cellar  steps. 
All  the  time  the  shovelling  continued.  Whis- 
pering "Don't  be  afraid,"  Bernard  blew  out 
the  candle  he  carried,  and,  taking  her  hand, 
added:   "Look!" 

From  the  corner  of  the  cellar  in  which  the 
coal-bin  was  situated  came  the  light  of  a  lan- 
tern. Crouching  down,  Mrs.  Farrell  could  see 
that  it  proceeded  from  a  hole  in  the  wall 
which  separated  the  two  houses.  There  was 
no  one  upon  her  premises,  after  all;  but  at  the 
other  side  of  the  partition  was  Stingy  Willis, 
sure  enough!  Through  the  opening  she  could 
just  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  grey  head  and  thin, 
sharp  features.  Trembling  with  indignation, 
she  peered  forward  to  get  a  better  view.  Yes, 
there  was  Stingy  Willis  certainly ;  but — oh, 
for  the  charity,  the  neighborliness  which 
"thinketh  no  evil!" — he  was  shovelling  coal 
from  his  own  into  the  Farrells'  bin!  As  this 
fact  dawned  upon  her  she  felt  as  if  she  would 
like  to  go  through  the  floor  for  shame. 
Drawing  back  abruptly,  she  groped  her  way 
to  the  kitchen,  and  sank  into  a  chair,  quite 
overcome  by  emotion.  Bernard,  having  re- 
lighted the  candle,  stood  gazing  at  her  with 
an  abashed  air.  In  a  moment  or  two  the  shov- 
elling ceased,  and  they  could  hear  the  old 
man,  totally  uncon«^cious  of  the  witnesses  to 
his  good  deed,  slowly  ascending  to  his  cheer- 
less rooms  again. 

Stins:y  Willis  alone  had  discovered  their 
need.  With  a  delicacy  which  respected  their 
reticence,  and  shrank  from  an  offer  of  aid 
which  might  offend,  he  had  hit  upon  this 
means  of  helping  them.  Clearly,  he  had  been 
thus  surreptitiously  supplying  them  with  fuel 
for  weeks, — a  little  at  a  time,  to  avoid  discov- 
ery. And  Mrs.  Farrell,  in  her  anxiety  and  pre- 
occupation, had  not  realized  that,  with  the 
steady  inroads  made  upon  it,  a  ton  of  coal 
could  not  possibly  last  so  long. 

"That,  of  all  people,  Stingy  Willis  should 
be  the  one  to  come  to  our  assistance ! ' '  ex- 
claimed the  widow. 


"And  to  think  he  is  not  Stingy  Willis  at 
all!  That  is  the  most  wonderful  part  of  it!" 
responded  Bernard. 

' '  Often  lately, ' '  continued  the  former,  *  *  when 
I  happened  to  meet  him  going  in  or  out,  I 
fancied  that  his  keen  old  eyes  darted  a  pen- 
etrating glance  at  me ;  and  the  fear  that 
they  would  detect  the  poverty  we  were  trying 
to  hide  so  irritated  me  that  sometimes  I 
even  pretended  not  to  hear  his  gruff  '  Good- 
morning!'  " 

"Well,  he's  a  right  jolly  fellow!"  cried 
Bernard,  enthusiastically. 

His  mother  smiled.  The  adjective  was,  ludi- 
crously inappropriate,  but  she  understood  Ber- 
nard's meaning,  and  appreciated  his  feelings 
as  he  went  on : 

"Yes,  I'll  never  let  anybody  say  a  word 
against  him  in  my  hearing  after  this,  and  I'll 
declare  I  have  proof  positive  that  he's  no 
miser." 

' '  He  is  a  noble-hearted  man,  certainly, ' '  said 
Mrs.  Farrell.  "I  wish  we  knew  more  about 
him.  But,  for  one  thing,  Bernard,  this  experi- 
ence has  taught  us  to  beware  of  rash  judg- 
ments; to  look  for  the  jewels,  not  the  flaws, 
in  the  character  of  our  neighbor." 

"Yes,  indeed,  mother,"  replied  the  youth, 
decidedly.  "You  may  be  sure  that  in  future 
I'll  try  to  see  what  is  best  in  everyone.*^ 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Farrell  went  about 
her  work  in  a  more  hopeful  mood.  Bernard 
started  for  the  office  in  better  spirits  than 
usual,  humming  snatches  of  a  song,  a  few 
words  of  which  kept  running  in  his  mind  all 
day: 

"God  rules,  and  thou  shalt  have  more  sun 
When  clouds  their  perfect  work  have  done." 

That  afternoon  Mr.  Crosswell,  the  head  of  the 
firm,  who  seemed  suddenly  to  have  become 
aware  that  something  was  wrong,  said  to  him: 

"My  lad,  how  is  it  that  your  mother  has 
not  been  doing  the  extra  type  writing  lately? 
I  find  a  great  deal  of  it  has  been  given  to  some 
one  else." 

"She  has  been  sick  with  rheumatism,  sir," 
answered  the  boy;  "and  her  fingers  are  so 
stiff  that  she  can  not  work  the  machine." 

"Tut!  tut!"  cried  the  lawyer,  half  annoyed. 
"You  should  have  told  me  this  before.  If  she 
is  ill,  she  must  need  many  little  luxuries" 
(he  refrained  from  saying  necessaries).   "She 


45^ 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


must  let  me  pay  her  in  advance.  Here  are 
twenty-five  dollars.  Tell  her  not  to  hesitate 
to  use  the  money,  for  she  cin  make  up  for  it  in 
work  later,  I  was,  you  know,  a  martyr  to 
rheumatism  last  winter,  but  young  Doctor 
Sullivan  cured  me.  I'll  send  him  round  to  see 
her;  and,  remember,  there  will  be  no  expense 
to  you  about  it." 

"I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you,  sir!" 
stammered  Bernard,  gratefully.  Then  he  hur- 
ried home  to  tell  his  mother  all  that  had 
happened,  and  to  put  into  her  hands  the  bank- 
notes, for  which  she  could  find  such  ready  use. 

Doftor  Sullivan  called  to  see  Mrs.  Farrell 
the  following  day. 

* '  Why, ' '  said  he,  "  th  is  is  a  very  simple  case ! 
You  would  not  have  been  troubled  so  long 
but  for  want  of  the  proper  remedies.'- 

He  left  her  a  prescription,  which  wrought 
such  wonders  that  in  a  fortnight  she  was  able 
to  resume  her  occupation. 

From  this  time  also  Mr.  Crosswell  gave 
Bernard  miny  opportunities  by  which  he 
earned  a  small  sum  in  addition  to  his  weekly 
salary,  and  soon  the  Farrells  were  in  comfort- 
able circumstances  again. 

By  degrees  they  became  better  acquainted 
with  old  Willis;  but  it  was  not  till  he  began 
to  be  regarded,  and  to  consider  himself,  as  an 
intimate  friend  of  the  family  that  Bernard's 
mother  ventured  to  tell  him  they  knew  of 
his  kind  deed  done  in  secret, — a  revelation 
which  caused  him  much  confusion.  Bernard 
had  discovered  long  before  that  their  eccen- 
tric neighbor,  far  from  being  a  parsimonious 
hoarder  of  untold  wealth,  was,  in  fact,  almost 
a  poor  man.  He  possessed  a  life- interest  in  the 
house  in  which  he  dwelt,  and  the  income  of  a 
certain  investment  left  to  him  by  the  will  of  a 
former  en  ployer  in  acknowledgment  of  faith- 
ful service.  It  wa^  a  small  amount,  intended 
merely  to  insure  his  support ;  but,  in  spite  of 
his  age,  he  still  worked  for  a  livelihood,  dis- 
tributing the  annuity  in  charity.  The  noble- 
hearted  old  man  stinted  him -self  that  he  might 
be  generous  to  the  sick,  the  suff"ering,  the 
needy;  for  the  "miser's  gold"  was  only  a 
treasure  of  golden  deeds. 

Labor  to  keep  alive  in  your  heart  that  little 
spark  of  celestial  fire  called  Conscience. — 
Washingto7i. 


A  Blessed  Prayer. 


St.  Peter  Celestine  has  recorded  the  story  of 
a  simple-minded  but  very  pious  maiden  who 
lived  in  Hungary.  She  knew  no  prayer  save  a 
part  of  the  Angelic  Salutation — "Hail  Mary, 
full  of  grace ;  the  Lord  is  with  thee, " — but  she 
said  this  so  often  and  so  devoutly  that  many 
believed  her  to  have  been  taught  the  words  by 
messengers  from  heaven.  Constantly  her  lips 
were  seen  moving  as  she  uttered  over  and  over 
the  sweet  words ;  and  as  she  spoke  them  a  ray 
of  sunshine  always  appeared  over  her  head. 

The  bishop  of  the  diocese,  hearing  of  this, 
thought  it  wrong  to  mutilate  the  "Hail  Mary  " 
in  that  way,  and  tried  to  teach  her  the  re- 
mainder; but  the  completed  prayer  was  un- 
blessed by  the  familiar  ray  of  sunshine.  At  this 
he  was  astonished  and  grieved,  and  begged 
Our  Lord  to  explain  what  seemed  so  dark; 
whereupon  a  heavenly  voice  made  answer: 
"Where  there  is  divine  intervention  one  needs 
no  human  teaching."  So  the  bishop,  greatly 
humbled,  permitted  the  girl  to  say  the  words 
with  which  divine  grace  had  inspired  her,  and 
the  ray  of  sunshine  was  again  seen  above  her 
head. 


More  Honorable  than  a  Victory. 


A  large  body  of  French  soldiers,  under 
the  command  of  General  Champioanet,  had 
marched  long  and  far.  Darkness  overtook 
them  in  the  vicinity  of  Frankfort,  and  orders 
were  given  to  halt  for  the  night.  Just  then 
some  one  approached  the  commander  and 
said :  "General,  you  have  ordered  us  to  camp 
here,  but  such  a  course  will  result  in  the  ruin 
of  hundreds  of  farmers.  The  grain  of  these 
poor  people  is  ripe  for  the  harvest,  and  will 
be  destroyed." 

The  General  called  the  officers  of  his  stafi". 
"I  withdraw  the  order  to  halt,  "he  said.  "Tell 
my  soldiers  that  we  must  not  ruin  the  hopes 
of  these  people,  who  will  starve  without  their 
grain;   and  have  them  continue  the  march." 

The  forbearance  of  the  General  touched  the 
soldiers,  weary  and  travel- worn  as  they  were ; 
and,  with  a  shout  for  their  beloved  commander 
ringing  down  the  lines,  they  moved  on  into  the 
night. 


Vol.  XXIX. 


NOTRE   DAME,  INDIANA,  NOVEMBER  i6.  1889. 


No.  20. 


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


In  Bonds. 

BY   MARION    MUIR    RICHARDSON, 

1  CAN  not  rest  (the  spirit  cried) 

J     Within  this  world  of  sin  and  pain! 

Nor  can  I  rise  where  open  wide 

The  gates  of  heaven's  high  domain. 

I  can  not  seek  that  shining  place 
Still  stained  with  traces  of  the  clay  ; 

Those  saintly  ranks  I  dare  not  face 
Wearing  a  brow  less  pure  than  they. 

That  careless  life  I  loved  so  well 

Now  holds  its  sharp  reproach  in  store. 

I  see  apart  my  dear  ones  dwell, 

But  I  can  touch  their  hands  no  more. 

I  see  the  good  deeds  left  undone, 

The  earnest  words  I  might  have  said, 

And  duty's  battle  left  half  won 
Among  the  poor  I  might  have  fed. 

O  little  things!  O  little  things! 

Had  I  but  known  in  time  your  worth, 
How  quickly  now  my  ransomed  wings 

Would  bear  me  far  from  this  dark  earth! 

O  loving  Lord,  more  keen  than  fire 
Burns  this  regret  that  cleanses  me, 

This  lasting  passion  of  desire 

To  be  with  those  who  look  on  Thee ! 


Devotion  is  not,  properly  speaking,  ah  emo- 
tion of  the  heart  nor  a  spiritual  consolation : 
it  is  rather  a  certain  willingness  and  readiness 
in  yielding  to  those  things  which  appertain 
to  the  service  of  God. — SL  Thomas  Aquinas. 


Lay  Action  in  the  Church.* 


Y    HENRY    F.    BROWNSON,    LI^.D, 


HIS  assembly  of  the  Catholics  of  the 
United  States  in  their  first  Congress 
is  a  scene  of  unusual  interest,  and 
promises  results  of  the  greatest  importance. 
We  have  seen  similar  gatherings,  in  other 
lands,  of  venerable  ecclesiastics  and  learned 
laymen,  for  the  purpose  of  discussing  the  ques- 
tions now  agitating  society  in  every  country. 
We  pretend  not  to  be  superior  to  others  in 
wisdom  or  prudence,  or  better  able  to  apply 
Catholic  principles  to  social  questions.  But, 
living  as  we  do  in  the  only  land  on  earth 
where  the  State  declares  itself  incompetent 
in  spirituals,  and  leaves  to  every  individual 
complete  religious  as  well  as  civil  freedom, 
we  have  not  to  inquire,  as  in  other  countries, 
what  the  Government  will  permit  us  to  do, 
or  what  will  be  the  effect  of  our  action  on  our 
political  or  civil  standing — complex  questions 
indeed,  and  leading  to  divergency  of  opinion 
and  weakness  of  action, — but  have  simply  to 
understand  the  questions,  and  the  principles 
which  should  govern  their  solution,  and  to 
make  the  necessary  application.  We  have  only 
to  ask.  What  is  right?  What  is  best?  This 
greater  freedom  which  we  enjoy  will  naturally 
lead  to  bolder  and  more  straightforwaid  dis- 
cussion, 


*  Paper  read  before  the  first  Comgrtss 
Catholics,  and  printed  from  the  a 


.^\^ 


460 


The  Ave  Maria. 


diminish, — nay,  have  only  made  the  brighter. 
It  is  better  that  men  should  sometimes  fall 
into  involuntary  error  than  that  they  should 
stagnate  in  silence  and  imbecility.  If  we  were 
to  burn  all  the  works  of  writers  who  have 
made  mistakes  in  matters  of  faith  and  morals, 
how  many  Fathers  and  Doctors  of  the  Church 
would  escape? 

In  spite  of  our  regrets,  the  medieval  epoch 
has  passed,  and  we  no  longer  live  in  a  nom- 
inally Catholic  society.  We  are  surrounded  by 

HERETICAL   AND   PAGAN   INFLUENCES. 

We  are  very  nearly  back  where  the  world  was 
nineteen  hundred  3^ears  ago,  and  all  the  nations 
need  to  be  reconverted  and  society  regener- 
ated. Whilst  we  devote  our  resources  to  keep- 
ing those  we  already  have,  our  losses  are 
enormous.  We  shall  go  on  losing  still  more 
unless  we  extend  our  efforts  to  the  world 
around  us.  Not  to  advance  is  to  recede.  If  we 
do  nothing  to  convert  those  amongst  whom 
we  live,  they  will  succeed  in  leading  away 
large  numbers  from  us. 

For  this  it  is  necessary  that  we  bring  our 
intellectual  life  into  harmony  with  our  relig- 
ious. If  religion  was  deeply  rooted  in  the 
intellect  and  the  will — man's  rational  nature, 
and  that  which  distinguishes  him  from  other 
animals, — free  and  intelligent  men  would  be 
able  to  act  and  to  speak,  when  occasion  is 
presented,  in  accordance  with  the  principles 
they  have  learned  and  assimilated  to  their 
life.  A  child,  a  slave,  or  a  barbarian  may  need 
to  be  commanded  and  instructed  at  every 
step ;  but  not  those  who  have  attained  to  ma- 
turity, freedom,  and  civilization.  With  the 
great  mass,  religion  is  less  a  matter  of  the 
rational  than  of  the  sentimental  nature.  Be- 
cause faith  is  feeble,  the  sentiments  and  affec- 
tions have  to  be  captivated  by  every  variety 
of  devotion,  and  the  sentimental  .spirit  of  the 
age  threatens  to  pervade  every  mind.  In  its 
truest  expression,  in  popular  literature,  this 
spirit  has  degraded  the  holy  affection  of  con- 
jugal love  to  a  sentiment  common  to  men 
and  beasts;  and  it  would  make  piety  a  thing 
of  sensibility,  which  men  will  abandon  to  the 
tender  nurture  of  "the  devout  sex." 

NEVER    WAS    THERE     MORE     DEVOTION    AND 
PIETY 

in  the  Church  than  to-day,  and  it  may  be  that 
God  has  chosen  this  as  the  means  for  the  re- 


conversion of  the  nations.  God's  ways,  indeed, 
are  not  man's  ways.  But  it  is  not  for  us  to- 
fold  our  arms  and  trust  to  prayer  alone  for 
the  accomplishment  of  this  work.  Prayer  is- 
good,  is  necessary;  but  its  effect  is  to  gain 
divine  assistance  in  our  efforts,  not  to  render 
effort  unnecessary.  God  has,  from  the  begin- 
ning, worked  through  second  causes  in  the 
supernatural  as  in  the  natural  order.  He 
helps  those  who  help  themselves,  and  requires- 
co-operation  on  our  part.  The  world  has  never 
yet  been  converted  by  prayer  alone,  and  it  is 
not  likely  it  ever  will  be. 

The  laity  have  begun  everywhere  to  take 
an  active  part  in  works  directly  or  indirectly 
aiding  the  action  of  the  Church.  Unfortu- 
nately, wherever  in  the  Old  World  they  have 
attempted  anyihing  more  than  the  spread  of 
particular  devotions,  or  the  establishment  of 
benevolent  and  educational  institutions,  they 
have  been  embarrassed  b}'^  the  complicated 
relations  of  Church  and  State,  as  well  as  by 
love  of  routine  and  fear  of  novelty  on  the  part 
of  many.  The  prospect  was  bright  in  France 
when,  on  the  downfall  of  the  house  of  Orleans, 
an  heroic  band  of  Catholics,  standing  up  for 
the  rights  of  religion,  secured  to  the  Church  a 
freedom  and  prosperity  that  had  not  been 
known  in  that  country  since  the  birth  of  the 
French  monarchy.  But  a  converted  infidel, 
more  cunning  in  vituperation  and  sarcasm 
than  wise  in  understanding  the  times,  gained 
the  confidence  of  the  reactionary  party,  and, 
by  his  advocacy  of  absolutism  so  identified 
Csesarism  with  Catholicity  in  the  minds  of  the 
French  people,  that  he  thwarted  all  the  efforts 
of  the  friends  of  liberty,  and  left  the  Church 
a  prey  to  persecution  by  the  enemies  of  im- 
perialism. 

Here,  more  than  in  other  countries,  is  there 
need  that  the  laity  should  bear  their  part  in 
Church  action,  anel  do 

ALL  THAT  LAYMEN  MAY  LAWFULLY  DO. 

Our  clergy  are  overworked.  They  are  not 
numerous  enough  to  supply  the  wants  of 
those  already  Catholics,  and  we  ought  gen- 
erously to  take  as  much  of  their  burden  as  we 
can  upon  ourselves.  We  can  do  much  by  our 
writings,  our  speeches,  and  our  lives,  to  dis- 
abuse those  outside  of  the  Church  of  their 
prejudices,  and  to  make  them  understand  the 
true  doctrine  and  practice  of  the  Church.  All 


The  Ave  Maria. 


461 


that  the  Church  teaches  and  enjoins  is  so 
conformed  to  right  reason  that  no  man  not 
blinded  by  prejudice  or  passion  can  refuse 
his  approval,  when  he  clearly  knows  it.  A 
layman  may  often  get  the  ear  of  a  non- Cath- 
olic that  the  priest  can  not  reach;  and  an 
intelligent  explanation  of  Catholic  doctrine 
and  practice  by  a  layman  will,  in  many  in- 
stances, carry  more  weight  than  that  made  by 
the  priest;  because  it  is  in  a  language  and  form 
of  thought  better  understood  and  appreciated, 
and  is  less  likely  to  be  thought  insincere. 
By  exercising  their  proper 

INFI.UENCK     IN     POIylTlCS, 

Catholics  could  go  far  toward  purifying 
them  from  the  corruption  which  infects  them. 
It  is  all  very  well  to  say  that  a  republi- 
can form  of  government  is  sustained  by  the 
Church,  and  without  that  support  must  run 
into  license  or  misrule.  But  the  Church  can 
only  exercise  her  influence  through  the  indi- 
vidual action  of  her  members.  If  Catholics 
separate  religion  from  politics,  claiming  that 
politics  are  independent  of  religion,  how  can 
the  Church  produce  any  effect  in  support  of 
popular  government?  But  if  the  two  or  three 
million  Catholic  voters  in  the  country  were  all 
firmly  convinced  that  the  right  of  suffrage  is 
a  trust  which  they  are  bound  in  conscience 
to  exercise  in  favor  of  right  measures  and 
upright  and  competent  candidates,  neither 
buying  nor  selling  their  own  or  another's  vote, 
their  influence  would  do  much,  if  not  all  that 
is  needed,  to  bring  back  our  elections  to  their 
pristine  purity. 

If  Catholics  would  unite  in  the  cause  of 
temperance,  they  could  abolish  all  the  drink- 
ing saloons  or  bar-rooms  in  the  land,  thereby 
doing  away  with  the  main  cause  of  the  cor- 
ruption in  politics,  the  source  of  more  than 
half  of  the  crimes  and  of  nearly  all  the  pau- 
perism in  the  country. 

In  the  great  philanthropic  and  reformatory 
movements  of  the  day  the  Catholic  laity  might 
well  take  part.  Instead  of  holding  aloof,  and 
decrying  such  movements  as  visionary  and 
fanatical,  let  them  join  in  them,  infuse  into 
them  the  true  spirit  of  charity,  and  give  them 
a  Catholic  direction.  By  assuming  their  proper 
share  in  the  management  of  our  hospitals, 
asylums,  prisons,  and  penitentiaries,  thej'  can 
procure  the  means  of  solacing  the  unfortunate, 


reforming  the  erring,  and  have  the  right  to 
insist  on  Catholic  inmates  being  freely  min- 
istered to  by  their  own  clergy. 

I  would  not  underrate  the  great  good  now 
accomplished  by 

OUR    BENEVOLENT   ASSOCIATIONS, 

conferences  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  and  other 
societies  of  men  and  women  for  mutual  benefit 
or  for  aiding  the  poor.  I  would  only  multiply 
them,  till  every  Catholic  man  and  woman 
in  the  land  was  enrolled  in  one  or  another 
of  them.  Everything  that  will  promote  the 
intellectual,  moral,  or  social  well-being  of  the 
country  is  so  much  gain  for  religion.  For, 
although  the  Church  was  not  established  for 
the  direct  purpose  of  civilizing  the  nations, 
she  indirectly  promotes  civilization  whilst 
laboring  to  fit  man  for  the  life  hereafter;  and 
the  higher  the  civilization  of  a  people,  the 
more  is  that  people 

IN    HARMONY   WITH    CATHOLICITY. 

No  constitution  can  be  more  in  harmony 
with  Catholic  principles  than  is  the  American, 
and  no  religion  can  be  in  such  accord  with 
that  constitution  as  is  the  Catholic ;  and  while 
the  State  is  not  absorbed  in  the  Church,  nor 
the  Church  in  the  State,  but  there  is  external 
separation,  they  both  derive  their  life  from 
the  same  interior  principle  of  Catholic  truth, 
and  in  their  different  spheres  carry  out  the 
same  idea. 

Our  American  Constitution  is  the  only 
philosophical,  or  dialectic,  constitution  the 
world  has  ever  known.  It  has  not  only  elimi- 
nated the  barbarism  of  the  Graeco  Roman 
civilization,  abolished  all  privileged  and  slave 
classes,  and  extended  equal  rights  to  all,  but 
it  is  founded  in  a  living  principle.  All  life  is 
based  on  unity  in  diversity :  on  extremes  with 
a  medium  of  reconciliation.  Unity  without 
diversity  is  stagnation  or  death;  diversity 
without  unity  is  discord.  The  first  results  in 
centralized  despotism,  the  second  in  anarchy. 
Our  Constitution,  by  the  providential  events 
which  gave  it  birth  rather  than  by  human 
counsel,  is  not  only  democratic,  but,  by  the 
division  of  the  powers  of  government  between 
the  general  and  the  State  governments,  each 
acting  in  its  own  sphere,  is  founded  in  truth 
and  reality,  has  in  it  the  principle  of  life,  and, 
so  long  as  it  is  preserved  in  its  essential  char- 
acter, can  not  die. 


462 


The  Ave  Maria, 


THE  AMERICAN  SYSTEM  IS  AI^SO  ANTI-PROT- 
ESTANT, 

and  must  either  reject  Protestantism  or  be 
overthrown  by  it.  Based  on  natural  law  and 
justice,  our  institutions  are  incompatible  with 
a  religion  claiming  to  be  revealed,  but  which 
fails  to  harmonize  the  natural  and  the  super 
natural,  reason  and  revelation, — calls  reason 
"a  stupid  ass,"  and  says  nature  is  totally 
depraved.  The  principles  of  our  civilization 
were  taught  by  the  Fathers  and  Doctors  of 
the  Church,  her  councils  and  pontififs,  who  en- 
deavored in  vain  to  make  them  prevail  under 
either  the  Roman  or  the  German  order  of  civ 
ilization.  What  those  could  not  abolish  in  the 
Old  World,  our  forefathers  left  behind,  bring- 
ing with  them  all  that  was  worth  preserving  of 
European  civilization,  but  not  its  inequalities 
and  superstitions.  I^ike  the  Catholic  Church, 
and  like  God  Himself,  we  are  no  respecters  of 
persons,  but  welcome  alike  all  classes,  condi- 
tions, and  colors,  so  long  as  they  conduct  them- 
selves orderly  and  decently. 

But  while  the  political  and  civil  order  of 
this  country  is  not  antagonistic  to  the  Church, 
nor  the  Church  hostile  to  the  institutions  and 
patriotism  of  the  nation,  it  is  not  pretended 
that  the  sentiments  or  morals  of  the  people 
are  more  in  accord  with  Catholicity  than  in 
other  countries.  In  public  or  private  virtue, 
Americans  have  nothing  to  boast  of  over  the 
rest  of  the  world,  whatever  may  have  been 
the  fact  in  this  respect  a  hundred  or  even  fifty 
years  ago.  And  we  do  not  ask  our  citizens  of 
foreign  birth  to  adopt  our  morals  or  senti- 
ments when  we  speak  of  their  duty  to  become 
Americans.  What  we  mean  is  that  they  should 
study  the  American  civil  and  political  order, 
and  labor  for  the  interest  of  American  civili- 
zation. 

Not  only  are  the  sentiments  and  opinions  of 
the  majority  of  the  American  people  opposed 
to  the  Church,  but  many  of  the  habits  and 

USAGES  OF  PORTIONS  OF  THE  CATHOLIC  BODY 

are  offensive  to  that  majority.  And  as  many 
Catholics  form  their  opinion  of  the  American 
civil  and  political  order  from  the  actions  and 
expressions  of  the  American  people,  non- 
Catholics  are,  in  like  manner,  apt  to  judge 
the  Church  by  its  members.  Catholics  ought, 
therefore,  to  eliminate  from  their  body  such 
customs  as  are  both  offensive  to  Americans 


and  disapproved  of  by  the  Church,  study  the 
American  system  and  institutions,  and  con- 
form to  them,  and  let  non-Catholics  know  the 
Church  a^  she  really  is  ;  and  entire  harmony 
would  result  in  individuals,  and  the  ideal  of 
Christian  society  be  actualized  on  earth. 

lyet  us  mingle  more  in  such  works  of  nat- 
ural virtue  as  our  non-C  itholic  fellow- citizens 
are  engaged  in,  and  try  to  exert 

A   CATHOLIC    INFLUENCE 

outside  of  our  own  body, — making  ourselves 
better  known ;  and  at  the  same  time  that  we 
co-operate  in  those  good  works,  infuse  into 
them  something  of  our  holier  religion.  And 
as  we  do  this  let  us  draw  closer  the  bonds 
that  unite  us  to  one  another ;  for  union  and 
concord  among  ourselves  will  then  need 
strengthening,  and  will  strengthen  us  in  turn. 

Individuals  count  for  so  little  nowadays 
that  to  produce  any  great  effect  we  must  form 
associations — local  associations,  and  associa- 
tions for  special  purposes,  but  most  of  all 
one  grand  organization  of  the  entire  Catholic 
laity  of  the  United  States,  with  regularly  con- 
stituted officers  and  committees,  meeting  at 
regular  intervals,  in  a  Catholic  lay  congress, 
for  the  purpose  of  manifesting  and  strengthen- 
ing their  Catholic  loyalty  and  union, defending 
their  rights,  and  by  discussion  and  instruction 
helping  those  who  are  ignorant  or  weak. 
"Religion  pure  and  unspotted  with  God  and 
the  Father  is  this :  to  visit  the  fatherless  and 
widows  in  their  tribulation,  and  to  keep  oneself 
undefiled  from  this  world."  (St.  James,  i,  27.) 

To  enable  the  laity  to  work  to  any  advan- 
tage in  the  cause  of  religion,  there  must  be 

CONFIDENCE  IN  THEM  ON  THE  PART  OF  THE 
CLERGY, 

and  manliness  and  freedom  on  their  part.  It 
is  necessary  that  there  should  be  confidence 
in  the  intelligence  and  motives  of  laymen.  If 
they  are  only  to  repeat  what  is  dictated  to 
them,  never  think  for  themselves,  or  dare  utter 
their  thoughts,  they  can  have  no  energy  or 
freedom,  and  can  produce  no  effect.  The  great 
mass  of  Catholics  adhere  to  their  religion  from 
motives  of  conscience.  Separation  from  the 
Church  is  no  longer  equivalent  to  outlawry 
or  privation  of  fire  and  water.  Every  advan- 
tage, from  a  worldly  point  of  view,  is  now  on 
the  other  side.  And  it  may  well  be  presumed, 
until  there  is  proof  to  the  contrary,  that  such 


The  Ave  Maj'ia, 


463 


Catholic  laymen  as  devote  their  time  and 
abilities  to  the  interests  of  religion  are  actuated 
by  love  of  it.  That  they  will  act  intelligently 
is  further  presumable.  They  have  shown  in 
mechanical,  industrial,  and  commercial  enter- 
prises a  mental  activity  that  claims  admira- 
tion, and  which  would  be  of  inestimable  value 
if  applied  in  the  cause  of  religion  and  charity. 
They,  as  well  as  the  clergy,  have  been  filled 
with  the  Holy  Ghost  by  the  imposition  of 
hands,  and  made  soldiers  of  Christ's  faith,  and, 
in  their  proper  sphere,  will  not  lack  the  guid- 
ance of  the  Divine  Spirit. 

It  is  not  to  be  expected  that  the  necessary 
confidence  will  be  given  at  once.  We  must 
gain  it  by  proving  ourselves  deserving  of  it. 
Ivet  us  say  what  we  have  to  say  boldly  and 
distinctly,  without  circumlocution  or  insinua- 
tion ;  and  when  it  becomes  apparent  that  there 
is  no  guile  in  us,  we  shall  win  the  confidence 
of  our  pastors,  our  fellow- Catholics,  and  of 
the  world  at  large,  and  our  utterances  will 
command  attention. 


A  Sin  and  Its  Atonement. 


III. 


A  MONTH  afterward  all  opposition  had 
disappeared,  and  I  plighted  my  troth  to 
Edward  Carlyon  with  the  deepest  sense  of 
satisfied  love  and  ambition  that  ever  thrilled  a 
young  heart  on  the  threshold  of  life.  And,  be 
it  well  understood,  mine  is  no  story  of  a  heart 
deceived  and  betrayed,  the  hero  of  a  romance 
turning  out  a  villain.  All  that  my  husband 
seemed  to  be  he  truly  was ;  all  that  he  promised 
he  loyally  performed  ;  and  if  my  dreams  were 
not  realized  it  was  because  of  the  fundamental 
mistake  that  nature  was  suificient  without 
God, — because  we  had  mapped  out  a  career  in 
which  the  finger  of  God  was  not  to  meddle. 
After  a  honeymoon,  which  was  to  me  like 
a  glimpse  of  the  Garden  of  Eden,  my  hus 
band  took  me  home  for  Christmas,  where  my 
assiduous  attendance  at  church  gave  great 
•edification,  and  my  radiant  happiness  and 
health  cleared  away  all  shadow  of  misgiving 
from  the  hearts  of  my  parents.  I  was  so  sure 
of  myself  and  my  own  path  that  I  even  suc- 
ceeded in  lifting  something  of  the  cloud  our 
marriage  had  thrown  over  Father  I^indsay.  I 


told  him  how  indifferent  Edward  was  whether 
we  had  fish  or  flesh  for  dinner,  and  that  he 
always  kept  the  Friday's  abstinence  with  me 
when  he  was  at  home  ;  how  kind  he  had  been 
in  arranging  the  route  of  our  wedding  trip  so 
that  I  could  hear  Mass  on  Sundays ;  how  he 
had  once  said  that,  for  his  mother's  sake,  he 
rather  liked  his  wife  to  be  a  Catholic, — it 
would  have  so  rejoiced  her  heart.  I  could  not 
help  hoping,  I  added,  that  some  day  all  clouds 
upon  his  noble  intellect  would  clear  away,  and 
that  he  would  embrace  that  good  mother's 
faith  and  mine.  The  kind  priest  listened,  with 
a  desire  to  be  reassured,  gave  me  some  very 
wise  and  practical  advice,  and  said,  as  with 
trembling  voice  he  gave  me  his  parting  blCvSS- 
ing:  "Cling  lo  the  careful  hearing  of  your 
obligation  Masses  as  your  sheet  anchor.  So 
long  as  you  are  faithful  and  fervent  in  this 
you  can  not  be  swept  away." 

We  went  to  Paris,  where  my  husband  had 
to  work  up  various  threads  of  his  great  enter- 
prise, and  where  the  three  friends  who  had 
embarked  with  him  in  the  affair  were  residing. 
I  was  warmly  received  by  these  gentlemen, 
and  our  house  was  considered  a  delightful 
place  of  rendezvous.  I  applied  myself  to 
learning  dressmaking  and  all  the  arts  which 
it  would  be  useful  to  teach  in  the  new  colony. 

Ours,  in  a  certain  sense,  was  a  perfect  union, 
and  the  warmth  of  the  sunshine  in  which  I 
lived  seemed  to  bring  out  all  my  capabili- 
ties ;  so  that,  instead  of  being  ashamed  of  my 
country  breeding  (as  I  sometimes  feared  he 
would  be),  my  husband  was  always  proud  of 
me,  and  his  friends  were  constantly  telling 
him  he  was  the  luckiest  fellow  in  the  world. 
Now  and  then  a  slight  pang  of  mortification 
smote  me  as  I  realized  how  much  more  com- 
plete a  response  other  clever  and  cultivated 
women  could  have  given  to  all  his  philosoph- 
ical ideas  and  theories;,  and  I  saw,  too,  that 
he  evidently  was  pleased  at  this  appreciation. 
But  these  were  the  most  passing  shadows, 
and  vanished  almost  before  I  had  taken  time 
to  note  them.  So,  slowly  but  surely,  all  self- 
distrust,  all  cries  for  help  in  the  difficult  path 
I  had  chosen,  all  clear  views  of  the  end  for 
which  I  was  created,  were  swallowed  up  by 
the  advancing  tide  of  the  "pride  of  life." 

My  husband  never  interfered  with  my 
practice  of  religion, — never  made  any  direct 


464 


The  Ave  Maria. 


effort  to  shake  my  faith :  he  merely  ignored  it. 
At  first  I  used  to  try  and  interest  him  in  Cath- 
olic matters.  I  made  for  myself  a  beautiful 
little  oratory,  in  which  I  took  great  delight. 
There  was  a  high  bracket  supporting  a 
lovely  statue  of  Our  Lady;  two  niches  on 
either  side,  with  St.  Joseph  and  St.  Margaret 
in  them ;  and  a  crucifix,  devotional  but  not  at 
all  artistic,  standing  on  a  little  altar  in  front. 
I  had  appealed  to  Edward  to  help  me  in  this, 
but,  though  he  was  always  kind  and  courte- 
ous, I  met  with  no  responsive  sympathy.  How 
could  it  be  otherwise?  But  it  had  its  effect 
upon  me.  By  degrees  I  left  off  making  any 
allusion  to  my  religion,  and  kept  it  in  the 
background  as  much  as  possible.  My  dream 
of  gently  drawing  my  husband  into  the  fold 
faded  away  almost  without  my  perceiving  it. 

My  life  was  a  very  busy  one ;  I  had  many 
things  to  learn  in  order  to  prepare  myself  for 
my  future  work;  and  so  it  came  about  that  I 
fell  into  the  habit  of  hurrying  over  all  my 
religious  duties.  The  morning  and  evening 
prayers  I  had  once  said  so  carefully  in  my 
little  oratory  became  shorter  and  shorter,  and 
at  last  were  omitted  altogether.  Mass  on 
Sundays  I  still  clung  to  like  grim  death,  but 
months  passed  without  my  approaching  the 
Sacraments.  Religion  was  banished  from  my 
intercourse  with  my  husband,  it  was  being 
gradually  banished  from  my  own  heart.  It 
was  not  without  a  struggle, — my  conscience 
gave  me  many  a  twinge ;  but  I  would  not  stop 
to  listen,  and  in  my  pride  thought,  "I  shall 
take  it  all  up  again  when  I  am  quietly  settled 
in  the  new  colony.  I  really  can  not  help  my- 
self now. ' '  Soon,  however,  I  did  not  even  think 
that.  Without  advice  or  direction  from  any 
one  I  launched  out  in  the  reading  of  mystical 
books  far  above  my  comprehension,  and,  tak- 
ing passages  apart  from  their  context,  and 
read  by  the  light  of  the  false  philosophy  that 
was  constantly  being  talked  all  round  me,  I 
began  to  think  that  Catholics  advanced  in  the 
spiritual  life  treated  all  the  simple  practices 
and  precepts  of  Catholicism  much  as  my  hus- 
band did.  I  persuaded  myself  I  was  giving 
up  mere  form  and  ceremony,  and  that  I  still 
held  fast  all  that  was  essential  in  my  faith. 

Edward,  I  have  said,  made  no  direct  effort  to 
shake  my  faith,  but — and  this  was  inevitable 
— all  his  influence  tended  in  that  one  direction 


I  felt  his  powerful  mind  acting  on  mine,  and 
I,  standing  alone,  in  my  own  poor  strength, 
was  too  weak  to  resist  it.  In  the  long  winter 
evenings,  whenever  we  happened  to  be  alone, 
he  would  read  aloud  whilst  I  worked.  The 
books  he  chose  were  often  those  that  treated  of 
the  great  questions  that  agitate  men's  minds 
in  the  present  day,— but  all  treated  from  the 
skeptic's  pointofview.  The  Christian  religion 
was  not  so  much  attacked  as  simply  ignored. 
It  was  looked  on  as  a  mere  phase  in  the  moral 
history  of  the  world, — a  phase  that  was  prac- 
tically past,  and  could  have  no  part  in  the 
regeneration  of  mankind  that  was  to  follow  as 
soon  as  men  could  be  made  to  act  on  the  prin- 
ciples laid  down  by  these  new  philosophers. 

It  all  sounded  very  grand  to  me,  though 
at  first  I  felt  there  was  something  wanting  in 
it  all,  which  left  me  unsatisfied.  I  was  flat- 
tered by  the  homage  paid  to  my  intellect; 
my  husband  evidently  thought  I  could  under- 
stand and  appreciate  these  thoughts  that  to 
him  seemed  so  noble.  My  pride  was  increased 
by  the  deferential  manner  in  which  Edward's 
friends  tried  to  draw  me  into  their  conversa- 
tions and  elicit  my  opinion  on  the  different 
ideas  that  were  under  discussion.  They  often 
drew  lively  pictures  of  a  life  in  a  new  country, 
where  people  would  be  free  from  the  trammels 
of  old  laws  and  superstitions,  and  be  at  liberty 
to  develop  to  the  full  the  only  principles  that 
could  make  man  fulfil  his  high  destiny.  The 
part  a  woman  of  clear  views  and  powerful 
intellect  might  play  in  this  great  undertaking 
would,  they  said,  be  grand  enough  to  satisfy 
the  wildest  ambition. 

I  had  thought  myself  strong  enough  to 
withstand  all  temptation.  When  doubts  about 
the  lawfulness  of  these  readings  and  conver- 
sations flashed  across  me,  I  persuaded  myself 
it  would  be  weak  and  narrow-minded  to  avoid 
them.  It  was  well  to  know  what  people  were 
thinking  about.  There  could  be  no  possible 
danger  for  an  old,  well- instructed  Catholic  like 
myself  Yet  now — not  two  years  since  our 
marriage — I  had  practically  ceased  to  be  a 
Catholic !  I  saw  everything  from  my  husband's 
point  of  view.  I  looked  forward  with  eagerness 
to  our  work,  and  already  saw  myself  playing 
the  part  assigned  to  me  by  all  our  friends. 
Pride  had  indeed  led  me  very  far.  I  still  went 
regularly    to  Mass  on  Sundays,  [however.    I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


465 


can  scarcely  say  it  was  an  act  of  worship  on 
my  part ;  I  felt  it  a  tiresome  obligation,  but 
I  dared  not  give  it  up.  Alas!  even  that  went 
at  last — and  then  came  the  deluge! 

We  had  been  a  year  and  a  half  in  Paris,  and 
the  time  for  sailing  for  the  Promised  Land, 
as  we  used  to  call  it,  was  close  at  hand.  The 
absorbing  interest  that  filled  every  day  and 
every  hour  threw  more  and  more  into  the 
shade  that  one  thing  in  which  my  husband 
took  no  part.  I  used  to  a'ctend  an  early  Ma>s 
on  Sunday,  so  as  to  be  free  to  go  out  with  him 
into  the  country  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  But 
on  the  particular  Sunday  I  so  well  remember, 
and  with  such  pain  of  heart,  we  had  invited 
some  friends  to  a  dijeiiner,  so  that  I  knew  we 
could  not  go  out ;  and  it  was  raining  and  blow- 
ing so  fiercely  in  the  early  morning  I  could  not 
get  to  church  before  breakfast.  So  I  decided 
to  go  to  ten  o'clock  Mass,  and  was  just  pre- 
paring to  set  out  when  Edward  appeared  at 
my  door,  looking  radiant  with  delight. 

"There  is  such  a  treat  for  both  of  us! "  he 
exclaimed.  "The  greatest  orator  in  all  France 
is  going  to  deliver  a  lecture  in  the  hall  of  the 
Sorbonne.  De  Verac  has  secured  tickets  for  us. 
But  we  must  make  haste.  Half  Paris  will  be 
there,  and  I  would  not  miss  it  for  Ihe  world! " 

"O  Edward,"  I  exclaimed,  in  unfeigned 
distress,  **  I  haven't  heard  Mass  yet!  I  was  just 
going  to  the  Madeleine.  Would  it  not  be  still 
time  at  eleven  o'clock?" 

'Certainly  not,"  he  answered,  in  his  cold- 
est tones.  "I  bliall  have  to  go  alone.  But  you 
would  have  enjoyed  it  so."  Even  then  he 
did  not  attempt  to  coerce  me,  but  I  saw  his 
look  of  keen  disappointment,  and  I  heard  him 
mutter  something  between  his  teeth. 

I  could  not  stand  it.  "I  did  my  best  to  go 
this  morning  and  the  storm  prevented  me.  I 
ought  to  do  now  what  my  husband  wishes," 
I  said  to  myself.  (He  was  watching  me  anx- 
iously.) "I  will  go  with  you,"  I  said  aloud. 
"I  think  I  may  consider  myself  dispensed 
from  hearing  Mass,  as  the  bad  weather  kept 
me  av/ay  this  morning." 

He  was  delighted,  hurried  me  into  a  car- 
riage, and  as  we  drove  ofif  said:  "I  could 
not  have  enjoyed  it  without  you.  You  never 
heard  such  a  voice,  such  a  torrent  of  fine, 
burning  eloquence.  I  should  like  to  get  inside 
you  and  see  what  you  feel." 


I  am  not  going  to  set  down  one  word  of 
that  marvellous  yet  utterly  anti-Christian 
discourse,  which,  in  the  frame  of  mind  in  which 
I  was  that  day,  seemed  to  break  down  all 
barriers,  release  me  from  all  fetters,  and  bear 
me  on  the  wings  of  an  eagle  up  and  into  the 
innermost  heaven.  What  wonder,  when  my 
will  had  been  so  long  setting  in  the  wrong 
direction,  that  that  wonderful,  musical  voice 
should  sway  it  with  its  words  of  power! 
What  wonder  since,  having  that  very  day  let 
slip  the  last  anchor  and  most  powerful  means 
of  grace,  I  was  at  the  mercy  of  that  tremendous 
wave,  which  swept  me  off  ihe  rock  of  faith! 

The  orator  lectured  for  an  hour  on  a  sort  of 
transcendental  philosophy,  which  was  to  take 
the  place  of  all  revealed  religion.  It  seemed 
like  a  few  minutes,  and  when  those  silver 
tones  ceased  to  thrill  on  the  ear  the  whole 
assembly  sat  still  for  a  space,  as  though  spell- 
bound, and  then  burst  out  in  wild  applause. 
My  husband  led  me  out  and  put  me  in  a 
fiacre;  still  I  could  not  speak.  Then,  drawing 
me  to  him,  he  said:  "Meg,  I  have  got  inside 
and  seen,  and  now — now !  Your  soul  and  mine 
are  one, — all  differences  destroyed. 

We  arrived  home  just  in  time  to  receive 
our  friends  at  that  pleasantest  of  social  gath- 
erings, a  Parisian  dSjetiner.  M.  Daquesseau, 
who  was  one  of  Edward's  colleagues,  brought 
the  news  that  a  certain  M.  de  Rechac,  who 
was  all-powerful  with  the  Minister  of  Foreign 
Affairs,  had  accepted  the  invitation  we  had 
sent  him,  and  was  coming  with  De  Verac. 
"The  Fates  are  all  propitious  to-day!"  ex- 
claimed Edward,  who  had  been  long  trying  to 
secure  the  good  graces  of  this  man,  through 
whom  he  counted  on  obtaining  certain  ad- 
vantages for  the  French  colonists  who  were 
going  out  with  him.  His  delight  and  exulta- 
tion could  not  be  disguised;  his  bounding 
spirits  overflowed  upon  his  guests,  and  we 
never  had  such  a  brilliant  reunion.  M.  de 
Rechac  was  the  only  stranger,  but  he  too  felt 
the  spell,  and  for  the  time  being  was  delight- 
ful. He  was  a  most  violent  anti- Christian 
leader,  and  was  believed  to  be  the  soul  of  one 
of  the  secret  societies. 

Edward  explained  his  plans  and  wishes 
about  "Mount  Carlyon,"  as  the  new  settle- 
ment was  to  be  called ;  to  all  which  the  Free- 
mason  listened   with    evident    interest,  and 


466 


The  Ave  Maria. 


finally  promised  his  best  endeavors  to  secure 
the  favors  from  the  French  Government  which 
•would  be  of  such  material  advantage.  "I  feel 
the  greatest  pleasure  in  assisting  you,  Mr. 
Carlyon,"  he  said  in  conclusion,  "as  I  see 
you  are  a  man  of  wide  and  enlightened  views ; 
and  I  feel  sure  you  will  never  allow  meddling 
priests  to  make  use  of  your  colony  to  further 
their  own  ends.  As  to  those  suckers  from  the 
old  trunk  of  superstition  who  are  continually 
presenting  themselves  under  color  of  emigra- 
tion, they  will  be  as  destructive  to  liberty  in  the 
new  country  as  they  have  been  in  the  old,  and 
I  shall  always  do  my  utmost  to  crush  them." 

There  was  an  involuntary  glance  toward 
me  from  several  of  the  habitual  guests,  who 
knew  that  Edward  would  never  suffer  any 
observation  at  his  table  which  would  annoy 
or  distress  his  wife.  M.  de  Rechac  saw  it  in 
a  moment,  and  hastened  to  repair  what  he 
thought  was  a  false  step. 

"But  I  ought  not  to  express  my  sentiments 
so  broadly  before  ladies.  Madame  is  a  good 
Catholic,  probably?  The  fair  sex  can  seldom 
get  on  anywhere  without  a  thread  of  supersti- 
tion ;  and,  by  my  faith,  they  prove  themselves 
marvellously  skilful  in  weaving  their  threads 
into  cables." 

I  felt  the  full  force  of  the  innuendo.  How 
could  I  let  Edward's  plans  suffer  from  what 
at  that  moment  seemed  to  me  an  untrue  sus- 
picion! I  raised  my  eyes,  encountering  as  I 
did  so  a  scrutinizing  and  scornful  glance  from 
the  Freemason,  and  said,  calmly  and  distinctly: 
"My  views,  M.  de  Rechac,  are  absolutely  one 
with  those  of  my  husband,  and  it  will  be  my 
pride  as  well  as  my  duty  to  help  him  in  carry- 
ing them  out." 

There  was  a  little  murmur  of  applause,  too 
subdued  and  well-bred  to  be  offensive ;  a  look 
from  Edward  which  made  my  heart  bound 
with  delight,  and  then  the  conversation  flowed 
on,  more  intimate  and  expansive  than  ever 
— and  the  Divine,  pleading  glance,  which, 
through  Peter,  has  rested  on  every  renegade 
who  has  since  pierced  his  Master's  Heart  by 
his  denial!  That  fearful  woe  which  will  echo 
through  all  ages  till  the  day  of  doom:  "Of 
him  will  the  Son  of  man  be  ashamed,"  etc. 
As  I  write  of  this  past  time  I  say  to  myself, 
■^'Was  it  possible  I  neither  saw  nor  heard?" 
(to  be;  continued.) 


A  Last  Letter. 

BY    MARY    E.    MANNIX. 

iPiF  her  sweet  self  so  much  a  part 
M^    It  seems  her  very  breath  ; 
I  can  not  yet  persuade  my  heart 

That  she  has  talked  with  Death, — 
That  somewhere,  from  the  shining  sph 

Beyond  the  golden  door, 
She  bids  me  dry  my  falling  tears 

And  weep  for  her  no  more. 

The  last — with  not  the  faintest  thought 

Of  that  so  soon  to  be  ; 
With  hope  and  love  and  kindness  fraught,- 

All  tenderness  for  me. 
I  hold  it  'twixt  my  finger  tips, 

As  though  her  hand  were  there  ; 
I  press  it  softly  to  my  lips 

With  many  a  silent  prayer. 

Tears,  and  yet  tears! — how  oft  revealed! — 

Her  wondrous  eyes  would  shine 
With  crystal  drops,  but  half  concealed 

At  sight  of  tears  in  mine. 
Close,  fluttering  pages  ;  close!  Ye  blend 

What  words  can  never  paint — 
The  blessed  memory  of  a  friend, 

The  relic  of  a  saint. 


A  Miniature  Republic. 


BY    CHARIvES    WARREN    STODDARD. 


AFTER  a  very  dismal  ride  I  succeeded  in 
reaching  Rimini,  a  town  once  fatal  to 
love.  It  rained  or  drizzled  all  the  morning; 
great  water-drops  shot  across  the  cdr  window 
like  javelins.  On  the  one  hand  we  had  the 
Adriatic,  looking  grey  and  gloomy;  on  the 
other,  a  distant  mountain  range  partially 
obscured  by  mist.  Out  of  that  mountain  range 
towered  a  bluff;  upon  its  triple  peaks  tow- 
ered the  citadel  of  San  Marino,  and  thither  I 
was  bound — a  solitary  pilgrim,  seeking  a 
breath  of  free  air  and  an  hour's  repose  in  a 
miniature  Republic  that  was  conceived,  by 
tradition,  in  the  fifth  century. 

I  was  glad  to  cast  myself  into  the  first  omni- 
bus I  found  at  the  station  in  Rimini,  and  trust 
to  the  blind  good  fortune  that  has  befriended 
me  in  many  an  hour  of  doubt.   It  was  well! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


467 


Excellent  hotel ;  pleasant  stroll  among  grass- 
grown  streets,  out  along  the  now  deserted 
quays  that  look  like  an  unweeded  garden 
grown  to  seed, — a  very  paradise  of  lizards  and 
creeping  things. 

I  knew  as  I  crossed  the  piazza  Giulio  Cesare 
that  imperial  Csesar  once  upon  a  time  ha- 
rangued his  troops  in  the  immediate  vicinity 
— just  after  they  had  crossed  the  Rubicon,  a 
little  way  down  the  line  of  the  railroad.  Happy 
thought!  But — O  happier  thought  bv  far! — I 
was  shown  the  spot  where  good  St.  Anthony 
delivered  a  homily  to  his  brothers,  the  fishes, 
while  they  listened  with  their  round  mouths 
open,  and  their  fairy-like  fins  in  breathless 
suspense. 

Then  there  was  the  tale  of  Francesca  di 
Rimini — ^see  Dante, with  Gustave  Dore's  illus- 
trations, and  lycigh  Hunt's  well-told  "Story 
of  Rimini,"  and  George  H.  Boker's  romantic 
tragedy,  which  is  to-day  one  of  the  artistic 
successes  of  the  stage.  There  is  little  to  do 
in  Rimini  but  to  muse  upon  these  epochs  in 
history ;  for  the  town  is  not  striking  in  appear- 
ance, nor  possessed  of  much  that  is  notable 
in  art. 

I  would  have  mused  to  my  heart's  content 
were  it  not  that  my  mind  was  then  burdened 
with  the  thought  of  besieging  a  Republic,  and 
I  was  not  at  ease  until  I  had  secured  a  con- 
veyance— I  mean  the  promise  of  one, — which 
was  to  convey  me  out  of  the  kingdom  into 
the  blessed  Land  of  Liberty  on  the  following 
morning.  It  came  in  good  season — the  means 
of  conveyance, — and  it  was,  without  exception, 
the  worst  I  ever  saw ;  it  sagged  fi-ightfuUy  ; 
the  wheels  reeled  as  if  they  were  drunken, 
and  I  am  not  yet  certain  that  they  had  not 
limber  spokes  and  elastic  tires.  The  poor 
beast  staggered  in  a  harness  that  fell  apart  at 
intervals,  and  was  repaired  with  bits  of  rope 
stowed  under  the  seat  for  that  purpose. 

It  is  about  a  dozen  miles  from  Rimini  to 
"Liberty  or  Death."  Once  every  fifteen  min- 
utes we  stopped  to  repair  damages ;  we  did  it 
patiently,  not  to  say  cheerfully.  What  will  the 
patriot  not  endure  when  he  sees  before  him 
the  rock  on  which  the  tottering  thrones  of 
Europe  have  again  and  again  split! 

I  was  meditating  on  the  fall  of  empires, 
and  the  prospect  of  a  good  square  meal  in 
the  Republic,  when  the  beast,  our  chief  hope. 


sank  on  his  knees  against  the  curb  of  a  small 
stone  bridge  that  spanned  an  insignificant 
stream.  At  this  moment  the  driver  sprang  to 
his  feet,  and,  with  an  air  of  pride  bordering  on 
conceit,  exclaimed:  "Behold  the  Republic!" 
I  beheld,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  an  extensive 
pasture,  out  of  which  towered  the  everlasting 
rock  with  its  triple  peaks,  and  on  each  peak 
a  microscopic  castle.  Forgive  me  if  I  confess 
that  there  was  no  perceptible  change  in  the 
temperature ;  that  the  moist  green  fields  were 
still  moist  and  green,  and  that  the  only  differ- 
ence I  was  at  that  moment  able  to  distinguish 
between  a  monarchy  and  a  republic  was  that 
the  latter  was  more  hilly  and  less  populous 
than  the  former. 

Meanwhile  our  beast  had  fainted.  I  sat  alone 
on  the  wild  firontier,  and  wished  to  goodness 
that  some  one,  regardless  of  politics,  would 
come  to  my  relief.  The  obliging  lad  who  had 
driven  me  to  the  borders  of  the  Kingdom  of 
Italy  at  the  peril  of  life  and  limb,  now  most 
obligingly  went  over  the  bridge  into  the  Re- 
public of  San  Marino,  beseeching  aid  of  the 
citizens. 

Once  more  the  journey  was  resumed.  My 
triumphal  entry  was  by  no  means  what  it 
migl^t  have  been  under  other  circumstances ; 
but  I  cared  not  a  jot  for  this.  It  is  the  proud 
boast  of  the  United-Stateser  that  he  is  nothing 
if  not  democratic — which,  I  take  it,  means 
Bohemian  in  the  best  sense.  And  why  should 
I,  an  embassador  from  the  Great  Republic, 
blush  to  accept  a  favor  at  the  hands  of  the 
smallest  Republic  imaginable,  particularly  as 
I  was  permitted  to  pay  well  for  it  ?  Therefore, 
sedately  dragged  by  a  yoke  of  ponderous  oxen, 
I  approached  the  foot  of  the  mountain  with 
as  much  dignity  as  I  could  command.  I  met 
few  citizens,  but  those  I  chanced  to  meet 
greeted  me  with  a  smile,  a  touch  of  the  hat, 
and  a  jovial  greeting;  inspired,  no  doubt,  by 
the  spirits  of  Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity, — - 
those  invisible  patrons  who  preach  upon  the 
three  towers  of  the  miniature  Republic. 

There  is  a  sparse  settlement  at  the  base  of 
the  great  rock  of  San  Marino ;  it  looks  almost 
as  if  part  of  the  town  on  the  summit  had  spilt 
over  the  giddy  brink  of  the  precipice  and 
lodged  in  good  form  at  the  foot  of  it.  Here 
my  cattle  were  pastured ;  the  steed  of  Rimini 
had  been  abandoned  in  the  edge  of  the  king- 


468 


The  /Ive  Maria, 


dom  to  recover  against  my  return  in  the  post- 
meridian. I  left  my  driver  to  order  dinner, 
and  footed  it  up  the  steep  path  that  winds 
about  the  cliff  until  I  came  to  a  halt  in  the 
centre  of  the  town,  surrounded  by  its  chief 
architectural,  religious,  secular,  historical  and 
mythical  features.  Any  one  of  thej-e  I  might 
have  probed  with  the  A 1  pen-stock  of  fashion 
and  fiction,  had  I  ever  affected  that  form  of 
advertising  my  outings. 

For  the  citadel,  picture  to  yourself  a  huge 
rock  rising  abruptly  nine  hundred  feet  into 
the  air.  The  walls  of  this  rock  are  nearl}^ 
perpendicular ;  they  are  grey,  weather-beaten, 
and  almost  as  smooth  as  glass.  The  road  that 
leads  to  the  summit  is  chiselled  out  of  the 
corner  of  the  rock ;  it  zigzags  painfully,  and 
rises  at  an  angle  that  suggests  a  stairway 
rather  than  a  road.  The  top  of  the  rock  is 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  length  and  less 
than  half  that  in  breadth,  even  in  the  broad- 
est part.  It  is  covered  with  houses  to  the 
very  brink ;  these  houses  are  all  of  stone,  and 
seem  to  have  caked  into  one  solid  mass ;  it  is 
•difficult  to  discover,  where  one  ends  and  an- 
other begins.  Extremely  narrow  streets,  or 
alleys,  wind  in  and  out  among  groups  of 
dwellings,  and  cross  bridges  that  span  deep 
crevices  in  the  rock,  or  run  under  the  kouses 
that  are  tunnelled  for  that  purpose, — so  pre- 
cious is  every  inch  of  space  up  yonder  among 
the  clouds  Less  than  a  thousand  souls  inhabit 
that  eyrie,  and  these  are  the  young  eagles  of 
Liberty  that  have  made  their  nest  in  the  lap  of 
the  Italian  Kingdom. 

The  Castle  is  the  only  building  at  all  inter- 
esting or  even  pretentious,  and  it  is  perched 
on  the  mossy  brink  of  the  stupendous  preci- 
pice. From  its  turrets  I  dropped  a  pebble  into 
the  streets  of  the  little  village — Borgo  Mag- 
giore — almost  a  thousand  feet  below.  The 
custodian  of  the  Castle  showed  me  over  the 
pretty  premises — the  tiny  garden,  the  toy 
bridges,  the  lilliputian  halls, — where  he  and 
his  family  reside.  From  the  bell  tower  I 
seemed  to  see  half  of  Italy.  What  an  Eden  it 
looked  from  the  three  towers  of  San  Marino! 
There  shone  the  sea ;  and  awa}'  in  the  north, 
Ravenna,  a  city  that  sleeps  in  the  sunshine 
and  the  grass  ;  in  the  south  is  Urbino,  where 
Raphael  was  born.  The  eye  follows  the  thread- 
like road  that  winds  down  from  the  isolated 


Republic  through  undulating  meadow- lands 
to  Rimini. 

Here,  at  a  single  glance,  one  has  the  whole 
Republic  under  his  thumb.  San  Marino  is 
thirty  miles  in  circumference,  and  has  a  popu- 
*lation  of  seven  thousand  six  hundred.  You 
might  drop  it  into  the  extinct  volcanic  crater 
of  Haleakala,on  the  Sandwich  Island  of  Maui, 
without  turning  up  the  edge  of  it  in  any 
comer.  It  is  a  complete  pocket  edition  of  the 
ideal  Republic, — is  it  not?  Supreme  power 
is  vested  in  a  council  of  sixty,  chosen  for  life. 
Of  the  sixty  twenty  are  nobles  by  birth, 
twenty  landholders,  twenty  peasants.  Every 
six  months  the  grand  council  selects  two 
captains,  to  whom  is  entrusted  the  executive 
power;  a  council  of  twelve  judges  the  crim- 
inal and  civil  cases ;  a  body  of  nine  attends 
to  the  administration  of  the  public  expense. 
Supreme  judicial  power  is  vested  in  two  for- 
eigners—non-residents of  the  Republic;  the 
incumbents  are  elected  tiiennially.  The  gen- 
darmes and  the  guard — eighty  men  all  told — 
constitute  the  military  force.  All  citizens  be- 
tween the  ages  of  eighteen  and  sixty  years  are 
enrolled,  and  subject  to  active  service  in  case 
of  necessity.  The  treasury  is  maintained  by 
the  profits  on  salt  and  tobacco,  a  tax  on  real 
estate,  and  a  small  duty  on  bread  and  provis- 
ion. The  revenues  are  $7,000  per  annum. 

The  custodian  deluged  me  wi'h  statistics, 
and  his  hospitality  was  overwhelming.  It  was 
with  difficulty  that  I  at  last  tore  myself  from 
his  fraternal  embrace ;  for  he  wished  to  assure 
me — and  did  so  again  and  again — that,  though 
a  rival,  San  Marino  was  ever  willing  to  extend 
the  right-hand  of  fellowship  to  citizens  of  the 
United  States;  he  might  have  added — but  he 
did  not — and  to  entertain  them  at  so  much 
per  head, — about  three  francs,  I  think. 

I  had  still  to  see  the  cells  of  the  prisoners 
and  the  prisoners  themselves.  Alas!  three 
citizens  had  been  naughty — I  was  informed, — 
and  were  in  durance  vile  for  a  few  days ;  they 
were  confined  in  the  cosiest  little  cells  im- 
aginable, opening  upon  the  garden.  I  was 
permitted  to  see  these  jail- birds  fed,  and  to 
smoke  with  them. 

Then  I  turned  my  back  on  the  cubby- house 
capitol,  the  play-room  of  the  legislature,  the 
pet  prisoners,  and  all  the  delights  of  life  up 
yonder,  and  ran  down  the  steep  road  to  the 


The  Ave  Maria. 


469 


bottom  of  the  Republic,  where  T  found  dinner 
rapidl}  cooling.  J  dined  in  solitary  state,  in 
the  august  presence  of  the  History  of  San 
Marino  in  three  quarto  volumes,  unbound,  at 
ten  francs  the  set, — for  sale! 

There  was  sweet  wine  and  tranquillity,  and 
an  obliging  commissioner,  who  brought  me 
pennies  and  postage  stamps  indigenous  to 
that  sacred  soil,  and  much  prized  by  collectors 
— let  me  tell  you — because  of  their  extreme 
rarity.  The  citizens  were  playing  ball,  as  is 
their  custom  of  an  afternoon,  while  I  sat  in 
the  window-seat  with  m\  cigar.  The  husbands 
and  fathers  skipped  lightly  in  the  field  and 
swung  the  bat  with  herculean  vigor ;  the 
wives  and  mothers  gathered  in  a  row  under 
the  high  rocks  and  applauded  the  players  to 
the  echo.  It  was  picturesque,  it  was  pastoral, 
it  was  republican, — but  somehovv  I  half  sus- 
pected that  it  was  ail  done  for  the  benefit  of 
the  benighted  foreigner  within  their  gates, 
who  was  perfectly  certain  to  prate  of  it. 

I  wonder  if  that  holy  hermit  who  went  up 
into  his  mountain  to  pray,  early  in  the  fifth 
century,  and  whose  zeal  brought  followers 
after  him,  so  that  when  he  died  he  was 
crowned  a  saint,  and  the  mount  shall  bear  his 
name  forever,  — I  wonder  if  San  Marino  ever 
dreamed  that  a  monastery  would  some  day 
top  his  eyrie,  and  that  free  souls  would  fight 
for  free  soil  under  the  shadow  of  that  great 
rock,  defying  kings  and  princes,  and  offering 
sanctuary  to  countless  refugees  who  have 
sought  it  again  and  again?  Garibaldi,  with 
his  legion,  begged  the  protection  of  San 
Marino  when  hard  pressed  upon  its  border  by 
the  Austrians. 

Poor  little  San  Marino!  how  it  prides  itself, 
and  boasts  of  its  freedom,  and  looks  down 
from  its  cloud  capped  citadel  upon  sorrowful 
Italy,  prostrate  and  sick  at  heart,  and  not  yet 
recovered  from  the  shock  of  union!  Well,  let 
us  breathe  the  free  air  of  liberty,  good  San 
Marino, — though,  to  confess  the  whole  truth, 
it  is  just  the  least  little  bit  like  breathing 
through  a  keyhole. 

I^azily  lounging  out  of  the  Republic,  at  the 
heels  of  that  yoke  of  steers,  I  met  on  the 
border-line  a  donkey,  with  his  four  hoofs 
firmly  planted  in  free  soil  and  his  heart  in 
his  throat.  He  seemed  to  me  an  emblem  of  the 
raw  citizen  who  can  not  distinguish  between 


liberty  and  license,  and  whose  room  is  infi- 
nitely more  precious  than  his  society;  for  he 
was  looking  over  the  fence  into  the  United 
Kingdom,  while,  with  more  lungs  than  logic, 
he  hurled  his  scorn  at  the  tottering  thrones  of 
Europe,  and  seemed  to  consider  it  a  foregone 
conclusion  that  they  must  fall  before  his 
withering  breath!  Thinks  I  to  myself:  There 
is  something  in  that,  by  Jove! — if  only  a  fellow 
is  unprejudiced  enough  to  acknowledge  it. 


The  Best  Books  of  all  Tinnes  and  of  all 
Literatures. 


THIS  is  the  title  of  a  pamphlet  a  large 
edition  of  which  has  been  published  by 
the  firm  of  Frederic  Pfeilstuecker,  Berlin, 
under  the  auspices  of  Dr.  Max  Schneidewin 
and  Dr.  Hans  Herrig.  In  many  respects  the 
book  is  interesting  for  us  also,  especially  when 
we  remember  that  such  men  as  Windthorst, 
Janssen,  and  Minister -of -Worship  Gossler, 
gave  their  co  operation  to  the  enterprise.  The 
work  is  to  be  a  side-piece  to  a  similar  one 
which  appeared  a  few  years  ago  in  the  English 
language,  but  which  bore  an  unmistakable 
English  tinge,  and  was  called  "The  One 
Hundred  Best  Books."  The  English  list  was 
limited  to  the  indicated  number,  and  the 
collection  was  made  by  one  man  only  —  the 
Chancellor  of  the  London  University,  Sir  John 
lyubbock.  But  Mr.  Pfeilstuecker  has  sought 
the  advice  and  opinion  of  a  large  number  of 
German  savants  and  authors ;  and,  although 
his  first  effort  failed,  he  has  now  received  an 
answer  from  thirty -five  men  of  varied  acquire- 
ments, all  of  whom  contributed  more  or  less 
numerous  lists  of  books  of  general  or  special 
contents,  and  partly  classed  under  general 
headings,  such  as  Oriental,  Grecian,  Roman 
matters ;  old  or  new  German  literature,  phi- 
losophy, history,  natural  sciences;  French, 
EnglivSh,  Italian,  Spanish,  Portuguese  litera- 
ture, etc.  These  communications  have  greatly 
encouraged  the  author,  and  been  doubtless  of 
much  assistance,  if  his  own  discernment  be 
equal  to  the  occasion. 

The  book  lists  of  Pfeilstuecker' s  collection, 
however  incomplete  they  may  be,  offer  more 
than  a  mere  guide  in  the  selection  of  litera- 


47  o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ture  :  they  also  give  an  idea  of  the  intellectual 
situation  of  our  days.  The  greater  number  of 
the  lists  present  a  confused  and  anything  but 
satisfactory  picture  of  the  present  menial  con- 
dition with  reference  to  the  moral  and  religious 
questions  of  mankind.  The  great  works  of  an- 
tiquity and  of  the  Middle  Ages,  especially  the 
Nibelungenlied  and  Dante's,  as  also  the  great 
poets  of  modern  times,  with  Shakespeare  and 
Cervantes  at  the  head,  are  named  on  most  of 
them.  Whether  the  writers  read  these  authors 
is  a  different  question ;  at  all  events,  it  may  be 
strongly  doubted  whether  they  have  all  read 
Kant's  critique  of  pure  and  practical  reason. 
But,  however  that  may  be,  we  can  hardly 
picture  to  our  mind  a  young  man  so  sedate, 
not  to  say  so  philosophically  or  religiously 
inclined,  as  to  read  those  books  which  have 
received  the  greater  number  of  votes.  In 
philosophy  and  natural  sciences  he  would 
have  to  be  an  admirer  of  Kant,  or  rather 
Schopenhauer, and  especially  of  Darwin.  Much 
less  could  we  represent  to  ourselves  the  young 
man  whose  turn  of  heart  and  mind  would  lead 
him  to  combine  Dante's  "Divina  Commedia" 
and  Manzoni's  "Promessi  Sposi"  with  Vol- 
taire's "Candide"  and  "Dictionnaire  Philo- 
sophique  " ;  or  Montalembert'  s  *  *  Monks  of  the 
West"  andjanssen's  "History  of  the  German 
People"  with  such  authors  as  Heine,  Sardou, 
and  George  Sand. 

But  what  pleases  us  most,  and  must  be 
looked  on  as  a  mark  of  progress,  is  the  fact 
that,  besides  the  intellectual  heroes  prior  to 
the  Reformation,  quite  a  number  of  Catholic 
authors  have  found  recognition ;  which  goes 
to  prove  that  Windthorst's  wish  was  not 
altogether  disregarded  when  he  said:  "By 
all  means,  in  an  index  of  this  kind.  Catholic 
literature  must  find  more  recognition  than 
has  been  the  case  heretofore."  This  must,  of 
course,  be  credited  chiefly,  though  not  ex- 
clusively, to  the  few  Catholic  contributors. 
Prominent  among  the  latter  is  Janssen,  whose 
letter  can  not  fail  to  interest  our  readers,  and 
therefore  we  give  it  entire: 

"If  I  am  to  indicate  a  number  of  works  in 
which,  in  my  opinion,  the  power  of  the  human 
intellect  has  been  revealed  in  a  special  man- 
ner, I  will  mention  in  the  field  of  history: 
Thucydides,  Tacitus,  and  St.  Augustine's  'De 
Civitate  Dei ' ;  in  eloquence:  Demosthenes  and 


St.  John  Chrysostom;  in  the  field  of  poetic 
labors :  Homer,  Dante,  Shakespeare  ;  in  philo- 
sophic thought :  Aristotle,  St.  Augustine,  and 
St.  Thomas  Aquinas. 

"The  works  in  German  literature  to  which 
I  owe  my  greatest  encouragement  and  ad- 
vancement are,  above  all,  the  Nibelungenlied, 
Gudrun,  Wolfram  von  Eschenbacli's  'Percival,' 
Walther  von  der  Vogelweide,  das  Anno- 
lied;  the  German  chronicles  and  the  relig- 
ious books  of  instruction  and  edification  from 
the  fifteenth  century.  Many  of  the  latter,  it 
appears  to  me,  may,  even  independent  of 
their  intrinsic  value,  be  counted  among  the 
most  beautiful  productions  of  German  prose. 
Among  the  later  writers  I  mention  in  a 
special  manner:  Lessing's  critical  writings; 
Goethe's  Iphigenia,  Tasso  and  Hermann  and 
Dorothea;  Schiller's  'Wallenstein';  Clement 
Brentano's  writings  in  prose ;  Uhland;  Eich- 
endorff;  Stifter's  'Studies  and  Variegated 
Stones';  Riehl's  'Family,'  'German  Labor,' 
'  Culture  Studies,'  and  novels ;  Weber's  'Drei- 
zehnlinden.' 

"As  favorite  books  in  other  branches  I  have 
always  considered  Moehler's  *  Symbolism*; 
Hettinger's  'Apology  for  Christianity  and  for 
the  Church';  Ketteler's  socio-political  writ- 
ings; Fenelon's  spiritual  works;  the  confer- 
ences and  the  letters  of  Ivacordaire ;  the 
complete  works  of  Montalembert,  Balmes, 
Wiseman,  and  Newman. 

"Among  historical  studies  the  following 
works  exercised  the  greatest  influence  upon 
me:  In  early  youth,  Stolberg's  history  of 
religion;  later,  Ritter's  geography;  Ranke's 
History  of  the  Popes;  Guizot's  lectures  on 
European  and  French  civilization;  the  first 
volume  of  Macaulay's  English  history  and  his 
essays.  The  most  lasting  effect  was  produced 
by  Karl  Adolf  Menzel's  'Modern  History  of 
the  Germans.'  Furthermore,  the  histories  of 
literature  by  Vilmar  and  W.  Wackernagel ; 
Goerres  on  the  German  Volksbucher;  Uh- 
land's  essays  on  the  German  national  songs; 
Schnaase's  letters  and  art  of  the  Netherlands; 
Schorn's  art  journal;  Rio's  'De  I'Art  Chre- 
tien,' and  Reichensperger's  various  writings 
on  Christian  art;  Ambros'  history  of  music; 
Stobbe's  history  of  the  sources  of  German 
Jurisprudence;  Beseler's  People's  I^aw  and 
Jurist's   Law;  Stintzing's   'Ulrich   Zasius'; 


The  Ave  3lar?a. 


471 


the  complete  politico-economical  works  and 
treatises  of  Roscher  and  Schmoller;  in  the 
same  branch,  the  treatises  of  J.  Falke  and  O. 
Kius  in  the  annals  for  national  economy  and 
statistics,  and  in  the  periodicals  for  general 
political  economy;  Roger's  'History  of  Agri- 
culture and  Prices.' 

*'I  have  always  read  with  a  special  predi- 
lection collections  of  letters  and  biographical 
annotations,  and  I  say  that  no  man  should  fail 
to  read  and  imitate  the  letters  of  Johannes 
von  Mueller,  the  biographical  sketches  of  Nie- 
buhr,  the  early  memoirs  of  Ernst  Rietschel, 
and  the  letters  of  Karl  Ritter." 
•  Sepp  also  has  said  many  good  things  in 
his  contribution,  but  his  assertions  about 
Thomas  ^  Kempis  and  the  Synoptists  are  un- 
expected. When  Stoecker  says  that  Jeremias 
Gotthelf  and  Alban  Stolz  can  not  be  too 
highly  recommended  as  aids  toward  acquiring 
popular  ideas  and  expressions  we  are  just  as 
much  edified  as  we  are  scandalized  when  he 
says :  "In  philosophy  Hegel's  thoughts  have 
at  times  been  important  helps  toward  conquer- 
ing spiritual  temptations."  We  could  explain 
this  assertion  in  some  manner  if  the  great  im- 
pression which  Schleiermacher's  speeches  on 
religion  and  its  doctrine  had  made  upon  him 
were  a  lasting  and  determining  one ;  but  this 
has  not  been  the  case. 

In  conclusion,  we  would  remark  that  from 
the  standpoint  of  modern  indifFerentism  it 
is  impossible  to  determine  a  list  of  the  best 
books.  It  is  possible  only  on  the  ground  of 
Catholic  truth,  which  is  as  comprehensive 
as  it  is  solid. 


The  Social  Nagger. 


BY   MAURICE   FRANCIS    EGAN. 


HE  permeates  society,  and  his  barbed 
speeches  are  like  needles  passing  through 
flesh.  He — or  she — has  never  learned  the  art 
of  letting  people  alone.  You  may  depend 
upon  it  that  when  he  was  young  he  never 
permitted  marbles  to  be  played  except  in  his 
way,  and  that  he  made  life  gloomy  to  his 
small  associates  by  trying  to  direct  them  on 
all  occasions  in  the  way  they  thought  they 
ought  not  to  go. 


The  social  nagger  is  "fussy"  to  the  last 
degree.  It  is  he  that  always  rings  the  bell  in 
the  street-car, — held  sacred  to  the  conductor, 
and  brings  the  wrath  of  that  dignitary  down 
on  the  innocent.  It  is  he  that  keeps  the  car 
door  open  for  ten  minutes  before  he  intends  to 
alight,  in  order  that  a  stream  of  cold  air  may 
blow  in  on  the  other  passengers.  At  weddings 
he  audibly  prompts  the  bride  when  she  is 
about  to  say  "I  will,'  and  audibly  warns  the 
bridegroom  that  he  has  dropped  his  handker- 
chief. At  funerals  he  is  great.  He  jostles  the 
mourners,  and  prescribes  the  number  of  tears 
that  may  be  shed ;  afterward  he  comments  on 
the  arrangements,  and  makes  the  distant  rela- 
tives unhappy  by  regretting  that  some  people 
have  no  proper  feeling.  His  leading  idiosyn- 
crasy is  that  he  can  never  let  "well -enough" 
alone.  He  is  the  destroyer  of  all  comfort,  and 
he  might  gain  credit  as  the  discourager  of 
self-complacency  were  he  not  sure  to  turn  self- 
complacency  into  irritation  and  anger. 

If  there  be  a  defect  in  one's  friends  that  one 
wants  to  overlook  he  discovers  it,  and  insists 
that  he,  as  a  self-appointed  ministering  angel, 
must  goad  one  on  to  correct  it.  It  never  seems 
to  occur  to  him  that  some  of  us  like  our 
friends  both  because  and  in  spite  of  their 
faults.  It  never  seems  to  enter  his  mind  that 
in  pulling  up  a  small  weed  he  may  drag  up 
a  precious  root  to  be  blighted  in  the  frost  of 
his  nagging.  He  acts  from  habit,  not  from 
thought ;  and  nothing  is  too  sacred  for  him 
to  meddle  with. 

If  you  meet  him  in  the  street,  he  button- 
holes you  and  tells  you  unpleasant  things 
about  yourself  in  a  way  that  affects  you  like 
the  passing  of  a  cloud.  Criticism  that  stimu- 
lates is  good;  criticism  that  discourages  is 
bad.  And  his  is  always  bad,  because  it  is  dis- 
couraging. He  can  turn  the  brightest  day  to 
twilight  in  a  minute ;  he  would  have  changed 
the  trillo  on  the  lips  of  that  cheerful,  selfish 
old  soul,  Pepys,  into  a  sigh  of  hopelessness. 
He  wants  the  sinner  to  live,  but  in  such  a 
way  that  life  is  worse  than  death.  He  abhors 
cheerfulness ;  it  savors  of  levity.  And  yet  he 
insists  that  his  friends  shall  be  gay  when  he 
bids  them — or  when  he  lets  them. 

If  you  meet  him  in  a  public  assembly,  he 
presents  you  to  all  the  people  you  do  not 
want  to  know.  And  after  you  have  made  the 


4^2 


The  Ave  Maria. 


best  of  it,  and  si  art  home  chuckling  over  the 
humors  of  the  evening,  and  on  the  most 
comfortable  terms  vi^ith  j^ourself,  he  vi^hispers 
sternly,  "Well,  I  hope  people  didn  t  notice 
how  absurd  you  were ! ' ' 

Do  you  meet  a  new  acquaintance  and  vaunt 
his  cleverness,  he  informs  you  that  he  is  likely 
to  be  clever  at  your  expense,  and  urges  you 
to  freeze  him  out  of  his  gaiety.  Do  you  admire 
the  appointments  of  your  neighbor's  house, 
'  *  Oh, ' '  he  says,  *  *  I  knew  his  grandfather  when 
he  couldn't  pay  his  debts! "  This  is  very  low- 
ering to  the  system.  For  who,  in  our  time, 
when  every  man  is  setting  up  a  genealogy — I 
had  almost  written  a  geology, — is  quite  cer- 
tain of  his  own  grandfather  ? 

"How  unaffectedly  pious  is  Mr. So-and  so ! ' ' 
you  say.  * '  But /  never  see  him  at  High  Mass, ' ' 
he  answers.  And  so  on ;  there  is  always  a  fly, 
in  his  amber, — a  fly  that  spoils  it  for  you  ; 
always  a  canker  in  every  rosebud  he  touches ; 
always  a  fault  that  shadows  every  virtue.  His 
intolerance  is  intolerable. 

The  greatest  social  nagger,  in  history  is 
John  Knox.  How  he  pestered  that  unhappy 
Mary  Stuart  and  her  ladies  because  they 
would  have  their  gavottes  and  their  pavanes 
and  their  menuets  at  Christmas  time!  Queen 
Elizabeth  might  dance  as  "disposedly"  as 
she  would,  but  the  wretched  old  snobbish 
nagger  never  nagged  people  who  would  hit 
back;  and  so  the  modern  nagger  has  his 
timidities.  For  those  whose  gentleness  holds 
back  the  hard  truth  they  might  say,  he  has  no 
quarter ;  but  he  never  attacks  the  rich  or  the 
influential,  no  matter  how  vulgar  they  may 
be  ;  for  them  he  is  always  sure  to  bring  out 
his  unused  and  moth  eaten  mantle  of  charity, 
and  woe  be  to  ye  who  dare  to  touch  it  with 
aught  but  reverence!  Peace  be  with  him — 
or  her, — but  there  is  no  peace! 


It  is  verily  a  great  madness  not  to  believe 
the  Gospel,  whose  truth  the  blood  of  martyrs 
crieth,  the  voice  of  Apostles  soundeth,  mira- 
cles prove,  reason  confirmeth,  the  world  testi- 
fieth,  the  elements  speak,  devils  confess.  But 
a  far  greater  madness  is  it,  if  thou  doubt  not 
but  that  the  Gospel  is  true,  to  live  then  as 
though  thou  doubtest  not  but  that  it  were 
false. — Pico  delta  Mirandola, 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

The  pilgrimage  of  the  French  workingmen  to 
Rome,  which  took  place  lately,  gave  great  pleas- 
ure to  the  Holy  Father,  who  listened  with  ap- 
proval to  the  words  of  Cardinal  Langenienx  : 
"May  your  Holiness,  vSo  deeply  tried^;by  man's 
injustice,  deign  to  associate  your  cause  with  the 
workmen's  cause!"  Cardinal  Lang^nieux,  who 
represents  the  French  workmen,  declares  that  the 
only  solution  of  the  labor  problem  will  come  from 
the  Pope. 

The  Annuaire  des  Missions  gives  a  complete 
report  of  the  wondrous  progress  which  the  Church 
continues  to  make  in  our  missionary  countries. 
The  wise  and  firm  direction  of  Leo  XHT.,  his 
gifts  to  Propaganda,  the  renewed  impulse  which 
he  has  given  to  the  work  of  the  apostolate,  the 
establishment  of  international  centres  at  Rome, 
his  influence  upon  European  politics, — these 
have  formed  so  many  extrinsic  causes  accelerat- 
ing and  extending  the  spread  of  Catholicity  in 
pagan  countries.  And  this  growth  is  destined  to 
become  deeper  and  wider.  The  powers  of  the 
world  are  beginning  to  realize  that  the  work  of 
the  Christian  apostolate  is  the  indispensable 
guarantee  of  civilization.  As  one  of  the  English 
governors  of  India  recently  expressed  it,  "The 
missions  have  done  more  toward  extending  the 
influence  of  Europe  over  India  than  all  the  labors 
of  the  English  administration."  And  this  testi- 
mony is  that  of  all  colonizers.  The  day  will  come 
when,  tired  of  religious  persecution,  governments 
will  offer  great  rewards  to  those  orders  and  com- 
munities who  will  send  subjects  to  engage  in 
missionary  labors.  At  the  same  time  this  consol- 
ing progress  attending  missionary  work  .should 
serve  to  stimulate  the  generosity  and  piety  of 
the  faithful  everywhere  in  contributing  to  the 
Society  of  the  Propagation  of  the  Faith. 


At  a  recent  concert  in  lyondon  an  Ave  Maria 
was  on  the  programme.  The  London  Tabtet  says 
that,  "rather  than  allow  a  Protestant  audience 
to  know  that  in  the  Latin  the  Mother  of  God  was 
asked  to  intercede  for  sinners  now  and  at  the 
hour  of  death,"  the  promoters  of  this  entertain- 
ment had  the  magnificent  audacity  to  translate 
''Sancta  Maria,  Mater  Dei,  ora  pro  nobis  pec- 
catoribus,  nunc  et  z>^  hora  mortis  nostm,''  into 
* '  Infant  Redeemer,  born  to  safe  us  from  our  heavy 
woes."  

We  notice  with  pleasure  that  a  society  has 
been  formed  among  the  ladies  of  New  Orleans 
for  the  purpose  of  supplying  little  girls  about 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Mi 


to  make  their  First  Communion  with  the  proper 
outfit.  It  should  be  esteemed  an  honor  to  belong 
to  such  a  vSociety. 

It  was  a  foregone  conclusion  that  any  expres- 
sion coming  from  Canon  Zardetti — now  Bishop 
of  St.  Cloud — would  be  replete  with  fervor,  but 
the  apostolic  spirit  which  permeates  his  first 
letter  to  his  clergy  and  laity  more  than  satisfies 
every  expectation.  He  says,  in  a  very  fervent  and 
pastoral  spirit :  "I  owe  you  the  tender  solicitude 
of  a  true  pastor,  the  careful  watchfulness  of  a 
loving  father,  and  cheerful  readiness  for  any  sacri- 
fice required  for  your  welfare  and  salvation.  My 
efforts  shall  be  constant  to  become  acquainted 
with  the  needs  of  my  diocese,  its  communities,  its 
families  and  its  individuals,  so  that  I  may  be  able 
to  say  with  my  Divine  Master,  '  I  know  mine,  and 
mine  know  me.'  While  in  the  sacred  act  of  my 
consecration  I  lay  prostrate  on  the  ground,  and 
those  around  me,  in  the  solemn  Litany  of  the 
Saints,  besought  the  prayers  of  all  the  heavenly 
court  for  me,  these  were  the  solemn  promises  I 
made  to  my  I/)rd  and  Master ;  and  with  all  ear- 
nestness and  singleness  of  purpose,  God  helping 
me,  I  shall  come  to  you  to  devote  my  life  to  their 
fulfilment." 

The  pastoral  was  dated  from  Our  Lady's  shrine 
of  Binsiedeln,  on  the  feast  of  her  spotless  purity. 
Could  there  be  a  better  guarantee  of  the  future 
of  the  new  Bishop  and  his  diocese  than  the  fact 
that  he  chose  for  his  consecration  a  shrine  of  the 
Mother  of  God  and  one  of  her  most  lovely  festivals  1 


The  character  of  Columbus  has  rarely  been 
more  ably  summed  up  than  by  a  writer  in  the 
New  York  Herald.  And  we  may  add  that  the 
Herald  rarely  contains  anything  so  worthy  of 
quotation  as  this  short  paragraph  : 

"  Columbus  is  always  a  good  subject  for  meditation. 
His  piety,  his  courage,  his  confidence  in  Providence 
and  in  himself,  his  ceaseless  industry,  his  enterprise 
and  his  indomitable  self-control,  are  strongly  marked 
in  every  step  of  his  romantic  and  extraordinary 
career.  Had  he  been  a  man  who  could  be  turned 
from  his  high  purpose  by  discouragements  his  name 
would  be  unknown  to-day.  His  life  and  work  are  a 
monument  to  faith  and  determination.  He  felt  within 
him  the  power  to  do  and  he  had  the  courage  to  dare. " 

There  are  now  about  as  many  Catholic  negroes 
in  the  United  States  as  there  were  Catholics  in 
1789.  

Many  years  ago  a  French  prelate  excited  the 
French  Senate  and  the  world  by  his  plea  for  a 
more  careful  test  of  death  between  the  last  hour 
and  the  grave.  He  himself  narrowly  escaped  the 
most    terrible  of  accidents.    Another  startling 


occurrence,  which  corroborates  his  position,  lately 
took  place  in  London.  A  well-known  photog- 
rapher had  been  called  to  take  the  picture  of  a 
girl  of  twenty,  who  lay  in  her  cofiin  as  if  asleep. 
While  the  negative  was  being  exposed  he  paced 
the  corridor  outside  the  room.  When  he  returned 
he  found  that  a  flower  had  changed  its  position, 
— it  was  on  the  coffin  lid  ;  it  had  not  been  there 
before.  How  did  it  come  there  ?  He  dismissed  the 
question  from  his  mind  and  went  home,  having 
taken  a  second  photograph.  Sitting  up  late  at 
night,  he  developed  the  two  negatives.  The  mys- 
tery of  the  flower  was  solved  :  it  was  evident  that 
the  girl's  arm  had  moved  while  the  photographer 
was  outside  the  room. 


Tourists  who  have  visited  the  Franciscan  mis- 
sion in  California  and  had  the  good  fortune  to 
meet  the  venerable  pastor  of  San  Miguel,  San 
Luis  Obispo  Co.,  the  Rev.  Father  Mut,  will  regret 
to  hear  of  his  decease.  His  end  was  in  keeping 
with  his  self-sacrificing  life.  His  post  was  a 
dreary  one ;  there  was  little  companionship  and 
few  comforts,  and  the  good  old  Father's  death  was 
the  result  of  exposure  during  an  arduous  mis- 
sionary journey.  San  Miguel  Arcangel  was  one 
of  the  long  chain  of  missions  stretching  from 
San  Diego  to  San  Francisco  founded  by  the  saintly 
Junipero  Serra,  of  whom  Father  Mut  was  a  worthy 
successor.  We  bespeak  the  prayers  of  our  readers 
for  this  dear  old  padre. 

Drunkenness  seems  to  be  the  curse  of  all  coun- 
tries. The  South  American  press  is  loud  in  its 
appreciation  of  the  Archbishop  of  Santiago's 
pastoral  on  the  prevailing  vice  of  intemperance. 
The  Estandarte  Catdlico  declares  that  excessive 
drinking  is  making  its  way  into  the  upper  classes, 
— children,  women,  and  young  girls  becoming 
addicted  to  it.  

The  Cardinal  Patriarch  of  Lisbon  has  taken 
advantage  of  the  Giordana  outrage  to  startle  the 
Portuguese  Freemasons — who  fancied  themselves 
tolerated — by  a  severe  denunciation  of  the  athe- 
ism of  the  sect. 

Miss  May  Mathew,  second  daughter  of  the 
English  Justice,  has  just  entered  the  Carmelite 
Convent  at  Bayswater. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  to  the  mind  of  the  Eng- 
lish Christian  the  common  use  of  the  name  of 
God  appears  as  a  violation  of  the  second  Com- 
mandment, and  hence  English  Catholics  are 
oftentimes  scandalized  at  the  frequent  repetition 
of  the  holy  name  in  ordinary  intercourse  among 
other  European  people.  But  as  a  general  thing  in 
Catholic  countries,  such  as  France,  Spain,  Italy, 


474 


The  Ave  Maria. 


and  Austria,  the  spirit  of  faith  that  pervades  the 
mass  of  the  people,  preserving  the  thought  of 
God's  watchful  providence  within  their  souls, 
suggests  motives,  prayerful  and  reverential,  that 
almost  constantly  bring  His  adorable  name  upon 
their  lips.  This  seems  to  be  the  idea  in  the  mind  of 
a  writer  in  a  recent  number  of  Notes  and  Queries, 
who  has  the  following  in  defence  of  the  custom  : 
"As  an  instance  of  how  extremes  meet,  and  how 
easy  it  is  for  people  of  the  best  intentions  to  misun- 
der-^tnnd  one  another,  I  maj'  mention  the  following: 
A  friend  of  mine,  whose  English  dread  of  taking  the 
name  of  God  in  vain  was  extreme,  was  one  day  hor- 
rified to  find  that  a  French  nurse,  who  had  been 
specially  reconmiended  to  her  for  her  piety,  was 
teaching  her  little  j^irl  the  force  of  the  common 
French  use  of  '^Mon  Dieu  !  '  When  called  to  account 
for  profanity,, the  pious  French  woman  not  only  tes- 
tified the  most  evident  surprise  at  being  taxed  with 
anything  of  the  sort,  but  turned  the  tables  on  her 
mistress  by  clearly  regarding  her  as  little  better  than 
a  freethinker  for  objecting  that  her  child  should 
^prendre  le  bon  Dieu  a  tenioin '  of  every  minuie 
action  of  her  life.  I  am  bound  to  say  that  this  idea, 
rather  than  intentional  profanity,  really  seems  to  me 
to  pervade  much  of  the  calling  on  God  and  the  saints 
with  which  continental  peoples  season  their  conversa- 
tion. Hundreds  of  times  I  have  noticed  such  expletives 
uttered  with  an  intonation  which  savored  rather  of  an 
invocation  than  an  oath." 

It  seems  that  Gambetta  cherished  the  hope  of 
arraying  the  Latin  world  against  the  Slav  and 
Gc-rmanic  world.  He  intended  to  make  Italy  more 
solid  by  creating  three  separate  States  there — 
Northern,  Central  and  Southern  Italy, — and  mak- 
ing an  Italian  Federation  with  the  Pope.  The  late 
Cardinal  Schiaflfmo,  it  is  asserted,  said  that  if 
this  could  have  been  done  Italy  might  dismiss  in 
a  day  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  soldiers, 
and  relieve  the  country  of  a  crushing  debt. 

The  death  of  the  Rev.  Julian  Tenison  Woods 
is  much  regretted.  Father  Woods  was  an  eminent 
scientist ;  he  wrote  several  valuable  works  on 
the  geology  and  natural  history  of  Australia, — 
works  which  have  become  authorities.  He  long 
held  the  office  of  Vicar-General  in  Adelaide,  Vic- 
toria, into  which  he  introduced  the  Sisters  of  St. 
Joseph.  Father  Woods  was  not,  as  has  been  stated, 
a  convert  to  the  Church,  but  a  member  of  an  old 
English  Catholic  family. 


The  attitude  of  the  Church  toward  divorce  is 
explained  by  Cardinal  Gibbons  in  the  current 
North  American  Review.  His  opponents  are 
Bishop  Potter — a  ^««j/-opponent — and  Mr.  Rob- 
ert IngersoU.  The  helplessness  of  the  Protestant 
Episcopal  sect  to  control  the  evil  elements  in 
modern  society  is  evident  from  Bishop  Potter's 


paper.  Mr.  IngersoU  is  an  advocate  of  the  god 
Priapus,  thinly  veiled  by  the  platitudes  of  neo- 
paganism. 

The  illustrious  surgeon.  Dr.  Ricord,  is  dead.  He 
was  born  at  Baltimore,  Md.,  in  1800.  At  twenty 
years  of  age  he  was  sent  to  Paris,  and,  having 
assisted  at  a  lecture  of  the  famous  Dupuytren,  de- 
termined to  become  a  surgeon.  Another  Catholic 
distinguished  in  medical  annals  found  his  voca- 
tion in  the  same  wav— Dr.  Gunning  S.  Bedford, 
al.so  a  Baltimorean.  Dr.  Ricord  became  one  of 
the  most  celebrated  surgeons  in  Europe.  He  died 
covered  with  honors  and  honor,  and,  what  was 
better,  like  Dupuytren,  a  most  devout  Catholic. 


The  Queen  Isabella  Association — a  company  of 
Chicago  women,  who  have  asked  Miss  Eliza  Allen 
Starr  to  prepare  a  life  of  the  Queen  whose  name 
they  have  taken, — have  engaged  Mies  Homer,  the 
sculptor,  to  make  a  statue  of  her  who  helped  to 
give  a  New  World  to  Castile  and  Leon.  The  Queen 
will  be  represented  in  the  act  of  giving  her  jewels 
to  Columbus. 

The  firm  of  Frederick  Pustet  &  Co.,  of  New 
York,  is  the  only  representative  of  the  Tyrol 
Stained  Glass  Institute  of  Innsbruck,  Austria.  A 
cablegram  from  Rome  announces  that  the  Holy 
Father  has  conferred  on  this  famous  establishment 
the  honorary  title  of  ''Institutio  Premiato  delta 
Santa  Sede.'" 


Obituary- 


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

The  Rev.  Charies  F.  O'Neil,  of  Peoria,  III.,  who 
departed  this  life  on  the  2d  ult. 

Mr.  Michael  O'Connor,  whose  death  occurred  on 
the  same  day,  in  Chicago,  111. 

Mr.  John  F.  Smith,  who  passed  away  on  the  ist 
inst.,  at  Philadelphia,  Pa.  He  was  noted  for  his  ben- 
efactions to  the  Church  and  the  poor. 

Mrs.  Robert  R,  Reid,  whose  fervent  Christian  life 
was  crowned  with  a  holy  death  on  the  29th  ult,  at 
Palatka,  Fla. 

Miss  Maggie  Kennedy,  a  fervent  Child  of  Mary, 
who  vas  called  to  her  reward  on  July  27th,  at  Des 
Moines,  Iowa. 

Mr.  John  Daley,  who  yielded  his  soul  to  God  on 
the  I2th  ult.,  at  Lawrence,  Mass. 

Mrs.  Maria  J.  de  Lone,  of  Hanover,  Pa. ;  Mr.  Nich- 
olas Foran,  Cambridge,  Mass. ;  Mr.  Lawrence  Foley, 
Milwaukee,  Wis. ;  Thomas  F.  Sweeny,  Cambridge- 
port,  Mass. ;  Edward  McCaffrey,  St.  Thomas,  North 
Dakota ;    Mr.  Martin  Clary,  Mrs.  Mary  Clary,   and 

Charles  Erras,  Biddeford,  Me. ;  Mr. Garrabrant, 

Peoria,  111. ;  and  Jane  Ann  Murray,  Toronto,  Ont. 

May  they  rest  in  peace  ! 


The  Ave  Maria, 


475 


The  Sailor  Boy's  Song. 

BY   IvAWRENCE    MINOT. 

jlTHE  winds  may  blow  and  the  waves  may  foam, 
U^  O-ho,  ahoy ! 

And  my  hands  freeze  fast 

To  the  swaying  mast, 
But  each  blast  brings  me  nearer  home ! 


Told  by  the  Sea. 


BY    FI,ORA    L.    STANFIEI.D. 


The  morning  lessons  were  over,  and,  the 
day  being  fine,  Brother  Basil  took  his  pupils 
down  to  the  beach  for  a  stroll.  They  ran  about 
on  the  sand  and  climbed  on  the  big  rocks 
until  they  were  tired,  and  then  sat  down,  with 
their  usual  request  for  a  story. 

"Well,  what  shall  it  be  about?"  asked 
Brother  Basil. 

"Bears," — "Missionaries," — "Indians," — 
"Shooting,"  were  some  of  the  answers,  all  in 
one  breath. 

"Tell  us  a  story,  please,"  said  good  little 
Harry, ' '  about  a  real  bad  boy.  I'm  awfully  tired 
of  good  boys,  they're  so  uncomfortable!" 

Brother  Basil  smiled.  "Well,  now  all  pay 
attention,  and  you  shall  hear  a  true  story 
about  a  bad  boy  whom  I  once  knew." 

They  settled  down  upon  a  great,  warm  rock, 
out  of  reach  of  the  waves,  and  he  began. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  lived  a  boy  whose 
name  was  Kbenezer  Faithful  Turner.  I  don't 
wonder  that  you  laugh,  for  it  was  a  queer 
name,  and  no  one  thought  it  stranger  than 
did  Kbenezer  himself  He  positively  detested 
it,  especially  as  so  many  of  his  playmates 
were  called  Ernest  and  Clarence  and  Gerald, 
or  at  least  quiet  names  like  John  or  Thomas. 
His  father  was  a  man  who  took  great  pride 
in  being  stem  and  cold,  and  I  always  thought 
that  he  fancied  so  prim  a  name  would  cause 


his  little  son  to  be  like  him.  There  was  an 
older  sister.  You  will  smile  at  her  name,  too  ; 
for  it  was  Prudence  Steadfast.  This  was  easily 
softened  and  shortened  into  "Prue,"  but  for 
Ebenezer  there  was  no  such  hope.  They  lived 
on  a  small,  barren  farm  away  up  in  Northern 
Vermont,  and  it  was  only  with  the  greatest 
trouble  and  frugality  that  they  could  get 
enough  to  eat  and  wear,  even  of  the  very 
plainest.  When  Prue  was  sixteen  and  the  boy 
ten  the  parents  died,  and  the  farm  fell  into 
the  hands  of  a  neighbor  who  had  lent  them 
money.  So  there  was  nothing  to  do,  at  least 
so  Prue  thought,  but  to  go  to  the  city  and 
find  work. 

Poor  Prue!  she  was  not  strong,  not  one  bit 
pretty,  and  her  shoulders  were  drawn  out  of 
shape  from  an  accident  which  happened  to 
her  when  she  was  a  baby.  Still  she  was  sure 
that  out  in  the  wide  world  somewhere  there 
was  an  honest  living  awaiting  every  one  who 
was  willing  to  toil. 

They  sold  all  their  belongings,  and  bade 
adieu  to  the  old  home.  "We'll  come  and  buy 
it  back  when  we  are  rich,"  said  Ebenezer 
cheerfully,  but  Prue  said  nothing;  and  then 
they  settled  back  upon  the  broad  seat  of  the 
wagon,  and  a  beautiful  green  mountain  soon 
hid  the  tiny  house. 

They  went  to  a  factory  town,  which  we  will 
call  Discord  (though  you  will  never  find  that 
name  upon  the  map  of  Vermont),  and  took 
part  of  a  poor  house  down  by  the  wharf. 
There  were  rough  neighbors  around,  but  some- 
thing about  Prue's  face  repelled  rudeness; 
and  everybody,  pitying  her  so,  was  good  to 
her,  and  ready  to  show  her  a  kindness  when 
an  occasion  presented  itself.  She  could  not 
walk  easily,  and  so  she  took  work  that  she 
could  do  at  home,  such  as  finishing  ofi"  shirts. 
Ebenezer  carried  the  work  to  and  from  the 
factory,  and  thus  quietly  and  swiftly  two  years 
went  by. 

When  they  went  to  Discord  the  boy  tried 
to  part  with  the  name  of  Ebenezer,  and  his 
sister,  to  please  him,  called  him  Faithful ;  but 
that  amused  his  playmates  even  more,  and  he 
went  back  to  the  old  name,  which  they  soon 
shortened  into  "Eb." 

Eb  was  a  good-hearted  child,  and  I  am  sure 
never  meant  to  do  real  harm ;  but  he  had  one 
fault  which  got  him  into  great  trouble,  as  I 


476 


The  Ave  Maria. 


will  tell  you.  He  was  the  most  mischievous 
little  fellow  you  can  imagine,  delighting  in 
playing  pranks,  and  never  so  happy  as  when 
successful  in  some  practical  joke.  Prue  tried 
to  cure  him  of  this,  but  tried  in  vain.  He  led 
the  boys  who  threw  the  cabbages  against  front 
doors  on  Hallow-Een;  it  was  he  who  made 
the  most  frightful  Jack-o'-lanterns;  and  he, 
too,  who,  mounted  on  stilts  and  dressed  in 
sheets,  scared  one  of  the  neighbors  almost  out 
of  her  wits. 

Shortly  after  his  twelfth  birthday  came  the 
crowning  mischief  of  his  life.  He  started 
down  town  one  morning,  with  a  big  bundle  of 
garments  to  which  Prue's  busy  fingers  had 
put  the  finishing  touches.  It  was  in  vacation 
time,  and  he  had  several  hours  of  leisure  at 
his  disposal.  The  shirts  being  delivered  at  a 
room  on  the  top  story  of  a  high  building,  he 
started  to  go  down  the  stairs,  when  suddenly 
his  eyes  fell  upon  the  elevator,  the  entrance 
to  which  happened  to  be  open,  the  man 
who  tended  it  having  stepped  away  for  a  mo- 
ment to  show  some  ladies  a  room  they  were 
seeking. 

"What  fun  it  would  be,"  thought  Eb,  "to 
run  away  with  the  elevator!"  So,  without  a 
thought  of  danger  to  any  one,  he  stepped 
inside,  pulled  the  rope  and  was  down  to  the 
ground  in  a  few  seconds.  Then,  a  street  pro- 
cession attracting  him,  he  forgot  everything 
else,  and  at  once  made  one  in  a  crowd  of  boys 
who  were  trying  to  keep  up  with  the  band. 
Eb  is  a  man  now,  but  he  never  hears  "The 
Harp  that  Once  through  Tara's  Halls"  with- 
out thinking  of  that  morning  in  summer, 
many  years  ago,  when  he  was  trudging  with 
the  crowd  through  the  dust,  and  the  old  ele- 
vator man  was  lying  senseless  at  the  foot  of 
the  tall  shaft. 

Eb  soon  heard  all  about  it  from  a  boy  who 
joined  him.  "Old  Peter  Small  has  fell  way 
from  the  fourth  floor  to  the  ground.  He  had 
just  gone  out  of  the  elevator  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  somebody  let  it  down ;  so  when  he 
stepped  inside  down  he  went,  and  I  guess 
he's  killed." 

The  sun  turned  dark  to  Eb ;  his  head  went 
around  and  around,  and  the  music  sounded 
far  away. 

"I'm  awful  sick,  Joe, ' '  he  said ;  '  *  kind  of  a 
sunstroke  maybe." 


Joe  offered  to  take  him  home,  but  he  refused 
all  help.  How  he  ever  reached  the  house  by 
the  wharf  he  never  knew.  Prue  looked  at  his 
white  face  and  rushed  to  him  in  alarm.  But 
he  only  wished  to  be  let  alone,  he  said,  and 
climbed  up  to  the  little  loft  and  buried  his  face 
in  his  pillow. 

"I'm  dreadful  sick,"  he  answered  to  his 
sister's  questions;  "the  sun  was  so  hot!" 
And  she,  unsuspecting,  bathed  his  head  and 
left  him  to  sleep,  peeping  in  at  intervals  and 
stealing  quietly  away  again. 

Eb  was  not  asleep,  but  horribly  wide- 
awake. Could  they  hang  him  ?  And  would  he 
go  to  that  awful  place  which  Prue's  minister 
preached  about?  And  it  would  break  her 
heart,  and  she  so  good  to  him !  These  thoughts 
chased  one  another  through  his  little  hot 
head,  always  beginning,  "Will  they  hang 
me?"  and  ending  with  "And  Prue  so  good!" 
At  each  unusual  sound  in  the  street  he  fan- 
cied the  officers  had  come  for  him.  And  how 
could  the  sun  shine  ?  How  could  the  clock 
tick,  even? 

When  night  came  on  he  crept  down- stairs. 
His  sister  had  supper  ready  with  fried  liver, 
his  especial  delicacy ;  but  he  could  not  eat. 
Then  the  next  neighbor  came  in  with  the 
penny  paper,  which  she  kindly  lent  them  each 
evening.  His  heart  beat  fast  as  Prue  read  it 
aloud  as  usual,  but  there  was  no  item  such  as 
he  feared  to  hear.  She  laid  it  down  at  last, 
going  to  her  sewing.  And  he  looked  it  over 
with  eyes  made  keen  by  anxiety.  Ah!  Prue 
had  skipped  this,  hidden  in  a  corner :  '  *  As  we 
go  to  press  we  hear  that  the  old  man  who  runs 
the  elevator  in  I^iberty  Block  fell  to  the  ground 
from  the  fourth  floor  this  morning,  the  elevator 
having  been  lowered  by  some  malicious  person 
when  his  back  was  turned.  The  extent  of  his 
injury  is  not  known,  but  it  is  hoped  that  the 
miscreatit  when  found  will  be  made  an  ex- 
ample of" 

"Made  an  example  of!"  That  was  what 
people  always  said  when  men  were  hanged. 
Eb  crawled  up  to  his  room  again  and  dreamed 
— when,  worn  out  with  suffering,  he  at  last 
fell  asleep — that  Peter  Small  was  whistling 
"The  Harp  that  Once  through  Tara's  Halls," 
while  he,  Eb,  was  being  carried  to  prison  in 
an  elevator. 

Prue  tried  in  vain  to  find  out  what  had 


The  Ave  Maria. 


477 


come  over  her  brother,  so  changed  from  the 
merr}^  lad  he  had  been.  Meanwhile  three  days 
of  suffering  brought  Kb  to  where  he  resolved 
that  at  any  cost  he  wou'd  have  this  dreadful 
thing  off  his  mind.  Whom  could  he  tell? 
Prue?  It  would  kill  her.  Prue's  minister,  who 
pounded  the  big  pulpit  cushion  on  Sundays? 
He  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  meeting  the 
eyes  of  that  stern  man.  Peter  Small?  Yes. 
He  would  go  to  Peter,  and,  if  he  proved  well 
enough  to  listen,  tell  him  all.  He  begged  some 
of  Prue's  flowers  and  made  a  big  bouquet, 
then  started  on  his  mission,  feeling,  strangely 
enough,  a  certain  peace.  They  cou'd  do  no 
more  than  hang  him,  any  way. 

He  knocked  timidly  at  the  door  where  Peter 
lived  with  his  daughter,  glad  to  see  that  it 
as  yet  bore  no  crape.  A  slender  young  man 
opened  it. 

"I  have  brought  some  flowers  for  Peter," 
said  Eb,  timidly  taking  off  his  hat. 

"Come  in,  my  dear  child,"  answered  the 
young  man. 

This  was  too  much  for  the  poor  boy.  He 
looked  up  into  the  stranger's  kind  face  and 
began  to  cry. 

"Please,  sir,"  he  said,  moved  by  an  un- 
known impulse,  "I  am  the  boy  that  let  the 
elevator  down,  and  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  him, 
and  I  haven't  had  a  bit  of  peace  since — and — 
and — and  will  they  hang  me  ?  " 

Poor  words  enough,  but  his  little  heart  was 
in  them,  and  he  would  have  fallen  upon  the 
floor  in  very  agony  of  spirit  if  the  priest  had 
not  put  a  firm  arm  about  him. 

"My  poor  little  fellow!"  he  said.  "Come 
in  and  tell  me  all  about  your  troubles  "  And 
when  the  boy  had  sobbed  out  his  sad  story 
Father  Anselm  said  to  him:  "Peter  is  not 
going  to  die,  and  will  be  glad  to  see  you  and 
have  the  flowers.  He  has  forgiven  the  boy 
who  caused  his  fall ;  j^ou  have  nothing  to  fear 
from  him  or  any  one. ' ' 

It  seemed  to  Eb  that  a  stone  weighing 
about  a  ton  had  been  rolled  from  his  heart  as 
he  wiped  his  eyes  and  knelt  by  the  old  man's 
bed. 

"It's  only  a  dislocated  shoulder,  my  little 
lad,"  said  Peter,  kindly.  "And  these  gera- 
niums are  beautiful." 

There  is  little  more  to  tell.  I  think  Eb  was 
from  that  time  the  happiest  boy  in  Discord, 


and  the  happiest  in  the  whole  world  when, 
Peter  being  well  enough  to  act  as  godfather, 
he  went  to  the  church  and  exchanged  the 
name  of  Ebenezer  for  another  as  Father  An- 
selm baptized  him. 

And  that  is  all  the  story. 

"But,  Brother,"  said  Harry,  "what  became 
of  Prue?" 

"Oh,  Prue  is  alive  and  well  to-day,  thank 
God!"  answered  Brother  Basil. 

"And  Ebenezer?"  asked  Harry,  with  a 
merry  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

But  Brother  Basil,  who  had  been  telling  the 
story  of  his  own  childhood  as  a  lesson  to  the 
children,  only  laughed,  and  said  that  the  tide 
had  turned,  and  it  was  time  to  go  back  and 
teach  the  philosophy  class. 


Polly  Jones. 


BY    MARION  J.  BRUNOWE. 


(CONCI^USION.) 
II. 

A  week  later  all  was  bustle  and  confusion 
in  the  Jones'  household.  The  city  relatives 
had  just  arrived,  and  were  being  welcomed 
in  the  hall  by  Mrs.  Jones.  Mr.  Jones  and  Jim 
had  driven  to  the  station  to  meet  them,  much 
against  Polly's  wish,  who  had  tried  to  per- 
suade her  father  that  he  should  let  one  of  his 
men  go.  "It'll  look  just  like  a  coachman, 
your  driving  there  yourself,  pa,"  she  said. 
But  as  pa,  fond  as  he  was  of  his  daughter,  had 
a  good  deal  of  downright  common  sense, 
Polly's  elegant  proposal  fell  flat,  her  father  at 
the  same  time  indulging  in  a  laugh  at  her 
expense.  As  for  Polly  herself,  she  would  not 
appear  till  the  last  moment,  and  then  she 
should  "sweep  majestically  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  make  a  profound  bow."  That  was 
the  way  Cynthia  Dorothea  entered  a  room. 
Probably  such  common  things  as  brooms  were 
unknown  where  Cynthia  Dorothea  lived. 

Polly's  city  cousins  should  see  that  they 
had  at  least  one  elegant  relative  in  the  coun- 
try. She  stood  before  her  mirror  now,  putting 
the  last  touches  to  her  flaring  green  costume, 
and    feeling,  it    must    be   confessed,  a   trifle 


478 


The  Ave  Maria 


nervous  at  the  sounds  of  arrival  down-stairs. 
What  would  cousin  Lu  be  like  ?  Would  she 
be  a  "proud,  stuck-up  thing/'  and  say,  "Ah! 
I  presume  so,"  to  every  remark,  with  a  lan- 
guid, affected  drawl  ?  Or  would  she  resemble 
the  perfect  Cynthia  Dorothea,  "so  calm,  so 
cold,  so  haughty  to  common  people,  whom 
she  considered  beneath  her,  but  so  adorably 
gushing  to  those  whom  she  allowed  to  enter 
the  innermost  circle  of  her  heart ' '  ?  But  here 
Polly's  cogitations  were  abruptly  brought  to 
an  end. 

"Marie  Polly  Mary  Ann  May  Jones,  come 
down  here  and  see  cousin  I<u ! "  came  in  that 
awful  Jim's  well-known  tones,  and  at  the  same 
instant  he  banged  on  her  door  with  all  his 
might.  There  was  no  help  for  it,  she  must 
appear  and  at  once,  or  there  was  no  knowing 
what  else  that  dreadful  small  brother  would 
say.  So,  half-laughing,  half  crying  with  ner- 
vousness and  vexation,  Polly,  as  she  would 
have  herself  expressed  it,  "emerged  from  her 
chamber  and  glided  down-stairs. ' ' 

"So  this  is  cousin  Polly,  of  whom  I  have 
heard  so  much?"  said  a  sweet, silvery  voice, 
and  a  young  girl  about  three  years  Polly's 
senior,  with  outstretched  hand  and  smiling 
face,  came  quickly  forward  to  meet  her.  She 
was  tall,  slender,  rather  delicate,  and  undoubt- 
edly very  stylish-looking.  Her  hair  and  eyes 
were  dark,  and  about  the  latter  there  was 
such  a  kind,  truthful,  friendly  look  that  they 
redeemed  an  otherwise  rather  plain  counte- 
nance, making  Lulu  Shepard  truly  beautiful 
with  the  best  of  all  beauty — that  of  expres- 
sion. Hercostume  was  a  tailor-made  travelling 
suit  of  dark- green  cloth,  with  a  little  toque  of 
green  to  match.  The  latter  was  garnished 
with  a  dash  of  pink  at  one  side,  which  just 
relieved  the  sombre  tone  of  the  whole. 

"Such  a  plain  dress,  and  yet  how  lady-like 
and  refined  she  looks!"  was  Polly's  some- 
what surprised  mental  comment.  And,  strange 
to  say,  she  quite  forgot  to  make  the  stately 
bow,  and  ki.ssed  her  cousin  with  a  warmth 
truly  unfashionable. 

Lulu's  manner  was  contagious,  and  won 
Polly  over  to  naturalness  in  spite  of  herself. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you! "  Lulu  went  on  ; 
"for  I  have  long  wanted  to  know  my  only 
girl  cousin.  Come,  till  I  show  you  to  mamma. 
You  know  you're  her  goddaughter,  and  I'm 


sure  she'll  be  very  proud  of  you.  Is  this  the 
way  ? "  And  she  drew  Polly  toward  the  parlor 
door,  from  the  direction  of  which  came  the 
sound  of  several  voices. 

Polly  drew  herself  up ;  now  was  the  time  to 
make  an  impression.  She  had  seen  Aunt  Sara 
when  a  child,  and  how  well  she  remembered 
the  grand,  queen  like,  stately  godmother,  who 
inspired  her  with  such  awe!  She  would  do  the 
sweeping,  bowing  act  now,  any  way, — but,  to 
twist  an  old  adage  round,  "Polly  proposes, 
Jim  disposes."  It  was  quite  accidentally, 
however,  that  Jim  disposed  of  Polly  in  such 
an  ungraceful  fashion.  Just  as  she  stood  on  the 
threshold,  advancing  her  right  foot  prepar- 
atory to  drawing  it  back  in  the  proper  position 
for  the  bow,  that  awkward  boy  came  rushing 
up,  tripped  over  a  tack,  and,  to  save  himself, 
made  a  wild  clutch  at  Polly's  leg.  This  precip- 
itated her,  unexpectedly  and  unceremoniously, 
into  the  room,  landing  her  in  a  chaotic,  con- 
fused heap  at  her  aunt's  very  feet. 

"Sara,  this  is  Mary  Ann,"  Mrs. Jones  was 
saying,  as  she  tenderly  assisted  the  crestfallen 
Polly  to  rise. 

Aunt  Sara  embraced  her  goddaughter  in  a 
hearty,  motherly  manner,  remarking  at  the 
same  time,  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  her  eye, 
"Although  Mary  Ann  'stooped  to  conquer,' 
it  wasn't  at  all  necessary:  Aunt  Sara  knows 
and  loves  Polly  already."  And  thus,  in  spite 
of  her  dreadful  embarrassment,  Polly  was 
forced  to  laugh  She  was  naturally  quick  of 
comprehension,  and  saw  at  once  what  a  grace- 
ful way  this  was  of  explaining  her  awkward 
tumble. 

Aunt  Sara  and  cousin  Lu  were  so  different 
from  what  she  had  expected!  It  was  quite 
surprising  they  didnt  put  on  any  airs  at  all. 
All  her  little  set  speeches  prepared  for  the 
occasion  quite  deserted  her,  and  before  the 
evening  was  over  she  found  herself  chatting 
comfortably  and  naturally  with  her  newly- 
acquainted  relatives— all  except  Uncle  Charles, 
and  nobody  seemed  to  get  on  with  Uncle 
Charles.  He  was  a  big,  burly  man;  Polly's 
novels  would  have  described  him  as  a  "large, 
portly  gentleman."  He  had  a  very  loud  voice 
and  a  very  gruff  manner,  and  his  wife  and 
daughter  both  seemed  rather  afraid  of  him. 
As  for  Ray,  he  positively  trembled  every  time 
his  father  looked  at  him. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


479 


Ray  was  a  small  boy,  of  about  the  same 
stamp  as  Jim,  one  would  say  at  the  first  glance, 
though  as  time  went  on  it  was  proved  there 
was  a  wide  difference  between  them.  Ray's 
face  and  hands  were  ahvays  clean,  Jim's  never ^ 
Jim  always  told  the  truth,  Ray  rarely  or  never. 
Jim  never  smoked  cigarettes,  'cause  his  father 
had  made  him  promise';  Ray  consumed  a 
package  a  day  for  the  very  same  reason.  "It 
was  so  jolly  to  steal  a  march  on  the  cranky 
old  'gov!'"  he  informed  Jim.  Ray  was  evi- 
dently not  an  improving  companion  for  Jim; 
and  Jim,  wild,  harum-scarum  lad  as  he  was, 
despised  his  city  cousin. 

Polly  and  lyulu  became  great  friends,  and 
in  hearing  all  about  her  cousin's  city  life 
Polly  forgot  her  novels.  Lulu  had  just  gradu- 
ated from  a  convent  school,  and  expected  to 
enter  society  that  winter. 

"I  know  I  shall  have  a  gay  time,"  she  said. 
"But  oh,  I  wonder  if  I  shall  be  as  happy  as 
I  was  at  school  with  the  dear  nuns! " 

Polly  stared  at  her  in  undisguised  amaze- 
ment. To  go  to  balls,  parties,  plays,  operas, 
every  night;  to  wear  silks,  satins,  laces  and 
jewels;  to  bowl  along  Fifth  Avenue  and 
through  Central  Park  in  a  stylish  carriage 
every  afternoon, — oh,  such  meant  being  in 
society,  and  such  was  the  height  of  bliss!  Of 
course,  in  Bilgate  it  was  considered  quite 
"tony"  to  go  to  boarding-school,  and  Polly 
would  like  a  year  or  so  of  that  experience 
herself;  but  for  a  young  lady  about  entering 
society  to  wonder  if  she  would  be  as  happy 
as  shut  up  in  a  school  was  a  thing  undreamt 
of.  Alas,  how  little  Polly  knew  of  the  world! 

"You  ought  to  be  a  very  happy  girl,  Polly 
Jones,"  Lulu  went  on.  "You  have  a  happier 
home  than  most  of  my  girl  friends.  Your 
papa  is  so  good  and  kind,  and  you  can  talk  to 
him  and  pet  him  the  same  as  you  can  your 
mamma."  And  Lulu  gave  a  little  involuntary 
sigh  as  she  glanced  toward  the  porch,  where 
her  father  sat  glumly  reading  the  paper.  Al- 
though she  waited  on  and  tended  her  mother 
— who  was  somewhat  of  an  invalid — with  a 
tenderness  and  care  beautiful  to  see,  yet  she 
never  attempted  the  slightest  familiarity  with 
her  father. 

Polly  had  not  before  thought  that  she  had 
a  particularly  happy  home,  but  now  Lulu's 
remark  and  the  evident  inference  to  be  drawn 


from  it,  opened  her  eyes  a  little.  She  would 
not  like  to  have  Uncle  Charles  in  exchange 
for  her  easy-going,  kind-hearted  pa.  She  shiv- 
ered every  time  the  former  looked  at  her,  he 
was  so  stern  and  cross.  Perhaps  life  in  the  gor- 
geous city  house  was  not  all  a  path  of  roses. 

If  Polly  could  but  have  known  the  meaning 
of  the  word  "domestic  tyrant,"  if  she  could 
have  been  present  whenever  a  milliner's,  dress- 
maker's, or  caterer's  bill  was  presented,  and 
witnessed  the  storm  of  wrath  from  the  head 
of  the  house — for  Mr.  Shepard,  while  desir- 
ing that  his  wife  and  family  should  keep  up 
a  magnificent  establishment  and  maintain  a 
position  in  society,  nevertheless  begrudged 
them  every  cent  they  spent, — then  indeed  she 
would  not  wish  to  change  places  with  cousin 
Lu.  If  Polly  but  knew  how  often  Uncle 
Charles  was  brought  home  to  poor  Aunt  Sara 
at  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
how  his  staggering,  uncertain  steps  had  to 
be  guided  to  his  own  door  by  a  tender-hearted 
and  most  tender-conscienced  policeman, — oh, 
then,  truly,  Polly  would  not  be  surprised  that 
Lu  should  wonder  if  she  would  be  as  happy 
at  home  as  at  school! 

Neither  had  simple  Polly  any  suspicions 
why  her  rich  relatives  sought  a  country  re- 
treat at  this  time  of  the  year.  Financial  difiS- 
culties,  creditors,  etc.,  were  words,  not  to  say 
experiences,  unknown  to  the  honest  country 
people.  However,  Polly  knew  enough  to  see 
that  her  own  pa,  with  his  unfashionable  clothes 
and  blunt,  hearty  manner,  was  a  thousand 
times  to  be  preferred  to  the  parent  whose 
every  glance  frightened  his  children. 

Polly  learned  still  more  from  Lu's  visit.  One 
day  the  latter  went  to  the  village  and  bought  a 
piece  of  plush,  a  roll  of  cotton-batting,  a  little 
package  of  orris  root,  and  a  couple  of  yards 
of  wide  ribbon.  Then  she  came  home,  brought 
down  her  little  work-basket  and  a  box  con- 
taining some  chenille  applique  flowers,  and  by 
evening  had  made  the  most  charmingly  com- 
fortable, pretty  little  "slumber  roll"  imag- 
inable, and  which  had  the  most  delicious 
perfume  of  violets  about  it. 

"Oh,  how  lovely!"  Polly  exclaimed,  en- 
thusiastically. 

"Well,  it  is  comfortable  any  way,"  Lu  an- 
swered. "And  I  am  going  to  give  it  to  Aunt 
Mary." 


480 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"How  kind  of  you,  cousin  Lu!"  said  Polly. 
*' It'll  look  too  stylish  for  anything  on  the 
back  of  that  big  chair  in  the  parlor." 

"But  I  don't  intend  it  for  the  big  chair  in 
the  parlor, ' '  said  lyU,  laughing.  ' '  I  want  Aunt 
Mary  to  rest  her  head  on  it  when  she  sits  in 
that  high-backed  rocker  e^^ery  night.  Don't 
you  often  notice  how  tired  she  looks,  Polly  ? ' ' 

Polly  was  silent  a  moment.  Perhaps  there 
was  the  tiniest  bit  of  reproach  in  those  simple 
words.  But  she  ventured,  somewhat  timidly 
it  is  true,  ' '  Isn'  t  it  almost  too  nice  for  that  ? ' ' 

"I  shouldn't  think  anything  too  nice  for 
my  mother, ' '  said  lyU  ^  "  and, ' '  she  added  more 
kindly,  "I  am  sure  you  don't  either,  Polly." 

Polly  had  noticed  that  mother  looked  tired 
nights,  but  it  hadn't  entered  her  mind  to  de- 
vise a  way  of  resting  tired  mother.  Now  Lu's 
words  set  her  a  thinking.  Perhaps  if  mother 
got  a  little  help  from  her  (Polly)  she  wouldn't 
look  so  tired.  And  in  the  future  mother  did 
get  a  little  more  help. 

"You're  stylish,  fashionable,  rich  people, 
but  you're  not  a  bit  like  the  people  in  my 
books,"  Polly  one  day  remarked  rather  sud- 
denly to  lyU. 

"What  books  do  you  read?"  was  Lu's 
question. 

Polly  named  a  few  of  her  favorites. 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  lyU,  in  tones  of  unmis- 
takable disgust,  "I  should  hope  we  weren't 
like  the  people  in  those  novels!  Why,  Polly, 
they  are  regular  fools!  " 

Polly  felt  her  face  growing  very  red.  Cyn- 
thia Dorothea  a  fool !  And  she  had  been 
trying  to  imitate  Cynthia  Dorothea!  What 
was  she? 

"I  wouldn't  read  any  more  of  them  if  I 
were  you,  Polly,"  continued  Lu.  "I  shall  send 
you  some  real  nice,  true  books  when  I  go 
home,  if  you  like." 

And  Lulu,  true  to  her  word,  did  send  Polly 
a  great  pile,  after  having  extracted  a  promise 
from  her  that  Cynthia  Dorothea  and  the  rest  of 
her  class  should  be  thrown  in  the  fire. 

After  all,  it  was  better  to  be  simple  and 
natural  like  cousin  Lu.  Polly  felt  more  com- 
fortable herself,  delighted  the  dear  hearts  at 
home,  and  made  many  friends,  when  she  gave 
up  the  idea  of  being  the  heroine  of  a  dime 
novel,  and  was  content  to  remain  simple 
Polly  Jones. 


A  Cup  of  Cold  Water. 


History,  it  is  often  said,  repeats  itself,  and 
the  noble  example  of  David,  the  minstrel 
King,  has,  unconsciously  perhaps,  been  written 
again  and  again  upon  its  broad  pages. 

The  Eastern  sun  was  burning  hot,  and 
he  was  a  beleaguered  wanderer.  The  well- 
springs  were  dried  by  the  fiery  breath  of  the 
desert,  and  the  King  and  his  men  were  alike 
suffering  all  the  torments  of  horrible  thirst. 
Then,  made  feverish — as  it  is  said  men  will  be 
when  deprived  of  water, — and  thinking  of  his 
more  youthful  day^s,  he  murmured  his  wish 
to  have  a  draught  from  the  well  at  Bethle- 
hem. Three  of  his  men  broke  through  the 
camp  of  the  Philistines,  reached  the  well,  and 
bore  a  cup  of  water  to  their  leader.  And  he, 
moved  by  this  act,  could  only  protest  that 
water  bought  so  dearly  was  too  sacrtd  for  him 
to  use, — that  it  was  like  drinking  the  blood  of 
those  brave  men;  and  he  poured  it  out  upon 
the  parched  soil  as  an  offering  to  the  Lord. 

Another  scene,  in  which  the  cup  of  water 
played  a  part,  had  Alexander  the  Great  for  its 
central  figure.  After  his  march  from  the  banks 
of  the  Indus,  he  and  his  warriors  were  mak- 
ing all  speed  to  get  home.  The  time  was  Sep- 
tember, and  the  summer's  sun  had  burnt  the 
sand  to  powder.  Other  commanders  had  here 
lost  great  armies  through  want  of  food  and 
water,  and  the  same  privations  began  to  mow 
down  the  forces  of  the  Greeks,  Bu:  Alexander, 
himself  suffering  from  a  wound,  urged  them 
on,  knowing  that  in  speed  only  there  was  hope. 
And  when  a  soldier,  with  great  difficulty, 
procured  for  him  a  little  water,  he,  l;ke  David, 
poured  it  upon  the  ground,  lest  his  warriors, 
seeing  him  drink,  should  thirst  the  more.  Who 
wonders  that  Alexander's  men  loved  him! 

Among  other  instances  we  select  but  one. 
Sir  Philip  Sidney,  tint  "very  perfect,  noble 
knight,"  was  mortally  wound :d,  ridiug  from 
the  fight  at  Zutphen.  There  was  but  one  cup 
of  water,  and  a  soldier  near  him  was  dying. 
"Give  it  to  him,"  said  Sir  Philip;  "his neces- 
sity is  greater  than  mine." 

Many  valorous  deeds  have  been  forgotten, 
but  these  instances  of  ;- elf-deny ii  g  love  are 
like  flowers  that  blossom  by  a  dusty  wayside. 

Francesca. 


Vol,.  XXIX, 


NOTRK  DAMB,  INDIANA,  NOVEMBER  23,  1889. 


No.  21, 


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


The  Mother. 

BY   MAURICE    FRANCIS    KGAN. 

TjTHE  mother  sat  among  a  throng 
^    Of  stately  men  and  women  fair, 
And  near  her  rang  a  voice  in  song 

That  all  the  world  had  called  most  rare, — 
'Keiist  du  das  Land?""  the  voice  cried  out, 
In  Goethe's  Mignon's  piteous  doubt. 

Riches  had  come, — this  mother  knew 
The  sound  of  adulation's  speech  ; 

All  things  were  easy  ;  servants  flew 
To  hand  the  book  within  her  reach  ; 

Her  life  was  full  of  luxuries, 

And  yet  a  vague  pain  dwelt  with  these. 

Her  guests  had  marvelled  at  \i^x  fetes, — 
"So  bright,  so  gay!— how  happy  she!" 
Her  riches  rapid  came,  though  late, — 

Ah,  soft  she  sighs,  as  tenderly 
'  Know'st  thou  the  land  ? ' '  the  song  demands, 
She  feels  the  touch  of  little  hands. 

Ah,  yes!  ah,  yes!  she  knew  the  lands 

Of  poverty  and  work  all  day. 
But  there  the  touch  of  little  hands 

Smoothed  all  the  cares  of  life  away, — 
The  sweet  voice  stops, — ah,  she  would  give 
All  for  the  touch  that  does  not  live! 


O  SWEET  confidence!  O  perfect  security! 
The  Mother  of  God  is  my  Mother!  What  an 
assured  hope  we  ought  to  have  of  our  sal- 
vation since  it  is  in  the  hands  of  Jesus,  our 
Brother,  and  Mary,  our  tender  Mother! — St. 
Ansehn. 


Our  Lady  of  Africa. 


BY  EIvI^IS   SCHREIBER. 


N  the  northern  coast  of  Africa,  at 
a  short  distance  from  the  town  of 
Algiers,  on  a  rocky  eminence  over- 
looking the  sea,  stands  the  Church  of  Our 
Eady  of  Africa,  now  a  place  of  popular  pil- 
grimage. The  devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin 
m  der  this  title  took  its  rise  from  very  small 
beginnings.  A  little  statue  of  Our  Lady,  placed 
by  a  devout  client  in  a  rude  shrine  by  the  way- 
side, in  a  spot  little  frequented  on  account  of 
the  ill-repute  it  had  acquired  as  the  resort  of 
evil-doers,  gradually  attracted  the  piety  of  the 
families  of  the  fishermen  and  sailors  of  the 
coast.  Many  an  anxious  wife  or  mother  would 
go  to  kneel  before  it,  and  pour  out  her  fears 
and  sorrows  at  the  feet  of  the  image  of  the 
Mother  of  Mercy,  the  Star  of  the  Sea,  who  is 
ever  the  tender  consoler  of  troubled  hearts. 
Gradually  it  became  known  as  a  place  of 
pilgrimage,  not  only  for  the  dwellers  in  the 
neighborhood,  but  for  the  seafaring  popula- 
tion for  miles  along  those  dangerous  shores. 
First  a  little  grotto,  formed  of  fragments  of 
rock  and  adorned  with  shells,  later  on  a  small 
chapel,  was  erected  to  afford  shelter  to  the 
venerated  image,  and  to  the  daily- increasing 
crowds  of  devout  worshippers  who  flocked  to 
it.  Soon  it  became  necessary  to  erect  a  larger 
church,  and  the  then  Bishop  of  Algiers,  Mgr. 
Pavy,  determined  that  it  should  be,  as  far  as 
possible,  worthy  of  its  object.  Accordingly, 
suitable  plans  were  prepared,  and  efforts  made 


482 


The  Ave  Maria. 


in  every  direction  to  raise  the  funds  necessary 
for  so  costly  an  undertaking.  The  appeal 
was  warmly  responded  to,  and  the  work 
proceeded  rapidly;  but  the  good  Bishop  who 
inaugurated  it  did  not  live  to  witness  the 
final  completion  of  his  design.  Before  his 
death,  however,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 
gazing  from  his  window  on  the  white  cupola 
of  the  beautiful  basilica,  already  surmounted 
by  the  cross,  and,  owing  to  its  elevated  posi- 
tion, a  landmark  to  be  descried  far  out  at  sea. 
It  fell  to  the  part  of  his  successor,  the  illus 
trious  Cardinal  (then  Bishop)  I^avigerie,  to 
consecrate  the  edifice,  and  to  spread  by 
every  means  in  his  power  the  devotion  to 
Mary  Star  of  the  Sea.  To  her  the  mariner,  in 
putting  off  from  the  shore,  breathes  a  prayer 
for  protection;  to  her,  when  at  the  close  of 
his  voyage  he  again  touches  land  in  safety, 
he  raises  his  heart  in  grateful  thanksgiving. 

Almost  immediately  after  his  nomination 
to  the  archiepiscopal  throne  of  Algiers,  Mgr, 
lyavigerie  had  occasion  to  make  personal  ex- 
perience of  the  loving  kindness  of  the  Queen 
of  Heaven,  invoked  under  her  titles  of  Our 
I/ady  of  Africa  and  Stella  Maris.  He  took 
possession  of  his  see  on  May  16,  1867.  Before 
many  weeks  were  past  he  discovered  that,  for 
the  settlement  of  the  affairs  of  the  diocese,  it 
was  necessary  for  him  to  go  to  Rome  for  an 
interview  with  the  Pope,  and  afterward  to 
proceed  to  France  to  confer  with  the  heads 
of  the  Government  on  many  important  mat- 
ters. He  was  detained  in  Paris  far  longer  than 
he  had  anticipated,  in  consequence  of  a  serious 
illness;  indeed,  fiom  the  time  of  his  leaving 
Algiers  until  he  was  able  to  return  a  period 
of  more  than  three  months  elapsed. 

He  re- embarked  at  Marseilles  on  September 
22,  accompanied  by  several  priests  and  relig- 
ious of  various  communities,  among  whom 
was  the  venerated  superior  of  the  Monastery 
of  la  Trappe  at  Staoueli.  It  was  the  season 
of  the  year  when  the  equinoctial  gales  are 
to  be  dreaded,  and  before  the  vessel  which 
carried  the  prelate  had  been  many  hours  at 
sea  a  furious  storm  arose.  So  fierce  was  the 
rage  of  the  tempest  that  the  sailors  belonging 
to  the  ports  of  Marseilles  and  Algiers  subse- 
quently declared  that  its  equal  had  not  been 
known  for  years.  The  steamer,  which  w^as 
called  the  Hermus,  was  one  of  the  smallest  of 


those  belonging  to  the  Compagnie  des  Messa- 
geries,  that  were  employed  to  carry  the  mails 
between  France  and  Algeria.  Upon  this  occa- 
sion it  happened,  unfortunatelj^  to  be  more 
heavily  laden  than  usual;  for  in  addition  to 
the  passengers — who  numbered  over  seven 
hundred,  the  greater  part  of  them  being  sol- 
diers,—  it  carried  a  considerable  cargo. 

The  captain,  seeing  the  magnitude  of  the 
danger,  endeavored  to  make  for  land.  It  was 
too  late,  however:  the  violence  of  the  wind, 
which  blew  a  hurricane  from  the  northwest, 
was  so  great  that  the  vessel  could  not  make 
way  against  it,  and  she  was  compelled  there- 
fore to  proceed  on  her  course,  tossed  hither  and 
thither  at  the  mercy  of  the  billows.  Presently 
a  wave  more  powerful  than  the  rest  struck  the 
little  steamer  with  such  force  as  to  unship  the 
helm,  placing  it  in  a  situation  of  imminent  dan- 
ger. The  engine  fires,  too,  were  extinguished 
by  the  water  which  gradually  rose  in  the  hold^ 
and  ofiicers,  crew  and  passengers  expected 
every  moment  that  the  vessel  would  founder. 

Consternation  was  written  on  every  coun- 
tenance; some  of  the  passengers  seemed  par- 
alyzed with  terror,  others  grew  wild  with 
delirium,  others  again  gave  way  to  hopeless 
despair.  The  officer  who  was  second  in  com- 
mand loaded  his  revolver,  declaring  aloud  his 
intention  to  blow  out  his  brains  as  soon  as 
death  appeared  inevitable.  This  foolish  act 
completed  the  panic;  but  amid  the  general 
confusion  that  prevailed  faith  rose  triumphant. 
Mgr.  Lavigerie  lifted  up  his  voice  and  called 
upon  all  present  to  repent  of  their  sins  and 
place  their  trust  in  God.  After  himself  receiv- 
ing absolution  from  one  of  the  priests  on  board, 
he  gave  it  to  the  other  passengers,  exhorting 
them  to  make  a  vow  to  go  in  pilgrimage  to  the 
shrine  of  Our  I^ady  of  Africa  should  they  be 
delivered  from  shipwreck  ;  and  his  suggestion 
was  complied  with  by  the  greater  number. 

Meanwhile  the  Abbot  of  la  Trappe  was  rest- 
ing tranquilly  in  his  berth.  The  Archbishop 
made  his  w^ay  down  to  the  cabin,  and  informed 
him  of  the  vow  that  had  been  taken.  "I  too," 
said  the  good  Abbot,  "have  commended  my- 
self to  the  Mother  of  Mercy,  to  Our  Lady  of 
Africa.  I  tell  her,"  he  added,  with  the  sim- 
plicity that  springs  from  trustful  faith,  "that 
if  she  lets  us  go  down,  with  an  Archbishop 
and  so  many  priests  and  religious  on  board, 


The  Ave  Maria. 


483 


it  will  be  something  little  to  her  credit. 
Everyone  who  hears  of  it  will  feel  sure  that 
we  invoked  her  aid;  and  if  she  leaves  us  to 
perish,  who  can  be  expected  to  have  any  con- 
fidence in  this  new  pilgrimage  ? ' ' 

Even  in  so  critical  a  moment  the  Arch- 
bishop could  not  help  smiling  at  the  worthy 
Abbot's  plain  speaking;  and  in  his  secret 
heart  he  too  registered  a  solemn  vow.  He 
resolved  to  establish,  in  the  Church  of  Our 
I,ady  of  Africa,  prayers  in  perpetuity  for  sea- 
farers, both  living  and  dead, — for  the  living, 
in  order  that  the  protection  of  Mary  might  be 
extended  to  them  amid  the  perils  to  which 
they  were  constantly  exposed  in  the  pursuit 
of  their  calling;  for  the  dead,  that  although, 
dying  at  sea,  they  were  deprived  of  the  priv- 
ilege of  Christian  sepulture,  they  might  at 
least  share  in  the  suffrages  of  the  Church  for 
the  faithful  departed. 

Shortly  afterward  the  wind  suddenly  died 
away,  and  the  sea  became  so  much  calmer 
that  it  was  possible  to  improvise  a  temporary 
rudder.  On  the  sixth  day  after  leaving  Mar- 
seilles the  Hermus  reached  her  destination. 

Mgr.  Lavigerie  was  not  slow  in  fulfilling 
the  promise  he  had  made  in  his  hour  of  need. 
Exactly  a  month  after  landing  he  issued  a 
pastoral  letter,  in  which,  after  exhorting  his 
flock  frequently  to  visit  the  Church  of  our 
Lady  of  Africa  for  their  private  devotions,  he 
announced  a  public  ceremony  to  be  held  on 
November  9  in  the  same  year,  for  the  inaugu- 
ration, by  a  solemn  High  Mass,  of  the  prayers 
it  was  his  intention  to  institute  on  behalf  of  the 
seafarers  of  the  coast  He  invited  all  the  clergy, 
regular  and  secular,  of  the  town  and  its  im- 
mediate neighborhood  to  assist,  with  as  many 
of  the  laity  as  possible,  more  especially  the 
wives  and  families  of  sailors  and  fishermen. 
In  addition  to  the  prayers  daily  recited  in  the 
church,  he  ordered  a  service  to  be  performed 
on  Sundays  after  Vespers,  on  the  summit  of 
the  cliff  whereon  the  church  stands,  for  the 
repose  of  the  souls  of  those  whose  grave  was 
in  the  stormy  deep. 

From  that  time  forward  every  Sunday 
afternoon,  at  the  conclusion  of  Vespers,  a  pro- 
•cession,  composed  principally  of  the  Algerian 
Missionaries,  with  their  pupils  and  the  stu- 
dents of  the  Missionary  College,  may  be  seen 
to  issue  from  the  Church  of  Our  Lady  of  Africa, 


and  proceed  to  the  verge  of  the  eminence 
overlooking  the  sea.  The  priest  is  vested  in  a 
black  cope,  as  if  he  were  going  to  officiate  at 
a  funeral ;  before  him  four  choir-boys  bear  a 
pall,  while  two  others  carry  the  incense  and 
holy  water.  The  cross-bearer,  who  heads  the 
procession,  pauses  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  the 
base  of  which  is  washed  by  the  restless  waves. 
The  pall  is  extended  at  the  priest's  feet;  be- 
yond it  he  looks  out  over  the  ocean,  whose 
glittering  surface  is  a  vast  shroud,  beneath 
which  lie  hidden  so  many  victims  sacrificed  to 
the  rage  of  the  elements.  The  Libera  and  De 
Profundis  are  chanted ;  then  the  prie^jt  intones 
the  Pater,  and  sprinkles  holy  water  in  the 
direction  of  the  sea.  After  which  he  takes  the 
censer,  and  elevates  it  three,  times,  turning 
toward  the  east,  the  west,  and  the  north,  as 
if  to  render  the  last  honors  to  the  children  of 
the  Church  whose  bodies  repose  beneath  the 
wide  expanse  of  azure  water.  Finally,  the  ac- 
customed prayers  for  the  dead  are  recited  for 
the  intention  of  those  who  have  died  at  sea. 

It  must  not  be  imagined  that  prayers  for 
mariners  are  in  general  connected  with  the 
cultus  paid  to  the  Help  of  Christians  under 
her  title  of  Our  Lady  of  Africa.  The  cere- 
monial described  above  is  a  local  custom,  in- 
stituted, as  we  have  seen,  by  Mgr.  Lavigerie 
in  fulfilment  of  the  promise  made  by  him 
when  in  peril  at  sea.  The  Blessed  Virgin  is 
the  patron  of  the  whole  Continent,  and  to  her 
was  specially  dedicated  the  Society  of  African 
Missionaries,  founded  and  directed  by  Mgr. 
Lavigerie,  as  well  as  the  community  of  Sis- 
ters whom  he  instituted  to  supplement  their 
apostolic  labors. 

On  July  2,  1872,  the  Archbishop  of  Algiers 
solemnly  consecrated  the  Church  of  Our  Lady 
of  Africa.  On  the  same  day  the  remains  of  his 
predecessor,  Mgr.  Pavy,  were  removed  from 
the  temporary  resting-place  where  they  had 
been  laid,  and,  in  accordance  with  the  wish 
he  had  expressed,  interred  in  the  beautiful 
structure  his  piety  and  zeal  had  been  the 
means  of  erecting,  at  the  feet  of  the  statue  of 
her  whom  he  loved  to  honor  under  the  title 
of  Patroness  of  Africa.  Not  merely  the  site 
of  the  church,  but  also  a  considerable  portion 
of  ground  adjoining  it  had  been  purchased 
by  Mgr.  Pavy ;  in  consequence  of  this,  when 
the  civil  authorities  of  Algiers,  infected  by  the 


484 


The  Ave  Maria, 


anti-Christian  spirit  of  the  French  Govern- 
ment, prohibited  the  procession  customary  in 
all  Catholic  countries  on  the  Feasc  of  Corpus 
Christi,  Mgr.  I^avigerie  was  able  to  transfer 
the  solemn  celebration  of  the  Festival  from 
the  Cathedral  of  Algiers  to  the  Church  of  Our 
Lady  of  Africa.  He  invited  the  inhabitants 
of  the  town,  instead  of  assembling  in  the 
streets,  to  repair  to  the  adjoining  heights; 
and  there,  in  the  presence  of  a  vast  multitude, 
some  20,000  in  number,  a  procession  took 
place  more  grand  and  imposing  than  any 
witnessed  in  Northern  Africa  since  the  days 
of  SS.  Cyprian  and  Augustine. 

The  first  Provincial  Synod  held  in  Africa 
since  the  revival  of  the  ancient  glory  of  the 
Church  on  her  shores  was  convoked  by  the 
Archbishop  of  Algiers  in  1873.  It  was  held  in 
the  Church  of  Our  Lady  of  Africa,  and  was 
attended  by  a  ceremony  of  great  pomp  and 
magnificence.  Early  in  the  morning  of  May  4, 
amid  an  immense  concourse  of  people,  natives 
of  the  place  and  colonists  of  all  nations — Jews, 
Mahometans  and  Christians,  ^-a  procession  of 
all  the  archbishops  and  bishops  of  the  prov- 
ince, arrayed  in  their  pontifical  vestments 
with  mitre  and  cross,  attended  by  the  clergy, 
regular  and  secular,  and  followed  by  the  con- 
gregations and  schools  of  the  vicinity,  left  the 
house  of  the  Algerian  Missions,  and  wended 
its  way,  passing  beneath  a  series  of  triumphal 
arches,  to  the  temporars^^  Chapel  of  Our  Lady 
of  Africa.  There  twelve  stalwart  Neapolitans, 
fishermen  of  Algiers,  dressed  in  suits  of  white 
made  for  the  occasion,  waited  in  order  to  carry 
the  statue  of  their  beloved  Patroness  to  the 
place  it  was  thenceforth  to  occupy  over  the 
altar  of  the  new  sanctuary.  The  appearance  of 
the  venerated  image  was  greeted  by  the  spec- 
tators with  shouts  of  joy,  and,  while  the  Ave 
Maris  Stella  was  sung,  it  was  borne  to  the 
church  and  placed  on  the  throne  prepared  for 
it.  There  it  was  solemnly  incensed  by  the 
Archbishop,  who,  kneeling  before  it,  intoned 
the  antiphon,  5'^;zr/'«  Maria,  sucairrc  miseris, 
before  proceeding  to  open  the  Synod. 

Three  years  later  Pope  Pius  IX.,  in  order  to 
encourage  the  devotion  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Algeria  to  Our  Lady  of  Africa,  published  a 
brief,  in  which  he  raised  the  church  to  the  rank 
of  a  basilica,  according  to  it  all  the  indulgences 
and    spiritual    privileges   attaching   thereto. 


Furthermore,  in  a  second  brief,  in  accordance 
with  the  request  proferred  by  Cardinal  Lavig- 
erie,  he  granted  to  that  energetic  and  exem- 
plary prelate  permission  to  place  a  crown  on 
the  head  of  the  miraculous  statue  of  Our  Lady, 
in  the  name  of  the  Supreme  Pontiff,  for  the 
purpose  of  enhancing  by  this  visible  sign  of 
sovereignty,  the  veneration  and  respect  mani- 
fested toward  the  Queen  of  Heaven  by  her 
earthly  subjects.  This  twofold  favor  conferred 
on  the  sanctuary  of  Our  Lady  of  Africa  was 
announced  by  Cardinal  Lavigerie  in  a  pastoral 
letter,  wherein  he  invited  the  Catholics  of 
Algiers  and  its  environs  to  assist  at  the  cere- 
mony of  crowning  the  image  on  April  30, 1 876, 

On  the  afternoon  of  that  day  pious  pilgrims 
flocked  in  crowds  to  the  heights  whereon  the 
church  stands,  eager  to  pay  homage  to  their 
Benefactress  in  her  character  of  Queen  of  Af- 
rica. A  large  platform  had  been  erected  outside 
the  sacred  edifice ;  on  it  the  Cardinal  Arch- 
bishop, bishops  and  clergy,  arrayed  in  their 
ecclesiastical  vestments,  took  their  place,  and 
one  of  the  Fathers  of  Mercy  addressed  to  the 
assembled  multitude  an  eloquent  and  appro- 
priate discourse.  Then  the  crown,  fashioned 
of  gold  and  sparkling  with  gems,  was  carried 
in  procession  round  the  hill,  while  the  bells 
were  rung  and  hymns  of  praise  filled  the  air. 
Re-entering  the  basilica,  the  Cardinal  placed 
the  diadem  on  the  head  of  the  statue  of  Our 
Lady,  while  the  choir  chanted  the  Ave  Maria. 

Throughout  the  entire  course  of  his  epis- 
copate. Cardinal  Livigerie  hns  shown  himself 
most  zealous  in  promoting  and  extending  the 
devotion  to  Our  Lady  of  Africa.  Many  and 
rich  are  the  indulgences  he  has  obtained  from 
the  Holy  See  to  be  gained  by  the  faithful  who 
visit  her  shrine.  From  time  to  time,  addressing 
his  flock,  he  has  exhorted  them  to  invoke 
her  intercession,  reminding  them  how  many 
pilgrims  have  at  her  feet  found  cure  in  sick- 
ness, consolation  in  grief,  strength  and  help 
in  times  of  trial.  Finally,  he  has  lifted  up  his 
voice  and  called  upon  the  whole  of  Christen- 
dom, bidding  us  look  toward  Our  Lady  of 
Africa,  and  entreat  her  all-powerful  aid  on 
behalf  of  those  unhappy  sons  of  the  soil,  the 
enslaved  negroes,  whose  wrongs  are  a  disgrace 
to  the  civilized  world,  and  whose  cause  he  has 
pleaded  so  eloquently  before  princes  and  people 
in  every  capital  of  Europe.- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


iSs 


A  Sin  and  Its  Atonement. 


IV. 


OUR  guests  on  that  well- remembered  occa- 
sion lingered  late  into  the  afternoon,  and 
took  their  leave  reluctantly,  declaring  they 
should  not  soon  again  have  such  a  delight- 
ful meeting.  Edward  and  I  dined  alone.  I 
think  all  the  demons  of  hell  must  have  been 
about  us  that  evening :  such  excitement  had 
taken  possession  of  us  both,  such  blindness 
had  fallen  on  me!  As  we  passed  through  my 
dressing-room  on  retiring  for  the  night,  the 
light  of  my  oratory  filled  me  with  a  strong 
repugnance.  It  was  the  only  corner  of  the 
house  where  I  had  always  been  alone,  apart 
from  my  husband.  It  was  full  of  associations 
of  which  I  did  not  want  to  be  reminded. 

"What  would  be  the  most  reverent  way  of 
disposing  of  these  symbols,  which  have  done 
their  work,  and  which  I  no  longer  need?"  I 
asked,  pointing  to  the  crucifix  and  the  figures 
of  the  saints. 

"We  will  break  them  up  and  bury  them 
in  the  earth,  where  Nature  hides  her  symbols 
of  death,"  he  answered.  "I  never  could  un- 
derstand Catholics  representing  their  King  in 
degradation  when  they  believe  Him  to  be 
reigning  in  triumph."  And,  taking  a  hammer 
from  my  work-table,  where  a  medley  of  tools 
was  lying,  he  broke  up  the  figure  on  the  cross, 
while  I  held  a  cloth  to  receive  the  fragments. 
■"That  marble  statue  of  the  Virgin  is  a  perfect 
work  of  art,"  he  continued;  "we  will  keep 
that  in  the  drawing-room  as  an  exquisite  ideal 
of  pure  womanhood.  But  that  statue  of  St. 
Joseph  is  too  hideous ;  that  had  better  go  into 
the  earth  with  the  chrysalis  skins*"  And  so 
saying  he  raised  his  hammer  high  to  give  a 
vigorous  blow  to  the  head  of  the  statue. 

Whether  it  was  a  misdirected  blow,  or 
whether  the  hammer  flew  out  of  his  hand,  I 
never  knew,  but  it  struck  the  delicately  carved 
pedestal  on  which  the  Blessed  Virgin  was 
standing  and  broke  it.  The  heavy  marble 
statue  toppled  forward  and  fell  right  on  his 
upturned  face.  I  heard  a  cry  of  agony,  which 
rang  in  my  ears  for  months  afterward  ;  I  saw 
his  head  one  mass  of  blood.  For  a  moment 
my  heart  stood  still  with  a  horror  as  awful  as 
though  I  had  seen  the  heavens  opened  and 


the  Finger  of  God  stretched  out  to  strike  us 
both.  One  moment,  and  then  his  groans  re- 
called reason,  which  seemed  deserting  me.  I 
mastered  the  suffocating  palpitations  of  my 
heart  and  set  myself  to  the  task  before  me. 

That  next  dark  fortnight!  It  stands  in  my 
memory  like  a  long  cycle  of  years.  The  best 
surgeon  in  Paris  was  in  attendance,  but  for 
the  first  week  it  was  impossible  to  tell  whether 
Edward's  sight  was  irreparably  injured  or  not. 
The  fine,  noble  countenance  was  covered  with 
wounds,  and  I  was  thankful  that  the  utter 
darkness  in  which  he  had  to  be  kept  shut  out 
the  sight.  The  pain  and  inflammation  of  his 
eyes  brought  on  delirium,  but  even  then  he 
seemed  to  cling  to  my  presence,  and  would 
quiet  a  little  at  the  sound  of  my  voice.  So  I 
sat  on  in  the  dark  day  and  night,  feeling 
sometimes  as  if  the  eternity  of  woe  had  begun 
for  me.  Faith  had  come  back  with  overwhelm- 
ing reality.  For  one  brief  moment  of  delirious 
joy  God  had  been  nothing  and  the  creature 
everything.  Now  I  saw  Him  all  in  all,  as  the 
devils  do,  who  believe  and  tremble ;  and  we 
two  were  lying  crushed — he  in  body  and  I  in 
soul — beneath  His  avenging  hand.  I  could 
neither  think  nor  pray.  I  had  to  gather  my 
whole  strength  to  do  what  the  surgeon  sug- 
gested. And  if  ever  a  possible  future  in  this 
world  presented  itself,  it  came  with  the  con- 
viction that  things  could  never  return  to  their 
former  attitude ;  that  there  was  a  substance 
between  him  and  me  now  that  could  never 
again  be  felt  to  be  a  shadow. 

I  must  pass  hastily  on.  The  long  illness 
came  to  an  end  at  last,  and  his  eyesight  was 
spared.  The  skilful  care  of  the  surgeon,  and 
(as  he  assured  Edward)  my  unremitting  at- 
tention, had  done  much  to  prevent  lasting 
disfigurement  of  countenance.  But  the  mo- 
,  ment  he  was  pronounced  convalescent  my 
own  strength  gave  way,  and,  in  spite  of  all 
my  efforts  to  control  myself,  the  agony  I  was 
enduring  betrayed  itself. 

The  first  effort  of  his  strong  will,  as  soon 
as  he  recovered  his  normal  state  of  mind 
and  body,  was  to  ignore  all  that  had  passed, 
except  as  a  pure  accident,  and  to  suppose 
everything  exactly  at  the  same  point  as  before 
he  had  been  struck  down.  He  had  a  beau- 
tiful painting  of  the  sea,  of  w^hich  I  had  once 
expressed  great  admiration,  -placed  at  the  end 


486 


The  Ave  Ma7'm. 


of  the  dressing-room,  where  my  oratory  had 
been.  I  never  saw  such  a  reality  of  waves 
before  or  since;  and  over  the  great,  rolling 
billows  gleamed  an  angry  sky,  with  one  spot 
of  intense  sunset  brilliancy,  which  made  the 
water  look  like  fire. 

Edward  had  been  moved  to  the  other  side 
of  the  house,  which  was  quieter,  during  his 
illness,  and  I  had  never  been  in  that  room 
since  that  terrible  evening.  And  now,  on  my 
exhausted,  excited  brain,  the  sight  of  those 
wild,  howling  waves  in  the  place  of  all  my  ac- 
customed holy  things  came  as  the  last  stroke, 
and  I  utterly  broke  down.  I  raved  wildly 
about  perishing  in  the  waters  where  there 
was  no  help ;  that  I  was  going  to  die,  and  the 
little  life  that  was  twined  with  mine  would 
perish  with  me.  And  then  I  implored  Edward 
to  promise  that  if  my  child  lived  it  should  be 
brought  up  in  the  true  faith,  and  that  he 
would  not  let  me  die  without  a  priest.  My 
poor  husband!  The  doctor  told  me  afterward 
he  was  quite  heart-broken.  He  attributed  it 
all  to  my  over-exertion  during  his  illness. 
"She  has  sacrificed  herself  for  me!  She  will 
die!"  he  said. 

The  doctor  was  a  kind  and  at  the  same  time 
a  positive  man.  "This  will  never  do,"  he  said 
to  Edward.  "You  are  mutually  doing  each 
other  harm.  You  must  go  away  at  once,  and 
complete  your  cure  at  the  Wiesbaden  waters. 
Send  immediately  for  Mrs.  Carlyon's  mother. 
And  meantime  I  know  a  lady,  an  angel  of 
goodness,  who  will  soothe  and  nurse  her  in 
this  crisis  far  better  than  you  could.  Her  life 
depends  on  her  being  tranquillized." 

I  was  put  to  bed,  and  so  strong  a  sedative 
administered  that  I  slept  for  hours.  When  I 
awoke  I  found  a  very  sweet  faced  woman,  in 
a  widow's  cap,  sitting  by  my  bedside.  She 
seized  the  moment  of  my  waking  to  give  me 
something  in  a  glass,  and  said  in  English,  but 
with  a  slightly  foreign  accent:  "The  good 
angels  have  given  you  such  a  nice  sleep!  You 
will  soon  be  better."  And  as  she  spoke  she 
made  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  over  the  glass  she 
was  holding  to  my  lips. 

There  was  something  so  exquisitely  sweet 
and  soothing  in  the  tones  of  her  voice  that  I 
felt  lulled  into  repose  again.  Then  the  awful 
fear  and  suffering  rushed  back  like  a  tide,  and 
I  sat  up,  quivering  from  head  to  foot.  "I  am 


going  to  die,  I  think,  and  I  have  apostatized/ ' ' 
It  was  the  first  time  I  had  dared  to  put  the 
dreadful  thought  into  words,  even  to  myself 
There  was  such  a  deep,  tender  pity  in  those 
calm,  holy  eyes  that  in  the  midst  of  my  agita- 
tion I  thought,  "Oh,  she  has  suffered  toof 
She  has  been  in  the  deep  waters!  "  But  her 
manner  had  command  in  it,  as  she  laid  me 
back  on  the  pillow  and  said:  "I  know  your 
whole  story.  I  have  asked  an  English  priest 
to  come  here  to  day,  and  all  your  burden 
shall  be  lifted  off"  you.  But  yon  must  trust  to 
me,  and  not  try  to  think  or  prepare."  I  laid 
down  obediently,  and  tried  to  curb  my  agita- 
tion with  the  thought  that  she  was  caring  for 
my  soul  and  would  not  let  it  perish. 

When  the  doctor  came  again  I  seemed  to  be 
asleep.  I  heard  her  say  in  a  low  voice :  * '  There 
will  be  no  real  tranquillity  till  she  has  seen  a 
priest.  It  must  be  risked."^ — "I  have  profound 
confidence  in  you,  madame,"  the  doctor  an- 
swered, respectfully.  "Do  as  you  think  best. 
My  patient  is  already  in  a  more  hopeful  con- 
dition. If  she  can  be  kept  perfectly  quiet,  I 
think  she  will  pull  through." 

That  afternoon  I  learned  what  the  Sacra- 
ment of  Penance  truly  is  in  the  hour  of  deepest 
need.  My  dear,  true,  straightforward  husband 
had  waited  to  see  the  Duchess  de  Saintange 
before  she  took  charge  of  me,  and  told  her  the 
whole  history  with  the  utmost  frankness; 
and  the  saintly  Father  Edgeworth,  whom  she 
brought  to  my  bedside,  was  thus  able  to  help 
me  to  relieve  my  conscience  with  very  little 
effort.  The  flood  of  contrition  was  rest  and 
peace  compared  to  the  horror  which  had  been 
upon  me ;  and  the  first  kiss  I  dared  press  on 
the  feet  of  the  crucifix  after  I  knew  I  was  for- 
given— what  words  can  describe  what  that 
meant  to  me!  But  that  was  the  last  effort  my 
mind  could  make.  I  can  recall  noihing  of  the 
time  which  followed,  during  which  I  went 
down  into  the  shadow  of  death,  except  that 
when  they  laid  my  first-born  in  my  arms  I 
said  he  should  be  called  Christopher  and  be- 
long to  God  alone.  I  knew  I  was  in  my  own 
mother's  care,  and  asked  no  questions  as  to 
what  was  to  be  done  with  me. 

I  felt  neither  surprise  nor  regret  when  I  was 
told,  long  weeks  afterward,  that  my  husband 
had  been  obliged  to  sail  for  America,  and  that 
my  mother  was  going  to  take  me  back  to 


The  Ave  Maria. 


487 


Glencairn.  The  tide  of  life  had  gone  down  to 
its  ver3^  lowest  ebb,  and  it  was  not  till  I  had 
been  several  months  at  home,  breathing  my 
native  air,  and  soothed  by  the  presence  of  my 
beautilul  babe,  that  I  fully  realized  all  that 
had  happened,  and  that  I  was  the  very  same 
Margaret  Doone  who  had  gone  forth  as  a  bride 
in  the  strength  and  pride  of  life  only  two 
years  before. 

My  mother  had  had  several  notes  of  anx- 
ious inquiry  about  me  from  Edward,  but  it 
was  not  till  Christopher  was  six  months  old, 
and  I  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  begin  to 
consider  the  possibilities  of  rejoining  my  hus- 
band, that  I  was  handed  his  first  long  letter 
fi-om  "Mount  Carlyon,"  the  contents  of  which 
were  almost  as  startling  as  that  other  first 
letter  which  had  shaped  my  life.  After  ex- 
pressing his  joy  at  my  recovery,  and  the  well- 
being  of  his  little  son,  he  wrote : 

"j;  feel  I  have  need  of  all  the  generosity 
and  trust  there  is  in  your  nature  when  I  say 
that  I  feel  I  made  a  mistake  in  taking  you 
from  your  home  to  share  my  responsibilities 
before  my  life's  work  was  in  some  measure  ac- 
complished. Before  I  saw  you  I  had  resolved 
not  to  marry  till  after  I  had  realized  my  ideal  ; 
I  saw  that  the  leader  of  a  great  enterprise 
must  be  free  from  everything  that  could  dis- 
tract his  attention  from  his  aim  for  a  single 
moment.  Even  what  I  have  already  gone 
through  has,  in  some  slight  degree,  weakened 
the  vigor  of  will  and  indomitable  resolution 
necessary  for  coping  with  the  difficulties  and 
hardships  of  these  first  beginnings,  the  extent 
of  which,  I  frankly  own,  are  greater  than  I  had 
anticipated.  To  have  you  with  me  here  in  the 
present  state  of  things,  without  the  possibility 
of  any  religious  ministrations  whatever,  and 
consequently  not  happy,  would  thoroughly 
unnerve  me.  I  beseech  you,  therefore,  to  for- 
give me,  and  to  show  the  strength  of  your 
afi"ection  for  me  by  bearing  the  effects  of  my 
mistake  cheerfully,  and  waiting  in  patience 
till  I  can  bring  you  to  a  home  here,  where 
you  can  be  a  help  and  not  a  hindrance  to  my 
work.  How  long  this  may  take  to  bring  about 
it  is  impossible  to  say.  I  am  resolved  to  con- 
quer, however  long  the  struggle  may  be.  Of 
course,  if  that  word  of  hope  you  once  spoke 
could  have  been  realized, — if  really  and  truly 
you  saw  things  as  I  do,  and  could  teach  the 


religion  of  humanity  to  all  these  women  clam- 
oring for  some  place  of  worship, — it  would 
have  been  bliss  indeed ;  but  something  tells 
me  this  will  never  be ;  and  my  own  pain  is 
doyibled  in  thinking  of  the  pain  this  enforced 
separation,  temporary  as  it  is,  will  cost  you. 
Meantime  I  leave  the  education  of  our  child 
entirely  in  your  hands,  and  hope  you  will  find 
in  him  both  solace  and  support." 

(Perfectly  open  and  candid  as  this  exposition 
of  his  intentions  was,  I  read  between  the  lines 
something  of  which  he  was  himself  uncon- 
scious: a  dread  and  repugnance  toward  that 
which  he  had  formerly  treated  with  supreme 
indifi'erence.) 

There  followed  a  few  business  arrange- 
ments; the  money  settled  on  me  was  trans- 
ferred to  the  bank  at  Edinburgh ;  if  I  wanted 
money  for  any  special  purpose,  I  was  to  be 
sure  to  write  to  him  for  it.  The  letter  ended 
with  a  cry:  "Wait  for  me,  my  heart's  love 
and  only  treasure !  It  may  be  long,  but  I  will 
surely  come." 

I  read  this  letter  over  and  over  again  before 
I  took  in  its  whole  bearing;  then  it  slowly 
dawned  upon  me.  I  was  to  be  a  widowed 
wife  till  he  had  satisfied  his  ambition  and 
reigned  king  over  the  minds  of  his  colonists. 
Any  influence  running  counter  to  his,  even 
tacitly,  could  not  be  admitted.  That  powerful 
will  concentrated  on  one  object,  which  had 
so  fascinated  me,  was  now  turned  against  our 
mutual  happiness;  and  the  only  alternative 
from  a  long  separation  was  active  co-operation 
with  him  in  propagating  the  "religion  of 
humanity,"  which  I  knew  so  well  was  utterly 
false  and  hollow  and  opposed  to  the  Truth 
of  Christ. 

Thank  God!  this  did  not  even  present  itself 
as  a  temptation.  From  his  own  point  of  view 
he  was  perfectly  right.  People  can  dream  and 
talk  of  work  together  witho.ut  feeling  the  jar 
of  difference  of  faith ;  but  when  it  comes  to  the 
real  struggle,  to  the  influence  of  others  which 
comes  from  the  force  and  reality  of  what 
one  is,  such  mutual  work  becomes  impossible. 
Our  life  experiment  had  been  a  mistake;  our 
beautiful  dream  had  vanished,  touched  by  the 
breath  of  God.  And  he  gave  me  the  entire 
control  of  our  child  as  a  sort  of  compensation 
for  the  loss  of  all  beside. 

(TO   BE  CONTINUED.) 


488 


The  Ave  Maria. 


An  Afternoon  at  Northeast  Hstrbor. 

BY   FRANKI.IN   B.  GO  WAN. 

A  COVE  cleft  deep  into  the  rocky  shore, 
And  sheltered  by  the  everlasting  hills  ; 
At  whose  green  base  the  sea  its  fury  stills, 
And  sleeps  in  peace,  tho'  the  wild  storm  winds  roar. 
Far  out  above  the  wave,  the  ospreys  soar 
O'er  many  a  rugged  isle,  whose  beauty  fills 
The  heart  with  gladness,  and  the  spirit  thrills 
With  deep  delight  and  joy  unknown  before. 
The  setting  sun  illumes  the  mountain  height, 
And  to  the  east,  where  the  wild  storm  clouds  flee, 
A  gorgeous  rainbow  with  its  hues  of  light 
Spans  with  its  arch  the  pathway  to  the  sea ; 
And  in  that  Vista,  in  its  wondrous  might, 
The  glory  of  the  world  breaks  over  me. 


Notre  Dame  de  Reims. 


BY  OCTAVIA   HENSKI.. 


GRAY  with  the  dust  of  ages,  despoiled 
of  its  regal  treasure, — silent,  solitary, 
deserted, — the  great  Cathedral  stands  in  the 
centre  of  the  old  city  of  Reims ;  truly  ' '  a  sym- 
phony in  stone,"  but  sad  as  the  strains  of 
pathetic  minors  sung  in  the  gloaming  of  an 
autumn  day. 

Pages  of  history  spread  before  us  in  day- 
dreamland  as  we  went  eastward  to  this  old 
Gallic-Romau  city.  Skirting  the  leafy  forests 
of  sunny  Compiegne,  through  historic  Sois- 
sons,  with  its  medieval  castle  crowning  the 
southern  hills;  between  fields  well  tilled,  and 
woodlands  of  white  birch  and  russet  beech  ; 
past  beautiful  hedges  of  plumed  lilacs  and 
wild  currant;  castle  ruins  above  us,  where 
long  grasses  waved  fi-om  bastion  and  moss- 
patched  walls, — Fismes,  Romaine,  and  Muir- 
zon  all  passed,  we  finally  entered  Reims,  the 
city  whose  bivShops  consecrated  and  crowned 
the  kings  of  France. 

We  step  from  the  station,  and,  looking 
upward  to  the  right,  towering  above  all  sur- 
rounding objects, we  see  the  huge  stone  towers 
of  Notre  Dame.  A  few  moments'  walk  and 
we  stand  in  the  parvis,  where  so  many  royal 
corteges  have  paused  before  the  great  western 
portal,  so  like  the  massive  Church  of  Notre 


Dame  on  the  Isle  de  la  Cite  at  Paris  that  we 
imagine  the  same  architect  must  have  given 
identical  plans.  But  we  could  not  learn  the 
name  of  him  whose  spiritual  sense  of  Chris- 
tian art  designed  the  massive  towers,  and 
placed  the  firm  but  richly  decorated  but- 
tresses, upholding  aerial  galleries  that  trace 
themselves  in  lace-like  outlines  upon  a  sky  as 
blue  as  the  lovelj^  mantle  of  the  Immaculate 
Virgin  in  Murillo's  exquisite  vision  of  Las 
Perlas. 

We  enter  the  western  portal,  and  the  vast 
stone  nave  lies  before  us.  The  air  is  filled  with 
gray- white  dust,  floating  downward  from  the 
roof  of  the  choir,  where  workmen  are  cleaning 
and  repairing  a  ceiling  which  had  spread  above 
the  memorable  coronation  of  Charles  VII., 
and  the  oriflamb  of  Joan  of  Arc.  Forgetting 
for  a  while  the  historic  memories  that  throng 
this  old  Cathedral,  we  turn  to  the  tapestry- 
covered  walls  of  the  broad  aisles  that  ex- 
tend on  either  side  of  the  nave,  whose  huge 
pillars  uphold  the  galleries  of  the  friforhmi.^ 
The  tapestry  is  from  old  Flemish  looms,  al- 
though some  of  the  panels  have  the  finer  mesh 
of  Beauvais  weaving. t  Those  on  the  right 
as  we  enter  represent  different  scenes  from  the 
life  of  Our  Lord ;  those  on  the  left,  leading 
up  to  the  transept  altar  of  Our  Lady's  Chapel, 
are  all  scenes  from  the  life  and  history  of 
tlie  Blessed  Virgin  and  her  holy  mother,  St. 
Anna.  % 

Up  the  centre  of  the  nave  we  walked  upon 
a  pavement  of  marble  and  granite  slabs, — 
tombs  of  saintly  abbots  and  bishops  who  have 
ruled  in  centuries  gone  by.  These  tombs  date 
from  1406  and  even  older, — so  old  that  their 
dates  were  effaced;  only  the  white  marble 
mitre,  and  white  maniple  on  an  arm,  where 
once  the  effigy  of  a  bishop  had  lain,  were  all 
that  appeared  on  the  foot- worn  surface. 


*  These  pillars,  formed  by  a  round  Nomiau  shaft 
upon  which  smaller  columns  cluster,  rest  on  a  broad 
pedestal — a  massive  hexagon  which  serves  to  seat 
sixteen  persons, 

t  The  best  and  most  rare  pieces  of  these  tapestries 
were  sent  to  the  Paris  Exposition. 

X  The  tapestries  on  the  right  are :  the  Nativity  of 
Our  Ivord,  the  Visit  of  the  Magi,  Christ  with  His 
Disciples,  and  the  Last  Supper.  On  the  left  we  find  : 
the  Nativity  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  the  Annunciation, 
the  Espousals  of  Our  Lady,  the  Assumption  and 
Coronation. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


489 


Half-way  up  the  nave  we  turned  to  look 
back  at  the  maginficeiit  decoration  of  the 
western  portal  in  a  wall  of  sculptured  stone. 
Surrounding  figures  of  saints  and  warriors 
were  branches  of  laurel,  oak,  and  acorn,  with 
lilies  and  the  rose  of  Sharon  exquisitely 
twined.  Far  up  above  this  broad  expanse  of 
carving  was  the  great  rose- window,  *  a  mass 
of  jewelled  light — blue,  red,  yellow,  brown 
and  green,  exquisitely  blended ;  while  down 
the  dim  distance  of  the  aisles  in  the  old  glass 
of  the  windows  above  the  side  doorways,  gray 
and  brown  with  age,  repaired  with  modern 
ground-glass,  we  were  shown  two  old  bits 
of  the  original  glass,  lovely  in  sapphire  and 
ruby  splendor, — the  red  emblematic  of  our 
Divine  Lord,  and  the  blue  of  the  ever-blessed 
Virgin. 

We  resume  or.r  progress  toward  the  altar, 
into  the  gray  io..cimess  of  the  vast  Cathedral, 
lighted  by  dim  vitraux  of  clere-story  windows 
in  the  apse  above  the  chapels  which  encom- 
pass the  high  altar.  We  glance  at  the  pulpit 
on  our  left — an  octagon  of  oak  darkened  by 
time,  filled  with  traceries  of  almost  effaced 
carving ;  then,  as  we  approach  the  choir  rail- 
ing of  old  hammered  iron,  the  points  gilded 
or  bronzed,  we  notice  that  the  tapestries  which 
cover  the  bare,  damp  walls  of  the  aisles  in 
this  portion  of  the  Cathedral  are  rolled  up  to 
preserve  them  from  dust  and  damp.  Above 
the  northern  transept  we  catch  sight  of  the 
great  organ  of  sculptured  oak,  black  with 
time,  and  the  massive  leaden  pipes,  like  huge 
prison  bars,  shutting  into  silence  the  voices 
of  music  slumbering  there. 

The  old,  jewelled  effects  of  the  circling 
clere-story  windows  in  the  apse,  in  which  blue 
and  gray  predominate,  are  very  lovely  in  their 
sapphire  and  pearl  tints.  Standing  in  the 
choir,  now  so  desolate — for  the  canons'  stalls 
are  all  covered  with  dark  slate-colored  muslin, 
and  dust  lies  thick  on  the  altar  of  porphyry 
and  marble,  with  its  seven  great  bronze  can- 
dlesticks,— memory  recalled  the  many  scenes 
of  courtly  splendor.  Again  I  seemed  to  hear 
the  Te  Deiim,  intoned  by  the  clergy  leading 
and  the  crowd  pressing  after  the  Archbishop 
of  Reims,  as  he  rode  beside  Dunois  and  Joan 
of  Orleans  that  summer  day  four  centuries 


Sometimes  called  St.  Catherine's  wheel-wiudow. 


ago.  *  Just  beyond  were  the  altar  steps  where 
the  maiden  of  Domremy  had  upheld  the  ori- 
flamb  as  Charles  knelt  to  receive  the  crown 
of  France.  Here,  also,  that  crown  had  been 
placed  on  the  head  of  poor  Louis  XVI. ,t  the 
young  King  still  distrustful  of  himself ; ;{:  and 
yonder,  in  the  Chapel  of  Our  Lady,  the  young 
Queen  Marie  Antoinette  had  witnessed  the 
splendor  of  the  coronation  of  a  consecrated 
king.  And  here,  too,  after  his  consecration  at 
St.  Remi's  shrine,  Charles  X.  had  hastened 
to  renew  the  most  solemn  rite  of  ancient 
monarchy — the  coronation  at  Notre  Dame  de 
Reims.  §  And  here  the  afflicted  knelt  to  re- 
ceive the  kingly  touch,  through  which  they 
hoped  to  he  healed.  || 

As  we  leave  the  choir  to  visit  the  chapels 
we  notice  that  the  nave  is  lighted  by  five 
large  circular  candelabra  hung  from  the  roof 
on  either  side,  and  a  still  larger  one  before 
the  western  portal.  Prie-dieux  and  chairs  fill 
the  space ;  and  the  immense  pedestals  of  the 
huge  pillars,  with  seats  in  their  octagonal 
sides,  are  begrimed  from  being  much  used  by 
the  poorer  classes,  who  have  no  chairs. 

The  apse  of  the  Cathedral  encircling  the 
grand  altar  contains  seven  chapels,  divided  by 
fourteen  pillars,  upon  which  are  the  pictures 
of  the  Stations.  Nothing  more  imposing  can 
be  imagined  than  the  superb  spring  of  these 
lofty  arches  above  the  chapels, — arch  beyond 
arch,  interlacing  and  soaring  upward.  It 
seemed  like  a  wilderness  of  marble  forest 
glades  petrified  to  form  a  shelter  to  wanderers 
in  earth's  wilderness, — a  temple  to  God  Most 
High. 

Passing  from  the  southern  transept,  which 
contains  several  pictures  of  value  above  the 
baptismal  font,  we  enter  the  first  chapel,  a 
sepulchre-like  church,  containing  an  Entomb- 
ment— our  Blessed  Lord  lying  in  a  gray  stone 


*  Charles  VIL  was  crowned  at  Reims,  July  16, 1429. 

t  June  II,  1775. 

X  History  tells  us  that  when  news  of  the  death  of 
Louis  XV.  was  brought  to  the  palace,  Louis  XVI. 
and  Marie  Antoinette  threw  themselves  upon  their 
knees,  exclaiming,  "  O  God  protect  us,  direct  us!  We 
are  too  young  to  reign ! ' ' 

'i  May  29,  1825. 

II  As  much  of  antique  pomp  as  was  compatible 
with  modem  ideas  was  reproduced  at  the  coronation 
of  Charles  X.  The  King  touched  those  afflicted  with 
scrofula,  or  kin^'s-evil,  bidding  them  be  healed. 


490 


The  Ave  Maria, 


grotto,  watched  over  by  tlie  Angel  of  the 
Resurrection.  Thence  we  go  to  a  smaller 
chapel,  a  massive  gold  reliquary  over  its 
altar ;  beyond  this  is  the  Chapel  of  St.  Joseph, 
and  next  to  it  the  Chape]  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 
behind  the  Cathedral's  high  altar  It  was  the 
Vesper  hour,  and  as  we  reached  this  chapel 
six  purple  and  scarlet-robed  canons — old, 
white-haired  men — entered  and  knelt  before 
the  repositoi'y,  while  four  young  deacons  in  the 
rear  part  of  the  choir,  behind  the  sanctuary 
but  facing  tlie  Sacred  Heart  Chapel,  intoned 
the  Vesper  Psalms. 

Of  the  succeeding  chapels  leading  into  the 
northern  transept,  one  was  dedicated  to  the 
Blessed  Sacrament ;  another  was  a  memorial 
chapel ;  then  there  was  the  lovely  Chapel  of 
Our  Lady,  now  being  redecorated  in  exceed- 
ingly rich  polychrome,  in  which  blue,  gold, 
and  red  predominate.  The  gold  forms  2i  fleur- 
de-lis  on  a  blue  field,  with  the  R.  of  St.Remi- 
gius*  above  and  below,  among  the  golden 
lilies.  The  beautiful  white  marble  statue  of 
our  Blessed  Lady  with  the  Holy  Child  in 
her  arms  stands  beneath  a  canopy  of  gold, 
brown,  and  green. 

Through  the  dimljr-lighted  loneliness  of 
the  building  golden-toned  chimes  ring  out 
the  hour,  while  the  chiunting  of  the  canons, 
grand  in  voice  tone,  rofls  through  spaces  dim 
with  the  twilight  of  forgotten  history.  The 
great  Catherine  wheel  of  the  western  win- 
dow is  a  mass  of  jewelled  light,  and,  as  the 
chaunting  continues,  brms  of  the  historic 
past  throng  the  vast  temple  once  more ;  the 
gold  of  their  kingly  m^aitles  is  tarnished,  the 
iron  of  knightly  armor  is  dim  with  rust,  but 
the  chaunt  rolls  on,  and  silences  of  the 
past  are  vibrant  with  tlie  celestial  melody  of 
the  angel  greeting :  "Holy  Mary,  Mother  of 
God,  ora  pro  nobis!' ' 

*  St.  Remi  of  Reims. 


Those  who  follow  Ma  ry  will  never  deviate ; 
those  who  invoke  her  will  never  despair; 
those  who  think  of  her  will  never  go  astray. 
He  whom  she  sustains  ca  ji  not  fall ;  he  whom 
she  protects  has  nothing  t  o  fear ;  he  whom  she 
guides  will  never  go  asti  lay.  Under  her  pro- 
tection the  Christian  will  arrive  safely  at  the 
port  of  eternity. — St.  Ben  mrd. 


A  Glorious  Celebration. 


FOUR   MEMORABLE    DAYS. 


|N  the  golden  periods  of  Doctor  Gilmary 
I  Shea  the  historical  facts  of  our  century  of 
Catholicism  have  been  given,  and  these  lend 
such  absorbing  interest  to  the  celebration  of 
November  lo  that  a  slight  sketch  of  that  day's 
ceremonies  may  prove  acceptable. 

The  weather  had  been  so  unpromising — 
"The  clouds,  like  hooded  friars, 
Told  their  beads  in  drops  of  rain  " 

so  persistently — that  when  the  Sunday  bells 
ushered  in  sunshine  and  balmy  air  the  city  of 
Baltimore  turned  out  en  masse  to  assist  in  the 
rejoicing.  Catholics  and  non- Catholics  alike 
crowded  compactly  all  the  streets  about  the 
Cathedral,  and  watched  eagerly  every  move- 
ment that  promised  the  development  of  any 
feature  of  the  day's  program. 

The  Cathedral  in  which  the  Centennial 
celebration  was  held  is  an  imposing,  though 
somewhat  bizarre,  structure  of  dingy  porphy- 
ritic  granite,  veined  here  and  there  with  white. 
Roughly  estimated,  it  is  200  feet  long  and  180 
feet  wide,  with  a  dome  127  feet  from  floor  to 
ceiling,  and  200  in  circumference,  Its  facade 
is  upheld  by  heavy  Ionic  columns,  and  two 
Turkish  minarets  flanking  the  entrance,  to- 
gether with  the  bulbous  dome,  give  it  a 
mosque-like  air,  at  variance  with  its  cross  and 
its  Greek  supports.  Its  st)  le  is  called  Grecian- 
Ionic,  and  its  architect  was  a  non-Catholic, 
which  may  account  for  the  lack  of  religious 
harmony  in  its  outlines.  Its  interior,  how- 
ever, is  fine.  It  is  a  cross  with  wide  arms, 
the  circle  of  the  dome  being  imposed  upon 
the  imaginary  lines  of  juncture.  Its  ceiling  is 
vaulted  and  upheld  by  massive  columns,  the 
high  arches  making  fine  vistas,  and  the  fres- 
coes and  Stations  lending  a  rich  though 
subdued  tone  of  color.  Behind  the  altar,  which 
is  hooded  by  a  half  dome  supported  by  Ionic 
columns,  hangs  a  life-size  and  life  colored 
figure  of  our  Saviour.  It  is  flanked  by  two 
marble  angels  of  heroic  proportions ;  from  one 
of  the  backgrounds  starts  out  the  picture  of 
St.  Louis  burying  his  plague- stricken  soldiers 
(presented  by  Louis  Philippe),  and  from  an- 
other a  "Descent  from  the  Cross."  Its  corner- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


491 


stone  was  laid  in  1806,  but  although  the  main 
part  of  the  building  was  completed  and  dedi- 
cated by  Archbishop  Marechal  in  1821,  and 
renovated  by  Archbishop  Spalding  in  1855, 
it  was  not  consecrated  until  1876 — its  55th 
anniversary. 

The  Cardinal's  residence — a  dingy,  sombre 
structure  of  uncompromising  ugliness — was 
the  central  point  of  interest  to  those  who  could 
not  get  near  the  church.  Its  steep  stone  steps 
were  lined  on  each  side  with  a  detachment  of 
the  Knights  of  St.  Ladisla  w,  their  st  eel  helmets 
and  drawn  swords  being  the  only  war- harness 
visible  on  that  Centennial  day. 

The  Young  Catholic  Friends  Society  did 
yeoman's  service  in  keeping  the  line  of  march 
cleared  until  twenty  minutes  after  ten  o'clock, 
on  the  stroke  of  which  moment  the  doors  of 
Calvert  Hall  swung  back  on  their  hinges,  and 
the  vanguard  of  the  procession  marched  out 
and  along  Saratoga  Street  to  Charles,  where 
they  were  joined  by  the  prelates;  and  from 
that  point  the  torrent  of  white  surplices,  with 
its  great  wave  of  purple  and  gold,  and  its 
points — cardinal  points — of  crimson  poured 
with  stately  movement  and  rhythmic  wind- 
ings toward  the  Cathedral. 

Two  hundred  of  St.  Charles'  College  boys, 
led  by  forty  of  the  seniors  in  surplices  and 
cassocks,  with  a  seminarian  cross-bearer ;  one 
hundred  and  seventy-i&ve  of  St.  Mary's  semi- 
narians, with  the  faculty ;  one  hundred  of  the 
clergy,  and  the  Young  Catholic  Friends  Soci- 
eties of  Washington  and  Baltimore,  formed 
the  advance.  Then  came  a  body-guard  of  the 
Knights  of  St.  Ladislaw ;  then  thirteen  mon- 
signori,  led  by  the  Very  Rev.  Father  Sorin, 
C.  S.  C. ;  then  seventy-two  bishops ;  then 
fifteen  archbishops;  then  the  Papal  lyCgate, and 
finally  two  Cardinals — Taschereau  of  Quebec 
and  Gibbons  of  Baltimore.  Nearly  every  prel- 
ate in  the  United  States  was  present.  Among 
the  monsignori,  bishops,  and  archbishops,  were 
representatives  of  the  Church  in  Canada, 
Mexico,  and  England. 

The  length  of  the  procession  was  materially 
augmented  by  the  picturesque  figures  of  the 
acolytes  and  train-bearers,  each  bishop  and 
archbishop  having  two  of  the  latter  in  attend- 
ance, as  well  as  his  chaplain.  But  the  Papal 
I^egate  was  honored  by  the  attendance  of  two 
of  the  monsignori — the  Very  Rev.  Fathers 


Farley  and  Quigley,  of  New  York, — and  the 
two  Cardinals  were  also  accompanied  by 
monsignori — the  Canadian  by  the  Very  Rev. 
Fathers  Paquet  and  Marois,  of  Canada;  the 
American  by  Monsignor  O' Council,  of  Rome, 
alone,  Monsignor  McColgan  being  too  ailing 
to  walk  in  the  procession ;  he,  however,  occu- 
pied his  proper  place  in  the  church. 

Each  of  the  Cardinals  had  six  train-bearers, 
and  as  each  of  the  little  lads  and  youths  was 
dressed  in  the  color  of  the  ranks  in  which  he 
serv^ed — the  bishops'  boys  in  white  and  purple, 
those  of  the  archbishops  in  purple  and  red,  and 
those  of  the  Cardinals  in  crimson  trimmed  with 
ermine, — the  effect  was  rich  and  harmonious. 
Add  to  this  the  glitter  of  the  crosses  and 
pectorals,  the  chains  and  rings,  the  sheen  of 
cloth  of  gold  and  the  lustre  of  silk  and  satin, 
accented  and  sharply  foiled  here  and  there  by 
the  brown  frock  of  St.  Francis  or  the  white 
serge  of  St.  Dominic,  or  the  medieval  figure  of 
a  mitred  abbot  or  a  bearded  prior.  The  dark 
habits  of  the  Angus tinians  were  a  welcome 
sight ;  and  the  majestic  figure  of  the  Superior- 
General  of  the  Congregation  of  the  Holy  Cross, 
with  his  masses  of  flowing  white  hair  and 
brilliant  dark  eyes,  attracted  much  attention. 
The  Rev.  Father  McCabe,  of  England,  who 
represented  the  Benedictines  of  Warwickshire, 
was  often  pointed  out,  and  the  keen  dark  face  of 
the  Papal  lyCgate  was  the  target  of  thousands 
of  curious  eyes. 

In  absolute  silence — no  bands,  no  chants, 
no  conversation, — through  serried  lines  of 
equally  silent  people,  who  with  bared  heads 
watched  the  stately  pageant,  the  procession 
entered  the  Cathedral.  Then  the  silence  was 
gloriously  shattered  by  Asger  Hamerik's 
march,  in  which  organ,  strings,  trumpets,  and 
voices  strove  in  rich  rivalry,  fading  into  the 
Largo  of  Handel  as  Archbishop  Williams,  of 
Boston,  vested  for  Mass. 

The  scene  was  one  of  the  most  impressive 
I  have  ever  witnessed.  Far  back,  through  the 
vista  of  white  arches,  rose  the  altar — a  blaze 
of  lights  and  white  flowers,  the  golden  flames 
and  the  snowy  bloom  giving  the  Papal  colors. 
On  the  Gospel  side  of  the  sanctuary  our  Car- 
dinal sat,  attended  by  Monsignori  O' Council 
and  McColgan.  On  the  Epistle  side  the  Cana- 
dian Cardinal's  throne  was  reared,  before  the 
mortuary  tablets  of  the  Archbishops  of  Balti- 


492 


The  Ave  Maria. 


more;  and  Archbishop  SatoUi  occupied  the 
throne  decorated  with  the  Papal  colors  that 
was  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  lines  of  mon- 
signori.  The  rest  of  the  sanctuary,  which 
occupies  a  full  half  of  the  church,  was  filled 
with  the  prelates  and  dignitaries,  and  the 
clergy  sat  in  long  ranks,  dividing  the  congre- 
gation into  four  sections. 

The  celebrant  had  as  his  assistant  the 
Rev.  Doctor  Magnien,  President  of  St.  Mary's 
Seminary,  the  deacon  and  subdeacon  being 
the  Rev.  William  K.  Bartlett.  of  St.  Ann's, 
Baltimore,  and  the  Rev.  James  S.  Duffy,  of  St. 
Agnes',  Brooklyn;  the  master  of  ceremonies 
was  the  Rev.  J.  A.  McCallen,  of  St  Patrick's, 
Montreal;  and  his  assistants  were  Messrs. 
James  Nolen  and  T.  O' Grady,  seminarians  of 
St.  Mary's;  the  priests'  assistants  were  the 
Rev.  Fathers  Whelan  and  Reardon,  of  the 
Cathedral. 

From  the  moment  they  knelt  and  began, 
* '  In  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son, 
and  of  the  Holy  Ghost, ' '  to  the  giving  of  the 
Apostolic  Benediction,  the  movements  of  that 
vast  assemblage  of  clerics  were  military  in 
their  precision.  Rising,  falling,  sweeping,  and 
turning,  it  was  like  the  ebbing  and  flowing 
of  a  great  tide  "when  the  Spirit  of  God 
moved  over  the  face  of  the  waters. ' '  At  the 
holy  Name  hundreds  of  hands — consecrated 
hands — swept  off  mitres,  berettas,  bonnet- 
carrSs;  hundreds  of  heads,  thick  with  the 
thatch  of  youth,white  with  the  snow  of  years, 
grey  with  the  experience  of  striving,  bowed 
to  breasts  in  which  beat  hearts  devoted  to 
God's  service  by  special  vows.  The  flash  of 
the  amices  was  like  the  passing  of  white 
wings.  At  the  Gospel  the  priestly  ranks  stood 
'* attention,  with  eyes  to  the  front,"  listening 
to  the  order  of  that  Captain  whose  sword  is 
I/Ove,  whose  watchword  is  Peace,  whose  breast- 
plate is  Humility,  whose  shield  is  Prayer.  At 
the  Elevation  they  fell  prostrate  before  the 
majesty  of  the  lyord  in  His  great  Sacrament; 
and  at  the  moment  of  departure  they  swept 
past  in  an  aureola  of  color  and  sunshine,  that, 
please  God,  presaged  the  imperishable  one 
awaiting  every  pure  and  humble  soul  among 
them. 

And  their  faces — what  a  wonderful  gather- 
ing of  faces!  Some  saintly,  some  brilliantly 
intellectual,  some    deeply    thoughtful,  some 


simple  and  gentle  as  children ;  some  with 
beetling  brows,  soldier  noses,  and  jaws  of  iron 
— all  types,  many  nationalities,  but  not  one 
evil  look  among  them ;  not  one  that  did  not 
bear  upon  it  the  impress  of  the  triple  vows 
that  make  the  priest  a  man  of  God ;  not  one 
that  did  not  show  forth  some  reflection  of  the 
heavenly  light  that  burns  to  perpetuity  in  our 
tabernacles.  Thank- God  for  those  faces! 

"What  a  curious  mixture!"  a  stranger 
behind  me  whispered. — "It's  always  I  hat  way 
with  these  Catholics,"  answered  the  .second 
one.  And,  praise  God,  it  always  will  be  "that 
way ' ' ;  for,  from  the  I^egate  on  his  throne  of 
white  and  gold,  from  the  brilliant  Keane  and 
the  fiery,  eloquent  Montes  de  Oca ;  from  Father 
Tolton,  the  priest  of  the  dark  race ;  from  the 
Bonapartes,  the  silver-tongued  Dougherty,  the 
CarroUs,  the  officials  of  State,  to  the  simplest 
workingman  or  the  humblest  negro  in  that 
vast  congregation,  they  were  one  in  faith,  one 
in  hope — Catholic. 

Of  "the  music  of  harp,  cymbal,  and  psal- 
tery," of  the  masterly  discourse  of  Archbishop 
Ryan,  an  hundred  tongues  of  the  press  have 
already  told ;  and  of  the  solemn  benediction 
and  the  superb  musical  prayer,  ^^  Oremus  pro 
Pontifice  nostra  Leone! ' '  that  halted  the  entire 
congregation  on  the  very  threshold  of  depart- 
ure, and  held  them  spellbound  until  the  last 
note  died  away,  although  it  was  then  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  they  had  been 
in  church  since  ten  in  the  morning. 

The  same  faithful  chroniclers  have  also  told 
of  the  dinner  that  followed ;  but  I  do  not  think 
they  told  of  the  oblivion  in  which  many  of 
the  distinguished  guests  ate  or  refused  the 
strange  and  unattractive  looking  dish  that 
proved  to  be — terrapin,  the  diamond-back 
terrapin,  so  dear  to  Maryland  palates, — the 
dish  we  "shut  our  eyes  and  eat  to  repletion"  ; 
the  first,  because  it  seems  to  be  compounded 
chiefly  of  claws  and  tails  and  India-rubber ; 
the  second,  because  of  its  delicious  flavor. 

At  this  dinner  the  Pope's  cable  dispatch 
was  received  and  read,  as  was  also  the  letter  of 
Cardinal  Manning — the  greeting  of  the  bish- 
ops of  England — and  that  of  the  bishops  of 
Ireland.  The  signatures  in  these  last  named 
read  like  a  roll-call  of  the  days  of  faith  in 
England  and  of  the  days  of  freedom  in  Ireland . 
These  were  read  by  Monsignor  Gadd   and 


The  Ave  Maria. 


493 


MonsignoT  O'Conndl;  Bishop  Virtue  making 
a  verbal  greeting  for  the  Htiglish  clergy,  and 
briefly  alluding  to  the  fact  that  lyuUworth, 
the  scene  of  Archbishop  Carroll's  consecra- 
tion, was  near  his  diocese. 

Pontifical  Vespers  drew  another  overflowing 
congregation  to  the  Cathedral.  Archbishop 
Heiss  officiated,  and  an  eloquent  and  patriotic 
sermon  was  delivered  by  Archbishop  Ireland. 
The  enthusiasm  was  unabated,  and  the  night 
had  a  crown  of  fire  set  on  its  darkness  by  the 
illuminations. 

Monday  and  Tuesday,  Nov.  it,  12. 

Monday  the  Congress  of  laymen  was  infor- 
mally opened  by  the  Cardinal  in  an  impromptu 
speech  characterized  by  his  ardent  patriotism, 
gentle  wit,  and  happy  aproposn^ss.  And  then 
the  Hon.  Daniel  Dougherty,  of  New  York, 
formally  inaugurated  proceedings  in  a  speech 
that  evoked  round  after  round  of  applause  from 
the  twelve  hundred  delegates  and  dignitaries 
present.  Congratulatory  comments  were  made 
by  the  venerable  Father  Nugent,  of  lyiverpool; 
the  Hon.  Honor e  Mercier,  Primate  of  Quebec; 
and  Ex  Senator  Kernan.  Then  the  regular 
work  of  the  Congress  began  with  Doctor  Gil- 
mary  Shea's  paper  on  "Catholic  Congiesses," 
which  was  followed  by  Doctor  Brownson's 
patriotic  essay  on  *Xay  Action  in  the  Church"; 
and  Colonel  Bonaparte's  discussion  of  "The 
Independence  of  the  Holy  See"  closed  the 
day's  proceedings.  In  the  evening  the  city 
again  burned  its  torches  and  waxlights,  its 
gas  and  electricity,  and  a  brilliant  reception 
was  given  at  Concordia  Hall,  the  scene  of  the 
Congress. 

To  choose  incidents  where  all  were  of 
special  interest  is  difficult,  but  perhaps  the 
most  striking  was  the  entrance  and  presenta- 
tion of  the  two  Catholic  Indian  chiefs,  who 
reached  the  city  too  late  to  take  part  in  the 
proceedings  of  the  day,  but  who  came  in  the 
full  panoply  of  their  savage  finery  to  pay 
their  respects  to  the  Cardinal  and  meet  their 
colleagues.  The  Rev.  Father  Van  Gorp,  S.J. , 
of  the  Rocky  Mountain  Mission,  accompanied 
them  and  introduced  them  to  His  Eminence, 
upon  which  they  bowed  their  haughty,  crested 
heads  and  kissed  the  archiepiscopal  ring 
with  the  dignity  of  great  chiefs  who  bear  for 
love's  sake|the  yoke  of  a  Master,  Christ  the 
lyord.  The  greatest  enthusiasm  was  aroused 


by  this  scene,  the  spectators  were  breaking 
into  cheers,  and  the  chiefs  were  given  seats 
of  honor  near  the  Cardinal,  and  were  made  to 
feel  they  were  valued  guests. 

Another  remarkable  ebullition  of  enthu- 
siasm took  place  when  the  Cardinals  and 
prelates  were  leaving  the  hall ;  and  Tuesday 
found  the  crowds  unabated  in  numbers  and 
augmented  in  fervor. 

The  papers  read  during  the  remainder  of 
the  session  dealt  with  questions  of  vital  and 
special  interest,  including,  "What  Catholics 
have  Done  in  this  Country  in  the  Last  Hun- 
dred Years,"  by  Richard  H.Clarke;  "The 
Catholic  Press,"  by  George  D.Wolff;  "The 
Right  of  the  State  in  Education,"  by  Edmund 
F.Dunne;  "Sunday  Observance,"  by  Manly 
Tello;  "Church  Music,"  by  Herman  Allen; 
"Temperance,"  by  John  H.  Campbell;  "Cath- 
olic American  Literature,"  by  Cond6  B. 
Pallen;  "Charities,"  by  Peter  L.  Foy;  and 
"Societies,"  by  Henry  J.  Spaunhorst. 

The  torchlight  procession  of  Tuesday  even- 
ing was  declared  to  be  one  of  the  finest  ever 
seen  in  this  country.  It  was  four  hours  pass- 
ing the  Cardinal's  residence;  and  the  torches 
yvere  so  happily  constructed  and  managed  that 
at  no  point  of  the  march  did  a  single  light  give 
out ;  and  the  river  of  flame,  with  its  spray  of 
sparks,  ran  its  brilliant  course  until  long  after 
midnight. 

Wkdnesday,  Nov.  13. 

Wednesday  morning  dawned  gloomily,  and 
the  rain  fell  in  solid  sheets;  but  Catholic 
enthusiasm  was  water- proof,  and  by  half  after 
nine  the  roads  were  strung  with  carriages 
landaus,  gigs,  and  hansom-.  The  electric  cars 
and  the  railroad  trains  were  run  with  a  fre- 
quency that  lifted  hundreds  over  the  two  miles 
lying  between  the  city's  heart  and  the  Uni- 
versity ;  and  a  board  walk  had  been  consider- 
ately placed  on  the  side  of  the  drive- way  for 
foot-passengers. 

The  Divinity  Building  is  a  large  and  admi- 
rably proportioned  strtfcture  of  Georgetown 
blue  gneiss  trimmed  with  Ohio  sandstone.. 
The  blocks  are  rough  hewn  and  cemented  with 
white  Roman  cement.  It  is  five  stories  high, 
and  on  the  day  of  dedication  was  draped  from 
peak  to  foundation  with  flags.  Our  own  dear 
Stars  and  Stripes  predominated,  of  course,— 
one  mighty  standard  depending  from  the  very 


494 


The  Ave  Maria, 


top  of  the  main  building's  roof  to  the  transom 
of  the  entrance  ;  but  the  flags  of  all  nations 
lent  their  tints  and  designs.  This  part  of  the 
decorating  w.as  done  by  the  sailors  from  the 
U.  S.  S.  ''Dale,"  un<k'r  the  direction  of  a 
round  faced,  merry  Blue  Jacket,  who  was  evi- 
dently working  for  the  sake  of  faith  and  love. 
He  clung  to  impossible  supports  and  walked 
on  invisible  footholds,  and  his  laughing  eyes 
and  irresistible  good-humor  effected  as  much 
as  his  good  taste  and  skill. 

The  building  is  finished  in  oak,  and  while 
the  closest  attention  has  been  |  aid  to  h>giene 
and  actual  comfort,  the  greatest  simplicity 
prevails  throughout.  There  is  not  a  soft  lux- 
ury in  its  entire  extent,  but  the  lighting,  heat- 
ing, ventilation  and  plumbing  are  after  the 
most  approved  and  advanced  systems.  Electric 
lights  cluster  at  every  point;  electric  clocks 
with  double  dials — or  quadruple  where  corri- 
dors intersect — hang  in  the  hall-ways;  and 
broad  windows  with  large  sheets  of  plate-glass 
open  on  a  dozen  beautiful  prospects — the  far- 
oflf  Chillum  Valley ;  the  fair  city;  the  distant 
circle  of  forts  crumbling  peacefully  to  ruin; 
the  Soldiers'  Home,  where  the  human  wreck 
age  of  war  waits  for  the  ebb  that  wall  drift  it 
off  to  the  Crystal  Sea. 

On  the  chapel  all  the  brilliancy  of  tint  and 
tone  has  been  lavished.  It  is  a  gem,  with  its 
semicircular  sanctuary,  its  twelve  side  chapels, 
the  graceful,  arched  ceilings,  aad  the  beautiful 
stained-glass  windows.  Of  these  last  there  are 
seventeen, — five  above  the  main  altar  and  one 
in  each  side  chapel.  The  first  are  (beginning  at 
the  Gospel  side)  :  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount, 
the  Resurrection,  the  Descent  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  the  Ascension,  and  the  Charge  of  St. 
Peter;  the  others  are:  Our  Lady  of  gourdes, 
St.  Peter,  St.  John  Baptist,  St.  Leo  the  Great, 
St.  Thomas  of  Aquin,  St.  Francis  Xavier,  St. 
Vincent  of  Paul,  St.  Francis  de  Sales,  St. 
Augustine,  St.  John  the  Evangelist,  St.  Paul, 
and  St.  Joseph. 

On  the  day  named  the  main  altar  was  draped 
in  crimson  and  gold  (which  entirely  hid  its  fine 
bass-relief  of  "The  Last  Supper"),  and  was  a 
mass  of  white  and  crimson  flowers  and  points 
of  flame,  outlined  against  the  background  of 
palms  and  tropical  foliage  grouped  and  banked 
upon  and  about  it.  Above  the  tabernacle  rose 
a  hemisphere   of  white   roses   and  smilax;  ' 


crowned  with  a  tiara  of  crimson  carnations, 
from  whose  spicy  circle  sprang  the  gold  cru- 
cifix. The  canopied  thrones  of  the  Cardinals 
were  on  the  east  and  west  extremities  of  the 
sanctuary  ;  the  seats  for  the  monsignori,  arch- 
bishops, bishops,  and  clerics,  were  of  richly 
carved  oak,  and  were  ranged  in  long  rows  fac- 
ing one  another,  and  in  the  sic'e  chapels.  The 
latter,  which  hold  each  a  white  marble  altar, 
were  ft-agrant,  and  gleaming  with  bushes  of 
white  chrysanthemums  in  gilded  wicker-work, 
— the  white  and  gold  of  the  Papal  colors  again. 

At  half-past  ten  the  short  but  inipressive 
ceremony  of  the  dedication  began  with  an 
address  by  the  Cardinal,  then  the  voices  of  the 
seminarians — two  hundred  and  fifty  strong — 
rose  in  the  Veni  Creator,  followed  by  the 
Miserere.  On  the  rich  waves  of  sound  the 
purple  and  gold  throng  swept  into  the  chapel 
and  were  seated,  their  lines  extending  from 
below  the  middle  of  the  church  to  the  very 
sanctuary  railing.  And  then  through  the 
priestly  ranks  Archbishop  SatoUi,  the  cele- 
brant, came,  and  later  the  Cardinals.  (The 
three  noted  clerics  are  all  small,  slight,  ascetic, 
and  possessed  of  a  gentle  dignity  that  is  as 
becoming  as  their  crimson  robes.)  During  the 
vesting  the  Litany  of  the  Saints  was  sung, 
and  nothing  can  be  imagined  fin^r,  more 
thrilling,  than  the  superb  volume  of  sound 
that  burst  into  response  as  the  intoners  paused 
after  each  invocation;  for  not  only  did  the 
choir  and  seminarians  join  forces,  but  every 
monk,  priest,  prior  and  prelate  as  well — five 
hundred  voices, — swelled  the  chorus  in  the 
most  harmonious  of  Gregorian  chants. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  Mass  began — the  cel- 
ebrant singing  in  a  sweet,  flexible  tenor,  the 
five  hundred  responding, — and  drew  to  its 
solemn  close  amid  the  rapt  devotion  of  its 
priestly  congregation.  And  at  the  ''Ite,  Missa 
est,''  surpliced  seminarians,  with  lighted  can- 
dles, ushered  in  the  venerable  Bishop Gilmour, 
of  Cleveland, who  preached  a  powerful  sermon 
on  Christian  education. 

The  open-air  services  were  suspended 
owing  to  the  storm  of  rain ;  but  the  orator, 
the  reverend  and  eloquent  Father  Fidelis 
(James  Kent  Stone),  superior  of  the  Passion- 
ists  in  South  America,  preached  in  one  of 
the  large  lecture  halls  to  the  throng  that 
could  not  gain  admission  to  the  chapel. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


495 


The  ceremonies  over,  the  guests  proceeded  to 
the  banquet  hall,  where  the  decorations  were 
again  effectively  augmented  by  national  and 
foreign  flags.  Long  tables  weie  prepared  for 
the  clerics,  and  a  smaller  table,  setting  at  right 
angles  to  the  pillar-supported  semicircle  just 
under  the  chapel,  was  laid  for  the  Cardinals. 
This  last  was  the  only  one  ornamented  d,  la 
Russe,  and  the  ornamentation  was  a  mutual 
compliment  to  the  distinguished  clerics  and 
to  the  President  and  members  of  the  Cabinet, 
who  were  invited  to  dine  with  them.  Table 
scarfs  of  cardinal  satin  were  laid  in  the  centre 
of  the  board,  and  some  very  beautiful  floral 
pieces  were  placed  at  intervals.  The  linen  was 
snowy,  but  it  and  the  glass,  silver,  and  china 
were  of  the  plainest  description, — a  fit  setting 
forth  for  a  clerical  dinner  party.  Above  this 
table  a  scroll  of  smilax  was  placed,  starred 
with  white  carnations  that  read  ''Deus  mea 
lux,''  and  the  ends  of  the  scrolls  significantly 
touched  the  frames  of  portraits  of  the  two 
Cardinals,  on  whom  smiled  benignantly  the 
pictured  faces  of  England's  great  prelates, 
Manning  and  Newman.  Above  the  entrance 
was  an  American  shield,  exquisitely  wrought 
in  flowers,  and  the  legend  "  Viva  Papa  nostra 
Leone!''  The  supporting  pillars  were  wound 
in  red,  white  and  blue  bunting,  and  palm,  sago, 
and  India-rubber  trees  were  grouped  at  every 
available  point.  The  non-clerical  guests  were 
banqueted  in  the  refectory,  and  the  glittering 
uniforms  of  army  and  navy  officers,  the  elegant 
costumes  of  ladies,  and  the  presence  of  distin- 
guished delegates  and  foreigners  made  this 
another  effective  feature. 

The  arrival  of  the  President  on  the  Uni- 
versity grounds  greatly  augmented  the  enthu- 
siasm. He  was  shown  to  the  reception  room, 
in  which  hangs  Signor  Gregori's  splendid 
portrait  of  Washington  ;  and,  after  divesting 
himself  of  cloak  and  hat,  was  taken  to  the 
banquet  hall  and  seated  at  the  Cardinal's 
right  hand.  The  Vice-President  and  his  beau- 
tiful wife  were  at  the  same  table. 

The  Marine  Band  gave  a  series  of  admira- 
ble selections,  and  the  visitors'  day  closed  with 
the  presentation  of  the  bust  of  St.  Thomas 
Aquinas  by  Monsignor  Gadd,  on  the  part  of 
the  English  and  Irish  Catholics  of  Rome. 

At  four  o'clock  the  University  opened  its 
course,  the  Veni  Creator  preceding  the  Cardi- 


nal's  prayer :  and  the  oration  of  the  Rt.  Rev. 
M.J.  O  Farrell,  Bishop  of  Trenton,  prefacing 
the  Latin  address  of  Monsignor  vSchroeder,  the 
Professor  of  Dogmatic  Theology. 

Finally,  to  the  strains  of  "  O remits  pro  Pon- 
tifice  nostro  Leone''  and  with  the  joy  of  the 
benediction  in  their  hearts,  the  crowds  dis- 
persed, with  a  thousand  good  wishes  to  the 
beloved  rector  and  his  assistant.  Doctor  Gar- 
rigan,  for  the  future  of  the  University;  and 
the  regret  tint  the  clouds,  through  which  the 
st:ars  .shone  large  and  soft,  had  not  rolled 
away  just  twenty- four  hours  sooner. 

E.L.D. 

Leo  Xlll.  and  the  Labor  Question. 


''PHE  words  of  the  Holy  Father  to  the  two^ 
1  thousand  five  hundred  workingmen  whom 
he  received  at  the  Vatican  the  other  day 
should  be  well  considered  by  those  who  have 
taken  hold  of  the  modern  fallacy  that  the 
Church  is  the  enemy  of  the  laboring  classes. 
It  is  like  that  other  fallacy  which  identifies 
the  Church  with  the  Csesarism  of  Frelerick 
Barbarossa,  of  the  Spanish  Bourbons,  of  Louis 
XIV.  But  nothing  can  be  more  false  than 
an  assumption  which  throws  the  blame  of 
tyranny,  not  on  the  tyrant,  but  on  the  only 
power  which  stood  fearlessly  between  the 
tyrant  and  the  people.  The  words  of  Leo  XIII. 
on  the  momentous  question  which  agitates 
the  world, — a  question  which  the  French 
Revolution  made  more  unanswerable  by  gov- 
ernments,— deserve  to  be  carefully  thought 
over  and  made  the  text  of  future  dircourses 
on  this  burning  problem. 

Leo  XIII.  declares  that  to  labor  is  an  honor. 
"Our  Lord,"  he  said,  "gave  the  example. 
He  supported  the  hardships  of  humanity.  His 
doctrine  is  that  the  rich  are  the  treasurers  of 
God,  and  that  they  ought  not  to  close  their 
hea;  ts  to  the  unfortunate.  It  is  right  and  meet 
that  the  two  classes  should  be  united  by  the 
bond  o!  charity,  which  is  a  remedy  and  a  con- 
solation. During  centuries  this  solution  was 
accepted,  and  the  solidity  of  this  social  base 
was  uncontested.'  The  Holy  Father  alluded 
to  the  periiicious  doctrines  that  had  under- 
mined this  base.  "A  return  to  Christian  prin- 
ciples would  consolidate  the  union  of  employ- 


406 


The  Ave  Maria. 


ers  and  workmen,  and  assure  public  peace  and 
tranquillity.  The  employer  must  consider  the 
laborer  as  his  brother,  watch  his  interests, 
soften  his  lot,  give  him  good  example,  and 
refuse  to  obtain  unduly  rapid  as  well  as  dis- 
honest profits.  The  employed  should  show 
respect  and  resignation,  and  abstain  from  all 
acts  that  would  trouble  public  order. ' ' 

The  Holy  Father  accentuated  the  duty  of  the 
rich  to  subdue  their  unquenchable  thirst  for 
pleasure  and  gain ;  it  is  this  that  causes  the 
discontent  of  the  laborer.  The  governments  of 
the  world  can  help  to  solve  this  social  problem 
by  leaving  the  Church  free  to  minister  to  the 
poor,  to  protect  youth,  to  teach  women  their 
mission  in- life,  to  preserve  Sunday  from  des- 
ecration, and  to  teach  morality  to  the  young. 

The  French  workingmen  listened  with  re- 
pressed enthusiasm  to  the  words  of  this  great 
Pontiff.  May  they  be  universally  heeded,  and 
bear  fruit  among  workingmen  everywhere ! 


Our  Creed  and  Our  Country. 


A   NOTABIvE  ADDRESS. 


THE  Hon.  Daniel  Dougherty,  of  Philadel- 
phia, is  among  the  foremost  of  living 
American  orators.  His  speech  at  the  opening 
of  the  Catholic  Congress  in  Baltimore  last 
week  is  pronounced  to  be  one  of  the  best  of  his 
life,  and  this  is  high  praise.  Mr.  Dougherty's 
utterances  came  from  a  mind  and  heart  which 
have  always  been  earnestly  and  devoutly 
Catholic.  No  wonder  if  they  were  excited  and 
inflamed  on  such  an  occasion,  and  no  wonder 
if  his  earnest  words  foutid  an  echo  in  the 
hearts  cf  all  who  were  privileged  to  hear  them. 
All  through  his  address  he  was  interrupted 
with  irrepressible  "bursts  of  applause,"  and 
when  he  had  finished  prelates,  priests  and 
distinguished  laymen  crowded  around  to  offer 
their  congratulations.  Greatly  as  we  admire 
Mr.  Dougherty's  address,  we  can  not  help 
wishing  that  he  had  dwelt  rather  on  the  free- 
dom which  the  Church  enjoys  in  this  land  of 
promise  than  on  what  she  has  had  to  suffer. 
We  are  glad  to  be  able  to  present  this  mem- 
orable address  in  full: 

I  am  profoundly  touched  by  this  the  honor  of 
my  life.  This  Congress  is  an  event  in  the  history 


of  the  Republic  ;  an  era  in  American  progress  ; 
an  advance  in  humanity  ;  a  move  of  earth  toward 
heaven.  Called  to  your  presence,  theme  after 
theme  comes  flashing  through  my  brain  and 
swelling  in  my  bosom.  A  single  exultant  thought 
I  shall  give  utterance  to  and  then  resume  my  seat. 

We  Catholics,  Roman  Catholics,  American  Ro- 
man Catholics,  proud,  high-spirited  and  sensitive 
as  any  of  our  countrymen,  have  silently  submitted 
to  wrongs  and  injustices  in  manifold  shapes  and 
from  time  immemorial.  Away  back  in  colonial 
years  Catholics  suffered  the  direst  cruelties.  Talk 
of  the  slaves  of  the  South  in  ante-wartimes!  Why, 
they  were  treated  like  high-bred  guests  when 
compared  with  Catholics  in  colonial  days!  It  is 
the  "damned  spot"  that  will  not  "out."  The 
only  religious  martyrs  who  ever  stained  our 
fair  land  with  life-blood  were  Roman  Catholics. 
Spurned  with  suspicion,  disfranchised,  persecuted 
for  opinion's  sake,  hunted  as  criminals,  and  pun- 
ished with  death  by  infamous  laws,  we  have,  from 
time  to  time,  been  slandered,  vilified  and  ma- 
ligned in  newpapers,  pamphlets  and  books,  in 
speech  and  sermon,  sectarian  assembly,  political 
convention,  and  even  in  the  Congress  of  the 
United  States.  We  have  been  proscribed  at  the 
ballot-box.  The  highest  honors  of  the  Republic 
are  denied  to  us  by  a  prejudice  that  has  all  the 
force  of  a  constitutional  enactment.  In  integrity, 
intellect  and  accomplishments  the  equal  of  our 
fellows,  yet  the  instances  are  rare  when  Catholics 
are  tendered  exalted  distinctions.  The  exercises 
of  our  holy  religion  as  a  right  are  denied  the  suf- 
fering, the  sick  and  unfortunate  in  many  institu- 
tions of  charity,  and  to  criminals  in  prisons  and 
penitentiaries.  Though  the  rank  and  file  of  the 
army  and  navy  are  largely  of  our  creed,  the  chap- 
lains are  fewer  than  the  fingers  of  one  hand.  It  is 
said  that  Catholic  Indians  have  Protestant  teach- 
ers. Churches  have  been  burned,  convents  have 
been  pillaged,  and  libraries  destroyed.  Aye,  polit- 
ical parties  in  the  past  have  sought  to  deprive 
us  of  our  political  rights,  and  we  are  branded  as 
tools  of  a  foreign  potentate,  and  unworthy  to 
enjoy  the  name  of  Americans. 

The  time  has  come,  not  of  our  seeking,  but  in 
the  course  of  events,  when  we,  the  Roman  Catho- 
lic laity  of  the  United  States,  can  with  propriety 
speak,  can  vindicate  ourselves — not  by  harsh 
words,  heated  retorts,  nor  defiant  threats,  but 
calmly  yet  firmly,  charitably  yet  proudly,  con- 
scious of  the  integrity  of  our  motives  and  the 
impregnability  of  our  position.  We  assert  we  are 
pre-eminently  Americans ;  that  there  would  be 
no  America,  that  the  Continent  would  be  to-day 
unknown,  had  it  not  been  for  Roman  Catholics, 
and  the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


497 


That  liberty  which  is  the  essence  of  all  liberty 
— freedom  to  worship  God — was  first  established 
in  America  by  Roman  Catholics,  and  Roman 
Catholics  alone.  It  was  priests — aye,  Jesuit  mis- 
sionaries— who  first  sought  and  explored  our 
land,  penetrated  into  the  wilderness,  tracked  the 
streams,  and  gave  sainted  names  to  localities, 
bays,  lakes,  and  rivers.  The  first  worship  here  of 
the  true  God  was  the  Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass. 
Catholic  nations  were  the  first  to  come  to  the  res- 
cue of  our  revolutionary  fathers  in  the  war  against 
the  greatest  of  Protestant  powers.  A  Roman  Cath- 
olic was  among  the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of 
Independence.  The  name  of  Archbishop  Carroll 
is  forever  linked  with  Benjamin  Franklin's  in  the 
mission  to  Canada.  Catholics  have  given  heroes 
to  the  Republic  in  every  war ;  and  in  every  battle 
on  field  or  flood  Catholics  have  sealed  their  devo- 
tion with  their  lives.  And  now  the  Roman  Cath- 
olic laity  of  the  United  States,  for  the  first  time 
in  congress  assembled,  are  here  to  proclaim  to  all 
the  world  that  their  country  is  tied  to  every  fibre 
of  their  hearts,  and  no  power  can  shake  their 
loving  allegiance  to  its  Constitution  and  its  laws. 

Why,  truly  the  blood  of  the  martyr  is  the  seed 
of  the  Church.  Marvellous  as  has  been  the  growth 
of  population,  Catholics  have  outstripped  all. 
From  40,000  they  have  become  10,000.000.  From 
a  despised  people  they  are  a  mighty  power.  In 
every  avenue  of  industry  and  intellect  they  are 
the  peers  of  their  fellowmen.  Their  schools  and 
colleges,  libraries,  asylums  and  hospitals  are  scat- 
tered near  and  far.  In  every  village,  steeple  or 
tower,  tipped  with  the  cross,  tells  where  Catholics 
pray.  In  every  town  splendid  churches  gather 
each  morning  thousands  of  worshippers.  In  every 
metropolis  a  cathedral  lifts  its  massive  walls  high 
above  surrounding  piles,  or  with  its  stately  dome 
crowns  the  city's  brow. 

Our  grand  old  Church  is  the  protector  of  learn- 
ing. She  it  was  who  rescued  the  inestimable 
jewels  of  classic  lore  from  the  ruins  of  the  Roman 
Empire,  preciously  preserved  them  through  the 
convulsions  of  a  thousand  years,  and  gave  them 
to  the  printer's  art  to  enrich  the  learning,  elevate 
the  style,  and  adorn  the  literature  of  every  lan- 
guage to  the  end  of  time.  She  is  the  pioneer  of 
civilization.  She  was  the  founder  of  states,  the 
framer  of  laws,  the  conservator  of  order,  the  cham- 
pion of  the  people  against  the  encroachments 
of  tyrants.  She  it  was  that  struck  the  chains 
from  the  white  serfs  of  the  Old  World.  She  it  is 
that  beholds  kneeling  around  her  altars  the  black 
and  the  white,  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  savage  of 
the  forest,  the  royalty  of  the  palace,  the  states- 
man of  the  cabinet,  and  the  philosopher  of  the 
school.  She  is  the  patron  of  art  and  the  theme  of 


the  poet.  It  is  the  Catholic  Church  that  guards 
the  home,  sanctifies  marriage,  elevates  woman, 
and  places  the  Blessed  Mother  nearest  the  Saviour. 

The  shadow  of  an  imposing  event  begins  to 
move  The  people  of  the  United  States,  aye  of  the 
Hemisphere,  are  preparing  to  celebrate  the  four 
hundredth  anniversary  of  the  discovery  of  Amer- 
ica. We  especially  rejoice  in  this  resolve.  That 
tremendous  event — with  reverence  I  may  say  the 
second  creation, — the  finding  of  a  new  world,  and 
the  vast  results  that  have  flowed  to  humanity,  all 
can  be  traced  directly  to  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church,  and  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  alone. 
Protestantism  was  unknown  when  America  was 
discovered.  Let  the  students,  the  scholars,  poets, 
historians,  search  the  archives  of  Spain,  the  libra- 
ries of  Europe,  and  the  deeper  the  research  the 
more  glory  will  adorn  the  brow  of  Catholicity. 
It  was  a  pious  Catholic  who  conceived  the  mighty 
thought.  It  was  when  footsore  and  down-hearted 
at  the  porch  of  a  monastery  that  hope  dawned 
on  him.  It  was  a  monk  who  first  encouraged 
him.  It  was  a  cardinal  who  first  interceded  with 
the  sovereigns  of  Spain.  It  was  a  Catholic  King 
who  fitted  out  the  ships,  and  a  Catholic  Queen 
who  offered  her  jewels  as  a  pledge.  It  was  the 
Catholic  Columbus,  with  a  Catholic  crew,  who 
sailed  away  out  for  months  upon  an  unknown 
sea,  where  ship  had  never  sailed  before. 

It  was  to  spread  the  Catholic  faith  that  the 
sublime  risk  was  run.  It  was  the  hymn  to  the 
Blessed  Mother  with  which  the  captain  and  crew 
closed  the  perils  of  the  day  and  inspired  with 
hope  the  morrow.  It  was  the  holy  cross,  the  stand- 
ard of  Catholicity,  that  was  borne  from  the  ships 
to  the  shore  and  planted  on  the  new-found  world. 
It  was  the  Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass  that  was 
the  first  and,  for  over  a  hundred  years,  the  only 
Christian  worship  on  the  Continent  which  a 
Catholic  named  America.  Why,  the  broad  seal 
of  the  Catholic  Church  is  stamped  forever  on 
the  four  corners  of  the  Continent.  Therefore  let 
us,  in  mind,  heart  and  soul,  rejoice  at  the  triumph 
of  our  country,  and  glory  in  our  creed.  The  one 
gives  us  constitutional  freedom  on  earth ;  the 
other,  if  we  are  faithful  to  its  teachings,  insures 
an  eternity  in  heaven. 


As  the  dogma  of  the  Divine  Maternity,  the 
source  of  the  glories  of  Mary,  sheds  its  light  over 
the  Christian  world,  so  devotion  to  the  Queen  of 
Heaven  extends  its  influence  day  by  day  as  age 
after  age  rolls  on.  Happy  to  assist  the  piety  of 
her  children,  the  Church  never  tires  of  inviting 
them  to  celebrate  with  her  the  immortal  glories 
of  the  Immaculate  Virgin. 


498 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

The  proclamation  of  the  President  of  the 
United  States  naming  Thursday,  November  28, 
as  a  day  of  thanksgiving  and  praj-er,  emphasizes 
the  fact  that  this  is  a  Christian  nation.  The  chief 
executive  of  our  Republic  calls  upon  us  a  highly- 
favored  people  to  be  mindful  of  our  dependence 
on  the  bounty  of  Divine  Providence,  and  to  seek 
fitting  occasion  to  testify  gratituJe  and  ascribe 
praise  to  Him  who  is  the  author  of  our  bless- 
ings. "It  behooves  us,"  he  says,  "to  look  back 
with  thankful  hearts  over  the  past  year,  and  bless 
God  for  His  infinite  mercy  in  vouchsafing  to  our 
land  enduring  peace;  to  our  people  freedom  from 
pestilence  and  famine  ;  to  our  husbandmen  abun- 
dant harvests,  and  to  them  that  labor  a  recom- 
pense of  their  toil."  Thus  we  are  made  to  stand 
before  the  nations  of  the  earth,  citizens  of  a  coun- 
try that  glories  in  its  belief  and  confidence  in 
an  overruling  God,  the  Creator  and  Lord  of  all 
things.  Thus  we  are  perpetuating  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  that  animated  the  founders  of  our 
Republic,  the  immortal  signers  of  the  Declaration 
of  Independence,  who  placed  "a  firm  reliance  on 
the  protection  of  Divine  Providence," — a  reliance 
rewarded  with  such  blessed  results. 


A  gratifying  contrast  to  the  intolerance  of  the 
House  Committee  of  a  trained  nurses'  institute 
at  Canterbury,  England,  who  discharged  one  of 
the  nurses  on  learning  that  she  had  been  received 
into  the  Church,  is  afforded  by  the  Liverpool 
Catholic  Times.  It  states  that  the  attending  phy- 
sician of  St.  Mary's  College,  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  Canterbury,  happens  to  be  a  stanch 
Protestant,  and  about  thirty  destitute  families  are 
daily  relieved  at  the  college  door.  And  there  is  no 
question  as  to  creed. 

A  French  workingman  died  suddenly  on  his 
way  to  the  Vatican  with  the  French  pilgrims  the 
other  day.  The  Holy  Father  was  much  affected. 
* '  He  came  far  to  honor  me, ' '  he  said  ;  ' '  but  I  hope 
and  believe  the  way  was  not  far  from  heaven." 
On  the  day  following  he  said  Mass  for  the  work- 
ingman's  soul. 

Mr.  Charles  Bonaparte,  in  his  speech  at  the 
Catholic  Congress  on  the  necessity  of  the  inde- 
pendence of  the  Holy  Father,  made  a  new  and 
good  point.  He  argues  :  "If  the  Pope  be  a  sub- 
ject of  the  Italian  Government — which  he  never 
cau  be, — why  should  that  Government  ask  him 
to  consent  to  accept  a  law  ?  If  he  be  not  a  subject, 
then  he  is — on  Italy's  own  showing — a  sover- 
eign." Mr.  Bonaparte , says  :  "There  was,  indeed. 


no  need  that  the  Pope  should  accept  the  law  to 
make  it  binding  on  every  subject  of  the  Italian 
crown.  If  we  admit  that  he  is  such  a  subject, 
then  the  laws  of  the  Italian  Parliament  bind  him 
as  much  if  he  disapprove  as  if  he  approve  them  ; 
but  in  this  admission  is  contained  what  Catholics 
do  not  and  can  not  and  will  never  admit.  The  mat- 
ter of  the  law  goes  for  nothing  ;  we  do  not  ask 
for  him  honors  or  rank,  least  of  all  money,  but 
freedom.  We  demand  not  that  he  be  granted  privi- 
leges as  though  he  were  a  sovereign,  but  that, 
since  he  is  and  alwa3S  must  be  a  sovereign,  his 
existing  rights  as  a  sovereign  be  respected.  It 
is  not  for  a  Parliament  of  yesterday  to  confer  a 
patent  of  honorary  precedence  on  the  successor 
of  the  Fisherman." 


His  Eminence  Cardinal  de  Furstenberg,  Arch- 
bishop of  Olmutz,  Austria,  has  entrusted  the 
Society  of  Jesus  with  the  care  of  the  sanctuary  of 
Vehelehrad,  the  grand  national  Slav  sanctuary 
of  SS.  Cyril  and  Methodius.  The  transfer  of  the 
direction  of  this  privileged  shrine  to  a  religious 
order  has  been  made  necessary  by  the  constantly 
increasing  number  of  pious  pilgrims. 

The  announcement  that  the  Emperor  and  Em- 
press of  Austria  are  to  make  a  retreat  together  at 
Meyerling.  where  they  have  founded  a  house  of 
the  Carmelites,  on  the  spot  where  the  Crown 
Prince  met  his  sad  death,  will  silence  many  sen- 
sational reports  regarding  their  Majesties. 


An  eminent  German  critic  has  said  that  "the 
ultimate  purpose  of  oratorio  is  neither  to  minister 
to  our  senses  nor  to  afford  us  what  we  ordinarily 
understand  by  the  words  pleasure  and  entertain- 
ment ;  but  to  elevate  our  souls,  to  purify  our 
lives,  and,  so  far  as  art  can  conduce  to  such  an 
end,  to  strengthen  our  faith  and  devotion  toward 
God. ' '  If  this  be  so,  we  fear  that  few  persons  who 
attend  oratorio  concerts  have  the  attitude  of 
mind  to  thoroughly  appreciate  an  oratorio  like 
Liszt's  "Christus."  Says  a  writer  in  the  Home 
Journal :  "This  oratorio  should  be  regarded  with 
appreciative  reverence.  It  deals  with  the  highest 
questions  that  agitate  the  human  mind,  and 
presents  them  to  the  hearer  in  the  great  language 
which  alone  adequately  expresses  the  emotions. 
To  write  a  successful  oratorio  requires  not  only 
deep  religious  feeling  and  poetic  insight,  but  the 
greatest  technical  knowledge.  ...  It  is  cesrtainly 
by  a  most  natural  tendency  that  the  highest 
order  of  mind  when  bending  its  energies  in  the 
direction  of  any  art  work  finally  centres  upon 
the  most  exalted  subjects.  Liszt  in  the  fulness 
of  power  turned  to  those  scenes  and  emotions 
which  deal  with  the  religious  aspiration  of  hu- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


499 


matiit3% — an  aspiration   as   ineradicable  as    life 

itself." 
The  writer  goes  on  to  say  that  an  oratorio  like 

"  Christus  "  must  not  be  judged  entirely  from  a 
musical  standpoint.  "Judged  by  its  intention  as 
well  as  execution,  'Christus,'  notwithstanding 
a  certain  monotony  which  partly  results  from  its 
excessive  length,  rank^  among  the  really  great 
oratorios.  The  true  church  spirit  is  manifest 
throughout,  and  the  continuous  dignity  is  rarely 
interrupted  save  by  that  occasional  tendency  to 
florid  sweetness  which  marks  all  of  Liszt's  orches- 
tral works.  The  orchestration  shows  the  climax 
of  modern  art  in  legitimate  church-music,  and 
in  places,  esjiecially  in  the  representation  of  the 
storm  on  Lake  Galilee,  is  thrillingly  impressive. ' ' 


Father  Verdin,  who  died  recently  at  St.  Louis, 
was  bom  in  that  city  in  1822  ;  he  was  one  of  the 
first  students  of  St.  Louis'  College.  Father  Verdin 
was  ordained  in  185 1.  During  the  war  he  was 
stationed  at  Bardstown,  and  he  went  much  among 
the  troops  of  Bragg's  and  Buell's  commands  ;  he 
ministered  alike  to  the  Federal  and  Confederate 
troops,  and  his  memory  is  cherished  by  many  a 
veteran  who  received  absolution  from  him  in  the 
old  perilous  times.  His  name  will  always  be  held 
in  deep  reverence  by  the  old  students  of  the  great 
Jesuit  college  in  St.  Louis,  with  which  his  life 
seemed  inseparably  bound,  and  of  which  he  was 
for  some  years  the  rector.  Chicago,  Cincinnati, 
and  Bardstown,  each  acknowledged  his  influence 
as  an  educator ;  and  the  years  he  spent  in  mis- 
sionary work  were  no  less  fruitful.  As  a  Jesuit, 
he  fulfilled  the  double  militant  mission  of  both 
teaching  and  ministering  as  a  missionary.  May 
he  rest  in  peace! 

Rosa  Bonheur,  the  famous  animal  painter,  re- 
ceived the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  in  an 
unusual  manner.  The  Empress  Eugenie  was 
always  doing  generous  and  womanly  things — the 
terms  are  synonymous, — and,  being  interested  in 
the  artist,  she  implored  the  Emperor  to  give  her 
the  Cross.  He  refused  ;  it  had  never  been  given 
to  a  woman.  But  when  he  was  in  Algeria  and  the 
Empress  was  regent,  she  slipped  into  Rosa  Bon- 
heur's  studio  and  kissed  her.  When  the  aston- 
ished painter  raised  her  head  she  found  the 
coveted  Cross  glittering  on  her  breast. 


The  Life  of  Lincoln,  nearly  approaching  com- 
pletion in  the  Century  Magazine,  has  not  been 
the  easiest  kind  of  reading ;  but  there  are  some 
passages  in  it  which  metaphorically  "catch  one 
by  the  throat,"  and  more  which  show  that,  after 
Washington,  we  had  no  greater  President  than 
Abraham  Lincoln.  Among  these  is  the  record  of 


the  President's  proposition  to  distribute  $400,- 
000,000  among  the  slave  States,  in  order  to  con- 
ciliate the  embittered  South  and  to  spare  further 
expenditure  of  blood  and  treasure.  He  spoke  of 
it  to  the  Cabinet.  "We  are  spending  $3,000,000 
a  day,"  he  said,  "  which  will  amount  to  all  this 
money  in  a  hundred  days,  besides  all  the  lives." 
The  Cabinet  unanimoiisly  opposed  his  resolution. 
The  Boston  Pilot,  commenting  on  this,  says: 
"Abraham  Lincoln  was  the  incarnation  of  Amer- 
ican common-sense.  The  common  people,  of  whom 
he  said  so  wisely, 'God  must  love  them,  since 
He  has  made  so  many  of  them,'  were  with  him  in 
his  humane  and  generous  views.  Like  him,  they 
believed  in  maintaining  the  Union  ;  and,  like  him, 
they  did  not  believe  in  perpetuating  the  bitter- 
ness of  the  struggle  after  the  fight  was  won." 


Archbishop  Ryan,  of  Philadelphia,  recently 
took  occasion  to  show  the  little  reliance  that  can 
nowadays  be  placed  upon  the  things  one  reads  in 
the  public  prints.  As  an  instance  he  mentioned 
a  late  number  of  the  Contemporary  Review,  in 
which  the  leading  article  is  an  anonymous  com- 
munication gravely  outlining  the  only  way  in 
which  the  future  of  Catholicism  may  be  pre- 
served. Carrdinal  Gibbons  is  indirectly  selected 
as  the  next  Pope,  and  the  seat  of  the  Holy  See  is 
transferred  from  Rome  to  London.  "Now,"  the 
Archbishop  says, ' '  the  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that 
it  is  absolutely  beyond  the  power  of  human 
knowledge  to  say  who  will  be  the  successor  of  our 
good  Pope  Leo  God,  in  His  Divine  Providence, 
watches  over  the  Chair  of  Peter,  and  in  His  own 
time  will  guide  the  wisdom  of  the  conclave  of 
Cardinals  that  a  worthy  man  may  be  chosen.  To 
speculate  as  to  the  man  who  will  be  called  is 
sheer  nonsense.  But  I  trust  it  will  be  many 
years  before  the  Holy  Father  will  be  taken  to  his 
reward,  and  in  the  meantime  the  affairs  of  the 
Church  will  be  conducted  with  the  same  judicious 
prudence  and  care  that  have  ever  attended  the 
work  of  the  hierarchy." 

Lord  Tennyson  describes  the  Holy  Grail  as 
"cut  from  an  emerald."  But  this  wonderful  dish 
is  really  of  glass.  When  Napoleon  I,  stole  it  from 
Genoa,  it  fell  and  was  broken.  It  was  found  to  be 
of  antique  glass,  and  historically  what  its  guardi- 
ans held  it  to  be — the  dish  used  by  Our  Lord  at 
the  Last  Supper.  Napoleon,  not  caring  to  keep  it 
as  it  was  not  emerald,  sent  it  back  to  Genoa.  It 
was  originally  placed  in  a  shrine  in  the  Church  of 
San  Guglielmo  in  i  loi ,  when  Guglielmo  Embriaco 
brought  it  from  Jerusalem.  By  request  of  King 
Humbert,  it  was  shown  to  the  Emperor  and  Em- 
press of  Germany  the  other  day  as  they  passed 
through  Genoa. 


500 


The  Ave  Maria. 


New  Publications. 

Our  Christian  Heritage.  By  James  Cardinal 
Gibbons,  Archbishop  of  Baltimore,  author  of  "The 
Faith  of  Our  Fathers."  Baltimore:  J.  Murphy  &  Co. 
If  the  name  of  His  Eminence  were  not  on  the 
title-page,  and  if  the  excellent  qualities  of  his 
former  work  had  not  whetted  the  public  appetite 
for  this,  the  manner  in  which  the  publishers  have 
presented  it  would  create  an  unconquerable 
prejudice  in  every  person  of  taste.  They  have 
seen  fit  to  "adorn"  it  with  a  vulgar,  flaming 
portrait  of  the  Cardinal,  and  the  aspect  of  the 
volume — which  we  hoped  might  find  its  way  into 
the  home  of  every  fair-minded  reader — is  so 
generally  untasteful  that  we  should  hesitate  to 
offer  it  without  an  apology  to  a  friend.  If  Catholic 
publishers  do  not  soon  learn  that  careful  attention 
must  be  given  to  the  mechanical  make-up  of 
books,  writers  can  not  be  blamed  for  following  the 
example  of  Cardinal  Newman  and  having  their 
works  printed  by  non-Catholic  publishers. 

The  matter  of  "Our  Christian  Heritage."  is 
well  adapted  to  dissipate  prejudice,  not  only 
against  the  Catholic  Church,  but  against  Chris- 
tianity ;  for  Cardinal  Gibbons  writes  for  all  in- 
telligent men,  whether  they  are  Christians  or 
not.  The  Cardinal  has  supported  his  assertions 
by  famous  authorities  most  likely  to  affect  the 
modern  mind,  which,  unhappily,  is  more  open  to 
a  line  from  Goethe  or  Tyndall  than  a  chapter  from 
St,  Thomas  Aquinas.  His  manner  of  putting 
things  shows  his  great  tact  and  his  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  American  mind.  Cardinal 
Gibbons  is  both  clear  and  concise.  His  chapter 
on  science  is  one  of  those  remarkable  utterances 
which  go  straight  to  the  heart  of  a  subject,  and 
seem  to  make  all  other  utterances  upon  them 
superfluous.  He  has  considered  well  the  problems 
of  the  day ,  from  all  aspects ;  and  he  has  placed  keys 
to  them  in  the  hands  of  every  man  who  can  read. 
"Our  Christian  Heritage ' '  is  eminently  a  book 
for  the  people.  It  is  above  all  perspicuous.  Its 
English  is  as  clear  and  as  direct — without  being  at 
all  archaic — as  that  of  John  Bunyan.  It  surpasses 
expectation ;  and  all  those  thousands  who  read 
"The  Faith  of  Our  Fathers"  have  here  a  new 
volume  which  must  produce  a  greater  harvest  of 
conversions,  since  it  is  directed  at  men  who  need 
only  to  be  made  to  think  of  the  claims  of  the 
Church  to  become  aware  of  her  beauty.  The  Cardi- 
nal has  used  no  phrases  exclusively  adopted  by 
theology ;  there  is  no  misunderstanding  his  mean- 
ing ;  and  his  gentleness,  his  power  of  saying  the 
right  thing  to  the  right  people,  were  never  so 
evident  as  they  are  in  the  book  before  us. 


Olympias.  By  T.  Sparrow.  London  :  Remington 

cScCo. 

The  author  of  this  romance  has  written  other 
books  —'  'Life  as  We  Live  It ' '  and ' '  Fraught  with 
Sorrow," — and  she  is  not  unknown  to  the  readers 
of  The  "Ave  Maria"  under  her  pen-name  of 
Darcy  Byrn.  ' '  Olympias, ' '  elaborated,  might  have 
been  made  one  of  those  thrilling  historical  novels 
which  are  just  now  in  such  demand.  As  it  is,  it 
promises  that  the  hand  which  made  it  so  pure, 
so  fresh,  so  interesting,  may  be  equal  to  the  doing 
of  a  greater  work. 

The  scene  of  "Olympias"  is  laid  at  a  most 
interesting  epoch  in  the  history  of  the  Eastern 
Empire  —  when  the  Emperor  Alexis  Comnenus 
was  dying,  and  the  Empress  Irene  was  intriguing 
to  put  her  daughter  Anna  on  the  throne.  The 
East  was  overrun  with  soldiers  of  fortune,  ready 
to  add  to  the  dissensions  that  were  tearing  the 
heart  out  of  the  Byzantines.  Demetrius,  a  Greek, 
half  patriot,  half  bandit,  captures  a  young  court- 
ier, who  is  tended  in  his  illness  by  the  bandit's 
daughter,  Zoe.  Zoe  is  a  lovely  creation  ;  she 
shines  like  a  streak  of  silver  against  the  darkness 
of  her  father's  follower,  Sebas.  Olympias  is  a 
Grecian,  somewhat  of  the  type  of  Hypatia,  but 
more  noble, — a  brilliant  votaress  of  philosophy, 
courted  by  all  the  clever  people  of  Athens.  Theo- 
dore, the  prisoner,  resembles  Tito  in  George 
Eliot's  novel  "  Romola,"  though  he  is  not  as  well 
depicted.  The  plot  is  evolved  from  these  charac- 
ters ;  it  is  vital  and  full  of  interest,  and  the  au- 
thor's style  is  limpid,  appropriate,  and  well-knit. 
A  good  story  in  good  English  is  a  rare  thing ; 
we  have  one  in  "Olympias." 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii,  3. 

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

Mr.  John  Connaboy,  of  Mendota,  111.,  who  died 
on  the  17th  of  September,  fortified  by  the  last  Sacra- 
ments. 

Mrs.  John  T.  Piquett,  whose  happy  death  occurred 
in  Baltimore,  Md,,  on  the  2d  inst. 

Mrs.  Margaret  Beal,  of  Dixon,  111.,  whose  fervent 
Christian  life  was  crowned  with  a  saintlike  death  on 
the  loth  ult. 

Mrs.  Bridget  Phelan,  a  fervent  Child  of  Mary,  who 
peacefully  departed  this  life  on  the  28th  ult. 

Thomas  C.  Cannon,  of  Omaha,  Neb.;  Francis  Gor- 
man, Davenport,  Iowa;  John  Wagoner,  Iowa  City; 
and  Mrs.  Mary  Layden,  Co.  Clare,  Ireland. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


SOI 


The  Singer's  Alms. 

[A  touching  incident  in  the  life  of  the  great  tenor, ' 
Mario,  who  died  a  good  death  in  his  sunny  Italy  a 
few  years  ago,  has  been  thus  versified  by  Mr.  Henry 
Abbey.  Mario  had  a  tender  heart,  which  always  sym- 
pathized with  the  poor  and  suffering.  He  belonged 
to  a  noble  but  impoverished  family,  and  his  real 
name  was  Giuseppe  di  Candia.  This  episode  of  his 
life,  so  creditable  to  him,  and  which  perhaps  merited 
his  happy  death,  is  well  worthy  of  remembrance. 
Mario's  wondrous  voice  will  never  be  forgotten  by 
those  who  were  so  fortunate  as  to  hear  it,  and  its 
like  may  never  be  heard  again.  He  twice  visited  the 
United  States.] 

T  N  Lyons,  on  the  mart  of  that  French  town, 
J     Years  since,  a  woman,  leading  a  fair  child. 
Craved  a  small  alms  of  one  who,  walking  down 
The  thoroughfare,  caught  the  child's   glance 
and  smiled 
To  see,  behind  its  eyes,  a  noble  soul ; 
He  paused,  but  found  he  had  no  coin  to  dole. 

His  guardian  angel  warned  him  not  to  lose 
This  chance  of  pearl  to  do  another  good  ; 

So,  as  he  waited,  sorry  to  refuse 

The  asked-for  penny,  there  aside  he  stood, 

And  with  his  hat  held,  as  by  limb  the  nest, 

He  covered  his  kind  face  and  sang  his  best. 

The  sky  was  blue  above,  and  all  the  lane 

Of  commerce,  where  t  he  singer  stood,  was  filled; 

And  many  paused,  and,  listening,  paused  again 
To  hear  the  voice  that  through  and  through 
them  thrilled. 

I  think  the  guardian  angel  helped  along 

That  cry  for  pity  woven  in  a  song. 

The  hat  of  its  stamped  brood  was  emptied  soon 
Into  the  woman's  lap,  who  drenched  with  tears 

Her  kiss  upon  the  hand  of  help  ;  'twas  noon. 
And  noon  in  her  glad  heart  drove  forth  her  fears. 

The  singer,  pleased,  passed  on,  and  softly  thought: 

"Men  will  not  kuow   by  whom  this   deed  was 
wrought." 

But  when  at  night  he  came  upon  the  stage, 
Cheer  after  cheer  went  up  from  that  wide  throng. 

And  flowers  rained  on  him ;  naught  could  assuage 
The  tumult  of  the  welcome  save  the  song 

That  he  had  sweetly  sung,  with  covered  face. 

For  the  two  beggars  in  the  market-place. 


Noelie. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "TVBORNE,"  KTC. 


For  twenty  years  Mr.  Chevahier  w^ent  out 
every  morning  in  Paris,  the  pink  of  neatness. 
For  twenty  years  he  had  lived  alone  with  his 
two  servants,  Joseph  and  Catherine  (brother 
and  sister) ;  and  during  that  whole  time  the 
fairy  Order  could  never  have  found  enough 
dust  in  the  house  to  fill  her  thimble.  Never 
was  there  a  crease  in  the  carpet,  a  chair  out 
of  place,  an  unfolded  newspaper,  a  book  lying 
open.  For  twenty  years  Mr.  Chevahier  rose, 
breakfasted,  dined,  went  out,  came  in,  retired, 
at  exactly  the  same  moment ;  so  it  is  not  nec- 
essary to  say  he  had  neither  wife  nor  child. 

One  winter  evening,  at  eight  o'clock  pre- 
cisely, Mr.  Chevahier  went  out  for  a  walk. 
He  was  elegantly  dressed,  but  in  a  bad  humor; 
for,  instead  of  going  to  his  club,  he  had  to 
visit  a  gentleman  the  other  side  of  Paris,  who 
was  leaving  for  the  country  next  da)'. 

Coming  back  from  his  visit,  trying  to  take 
a  short  cut,  he  lost  his  way  and  found  himself 
in  a  dark  and  muddy  street.  He  had  to  pick 
his  steps,  lest  he  should  get  a  speck  of  mud  on 
his  boots.  All  of  a  sudden  he  heard  piercing 
cries.  He  listened, — yes,  from  the  house  op- 
posite came  these  heart-stirring  shrieks.  The 
street  seemed  quite  deserted. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Chevahier,  "come  what 
may,  I  must  see  what  is  the  matter." 

The  house  door  was  open;  he  entered, 
climbed  a  dark,  broken  staircase,  guided  only 
by  the  cries,  to  which  he  was  drawing  nearer 
and  nearer;  and  at  last  groping  along  a  cor- 
ridor, he  found,  in  a  perfectly  empty  room,  a 
little  girl  lying  on  the  floor.  She  was  between 
two  and  three  years  old,  and  seemed  to  be  in 
an  agonj^  of  fright  and  despair. 

In  vain  the  poor,  bewildered  man  went  to 
the  adjoining  rooms  for  help  and  shouted  up 
the  olher  stairs  :  all  was  empty,  all  was  silent. 
He  returned  to  the  little  one  and  touched  her ; 
the  cries  abated  somewhat,  and  at  last  she 
sobbed  out:  "Petite  is  hungry.  "Ji^t^heva- 
hier  happened  to  have  in  hi^^^JtsfiE^woall 
parcel  of  choice  chocolate,  /hi'ch  li^>nefad 
had  given  him,  assuring  hiir/ it  i^  oflf^Ve 


502 


The  Ave  Maria. 


excellence.  He  drew  this  out,  and,  breaking 
a  bit,  gave  it  to  the  child.  With  wonderful 
rapidity  she  finished  the  morsel,  and  cried 
for  more.  He  gav^e  her  a  secoad  piece,  and 
then  a  third.  While  eating  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  Mr.  Chevahier.  At  last  she  said : 

**  Mr.  Friend,  Petite  wants  more.  That  is 
good!" 

"I  think  Petite  has  had  enough.  And  now 
we  can  call  mamma,  for  I  must  go." 

"Mr.  Friend  not  go!"  cried  the  little  one, 
throwing  herself  on  him,  and  clinging  to  his 
coat  with  all  her  strength.  "Petite  won't  let 
Mr.  Friend  go." 

"But  I  must  go  home." 

"  Petite  will  go  home  with  Mr.  Friend." 

"Petite  has  odd  notions, ".said  Mr.  Cheva- 
hier, gently.  "I  will  take  her  to  the  porter's 
lodge,  and  she  can  wait  there  till  her  mamma 
returns." 

The  porter's  lodge  was  in  darkness ;  no  one 
was  there.  "I  shall  go  next  door,"  said  the 
good  man ;  but  when  he  did  so  the  result  was 
the  same.  At  last  a  large  placard  struck  his 
eye.  The  street  lamp  gave  light  enough  to 
read  it :  "To  be  pulled  down.  New  streets  to 
be  made."  All  the  houses  in  the  street  were 
empty.  Petite  had  been  deserted  and  left  to 
her  fate. 

"Poor  little  thing!"  said  Mr.  Chevahier. 
"They  left  you  all  alone, — how  long  ago  I 
wonder  ? ' ' 

But  Petite  did  not  hear  him.  She  was  asleep 
on  his  shoulder. 

"What  am  I  to  do?"  he  said.  "I  Tnust 
take  her  to  the  Sisters  of  Charity.  But  not  at 
this  hour — there  is  eleven  striking!  I  shall 
be  late  at  home.  I  can't  disturb  the  Sisters 
now.   I  must  take  her  with  me." 

By  this  time  he  had  reached  another  street, 
and  a  cab  was  passing.  He  stepped  in  with 
Petite  and  was  driven  to  his  residence. 
II. 

Mr.  Chevahier  went  up  to  the  first  floor 
and  rang  the  bell.  Joseph  opened  the  door, 
rubbing  his  eyes.   He  saw  the  child's  head. 

"You  are  mistaken,  sir,"  said  he,  rudely. 
"Go  up  higher."  And  he  closed  the  door. 

Mr.  Chevahier  rang  again  violently.  Joseph 
opened  once  more. 

"What  do  you  mean,"  said  his  master, 
"by( shutting  the  door  in  my  face?" 


"But,  sir,  I  did  not  know  you.  It's  not  my 
fault.  You  were  carrying  something.  I  could 
not  guess — " 

'  *  Send  Catherine  to  me. ' ' 

Catherine,  already  very  cross  because  her 
master  was  late,  advanced,  and  at  the  sight  of 
Petite  fell  back. 

"What is  that, sir?"  she  asked.  "What has 
happened  to  you?  Give  it  to  me.  I'll  put  it 
out.  It  can't  stay  here." 

Petite  understood  she  was  not  welcome. 
She  threw  her  arms  round  Mr.  Chevahier's 
neck.  "Petite  won't  leave  Mr.  Friend."  And 
she  stroked  his  face  with  her  little  black 
hands,  whi.^pering,  "Friend! — friend!" 

The  two  servants  stood  staring  at  their 
master,  the  front  door  still  open. 

"What  are  you  staring  at  me  for?"  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Chevahier.  "Joseph,  close  the 
door.   Catherine,  take  this  child." 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  her,  sir?"  asked 
Catherine. 

"Undress  her  and  put  her  to  bed." 

"Where  is  she  to  sleep,  sir?" 

Mr.  Chevahier  had  concluded  Catherine 
would  take  Petite  to  her  room  for  the  night, 
but  he  would  not  ask  it  as  a  favor. 

"She  shall  sleep  in  my  room,"  he  said,  in 
a  dignified  manner. 

"In  your  room,  sir!"  exclaimed  Catherine, 
throwing  up  her  hands. 

"On  my  little  red  sofa,"  continued  Mr. 
Chevahier. 

' '  On  your  little  red  sofa ! ' '  cried  the  servants 
in  one  breath. 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer.  "What  geese  you 
both  are !  Catherine,  make  the  child's  bed 
and  undress  her." 

"That  won't  take  long,"  grumbled  Cath- 
erine: "she  has  nothing  on  but  rags.  I  won- 
der, sir,  you  were  not  disgusted  at  having  to 
carry  her." 

When  the  bed  was  ready  Catherine  asked : 
"What  shall  I  give  her  for  a  night-dress  in 
place  of  these  rags  ?  " 

Mr.  Chevahier  was  greatly  perplexed,  but 
finally  replied :  "Put  on — put  on  her — one  of 
my  shirts." 

"One  of  your  shirts,  sir!"  exclaimed  Jo- 
seph, letting  the  warming-pan,  with  which 
he  was  about  to  warm  his  master's  bed,  fall 
firom  his  grasp. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


503 


"No  more  of  this- nonsense ! "  said  Mr.  Che- 
vahier,  sharply,  "  One  of  my  shirts,  I  repeat." 

Catherine  unfolded  a  snowy  shirt,  well 
starched  and  ironed,  and  put  it  on  Petite. 
When  the  little  f?.ce  peeped  out  from  the 
starched  collar,  Catherine  burst  out  laughing. 
Joseph  followed  her  example, — down  went  the 
warming-pan  again,  while  the  two  servants 
were  in  convulsions. 

Mr.  Chevahier  could  hardly  control  his 
countenance,  but  Petite  was  too  sleepy  to 
laugh.  She  put  out  her  little  arms  and  asked : 

"Mr.  Friend,  why  has  Petite  a  paper  night- 
gown? Petite  does  not  like  paper  night- 
gowns." 

Mr.  Chevahier  could  no  longer  restrain  his 
laughter. 

"And  why  do  you  laugh  at  Petite?"  she 
said,  beginning  to  cry. 

"lyie,  down,  Petite,"  said  he;  "lie  down." 

Catherine  turned  up  the  long  sleeves,  tied 
a  handkerchief  round  the  child's  neck,  bent 
back  the  starched  collar,  and  settled  her  in  bed. 

"You  don't  want  me  any  more,  sir?" 

"No,  Catherine.  Go  to  your  room.  You 
too,  Joseph." 

Then  Mr.  Chevahier  put  his  watch  beside 
him,  lit  a  cigar,  and  got  into  bed  with  his 
newspaper.  He  began  to  smoke  and  read  in 
peace,  according  to  custom. 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Friend!"  said  a  little 
voice. 

Mr.  Chevahier  gave  a  start.  He  had  quite 
forgotten  he  was  not  alone. 

"Good-night,  good- night!"  said  he. 

In  another  minute  he  heard  :  "Mr.  Friend, 
I  am  not  asleep." 

"Well,  try  to  go  to  sleep,  child.  Good- 
night, good-night ! ' '  And  he  went  on  reading. 

He  had  read  about  two  lines. 

"Mr.  Friend,  I  told  you  I  am  not  asleep." 

"Very  well,  very  well! "  said  Mr.  Chevahier 
impatiently,  continuing  to  read  and  smoke. 

And  then, ' '  Mr.  Friend,  I  am  hungry  again." 
But  Mr.  Friend  was  deep  in  his  newspaper;  he 
made  no  reply.  "Mr.  Friend,  do  you  know  I 
am  hungry?"  she  repeated,  beginning  to  cry. 

"What,  what,  what!"  said  Mr.  Chevahier, 
affecting  a  gruff  voice.  "  Go  to  sleep,  miss,  and 
be  good.  You  shall  have  a  nice  breakfast  in 
the  morning  and  some  more  chocolate.  Go 
to  sleep  now.  You  are  not  to  speak  any  more." 


Perfect  quiet  ensued.  Mr.  Chevahier  read  half 
a  page  of  his  newspaper,  and  then  he  heard : 

"Mr.  Friend,  why  don't  you  go  to  sleep?" 

Mr.  Chevahier  was  ready  to  tear  his  hair. 
In  another  minute  Petite  began  to  sneeze. 

"Mr.  Friend" — sneeze — "Mr.  Friend" — 
sneeze, — "why," — sneeze — "do  you  always 
smoke  in  bed?" — sneeze — sneeze — sneeze. 

Mr.  Chevahier  put  away  his  cigar..  "Now, 
then,  you  naughty  child!  What  more  do  you 
want?  Go  to  sleep." 

"Petite  can't  sleep,  Mr.  Friend,"  said  the 
child.   "Petite  wants  you  to  tell  her  a  story." 

"A  story! "  said  Mr.  Chevahier,  raising  his 
hands.  "I  don't  know  how.  Miss  Petite.  I  tell 
you  to  go  to  sleep." 

"Ah,  but  try  and  think  of  one,  Mr.  Friend." 

"Well,  it  might  get  her  off,"  thought  Mr. 
Chevahier.   "Now  listen  well." 

"Is  it  a  very  pretty  story?"  said  the  little 
one,  smiling. 

"You  will  see,  but  keep  very  quiet."  And 
he  began  to  read:  "'The  latest  news  from 
Madrid  is  alarming.  The  European  powers — ' " 

"That  story  is  not  pretty  at  all!"  cried, 
Petite.  "I  want  'The  I^ittle  White  Mouse'  or 
'The  Greedy  Little  Girl.'  "    And  she  began 
to  sob. 

"Now  she  is  crying!  This  finishes  all! 
Petite,  do  go  to  sleep,  like  a  good  little  girl!" 

' '  Petite  can' t — can' t — can' t  go  to  sleep.  Mr. 
Friend,  if  you  don't  know  any  pretty  stories, 
sing  a  nice  song." 

"What  is  that  striking?"  said  Mr.  Cheva- 
hier slowly  to  himself.  "One,  two, — half  past 
two  o'clock!"  Then,  in  a  stern  voice,  "Now 
look  here!  Are  we  never  going  to  sleep  to- 
night, miss?  If  you  go  on  like  this  I  shall 
beat  you  and  throw  you  out  of  the  window." 

Petite  went  into  an  agony  of  sobbing.  Mr. 
Chevahier  was  melted  at  once. 

"No.no!  I  won't  beat  you.  I  won't  throw 
you  out  of  the  window.  Don't  be  afraid.  But 
be  good  now,  and  go  to  sleep  nicely." 

"I  want  Mr.  Friend  to  tell  me  a  story  or 
sing  me  a  song,"  sobbed  the  child. 

"She  is  as  wide-awake  as  a  mouse,"  mut- 
tered the  poor  man.  "It's  getting  worse  and 
worse.  I  never  had  such  a  night  as  this  in  my 
life!  Petite,  you  seem  to  me  a  very  spoiled 
child.  Did  your  mamma  tell  you  stories  and 
sing  for  you  all  night  when  you  could  not 


504 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


sleep?  It  is  a  fine  thing  to  make  people  do." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Petite,  "not  mamma!  It 
was  godmother  who  told  Petite  pretty  stories 
when  she  could  not  sleep.  Godmother  is  so 
good!  Petite  always  slept  when  she  was  with 
mamma." 

"Why?"  asked  Mr.  Chevahier. 

"Because  mamma  is  sick,  and  when  Petite 
does  not  sleep,  or  when  she  cries,  she  is 
slapped." 

"Oh,  I  am  glad  to  hear  that!"  said  Mr. 
Chevahier,  laughing.  "I'll  take  care  not  to 
imitate  your  godmother.  And  what  is  your 
godmother's  name?" 

"Sudo,"  replied  the  child. 

' '  Consudo, ' '  said  Mr.  Chevahier  to  himself. 
"A  Spanish  name.  Does  she  live  in  Paris?" 

"Yes;  but  she  is  gone  now,  and  mamma 
and  papa  and  grandmamma." 

' '  What  is  your  mother  called  ? — but  I  think 
she  is  going  to  sle'ep.  Good!" 

He  began  to  hum:  "Tra-la-la-la-la  la-la!  " 
Then  he  stopped.  Petite  opened  her  ej'es.  He 
began  again:  "Tra-la-la-tra-la-la!  "  and  so  on 
till  the  child  fell  asleep.  And  when  he  put 
out  the  lamp  three  o'clock  was  striking. 

"Good-moniing,  Mr.  Friend!  Mr.  Friend,  it 
is  light  now.  Mr.  Friend,  Petite  wants  to  get 
up.  Wake  up.  Mr.  Friend!  " 

Mr.  Chevahier  shook  himself,  looked  at  his 
watch.  Just  six  o'clock.  He  seized  his  bell- 
rope  and  rang  till  the  rope  came  off  in  his  hand. 
Joseph  and  Catherine  rushed  in  together. 

"Joseph,  Catherine,  take  away  this  child. 
Dress  her — do  as  you  like  with  her,  but  I 
must  sleep  a  while  loi;ger." 

"Mr.  Friend  says  Petite  may  get  up,  and 
she  wants  to  get  up."  And  she  stretched  out 
her  arms  to  Catherine,  who  took  her  and  car- 
ried her  away  to  the  kitchen. 

Catherine  was  very  clean  and  neat,  and, 
though  she  muttered  to  herself  that  she  hated 
children,  she  washed  Petite  and  combed  her 
fair  curly  hair.  "I  really  can't  put  this 
ragged  frock  on  her  again,"  she  said.  "What 
shall  I  do?  Oh,  I  know!  My  black  cape — that 
will  hide  all  and  make  her  look  tidy." 

Petite  was  enchanted.  She  walked  about, 
admiring  her  "beautiful  cloak."  She  threw 
her  arms  round  the  "good  lady, ' '  as  she  called 
Catherine.  The  woman's  heart  was  touched. 


She  prepared  breakfast,  which  Petite  devoured 

In  came  Joseph.  "What  shall  I  do?  Half- 
past  nine  and  master  has  not  rung  his  bell! 
Never  did  such  a  thing  happen  before  for 
twenty  years." 

"He  is  still  asleep,"  said  Catherine,  as  she 
buttered  more  bread  for  Petite. 

"Petite  sleepy  too,"  said  the  child,  rubbing 
her  eyes.  "Petite  could  not  sleep  in  the 
night.  Mr.  Friend  told  a  story  and  sang  to 
Petite;  but  Mr.  Friend  does  not  know  any 
pretty  stories  or  songs.  He  sang  nothing  but 
'La-la-la-la!'" 

The  two  servants  laughed  heartily. 

"Well,  Miss  Petite,"  said  Joseph,  "you 
have  given  my  poor  master  a  pretty  night.  I 
am  not  surprised  now  he  is  not  yet  awake." 

"Poor,  dear  man!"  sighed  Catherine.  "I 
wonder  what  he  will  do  with  this  child,  and 
what  will  become  of  her?" 

(TO   BE  CONTINUED.) 


An  Incident  of  the  Siege  of  Granada. 


Four  centuries  ago  King  Ferdinand  and 
Queen  Isabella  were,  with  their  troops,  en- 
camped before  the  city  of  Granada.  They  had 
well-nigh  reconquered  Spain  :  Granada  alone 
defied  them,  and  there  the  Moors  made  their 
last  desperate  stand.  We  know  of  the  stirring 
stages  of  the  progress  of  the  siege,  and  of  the 
final  submission  of  the  Moors  to  the  cham- 
pions of  the  Cross.  One  incident,  however, 
can  not  be  told  too  often. 

It  was  when  the  fight  was  hottest,  and 
deadly  missiles  from  within  the  walls  were 
raining  upon  the  Spaniards  thick  and  fast, 
that  a  young  soldier  rode  gallantly  out  into 
the  danger.  He  bore  a  paper  in  his  right  hand, 
while  his  left  grasped  the  bridle-rein,  and  as  he 
advanced  he  read  aloud  from  the  little  flutter- 
ing sheet, '  'Ave Maria — "  The  paper  contained 
the  words  of  the  Angelic  Salutation.  He  gal- 
loped forward  undismayed,  transfixed  it  with 
his  dagger  to  the  very  gate  of  the  city,  and 
rode  back  unharmed,  amid  the  delighted  and 
admiring  shouts  of  the  army. 

When  the  Spanish  troops  entered  the  gates 
of  Granada  they  uncovered  their  heads  at 
sight  of  the  paper,  still  held  fast  by  the  dagger 
of  their  brave  and  pious  comrade. 


Vol.  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  NOVEMBER  30,  1889. 


No.  22. 


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


The  Other  Side. 

BY    ROBERT    H.    BAYNES. 

TT^HE  day  was  done  ;  bCvSide  the  sultry  shore 
*^  The  cooling  shadows  kissed  the  restless  sea ; 
The  words  of  wondrous  wisdom  now  were  o'er 
That  make  thy  waves  so  sacred,  Galilee! 

The  thronging-  multitude  from  far  and  nigh 
In  eager  haste  around  His  bark  had  pressed  ; 

And,  as  He  spake,  the  hours  passed  stealthy  by. 
And  manj'  a  weary  heart  found  peace  and  rest. 

And  then,  as  gently  fell  the  evening  dew. 

And  the  long  daj^  with  all  its  toil,  was  o'er, 
The  Master  saith  unto  His  chosen  few : 
"Let  us  pass  over  to  the  farther  shore." 

So,  when  our  day  is  ended,  and  we  stand 
At  even  by  the  marge  of  Jordan's  tide, 

O  may  we  firmly  grasp  His  pierced  Hand, 
And  pass  triumphant  to  the  ' '  other  side ' ' ! 


The  Shrine  of  Our  Lady  of  Grace. 


BY    KATHARINE    TYNAN, 


HE  East  End  of  lyondon  is  the  Sunless 
City, — as  little  sun  in  the  streets  as 
in  the  hearts  of  the  unhappy  dwellers 
therein.  Gaunt  warehouses,  miles.of  them,  wall 
in  the  squalid  little  streets,  where  a  stray  shaft 
of  sunlight  seems  as  much  out  of  place  as  if  it 
were  to  fall  into  the  heart  of  a  mine.  White- 
chapel  makes  even  the  sun  dreary.  There  is 
room  for  a  full  flood  of  sunshine  in  the  wide 


Whitechapel  Road, — one  of  the -finest  streets* 
as  regards  space,  in  London ;  but  the  human 
creatures  going  up  and  down  are  even  more 
squalid  in  what  one  feels  here  to  be  a  pitiful 
glare.  Your  British  vagabond  has  no  art, 
designed  or  undesigned,  of  making  his  rags 
and  tatters  picturesque,  or  anything  but  dirty 
and  ill-smelling  and  terribly  suggestive.  Even 
the  decent  poor  in  these  islands  wear  the  cast- 
off  clothes  of  their  betters,  and  wear  them  till 
they  rot  apart.  Surely  one  of  the  first  social 
reforms  called  for  is  that  the  poor  should  wear 
washable  garments,  and  should  learn  to  wash 
them.  Coming  down  here  full  of  sympathy — 
for  it  was  the  days  of  the  great  strike, — one 
was  most  unwillingly  shocked  in  that  nice- 
ness  and  fastidiousness,  v/hich  a  saint  would 
humble  by  setting  himself  to  dress  the  leper's 
sores;  the  faces,  the  rude  laughter,  the  un- 
cleanly street  manners,  or  lack  of  manners, 
turned  one  dreary. 

It  was  a  bright  autumnal  day,  with  a  sunny 
breeze  blowing.  In  the  quadrangle  of  Toynbee 
Hall — the  University  settlement  in  East  Lon- 
don—the red  leaves  of  the  Virginia  creeper 
were  blown  one  by  one  from  the  red  brick 
walls.  The  house  itself,  like  an  old  manor- 
house,  lying  secluded  behind  warehouses,  was 
redolent  of  smoky  chimneys.  The  smoke  came 
down  in  puffs  from  the  drawing-room  chimney, 
befogging  the  fine  room,  with  its  Benson  lamps 
and  Morris  cretonnes,  its  photographs  of  great 
masterpieces  on  the  wall ;  all  its  pleasant  and 
refined  things,  amid  which  Whitechapel  lads 
and  lasses  may  come,  as  into  green  pastures, — 
if  they  can  feel  it  so,  poor  things!  For  White- 
chapel life  must  crush  out  capacity  for  fine 


5o6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


feelings,  or  woe  to  them  who  have  to  live  it! 
Amid  all  the  civilizing  appliances  of  Toynbee 
— and  Christianity  and  brotherly  love  have 
taught  its  promoters  much — that  most  in 
evidence  was  the  picture  of  the  Madonna.  Her 
face,  in  photographs  after  Raphael  and  other 
old  masters,  was  everywhere;  it  hung  above 
every  door,  its  beauty  and  purity  and  tender- 
ness a  liberal  education. 

Great  Prescott  Street  is  not  far  from  Toynbee, 
— nearer  the  river  by  a  street  or  two  and  the 
width  of  Commercial  Road.  It  is  flanked  at 
the  river  end  by  the  greatest  warehouses  in 
the  world, — gigantic  structures  that  shut  out 
the  sky.  It  is  a  sordid  street  and  mean,  and 
why  the  prefix  "  Great"  one  can  not  imagine. 
Yet  it  is  here  Our  Lady  of  Grace  dispenses  her 
graces, — here  where  they  are  much  needed. 
The  church  of  the  Oblate  Fathers,  dedicated 
to  the  English  Martyrs,  carries  on  the  trust  of 
the  shrine  which  Edward  III.  founded  here 
in  memory  of,  and  thanksgiving  for,  his  deliv- 
erance in  a  great  storm.  The  shrine  has  lost 
its  endowments,  and  the  splendor  with  which 
grateful  hearts  adorned  it  was  reformed  away 
long  ago ;  only  the  graces  remain.  The  church  is 
a  rather  gloomy,  Puginesque  structure,  with  a 
fine  doorway ;  it  is  dark  outside  with  the  Lon- 
don smuts,  that  corrode  the  solid  stone.  Over 
against  it  is  the  Jews'  Bakery,  where  the  un- 
leavened bread  for  the  Passover  is  made  ready. 

The  East  End  of  London  swarms  with  Jews, 
and  the  poorest  and  dirtiest  Moses  or  Solomon 
of  them  all  performs  his  religious  duties  as 
faithfully  as  a  Montefiore  or  a  Rothschild.  A 
strange  people,  and  how  well  it  would  be  for 
us  Christians  if  we  emulated  such  faithfulness! 
How  curious  it  is  to  think  of  them  keeping  the 
Feast  of  Tents  in  their  London  back  gardens, 
— the  sorrowfullest  makeshifts  of  gardens, 
with  London  smuts  drifting  in  at  each  man's 
tent  door,  and  the  hum  of  prosaic  London 
traffic  in  the  air!  And,  again,  how  wonderful 
to  think  of  the  Pasch,  with  the  blood  of  the 
symbolical  lamb  on  the  London  door-posts, 
and  each  man  shod  for  a  journey,  and  with  his 
loins  girded,  just  the  same  as  in  the  golden 
Eastern  land  in  the  days  when  God  talked 
with  men!  But  I  am  wandering  from  the  New 
Dispensation  to  the  Old. 

There  is  a  certam  fitness  in  Our  Lady  of 
Grace  giving  her  audiences  and  dispensing 


her  full-handed  graces  in  this  Church  of  the 
English  Martyrs,  close  by  Tower  Hill.  To 
Blessed  Thomas  More  and  Blessed  John  Fisher^ 
to  Blessed  Margaret  Pole  and  many  another, 
it  must  have  seemed  that  this  grace  of  martyr- 
dom crowned  all  God's  graces  of  which  His 
Mother  is  so  often  almoner.  In  the  church, 
dim  inside  with  the  East  End  sunlessness,  the 
carved  pulpit  is  the  gift  of  the  descendants 
of  Blessed  Thomas  More.  Round  about  here 
is  blessed  with  the  footprints  of  martyrs ;  and 
not  far  away,  where  are  now  prosaic  tea  ware- 
houses, the  scaffold  stood  which  was  the  fallow 
ground  to  receive  the  richest  of  all  seed. 

The  shrine  itself  is  framed  of  pure  alabaster, 
with  the  snowy  marble  figure  of  Our  Lady 
in  the  midst,  illuminated  forever  with  a 
steady  glow  froTi  some  hidden  light,  which, 
pouring  on  the  delicate,  pure  head  and  shoul- 
ders, makes  the  figure  look  from  a  distance 
like  a  pale  flame.  Around  and  about  is  a 
ring  of  angels,  like  the  angels  in  Murillo's 
"Assumption."  tending  upward,  and  with 
eyes  toward  their  Queen.  Silver  and  white 
the  shrine  is,  with  no  more  garish  hue  than 
these :  the  tabernacle  doors,  the  candlesticks 
and  the  vases  being  all  of  virgin  silver.  It  is  a 
little  place  of  moonlight  in  this  world  of  vast 
shadows.  The  hanging  altar  lamp  is  a  silver 
ship  with  a  blue  light, — perhaps  for  a  symbol 
of  the  Star  of  the  Sea, — perhaps  as  a  symbol 
of  her  who  shall  be  the  ship  and  the  ark  into 
which  many  souls  are  gathered  and  saved.  In 
this  church  there  is  an  altar  (the  only  one 
I  know)  dedicated  to  the  Holy  Ghost, — the 
Spirit,  the  Dove,  which  descended  on  Mary 
Immaculate  to  give  Life  to  the  world. 

So  not  alone  in  the  green  solitudes,  which 
were  Salette  and  Lourdes — where  the  cool 
silence  was  only  broken  by  the  tinkle  of  the 
sheep-bells,  or  the  simple  songs  of  the  little 
shepherding  children, — does  Our  Lady  set 
up  her  habitation;  but  here,  where  there  is 
seething  around  her  the  flood-tide  of  the  sin 
and  sorrow  of  the  great  city.  Who  knows  what 
graces  the  angels  carry  out  through  that 
arched  doorway  and  along  the  sordid  street? 
Visible  angels  there  are  in  the  shape  of  the 
Sisters  of  the  Immaculate  Conception,  with 
their  gracious  nuns'  robes  of  trailing  black 
and  azure,  pinned  well  out  of  hirm's  way  in 
work-a-day  hours,  — teaching,  nursing,  giving 


The  Ave  Maria. 


507 


foo  and  comfort, -^oing  all  the  gracious, 
woianly  offices  which  She  must  love  especially 
wb  was  the  sweetest  of  all  women.  Ttiere  are 
strets  around  here  the  very  name  of  which 
maes  the  civilized  world  shudder,  because 
the  are  associated  one  way  or  another  with 
theleeds  of  horror  which  have  made  White- 
choel  a  name  of  horror ;  yet  in  the  worst  of 
thei  the  Blue  Sisters  can  pass  unmolested. 
(Witechapel — did  it  take  its  name  from 
thi  Abbey  of  Our  I^ady  of  Grace,  or  from 
soiE  other  stately  chapelry  of  the  White 
Cisircians?  O  piteous  destiny,  that  it  should 
com  to  be  this  slough  of  despond! )  The  Sis- 
ter-Influence more  than  the  20,000  Catholics 
wh'work  down  here,  and  their  belongings. 
At  heir  approach  a  street  row  will  disperse 
likira  mist,  and  the  hardiest  of  desperadoes 
wilslink  away  with  an  alacrity  which  is  the 
besBign  of  respect.  "If  you  'd  come  a  minute 
sooer,  Sister, ' '  says  a  policeman  to  one  of 
theiuns,  "this  chap  wouldn't  have  had  his 
hea  laid  open." 

lie  nun  I  saw  was  fresh-looking — the  one 
ros}face  I  met  in  the  East, — with  blue  eyes 
andwhite  teeth,  and  that  angelic  look  of  in- 
nocQce  and  candor  which  belongs  to  a  nun. 
No 'onder  the  poor  unlighted  souls  in  the 
Has  looking  upon  such  as  she,  remember 
thei  innocence  vaguely  and  are  touched.  The 
nunap peals  to  the  latent  poetry  in  even  the 
poo2st  human  nature  far  more  than  the 
straping  Hallelujah  lasses,  with  their  poke- 
bonets,  and  their  rough-and-ready  way  of 
doiiT  the  work  which  I  am  sure  is  good 
acceding  to  their  lights ;  far  more  than  even 
the  >retty  Protestant  deaconesses  in  their 
chaning,  prim  attire.  Around  the  nun  there 
is  aveil  of  mystery  and  hiddenness,  which 
the  Dughest  recognize  as  a  kind  of  glamour. 
**E?ry  Quakeress  is  a  lily,"  said  Charles 
Lam ;  every  nun  is  a  dove,  say  I,  invested 
witlone  knows  not  what  charm  of  simplicity 
and  entleness  and  purity  and  peace. 

Te  nuns'  clean,  bare  little  convent  and 
chap],  with  the  light  throbbing  like  a  heart 
befo2  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  was  an  oasis  in 
Easll^ondon.  So  too  was  the  Oblates'  con- 
vent with  its  pathetic  city  garden  of  hardy 
geraiums  and  ferns,  and  such  like. 

Intho  e  days  of  the  great  strike  hunger 
stalkd  in  the  streets;  and  the  great  docks. 


well  guarded,  loomed  silent  and  vast  and  grey, 
ringed  with  a  belt  of  "wan  water,"  as  an  old 
ballad  writer  would  call  it.  And  all  the  time 
ivory  and  furs  and  precious  woods  lay  in  the 
warehouses,  and  golden  fruit  and  purple  wine 
on  the  wharves,  for  no  man's  profit  and  no 
man's  pleasure.  Happily,  that  is  all  over  and 
done  with,  thanks  more  to  Henry  Edward, 
Cardinal  Manning,  than  to  any  other  man; 
and  once  more  the  busy  crowds,  no  longer 
famished,  swarm  to  the  dock  gates,  past  the 
warehouses,  a  whiff  from  which  is  like  a  wind 
blowing  over  the  Spice  Islands.  But  they  are 
at  best  joyless  crowds,  for  whom  no  Star  in 
the  East  has  arisen,  or  who  have  never  learned 
its  message;  pitiful  crowds,  still  waiting  for 
their  evangel  and  evangelist.  And  all  the  time 
in  the  Chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  Grace  are  cool- 
ness and  silence,  and  the  blue  star— blue  as 
her  mantle — throbs  before  that  marble  effigy 
of  Her  who  is  the  tender  sister  of  all  Christ's 
creatures. 


A  Sin  and  Its  Atonement. 


V. 


WORDS  can  not  describe  the  beauty  of  the 
childhood  of  my  little  Christopher.  He 
was  a  well-spring  of  delight,  not  only  in  my 
old  home  but  through  the  whole  valley.  The 
simplicity  of  his  faith  and  his  loving  famili- 
arity with  divine  things  by  slow  degrees  dis- 
pelled all  the  haunting  associations  of  my  evil 
days,  and  restored  me  to  peace  and  sunshine. 
I  so  well  remember  his  first  little  suit,  when 
he  was  three  years  old ;  he  was  charmed  with 
his  new  clothe-,  and,  having  shown  them  off 
to  me,  nothing  would  content  him  till  he  went 
to  the  church  to  show  them  to  Our  Lord  in 
the  Tabernacle.  On  one  rare  occasion,  when 
he  had  had  a  breeze  with  a  little  play -fellow 
named  Richard,  I  found  him  on  the  altar  steps 
sobbing,  "You  love  me!  You  love  me!  Richie 
doesn't! "  He  was  very  much  distressed  when 
told  by  his  nurse  that  the  Little  Jesus  would 
not  care  for  the  marbles  which  he  insisted  on 
leaving  before  the  Ciib  at  Christmas-tide ;  but 
when  we  made  hin  understand  that  he  could 
give  Him  everything  he  did,  if  he  did  it  to 
please  Him,  he  exclaimed,  radiant  with  de- 
light :  "Then  I'll  give  Him  my  capital  letters, 


5o8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


because  they're  so  hard  to  make!"  Father 
lyindsay  used  to  say,  as  he  watched  him : 
"That  child  is  destined  to  be  a  priest,  I  am 
sure.  Be  faithful  to  your  high  privilege  of 
rearing  him."  And  the  good  Father  s  delight 
when,  after  incredible  efforts,  the  little  fellow 
had  learned  to  serve  his  Mass,  was  touching 
to  behold. 

But  I  soon  became  aware  that  a  thread  of 
humiliation  and  pain  was  to  mingle  even  wilh 
this  silver  tissue  of  angelic  sweetness.  With 
all  his  bright  intelligence  and  loving  little 
heart,  when  it  came  to  any  learning  which 
required  memory  of  a  technical  kind  his  dul- 
ness  was  insurmountable.  Many  and  many  an 
anxious  discussion  did  I  have  with  Father 
L/indsay  as  to  the  best  means  of  helping  him 
over  these  insuperable  difficulties,  and  the 
only  grief  my  boy's  happy  child- heart  ever 
knew  was  the  perpetual  failure  in  what  was 
expected  of  him  in  the  way  of  learning. 

I  was  so  uneasy  about  it  that  I  took  him  once 
to  a  specialist  in  Edinburgh,  telling  of  the 
peculiarly  pdwerful  charactet  of  his  father's 
mind,  and  a  certain  amount  of  natural  quick 
nessand  retentiveness  in  mine,  which  made  the 
total  absence  of  it  in  him  the  more  remarka- 
ble. The  doctor  took  a  great  fancy  to  the  boy, 
who  asked  him  with  earnest  simplicity  to  give 
him  some  medicine  which  would  enable  him 
to  learn  Latin  grammar.  "Your  boy  will 
make  a  grand  man,  and  he  has  a  splendid 
heart, ' '  Doctor  Quin  said  to  me  when  we  were 
alone;  "but  you  must  resign  all  hope  of  his 
being  a  scholar :  he  has  no  scientific  memory." 

As  we  went  back  to  the  hotel  I  thought 
Christopher  looked  sad  and  disappointed. 
"What  are  you  thinking  of,  my  child?"  I 
asked,  feeling  my  own  heart  very  heavy. — 
"I'm  thinking  perhaps  I  am  the  ass'  colt  the 
Lord  had  need  of,  '  he  answered.  "I  sha'n't 
urge  Our  Lady  any  longer  to  make  me  clever. 
I  shall  just  ask  her  to  let  me  be  a  priest, 
though  I  am  a  dunce." 

These  words  inspired  me  with  an  idea!  I 
went  to  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  (who  happened  to 
be  in  Edinburgh),  and  laid  the  whole  case 
before  him.  I  told  him  of  the  child's  own 
ardent  desire ;  of  Father  Lindsay's  conviction 
that  he  was  destined  to  be  a  priest ;  of  the 
great  natural  gifts  in  one  way,  and  the  seri- 
ous defect  in  another.  I  said  I  felt  it  would 


be  morally  impossible  for  him  to  attain  to  the 
full  measure  of  scholarship  required  for  ordi- 
nary candidates,  and  that  it  would  be  cruel  to 
let  him  go  on  cherishing  the  hope,  and  pre- 
paring for  a  career  which  would  eventually 
be  closed  against  him.  The  Bishop  listened 
with  the  utmost  attention,  and  told  me  to  send 
the  boy  to  him  for  the  afternoon,  saying  he 
would  study  the  case  carefully  and  give  me  a 
definitive  answer  next  day. 

Christopher  set  off  for  the  palace,  not  one 
whit  afraid  of  Bishop,  Vicar  General,  and 
innumerable  priests,  who  were  coming  in  and 
going  out.  He  answered  some  difficult  ques- 
tions in  the  catechism  splendidly,  though  he 
could  not  recite  a  single  answer  without  some 
verbal  mistake ;  he  made  a  frightful  hash  of 
all  his  Scripture  history ;  but  when  it  came 
to  the  Gospels  he  took  them  all  by  storm, 
with  the  vividness  of  his  pictures  and  the 
tenderness  of  his  devotion.  The  boy  came 
rushing  home  in  an  ecstasy  of  cordial  grati- 
tude. "The  Bishop  says  Our  Lord  shall  have 
His  Christ-bearer  if  He  wants  him ;  he  will 
help  me  through  everything,  and  ordain  me 
himself  when  I  have  finished  my  course."  I 
went  to  the  Bishop  next  morning,  and  he  said, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes:  "Whom  God  has  so 
manifestly  chosen,  let  no  man  dare  to  refuse." 

So  the  great  event  was  to  be  realized,  and  as 
the  all  important  time  drew  near  one  thought 
absorbed  my  heart.  I  hoped  and  prayed  and 
believed  my  son's  first  Mass  would  win  his 
father's  soul.  His  pure,  innocent  wisdom  had 
flooded  my  own  heart  with  light,  but  I  could 
not  even  picture  to  myself  what  his  father 
would  feel  about  such  an  unworldly,  simple 
spirit  if  he  saw  him  in  the  flesh.  I  so  dreaded 
any  sudden  interference  that  I  had  ceased 
saying  anything  about  our  son  in  my  letters 
to  my  husband.  He  had  never  expressed  the 
least  intere-t  in, or  asked  the  slightest  question 
about,  Christopher's  education.  How  could  I 
ever  have  expected  that  a  man  of  such  dom- 
inating character  could  be  content  to  see  his 
child  brought  up  on  lines  which  he  so  thor- 
oughly despised!  But  I  told  my  boy  every- 
thing I  thought  could  rouse  his  interest  in  his 
father,  and  from  the  time  his  vocation  to  the 
priesthood  was  settled  I  continually  and  ear- 
nestly begged  him  to  entreat  Our  Lady  to 
help  him  to  make  the  intention  in  his  first 


The  Ave  Maria. 


509 


Mass  with  such  fervor  that  the  anger  of  God 
might  be  appeased,  and  full  light  won  for  the 
blind  but  upright  soul. 

The  last  steps  were  taken,  as  all  the  rest  had 
been,  in  the  midst  of  much  anxiety,  humilia- 
tion, and  apparent  failure.  I  felt  as  if  my  boy 
had  to  expiate  the  ambition  of  his  parents, 
and  I  never  dared  pray  that  he  might  shine, 
only  that  he  might  get  through  and  fulfil 
his  vocation.  The  last  examination  before  he 
received  subdeacon's  orders  (which  was,  of 
course,  the  decisive  on'e)  was  a  terrible  strain 
to  me;  for  I  knew  that,  with  all  the  Bishop's 
indulgence,  a  certain  amount  of  knowledge  of 
Latin,  theology,  etc. ,  was  absolutely  essential 
and  could  not  be  dispensed  with.  I  spent  the 
time  before  the  Blessed  Sacrament  in  an  agony 
•of  prayer. 

Suddenly  there  recurred  to  my  mind  a  pict- 
ure which  the  saintly  Duchesse  de  Saintange 
had  put  before  me  when  I  was  lying  ill  in  Paris, 
raving  about  the  howling  waves  in  which  my 
husband  and  myself  were  ingulfed.  Finding 
she  could  in  no  way  dispel  the  impression 
which  that  picture,  in  the  place  of  all  my  holy 
objects,  had  wrought  on  my  overstrained  brain, 
sh  _•  seized  on  it  and  drew  a  picture  of  her  own, 
to  make  a  contrary  impression.  "Very  well," 
she  said;  "be  it  so.  You  are  both  struggling  in 
a  sea  of  suffering  and  sorrow,  which  lies  be- 
tween you  and  the  haven  of  rest.  But,  remem- 
ber, our  Divine  Saviour  has  thrown  Himself 
into  that  Red  Sea  before  you ;  and  as  soon  as  He 
reached  the  shore  He  turned  round  with  radi- 
ant countenance,  holding  out  His  arms  to  each 
one  of  His  elect,  and  sending  His  voice  over 
the  waters,  saying, ' Come! '  If  you  are  to  die 
in  this  illness,  it  is  because  He  says  'Come!' 
If  yoar  child  dies,  it  is  His  voice  calling  it. 
And  if  your  husband  is  to  be  more  battered 
by  winds  and  waves  than  either  of  you,  still 
at  the  end  I  surely  believe  that  he  too  will 
hear  the  voice  of  his  Redeemer  saying,  'Come 
to  Me  all  ye  that  are  heavy  ^aden. ' ' ' 

Madame  de  Saintange  had  sounded  the 
depths  of  that  Red  Sea  herself,  and  she  had 
spoken  with  a  conviction,  a  living  force,  which 
had  left  an  indelible  impression  on  my  heart. 
It  quieted  me  then,  when  I  was  too  feeble  to 
receive  it  fully ;  it  abode  with  me  ever  after- 
ward; and  in  that  dark  church  in  Edinburgh, 
where  I  had  hid  myself  to  pray  during  the 


crisis  of  my  only  son's  life,  it  came  before  me 
with  the  vividness  of  a  vision.  I  seemed  to 
see  the  noble  face  of  my  husband  borne  on  the 
top  of  a  mountainous  wave,  and  then  vanish- 
ing from  sight;  I  was  struggling  myself  amidst 
the  rushing  waters.  But  on  the  shore  there 
stood  the  radiant  form  of  Him  whom  I  now 
loved  beyond  all  and  trusted  more  than  all ; 
and  I  seemed  to  hear  Him  say  "Come! "  three 
times,  and  in  a  moment  we  were  all  three 
standing  with  Him  upon  the  shore.  I  took  the 
crumb  of  comfort  sent  me,  and  knelt  on, 
abandoning  myself  rather  than  praying.  I  had 
told  Christopher  where  to  come  for  me  when 
the  great  decision  was  over.  He  appeared, 
radiant  with  joy,  and  we  said  the  Te  Deum, 
then  went  home  and  had  a  festive  meal  to- 
gether, during  which  I  questioned  him  as  to 
the  momentous  examination. 

"Were  you  helped  to  do  well,"  I  asked, 
"or  were  you  passed  in  spite  of  failure?" 

"I  hardly  know  how  it  was,"  he  answered. 
"I  suppose  Our  I^ord,  in  His  condescension, 
chose  to  accept  me,  and  so  He  brought  it  to 
pass.  Often  enough  He  chooses  the  base 
things  of  the  world  to  confound  the  strong. 
Once,  you  know.  He  chose  an  ass." 

I  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  not  i;nderstand- 
ing  for  the  moment  to  what  he  alluded. 

"Don't  you  remember?"  he  continued. 
"He  bade  the  disciples  loose  the  ass  and  bring 
it  to  Him;  and  if  any  one  should  ask  them  why 
they  did  so,  they  were  to  answer  that  the  Lord 
had  need  of  him.  O  mother,  I  have  so  often 
envied  that  poor  dumb  beast!  So  often  I  have 
said  to  Our  Lord :  *  Have  need  of  me;  send  for 
me!'  I  know  I  am  worthless  and  good  for 
nothing;  but  if  the  poor  ass  could^jdo  Him  a 
service,  why  not  I?" 

"Why  not,  indeed?"  I  answered.  "In  the 
one  hour  of  earthly  triumph  which  He  per- 
mitted Himself  in  His  life  He  chose  to  be 
borne  by  that  humble  beast.  It  was  a  wonder- 
ful choice." 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "and  now  He  has  chosen 
me.  That  was  why  you  were  inspired  to  call 
me  Christopher — the  Christ-bearer.  I  know 
well  enough  I  am  as  worthless  and  foolish  as 
the  poor  ass,  but  He  has  called  me ;  He  has 
w.lled  to  have  need  of  me;  and  I  too  shall 
bear  Him  in  these  hands,  and  carry  Him  to 
the  sick  and  the  dying.   O  mother,  that  will 


5TO 


The  Ave  Maria. 


be  better  than  to  be  called  a  scholar  or  a  great 
preacher!" 

A  light  beamed  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke  thus, 
and  I  saw  that  in  the  very  depths  of  his  soul 
he  chose  for  himself  what  God  had  chosen  for 
him,  and  felt  it  to  be  the  better  part.  There 
was  such  a  nobleness  in  his  humility,  such  a 
sense  of  the  priceless  dignity  of  being  chosen 
to  be  the  servant  of  the  lyord,  that  as  I  gazed 
on  his  countenance,  radiant  with  love  and 
gratitude,  the  last  cloud  of  earthly  regret 
vanished  from  my  mind.  I  had  feared  the  dis- 
appointment his  father  might  feel  about  him, 
knowing  what  a  pride  he  would  have  taken 
in  the  genius  and  brilliant  gifts  of  an  only  son ; 
but  all  such  misgivings  gave  way  before  a 
hope,  which  was  almost  certainty,  that  God 
Himself  was  leading  my  Christopher  in  a  yet 
more  excellent  way. 

The  next  year  fled  by  swiftly  and  peace- 
fully. His  studies  in  philosophy  lifted  him 
into  his  own  sphere,  and  he  got  on  well.  He 
was  ordained  in  Edinburgh  by  the  Bishop, 
who  had  been  so  truly  a  father  to  him,  and 
was  to  say  his  first  Mass,  with  Father  I^indsay 
as  assistant,  at  Glencairn  on  the  following 
Sunday.  I  knew  he  wished  to  be  in  retreat, 
and  I  did  not  attempt  to  have  an  interview 
with  him,  but  wrote  on  a  slip  of  paper :  * '  Re- 
member the  great  intention  of  your  first  Mass, 
and,  with  the  Holy  Sacrifice,  make  an  offering 
to  God  of  my  life  and  all  that  concerns  me. 
Now  that  you  are  a  priest,  my  efforts  hence- 
forth belong  to  your  father." 

I  saw  him  ascend  the  altar,  and  go  through 
the  preliminary  parts  of  the  service  with 
calm,  self-possessed  dignity.  There  was  not  a 
trace  of  forgetfulness  or  nervousness.  Then  I 
saw  him  supremely  recollected.  I  could  not 
watch  any  longer :  altar,  priest — all  vanished 
in  the  intensity  of  the  prayer  in  which  I 
united  myself  with  that  mighty  Sacrifice, — 
God  offered  to  God. 

I  knelt  for  the  blessing  of  my  only  son,  and 
kissed  his  anointed  hands  as  he  sat  in  the  little 
sanctuary  of  our  village  church,  which  was 
crowded  with  friends  and  well-wishers.  All 
the  beautiful  presents  of  church  plate  and  vest- 
ments which  kind  hands  had  collected  were 
arranged  on  a  table  in  the  sacristy,  and  with 
childlike  gratitude  he  rejoiced  over  them  all. 
He  was  to  dine  at  the  presbytery,  and  a  party  of 


priests  and  gentlemen  were  invited  to  meet 
and  congratulate  him.  I  went  home,  saying  to 
myself,  "That  work,  thank  God,  is  finished! " 
But  it  seetned  as  if  a  barrier  had  been  sud- 
denly removed  from  a  strong-flowing  fountain; 
for  the  rush  of  thought  and  love  and  longing 
for  my  husband's  presence  quite  overwhelmed 
me.  I  spent  the  whole  afternoon  writing  to 
him,  freely,  fully,  as  I  had  not  done  since  we 
had  been  parted.  I  told  him  all  about  our  son, 
reminded  him  of  the  years  (almost  a  lifetime) 
which  had  passed,  and  pleaded  that  surely 
now  the  time  had  come  when  we  could  be 
once  more  together.  All  fear  of  his  influence 
injuring  my  Christopher's  faith  or  mine  had 
changed  into  an  inexpressible  yearning  to  help 
him, — a  feeling  that  he  now  needed  us.  I  could 
not  sleep  all  night,  and  golden  dreams  of  a 
return  of  earthly  happiness  began  to  mingle 
with  my  prayers  for  him. 

(to  be  continued.) 


The  Wild  Rosebush.* 

BY   E.  v.  N. 

NOTE  yon  rosebush  outward  tending. 
Wreaths  of  fragrant  blossoms  lending 
Sweetness  to  the  summer  air ; 
Tree  of  Life,"  by  Heaven's  selection. 
Emblem  of  Our  Lord's  protection, 

Granted  through  His  Mother's  pray'r. 

Hail,  thou  queen  of  Nature's  wild  wood! 
Well  thy  buds  portray  Christ's  childhood, 

Bristling  thorns  His  tortures  show ; 
Pale-red  blooms  and  glossy  green  leaves, 
Simple  faith  with  mystic  skill  weaves 

Into  types  of  joy  or  woe. 

Gold-tipp'd  anthers  in  communion 
Symbolize  fraternal  union 

Firmly  knit  in  prayerful  band. 
Heart-shaped  petals  round  these  cluster, 
More  expressive  than  the  lustre 

Shed  by  gems  of  sea  or  land. 

Formed  and  fed  by  dews  from  heaven, 
Day's  bright  king  to  thee  has  given 

Perfume  rich  and  rare, — 
Like  the  incense  (sacred  token) 
Of  petitions  humbly  spoken 

In  the  Holy  Rosary  prayer. 


Rosa  lucida,  of  Wood's  Botany. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


t.ii 


The  Popes  at  Avignon. 


BY  THE   REV.  REUBEN   PARSONS,  D.  D. 


NOW  that  rumors  are  abroad  concerning  a 
presumed  probable  intention  on  the  part 
of  Pope  Leo  XIII.  to  transfer  his  residence 
from  the  legitimate  seat  of  the  Papacy,  it  may 
not  be  amiss  to  make  a  few  reflections  on 
"the  captivity  of  Babylon,"  as  the  Romans 
have  been  wont  to  style  the  seventy  years' 
residence  of  their  Pontiff-Kings  in  France. 

While  Pope  Clement  V.  resided  at  Poitiers 
or  at  Bordeaux  (1305-9).  the  pressure,  and 
even  tyranny,  exercised  toward  the  Pontiff  by 
King  Philip  the  Fair  had  demonstrated  the 
necessity  of  a  fixed  residence  of  the  Papal 
court  where  the  head  of  the  Church  could 
enjoy  freedom  of  action.    But  Clement  V., 
probably  with  little  displeasure,  did  not  deem 
it  feasible  to  restore  the  Papal  residence  to 
the  Eternal  City.  The  factions  of  the  nobility, 
headed  by  the  Orsini  and  the  Colonna,  held 
Rome  in  a  state  of  chronic  disorder ;  and  there- 
fore Clement  decided  to  locate  his  court  in  the 
city  of  Avignon,  which,  although  nominally 
subject  to  the  Housfe  of  Anjou,  was,  thanks  to 
the  spirit  of  its  citizens,  virtually  independent, 
and  which  was  nearly  enclosed  in  the  County 
of  the  Venaissin,  a  possession  of  the  Holy 
See.*  Petrarch,  like  all  the  Italian  writers  of 
that  day,  could  see  no  beauty  in  the  rock- 
perched  town,  ** little  and  disgusting."    He 
knew  of  no  place  ''so  stinking,"  and  declared 
that  it  was  "a  shame  to  make  it  the  capital 
of  the  world."   The  Italian  contemporaries 
of  Clement  V.  manifest  their  indignation  at 
the  Pontiff's  unfortunate  action  by  such  ex- 
pressions as  "scandal  to  the  universe,"  "the 
exile  of  the  Holy  See,"  and  the  famous  one, 
"the  captivity  of  Babylon." 

But  while  it  is  certain  that  Rome  and  all 
Italy  suffered  by  the  prolonged  absence  of  the 
Papal  court,  and  by  the  consequent  prepon- 
derating influence  of  the  French  kings  in  the 
affairs  of  Europe ;  while  it  is  true  that  to  the 
Papal  residence  in  France  may  be  traced  the 


*  It  became  such  in  1228,  by  a  treaty  between  Pope 
Gregory  IX.,  represented  by  Cardinal  d'Ossat,  and 
King  lyouis  IX.  with  Count  Raymond  of  Toulouse. 


causes    that   produced   the    Great    Western 
Schism,  it  would  be  unjust  to  Clement  V.  to 
suppose    that    he    foresaw    the    many    evils 
entailed  by  his  determination,  or  that  he  re- 
alized that  his  immediate  successors  would 
persist  in  absenting  themselves  from  their  See. 
There  were  powerful  reasons  for  his  conduct. 
In  France,  his  ow^n  land,  where  the  affair  of 
the  Templars  had  detained  him  for  six  years, 
he  saw  himself  respected  and  loved,  while  his 
own  capital  was  a  prey  to  anarchy,  and  many 
of  his  near  predecessors  had  been  compelled 
to  fix  their  residence   in   Viterbo,  Perugia, 
or  Anagni;   Tuscany  could   not   afford   the 
Sovereign  Pontiff  a  refuge,  for  it  was  harassed 
by  the  feud  of  the  Whites  and  Blacks ;  Venice 
was  at  issue  with  the  Holy  See,  because  of 
the  claims  of  both  parties  to  the  marquisate 
of  Ferrara;  either  of  the  Two  Sicilies  would 
have  been  a  more  precarious  asylum   than 
France. 

The  advent  of  the  Papal  court  was  a  happy 
thing  for  Avignon.  She  soon  came  down  from 
her  rocky  perch,  and  extended  herself  over 
the  plain;  whole  quarters  of  elegant  streets, 
flanked   by   magnificent  palaces,  appeared; 
and  the  arts  and  taste  of  Italy  soon  made  the 
city  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in  Europe.  In 
the    year    1348   Pope   Clement  VI.    bought 
Avignon  from  Queen  Jane  of  Naples,  heiress 
to  the  counts  of  Provence.    In  1791  it  was 
definitively  annexed  to  France.  Seven  Popes 
resided  at  Avignon:  Clement  V.,  John  XXII., 
Benedict  XII.,  Clement  VI.,   Innocent  VI.. 
Urban  V.,  and  Gregory  XI.,— all.  quite  natu- 
rally, French,  and  all  of  whom  did  honor  to 
their  country,  despite  the  assertion  of  Henri 
Martin  that  "Avignon  was  then  aGomorrha," 
—a  calumny  which  is  refuted  by  its   own 
exaggeration. 

The  first  of  the  Avignonese  Pontiffs  to 
seriously  contemplate  the  restoration  of  the 
Papal  residence  to  the  Eternal  City  was 
Urban  V.,  elected  October  i,  1362.  Long  be- 
fore his  elevation,  the  Abbot  Grimoard  (such 
was  his  position  in  the  Benedictine  monastery 
of  St.  Victor  at  Marseilles  at  the  time  of  the 
conclave)  had  been  prominent  among  those 
who  most  ardently  desired  to  end  the  exile  of 
the  Holy  See.  Matthew  Villani  says  that  when 
Grimoard  heard  of  the  death  of  Innocent  VI., 
he  publicly  exclaimed :   "If,  by  the  grace  of 


51^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


God,  I  could  see  a  Pope  seriously  trying  to 
restore  the  Holy  See  to  Italy,  I  would  die 
willingly  to  morrow."  But  not  before  1367 
did  Urban  avow  his  resolution.  When  the 
intelligence  reached  Italy  the  whole  penin 
sula,  save  alone  the  partisans  of  Barnabo 
Visconti,  of  Milan,  were  frenzied  with  joy. 
Even  this  prince  dissimulated,  and  sent  his 
congratulations  to  Urban. 

In  France,  however,  the  discontent  was 
great,  and  King  Charles  V.  sent  to  Avignon 
the  eloquent  Nicholas  Oresme,  who  had  been 
the  prince's  tutor,  requesting  him  to  com- 
bat the  pontifical  intention.  Oresme  was 
admitted  to  the  consistory,  and  pronounced 
a  prolix  oration,  well  garnished  with  passages 
from  Scripture  and  historical  allusions,  none  of 
which  applied  to  his  thesis.  Petrarch  informs 
us  that  his  arguments  only  hastened  the 
Pope's  preparations  for  departure.  But  the 
Pontiff  encountered  very  serious  opposition 
from  the  French  cardinals  ;  in  fact,  the  entire 
Sacred  College,  save  only  the  Cardinals  Or- 
sini  and  Capoccio,  and  the  Bishop  of  Viterbo 
(the  only  Italians),  formally  declined  to  ac- 
company His  Holiness.  However,  as  the 
Frenchmen  valued  their  hats,  and  Urban 
threatened  to  take  these  away,  the  opposition 
subsided.* 

On  April  30,  1367,  the  pontifical  court  bade 
farewell  to  Avignon;  on  June  3  the  fleet 
anchored  ofi"  Corneto,  and  on  the  9th  the  Pon 
tiff  entered  Viterbo.  But  not  before  October 
16  did  a  successor  of  St.  Peter,  for  the  first 
time  in  sixty-three  years,  kneel  at  the  shrine 
of  the  Prince  of  the  Apostles.  And,  alas!  in 
less  than  three  years  the  chief  pastor  again 
sought  a  foreign  residence,  and  no  other  reason 
can  be  assigned  for  this  abandonment  of  his 
legitimate  post  than  mere  home  -  sickness. 
French  writers  try  to  palliate  his  weakness, 
but  none  can  adduce  any  more  probable  reason 
for  his  return  to  France  than  that  he  yearned 
for  home.  He  explained  his  resolution  to  the 
Christian  world  by  the  necessity  of  being  on 
the  spot  while  trying  to  reconcile  the  kings 
of  France  and  England.  In  vain  did  the  holy 
Swedish  princess,  afterward  canonized  as  St. 
Bridget,  threaten  Urban  with  the  anger  of 
God  and  an  early  death  if  he  effected  his  de- 


"  Chronicle  of  Bologna,"  in  Muratori. 


sign ;  *  in  vain  the  Roman  Senate  besought 
him  to  remain.  On  September  5,  1370,  he 
embarked  at  Corneto.  and  on  the  24th  he  re- 
entered Avignon.  The  menace  of  St.  Bridget 
was  soon  accomplished ;  in  the  fulness  of  his 
strength  Pope  Urban  V.  was  suddenly  at- 
tacked by  an  illness  which  threatened  his  life. 
Then  he  swore  to  return  to  Rome,  if  Almighty- 
God  would  permit  it ;  but  his  hour  had  come, 
and,  wrapped  in  his  Benedictine  habit,  which 
he  had  always  retained,  he  died  on  the  19th 
of  December,  1370 

On  the  first  day  of  the  conclave  (Dec.  30) 
the  unanimous  voice  of  the  Sacred  College 
raised  to  the  Papacy  the  Cardinal  Deacon, 
Peter  Roger  de  Beaufort,  nephew  of  Clement 
VI.  A  cardinal  at  eighteen,  he  had  continued 
the  public  prosecution  of  his  studies,  and  soon 
became  so  remarkable  for  perspicacity  and 
maturity  of  judgment  that  one  of  his  masters, 
UbaldoUbaldi,the  first  jurisconsult  of  the  age, 
often  consulted  him,  and  would  give  his  opin- 
ion, saying,  "Our  master  thus  pronounces." 
The  new  Pontiff  was  ordained  priest  on  Jan- 
uary 4,  1 371;  then  consecrated  bishop,  and 
crowned  as  Pope  under  the  name  of  Gregory 
XI.  From  the  very  beginning  of  his  pontifi- 
cate Gregory  was  resolved  to  restore  defini- 
tively the  Holy  See  to  the  Eternal  City,  and 
in  October,  1374,  he  wrote  to  the  Emperor 
Charles  IV.:  "We  wish  to  put  off  no  longer 
our  visit  to  the  Holy  City,  and  we  have  re- 
solved, with  the  help  of -God,  to  set  out  next 
September. ' '  He  announced  his  determination 
to  all  the  European  sovereigns ;  but  the  com- 
mencement of  1376  found  him  still  at  Avignon, 
trying  to  make  peace  between  France  and 
England.  His  final  departure  is  generally  re- 
garded as  due  to  the  influence  of  St.  Catherine 
of  Sienna. 

On  September  13,  1376,  the  Holy  See  bade 
a  lasting  farewell  to  Avignon.  Marseilles  was 
reached  on  the  20th,  and  the  Pontiff  found 
awaiting  him  twenty-two  galleys,  most  of 
which  belonged  to,  and  were  manned  by,  the 
Knights  Hospitallers ;  the  most  beautiful  ship 
of  the  fleet,  however,  had  been  sent  by  Florence, 
although  this  Republic  was  then  at  war  with 
the  Holy  See.  Sail  was  spread  on  October  2, 


*  " Revelations  of  St.  Bridget,"  b.  iv,  c.  138.  Gobe- 
lin, "  Cosmodromium,"  c.  73. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


513 


and  after  a  stormy  voyage,  and  many  forced 
delays  at  intermediate  ports,  the  Papal  court 
disembarked  at  the  port  of  Corneto  on  the 
6th  of  December.  Here  the  Pontiff  remained 
until  January  15,  1377,  when  he  ascended  the 
Tiber,  and  on  January  17  landed  at  St.  Paul's. 
On  the  i8tb,  the  Feast  of  the  Chair  of  St. 
Peter  at  Rome,  he  made  his  triumphal  entry 
into  the  Capital  of  Christendom,  and  the 
Romans  rejoiced  that  "the  captivity  of  Baby- 
lon" was  at  an  end. 

It  is  frequently  asserted  that  on  his  death- 
bed Pope  Gregory  XI.  avowed  his  regret  for 
having  restored  the  Papal  residence  to  its 
legitimate  site.  Gerson  says  that,  holding  in 
his  hands  the  Blessed  Eucharist,  the  dying 
Pontifif  enjoined  upon  the  attending  cardinals 
never  to  be  influenced  by  the  imaginary  vis- 
ions of  hallujiii  icod  men  and  women;  that 
Gregory  admitted  that  his  own  facility  in  this 
regard,  had  brought  the  Church  to  the  verge 
of  a  schism.  *  Now,  these  words  attributed  to 
Pope  Gregory  reflect  too  seriously  upon  the 
veracity  and  good  sense,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
approved  sanctity,  of  St.  Catherine  of  Sienna, 
of  St.  Bridget  of  Sweden,  and  of  the  Blessed 
Alfonso  of  Aragon,  to  have  been  uttered  at  so 
solemn  a  moment  by  so  wise  and  holy  a  man. 
Gerson  is,  in  many  matters,  a  grave  authority  ; 
but  in  this  matter,  unsupported  as  he  is  by 
contemporary  testimony,  we  must  decline  to 
accept  the  many  absurdities  implied  by  his 
assertion.  Whatever  the  great  chancellor  knew 
about  the  deeds  and  sayings  of  Pope  Greg- 
ory XI.  he  had  acquired  from  others ;  at  the 
time  of  the  Pontifif 's  death  he  was  a  boy  of 
fourteen  in  the  schools  of  Paris,  and  we  find 
no  corroboration  of  the  above  assertion  in 
any  work  by  an  author  contemporary  with 
the  Pontiff.  Gerson  was  a  cultivator  of  the 
Avignon  idea,  and  he  would  probably  lend  a 
credulous  ear  to  any  tale  that  would  aid  to 
put  it  in  action. 

And  what  must  we  think  of  Gregory's  sup- 
posed foresight  of  the  Great  Schism  ?  To  one, 
like  Gerson,  living  amid  the  troubles  of  that 
schism,  it  would  be  easy  to  trace  it  back  to 
certain  seeming  causes ;  but  there  was  nothing 
in  the  circumstances  of  Rome  or  of  the  Church 
while  Pope  Gregory  XI.  was  dying,  except 


Examination  of  Doctrines, "  p.  ii,  consid.  3. 


the  obstinacy  of  the  French  cardinals,  which 
could  have  justified  the  supposed  gloomy 
forebodings  of  the  Pontiff.  And  would  this 
obstinacy,  this  home-sickness,  this  false  idea 
of  patriotism,  in  fine  this  consummate  and 
unmitigated  selfishness,  of  the  French  cardi- 
nals have  justified  a  Pontiff"  in  lamenting  his 
having  performed  an  act  which  was  praised 
(save  in  France)  throughout  Christendom  as 
an  act  of  common  utility?  Had  the  Romans 
no  rights  at  all  in  the  matter?  Had  they  no 
right  to  insist  that  their  Bishop  should  reside 
among  them  ?  Had  they  no  right  to  the  per- 
sonal protection  and  government  of  their 
Pope- King?  Had  the  Universal  Church  no 
claims  in  the  premises?  Was  the  Papacy  to 
continue  to  be  an  appendage"  of  the  French 
crown,  a  mere  contributor  to  its  convenience 
and  glory,  merely  because  of  the  ultra-nation- 
alism of  certain  creatures  of  the  French  mon- 
arch, or  because  of  their  want  of  sympathy 
with  the  legitimate  aspirations  of  the  Pope's 
temporal  subjects,  or  because  said  creatures, 
forsooth,  found  the  Roman  Campagna  less 
suited  to  their  effeminate  constitutions  than 
were  the  beautiful  plains  of  the  Venaissin? 
Again,  at  the  very  time  that  Pope  Gregory 
is  said  to  have  expressed  his  disgust  with  the 
"hallucinations"  which  had  contributed  to 
his  removal  from  Avignon  to  hi 4  proper  resi- 
dence, his  principal  "halluciaator,"  St.  Cath- 
erine, was  acting  as  his  agent  at  Florence.* 
And  the  Pontiff  well  knew  that  God  had 
favored  His  servant  with  supernatural  gifts; 
for,  in  the  Bull  of  Canonization  of  St.  Catherine, 
Pope  Pius  II.  expressly  certifies  that  she  had 
acquainted  Gregory  with  her  knowledge  of 
his  secret  vow  to  proceed  to  Rome. 

That  ultra-Gallican,  Maimbourg,  easily  con- 
cludes that  "when  this  Pontiff  viewed  the 
condition  of  Italy  on  the  spot,  he  regarded  it 
with  an  eye  different  from  that  with  which  he 
had  judged  it  when  in  distant  Avignon ;  and, 
finding  himself  at  the  point  of  death  before 
he  could  prevent  the  evils  which  he  foresaw, 
he  deplored  the  horrors  menacing  the  Church. 
Well  did  he  see  how  the  Romans,  who,  con- 
trary to  their  promise  of  entire  submission, 
had  usurped   sovereign   authority  over   the 


*  BoUandists:  "Life  of  St.  Catherine  of  Sienna,' 
V.  iii,  c.  8,  nos.  420-425. 


SH 


The  Ave  Maria, 


•city,  leaving  to  the  Pontiff  only  a  shadow  of 
power,  would  master  the  conclave,  and  would 
not  suffer  the  election  of  a  Pope  from  beyond 
the  Alps,  lest  such  a  one  would  again  transfer 
the  Holy  See  from  Rome.  Well  did  he  see,  on 
the  other  hand,  that  the  French  cardinals, 
then  composing  more  than  two-thirds  of  the 
College  (there  were  twenty-three  members, — 
eighteen  French,  four  Italians,  and  one  Span 
iard),  would  afterward  protest  against  the 
violence  used  toward  themselves,  and  that 
hence  the  first  election  would  prove  to  have 
been  not  free  and  canonical.  These  considera- 
tions, together  with  the  little  power  vouch- 
safed him  in  Italy,  in  spite  of  the  fine  words 
that  had  drawn  him  from  France,  made  him 
believe  that  he  had  left  that  country  at  an 
nnpropitious  time,  and  caused  him  to  take, 
some  time  before  his  death,  the  resolution  to 
return  to  Avignon."  * 

In  expressing  such  opinions,  Maimbourg 
was  true  to  the  Aulico- Galilean  principles 
which  were  soon  to  entail  the  catastrophe  of 
his  life,  but  nothing  that  Pope  Gregory  XI. 
witnessed  or  experienced  at  Rome  could  have 
given  to  that  Pontiff  any  foreknowledge  of  the 
imbroglio  that  ensued  after  his  death.  But 
granting  that  he  foresaw  that  his  countrymen 
of  the  Sacred  College  would  rend  the  seam- 
less garment  of  Christ  sooner  than  abandon 
their  project  of  confining  the  Papal  residence 
to  France,  of  making  the  pontifical  dignity 
hereditary  in  the  French  family,  would  Greg- 
ory XI.  have  been  justified  in  returning  to 
Avignon  ?  Were  the  wishes  of  a  mere  clique 
to  be  respected  sooner  than  the  desires  of 
Christendom  ;  the  fancied  interests  of  France 
rather  than  the  real  ones  of  the  Pope's  own 
temporal  subjects — yea,  rather  than  those  of 
all  other  nations?  Nor  would  a  return  to 
Avignon  have  obviated  all  danger  of  schism. 
The  fact  is,  the  exile  at  Avignon  had  pre- 
pared the  way  to  a  schism,  which,  if  it  arrived 
not  in  one  way,  was  almost  certain  to  come 
by  another.  Such  was  the  temper  of  the 
Romans  at  the  time — owing  to  the  decayed 
grandeur  of  their  city,  and  the  terrible  anar- 
chy of  which  they  were  victims, — that  a  little 
encouragement  would  have  caused  them  to 
resist  the  authority  of  an  Avignonese  Pon- 

*  "History  of  the  Great  Western  Schism."  Paris, 
1678,  b.  i,  p.  12. 


tifif.  In  August,  1376,  Luca  Savelli  arrived  at 
Avignon,  and  informed  the  Pope  that  the 
Abbot  of  Montecasino  had  already  been  asked 
whether  he  would  accept  the  tiara  if  it  were 
tendered  him  by  the  clergy  and  people  of 
Rome ;  and  that  the  prelate  had  answered  that, 
as  a  Roman  citizen,  he  could  refuse  nothing  to 
the  Romans.  The  Papal  legate  at  Rome  had 
also  informed  the  Pope  of  this  manoeuvre,* 
and  Gregory  perceived  that  an  aversion  of  the 
threatened  danger  was  of  sufficient  impor- 
tance to  make  him  ignore  the  disturbed  state 
of  the  peninsula. 

As  for  Maimbourg's  statement,  that  Pope 
Gregory  XL  foresaw  that "  the  Romans  would 
master  the  conclave,"  it  is  certain  that  the 
Romans  did  no  such  thing.  The  Pontiff"  may 
have  foreseen,  as  Maimbourg  says,  the  rebel- 
lion of  the  French  cardinals  ;  that  is  probable, 
for  he  knew  those  prelates  well.  The  French 
cardinals  plunged  the  Church  into  the  vortex 
of  schism ;  and  they  were  more  than  aided  by 
Charles  V.,  whom  Maimbourg  deems  "one  of 
the  most  pious  and  one  of  the  wisest  of  French 
monarchs,  for  whose  j^acred  person  the  ultra- 
montane continuator  of  Baronio's  'Annals' 
(Oderico  Rinaldi,  commonly  called  Raynald) 
loses  all  respect  when  he  asserts  that  this 
great  prince  '  was  the  author  of  the  schism, 
into  which  he  forced  his  subjects  to  enter  by 
tyrannically  oppressing  the  liberty  of  the 
bishops  and  doctors  of  his  kingdom.'"  Had 
Gregory  XI.  humored  the  French  cardinals, 
he  would  have  merely  postponed  the  schism; 
the  only  reason  for  its  birth  would  have  sub- 
sisted, so  long  as  the  French  desired  to  retain 
the  Pope  in  France,  while  Rome  and  the  rest 
of  the  world  wished  him  to  dwell  in  his  own 
house ;  and  such  divergence  would,  of  course, 
have  been  perennial.  At  the  first  check  upon 
French  vanity,  in  the  shape  of  a  definitive  res- 
toration of  the  Papal  residence  to  its  legitimate 
site,  the  smouldering  fire  would  have  burst 
into  flame. 


*  Gonzalo  Illescas,  loc.  cit.,  p.  40.  Baluze,  loc.  cit., 
V.  i,  p.  437.  Idem,  note,  p.  11 94. — St.  Catherine  seems 
to  allude  to  this  plot,  when  she  is  so  precise  as  to  the 
time  Gregory  ought  to  arrive  in  Rome.  "My  amiable 
Father,  you  seek  my  opinion  concerning  your  return. 
I  reply,  on  the  part  of  Jesus  Crucified,  that  you  ought 
to  come  to  Rome  as  soon  as  possible.  If  you  can, 
come  in  the  beginning  of  September ;  if  you  can  not, 
wait  not  for  the  end  of  the  month. "  (I^etters,  epist  ii.) 


The  Ave  Maria. 


5^5 


The  Crucifix  of  Byzantium.* 


IN  the  reign  of  Heraclius,  when  Sergius  was 
Patriarch  of  Constantinople,  there  lived  in 
Byzantium  a  merchant  named  Theodore,  a 
good  man  and  just,  fearing  God,  and  serving 
Him  with  all  his  heart.  He  went  on  a  voyage 
to  the  ports  of  Syria  and  Palestine  with  his 
wares,  in  a  large,  well-laden  vessel ;  sold  his 
goods  to  profit,  and  turned  his  ship's  head 
homeward  with  a  good  lading  of  silks  and 
spices, — the  former  some  of  the  produce  of  the 
looms  of  distant  China,  brought  in  caravans 
through  Persia  and  Syria  to  the  emporiums 
on  the  Mediterranean. 

It  was  late  in  the  year  when  Theodore 
began  his  voyage  home ;  the  equinoctial  gales 
had  begun  to  blow,  and  prudence  would  have 
suggested  that  he  should  winter  in  Cyprus ; 
but  he  was  eager  to  return  to  Byzantium  to 
his  beloved  wife,  and  to  prepare  for  another 
adventure  in  the  ensuing  spring. 

But  he  was  overtaken  by  a  storm  as  he  was 
sailing  up  the  Propontis,  and  to  save  the  vessel 
he  was  obliged  to  throw  all  the  lading  over- 
board. He  reached  Constantinople  in  safety, 
but  with  the  loss  of  his  goods.  His  grief  and 
despair  were  excessive.  His  wife  was  unable  to 
console  him.  He  declared  that  he  was  weary 
of  the  world ;  that  his  loss  was  sent  him  as 
a  warning  from  Heaven  not  to  set  his  heart 
on  Mammon,  and  that  he  was  resolved  to 
enter  a  monastery  and  spend  the  rest  of  his 
days  in  devotion. 

" Hasten,  husband  mine!"  said  the  wife. 
' '  Put  this  scheme  into  execution  at  once ;  for 
if  you  delay  you  may  be  tempted  to  change 
your  mind." 

The  manifest  impatience  of  his  wife  to  get 
rid  of  him  somewhat  cooled  the  ardor  of  Theo- 
dore for  the  monastic  profession,  and  before 
taking  the  irrevocable  step  he  consulted  a 

*  There  are  many  versions  of  this  strange  and 
beautiful  story,which  is  oftenest  entitled  "Abram  the 
Usurer."  The  one  which  we  give,  with  some  changes, 
is  found  in  S.  Baring  Gould's  "  Historic  Oddities  and 
Strange  Events."  First  Series.  The  account  is  taken 
from  a  sermon  preached  in  the  Church  of  St.  Sophia 
at  Constantinople,  printed  by  Combefisius  from  a 
MS.  in  the  National  Library  at  Paris.  The  probable 
date  of  the  composition,  according  to  Mr.  Gould,  is 
the  tenth  century. 


friend.  "I  think,  dearest  brother — nay,  I  am 
certain, — that  this  misfortune  came  on  me  as 
the  indication  of  the  finger  of  Providence  that 
I  should  give  up  merchandise  and  care  only 
for  the  saving  of  my  soul." 

"My  friend,"  answered  the  other,  "I  do 
not  see  this  in  the  same  light  as  you.  Every 
merchant  must  expect  loss.  It  is  one  of  the 
ordinary  risks  of  sailors  It  is  absurd  to  de- 
spair. Go  to  your  friends  and  borrow  of  them 
sufiicient  to  load  your  vessel  again,  and  try 
your  luck  once  more.  You  are  known  as  a 
merchant  and  trusted  as  an  honest  man,  and 
will  have  no  difficulty  in  raising  the  sum 
requisite." 

Theodore  rushed  home  and  announced  to 
his  wife  that  he  had  already  changed  his 
mind,  and  that  he  was  going  to  borrow  money. 

"Whatever  pleases  you  is  right  in  my 
eyes, ' '  said  the  lady. 

Theodore  went  the  round  of  his  acquaint- 
ances, told  them  of  his  misfortune,  and  asked 
them  to  lend  him  enough  to  restock  his  vessel, 
promising  to  pay  them  a  good  percentage  on 
the  money  lent.  But  the  autumn  had  been 
fatal  to  more  vessels  than  that  of  Theodore, 
and  he  found  that  no  one  was  disposed  to 
advance  him  the  large  sum  he  required.  He 
went  from  door  to  door,  but  a  cold  refusal  met 
him  everywhere.  Disappointed  and  sick  at 
heart,  distressed  at  finding  friends  so  un- 
friendly, he  returned  home  and  said  to  his 
wife :  "Woman!  the  world  is  hard  and  heart- 
less ;  I  will  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  it. 
I  will  become  a  monk." 

"Dearest  husband,  do  so  by  all  means,  and 
I  shall  be  well  pleased,"  answered  the  wife,  as 
coolly  as  before. 

Theodore  tossed  on  his  bed  all  night,  un- 
able to  sleep ;  before  dawn  an  idea  struck  him. 
There  was  a  very  wealthy  Jew,  named  Abram, 
not  far  away,  who  had  often  importuned  him 
to  trade  with  his  money,  but  whom  he  had 
invariably  refused.  He  would  try  this  man  as 
a  last  resource. 

So  when  morning  came  Theodore  rose  and 
went  to  the  shop  of  Abram.  The  Hebrew 
listened  attentively  to  his  story,  and  then  said, 
smiling :  "Master  Theodore,  when  thou  wast 
rich  I  often  asked  thee  to  take  my  money  and 
trade  with  it  in  foreign  parts,  so  that  I  might 
turn  it  over  with  advantage;  but  I  always 


5i6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


met  with  refusal.  And  now  that  thou  art  poor, 
with  only  an  empty  ship,  thou  comest  to  me 
to  ask  for  a  loan.  What  if  again  tempest 
should  fall  on  thee,  and  wreck  and  ruin  be 
thy  lot,  where  should  I  look  for  my  money  ? 
"Thou  art  poor.  If  I  were  to  sell  thy  house  it 
would  not  fetch  much.  Nay,  if  I  am  to  lead 
thee  money  thou  must  provide  a  surety,  to 
-whom  I  may  apply,  and  who  will  repay  me 
•should  accident  befall  thee.  Go  find  security, 
and  I  will  find  the  money." 

So  Theodore  went  to  his  best  friend  and  told 
him  the  circumstances,  and  asked  him  to  stand 
surety  for  him  to  the  Jew. 

"Dear  friend,"  answered  he,  **!  should  be 
most  happy  to  oblige  you,  but  I  am  a  poor 
man ;  I  have  not  as  much  money  in  the  world 
as  would  suffice.  The  Hebrew  would  not  ac- 
cept me  as  surety ;  he  knows  the  state  of  my 
affairs  too  well.  But  I  will  do  for  you  what 
little  I  can.  We  will  go  together  to  some  mer- 
chants, and  beseech  them  to  stand  security 
forj^ou  to  the  Jew." 

So  the  two  friends  went  to  a  rich  merchant 
with  whom  they  were  acquainted,  and  told 
him  what  they  wanted ;  but  he  blustered  and 
turned  red,  and  said:  "Away  with  you  fellows! 
Who  ever  heard  of  such  insolence  as  that  two 
needy  beggars  should  ask  a  man  of  substance 
like  me  to  go  with  them  to  the  den  of  a  cursed 
infidel  Jew!  God  be  thanked,  I  have  no  deal- 
ings with  Jews!  I  have  never  spoken  to  one 
in  my  life,  and  never  give  them  a  greeting 
when  I  pass  any  in  street  or  market-place.  A 
man  who  goes  to  the  Jews  to-day  goes  to  the 
dogs  to-morrow,  and  to  the  devil  the  day 
after." 

The  friends  visited  other  merchants,  but 
■with  like  ill-success.  Theodore  had  spent  the 
day  fasting,  and  he  went  supperless  to  bed, 
very  hopeless,  and  with  the  prospect  growing 
more  distinct  of  being  obliged  to  put  on  the 
•cowl  of  a  monk, — a  prospect  which,  somehow 
or  other,  he  did  not  relish. 

Next  morning  he  started  from  home  to  tell 
Abram  his  failure.  His  way  was  through  the 
great  square  called  the  Copper  Market,  before 
the  Imperial  Palace.  Now,  there  stood  there  a 
porch  consisting  of  four  pillars,  which  sup- 
ported a  dome  covered  with  brazen  tiles,  the 
whole  surmounted  by  a  cross,  on  the  east  side 
of  which,  looking  down  on  the  square,  and 


across  over  the  sparkling  Bosporus  to  the  hills 
of  Asia,  was  a  large,  solemn  figure  of  the 
Crucified.  This  porch  and  cross  had  been  set 
up  b}^  Constantine  the  Great,  and  had  been 
restored  by  Anastasius. 

As  Theodore  sped  through  the  Copper 
Market  in  the  morning  he  looked  up ;  the  sky 
was  of  the  deepest  gentian  blue.  Against  it, 
glittering  like  gold  in  the  early  sun,  above  the 
blazing,  brazen  tiles,  stood  the  great  cross  with 
the  holy  form  thereon.  Theodore  halted  in  his 
desolation,  doubt  and  despair,  and  looked  up 
at  the  figure.  It  was  in  the  old,  grave  Byzan- 
tine style, — very  solemn,  without  the  pain 
expressed  in  medieval  crucifixes,  and,  like  so 
many  early  figures  of  the  sort,  was  probably 
vested  and  crowned. 

A  sudden  inspiration  took  hold  of  the 
ruined  man.  He  fell  on  his  knees,  stretched 
his  hands  toward  the  shining  form  and  cried : 
"  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  the  hope  of  the  whole 
earth,  the  only  succor  of  all  who  are  cast 
down,  the  sure  confidence  of  those  that  look 
to  Thee!  All  on  whom  I  could  lean  have  failed 
me.  I  have  none  on  earth  on  whom  I  can  call. 
Do  Thou,  lyord,  be  surety  for  me,  though  I 
am  unworthy  to  ask  it."  Then,  filled  with 
confidence,  he  rose  from  his  knees  and  ran  to 
the  house  of  Abram,  and,  bursting  in  on  him, 
said:  "Be  of  good  cheer!  I  have  found  a 
Surety  very  great  and  noble  and  mighty. 
Have  no  fear  to  trust  thy  money ;  He  will 
keep  it  safe." 

Abram  answered :  "Very  well.  Let  the  man 
come  and  sign  the  deed,  and  see  the  money 
paid  over. ' ' 

*  *  Nay,  my  brother, ' '  said  Theodore ;  *  *  come 
thou  with  me.  I  have  hurried  in  thus  to  bring 
thee  to  Him." 

Then  Abram  went  with  Theodore,  who  led 
him  to  the  Copper  Market,  and  bade  him  be 
seated;  then,  raising  his  finger,  he  pointed  to 
the  sacred  form  hanging  on  the  cross,  and,  full 
of  confidence,  said  to  the  Hebrew:  "There, 
Master  Abram;  thou  could st  not  have  a 
better  security  than  the  Lord  of  heaven  and 
earth.  I  have  besought  Him  to  stand  for  me, 
and  I  know  He  is  so  good  that  He  will  not 
deny  me." 

The  Jew"  was  perplexed.  He  said  nothing 
for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then,  wondering  at 
the  man's  faith,  answered :  "Friend,  dost  thou 


The  Ave  Maria. 


517 


not  know  the  difference  between  the  faith  of 
a  Christian  and  of  a  Hebrew?  How  canst 
thou  ask  me  to  accept  as  thy  surety  One 
whom  thou  believest  my  people  to  have  re- 
jected and  crucified?  However,  I  will  trust 
thee,  Theodore ;  for  I  know  thou  art  a  God- 
fearing and  an  honest  man ;  and  I  will  risk 
my  money." 

So  the  twain  returned  to  the  Jew's  quarters, 
and  Abrani  counted  out  fifty  pounds  of  gold 
— in  our  money  about  $12,000.  He  tied  the 
money  up  in  bags  and  bade  his  servant-;  bear 
it  after  Theodore.  And  Abram  and  the  glad 
merchant  came  to  the  Coppar  Market,  and  then 
the  Jew  ordered  that  the  money  bags  should 
be  set  down  under  the  Tetrastyle,  where  was 
the  great  crucifix.  Then  said  the  Hebrew 
usurer :  "See,  Theodore,  I  make  over  to  thee 
the  loan  here  before  thy  God."  And  there,  in 
the  face  of  the  great  image  of  his  Saviour, 
Theodore  received  the  loan,  and  swore  to  deal 
faithfully  by  the  Jew,  and  to  restore  the  money 
to  him  with  usury. 

After  this  the  merchant  bought  a  cargo  for 
his  vessel,  and  hired  sailors,  and  set  sail  for 
Syria.  He  put  into  port  at  Tyre  and  Sidon, 
and  traded  with  his  goods,  and  bought  in 
place  of  them  many  rich  Oriental  stuffs,  with 
spices  and  gums ;  and  when  his  ship  was  well 
laden  he  sailed  for  Constantinople. 

But  again  misfortune  befell  him.  A  storm 
arose,  and  the  sailors  were  constrained  to 
throw  the!  bales  of  silk  and  bags  of  costly 
gums  and  vessels  of  Oriental  chasing  into  the 
greedy  waves.  But  as  the  ship  began  to  fill, 
they  were  obliged  to  get  into  the  boat  and 
escape  to  land.  The  ship  keeled  over  and 
drifted  into  shallow  water.  When  the  storm 
abated  they  got  to  her,  succeeded  in  floating 
her,  and  made  the  best  of  their  way  in  the 
battered  ship  to  Constantinople,  thankful  that 
they  had  preserved  their  lives.  But  Theodore 
was  in  sad  distress,  chiefly  because  he  had 
lost  Abram' s  money.  "How  shall  I  dare  to 
face  the  man  who  dealt  so  generously  by  me  ?  " 
he  said  to  himself.  "What  shall  I  say  when 
he  reproaches  me?  What  answer  can  I  make 
to  my  Surety  for  having  lost  the  money  en- 
trusted to  me?" 

Now,  when  Abram  heard  that  Theodore 
had  arrived  in  Constantinople  in  his  wrecked 
vessel,  with  the  loss  of  all  his  cargo,  he  went 


to  him  at  once,  and  found  the  man  prostrate  in 
his  chamber,  the  pavement  wet  with  his  tears 
of  shame  and  disappointment  Abram  laid  his 
hand  gently  on  his  shoulder,  and  said  in  a 
kind  voice:  "Rise,  my  brother.  Do  not  be 
downcast.  Give  glory  to  God,  who  rules  all 
things  as  He  wills,  and  follow  me  home.  God 
will  order  all  for  the  best. ' ' 

Then  the  merchant  rose  and  followed  the 
Jew,  but  he  would  not  lift  his  eyes  from  the 
ground,  for  he  was  asl;iamed  to  look  him  in 
the  face.  Abram  was  troubled  at  the  distress 
of  his  friend,  and  he  said  to  him  as  he  shut 
the  door  of  his  house :  "Let  not  thy  heart  be 
broken  with  overmuch  grief,  dearest  friend; 
for  it  is  the  mark  of  a  wise  man  to  bear  all 
things  with  firm  mind.  See!  I  am  ready  again 
to  lend  thee  fifty  pounds  of  gold.  And  may 
better  fortune  attend  thee  this  time!  I  trust 
that  our  God  will  bless  the  money  and  mul- 
tiply it,  so  that  in  the  end  we  shall  lose  noth- 
ing by  our  former  misadventure. ' ' 

' '  Then, ' '  said  Theodore,  * '  Christ  shall  again 
stand  security  for  me.  Bring  the  money  to 
the  Tetrastyle." 

Therefore,  again  the  bags  of  gold  were 
brought  before  the  cross,  and  when  they  had 
been  made  over  to  the  merchant,  Abram  said : 
"Accept,  Master  Theodore,  this  sum  of  fifty 
pounds  of  gold,  paid  over  to  thee  before  thy 
Surety,  and  go  in  peace.  And  may  the  Lord 
God  prosper  thee  on  thy  journey,  and  make 
plain  the  way  before  thee!  And  remember 
that  before  this  thy  Surety  thou  art  bound 
to  me  for  a  hundred  pounds  of  gold." 

Having  thus  spoken,  Abram  returned  home. 
Theodore  repaired  and  reloaded  his  ship,  en- 
gaged mariners  and  made  ready  to  sail.  But 
on  the  day  he  was  about  to  depart  he  went 
into  the  Copper  Market,  and  kneeling  down, 
with  his  face  toward  the  cross,  he  prayed  the 
Lord  to  be  his  companion  and  captain,  and  to 
guide  him  on  his  journey,  and  bring  him  safe 
through  all  perils  with  his  goods  back  to 
Byzantium  once  more. 

Then  he  went  on  to  the  house  of  Abram  to 
bid  him  farewell.  And  the  Jew  said  to  him  : 
"Keep  thyself  safe,  brother ;  and  beware  now 
of  trusting  thy  ship  to  the  sea  at  the  time  of 
equinoctial  gales.  Thou  hast  twice  experi- 
enced the  risk  ;  run  not  into  it  again.  Winter  at 
the  place  whither  thou  goest ;  and  that  I  may 


5>8 


The  Ave  Marta, 


know  how  thou  farest,  if  thou  hast  the  oppor- 
tunity, send  me  some  of  the  money  by  a  sure 
hand.  Then  there  is  less  chance  of  total  ruin ; 
for  if  one  portion  fails,  the  other  is  likely  to  be 
secure." 

Theodore  approved  of  this  advice  and  prom- 
ised to  follow  it;  so  then  the  Jew  and  the 
Christian  parted  with  much  affection  and  mut- 
ual respect ;  for  each  knew  the  other  to  be  a 
good  and  true  man,  fearing  God,  and  seeking 
to  do  that  which  was  right. 

This  time  Theodore  turned  his  ship's  head 
toward  the  west,  intending  to  carry  his  wares 
to  the  markets  of  Spain.  He  passed  safely 
through  the  straits  of  Hercules,  and  sailed 
north.  Then  a  succession  of  steady,  strong 
breezes  blew  from  the  south  and  swept  him 
on,  so  that  he  could  not  get  into  harbor  till 
he  reached  Britain.  He  anchored  in  a  bay  on 
the  rugged  Cornish  coast,  in  the  very  empo- 
rium of  tin  and  lead — in  the  Cassiterides  famed 
of  old  for  supplying  ore  precious  in  the  man- 
ufacture of  bronze.  He  readily  disposed  of 
all  his  merchandise,  and  bought  as  much  tin 
and  lead  as  his  ship  would  hold.  His  goods 
had  sold  so  well,  and  tin  and  lead  were  so 
cheap,  that  he  found  he  had  fifty  pounds  in 
gold  in  addition  to  the  cargo. 

The  voyage  back  from  Britain  to  Byzantium 
was  long  and  dangerous,  and  Theodore  was 
uneasy.  He  found  no  other  ships  from  Con- 
stantinople where  he  was,  and  no  means  pre- 
sented themselves  for  sending  back  the  money 
in  part  to  Abram,  as  he  had  promised.  He 
was  a  conscientious  man,  and  he  wished  to 
keep  his  word. 

He  set  sail  from  Cornwall  before  the  summer 
was  over,  passed  safely  through  the  straits 
into  the  Mediterranean,  but  saw  no  chance  of 
reaching  Constantinople  before  winter.  He 
would  not  again  risk  his  vessel  in  the  gales 
of  the  equinox,  and  he  resolved  to  winter  in 
Sicily.  V, He  arrived  too  late  in  the  year  to  be 
able  to  send  a  message  and  the  money  to 
Abram.  His  promise  troubled  him,  and  he 
cast  about  in  his  mind  how  to  keep  his  word. 
At  last,  in  the  simple  faith  which  colored  the 
whole  life  of  the  man,  he  made  a  very  solid 
wooden  box,  and  tarred  it  well  internally  and 
externally.  Then  he  enclosed  in  it  the  fifty 
pounds^of  gold  he  had  made  by  his  goods  in 
Britainover  and  above  his  lading  of  lead  and 


tin.  And  with  the  money  he  put  a  letter 
couched  in  these  terms : 

"In  the  name  of  my  heir  and  God,  my  Lord 
and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  who  is  also  my 
Surety  for  a  large  sum  of  money,  I,  Theodore, 
humbly  address  Master  Abram,  who,  with  God, 
is  my  benefactor  and  creditor.  I  would  have 
thee  know,  Master  Abram,  that  we  all,  by  the 
mercy  of  God,  are  in  good  health.  God  has 
verily  prospered  us  well  and  brought  our 
merchandise  to  a  good  market.  And  now  see, 
friend!  I  send  thee  fifty  pounds  of  gold,  which 
I  commit  to  the  care  of  my  Surety,  and  He 
will  convey  the  money  safely  to  thy  hands. 
Receive  it  from  me,  and  do  not  forget  us. 
Farewell!" 

Then  he  fastened  up  the  box,  and  raised  his 
eyes  to  heaven  and  prayed  to  God,  saying,  **0 
lyOrd  Jesus  Christ,  Mediator  between  God  and 
man,  who  dwellest  in  heaven,  but  hast  respect 
unto  the  lowly,  deign  to  hear  the  voice  of  Thy 
humble  servant  this  day!  Because  Thou  hast 
proved  Thyself  to  me  a  good  and  kind  Surety, 
I  trust  to  Thee  to  return  to  my  creditor  Abram 
the  money  I  promised  to  send  him.  Trust- 
ing in  Thee,  lyord,  I  commit  this  little  box 
to  the  sea." 

So  saying  he  flung  the  case  containing  the 
gold  and  the  letter  into  the  waves ;  and,  stand- 
ing on  a  cliff,  watched  it  floating  on  the  waters, 
— rising  and  falling  on  the  glittering  wave- 
lets, gradually  drifting  farther  and  farther  out 
to  sea,  till  it  was  lost  to  his  sight ;  and  then, 
nothing  doubting  but  that  the  Lord  Christ 
would  look  after  the  little  box,  and  guide  it 
over  the  waste  of  waters  to  its  proper  destina- 
tion, he  went  back  to  his  lodging,  and  told  the 
ship  pilot  what  he  had  done.  The  sailor  re- 
mained silent,  wondering  in  his  mind  at  the 
great  faith  of  his  master.  Then  his  rough 
heart  softened,  and  he  knelt  down  and  blessed 
and  praised  God. 

The  summer  passed ;  the  storms  of  autumn 
had  swept  over  the  sea,  and  torn  from  the 
trees  the  last  russet  leaves ;  winter  had  set  in  ; 
yet  Abram  had  received  no  news  of  Theodore. 
He  did  not  doubt  the  good  faith  of  his 
friend,  but  he  began  to  fear  that  ill-luck  at- 
tended him.  He  had  risked  a  large  sum,  and 
would  feel  the  loss  severely  should  this  cargo 
be  lost  like  the  former  one.  He  talked  the 
matter  over  with  his  steward,  and  considered 


The  Ave  Maria. 


519 


it  from  every  imaginable  point  of  view.  His 
anxiety  took  him  constantly  to  the  shore  to 
watch  the  ships  that  arrived,  hoping  to  hear 
news  by  some  of  them  and  to  recover  part  of 
his  money.  He  hardly  expected  the  return  of 
Theodore  at  that  time,  after  the  injunctions  he 
he  had  given  him  not  to  risk  his  vessel  in  a 
stormy  season. 

One  day  he  was  walking  with  his  steward 
by  the  seaside,  when  the  waves  were  more 
boisterous  than  u^ual.  Not  a  sh  1  p  was  visible : 
all  were  in  winter-quarters.  Abram  drew  ofif 
his  sandals  and  began  to  wash  his  feet  in  the 
sea  water.  While  so  doing  he  observed  some- 
thing floating  at  a  little  distance.  With  the 
assistance  of  his  steward  he  fished  out  a  box 
black  with  tar,  firmly  fastened  up  like  a  solid' 
cube  of  wood.  Moved  by  curiosity,  he  carried 
the  box  home,  and  succeeded  with  a  little 
diflficulty  in  forcing  it  open.  Inside  he  found 
a  letter  (not  directed,  but  marked  with  three 
crosses)  and  a  bag  of  gold.  It  need  hardly 
be  said  that  this  was  the  box  Theodore  had 
entrusted  to  Christ,  and  his  Surety  had  ful- 
filled His  trust  and  conveyed  it  to  the  hands 
of  the  creditor. 

Next  spring  Theodore  returned  to  Constan- 
tinople in  safety.  As  soon  as  he  had  disem- 
barked, he  hastened  to  the  house  of  Master 
Abram  to  tell  him  the  results  of  his  voyage. 
The  Jewish  usurer,  wishing  to  prove  him, 
feigned  not  to  understand  when  Theodore 
related  how  he  had  sent  him  fifty  pounds  of 
gold,  and  made  as  though  he  had  not  received 
the  money.  But  the  merchant  was  full  of  con- 
fidence, and  he  said:  **I  can  not  understand 
this,  brother;  for  I  enclosed  the  money  in  a 
box  along  with  a  letter,  and  committed  it  to 
the  custody  of  my  Saviour  Christ,  who  has 
condescended  to  act  as  Surety  for  me,  un- 
worthy as  I  am.  But  as  thou  say  est  that  thou 
has  not  received  it,  come  with  me,  and  let 
us  go  together  before  the  crucifix,  and  say 
before  it  that  thou  hast  not  had  the  money 
conveyed  to  thee,  and  then  I  will  believe  thy 
word." 

Abram  promised  to  accompany  his  friend, 
and  rising  from  their  seats  they  went  together 
to  the  Copper  Market.  And  when  they  came 
to  the  Tetra^tyle,  Theodore  raised  his  hands 
to  the  Crucified  and  cried  out :  * '  My  Saviour 
and  Surety,  didst  Thou  not  restore  the  gold 


to  Master  Abram  thnt  I  entrusted  to  Thee  for 
that  purpose  ? ' ' 

There  was  something  so  wonderful,  so 
beautiful  in  the  man's  faith,  that  Abram  was 
overpowered ;  and  withal  there  was  the  evi- 
dence that  it  was  not  misplaced  so  clear  to 
the  Jew,  that  the  light  of  conviction,  like  a 
dazzling  sunbeam,  darted  into  his  soul;  and 
Theodore  saw  the  Hebrew  usurer  fall  pros- 
trate on  the  pavement,  half  fainting  with  the 
emotion  which  oppressed  him. 

Theodore  ran  and  fetched  water  in  his 
hands  and  sprinkled  his  face,  and  brought 
the  usurer  to.  And  then  Abram  said:  "As  God 
liveth,  my  friend,  I  will  not  enter  into  my 
house  till  I  have  taken  thy  Lord  and  Surety 
for  my  Master."  A  crowd  began  to  gather, 
and  it  was  bruited  abroad  that  the  Jewish 
usurer  sought  baptism.  And  when  the  story 
reached  the  ears  of  the  Emperor  Heraclius, 
he  glorified  God.  So  Abram  was  put  under 
instruction,  and  was  baptized  by  the  Patriarch 
Sergius. 

And  after  seven  days  a  solemn  procession 
was  instituted  through  the  streets  of  Con- 
stantinople to  the  Copper  Market,  in  which 
walked  the  Emperor  and  the  Patriarch  and 
all  the  clergy  of  the  city ;  and  the  box  which 
had  contained  the  money  was  conveyed  by 
them  to  the  Tetrastyle  and  laid  up,  along 
with  the  gold  and  the  letter  before  the  image, 
to  be  a  memorial  to  all  generations  of  what 
had  taken  place.  And  thenceforth  the  crucifix 
received  the  common  appellation  of  Antipho- 
netos,  or  the  Surety. 

As  for  the  tin  and  lead  with  which  the  ves- 
sel of  Theodore  was  freighted,  it  sold  for  a 
great  price,  so  that  both  he  and  Abram  realized 
a  large  sum  by  the  transaction.  But  neither 
would  keep  to  himself  any  portion  of  it,  but 
gave  it  all  to  the  Church  of  St.  Sophia,  and 
therewith  a  part  of  the  sanctuary  was  over- 
laid with  silver.  Then  Theodore  and  his  wife, 
with  mutual  consent,  gave  up  the  world  and 
retired  into  monastic  institutions. 

Abram  afterward  built  and  endowed  an 
oratory  near  the  Tetrastyle,  and  Sergius  or- 
dained him  priest,  and  his  two  sons  deacons. 
He  also  founded  and  built  a  church  and 
monastery  in  Constantinople.  Abram  was 
afterward  raised  to  the  metropolitan  See  of 
Ephesus. 


520 


The  Ave  Maria, 


"Style"  in  Literature  and  Art. 


BY   MAURICE    FRANCIS    EGAN. 


THERE  is  often  heard  a  complaint  that 
Catholic  writers  give  too  little  attention 
to  style.  And  in  some  cases  it  may  be  true  that 
they  depend  too  much  on  the  steel  in  their 
arrow,  without  giving  sufficient  attention  to 
the  feather  that  carries  it  through  the  air.  It 
is  true  that  style  in  writing,  as  means  to  an 
end,  is  very  little  considered  in  our  schools. 
As  to  style  in  the  pulpit,  it  is  doubtful  whether 
Massillon  himself,  if  he  had  to  crowd  into  his 
day's  work  the  duties  of  a  financier,  of  a 
ministering  angel,  of  an  adviser  of  all  sorts  of 
people  on  all  kinds  of  topics,  would  find  time 
to  cultivate  a  fine  manner.  As  to  style  in  our 
printed  books,  it  is  generally  as  slip-shod  as 
possible,  when  the  author  translates  from  a 
foreign  language.  Dip  into  some  of  our  books 
of  devotion,  for  instance,  and  try  to  imagine 
the  result  of  a  study  of  these  on  the  spoken  or 
written  style;  it  is  probably,  however,  the 
manner  in  which  our  books  are  published 
which  makes  people  associate  all  kinds  of  glit- 
tering and  horrible  ornaments  with  a  Catholic 
book. 

We  are  constantly  told  that  Catholic  books 
are  avoided  because  people  have  degenerated ; 
that  they  must  have  food  for  babes,  not  meat 
for  strong  men.  And  yet  there  are  certain 
Catholic  books  which  everybody  of  taste  longs 
for,  and  gives  them  places  of  honor  when  he 
can  get  them  decently  bound.  But  the  Catho- 
lic publisher — the  English  Catholic  publisher 
as  well  as  his  American  brother — is  like  the 
merry  news-vender  of  the  railroad  cars.  He 
drops  a  lump  of  leaden  literature  into  one's 
lap  and  expects  one  to  keep  it.  Take,  for  in- 
stance, "The  Dream  of  Gerontius"  or  "Dion 
and  the  Sibyls"  or  "I  Promessi  Sposi,"  and 
who  would  not — be  he  Catholic  or  Protestant 
— be  glad  to  see  well- printed  editions  bound 
appropriately  ? 

Who  longs  for  an  angular  palm-tree  on  the 
back  of  his  book?  Or  a  wreath  of  cheap  and 
unnatural  flowers  ?  Or  a  chunk  of  gilt  dropped 
on  a  surface  of  crude  red  or  green  cloth  ?  The 
publisher  will  probably  tell  you  that  the 
hideous  palm-tree  stamp,  or  the  other  abom 


inable  ornament,  costs  money.  It  is  not,  how- 
ever, a  question  of  money  :  it  is  a  question  of 
taste.  A  simple,  honest  binding  may  cost  less 
than  the  gilded  stuff  which  has  made  the 
"premium  volume"  a  thing  of  horror. 

There  may  come  a  time,  too,  when  the  proof- 
reader will  not  be  entirely  monopolized  by 
the  secular  press,  and  when  the  now  unhappy 
author  may  find  pertinent  queries  and  lovely 
suggestions  on  the  margins  of  his  proofs; 
when  his  Greek  accents  will  be  laboriously 
looked  into,  and  his  slips  of  the  pen  ruthlessly 
marked.  Every  Sir  Walter  Scott  can  not  have 
a  Lockhart,  but  every  publisher  ought  to  have 
a  good  proof-reader ;  and  a  good  proof-reader 
is  worth  his  weight  in  gold. 

A  careful  attention  to  the  style  of  getting 
out  Catholic  books  might  increase  their  cir- 
culation. Cardinal  Gibbons'  "Our  Christian 
Heritage' ' — a  book  Ion  g  and  anxiously  waited 
for — is  an  example  of  how  pleasantly  the 
publisher  can  disport  himself  at  the  expense 
of  good  taste. 

It  is  a  very  fortunate  thing  that  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Catholic  hierarchy  in  this  country 
are  so  remarkably  humble  and  modest  that 
they  would  rather  welcome  shocks  to  the 
amour propre^  if  they  had  any.  Who  but  the 
most  modest  of  men  could  endure  the  coun- 
terfeit presentments  of  themselves  which  our 
press  presents  to  its  readers  on  every  occasion  ? 
The  suggestion  of  the  late  Catholic  Congress, 
that  there  should  be  a  daily  paper,  opens  an 
agreeable  vista.  Fancy  how  everybody  yearns 
to  see  these  pictures  every  day  instead  of 
merely  once  a  week. 

The  present  writer  remembers  that  a  long 
time  ago  he,  being  then  in  a  house  of  bondage, 
sought  to  appease  an  insatiable^public  appe- 
tite for  the  pictures  of  prelates  by  serving 
them  up  in  the  usual  fashion;  and  he  was 
only  awakened  to  the  enormity  of  his  offence 
when  a  devout  subscriber — a  lady  who  had 
married  anon-Catholic  husband — pathetically 
begged  him  to  stop  them,  as  they  prejudiced 
her  husband  against  the  Church ! 

Ah,  yes!  we  need  more  style. 


A  Lily  among  thorns,  Mary  crushed  the 
head  of  the  serpent;  fair  as  the  moon,  she 
guides  our  wandering  footsteps. — St.  Peter 
Damian. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


52r 


A  Thought  in  Season. 


IT  is  a  fact  worth  consideration  that  no 
thoughtful  people  seem  to  have  escaped 
the  influence  of  the  Catholic  Church,  even  at 
times  when  Christianity  itself  has  been  little 
considered.  Probably  no  age  was  more  really 
indifferent  to  religion  than  the  epoch  in  which 
Goethe  and  Sir  Walter  Scott  lived— they  both 
died  in  1832, — yet  we  find  in  Goethe's  works 
a  constant  return  to  that  faith  which  Goethe's 
world  had  labelled  "outworn."  Goethe  was 
a  pagan,  a  materialist,  with  sentimental  pro- 
clivities. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  was  made  of  better  stuff: 
in  a  materialistic  age  he  was  a  Christian; 
he  died  with  the  Dies  IrcE  on  his  lips.  And 
his  only  descendant  is  a  devout  Catholic, 
lyord  Byron  at  times  seemed  touched  by  the 
beauty  of  our  holy  religion.  To-day,  hap- 
pily, the  daughter  of  his  only  daughter  is  a 
Catholic.  With  us,  when  we  read  anything 
that  inspires  us  with  noble  thoughts,  one  of 
our  first  impulses  is  to  offer  a  prayer  that  the 
author  may  have  the  consolation  of  finding 
the  true  Church. 

Who  has  not  heard  John  Howard  Payne's 
song,  **Home,  Sweet  Home"  ?  And  who  has 
heard  it  without  emotion?   Only  he 
"  with  soul  so  dead 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 
'This  is  my  own,  my  native  land,'  " 
could  have  so  heard  it.    And  all  of  us  have 
a  kindly  thought  for  the  author.  In  this  No- 
vember time  we  may  also  breathe  a  kindly 
prayer  for  him. 

John  Howard  Payne  died  a  Catholic,  at 
Tunis,  in  1852,  in  the  sixty-second  year  of  his 
age.  He  was  nursed  during  his  illness  by 
Sisters  of  Charity,  and  though  he  died  in  a 
country  of  Mahomedans,  far  from  "home, 
sweet  home,"  he  found  the  aspiration  of  the 
' '  O  Salutaris ' '  answered, 

"  Nobis  donet  in  patria. " 


Cast  forth  thy  act,  thy  word,  into  the  ever- 
living,  ever-working  universe;  it  is  a  seed- 
grain  that  can  not  die ;  unnoticed  to-day,  it 
will  be  found  flourishing  as  a  banyan  grove — 
perhaps,  alas !  as  a  hemlock  forest — after  a 
thousand  years. — Carlyle. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

In  the  course  of  an  able  article  in  the  current 
number  of  the  Nineteenth  Century,  on  ' '  Roman 
Catholicism  in  America,"  the  writer  remarks: 
' '  Men  may  disapprove  the  methods  of  the  Cath- 
olic Church  and  discredit  her  btrliefs,  but  few  will 
deny  that  her  ideal  is  the  most  perfect  ever  set 
before  the  human  race." 

This  interesting  and  well-written  article  is  so 
very  liberal,  so  entirely  respectful  to  Catholics 
and  their  religion,  that  one  is  led  to  suspect  that 
its  author  is  a  Catholic  himself  posing  as  a 
Protestant.  Not  a  very  honorable  thing  to  do,  by 
the  way.  Certain  expressions  convey  this  im- 
pression. For  instance,  alluding  to  the  qualifica- 
tions of  Cardinal  Gibbons  for  "the  most  exalted 
honor  in  the  Church's  gift,"  the  writer  remarks  : 
"  It  is  not  for  a  layman  to  speak  of  these." 


The  late  Dr.  Ricord  had  a  Frenchman's  weak- 
ness for  decorations,  and  is  said  to  have  enjoyed 
the  privilege  to  wear  a  greater  number  than  any 
Frenchman  since  Alexandre  Dumas.  ■  It  was  Dr. 
Ricord  who  claimed  the  favor  of  fastening  the 
Cross  of  the  Legion  on  the  breast:  of  Brother 
Philip,  Superior-Generalof  the  Christian  Broth- 
ers, after  the  Franco-Prussian  war,  during  which 
he  and  his  fellow-religious  rendered  distinguished 
services  in  the  hospitals  and  on  the  bidttle-field. 


Philadelphia  contains  nearly  as  niiariy  Catho- 
lics as  the  entire  population  of  Rome  ;  'and  there 
is  no  city  in  Italy  except  Naples,  or  in  Spain 
save  Madrid,  or  in  France  but  Paris  and  lyyons, 
or  in  Belgium  besides  Brussels,  with  a  greater 
Catholic  population. 

The  French  correspondent  of  the  Liverpool 
Catholic  Times  states  that  as  many  as  267,000 
persons  visited  the  Paris  cemeteries  on  All-Souls' 
Day.  

The  gift  of  Lady  Herbert  of  Lea  to  the  Princess 
of  Hatzfeld,  of  whose  marriage  the  secular  papers 
have  had  so  much  to  say,  was  a  Bible  and  Rosary 
blessed  by  the  Pope. 

The  abuse  of  what  is  now  called  '  *  hypnotism '  * 
is  described  by  a  writer  in  the  London  Tablet.  In 
spite  of  the  able  advocates  for  the  use  of  hypno- 
tism in  medicine,  it  should  be  kept  in  mind  that 
anything  which  neutralizes  the  will,  and  leaves 
one  human  being  at  the  mercy  of  another,  must 
have  evil  results.  The  writer  in  the  Tablet  says 
that  he  was  once  a  spectator  at  an  "hypnotic" 
exhibition.  ' '  Three  men  out  of  the  audience  were 
induced  to  accept  the  general  invitation  to  ascend 


5^^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  platform  in  order  to  be  subjected  to  the 
suggestive  process.  It  was  a  pitiable  sight.  The 
alternations  of  whimpering  sorrow  and  silly, 
convulsive  laughter,  the  idiotic  countenances  and 
attitudes  which  these  men  were  constrained  to 
assume,  as,  bent  half  double,  they  pothered  round 
the  stage  after  one  an  )ther  like  three  boobies,  or, 
meeting,  knocked  noddles  together — and  all  by 
the  secret  suggestion  and  at  the  pleasure  of  the 
hypnotizer, — presented  a  spectacle  of  human  deg- 
radation at  once  humiliating  and  repulsive  to 
witness.  One  poor  fellow  muttered  to  himself,  as 
he  slunk  back  to  his  place :  '  I  have  had  enough 
of  this! '  He  had  probably  a  confused  impression 
that  he  had  been  made  a  fool  of." 

Mesmerism  and  spiritism  have  had  a  trial,  and 
they  have  come  to  no  good.  Both  Ihese  so-called 
sciences  are  dangerous.  Hypnotism  has  previous 
experience  against  it. 

Cardin-al  Lavigerie's  patriotism  is  so  great  that 
he  might  be  spared  by  his  countrymen.  A  French 
paper  accuses  him  of  living  luxuriously.  The  fact 
is,  Cardinal  Lavigerie  is  a  poor  man,  and  lives  like 
one.  He  devotes  his  whole  income  to  the  needs  of 
his  diocese  ;  he  can  not  afford  to  keep  a  carriage, 
and  he  lives  in  rooms  in  the  seminary  at  Algiers, 
to  avoid  the  expense  of  keeping  up  what  is  called 
"the  palace." 

Mr.  Gladstone  has  sent  a  very  creditable  note 
to  an  English  Catholic  gentleman.  He  wrote,  he 
says,  two  pamphlets  on  the  Vatican  question. 
"In  the  first,"  he  continues,  "  I  asked  my  Roman 
Catholic  fellow  citizens  to  declare  their  loyalty. 
In  the  second,  having  read  their  replies,  I  declared 
that  they  had  placed  it  beyond  question." 

The  Count  Hatzfeld,  the  German  Ambassador, 
came  late  to  the  Requiem  Mass  in  London  ibr 
Don  Luis  of  Portugal,  shook  hands  with  his 
neighbors  and  tried  to  enter  into  conversation. 
The  Spanish  Ambassador  fixed  a  look  on  him  of 
such  intensity  that  the  Count  was  glad  to  subside 
into  silence. 

Miss  Mary  Anderson  has  been  visiting  Lord 
Tennyson.  Miss  Anderson's  art  is  admired  by  all 
classes  of  persons,  and  her  faith  has  edified  many 
who  do  not  share  it. 


The  Catholic  Union  and  Times  has  the  follow- 
ing appreciative  notice  of  a  valued  contributor 
to  The  "Ave  Maria": 

Among  the  professors  of  the  Catholic  University, 
Charles  Warren  Stoddard's  personality  is  perhaps 
the  most  interesting  to  Americans.  Mr.  Stoddard  is 
a  convert.  He  possesses  a  unique  literary  style,  full 
of  color  and  warmth.    He  writes  more  picturesquely 


than  any  other  American  author.  He  has  not  ap- 
peared in  any  Catholic  periodical  except  The  "Avb 
Maria,"  to  which  he  has  sent  some  of  his  best  work. 
He  is  a  young  man  with  a  great  future.  He  has,  in 
addition  to  power,  much  literary  prestige  in  that  inner 
circle  which  makes  reputations.  Among  hi?  admirers 
are  James  Russell  Lowell,  Whittier,  Holmes,  Howells, 
— nearly  every  noted  man  of  letters  in  this  country 
and  Europe.  Mr.  Stoddard's  lectures  will  have  all  the 
qualities  which  close  study,  wide  travel,  keen  obser- 
vation, and  warm  sympathy  can  imparl. 


The  readers  of  The  "Ave  Maria"  will  not  fail 
to  breathe  a  prayer  for  the  repose  of  the  soul  of 
Mrs.  M.  A.  Stace,  who  died  at  Garrett,  Ind.,  on 
Tuesday,  the  i8th  inst.,  in  the  eightieth  year  of 
her  age.  Mrs.  Stace  was  posses.sed  of  a  mind 
highly  gifted  by  nature  and  culture,  and,  up  to  a 
few  years  ago,  contributed  much  to  our  Catholic 
literature  by  her  writings  in  The  "Ave  Maria," 
the  Catholic  World,  and  other  periodicals,  and  by 
the  publication  of  several  works.  She  was  the 
mother  of  Prof.  A.  J.  Stace,  whose  productions 
have  frequently  graced  the  pages  of  Our  Lady's 
magazine.  Mrs.  Stace  was  a  convert  to  the  true 
faith,  and  her  life  was  marked  by  an  edifying  ful- 
filment of  the  duties  of  our  holy  religion.  May 
she  rest  in  peace!      

Emile  Augier,  the  greatest  of  the  modern 
French  dramatists,  is  dead.  Augier  was  a  consist- 
ent Christian  ;  his  plays  are  strong,  interesting, 
but  never  scrofulous,  like  those  of  the  younger 
Dumas.  In  one  drama,  which  the  present  writer 
remembers  to  have  seen,  there  is  a  cutting  pas- 
sage. A  young  woman  is  tempted  ;  she  tells  her 
thoughts  to  an  old  man  ;  she  declares  that  she 
has  no  one  to  whom  to  go  for  relief.  The  old  man 
answers:  "In  my  time,  madame,  we  had  God." 
M.  Augier  had  been  prepared  for  death,  as  his 
sickness  had  been  prolonged.  May  he  rest  in 
peace! 


As  an  illustration  of  the  rapidity  of  Catholic 
growth  in  some  parts  of  the  West,  the  Republic 
quotes  a  remark  made  by  a  speaker  from  Dakota 
at  a  recent  Sunday-school  convention  in  Boston. 

"When  I  first  came  to  to  live,"  he  said, 

"folks  would  go  twenty  miles  to  see  a  Catholic  ; 
now  there  are  3,500  of  them  in  our  town." 


Further  offerings  toward  the  support  of  the 
missions  of  the  Passionist  Fathers  in  South 
America : 

E.  H.,  Greene,  Iowa,|i;  Mrs.  C.  Mansfield,  $2 ;  Mrs. 
M.  Bowman,  50  cts.  ;  J.  C,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Souls 
in  Purgatory,  $2;  Mrs.  A.  Wise,  $1 ;  A  Friend,  in  honor 
of  the  Immaculate  Heart  of  Mary,  %\  ;  Mrs.  J.  D. ,  |i ; 
M.  M.,  Lewiston,  Me.,  %\. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


523 


New  Publications. 

Satan  in  Society.  By  Nicholas  Francis  Cooke, 
M.  D  ,  Ivlw.  D.  With  a  Biographical  Sketch  of  the 
Author  by  Eliza  Allen  Starr.  Chicago,  111.:  C.  F. 
Vent  Company. 

This  is  a  work  the  judicious  circulation  of  which 
can  not  fail  to  be  productive  of  good.  The  evils 
of  which  it  treats  are  but  too  prevalent,  and  too 
subversive  of  all  that  is  noblest  and  best  in  hu- 
manity and  the  social  order,  not  to  justify  its 
preparation,  and  to  stamp  its  publication  with  a 
character  of  timeliness  and  even  necessity.  The 
author  had,  in  the  words  of  the  late  Archbishop 
Purcell,  a  difficult  task  to  perform,  but  he  has 
done  it  well ;  and  his  biographer,  Miss  Eliza  Allen 
Starr,  has  admirably  depicted  the  grand  character 
and  gifted  mind  which  he  possessed.  His  was  a 
mind  keen  in  its  perceptions  and  indefatigable 
in  the  pursuit  of  truth;  and  his  sincerity  and 
uprightness  of  purpose,  yielding  to  the  secret  in- 
fluence of  divine  grace,  brought  him  into  the 
bosom  of  the  grand  old  mother  Church  in  the 
year  1866,  then  in  his  thirty-seventh  year.  It  was 
after  his  conversion  that  his  sense  of  the  respon- 
sibility of  his  profession  led  him  to  prepare  the 
work  above  named.  To  it,  says  Miss  Starr,  "he 
gave  his  large  experience  as  a  physician,  his  best 
thought,  his  best  conscience,  and,  we  may  add,  his 
best  English  ;  for  the  clothing  of  his  subject  in 
a  way  to  instruct  fully,  yet  to  wound  no  modesty, 
however  shrinking,  was  a  work  which  required  a 
hand  both  firm  and  delicate  to  a  degree  seldom 
found,  if  he  would  accomplish  his  intention.  The 
touch  must  be  that  of  the  skilful  surgeon,  which 
lays  bare  the  seat  of  disease  without  endangering 
life.  The  response  which  his  effort  met  from  great 
thinkers  and  great  moral  legislators  was  such  as 
to  justify  the  declaration  he  had  made,  that  it 
was  needed.  The  book  was  examined  by  those  in 
charge  of  the  young,  and  no  careful  perusal  of 
its  pages  was  ever  made  without  a  conviction 
that  a  merciful,  even  if  a  painful,  light  had  been 
thrown  upon  the  ways  of  human  infirmity  and 
'  The  trace  of  the  ancient  wandering. ' ' ' 
Orders  for  this  work  may  be  addressed  to  the 
widow  of  the  author,  Mrs.  Nicholas  F.  Cooke,  261 
Dearborn  Ave. ,  Chicago,  111. 

Before  Our  Lord  Came.   An  Old  Testament 
History   for  Young   Children.    By  Lady  Amabel 
Kerr.    London :    Burns  &  Gates,    Limited.    New 
York :  Catholic  Publication  Society  Co. 
The  difficulties  attending  the  presentation  of 
the  Scripture  narratives  to  the  unformed  minds  of 
children  have  been  very  well  met  by  the  accom- 
plished lady  who  has   prepared  this  book  for 


their  entertainment.  It  is  adorned  with  numerous 
wood-engravings,  as  works  of  this  class  should 
be ;  and  it  will  be  a  treasure  to  the  little  ones  in 
all  the  homes  into  which  it  makes  its  way.  The 
letter-press  and  binding  are  excellent,  and  the 
brilliant  colors  and  gilding  are  such  as  to  fit  it  for 
a  gift-book.  We  wish  we  had  more  such  writers 
as  Lady  Amabel  Kerr,  who  would  be  content  with 
this  humble  yet  eminently  blessed  field  for  their 
undoubted  talents,  in  laboring  for  the  benefit  of 
those  who  will  in  future  years  learn  the  debt  of 
gratitude  they  owe  to  their  instructor?.  Such 
books  as  this  should  be  found  in  the  parlor  and 
nursery  alike  of  every  Christian  family. 

The  Art  of  Profiting  by  our  Faults.  Ac- 
cording to  St  Francis  de  Sales.  Translated  from 
the.  French  by  Miss  Ella  McMahoji.  New  York, 
Cincinnati,  and  Chicago  :  Benziger  Bros. 
The  numerous  letters  of  approval  from  distin- 
guished members  of  the  French  hierarchy  which 
accompany  this  little  manual  need  no  endorse- 
ment from  us.  Its  merits,  so  well  recognized  in  the 
land  ofitsproduction,will  be  also  appreciated  even 
among  those  who  speak  an  alien  tongue  ;  for  they 
have  an  excellent  interpreter  in  the  lady  who  has 
undertaken  the  difficult  task  of  translation.  Those 
who  have  read  the  voluminous  works  of  Father 
Faber  will  remember  how  imbued  they  are  with 
the  spirit  of  St.  Francis  de  Sales,  and  will  rejoice 
at  the  opportunity  here  offered  them  of  gather- 
ing the  wisdom  of  this  great  Saint  in  the  gardens 
of  its  original  growth.  The  book  may  be  read  and 
re-read  with  profit,  and  each  of  its  chapters  may 
furnish  the  theme  of  a  morning's  meditation.  We 
trust  it  will  find  its  way  into  the  hands  of  all  our 
readers. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii,  3. 

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

The  Rev.  Edward  Brennan,  rector  of  St.  Luke's 
Church,  Mansfield,  Pa. ,  who  departed  this  life  on  the 
8th  of  September. 

Sister  M.  Jane  Frances,  who  was  called  to  her  reward 
on  the  i2th  inst.,  at  St.  Joseph's  Convent,  Toronto, 
Ont.  And  Sister  Mary  Jerome,  who  died  peacefully 
last  month  at  Dubuque,  Iowa. 

Mr.  John  C.  Wood,  of  Selvin,  Ind.,  whose  happy 
death  occurred  on  the  15th  ult. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Meagher,  who  passed  away  on  the 
19th  inst.,  at  Kinsman,  111. 

Mr.  Francis  de  Wulf,  who  breathed  his  last  at 
Frostburg,  Md.,  on  the  27th  ult. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


5H 


The  Ave  Maria. 


In  the  Twilight. 

BY    LAWRENCE;    MINOT. 

^Y^HEN  the  sun  goes  down  and  the  birds  are  still, 
*^  And  the  darkness  falls  and  the  day  is  done, 
Then  can  we  forget  the  souls  who  fill 

That  place  of  gloom  where  there  is  no  Sun  ? — 
Where  they  see  not  His  light  nor  His  presence  feel ; 

Where  they  love  and  wait — ^those  whom  we  love? 
Come,  come  in  the  twilight, — come  and  kneel. 

And  pray  that  their  souls  may  fly  above. 


Noelie. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "TYBORNE,"  ETC. 


III. 


At  last  Mr.  Chevahier  rang  his  bell.  He 
felt  weary,  but  was  ready  for  breakfast  at  ten 
o'clock.  He  picked  up  some  letters  which 
were  on  the  table,  and  began  to  read.  Sud- 
denly a  little  hand  was  laid  on  his  knee  and 
made  him  start. 

"Mr.  Friend,  do  you  eat  paper  with  your 
bread?" 

"Oh,  here  you  are!"  said  Mr.  Chevahier, 
who  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  bright  little 
face. 

"Mr.  Friend  must  not  eat  any  more  paper. 
Petite  is  not  hungry;  she  has  had  a  good 
breakfast." 

"I  am  very  glad,  and  now  I  want  my 
breakfast." 

Petite  danced  round  the  table.  "I^ook,  Mr. 
Friend,  at  my  beautiful  cloak!  The  good  lady 
gave  it  to  me." 

"It  is  only  Catherine's  old  cape,"  said  Jo- 
seph. ^*She  did  not  know  how  to  dress  the 
child." 

"Very  good!    Tell  Catherine  I  want  her." 

Petite  danced  on,  singing,  "Petite  has  got 
a  beautiful  cloak!" 

' '  Dear,  dear  me ! "  said  Mr.  Chevahier.  * '  My 
head  is  turning  round!  " 


Petite  had  picked  up  the  poker,  which  she 
was  dragging  about  after  her  as  an  accompa- 
niment to  her  song — "Petite  has  got  a  lovely 
cloak!" 

In  a  little  while  Catherine  appeared. 

"My  good  woman,"  said  Mr.  Chevahier, 
putting  his  hand  to  his  head,  "I  don't  know 
what  I  am  saying." 

"Hush!"  said  Catherine,  taking  hold  of 
Petite  and  forcing  her  to  be  quiet. 

"Catherine,  buy  clothes  for  the  child,  and 
then  take  her  to  the  Sisters  of  Charity."  And 
he  took  some  gold  from  his  purse  and  gave 
it  to  Catherine. 

"Thank  you,  sir.  The  poor  child  does  need 
clothes.  I  should  be  ashamed  to  take  her  to 
the  Sisters  as  she  is.  Now,  Petite,  thank  Mr. 
Chevahier  and  come  away." 

Petite  blew  him  a  kiss  and  disappeared. 

"Ah! "  said  Mr.  Chevahier, with  a  long  sigh 
of  relief,  as  he  sank  back  in  his  chair. 

When  he  was  about  to  leave  the  house,  at 
one  o'clock,  he  met  Catherine  and  Petite  in 
the  hall.  Catherine  told  him  that  she  had  pur- 
chased a  hat  and  shoes  for  Petite,  and  mate- 
rials for  a  frock  and  other  garments;  but  as 
she  could  not  possibly  have  them  finished  be- 
fore night,  she  asked  if  she  might  keep  Petite 
one  day  more. 

"Yes,  certainly,  keep  the  child,"  said  Mr. 
Chevahier. 

"And,  sir,"  pursued  Catherine,  "if  you 
could  get  some  information  about  the  place 
where  you  found  the  child,  perhaps  you  might 
hear  of  some  one  who  knows  her.  The  best 
thing  would  be  to  send  her  back  to  her  par- 
ents ;  she  has  been  crying  for  her  mamma  and 
her  godmother." 

"I  will  try  and  go  there  myself,"  answered 
Mr.  Chevahier,  as  he  went  down-stairs;  "but 
it  is  a  frightful  place." 

"Mr.  Friend,"  cried  a  little  voice,  "be  sure 
and  have  pretty  stories  and  nice  songs  for 
Petite  to-night." 

Mr.  Chevahier  paused  and  leaned  against 
the  baluster.  "Another  night  like  the  last!" 
he  murmured.  "Oh,  no!  I  shall  sleep  at  a 
hotel  first." 

Catherine  smiled.  "If  you  please,  sir.  Miss 
Petite  shall  remain  with  me,  and  she'll  sleep 
like  a  dormouse.  Won't  you.  Miss  Petite?" 
holding  up  her  finger. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


52s 


"Yes,  yes,  good  lady!"  cried  Petite,  who 
began  to  think  that  Catherine  could  not  be 
trifled  with. 

Mr.  Chevahier  came  home  at  his  usual  hour. 
He  could  learn  nothing  of  Petite 's  parents. 
An  army  of  workmen  were  pulling  down  the 
houses ;  no  one  knew  whither  the  former  in- 
habitants had  gone. 

Petite  was  in  high  spirits;  she  walked  up 
and  down  the  hall,  that  Mr.  Chevahier  might 
admire  her  beautiful  hat,  pretty  frock,  and 
nice  shoes.  "But  my  lovely  cloak  is  gone!" 
she  said. 

"  Well,  Catherine, ' '  observed  Mr.  Chevahier, 
with  a  smile,  "you  have  worked  hard.  But 
early  to-morrow  you  will  take  the  child  to 
the  Sisters."  • 

"To-morrow  is  Christmas  Day,"  said  Cath- 
erine. "The  first  thing  I  shall  have  to  do  is 
to  hear  Mass." 

"To  be  sure!"  said  Mr.  Chevahier.  "As 
you  like  and  when  you  like,  Catherine." 

IV. 

The  moon  was  still  shining  when  Catherine 
went  out  on  the  morrow.  The  ground  was 
white  with  snow.  She  had  risen  very  early, 
and  on  her  way  to  Mass  had  stopped  at  the 
convent.  She  told  the  story  of  Petite  to  Sister 
lyucy.  Alas  !  the  orphan  asylum  was  full,  and 
Petite  was  too  young:  the  children  were  not 
taken  until  they  were  five  years  old. 

"What  shall  I  do  then?"  said  Catherine. 

"You  had  better  take  the  child  to  the  Home 
for  Forsaken  Children,"  answered  the  Sister. 

"Forsaken  children!"  repeated  Catherine. 

"Yes, — children  who  have  been  deserted." 

"Where  is  it,  please?" 

"The  other  side  of  Paris,"  replied  the 
Sister.    "It  is  an  immense  place." 

Catherine  thanked  her  and  took  leave. 

"Forsaken  children!"  she  said  to  herself. 
'"Poor  Petite!" 

The  snow  was  falling  heavily,  and  she 
hastened  into  the  church.  It  was  resplendent 
with  lights,  and  after  a  few  moments  Mass 
began.  The  music  and  singing  were  very 
grand.  At  the  sermon  the  priest  spoke  of  the 
Divine  Child.  "He  had  come  to  save  us  all," 
he  said;  "yet  He  was  refused  by  all.  There 
was  no  room  for  Him  in  Bethlehem.  A  stable, 
with  a  little  straw,  was  His  first  dwelling-place 
and  His  first  cradle." 


Tears  ran  down  Catherine's  cheeks.  "O 
Jesus!"  she  said,  softly;  "O  sweet  Child!  Thy 
tender  Heart  was  full  of  love  for  us,  and  see 
how  we  received  Thee!  Thou  couldst  not 
suffer  in  Thy  beautiful  heaven,  and  Thou 
didst  take  this  little  body  that  Thou  mightst 
suffer  in  our  place,  to  redeem  us.  Oh,  that  I 
had  been  hidden  in  a  corner  of  the  stable  of 
Bethlehem!  I  would  have  spread  my  best 
clothes  in  the  crib  to  keep  Thee  warm.  I 
would  have  covered  Thy  little  feet  with 
kisses. ' ' 

But  it  was  no  longer  the  Divine  Child, 
radiant  with  beauty  in  His  privations,  that 
Catherine  thought  she^aw;  another  little 
face  rose  before  her,  thin  and  pale,  with  great 
black  eyes  and  fair  curly  hair, — Petite,  not 
radiant  and  beautiful  like  the  Infant  Jesus,  yet 
poor  as  He  was.  And  these  words  sounded  in 
her  ear:  "Whosoever  shall  receive  one  such 
child  as  this  in  My  name,  receiveth  Me." 

Was  the  priest  saying  those  words,  or  was 
God  Himself  repeating  them  to  her?  Cath- 
erine did  not  know.  She  clasped  her  hands 
and  exclaimed:  "Sweet  Jesus,  to  warm  this 
poor  little  girl  is,  then,  warming  Thee ;  feed- 
ing her  is  to  feed  Thee;  clothing  her  is  to 
clothe  Thee!  It  is  a  little  like  being  allowed 
to  serve  Thee  in  the  stable  at  Bethlehem.  O 
Infant  Saviour,  I  promise  Thee  that  I  will 
not  forsake  her!" 

During  the  rest  of  the  Mass  Catherine 
prayed  fervently.  When  she  left  the  church 
she  forgot  her  prayer-book  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life.  She  went  on  talking  to  herself,  while 
the  snow  fell  in  heavy  flakes  around  her. 

"It  is  decided,  then,  for  the  love  of  the 
Infant  Jesus,  that  I  will  protect  this  unfortu- 
nate child.  I  will  often  go  to  see  her  at  the 
Home — but  why  should  I  take  her  to  that 
place  at  all?  Why  can't  I  keep  her?  \  have 
little  to  do.  I  could  easily  find  time  to  wash 
and  dress  her  and  make  her  clothes.  But  my 
master — there  is  the  difficulty.  A  child  cries 
and  talks  and  runs  about  and  makes  such  a 
fuss.  I'll  manage  to  have  Petite  with  me  con- 
stantly. I'll  keep  her  quiet  for  a  while,  and 
let  my  master  see  very  little  of  her  till  he 
becomes  accustomed  to  her.  And  I  think  he 
is  already  very  fond  of  the  little  thing — only 
she  is  so  noisy." 

When  Catherine  reached  home  Petite  was 


526 


The  Ave  Maria. 


awake.  After  she  was  dressed  and  had  her 
breakfast,  Catherine  ordered  her  not  to  stir 
from  the  kitchen.  Petite  was  quite  ready  to 
obey ;  she  sat  still  and  seemed  sleepy. 

Catherine  presented  herself  before  her  mas- 
ter, told  him  of  her  visit  to  the  Sisters,  and 
asked  if  she  should  take  Petite  to  the  Home 
for  Forsaken  Children. 

"Yes, — just  as  you  like,"  answered  Mr. 
Chevahier. 

''But  it  is  snowing  hard,  sir.  No  convey- 
ances are  to  be  had,  and  the  place  is  at  the 
other  side  of  Paris. ' ' 

"It  is  a  fearful  day,"  said  Mr.  Chevahier, 
who  had  just  come  in  from  Mass. 

"But  if  you  wish,  sir,  I  can  go  with  her.  I 
am  quite  ready. ' ' 

"No,  no!"  said  her  master ;  " certainly  not 
— only  to-night — I  can  not — " 

"Oh,  I'll  take  care  of  the  child  to-night!" 
said  Catherine,  with  a  smile. 

Next  day  Catherine  appeared  again  to  ask 
if  she  would  take  the  child  away. 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Chevahier. 

*  *  But,,  sir,  do  look !  It  is  thawing ;  the  streets 
are  in  an  awful  condition." 

"Very  well.  Put  it  oflf  till  to-raorrow.  I 
hope  she  does  not  bother  you  at  night?" 

"She  sleeps  like  a  dormouse,  sir, — a  real 
dormouse." 

"Very  good!  Glad  to  hear  it!"  said  Mr. 
CheVahier,  pleavSantly. 

The  next  day  Catherine  appeared  again 
with  the  same  question. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Chevahier,  "I  think  it  is 
really  fine  to-day." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Catherine.  "I  am  sorry  I 
did  not  take  her  yesterday." 

"How  is  that?"  replied  her  master.  "The 
streets  were  in  a  dreadful  state  with  the  thaw." 

"Yes,  but  the  poor  child  has  caught  cold. 
She  has  a  cough  and  is  feverish.  She  is  in 
bed  still.  I  would  not  let  her  rise,  but  if  you 
wish  it,  sir — ' ' 

"Of  course  I  don't  wish  to  let  the  little 
thing  out  if  she  is  ill.  Put  it  off  till  to-morrow 
or  next  day." 

V. 

Petite  really  had  a  bad  cold.  Every  day 
Catherine  ordered  Joseph  to  tell  Mr.  Chevahier 
how  the  child  was,  but  on  the  fifth  day  he 
was  told  to  say  nothing. 


Mr.  Chevahier  seemed  puzzled,  and  at  last 
he  asked : 

"How  is  the  little  girl?" 

"Better,  sir,  but  not  quite  well  yet.  She 
is  coming  to  thank  you  for  your  kindness." 

The  door  opened  and  Catherine  led  in 
P^etite,  who  was  very  clean  and  neat,  but  also 
very  thin  and  pale,  and  coughing  with  a  hard 
cough. 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Friend! "  piped  out  the 
little  voice,  and  then  Catherine  led  her  away. 

But  Mr  Chevahier' s  kind  heart  was  deeply 
touched.  He  called  them  back. 

"Catherine,  you  must  take  good  care  of  the 
child.  She  seems  very  poorly." 

"I'm  doing  my  best,  sir,"  said  Catherine. 

Petite  stretched  our  her  little  arms.  "Oh, 
the  good  lady  is  so  good  to  me! "  she  said. 

"See,  Catherine,  here  is  plenty  of  money. 
Get  warmer  clothing  for  her;  and  if  you 
think  she  ought  to  see  a  doctor,  you  can  send 
for  mine." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  sir!  She  is  getting  on 
nicely.  With  care  she  will  soon  be  well." 

And  from  that  time  there  was  no  further 
thought  of  sending  Petite  away. 

Every  day  she  came  to  wish  Mr.  Chevahier 
good-morning  at  his  breakfast.  At  first  she 
only  came  and  went  like  a  shadow ;  then  Mr. 
Chevahier  gave  her  a  lump  of  sugar  dipped 
in  coffee,  which  she  called  a  duck ;  and  after 
that  she  had  her  duck  daily. 

She  got  well  and  her  spirits  came  back. 
She  rushed  into  the  hall  when  she  heard  Mr. 
Chevahier  ring,  and  took  away  his  cane,  and 
went  to  look  for  his  slippers;  and  she  would 
come  and  say,  "Dinner  is  ready,"  when  she 
saw  Joseph  carrying  in  the  soup. 

One  day  Mr.  Chevahier  found  her  very 
busy  settling  a  chair  and  plate  and  glass  at  the 
table,  Joseph  looking  on  in  admiration. 

"Mr.  Friend,  Petite's  going  to  breakfast 
with  you.  You  are  all  alone  for  breakfast. 
The  good  lady  has  breakfast  with  Joseph,  and 
you  are  alone.  So  Petite  will  breakfast  with 
you."  And  she  sat  down,  her  chin  resting 
on  the  table. 

"This  is  very  good  of  you,  Petite.  But  you 
are  too  low.  Joseph,  find  something  to  raise 
her." 

Joseph  did  the  best  he  could  with  a  cushion, 
remarking  that  he  would  have  it  all  right 


The  Ave  Maria. 


527 


before  dinner.  And  at  dinner  Petite  had  a  high 
chair  of  her  own ;  and  as  she  was  very  good, 
and  took  her  meals  nicely,  she  was  never  after- 
ward banished  from  the  table. 

One  evening,  shortly  after  this,  Catherine 
asked  Mr.  Chevahier  if  Petite  ought  not  to 
be  baptized. 

* '  Why, ' *  said  he,  in  surprise, "  she  is  always 
talking  of  her  godmother.  She  must  have 
been  baptized." 

*' That  is  true, ' '  answered  Catherine.  "Now 
then,"  addressing  the  child  for  at  least  the 
hundredth  time,  "what  is  your  name?" 

"Petite,"  said  the  little  girl. 

"That's  not  a  name!"  replied  Catherine. 

"Three  years  old,"  repeated  Petite,  as  if 
saying  something  by  heart. 

"Yes,  I  know  your  age.  I  want  to  know 
your  name.  And  what  was  your  godmother's 
name?" 

"Sudo,"  said  the  child. 

"Consudo,"  remarked  Mr.  Chevahier. 

"Very  well,"  said  Catherine ;  "let  us  call 
her  Consudo.  I  don't  like  it,  but  no  matter. 
Petite,  we  are  going  to  call  you  Consudo." 

"No,  no,  no!  Sudo  is  godmamma's  name; 
Petite  is  my  name." 

"Suppose,  sir,  we  call  her  Noelie,  because 
it  was  the  day  before  Christmas  you  found 
her?" — she  stopped  short.  She  could  not  bear 
to  picture  Petite  half  naked,  dying  with  hun- 
ger, in  a  deserted  house. 

"Very  well,  let  it  be  Noelie." 

"Now,  Petite,  you  understand,  you  are  to 
have  two  names:  Petite  and  Noelie.  Oh, 
Noelie  is  far  the  prettier!  " 

" Yes,  yes,  very  pretty!"  said  Petite;  and 
she  repeated :  * '  No- e-lie ! ' ' 

And  when  at  dinner  Mr.  Chevahier  said, 
"Petite  will  you  have  a  cake?"  Petite  put 
her  finger  on  her  lips  and  said :  "Not  Petite, 
Mr.Friend, — No-e-lie.  It  is  prettier." 

And  so  she  was  called  Noelie. 
(to  be  continued.) 


We  have  no  time  to  waste 

In  critic's  sneer  or  cynic's  bark, 

Quarrel  or  reprimand ; 
'TwiU  soon  be  darlf. 

Then  choose  thine  aim. 
And  may  God  speed  the  mark! 


Paul's  Five  Dollars. 


Y    FI,ORA     L.    STANFIEI.D. 


— Anon. 


Paul's  chief  worldly  ambition  was  to  own 
a  certain  bust  of  the  great  Beethoven,  which 
was  the  central  figure  in  a  shop  window  on 
Broadway.  Four  times  a  day,  on  his  way  to 
and  from  school,  he  had  to  pass  it,  and  he 
always  turned  his  head  as  he  went  around 
the  corner  for  a  last  glimpse  of  his  beloved 
musician.  After  a  month  of  this  silent  admi- 
ration had  passed  he  ventured  within  the  shop 
and  asked  the  price  of  the  bust. 

"Five  dollars,"  answered  the  clerk;  and 
he  might  almost  as  well  have  said  five  hun- 
dred, as  far  as  Paul's  financial  abilities  were 
concerned. 

The  boy  counted  his  available  money  and 
then  estimated  the  value  of  his  expectations. 
He  had  already  just  forty- two  cents,  and  his 
allowance  for  pocket-money  was  twenty-five 
cents  a  week.  And  while  he  was  waiting  to 
scrape  together  the  five  dollars  somebody 
might  buy  his  Beethoven  and  make  off"  with 
it.  Horrible  thought!  But  his  birthday  was 
near,  when  his  Uncle  Ned  usually  handed  him 
a  silver  dollar  and  said :  "For  some  candy  to 
eat  in  my  honor,  my  boy."  That  would  be  a 
great  help,  and  so  he  wisely  concluded  to 
hope  for  the  best,  and  deny  himself  every  ac- 
customed little  luxury  for  which  his  pocket- 
money  had  usually  been  spent. 

He  came  of  a  long  line  of  musicians,  and 
the  divine  spark  of  music  glowed  brightly  in 
his  soul.  His  father  played  the  big  organ  in 
St.  Xavier's  Church  and  taught  harmony  all 
the  week  in  a  boys'  school.  But  he  was  an 
improvident  man — as  men  of  genius  often 
are, — and  found  it  rather  difficult  to  support 
himself  and  Paul  in  any  sort  of  comfort  and 
keep  the  bills  honestly  paid.  Paul  was  his  best 
pupil, — a  kind-hearted  and  pious  lad,  who, 
after  religion  and  his  father,  valued  music 
most  of  anything  among  the  gifts  of  Heaven. 
And  of  all  the  great  masters  of  music  Beetho- 
ven to  him  was  king. 

One  morning,  the  hoard  of  pocket-money 
amounting  now  to  more  than  three  dollars, 
Paul  looked  in  the  shop  window  to  find  that 
the  bust  was  gone!   Dismayed  and  alarmed, 


5^8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


he  went  inside.  It  was  not  sold,  the  man  said, 
only  put  up-stairs  to  make  room  for  fre^h 
attractions;  and  he  told  Paul  just  where  to 
look  for  it.  The  boy  was  del  ighted  to  know  that 
his  treasure  was  hidden  from  the  passers-by, 
and  once  a  day  after  that  he  would  slip  into 
the  shop  to  gaze  upon  the  earnest  face,  adorned 
with  the  frowrl,  which  was  beautiful  because 
it  was  Beethoven's. 

The  five  dollars  was  a  long  time  in  coming ; 
for  Unc'e  Ned,  for  once,  paid  no  attention  to 
his  birthday.  But  at  last— at  last,  with  a  little 
box  of  coin,  Paul  started  in  haste  to  bring 
home  his  terra  cotta  treasure.  When  within 
a  block  of  the  shop  he  saw  a  poor  boy  about 
his  own  age,  who  was  weeping  in  the  most 
frantic  way. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Paul,  going 
up  to  him. 

The  boy's  only  answer  wis  to  sob  the  harder. 
He  could  not  speak,  but  took  Paul's  hand  and 
led  him  up  a  narrow  staircase.  In  a  tiny  room, 
unvvarmed  and  nearly  unfurnished,  lay  a  sick 
woman.  She  smiled  faintly  at  sight  of  Paul's 
honest  face,  and  whispered : 

"My  little  boy  could  not  bear  to  see  me 
sufifer.  And,  then,  he  has  had  nothing  to  eat 
since  yesterday." 

The  poor  lad's  tears  burst  out  afresh.  Paul 
put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  where  the  box 
of  coin  was,  thought  of  the  beloved  bust  which 
might  never  be  his,  and  emptied  the  money 
upon  the  bed. 

"It  is  my  own,"  he  said  to  the  woman, 
"  to  do  just  what  I  like  with.  And  now  what 
do  you  need  most?" 

It  was  hard  to  tell  that  when  they  needed 
everything,  but  you  may  be  sure  that  it  was 
not  long  before  there  was  a  fire  in  the  stove 
and  a  meal  upon  the  table.  It  was  not  very 
skilfully  cooked,  to  be  sure ;  but  the  boy  was 
too  hungry  to  be  fastidious. 

And  when  Paul  at  last  went  home  and  told 
his  father,  and  saw  that  father's  happy  pride 
in  his  generous  child,  he  quite  forgot  to  long 
for  the  earnest  face  of  the  dear  musician, 
which  had  for  so  many  weeks  seemed  essen- 
tial to  his  happiness. 

"Your Uncle  Ned  has  been  here,"  said  his 
father,  "and  says  that  as  he  was  so  stupid 
as  to  forget  your  birthday,  he  will  ask  you  to 
spend  five  dollars  in  his  honor  this  time." 


"Hurrah! "  Paul  cried,  and  was  off  like  the 
wind,  reappearing  in  a  few  minutes  with  the 
precious  bust,  frown  and  all,  clasped  tightly 
in  his  arms. 

The  kind  people  of  St.  Xavier's  parish  cared 
for  the  sick  woman  and  her  child,  but  they 
always  think  of  Paul  as  sent  to  them  by 
Heaven,  as  no  doubt  he  was. 

He  is  a  tall  young  fellow  now,  and  his  talent 
has  made  him  a  general  favorite  and  brought 
him  many  dollars ;  but  he  has  never  parted 
with  the  bust  of  Beethoven  that  he  so  rapt- 
urously carried  home  that  winter's  evening. 
And  his  heart,  people  say,  is  as  pure  and 
tender  as  a  little  child's. 


Emblem  Flowers  and  Trees. 


The  blue  speedwell  is  sometimes  called  the 
Veronica  flower,  from  a  fancied  resemblance 
of  its  markings  to  the  handkerchief  of  St. 
Veronica  upon  which  the  features  of  our 
Blessed  lyord  were  imprinted  on  His  way  to 
the  place  of  crucifixion. 

The  passion-flower  as  an  emblem  of  Christ's 
agony  is  well  known.  The  Spanish  explorers 
of  South  America  gazed  upon  it  with  awe, 
calling  it  the  Flower  of  the  Five  Wounds. 
Jacomo  Bosio  wrote  of  it :  "It  would  seem  as 
if  the  Creator  of  the  world  had  chosen  it  to 
represent  the  principal  emblems  of  His  Son's 
Passion ;  so  that  in  due  season  it  might  assist, 
when  its  marvels  should  be  explained  lo  them, 
in  the  conversion  of  the  heathen  people  in 
whose  country  it  grew." 

It  is  difficult  to  find  which  tree  in  legendary 
lore  is  named  as  the  one  upon  which  Judas 
hanged  himself,  but  prominence  seems  to  be 
given  to  the  elder.  Said  Sir  John  Mandeville  : 
"The  tree  of  eldre,  that  Judas  hinge  himself 
upon,  for  despeyr."  Shakespeare,  in  "I^ove's 
Labor  Lost,"  says,  "Judas  was  hanged  on  an 
elder."  And  in  the  quaint  Piers  Plowman's 
vision  are  these  lines : 

"Judas,  he  japed 

With  Jewen  silver, 

And  sithen  on  an  elder 

Hanged  himselve. " 

Sicilians  say  that  the  tree  was  a  tamarisk, 
and  others  mention  the  fig-tree  as  the  ill- 
fated  one. 


Vol.  XXIX.  NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  DECEMBER  7,  1889. 


No.  23. 


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


1^ 


Immaculata. 


BY   AUBREY   DE  VERK. 


J  p  OULD  she,  that  Destined  One,  could  she 
^    On  whom  His  gaze  was  fixed  for  aye. 
Transgress  like  Eve,— partake  that  Tree,— 
In  turn  the  serpent's  dupe  and  prey? 

Had  He  no  Pythian  shaft  that  hour, 
Her  Son,  her  God,  to  pierce  the  foe 

That  strove  her  greatness  to  devour. 
Eclipse  her  glories ?   Deem  not  so! 

O  Mary!  in  that  First  Decree 

He  saw  the  assailer,  sent  the  aid  ; 

Filial  it  was.  His  love  for  thee 

Ere  thou  wert  born  ;  ere  worlds  were  made. 

One  Innocence  on  earth  remained 
By  grace  divine,  not  nature's  worth, 

And  welcomed  (thro'  His  Blood  unstained) 
Redeeming  Sanctity  to  earth. 


The  Hall  of  the  Immaculate  Conception, 
in  the  Vatican.* 


I. 

EFORE  entering  upon  our  pilgrimage 
to  the  sanctuary  rendered  famous  by- 
its  dedication  to  the  august  mystery 
of  the  Immaculate  Conception  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  Mary,  let  us  transport  ourselves  in 
spirit  to  the  time  when  the  Council  of  1854 
declared  the  dogma  an  article  of  faith,  and  in 
our  mind's  eye  reproduce  the  picture  of  which 

*  JRevue  du  Culie  de  Marie.    Adapted. 


the  painting  in  the  Hall  of  the  Immaculate 
Conception  is  a  faithful  reproduction. 

There  were  at  that  time  in  Rome  fifty-four 
cardinals,  forty- two  archbishops,  and  ninety- 
two  bishops.  At  eight  o'clock  on  the  morning 
of  the  8  th  of  December  the  Pontiff  went  from 
the  Vatican  to  St.  Peter's,  proceeded  by  this 
magnificent  cortege  of  ecclesiastics.  The  prel- 
ates, clothed  in  their  richest  vestments,  defiled 
through  the  vdst  nave,  chanting  the  Litany  of 
the  Saints,  as  though  inviting  all  the  celestial 
court  to  join  them  in  honoring  their  Queen 
and  adding  greater  glory  to  her  triumph.  Mass 
was  then  celebrated  pontifically. 

After  the  Gospel,  which  was  chanted  suc- 
cessively in  Latin  and  Greek,  the  Dean  of  the 
Sacred  College,  Cardinal  Macchi,  advanced 
with  the  deans  of  the  Latin  archbishops  and 
bishops,  the  archbishop  of  the  Greek  and 
the  archbishop  of  the  Armenian  rites,  to  be- 
seech the  Pope,  in  the  name  of  the  whole 
Church,  to  proceed  with  the  definition  of  the 
dogma  of  the  Immaculate  Conception. 

Pius  IX.  arose,  and  in  a  clear,  ringing  voice 
intoned  the  Veni  Creator^  to  invoke  upon 
himself  and  the  assembled  multitude  the  light 
of  the  Holy  Spirit.  Then,  in  the  midst  of  the 
most  profound  silence,  the  Pontiff  proceeded 
to  read  to  this  vast  assembly  of  more  than 
fifty  thousand  persons  the  decree  which  he 
had  prepared.  As  he  went  on  he  began  to  be 
visibly  affected ;  his  voice,  always  grave  and 
majestic,  grew  tremulous  and  broken;  tears 
choked  his  utteratice,  and  from  time  to  time 
he  was  obliged  to  pause.  At  the  solemn  mo- 
ment when  he  had  reached  the  formula  of  the 
definition  he  remained  an  instant  in  silence ; 


530 


The  Ave  Maria, 


then,  wiping  his  eyes,  he  said  in  the  clear 
and  persuasive  accents  of  faith : 

"By  the  authority  of  our  Lord  JeSus  Christ, 
the  blessed  Apostles  Peter  and  Paul,  and  Our 
own,  we  declare,  pronounce  and  define  that 
the  doctrine  which  holds  that  the  Blessed 
Virgin  Mary  was,  at  the  first  instant  of  her 
corception,  by  a  special  grace  and  privilege  of 
Almighty  God,  by  the  merits  of  Jesus  Christ, 
Saviour  of  mankind,  preserved  and  exempted 
from  all  stain  of  original  sin,  is  revealed  by 
God,  and  that  consequently  it  is  to  be  firmly 
and  inviolably  believed  by  all  the  faithful." 

The  dogma  is  defined  and  promulgated,  the 
chant  of  the  Te  Deum  resounds  through  the 
vaulted  arches  of  St.  Peter' s,  the  great  day  is  at 
an  end.  But  the  echoes  of  five  and  thirty  years 
still  reverberate  through  the  aisles  of  faith 
and  devotion,  as  we  turn  our  pilgrim  steps  to 
the  Hall  of  the  Immaculate  Conception,  as 
full  of  ardor  and  love  and  earnest  supplication, 
let  us  hope,  as  were  the  participants  in  that 
wonderful  and  sublime  pageant  of  1854. 

II. 

The  sanctuary  of  which  we-  are  about  to 
speak  is  situated  in  the  finest  part  of  the 
immense  Palace  of  the  Vatican,  which  belongs 
to  the  Sovereign  Pontiffs,  and  which  must 
always  remain  in  their  possession,  not  only 
as  the  patrimony  of  the  Prince  of  the  Apos- 
tles, but  also  as  a  family  heritage,  whose 
treasures  are  the  property  of  universal  science 
and  art  preserved  to  the  world  in  the  person 
of  the  Papacy. 

In  the  second  scries  of  galleries  known  to 
tourists  under  the  name  of  Loggie  di  Raphael, 
because  they  were  decorated  by  that  immortal 
painter  and  his  pupils, — at  the  end  of  the 
chambers  called  of  Raphael,  since  the  genius 
of  this  illustrious  master  has  also  immortal- 
ized them, — may  be  seen  a  large  panel,  for 
many  years  untouched  by  brush  or  pencil 
because  of  its  great  extent.  Pius  IX.  at  once 
foresaw  that  this  would  be  the  choicest  spot 
for  commemorating  by  a  magnificent  painting 
the  history  of  the  definition  and  promulgation 
of  the  doctrine  of  the  Immaculate  Conception, 
— there  representing  the  living  theological, 
philosophical  and  vital  proofs  that  this  doc- 
trine was  always  believed  and  faithfully 
guarded  by  the  traditions  of  the  Catholic 
Church. 


We  all  know  that  under  the  name  of  the 
mystery  of  the  Immaculate  Conception  the 
Church  teaches  us  that,  by  a  miracle  of  Divine 
Providence,  and  through  the  merits  of  Jesus 
Christ,  the  august  Virgin  Mary,  from  the  first 
moment  when  her  soul  was  united  to  her  body, 
was  exempt  from  all  the  sad  consequences 
which  the  fault  of  our  first  parents  has  be- 
queathed to  their  posterity. 

Now,  what  is  the  teaching  of  Catholic  tradi- 
tion on  this  mystery  so  glorious  for  Mary  and 
for  humanity  ?  Catholic  tradition  tells  us  that,, 
from  a  philosophical  point  of  view,  the  doc- 
trine of  the  Church  concerning  the  Immacu- 
late Conception  holds  nothing  repugnant  to- 
reason.  Is  it  not  evident  that  if  God  in  His 
justice  can  make  a  law  of  death  and  dishonor 
against  culpable  humanity.  He  can  also  ex- 
empt therefrom  one  of  His  creatures  ? 

Catholic  tradition  also  informs  us  that  this 
beautiful  doctrine  is  in  conformity  with  all  the 
requirements  of  the  moral  law.  If  in  the  midst 
of  the  universal  deluge  of  waters  which  en- 
gulfed the  human  race  God  could  save  one 
just  man,  who  should  be  as  it  were  the  father 
of  a  new  race,  could  He  not  also,  from  out  of 
that  moral  deluge  which  overwhelmed  the 
souls  of  men,  preserve  one  favored  creature, 
one  star  of  virtue  and  innocence  soaring  far 
above  the  grand  cataclysm?  And  for  whom 
should  this  exception  be  made  if  not  for  her 
whom  He  had  chosen  to  be  the  Mother  of  His 
Son,  and  who  was  to  share,  under  that  title, 
in  the  salvation  of  humanity? 

Catholic  tradition  teaches  us,  too,  that  the 
belief  in  the  Immaculate  Conception  dates 
from  the  beginning  of  the  world ;  for  side  by 
side  with  the  universal  belief  in  the  coming 
of  the  Saviour  stands  that  mysterious  hope 
in  the  Woman  who  was  to  crush  the  head  of 
the  serpent.  And  Catholic  tradition  teaches 
that  this  belief  was  preserved  through  the 
ages  that  preceded  the  coming  of  the  Messiah, 
in  the  treasury  of  sacred  teachings  which 
formed  the  patrimony  of  the  true  Church  of 
God  under  the  Old  Dispensation. 

Thus,  in  every  tradition  on  the  subject 
held  sacred  by  the  followers  of  the  OM  Law,, 
we  behold  the  wise  men  and  the  patriarchs 
lifting  up  their  souls  in  prayer  and  longing 
for  a  sight  of  the  Redeemer  who  was  to  save 
them,  and  the  favored  Woman  who  was  to 


The  Ave  Maria. 


53: 


^ve  Him  life.  Thus  the  holy  women  men- 
tioned in  the  Bible  as  the  liberators  of  their 
people,  such  as  Esther  and  Judith,  prefigure 
the  sinless  Virgin  who  was  to  deliver  hu- 
manity from  the  tyranny  of  the  demon.  And 
in  the  inspired  chants  of  the  prophets— of 
David  in  particular,  as  well  as  Isaiah  and 
Ezekiel, — there  are  several  passages  which 
can  not  be  explained  unless  they  apply  to  the 
Virgin  Immaculate,  the  future  liberator  of  the 
human  race. 

Catholic  tradition  further  adds  that  the  ma- 
jority of  the  other  privileges  of  Mary,  figured 
and  indicated  in  the  Gospels,  presuppose  her 
Immaculate  Conception  as  a  logical  conse- 
quence. How  could  the  Angel  have  saluted 
Mary  with  the  title  "Hail,  full  of  grace!"  if 
this  exceptional  creature  had  not  been  in  a 
state  of  sanctifying  grace,  or  had  been  for  a 
moment  deprived  thereof  ?  How  admit  that 
she  whose  merits  the  Gospel  proclaims  in 
these  vjoT^s,^^  Maria  de  qua  natus  est  ChristuSy' 
had  been  for  one  instant  under  the  shame  of 
sin  and  the  tyranny  of  the  devil  ?  Catholic 
tradition  teaches,  therefore,  that  while  for 
eighteen  centuries  the  Immaculate  Concep- 
tion was  not  declared  as  a  dogma,  it  was 
nevertheless  admitted  as  a  truth,  to  which  the 
majority  of  theologians  had  always  adhered, 
and  the  infallible  teachings  of  the  Sovereign 
Pontiffs  favored,  encouraged  and  protected 
against  those  who  from  time  to  time  ventured 
to  assail  on  this  subject  the  faithful  followers 
of  Mary. 

These  afiirmations  of  Catholic  tradition  are 
clearly  explained  in  the  magnificent  frescoes 
of  the  painter  Podesti  which  decorate  the 
sanctuary  we  are  about  to  visit,  appreciating 
to  the  fullest  extent  their  glorious  beauty  and 
their  intrinsic  meaning. 

III. 

What  strikes  one  as  the  predominant  char- 
acteristic of  this  beautiful  fresco?  It  is  the 
attitude  of  the  personages  assembled,— people 
•of  all  nations  and  climes;  a  multitude  speak- 
ing all  languages  of  earth;  listening,  attentive, 
hearkening  to  the  words  of  some  unseen  oracle 
That  oracle  is  the  Church  of  Christ,  instruct- 
ing the  nations  of  Christendom  with  the  in- 
fallibility vested  in  her  by  Jesus  Christ, — an 
infallibility  which  now  defines  the  sublime 
dogma  of  the  Immaculate  Conception,  as  it 


has  defined  all  the  other  dogmas  which  com- 
pose our  Creed. 

Observe  those  fine  medallions  around  and 
above  the  central  painting.  This  represents 
our  first  parents  under  sentence  of  death, 
but  receiving  from  God  at  the  same  time  the 
promise  of  a  Saviour;  that,  the  Ark  of  Noah 
riding  triumphantly  above  the  waters  of  the 
deluge;  these  others,  Jael,  Esther,  Judith,  tri- 
umphing over  the  enemies  of  the  people  of 
God.  Here  also  we  find  the  touching  episodes 
of  the  birth  of  Mary,  the  Presentation  in  the 
Temple,  and  the  Annunciation, — all  proclaim- 
ing her  spotless  purity ;  then  the  grand  figures 
of  the  Prophets  and  Evangelists  who  have 
sung  and  testified  to  her  resplendent  glory. 

Turn  we  now  to  another  figure  on  the  op- 
posite wall,  seemingly  allegorical.  At  the  foot 
of  a  representation  of  Mary  Immaculate  a 
woman  of  noble  and  imposing  aspect  is  seated 
in  a  kind  of  chair;  this  is  Theology.  The 
writings  of  the  Fathers  of  the  Church  are  in 
her  hands  and  surround  her  chair.  Around  her 
are  grouped  prelates,  priests,  and  religious  of 
every  order — the  entire  Catholic  clergy  of  all 
times  and  all  countries,  testifying,  through 
their  illustrious  representatives,  to  their  faith 
in  this  glorious  privilege  of  the  Queen  of 
Heaven. 

But  now  let  us  hasten  to  examine  the  most 
prominent  painting  in  the  magnificent  group, 
— the  painting  to  which  all  the  others  are 
only  introductory,  and  which  occupies  an 
entire  side  of  the  space  devoted  to  the  frescoes 
of  the  Immaculate  Conception. 

The  work  represents  the  interior  of  St. 
Peter's.  Pius  IX.  is  at  once  recognized  as  the 
central  figure  of  a  large  group.  Around  him 
are  cardinals  in  their  respective  order,  the 
assistant  prince  of  the  throne,  the  prelates  of 
the  pontifical  household,  the  Consistory,  the 
members  of  the  Congregation  of  Rites,  the 
Roman  Senators  in  official  togas,  the  Canons 
of  St.  Peter,  religious  of  the  different  congre- 
gations; then,  in  regular  order,  the  archbishops 
and  bishops  of  the  Catholic  world  assembled 
at  Rome  for  the  solemnity  of  the  8ihof  Decem- 
ber. The  Pontiff  wears  the  chasuble  in  which 
he  has  just  celebrated  the  Holy  Sacrifice. 
He  also  wears  a  golden  mitre,  and  holds  in  his 
hands  the  precious  parchment  from  which  he 
has  just  read  the  dogmatic  decree  of  the  Bull 


532 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Ineffabilis.  The  last  words  are  pronounced. 
The  Cardinal  Dean  advances  to  the  foot  of  the 
throne  to  thank  the  Holy  Father  in  the  name 
of  the  Church  and  the  entire  Christian  world, 
after  which  Pius  IX.  intones  the  Te  Deiim. 
At  these  holy  words  the  dome  of  Michael 
Angelo  seems  to  open  and  a  celestial  appari- 
tion appears.  It  is  the  Immaculate  Virgin  on 
the  globe  of  the  earth,  where  she  crushes,  with 
conquering  heel,  the  head  of  the  serpent.  The 
August  Virgin  is  surrounded  by  the  Three 
Persons  of  the  Blessed  Trinity,  who  gaze  on 
her  with  looks  of  the  deepest  affection.  Not  far 
from  this  group,  also  appearing  in  the  clouds, 
we  see  the  saints  of  the  Old  Law,  with  St. 
Joseph  and  St.  John  the  Baptist  at  their  head  ; 
on  the  other  side,  the  great  theologians  and 
doctors  of  the  Evangelistic  Law,  led  by  SS. 
Peter  and  Paul.  All  seem  to  proclaim  the 
mystery  and  to  protest  the  truth  of  the  new 
dogma.  At  a  short  distance  from  these  groups 
an  immense  cross  appears  in  the  air,  and  from 
this  cross  escapes  a  single  ray  of  light,  which 
illumines  the  countenande  of  the  Pontiff. 

Such  is  the  picture  which,  under  the  in- 
spiration of  Pius  IX.,  as  is  indicated  by  a 
Latin  inscription  at  the'  foot,  Podesti  has 
painted  on  the  principal  wall  of  this  venerable 
sanctuary. 

Let  us  finish  our  pilgrimage  by  uniting,  with 
all  our  hearts  and  souls,  in  the  grand  Ame?i 
which  heaven  and  earth  respond  to  the  decree 
of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff.  Let  us  finish  it  by 
joining  in  the  Te  Deum  of  the  Pontiff  and  the 
Church,  still  echoing  through  the  years  that 
have  passed  since  the  8th  of  December,  1854. 
Let  us  finish  it  by  repeating  with  affection 
the  name  of  the  Pope  for  whom  was  reserved 
the  august  privilege  of  proclaiming  to  the 
world  this  new  glory  of  Mary.  Let  us  finish  it 
by  saluting  Mary  Queen  of  Heaven,  and  in 
realizing  the  ministry  of  the  two  angels  which 
the  artist  has  placed  in  his  principal  tableau, 
and  of  whom  I  have  as  yet  said  nothing. 

One  is  pointing  toward  the  doors  of  the 
Basilica,  proudly  scattering  the  enemies  of 
Mary,  the  would-be  defamers  of  her  grand 
privilege.  The  other  lifts  his  radiant  eyes 
toward  her;  he  presents  her  the  homage  of 
her  children,  and  asks  for  them  in  return 
the  blessing  of  Mary  Immacukte,  Mother  of 
Jesus. 


A  Sin  and  Its  Atonerrrent. 


VI. 


THE  Bishop  had  given  my  son  full  faculties^ 
that  he  might  in  every  way  assist  Father 
Lindsay,  whose  health  was  evidently  failing. 
One  very  stormy  afternoon,  about  three  weeks 
after  his  ordination,  I  received  a  message  from 
him,  saying  that  he  could  not  come  to  the 
Farm  that  evening,  as  he  had  promised,  be- 
cause he  had  a  sick  call.  About  ten  o'clock 
the  next  morning  he  came,  and  as  usual  I  knelt 
to  receive  his  blessing.  There  was  something^ 
in  his  whole  bearing,  as  he  raised  me,  that 
thrilled  me  with  a  sort  of  awe. 

"I  have  a  long  story  to  tell  you,  mother, "^ 
he  said,  as  he  placed  me  in  an  arm-chair  and 
sat  down  beside  me.  "Yesterday  afternoon  a 
message  was  brought  to  Father  Lindsay  that 
a  woman  wa?  dying  on  the  little  island  of 
Kinfell  (which  you  know  is  served  from  here) . 
The  Bishop  had  charged  me  to  spare  bur 
good  old  Father  all  the  fatigue  I  could,  so  I 
claimed  my  privilege,  and  he  let  me  go  in  his 
place.  I  took  the  holy  oils,  and  for  the  first 
time  was  the  custodian  of  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment. When  I  came  to  the  beach  the  sea  was 
running  very  high,  and  the  only  two  fishermen 
I  found  there  refused  to  put  out.  Both  were 
Scotch  Presbyterians.  So  I  betook  myself,  to 
Pat  Connor's  cabin,  and  said :  *  Pat,  I  am  sure 
you'W  not  refuse  the  request  of  a  priest  to  take 
him  to  help  a  poor  dying  creature  ? '  I  hadn't 
to  ask  twice,  .and  we  reached  the  island  safe, 
in  spite  of  wind  and  surf.  I  was  in  time  to 
hear  the  .woman's  confession  and  anoint  her, 
but,  to  my  great  disappointment,  she  was  too 
continually  sick  for  me  to  give  her  Holy 
Viaticum.  I  did  all  I  could  for  her,  and  she 
died  whilst  I  was  reciting  the  commendatory- 
prayers. 

"When  I  reached  the  beach  again  the  storm 
was  raging  even  more  fiercely.  Pat  and  his 
boy  had  drawn  the  boat  high  upon  the  beach, 
and  they  declared  it  would  be  impossible  to 
get  back  through  such  a  surf,  and  that  we 
must  wait  till  morning,  when  the  wind  would 
probably  go  down.  There  was  no  reason  now 
for  urging  risk  of  life,  so  I  turned  to  look  for  a 
place  where  I  could  find  shelter  for  the^night. 
But  the  village  is  only  a  cluster  of  cabins,  and 


The  Ave  Maria, 


533 


they  were  all  swarming  with  people,  and  were 
filthy  and  very  noisy.  I  could  have  taken  the 
lyord  of  life  and  glory  into  them  to  help  and 
save  an  immortal  soul,  but  not  merely  to 
.procure  shelter  for  myself.  There  was  a  de- 
serted hut  dow.i  on  the  sea-shore,  and  I  took 
possession  of  it.  Pat  brought  me  a  horn- 
lantern,  an  oatmeal  cake,  and  .some  whisky, 
which  I  begged  him  to  change  for  milk,  but 
he  persuaded  me  he  could  not  succeed  in 
getting  any.  And  so,  after  fastening  the  door, 
I  began  my  midnight  watch  before  the  Blessed 
Sacrament. 

**By  the  time  I  had  finished  my  Office  the 
storm  had  risen  to  a  perfect  hurricane.  Every 
now  and  then  it  seemed  to  seize  the  frail  hut  in 
its  grasp,  and  every  plank  shook  and  rattled. 
Then  a  fiercer  wave  than  usual  would  break 
on  the  rocks  with  a  roar  like  a  canon.  Such  a 
wonderful  feeling  came  over  me  of  the  Eternal 
lyife  of  Him  I  was  bearing  on  my  breast!  He 
Himself  had  stood  by  the  sea-shore  when  the 
-waves  were  lashed  to  fury  even  as  now.  He 
Himself  had  said,  'Peace!  be  still!'  and  winds 
and  waves  had  instantly  sunk  to  rest.  They 
would  obey  Him  again  to-day  as  absolutely, 
whatever  He  commanded.  It  was  Jesus  Christ, 
the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever.  But 
never,  to  my  dying  day,  shall  I  forget  all  that 
those  words  revealed  to  me  last  night." 

There  was  a  concentrated  emotion  in  my 
son's  voice  and  a  power  in  his  words  which 
impressed  me  with  the  conviction  that  he 
had  something  to  say  for  which  he  was  trying 
to  prepare  me;  and  I  could  only  articulate, 
feebly:  ''Goon." 

"Once  or  twice  during  the  storm  I  fancied 
there  was  a  rattle  at  the  door,  more  like  a 
person  trying  it  than  the  effect  of  the  wind  ; 
and  a  slight  feeling  of  fear  came  over  me  as 
I  realized  how  far  I  was  from  human  help. 
Suddenly,  in  a  lull  of  the  storm,  I  distinctly 
heard  groans,  and  then  again  a  feeble  effort  to 
push  the  door  open.  I  instantly  unfastened 
it,  and  found  a  man  lying  on  the  threshold, 
drenched  with  water  and  fearfully  bruised  and 
laattered.  When  I  first  drew  him  in  he  was  so 
weak  he  could  not  speak,  and  oh,  how  thank- 
ful I  was  then  that  the  whisky  had  not  been 
taken  away!  I  put  a  few  drops  of  it  into  his 
mouth,  and  after  a  while  he  opened  his  eyes 
and  gasped  out :  *  I  am  dying!  Get  me  a  priest, 


as  you  hope  for  God's  mercy  for  yourself!' — 
*I  am  a  priest,'  I  answered.  *I  am  ready  to 
do  all  you  ask  of  me.'  He  looked  at  me  a 
moment,  and  groaned  :  'How  can  you  mock 
a  dying  man  in  that  manner!  No  priest  ever 
lived  in  a  hut  on  the  shore  like  this.  I  beseech 
you  try  to  get  a  priest  for  me! '  I  was  wrapped 
in  my  seminary  cloak,  and  I  suppose  looked 
young  in  his  eyes.  I  threw  off  my  cloak  that 
he  might  see  the  soutane  and  stole.  'Indeed, 
indeed,  I  am  not  mocking!'  I  said.  *  I  stand 
here  a  true  priest,  with  power  to  pronounce 
the  words  of  absolution.  I  am  speaking  the 
truth,  as  I  hope  for  mercy.'  Still  the  anguish 
did  not  go  out  of  his  eyes.  *  It  is  impossible 
to  believe! '  he  said  to  himself.  *  It  would  be  a 
miracle! '  And  I,  in  despair  at  seeing  the  prec- 
ious moments  ebbing  away,  suddenly  opened 
my  soutane  and  showed  him  the  pyx  on  my 
breast,  saying,  *  Not  only  am  I  a  priest,  but  I 
have  Him  with  me  who  can  work  miracles, 
and  who  has  worked  one  for  you.  Make  your 
confession  without  delay,  that  I  may  absolve 
you  and  anoint  you,  and  give  you  Jesus  Him- 
self as  Viaticum. '  He  was  sure  then.  Oh,  if 
you  could  have  seen  the  look  of  thankfulness 
on  that  face! 

"It  was  a  slow  confession,  but  once,  when  I 
was  afraid  he  would  not  last,  I  told  him  I  could 
now  give  absolution  for  all.  '  No,  no ! '  he  said  ; 
*I  shall  have  strength  to  finish.'  There  was 
time  for  everything, — for  the  crowning  gift  of 
all.  Only  broken  words  came  now,  but  they 
were  of  such  unutterable  gratitude!  When 
all  that  Holy  Church  could  do  was  done,  I  sat 
down  that  I  might  support  him  more  comfort- 
ably in  my  arms.  'What  have  you  done,*  I 
asked,  'that  could  have  won  for  you  such  an 
extraordinary  grace  as  this?'  He  tried  to 
raise  his  poor  bruised  hand  to  his  neck,  round 
which  hung  a  rosary.  'Nothing,  nothing,'  he 
murmured ;  '  but  my  mother  put  this  on  when 
she  was  dying,  and  I  have  recited  an  Ave  on 
it  every  day,  because  I  promised  to  do  so. ' 

' '  I  said  a  Memorare  by  him,  which  evidently 
harmonized  with  his  thoughts.  'The  storm 
drove  our  ship  right  out  of  its  course,'  he 
went  on ;  'and  when  she  struck  on  the  rocks 
my  faith  seemed  to  spring  up  out  of  some 
hidden  depth.  I  cried  out  to  Our  I^ady  to  pray 
for  me.  When  I  saw  my  two  companions 
washed  off"  the  spar  to  which  we  were  clinging, 


534 


The  Ave  Maria. 


and  perish  in  the  waves,  I  had  faith  enough 
to  cry,  'Jesus,  mercy!' — 'He  has  been  rich  in 
mercy,  has  He  not?'   I  answered. 

"He  smiled  the  sweetest  smile,  and  some- 
thing drew  my  heart  powerfully  to  him.  He 
whispered  so  faintly  I  could  hardly  catch  the 
words:  'Tell  my  wife  all  about  it.  She  has 
been  praying  for  me.  Tell  her  I  loved  her  to 
the  last;  that  I  ask  her  forgiveness;  I  have 
blighted  her  whole  life,  but  she  will  forgive 
me,  even  as  God  has  forgiven.'" 

My  son  stopped,  trembling  from  head  to 
foot.  I  knew  the  truth  now,  and  he  was  well 
aware  I  knew  it.  Suddenly  he  drew  my  head 
down  on  his  breast,  with  an  action  of  authority 
I  could  not  resist. 

'  'A  few  hours  ago, "  he  said,  in  a  voice  broken 
by^tears,  "my  God  was  resting  here ;  He  laid 
here  my  father's  dying  head.  Mother,  remem 
ber  here  the  offering  you  made  in  union  with 
my  first  Mass,  and  give  thanks  for  this 
marvellous  grace." 

For  a  moment  I  was  held  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy ; 
the  time  that  must  intervene  vanished;  we 
were  all  three  standing,  the  Red  Sea  safely 
passed,  with  Jesus  on  the  shore.  Then  nature 
claimed  its  own,  and  I  wept  out  my  bitter 
anguish  where  my  husband  had  breathed 
out  his  soul. 

"Did  he  know  who  you  were  before  he 
died?"  I  asked,  when,  after  a  long  time,  I 
could  frame  words  to  speak. 

"No,"  answered  the  young  priest.  "The 
end  was  so  very  near  I  was  afraid  to  say  any- 
thing that  might  bring  up  a  rush  of  human 
regrets  and  affections.  But  he  seemed  con- 
scious of  the  love  I  was  pouring  out  on  him, 
for  he  murmured  faintly  once :  '  It  is  so  sweet 
to  die  like  this!'" 

"Perhaps  God  told  him,"  I  thought  to  my- 
self, struck  with  the  keen  spiritual  instinct  of 
my  son.  He  had  brought  me  peace;  he  had 
brought  salvation  to  his  poor  father ;  he  was 
a  true  Christ- bearer,  and  self  had  vanished 
out  of  sight. 

"Tell  me  the  very  last,  my  son,"  I  said. 
"Don't  keep  back  anything,  I  beseech  you! 
The  more  I  suffer  the  better,  for  it  is  all 
offered  for  his  dear  soul." 

"The  actual  death  agony  was  terrible," 
said  Christopher,  with  quivering  lips.  "It  was 
the  life  of  a  man  in  the  full  vigor  of  health 


forcibly  driven  from  a  body  which  was  liter- 
ally broken  to  pieces.  I  hope  the  expiation 
of  many  years  was  condensed  into  those  awful 
paroxysms  of  pain.  There  were  a  few  wander- 
ing words — your  name  repeated  several  times, 
something  about  'scoundrels,'  and  'must  go 
back  and  build  a  church.'  But  at  last  the 
struggle  was  over,  and  he  lay  quiet  on  my 
breast.  I  had  kept  my  right  hand  free  for  the 
blessing  and  absolution,  and  imparted  the  last 
just  as  he  was  going.  He  gave  me  the  sweet- 
est, most  peaceful  smile,  sighed  out  a  long, 
fervent  'J-e  s-u-s!'  and  was  gone." 

When  all  the  necessary  preliminary  ar- 
rangements had  been  made,  I  was  taken  to 
the  presbytery,  -where  the  husband  of  my 
youth  was  laid.  "Wait  for  me,  my  heart's 
love! "  he  had  said  two  and  twenty  years  ago. 
"It  may  be  long,  but  I  will  surely  come."  He 
had  surely  come.  In  the  bright  September 
sunshine,  in  which  I  had  seen  him  come  in  the 
glory  of  his  manhood,  I  received  the  ruins  of 
his  mortal  frame.  The  only  part  unchanged 
was  the  high,  noble  brow ;  the  dark  hair 
around  his  temples  was  thickly  strewn  with 
grey ;  the  expression  of  the  mouth  was  not 
in  the  least  the  same.  There  was  not  a  single 
spark  of  what  might  be  called  natural  conso- 
lation ;  and  yet,  as  I  kissed  the  cold  forehead, 
I  murmured  in  the  fulness  of  conviction : 
"Now,  my  husband,  we  are  truly,  truly  one! " 

The  day  before  he  was  laid  in  the  grave  an 
inspiration  came  to  me  with  such  overpower- 
ing force  that  I  was  compelled  to  yield  to  it. 
I  felt  that  if  some  public  reparation  could  be 
made,  which  might  in  some  measure  undo  the 
harm  his  influence  and  my  marriage  with  an 
unbeliever  had  wrought  at  Glencairn,  it  might 
shorten  his  purgatory  more  than  anything 
else.  I  went  to  Father  Lindsay  and  told  him 
my  whole  mind. 

"I  know  this  event  has  produced  an  im- 
mense sensation,"  I  said;  "hearts  will  be 
open  now  to  impressions  that  will  sink  deep. 
In  your  funeral  sermon  speak  the  whole  truth 
as  strongly  and  undisguisedly  as  though  I 
were  lying  dead  by  his  side.  Tell  them  we 
could  not  really  be  a  help  and  comfort  to  each 
other  through  life,  because  God  had  not  been 
the  bond  of  our  union ;  and  if  there  is  such 
peace  now,  it  is  through  the  utter  ruin  of 
everything   we   had^  built   on,  and  the   all- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


535 


^embracing  mercy  of  Him  whom  in  the  pride 
of  our  youth  we  had  forgotten." 

The  old  priest  was  deeply  moved.  He  laid 
his  hands  on  my  head  and  blessed  the  sacrifice 
I  was  making.  "I  will  do  as  you  say,"  he 
answered;  "and  I  feel  you  are  right.  But  I 
do  not  think  you  ought  to  be  there." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "we  will  be  there  together, 
and  ask  pardon  together  for  the  harm  we 
have  done.  Do  not  fear  for  me.  I  shall  have 
strength." 

Shrouded  in  my  solemn  widow's  dress,  and 
sheltered  from  sight  by  my  mother  and  Flora, 
I  went  through  the  solemnities  of  that  funeral 
day.  The  lines  of  the  Dies  IrcE, 
"  Recordare  Jesu  pie, 
Quod  sum  causa  tuae  viae," 

seemed  to  bring  before  me  with  intense  vivid- 
ness the  reality  of  all  that  had  happened. 
There  on  the  sea-shore  Our  Lord  had  waited  ; 
the  obedient  waves  at  His  command  had 
washed  the  wanderer  to  His  very  feet ;  the 
horn-lantern,  like  the  lamp  of  the  sanctuary, 
had  shone  out  through  the  tempest  and  guided 
his  dying  efforts ;  and  the  priest  who  was  to 
act  as  His  minister  was  the  one  who  had 
offered  his  first  Mass  for  the  conversion  of  his 
father. 

The  sermon  followed.  The  public  reparation 
I  had  asked  for  was  very  delicately  but  firmly 
and  fully  made.  There  was  a  thrill  of  emotion 
through  the  church,  and  I  learned  afterward 
that  many  thought  Father  Lindsay  stern,  even 
cruel,  for  speaking  as  he  did  at  such  a  time ; 
but  when  he  said,  "I  speak  in  the  name  of 
the  dead  and  at  the  desire  of  the  living,"  all 
censure  ceased.  I  knew  I  was  loving  my  hus- 
band even  to  the  end ;  and  though  I  felt  as  if 
I  had  been  on  the  ground,  and  a  stampede  of 
wild  horses  had  passed  over  me,  yet  at  the 
heart's  core  I  was  at  peace.  But  when  he  was 
laid  in  the  grave,  and  everything  that  love 
could  do  was  done,  I  was  carried  to  my  bed 
utterly  exhausted,  and  lay  there  a  whole  day 
in  a  sort  of  stupor. 

(CONCIvUSION    IN    OUR    NEXT    NUMBER.) 


The  human  race,  made  subject  to  death 
by  one  virgin,  has  been  rescued  by  another 
Virgin.  Thus  the  obedience  of  one  made 
amends  for  the  disobedience  of  the  other. — St. 
IrencBUs. 


A  Mute  Appeal. 

BY    SARA    TRAINER    SMITH. 

A  HEART  deep  dyed  with  ruddy  life, 
And  crowned  with  fire ; 
The  flames  around  a  naked  cross 
To  heaven  aspire. 

Its  swelling  pulse  with  twining  thorns 

Is  closely  bound ; 
Beneath  the  oozing  drops  they  force 

A  gaping  wound. 

What  means  the  fire .?  Love's  ardent  flame. 

Deathless,  unspent ; 
Thro'  the  cold  world,  the  grave's  chill  night, 

Its  warmth  is  sent. 

What  means  the  cross  ?  Love  until  death, 

Its  passion  pain ; 
Its  anguished  yearnings  pleading  still 

In  vain,  in  vain! 

What  mean  the  thorns  ?   They  speak  of  love 

Too  strong  for  fear. 
This  love  pressed  all  its  sinless  life 

A  rending  spear. 

What  means  the  wound  ?  Love's  seal  and  key. 

Death's  reign  is  o'er  ; 
The  banished,  through  that  riven  Heart 

Reach  home  once  more. 

Whose  is  the  Heart  ?    Whose  love  is  this 

It  strives  to  tell  ? 
O  Blessed  Jesus,  Thine  the  Heart 

Loves  man  so  well — 

So  well!  so  well!    No  single  drop 

Of  life-blood  spared ; 
No  pang  of  human  shame  or  death 

But  Thou  hast  shared. 

So  well!  so  well!    So  patiently 

Thou  waitest  still. 
To  woo  and  win  all  tenderly 

Man's  laggard  will ; 

To  flood  with  love  his  loveless  heart 

And  lonely  years  ; 
To  bear  his  burdens,  heal  his  woes, 

And  dry  his  tears. 

And  this  the  record  Thou  hast  set 

t'^pon  our  walls, — 
This  mute  appeal  where  all  forget 

To  heed  Thy  calls! 


536 


The  Ave  Maria, 


O  image  fair!  stand  forth  as  light 

To  darkened  eyes ; 
Break  up  the  depths  and  pierce  the  gloom 

Where  error  lies. 

Be  lifted  up  by  every  hand 

Of  Mother  Church ; 
Melt  every  heart  where  sin  has  left 

A  fouling  smirch. 

Plead,  senseless  brush  and  molding  tool ; 

Plead,  tint  and  dye ; 
Plead,  master-hand  and  fervent  heart, 

For  Christ  on  high! 

From  every  wall,  from  every  niche 

Love  sets  apart, 
Plead  earnestly!   Bid  all  adore 
The  Sacred  Heart! 

When  fair  June  dawns  and  sweet  June  eves 

Again  are  here. 
Bring  in  a  harvest  from  the  seed 

Ye  sow  this  year. 


A  Poetic  Pilgrimage  in  Italy. 


BY    CHARlvES    WARREN    STODDARD. 


IN  the  evening  of  a  summer  day  we  came 
to  Ferrara,  and  lodged  there.  Unfortu- 
nately, it  had  been  raining  very  hard.  The  air 
was  moist  and  cool,  and  we  heard  a  chorus 
of  frogs  as  we  entered  the  gate  of  the  walled 
city — for  there  are  marshes  all  about  it,  and 
the  place  has  been  asleep  these  two  centuries 
or  more. 

Ferrara  has  seen  her  best  days.  In  the 
Middle  Ages  she  numbered  100,000  souls — 
she  has  now  but  30,000.  She  was  then  a 
great  commercial  emporium;  her  court  was 
renowned  through  Europe ;  her  school  of  art 
was  highly  respected ;  her  University  an  im- 
portant institution.  About  all  that  is  left  now 
to  remind  you  of  her  greatness  is  the  impos- 
ing castle  in  the  heart  of  the  town,  with  its 
towers  at  the  four  corners ;  its  moat  flooded 
with  dark,  sluggish  water;  its  drawbridges 
that  are  left  down  in  these  more  peaceful 
times,  and  are  freely  and  frequently  crossed 
by  the  citizens,  who  must  enter  the  castle  to 
transact  much  of  the  more  important  business 
of  the  day. 


The  telegraph  office  is  in  this  castle.  Think 
of  a  telegraph  office  in  a  ducal  palace,  where 
once  Parisina,  the  unhappy  wufe  of  the  Mar- 
quis of  Este,  was  imprisoned  with  Hugo,  his 
unfortunate  son!  Within  these  gloomy  walls 
they  were  ultimately  beheaded.  On  this 
melancholy  theme  Byron  founded  his  poem 
"Parisina."  My  amiable  companion  and 
myself  thought  of  this  and  talked  of  it  as 
we  explored  the  castle,  and  drove  away 
over  streets  that  are  grass- grown,  so  that 
the  noiseless  wheels  of  the  carriage  actually 
seemed  muffled. 

The  Cathedral  has  still  an  attractive  fagade 
— which,  please  Heaven,  I  will  not  describe, — 
but  the  palaces  of  Ferrara  are  crumbling.  The 
town  is  so  generally  ignored  by  the  tourist 
that  the  city  guides  are  nearly  or  entirely 
extinct,  and  her  beggars  mostly  starved  out. 
There  is  nothing  of  the  old  life  left  save  the 
clanging  of  the  bells ;  and,  with  the  melliflu- 
ous murmur  of  the  Ave  Maria  in  our  ears,  we 
entered  an  inn,  and  sat'  down  to  our  macaroni 
in  company  with  a  talkative  doctor  and  four 
boisterous  play-actors.  The  latter  had  an 
engagement  at  an  open-air  theatre,  but  were 
rained  out — or  in — for  the  evening;  so  they 
sipped  wine  and  smoked  cigarettes  and  jab- 
bered in  the  villainous  Milanese  dialect  till 
ten  o'clock,  when  they  hied  them  to  their 
respective  chambers.  The  doctor  proved  to 
be  a  Genoese ;  a  street  singer  entertained  us 
part  of  the  evening,  and  he  was  from  Naples, 
— here  we  had  three  sorts  of  Italians  with 
their  separate  and  distinct  speech,  and  each 
having  the  utmost  difficulty  in  understanding 
the  other. 

The  next  morning  in  Ferrara  broke  glori- 
ously. The  air  was  full  of  singing-birds.  On 
a  high  wall  near  our  window  a  peacock 
screamed,  and  was  answered  by  a  fellow- 
peacock  at  the  other  end  of  the  town.  It 
seemed  that  there  was  some  life  left  in  the  old 
town,  after  all. 

There  are  two  sights  to  be  seen  in  Ferrara 
besides  the  dungeon  of  Hugo  and  Parisina ; 
these  are  the  house  of  Ariosto  and  Tasso's 
prison  cell.  It  is  a  very  plain  house  wherein 
Ariosto  lived,  and  where  he  was  ten  years  at 
work  on  his  ' '  Orlando  Furioso. ' '  The  rooms 
on  the  two  sides  of  the  hall  are  square ;  the 
street  in  front  is  uninviting ;  so  is  the  garden 


The  Ave  Maria. 


537 


in  the  rear,  since  it  differs  but  slightly  from 
town-bred  rear- gardens  all  the  world  over. 
To  be  sure  it  has  in  it  a  small  tree  or  two, 
which  the  poet  never  saw.  Some  thickly- 
leaved  vines  descending — shall  I  say  ascend- 
ing ? — from  the  ancestral  root,  which  he  may 
have  watered,  afforded  us  the  customary 
sentimental  souvenir. 

The  antique  custodian  of  the  house  showed 
us  all  that  was  to  be  seen — which  was  mighty 
little, — and  we  left  the  home  of  the  epic  poet 
with  a  feeling  of  disappointment  coupled  with 
a  written  description  of  the  building  tran- 
scribed in  a  marvellously  beautiful  hand.  The 
fine  old  fellow,  who  charged  us  well  for  these 
mementos,  assured  us  that  he  was  eight  and 
seventy  years  of  age,  and  that  he  had  written 
with  his  own  hand  the  papers  which  he  sold 
for  snuff-money. 

Ariosto's  epic  was  first  published  in  Ferrara 
(one  volume,  quarto)  in  the  year  15 16,  and 
in  1530  his  body  was  borne  from  the  house 
we  visited  to  the  Church  of  San  Benedetto, 
only  a  block  or  two  distant,  where  it  now 
rests  in  peace. 

What  a  stormy  life  had  Tasso!  In  his  youth 
he  roved  about  the  highlands  of  Sorrento,  and 
swam  in  the  fairy  grottos  that  honey-comb  the 
abrupt  walls  on  that  shore  of  the  Vesuvian 
sea.  Ivater  he  was  patronized  by  the  court  of 
Ferrara,  and  in  those  prosperous  hours  (1575) 
completed  his  epic,  "Jerusalem  Delivered." 
Very  foolishly,  the  poet  gave  his  unpublished 
manuscripts  into  the  hands  of  the  critics  and 
impatiently  awaited  their  verdict.  There  be 
poets  who  do  that  sort  of  thing  to  this  day  ; 
but  in  these  times  poets  are  common  enough 
and  criticism  of  little  weight ;  and  no  man, 
even  though  he  be  a  poet,  need  imperil  life  or 
reason  in  so  doing. 

The  critics  fretted  poor  Tasso  until  he  lost 
his  balance ;  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  this.  He 
suspected  everyone  of  being  a  spy  upon  him, 
and  all  because  he  had  written  an  extraor- 
dinary poem,  which  the  critics  were  making 
sport  cf,  while  the  just  public — the  public  is 
pretty  just — was  not  permitted  to  see  a  line  of 
it.  Tasso  grew  quite  beside  himself,  drew  a 
dagger  on  a  domestic  who  looked  suspicious, 
and  was  imprisoned  on  a  plea  of  temporary 
insanity. 

He  managed,  somehow,  to  make  his  escape 


to  Sorrento,  where  he  speedily  recovered.  One 
proof  of  his  recovery,  as  it  seems,  was  a  burn- 
ing desire  to  return  to  Ferrara,  where  he  had 
seen  so  much  of  sorrow.  Alas!  no  sooner  had 
he  re-entered  the  scene  of  his  late  misfortune 
than  his  reason  again  deserted  him,  and  he 
was  imprisoned  for  seven  years  and  two 
months — as  the  custodian  was  at  some  pains 
to  tell  us — in  a  roomy  cell,  which  must  at  that 
period  have  been  rather  comfortable  than 
otherwise. 

The  cell  of  Tasso  is  in  the  basement,  and  at 
the  back  of  a  great  hospital.  Its  windows,  in 
Tasso's  time,  looked  into  a  court  on  one  side, 
and  out  upon  a  garden  on  the  other ;  but  the 
garden  has  been  built  over  and  the  window 
walled  up.  Byron  rushed  madly  to  this  cell, 
and  caused  himself  to  be  locked  in  for  the 
space  of  two  mortal  hours,  so  that  he  might 
meditate  and  have  time  to  scratch  his  name 
in  the  plaster  on  the  wall.  The  place  where 
the  name  was  cut  is  now  shown  by  the  porter 
of  the  hospital,  who  acts  as  cicerone,  and  who 
holds  a  flaring  candle  so  close  to  it  that  there 
is  nothing  visible  but  a  coating  of  cold  smoke 
an  inch  thick. 

When  we  came  out  of  the  cell  we  returned 
through  the  hall  of  the  hospital.  At,  one  end 
was  an  altar,  before  which  a  few  convalescents 
were  kneeling.  Two  attendants  in  long 
blouses  approached  us  bearing  a  litter,  on 
which  lay  a  poor  fellow  who  was  the  picture 
of  hopeless  suffering.  We  noticed  several 
white-hooded  Sisters  passing  noiselessly  to 
and  fro.  And  we  were  dismissed  by  the  cus- 
todian with  a  superior  air,  as  if  he  thought 
the  prison  of  Tasso  a  poor  affair  in  comparison 
with  the  great  work  that  was  transpiring  on 
the  floors  above. 

Very  likely  this  scene,  or  one  similar,  might 
have  been  witnessed  within  those  walls  when 
Tasso  was  an  enraged  prisoner  below.  Seven 
years  and  two  months  within  four  bare  walls, 
and  the  brain  of  him  who  had  delivered  Jeru- 
salem on  the  rack  of  suspense  the  while!  But 
he  was  destined  to  make  a  fortunate  recovery, 
and  to  see  Naples  again  in  her  beauty,  and 
Sorrento  on  her  heights  above  the  fawning 
wave ;  to  be  summoned  to  Rome,  the  Capital ; 
to  be  crowned  with  his  laurel  at  last,  and 
then  expire  satisfied  within  the  peaceful 
ruins  of  that  loved  Convent  of  San  Onofrio, 


538 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


on  the  brow  of  the  Janiculiim,  where  his  dust 
is  now  entombed. 

Full  well  I  remember  Tasso's  tree  in  the 
•con-^ent  garden,  where  I  sat  one  morning 
looking  off  upon  the  valley  of  the  Tiber,  and 
thinking  how  his  closing  days  must  have 
been  to  him  a  triple  blessing.  His  relics  are 
treasured  in  his  convent  cell;  his  tree  still 
thrives ;  his  poem  lives  and  shall  live  forever ; 
and  pilgrims  come  hither  and  rejoice  together 
that  so  stormy  a  life  came  to  so  sweet  and 
calm  a  close. 

Arqua  del  Monte  lies  removed  from  the 
beaten  track,  away  up  in  the  cool  shadow  of 
the  Euganean  hills.  It  is  really  a  little  pil- 
grimage thither ;  for  you  must  quit  the  station 
away  down  in  the  valley,  and  either  foot  it, 
ride  or  drive  up  the  long,  winding  road,  be- 
tween hills  and  rough  rock  quarries,  and 
wild-looking  fastnesses  that  would  make  cap- 
ital backgrounds  for  brigands.  The  twists  and 
the  turns  are  not  ended  even  when  you  have 
entered  the  village — for  there  are  no  two 
streets  in  it  parallel, — and  the  house  where 
Petrarch  lived  and  died  lies  at  the  farther  end 
of  them — just  on  the  brink  of  a  hill  that  slopes 
down  into  a  valley  miles  and  miles  away. 

Of  course  it  was  raining  before  we  came  to 
a  halt  at  the  lower  end  of  the  village,  close  by 
the  chapel  before  which  stands  the  tomb 
of  the  poet.  And  what  a  tomb  it  is !  The 
sculptured  head,  cut  off  at  the  throat,  is  set 
upon  the -roof  of  it;  it  looks  as  if  the  im- 
mortal sonneteer  were  actually  sitting  up  in 
his  shroud,  and  gazing  out  of  a  round  skylight 
in  a  small  windowless  house — for  that  is  the 
shape  of  the  sarcophagus. 

We  asked  for  the  house  of  Petrarch,  and 
were  directed  to  the  top  of  the  steep  village ; 
the  half  dozen  narrow  streets  w^ere  by  this 
time  water-courses, — indeed  that  is  what  they 
might  have  been  in  the  beginning,  for  they 
meander  at  their  own  sweet  will  No  one 
offered  to  guide  us  to  the  poet's  home,  though 
at  every  door  there  were  maids  or  matrons 
spinning,  while  children  played  about  the 
streets,  or  climbed  the  rocks  that  crop  up 
everywhere. 

At  last  we  came  to  a  high  gate  in  a  higher 
garden  wall,  and  rang  ior  admission;  there 
was  no  response.  The  rain  increased  and  we 
were  driven  for  shelter  under  the  deep  arch 


in  the  wall,  which  was  quite  deep  enough  to 
roof  us  over.  Some  one  saw  us  waiting,  and 
sent  a  child  to  summon  the  keeper  of  the 
house.  He  must  have  been  hiding  or  perhaps 
sleeping,  for  it  was  a  very  long  time  before 
he  made  his  appearance.  And  all  the  while 
the  rain  increased,  and  the  heavens  grew  dark 
with  low  aid  threatening  clouds. 

The  green  lawn  surrounding  the  house, 
enclosed  by  the  high  stone-wall,  is  the  picture 
of  poetic  solitude.  Stone  steps  lead  to  the 
second  floor  of  the  house,  and  the  upper  land- 
ing is  covered  with  a  stone  arch.  Swallows 
darted  from  their  nests  as  we  approached  the 
door — I  fear  it  is  not  often  that  they  are  thus 
disturbed.  All  the  chambers  were  scrupu- 
lously clean  and  tidy ;  the  frescoes,  the  carved 
panels,  and  some  bits  of  old  furniture  are  still 
tolerably  well  preserved.  In  his  room — the 
room  in  which  he  died — I  saw  Petrarch's  chair, 
and  a  cabinet  which  was  his,  his  autograph, 
and  a  few  small  relics  of  less  interest. 

The  house  of  Petrarch  possesses  a  peculiar 
charm — at  least  I  thought  so;  perhaps  the 
marvellously  beautiful  site  has  something  to 
do  with  it.  Doubtless  the  soft  summer  rain, 
the  lowering  clouds,  the  delicious  quiet  of  the 
land,  had  their  full  effect  upon  me ;  and  when 
I  leaned  from  the  light  iron  window  of  the 
balcony  that  overhung  his  garden,  and  saw 
the  broad  fig-leaves  glossed  with  rain,  and  in- 
haled the  odor  of  syringa  and  orange  flowers, 
and  thought  how  often  he  must  have  walked 
in  those  paths,  and  rested  under  those  pict- 
uresque arbors,  and  looked  off  upon  the 
surpassing  loveliness  of  the  landscape, — it 
seemed  to  me  that  there  I  could  always  be 
content.  It  is  a  retreat  well  suited  to  reverie. 
The  world  lies  all  beneath  you;  the  birds 
and  the  clouds  are  your  companions,  and  they 
are  never  an  tagonistic. 

Poor  Petrarch !  It  was  at  Avignon  he  met 
his  Laura.  After  his  law  studies  at  Bologna 
and  Montpellier,  he  returned  to  Avignon  and 
passed  much  of  his  earlier  life.  He  was  but 
two  and  twenty  and  a  poet ;  she  was  nineteen 
and  a  French  girl.  It  is  written, ' '  The  French 
woman  never  grows  old, ' '  and  no  doubt  she 
was  always  nineteen  in  his  eyes.  But  the  cyn- 
ical Byron  has  asked,  in  parenthesis : 

"  If  the  fair  Laura  had  been  Petrarch's  wife, 
Would  he  have  written  sonnets  all  his  life?  " 


The  Ave  Maria. 


539 


Well,  after  having  been  crowned  with  laurel 
at  Rome  on  Easter  Day,  the  world-weary  poet 
accepted  an  appointment  to  the  Cathedral  at 
Padua, — an  office  so  liberal  in  its  nature  that 
he  was  permitted  to  reside  at  Arqua,  visiting 
Padua  at  intervals.  He  knew  at  this  time  as 
much  earthly  glory  as  a  poet  can  know,  and 
he  turned  his  back  upon  it  all  and  sought  the 
sublime  solitude  of  the  mountains. 

Surrounded  by  his  books,  visited  by  his 
beloved  and  chosen  friends,  nested  in  the 
healthful  groves  that  darken  the  Euganean 
hills,  he  sat  under  his  vine  and  fig-tree  and  was 
wooed  of  Nature,  till  his  day  ended  suddenly 
in  unpremeditated  night.  He  was  found  dead 
in  his  chamber,  sitting  at  his  table,  with  his 
face  buried  in  an  open  book.  All  this  seemed 
but  as  yesterday  as  I  stood  by  that  very 
table,  while  the  identical  book  lay  in  a  glass 
case  close  at  hand  ;  and  yet  it  happened  five 
hundred  years  ago.  Goodness  gracious,  how 
time  flies! 

The  rain  drove  us  into  a  wine-shop — a  very 
good  resort  in  an  Italian  storm, -^and  then  we 
heard  the  thunder  rending  among  the  hills 
with  terrible  voice.  Almost  immediately  the 
bells — three  of  them  in  the  chapel  by  Pe- 
trarch's tomb — began  to  ring  in  the  liveliest 
manner.  I  asked  what  service  was  to  be  held 
at  that  unpropitious  hour,  and  was  informed 
that  the  bells  were  rung  to  disperse  the  clouds 
and  save  the  town  from  lightning  stroke,  and 
that  such  has  been  the  custom  in  Arqua  del 
Monte  ever  since  the  invention  of  bells.  The 
Church  and  Science  do  each  other  a  sisterly 
turn  up  yonder! 

We  drove  down  from  the  hills  with  our 
coat-sleeves  gushing  like  water-spouts.  And 
the  last  sound  we  heard  from  that  darling 
half-drowned  village  was  the  jangle  of  those 
sweet  wild  bells ;  and  the  last  glimpse  we  had 
of  the  poet's  house  was  at  a  moment  when  it 
was  wreathed  in  the  broken  arrows  of  flame 
that  leaped  from  the  black  battlements  of 
heaven  and  seemed  to  threaten  that  deserted 
shrine  with  total  and  speedy  destruction. 


For  the  structure  which  we  raise 

Time  is  with  materials  filled  ; 
Our  to-days  and  yesterdays 

Are  the  blocks  with  which  we  build. 

— Longfellow. 


Favors  of  Our  Queen. 


TWO   REM  ARK  ABIE  CURES    AT   LOURDE.S. 


BROTHER  GUSTAVE  LEGEARD  en- 
tered  the  novitiate  of  the  Fathers  of  the 
Assumption,  at  Ivivry,  in  September  of  last 
year.  Two  months  later  he  became  subject  to 
violent  pains  in  the  head  and  back,  and  finally 
was  obliged  to  return  home.  He  himself  re- 
lates his  case  in  the  following  words : 

"From  Februarj^  1889, 1  was  confined  to  my 
bed.  Doctors  Hardy  and  L<aurent  defined  the 
malady  as  a  cerebro- spinal  congestion.  Dif- 
ferent remedies  were  tried,  such-  as  blisters, 
antipyrine,  application  of  hot  bran  to  the 
spine,  etc.;  none  of  them,  however,  proved 
of  any  avail.  In  April  I  could  no  longer  use 
my  arms  or  hands,  even  to  eat;  for  the  dis- 
ease had  paralyzed  these  members.  Neither 
could  I  endure  light,  natural  or  artificial. 
Each  day  the  m  Uady  became  more  alarming 
and  hopeless.  Finally  I  resolved,  if  possible^ 
to  go  to  lyourdes. 

"During  the  fortnight  preceding  the  Na- 
tional Pilgrimage  my  sufferings  were  intense, 
and  as  to  those  endured  during  the  journey, 
they  can  scarcely  be  imagined.  The  least 
noise  was  unbearable ;  the  motion  of  the  train, 
the  slamming  of  the  doors,  joined  to  loss  of 
appetite  and  of  sleep,  reduced  me  to  such  a 
condition  that  I  became  insensible  to  cold 
and  heat.  However,  on  arriving  at  Lourdes 
I  felt  a  slight  improvement,  and  was  able  to 
exchange  my  stretcher  for  a  little  car.  I  was 
at  once  conveyed  to  the  Grotto.  On  the  way 
thither  I  felt  the  gentle  and  powerful  hand  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin  infiising  new  life  into  my 
diseased  body;  and  yet,  by  a  strange  contra- 
diction, my  heart  remained  cold :  I  could  not 
shed  a  tear,  neither  could  I  find  a  word  to 
thank  our  Heavenly  Mother.  From  the  Grotto 
I  went  to  the  Church  of  the  Rosar}^  where,  in 
my  little  car,  I  received  Holy  Communion.  I 
again  felt  my  strength  coming  back  gradually. 

"The  same  morning,  on  returning  to  our 
humble  lodging,  I  tried  to  walk  a  few  steps, 
supported  by  two  litter-bearers.  I  was  able  to 
go  up  one  story,  and  felt  a  great  desire  to  re- 
turn to  the  Grotto  on  foot ;  but  it  was  feared 


S40 


The  Ave  Maria, 


this  would  be  too  much  for  me.  I  sent  at  once 
to  ask  permission  of  my  superior ;  he  advised 
me  to  wait  patiently  a  little  longer.  It  was 
two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  one  of  the 
Fathers,  with  two  brancardiers,  came  to  convey 
me.  I  declined  their  charitable  services  and 
walked  down- stairs  without  help.  From  that 
moment  I  was  perfectly  cured!  I  went,  how- 
ever, to  the  piscina;  for  I  had  resolved  to 
plunge  myself  into  the  miraculous  water. 
My  gratitude  is  boundless;  I  can  not  express 
the  sentiments  of  love  that  fill  my  soul  at  the 
very  name  of  Mary.  But  every  truly  Catholic 
heart  will  understand  it." 

¥: 
•X-     * 

Sister  Julienne,  portress  of  the  Ursuline 
Convent  of  Brive,  had  been  declared  by  five 
doctors  to  be  in  an  advanced  and  incurable 
state  of  pulmonary  consumption.  The  disease 
continued  to  make  great  ravages  in  spite  of 
the  usual  remedies,  and  death  seemed  immi- 
nent. The  patient  took  no  nourishment,  ex- 
«cept  a  little  beef-tea ;  she  could  hardly  speak, 
and  was  unable  to  stand  alone.  The  doctor  in 
: attendance,  seeing  all  the  resources  of  his  art 
unavailing,  remarked  one  day:  "Sister,  you 
must  go  to  gourdes. "  These  words  brought 
a  smile  to  Sister  Julienne's  lips;  for  she  had 
unbounded  confidence  in  Mary's  help.  When 
the  doctor  left  the  room  she  said  to  a  nun 
present:  "Oh,  I  am  quite  sure  I  should  be 
cured  at  lyourdes!  But  nothing  in  the  world 
could  induce  me  to  ask  to  go  there."  Then 
she  added :  "But  if,  after  being  cured,  I  were 
to  offend  God,  would  it  not  be  better  to  die  now, 
when  I  am  so  well  prepared?" 

About  this  time  the  annual  retreat  of  the 
community  took  place.  On  the  15th  of  August, 
which  was  the  third  day,  the  Father  who 
conducted  the  exercises  went  to  the  infirmary 
to  visit  the  patient,  and  spoke  to  her  of  the 
desire  of  the  superioress  to  see  her  cured.  "O 
Father!"  she  answered,  "I  prefer  going  into 
the  gardens  of  Paradise  than  ever  again  to 
walk  the  streets  of  Brive." — "Nevertheless," 
rej  oined  the  priest,  *  *  you  must  pray  for  health ; 
not  for  your  own  sake,  not  even  for  the  good 
of  your  Order,  but  solely  for  the  honor  and 
glory  of  Mary."  The  following  day  the  Fa- 
ther visited  her  again,  and  enjoined  on  her, 
through  obedience,  to  pray  for  recovery,  and 
to  have  no  scruple  on  the  subject.   "I  will 


obey,"  replied  the  young  nun;  "and  the 
Blessed  Virgin  will  perhaps  restore  me  to 
health." — "You  must  not  Sdiy  perhaps;  you 
must  have  no  doubt  about  it,"  added  the 
Father. — "Oh,  yes  indeed,  I  shall  be  cured!" 
repeated  the  docile  religious;  and  from  that 
hour  her  faith  never  wavered.  But  the  doctor, 
who  was  the  first  to  mention  gourdes — half 
in  jest,  as  he  afterward  declared, — was  uneasy 
about  the  fatigue  consequent  on  the  journey; 
and  the  return  home  seemed  even  more  dif- 
ficult, owing  to  the  inconvenient  hours  of  the 
trains.  Sister  Julienne  naively  observed  to  her 
superioress :  "Why  are  you  uneasy,  dear  Rev. 
Mother,  since  I  shall  be  cured,  and  can  return 
home  at  any  hour  and  in  any  way?" 

The  departure  was  fixed  for  the  31st  of 
August.  At  half-past  four  in  the  morning 
Sister  Julienne  was  carried  to  the  chapel  to 
receive  Holy  Communion,  and  at  five  she  set 
oat  with  another  nun.  Sister  Claire,  and  a 
charitable  friend  of  the  convent  named  Mile. 
Peyrot.  At  Toulouse,  so  great  was  the  fatigue 
of  the  journey,  the  patient  seemed  to  be 
between  life  and  death.  Many  persons  pro- 
tested it  was  folly  to  proceed  farther  with  her; 
in  truth,  her  condition  became  more  alarming 
as  she  approached  her  journey's  end. 

Arrived  at  I^ourdes,  a  messenger  from  the 
Carmelite  nuns  came  to  meet  the  travellers, 
and  carried  the  patient  to  the  convent.  The 
Mother  Prioress  sent  at  once  for  the  chaplain, 
as  it  was  feared  Sister  Julienne  could  not  pass 
the  night;  even  the  Carmelites  were  inclined 
to  blame  the  Ursulines  of  Brive  for  permitting 
a  dying  nun  to  undertake  such  a  journey. 
However,  the  Sister  did  live  through  the 
night,  and  the  next  morning  was  taken  in  a 
cab  to  the  Grotto  and  piscina.  The  ladies  who 
were  attending  the  sick  that  day  hesitated  to 
plunge  "a  dying  person"  into  the  bath.  On 
being  entreated  to  do  so,  they  declared  that 
Sister  Claire  and  Mile.  Peyrot  must  assume 
all  responsibility  of  the  act.  The  patient  was 
in  her  death  sweat,  and  to  immerse  her  in 
icy  water  was  a  serious  thing  to.  do. 

As  she  was  put  into  the  piscina,  Sister 
Julienne  opened  her  eyes  wide,  as  a  person 
about  to  expire.  She  was  hastily  withdrawn, 
— but,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  beholders, 
her  cheeks,  pallid  with  death  a  minute  before, 
grew  rosy   with  circulating  blood,  and  she 


The  Ave  Maria. 


S4I 


exultingly  cried  out :  "I  am  well!  I  can  stand 
alone! "  She  was  instantly  cured,  and,  having 
dressed  herself  with  speed,  she  returned  to  the 
Grotto,  where  she  remained  twenty  minutes  on 
her  knees,  blessing  God  and  His  Holy  Mother, 
and  chanting  the  Magnificat  with  crowds  of 
pilgrims. 

During  six  successive  days  the  late  invalid 
walked  four  times  back  and  forth  from  the 
Carmelite  Convent  to  the  Grotto, — in  all  a 
distance  of  a  league.  Doctor  Pomarel,  after  a 
careful  examination,  attested  that  her  lungs 
were  perfectly  sound.  She  began  to  sleep  well 
and  to  have  a  good  appetite. 

On  her  return  home,  the  inhabitants  of 
Brive,  heretofore  not  remarkable  for  piety, 
came  out  in  a  body  to  meet  Sister  Julienne, — 
la  resuscitee,  as  they  called  her.  The  Ursuline 
community,  in  procession,  welcomed  her  at 
the  entrance  of  the  convent.  Opposite  the 
door,  an  altar  to  Our  I^ady  of  L<ourdes  was 
erected;  and  while  the  Sisterhood  intoned 
the  Magnificat,  the  Rev.  Mother  placed  in  the 
"hands  of  the  favored  pilgrim  a  statue  of  our 
Immaculate  I^ady,  which  she  was  directed  to 
leave  in  the  choir  as  a  memorial  of  her  cure. 
Benediction  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament  was 
then  given  by  the  chaplain,  and  the  Te  Deum 
was  joyously  and  gratefully  chanted. 


The  Philistine. 


BY  MAURICE   FRANCIS   EGAN. 


THE  Philistine  is  a  man  who  sees  only  with 
his  material  eyes. 

"A  primrose  by  the  river's  brim        / 
Only  a  primrose  is  to  him, 
And  it  is  nothing  more." 

His  native  country  is  England,  though  there 
are  many  of  him  in  Germany.  In  France  and 
Italy  he  does  not  exist.  Here,  under  the  Stars 
and  Stripes,  he  is  as  common  as  the  blue-jay  ; 
he  is  more  destructive  than  the  sparrow ;  he 
is  heavier  than  lead ;  he  is  more  nipping  than 
an  east  wind ;  he  is  more  gloomy  in  his  gaiety 
than  a  November  twilight;  he  is  as  joyful  as 
the  elephant,  and  as  destructive  to  all  the 
ornamental  things  of  life  as  a  bull  in  a  china 
shop.  And,  withal,  he  is  entirely  satisfied 
with  himself. 


Mark  Twain  meant  to  be  funny  in  describ- 
ing the  American  abroad  as  asking,  when 
the  unhappy  Italian  guide  showed  him  some 
relics  of  Columbus,  "  Is  he  dead  ? ' '  But  what 
Philistine  has  not  asked,  with  the  utmost 
seriousness,  questions  quite  as  paralyzing? 
Again,  when  the  Am  mean  "innocent"  sees 
the  autograph  of  Columbus,  he  asserts,  with 
swelling  pride,  that  a  boy  of  twelve  years  old 
at  home  could  write  as  well  as  that! 

The  Philistine  is  unanswerable,  impregna- 
ble. He  does  not  know  anything,  and  he  does 
not  want  to  know  anything.  He  can  under- 
stand the  useful,  but  never  the  beautiful.  In 
his  heart  he  admires  the  performance  of  a 
waltz  by  the  haud-organ  as  greatly  as  a  song 
of  Mendelssohn  or  of  Abt  by  a  'virtuoso  of  the 
violin.  "He  has  no  use  for  ruins,"  although 
he  always  goes  to  Europe,  if  he  can  afford  it, 
to  finish  an  education  that  was  never  begun 
at  home.  If  he  had  his  way, every  ruined  castle 
on  the  Rhine  should  be  fitted  up  as  a  "first- 
rate  hotel";  an  elevator  should  be  run  to  the 
dome  of  St.  Peter's,  and  an  electric  railway 
girdle  the  Eternal  City. 

He  does  not  see  the  use  of  poetry ;  he  never 
could  understand  it.  He  laughs  regularly  at 
the  bad  jokes  about  spring  verses  and  mothers- 
in-law  in  the  newspapers;  and  he  tells  these  de- 
lightful and  time- honored  jokes  to  his  friends. 
He  admires  pictures  when  he  is  sure  they  cost 
money, — for  he  must  have  the  guinea  stamp 
on  everything  before  he  feels  safe  in  liking  it. 
"The  Angelus"  might  have  rotted  unseen  in 
an  old  picture  dealer's  shop  for  all  he  cared. 
An  immense  price  is  offered  for  it,  and  lo!  he 
rushes  with  his  wife  and  family  to  see  it.  He 
is  the  enemy  of  simplicity,  the  frost  to  the 
rose  of  refinement,  and  the  unconscious  apostle 
of  materialism. 

Patti  will  sing.  Who  cares  for  her  notes  ? 
A  musical  box,  the  Philistine  thinks,  can  do 
as  well.  But  it  is  rumored  that  Patti  gets  a 
hundred  dollars  for  every  note  she  utters. 
The  Philistine  rushes  to  add  his  dollars  to 
the  sum  laid  at  the  feet  of  the  songstress. 

A  good,  square,  warm  church  is  good  enough 
for  him.  If  it  be  a  question  between  a  plain 
window  and  one  of  stained  glass,  he  is  for  a 
plain  glass  one.  It's  just  as  good;  he  can 
read  his  prayer-book  with  more  ease ;  and  he 
doesn't  see  what  use  saints  and  angels_,ia 


542 


The  Ave  Maria, 


outlandish  clothes  are.  Better  have  the  pas- 
tor's portrait  in  a  black  coat,  or  that  of  soriie 
"pillar  of  the  Church," — his  own,  for  in- 
stance. People  could  understand  that.  Fra 
Angelico  and  Raphael!  Why,  those  fellows 
would  be  nowhere  nowadays!  They  couldn't 
earn  their  salt  in  Chicago.  Let's  have  some- 
thing modern  in  the  churches :  a  comfortable 
auditorium,  and  electric  bells  in  the  pews,  so 
that  a  man  can  ring  and  make  the  preacher 
feel  that  he's  got  to  stop  sometime. 

Read?  He  reads  the  newspapers,  and  he 
read  "Robert  Ellsmere"  in  six  months,  be- 
cause he  heard  fo  much  about  it.  He  likes  to 
have  things  solid  and  costly,  and  he  likes  to 
tell  the  price  of  them ;  and  when  he  comes 
from  Europe  he  generally  brings  several 
pictures  of  classical  personages,  12x12 — "re- 
markable for  their  size,  sir, — and  every  foot 
hand-painted."  He  is  a  patron  of  art. 

The  prevalence  of  Philistinism  among  Cath- 
olics causes  our  colleges  and  our  periodicals 
to  struggle  along.  Your  Philistine  will  not 
endow  a  college  or  help  to  build  up  a  literature 
for  his  people;  there's  no  money  in  it.  He 
likes  to  read  about  Catholic  congresses  in  the 
papers ;  they  make  a  great  show,  are  impres- 
sive, and  cost  him  nothing.  But  when  he  is 
told  that  nearly  every  non- Catholic  college  in 
the  country  is  endowed  through  the  generosity 
of  Protestants,  and  that  the  schools  which 
must  leaven  the  country  with  faith — if  it  is  to 
be  leavened  at  all — are  handicapped  by  the 
indifference  of  men  like  himself,  he  replies : 
"It's  a  matter  of  business;  Catholic  schools 
ought  to  be  made  to  pay."  And  he  appears 
pompously  at  all  functions,  "my  Lords"  the 
bishop,  and  subscribes  liberally  to  any  proj- 
ect which  may  advertise  him. 

His  children  are  made  purse-proud  and  in- 
nately vulgar,  if  they  do  not  happen  to  have 
a  mother  who  is  not  a  Philistine.  His  skin  is 
so  thick  that  he  never  feels  the  stings  of  his 
incompleteness.  He  thinks  he  is  a  man,  and 
that  he  has  done  much  in  the  world.  But  no 
Philistine  was  ever  great,  because  the  eyes  of 
the  Philistine  are  never  raised  to  Heaven. 


The  Advent  Season. 


The  talent  of  success  is  nothing  more  than 
doing  what  you  can  do  well,  and  doing  well 
whatever  you  do,  without  a  thought  of  fame. 
— Longfellow. 


THE  name  "Advent"  is  given  to  the  four 
weeks  immediately  preceding  the  festival 
of  Christmas ;  it  is  a  time  which  marks  also 
the  beginning  of  the  ecclesiastical  year.  For- 
merly it  was  of  longer  duration  than  now, 
extending  over  a  period  of  six  weeks,  corre- 
sponding to  the  time  of  Lent ;  formerly,  too, 
abstinence  and  fasting  were  enjoined,  in  order 
that  the  preparation  for  the  Feast  of  the 
Nativity  might  be  equally  solemn  with  that 
of  the  Resurrection. 

The  obligation  of  fasting  during  Advent  is 
still  in  force  in  many  religious  orders,  but  no 
longer  exists  for  the  faithful  in  general.  How- 
ever, it  is  always  true  of  the  Church  that, 
though  she  may  change  in  her  external  prac- 
tices —in  matters  relating  to  discipline, — her 
spirit  is  ever  the  same,  and  her  intention  is 
always  that  the  faithful  should  prepare  fer- 
vently for  the  celebration  of  the  birth  of  Jesus 
Christ,  by  approaching  the  Sacraments,  by 
prayer,  and  by  separation  from  worldly 
pleasures. 

With  the  Church,  we  should  be  entirely 
occupied  at  this  time  in  preparing  for  the  cel- 
ebration of  that  great  event  which  brought  joy 
to  the  whole  world — the  birth  of  its  Redeemer. 
At  this  holy  season  the  liturgical  offices  are 
made  up  of  those  portions  of  the  Scripture 
which  express  the  vows,  the  prayers  and  the 
hopes  of  the  patriarchs  who  awaited  the 
advent  of  the  Messiah ;  the  predictions  of  the 
prophets  who  foretold  His  coming;  and  the 
miseries  of  man,  made  captive  under  the  law 
of  sin,  unceasingly  sighing  for  his  Liberator. 

"Who  is  it  that  comes  into  the  world?" 
asks  St.  Bernard.  "And  what  is  the  object  of 
His  coming?  When  I  consider  the  dignity  of 
His  Person,  I  can  not  refrain  from  admiring 
His  greatness  and  His  divinitJ^  When  I  regard 
man,  whom  He  comes  to  redeem,  I  am  touched 
with  His  mercy  and  goodness.  When  I  think 
of  all  that  He  comes  to  endure  and  suffer 
upon  earth  for  our  salvation,  I  am  amazed  and 
lost  in  the  abyss  of  His  charity.  The  sovereign 
Lord  and  Master  of  all  things — God  the  Cre- 
ator of  the  universe — comes  to  save  weak, 
sinful  man,  and  take  upon  Himself  the  burden 
of  human  nature.  Angels  wonder  to  see  Him 


The  Ave  Maria, 


543 


descend  upon  earth  who  is  so  infinitely  far 
above  them  in  heaven.  O  men !  prepare  to 
receive  the  King  of  glory  ;  forget  all  else ;  for- 
sake all  pleasures,  and  attend  to  His  august 
presence.  He  comes  to  save,  to  deliver,  to  heal 
you.  You  are  \\  andering  away,  He  is  seeking 
you.  You  are  in  slavery,  He  is  prepared  to 
ransom  you  You  are  covered  with  wounds, 
He  comes  to  heal  you.  You  are  blind  and 
weak.  He  brings  light  and  strength.  If  He 
watches  over  you,  who  can  lead  you  astray? 
If  He  is  with  you,  who  can  overcome  j^ou?  If 
He  is  for  you,  who  can  stand  against  you?" 
Beautiful  words,  worthy  of  being  embalmed 
in  every  Christian  heart! 


A  Martyr  Beatified. 


ON  Sunday,  November  lo,  the  long-expected 
solemn  beatification  of  the  Venerable  John 
Gabriel  Perboyre,  of  the  Congregation  of  the 
Mission,  took  place  in  the  Hall  of  Canoniza- 
tion. Two  thousand  French  workingmen  were 
present.  In  a  special  gallery  a  brother  and 
sister  of  the  blessed  martyr  were  seated.  Such 
an  episode  is  very  rare.  The  brother  is  Father 
Perboyre,  also  a  Lazarist,  and  the  sister  a 
member  of  the  community  of  St.  Vincent  de 
Paul.  Another  brother  is  a  missionary  in 
China.  In  the  afternoon  the  Holy  Father, 
according  to  custom,  venerated  the  relics  of 
the  martyr,  and  spent  some  time  in  conversa- 
tion with  his  brother  and  sister. 

The  Blessed  John  Gabriel  Perboyre  was 
born  at  Puech,  Diocese  of  Cahors,  France,  on 
January  6,  1802.  In  December,  18 18,  he  en- 
tered the  novi  tiate  of  the  Vincen  tians .  He  was 
ordained  priest  in  1825.  He  became  superior 
of  the  College  of  St.  Fleur  and  sub-director  of 
the  novitiate.  But  he  begged  so  persistently  to 
be  allowed  to  go  to  China,  that  he  was  finally 
sent  thither.  He  had  worked  zealously  and 
lovingly  for  four  years  when  a  persecution 
broke  out,  and  he  was  picked  out  as  the  prin- 
cipal victim.  At  the  head  of  a  small  band  of 
Christians  he  fled,  but  he  was  delivered  to  the 
pagans  by  a  renegade  "for  thirty  pieces  of 
silver."  He  was  tortured  a  whole  year  by  the 
haters  of  the  Christian  name,  who  seemed  to 
be  possessed  of  diabolical  cunning. 

The  martyrdom  of  Father  Perboyre,  as  de- 


scribed by  an  eye  witness,  was  appallingly 
horrible.  He  was  very  slowly  strangled,  hav- 
ing first  been  made  to  witnCvSs  the  death  of 
five  criminals;  and  while  he  was  still  alive 
an  executioner  finished  the  work  by  kicking 
him  in  the  stomach.  A  few  days  after  his 
execution  the  Christians  obtained  his  body, 
and,  clothing  it  in  the  sacred  vestments,  buried 
it  with  religious  rites. 

The  introduction  of  his  cause  was  signed 
by  Gregory  XVI.  in  1840,  with  the  causes  of 
other  martyrs.  The  evidence  in  his  case  was 
so  clear  that  it  was  expedited,  in  spite  of  the 
scene  of  his  martyrdom  being  so  far  firom 
Rome.  It  was  not  until  1882,  in  spite  of  un- 
usual celerity,  that  the  preparatory  congrega- 
tion was  held ;  and  this  shows  how  slowly  and 
with  what  scrupulousness  Rome  moves  in  the 
matter  of  beatifications. 


A  Profaner  of  the  Rosary. 


IN  one  of  our  recent  issues,  says  La  Semaine 
de  Toulouse,  we  reported,  upon  the  testi- 
mony of  a  friend  from  la  Touraine,  the  tragic 
death  of  a  sportsman  named  Diort,  who,  with 
sacrilegious  intention,  hung  a  rosary  around 
the  neck  of  his  dog.  The  Cur^  of  Valli^res  les 
Grandes,  Loir-et-Cher,  in  whose  parish  this 
event  occurred,  has  received  many  letters 
asking  an  explanation  of  the  report  published 
in  La  Semame  and  copied  in  almost  all  of 
the  religious  journals  of  France.  He  replies 
that  nothing  is  more  authentic,  and  adds  the 
following  details : 

The  rosary  had  been  brought  from  lyourdes 
by  a  devout  lady,  who  gave  it  to  a  young  giii 
employed  upon  the  farm  of  which  the  im- 
pious Diort  was  manager.  Seeing  it  in  her 
hand,  he  snatched  it  from  her,  and  with  an 
oath  hung  it  around  the  neck  of  his  dog,  as 
narrated.  He  then  went  out  shooting,  and 
having  captured  a  fine  hare,  returned  in  high 
spirits,  saying,  "Really,  it  would  be  well  to 
get  a  wagon-load  of  these  rosaries,  to  bring  us 
always  such  good  luck!" 

Soon  after  he  was  attacked  by  a  singular 
disease  of  the  neck  and  throat,  from  which, 
after  great  suffering,  he  finally  died.  During 
his  last  days  especially  it  caused  him  horrible 
tortures,  and  he  literally  choked  to  death. 


544 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  physician  who  attended  him,  though  also 
a  freethinker,  felt  compelled  to  acknowledge 
that  he  could  not  define  the  malady. 

Dirot  used  to  go  into  fields  where  the  peas- 
ants were  at  work,  and  try  to  pervert  them, 
by  giving  them  irreligious  newspapers,  etc.; 
and  he  was  accustomed  to  say  to.  them,  among 
other  things,  that  one  might  as  well  baptize 
a  calf  as  a  human  being.  All  the  community 
in  which  he  lived  have  seen  in  the  terrible  end 
of  this  unhappy  man  a  chastisement  of  God. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

The  failure  of  Protestant  missions  in  India — 
a  country  where  the  Church  is  reaping  abundant 
harvests — is  attested  by  a  letter  in  the  Indian 
Churchman,  quoted  by  the  Indo-European  Corre- 
spondence. The  writer  says  that  the  trumpeted 
conversions  are  indicative  of  "  no  change  whatever 
of  thought,  belief,  or  sentiment.  Their  worthless 
character  is  set  forth  by  '  Bishop '  Thoburn  (Wes- 
leyan)  himself,  when,  with  characteristic  naiveti, 
he  confesses  that  eighty-five  ofif-hand  baptisms, 
which  were  sources  of  pleasure  to  him,  turned 
out  mere  shams  'in  a  time  of  trial.'  " 


Mr.  William  J.  Florence,  the  actor,  whose  long 
experience  of  the  stage  gives  him  a  right  to 
speak,  reminds  us  that  the  Church  has  much  to 
do  with  an  art  which  has  at  one  end  "Shake- 
speare, and  at  the  other  Mary  Anderson  and 
Augustin  Daly."  No  man  can  say  certainly  that 
Shakespeare  practised  any  religion,  because  little 
about  him  is  positively  known ;  but  what  evi- 
dence we  have  points  to  the  probability  that  he 
was  a  Catholic.  He  was  certainly  not  an  informer. 


The  London  Register  notices  the  Catholic  Cen- 
tenary in  a  delightfully  'aughty  manner.  It  ends 
its  article  with  these  words  :  "But  what  in  Amer- 
ica is  the .  proportion  between  the  Catholic  and 
the  Protestant  literary  life  and  intelligence  of  the 
country  ?  Here  we  more  than  hold  our  own  in  all 
departments  ;  but  among  the  New  World  writers 
of  fiction  (the  chief  creation  of  American  pens) 
who  delight  Europe,  we  miss  Catholic  names,  if 
Miss  Tincker's  alone  be  excepted.  In  the  news- 
paper world,  again,  it  can  not  be  said  that  Catho- 
lic editors  permit  themselves  to  appeal  to  a  very 
delicate  literary  taste,  or  even  a  very  cultivated 
general  intelligence;  though,  in  the  secular  world, 
the  American  periodicals,  in  these  respects,  sur- 
pass many  of  our  own.  But  these  defects  have 
ready  explanations,  as  well  as   ready  remedies. 


And  one  of  these  is  to  be  found  in  the  establish- 
ment of  the  new  University  at  Washington." 

We  confess  that  we  have  looked  in  vain  in  the 
columns  of  the  Tablet  or  the  Register  for  reviews 
of  fairly  good  works  of  fiction  by  Catholic  writers. 
While  the  trash  manufactured  by  Lady  Colin 
Campbell  and  the  Marquis  Biddle-Cope  (who  used 
to  be  an  American)  fill  the  pages  of  these  period- 
icals, whose  influence  on  the  general  thought  of 
the  British  public  seems  nil,  the  Catholic  work  of 
fiction  is  seldom  noticed,  except  when  the  review 
is  directly  inspired  by  the  publisher's  interest. 
It  happens  that  the  cleverest  Catholic  writer  of 
fiction  across  the  water  is  Rosa  Mulholland,  who 
is  Irish  ;  and  the  most  promising  poet  Katharine 
Tynan,  who  is  also  Irish.  The  Weekly  Register 
has  many  good  points, — its  bad  points  are  too 
servile  truckling  to  the  slightest  Protestant  liter- 
ary recognition  and  the  common  admiration 
which  exists  among  the  little  band  who  write  in 
it.  If  Miss  Tincker  be  known  in  England  by 
"SignorMonaldini's  Niece"  and  "By  the  Tiber," 
we  regret  it.  But  if  she  be  known  by  those  lovely 
stories  she  wrote  for  the  Catholic  World — and 
which  Merry  England,  under  the  same  editorial 
management  as  the  Register,  reproduces  with- 
out credit  to  that  periodical, — a  very  limited 
circle  of  English  readers  know  her  at  her  best. 
Neither  tlie  Register  nor  the  Tablet  has  ever  dis- 
covered any  Catholic  writer  or  encouraged  him 
until  he  had  a  non-Catholic  imprimatur.  Our 
respected  friends  on  the  other  side  ought  to  be 
less  'aughty. 

The  Bishop  of  Albi  has  set  an  example.  During 
a  sensational  murder  trial  in  the  episcopal  city 
the  court-room  was  crowded  with  ladies.  On  the 
following  Sunday  the  Bishop  preached  a  sermon^ 
in  which  he  declared  that  if  such  a  scandal  were 
repeated  he  would  publish  the  names  of  the 
' '  curious  impertinents. ' '  On  Monday  the  gallery 
for  ladies  was  deserted. 


The  daily  papers  announce  the  conversion  to  the 
faith  of  General  Russell  Thayer,  a  distinguished 
citizen  of  Philadelphia.  About  two  years  ago  a 
friend  sent  him  a  book  filled  with  calumnies 
against  the  Church.  As  he  himself  says,  this  book 
led  him  to  study  the  religions  of  the  world.  He 
applied  for  enlightenment  and  information  to 
Archbishop  Ryan,  who  took  him  under  his  per- 
sonal guidance  and  teaching.  General  Thayer  soon 
brought  his  wife  and  children  to  join  him  in  the 
instructions,  and  on  the  i6th  ult.  he,  together  with 
his  entire  family,  was  baptized  at  the  Cathedral. 

In  a  conversation  reluctantly  held  with  a  re- 
porter, General  Thayer  said :  "  I  am  sorry  that 
any  publicity  is  to  be  given  to  this  matter,  and  I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


545 


can  hardly  see  how  the  public  is  interested  in  it. 
But  you  have  asked  me  a  fair  question,  and  there 
is  no  reason  why  I  should  hesitate  to  answer. 
My  paramount  reason  for  joining  the  Catholic 
Church  is  because  it  brings  me  nearer  to  God  and 
into  a  closer  communion  with  Him.  It  is  no  sud- 
den decision  I  have  reached,  and  my  course  is  not 
the  result  of  a  sudden  determination.  I  had  been 
studying  and  considering  the  subject  for  two 
years.  I  have  examined  all  the  Christian  religions 
and  some  that  are  not  Christian,  and  I  have 
reached  the  conclusion  that  the  Catholic  belief  is 
the  true  religion  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 


The  death  of  Father  Barbelin,  S.  J., — this  name 
has  very  sweet  associations  for  the  Catholics  of 
Philadelphia — is  announced.  Father  Barbelin 
was  driven  from  France  by  the  decrees  against 
religious  communities.  He  established  at  lyittle- 
hampton,  England,  an  Apostolic  School  for  the 
training  of  candidates  for  religidlis  orders.  In 
spite  of  his  ignorance  of  English,  prejudice 
against  him,  and  poverty,  when  he  died  his  col- 
lege contained  eighty  students. 


The  Monitor,  of  San  Francisco,  gives  the  fol- 
lowing facts  in  refutation  of  the  charge  that  the 
Church  is  opposed  to  "edjecation,"  as  they  say 
in  the  rural  districts  :  "We  support  one- fifth  of 
all  the  theological  seminaries  in  this  great  coun- 
try ;  one-fourth  of  all  the  colleges ;  besides  six 
hundred  academies  and  thirty-six  hundred  paro- 
chial schools,  attended  by  over  half  a  million 
pupils."  

One  of  the  speakers  at  the  Catholic  Congress 
in  Baltimore — Judge  Kelly,  of  St.  Paul,  whose 
paper  was  on  Religion  in  Education, — had  some- 
thing to  say  in  behalf  of  our  colored  brethren  at 
the  South,  which  we  trust  will  be  reiterated  till 
it  finds  a  response  in  the  heart  of  some  one  able 
to  carry  out  Mr.  Kelly's  suggestion.  He  said  in 
concluding  his  excellent  address  : 

"There  is,  however,  an  unsown  field  for  effective 
educational  work,  which,  as  I  stand  before  this  great 
assembly  of  Catholic  laymen,  I  dare  not  neglect  to 
mention.  I  refer  to  the  colored  people — to  the  freed- 
men  of  the  South.  I  know  those  people.  I  know  their 
hunger  for  knowledge.  I  know  how  docile  they  are 
and  how  patient ;  how  susceptible  to  good  influences. 
I  know  these  things,  and  I  say  to  you,  my  brethren 
of  the  first  Catholic  American  Congress,  that  we  owe 
it  as  an  act  of  reparation  to  these  children  of  a  cruel 
fate  to  do  all  we  can  to  lift  them  out  of  that  darkness, 
mental  and  moral,  into  which  they  have  been  plunged 
through  no  fault  of  theirs.  Oh  that  God  would  inspire 
some  great-hearted  man  or  woman  to  undertake  this 
work, — some  one  who  has  been  blessed  with  this 
world's  abundance  to  lead  in  laying  the  foundation 


for  Catholic  mission  schools  for  the  colored  people 
of  the  South!  When  that  glorious  leader  comes  the 
field  will  be  found  ripening  for  harvest." 


A  pleasant  story  is  told  concerning  the  Silver 
Lion  which  has  been  a  notable  attraction  at  the 
Barye  Monument  Loan  Exhibition  in  New  York. 
That  great  sculptor  was  a  man  of  rare  simplicity 
and  scrupulous  good  faitb.  He  was  asked  to 
estimate  the  cost  of  such  a  lion,  which  the  city 
of  Paris  proposed  to  offer  as  one  of  the  prizes  at 
the  races.  Barye  gave  the  number  of  ounces  of 
silver  which  he  considered  necessary,  but  his 
estimate  proved  too  high.  After  Mr.  Walters,  of 
Baltimore,  had  purchased  the  lion  at  the  sale  of 
the  Count  la  Grange's  collection,  Madame  Barye 
wrote  him  that  if  he  would  examine  the  bottom 
of  the  pedestal  he  would  find  several  bars  of 
silver  fastened  there,  which  had  been  added  by 
Barye  to  make  good  his  estimate  as  to  the  amount 
of  silver  required.  These  bars  remain  where  Barye 
placed  them,  and  they  can  be  seen  on  examining 
the  bottom  of  the  pedestal. 


According  to  a  traditional  custom  of  the  House 
of  Bavaria,  the  heart  of  Queen  Marie,  the  mother 
of  the  late  unfortunate  Louis  and  of  the  present 
King  Otho,  was  embalmed  and  placed  in  a  niche  in 
the  Chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  Mercy  at  Alt-Oetting. 
In  a  niche  in  the  chancel  wall  of  the  church  rest 
the  hearts  of  the  princes  of  Bavaria  from  the 
foundation  of  the  Wittelsbach  dynasty,  many 
centuries  ago. 

M.  Louis  Veuillot  is  buried  in  the  Cemetery  of 
Montparnasse,  Paris.  His  tomb  bears  the  simple 
inscription  :  "I  have  believed  ;  now  I  see." 


The  eloquent  discourse  of  Father  Fidelis,  C.  P., 
at  the  opening  of  the  Catholic  University  was  on 
"  The  Vitality  of  the  Church  a  Manifestation  from 
God."  The  only  full  report  of  it  we  have  seen 
was  in  the  Catholic  Review.  One  passage  in  par- 
ticular— it  was  a  rosary  of  beautiful  passages — 
is  really  prose  poetry. 

"For  a  hundred  years,"  he  said  of  the  Church, 
"she  has  been  here,  and  she  is  at  home  in  this 
land.  Look  upon  her,  I  say,  and  tell  me,  what 
think  you  of  Christ's  Church  ?  Whose  spouse  is 
she  ?  Is  her  form  bent  and  her  forehead  wrinkled  ? 
Are  her  sandals  worn  or  her  garments  moth-eaten? 
Is  her  gait  halting  and  feeble,  and  does  she  walk 
with  trembling  steps?  Think  you,  forsooth,  that 
she  is  afraid  to  trust  herself  to  our  new  civiliza- 
tion ? — that  she  clings  reluctant  to  the  moulder- 
ing fashions  of  an  age  that  has  passed?  Oh,  see! 
her  face  is  radiant  and  her  brow  erect  and  starlit, 


546 


The  Ave  Maria. 


and  on  her  lips  is  the  smile  of  peace ;  her  robes 
are  beautiful  with  variety  and  fragrant  as  with 
spices  ;  and  the  step  with  which  she  advances  is 
elastic  with  triumph.  Vera  incessu  patiiit  dea. 
Her  movement  betrays  her  divinity.  She  is  the 
Daughter  of  the  King." 


Father  Blenke  has  reproduced,  as  far  as  possible, 
the  Grotto  of  Lourdes  under  the  main  altar  of 
St.  Alo3\sius'  Church  at  Covington,  Ky.  Father 
Blenke  furnished  the  sketches  for  the  grotto,  also 
for  the  walls  which  are  decorated  with  views  of 
the  celebrated  monasteries  of  the  world.  Rocks, 
apparently  old  and  moss-grown,  surround  a  cat- 
aract of  water,  which  falls  into  a  miniature 
lake.  The  effect  of  the  whole  is  said  to  be  very 
devotional. 

Emile  Augier,  the  French  dramatist,  whose 
death  we  chronicled  last  week,  published  his 
collected  works  without  a  word  of  preface,  and 
replied  when  once  asked  by  a  biographer  for 
notes  regarding  his  life :  "  I  was  born  in  1820,  sir. 
Since  then  nothing  has  happened  to  me. ' '  Augier 
was  one  of  the  most  important  dramatic  authors 
of  the  century. 

The  Chair  of  Flemish  Literature  in  the  Uni- 
versity of  Louvain  was  established  through  the 
influence  of  Dr.  O'Hearn,  an  Irishman,  "more 
Flemish  than  the  Flemings  themselves."  Dr. 
O'Hearn  had  no  doubt  learned  from  the  sad  ex- 
perience of  his  countrymen  that  a  nation  suffers 
much  when  it  loses  its  language. 


The  death  is  announced  of  Sister  Marie  de 
Sainte  Victoire,  for  twenty-one  years  Superior- 
General  of  the  Augustinians  of  the  Holy  Heart 
of  Mary. 

The  Home  Journal  commends  the  following 
anecdote  of  Berryer,  the  great  French  lawyer,  to 
members  of  the  legal  profession  : 

Shortly  after  the  war  of  1870  the  Duke  of  Bruns- 
wick, who  had  frequently  employed  Berryer  in 
important  cases,  sent  him  a  request  that  he  should 
defend  a  suit  brought  against  the  Duke  by  his 
daughter,  whom  he  had  abandoned  because  she 
had  abjured  Protestantism.  Fearful  lest  Berryer 
might  not  like  the  case,  he  added  to  the  papers  a 
retainer  of  fifty  thousand  francs.  Shortly  after- 
ward he  received  the  following  letter:  "Mon- 
seigneur : — If  I  defended  your  Majesty  against 
the  King  of  England  and  the  powerful  princes  of 
your  family,  it  was  because  j^ou  were  in  the  right. 
But  I  decline  to  defend  your  case  to  day  against 
the  Comtesse  de  Civey,  your  daughter,  because 
you  are  a  hundred  times  in  the  wrong.  Berryer." 


And  the  fifty  thousand  francs  were  returned  with 
the  papers. 

The  St.  Cecilia  Maennerchor  of  Cincinnati,  Ohio, 
celebrated  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  the 
founding  of  their  society  on  the  22d  ult.,  the 
feast  of  their  patron  saint.  About  three  hundred 
and  seventy- five  members  of  the  society,  escorted 
by  various  sodalities,  marched  in  procession  from 
their  hall  to  the  Church  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 
where  Solemn  High  Mass  was  celebrated  by  the 
Very  Rev.  Father  Albrinck,  Vicar-General  of  the 
Archdiocese.  The  Sdtictuary,  which  was  hand- 
somely decorated  for  the  occasion  was  filled  with 
a  large  number  of  priests  of  the  city.  During  the 
Holy  Sacrifice  the  splendidly  trained  chorus  of 
the  Cecilia  Society  sang,  with  great  accuracy  and 
fine  musical  effect,  Van  Bree's  Mass  No.  3,  the  Vent 
Creator  of  Wallace,  and  an  Ave  Maria  by  Wie- 
gand.  The  Rev.  Dr.  B.  H.  Engbers  delivered  the 
jubilee  address.  He  dwelt  at  length  on  the  beau- 
ties of  sacred  music,  and  showed  how  the  Church 
has  ever  encouraged  all  arts  and  sciences,  espec- 
ially music. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  thai  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with   them.  — Hkb.,  xiii,  3. 

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

Brother  Ephrem,  C.  S.  C,  who  died  at  Notre  Dame 
last  Saturday,  after  a  long  illness,  borne  with  saint- 
like fortitude. 

Sister  Mary  Veronica,  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity, 
Madison,  N.J. ,  who  was  called  to  her  reward  some 
weeks  ago. 

Mr.  John  M.  Sims,  of  Washington,  D.  C,  whose 
fervent  Christian  life  was  crowned  with  a  holy  death 
on  the  5th  ult. 

Mr.  John  C.Healy,  who  breathed  his  last  at  Pierce 
City,  Mo.,  on  the  14th  ult. 

Mr.  Edward  Keogh,  of  Washington,  D.  C,  who 
depirted  this  life  on  the  nth  ult. 

Mrs.  Ellen  McCarthy,  who  passed  away  on  the 
20th  of  October,  at  Pontypool,  England  fortified  by 
the  last  Sacraments. 

Mr.  James  H.  Leah,  of  Edwardsville,  111.,  who  died 
a  happy  death  on  the  same  day. 

Mrs.  Martin  Hussey,  who  piously  yielded  her  soul 
to  God  on  the  14th  of  October,  at  Baltimore,  Md. 

Mr.  Richard  White,  of  Philadelphia,  Pa. ;  Albert 
Moyer  and  Thomas  Griffith,  Chicago,  111, ;  Mrs.  Sarah 
Fiemming,  New  York  city ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James 
Cabin,  Miss  Winifred  Tracy,  Mrs.  Mary  O'SuUivan, 
Miss  Johanna  Duggan,  and  Miss  Ellen  Duggan, — all 
of  Lawrence,  Mass. ;  Mrs.  Carr,  Washington,  D.  C. ; 
William  F.  Reilly,  La  Salle,  111. ;  and  Michael  Keegan, 
Glasgow,  Montana. 

May  they  rest  in  peace  ! 


The  Ave  Maria. 


S47 


The  First  Snow. 

LIKE  snowflakes  fall  Thy  mercies,  dearest  Lord, 
Soft  in  the  morning  and  the  evening  light ; 
And  may  our  hearts,  like  the  awaiting  sward, 
Lie  on  Thy  august  footstool,  pure  and  white! 

And  may  their  whiteness  know  no  touch  of  hate, 

No  blot  of  malice  or  uncharity  ! 
May  they  reflect  that  Heart  Immaculate 

Which,  of  all  hearts,  is  nearest  unto  Thee ! 

L.  M. 


Christmas  is  Coming. 


BY   MARY    CATHERINE   CROWI^EY. 


"Yes,  I'll  have  to  send  thirty  Christmas 
cards,"  concluded  May. 

"You  have  a  great  many  friends,  love," 
said  grandma. 

"Oh,  the  people  I  must  send  cards  to  are 
not  all  friends! "  answered  the  girl.  "A  number 
are  only  acquaintances,  who  remembered  me 
last  year.  I  have  to  try  to  pay  all  such  debts, 
past,  present,  and  to  come.  Unfortunately,  it 
will  cost  a  good  deal,  and  I  shall  not  have  any 
money  left  to  buy  other  presents.  Besides,  it 
is  a  bother. ' ' 

"Then  why  send  any?"  suggested  the 
old  lady. 

"What  would  be  thought  of  me,  grandma, 
if  I  didn't?" 

"Sensible  persons  would  think  you  a  girl 
of  sense.  When  this  pretty  custom  becomes  a 
tax  upon  patience  or  pocket,  it  degenerates 
into  a  meaningless  fashion,"  replied  Mrs. 
Dalton. 

"I  ought  to  be  willing  to  take  trouble  for 
my  friends,"  protested  May. 

"Certainly.  But  anything  we  do  for  a  friend 
should  be  gladly  done,  otherwise  it  loses  all 
value.  It  is  indeed  a  graceful  practice  to  send 
greetings  at  this  time  to  our  friends,  and  even 
to  some  persons  who  are  hardly  more  than 
acquaintances.  The  attention  proves  to  the 


former  that  they  have  part  in  our  Christmas 
joy;  to  the  latter  that  we  have  a  kindly 
thought  for  them  during  this  season  of  happi- 
ness. All  this,  however,  may  be  expressed, 
and  perhaps  most  elegantly,  by  a  mere  visit- 
ing card.  But  for  young  folk  the  artistic  little 
designs  which  may  be  obtained  for  a  trifle  are 
especially  appropriate.  Yet  this  is  not  your 
view  of  the  matter.  I  believe  you  want  to  send 
a  pretentious  souvenir  to  each  of  the  compan- 
ions whose  names  you  have  noted.  To  make 
your  money  go  as  far  as  po-sible,  you  will 
journey  from  store  to  store,  jostled  by  the 
crowd,  growing  every  moment  more  confused, 
and  cross  possibly.  You  will  come  home  tired 
and  flurried,  sort  your  purchases  hurriedly, 
mail  them,  and  in  the  end  will  wish  you  had 
distributed  them  difierently,  or  discover  per- 
haps that  you  have  forgotten  somebody  who 
of  all  others  should  have  been  included  in 
your  list." 

May  laughed  at  this  descriplion  of  her 
past  experiences. 

"Still,"  she  answered,  "the  cards  must  be 
as  handsome  as  any  that  the  girls  have  sent 
tome." 

* '  There's  the  folly  of  it ! "  sighed  grandma. 
"We  are  all  in  danger  of  being  influenced  by 
the  calculating  spirit  which  thinks  more  of  the 
gift  than  of  the  giver,  and  gauges  sentiment 
according  to  its  market-price.  Will  you  spare 
your  desk- mate,  Amelia  Morris,  twenty-five 
or  fifty  cents'  worth  of  love  and  good-wishes 
this  year?" 

"Grandma,  you  are  dreadful! "  pouted  May. 

She  consoled  herself,  however, with  a  reflec- 
tion such  as  we  are  apt  to  make  when  we  do 
not  agree  with  the  opinions  of  those  older  and 
wiser  than  ourselves:  "Grandma  does  not 
understand."  An  interval  of  silence  followed, 
during  which  she  conned  her  list. 

Before  long  her  little  sister  Celia  came  into 
the  room.  Celia  was  a  rosy,  merry  creature, 
whom  everyone  loved,  because,  with  the  in- 
stinctive charity  of  childhood,  she  saw  only 
the  good  in  those  with  whom  she  came  in 
contact,  and  diffused  wherever  she  went  some- 
thing ;of  her  own  winsome  trustfulness.  She 
had  just  returned  from  the  stationer's,  and 
gaily  waved  aloft  a  yellow  envelope,  ex- 
claiming, 

"Look!   Christmas   cards!    Bought    them 


548 


The  Ave  Maria. 


with  the  ten  cents  papa  gave  me  for  not  for- 
getting to  say  please." 

"Let  me  see,"  said  May. 

Celia  proudly  exhibited  three  bits  of  floral 
pasteboard,  of  the  gaudy  coloring  which  most 
readily  attracts  the  taste  of  a  child. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  them?" 
asked  the  elder  girl. 

"I  don't  know"  rejoined  Celia.  "I  think 
though — yes,  I'll  give  one  to  Mrs.  Fagin,  the 
washerwoman,  'cause  she's  poor;  and  one  to 
Miss  Old  Maid  Mason,  'cause,  poor  thing! 
she's  rich  and  fussy  and  lonesome-looking; 
and  one-  to  the  little  girl  that  comes  every 
morning  to  pick  cinders  out  of  our  ash  barrel, 
'cause  I  don't  believe  she  ever  had  a  Christ- 
mas card  in  her  life." 

May  tittered.  "What  queer  people  to 
choose! "  she  said,  looking  up  to  exchange  an 
amused  glance  with  grandma.  With  surprise, 
she  noticed  that  the  old  lady  was  nodding 
approvingly. 

The  circumstance  set  May  thinking.  '  'Yes,' ' 
mused  she,  "it  would  be  nice  to  carry  out 
Celia's  idea :  to  send  Christmas  cards  to  some 
persons  who  have  few  friends,  or  who  are  ill 
or  sad  or  neglected.  We  always  do  something 
for  the  poor  at  Christmas.  I  am  so  pleased  to 
have  cut  out  and  finished  that  dress  for  the 
little  orphan.  And  there's  the  funny  mite  of 
a  flannel  petticoat  that  Celia  made  for  the 
baby  in  short  clothes,  pricking  her  finger  at 
almost  every  stitch.  But  I  begin  to  see  the 
meaning  of  what  grandma  said  the  other  day. 
I  wrote  it  down,  thinking  it  might  do  to  quote 
in  a  composition.  Our  teacher  gives  us  such 
odd  subjects  to  write  about,  she  may  hit  upon 
this  next." 

May  took  a  small  diary  from  her  pocket — 
it  was  her  latest  fad  to  keep  a  diary, — and, 
after  turning  the  leaves,  found  and  read  the 
following : 

*  *  Charity  is  not  mere  almsgiving :  it  is  some- 
thing we  all  need, — something  we  must  all 
give  and  take,  one  from  the  other.  There  are 
none  so  rich  as  to  be  able  to  do  without  it, 
none  so  poor  that  they  can  not  bestow  it ;  for 
charity  is  forbearing  love  and  friendship; 
charity  is  true  neighborliness, — the  clasping 
of  hands  in  sympathy  and  kindness  with  the 
unfortunate,  whether  they  be  rich  or  poor ;  it 
is  the  overflowing  of  the  love  of  human  hearts 


for  the  blessed  Christ- Child,  who  from  the 
Manger  of  Bethlehem  stretched  out  His  tiny 
hands  in  tenderness  to  all." 

"Yes,' '  thought  May,  laying  down  her  diary, 
* '  there  are  many  people  who,  with  all  the  com- 
forts that  wealth  can  procure,  are  often  sadly 
ofi"  for  want  of  a  little  thoughtful  friendliness. 
This  is  what  grandma  means  by  the  true 
spirit  of  Christmas-tide, — the  wish  to  share 
our  happiness  with  others.  Let  me  see.  To 
whom  would  a  Christmas  card  from  an  insig- 
nificant girl  like  me  bring  a  bit  of  brightness 
and  pleasure?  Old  Mrs. Merrill?  Humph!  she 
is  rich  enough,  I'm  sure ;  but  she  is  the  last  of 
her  family,  and  lives  in  a  great  house,  with 
only  the  servants  around  her.  She  is  so  fond 
of  young  girls  too,  and  often  asks  me  to  go 
and  see  her.  I  think  she  would  be  pleased. 
And  Miss  Rayner,  who  has  been  an  invalid 
for  years.  She  must  be  lonely  sometimes ;  for 
when  persons  don't  go  about  they  are  apt  to 
be  forgotten.  Then  Miss  Pierce,  who  sets 
type  in  the  news-letter  ofiice.  She  is  a  stranger 
here.  Yes,  I'll  send  her  a  card ;  Kate  Leslie 
too, — how  could  I  have  left  out  Kate's  name! 
We  have  never  been  intimate;  but  then,  she 
belongs  to  our  class,  and  this  will  be  the  first 
Christmas  since  the  death  of  her  mother. 
Julia  Stone,  another  girl  who  used  to  go  to 
our  school.  How  peculiar  she  was!  By  no 
means  a  favorite.  She  has  a  hard  time  at  home. 
It  is  as  much  as  the  Stones  can  do  to  get 
on,  and  Julia  is  obliged  to  keep  busy;  she 
won't  have  many  Christmas  greetings.  I  be- 
lieve I'll  send  one  to  Delia  Tracy,  who  used  to 
be  our  cook  before  she  was  married.  She  will 
be  delighted  to  know  that  I  thought  of  her." 

And  May  set  about  to  re- arrange  the  old  list. 

"There's  Alice  Carr,"  she  went  on.  "Gra- 
cious! no  doubt  she'll  have  a  whole  stock 
of  such  souvenirs,  and  would  not  prize  the 
costliest  I  could  send.  I'll  enclose  my  visiting 
card  to  her.  That  will  be  stylish,  and  Alice 
dotes  on  style.  Phoebe  Hollis  will  have  a  good 
many  too.  Phoebe  fancied  those  verses  that 
Uncle  George  wrote  in  my  album.  I'll  copy 
them  prettily  with  gold  ink  for  her.  The 
names  that  come  next  may  as  well  be  crossed 
off.  I  don't  know  why  I  put  them  down ;  prob- 
ably because  Amelia  was  going  to  send  some 
to  those  girls.  Our  Western  cousins?  They 
would  prefer  pleasant  letters ;  so  would  our 


The  Ave  Maria. 


549 


friends  in  New  Ycrk'.  Why,  by  a  little  man- 
agement, all  will  be  provided  for.  I  shall  be 
able  to  get  handsome  cards  for  those  to  whom 
I  am  really  under  compliment ;  and  by  taking 
care  not  to  send  any  'just  for  show,'  shall  still 
have  a  little  money  left  for  the  other  presents." 

May  selected  her  cards  according  to  this 
new  plan.  On  Christmas  Eve  they  were  sent 
forth  like  a  flight  of  messenger  doves,  or  little 
angels  of  good-will,  bearing  in  many  direc- 
tions greetings  of  kindliness  and  friendship. 
If  the  warm  hearted  girl  could  have  followed 
them,  she  would  have  been  more  than  satisfied 
with  the  welcome  they  received. 

"What  a  dear  child  May  Dalton  is!"  said 
old  Mrs.  Merrill,  when  she  opened  the  large 
envelope  which  the  servant  brought  to  her 
early  the  next  morning.  And  for  the  aged  and 
solitary  woman  the  Christmas  sun  shone 
brighter,  and  her  home,  before  so  desolate,  ap- 
peared less  dreary  in  its  splendor. 

Miss  Rayner,  the  invalid,  was  aroused  from 
a  despondent  reverie  by  May's  pretty  missive. 
"It  is  so  sweet  to  be  remembered!"  sighed 
she;  "to  feel  that  one  is  not  entirely  shut  in 
from  the  beautiful  world !  This  little  card 
brings  that  which  it  wishes  me — *A  joyful 
Christmas.'  It  sounds  the  first  note  of  my 
Gloria  to-day.  How  much  I  have  to  be  thank- 
ful for!" 

The  young  type  setter,  in  her  small  room 
in  a  cheerless  boarding-house,  was  homesick 
enough  that  Christmas  morning.  But  what 
a  transformation  May's  card  wrought!  She 
stood  it  on  the  mantel  in  the  midst'of  her  fam- 
ily photographs,  and  every  time  she  glanced 
at  it  during  the  day  it  seemed  to  smile  back 
at  her,  like  the  cheery  face  of  a  friend.  *  'After 
all,"  the  young  girl  said  to  herself,  "I  am 
not  alone  in  this  great  city :  some  one  thinks 
of  me ;  some  one  hopes  I  may  have  'A  happy 
Christmas.'" 

Motherless  Kate  Leslie  dropped  a  few  tears 
upon  the  dainty  souvenir  that  came  to  her. 
Yet  she  smiled  as  well ;  for  it  told  her  all  that 
May  longed  to  express,  and  showed  a  rift  in 
the  cloud  that  so  darkened  for  her  this  Christ- 
mas Day. 

Julia  Stone  had  helped  her  mother  to  collect 
a  few  toys,  etc.,  for  her  small  brothers  and 
sisters.  She  did  not  expect  any  gift  for  herself. 
If,  by  rare  fortune,  anything  should  fall  to  her 


lot,  it  would  surely  be  something  which  must 
necessarily  be  provided,  holiday  season  or  not. 
She  was  wondering,  discontentedly,  why  she 
could  not  have  lovely  presents  like  other  girls, 
when  the  postman's  ring  summoned  her  to  the 
door.  He  handed  her  a  packet  addressed  to 
herself,  and  hastened  on  his  way.  * '  How  nice  of 
May  Dalton  to  think  of  me!"  she  exclaimed, 
having  torn  off  the  wrapper.  Half  an  hour 
later,  as  she  hung  the  tasteful  little  banner 
upon  a  comer  of  her  dressing-table,  she  re- 
flected: "I  haven't  so  many  pleasures  as  some 
girls,  perhaps;  but,  after  all,  with  father, 
mother  and  the  children  to  love  and  work  for, 
there  is  no  reason  why  I  too  should  not  have, 
as  May  reminds  me,  'A  merry  Christmas.' " 

As  for  the  worthy  woman,  Delia  Tracy,  it 
would  be  hard  to  describe  her  pleasure  at 
May's  kind  remembrance  of  her.  The  simple 
token  long  occupied  the  place  of  honor  upon 
the  table  in  her  "best  room."  "Shure  Miss 
May  was  always  so  considerate-like!"  Jrhe 
exclaimed,  as  she  placed  it  there.  "The  Lord 
love  her  and  give  her  many  blessed  Christmas 
Days!" 

Thus  a  little  thoughtful ness,  so  trifling  in 
itself  that  May  did  not  even  think  of  noting 
it  in  her  precious  diary,  brought  a  thrill  of 
gladness  to  many  a  heart. 

A  kind  act  ever  wins  its  own  reward.  May's 
Christmas  was  a  particularly  blithe  and  joy  ous 
one.  And  grandma,  who  happened  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  her  "revised  list"  as  she  was  on 
the  point  of  tearing  it  up, said  gently:  "I 
think,  dearie,  that  you  have  discovered  the 
true  mission  of  the  Christmas  card." 


Noelie. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "TYBORNE,"  ETC 


VI. 


Years  flew  by  without  any  marked  incident. 
Mr.  Chevahier  had  all  but  forgotten  the  de- 
serted house.  Noelie,  naturally,  had  no  memory 
of  it ;  for  neither  Catherine  nor  Joseph  ever 
spoke  to  her  on  the  subject.  After  a  time  the 
porter  of  Mr.  Chevahier' s  house  and  other 
domestics  went  away,  and  soon  no  one  re- 
mained who  had  any  idea  that  Noelie  was  not 
some  relative  adopted  by  him. 


550 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Noelie  no  longer  resembled  the  pale,  thin 
Petite.  She  was  a  tall,  lovely  child,  with 
blooming  cheeks,  Mr.  Chevahier,  Joseph  and 
Catherine  simply  idolized  her,  and  the  poor 
thing  was  quite  spoilt.  Nevertheless,  she  was 
inclined  to  be  pious;  she  said  her  prayers, 
learned  her  catechism  from  Catherine's  lips, 
and  liked  to  listen  to  "stories  about  the  good 
God."  The  Nativity,  the  Flight  into  Egypt, 
the  Ivittle  Jesus  teaching  in  the  Temple,  the 
manna  falling  in  the  desert,  Joseph  and  his 
brethren, — these  were  her  favorites.  But  when 
it  came  to  reading  and  writing,  Noelie  would 
remark : 

'*You  said,  Catherine,  that  the  catechism 
teaches  us  all  that  God  wants  from  us.  Where 
does  it  say  that  I  am  to  learn  to  read?" 

Catherine  might  have  replied :  "It  says  you 
are  to  obey  your  parents,  and  I  stand  to  you 
in  place  of  a  mother."  But  the  child's  clever- 
ness baffled  the  good  woman,  and  she  had  no 
answer  ready.  However,  she  took  Noelie  to 
a  small  school  which  existed  in  the  opposite 
house,  and  after  many  struggles  between 
Noelie  and  the  mistress  she  was  able  to  read 
and  write,  and  had  learned  the  first  rudiments 
of  music. 

Catherine  spent  all  her  spare  time  in  mak- 
ing clothes  for  Noelie,  but  it  was  a  hard  task. 
She  rushed  about  in  such  a  way  that  her  frock 
was  constantly  in  tatters;  her  hat  would  be- 
come battered  in  a  week;  her  shoes  were 
tossed  into  corners  and  got  lost.  She  hated  to 
have  her  hair  combed,  and  persuaded  Cath- 
erine to  cut  it  short  like  a  boy's.  And  when- 
ever poor  Catherine  remonstrated  Noelie 
would  say : 

"There  is  nothing  in  the  catechism  about 
my  hats  and  frocks.  Will  God  ask  me  how  I 
was  dressed  before  He  lets  me  into  heaven?" 

Poor  Catherine  could  only  answer:  "All 
other  children  are  nicely  dressed, — all  ex- 
cept you." 

Gradually  the  girl  grew  more  and  more  self- 
willed.  One  day,  when  she  was  twelve  years 
old,  she  was  in  disgrace  with  her  mistress 
about  a  simple  sum  which  she  had  not  done 
correctly . 

"Catherine,"  she  said,  "please  do  this  sum 
for  me. ' ' 

"I  can't,"  answered  Catherine. 

"Why  not?" 


"I  don't  know  figures,  my  child.  I  never 
was  taught ' ' 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Noelie,  "then  I  won't 
learn  them  any  more!  You  are  good  enough, 
dear  Catherine!  I  love  you  and  I  want  to  be 
like  you." 

Catherine's  tears  flowed,  but  she  said :  "Do 
your  sum,  Noelie.  I  don't  want  you  to  be  as 
ignorant  as  I  am." 

"But  you  love  God  and  you  are  going  to 
heaven,  Catherine." 

"I  hope  so,  Noelie ;  but  when  I  was  a  child 
I  was  taught  very  little.  If  I  had  been  better 
instructed,  no  doubt  I  should  love  God  more 
and  serve  Him  better.  Now,  Noelie,  do  your 
sum." 

And  for  a  wonder  Noelie  obeyed. 

VII. 

For  some  days  after  this  Catherine  seemed 
uneasy,  and  she  was  seen  to  hold  long  conver- 
sations with  the  servant  of  the  next  floor, — 
a  very  rare  occurrence,  for  she  hated  gossip. 
Finally  she  went  to  speak  to  Mr.  Chevahier. 

"  Have  you  remarked,  sir,  that  Noelie — Miss 
Noelie — is  not  as  good  as  she  used  to  be  ?  In 
fact,  sir,  things  can  not  go  on  like  this." 

"What!  what!  what!"  said  Mr. Chevahier. 
"I'm  quite  satisfied  with  everything.  Only 
let  us  be  exact.  It  is  one  o'clock.  I  must  be 
going." 

"Please,  sir,  listen  to  me  for  a  minute.  You 
can  not  help  seeing  that  Noelie  is  self  willed, 
untidy,  and  disobedient.  She  is  not  well 
brought  up." 

Mr.  Chevahier  made  no  answer,  but  looked 
for  his  hat.  Catherine  took  the  knob  of  the 
door  in  her  hand. 

"Sir,  you  took  in  this  poor  child;  you  have 
fed  and  clothed  her  for  ten  years;  will  you 
now  forsake  her?" 

"  Why,  who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing!  Just 
continue  as  you  have  been  doing  all  these 
year^.  Let  me  go  now, — five  minutes  after 
the  hour!" 

At  this  moment  Noelie  opened  the  door 
and  came  in,  with  rough  hair,  black  hands, 
and  torn  apron.  Seeing  Catherine  and  Mr. 
Chevahier  in  conversation,  she  rushed  away, 
slamming  the  door  after  her. 

*  *  No,  sir, ' '  said  Catherine,  *  *  we  can  not  go  on 
this  way.  Grant  me  a  favor,  please.  No  doubt 
you  know  Miss  Grenville,  who  lives  above  us, 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


55^ 


nd  you  have  remarked  two  young  girls  who 
come  to  see  her?" 

Mr.  Chevahier  shook  his  head,  then  sat 
down  with  an  air  of  resignation. 

"Why,  everyone  knows  them,"  said  Cath- 
erine, "they  are  so  refined  in  their  manner, 
and  so  nicely  dressed.  I  am  told  they  are 
educated  by  a  lady,  to  whom  they  go  every 
day  from  nine  to  fiv^e.  This  lady  teaches  them 
grammar  and  music,  and  gives  them  very 
practical  instructions  on  good  behaviour,  per- 
sonal neatness,  etc.  If,  sir,  yoU  would  send 
Noelie  to  this  lady!" 

"Very  well,  very  well!"  said  Mr.  Cheva- 
hier.   "You  can  do  as  you  like." 

"No,  sir,  I  can  not  do  as  I  like.  You  know 
it  is  your  place  to  call  on  Miss  Beaumont  and 
ask  her  to  take  Noelie.  She  lives  near  here. 
Perhaps  her  terms  are  high,  but  I  should  be 
quite  satisfied  if  you  would  lower  my  wages 
in  order  to  meet  the  expense. ' ' 

"No,  no,  Catherine,"  said  Mr.  Chevahier, 
touched  by  her  generosity.  "Thank  God,  I 
can  pay  a  few  hundred  francs  for  the  child, 
and  I  will  cheerfully  do  as  you  wish.  Give 
me  the  lady's  address  and  I  will  call  on  her 
to-day." 

And  Mr.  Chevahier  thought  he  might  go 
now;  but  no,  Catherine  had  not  done. 

"Please,  sir,  do  you  think  Miss  Noelie 
ought  to  continue  to  call  you  'Mr.  Friend'? 
It  was  all  very  well  when  she  was  a  child, 
but  now  she  is  over  twelve." 

"What  is  she  to  call  me,  then? "  asked  Mr. 
Chevahier,  with  a  smile.  "Must  I  go  now  and 
find  a  name  for  myself?" 

"Don't  5^ou  think  she  might  say  'Uncle'? 
No  uncle  could  have  been  better  to  her  than 
you  have  been." 

"Let  her  say  'Uncle,'  then!"  replied  Mr. 
Chevahier,  and  at  last  he  made  his  escape. 

In  the  evening  he  sent  for  Catherine.  "All 
is  arranged  with  Miss  Beaumont,"  he  said. 
"Noelie  can  begin  class  next  Monday." 

"Thank  your  uncle,"  said  Catherine,  turn 
ing  to  Noelie. 

"Thank  you.  Uncle,"  murmured  Noelie; 
then  she  cried  out:  "Uncle  Friend,  I  thank 
you  and  I  love  you  very  much!"  And  she  put 
her  arms  around  his  neck.  "I'll  never  say 
'Uncle'  by  itself,— no,  oeyer!"  Then  she 
danced  out  of  the  room. 


Next  Sunday  Catherine  pointed  out  to 
Noelie  two  girls  with  pretty  hats  trimmed 
with  black  ribbon  and  rosebuds. 

"Those  are  your  future  companions,"  she 
said.  "Observe  them  well,  and  try  to  become 
like  them." 

Noelie's  only  answer  was  to  make  a  grimace. 

VIII. 

The  following  Monday — a  fine  October  day 
— Catherine  took  Noelie,  dressed  in  her  best 
clothes,  to  her  new  teacher.  Miss  Beaumont 
received  her  pupil  kindly,  and  introduced  to 
her  Regina  and  Augusta.  They  made  graceful 
bows  to  Noelie,  who  hung  down  her  head, 
frowned  and  pouted  a  little.  Several  days 
passed  before  the  ice  was  broken. 

' '  I  fear  you  are  not  kind  enough  to  your  new 
companion,"  said  Miss  Beaumont  to  Regina 
and  Augusta. 

"She  won't  answer  us  when  we  speak  to 
her.  ma'am.  It  seems  as  if  she  were  made  of 
wood." 

Next  day  Miss  Beaumont  said  she  would 
take  the  girls  out  for  a  walk  during  recrea- 
tion. Augusta  ventured  to  put  Noelie's  girdle 
straight.  Noelie  sprang  away  like  a  young 
fawn. 

' '  What  are  you  touching  me  for  ? "  she  cried 

"Only  because  your  girdle  was  crooked.  I 
beg  your  pardon!"  said  Augusta,  with  mock 
civility. 

"What  does  it  signify  whether  it  be 
straight  or  crooked?" 

"We  are  going  out,"  said  Regina. 

"Well?" 

"In  the  street  everyone  will  see  you  are 
not  properly  dressed." 

"What  does  that  matter  to  me?" 

"People  will  laugh  at  you." 

"What  harm  will  that  do?  So  much  the 
worse  for  them." 

Then  they  went  out,  Noelie  having  made 
her  girdle  as  crooked  as  possible. 

Another  day  a  dispute  arose  over  some 
cuffs. 

"You  don't  look  like  a  young  lady,"  said 
Regina. 

"What  do  I  care  about  looking  like  a 
young  lady?" 

"People  will  say  you  are  very  untidy," 
remarked  Augusta. 

"Who  cares  what  they  say  ?   So  much  the 


552 


The  Ave  Maria. 


worse  for  those  who  take  the  trouble  to  speak 
of  me. ' ' 

Noelie  hated  her  school,  and  managed  to 
arrive  there  as  late  as  she  could.  One  morn- 
.  ing  she  fell  asleep  after  being  called ;  another 
morning  her  skirt  had  fallen  into  the  bath ; 
another,  she  could  not  get  the  ink  stains  off  her 
hands.  On  another  occasion,  when  Catherine 
thought  she  was  ready,  she  found  her  in  her 
dressing-gown,  sitting  by  the  window,  think- 
ing, she  said,  of  her  faults,  she  had  so  many. 
One  day  she  was  not  ready  till  ten  o'clock, 
and  then  she  rushed  upon  Joseph  and  said : 

"Lay  a  plate  for  me,  Joseph.  I  shall  break- 
fast with  Uncle  Friend." 

"But  you  have  had  your  breakfast  already." 

"No  matter.  I  am  always  hungry,  and  I 
want  my  duck — good-morning,  Uncle  Friend! 
Poor  Uncle  Friend!  Aren't  you  very  lonely 
breakfasting  without  me  ?  " 

' '  Oh,  no !  "  said  Mr.  Chevahier.  *  'And  why 
are  you  not  at  school,  Noelie?  " 

"I  am  going  presently,  but  I  don't  like  you 
to  be  left  alone  so  much,  Uncle  Friend.  I  atn 
afraid  you'll  be  lonely." 

She  came  very  late  to  school  that  day,  and 
missed  a  music  lesson. 

"You  will  never  learn  anything,"  said  her 
companions.   "You  will  grow  up  a  dunce." 

"I  don't  care,"  replied  Noelie.  "If  I  love 
God  that  is  sufficient.  Catherine  says  so. 
What  is  a  dunce  ? ' ' 

Her  companions  answered  with  a  laugh. 

IX. 

One  morning  Catherine,  having  some  other 
business  to  attend  to  in  the  city,  brought 
Noelie  to  school  very  punctually.  In  the  ves- 
tibule Noelie  met  Regina  and  Augusta. 

"lyCt  us  make  haste,"  they  said;  "nine 
o'clock  is  striking."  And  they  began  to  mount 
the  stairs. 

At  that  moment  a  little  girl  about  twelve 
years  old  came  in  from  the  street.  Her  clothes 
were  shabby,  her  face  thin  and  pale.  She  was 
out  of  breath  from  running,  and  had  a  picture 
in  her  hand. 

"You  .must  have  dropped  this  picture.  I 
think.  Miss,"  she  panted,  looking  at  Noelie. 
"And  you  went  so  fast  I  had  to  run  to  catch 
up  to  you." 

"Oh,  my  beautiful  picture  of  Our  I^ady," 
said  Noelie,  "that  I  bought   yesterday  !    It 


must  have  slipped  out  of  my  book.  How  glad 
I  am  not  to  have  lost  it!" 

"Yes,  it  is  very  pretty,"  replied  the  little 
girl. 

"You  may  keep  it,  then,"  said  Noelie,  with 
a  pleasant  smile.  "I  am  glad  I  dropped  it." 

"O  Miss,  you  are  too  good!  How  could  I 
deprive  you  of  such  a  pretty  picture,  which 
you  have  just  bought!" 

' '  I  give  it  to  you  with  much  pleasure, ' '  said 
Noelie,  going  up-stairs  as  she  spoke. 

The  little  girl  kissed  the  picture,  took  up 
her  heavy  basket  and  went  out. 

*  *  What  are  you  thinking  of  ? "  said  Augusta 
to  Noelie.  "Talking  to  a  little  girl  in  the 
street  whom  you  do  not  know! " 

"And  giving  a  picture  to  a  dirty  child  like 
that!  Do  you  know  her  parents?"  remarked 
Regina. 

"I  know  she  ran  after  me  to  give  back  the 
picture,  that  she  thought  it  very  pretty,  and 
that  I  had  the  greatest  pleasure  in  making 
her  a  present.  That  is  all  I  know." 

"But,"  pursued  Regina,  "well  brought-up 
'girls  don't  speak  to  people  of  whom  they  know 
nothing," 

Noelie's  answer  was  to  hang  over  the  bal- 
usters and  scream  out :  "  If  I  meet  you  again 
I  will  give  you  more  pictures.  Do  you  hear, 
little  pale  girl?"  But  the  child  had*  disap- 
peared. 

The  portress  overheard  and  replied:  "Do 
you  want  to  speak  to  Mary,  Miss?  She  is 
gone.   I  will  try  to  call  her  back." 

"No,  no,"  said  Noelie;  "not  now.  Does  she 
live  in  this  house?" 

"Yes,  Miss,"  answered  the  portress. 

"Do  be  quiet.  Miss  Noelie!  'To  shout  on 
the  stairs  like  that!  It  is  dreadful!  Really,  if 
this  continues  we  shall  be  obliged  to  ask 
our  English  maid  to  accompany  us  to  Miss 
Beaumont's  very  door,"  said  Regina  and 
Augusta  together. 

Noelie  shouted  again,  and  Regina  muttered: 

"What  a  little  savage!" 

(TO   BE  CONTINUED.) 


Heaven  is  not  reached  at  a  siugle  bound. 
But  we  build  the  ladder  by  which  we  rise 
From  the  lowly  earth  to  the  vaulted  skies ; 

And  we  mount  to  its  summit  round  by  round. 

—G.  H.  Holland. 


Vol..  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  DECEMBER  14,  1889. 


No.  24. 


[Published  ev^ry  Saturday.    Copyright:  Rev.  D.  H.  Hudson,  C.  S.  C] 


Perhaps. 

BY    MARGARET    H.  I,A\VI,ESS. 

"]  j  PON  the  placid  water's  breast 
>^     Is  mirrored  the  blue  sky; 
Its  golden  stars  are  burning  there, 

Its  clouds  are  sailing  by  ; 
But  every  little  breeze  that  blows 

And  ruffles  the  calm  deep, 
Breaks  and  distorts  the  images 

That  on  its  bosom  sleep. 

Our  earth  lies  ever  like  a  sea 

Neath  heaven's  matchless  skies, 
And  down  upon  its  wide  expanse 

Are  turned  God's  sleepless  eyes; 
But  for  the  winds  of  ill  that  blow 

And  stir  its  bosom  clear, 
It  might  be  ours  perhaps  to  see 

A  heaven  mirrored  here. 


Notre  Dame  de  Pontoise. 


BY   GEORGI5  PROSPERO. 


ONTOISE,  a  town  of  France,  derives 
its  name  from  Pont-sur-rOise — the 
bridge  that  spans  the  river  Oise.  It 
was  called  by  the  Romans  Briva  ham,  whilst 
in  the  Middle  Ages  it  was  known  as  Pons 
IsarcB.  The  town  is  built  on  a  rocky  hillside, 
and  forms  as  it  were  an  amphitheatre,  extend- 
ing down  even  to  the  banks  of  the  Oise.  In 
former  times  Pontoise  w^s  the  capital  of  the 
French  Vexin,  and  was  strongly  fortified ;  the 


Capetian  Kings  frequently  selected  it  as  their 
residence.  I^ouis  XIV.  retired  within  its 
hospitable  walls  during  the  troubles  of  the 
Fronde,  and  the  Parliament  has  been  trans- 
ferred there  at  various  periods.  In  our  days 
it  is  a  pleasant  excursion  from  Paris,  and  con- 
tains two  interesting  churches — Notre  Dame 
de  Pontoise  and  St.  Maclon. 

Notre  Dame  de  Pontoise  is  one  of  the  most 
celebrated  sanctuaries  of  Mary  in  the  diocese 
of  Versailles, — a  diocese  noted  for  its  devotion 
to  the  Mother  of  God.  Chroniclers  do  not  give 
the  precise  date  when  this  shrine  first  be- 
came renowned ;  all  we  know  for  a  certainty 
is  that  it  existed  before  the  thirteenth  century. 
A  pious  youth,  tenderly  devoted  to  Mary,  felt 
inspired  to  carve  a  statue  of  the  Immaculate 
Virgin  and  offer  it  to  the  veneration  of  the 
faithful.  Not  having  any  place  wherein  to 
work,  he  was  obliged  to  seek  refuge  in  a 
quarry  at  Blangis,  near  Abbeville.  There  the 
statue  was  made,  and  when  finished  it  was 
transferred  to  Pontoise. 

The  first  thought  of  the  pious  inhabitants 
of  Pontoise  was  to  construct  a  sanctuary  in 
which  to  place  the  loved  image  of  Mary. 
The  spot  of  ground  on  which  the  statue  had 
first  been  deposited  belonged  to  the  monks 
of  St.  Martin's  Abbey,  and  to  them  the  people 
applied  for  permission  to  erect  a  chapel  over  it. 
The  request  was  gladly  granted ;  the  chapel 
was  built,  and  the  monks  chose  a  saintly 
priest  to  whom  the  care  of  this  sanctuary  was 
confided.  In  1226  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen 
came  to  dedicate  and  bless  the  chapel,  and  im- 
mediately crowds  of  fervent  pilgrims  began 
to  flock  to  Pontoise.  The  saintly  King  Louis 


554 


The  Ave  Maria. 


was  one  of  the  most  frequent  visitors  to  this 
shrine,  thus  encouraging  his  subjects,  by 
his  example,  to  pay  devout  homage  to  the 
Mother  of  God. 

Soon  the  sanctuary  became  too  small  for  the 
number  of  pilgrims  that  were  constantly  visit- 
ing Pontoise,  and  accordingly  a  new  chapel 
was  built  on  the  same  spot.  In  July,  1249, 
this  edifice  was  erected  into  a  parish  church 
by  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen  ;  and  the  vener- 
ated image  of  Mary  was  placed  outside,  over 
the  principal  entrance,  in  order  that  devout 
clients  of  the  Holy  Virgin  might  be  enabled 
to  offer  her  their  veneration  by  night  as  well 
as  by  day. 

Then  came  glorious  days  for  Notre  Dame 
de  Pontoise,  when  the  lame,  the  blind,  the 
deaf,  the  dumb,  together  with  kings  and 
princes  and  all  the  great  ones  of  the  earth, 
prostrated  themselves  before  our  Blessed 
I^ady's  image, — some  in  humble  supplication, 
others  in  earnest,  heartfelt  thanksgiving  for 
favors  received ;  and  many  were  the  rich  and 
costly  gifts  laid  at  Mary's  altar  by  the  royal 
visitors.  These  bright  days  of  prayer  and  de- 
votion continued  until  about  1431,  wjien  the 
English,  then  masters  of  a  portion  of  France, 
during  the  unhappy  reign  of  Charles  VI., 
plundered  all  the  riches  belonging  to  the 
sanctuary,  and  finally  destroyed  the  church. 
The  venerated  statue  alone  was  Faved. 

Happily,  twelve  years  after,  these  impious 
men,  smitten  with  remorse  for  the  crime  they 
had  committed,  determined  to  erect  another 
church,  even  more  beautiful  than  the  one 
they  had  so  ruthlessly  destroyed.  The  nave, 
the  choir  and  the  tower  were  already  built 
when  Charles  VII.  fell  upon  them  with  his 
troops,  and  drove  them  from  Pontoise.  The 
moment  the  enemy  had  disappeared,  the 
French  immediately  took  up  the  work  of  re- 
building the  sanctuary.  But  some  years  later 
the  English  again  returned  to  Pontoise,  in 
the  hope  of  taking  the  town,  on  which  they 
had  always  looked  with  covetous  eyes.  The 
inhabitants  rallied  at  the  church,  and,  in  spite 
of  the  furious  assaults  of  the  enemy,  they 
resisted  all  the  attacks  directed  against  them. 
Mary's  sanctuary  proved  to  them  an  impreg- 
nable fortress,  from  which  they  forced  the 
English  to  raise  the  siege.  In  the  year  1484. 
when  all  was  again  at  peace,  the  church  was 


solemnly  consecrated  to  the  Queen  of  Heaven. 

The  many  vicissitudes  through  which  Our 
Lady  of  Pontoise  had  passed  drew  the  atten- 
tion of  the  Holy  Father,  Julius  III.,  toward 
this  venerated  sanctuary.  The  innumerable 
cures  and  conversions  wrought  at  the  shrine 
having  been  brought  under  his  notice,  the 
Pope  ordained,  by  a  bull  dated  January  19, 
1550,  that  the  Church  of  Notre  Dame  de 
Pontoise  should  be  the  only  station  for  the 
Jubilee  of  that  year,  for  the  entire  province  of 
Rouen ;  and  it  is  recorded  that  on  the  Feast 
of  the  Nativity  more  than  one  hundred  thou- 
sand pilgrims  visited  the  sanctuary. 

Some  years  later,  it  is  related  that  a  Prot- 
estant, visiting  Pontoise,  felt  exasperated  at 
the  ardent  piety  and  devotion  shown  toward 
Mary,  and  tried  to  take  down  the  statue. 
Fortunately,  the  image  was  so  securely  fast- 
ened in  its  niche  that  the  sacrilegious  hands  of 
the  fanatic  were  unable  to  dislodge  it.  Wild 
with  rage,  the  unhappy  man  determined,  at 
least,  to  mutilate  the  statue,  and  with  one 
blow  knocked  off  the  head  of  the  Divine  Infant 
which  Mary  held  in  her  arms,  and  threw  it 
over  the  bridge  into  the  river.  But  the  toll- 
gatherer  of  the  bridge  happened  to  have  his 
net  spread  at  the  time,  and  drawing  it  up 
when  daylight  came,  he  found  the  precious 
head.  The  good  inhabitants  came  to  seek  it, 
and  carried  it  back  to  the  church  in  proces- 
sion. Their  only  fear  was  lest  the  clergy 
might  remove  the  statue  into  the  interior  of 
the  church,  dreading  other  profanations;  but 
the  Archbishops  of  Paris  and  Rouen,  then  at 
Pontoise,  decided  to  leave  the  image  of  Mary 
and  the  Holy  Child  in  the  place  where  the 
faithful  were  accustomed  to  see  it. 

The  history  of  Notre  Dame  de  Pontoise  is 
too  long  to  be  given  in  detail  within  the  limits 
of  this  short  sketch.  We  must  be  satisfied 
with  relating  the  principal  events  connected 
with  this  venerated  shrine. 

In  the  year  1580  a  terrible  epidemic  'pread 
terror  throughout  France,  and  in  a  single  day 
thirty  thousand  persons  fell  victims  'to  the 
dire  malady  in  Paris  alone.  Stricken  with  fear, 
the  inhabitants  of  the  surrounding  country 
flocked  to  Pontoise,  and  as  many  as  sixty 
processions  were  seen  together  before  Mary's 
shrine.  The  Holy  Virgin  could  not  remain 
deaf  to  these  earnest  entreaties :  the  plague 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


555 


ceased  its  ravages;  and  in  the  following  year 
the  inhabitants  of  Pontoise,  to  testify  their 
gratitude  to  their  heavenly  Benefactress,  went 
themselves  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Notre  Dame  de 
Mantes. 

lyittle  more  than  five  years  later  the  Due  de 
Mayenne,  whose  garrison  was  at  Pontoise, 
was  attacked  by  a  large  army  commanded  by 
Henri  HI-.  The  little  garrison  resisted  bravely, 
and  finally  took  refuge  in  the  church.'  But, 
alas!  the  King's  army  fell  upon  them  with 
great  fury,  and  soon  after  the  beautiful  church 
was  reduced  to  ashes.  Of  Mary's  sanctuary 
there  remained  nothing  but  the  statue,  which 
was  again  miraculously  preserved,  and  carried 
to  St.  Martin's  Abbey.  Deep  was  the  grief  that 
filled  all  hearts  at  this  misfortune,  especially 
as  no  possibility  seemed  to  exist  of  rebuilding 
the  sanctuary. 

It  was  at  this  period  that  the  celebrated 
Sodalitium  Clericorum  may  be  sakl  to  have 
changed  its  clerical  character  by  receiving 
laics, both  men  and  women,  among  its  members 
This  Confraternity,  which  exists  even  to  our 
day, was  then  in  a  most  flourishing  condition. 
All  the  members  seemed  to  vie  with  one  an- 
other in  practising  various  good  works,  such 
as  visiting  the  sick  and  poor,  distributing 
alms,  and  instructing  poor  or  abandoned  chil- 
dren. The  principal  feast  of  the  Sodality  was 
celebrated  on  the  Sunday  within  the  Octave 
of  the  Assumption  by  a  splendid  procession,  in 
which  the  Kings  of  France  either  took  part 
or  were  represented  by  one  of  their  courtiers. 
In  that  of  1652  Louis  XIV.  himself  carried  a 
lighted  candle,  to  the  great  edification  of  all 
present. 

After  the  destruction  of  Notre  Dame  de 
Pontoise  the  meetings  of  the  Confraternity 
were  held  in  the  Eglise  des  Cordeliers,  until 
a  new  sanctuary  was  erected  on  the  spot 
where  the  original  one  had  stood.  The  new 
chapel  was  fir  from  equalling  the  former 
building  either  in  beauty  or  size.  As  it  was 
then  constructed  it  may  be  seen  to  this  day. 
Nevertheless,  humble  as  the  shrine  appeared, 
it  was  with  feelings  of  unbounded  joy  that 
the  pious  inhabitants  transported  thither  the 
miraculous  image  of  our  Blessed  Lady.  Again 
the  Holy  Father  ordained — as  Julius  III. 
had  done  many  years  before — that  during 
the  great  Jubilee  of  1600  Pontoise  should  be 


the  only  station  for  the  entire  province  of 
Rouen.  The  Jubilee  proved  fruitful  in  offer- 
ings for  Mary's  shrine;  and  among  the  vari- 
ous gifts  was  a  chime  of  bells,  which  many 
times  each  day  rang  forth  joyful  peals  sum- 
moning Our  Lady's  clients  to  the  foot  of 
her  altar. 

Soon  the  sanctuary  became  the  resort  of 
numerous  pilgrims,  as  in  days  gone  by,  and 
the  Holy  Virgin  did  not  remain  deaf  to  the 
heartfelt  petitions  daily  poured  forth  at  her 
favorite  altar.  As  with  Notre  Dame  des  Vertus, 
so  with  Notre  Dame  de  Pontoise, — she  showed 
herself  particularly  propitious  in  recalling  to 
life  still-born  infants.  The  first  of  these  mira- 
cles of  which  the  record  is  preserved  dates  back 
so  far  as  the  iSth  of  July,  1580 ;  aiid  the  last  of 
which  mention  is  made  in  the  parish  registers 
took  place  on  the  9th  of  May,  1840.  For  more 
than  two  centuries  the  Queen  of  Heaven 
deigned  in  this  favored  sanctuary  to  restore 
to  life  the  innocent  babes  who  were  brought 
before  her  altar. 

In  1 63 1  one  of  the  most  eloquent  preachers 
of  the  time,  Pere  Lefebvre,  visited  Notre  Dame 
de  Pontoise,  and,  in  accents  of  sublime  and 
heartfelt  thanksgiving,  made  known  to  his 
auditors  that  he  had  been  amongst  the  privi- 
leged babes  to  whom  the  Holy  Virgin  had 
shown  herself  so  singularly  merciful.  His 
father  had  carried  him,  a  still-born  infant,  to 
Our  Lady's  shrine,  imploring  only  that  he 
might  be  restored  to  life  for  sufficient  time  to 
receive  baptism.  But  Mary,  having  infused 
life  into  the  inanimate  body,  marked  him  as 
one  of  her  most  favored  clients.  And  as  the 
good  priest  went  on  extolling  his  celestial 
Patroness,  he  remarked  that  in  the  course  of 
his  life  many  singular  graces  had  come  to  him, 
in  the  most  visible  manner,  through  the  inter- 
vention of  the  Mother  of  God. 

In  1640  a  dreadful  plague  spread  over  many 
of  the  towns  of  France,  and  Pontoise  was 
sadly  afflicted  by  the  loss  of  a  large  number 
of.  its  inhabitants.  In  this  calamity  all  hearts 
turned  to  Mary,  and  the  people  cried  out 
spontaneously  :  "Let  us  make  an  offering  to 
Notre  Dame."  It  was  therefore  decided  that  a 
stone  statue  of  the  Madonna  and  Child  should 
be  placed  over  each  of  the  principal  entrances 
of  the  town ;  that  a  solemn  procession  should 
be  made  to  the  Church  of  Notre  Dame  for  the 


SS6 


The  Ave  Maria, 


purpose  of  offericg  to  the  Holy  Virgin  a  silver 
statue  of  the  value  of  six  hundred  francs ;  and 
the  people  likewise  promised  always  to  abstain 
on  the  eve  of  the  Immaculate  Conception. 
The  procession  was  one  of  the  grandest  mani- 
festations of  faith  which  could  be  witnessed, 
as  all  the  chronicles  of  the  time  relate.  The 
statues  placed  over  the  gates  may  still  be  seen, 
as  well  as  the  silver  image  offered  to  Our 
I<ady's  shrine.  It  was  not  long  before  Mary's 
protection  became  manifest,  and  soon  the 
dreadful  malady  had  entirely  disappeared.  A 
few  years  later  aid  was  again  implored  from 
the  Holy  Virgin  in  a  moment  of  terrible 
drought;  and  scarcely  had  the  fervent  sup- 
plications ceased  when  an  abundant  rain  fell, 
gently  fertilizing  the  parched  earth. 

So  great  and  widespread  did  the  fame  of 
this  sanctuary  become  that  in  times  of  public 
calamity  the  inhabitants  of  far-distant  towns 
often  came  in  procession  to  Wotre  Dame  de 
Pontoise,  as  to  a  sure  refuge;  and,  needless  to 
add,  Our  Lady  always  showed  herself  a  tender 
and  powerful  benefactress.  Nor  were  those 
who  sought  her  protection  in  private  afflic- 
tions less  favored ;  for,  as  the  annals  of  this 
honored  shrine  tell  us,  many  and  costly  were 
the  offerings  laid  at  her  feet  in  thanksgiving 
for  favors  received. 

These  bright  and  glorious  days  were  suc- 
ceeded by  the  Reign  of  Terror,  and  over  the 
fair  land  of  France  the  loved  sanctuaries  of 
Mary  lay  bare  and  deserted.  Notre  Dame  de 
Pontoise  shared  the  same  fate  as  the  rest.  On 
the  3d  of  July,  1790,  the  church  was  closed  to 
the  faithful  and  turned  into  a  storehouse.  All 
the  riches  of  the  shrine  were  to  be  disposed 
of  at  public  auction, — the  vestments,  silver, 
church  furniture,  pictures — all;  even  the 
miraculous  image  was  not  excluded.  A  poor 
artisan  named  Debise,  who  had  ever  been  a 
devoted  client  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  bravely 
went  forth  to  the  sale  with  the  little  money  he 
possessed,  and  returned  home  bearing  joyfully 
the  venerated  statue.  He  placed  it  in  a  qui,et 
corner  of  his  garden,  and  thither  the  faithful 
came  in  secret  to  pray  before  it.  The  contin- 
ual coming  and  going  to  the  artisan's  dwell- 
ing finally  aroused  the  suspicions  of  the 
Revolutionary  committee,  and  an  agent  was 
appointed  to  ascertain  what  took  place  at 
hese    "fanatical  meetings,"   as   they  were 


termed.  But  somehow  the  devoted  clients  of 
Mary  were  never  even  once  disturbed. 

When  the  Reign  of  Terror  had  passed 
away  and  brighter  days  began  to  dawn,  the 
Church  of  St.  Maclon,  at  Pontoise,  was  thrown 
open,  but  the  doors  of  Notre  Dame  remained 
closed.  The  pious  inhabitants  first  applied  to 
the  prefect  of  the  department,  and,  receiving 
no  reply  from  him,  wrote  a  touching  letter  to 
the  municipality  of  Pontoise.  Far  from  ob- 
taining the  grant  of  their  petitions,  it  was 
decided  that  Notre  Dame  de  Pontoise  should 
be  demolished.  At  this  announcement  the 
piety  of  the  people  took  alarm ;  the  most  dis- 
tinguished personages  of  the  town  formed  a 
deputation  and  went  to  the  prefect.  He  was 
at  last  touched  by  their  pleadings,  and  prom- 
ised the  church  should  be  preserved.  No. 
sooner  was  the  glad  news  spread  abroad  than 
Debise  at  once  offered  to  restore  the  miracu- 
lous statue,  together  with  other  things  be- 
longing to  the  shrine  which  he  had  been 
fortunate  enough  to  secure,  poor  as  he  was. 
His  generous  offer  was  accepted,  but  only  on 
condition  that  the  town  should  yearly  give 
him  three  setters  of  corn,  in  testimony  of  the 
public  gratitude  he  had  so  wtU  deserved. 

On  the  4th  of  October,  1800,  after  eight 
days  of  devout  preparation  for  the  event,  the 
loved  image  of  Mary  was  carried  back  in  tri- 
umph and  again  deposited  in  its  old  resting- 
place.  It  was  decided  that  whilst  Debise  lived 
he  should  have  special  charge  of  the  sanct- 
uary,, and  the  good  man's  joy  knew  no  bounds. 
His  sole  care  was  to  see  in  what  manner  he 
could  best  contribute  toward  the  ornamenta- 
tion of  the  shrine.  The  pious  example  of 
Debise  encouraged  others  to  follow  his  exam- 
ple, and  soon  the  sanctuary  began  to  reassume 
somewhat  of  its  old  appearance.  Processions 
and  pilgrimages  again  ware  seen  at  Notre 
Dame  de  Pontoise,  as  in  former  times;  and 
the  Immaculate  Virgin,  ever  prodigal  of  her 
gifts,  showered  down  many  blessings  on  those 
who  sought  her  aid  at  this  shrine. 

In  1849  the  cholera,  which  had  ever  spared 
Pontoise,  suddenly  appeared  in  the  town,  and 
in  a  couple  of  days  fifty  persons  were  carried 
off  by  the  terrible  scourge.  The  inhabitants 
immediately  invoked  Our  I^ady,  and  not  only 
did  the  cholera  cease  at  once,  but  all  those 
stricken  by  the  dire  malady  recovered.    In 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


557 


memory  of  this  great  favor  a  yearly  procession 
takes  place,  and  from  neighboring  and  even 
far-distant  towns  more  than  twelve  pilgrim- 
ages come  to  pay  grateful  homage  to  Notre 
Dame  de  Pontoise. 

Pontoise  has  remained  most  faithful  in  its 
devotion  to  the  Mother  of  God.  Few  thought^ 
can  be  more  consoling  and  encouraging  to  her 
devoted  clients,  when  visiting  this  sauctuary, 
than  to  recall  the  fact  that,  despite  the  many 
tribulations  which  have  befallen  it  in  past 
centuries,  Our  I^ady's  shrine  has  survived 
them  all.  Generations  have  passed  away,  rev- 
olutions have  swept  over  the  land,  but  the 
love  of  Mary  has  remained  strong  and  fresh 
in  the  hearts  of  all.  Dynasties  have  disap- 
peared, but  there,  over  the  gates  of  Pontoise, 
stand  the  images  of  the  Queen  of  Heaven,  as 
if  to  proclaim  to  each  and  all  that  those  who 
place  their  trust  in  the  powerful  intercession  of 
the  Mother  of  God  shall  never  be  confounded. 


A  Sin  and  Its  Atonement. 


(CONCIvUSlON.) 

VII. 

TIME  went  on,  and  after  the  effects  of  such 
a  hard  trial  had  passed  I  was  really  much 
happier,  and  felt  much  nearer  my  husband 
than  during  the  long  years  of  widowed  wife- 
hood. AH  conflict  of  interests,  all  fear,  all 
longing,  all  perplexity,  were  over  now  forever. 
Father  Christopher  and  I  were  always  labor- 
ing for  the  speedy  rest  of  his  beloved  soul  ; 
and  I  had  an  abiding  sense  of  its  being  well 
with  him,  that  enabled  me  to  go  cheerfully 
through  the  duties  of  my  daily  life. 

About  six  months  after  the  events  above 
related  I  received  a  packet  of  letters  from 
Mount  Carlyon.  I  opened  De  Verac's  with 
trembling  eagerness.  He  had  always  been 
most  brotherly,  and  had  often  written  to  me 
about  small  services  I  could  render  to  Edward, 
and  little  personal  wants  I  could  supply.  I 
knew  he  would  understand  what  the  things 
were  that  I  most  longed  to  hear.  His  letter 
expressed  the  deepest  regret  for  the  loss  of  his 
colleague,  and  sympathy  for  me,  who,  as  he 
expressed  it,  had  suffered  final  bereavement 
in  the  moment  which  was  to  have  brought 
reunion.  He  continued : 


"For  the  last  year  Carlyon  had  been  evi- 
dently depressed.  He  had  worked  incessantly, 
and  had  shared  all  hardships  with  his  men 
to  a  degree  which  told  on  his  health.  In 
November  he  completed  the  building  of  the 
'Margaret  Hospital,'  so  called  in  honor  of 
you ;  and  I  found  him  on  the  day  of  the  open- 
ing decorating  your  portrait  with  a  wreath  of 
laurel.  *  It  is  the  anniversary  of  our  wedding- 
day,'  he  said ;  'and  this  is  my  gift.  But  when 
shall  I  be  able  to  present  it  ? ' 

"'Carlyon,'  I  exclaimed,  'you  are  letting 
your  life  slip  by,  and  sacrificing  yourself  and 
her  too!  It  is  not  just;  it  is  not  right.  Why 
do  you  not  bring  your  wife  out  at  once?' 

"'Because  it  would  be  hauling  down  my 
colors  before  I  have  won  the  victory;  and  from 
the  beginning  I  resolved  that  I  would  never 
do.  I  have  not  yet  succeeded  in  welding  the 
colony  into  a  moral  unity.  Just  the  half  dozen 
picked  men  we  brought  out  with  us  comr 
prehend  our  principles  and  the  advantages 
of  fraternity  and  co-operation;  but  look  at 
the  young  generation!  In  spite  of  the  good 
education  we  give  them,  they  are  growing  up 
as  selfish  as  young  pigs ;  and  the  women  are 
the  worst  of  all.  If  Catholicism  were  repre- 
sented in  the  leader's  own  household  by  a 
woman  of  the  strength  and  sweetness  and 
religious  fervor  of  my  Margaret,  half  of  them 
would  become  Catholics,  and  the  other  half 
would  violently  abuse  them,  and  demand  their 
own  religious  rights ;  and  there  would  be  an 
end  of  all  that  union  which  is  strength.  But  I 
do  sometimes  wonder,'  he  concluded,  mourn- 
fully, 'whether  what  I  shall  really  achieve 
will  be  worth  all  that  I  have  sacrificed.' 

"I  argued  and  pleaded  in  vain:  the  mo- 
ment of  confidence  had  passed,  and  he  silenced 
me  with  his  favorite  proverb,  uttered  in  the 
most  determined  tone :  'All  things  come  round 
to  him  who  knows  to  wait.' 

"About  five  months  after  that  conversation, 
as  I  was  returning  to  the  settlement  late  at 
night,  I  heard  a  great  row  going  on  in  our 
large  timber-shanty,  situated  at  the  extreme 
limit  of  our  territory.  I  crept  along  the  pal- 
ings to  a  little  'lean- to,'  where  I  could  hear 
without  being  seen.  There,  standing  on  a 
bairel,  surrounded  by  an  excited  audience, 
was  Josiah  Gudgeon,  an  Anabaptist  preacher, 
possessed  of  a  certain  rugged,  vivid  eloquence, 


558 


The  Ave  Maria, 


haranguing  at  least  half  the  inhabitants  of 
Mount  Carlyon  on  the  soul-destroying  tyranny 
which  refused  them  a  conventicle  in  which 
they  could  worship  God  after  their  own  con- 
science, and  sowing  broadcast  seeds  of  re- 
bellion and  fanatical  hate,  which  threatened 
the  destruction  of  all  our  prosperity.  And 
there  were  our  fellows,  who  owed  everything 
to  our  ejBforts  and  sacrifices,  giving  lively 
tokens  of  assent  and  applause. 

I  rushed  home,  feeling  some  satisfaction  in 
the  thought  that  this  outbreak  would  dispel 
once  and  forever  Carlyon' s  Utopian  theories 
about  the  basis  on  which  all  men  could  work 
in  union.  I  burst  into  his  room,  exclaiming, 
'You  won't  have  to  haul  down  your  flag, 
Carlyon!  It  has  been  done  for  you  already 
with  a  vengeance.'  And  I  proceeded  to  give 
him  a  full  account  of  all  I  had  heard  and  seen. 
He  turned  perfectly  white,  sat  in  dumb  silence 
several  minutes,  then  said,  in  a  voice  which 
sounded  hollow  and  broken:, 'I  have  at- 
tempted the  impossible.  We  will  all  meet 
to-morrow  and  consider  what  is  the  next  step 
to  be  taken.' 

"The  result  of  that  conference  was  that  we 
all  agreed  that  if  we  must  have  some  religious 
influence  at  Mount  Carylon,  it  neither  could 
nor  should  be  any  thing  but  the  Catholic  faith. 
Carlyon  spoke  in  his  usual  frank,  straight- 
forward way  of  the  immense  sacrifice  he  had 
made  for  the  good  of  the  colony,  and  his  wish 
now  to  go  immediately  to  Scotland  to  fetch 
his  wife,  and  make  the  necessary  arrangements 
for  a  Catholic  chapel.  We  were  all  unanimous 
in  our  adhesion  to  his  views  and  wishes ;  and 
the  special  object  of  the  visit  to  the  Old 
World,  which  has  ended  so  disastrously,  was 
to  bring  all  this  about. 

"These  were  your  husband's  last  wishes; 
and,  though  I  do  not  attempt  to  conceal  from 
you  we  are  asking  you  to  take  up  a  very 
difficult  position,  in  the  midst  of  what  greatly 
resembles  a  wasp's  nest,  if  you  are  still  what 
I  remember  you  in  Paris,  no  fear  of  pain  or 
peril  will  hinder  you  from  fulfilling  them.  If, 
as  the  account  of  his  death  seems  to  indicate, 
Carlyon' s  son  and  natural  heir  is  a  Catholic 
priest,  the  solution  of  our  religious  difficulties 
lies  in  a  nutshell." 

"This  explains  the  words  he  let  fall  when 
he  was  wandering,"  said  Father  Christopher, 


after  reading  the  letter.  "I  caught  distinctly 
'go  back  and  build  a  church,'  and  then  some- 
thing about  'those  scoundrels.'  Mother,  we 
must  fulfil  his  intention  as  soon  as  possible. 
This  will  be  the  final  making  all  things 
right." 

The  other  letters  were  from  Edward's  col- 
leagues, on  business  matters.  They  were  most 
anxious  to  carry  out  his  will,  which  left  to  me 
all  monies  not  actually  sunk  in  the  works  of 
the  colony.  But  the  whole  property  was  so 
inextricably  mixed  up  with  the  affairs  of  the 
colony  that  it  was  imperative  my  son  and  I 
should  come  over  and  settle  some  difficulties 
which  could  not  be  solved  by  letter.  I  was 
assured  of  a  most  hearty  welcome  from  those 
who  owed  their  prosperity  to  Mr.  Carlyon' s 
efforts  and  sacrifices.  The  men  declared  that 
they  were  in  a  peck  of  trouble,  resulting  from 
having  staved  off  the  religious  question  too 
long;  and  that  they  would  willingly  lend 
their  aid  in  establishing  the  only  religion, 
which,  if  they  could  not  believe,  at  least  they 
respected. 

In  two  months  from  that  time  we  sailed  for 
Mount  Carlyon,  taking  with  us  all  the  requi- 
sites for  immediately  opening  a  small  chapel. 
The  old  brilliant  dream  of  youth  was  taken 
up  in  middle  age.  Tolerance  at  best,  and  open 
hostility  at  worst,  were  to  be  our  portion ;  and 
possibly,  after  much  humiliation  and  suffer- 
ing, we  shall  see  but  little  fruit  in  my  lifetime. 
But  of  the  final  success  neither  my  son  nor  I 
have  the  faintest  shadow  of  a  doubt,  for  our 
hope  is  founded  on  the  victory  of  the  Cross. 
My  saintly  son,  in  his  utter  unworldliness  and 
humility,  will  set  the  seal  upon  his  father's 
work,  which  without  it  would  evidently 
crumble  into  dust. 

Fulget  crucis  mysterium! 


ADDENDUM,  BY    A.  M.  M'P. 

This  MS. ,  written  at  the  request  of  her  fam- 
ily, was  entrusted  to  me  by  my  aunt,  Margaret 
Carlyon,  with  the  strict  injunction  that  it  was 
not  to  be  published  till  after  her  decease,  and 
that  of  her  son.  It  is  now  six  months  since 
we  received  the  tidings  of  her  death,  in  what 
one  may  almost  call  the  odor  of  sanctity. 

The  difficulties  in  the  way  of  establishing 
the  Catholic  faith  at  Mount  Carlyon  have 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


559 


I 


been  overcome  in  a  marvellous  manner.  When 
■she  and  my  cousin,  Father  Christopher,  first 
went  out,  they  were  assailed  with  the  bitter- 
•est  hostility  by  those  who  were  determined 
to  make  the  place  "too  hot  to  hold  them." 
Father  Christopher's  first  act  was  to  take  the 
letter  of  recommendation  from  his  Bishop 
in  Edinburgh  to  the  Bishop  in  whose  juris- 
diction Mount  Carlyon  lies,  and  place  himself 
utterly  at  his  disposal.  The  moment  the  old 
missionary  Bishop  looked  on  the  face  of  the 
young  priest  he  seemed  to  recognize  in  him 
the  instrument  sent  by  Providence  for  plant- 
ing the  banner  of  the  Cross  on  this  hitherto 
impregnable  fortress  of  unbelief.  "Go,  my 
son,"  he  said  at  last,  after  keeping  him  with 
him  several  hours ;  * '  and  as  the  first  Mass  of 
your  priesthood,  we  may  humbly  believe, 
secured  the  salvation  of  your  father's  soul, 
may  the  first  Mass  you  offer  at  Mount  Car- 
lyon turn  aside  the  judgments  of  God,  and 
convert  them  into  blessings  on  your  father's 
work!" 

My  Aunt  Margaret  immediately  took  pos- 
session of  the  hospital  which  had  been  built 
by  Mr.  Carlyon,  and  devoted  herself  with  such 
assiduity  and  skill  to  nursing  all  the  sick 
of  the  colony,  that  prejudice  and  opposition 
crumbled  away  before  her.  Her  chief  charac- 
teristic seems  to  have  been  a  sweet  cheerful- 
ness, which  nothing  could  exhaust;  and  for 
years  past  she  has  been  looked  up  to  aS  a  sort 
of  mother  of  the  whole  community.  She  has 
had  the  joy  of  seeing  the  saintliness  and  hid- 
den gifts  of  her  son  acknowledged  by  learned 
and  simple ;  and  of  building  a  church,  where 
Our  Lord  is  truly  worshipped.  Father  Chris- 
topher's special  gift  is  in  the  confessional,  and 
people  come  from  distant  settlements  to  open 
their  hearts  to  him. 

The  three  remaining  founders  always 
treated  my  aunt  with  the  greatest  respect; 
and  one,  M.  de  Verac,  said  of  her  that  he  had 
never  before  seen  a  woman  of  such  power, 
such  sweetness,  and  such  indomitable  courage. 
Perhaps  one  of  the  greatest  joys  of  her  life 
was  the  conversion  of  this  old  friend  of  her 
husband's  to  the  Catholic  faith. 

We  had  letters  from  her  written  two  months 
before  her  death,  speaking  of  her  happiness, 
and  the  peaceful  life  she  was  leading,  after  so 
many  storms,  under  the  shadow  of  her  priestly 


son's  ministry.  She  died  quite  .suddenly  in 
the  midst  of  her  work,  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
two,  in  full  possession  of  all  her  faculties,  the 
remains  of  her  youthful  beauty  .still  lingering 
on  her  venerable  countenance.  The  grateful 
people  are  having  a  memorial  window  painted 
for  their  church,  in  w  hich  the  namesof  Edward 
and  Margaret  Carlyon  will  be  united,  as  au- 
thors of  the  prosperity  of  the  settlement. 

After  taking  advice  of  those  qualified  to 
give  it,  I  feel  justified  in  presenting  this  his- 
tory to  the  public,  though  Father  Christopher 
is  still  alive.  He  -moves  in  a  sphere  far  out  of 
reach  of  seeing  or  hearing  this  narrative, 
veiled  as  it  is  with  di.sguised  names.  I  can 
not  but  think  there  are  powerful  motives  both 
for  fear  and  hope  in  this  true  story  of  Mary's 
rescue  of  a  soul. 


Will  They  Remember? 

BY   FI,ORA   L,  STANFIEIvD. 

I  Pi  F  all  our  prayers  how  many  did  we  give 

M^  •        For  souls  in  pain  ? 

Through  all  the  days  how  meekly  did  we  live 

That  they  might  gain .? 
From  all  our  garden  what  bud  did  we  lay 

Upon  a  bier  1 
Among  the  jewels  glittering  in  our  way 

Where  was  a  tear? 

Pale  hands  were  fluttering  through  the  gathering 
gloom. 
And  silent  lips  were  moving.  We  were  blind. 
'Twas  chill  within  the  shadow  of  the  tomb. 

We  turned  away — we  would  not  keep  in  mind 
The  gentle  friends  we  lost.   ' '  There  is  no  thought 
To  give  to  them,"  we  said  ;  "a  thousand  cares 
Are  by  each  day  in  sad  November  brought. 
Some  other  time  the  dead  shall  have  our  prayers ; 
In  some  November 
We  will  remember. ' ' 

Some  other  time?  Some  other  time  will  come 

When  we,  perchance,  will  reach  out  feeble  hands, 
And  try  to  speak,  and  find  that  we  are  dumb, 

And  our  friends  deaf  and  held  with  iron  bands 
To  blinding  duties,  so  they  can  not  ^ee 

The  pallid  lips  which  fain  would  beg  a  tear. 
O  in  that  other  time  for  you  and  me. 

When  wintry  heralds  of  the  passing  year 
Bring  in  November, 
Will  they  remember  ? 


560 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  Middle  Ages  not  a  Starless  Night. 


BY  THE   REV.  REUBEN  PARSONS,  D.  D. 


SO  widespread  is  the  notion  that  the  Middle 
Ages  furnish  no  material  for  admiration, 
that  their  very  name  appears  synonymous 
with  all  that  is  dark,  cruel,  and  contemptible. 
The  nineteenth  century  is  pre-eminently  well 
pleased  with  itself;  the  eighteenth — that  is, 
the  philosophasters  who  gave  it  its  tone — 
vaunted  that  period  as  the  bright  one ;  the  sev- 
enteenth and  sixteenth  complacently  smile'd 
at  the  prospect  of  an  era  of  prosperity,  univer- 
sal and  nearly  unalloyed,  finally  opening  to 
humanity.  Then  there  were  the  Reformation, 
and  the  "philosophy"  of  the  last  century, 
each  proposing  the  demolition  of  the  civil  and 
religious  hierarchies,  to  increase  contempt  for 
the  Middle  Ages. 

In  our  own  day,  even  among  Catholics,  we 
find  many  who  distrust  this  eminently  Cath- 
olic period;  for  the  poison  distilled  by  the 
Reformers,  and  by  the  infidel  or  semi-infidel 
historians  of  the  last  century,  has  been  eagerly 
imbibed  by  many  who  are  deceived  by  the 
speciousness  of  its  disguise,  and  by  the  igno- 
rant who  know  not  of  an  antidote.  There  is, 
for  many,  a  certain  charm  about  Voltaire,  even 
when  he  says  that  an  inquiry  into  the  Middle 
Ages  produces  contempt;  about  Gibbon,  when, 
overcome  by  his  admiration  for  pagan  Rome, 
he  feigns  to  lament  the  corruption  of  the 
ensuing  centuries ;  about  Montesquieu,  when 
he  styles  nearly  all  the  mediaeval  laws  bar- 
barous; about  Botta,  finding  fault  with  the 
miserable  time  when  society  was  regulated  by 
the  promises  and  threats  of  a  future  life.  We 
are  not  disgusted  with  the  nineteenth  century, 
nor  do  we  regard  the  Middle  Ages  as  enviable 
in  every  respect ;  but,  with  Montalembert,  we 
regret  the  divine  spirit  by  which  they  were 
animated,  and  which  is  no  longer  to  be  found 
in  the  institutions  that  have  replaced  them. 

The  remark  of  De  Maistre,  that  for  the  last 
three  centuries  history  has  been  a  permanent 
conspiracy  against  truth,  is  now  not  quite  so 
true  as  when  he  made  it.  The  labors  of  such 
Protestants  as  Ranke,  Voigt,  and  Hurter,  have 
somewhat  changed  the  current  of  Protestant 
thought,  wherever  it  has  been  unallied  with 


wilful  blindness.  What  Ranke,  in  spite  of  him- 
self,* partially  did  for  the  Papacy  of  the  six- 
teenth and  seventeenth  centuries,  Voigt  did 
more  fully  for  the  Popes  of  the  eleventh,  and 
Hurter  almost  completely  did  for  those  of  the 
twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries.  The  shelves 
of  Catholic  libraries  had  been  alwaj''S  loaded 
with  triumphant  refutations  of  Protestant  and 
infidel  calumnies  against  the  ages  of  faith ; 
every  Catholic  scholar  had  been  conversant 
with  these  works,  but  the  great  mass  of  those 
outside  the  fold  were  in  Cimmerian  darkness 
as  to  the  real  significance  of  those  ages.  We 
could  not  have  expected  the  prejudices  of  our 
dissenting  friends  to  permit  of  their  studying 
the  pages  of  authors  like  Cantu,  Semichon,  or 
Christophe ;  but  Providence  willed  that  they 
should  be  enlightened  by  some  of  their  own 
brethren.  However,  the  impression  still  re- 
mains among  the  masses — to  some  extent 
among  Catholics  as  well  as  among  Protes- 
tants and  infidels — that  there  is  but  little  for 
men  to  learn  from  the  Middle  Ages;  that 
these  were  pre-eminently  ages  of  barbarism 
and  superstition. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  barbarism,  remarks 
Condillac:  one  which  precedes  enlightened 
periods,  and  another  which  follows  them. 
And,  well  adds  Benjamin  Constant,  the  first, 
if  compared  with  the  second,  is  a  desirable  con- 
dition. Deeply  hostile  to  the  ages  of  Catholic 
unity-^to  that  period  to  which  they  would 
fain  ascribe  the  adulteration  of  primitive 
Christianity, — heterodox  polemics  have  not 
adverted  to  the  ungraciousness  of  an  accusa- 
tion of  barbarism  brought  against  the  Middle 
Ages  by  men  who  regard  as  enlightened  the 
times  which  produced  Henry  VIII.,  Elizabeth, 
and  Cromwell,  in  England ;  which  tolerated 
the  civil  wars  of  the  sixteenth  century  in 
France;  which  have  witnessed  the  modern 
Wars  of  Succession,  and  more  than  one  Reign 
of  Terror.  And  whence  came  the  amount  of 


*  Saint-Cheron,  in  his  preface  to  his  second  French 
edition  of  Ranke' s  work,  says  that  the  German  au- 
thor was  not  a  little  disappointed  on  observing  the 
hearty  reception  accorded  to  his  book  by  the  Cath- 
olic public,  and  on  finding  it  acting  as  "an  active 
organ  of  a  propaganda  in  favor  of  the  misunderstood 
authority  of  the  heads  of  our  holy  Church. ...  In 
spite  of  him,  the  divine  face,  which  he  tried  to  leave 
in  shadow,  has  been  illumined  by  the  splendor  of 
truth." 


I 


The  Ave  Maria, 


S6i 


cruelty  and  injustice-  which  so  many  com- 
placent moderns  deem  characteristic  of  the 
Middle  Ages?  The  ignorant  and  malignant 
ascribe  it  to  the  Catholic  clergy,  ignoring  the 
innate  barbarism  of  the  Northern  hordes  and 
the  posterior  civilization  of  these  by  the  same 
Catholic  clergy. 

The  fact  is  also  ignored  that,  while  nearly 
every  ruin  on  European  soil  was  made  such 
either  by  the  pagan  invaders  or  by  heretics, 
nearly  all  the  miracles  of  architectural  skill  and 
beauty  now  admired  in  Europe  are  the  work 
of  the  Middle  Ages — conceptions  of  Catholic 
minds  and  results  of  Catholic  generosity. 
As  for  the  barbarism  so  justly  lamented  when 
and  where  it  did  exist,  blind  injustice  alone 
can  ascribe  it  to  the  Catholic  clergy ;  for  these 
were  always  the  first  victims  of  the  barbarians. 
Their  churches,  monasteries,  and  libraries 
were  sacked  and  burned,  the  priests  and  monks 
often  ruthlessly  massacred.  And  how  ungrate- 
ful is  this  charge,  since  it  was  the  Catholic 
clergy  who  transformed  the  devastating  beasts 
into  men  and  Christians;  who  repaired  the 
damage  inflicted,  and  preserved  all  of  civiliza- 
tion that  they  themselves  had  not  created! 

We  are  told  that  the  Middle  Ages  were 
distinguished  for  oppression  of  the  individual; 
but  in  those  days  originated  the  political  con- 
stitutions of  modern  nations.  *  *  I  say  nothing, ' ' 
writes  Cantu,  "about  the  Canon  lyaw,  which 
was  an  immense  advance  in  mercy  and  equity, 
and  in  which  brute  force  was  first  opposed  by 
discussion,  baronial  caprice  by  written  law ; 
in  which,  for  the  first  time,  all  were  declared 
equal  before  the  law.  Then  England  wrote 
her  Charta, — imperfect,  yes;  but  not  yet  ex- 
celled or  equalled;  and  which,  although 
founded  on  feudalism,  so  well  guarantees  per- 
sonal and  real  liberty.  Then  the  commercial 
republics  of  Italy  compiled  a  maritime  code, 
which  is  still  in  force.  Then  the  various  com- 
munes provided  themselves  with  statutes, 
which  appear  curious  only  to  those  who  know 
nothing  of  those  times  and  places.  Then  the 
republics  of  Italy,  Germany,  and  Switzerland, 
experimented  with  every  kind  of  political 
regime,  trying  constitutions  not  at  all  aca- 
demical,— constitutions  adopted,  not  because 
they  were  English  or  Spanish,  but  because 
they  were  opportune  and  historical.  Then  the 
middle  class,  showing  the  best  indication  of 


strength — growth,  caused  by  resistance, — 
penetrated  into  the  monarchy,  giving  to  it  life, 
force,  and  glory;  and  although  the  present 
and  future  importance  of  this  class  was  not 
understood,  it  became  the  people,  the  nation, 
the  sovereign. 

"Observe  the  Congress  of  Pontida,"  con- 
tinues Cantii ;  "or  the  Peace  of  Constance,  or 
the  nocturnal  meetings  under  the  oak  of 
Truns  or  in  the  meadows  of  Rutli;  where 
simple-minded  men  swear,  in  the  name  of  that 
God  who  created  both  serf  and  noble,  to  main- 
tain their  customs  and  their  country's  free- 
dom. Observe  those  synods  in  which  religion 
makes  herself  guardian  of  the  rights  of  man. 
Observe  the  people  at  the  witena-gemot  in 
England ;  at  the  French  Champs  de  Mai;  at 
the  diets  of  Roncaglia ;  or  at  that  of  Ivamego, 
where  a  new  nation  draws  up  the  constitution 
of  Portugal — more  liberal  than  some  modem 
ones, — with  a  throne  surrounded  by  a  nobility 
not  derived  from  conquest,  not  founded  on 
possessions  or  bought  with  money,  but  con- 
ferred on  those  who  have  been  true  to  Church 
and  country.  And  these  laws  were  confirmed 
because  they  vi^x^  good  a.nd  Jusi, — conditions 
ignored  by  the  ancient  jurists  and  forgotten 
by  many  modern  ones." 

A  very  efficient  reason  for  that  hostility  to 
the  Middle  Ages  which  i^  evinced  by  nearly 
all  Protestant  writers  and  by  all  materialists, 
is  the  fact  that  those  days  formed  the  golden 
period  of  monasticism, — a  system  which  is  as 
much  a  part  of  the  history  of  the  human  mind 
as  it  is  of  ecclesiastical  history,  and  which 
must  necessarily  find  an  enemy  in  the  spirit 
of  the  world.  Of  Eastern  birth,  and  at  first 
unacceptable  to  the  Westerns,  the  influence 
of  St.  Athanasius,  who  had  studied  its  spirit 
during  his  exile,  introduced  it  to  Rome,  and 
in  less  than  two  centuries  it  was  spread 
throughout  the  Empire.  With  the  sixth  cen- 
tury came  the  great  monastic  legislators,  SS. 
Benedict  and  Columbanus ;  and  new  rules, 
providing  every  constituent  of  wise  govern- 
ment, enabled  the  monks  to  survive  the  influ- 
ence of  barbarism,  and  to  become  the  refuge 
of  virtue  and  enlightenment. 

The  twelfth  century  beheld  the  hitherto 
unimagined  spectacle  of  an  alliance  between 
the  religious  vocation  and  the  military  profes- 
sion,— the  genius  of  the  age  directing  valor 


56; 


The  Ave  Maria. 


against  the  enemies  of  the  faith,  while  the 
soldier  observed  his  monastic  vows  amid  the 
duties  of  the  field.  The  Knights  Hospitallers 
of  St.  John — afterward  styled  of  Rhodes,  and 
finally  of  Malta:  the  Templars— in  time  cor- 
rupted and  at  length  suppressed,  but  for  a  long 
period  a  glory  of  Chrihtendom  ;  the  Teutonic 
Order — at  first  devoted  to  the  care  of  the  sick 
poor,  but  soon  arming  for  the  civilization  of 
Northern  Germany;*  the  Knights  of  Cala- 
trava,  of  Alcantara,  of  St.  James,  and  many 
other  associations,  were  probably  the  most 
ef&cient  of  all  the  human  means  used  by  the 
Roman  Pontiffs  in  their  struggle  to  preserve 
European  civilization.  And,  then,  with  the 
thirteenth  century  came  the  mendicant  orders, 
devoted  to  the  combat  against  the  errors  and 
vices  of  the  Albigenses  and  other  innovators 
of  the  perio'd.  Since  wealth  had  caused  the 
discredit  of  many  of  the  olden  religious,  SS. 
Francis  and  Dominic  prohibited  every  kind  of 
property,  even  in  common,  to  their  disciples ; 
and  although  this  severity  lasted  but  a  short 
time,  these  friars  obtained  and  preserved,  by 
their  general  virtue  and  zeal,  the  esteem  of 
Church  and  State. 

What  service  did  these  religious   render 


*  During  the  pontificate  of  Innocent  III.  (1198- 
1216)  Christian,  a  Cistercian  monk,  introduced  Chris^ 
tianity  into  yet  idolatrous  Prussia;  and  in  1214,  on 
his  visit  to  the  Holy  See,  was  made  bishop  of  that 
region.  Returning,  he  found  his  cotiverts  relapsed 
into  idolatry  and  at  war  with  the  Christians  of  Culm, 
having  already  destroyed  over  two  hundred  churches. 
As  a  measure  of  defence.  Christian  instituted  the 
Military  Order  of  Christ ;  but  in  1224  the  knights,  five 
only  excepted,  were  killed  in  battle.  Christian  then 
peri-uaded  Conrad,  Duke  of  Mazovia,  to  implore  the 
aid  of  the  Knights  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Germans, 
commonly  called  Teutonic  Knights.  Conrad  ceded  to 
the  Order  all  the  lands  it  could  subdue.  In  fifty  j  ears 
Prussia,  Lithuania,  and  Pomerania  were  conquered. 
Into  this  Order  the  reigning  families  of  Germany 
proudly  enrolled  their  sons;  it  soon  reached  the 
height  of  power,  but  in  time  fell  into  debauchery  and 
tyranuy.  Its  last  grand  master,  Albert  of  Branden- 
burg, yielded  to  the  temptation  of  Luther  to  convert 
his  power  into  a  secular  principality, — a  temptation 
which  another  Albert  of  Brandenburg,  his  kinsman 
and  Archbishop  of  Mentz  and  Magdeburg,  had  re- 
sisted. He  stole  nearly  all  the  property  of  the  Order, 
became  a  Protestant,  married  the  Princess  Dorothy 
of  Holsteiu,  and  divided  his  Prussian  territories  with 
Poland,  swearing  allegiance  to  the  latter  kingdom 
for  the  portion  reserved  to  himself,  and  thus  founding 
the  present  Kingdom  of  Prussia. 


society?  In  the  first  place,  agriculture,  the 
source  of  all  real  wealth,  grew  to  be  respected 
by  our  ancestors,  because  of  the  example  of 
the  monks.  Fleury,  speaking  of  the  work  of 
the  monks  in  Germany,  says:  "They  were 
useful  in  the  temporal  order,  owing  to  the 
labor  of  their  hands.  They  levelled  the  vast 
forests  which  covered  the  land.  By  their  in- 
dustry and  wise  management  the  earth  was 
cultivated  ;  the  inhabitants  multiplied ;  the 
monasteries  produced  great  cities,  and  their 
dependencies  became  considerable  provinces. 
What  were  once  Bremen  and  the  new  Corbie, 
now  two  great  towns?  What  were  Fritzlar, 
Herfeld,  cities  of  Thuringia?  Before  the 
monks,  what  were  Saltzburg,  Frisengen,  Ech- 
stadt,  episcopal  cities  of  Bavaria?  What  were 
so  many  other  cities  of  Germany?"  * 

Secondly,  the  monks  aided  the  poor  and 
oppressed.  Even  Voltaire  admits  that  "for  a 
long  time  it  was  a  consolation  for  the  human 
race  that  these  refuges  were  open  to  those 
who  wished  to  e.'-cape  Gothic  and  Vandal 
tyranny."  t 

Thirdly,  the  monks  cultivated  letters.  They 
were  constantly  at  work  transcribing  and 
perpetuating  such  monuments  of  intellect  as 
the  barbarians  had  spared.  "I  declare,"  wrote 
Cassiodorus  to  his  monks  of  Viviers,"that  of 
all  bodily  labors  the  copying  of  books  is  the 
most  to  mj'-  taste."  Without  that  jealous  love 
of  their  libraries  which  caused  the  monks  to 
say  that  "a  cloister  without  a  library  is  like 
a  citadel  without  weapons,"  w^e  should  to- day 
possess  not  one  monument  of  ancient  lore.  % 


*  Discourse  iii,  num.  22. 

t  "Spirit  and  Customs  of  Nations,"  vol.  iii. 

X  The  most  eminent  archaeologist  of  modern  France, 
M.  Charles  Lenormant,  speaking  of  the  gigantic 
historical  tasks  accomplished  by  the  Benedictines, 
says:  "Subordination  of  agents  in  a  common  direc- 
tion, division  of  the  one  task  among  many  workmen — 
a  division  proportioned  to  the  ext^^ntof  the  work, — are 
primary  conditions  for  every  -great  historical  under- 
taking. All  such  enterprises  as  are  very  exact  and 
very  extensive  have  been  the  work  of  religious  bodies. 
In  these  bodies  alone  have  been  found  men  with  a 
spirit  of  self-denial  sufiicitnt  to  renounce  the  joys  of 
personal  fame.  .  .  .  Here  facts  speak  more  eloquently 
than  argument.  The  Revolution,  by  destroying  the 
Benedictine  Order,  put  an  end  to  the  great  records  of 
our  history.  Of  these  works  some,  such  as  '  Christian 
Gaul'  and  the  'Arnals  of  the  Order  of  St.  Benedict* 
and  the  '  Letters  of  the  Popes,'  have  not  been  resumed 


I 


The  Ave  Maria, 


563 


History  especially  owes  everything  to  the 
monks,  who  not  only  preserved  all  records  of 
the  far  past,  but  minutely  recorded  the  events 
of  their  own  day.  In  all  the  great  monasteries 
an  exact  and  able  writer  was  appointed  to 
keep  this  record,  and  after  mature  examina- 
tion the  chronicle  was  handed  down  to  pos- 
terity. Italy  owes  all  knowledge  of  her  history 
to  her  innumerable  cowled  chroniclers ;  France 
is  a  similar  debtor  to  Ado  of  Vienne,  William 
of  St.  Germer,  Odoric  of  St.  Ev'roul,  both 
Aimoins,  and  Hugh  of  Flavigny ;  England  to 
Bede,  Ingulph,  William  of  Malmesbury,  and 
the  two  Matthews  of  Westminster  and  Paris  ; 
Germany  to  Rhegino,  Wittikind,  I^ambert  of 
Aschaffenburg,  Ditmar,  aud  Hermann  Con- 
tractus. 

In  fine,  so  assiduously  did  the  monks  of  the 
Middle  Ages  cultivate  letters  and  every  branch 
of  science,  that  the  slow  progress  of  these, 
during  the  early  portion  of  that  period,  can 
be  ascribed  only  to  the  then  existing  political 
situation  of  Christendom.  The  most  brilliant 
results  of  intellectual  culture  depend  on  the 
lot  of  states;  for  only  when  government  is 


[they  have,  since  I,enormant  wrote].  Others  have 
been  continued  by  the  Institute,  but  slowly  and  im- 
perfectly. In  confiding  to  the  Institute  the  prosecu- 
tion of  the  work  of  the  Benedictines,  and  providing 
generously  for  its  expenses,  the  State  believed  all  had 
been  done  ;  but,  despite  the  fixity  of  the  academies, 
and  the  often  admirable  zeal  of  their  members,  no 
equivalent  has  been  found  for  the  continuous,  per- 
severing, and  multiple  action  of  the  monks.  An  equi- 
table discernment  has  not  guided  the  choice  of  editors. 
Political  considerations  and  momentary  interest  have 
entered  into  the  task  ;  and  the  consequence  has  been 
an  unequal  mass,  an  incoherent  agglomeration  of 
excellent  and  inferior  volumes.  And  remember  that 
there  was  a  question  merely  of  printing  manuscripts. 
What,  then,  would  have  been  the  result  if  the  Insti- 
tute had  undertaken  the  composition  of  great  works 
like  those  of  the  Benedictines?  I  show  only  the  ex- 
terior inconveniences  of  the  actual  organization  of 
science  ;  I  do  not  push  the  lantern  into  its  innermost 
recesses.  I  could  have  given  a  deplorable  tableau  of 
the  combats  of  vanity  or  of  want  against  the  coun- 
sels of  duty.  .  .  .  When  I  behold  an  attempt  at  a  new 
organization,  at  the  base  of  which  there  is  a  little 
honor,  and  much  security  for  those  who  devote  them- 
selves to  science,  then  I  will  admit  that  great  histori- 
cal works  can  be  produced  by  a  lay  society."  (See  this 
writer's  "Iv'' Association  Religieuse  dans  la  Society 
Chretienne,"§  xix,  Paris,  1844.  The  Benedictines  to 
whose  labors  he  specially  alludes  were  indeed  pos- 
terior to  the  Middle  Ages,  but  his  judgments  are 
strictly  applicable  to  their  mediaeval  predecessors.) 


somewhat  settled  do  men  readily  turn  to  the 
Muses.  Nevertheless,  very  many  of  the  medi- 
aeval monks  would  have  honored  the  reign  of 
Pope  Leo  X.  Science  can  show  no  more  de- 
voted or  brilliaat  disciples  than  Gerbert  (Pope 
Sylvester  II.),  Albert  the  Great,  or  Roger 
Bacon.  Of  the  first,  the  inventor  of  the  wheel 
and  weight  clock,  and  the  projector  of  the 
telescope,  D'  Alerabert  well  said  that  he  who 
first  thus  used  wheels  aad  weights  would 
have  invented  watches  in  another  age ;  and  if 
Gerbert  had  lived  in  the  time  of  Archimedes, 
perhaps  he  would  have  equalled  that  mecha- 
nician. Messrs.  Guyot  and  Lacroix,  in  their 
"Histoire  des  Proletaires, "  one  of  the  most 
bitterly  anti-Christian  works  of  our  day,  are 
constrained  to  speak  as  follows  concerning 
monastic  labors  in  the  Middle  Ages : 

"A  Benedictine  monastery  was  a  barrack 
for  work  and  prayer,  but  the  time  devoted  to 
labor  shows  the  special  characteristic  of  the 
Western  monasteries.  A  monastery  was  an 
insurance  company,  and  also  an  industrial  and 
agricultural  association.  Certain  works  re- 
quired great  enterprise  and  a  great  cohesion 
of  forces.  During  the  Merovingian  period 
credit  did  not  exist ;  shares  and  stocks  were 
unknown.  But  the  monks  established  some- 
thing similar.  There  was  plenty  of  land,  and 
the  elements  for  its  utilization  were  at  hand ; 
but  men  feared  the  desert,  the  swamp,  and 
the  forest;  for  the  redemption  of  these  was 
apparently  above  human  strength.  Then,  like 
the  American  pioneers  of  to-day,  came  the 
monks.  They  selected  a  valley  or  some  pro- 
pitious spot ;  they  set  to  work,  levelling  the 
trees,  draining  the  swamps,  and  founded  an 
agricultural  colony.  All  this  the  monks  did 
by  association ;  they  formed  veritable  indus- 
trial societies.  Among  the  most  celebrated 
were  the  Bridge- Building  Friars  {Fratres  Pon- 
tifices),  who  daringly  threw  bridges  over  the 
torrents  throughout  Southern  France.  These 
constructed  the  Bridge  of  Saint- Esprit  across 
the  Rhone."* 

Until  comparatively  late  days  few  historians 
admitted  that  the  Middle  Ages  merited  serious 


*  Guyot  and  I,acroix  describe  the  vast  possessions 
of  the  Abbey  of  St.  Germain  des-Pres,  which,  at  the 
time  of  Louis  le  Debounaire,  had  a  radius  of  forty 
leagues  around  Paris,  and  every  foot  of  which  the 
monks  had  reclaimed  froA  the  desert. 


sH 


The  Ave  Maria, 


investigation.  Many  of  these  generally  suc- 
cessful formers  of  public  opinion  held  that  even 
the  land  of  Dante  and  Petrarch  was  buried  in 
densest  ignorance  until  the  fall  of  Constanti- 
nople caused  Grecian  scholars  to  claim  her 
hospitality;  as  though,  says  Cantu,  "not  a 
painter  had  flourished  before  Cimabue,  and  no 
artist  merited  notice  until  the  favor  of  some 
prince  created  Michael  Angelo  and  Raphael! 
As  though  the  I  talians  had  lost  even  the  re- 
membrance of  their  ancient  laws,  until,  during 
some  devastation,  a  copy  of  the  'Pandects' 
was  unearthed !  As  though  only  a  capricious 
jargon  was  written  and  spoken  until  the  pres- 
ent Italian  language  was  improvised,  and — 
like  armed  Minerva  from  the  brain  of  Jove — 
issued  forth,  wonderful  virgin,  to  influence  the 
entire  universe!"  * 

But  with  the  indefatigable  labors  of  Cardi- 
nal Baronio,  who,  from  the  monuments  of  the 
Vatican,  methodically  and  lucidly  extended 
the  "Annals  of  the  Church" — and  precisely, 
therefore,  of  what  was  then  the  civilized  world, 
— new  light  was  shed  upon  the  intellectual 
condition  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Much  more 
knowledge  was  contributed  by  Muratori,  a  dili- 
gent and  critical  annalist,  to  whom,  more  than 
to  all  other  sources,  modern  historians  must 
refer.  Tiraboschi,  Maffei,  Cantu,  Du  Cange, 
Tillemont,  Pertz,  Leo,  and  Moeller,  may  be 
consulted  with  profit.  As  for  English  histori- 
ans of  the  Middle  Ages,  several  are  pretentious, 
few  recommendable.  Gibbon,  certainly  most 
renowned  of  them  all,  is  erudite,  a  persevering 
hunter  for  new  sources,  and  an  artful  poser  of 
figures  on  his  canvas  so  that  they  may  mean 
what  he  would  wish  them  to  mean ;  but  the 
reflecting  reader  will  agree  with  Cantu,  who 
perceives  in  this  venerated  historian  only  the 
author  of  "a  continuous  diatribe,  inspired  by 
the  simultaneous  prej  udices  of  a  Jew,  a  heretic, 
and  a  *  philosopher,' — a  diatribe  permeated  by 
two  ideas — admiration  of  Roman  greatness 
and  hatred  for  all  religion." 

Hallam  has  eyes  for  governments,  but 
never  for  peoples.  Again,  he  is  not  given 
to  criticism  or  to  investigation  of  original 
sources  of  history,  because,  forsooth,  he  did 
not  regard  such  labors,  he  tells  us,  as  incum- 
bent on  a  compiler.  Nevertheless,  he  hit  upon 


*  Loc.  cit. 


truth  when  he  said :  "  Italy  supplied  the  fire 
from  which  other  nations,  in  this  first,  as 
afterward  in  the  second,  era  of  the  revival  of 
letters  lighted  their  own  torches.  I^anfranc, 
Anselm ;  Peter  Lombard,  the  father  of  system- 
atic theology  in  the  twelfth  century;  Irne- 
rius,  the  restorer  of  jurisprudence;  Gratian, 
the  author  of  the  first  compilation  of  Canon 
Law ;  the  school  of  Salerno,  that  guided  med- 
ical art  in  all  countries ;  the  first  dictionaries 
of  the  Latin  tongue,  the  first  treatise  on  alge- 
bra, the  first  great  work  that  makes  an  epoch 
in  anatomy, — these  are  as  truly  and  exclu- 
sively the  boast  of  Italy  as  the  restoration  of 
Greek  literature  and  of  classical  taste  in  the 
fifteenth  century. ' '  * 

The  statistical  researches  of  Guerard,  of 
Dureau-Delamalle,  and  especially  of  Count  L. 
Cibrario,  prove  that  the  Middle  Ages  formed 
an  epoch  of  immense  progress  in  public  pros- 
perity. It  was  then  that  industry  and  commerce 
founded  the  Communes;  and  so  influential 
did  the  industrial  and  commercial  classes  be- 
come, that  even  in  the  thirteenth  century  their 
representatives  sat  in  the  States  General  of 
every  country  in  Southern  and  Western  Eu- 
rope. Even  then  the  workingmen  of  Florence 
claimed  a  share  in  the  sovereignty  snatched 
from  the  nobles  by  the  wealthy  bankers  and 
manufacturers.  The  weavers  and  artisans  of 
Ghent  and  Bruges  could  claim  their  privileges 
from  the  bourgeois  with  a  firmness  equal  to  that 
shown  by  the  latter  in  resisting  the  encroach- 
ments of  the  Counts  of  Flanders.  Industry  in- 
deed held  a  secondary  place  in  a  pre  eminently 
religious  period;  but,  though  labor  must  be 
respected,  devotion  is  a  virtue.  "The  soldier 
who  gives  his  blood,  and  the  priest  who  gives 
his  entire  self,  occupy  a  more  elevated  position 
than  that  of  a  man  who  hires  out  his  muscle, 
and  a  far  more  elevated  one  than  that  of  the 
manufacturer  who  seeks  his  fortune."  f 


*  "  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe  in  the 
15th,  i6th,  and  17th  Centuries,"  vol.  i,  c.  ii. — Abp. 
Martin  Spalding,  in  his  valuable  "Lecture  on  Liter- 
ature and  the  Arts  in  the  Middle  Ages,"  regards 
Hallam  and  Mailland  as  superior  to  all  other  English 
writers  on  this  period;  but  he  well  remarks  that, 
compared  with  the  labors  of  Muratori  and  Tiraboschi, 
"their  works,  learned  and  excellent  as  they  are  in 
matiy  respects,  are  but  pigmies." 

t  Feugueray :  "Is  Christianity  Hostile  to  Indus- 
try?" Paris,  1844. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


56s 


The  First  Martyr  of  Western  Oceanica. 


ON  November  17  the  second  of  the  beatifi- 
cations announced  at  Rome  during  the 
stay  of  the  French  pilgrims  took  place.  It 
was  that  of  the  Venerable  Peter  l/ouis  Chanel. 
Father  Chanel  is  the  first  martyr  of  the  Order 
of  Mary,  and  also  the  first  of  Oceanica.  He 
was  born  at  Potiere,  a  village  in  the  parish  of 
Cuet,  diocese  of  Belley,  in  1803.  His  child- 
hood was  worthy  of  his-after  life.  He  seems 
really  to  have  begun  to  live  after  he  had 
received  Holy  Orders.  His  bishop  found  great 
merit  in  him,  and  this  might  have  led  to  the 
imposition  of  some  high  trust  upon  him ;  but 
God  ordained  otherwise.  Father  Chanel  joined 
the  Marists,  to  whom  the  Holy  See  had  con- 
fided the  missions  of  Western  Oceanica.  He 
longed  for  the  salvation  of  souls,  and  gladly 
left  home  and  friends,  in  1837,  for  the  isle  of 
Futuna. 

The  King  and  the  inhabitants  of  Futuna 
treated  Father  Chanel  and  his  lay  assistant 
with  consideration.  He  was  permitted  to  live 
in  a  hut  at  Alo,  and  he  subsisted  on  the  food 
of  the  country,  which  was  not  sustaining  to 
a  man  in  weak  health;  but  the  missionary 
esteemed  himself  happy.  He  was  so  amiable, 
so  edifying  in  his  conduct,  that  the  savages 
seemed  to  like  him.  But  when  the  King,  who 
was  also  the  priest  of  his  people,  discovered 
that  Father  Chanel  was  converting  his  sub- 
jects, bis  regard  changed  to  suspicion.  The 
missionary  had  been  made  tabu — that  is,  in- 
violable,— but  the  King  drove  him  in  fury  out 
of  his  small  hut  into  another,  surrounded  by 
trees.  Here,  too,  the  missionary  was  happy; 
for  he  could  celebrate  Mass.  This  happiness 
be  enjoyed  for  the  first  time  at  Futuna  on  the 
Feast  of  the  Immaculate  Conception. 

To  celebrate  the  Feast  of  the  Nativity,  he 
invited  the  King  and  his  nearest  neighbors 
to  be  present  at  the  Midnight  Mass.  They 
were  amazed.  After  that  he  offered  the  Holy 
Sacrifice  whenever  he  could,  and  often  many 
of  the  natives  assisted.  Father  Chanel  tried 
hard  to  learn  the  language,  and  while  thus 
engaged  preached  Christ  by  actions  since  he 
•could  not  use  words.  "Thus,"  he  said,  "we 
shall  bring  down  the  grace  of  God  on  our 
■dear  savages.   The  more   we  cultivate   the 


spirit  of  sacrifice,  the  more  success  we  shall 
have  in  situations  that  seem  hopeless." 

The  savages  began  to  love  him ;  the  sick 
waited  for  his  coming;  whenever  he  could 
baptize  a  child  in  danger  of  death,  he  did  so. 
He  led  a  life  of  constant  abnegation ;  he  lost 
himself  in  the  love  of  God  and  his  neighbor. 
Each  missionary  had  been  ordered  to  keep 
a  journal.  That  of  the  Blessed  Chanel  began 
on  December  26,  1837.  The  first  volume  ends 
December  31,  1839  ;  the  second,  which  is  red- 
dened with  the  blood  of  the  martyr,  goes  up 
to  April  22,  1 84 1,  the  sixth  day  before  his 
death.  Though  he  took  every  means,  his 
mission  did  not  succeed :  in  over  three  years 
only  forty-five  persons — nearly  all  children  in 
danger  of  death — were  made  Christians.  Yet 
he  was  not  daunted :  he  persevered.    • 

The  island  was  divided  into  two  parts; 
that  of  the  conquerors,  of  whom  Niuliki  was 
King ;  and  the  conquered,  under  another  chief. 
The  war  ceased  for  a  time,  and  Father  Chanel 
profited  by  this  calm  to  visit  Father  Bataillon 
at  Wallia.  The  brother  of  the  King  was  im- 
pressed by  the  celebration  of  Mass.  * '  Oh,"  he 
cried,  "how  soft  and  beautiful  is  your  w^ay  of 
speaking  to  your  God!  I  want  to  be  of  your 
religion."  The  missionaries  told  him  that 
they  had  left  relatives  and  friends  in  France, 
to  preach  the  faith  to  these  people  ignorant 
of  it.  The  prince  was  touched.  "Go  to  the 
King,"  he  said;  "if  he  can  be  converted, 
the  isle  is  yours."  The  missionaries  prayed 
ardently  during  the  Mass,  at  which  the  King 
assisted.  He  seemed  astonished,  and  he  talked 
all  day  of  the  wonderful  thing  he  had  seen. 

Back  at  Futuna — April  26,  1838,— Father 
Chanel  found  that  Brother  Nizier  and  the 
young  Englishman  who  lived  with  them  had 
been  invited  to  reside  in  Niuliki's  own  house. 
As  the  missionary  learned  the  language,  the 
King  began  to  fear  that  he  would  destroy 
authority  by  undermining  belief  in  the  gods. 
Father  Chanel  was  accordingly  banished  from 
the  village.  No  more  food  was  given  to  him, 
but  he  managed  to  live  by  tilling  a  small  plat 
of  ground. 

In  May,  1840,  he  was  join^d'"!7oJJ^s^hort 
time  by  Father  Chevron  anfl  Bil5t!i^«^|j^le. 
The  King,  seeing  the  intenfst/his  jjfehnV^en 
— who,  unlike  their  fathert^wereg^ot  sfemed 
with  cannibalism, — took  ii^LVl^oriest^raJtf  all 


566 


The  Ave  Maria, 


in  his  power  to  dishearten  the  missionary. 
In  1840  the  latter  had  a  great  consolation: 
nearly  all  the  islanders  of  Wallis  declared 
for  Christianity,  and  the  young  Englishman, 
hitherto  a  Protestant,  made  his  First  Com- 
munion. Meitala,  a  son  of  the  King,  also 
became  a  convert.  This  enraged  the  savage 
ruler;  he  said  to  Musurausu,  his  minister: 
"Will  these  whites,  who  come  to  make  us 
slaves,  succeed ? "  Musumusu  answered:  "If 
you  detest  them,  take  their  goods  and  I  will 
kill  them."   The  King  was  silent. 

The  satellites  of  the  King,  headed  by  Musu- 
musu, found  Father  Chanel  alone, — he  had 
sent  Brother  Nizier  away.  One  of  them  asked 
for  some  medicine  for  Musumusu,  who  had 
lately  been  wounded;  Father  Chanel  went 
into  the  house  for  the  remedy.  * '  Why  do  you 
hesitate  to  kill  him?"  asked  the  minister,  im- 
patiently. One  of  the  satellites  then  fell  upon 
the  priest  and  struck  him.  He  extended  his 
arm ;  it  was  fractured  by  the  blow.  The  mur- 
derer struck  him  a  second  time  on  the  temple. 
"  It  is  well!  "  the  martyr  said,  in  the  language 
of  the  savages.  A  lance  and  a  club  were  now 
used.  Father  Chanel  fell  to  the  ground,  blood 
flowing  from  his  face.  One  of  the  catechumens 
tried  to  raise  him,  '%eave  me,"  he  said; 
"death  is  a  happy  thing  for  me."  The  cate- 
chumen, fearing  Musumusu,  went  away  ;  but 
turned  at  the  threshold  and  heard  a  noise.  He 
saw  the  servant  of  God  lying  on  the  ground 
with  a  hatchet  fixed  in  his  head.  Musumusu' s 
blow  had  cut  it  in  half. 

Father  Chanel  had  tasted  the  bitterness  and 
sweetness  of  martyrdom.  A  burst  of  thunder 
was  heard  from  the  clear  sky,  and  many  wit- 
nesses declare  that  a  cross  appeared  in  the  air. 
Musumusu  and  the  other  murderers  fled, 
frightened.  The  King's  son,  who  had  been 
converted,  and  the  catechumens  managed  to 
escape  the  anger  of  the  King.  Niuliki,  with 
his  minister,  shortly  afterward  suffered  a 
violent  death. 

The  blood  of  this  martyr  was  indeed  the 
seed  of  the  Church.  Father  Chanel's  death 
brought  nearly  all  the  island  to  the  faith. 


The  Season  of  Gifts. 


BY   MAURICE   FRANCIS  EGAN. 


,  IT>  fakes  a  soul 
To  move  a  body ;  it  takes  a  high-souled  man 
To  move  the  masses. 

— Mrs.  Browning. 


THE  season  of  gifts  is  almost  here.  Anxious 
people  are  beginning  to  wonder  what  they 
shall  give  the  expectant.  And  it  is  this  anx- 
iety, this  feeling  that  much  is  expected,  that 
spoils  the  serenity  of  the  season. 

Somebod}^  recently  told  a  story  of  a  rich 
man  whose  life  was  burdened  by  the  fear  that 
Christmas  Eve  would  pass  without  his  having 
found  a  suitable  gift  for  his  nephew.  Late  on 
that  day  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  secured 
a  silver  bootjack,  set  with  brilliants !  He  knew 
that  his  nephew  already  possessed  all  manner 
of  things ;  he  felt  that  much  was  expected  of 
him,  and  he  wanted  to  live  up  to  these  expec- 
tations. The  consequence  was,  a  gift  which  in 
its  ostentation  and  uselessness  represented 
truly  his  condition  of  mind.  The  bootjack 
neither  pleased  him  that  gave  nor  him  that 
received  it. 

Christmas  finds  too  many  unfortunates  in 
the  state  of  mind  of  the  purchaser  of  the  boot- 
jack. If  simplicity  were  the  fashion,— if  people 
were  civilized  enough  to  be  simple, — the  artist 
would,  as  Emerson  says,  give  the  work  of  his 
brush,  the  author,  of  his  pen,  and  even  the 
little  child  something  made  by  his  own  hands. 
But  it  will  take  many  years  and  many  Rus- 
kins  to  make  simplicity  possible. 

Many  of  us,  who  do  not  want  to  be  osten- 
tatious even  if  we  could  afford  it,  are  puzzled 
as  to  what  to  give  our  friends ;  and  perhaps 
somewhat  overburdened  by  feelings  of  grati- 
tude to  them,  and  a  fear  that  our  means  of 
showing  it  may  not  be  adequate.  Any  cheap 
attempt  at  competition  is  always  as  vulgar  as 
is  the  spirit  of  competition  in  giving.  When 
gifts  come  to  be  measured,  they  undergo  a 
process  the  reverse  of  that  which  changed  the 
bread  in  St.  Elizabeth's  apron  into  roses; — 
the  roses  of  gratification,  which  should  ide- 
alize the  smallest  gift,  turn  to  ugly  objects  in 
the  garish  light. 

We  are  always  safe  in  giving  books.  Every- 
body not  absolutely  imbecile  has  some  favorite 
book.  It  is  easy  to  find  out  what  it  is.  A  book 
outlasts  a  life,  and  to  how  many  good  impulses 
does  it  give  new  energy !  It  is  a  gift  which  will 


The  Ave  Maria. 


567 


always  live  and  never  fail  to  recall  the  giver. 
It  is  a  compliment  to  one's  good  taste  to  get 
a  good  book  from  a  friend.  We  know  that  he 
has  bestowed  some  thought  on  us  and  on  our 
taste.  Other  gifts,  however  beautiful,  disap- 
pear in  time ;  other  gifrs,  however  useful,  leave 
but  little  impress  on  life;  but  a  good  book 
influences  our  whole  life  long. 

I/et  us  give  books,  then,  by  all  means.  They 
need  not  have  costly  bitidings,  but  let  them 
have  bindings  that  will  not  have  a  look  of 
having  been  born  for  festive  occasions.  The 
**show  book,"  made  especially  for  sale  at 
periods  of  gift  giving,  is  better  than  a  boot- 
jack set  with  brilliants,  and  yet  is  not  what 
most  people  would  like  to  receive.  Give  them 
an  old  favorite  or  a  new  favorite  of  your  own 
— but  the  * '  old  are  best, ' '  — and  you  may  be 
sure  that  your  gift  will  brighten,  not  only 
Christmas  Day,  but  the  whole  year. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

The  elders  of  the  Church  of  the  Covenant  in 
Washington,  where  President  Harrison  and  his 
family  are  attendants,  have  not  yet  recovered 
from  the  shozk  they  received  a  few  Sundays  ago 
when  a  noted  singer,  who  had  been  invited  to  join 
the  choir,  treated  the  congregation  to  Gounod's 
Ave  Maria.  She  sang  like  a  seraph,  it  is  said, 
and  the  listeners  were  delighted, — that  is,  most 
of  them.  The  Rev.  Dr.  Hamlin, who  was  to  occupy 
the  pulpit  that  day  and  plead  for  the  support  of 
foreign  missions,  and  the  grave  Presbyterian 
elders  were  sick  at  heart.  At  the  words,  Sancta 
Maria,  Mater  Dei,  ora  pro  nobis peccatoribus,  their 
misery  became  so  ludicrous  as  to  excite  the  smiles 
of  a  keen-eyed  but  unregenerate  reporter,  whose 
item  next  day  caused  many  a  laugh  at  the  expense 
of  the  elders.  

The  editor  of  the  Michigan  Catholic,  in  a  leader 
on  Miss  Eliza  Allen  Starr's  lecture  in  Detroit, 
relates  an  anecdote  which  excites  thought.  After 
writing  a  most  appreciative  article  on  the  always 
interesting  subject  of  Miss  Starr's  genius,  he 
says  :  "  We  happened  to  be  seated  near  a  group 
of  Protestant  clergymen.  They  seemed  to  be  the 
centre  of  a  group  of  ladies,  all  of  whom  were, 
apparently,  deeply  attentive  to  and  interested  in 
the  lecture.  But  when  Miss  Starr  was  talking  of 
Donatello's  'Annunciation,'  and  describing  the 
spiritual  beauty  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  the 
veneration  of  the  angelic  messenger  for  one  so 


pure  and  so  highly  honored,  then  the  Protestant 
clergymen  referred  to  got  to  whispering  and 
nudging  one  another,  smiling — and  the  smiles 
were  like  sneers, — and  this  became  contagious 
and  affected  the  ladies  too.  We  could  not  help 
asking  ourselves  as  we  watched  this  group : 
'  Why  are  they  so  «?trangely  excited  by  a  word- 
painting  of  Her  who  was  deemed  pure  enough 
and  holy  enough  to  become  the  Mother  of  God  ? ' 
But  as  the  lecturer's  description  of  the  'Annun- 
ciation '  developed  into  a  reference  to  the  sublime 
mystery  of  the  Incarnation,  expressed  in  the  lan- 
guage and  with  the  manner  of  a  Christian  heart, 
then  the  faces  of  the  Protestant  clergymen  and 
their  lady  friends  were  seen  to  fall  into  repose. 
They  probably  felt  ashamed  of  the  levity  of  a 
moment  before." 

The  editor  of  the  Michigan  Catholic  points  to 
an  anomaly  which  has  struck  most  Catholics  in 
their  acquaintanceship  with  most  Protestants. 
Why  is  it  that  while  they  revere  the  Son,  they 
should  deem  it  a  sort  of  duty  to  sneer  at  the 
Mother  ?  Why  is  it  that  they  will  not  admit  that 
She  is  blessed  among  women  ?  The  present  posi- 
tion of  Protestantism,  which  is  like  an  iceberg 
eaten  away  by  a  thousand  waves,  ought  to  show 
the  thoughtful  among  the  sects  that  to  deny 
the  source  of  the  Incarnation  is  to  begin  to  deny 
the  Incarnation  itself. 


At  the  anti-slavery  conference  at  Brussels  all 
the  plenipotentiaries  were  present.  The  Prince 
de  Chimay  welcomed  them  in  the  name  of  the 
King  and  the  Government  of  Belgium.  The 
Prince  graciously  declined  the  honor  of  presiding 
in  favor  of  the  Prince  de  Lambermont.  The  latter 
accepted,  and  made  a  thrilling  speech  to  the  as- 
sembled deputies  of  all  nations  on  the  horrors  of 
the  African  slave  trade.  Previous  to  the  open- 
ing of  the  conference,  Bishop  Brincat,  Cardinal 
Lavigerie's  coadjutor,  announced  that  it  was  the 
intention  of  the  French  Committee  to  send  an 
armed  force  to  Lake  Tanganyika. 


The  Catholic  Church,  says  the  Chicago  Times, 
everywhere  to  the  front  in  all  our  cities,  espec- 
ially so  in  the  West,  has  been  quick  to  see  and 
as  quick  to  seize  its  opportunity  among  the 
Mormons.  In  Salt  Lake  City  there  is  St.  Mary's 
Academy,  with  its  large  buildings,  in  the  heart  of 
the  city  ;  and  the  Hospital  of  the  Holy  Cross,  a 
magnificent  structure  on  a  lot  which  six  years  ago 
cost  $6,000,  and  which  is  now  said  to  be  worth 
$200,000.  These  institutions  are  conducted  by  the 
Sisters  of  Holy  Cross. 

We  may  add  that  All- Hallows  school,  lately 
established  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  Scanlan,  is  in  a. 


568 


The  Ave  Maria. 


very  flourishing  condition,  and  he  has  purchased 
a  handsome  property  in  Salt  Lake  for  the  erection 
of  a  cathedral.  Bishop  Scanlan  built  the  first 
Catholic  church  in  Mormondom,  and  for  his  long 
and  devoted  service  deserves  to  be  called  the 
Apostle  of  Utah. 

The  death  of  the  Abbe  Bonhomme,  Cure  of 
St.  John  the  Baptist,  Crenelle,  Paris,  is  much 
lamented  by  lovers  of  serious  religious  music. 
Father  Bonhomme  was  an  enthusiastic  promoter 
of  plain  chant  in  its  original  form.  The  poor  of 
his  parish  crowded  the  church  on  the  day  of  his 
funeral,  and  it  was  remarked  that  the  "good 
Cur^  of  Crenelle  had  more  poor  than  rich  mourn- 
ers"; and  this,  adds  an  observer,  would  have 
pleased  him  well. 

We  are  reliably  informed  that  Mr.  J.  E.  C. 
Bodley,  the  writer  of  the  article  in  a  recent  number 
of  The  Nineteenth  G?;?/?/ rr  on  *'  Roman  Catholicism 
in  America, ' '  is  not,  as  we  were  led  to  surmise,  a 
Catholic.  It  is  gratifying  to  make  this  statement, 
as  the  impression  which  the  tenor  of  certain  pas- 
sages in  the  paper  conveyed  to  us  took  all  the  good 
out  of  Mr.  Bodley' s  tributes  to  the  American 
Church.  

Gounod,  the  composer,  has  been  asked  to  write 
a  Mass  for  the  opening  of  the  immense  organ 
which  is  building  for  St.  Peter's  at  Rome.  Four 
thousand  choristers  will  sing  it.  At  St.  Sulpice, 
Marie  Antoinette's  organ,  decorated  with  white 
and  gold  garlands,  after  the  fashion  of  the  time 
of  lyouis  XVI.,  was  recently  restored,  and  opened 
ceremoniously  in  the  students'  chapel. 


Speaking  of  the  Catholic  Congress  which  met 
at  the  recent  Centennial  celebration  in  Baltimore, 
The  American  Catholic  Tribune,  of  Cincinnati — 
a  journal  owned  and  published  by  colored  men, — 
calls  attention  to  a  feature  of  the  occasion  which 
deserves  to  be  recorded.  The  representation  in  this 
memorable  assembly  was  truly  Catholic.  Neither 
race  nor  color  nor  section  was  considered  in  the 
admission  of  delegates.  "  Baltimore,  which  more 
than  any  of  the  great  Southern  cities  clings  to 
certain  customs,  was  proud  to  honor  alike  the 
three  ethnic  divisions  of  mankind  so  fully  rep- 
resented in  the  Congress.  The  negro,  the  Cau- 
casian, and  the  Indian,  were  all  received  alike, 
socially  and  otherwise.  It  was  a  deep  feeling  of 
Christian  love  and  respect  that  caused  great  and 
wealthy  Irishmen,  Germans,  and  others — all  true 
American  citizens, — to  kneel  at  the  feet  of  the 
negro  priest  to  ask  him  to  invoke  the  blessings 
of  Almighty  God  upon  them.  White  priests 
with  negro  acolytes,  and  a  colored  priest  with 


white  acolytes,  offering  the  Holy  Sacrifice  in 
the  Catholic  churches  of  Baltimore ;  bishops, 
priests  and  students  of  the  different  races,  each 
occupying  his  respective  place  in  the  street  pro- 
cession and  in  the  great  Cathedral, — all  taught  a 
salutary  lesson  that  will  awaken  the  colored  man 
to  a  sense  of  duty.  It  was  emphatically  reiterated 
in  the  Congress,  by  its  action  and  by  the  magnifi- 
cent addresses,  that  the  '  Catholic  Church  knows 
no  east,  no  west,  no  north,  no  south,  no  race, "110 
color. ' ' ' 

On  December  8  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the 
landing  of  the  Fathers  of  Mercy  in  this  country 
was  commemorated  at  the  Church  of  St.  Vincent 
de  Paul  in  New  York.  The  Most  Rev.  Arch- 
bishop Corrigan  officiated.  The  Fathers  of  Mercy, 
though  a  small  community,  have  done  truly 
apostolic  work  in  New  York,  Brooklyn,  Trenton, 
N.  J.,  and  St.  Augustine,  Fla.  This  Congregation 
was  founded  in  France  by  Father  Rauzau,  with 
the  intention  of  giving  missions  in  the  rural 
parishes  of  his  native  land.  In  1839  two  of  the 
community,  the  Rev.  Annet  Lafont  and  the  Rev. 
Edmond  Aubril,  were  sent  to  the  United  States, 
from  which  a  cry  for  more  French  priests  had 
come.  In  1 84 1  the  Bishop  of  Nancy  made  a  move- 
ment to  build  a  church  for  French-speaking 
people  in  New  York.  St.  Vincent's  was  the  result, 
and  Father  Lafont  was  its  first  pastor.  He  intro- 
duced the  Christian  Brothers  into  this  country, — 
an  act  which  should  make  his  name  worthy  of 
reverence  even  if  he  had  performed  no  other. 
Whatever  impulse  has  been  given  to  the  work  of 
the  Propagation  of  the  Faith  in  this  country  is  also 
due  to  Father  Lafont.  Father  Aubril  was  equally 
zealous  in  Florida.  When  these  two  pioneers 
passed  away,  others  filled  their  places,  among 
whom  Father  Gaston  Septier  and  Father  Porcile 
are  well  known  and  well  beloved  in  the  country 
of  their  adoption. 

The  establishment  of  a  Republic  so  suddenly 
in  Brazil  requires  no  comment,  except  that  a 
country  which  could  emancipate  many  thousands 
of  slaves  without  strife  or  bloodshed  ought  to  be 
able  to  govern  itself. 

Two  new  congregations  have  been  added  to  the 
Benedictines.  They  are  Austrian, — that  of  St. 
Joseph  containing  six  houses,  and  that  of  the 
Immaculate  Conception  with  nine. 


The  Roman  correspondent  of  The  Catholic  Re- 
view mentions  an  interesting  fact  connected  with 
the  sovereigns  of  Portugal.  Don  Carlos  I.,  the  new 
King,  will  not  be  crowned.  As  a  reason  for  this 
it  is  stated  that  ' '  since  the  time  when  Portugal 
was  placed  under  the  protection  of  the  Immacu- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


5% 


late  Conception  no  king  has  ever  been  solemnly 
crowned.  The  cult  of  the  Immaculate  Conception 
began  in  1279  in  the  diocese  of  Coimbra,  at  the 
stimulation  of  Queen  Isabel,  wife  of  King  Diony- 
sius,  and  was  propagated  throughout  the  entire 
kingdom,  but  principally  in  Villaviciosa,  where 
the  Dukes  of  Braganza  took  for  their  special 
patroness  and  protectress  'the  Most  Blessed  Vir- 
gin of  the  Immaculate  Conception.'  John  IV.,  in 
1640  the  head  of  the  reigning  House  in  Portugal 
and  Brazil,  speciall}^  signalized  himself  by  his 
great  devotion  toward  the  Mother  Immaculate, 
whom  he  sought  to;have  honored  throughout  his 
dominions,  to  which  he  gave  her  as  patroness — 
Padroeira  doReino, — causing  lasting  monuments 
of  his  homage  toward  the  Mother  of  God  to  be 
erected  in  all  the  cities  of  the  kingdom.  His  suc- 
cessors followed  his  example  with  equal  ardor,  and 
the  Roman  Pontiffs  recompensed  the  devotion  of 
the  Portugal  sovereigns  toward  our  Blessed  Lady 
with  numerous  privileges  and  special  favors." 
The  Blessed  Virgin  is  considered  by  the  devout 
Portuguese  to  be  the  perennially  crowned  Queen 
of  their  country. 

A  sensation  was  created  at  the  National  Temper- 
ance Congress  at  Birmingham  by  a  speaker  who  stated 
that  ;^2o,ooo  had,  whilst  the  Welsh  parsons  were 
starving,  been  invested  in  one  brewery  by  a  body  of 
clergy,  which  included  two  archbishops,  two  bishops, 
three  deans,  four  archdeacons,  and  six  canons. — 
London  Paper. 

This  is  horrible,  if  true.  But  let  it  serve  to 
recall  to  our  minds  the  discomforts  which  the 
poor  suffer  at  this  season.  There  are  many  ave- 
nues for  charity — we  have  recently  pointed  out 
one,  the  support  of  needy  missions  in  South 
America, — and  there  is  one  always  easy  to  enter, 
that  which  leads  to  the  help  of  the  poor.  Every- 
where around  us  children,  so  dear  to  Our  Lord, 
shiver  in  the  wind,  and  everywhere  the  discomfort 
of  cold  paralyzes  the  everyday  work  of  life  among 
the  poor.  A  little  thoughtful  charity  now,  a  little 
' '  wide-awakedness  "  to  the  indications  of  poverty, 
will  make  part  of  the  treasures  laid  up  more 
safely  than  in  banks  or  breweries.  Our  readers, 
we  are  happy  to  say,  have  not  been  backward  in 
showing  their  sympathy  for  the  poor  of  the  Pas- 
sionist  Fathers'  South  American  missions,  whose 
needs  at  present  are  so  urgent.  We  append  the  list 
of  additional  contributions : 

A  Friend,  in  honor  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  $1 ;  Enfant 
de  Marie,  $1 ;  A  Friend,  in  honor  of  St.  Joseph,  $1 ; 
A  Friend,  Bernard, 'lowa,  $1 ;  M.  C,  |i ;  A  Friend,  in 
houcjr  of  St.  Joseph,  $5 ;  A  Friend,  in  honor  of  St. 
Anthony,  $1 ;  A  Friend  in  honor  of  St.  Joseph,  |i ; 
Mrs.  J.  A.  Hennessy,  $2.50 ;  M.  A.  B.,  in  behalf  of  the 
Souls  in  Purgatory,  I5. 


New  Publications. 

The  Divine  Office.  Explanation  of  thb 
Psalms  and  Canticles.  By  St.  Alphonsus  de 
Iviguori,  Doctor  of  the  Church.  Edited  by  the  Rev. 
Eugene  Grimm,  C.  vSS.  R.  New  York,  Cincinnati, 
and  Chicago :  Benziger  Brothers. 
St.  Liguori's  admirable  treatises  and  discourses 
on  prayer  as  the  great  means  whereby  the  Chris- 
tian soul  may  attain  to  perfection  and  salvation 
have  justly  merited  for  him  the  title  of  Doctor 
of  Prayer.  The  elevation  of  the  soul  to  God  in 
petition  and  thanksgiving  is  the  grand  thought 
which  the  Saint  seems  to  keep  prominently  before 
the  mind  of  his  readers  in  all  his  works,  and  was 
evidently  the  inspiring  motive  of  the  preparation 
of  the  present  volume.  The  Divine  Office,  or  the 
Breviary,  is  one  of  the  great  prajersof  the  Church, 
who,  through  her  ministers  and  religious  souls 
obliged  to  its  recitation,  thus  offers  to  God  the 
tribute  of  adoration,  petition,  praise,  and  thanks- 
giving, on  the  part  of  all  entrusted  to  her  care. 
The  object  of  the  holy  author  was  to  aid  in  the 
intelligent  and  devout  recitation  of  the  Office, 
which,  he  says,  "after  the  administration  of  the 
Sacraments  afld  the  preaching  of  the  divine  word, 
is  the  holiest  occupation  of  persons  consecrated 
to  God."  He  gives  not  only  a  translation  of  the 
psalms  and  canticles,  but  also  a  more  or  less 
extended  paraphrase  of  each  verse  separately, 
accompanied  by  different  explanations ;  thus 
making  it  a  work  useful  not  only  to  the  priest 
and  religious,  but  also  to  the  devout  laity  who 
would  seek  to  penetrate  into  the  mystical  mean- 
ing of  those  portions  of  Scripture  which  occur 
most  frequently  in  the  offices  of  the  Church  and 
in  the  daily  devotions  of  tjie  practical  Christian. 
St.  Alphonsus  undertook  this  difficult  work  at 
the  advanced  age  of  seventy-eight,  and  accom- 
plished it  in  the  midst  of  almost  constant  suffer- 
ings and  numerous  occupations.  He  explains 
so  skilfully  the  sense  and  the  obscure  passages 
of  the  psalms  that,  without  detracting  from  the 
purity  of  the  inspired  word,  he  aids  both  the 
heart  and  the  mind  of  those  who  read  it.  The  In- 
troduction is  a  valuable  and  learned  commentary 
on  the  psalms,  their  authorship,  the  different  ver- 
sions which  have  been  made,  and  concluding  with 
words  of  instruction  on  the  recitation  of  the  Office. 
In  the  decree  conferring  on  St.  Alphonsus  the 
title  of  Doctor  of  the  Church,  the  Holy  See  speaks 
of  this  as  one  of  his  most  useful  and  salutary 
works.  It  forms  Volume  XIV.  of  the  Centenary 
Edition  of  the  complete  works  of  St.  Liguori, 
and,  like  the  others  of  the  series,  has  been  issued 
in  excellent  style  by  the  publishers. 


570 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Songs  op  Remembrance.  By  Margaret  Ryan. 

Dublin  :  M.  H.  Gill  &  Son. 

Miss  R>  an's  pen-name  is  familiar  to  the  read- 
ers of  The  Irish  Monthly.  She  possesses  sweet 
and  original  notes,  a  high  purpose,  and  a  gift  of 
melody ;  but  a  persistent  undertone  of  sadness 
mars  her  best  poems.  Frankly,  while  one  never 
grows  weary  of  the  singing,  one  finds  this  recur- 
rent accompaniment  monotonous.  Why  should 
all  our  young  poets  be  sad?  An  assemblage  of 
these  youthful  bards  must  be  very  dismal,  if  in 
real  life  they  persistently  turn  their  eyes  to 
death  and  sorrow.  This  is  the  one  fault  in  many 
of  the  best  women  poets.  Miss  Ryan's  first  poem, 
strong  and  sweet,  is  called  "Bereaved,"  and  her 
last  ends  with  the  lines  : 

"  I  ever  look  upon  one  sad,  white  face, 
And  all  the  happy  past  with  tears  retrace." 

One  of  the  tenderest  and  sweetest  poems  in  the 
volume  is  "Our  Emigrants." 

' '  Why  must  ye  go  away 
In  hundreds  every  day, 

As  from  a  plague  ye  fled  ? — 
O  youug  man,  maid,  and  child. 

Ye  leave  a  fertile  soil, 
A  climate  soft  and  mild, 
A  land  to  pay  all  toil, 
A  land  of  glorious  dead! 

"  The  savage  rears  her  child, 
And  in  the  forests  wild 

Finds  all  their  need  demands ; 
But  from  a  verddnt  shore. 

And  from  the  hills  ye  love, 
Ye  rush  forth  evermore. 
While  angels  weep  above,— 
Sad  exiles  in  all  lands." 

Miss  Ryan  is  not  self-conscious.  What  art  she 
has  is  simple  and  therefore  beautiful.  Her  poems 
are  even  and  so  meritorious  that  one  looks  with 
interest  for  a  second  volume,  for  which  the 
poems  before  us  are  only  exercises  in  melody  and 
harmony. 

Books  and  Reading.  A  Lecture  Read  Before 
the  New  York  Cathedral  L/ibrary  Reading  Circle. 
By  Brother  Az arias,  of  the  Brothers  of  the  Chris- 
tian Schools.  New  York  :  Office  of  the  Cathedral 
Librarian. 

We  are  glad  to  know  that  this  little  brochure 
is  having  a  large  sale.  It  deserves  unlimited 
circulation.  Brother  Azarias  has  read  everything, 
it  would  seem, — and  everything  with  a  purpose. 
Moreover,  he  has  acquired  the  arts  both  of  remem- 
bering and  forgetting,  and  of  making  a  synthesis 
between  all  the  best  things  to  be  remembered. 
Each  page  has  a  brilliant  of  wit  or  some  solid 
nugget  of  common-sense  in  it.  For  instance,  what 
can  be  more  practical  than  this  ? — 

"You  complain  of  the  impossibility  of  remem- 
bering all  you  read.  That  cotnes  of  your  reading 
over- hastily  or  reading  aimlessly.  When  you  read 
with  a  purpose  and  take  notes,  and  make  running 


comments,  and  mark  passages  or  chapters  which 
you  re-read,  your  memory  will  be  retentive  of  all 
essential  points." 

There  is  a  great  temptation  to  quote  from  this 
fascinating  pamphlet  In  fulness  of  comprehen- 
sion, breadth  of  culture,  and  acuteness  in  the 
discovery  of  the  best  in  literature,  it  has  no  supe- 
rior. It  will  not  do  to  find  fault  with  the  quality 
of  the  work  of  American  Catholics  who  write  for 
Catholics  while  we  have  such  men  as  Brother 
Azarias  among  us. 

Notes    op    Lessons   for    Young    Teachers. 

With  Models  from   Actual   Examination   Papers. 

By  John  Taylor,  author  of  "How  to  Compose  and 

Write  Letters,"  etc.  Boston  :  School  Supply  Co. 

This  is  one  of  those  little  books  which  are 
intended  to  be  very  useful.  Perhap.s  they  are  so. 
The  young  teacher  is  taught  how  to  assume  im- 
posing attitudes,  and  how  to  be  very  impressive, 
and  so  forth  Latin  derivations  are  furnished  for 
many  terms.  "Illustration,"  for  example,  is  said 
to  be  derived  from  luceo  (to  shine).  Perhaps  it  is. 
Figures  of  speech  are  also  beautifully  explained. 
On  page  30  we  read:  "Thus,  in  the  phrase  'the 
light  of  truth,'  we  have  light  and  truth  com- 
pared. They  are  two  widely  difierent  things,  and 
yet  they  have  one  property  in  common.  They  are 
both  diffusive "(!).  This  is  a  specimen  of  the 
light  the  author  throws  on  various  subjects.  The 
book  is  extraordinary  in  many  respects.  We 
wonder  whether  the  amiable  author  has  any 
sense  of  the  humorous.  The  print  is  very  clear 
and  free  from  errors. 


Obituary. 

Remember  tkem  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with    them.  — Heb.,  xiU,  3. 

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

Mr.  Joseph  M.  Hill,  of  Lowell,  Mass.,  whose  happy 
death  occurred  on  the  25th  ult. 

Mr.  John  Molloy,  who  passed  away  on  the  i6th  ult., 
at  Somerville,  Mass. 

Mr.-!.  Mary  Redmond,  who  died  at  Savannah,  Ga., 
on  the  4th  of  October,  fortified  by  the  last  Sacraments. 

Mrs.  John  Montague,  a  fervent  client  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  who  departed  this  life  on  the  22d  ult,  at 
Dubuque,  Iowa. 

Sister  Mary  Aquila,  O.  S.  F.,  St.  Agnes'  Hospital, 
Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Mrs.  Mary  Hawkins,  of  Lewiston,  Me. ;  Mr.  Wil- 
liam Flynn,  Mrs.  Rose  Smith,,  and  Mrs.  Bridget 
Simons,  of  Elizabeth,  N.J. ;  Mrs.  Margaret  Blumen- 
scheiu,  Chicago,  III.  ;  Mr.  Richard  Shanahan  and 
Mrs.  Elizai)eth  Meehan,  Lowell,  Mass. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


The  Ave  Maria, 


571 


Noelie. 


BY   THE  AUTHOR  OP  "TY30RNE,"  ETC. 


When  lunch  time  came  Regina  drew  her 
sister  and  Noelie  into  the  music-room,  with 
her  finger  on  her  lips. 

"Sit  down,"  she  said;  "I  have  something 
important  to  tell  you.  Look  at  that  door" 
— pointing  to  a  heavy,  barricaded  door  at 
the  other  end  of  the  room.  "It  opens  on  a 
staircase,  which  leads  to  the  story  above; 
and  at  the  top  is  a  ladder,  which  leads  into  a 
horrible  garret;  and  there  lives— let  us  just 
see  if  that  door  is  safe! " 

The  three  girls  flew  to  the  door  and  tried 
to  open  it,  but  in  vain :  it  was  quite  secure. 
They  came  back,  trembling. 

' '  Well,  who  lives  in  the  garret  ? ' '  whispered 
Noelie,  in  breathless  suspense. 

"A  witch!"  murmured  Regina. 

"What  is  a  witch?"  gasped  Noelie. 

"At  your  age  you  don't  know  what  a 
witch  is!  Why,  a  witch  is  an  old  woman  in 
horrid  clothes,"  said  Regina. 

"And  very  wicked,"  added  Augusta. 

"I  don't  understand,"  replied  Noelie. 
' '  Have  you  ever  seen  a  witch,  Regina  ?  " 

"I  don't  know;  I  think  not — but  you  in- 
terrupt so,  Noelie;  and  the  lesson  bell  will 
ring  directly!" 

"Havej/^w  ever  seen  one,  Augusta?"  per- 
sisted Noelie. 

"No,  never,"  replied  Augusta;  "and  I 
never  could  bear  to  see  one.  I  would  not 
sleep  in  this  room  for  anything,  for  fear  the 
old  witch  should  come  in." 

"How  could  she  when  the  door  is  blocked 
up?"  asked  Noelie. 

"Oh,  that  does  not  matter,  witches  are  so 
wicked  and  cunning! " 

The  bell  rang,  and  the  children  had  to  go 
to  studies. 

Next  day  Noelie  was  later  than  ever  at 
school.  She  had  dawdled  about,  to  the  despair 


of  Catherine.  Alas!  poor  Catherine  could  see 
no  change  wrought  in  Noelie  by  her  new 
school.  "Miss  Beaumont  says,"  sighed  Cath- 
erine, "that  Noelie  is  like  a  little  savage,  and 
she  fears  she  can  make  nothing  of  her.  How- 
ever, I  will  have  patience  a  little  longer." 

Patience  was  necessary  when  Noelie  pursued 
both  Catherine  and  Joseph  with  questions 
about  the  origin  and  nature  of  witchcraft 

Catherine  usually  accompanied  Noelie  to 
school.  This  morning,  when  they  arrived  at 
Miss  Beaumont's  house,  they  met  the  little 
pale  girl,  dressed  in  a  thin  cotton  frock  (though 
it  was  bitter  cold  weather),  and  carrying 
a  heavy  basket. 

"Catherine,"  said  Noelie,  "how  ill  that 
poor  child  looks,  and  how  badly  she  is  dressed! 
How  cold  she  must  be!  Oh,  do  let  me  give 
her  one  of  my  frocks!  Tell  me  which  you  will 
give  her  ? ' ' 

"The  one  you  have  on,  Noelie.  It  is  too 
short  for  you,  and  I  am  making  you  another." 
"And  the  jacket  also  ? "  said  Noelie.  "Oh, 
let  me  give  it,  please! " 

"Very  well,  you  may  do  so." 
"And  my  hat? — and  \  promise  you  I'll  take 
care  of  my  other  hats. " 

"Yes,  dear;  yes,"  said  Catherine. 
Noelie  gave  her  a  hug  and  a  kiss. 
At  lunch  time  Regina  had  fresh  news. 
"Mamma's  maid  brought  us  here  the  last 
few  days,"  she  said,  "and  she  has  been  talk- 
ing to  the  porter's  wife.    No  one  has  ever 
seen  the  witch.  She  was  living  here  when  the 
portress  came.  For  six  years  at  least  no  one 
has  ever  laid  eyes  on  her.  Persons  have  often 
knocked  at  her  door  for  some  excuse  or  other, 
on  purpose  to  see  her ;  but  there  was  not  a 
ray  of  light,  even  through  the  keyhole." 

"Then,"  said  Noelie,  "if  no  one  has  seen 
her,  how  do  people  know  she  is  here?" 
"O  Noelie,  how  you  do  interrupt! " 
"But  she  must  want  something  to  eat," 
continued  Noelie. 

"Food  is  taken  to  her,"  answered  Regina. 
"But  what  do  you  think,  she  will  often  be 
a  week — eight,  nine  days — without  eating! 
Isn't  it  wonderful?" 

"Then,"  said  Noelie,  "the  person  who 
takes  food  to  her  must  have  seen  her. ' ' 

"Isn't  it  horrible?"  continued  Regina. 
"An  old  woman  hidden  away  so  long  that 


572 


The  Ave  Maria, 


nobody  remembers  ever  to  have  seen  her!" 

**I  dare  say  she  is  a  murderess,"  observed 
Augusta,  with  a  shudder.  "She  must  have 
done  something  dreadful." 

"And  to  think  she  is  living  above   our 
heads!"  whispered  Regina. 
XI. 

Next  day  Noelie  rose  in  good  time.  She 
put  on  her  new  clothes  without  grumbling, 
and  then  made  up  the  bundle  for  little  pale 
Mary,  as  she  called  her,  adding  a  pair  of  shoes. 
Then  she  was  ready  to  set  out. 

"It  is  only  eight  o'clock,"  said  Catherine. 

"Oh,  our  clocks  are  slow!  Do  make  haste, 
Catherine  dear!" 

They  reached  Miss  Beaumont's  at  half-past 
eight,  and  met  Mary  on  the  stairs.  Noelie 
flew  to  her. 

"It  is  so  cold!"  she  said.  "I  thank  you 
so  much  for  finding  my  picture!  Here  are  a 
frock  and  jacket  and  hat,  too  small  for  me. 
They  will  just  fit  you.  Please  put  them  on 
to-morrow,  and  wear  them  out,  and  then  I  can 
bring  you  others." 

"  O  Miss,  how  good  you  are!  How  thankful 
lam!" 

"I  am  so  glad  I  met  you!"  said  Noelie. 

"I  always  go  out  at  this  time,"  replied 
Mary. 

"Then  if  I  come  early  every  day  I  shall 
meet  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mary,  flushing  with  pleasure. 

Noelie  flew  joyfully  up  the  stairs ;  for  once 
in  her  life  she  was  before  the  others.  At  recre- 
ation time  Noelie  wanted  to  play  at  some 
game,  but  Regina  put  on  her  mysterious  man- 
ner and  said : 

"I  have  made  a  discovery!  Our  maid  has 
had  a  long  conversation  with  the  portress,  and 
now  I  can  answer  all  your  questions,  Miss 
Noelie.  The  former  portress  told  this  one  all 
about  the  witch.  She  used  to  go  out,  and  the 
other  portress  saw  her  often.  So,  you  see,  she 
exists  and  has  been  seen.  Her  face  is  yellow  ; 
she  has  large,  round  white  eyes ;  her  wrinkles 
are  so  deep  you  could  put  your  little  finger 
into  them ;  she  has  long  hands  like  claws.  No 
one  ever  heard  her  speak,  and  she  is  very  tall 
and  thin." 

"There  are  many  old  women  who  are  tall, 
thin,  yellow,  and  have  large  eyes, ' '  said  Noelie. 

"But,"  continued  Regina,  "the  most  ex- 


traordinary thing  is  that  the  little  pale  beggar 
to  whom  you,  Noelie,  gave  a  picture  is  grand- 
daughter to  the  witch!  Did  I  not  tell  you  it 
was  wrong  to  speak  to  people  you  did  not 
know?" 

Noelie  turned  pale.  "A  witch's  grand- 
daughter! "  she  said  to  herself.  But  she  soon 
recovered,  and,  turning  to  Regina,  asked : 
"Well,  what  harm  did  it  do  me  to  speak  to 
the  poor  child  ? ' ' 

Regina  went  on:  "And  the  little  witch, 
like  the  great  one,  does  not  eat  for  eight  or 
nine  days  together." 

"Poor  little  thing!"  said  Noelie.  "One 
can  see  by  her  face  that  she  suffers." 

"Oh,  it  is  awful  to  think  of  such  people 
living  above  us! "  cried  Regina.  "By  opening 
that  door  and  going  up  the  little  staircase  we 
should  be  close  to  them! " 

There  was  a  short  silence,  then  Noelie  said : 

"My  nurse  says" — Regina  and  Augusta 
leaned  forward,  eager  to  hear  something  about 
the  witch, — "my  nurse  says  that  the  cate- 
chism classes  will  begin  next  Thursday,  and 
she  is  going  to  take  me.  Are  you  coming?" 

*  *  Yes,  indeed, ' '  said  Regina.  * '  We  shall  fol- 
low the  course  this  year,  and  next  year  make 
our  First  Communion.  My  sister  is  rather 
too  young,  but  I  am  past  thirteen.  We  have 
been  preparing  this  long  time.  Are  you  going 
to  make  your  First  Communion  next  year?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Noelie.  "I  should 
like  it  very  much. ' ' 

XII. 

Next  day  Noelie  met  Mary  in  her  new 
clothes. 

"I  thank  you  very  much,  Miss,"  said  she. 
"I  feel  so  warm  now." 

At  this  moment  Regina  and  Augusta  came 
in  and  went  up-stairs.  Noelie  followed  them. 

"Why,  there  is  the  little  witch!"  said 
Augusta. 

"And  with  Noelie's  frock  and  hat  on!" 
added  Regina.  "After  all  we  have  told  you," 
she  continued,  "is  it  possible  you  have  given 
one  of  your  dresses  and  hats  to  the  little 
witch?   Why,  she  will  be  taken  for  you!" 

"What  a  pity  you  are  not  a  little  shorter 
and  thinner!"  remarked  Augusta. 

Despite  the  pleasure  which  Noelie  felt  at 
seeing  Mary  so  happy,  this  little  mockery 
pained  her.    She  turned  red  and  rushed  into 


The  Ave  Maria. 


573 


the  school  room.  "The  little  witch  will  be 
taken  for  me!"  she  said  to  herself.  Next  day- 
she  took  care  to  be  late,  so  as  not  to  meet 
little  pale  Mary.  The  day  after  it  was  nearly 
twelve  beforf  she  reached  Miss  Beaumont's. 
Mary  was  coming  in  with  her  heavy  basket, 
and  shivering  in  her  old  thin  clothes. 

"What!"  said  Noelie.  "Where  are  your 
othet-  clothes?  Why  don't  you  wear  them? 
How  cold  you  look! " 

Mary  made  no  answer,  but  tears  gathered 
in  her  eyes. 

"Is  the  frock  worn  out?"  asked  Noelie, 
who  knew  how  to  destroy  one  even  in  a  day. 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Mary. 

* '  Then  why  don' t  you  wear  it  ?  Tell  me  this 
minute,  please!  If  you  think  it  ugly  I  will  give 
you  another.  I  will  ask  Catherine  for  one." 

"Don't,  don't!"  pleaded  Mary.  "I  don't 
like  to  wear  the  frock,  because  I  met  your 
two  companions — " 

"What!"  said  Noelie,  angrily. 

"No,  they  only  looked  hard  at  me,  and  I 
heard  them  say  :  'Just  like  Noelie!  A  pleasant 
thing  for  Noelie  to  be  taken  for  the  little — ' 
I  did  not  hear  the  other  word,  but  that  was 
enough.  Then  I  looked  for  you  these  two 
days,  and  you  never  came  to  meet  me ;  so  I 
thought  the  young  ladies  were  right,  and  it 
was  a  real  vexation  to  you."  And  again  tears 
started  to  her  eyes. 

"I  shall  be  very  vexed  if  you  do  not  wear 
the  frock,"  said  Noelie,  in  her  gentlest  tone; 
"and  I  will  be  here  before  nine  to-morrow  to 
meet  you." 

Noelie  went  slowly  up-stairs,  saying  to  her- 
self:  "I  did  not  want  to  see  Mary  these  two 
days  because  my  companions  mocked  at  me. 
I  have  given  her  pain  and  made  her  shiver 
in  her  old  thin  clothes.  God  forgive  me!  I'll 
never  act  so  again." 

XIII. 

The  catechism  course  had  begun,  and 
Noelie  liked  it  very  much;  but,  as  she  wrote 
badly,  she  did  not  take  notes  of  the  instruc- 
tions, as  many  of  the  other  children  did, 
bringing  them  back  nicely  copied  out,  and 
receiving  a  pretty  prize  in  return.  Neither 
did  she  learn  to  repeat  parts  of  the  Gospel. 
But  she  paid  great  attention  to  the  priest  who 
was  giving  the  instructions,  and  prayed  to 
God  that  she  might  be  good. 


Regina  and  Augusta  found  fault  with  her. 

"It  is  a  disgrace  that  you  can't  take  notes! " 
said  Regina.  "  We  did  so  when  we  were  seven 
years  old.  What  will  the  other  girls  say?" 

"Why,  they  will  say  I  am  lazy,"  replied 
Noelie,  with  a  laugh. 

A  few  days  afterward  Regina  said  to  her 
sister  and  Noelie  during  recreation  : 

"I  have  made  a  fine  discovery.  The  little 
witch  goes  to  catechism." 

"Impossible!"  said  Augusta. 

"She  does  indeed.  She  sits  on  the  fifth 
bench  behind  us." 

"Are  you  sure?"  asked  Noelie. 

"Yes,— the  fifth  bench." 

The  two  girls  went  on  chatteripg,  but  Noelie 
did  not  seem  to  listen. 

The  following  day  was  the  catechism.  Noelie 
watched  till  she  saw  Mary  arrive,  then  placed 
herself  beside  her.  She  said  in  her  heart : 

"My  companions  despise  you,  and  I  almost 
did  the  same  the  other  day.  I  gave  you  pain. 
I  want  to  make  you  forget  it." 

Noelie  was  surprised  to  see  that  Mary  took 
notes,  and  she  instantly  made  her  a  present 
of  her  portfolio  and  pencil.  She  had  never 
found  it  so  easy  to  learn  the  lesson ;  and  the 
priest,  who  came  round  to  collect  the  chil- 
dren's notes,  gave  her  a  smile  of  approval. 

But  the  next  catechism  day  Mary  was  not 
there.  Noelie  was  troubled;  she  persuaded 
Catherine  to  inquire  of  the  portress. 

"I  have  not  seen  her  for  three  days," 
replied  the  woman.  "But  this  often  happens. 
I  think  the  old  woman  has  some  sort  of  fits, 
and  during  that  time  neither  she  nor  the  child 
eats  or  drinks." 

Some  days  passed  away,  and  at  last  Noelie 
grew  so  unhappy  that  she  asked  Catherine  to 
climb  with  her  to  the  garret.  She  did  so. 

*  *  Knock, ' '  said  Catherine.  Noelie  knocked, 
— no  answer.  "Knock  louder,"  said  Cathe- 
rine,— no  answer.  "Call  her,"  said  Catherine. 
Noelie  called, '  *  Mary ! ' '  but  all  was  silent.  She 
listened  at  the  door, — not  a  sound.  She  looked 
through  the  keyhole, — all  was  darkness.  "No 
one  can  live  here,"  said  Catherine.  "Let  us 
go  down." 

They  went  back  to  the  portress,  and  asked 

whether  they  had  made  a  mistake  in  the  room. 

"No,"  said  she;   "it  is  that  room  at  the 

top  of  the  ladder.  But  it  is  just  as  I  told  you : 


574 


The  Ave  Maria. 


no  one  can  get  in.  It  is  as  if  they  were  both 
dead." 

The  next  day  Noelie  was  more  uneasy  than 
ever;  she  persuaded  Catherine  to  make  an- 
other attempt  at  the  garret  door.  But  while 
going  up  the  stairs  they  saw  Mary  mounting 
also,  with  a  heavy  basket. 

"Mary,  Mary!  Then  you  are  not  ill?  Your 
grandmother  has  not  done  you  any—' '  She  was 
going  to  say  harm,  but  she  stopped  suddenly. 
Mary  looked  pale,  and  as  if  ready  to  faint. 
*'I  have  been  miserable  about  you,"  con- 
tinued Noelie.  "You  were  not  at  catechism, 
so  yesterday  I  came  to  see  you.  I  called  and  I 
knocked,  but  all  in  vain." 

' '  How  good  you  are ! ' '  said  Mary.  '  *  I  heard 
you  knocking." 

• '  You  heard  me  and  never  came !  That  was 
too  bad." 

"I  could  not  help  it.  Grandmother  had  one 
of  her  attacks.  But  if  you  could  come  now,  I 
should  be  so  happy! " 

"But — but — "  stammered  Noelie,  turning 
pale  and  receding  a  step  or  two;  *  your 
grandmother — " 

"Oh,"  said  Mary,  with  a  smile,  "grand- 
mother won't  even  see  you!  She  is  fast  asleep. 
Her  attack  is  over,  and  she  always  sleeps  for 
a  long  time  afterward,  so  that  I  can  go  out 
and  buy  provisions.  Come!  do  come!"  she 
continued,  taking  up  her  basket. 

"Plaase,  Catherine,  let  me  go  in  only  for 
five  minutes!" 

So  Catherine  sat  outside,  while  Noelie  went 
into  the  garret  with  Mary.  It  was  in  total 
darkness,  but  Mary  drew  Noelie  on  till  they 
reached  the  window,  and,  lifting  a  heavy 
curtain,  they  fouud  themselves  by  a  wide 
window-seat. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  have  you,"  whispered 
Mary, "and  to  show  you  my  window,  my  dear 
window!  Look  at  my  bit  of  sky,  and  that 
acacia.  It  is  so  pretty  in  summer.  And  I  can 
see  the  street  by  which  you  come  here,  so  I 
watch  for  you,  and  that  is  why  I  always  meet 
you,— except  when  grandmother  is  ill.  Just 
look  where  I  keep  your  picture." 

She  lifted  a  corner  of  the  curtain,  and  Noelie 
saw  a  little  wooden  table,  on  which  was  a 
crucifix ;  at  its  foot  was  the  picture  of  Our 
Lady  which  Noelie  had  given  to  Mary. 

"That    picture   is   such   company    to   me 


when  I  have  to  sit  here  for  hours  together 
while  grandmother  is  ill, — for  she  can't  endure 
the  slightest  noise.  I  can't  even  sew  or  write." 

"And  can't  you  read?"  asked  Noelie. 

"Yes,  I  do  read;  but  I  havf  only  a  few 
books,  and  I  know  them  almost  by  heart,  I 
have  read  them  so  often." 

"And  what  do  you  do  all  these  long  days, 
my  poor  Mary?" 

"I  look  into  the  street,  and  then  at  my 
crucifix  and  my  picture.  I  pray  a  little  and 
read  and  dream.  And  I  have  guessed  a  great 
deal  about  you." 

"Really?"  said  Noelie,  surprised. 

"First  of  all,"  continued  Mary,  "like  me, 
you  have  no  mother.  You  come  with  your 
maid,  and  once  or  twice  I  saw  you  with  an 
old  gentleman.  I  think  he  must  be  your 
grandfather." 

"No,  my  uncle,"  said  Noelie. 

"You  have  neither  brother  nor  sister,  and 
you  are  the  only  joy  of  your  uncle's  life. 
When  you  go  home,  I  follow  you  in  thought. 
You  run  to  kiss  him ;  you  tell  him  what  you 
have  learned,  and  how  hard  you  have  studied 
in  order  to  please  him.  Then  at  dinner  you 
wait  on  him  so  carefully,  watching  his  least 
desire ;  and  after  dinner  you  read  to  him,  or 
play  on  the  piano;  and  then  at  bed- time  you 
give  him  a  kiss  and  go  to  pray  for  him.  Now, 
haven't  I  guessed  right?" 

Noelie  made  no  answer ;  her  cheeks  were 
red,  her  eyes  full  of  tears.  How  different  was 
the  picture  from  the  reality! 

At  that  moment  Catherine  knocked  at  the 
door. 

"Oh,  she  will  wake  grandmother!"  said 
Mary.  "And  if  she  is  awakened  suddenly  her 
attack  will  come  on  again  Dear  Noelie,  fare- 
well! Give  me  your  hand  that  I  may  lead  you 
safely  to  the  door. ' ' 

"I'll  come  again  to-morrow,"  said  Noelie. 

As  soon  as  she  was  safely  down  the  ladder 
she  gave  Catherine  two  big  kisses. 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  how  good  little 
Mary  is!  Do  let  me  go  again  to  morrow!" 

"Why,  you  staid  a  half  hour  to-day  in- 
stead of  five  minutes!" 

"Never  mind,  dear  Catherine.  Promise  for 
to-morrow." 

"We'll  see,"  said  Catherine. 

(TO   BB  CONTINUBD.) 


The  Ave  Maria. 


555 


Greater  than  the  King. 


BY    KI^ORA   Iv.  STAN  FIELD. 


A  very  long  while  ago,  in  the  good  or  the 
bad  old  days,  whichever  >  ou  choose  to  call 
them,  a  certain  King  lived  and  reigned.  He 
wore  a  real  crown — not  keeping  it  put  away 
in  the  best  closet,  as  kings  do  now, — and  he 
held  a  bright  sceptre  in  his  hand,  and  had  his 
velvet  robe  trimmed  with  ermine  and  carried 
by  pages  when  he  walked.  Along  with  the 
crown  and  the  sceptre  and  the  robe  he  had 
the  authority  of  an  old-fashioned  king ;  and 
when  he  thought  best  to  take  away  some 
man's  property,  or  even  to  put  him  to  death, 
he  simply  ordered  it  done,  and  did  not  ask 
the  members  of  parliament  one  word  about  it. 
One  reason  for  this  was  that  there  were  no 
members  of  parliament;  and  the  only  person 
of  whom  he  ever  asked  advice  was  his  coun- 
sellor, Seraphael  by  name.  He  was  a  good 
man,  and  had  such  influence  over  his  master 
that  in  the  course  of  years  he  saved  many 
lives  and  managed  to  keep  the  people  com- 
paratively contented. 

Now,  it  happened  one  day  that  the  King 
got  into  a  wretched  entanglement  with  a 
neighboring  monarch,  and  saw  no  way  out  of 
the  dilemma  except  to  go  to  war  or  tell  a  lie. 
He  thought  the  matter  over,  sending  spies  to 
ascertain  the  strength  of  his  enemy's  forces; 
and,  finding  them  much  stronger  than  his 
own,  he  concluded  that  the  lie  would  be 
safest,  and  would  help  him  out  of  his  per- 
plexity without  the  public  loss  of  his  honor. 
He  sent  for  Seraphael  and  stated  his  decision. 
The  counsellor,  who  was  quite  familiar  with 
the  state  of  affairs,  simply  bowed. 

"And  so,"  said  the  King,  beginning  to  be 
enraged,  "you  are  to  go  to  the  King  of  the 
West  and  give  my  message." 

"Your  pardon,  dearest  King,  but  I  can  not 
do  this  errand." 

"'Can  not'  is  no  word  to  be  used  to  me." 

"Then  I  will  not,  if  that  suits  better." 

"This  is  treason!"  cried  the  King,  who  was 
on  the  vergeof  apoplexy  just  from  anger.  "I 
have  trusted  you  and  loved  you,  but  I  will 
serve  you  no  better  than  I  have  served  others 
who  have  defied  me — to  their  cost." 


The  counsellor  bowed  again.  Then  the 
King  argued  and  threatened,  all  to  no  pur- 
pose; and,  seeing  that  Seraphael  was  quite 
determined  to  have  his  own  way  in  the  mat- 
ter, he  dismissed  him,  saying  mysteriously, 
"To-morrow  you  shall  see!" 

Seraphael  left  the  royal  presence  with  a 
light  heart,  rejoicing  that  he  had  been  strong 
enough  to  defy  a  monarch  in  his  wrath,  and 
went  to  his  home.  The  next  day  the  King's 
messenger  waited  upon  him. 

"His  Majesty  wishes  to  know  if  you  are  of 
the  same  mind  as  yesterday." 

"The  same." 

"Be  it  known  then,"  said  the  messenger, 
in  a  loud  voice,  "that  your  houses  and  lands 
are  confiscate  unto  the  crown."  Saying  this 
he  departed. 

Days  passed,  and  the  King,  expecting  the 
recantation  of  his  counsellor,  called  an  officer 
of  the  palace. 

"Doth  Seraphael  relent?" 

"May  it  please  your  gracious  Majesty,  he 
seems  happier  than  ever,  and  bids  me  tell  you 
that  he  thanks  you  for  relieving  him  of  the 
care  of  wealth,  which  was  heavy  on  his  mind." 

"How  doth  the  traitor  occupy  his  time?" 
stormed  the  King. 

"In  playing  with  his  children  three  upon 
the  lawn,  may  it  please  your  Majesty ;  and  in 
singing,  while  his  wafe  doth  listen,  many  a 
song  of  war  and  love. ' ' 

"Take  away  his  wife  and  children!"  said 
the  ruler.   "I  will  see  if  that  will  tame  him." 

A  week  passed. 

"Doth  he  yet  yield?"  asked  the  tyrant. 

' '  Nay,  sire ;  he  bids  me  say  that  he  now 
hath  time  for  study  and  contemplation,  and 
he  asks  kind  Heaven  to  bless  his  wife  and 
babes,  wherever  they  may  be." 

"Oh,  he  takes  refuge  in  his  books!"  ex- 
claimed King  Robert.  "Burn  them  and  put 
the  viper  in  a  dungeon.". 

In  a  fortnight  came  the  officer  again. 

"Doth  he  crave  my  pardon  yet?  "  demanded 
the  sovereign. 

"May  it  please  you,  sire,  he  only. bids  me 
tell  you  that  he  hath  still  left  the  power  to 
pray,  and  in  his  prayers  he  begs  Heaven  to 
have  mercy  on  all  tyrants." 

"I  will  trifle  no  longer,"  said  the  King. 
"To  morrow  at  dawn  he  shall  be  beheaded." 


576 


The  Ave  Maria, 


The  fatal  morning  was  dewy  and  sweet, 
but  no  more  peaceful  than  the  mild  face  of  the 
patient  man  about  to  die. 

"Do  my  bidding  and  live,"  said  the  King. 

"I  can  die,  but  I  will  not  lie,"  answered  the 
condemned  man.  "You  can  but  take  my  life  ; 
you  leave  me  the  glory  of  heaven." 

Then  the  King  fell  upon  his  neck,  forgiving 
and  blessing  him. 

" Noble  Seraphael ! "  he  exclaimed.  "You 
would  die  rather  than  lie!  You  are  greater 
than  the  King!" 

Then  followed  many  quiet  years  for  both 
ruler  and  counsellor ;  and  when  King  Robert 
died,  leaving  no  son,  the  courtiers  cried, 
"Give  us  Seraphael  for  our  king! "  And  they 
crowned  him,  calling  him' "King  Seraphael 
the  True."  And  the  people  wept  for  joy. 


La  Santa  Casa. 


The  humble  House  of  Nazareth,  sancti- 
fied, according  to  the  testimony  of  the  Holy 
Fathers,  by  the  bitth  of.  our  Blessed  I^ady, 
and  later  on  by  the  labors  of  the  God-Man, 
was  at  all  times  a  centre  of  veneration  to  Chris- 
tian people.  Hardly  was  peace  restored  to  the 
Church  than  the  Empress  Helena  enclosed  the 
modest  habitation  within  a  superb  temple, 
to  which  the  pilgrims  of.  the  East  came  in 
great  numbers,  watering  it  with  their  tears 
and  adorning  it  with  their  gifts. 

Galilee,  whitened  with  the  bones  of  I^atin 
warriors,  had  again  fallen  under  the  Ottoman 
dominion.  ^The  monument  erected  by  St. 
Helena  was  no  more  than  a  ruin;  and  the 
august  sanctuary,  left  standing,  was  going  to 
share  the  same  fate,  when  God  commanded 
His  angels  to  detach  it  from  its  foundation 
and  transport  it  to  the  fields  of  Dalmatia-  It 
was  on  the  loth  of  May,  1291.  Great  was  the 
surprise  of  the  inhabitants  at  the  sight  of  this 
unfamiliar  edifice;  great  their  transports  of 
devotion  when  they  recognized  its  sacredness ; 
great  also  was  their  desolation  when,  after 
three  years  and  a  half,  the  sanctuary  dis- 
appeared from  their  sight,  and  was  transported 
to  the  shores  of  the  Adriatic,  to  a  wood  be- 
longing to  an  illustrious  lady  named  Laureta. 

The  news  of  this  event  spread  rapidly,  and 
from  all  points  of  Italy  and  of  Europe  nu- 


merous pilgrims  hastened  to  lay  their  pious 
offerings  at  Mary's  feet.  The  sight  of  the 
treasures  awakened  the  cupidity  of  certain 
wicked  men,  who,  favored  by  the  civil  wars, 
infested  the  forest,  and  soon  rendered  the  holy 
dwelling  inaccessible.  But  it  was  not  to  con- 
sign it  to  oblivion  that  God  had  brought 
thither  from  such  a  distance  the  birthplace  of 
His  Holy  Mother.  The  chapel  was  again 
transported  about  a  thousand  feet  from  the 
forest,  to  a  hill  which  belonged  equally  to  two 
brothers  of  the  Astici  family.  This  removal 
caused  fresh  admiration  and  rekindled  the 
fervor  of  Christendom.  However,  the  riches 
accumulated  in  the  holy  chapel  soon  excited 
the  covetousness  of  the  two  brothers,  and 
whilst  they  disputed  with  weapons  for  a  sacri- 
legious booty,  the  sacred  walls  rose  up  once 
more  in  the  air  and  fixed  themselves  a  little 
farther  off,  on  the  public  highway,  on  the  spot 
where  now  nestles  the  town  of  lyoreto. 

The  house  of  such  strange  destiny  was 
surrounded  by  a  large  and  beautiful  church. 
Millions  of  pilgrims — pontiffs  and  priests, 
princes  and  people, — came  in  turn  to  repeat 
the  Ave  Maria  within  those  walls  which 
heard  the  Archangel's  salutation,  and  to  sing 
the  beautiful  Litany  called  of  I^oreto,  because 
from  time  immemorial  it  has  been  intoned 
every  day  in  that  glorious  sanctuary. 

That  this  dwelling  is  the  same  in  which 
"the  Word  was  made  flesh  and  dwelt  amongst 
us"  is  a  fact  confirmed  by  the  briefs  of  the 
Sovereign  Pontiff's,  the  piety  of  all  Chris- 
tendom, the  continual  prodigies  which  take 
place  there,  and  the  heavenly  blessings  of 
which  it  is  the  source.  Therefore,  wishing  to 
excite  more  and  more  the  devotion  of  the  faith- 
ful toward  the  sweet  Mother  of  our  lyord 
Jesus  Christ,  Pope  Innocent  XII.  ordained 
that  the  anniversary  of  the  Translation  of  the 
Holy  House  (December  10),  already  held  in 
great  veneration  in  the  province  of  the 
Marches,  should  be  celebrated  by  a  Mass  and 
an    Office    appropriate    to    that    miraculous 

event. 

•  ♦  • 

A  wEivL-KNOWN  Cardinal  says  a  gentleman 
is  one  who  never  inflicts  pain.  This  is  hard 
on  the  dentist,  isn't  it? 

The  happiest  days  in  our  life  are  those  in 
which  we  have  made  others  happy. 


MADONNA    DELLA    SCALA. 
Correggio. 


Vol..  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  DECEMBER  21,  1889. 


No.  25. 


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


The  Christ-Child's  Birth. 


BY   WII,I,IAM   D.  KEIvIvY. 

TPHE  Syrian  skj^  with  sheen  wa.s  all  alight, 
'^    And  night's  full  noon  hung  over  Bethlehem, 

When  all  at  once,  like  some  surpassing  gem 
Whose  sudden  splendor  flashes  on  the  sight, 
The  stars  that  sentinelled  the  azure  height 

Beheld  another  rise,  whose  faintest  hem 

Eclipsed  in  brilliancy  the  whole  of  them ; 
And  downward  darting  through  the  dreamy  night, 
Singing  sweet  carols  as  along  they  swept, 

Myriads  of  angels  clove  the  ambient  air 
With  swift  white  wings,  which  on  and  onward  kept 

Till  they  were  folded  in  the  starlight  where 
Thy  fair  face  smiled  above  the  Babe  who  slept, 

Madonna,  on  thy  bosom  softly  there. 


The  Great  Christmas  Choral. 


BY  MAURICE   FRANCIS   EGAN. 


HERE  is  a  particular  halo  around  the 
hymns  of  the  Christmas  season.  The 
hymns  for  Easter  and  for  May  leave 
an  exquisite  perfume;  but,  somehow  or  other, 
the  Christmas  hymns  are  dearest  to  all  who 
have  heard  them  in  their  youth.  Blessings  on 
the  compiler  of  the  little  hymn-book  printed 
by  Peter  F.  Cunningham,  in  Philadelphia, 
sometime  in  the  fifties!  If  many  of  those  de- 
lightful tunes  came  out  of  the  operas,  were 
they  not,  in  reality,  all  the  better  for  it? — 


since  we  heard  the  hymns  before  we  heard 
the  operas ;  and  when  we  did  hear  the  operas 
afterward,  they  seemed  to  be  full  of  musical 
quotations. 

What  if  "Macula  non  est  inTe"  was  sung 
to  an  air  from  * '  lyucrezia  Borgia  " ;  or  Heber's 
"Brightest  and  Best"  had  come  to  us  from 
a  Protestant  collection  of  "sacred  songs"? 
Were  they  not  good  ?  And  we  know  that  every 
hymn  in  the  Protestant  collection,  with  any 
heart  or  intellect  in  it,  was  originally  Catholic. 
I^uther's  "A  Mighty  Fortress  is  Our  God"  is 
not  I^uther's  at  all,  but  an  old  choral  sung  in 
Germany  long  before  I^uther  thought  of  the 
heresy,  whose  effect  he  afterward  so  much 
regretted. 

There  was  a  time  when  our  separated  breth- 
ren claimed  Dry  den's  translation  of  the  "  Veni 
Creator"  and  "Rock  of  Ages"  and  "Jeru- 
salem, my  Happy  Home";  but  they  have 
learned  much  since  then,  and  now  the  clever 
ones  among  them  would  as  soon  think  of 
claiming  the  Sacred  Scriptures  or  Raphael's 
Madonnas  as  "Come,  Holy  Spirit,"  the  "Dies 
Irse,"  or  the  "Adeste  Fideles." 

It  is  a  remarkable  thing  that  Protestantism, 
so  long  as  it  remained  the  religion  of  the 
narrow-minded,  and  dreamed  of  the  Catholic 
Church  after  the  manner  of  John  Bunyau, 
claimed  every  good  hymn  that  had  no  allusion 
to  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  it.  The  Wesleys  were 
responsible  for  this ;  for  English  Protestantism 
owes  nearly  all  the  vitality  it  has  to  those  two 
men.  Charles  Wesley  borrowed  the  idea  of 
the  Sunday-school  from  St.  Charles  Borromeo, 
and  of  the  "revival"  from  the  Neapolitan 
"missions."   To  the  Sunday-school  and  the 


578 


The  Ave  Maria, 


hymnal — made  up,  as  the  late  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  frankly  confessed,  very  largely  from 
Catholic  sources — the  English  dissenters  owe 
all  the  life  there  is  in  their  practices. 

Of  all  hymns,  the  sweetest,  the  most  solemn 
after  the  **Tantum  Ergo,"  is  the  old  "Adeste 
Fideles."  It  has  literally  gone  thundering 
down  the  ages;  and  the  air  to  which  a  divine 
genius  seems  to  have  set  it  is  part  of  itself.  It 
is  both  the  thought  and  the  expression,  welded 
together  like  the  soul  and  the  body.  Listen  to 
the  solemn  breadth  of  tone  as  the  first  line 
fills  the  church,  sung — as  it  should  always  be 
sung — by  a  great  mass  of  people,  with  chil- 
dren's voices  to  ring  out  above  the  rest  in  the 
third  line, 

Natum  videte  Regem  Angelorum. 

Three  hundred  years  ago,  and  before  that, 
little  children  were  placed  in  the  clerestory 
gallery  of  the  French  cathedrals,  to  sing  at 
the  Midnight  Mass,  because  their  voices  were 
more  like  those  of  the  angels  than  any  human 
voices  could  be.  And  now  the  children's 
voices  should  sing  the  invocation  in  this 
most  solemn  yet  most  joyous  of  hymns.  The 
' ' Adeste  Fideles  "  is  a  choral  of  chorals,  and 
so  easily  learned  that  no  Christian  voice  need 
be  silent  when  it  thunders  and  ripples  and 
dies  away,  like  the  waves  of  the  sea,  and  goes 
appealingly,  commandingly,  triumphantly,  to 
its  end. 

We  have  before  us  four  versions,  Englished 
by  various  authors,  of  this  great  old  hymn. 
How  old  it  is  we  do  not  know,  or  how  old  its 
music ;  all  we  know  is  that,  like  many  sweet 
and  solemn  airs,  the  latter  had  its  origin  in 
Portugal.  The  first  version  is  by  J.  C.  Eaxle, 
whose  sonnets  are  so  well  known  and  appre 
ciated.  This,  like  all  the  English  versions, 
unfortunately  does  not  go  well  with  the  music. 
Mr.  Earle  begins : 

In  triumph,  joy,  and  holy  fear, 
Draw  near,  ye  faithful  souls, — draw  uear ; 
The  Infant  King  of  Heaven  is  here. 
None  treads  aright  but  Bethlehem-ward ; 
Come  hither  and  adore  the  Lord. 

R.  Campbell  writes: 

Oh  come,  all  ye  faithful. 

Adoring,  triumphant, 
Oh  joyful,  oh  joyful,  to  Bethlehem  repair! 

Behold  in  a  manger 

The  Monarch  of  Angels ; 
With  glad  alleluias  His  glory  declare. 


We  think  Mr.  Charles  Kent's  version  very 
beautifiil : 

Come,  O  faithful,  with  sweet  voices 
Lift  the  song  that  heaven  rejoices. 

Song  to  Bethlehem  glory  bringing : 
Where  the  swathing  clothes  enfold  Him, 
King  of  Angels,  there  behold  Him. 
Come,  with  thoughts  to  heaven  upsoaring ; 
Come,  with  lowly  knees  adoring ; 
Come,  angelic  anthems  singing. 

The  hymn  is  sung  from 

Adeste  fideles,  lasti  triumph  antes, 
to  the  line 

Patris  aeterni,  Verbum  caro  factum. 

Mr.  J.  R.  Beste's  rendering  differs  somewhat 
from  the  three  we  have  given : 

Hasten,  ye  faithful,  jiilad,  joyful,  and  holy. 

Speed  ye  to  Bethlehem,  to  honor  the  Word. 
See,  there  the  King  of  Angels  is  bom  lowly. 
Oh,  come  and  kneel  before  Him ; 
Oh,  come  and  all  adore  Him; 
Oh  come,  oh  come,  rejoicing,  to  honor  the  LordI 

All  these  versions  will  be  found  in  Orby 
Shipley's  excellent  collection  "Annus  Sanc- 
tus."  If  a  more  perfect  rendition  can  be  made 
of  this  great  choral,  let  us  have  it,  so  that  the 
English  words  may  be  one  with  the  grand  old 
music.  We  wish  that  space  would  allow  us  to 
give  all  the  English  versions.   The  one  we 
prefer  is  less  elegant,  and  even  in  parts  less 
accurate,  than  any  in  the  "Annus  Sanctus"; 
but  because  it  sings  itself  to  the  music,  and 
because  thousands  of  Catholic  American  chil- 
dren sing  it  every  Christmas,  we  give  part  of 
it, — the  part  including  the  invocation,  which 
is  very  strong  and  direct.    It  is  out  of  the  old 
hymn-book  printed  at  Philadelphia  in  1854: 
With  hearts  truly  grateful, 
Come,  all  ye  faithful. 
To  Jesus,  to  Jesus,  in  Bethlehem. 
See  Christ,  our  Saviour, 
Heaven's  greatest  favor! 
Let's  hasten  to  adore  Him, 
Let's  hasten  to  adore  Him, 
Let's  hasten  to  adore  Him,  our  God  and  King  f 

God  to  God  equal, 
Light  of  light  eternal, 
Carried  in  the  Virgin's  spotless  womb ; 
He  all  preceded, — 
Begotten,  not  created. 

This  is  not  good  poetical  form,  but  it  is  what 
we  know  best,  and  what  has  been  saturated 
with  the  reverberating  tones  of  the  grand 
old  air ;  for,  after  all,  the  best  hymns  are  the 
hymns  that  sing  themselves. 


The  Ave  Maria, 


579 


Dom  Romuald's  Christmas  Masses. 


A  TAIvE  OP  THE  SIXTEENTH   CENTURY. 


THE  year  1525  was  a  very  unfortunate  one 
for  Alsace.  About  the  middle  of  April  an 
army  of  Lutheran  fanatics  formed  along  the 
banks  of  the  Rhine,  from  Basle  to  Wissem- 
burg ;  seized  upon  and  pillaged  the  city  of 
Strassburg,  massacring  all  who  made  any 
show  of  resistance ;  burned  monasteries  and 
destroyed  castles  throughout  the  surrounding 
country.  They  even  penetrated  into  Lorraine, 
but  were  met  by  Duke  Anthony,  at  the  head 
of  a  brave  army,  by  whom  they  were  cut  to 
pieces  and  their  remnants  driven  beyond  the 
Rhine. 

About  thirty  of  these  rebels  managed  to 
conceal  themselves  in  the  thickness  of  the 
forests.  Guided  by  a  country  lad,  they  took 
possession  of  one  of  the  deepest  gorges  of  the 
mountains,  the  entrance  to  which  was  scarcely 
six  feet  in  width,  and  lay  batween  two  steep 
rocks,  beneath  the  battlements  of  an  old  tower. 
Here  the  rebals  erected  a  barricade,  and  ap- 
pointed ten  as  guards, — a  number  more  than 
sufiiclent  to  defend  the  passage  against  the 
largest  army. 

The  others  advanced,  during  the  night,  to 
a  little  village  of  about  twenty  families,  called 
St.  Mary's,  a  dependency  of  the  Abbey  of 
Saint-Di6,  which  was  a  few  miles  distant.  It 
was  a  charming  hamlet,  situated  on  the  banks 
of  a  beautiful  river,  embowered  in  fruit-trees 
in  bloom,  encircled  by  well-cultivated  vine- 
yards, and  higher  up  by  the  fir-trees  of  the 
forest.  It  was  protected  by  an  ancient  feudal 
castle  erected  upon  one  of  the  steepest  and 
highest  rocks  of  the  Vosges, — a  construc- 
tion given  by  Charlemagne  to  the  monks 
of  Saint- Die,  on  condition  that  they  would 
build  a  chapel  and  found  a  perpetual  daily 
Mass  for  the  vsoul  of  the  great  Christian  Em- 
peror. The  castle  thus  became  a  little  church, 
with  two  or  three  apartments  adjoining  for 
the  priest,  and  surmounted  by  a  belfry  from 
which  pealed  forth  the  three  best  bells  in  the 
country.  Dom  Romuald,  an  old  and  learned 
monk,  who  for  many  years  had  taught  litera- 
ture  and   theology,  and   who  had  travelled 


extensively  through  Europe,  had  asked  for 
the  post  of  chaplain,  that  he  might  spend  the 
declining  years  of  his  life  in  this  calm  retreat. 
There  he  had  lived  for  nearly  fifteen  years, 
during  the  fine  season — from  April  to  Novem- 
ber. The  winter  he  passed  in  St.  Mary's,  for 
the  inhabitants  could  not  use  the  road  leading 
to  St.  Michael's  Tower  on  account  of  the 
snow  and  ice. 

This  road,  or  rather  path,  was  at  its  best 
rough  and  dangerous,  winding  along  the  edges 
of  bottomless  precipices,  and  crossed  in  several 
places  by  torrents,  over  which  fallen  trunks 
of  trees  afibrded  the  only  means  of  passage. 
Not  content  with  these  natural  defences,  the 
soldiers  of  Charlemagne  had  dug  a  large  ditch 
at  the  foot  of  the  castle,  through  which  the 
most  violent  of  the  mountain  torrents  poured 
with  a  deafening  noise.  Over  this  they 
threw  an  iron  drawbridge,  which,  when  raised 
against  the  side  of  the  fortress,  would  most 
efiectually  prevent  any  entrance  to  it. 

From  spring  to  winter  the  son  of  the  princi- 
pal farmer  of  St.  Mary's,  Gerald  Harneck — a 
tall  and  brave  young  man,  about  twenty  years 
of  age, — used  to  go  every  morning  to  bring 
provisions  to  Dom  Romuald,  serve  his  Mass, 
and  relate  all  the  news  of  the  village.  After 
which,  if  any  necessity  required  his  presence, 
Gerald  would  lead  the  good  monk  to  the 
village,  and  accompany  him  back  to  his  her- 
mitage, as  an  affectionate  son  would  help  an 
old  father. 

II. 

On  the  30th  of  May,  1525,  after  Mass  was 
over  and  as  he  was  about  to  cross  the  draw- 
bridge, a  terrible  scene  presented  itself  to 
Gerald  as  he  looked  down  upon  his  beloved 
village,  usually  so  peaceful  and  happy.  He 
saw  his  father's  house  in  flames,  and  the  con- 
flagration extending  to  other  abodes  in  the 
village ;  he  could  hear  the  cries  of  horror  and 
despair,  and  see  armed  men  furiously  rushing 
through  the  midst  of  the  affrighted  people. 

Gerald,  whose  courage  was  roused  by  this 
horrible  spectacle,  rushed  at  once  to  the  aid  of 
his  unfortunate  neighbors.  He  flew  down  the 
mountain  path  at  the  imminent  risk  more  than 
once  of  falling  into  some  abyss,  when  sud- 
denly he  saw  before  him  a  number  of  soldiers, 
who  discharged  a  volley  of  musketry  at  him. 
He  was  slightly  wounded,  but  recovered  him- 


58o 


The  Ave  Maria, 


self  with  the  quickness  of  a  wounded  chamois, 
crossed  a  torrent,  and  threw  the  trunk  which 
had  formed  a  bridge  into  the  abyss,  then  rap- 
idly regained  the  drawbridge  at  the  foot  of  the 
castle.  In  the  meantime  his  enemies,  with  their 
axes,  had  cut  down  a  large  fir-tree,  by  means 
of  which  they  were  enabled  to  cross  the 
torrent  and  continue  the  pursuit.  But  Gerald 
found  himself  unable  to  raise  the  drawbridge, 
and  called  loudly  for  Dom  Romuald  to  come  to 
his  assistance.  Happily  his  cries  were  heard. 
The  old  priest  hastened  out,  and,  as  he  saw 
Gerald  bleeding  from  his  wound,  he  under- 
stood at  once  the  danger  that  threatened  them. 
Together  they  succeeded  in  raising  the  heavy 
iron  bridge,  leaving  open  the  raging  torrent 
beneath,  and  effectually  barring  all  access  to 
their  retreat.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  afterward 
the  shot  of  the  enemy  beat  harmlessly  on  the 
massive  walls ;  and  Dom  Romuald,  after  hav- 
ing cared  for  his  companion,  watched  from 
one  of  the  battlements  of  the  castle  the  vain 
efforts  of  these  unknown  invaders.  They 
perceived  him  and  cried  out : 

"We  are  called  rebels,  and  we  are  proud  of 
the  name.  We  want  no  more  priests,  monk.s, 
lords,  or  masters.  We  have  killed  Duke  An- 
thony and  a  hundred  thousand  people  in 
lyorraine.  Tljere  are  a  million  of  us,  and  we 
are  going  to  kill  the  Pope  and  the  Emperor 
and  all  the  kings  and  princes.  Surrender,  you 
wretches,  and  you  will  save  your  lives!  If 
you  don't,  you  will  be  killed  and  your  bodies 
burned.  There  are  ten  thousand  of  us  below 
in  the  valley,  and  we  can  easily  break  down 
your  walls.  If  we  can't  taifee  your  fortress,  we 
shall  keep  you  prisoners  until  you  die  of 
hunger.  If  you  surrender  now  we  will  spare 
you  and  also  the  people  down  ia  the  village. 
If  you  resist  we  shall  destroy  them  all  and 
yourselves  afterward." 

Dom  Romuald,  turning  to  Gerald,  said: 
"You  hear  all  they  say !  What  will  you  do?  " 

"I  shall  wait  until  God  sends  us  help," 
replied  the  young  man;  "or  die  here  after 
receiving  the  last  Sacraments  from  you." 

The  old  monk  replied:  "We  have  bread 
and  wine  enough  to  last  us  until  winter.  May 
God  protect  us!" 

HI. 

And  so  Dom  Romuald  and  Gerald,  who 
soon  recovered  from   his  wound,  remained 


confined  within  the  castle  walls,  nourishing 
themselves  day  by  day  with  a  little  bread  and 
wine,  praying  with  confidence  and  resigna- 
tion, studying  the  I<atin  language,  in  which 
the  monk  gave  lessons  to  Gerald  that  the  time 
might  not  drag  heavily.  Every  day  the  Holy 
Sacrifice  of  the  Mass  was  offered  up,  and  on 
Sunday  the  ofiices  of  the  Church  were  sol- 
emnly recited,  and  were  announced  by  the 
sound  of  the  bells,  rung  as  usual,  which  in- 
creased the  fury  of  the  rebels. 

The  latter  had  made  themselves  masters  of 
the  entire  valley.  The  people,  conquered  by 
the  destruction  of  their  homes  and  the  death 
of  some  of  their  number,  had  bowed  to  the 
yoke  of  the  invaders  and  become  their  slaves. 
They  believed  the  lies  and  the  boastful  stories 
told  by  the  rebels  in  regard  to  the  death  of 
Duke  Anthony,  the  massacre  of  the  monks 
of  Saint-Die,  the  defeat  of  the  Emperor,  the 
captivity  of  the  Pope,  and  the  triumph  of 
Martin  Luther  and  his  apostate  companions. 
It  was  impossible  for  them  to  communicate 
with  the  rest  of  the  world.  A  messenger  from 
the  Abbey  had  presented  himself  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  gorge  leading  to  St.  Mary's,  but 
narrowly  escaped  being  shot.  The  abbot  in- 
formed Duke  Anthony  of  the  state  of  affairs; 
but  the  latter,  ignorant  of  the  number  of  the 
rebel  forces,  did  not  dare  to  expose  his  men 
to  what  might  be  a  complete  massacre.  He 
contented  himself  with  guarding  all  the  roads 
leading  from  the  valley,  and  awaited  the  issue. 

IV. 

Winter  at  length  set  in.  After  the  Feast  of 
All  Saints  the  two  poor  prisoners  were  obliged 
to  diminish  their  daily  allowance  of  food, 
already  scanty  enough ;  and,  as  a  consequence, 
they  were  gradually  becoming  enfeebled  in 
strength  and  bodily  powers.  The  survivors 
of  the  Harneck  family  had  tried  in  vain  to 
bring  them  relief:  the  rebels  had  stationed  a 
guard  at  the  entrance  of  the  path  up  the 
mountains,  and  no  one  was  allowed  to  pass. 
Still  Dom  Romuald  and  Gerald  were  safe 
from  the  attacks  of  the  enemy,  as  the  draw- 
bridge could  not  be  approached,  and  the  snows 
of  winter  made  their  position  even  more  inac- 
cessible. But  hunger  would  ere  long  conquer 
them,  and,  after  the  8th  of  December,  they 
added  to  their  daily  devotions  the  prayers  for 
the  dying. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


S8i 


After  Mass  on  the  fourth  Sunday  of  Advent 
'Cerald  said  to  the  monk:  "Father,  we  have 
not  food  enough  to  enable  both  of  us  to  live 
three  days  longer.  Only  one  of  us  can  live 
until  the  Christmas  festival." 
I  "It  will  be  you,  my  son,"  said  the  monk, 
tenderly. 

"No,  Father,"  replied  Gerald:  "it  will  be 
you.  On  that  day  you  will,  for  the  last  time, 
celebrate  Mass  for  the  soul  of  the  great 
Emperor  Charles,  and  for  my  soul — unless, 
through  God's  merciful  Providence,  we  shall 
by  that  time  be  delivered  from  those  fiends 
who  have  besieged  us  for  the  past  seven 
months." 

"What  do  you  mean,  my  son?  What  are 
you  going  to  do  ? " 

"Leave  here  this  very  day.  Like  St.  Paul 
escaping  frotn  the  window  in  a  basket,  I  shall 
descend  this  side  of  the  rock  which  overhangs 
that  wide  plain,  secure  from  the  observation 
of  the  enemy.  I  know  well  that  no  one  has 
ever  attempted  such  a  feat,  but  I  place  my 
trust  and  confidence  in  God.  I  have  gathered 
in  my  room  all  kinds  of  clothing  and  linen, 
and  made  an  immense  rope,  which  I  shall 
fasten  to  the  trunk  of  a  large  tree.  I  have 
calculated  and  made  my  measurements.  Some 
strength  remains  to  me  now,  to-morrow  there 
will  be  but  very  little.  I  still  need  about  forty 
or  fifty  feet  of  rope.  Let  me  have  the  bell- ropes. 
They  can  be  of  no  use,  since  we  have  come  to 
the  end  of  our  provisions  and  of  our  lives; 
but  they  may  perhaps  aid  in  our  deliverance. 
You  know  that  we  have  tried  many  times  to 
attract  the  attention  of  the  people  by  ringing 
these  bells,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  I  must  go 
myself  to  the  help  of  those  brave  Christians, 
if  there  are  any  yet  alive,  and  call  upon  some 
gallant  leader  to  come  to  the  rescue  of  St. 
Mary's.  If,  through  some  misfortune,  my  rope 
be  not  long  enough,  I  shall  commend  my  soul 
to  God  and  let  myself  drop  to  the  ground.  The 
snow  is  very  deep  and  will  render  the  fall  less 
dangerous.  I  have  every  hope,  dear  Father, 
God,  Our  Lady,  and  the  angels  will  be  with 
me  and  will  save  us  both." 

DomRomuald  was  deeply  moved,  and,  bless- 
ing Gerald,  said  to  him :  "I  believe  that  God 
has  given  you  this  inspiration  and  will  make 
you  a  hero.  Go,  my  son,  in  His  holy  name.  I 
liave  given  you  absolution  this  morning  and 


you  have  received  the  Sacred  Body  of  Our 
Lord.  I  shall  remain  in  prayer  before  His 
altar  whilst  you  execute  your  design.  And  if 
you  should  perish  in  your  devotedness  to 
me,  I  shall  not  delay  to  go  and  thank  you  in 
Paradise." 

For  the  last  time  they  sat  down  together  to 
their  meagre  repast.  At  noon  the  last  Angelus 
was  rung,  and  to  the  monk  it  sounded  like 
the  knell  of  death.  Then  they  knelt  together 
before  the  tabernacle,  and  parted.  Gerald  pro- 
ceeded toward  the  extremity  of  the  rock  over- 
looking the  plain;  and,  after  removing  the 
snow  around  a  large  fir-tree,  made  the  rope 
fast  to  its  trunk.  Then,  blessing  himself,  and 
invoking  the  aid  of  Our  Lord,  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin, and  St.  Michael,  he  let  himself  down  the 
side  of  the  rock. 

(CONCI^USION  IN  OUR   NEXT   NUMBER.) 


A  Christmas  Idyl. 


Y    MARY    E.    MANNIX. 


A  CHILD  played  on  the  cushioned  window-seat; 
Without,  the  bitter  air  was  thick  with  sleet 
And  blinding  snow ;  within ,  all  warmth  and  light. 
Smiling,  he  started  up.  ' '  See,  mamma,  see, 
That  boy  across  the  way  ?  Well,  he  knows  me. 
I  would  so  love  to  call  him,  if  I  might! " 

The  mother  rose.  "That  ragged  fellow,  Ned.? 
How  dare  he  beckon  so?  "  she  wondering  said. 

"But,  mamma,  he's  so  poor  and  pale  and  thin! 
I  met  him  in  the  park  the  other  day, 
And  told  him  if  he  ever  came  this  way 

Maybe— perhaps — you'd  let  me  ask  him  in. 
And,  mamma,  there's  a  letter  in  his  hand. 
Please  may  I  get  it?    He  can  hardly  stand : 

The  snow  and  ice  and  hair  are  in  his  eyes." 
"  He  has  no  letter,  child,  for  you  or  me. 
You  are  so  odd,  my  darling!   Let  him  be." 

"But,  mamma,  he  is  just  about  my  size. 
And  I've  got  lots  of  clothes, — I  told  him  so. 
Some  are  too  small  for  me  to  wear,  you  know. 

Do  let  me  call  him, — only  to  the  door! " 
The  mother  raised  the  window  at  her  side  ; 
"Be  off,  you  little  vagabond!"  she  cried. 

"Be  off,  I  tell  you  ;  and  come  here  no  more! " 

The  child  made  no  reply,  but  turned  away  ; 
A  stranger  passing  heard  him  spftly  say  : 
"I  guess  that  Mister  God  don't  care  for  me." 


S82 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Then  into  a  dark  court  he  trembling  crept, 
And  moaned  and  gnawed  his  fingers  till  he  slept, 
To  wake  no  more.  O  Heaven,  can  such  things  be ! 

And  when  they  found  him,  in  his  stiffening  grasp 
(What  last  the  feeble  hand  had  strength  to  clasp) 

A  tear-stained  letter  lay,  and  thus  it  read  : 
•'Dere  Mister  God,  that  little  chap  in  the  square 
I  met  t'other  day,  with  shinin'  curly  hair, — 

Why,  he  tole  me  that  mebbe,  if  I  wos  to  rite, 
You  mite  take  notiss  ;  sed  he  seen  in  a  book 
How  a  feller's  letter  was  jest  cot  up  and  took 

Strait  into  heven  2  you,  on  Crisn;us  nite. 
Dere  Mister  God,  an'  he  sed,  too,  that  day 
Mebbe  he'd  ax  me  in  sometime  to  play, 

An'  now  I'm  a-goin'  cos  it's  Crismus  Eve. 
An'  mebbe  he  kin  gi'  me  some  ole  clo'es, 
Cos,  why,  I'm  nearly  starved  an'  almost  froze. 

An'  if  he  knows  how  to  git  to  you,  I'll  just  leave 
This  'ere  with  him,  so  he  kin  send  it  off. 
I'd  be  obleeged  if  you'd  please  cure  this  orful  coff, 

An'  find  me  somewheres  perm'nent  for  to  stay. 
Dere  Mister  God,  my  hand  is  dreadful  cold, 
An'  I'm  so  hungry,  I  kin  hardly  hold 

This  blamed  ole  pensil  Jake  gi'  me  to-day. 
So,  hopin'  you're  in  good  helth,  and  won't  forgit 
A  kid  with  nowheres  to  lie  nor  stand  nor  sit, 

I'm  yours  respectful  alius, — Gallup's  Jim." 
Kind  hands  uplifted  the  poor  homeless  child. 
And  Jesus  and  Our  Lady  sweetly  smiled 

When  in  white  robes  they  swathed  and  buried 
him. 

In  that  fair  home,  but  fifty  steps  away, 

A  stricken  mother  kneels.  What!  She  dares  pray 

Who  turned  the  Christ-Child's  image  from  her 
door? 
Now  Death  is  whispering  to  her  own  loved  child, 
And,  spent  with  grief  and  supplications  wild, 

She  calls  on  God  to  save  him,  o'er  and  o'er. 

Pitiful  Death,  to  snatch  that  precious  flower 
Before  the  promise  of  its  brightest  hour 

Shrinks  withered  'neath  the  upas-tree  of  pride! 
Merciful  Death !  Two  blossoms  softly  rest 
Upon  the  dear  Child  Jesus'  loving  breast, 
.    Keeping  their  happy  Christmas  side  by  side. 

O  mothers  of  young  children,  sweet  and  dear, 
The  Manger  and  the  Child  are  very  near! 

Reach  out  the  little  hands  to  those  who  wait. 
Hungry  and  cold,  in  these  bright  Christmas  days  ; 
Speeding  in  crowds  adown  the  rugged  ways 

To  Bethlehem,  where  Christ  lies  desolate. 


Provide  a  cradle  wherein  you  may  rock  the 
Infant  Christ  to  rest.  Nurse  Him  in  your  heart, 
that  He  suffer  not  from  cold.— Juan  de  Avila. 


Two  Midnight  Masses. 


I. 

IN  the  height  of  the  Reign  of  Terror  my 
grandmother,  then  a  young  girl,  lived  in 
the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain.  She  dwelt  there 
alone  with  her  mother;  their  friends  and 
relatives,  the  head  of  the  family  himself,  had 
quitted  France ;  so  the  two  women  changed 
their  rich  apartments  for  a  modest  lodging, 
where  they  lived  hoping  for  better  times.  The 
hotels  were  deserted  or  inhabited  by  their  new 
possessors.  The  churches  were  turned  into 
shops  and  places  of  local  industries.  All  ex- 
terior practices  of  religion  had  ceased ;  never- 
theless, behind  the  shop  of  a  bootmaker,  in 
the  Rue  Saint-Dominique,  an  old  priest,  who 
had  returned  to  the  humble  trade  of  his 
father,  occasionally  assembled  the  faithful  for 
prayer.  But  it  was  necessary  to  use  great 
precaution ;  for  the  humble  temple  was  imme- 
diately adjacent  to  the  dwelling  of  a  member  of 
the  revolutionary  government,  an  implacable 
enemy  of  religion. 

On  Christmas  Eve  Midnight  Mass  was  to 
be  celebrated  in  the  little  impromptu  chapel. 
The  shop  had  been  carefully  closed,  but  the 
fumes  of  the  incense  filled  the  apartment  where 
the  faithful  were  gathered  together.  A  bureau, 
covered  with  a  white  cloth,  served  for  an  altar. 
The  sacerdotal  ornaments  were  taken  from 
their  concealment,  and  the  assembly,  com- 
posed principally  of  women,  with  a  sprinkling- 
of  men,  were  already  on  their  knees  when  a 
knock  at  the  door  caused  every  heart  to  beat 
with  trepidation. 

One  of  the  priest's  servers  opened  the  door. 
A  man  entered  with  hesitating  step.  All 
gazed  at  the  new  arrival  with  consternation. 
It  was  evident  from  his  manner  that  he  was 
unfamiliar  with  the  place  and  its  associations  ; 
while,  alas!  to  some  he  was  too  well  known, 
being  the  neighbor  whose  animosity  to  relig- 
ion was  a  matter  of  public  comment,  and  whose 
reason  for  appearing  at  this  particular  time 
could  be  susceptible  of  only  one  explanation. 

The  Holy  Sacrifice  proceeded,  but  fear  had 
seized  all  hearts:  they  trembled  for  them- 
selves, for  their  friends  and  relatives;  but 
more  than  all  for  the  old  priest,  who  became 
thus    exposed    to    persecution,  perhaps    to 


I 


The  Ave  Maria. 


583 


death.  With  an  impassive  face,  and  a  manner 
calm  and  cold,  the  new  arrival  remained  silent 
during  the  Mass.  When  all  was  over,  and  the 
lights  upon  the  miniature  altar  had  been  ex- 
tinguished, one  by  one  the  worshippers  glided 
away.  Then  the  stranger  advanced  toward 
the  priest,  who  stood  awaiting  him,  his  coun- 
tenance composed  and  calm 

"Citizen  priest,"  he  said,  **I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  5^ou." 

*  *  Speak,  sir.  What  can  I  do  to  serve  you  ? ' ' 
"I  wish  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,  yet  I  know 

how  ridiculous  it  will  make  me  appear.  I  feel 
myself  blushing  at  the  thought,  and  dare  not 
continue." 

*  *  My  age  and  my  profession  should  preclude 
all  such  hesitation  on  your  part,  and  if  some 
sentiment  of  piety  has  directed  y-'ou  to  me — ' ' 

**Ah !  that  is  far  from  being  the  case.  I  know 
nothing  of  religion, — I  do  not  wish  to  know 
anything  of  it.  I  belong  to  those  who  desire 
to  compass  the  destruction  of  such  as  you. 
But,  unhappily,  I  have  a  daughter." 

"Why  do  you  say  unhappily  f  asked  the 
priest. 

"  lyisten,  citizen ;  you  shall  hear.  We,  men 
of  firmness  and  principle  though  we  be,  are 
the  victims  of  our  children.  Inflexible  toward 
all  who  deny  or  impugn  the  sentiments  we 
inculcate  yet  we  hesitate  and  become  children 
before  the  prayers  and  tears  of  our  own.  I 
have,  then,  a  daughter  whom  I  have  brought 
up  to  be  an  honest  woman  and  a  true  citizen, 
I  had  believe'd  her  a  child  after  my  own  heart, 
and  behold !  I  find  myself  grievously  mistaken. 
A  solemn  moment  is  approaching  for  her.  Be- 
fore the  New  Year  she  will  wed  a  noble  young 
fellow,  whom  I  myself  have  chosen  for  her. 
All  seemed  to  go  well ;  they  loved  each  other — 
I  thought  so,  at  least, — and  all  was  ready  for 
the  ceremony,  when  this  evening  my  daughter 
threw  herself  at  my  feet  and  begged  me  to 
defer  her  marriage.  'And  why  ? '  I  asked.  *Do 
you  not  love  your  betrothed?' — 'Yes,  my 
father,'  she  replied;  'but  I  do  not  wish  to 
marry  yet. '  Having  set  myself  to  discover  her 
reasons  for  this  caprice,  she  finally  acknowl- 
edged that  she  did  not  wish  to  marry  unless 
her  union  could  be  blessed  by  the  Church. 

"My  first  anger  having  passed,  I  can  not 
tell  you  all  the  good  reasons  I  gave  her  why 
she  should  not  wish  to  do  a  thing  so  contrary 


to  my  practice  and  professions,  so  foreign  to 
my  position  and  manner  of  life.  All  was  in 
vain :  she  remained  inflexible.  Her  dead 
mother  had  been  married  in  the  Church  ;  her 
memory  had  dictated  this  pious  wish;  she 
would  not  believe  herself  married  unless  at  the 
foot  of  the  altar ;  she  would  remain  unmarried 
all  the  days  of  her  life  unless  I  would  grant 
her  request.  All  this  she  said  on  her  knees, 
with  tears  and  prayers,  until  I  confessed  my- 
self conquered.  She  herself  informed  me  of 
your  retreat,  on  condition  that  I  would  promise 
impunity  for  you  all.  This  is  why  I  am  here. 
And  I  say  to  you :  your  persecutor  is  before 
you;  will  you  l)less,  according  to  your  cere- 
mony, the  marriage  of  his  daughter?" 

The  venerable  priest  replied :  ' '  My  ministry 
recognizes  neither  revenge  nor  ill-will.  I  shall 
be  happy  to  do  what  you  ask  of  me.  One  thing 
only  troubles  me :  it  is  that  the  father  should 
be  so  opposed  to  the  wishes  of  his  daughter." 

"You  are  mistaken.  I  understand  her  feel- 
ings perfectly,  and  can  sympathize  to  some 
degree  with  them.  They  are  those  of  a  daugh- 
ter who  thinks  it  more  honorable  and  respect- 
able to  be  married  as  her  mother  was.  And 
to-night,  while  watching  these  ceremonies,  I 
have  seen  something  in  them— I  can  not  ex- 
plain what — that  enables  me  more  fully  to 
comprehend  and  appreciate  her  thought." 

A  few  days  later,  in  the  same  little  room, 
several  persons  assembled  to  assist  at  a 
marriage.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  relate 
that,  without  changing  his  principles  or  sen- 
timents in  the  least,  one  member  of  the  revo- 
lutionary government  was  the  secret  protector 
of  the  little  church,  which  henceforward  sub- 
sisted in  peace,  unknown  to  its  persecutors. 
II. 

The  hero  of  the  touching  episode  I  am 
about  to  relate  was  a  young  student  of  medi- 
cine, whose  father  fell  at  Patay,  fighting  for 
France.  The  family  of  this  young  man  con- 
sisted of  his  mother  and  a  sister,  a  little 
younger  than  himself.  The  mother  had  been 
an  invalid  since  the  loss  of  her  husband ;  but 
greater  even  than  her  grief  for  his  premature 
death  was  the  sorrow  that  continually  filled 
her  heart  on  account  of  the  infidel  principles 
of  her  only  son. 

One  Christmas  Eve,  in  a  moment  of  effusion, 
the  young  girl  said  to  her  mother : 


S8+ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


**  Mamma,  if  I  could  go  to  the  Midnight 
Mass  at  Notre  Dame  des  Victoires,  I  would 
pray  so  fervently  to  the  Divine  Infant  that 
I  am  sure  He  would  convert  my  brother." 

"But,  my  child,  I  could  not  accompany  you 
there,  and  who  would  go  with  you? " 

"Brother,"  she  replied. 

"Your  brother?  Alas!  you  know  but  too 
well  that  he  never  goes  to  church ;  even  when 
he  assists  at  a  funeral  he  remains  outside." 

"He  will  go  with  me.  I  am  fully  deter- 
mined as  to  that." 

"If  you  can  obtain  even  so  much  I  shall 
be  rejoiced;  but  I  fear  your  persistence  will 
only  serve  to  strengthen  his  resistance." 

At  first  the  young  man  refused  to  accom- 
pany his  sister,  but  she  became  so  persuasive, 
her  entreaties  were  so  pressing,  that  he  could 
not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  deny  her  this  favor. 

The  magnificence  of  the  ceremony  did  not 
appear  to  displease  the  freethinker.  If  he  was 
not  conquered,  he  was  at  least  surprised  at  the 
novelty  of  the  spectacle.  At  the  Communion 
he  was  astounded  to  see  the  numbers  who 
approached,  one  by  one,  to  the  Sacred  Table. 
He  saw  this  one  and  that  one  whom  he  knew 
go  forward  to  partake  of  the  I^iving  Bread. 
Then  his  sister,  like  the  others,  went  in  her 
turn  to  the  Feast  of  the  L<amb.  He  saw  himself 
all  alone,  a  pariah ;  he  felt  afraid  in  his  isola- 
tion. Then  the  grace  of  Baptism  miraculously 
reasserted  itself;  his  First  Communion  re- 
turned to  his  memory.  All  at  once  he  sank 
on  his  knees,  his  bosom  heaving  with  sighs. 
When  his  sister  returned  to  her  place  she  saw 
his  head  bent  low  to  hide  the  falling  tears. 

At  the  close  of  the  solemn  service  the  young 
man  went  to  confession,  and  at  the  six  o'clock 
Mass  his  sister  had  the  consolation  of  accom- 
panying him  to  the  altar  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
where,  with  a  contrite  heart,  humbled  and 
sanctified,  he  received  the  God  of  perfect  love 
and  infinite  mercy. 

This  is  not  a  romance  made  to  order.  I 
have  heard  all  the  details  from  the  lips  of  this 
new  Augustine. 


God  loved  us  when  He  made  us  after  His 
image ;  but  a  far  greater  work  was  it  to  make 
Himself  after  our  image.  He  abases  Himself 
to  us,  that  He  may  exalt  us  to  Himself. — 
Spanish  Mystics. 


The  Doyles'  First  Christmas-Tree. 


IF  you  knew  Nellie  Doyle,  you  would  know 
a  brave  young  girl.  Outwardly  she  was 
cheerful.  At  home  her  overburdened  mother 
never  dreamed  of  the  depth  of  anguish  her 
daughter's  heart  endured.  At  school,  where  the 
children,  who  had  learned  to  love  her,  seemed 
never  to  notice  her  dress,  she  broke  down  once. 
It  was  when  Sister  Clement  whispered  to  her : 

"Nellie,  come  into  the  house  after  school, 
and  I  will  give  you  a  nice  warm  dress." 

Then  a  great  sob  filled  Nellie's  throat.  She 
raised  her  eyes,  full  of  tears,  to  the  kind  face  of 
the  Sister.  The  latter  looked  a  little  surprised. 

"O  Sister,"  said  Nellie,  "I  can't  take  any- 
thing,— I  can't!    It  would  be  no  use." 

The  Sister  passed  on.  She  understood.  She 
had  seen  many  such  cases  before. 

Mr.  Doyle,  Nellie's  father,  pawned  every- 
thing he  could  get  for  drink.  It  was  no  use 
to  try  to  help  the  Doyles  unless  their  father 
would  reform.  He  had  been  a  contractor;  he 
had  built  many  houses.  Suddenly  a  panic  had 
come  and  he  became  poor.  He  had  acquired 
drinking  habits  when  he  was  prosperous. 
And,  when  wealth  fell  from  him,  these  habits 
strengthened  each  day.  He  kept  himself  con- 
stantly in  such  a  besotted  condition  that  his 
coming  home  was  the  terror  of  his  family. 
Poor  Mrs.  Doyle  managed  to  keep  her  chil- 
dren from  starving.  It  was  all  she  could  do. 
Her  husband,  who  never  worked  now,  sold 
or  pawned  everything  that  kind  hands  gave 
them, — for  the  world  is  full  of  kind  hearts 
and  hands,  or  the  poor  could  never  live  under 
the  oppression  of  those  hearts  and  hands  that 
are  not  kind. 

One  evening  in  December,  when  the  streets 
were  crowded  with  people  anticipating  Christ- 
mas, Nellie  and  the  other  children  were  seated 
in  the  cold  kitchen. 

"Doesn't  Santa  Claus  ever  come  to  poor 
folks,  Nell?"  asked  little  John,  as  he  looked 
wistfully  into  his  sister's^ face. 

"Why,  yes, Johnnie.  Don't Jyou  remember 
how  he  came  to  us  twoTyears  ago?" 

"Oh,  yes!  He  brought  us  a  little  candy  and 
an  apple.  But  why  doesn't|he  bring  us  sleds 
and  drums  and  dolls,  or  caps,  coats,  and  mitts, 
like  he  does  to  other  children  ?  Why,  we  can 


The  Ave  Maria, 


585 


not  even  play  snowball,  because  we  have  not 
clothes  enough  to  keep  us  warm."  And  little 
John  was  ready  to  cry. 

Nellie  had  been  telling  the  children  Christ- 
mas stories,  and  this  was  a  sad  outcome  of 
their  evening's  amusement, — the  more  sad 
because  it  was  true. 

"Well,  children,  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do. 
I,et  us  ask  our  Blessed  Mother  to  send  Santa 
Claus  this  year,  and  to  make  him  more  gen- 
erous. You  know  it  was  through  her  that  we 
received  our  first  Christmas  Gift — ^Jesus ;  and 
she  has  been  obtaining  gifts  for  us  ever  since. 
So  let  us  ask  her  for  a  happy  Christmas." 
And,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  she  took 
out  her  Rosary. 

"Nell,  you  know  I  want  a  cap,  a  coat,  a 
drum,  and  mitts,"  said  John. 

"I  want  a  sled  and  lots  of  apples, — not  one 
apple,  but  all  I  can  eat,"  added  Jim. 

"And  I  want  a  doll  and  some  nice  candy," 
said  little  Margaret. 

"In  a  word,  we  want  a  happy  Christmas," 
answered  Nell;  "so  kneel  down." 

The  children  did  as  they  were  bid,  and, 
after  the  Rosary,  went  to  bed  in  high  glee. 
Nellie  had  never  told  them  an  untruth,  and 
they  never  doubted  a  word  she  said ;  so  Santa 
Claus'  coming  was  to  them  a  certainty. 

As  for  Nellie,  her  spirits  were  not  so  high. 
She  had  great  confidence  in  prayer,  but  she 
did  not  expect  a  miracle  to  be  performed ;  and, 
as  she  glanced  over  the  poverty-stricken  room, 
it  seemed  that  nothing  short  of  a  miracle 
could  bring  comfort  there.  "If  father  did  not 
drink!"  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  But 
a  pleasant  thought  chased  away  the  sad  one. 
Our  Lady's  feast,  the  Immaculate  Conception, 
was  approaching.  The  next  day  the  school- 
children were  to  begin  a  novena  in  her  honor. 
Why  could  she  not  offer  up  her  novena  for 
her  father?  And  with  this  happy  thought 
came  sleep. 

John  Doyle  was  not  an  utterly  bad  man. 
One  Sunday,  early  in  December,  he  passed  the 
church  in  Mott  Street.  He  had  been  drinking 
and  dozing  all  night  in  a  low  dram-shop, 
whose  proprietor  was  growing  rich  through 
the  propensities  cf  such  as  he.  He  saw  the 
crowd  going  in,  while  the  red  sunrise  tinged 
everything  around.  A  strange  longing  filled 
his  heart.  He  did  not  know  it,  but  it  was  the 


result  of  his  children's  pra3^ers ;  and  a  frag- 
ment of  the  prayers  he  had  long  ago  learned 
came  into  his  mind:  "Pray  for  us  now  and 
at  the  hour  of  our  death.  Amen."  He  said  it 
again,  as  a  lost  sailor  without  compass  hails 
the  one  visible  star :  "Holy  Mary,  Mother  of 
God,  pray  for  us  7iow  and  at  the  hour  of  our 
death."  He  drank  as  much  as  usual  during 
the  days  that  followed.  He  was  more  quarrel- 
some than  usual.  The  serpent  of  remorse  was 
gnawing  at  his  heart;  but  remorse  is  not 
penitence.  Things  said  which  would  not  have 
touched  him  before  now  aroused  him  to  a 
blind  fury  against  himself  and  those  who 
spoke  them. 

"It's  only  Doyle,"  he  heard  the  saloon- 
keeper say,  as  somebod}^  pushed  against  the 
table  on  which  he  was  half-lying.  "He's 
soaked  through  and  through.  There'll  be  no 
need  of  embalming  him  when  he  dies." 

There  was  a  laugh.  Doyle,  roused  as  he  had 
never  been  before,  got  up  and  left  the  place. 

"I'm  lost— lost!"  he  muttered.  "I  can't 
change  now."  Then  the  fragment  of  the 
prayer  he  had  learned  at  the  parochial  school 
in  his  childhood  floated  across  his  mind: 
"Pray  for  us  sinners  now — " 

He  went  homeward.  It  was  the  last  day  but 
one  of  the  novena.  Nellie  had  been  to  confes- 
sion, and  on  her  way  home  she  stopped  at  the 
grocery.  As  it  was  Saturday,  the  store  was 
crowded,  and  she  had  to  wait  some  time  before 
making  her  small  purchase.  A  blinding  snow- 
storm had  set  in,  and  it  had  grown  quite  dark. 
Just  as  she  stepped  out  her  foot  slipped  and 
she  fell.'against  a  finely  dressed  young  man, 
who  was  hurrying  on  his  way. 

"Get  out,  you  ragamuffin!"  exclaimed  the 
son  of  the  proprietor  of  one  of  the  largest 
saloons  in  the  city,  as  he  roughly  pushed  her 
aside. 

Mr.  Doyle  came  around  the  corner  just  in 
time  to  see  the  accident  and  to  hear  the  remark. 

"A  ragamuffin,  to  be  sure! "  said  he  to  him- 
self; "but,  by  the  grace  of  God,  my  money 
shall  go  in  future  to  dress  her  instead  of  you, 
my  lad.  Come,  Nellie,"  he  added  aloud,  as  he 
took  the  basket  of  groceries  from  her  arm; 
"I'll  go  home  with  you." 

Nellie  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  as  she 
murmured:   "Blessed  Mother,  I  thank  thee!" 

"John!"  Could  the  astonished  mother  be- 


586 


The  Ave  Alaria. 


lieve  her  eyes  ?  Had  her  husband  really  come 
home  sober  on  Saturday  night? 

"Yes,  mother,  I  am  here.  Let  us  have 
supper. ' '  And  without  another  word  they  sat 
down. 

The  children's  surprise  was  equal  to  their 
mother's  when,  after  supper,  their  father  knelt 
with  them  and  gave  out  the  Rosary. 

"I  didn't  think  father  knew  how  to  pray; 
did  you,  John?"  said  little  Jim,  as  they  lay 
talking  in  bed. 

"Of  course  I  did  All  men  know  how  to 
pray,"  answered  John.  "But,"  he  added  to 
himself,  "I  wonder  how  he  got  through  the 
Apostles'  Creed  ?  He  must  have  found  a  cate- 
chism somewhere  and  learned  it  before  he 
came  home." 

It  was  not  long  before  Mr.  Doyle  obtained 
work  as  a  carpenter,  which  trade  he  had  thor- 
oughly learned.  The  day  he  resolved  not  to 
drink  began  his  prosperity. 

Christmas  came,  and  Santa  Claus  also.  Noth- 
ing short  of  a  Christmas-tree  would  suit  Mr. 
Doyle,  who  for  the  first  time  was  taking  part 
in  the  children's  celebration.  And  Santa  Claus 
had  seemed  to  think  nothing  too  good  for  the 
family.  He  brought  coats,  caps,  mitts,  drums, 
and  sleds  for  the  boys ;  frocks  and  a  book  for 
Nellie;  dolls,  etc.,  for  little  Margaret;  while 
a  great  basket  of  red  apples  stood  peering  out 
from  a  corner  for  mother.  On  the  table  was  a 
packet  containing  a  nice,  warm  shawl  and  a 
pretty  work-basket. 

It  was  yet  dark  when,  on  Christmas  morn- 
ing, Mr.  and  Mrs.  Doyle  returned  from  five 
o'clock  Mass. 

' '  Won' t  the  children  be  happy ! ' '  said  the 
father;  and  as  he  lit  the  last  taper  on  the 
tree  he  called  them.  He  himself  was  supremely 
happy. 

The  two  little  ones  had  never  before  seen 
a  Christmas-tree,  and  they  were  fairly  wild 
with  delight. 

'  *  Isn'  t  Santa  Claus  good ! ' '  said  Johnnie  to 
his  father,  as  he  stuffed  his  pockets  with 
candy.  "And  it  was  our  Blessed  Mother  sent 
him  to  us;  wasn't  it,  Nell?" 

"Yes,  little  brother.  Never  forget  to  go  to 
her  when  you-  are  in  trouble."  And  Nellie 
was  off  to  Mass. 

John  Doyle  bent  his  head  reverently.  He 
k?iows  what  Mary's  power  is. 


The  Shepherds  of  Bethlehem. 


THE  Shepherds  of  Bethlehem  were  the 
first  to  whom  the  birth  of  the  Saviour 
of  the  world  was  announced.  By  many  it  is 
thought  that  it  was  the  Angel  Gabriel  who 
appeared  to  them,  saying,  "For  this  day  is 
born  to  you  a  Saviour,  who  is  Christ  the  lyord, 
in  the  city  of  David."  At  the  same  moment 
all  the  celestial  choirs  joined  in  a  hymn  of 
gladness.  The  heavenly  messenger  added: 
"And  this  shall  be  a  sign  unto  you :  You  shall 
find  the  Infant  wrapped  in  swaddling  clothes 
and  laid  in  a  manger."  The  Shepherds  hast- 
ened to  prostrate  themselves  before  this  poor 
couch,  and  offer  their  homage  to  the  Messiah 
so  long  expected. 

There  may  be  seen  even  at  this  late  day,  at 
some  distance  from  Bethlehem,  a  poor  hamlet, 
composed  of  several  huts,  the  title  of  which, 
in  the  Arabic  language,  signifies  "Village  of 
the  Shepherds. ' '  It  was  from  there,  according 
to  tradition,  that  the  Shepherds,  to  the  number 
of  three,  were  selected  by  the  Angel  to  offer 
their  adoration  at  the  Crib  of  the  Saviour. 
The  number  was  significant,  as  representing 
before  the  Messiah  the  three  races  descended 
from  the  three  sons  of  Noe.  The  most  ancient 
chronicles,  the  engraved  stones  of  the  Cata- 
combs, the  bas-reliefs  of  tombs,  the  vignettes 
of  Oriental  manuscripts  of  great  antiquity, 
and  the  judgment  of  savants,  are  united  on 
this  point.  On  the  strength  of  these  evidences, 
joined  with  others.  Pope  Benedict  XIV.  pro- 
nounced that  there  were  three  Shepherds,  and 
only  three.  And  their  names  are  said  to  have 
been  Isaac,  Jacob,  and  Joseph. 

Perpetuated  from  century  to  century,  the 
tradition  of  the  three  Shepherds  is — or  was 
until  recently — renewed  every  year  in  Rome, 
that  city  par  excellence  of  traditions.  In  the 
beginning  of  Advent  the  pifferari,  or  shep- 
herds, of  the  Sabine  descend  from  their  moun- 
tains, and  come,  in  their  poor  but  picturesque 
attire,  to  announce  to  the  Eternal  City,  to  the 
sound  of  joyful  music,  the  approaching  birth 
of  the  Infant  of  Bethlehem.  Although  in  con- 
siderable numbers,  they  walk  three  together, 
— no  more :  an  old  man,  a  man  of  middle  age, 
and  a  youth ;  thus  representing  the  three 
races  and  the  three  ages  of  man. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


587 


The  Eastern  Church  and  several  Western 
churches  celebrate  a  feast  of  the  Shepherds 
at  the  Crib.  In  Palestine  there  was  formerly 
a  magnificent  church  built  by  St.  Helena  in 
honor  of  the  Holy  Angels  and  the  Three 
Shepherds.  Their  bodies  reposed  there  until 
the  middle  of  the  ninth  century,  when  the 
church  fell  into  ruins.  To-  day  nothing  remains 
but  the  crypt,  which  is  reached  by  a  defcent 
of  ten  or  twelve  steps.  Pilgrims  who  have 
the  good  fortune  to  be  in  Bethlehem  during 
the  solemnities  of  Christmas  never  fail  to 
visit  the  spot,  chanting  the  Gloria  in  the  place 
where  it  was  sung  for  the  first  time  to  the 
adoring  Shepherds. 

After  the  fall  of  the  church  the  bodies  of  the 
holy  Shepherds  were  transported  to  Jerusalem, 
where  they  remained  until  the  year  960.  Span- 
ish historians  afiirm  that  at  this  epoch  the 
precious  relics  were  carried  to  Spain  by  a 
pious  knight,  and  deposited  in  the  city  of 
I^desma,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Salamanca. 
One  thing,  however,  is  beyond  a  doubt :  no 
other  city  in  the  world  honors  with  so  much 
devotion  the  first  adorers  of  the  Infant  Re- 
deemer born  at  Bethlehem. 

On  the  1 6th  of  July,  1864,  the  Bishop  of 
Salamanca  removed  the  relics  of  the  Shep- 
herds from  the  Church  of  St.  Peter  to  that  of 
SS.  Peter  and  Ferdinand  in  the  same  city. 
They  were  deposited  in  the  interior  of  the 
grand  altar,  enclosed  in  a  case  in  the  form  of 
a  tomb,  nailed,  cemented,  and  fastened  with  a 
lock.  The  interior  is  lined  with  white  silk, 
and  contains  several  bones,  two  or  three  skulls, 
a  small  shovel,  a  spoon  of  box- wood,  a  pair  of 
iron  scissors,  a  fragment  of  a  leather  stocking, 
and  broken  pieces  of  shepherds'  crooks.  There 
is  also  a  separate  collection  containing  other 
relics,  such  as  fragments  of  bone  which  had 
become  detached  from  those  in  the  coffer. 
This  is  wrapped  in  paper,  bearing  the  follow- 
ing legend:  "Of  the  glorious  Joseph,  Isaac, 
and  Jacob,  Shepherds  of  Bethlehem,  who 
merited  to  see  and  adore  before  all  others 
Christ  our  Lord,  born  in  a  stable." 

These  holy  Shepherds  well  deserve  the 
honor  which  is  accorded  them.  The  virtues 
they  practised,  and  the  prerogatives  in  which 
they  share,  may  well  lead  us  to  believe  that 
they  occupy  a  high  place  in  the  heavenly 
Jerusalem. 


Readings  from  Remembered  Books. 

THE  JOY   OF   CHRIST'S   MOTHER. 

\  MOTHER'S  joy  over  her  firstborn  has  passed 
i\_  into  a  proverb.  But  no  creature  has  ever 
rejoiced  as  Mary  did.  No  joy  was  ever  so  deep,  so 
holy,  vSo  beautiful  as  hers.  It  was  the  joy  of  pos- 
sessing God  in  away  in  which  none  had  possessed 
Him  heretofore, — a  waj'  which  was  the  grandest 
work  of  His  wisdom  and  His  power,  the  greatest 
height  of  His  inexplicable  love  of  creatures.  It 
was  the  joy  of  presenting  to  God  what  was  equal 
to  Himself,  and  so  covering  His  divine  majesty 
with  a  coextensive  worship.  It  was  the  joy  of 
being  able  by  that  offering  to  impetrate  for  her 
fellow-creatures  wonderful  graces,  which  were  new 
both  in  their  abundance,  their  efficacy,  and  their 
excellence.  It  was  the  joy  of  the  beauty  of  Jesus, 
of  the  ravishing  sweetness  of  His  countenance,  of 
the  glorious  mystery  of  every  look  and  touch  of 
Him,  of  the  thrilling  privileges  of  her  maternal 
love,  and  of  the  contagion  of  His  unspeakable 
joy,  which  passed  from  His  soul  into  hers. 

The  whole  world,  by  right  of  its  creation, — by 
right  of  having  been  created  by  a  God  so  inimit- 
ably and  adorably  good  and  bright  and  loving, — 
is  a  world  of  joy.  Joy  is  so  completely  its  nature 
that  it  can  hardly  help  itself.  It  blossoms  into 
joy  without  knowing  what  it  is  doing.  It  breaks 
out  into  mirthful  songs,  like  a  heedless  child 
whose  heart  is  too  full  of  gaiety  for  thought.  It 
has  not  a  line  or  form  about  it  which  is  not  beau- 
tiful. It  leaps  tip  to  the  sunshine ;  and  when  it 
opens  itself,  it  opens  in  vernal  greenness,  in 
summer  flowers,  in  autumnal  fruits ;  and  then 
rests  again  for  its  winter  rest,  like  a  happy  cra- 
dled infant,  under  its  snowy  coverlet  adorned 
with  fairy -like  crystals,  while  the  pageantry  of 
the  gorgeous  storms  only  makes  music  round  its 
unbroken  slumber.  Mary,  the  cause  of  all  our 
joy,  was  herself  a  growth  of  earth,  a  specimen  of 
what  an  unfallen  world  would  have  been  ;  and  it 
was  on  an  earthly  stem  that  Jesus  Himself,  the 
joy  of  all  joys,  blossomed  and  gave  forth  His 
fragrance.  Thus  nature  and  life  tend  to  joy  at  all 
hours.  Joy  is  their  legitimate  development 
proper  perfection,  in  fact  the  very  law 
for  the  bare  act  of  living  is  itself  an^ 
joy.  Nothing  glorifies  God  so  mucl 
how  the  perfume  lingers  in  the  witiei 
it  is  the  angel  of  joy,  who  can  not  tl 
wing  his  flight  back  from  earth  to  h> 
when  his  task  is  done. 

It  is  self  which  has  marred  this  joy.  It  is  the 
worship  of  self,  the  perpetual  remembrance  of 
self,  the  making  self  a  centre,  which  has  weighed 


588 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  world  down  in  its  jubilee,  and  almost  over- 
ballasted  it  with  sadness.  It  is  humility  above 
-all  other  things  which  weakens  or  snaps  asunder 
the  holdfast  of  selfishness.  A  lowly  spirit  is  of 
necessity  an  unselfish  one.  Humility  is  a  perpet- 
ual; presence  of  God  ;  and  how  can  self  be  other- 
wise than  forgotten  there  ?  A  humble  man  is  a 
joyous  man.  He  is  in  the  world  like  a  child,who 
claims  no  rights,  and  questions  not  the  rights  of 
God, but  simply  lives  and  expands  in  the  sunshine 
round  about  him.  The  little  one  does  not  even 
claim  the  right  to  be  happy  :  happiness  comes  to 
him  as  a  fact,  or  rather  as  a  gracious  law  ;  and  he 
is  happy  without  knowing  of  his  happiness,  which 
is  the  truest  happiness  of  all.  So  is  it  with  him 
whom  humility  has  sanctified.  Moreover,  as  joy 
was  the  original  intent  of  creation,  it  must  be  an 
essential  element  in  all  worship  of  the  Creator. 
Nay,  is  it  not  almost  a  definition  of  grace, — the 
rejoicing  in  what  is  sad  to  fallen  nature,  because  of 
the  Creator's  will?  Thus  Mary's  devotion  to  the 
Babe  of  Bethlehem  was  one  of  transcending  joy. 
There  is  no  worship  where  there  is  no  joy.  For 
worship  is  something  more  than  either  the  fear  of 
God  or  the  love  of  Him :  it  is  delight  in  Him. — 
"•Bethlehem''  Faber. 

A   bishop's   drive   on   CHRISTMAS   EVE. 

Dr.  Grant  was  fond  of  telling  a  story  on  him- 
self,— of  how  one  day  he  fell  asleep  at  a  sermon, 
and  awoke  as  the  preacher.  Cardinal  Wiseman, 
was  emphatically  pronouncing  the  words,  "Char- 
ity never  sleepeth!"  It  was  probably  the  only 
time  that  Charity  ever  caught  him  napping.  He 
was  always  on  the  qui  vive  whenever  a  good  work 
was  to  be  done.  Sometimes  his  quickness  in  seiz- 
ing an  opportunity  of  this  sort  led  to  incidents 
that  were  both  droll  and  picturesque. 

He  was  driving  home  from  Norwood  one  Christ- 
mas Eve.  The  cold  was  intense ;  everything  was 
covered  with  frost  and  snow  ;  the  cabman,  petri- 
fied on  his  box,  was  slapping  his  arms  about  vig- 
orously, to  keep  himself  from  freezing.  The  Bishop 
watched  him  for  a  while,  compassionating  his  dis- 
comfort ;  but  concern  for  his  bodily  sufferings  was 
quickly  followed  by  anxiety  as  to  the  probable 
state  of  his  soul.  Was  it  as  chilled  and  frozen  as 
his  blood  ?  The  Bishop  let  down  the  window  in 
■front  of  him,  and  entered  into  conversation  with 
/  his  charioteer  by  a  few  kind  words  of  sympathy, 
*■  which  soon  led  up  to  the  desired  information. 
The  man  was  an  Irishman,  consequently  a  Cath- 
olic by  birth ;  but  the  wear  and  tear  of  life  had 
been  too  much  for  him  ;  he  kept  the  faith,  but  he 
had  long  since  given  up  practising  it. 

"Well,  now,"  said  the   Bishop,  in  his   most 
•  coaxing  tone,  ' '  you  are  going  to  turn  over  a  new 


leaf  this  Christmas.  Promise  me,  like  a  good 
boy,  that  you  will  go  to  your  duty  before  the 
week  is  out." — "Oh,  then,  bedad,  and  there's 
nothing  I'd  like  better,  my  Lord,  if  only  I  had 
the  time,"  declared  Paddy;  "but  sure  I  niver 
have  a  spare  minute.  It's  either  dhrivin'  I  am,  or 
looking  afther  the  mare  at  home." — "Indeed  I 
dare  say  that's  true,"  assented  the  Bishop  ;  "but 
where  there's  a  will  God  sends  a  way.  Just  pull 
up  a  moment."  And  before  the  cabman  knew 
what  was  coming,  the  Bishop  was  up  on  the  box 
beside  him.  "Now,  just  see  how  good  God  is!" 
he  said  affectionately,  putting  his  arm  through 
his  companion's.  ' '  You  could  not  go  to  the  priest, 
so  He  has  sent  the  priest  to  3'ou.  Now  let  us  be- 
gin, and  make  a  good,  hearty  confession  ;  we  have 
plenty  of  time  and  nothing  to  interrupt  us." 

With  the  docility  of  a  child  the  poor  fellow 
made,  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  and  began.  So  they 
journeyed  on  to  London,  the  silence  broken  only 
by  the  rumbling  of  the  vehicle  and  the  dialogue 
of  the  two  men, — the  rough  voice  of  the  penitent 
alternating  with  the  low  tones  of  the  confessor ; 
while  angels,  keeping  their  vigils  in  the  midnight 
heavens,  sang  a  new  canticle,  whose  echoes  fell  in 
dews  of  peace  upon  the  soul  of  the  prodigal 
brought  home  that  night.  He  went  to  Communion 
on  Christmas  morning,  and  told  the  story  of  that 
memorable  drive,  amidst  tears  and  blessings, 
when  Dr.  Grant  had  gone  to  his  rest. — ''Life  of 
Thomas  Grant ^'^  Kathleen  O'Meara. 

CHEERFULNESS   IN  LIFE   AND    ART. 

"Rejoice  always;  and  again  I  say,  rejoice," 
says  one  of  the  highest  authorities  ;  and  a  poet 
who  is  scarcely  less  infallible  in  psychological 
science  writes : 

"A  cheerful  heart  is  what  the  Muses  love." 
Dante  makes  Melancholy  dismally  punished  in 
Purgatory ;  though  his  own  interior  gaiety — of 
which  a  word  by  and  by — is  so  interior,  and  its 
outward  aspect  often  so  grim,  that  he  is  vulgarly 
considered  to  have  himself  been  a  sinner  in  this 
sort.  Good  art  is  nothing  but  a  representation  of 
life ;  and  that  the  good  are  gay  is  a  commonplace, 
and  one  which,  strange  to  say,  is  as  generally 
disbelieved  as  it  is,  wjien  rightly  understood, 
undeniably  true.  The  good  and  brave  heart  is 
always  gay  in  this  sense :  that,  although  it  may 
be  afflicted  and  oppressed  by  its  own  misfortunes 
and  those  of  others,  it  revises  in  the  darkest 
moment  to  consent  to  despondency ;  and  thus  a 
habit  of  mind  is  formed  which  can  discern  in 
most  of  its  own  afilictions  some  cause  for  grave 
rejoicing,  and  can  thence  infer  at  least  a  prob- 
ability of  such  cause  in  cases  where  it  can  not  be 
discerned.   Regarding  thus  cheerfully  and  hope- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


589 


fully  its  own  sorrows,  it  is  not  overtroubled  by 
those  of  others,  however  tender  and  helpful  its 
sympathies  may  be.  It  is  impossible  to  weep 
much  for  that  in  others  which  we  should  smile 
at  in  ourselves  ;  and  when  we  see  a  soul  writhing 
like  a  worm  under  what  seems  to  us  a  small  mis- 
fortune, our  pity  for  its  misery  is  much  mitigated 
by  contempt  for  its  cowardice. 

A  couple  of  generations  ago  most  people  would 
liave  opened  their  eyes  wide  at  any  one  who 
should  have  thought  remarks  like  these  worth 
making.  Such  truth  formed  part  of  the  universal 
tradition  of  civilization  and  moral  culture.  But 
a  wilful  melancholy,  and — the  twin  sign  of  cor- 
ruption— a  levity  which  acutely  fears  and  sym- 
pathizes with  pains  which  are  literally  only 
skin-deep,  have  been  increasing  upon  us  of  late 
in  a  most  portentous  way.  The  much-vaunted 
growth  of  "humanity"  has  been  due  rather  to 
a  softening  of  the  brain  than  of  the  heart. .  .  . 
Men  and  times  do  not  talk  about  the  virtues  they 
possess.  Which  is  more  inhuman :  to  punish 
with  rack  and  wheel  the  treason  which  volun- 
tarily sacrifices  or  jeopardizes  the  welfare  of 
millions,  or  to  condone  or  ignore  it  for  the  sake 
of  momentary  ease?  The  England  in  which 
melancholy  and  levity  are  becoming  prevalent 
habits  is  ' '  merry  '  *  England  no  more.  * '  The 
nation  thou  hast  multiplied,  but  not  increased 
the  joy."  And  we  are  not  the  only  nation  which 
deserves  this  lamentation  of  the  prophet.  The 
growths  of  melancholy  and  levity  have  been  still 
more  marked  in  France.  In  America,  some  trav- 
eller has  observed :  ' '  There  is  comfort  every- 
where, but  no  joy."  America  is  accordingly  the 
only  country  which  has  no  art. 

It  is,  as  we  have  said,  a  vulgar  error  to  con- 
sider Dante  a  melancholy  poet.  In  the  whole 
range  of  art,  joy  is  nowhere  expressed  so  often 
and  with  such  piercing  sweetness  as  in  the 
"  Paradiso" ;  and  it  flashes  occasionally  through 
the  dun  atmosphere  of  the  other  parts  of  the 
poem.  The  "Inferno"  is  pervaded  by  the  vigo- 
rous joy  of  the  poet  at  beholding  thoroughly. bad 
people  getting  their  deserts ;  and  the  penances 
-of  Purgatory  are  contemplated  by  him  with  the 
grave  pleasure  which  is  often  felt  by  the  saner 
sort  of  persons,  even  in  this  world,  under  the 
sufferings  they  acknowledge  to  be  the  appropriate 
punishment  of  and  purification  from  the  sins 
they  have  fallen  into. 

Shakespeare  is  the  most  cheerful  of  poets.  We 
read  his  deepest  tragedies  without  contracting 
•even  a  momentary  stain  of  melancholy,  however 
many  tears  they  may  have  drawn  from  us.  Cal- 
deron  flies  among  horrors  and  disasters  on  the 
^ings  of  a  bird  of  Paradise,  without  any  resulting 


incongruity  ;  and  like  things  may  be  said  of  the 
greatest  painters  and  musicians,  until  quite  re- 
cent times.  But  since  about  the  beginning  of  this 
century  how  many  of  our  geniuses  have  mingled 
their  songs  with  tears  and  sighs  over  "insoluble 
problems"  and  "mysteries  of  life,"  which  have 
no  existence  for  a  man  who  is  in  his  right  senses 
and  who  minds  his  own  business!  while  the 
"scrannel  pipes  "  of  the  smaller  wits  have  been 
playing  to  the  sorry  Yankee  tune  of  "There's 
nothing  new,  and  there's  nothing  true,  and  it 
doesn't  signify."  Music  has  taken  to  imitate  the 
wailing  of  lost  spirits  or  the  liveliness  of  the 
casino ;  and  the  highest  ambition  of  several  of 
our  best  painters  seems  to  have  been  to  evoke  a 
pathos  from  eternal  gloom. 

This  is  false  art,  and  represents  a  false  life,  or 
rather  that  which  is  not  life  at  all ;  for  life  is  not 
only  joyful,  it  is  joy  itself  Life,  unhindered  by 
the  internal  obstruction  of  vice  or  the  outward 
obscurations  of  pain,  sorrow,  and  anxiety,  is  pure 
and  simple  joy ;  as  we  have  most  of  us  experi- 
enced during  the  few  hours  of  our  lives  in  which, 
the  conscience  being  free,  all  bodily  and  external 
evils  have  been  removed  or  at  least  quiescent. 
And  though  these  glimpses  of  perfect  sunshine 
are  few  and  far  between,  the  joy  of  life  will  not 
be  wholly  obscured  to  us  by  any  external  evil — 
provided  the  breast  is  clear  of  remorse,  envy,  dis- 
content, or  any  other  habitually  cherished  sin. 

The  opportunities  and  hindrances  of  joyful  life 
are  pretty  fairly  distributed  among  all  classes 
and  persons.  God  is  just,  and  His  rtiercy  is  over 
all  His  works.  If  gardens  and  parks  are  denied 
to  the  inhabitant  of  a  city  lane,  his  eye  is  so 
sharpened  by  its  fasts  that  it  can  drink  in  its  full 
share  of  the  sweetness  of  nature  from  a  flowering 
geranium  or  a  pot  of  crocuses  on  his  window-sill. 
There  are  really  very  few  persons  who  have  not 
enough  to  eat.  Marriage  is  open  almost  equally 
to  all,  except,  perhaps,  the  less  wealthy  members 
of  the  upper  orders.  None  are  without  opportu- 
nities of  joy  and  abundant  reasons  for  gratitude ; 
and  the  hindrances  of  joy  are,  if  justly  considered, 
only  opportunities  of  acquiring  new  capacities 
for  delight.  In  proportion  as  life  becomes  high 
and  pure  it  becomes  gay.  The  profound  spiritual- 
ities of  the  Greek  and  Indian  myths  laugh  for 
joy  ;  and  there  are,  perhaps,  no  passages  of 
Scripture  more  fondly  dwelt  upon  in  the  Roman 
Breviary  than  those  which  paint  the  gladness  of 
the  Uncreated  Wisdom  :  "When  He  balanced,  the 
foundations  of  the  earth,  I  was  with  Him,  forming 
all  things  ;  and  was  delighted  every  day,  playing 
before  Him  at  all  times, — playing  in  the  world. 
And  my  delight  is  to  be  with  the  children  of 
men." — ''Principle  in  Art,''  Coventry  Patmore. 


590 


The  Ave  Maria, 


A   PILGRIMAGE  TO   BETHLEHEM. 

Christmas  approached.  The  Reverend  Father 
warden  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  had  already  gone 
to  Bethlehem,  with  the  greater  part  of  the  com- 
munity, for  the  purpose  of  celebrating  so  impor- 
tant a  day  on  the  very  spot  where  the  Son  of 
God  deigned  to  be  born.  Being  urged  to  share 
their  great  happiness.  I  set  out  on  the  23d  of 
December,  at  three  in  the  afternoon,  accompanied 
by  a  dragoman  and  a  janissary.  I  rode  a  superb 
Arab  mire,  full  of  spirit ;  and  yet  I  only  walked 
her,  lest  by  a  too  rapid  pace  I  should  lose  the 
pleasure  of  observing  anythng  of  interest  which 
the  country  might  present  for  my  mind  and  my 
heart.  Oh,  how  different  were  my  feelings  from 
those  with  which  I  approached  Jerusalem!  Then 
I  was  drawing  near  to  a  city  under  a  curse, — to  a 
city  where  everything  reminds  you  of  the  excru- 
ciating torments  and  ignominious  death  of  the 
Saviour.  And  my  afflicted  soul  beheld  there 
nought  save  spots  stained  with  the  blood  of  the 
August  Victim,  or  instruments  of  His  cruel  exe- 
cution— a  Praetorium,  a  Calvary,  a  crown  of 
thorns,  nails,  a  cross  But  Bethlehem!  All  my 
life  that  name  of  itself  had  produced  in  me  im- 
pressions of  a  pure  joy,  of  an  inexpressible  charm. 
Never  had  I  heard  it  uttered,  never  had  I  uttered 
it  myself,  without  a  sort  of  thrill.  Judge,  then, 
how  much  more  vivid  and  delicious  must  have 
been  the  emotions  of  my  soul  as  I  approached  it! 

"In  a  few  moments  my  eyes  will  behold  that 
Bethlehem,  the  name  of  which  is  so  dear  to  me! 
They  will  behold  it!  They  will  behold  that  Stable 
in  which  was  born  the  fairest  of  the  sons  of  men, 
the  Word  of  life,  my  Saviour!  They  will  behold 
that  Manger  in  which  He  was  laid,  wrapped  in 
swaddling  clothes, — that  Manger,  the  only  cradle 
that  His  Mother  had  to  give  to  such  a  Son.  They 
will  behold  the  place  whither  the  Shepherds  of 
the  neighboring  country,  apprised  by  the  voices 
of  the  Angels,  came  to  adore  Him  ;  and  that  upon 
which  knelt  the  Kings  of  the  East,  brought  by 
a  Star  to  pay  homage  to  the  King  of  kings,  and 
to  offer  Him  their  presents  ;  and  that  where  Mary 
Immaculate  suckled  her  Infant,  warmed  Him  at 
her  bosom,  pressed  Him  to  her  heart! " 

Thus  did  I  inwardly  say  to  myself,  and  with 
these  thoughts  which  filled  my  soul  were  blended 
the  fondest  recollections  of  my  childhood, — of 
that  age  when  the  reading  of  the  Holy  Scriptures 
constituted  my  chief  delight ;  when  the  affecting 
histories  of  Abel,  of  Isaac,  of  Joseph,  of  the  Child 
Jesus,  especially  of  His  having  but  a  handful  of 
straw  for  His  bed  and  a  stable  for  His  palace, 
moved  me  to  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  and  mois- 
tened my  eyes  with  tears  ;  when  a  mother,  whose 
name  too  was  Mary,  mingled  with  those  admirable 


narratives  the  simple  commentaries  of  her  piety 
and  her  tenderness,  rendered  sensible  to  my  eyes 
by  means  of  engravings  what  my  too  young  un- 
derstanding alone  would  cot  have  thoroughly 
comprehended,  answered  my  little  questions,  and 
never  appeared  more  happy  than  when  I  dunned 
her  with  my  innocent  curiosity.  .  .  . 

As  we  advanced,  the  view  became  more  lovely 
and  delightfnl.  Bethlehem,  seated  amidst  the 
hills  and  the  plains  which  surround  it,  presented 
a  picturesque  prospect:  the  fields  irregularly 
divided,  according  to  the  extent  of  the  different 
properties,  and  sometimes  enclosed  by  walls, 
appeared  to  me  better  cultivated ;  trees,  the  fig 
and  the  olive  especially,  were  much  more  fre- 
quent. On  the  one  hand,  I  perceived  the  mountains 
of  Judea ;  on  the  other,  beyond  the  Dead  Sea, 
those  of  Arabia  Petraea ;  the  most  unimportant 
objects  captivated  my  whole  attention.  I  stopped, 
I  went  forward,  I  turned  back,  I  looked  about,  I 
mustered  my  recollections.  In  sight  of  that 
blessed  land,  of  those  plains,  of  those  hills,  I 
called  to  mind  the  rural  manners  of  the  patri- 
archs who  dwelt  there,  their  pastoral  life,  and  the 
charming  pictures  of  it  left  us  in  the  Scripture. 
I  thought  of  the  ancestors  of  the  Saviour,  who 
had  lived  in  these  same  parts  ;  of  the  boy  David 
tending  his  father's  flocks ;  of  Boaz,  David's 
grandfather;  of  that  admirable  Moabite  whose 
name  was  destined,  by  the  dispensation  of  God, 
to  be  inscribed  in  the  genealogy  of  His  Son  ;  of 
Ruth  gleaning  the  fields  of  him  whom  Heaven 
decreed  for  her  husband; — that  Ruth  whose 
touching  history  was  well  worthy  to  become  one 
of  our  canonical  books,  and  for  whom  religious 
Poesy  has  thought  that  she  could  never  choose 
colors  sufficiently  soft  and  vivid. 

It  was  six  o'clock  when  I  reached  the  monas- 
tery where  I  was  expected.  I  was  informed  that 
the  Reverend  Father  warden  of  the  Holy  Sep- 
ulchre had  gone,  with  part  of  the  community, 
as  far  as  Rachel's  tomb  to  meet  me.  As  I  had  not 
taken  the;same  road,  and  had  gone  first  one  way 
and  then  another,  I  had  not  fallen  in  with  him. 

I  am  at  Bethlehem, — at  Bethlehem!  Amidst 
the  attentions  and  the  testimonies  of  a  tender 
charity  lavished  upon  me  by  the  monks,  my  mind 
was  occupied  exclusively  with  one  idea :  I  thought 
of  nothing  but  the  happiness  of  beholding  the 
Sacred  Grotto.  But,  a  stranger,  unacquainted  with 
the  monastery,  not  knowing  whether  I  must 
apply  to  the  Turks  for  the  keys,  in  spite  of  myself 
I  appeared  grave,  absent,  and  my  looks  betrayed 
my  fears  and  my  preoccupations.  And,  besides, 
I  wanted  solitude,  night,  silence,  as  at  the  tomb 
of  our  Saviour  and  on  Golgotha.  A  good  Father 
guessed  what  was  passing  within  me,  seeing  me 


The  Ave  Maria. 


591 


so  pensive.  "You  wish,  perhaps,"  said  he,  "to 
visit  the  holy  places  this  evening?" — "This  very 
evening,"  I  replied,  "if  there  b.;  nolhing  indis- 
creet in  that  wish  ;  but  as  late  as  possib'e  and 
alone." — "  Well,  wait  till  the  community  has 
retired  to  rest,  and  I  will  come  and  fetch  you  " 
He  then  ac  omp  mied  me  to  the  cell  which  had 
been  prepared  for  nie 

The  lights  were  extinguished  one  by  one  in  the 
monastery.  In  the  cloister,  where  my  cell  was 
situated,  nought  was  to  be  heard  save  the  vibra- 
tion of  the  pendulum  of  the  clock,  and  the  faint 
murmur  of  some  of  the  monks  praying  beside 
their  beds.  Presently  the  good  Father  Joseph 
came  for  me.  I  followed  him,  with  a  lantern  in  my 
hand.  We  descended  the  great  stiircase.  passed 
through  several  vaulted  rooms,  and  arrived  at  the 
church.  Turning  thence  to  the  right,  we  pro- 
ceeded, by  a  staircase  cut  out  of  the  rock,  and 
very  narrow,  to  a  winding  way  equally  narrow 
and  still  in  the  rock,  where  my  guide  pointed  out 
to  me  an  altar,  and  told  me  that  beneath  it  is  the 
tomb  of  the  Holy  Innocents.  He  was  then  direct- 
ing my  attention  to  another,  when,  impelled  by 
a  pious  impatience,  "  I  will  look  at  that  another 
time,"  I  whispered;  "let  us  proceed."  We  as- 
cended some  steps,  and,  having  gone  a  few  paces 
farther,  we  found  ourselves  before  a  door,  which 
he  hastily  opened.  I  beheld  a  deep  grotto,  lighted 
by  a  great  number  of  lamps.  My  guide  with- 
drew, and  I,  mv  soul  moved  by  fear,  respect, 
love, — I  entertd,  I  fell  on  my  knees,  I  prayed,  I 
contemplated,  I  adored! 

And  those  hours  of  night,  during  which  I  had 
watched  near  the  Mangtr  of  the  Lamb  without 
spot,  reminded  me  of  that  night  and  that  hour 
when  the  Angel  of  the  Lord  appeared  to  the 
Shepherds  keeping  watch  over  their  flocks  ;  when 
the  glory  of  the  Lord  shone  round  about  them, 
and  they  were  sore  afraid.  Methought  an  angel 
said  to  me  as  to  them,  "Fear  not."  I  had  felt  the 
great  joy  which  had  been  promised  to  them, 
because  I  was  in  the  city  of  David  ;  and  on  that 
very  spot  whither  I  had  come  to  pray  was  bom 
for  me  a  Saviour,  who  is  Christ  the  Lord.  Like 
them  I  had  found  that  sign  given  by  the  mes- 
senger of  the  Most  High — the  Stable,  the  Manger, 
and  the  Infant  Jesus  wrapped  in  swaddling 
clothes.  I  had  felt  in  my  heart  His  divine  pres- 
ence, which  the  lapse  of  time  had  not  permitted 
me  to  behold  there ;  I  blessed  the  happy  hour  of 
my  life  when  I  said,  "Let  us  go  to  Bethlehem  and 
see. ' '  And  I  returned  glorifying  and  praising  God. 
The  clock  struck  two  as  I  got  back  to  my  cell. 

Glory  to  God,  glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and 
•on  earth  peace,  good  will  toward  men!  Amen! — 
■''Palestine,  Egypt,  and  Syria,'"  De  Geramb. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

Before  another  week  comes  round  Christmas 
will  have  passed.  We  uoat  heartily  wish  the 
readers  of  The  "Ave  Marl-v,"  far  and  near,  a 
joyous  Christmas  and  a  happy  New  Year.  May 
the  celebration  of  the  first  coming  of  Our  Lord 
draw  us  nearer  than  ever  to  the  Source  of  all 
true  joy,  and  may  the  New  Year  be  one  of  growth 
in  holiness, — of  preparation  for  the  happiness 
that  shall  never  end! 

This  is  the  season  of  good  deeds  as  well  as  of 
good  wishes, — a  time  when  the  nearness  of  the 
Divine  Presence  makes  every  moment  precious. 
A  week  from  to-day  we  may  look  back  to  regret 
chances  of  doing  good  to  those  little  ones  whom 
Our  Lord  so  loved.  Now  is  the  time  to  forestall 
all  regrets  and  after- thoughts  by  instant  action. 
Surely  each  one  who  reads  this  may  make  one 
sad,  perhaps  orphaned,  heart  happier.  It  takes 
so  little  to  do  it!  Let  the  thought  be  folio vved  by 
the  act.  If  you  have  but  a  trifle  to  give,  let  it  be 
given  considerately  at  a  season  when  what  would 
be  mere  alms  at  another  time  takes  on  a  halo  of 
the  season. 

The  Earl  of  Lichfield,  speaking  at  a  recent 
conference  of  the  Church  Association  at  Leicester, 
declared  that  he  was  perfectly  persuaded,  from  a 
very  careful  study  of  the  history  of  England,  that 
there  had  never  been  a  moment,  since  the  country 
freed  herself  from  "the  tyranny  of  Rome,"  when 
the  Church  \i.e.,oi  England]  was  so  corrupted 
by  strange  doctrines,  so  divided,  and,  to  his 
mind,  in  such  imminent  danger  of  disruption,  as 
now.  Sad  uttera  ice  this, — sad  and  significant. 


The  London  Tablet,  in  noticing  the  fiftieth  an- 
niversary of  the  production  ot  Verdi's  first  opera, 
says  with  acuteness  and  truth  :  "He  began  with 
tawdry  tinsel, — Wagner  came ;  and,  though  we 
may  refuse  the  tribute  to  Wagner's  work,  the 
logic  of  his  teaching  has  produced  in  Verdi  results 
which  mdst  rank  among  everlasting  music." 


It  is  consoling  to  know  for  the  sake  of  our 
common  humanity  that  the  rufiianly  attack 
made  by  certain  bigots  on  Archbishop  Walsh,  of 
Toronto,  has  been  exaggerated.  Although  the 
Toronto  police  have  not  yet  found  the  perpetra- 
tors of  the  outrage,  the  best  public  sentiment  of 
that  city  indignantly  repudiates  it.  The  Rev.  John 
Potts,  aProttstant  minister  of  Toronto,  represents 
this  sentiment  when  he  sa5^s,  in  a  letter  to  the 
Toronto  Empire :  "I  am  sure  I  am  expressing 
not  only  my  own  feeling  but  that  of  every  Prot- 
estant in  Toronto  when  I  express  my  unqualified 


9^ 


The  Ave  Maria. 


disapproval  of  the  dastardly  misconduct  of  the 
rowdies  who  insulted  our  Roman  Catholic  friends, 
and  especially  his  Grace  the  Archbishop  of 
Toronto.  Roman  Catholics  were  insulted,  but,  in 
my  opinion,  the  Protestants  of  Toronto  were 
grossly  insulted  by  such  villainous  conduct." 

When  our  Toronto  friends  understand  the 
gentle  and  beautiful  character  of  the  Archbishop 
they  will  even  more  deeply  regret  the  insult  that 
has  been  offered  him. 


The  Rt.  Rev.  John  Tuigg,  D.D. ,  Bishop  of  Pitts- 
burg, whose  death  occurred  last  week,  was  born 
at  Donoughmore,  County  Cork,  Ireland,  in  1820. 
He  began  his  studies  for  the  priesthood  at  All 
Hallows'  College,  Dublin,  and  completed  them 
at  St.  Michael's  Seminary,  Pittsburg.  He  was 
ordained  priest  by  Bishop  O'Connor.  His  first 
appointment  was  that  of  assistant  priest  at  the 
Cathedral ;  later  he  was  charged  with  the  task  of 
organizing  St.  Bridget's  congregation.  Afterward 
he  was  sent  to  Altoona,  where  he  was  the  first 
resident  priest.  His  work  here  left  a  deep  im- 
pression. Having  been  Vicar-General  of  the  dio- 
cese for  several  years,  he  was  preconized  Bishop 
of  Pittsburg  on  January  16, 1870,  and  consecrated 
on  March  19  of  the  same  year  by  Archbishop 
Wood.  For  the  past  five  years  he  has  been  an 
invalid,  supported  and  consoled  by  his  coadjutor 
with  the  right  of  succession,  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop 
Phelan.  Bishop  Tuigg  was  one  of  the  pioneers  of 
religion  in  Pennsylvania,  and  the  works  he  so 
humbly  and  devotedly  undertook  are  his  best 
monument.  

Protestant  preachers  all  over  the  country  are 
still  discoursing  on  the  Baltimore  celebration, 
and  the  happy  events  connected  with  it.  One 
of  them  thinks  that  the  Catholic  Congress  will 
result  in  bringing  the  claims  of  the  Church  before 
the  whole  American  people.  The  Rev.  Dr.  Potter, 
a  prominent  Baptist  minister  in  New  York,  says 
that  all  Protestants  could  stand  upon  the  platform 
of  the  Congress.  As  the  Western  Watchman  re 
marks,  and  if  they  knew  the  principles  of  the 
Catholic  Charch  they  would  find  standing  room 
there  also.  An  association  of  prayer  for  the  con- 
version of  America  would  be  in  order  now. 


Sarah  Mytton  Maury,  in  "The  Statesmen  of 
America,"  a  recently  published  work,  pays  the 
following  tribute  to  the  Church,  with  the  remark 
that  her  words  can  not  be  applied  to  the  same 
extent  to  any  other  whatever  : 

"I  am  an  Episcopalian,  or  Protestant  of  the  Church 
of  England  ;  but  I  am  not,  can  not,  be  blinded  to  the 
many  excellences  of  the  Catholic  Church ;  and  espec- 
ially as  to  its  institutions  regarding  America :  they 


are,  beyond  comparison,  the  best  adapted  to  curb  the 
passions  of  a  young,  impetuous,  intelligent,  generous, 
and  high-minded  democracy  ;  to  protect  the  religion 
of  the  Republic  from  annihilation ;  to  subdue  the 
struggling  and  discordant  interests  of  an  immense 
territory  into  harmony,  and  to  enchain  the  sym- 
pathies of  a  whole  people  in  one  magnificent  scheme 
of  morality  and  devotion.  'They  shall  be  one  fold 
under  one  Shepherd. '  The  institutions,  besides,  of  this. 
Church  are  themselves  based  upon  that  very  equal- 
ity which  their  discipline  so  efficiently  modifies. 
There  is  one  common  law,  and  one  alone,  for  all.. 
In  the  words  of  the  Old  Testament,  so  admirably 
adapted  to  the  description  of  the  Catholic  faith : 
'  Here  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  here 
the  weary  are  at  rest ;  here  the  prisoners  rest  together ; 
they  hear  not  the  voice  of  the  oppressor.  The  small 
and  great  are  there ;  and  the  ser^/ant  is  free  from  the 
master. ' ' '  

A  mistaken  impression  has  gotten  abroad  that 
the  Holy  Father  opposes  the  proposed  marriage 
of  King  Humbert's  son,  the  Prince  of  Naples,, 
and  the  Princess  Clementine  of  Belgium.  The 
Holy  Father,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the 
House  of  Savoy  has  despoiled  the  Church,  would 
not  permit  that  to  influence  his  opinion  of  any 
marriage  proposed  to  the  Prince  within  the  pale 
of  the  Church.  It  is  probable  that  if  he  does  not 
marry  the  Catholic  Belgian  Princess,  the  Liberals 
will  try  to  arrange  a  marriage  with  a  Lutheran 
Princess — the  youngest  sister  of  the  German 
Emperor.  

In  France  during  1884  there  were  7,500  sui- 
cides ;  331  of  these  were  of  young  people  between 
the  ages  of  sixteen  and  twenty-one,  and  (>"]  under 
the  age  of  sixteen.  A  comment  on  Paul  Bert's 
school  system.  

The  Catholics  of  Stockholm  have  at  last 
secured,  through  the  influence  of  King  Oscar,  a 
suitable  cemetery.  This  is  a  great  concession  from 
the  municipality  in  a  country  where  the  Church 
is  merely  tolerated. 

The  thirty-one  priests  and  prelates  assembled 
for  the  inauguration  of  the  new  Church  of  the 
Rosary  at  Lourdes  have  supplicated  the  Holy 
See  for  a  special  feast,  with  the  proper  Office, 
for  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


A  writer  in  The  Fortnightly  Review  tells  an  anec- 
dote with  a  moral.  The  women  of  Christendom 
are  constantly — and  with  reason— pitying  the 
fate  of  their  sisters  who  live  under  the  degrading 
influence  of  the  Mahomedan  religion.  At  the  same 
time  it  ought  to  be  remembered  that  Mahome- 
dans  and  others  outside  the  Christian  pale  judge 
us  by  our  practices,  not  by  our  professions.  If 


The  Ave  Maria. 


593 


the  Chinese  women,  for  instance,  exploited  them- 
selves in  what  is  called  "full  dress"  as  indeco- 
rously as  some  of  the  women  of  society,  what 
would  be  our  conclusion  ?  The  writer  in  The  Fort- 
nightly shows  from  her  observation  how  others 
see  a  modem  practice  which  would  have  aston- 
ished even  the  Roman  matrons  of  the  Decadence. 
There  is  no  question  about  the  degradation  of 
Mahomedan  women,  who  are  held  by  their  lords 
and  masters  to  have  no  souls  ;  nevertheless,  their 
modesty  is  not  stamped  out  of  them.  Saj'^s  the 
writer  in  The  Fortnightly : 

"  I  was  once  showing  some  photographs  of  friends 
of  mine  to  a  Moorish  lady.  She  did  not  try  to  con 
ceal  her  astonishment  at  the  fact  that  'well-behaved 
women,'  as  I  had  repeatedly  to  assure  her  they  were, 
could  be  so  bold  as  to  have  their  pictures  taken  in 
this  way  to  be  exhibited  to  every  chance  acquaintance. 
But  when  we  reached  one  taken  in  full  evening  dress, 
she  seemed  simply  stupefied.  ^Wallah!''  she  ex- 
claimed, 'you  are  laughing  at  me!  This  is  impossible! 
No  modest  woman  could  allow  any  stranger  to  see 
even  a  picture  of  herself  with  her  shoulders  thus  ex- 
posed. This  can  not  be  the  portrait  of  a  real  living 
woman. '  But  I  assured  her  that  she  was  mistaken. 
'  Then,'  she  exclaimed,in  high  excitement,  *  may  Allah 
curse  her  and  her  house  and  her  offspring  to  all 
eternity!  Shame  on  her! '  Now,  this  lady  was  no  old 
and  haggard  maiden,  such  as  even  among  ourselves 
is  sometimes  found  to  frown  upon  the  gayly-dressed 
damsels  around  her,  and  to  reprove,  in  the  bitterness 
of  her  envy  and  loneliness,  their  mad  and  merry 
frolics.  She  was  a  young  woman  of  eighteen  years  of 
age,  herself  a  perfect  type  of  the  far-famed  Moorish 
beauty,  a  wife  for  the  last  five  years,  and  a  mother  of 
three  children.  The  tone  of  her  voice  left  no  doubt 
on  my  mind  as  to  the  honesty  and  genuine  character 
of  her  disapprobation." 

Mgr.  SatoUi  speaks  very  little  English.  He  has 
been  accompanied  in  his  travels  by  Father  How- 
lett,  who  acted  as  his  interpreter.  Mgr.  Satolli 
was  pleased  with  America,  and  the  gossips  say 
he  is  ' '  fast  learning ' '  American  ways.  He  stopped 
in  Ireland  on  his  way  to  Rome. 


Father  Schynor,  a  Catholic  missionary,  is  with 
Emin  Bey's  party.  He  is  a  Rhinelander,  and  he 
was  sent  out  to  choose  suitable  sites  for  missions. 
He  has  recently  published  a  book,  "Two  Years 
on  the  Congo."         

General  de  Charette's  eldest  daughter,  Madame 
d'Haunoncelle,  is  dead.  She  was,  when  a  little 
child,  called  by  the  Pontifical  Zouaves  "the 
Daughter  of  the  Regiment." 


The  London  Tablet  has  admirable  and  appre- 
ciative articles  on  the  Centenary  celebration  and 
the   Congress;   and   if  we  have  ever   had  any 


doubts  about  its  broad-mindedness,  or  showed  any 
feeling  that  it  was  "insular,"  we  retract.  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  fraternal  than  the  greeting  it 
sends  across  the  sea. 


Mary  Howitt's  "Autobiography"  contains 
some  anecdotes  of  interest  to  Catholics.  In  1850 
Mrs.  Howitt  wrote  of  the  anti- Catholic  spirit  of 
the  English,  and  gave  as  an  example  the  fact 
that  the  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  Our 
Lord  put  up  over  the  Catholic  chapel  at  Hamp- 
stead  was  pelted  with  mud  and  stones.  Mrs. 
Howitt  thus  describes  her  visit  to  the  Vatican, 
after  her  conversion : 

"I  saw  the  Holy  Father  seated,  not  on  a  throne, 
but  on  a  chair,  a  little  raised  above  the  level  of  the 
floor;  and  the  English  bishops,  in  their  violet  silk 
cloaks,  seated  in  two  rows  on  either  side  of  him.  The 
gracious,  most  courteous  Duke  of  N6rfolk  came  for- 
ward and  acknowledged  us.  This  might  last,  perhaps, 
two  minutes.  Then  Mr.  Cliflford  led  me  forward  to 
the  Holy  Father;  Margaret,  as  my  daughter,  follow- 
ing with  Miss  Clifford.  I  never  thought  of  myself, — 
I  was  unconscious  of  everything.  A  serene  happiness, 
almost  joy,  filled  my  whole  being  as  I  at  once  found 
myself  on  my  knees  before  the  Vicar  of  Christ.  My 
wish  was  to  kiss  his  foot,  but  it  was  withdrawn  and 
his  hand  given  me.  You  may  think  with  what  fervor 
I  kissed  the  ring.  In  the  meantime  he  had  been  told 
my  age  and  my  late  conversion.  His  hands  were  laid 
on  my  shoulders,  and  again  and  again  his  right  hand 
in  blessing  on  my  head,  whilst  he  spoke  to  me  of 
Paradise. ' ' 

Alexandre  Rapin,  a  good  artist  and  a  good 
Christian,  died  recently  in  France.  He  was  a  land- 
scape painter  of  talent  and  sincerity. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  tf  you  were  bound 
with  them.  — Heb.,  xiii,  3. 

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

Mr.  Matthew  Smith,  who  piously  breathed  his  last 
at  Perth  Amboy,  N.  J.,  on  the  22d  ult. 

Mr.  John  Minahan,  of  San  Jos^,  Cal. ,  who  departed 
this  life  on  the  9th  inst. 

Mrs.  Mary  Hoar,  whose  happy  death  occurred  in 
Lowell,  Mass.,  on  the  same  day. 

Mrs.  Mary  Foley,  who  passed  away  on  the  17th  ult., 
at  Anamoso,  Iowa. 

Miss  Mary  Raway,  of  Hastings,  Minn. ;  Mrs.  Bridget 
Beirne,  Lowell,  Mass. ;  Mrs.  Ellen  Doyle,  San  Fran- 
cisco, Cal. ;  Mrs.  Bridget  Connolly,  Philadelphia,  Pa. ; 
Mrs.  Bridget  Downey,  Chippewa  Falls,  Wis. ;  Mary 
Ellen  O'Toole,  Waterville,  N.  Y. ;  and  Andrew  O'Day, 
Washington,  D.  C. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


594 


The  Ave  Maria, 


The  Light  of  Christmas  Morn. 

A   CAROr,    BY    NORVAI^    CI.YNK. 

jyiiE  welcome  snow  at  Christmastide 
**^    Falls  shining  from  the  skies  : 
On  village  paths  and  uplands  wide 

All  holy- white  it  lies  ; 
It  crowns  with  pearl  the  oaks  and  pines, 

And  glitters  on  the  thorn, — 
But  purer  is  the  Light  that  shines 

On  gladsome  Christmas  mom. 

At  Christmastide  the  gracious  moon 

Keep-^  vigil  while  we  sleep, 
And  sheds  abroad  her  light's  sweet  boon 

On  vale  and  mountain  steep  ; 
O'er  all  the  slumbering  land  descends 

Her  radiancy  unshorn, — 
But  brighter  is  the  Light,  good  friends, 

That  shines  on  Christmas  morn. 

*Twas  when  the  world  was  waxing  old, 

And  night  on  Bethlehem  lay. 
The  Shepherds  saw  the  heavens  unfold 

A  light  beyond  the  day  ; 
Such  glory  ne'er  had  visited 

A  world  with  sin  outworn, — 
But  yet  more  glorious  Light  is  shed 

On  happy  Christmas  morn. 

Those  Shepherds  poor,  how  blest  were  they 

The  Angels'  song  to  hear! 
In  manger  cradle  as  He  lay, 

To  greet  their  Lord  so  dear! 
The  Lord  of  heaven's  eternal  height 

For  us  a  Child  was  born  ; 
AndlHe,  the  very  Light  of  light. 

Shone  forth  that  Christmas  morn. 

Before  His  infant  smile,  afar 

Were  driven  the  hosts  of  hell ; 
And  still  in  souls  that  childlike  are 

His  guardian  love  shall  dwell. 
O  then  rejoice,  good  Christian  men, 

Nor  be  of  heart  forlorn  : 
December's  darkness  brings  again 

The  Light  of  Christmas  morn! 


As  soon  as  Christ  is  born  in  your  heart, 
take  ye  care  to  nurse  Him. — Spanish  Mystics. 


Francisco  and  Panchita. 


A    CHRISTMAS   STORV. 


The  ' '  boom ' '  was  on  in  San  Mateo.  Bands 
of  musicians  paraded  the  streets,  followed 
by  antiquated  vehicles  of  every  description, 
conveying  strangers  hither  and  thither,  for 
the  better  inspection  of  *  *  choice  lots, ' '  through 
the  vast  imaginary  area  of  the  magical  city, 
which  had  sprung  up,  as  it  were,  in  a  single 
night,  no  one  knew  how,  no  one  knew  why. 
Other  glad  sons  of  the  goddess  of  the  lyre 
sent  forth  harmonious  strains  from  decorated 
wagons,  bearing  legends  of  fair  promise  and 
golden  realization,  pausing  in  their  trium- 
phal march  only  long  enough  to  permit 
the  bland,  deep- chested,  sonorous- voiced  real- 
estate  agent,  who  accompanied  and  directed 
the  cavalcade,  to  proclaim  at  different  objective 
points  the  natural  advantages  and  particular 
characteristics  of  this  or  that  quarter-section. 

Carriages  at  command ;  free  lunches  with 
every  sale  of  large  "additions ' ' ;  noise,  bustle, 
confusion  everywhere.  The  hotels  were  over- 
crowded ;  lodging-housekeepers  rubbed  their 
foreheads  in  despair  at  being  obliged  to  turn 
away  hundreds  on  the  arrival  of  each  succes- 
sive train.  Hastily  erected  tents  stood  in  long 
rows  on  vacant  lots,  where  a  dollar  a  night 
was  charged  the  weary  occupant  for  the  priv- 
ilege of  resting  his  limbs  on  one  of  the 
hundreds  of  canvas  cots  that  comprised  their 
sole  furniture  For  toilet  appliances  he  must 
trust  to  the  street  pump,  or  some  friendly 
restaurant,  if  by  chance  he  could  succeed  in 
obtaining  thereat  a  hastily  snatched  meal. 

Men  stood  six  abreast,  in  lines  fifty  feet 
deep,  waiting  for  letters  and  papers  they  sel- 
dom received,  for  the  very  good  reason  that 
when  the  accumulation  became  too  formidable 
to  be  handled  by  the  small  force  of  clerks  then 
employed,  the  surplus  was  carried,  under 
cover  of  night,  to  the  bay,  and  quietly  depos- 
ited beneath  its  placid  waters. 

Property  changed  hands  with  astonishing 
rapidity.  Lots  were  bought  and  sold,  and 
bought  and  sold  again,  without  any  save  their 
original  owners  having  beheld  them.  Corner 
lots  brought  fabulous  prices;  holes  in  the 
ground  were  at  a  premium.  The  little  world 


TTie  Ave  Maria. 


595 


of  San  Mateo  had  lost  its  head  completely  ; 
a  few  wiseacres  shook  their  heads  and  pre- 
dicted disaster;  but  the  wide-awake  denizens 
of  the  town,  as  well  as  the  strangers  within 
its  gaze,  laughed  and  sang  on. 

Even  in  sleepy  Far  Town,  which  had  been 
the  original  settlement  of  San  Mateo, — where 
dark  browed  Mexicans  and  swarthy,  stolid 
Indians  still  clung  to  the  adobe  houses  and 
primitive  usages  of  their  fathers, — the  inhab- 
itants had  already  begun  to  feel  premonitory 
symptoms  of  a  strange  yet  not  unpleasant 
fever  in  the  blood,  which  increased  and  devel- 
oped in  direct  ratio  to  the  size  and  number 
of  the  lands  they  had  acquired  or  inherited. 
Groups  of  citizens,  in  short  jackets  and  huge 
sombreros,  gathered  daily  on  the  plaza,  after 
which  reunions  here  and  there  might  be  seen : 
some  old-time  proprietor  furtively  "stepping 
oflf "  his  few  patrimonial  feet  of  earth,  silently 
calculating  its  possible  money  value  in  the 
near  future, — shining,  to  his  illuminated 
vision,  with  brilliant  golden  dollars. 

But  in  the  little  adobe  house  standing  on 
the  hill  behind  the  church  all  things  went  on 
as  usual ;  for  it  was  tenanted  only  by  an  old 
Mexican  sewing-woman  and  two  children — 
a  boy  and  girl  of  twelve  years.  El  Sen:)r 
Tiraile,  the  father,  had  come  to  the  place  five 
years  before,  in  the  last  stages  of  consumption, 
hoping  but  vainly  to  receive  some  lasting 
benefit  from  the  mild  climate.  For  a  while 
he  had  rallied,  but  after  a  few  months  he  suc- 
cumbed to  the  disease.  Somehow  it  had  be- 
come known  that  El  Senor  had  served  in  the 
Mexican  army ;  had  married,  it  was  said,  the 
daughter  of  a  once  famous  general,  who,  long 
ago,  was  reduced  by  the  caprice  of  revolution- 
ists to  poverty  and  obscurity.  The  mother  of 
the  children  had  died  in  giving  them  birth,  and 
old  Maddalena,  her  own  nurse,  had  chosen  to 
follow  the  uncertain  fortunes  of  the  father  and 
his  orphans.  He  was  in  receipt  of  a  pension 
from  the  Government,  and  bore  the  marks  of 
several  wounds — souvenirs  of  many  battles. 
"He  was  surely  a  brave  soldier,"  said  the 
gossips;  "for  he  is  still  so  young." 

During  the  short  time  of  his  residence  in 
Far  Town  El  Senor  had  become  very  intimate 
with  the  Padre  Antonio,  who  to  these  simple- 
minded  people  was  the  incarnation  of  law  and 
gospel,  their  comfort  in  sorrow,  their  refuge 


in  adversity,  their  devoted  pastor  and  faithful 
friend.  On  this  good  man  devolved  the  guar- 
dianship of  Edward  Tyrell's  orphans, — a  trust 
he  assumed  with  all  the  generosity  of  his  kind 
heart.  There  was  a  life-insurance  amounting 
to  tweaty-five  hundred  dollars,  but  the  pen- 
sion died  with  the  reci  pient  With  unbounded 
faith  in  the  future  of  San  Mateo, — a  prophetic 
faith  which  had  filled  his  soul  when  for 
the  first  time,  twenty-seven  years  before,  he 
had  beheld  its  glorious  bay,  and  which  still 
remained  unshaken, — Father  Antonio  had 
invested  five  hundred  dollars  of  this  amount 
in  the  purchase  of  twenty  acres  of  land,  and 
the  small  adobe  house  in  which  the  little 
family  had  lived  from  the  beginning.  For  he 
hoped  great  things  for  the  children,  and  their 
fortunes  were  to  be  made  from  this  very  pur- 
chase,— at  least  it  was  to  afford  them  a  good 
start  in  life.  The  remainder  of  the  money 
being  put  out  at  interest  with  good  security, 
they  found  no  difficulty  in  providing  for  their 
simple  wants. 

More  than  this:  Maddalena  contrived  to 
lay  by  a  certain  sum  yearly  toward  defraying 
the  expenses  of  the  education  which,  after 
much  preliminary  instruction  from  Father 
Antonio,  the  two  children  were  to  receive. 
For  her  part,  she  did  not  see  w^hy  the  good 
Father  himself  could  not  teach  Francisco  all 
it  was  necessary  for  him  to  know, — unless 
indeed  the  poor  priest,  being  pressed  for  time, 
and  often  without  an  assistant,  could  not 
compass  the  task.  And  as  for  Panchita,  she 
could  already  read  and  write ;  that  ought  to 
be  enough,  with  the  embroidery  that  Mad- 
dalena could  teach  her  so  well.  Then,  again, 
she  would  reason  with  herself  that  the  time 
might  come  when  the  child  would  return  to 
the  sphere  wherein  she  had  been  bom,  and  in 
that  case  it  were  well  that  she  should  hold 
her  own  with  the  best. 

Maddalena  was  very  proud  of  the  children, 
and  in  her  opinion  Francisco  was  almost  as 
good  a  Latin  scholar  as  the  Padre  himself;  her 
knowledge  of  the  boy's  facility  being  confined 
to  his  responses  during  Mass,  which  he  always 
served,  Sundays  and  weekdays,  whenever  it 
was  said  in  the  chapel, — the  church  in  new 
San  Mateo  claiming  the  larger  part  of  the 
Father's  time  and  attention.  But  she  pinched 
and  saved,  cultivating  the  little  garden  in 


596 


The  Ave  3 farm. 


front  of  the  house,  patching  and  remaking 
new  garments  out  of  old  ones,  whereof  she 
had  a  goodly  store.  Her  whole  thought  was 
for  her  charge;  her  life  was  bound  up  in  theirs. 

Early  in  the  married  life  of  her  beloved 
mistress,  Maddalena  had  learned  that  **K1 
Capitano ' '  had  wealthy  relatives  abroad.  She 
also  knew  that  after  his  death  Father  Antonio 
had  endeavored  to  communicate  with  them, 
though  unsuccessfully;  and  deep  down  in 
the  recesses  of  her  devoted  heart  she  cherished 
a  hope  that  some  day  they  would  be  recog- 
nized and  restored  to  their  rightful  heritage. 
From  their  earliest  infancy  the  good  nurse 
had  tried  to  impress  the  children  with  the 
belief,  which  was  sincerely  her  own,  that  a 
great  fortune  was  awaiting  them  beyond  the 
sea,  and  no  sooner  was  one  novena  finished 
than  she  began,  and  made  them  join  with  her 
in,  another  to  Nuestra  Sefiora  de  Guadaloupe, 
the  patron  of  the  church  where  they  went 
daily  to  pray.  To  St.  Francis  also,  the  patron 
of  both  children,  she  made  many  an  appeal ; 
and  now  that  Christmas  was  approaching,  and 
the  time  at  hand  when  the  boy  would  depart 
for  the  Jesuit  College  at  Santa  Maria,  she  bade 
them  redouble  their  prayers  that  something 
might  intervene  to  prevent  the  separation. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  little  ones 
were  happy  enough  in  their  poor  estate,  and 
did  not  share  as  much  as  Maddalena  would 
have  wished  in  her  anxiety  and  regret ;  for 
they  were  sensible  children.  And  Francisco 
would  say,  in  answer  to  her  occasional  com- 
plainings that  they  did  not  value  as  they 
should  the  rather  unsubstantial  fortune  with 
which  she  would  fain  endow  them : 

^^^yxtyMaddalena  mia,  in  any  case  we  should 
have  to  part  some  time,  Panchita  and  I.  Were 
we  ever  so  rich  we  should  have  to  go  to 
school." 

"Not  so,  mio  Francisco,''  she  would  gravely 
make  answer,  her  hands  on  her  hips  and  her 
eyes  upturned  to  heaven.  "Not  so,  darling  ! 
I  am  told  that  among  the  rich  and  great 
the  little  ones  go  not  out  from  home  for  an 
education.  Men  and  women  are  brought  for 
that  purpose  to  the  house,  and  all  studies  are 
there  pursued.  So  in  such  case  you  would  not 
have  to  part  from  each  other,  you  and  Pan- 
chita,— twins  too,  with  one  heart  and  one  soul 
I  might  say, — until — unless  you  so  wished  it. ' ' 


"That  we  should  never  wish!"  Panchita 
would  exclaim ;  and,  hand  in  hand,  they  would 
run  away,  laughing. 

Then,  solemnly  shaking  her  head,  Mad- 
dalena would  stand  on  the  door-step,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  looking  out  vainly  for  the 
long- delayed  relatives  who  were  to  come  in 
search  of  her  dear  children.  In  these  busy 
days  especially  she  eagerly  scanned  the  oc- 
cupants of  every  carriage  that  rolled  along 
the  dusty  highway;  for  "is  it  not  always  in 
chariots  and  with  horsemen  in  numbers  that 
the  stories  tell  of  the  lost  who  are  reclaimed  ? ' ' 

"Ten  days  before  Christmas!"  said  Fran- 
cisco one  morning  on  the  way  to  Mass.  *  *  Have 
you  forgotten  the  novena,  Maddalena?  You 
have  always  so  many  intentions! " 

"I  was  just  about  to  speak  of  it,  dear," 
said  the  old  woman.  "This  time  we  will  re- 
double our  prayers,  and  offer  up  all  our  actions 
to  the  Holy  Infant,  who  watches  over  all  good 
children." 

'  'And  the  bad  also  ? ' '  said  Panchita.  ' '  Does 
He  not  love  the  good  and  the  bad  alike? " 

"Surely,  child ;  but  He  will  doubtless  grant 
more  favors  to  those  who  love  Him  and  keep 
His  Commandments  than  to  those  who  are 
wicked.  lyisten  now  with  both  ears  ;  open. 
Thou  knowest,  Cisco,  and  thou  too,  Chita  mia^ 
what  is  always  our  grand  intention,  after  we 
have  prayed  to  be  kept  unspotted  from  the 
world." 

"But,  Maddalena,  we  have  prayed  and 
prayed,  but  no  rich  relatives  have  come  to  take 
us  away.  Not  that  we  wish  to  go ;  for  we  are 
very  well  off,  and  no  one  could  be  half  so  good 
as  Father  Antonio.  And  if  they  should  come, 
and  wish  to  leave  you  behind,  Maddalena,  we 
would  not  go, — no,  not  one  step! " 

"Bless  your  dear  heart!"  said  the  old 
woman,  stooping  to  kiss  the  upturned  face  of 
the  child.   "That  must  be  as  God  wills." 

"It  was  only  yesterday,"  continued  the 
boy,  "that  Chita  and  I  said  to  each  other  it 
was  not  fitting  that  we  should  pray  to  Our 
I^ady  and  the  Holy  Infant  that  we  might  be 
taken  far  away  to  strange  places  by  people 
who  do  not  love  us." 

"If  they  do  not  love  you,  they  will  not  seek 
you.  If  they  do  not  love  you  when  they  find 
you,  they  will  not  take  you  away.  Truly, 
many  a  time  does  my  heart  misgive  me  that 


The  Ave  Maria. 


597 


til 

f 


such  is  the  case.  But,  again,  it  may  also  be 
true  that  the  letters  did  not  reach  that  far 
country  where  your  dear  papa  lived  when  he 
was  a  boy.  We  pray  that  God  may  enlighten 
their  hearts,  if  it  so  be  that  they  are  kind." 

**Well,  only*  this  once  then,  Maddalena!" 
said  the  boy,  very  decidedly.  "Panchita  and 
I  have  quite  agreed  that  we  shall  only  pray 
this  once." 

"Yes  indeed,  Maddalena!  "  echoed  the  girl. 
"As  Cisco  was  saying,  we  are  very  well  here." 

*'You  speak  truly,  my  children,"  she  re- 
plied; "for  we  are  not  beggars.  We  have 
good  monej'-  at  interest  and  land  of  our  own, 
thanks  to  the  dear  Father  Antonio.  Only  last 
night  Jean  Moreno,  who  is  often  in  town,  told 
me,  when  I  met  him  near  the  plaza,  that  it 
would  soon  be  worth  much  gold.  To  sell  it 
then  would  be  to  make  our  fortunes.  But  your 
ear  father  and  mother  would  have  wished 

at  their  children  should  come  into  their 
iwn.  This  I  know.  Let  us,  then,  once  more 

gin  the  novena  to  the  Holy  Child ;  for  it  is 
only  to  those  who  pray  without  ceasing  that 
the  treasury  is  opened." 

"Well,  dear  Maddalena,  so  be  it!"  ?aid 
Cisco.  ''OrCij  07ice  more,  though;  for  we  are 
well  content  as  it  is." 

(CONCr^USION    IN   OUR   NEXT    NUMBICR.) 


Noelie. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "TYBORNE,"  ETC. 


XIII. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Chevahier,  who  had  a 
cold,  could  not  go  to  the  club  after  dinner. 
He  was  very  dull,  walked  up  and  down  the 
room,  took  up  the  newspaper  and  then  threw 
it  down,  for  his  eyes  were  weak. 

"Uncle Friend,"  said  Noelie,  "shall  I  read 
the  paper  to  you  ? " 

Uncle  Friend  was  astonished. 

"Why,  child,  you  would  not  like  that!  You 
would  not  understand." 

"Well,  you'll  see.  Uncle,"  said  Noelie.  And 
she  drew  her  chair  near  his,  and  began  to  read 
clearly  and  distinctly. 

Oh,  how  she  hated  that  newspaper,  and  such 
long  words  and  such  close  lines!  But  Mr. 
Chevahier  liked  it  beyond  measure.  He  lay 


back  in  his  arm-chair,  his  feet  on  the  fender, 
and  every  now  and  again  made  an  exclama- 
tion of  interest. 

"Look  on  the  third  page,"  said  he,  "to  see 
if  those  reports  are  confirmed.  There — just 
there.  The  latest  news  is  always  in  that  comer. 
But  are  you  not  tired,  little  one?" 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Noelie.  "I  can  go  on  if  it 
gives  you  pleasure." 

"Pleasure!"  said  Mr.  Chevahier.  "Of 
course  it  does.  This  is  the  first  pleasant  even- 
ing I  have  had  since  this  horrid  cold  prevented 
me  from  going  out." 

At  nine  o'clock  Mr.  Chevahier  stopped 
Noelie.   "Bed- time,  my  dear,"  he  said. 

Noelie  could  hardly  keep  her  eyes  open,  so 
she  got  up  and  kissed  her  uncle. 

"I  will  read  again  to-morrow  night,  if  you 
like." 

"Very  well,  my  dear.  I  shall  like  it  ex- 
ceedingly." 

Noelie  went  to  her  room  and  danced  for 
joy.  In  rushed  Catherine  to  see  if  anything 
was  the  matter. 

"I  have  done  as  Mary  wished  me,"  cried 
Noelie,  "and  I  am  so  happy!  I  read  that 
horrid  newspaper  to  Uncle  Friend,  and  he  was 
pleased,  and  I  am  pleased;  and  I'll  tell  Mary 
to-morrow,  and  she  will  be  pleased.  Can't  I 
go  and  see  her  to-morrow,  dear,  good  Cath- 
erine?" she  pleaded. 

"Very  well,  my  child,"  said  Catherine; 
"provided  you  are  up  in  good  time — and  if 
you  will  stop  dancing." 

Next  day  the  two  friends  were  again  to- 
gether in  the  window-seat. 

"Now,  Mary,"  said  Noelie,  "tell  me  all 
your  history.  To  begin,  how  old  are  you?" 

"I  am  twelve  years  old,"  answered  Mary. 

"So  am  I;  but  I  thought  you  were  younger, 
you  are  so  small." 

"I  have  no  history,"  continued  Mary; 
"what  can  I  tell  you?  We  have  lived  here 
ever  so  long.  Before  that  we  were  in  the  coun- 
try. I  don' t  know  what  the  place  was  called ; 
I  can  only  remember  the  big  trees,  and  that 
grandmother  began  to  be  so  ill  and  sad.  And 
when  we  returned  to  Paris  my  father  died, 
and  grandmother  and  I  came  to  live  here.  I 
think  it  must  be  seven  or  eight  years  ago. 
During  the  first  years  grandmother  could  still 
walk,  and  she  always  accompanied  me  when- 


598 


The  Ave  Maria, 


ever  I  went  out.  Then  she  lost  her  health.  We 
have  always  a  supply  of  those  cakes  you  may 
have  seen  in  the  basket  the  other  day.  They 
are  sea-biscuits.  I  don't  like  them,  they  are 
so  hard.  At  first  I  wanted  to  go  out  and  get 
some  bread  and  meat,  but  grandmother  could 
not  bear  me  to  leave  her.  She  sometimes 
cries  out  in  agony,  'Mary! — where  is  Mary?' 
and  when  she  sees  me  by  her  side  she  grows 
calm.  One  day  she  woke  up  when  I  was  out, 
and  I  found  her  in  such  a  state,  crying  and 
sobbing  and  saying,  %ost!  lost!'  " 

"And  how  do  you  get  money?" 

"I  take  it  from  the  little  grey  bag.  Twice  a 
year  a  fat  gentleman  comes  and  gives  grand- 
mother a  little  grey  bag  full  of  money.  It  is 
a  pension  she  receives  because  her  husband 
was  a  sailor.  When  grandfather  was  alive  we 
were  not  at  all  poor,  I  believe.  Since  her  illness 
grandmother  can  not  walk,  nor  sleep  at  night ; 
she  generally  sleeps  from  eight  in  the  morning 
till  midday,  and  during  that  time  I  go  out." 

Nine  o'clock  was  striking. 

"May  I  come  to-morrow  again?"  asked 
Noelie. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  no,"  replied  Mary. 
"Grandmother  will  be  awake  then.  We  shall 
meet  at  catechism  on  Thursday." 

"That's  a  long  way  off!"  sighed  Noelie. 

XIV. 

The  day  for  catechism  came  at  last,  and 
when  it  was  over  Noelie  joined  her  friend. 

"May  I  go  home  with  you  now?  Catherine 
has  some  errands,  and  she  will  call  for  me 
after  a  while." 

"Yes,"  answered  Mary.  "Grandmother  is 
not  asleep,  but  she  said  you  might  come  in." 

The  room  was  not  in  total  darkness  as 
before,  but  curtains  shaded  the  bed  where  the 
old  woman  lay.  Noelie  could  not  see  her,  but 
she  heard  her  low  moaning,  which  made  her 
heart  beat  fast.  However,  she  took  care  not 
to  show  this  to  Mary. 

"Who  gave  you  that  beautiful  crucifix," 
she  asked  aloud. 

"Hush,  Noelie  dear!"  said  Mary.  "Speak 
low.  Grandmother  never  saw  my  little  altar. 
Alas!  poor  granny  knows  nothing  of  Our 
Lord  and  His  Blessed  Mother.  Once  I  tried 
to  speak  to  her  of  them,  and  she  said,  *  No, 
no! '  and  I  dared  not  speak  again.  When  she 
gets  up  she  sits  in  her  arm-chair  and  always 


has  the  curtain  drawn  behind  her,  so  she  sees 
nothing." 

"Now,  Mary,  will  you  finish  your  story, 
please?"  asked  Noelie.  "  You  remember  you 
left  off  the  other  day  at  where  your  grand- 
mother began  to  lose  her  health." 

"Oh,  yes!  Well,  one  day  in  winter  I  went 
to  the  porter's  lodge  on  an  errand,  and  I  found 
the  porter's  wife  sick  in  bed,  and  by  her  side 
stood  a  priest.  He  looked  at  me  and  asked  if 
I  were  ill,  and  where  my  mother  lived.  He 
came  out  into  the  courtyard,  and  I  told  him 
all  about  grandmother.  Then  he  told  me  to 
come  to  see  him  next  day,  and  he  taught  me 
many  things  about  God  and  our  holy  religion, 
and  how  to  say  my  prayers.  A  little  later  he 
asked  the  Sisters  of  Charity  to  let  me  come 
to  school  fi-om  nine  to  twelve  every  day,  be- 
cause then  I  can  leave  granny.  The  first  time 
I  went  to  confession  he  gave  me  this  pretty 
crucifix  and  said :  *  I^et  it  be,  my  child,  the 
companion  of  your  solitude.  Never  forget  that 
Our  Lord  left  the  joys  of  heaven  for  your  sake, 
that  He  died  upon  the  Cross,  and  that  He  loves 
you  with  an  infinite  love,'  " 

Mary's  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

'  *  How  beautiful ! ' '  exclaimed  Noelie. 

As  time  went  on  the  friendship  of  Mary 
and  Noelie  grew  apace,  and  had  an  excellent 
effect  on  the  latter.  By  degrees  Noelie  gained 
courage  enough  to  glance  at  the  old  grand- 
mother when  she  was  sitting  in  her  arm-chair, 
her  head  resting  on  her  breast,  and  her  face 
bearing  traces  of  great  mental  suffering  and 
a  look  of  settled  despair. 

Noelie  had  been  very  careless  about  her 
music,  but  when  she  learned  from  Mary  that 
the  sounds  of  her  playing  seemed  to  please 
grandmother  and  rouse  her  a  little,  she  threw 
all  her  heart  into  her  practising,  paid  more 
attention  to  her  teacher,  and  made  great 
progress.  She  also  grew  more  attentive  to  her 
uncle  and  well-behaved  at  home.  And  on  one 
occasion,  when  an  old  friend  from  the  country 
came  to  dine,  she  showed  so  much  thought- 
fulness  that  on  leaving  he  remarked:  "My 
dear  Chevahier,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  such  a 
sweet  adopted  daughter  to  take  care  of  you! " 

By  degrees  also  Mary  induced  Noelie  to  be 
more  neat  in  her  dress.  This  cost  h(  r  some 
trouble  at  first.  When  Mary  began  to  arrange 
her  collar  and  her  girdle,  Noelie  exclaimed : 


The  Ave  Maria. 


599 


"What  does  it  signify?  Why  should  you 
trouble  yourself  about  such  trifles?  Are  you 
going  to  be  likeRegina  and  Augusta?" 

"I  don't  consider  these  things  trifles  at 
all,  Noelie.  I  think  it  is  a  duty  to  be  neat," 
answered  Mary. 

"A  duty!" 

"Yes,  indeed.  Look  at  the  flowers,  look  at 
the  works  of  God.  They  are  never  in  disorder. 
Besides,  every  action,  however  small,  can  be 
done  for  God.  Now,  didn't  Father  Adrian 
say  so  at  catechism  ? ' ' 

'  *  Well,  yes, ' '  said  Noelie,  slowly,  * '  he  did. ' ' 

"And  then,"  continued  Mary,  pointing  to 
her  favorite  picture,  "our  Blessed  I^ady  is  our 
model  in  everything;  and,  Noelie,  can  you 
imagine  her  with  her  veil  crooked,  her  mantle 
torn?" 

"Oh,  no,  no!  It  makes  me  shudder.  lyisten, 
Mary :  /  will  mend. ' ' 

And  so  she  did. 

At  first  Regina  and  Augusta,  perceiving 
the  change,  laughed  at  her.  Then  it  could  no 
longer  be  concealed  from  their  curious  eyes 
that  Noelie  had  made  friends  with  Mary  and 
penetrated  the  dwelling  of  the  witch.  For  a 
time  this  led  to  many  little  breaches  of  charity, 
and  Noelie  came  to  Mary  with  red  eyes  and 
flaming  cheeks,  and  declared  that  she  hated 
Regina  and  Augusta.  But  Mary  gave  her  no 
rest  till  this  evil  feeling  was  subdued,  and  at 
last  Regina  and  Augusta  were  won  over  to 
be  friendly. 

Grandmother  had  begun  by  tolerating 
Noelie' s  presence  in  the  garret,  then  she  took 
some  notice  of  her ;  and  one  day  when  Noelie 
brought  a  bottle  of  wine,  saying  it  might 
brighten  her  up,  the  old  woman  burst  out : 

"Brighten  me  up!  Never,  never!  Don't  you 
know  it  is  grief  that  is  killing  me?  No,  no: 
you  know  nothing.  I  must  tell  you,  or  I  shall 
die.  Ivisten !  Her  mother" — pointing  to  Mary 
— "had  twin  daughters,  and  three  years  after- 
ward a  son  was  born.  Then  news  came  that 
the  house  in  which  we  lived  and  the  whole 
street  were  to  be  pulled  down,  and  we  had  to 
move.  We  decided  to  go  outside  Paris  to 
Vincennes.  So  my  daughter  and  her  husband 
went  with  the  baby,  and  I  was  to  follow  next 
day  with  the  two  little  girls.  I  set  off",  holding 
each  by  one  hand ;  but  we  had  not  gone  far 
when  Jenny  began  to  cry  and  say  she  could 


not  walk.  I  could  not  carry  her, — O  God, 
Thou  knowest  I  could  not!  But  no,  Thou 
dost  not  know;  for  Thou  didst  not  aid  me!" 

"Grandmother,"  said  Mary,  kissing  her, 
"He  does  know.  He  is  all-powerful  and  so 
good!" 

"Oh,  yes!"  sighed  the  poor  woman.  "Once 
I  loved  the  good  God.  I  prayed  to  Him.  I 
was  very  happy.  But  all  that  is  over  now. — 
I  had  to  go  back  to  the  house  with  my  two 
little  ones.  I  gave  Jenny  to  our  neighbor 
Consudo,  her  godmother,  who  was  also  com- 
ing to  Vincennes  to  be  near  us ;  and  I  went 
back  with  Mary  to  the  railway.  Jenny  was 
often  with  her  godmother,  and  was  very  fond 
of  her.  Consudo  was  to  come  in  two  days. 
She  came,  but  without  my  Jenny, — without 
Jenny!"  she  repeated,  with  a  hoarse  scream; 
"do  you  hear?  Without  Jenny!  Yes,  she  told 
her  story.  I  can  hear  her  now,  the  accursed 
one!  She  said  that  the  day  after  we  left  the 
workmen  entered  to  pull  down  the  next  house, 
so  she  set  out  that  afternoon.  Her  husband 
went  with  the  cart  containing  their  furni- 
ture, and  Consudo  delayed  to  say  good  bye 
to  her  mother,  and  then  hurried  on  to  meet 
her  husband.  Oh,  the  horrible  creature!  She 
thought  Jenny  was  in  the  cart  with  the  furni- 
ture, and  her  husband  thought  she  was  with 
his  wife.  And  when  they  met  they  discovered 
their  mistake,  and  they  were  miles  away  from 
Paris.  And  when  Consudo  returned  she  found 
no  child,  and  could  get  no  clue  to  her.  Then 
she  came  to  us  and  told  us.  May  she  be  ac- 
cursed forever!" 

'Grandmother,  dear  grandmother!"  said 
Mary,  gently  laying  her  hand  on  the  cold  face, 
and  again  kissing  her. 

"I  flew  back  to  Paris  to  the  house,  but  it 
was  half  pulled  down.  I  inquired  of  the  work- 
men and  the  passers-by  if  they  had  seen  the 
child.  I  wept,  I  cried  aloud,  but  all  to  no  pur- 
pose. Her  mother  came  also,  but  all  in  vain. 
It  was  her  death- stroke :  she  faded  away  in 
a  few  months  ;  the  baby  died  also,  and  when 
Mary  was  seven  years  old  lier  father  died. 
And  from  the  hour  I  lost  Jenny  I  have  never 
held  up  my  head.  My  daughter  trusted  her 
child  to  me  and  I  lost  her!  Wretch  that  I  am, 
I  can  never  forget  that  awful  day!  It  is  in  my 
mind  always.  I  can  not  pray, — I  can  not  raise 
my  eyes  to  heaven." 


6oo 


The  Ave  Maria. 


The  old  woman  lay  back  exhausted.  In  a 
few  moments  a  soft  knock  was  heard  at  the 
door,  and  Noelie,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  bade 
Mary  good-bye,  and  hurried  away. 

"I  know  now,"  she  said  to  Catherine, — "I 
know  now  why  Mary's  grandmother  is  so  ill 
and  miserable. ' ' 

"What  is  the  reason?"  asked  Catherine. 

"Only  imagine,  Catherine!  Mary  had  a 
twin  sister  called  Jenny;  and,  as  the  house 
they  lived  in  was  to  be  thrown  down,  the 
grandmother,  who  was  going  to  live  at  Vin- 
cennes,  left  Jenny  to  the  care  of  a  neighbor ; 
and  the  neighbor  accidentally  lost  her,  and 
she  was  never  found." 

"The  idea  of  leaving  a  child  to  a  neighbor ! ' ' 
cried  Catherine.  "Where  were  its  mother  and 
father?" 

"They  were  both  gone." 

"There  it  is!"  said  Catherine.  "Some 
parents  are  so  careless,  and  when  it's  too  late 
they  weep  and  mourn.  What  became  of  the 
child?  I  suppose  she  is  dead." 

"I  suppose  she  is,"  said  Noelie. 

XV. 

Some  weeks  had  passed,  when  one  pleasant 
Sunday  Noelie  persuaded  Uncle  Friend  to 
take  her  to  see  the  Sainte  Chapelle — the 
beautiful  chapel  erected  by  St.  I^ouis,  King 
of  France,  to  contain  the  holy  Thorns  of  our 
Lord's  Crown,  and  now  used  as  a  show  place. 
Noelie  enjoyed  the  treat,  and  the  part  of  Paris 
in  which  the  chapel  stands  was  new  to  her. 
They  drove  to  the  chapel  and  walked  back. 

"lyook  at  all  these  new  houses,"  said  Mr. 
Chevahier.  "They  have  been  built  only  a  few 
years;  they  are  younger  than  you  are." 

"Younger  than  I  am!"  said  Noelie,  in 
surprise.  *  'Are  you  very  sure.  Uncle  Friend  ? ' ' 

"Certainly  these  houses  and  these  trees, 
were  not  there  when — " 

He  stopped  short,  stood  still,  and  seemed 
lost  in  thought. 

"Whatis  the  matter?"  asked  Noelie.  "How 
sad  you  look.  Uncle  Friend!" 

"Child,  I  am  only  thinking  of  this  part  of 
Paris  nine  years  ago.  There  stood  here — j  ust 
here — a  narrow,  dirty,  muddy  street  called 
Rue  de  Venise.  I  think  I  can  see  it  now  on  a 
winter  night,  and  I  think  I  can  hear  those  sad, 
piercing  cries." 

He  was  speaking  to  himself. 


"O  Uncle  Friend,  do  tell  me  what  it  was! 
Who  cried?" 

"A  little  girl  dying  with  hunger.  She  was 
all  alone  in  the  house.  A  passer-by  heard  her, 
and  took  her  away  and  had  her  cared  for." 

"Then  gave  her  back  to  her  parents?" 
asked  Noelie. 

"No:  they  were  never  found." 

"What  became  of  the  little  girl?"  asked 
Noelie.  Her  heart  was  beating ;  she  was  say- 
ing to  herself,  "Perhaps  it  was  Jenny!" 

"I  can't  tell  you  any  more,"  said  Mr. 
Chevahier.  *  *  God  has  taken  good  care  of  her. ' ' 

The  next  time  that  Noelie  and  Catherine 
went  out  together,  Noelie  began : 

"  Catherine  dear,  is  Uncle  Friend  my  father's 
brother?" 

"No,  child,"  said  Catherine. 

"Then  he  is  my  mother's  brother?" 

"No,  he  is  not." 

"Oh,  I  see!  He  is  my  great-uncle.  Is  he 
brother  to  grandpapa  or  grandmamma?" 

"Neither  of  them,  my  dear.  Why  do  you 
worry  your  head  with  such  things?  Look  at 
those  pretty  birds  opposite  in  a  cage! " 

"Catherine,  how  can  he  be  my  uncle  at 
all?"  persisted  Noelie. 

"He  is  better  than  an  uncle:  he  is  like  a 
father  to  jou." 

Noelie  was  silent  for  a  while,  then  she  began: 

"Catherine,  did  you  know  my  mother?  " 

"No,  darling." 

"Or  my  father?" 

"No,  no." 

"But  Uncle  Friend  knew  them?" 

Catherine  did  not  reply. 

"Did  Uncle  Friend  know  them?  "  repeated 
Noelie. 

"No,"  said  Catherine,  greatly  embarrassed. 

"Are  they  dead  a  long  time?  Are  they 
dead?  Where  are  they  ? "  continued  the  child. 

"Pray  for  your  parents,  dear,"  said  Cath- 
erine; "that  is  the  best  way  in  which  to 
remember  them." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  home,  and 
no  more  was  said  on  the  subject. 

(CONCIvUSION    IN   OUR    NEXT    NUMBER.) 

H:e  comes  as  a  stranger  and  in  great  pov- 
erty. Give  Him  your  heart  to  rest  in,  that  He 
may  say  in  the  last  day,  "I  was  a  stranger 
and  ye  took  Me  in." — Juan  de  Avila. 


'OL.  XXIX. 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  DECEMBER  28,  1889. 


No.  26. 


[Published  every  Saturday. 


The  Swan-Song  of  the  Year. 


BY    HENRY   C.   WAT,SH. 

ASWAN-vSONG  rises,  soft  and  low  and  sweet, 
That  blends  its  joy-notes  with  some  vague 
regret, 
As  of  a  wanderer  whose  face  is  set 
Toward  brighter  realms,  who  yet  look's  back  to 

greet 
The  land  he  leaves  with  slow,  regretful  feet. 
With  song  the  Old  Year  hails  the  New,  but  yet 
We  backward  glance.  Ah,  we  will  not  forget, 
Though  cold  he  lies  in  snow-white  winding-sheet ! 

So,  Christmas  like  a  smiling  oasis 
In  Winter's  desert,  maketh  glad  and  green 
The  palsied  Year,  upon  his  couch  of  snow  : 
Let  him  not  die  until  good-will  and  peace 
Reign  in  thy  heart  in  place  of  hate  and  spleen, 
And  greet  as  friend  whom  thou  hast  scorned 
as  foe! 


A  Christmas  Baptism  and  St.  Remi's 
Shrine. 


BY  OCT  A  VIA   HENSKI.. 


EMORIES  of  sunny  woodlands  full  of 
dancing  shadows ;  grey  old  towers  of 
convent  and  church  rising  from  out 
branches  of  osier,  poplar,  and  birch,  whose 
leaves  seemed  whispering  an  endless  '^Ave 
Maria''  beneath  the  spire  cross;  gardens  of 
dahlias,  red,  white,  and  golden  brown ;  huge 
roses,  and  trailing  vines  of  sweet-pea  tangled 


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

in  mignonette ;  mile-stones  of  marble  on 
meadows,  over  which  chalky  white  roads  lead 
on  to  Reims; — all  these  scenes  come  to  me 
here  in  the  twilight  of  the  Christmas  firelight, 
and  a  winter  moon  rising  over  the  silent  city  ; 
for  I  have  been  dreaming,  with  half-closed 
eyes,  of  that  grand  Christmas  baptism  in  the 
old  Gallic- Roman  Basilica  of  Reims,  now  the 
church  and  shrine  of  St.  Remi,  the  simple, 
devoted  priest  and  bishop,  whose  silver  coffin 
lies  surrounded  by  the  marble  statues  of 
princely  lord  bishops,  descendants  of  the 
noblest  ducal  families  of  France,  whose  an- 
cestors he  had  baptized  in  the  ranks  of  the 
Prankish  armies  of  the  son  of  Childeric. 

A  holy  calm  now  fills  the  grand  old  temple 
where,  fourteen  centuries  ago  (496),  on  a 
Christmas  morning,  Clovis  walked  to  his  bap- 
tism hand  in  hand  with  Remi,  the  saintly 
Bishop  of  Reims.  Very  simply  does  Arch- 
bishop Hincmar  tell  us  of  that  scene.* 

"The  Bishop,"  says  he,  "went  in  search  of 
the  Kingf  at  early  morn  in  his  bed- chamber, 
in  order  that,  taking  him  at  the  moment  of 
freedom  from  secular  cares,  he  might  more 
freely  communicate  to  him  the  mysteries  of 
the  holy  word.  The  King's  chamber- people 
received  him  with  great  respect,  and  the  King 
himself  ran  forward  to  meet  him.  Thereupon 
they  passed  together  into  an  oratory  dedicated 
to  St.  Peter,  chief  of  the  Apostles,  and  adjoin- 
ing the  King's  apartment.  When  the  Bishop, 


*  "Life  of  St.  Remi,"  by  Archbishop  Hincmar, 
successor  to  St.  Remi  at  Reims. 

t  Clovis,  son  of  Childeric,  and  his  wife  Clotilde, 
daughter  of  Chilperic. 


6o 


The  Ave  Maria. 


the  King  and  the  Queen  had  taken  their 
places  on  the  seats  prepared  for  them,  and 
admission  had  been  given  to  some  clerics  and 
also  some  friends  and  household  servants  of 
the  King,  the  venerable  Bishop  began  his  in- 
structions on  the  subject  of  salvation.  .  .  . 

"Meanwhile  preparations  are  being  made 
along  the  road  from  the  palace  to  the  baptis- 
tery ;  curtains  and  valuable  stuffs  are  hung 
up ;  the  houses  on  either  side  of  the  street  are 
decorated;  the  baptistery  is  sprinkled  with 
balm  and  all  manner  of  perfume.  The  proces- 
sion moves  from  the  palace ;  the  clergy  lead 
the  way  with  the  holy  Gospels,  the  cross  and 
standards,  singing  hymns  and  spiritual  songs ; 
then  comes  the  Bishop,  leading  the  King  by 
the  hand;  after  him  the  Queen,  lastly  the 
people.  On  the  road  it  is  said  that  the  King 
asked  Remi  if  that  were  the  kingdom  prom- 
ised him.  'No,'  answered  the  prelate;  'but 
it  is  the  entrance  to  the  road  that  leads  to 
it.'  ...  At  the  moment  when  the  King  bent 
his  head  over  the  baptismal  font,  the  Bishop 
cried:  'lyower  thy  head,  Scambrian!  Adore 
what  thou  hast  burned;  burn  what  tbou  hast 
adored.'"  * 

Fourteen  centuries  have  passed  since  that 
Christmas  morning,  and  yet  Roman  triumphal 
arches  stand  as  when  Clovis  gazed  upon  them ; 
and  the  western  facade  of  the  Roman  Basilica, 
which  Time  has  gently  touched  with  reverent 
hand,  still  rises  upon  the  sequestered  square, 
and  throws  its  shadow  over  the  narrow  streets 
of  the  old  Gallic-Roman  city  through  which 
the  son  of  Childeric  went  to  his  baptism. 

We  can  not  now  enter  where  he  trod,  nor 
does  the  great  western  portal  roll  back  in  our 
day  for  any  but  kings ;  we  must  seek  entrance 
at  the  southern  transept.  There  we  see  where 
aisles  to  the  old  basilica  and  chapels  of  the 
apse  have  been  added  to  the  Roman  building, 
and  note  the  flying  buttresses  that  support 
the  eastern  apse, — huge  girders  of  stone,  un- 
ornamented,  square  and  massive,  upholding 
a  canopy-like  dome  above  the  tomb  of  the 
saintly  prelate. 

The  nave  of  the  building,  from  its  western 
entrance  to  the  great  altar,  is  a  Roman  basil- 

*  The  King's  two  sisters,  Alboflede  and  Lant^- 
childe,  likewise  received  baptism ;  and  so  at  the  same 
time  did  three  thousand  of  the  Frankish  army,  besides 
a  large  number  of  women  and  children. 


ica ;  but  later,  when  Catholicity  ruled  in  the 
land,  Norman  pillars  rose  to  support  arches 
that  uphold  galleries  like  broad  cloistral 
walks,  almost  cathedrals  in  themselves,  with 
spandrelled  and  bossed  roof  exquisitely  carved 
from  a  sandy  grey  stone,  too  yellow  in  hue 
for  Caen,  too  firm  and  hard  for  yellow  sand- 
stone. 

The  first  arches  at  the  right  of  the  western 
portal  are  upheld  by  exquisitely  proportioned 
pillars,  Greco-Roman  in  style,  formed  of 
twelve  small  shafts  which  surround  two  larger 
central  shafts,  suggesting  to  the  lover  of 
symbolism  the  twofold  nature  of  our  Blessed 
Lord,  surrounded  by  His  holy  Apostles.  The 
remaining  pillars*  are  round  or  octagonal, 
and  uphold  the  great  galleries,  which  are  seen 
through  huge  arches,  divided  into  smaller 
spandrel  arches  by  circular  shafts  crowned 
with  Corinthian  capitals,  and  which  in  turn 
support  a  wall  with  small  arched  openings, 
showing  it  to  contain  a  small  corridor  or  dark 
story — the  triforium^ — encircling  the  entire 
church.  Above  this  are  the  clerestory  win- 
dows, f — simple  Norman  arches,  each  sur- 
mounted by  a  small  circular  window  filled 
with  somewhat  modern  glass,  grey,  blue  and 
brow^n  in  hue ;  but  they  were  once  as  rich  in 
jewelled  light  as  the  band  of  conjoined  Nor- 
man lancets  which  glorify  the  termination  of 
the  eastern  apse.  Simple  wooden  benches  of 
oak  fill  the  nave,  in  the  centre  of  which,  toward 
the  northern  aisle,  we  caught  sight  of  a 
pulpit  of  dark,  richly  sculptured  oak,  with 
sounding-board  surmounted  by  the  Angel  of 
the  Resurrection. 

There  are  two  choirs  at  the  intersection  of 
the  transepts.  One  is  surrounded  b}'^  a  railing 
of  stone,  in  which  are  two  gates  of  hammered 
iron,  with  flame -like  twisted  tongues  or 
points.  Verd-antique  and  porphyry  columns 
surmount  the  stone  parapet  near  the  altar.  In 
this  first  choir  are  two  music  desks,  beside 
which  bass  viols  rest;  and  upon  the  desks 
are  strange  old  parchment  missals, — a  mass  of 


*  There  are  thirteen  pillars  ou  either  side  of  the 
nave,  but  only  the  first  two  on  the  south  are  of  elab- 
orate workmanship, 

t  On  the  north  these  clerestory  windows  are  only 
painted  to  resemble  stained  glass;  for  the  church 
adjoins  a  building  once  a  cloister  or  a  palace,  but 
now  fallen  to  decay. 


The  Ave  Maria. 


603 


black  letters  illuminated  with  golden  capitals, 
and  colored  lines  on  which -appear  the  numcB, 
breva,  and  longa  breva  of  old  musical  notation. 
Gazing  upon  them  we  seem  to  hear  the  tonal 
chant  of  the  canto-fenno  which  has  echoed 
through  the  solemn  nave  since  St.Remi  stood 
upon  the  altar  steps. 

The  transepts  contain  chapels  between 
stone  confessionals  under  four  grand  arches, 
supported  on  Greco-Roman  columns,  very  old, 
almost  crumbling  with  decay.  The  statue  of 
the  Holy  Virgin  and  Child  forms  the  termina- 
tion of  the  northern  transept ;  but  the  southern 
transept  contains  the  entrance  portal,  and  on 
its  eastern  side  has  a  magnificent  Entombment 
in  a  chapel  or  cave  seemingly  cut  into  and 
surrounded  by  solid  rock. 

In  the  second  choir  is  the  tomb  of  St.Remi. 
Through  an  iron-barred  opening  of  the  great 
marble  sarcophagus  is  seen  his  silver  coffin. 
On  either  side  of  this  massive  marble  tomb  are 
sculptured  figures  of  the  noble  and  military 
prelates  of  France.  On  the  northern  side  stand 
the  ducal  bishops  of  Aquitaine,  Normandy, 
and  Burgundy,  the  Counts  of  Champagne, 
Toulouse,  and  Flanders;  on  the  south  the 
archducal  Bishop  of  Reims,  the  ducal  bishops 
of  lyaon,  lyangres,  Beauvais,  Chalons,  and 
Noyon.  Porphyry  and  Sienna  marble  columns 
divide  them;  their  shields,  with  crests  and 
armorial  bearings,  are  sculptured  on  panels 
beneath. 

As  in  Notre  Dame  de  Reims,  seven  chapels 
are  grouped  around  the  apse.  The  pillars 
whence  spring  the  lofty  arches  of  these  apsidal 
chapels,  and  which  separate  them  from  the 
tomb,  are  round  and  Corinthian  crowned, 
with  exquisitely  sculptured  acanthus  leaves. 
Above  these  arches  is  the  wall  of  the  dark 
story,  and  higher  yet  a  conjoined  band  of 
arched  clerestory  windows,  exquisitely  jew^el- 
like  in  effect. 

All  is  dark,  grey,  and  silent  around  the 
altar  tomb, — silent  from  the  songs  of  praise, — 
silent  save  for  the  mysterious  s^piritual  pres- 
ence of  prayers  murmured  by  kneeling  pil- 
grims,— silent  as  the  marble  forms  of  those 
whose  lives  have  made  the  history  of  France ; 
— silent,  for  night  has  fallen  on  the  spot  where, 
in  the  sunshine  of  a  Christmas  morning,  Clovis 
bowed  before  the  saintly  Re  mi,  and  received 
the  baptism  of  a  Christian  King. 


A  Business  Transaction. 


BY   MAURICE   FRANCIS   EGAN. 


THE  poor  old  woman  kissed  her  son  for  the 
last  time.  Her  pale  cheeks  flushed  as  she 
did  it,  and  a  braid  of  white  hair — hastily  put 
up  that  morning  before  she  went  to  court — 
fell  from  under  her  faded,  black  bonnet. 

The  train  was  about  to  move  out.  She 
spoke  no  word,  but  moved  back  and  took 
her  place  at  the  station  door.  The  groups  on 
the  platform — mostly  happy  and  expectant 
groups,  laden  with  Christmas  packages, — 
surrounded  her.  Her  only  boy  was  going 
from  her,  and  he  was  going  to  prison.  He 
kept  his  eyes  down.  Only  when  he  had  to 
move  toward  the  train,  between  two  policemen, 
he  turned  and  tried  to  kiss  his  hand  to  her ; 
but  he  had  forgotten  his  handcuffs.  His  face 
turned  red ;  he  did  not  look  at  her  again. 

She  stood,  with  the  braid  of  white  hair 
hanging  over  her  eyes ;  she  watched  the  train 
disappear.  With  a  heavy  sigh  she  went  out 
into  the  muddy  streets.  They  were  full  of  noise; 
wagons  dashed  past,  evergreens  swung  from 
awning  posts  and  shop  windows.  The  world 
was  glad,  for  the  Christ-Child  was  coming. 
But  her  son  had  gone  from  her.  Her  eyes 
caught  the  gilded  sign,  ''Foreign  and  Domes- 
tic Liquors."  She  shuddered,  and,  hailing  a 
car,  went  home.  That  home  was  desolate 
enough.  It  consisted  of  three  little  rooms :  one 
in  which  a  sewing-machine  stood, — this  was 
her  sleeping- place;  there  was  another,  the 
kitchen  and  dining-room;  and  still  another, 
his  bedroom.  The  house  might  have  been 
called  a  "shanty,"  if  it  were  not  for  the  scru- 
pulous neatness  of  everything  outside  and  in. 

She  walked  from  room  to  room  as  if  dazed. 
She  was  alone.  Sometimes,  in  the  first  years 
of  her  widowhood,  she  had  feared  for  the 
future  of  the  chubby  little  boy,  who  was  all 
she  had  in  the  world ;  but  no  such  fear  as  this 
dreadful  reality  had  oppressed  her.  She  had 
imagined  him  dead ;  she  had  dreamed  of  his 
encountering  many  dangers  in  the  world ;  but 
she  had  never  dreamed  that  he  would  leave 
her  with  the  brand  of  disgrace  on  his  brow. 

It  had  come  to  pass  on  that  day  young 


6o| 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Nicholas  Harding  had  been  taken  to  prison, 
handcuflfed  as  a  thief.  His  mother  believed  in 
his  innocence,  nobody  else  did.  It  was  gen- 
erally acknowledged  in  the  village  of  Holstein 
that  drink  did  it.  Nicholas  had  been  "steady ' ' 
enough  until  he  fell  in  with  the  members  of 
what  was  called  a  target  club.  His  employer, 
the  best  carpenter  in  the  place,  had  then  begun 
to  complain  of  him.  His  mother  noticed  a 
change.  He  no  longer  stayed  at  home  in  the 
evenings.  His  mother  owned  ten  acres  of  land 
just  outside  of  Holstein,  on  which  she  had  put 
up,  with  her  own  earnings,  a  little  house.  She 
and  Nick  had  often  talked  of  building  a  larger 
one;  for  in  the  pleasant  weather  Holstein, 
because  of  its  medicinal  springs,  was  a  famous 
resort  for  city  people.  Why  should  she  not 
cease  her  perpetual  work  at  the  sewing- 
machine  and  take  some  of  these  people  into 
her  house, — if  she  had  a  house  big  enough 
for  them  ? 

Nicholas  entered  heartily  into  this  plan. 
As  an  apprentice,  he  earned  little,  but  part  of 
that  little  was  put  away  for  the  new  house. 
How  often  they  talked  of  this!  By  and  by, 
when  Nicholas  had  learned  his  trade,  and  the 
money  began  to  come  in,  he  would  go  to 
college.  This  dream  lightened  many  a  weary 
day  as  Mrs.  Harding  bent  over  the  ever  present 
sewing-machine.  But  the  target  club  ended  it 
all.  Nicholas  brought  no  more  money  home. 
He  wore  flaming  neckties  and  a  pin  of  colossal 
size  nestling  among  their  folds.  He  was  out 
every  night;  he  had  his  "committees"  to 
attend  to,  and  other  important  business. 

Mrs.  Harding  saw  by  the  village  paper  that 
the  target  club  was  about  to  give  its  first 
annual  "reception,"  and  that  her  son's  name 
headed  the  list  of  managers.  She  sighed,  but 
thought  no  evil.  "Boys  will  be  boys";  her 
Nicholas  could  not  forget  all  the  lessons  of 
his  lifetime.  One  Saturday  night  he  stum- 
bled up-stairs,  and  the  next  morning  he  was 
not  up  in  time  for  Mass.  His  mother  did  not 
go  into  his  room;  she  knew  what  was  the 
matter;  she  had  knelt  by  her  bedside  all  night. 
She  would  not  accept  the  horrible  truth.  "The 
poor  boy  is  not  well,"  she  said  aloud.  No- 
body asked  her  about  Nick  as  she  came  home 
from  church ;  it  was  well  known  in  Holstein 
that  he  had  been  dragged  home  drunk  by 
his  friends  the  night  before. 


The  time  of  the  target  club  "reception"' 
came  round.  Nick  wanted  money.  He  had 
invited  a  "lady  friend."  He  must  have  a  car- 
riage,— all  the  other  fellows  were  to  go  to  this 
dance  in  carriages.  He  calculated  that  the 
whole  thing  would  cost  him  fifteen  dollars. 
Where  was  he  to  get  it?  He  could  not  borrow 
it,  he  could  not  beg  it.  He  asked  his  mother 
for  it ;  she  had  put  all  her  money — it  was  not 
much — in  the  savings-bank.  She  could  not 
get  it  without  two  weeks'  notice  at  the  bank. 
He  said  nothing,  but  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  he  would  have  the  money ;  he  must  have 
it.  He  was  the  first  floor  manager ;  he  had 
asked  the  most  dashing  girl  in  the  village  to 
go  with  him;  it  would  be  ridiculous  to  back 
out;  everybody  would  know  the  reason.  He 
must  have  the  money,  and  he  had  it.  He 
took  a  twenty-dollar  note  from  his  employer's 
desk  and  went  to  the  dance.  That  same  night 
he  was  arrested. 

Mrs.  Harding  would  not  believe  him  guilty. 
She  mortgaged  her  lot  to  get  money  to  pay 
the  lawyers, — she  had  the  highest-priced  men 
in  the  State.  She  did  her  best ;  he  was  sen- 
tenced to  eighteen  months  in  jail ;  thither  he 
was  taken  on  December  24, 1880. 

II. 

Mrs.  Harding  had  several  earnest  friends 
in  Holstein, — all  self-respecting  people  have 
earnest  friends.  The  best  of  these  was  Father 
MacDowell,  the  priest  of  St.  Michael's.  He 
never  tired  of  praising  her  industry,  her  faith, 
her  charity.  When  this  misfortune  befell  her 
he  said  little,  but  he  went,  on  the  first  * '  visiting 
day"  at  the  jail,  to  see  Nicholas.  He  returned 
with  much  consolation  for  the  mother. 

' '  The  boy  is  thoroughly  penitent, ' '  he  said  ; 
"lean  vouch  for  it.  God  will  bring  good  out  of 
evil,  and  when  you  see  him  here  again  he  will 
be  a  man.  Keep  your  heart  in  peace,  and  make 
a  home  for  him  here.  With  God's  help,  he'll 
be  a  good  man  yet.  He  will  never  touch  a  drop 
of  liquor,  depend  on  it,  if  he  gets  home  safe."^ 

Mrs.  Harding  was  greatly  comforted.  She 
went  back  to  her  work,  supported  by  the  sweet 
hope  of  the  priest's  words. 

Another  friend  of  hers  was  Mr.  Dornin,  the 
owner  of  the  great  hotel  at  Holstein  afid  of 
the  mineral  springs.  He  sent  her  a  ten-dollar 
gold  piece  in  advance  for  some  mending  he 
asked  her  to  do  for  him.  He  held  the  mort- 


The  Ave  Maria, 


605 


igage  on  her  lot,  and  three  months  afterward 
that  ten-dollar  gold  piece  went  back  to  him 
as  part  of  the  five  per  cent,  interest  she  had 
-contracted  to  pay  him. 

The  winter  and  spring  were  wearisome  to 
her.  She  worked  all  day  and  half  the  night  ; 
but  all  her  little  hoard  spent  itself.  She  fasted 
many  a  day  that  she  might  save  enough  to  paj?- 
her  way  to  the  jail.  The  "visiting  days"  were 
oases  in  her  life.  Nicholas  was  well  spoken 
of  by  the  authorities.  His  term  of  eighteen 
months  would  be  cut  down  to  one  year.  This 
was  joyful  news  to  his  mother;  it  was  better 
than  a  tonic,  and  she  worked  and  worked  with 
renewed  courage. 

It  was  the  general  opinion  in  Holstein  that 
this  industrious  little  old  woman  could  help 
herself,  and  she  was  allowed  to  do  it.  How 
hard  it  was!  She  paid  the  first  three  months' 
interest  on  the  mortgage;  she  refunded  the 
twenty  dollars  which  the  carpenter  said  Nick 
had  taken,  — she  never  believed  that  her  son 
had  taken  it,  and  she  gave  it  to  the  man  with 
that  protest;  she  paid  several  debts  which 
Nick  had  contracted,  and  she  existed.  Work 
became  scarce ;  and  her  friends,  who  would 
have  given  her  alms,  would  have  let  her  starve 
rather  than  inconvenience  themselves  to  make 
work  for  her.  If  there  is  anything  most  worthy 
of  admiration  in  American  civilization  it  is 
strict  attention  to  business. 

Mr.  Dornin,  who  was  never  absent  from  his 
pew  at  High  Mass,  noticed  with  satisfaction 
that  the  Widow  Harding  was  devout.  He 
would  have  a  lot  of  overalls  made  for  his 
laborers  in  the  spring  and  help  her  along.  Of 
course  she  would  do  them  for  less  than  the 
tailor, — say"at  fifteen  cents  a  pair.  One  hun- 
dred overalls  at  fifteen  cents — he  remembered 
he  was  at  Mass,  and  thumped  his  breast  in- 
dustriously. Then  'his  thoughts  wandered  to 
the  mortgage.  She  couldn't  pay  the  interest ; 
he  would  have  to  foreclose.  Her  lot  was  one 
of  the  best  in  the  place,  and  the  water-power 
went  with  it.  The  Jelectric  lights  and  the 
motor  might  be  in  his  control  if  he  could  get 
that  water-power;  and  if  he  could  get  it  by 
foreclosing,  it  would  be  the  best  bargain  he 
ever  made  in  his  life — the  Sanctus  rang,  and 
he  thumped  his  breast'again.  After  Mass  he 
watched  the  old  woman,  in  her  thin  shawl,  go 
out  of  the  church ;  he  saw  Father  MacDowell 


take  off"  his  hat  to  her  in  a  manner  which  he 
seldom  used  to  anybody  in  the  village,  and  he 
thought  with  satisfaction  of  his  magnificent 
project  about  the  overalls. 

If  she  could  only  keep  her  home,  Mrs. Hard- 
ing said  to  herself!  If  her  boy  could  only  have 
a  home  to  come  to!  She  was  sure  that  the 
people  of  Holstein  would  not  remember  the 
boy's  residence  in  jail  against  him.  If  she 
could  only  keep  the  home  it  would  give  him 
a  start  in  life. 

During  those  weeks  of  enforced  idleness, 
between  the  winter  and  the  spring  sewing, 
she  fasted  like  a  Trappist.  She  sold  a  few  eggs 
and  some  winter  cabbage,  but  she  could  not 
get  together  enough  money  to  pay  the  in- 
terest. One  day  Mr.  Dornin  called,  and,  after 
some  pleasant  words,  changed  his  tone  and 
told  her  that  he  must  foreclose  the  mortgage. 
She  could  not  realize  what  he  meant. 

"What!   Take  the  house  and  lot?" 

"Oh,  you  may  move  the  house,  if  you  want 
to,"  he  said.   "I've  no  objection  to  that." 

Move  the  house!  Where  could  she  move 
the  house?  How  could  she  move  it?  Where 
could  she  get  money  enough  with  which  to 
move  it? 

"I'll  pay  all  the  interest  when  Nick  comes 
home  and  gets  work,"  she  said. 

"We  had  an  agreement, — a  special  agree- 
ment. I  gave  you  the  money  when  you  needed 
it.  Time's  up.  Business!" 

Nick*would  come  back  and  find  no  home, — ■ 
no  little  spot  that  he  and  she  could  call  their 
own!    She  said  no  more. 

"By  the  way,"  Mr.  Dornin  said,  "I'll  need 
some  overalls  in  the  spring— about  a  hundred 
— for  my  men.  I'll  give  them  to  you  instead 
of  the  tailor,  if  you'll  make  them  for  fifteen 
cents  a  pair." 

She  bowed  her  head,  with  dark  sorrow  in 
her  eyes;  she  could  not  speak. 

Mr.  Dornin  went  out  dissatisfied;  he  ex- 
pected thanks.  "The  poor  are  seldom  grate- 
fiil, ' '  he  said.  "But  women  never  understand 
that  business  is  business." 

Mrs.  Harding  went  to  her  friend,  the  priest. 
He  listened  to  her  story,  and  at  once  ordered 
a  number  of  unnecessary  things  to  be  done  in 
the  summer.  He  gave  her  the  last  ten  dollars 
he  had  in  the  world.  Then  he  went  to  see 
Mr.  Dornin. 


6o6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


That  gentleman  was  most  amiable.  He 
admired  and  respected  Father  MacDowell,  but 
he  expressed  his  surprise  that  so  good  a  man 
should  forget  that  business  is  business.  And 
what  could  Father  MacDowell  say?  Do  you 
think  he  could  make  a  fool  of  himself  in  the 
eyes  of  Mr.  Dornin  hy  denying  the  first  article 
in  the  creed  of  the  religion  of  Mammon?  Well, 
he  did.  He  told  his  friend  that  that  phrase  was 
rank  paganism  when  used  as  a  mere  legal 
covering  for  hardness  of  heart,  for  avaricious 
gain ;  that  a  bargain  like  the  one  he  had  made 
must  bring  a  curse  instead  of  a  blessing. 

"Come,  Father,"  Mr.  Dornin  said,  "don't 
try  the  Peter-the- Hermit  racket.  We're  in  the 
nineteenth  century." 

Anxiety  was  gnawing  Mrs.  Harding's  heart. 
Her  cheeks  were  hollow  and  flushed.  Mr. 
Dornin  had  sent  her  the  overalls  very  gra- 
ciously in  advance  of  the  spring.  She  worked 
as  slaves  have  seldom  worked.  Oh,  if  she  could 
only  pay  the  interest  and  save  the  place,  that 
Nick  might  have  a  start  in  life,  in  spite  of  the 
world's  being  against  him! 

According  to  the  special  contract,  Mr. 
Dornin  could  not  take  possession  of  the  place 
until  January  2,  1882.  He  longed  for  that 
day.  What  fools  other  people  had  been  not  to 
see  how  valuable  that  water-power  was!  He 
chuckled  and  gave  out  mysterious  hints  to 
his  friends.  He  was  rich,  but  he  was  as  happy 
over  the  chance  of  adding  to  his  gains  as  if 
he  were  poor. 

In  the  meantime  Father  MacDowell  was 
sad  at  heart.  He  realized  what  the  ten-acre  lot 
meant  to  Nick  and  his  mother.  He  had  no 
money ;  his  parish  consisted  of  about  seventy- 
five  heads  of  families,  mostly  very  poor.  What 
could  he  do  in  a  place  where  business  was 
business,  and  a  separate  thing  entirely  from 
either  religion  or  justice?  It  occurred  to  him 
that  he  might  sell  the  lease  of  a  certain  Irish 
farm  which  had  fallen  to  him  by  inheritance, 
if  anybody  would  buy  it.  He  sent  a  power  of 
attorney  over  to  Carrick  and  waited.  But  he 
heard  no  word. 

The  overalls  so  kindly  sent  by  Mr.  Dornin 
were  too  much  for  Mrs.  Harding.  She  never 
finished  them.  On  All  Saints'  Day  she  had  a 
hemorrhage,  and  the  next  day  she  died  sud- 
denly, after  Father  MacDowell  had  given  her 


Extreme  Unction.  Her  last  words  were:  "O 
Father!  keep  Nick  from  going  to  the  bad,  and 
ask  Mr.  Dornin  to  let  him  have  his  chance."^ 

Father  MacDowell  was  very  hopeless  when 
he  left  her  house.  He  knew  she  was  safe,  but 
what  of  her  son, — this  pariah,  who  must  in 
another  month  begin  life  a  tramp? 

On  December  24,  1881,  Nicholas  Harding 
came  down  to  Holstein.  He  went  with  Father 
MacDowell  to  his  mother's  grave;  there  he 
knelt  and  sobbed  as  if  his  heart  would  break. 
"Thank  God,  she  believed  in  me!"  he  said. 
"Oh,  thank  God!" 

Father  MacDowell  went  back  to  his  house 
and  left  him  there,  almost  as  sorrowful  as  the 
boy  himself  was.  His  housekeeper  gave  him 
an  Irish  letter.  He  opened  it,  and  laughed 
for  the  first  time  in  many  days.  He  looked 
out  the  window  of  his  dining-room  a  little 
later,  when  he  had  written  a  note  to  Mr. 
Dornin.  He  saw  some  figures  near  Mrs.  Hard- 
ing's house — to  be  Mr.  Dornin's  in  a  few 
days  more.  He  pulled  out  his  field- glass.  He 
saw  Mr.  Dornin,  evidently  in  a  jolly  frame  of 
mind,  pointing  out  the  advantages  of  the  lot 
and  the  stream  to  two  interested  strangers. 
Nick  Harding  stood  near,  with  a  sullen  look 
in  his  face. 

Father  MacDowell  put  the  Irish  letter  in 
his  pocket  and  walked  over  toward  them. 
He  frowned  and  murmured:  "Business  is 
business." 

Mr.  Dornin  greeted  the  priest  effusively. 

"Greatest  water-power  in  the  State!"  he 
said.  "Mr.  Whitley  and  Major  Comings  are 
quite  impressed  with  it.  If  it  was  not  mine, 
thej^'d  snap  it  up.  Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Nick  turned  to  Father  MacDowell. 

"Father,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "I'm 
going  away.  I  hoped  to  have  her  to  work  for ; 
and  when  she  died  I  thought  I'd  make  the 
old  place  what  she  wanted  it  to  be.  But  I'm 
down,  and  I'll  never  get  up  again." 

"Wait!"  said  the  priest.  "Do  you  think 
your  mother's  prayers  went  for  nothing?" 

He  went  up  to  Mr.  Dornin  and  gave  him 
the  note  he  had  written. 

"What's  this?"  Mr.  Dornin  asked,  in  as- 
tonishment, as  he  read  it  a  second  time. 

"It  contains  a  draft  for  two  thousand  five 
hundred  dollars  and  a  little  more  in  English 
money.  And  it  means  that  this  lot  belongs  to 


The  Ave  Maria, 


607 


Nicholas  Harding.  I  want  the  mortgaged 
satisfied." 

Mr.  Dornin  grew  red  in  the  face.  He  glared 
at  Father  MacDowell. 

"Business  is  business,"  said  the  priest, 
quietly. 

Mr.  Dornin,  with  a  forced  bow,  turned  away. 

"Nicholas,"  the  priest  said,taking  his  hand, 
* '  I  have  sold  my  Irish  farm ,  and  acted  in  a  very 
business-like  manner  as  far  as  Mr.  Dornin  is 
concerned,  and  in  a  very  unbusiness-like  man- 
ner as  far  as  you  are  concerned.  I  lend  you 
all  the  money  I  have  in  the  world, — you,  just 
out  of  prison  as  you  are.  You  can  pay  back  in 
your  own  time.  The  memory  of  your  mother 
is  my  only  security." 

Nicholas,  undemonstrative  as  he  was,  kissed 
the  priest's  hand,  with  his  eyes  glistening. 
He  did  not  speak ;  but  his  silence  was  as  good 
as  his  bond.  And  the  priest  has  never  re- 
gretted the  transaction. 


Notre  Dame  de  Noel. 


BY    EI.EANOR    C.    DONNEI.I/Y. 

HER  mantle  shades  His  blooming  cheek, - 
The  dear  blue  mantle  'neath  whose  fold 
We  joy  to  hide  when  hopes  grow  weak, 
And  love  itself  seems  waxing  cold. 

Her  eyes  are  fixed  upon  His  face ; 

She  sees  nor  crib  nor  straw  nor  beast, — 
Only  the  Child  of  her  embrace, 

Only  her  God,  her  King,  her  Priest! 

Mark  how  He  nestles  at  her  breast! 

(His  ivory  throne  her  virgin  knee); — 
Shall  we  not  love  that  bosom  blest 

To  which  the  Christ  clings  tenderly? 

Shall  we  not  praise  the  lily-bed 
Whereon  the  Holy  One  reposes? 

The  House  of  Gold,  wherein  His  head 
Is  pillow'd  upon  thornless  roses? 

O  Mother,  as  the  years  roll  on, 

And  Christmas  visions  come  and  go, 

The  more  we  love  thy  Blessed  Son, 
The  dearer,  sweeter  thou  dost  grow! 

Life's  Bethlehem  is  rude  and  wild. 
Our  errant  thoughts  on  hazards  bent ; 

But,  entering  in,  we  find  the  Child 

With  thee, — and,  through  thee,  are  content. 


A  Bit  of  Old  China. 


BY   CHARI^ES    WARREN    STODDARD. 


"  TT  is  but  a  step  from  Confucius  to  confu- 

1  sion,"  said  I,  in  a  brief  discussion  of  the 
Chinese  question.  "Then  let  us  take  it  by  all 
means,"  replied  the  artist,  who  bad  been  an 
indulgent  listener  for  at  least  ten  minutes. 

We  were  strolling  upon  the  verge  of  the 
Chinese  Quarter  in  San  Francisco,  and,  turning 
aside  from  one  of  the  chief  thoroughfares  of 
the  city,  we  plunged  into  the  busiest  portion 
of  Chinatown.  From  our  standpoint — the  cor- 
ner of  Kearney  and  Sacramento  Streets — we 
got  the  most  favorable  view  of  oiir  Mongolian 
neighbors.  Here  is  a  goodly  number  of  mer- 
chant gentlemen  of  wealth  and  station,  com- 
fortably, if  not  elegantly,  housed  on  two  sides 
of  a  street  that  climbs  a  low  hill  quite  in  the 
manner  of  a  tea-box  landscape. 

A  few  of  these  gentlemen  lodge  on  the  upper 
floors  of  their  business  houses,  with  Chinese 
wives,  and  quaint,  old-fashioned  children  gau- 
dily dressed,  looking  like  little  idols,  chat- 
ting glibly  with  one  another,  and  gracefully 
gesticulating  with  hands  of  exquisite  slender- 
ness.  Confucius,  in  his  infancy,  may  have  been 
like  one  of  the  least  of  these.  There  are  white 
draymen  and  porters  in  the  employ  of  these 
shrewd  and  civil  merchants,  and  the  outward 
appearance  of  traffic,  as  conducted  in  the 
immediate  vicinity,  is  rather  American  than 
otherwise. 

Farther  up  the  hill,  on  Dupont  Street,  from 
California  to  Pacific  Streets,  the  five  blocks  are 
almost  monopolized  by  the  Chinese.  There  is, 
at  first,  a  sprinkling  of  small  shops  in  the 
hands  of  Jews  and  Gentiles,  and  a  mingling 
of  Chinese  bazaars  of  the  half-caste  type, 
where  American  and  English  goods  are  ex- 
posed in  the  show  windows ;  but  as  we  pass 
on  the  Asiatic  element  increases,  and  finally 
every  trace  of  alien  produce  is  withdrawn 
from  the  shelves  and  counters. 

Here  little  China  flaunts  her  scarlet  stream- 
ers overhead,  and  flanks  her  doors  with  legends 
in  saffron  and  gold ;  even  its  window  panes 
have  a  foreign  look,  and  within  is  a  glimmer- 
ing of  tinsel,  a  subdued  light,  and  china  lamps 
flickering  before  graven  images  of  barbaric 


6o8 


The  Ave  Maria, 


hideousness.  The  air  is  laden  with  the  fumes 
of  smoking  sandal-wood  and  strange  odors 
of  the  East ;  and  the  streets,  swarming  with 
coolies,  resound  with  the  echoes  of  an  un- 
known tongue.  There  is  hardly  room  for  us 
to  pass ;  we  pick  our  way,  and  are  sometimes 
curiously  regarded  by  slant-eyed  pagans,  who 
bear  us  no  good- will,  if  that  shadow  of  scorn 
in  the  face  has  been  rightly  interpreted.  China 
is  not  more  Chinese  tban  this  section  of  our 
Christian  city,  nor  the  heart  of  Tartary  less 
American. 

Turn  which  way  we  choose,  within  two 
blocks,  on  either  hand  we  find  nothing  but  the 
infinitely  small  and  astonishingly  numerous 
forms  of  traffic  on  which  the  hordes  around 
us  thrive.  No  corner  is  too  cramped  for  the 
squatting  street  cobbler ;  and  as  for  the  pipe 
cleaners,  the  cigarette  rollers,  the  venders  of 
sweetmeats  and  conserves,  they  gather  on  the 
curb  or  crouch  under  overhanging  windows, 
and  await  custom  with  the  philosophical  res- 
ignation of  the  Oriental. 

On  Dupont  Street,  between  Clay  and  Sacra- 
mento Streets — a  single  block, — there  are  no 
less  than  five  basement  apartments  devoted 
exclusively  to  barbers.  There  are  hosts  of  this 
profession  in  the  quarter.  I^ook  down  the 
steep  steps  leading  into  the  basement  and  see, 
at  any  hour  of  the  day,  with  what  deft  fingers 
the  tonsorial  operators  manipulate  the  devoted 
pagan  head. 

There  is  no  waste  space  in  the;  quarter.  In 
apartments  not  more  than  fifteen  feet  square 
three  or  four  different  professions  are  often 
represented,  and  these  afford  employment  to 
ten  or  a  dozen  men.  Here  is  a  druggist  and 
herb-seller,  with  huge  spectacles  on  his  nose, 
at  the  left  of  the  main  entrance ;  a  butcher  dis- 
plays his  meats  in  a  show-window  on  the  right, 
serving  his  customers  over  the  sill ;  a  clothier 
is  in  the  rear  of  the  shop,  while  a  balcony  filled 
with  tailors  or  cigar-makers  hangs  half-way 
to  the  ceiling. 

Close  about  us  there  are  over  one  hundred 
and  fifty  mercantile  establishments  and  numer- 
ous mechanical  industries.  The  seventy  five 
cigar  factories  employ  eight  thousand  coolies, 
and  these  are  huddled  into  the  closest  quarters. 
In  a  single  room,  measuring  twenty  feet  by 
thirty  feet,  sixty  men  and  boys  have  been  dis- 
covered industriously  rolling  real  Havanas. 


The  traffic  which  itinerant  fish  and  vegeta- 
ble venders  drive  in  every  part  of  the  city 
must  be  great,  being  as  it  is  an  extreme  con- 
venience for  lazy  or  thrifty  housewives.  A 
few  of  these  basket  men  cultivate  gardens  in 
the  suburbs,  but  the  majority  seek  their  sup- 
plies in  the  city  markets.  Wash-houses  have 
been  established  in  every  part  of  the  city,  and 
are  supplied  with  two  sets  of  laborers,  who 
spend  watch  and  watch  on  duty,  so  that  the 
establishment  is  never  closed. 

One  frequently  meets  a  travelling  bazaar — a 
coolie  with  his  bundle  of  fans  and  bric-a-brac, 
wandering  from  house  to  house,  even  in  the 
suburbs ;  and  the  old  fellows,  with  a  handful 
of  sliced  bamboos  and  chairs  swinging  from 
the  poles  over  their  shoulders,  are  becoming 
quite  numerous ;  chair  mending  and  reseating 
must  be  profitable.  These  little  rivulets,  grow- 
ing larger  and  more  varied  day  by  day,  all 
spring  from  that  great  fountain  of  Asiatic 
vitality — the  ChinCvSe  Quarter.  This  surface- 
skimming  beguiles  for  an  hour  or  two ;  but 
the  stranger  who  strolls  through  the  streets 
of  Chinatown,  and  retires  dazed  with  the  thou- 
sand eccentricities  of  an  unfamiliar  people, 
knows  little  of  the  mysterious  life  that  sur- 
rounds him. 

Let  us  descend.  We  are  piloted  by  a  special 
policeman,  one  who  is  well  acquainted  with 
the  geography  of  the  quarter.  Provided  with 
tapers,  wie  plunge  into  one  of  the  several  dark 
recesses  at  hand.  Back  of  the  highly  respect- 
able brick  buildings  in  Sacramento  Street — 
the  dwellings  and  business  places  of  the  first- 
class  Chinese  merchants — there  are  pits  and 
deadfalls  innumerable,  and  over  all  is  the 
blackness  of  darkness ;  for  these  human  moles 
can  work  in  the  earth  faster  than  the  shade  of 
the  murdered  Dane.  Here,  from  the  noisome 
vats  three  stories  undergr9und  to  the  hang- 
ing gardens  of  the  fish-dryers  on  the  roofs, 
there  is  neither  nook  nor  corner  but  is  popu- 
lous with  Mongolians  of  the  lowest  caste. 
The  oetter  class  have  their  reserved  quarters; 
with  them  there  is  at  least  room  to  stretch 
one's  legs  without  barking  the  shins  of  one's 
neighbor;  but  from  this  comparative  com- 
fort to  the  condensed  discomfort  of  the 
impoverished  coolie,  how  sudden  and  great 
the  change! 

Between  brick  walls  we  thread  our  way,  and 


The  Ave  Maria. 


609 


begin  descending  into' the  abysmal  darkness; 
the  tapers,  without  which  it  were  impossible  to 
proceed  with  safety,  burn  feebly  in  the  double 
night  of  the  subterranean  tenements.  Most  of 
the  habitable  quarters  under  the  ground  are 
like  so  many  pigeon-houses  indiscriminately 
heaped  together.  If  there  were  only  sunshine 
enough  to  drink  up  the  slime  that  glosses  every 
plank,  and  fresh  air  enough  to  sweeten  the 
mildewed  kennels,  this  highly  eccentric  style 
of  architecture  might  charm  for  a  time,  by 
reason  of  its  novelty;  there  is,  moreover,  a 
suspicion  of  the  picturesque  lurking  about 
the  place — but,  heaven  save  us,  how  it  smells! 

We  pass  from  one  black  hole  to  another. 
In  the  first  there  is  a  kind  of  bin  for  ashes  and 
coals,  and  there  are  pots  and  grills  lying  about 
— it  is  the  kitchen.  A  heap  of  fire  kindling 
wood  in  one  corner,  a  bench  or  stool  as  black 
as  soot  can  paint  it,  a  few  bowls,  a  few  bitsjof 
rags,  a  few  fragments  of  food,  and  a  coolie 
squatting  over  a  struggling  fire, — a  coolie  who 
rises  out  of  the  dim  smoke  like  the  evil  genii 
in  the  Arabian  tale.  There  is  no  chimney, 
there  is  no  window,  there  is  no  drainage.  We 
are  in  a  cubic  sink,  where  we  can  scarcely 
stand  erect.  From  the  small  door  pours  a  dense 
volume  of  smoke,  some  of  it  stale  smoke,  which 
our  entry  has  forced  out  of  the  corners ;  the 
kitchen  will  only  hold  so  much  smoke,  and  we 
have  made  havoc  among  the  cubic  inches. 
Underfoot,  the  thin  planks  sag  into  standing 
pools,  and  there  is  a  glimmer  of  poisonous  blue 
just  along  the  base  of  the  blackened  walls; 
thousands  feed  daily  in  troughs  like  these! 

The  next  apartment,  smaller  yet,  and 
blacker  and  bluer,  and  more  slippery  and 
slimy,  is  an  uncovered  cesspool,  fi-om  which 
a  sickening  stench  exhales  continually.  All 
about  it  are  chambers — very  small  ones, — 
state-rooms  let  me  call  them,  opening  upon 
narrow  galleries  that  run  in  various  direc- 
tions, sometimes  bridging  one  another  in  a 
marvellous  and  exceedingly  ingenious  econ- 
omy of  space.  The  majority  of  these  state- 
rooms are  just  long  enough  to  lie  down  in, 
and  just  broad  enough  to  allow  a  narrow 
door  to  swing  inward  between  two  single  beds, 
with  two  sleepers  in  each  bed.  The  doors  are 
closed  and  bolted ;  there  is  often  no  window, 
and  always  no  ventilation. 

Our  "special,"  by  the  authority  vested  in 


him,  tries  one  door  and  demands  admittance. 
There  is  no  response  from  within.  A  group 
of  coolies,  who  live  in  the  vicinity  and  have 
followed  close  upon  our  heels  ever  since  our 
descent  into  the  under  world,  assure  us  in 
soothing  tones  that  the  place  is  vacant.  We 
are  suspicious  and  persist  in  our  investiga- 
tion ;  still  no  response.  The  door  is  then  forced 
by  the  "special,"  and  behold  four  of  the 
"seven  sleepers"  packed  into  this  air-tight 
compartment,  and  insensible  even  to  the 
hearty  greeting  we  offer  them! 

The  air  is  absolutely  overpowering.  We 
hasten  from  the  spot,  but  are  arrested  in  our 
flight  by  the  "special,"  who  leads  us  to  the 
gate  of  the  catacombs,  and  bids  us  follow  him. 
I  know  not  to  what  extent  the  earth  has 
been  riddled  under  the  Chinese  Quarter ;  prob- 
ably no  man  knows  save  he  who  has  bur- 
rowed, like  a  gopher,  from  one  living  grave 
to  another,  fleeing  from  taxation  or  the  detec- 
tive. I  know  that  we  thread  dark  passages,  so 
narrow  that  two  of  us  may  not  cross  tracks, 
so  low  that  we  often  crouch  at  the  doorways 
that  intercept  pursuit  at  unexpected  intervals. 
Here  the  thief  and  the  assassin  seek  sanctuary; 
it  is  a  city  of  refuge  for  lost  souls. 

The  numerous  gambling  houses  are  so  cau- 
tiously guarded  that  only  the  private  police 
can  ferret  them  out.  Door  upon  door  is  shut 
against  you ;  'or  some  ingenious  panel  is  slid 
across  your  path,  and  you  are  unconsciously 
spirited  away  through  other  avenues.  The 
secret  signals  that  gave  warning  of  your  ap- 
proach caused  a  sudden  transformation  in  the 
ground-plan  of  the  establishment. 

Gambling  and  opium  smoking  are  here  the 
ruling  passions.  A  coolie  will  pawn  anything 
and  everything  to  obtain  the  means  with 
which  to  indulge  these  fascinations.  There 
are  many  games  played  publicly  at  restaurants 
and  in  the  retiring  rooms  of  mercantile  estab- 
ishments.  Not  only  are  cards,  dice,  and  dom- 
inos  common,  but  sticks,  straws,  brass  rings, 
etc.,  are  thrown  in  heaps  upon  the  table,  and 
the  fate  of  the  gamester  hangs  literally  upon 
a  breath. 

These  haunts  are  seldom  visited  by  the 
ofiicers  of  justice,  for  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  storm  the  barriers  in  season  to  catch  the 
criminals  in  the  very  act.  To-day  you  ap- 
proach  a   gambling   hell  by   this   door,  to- 


6io 


The  Ave  Maria. 


morrow  the  inner  passages  of  the  house  are 
mysteiiously  changed,  and  it  is  impossible  to 
track  them  without  being  frequently  misled ; 
meanwhile  the  alarm  is  sounded  throughout 
the  building,  and  very  speedily  every  trace  of 
guilt  has  disappeared.  The  lottery  is  another 
popular  temptation  in  the  quarter.  Most  of 
the  verj^  numerous  wash-  houses  are  said  to  be 
private  agencies  for  the  sale  of  lottery  tickets. 
Put  your  money,  no  matter  how  little  it  is,  on 
certain  of  the  characters  that  cover  a  small 
sheet  of  paper,  and  your  fate  is  soon  decided ; 
for  there  is  a  drawing  twice  a  day. 

Enter  any  one  of  the  pawn-shops  licensed 
by  the  city  authorities,  and  cast  your  eye  over 
the  motley  collection  of  unredeemed  articles. 
There  are  pistols  of  every  pattern  and  almost 
of  every  age,  the  majority  of  them  loaded. 
There  are  daggers  in  infinite  variety,  includ- 
ing the  ingenious  fan  stiletto,  which,  when 
sheathed,  may  be  carried  in  the  hand  without 
arousing  suspicion ;  for  the  sheath  and  handle 
bear  an  exact  resemblance  to  a  closed  fan. 
There  are  entire  suits  of  clothes,  beds  and 
bedding,  tea,  sugar,  clocks — multitudes  of 
them,  a  clock  being  one  of  the  Chinese  hob- 
bies, and  no  room  is  completely  furnished 
without  at  least  a  pair  of  them, — ornaments  in 
profusion ;  everything,  in  fact,  save  only  the 
precious  queue,  without  which  no  Chinaman 
may  hope  for  honor  in  this  life  or  salvation  in 
the  next. 

The  throng  of  customers  that  keep  the 
pawn-shops  crowded  with  pledges  are  prob- 
ably most  of  them  victims  of  the  gambling 
table  or  the  opium  den.  They  come  from  every 
house  that  employs  them ;  your  domestic  is 
impatient  of  delay,  and  hastens  through  his 
daily  task  in  order  that  he  may  nightly  in- 
dulge his  darling  sin. 

The  opium  habit  prevails  to  an  alarming 
extent  throughout  the  country,  but  no  race 
is  so  dependent  on  this  seductive  and  fatal 
stimulant  as  the  Chinese.  There  are  several 
hundred  dens  in  San  Francisco  where,  for  a 
very  moderate  sum,  the  coolie  may  repair,  and 
revel  in  dreams  that  end  in  a  deathlike  sleep. 

lyCt  us  pause  at  the  entrance  of  one  of  these 
pleasure- houses.  Through  devious  ways  we 
follow  the  leader,  and  come  at  last  to  a  caver- 
nous retreat.  The  odors  that  salute  us  are 
■offensive;    on   every   hand   there   is   an   ac- 


cumulation of  filth  that  should  naturally,  if 
it  does  not,  breed  fever  and  death.  Forms 
press  about  us  in  the  darkness, — forms  that 
hasten  like  shadows  toward  that  den  of  shades. 
We  enter  by  a  small  door  that  is  open  for  a 
moment  only,  and  find  ourselves  in  an  apart- 
ment about  fifteen  feet  square.  We  can  touch 
the  ceiling  on  tiptoe,  yet  there  are  three  tiers 
of  bunks  placed  with  head  boards  to  the 
wall,  and  each  bunk  just  broad  enough  for 
two  occupants.  It  is  like  the  steerage  in  an 
emigrant  vessel,  eminently  shipshape.  Every 
bunk  is  filled ;  some  of  the  smokers  have  had 
their  dream  and  lie  in  grotesque  attitudes, 
insensible,  ashen-pale,  having  the  look  of 
plague-stricken  corpses. 

Some  are  dreaming;  you  see  it  in  the 
vacant  eye,  the  listless  face,  the  expression 
that  betrays  hopeless  intoxication.  Some  are 
preparing  the' enchanting  pipe, — a  laborious 
process,  that  reminds  one  of  an  incantation. 
See  those  two  votaries  lying  face  to  face,  chat- 
ting in  low  voices,  each  loading  his  pipe  with 
a  look  of  delicious  expectation  in  every  feat- 
ure. They  recline  at  full-length ;  their  heads 
rest  upon  blocks  of  wood  or  some  improvised 
pillow;  a  small  oil  lamp  flickers  between  them. 
Their  pipes  resemble  flutes,  with  an  inverted 
ink-bottle  on  the  side  near  the  lower  end. 
They  are  most  of  them  of  bamboo,  and  very 
often  are  beautifully  colored  with  the  mel- 
lowest and  richest  tints  of  a  wisely  smoked 
meerschaum.  A.  small  jar  of  prepared  opium 
— a  thick  black  paste  resembling  tar — stands 
near  the  lamp. 

The  smoker  leisurely  dips  a  wire  into  the 
paste;  a  few  drops  adhere  to  it,  and  he  twirls 
the  wire  in  the  flame  of  the  lamp,  where  they 
iry  and  bubble ;  he  then  draws  them  upon  the 
rim  of  the  clay  pipe-bowl,  and  at  once  inhales 
three  or  four  mouthfuls  of  whitish  smoke. 
This  empties  the  pipe,  and  the  slow  process  of 
feeding  the  bowl  is  lazily  repeated.  It  is  a 
labor  of  love ;  the  eyes  gloat  upon  the  bubbling 
drug  which  shall  anon  witch  the  soul  of  those 
emaciated  toilers.  They  renew  the  pipe  again 
and  again ;  their  talk  growls  less  frequent  and 
dwindles  to  a  whispered  soliloquy. 

We  address  them,  and  are  smiled  at  by  delir- 
ious eyes ;  but  the  ravenous  lips  are  sealed  to 
that  magic  tube,  from  which  they  draw  the 
breath  of  a  life  we  know  not  of.  Their  fingers 


The  Ave  Maria, 


6ii 


relax;  their  heads  sink  upon  the  pillows; 
they  no  longer  respond,  even  b3''  a  glance, 
when  we  now  appeal  to  them.  Here  is  the 
famous  Malay,  the  fearful  enemy  of  De 
Quincy,  who  nightly  drugged  his  master  into 
Asiatic  seas;  and  now  himself  is  basking  in 
the  tropical  heats  and  vertical  sunlight  of 
Hindostan.  Egypt  and  her  gods  are  his;  for 
him  the  secret  chambers  of  Cheops  are  un- 
locked ;  he  also  is  transfixed  at  the  summit  of 
pagodas ;  he  is  the  idol,  the  priest,  the  wor- 
shipped, the  sacrificed.  The  wrath  of  Brahma 
pursues  him  through  the  forests  of  Asia ;  he 
is  the  hated  of  Vishnu ;  Siva  lies  in  wait  for 
him  ;  Isis  and  Osiris  confront  him. 

What  is  this  key  which  seems  for  a  time  to 
unlock  the  gates  of  heaven  and  of  hell  ?  It  is 
the  most  complicated  drug  in  the  pharmaco- 
poeia. Though  apparently  nothing  more  than 
a  simple  black,  .slimy  paste,  analysis  reveals 
the  fact  that  it  contains  no  less  than  five-and 
twenty  elements,  each  one  of  them  a  compound 
by  itself,  and  many  of  them  among  the  most 
complex  compounds  known  to  modern  chem- 
istry. This  "dread  agent  of  unimaginable 
pleasure  and  pain."  this  author  of  an  ** Iliad 
of  woes,"  lies  within  reach  of  every  creature 
in  the  commonwealth.  As  the  most  enlight- 
ened and  communicative  of  the  opium  eaters 
has  observed:  "Happiness  may  be  bought 
for  a  penny,  and  carried  in  the  waistcoat 
pocket ;  portable  ecstasy  may  be  had  corked 
up  in  a  pint  bottle;  peace  of  mind  may  be  set 
down  in  gallons  by  the  mail-coach." 

This  is  the  chief,  the  inevitable  dissipation 
of  our  coolie  tribes ;  this  is  one  of  the  evils 
with  which  we  have  to  battle,  and  in  com- 
parison with  which  the  excessive  indulgence 
in  intoxicating  liquors  is  no  more  than  what  a 
bad  dream  is  to  hopeless  insanity.  See  the 
hundred  forms  on  opium  pillows  already  under 
the  Circean  spell;  swarms  are  without  the 
chambers  awaiting  their  turn  to  enter  and 
enjoy  the  fictitious  delights  of  this  paradise. 

While  the  opium  habit  is  one  that  should 
be  treated  at  once  with  wisdom  and  severity, 
there  is  another  point  which  seriously  in- 
volves the  Chinese  question,  and,  unhappily, 
it  must  be  handled  with  gloves.  Nineteen- 
twentieths  of  the  Chinese  women  in  San  Fran- 
cisco are  depraved ! 

Not  far  from  one  of  the  pleasure-houses  we 


intruded  upon  a  domestic  hearth  smelling  of 
punk  and  pestilence.  A  child  fled  with  a  shrill 
scream  at  our  approach.  This  was  the  hospital 
of  the  quarter.  Nine  cases  of  small-pox  were 
once  found  within  its  narrow  walls,  and  with 
no  one  to  care  for  them.  As  we  explored  its 
cramped  wards  our  path  was  obstructed  by  a 
body  stretched  upon  a  bench.  The  face  was 
of  that  peculiar  smoke-color  which  we  are 
obliged  to  accept  as  Chinese  pallor;  the  trunk 
was  swathed  like  a  mummy  in  folds  of  filthy 
rags ;  it  was  motionless  as  stone,  apparently 
insensible.  Thus  did  an  opium  victim  await 
his  dissolution. 

In  the  next  room  a  rough  deal  burial  case 
stood  upon  two  stools ;  tapers  were  flickering 
upon  the  floor ;  the  fumes  of  burning  punk 
freighted  the  air  and  clouded  the  vision ;  the 
place  was  clean  enough,  for  it  was  perfectly 
bare,  but  it  was  eminently  uninteresting. 
Close  at  hand  stood  a  second  burial  case,  an 
empty  one,  with  the  cover  standing  against 
the  wall ;  a  few  hours  more  and  it  would  find 
a  tenant — he  who  was  dying  in  rags  and  filth 
in  the  room  adjoining.  This  was  the  native 
hospital  of  the  quarter,  and  the  mother  of  the 
child  was  the  matron  of  the  establishment. 

I  will  cast  but  one  more  shadow  on  the 
coolie  quarter,  and  then  we  will  search  for 
sunshine.  It  is  folly  to  attempt  to  ignore  the 
fact  that  the  seeds  of  leprosy  are  sown  among 
the  Chinese.  If  you  would  have  proof,  follow 
me.  It  is  a  dreary  drive  over  the  hills  to  the 
pest-house.  Imagine  that  we  have  dropped  in 
upon  the  health  ofiicer  at  his  city  office.  Our 
proposed  visitation  has  been  telephoned  to 
the  resident  physician,  who  is  a  kind  of  pris- 
oner with  his  leprous  patients  on  the  lonesome 
slope  of  a  suburban  hill.  As  we  get  into  the 
rugged  edge  of  the  city,  among  half-graded 
streets,  strips  of  marsh-land,  and  a  semi-  rustic 
population,  we  ask  our  way  to  the  pest-house. 
Yonder  it  lies,  surrounded  by  that  high  white 
fence  on  the  hill-top,  above  a  marsh  once 
clouded  with  clamorous  water-fowl,  but  now 
all,  all  under  the  spell  of  the  quarantine,  and 
desolate  beyond  description.  Our  road  winds 
up  the  hill- slope,  sown  thick  with  stones,  and 
stops  short  at  the  great  solid  gate  in  the  high 
rabbit  fence  that  walls  in  the  devil's  acre,  if 
I  may  so  call  it.  We  ring  the  dreadful  bell — 
the  passing-bell,  that  is  seldom  rung  save  to 


•6l2 


The  Ave  Maria, 


announce  the  arrival  of  another  fateful  body- 
clothed  in  living  death. 

The  doctor  welcomes  us  to  an  enclosure 
that  is  utterly  whitewashed ;  the  detached 
houses  within  it  are  kept  sweet  and  clean. 
Everything  connected  with  the  lazaret  is  of 
the  cheapest  description ;  there  is  a  primitive 
simplicity,  a  modest  nakedness,  an  insulated 
air  about  the  place  that  reminds  one  of  a  chill 
December  in  a  desert  island.  Cheap  as  it  is 
and  unhandsome,  the  hospital  is  sufficient  to 
meet  all  the  requirements  of  the  plague  in  its 
present  stage  of  development.  The  doctor  has 
weeded  out  the  enclosure,  planted  it,  hedged 
it  about  with  the  fever-dispelling  eucalyptus, 
and  has  already  a  little  plot  of  flowers  by  the 
office  window, — but  this  is  not  what  we  have 
come  to  see.  One  ward  in  the  pest-house  is 
set  apart  for  the  exclusive  use  of  the  Chinese 
lepers,  who  have  but  recently  been  isolated. 
We  are  introduced  to  the  poor  creatures  one 
after  another,  and  then  we  take  them  all  in 
at  a  glance,  or  group  them  according  to  their 
various  stages  of  decomposition,  or  the  pecu- 
liar character  of  their  physical  hideousness. 

They  are  not  all  alike ;  with  some  the  flesh 
has  begun  to  wither  and  to  slough  off",  yet 
they  are  comparatively  cheerful ;  as  fatalists, 
it  makes  very  little  difference  to  them  how. 
soon  or  in  what  fashion  they  are  translated 
to  the  other  life.  There  is  one  youth  who 
doubtless  suffers  some  inconveniences  from 
the  clumsy  development  of  his  case.  This  lad, 
about  eighteen  years  of  age,  has  a  face  that  is 
swollen  like  a  sponge  saturated  with  corrup- 
tion ;  he  can  not  raise  his  bloated  eyelids,  but, 
with  his  head  thrown  back,  looks  downward 
over  his  cheeks.  Two  of  these  lepers  are  as 
astonishing  specimens  as  any  that  have  ever 
come  under  my  observation,  yet  I  have  mor- 
bidly sought  them  from  Palestine  to  Molokai, 
In  these  cases  the  muscles  are  knotted,  the 
blood  curdled ;  masses  of  unwholesome  flesh 
cover  them,  lying  fold  upon  fold ;  the  lobes  of 
their  ears  hang  almost  to  the  shoulder ;  the 
eyes  when  visible  have  an  inhuman  glance 
that  transfixes  you  with  horror.  Their  hands 
are  shapeless  stumps  that  have  lost  all  natural 
form  or  expression. 

Of  old  there  was  a  law  for  the  leprosy  of  a 
garment  and  of  a  house ;  yet,  in  spite  of  the 
stringency  of  that  Mosaic  I,aw,  the  isolation, 


the  purging  with  hyssop,  and  the  cleansing 
by  fire,  St.  lyuke  records :  "There  met  Him 
ten  men  who  were  lepers,  who  stood  afar  off; 
and  they  lifted  up  their  voices  and  cried,  Jesus, 
Master,  have  mercy  on  us!'*  And  to-day, 
more  than  eighteen  hundred  years  later,  lepers 
gather  on  the  slopes  of  Mount  Zion,  and  hover 
at  the  gates  of  Jerusalem,  and  crouch  in  the 
shadow  of  the  tomb  of  David,  crying  for  the 
bread  of  mercy.  Leprosy  once  thoroughly 
engrafted  on  our  nation,  and  nor  cedar-wood, 
nor  scarlet,  nor  hyssop,  nor  clean  birds,  nor 
ewes  of  the  first  year,  nor  measures  of  fine 
flour,  nor  offerings  of  any  sort,  shall  cleanse 
us  for  evermore. 

Let  us  turn  to  pleasanter  prospects — the 
Joss  House,  for  instance,  one  of  the  several 
temples  whither  the  Chinese  frequently  repair 
to  propitiate  the  reposeful  gods.  It  is  an  un- 
pretentious building, with  nothing  external  to 
distinguish  its  facade  From  those  adjoining, 
save  only  a  Chinese  legend  above  the  door. 
There  are  many  crooks  and  turns  within  it  ; 
shrines  in  a  perpetual  state  of  fumigation  adorn 
its  nooks  and  corners ;  overhead  swing  shelves 
of  images  rehearsing  historical  tableaux; 
there  is  much  carving  and  gilding,  and  red 
and  green  paint.  It  is  the  scene  of  a  perennial 
feast  of  lanterns,  and  the  worshipful  enter 
silently  with  burnt-offerings  and  meat-offer- 
ings and  drink-offerings,  which  they  spread 
before  the  altar  under  the  feet  of  some  colossal 
god ;  then,  with  repeated  genuflections,  they 
retire.  The  thundering  gong  or  the  screaming 
pipes  startle  us  at  intervals,  and  white-robed 
priests  pass  in  and  out,  droning  their  litanies. 

At  this  point  the  artist  suggests  refresh- 
ments ;  arm  in  arm  we  pass  down  the  street, 
surfeited  with  sight-seeing,  weary  of  the  mul- 
titudinous bazaars,  the  swarming  coolies,  the 
boom  of  beehive  industry.  Swamped  in  a 
surging  crowd,  we  are  cast  upon  the  catafalque 
of  the  celestial  dead.  The  coffin  lies  under  a 
canopy,  surrounded  by  flambeaux,  grave  offer- 
ings, guards  and  musicians. 

Chinatown  has  become  sufficiently  acclima- 
tized to  begin  to  put  forth  its  natural  buds 
again  as  freely  as  if  this  were  indeed  the  Flow- 
ery Land.  The  funeral  pageant  moves, — a 
dozen  carriages  preceded  by  mourners  on  foot, 
clad  in  white,  their  heads  covered,  their  feet 
bare,  their  grief  insupportable,  so  that  an  at- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


613 


tendant  is  at  hand  to  sustain  each  mourner 
howling  at  the  wheels  of  the  hearse.  An  or- 
chestra heads  the  procession;  the  air  is  flooded 
with  paper  prayers  that  are  cast  hither  at  you 
to  appease  the  troubled  spirit.  They  are  on 
their  way  to  the  cemetery  among  the  hills 
toward  the  sea,  where  the  funeral  rites  are  ob- 
served as  rigorously  as  they  are  on  Asian  soil. 

We  are  still  imrefreshed  and  sorely  in  need 
of  rest.  Overhead  swing  huge  balloon  lanterns 
and  tufts  of  gold  flecked  scarlet  streamers, — 
a  sight  that  makelh  the  palate  of  the  hungry 
Asiatic  to  water ;  for  within  this  house  may  be 
had  all  the  delicacies  of  the  season,  ranging 
from  the  confections  of  the  fond  suckling  to 
funeral  bake-meats.  Legends  wrought  in  tin- 
sel decorate  the  walls.  Here  is  a  shrine  with 
a  vermilion- faced  god  and  a  native  lamp,  and 
stalks  of  such  hopelessly  artificial  flowers  as 
fortunately  are  unknown  in  nature.  Saffron 
silks  flutter  their  fringes  in  the  steams  of  name- 
less cookery — for  all  this  is  but  the  kitchen, 
and  the  beginning  of  the  end  we  aim  at. 

A  spiral  staircase  winds  like  a  corkscrew 
from  floor  to  floor ;  we  ascend  by  easy  stages, 
through  various  grades  of  hunger,  from  the 
economic  appetite  on  the  first  floor,  where  the 
plebeian  stomach  is  stayed  with  tea  and  lentils, 
€ven  to  the  very  house-top,  where  are  admin- 
istered comforting  syrups  and  a  menu  that  is 
sweetened  throughout  its  length  with  the 
twang  of  lutes,  the  clash  of  cymbals,  and  the 
throb  of  the  shark-skin  drum. 

Servants  slip  to  and  fro  in  sandals,  offering 
edible  bird's- nests,  sharks'  fins,  and  Mche  de 
mer, — or  are  these  unfamiliar  dishes  snatched 
from  some  other  kingdom?  At  any  rate,  they 
are  native  to  the  strange  people  w^ho  have  a 
little  world  of  their  own  in  our  midst,  and  who 
could,  if  they  chose,  declare  their  independ- 
ence to-morrow. 

We  see  everywhere  the  component  parts  of 
a  civilization  separate  and  distinct  from  our 
own.  They  have  their  exits  and  their  en- 
trances; their  religious  life  and  burial ;  their 
imports,  exports,  diversions,  tribunals,  punish- 
ments. They  are  all  under  the  surveillance  of 
the  six  companies,  the  great  six-headed  su- 
preme authority.  They  have  laws  within  our 
laws  that  to  us  are  sealed  volumes.  Why 
should  they  not  ?  Fifty  years  ago  there  were 
scarcely  a  dozen  Chinese  in  America.  In  185 1, 


inclusive,  not  more  than  4,000  had  arrived ; 
but  the  next  year  brought  18,000,  seized  with 
the  lust  of  gold.  The  incoming  tide  fluctuated, 
running  as  low  as  4,000  and  as  high  as  15,000 
per  annum.  Since  1868  we  have  received  from 
10,000  to  15,000  yearly. 

After  supper  we  leaned  from  the  high  bal- 
cony, among  flowers  and  lanterns,  and  looked 
down  upon  the  street  below ;  it  was  midnight, 
yet  the  pavements  were  not  dt  serted,  and  there 
arose  to  our  ears  a  murmur  as  of  a  myriad 
humming  bees  shut  in  clustering  hives;  close 
about  us  were  housed  near  twenty  thousand 
souls;  shops  were  open ;  discordant  orchsetras 
resounded  from  the  theatres ;  in  a  dark  pas- 
sage we  saw  the  flames  playing  upon  the 
thresholds  of  infamy  to  expel  the  evil  shades. 

Away  off  in  the  Bay,  in  the  moonlight,  glim- 
mered the  ribbed  sail  of  a  fishing  junk,  and 
the  air  was  heavy  with  an  indefinable  odor 
which  to  this  hour  puzzles  me ;  but  it  must 
be  attributed  either  to  sink  or  sandal-wood — 
perchance  to  both! 

"It  is  a  little  bit  of  old  China,  this  quarter 
of  ours,"  said  the  artist,  rising  to  go.  And  so 
it  is,  saving  only  a  noticeable  lack  of  dwarfed 
trees  and  pale  pagcdas  and  sprays  of  willowy 
bamboo;  of  clumsy  boats  adrift  on  tideless 
streams ;  of  toy-like  tea  gardens  hanging 
among  artificial  rocks,  and  of  troops  of  flat- 
faced  but  complaisant  people  posing  gro- 
tesquely in  ridiculous  perspective. 


Homeward  Thoughts  at  Christmastide. 

FLOWERS  on  the  green,  green  hillsides, 
Golden  wine  in  the  air ; 
Deep  in  the  shady  canons 

Sweet- fern  and  maiden-hair ; 
From  blue  peaks,  dim  and  distant. 

The  pearly  cloudlets  shift ; 
Out  on  the  emerald  waters 

The  white-winged  shallops  drift. 

High  in  the  liquid  azure 

A  gay  bird  floats  and  sings  ; 
Would  that  my  soul  could  follow, 

Would  that  I  too  had  wings! 
Never  was  land  so  lovely, 

Never  was  brighter  day, — 
But  O  for  an  old-time  Christmas 

In  the  home  far,  far  away ! 


6i4 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Here  we  have  vSummer  always, 

Smiling  and  crowned  with  flowers  ; 
Queen  of  the  radiant  Southland, 

Gemmed  with  its  priceless  showers. 
Fair  as  the  Garden  of  Eden 

This  bright  spot  is,  I  know, — 
But  O  for  the  happy  fireside 

And  the  friends  of  long  ago! 

Out  of  the  bloom  and  sunshine 

Ever  the  same  refrain 
Steals  through  the  aisles  of  memory, 

Filling  my  soul  with  pain. 
Fair  are  the  grassy  hillsides, 

Fairer  the  wave-girt  shore, — 
But  O  for  a  cold,  white  Christmas 

And  the  days  that  are  no  more! 

M.  E. 


M. 


Dom  Romuald's  Christmas  Masses. 


(CONCI^USION.) 

V. 

IT  was  Christmas  Eve.  For  four  days  the 
bells  of  St.  Michael's  Tower  had  been 
silent.  The  rebels  were  in  great  glee,  and 
mocked  and  taunted  the  people  of  St.  Mary's 
with  their  triumph  over  the  prisoners  in  the 
castle.  "They  have  been  starved  to  death! " 
they  cried.  '  *  Your  precious  eagles  up  there  are 
both  dead.  When  spring  comes,  and  the  snow 
is  gone,  we'll  bury  them." 

The  poor  villagers  wept  silently  as  they 
heard  these  mockeries,  and  offered  many  a 
fervent  prayer  for  Dom  Romuald  and  Gerald, 
whom  they  believed  to  be  dead.  The  rebels, 
in  order  to  celebrate  a  victory  which  they 
thought  they  had  gained,  aud  at  the  same  time 
to  ridicule  the  pious  customs  of  Christmas  Eve 
which  they  had  abandoned  with  their  religion, 
gave  themselves  up  to  all  kinds  of  rioting  in 
the  house  where  they  had  established  their 
headquarters.  The  guards  came  down  from 
their  post  on  the  mountain  side,  and  those 
who  had  been  placed  at  the  entrance  to  the 
valley  were  also  invited  to  join  in  the  festiv- 
ities. These  latter  were  replaced  by  two  others, 
whose  condition,  however,  gave  no  indication 
of  prolonged  or  watchful  sentinel  duty.  But 
after  months  of  perfect  security  no  one  dreamed 
of  attack  on  that  particular  night. 

Dom  Romuald,  oppressed  with  grief  and 
exhausted  by  hunger,  almost  fainted  away  at 


the  foot  of  the  altar,  where  he  had  dragged 
himself  in  the  hope  of  celebrating,  for  the  last 
time,  Midnight  Mass.    As  if  in  a  dream,  he 
had  bade  farewell  to  earth;  he  saluted  the 
luminous  gates  of  heaven ;  he  thought  he  saw 
there  Gerald,  the  dear  companioa  of  his  cap- 
tivity. Suddenly  the  great  silence  that  reigned 
supreme  was  broken  by  the  joyful  peals  of 
bells  announcing  the  glad  hour  of  the  Birth 
of  Jesus.   The  monk,  aroused  from  his  dan- 
gerous  torpor,  saw   the   chapel   resplendent 
with  light  more  dazzling  than  the  noonday 
sun  in  midsummer.  As  if  impelled  by  a  super- 
natural force,  he  made  his  way  to  the  bell- 
tower,  crying  out,   "Gerald!   Gerald!    Have 
you  come  back  to  me?"    But  no,  it  was  not 
Gerald,  They  were  angels! — a  group  of  heav- 
enly spirits  ringing  the  bells!  Then  he  saw  a 
beautiful  procession  formed,  with  the  Blessed 
Virgin  at  its  head,  majestic  and  radiant  as  the 
Queen  of  heaven  and  earth.  She  bore  in  her 
arms  the  Divine  Child,  and  was  accompanied 
by  St.  Joseph.  The  old  priest  threw  himself 
on  his  knees,  but  the  Blessed  Virgin  made  a 
sign  for  him  to  rise  and  lead  the  way  to  the 
sanctuary.  On  entering,  the  Immaculate  Vir- 
gin placed  the  Divine  Child  on  the  credence 
table  to  the  right  of  the  altar,  and,  with  St. 
Joseph,  knelt  before  Him,  while  a  throng  of 
angels  and   saints   filled  the  whole  chapel. 
There  were  Apostles,  martyrs,  and  doctors  of 
the  Church,  all  brilliant   in  their   heavenly 
garments. 

Before  this  celestial  assembly  Dom  Romuald 
proceeded  to  put  on  the  sacred  vestments.  His 
astonishment  was  increased  to  see  that  they 
were  enriched  with  fine  embroidery  and  mar- 
vellous needle- work.  The  chalice  was  adorned 
with  most  precious  stones  and  artistic  engrav- 
ings, such  as  he  had  seen  in  the  Chapel  of  St. 
Louis  at  Paris.  The  missal,  too,  was  rich  and 
costly  and  filled  with  beautiful  miniatures.  He 
was  amazed  at  all  this  splendor  and  richness. 

Midnight  Mass  was  begun,  served  by  two 
angels.  The  choir  of  virgins,  accompanied  by 
St.  Cecilia  on  the  organ  and  the  angels  with 
their  instruments,  sang  the  sacred  chants. 
The  Mass  was  offered  with  a  solemnity  and 
devotion  that  no  human  language  can  de- 
scribe. After  the  last  Gospel  the  whole  assem- 
bly knelt  before  the  Infant  Jesus  and  sang  the 
''Adeste  Fideles'' — that  beautiful  Christmas 


The  Ave  Afaria. 


615 


hymn  which  the  Church  for  so  many  centuries 
has  sung  on  the  day  consecrated  to  the  Birth 
of  the  Redeemer  of  the  world.  Beside  himself 
with  joy,  Dom  Romuald  exclaimed:  "Oh, 
this  is  Paradise!  Now  that  I  have  tasted  the 
delights  of  heaven.  I  desire  no  more  to  live 
upon  earth."  Then  he  fell  into  a  deep  and 
prolonged  sleep. 

VI. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The 
rain  fell  soft  and  warm,  and  melted  away  the 
snow  in  the  valley  of  St.  Mary's  and  on  the 
mountain.  The  rebels  were  skeping  after  their 
excesses  of  the  night,  when  suddenly  the  light 
from  a  hundred  torches  loused  them  from 
their  slumbers.  They  found  themselves  sur- 
rounded by  soldiers  from  Lorraine,  all  fully 
armed.  They  made  one  weak,  vain  attempt  to 
seize  their  swords  and  guns,  but  were  at  once 
made  prisoners,  and  bound  hand  and  foot. 

Duke  Anthony  was  hailed  with  joy  by  the 
people  of  St.  Mary's,  but  he  said  :  *'  It  is  not 
to  me  that  thanks  should  be  given,  but  to 
God,  first  of  all — Gloria  in  excelsis  Deo!  Then 
thank  this  brave  Gerald  Harneck,  your  heroic 
townsman,  who  wondrously  escaped  from 
Mount  St.  Michael  on  the  side  of  the  plain. 
He  had,  indeed,  a  great  fall,  but  he  was  not 
very  severely  injured,  and  managed  to  reach 
my  camp  at  Schirmeck,  tell  me  of  your  ene- 
mies, and  describe  the  shortest  route  to  St. 
Mary's.  Then  he  himself  overpowered  the 
two  sentinels  at  the  pass  and  opened  the  way 
for  my  soldiers.  Give  praise,  then,  to  Gerald 
Harneck." 

The  mother  and  sisters  of  Gerald  embraced 
him  tenderly.  With  grief- stricken  hearts  they 
told  him  how  his  father  was  murdered,  but 
their  sorrow  was  mitigated  by  their  joy  on 
finding  once  again  him  whom  they  had  so 
long  given  up  as  lost. 

But  Gerald,  turning  to  Duke  Anthony,  ex- 
claimed: "My  I,ord,  my  work  is  not  yet 
finished.  We  must  go  to  the  rescue  of  our  be- 
loved chaplain,  Dom  Romuald,  in  St. Michael's 
Hermitage.  We  must  save  him,  unless,  alas! 
he  be  already  dead  of  hunger." 

"No,  no,  he  is  not  dead!"  cried  two  little 
children.  "We  heard  the  bells  of  St.  Michael's 
ringing  at  midnight."  But  they  were  told 
they  were  little  dreamers. 

Gerald,  taking  with  him  a  quantity  of  pow- 


der, and  accompanied  by  some  brave  soldiers, 
ascended  the  mountain  path.  He  knew  a  spot 
hidden  in  the  forest  where  he  could  leap  across 
the  torrent  and  reach  the  drawbridge  at  the 
foot  of  the  castle.  By  the  light  of  the  torches 
carried  by  the  soldiers  he  accomplished  this 
feat,  and  with  the  powder  blew  away  the 
supports  of  the  bridge. 

The  noise  sent  a  shudder  through  Dom 
Romuald  as  he  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  altar. 
The  bridge  fell  across  the  torrent,  and  the 
soldiers  rapidly  crossed  into  the  castle.  Later 
Duke  Anthony  and  his  officers  appeared  within 
the  walls. 

VII. 

Gerald  rushed  into  the  cold,  dark,  deserted 
church.  There  on  the  steps  of  the  altar,  he 
found  the  good  monk  stretched  cold  and 
apparently  lifeless;  but  his  heart  was  still 
beating,  and  Gerald  uttered  a  cry  of  joy.  He 
rubbed  the  hands  and  feet  of  the  old  priest, 
carried  him  to  the  fire  made  by  the  soldiers, 
and,  opening  his  lips,  tried  to  make  him  take 
an  invigorating  potion.  Romuald,  opening 
his  eyes,  rejected  the  beverage,  sighed,  and 
murmured  gently  :  "I  wish  to  go  to  heaven." 
Gerald  redoubled  his  efforts,  and  soon  the 
dying  priest  regained  consciousness.  Looking 
around  him,  he  saw  his  dear  companion,  the 
soldiers  and  the  Duke,  and  he  asked  what 
had  happened.  He  recognized  his  saviors 
and  saluted  them  amiably.  "But,"  he  said, 
"what  a  pity!  That  Midnight  Mass  was  so 
beautiful  before  the  whole  court  of  heaven!" 

No  one  understood  what  he  meant.  At 
length  Duke. Anthony  said:  "But  will  it  not 
be  beautiful  also  to  say  your  second  Mass  on 
Christmas  Day  in  the  presence  of  the  Duke 
of  Lorraine,  his  soldiers,  and  the  people  of 
St.  Mary's?  But,  Father,  you  are  too  weak  for 
that." 

"No,  my  Lord,"  said  the  monk,  who  was 
gradually  recovering  his  strength.  "I  shall 
be  strong  enough,  if  I  can  rest  on  the  arm  of 
my  dear  Gerald." 

The  good  priest  offered  up  the  Holy  Sac- 
rifice and  continued  fasting,  so  that  when, 
an  hour  afterward,  the  whole  population  of 
St.  Mary's  joyfully  flocked  up  the  mountain 
side  to  the  little  chapel,  Dom  Romuald  was 
able  to  celebrate  his  third  Mass  of  Christmas. 
All   the   splendors   of  midnight  had  disap- 


6\6 


The  Ave  Maria. 


peared;  the  vestments,  missal  and  chalice 
■were  very  simple.  But  Duke  Anthony,  his 
officers  and  soldiers,  and  the  people  of  St. 
Mary's,  sang  with  all  their  souls  the  beautiful 
hymn,  *  ^Adeste  Fideles ' '  .• 

Ye  chorus  of  Angels, 

From  heaven  descending. 
Oh  haste  ye,  oh  haste  ye,  our  triumph  to  share ; 

Singing,  "Glory  to  God 

In  the  highest  forever!  " 
With  glad  alleluias  His  glory  declare. 

Supported  at  the  altar  by  Gerald,  the  ven- 
erable priest  finished  the  Holy  Sacrifice.  He 
then  partook  of  a  little  nourishment,  which 
completely  restored  his  strength.  Then  he 
went  down  to  the  village  and  persuaded  Duke 
Anthony  to  spare  the  lives  of  the  rebels,  and 
let  them  be  imprisoned  until  such  time  as 
they  should  return  to  the  path  of  duty. 

A  few  days  afterward  Gerald  entered  the 
Abbey  of  Saint-Die.  There  he  made  his  pro- 
fession in  1527,  and  was  ordained  priest  on 
Christmas  Eve,  1530.  Dom  Romuald  gave 
forth  his  soul  to  God  in  1 53 1 ,  to  join  the  angelic 
choirs  in  singing  an  eternal  Gloria  in  excelsis. 
Dom  Gerald  succeeded  him  in  the  valley  of 
St.  Mary's  and  the  hermitage  on  the  mountain. 
There  he  lived  for  almost  fifty  years.  He  died 
on  Christmas  Day  in  the  year  1580,  and  was 
buried  at  the  foot  of  the  rock  whose  side  he 
had  so  bravely  descended  to  the  plain.  Since 
that  time  it  has  been  called  Geraldseck,  or 
"Gerald's  Comer." 


On  a  Certain  Aggressiveness. 


BY  MAURICB   FRANCIS   EGAN. 


IN  writing  the  last  of  these  short  articles  I 
may  be  pardoned  for  taking  advantage  of 
the  chance  of  making  a  little  sermon ;  it  will 
be  my  only  opportunity  for  this  year,  and  the 
chance  is  tempting.  For  a  text  I  take  Cardi- 
nal Gibbons'  "Christian  Heritage," — not  the 
book  itself,  but  the  spirit  of  the  book.  He  has 
taught  us  what  we  ought  to  have  taught  our- 
selves— that  Christian  zeal  does  not  excuse 
un-Christian  bitterness ;  that  the  knowledge 
that  we  are  of  the  Fold  of  Christ  does  not 
justify  us  in  calling  foul  names  at  those  who 
happen  to  be  outside.  He  has  taught  us  this 


by  example,  and  we  would  do  well  to  heed 
the  example. 

We  Catholics  are  brought  more  and  more 
into  contact  with  men  of  opposite  religious 
opinions  or  of  no  religiotis  opinions.  Among 
these  is  the  agnostic,  who  says  he  knows  noth- 
ing, but  pretends  he  knows  everything.  The 
Cardinal  has  shown  us  how  to  deal  with  him^ 
and,  I  hope,  cured  us  of  flinging  the  decrees 
of  the  Council  of  Trent  at  men  who  deny  the 
Divinity  of  Our  I,ord,  and  of  an  unpleasant 
habit  of  trying  to  knock  our  disseijting 
brethren  on  the  head  with  "The  End  of 
Controversy." 

We  start  out  with  a  false  premise — that  all 
who  do  not  see  the  truth  are  blinded  by  their 
own  fault.  The  teaching  of  the  Church  of 
Christ  does  not  warrant  this.  To  say  a  sharp 
thing  about  the  spiritual  raggedness  of  an- 
other may  be  easy  and  seem  deserved,  but 
what  man  of  heart  and  good- breeding  would 
say  similar  things  to  a  man  who  was  physi- 
cally ragged? 

The  cruel  and  but  half  concealed  theory  of 
modern  civilization,  that  all  the  poor  are 
undeserving,  isjust  as  Catholic  and  charitable. 
There  are  Catholics  who  take  advantage  of 
death  in  a  household  to  tell  what  they  hold 
to  be  hard  truths, — that  is,  they  collect  a 
quantity  of  jagged  paving-stones  and  drop 
them  on  hearts  already  bruised.  And  their 
manner  of  doing  this,  so  offensive  to  charity, 
decency,  and  common-sense,  irritates  the  suf- 
ferers against  the  religion  they  assume  to 
represent.  Yet  who  are  more  complacent  than 
these  militant  Christians?  They  generally 
delight  in  casting  their  paving-stones  when 
their  victims  are  in  their  power.  Has  this 
method  ever  made  a  single  convert?  Do  we 
not  all  know  of  people  wnthin  our  own  circle 
whose  hearts  have  been  hardened  against  the 
beauty  of  the  Church  because  some  of  our 
extra-militant  friends  have  used  her  symbols 
as  objects  of  assault? 

It  is  not  aggressiveness  we  need,  but  charity, 
— the  charity  which  sees  clearly  the  struggles 
of  others  and  understands  them.  Has  not  St. 
Paul  defined  it  for  us?  And  while  some'of  us 
exhaust  our  sarcasm  on  the  man  who  calls 
this  great  Saint  merely  "  Paul,"  how  many  of 
us  reverence  him  as  we  ought  by  getting  his 
words  by  heart? 


The  Ave  Maria, 


617 


If  our  Protestant  friends  in  writing  used 
the  word  "Roman  Catholic"  as  an  adjective 
to  as  many  unpleasant  nouns  as  some  of  us 
now  prefix  the  adjective  "Protestant,"  we 
would  be  more  bitter  than  we  are  in  our  out- 
cries against  their  bigotry.  The  time  has 
gone  by  when  the  name  priest  was  synony- 
*  mous  with  all  horrible  cruelties  and  decep- 
tions. Why  is  this  so  in  the  United  States?  Is 
it  because  more  people  read  Catholic  books 
and  understand  our  doctrines  better?  Not  at 
all.  It  is  because  they  have  come  to  know 
priests  personally. 

Novels  are  the  expression  of  our  time,  just 
as  the  drama  was  the  literary  expression  of 
the  time  of  Elizabeth,  or  the  satirical  essay 
that  of  the  time  of  Queen  Anne.  Take  the 
priest  in  any  late  work  of  American  fiction, 
and  you  will  find  out  what  the  average  Amer- 
ican thinks  of  him ;  or,  more,  how  he  affects 
the  man  who  judges  him  without  regard  to 
his  spiritual  character.  In  "The  Midge,"  by 
H.  C.  Bunner,  for  instance,  there  is  a  French 
priest  who  seems  to  have  the  hearty  esteem 
of  the  author.  In  John  Habberton's  latest 
story,  "All  He  Knew,  "there  is  another  priest. 
There  are  no  gibes  at  him :  he  is  drawn  rever- 
ently and  even  with  affection.  The  reason  is 
easy  to  find.  Contact  with  priests  has  taught 
these  writers  that  they  are  not  ready  to  howl 
anathema  oil  every  occasion ;  that,  from  their 
pulpits,  they  do  not  send  all  souls  to  hell  who 
outwardly  bear  the  name  of  Protestant.  And 
these  writers  reflect,  too,  public  opinion,  which 
may  be  directed  by  gentleness,  but  which  can 
not  be  forced. 

If  there  is  a  man  among  the  roll  of  our 
prelates  who  deserves  to  be  held  up  to  us  all 
for  special  imitation,  it  is  that  Bishop  of  Bos- 
ton afterward  known  as  Cardinal  Cheverus. 
He  subdued  the  most  un-Christianly  bigoted 
town  in  this  country  to  a  recognition  of  the 
real  spirit  of  the  Church.  It  is  not  recorded 
that  he  thundered  and  stormed,  appealed,  and 
objurgated;  or  that  instead  of  a  crook  he 
used  a  club,  and  stunned  strayed  sheep  that 
he  might  drag  them  into  the  fold.  He  was 
gentle  to  Protestants,  though  he  never  con- 
cealed the  pain  he  felt  that  they  should  have 
been  led  astray  by  lyUther  and  Calvin  and  the 
rest.  He  recognized  that  it  is  very  hard  for  a 
Protestant  to  hear  hard  things  said  of  a  belief 


which  his  father  and  mother  loved.  You 
sometimes  feel  that  his  prejudices  ought  not 
to  be  spared  in  the  interests  of  truth ;  and  that 
may  be  true, — but  prejudices  rooted  in  the 
heart  often  seem  to  be  principles.  And  to  root 
out  one  of  these  requires  all  the  skill  of  a 
Cardinal  Cheverus;  and  if  you  and  I  go  at 
it  thoughtlessly  with  our  little  hatchets  we 
may  make  a  mistake,  dear  friends.  Let  us 
not  forget,  in  our  zealous  Christianity,  that 
we  are  Christians. 


The  London  Arts  and  Crafts  Exhibition. 


BY   A  SPECIAIv  CORRESPONDENT, 


THE  object  of  this  Exhibition, which  is  now 
being  held  in  the  New  Gallery,  is  to  bring 
about  a  revival  of  design  and  handicraft ;  and 
to  unite,  or  rather  reunite,  the  artist  and  the 
craftsman,  so  sundered  by  the  industrial  con- 
ditions of  our  century.  Without  good  designs 
it  is  impossible  for  a  workman  to  produce 
good  work,  and  hence  it  comes  that  the 
simplest  article  of  common  use  made  by  the 
hand  of  man  is  capable  of  receiving  some 
touch  of  art.  Of  late  years  decorative  art  has 
made  immense  strides,  and  people  living  in 
the  humblest  way  do  their  best  to  surround 
themselves  with  pretty  though  inexpensive 
articles  of  all  kinds.  So  in  order  to  encour- 
age and  concentrate  this  awakening  feeling 
of  beauty  in  the  accessories  of  life  the  Arts 
and  Crafts  Exhibition  Society  commenced 
its  work. 

And  at  the  Arts  and  Crafts  we  should  all 
be  in  our  element.  We  all  know,  or  want  to 
know,  something  practical  about  cretonnes, 
wall-papers,  lamps,  and  needle- work.  Every- 
thing in  the  show  is  a  work  of  art,  but  a  work 
of  art  that  has  in  it  some  living  interest.  So 
here  everybody  may  go,  and  pick  up  hints 
about  that  in  which  all  persons  seem  inter- 
ested— the  decoration  of  their  houses  and  the 
furnishing  of  their  tables.  For  these  things 
are  not  all  intended  for  the  rich,  as  some  are 
exceedingly  simple  and  quite  within  the  reach 
of  moderate  purses. 

There  is  a  large  variety  of  material  on  view, 
from  rich  tapestries  to  printed  cottons.  Those 


6i8 


The  Ave  Maria. 


designed  by  Mr.  Morris  are  remarkable  for 
their  decision  and  picturesque  coloring.  Mr. 
Burne  Jones  contributes  figures  to  one  arras, 
which  is  to  be  seen  in  process  of  weaving. 
This  is  an  interesting  sight,  and  the  skilful 
manner  in  which  the  craftsman  manipulates 
his  wools  at  the  wrong  side  of  the  design,  the 
right  side  of  which  is  reflected  in  a  hanging 
mirror,  is  truly  wonderful.  To  the  department 
of  wall  papers  Mr.Vallance  contributes  a  de- 
sign of  simply  treated  foliage,  showing  three 
variations  of  color ;  and  Mr.  A.  F.  Brophy  one 
in  transparent  water-colors. 

Amongst  the  needle-work  and  embroidery 
there  is  much  that  is  very  lovely.  Miss  Una 
Taylor's  book-cover,  designed  by  Walter 
Crane,  and  a  panel  in  silks  by  Miss  Elinor 
Halle,  are  exquisitely  worked.  A  chalice  veil 
and  burse,  designed  by  Mr.  A.Vallance  (one  of 
the  six  Anglican  clergymen  recently  received 
into  the  Church),  are  skilfully  carried  out,  with 
a  conventional  treatment  of  Tudor  roses  in 
silk  and  gold  thread  upon  a  background  of  red 
figured  silk  of  handsome  mediaeval  pattern. 
Conspicuous  by  its  beauty  and  delicacy  in  the 
show  of  lace  is  that  contributed  by  the  nuns 
of  Kenmare,  Kinsale,  and  Youghal,  Ireland. 
It  is  perfect  in  execution  and  design. 

Amongst  the  drawings  must  be  noted  Mr. 
N.  H.  J.  Westlake's  small  study  of  the  Holy 
Family  for  the  memorial  to  the  late  Lord 
Gerard ;  Mr.  Hungerford  Pollen's  harmonious 
and  well-composed  designs  for  mural  paint- 
ings; and  Mr.  Henry  Ryland's  graceful  and 
spiritual  gesso  panel,  ''Ecce  ancilla  Domini.''^ 
Mr.Whall's  cartoon  of  St.  Christopher  carry- 
ing the  Child  Jesus  upon  his  shoulders  is 
admirable  and  shows  great  power. 

There  are,  of  course,  many  things  in  this 
delightful  Exhibition  that  I  have  not  time  or 
space  to  mention ;  and  I  regret  that  so  many 
of  my  readers  will  not  be  able  to  pay  the  Arts 
and  Crafts  a  visit,  as  I  am  sure  they  would 
derive  as  much  profit  and  pleasure  fi-om  the 
show  as  I  myself  did. 


We  ought  to  aim  rather  at  doing  well  than 
being  well ;  and  thus  we  should  come,  in  the 
end,  even  to  be  better. — Manzoni. 

Guilt  is  a  rigid  and  inflexible  tyrant, 
against  whom  all  are  powerless  but  those  who 
entirely  rebel. — * '  The  Betrothed. ' ' 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

There  is  a  difference  of  opinion  about  the  Cath- 
olic population  of  the  United  States.  Archbishop 
Ryan  estimates  our  numbers  at  nine  millions, 
Archbishop  Ireland  at  a  million  more,  and  other 
persons  at  twelve  millions.  Some  time  ago  Bishop 
Spalding  made  the  number  eight  millions.  We^ 
are  inclined  to  take  the  highest  figure,  as  we  have 
long  believed  that  our  number  is  underestimated, 
From  a  careful  collation  by  Bishop  Hogan  of  the 
statistics  of  the  different  dioceses,  as  given  in  the 
Catholic  Directories,  it  appears  that  the  number 
of  infant  baptisms  for  last  year  was  440,000.  If 
these  represent  one  out  of  thirty  Catholics,  our 
part  of  the  population  would  number  13,200,000. 


The  house  of  Laforge,  on  the  Lower  Rhone, 
which  supplies  Portland  cement  to  one  half  the 
world,  is  managed  on  Catholic  principles  that 
delight  the  Count  de  Mun.  The  organization  of 
schools,  insurances,  pensions,  and  recreations, 
is  admirable.  The  workmen  lately  celebrated  the 
fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  foundation  of  the  house 
with  a  banquet,  in  which  they  manifested  their 
sense  of  the  justice  with  which  the  business  is 
managed. 

The  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  whose  interest  in 
sacred  music  is  well  known,  presided  over  the 
recent  annual  festival  of  the  St.  Cecilia  Society  in 
Dublin  and  awarded  the  prizes.  His  Grace  ad- 
dressed the  audience  at  considerable  length  on  the 
subject  of  music,  and  announced  a  competition 
next  year.  The  first  prize — a  purse  of  £20, — 
offered  by  His  Grace,  was  won  by  Dr.  Smith, 
organist  of  the  Church  of  the  Three  Patrons, 
Rathgar.  The  decision  was  made  by  Dr.  Haberl, 
of  Ratisbon. 

The  memory  of  good  Abb6  de  I'Ep^e,  who  did 
so  much  for  deaf-mutes,  is  fresh  after  a  hundred 
years.  He  passed  to  his  reward  on  December  23, 
1789.  The  anniversary  was  observed  by  deaf- 
mutes  the  world  over. 


The  C  T.A.  News,  of  Philadelphia,  relates  a 
beautiful  example  of  charity  shown  at  a  recent 
meeting  of  St.  James'  Total  Abstinence  Society 
in  that  city.  One  of  the  young  men  who  was 
transferred  a  few  months  ago  from  the  Cadet  Soci- 
ety (a  branch  of  the  Total  Abstinence  Union  for 
boys)  lost  his  mother  by  death,  leaving  him  the 
oldest  of  six  orphan  children,  and  in  poor  cir- 
cumstances. The  attention  of  the  Society  was 
called  to  the  matter,  and  fifty  dollars  was  unani- 
mously subscribed  to  assist  them, — "The  mem- 


Tlie  Ave  Maria. 


619 


bers  feeling  that  such  acts  of  charity  will  do  more 
for  the  cause  of  total  abstinence  than  the  watch- 
fulness of  the  treasurj^ '  Watch  Dogs. ' ' '  We  don't 
quite  understand  this  remark,  but  we  will  say  for 
ourselves  that  the  observance  of  total  abstinence 
on  the  part  of  these  excellent  young  men  was 
probabl}^  what  made  their  generous  deed  possible. 
And  the  new  head  of  that  poor  family  will  no 
doubt  prove  a  good  one  for  being  a  total  abstainer. 


The  controversy  about  Mr.  Gladstone's  recent 
article  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,  in  which  he 
asserted  that  the  Blessed  John  Fisher  had  as- 
sented to  the  "spiritual  supremacy"  of  Henry 
VIII.  and  afterward  regretted  it,  has  at  last  come 
to  an  end,  and  the  honor  of  the  Saint  is  vindicated. 
Mr.  Gladstone  founded  his  assertion  on  the 
Roman  edition  of  Sander.  The  I^ondon  Tablet 
prints  a  letter  from  Mr.  Gladstone,  in  which  he 
says:  "Allow  me  again  to  thank  you.  Father 
Bridgett's  assiduity  and  acumen  appear  alike 
remarkable.  The  effect  upon  the  Sander  we  hold 
in  our  own  hands,  of  whatever  edition,  is  serious. 
For  myself,  I  own  to  an  impression  that  Bishop 
Fisher  did,  after  the  Convocation  of  1 531,  do 
something  that  he  afterward  regretted,  but  what 
or  when  I  can  not  feel  very  sure. ' ' 


The  famou^  public  school  of  Winchester  in 
England  was  founded  by  William  of  Wykeham, 
a  Catholic  Lord  Chancellor  of  England.  The  no 
less  celebrated  school  at  Fulda,  in  Germany,  is 
older  than  the  time  of  Charlemagne.  Miinster,  in 
Westphalia,  was  founded  by  Charlemagne  as  a 
Latin  school  in  79 1 .  The  Catholic  Gymnasia  of 
Hildesheim  was  established  by  the  same  Emperor 
in  804. 

The  Irish  correspondent  of  the  Weekly  Register 
gives  a  very  interesting  account  of  the  school  for 
fishing  at  Baltimore.  The  boys  are  there  taught 
how  to  use  their  nets,  to  mend  their  own  clothes, 
and  to  be  at  once  so  obedient  and  independent 
that  they  have  excited  the  admiration  of  the  old 
soldiers  who  visit  the  place. 


There  are  now  only  seventy-eight  archdukes 
and  archduchesses  in  the  Austrian  Empire, — the 
Archduke  John  Salvator  having  become,  by  his 
own  wish,  Mr.  John  Orth. 

The  French  correspondent  of  the  Catholic  Times 
says  that  when  Sainte-Beuve  was  writing  one  of 
his  well-known  works  he  asked  Pere  Lacordaire 
for  some  information  respecting  the  ordinary 
life  of  a  seminary.  What  Lacordaire  wrote  on  the 
subject  Sainte-Beuve  introduced  into  his  book 
without  altering  a  line.  The  great  Dominican's 


words  were:  "On  entering  a  seminary  a  great 
peace  takes  possession  of  the  soul.  It  is  as  if  the 
world,  with  its  triumphs  and  defeats,  were  at  an 
end,  and  as  if  a  new  heaven  were  surrounding 
a  new  earth."  "  O  legislators."  exclaims  a  recent 
writer  on  this  subject,  "touch  not  those  great 
schools  of  Christian  love!  It  is  by  means  of  them 
and  of  the  living  examples  which  they  offer  that 
.society  is  enabled  to  exist." 


The  editor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  who  re- 
cently visited  Rome,  is  full  of  concern  about  the 
Church,  and  has  taken  upon  himself  to  offer  the 
Holy  Father  various  proposals — some  of  them 
very  absurd — for  its  improvement.  He  is  sure 
that  if  they  were  adopted  a  new  era  would  open 
for  the  Church.  Think  of  it,  a  Protestant  advis- 
ing the  Pope!  Mr.  Stead  has  no  sense  of  humor, 
and  people  laugh  the  more  at  him  because  he 
can  not  see  anything  to  laugh  at. 


On  the  first  Friday  of  Advent  Padre  Agostino 
da  Montefeltro  delivered  the.  first  of  a  new  series 
of  conferences  which  he  is  to  preach  in  the 
Church  of  the  Santi  Severino  e  Sosso,  at  Naples. 


The  following  offerings  for  the  needy  missions 
of  the  Passionist  Fathers  in  South  America  are 
gratefully  acknowledged : 

Mrs.  B.  A.  Quinn,  |io;  Mrs.  EUa  Huskinson,  15; 
A  Friend,  in  honor  of  the  Immaculate  Conception, 
50  cts. ;  Miss  Belle  Pronhet,  |i ;  S.  O'F.,  Elgin,  111., 
$\\  Patrick  Clerk,  $6;  E.  L.  Hereford,  50  cts.;  p. 
Burkard,  $1 ;  M,  J.  Cooke,  50  cts. 


Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands,  as  if  you  were  bound 
with   them.  — Heb.,  xiii,  3. 

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

The  Rev.  Father  Emig,  S.  J. ,  whose  happy  death 
occurred  on  the  loth  inst.,  at  Conewago,  Pa. 

Sister  John  Evangelist,  of  the  Sisters  of  the  Holy 
Cross,  who  was  called  to  the  reward  of  her  blameless 
life  on  the  19th  inst. 

Dr.  A.  A.  Sappington,  who  departed  this  life  at 
Libertytown,  Md. 

Mrs.  Mary  Gilligan,  of  New  Brunswick,  N.  J.,  whose 
exemplary  Christian  life  closed  in  a  happy  death  on 
the  8th  iust. 

Charles  J.  Mooney,  Charles  Cronin  and  Mrs.  Eliza 
Donovan,  of  Philadelphia,  Pa. ;  Mrs.  Mary  Riordan, 
Baltimore,  Md. ;  Mr.  Patrick  J.  Dooley,  Brooklyn, 
N.  Y.  ;  Miss  Susanna  Nolan,  St.  Louis,  Mo.;  and 
Miss  H.  M.  Fitzgerald,  Saudusky,  Ohio. 

May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faithful 
departed,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  rest  in  peace! 


620 


The  Ave  Maria, 


Francisco  and  Panchlta. 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY. 


(CONCI^USION.) 

The  novena  was  finished  on  the  morning 
of  Christmas  Eve.  The  children  sat  on  the 
porch  of  the  Indian  school,  waiting  for  Father 
Antonio,  who  always  took  breakfast  there 
when  he  said  Mass  in  the  chapel.  At  length 
the  door  opened  and  he  came  out,  a  huge 
Havana  between  his  fingers. 

"Good-morning,  my  children!"  he  said, 
gayly.  "  Come,  let  us  away  to  Maddalena.  I 
have  some  good  news." 

"For  us,  Father  Antonio?"  inquired  Pan- 
chita. 

"Yes,  dear,  it  nearly  concerns  you,"  replied 
the  priest.  "Now  pray  a  while  until  I  have 
had  a  few  words  with  Maddalena." 

The  conversation  lasted  some  time,  the  old 
woman  making  many  gestures  and  uttering 
firequent  ^^Gracias  a  Dios^^  while  the  Father 
talked. 

Finally  Father  Antonio  appeared  at  the 
door,  and  said:  "My  little  ones,  it  may  be 
that  the  'boom'  has  brought  us  good  fortune. 
Do  you  know  what  it  means,  the  'boom'?" 

"Yes,  Father,  yes,"  replied  Panchita.  "Men 
going  about  in  wagons,  and  music  playing, 
and  people  walking  so."  The  child  here  en- 
deavored to  imitate  the  "stepping  ofi""  proc- 
ess by  stretching  one  little  foot  before  the 
other  as  far  as  she  could. 

Father  Antonio  laughed  heartily. 

"So  you  have  used  your  eyes  well,  Pan- 
chita," he  said.  "Know,  then,  that  a  company 
is  being  formed  to  take  water  from  the  San 
Mateo  river  into  New  Town  by  pipes  which 
they  will  lay  in  the  ground.  To  pump  the 
water  into  those  pipes  engines  will  be  neces- 
sary and  a  pumping  house,  which  they  are 
persuaded  would  be  best  located  on  this  little 
plat  of  ground.  Yesterday  Mr.  Alvaredo  came 
to  tell  me  that  they  will  examine  the  place 
this  afternoon.  And  if  they  conclude  to  buy  it 


we  shall  ask  a  good  price — always  in  reason, 
of  course, — and  then  there  need  be  no  further 
trouble  about  the  education;  all  will  then  be 
well.  Is  this  not  a  fine  prospect?" 

"Yes,  yes!"  cried  the  children,  and  then 
ran  ofi"  to  chase  a  butterfly. 

"Poor  little  ones,  they  do  not  know! "  said 
Maddalena.  "But  I  am  glad;  for  if  it  falls 
out  as  we  hope,  then,  besides  the  education, 
there  may  be  something  after." 

"Ah,  Maddalena,"  said  the  priest,  gravely 
shaking  his  head,  "of  that  I  have  given  over 
thinking!  And  perhaps  it  is  better  so." 

"Truly,  if  God  wills  it,"  she  replied.  "But 
prayer  is  a  good  thing,  and  we  have  prayed, 
— oh,  we  have  prayed!  It  may  be  very  well 
now,  while  you  are  living  and  I,  Padre  An- 
tonio ;  but  afterward  ?  " 

"When  that  time  comes,"  said  the  priest, 
"God  will  provide.  This  afternoon,  then,  they 
will  be  here,  and  I  have  promised  to  accom- 
pany them. ' '  So  saying  he  got  into  his  buggy 
and  drove  away. 

About  three  o'clock  the  children  called  out 
from  their  station  on  the  veranda,  where  they 
had  been  waiting  since  midday-:  "They  are 
coming,  Maddalena!  they  are  coming !  Father 
Antonio  and  Mr.  Alvaredo  are  together  in  the 
buggy,  and  two  carriages  follow  them." 

The  old  woman  took  off  the  blue  handker- 
chief that  covered  her  grey  hair,  and  replaced 
it  with  one  of  vivid  scarlet.  Taking  her  knit- 
ting, she  came  out  on  the  veranda  to  survey 
the  party.  They  alighted  at  some  distance 
from  the  house,  rather  to  the  relief  of  the 
children ;  for  they  were  both  somewhat  shy. 
After  some  time  had  been  spent  in  conversa- 
tion— the  party  breaking  up  into  groups,  thus 
taking  in  the  situation  at  various  points, — one 
of  the  number,  a  tall,  distinguished-looking 
man,  approached  the  spot  where  the  children 
were  standing.  As  he  evidently  wished  to 
speak  to  them,  they  advanced  a  few  steps, 
Panchita  lingering  timidly  behind  her  brother. 

"Good- morning!"  he  said,  extending  a 
hand  to  each.  "I  am  always  glad  to  become 
acquainted  with  young  people,  especially 
when  I  have  heard  such  a  good  account  of 
them  as  my  friend  Mr.  Alvaredo  has  given 
me  of  you.  What  are  your  names,  my  dears?  " 

"Francisco  and  "Panchita,"  replied  the  boy. 

' '  The  same  name  for  both  ? ' '  said  the  stran- 


The  Ave  Maria. 


621 


ger.  "That  is  odd.  Is  not  Panchita  the  dimin- 
utive for  Francisca?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  boy;  "but  we  are 
twins,  and  our  papa  and  mamma  named  us 
alike, — me  for  our  uncle,  the  brother  of  papa; 
and  Panchita  for  mamma,  who  was  Francisca. " 
"Francis  is  my  name  also,"  said  the  stran- 
ger. "We  should  be  great  friends  if  I  were  to 
remain  hereabouts.  But  I  have  a  houseful  of 
little  ones  at  home  in  England,  and  I  must 
very  soon  be  going  back  to  them.  Little  girl, 
what  is  that  you  are  saying  to  your  brother  ? ' ' 

"She  was  whispering  that  you  are  like  our 
dear  papa,"  said  Francisco. 

"I  like  your  papa,  with  my  blond  hair  and 
fair  skin?  But  now  I  see  that  you  both  are 
naturally  fair,  only  tanned  by  the  sun.  If  it 
were  not  for  your  eyes,  which  are  Spanish, 
you  might  be  taken  for  English  children." 

At  the  first  mention  of  the  word  England 
Maddalena  had  come  forvvard,  and  now  took 
occasion  to  say,  with  a  profound  curtsy : 

"The  father  of  these  Utile  ones  was  Eng- 
lish, senor." 

"Good-morning,  madam!  "  replied  the  gen- 
tleman. "You  are  perhaps  their — grand- 
mother?" 

"I,  senor!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  am  only 
their  faithful  servant,  as  I  was  also  that  of 
their  mother,  who  died  shortly  after  their 
birth.  As  I  said  before,  their  father  was  from 
England;  but,  like  yourself" — with  another 
curtsy, — "different  from  the  people  of  that 
cold  land.  He  was  a  true-hearted  and  gener- 
ous gentleman,  a  brave  and  fearless  soldier." 

At  this  moment  Father  Antonio  made  his 
appearance. 

"Well,"  he  exclaimed,  "the  sale  has  been 
concluded,  and  we  are  now  very  rich! "  Seeing 
the  stranger,  he  said,  politely:  "I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir,  but  when  Mr.  Alvaredo  introduced 
us  I  did  not  catch  your  name." 

"Tyrell,— Sir  Francis  Tyrell,"  replied  the 
gentleman.  "And  I  am  pleased  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  one  of  whom  I  have  heard  so 
much." 

Father  Antonio  looked  grave.  His  counte- 
nance flushed,  then  he  became  very  pale. 

"Pardon!"  said  the  stranger;  "but  you 
look  disturbed." 

"It  is  nothing,"  observed  the  priest,  laying 
a  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  each  of  the  chil- 


dren.  "I  was  merely  reflecting  on  a  coinci- 
dence of  names. ' ' 

"You  know  some  one  then,"  said  the  gen- 
tleman, eagerly,  "whose  name  is  the  same  as 
mine?    Ah!  if  I  could  but  hope — " 

"Only  these  little  ones,"  replied  the  priest. 
"Their  name  is  the  same.  Their  father  was 
Edward  Vivian  Tyrell,  of  Wooton — " 

"What  do  you  say,  Father?"  cried  the 
stranger.  "Are  you  sure  ?  If  so,  these  are  the 
children  of  my  dear  brother  whom  I  thought 
dead  these  many  years." 

Father  Antonio's  expression  relaxed.  He 
felt  that  some  leniency  must  be  due  him  who 
seemed  so  affected  by  this  discovery. 

"You  sought  your  brother  then,  my  dear 
sir?"  he  said.  "For  beyond  doubt  he  was 
your  brother.  We  had  thought  his  relatives 
had  wilfully  ignored  him." 

Explanations  soon  followed.  The  father  of 
Sir  Francis  and  Edward,  the  younger  brother, 
had  been  a  stern,  uncompromising  man. 
When,  in  obedience  to  his  wish,  Edward  be- 
gan to  study  for  the  ministry  of  the  Church 
of  England,  and  had  soon  become  convinced, 
through  his  studies,  of  the  truth  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  he  cast  him  off  without  a 
shilling,  forbade  his  mother  or  brother  to 
communicate  with  him,  and  also  forbade  him 
ever  to  give  them  any  sign  of  his  existence. 
The  young  man  had  come  to  America  and 
drifted  into  Mexico,  where  he  had  joined  the 
army,  in  which  he  performed  admirable  ser- 
vice. In  the  last  days  of  his  life  he  had  yielded 
to  the  persuasions  of  Father  Antonio,  and 
endeavored,  for  the  sake  of  his  children,  to 
communicate  with  his  mother  and  brother. 
Father  Antonio  had  also  written  after  his 
death,  but  no  reply  had  been  received  by 
either.  It  was  now  evident  that  the  father, 
Sir  James  Tyrell,  had  intercepted  both  letters. 
At  the  time  of  his  father's  death— which 
had  occurred  five  years  before— Sir  Francis 
had  been  travelling  in  Italy,  where  he  too 
was  received  into  the  Church.  As  a  member 
of  an  English  syndicate  owning  large  tracts 
of  land  in  Southern  California,  he  had  jour- 
neyed to  America,  with  scarcely  a  hope  that 
he  might  learn  some  tidings  of  his  absent 
brother.  And  now,  in  this  unexpected  manner, 
he  had  found  not  that  dearly  loved  brother, 
but  his  children. 


622 


The  Ave  Maria. 


Words  can  not  portray  the  joy  of  the  happy 
family  so  strangely  brought  together  on 
Christmas  Kve.  It  was  indeed  a  joyous  Christ- 
mas for  all.  And  if  a  shade  of  sadness  mingled 
with  the  delight  of  the  children  when  they 
remembered  that  this  meeting  with  their  uncle 
meant  parting  from  Father  Antonio,  they  com- 
forted themselves  with  his  laughing  promise 
that  some  day,  when  he  had  made  his  fortune, 
or  had  become  a  bishop,  he  would  visit  them 
in  their  English  home. 

"Say  rather,"  said  the  astute  Maddalena, 
"that  you  will  come  to  us  for  a  refuge  in  your 
old  age.  For  what  with  the  holes  that  are 
always  in  your  pockets  from  constantly  turn- 
ing thetn  inside-out  to  give  to  Peter  and  Paul, 
and  I  know  not  who  beside ;  and  what  with 
your  modesty  and  humility,  which  will  always 
make  them  forget  that  you  are  there  when 
they  are  searching  for  a  bishop ;  and  the  rank 
ingratitude  of  Christians  in  general  and  those 
of  San  Mateo  in  particular, — if  I  am  not 
mistaken  you  will  need  such  a  refuge.  For 
myself,  my  future  is  provided  for.  Would  that 
yours  were  as  secure!" 

Wise  Maddalena!  you  were  not  far  astray. 

The  "boom"  is  long  past  in  San  Mateo. 
The  voices  of  the  sackbut  and  psaltery  are 
no  longer  heard  in  the  streets;  the  thorough 
fares  are  deserted;  the  lodging-housekeeper 
has  departed  to  a  more  northern  clime ;  new 
growths  of  underbrush  have  hidden  thousands 
of  town-lot  stakes  driven  high  upon  the  hill- 
sides and  low  in  the  caiions  for  miles  and 
miles  along  the  du^ty  road.  A  disused  and 
deserted  building,  with  machinery  lying  idle 
and  boilers  grown  rusty,  marks  the  site  of  the 
little  adobe  house  where  Maddalena  dwelt 
with  Francisco  and  Panchita  in  days  gone 
by.  They  are  happy  in  their  home  across  the 
sea;  but  they  never  forget  Father  Antonio, 
to  whom  they  write  ofcen,  hoping  that  some 
day  they  may  see  him  again. 

Once  more  it  is  Christmas  Eve  in  the  land 
of  perpetual  sunshine.  Father  Antouio  sits  on 
the  deep  veranda  of  his  old-fashioned  adobe 
liouse,  smoking  an  after  dinner  cigar,  and 
gazing  on  the  beauty  of  the  scene  before  him, 
which  has  greeted  him  daily  for  thirty  years, 
and  of  which  he  would  not  tire  in  thirty  more. 
Soon  he  will  have  to  go  to  the  confessional, 


there  to  remain  till  midnight ;  but  this  one 
little  half  hour  is  his  to  enjoy  and  remember. 
Before  him  sparkle  the  blue  waters  of  the 
bay — rippling,  laughing,  dancing,  "like living 
diamonds  whispering  soul  to  soul."  To  the 
south  the  light-house  lifts  its  stately  head 
above  the  rocky  height,  where  it  has  stood 
guard  so  long.  In  the  distance  the  hazy  moun- 
tain peaks  melt  into  the  azure,  save  where 
here  and  there  some  lordly  summit  uplifts  its 
mighty  forehead,  lightly  crowned  with  snow. 
Father  Antonio  thinks  of  many  things ;  for 
at  seasons  like  this  old  reminiscences  crowd 
one  another  in  the  soul,  and  life  is  lived  over 
again,  with  all  its  hopes  and  disappointments, 
its  pains  and  its  fruitions,  its  joys  and  its 
regrets.  Fame  has  not  come  to  him  nor  fort- 
une ;  he  smiles  while  he  remembers  that 
laughing  promise,  no  nearer  fulfilment  now 
than  then.  And  I  doubt  if  anything  could 
make  him  leave  his  beloved  San  Mateo,  than 
which,  putting  aside  the  forlorn  state  in  which 
the  greed  and  cupidity  of  men  have  left  it 
(though  the  prophetic  soul  of  Father  Antonio 
still  holds  forth  for  it  a  glorious  future),  the 
present  chronicler  must  fain  agree  with  him, 
"there  is  no  lovelier  spot  on  God's  bright 

^^^^^•"  SYI.VIA  Hunting. 


Noelie. 


BY  THK  AUTHOR  OF  "TYBORNE,"  ETC 


(Conclusion.) 

XVI. 

The  weeks  went  by,  and  the  lovely  Christ- 
mastide  was  again  at  hand.  On  Christmas 
Eve  Noelie  went  to  take  presents  to  Mary. 
Grandmother  was  in  bed,  and  Mary  said  she 
seemed  more  weak  and  suffering  than  usual. 
She  was  moaning  with  pain. 

"Suppose  I  were  to  sing?"  said  Noelie. 

"Well,  try,"  replied  Mary. 

So  Noelie  began  to  sing  a  carol : 
"See  amid  the  winter's  snow. 
Born  for  us  on  earth  below — " 

Groans  from  grandmother  stopped  her. 

"  Christmas!  "  cried  the  old  woman,  wring- 
ing her  hands.  "It is  Christmas  to-morrow,  and 
you  can  sing  about  Christmas  to  me!    Don't 


The  Ave  ATaria. 


623 


you  know  it  was  at  Christmas  I  lost  Jenny  ? 
It  was  on  Christmas  Eve  that  Consudo  came 
without  the  child.  Oh,  bitter,  awful  Christ- 
mas Eve ! ' ' 

Then  she  sank  back,  moaning  as  before, 
and  Noelie  crept  away. 

In  the  afternoon  Catherine  took  Noelie  out 
to  choose  a  Christmas  present.  As  they  went 
along  Noelie  asked,  suddenly  : 

"Why  was  I  called  Noelie?  It  is  a  funny 
name." 

"It  is  a  very  pretty  name,"  said  Catherine. 
"Imagine,"  she  added,  speaking  to  herself, 
'  •  Mr.  Che  vahier  wan  ting  to  call  her  Consudo ! " 

"  Consudo! "  exclaimed  Noelie.  "That  was 
a  still  more  funny  name.  Why,  Catherine?" 

"Oh,  because,  because — never  mind.  Look 
at  that  shop  window." 

Noelie  went  into  the  shop  and  chose  her 
present.  She  seemed  lost  in  thought,  and  on 
the  way  home  she  was  silent. 

"Consudo! "  pondered  Noelie.  "Where  did 
I  hear  that  name  before?  Oh,  I  know!  It  was 
that  of  Jenny's  godmother.  Consudo!  There 
is  something  strange  in  this.  I  am  not  related 
to  Uncle.  Was  I  the  child  found  in  the  de- 
serted house?  But  it  was  quite  a  poor  per- 
son's house.  It  could  not  have  been  me."  She 
raised  her  head  haughtily.  Then  she  thought 
of  the  Divine  Child  born  in  a  manger,  and 
the  thought  came :  "When  He  left  the  glories 
of  heaven  to  come  down  to  earth,  did  He 
come  among  the  rich  or  among  the  poor? 
Just  at  Christmas  Jenny  was  lost,  and  the  other 
little  girl  was  found.  Uncle  Friend  would 
not  tell  me  what  became  of  her,  and  Catherine 
won't  tell  me  about  my  parents.  Oh,  can  it 
be  that  the  little  girl  was  mef  Oh,  then  I 
have  no  parents,  no  one  that  knows  who  I 
am!  Yes,  I  am  the  little  girl  who  was  lost, — 
I  am  Jenny.  But  then  I  should  be  Mary's 
sister, — my  dear  Mary!  Oh,  no,  no!  I  should 
be  granddaughter  to  the  witch.  Oh,  no!  Im- 
possible! I  am  a  young  lady.  I  am  Miss 
Chevahier.  Still,  he  is  not  my  uncle.  O  my 
God,  have  pity  on  me!  I  know  not  what  to 
think  or  do." 

When  they  reached  home  Noelie  made 
Catherine  sit  down,  and,  kneeling  beside  her, 
she  said : 

"Catherine  dear,  I  am  old  enough  now  to 
know  the  truth.  I  was  a  deserted  child.  Uncle 


Friend  found  me  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  you 
and  he  have  taken  care  of  me  ever  since." 

"O  my  Petite!"  said  Catherine,  clasping 
her  in  her  arms  and  weeping;  "my  own 
Petite!" 

'Oh,  I  remember  now!  Once  I  was  called 
Petite.  Tell  me  all,  Catherine." 

And  so  with  many  tears  the  story  of  Petite 
was  related  to  herself   At  the  end  she  said : 

"But  there  is  more  yet,  Catherine.  I  feel  sure 
that  I  am  Jenny,  Mary's  sister, who  was  lost." 

' '  Impossible ! ' '  exclaimed  Catherine. 

"I  think  not,  Catherine  dear.  It  was  nine 
years  ago  that  child  was  left  in  an  empty 
house,  two  days  before  Christmas ;  the  same 
year  and  day  I  was  found  in  an  empty  house. 
Her  godmother's  name  was  Consudo." 

"Merciful  Heaven,"  said  Catherine,  "this  is 
indeed  extraordinary!  But  go  to  bed  now,  my 
darling ;  it  is  very  late,  and  to-morrow  we  will 
go  together  to  Mass  and  to  the  Crib,  and  thank 
our  Blessed  Lord  for  all  that  He  has  done  for 
m}^  Petite." 

Noelie  was  very  happy  when  she  knelt  by 
the  Crib.  The  thought  of  telling  the  old 
woman  that  she  was  her  lost  grandchild  was 
still  very  painful,  but  she  was  determined  to 
do  her  duty,  and  a  sweet  voice  seemed  to 
whij^^per  to  her:  "Console  those  who  suffer." 
Then  came  the  thought :  "Oh,  how  my  school- 
mates will  laugh  at  and  despise  me  when 
they  know  who  I  am ! "  And  another  unpleas- 
ant thought:  "Shall  I  have  to  live  with  her 
and  sleep  in  her  room?" 

And  the  voice  said:  "The  Cross  was  His 
bed.  He  loved,  suffered,  and  died  for  thee. 
Now  He  asks  thee  to  console  a  dying  woman. 
Wilt  thou  refuse  to  make  this  little  return  for 
all  His  love?" 

Noelie  left  the  church  full  of  the  divine 
strength  which  comes  of  prayer  and  sacrifice. 

XVII. 

After  breakfast  the  story  was  told  to  Uncle 
Friend,  and  he  was  so  much  interested  that 
he  set  off  with  Noelie  and  Catherine,  and 
climbed  up  into  the  desolate  and  mournful 
attic.  The  old  woman  was  very  ill,  and  Mary 
at  her  bedside. 

"Grandmother,"  said  Noelie,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice,  "I  have  news  of  Jenny." 

The  sad  eyes  opened  wide. 

'  'Jenny — Jenny — where  ? ' ' 


624 


The  Ave  Maria. 


"Yes,  grandmother.  Jenny  is  alive  in  Paris, 
and  if  you  will  be  calm  yon  shall  see  her." 

"I  am  caltn,"  said  the  old  woman.  "Bring 
her  to  me  quick — ^but  no,  it  is  not  true." 

"Yes,  grandmother,  it  is  true.  She  is  here, 
lyook  at  me. ' '  Noelie  caressed  the  old  woman's 
hands.  "Look  well  at  me.  Don't  you  know 
me?  I  am  Jenny,  your  little  Jenny." 

"You,  you, — a  rich  young  lady?  You  are 
mocking  me;  you  are  not  my  Jenny."  And 
she  hid  her  face  under  the  bedclothes. 

Noelie  paused  for  a  minute ;  then  she  bade 
Mary  give  her  a  cap  and  little  shawl  like  those 
she  wore,  and  hand  in  hand  the  twin  sisters 
stood  by  the  bed. 

"Mary,  my  own  sister! "  exclaimed  Noelie, 
kissing  her  most  affectionately.  "Grand- 
mother, look  at  us." 

The  old  woman  raised  her  head  and  looked 
at  them,  but  she  doubted  still. 

Mr.  Chevahier  came  forward. 

"Where  did  you  live  when  you  lost  your 
grandchild,  my  good  woman?" 

"Rue  de  Venise,  sir,"  she  faltered. 

"And  on  what  day  did  you  leave  the 
child?" 

' '  The  day  before  Christmas  Eve,  nine  years 
ago." 

"Then  doubt  no  longer.  On  that  day,  in 
that  street,  I  found  this  child,  and  all  that  she 
could  tell  me  was  that  her  godmother  was 
called  Consudo." 

"And  so  she  was! "  gasped  the  old  woman. 

"Noelie  is  your  Jenny  without  doubt,  and 
don't  be  uneasy.  She  is  my  adopted  child,  and 
Mary  shall  share  all  she  has." 

"O  Providence  of  my  God,"  murmured 
the  old  woman,  "what  mercy  dost  Thou  show 
to  me  who  have  so  wickedly  refused  to  forgive 
another  and  rebelled  against  Thy  will!  O  my 
child," — as  Noelie  threw  herself  into  her 
grandmother's  arms — "I  am  unworthy  to 
behold  you!  Send  for  a  priest,  that  I  may  be 
reconciled  with  the  God  whom  I  have  so 
grievously  offended." 

The  priest  came  in  haste,  and  when  grand- 
mother had  made  her  humble  confession  and 
received  absolution,  he  went  to  bring  the 
Holy  Viaticum ;  for  he  saw  the  old  woman 
was  very  weak,  and  a  doctor  whom  Mr.  Che- 
vahier had  called  in  said  she  could  not  live 
many  hours. 


The  two  children  knelt  beside  her,  while  she 
poured  out  her  soul  in  fervent  thanksgiving. 

"O  my  good  God,"  said  she,  "while  I  wept 
for  this  child  with  my  rebellious  tears  Thou 
didst  watch  over  her!  Has  she  not  been  far 
better  cared  for  than  the  one  I  kept  beside 
me?  And  thou,  my  daughter,  who  art  with 
God,  see,  I  have  both  thy  children  safe!" 

Then  she  blessed  and  thanked  Mr.  Cheva- 
hier for  his  great  goodness,  and  Catherine  for 
having  been  a  mother  to  Noelie. 

The  priest  returned,  and  a  nursing  Sister 
who  had  been  sent  for  came  also.  The  sick 
woman  was  anointed,  then  received  Our  I,ord 
in  the  Sacrament  of  His  I^ove;  and  a  few 
hours  later,  with  a  smile  of  wonderful  peace 
and  joy  on  her  wrinkled  face,  she  passed  away. 

After  the  first  few  days  were  over,  and 
grandmother  had  been  laid  to  rest  in  the  quiet 
cemetery,  Noelie  began  to  make  plans.  She 
was  anxious  that  the  twin  sister  should  share 
all  her  lessons.  But  Mary  had  other  thoughts 
in  her  head.  She  .soon  pointed  out  to  Noelie 
that  Catherine  and  Joseph  were  getting  old 
and  wanted  help  in  their  work,  and  before 
long  the  two  little  girls  were  trying  their  best 
to  assist  the  old  servants.  But  Catherine  would 
not  accept  much  of  their  time.  She  insisted 
on  their  attending  different  classes,  and  spend- 
ing some  hours  in  study  at  home;  and  she 
never  rested  till  Mr.  Chevahier,  by  a  formal 
legal  act,  had  adopted  both  for  his  daughters. 

The  day  of  the  First  Communion  came  at 
last.  It  was  a  lovely  sight  to  watch  the  long 
files  of  white-robed  children  kneeling  at  the 
altar  to  receive  the  Food  of  Angels.  Among 
the  congregation  was  Mr.  Chevahier.  His 
eyes  rested  fondly  on  Mary  and  Noelie  as 
they  advanced  and  returned. 

''My  children! "  he  .said  to  himself.  "They 
are  praying  for  Uncle  Friend,  and  their  love 
and  their  piayers  are  worth  a  great  deal  to 
me.  Yes,  I  have  two  children,  and  I  shall  not 
be  alone  in  my  old  age.  My  God,  what  have 
I  done  to  deserve  such  goodness?  I  climbed 
a  dark  staircase,  I  carried  a  little  child  home, 
I  passed  a  sleepless  night,  and  for  that  slight 
act  of  charity  Thou  hast  thus  rewarded  me!" 

And  another  in  the  church  was  also  kneel- 
ing and  fervently  thanking  God.  It  was  the 
faithful  Catherine. 


BX  1 

301  .A84 

SMC 

Ave 

Maria. 

AIP 

-2242  (awab) 

Does  Not  Circulate