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THE VISITATION. 



THE AVE MARIA 

A CATHOMC FAMILY MAGAZINE 



Devoted to the Honor of the Blessed Virgin 



EDITED BY 



A PRIEST OF THE CONGREGATION OF THE HOLY CROSS 



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 



enlar(;ei) serif.s 



Volume Thirty = Seventh 

JULY — DECEMHKR 

MDCX-CXCIII 



NOTRE DAME, IND. 

U. S. A. 
1893. 



^bc, iWaria! 



In lieu of jeivcls rare or Jloivers stveel 
We lay this volume at thy sinless feet. 
Fair offering ours and mect^ for every page 
Bears thy blest name^ the praise of every age. 



IJIDEX. 



PROSE. 



American Bishop's Visit to Louise Lateau, An 743 
And so She was Married.— A. IV. Jteilly, 711, 733 
Anparition of a Sou! from Purgatory, The 602 

Apostle of the Poor, An (Illustration.)— Gtori.'-r 

Prospero, . 505 

Arch-Atheist on the Perpetuity of the Church, 

An , 609 

Argenteuil, The Holy Tunic at . . 662 

Ark of the Covenant, The — E//is Sckrciber. 

(Illustration), 141 

Artistic Freak, An . . 300 

Assumption of Mary, The — The Rev. yatiics 

Mc/Ccrnan, 169 

At L,ast.-^— A fa/rdalen Ifocit, .42 

Author of the "Imitation," The . .129 

Authenticity of the Holy Tunic at Argenteuil, 662 
Authorship of the "Imitation," The—TAeRev. 

Reuben Parsons, D. Z?., . 365 

Blessed Virgin (The), A Type of . 517 

Book that Needs Revision, A . ' 579 

Blessed Virgin's Shanty, The . 460 

Blessed Virgin (The), The Elevation of Woman- 
hood through Veneration of . .1 
Brother Philip. — The Rev. Reuben Parsons, D.D., 13 



Cagliostro, 

Calvary of the Tyrol, A 

Campocavallo, Our Lady of 

Catholic Congress, The 

Catholic Composer, A — Eugene Davis, 

Caholic Dictionary, The 

Chicago, La Rabida in 

Christmastide, The Music of 

Christmas Lore and Legends, 

Christ, the Comfort of the Poor, 

Church (The) and the Cause of Labor, 

Church (The), The Perpetuity of 

Clement V., . . . 

Close of a Noble Career, The 

Colonel's Christmas Story, The — E. Beck, 

Columbian Catholic Congress, The 

Cook's Experience, The 

Costly Experience, A 

Cross in the Wilderness, The 

Cursed Shanty, The 



I."?; 



6S1 
297 
253 
327 
■ 377 

579 
48 

743 
701 

716 

• 357 
609 

197. 23 « 
133 
704 

327 
57^ 
271 

599 
689 

• 49 



Dante on the Glory of Mary, 

Dauphin, — Did the Dauphin Die in the Temple .' 

• 539. 57" 
Death of Father Granger, The . 158 

Dc Vere, Aubrey . . • 29, 63 



Dickens, A Memory «)f 746 

Did Pope Clement V. Buy tlic Tiara .' —Tir 

Rev. Reuben Par. sons, D. D , . 197, 331 

Did the Dauphin Die in the Temple .>- T** 

Rei>. Reuben Parsons, D. D., 539, 570 

Dignity of Labor, Hhc—The Rt. Rev. Rilbcrl 

Seton, D. D., 85 

Divorce, The Evil of . 184 

Educition, Views of 147, 176 

Education, Professional 309, ^3 

Elevation of Womanhood (The) through Vener- 
ation of the Blessed Virgin. — Frnma F. Carey, 1 
Encyclical by Leo XIII., 431 

End of the Year, The 746 

Evil of Divorce, The . . ,184 

Experience at the World's Fair, An — E/h /,or/tine 

Dorsey, 518 

F^ans in the Early Christian Churches, . . 312 
First Knight of the Queen of Angels, The — 

Anna T. SadUer, . 57, loi 

F*orgotten Event, A . . 75 

Franciscan Devotions. — ComslanttHa B. Brojks, 406 

Gedeon's F'leece, a Type of the Immaculate 

Conception. - £///'* Sckreilvr, 645 

Gentle Work, A — Sara Trainer Smith, . 494 

Golden Deed and its Reward, A — The Author of 

" Tyborne," 67 

Golden Legend, A — Louisa May Dallom, . 715 

Gounod, Charles . 377 

Ground Arms ! 240 

Granger (Father), . . 15S 

Great Britain, Signs of the Times in 133 

Hard Times, The— Z.OW/.W 3A/V Z?f//A'M, 581 

Harp, The . 355 

Hawaii, Memories of . • 5« 38, 7'» 
96, 125, 153, I So, 205, 235. 265, 293 

Heaven, We ShAll Know Our Own in 741 

Holy Tunic at Argenteuil, The ^>62 

House of Gold, The 7*3 

Humble Hero, An 660 

"Imitation"(The), The Author of . 129,365 

Immaculate Conception, A Type of th«- 645 

Indian's RepenUnce, An 49> 

Inspiring lk)ok. An -3/. 7 5., . f«6 

In the Path of Pioneer Priests.— 7. K. Foram^ 

LL.B., . 404. 430, 4<«. 49>. 5»4. 543. 

576, 599. <'26, 654, 689, 708 



VI 



Index. 



Irish Nepoinucenc, An — William D. Kelly, 238 

Irish Colleges in Paris. — Eugene Dufis, 652, 686 



John XII., 



462 



Labor, The Dignity of . .85 

Labor, The Church and tlie Cause of . . 357 

La Rabida in Chicago. — F. L. S.y . . 48 

Laureate of Our Lady, A — TAe Kev. Ji. O. 

Kennedy, . . 39, 63 

Legend of St. Catharine, The — Austin O'Mallcy, 589 
Lesson of tlie Hour, A . 409 

Leo XIII., A New Encyclical by . . 421 

Little London Mission, A — Katharine Tynan 

Hinkson, . . 735 

Lost in the Snow, . . .654 

Louise Lateau, An American Bishop's Visit to 743 
Lourdes, The National Pilgrimage to . . 393 
Luck of Uncle James, The — Mary Cross, 676 

Madonna della Guardia, The — Virginia M. Cra-w- 

ford, . . 740 

Maori- Land, A Mission in . . 433 

Mary, the Sister of Moses, a Type of the Blessed 

Virgin. — Ellis Schreiber, . .517 

Mary our Model. — TAe Rev. yames McKernan, 533 
Mary, The Assumption of . .169 

Mary, A Medical Client of . . 132 

Mary, Dante on the Glory of . . 49 

Martyrdom on the Ocean, A — E. S., 225 

Mass on the Water, . . . 626 

Maynooth, Ordination at . . . 337 

Medical Client of Mary, A . . 132 

Memories of Hawaii. — Charles Warren Stoddard, 

5, 38, 71, 96, 125, 153, 180, 205, 235, 265, 292 
Memory of Dickens, A . 746 

Miracle of the South Pacific, A . . 19 

Mission of Beauty, The — Louisa May Dalton, 323, 346 
Mission in Maori-Land, A — The Rt. Rev. John 

Luck, O. S. B , . . 433 

Missionary, One Type of . 664 

Moose Hunt, The . . 70S 

Music of Christmastide, The . . 743 

Mystic Poet, A — Maurice Francis Egan, ' 661 

Napoleonic Idea, A . . 468 

National Pilgrimage to Lourdes, The • . 393 
Neumann, Bishop (Illustration). — Marc F.Vallette, 

. 292, 286, 320, 351, 374, 401, 427, 457, 487 
Noble Irishwoman, A — Katharine Tynan Hink- 
son, . . . 210 
Norman Shrine, A — The Comtesse de Courson, 113 
Northern Cathedra), A . 430 
Notre Dame de GrAce, . 729 
Notre Dame de la Deliverande. — The Comtesse 

de Coursott, . 449 

Notes and Remarks, 21, 50, 76, 106, 134, 159, 185, 

215, 242, 272, 300, 32S, 356, 381, 411", 439,469. 

49<'J. $21, 553, 583, 610, 633, 665. 692, 717, 748 

Notices of New Publications, 79, 187, 384, 524, 636 

Obituary, . . 23, 52, 80, 109, 160, 188, 245, 

274, 302, 331, 358, 386, 413, 442, 498, 

. 555,585,612,639,668,695,719,751 



Ohrwalder, Father 

One Type of Missionary. — Cola, 

Ordination Morning at Maynooth, 

Orient Gate, The -Ellis Sckreiber, 

Our Lady of Repose.— fi. W. Beck, 

Our Last Camp, 

Our Lady, A Laureate of 



747 
664 

337 
. 46 

325 
709 

i9, 63 



Our Lady of Campocavallo. — Ellis Sckreiber, 253 



Parliament of Religions, The 
Paris, Irish Colleges in 
Patriarch Laid to Rest, A 
Poor, An Apostle of the 
Poor, Christ the Comfort of the 



380 

652, 686 

550 

505 

. 716 



Pretended Deposition of Pope John XII., The — 

The Rether Cheerheart, . . 53 

Vacation Lesson, A^ — Cascia, . 161 

Visitation, The — Lawrence Minot, . 24 

When the Birds Come Back.— Flora L. Stan- 

field, . . ' . 387 

Whose Eyes.? — Cascia, . 56 



-I, 




HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED.— St. Luke. i. 48. 



Vol. XXXVII. NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, JULY i, 1893. 



No. I. 



[PoblUHdmijMaidaj. C«|7Tl|hk K«t. ». 1 HadMi. a a. a] 



Ever-Blessed. 



BY B. BBCK. 



" Because He hath regarded the humility of Hi» 
handmaid : for, behold, from henceforth all generations 
shall call me h\essed."— SI. Luke, i, 48. 

[HOU hast been praised in hut and mon- 
arch's hall, 

In market-place and square, in street and lane, 

In lonely cloister and in crowded fane ; 

'Mid Arctic snows, and where the shadows 
tall 

Of stately palms o'er tropic deserts fall; 

By smiling lips, by lips growii white with 
pain, 

In humble prayer and in triumphant strain ; 

In grief and joy, in troubles great and small; — 

By those that lived in vanished centuries, 

Who now in heaven see thee face to face ; 

By us yet striving for that glorious place ; 

Aye, myriads still unborn shall bend their 
knees 

And call thee blessed, as thy tongue foretold, 

O Mother of our God, in days of old ! 



Many men are in revolt against the 
kind of religion which is exhibited to the 
world, — against the cant that is taught in 
the name of Christianity. And if the men 
that have never seen the real thing — if 
you could show them that, they would 
receive it as eagerly as you do. — Drum- 
mond. 



The Elevation of Womanhood through 
Veneration of the Blessed Virgin.* • 



BY BMMA. F. CAKV. 




HERE is neither Jew 
nor Greek; there is 
neither bond nor free; 
there is neither male 
nor female. For you are 
all one in Christ Jesus,'* 
says SL Paul, in the 
third chapter of his epistle to the Gala- 
tians. And a few verses below he adds: 
"God sent His Son, made of a woman, made 
under the law: that He might redeem 
those who were under the law; that we 
might receive the adoption of sons." 

''Neither Jew nor Greek," yet to the 
present day nation rages against nation. 
''Neither bond nor free," but centuries 
passed before the voice of the Church 
could procure for those in servitude more 
than a slight mitigation of their wrongs. 
How has it been with the third part of 
the prophecy, * ' Neither male nor female " ? 
From the first days of Christianity we see 
the beginning and course of its fulfilment 
Softly as the dawn, gentle as the power 
of that woman of whom Christ was made, 



♦ A paper read at the Women's Congress held in 
Chicago. From the author's manuscript 



THE AVE MARIA. 



arose the influence of women in the 
Church. From the earliest days of apos- 
tolic times we see them in all modesty, but 
with the valor of men, taking their share 
of work, of peril, and of commendation. 

To prove by quotations from great 
authorities that this recognition of the 
just claims of women was the natural as 
well as supernatural result of the Blessed 
Virgin's place in the scheme of Redemp- 
tion, would be to fill the short space allotted 
to this paper with a list of illustrious 
names, and to leave that list unfinished. 
Beside the figure of the Sacred Humanity 
of Christ there stands His Mother, the 
feminine impersonation of wisdom, forti- 
tude, grace, mercy, purity; as far below 
her Son as the created is below the Creator, 
yet ofiering a standard of womanly perfec- 
tion so exalted that it urged forward to 
maturity one element of civilization, while 
others toiled for centuries only to have 
their importance acknowledged by the 
noblest, most enlightened spirits of each 
age. Nay, to this hour there are claims of 
humanity which cry vainly in the name 
of Christ and His Church for recognition; 
and the crimes against them hide behind 
the shield of virtues, such as Justice, 
Prudence, Liberty, Patriotism, and Valor. 

I will not touch on the dangerous 
ground of theology: I appeal to history to 
show that public opinion was so purified 
by the veneration felt for the Virgin Mary 
as to lift at once the service of women in 
the early Church to a position of dignity; 
to hold it at the same high level when 
the simple relations of Christians toward 
one another became involved with social 
and political combinations; and in time 
to make the protection of distressed or 
oppressed women one of the holiest duties 
of the clergy and of the patrician class. 
We have the women of the apostolic age, 
beginning with those halcyon days when 
"continuing daily with one accord in the 
temple, and breaking bread from house to 
house, they took their meat with gladness 



and simplicity of heart." The Blessed 
Virgin was the direct guide of the women 
of the earliest Church. Tradition tells us 
**she spoke little, but she spoke freely and 
affably; she was not troubled in her speech, 
but grave, courteous, tranquil." Who, in 
reading this, does not recall the manners 
of religious women of our own time? In 
convents are still found the exquisite 
manners which spring from a perpetual 
consciousness of God's presence. We often 
see in pupils of convent schools the same 
deference, sweetness, and dignity. Perhaps 
they have not as yet in perfection the 
"higher education," but time will soon 
bring that about; and the highest educa- 
tion they have already, in possessing a 
perfect standard of womanly behavior, 
drawn from the household of Nazareth. 

But the scene changes. Political prob- 
lems become entangled with religious 
questions; a more active participation in 
the trials and perils of men is called for; 
and in the arena, on the scaffold, in 
banishment and persecution, we find that 
there is in Christ neither male nor female. 

In giving counsel and support women 
also found their true development. Wher- 
ever Augustine and Chrysostom are 
known there Monica and Arthusia are 
known. St. Jerome guides and consults, 
top, his noble band of spiritual daughters. 
With Basil stands Macrina; with Gregory 
Nazianzen are the three canonized saints 
of his family, Nonna, Gorgonia, and 
Cesarea. Later Scholastica is as familiar to 
us as Benedict himself; and in the sixth 
century we have Gregory the Great and 
his mother Sylvia. 

In that wonderful fourth century the 
condemnation of Nestorius by the first 
Council of Ephesus pledged all Christians 
to devotion to the Madonna as the Mother 
of God; and her pictures, which hdd 
usually been drawn alone, no'w combined 
with the Infant Christ made the lovely 
image of the Mother and Child. 

" Yea, all ye that be virgins, whosoever 



THE AVE MARIA. 



ye be, run to the Mother of God," says 
St. Jerome. "She will keep for you by 
her protection your most beautiful, 
your most precious, your most enduring 
possession. . . . She is at once the parent 
and handmaid of God, at once Virgin 
and Mother." 

And St. Augustine, contemplating the 
virtues of his own mother's life as matron 
and widow, says: "We are to suppose 
that for the exaltation of the male sex 
Christ appeared on earth as a man, and 
for the consolation of womankind He was 
bom of a woman only; as if it had been 
said, 'From henceforth no creature shall 
be base before God unless perverted by 
depravity.'" And again he writes: "The 
new miracle of Mary's delivery hath 
effaced the curse of the frail Ijackslider; 
and the singing of Mary hath silenced 
the wailing of Eve." 

In the dire days of the Iconoclasts, three 
centuries later, a fresh impulse was given 
to devotion to the Blessed Virgin, through 
the condemnation of that barbarous sect 
by the second Council of Ephesus. Then 
begin the beautiful rhapsodies of the 
Eastern Fathers in honor of our Mother. 

"Hail, stately Palace of the King!" 
cries German of Constantinople. "^Most 
holy, stainless, purest House of the Most 
High God, adorned with His royal 
splendor, open to all!" 

"Blessed couple, Joachim and Anne," 
says St John of Damascus, "unto you is 
all creation laid under debt, since through 
you creation hath offered to the Creator 
this noblest of gifts — namely, that chaste 
Mother who alone was worthy of the 
Creator. Grace, for that is the meaning of 
Anna, is mother of the Lady, for that is 
the meaning of Mary. And indeed she 
became the Lady of every creature, since 
she hath been the Mother of the Creator. ' ' 

"Hail Mary ! " exclaims St. Tarasius of 
Constantinople. "Hail, thou Paradise of 
God the Father, whence the knowledge 
of Hitn floweth in broad rivers to the 



ends of the earth! . . . Hail, stainless crown 
of motherhood! . . . Hail, restoration of the 
whole world!" 

But we must hasten on to the thirteenth 
century, when painting, poetry and theol- 
ogy all united in lifting on high the ideal 
of womanhood through the veneration of 
Mary; for then she was Our Lady, so called 
through the devotion of the knights of 
chivalry, who saw her in all women, and 
found for her a thousand beautiful epithets. 
Our Lady of Liberty, cried captives; Our 
Lady of Sorrows, moaned the afflicted; 
Our Lady of the Cradle, prayed mothers, 
Our Lady of the People, exclaimed those 
who saw in her the elevator of labor. 

Dante calls her " Ennobler of thy 
nature," in that magnificent apostrophe 
which so satisfied religious feeling that 
Chancer and Petrarch, nearly one hundred 
years later, paraphrased it in words as 
beautiful as Dante's. St. Thomas and 
St. Bonaventure among theologians, Giotto 
and Cimabue among painters, were her 
paneg>rists. No wonder that in the suc- 
ceeding century we have two women of 
transcendent gifts: the Saint of Siena, 
controlling the youth of her city and 
moulding the political events of the day ; 
and the Saint of Genoa, ranked among 
the theologians of the Church. 

Meanwhile through the ages preceding 
the thirteenth centur>' three phases of 
civilization had tended to develop the 
talents of women and to show their powers. 
The feudal system, though in after times 
it was flung off as a most grievous yoke, 
was the creator of domestic life in distinc- 
tion from wand;;ring life. The wife of the 
lord was, of consequence, his companion 
when he was at home, his representative 
when he was absent, especially in the 
Holy Land — for such separations lasted 
perhaps for years. Thus the Crusades 
formed a second influence upon the devel- 
opment of women; for the head of the 
family being absent, the wife was forced 
to bear great responsibility, and to act as 



THE AVE MARIA. 



regent in a sphere more or less extensive. 

The third external influence was 
chivalry, which made all women objects of 
romantic devotion, either as inspirers and 
patronesses or as sufferers to be defended 
against the evil part of the human race. 

We can not linger over the period of 
the Renaissance, familiar to many through 
descriptions as various as the minds which 
have delineated its wonders. It brings us 
to the culmination of art in its perfection, 
and to the close of the Ages of Faith, so 
called by those who had but little of the 
gift of hope. With the decay of religious 
art there came a spirit of luxury, far more 
perilous to religion than persecution can 
ever be. The extravagant self-indulgence 
of the upper classes aroused rebellion on 
the part of the people — revolutions which 
changed the face of the civilized world, 
and, while tearing off veils from many 
hidden evils, checked civilization, and 
above all the intellectual development of 
women. A spirit of scoffing and cynical 
incredulity possessed society. Many of 
the clever women of that day recall the 
dissolute women of pagan times. The 
average position of a good woman was 
merely that of a notable housewife or of a 
frivolous belle in the gay world. Where 
was now the spirit of chivalry, which 
should have defended women from the 
spirit which prompted the farcical drollery 
of ' '' Les precieuses ridicules^ ' ' and invented 
the names of blue-stocking and bas-bleu ? 

But, beautiful to record, the heroines of 
religious life sustained the best traditions 
of their sex, and showed themselves daugh- 
ters of Mary. Many new congregations 
arose, founded by women, and the ancient 
Orders were preserved in their integrity. 
Education of a simple and wholesome 
kind was given in convent schools, and a 
foundation laid ready for the best develop- 
ment of feminine training when time 
should be ripe for it. And, in imitation of 
our Mother, religious women were always 
to be found at the foot of the Cross. 



Wherever there was adversity, hard work, 
or danger, women stood ready to meet the 
crisis ; Tabor could do without them, 
Calvary they claimed as a right. For 
women living in the world, the pure ray of 
light which streams from the first century 
has been sometimes obscured ; but for relig- 
ious women there has been no mist rising 
from the miasma of self-indulgence, no 
smoke from the fires of vanity, to hide that 
light; and that it still shines for us all is 
due in part to their heroism in preserving 
the noblest traditions of womanhood. 

Much do we owe also to women who in 
our century have used their great gifts as 
nobly as any of the heroines of the early or 
medieval Church: to Madame Craven and 
Madame Swetchine, Lady Georgiana Ful- 
lerton and Miss Mary Stanley; and in our 
own country to Mrs. Petre, Mrs. George 
Ripley, and Miss Emily Harper. 

We stand at the threshold of the twen- 
tieth century, and muse on the future 
that it holds for spiritual and intellectual 
women. Does the Church ask less of them 
than of their ancestors in the faith? It 
asks more, for the privileges which for- 
merly belonged only to a few are now 
generally diffused. There is not a material 
invention of the present day which can 
not be bent to a spiritual purpose. The 
girdle put round the earth by electricity 
has surely some message to carry beyond 
the latest report of the gold board or the 
last political decision. It binds the world 
and the nations of the earth together, and 
the great deeds done in one quarter of the 
globe belong to the rest of humanity. Shall 
we lose courage while there are Christian 
colonists in the heart of Africa and martyrs 
for the faith in China? But we have no 
thought of losing courage: we claim all 
that is highest of modem education, 
modern ingenuity, and unite ourselves to 
the traditions of the past, going back to the 
household of Nazareth, to study the spirit 
which should animate domestic life, life in 
communities, and that complex existence 



THE AVE MARIA. 



led by those who have not the protection 
of either one or the other. 

Once more let us look toward her who 
is, in the words of St. Sophronius, ** the 
exaltation of humanity." We will not 
take as our interpreters Newman, Faber or 
Aubrey de Vere. Let us look where there 
might seem small chance of finding sym- 
pathy. We will let Shelley speak for us.: 

Seraph of Heaven! too gentle to be human, 

Veiling beneath that radiant form of woman 

All that is insupportable in thee 

Of light and love and immortality. 

Sweet Benediction in the eternal curse ! 

Veil'd Glor>' of this lampless universe ! 

Thou Moon beyond the clouds ! Thou living Form 

Among the dead ! Thou Star above the storm ! 

Thou Wonder and thou Beauty and thou Terror ! 

Thou Harmony of Nature's art ! Thou Mirror 

In whom, as in the splendor of the sun, 

All shapes look glorious which thou g««zest on ! 

Yes, this is Shelley, not a St. Epiphanius 
or a St. Sophronius, as one might have 
fancied ; for they were true poets as well 
as great saints. I thank him, and love 
his memory for these beautiful words 
in honor of Our Lady. There might, 
perhaps, be ground for discouragement if 
we compared our personal strength with 
her great gifts and graces, as poets, artists 
and theologians have described them. 
Let us, then, think of her as the best of 
women ; ready to visit her friends under 
adverse circumstances; a thoughtful guest 
at wedding-feasts; willing to be eflfaced 
and apparently forgotten when she was not 
needed; prompt, energetic and unwearied, 
when all that was dear to her seemed 
to be extinguished beneath a weight of 
defeat and disgrace. What are we called 
to share with her? The conviction that 
the sole end of the creature is the glad 
service of the Creator. 

Note. — My paper has little claim to originality. I 
am greatly indebted to Guizot's "History of Civiliza- 
tion," Mrs. Jameson's "Legends of the Madonna"; 
the "Life of Father Hecker," by the Rev. Walter 
Elliot, C.S. P.; and to "Phases of Thought and 
Criticism," by Brother Azarias. Most of all do I owe 
to many successive courses of instruction given to 
the Cliildren of Mary, at the Convent of Notre Dame 
in Boston, by the Rev. Robert Fulton, S. J. 



Memories of Hawaii. 



BY CHARLES WARRKN STODDARD. 



I. — How THE King Came Home. 

PRAY tell me, is it better to laugh or 
to sigh over lost illusions? You know 
they are never found again. Even good 
St Anthony does not care to restore 
these. Once gone, they are gone forever 
and a day. Other illusions may lie in 
wait for us; other disappointments may 
follow them, and perhaps forgetfulness 
will come to our relief at last; but the 
great originals shall never more return. 
This is the way of the world, and no 
doubt you all know it well enough — but 
why do I write in this vein to-day? 

I've just been thinking of that poor, 
dear little Hawaii. I was quite in the 
mood for hunting up an old book, bearing 
my name upon the title-page. The 
book I refer to is known in England as 
''Summer Cruising in the South Seas." 
It was published by Chatto, of London, in 
1873. It is a reprint of the first Boston 
edition of "South Sea Idyls." Chatto 
said, somewhat scornfully: "That title 
will never go in this country. People will 
suspect you of being a poet, and your 
book will remain unopened." Therefore 
the "Idyls" were rechristened, so that "he 
that runs may read"; lest, peradventure, 
under the old title he that reads may run. 

Well, I've had sufficient curiosity to 
reread a preface I furnished a score of 
years ago at the request of my London 
publisher, — an impulsive preface, with 
youth and inexperience written all over the 
face of it. And since the reading thereof 
I've been wondering if I yearn for those 
Southern Seas as ardently as I used to once 
upon a time, or if this all too ardent preface 
is but the proof of another lost illusion. 

Of course the thing makes me laugh, 
somewhat sadly; a man has a right to 
laugh at himself,— his other self, the self 



THE AVE MARIA. 



of twenty years ago. Who of us can help 
doing this? But I don't like to laugh 
alone. Will you join me? Behold what 
havoc the fever of youth wrought in me! 
Could anything be more absurdly boyish 
than this? Could any one be more blindly 
daring than I when I made reference to 
Lord Macaulay's New Zealander in the 
land of his adoption, and within a stone' s- 
throw of the very Bridge with which he is 
associated ? Even twenty years ago he 
was "a scorn and a hissing," and had 
quite outlived liis usefulness. 

ingenuous Infancy ! What a multitude 
of sins you cover, or propitiate! Well, let 
us glance at the preface and have done 
with it. Here it is, word for word — barring 
a typographical error or two. It is offered 
in a due spirit of humility, and without 
further apology: 

The experiences recorded in this volume are the 
result of five summer cruises among the islands of 
the Pacific. 

The simple and natural life of the islander beguiles 
me; I am at home with him; all the rites of savage- 
dom find a responsive echo in my heart It is as 
though I recollect something long forgotten; it is 
like a dream dimly remembered, and at last realized. 
It must be that the untamed spirit of some aboriginal 
ancestor quickens my blood. 

1 have sought to reproduce the atmosphere of a 
people who are wonderfully imaginative' and emo- 
tional; they nourish the first symptoms of an affinity, 
and revel in the freshness of an aflfection as brief and 
blissful as a honeymoon. 

With them "love is enough," and it is not neces- 
sarily one with the sexual passion: their life is 
sensuous and picturesque, and is incapable of a true in- 
terpretation unless viewed from their own standpoint. 

To them our civilization is a cross, the blessed 
promises of which are scarcely sufficient to compen- 
sate for the pain of bearing it; and they are inclined 
to look upon our backslidings in a spirit of profound 
forbearance. 

Among them no laws are valid save Nature's own, 
but they abide faithfully by these. 

His lordship's threadbare New Zealander sitting 
upon a crumbling arch of I^ondon Bridge, recently 
restored, and finding too late that he had forestalled 
his mission, would know my feelings as I offer this 
plea for his tribe. And any one who instinctively lags 
in the march of progress, and marks the decay of 
nature; any one to whom the highly educated grass- 
hopper is a burden, must see that my case is critical. 

Yet in imagination I may, at the shortest notice, 
return to the sea-girt arena of my adventures, and 
restore my unregenerated Soul. 



Limited fiagons can not stay me, neither will 
small apples comfort me. I have eaten of the Tree of 
Life; my spirit is full-fledged; and when I take wing, 
I feel the earth sinking beneath me; the mountains 
crumble, the clouds crouch under me, the waters 
rise and flow out to the horizon; across my breast 
the sunbeams brush, leaving half their gold behind 
them; sea upon sea fills up the hollow of the universe. 
I soar into eternity, blue wastes below me, blue 
wastes above me; the stars only to mark the upper 
strata of space. 

Day after day I wing my tireless flight, and the past 
is forgotten in the radiance of the dawning future. 

Land at last! A gfreen islet sails within the compass 
of my vision. Laud at last ! Crumbs of earth, frag- 
ments of paradise, litter the broad ocean like strewn 
leaves. A myriad reefs and shoals wreath the blue 
hemisphere ; the moan of the surf rises like a grand 
anthem; the fragrance of tropic bowers ascends like 
incense. I pause in my giddy flight, and sink into 
the bosom of the dusk. 

Sunset transfigures the earth ; the woods are rosy 
with glowing bars of light; long shadows float 
upon the waves like weeds; gardens of sea-grass 
rock forever between daylight and darkness, tinted 
with changeful lights. 

I know the songs of those distant lands; there 
have I sought and found unbroken rest ; again I 
return to you, my beloved South; and, after many 
days of storm and shine, I touch upon your glimmer- 
ing shores, flushed with the renewal of my passionate 
love for you. 

Again I dive beneath your coral caves; again I 
thread the sunless depths of your unfading forests; 
and there, finally, I hope to fold my drooping wings, 
where the flowers breathe heavily and fountains 
tinkle within the solitude of your moonlit ivory 
chambers. 

O literary Death, where is thy sting, while this 
happy hunting ground awaits me? 

In the singularly expressive tongue of my bar- 
barian brother. 

Aloha aoi ! Love to you ! 

There, little preface, so gushing and so 
guileless, go back into that dark corner 
of the top shelf and gather the dust as of 
yore; really, we havf no further use for 
you. The times have changed . since you 
first saw the light; so now, without you, 
and in quite another mood, let me revisit 
that fairy-land of yore; let me recall some- 
thing of its life and landscape while it is 
still fresh in my memory. 

Ah, yes! This is how the late King 
came home to his people after having cir- 
cumnavigated the globe with his retinue. 
I chanced to be on the same ship with his 
Majesty during the voyage between San 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Francisco and Honolulu; and, as we were 
old acquaintances, we were naturally more 
or less familiar. The divinity that hedges in 
a Hawaiian king is not calculated to blanch 
the cheek of even the most delicate and im- 
pressionable of aliens, and was I not quite 
at home with these gentlest of savages? 

After long years I returned again to the 
isolated land whose idyllic life infatuated 
me in ray youth. It was nine years since 
I had last visited these isles. Then I had 
embarked with an adventurous crew on a 
voyage of speculation among the reef- 
bound constellations of the South Pacific. 
We tripped anchor one day and went 
out with the tide. San Francisco was 
drenched in fog. Feeling our way in the 
grey chaos of mist that choked the Golden 
Gate, we rolled into the teeth of a gale 
that had apparently been lying in wait 
for us. We were a mere morsel for such 
monstrous greed, but a choice one; and for 
five and twenty days we quivered between 
life and death in a black and quaking sea. 
When we got our reckoning, the first since 
leaving port, we were away up in the 
vicinity of Japan. In the twilight of the 
thirty-third day we set foot on shore at 
Honolulu, where I forthwith deserted.. The 
voyage was completed three weeks ago, by 
a bark not a year old, in eight days and 
seventeen hours; but, on the other hand, 
our schooner was antiquated, and had been 
a vagabond all her days. 

At this present writing we have accom- 
plished the passage in exactly seven days. 
The steamer left San Francisco on time — 
not often the case, as she is bound to await 
the arrival of the English mail. And as we 
had King Kalakaua on board, the captain, 
who was not sparing of fuel, in conjunc- 
tion with that indulgent individual Old 
Probabilities, managed to run us into port 
about thirty-six hours before the several 
Committees on the Royal Reception were 
ready to receive his Majesty. This we 
knew nothing of. Consequently when we 
sighted the blue peaks of Maui, ran under 



the lone shadows of Molokai, whither the 
unhappy lepers are banished for life, and 
then made for Koko Head and Oahu, 
beyond which lay our harbor, we clicked 
glasses with the King, and the congratu- 
lations were mutual and profuse. 

Nearing port, skirting the palm-fringed 
shore, we watched the tawny blufis, where 
the sea broke bravely and scattered 
its spray like snow; the long ribbons of 
dazzling beach ; the small grass huts at 
intervals, with here and there a tiny white 
chapel and a pointed spire, looking very 
much like toys. The littlest possible 
people riding the littlest possible beasts 
cantered along the shingle on their way 
to the Capital to welcome the returning 
King. They seemed to be hastening 
mechanically, while pretty clouds shook 
out brief showers and unfurled bright 
rainbows, one after another, then passed 
onward into the vast silence. A sail or 
two rocked on the sparkling sea, changing 
the light and shade with every tack. 
It was very like one of those German 
pictorial clocks, whose puppets live out 
their mimic lives long after the dust of the 
inventor has been scattered. 

Meanwhile King Kalakaua was watch- 
ing the tiny kingdom that had a few 
hours before risen from the sea, as it were. 
He knew every rood of it; it was his, 
although he didn't make it, nor have any- 
thing to do with the making of it; but he 
was born in the image of those who 
peopled it when the valleys rang with 
heroic traditions. He had the languid 
ease, the consoling fatalism, the gladsome 
superstition of his race. It was bred in the 
bone, and the tours of forty worlds could 
not have educated him out of it He 
showed less of it than the majority of 
his people, knowing well how to disguise 
it He even affected Bohemianism to a 
degree, and once remarked to Rochcfort 
that he was the only republican in his 
kingdom; meanwhile having said to me 
that what the citizens of the United 



8 



THE AVE MARIA. 



States were most in need of was an em- 
peror, and that the United States must 
become an empire. 

O what a King was he ! Such a King 
as one reads of in nursery tales. He was 
all things to all men, a most companion- 
able person. Possessed of rare refinement, 
he was as much at ease with a crew of 
"rollicking rams" as in the throne-room. 
He had many and varied experiences, and 
was apparently ready for others. He had 
*'run with the machine" in the Volunteer 
Fire Department, and risen to the dignity 
of foreman. Once he edited a paper in 
his native tongue; it flourished under the 
mouth-filling title of Hoku i ka Pakipika 
(Star of the Pacific). But this was in the 
halcyon days of adolescence, before he 
had dreamed of the throne and of circum- 
navigation. His Queen, with pathetic and 
patrician pride, refused to utter one word 
of English, although she was acquainted 
with the language. She invariably replied 
in her own tongue, thus often making the 
services of an interpreter indispensable. 

As .we approached Oahu, we saw smoke 
signals ascending; the filmy threads float- 
ing upward were caught by passing winds 
and spirited away, beckoning to one 
another from the hill-tops ; and long before 
we were abreast of the Capital the populace 
was at the water-side to give us welcome. 
A spirited cannonade aroused uncommon 
enthusiasm. Nothing less could have 
accomplished that end in that drowsy 
little world. The yards of the Russian 
fleet in port were quickly manned. Punch- 
bowl, an old crater in the rear of the 
Capital, blazed away in fine style; all the 
bells in town jangled, and cheer upon 
cheer rolled out over the placid sea. There 
were the usual addresses of welcome in 
English and Hawaiian; and a very credit- 
able procession followed the royal leader, 
under triumphal arches and canopies of 
flags, from the Esplanade to the palace gate. 
Words of greeting, chiefly in Hawaiian, 
were emblazoned on every hand, such 



as : * ' Great Love to Kalakaua " ; " Return, 
OKing!" "Hawaii is the Best"; "Oh, 
the Blessed, the Chosen One ! " " We are All 
the King's Own"; "Rest, O King!" etc. 

The Chinese, whose mission it is to 
rush in where angels fear to tread, erected 
a gaudy calico kiosk, quite as fantastic as 
anything one could hope to find in a 
spectacular drama. It bore these significant 
sentiments : ' ' Welcomed by the Children 
of the Flowery Land," and "Hawaii and 
China have joined hands." The most 
noticeable feature in the decorations was 
the resurrection of an ancient symbol of 
savage royalty, called the "Pulaulau," — 
a low wooden cross supported by a globe, 
and having on each arm a flaming beacon, 
These were planted along the line of the 
procession at frequent intervals, and 
were very efiective. So also were the 
illuminations, which, though not general — 
for enthusiasm does not keep long in this 
climate, — were in some cases singularly 
beautiful. The quaint towers of the 
Catholic Cathedral and the bell tower of 
the fire department were thickly studded 
with colored lamps; and the mosques by 
the Nile, on the birthnight of the Prophet, 
are not more picturesque than were these 
twinkling minarets as they sprang from 
the illuminated groves beneath them. 

The day following the King's arrival 
was the Sabbath, a day of rest according 
to law; and we consequently rested, en 
masse. Monday, the arrangements for the 
royal reception having been completed, 
the fHe was renewed. The procession, 
the speech-making, the songs of welcome, 
the torch-light procession and the illu- 
minations, were all repeated. Perhaps 
nowhere else could this have been done 
without a murmur; but people there have 
so little to amuse or interest them beyond 
a change in the weather that they were 
more than equal to the occasion. After 
this the royal receptions were in order. 
The natives visited the King, some of 
them bearing offerings of gold or silver, 



THE AVE MARIA. 



9 



and many of them shaking hands with their 
sovereign in the most democratic fashion. 
Nor did the festivities cease until that 
little island world was completely fagged 
out; and then we all went to bed and slept 
like tired children for an indefinite period. 
His was a happy and prosperous reign. 
He was a lover of his people. He respected 
the Catholic Church, though he was not a 
member of it. He sent a royal decoration 
to Father Damien at Molokai, and showed 
his sympathy and appreciation in more 
practical and acceptable ways. Upon his 
death his sister, the deposed Queen, took 
the throne. It is too evident that her 
advisers are responsible for her downfall. 
As for Kalakaua, if he was not popular 
with all, I can safely assert that those 
who know him best loved him, .and not 
without good reason. 

(To be continued.) 



By the living ties of kinship bidden 
Heart to heart to share the joy it holds. 

O sweet Mother, thou all-perfect Woman! 

Faithful friend, unselfish, tried, and true! 
Write this lesson on my nature human, 

With its graciousness my soul endue, — 

Still to share with every heart its sorrow, 
Still to add a jewel to each crown; 

Still to rise and hasten with the morrow, 
Bearing help and cheer where dangers frown. 

This the lesson of thy Visitation, 

Always when I tell my cherished beads; 

Daily thus thy life's delineation 
Bids me strive to follow as it leads. 



The Vocation of Edward Conway. 



BY MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN. 



The Lesson of the Visitation. 



BY SARA TRAINER SMITH. 



N LWAYS when I tell my beads, slow 
^ • moving 

lyingering fingers o'er the carven spheres. 
Comes to me a vision fair, reproving 

Failures all along the vanished years. 

Beautiful and pale and young and tender, 
Scarcely more than child in years and mien; 

Modest as a swaying violet slender, 
Regal as of purity the Queen. 

Mary, Virgin, Spouse of Heaven, Mother; 

She to whom all earth and sky shall bow; 
She whose glory far outshines all other. 

She whose might the nations shall avow, — 

Hastens — aye, I mark it in confusion: 
Hastens, self forgotten, set aside, — 

From the home of saintliest seclusion, 
From the roof where angels watching bide. 

Up to that hill city, lying hidden 
In the curving slopes and valley folds; 



XXIV.— A Mistake. 

T ADY TYRRELL believed that most 
JL/ of her friends were like the pawns on 
a chess-board, to whom she occupied the 
position of an expert player. She believed 
in her own superior wisdom, which was, 
from her own point of view, an endow- 
ment of Providence; and there were very 
few people thus endowed. She looked on 
the slow processes of reason with a certain 
contempt Her intuition was her strong 
point; and sometimes her power of percep- 
tion was marvellous — but only sometimes. 

Conway, after his talk with this remark- 
able woman, remained in the study to 
write to Margaret He could not help 
feeling how kind Lady Tyrrell was to 
suggest this invitation, and he urged 
Margaret to come by all means. 

"We can go home together," he wrote. 
*' Never mind the expense: let us have one 
lark together. I shall not buy a new coat 
next winter, and cranberries will no doubt 
go up in price, to oblige us. Bernice 
Conway is a nice girl, not too strong- 



^0 



THE AVE MARIA. 



minded, after all; though she told me that 
I had not attained my intellectual growth 
the other day, because I generalized about 
women. And I think it is true. Of course, 
I never patronized you; but, then, you 
have always seemed like a woman, not 
like 'women.' I find her most charming 
and interesting, and so sincere and earnest. 
I wish you would come; you may influence 
her in the direction of the Church." 

In the meantime Lady Tyrrell had 
marshalled Bernice into the dining-room. 

"It was shameless, Bernice, — shame- 
less ! ' ' she began, as they sat down at the 
luncheon table. * ' The idea of you and a 
young minister of the Gospel walking 
under the same umbrella in broad day- 
light, when all Swansmere knows you've 
jilted him!" 

"Oh — it's different here," said Ber- 
nice, calmly. "Girls are freer than they 
are abroad." 

"And you in mourning, too!" added 
Lady Tyrrell. 

* ' You need not remind me of that, 
aunt." 

"I'm sure I don't want to hurt your 
feelings, but you don't seem to care how 
much you shock mine. As for Giles Carton, 
he's ungrateful. After all the trouble I 
took to find out a good brand of tea for his 
father — not any of the rot you Americans 
drink, — he has never sent me the boxes 
of marmalade I ordered. He says Tooker 
has not received them yet; he had the 
impudence to telephone that from Tooker' s 
'# shop yesterday." 

Bernice devoted her attention to the 
cold mutton on her plate. She tried to 
make a diversion, as Lady Tyrrell opened 
her mouth again. 

"Why, where is Maggie?" she asked, 
as the younger servant, Jane, entered. 

"She is not well. Miss," said Jane, with 
an air of great mystery. ' ' She do be having 
troubles of her own, — we're all children of 
cantankerousness and afiliction. It's the 
men that's the trouble." 



"Jane's not well trained," Lady Tyrrell 
said to Bernice. "She shouldn't think of 
speaking out like that. I wonder you 
allow it." 

But she made up her mind to see Jane 
as soon as possible, and to find out what 
affliction Maggie, who was a model servant, 
was laboring under. Bernice, however, 
should not escape her. 

"I want to know one thing," Lady 
Tyrrell said: "how you can reconcile it 
to your conscience to encourage that 
young man again. Let him absorb himself 
wholly in his ministry. If he is what 
he pretends to be, a High Churchman, 
celibacy is the only thing for him. I sent 
him an article on the Cowley Fathers 
yesterday, cut out of the Pall Mall 
Gazette; and, if Ethel Van Krupper gives 
me a chance on Saturday, I'll just go to 
confession and give him a piece of my 
mind. There's every reason why you 
shouldn't marry film, Bernice. That's my 
candid opinion." 

"Is this a time to think of marriage?" 
Bernice asked. "I think only of my 
father — only of my father! And that 
continual thought has made me turn 
toward the Roman Church." 

Lady Tyrrell set down the mustard 
pot, and adjusted her cap. 

"Umph !" she said. 

Bernice raised her eyes, expecting an 
outburst of indignation. But Lady Tyrrell 
only put some mustard on a bit of ham, 
and asked, after a rapid calculation in 
her mind on the relationship between 
Raymond Conway and the, Major: 

"Does the Catholic Church forbid the 
marriage of second cousins?" 

"I am sure I don't know," Bernice 
answered. " Father Haley "has never 
spoken of that." 

"Ah!" said Lady Tyrrell, thoughtfully. 
"And, by the way, I^knew you'd like 
me to ask Margaret Conway to visit us. I 
knew it would please .Edward — by the 
way, Jane, take some! luncheon to the 



THE AVE MARIA. 



11 



study: Mr. Conway is busy there, — I'm 
sure she's a nice girl." 

"By all means," said Bernice, bright- 
ening. "I shall be delighted. But I 
hope she will not find it too dull. It was 
a pleasant thought of yours." 

"I am glad that you give me credit for 
something^''' said Lady Tyrrell, with the 
sigh of the unappreciated. ' ' I had intended 
to ask my nephew, Dermot Thorndyke, 
here; but it won't do now. You've heard 
me speak of Dermot?" 

"Yes," said Bernice, wishing that she 
could get away, and anxious for any 
pretext that would switch tlie talk from 
the inevitable subject of Giles Carton. 
"You told me that he tried to get into 
Parliament as a Home Ruler, and that he 
had gone to Virginia as an engineer or 
something. He is clever?" 

"Oh, he writes poems!" answered Lady 
Tyrrell. "He has never been a comfort 
to me. He is a Radical: he believes that 
people who rent land ought to have an 
opinion about the rent, and that sort of 
rot. He is never off my mind. Marriage 
is the only thing that will make him see 
that if your tenants don't pay, you can't 
keep a roof over you or give a dinner to 
your friends. He's in Virginia — oh, yes!" 
added Lady Tyrrell, after a pause. "He'll 
stay there for a while, I hope. And now, 
Bernice, let me adjure you to drop this 
nonsense about Giles Carton. In the first 
place, if you are to become a Romanist 
you can't make a mixed marriage. It's 
excommunication," said Lady Tyrrell, 
solemnly. "When Lydia Nevil married 
Arthur Cartright, who was a Protestant, 
she had to leave Dublin and all her friends, 
and go over to Paris for the ceremony. 
Cardinal Cullen went on awfully about it 
Besides, you ought to have more con- 
science than to marry a High Churchman, 
who ought to be under a vow of celibacy. ' ' 

Bernice smiled. This irritated Lady 
Tyrrell. 

"And, worst of all," she added, "there's 



a mystery about my poor, dear brother- 
in-law's death. I suspect the Colonel 
knows more — " 

Bernice's color changed; she opened 
her lips as Jane entered. 

"Miss Susanna Mooney wants to see 
you," Jane said, mysteriously. 

"The priest's housekeeper. Well, let 
her come in here. I am sure you won't 
mind, Bernice, — and your talk has made 
me forget my luncheon." 

Susanna, attired in a rustling black 
silk, with a ruffled mantle, and a big, 
round cameo brooch at her throat, entered 
majestically. Her bonnet was purple; 
and the front of it, which was after the 
grandiose fashion of the Sixties, was filled 
with a collection of ancient flowers of the 
most artlessly artificial kind. She took one 
of the high-backed, leather-covered chairs 
at Lady Tyrrell's request, and ostenta- 
tiously displayed her hands, encased in 
green kid gloves which threatened to burst. 

" I would not have asked for you, 
ma'am," said Susanna, addressing Lady 
Tyrrell, "but that Miss Conway's so young, 
and as much of a baby in the affairs of 
the world as Father Haley himself. But, 
knowing your reputation, ma'am, I said 
to myself: ' If any human being can bring 
the dirty creature to time, it's Lady 
Tyrrell.' And so I came, ma'am." 

Susanna made a sort of a courtesy as 
she finished this speech. This conciliated 
Lady Tyrrell, who was not accustomed to 
many outward signs of respect from Amer- 
icans of the classes she held to be "lower." 

"Well, my good woman," she began. 

"Good woman yourself!" muttered 
Susanna. "If it wasn't that Maggie and 
myself are from the same place, I'd give 
her ladyship a piece of my mind." 

As it was, however, Susanna merely 
courtesied again, with a wink over her 
shoulder at Bernice. Lady Tyrrell had 
paused, to observe through her glasses 
that there was a man coming up the walk, 
perhaps a messenger from Tookcr's with 



12 



THE AVE MARIA. 



the marmalade which the perfidious Giles 
had forgotten to order. 

"I'm not wanting to keep you, ma'am; 
but it's about Dutch Jake I've come. 
He's been paying attentions to Maggie 
for over a year, and I am not too anxious 
that a girl like her should marry any 
kind of a foreigner ; but Jake has a steady 
place, and I'm not sure that Maggie 
couldn't do better." 

*'May I ask who this German creature 
is?" said Lady Tyrrell. "I presume you 
allude to the maid, Maggie?" 

"There's no German about Jake at all, 
ma'am. Sure I know the differ. He's a 
Hollander ; and, in spite of that, he is a 
good-living man, except that he has lately 
dropped Maggie and taken up with a black 
Protestant — saving your presence — " 

"It's not a question of religion, my 
good woman. Briefly say what you want. ' ' 

' ' Sit down, Susanna, ' ' said Bernice. 

"Thank you," said Susanna, taking a 
chair, and noticing that Lady Tyrrell's 
lips had tightened at the mention of 
religion. "Ah, ma'am," she added, "you 
remind me so much of your nephew, little 
Brian Thorndyke! I saw him many a time 
in the old country when he was a little boy. " 

"Yes," said Lady Tyrrell, relaxing. 
" They call him Dermot now. Why they 
gave him two such names as Brian and 
Dermot / don't know. But his mother 
was a Romanist — Lydia Nevil's sister." 

"You black-hearted Orangewoman!" 
said Susanna to herself; but, remembering 
Maggie's wrongs, she tried to be bland. 
"Maggie," she continued, "has been 
breaking her heart for the spalpeen. There 
is a promise of marriage between them 
since Easter; but because Maggie knows 
her value, Jake thinks he has a free foot. 
He's at Tooker's, on an errand from 
one of the factory bosses; and Tooker 
telephoned for me, to say that if I wanted 
to talk to Jake, I'd better go down there, — 
that he'd keep him till I came. But it 
seemed to me that, as Maggie's in your 



house, a good talking to would come best 
from you; and, besides, you've more of 
the gift." 

Lady Tyrrell liked nothing better than 
a chance to act as a guide and mentor in 
the affairs of other people. 

"Perhaps we'd better send for Maggie,'^ 
suggested Bernice. "I have noticed that 
she seemed sad of late." 

"No," said Lady Tyrrell, -decidedly. 
"Young girls, especially of the lower 
classes, are foolish in these things. Are 
you sure this — this person is at Tooker's?" 

"Yes, I am. But we'd better be quick: 
he may not be there long." 

"I don't think I can go out now; but 
I'll make him come here, and we'll have 
the matter settled on the spot." 

Lady Tyrrell rose and went to the 
telephone box in the corner of the room, 
near the hall. She rang, while Bernice 
watched her with interest, and Susanna 
with grim satisfaction. 

"I want 67 — Tooker's," said Lady 
Tyrrell, in her most condescending tone. 
"I'll talk to him," she added. "I must 
say that Tooker is a worthy person, though 
he does not know what tea is." 

An answering ring came; and then,^ 
after the slight preliminary rumble. Lady 
Tyrrell heard Tooker's voice: 

"A gentleman wants to speak to Lady 
Tyrrell." 

"Very well," answered Lady Tyrrell. 
"He's here, — I've caught him," she said 
to Susanna. "Tooker says there a gentle- 
man wants to speak to me. Everybody is 
a gentleman in this country. Now, my 
good woman, what' 11 I say?" 

"Don't let him get the first word," said 
Susanna, imploringly. "He's a soothering 
tongue, though his English is as cracked 
as an old teacup. Tell him he ought to 
be ashamed of himself for running after 
a black Protestant, — she's one of the 
McFetriches, and they're Otange to the 
backbone. ' ' 

' ' You ought to be ashamed of yourself ! '* 



THE AVE MARIA. 



43 



cried Lady TyrreU. "I want you to under- 
stand — understand^ 6iO you hear?" — she 
continued, putting her lips close to the 
steel tube, "that I am Lady Tyrrell talk- 
ing to you, and that the poor girl has 
friends. Oh, don't try to answer me/ I 
will not have it. She's a sweet, good girl, 
and more industrious and respectful than 
most of her class. Come up here at once, 
and we'll have the banns called next Sun- 
day, — is that right, my good woman?" 

"Call him a Dutch blaggard," sug- 
gested Susanna, anxiously ; "and say 
that Maggie's people were riding in their 
own carriages when the McFetriches were 
eating potato skins in Donegal, ^-do yqu 
mind that?" 

Lady Tyrrell caught the excitement 
of the fray. 

"You've jilted her shamefully!" she 
cried. "Halloo! halloo! Is this Tooker's? 
Very well, — you've jilted her shamefully! 
She's breaking her heart, though you 
don't deserve it, you wretch ! Come up at 
once, and she may forgive you. Come to 
Major Conway's at once — at once: she's 
here. If you don't, you're a — a fiend." 

"She's a great gift," Susanna remarked 
to Bemice. "I've something of a gift 
myself when I am roused, but I'm not so 
refined like." 

"O Heavens!" cried Lady Tyrrell, 
clinging with one hand to the patent steel 
tube. "It's the wrong man! Come here, 
Bemice ! " 

Bernice took Lady Tyrrell's place, only 
to hear Giles Carton's voice: 

"Nothing would give me greater 
pleasure. Lady Tyrrell; though I didn't 
expect such a message from you. I have 
been trying to tell you that Tooker has 
just let me send Dutch Jake to you with 
the marmalade." 

"What does he say, — oh, what does 
he say?" 

Bemice laughed again and again before 
she answered. 

"Mr. Carton says he will be happy to 



have the banns called whenever you 
like," she said, ringing the telephone bell ; 
"and that the marmalade has come." 

Lady Tyrrell adjusted her cap, and 
turned to Susanna wrathfuUy. 

"What did you mean by this, woman?" 

" I am no more a woman than yourself, 
ma'am, though you have a handle to 
your name. But it makes no differ now. 
There they are!" 

And, sure enough, there was Jake, a 
stalwart young giant, with a hamper at 
his feet, standing near the rhododendrons, 
in deep and evidently agreeable converse 
with the lately broken-hearted Maggie. 

(To be continued.) 



Brother Philip. 



BY THB RBV. REUBEN PARSONS, D. D. 



VOLTAIRE thought it good, necessary^ 
and of the very essence of things in 
a well-ordered state, that "there should 
be in it ignorant tatterdemalions; when 
the populace begins to reason, all is lost"* 
At. the time when the Sage of Femey 
penned this sentiment, a Christian hero, a 
saint, a priest of the Most High, renounced 
his not inconsiderable patrimony at the 
feet of the poor, and devoted his energies 
to the foundation and perfection of an 
institute which was to combat the cynical 
idea. And to this day that brainless mob 
of fancied freethinkers which adores 
Voltaire as its patriarch assails the sons of 
Blessed La Salje, because of their care of 
the victims of poverty, with the name 
of ^^ignoranitns^'' ; while those who are 
jealous of the success attained re-echo the 
senseless cry. But the world is not 
altogether captivated by the noisy crowd; 
nay, long ago many came to the con- 
clusion that it merits the qualification 



* In a letter to Damilaville. 



14 



THE AVE MARIA. 



applied by Pope John XXII. to the spirit 
of the world wherever found: "All that 
it praises is worthy of blame, all that it 
thinks is vain, all that it says is false, all 
that it condemns is good, all that it 
glorifies is infamous." 

At the death of Blessed John Baptist 
de La Salle, the little seed planted and 
fostered by his devoted hand had already 
produced abundant fruit: the Brothers of 
the Christian Schools numbered 274, and 
their pupils 9,885. Under his successors 
in the general-superiorship, Brothers Bar- 
tholomew, Timothy, Claude, Florence, and 
Agatho, the good work went on, the 
number of "ignorant tatterdemalions" 
growing steadily less and less, until the 
storm of the great Revolution overtook 
36,000 pupils in the schools of the 
Brothers. Then Voltaire might have 
smiled; for he would have beheld a vast 
increase in the number of those ignorant 
unfortunates, whose misery, according to 
his philosophy, was a necessary lubricator 
of the state machinery. Yes, in the eighth 
year of the One and Indivisible Republic, 
the Minister of the Interior himself made 
this report of the success of the revolu- 
tionary pedagogues who had supplanted 
the Christian Brothers and other Catholic 
teachers of the poor: "The primary 
schools are nearly everywhere deserted. 
Two causes have contributed to this 
result. The first is the abominable selec- 
tion of those who are styled instructors; 
for the greater part these are unprincipled 
and uneducated persons, who owe their 
appointments only to a pretended civism, 
which is nothing else than an absence of 
all morality and all decorum. The second 
cause is to be found in the force of those 
religious opinions which still subsist, 
and which the laws have too violently 
shocked, and the new teachers too inso- 
lently contemned."* Well may Portalis 

* National Archives, folio 173,001. See the work 
of Albert Duruy, " L'lnstruction Publique et la 
Revolution." Paris, 1882. 



have said, in the Corps L^gislatif, one 

year after the issue of this report: "It 

is time for theory to be silent in the 

presence of facts. There should be no 

instruction without education, and there 

can be no education without morality and 

religion. Our instructors have taught in 

the desert; for it has been imprudently 

decreed that religion should never be 

mentioned in the schools. Instruction has 

been null for the last ten years. Our 

children have been given over to a 

most dangerous idleness and to a most 

alarming vagabondage. They have no 

idea of a Divinity, and no notion of the 

just and the unjust; hence their ferocious 

and barbarous manners, and hence a 

ferocious people. ' ' * The decree of August 

18, 1792, suppressing the Congregation 

of the Brothers of the Christian Schools, 

declared that "a truly free state could 

tolerate no corporate bodies, not even 

those which, devoted to public instruction, 

have deserved well of their country " ; and 

thenceforth every kind of extravagance 

in matters of education was the order of 

the day. The destruction of every kind of 

superiority; of all aristocracies, those of 

the learned as well as the social ones; and 

a substitution in their place of the 

' ' breeches-less ' ' democracy, — such was the 

avowed object of the "anti-clericals" of 

that day. f And so well did they succeed 



* "Expose des Motifs du Concordat devant le 
Corps L^gislatif." 

t What shall we say of the text-books put into 
the hands of the children by the new educators ? 
We pass the many instances in which the ears of 
innocence were assailed by obscenitifes, and refer 
only to the "Alphabet of the Breeches-less" (the 
Sans-Culoites). Question: " What was the Bastile ? " 
Answer: "It was a frightful prison, in which the 
tyrant buried alive all who murmured against his 
tyranny." Q.: "VlTiatis & good Sans-Culo/ie?" A.: 
"He is a brave man,whose soul can not be corrupted 
by the gold of despots." Q.: What are the virtues 
o{ the Sans- CuMles ?" A.: "All." And in the New 
Republican Catechism, recommended by the Conven- 
tion, the question is put: "Does 'not the whole 
world form one republic ? " The reply is : " Not yet, 
but the time is coming." 



THE AVE MARIA. 



16 



that the governing spirits of the First 
Empire were always complaining of the 
general ignorance of the nation; as Victor 
Pierre expressed the idea, "All was 
destroyed, nothing was built"* Albert 
Duruy, who is not addicted to praises of 
the France of old, and who always pleads 
extenuating circumstances for the Con- 
vention and the Directory, is forced to 
admit, at the end of his above cited work, 
that the efforts of the state to supply the 
places of the Catholic teachers of the 
children of the people "had no other 
result than a profound debasement of 
education." 

Under the Consulate, a few of the dis- 
persed Christian Brothers united at Lyons, 
under the direction of Brother Frumen- 
tius, who had been named Vicar- General 
of the institute in 1795, and recommenced 
their task of popular instruction. In 1805 
Pope Pius VII. blessed at Lyons the reviv- 
ing Congregation, and in 1808 the Emperor 
Napoleon acknowledged its legal exist- 
ence. On September 8, 18 10, Brother 
Gerbaud was elected Superior-General. 
Then followed in the superiorship Brothers 
William of Jesus and Anacletus, the latter 
of whom was succeeded by the subject of 
this article, who found himself entrusted, 
on November 21, 1838, with the care of 
2,301 Brothers and 142,000 pupils. Great 
indeed had been the change from the 
gloomy days of the Terror, but the time 
had not yet come when M. Thiers was to 
say to Count Mole: "Monsieur le Comte, 
I have been a Universitarian a long time; 
but I avow to-day that I would like to 
see the Brothers of the Christian Schools 
not only in every city, not only in every 
town and village, but in every house." 
It is no gracious task to condense into a 
few pages an account of such a life as 
that of Brother Philip — a life which was 
characterized, by those who knew him, as 



• " L'Ecole sous la Revolution Fran9aise." Paris, 
1881. 



one pre-eminently endowed with Chris- 
tian beauty, — and yet to mete out a fair 
measure of justice to the subject We 
intend not to write a eulogy of this saintly 
character so much as to present some 
salient facts. 

Matthew Bransiet was bom in the tem- 
pestuous days of the French Revolution, 
on November i, 1792, in the commune of 
Apinac, in the Department of the Loire. 
He was early indoctrinated with the prin- 
ciples of Christian charity, and his child- 
hood beheld these principles put into 
practice to an heroic extent His parents, 
being among the most comfortably situated 
of the locality, were accustomed to extend 
a dangerous hospitality to proscribed 
priests who had refused obedience to the 
Civil Constitution of the clergy. His 
childish lips could not yet join in the 
volume of prayer which ascended to the 
heavenly throne, as he daily assisted at the 
Holy Sacrifice, celebrated with tremor in 
a retired room of the mansion, while 
devoted friends formed a chain of sentinels 
outside to prevent surprise and denuncia- 
tion. The abecedarian stage of his educa- 
tion was passed under the guidance of a 
retired Christian Brother named Laur; and 
for several years this religious, who was 
patiently awaiting the resurrection of his 
community, admired the budding virtues 
of the young Matthew. The day arrived 
when the pedagogue was called to join his 
awaking Congregation at Lyons. Address- 
ing his pupils, he said: "My dear children, 
I was, many years ago, a Brother of the 
Christian Schools, and it was with deep 
regret that I was compelled to quit my 
vocation. Now my community is being 
resuscitated, and I hasten to Lyons to 
rejoin it If there are any among you who 
would like to accompany me, to devote 
your lives to teaching, I will do all in my 
power to have you received and fitted 
for the task." 

The young Bransiet felt these words 
to be the call of God Himself, and on 



16 



THE AVE MARIA. 



November 6, 1809, he began his novitiate 
at Lyons. In 1814 Brother Philip — for 
such was the name assigned him, in 
accordance with that custom which leads 
the members of most religious orders to 
leave in the world even their very family 
names — was sent as an adjunct professor 
to Sainte Anne d'Auray, in Brittany, and 
here he pronounced his triennial vows. 
After various employments in France and 
Belgium, each one of which was filled 
with equal exactitude and ardor, the year 
1830 found our Brother elected to the 
position of Assistant-General; and in his 
important office he knew well how to 
unite the spirit of recollection to activ- 
ity, piety to a thorough attention to 
business. In 1831 h.e actuated one of the 
pet ideas of Blessed de La Salle — those 
classes for adults, which have been so 
precious a resource for the workmen of 
Paris. And it was about this time that 
the Superior-General, Brother Anacletus, 
began that excellent collection of peda- 
gogic manuals for the use of primary 
schools, to which the name of Brother 
Philip was prefixed. 

On the death of Brother Anacletus in 
1838, full of years and of labors. Brother 
Philip was chosen by the chapter to 
succeed him on November 2 1 ; and during 
the entire period of his long occupancy of 
this arduous position, his activity rendered 
meaningless terms everything like time, 
space, or difficulty of access. If in his calm 
and regulated bosom any passion may be 
admitted to have reigned, it was the love of 
his Alma Mater ^ his Institute; he seemed 
to be forever crying: "I have loved, O 
Lord, the beauty of Thy house! " He knew 
well how to communicate to his Brothers 
that sacred fire which his own devoted 
breast kept ever alive, the love of souls as 
manifested in the education of the young. 
He realized perfectly the needs of his time ; 
and while, under his administration, the 
Order never forgot its primitive statutes, it 
■did not fail to respond to the progressive 



march which our day has efiected in the 
methods of primary instruction. Brother 
Philip was not content that France alone 
should enjoy the benefits of his Institute: 
before heaven claimed him, he had sent 
his brethren into every quarter of the 
globe to spread the advantages of Christian 
training, and to testify to the undying 
fidelity of missionary France. The black 
soutane and the white rabat of the Chris- 
tian Brother became familiar to the people 
on the banks of the Nile, as well as to 
those on the Thames; it was blessed in 
both Americas, from India to the Antilles, 
from Mt. Atlas to Madagascar. The 
manners of Brother Philip were redolent 
of dignity, but he was humility incarnate. 
If, perchance, a conversation turned, in his 
presence, on any event or thing in which 
he shone to particular advantage, he 
evinced great tact in turning attention to 
some indiffisrent matter. * His conver- 
sation was sweetness itself, and its matter 
as solid as entertaining. During his gen- 
eralate of more than thirty years he had 
numerous occasions of edifying as well as 
charming people of every rank, sex, and 
condition; all, prelates, magistrates, states- 
men, soldiers, artisans, men of every age 
and every country, unanimously declared 
that his very countenance was an index to 
his magnanimity, so radiant and serene 
was it with holy joy. 



* One of his biographers, J. d'Arsac, who also wrote 
"IvCs Fr^res des Ecoles Chr^tiennes pendant la 
Guerre" (of 1870), tells the following anecdote: As 
the work just mentioned was passing through the 
press, each chapter, says D'Arsac, " was communicated 
to the venerable superior. In one of thetn we had 
devoted a few pages to the virtues and patriotism 
of Brother Philip. Innocent that we were, we had 
acted from the heart, taking no account of the 
superior's humility. Our article — MS. and printed 
sheet — suddenly vanished, and we tried in vain to 
find it. Afterward, when he fancied himself beyond 
our indiscretions (he was dying). Brother Philip 
drew from under his mattress the pages he had 
hidden; and these we now present to the reader, free 
from any interference on the^art of his modesty." 
(Article on Brother Philip, in the "Illustrations du 
XlXme Si^cle," Vol. I. Paris, 1882.) 



THE AVE MARIA. 



17 



Anecdotes like the following were 
common during the life of Brother Philip: 
A magistrate of the court of Angers 
happened to be travelling one night in 
company with a Christian Brother, whose 
appearance and manners greatly impressed 
him. "The night was very cold," said 
the magistrate to M. d'Arsac, " and we 
were in a second-class compartment. I 
began to cough. Filled with compassion at 
my shivering, the good Brother took off his 
cloak and wrapped it around my knees. I 
was confused, but grateful beyond expres- 
sion. When I asked him for his name, 
he replied sweetly: 'In a railroad car a 
religious ought to have no name. But we 
are both Christians; and after the great 
journey of life, we shall arrive, I trust, at 
the same destination. I shall now recite 
the Rosary for that intention.' When we 
arrived at Paris, the good religious allowed 
me to press his hand, and we separated 
friends, although unknown to each other. 
I saw the depot-master bowing profoundly 
to the venerable Brother, and I asked him 
the name of this new St Martin who had 
covered me with his mantle. 'What! 
You do not know Brother Philip?' was the 
reply. ' You have never seen his portrait, 
the masterpiece of Horace Vemet? And 
you have just been talking to him.' I was 
touched, and I understood the delicacy 
of all the Catholic virtues. Then, alas! I 
was indifferent ; now I am a Christian, 
and the cause of the persecuted is mine." 
The Republic of '48 caused no trouble 
to the Christian Brothers; but the Second 
Empire, although in the beginning it was 
very benevolent to them, gave them much 
worry under MM. Rouland and Duruy. 
The eclectic and ungenerous ideas of 
these Ministers, the demand for military 
service, the restrictions established in 
the programmes of primary instruction, 
caused Brother Philip painful embarrass- 
ment. But at his death the number of 
his co-laborers had increased to 9,900, 
and the pupils were 400,000. A few 



words now on the devotion of Brother 
Philip to the cause of charity, as shown 
in the Franco-German war of '70. On 
August 15 Brother Philip placed at the 
disposal of the Minister of War all the 
establishments of his Institute. "The 
soldiers love our Brothers," he wrote; 
"and our Brothers love them. Numbers 
of them have been our pupils, and they 
will rejoice at the prospect of receiving 
help inspired by the zeal and devotion of 
their olden teachers. The members of my 
council, the Brothers- Visitors and I myself, 
forgetting our fatigues and the numerous 
years which we have consecrated to the 
education of the working classes, shall 
make it a duty to superintend this service, 
and to encourage our Brothers in this 
act of charity and devotion." Then began 
that ' wonderful display of self-sacrifice, 
bravery, and affectionate solicitude for the 
suffering, the record of which has been 
well styled in France the "Golden Book 
of Charity." All through that terrible 
war the Brothers were ever found in the 
most trying positions, the bravest among 
the brave. While some wrote on the 
fields of battle, with their sweat and their 
blood, one of the most splendid pages of 
French history and of their society's 
annals, others of the Brothers, under the 
guidance of Brother Philip, bent affec- 
tionately over the wounded and the sick 
in the hospitals; and their serene piety 
gained all hearts. Many of the army sur- 
geons and other physicians have written 
heartfelt eulogies of this devotion. **I 
am most happy," wrote Dr. Horteloup to 
the author of tbe "Golden Book" just 
mentioned, "to once more eulogize the 
Brothers of the Rue Oudinot . . . There 
was the excellent superior. Brother Philip, 
who was modesty in person, but the 
living portrait of the man described by 
Horace as 

'Justum ac tenacem propositi virum . 
Et, si fractus illabatur orbis, 
Impavidum ferient ruinse.' 



48 



THE AVE MARIA. 



I see him now as lie ran into the room 
just after a shell had burst in the house 
and smashed twenty windows; and I hear 
him asking anxiously, ' You are not 
hurt, Doctor?' In the room was his fine 
portrait, painted by Horace Vemet ; and 
I asked : ' Could one be afraid when in 
such good company ? ' He smiled, embraced 
me, and I went on with my patients." It 
was in response to a unanimous wish of 
the French people that the Government 
conferred upon Brother Philip the Cross 
of the Legion of Honor, on February 7, 
1 871; and never was recompense more 
legitimate. The truly great do not care for 
admiration, and the humility of Brother 
Philip would have led him to decline the 
decoration; but his brethren and friends 
did him so much sweet violence, and 
insisted so strongly upon the duty of 
accepting, for the honor of his Institute, 
what he might decline for himself, that he 
perforce oifered his breast to the famous 
Dr. Ricerd, who affixed the red ribband 
upon it 

The wretches of the Commune very 
soon forgot, or rather they ignored, the 
patriotic heroism of the Brothers. When 
the Archbishop of Paris and other clergy- 
men were seized as hostages, the name of 
Brother Philip had also been placed upon 
the list of proscribed; but, yielding to the 
injunctions of his council, he had left 
Paris on April 10, 1871. On the next day 
the mother-house was invaded by fifty 
National Guards, headed by a delegate of 
the Commune. In place of the escaped 
superior, the first assistant. Brother Calix- 
tus, was arrested and taken to the Prefect- 
ure. But so violent was the indignation 
of even many of the most virulent Com- 
munists, because of this ungrateful act, 
that the leaders considered it prudent to 
restore the assistant to liberty. In the 
meantime Brother Philip had read, at 
Epernay, of the outrage on Brother 
Calixtus, and had started for Saint-Denis, 
in order to surrender himself for the free- 



dom of his friend. But, on learning of 
his liberation, Philip turned toward the 
centre of France, and began a visit of the 
houses of his Institute. During the long 
and sad days of the Commune more than 
thirty of the Brothers were incarcer- 
ated ; and one, NeomMe-Justin, received 
the martyr's palm. When the regular 
troops had overthrown the Commune, a 
reunion of the principal dignitaries of 
the Order, and some of its devoted pro- 
tectors, took place at Passy, and Brother 
Philip thus alluded to the horrors just 
terminated: "I did not enjoy the honor 
of being either shot or imprisoned. Leav- 
ing Paris, I carried a more painful burden ; 
for six hundred of our Brothers had 
been threatened with imprisonment in 
the forts, where they would be exposed 
to death from the shells of our friends of 
Versailles. This thought gave me many 
bitter days. But I soon learned that 
influence was being brought to bear to 
save our Brothers, and they began to 
arrive around me in groups of thirty 
and forty. . . . We shall continue to do 
our duty." 

In 1873 Brother Philip made his fifth 
journey to Rome, for the purpose of wit- 
nessing the solemn beatification of the 
founder of the Christian Brothers, John 
Baptist de La Salle. On his return, it was 
observed that his strength was visibly 
declining. On January 1,1874, he attended 
Mass with difficulty, communicated, and 
then retired to his cell, which he was never 
again to leave alive. His biographer 
describes his agony as sweet, silent, and 
foreseeing. Brother Philip went to his 
reward on January 7, in the full exercise 
of his clear intelligence. Great multitudes 
of people, of every rank and condition, 
pressed around his humble bier in the 
Church of Saint -Sulpice, happy when 
they could touch his remains with their 
medals, rosaries, and prayer-books; for all 
felt that they were bidding farewell, for a 
time, to a saint. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



19 



A Miracle of the South Pacific. 

THAT the arduous labors of our foreign 
missionaries are frequently sweetened 
by the visible intervention of God's provi- 
dence, and rewarded by the most gratify- 
ing evidences of docile obedience to the 
yoke of Christ in the heathen peoples 
whom they evangelize, is a fact suffi- 
ciently vouched for by the edifying letters 
appearing from time to time in the differ- 
ent publications dealing with the work of 
the missions, and one credible enough to 
the man of faith even were such vouching 
wanting. That "the gift of tongues," for 
instance, has been granted to many a 
priest of but ordinary intellectual capacity, 
whose zeal for the glory of God has led 
him to scenes where the knowledge of 
half a dozen different languages and a 
score of varying dialects is essential to his 
successful ministry, is we think undeni- 
able. To these imitators of the Apostles 
God graciously deigns in a thousand and 
one instances to accord apostolic powers; 
and it is not surprising to learn of prodi- 
gies effected through their instrumentality 
that may well lay claim to the title of 
the miraculous. 

Sometimes the prodigies herald the 
arrival of the missionaries on the field of 
their future labors. As striking an instance 
of this kind as we have ever read is related 
in a letter from Mgr. Vidal, of Suva, in the 
Feejee Islands. The occurrence of which 
he writes was verified, even to the most 
minute details, by the Rev. Father Bertreux. 
Previous to the arrival of Catholic mis- 
sionaries in these islands of the Southern 
Pacific, a number of Wesleyan ministers 
from England had established themselves 
in the archipelago — the first two arriving 
in 1835, — and had effected a considerable 
number of conversions. Many tribes had 
listened to their preaching; and on Vanua 
Levu, one of the largest islands, thousands 
had declared themselves Protestants. The 



tribe of Solevu had long resisted the efforts 
made to shake their allegiance to their 
pagan deities; but gradually the Wesleyan 
doctrines began to gain ground among 
them, and finally they were preparing to 
follow the example of neighboring tribes 
and accept those doctrines in a body. 

At this juncture the head priest of the 
idols sought an interview with the chief 
of the tribe, and said to him: "Before 
giving up our religion, should we not 
consult our gods to discover whether the 
religion brought by the Europeans is a 
good one?" The chief replied: "I will 
assemble all my people; we will offer a 
sacrifice to the gods of our fathers, and 
will pray them to make known to us 
which is the true religion — that of the 
ancients or this which thft papalagi [white 
men] have brought to us. We will then 
follow the advice that comes to us from 
on high." 

The tribe was convoked on a public 
square at the base of the Koroirea Moun- 
tain, and the priest prepared the sacri- 
fice. Suddenly, above the highest peak of 
the Koroirea, the sky grew bright, and 
there appeared, distinctly brilliant in the 
heavens, a cross with the figure of a man 
attached thereto. Standing below, and on 
either side of the cross, were two figures. 
It was, in fact, a faithful portraiture on 
the glowing cloud- canvas of the scene on 
Calvary, with Mary and John contem- 
plating the crucified Saviour. 

The apparition was seen by all, and the 
priest was besieged with questions as to 
the meaning of this kau-vei-latai (cross). 

After some jinnies of recollection, the 
pagan priest answered : 

"This cross is the mark of a new 
religion, which as yet we do not know. Go 
to Ovalau : I see that it has arrived there. 
Go and find it ; it is the true religion of 
the sky, it ought to be ours." 

Ovalau is an island about twenty-five 
miles distant from Solevu. Messengers 
were told to take their canoes at once 



20 



THE AVE MARIA. 



and seek there the priests of the -new 
religion. Fathers Br^hdret and Favier 
had recently reached Levuka, one of the 
principal towns of Ovalau. The Solevu 
messengers found the two missionaries 
praying in their oratory, kneeling before 
a cross. The sight of the kau-vei-latai was 
sufficient ; there was no doubt in the 
minds of the messengers : this religion 
was the one announced by the celestial 
apparition. In consequence they made no 
inquiries, asked for no information, but 
simply requested that a priest should be 
sent to Solevu. A few days later Father 
Favier went to them, and the whole tribe 
of Solevu embraced Catholicity. 

Since that time, half a century ago, 
Solevu has been a centre of religious 
fervor and zeal. The schools are in a 
flourishing condition, and monthly Com- 
munion is practised regularly, by men and 
women alike. There began, too, the work 
of the native Sisters, who have given 
great consolation to the missionaries. ^"^ 

A few months ago, on the occasion of 
the general retreat of the native catechists 
in the districts of Solevu and Nasavusavu, 
it was decided to erect a memorial of 
this miracle. The handsomest tree in the 
forest, a magnificent g^ant red oak, was 
felled and drawn to the village. Here it 
was fashioned into a fine cross, which was 
planted on the summit of Koroirea. 

Several days later Mgr. Vidal reached 
Solevu on his Confirmation tour; and, 
noticing the cross, again questioned the 
missionaries as to the genuineness of the 
alleged apparition, as notable in many 
respects as that which led to the conver- 
sion of Constantine. 

The Bishop's doubts (if he had enter- 
tained any) were so thoroughly dispelled 
that he preached to the people on the 
miracle, and told them that ''Heaven 
must have particular designs upon you ; 
for God does not lavish without special 
purpose favors so signal and so rare in 
the history of the Church." 



An Unamerican Journal. 



IN a recent issue of the American Journal 
of Politics, the Rev. T. M. Crowley has 
a rather interesting and vigorous paper 
on "Unjust Strictures of American Cath- 
olics." The strictures in question appeared 
in the preceding number of the same 
periodical, in an article by Mr. B. B. Cahoon. 
This gentleman stated and attempted to 
prove that "the instinctive distrust of the 
average American for the Catholic Church 
has not been without reason." Father 
Crowley takes exception to a number of 
Mr. Cahoon' s positions, and not unnaturally 
repels with indignation the charge that 
* ' the sight of a thorough-going American 
priest has been rare. ' ' Mr. Cahoon' s knowl- 
edge of American priests must be excep- 
tionally rare even for a Protestant if he 
has not noticed that the direct contrary of 
his statement is much nearer the truth 
than the statement itself. On the question 
of schools, Father Crowley, himself a 
former pupil of the public schools of New 
Haven, Conn. , vigorously denies that they 
were "fountains of vice" ; but sustains 
the charge of their being "godless," and 
quotes from numerous Protestant authori- 
ties in support of the contention that they 
should not be. And if "godless," they 
certainly were not fountains of virtue. 



*** 



In the same number of ^t. Journal of 
Politics there appears a paper on "Un- 
restricted Immigration Dangerous," in 
which William R. Wood devotes a page 
and a half to that bugbear of A. P. A. -ism, 
the Catholic Church, or, as this writer 
phrases it, ' ' Romanism. ' ' Mr. Wood antici- 
pates the dog-days; and is as rabid in his 
attack on Catholicity, and as thoroughly 
reckless in his charges (quite unsupported 
by even a suggestion of proof )^ as though 
he were writing in the very height of the 
canicular season. The particular malady 
of which he seems to be a sadly afflicted 



THE AVE MARIA. 



21 



victim is ignorance. Whether his igno- 
rance be vincible or invincible, antecedent, 
consequent or concomitant, it is on the 
subject of Catholicity thoroughly and 
unmistakably crass. It takes all sorts of 
people to make a world, of course; but the 
mere existence of some fanatics is a suffi- 
cient affliction to society at large. There 
does not seem to be any valid reason for 
their ventilating their peculiar manias in 
the magazines and reviews. 



Notes and Remarks. 



His Eminence Cardinal Gibbons has given 
to the public an official translation of the 
recent ktter from the Holy Father on the 
School Question. The Sovereign Pontiff 
emphasizes the statement already made that 
the first object of the establishment of the Ap- 
ostolic Legation was to be a public testimony 
of his good- will toward our country; but at 
the same time it was designed as a perpetual 
presence of the Apostolic See with the faith- 
ful of the United States. He then proceeds 
to give his approval to the propositions 
presented by Mgr. Satolli before the Arch- 
bishops of the country assembled in council 
in New York, while sustaining in their full 
vigor the decrees of the Council of Baltimore. 
The Holy Father's confirmatory words are: 
" He [Mg^.Satolli] added, moreover, that these 
decrees, in so far as they contain a general 
rule of action, are faithfully to be observed ; 
and that although the public schools are not 
to be entirely condemned — since cases may 
occur, as the Council [of Baltimore] itself 
had foreseen, in which it is lawful to attend 
them, — still every endeavor should be made 
to multiply Catholic schools, and to bring 
them to perfect equipment." 



We think it extremely doubtful that any 
more genuine or higher class oratory will be 
heard at the World's Columbian Exposition 
than that which is promised for Catholic 
Education Day, September 2. Archbishops 



Ryan and Hennessy and Bourke Cockran 
form a trio whom it would be rather difficult 
to excel even in this country, where orators 
are not quite phenomenal outgrowths, and 
where good speakers are as plentiful as 
huckleberries in the State of Connecticut. 



It is the fashion among non-Catholics to 
contend that the veneration paid to the 
Mother of Our Lord is an "excrescence" of 
modem times. We take pleasure in again 
attracting the attention of such unbelievers 
to the fact that there exists in the Catacomb 
of St. Priscilla in Rome a well-preserved 
fresco of the third century, representing the 
consecration of a young maiden by the Pope. 
In the background is a representation of the 
Blessed Virgin; and to her the aged Pontiff 
is pointing, as if indicating to the young 
girl before him that in imitation of the 
virtues of the Mother of God was to be found 
the way of heavenly peace. After a hundred 
years had elapsed, St. Ambrose was in the 
habit of addressing similar words to the 
consecrated virgins under his spiritual juris- 
diction, holding Mary the Mother before 
them as the model of all excellence and 
helper of Christians. Robert Browning's 
words may fitly be quoted here : 

There is a vision in the heart of each 
Of justice, mercy, wisdom, tenderness 
. To wrong and pain, and knowledge of their cure; 
And there, embodied in a woman's form 
That best transmits them, pure as first received 
Prom God above her to mankind below. 



Among the objects of interest to Catholic 
visitors of the World's Fair the motlel of St. 
Peter's Church in Rome is easily conspicuous. 
It is constructed of wood, and is built on a 
scale of one-sixtieth of the original. The 
wood is covered with a substance which 
gives it the appearance of fine marble; and 
indeed in every particular this reproduction is 
an exact copy of that great edifice in Rome, 
which is so rich both intrinsically and in 
historic associations. The model was begmi 
as far back as the sixteenth century. It has 
been completed for about a hundred years; 
and, owing to the difficulty there would be 
in reproducing it, is valued at an enormous 
sum. It is thirty feet long, fifteen feet wide, 



22 



THE AVE MARIA. 



and fifteen feet high, and located upon the 
Midway Plaisance, where it is constantly 
guarded by tall soldiers, who are, in stature 
and equipment, counterparts of the famous 
Papal Guard. 

At the recent convention of the total 
abstinence societies of the Boston archdio- 
cese a number of resolutions were adopted, 
and among them this very sensible one: 

" While we inculcate total abstinence as an essen- 
tial requisite to membership in our societies, we do 
not endorse temperance as the object of our exist- 
ence, but as a means by the use of which our lives 
may become more pleasing to Almighty God, — 
a means that is ' a necessity for some, good for all, 
and hurtful to none.' " 

There are extremists in every cause, 
however good; and while intemperance is 
undoubtedly a giant evil, it is well to under- 
stand that the whole duty of man is not 
comprised in the virtue of total abstinence. 
Another paragraph, which demonstrates the 
same judgment that formulated these resolu- 
tions, runs: 

"We consider the no-license question one that 
each society should settle for itself, as it is always 
efiFected, more or less, by circumstances of a purely 
local character." 

Enthusiastic advocacy of total abstinence 
in our day is quite intelligible in men zealous 
for the glory of God and the welfare of the 
State; but existing conditions must be taken 
into account, if practical good is to be effected, 
and laudable energy to be utilized instead 
of wasted. 



It is said that a prominent London paper 
recently contained a card from a certain 
Mrs. McBokum expressing her thanks for 
the letters of sympathy received from friends 
"on the dissolution of her marriage." Does 
this portend the introduction of a new 
department in the newspaper of the day? 
The easy-going manners of modern society 
in regard to the marriage relation — when 
divorced persons can be tolerated and treated 
as members of society in good standing — 
have already been productive of great evil. 
It is true that in many instances the coldness 
with which a divorced person is deservedly 
treated serves to act as a restraint upon the 
spread of the evil. But what will become of 
the world if such notices as the above are 



made a feature in public print? It would be 
an evil too terrible to contemplate; and we 
can not believe that a society upon which 
the destinies of a Christian nation rest will 
tolerate any such trifling with the. family 
relations, the foundation of all moral and 
social order. 



The late James A. Sadlier, of Montreal, 
must have been a man of noble character, 
judging from the many tributes paid to his 
memory by the press of Canada. His death 
is mourned not only on account of his 
successful labors for the spread of Catholic 
literature, but for his personal worth. Mr. 
Sadlier was a practical Catholic; and his life, 
while an incentive to those associated with 
him in good deeds, was an edification to 
non-Catholics. His charity was known to 
all, but he performed innumerable acts of 
benevolence of which not even his most 
intimate friends were cognizant. A daily 
attendant at Holy Mass, Mr. Sadlier's whole 
life may be said to have been a preparation 
for death. 

•'It is currently stated, and apparently on good 
authority, that Jules Ferry has changed his views on 
the necessity of religion in education." 

The foregoing paragraph from a generally 
wide-awake and always estimable contempo- 
rary proves that, even as Homer sometimes 
slept, the best of editors is occasionally found 
napping. Jules Ferry, we doubt not, has 
changed his views — ^very radically changed 
them — on the question of religion in educa- 
tion, and on a good many other questions as 
well. He died several months ago. 



The venerable Father Thomas, of the 
Diocese of Detroit, who lately celebrated the 
Golden Jubilee of his elevation to the priest- 
hood, has been pastor of Erie, Mich., for 
thirty-seven years. He was formerly rector 
of Grigny, in the Diocese of Versailles, 
France; but resigned his charge to respond 
to a call for priests to minister to the needs 
of French settlers in the Western States. 
P^re Thomas is still hale and hearty, and 
enjoys the affection of his parishioners and 
the esteem of many non-Catholic acquaint- 
ances. S^ys \h& Michigan Catholic : "Proba- 



THE AVE MARIA. 



23r 



bly no more picturesque and lovable character 
than good old P^re Thomas, as he is 
affectionately called by his congregation, can 
be found in the United States. The soul of 
courtesy and refinement, he is a latter-day 
embodiment of the old French abbS, which 
it is the delight of the French romancer to 
depict. L,'Abb6 Constantin, of Halevy, can 
well be imagined an entity when such proto- 
types as I'Abb^ Thomas exist." 



With our American ideas of liberty and go-a»-you- 
please, it is strange news to hear that in Canadian 
towns and cities the curfew bell warns parents at 
9 o'clock p. m. to call their children under seventeen 
years of age from the street. Although it clashes 
with American notions, it must be confessed that it 
is a very good thing. It is a very bad school for 
children to be on the street at night. This practice 
is the source of many serious troubles for both 
parents and children. It is the time when many evil 
associations are formed, and the way to evil made 
easy. — The "New Record. 

Laudable as would be the custom alluded 
to in the foregoing paragraph, it apparently 
clashes with Canadian notions as well as 
American ones; for it does not exist either 
in Canadian towns or cities, or even in the 
country villages, where it would be most 
practicable. The curfew bell may have sounded 
in the earlier colonial days; but it certainly 
does not peal its warning note in our time, 
either in the English provinces, rn Quebec, or 
in that portion of the maritime provinces 
known as Acadia. For better or worse (in 
this case very probably for worse). Canadians, 
like ourselves, have got beyond this out- 
growth of the feudal system. 



The exercises of the Forty- Ninth Annual 
Commencement of the University of Notre 
Dame, held on Monday and Tuesday of 
last week, were of such a character as to 
reflect much credit on the students and 
faculty, and fitly round out one of the most 
successful years in the history of the insti- 
tution. The attendance was very large, and 
marked by a great number of clergymen. 
Among the distinguished visitors were: 
the Right Rev. Bishop Rademacher, of 
Nashville; the Right Rev. Monsig. Seton, 
D. D., of New Jersey; the Very Rev. J. H. 
Brammer, of the Diocese of Fort Wayne. 



The orations of the graduates were well 
conceived and elegantly expressed, dealing 
with topics timely and appropriate, — setting 
forth the educational, artistic and industrial 
lessons of the World's Fair. Monsig. Seton 
delivered the oration of the day, taking 
for his subject " The Dignity of Labor." 
With characteristic earnestness he dwelt 
upon the truth that labor is honorable, — 
that it was so designed by God, so considered 
by right-thinking minds from the beginning, 
as revealed in the history of mankind ; and 
upon the influence which this maxim exerts 
depends the stability of nations. The oration 
was well received, and made a deep impres- 
sion upon all present. 

« 
« » 

Each recurring Commencement marks 

additional progress in the successful career 

of the University, and establishes still more 

firmly its pre-eminence among the educational 

institutions of the land, — an eloquent tribute 

indeed to the ability and worth of its gifted 

and devoted President, the Rev. Thomas 

E. Walsh, C. S. C. 



Obituary. 

Remember Hum that are in bands, as if you were bound 
with them. Hbb., ziii, 3. 

The following persons are recommended to the 
charitable prayers of our readers : 

Mr. Frederick Richardson, who died some weeks 
ago, at Lake View, Chicago, 111. 

Mr. John Trimble, of Graceville, Minn., whose 
death took place on the 7th ult. 

Mrs. Frances E. Jones, who passed away on the 
l8th of May, in San Francisco, Cal. 

Miss Rose A. Keane, of New York dty, who 
departed this life on the 23d of May. 

Miss Anna Kampen, whose life closed peacefully 
on the 13th ult., in New Orleans, La. 

Mr. William E. Schleimmer, of Clemency, Lux- 
emburg ; Martin j. and Anastasia Costello, Phila- 
delphia, Pa.; Thomas and William Harrigan and 
Patrick CuUen, Newark, N. J. ; Mr. Henry Wilmer 
and Mrs. Bridget Balton, Vincennes, Ind.; Mrs. 
Catherine Brown, Loogootee, Ind. ; Mr. David J. 
ORourke and Edward Moan, San Prandsco, CaL ; 
Miss Ellen Coakley, N. Atlleboro, Mass.; Mi« Mar- 
garet Smith, Mrs. Ellen Dargan, and Mrs. Isabella 
Bree, New Haven, Conn.; Mr. Patrick W. Waldron, 
Boston, Mass. ; Miss Nellie Stevenson, Cleveland, 
Ohio; and Miss Bridget Coffey, Providence, R. I. 

May they rest in peace! 




^:^jy' 



UNDER THE MANTLE OF OUR BLESSED MOTHER. 



* 



The Visitation. 



Royal Children of To-Day. 



BY LAWRENCE MINOT. 

TTTHE living house of God was she,— 
•1* The beauteous house of gold; 
And not till in high heaven we be 
Shall we such light behold. 

She went to see Elizabeth, 

Who held sweet John the Saint. 
"God's Mother," soft her cousin saith— 
Who could the meeting paint 

Between John's mother and the one 
Within whose bosom white 

There shone the splendor of that Sun 
That banishes life's night? 

And these two children live in love, 
As their dear mothers live 

Forever in the realms above, 
(All praise and glory give!) 

And those two children, Jesus sweet, 
And great St. John the grave. 

So often played at Mary's feet, 
And longed all souls to save. 

When we the tabernacle see. 
The house of love and gold, 

May our young hearts enraptured be 
As these two were of old! 



BY EUGENE DAVIS. 




Dr. Johnson wisely said : "He who 
waits to do a great deal of good at once 
will never do anything." 



UROPE has among its 
sovereigns two Kings and 
one Queen who are not yet 
adults. Alexander of Servia 
is sixteen years old ; Al- 
phonso of Spain five; and 
Queen Wilhelmina, of Holland, thirteen. 
In accordance with traditional custom, 
royalties of either sex are supposed to reach 
their majority at eighteen years of age. 
Should they come into possession of a 
throne before that period, they are sover- 
eigns only in name ; for the real power 
is vested during that interval in a regent 
or council of ministers. The only recent 
exception to that rule was Alexander of 
Servia, who, through the instrumentality 
of a coup d'^ktat^ had himself proclaimed 
sole arbiter of the destinies of that little 
kingdom, dispensing thenceforward with 
the services of his guardians. Alphonso 
and Wilhelmina are still in the care and 
under the supervision of their respective 
mothers, Queens Regent Christina and 
Emma. Little Alphonso is being brought 
up in the Catholic faith, Alexander in 
the so-called Orthodox or Gr^k 'creed, 
and Wilhelmina in the Lutheran. 

The Bourbons of Spain, like their cousins 
of France, have been for centuries devoted 



THE AVE MARIA. 



25 



to the Catholic Church. When the great 
revolt against Papal authority, which was 
conceived in the brain of an apostate monk, 
who had as one of his leading adherents 
an English sovereign, shook Christendom 
almost to its foundations, Spain remained 
true and loyal to the See of Peter. The 
Spanish royal family have for generations 
kept the lamp of the old faith burning in 
the shrines of their palaces. Queen Regent 
Christina, widow of the late and mother 
of the present King Alphonso, is an 
Austrian Archduchess, who received an 
excellent Catholic training in her girl- 
hood, and who is now instilling in the 
minds of her children, the two infantas 
and their royal brother, those sound 
religious principles which had been incul- 
cated in her own by the abbes of the 
Vienna court some fifteen or sixteen years 
ago. If Alphonso XIII., on taking in hands 
the reins of power, does not become a 
model Catholic sovereign, it will not 
assuredly be the fault of his mother. He 
is, it is said, a lad of good disposition, but 
of very exuberant spirits — particularly 
so when, arrayed in royal purple, a short 
sword dangling at his tiny heels, he 
receives on state occasions, with side- 
splitting dignity, the grandees of his 
kingdom, and reaches them out his little 
hand to be kissed. 

Queen Wilhelmina is the only surviving 
child of the late William III., of Holland, 
and his second wife, the Princess Emma 
of Waldeck and Pyrmont. Wilhelmina 
was born August, 1880, and succeeded her 
father on the throne ten years afterward. 
Her mother, however, is practically the 
ruler of the country, and will remain so 
till the daughter comes of age. In all the 
official documents, nevertheless, following 
a quaint old Dutch custom, Wilhelmina is 
referred to invariably as "his Majesty, the 
King!" She is a small, delicately-built 
girl, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. On 
certain occasions she wears the national 
costume, which makes her look rather 



old-fashioned; yet her devoted Dutch 
subjects only admire her all the more in it, 
as it appeals to their patriotic sentiments. 
It consists of a gold helmet-like cap, a 
dark skirt, and a gaudy jacket with 
silver fastenings. She has an English 
governess, Miss Saxton Winter; and a 
Dutch superintendent. Miss Van de Poll. 
Queen Wilhelmina spends the summer 
months at the pretty country chAteau of 
Het Loo, a few miles distant from Amster- 
dam, where she amuses herself to her 
heart's content in the big grassy park, 
surrounded with trees, in the centre of 
which is her playhouse, where she receives 
the children of the neighboring gentry. 
Here the Queen and her playmates fill 
the rdles of mothers, looking after their 
respective dolls, or swing in the merry-go- 
rounds, or go boating in light skiffs on a 
miniature lake close by, under the care 
of attendants. 

Wilhelmina takes great delight in 
driving a four-in-hand team of ponies 
through the avenues of the park, and is 
quite an adept in handling the ribbons. 
She is a sweet, affectionate child, but has 
a radically democratic way about her that 
sometimes shocks her colder and more 
aristocratic mother. "I am a child," she 
would say, "just like other children — 
nothing better, nothing worse, — although 
I am a Queen." One day, when the first 
piece of coin bearing her effigy was 
handed her, she danced with delight at 
sight of her own sweet face, and showed 
it about to her playmates, exclaiming, 
"That's me! that's me!" I may add 
that, besides the various accomplishments 
into which she is being initiated by her 
preceptors, she is taught, in the good old 
Dutch fashion, the homely and useful 
arts of cooking and sewing. 

The heir presumptive to the German 
throne is one of the most interesting of 
juvenile royalties, as, should he live, he 
will reign over one of the greatest empires 
of Europe. He was born in the palace of 



26 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Potsdam on May 6, 1882. Just then, and 
for some years subsequently, he was the 
third heir to the imperial purple. Between 
him and it were his father and grandfather, 
the latter being next in succession to the 
then reigning monarch, William I. In a 
very short space of time death stilled the 
hearts of William I. and Frederic III., 
with the result that the boy found him- 
self Crown Prince before he got well out 
of his bib and tucker. 

There is a tradition in the House of 
Hohenzollern that every male member of 
the family must become a soldier from 
the very moment that he has learned to 
walk. The present Crown Prince has 
been no exception to the rule. He has 
been trained from infancy in all the 
branches of military science. Like his great- 
grandsire, William I. , the child donned a 
military uniform at the age of six, and 
served in the army at ten ! He received 
at the hands of his father, on the tenth 
anniversary of his birthday, the commis- 
sion of sub-lieutenant in the ist Foot- 
guards, the crack regiment of the Empire, 
and was at the same time nominated a 
member of the staff of the 2d regiment 
of lyandwehr. 

The Footguards were originally organ- 
ized by the Great Frederic, and their 
ranks were exclusively composed of men 
who were at least seven feet in height, 
belonging to all nationalities, though 
chiefly composed, strange to say, of Irish- 
men. The Footguards of to-day are not 
quite so tall. It was an amusing sight 
to see the little prince shouldering his 
musket in their ranks at Potsdam on 
the 6th of May, 1892, and keeping step 
with them. A smile, it is said, lit up his 
mother's face, as she leaned from the 
balcony of the palace and watched him 
in the rear of the platoon going through 
his drill; while her husband, the Emperor, 
marched in the van. The Crown Prince 
has been attached to this regiment for 
the past year. He drills with the troops 



daily, and takes his turn at the sentry 
box. On the 6th of May, 1893, he was 
promoted to the rank of lieutenant by 
orders of his imperial father. 

The other royal children of Europe 
comprise those of the Prince and Princess 
of Battenberg, the Duke and Duchess of 
Edinburgh and of Connaught, and the 
grandchildren of the King and Queen of 
Greece. Most of the children of the reign- 
ing families of Europe are adults. Among 
them may be mentioned those of Russia, 
Denmark, Sweden and Norway, Italy, 
Austria, and Belgium. Queen Victoria, of 
England, heads the list of royalties as the 
grandmother of over a score of princes 
and princesses, and the great-grandmother 
of several others. 



Good-Night Stories. 



A YOUNG WORKER OF MIRACI^HS. 



All our young folks know, I presume, 
that the working of miracles is one of 
the most common marks of extraordinary 
holiness that justifies the Church in canon- 
izing the saints. In fact, before any person 
is declared to be a saint, it must be estab- 
lished that some miracles at least have 
been wrought either by the candidate in 
his lifetime or through his relics, or by 
his intercession after death. 

Of course there are a great many people 
nowadays who don't believe in iniracles 
at all. Some say there never were such 
happenings; others admit that miracles 
did occur in the time of Our Lord and the 
Apostles, but declare that since then there 
have never been any really miraculous 
events. '*The age of miracl.es is past," 
they repeat with complacency, seeming 
to imagine that their saying so settles 
the matter for good. It does not make 
the slightest difference, however, what 



THE AVE MARIA. 



27 



such persons say or believe about the 
matter, — miracles do happen in our times, 
though perhaps not so often, as in the 
days of the Apostles. They have been 
occurring repeatedly at Our Lady's sanct- 
uary of Lourdes for the past thirty-five 
years ; and no amount of shoulder- 
shrugging, incredulous smiling, cheap 
talk about the hidden forces of nature, or 
senseless denial, can alter the fact. 

This, however, is by the way. What I 
intended telling our young folks about 
was the story of a young Saint whose life 
was somewhat different from most others 
of his age in this, that he had the gift of 
working miracles even when a little boy. 
His festival occurs on the 15th of June; 
and he was not only a saint, but a martyr. 

His name was Vitus, and he was a native 
of Sicily, a large and beautiful island north 
of Italy. His parents were pagans, very 
rich, and occupying a high position in 
society. They provided their little spn 
with a governess, Cresceuce; and a tutor, 
Mode? tus. Now, although Hylas, the father 
of Vitus, was not aware of the fact, both 
the governess and the tutor were fervent 
Christians; and they did not scruple to 
instruct their young charge in the true 
religion rather than in the absurd idolatry 
practised by his parents. Vitus learned so 
rapidly and so well that while still a mere 
lad he could discuss religious questions 
with considerable ability. Hylas remarked 
in the course of time that his son did not 
seem to think much of the pagan deities. 

*'Why are you not satisfied with our 
gods?" he one day asked him. 

"Because," was the reply, "they have 
eyes and don't see, a nose and don't smell, 
ears and don't hear, and hands that they 
can't move." 

Instead of meditating upon the truth of 
his son's words, Hylas rewarded the frank- 
ness of his answer with a pitiless flogging. 
When Vitus found himself alone with his 
tutor, he told Modestus that the blows 
which he had received had not hurt him 



"the least little bit," although they were 
so vigorously given that his mother begged 
Hylas to stop else he would whip the boy 
to death. 

This prodigy strengthened his convic- 
tions as to the truth of the Christian 
religion, and he rejoiced his tutor and 
governess by begging for the privilege of 
baptism. As soon as he received that 
priceless grace, he felt entirely happy; and 
he preserved his baptismal innocence so 
well that God granted him the gift of 
working miracles. 

By the prayers of Vitus, the stone-blind 
recovered their sight, possessed persons 
were delivered from the devils who har- 
assed them, and the sick were cured of all 
sorts of diseases. Very often he averted 
the most menacing dangers simply by 
making the Sign of the Cross. And here 
it may be well to say that the practice 
common among all the first Christians of 
very frequently making this saving sign 
is one that we can not imitate too faith- 
fully. Just at this season particularly, our 
boys would do well to form the habit of 
blessing themselves when going in swim- 
ming. Their doing so may make all the 
difference between an agreeable recreation, 
and a distressing accident from sudden 
cramps, getting into the undertow, over- 
exertion or any other of a hundred causes 
that are assigned to the frequent deaths 
from drowning. 

To return to Vitus. The wonderful cures 
he effected were not unknown to his father; 
but the only effect they produced was to 
harden his heart, and he sternly ordered 
his son to renounce Jesus Christ. 

"Ah! dear father," replied the boy, 
"you know how much I love you, and 
how I try to prove my love; but you surely 
can not wish me to deny my^ 
my Saviour. I wish with m, 
that you knew how great 
He whom you despise. H 
the true God, and He died 
us with His blood." 




28 



THE AVE MARIA. 



"Shut up!" indignantly exclaimed 
Hylas. "Jesus Christ was only a mortal 
man." 

"Father," respectfully rejoined Vitus, 
"listen to me a moment. Jesus did not 
remain in the tomb. At the end of three 
days He arose. He went up to heaven, 
whence He governs the world at the right 
hand of His Father. This is the faith in 
which I wish to live and die." 

Hylas was too angry to reply; but he 
went at once and denounced his son to 
the Proconsul Valerian, a magistrate of 
ferocious instincts. The Proconsul com- 
manded that Vitus should be brought 
before him. On seeing him, he harshly 
demanded: 

"Why don't you sacrifice to the gods 
as Caesar has ordained?" 

Vitus gathered all his courage and 
made answer : 

"In your gods I see the demon; I can 
not, then, honor them, — I honor none but 
the true God, the living God, who made 
heaven and earth, who * redeemed and 
sanctified me, and whom I will serve 
until death." 

Hylas, who was present, expressed a 
wish that his son should be scourged until 
he changed his mind. The scourging was 
given, but Vitus changed neither his mind 
nor his language. Valerian grew tired of 
his obstinacy, and commissioned Hylas to 
take his own way in breaking the spirit 
of his son. But the efibrts of this unnat- 
ural father were all in vain. Of a sudden 
he was stricken with a very dangerous 
disease ; and, although Vitus attended 
him constantly, and even obtained by his 
prayers his perfect cure, the father was 
not appeased, but threatened his son with 
death if he did not sacrifice to the gods 
of Rome. Vitus again refused. 

As God desired to save His young 
servant the anguish of dying by his own 
father's hand. He inspired Modestus with 
the. thought of running away with Vitus 
to Naples. The scheme was carried out; 



and tutor and pupil arrived in the city, 
where the Emperor Diocletian was then 
holding his court. 

Diocletian's son and heir was at the 
point of death, and the Emperor was 
inconsolable at the thought of his coming 
loss, when Vitus succeeded in getting 
access to the sick-chamber, and, stretching 
his hands over the head of the sufiering 
youth, addressed to Heaven a fervent 
prayer. The disease at once disappeared, 
and Diocletian's son arose stronger and 
healthier than he had ever been. 

One would think that so great a favor 
would ensure Diocletian's good-will toward 
Vitus; but no: as soon as he learned that 
the preserver of his boy was a Christian, 
he became furiously angry, and ordered 
all species of torments to be employed 
in breaking the spirit of the dauntless 
Christian youth. 

It was all quite useless. Brought into 
the amphitheatre, Vitus made the Sign of 
the Cross as a raging lion came bounding 
toward him, and the brute at once became 
gentle as a spaniel. While they were 
applying other tortures to the little 
martyr stretched upon the rack, there 
arose a great storm, which so frightened 
both people and Emperor that they fled 
to their homes. 

Vitus arose, and, leaving the amphi- 
theatre, walked along the bank of a river, 
till, reaching a lovely garden, he threw 
himself upon the sward and fell asleep. 
He dreamt of his heavenly home, of angels 
and saints, of Jesus and Mary. And even 
while he slept his dream became a reality; 
and he stood in very truth before the 
throne of God, the martyr's crown encir- 
cling his youthful brow. 

Uncle Austin. 



Children, do not lie — 

Even in your youth : 
If you should but once deceive, 
None who know you will believe 

When you tell the truth. 




HENClFORTH all GENtRATiONS SHALL CALL M£ BLESSED.— St. Luke. i. 48. 



Vol. XXXVII. NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, JULY 8, 1893. 

». 



No. 2. 



[PaUliMltTtirBttaHv. OoTTTlgMi In. D. • B«4n^a&a] 

A Mother's Love. A Laureate of Our Lady. 



BY THE RIGHT REV. J. LANCASTER SPALDING, D. D. 
PROM THE GERMAN OP JOHANN VOGLB. 



/fl 



ROVING youth, with wanderer's staff 

in hand, 
His home regained from journeyings in 

far land. 



All travel-stained, his face browned by the sun. 
From whom shall recognition first be won ? 

His dearest friend he met, entering the town; 
But he looked on him with unmeaning frown. 

Then he moved on, following . the heart's 

sweet lead, 
To greet the maid whose love was life's high 

meed. 

Close by her door she stood, like blooming 

rose; 
He speaks — her lover she no longer knows. 

He turned sore-grieved, and left her standing 

there. 
And wandered farther on — he scarce knew 

where. 

But as it chanced he passed the church door by, 
And as he paused he caught his mother's eye. 

"God's blessing on thee!" — this was all he 

said. 
"My son!" — and on his breast she laid her 

head. 

Whatever changes come, a mother's heart 
Still knows her child, and at his voice will start. 




BY THE REV. R. O. KENNEDY. 



LL generations shall call 
me blessed." That saying of 
our Blessed Lady is not 
only true in a sacred and' 
devotional way, but even in 
an artistic and literary way. It is not 
alone from those ' ' of the household 
of the faith" that she receives worship, 
but even those who are outside bend the 
knee. Heart and imagination are her 
willing handmaids, quite as much as reason 
and soul. Indeed it were strange if it were 
not so. It were truly a thing to be g^eved 
over if the human heart were not capti- 
vated by the divinest being of all the 
creatures made by God, by the divinest 
life in all the human lives ever lived, and 
by the divinest purpose and end ever 
destined for a mere creature. 

If high aims, if wonderful endowments, 
if a peerless virtue and an immaculate 
life be objects of supreme reverence and 
admiration to the human mind, then it 
is not to be wondered at that artists and 
sculptors and painters, that poets and 
orators and romancists, should find inspira- 
tion and ideal beauty and grace here, and 
speak in tones of enravishment and ecstasy 
just as thrilling and unrestrained as the 



30 



THE AVE MARIA, 



theologians and canonized saints of the 
Church. As her Son is the Son of man, 
and in a sense the only man that has 
been, the only perfect man ; so she, the 
Mother, might be called the .daughter of 
woman, the only woman that has been, 
the only perfect woman. Milton says of 
the first woman : 

"The fairest of her daughters, Eve!" 
suggesting thereby that none of woman- 
kind was ever like to the first woman in 
extraordinary and unspeakble beauty. And 
of Adam, Philo, a Jewish writer, says: "It 
seems to me that the first man who trod 
this earth, the prince of all our race, must 
have been the most gloriously endowed, 
both as to mind and to outward appear- 
ance, and to have far and away exceeded 
all who came after him in the gifts of 
mind and body." 

We know that Our Lord was infinitely 
beyond Adam, and we know that Our Lady 
was indefinitely beyond Eve. The wonder 
therefore is not that Mary is spoken of 
in terms which sound like extravagance 
or exaggeration; but the wonder is that 
the human intellect, once it devotes itself 
to survey her superhuman and all but 
inconceivable endowments, should at all 
venture to attempt her praise. But as the 
lark, struck by the morning sun, can not 
help but chaunt its lay; so the dullest mind 
can not help admiring, and the mutest 
tongue can not help exalting, the wonder- 
ful graces and beauty of her to whom *'He 
that is mighty hath done great things. ' ' 

"Ave Maria ! blessed Maid ! " 
wrote Keble, the old and cherished friend 
and colleague of Cardinal Newman, while 
the latter was still within the Protestant 
Church; and so many another. Keble's 
appreciation of the "blessed Maid" 
speaks more to us of his own beautiful 
soul than perhaps volumes could do. It is 
a test, in its own way, by which we judge. 
And one of the happy, exceedingly happy, 
things that seem to pass over the minds 
of those who have not known the Blessed 



Virgin from their infancy as Catholics are 
privileged to know her, is the newness of 
Mary's protection as Queen of Heaven, 
and her love as Mother of all whom her 
Son has redeemed. 

It is said of Mr. Aubrey de Vere — one 
of the latest, but by no means one of 
the least, of Holy Mary's laureates, and 
whose work, "Ancilla Domini," we wish 
to bring before Our Lady's clients, — that 
while sojourning in the Eternal City 
after his conversion, and having been 
often received in private audience by the 
late Pope Pius IX., of holy memory, the 
poet was urged by the Pope of the Immac- 
ulate Conception to dedicate some of his 
great powers to the honor of the Mother 
of God. The volume by our side — a work 
remarkable for its strict theological bear- 
ing as much as for its poetic inspiration 
— was, it is said, the issue of that entreaty. 

In approaching this work, the "Ancilla 
Domini" (Handmaid of the Lord), we 
must bear in mind the idea of the Holy 
Virgin as it was in the poet's mind. 

I. Mary is a necessity in theology. 
Thus: there were several heresies regard- 
ing the sacred mystery of the Incarnation; 
and until our Blessed Lady was (if it 
may be so said) called in evidence, the 
truth of the dogma and the falsity of the 
heretical teaching could not be conclu- 
sively established. For instance, some in 
the very early ages taught that the adorable 
flesh of Our Lord was not real: that it 
was merely assumed in appearance, just 
as the angels that called upon Adam 
seemed to be men. What would follow 
from that would be that Our Lord on 
Gooid- Friday only seemed to die : that 
there was no real death, consequently no 
real sacrifice ; that there was no real 
consumption of the Victim in the sacred 
burial. For an appearance of flesh, inasmuch 
as it could not really die, could not there- 
fore really be buried, could not therefore 
really arise from the dead. "And if Christ 
be not really arisen," according to St. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



31 



Paul, ** we are of all men the most foolish." 
Now, we bring to disprove that heresy 
the simple fact that Our Lord was born 
of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The flesh of 
any child born of its mother might as 
well be looked upon as fictitious or pre- 
tended as the flesh of our Divine Lord ; and 
if the flesh of children born of mothers 
be real, then so is our Divine Lord's. 
With regard to several other heresies — 
as, for instance again, the oneness of 
person in our Divine Lord ; that is to 
say that He is not a human person as 
well as a divine person, — it is the same. 
Mary is thus a necessity in theology. 

Cardinal Newman says: "Mere Protes- 
tants have seldom the idea of God and man 
in one person. They speak in a dreamy, 
shadowy way of Christ's Divinity. . . . 
They will tell you at once that the subject 
is not to be inquired into ; for that it is 
impossible to inquire into it at all without 
being subtle and technical. . . . Now, if you 
would witness against these unchristian 
opinions ; if you would bring out, dis- 
tinctly and beyond mistake and evasion, 
the simple idea of the Catholic Church 
that God is man, could you do it better 
than by laying down in St. John's words 
that God became man? And could you 
again express this more emphatically and 
unequivocally than by declaring that 
He was born as man, or that He had a 
mother? The world shrinks from con- 
fessing that God is the Son of Mary. It 
shrinks; for it is confronted with a severe 
fact never marry without your 
consent, — you've been that good to me. 
And," added Maggie, timidly, "if Susanna 
*goes on' about it, will you speak to her? 
She's been a good friend; and if she goes 
against us, we shouldn't be very happy." 

"She will not go against you, I am 
sure," said Bernice. "And, besides, you 
and Jake must consider nothing now but 
how to make yourselves as good and con- 
tented as possible. You must not mind if 
the whole world is against you." 

"Nobody can say a bad word of Jake," 
said Maggie, warmly. ' * He's sober and — ' ' 

"Since you believe in him, that is 
enough," Bernice answered, with a sigh. 
She had once believed too, with all her 
mind, that Giles was a tower of strength. 
She believed in him still, but not st) 
unreservedly. 

"Jake is the best man living," Maggie 
went on, vehemently ; "and Susanna's 
mistaken if — " 

"There is no 'if,' " said Bernice, gently. 
" The love that casts out all fear or doubt 
is the best. Tell Jake I congratulate you, 
and bring him to see me when you can." 

Maggie blushed again, and tears filled 
her eyes. 

"I have told Jake how good you have 
been to me. I was afraid you'd scold — " 

"Life is hard enough, Maggie; so I 
never scold." 

Maggie went out, genuinely grateful. 
At that moment she wanted sympathy 
above all things, and she had found it in 
Bernice' s voice and eyes even more than 
in her words. 

Bernice sat at the window, heavy-hearted 
and downcast. She had enjoyed the walk 
with Giles Carton, but it had not dissi- 
pated the effect of James Ward's strange 
words. Ward might be mad; she did not 
know. He had never shown any sign of 
madness, though she had heard people 
say that he was eccentric. She thought of 
Giles again. How happy Maggie was to 



be able to trust this Jake, uneducated, 
rough, no doubt vulgar, as she did, and to 
fear nothing more terrible than her scold- 
ing or Susanna's opposition! 

Bernice felt utterly lonely. Everybody, 
except Giles, had interests entirely apart 
from her own. Her sisters had little in 
common with her now. Lady Tyrrell — she 
was sufiiciently keen to know this and to 
tolerate it — was very selfish. Her father, in 
spite of a thousand worldly ways, had been 
very kind to her. Conway was almost a 
stranger, after all. Mrs. Van Krupper — all 
the friends and neighbors at Swansmere 
were interested in many things, and in her 
only incidentally. She had a great longing 
to be first with somebody; so that the 
world 'around her might shift and change 
if it would, and she still hold her place 
supreme in one heart. 

With her father she had been always 
"the little one,"— the last. He bad not 
often been very tender to her ; but at 
times he had told her many passages of 
his early life, and talked of the days when 
he and her mother had been unspoiled 
by the influence of a worldly life. She 
thought over all these things, and her 
father rose before her surrounded by a 
light of ineffable love. Her thoughts 
went back to Giles, Yes, he was good, if 
he had not dared to be courageous; and 
he. placed \i&r first. That was a great deaj. 
Then the thought of her father came 
between her and Giles. What mystery 
was this about his death? Could there 
be truth in that man's terrible words? 
And what ground did Lady Tyrrell's 
suspicion have? 

The picture of Lady Tyrrell at the 
telephone crossed her mind ; but she did 
not smile, — she wondered how she could 
ever have smiled. After all, she thought, 
there is only God — only God. She went up 
to her room. She took Amiel's "Journal." 
She had liked it all very much; now 
she could see nothing but uncertainty 
in the words of a man who had read 



THE AVE MARIA. 



36 



Schopenhauer and doubted all forms of 
belief. She put down the book. She read 
Tennyson's **Two Voices." There was no 
comfort there. She wanted to lose herself 
in her books. She wanted the comfort of 
forgetful ness. There was only God, after 
all ; but God seemed so far, so far away. 
If He were human, He would be nearer. 
If He had a heart; if He were not so 
impartial, so distant, — for God had always 
seemed to her a mighty Being high in 
heaven. She turned again to her books ; 
there was the "Rubdiydt of Omar Khay- 
ydm." Her eyes caught the lines: 
"Oh, if my soul can fling his dust aside, 

And naked on the air of heaven ride, 

Isn't not a shame, isn't not a shame for him 

So long in this clay suburb to abide ? 

" One moment in annihilation's waste, 
One moment of the well of life to taste, — 

The stars are setting, and the caravan 
Starts for the Dawn of Nothing — oh, make haste! " 

She closed the book with a shudder. 
This was the utterance of an oracle which 
so many of her friends revered. There 
were only terror and black night here. 
Speculations, abstractions, she did not 
want now. She wanted an all-loving, all- 
comprehending heart. The God of her 
girlhood was so far off; she had been 
taught to respect, not to love Him. She 
remembered the little picture of the Mother 
she had seen that very day in Willie 
Ward's hands. 

"O Mother," she said, "thy Son must 
have a Heart that understands, that loves 
me as I am! Ask It to console mine." 

She sank down beside a chair; and there 
she knelt weeping, until Lady Tyrrell 
came in and aroused her. 

Lady Tyrrell was furious for a time 
over the position in which she had put 
herself. She had actually abused Giles 
Carton in the most outrageous manner, 
and asked him to call. She might explain 
that she had intended neither the abuse 
nor the invitation for him. This would 
make her appear even more ridiculous. She 
might say that she was "not at home," if 



Giles should call; but she could not oblige 
Bern ice to say so, too. Besides, some 
explanation must be made. 

Lady Tyrrell went over in her mind 
her objections to Giles. She did not like 
him, in the first place, because she had 
never liked his father; and she believed 
firmly that the Colonel had in some way 
been concerned in the Major's death. She 
had always been prejudiced against the 
Colonel, and it was easy to believe this: 
many of Lady Tyrrell's intuitions were 
merely prejudices. She liked Conway; his 
frankness attracted her; and, besides, she 
knew that he was one of the owners of 
the money on which the prosperity of 
both the Major and the Colonel had been 
built. She had never been sure of the finan- 
cial position of the Colonel ; she had been 
the Major's confidante in the transaction 
which had enabled him to turn the Bank 
of England notes into property less easily 
traced, and she had not lost by that trans- 
action. If Edward Conway should marry 
Bernice, there would be no ugly questions 
asked. If Giles Carton should be the fort- 
unate man, Conway and his sister might 
at any time discover the secret ( Lady 
Tyrrell, who was not really dishonest, felt 
that she might be bound to tell it to Con- 
way); and both Giles and Bernice might 
be left penniless. Besides, if Ward, whom 
Lady Tyrrell believed to be ridiculously 
conscientious, were to find out the truth, 
there would be no escape. 

Lady Tyrrell knew of Ward's connection 
with the buried money, of his scruples, 
and of the notes he held. Whether they 
were signed by the Colonel or the Major, 
or by both, she did not know. To her there 
seemed only one way of avoiding a scandal, 
in which her name might be mentioned, 
and saving the property for Bernice; this 
was to get rid of Giles, and arrange a 
marriage between her and Conway. 

She sent for her favorite milk punch, 
and thought. If Giles should come, she 
would see him and make a bold stroke. 



36 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Even the absurd incident of the telephone 
might be turned to account, if she could 
have the tact to do it. She would trust, as 
she had often done before, to the inspira- 
tion of the moment. She had found people 
less clever than she was in many crises; 
and she resolved to risk something on her 
own cleverness, if he should come. And 
she was sure he would come. 

Fortunately, Giles had not caught dis- 
tinctly all that Lady Tyrrell had said to 
him over the electric wire. He gathered 
that she wanted to see him — that was all. 
After he had heard his father's words, he 
had soothed him as well as he could. The 
Colonel had sunk into a sort of stupor; 
then Giles left him. He did not believe 
what his father had said; and yet there 
might be some truth in it. Old friends had 
quarrelled before in the heat of passion. If 
it were true, there could be no more joy 
on earth for him. If it were true, Bernice 
and he must always be separate. He was 
restless. Only the inexperienced imagine 
that in moments of mental agony little 
things are forgotten. A message from 
Tooker, the grocer, reminded him that a 
commission from Lady Tyrrell remained 
unfulfilled. He heard this with relief ; he 
was glad of the trifle. He could not think; 
he was mentally stunned. The scene 
between his father and himself took a 
strange air of unreality. He went almost 
mechanically down to Tooker' s. Anything 
was a relief to him now. He must, if 
possible, avoid thinking for a while. One 
thing was certain: his father was in a 
wretched state of mind, and it was his 
duty to alleviate it. He concluded that he 
might as well respond to Lady Tyrrell's 
message at once, and about three o'clock 
he walked to Major Conway's house. 

The lawn blazed with geraniums, their 
scarlet intensified by the soft, velvety 
green sod. The house, with its wide 
verandas, and fluttering awnings in 
white and scarlet, looked cool and bright. 
He knew that Bernice was there, and yet 



he walked up the wide path with a heavy 
heart, and sighed as he rang the bell. 

Lady Tyrrell came down almost as 
soon as Maggie had gone up to give his 
name. He bowed as she entered, and she 
returned his salutation coldly. 

"I came in answer to youf message. 
There was such a noise while you were 
speaking that I did not hear why you 
wanted to see me." 

Lady Tyrrell was relieved. There was 
no smile in his eyes or on his lips. 

"Will you sit down? Shall I have some 
tea brought in — real tea, Mr. Carton, — 
or perhaps I ought to call you Father 
Carton?" 

"No," said Giles, blushing a little. 
"That is past, and it is too early for tea." 

He did not sit down: he stood, with 
his hat in his hand, looking over Lady 
Tyrrell's head at the blaze of scarlet on 
the lawn. There was a chill in the air; he 
had felt it the moment Lady Tyrrell 
entered. 

"You were kind to come so soon," 
she said. "Perhaps I have overrated the 
importance of what I have to say to you. 
It is this only," she lowered her voice, 
but spoke very distinctly: "For the sake of 
appearances, it might be wise not to think 
of renewing your — your engagement with 
Bernice — I think I heard that you were 
engaged to her, — until the rumors about 
her father's death have died out" 

Giles met her glance squarely, but the 
color left his face. 

"What ruriiors?" he asked, but his 
voice trembled slightly. 

"I need say no more; but you perceive 
that my position is delicate — " 

"And this is the reason why you made 
such an exhibition of yourself in the 
street to-day when I was walking with 
Bernice?" he asked, scornfully. "I assure 
you that, if there be a mystery, it shall be 
cleared up before I see your niece again." 

"That is all I ask," answered Lady 
Tyrrell, coldly. • 



THE AVE MARIA. 



37 



He bowed, took his hat, and left the room. 
Conway, passing in, having f>osted his 
letters, was struck by the look of bitter 
agony on Giles' face as he descended the 
steps. Another man might not have done 
what Edward Conway did. It was a 
question of impulse, but impulse is often 
the result of habit and character. Conway 
had never learned to fear either ridicule 
or rebuff when it was a question of help- 
ing a fellow-creature ; he had lived so 
much alone. He stopped and held out 
his hand. 

"Has anything happened, Mr. Carton?" 

"What should have happened? Oh" — 
he lost the cool air he had assumed, — "I 
will ask you a question! I have just left 
Lady Tyrrell. Have you heard any rumor 
connecting my father's name with the 
cause of Major Conway's death?" 

It was out, and Giles regretted it the 
instant he had spoken. 

"No," Conway said. The scene in 
the grove flashed before him. Giles saw 
the reservation in his face as he turned 
away. 

"Thank you!" Giles replied, lifting his 
hat "But have you nothing more to 
say?" he added, hesitating. 

"Nothing; but I promise you, Mr. 
Carton," he said, "to have something 
more to say this evening — and to make 
you a happier man." 

"No power on earth can do that," 
answered Giles. "There is no human 
creature in all the world more wretched 
than I am at this moment I beg pardon! 
I wish I had not spoken." 

Conway turned, and walked down the 
steps with him. 

"You would not have spoken if you 
had not an impulse to trust me," said 
Conway. 

"I do not usually speak in this way, — 
it was hardly a gentlemanly thing to 
do; but I am suffering, I must admit it. 
I feel like a fool, Mr. Conway." 



"As I forced this confidence from you, 
let me go further. I hardly think you will 
accuse me of idle curiosity." 

Giles shook his head. The two young 
men paused at the foot of the steps. Giles 
noted the blaze of scarlet about him, the 
soft green, the glittering spray of the 
fountain, and the hot sunshine over all. 
They were ever afterward associated in 
his mind with the suffering of the time. 

"That can not be," Giles answered, 
sadly. "I understand very well that you 
mean to comfort me; I understand, too, 
that you know what is upon my mind; 
and it confirms me in the knowledge 
that all the world will soon — " 

"Do not fear. I have found a clue to 
the causes of Major Conway's death. 
Wait till to-night" Conway drew a thin 
gold cross from his waistcoat jx)cket 
"This is the clue. I have discovered 
enough to be aware that there was no 
murder committed." 

"Murder!" whispered Giles, and his 
face grew livid as he uttered the word. 
"Murder!" The horrible memory flashed 
upon him; his father had confessed the 
deed, and he was the son of a murderer. 
He grasped Conway's arm tight "Tell 
me this," he said: "do you believe that 
Major Conway was thrown from the 
bank?" 

"I do." 

"My God!" Giles covered his eyes 
with his right hand as if to shut out 
the light 

"And you will follow the clue?" 

"Most certainly." 

Giles nodded, and walked down the 
path. Cold perspiration covered his fore- 
head ; his hands were clammy. He prayed 
with all his might that the cup might 
pass from him. He must hurry home, to 
persuade his father to leave Swansraere at 
once! Conway looked after him; — he was 
certain that Colonel Carton had pushed 
the Major from the bank. 



(To b« eonUnued.) 



38 



THE AVE MARIA 



Memories of Hawaii. 



BY CHARI,BS WARREN STODDARD. 



II. — "In a Kingdom by the Sea." 

AH, here it is ! — my dingy note-book, 
somewhat mildewed, in memory of 
the humidity that prevails the whole year 
round in the Island Kingdom. Let me 
give you a few "elegant extracts" that 
are perfectly reliable, since they were 
written on the spot. The notes say: 

When the steamship Australia left us 
for Sydney, the town relapsed into the 
tranquil monotony of tropical life. There 
is but one event whose regular recurrence 
wakes us at intervals from our social 
repose, and that is a doubled-barrelled one. 
The arrival of the steamer from the 
colonies rouses us to activity. The mails 
for America and Europe must be made 
up, and we are enthusiastic correspondents. 
The advent of the steamer from the 
coast a week later is a climax. We get 
our arms full of letters, papers and maga- 
zines. We look for familiar faces among 
the passengers; and we speculate as to the 
character and quality of the stranger who 
lies over one trip in order to visit the 
volcano, or to stretch his legs and languish 
in the perpetual summer of the isles. 

I remember when the islanders were 
wont to look for a sail with all the 
picturesque anxiety of Mr. Enoch Arden, 
deceased : 

"The blaze upon the waters to the east; 
The blaze upon the island overhead; 
The blaze upon the waters to the west; 
Then the great stars that globed themselves in 

heaven, 
The hoUower-bellowing ocean, and again 
The scarlet shafts of sunrise — but no sail." 

In those days we used to go down to 
the dock and hang about it with lingering 
farewells. We watched the barks as they 
spread their white wings beyond the reef, 
listening to the doleful ditties of the sailor 



boys as they trimmed sail and headed for 
the sea. We made a day of it then; we 
are. doing well if we make an hour of it 
now. A time-table is a great convenience, 
but it is death to sentiment; and too 
many strangers have spoiled the beauty of 
this pastoral seclusion. In the old days a 
guest was a godsend. The freedom of the 
city was granted him; he was welcomed 
at every threshold, and before he had 
ceased to be a novelty he had measured 
the heights and sounded the depths of 
social life in the tropics. He knew it 
all — from a prayer- meeting to a picnic; 
and when at last he went out from us 
with the land-breeze and the flush of the 
after-glow, he bore with him the unani- 
mous Aloha, of the King's Own, a calabash 
full of photographs, a brace of sandal- wood 
canoes, and a grass house just big enough 
to be troublesome, but a perpetual reminder 
of the delights that were dead to him. 

Behold the shocking consequences Of 
the reciprocity treaty ! The tourist drops 
in suddenly, because it is so easy to do it 
nowadays. Nobody is prepared to receive 
him, for his arrival is unexpected. The 
family has increased, and the house is full 
to overflowing. There is, however, an hotel, 
and thither he betakes himself, and passes 
his days in a fragrant seclusion, full of 
wonderment at the astonishing frequency 
of the showers, for it is our winter, our wet 
season; it has been raining, off and on, for 
the past ten days; it is raining now, in 
short, sharp gusts, that play for a moment 
upon the eaves like a garden-hose, and 
then stop short on the edge of a flash of 
sunshine. I suppose it used to rain in the 
same fashion before the treaty; but since 
certain politicians attribute every evil to 
the establishment of reciprocity, we are 
perfectly willing to acquiesce for the sake 
of prolonging that peace which has been 
the one golden bond between us. The 
stranger guest is, I fear, beginning to be 
looked upon as an intruder; yet he con- 
tinues to flock in and settle all over the 



IHL AVL MAKIA. 



39 



place, eating us out of house and home. 
Where are the cots with love in them 
which I once knew? the bachelor bunga- 
lows with a sideboard, and the spruce 
young fellows that inhabited them? Gone! 
gone in their youth and beauty, — scattered 
in the wind before the awful march of the 
matrimonial monop>oly. 

I n the good old days these bachelor clerks 
were satisfied with a banana patch, two 
rooms, and a handmaiden, whose fluttering 
garments brightened as they took their 
flight. Now nothing short of an avenue 
of royal palms, leading up to a roomy 
dwelling, where the young wife is cooing 
to her twins, is considered good form. He 
was right, that poet who was almost con- 
stantly overcome by a combination of shirt 
collar and emotion, when he gaily shook 
his wife and cried: "'Tis sweet to hear the 
watchdog's honest bark." But when the dog 
is your neighbor's private police, and his 
every utterance seems to warn you to keep 
off the grass, I beat my breast and mutter: 
'Can it be possible that iu a brief score of 
years such changes can be wrought?' 

One would now hardly recognize the 
town of Honolulu. It has grown past 
belief. The plains — a wide stretch of 
powdered desert, where the wind spun 
dust-columns as high as a shot-tower, and 
whisked them off to sea with their necks 
twisted — have been planted and watered 
until they blossom like the rose. Streets, 
houses, lawns, possess it wholly. Its 
climate is much thought of by those who 
reside there, or go thither to pass a portion 
of the year for the sake of change. The 
business quarter of the town is being 
rebuilt and its boundaries extended. There 
is a new palace ; the Government House 
is an old-established institution. Many 
elegant private residences beautify the 
suburbs. The streets are thronged with one- 
horse expresses — two-seated conveyances 
that go up and down, seeking custom, 
like the hansoms in London and the 
carriages en the Continent. They are 



driven by whites, Kanakas or coolies; and, 
though there are two hundred or more of 
them, their profits are considerable. 

The equestrian coolie is a feature in 
the new life in Hawaii. He rides like 
Jack ashore and drives by accident Run- 
aways are of almost daily occurrence; 
though the damage done is very slight, 
taking into consideration the narrowness 
and brevity of the thoroughfares. The 
coolie driver is never happier than when 
running his chances with a wahine pas- 
senger, toward whom he can at intervals 
cast an amorous eye. The chances are 
great indeed ; for, between the Scylla with 
the bit in his mouth and the Charybdis 
on the back seat, he not infrequently 
goes to smash. Your Kanaka whip is 
immensely amusing. He apparently passes 
his life on wheels for mere pleasure. 
With him the weather is no object : he is 
amphibious. Lack of patronage can not 
depress him ; he drifts about the streets 
with a perpetual smile on his dusky 
features, and shows more ivory in a 
minute than could be extracted by 
machinery in a month. 

I had an experience with a couple of 
these jolly fellows lately. I was at a ball 
given to a Russian Admiral. The band of 
the flagship and the musical Hawaiians, 
under the direction of Mr. Berger, were 
stationed in the kiosk of the hotel garden 
and in the dining-saloon, which was for 
the time being converted into a ball- 
room. The bands answered one another 
at the same moment; and when I had 
grown weary of listening to a separate 
strain with each delighted ear, I concluded 
to wend my w^y up the valley to my 
secluded home. I suppose I might better 
be iu a monastery, and perhaps should 
be; for my bungalow is haunted by what 
the irreverent Ingersoll would call **the 
aristocracy of the air." Between me and 
the little world lies the cemetery. I might 
cast a biscuit from the veranda upon the 
graves of the three recent suicides, did 



40 



THE AVE MARIA 



not myriads of minute ants walk oflf 
with the ammunition before I am able to 
take aim. There is not a quainter, ijiore 
unique, less fleshly establishment in the 
whole kingdom. The garden has grown 
to seed , from masses of rank weeds spring 
wands of aesthetic lilies. 

There it goes again — the rain beating 
upon the roof like a gross of tack- 
hammers ! Well, it was to this abode, 
known to me and mine as ' ' Spook Hall, ' ' 
that I proposed returning at the midnight 
hour. The approach from the street — 
Nuuanu Avenue, a mile and a quarter 
from town — is through an Indigo jungle. 
On the one hand lies the solemn city of 
the dead; on the other, lawn tennis and a 
glimpse of the distant sea. I hailed an 
express, and desired to be driven from the 
gay throng into the valley of the shadow. 
The Kanaka driver debated a moment, 
and then said that the music, which was 
making the welkin ring from kiosk and 
dining-hall, was so good that he could 
not but enjoy it, and therefore advised my 
engaging some other express than his. I 
like music myself — one piece at a time, — 
and left him to the enjoyment of the 
mixture. A little farther up Hotel Street 
was another of his tribe, likewise a 
Kanaka; a combination of Strauss and 
Wagner had lulled him to a deep sleep. I 
woke him, after a gymnastic which left 
me pale and breathless. I said to him — 
it was now on the stroke of midnight: 
*' What is the fare to the cemetery? " He 
looked at me like one who knew not if 
he were dreaming or awake. I repeated 
the question, and wrung from him a 
response. * * Fifty cents each way. ' ' I sprang 
into the vehicle, and in a sepulchral 
whisper said: "I wish to stop there." 
The time that scared Kanaka made up 
the valley road is the best on record. A 
policeman patrols in the vicinity of the 
cemetery; he was awake and watching 
the moon. My driver drew up in the 
teeth of the officer and refused to budge 



an inch. I paid him, and alighted; for 
the white stones of the graveyard were 
landmark enough for me; and I was sure 
that both driver and officer were satisfied 
that I was some unsh rived ghost on my 
way back to my grave. We know each 
other better now^that officer and I, when 
it is too late, for the ball season is over, 
and I find solitude so sweet a substitute. 

Would you believe it, the population 
has increased so of late that the market is 
actually running short? We have been a 
whole week without butter, not one spread 
of it to be had for love or money. Rents, 
provision, and servants' hire have gone up. 
Meat that was six cents per pound is now 
fifteen. The prices of other necessaries of 
life have risen in proportion. Doubtless 
the treaty has something to do with the 
present condition of affairs. Through it 
business is reviving. We are building, 
cultivating, increasing and multiplying in 
all sorts of ways. We are already sending 
you more than two millions of dollars per 
annum in excess of what we were sending 
before the treaty, and it is to you that we 
must look for the wherewithal to meet 
the constantly-increasing demands of the 
market. Meanwhile we are leading the 
most placid of lives. It is true our joys are 
damped at intervals by passing showers. 
Some of them are like bursts of indigna- 
tion; but they are as brief as frequent, 
and affi^rd us almost the only topic for 
conversation between steamer days. 

The only feature of Hawaiian life which 
I find unchanged is the observance of 
Sunday. A Sabbath silence possesses the 
land. Life is at its lowest ebb. It is as if 
the tide of human affairs were out, and 
the community were patiently and resign- 
edly awaiting its return. Everything is 
in a state of pious suspense. The jangle of 
church-going bells, the jogging to and fro 
of members on their way to "meeting" 
and back again, and then down again, 
three or four times in a day, soine of them ; 
the carriages gathered about the church 



THE AVE MARIA. 



41 



door; the organ music floating through 
the open windows; the closed shops; the 
family groups on the verandas, looking 
at the more profane who venture to drive 
out toward evening, — all this, with its 
pronounced Protestant missionary flavor, 
reminds one of the olden time, when I 
found it so hard to get through the 
'* Sabbath" without breaking it, in order to 
let in a breath of fresh and invigorating air. 

In the dusk the song of praise ascends 
from many quarters of the town. Sweet 
young voices chime in the spirited melo- 
dies of Messrs. Moody and Sankey, and 
the prolonged droning of the melodeon 
lends additional solemnity to this holy 
hour. It may be that some inspired coolie 
twangs his heartrending lute in ecstasy 
on the shore of a kalopatch over the way; 
but he is not a church member, and his 
secular sonnets, addressed to whom they 
may concern, must be endured, along with 
the feline voicings which respond nightly 
to the lamentations of the unimagined 
nightingale. This is a serious commu- 
nity. Propriety spends the day between 
church and home; impropriety goes out 
of town for a bit of shooting; the middle 
course is to sit on the hotel veranda, open 
to conviction, patiently awaiting some 
convulsion of nature which may inspire 
something like an emotion. 

The Rev. Mr. Blank, a professional 
Protestant revivalist, was the Lion of 
Honolulu for a season. His prayer-meet- 
ings were more popular than juvenile 
parties; in fact, dancing was suspended 
in some localities until the revival season 
was closed. It is related that at one of the 
meetings, where open confessions were in 
order, a youngster of twelve years arose 
and stated that he had found Christ on 
the 17th instant; that his happiness was 
inexpressible; that it would be unalloyed 
but for the regp-ets he must ever feel in 
consequence of having found Him so late. 
"Oh, those wasted years!" he cried in 
agony, and sobbed himself to sleep on the 



back of the bench in front of him. Children 
of five years rose to the occasion, and the 
mouths of the babes and sucklings were 
divided b^ween piety and pot. 

It is pouring like hot shot on the roof; 
yet overhead the sky is a brilliant blue. 
I wonder at this local phenomenon; and, 
looking out of my mauka window, the 
one toward the mountain, I see a great 
black cloud hanging on the breast of the 
cliffs up the valley; that cloud is as leaky 
as a sieve. The rain is creeping down the 
golden stair of sunbeams at an angle of 
thirty-seven and a half degrees, and beat- 
ing a wild tattoo upon my shingles. Yet 
the grass on the other side of the fence 
is as dry as a bit of green baize. Now, 
if the rain falls alike upon the just and 
the unjust, please name the politics of the 
fellow over in that dry patch. 

(To be con tinned.) 



Ilaria. 

BY BLIZA ALLBN STAUU 

yp^ IPE in her womanly beauty, 
lY Noble in womanly grace; 
H'^ Sweetness of human affection 
Softening the awe of her face. 

Crowned with forget-me-nots only; 

Nostrils unstirred by a breath; 
Holy, majestic her slumber; 

Thus she lies, pillowed, in death. 

Type of fidelity, sleepless, 

Lies the lithe hound at her feet; 
Mantle and tunic still guarding 

Modesty, high and discreet. 

Thus delta Quercia has sculptured 
Italy's daughter, of fame 

Worthy of Lucca's cathedral. 
Worthy of race and of name. 

And, as the ages roll onward, 
Pilgrims still pause in the gloom, 

Each a forget-me-not bearing, 
At heart, from liana's tomb. 



42 



THE AVE MARIA. 



At Last. 



BY MAGDALEN ROCK. 



I. 

IT was a hot summer day. The cattle in 
the fields sought the coolest spot in the 
pasture ground; the daisies in the same 
pastures were parched ; and the haymakers 
in the meadows, through which the Great 
Northern Railway runs, stopped their toil 
gladly enough to look after the Scotch 
Express as it dashed along. Inside a first- 
class compartment of the train a passenger 
looked out longingly on the meadows and 
fields. It might be hot there also, but the 
heat could scarcely be so unbearable as it 
was within the whirling carriage. 

She was a young girl scarcely nineteen 
years of age, with a pale, thoughtful face, 
and eyes that would attract notice even in 
a crowd. They had done more than attract 
the notice of Mrs. Thornton, housekeeper 
of Sir Charles Darrell, of Darrell Court. 
Twenty years previously she had seen eyes 
of just the same peculiar hue, and she 
sighed as she turned away her gaze from 
the girl's face. 

"Are you tired. Miss Miriam?" the 
third lady of the party asked ; and the girl 
turned from the window with a smile. 

"A little." 
. "Well, Grantham is not far oflf now. 
Another half hour and — ' ' 

Mrs. Nesbit never completed her sen- 
tence. There was a sudden, fierce, rocking 
motion of the carriage; Mrs. Thornton fell 
forward on the "seat occupied by her two 
travelling companions, and before a word 
could be spoken the entire train lay, a 
wrecked mass, on the bank. 

Agnes Miriam never knew whether she 
fainted or not If so, she was unconscious 
only for a few moments. She was unhurt, 
and with some difficulty extricated herself 
from the splintered timber. Around, the 
carriages, twisted and broken, were, piled 



upon one another in indescribable con- 
fusion, and the air was filled with the 
screams and groans of the injured. A 
number of men from the fields were already 
climbing the fence along the line, and 
one of them approached her. 

"Are you hurt, Miss?" he asked. 

"Oh, no, no! But the others — a lady — 

two ladies are there. Oh, they are hurt!" 

Many of the passengers had, like herself, 

escaped uninjured, and were giving what 

assistance they could. One gentleman 

paused in passing, as a faint moan came 

from the debris of the wrecked carriage. 

"Somebody is hurt here." And, after 

a hurried look, he said to the girl: "You 

had better move on. One of the ladies is 

injured, the other — " 

The train hands were already bearing 
one form to the opposite bank ; and the 
gentleman followed, and knelt by the 
woman's side. 

"Dead!" he said shortly, rising to his 
feet, and meeting the girl's terrified glance. 
"Did you know her?" 

The girl was trembling violently, and 
made no reply; and the man spoke quickly 
and sharply. 

' ' Listen. I am a doctor. If you can not 
make yourself useful, you had better leave. 
Here," as another burden was laid on the 
grass; "this poor woman is only uncon- 
scious. Bring some water." 

The girl hastened to a little brook that 
ran through the meadows, and returned 
with her straw-hat full of water; and as 
the doctor dashed some on the woman's 
face, he said : 

"That is better. Now, do you know 
either of these ladies ? " 

"That," indicating the woman who 
lay stiff and rigid on the grass, ' ' is Mrs. 
Nesbit, of Nesbit Hall, near Grantham. 
She engaged me as a companion only 
yesterday in London." 
"And this lady?" 
The girl shook her head. 
"She is more frightened than hurt," 



THE AVE MARIA. 



43 



he said. *'Her wrist is broken, but I find 
no other injuries. Are you able to remain 
with her?" 

"Yes." 

"All right. There are others that need 
aid." And he hastened away. 

The girl supported the woman's head 
in her lap, and she lay for some time 
unconscious. 

"What — where — oh, are there many 
hurt?" 

"I don't know. Mrs. Nesbit is — " and 
the girl stopped with a sob. 

"Not dead?" 

' ' Yes, God rest her soul ! ' * 

"Amen," Mrs. Thornton said, solemnly. 
"And you escaped without injury?" 

"Yes," the girl replied. Then, as the 
woman moaned: "Your arm is painful?" 

"A little. Was she any relative of 
yours?" 

"No; I only saw her for the first time 
yesterday." 

Help from the nearest town soon ar- 
rived. Those slightly injured were sent 
on to the end of the journey, while those 
seriously hurt were taken to the farm- 
houses close at hand. Five others lay 
beside Mrs. Nesbit. 

"I think I can go home now," Mrs. 
Thornton said. "May I ask what you are 
going to do?" 

"I don't know," the girl replied. "Go 
back to London, I suppose. Mrs. Nesbit 
wanted a companion, and the Sisters 
thought I would suit her." 

"Then you are a Catholic?" 

"Yes." 

Mrs. Thornton hesitated. She had been 
in bad health for a long time, and her 
master had insisted on her seeing a London 
physician. He had proposed, at the same 
time, that she should find a girl to assist 
her in her many duties. 

"Darrell Court is only five miles away. 
Come with me for to-night." 

"But Mrs. Nesbit— the— " 

"You can do nothing further. You 



may be required to appear at the inquest 
The news of her death has already 
reached her relations, I suppose." 

"She had only her husband." 

"Well, come with me for to-night. I 
am housekeeper to Sir Charles Darrell." 

The girl was too nervous, and felt too 
completely alone, to refuse ; and three 
hours later she was seated at the open 
window of Mrs. Thornton's sitting-room. 
That lady's arm had been bandaged by 
the local doctor ; and, as she lay on the 
sofa watching the graceful figure near 
her, she decided that here was the very 
person who would suit her. 

"She may not like to accept such a 
situation," she reasoned. "Well, I'll wait 
till to-morrow before asking her. The 
more she sees of the place, the surer she 
is to like it." 

That person would indeed be hard to 
please who would not like Darrell Court. 
The house lay low, sheltered and shut in 
by thickets of laurel, rhododendron and 
azalea, with here and there a group of tall 
firs towering skyward. Farther off were 
the great beech woods, whose shade had 
been as close, tradition averred, when 
Elizabeth had spent a few days there. 
The house itself was a mass of gables and 
odd comers, with red brick chimneys 
mellowed to a pleasant hue. The mul- 
lioned windows and quaint, diamond-paned 
lattices were surrounded by roses that 
peeped into pleasant, wainscotted rooms, 
where many generations of Darrells had 
lived and died. 

Mrs. Thornton made sure that Miss 
Miriam had seen all the glories of Darrell 
Court before she; made her proposal to her. 
She had "been taken," as she expressed 
it, by the young girl at first sight, and 
she found that she improved on acquaint- 
anceship; and then, like herself, she 
was a Catholic. 

"The salary I could offer you," she 
concluded, "would not be very large, but 
your duties would not be very heavy 



44 



THE AVE MARIA. 



either. Now, what do you say, Miss 
Miriam?" 

*'Say! Why, I can not tell you how 
glad, how delighted I am." 

"Then it is a bargain?" 

*'A bargain surely, if Rev. Mother 
approves. ' ' 

*'Is the Rev. Mother your guardian?" 

"Yes," the girl replied. "I have been 
tinder her care all my life; and you 
should know, Mrs. Thornton, that I have 
no right to any name." 

"No right to any name!" 

"No. I am but a waif, who was placed 
under the care of the good nuns. But they 
will tell you all they know about me." 

The nuns had little to tell, Mrs. Thorn- 
ton found. Nineteen years before, one of 
the priests of the parish had been called 
to attend a dying woman, and she had 
begged that her child might be placed in 
the charge of the nuns. It was an unusual 
request; but the woman was evidently a 
person of a superior class, and the priest 
had advised them to accept the charge, 

"My dear, that makes no diflference," 
Mrs. Thornton said, after reading the 
-note which she had received from the con- 
vent. ' * But what makes you say you have 
•no right to any name." 

"My mother told the priest that the 
name she went by was not hers, so the 
nuns gave me the name of Miriam." 

"Well, we'll think no more about 
the matter. Your duties won't be very 
onerous." 

"Isn't it a wonder Sir Charles keeps 
so many servants?" 

"Yes; but he insists that the house be 
kept in perfect order, just as if it were 
occupied. ' ' 

"Does he come here often?" 

" Not often. Once or twice a year 
perhaps. He never says when he is 
coming. He may come to-day, we may 
not see him for twelvemonths." 

"Has he been here lately?" 

^ 'About a month ago. He is a good, 



kind master. He insisted that I should 
go to see Dr. H . Poor Sir Charles!" 

"Why do you pity him?" 

"It is a long story, my dear, and a sad 
one; but I shall tell you of it." 

Mrs. Thornton sighed. 

"When I first knew Charles Darrell I 
was Kitty Moore, and he was an officer in 
the regpiment then stationed in Strabane. 
We all knew what brought him so con- 
stantly to see the old master long before 
Miss Katherine did. She was his only 
child, — 'the last of the O'Neills,' he used 
to say, 'that once were princes in the 
land.' Well, Captain Darrell was always 
dropping in on one pretence or other to 
the old castle — it was then scarcely habit- 
able, — till Mr. O'Neill himself saw how 
matters were, and spoke to the young man. 

"'I could die contentedly to-morrow,' 
he said, ' only for Katherine. The house 
and land, such as they are, pass to the 
male heir; and she, poor girl, will be 
penniless and friendless. ' 

"'Not either,' said young Darrell, 'if 
you trust her to me.' 

"This was what the old man wanted; 
and poor Miss Katherine needed but little 
persuasion from any one to make her 
listen to the words of the young English- 
man. Three days before Cormac O'Neill 
died she became Captain Darrell's wife. 

"I was always sorry that I did not 
say what I ought about that secret 
marriage. Good Father Morrissey did, 
I know, protest against it; but the old 
master was obstinate. And the end of it 
was, as I have said, they were married 
before he died. 

"It was about six months after that 
Captain Darrell was called to England. 
His uncle, Miss Katherine told me, was 
dying, and their marriage would be made 
public immediately. Instead, however, 
her husband wrote to her, telling her that 
his uncle was dead when he arrived, that 
some garbled accounts of his own doings 
had reached him, and that the estate was 



THE AVE MARIA. 



45 



his, but only on condition that his wife 
should be a Protestant. 

"I do not know what letters passed 
between them, but I know that my mistress 
grew paler and sadder every day. At last 
she spoke to me. 

" 'He says I must become a Protestant, 
at least outwardly; and, Kitty, Kitty, he 
will make me.' 

*"He can't!' I said, stoutly. 

*'*But he will, — I know he will!' she 
wailed. And when, two days later, he 
wrote to say he was coming to Ireland, she 
was like a woman deranged, and it was 
in vain I tried to reason with her. I hope 
she was mad, my poor, dear Miss Katherine! 
And she surely was ; for on the night 
before she expected him she drowned 
herself." 

"Drowned herself!" 

"Yes — at least so it seemed. Her shawl 
was found by the river-side; and in the 
few lines she left for her husband, she said 
death would be preferable to abandoning 
her faith." 

"Poor lady!" 

"Yes. I know she feared that her love 
for him would cause her to do as he 
wished. ' ' 

"Was her body found?" 

"No, never. And ever since Sir Charles 
has been a wanderer on the face of the 
earth. He brought me to England with 
him, and I was married here; but my 
husband died shortly afterward, and since 
I have been housekeeper." 

' 'And Sir Charles has never forgotten ? ' ' 

"Never forgotten, nor forgiven himself." 

"Is he a Protestant still?" 

"He is nothing — nothing at all. And 
now we have had enough of sad stories. 
You had better go for a walk." 
II. 

A year at Darrell Court passed quickly 
away. To the girl brought up in London 
the country was charming, and full of 
new delights in the season's changes. 
Her friends, the nuns, wrote often. Mrs. 



Thornton was more than kind. Agnes* 
work was of the lightest She had books 
and music for idle hours; and she seemed 
younger, rather than older, when mid- 
summer again came round. 

She was standing in the old vaulted 
hall one evening, as the sun was setting, 
admiring the tints cast by the light from 
the western windows on the panelled 
walls and tessellated pavement. She was 
dressed in white, and Mrs. Thornton had 
that morning exclaimed: 

' ' How strange ! You seem to grow 
more and more like Miss Katherine each 
day, Agnes !" 

"Poor Miss Katherine!" the girl said. 
"And poor Sir Charles!" 

A shadow darkened the doorway, and 
she turned round. A tall, soldierly man 
stood motionless gazing at her, as if she 
had been a ghost. Then he came forward 
with outstretched hands. 

"Katherine !" 

She stepped back, guessing who it was. 

" Perhaps you wish to see Mrs. 
Thornton?" 

"Yes. Who are you?" 

"Agnes Miriam." 

"Oh! — pray excuse me! For a moment 
I thought — but no matter. I am sorry if I 
have frightened or annoyed you." And as 
Mrs. Thornton entered the hall, he moved 
toward her. "Who is she?" 

"Agnes—" 

"Yes, yes, I know. But where does she 
come from?" 

Mrs. Thornton told him. 

"She has Katherine's eyes, Katherine*s 
voice. What does it mean?" 

"I remarked that long since," the 
housekeeper said. "I suppose it is a 
chance resemblance." 

He did not reply for a moment 

"Could there be any mistake? Could it 
be that she went from home, that — " 

"Oh, no, no!" Mrs. Thornton answered. 

"I suppose not," he said, more calmly; 
"but to-night I thought Katherine herself 



46 



THE AVE MARIA. 



stood before me. I must speak to that 
young girl again. Send her to the library." 

"Have you dined, Sir Charles?" 

♦ * Yes, yes ! Send the girl. ' ' 

Mrs. Thornton gave his message to the 
amazed girl, who went trembling to the 
library, and told him as much of her 
history as she knew. 

"And those nuns know nothing fur- 
ther?" he questioned. 

"Nothing. No one does, except — " she 
hesitated, " except Father Peters; but he 
is old, and may not remember." 

"Where does he live?" 

She gave him the priest's address in 
wonder, and turned to leave the room. 

* ' Have you no portrait of your mother? " 

"No: I have nothing belonging to her 
except a ring Father Peters gave me many 
years ago." 

"Will you let me' see it?" 

She brought the ring — a plain gold 
one, with some letters inscribed inside, — 
and placed it in his hands. She watched 
him while he examined it closely by the 
fading light 

"I can not see. Get lights quickly. " 

A servant brought lights, and Sir Charles 
bent over the ring for one moment, the 
next his arms were round the astonished 
Ag^es. 

"My Katherine's child, my little one!" 
he exclaimed. "At last, at last I can 
thank God." 

He had no shadow of doubt as to her 
being his daughter, but for all that he 
went to Father Peters next day. 

"Yes," the old priest said, "she is your 
child. I have never told your wife's story 
to any one, not even to the good nuns 
who cared for the child. I promised her 
to keep her secret. She had a wild, an 
insane fear that you would rear the child 
a Protestant." 

The man groaned.' 

' ' I gave her cause, God knows, to 
fear so ! " 

"Well, God works in His own ways, — 



ways we can not understand. You will not 
interfere with your daughter's faith now? " 

"God forbid!" 

Sir Charles, much to Mrs. Thornton's 
satisfaction, settled down at Darrell Court. 
He can not bear to be long separated 
from his daughter, and has become 
happier, and younger apparently. There 
is a beautiful little church inside his park 
gates, erected as a thanks-oflfering ; and 
there one morning, while his happy 
daughter knelt by his side, he was received 
into the communion in which his wife 
had persevered to a bitter end. 



The Orient Gate. 



BY ELI,IS SCHREIBER. 



WE read in the book of Ezechiel that 
while the Temple of Jerusalem lay in 
ruins, the prophet was allowed to witness 
its future reconstruction. In prophetic 
vision he was escorted by an angel over 
the new building, each portion being 
shown to him, and the dimensions of 
every part accurately ascertained by care- 
ful measurements, made with a rod which 
his companion carried in his hand for that 
purpose. After having been conducted 
through porch and court and chambers 
and sanctuary, the prophet was brought by 
the angel to a gate that looked toward the 
east, and led into an inner court. "And 
behold the glory of the God of Israel 
came in by the way of the east " ; * so that 
the prophet, awestruck, fell upon his face. 
This sacred gate was not opened to him: 
he was not permitted to pass its portals; 
although he was privileged to inspect the 
interior of the inner court, into which he 
was introduced by a special manifestation 
of divine power, and to hear the voice of 



Ezechiel, xliii, 2. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



47 



God within speaking to him. Afterward 
the angel brought him to the self-same 
gate, and it was shut. "And the Lord 
said to him : This gate shall be shut; 
it shall not be opened, and no man shall 
pass through it, because the Lord the God 
of Israel hath entered in by it, and it 
shall be shut. For the Prince, the Prince 
Himself, shall sit in it." * 

The early Fathers and commentators of 
Holy Scripture are unanimous in inter- 
preting this passage with reference to our 
Blessed Lady. She is the Orient Gate, the 
mystical door seen by Ezechiel. Once 
only that closed gate was opened, to admit 
the celestial Spouse, whose voice was 
heard calling to the chaste Virgin: "Open 
to me, my sister, my love, my dove, 
my undefiled."t Then the Eternal Word 
became incarnate in the pure womb of 
Mary; and the Lord, whose coming is 
from the east, went into the temple pre- 
pared for Him, by the way of the gate 
that looked to the east; entered through 
that closed gate, — closed both before and 
after His coming to the ingress of any 
other lord. By her Immaculate Concep- 
tion she was preserved from the power 
of the devil, from all taint of original 
sin; and her virginal purity was not im- 
paired but rather glorified by her divine 
maternity. 

"This closed gate," Cornelius k Lapide 
explains, "is our Blessed Lady, in whom 
the Prince took up His abode ; that is 
Christ, whose Mother she became. The 
Lord the God of Israel entered in by 
her, — God the Father, of whom she was 
the daughter; God the Holy Ghost, who 
by His overshadowing made her His 
spouse; God the Son, who received from 
her His sacred humanity." "Who but 
Mary is meant by the east gate which 
Ezechiel describes," says St Ambrose? 
"The closed gate signifies her virginity. 
She is the gate whereby Christ entered 



* lb., xliv, 2, 3. 



t Cant., V, 2. 



into this world, His Mother remaining 
a virgin." Again St. Augustine writes: 
"The closed gate represents Mary's vir- 
ginity, which was not lost but sanctified, 
by the birth of Jesus Christ." The Church 
also, addressing the Blessed Virgin, sings: 

Civitas AltiBsimi 

Porta orientalis 
In te omnis gratia 

Virgo singularia. 

Dwelling of God moet high, 

Heaven's pure orient gate. 
In thee, O peerless maid. 

All graces concentrate. 

In the Little Office too Mary is termed 
"the Gate of the great King,"— 7« /^e^is 
alti janua. 

The title of Gate is also given to Our 
Lady in another sense. She is the Gate 
of Heaven — Janua C<a?//, ^-inasmuch as 
through her we receive Him who is our 
salvation and the way of our salvation, 
who has opened the kingdom of heaven to 
all believers. This Holy Church expresses 
in the words of the antiphon: 

Salve radix, salve porta. 
Ex qua mundo lux est orta. 

Hail living root, hail gate of Heaven, 
Whence light and life to earth were given! 

This Gate of Heaven is not a closed but 
an open gate, since it has pleased God to 
make Mary the channel of His graces. As 
Jesus is the way to the Eternal Father, so 
Mary is the sure way to Jesus. She is the 
eastern gate of the temple — the temple of 
God's grace and glory. Through this gate 
His majesty shines forth, His graces flow 
down upon us. Through Mary we receive 
the graces which enable us to enter into 
the kingdom of heaven, the glorious temple 
which is illuminated with the brightness 
of the divine presence. Seek Mary, then, 
and you will find Jesus. Like the first 
worshippers of the Infant Saviour, you 
will find the Child with His Mother. "The 
Prince shall sit within" the gate. Knock 
at this gate, and it shall be opened unto 
you: Mary will obtain for you mercy and 
assistance. 



48 



THE AVE MARIA. 



La Rabida in Chicago. 



REPRODUCTIONS of buildings hal- 
lowed by sacred or even simply 
historic associations are ordinarily unsat- 
isfying, to say the least That this is not 
the case with the quaint building which 
sits in the sun on the bank of Lake 
Michigan is due to a variety of causes. In 
the first place, the history of Columbus is 
so much a part of the great Fair itself that 
the edifice is like the chief bell in a set of 
chimes; and, secondly, the task of copying 
the storied monastery has been so well 
performed that it is difficult to realize that 
outside its walls is the tread of myriads 
of modern feet, and seven miles away the 
enterprising Babel we call Chicago. 

La Rabida has been termed the key- 
note of the stupendous Exposition; for it 
is within it that we read the record of 
that life without which this display would 
have no excuse for being. 

It is to the Convent of La Rabida that 
the footsteps of the intelligent visitor 
are turned before he inspects the more 
mundane glories of the Exposition; and 
as his name is Legion, a continual swarm 
of eager and interested men and women 
surges up and down the halls and cloisters, 
in which are kept the treasures which the 
generosity of a few has placed there for 
the edification of the world. Now and 
then there is a remark from the care- 
less which has a trace of levity, and 
sometimes strange blunders are perpetrated 
by the historically ignorant ; but the 
crowd is in the main quiet, orderly and 
reverent, as are indeed most of the great 
army of thoughtful and happy people 
who have gone to Jackson Park on an 
errand never before possible on earth. 

There are some elusive questions in 
history upon which it seems well-nigh 
impossible to form a satisfactory con- 
clusion. The name of Santa Maria de la 
Rabida is declared by some authorities to 



be due to the fact that a miraculous cross 
originally erected on the site of the con- 
vent possessed the power of healing people 
who had hydrophobia — who were rabid. 
Others assert that rabida is simply the 
Moorish for frontier, and that the convent 
was naturally dedicated to Our Lady of 
the Frontier, or Outpost. Some pious 
antiquarian will eventually, it is hoped, 
settle this interesting controversy. 

An exact reproduction of La Rabida in 
which to house the relics of Columbus — 
this was the happy thought which has 
had such rare fulfilment. The natural 
conditions were favorable. There was a 
vast inland sea, and over it the sweet blue 
summer sky of this latitude, — the rest 
was but a matter of energy and persever- 
ance; and rapidly the gray walls arose, 
crowned with the dull red tiles of Spain. 
Such was the faithfulness with which the 
idea was carried out that there is not in the 
whole building, unless it be in the absurd 
electric lamps, one incongruous detail. 

Before the attempt to speak of the 
contents of this edifice one pauses, dis- 
mayed. The chapel is usually entered 
first. The sacred furnishings of the altar 
are yet lacking, but the room is in other 
respects a facsimile of its prototype, 
where Columbus betook himself to receive 
the Heavenly Provisions 'for that journey 
from which his return was so uncertain. 

Arranged about the rooms surrounding 
the beautiful court are numberless objects 
of deep interest to the lover of the great 
explorer. Portraits of himself, paintings 
with the momentous events in his life for 
their theme, maps and globes of the pre- 
Columbian days, relics of the royal pair 
who were the patrons of the expedition, 
canoes like those in which the natives 
rowed to the strange Spanish ships, a col- 
lection of mosaics graciously lent by his 
Holiness the Pope, precious manuscripts 
without end, old doors through which 
Columbus was wont to pass, hawks' bells 
which formed part of the trophies of his 



THE AVE MARIA. 



49 



first voyage — in the enumeration one is at 
a loss where to stop. The objects of most 
intense interest appear to be the rusty 
anchor — Columbus' own anchor — found 
on Trinidad, under circumstances which 
admit of no doubt concerning its genuine- 
ness; and a bell dating back to 1494, found 
by a shepherd among some vines in the 
ruins of Isabella, — the first bell rung in 
the New World. 

There is very much of interest to the 
Catholic within the confines of the World's 
Fair; but it is in this treasure-house upon 
the shore of Lake Michigan that he will 
find most food for heart and mind. 

F. h. S. 



Dante on the Glory of Mary. 



THE poet-theologian, Dante, tells us in 
his "Paradise" that St. Bernard was 
sent by Beatrice to manifest to him the 
glory of the ever-blessed Virgin. 

"Son of grace," said Bernard to Dante, 
"the life of the blest will remain unknown 
to thee if thou keepest thine eyes contin- 
ually lowered. Gaze on the most distant 
sphere, until thou seest the throne of the 
Queen to whom this kingdom is subject 
and devoted." 

Dante then raised his eyes; and even as 
in the morning the eastern horizon sur- 
passes in brightness that where the sun 
declines, so he beheld on the summit of 
the loftiest sphere a point that surpassed 
all others in splendor. There shone the 
oriflamme of peace, the Most Holy Virgin; 
and her brilliancy quenched the light of 
other fires or other saints. 

Bernard fixed his eyes on the object of 
his love with an afiection so great that 
the eyes of the poet grew brighter as they 
contemplated him. The Saint explains to 
the poet the order in which the elect of the 
Old and the New Testament are disposed, 
and bids him observe the immense glory 



of the Blessed Virgin; then, in an ardent 
supplication, he begs Our Lady to obtain 
for Dante the grace to raise himself even 
to the vision of God. 

"Virgin Mother," he cries, "daughter 
of thy Son, humble and august beyond all 
other creatures, fixed term of the eternal 
will; thou art she who hast so ennobled 
human nature that its Author did not 
disdain to become His own work. 

"In thy womb was kindled the Love 
whose heat has germinated flowers in 
eternal peace. 

"Here thou art for us a sun of charity 
in its noontide; and below, among mortals, 
a living fount of hope. 

"Woman, thou art so great, and hast 
such power, that he who wishes a grace 
and does not run to thee, wishes his desires 
to fly without wings. 

' ' Thy goodness not only succors him who 
asks, but frequently anticipates his request 

"In thee is mercy, in thee pity, in thee 
magnificence; in thee all that is good in 
creatures, 

"Now, he who from the most profound 
abyss of the universe has thus far seen 
the existences of spirits one by one, begs 
of thy clemency to accord to him strength 
suflficient to raise himself higher toward 
the supreme beatitude. 

"And I, who have never desired this 
vision for myself more ardently than I 
do for him, — I offer to thee all my prayers, 
and I beg of thee that they may not be 
vain ; so that thou mayst dissipate all the 
shadows of his mortality, and that the 
Sovereign Joy may show Itself to him. 

"I beseech thee, moreover, O Queen, 
who canst do what thou wilt, to preserve 
the love which may procure for him such 
a vision. Let thy protection triumph over 
the impulses of his human nature." 

During his prayer, the eyes that God 
loves, the eyes of the Virgin, were fixed 
on Bernard with a tender afiection, that 
showed how agreeable to her are the 
devout petitions of her children. 



60 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Notes and Remarks. 



The Archbishop of Canterbury is unhappy 
because the World's Fair people deny the 
title "Catholic" to an institution that has 
itself assumed the very un-Catholic name of 
the "Church of England." In stating his 
reasons for refusing to take part in the Par- 
liament of Religions in Chicago, his Grace 
complains to the committee : "Your general- 
programme assumes that the Church of 
Rome is the Catholic Church, and treats the 
Protestant Episcopal Church of America as 
outside the Catholic Church. I presume that 
the Church of England would be similarly 
classified, and that view of our position is 
untenable." The Archbishop's logic is as 
bad as his theology. It would require any 
amount of argument to convince the Ameri- 
can mind that King Hal had a divine mission. 



Tiie Holy Father's exhortation to American 
Catholics to love their country might well be 
addressed to all Christian bodies, as the New 
York Su7i observes- "and they all must 
applaud the spirit which inspires lyco XIII. 
in its utterance. • These are the noble words 
of the Sovereign Pontiflf : 

"Prove the earnestness of your love for your 
country, so that they who are interested with the 
administration of the Government may clearly 
recognize how stong an influence for the support of 
public order and for the advancement of public 
prosperity is to be found in the Catholic Church." 



The Blarney Stone at the World's Fair is 
only a piece of the famous stone — a mere 
chip of the old block, — and it is likely to 
be worn to nothing by the kissing throngs 
that visit it in Midway Plaisance. Mean- 
time it is unscrupulously asserted that this is 
all that remains of the Blarney Stone, — the 
rest having been kissed to smacking echoes, 
which no phonograph could imprison. 



congratulated Brother Maurelian and all his 
many helpers on the completion of their 
work. The exhibit, he declared, "is truly 
Catholic. ... It shows well the work done 
and the educational method followed by our 
brotherhoods and sisterhoods and Catholic 
teachers throughout the world." He told 
his hearers that all that surrounded them 
furnished abundant proof that Catholic 
schools does not neglect the culture of the 
mind or the training of the hand. At the 
same time it was not forgotten that religion 
is necessary for the well-being of the soul. Dr. 
S. H. Peabody, Chief of the Bureau of Liberal 
Arts, represented the authorities of the Ex- 
position, and formally thanked all "for such 
an acquisition as the Catholic Educational 
Exhibit, which could not well have been 
dispensed with." Jt was declared to be the 
largest collective exhibit in the liberal arts 
department, and comprised ' * a vast array of 
meritorious exhibits from all parts of the 
country . ' ' 

There is no temporal affliction so great 
as not to have its consoling features. The 
destruction of the beautiful Convent of Villa 
Maria was an inestimable loss to the Sisters 
of the Congregation of Notre Dame, — one 
that it will take a long time to repair; but it 
must have been an ineffable consolation to 
these devoted religious to find that the 
remains of their sainted foundress were pre- 
ser\'ed to them. We learn from the Antigonish 
Casket that the coffin containing all that 
could die of Ven. Mother Bourgeois was 
rescued from the ruins, without injury even 
to the outer casket, in which they have 
reposed since her holy death in 1770. Our 
readers are aware that the Cause of the Ven. 
Mother is under consideration in Rome, and 
her beatification will probably take place 
within a few years. 



The Catholic Educational Exhibit at the 
World's Fair was formally opened on the 
24th ult. by the Rt. Rev. Bishop of Peoria. 
In his eloquent address on the occasion, he 



There died in London recently one of those 
silent workers among the poor who are known 
to the world only after they have left it, and 
whose most fitting funeral chants are the 
groans of the poor whom they have cared for, 
and the wails of the orphans whom they have 
comforted. The Marquise de Salvo, notwith- 
standing her name, was an Englishwoman 



THE AVE MARIA. 



6t 



and a cousin of Cardinal Manning. She was 
born outside the Church; but when that great 
religious revival swept over the land in 1845, 
she embraced the faith, being influenced 
largely by the example of Cardinal Newman, 
from whom she had many important letters. 
Her whole life was now given up to God 
through works of charity; and, like her inti- 
mate friend and co-laborer, Lady Georgiana 
Fullerton, all the energy of her great soul 
was directed toward the betterment of 
God's poor. She was the moving spirit in 
introducing the Sisters of Notre Dame into 
England, and several other religious houses 
which she aided in establishing bear witness 
to her piety and zeal. May she rest in peace! 



The Columbian Catholic Congress will con- 
vene in Chicago September 4. The sessions 
will be held daily for a week, during which 
there will also be conventions of the Catholic 
Young Men's National Union, the German 
Catholic National Societies, the St. Vincent de 
Paul Societies, the Colored Catholics, and meet- 
ingsof the Catholic editors and of the students 
of Louvain in the United States. All these 
congresses and conventions will be held in the 
Art Palace, on Michigan Avenue and Adams 
Street. Besides the two large halls — Colum- 
bus and Washington, — there are some forty 
minor halls and assembly-rooms in the 
building, which admit of bringing together 
these numerous bodies, each being enabled 
to carry on its proceedings independently of 
the other. All these meetings will undoubt- 
edly make the week beginning Monday 
September 4 the great Catholic week of the 
Fair. It is well to remember that these 
conventions are not to be held in Jackson 
Park, but in the Memorial Art Palace "down 
town." 

The College of Villanova, the famous 
educational institution under the charge of 
the Augustinians, near Philadelphia, has 
rounded out a very eventful career by fitly 
celebrating its fiftieth anniversary. Jubilees, 
as we in modem days use the word, do not 
ordinarily escape a certain resemblance to one 
another; but there were on this occasion 
several happy and successful departures from 
the time-honored festivities. Miss Eleanor C. 



Donnelly wrote an ode for the event, to 
which a chorus of students gave voice; and 
Archbishop Ryan fairly outdid himself in his 
earnest and eloquent advice to the graduates. 
"Be gentlemen," he said, as he concluded; 
"be not only gentle, but be men. Religion 
does not destroy manhood. Courage, strength 
and independence come from God as well as 
supernatural humility. Go out into the world, 
leave your impress upon it, and may God 
bless you ! ' ' 

The crises through which bigotry and 
intolerance have led this excellent institu- 
tion have been safely passed, and it enters 
upon its second half century under the most 
favorable conditions. 



A life-size portrait, by Healy, of the late 
Orestes A. Brownson is offered for sale by 
certain relatives of our great publicist. The 
painting is naturally much prized, but cir- 
cumstances compel them to part with it. It 
should find a ready purchaser. Our readers 
need not be told that a canvas by Healy is 
an artistic treasure, and good portraits of 
,Dr. Bfc)wnson are not numerous. Few men 
deserve to have their features preserved in 
oil, and fewer still are worthy subjects of a 
brush like Healy 's. The painting to which 
we refer has a double value, in being the 
portrait of a great man by a great artist. 



Dom Sauton, a French Benedictine, who 
before entering the Order had taken a medical 
degree, has set out to inspect all the lazar- 
houses in the world, in order to decide upon 
the most effective treatment of leprosy. He 
has received the blessing of the Holy 
Father, and bears credentials from the French 
Government. 

An English author has just published a 
volume entitled "The Legendary Lore of the 
Holy Wells of England." Over thirty of 
these wells, it seems, were under the patronage 
of the Blessed Virgin. 



A Catholic missionary, writing from 
Kumamoto, describes the Japanese as "the 
most intelligent and virtuous of all the. 



52 



THE AVE MARIA 



heathen peoples" ; and St, Fraacis Xavier was 
wont to call them "the delight of his heart." 
It will b2 interesting for Americans to 
know that Pope Pius IX. named the Blessed 
Virgin Patroness of the country under the 
title of her Immaculate Heart. So marked 
was the favor with which she regarded her 
new clients that His Holiness also attached 
indulgences to the invocation: "Oar Lady of 
Japan, Mary conceived without sin, pray for 
us. ' ' We, who know how the patronage of the 
Imm iculate Virgin has prospered the Church 
in our own fair land, bespeak a happy future 
for Japan. 

The death is announced of Bishop Hefele, 
one of the most learned members of the 
German hierarchy. He was born in 1809, 
became Bishop of Rottenburg in 1869, and 
the next year attended the Vatican Council. 
Bishop Hefele took an important part in the 
discussion of the dogma of Papal Infallibility, 
and was one of the last to acquiesce in its 
proclamation. His literary services to the 
Church were of immense value. Besides his 
admirable monograph on Cardinal Ximenes, 
he published many important works; aOT. his 
great ' ' History of the Councils of the Church ' ' 
has been translated into several languages. 
His life was long and laborious; and his 
death, at the ripe old age of eighty-four, was 
full of honor. May he rest in peace! 



to defray the expense incurred in the manu- 
facture of this costly emblem. 



The Queen of the Belgians has been 
honored with the costly and beautiful testi- 
monial known as the Golden Rose, which the 
Pope presents annually to some illustrious 
person of great virtue. The recipient is not 
always a woman, although that is the com- 
mon supposition. Henry VIII. was, before 
his fall, the possessor of no less than three of 
these valuable tokens. Sometimes cities or 
notable churches have, instead of men or 
women, been chosen as worthy of the distin- 
guishing favor. 

Originally the rose was single, but later 
the number of the petals was increased, and 
the flower placed in a golden vase. Sometimes 
eight pounds of virgin gold have been used 
in the construction of rose and vase. At one 
time a part of the revenues of a monastery 
for noble ladies in Franconia were set aside 



The current issue of Si. Viateur's College 
Journal is essentially a Jubilee number, 
being entirely occupied with accounts of 
the very pleasant celebration of the twenty- 
fifth anniversary of that deservedly popular 
institution, St. Viateur's College, Kankakee 
Co. , Illinois, The exercises were participated 
in by a large number of the alumni, who 
hastened back to do honor to their Alma 
Mater, like "birds returning fondly home." 
"Gratitude brings you back, affection re- 
ceives you" — such were the words which, 
inscribed upon flowing streamers of rosy tint, 
greeted the old students. 

The Clerics of St, Viateur have reason to 
be proud of this flourishing hive of literary 
industry, the result of so many prayers and 
sacrifices, and of so much hopeful toil. 



Obituary. 



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

The following persons are recommended to the 
charitable prayers of our readers : 

Brother Samuel (William Skiffington), a novice of 
the Congregation of the Holy Cross, who departed 
this life at Notre Dame, on the 24th ult. 

Sister Veronica, of the Sisters of Charity, who was 
called to the reward of her devoted life on the 25th 
of May. 

Dr. Charles P, Conway, who passed away on the 
20th ult,, at Latrobe, Pa. 

Mr. Frank H. Kale, of Trenton, N.J,, whose happy 
death took place some time ago, 

Mrs, A. Dehner, whose life closed peacefully on the 
7th of May, at Wadena, Ind. 

Mrs, Patrick Manion, of Wilmington, Del., who 
died a holy death on the 12th ult, 

Mr, Thomas P, Judge, Mr, Francis Slevin, Mr. 
Patrick Mullen, Miss Mary Kearney, and Mrs, 
Bridget Hewson, — all of Philadelphia, Pa.; Mr. 
John O'Shaughnessy, Rochester, N, Y.; Mr. James 
Corcoran, I/ondon, Canada; Mrs, James E.Dougherty, 
New York, N, Y. ; Mrs, Bridget Mallon, Milwaukee, 
Wis,; Miss Lizzie V, Connor, Council Bluffs, Iowa; 
Ellen Donovan, Lewiston, 111,; Mr, Thomas O'Neil, 
Medford, Mass.; Mrs, Catherine McS^eeney, Kear- 
ney, N. J, ; and Mrs, Bridget Kehoe, Fall River, Mass, 

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




UNDER THE MANTLB OF OUR BLESSED MOTHER. 



Some Day. 

CTOME day the friends we hold most dear 
is/ Will vanish through the portal 
Where ends each long or brief career-:— 
Death's door to life immortal. 

Some day the tokens that had shown 
Our faithful love and tender — 

The smile, the kiss, the gentle tone — 
We would, but may not, render. 

Some day — alas! when 'tis too late — 
We'll mourn our present blindness, 

Who still keep closed affection's gate, 
And niggards prove of kindness. 

Ah, let what love indwells thy heart 

In word and deed be spoken ; 
Nor wait the day when Death holds sWay, 

And vain is everj' token! 

Father Cheerheart. 



How Ned Got His Bicycle. 



^^ 



ED BENSON was in 
trouble; and, after brood- 
ing over it for some 
time, decided to go and 
unburden himself to his 
kind old grandfather. Mr. 
Chambers was seated on 
his front -door step, in 
conversation with a neighbor, who stopped 
on his way to a political meeting to say a 




few words on the probable re-electioti of 
the present Mayor, and the chances in 
favor of the opposing candidate. After 
his friend had gone, the old gentleman 
became conscious that some one was 
sitting behind him, and said : 

"Is that you, Ned?" 

''Yes, sir." 

"How long have you been there?" 

"I came while you were talking to 
Mr. Black, grandpa." 

"Well, how are all home?" 

"All well, sir." 

"Where is your mother?" 

"She's gone down to see Mrs. James." 

"And your father?" 

"He's gone to the meeting." 

"Why didn't you accompany your 
mother? Always take good care of your 
mother, Ned." 

" Yes, sir. But papa's going to call 
for her." 

There was a tinge of sadness or plain- 
tiveness in Ned Benson's voice, — a tone 
which boys (aye, and men too) assume 
when they get into what they call "a 
scrape," and imagine themselves martyrs 
if rebuked for it Mr. Chambers detected 
that tone at the beginning of the conver- 
sation; so, reaching backward to where 
the boy was seated, he drew him gently in 
front of him, placed his hands on Ned's 
shoulders, and said : 

"What's the matter, Ned? Make a 
clean breast of it, my boy. What have 
you been doing?" 



54 



THE AVE MARIA. 



"I ain't been doin' nothin', grandpa." 

** 'Ain't been doin' nothin'!'" echoed 
his grandfather, sarcastically. 

"I meant that I haven't been doing 
anything," said the boy. 

"Who has, then?" asked the old 
gentleman. 

' ' Tom James has, sir. He pulled thirteen 
latches oflf Mr. Anderson's new houses." 

"Who saw him do it?" 

"I did, sir." 

"Why did you let him do it?" 

Ned drooped his head. There was a 
long silence, during which his grandfather 
looked sorrowfully into the boy's face. At 
length, partly enlightened by what he 
•discerned, he said: 

"Tell me the whole story, child." 

Ned, in a sudden burst of frankness and 
tears both together, began: 

"Well, you know, grandpa, we were 
going to school this morning, and Mr. 
Anderson was just putting on the last 
latch. Tom said: Td like to knock off 
every one of those latches.' 'I dare you 
to do it,' says I. Well, grandpa, you know 
Tom James is a boy that will not be 
dared ; and he says, says he, * Do you 
dare me? ' And I said, 'I do.' 'Then I'll 
^o it after school,' he says." 

There was a pause, and, after a few 
moments, Mr. Chambers said: 

"Well, why didn't he forget it?" 

"He did forget it, sir, but I — I reminded 
him. We came home by Mr. Anderson's 
houses, and he found a sharp stone and 
he pried them off. Just then we heard 
somebody calling to us, and we ran away. 
There was a lady looking out of a window 
opposite, and she told Mr. Anderson ; so 
he went down to Mr. James' office and 
presented a bill of $5 for the latches. 
And Mr. James went home and gave Tom 
an awful thrashing. Mrs. James was out; 
but when she came home, and saw all 
Tom's bruises, she ran down to- Mr. 
Anderson's to lecture him." 

Here Ned paused. 



"Well, did she do it?" 

"No, sir. He wasn't in." 

"Is that all?" inquired Mr. Chambers, 
kindly. 

"No, sir. Mrs. James says she will 
break every bone in my body." 

"Well, I think you deserve some kind 
of punishment, Ned." 

"I didn't do it, grandpa." 

" You were the cause of it, though. 
You dared the other boy to do it ; then 
you reminded him of it, although you 
knew he wished to escape the temptation; 
and, besides, you looked on and encour- 
aged him while he was doing it. If you 
will take a right view of the matter, you 
will see that you are the greater criminal 
of the two. Vou willed it to be done: he 
was only your tool. Any boy who won't 
allow himself 'to be dared,' as you say, 
is a coward. He is afraid of something, 
is he not? What is it?" 

"That the boys would laugh at him, 
grandpa." 

"That's it," said Mr. Chambers. "So, 
you see, there's no bravery in it at all: 
'tis the meanest kind of cowardice. A 
boy who can not stand being sneered at 
for refusing to do wrong, is the shabbiest 
kind of a coward. But what can I say 
about your part in this affair, my boy ? 
It was wicked, was it not? Think of all 
the trouble it has caused in three homes! 
Has Mr. James paid for the latches ? ' ' 

"I don't think he has, sir." 

"Do you think he ought to pay?" 

"I don't know, sir." 

"Well, it was you who really caused 
the damage, you know." 

A sudden light burst out in sparkles 
from Ned's tearful eyes, and he eagerly 
exclaimed: 

"I can do it, — I can do it, grandpa! I 
have the money in my little bank. Let me 
get it, sir. I won' t be gone a moment. ' ' 

Ned sped away down the street, and in a 
few minutes came hurrying back, jingling 
his box as he ran along. The box was 



THE AVE MARIA. 



56 



opened, and, in five and ten cent pieces 
and quarters, were counted $4. 

'•One dollar short," said Ned. And, 
after a little pause: "Do you think Mr. 
Anderson would let me owe him that 
much until the Fourth of July? I'll be 
sure to have it by that time." 

"Perhaps he may. Suppose you walk 
up and ask him?" 

Ned hesitated a moment, looking into 
his grandfather's face, from whom he 
received an encouraging nod and smile; 
he then turned and walked deliberately 
up the street His grandfather, rising 
slowly from his seat, began to move in 
the same direction. Mr. Anderson was 
standing at the door with some friends 
when Ned addressed him: 

"Mr. Anderson, can I speak to you, 
please, just for a minute?" 

"Halloo, sir!" said Mr. Anderson, with 
a look of angry surprise. 

"Please can I speak to you, sir?" 
repeated Ned. 

Mr. Anderson entered his parlor, thrust 
his hands down to the bottom of his 
pockets, aud glared fiercely at the pleading 
face of the boy. 

"Mr. Anderson, I was the cause of Tom 
James breaking those latches. I am very 
sorry for it. I'll never do such a thing 
again. And I want to pay for them. I have 
all the money except one dollar; and if 
you'll please take this, I'll surely pay 
you the rest in a few weeks." 

Mr. Anderson's face assumed an expres- 
sion of bewilderment, and he asked the 
boy to repeat what he had said. Ned 
repeated his little speech with additional 
expressions of sorrow for his part in the 
affair, and of anxiety to make what repara- 
tion he could. 

"Who gave you the money?" said Mr. 
Anderson. 

"I was saving it for the circus and the 
Fourth of July, and I know I'll have the 
rest very soon." 

Mr. Anderson studied the boy's face for 



some time, uncertain how to act; at length, 
turning toward his desk, he said: 

"Well, J suppose you want a receipt 
for the money?" 

"Just to give Mr. Jame», please, sir. 
Thank you, sir!" he said, taking the 
receipt from Mr. Anderson's hand. " I'll 
be sure to bring you the other dollar 
before long. Good-night, sir!" 

He bounded down the street; and, 
meeting his grandfather, he said : 

"Ought I go to Mr. James now, grandpa? 
Mr. Anderson gave me a receipt, and 
he'll wait for the rest of the money." 

"Yes: the sooner it is all settled, the 
better. I'll walk down slowly, and meet 
you coming back." 

Mr. James opened the door in response 
to Ned's ring, and stared frowningly at 
the small individual who had the temerity 
to ask admittance. 

"Is mamma here, Mr. James?" 

"Yes, sir; and your papa is also here. 
Come in." 

Ned stepped into the hallway, not ven- 
turing to go farther. 

" Mr. James, here is Mr. Anderson's 
receipt for the money. I paid him for the 
latches. ' ' 

"K?w paid him! Who authorized you 
to pay him?" 

"I am to blame for it all, sir; and it 
isn't fair to let you lose by it. And I'm 
very sorry you whipped Tom, sir," said 
Ned, bursting into tears. "Grand pa showed 
me how mean it was to dare Tom to do 
it. I deserve all the punishment And the 
money was in my savings- box — " 

Here a fresh burst of sobbing inter- 
rupted Ned's speech. 

"Well, go home now, young man," 
said his father, who had been listening at 
the parlor door; "I'll have something to 
say to you about this affair when I come." 

"Stop!" said Mrs. James, who, with 
Ned's mother, was descending the stairs, 
and had overheard all that passed. "I 
want to speak to him." 



56 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Ned advanced with slow, reluctant 
steps. 

"Ned," said Mrs. James, ''I was very 
angry with you to-day, but I 'am not so 
now. I can see that you are very sorry, 
and you have tried to make all the repara- 
tion in your power. Now I'll beg your 
father to forgive you also, if you'll promise 
never to dare Tom to do anything 
wrong again." 

"I promise, ma'am," said Ned, looking 

with all earnestness into Mrs. James' face. 

She took his hand, and, drawing him 

toward his father, asked that he might 

be forgiven. 

"Well, since you ask it, Mrs. James. 
But he must not expect a bicycle from 
me this year. If he had torn oflf the 
latches himself it would have been bad 
enough, but to urge another boy to do it 
was doubly wrong and mean. You can go 
now, sir; but first thank Mrs. James." 

Ned thanked the kind lady, and said 
he didn't expect a bicycle. He then 
hastened off to meet his grandfather and 
tell of the happy termination to his 
troubles. And, when they were parting for 
the night, the good old gentleman said: 
' ' In future, Ned, dare your friends to do 
noble deeds; the results will be happier 
for them and for you." Then he added: 
"You have conquered yourself so well 
that I think you deserve the best bicycle 
to be had in town. I promise to get you 
one, and here is that dollar to square your 
account with Mr. Anderson. ' ' 

M. D. K. 



Foolish in Four Languages. 



Whose Eyes? 



"•7Y]*H0SE eyes has you got, dear mamma?" 
*^ Said Bessie, with face demure. 
" Whose eyes have I got? Why, dearest, 
My own eyes, to be sure ! 
But why do you ask the question?" 
Said mamma, in much surprise. 
"Because grandma said to papa: 
'Bess has her mother's eyes,' " 



Among the poorer class of Maltese there 
are many with ready wit. An English 
officer, who had failed utterly to make one 
of them understand his orders, at last lost 
temper and said to him, angrily: 

"You are a fool." 

* ' Why ? ' ' asked the man. 

"Any one with a grain of sense could 
handle the English language better than 
you." 

"Do you speak Maltese?" asked the 
other. 

"No." 

"Or Arabic?" 

"No." 

"Or Greek?" 

"No." 

"Or Italian?" 

"No. But what in the world are you 
driving at?" 

"Why, if I am one fool, then you are 
four fools." 

"I fancy you are more than half 
right," said the officer, recovering his 
good nature. 



The Order of the Garter. 



There are few things that an English- 
man likes better than to be made a Knight 
of the Garter when he has done some 
great work for his country. But it is to be 
feared that most Knights of the Garter 
nowadays fail to do what was expected of 
them when their Order was established. 
It was founded by King Edward III. 
in honor of the Blessed Virgin, and 
because, "out of his singular affection for 
her, he had wished her to be honored by 
his Knights." On the solemn feasts of 
Our Lady these Knights use5 to hold a 
great golden statue of the Blessed Virgin 
on their shoulders during Mass. 




HENCtFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSEO-St. Luke. i. 48. 



Vol. XXXVII. NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, JULY 15, 1893. 



No. 3. 



tPubUtkidmfjSslndar. Ufpt^ In. O. B Bd^M*. a a ft] 



Rosa Mystlca. 



BY WILLIAM D. KELLY. 



SHE damask-rose is fair to view, 
And beauteous is each blushing hue 
Its leaves display; 
But ah! the splendor of the sight 
When fall the first dim shades of night, 
And radiant rows of roses white 
Make dusk seem day. 

But fairer far than either flower, 

Or viewed at dawn's delightful hour. 

Or daylight's close; 
And purer than the purest heart 
Of bud that ever burst apart 
To show its loveliness, thou art, 

O Mystic Rose! 



The First Knight of the Queen of 
Angels. 

BY ANNA T. SADLIBR. 

CHRONICLER states that in 
Canadian annals figure names 
which were eminent in the 
"^1^" days of the Crusades. Canadian 
history is, indeed, full of noble and historic 
names, of romantic and picturesque person- 
alities. It has a nobility of birth, but it 
has likewise a nobility of merit. To both 
of these categories belong the fine and 




chivalrous character of Paul de Chomedey 
de Maisonneuve. Military glory was the 
idol of the day to which he belonged, and 
he was not insensible to its influence. His 
prowess in the field had been applauded 
long before he had left ' ' dreamy boyhood " 
behind him. His imagination, fired with 
the glorious traditions of the race to which 
he belonged, had filled him with a desire 
for adventurous deeds. He was an ideal 
soldier, brave as a paladin of old, gentle, 
poetic, high-minded, delicately and sensi- 
tively honorable, eminently Christian; he 
preserved his heroic calling from what- 
soever could degrade it. It is related that 
he cultivated his taste for music to furnish 
an elevating occupation for his leisure. 

But while the young soldier was courted 
and flattered, was regarded as one destined 
to high military command, other senti- 
ments began to find a place in his mind; 
his aims began to take a wider range, a 
higher flight His imagination, still fervid, 
rose into holier regions. He still desired 
to be a soldier; but he was eager to wield 
his sword in a sacred cause, and even by its 
means serve that Divine Master in whose 
love and knowledge he was daily growing. 

A copy of the "Relations des Jesuites'* 
fell into his hands, and his mind turned 
thenceforth toward those distant regions, 
where those other soldiers were fighting 
the battles of Christ A new world opened 
before him, full of hardships and of peril, 
full of toil and of weariness, but overflow- 



58 TH^x^VE 

ing likewise with enthusiasm, withi^erit, 
with self-devotedness. It was at the 
time when the venerable founder of St. 
Sulpice, M. Olier, in conjunction with M. 
de la Dauversi^re, M. de Fancamp, and 
all who composed what was known as 
the Company of Montreal, resolved to 
found in the heart of a wilderness a colony 
in honor of Jesus, Mary, Joseph. 

Through the intervention of Father 
Charles Lalemant, a Jesuit missionary 
recently returned from Canada, M. de 
Maisonneuve was made known to these 
associates. He declared to them that in 
going to Montreal he had no personal 
ambition to serve, as that would be best 
consulted by remaining where he was; 
no fortune to acquire, for his income 
was sufficient for his wants. He simply 
■desired a field wherein he could strive 
for perfection while serving God and 
his country in the profession of arms. 
He was received by the associates with 
the liveliest joy, and was shortly after- 
ward named Governor of the projected 
colony of Villemarie of Montreal. 

The better part of France is always 
apostolic. The propagation of the faith to 
the uttermost ends of the earth has been 
the dream of many a noble-hearted Gaul 
ever since the days of Clovis. In the 
seventeenth century Catholic France was 
fairly possessed with the idea of evangel- 
izing the tribes of the New World. The 
King turned aside his surrounding splen- 
dor, to cast an eye of pity on the North 
American aborigines; the Queen-Mother 
labored for them with her hands, and 
gave for their needs with royal prod- 
igality; duchesses despoiled themselves of 
their jewels and their revenue; ministers 
of State made allusion to the conversion 
of the savages in all their dispatches ; the 
most brilliant court the world has ever 
seen caught a flame from the "Relations 
des Jesuites," and burned with heroic 
ardor to do something for the cause. 

In the calm cloisters of lavici France 



MARIA. 

the idea took root; it invaded the hours of 
prayer, it filled up the moments of recrea- 
tion, it enkindled zeal, it inflamed desire. 
Nuns sought eagerly for an opportunity 
to go forth upon this new crusade; priests, 
Jesuits, R^coUets, Sulpicians, seculars, 
went forth to the white harvest fields. 

Maisonneuve set sail from the Old 
World in the spring of 1641, arriving in 
the New in August of the same year. He 
took with him a numerous contingent of 
men, chiefly unmarried, almost all soldiers 
or practical mechanics. In his train was 
also the heroic Jeanne Mance, foundress of 
the Hotel-Dieu, who braved the perils of 
a new life with courage so exalted, and 
who was destined, through long years of 
tribulation, to serve the wounded and 
the sick with so beautiful a constancy 
and patience. 

At Quebec the newly arrived were 
strongly urged to pitch their tents hard 
by, for purposes of mutual defence. It was 
represented to them that the new settle- 
ment would be on the very high-road, 
which the fiercest Iroquois war parties 
traversed ; that great difficulties would 
present themselves; and that, in a word, 
their undertaking was well-nigh hopeless. 

Maisonneuve replied that all this might 
be true, but that his honor and his duty 
as a soldier compelled him to make a 
settlement upon the site chosen by his 
superiors: that, in short, he would found 
a colony at Villemarie, if every tree on 
the island turned into an Iroquois. His 
spirit and generosity won the admiration 
of all. The Governor of Quebec entered 
into his views, and, together with Father 
Vimont, superior of the Jesuits, accom- 
panied Maisonneuve to the site of the 
future city, of which they took possession 
for God and for the King. However, it 
was decided that no settlement should be 
attempted there until the following spring. 

On the i8th of May, 1892, occurred the 
two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of 
that bright morning when Maisonneuve 



THE AVE MARIA. 



60 



and his companions became dwellers upon 
the soil of Montreal. On the 17th they 
had espied it, with shouts of joy and the 
discharge of musketry. But on that 
memorable morning the soldier-governor, 
leaping ashore, fell upon his knees, giving 
thanks to God. 

Upon the shore gathered that moment- 
ous group of soldiers and of artisans, of 
women — Jeanne Mance, with a companion 
or two, and Madame de la Peltrie, — of the 
Jesuit, Father Vimont, and the Governor 
de Maisonneuve, the builders^ of that new 
city, the carvers of its destiny. They 
looked about them, toward that river 
which was one day to bear mighty ships, 
as now it bore the bark canoes of savages; 
toward the wooded land, green and fresh 
and fragrant, with the sun gilding the oaks 
and elms and maples; toward the mountain, 
upon which Cartier had stood and called 
it Royal. Could their eyes have pierced the 
dim future that is now for us the present, 
what strange thoughts and emotions -must 
have thronged upon their minds! 

Presently an altar was erected. To 
Father Vimont, the Jesuit, was given the 
privilege of saying the first Mass there, 
where Masses innumerable were hereafter 
to be said; it was likewise his happy 
fortune to announce, in prophetic lan- 
guage, the future greatness of this city of 
Mary. Solemnly — oh, how solemnly ! — rose 
the voice of the missionary, intoning the 
Vent Creator^ the first calling down of the 
Spirit of God over this desert spot, where 
for ages there had been silence or the 
rude clamor of savage tongues. The Blessed 
Sacrament was left exposed all during 
that first day of the city's life. The King 
had come into His own. These North 
American wilds had been dedicated to 
Him as to the Sovereign Master, and to 
Mary the Queen. 

Maisonneuve, the man of prayer, prayed 
then with a devotion into which he poured 
his whole soul; aud he joined in those 
hymns of the Church which had been 



familiar to him since his boyhood in the 
plains of Champagne, with a new sense of 
their beauty and solemnity. 

It is not the purpose of this sketch to 
follow its hero through the varied happ>en- 
ings of his term of government. None can 
deny him the merit of having been the 
best, the wisest, the purest and the noblest 
of the Governors of Montreal. Chroniclers 
of all shades of opinion concur in attesting 
that it was by his high qualities of head 
and heart that Montreal was enabled to 
live through the first stormy years of its 
existence. 

In the little palisaded fortress which 
he first built, as in those more pretentious 
ones that followed, Maisonneuve guided 
and directed the almost incessant military 
movements with a tactical skill and suc- 
cess worthy of the warmest commenda- 
tion. The most brilliant feats of arms 
which marked the history of the colony 
were done under his direction. Dollard- 
Daulac, Lambert Closse, and Lemoyne 
acted under his orders, and found in him 
their model of true knighthood. 

Under Maisonneuve's guidance, Ville- 
marie became, as some biographer styles 
it, "the holy colony." The soldiery, who 
were devoted to their Governor, learned 
from him lessons of sanctity whilst being 
taught the art of war. Many of them lived 
not only as practical Catholics, but aimed 
at the heights of perfection. They com- 
municated before embarking in military 
enterprises; and when they made vows to 
accept no quarter from the enemy, but 
to die for their country, it was at the foot 
of the altar and in the name of God and 
Our Lady. 

But whilst occupied with the defence 
of the colony and wkh its moral improve- 
ment, Maisonneuve neglected nothing that 
far-seeing wisdom might devise for the 
material prosperity of his charge. He 
developed agriculture, giving premiums 
to laborers and taking special means 
for their protection. He promoted well- 



60 



THE AVE MARIA. 



assorted marriages, and encouraged the 
foundation of homes by the stimulus he 
gave to building and the portioning out 
of grants of land. Education was his 
special care, the instruction of the chil- 
dren of settlers and of Indians alike. He 
brought out, on his second visit to France, 
the illustrious foundress of the Congrega- 
tion de Notre Dame, who was to do for 
■children of her own sex what the mission- 
aries were striving to do for those of the 
other. He was the constant benefactor of 
the hospital nuns in their labor for the 
poor and the sick and the wounded. But, 
above all, he had at heart the evangeliza- 
tion of the savages; hence he exhausted 
every effort to win them by a policy of 
conciliation. He treated them with the 
utmost kindness and consideration, and 
his name became a synonym amongst 
them for honor and good faith. The 
Mohawks whispered it at their council 
fires, and the Algonquins bore the message 
upward to the Great Lakes, and the 
Hurons came into the shadow of his pro- 
tection. He had spoken: his word was as 
an oath. 

The Governor's prudence and tact in 
'dealing with the whites extended also to 
his relations with the French settlers of 
liis own and the neighboring colonies. 
Whilst firmly maintaining the rights and 
privileges of his office, his voice was never 
heard in useless quarrels or in matters 
over which he had no jurisdiction. He 
-attached all his dependents to him by his 
patience and justice, his entire integrity 
and his generosity. He recognized the 
good qualities of his soldiers, or of those 
who served the colony in any capacity, 
and requited them substantially. He 
framed a code of la^s, simple as befitted 
the times, and caused them to be carried 
out with vigilance and promptitude. 

His own sense of duty, which rose para- 
mount to all considerations, inspired others 
by his example. He had a noble disregard 
of personal comfort, and an indifference to 



hardship and privation which would have 
made him a phenomenon in our effeminate 
age. He kept up no state, being attended 
by a single servant. He lived frugally, 
practising various austerities. His perfect 
purity and delicacy of conscience are com- 
mented upon by all biographies, whilst 
his personal dignity and fine sense of the 
fitness of things gave him a peculiar 
ascendency in a wild and unsettled com- 
munity. Entirely disinterested, he was 
never known to seek his personal advance- 
ment; and it is recorded that he was 
never roused to anger, even in the most 
trying circumstances, so complete was his 
self-command. By the advice of Father 
Lalemant he took a vow of perpetual 
chastity. 

(Conclusion in our next number.) 



The Vocation of Edward Conway. 



BY MAUiaCE FRANCIS EGAN. 



XXVI.— Ward. 

JAMES WARD was in a cursing mood: 
a mood of sullen revolt, which, if he 

were aloiie, would have broken out in 
loud cries and imprecations against that 
blind fate which, he held, ruled the world. 
He did not go to the factory that after- 
noon. He refused dinner, and sat on a bench 
just outside the door, where he could see 
Willie's face without being observed. 

It was a splendid day. Summer had 
come with a rush. The rich scent of early 
clover blossoms and honeysuckle filled the 
air* the twittering of birds broke the silence 
of the afternoon. In the unfenced field 
opposite Ward's house, masses of white 
and red clover, as yet undried by the sun, 
hid the grass from sight. The snow had 
been deep all winter, and the clover was 
never more fragrant or full of color. In 
spite of the splendor of the sun, a cool 



THE AVE MARIA. 



61 



breeze stirred the waves of color in the 
field, and struck a blossom-laden spray of 
honeysuckle against James Ward's fore- 
head as he sat on the bench. He brushed 
it away roughly. He hated the world and 
everything in it. 

Willie had gone to sleep. His long 
lashes touched his pale cheeks, and their 
blackness made the pallor of his face all 
the more startling. His thin hand, on the 
back of which the blue veins were plainly 
outlined, lay outside the white shawl 
which his mother had thrown over him. 
Ward noticed the different degrees of 
whiteness in the hand and the shawl, and 
was startled by the deadly pallor of the 
hand. But he had no fear : he knew the 
boy was improving every day. He had 
no room in his heart for fear: he could 
only hate. 

The sight of Bernice Conway, uncrushed 
even by her father's death, still enjoying 
the results of a training which he had 
never been able to give his son, made his 
hatred more bitter than ever. She was 
kind to Willie — he did not deny that, — 
but kind as a princess might be to a 
subject. Who wanted her kindness ! Her 
presence in his poor house had been an 
insult to him. He recalled her smile and 
attitudes; he remembered all the visitors 
to the Major's, and their insufferable airs 
of superiority, — all the more insufferable 
because they were unconscious. 

As James Ward sat there, he hated 
himself most of all. He had been a failure. 
He, the philosopher, who had accepted 
simple work and frugality of life, who 
had lived by the maxims of Emerson and 
Bronson Alcott, who had despised riches 
and followed the dictates of the higher 
life, — found himself in the end conquered 
by the powers he detested. The riches 
his conscience had permitted him to give 
the Colonel and the Major, to be kept 
until the true owner should be found, had 
enabled them to give their children the 
advantage that now he most desired for 



his boy — a poisition in the world. In this 
rotten and corrupt civilization, he said 
to himself, Willie Ward would never be 
more than the son of Ward the factory 
*'hand." And Willie's humility and 
gentleness— -qualities he had once admired 
and cultivated — might better have been 
pride and arrogance; for the world was 
all wrong. 

Mrs. Ward, her hair as smooth and her 
gown as neat as ever, brought his long 
pipe to him. He thanked her. She sat 
beside him, guessing at his mood, and 
filled with a deep longing to comfort him. 
Ward was not, as a rule, talkative with 
his wife: he did not believe that she 
understood him. She was a good woman, 
but besotted in superstitions which could 
only console women and the weak- 
minded. The eagle flights were for him; 
the care of the nest near the ground, hers. 
But to-day he felt that he must talk. The 
weight on his heart was too heavy for 
him to bear alone. He was seldom free 
from the thought of his superiority over 
this woman, who daily offered all her 
thoughts and acts, after God, to him. It 
had become a fixed idea with him that 
she was incapable of understanding the 
higher life; she was a Christian, — the 
solution was in that phrase. 

"Willie is asleep," he said, with a 
motion of his hand toward the boy. 

"Poor child!" she answered, with a 
sigh. "Oh, I wish I could feel as I once 
felt — that he was all our own ! He seems 
to belong to the priest now," she added, 
bitteriy. 

Ward mutterecj a curse between his lips. 

"I believed ihat he would have out- 
grown his Christian tendencies; for Willie 
is no fool," Ward said. 

"God forbid!" answered his wife, 
looking up from the linen she was 
embroidering. "I prayed ever since he 
was a baby that he might be a Christian, 
and my whole heart was in the prayer; 
but now — " 



62 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Ward took his pipe from his mouth, 
and turned toward her. 

"What are you complaining of? He is 
a Christian now with a vengeance. The 
Roman Church is the worst form of Chris- 
tianity. It holds minds like Willie's with 
an iron grip. He might have outgrown 
Giles Carton's Protestantism or yours, but 
he can't get out of this. Why, Voltaire 
and the philosophers, R^nan himself, 
never were sure that they were out of the 
Pope's grasp!" He gave a short laugh. 
"He is Christian enough, the devil — if 
there be a devil — knows. He believes 
more than you do, — that's all. I believe 
you're jealous of the priest I know / am. 
I can't hate him, because I admire him; 
but the better these priests are, the more 
anxious all reasonable men ought to be 
to — to — well, to strangle them!" He 
laughed again, and a dangerous light 
came into his eyes. 

"And you really think that Romanism 
is Christianity?" asked Mrs. Ward. "I 
was not taught so." 

"It is the most dangerous form of 
Christianity, I tell you," Ward said. 

Mrs. Ward did not answer. She was 
thinking. Things were not so gloomy, 
after all, even at the worst. There could 
be no doubt of it, since her husband had 
said so — Romanism was Christianity. She 
had not thought of it in that light. Willie 
believed as she did, and more too. That 
idea of loving the picture of Christ's 
Mother was beautiful, — any mother could 
understand that. And Willie was too sen- 
sible to worship a mere picture. She 
recalled some words she had heard Mr. 
Beecher say once when she had visited 
Brooklyn. She could not bring them back 
exactly; they had been something to the 
effect that one loves to ask favors of one's 
mother even when she has gone before us, 
and that the Romanist idea of Christ's 
Mother was of a mediatrix between Him 
and the world. How sweet it was and how 
natural! She drew her brows together as 



she thought of Father Haley. Her husband 
was right: she was jealous, as he was, of 
the priest; and yet she was grateful to 
him. Had he not taken a great risk for 
her son? As a mother, that would make 
her forgive much. 

The afternoon wore on. James Ward 
hailed a passing man, and sent word to 
the factory that he could not be at work. 
There was not much doing, and Ward was 
so skilful and intelligent that his employers 
gave him liberties in slack times. 

"Let us try to bear it," Mrs. Ward 
said, after a long pause. "James, let us 
try to be as we were before this happened. 
If Willie is happy and with us, what 
difference will it make? Yes, of course, 
it does make a difference. He will not 
love the old hymns nor the old Bible; 
he will have new ways, but we must try- 
to bear it." 

Ward gave a gruff laugh. 

"/ don't love the old hymns nor the 
old Bible, nor the Calvinist monster you 
call God ; and yet you don't seem to be 
half so sad about me as you are about 
this boy, who has become more of a Chris- 
tian than any of your preachers ever were. 
I believe you'd rather see him an infidel 
than a Catholic." 

Mrs, Ward's work fell from her hands. 
She put them before her eyes, and they 
trembled. 

"You are logical, I must say," added 
Ward, with his unpleasant laugh. 

She did not answer. She had wept and 
prayed over her husband's condition, but 
she had become used to it. She realized 
suddenly how strongly riveted had become 
her prejudices against the Catholic Church, 
since in her heart she felt for an instant 
that she would rather see him as his 
father than as he was. She cast away 
the feeling. 

'•''You have no reason to complain," he 
said. "He believes more than you do 
now. But he can never be what I wanted 
him to be. I don't want him to be gentle 



THE AVE MARIA. 



63 



and amiable: I want him to be arrogant, 
and to be of those who will tear the 
rich and proud from their places, strike 
them down, — I want him to strangle the 
rich, and choke all Christians that preach 
submission." 

Mrs. Ward, frightened, put her hand on 
his arm. He shook it off. 

"This is so different," she began, — "so 
different!" 

"It ts different!" he said, his eyes 
glowing. "I have been living up to a lie. 
There is nothing worth working for in 
this world but power, and wealth is power. 
And the sweetest work of all is to crush 
the proud." He shook his fist in the 
direction of Major Conway's house. 

"O James," his wife said, in a low, 
frightened tone, "you must not talk so! 
It really pains me. You speak as if you 
would — ' ' 

"As if I would commit murder? I have 
committed murder. I have murder in my 
heart now'. I must tell you, though it kill 
you, — I can't keep it down any longer. I 
must confess to somebody. I " — he lowered 
his voice, but his words were very clear, 
— "/ murdered Major Conway ! I could 
have saved him, but I did not And I am 
not sorry, the cursed, insolent, purse- 
proud beggar-on-horseback ! Yes, I really 
killed Dion Conway." 

His wife had clutched his arm again; 
but, as he spoke the last words, her grasp 
relaxed; she fell to the ground, her face 
white and drawn. He stooped to lift her. 
Well, the truth was told; he was glad of 
it. Two divided the secret now. As he 
lifted her, he saw that Willie had arisen 
and was staring at him with eyes full of 
horror. He had heard, too. 

Ward felt somebody near him as he 
laid the senseless form of his wife upon 
the bench. It was Father Haley, who had 
turned the comer abruptly. 

" There is something wrong with you, 
man," the priest said, sternly. "The 
devil's in your eye." 



"And in my heart," Ward answered. 
"Take care of Willie and her. They 
belong to the priests." 

He dropi)ed his pipe from his trembling 

lips; it broke in fragments on the ground. 

Through his mind floated the horrible 

words of the Persian poet: 

"The stars are setting, and the caravan 
Starts for the dawn of Nothing, — 
Oh, make haste ! " 

(To be contlnned.) 



A Laureate of Our Lady. 



BY THB REV. R. O. KENNEDY. 



(CONCLCSIOX.) 

THERE is an objection sometimes raised, 
and which may get room just here. The 
purpose of it will be stated later on. This 
objection is so well put and so well 
answered by St. Thomas, Bishop, that we 
give it in his words. "As I was pausing 
and thinking," he writes, "how it was 
that when the Evangelists wrote at length 
and in detail about John the Baptist and 
the other Apostles, about the Virgin Mary, 
whose life in dignity excelled all others, 
they speak so briefly, — why, I say, was it 
not handed down to memory how she was 
conceived, as it is told of John the Baptist; 
how born, how nurtured; with what gifts 
endowed, with what manners adorned; 
how she acted with her Divine Son made 
man, how she conversed with Him, how 
she lived with the Apostles after His 
Ascension ? Great things surely were 
these, and worthy to be related, and which 
would have been read with the greatest 
piety by the faithful and welcomed by the 
nations. For who can doubt that wonderful 
things took place at the time of her birth 
and childhood, and that when a maiden she 
was a monument of virtue to all the ages? 
"As I was pondering over these things 
— why a book was not written about the 



64 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Acts of the Virgin, as about those of St. 
Paul — nothing else came to my mind (for 
it would be nothing less than rash and 
impious to accuse the Evangelists of neg- 
ligence) than that it so pleased the Holy 
Ghost, and that it was by His counsel the 
sacred writers remained silent; wherefore 
because the glory of the Virgin, as we 
read in the Psalms, was wholly from 
within, and is better meditated on than 
described, it suffices for her full and entire 
history to state that ^ of her Jesus was born. ' 
What more do you ask? What further do 
you require in the Virgin? It is sufficient 
for you that she is Mother of God." 

This, too, is the one, all-sufficient 
argument running through Mr. De Vere's 
beautiful work: 

Mary's was no transient bliss, 
Nor hers a vision's phantom gleam; 

The hourly need, the voice, the kiss, — 
That Child was hers: 'twas not a dream. 

At morning hers; and when the sheen 
Of moon rise crept the cliflfe along; 

In silence hers, and hers between 
The pulses of the nightbird's song. 

And as the Child, the love. Its growth 
. Was, hour by hour, a growth in grace: 
That Child was God; and love for both 
Advanced perforce with equal pace." 

**For who can doubt that great things 
took place at the time of her birth?" says 
St. Thomas, just quoted. Of that sacred 
birth Mr. De Vere writes: 

When thou wert bom, the murmuring world 
Rolled on, nor dreamed of things to be; 

From joy to sorrow madly whirled, — 
Despair disguised in revelry. 

So was it with the people, just as St. 
John says of them at the birth of Mary's 
Divine Son: "He was in the world, and the 
world was made by Him; and the world 
knew Him not He came unto His own, 
and His own received Him not. But as 
many as received Him, to them He gave 
power to be made the sons of God." 

Mr. De Vere continues : 

A Princess thou of David's line. 
The Mother of the Prince of Peace 

That hour no royal pomps were thine; 
The earth alone' her boon increase 



Beforejthee poured. [September* rolled 
Down all the vine-clad Syrian slopes 

Her robes of purple and of gold; 
And birds sang loud from olive tops. 

The respirations of the year, 
At least, grew soft. O'er valleys wide 

Pine-roughened crags again shone clear; 
And the great Temple, far descried, 

To watchers watching long in vain, 
To patriots grey, in bondage nursed, 

Flashed back their hope — " the Second Fane 
In glory shall surpass the First." 

How human and how delightful to drop 
into that carol headed "Nihil Respondit"! 

She hid her face from Joseph's blame. 
The Spirit's glory-shrouded Bride: 

The sword comes next; but first the shame: 
Meekly she bore it — nought replied. 

Her humbleness no sin could find 
To weep for; yet that hour no less 

Deeplier the habitual sense was shrined 
In her, of her own nothingness. 

That hour foundations deeper yet 
God sank in her; that so more high 

Her greatness, spire, and parapet 
Might rise, and nearer to the sky. 

He tells how Joseph's fears were re- 
moved, — "the angel of the Ivord appeared 
unto him in a dream ' ' : 

'Twas not her tear his doubt subdued, 
No word of hers announced her Christ: 

By him in dream that angel stood 
With warning hand. A dream sufficed. 

And, then, how exquisite the address 
to St. Joseph in that same carol ! 

■ Hail, image of the Father's might, 

The Heavenly Father's human shade! 

Hail, silent King, whose yoke was light! 

Hail, foster-sire, whom Christ obeyed! 

Hail, warder of God's Church beneath. 

Thy vigil keeping at her door. 
Year after year, at Nazareth! 

So guard, so guide us evermore. • 

On the Feast of the Visitation our poet 
sings : 

The hilly region crossed with haste. 

Its last dark ridge discerned no more; 
Bright as the bow that spans a waste. 
She stood beside her cousin's door. 

Let us hear him for a momfent in some 
rural scene; in this he is absolute master: 

* September 8, feast of Mary's birth. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



66 



I 



Ascending from the convent grates, 
The children mount the woodland vale. 

'Tis May-Day eve ; and Hesper waits 
To light them, while the western gale 

Blows softly on their bannered line; 

And lo! down all the mountain stairs 
The shepherd children come to join 

The convent children at their prayers. 

It will be allowed to quote here, as 
again exhibiting the master-hand revel- 
ling in rural scenery, the delightful poem, 
" Adolescentulae Amaverunt te Nimis" 
(The maidens have loved thee exceed- 
ingly) : 

Behold the wintry raiqs are past, 
The airs of midnight hurt no more; 

The young maids^ove thee. Come, at last! 
Thou lingerest'at the garden door. 

The idea is taken from the Canticles; 
and the singer or caller is supposed to be 
calling to one whose name he is unwilling 
to mention. He proceeds (the name, of 
<:ourse, is Mary's): 

Blow over all the garden; blow, 
Thou wind that breathest of the south, 

Through all the alleys winding low. 
With dewy wing and honeyed mouth ! 

But whereso'er^thou wanderest, shap>e 

Thy music ever to one name. 
Thou, too, clear stream, to cave and cape 

Be sure^thou whisper of the same. 

By every isle and bower of musk 

Thy crystal clasps, as on it curls. 
We charge thee breathe it to the dusk, 

We charge thee grave it in thy pearls. 

The stream obeyed:^ that name he bore 

Far out above the moonlit tide. 
The breeze obeyed:] he breathed it o'er 

The unforgettingjpine, and died. 

The poet finds in the longing of the 
liuman heart for the coming of the May a 
likeness to the longing of creation waiting 
for Mary's coming. Here again he is seen 
in rural scenery: 

The infant year with infant freak. 

Intent to dazzle and surprise. 
Played witli us long at hide-and-seek ; 

Turned on us now, now veiled her eyes. 

Between the pines forever green, 

And boughs by April half attired, 
She glanced ; then sang, once more unseen, 
"The unbeheld is more desired." 



With footsteps vague and bard to trace, 
She crept from whitening bower to bower ; 

Now bent from heaven her golden face. 
Now veiled her radiance in a shower. * 

Like genial hopes, and thoughts devout 
That touch some sceptic soul forlorn, 

And herald clearer faith, and rout 
The night, and antedate the mom. 

Her gifls. But thou, all-beauteons May, 
Art come at last. Oh, with thee bring 

Hearts pure as thine with thee to play, 
And own the consummated spring! 

Wherever we open the volume we are 
tempted to read on. Here, for instance 

(Fest. Epiphaniae): 

They leave the land of gems and gold. 

The shining portals of the East; 
For Him, the "Woman's Seed " foretold, 

They leave the revel and the feast. 

To earth their sceptres they have cast. 
And crowns by kings ancestral worn ; 

They track the lonely Syrian waste, 
They kneel l)efore the Babe new-bom. 

O happy eyes that saw him first ! 

O happy lips that kissed His feet ! 
Earth slakes at last her ancient thirst ; 

With Eden's joy her pulses beat 



He, He is King, and He alone, 
Who lifts that infant hand to bless ; 

Who makes His Mother's knee His throne. 
Yet rules the starry wilderness. 

Behold how the poet makes everything 
sing of Holy Mary: 

O Cowslips, sweetening lawn and vale ; 

O Harebells, drenched in noontide dew; 
O Moon, white Primrose, Wind- Flower fraU, 

The song should be of hfr, not you ! 

The May -breeze answered, whispering low, 
"Not thine ; they sing her praises best ; 
Yet song her grace in theirs can show; 
Her claims they prove not, yet attest. 

"Beneath all fair things round thee strewn 
Her beauty lurks, by sense unseen ; 
Who lifts their .veil uprears a throne 
In holy hearts to Bei«uty's Queen." 

Was it not St. Teresa that plucked a 
flower, and, catching the scent of it, her 
mind recollected, as if by lightning flash, 
that from all eternity God had decreed 
that flower to remind, her of Him, and had 
looked to that moment to see what her 



* This verse describes to a nicety our Irish April 
weather. 



66 



THE AVE MARIA. 



adoration of Him at that moment would 
be; and then, bowing down, adored Him 
with all her soul ? Am I right or wrong 
again in attributing to St Anthony the 
story of going through the fields and 
begging the flowers to cease their reproach- 
ing him with his want of love of God? 
*'Hush! hush!" he said. Were not these 
saints uplifting the veil, and thereby 
uprearing a throne? 

It is wonderful what a communion with 
nature Mr. De Vere seems to hold ; and, if 
anything, even more wonderful still is the 
way he uses and adapts this knowledge. 
In his ' ' Pastor ^ternus ' ' we have a mag- 
nificent simile. In Hebrews we read: 
* ' They shall perish, but Thou shalt remain j 
and all things as clothing shall grow old, 
and as a garment Thou shalt change them, 
and they shall be changed ; but Thou 
art always the same, and Thy years shall 
not fail. ' ' Now, the poet, in his ' ' Pastor 
^ternus" (Eternal Shepherd), wants to 
give to human thought a simile at once 
of change and unchangeableness. Nothing 
is so changeable and fickle as a shadow; 
nothing so unchangeable as the huge, lofty 
mountains. The mountain typifies, to his 
thought, the eternity of God ; the shadow, 
the changeableness of created things. 

Some peak athwart the mountaias flung 
A crowned shadow creeping slow. 

Still crept it onwards. Vague and vast, 
From ridge to ridge the mountains o'er, 

That king-like Semblance slowly passed ; 
A shepherd's crook for staflF it bore. 

The shepherd's crook is type of the 
adorable Humanity. 

The airy pageant died with d^y, 
The hills, the worlds themselves, must die : 

But Thou remainest such alway: 
Thy IfOve is from eternity. 

In his preface Mr. De Vere says: 
**Mary has a peculiar oflice also relative 
to her Son's human character. Parallel 
mountain ranges help us far more to 
conceive height than a single range could 
do, although the highest; and thus the 
spotless humanity of Mary, when duly 



pondered, is a great assistance to us in 
conceiving the human character of Our 
Lord, the altitudes of which we can not 
always measure with entire reverence." 
We find this thought beautifully illustrated 
in his * ' Turris Eburnea " : 

The scheme of worlds, which vast we call. 

Is only vast compared with man ; 
Compared with God, the One yet All, 

Its greatness dwindles to a span. 

A lily with its isles of buds 
Asleep on some unmeasured sea, — 

O God, the starry multitudes. 
What are they more than this to Thee ? 

Yet girt by Nature's petty pale, 

Each tenant holds the place assigned 

To each in Being's awful scale ; — 
The last of creatures leaves behind 

The abyss of nothingness: the first 

Into the abyss of Godhead peers. 
Waiting that vision which shall burst 

In glory on the eternal years. 

Tower of our Hope! through thee we climb 

Finite creation's topmost stair; 
Through thee from Sion's height sublime 

Toward God we gaze through clearer air. 

Infinite distance still divides 

Created from creative power; 
But all which intercepts and hides 

Lies dwarfed by that surpassing Tower. 

From these extracts it can at once be 
seen the sublime nature of this poetry, — 
sublime objectively and subjectively. Of 
those who read this book there will be 
only one class disappointed — the class 
that think they can read as they run. 
Mr. De Vere in all his works is worth 
pondering on. No one taking up one 
of his works, and more particularly his 
"Ancilla Domini; or. May Carols," need 
be afraid that it is time going to be lost. 
On the contrary, it is time and knowledge 
and reverence about to be gained. But 
if so, it is, as with everything valuable, 
at some cost, — at the cost of reading 
carefully, and often of reading even a 
second time ; nay, the present writer 
confesses he has sometimes read a third 
time ; but then with such an overflowing 
satisfaction that he has more' than once 
shut the book, as if his enjoyment would 
let him read no more. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



67 



A Golden Deed and Its Reward. 



BY THB AUTHOR OF "TYBORNE." 



I. 

A BURNING day on the burning shore 
of Africa. A company of French 
soldiers, in a forced march through the 
arid desert, were now obliged to climb a 
rocky hill, bare of all vegetation. Never 
once during the march had they met with 
a spring or well of water. Their water 
cans were empty, and they were worn 
with fatigue and heat. Some had fallen 
to die in the route, and were left to their 
fate. And now, as the soldiers reached 
the foot of the hill they had to climb, a 
young lieutenant dropped out of the line 
and sat down. The others passed on, and 
he was soon alone. 

He thought a little Test would restore 
him, but he felt unable to rise. Thirst, 
a burning thirst, consumed him. ' One 
thought possessed his mind. Was it pos- 
sible tO procure a draught of water? If 
not, he must die. He felt he was dying. 
He thought of his native France and of 
his family. He saw in his mind's eye the 
mill-stream near his father's house. How 
he used to love to watch the water tum- 
bling over the mill-wheel like a miniature 
waterfall, and to catch the spray ! Oh, 
for one drop of that water what would 
he not give ! 

He lay on the hot ground, his eyes 
closed, when suddenly he heard a voice: 

"Why, Lieutenant, what is the matter? " 

"I am dying of thirst," said Amedius 
de Mail. "Give me a drink of water in 
the name of God !" 

"Well, I have some water in my can," 
said the soldier; "I was saving it for 
myself, but in God's name drink it." 

The officer took a long draught, and 
rose to his feet. "May God reward you!" 
he said. "You have saved my life." 



"We must hasten on," said the soldier. 
"I see Arabs in the distance." 

"Did you enter the array by your own 
wish?" asked Amedius of his companion. 

"No, no! I drew a bad number in the 
conscription. But no matter now; I am 
content I am a Parisian. My mother sells 
vegetables. Now, while we are roasting 
like chestnuts in the fire, she is calling 
out : ' Green peas and fresh asparagus ! * 
She writes to me and tells me to take 
care of myself. Goodness me! what would 
she say if she saw me now?" 

"You will soon rise from the ranks," 
said Amedius. " You have been educated." 

"Well, yes. I was six years at the 
Christian Brothers' school. But look here, 
Lieutenant There are two things in my 
body which do me much injury — my 
shoulders and my tongue. I shrug the 
first and I wag the second. Therefore I 
shall never be a sergeant. Never mind, — 
I'm all right" 

Amedius looked at the merry-hearted 
fellow. He was a true Parisian, capable of 
much good as well as of much evil. Then 
his eyes wandered over the fine view that 
was visible as they ascended the hill. 

"How beautiful it is!" said the oflScer. 

"Why," replied the soldier, "I am sure 
I have seen much finer scenery at the 
opera. Our Breton soldiers are always 
saying, 'Oh!* and. * Ah!' A Parisian is 
never surprised. We have camels and ser- 
pents and palm-trees in the zoological 
gardens, and Arabs selling cigars in the 
streets; and at the theatres you can sec 
mountains and the sea, and everything of 
that kind. There is nothing new to a 
Parisian. But Paris — how I wish I could 
see it!" 

By this time they had reached the 
summit of the hill and found their com- 
rades had halted; for water and shade had 
been found at last 

Before Amedius took leave of his com- 
panion, he thanked him warmly for his 
kindness and asked his name. 



68 



THE AVE MARIA. 



"Nothing to thank me for, Lieutenant. 
I only wish I could have given you cham- 
pagne. My name is Henry Lacost at your 
service. ' ' 

That night Amedius had a strange 
dream. It seemed to him that, consumed 
with burning thirst, he saw before him a 
stream of running water, and that he 
eagerly approached and drank of it. And 
then, looking to see from whence this 
fresh and sparkling water flowed, he 
beheld it gushing forth between the stones 
of an altar. 

II. 

"What! is it really you, my dear 
Amedius, — you in a cassock, my old com- 
rade in the Military College? I thought 
you were a colonel by this time, and 
behold you are a priest!" 

Father Amedius pressed his friend's 
hand as he answered: 

"God makes use of every means to 
bring us to Him. In my youth I thought 
I was called to be a soldier; and, in spite 
of my mother's gentle opposition, I went 
to the Military College. I persevered, 
although my health was far from good, 
and though I disliked the course of study. 
But I was happy when I left college and 
saw active service. I was sent to Africa. 
At first I liked fighting exceedingly, 
but by degrees I grew weary and I sighed 
after something higher. And a story I 
heard one day by chance decided me." 

"What story was it? " 

"One both simple and sublime. Some 
soldiers were taken prisoners by the Arabs. 
They were given their choice, apostasy 
or death. These poor soldiers, ignorant and 
simple peasants, never hesitated: they all 
died martyrs of the faith they had learned 
at their mother's knee. They died ignorant 
of the glory with which they were covering 
themselves before God and before men, 
gathering without their knowledge a 
glorious palm. This history made a great 
impression on me. ' How beautiful ! ' I said 
to myself ' Happy are the simple-hearted! 



Surely it is better worth my while to 
preach and spread a faith which can work 
such miracles in souls than to spend my 
life dreaming of promotion and deco- 
rations. So, when peace was declared and 
I was named captain, I sent in my resig- 
nation, returned to France, and entered 
the seminary. In course of time I was 
ordained, and here I am." 

"Why were you sent to this wretched 
little town?" 

"I am chaplain to the Military Hospital, 
so I still live among soldiers." 

"And are you really happy, Amedius?'* 

"Indeed yes. I desire only one thing — 
that I might serve God better." 

Here the conversation between the two 
old friends was interrupted. A soldier 
came up to the chaplain. 

"Please, Father, you are wanted in the 
prison. The Governor wishes to see you. ' ' 

' ' What ! are you prison chaplain also ? ' ' 
asked his friend. , 

"Oh, yes! I fill both posts, as you see. 
Adieu, dear Philip, for. the present." 

Amedius went quickly to the prison; the 
Governor said to him: 

"A prisoner has just been brought in, 
condemned to death by court-martial. He 
has made an appeal to the King, but it 
will surely be refused. When intoxicated 
he killed one of the sergeants, and he bore 
a bad character before that. I fear you will 
find him very hardened. ' ' 

"I must hope in God's mercy," said the 
priest. "What is the poor fellow's name?" 

"Henry Lacost." 

"Why, I know him!" 

"Do you? Well, then, I have some hope 
of your success. You knew him when you 
were in the army?" 

"Yes, Governor; and I knew him to 
do a deed which I believe will not pass 
unrewarded." 

The chaplain went to the chapel and 
knelt in prayer. "My God and py Lord," 
he said, "deign to remember what this 
unfortunate man one day did fdr me; and 



THE AVE MARIA. 



69 



by that cruel thirst which Thou didst bear 
upou the Cross have pity on his soul! I 
appeal to Thy divine promise — let the cup 
of cold water be repaid by everlasting life." 
He found the unhappy man wearing 
a strait waistcoat and his feet chained 
together. He looked quite impassive when 
the chaplain entered. 

'*I have come to see you, my friend," 
said the priest, kindly ; **and to offer you my 
help. Our holy religion has wonderful con- 
solations for a terrible moment like this." 
"Thank you, sir," said Henry, in a 
hard voice, "for your good intention; but 
I do not need such assistance. I know 
how to die without it. I struck an unfort- 
unate blow when I had not my senses 
about me. I am punished for that. It is 
just: who breaks the glass must pay for 
it; only the suspense is horrible." 

"You have appealed for pardon, I 
believe?" 

"Yes: my lawyer advised me to do so. 
But I expect nothing — nothing ; and I 
wish it was finished and done with." 

' * When that is finished, my friend, 
do you think there will be an end of 
everything?" 

"What ! You think I believe in all 
that stuff about souls and eternity ! No, 
no ! When the body is dead all is over; 
and you will see that Henry Lacost will 
not be afraid when the moment comes." 
Amedius thought it best to change the 
subject 

"Can I be of use to you in any way?" 
he asked. "Have you any relations, any 
family?" 

"Yes. I have an old mother. This will 
be a terrible blow to her. She fretted 
when, after my seven years were up, I 
remained in the army; and it was a stupid 
blunder on my part. It was drink that 
did it, — drinking spirits has brought me 
here. I swear to you, sir, I am not a good- 
for-nothing. When I am sober I wouldn't 
harm a dog, but when I have taken too 
much I can't bear contradiction. And 



because my sergeant-major was always 
crossing and tormenting me, this misfortune 
befell me. Well, well ! If I am allowed to sell 
my watch and a few trifles I have, I should 
like to send the money to my mother." 
"That shall certainly be done," said 
the priest. "And you may be sure in 
future she shall find a friend in me," 

"Thanks, sir! I wish I could do what 
you desire, to oblige you; but I can not I 
have no faith. I want to die as I have 
lived, gay and fearless." 

He was greatly moved; and, to conceal 
it, he began to sing an idle song. 

"Oh, don't sing!" said the chaplain. 
"Brave men are always serious at the 
hour of death." 

"That's true," said Henry. "I'll be as 
grave as a mule." 

Amedius now took leave. But if he had 
not been able to speak of God to the pris- 
oner, he spoke much of the prisoner to God. 
Next day he went back to the cell, and 
found Henry in a very nervous, excited 
state. 

' * Has a pardon come ? ' ' cried the culprit^ 
eagerly. 

"No answer has yet arrived," replied 
the chaplain. 

"The reason I ask," said Henry, "is 
that, after all, life is sweet. I am only 
thirty-four and in good health. I am not 
afraid of a few years in prison. I should 
like to live on. The King will have mercy j 
don't you think so, sir?" 

"Alas! my friend, I am not hopeftil. 
Make your peace with God. He is the all- 
merciful King, who will not only accept 
your repentance, but give you a place in 
His kingdom." 

"Don't talk to me about that! "cried 
Henry, furiously. "Let me hope on. I 
want to be left alone. Don't bother mc! 
What right have you to come here? Am I 
condemned also to endure your presence? " 
"No, you are not But if you knew 
what a regard I have for you, I am sure 
you would not banish me." 



70 



THE AVE MARIA 



The prisoner was touched, and tears 
filled his eyes. 

"I don't want to pain you," he said, 
**you are so good to me; but don't talk to 
me of this stuff." 

The next day the chaplain made no 
progress with Henry, but he made every 
effort to touch the Heart of his Divine 
Master. He passed the night in prayer, 
and gave large alms to the poor. The 
following day he learned that the appeal 
was refused. He went to the prisoner, and 
found him looking very haggard. 

"The appeal?" he cried out, eagerly. 

The priest cast down his eyes and was 
silent 

" It's all over, then?" said Henry. "I 
am done for. I must die." And he began 
to shiver and turned white. The terror of 
death had at last come upon him. 

"My brother, my friend," said the 
chaplain, holding him in his arms, "offer 
God generously the sacrifice of your life. 
Put your confidence in Him, who did not 
refuse the prayer of the penitent Thief on 
the Cross." 

"/," said Henry,—"/ to hope! What 
have I ever done to give me a right to 
hope? I do not deceive myself. I know 
too well that if there is a God in heaven 
He will condemn me." 

"That God will save you," said 
Amedius. " Look well at me. Do you not 
remember me?" 

Henry, astonished, gazed at the priest, 
and shook his head. 

" Do you not remember the young 
oflScer dying with thirst in Africa, to 
whom you gave the last drops of water 
from your canteen?" 

"That was you?" gasped Henry. 

' ' It was I. You saved my life. Can I do 
nothing for you? I am your friend — your 
grateful friend. Will you refuse when 
I implore you in God's name to make 
good use of the brief time that remains, 
and save your soul?" 

"My crimes are too great." 



"Oh, the mercy of God is far greater! 
Our Lord has not thirsted on the Cross in 
vain for you. He pleads your cause before 
His Father." 

"You really believe all this?" asked 
Henry. 

"I do indeed, with my whole heart" 

"Well," said Henry, "you had a splen- 
did future before you in the army, and you 
renounced it. Have you found anything 
better than riches and honors?" 

"I have already found far better things, 
and I hope for still greater joy." 

"Very well. I give myself into your 
hands. The memory you have recalled 
touches me. I was worth more then than 
I am now; but as you take such an interest 
in me, a condemned criminal, I will not 
despair of myself. Speak to me of God." 

Grace did its wondrous work. The load 
of sin was removed, and celestial light 
poured into the purified soul. Real con- 
trition filled his heart. The wild, turbulent 
man became like a little child." 

"How good God is!" said he. "What 
graces He has given me! Some years ago 
I heard His voice, but I would not listen. 
One of my comrades took me to a meeting 
of soldiers conducted by priests, who spoke 
to us of God and our souls. I grew weary, 
and would never go again. I lost that 
chance of amendment; and yet God was 
not weary of me: He sent you, my father, 
my brother, my saviour. The word of 
God is true, as you see. I remember how 
we learned the words at school with the 
Brothers: a cup of cold water given in His 
Name shall not lose its reward. Oh, if I 
could live over again, how many cups of cold 
water would I give!" added poor Henry. 

He was shot that night, and went to his 
doom calmly, even joyfully. Just at the 
last moment he said to the chaplain: 

"I die happy; for I shall never more 
offend the good God." 

His companions pitied his* fate, but 
the chaplain thought rather they should 
envy him. 



THE. AVE MARIA. 



71 



Memories of Hawaii. 



BY CHARLES WARRBM STODDARD. 

III. — The Tropical Metropolis. 

IN the collections of Essays upon the 
Streets of the World I find two notable 
omissions. There is no mention made of 
that startling little strip of hades, away 
down yonder in Papeeti, Tahiti, known as 
La Petite Pologne ; nor is there, so far as 
I have searched, any reference to the long, 
narrow, sunny vale just back of Honolulu, 
through which runs Nuuanu Avenue. 
Nuuanu Avenue begins down among the 
whalers on the skirts of the calm, reef- 
girdled harbor; it does not end until it 
reaches the jumping-oflf place, up among 
the clouds that veil the brow of the 
famous Pali. 

Down by the sea it smells of oil and is 
littered with all sorts of nautical rubbish. 
The sun seems to glow incessantly over 
that particular quarter; it is like a furnace 
seven times heated. There are staring 
white store-houses, that blind one in the 
blazing light; and queer old coral struct- 
ures, two or three of them, that would 
make excellent backgrounds to George 
Cruikshank's etchings among the English 
Docks. There is a "Royal George," or 
some other wooden worthy, perched up 
under the gable of one of these rookeries. 
I wonder where he came from? At one 
time in his career he must have taken 
involuntary salt-water baths under the 
bowsprit of a tolerably large craft ; but 
the brilliant coloring that once enlivened 
him is fading quite away; he is the sad 
efl5gy of a sole survivor. 

Passing up the street out of this Tophet, 
shops of all descriptions line the way. 
Verandas, closely latticed, hang over fra- 
grant fruit-stalls ; and from the narrowest 
passages conceivable issue streams of 
busy or idle natives, who have always a 



greeting for those within hailing distance. 
Here, in the twilight, the wreath-makers 
display their wares; for each Hawaiian, 
male or female, must wear about tlie 
brow or neck some flowery girdle. 

Queen Emma's mansion was not far 
from here. 

It does not take long to get out of the 
heart of Honolulu. Vegetable gardens 
interspersed with bits of unkept shrub- 
bery — veritable jungles, though tame 
ones, — these divide the suburban resi- 
dences. The street very gently ascends 
the valley ; the hills rise gradually at the 
farther edge of the gardens and pasture 
lands on each side of the road. Now you 
begin to realize the deliciousness of the 
climate. Sharp, sudden showers sweep 
over the upper end of the avenue, where 
it climbs in between the twin mountains 
that overtop it ; they are the magnificent 
Termini of beautiful Nuuanu. 

Fields of cane, taro patches, and clusters 
of native huts — thatched to the heels with 
soft brown thatch, — give a half savage 
air to the distant prospect ; you seem 
to have driven out of one latitude into 
another. Here there are cool bungalows, 
where business men of the city may seek 
rest early in the afternoon, returning to 
their offices the next morning. It is not 
always business before pleasure in this 
climate. Indeed — save on steamer day — 
if th€re is anything to be postponed, 'tis 
pretty sure to be business. 

There are tennis parties up>on the lawns, 
and croquet is not wholly out of fashion. 
There are women fanning themselves by 
low, broad, open windows, with an air of 
exquisite leisure. There are bits of wild 
forest that would bewitch a landscape 
gardener, and the noise of waterfalls 
beyond green hedges but a stone's- throw 
distant; while by the roadside gurgle 
impetuous rivulets, that feed a hundred 
private bath-houses 'twixt here and town. 
Two palaces partly reveal themselves in 
the midst of umbrageous foliage; and as 



72 



THE AVE MARIA. 



the avenue, a little nearer town, cuts 
directly through a cemetery, it here seems 
to take final leave of man and his habita- 
tions. The valley has grown narrow and 
become a wild, wooded canyon, down 
-which the trade-wind rushes, and over 
■which the clouds brood almost always. 
You drive through a succession of warm, 
gauzy showers, and out into the sunshine 
again; but ahead of you the rain is falling 
heavily, and a radiant rainbow spans the 
far end of the street like a triumphal arch. 

When you have driven into the deep, 
fragrant, and windy chasm, and the moun- 
tain walls begin to close in about you, 
'tis time to call a halt. The beasts are 
fagged. You are puzzled as to your future 
— if 'tis your first visit to the Pali. Now 
the road takes a sudden turn and disap- 
pears. You alight; the vehicle is driven 
into a sheltered nook, lest, being delivered 
of our fleshly burden, the wind might 
"bear it hence. 

With caution you step forward, and 
come suddenly upon the brink of an abyss 
of flowers. A thousand feet under you 
sweep leagues of undulating lowlands, 
cushioned with greenest grass and fields 
•of juicy cane; beyond is the sapphire sea, 
and a single palm-tipped islet. Palms, like 
•plumed sentinels, guard the surf-beaten 
■shore; there stretch the rain-fed pastures, 
and over the green meadow-carpet the 
white flocks drift like thistle down. 

All these islands have a backbone, and 
it is apt to be a very high one. In most 
•cases this spinal mountain range divides 
the land into windward and leeward 
slopes. On the one hand is prodigal 
fertility, where the ungathered fruits 
ripen and decay, and the flowers blossom 
and go to seed in unvisited solitude. On 
the other are bare, burnt slopes, ridged, 
wrinkled, gutted, torn half asunder by 
forgotten convulsions of nature, these scars 
remaining to tell the awful tale. There 
the land is tanned in the eternal sunshine, 
thirsting to death in the almost perpetual 



drought; the scanty herbage is starved 
to a skeleton ; nothing but the faithful, 
patient, long-suffering cocoa-palms can 
endure such dire neglect, and these stand 
fast, and ornament a landscape that would 
otherwise be piteous in its extremity; 
there they will stand and- bear their fruits 
and endure all things gratefully, so long 
as the hand of progress leaves them to 
their fate. Two God-given angels bring 
life and hope to the wayfarer in the 
desert — these are the fountain and the 
palm ! 

From the crest of Nuuanu Avenue, 
long ago when it was a trackless jungle, 
Kamehameha I., the Napoleon Bonaparte 
of Hawaii, drove his enemies like sheep 
before him. Having forced them into 
this narrow passage, from whence there 
was no retreat, in desperation they cast 
themselves from the precipice, and their 
broken bodies were showered upon the 
forest a thousand feet below. From this 
dizzy height one sees the ocean laving 
the opposite shores of the island ; and, 
though the contrast is not so pronounced 
upon the dorsal ridge of Oahu, one may 
mark the glory and the shame of all 
mountainous islands that lie in the track 
of the trade-wind. 

After long years this is the state in 
which I find Hawaii. It is much changed, 
and, doubtless from a practical point of 
view, for the better. In my mind I am 
continually drawing comparisons; I can 
not help it, for some of the changes in 
life hereabout are almost past belief. 

In the old days the small propeller 
Kilauea wallowed between the islands of 
the group, tickled her ribs on the reef at 
intervals, but miraculously held together 
in the tumultuous seas until she was 
deposed by a fleet of eight tight little 
steamers, more seaworthy and more regular 
in their habits. These busy boats have 
secured the inter-island travef, and are 
almost always crowded. I remember when 
we used to make a choice of schooners; 



THE AVE MARIA. 



73 



and in those days there was a choice, for 
some were a great deal worse than others. 
Then voyages were a battle with wind 
and tide. It is only seven or eight hours 
by steam to Lahama on the island of 
Maui, yet I was once three days in 
accomplishing that cruise. The sails beat 
themselves into rags. The sun boiled the 
pitch out of the seams, and at intervals 
there fell showers of tepid water. I never 
knew why we were so thwarted by the 
elements until an Hawaiian sage told me 
that there was a corpse in the hold. One 
might as well heave out the anchor as 
hope to sail with a corpse. There was 
also a horse, blind of one eye, in the fore- 
castle; and it were vain to mind the helm 
under such circumstances, for to follow 
the magnetic needle is beyond the range 
of possibility. 

They are gone, the picturesque aggrava- 
tions and the unique inconveniences that 
are so decorative in retrospect. Hawaii is 
at last hopelessly civilized. The telephone 
pipes its nasal treble from the umbrageous 
suburbs of the capital to the steaming 
centres of trade — back again, crosswise 
and every other way ; the babyish wail 
of that exasperating convenience travels 
relentlessly. If the mosquito of this lati- 
tude could only speak, he would say his 
long grace before dining in precisely that 
tone of voice ; and yet the telephone is 
universally popular. And now the iron 
horse is on Maui, Hawaii, and Oahu ; and 
there is talk of a submarine inter-island 
cable. After this, what will be left want- 
ing? Nothing will be left wanting for any 
length of time ; you may be sure of it ! 

(To be continued.) 



The Spanish Caravels. 



Beneath the Roses. 



C^XCEPT the pure and sinless child, 
^"^ Each soul in secret mourns ; 
In life, as on the rosebush wild, 
The blossoms hide the thorns. 



BY ICAKV CATUERINB CROU'LEY. 

PERHAPS nothing in connection with 
the splendid Columbian Exposition 
gives one so forcible a realization of the 
courage and intrepidity of the great navi- 
gator, or more plainly shows that he felt 
himself to be the instrument of Providence, 
impelled to carry the faith to the imknown 
lands beyond the seas, than a view of the 
strange, medieval-looking ships now riding 
at anchor in Lake Michigan, with only a 
stretch of blue water between them and the 
beautiful White City of the World's Fair. 

These, as is well known, are the counter- 
parts of the fleet with which Columbus set 
sail from Palos on the 3d of August, 1492. 
Early in the present year, four centuries 
later, Spain again sent the Santa Maria^ 
the Pinta and the Nina forth upon the 
Atlantic; but this time to be her most 
appropriate and graceful tribute to the 
genius of the World Finder (to have aided 
whom must ever be the most brilliant 
record of her history), and to the Republic 
of the United States, at the celebration of 
the quadro-centennial of the discovery of 
America. 

Built, equipped, and commissioned by 
the Spanish Government, they duly set 
out, the Nina and Pinta being towed 
across the ocean. The Santa Maria sailed 
by herself, and made the trip to Cuba in 
exactly the same number of days in 
which Columbus accomplished it, — a fact 
which proves liis voyage the more mar- 
vellous ; since, with a full knowledge of 
the route, and the aids enjoyed by the 
navigators of to-day, she made no better 
time. The three vessels arrived at Hamp- 
ton Roads on April 22, amid a glorious 
greeting of cheers, the display of the 
Spanish . colors upon every ship in the 
harbor, and thunderous salutes from the 



74 



THE AVE MARIA. 



great war-vessels of the most powerful 
nations of the earth, then gathered there. 

From the first the passing of the cara- 
vels has been like a triumphal progress. 
In the naval pageant at New York they 
were the chief attraction, despite the 
presence of the mighty representatives of 
the armadas of Europe. From the mouth 
of the Hudson they continued up the 
coast to the St. Lawrence, passed down 
that historic river, and entered the straits 
of Detroit, on their course to the Great 
Lakes, — the vast inland ocean undreamed 
of for a hundred years after the time of 
Columbus, and which it was necessary to 
traverse to reach their anchorage near 
Chicago. 

As they passed up the Detroit, with 
their escort of excursion steamers gay 
with bunting, and a whole fleet of yachts 
and small river craft following in their 
wake, while the guns of the fort pealed 
forth in welcome, the scene was one worthy 
^of remembrance. Such also was the picture 
when, reaching Belle Isle, the tranquil 
spot in mid-stream where the river parts, 
the ships hove to, and dropped overboard 
the queer little kedges that serve them 
for anchors. Thus they rested upon the 
stream, as some strange sea-birds might 
rest at evening, before the sunrise which 
was to witness their venturing upon 
unfamiliar waters. 

And all day long small row-boats 
shot out from the island beach, or came 
up from the Canadian shore or the city, 
and gathered like a flock of sea-gulls 
around the antique-looking caravels. There 
they lay, the Santa Maria^ the Pinta and 
the Nina^ with their sails furled, but their 
pennants fluttering in the breeze. And 
about them on every side stretched the 
broad river, motionless as a painted sea, 
an expanse of flashing azure that turned 
to silver as the sun went down. 

Then their colors were lowered, the 
sunset g^n was fired from the Santa Maria^ 
and the quiet of the Angelus hour settled 



upon the scene. Along the western 
horizon the deep-rose clouds lingered long 
in the evening sky, making a poetic 
background to the dark masts and hulks 
of the caravels. 

Above them soon shone the evening- 
star, and presently other stars came twin- 
kling forth. The outlines of the strange 
vessels grew blacker and less defined, the 
sounds of festivity from the shore ceased; 
and from amid the shadows, as if it was 
half a dream, gleamed the lights of these 
Old-World ships, that seem to have come 
out to us across the ocean of time from 
the ports of the Ages of Faith. 

Picturesque, stately and cumbrous, the 
caravels are yet scarcely larger than 
good-sized pleasure yachts, fit only for a 
summer cruise along the coast. ' ' How did 
Columbus ever dare to venture out upon 
the unknown ocean with such frail, 
lumbering craft?" one asks oneself And 
yet we read that, although having no 
chart of the way, no traditions of similar 
voyages to aid him, no guide but his 
mariner's compass, his conviction that he 
was right and his trust in God, it was 
with a brave heart that he set his course 
*'due west." 

An inspection of these ships makes one 
comprehend much more vividly than ever 
before the greatness of the Admiral's 
perils, the difficulties he had to encounter ; 
and adds a hundredfold to one's admi- 
ration of his constancy to the purpose to 
which he had consecrated his life, and 
one's appreciation of the magnitude of his 
achievement 

The quaint construction of the three 
vessels, the ribs on the outside clamped 
together for strength, the high bows and 
stern, and the depression amid-ships in 
two of them, the queer rigging, — all give 
them an attractive appearance. The Santa 
Maria^ the flagship which led the Pinta 
and Nina^ and was the one* in which 
Columbus himself sailed, is, of course, the 
most interesting. In shape it has some- 



THE AVE MARIA. 



75 



what the appearance of having been 
"scooped out in the middle"; and this 
low central deck is so very near the 
water-line that it seems as if the waves of 
an ocean stonn sweeping in, and retained 
by the high bulwarks, must sink the ship. 
A ladder leads to the high forecastle, and 
another to the poop deck. The Santa 
Maria is armed by four small antiquated 
cannon and four little guns called falconets, 
the originals of the breech-loading cannon 
of to-day. She has three masts, and is 
rigged with square and triangular sails. 
Aloft on the stern is a large iron lantern, 
the ancient insignia of an admiral. 

In the open space under the poop deck 
are specimens of the arms used by the 
crew of Columbus; for in those times a 
sailor was something of a soldier as well. 
The most curious of all, however, are the 
large guns called "lombardia," which 
are fastened with ropes to the wooden 
blocks that serve as carriages; while near 
by, in a netted bag, hang some balls, which 
were the kind of projectiles then used. 
The old windlass for raising the anchors 
is interesting, too; as are the shields over 
the rails — the arms of Castile (castles and 
lions), of Aragon (gold with red bars), and 
of Sicily (the bars of Aragon and eagles) ; 
also the pennants bearing the arms of 
Spain; and above all the banner of the 
expedition, which displays the image of 
Christ Crucified. 

The cabin of the Santa Maria is a fac- 
simile of that occupied by Columbus. Its 
furniture consists of a fifteenth century 
bedstead, a clothes-press, two antique 
chairs, and a plain table, on which are to 
be seen an ancient astrolabe and a fore- 
staff — instruments employed in his day 
for measuring the height of the stars; 
also the ship's compass and an inkstand. 
All these look old enough to have belonged 
to the Admiral of the ocean seas. 

The walls are decorated with armor 
such as he wore, and swords, halberds, 
etc. But the object which first claims 



attention in this simple cabin, and that 
to which the glance of those who are of 
the faith of Columbus returns with an 
understanding that it is a compendium 
of the whole story of the discovery of 
America, is a large painting of Our Lady 
with her Divine Child in her arms. There 
it hangs, as a similar picture hung when 
this great Christian navigator set sail 
from Palos. During the storms, the mutiny, 
the suspense, that sweet face cheered his 
anxious heart The image of the gentle 
Madonna holding out to him the Infant 
Christ was a constant exhortation to him 
to persevere, that he might bear to the 
heathen living within the shadow of 
death the knowledge of the Redemption. 
Kneeling with his gaze fixed upon it, he 
uttered the ardent prayers that sustained 
his sublime courage; before it- he cast 
himself, in the fervor of his thankfulness, 
after he had seen from the deck above, far 
off at the horizon, the glimmering light 
which proclaimed the discovery of land. 
And it is beautiful to remember that 
the standard of the Cross and the image of 
the Madonna are as revered and held as 
sacred by the officers and crew of the 
Santa Maria to-day as then; for it is the 
glory of Spain that, whatever she has lost, 
she has been loyal to the faith which 
she sent Columbus forth to deliver to 
the New World. 



A Forgotten Event. 

A REMARKABLE episode in the his- 
tory of the Roman Pantheon has been 
recalled by a paper in a recent number of 
the Atlantic Monthly. This event was no 
less than the exhumation of the remains 
of the "divine painter," Raphael, the 
artist pre-eminent among the many who 
delighted to place upon canvas the radiant 
face of Our Lady. Lives of Raphael are 
strangely silent as to his burial, or dismiss 



76 



THE AVE MARIA. 



it with a few inadequate words. Vasari, 
however, put on record that he was buried, 
at his own request, under the statue of 
the Madonna del Sasso in the Pantheon. 
In 1833 an association of Roman artists 
determined to settle the question once for 
all ; and, after obtaining the required 
permission, undertook the search for the 
precious remains in the presence of a 
number of public functionaries, ecclesi- 
astical and lay. 

"Raphael provided in his will for the 
restoration of one of the antique taber- 
nacles in the Church of S. Maria Rotonda, 
and expressed the wish to be buried there, 
under the new altar, and under a marble 
statue of Our Lady, "—thus had the histo- 
rian of his time placed a guide-board to 
point a way in the centuries to come. For 
five days the men toiled without ceasing, 
and at noon on the 14th of September all 
that remained of the faithful servant of 
the Lady he loved to portray was exposed 
to view. The receptacle -was hurriedly 
built; Raphael having died between 
Good-Friday and Easter eve, and been 
buried the next evening. The wall which 
protected the receptacle had ill done its 
part; water gradually leaked in, destroy- 
ing the wood of the cofl&n and covering 
the bones with an earthy deposit. But 
portions of what had been Raphael were 
there, still so preserved that the composure 
of the body was evident, . ' ' with hands 
crossed on the breast, and the face looking 
up toward the Madonna del Sasso, as if 
imploring from her the peace of the just." 
The measurements corresponded with 
reliable information regarding Raphael ; 
and there was still to be seen a "great 
roughness of the thumb," common to 
painters. 

After a lapse of a few days the remains 
were reinterred as before, only with extra 
precautions; and again rested, as the great 
artist wished, under the protecting care of 
Our Lady, to await the morning of the 
resurrection. 



Notes and Remarks. 



It is authoritatively announced that his 
Holiness the Pope has consented to permit 
the members of the Vatican choir to go to 
Chicago ; and not only to go there, but ta 
sing there. This permission is almost without 
precedent, and is one more proof of the 
interest taken by the Holy Father in this 
great gathering together of the wonders of 
the earth to celebrate an event which meant 
so much for Christendom. 

Think of the Papal choir singing the Salve 
Regina, the hymn Columbus loved above all 
others, on the shores of Lake Michigan, near 
the end of the nineteenth century ! And think 
of the goodness of God, which guided the little 
fleet, and by which we are permitted to listen 
to the same devout song, which floated over 
the unknown water daily at sunset from the 
deck of the Santa Maria! 



September 4, as we stated last week, is the 
time definitely settled upon for the opening 
of the Catholic Congress of the World's Fair; 
and there will not be too long a period 
beforehand in which to prepare for a credit- 
able gathering. Mr. Harson, of Providence,. 
R. I., has a number of practical suggestions 
to oflfer in regard to this worthy project. 
Catholic art should, he thinks, be given a 
liberal share of attention. The general public 
does not realize how many men, prominent as 
architects, sculptors and painters, are good 
Catholics as well. As to Catholic educators, 
any visitor to the Liberal Arts building does 
not need to be assured that the sessions of the 
Congress occupied with scholarly discussions 
proper will not lack interest. Mr. Harson 
mentions as another topic suitable for con- 
sideration the disarmament of nations. 



The season of college commencements has 
been marked by two significant incidents. 
Harvard College has made Bishop Keane, 
Rector of the Catholic University of America, 
a Doctor of Laws; and Yale has c«nferred the 
degree of Master of Arts upon the Rev. Dr. 
Synnott, of Seton Hall College. As an ilhis- 



THE AVE MARIA. 



77 



tration of the changed relations between the 
Church and the leading non- Catholic institu- 
tions, these actions are indeed notable; they 
bespeak the dissipation of that prejudice that 
has heretofore kept many good people out- 
side the Church. 



The season of college commencements has 
passed, and the fervid young Bachelor of 
something or other has not escaped the usual 
burden of useless advice, liberally seasoned 
with sarcasm. Among all this literary chaff 
it were a pity if a few grains of wheat were 
not to be found; and college graduates, old 
and young, might peruse with profit a recent 
editorial in the Catholic Review. Speaking of 
the most numerous class of graduates — those 
who, having exhausted their funds in the 
laudable work of educating themselves, must 
depend for a livelihood on the resources of a 
cultured mind and an upright heart, — our 
contemporary observes: 

"This is where our Catholic college alumni 
societies might find a new ambition. Not that they 
ought to pet and foster their younger members so as 
to interfere with the proper growth of a spirit of 
self-reliance among them. But it would be .a very 
excellent idea if every such society would keep a 
close watch on the career of its members, its younger 
and still unsuccessful ones; and be ready to lend 
a helping hand to each at the proper moment, so 
as to carry him over the most difficult places. The 
older and well-established lawyers, physicians, and 
business men of these societies would in this way, at 
the same time that they were putting a struggling 
youngster on the road to the success which his 
talents and virtues deserved for him, be doing some- 
thing also to strengfthen the standing of their college 
and their society." 

The Review's suggestion is an excellent 
one, and the new fraternity would be produc- 
tive of much good. 



The new life of William George Ward is 
doubtless a valuable book, but it affords a 
.striking instance of the peculiarities of judg- 
ment, to put it mildly, that editors sometimes 
evince in biographical work. If Dr. Ward 
ever really said of his children, "I am always 
informed when they are born, but know 
nothing more of them," the fact, we think, 
should not be paraded in his biography. 
Even after due allowance is made for the 



eccentricities of the man, i)eopIe will no t 
be edified on reading the anecdotes about 
Dr. Ward's having "no affection for his 
children, as such." These fine distinctions 
may have a meaning for professional dialecti- 
cians ; to ordinary minds they are the merest 
"buncombe," and the majority of English 
readers will regret that a man so great as 
Dr. Ward should have failed in his duty to 
his children during their earlier years. It is a 
mistake, as unfortunate as it is common, to 
think that the father of a family does his 
whole duty to his children when he feeds 
and clothes them, and that the attention of a 
mother is all-sufficient for their moral training. 
It requires the influence of both parents; 
and where this is wanting, there is a most 
important duty neglected. 



Proverbs are venerable things, and perhaps 
they ought not to be tampered with; but it 
would really seem that the old saw about 
truth's being stranger than fiction must be 
changed to read "Truth is not strange in 
fiction." In the July number of McClure's 
Magazine, Mr. Thomas Hardy writes a story 
dealing with the time of Henry VIII. An old 
sea-dog returns home to find that his sister 
has innocently married a bigamist, and he 
warns the g^rl in these words: "The Sacra- 
ment of marriage is no safeguard nowadays. 
The King's new-made headship of the Church 
hath led men to practise these things lightly. ' ' 
If Mr. Hardy had been writing history 
instead of fiction, he might have hesitated 
to utter this truth. 



The centre of devotion to St. Peter in 
England during Catholic times was the 
quaint old town of Peterborough, and it 
enjoyed many favors and immunities in con- 
sequence. When the great abbey church was 
completed, in the, seventh century, the King 
made the town a free city, subject to Rome 
alone, and the abbot became the Pope's 
permanent legate. Pope Agatho decreed that 
"if any man have made a vow to go to 
Rome which he may not be able to perform, 
either from sickness, from his lord's need of 
him, from poverty or from any other cause 
that be, be he in England or any other island. 



78 



THE AVE MARIA 



and he repair to the monastery of Peter- 
borough, he shall receive the same absolution 
from the abbot and the monks, that he would 
have if he went to Rome. ' ' 

* * 
For years, sad to say, there has been no 
Catholic church at Peterborough, and the old 
town has forgotten whence it has its name. 
But since the re-dedication of England to the 
Blessed Virgin and St. Peter, eflforts have 
been made to revive this ancient devotion. 
IvCt us hope that, even if the Holy See should 
not see fit to restore the old-time privileges 
of Peterborough, the praise of St. Peter may 
be heard again within the walls of the old 
abbey, and his name be wafted like a message 
of peace over eveiy valley in the land. 



A weary girl behind a counter confided to 
a kindly customer that she must live through 
the summer without one breath of country 
air, so expensive were outings at best when 
one had little money. The next day a good 
woman, blessed with a home far outside the 
environs of the city, poured into the same 
listening ears her regret that she could find 
no one to help her through with her sewing. 
*'A little help each day would be so much 
to me; and if there were some tired young 
woman — ' ' ' ' There is ! " broke in her auditor ; 
and by her prompt intervention two perplexed 
people were made happy. 

This was the beginning of the Helping 
Hand Visitor's Club, an organization which 
finds the lonely and tired housewife in the 
country and the worn-out working-girl of the 
dty, and, by bringing them together, gives- 
to one much-needed assistance, and to the 
other an inexpensive vacation. It is one of 
the very practical and beautiful charities 
which would lend easily itself to Catholic 
methods, and we hope to see Catholic women 
organizing for a similar purpose in the near 
future. 

While studying the early life of Bernadette 
at l/ourdes, M. Zola visited the parish church, 
where the pious custom exists of drawing 
by lots a ticket, which obliges the holder to 
say five Paters and Aves for the souls in 
Purgatory according to the intention marked 



on each several ticket. M. Zola drew No. 15, 
on which was written: "For souls who have 
been led away by pride." Whether Zola said 
the prayers or not we are not told; but we 
feel sure that the pious reader, in supplying 
the possible omission, will make a special 
memento for the holder of that ticket. 



On the occasion of his last visit to Mont- 
real, the Duke of Connaught presented a flag 
to be competed for by the various cadet corps 
of the city. On the 13th of last month, the 
contest took place on the Champ-de-Mars, 
Captain Gordon, of the regular service, being 
the inspecting ofiicer. The flag was awarded 
to the cadet corps of St. Mary's College, 
amid enthusiastic applause. Their soldierly 
bearing and the perfection of their military 
drill, as well as their excellence in physical 
exercises, excited general remark. That 
evening the ofl&cers of the company carried 
the well-won banner into the Church of the 
Gesii, just before the Sacred Heart devotions, 
and placed it at the altar of Our Lady of 
Liesse. On the following morning they 
sang a Magnificat in thanksgiving for their 
victory, while on the actual morning of the 
contest they had received Holy Communion 
in a body. 



"Remember the Alamo! " What scenes of 
blood and terror do those words bring to 
mind ! The sole siu-vivor of that awful 
massacre is still living in San Antonio, 
Texas, at the extraordinary age of one hun- 
dred and eight. There can be no doubt of this, 
as it is fully authenticated by the certificate 
of the priest who was her spiritual director 
in her childhood. Everj'one in San Antonio 
knows Madame Candeleria, whom a news- 
paper man recently visited for the purpose of 
collecting information in regard to the stirring 
scenes in which she figured. Her voice retains 
its ancient mellow tones, and her account of 
the massacre was given in faultless Spanish. 
She was nursing Colonel Bowie, who was 
the victim of typhoid fever at the time; and 
was herself wounded in a vain attempt to 
shield him from the bayonets of the soldiers 
of Santa Anna. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



79 



New Publications. 



Catholic Science and Catholic Scien- 
tists. By the Rev. J. A. Zahm, C.S.C. H. h. 
Kilner & Co. 

In his preface to this volume the author 
tells us that it was published "in response 
to numerous requests from patrons of the 
Catholic Summer School and members of 
various reading circles." Undoubtedly the 
book will be of general usefulness; but per- 
haps these people, more than others, will 
be helped by the lesson inculcated by the 
author — that "those who have been guided 
by the light of faith and Christian philosophy 
are precisely those who have achieved the 
greatest measure of success in the pursuit 
of knowledge." 

The volume will not be entirely new to 
our readers: much of it has already appeared 
in The "Ave Maria" in the form of essays, 
which were afterward published in the form 
of booklets. But so much has been added, 
and the whole matter so thoroughly recast, 
that the book is virtually new. The first 
chapter is devoted to an accurate statement 
and a critical examination of the objections 
currently lu-ged against the Church in the 
name of science ; and this chapter alone 
ought to insure for the work a favorable 
reception. At a time when pretence counts 
for so much, and when the truths of science 
have become so hopelessly entangled in 
audacious theories, it is important to know 
just what has been established by scientific 
evidence, and exactly what the Church 
teaches on these points of contact. There are 
certainly many Catholics who still feel a 
lurking suspicion that, somehow, there does 
exist a conflict between the teachings of 
Reason and Revelation. How this illusion 
originated it might be difl&cult to explain, 
but this chapter will do much to dispel it. 

' ' Catholic Scientists and their Achieve- 
ments, ' ' and an emphatic distinction between 
* ' dogma ' ' and ' ' dogmatism ' ' in practice, next 
claim the author's attention. The last chapter 
is entitled "The Friends and the Foes of 
Science," and in it another of the ghosts 
which ignorance has conjured up is remorse- 
lessly submitted to analysis by daylight. The 



absurd claim that the cause of the modem 
scientific movement can be traced to the 
Reformation is exploded with some violence, 
and the title of the Church to the gratitude 
of scientists is clearly established. Books like 
this, which supply the answer to the vulgar 
spirit of negation so prevalent nowadays, 
have a real mission in the world, and we can 
not have too many of them. 

Saranac. a Story of Lake Champlain. By 
John Talbot Smith. The Catholic Publication 
Society. 

Catholic novelists have not yet become so 
numerous, or their novels so abundant, in 
this fiction-reading age that a new story, by 
an author whose profession is a guarantee 
of its morality and healthiness of tone, is 
too commonplace an occurrence to awaken 
interest in Catholic reading circles; and 
hence we welcome Father Smith's latest 
contribution to the field of fiction. That it 
possesses genuine positive merit, as well as 
the negative one of containing nothing detri- 
mental to faith and morals, need hardly be 
said of a writer whose previous stories have 
proved so deservedly popular. ' ' Saranac ' ' is 
a bright, well-constructed and entertaining 
novel, abounding in graphic description and 
piquant dialogue, and flushed with more than 
sufficient local color to justify its sub-title, 
"A Story of Lake Champlain." Mrs. Sul- 
livan, Tim Grady and Madame La Roche 
are drawn true to life; and if the career 
of Amed6e La Roche is somewhat ultra- 
romantic, the delightfully realistic description 
of the church fair and many other scenes is a 
fully adequate compensation. No reader will 
be inclined to skip any pages of "Saranac"; 
and most will probably finish it with the 
determination to recommend it to their 
friends, as we do to ours. 

Apples, Ripe amd Rosy, Sir. And Other 

Stories, By ICary Catherine Crowley. Thb 
"Ave Maria." 

Until of late there have been few real 
children in the stories written for the amuse- 
ment and instruction of young people; and 
even to-day many books designed for children 
are of the type designated truly, if with little 
respect, as ' ' goody-goody ' ' stories, in which 
weak sentimentality prevails. Boys and girls 



80 



THE AVE MARIA. 



must read, and they must have good material 
to read; and we know of no Catholic writer 
who comes nearer the needs of young people 
than does Mary Catherine Crowley. Some of 
the stories from her pen which have appeared 
in the Youth's Department of The "Ave 
Maria" have been collected and bound in 
neat, attractive form, under the taking title 
of the first in order — "Apples, Ripe and 
Rosy, Sir." Every line is bright and interest- 
ing, and must appeal to every bright and 
interesting boy and girl in the land. We may 
congratulate the young people on this addi- 
tion to their special line of literature. 

MElilTATIONS AND DEVOTIONS OF THE 
Late CardinaIv Newman. lyongmans, Green 
& Co. 

The name of Cardinal Newman appeals 
not only to the minds but to the hearts of 
Catholics; and anything bearing his impress 
must be received with thanksgiving, for we 
are truly grateful for what we rightly value. 
In this volume we find meditations on the 
mysteries of religion most dear to us; and 
whether it is of our Blessed Mother or of her 
Divine Son, of the evils of sin or of its for- 
giveness, that John Henry Newman speaks, 
it is always with an authority that carries 
conviction. The form of the late Cardinal's 
writings has not been followed exactly, but 
the spirit has not been changed ; and we 
trust that the beautiful thoughts which ani- 
mated him may find resting-place in the 
hearts of many who are standing in doubt 
at the portal of truth. 

PiETRO Ghisleri. By Marion F. Crawford. 
Macmillan & Co. 

Mr. Crawford's admirers are legion; and 
a pleasant quality in them is that they are 
always willing to find something to admire, 
even when his work scarcely justifies enthu- 
siasm. ' ' Pietro Ghisleri " is one of the novels 
in which one must seek for something to 
admire. It deals with Roman social life. 
Some of the characters of ' ' Saracinesca ' ' and 
"Don Orsino" appear in it, — that is, they 
pass across the scene. The heroines are I^aura 
Arden, an Anglican, and her step -sister, 
Ad^le, a Catholic. Ad^le is a fiend ; though, 
as Mr. Crawford explains, her religion has 
nothing to do with that. Ad^le uses the 



latest scientific discoveries to wreak hatred 
on her rival, Laura ; finally becoming a 
victim to the morphine habit, and a hopeless 
wreck. Mr. Crawford's hero, Pietro, is a roui 
with whom the author seems to have a 
certain sympathy. The novel is a disappoint- 
ment, though- here and there a brilliant 
passage flashes out. 

A Lady: Manners and Social Usages. 

By Lelia Hardin Bugg. Benziger Brothers. 
This little handbook of etiquette for 
young ladies is timely and to the point. It 
contains, in a few chapters, all that is needed 
by them to meet the requirements of what is 
called society, and touches upon the salient 
points of deportment in all phases of life. 
The compiler states in her introduction that 
she has followed Mrs. Sherwood and other 
standard authorities in her directions and 
recommendations. The remarks on manner 
and manners are especially good, and might 
be commended to all classes of persons. The 
workmanship of the book is beyond fault. 



Obituary. 



Retnember them that are in bands, as if you were bound 
with them. Hbb., xiii, 3. 

The following persons are recommended to the 
charitable prayers of our readers : 

The Rev. John Wittmer, a pioneer priest of the 
Congregation of the Precious Blood, whose devoted 
life closed peacefully on the 20th ult., at Maria 
Stein, Ohio. 

The Rev. Charles B. McKenna, of the Archdiocese 
of New York, who was drowned on the 15th ult. 

Sister Patricia, of the Visitation Convent, George- 
town, D. C, who passed away on the 31st ult. She 
was ninety-three years of age, and had been a 
professed religious for forty-five years. 

Mr. Joseph A. Walker, who departed this life on 
the 24th ult., in New Orleans, La. 

Master James P. Coady, whose sudden but not 
unprovided death took place on the 20th ult., in 
Louisville, Ky. 

Mr. Thomas P. Brady, of Bradish, Neb., who 
breathed his last on the i8th ult. 

Mrs. Susanna K. Sweeny, of San Francisco, Cal., 
whose fervent Christian life was crowned with a 
happy death on the nth ult. 

Mrs. Margaret Birch and Miss Margaret Anderson, 
of Patterson, N. J. ; Mrs. Margaret Dwyer, St. Paul, 
Minn. ; and Miss Ellen Keefe, New Brunswick, N. J. 

May they rest in peace! 




UNDER THE MANTLE OK OUR BLESSED MOTHER. 




A Great Prelate and His Little Penitent. 



ITTLE Edmund was 
about fifteen years of age 
when suddenly, without 
any apparent cause, he 
felt one of his legs attacked 
by a disease, that baffled 
medical skill, and soon 
deprived him of the use 
of the limb. As will be 
easily imagined, this was 
a great trial, not only for 
the lad himself, but also 
for his parents, who lived 
with him in Paris, and whose means were 
anything but large. Happily, they were 
devout Catholics; and, while neglecting 
none of the remedies prescribed by the 
physicians, they had recourse with still 
greater confidence to the supernatural 
help which faith suggests. 

Edmund's father and mother, though 
quite unknown to ,Mgr. de S^gur, felt 
prompted to recommend their son to the 
prayers of this apostle of youth, trusting 
he might condescend to visit their dear 
sufferer and encourage him to bear his 
heavy cross with cheerfulness. The good 
prelate came without delay; and, having 
found the boy remarkably pious and 
resigned, he promised to renew his visit 
often; although the boy's residence was 
in the parish of Notre Dam% des Champs, 



a long way from the Rue du Bac. These 
visits were a great comfort to the lad, and 
were eagerly looked forward to. When 
Mgr. de S^gur was obliged to interrupt or 
postpone them, with that considerate 
kindness so pecaliarly his own, he used to 
warn Edmund by a few hurried lines, in 
order to prevent or soften the disappoint- 
ment. The following letter was written 
on one of these occasions; it bears the 
stamp of simplicity, a virtue remarked by 
all who knew the illustrious prelate. 

My Dear Little Edmund: — Pre- 
vented from seeing you to-day, and start- 
ing to-morrow morning for the country, 
I wish to bless you before leaving Paris; 
and also to urge you to be meek and 
humble of heart, resigned and cheerful. 
Make your confession to the good Ahh6 
Hello, and try to have nothing to tell him. 
I shall remember you constantly at the 
Holy Sacrifice. 

Good-bye, my dear boy! By your pray- 
ers help me to succeed in the missions 
I am about to preach in Amiens and 
Boulogne. I embrace you with the utmost 
affection, and congratulate you on being 
on the cross with our Divine Master. May 
His peace fill your dear little soul I I shall 
probably not be able to see you sooner 
than Thursday, 20. 

^ L. G. DE Segur. 

Sunday, 9. 

Notwithstanding all the aid that 
medicine and surgerv* could afford, poor 
Edmund's state daily grew worse. It was 



82 



THE AVE MARIA. 



no longer an incessant twitching he felt in 
his leg, but an acute pain, that ran through 
it whenever it was touched, or whenever a 
sock was taken oflf or put on; at such times 
he involuntarily shrieked with pain. After 
a while he could no longer stretch out his 
leg, and the foot was so dislocated as 
almost to touch the calf. Poor child! 
henceforth he must walk on crutches, and 
be a cripple for life. 

This happened in 1867. Just then there 
was much talk in Paris about a pious 
young girl who, in danger of death, had 
been suddenly cured after making a novena 
to the Blessed Virgin, and applying to her 
body a stocking of the Holy Father Pius 
IX. Mgr.de S^gur managed to procure the 
precious souvenir of the beloved Pope, and 
proposed to Edmund's afflicted parents 
that they begin together a novena to Mary 
Immaculate for the intentions of Pius IX. ; 
and to make a vow if the recovery of 
their son was granted, to send him on 
a pilgrimage of thanksgiving to Rome, 
where he would present His Holiness with 
his crutch. The morning of the first day 
' of the novena Mgr. de Segur brought Holy 
Communion to his little penitent. Two 
days before the close of the novena he 
made another call, and found the patient 
neither cured nor even relieved, but yet full 
of hope. "My child," he said, half jest- 
ingly, "if after to-morrow you are cured, 
you will come to dine with me at twelve. ' ' 

On the day named Edmund arrived, 
at half-past eleven, at 39 Rue du Bac, 
where the holy prelate lived. He was 
perfectly cured, his countenance beaming 
with joy and gratitude. On that very 
morning, when his good mother applied 
the relic of Pius IX. to his deformed leg, 
reciting for the last time the accustomed 
prayers, he stretched out the distorted 
limb quite easily; the pain had vanished, 
and the happy boy jumped for joy round 
and round his room. Needless to say what 
an affectionate greeting he received from 
the warm-hearted and saintly prelate. 



Edmund was now extremely anxious 
to accomplish his pilgrimage; he would 
have started for Rome immediately, but 
certain obstacles intervened to prevent the 
journey; and Mgr. de S^gur wrote to 
induce him to be patient: 

My Dear Little Edmund: — Several 
weeks have gone by since you were 
burning to go to Rome to accomplish 
your vow : what must it be now, that the 
great Feast of St. Peter is approaching? 
You must be literally grilled, like a poor 
little beefsteak forgotten on the fire. Your 
good father is putting off the execution 
of your vow, in the hope of being able to 
accompany you himself ; it will be far 
better and pleasanter for both. How 
have you spent the month of June? What 
natural defect have you fought against? 
And for the month of July what are your 
chief resolutions ? This point is of extreme 
importance, and will help you to become 
a true Christian in a short time.' Too 
often, in spiritual warfare, we content 
ourselves with repressing vices and cutting 
off evident sins, without paying sufficient 
attention to the roots of our natural 
defects, that grow over and over again. 
These natural defects are idleness, fickle- 
ness, giddiness, carelessness, stubbornness, 
weakness of the will, and ill temper. 
Consult your good mother, and your 
father too, that you may clearly discern 
your weak points. This struggle against 
our predominant defects is perhaps the 
most difficult of all, but it is very impor- 
tant. Prepare with great care for each 
Communion, and do not miss a single one 
through your own fault. Remain as long as 
possible interiorly united to your Saviour 
Jesus Christ; and, with Him, be gentle, 
humble, docile and strong. 

Good-bye, my little friend! May Our 
Lady, St. Peter and St. Francis bless you, 
and help you efficaciously Jto become a 
great saint. I embrace you tenderly. 

►J< ly. G. DE Segur. 

June 27, 1867. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



83 



The pilgrimage in question h.id again 
to be postponed. Edmund, in order to 
obtain the blessing of Heaven upon this 
great event of his life, strove strenuously 
to overcome his natural defects by the 
mortification of the senses. He experienced 
an attraction for penance very unusual, 
especially for one of his age. Deeming 
mortification a necessary element in the 
Christian life, Mgr.de S^gur gave him some 
valuable advice in the following letter: 

My Dear Child :~ The desire Our 
Lord gives you for penance can come only 
from Him, and you must thank Him very 
humbly for it. These little acts of penance 
which we do and wish to do are not much 
in themselves, but they have the great 
advantage of reminding us that we are 
nothing more than sinners; they serve to 
humble us, which is an excellent thing. 
Moreover, when united to the sufferings 
of our Saviour, they efface sin and call 

down mercy on our souls When 

we meet in October we will talk again of 
the hairshirt; but till then you will wear 
bravely the hairshirt of obedience, humility 
and gentleness. 

Secondly, try never to answer when you 
are scolded, or when you are bidden to 
perform some disagreeable task; neither 
answer nor sulk nor be sad. Thirdly, 
make a quarter of an hour's spiritual 
retreat when dressed in the morning. 
This is what is called meditation. It 
must be very simple, very peaceful, very 
affectionate, very ardent, and very solid. 

Good-bye, my dear child! May the 
peace of Jesus inundate your heart with 
peace and g^ace! I bless you in His name 
and love you in His love. 

>f< L. G DE Segur. 

Laigle (Orne), Aug. 24, 1S67. 



The Hero of Ismail. 



Our tempers are like an opera-glass, 
which makes the object small or great 
according to the end you look through. — 
Em He Souvestre. 



Probably there never was a more eccen- 
tric military commander than the great 
Russian General Suwaroff. His early life 
may have had something to do with 
confirming his peculiarities. He was a 
weak little child, hardly worth rearing, 
his friends laughingly declared. His 
parents, however, tried heroic methods 
with their sickly son. He was treated 
daily to shower-baths of cold water, and 
given the plainest food. The effect of 
this was to make him one of the hardiest 
soldiers that ever drew a sword, and his 
mental powers kept pace with his physical 
development He was utterly careless of 
his dress, and was often seen drilling his 
men in his shirt-sleeves, with his stockings 
in untidy rolls about his ankles. One of 
his most quaint habits was that of imitat- 
ing the crowing of a cock — or a "rooster," 
as Americans call it; and many times he 
would rise from his cot at midnight and 
start on a tour through the sleeping camp, 
saluting such soldiers as he found awake 
with a fine imitation of the voice of that 
familiar barnyard fowl. 

On the night before the attack on 
Ismail, General Suwaroff made a charac- 
teristic address to his troops. ' ' To-morrow 
morning," he said, "I intend to get up 
an hour before sunrise, wash my face, say 
my prayers, give one good cock-crow, and 
then proceed to conquer Ismail." Which 
programme was faithfully carried out. 

The biographers of this famous General 
tell how he once ,circumvented the enemy 
by shrewdness as much as by force of 
arms. It was during the first Polish war. 
"We attack the enemy at cock-crow," 
was the order speedily carried to every 
officer and man. A spy was in the camp, 
and he found his way to the enemy 
with this announcement: "At cock-crow 
to-morrow morning they will attack." 
"We shall be ready," said the opposing 



84 



THE AVE MARIA 



general, ordering his men to an early rest, 
that they might be fortified for the engage- 
ment. But Suwaroff was on the watch; 
and early in the evening he learned that 
a soldier, suspected of being a spy, had 
deserted. The General smiled grimly. It 
was then eight o'clock. "Turn out at 
cock-crow. It will be earlier than usual," 
he said; and an hour later, just at nine 
o'clock, the whole aVmy was aroused by 
the familiar sound, which was given forth 
rather more triumphantly than usual. It 
is a matter of history that the sleeping 
enemy was made quick work of, and 
suffered a defeat like that of Ismail. 

Francesca. 



A Brave Bishop. 



The death of the Cardinal Archbishop 
of Rennes recalls a stirring episode in 
his life, and illustrates the bravery with 
which so many men of piety and peace 
have faced a desperate situation. It was 
during the days of terror of 1871 that 
the incident happened. 

The Jesuit College of Marseilles had 
been seized by the Communists, and its 
inmates turned adrift or made prisoners. 
It was the misfortune of the Cardinal 
(then Bishop) to be held in a certain kind 
of captivity by the wild soldiery, who were 
aiming at a subversion of everything 
lawful or holy. The college itself was 
converted into a barracks, and the chapel 
exposed to the most wanton desecration. 
The Fathers begged for the privilege of 
visiting it, but received a rude refusal. At 
last word reached Bishop Place that the 
Holy Eucharist was in danger of insult; 
and, without one thought of danger, he 
straightway, alone and undefended, walked 
to the chapel door. His dignified and fear- 
less mien so impressed the soldiers who 
guarded it that they gave way without 
a word. As he approached the altar, one 



soldier recovered sufficiently from his 
amazement to venture a question. 

''What do you wish, Monsieur?" 

"First of all a light, my good fellow," 
answered the Bishop, softly. 

The soldier, surprised at himself, lighted 
one altar candle, then another. The Bishop 
was the calmest person present, as befitted 
his sacred errand. He ascended the steps, 
removed the Blessed Sacrament from Its 
place, and started back toward the door. 
Meanwhile the rude soldiers had been 
witnessing the scene with indescribable 
feelings. What had impelled this brave 
man, they thought, to risk his life? Into 
the leader's heart there came a remem- 
brance of other days — of a mother's 
counsel and prayers, perhaps; of a time, 
doubtless, when, instead of a rough soldier 
of a misguided and insane mob, which 
trampled upon all things dear to the 
meek and pious, he had been a little lad, 
with the benediction of Holy Church upon 
his sunny head. 

"Attention!" he called, loudly. The 
others straightened up, prepared, if need 
be, to kill this man of God if their superior 
ordered. "Four men," he commanded, 
"to escort the Sacred Host! Carry 
arms!" 

Four men stepped forward, and 'walked 
by the Bishop as he bore his Burden down 
the aisle. At the door he turned and 
paused, gave a benediction to as strange a 
crowd as ever knelt to receive a blessing; 
and, as calmly as ever, went his way. 

Poor France has seen many troublous 
days, but amid the darkness and peril of 
her revolutions the bravery of her priest- 
hood has been resplendent. The incident 
we have recorded for our young readers is 
but one of many like it. 



Life is made up of little things. It is 
but once in an age that occasion is offered 
for doing a great deed. True greatness 
consists in being great in little things. 




HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED.-St. Luke, I. 48. 



Vol.. XXXVII. NOTRE DAME. INDIANA, JULY 22, 1893. 



No. 4. 



CPbMI«Im4 mi7 8M«i4^. CapjnfMi ■n.llL& Ba4M^at.a] 

Soul Communion. The Dignity of Labor.* 



{SuggesUd by Ary Sckeffer's picture of St. Augustme 
and St. Monica.) 

\^^TH hands by spirit- tendrils sweetly 

]yj bound, 

ff And hearts still closer held in bonds of 

grace, 
Augustine and his sainted mother trace" 
A love divine in all of sight and sound. 
With eyes that pierce the stellar depths pro- 
found 
They see the mansions of the ransomed race, 
Where souls communing in a soul-embrace. 
Shall taste the bliss of love by Heaven 
crowned. 

Ah ! would that those whose hearts are of the 

earth 
Might learn the lesson writ on Ostian skies 
In those old days! For still is traced above 
This truth— all love and friendship to be 

^orth t 

Must bear the royal seal of sacrifice 
As consecration to eternal love. 



Deep feeling is altogether inconsistent 
with habitual jesting. Indeed we may 
gauge not only * the emotions, but the 
whole mental capacity at once, by this 
fondness for ridicule; and, when found, 
it will always prove that capacity to be 
limited. — Tratl. 




BY THE RT. RBV. MGR. ROBERT SBTON, D. D, 



HE dignity of labor appeals to 
us immediately, because its 
origin is in the mind itself of 
God. The history of creation 
begins with a record of work. In Genesis 
we read : "So the heavens and the 
earth were finished, and all their host. 
And on the seventh day God ended His 
work which He had made." Hence the 
title of St. Gregory of Nyssa's exegetical 
treatise, in the Latin translation from the- 
original Greek, is " De Opere Sex Dienim. ' * 
Man, the noblest of God's works here 
below, was not ever to be idle. His 
Creator, the Scriptures tell us, "put him 
in the paradise of pleasure, to dress it and 
to keep it" Thus occupation of some 
kind was assigned to man from the very 
beginning. Even in a state of innocence 
he was not inactive: God gave him work 
to do, and his employment contributed 
to his happiness. Even in Eden a law of 
labor was imposed : 

" God hath set 
Labor and rest, as day and night to men 
Successive ; and the timely dew of sleep, 
Now falling with soft, slumberous weight, incline* 

• Oration of the Day. Delivered at the forty-ninth annoal 
Commencenifni of the University of Noire Dune. 



86 



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Our eyelids ; other creatures all day long 
Rove idle, unemploy'd, and less need rest ; 
Man hath his daily work of body or mind 
Appointed, which declares his dignity 
And the regard of Heaven on all his ways." * 

Cain and Abel are represented in the 
Bible as a shepherd and a husbandman. 

The discovery of different arts, doubt- 
less the offspring for the most part of 
necessity — which is the mother of inven- 
tion, — dates from the earliest ages of the 
world. Even before the Deluge many arts 
were known and practised. The building 
of cities must have had a favorable effect 
upon the advancement of the arts ; for 
then men could readily get assistance in 
their work, could profit by the experience 
of others, and could find employment by 
which to earn their daily bread. Moses 
testifies that Tubal-Cain "was an artificer 
in every kind of copper and iron work." 
This name resembles that of Vulcan, and 
it is probable that the fables concerning 
the Roman god of fire arose from tradi- 
tions regarding the famous biblical 
workman. The scholar will here recall 
to mind Virgil's description of the 
subterranean furnace of the Cyclops in 
the Eighth Book of the ^neid, in which 
the poet's imagination seems to have 
anticipated the busy scenes in one of our 
own great founderies, ending with 
" lUi inter sese multa vi brachia toUunt 

In numerum, versantque tenaci forcipe massam," 

where we may say, as in the "Essay on 
Criticism": 

"The line too labors, and the words move slow." 

The celebrated Smithsonian Institute at 
Washington carries in its name a tribute 
to the dignity of labor. Smith being the 
oldest and most respectable of all names of 
occupation. It is derived from the Anglo- 
Saxon smitan^ formed in imitation of the 
sound of smiting, striking, pounding, as 
of hammer, anvil, and metal. Hence the 
old English couplet : 

"From whence came Smith, whether artisan or squire, 
But from the smith that forgeth at the fire ? " 

* " Par. I/jst," iv. 



The just reproaches which Jacob made 
to Laban show us that the ancient patri- 
archs took labor very seriously, and were 
not backward in turning their hands to 
it. We may judge of how the men worked 
in that earlier and simpler age, from the 
way that even the women worked whose 
fathers were yet men of substance and 
consideration. Rebecca came from a dis- 
tance to fetch water from a well, and 
carried the "pitcher on her shoulder"; 
Rachel fed her father's flock, and took 
them to water. Their beauty and their 
station, raised far above necessity, did not 
lead them to disdain work. 

A similar simplicity was then the 
universal rule. Homer describes kings and 
princes working with their own hands ; 
and one of the very oldest writings that 
have come down to us from classical 
antiquity is a tribute to the dignity of 
labor. It is the "Eftya xa) "Il/ikpai^ or ' ' Works 
and Days" of Hesiod, who was a poet of 
the plow and of the people, inculcating 
the peaceful pursuits of agriculture and 
mechanical labor. Xenophon tells of a 
citizen of Athens who went out every 
morning into the country to siiperintend 
his workmen and help them with his own 
hands, thus encouraging the rest, and 
keeping himself in perfect health. Cyrus 
the Younger had a private garden, which 
it was his recreation to tend unaided. 
Cicero says that he knew of some Sicilian 
laborers who, although they moved the 
ground themselves, pruned the fruit-trees, 
dressed the vines, an(i engaged 'in all 
sorts of manual labor, yet lived in houses 
adorned with beautiful statues, and ate off 
of plates of silver and gold. It has been a 
custom for over three thousand years in 
China, the most industrious country in 
the world, for the Emperor and court 
officials to go out solemnly toward the 
end of March every year, and begin the 
agricultural work of the season by putting 
hand to plow and tracing. each a long 
furrow in the ground. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



87 



After the Israelites had occupied the 
Promised Land, we find manual labor 
ever held there in the highest estimation. 
Everyone made his own instruments of 
husbandry. Women, even matrons of rank 
and wealth, were employed in spinning, 
weaving and embroidery, making gar- 
ments not only for their own family, but 
also to sell to strangers. We may here 
remark, as showing the respect of our 
ancestors for work, that spinster — one who 
spins — is the English legal designation of 
a single or unmarried woman. Gedeon 
engaged in threshing and cleansing wheat 
when an angel of the Lord appeared to 
him to declare the deliverance of Israel; 
Ruth gleaning the ears of com in her 
kinsman's field; Saul, although king, not 
changing his manners or pursuits on 
account of his elevation, but found ** fol- 
lowing oxen out of the field" when 
summoned to the relief of Jabes-Galaad; 
David keeping his father's sheep; Eliseus 
receiving the holy mantle from Elias when 
plowing the soil; Amos called to the 
prophetical office while a herdsman of the 
kingdom of Juda, — are so many examples 
among others that might be given, which 
illustrate the dignity in which" labor was 
held by the chosen people of God. Indeed, 
after the captivity we find the Talmudists 
laying it down as a precept to parents not 
to neglect to teach their children some 
trade or mechanical art. Then mention is 
made of several even learned Jews who 
practised a manual art In the New 
Testament we have St. Joseph a carpenter, 
Simon of Joppe a tanner, and St. Paul and 
Aquila tent-makers. It might here be 
mentioned, as akin to this part of our 
subject, that it was formerly the rule for 
every prince of the blood in France to be 
taught a trade of some kind ; and Louis the 
Sixteenth, who helped the American colo- 
nies to Independence, was a skilful lock- 
smith. It is still a custom for the sons of 
Roman princes, who count themselves at 
the head of the European nobility, to be 



aggregated to one or other of the many 
guilds or confraternities of mechanics 
and tradesmen which the wisdom and 
liberality of the popes have multiplied in 
the Eternal City. 

Slavery may be likened, wherever 
introduced, to the fabled upas tree of the 
East, which gives death to those who rest 
in its shade. There is an irrepressible 
conflict between free and slave labor: 
they can not long exist under the same 
government. The innate dignity of free 
and honest labor would be insulted and 
finally extinguished if placed in competi- 
tion with the enforced and degraded labor 
of the slave. Two salient examples from 
ancient and modem history confirm the 
maxim of economics, that in all places 
and at all times and in every circum- 
stance the same effects follow from similar 
causes. Slavery, introduced among the 
Romans by war and conquest, gave the first 
blow to labor among a free people. In course 
of time the whole country, of which 
Rome was the capital and centre, became 
covered with vast farms called Latifundia^ 
tilled by slave labor; so that the same 
amount of land which in the time of the 
Republic had contained from one hundred 
to one hundred and fifty farmer families, 
was later occupied (and only occasionally), 
as a single estate, by one patrician family 
and perhaps fifty slaves. Pliny denounced 
this state of things as the ruin of the 
Empire. 

With the preaching of Christianity a 
new principle was introduced, or rather 
reintroduced: the principle that labor of 
itself has nothing humiliating, nothing 
degrading, and iis not incompatible with 
liberty and knowledge. One of the aims 
of the Church, from the very beginning, 
was to rehabilitate manual labor in public 
estimation, and thus to 
itself in the Roman 
end of the fifth 
restored to its origin 
economy of work fou 




88 



THE AVE MARIA. 



once more in the social conditions of 
mankind. How could it, indeed, be other- 
wise? Many of the parables of Our Lord 
were taken from subjects of labor. He 
even deigned to liken His Eternal Father 
to a husbandman, a vine-dresser; He was 
Himself called a carpenter — "Is not this 
the carpenter, the Son of Mary?" The 
insults and objections of pagans, who 
turned upon the Christians their own con- 
tempt for labor, were commonly directed 
against the humble and laborious origin 
of their Founder and His Apostles. It has 
never been attempted by our apologists 
to explain away these conditions. On the 
contrary, they were boldly and gladly 
accepted and insisted upon. The pagans, 
being ashamed of manual labor, avoided 
all mention of it on their tombs. Only 
the burial urns of slaves and freedmen 
told of their occupations. On the other 
hand, the Christians gloried in doing so, 
and in representing on their burial slabs 
the instruments of their work. Cicero 
couples "workman" with "barbarian," 
using both words as terms of reproach; 
but among Christians the expressions 
cperarius^ operaria were held in honor. 
Thus in a beautiful inscription of the 
middle of the fourth century, the noble 
widow of Junianus styles herself amatrix 
Pauperum et operaria — "a lover of the 
poor and a working- woman. " To be a 
bread-winner, a wage-earner, a worker, 
was to be esteemed mean and contemptible 
by pagans, but praiseworthy by the Chris- 
tians; for labor, although, in its present 
aspect, a penalty of the Fall, is also a 
remedy of sin and a condition of future 
reward. 

In the fifth century we behold a com- 
plete restoration of the dignity of labor. 
We can conceive how great has been the 
moral revolution in the minds and manners 
of men throughout the ancient world 
on hearing St. John Chrysostom tell his 
hearers, the pleasure-loving people, the 
luxurious nobles, the imperial dignitaries 



of Constantinople: "When you see a man 
who cuts the wood, or who, grimy with 
soot, works the iron with his hammer, do 
not despise him, but rather for that reason 
admire him." * 

In the primitive Church the Fossores^ 
or grave-diggers, belonged to the ecclesi- 
astical body, although their work was 
primarily one of manual labor. St Jerome 
calls them clerics, f They were constantly 
in familiar intercourse with the priests, 
and were the devoted, laborious and heroic 
servants of the Christian community. By 
them were excavated those stupendous 
underground cemeteries around Rome 
and other cities, generally called cata- 
combs. Their work required strength, 
patience, zeal and courage. Their life was 
one of continual danger and self-sacrifice. 
In the laws of the fourth and fifth centu- 
ries they are styled Copiaits^ from the 
Greek, meaning, emphatically, laborers. 
It was not a mercenary service which 
these men rendered to the Church, but a 
work of personal devotion, which might, 
and did sometimes, result in martyrdom. 
It has been conjectured that they were the 
Ostiarii — door-keepers — of those times, 
or at least formed a part of that body 
of Minorists. Hence we derive another 
illustration of the dignity of labor when 
we see the laborer raised by the Church 
to such a degree. In the beginning bishops 
and priests often gave the example of 
manual labor, following in this the apos- 
tolic tradition, as the Apostles themselves 
had followed the Jewish custom. It appears 
to have been contemplated by earlier 
councils that the clergy should, in part at 
least, maintain themselves by the work 
of their hands. The learned, however, 
regard all canons bearing on this subject 
as permissive rather than mandatory. 
Still, they are undoubted proofs that 
manual labor was thought honorable and 
meritorious. * 

Epiphanius has recorded, that many, 

* Horn., XX, 12. t Epist. ad Innocent. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



89 



while they might live by the altar which 
they served, preferred from motives of 
humility — of religion — to support them- 
selves by the work of their own hands. 
Interesting examples of a later period are 
given in Cardinal Moran's "Irish Saints 
in Great Britain." The monastic orders 
all, originally, enjoined work of the 
hands; and St. Augustine, a Doctor of the 
Church, wrote a treatise entitled "DeOpere 
Monachorum," about the year 4CXD, in 
which he condemns certain monks who 
occupied themselves solely in reading, 
prayer and meditation, to the exclusion 
of manual labor. The forty-eighth chapter 
of the Rule of St. Benedict, patriarch of 
the monks of the West, is headed "Of 
Daily Manual Labor." We may truly say 
that Labor are et or are — "To work and 
to pray" — was the fundamental maxim of 
the monastic life. After the ravages and 
devastation of the barbarian inroads, whole 
districts of Europe were again cleared and 
cultivated by the labor and intelligence 
of monks. They were also the architects 
and mechanics, the bridge-builders and 
road- makers, the farmers and gardiners of 
the early Middle Ages. Among the relig- 
ious orders, dislike of slavery and serfdom, 
with a corresponding respect for free 
labor, were traditions carefully handed 
down during those long periods of con- 
quest, oppression and social disturbances 
which preceded, accompanied and followed 
the formation of Christendom. Perhaps 
the most touching of our dear poet 
Longfellow's miscellaneous pieces is "The 
Norman Baron," in which he shows us 
the influence exerted in this direction by 
monks, the keepers of men's consciences. 
These traditions continued down to the 
end. While the bishops and prelates of 
the secular clergy were too often but 
court favorites, or the younger sons of 
great families, the list of the mitred abbots 
— who sat as spiritual peers of Parliament 
in England at the time of the Reforma- 
tion — shows that the majority of them 



sprang from the people, and were the 
sons of those who worked for their living. 
Their labor received additional dignity 
from the eminent positions to which their 
children rose. 

Nothing, also, is more democratic than 
the Papacy. Democracy is the friend and 
natural ally of labor; and many are the 
popes who have honored labor by spring- 
ing from the laboring classes, and wearing 
high above coronets and crowns the tiara 
of merit, mind, and moral worth. 

Do not, however, mistake. The dignity 
of labor does not stoop to petty jealousy, 
or descend to the levelling tendencies of 
European radicals and socialists. Joseph 
was indeed a carpenter, but he was also 
of the race of King David, and kept his 
genealogy with scrupulous exactitude. 
There is nothing contradictory between a 
"long descent" and a genuine respect for 
labor. The laborer is not a beast of 
burden. Even the ox that treadeth out 
the com was not to be muzzled. The 
laborer has a right to fixed and limited 
hours of work, and to stated periods of 
rest and recreation. This is a principle 
which the Church laid down in com- 
manding cessation from labor on Sundays 
and holydays of obligation; for, as said 
a rigid and censorious Roman: 
"Interpone tuis interdum gaudia curis: 

Quod caret alterna requie, durabile non est"* 

The example from modern history, 
showing that contempt for labor brings a 
nation to ruin, is that of Poland. At the 
outset Poland — as every people that con- 
formed to the guidance of the Church 
which converted them and civilized them 
— was comparatively democratic. It was 
the bringing in of prisoners of war, who 
became the personal property of their 
captors, which cheapened work, and grad- 
ually made it impossible for free to 
compete with slave or serf labor. The 
Polish peasant, freeman as he was, and the 
owner of a bit land for which he had no 

♦ Cato, 



90 



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over-lord, fell by degrees into a condition 
in which he had few social and no political 
rights. Such grew to be the arrogance 
and unwisdom of the Polish aristocracy 
that a man lost caste who, however poor, 
engaged in mechanical or industrial labor. 
This finally brought about the extinction 
of Polish nationality. In the days pre- 
ceding this event — a century ago^it was 
a common saying that Poland was the 
paradise of idle nobles and the hell of 
industrious workers. 

It is pleasing to turn from such a state 
of things to the wise imaginations of Sir 
Thomas More in his ''Utopia." There 
we see portrayed not only a voluntary 
communism — an accepted division of labor 
and profit, — such as the Church had ever 
approved in her religious orders, and 
which, in apostolic times, was occasionally 
practised by families while still living in 
the world, but we have also depicted, to" 
the enhancement of the love and dignity 
of labor, a class of men who of their own 
volition neglected the softer side of life to 
*'live laborious days." Here follows a 
description of these men: 

"[Some of them visit the sick, others mend the 
highways, cleanse out ditches, repair bridges, or dig 
turf, gravel or stones. Others fell and cleave timber, 
and bring wood, com and other necessaries, in carts, 
into their towns. Nor do these serve the public 
only, but even private men, and more faithfully than 
the slaves themselves. If there is anywhere a rough 
and disagreeable piece of work to be done, from 
which others are deterred by the labor and disagree- 
able nature of the task, not to say the despair of 
accomplishing it, they cheerfully, and of their own 
accord, undertake it. These men spend their whole 
life in hard labor; and yet they do not value 
themselves upon it, nor lessen other people's credit 
to raise their own. And by stooping to such servile 
employments, so far from being despised, they are 
the more esteemed by the whole nation." * 

Every true American will sympathize,- 
one would think, with that generous, 
enthusiastic and high-souled band which 
tried to carry on the Brook Farm com- 
munity, near Boston, some fifty years ago. 
Hawthorne belonged to it for a while, and 

* Ch. xi. 



has written in " Blithedale Romance" 
those noble words : 

"We mean to lessen the laboring man's great 
burden of toil by performing our due share of it at 
the cost of our thews and sinews. . . . And, as the 
basis of our institution, we propose to oflFer up the 
earnest toil of our bodies, as a prayer no less than 
an effort for the advancement of our race." 

It has been said, with more or less truth, 
that everything in English literature can 
be referred to the Bible, to Shakspere, or 
to Bacon's Essays. One of the longest of 
the essays is that one "Of the True Great- 
ness of Kingdoms and Estates," and shows 
the change that came over Europe at the 
period, and in some manner as a conse- 
quence, of the Protestant Reformation, in 
the setting up of absolute monarchies and 
the keeping of standing armies, which are 
the two worst enemies of honest, self- 
respecting labor. How diflferent the esti- 
mate of Bacon from that of his Catholic 
predecessor in the Lord Chancellorship, as 
to what constitutes, we believe, the strength 
and power of a people — the good condition 
of its laboring classes — is clear from this 
single sentence: "The principal point of 
greatness in any State is to have a race of 
military men." No well-informed Ameri- 
can can agree with this; but he will prefer 
the maxim of the gentle F6nelon, inculcat- 
ing in "Telemachus" the wise advantages 
of industry and peace. If it be objected 
that they alone should speak of labor who 
know from their own experience what 
labor is, let us answer in the finest line 
ever penned by Latin scribe: 

"Homo sum: humani nihil a me alienum puto." 

It embodies a sentiment that every Amer- 
ican accepts; for if not everyone of us is 
obliged to labor with his own hands,, yet 
everyone of us is expected to respect and 
to encourage him who has to do so. A 
beautiful anecdote of the great Napoleon 
tells us that one day at St. Helena he met, 
unexpectedly, a laborer toiling up the 
path with a heavy load on his shoulders. 
The poor man would have turned aside 
and ceded the right of way to the Emperor; 



THE AVE MARIA. 



91 



but Napoleon prevented him, and turned 
aside himself, saying to his faithful fol- 
lowers: Honneur an travail^ — "Let us 
honor labor." 

Our Revolution was the dawn of a new 
era, in which the dignity of labor was to 
be acknowledged in a free citizen enjoying 
absolute political equality with whomso- 
ever; and by our example and prosperity 
we now demand a juster recognition of the 
rights of labor throughout the world. 
With hardly an exception, the official seals 
of the states and territories of the Union 
bear engraved upon them the republican 
symbols of industry and labor — the plow, 
the shears, the spade dnd pick and axe, 
the grape-vines and the beehive, the ship- 
builder's instruments and the miner's 
tools, telling of an origin and a history 
far other than that which the feudal 
towers and heraldic anomalies proclaim 
upon the shields of monarchical Europe. 

Labor is the key to American success. 
The emigrant privations and pioneer 
struggles of our people in the making of 
New England, in the making of the Great 
West and all the rest of our beloved 
country; the boyhood difficulties of so 
many of our eminent men, from Clay and 
Webster to Lincoln, Grant and Garfield, 
have set a halo of romance on the sacred 
brow of labor. The ring of the woodman's 
axe, the cling-clang of hammer and anvil, 
the thud and sputter of red-hot beaten 
iron, the buzz of saw, the whiz and 
whirl of wheels, the shuttle in the loom, 
the murmur of imprisoned waters, the 
hiss of escaping steam, the rumble and 
roar of machinery in motion — the varied 
sounds of human skill and labor — is the 
music of America and the industrial har- 
mony of the universe. In our republican 
country the people have no crests except 
those of rude toil. Here there is no aris- 
tocracy but that of hand and brain. Here 
all are equal before God and before the 
Law. Here all are assured a chance to rise 
above their original condition. This is 



the brotherhood of man through Christian 
equality: 

"Turn, turn, my whetl ! The human race, 
Of every tongue, of every place, 

Caucasian, Coptic, or Malay, 
All that inhabit this great earth. 
Whatever Ik* their rank or worth, 
Are kindred and allied by birth, 

And made of the same clay." • 

' ' The sleep of a laboring man is sweet,** 
says the Scripture. It is the effect of 
healthy exercise. His nights are not dis- 
turbed by social ambition. The Catholic 
laborer learns from his mother the Church 
how to be happy though poor. This is 
one of the problems of life, whose solution 
has been hidden from the wise and prudent 
and revealed to little ones. "Yea, Father; 
for so it hath seemed good in Thy sight** 
(Matt xi, 26.) The Church teaches the 
lesson of mutual help and sympathy. The 
Church ignores the so-called barriers 
between the classes and the masses, hold- 
ing them to be fictitious obstructions and 
imaginary lines of demarcation, which only 
pride, prejudice and plutocracy can be so 
foolish as to prate about The Church sug- 
gests that a divine blessing rests on labor 
and elevates it to the nobility of nature: 

" The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 
Is king o' men for a' that" 

The "Fair and Happy Milkmaid*' in 
Overbury's " Characters," the loving 
couples in the "Cotter's Saturday Night," 
"Evangeline" at her spinning, "Paul 
and Virginia" in their island home, never 
knew the misery of wealth, which stamps 
its mysterious mark on the rich and the idle: 

"... medio de fonte leporum 
Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribusangit."t 

The contrast between those who ride 
in carriages and those who go afoot has 
amused the pencil of the humorist and 
the thoughts of the philosopher; for both 
recall the adage: "God shows His con- 
tempt for riches by the sort of people He 
gives them to." Labor is at its best when 
it believes, with the Apostle, that "piety 

» Longfellow: "K^ramos." t "Lucretius." 



92 



THE AVE MARIA. 



with sufficiency is great gain." Desperate 
risks, quick returns, the greed for sudden 
weal th — Auri sacra fames ^ — these degrade 
labor, demoralize the laborer, and make 
unwilling workers in the mills of God. 
Thrice happy they to whom the Encyclical 
of Pope Leo "On the Condition of Labor" 
is familiar! Thrice happy they if the Holy 
Family be their model, and, in the words 
of the Pope establishing the Confraternity, 
"they lift up their eyes to Jesus, Mary 
and Joseph, to find in this domestic group 
cause for rejoicing rather than for pining 
at their lot!" 

Such as these would be the hope of 
America, — 

"Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water 

the woodlands, 
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an 

image of heaven." 



The Vocation of Edward Conway. 



BY MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN. 



XXVII.— Giles' Sacrifice. 

CONWAY, after Giles left him, stood 
with the thin gold cross in his hand, 
wondering whether he had counted too 
much on that clue or not. He had picked 
it up near a clump of blackberry bushes 
on that horrible night. He had seen it 
glimmering as he stooped, and thrust it 
into his pocket; after that he had for- 
gotten all about it. He had found it when 
Lady Tyrrell, in an excess of motherly 
interest, had insisted on sending his even- 
ing clothes to the tailor's to be pressed. 
He had acquired a habit of sending to 
Margaret any little thing that happened 
to be at his hand. Sometimes it would be 
a pressed flower, a menu card, a strand of 
peculiar grass, a rough sketch of some 
local object; and as the little cross was 
slight enough to go into an envelope, he 
thought that he would slip it into his letter. 



When Maggie came into the study to 
take away the tray on which his luncheon 
had been brought, Conway was finishing 
his letter to Margaret. "Give Mr. Brian 
Dermot Thorndyke my regards, and tell 
him that his aunt is interesting to the 
barbarous American," he had written, 
when Maggie interrupted him. The little 
cross lay on the table. 

"May I look at this, sir?" she asked. 
"By all means," he answered, occupied 
with his letter. 

"It is the cross I gave Jake, and I 
thought he' d given it to her^ but he said 
he lost it!" exclaimed Maggie. "He said 
he lost it; and Susanna told me not to 
believe him, that men were all deluders." 
"Who?" asked Conway, raising his 
head. "Oh! — you know where the cross 
came from?" 

"I beg pardon, — I ought to," said 
Maggie. "My sister gave it to me before I 
left Ireland ; and when Jake gave me the 
ring" — Maggie held up her left hand 
and showed a tendency to giggle, — "I 
gave him that cross." 

"Jake must have lost it, then," Conway 
said. The associations of the cross sud- 
denly came to him. The smile disappeared 
from his face. "But how came he to lose it 
near the river? I found it on the night — "' 
"I know," Maggie interrupted, her face 
becoming grave. She put the tray back 
on the table, and held out her hand for the 
cross. ' ' I know, — ^he told me; but I didn't 
believe it, because Susanna said he was 
lying or else he was drunk; but indeed 
Jake never lies, or takes anything barring 
a glass of beer. You will give me" the cross^ 
Mr. Conway?" 

"If you will tell me how he came to 
lose it, — he shall come to no harm, I 
promise," Conway added. 

"He told me — but not another soul 
knows," she answered. " To -be honest, 
I thought he was drunk, — not that I've 
ever known him to take too much, but 
it seemed as if he were not in his right 



THE AVE MARIA. 



93 



r 



senses. But not another soul knows of it," 
she said, hastily. "I was afraid Jake would 
get into trouble; and, though I was that 
mad at him, I kept quiet." 

"Tell me all about it. Jake shall not 
get into trouble, and you shall have the 
cross." 

Maggie hesitated, and nervously twisted 
her apron. She saw that Conway was 
much in earnest. 

"Oh, dear!" she began, — "oh, dear! I 
suppose I must^ — but don't let Jake get 
into trouble, now that everything is all 
right again!" she whispered. "Jake says 
he saw Colonel Carton thrust him over the 
bank. He was on his way home through 
the oaks, and in a bad state of mind, 
because I was too busy with the dinner 
to speak to him. And when he saw it., he 
ran down as fast as he could to the river's 
edge; it took time, — you know how long 
it takes." 

Conway nodded. 

"And just as he got there," Maggie 
looked around fearfully, ' ' he saw the 
Major come out of a clump of bushes — 
the blackberries grow thick there, — and 
walk away. He knew it was the Major, — 
he saw his face and his overcoat. But 
when he had passed, Jake looked into the 
bushes — why he can't tell, — and there 
he saw the Major's face, with the moon- 
light on it. He was dead— dead! I hope 
it means no harm to us! It was the 
Major's ghost that Jake had seen walking. 
He ran away with all his might His 
watch chain caught in the bushes, and he 
lost the cross. He ran up by the short 
way, though they're all long enough 
down the bank; and he never told a living 
soul except me, — and then only because 
I thought he'd given my cross to Hester 
Ann McFetrich." 

"Keep quiet about this, Maggie," 
Conway said, seriously; "and ask Jake 
to call here at seven o'clock to-night. No 
harm can come to him, I assure you — but 
probably some good. Let me keep the 



cross. I will give it to him to-night" 
Maggie hesitated, but at length took 
up her tray. 

"No harm can come to Jake?" 
"I promise. I'll send word to him 
myself to call. It is all very strange. 
But you may be sure good may come of 
it Jake's an honest fellow." 

" Indeed he is! " said Maggie, going out 
Conway finished his letter, and one or 
two more. Shortly after this he met 
Giles Carton, and gave him an assurance, 
which, as we have seen, Giles did not 
find consoling. 

Conway thought over every detail 
carefully. He had a talent for concen- 
tration. He had sifted all the details 
before Jake came to see him, just as twi- 
light was falling. Although the gong had 
sounded twice and Jane had knocked at 
the study door, Conway sent word that 
he could not go into dinner; he expected 
"to see a man on business in the study." 
Lady Tyrrell resolved to find out all about 
this man after dinner. But when she 
knocked, she found the study empty. 
Conway and the man had gone. 

Jake was confident that he had seen a 
ghost Conway did not argue with him, 
but he made up his mind that Jake was 
mistaken. He gave him the gold cross, 
the finding of which proved Susanna to 
be a mere cynic; and Jake was pleased, 
though fearful that Conway might get 
him into trouble. Jake told his story 
twice. It confirmed Conway's theory that 
the Major had not been killed by the fall. 
If he had died by a railroad accident, 
Colonel Carton could not be held respon- 
sible in the eyes of the law. Conway 
pitied him with all his heart; he knew 
(Jake stuck to his story that he had seen 
the Colonel throw his friend over the 
bank) that Colonel Carton could have no 
more intended murder than he did. A 
scuffle there had been; but he felt sure 
that, if the Colonel had realized the danger 
to his old friend, his passion would have 



94 



THE AVE MARIA. 



instantly cooled. Jake went home richer 
than when he had come, and relieved to 
have the cross in his possession and the 
ghost story off his mind. 

Colonel Carton sat shivering by the 
logs in the great, open fireplace of the 
hall. Giles stood near him, with his back 
against the carved chimney-piece. He was 
dejected, almost despairing. His father had 
treated his proposition to go away as a 
piece of madness. 

"It's no use, Giles," he said. "I shall 
stay where I am. Nobody knows about 
this thing but Ward. He can tell if he 
likes. If it weren't for the disgrace to you, 
I'd be glad to have it over. I thrust him 
over the bank, — I'm not dreaming or 
doting. I can't run away. The only thing 
you can do for me, Giles, is to give me 
peace. I want peace. What's the use of 
your religion, if you can' t help me to find 
peace?" The broken old man stirred 
uneasily in his chair. "I wish I were 
dead!" He shivered. "But I am afraid, — 
afraid! The Bible? Ethel Van Krupper 
talked of the Bible this afternoon. What 
consolation is there in reading the story 
of Cain? Giles," he said, piteously, " cure 
my mind, — help me to bear this, — you 
always were a good son. But you must 
not think of Bernice Conway. It would 
bring a curse on you. If one could only 
undo the work of a minute!" 

Giles did not speak. 

"Go away? Leave Swansmere? No!" 
the Colonel said, — "never! But you, 
Giles, can help me to bear it." 

Giles took his father's hand in his, and 
knelt beside him. 

"We will bear it together," he said. 

"My son, my son!" murmured the . 
old man, wistfully. "But you are more. 
You are a minister, a priest, — the repre- 
sentative of God. Can't you take the sin 
from me? Can't you make me clean in 
the eyes of God? A priest ought to be 
able to do that." 

' ' I am not a priest, father. It depends 



on yourself. You know that, whatever 
happened, you did not intend — " 

"Ah, Giles," said the old man, solemnly, 
"you don't know! I was full of anger. I 
didn't care; I only wanted to satisfy my 
rage against him, and I killed him, — I 
am sure of that. You are a minister of 
religion. I have often laughed and scoffed, 
but I never pretended that there was 
nothing in religion. If I should die with 
this sin on my soul, what would become 
of me? If it were not for you, and the 
disgrace that would come upon you, I 
would confess it to the world. I'd have a 
better chance with God then, perhaps." 

Giles, who had half believed in the 
Anglican theories, dared not, in this awful 
crisis, hear his father's confession or 
attempt to give him absolution. The pre- 
tences fell away from him. 

"Surely, Giles," the Colonel said, "you 
ought to be able to help me now. Give 
me peace, or I shall die ! ' ' 

"You must be calm, father. We will 
talk of this later. In the meantime throw 
your burden on Our Lord, and try not to 
think. If you will come with me — we can 
start at nine o'clock, — new people and 
new scenes will drive away these awful 
fears. You will become entirely sane; you 
will forget." 

' ' I will not go away, ' ' the Colonel said, 
firmly. "I will stay here at Swansmere. 
The time will come when Ward may be 
moved to tell the truth. Let them hang 
me if they will; but what I want now is 
to feel that God will forgive me my sin. 
Did he strike me first? I can't remember. 
I wish Ward would come to tell me." 

The Colonel bent forward, closing his 
eyes. There was a knock at the outer 
door, — the Colonel had revered the old- 
fashioned knocker. Not waiting for the 
servant, Giles pushed aside the curtain 
between the vestibule and the hall, and 
opened the door. Edward Conway stood 
on the step. 

"May I come in?" he asked. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



96 



"You are welcome. I think, Mr. 
Conway, that my father can well endure 
good news." 

'* I have good news," Conway answered, 
following Giles into the vestibule. "I 
have proof that Major Conway was not 
killed by the fall from the bank." 

Giles started. 

*'You are sure?" 

"Sure." 

"Come with me, and tell this to my 
father." 

The Colonel stood up as Conway entered. 
He meant to be polite, but he could not 
conceal the dislike with which the asso- 
ciations connected with Conway inspired 
him. He shook Conway's hand coldly. 
For his part, Conway could hardly repress 
his amazement at the shocking change 
in the Colonel. 

"Mr. Conway is about to say something 
important," Giles remarked, after an 
embarrassing silence. 

"Let him go on," said the Colonel, 
nervously grasping the arms of his chair. 
"I am ready for anything." 

Conway plunged at once into Jake 
Strelzer's statement. The Colonel listened, 
with bowed head and closed eyes. When 
Conway had finished, he said: 

"The man whom your informant saw 
walking away was my old friend, Major 
Conway?" 

"Yes," said Conway. 

"And he saw a — a — a face in the 
bushes — a face like — " the Major hesitated, 
— "a dead face," he added, with a gasp. 

"Yes." 

"I thank you, Mr. Cbnway — I know 
you mean to be kind; but let me say this: 
Major Conway died of the fall. The man 
who walked away was his brother, Tim 
Conway. I know it. He threatened me; 
he swore that he would meet me at the 
river edge, beneath the oaks, at eleven 
o'clock, and he wanted me to bring the 
Major. They met — but the Major was 
dead. There is no comfort anywhere." 



Conway, who stood in front of the 
Colonel, turned to Giles inquiringly. He 
saw something like despair on the old 
man's face. 

"Your father," Conway said aside to 
Giles, "needs rest." 

The Colonel overheard him. 

" You mean, sir, that my mind is 
wandering," he said, raising his head, to 
meet Conway's eyes. "You are wrong. 
There is no reason why I should conceal 
the truth from you. I pushed the Major 
over the bank, — and, as you know, he 
died." Giles, leaning against the chimney- 
piece, turned his face to the wall. "Tim 
Conway, his brother, had always been a 
reprobate. It's a long story. He had sunk 
lower and low^r. He became a disgrace 
to his relatives, and such a drain on the 
Major's purse that the Major kicked him 
from his house. There are black sheep in 
every family, — he is the one in yours. 
Perhaps you know about him already. 
He came here for money on that Sunday. 
He was afraid to go to the Major; he came 
to me, — you may have seen him prowling 
about?" 

Conway nodded ; he remembered the 
tramp, with the "Conway back," whom 
he had seen from the window of the 
conservatory. 

" He knew," the Colonel continued, 
"of some transactions during the war, in 
which Major Conway and I were concerned. 
He threatened that unless I arranged for 
a meeting between him and his brother 
under the bank on that Sunday night, he 
would make trouble. I paid no attention 
to him, as I knew he was afraid to 
approach the Major's house, and that the 
Major thought he was in France. Well, 
they met, — I am sure of that; but Tim 
Conway found his brother dead. He was 
always a cad and a coward, and he was 
glad to get away," the Colonel said, 
rapidly. "You could hardly tell them 
apart; I never saw two people more alike. 
There is no use in tr>'ing to comfort me 



96 



THE AVE MARIA. 



with an idle tale: I am past comfort." 

The Colonel bent his head again, and 
rested his hands on his stick. Conway 
took his hat. 

Giles followed him to the door. 

"Mr. Conway," he said, "I thank you. 
I don't know what to say to all this. It is 
so utterly wretched and unexpected. But 
there is one thing which I think I may 
say. I fancy that you admire your cousin, 
as I do," he added, after a slight hesita- 
tion. "This horrible thing separates me 
from her forever. I feel that I ought to 
tell you this. If you have learned to love 
her — and who could help it? — you, I 
think, can make her happy." 

The door closed abruptly. Conway 
looked out into the night, and a smile 
crept over his face, in spite of himself. 

' ' Mr: Carton, ' ' he thought, ' ' is generous ; 
though I don't know how Bernice would, 
like to see herself delivered to me in this 
fashion. Nonsense!" he said, taking hope 
again. "Things can't be so bad as they 
seem ! " 

(To be continued.) 



Our Lady's Image. 



BY SARA TRAINER SMITH. 



pl^LACK it where the hourly homage of 

ikj thine eyes shall rest; 

rr Set it where in thoughtless moment to 
thy careless breast, 

Some remembrance, pure and holy, it shall 
quickly dart, 

Waking every sleeping instinct of thy Cath- 
olic heart. 

Often, in thy daily passing, thou shalt mark 

its gaze, 
And a fervent prayer send upward from life's 

troubled maze; 
Often, often hasty question, sharpened word 

shall fail, 
Where it stands in holy silence under folded 

vaU. 



Daily it shall call thy dreamings out of 

wanderings wild; 
Hourly it shall lead thee heavenward as a 

little child; 
Nightly, thou shalt sink to slumber in its 

presence pure; 
Waking, thou shalt hail it symbol of thy 

comfort sure. 

Yes, sweet Mother, thy fair image loved with 

us abides. 
Those still lips are carven floodgates of truth's 

burning tides; 
Those still hands, outstretched and patient, 

showering blessings free; 
Oh, beyond thy image waiteth all God found 

in thee! 



Memories of Hawaii. 



BY CHARLES WARREN STODDARD. 

IV. — Honolulu Then and Now. 

THERE was more music in the olden 
days, and not quite so many modern 
conveniences ; not so many mosquitos 
either! No doubt the natives were hap- 
pier and wholesomer. They can't stand 
civilization; it has taught them to distrust 
the foreigner, and this is no doubt one 
cause of the recent rebellions at the 
Hawaiian Capital. 

Once upon a time, passing the Govern- 
ment House at a late hour of the night, I 
heard that singularly monotonous chant 
which the old Hawaiians delight in, and 
which to the untutored ear resembles 
nothing so much as the summer drone of 
bees. I paused to listen, for the weird chant 
seemed to shape itself out of the dai"kness, 
and there was something unearthly in it 
or about it. Presently I dimly descried a 
little cluster of dark figures crouching 
under the statue of Kamehameha I. Of 
course I know not the burden of their 
song. I] wonder how many Hawaiian 



THE AVE MARIA. 



97 



scholars can follow those musical refrains, 
muffled as they are in deep and profound 
gutterals? 

Perhaps they may have seen the great 
conqueror in the flesh; they certainly must 
have known of him when his glory was of 
yesterday; and now they were gathered 
under the graven image — the imperishable 
effigy of him who has passed from them 
like a dream, and whose marvellous 
achievements are as a tale that is told. 

That chant was like an echo of the half- 
forgotten past — of the days when there 
were giants in the land, before the flight 
of the gods. And I wished that the hand 
which fashioned that statue, stilled now 
forever, might rest for one moment on his 
completed work standing there by the 
Government House, while the last of the 
ancients crooned their solemn chant at 
midnight, wailing for the mightiest of 
their kings. 

That statue was the work of the late 
Thomas R. Gould, the American sculptor 
who lived so many years .in Florence, 
Italy. It is a colossal bronze figure, clad 
in the long royal cloak — the original is 
woven of rare feathers; it has taken 
generations of bird-catchers to gather 
enough of these to complete the robe ; the 
figure is crowned with the ancient feather 
helmet, worn only by the chiefs ; it is 
quite classic in outline. 

As for the Government House, you 
should see it at the opening of Parliament, 
when streams of carriages are depositing 
lovely ladies swathed in laces, and plume- 
bedecked; and less lovely gentlemen clad 
in formal black, with moist handkerchiefs 
about their necks ; and all looking suffi- 
ciently hot and uncomfortable as they 
present their tickets at the door. 

A murmur of delight escapes from the 
multitude without the House, — a multi- 
tude vainly striving to shelter itself under 
a forest of umbrellas. Ah! there is the 
flash of bayonets in the distance, the 
blare of trumpets; and now the faint 



notes of the Royal Hawaiian Band — it 
has just turned the corner by the palace 
yard — are borne down upon the gale. 

They approach. The excitement, the 
dust, the heat, increase at every moment 
A few late-comers create a small sensation 
as they dash through the crowd, and 
hastily alight and enter the Government 
House. Presently a gun is heard from the 
fort on the heights of Punch Bowl; the 
Queen has left the palace; it is undoubt- 
ably the meridian hour. Her Majesty's 
chariot approaches, attended by a glit- 
tering cavalcade. Handsome Hawaiians, 
richly dressed, covered with gold lace 
and ropes of bullion, and with many a 
sparkling decoration upon their breasts; 
liveried footmen, superb steeds in glittering 
regalia, make a tableau worthy of royalty. 
But the most striking feature of the scene 
is the cluster of towering kahilis^ those 
superb plumes of the most brilliant and 
variegated feathers, which are the ancient 
mysterious and significant symbols of 
Hawaiian majesty. These magnificent 
wands are borne majestically upon each 
side of the Queen; and they seem to 
awaken a kind of superstitious awe in the 
breast of the beholder, whoever he may 
be. They are the splendid flower of bar- 
barism; and so long as they survive, the 
aboriginal spirit of the Hawaiian can not 
be said to have wholly changed. 

The ceremonies within Government 
House are too tedious to recall. The 
Hawaiian hymn — which is none other 
than "God Save the Queen!" turned 
inside-out — arouses an enthusiasm which 
rises to 9c in the shade. Her Majesty 
graciously bows tb right and left from her 
chariot, surrounded by shimmering staff- 
officers and a perfect sunburst of kahilis. 
Ten thousand handkerchiefs wave franti- 
cally, like white-caps on a windy, day, 
over that black sea of people. But, next 
to the glare of the unclouded sun, the 
most noticeable feature of the occasion is 
the penetrating odor of warm musk-melons, 



98 



THE AVE MARIA 



huge sections of whicli are in the mouths 
of most of the delighted spectators. 

It has been my fortune to be more or 
less familiar with three kings and four 
queens of Hawaii. One of these merry 
monarchs was the last of the Kameha- 
mehas. The first of this distinguished 
dynasty was the conqueror of the whole 
g^oup of islands, the founder of the United 
Kingdom of Hawaii Nei. 

Lunalilo, who succeeded Kamehameha 
V. as Monarch of Hawaii, was a charming 
but dissipated young man. He did a thou- 
sand things to sacrifice the love and even 
the respect of his people, and yet they were 
faithful to the last. How well I remember 
the day when, in company with Lunalilo 
— then familiarly known as Prince Bill, — 
we called upon Kalama, the Dowager 
Queen of Kamehameha III.! She was 
aged ; she was living in comparative 
obscurity, in a modest dwelling, hidden 
in a shady vale not far from Honolulu. It 
was well known that Queen Kalama was 
not of the best blood in the land. When 
her King died she returned to the ranks, 
and ended her days in semi-solitude. She 
received the young prince at her threshold ; 
and when he had taken the proflfered 
chair, she sat on the floor at his feet: she 
knew herself unworthy to sit in his 
presence. Not many civilized ladies could 
have done this with dignity, but she did 
it; and did it with an easy and natural 
grace that would have filled the Delsartian 
breast with admiration and despair. 

When Lunalilo came to the throne he 
remained unchanged. He was a happy- 
go-lucky lad, and died before even the 
first year of his reign was ripening. Alas, 
and welladay ! I have the pleasantest. 
memories of a summer-house in the edge 
of a palm grove at Waikiki. There the 
subdued light of the tropical noonday 
stole across very wide and deep verandas, 
hung with Venetian blinds; the cool air, 
fresh and moist from the haunted valley 
of Manoa, swept over plains that extended 



from the beach to the base of the cloud- 
mantled mountains. 

Everything that could conduce to the 
luxury of life in that latitude ministered 
to the wants of the inhabitant of this 
earthly paradise. Multitudes of retainers 
waited upon his call — and he need not 
call, for his every wish was anticipated. 
In one corner of the great hall where he 
loved to linger crouched a pretty child, 
whose sole duty it was to light the royal 
pipe, and see that it was kept lighted so 
long as the royal lips chose to play upon 
it. There were singers with marvellously 
sweet voices, and dancers whose g^ace was 
beyond the power of description. Story- 
tellers amused him with their romances; 
ingenious purveyors pampered his fickle 
appetite; and dusky maidens twined 
wreaths about his brow and neck until 
the air was laden with the fragrance of 
Eden. Verily, verily he dwelt in the 
Castle of Indolence, and his name was 
Lunalilo! There he died the death, and 
so ended the fairy tale of one who was at 
once the pride and scorn of the nation. 

I have never ceased to admire the phil- 
osophical fashion in which the Hawaiians 
bear their greatest sorrows. They are 
professional mourners, every one of them, 
and find tears for the least occasion. A 
friend meets a friend with eyes swimming; 
these are not the tears of grief, but of 
great joy. They quiet down presently, 
and gaily constitute an interview at the 
roadside or the waterfall, or upon the sands 
by the sea. They are nomads, all of them, 
and greet one another upon the wing. 
As the hour of parting draws near the 
eyes swim again, and at the last moment 
their grief becomes heartrending. Yet if 
they were to fall in with one another 
two hours afterward, there would be as 
much sentimental ceremony as if they 
had not met for years. Their emotions 
never flag, though there is ' an almost 
constant drain upon them. 

Fortunately, these highly -emotional 



THE AVE MARIA. 



99 



people recover themselves almost on the 
instant. I remember one night a little 
grass-house occupied by a native woman 
took fire. In a very few minutes it was 
consumed, and she perished in the flames. 
The next day, the news of her death 
having spread abroad upon the winds, her 
friends began to gather at the scene of 
the catastrophe to lift up their voices in 
wailing. I was present when several 
women arrived, after a weary tramp of 
seven miles. They stood in silence, look- 
ing with the saddest eyes upon the 
charred ruins of the hut; and then one 
of them said: "Let us wail!" Another, 
who was perhaps wiser, replied: "Wait! 
We are weary and famished ; let us eat 
first, and then we will wail." This they 
did with one accord; and doubtless the 
wailing was far more effectual than if 
it had been attempted on an empty 
stomach. 

I believe their grief to be as genuine 
and as intense as the grief of any one 
living; but it is like the grief of childhood, 
gusty and intermittent. It is fortunate for 
them that it is so. 

When Lunalilo died, it became necessary 
to grieve for him in a manner worthy of 
his rank. The streets of Honolulu were 
lined with mourners; the gutters ran with 
tears; you couldn't sleep o' nights for the 
wailing — the high, piercing, falsetto cries 
that ascended from every quarter of the 
town. And, that Nature might not deprive 
his late Majesty of his just dues, his 
bereaved subjects relieved one another 
from hour to hour, and thus the cup of 
bitterness was kept running over for 
many a day. 

Waikiki is a lovely bit of still life. 
There the scattered summer-houses in a 
grove of cocoa-palms beguile the tired 
citizens of the tropical metropolis from 
time to time; and thither they repair to 
take their ease, and laugh at the sea as 
it gnashes its metaphorical teeth on the 
reef, out of reach. 



Waikiki is the embroidered hem of the 
island of Oahu. A sluggish stream lags 
through it; taro patches — looking like lakes 
full of cala lily leaves — are set in it as 
in a mosaic. There is no regularity, for- 
mality, or restriction down there. The sun 
sets in the ocean off the west end of your 
veranda; schooners drift past you while 
you dine in the open Lanai overhanging 
the water, — drift past you as in a moving 
picture. You step from your lawn into 
the sea and bathe at leisure; the water 
is lukwarm and the shore-sand white like 
powdered marble. The town bells tinkle 
in the distance; people ride over the hot, 
dusty plains without disturbing your 
privacy in the least From cool, shady 
valleys come loLg, fragrant puffs of wind, 
and they are ever so welcome; they sound 
like a deep-drawn sigh, and they appeal to 
the sentimentalists — these natives are all 
sentimentalists. Poets call this sort of 
thing a zephyr, or a gentle gale; here for 
the first time one realizes the full meaning 
of the term. 

If you weary of the blue sea wastes on 
the one hand, turn to the mountains that 
wall in your half of the island, upon the 
other. Their strange, angular outlines are 
never uninteresting ; they possess a weird 
fascination, these lava crags ; there is a 
magnetism in them that fills you full of 
superstition ; they are of the mountains 
one reads about — the loadstone that draws 
you irresistibly to them, even to your 
own destruction. A spirit is in every 
valley, a god on every pinnacle of rock; the 
very tinting of the forest seems unnatural, 
and the whole formation of the island 
fantastic and fairy -like. Ghouls and 
demons enchant the place; the elements 
have molded and remolded the land 
almost within the memory of men still 
living, and the work is left undone in 
some parts. Above you the yellow stars 
hang in the palm-branches; beneath you 
the thick sod is rooted in a bed of ashes; 
everywhere is the indelible seal of the 



100 



THE AVE MARIA. 



barbaric age, that Is slowly going out in 
a half-defiant, half-despairing wail ; it 
mingles strangely with the hymn that is 
now chanted in the new temples erected 
io the living God. 

But stay — I forgot myself! Now the 
<n:ovded horse-cars roll busily through 
the groves of Waikiki ; summer hotels 
and public bath-houses line the beach; 
the umbrageous boughs bend under their 
-weight of telephone wires, and the 
electric light casts its ghastly glamour 
over the scene. The locomotive shrieks 
through the startled vales beyond Palama. 
Civilization hath wrought its worst — Great . 
Pan is dead! 

Is there anything in that little island 
-world upon which the hand of change has 
■not been heavily laid? Do you ask me 
this question? I answer yes! There is a 
coral wall in Fort Street, Honolulu, — a 
-wall much higher than your head; two 
solid gates swing in it. The whitewashed 
wall is relieved by a border of faded 
yellow ; the gates were once painted green. 
As one passes under this wall, the arched 
fronds of two date-palms, growing within 
the wall, overshadow him. Beyond the 
palms one sees the fa9ade of the old Cath- 
olic cathedral. Let us enter the cathedral 
close, and look about us. 

There is cool' and shady space enough 
for a multitude to lounge in ; the cathedral 
upon one side, a row of low-ro6fed offices 
and ware-rooms on the other, lofty trees 
and inviting benches between them, and 
far in the distance — for the grounds are 
deep— a handsome bronze fountain, with 
the whitewashed wall of a little house 
for a background. Thereabout stands the 
Bishop's house and many another unpre- 
tentious lodge — all built of coral hewn ' 
from the reef, which under the sea is 
almost as solid as granite. It is like the 
tiniest of walled cities, this cathedral close 
in Honolulu. 

It is a feast-day in the calendar; and 
the cathedral, though very spacious, is 



thronged to overflowing. The high altar 
is a bank of flowers, over which a thousand 
twinkling tapers flash like fire-flies. The 
band of the French flagship is present, 
and renders a portion of the music ; 
a well-trained choir of native voices is 
heard at intervals — a cloistered nun presid- 
ing at the organ. Some plaintive hymns 
are chanted by the vast congregation. 
Under one gallery of the church, beyond 
a lattice, are the nuns, whose convent 
adjoins the close; and there they, in their 
white robes, kneel among their flock. 
Various representatives of foreign courts 
and some members of the cabinet are 
present; so also is Kalakaua, although he 
is no Catholic. 

There is a momentary hush before the 
supreme moment of the Elevation. The 
birds that sometimes dart in at the window 
seem to hesitate ; the butterflies that flutter 
above the altar fold their wings in ecstasy. 
There comes a clash of silver bells; the 
marines from the Admiral's ship present 
a double broadside of glittering arms; 
brilliantly-robed acolytes toss four golden 
censers high in air, and at the same 
moment other acolytes fling aloft handfuls 
of rose petals, and the sanctuary is misty 
with clouds of incense and showers of 
descending rose leaves. The scene is 
sublimely beautiful. 

When the Mass is ended the band plays 
the national anthem. His Majesty departs, 
escorted by the Admiral, the members 
of the court, and foreign dignitaries. But 
the natives lingers about the beloved spot 
for hours. Thus has it been since the 
beginning in that kingdom by the sea, 
thus may it be even unto the end. 

(To be continued.) 



While praise is more agreeable than 
blame to all of us, in public and in 
private, a man is not worth his ealt who is 
deterred by censure from doing that which 
he knows is right. — Lord Granville. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



iOl 



The First Knight of the Queen of 
Angels. 



BY ANNA T. SADUBR. 



(Conclusion.) 



AS to Maisonneuve's bravery, a single 
instance may suffice to illustrate it. 
On the 30th of May, 1644, the Governor 
was told that the Iroquois were in the 
woods hard by the city. He picked out 
thirty men, all that could be properly 
equipped with snow-shoes; for the snow 
in the forest paths was deep and untrodden. 
The Iroquois, to the number of two 
hundred, were under shelter in the woods. 
Maisonneuve, seeing that his men were 
too much exposed upon the open pathway, 
ordered them under cover. The struggle 
was maintained till the failure of ammu- 
nition and the loss of several men induced 
the Governor to command a retreat. His 
orders were that the men should go slowly, 
two by two, with their faces to the foe, 
along the beaten path, that the heavy snow 
might not embarrass them. He himself, 
pistols in hand, held the rear, allowing 
even the wounded to be borne away. 

But the retreating column fell into 
disorder; and when the whole force of the 
Iroquois rushed forth to pursue them, a 
panic ensued. The Governor was left alone 
in face of the enemy. Undismayed, he 
continued to retreat slowly, a pistol in 
either hand, pressed closely by the ferocious 
foemen. At last a gigantic chief sprang, 
tiger-like, upon the solitary adversary, 
seizing him by the throat. Maisonneuve, 
with ready self-possession, raised the pistol, 
and, striking the chief upon the head, 
dashed him lifeless to the earth. The 
Iroquois paused in doubt and fear, finally 
raising the body of their chief and flying 
with it into the forest. The Governor 
meanwhile made his escape, and calmly 
returned to the Fort, where he was greeted 



with the warmest expressions of admiration. 

Maisonneuve was above all things a 
man of faith. He breathed its very spirit 
into the garrison and into the city. It 
gave him a great, generous confidence in 
the providence of God, and left him undis- 
turbed by trials or vicissitudes which 
dismayed the most courageous. He ordered 
every detail of his life by its high 
standards, going once a year to Quebec for 
special consultation with Father Lalemant 
on his spiritual affairs. 

Once, within a few months after his 
arrival in Canada, he saw the fair river, 
which so channed him as he stood upon 
the shore that lovely May morning, leaping 
fierce and swollen, threatening to carry 
away the Fort, sole refuge in a hostile 
country. He made a vow that if the 
waters would subside and spare the city, 
he, the Governor, would plant a cross upon 
the summit of Mt. Royale. 

The waters yielded to the prayer of 
faith; and on the Feast of the Epiphany, 
1643, t^^ whole colony was astir to share 
in the fulfilment of the Governor's vow. 
The cross, of colossal size, was pre- 
pared. Maisonneuve, with the knightly 
spirit of his Crusading ancestors, desired 
to carry it upon his own shoulders; and 
also desired that, to use his own language, 
he should be invested as "first soldier of 
the Cross," with religious ceremonies. 
The procession, including the whole popu- 
lace, started with the Governor at its head, 
and bringing with them a portable altar 
and other things essential for the celebra- 
tion of Mass. 

Up the steep ascent of Mt. Royale, the 
lurking-place of savages, the multitude 
passed, singing as they went Crux Ave 
and other hymns. At a given spot the 
cross was planted, a symbol to the whole 
idolatrous pagan world about that Christ 
the King had come to reign over these 
new dominions. Father du Perron, the 
Jesuit missionary, said Mass; and, with 
hymns and thanksgivings, the populace 



102 



THE AVE MARIA. 



once more passed down into the city 
streets. 

The Governor ordained from the first 
that Corpus Christi should be celebrated 
with all possible solemnity. He himself 
walked bareheaded in- the procession, 
which included not only the colonists, 
but representatives of the feathered tribes 
as well. The cannon of the Fort thun- 
dered, while flowers and fragrant branches 
were strewn in the path over which the 
Blessed Sacrament was borne. 

To the forts and other public places the 
names of saints were given; and one of 
the most considerable outposts was named 
the Redoubt of the Infant Jesus. 

But a special feature in the character 
of our hero, and one which was no less 
befitting the first Governor of the City 
of Mary than it is deserving of special 
prominence in The "Ave Maria," was 
his love for Mary. The title which has 
been given to this article was no misnomer. 
Maisonneuve was a true Knight of Mary, 
to whom he had dedicated himself 
by special consecration. Throughout his 
career he never failed to signalize his 
loyal devotion to that Queen. She, in her 
turn, frequently gave him tokens of her 
protection. He named the principal Fort 
of the town Sainte Marie ; and of it a 
chronicler remarks: "Placed under the 
aegis of the Queen of Heaven, that post, 
amid frequent assaults which it had to 
suffer, seemed to enjoy the privilege of 
having neither dead nor wounded in its 
vicinity." 

In all the colonies devotion to Blessed 
Mary was paramount. At Quebec she had 
numerous shrines; at Three Rivers it is 
related that every family had an oratory, 
where family prayer was said morning and 
evening, — each being dedicated to Mary 
under such titles as Our Lady of Good 
Help, of L/iesse, of Good Tidings, of 
Victory. In Montreal the whole town was 
under the patronage of that good Mother, 
and the special impetus to her worship 



came from the Governor. It is delightful 
to read that in those primal May days 
young men and women pressed around 
the statue of Mary with flowers and 
garlands. Fresh with the fragrance of the 
new, bright world about them, these 
flowers, which for centuries perchance 
had clustered neglected in hidden nooks, 
their message of sweetness unheeded by 
the stem-faced aborigines, were brought 
to the feet of Our Lady. 

When Marguerite Bourgeois had deter- 
mined to erect a chapel in honor of the 
Blessed Virgin on the soil of Villemarie, 
her design was fully approved of by the 
Governor. And although he was absent 
when it was named Our Lady of Good 
Help by the Jesuit, Father Pigart, and 
when his fellow-Jesuit, Lemoyne, laid its 
corner-stone, still it was a work which 
Maisonneuve had much at heart. On his 
return from France, he ordered that timber 
for its construction be cut down, and 
himself helped to draw the logs out of 
the woods. 

It was the Governor's devotion to Our 
Lady that caused him to proclaim the 
solemn celebration of her Feast of the 
Assumption, scarce three months after his 
landing at Villemarie. It was a day of 
universal joy for the colony. The little 
chapel of bark was decorated with sur- 
prising richness. Upon its altar stood 
the splendid tabernacle which had been 
donated to the settlement, and other costly 
ornaments given or loaned for the occasion. 
Father Vimont said the Mass, and all 
the colonists, headed by their Governor, 
received Holy Communion. "We sang a 
Te Deum^^'' writes Father Vimont in the 
"Relation" for 1642, "in thanksgiving 
that God had given us grace to behold 
that first day of honor and of glory, — in a 
word, the first grand festival of Our Lady 
of Montreal." 

He tells how the thunder of cannon 
resounded through the island, 'proclaiming 
"the love which we bear to our great 



THE AVE MARIA. 



103 



Mistress." After Vespers a procession was 
formed, in which the stately form of the 
Governor was conspicuous. A band of 
wandering Algonquins were in its ranks 
likewise. They accompanied Maisonneuve 
in his visitation of the forests and of the 
mountain. On its heights occurred a pict- 
uresque incident. Two aged Algonquin 
chiefs, casting a retrospective glance over 
the glories of their race, proclaimed to the 
new Governor that once this island and 
this royal 'mountain had been the heritage 
of their tribe; that they had been driven 
thence by the Hurons, and dispersed and 
divided. Taking up a handful of clay, they 
bade the white man observe how excellent 
it was; and told that in the time of their 
fathers the sun had ripened golden grain 
here, where all had been made desolate. 
Maisonneuve urged them to return to this 
land of their ancestors, now the possession 
of the Queen of Heaven; and to make an 
abiding place under the protection of their 
brothers, the white men. 

It is diflScult to realize the condition of 
ever-present peril in which the colonists 
dwelt, and the ever-recurring need for 
prompt and vigorous action. Maisonneuve, 
actuated by his love for Mary, devised a 
new system of defence. He organized a 
band called *' Soldiers of the Blessed 
Virgin," consisting of seventy-two men, 
to honor the years of Our Lady's mortal 
life. These men, by frequent reception of 
the Sacraments, kept themselves ever ready 
for death. It is said that they never became 
discouraged, nor asked exemption from 
duty except in case of illness, though 
many of their number perished. The name 
of Paul de Chomedey de Maisonneuve 
was the first to appear on this roll-call 
of honor. 

As the needs of the colony became 
more pressing, this organization became 
more extended. The Governor issued the 
following proclamation to the colonists: 
"We, Paul de Chomedey de Maisonneuve, 
Governor of the island of Montreal and 



land thereupon dependent, according to 
information furnished us from divers 
localities, that the Iroquois design to capt- 
ure this habitation by force or by surprise, 
and the help promised by his Majesty 
not yet arriving, have deemed it our duty, 
in consideration that this island belongs 
to the Blessed Virgin, to invite and exhort 
all those who are zealous in her service, 
to enroll themselves together, by squads 
of seven each; and, having chosen a 
corporal by plurality of votes, to report 
themselves for enrolment in our garrison; 
and in this capacity to obey our orders 
for the salvation of the country." 

He promises that the names of all those 
enrolled shall be preserved in the archives 
of the city, as a mark of distinction, 
because they have been willing "to 
expose their lives in the interests of Our 
Lady and for the public safety." 

The special duty of this militia was to 
keep watch, to protect the laborers in the 
field, and to repel unexpected attacks 
from the savages. They met each Sunday, 
when their posts were assigned them for 
the week; the Governor, as we read, 
warmly exhorting them to the faithful 
performance of their religious duties. 

It was a cherished wish of Maisonneuve 
to erect upon Mt Royale a chapel to Our 
Lady as Sovereign Mistress of the colony. 
It was his dream that the sun of morning, 
as it rose upon those wooded heights, 
should fall upon her image; and that far 
out upon the waters the savages should 
behold with awe, and the voyagers salute 
with reverence, that Queen whose knight 
and servant he was. 

The dream remained unrealized. A 
sudden and apparently unjustifiable com- 
mand, issued in 1665, withdrew him from 
his post, with the cruel intimation that 
he was incompetent any longer to fill it 
He had endured, with a joy upon which 
his biographers specially dwell, undeserved 
humiliations at the hands of his superior 
officer in Quebec. He accepted, as an 



104 



THE AVE MARIA. 



indication of the will of God, this last 
unjust mandate ; and, without a single 
remonstrance, withdrew into obscurity at 
Paris. He took absolutely nothing from 
the colony, even leaving as a legacy to 
the poor certain debts which were owing 
to him. Years afterward, in a time of cruel 
necessity, he sent at his own expense a 
contingent of men, which proved the 
salvation of Canada and of the colony 
which he had so loved. 

Thenceforth a charm is gone from the 
history of Villemarie, though its work goes 
on, prosperously in the civil order; whilst 
the Sulpicians, whom Maisonneuve had 
brought thither in 1657, in pursuance of 
the original design of the founders, labor 
for the cause of Christ with ardor and 
success. The slender figure, ascetic almost; 
the thin, dark face, which would have 
been melancholy but for the traces of 
interior joy; the gallant warrior, the expe- 
rienced soldier, who added to military 
knowledge, acquired in the Old World, 
an insight into methods pursued by the 
savages of the New; the wise lawgiver, the 
paternal legislator, is missing from the life 
which had seemed to centre round him. 
That dwelling upon St. Paul Street, 
called the Chateau of the Governor, seems 
desolate; his place in the church, his seat 
at the council-chamber, can not readily be 
filled. The coolness and daring combined, 
the readiness in presence of danger, the 
prudence, the lovableness which won so 
entirely upon the soldiery, the wisdom 
and the spirituality, are never more to be 
combined in a governor of Montreal. With 
the saintliness of a monk, the chivalry * 
of a Crusader, the courtliness of a long- 
descended gentleman, the unblemished- 
honor, the unquestioned truthfulness, the 
spotless purity of an ideal Christian, Paul 
de Chomedey de Maisonneuve deserves 
to live in the annals of Canada and in 
the history of the world by that title so 
appropriately bestowed upon him, "the 
First Knight of the Queen of Angels. ' ' 



The Statue of Marienburg. 



AN IDYI, OF THE MIDDLE ACES. 



n^WENTY- EIGHT miles southeast of 
^ Dantzic, in the province of West 
Prussia, there nestles, on the banks of the 
Nogat River, the little town of Marienburg. 
The castle, or chdteau-fort^ which forms 
its principal attraction to the tourist, 
although restored in the first quarter of 
the present century, dates back as to its 
origin to the beginning of the fourteenth 
century. It was constructed by the Teu- 
tonic Knights, one of the powerful religious 
and military orders which sprang into 
existence during the Crusades. 

In 1309 the Grand Master of the Order 
fixed his residence at Marienburg; and as 
the Knights were noted for their particular 
devotion to the Blessed Virgin, their 
patroness and protectress, he gave her 
name to his castle, and determined that 
her statue should surmount the edifice 
visible far and near to peasantry and 
travellers by the banks of the Nogat. 

A distinguished sculptor was sent for, 
and the Knights, oflfering him cordial hos- 
pitality, made the following proposition: 

"Master, your reputation as an artist 
has long been familiar to us. We have 
full confidence in your genius, and your 
magic chisel must shape for us a statue 
of Our Lady. If the work satisfies us, 
you will be generously rewarded ; even 
should we have to pay you the weight 
of the statue in gold, we shall not 
hesitate." 

"Venerable lords," answered the artist, 
respectfully bowing to the Knights, "I 
desire neither gold nor silver; all I ask 
for is time. Grant me the full period that 
it may require for me to complete the 
work to my satisfaction, and' I shall be 
happy both to accept your hospitality and 
to further your wishes." 



THE AVE MARIA. 



105 



i 



The Knights declared their willingness 
to allow him all the time he might find 
necessary, and the sculptor took possession 
of his studio. Long months, however, 
passed away before he even began his 
task. On his knees the greater part of the 
day he prayed and prayed: **Holy Mother 
of God, inspire me, I conjure thee, with a 
just conception of my appointed work, 
and teach me how to produce a worthy 
image of thyself." 

One morning, after a longer and more 
fervent prayer than usual, he suddenly 
arose, all joyous and animated. His coun- 
tenance glowed as if illumined, while he 
murmured quietly to himself: "Now, at 
last, I have my model! Nothing can ever 
efface it from my soul, where it is faith- 
fully engraven." 

He at once sought out the finest and 
richest stone in the country; and, having 
secured a block to his taste, set to work. 
Thenceforth chisel and file knew no rest; 
and a thousand times a day, while his 
strokes were falling, the pious artist 
repeated: "Sweet Mother of Jesus, so full 
of goodness and mercy, grant, I beseech 
thee, that my statue may prove a miracu- 
lous image ! ' ' 

After long months of patient work, it 
at length became practicable to form an 
idea of what the statue would be like 
when finished. Our Lady was there, 
standing, enveloped in an ample robe that 
fell in graceful folds; upon her shoulders 
fell silken ringlets in rich profusion; a 
delicately carven crown rested upon her- 
brow; and on her left arm reposed the 
charming figure of the Child Jesus. 
Another period of ceaseless labor, and 
there appeared a marvellously sculptured 
crescent, serving as a support for the 
Virgin's foot. The skilful artist struggled 
valiantly against all difficulties; and while 
his chisel vivified the senseless stone, his 
lips forever repeated the petition of his 
soul: "Sweet Mother of Jesus, so full of 
oodness and mercy, grant, I beseech thee, 



that my statue may prove a miraculous 
image !" 

A year had passed. The Grand Master 
of the Knights wished to know what 
progress the sculptor had made, and by 
the latter was introduced into the studio. 
One glance at the work, and the Knight 
broke out into rapturous congratulation. 
The work thus far was a marvel of 
beauty. The rich, soft folds of Our Lady's 
royal mantle, the hair that seemed to 
wave about her shoulders, the noble pose 
as dignified as graceful, — everything, in a 
word, elicited his unqualified admiration. 

"Noble prince of a noble art," he 
exclaimed, "continue, continue! Your 
work will be a perpetual eulogy of the 
worker." 

"No, no ! Let it rather prove a lasting 
honor to our beneficent Mother," replied 
the artist ; and, seizing his chisel, he 
worked away with renewed ardor, implor- 
ing the while with filial confidence the 
Virgin's help. 

When it came to the task of outlining 
the countenance of Mary and her Divine 
Son, his prayers grew additionally fervent. 
"Lady all fair," was his ceaseless cry, 
"aid me to make thine image also fair!" 
What infinite precautions he took with 
his beloved task ! With what marvellous 
skill he handled the chisel, and how surely 
yet delicately he delivered each blow of 
his hammer! Time and again he stops, 
pensive and silent He closes his eyes, 
' for it is with his soul that he studies his 
model. Some moments of contemplation, 
and again his chisel gives new life and 
beauty to the graven face before him. 

Another year elapsed; and the Grand 
Master, as he views the still unfinished 
statue, pays a spontaneous tribute to the 
artist's skill by falling on his knees and 
exclaiming, ^^Ave Marin !^^ The majesty 
of the Blessed Virgin's countenance, the 
lifelike regularity of the features, and the 
delicacy of the fragile lily she holds in 
her right hand, extort his fondest praise. 



i06 



THE AVE MARIA 



Seizing the sculptor's hands, he over- 
whelms him with compliments, and eagerly 
inquires when at length this chef-d'' ceuvre 
will be ready for placing on the pedestal 
long since prepared for it. 

"Oh, my gracious lord!" was the reply 
of the astounded artist, "the statue is far 
from finished yet. Happy, thrice happy 
shall I be if one day I succeed in making 
it as it should be — as it is engraven in 
my soul !" 

"Courage, my son, — courage!" said the 
Knight. "Our Lady herself will help you 
to that result." 

And once again the devoted sculptor 
resumes his chisel and renews his prayer: 
"Sweet Mother of Jesus, full of goodness 
and mercy, grant, I beseech thee, that my 
statue may prove a miraculous image!" 

Months and years pass on. Ceaselessly 
the patient artist works, indefatigably 
adding new touches of beauty to his 
masterpiece. His hair and beard have 
whitened in the meanwhile, and time has 
traced on his own visage lines still deeper 
than he has cut in the stone. At long last 
the hammer and chisel are laid aside; the 
file and smoothing-stone must complete 
the work. Yet a few weeks, and suddenly, 
his countenance suflfused with a holy joy, 
the pious sculptor cries: "'Tis done!" 
And, sinking on his knees before his 
treasure, he murmurs lovingly, ^■^ Ave 
Maria/ Ave Maria P'' 

The next day the statue is to be placed 
on its destined site, and the thought that 
he must part with it is full of anguish. 
He has so long lived for it alone. And it 
is just when he beholds therein the faith- 
ful copy of the model in his soul that he 
must bid it farewell. It seems to him that 
he will lose Mary herself if the statue be 
removed from the humble altar on which 
he has placed it in his studio. Around it 
waxen tapers shed their light, and fairest 
flowers exhale their grateful odors, as once 
more the artist utters his fervent prayer. 

But what is this he sees? Can it be that 



his sweet Mother has granted his oft- 
repeated petition, and that she has deigned 
to show him that his work is in very 
truth a miraculous image? Yes, she smiles 
upon her faithful servant, and beckons him 
to approach. She looks on him with such 
sweetness and such love that his very life 
goes out with ecstasy; and the first miracle 
of the Madonna of Marienburg is the death, 
from love, of its devout creator. 

The next morning they found him life- 
less at the foot of the Virgin, his features 
still radiant with the glow of a joy beyond 
all telling; and now for six hundred years 
and more he has drunk at will, near Mary's 
throne in heaven, the beauty of the ideal 
for which he lived and worked and died. 



Notes and Remarks. 



It is regrettable that Mr. Onahan's idea of 
a Catholic congress of the whole world was 
not carried out, as we think it might have 
been with proper eflFort. This is only one of 
many opportunities that we have missed, in 
connection with the World's Fair, on account 
of the disunion amongst us. The coming 
Congress, however, will have something of a 
universal character. We hear that, besides 
the Apostolic Delegate, representatives of the 
Catholic hierarchy of England, Ireland, Scot- 
land, and of several nations of the Continent, 
are expected to attend. Mgr. Gadd has been 
chosen by Cardinal Vaughan to represent the 
English bishops. Cardinal Moran will repre- 
sent the Australian Church. Several Irish 
prelates are also looked for, and distinguished 
Catholic laymen from many lands. 



One of the officers of a Brooklyn court has 
handed down a decision which, we hope, 
may be regarded as a precedent in coming 
years. It involved the guardianship of a 
child bom of a mixed marriage, the usual 
ante -nuptial contract having been made. 
The child was claimed by the 'grandparents, 
one Catholic, the other Protestant; and the 



THE AVE MARIA. 



107 



judge, in deciding the case, said that he felt 
"a moral if not a legal obligation" to choote 
a Catholic guardian. It is not every judge 
who would thus strain a point in favor of 
Catholic training, and the incident may 
serve as another warning against the evil 
of mixed marriages. 



It has been asserted by the best medical 
authority that persons at the point of death 
are much more conscious of what goes on 
about them than is usually supposed. An 
incident that tends to substantiate the asser- 
tion is related of Michael Brannagan, of 
Steubenville, Ohio. Mr. Brannagan was for 
seven months in a cataleptic state, and lay to 
all appearance dead, the only sign of life being 
the continuance of respiration and circulation. 
He was afterward cured, and it was then 
that he described to his astonished nurses all 
that had been said and done by the doctors 
and attendants during his illness. He declares 
that, though most of his other senses were 
dulled, his hearing was abnormally acute. If 
persons who are called upon to attend death- 
beds would only remember these facts, they 
might spare their loved ones much needless 
suffering. A prayer or a short invocation 
breathed over the departing spirit, would 
certainly prove far more cheering and profit- 
able than those inconsiderate whispers which 
are so heedlessly uttered, and which banish 
that recollection and repose of soul so neces- 
sary in the supreme moment of life. 



The Catholic Summer School opened last 
week at Plattsburg, N. Y. The attendance 
was gratifyingly large, and all express 
approval of the programme drawn up by 
the Board of Studies. The corps of lecturers 
includes many of the most distinguished 
Catholic scholars in the United States, and 
the audience is composed of eminent teachers 
and earnest scholars. We quote the following 
appreciative words from the New York Sun: 

"The intellectual efjuipment of the School must 

I command the respect of all who are competent to 
ferm a judgment upon it. The nature and measure 
If the knowledge to be obtained by attendants at 
Be School during the three weeks of its term can 
bst be judged through an examination of the list 
■ themes to be dealt with, and of the names of the 



scholars who are to deal with them. We can say that 
any man or woman who is able to go to Pl.itt«burg 
and stay there during the brief perioti in which the 
School is kept open, must receive enlightenment in 
literature, history, and natural science." 



Congresses and conventions have become 
so common of late years that persons are apt 
to forget the good that springs from the 
interchange of intelligent opinion on impor- 
tant subjects. It will readily be admitted that 
the Catholic press of the United States 
admits of much improvement, and we are 
glad to note that several good men and true 
have undertaken to organize and conduct 
a meeting of Catholic editors in Chicago 
during Congress week. Old feuds settled, a 
spirit of harmony born, more reticence on 
delicate subjects, and a deeper respect for 
authority, — these are some of the good 
results that Catholics will hope for from this 
convention. 

A story which illustrates the mystery of 
grace, and which is not without parallel 
otherwhere, is told by the Liverpool Catholic 
Times. In one of the aristocratic families of 
Scotland, some time ago, a Catholic servant 
was induced to attend Protestant services, 
and became to all appearances an ap>ostate. 
Shortly after she gave up her situation, 
leaving behind her some Catholic books of 
devotion. Curiosity at first, and then interest, 
induced her former mistress to read these 
books. The lady is now a fervent Catholic, 
and the servant at last reports was still a 
Protestant. 

Miss Sarah Medary, who lately received 
the white veil at the Carmelite monastery in 
Boston, is the third of the grand-daughters 
of the famous Governor Medary, of Ohio, to 
embrace the religious life. Of the other two 
sisters, one is a member of the Order of the 
Good Shepherd, and the other has given her 
life to God in a convent of the Bon Secoor. 
Governor Medary was himself a convert, and 
his family have had much to sacrifice for 
conscience' sake. 



The venerable Archbishop Murphy, of 
Hobart, Tasmania, lately celebrated the 



108 



THE AVE MARIA 



seventy-eighth anniversary of his birth, and 
the fifty-fifth anniversary of his elevation to 
the priesthood. He was appointed bishop by 
Gregory XVI. in 1846. Archbishop Murphy 
is still in good health, and possessed of 
strength and vigor which many much younger 
men might envy. The labors of this great 
Father of souls during the more than half 
century spent in the sacred ministry have 
borne abundant fruit, and the clergy and 
laity of his flock pray that he may be spared 
many more years to the archdiocese over 
which he presides. Ths "Avb Maria" is 
privileged to number Archbishop Murphy 
among its warmest friends, and we beg to 
offer his Grace our sincere congratulations on 
the joyous anniversaries which he has been 
celebrating. 

In the July number of the North American 
Review, an article appears from the pen of 
the Duke of Veragua, recently our nation's 
guest, who writes entertainingly on the 
"Family of Columbus," his distinguished 
ancestor. What characterizes the paper in 
our modem periodical is the same simplicity 
and piety which formed the distinguishing 
traits of the great discoverer. The family line 
is clearly and unaffectedly traced through the 
vicissitudes of Spanish domination, and the 
ingratitude of contemporary rulers is modestly 
but plainly set forth. In conclusion, the 
writer thus expresses himself in response to 
the sentiments with which every American 
heart was moved by his presence in our land: 

"I shall never forget the kindness which has been 
shown me, nor my visit to this beautiful country, 
where Nature has been so prodigal of her gifts, and 
where man, by his labor, has been able to increase 
his wealth and attain a degree of prosperity which 
is truly marvellous. These honors, however, will not 
arouse in my heart feelings of vanity. On the con- 
trary, I hope that the remembrance of this im- 
portant period will increase in me a sense of the 
immense responsibility of those who bear honored 
names, and who are under the moral obligation to 
transmit them, at least untarnished, to their suc- 
cessors; and I trust that God will enable me to carry 
out this object." 

It is not a very long time since a bright 
but presumptuous lad was expelled from 
Oxford because he had written a pamphlet 
entitled "The Necessity of Atheism." The 
lad, who was entered on the register as P. B. 



Shelley, afterward developed into a brilliant, 
irresponsible poet, and the literary world rang 
with his praise. A memorial of him was 
recently erected at Oxford, and a delight- 
fully bland discourse was delivered by the 
successor of the man who had expelled 
Shelley for his atheistical writings. There was 
another student, gentle, learned and religious. 
He was Oxford's pride while he remained in 
the Anglican communion; but when, follow- 
ing the inspiration of grace, he entered the 
Church, he too was banished from the 
University. And when Newman's statue 
was proposed for admission into Oxford, the 
request was promptly denied; according 
to an English contemporary, the statue is 
still excluded. It is a melancholy spectacle, 
that of a venerable University, founded and 
nurtured by Catholics, preferring Shelley's 
atheism to Newman's Catholicity. 



It is often difficult to persuade otherwise 
very worthy people that questionable ways 
of raising money for charitable purposes can 
not have the approbation of the Church. A 
Parisian lady who contemplated establishing 
what we would term a concert saloon, the 
proceeds to be given to some eminently 
deserving object, was promptly rebuked by 
the Cardinal Archbishop of Paris, who in 
the course of his remarks quoted the words 
of Cardinal Guibert, his predecessor. The 
sentiments being applicable to other cities as 
well as Paris, we reproduce them: 

" If the money spent upon balls and pleasure 
parties were given integrally to the poor, there 
would be avoidance of sin, honor given to God, 
real help to the suflFering, and far less scandal given 
to our poorer neighbors, who find it difficult to 
distinguish the benevolent intention in the zeal for 
pleasure that persuades Catholics to dance for the 
relief of the victims made by the most appalling 
catastrophes." 

The directors of the law school of Harvard 
College have decided that, after a certain date, 
no student will be admitted to the law classes 
who has not received a degree in arts or some 
other course of equal importance. A list of 
about eighty colleges in the JJnited States 
and Canada whose ahctnni will be received 
has been published, and it does' not include a 
single Catholic college. Mr. James Jeffrey 



THE AVE MARIA. 



109 



Roche, of the Pilot, called President Eliot's 
attention to this fact, and was assured that the 
exclusion of Catholic institutions was wholly 
unintentional. But President Ktiot also made 
two statements that are not in accordance 
with facts. He first took it for granted that 
graduates leaving Catholic colleges are uot 
so far advanced as those who hold degrees 
from secular institutions, alleging as the 
probable reason for this that "the directors 
of Catholic colleges have generally received 
only or chiefly the education of priests. ' ' We 
should like to know how Dr. Eliot formed 
these extraordinary opinions. Numerous 
instances are on record wherein Catholic 
graduates have fairly outshone their "non- 
sectarian" rivals in competitive examina- 
tions, and in every field of thought besides; 
and, we believe, a careful comparison will 
show that the average alumnus of Harvard 
is within pretty easy reach of the average 
graduate of our higher institutions. 

The second indictment which has reference 
to teachers is wholly unwarranted. In no 
Catholic college with which we are ac- 
quainted, have the teachers of collegiate 
classes, much less the directors, "received 
only the education of priests." They are, as 
a rule, specialists, and are usually supple- 
mented by the best lay educators in America. 
We could wish that President Eliot would 
make a tour of inspection among Catholic 
colleges; his opinion would then be worth 
having. 

The friends of The "Ave Maria"— all 
who labor for its wider circulation, especially 
its contributors — will share the gratification 
we felt in reading the following passage 
from a private letter received last week. The 
writer is a zealous supporter of Our Lady's 
Magazine in an Eastern city : 

" It is a consolation to me to find, on my frequent 
visits to the almshouse, The 'Ave Maria' so 
eagerly sought and highly appreciated by Catholics 
If and Protestants, white and black." 



The same mail, by an interesting coinci- 
dence, brought us an order to send the 
magazine to a member of the household of 
the Queen of Portugal. Our esteemed cor- 
espondent wrote: "You are not likely to 
verestimate the importance of royal patron- 



age, but it will please you to know that this 
subscription may result in .securing new 
readers in unexpected places." 



Those who have labi^red so industriously 
to collect cancelled stamps to promote the 
Work of Mary Immaculate will be encouraged 
to hear that a consignment of 755.000 was 
forwarded to Paris last week from Notre 
Dame. The commercial value of the collec- 
tion is not inconsiderable, and its size illus- 
trates the truth of the saying that everj' little 
helps. The directors of the Work will know 
how to utilize these stamps to the best 
advantage. 

It would require more space than we have 
at our disposal this week to give the names 
of all the princip.-'.l collectors, among whom 
are priests, religious and lay persons. Brother 
Valerian mentions Mr. John Mulqueen, Miss 
Nellie Pinkham, Miss Anna McGarivy, the 
Misses Walton, Mrs. Mary Rooney, Miss 
Mamie Morris, Miss Katherine Collins, Miss 
Katherine Hayes, and Miss L. Claran as his 
most efficient helpers among the laity. 



Obituary. 



i 



Remember them that are in bandz, as if you were bound 
with them. Hbb.. xlii, 3. 

The following persons are recommended to the 
charitable prayers of our readers : 

Mr. Brien Faulkner, of Taunton, Mass., who passed 
away on the igth ult. 

Mr. Peter J. Wishart, who died some time ago, 
in Boston, Mass. 

Mrs. Elizabeth F. Donnelly, of Brooklyn, N. Y., 
who departed this life on the 3d inst. 

Mrs. William Baum, who breathed her last on 
the 30th ult., in New Haven, Conn. 

Mr. John H. Canavan, of New Bedford. Mass., 
who yielded his soul to God on the aSth ult. 

Mr, John F. Lucey, whose death took place on 
the 3d inst., in Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Miss .^gnes Dissett, of Rochester, N. Y., who died 
suddenly on the 8th inst. 

Mr. Philip Owens, James Brady, and Mr*. Bridget 
Boyle,— all of San Jos^, Cal.; Mrs. William ODon- 
nell and Miss Marj- J. Fahey, New Haven. Conn.; 
Mr. Peter Conlon, Chicago, III. ; Mr. David A. 
O'Brien, Trenton, N. J.; Mr. and Mrs. David Cuahing, 
Whitesboro, N. Y. 

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




UXDER THE MANTLB OF OUR BLESSED MOTHER. 



The Best Ambition. 



WHO would be wise, his heart to Jesus 
gives; 
Who would be rich, in grace and virtue lives; 
Who would be great, with little is content; 
Who would be pure, loves Mass and Sacra- 
ment; 
To labor for God's glory his desire, 
Sweet charities that set his soul on fire; 
His dearest wish within that IvOve to rest 
That drew its human strength from Mary's 

. breast; 
His highest hope the peace of Heaven to win 
By that same door the saints have entered in. 



How a Mother's Prayer was Answered 
at Last. 



BY SADIE L. BAKKR. 



WOMAN stood in the door of 
a small house, and watched the 
clouds, that glowed with richer 
color minute by minute. She 
looked at the springing grass, 
the young leaves fluttering in 
the soft wind, the sweetbrier bushes beside 
the door, and the buds showing pink and 
white on the apple and cherry trees, where 
the robins were singing, as if she loved 
them. But they could not hold her eyes 




long from the road that followed the river 
bank, crossed the old stone bridge, then 
passed over a hill and into the woods, out 
of sight. 

The large eyes looked almost black in 
her pale face, marked with deep lines of 
sorrow and care as well as time; and the 
soft waves of hair were snowy white. A 
small, dark-red rose was fastened in the 
folds of muslin crossed over her breast. 
She watched and listened, until the sunset 
glory faded, the first stars shone out, and 
the deepening shadows hid the road ; 
then, with one last wistful look, turned 
and went into the house, leaving the door 
open behind her ; and, sitting in the 
twilight, sang, in a sweet, quavering voice, 
the beautiful hymns Christian mothers 
sing over the cradles of their children. 

As she sat in the low rocker, swinging 
softly to and fro, her thin, worn fingers 
touched the velvety rose with lingering, 
caressing touches. Its fragrance brought 
the past to her so vividly that she seemed 
to be living it all over again. Her mother, 
too, had loved flowers: the sunny windows 
at home were filled with them; she had 
worn them all through her happy girl- 
hood ; they even fastened the folds of her 
bridal \eil. 

And her baby, her only child, her dark- 
eyed, beautiful boy, — how he had loved 
the roses! — ducking his curly head and 
clapping his plump hands with little, 
inarticulate sounds of delight when a 
fragrant blossom was given him for a 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Hi 



plaything. And when he was grown a tall 
boy, he would come to her in the evening, 
and smilingly fasten a rose in her dress; 
then creep into her arms, and listen, well 
content, while she sang hymn after hymn. 
And while they watched the shadows creep 
over the beautiful earth, and the stars 
come out one by one, her sad heart would 
grow almost light. 

Her story was an old story. Her father 
chided her sternly, her mother pleaded 
with all a mother's love, friends remon- 
strated, and the pastor who had baptized 
her, and loved her best of all the flock 
who had grown up around him, warned 
her solemnly. To all she gave but one 
answer: She knew Will had been wild, 
she said. Why did they keep telling her of 
the one dreadful time when he had lain 
drunk in the street, with his whitehaired 
father weeping helplessly over him? It 
was the first time and the last. And, oh, 
it was so hard-hearted and so wicked to 
remember it against him now, when he 
was trying to do better! What if he did 
drink a little now and then? It was no 
more than many another did. And when 
he had her to help him, as only a wife 
could help, he would do well. He had 
promised, and she would make his home 
so happy ! 

And so at last she had her way, because 
she was an only child and a wilful one, — 
the child of her parents' old age, coming 
when a half score of years lay between 
her face and the last of the row of little 
graves where her baby brothers and sisters 
slept. Theodora — gift of God — they called 
her. Though the good priest's voice 
trembled as he said the words that made 
her a wife, though her mother wept as 
she kissed her, and her father's voice 
faltered and failed as he tried to bless her, 
she felt no fear. 

For a little time — a few mouths — all 
went well; but before a year had passed 
the old companions, the old life, claimed 
Will. Theodora learned well the hard 



lesson given to nearly every girl who 
marries a man to reform him. Slowly but 
surely she saw him slip from her. She 
tried all her womanly wiles, as so many 
women with breaking hearts have done 
before her, as so many will do after 
her. She coaxed, entreated, argued, and 
threatened; prayed with and for him, 
loved and forgave him, or sternly rebuked, 
only to meet good-natured ridicule, weak 
repentance, or sullen obstinacy, as his 
mood was. And at last, when for the 
second time in one short week he reeled 
home at midnight to lie in a drunken 
sleep, while she paced the room outside, 
too heart-broken to weep, shuddering, 
praying, kneeling beside her baby's crib, 
she faced her life, and knew herself for 
what she was — a drunkard's wife and the 
mother of a drunkard's child. She hid 
her trial well from the world. Her father 
crowned a long and honorable life with 
a happy death; her mother followed him 
in a few days; and she thanked God 
through her tears that her sorrow could 
never shadow them. 

She brought Will's feeble old father 
to her home, and cared for him with all 
a daughter's love and tenderness. And 
when, little by little, the savings of his 
lifetime and her own small property 
wasted away, she carried her helpless 
charges — her boy and the childish old 
man — to all the home left, the little 
house where her father and mother had 
begun life, — the one thing Will could not 
sell. And here she worked — toiled early 
and late at whatever her hands found to 
do; was hungry pften that the boy and 
the old man might eat; was pinched with 
cold that they might be warmly clothed; 
kept the poor rooms neat and bright with 
flowers; and taught her pale lips and sad 
eyes to smile, lest her boy should miss his 
meed of childish joy, and be tempted to 
follow in his father's steps. That was the 
fear that made every waking hour terrible, 
that haunted even her dreams. 



Id2 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Will's old father died with his head 
pillowed on her breast, his last breath a 
blessing for her, a prayer for his son and 
for her boy. Will was brought home dying 
from a midnight carouse that had ended 
in a fight; and though his eyes stared 
into hers, and his lips muttered words 
she could not catch, she was never per- 
fectly sure if he heard her cries, her 
wild, heart-broken plea to the Father of 
us all for mercy and pardon for the poor 
passing soul. 

So only her boy was left,— only they 
two alone in the world. She worked for 
him, prayed for him, lived only for him. 
Like another Monica, she gave all that 
she was, all that she hoped, to her son, 
her Will, who looked at her with his 
father's glorious dark eyes, and smiled at 
her with the same bright smile that won 
her heart in her girlhood. He was a 
beautiful child: light-hearted and merry, 
gentle, obedient and loving far beyond the 
wont of most boys. "No trouble at all," 
some women said, with a sigh at the 
thought of their own strong-willed, noisy 
lads. But Theodora, with the old fear that 
her boy, so like his father in face and 
form, in the sweet but weak nature, might 
be like him in all things — might have 
inherited his fatal appetite, — her life was 
one long prayer. 

He gave her love for love. Long after 
some boys think it unmanly to care for 
motherly petting, he asked no greater 
pleasure than to follow her around, help- 
ing her in all her household tasks, digging 
in the garden or caring for the chickens, 
with a queer little air of manly dignity; 
or nestled in her arms in the twilight, he 
talked of his lessons at school, of his boyish 
trials and triumphs, and planned for the 
future when he should be a man and care 
for the tender mother who now cared for ' 
him. But, best of all, he liked to rest 
quietly, his head on her shoulder, while 
she rocked to and fro and sang to him. 
Always he remembered her as she looked 



then, with the lost beauty of youth coming 
back to her face seen through the dim 
light; the plain dress, the folds of muslin 
crossed over her breast, and always the 
red rose at her throat because he willed 
it so. 

And ever her prayer went on to the 
dear Father, to the loving Lord, to keep 
her boy, and give him to her forever in 
heaven ; to the Blessed Mother, to pity 
and pray for this poor, sorrowing mother. 
Wherever she was, whatever she did, her 
soul cried out continually, and pleaded as 
only a mother can plead for her child. 

As the years passed on, the boy forgot, 
if he had ever known, how his father had 
lived and how he had died ; and no one 
was cruel enough to tell him. 

(To be continued.) 



To be Avoided. 



A teacher in one of our Eastern schools 
has proposed the following list of words and 
phrases to be avoided in writing and in 
conversation. Every boy and girl would do 
well to examine it, and take note of what 
"strikes home": 

Had rather, for Would rather; Had better, 
for Would better; Posted, for Informed; 
Depot, for Station ; Try and go, for Try to 
go; Cunning, for Smart; Above, for Fore- 
going; Like I do, for As I do ; Feel badly, for 
Feel bad ; Feel good, for Feel well ; Expect, 
for Suspect ; Nice, or Real Nice, used indis- 
criminately ; Funny, for Odd or Unusual ; 
Seldom or ever, for Seldom or never ; More 
than you think for, instead of More than you 
think ; Nicely, in answer to a question as to 
health; Just as soon, for Just as lief; Guess, 
for Think; Fix, for Arrange or Prepare; 
Real good, for Really good ; Try an experi- 
ment, for Make an experiment ; Not as I 
know, for Not that I know ; Every man or 
woman should do their duty; A party, 
for A person; Healthy, for Wholesome. — 
Harper' s Young People. 




HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED.— St. Luke. I. 48. 



Vol. XXXVII. NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, JULY 29, 1893. No. 5. 

The Precious Blood. A Norman Shrine. 



T_POW beautiful this earth, O Christ, , 
^ ' Transfigured in the glow 
Of ruddy streams that from Thy Wounds 
Forever, o'er it flow ! 

With eyes of faith we see that Blood 
From Love's pure fountains start, — 

A purple vintage from life's source, 
The wine-press of Thy Heart. 

It gleams in Baptism's holy font; 

And o'er the erring soul, 
When sorrow breaks sweet mercy's banks, 

Its waves in healing roll. 

We see this crimson treasure held, 

With love for binding chain. 
Within the chalice, where it yearns 

To still our throbs of pain. 

All life is gladdened by that Blood, 
And — happy is the thought! — 

The precious streams that to our souls 
Thy gift of pardon brought, 

First pulsed in Mary's sinless veins: 
Through her Thy Blood was given, — 

O may we through this double gift 
Be crowned by Thee in heaven ! 



The grace of God is not like something 
that you can put away in a drawer and 
go and take out at any time convenient 
to you. — Father Coleridge. 



BY THE COMTESSE DE COURSOW. 




CATTERED throughout the 
province of Normandy, the 
classic land of emerald green 
pastures, flowering orchards, 
and Romanesque and Gothic churches, 
are numerous shrines dedicated to the 
Holy Mother of God. Some of these, like 
Notre Dame de la D^liverande, near Caen, 
or Notre Dame de Bon Secours, near 
Rouen, are widely known and celebrated ; 
others, like Notre Dame de Vire, hidden 
away in some quiet nook, unfrequented 
by tourists, are visited only by the inhab- 
itants of the country-side. Ever>'where, 
however, whatever may be the degree of 
celebrity that they enjoy, these sanctuaries 
serve the same purpose, exercise the same 
influence, and fill the same part in the 
lives of men. They are refuges, where 
the sick, the sorrowful and the guilty 
seek a Mother's assistance and a Mother's 
love; places of rest, where the pilgrims 
of life stop to take breath before resuming 
their weary way. Sometimes they ser\-e 
as turning-points in a lifetime. Habits of 
sin are laid aside, brave resolutions taken, 
and the regenerated soul begins its course 
on new tracks, purified by repentance, 
and strengthened by its Mother's blessing. 



il4 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Each one of these shrines, even the 
humblest, has its own peculiar atmosphere 
and character. Notre Dame de Vire, in 
the wooded country of La Manche, speaks 
to us of solitude and peace. Notre Dame 
•de la D^liverande, whose twin spires rise 
from the fertile plains of Calvados, the 
granary of Normandy, reminds us how 
the Queen of Heaven protects and blesses 
the labors of the sons of the soil. Notre 
Dame de Bon Secours, on her mountain, 
above the city of Rouen, appears to us as 
the guardian spirit of the populous city 
at her feet 

Notre Dame de Vire — or la Chapelle sur 
Vire, as the shrine is generally called — is 
situated about fifteen miles from the town 
of Saint- lyO, in the diocese of Coutances, 
in Lower Normandy. The country is 
singularly varied and picturesque, with 
fine woods, rushing streams, and many 
hills and dales. Somewhat ambitiously, 
this portion of Normandy has been called 
a "little Switzerland"; but, allowing for 
a certain amount of exaggeration, due to 
local pride, we may safely pronounce the 
district to be far wilder and more pictu- 
resque than the adjoining department 
of Calvados. 

The pilgrimage chapel itself is situated 
in a narrow valley, on the banks of the 
Vire ; thickly wooded hills rising on either 
side. It owes its origin to a noble Nor- 
man knight of the country, Robert de 
Tregoz. It was he who, on the spot 
where the shrine now stands, founded a 
priory in 1197, and entrusted it to the 
Benedictine monks, whom his ancestors 
had established in the neighboring abbey 
of Hambye. It was a spot that the sons 
of St. Benedict must have loved — near 
Tunning water, surrounded by beautiful 
hills and dales, breathing that "Peace" 
which is the watchword and motto of 
the Order. 

In consequence of the civil and foreign 
wars that during many year's made this 
part of Normandy desolate, the noble 



founder of the priory and his descendants 
disappeared from the country; but the 
monastery continued to exist till the 
eighteenth century. It then fell into ruin; 
the monks were dispersed, and only the 
priory chapel remained, a lasting memorial 
of the faith of Robert de Tregoz. 

The little sanctuary was guarded from 
destruction and neglect by popular devo- 
tion ; for it contained a statue of Our 
Lady, before which the peasants of the 
country were in the habit of praying, and 
to whom for many years they had paid 
reverent homage. How and by whom the 
image was placed in the priory chapel 
no written document remains to tell ; but, 
according to an ancient tradition, it was 
discovered in a field by means of a little 
lamb. A shepherd, who kept his flocks 
in the meadows near the river, noticed that 
one lamb in particular constantly wandered 
from its companions to a certain spot, 
from whence it was difficult to draw it 
away. The shepherd's curiosity being at 
last, aroused, he made a search ; and 
discovered, just below the surface of the 
ground, a small statue of Our Lady, who 
is represented holding her Divine Son 
on one arm and a fruit in the other hand. 
The image was placed in the priory 
chapel, where it became an object of 
fervent devotion. 

Ancient manuscripts prove that, as far 
back as 1487, the pilgrimage of Notre 
Dame de Vire was much frequented. The 
Norman peasants came in large numbers 
across the hilly and wooded country to 
visit the peaceful valley where the Queen 
of Heaven held her court. The revolu- 
tionary storm of 1789 put a stop to the 
pilgrimages ; the chapel was sold, and ' 
used, first as a storehouse for wood, then 
as a stable; but now and then, during 
those dark and dangerous times, groups of 
peasants might be seen kifeeling outside 
the desecrated shrine. Sometimes they 
obtained leave to enter, and, prostrate on 
the ground, they wept and prayed on the 



THE AVE MARIA. 



116 



spot where in happier days hymns of 
praise had ascended to heaven. 

Toward the beginning of the present 
century, the first move toward the restora- 
tion of the shrine was made by Madame 
Beaufils, wife of the proprietor of the 
chapel. She obtained her husband's per- 
mission to adorn the statue of Our Lady, 
which she dressed in a long, embroidered 
robe. She was at that time expecting the 
birth of her first child, and wished to 
draw down Mary's blessing on herself 
and on her infant. Her pious desires 
seem to have been fully granted. The son 
to whom she gave birth grew up with a 
loving devotion toward Notre Dame de 
Vire. When he reached manhood, he 
re-opened the chapel and did his utmost 
to restore and to promote the pilgrimages. 
In 1846 his widow completed his work 
by giving over the shrine to the nuns of 
the Order of Mercy, thinking thereby to 
insure the development of the pilgrimage. 

By this time the humble priory chapel 
had become too small for the, influx of 
pilgrims, and it was replaced by the lovely 
Gothic sanctuary that now rises on the 
banks of the Vire, on the very same spot 
where, during so many years, Mary's 
clients paid her homage. In 1861 Mgr. 
Daniel, Bishop of Coutances, founded a 
house for missionaries close by. They 
were appointed the oflScial guardians of 
the little sanctuary, and it is often owing 
to their apostolic zeal that miracles of 
conversion have taken place under the 
shadow of our dear Lady's altar. 

Besides the venerable image of Mary 
which occupies the place of honor in the 
chapel, the pilgrim can not fail to notice 
another very ancient statue, in a niche to 
the right of the high altar. It is small, 
roughly carved and quaintly conceived; 
it represents St. Anne holding Our Ladv 
in her arms, while Mary carries our Blessed 
Lord. According to a local tradition, this 
curious image, which is supposed to 
belong to the eleventh century, was found 



by some fishermen in the river Vire soon 
after the foundation of the priory chapel, 
where it has since remained. 

Around Notre Dame de Vire, as we 
beheld it on a radiant September day, 
there breathes a spirit of peace and soli- 
tude. The graceful Gothic chapel, with 
its background of rich woods, where the 
beech trees were just turning from green 
to gold, the clear river, the quiet valley, 
make up a picture of rustic beauty. The 
dwellings of the missionaries and of the 
nuns are the only large houses in the 
neighborhood of the shrine. Here and 
there the thatched roof of a cottage peeps 
out among the trees; but the country is 
not thickly inhabited, and the farms have a 
primitiveness and simplicity characteristic 
of the D^partement de la Manche. The 
peasants, too, are rougher than their 
neighbors of the Calvados. They still 
believe in sorcerers and in magic, and 
there are certain woods in the neighbor- 
hood of the chapel through which nothing 
would induce them to pass at midnight 
Beneath this strain of superstition there 
exists, however, a solid groundwork of 
faith ; and the aspect of the crowded 
churches on Sundays is most consoling 
and edifying. 



A CHILD in a library values most those 
books which have gilt edges ; a book 
collector prizes the rarest editions only 
for the excellence of the matter and the 
accuracy of the text So is our value for 
men and nature affected by the artistic 
spirit To it vulgar show is the gilt-edged 
book ; the extraordinary is the rare edition; 
what it values is often very humble and 
poor to eyes that can not read it It can 
see majesty and dignity in many a poor 
laborer; it can detect meanness under the 
mantle of an emperor; it can recognize 
grandeur in a narrow house, and pettiness 
in the palace of a thousand chambers. — 
Philip Gilbert Hamerton 



116 



THE AVE MARIA 



The Vocation of Edward Conway. 



BY MAURICE FRANCIS BGAN. 



XXVIII. — At the Gate of Death. 

WARD and his wife sat on the bench 
in front of their door. Twilight was 
falling, floating through the air in soft 
curves, " as a feather is wafted downward. ' ' 
The odor of the honeysuckle came to them 
on the slow breezes from the south. The 
sunset glow was still in the sky, but it 
was gradually fading. It was the time of 
sadness or contentment. For Mrs. Ward, 
sitting there, it was a time of the deepest 
sadness. In the red glow of the sky Ward 
saw a reflection of the rebellion against 
Ood and man which filled his soul, and in 
the darkness despair as black as night. 

"I will make Willie their equal, at any 
rate," he muttered, as Bernice and Lady 
Tyrrell drove past in the cart. His wife 
sat beside him, stunned and dazed, but 
holding fast to his arm. No word had been 
uttered by either of them during the late 
afternoon. Willie, too, had lain quiet 

Father Haley had just come. He was 
in the darkened parlor with the boy. The 
door was open, and it filled Ward with 
the hottest anger to hear the murmur of 
their voices. 

*'Open that door wider," he said grufily 
to his wife. "The priest has no right to 
say anything we can't hear." 

Mrs. Ward obeyed. Nothing was of any 
-consequence now; the worst had come to 
the worst. Nothing could happen, — noth- 
ing that could hurt her, so she thought 

' ' Father, ' ' they heard Willie saying, in 
his sweet, soft voice, "I used to long to 
be a great singer; but after you did so 
much for me, I gave that up." 

* ' Why ? ' ' asked the priest, who sat 
near the window, moving a large palm- 
leaf fan before the boy. "It was a good 
sort of ambition, wasn't it?" 



*'0h! yes, I think so. I wanted to help 
father and mother; they are poor, and I 
think father hates to be poor. But it 
hasn't been bad for me, though of course 
I'd like to have good singing-masters. 
But, being so poor, I couldn't — " 

"Do you hear that?" muttered Ward. 
* ' Curse these purse-proud people ! I' 11 have 
my right and beggar them ! ' ' 

He did not hear Willie's words distinctly 
until after an interval. 

"Oh! yes. Father," Willie said. "I 
gave it up to God. I said that if He would 
make my father and mother contented 
with what I had done, I'd never expect to 
be a great singer; and that's probably the 
reason why I have lost my voice: I can't 
sing a note. To-day," the boy went on, 
in a lower tone, "I heard something 
dreadful, — so dreadful that I can't tell it 
to you, Father. It concerns another person. 
It was so dreadful that I thought it would 
have killed me; but I got over it, because 
I know that there is nothing so bad that 
God and the Blessed Virgin can't help, if 
we ask." 

"Never mind this dreadful thing," said 
the priest, soothingly. "You are not so 
well to-night. See! there is a fire-fly ! How 
quickly the summer weather has come! 
The rain and the cold kept back the lilacs 
until the last moment; we had had scarcely 
two days of them, when the summer, with 
the clover and the honeysuckle, was here. 
I saw a wild rose to-day, Willie." 

At another time Willie would have 
become intensely interested in this. Now 
he was in no mood for it. 

"Father," he whispered, "if I should 
be willing to die — ' ' 

Mrs. Ward tightened her grasp on her 
husband's arm. 

"The priest thinks he is not so well ! " 
she murmured. 

"If I should be willing to die, — if I 
should say, ' I will give up my life, if You 
take this dreadful thing out of my father's 
life,' — do you think He would listen to 



THE AVE MARIA. 



117 



me? I should like to do it. And perhaps 
then — if I were less selfish, and would give 
up living, — God might make Catholics 
of them." 

Ward half rose, muttering to himself. 
His wife clung to him. They did not 
hear the priest's reply. 

"Pray?" went on Willie. "Why, I 
have prayed with all my might ever since I 
heard of the great trouble! When I heard 
of it — nobody knows I heard it, — I felt 
as if a great black bat had flown at my 
mouth and stopped my breath. O Father 
Haley, you don't know how much my 
father needs comfort — and my mother! 
You don't know how good they are. I 
would be glad to die to give them peace 
and happiness. I have always wanted to 
have lessonis from good masters; I prayed 
for that too, and Miss Conway promised 
me that some day she would send me 
to Italy—" 

Ward muttered a curse. 
"The boy has never opened his heart 
to us this way," whispered the mother, 
bitterly. 

"The priest has crowded us out, — the 
priest and his Church," said Ward. 

"Miss Conway has been so kind. It is 
something for a young lady like her, rich 
and with lots of friends, to think of a poor 
young fellow like me, and to want to 
help me. But that's all over now." 

"Yes, it is all over," Ward whispered 
between his set teeth. "I shall end 
the patronage of the rich young lady, — 
curse her!" 

The step that sounded on the path 
caused Ward to lose the rest of the dialogue 
between Father Haley and his son. Mrs. 
Ward did not care to hear more. She stole 
up to her room, and threw herself beside 
her bed, feeling that she was the most 
desolate of women. 

Conway paused at the steps which led 
up to the porch. He could not see Ward's 
face in the dusk. 

"Mr. Ward?" he asked. 



"I am James Ward," the other replied, 
curtly. 

" I am Edward Conway; and, if you will 
permit me, I should like to see you alone." 
"Very well," Ward said. "My house 
is small, and there is a visitor in the parlor 
going through some mummery. I haven't 
a palace, built with other people's money, 
like some people in Swansmere; and, if 
you'll come into the kitchen, you can tell 
me what you want." 

Conway, not at all abashed, followed 

Ward through the dark entry into the 

kitchen. Ward struck a match and lit a 

kerosene lamp which hung in a bracket. 

"Well?" he said. 

Conway, looking into the gaunt face, 
with its deep-set, suffering eyes and 
unkempt hair, was filled with pity. There 
was a certain nobility in Ward's look, as 
of a strong nature confronted by loss 
and failure, and with no weapon against 
despair but pride. 
"Well?" he said. 

"I came to speak of Major Conway's 
death, and the circumstances connected 
with it. I would like to clear up the 
mystery surrounding it, to help Colonel 
Carton to his normal condition again. 
He imagines" — Conway said to himself 
that he must be cautious now — "that he 
was in some way responsible — " 
Ward chuckled, and his eyes glowed. 
" If Colonel Carton is wise, he can 
catch the train which comes through from 
New York at eight o'clock. He has ten 
minutes. He can go West — and then 
forget, if he can." 

Conway felt chiJled and disgusted by the 
man's tone. He looked at the wrinkled 
and hard hand of the working man, as it 
grasped the back of the rough kitchen 
chair; and the words that rose to his lips 
were suppressed. 

"Mr. Ward," Conway said, "if you 
can help Colonel Carton to get over his 
hallucination, you will perform an act of 
Christian charity." 



1^8 



THE AVE MARIA. 



*'I don't pretend to be a Christian." 

"You would do a great favor to Miss 
Conway" — Ward laughed, — "who has, 
I know, been kind to your son, and whose 
father was at one time your benefactor, I 
have understood — " 

"I shall not tell you the truth about 
the killing of Dion Conway," said Ward, 
white with fury, "because I don't want 
to hang any man. But, as your name is 
Conway, I'll show you some papers that 
will interest you. To-morrow I will make 
Bernice Conway a beggar; to-morrow I 
will show to the world how much Dion 
Conway owed me, and how much Colonel 
Carton owes me ; to-morrow we shall 
change place, and my poor boy shall be 
the autocrat of Swansmere, if wealth can 
make him so. Sit here," Ward said, "and 
wait till I come back." 

Conway took the rough chair. Wonder- 
ing what would come next, but anxious 
to make the best of every chance, he 
looked about him. The kitchen was neat 
and homely, the floor white and smooth 
with many scrubbings. The bright uten- 
sils hung in rows against the wall; and 
the patch of rag carpet, reddened by the 
glow from the grate of the cook-stove, 
reminded him — with a touch of that 
pathos which common things have at 
unexpected times — of the old days at 
home, of Margaret, of his mother. 

Ward returned with a small tin box 
under his arm. He put it on the deal 
table, and threw back the lid. 

"First," he said, "as you bear the 
name of Conway, let me tell you a story. 
I was a soldier in the late war, so were 
Conway, your cousin, and Carton. We 
were all soldiers — equals. I believed in 
the demands of a higher life ; I was of 
diflferent mould from them that kept me 
down. With them the ego was ever present, 
I thought of the race. Still, we were 
friends, and I trusted them. They laughed 
and said I saw visions ; and when I refused 
chances of ranking well in the army, they 



called me a fool. I wanted to be a fool in 
their eyes, because I believed that I could 
live a higher life, dependent only on. 
myself, and high above their coarse aims. 
I have failed," Ward said, turning his 
deep-set eyes on Conway. "They got 
through me what they valued most, what 
the world values most, and what your 
God seems to value most — money." 

' ' Stop ! " Conway said. ' ' You must not 
blaspheme." 

"Let it pass. I struggled according to 
my conscience, as many struggled before 
me — as Thoreau struggled, as Bronson 
Alcott struggled, — and I give it up. That 
boy of mine shall just swim with the 
current and hold his own, if money can 
keep him afloat." 

Conway noted the fierce look in the 
man's face — seemingly made to be mild, — 
and asked himself whether Ward was 
insane or not. He was certainly passing 
through a great emotional crisis ; but, 
after a searching glance, Conway con- 
cluded that he was in his senses. 

"But why do you tell me this?'* 
Conway as^ed. ' ' I am useless to you. ' ' 

"No," Ward said, taking a handful of 
papers from the box. "I think that you 
are the proper person to take a message 
to Miss Conway and Colonel Carton. 
When you have heard me, you will not 
refuse. — I fought in the war, as I said. 
When the South felt that the end was 
coming, and we Federals were overruning 
Virginia, I made the acquaintance of a 
man named Foster, a 'poor white.' I was 
kind to him, simply because he seemed to 
be so utterly despicable. One night, when 
I was on guard, he came staggering to me 
from out a copse, shot in the neck by a 
stray bullet, — he was always prowling 
about. He thrust into my hand a box, a 
wooden box, which had been lettered 
heavily in black. The letters had been 
rubbed off. There only remained, burned 
in the lid, the figure of a swan pierced 
by a sword." 



THE AVE MARIA. 



119 



Conway started. His breath came faster. 
Ward stopped in surprise. 

"Goon." 

' ' Foster's jugular vein had been severed. 
He died before he could speak, and I had 
him buried. He was a sort of tramp, alone 
in the world; nobody knew much about 
him. But I kept the box. It was filled 
with notes of the Bank of England, — 
there was a fortune there." 

"I know," said Conway. "Go on." 

"When I tell you the rest, you won't 
show so much interest," said Ward, with 
a grim smile. "I gave that money in 
trust to Major Conway. I couldn't find 
the owner, and he and Carton tried, — at 
least they said so. I wouldn't touch it. .1 
had taught myself that unearned mon6y 
was a curs^ to one's self and one's chil- 
dren. I refused the interest; and they 
promised that, when the chance should 
come, they would found an ideal com- 
munity according to my ideas. They did 
found the community; it's Swansmere," 
he said, with a sneer. "But they forget 
me. A worm, a fool, an exalted madman, 
set wrong by no education and much 
reading, could easily be cast asi^e." 

"Well?" said Conway, calmly. 

"Here, in my hand, are Major Conway's 
notes for over a hundred thousand dollars. 
That money made Carton and him rich. 
I shall now claim it and the interest. It 
built up this feudal demesne of Swans- 
mere for the autocrats that spit on my 
boy and look down on my wife. I intend, 
with those slips of paper — no, don't touch 
them! — to ruin, yes, to ruin the Cartons 
and your cousin, Miss Conway." 

Conway looked gravely and steadily at 
Ward. He put his hands behind him. 

"I will not touch the notes," he said; 
"hold them under the light of the lamp." 

Ward obeyed, and held the five slips 
before Conway, with suspicious yet exult- 
ing eyes. Conway repeated the dates aloud: 
" December, 1864; March, May, June, 
July, 1865. — They have been renewed?" 



"No," said Ward, rapidly. "Why?" 

Conway, by way of answer, and possibly 
out of pity, held up his left hand. On the 
little finger was an onyx ring. Without 
speaking. Ward looked at it. He saw 
cut in the stone a swan transfixed with a 
sword. 

"That was the sign on the box?" 

"Yes," said Ward, " that was the sign." 

"Well — " he paused, almost awed by 
the look of suspense and fear upon 
Ward's face. "Well — " he hated to say 
the words, — "if you will consult a lawyer, 
you will find that notes made in 1865 
are so much waste paper in 1892." 

Ward's face became crimson. 

"And," he added, "if you try to force 
the Conway estate into bankniptcy, you 
will find me in the way. The money 
Setli Foster dug up on our place was my 
father's. I have the record of those notes, 
and I shall do what my father never 
thought of doing — trace them. You may 
as well burn them." 

Ward clutched the papers and looked 
at Conway with rage in his face. He 
raised his right hand as if convulsed by 
an inward spasm. Conway started back, 
as if • he were threatened, and then faced 
Ward steadily. 

"Mr. Ward! Mr. Ward!" called Father 
Haley's voice. The lamp in the parlor 
flared up. "Your son is ill." 

Ward cleared the entry with a bound. 
The lamp in the parlor blazed, and Con- 
way, as he entered, saw that the globe was 
about to crack from the heat. He hurried 
forward, turned the screw and lowered the 
flame. As he looked down — the lamp was 
on the high chimney-piece — he saw that 
Willie had fallen upon the floor. 

"He has fainted," Father Haley said, 
as he lifted him to the sofa. "Something 
has made him worse to-day. I have grave 
fears of a hemorrhage from the lungs. As 
I was going, he fell." 

Ward pushed the priest aside, and knelt 
beside the body of the unconscious boy. 



120 



THE AVE MARIA 



"He is dead!" he whispered, with an 
accent that made Conway shudder. **0 
God," he cried, "spare him, and I will 
rebel no more! Spare him, and I will 
suffer even to live myself!" 

"The man is not an atheist," said 
Conway to the priest. 

' ' No man is an atheist when his heart 
speaks," replied Father Haley. "We 
must have a doctor." 

An awful sob burst from the man, who 
almost grovelled beside the lifeless boy. 
It chilled Conway's blood; it brought in 
from the street an elderly man in grey 
clothes, with a travelling bag in his hand. 
That shattering sob of agony from his 
father seemed to have penetrated to the 
essence of the boy's being. He opened 
his eyes. The stranger pressed nearer. 

"Father," he said,— " father, tell me 
that it was a dream, — tell me that I did not 
hear you say you killed Major Conway." 

James Ward knelt there, as if turned to 
stone. The stranger spoke. 

"What does the boy say?" he asked, 
and the voice ran through Edward like 
an electric shock. "Nobody has killed 
Major Conway, for he is here!" 

Willie rose on his elbow, and looked 
into the stranger's face. With a look of 
rapture such as Conway thinks he will 
never see again until he reaches the New 
Jerusalem, the sick boy cast his arms 
about his father's neck. But Ward saw 
only the crimson stream which was flow- 
ing from Willie's mouth upon his white 
shirt. He was losing all, all! He turned 
to the priest in the wildest desperation. 

"Priest," he cried, "if you have any 
power beyond that of mere man, do not 
let my son die! I will give him to you. If 
he is dead, only bring his soul back that 
he may speak to me — and his mother!" 

Conway held Willie. Ward, stretching 
out his hands in a wild appeal, in which 
a new humility and the old despair strug- 
gled, confronted the priest. 

(To be continued.) 



After the Council.* 



To AN Old Schoolmatb. 



BY THE REV. EDMUND HILL, C. P. 



^HAT say you? "Has the Definition 

cured 

Credulity at last ? ' ' How so, old fellow ? 

Your liver's outof sorts— your life's insured?— 

Or else your goggles f have a tinge of yellow. 

Or had the bowl too potently allured 

O'er-night, and left you the reverse of 
mellow ? 
Vox something was the matter when you wrote 
The string of billingsgate I scorn to quote. 

II. 
But come : I ' 11 leave you room to make amends. 
For had the Council, yielding to the threats 
Of foes or promises of falser friends, 

Left the great question open (there were bets 
It would. You've lost? A circumstance which 
lends. 
No doubt, a bilious color to regrets) — 
Then, I acknowledge freely, then my faith 
Had suffer' d shock to the centre ... all but 
death ! 

III. 
When "Thou art Kepha" said th' Almighty 

Word, 
' And on this Kepha will I build My Church, ' ' 
What meant He? Peter's body and bones? 
Absurd. 
Then Peter's faith? If not, 'tis vain to 
search. 
But how the faith o/ Peter? We incurr'd 

Together, once, the touch of Doctor Birch 
Over a passage in our Greek Delectus 
(That being j udg' d the best way to correct us) ; 

IV. 

And you'll deserve like castigation now 

(And more than then, sir), if you fail to find 
The answer to this very simply " How? " 



* An answer to a virulent attack on the subject of 
Papal Infallibility. Now published for the first time, 
t A school name for spectacles. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



121 



But, first, of preconceptions clear your mind: 

Next, light your pipe. 'Twill serve to smooth 

your brow 

('Tis well you're not of the non-smoking 

kind), 

And help you concentrate your mental action 

On concrete fact and Protestant abstraction. 

V. 
Ay, sapient tutors taught us to abstract 
Peter's confession from the man that made 
it: 
As though the two were not one concrete fact— 
Which they dissolv'd the better to evade it. 
But let the rock-foundation rest intact 

(" No work of flesh and blood: My Father 
laid it"); 
And ask, with me, What simpler, what com- 
pleter ? 
Peter plus Faith — and not Faith minus Peter. 

VI. 

Again, the superstructure to be rear'd — 
' ' My Church ' ' — what is it ? Clearly, nothing 

crazy : 
No city of vapor, such as hath appear' d 
To learned heads with notions vague anfl 
hazy: 

But something palpable; something to be 
near'd 
By paths direct, and not by windings mazy; 
Or if, at times, circuitously, still 
By those alone who walk with a good will. 

VII. 

Say a society, visible, organic — 

Of teachers and of taught. An institution 
Created to withstand assaults Titanic 

As readily as onsets Liliputian. 
Daugher of peace, yet ever causing panic. 
"Not of this world," yet under contribution 
Laying "all nations," in her Founder's name, 
For unreserv'd submission to her claim. 



\ 



VIII. 

Now, such a Church — remember, I'm ex- 
plaining 
My own belief, and must not snap my 
tether — 
A Idnd of fabric is will need sustaining 

By base right sure to hold it well together. 
So, just to keep your faculties in training. 
Please ponder deeply, and inform me, 
whether 



This unity could balk its foes and weary 'em 
Without the sovran central " Magisterium " ? 

IX. 

In briefer phrase, without the Chair of Peter — 
Without what you call the 6^«-Holy Sec? 
I said, just now, nought simpler, nought 
completer 
Than this contrivance, as it seems to me. 
And, in default of surer plan or neater. 
The fact, I'm thinking, quite enough 
should be: 
For stubborn fact it is. If you abhor it, 
Then pray explode the words that answer 
for it. 

X. 

Meanwhile, leave me to be at least consistent. 

I take that promise as I find it spoken — 
By One to whom no coming age was distant; 

Who therefore meant it for a pledge and 
token 
Of strength divine, invincibly resistant — 

A rock should steadfastly throw -back 
baffled, broken, 
.The surging malice of all time. The tide 
That whelms a continent — here turns, defied. 

XI. 

But what hath all this with the Definition? 

Why, everything, in short. Too fond your 
fear 
That I should strain my powers of deglutition 

Over a dogma luminously clear. 
The Pope's prerogative, by our position, 

Is not *' impeccability,'' my dear; 
But Peter's faith — the faith that can not fail — 
'Gainst which nor lie nor tyranny prevail. 

XII. 

That Peter's faith lives on in Peter's See — 
Believing, teaching, judging: — this the rock 

Perpetual, whereon stands firm, for me, 
The only Church may heed no skeptic's 
mock. 

And therefore, had "the Vatican decree" 
A'i?/ "thunder' d," my faith would have 
suffer' d shock ; 

Since Satan made, at head of ranks insurgent, 

A call for fulmination — rather urgent. 



The best apologetic for Christianity is 
a Christian. — Dntmmond. 



122 



THE AVE MARIA 



Signs of the Times in Britain. 



BY P. GOI,DIE WILSON. 



TILL within a very recent period the 
"Italian Invasion," as an eminent 
prelate of the Anglican communion termed 
the missionary movement of the Catholic 
Church in England, was treated with open 
and avowed hostility by the British 
people, and the spread of its doctrines 
was regarded as menacing the future of 
the British race. This hostile feeling still 
remains, though its ebullitions are becom- 
ing less frequent, passing unheeded save 
by the most violent and extreme partisans ; 
and the future of the English people is 
no longer considered imperilled, notwith- 
standing a "red hat" has a home in the 
capital of the Kingdom. Quite recently 
a Protestant journal made the admission 
that the tolerance of "Romanism" had 
resulted in the Pope's emissaries increas- 
ing largely both their power and their 
numbers; and, whilst avoiding the stirring 
up of old prejudices, this organ regretted 
the development of popery, and traced it 
to the fact that the English Protestants 
had shown a too kindly tolerance toward 
their Catholic brethren. The admission 
is a most significant one, and, when taken 
in conjunction with some recent events, 
we have afforded us some very interesting 
signs of the times in Britain. 

In the Imperial Parliament of the 
country, exclusive of the Catholic repre- 
sentatives returned by Ireland, there are 
seven members of Parliament, elected by 
English and Scottish constituencies, who 
profess allegiance to Leo XIII. According 
to numbers we are entitled to more, but 
the electoral areas are so numerous, and 
the Catholic population so scattered and 
its organization so recent, that even seven 
representatives of the faith sitting in the 
Imperial House of Commons for British 



constituencies marks the decline of that 
fierce hate and opposition we have had to 
fight against so long. 

In the last Conservative Government 
the position of Secretary of State for the 
Home Department was filled by a Catholic, 
Mr. Henry Matthews, Q. C. ; and he also 
occupied a seat in the Cabinet in virtue 
of that oflGice. In the present Liberal min- 
istry there are two of our co-religionists in 
very high places — the Marquis of Ripon, 
Secretary of State for the Colonies, and 
Sir Charles Russell, Q. C. (brother of the 
well-known editor of the Irish Monthly)^ 
chief law-ofiicer of the Crown in England. 
Catholic representation in the House of 
Lords, Bri tains "Second Chamber," since 
not dependent on the popular vote, can 
not be accepted as pointing in a progres- 
sive direction, heredity alone qualifying 
for membership; but it is satisfactory to 
find many of the nobility clinging to the 
old faith and social ostracism, rather than 
adopt the new creed and share in the 
fruits of its spoliation. In the Diplomatic 
and Civil Service we have gained a firm 
foothold, many of the best-known repre- 
sentatives of Queen Victoria on the 
Continent and in the Colonies being 
Catholics; and much of the best consular 
and administrative work has been per- 
formed by the despised "papists." 

These positions injthe chief legislative 
authority of the country, and the appoint- 
ments in connection with foreign and 
colonial affairs, have not been won without 
a struggle, sections of the Protestant com- 
munity vehemently protesting against each 
selection of one of the faith for responsible 
office in public affairs. And just to remind 
us, as it were, that we are still papal 
adherents, and that Protestant England has 
no desire to deliver herself wholly up to 
the "Italian Invasion," the last House,of 
Commons refused to pass a measure mak- 
ing the Lord Chancellorship of England 
and the Lord Lieutenancy of Ireland open 
to Catholics. The present Parliament is 



THE AVE MARIA. 



123 



not likely to approve that spirit of intol- 
erant bigotry. 

We have also, after repeated knocking, 
opened the doors of the public corporations, 
local authorities, and other bodies in whom 
rests the internal government of the coun- 
try. In matters relating to education, 
Poor Law, and the wider field of municipal 
administration, our voice is now heard, if 
not strongly, at least distinctly. In nearly 
every district throughout the country 
where education boards exist. Catholic 
representatives are to be found. upon them, 
safeguarding our interests and asserting 
our rights. In the administration of the 
Poor Law we do not play a secondary part; 
and all our vigilance is needed, for little 
tolerance and less sympathy are shown 
many of our more unfortunate brethren. 

In regard to Poor Law affairs, one matter 
is worth mentioning. According to Act of 
Parliament, these authorities must appoint 
a chaplain to minister to the spiritual 
wants of the inmates of the parochial 
institutions; and these chaplains, being 
Proteslants, are handsomely remunerated 
for their services. Recently a movement 
was set on foot in Scotland for the payment 
of a small sum to the Catholic priest who 
voluntarily visits those of his faith residing 
within these institutions, and renders unto 
them the consolations of religion. This 
proposal the bigots and fanatics strongly 
resisted; but ultimately reason triumphed 
over prejudice, and the payment has been 
approved by several of the leading boards 
in the country. In civic affairs our influ- 
ence is not quite so great, or our represent- 
atives so numerous ; but here, too, the 
walls are giving way, and the fight is not so 
hopelessly stiflf as it was a few years ago. 
A Catholic Lord Mayor is at the head of 
London affairs, for the first time since the 
Reformation, in the person of Mr. Stuart 
Knill, one of the most devoted, most 
zealous and most loyal sons of the Church 
in England. Catholic mayors have also 
been chosen in other parts of the country; 



and in many of the corporations members 
of our faith have seats, — Glasgow, the 
other day, admitting to its Chaml>er a 
papist, the first since the days of Knox. 

Perhaps the most important indication 
of the change of feeling toward the old 
faith is to be found in the attitude of the 
British press. Catholic news is no longer 
relegated to the flames, or merely men- 
tioned in a line hidden away in some 
undiscoverable portion of the sheet, as if 
the editor were ashamed of its presence in 
his journal. But greater change still is the 
opening up of the profession to Catholics. 
Time was, and that but a few years since, 
when there was writ large over the portals 
of almost every newspaper in Britain *'no 
room for Romanists." The disappearance 
of this prohibition is one of the most 
notable signs of latter days. And that it 
has been more complete than many Prot- 
estants could have wished is corroborated 
from an authoritative quarter. The organ 
of Anglican Ritualism in London lately 
worked itself into a terrible fury when it 
discovered that the secular press of the 
Metropolis was largely staffed by "Ro- 
manists, who used their positions for the 
dissemination of the doctrines of their 
Church," — a gratuitous and unfounded 
charge. Year after year our schools and 
colleges are turning out men, and women 
too, peculiarly adapted for journalistic 
life; and it is the success of these that 
has disturbed the peace of our Anglican 
contemporary. 

It is not, however, in the staffing of the 
press alone, but in the attention paid by 
the leading organs to Catholic affairs, that 
so distinctly marks the difference between 
yesterday and to-day. Protestant-owned 
and Protestant-edited journals hung on 
every word and action of the late Cardinal 
Manning during the Dockers' strike in 
London a few years ago, when his exer- 
tions brought to a timely close one of the 
most serious of recent industrial conflicts. 
And the same prelate's deliverances on 



124 



THE AVE MARIA 



social and religious topics were always 
displayed in leaded type; while his death, 
though immediately following that of the 
second heir to the British throne, was 
regarded as a national loss, and column 
after column was devoted to a record of 
his career. The writer is aware there 
were exceptional circumstances that com- 
mended the saintly prelate and his works 
to the notice of his countrymen ; but that 
he retained their esteem while joining a 
Church they loathed, and after a time 
winning their tolerance for that Church, 
are facts none the less significant. The 
demise of Cardinal Newman witnessed a 
similar tribute to the great ecclesiastic; 
and Catholic journalists did not display 
a greater desire to ascertain who should 
succeed Manning and Newman than did 
Protestant editors. 

In the higher -class magazines there 
seldom passes a month without one or 
other of these containing a defence or an 
assertion of Catholic teaching by some 
pen, clerical or lay; and to the knowledge 
thus diffused is largely due the changed 
attitude of men of culture toward the 
faith. In the lighter monthlies Catholic 
subjects are no longer banned; and, wher- 
ever treated by writers not belonging to 
the Church, are dealt with in a just and 
liberal spirit. Now it is the Countess of 
Meath describing, in language miserably 
inadequate, she confesses, the life and the 
work of the "Poor Servants of Mary," 
pointing out what a noble lesson their 
lives teach, and imploring her co-relig- 
ionists to emulate the same spirit of 
sacrifice ; again it is Lady Campbell 
telling the fashionable world, in her own 
graceful and fluent way, of the heroism 
and the suffering of the nuns of Nazareth 
House, who dwell beneath the shadows of 
the princely mansions in the West End of 
England's capital; or it is some generous- 
minded traveller who returns from the 
Continent full of the praises of the monks 
of the Grand Chartreuse or the Trappists, 



for their help and hospitality in the hour 
of need. Church ceremonials and services, 
conferences of our societies, school exhibi- 
tions and meetings, are not now ignored 
by the daily press; and, side by side with 
the report of his convocation or his pres- 
bytery, the Anglican and the Presbyterian 
find particulars of the enthronement of 
an "Italian Invader." 

In social effort — improving the physical 
and moral condition of the people — we 
might take a larger share; but the part 
we fill is neither unimportant nor unpro- 
ductive. Our temperance organizations 
are not second to any other similar body 
for zeal and endeavor. And if only our 
people would try to make their lives a 
reflection of our Church's teaching, our 
advance would be greater and surer. We 
have still a great deal to accomplish in 
the bettering of our social status and in 
the levelling up process, which the in- 
creased educational facilities of the age 
may do something to accomplish; but 
individual and combined effort, as much 
outside as inside the Church, can not be 
overlooked. 

To those living outside of Britain, the 
change in public sentiment toward the 
Catholic Church can not be adequately 
understood without a knowledge of the 
restrictions that not so very long ago 
seriously oppressed members of the faith. 
"No papist need apply" was displayed 
in bold letters over every avenue that 
led to positions of preferment, emolument, 
and trust. So long as we lay beneath 
the heel of thraldom our existence was 
contemned, and any movement toward 
equality was vigorously opposed. It must 
be acknowledged that we showed but a 
dilatory desire to "climb up," and we 
were not so united or determined in 
pushing our claims as we might have 
been. From causes which nee^ not be here 
explained, it took our forefathers a long 
time to appreciate the power of the press, 
with the result that they were almost 



THE AVE MARIA. 



125 



unrepresented in the organs of public 
opinion. With the recognition of the press 
as a powerful did in the fight for fairness 
without favor, began the first step upward, 
and upward stepping we have gone on 
since. Scotland and England have their 
Catholic newspapers and magazines, and 
these help to bind together Catholic 
feeling and sentiment. Now we are grad- 
ually becoming the best organized and 
most united body in Britain ; and in 
union and organization lie the secrets of 
our success. Judged by what we have 
attained in the past, the dream of a 
Catholic Britain is no chimera, though 
its realization may be far distant 



Memories of Hawaii. 



BY CHARLES WARREN STODDARD. 

V. — Inter-Island Voyaging. 

, HTHIS is the memory of a New Year's 
A Eve at sea; it feels to me but as 

|- yesterday. I seem to be there again, and I 

' must write as if I were. Behold me in the 
dim distance. We who live in the trade- 
winds always speak of inter-island travel 
as going "to the windward" or "to the 
leeward.-' I went "to the windward" to 
spend my Christmas holiday. It was the 
fairest day of the season when I sailed, 
with the promise of a superb sunset, and 
the afterglow which lengthens at intervals 
the brief twilight of the tropics. I went 
early to the little propeller Likelike^ she 
that makes the long circuit of Hawaii 
every week ; for I liked the gathering 
tumult, the last moments of agitation, the 
despair of the fellow who is too late — 
usually a Kanaka in this climate, — and all 
the while I sit on the rail in undisturbed 

: composure, leisurely taking my notes. The 
harbor is as placid as a duck-pond and 
blue as sapphire; the reef, like a long snow 



bank ridged with shining silver; yellow 
sands stretch across the middle distance; 
dotted with forlorn cocoa palms, and a few 
low, whitewashed houses, with high, white 
fences about them. Thither the pest- 
stricken people are banished; and during 
the last small-pox plague hundreds were 
housed there; and scores, chiefly natives^ 
died, and were buried in those shallow^ 
sea-washed sands. Beyond it the blue sky, 
and sea of a deeper blue; and close at hand 
a brace of slender natives, almost naked, 
wading in shallow water in search of 
food, and calling at intervals in melodious 
gutturals to a lonely fellow in his canoe^ 
who paddles swiftly from somewhere 
across the harbor to some other where; 
but his sole mission seems to be to paddle, 
as if it were a pleasure and a consolation 
to do so, and thus complete the picture. 

Shoreward, beyond the tangle of spars 
and rigging, beyond the roofs and the tree- 
tops of the town, I see the rich green 
valley of Nuuanu, flanked by lesser vales 
on either hand, like transepts to a wave ; 
and at the far-away top of the valley such 
a curtain of mist and rain clouds as hides 
from mortal eye the Holy of Holies. 
Fragments of rainbows hang like banners 
from the high walls of the valley, and 
over all breathe the sweet, cool winds. 
Everybody and everything seems to be 
waiting for sunset; yet before that hour 
we have waved adieu to the laughter- 
loving folk that line the dock, and are 
slowly wending our way out of the harbor 
into the sea. 

We follow the reef for some distance. 
It is grey and hard, like granite. The sea 
rises and throws itself upon that ever- 
lasting wall with the impetuosity of a 
spoiled child, turning white with foam 
and fury and bellowing lustily; but all is 
still within, like a tideless river. The flood 
sleeps beside the sand. Our sturdy little 
ship churns diligently, and anon we begin 
to roll on the long, long swell that is 
never at rest. 



126 



THE AVE MARIA 



Like a panorama, the coast-line seems 
to pass before us — the palms that cluster 
about the seaside cottages at Waikiki; the 
feathery green of the groves that cover 
the plains; other valleys lined with moist, 
dark woods, misty and touched with 
prismatic lights; and away to the right 
the bald, brown, weather-beaten, storm- 
stained landmark — old Diamond Head, — 
which always enters largely into the 
picturesque element that makes Honolulu 
and its environs altogether lovely. 

We are directly under the steep slopes 
of Diamond Head when the sun goes 
down. Already the steward, with fore- 
thought bom of bitter experience, has 
covered the deck with mattresses. By 
each one is a pillow, a blanket, and a cup 
— ah, me! that cup! A few of the unsea- 
worthy passengers betake themselves to 
bed; for, though the night is calm, the 
wind still, and the sea quiet — alas! the 
channels are always tumultuous. We pass 
into the first one with the twilight and 
the young moon; we dine heartily to the 
music of the waves, and the flapping of 
the canvas shades that have been dropped 
about the quarter-deck to keep out the 
night air and the inevitable spurts of rain 
and spray. By the placard in the cabin I 
see that ginger- beer, lemonade and soda 
are obtainable, but nothing more enjoyable 
in the shape of beverage. I therefore 
repair to the deck; for the cabin is close, 
like a catacomb thickly lined with bunks; 
and some of these are occupied. 

The deck is shut in. It looks like a 
ward in a camp hospital the night after a 
battle. The sea buffets our little ship; we 
dance like a nautilus. The decks forward 
are laden with lumber — Oregon lumber 
at that, reshipped from island to island. 
Spread over the lumber is a tangled mass 
of living Kanakas. They are quiet, for the 
most part. They do not mingle, as was 
their wont, among the foreigners; but are 
reduced to second-class quarters, unless 
they pay extra for the first-class. They do 



not sing and chatter as they used to, mak- 
ing sport of the night and the tumbling 
sea and the discomfiture. They awaken, 
strike a light in the wind with the clever- 
ness of a sailor who knows the art, take 
two or three whiffs of the rankest weed 
imaginable in a pipe which was foul from 
its birth, pass it from lip to lip in peace 
and silence; and when it has burned 
out, one of the participants opens his 
mouth, uttering volumes of smoke and 
wisdom. The others respond in voices; 
each of which issues from its separate 
cloud; and the place is murky for the 
space of five minutes. 

Thus we pass Molokai, and doze a little 
under its friendly shelter; but are roused 
again when we tumble into the second 
channel — it is even worse than the first, 
where the merry cups ring blithely, and 
the sleepers awaken with deep-mouthed 
complaints. 

Lahaina ! Slumbering by the leeward 
waters, under the shelter of sublime hills, 
Lahaina lay in wait for us. We had crossed 
the channel, and there was again smooth 
sailing. The moon, which was still young, 
had set; but there were lights along shore, 
appearing and disappearing like fire-flies; 
there was Jhe mufiled murmur of surf 
rolling in upon resounding sands. The 
night was cool — they nearly always are, 
those soft and melancholy nights of 
Lahaina, fanned by the mountain breeze. 

We swung at anchor. Voices came over 
the sea to us, and the sound of oars falling 
into the row locks, and then the regular 
plash, plash, plash, as the boats drew near, 
— shadowy boats with lanterns hidden 
away in them, so that one saw only the 
outline of everything in silhouette — the . 
hollow of the boat and the faces of the 
boatmen illumined by a warm glow that 
is enchanting. Twinkling lights still 
sparkled among the trees ; others appeared 
in the distance, moving slowly like creep- 
ing things, or rather floating hither and 
yon, like Will-o'-the-wisp; and yet I know 



THE AVE MARIA. 



127 



that if all Lahaina were to waken out of 
its unutterably deep sleep, it would proba- 
bly open a drowsy eye for a moment, peer 
from the thatched doorway upon the sea, 
where the intruder rides at anchor, and 
return again to its dream of everlasting 
peace. Before we had ploughed a mile 
farther through the unruffled sea, the last 
light was snuffed out in Lahaina, and there 
was nothing left to tell the tale but a 
memory and a regret. 

Maalaea, an invention of the devil, a 
necessary evil, and perhaps the least of 
two of them ; for if one bound for Waihae 
lands on this side of the island, he may, 
indeed, enter the paradise of Lahaina; but 
after that follow the ascent and descent 
of a mountain trail more bleak, windy and 
treacherous, than any I wot of elsewhere 
in this much-travelled globe. So it is 
Maalaea that I come to in the small hours 
of the morning. We anchor pretty well out 
from shore; and the wind that always blows 
there charges down upon us, freighted 
with sand and spray. 

What a toilsome and tantalizing pull to 
shore in a boat that ships more than its 
quantity of water! We are all weary, and 
few of us but show it. A small wharf juts 
out from the shore. A lantern swings 
there, and we hear the chatter of the half- 
awakened natives, who with passionless 
patience are awaiting our arrival. The 
clatter and the chattering increase. The 
drivers of half a dozen expresses and a 
like number of sharp bargains parcel us 
off in lots to suit; and, with our luggage 
under the seat, we dash up a hillock into 
the wind and the starlight, and begin a 
ten -mile drive to breakfast. 

The sand stings our faces; the wind, 
which blows steady and strong, hisses in 
the short grass. It is so dark, though the 
stars are as large and brilliant as those 
of a wintry night, that I can not see the 
road as it leads over the plain; but these 
Kanakas have owls' eyes, and can see in 
the blackness of darkness. They whip up 



the sorriest nags that ever balked in 
harness, and plunge past one another, 
while we careen on the ticklish edge of 
inclines that threaten to send us we know 
not whither. 

The dawn comes; we have passed a 
sugar-mill, a few native huts, wherein the 
occupants are stirring. Some of them 
watch us from the open doors ; a fire, 
kindling feebly, betokens the preparation 
of the morning meal. We are on the 
isthmus that connects the heights of East 
and West Maui. Haleakala, like a huge 
dome, covers the major portion of the 
island. Its vastness and the great sweep 
of its unbroken outline delude • the eye. 
One would never dream that it is a dozen 
miles to the base of it, and that the 
summit of it is 10,000 feet above the sea. 

Wailuku is tinged with sunshine when 
we clatter through its one long, winding 
street, out of which lesser ones speedily 
find their way into canefields or grass 
lands. My one fellow-passenger, a Wahine, 
a native girl, came from the steamer in a 
travelling dress of sombre tint, bearing 
in her hands a calabash containing the 
remainder of her wardrobe. She has 
since completed her toilet, and is now 
ready to descend at Waihee, three miles 
beyond Wailuku, apparelled in the latest 
Hawaiian style. 

Waihee — a cluster of comely houses, and 
a white-walled mill, with a tall chimney 
like an Irish round tower in a fresh coat 
of paint; the breeze relentlessly blowing, 
laden with sweet odor from the boiling- 
house, and the fragrance of drying trash. 
The village is like country cross-roads, 
with a bright red two-storied wooden 
building in the crotch. It is the planta- 
tion store, and the most picturesque 
structure in the settlement The local 
atmosphere of Waihee is very fresh and 
youthful ; a kind of^ Saturday-aftemoon- 
out-of-door feeling pervades it Truly one 
sees afar off, by a distant point of the 
island, another settlement, and he knows 



128 



THE AVE MARIA. 



that over the hill lies Wailuku. But 
Waihee sleeps, for it is always half asleep 
on a windward slope; and beyond it is 
nothing but shorn hillocks and the 
tumbling sea, and the wide stretch of blue, 
blue sky, across which the trade-wind 
clouds follow one another in interminable 
procession. 

The days are much alike, save Sunday, 
and it is unlike anything else. No one 
knows what to do with himself; the 
silence and the sense of emptiness are 
overpowering; there is nothing but the 
long-drawn wind, the boom of the surf on 
a shore that has a bleak and untropical 
aspect, and showers of rain that come 
down on the sea like shadows long before 
the sudden chill in the air announces 
their approach in Waihee. Sunday is like 
a gap in the week, like a day chopped out 
of the calendar, leaving an utter blank; 
and this blank is called the "Sabbath." 

From the upper chambers of the red 
house on the corner small windows open 
upon the four quarters of the globe. You 
have romantic mountains, richly decked, 
where the momentary waterfalls are count- 
less after every shower. You have the 
dark line of the road, winding through 
juicy, green canefields, — fields that are 
sometimes tasselled with plume-like blos- 
soms as delicate in texture as puffs of 
smoke. You have a long sweep of bare, 
brown hills, touched here and there with 
green ; a league of frothing sea, a glimpse 
of bright red sand — real desert sand it is, 
— licked up and whisked away by the 
same winds that blow so bravely; and 
over and beyond all the dome of Halea- 
kala, that takes in turn all the colors of 
the rainbow, and, like the chameleon, 
changes every hour in the day; and then 
you have the sea itself, lonely and lovely, 
changeful also, with its moods of rain and 
shine, and sometimes with a passing sail 
■dotting it like a snowflake, and vanishing 
like one when the tiny toy has tacked, 
throwing its sails into shadow. 



What a boon when one has little else 
to do but to pore over his books, pass the 
time of day with some wayfarer, and 
speculate on the changes in the weather! 
Of course there are visitations, red-letter 
days, when the guests arrive like pilgrims, 
and the feast is merry and long; yet Waihee, 
seeking to shelter itself among the hillocks 
by the shore, is a law unto itself; and sugar 
in the cane and sap in the boiler, potent 
saccharine odors in the air, yoked oxen 
swinging to and from the fields, the 
laughter of light-hearted laborers, the 
crack of two fathoms of whip- cord, the 
chorus at night, the babble of gossips in 
the doorways, the arrival and distribution 
of the weekly inter-island and monthly 
foreign mail, the wind and the rain and 
the dry spells, are the sum total of its 
uneventful life. 

Let us return. Backward over the 
isthmus to Maalaea Bay, hastening — if it 
can be called hastening when the horses 
balk as usual — to board the Likelike on 
her downward trip. She was due at four 
p. m., or at any subsequent hour that suited 
her convenience. By half-past three we 
had come to a halt on the very edge of 
the sea, the wind blowing g^eat guns, the 
sand flying, small pebbles pattering upon 
the roof of a small house that affords 
the only shelter. 

A queer house it is. A little room is 
approached through a very little, enclosed 
veranda, lumbered with saddles and the 
stores of the house in barrels and sacks. 
From the little room open lesser ones — 
closets for the accommodation of the 
modest and retiring, who do not care to 
mingle with the whites, rich and poor. 
Kanakas, coolies and Portuguese. The 
house is barely furnished. On the walls 
hang lithographs of Garfield and several 
life-insurance companies, and a wordy 
placard proclaiming the inestiipable qual- 
ities of a stallion of noble worth. Cups, 
canisters and bottles are lodged among 
the whitewashed beams. One sits on a 



THE AVE MARIA. 



129 



camp-stool, a bench or a barrel, and con- 
templates a table which is laid to order 
with all the delicacies of Maalaea. The 
company increases. A fair girl, amply 
shirred and wearing water waves, con- 
fined under a thick veil, takes notes upon 
her knee in one of the closets. The master 
of the house reclines upon his stomach in 
the corner, and gives his orders with an 
arrogant air, born of long lordship among 
the primitive natives. We watched the 
distant headland and yearned for rescue. 
The hours lag; we famish, eat in turn 
from the table laid at intervals; a thousand 
rumors of smoke, visible and again invis- 
ible, raise our hopes, only to dash them a 
little later on. From half- past three o'clock 
till after nine p. m. we tarry in durance 
vile; the wind falls, the pebbles rest, and 
the sand no longer ceases to pepper us, 
sifting through the warped shingles of the 
hospice. At last relief arrives: the belated 
boat struggles up against a head-wind and 
comes to anchor. We board the steamer, 
drifting far to leeward, and pulling slowly 
up under the shelter of her hull. We 
make our beds in peace, and lie there 
while she creeps slowly down to Lahaina. 
We are five hours late— it is midnight, 
moonlight, quiet as the grave. Weary 
with long watching, Lahaina is actually 
asleep this time; but we waken her with 
a shrill whistle that sets the wild echoes 
flying all over that side of the still island. 
The lights blossom among the trees; the 
boats are evolved out of the delicious 
uncertainty that pervades the sweet trop- 
ical night; all the palms glimmer in the 
radiance that bathes the shore. They 
are motionless, but a silvery haze floats 
jamong their pendant boughs. We trip 
mchor and head for the vague heights 
)f Molokai. 
The channel, though windless, is turgid: 
was blowing a gale there in the after- 
loon; our boat bobs like a cork in the 
Kcious chop sea. It is with difficulty that 
re cling to the deck; at intervals we are 



thrown on our beam ends, and then there 
is an upward tendency in all things, which 
brings a lady in a neighboring bed to 
grief. I hook my arm about a post and 
resign myself to sleep. The air has the 
balm of April and the fragrance of May. 
We are not far enough from shore to lose 
its wholesome aroma. We pitch and lurch 
furiously. I slide up and down the post, 
descending always in the same spot with 
neatness and dispatch. The dawn comes, 
and the sunrise and the increasing splendor 
of the day. My eyes are only half op>en 
to these gorgeous facts. I hear the surf* 
seething, and the sound of bells mingling 
with the hiss and the roar. We are at the 
mouth of the harbor. Honolulu is radiant, 
resplendent from the very latest shower. 
It is Sunday, the first day of the week; 
Sunday, the first day of the year; and last 
night, with its mingled emotions, its 
famine and feast, rest and unrest, beauty 
and desolation, riot, rapture and repose, — 
last night was my New Year's Eve at sea. 

(To be continued.) 



The Author of "The Imitation.' 



IN an isolated cloister, buried in the 
mountains, a band of religious prayed, 
copied manuscripts, and cultivated for 
their material support a few acres reclaimed 
from the neighboring forest. Of the events 
in the great world without, of the fortunes 
of kings and courtiers, of the peace or war 
that reigned in Europe, they knew scarcely 
anything and cared very little. The noise 
of the schools alone occasionally reached 
their solitude, and sometimes even dis- 
turbed it 

It was the thirteenth century, the epoch 
when the science of Christian doctors 
achieved the greatest conquests, and the 
faith of the people built the grandest 

♦ •• La Cit< Chr^tienne." Charaux. 



130 



THE AVE MARIA. 



cathedrals. The universities eagerly took 
up diflficult theses, and, diflfering on knotty 
questions, in treating which the most 
famous masters exploited all their penetra- 
tion and subtility, their knowledge and 
eloquence. There was no retreat so hidden 
that it did not resound with the echo of 
their words; and even to our cloister in 
the mountains would at times come some 
monk, travelling in the interests of the 
Church or his order, who would repay the 
hospitality he received by the narration 
of some brilliant tourney in the field of 
dialectics. He would be listened to with 
avidity, questions would be multiplied, 
sides taken, and novel arguments sought 
for with diligence. In the cloister, ordina- 
rily so tranquil, the agitation would not 
subside for several days. 

One monk alone, the youngest and the 
latest comer, listened in silence, and took 
no part in these ardent discussions. Yet 
none could have spoken more wisely or 
thrown more light on the disputed point. 
Reared from childhood in one of the most 
celebrated schools, he had been the favorite 
pupil of a famous master; and his brilliant 
talents presaged that he himself would 
become a master in his turn, but he had 
escaped the perilous honor by a voluntary 
exile. 

"Great God !" he would often exdaim 
in a burst of interior prayer, ''save me, 
save my brethren, save the doctors of Thy 
Church from the pride that will destroy 
them, as it destroyed the angel smitten 
with conceit of himself. What will become 
of the Christian city if the citadel of 
science and that of prayer fall into the 
hands of the enemy? What will become 
of Thy Church if the vanity of human 
knowledge spreads like a subtle poison 
through the schools and cloisters? Have 
these too highly extolled masters for- 
gotten that even the sages of paganism 
subordinated every other science to that 
of the Good? Toward it they raised them- 
selves by all the steps of dialectics, 



through the veil and shadow of inferior 
realities; in the Good alone they reposed, 
it alone they aspired to contemplate. 
The Word whom they named without 
knowing Him inflamed their desires to 
this degree; and shall we Christians have 
other love than that of the Supreme God 
and the Word Incarnate? ... Is there any 
knowledge that comes not from Him, 
that terminates not in Him ; any of which 
He is not the Alpha and the Omega — the 
beginning and the end? Does the candle- 
stick imagine itself the light because it 
supports it? Are our minds the light 
itself because the Light condescends to 
illumine them? Is it possible, my God, 
that we can fancy we know anything, 
and not refer to Thee all the honor of 
our knowledge, uncertain, imperfect and 
fallible as it is? Are not the true savants 
those who desire to know nothing save 
in Thee and by Thee? I have seen the 
doctors of this world, I have followed 
their lectures; and have learned that Thou 
art the only master, and that one becomes 
a master only inasmuch as he listens 
to Thee. 

"Ah! if I could utter these things as I 
see and feel them ! If I could remind 
the forgetful of the one science which 
should, in their souls, have preference over 
all others! If I could preserve from pride 
even two or three of my brethren ! . . . 
But is it not pride and presumption in 
myself to dream of such an enterprise? 
Am I capable of it, am I worthy?" 

At this point in his prayer, the humble 
religious thought he heard a voice saying 
to him: "Write. I love the humble; I 
will be with thee." 

A few months later the first two books 
of "The Imitation of Jesus Christ," tran- 
scribed by the monks, began to circulate 
among the pious retreats of the neighbor- 
ing provinces. 

From Knowledge to Peace the distance 
is not great; the solitary soon traversed 
it. If the queen of sciences is that of the 



THE AVE MARIA. 



131 



Word, true peace is that of the soul united 
to Hiin. This peace, which the disciple of 
the schools had uot found in the tumult 
of the world and the celebrity attaching 
to vain controversies, his sacrifice had 
promised him, and the cloister little by 
little had consummated. He enjoyed it 
in its plenitude, and desired that others 
should participate in his joy. He wrote so 
well of this peace in his third book — wrote 
with such naturalness and simplicity, 
with such profound conviction and so 
great a detachment from self, — that the 
"Internal Consolation," as it was then 
called, soon became the favorite book of a 
great number of Christians. It could not 
be transcribed fast enough: its admirers 
never grew tired of reading it and spread- 
ing its renown. 

Less satisfied than his readers, the 
author of this admirable little book found 
it less perfect He himself had lost the 
peace which, thanks to him, others had 
regained. Now he feared the temptations 
of vainglory, and fortified himself against 
them by all the means in his power; then 
he reproached himself with being the 
involuntary cause of a great many errors 
and excesses. He regretted not having 
said all that should have been said, not 
having ascended to the ineSable source of 
both science and peace. 

"Better for me to have kept silence, 
O Lord! than to speak so feebly of Thee 
and Thy gifts. Have I indeed invited 
men to imitate Thee, and failed to tell 
them where to seek for strength to follow 
Thy example? Is it not Thou that givest 
knowledge and peace in giving us life, 
and is not this life Thyself? . . . My work 
is incomplete, it is useless and dangerous, 
if I do not speak of the celestial Food 
which preserves in us the higher and 
divine life. Yet if I dare to speak of it, my 
presumption shows itself in my inability, 
and I sink beneath a burden too heavy for 
my strength. Thou alone, O Lord! canst 
speak worthily of a gift which infinitely 



surpasses all other gifts, — of the mysteri- 
ous source whence we draw knowledge, 
peace, and life itself." 

Vainly to escape from these thoughts 
that besieged him night and day did the 
humble monk seek a refuge in prayer or 
in work. They followed him into church, 
in his cell, and under the dense shade of 
a neighboring wood, the usual scene of 
his long meditations. There one day, 
after a mental struggle more agitated 
than usual, he threw himself, quke worn 
out, at the foot of a tree and sank into 
a deep slumber. 

In his sleep he seemed to see his book 
being copied by a great crowd of monks 
in innumerable convents. From the cloister 
it found its way to the world, penetrating 
to the universities, to rich capitals and 
populous cities. Later, strange mechanical 
inventions, of whose indistinct shapes he 
caught but glimpses, reproduced the book 
with incredible rapidity and in prodigious 
numbers. It was the delight of the great, 
the rich, the humble, the poor, — of all the 
aflflicted, of all the forsaken. Weary and 
wounded hearts sought it out, and for each 
it supplied consolation and an infallible 
remedy. It was translated into all lan- 
guages ; and the text was accompanied 
with notes, with prefaces, with learned 
commentaries and pious reflections. Later 
still great poets were proud to employ 
their genius in giving the text the poetic 
form.* Finally, a voice cried out that 
such a book deserved a place alongside 
the Gospel. 

Still plunged in sleep as he was, the 
monk exclaimed in terror: "Back, Satan, — 
back! " Then, suddenly awaking, and still 
troubled at this vivid dream, he cried out: 
"Great God, let my name and my memor>' 
perish ; let glory be to Thee alone! Be 
men forever ignorant of the date and 
place of my birth, of my family, and my 

• The French poet Corneille rendered " The 
Imitation" into verse, and twenty edition* of his 
work appeared daring his own lifetime. 



132 



THE AVE MARIA. 



country; let them know nothing of me, — 
nothing of my life, which I desire to hide 
in Thee; nothing of my name, which I 
wish to lose in Thine. . . . Refuse me all 
other blessings here below, O Lord, and 
grant me this grace!" 

Some time afterward the fourth book 
of "The Imitation" was added to the 
other three ; the last word of love had said 
its last word of knowledge and of peace; 
the work had received its crown. What 
the pious solitary's part in this admirable 
fourth book may have been we know not. 
He has not told us any more than he has 
told us his name; but we are aware that 
God gives to the humble what He refuses 
to the proud, and we may be allowed the 
belief that He made a perfect book the 
reward of perfect humility. 



A Medical Client of Mary. 



DR. JOSEPH R]§:CAMIER, the illus- 
trious French physician of the great 
and noble, of princes and kings, a savant 
whose reputation was European, was not 
more eminent for his learning and ability 
than for his Christian faith and piety. 
Whenever he considered medicine ineffec- 
tive, he addressed himself to the great 
Healer, and he always solicited the Blessed 
Virgin to act as his intermediary. 

One evening before concluding night 
prayers, which he habitually recited in 
presence of his whole family, he announced 
that he would say three "Hail Marys" 
for -the conversion of a patient in extreme 
danger. The prayers said, the aged Doctor 
caught hold of the chair by which he was 
kneeling, and, supporting himself by its 
means, rose to his feet. As he did so his 
watch-pocket came in contact with one 
of the chair's corners. Whether from the 
effects of the shock or from a simple 
coincidence, the main-spring of the watch 



broke, and there followed so sharp a whir 
of the broken mechanism that some one 
inquir.ed: 

"Why, what is that?" 

"'Tis the devil running away," smil- 
ingly' replied the physician. 

At six o'clock the following morning 
Dr. R^camier arose, and, shortly after- 
ward leaving his residence, proceeded 
briskly to the Rue du Bac to inquire as 
to the condition of the patient for whom 
he had prayed. 

He found everybody in the house 
joyous and happy ; the mother of the 
sick young man thanked the physician 
effusively; the youthful wife pressed his 
hands gratefully ; and the patient himself, 
as soon as he saw Dr. R^camier, cried 
out: "Come in. Doctor, — come in! I'm 
happy now; for I am reconciled to Him 
you serve so well." 

The gratified practician was soon put in 
possession of the details of the conversion. 
It was Frederic himself who had called 
for a priest. It was Frederic, too, who, 
after having made his confession, asked for 
Extreme Unction and the Holy Viaticum. 
The Doctor congratulated his patient, and 
acknowledged that he had secured a great 
many prayers for him. This announcement 
was the signal for further expressions of 
grateful joy. 

Five minutes later the patient stopped 
in the middle of a smile to utter a pro- 
found sigh; and then — nothing further. 
The sigh was his last: Frederic was dead. 
The unfortunate women, his mother and 
wife, passed at once from joy to grief, 
from happiness to despondency.. But Dr. 
R^camier, pointing out to them the statue 
of the Blessed Virgin recently placed in 
the apartment, reassured them. 

' ' Courage, ladies, — courage 1 The Blessed 
Virgin almost miraculously prolonged his 
life so that he might have leisure to pre- 
pare himself for death. Frederic recoiled 
from the reception of the Sacraments; 
she caused him to desire them and ask 



THE AVE MARIA. 



i33 



for thera himself. By the way,*' he added, 
to make a diversion and to bring to 
their minds a consoling thought, — **by 
the way, at what time did he ask for 
a priest? " 

"At half-past nine last night, Doctor," 
was the reply. 

"Half-past nine!" he repeated. "Why, 
it was just at that hour that we finished 
our * Hail Marys ' for his conversion. I 
know it, for the main-spring of my watch 
broke just then; and here you may see 
that it marks that hour. Ah! my dear 
ladies, pray to our Blessed Mother; pray 
for the dear departed; pray well, and rest 
assured that God will give you all the 
strength of which you stand in need at so 
trying a time." 



The Close of a Noble Career. 



I 



ON Monday, the 17 th inst, the Rev. 
Thomas E. Walsh, Assistant Superior- 
General of the Congregation of the Holy 
Cross and President of the University of 
Notre Dame, departed this life at St. 
Mary's Hospital, Milwaukee, Wis. The 
sad tidings was the cause of inexpressible 
grief to the community at Notre Dame, 
where for upward of nineteen years the 
deceased, as levite, priest and superior, 
had lived and labored for the spiritual 
advancement of his fellow-religious, as 
well as for the instruction and direction 
of the youthful inmates of the institution 
over which he presided. 

For more than a year Father Walsh 
suffered from the disease which terminated 
so fatally; but through it all, with heroic 
self-sacrifice, he fulfilled the duties of 
his high and responsible ofiice. It was 
only at the close of the year, when the 
Commencement exercises were over, that 
he permitted himself to receive the strict 
attention which the nature of his malady 
emanded. After a few weeks passed at 



Waukesha Springs without improvement, 
he was removed to the Hospital in 
Milwaukee. But, in spite of the best 
medical attendance, and the devoted care 
of the Sisters, he gradually sank until the 
final summons came, and his soul went 
forth to its God. 

Death found him not unprepared. For 
days before he had looked upon the end 
fast approaching; and with calm resigna- 
tion and peaceful submission to the divine 
will, despite his terrible sufferings, he 
disposed his soul to appear in the presence 
of his Creator. In his last moments he 
was encouraged by the presence of a 
number of his fellow-religious, several 
priests from the city, and the faithful 
religious of the Hospital ; and while con- 
sciousness remained he fervently joined in 
the prayers which were offered for his 
agonizing soul. All gathered around his 
death-bed were impressed and edified by 
his devotion; and when the vital spark 
had fled the afflicted body, the hearts of 
mourning friends were comforted by the 
assurance that a blissful immortality would 
speedily be his portion. 

The remains were brought to Notre 
Dame on Monday night, and were placed in 
state in the grand parlor of the Univer- 
sity until Wednesday morning. Hundreds 
of friends among the clergy and laity, 
from near and far, came to pay the last 
tribute of respect to the loved departed, 
while letters and telegrams of condolence 
were received from ecclesiastical dignita- 
ries and friends in all parts of the country. 
On Wednesday morning the funeral 
services were held in the college church, 
which was thronged with priests, religious, 
and friends and acquaintances of the 
deceased priest among the laity. Solemn 
Pontifical Mass was celebrated by the 
Rt. Rev. Bishop Rademacher. In the 
sanctuary- with the attending priests 
were the Rt Rev. J. L. Spalding, D. D., 
Bishop of Peoria, and the Rt Rev. James 
Ryan, D. D., Bishop of Alton. A masterly 



i34 



THE AVE MARIA. 



and feeling sermon was delivered by Bishop 
Spalding, who depicted the character and 
career of the deceased President, eulogizing 
especially the grand work accomplished 
by him as an educator. The last absolution 
was pronounced by Bishop Rademacher, 
and the remains -were laid to rest in the 
community cemetery. 

Rev. President Walsh was born in 
Montreal, May 15, 1853. His primary 
studies were pursued in the common 
schools of his native city, and from a very 
early age he gave evidence of the excep- 
tional talents with which he was gifted. 
In the year 1868 he entered the College of 
St Laurent, near Montreal, a flourishing 
institution, conducted by the Fathers of 
Holy Cross. At the completion of his 
collegiate course he entered the novitiate 
of the Order, and applied himself to the 
studies requisite for the sacred ministry. 
In 1873 his superiors sent him to Paris, 
where for upward of three years he was 
an efficient member of the Faculty of 
the College of the Order at Neuilly. In 
September, 1875, his superiors transferred 
him to Notre Dame, where he was ap- 
pointed to the professorship of the Latin 
language and literature in the University. 
On the 28th of August, 1877, he was 
ordained priest and named Vice-President 
of the institution, with which he remained 
connected until the day of his death. In 
1 881 he was elected President, and in 1886, 
in addition to his other duties, he was 
elevated by the General Chapter of the 
Congregation of Holy Cross to the responsi- 
ble position of Assistant Superior-General. 

Thus is traced an outline of the remark- 
ably brilliant and successful career of one 
called away from the scene of his labors 
in the prime of manhood, but one whose 
name is imperishably associated with the 
advancement and prosperity of a great 
institution of learning, renowned far and 
wide. Father Walsh was eminently 
fitted by nature and study for the dis- 
tinguished office which he occupied. 



He was possessed of talents of a high 
order, exceptional and varied, perfected 
by a thorough course of study, which, 
together with genial, social traits, charac- 
terized him as a model educator and 
director of the youthful aspirant after 
knowledge. Quietly and unostentatiously, 
yet none the less faithfully and success- 
fully, he performed his work. He has left 
an impress upon the age in which he 
lived, and his memory will long endure 
for the good of his fellowman. May he 
rest in peace! 



Notes and Remarks. 



One often finds an appreciation of Catholic 
truth coming from very unexpected sources. 
There is, too, a blind groping toward the 
light easily traced in the speech and writings 
of those whom we are wont to consider ultra- 
Protestant in their tendencies and convic- 
tions. In the sermons of Dr, Talmage this is 
easily noticeable. "The name mother is," 
he says in a recent discourse, "the watch- 
word, the talisman, of life. Indeed it is the 
very object, almost, of prayer, when the 
mother is translated. As the Catholic devoutly 
prays through the Virgin Mary, so you and 
I pray devoutly through our mother; not 
because we really believe she is a mediator, 
but because we want to have some sense of' J 
sympathy up there, and the mother has it. J 
We get a hold on the beyond through her." 



It has become an axiom that no unbeliev- 
ing astronomer can be sane, and so it is not 
surprising that so many devout women have 
taken delight in measuring the distances of 
the heavenly bodies and studying the stars 
in their courses. Among these scholars of 
to-day one deserves especial mention. Miss 
Agnes Mary Clerke, an Irish gentlewoman, 
has borne off the Actonion prize of one 
hundred guineas, awarded by the Royal 
Institute. This reward was offered to the one 
who should put forth the best work, in any 
department of science, which should most 



THE AVE MARIA. 



i36 



fully illustrate the wisdom and goodness of 
Almighty God. Miss Gierke's work upon 
astronomy was thought to do this; and, con- 
sidering the wide competition, and the com- 
prehensive application of the word "science," 
her success seems almost a marvel. 

Miss Gierke's astronomical studies have 
been prosecuted under most unfavorable 
circumstances; but she has surmounted all 
difficulties, and will henceforth take high 
rank in the scientific world. She is said to 
be, moreover, a most gracious woman, of the 
kindliest impulses and warm heart. 



Some idea of the extent and importance of 
the work done by the Rev. Father Callaghan 
and his devoted assistant, Mr. McCool, at 
Gastle Garden, in behalf of immigrant girls, 
may be gained from the statement that within 
a year no fewer than 4,000 of these young 
women were cared for. Though especially 
designed by its founder, the lamented Father 
Riordan, for Irish girls, the mission extends 
its help to immigrant girls of all nationalities 
and creeds, providing th^m with a home 
until relatives or friends come to claim them. 
These claims must be well established to 
satisfy Mr. McGool, whose untiring vigilance 
has saved many a poor girl from falling into 
the hands of worse than murderers. 



The French painter Tissot is now engaged 
upon a series of biblical paintings, which he 
wishes to make not only the greatest artistic 
work of his life, but an act of religious homage 
as well. The series will consist of three 
hundred and sixty pictures, and M. Tissot 
has prepared himself for the work by care- 
ful explorations in Palestine. The paintings 
will be exhibited in Ivondon and Paris, after 
which they will be reproduced and published, 
with notes, in a large volume to be called 
"TheLifeofGhrist." 



Herr Friedrich Neitzsche, a young prophet 
of the ' ' modern ' ' school in Germany, and 
who was spoken of as "the philosopher of 
the future, ' ' has been afflicted with incurable 
madness. He had long since outgrown 
Christianity, but regarded his own system of 



morality with the utmost complacence. A 
little thing like madness will not seriously 
interfere with Herr Neitzsche's aspirations; 
in fact, a touch of insanity will make him 
indeed "the philosopher of the future." 



Far-off Australia has contributed her 
quota to the long list of noble men whose 
names are writ in letters of light upon the 
roll of Holy Ghurch. Archbishop Reynolds, 
who died last month at Adelaide, was a 
native of Dublin, and, after finishing his 
preliminary studies, prepared himself for the 
priesthood in Italy under the ascetic rule of 
the Benedictines. But the missionary spirit 
burned warm within his heart, and at the 
age of twenty-three he had strayed still 
farther from the land of his birth, finding in 
South Australia the lalx)r for which his soul 
longed. There he stayed and there he died, 
a prelate full of honors, and, what was more 
to him, a pastor whom the people loved. 
The churches and convents which have risen 
on the fair plains of Australia are the best 
monuments of this good and gifted man, 
who was a father to his spiritual family, a 
friend to every living being, and a zealous 
servant of the most high God. May he rest 
in peace ! 



It often happens that in small parishes 
there is some bright boy who would become 
a worthy candidate for the priesthood, but 
who is deterred by the insufficiency of means. 
A little pamphlet sent out by a priest of the 
Congregation of the Mission, Niagara Uni- 
versity, gives practical advice concerning the 
establishment of scholarships in parishes 
which are obliged to exercise a wise economy 
in the disbursement of their income. The plan 
seems eminently feasible, and must certainly 
have a wholesome effect upon those who 
carry it out, as well as upon the recipient of 
their generosity. 

The Silver Jubilee of the Rt. Rev. Bernard 
J. McQuaid, of the Diocese of Rochester, was 
celebrated with great pomp recently in the 
cathedral of that city, in the presence of a 
distinguished gathering. But far more grati- 
fying to the Bishop than all this ceremony 
could be was the fact that he was able to 



136 



THE AVE MARIA. 



announce a gift, from one of his flock, of 
$20,000 for the endowment of a professorship 
in the diocesan seminary. The new chair is 
intended to perpetuate the memory of Mr. 
James Cunningham, of Rochester; and Cath- 
olics everywhere must applaud the piety and 
wisdom that are thus to preserve the memory 
of a worthy man. Among the prelates 
present at the celebration were the Most Rev. 
Archbishops Corrigan, Williams, Walsh, and 
Cleary; the Rt. Rev. Bishops Wigger, Sud- 
den, McNeimy, McDonnell, and Gabriels, 
besides a large concourse of local and visiting 
priests. Bishop McQuaid was heartily con- 
gratulated on the condition of his diocese, 
and the progress it has made during the past 
quarter of a century. 



It is regrettable that so many Catholics 
seem to have lost heart for parish schools just 
when non-Catholics are beginning to realize 
their importance and to understand the posi- 
tion of Catholics. The Boston Herald in a 
recent issue observes: "Our impression is that 
the feeling against parochial schools is not so 
strong as it was. One of the most able and 
popular of the orthodox clergymen in this 
vicinity declared on Sunday that he respected 
the Catholics for their desire to superintend 
the religious education of their children." 
This utterance, coming unsolicited from the 
stronghold of ancient Puritanism, may be 
regarded as a genuine sign of the times. 



The message which the Holy Father spoke 
into the phonograph, and which it was 
expected would reach Chicago in time for 
the opening of the World's Fair, has now 
been reserved for one of the meetings of the 
Catholic Congress. The phonograph has been 
so perfected of late that the message will be 
heard by all present without the aid of the 
hearing-tubes. 

The great men of the world are seen usually 
in half-light, and many of the failings and 
peculiarities which puzzle us would be swept 
away or softened if a fuller light were 
vouchsafed. Such a light has been thrown 
upon the life of at least one German poet 
by the recently published "Family I^ife of 



Heinrich Heine," to which a writer in the 
Irish Monthly draws attention. Heine's deep 
affection for his sister was equalled only by 
his life-long, reverent love for his mother. 
His character was by no means irrelig- 
ious, and for the poet's own sake we are no 
less gratified than surprised to note his 
frequent references to "our dear Lord." To 
correct first impressions when they are 
unfavorable to another is not only a duty 
but a pleasure. 

A reporter of one of the great dailies, as 
they are called, tells gleefully how he forced 
his way into the "Retreat" of the "Anglican 
nuns" at Peekskill, N. Y., recently, and 
offers what he considers an amusing narra- 
tive of their modest demeanor, their many 
prayers, Signs of the Cross, prostrations, etc. 
One could almost smile at the doings of 
these make-believe "Sisters," were he not 
indignant at the impertinence of the reporter, 
who outrageously thrusts himself into the 
presence of ladies, contrary to their expressed 
wish, and then coolly insists on "writing 
them up" with vulgar comments. Whatever, 
else the reporter has done, he has certainly 
written himself down an impudent coxcomb, 
and the people of America will regard with 
contempt his very crude efforts to amuse 
them. 

The news that the Emperor of China has 
done honor to a Catholic missionary is 
decidedly a strange sensation. Last year the 
Emperor of Germany requested Mgr. Auzer, 
Bishop of Chantoung, to act as Protector of the 
German Catholic missions among the Chinese. 
He has now been made a Grand Mandarin of 
the Celestial Empire, — an act that is intended 
to compliment Mgr. Auzer as well as the 
German people. 

The sermon delivered by Father Bridgett, 
CSS. R., at the re-dedication of England to 
the Blessed Virgin and the Prince of the 
Apostles on the 29th ult.,was worthy of the 
solemnity which called it forth. It was learned 
and unctuous; and if Father Bridgett's words 
can be taken as representative of the spirit 
of English Catholics, there can be no doubt 
of the glorious future of Our Lady's Dowry. 




UNDER THE MANTLE OF OUR BLESSED MOTHER. 



How a Mother's Prayer was Answered 
at Last. 



BY SADIB L. BAKBR. 



II. 




I 

r 



HE time came when Will 
must fit himself to take a 
man's place and do a man's 
work in the world. He 
would be a carpenter, he 
said, like St Joseph. His 
mother, with a sigh for the meii)ory of her 
father and of her husband, let him do. as 
he would. It was a bitter disappointment; 
she had toiled and saved so many years, 
hoping to give the boy an education 
worthy the grandson of her father, the 
good old doctor, or the son of the brilliant 
young lawyer whose future had promised 
so fair. Not that she would have him 
follow in their steps. Temptation would 
beset him in either path. Her one hope 
had been to give him to the service of the 
I/Ord; to sit in the church while her son 
ministered at the altar; to receive from 
his dear hands the Bread of Life. Surely 
then lie would be safe, and she could 
depart in peace. 

She laid that hope away, as she had 

laid many another. Her boy must never 

now that she cared. Perhaps it was 

tter so. He had always been fond of 



tools. Her thoughts went back through 
the centuries to that other carpenter's 
home, where the Blessed Mother of Our 
Lord kept the house, while her Divine 
Son wrought btside St. Joseph with saw 
and plane, and so blessed the workers of 
the world forever. 

When Will came home to dinner the 
first day of his new work, flushed and 
eager, with his coat over his arm, and his 
hat pushed back from his merry face, 
laughing and blushing, half shy, half 
proud, he drew from his pocket his first 
shaving, long and smooth and curled to 
the end. Theodora laid it away in a box 
that held other treasures — her mother's 
rosary, her father's wise-looking spec- 
tacles, a curl of her young husband's hair, 
and the roses and a knot of ribbon she 
wore when they were married. 

Those roses! She took them from 
Will's dead breast; the poor withered 
petals crumbling at a touch, all their color 
faded, only a faint fragrance left They 
whispered a message of hope and comfort 
in those awful hours when she knelt alone 
with her dead. '^All the long years," she 
said to herself, "when his love for me 
seemed to be dead, when no word or look 
came to me from the depths in which he 
had sunk to tell me that he remembered 
it, even as a dream is remembered, he yet 
kept next his heart the flowers I had worn. 
So he may have cherished some blossom 
of faith, some faint hope, some spark of 
love for the Father of us all; hiding it as 



138 



THE AVE MARIA. 



he hid my roses, and only the dear Lord 
knew it, as only I know this." 

She made a little feast for her boy at 
night, and put on a new dress — only a 
calico, but it was pretty and becoming. 
With the rose on her breast, the bloom 
coming back to her cheeks and the sparkle 
to her eyes, in her pride and joy over her 
tender, manly boy, Will declared there was 
not a girl in town half so pretty. He ate 
hot biscuits and honey enough to satisfy 
any appetite but a boy's ; and then, with 
the edge of his hunger as sharp as ever, 
attacked the cake and custard; chattering 
all the time of the coming years, when he 
would take care of the dear mother. And 
at last, with a merry nod, he went off 
whistling, to shut up the hens, bring in 
the eggs, and water the flowers. 

His mother listened, as, her own light 
tasks done, she heard him in the little 
kitchen busy with homely trifles that 
would make her work easier on the mor- 
row. How dear was the sound of every 
footstep! How precious every tone of his 
voice! Surely she was blessed beyond 
most mothers. The whisperings of the 
terrible fear that had sounded in her heart 
so many years were almost silenced. Still 
she prayed, even when he came in and 
nestled close beside her like a little child, 
for the twilight hour. Her voice that night 
as she sang to him sounded so glad and 
triumphant, so like a hymn of gratitude 
for some great mercy, that the boy looked 
at her in wonder. 

The time came when Will worked for 
both. She had earned a rest, he told 
her gayly, as he took from her burden 
after burden, till only the lighter house- 
hold tasks were left. But she could not 
rest until she and her boy rested together 
in the peace of the Lord in heaven. Hour 
after hour she sewed as when she toiled 
for daily bread. When the mother of a 
brood of scantily clad little ones undid, 
with a thankful heart, a bundle of warm 
clothing, she found no name, only a 



pencilled scrap: *' Pray for the one dearest 
to me." Baskets of delicacies to tempt the 
appetite of some invalid who had never 
dared hope for such dainties, boxes of 
blossoming plants for poor children who 
had never owned a flower, — all were sent 
with the same plea for prayers. 

A railroad and great factories had come 
to the country village and changed it to 
a busy town. In the summer fevers ran 
riot in the crowded tenements by the 
river. Theodora seemed to fear no infec- 
tion, to feel no fatigue. She nursed the 
sick when even their own families shrank 
from them, prayed with the dying, coffined 
the dead, and comforted the mourners. 
Will remonstrated sometimes ; but she 
bade him notice that her eyes were grow- 
ing brighter, her cheeks fuller, and her 
hair no greyer ; and, with a merry jest 
over her vanity, he said no more. She 
always kept free the hours when Will 
was at home : the twilight, when she sang 
to him ; and the evenings, when they 
talked together, or Will read to her. 

As the years went on, gradually there 
came a change. Will still sat with her 
in the twilight; but, rarely at first, then 
oftener, she spent the evenings alone. At 
last she could not shut her eyes to the 
truth. She remembered too well. It did 
not need that he should come reeling 
home in the darkest hours before morning, 
supported by a scoffing pair, who wanted 
"the fun of taking the good boy home to 
his pious mother." Even the leader, to 
whom all good was a jest and evil a 
delight, shrank before the white face and 
blazing eyes that met him at the door. The 
mocking words died on his lips. Silently 
they laid him where she led, then slunk 
away and left her alone with her agony, — 
alone, only she waking while others slept; 
alone, she thought, as was the Lord of 
all in Gethsemane; alone, to' drink to the 
dregs the bitterest cup ever pressed to 
mortal lips. 

The blow had fallen at last ; and, after 



THE AVE MARIA. 



d39 



the first fierce anguish, she grew calm, — 
strong to bear, as are all who trust in the 
Lord. She went in from time to time to 
bathe her boy's bloated face and hot 
hands, to shade the light or smooth the 
pillows; and, as toward evening he grew 
more restless, she busied herself with a 
dainty supper. The fragrant coffee, the 
juicy steak, the delicately browned toast, 
were all as Will liked them. 

She carried the tray in and tried to 
rouse him. He sat up with a groan, and 
stared stupidly around for a minute. 
Then, as his heavy eyes met hers, so full 
of love and pity, sorrow and pardon, he 
cowered back and hid his face with his 
hands. She drew the dark head down on 
her bosom, and laid her cheek against his. 
Holding him so, she felt him tremble in 
her rfrms, then a storm of sobs shook him. 
When he grew quiet, she smiled through 
her tears, — a faint, sad smile, still one that 
promised him love and forgiveness and 
help. She brought fresh coffee and toast, 
and coaxed him as one might coax a sick 
child to eat. 

'*I will, mother," he said at last; "only 
leave me alone to-night. Good-night 
mother. Truest, tenderest heart on earth, 
good-night. Ask God to bless me. Say 
again you love me and forgive me. Kiss 
me once more. Good-night, my own 
dearest mother, — good-night." 

He held her close, looked long in her 
face through streaming tears, kissed her 
L again and again, then turned away and 
hid his face in the pillow ; and she went 
out softly and closed the door. 

Sitting alone in the twilight, she sang 
the old hymns, one after another. She 
tried to think what she should say to her 
boy, but her thoughts only shaped them- 
selves in the familiar words — the cry for 
mercy and strength for her son. While 
she sang the moon came up, and at last 
the chime of the clock striking ten roused 
her. She pushed the door of Will's room 



open softly, and went in. His eyes were 
closed as if he were sleeping. She moved 
around, with the noiseless step taught by 
her watching in sick-rooms, putting 
everything in order. She set on the table 
fresh water, a plate of fruit, and a few 
flowers, one of Will's roses, and a spray 
or two of mignonette. 

The window was open, and the full 
moon flooded the room with white light 
Will lay full in its radiance. His mother 
knelt by the bed for a long time, her face 
hidden in the pillow on which his head 
rested, praying with a faith that would 
not be denied for the soul of her child. 
Rising at last, she looked at the face 
that, spiritualized by the touch of the 
moonbeams, seemed of almost unearthly 
beauty. She leaned over it, as if she were 
learning by heart every curve and tint ; 
the clustering short black curls, the long 
dusky lashes, and straight, thick line of 
the brows; the veined lids shut closely over 
the large dark eyes ; the white forehead 
and oval line of the cheek ; the beautiful 
curves of mouth and chin, — beautiful 
even though weak ; the silky moustache 
of early manhood ; and the strong, shapely 
hands, folded over the broad breast. 

She leaned over him, touching softly 
his hair, his cheek, his hands; kissing 
him, pressing back the tears that almost 
blinded her to look in the face that had 
no answering glance ; murmuring fond, 
foolish words to the ears that were deaf to 
her voice; saying good- night as we say 
good-bye to our dead before the coflin lid 
shuts them from our sight forever. 

She turned to leave the room, then bent 
over her boy again, and lifting a curl from 
his temple, severed it deftly; and slipping 
a pearl rosary from her wrist, twined it 
around his clasped hands; whispered once 
more her message of tenderest love, of 
fullest forgiveness ; then, with one last 
blessing, one last kiss, one last good-night, 
she went away and closed the door. 



\To be oontlnued.) 



140 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Floral Stories of Two Empires. 



When the great Napoleon was exiled to 
the island of Elba, he said to some of his 
confidential friends,"! will come back 
with the violets" ; meaning, of course, that 
he would return in the spring, as surely 
as the little purple blossoms bloomed. It 
was for this reason that his followers 
decided to use the violet for their emblem; 
and every true adherent of Napoleon wore 
a gold ring ornamented with an enamelled 
violet, and within it the motto, "It will 
come again in the spring." When they 
toasted their exiled Emperor they would 
raise their glasses and say : " To the health 
of Corporal Violet!" The signal of his 
return was to be the general wearing of 
their chosen flower. And when it was 
noised about that he had landed at 
Fr^jus, a great many flower-women were 
suddenly seen on the Paris streets, with 
large baskets of violets, for which they 
found a ready sale; for no friend of the 
first Empire was seen that day without a 
bunch of the modest little flowers in his 
buttonhole. 

But for the reason that Parisians are all 
fond of the violet, it was found necessary 
to take some precautions before addressing 
an acquaintance as one of the Bonapartist 
party; so one would say to a citizen thus 
decorated: "Do you like violets?" If he 
answered, "Oh, yes!" it showed that he 
was unaware of the conspiracy. But if he 
said, "Quite well," he would be known as 
one pledged to the Emperor's cause; and 
the first speakef would remark, "It will 
come back in the spring," and pass on. 
Every school-boy knows the sequel of 
all this planning, and what a disastrous 
home-coming the landing at Fr^jus was 
for the unfortunate Napoleon, in spite of 
the number of his friends who wore the 
violet for his sake. 

If we skip a period of history, we have 
another pretty story in which a flower 



played a part. The wars between Austria 
and France were over, and Louis Napo- 
leon, nephew of the great Emperor, was 
on the imperial throne of France. As 
the great General Niel, fresh from his 
bravely won victories, was returning to 
his beloved country, a peasant, overcome 
with admiration of his valor, begged him 
to accept a basket of yellow roses. 
Touched by this appreciation, the General 
not only received the gift, but carried the 
roses to a florist in Paris, who succeeded 
in making one of the stems take root 
and develop into a fine rose-tree. When it 
bloomed the General took it as a gift to 
the beautiful Empress Eugenie, then at 
the height of her power. 

"Truly an exquisite rose," she said. 
"But you have not told me its name, 
General. ' ' 

"Why, really, it has no name," he 
answered. 

"Then," said the Empress, with a 
roguish glance, "I will give it one. It 
shall be called the Mar^chal Niel." 

And she produced from its hiding-place 
a jewelled baton^ used only by Marshals of 
France, and handed it to the astonished 
ofiicer. 

Thus it was that a rose and a man 
received a title at the same time. 



A Sliort Road to Perfection. 



If you ask me what you are to do in 
order to be perfect, I say, first, do not be in 
bed beyond the due time of rising; give your 
first thoughts to God; make a good visit 
to the Blessed Sacrament; say the Angelus 
devoutly; eat and drink to God's glory; 
say the Rosary well; be recollected; keep 
out bad thoughts; make your evening 
meditation well; examine yourself daily; 
go to bed in good time, — and you are 
already perfect. — Cardinal Newman. 




HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS -SHALL CALL ME BLESSED.— St. Luke. I. 48. 



Vol. XXXVII. NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, AUGUST 5, 1893. 



No. 6. 



[PabUtbrfnoyBMBtd^. OepjTt|hli am.O. B BadM^C.I.a] 



Homeward. 



BV ELIZA ALLEN STARR. 



@Y 



EARY footsteps homeward faring; 
Weary shoulders homeward bent; 
Weary faces, each one wearing 
Just a touch of heart content. 



Watching thus the laborers, wending, ' 
Close at nightfall, through the gloam, 
"Lord, to each, at each day's ending, 
Grant," we pray, "a peaceful home ! " 



The Ark of the Covenant. 



BY BLLIS SCHRBIBBR. 




E read in Holy Scripture 
of two arks — the ark of 
Noe and the Ark of the 
Covenant. Both of these 
arks were made by divine 
command, expressly to be a means of 
blessing and salvation to mankind; and 
were fashioned with extreme care, in 
accordance with minute instructions and 
directions given by God Himself. Thus 
they may be said to have been His work, 
although human instrumentality was 
employed in their construction; and for 



this reason are typical of Our Lady, who 
was the special work of God's hands, 
planned in the divine counsels from all 
eternity, preserved from the taint of sin, 
enriched with graces, adorned with virtues^ 
prepared and fitted for a high and glorious 
purpose. As the ark built by Noe for 
the salvation of the human race alone • 
floated upon the surface of the waters, 
when the guilty children of Adam were 
submerged in the flood their sin had 
brought upon the world, so Mar>' alone 
escaped the deluge of universal corrup- 
tion, and became an ark of safety for 
those who have recourse to her. 

Faf more complete and perfect is the 
comparison which may be traced between 
the Ark of the Covenant — the precious and 
beautiful Ark, the greatest treasure of the 
people of Israel — and her whom Christians 
are accustomed to address under this very 
title of Foederis Area. And is not this her 
own peculiar title? Who else but Mary 
is to us the pledge of peace, the constant 
reminder of the perpetual covenant made 
by God with mankind under the New 
Dispensation, when He espoused our 
human nature and united it to His divinity? 
The description g^ven of the Ark in 
the Book of Exodus indicates its typical 
character. For as the detailed description 
of the Temple is not given merely that we 
may know the form and structure, the 
elaborate decoration of the building, or for 
the sake of glorifying the skill displayed 



142 



THE AVE MARIA. 



in its architecture — the cunning of the 
goldsmith, the handiwork of the artificer,— 
but that we may trace the mystical signifi- 
cance of every part, so the account of the 
Ark of the Covenant is not without its 
object and purpose. The Holy Spirit did 
not inspire the sacred writers to describe 
earthly glory, but to tell us the things of 
the Spirit; that from the beauty and 
fitness of the type we may learn the glory 
and excellence of the thing typified. 

We read of the Ark of the Covenant 
that it was a chest framed of setim-wood, 
overlaid with the purest gold within and 
without. It had a golden crown, and a 
cover of solid gold, which was called the 
propitiatory or mercy-seat, whereon the 
radiance of the divine glory was at times 
seen to rest Two cherubim, also of solid 
gold, were placed one on each side; their 
wings extended over the Ark, so as to form 
as it were a throne for the God of Majesty, 
of whom we are told in the Psalms that 
He sitteth upon the cherubim. What a 
beautiful representation this affords of the 
all-glorious Virgin, who is the throne of 
mercy, by whom God delights to make His 
mercy manifest to mankind, over whom 
the angels watched with jealous care and 
vigilance, covering with their wings her 
who was to be their Queen to all eternity! 

The Ark was made of the most costly 
materials and constructed with the utmost 
care, in order that it might be a fitting 
receptacle for the tables of the law, written 
by God's own hand, delivered by Him 
with all solemnity to Moses on the cloudy 
summit of Mount Sinai. Mary, the mystical 
ark, was prepared from all ages for the 
unspeakable dignity of receiving the great 
Law-Giver Himself, and sheltering Him 
■within her sacred breast. She it was who 
gave to the world Him who came not to 
destroy but to fulfil the law, to perfect 
what was imperfect in the code of Moses, 
to complete what was unfinished. The 
Ark was plated with pure gold — the most 
precious metal — both within and without, 



to show honor to the tables of the law 
and other treasured relics it was to con- 
tain; for that which is holy is not placed 
in that which is vile. 

How much more was our spotless Mother 
adorned with every perfection when 
Almighty God deigned to prepare her 
for His own abode! "All the glory of 
the King's daughter is within, in golden 
borders," we read in the Psalms. * She is 
adorned within by that pre-eminent grace 
which is amongst virtues what gold is 
amongst metals, precious and rare — humil- 
ity, priceless in the sight of God, the 
distinguishing virtue of her who possessed 
all virtues. The Blessed Virgin mentions 
her lowliness as having been regarded by 
the Lord, — as being the chief reason why 
He chose her. His handmaiden, and made 
her a tabernacle worthy of Himself. And 
what is the outward covering of the 
Virgin-Queen? We are told that she 
stands at the King's right hand clothed 
"in gilded clothing: surrounded with 
variety." t This golden raiment wherein 
she is arrayed — her outward glory and 
brilliance — is charity. Like the seat of 
gold King Solomon made for himself, the 
midst of it covered with charity for the 
daughters of Jerusalem, this throne of 
gold, this dwelling-placeof the Most High, 
our Blessed Mother, is likewise covered 
with charity; and her charity, too, is for 
the daughters of Jerusalem. It is for us, 
for her children, that she possesses this 
covering of charity. God has bestowed 
upon her the treasures of His graces and 
the richness of her love, that they may 
overflow upon us, and distil as the dew 
from her merciful hands. The Lord created 
her that He might 'pour her out upon 
all His works, and upon all flesh according 
to His gift, and hath given her to them 
that love Him. ' X 

The sacred Ark of old was a continual 
source of blessings to the people of God. 



*Ps.,xHv, 14. t Ib.jXliv, 10. t Ecclus.,i, 10 



THE AVE MARIA. 



143 



The greatest misfortime for the Jews was 
when their enemies bereft them of it ; 
their greatest happiness when it was 
recovered and brought once more, with 
triumph and joy, into the city of David. 
Wherever it was sheltered and duly 
honored with pious devotion, its presence 
was marked by singular favors. Thus it is 
recorded in the Second Book of Kings 
(ch. 6) that "the Ark of the Lord abode 
in the house of Obededom three months; 
and the Lord blessed Obededom and all 
his household. And it was told King 
David that the Lord had blessed Obededom 
and all that he had, because of the Ark of 
God." Wherever Mary, the Hying ark, 
comes, she brings grace and blessings to 
the hearts that love and venerate her. 
When she went to visit her cousin 
Elizabeth, her presence was a source of 
benediction to the household of Zachary 
during the three months she abode there. 
At the very first words of her salutation, 
Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Ghost, 
and St. John Baptist was sanctified in his • 
mother's womb; the Incarnate Word thus 
■working, through her means, His first 
miracle in the order of grace. 

The material whereof the Ark was 
fashioned was wood, but wood of no 
common kind. It was incorruptible: the 
ravages of time had no power to make 
it decay. So it was with Mary's human 
nature: her body was not to see corruption. 
It had been preserved from the corruption 
of sin, the taint of our fallen nature; 
not redeemed, like the rest of the saints, 
from sin and Satan, but purchased, 
redeemed beforehand, to be perfect and 
immaculate; and it also was to be pre- 
served from the corruption of the gnve, 
' the penalty of sin. She was assumed 
into heaven. 

" Holy David" (we quote the words of n 
pious writer) "had a prophetic view of the 
glorious assumption of Our Lidy when 
he said: 'Arise, O Lord! into Thv resting- 
place; Thou and the ark which Thou 



hast sanctified.' * Arise, O Lord ! into 
Thy resting-place. Behold the resurrection 
and ascension of Jesus Himself, who as 
God, by His own power, raised Himself 
from the grave and went up into heavetL 
And what is the ark of His holiness but 
His own Ble.s.sed Mother, the sacred ark 
in which for nine months He reposed? It 
was meet indeed that she, who was pure 
from all sin, uncontaminated by the stain 
of our nature, the Mother of the Holy 
One, like Him should not see corruption. 
Could we for a moment think that Jesus 
would leave the spotless flesh of His 
Mother — that flesh which was in Him 
indissolubly united to the divine nature 
by the mystery of the Incarnation, — could 
we think that He would leave it to moulder 
in the grave ? Would He allow the worm 
to prey upon it? Oh, no: perish such a 
thought! When He went forth to battle 
against the enemy of our souls, and, 
'having joy proposed to Him, underwent 
the Cross,' t think you not that part of 
the joy and glorious recompense which 
His sacred humanity looked to was the 
glorification of His Most Holy Mother? 
As Jesus is made so much better than 
the angels, having inherited a more excel- 
lent name than they, t so is Mary worthy 
of a glory above that of angels and saints 
from her very title of Mother. It was 
fitting that the Mother of God should be 
exalted above all the saints in not paying 
the tribute of our nature — 'Dust thou 
art, and into dust thou shalt return.' § 
It was fitting ; for she was the Mother of 
the Most Holy, and herself immaculate 
also, and free from the slightest taint of 
sin. Therefore we piously believe that 
the Eternal Son raised His Mother from 
the grave, untouched by corruption as He 
was Himself, and placed her gloriously 
upon the highest throne of heaven, at 
His right hand." 



♦ Ps., cxxxi, 8. 
f Gen., iii, 19. 



t Heb., xii, 2. t Heb.,i,4. 



i44 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Who indeed can doubt that as the Ark 
of old was to be kept in the Holy of 
Holies, the sacred part of the Temple, 
■where none save the officiating priest 
was permitted to enter, so Mary, when 
assumed into heaven, was placed upon a 
throne of glory near to the throne of God? 
The Beloved Apostle had a vision of this 
sublime mystery, which all the redeemed 
will one day behold. He saw the temple 
of God, the dwelling-place of the Holy 
Trinity, opened in heaven, "and the ark of 
His testament was seen in His temple. . . . 
And there appeared a great wonder in 
heaven: a Woman clothed with the sun, 
and the moon under her feet, and on her 
head a crown of twelve stars. " * For, after 
the supreme and ineffable Trinity, the 
heavenly palace hath nothing worthier, 
nothing fairer than thee, O Foederis Area / 
Thou art the Daughter, the Mother, 
•the Spouse of the Most High God. 



The Vocation of Edward Conway. 

BY MAURICE FRANCIS KGAN. 

XXIX.— In Agony. 

COLONEL CARTON relapsed into his 
.stupor, leaning his head upon his 
ivory-handled stick. Giles threw himself 
into the wide basket chair near him, and 
watched him as a mother watches a sick 
child. He seemed to be asleep. The fire 
in the grate — the evening had turned 
chilly — appeared to be the only live thing 
in the room, which had grown sombre in 
the deepening twilight. 

The Colonel suddenly raised his head. 

"I must have been asleep, Giles," he 
said; "for I forgot for a little while." 

Giles rose, but did not speak. His 
father dropped his head into his hands 



Apoc, xi, 19; xii, I. 



again. Giles sat there, asking himself 
whether any agony could be greater than 
his. Had any man ever been hurled in so 
short a time from contentment, which 
knew not even a shade of fear, to an abyss 
of terror and shame? A few weeks ago 
and his friends might have said, as they 
had said of Longfellow at one time: 
"Any change must be for the worse." 
Now any change — yes, even his father's 
death, which during all his life he had 
most dreaded — would be for the better. 

He had exhorted others to pray and 
to be resigned : now he seemed to be 
possessed of a dumb devil. He could not 
pray. Up to this" time he had thought 
himself to be sincere in all the exhor- 
tations he had made to others to bear 
their crosses; but in all the congregation 
to which he had ministered there had 
been no cross like this. His father a 
murderer, on his own confession ; he 
doomed to a future without Bernice! 
How small the causes of their earlier 
differences — for they had quarrelled once 
or twice — seemed now! Even, as he 
looked back, it appeared to him that the 
matter of their great breach was not so 
hopeless a thing as it first seemed. After 
all, he could have remedied that. A man's 
faults can be corrected, if he wills it 
But the dark results of them are difierent. 
He could, he said to himself, have tried 
to realize Bernice' s ideal. How could he 
undo the awful consequences of his act of 
indecision? In other difficulties there had 
always been some room for hope; in this 
there could be no hope. 

Life henceforth must be a great dread. 
Giles shivered, and nervously stretched 
out his hands for help, as he thought of 
the scandal which would be sure to follow 
Ward's revelation. He could only do his 
best to prevent this by getting his father 
out of the country as soon as possible; 
and after that a life of exile^ even if Ward 
could be hushed up! Not only would there 
follow a life of exile, but he would live 



THE AVE MARIA. 



146 



with the bitter knowledge that Bernice 
Conway could never be his wife. Edward 
Conway had behaved like a man; he was 
grateful to him; he would not be unworthy 
of Bernice, — but it was all too bitter to 
[ think about. Giles had never put a high 
value on wealth; he had never been poor, 
so he had no illusions concerning it. But 
in this time of intense agony he found a 
consolation in the thought that he could 
buy a refuge for his father somewhere. 
Exile was repugnant to him; he had lived 
too much abroad not to be anxious to live 
at home. There was no help for it: he 
must find a city of refuge. 

His father aroused himself again. 

/* Giles!" he said. 

Giles jumped at once from his chair. 

' ' Shall I get you a glass of sherry, 
father?" 

"No," the Colonel said. "Do you 
remember how proud Dion Conway was 
of his Amontillado? Dion had good 
points, but what a temper! Well," he 
added, with a long sigh, "he is dead. 
Giles, have you ever done anything in 
your life which you regret intensely, — 
which you can never repair?" 

"I regret, above all things, my hesita- 
tion on that night If I had only gone 
to Willie Ward!" 

' ' Nonsense, Giles ! ' ' said the Colonel, 
with' some of his old fire. "What good 
could you have done? Spread the small- 
pox? I am quite sure that if 'you had 
believed, as the Catholic priest believes, 
that your presence was necessary, you 
would have gone at once. It wasn't worth 
your while risking your life just to read 
the Bible to that boy, was it? His mother 
could have done it as well. It taught you 
a lesson, Giles. I've noticed that since 
then you haven't gone in so much for 
aping the Romanists." 

Giles' color rose. 

"We never meant to 'ape,' as you like 
to put it. I have always been anxious 
for the truth, father, I have never been 



insincere, nor have I meant to make a toy 
of religion." 

The Colonel raised his head higher. A 
man can bear only a certain amount of 
wretchedness; he collapses after a time, 
or he revives and faces, or forgets for the 
moment. Besides, the Colonel saw his 
son's suffering; and, being in reality the 
stronger man of the two, he wanted to 
divert his thoughts from it. 

"Well," he said, with a keen glance at 
his son, "I was never much of a religious 
man myself. Predestination stopped me 
short. At Chancellorsville I was badly 
knocked out by a stray bullet from the 
woods; and there was a priest came to 
me, because somebody told him I was a 
Romanist I struck him on predestination; 
but he said that prayer was better than 
argument, and left me for a young private 
who had a leg shot off. * If prayer ever does 
anything for me,' I shouted after him, 'I'll 
be a Christian.' He waved his hand. He 
died of cholera in Memphis afterward. 
No, Giles: you couldn't be of any more 
use to Willie Ward than you are to me, — I 
mean as a priest" 

Giles did not answer; he felt that it 
was trtie. A dark, sullen feeling of despair 
was creeping over him. He aroused 
himself to answer his father; if this mood 
could be encouraged, the Colonel might 
be persuaded to go away. 

" I don't see my way clear," Giles 
said. "I begin to feel that, in spite of the 
foreign ways, the Roman Church may 
be right, after all. I took to the Anglican 
fonn, you know, father, because I needed 
a settled belief; and who can help loving 
the English ways when one's mother and 
all one's ancestors were English ? The 
vestments and all the ceremonial appeared 
beautiful to me when they came through 
English hands. But in France and Italy 
and here in America they seemed foreign. 
It is a matter of prejudice ; and since I 
have suffered I see it so. But I have never 
been insincere, nor are the people with 



146 



THE AVE MARIA 



whom I prayed and longed for the Light 



insincere 



It always seemed very queer to me 
and amusing, too," said the Colonel. "You 
and the other Ritualists seemed like a lot 
of young lieutenants done up in aigulettes, 
playing at being soldiers ; and there near 
you was the old grizzled Roman Church, 
like a powder-scarred general. Dion Con- 
way and I often laughed about it." 

"If Catholics laughed and jeered less 
at us," said Giles, bitterly, "and helped 
more to make us know^vf^ should perhaps 
understand more quickly. Who thinks 
that Dr. Newman was insincere when he 
wrote 'Lead, Kindly Light'? It is not 
Christlike, father. Some of us like the 
fashion of the thing, some of us like the 
beauty of the worship, but most of us are 
tired of the husks of Protestantism and 
long for the Sacraments. Even Father 
Haley made a joke at me one day; but 
no man has been kinder since I asked 
him if ridicule ever made a convert." 

The Colonel groaned ; the remembrance 
of his position came upon him again. 

"O Giles!" he said,— "O dear boy, I 
can not endure this! I would kill myself, 
if it were not for the scandal. You go! — 
you change your name, and begin life 
somewhere, and leave me here. Ward hates 
me, and he won't be silent long. And I 
wonder what Tim Conway knows? He's 
prowling about somewhere. I wish I could 
see your Father Haley. He might help 
me. These Roman priests wouldn't shrink 
from you, if you said you'd killed a man. 
They hear all sorts of horrors; they know 
what human nature is." 

Giles knelt near his father's chair and 
put his arms about him. 

"Father," he said, "we can bear it 
together. We shall never part. There's 
some consolation in that." 

"What! In your mined life, in a dis- 
graced name? Your love," said his father, 
lowering his voice, "is a consolation and 
an affliction. Giles, I could bear it better 



if I had no son. To have my boy called 
the son of a — " 

The Colonel put his hand on Giles* 
shoulder, and a great sob seemed to tear 
and rend his breast. Giles put his aims 
closer around him, and held him as if he 
were a little child. 

"I will go anywhere, Giles, — anywhere 
with you, since there is no other way," 
the Colonel muttered. 

"Thank God!" Giles said. "And 
to-night. Say a prayer, father, — just a 
little prayer." 

His father's face had so changed that 
Giles feared he was dying. 

"A prayer? What for?" asked the 
Colonel. "God can't put life in the dead, — 
and that's all I care for now. I will go 
to-night — anywhere ! But I must see 
Bernice Conway first. I must speak to 
her. I must tell her the truth, and she 
will forgive me. Poor little Bernice! — 
to think what I've done to her! Giles," 
he added, sharply, "go — send the carriage 
for Bernice at once. / will not go until 
I see her." 

Giles went out to obey. There was no 
help for it. He hastily wrote a note to 
Lady Tyrrell, and gave it to the coachman. 

"My father wants to see Bernice alone 
for a moment. The carriage is waiting." 

Fifteen minutes later, Bernice stepped 
into the brougham. When she threw 
back her wrap and advanced, with a face 
full of womanly pity, toward his father, 
Giles thought he had never seen, outside 
of some of the old pictures, a more lovely 
face. His father made a motion, and Giles 
left them together. 

When Giles went back again, his father 
was standing, pale, silent, even more 
broken and older than before, in front of 
the fire. The lamps were lit, and Bernice 
sat in the shadow, with her hand screening 
her face from the light. 

"She has forgiven me,*' the Colonel 
said. "I have told her all. She says she 
understands ; she says she knows that I 



THE AVE MARIA. 



147 



would not wilfully hurt my old friend." 
"I understand," Bernice said, rising. 
**I can only believe and pray. I do forgive 
you with all my heart ; for I know he 
would want me to do so. We shall not meet 
again, Colonel," she added, lowering her 
voice: "let us kneel together and say 
'Our Father.'" 

*' What is the use of praying?" asked 
the Colonel, desperately. "It can't bring 
the dead to life, and that's all I want" 

But Bernice took his hand in hers, and 
began the "Our Father." He sank to his 
knees ; and she, kneeling now, went on 
with the prayer, "Forgive us our trespasses, 
as we forgive those who trespass against 
us." The Colonel followed her; and when 
Bernice added that other prayer she had 
just learned, ending with the words, "Pray 
for us now and at the hour of our death," 
Giles joined with all his heart. 

The Colonel touched the hand Bernice 
gave him timidly with his. Giles lifted 
the curtain as she was about to pass out. 
"Wait," she said: "there is somebody 
coming in. We may never see each other, 
Giles," she went on, tremulously, — "we 
may never see each other again. You may 
forget, but I never will. Had I been more 
tolerant and more loving, this could not 
have happened. O Giles, I know it is 
hard, — but good-bye!" 

A man pushed past them into the 
room; he had just been admitted. 

The Colonel started from his place. 
The man, dressed in a gray suit, advanced 
into the circle of the liglit. 

"Tim Conway — " began the Colonel, 
trembling. 

"No," said a voice he knew: "it is 
Dion Conway !" 

Bernice threw herself into her father's 
arms. 

"The dead," said Colonel Carton, 
turning as if dazed to his son, "have 
come back to life! Is it true, Giles, — is it 
true? Am I dreaming* again?" 

(To be continued.) 



Views of Education.* 



BY THB RIGHT RBV. J. uLnCASTBR SPALDING. D. D. 

•Tis in the advance of individual minds that the alow 
crowd shuuld ground their expecution c\-entually to 
follow. — Browning. 

I. 

THE popular idea of education is that it 
is a process whereby the young are 
fashioned into money-earning machines. 
Whether the machine be called an artisan, 
a merchant, a lawyer or a physician is of 
minor importance. The ideal of the State 
is good citizenship, the ideal of the Church 
is Christian obedience; but where shall 
we find a school which simply aims to 
bring all the scholar's endowments into 
free, full and harmonious play? Who 
understands that man is more than a 
money-earning machine, more than a citi- 
zen, more than a member of a church, 
being nothing less than a son of God, who 
is infinitely strong,all-knowing, all-loving, 
all-fair? Go boldly forward along the 
path thy inmost heart feels to have been 
made for thee, nor stop to ask whither it 
lead. The way is thine, the end is in God's 
keeping. Education is emancipation: it 
breaks down the prison walls in which the 
soul is immured, takes it into the light, and 
bids it soar through the boundless universe, 
upborne on the wings of truth and love. 
Every organism holds within itself the 
seed of something better than itself, for 
the infinite God lives within and broods 
over all. To remain stationary is hardly 
better than death; imitation is a kind of 
servitude; the unfolding and upbuilding 
of one's own being is life and liberty. 
Political liberty is not freedom: it is, at 
the best, but opportunity to make one's 
self free. An enlightened mind is a sanct- 
uary where no tyrant may enter. There 
the Eternal stands guard. He who leads 

• A paper read before the World's Congress of 
Representative Youth, in Chicago, July i8, 1893. 



148 



THE AVE MARIA. 



the miud to new worlds or to new ways 
of contemplating God and the universe is 
a general benefactor^ whose life-enlarging 
influence all who think shall feel. The 
tendency which is in things and times 
requires the shaping and guiding hand of 
great personalities to turn it to human 
purposes and ends. An original force is 
from God and without inner limitation. 
Its boundaries can be fixed only by its 
environment. Repression inevitably turns 
to evil, and the teacher does best work 
when he wisely stimulates and directs the 
energies of his pupils. The best school 
is that which best helps the free- and 
healthful development of each one's indi- 
vidual endowments; which best enables 
the youth to become such a man as God 
and nature intend him to be, not such a 
one as another's whim would make him. 
He whom the wanderer's heart drives to 
far lands, saddens his friends who love to 
stay at home; he whom a divine thirst 
for truth impels ever into new regions of 
thought, grieves his near ones whom con- 
ventional opinions satisfy. To become an 
ethical fact, to have moral worth, knowl- 
edge must pass into action. When scholars 
become doers, the new order will begin. 
In the presence of whatever system of 
thought, ask yourself whether it can be 
made a rule of life ; for life, and not 
speculation, is the test of truth. 

Our educators take advantage of the 
ignorance and inexperience of the young 
to draw them away from true ideals. 
They educate with a view to institutions, 
and not with a view to the Eternal. 
Their idea of truth is that it is a conven- 
tional something ; their God is current 
opinion. The preservation of institutions 
can never be the end for which we educate. 
On the contrary, a right education would 
form a race which would create for itself 
a higher and nobler environment than 
any we know. Individuality of power and 
culture is the ideal each one should strive 
to attain. Each soul, worth calling a soul, 



comes into this world unlike all other 
souls, and the urgency of God and nature 
within it cries out: Be thyself, not another. 
Do the work, speak the word thou wast 
born to do and speak. God makes each 
one; the inner voice each one hears is 
God's; become God's man, and let God's 
word find embodiment in the air thou 
coinest into human speech. Be not a 
machine to utter again what others have 
said: be an aboriginal soul, alive in God, 
acting and speaking from out the infinite 
source of all things. It is not conceivable 
that God should wish to dwarf or paralyze 
human activity. Let no lesser power, then, 
bid us keep reason and conscience in 
abeyance. 

Public opinion is a tyrant, who would 
make men cowards and hypocrites ; and 
it is so easy to make them cowards and 
hypocrites. That which dwarfs or darkens 
our being, though it should bring bound- 
less wealth or endless fame, is simply 
evil. For what life-period do we educate? 
Childhood and youth are sacrificed to 
manhood, manhood to old age, which, for 
the few who reach it, is made miserable 
by this vicious philosophy. Strong, free 
and joyous self-activity, during the whole 
course of life, can alone develop high, 
gracious and noble njen and women. 
Whoever or whatever impedes thought 
and love is evil. Once we accept repres- 
sion as a legitimate principle, there is no 
degradation to which we may not descend. 
Uniformity and equality are possible only 
when the play of man's, nobler faculties 
is hindered. Why should we think it 
desirable to make all men alike since 
God makes them unlike, and since the 
more truly they are alive the greater 
their unlikeness becomes? Passion is the 
surging of life's current, and the effort to 
weaken or destroy it is an attempt on 
life. The wise educator %eeks not to 
lessen passion, but to increase the intel- 
lectual and moral power by which it may 
be controlled. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



149 



Life is the supreme good, and whatever 
lowers or impoverishes it is evil. God 
can not place Himself above truth, and a 
real mind would not suffer dictation from 
a parliament of mankind. Live not in a 
great city, for a great city is a mill which 
grinds all grain into flour. Go there to 
get money or to preach repentance, but 
go not there to make thyself a nobler 
man. The tendency to place education — 
elementary education at least — almost 
wholly in the hands of women is wrong. 
The educator's secret lies in the power to 
stimulate, and this power man possesses in 
a very much greater degree than woman. 
He is the active, she the passive principle. 
The result of the social evolution, of 
the reign of democracy, seems to be the 
destruction of the finer varieties and the 
formation of a homogeneous mass of 
coarse fibre. The making use of human 
beings as means 'rather than ends is 
immoral. In this lies the condemnation 
of our industrialism. 

The decisive inequalities are those of 
mind and heart. The great dividing line 
is that which separates the wise from the 
foolish. All work is like a task set a child: 
its chief worth lies in the exercise it 
compels, in the education it gives. The 
truth we seek more than that which we 
possess rouses and educates our powers. 
The temper in which we face the intelli- 
gible universe, rather than the power with 
which we deal with its problems, is the 
test of mental character. Look at the 
world in the pure light of thy own reason, 
and not through the medium of books 
and systems. He whose superiority rests 
upon inner excellence may say to his 
fellowmen: Provide for me while I feed 
your minds and souls. To do work one 
loves is to be happy. Blessed is he who 
having found the highest thing he is able 
to do gives his life to the task. 

All opinions may be entertained except 
those which weaken and dishearten. The 
test of the worth of a living faith in God 



is the strength it gives, the courage it 
inspires. The objection to culture is that 
it opens up a world of delightful views, 
in which we rest, feeling that action is 
vain. If our whole nature consciously 
bathed in the being of God, we should not 
only be purer and holier, but we should 
have more talent, more genius, more 
ability of every kind. To believe this is 
something, to know and feel it is joy, 
strength and freedom. To make the mind 
the mirror of all that is, is not enough: 
we must blend with all that is, love it, 
recreate it, and make it our own. They 
who bring the noblest gifts, bring them to 
merr too dull to know their worth; and 
years, centuries sometimes, pass before the 
divinely great are understood. An original 
sinner more readily finds pardon than an 
original thinker. What we are decides 
our tastes, — it is well with the mole in its 
burrow, it is well with the swine in its 
trough. The crowd are willing to pro- 
scribe the culture and virtue which are a 
reproach to them; their hatred is a form 
of envy. Men are not equal, and were 
they so, there would be no hope of better 
things. The multitude move, and have 
always moved, in a world of low thoughts 
and desires; and the few who, daring to 
be unlike the many, rise to higher modes 
of life, are the benefactors and civilizers 
by whom progress is made p>ossible. The 
doctrine of equality is a prejudice of the 
weak and ignorant, whose conceit per- 
suades them that none are strong and wise. 
The best are corrupted and disheartened 
by the crowd who have neither knowledge 
nor courage. Whatever the compound, 
the chemical elements are the same; and 
among savages and barbarians the indi- 
vidual is but an atom, an undistinguished 
part of a homogeneous mass. Hence the 
measure of the progress of the individual 
is the firmness and distinctness with 
which he stands for himself alone. 

The only right opposition to inequality 
is universal opportunity for the best 



160 



THE AVE MARIA. 



education. The fundamental law is the 
promotion of God-given endowments; and 
in a wisely ordered state there should be 
those whose office would require them to 
seek for the best talent, and to give it the 
best nurture, that no original power might 
be hindered from unfolding itself. Love 
of company is a chief obstacle to improve- 
ment. We can not remain alone ; and 
when we are together we bore, stupefy 
and corrupt one another. We meet to 
sink into the lower life of eating and 
drinking, of gossip and play. To be fit to 
be alone is the first condition of progress. 
Another obstacle is the labor to which the 
multitude are condemned. Their work is 
like the alcohol and tobacco it enables 
them to buy: it is a deadening of sensa- 
tion, a refuge from consciousness, a partial 
escape from life. Thus the many are 
bestialized that the few may keep company, 
eat, drink, and dawdle. Were there now 
some inspired hero to go through the 
world re-uttering the psalmist's cry, "In 
my indignation I said, every man is a 
liar," the echo from all hearts would be: 
We know it. But only fools tell the whole 
truth. Even the pious will never under- 
stand that it is better men should lose 
faith than that a lie be told. He who 
should stand with perfectly frank open- 
heartedness before the public would now 
be looked upon as lacking mental balance. 
He would be like one who, single and 
defenceless, presents himself to an armed 
and angry mob. 

Is it not the tendency of democracy to 
make men insincere and hypocritical, 
since when the law makes all equal, the 
able resort to cunning and deceit to 
assert their superiority? What the barons 
accomplished by brute force, our successful 
men reach by smartness. Genius is best 
sense, and its essential quality is sincerity. 
It is fidelity to fact, to the thing seen and 
felt. It is the great educator, and teachers 
who lack genius do their best work when 
they bring their pupils into sympathetic 



communion with the masterpieces of crea- 
tive minds. When a youth first gives his 
heart to some hero, who to him seems 
Godlike, he enters the vestibule of the 
temple of culture. How many of the best 
and bravest has not Plutarch made con- 
scious of the divinity within them ! The 
lives of warriors — "of those who waged 
contention with their time's decay" — are 
alone worthy to be written. Let popular 
men sink into oblivion with the populace 
that made them. 

The worth of striving depends not upon 
the success, but upon the fidelity and 
perseverance with which we continue to 
hope and labor. The stayer wins whether 
the weapons be brawn or brains. Intel- 
lectual insight is the purest ray that falls 
from heaven, and they who seek to break 
or obscure its light with the grime and 
smoke of prejudice and passion are the 
devil's minions. Knowledge problems are 
but a small part of education. Man is not 
pure intellect: he is life; and life is power, 
goodness, wisdom, joy, beauty, health, 
yearning, faith, hope, love, action. Make 
your man a mere science machine, and 
what more is he than an animal that 
measures, weighs and calculates? When 
you have told me all that is known about 
the atoms and stars, you have brought to 
my notice but lifeless facts, whereas I 
crave for truth — truth athrill with life. 
The perfect man is not merely a knower 
and thinker, but he is also one who lays 
hold on life and does as well as he thinks. 

The test of the value of learning is its 
effect upon the conduct of life. There is a 
right and a wrong faith, but what we 
believe determines character less than the 
force and intensity with which we believe. 
Hope may quicken or may deaden the 
soul. He whose main hope is that he shall 
die rich has begun to dig the grave of his 
nobler faculties. What we ye^rn for is the 
test of our civilization. If material ends 
are our ideals, we are no bet'ter than bar- 
barians. When we are unable to believe in 



THE AVE MARIA. 



161 



the divinity of love, the source of life runs 
dry within us, and our life withers like 
a tree whose root has been cut. Love 
beautiSes, hate distorts the object we 
contemplate. That man is God's son is a 
noble faith, but one which daily contact 
with human beings tends to destroy; and 
they who, in spite of disenchanting ex- 
perience, continue really to hold this faith 
live the life of Christ. The liberty which 
is favorable to high and heroic personal- 
ities is the best. Priceless things alone are 
good — genius, holiness, heroism, faith, 
hope and love. What has a price has small 
value. The past was not what it appears 
to us to have been; the future will not be 
like anything we can imagine; the present 
is ours, and we should use it to do the 
highest which through us is possible. 

An encyclopaedia is not the book a wise 
student chooses for purposes of self-culture ; 
a man whose brain cells are stored with 
innumerable facts is not the kind of teacher 
an enlightened educator selects for the 
training of young minds. The teacher's 
value lies more in what he is than in what 
he knows; and bookworms are, as a rule, 
incompetent educators. The sublimest 
emotions take us nearer to God, to. the inner 
heart of being, than intellectual vifews. 
Hence literature, poetry above all, the 
child of the exalted moods which the 
sympathetic contemplation of the Infinite 
and of Nature creates, has greater educa- 
tional value than science. God and His 
universe are more than all our facts. 
Wouldst thou go to the relief of the 
unhappy? Give them courage, faith, hope 
and love, — not money, but a new heart 

In literature and in works of science 
there is a revelation of the best thoughts 
and the most accurate knowledge the 
greatest minds have possessed; but the 
revelation is for those alone who make 
themselves capable of receiving it: from 
the rest it is hidden. In literature, as in 
all things spiritual, quality is everything, 
quantity goes for nothing. A phrase 



outweighs whole volumes. He who seeks 
to become wise should have leisure, and 
often be alone with the noble dead, who 
for enlightened minds live again as friends 
and helpers. From the day Alexander 
crossed the Hellespont to conquer the 
world until now, superior intelligence and 
courage have triumphed over numbers. 
Majorities do not rule: they are but 
weapons in the hands of a wise and high- 
spirited or a cunning and corrupt minority. 
They who feel the need of belonging to 
the majority know not the infinite worth 
of truth and love. 

The imperfectly educated mind is fond ■ 
of controversy, as rude natures take delight 
in quarrels. When a thought comes 
fasten it with the pen, as you hang a 
picture on the wall. Thou art taller than I? 
I will plant a grain of maize, whose tassel 
in three months shall overtop my head ; 
but I am more than the stalk. Art 
stronger? A yearling bull is too, yet I am 
more than it. Hast higher .place? So has 
yonder eagle on his jutting crag, but mind 
outsoars the reach of wings. Art wiser 
and nobler? I bow to thee and am thy 
serv'^ant: be thou my master. If thy influ- 
ence be evil, desire that it perish ; if it be 
good, the wise and virtuous will wish it 
to survive. He whom notoriety intoxicates 
is a vulgar fellow: the love of fame itself 
is an infirmity; Godlike is he alone who 
lives for truth and love. The multiplicity 
and emptiness of books bring concise and 
pregnant writing into favor; as the increase 
of knowledge, rendering the compassing of 
it by one man, even in a single science, 
impossible, drives the learned into special- 
ties. The thoughts which as we write 
them seem warm and glowing as the 
heart's blood, look cold and dead on the 
printed page. They are like guests who 
still remain when the song and dance are 
done, when the flowers have faded and the 
lights are out. 

An important end of education is to 
render us conscious of our ignorance; for 



152 



THE AVE MARIA 



this consciousness will impel us to seek 
knowledge. A new truth which oflfends 
our habitual thinking hurts like a blow. 
It is as when we heedlessly strike the 
foot against a stone, and grow indignant, 
not because we were careless, but because 
it was lying there. Culture alone can 
overcome this unwillingness to accept 
unpleasant truths. All things that are 
done are done in time, and our ill success 
is often due to the belief that we can 
accomplish at once what only time can 
bring about. The best work is done 
by hard work. All men have the right 
to know whatever is true, to love what- 
ever is fair, and to do whatever is good; 
and the aim and end of education is to 
help them to all this. We all live in 
the midst of a paradise which might be 
ours, but which for most of us is hopelessly 
lost. They who make pastimes life- 
occupations, whatever their titles and 
possessions, are but vulgar triflers. When 
an idea or a sentiment takes hold of a 
people and gains such sway as to impel 
them to heroic enterprise, it exalts, ennobles 
and civilizes; it issues in deeds which 
mark historic epochs, and remain as 
imperishable evidence of the creative force 
of enthusiastic faith in the worth of truth 
and love. In individuals also the purifying 
and strengthening influence of persistent 
devotion to intellectual and moral ideals 
manifests itself in new power of thought 
and fresh delight in life. 

Suggestion is an educational force of 
the first importance; for the mind is quick 
to respond to intimations rightly made, 
but grows listless and inattentive when 
truth is made plain. The suggester excites 
curiosity and sets reason and imagination 
to work, while the demonstrator puts us 
to sleep. Prove as little as possible, but 
set the young dogs on the scent of what 
you would have them run down. What- 
ever starts the play of the intellectual 
imagination is profitable and delightful. 
The pleasure and instruction we find in 



a poem or a painting, a building or an 
oration, are due largely to the power with 
which they compel the mind to exercise 
itself He who provokes multitudes, who 
forces them to recognize that their conceit 
is but a form of ignorance, hypocrisy or 
vulgarity, is a benefactor, but the adulators 
of the people are confidence men. Where 
there is right education the future need 
not be considered; for each hour brings 
its reward of fairer and richer life. The 
maxim, sufficient for the day is the evil 
thereof, applies also to the good. Do now 
the best thou canst do. This is thy whole 
business, and the rest may be left to God. 

(Conclusion in our next number,) 



A Legend of St. Dominic. 



BY MARY EWZABETH BI,AKE. 



jNCE, in the days when faith was sun 

of life, 

Fixed ever in its firmament, though screen 
Of darkness veiled, or cloud might intervene. 
And all its humble daily paths were rife 
With odor of sweet sanctity, it fell 
That' worn with prayer and from long penance 

faint, 
Sat with his brethren Dominic the Saint; 
Waiting the welcome summons of the bell 
To break their morning fast; for now the sun 
Three hours beyond its noontide course had 

run. 

In holy speech and holier silence sped 
The lagging time, until the brothers twain 
Who sought for alms — and sought, alas! in 

vain — 
Returned with empty hands. "One loaf of 

bread, 
O Master! — one poor loaf, and nothing more, 
For all our pleading would the townfolk give 
To those who by the gifts of love must live. 
And as but now we reached the;, convent door, 
A starving beggar loud for food did call 
In God's dear name; and lo!'we gave him 

all." 



r 

•^"Now praised be He who granted ye such 

E grace," 

Spake Dominic, "as thus to read His will, 
And, hung^, give to one more hungry still! " 
Then, with a smile that lit the sombre place: 
' ' Come now, my brothers ; since He deems 

it fit 
That root nor crust within the pantry stored 
Is left to place upon the frugal board, 
Let us in our accustomed places sit, 
And drink a cup of water; while with prayer 
The soul makes up the body's lacking fare." 

But scarce about the table were they met, 
Than the dark room grew fair with sudden 

light ; 
And two came in with shining garments 

white. 
Who at each hand a wheaten loaf did set. 
With one full cup of wine, which in the 

midst, . 
Before the Saint, they placed. Then vanishing, 
They were not; but such fragrance left as 

spring 
Doth waft when little flowers are open kissed; 
While every head, in lowly reverence bent. 
Did bless the I/)rd, and eat whereof He sent. 

Three days the gracious manna fed their 

needs. 
Three days the brimming cup from lip to lip 
Did pass; nor lesser grew, though each might 

sip 
_Its temperate cheer. Then, taking pious heed 
charity's sweet law, the food they gave 
^o want more pitiful; which could not feel 
leir heavenly trust, nor know that faith can 

heal, 
Tor that believing souls can lift and save. 
Juch tender love the Master did bestow 
Dominic, His servant, here below. 



THE AVE MARIA. 163 

Memories of Hawaii. 



The Church in the midst of the world 

the bush that burned with fire and was 

lot consumed. The stem of the bush is 

iveloped in flame, and the fire which is 

inding about it spreads through every 

ranch and reaches to every spray; but 

le bush is imperishable, because it is 

God. — Cardinal Manning. 



BY CHARLBS WA&RSN STODDARD. 

VI. — A Village and a Half. 

WHEN a village is as small as a village 
dares to be, and yet within three 
miles of it there is a settlement still 
smaller, may I not refer to them jointly 
as a village and a half? The inhabitants 
of neither would approve of it; but these 
are studies of life on an island in the 
Hawaiian Archipelago, and for truth's sake 
I must not spare the feelings of the good 
people who dwell there, and want to pride 
themselves on that fact 

She is very prim and very pretty, this 
rustic hamlet, when seen from the deck 
of the Kilauea Hou^ off Kahului, fresh 
from her shower-bath of recent rain, and 
shining in the morning light • She is 
very pretty, indeed; but with a touch of 
New England primness, that scarcely 
harmonizes with the half-savage beauty 
of the mountain and the gorges that have 
brought her many a transient guest 

It may be said of Wailuku — and this 
is between you and me and the post — 
that the early bird, hastening inland 
from Maalaea, the God-forsaken, at some 
unearthly hour, finds not so much nor so 
little as a worm to break his fast withal; 
and that, though he were sworn, he could 
not for the life of him tell just at what 
moment the cacti cease from troubling, 
and the settlement begins. 

There is a street that starts off well 
enough, with a hall of justice on the one 
hand, and a church with a veritable spiked 
spire on the other; yet no sooner has one 
taken heart at discovering a lodging-house 
and an art gallery, than one plunges 
headlong into rival Chinese restaurants. 

Turn to your left, and you find the 
umbrageous shade of gardens, and see 
the steep roofs of a quaint building or 



154 



THE AVE MARIA. 



two that antedate the age of modern con- 
veniences. They came around the Horn, 
no doubt — wee windows, rose-embowered 
*' stoop," and seven or more gables, just 
as they were shipped from a land where 
witches were burned in other days for 
looking and acting less queer than these 
habitations dare to look and act to-day. 

On your right there is a post-office — and 
a brand-new one, too; and then, for a few 
paces, there are shops on both sides of the 
street — Main Street if you please; but 
after that the buildings range themselves 
in single file upon one side of the way, and 
stare blandly at the leagues of waving 
cane that stretch out toward the sand-hills 
which form a near horizon. There are 
modest homesteads, with a small English 
chapel in their midst, a watch-mender and 
a smithy lower down, and at the foot of 
the gentle incline there is something in 
the air that tells you you are approaching 
the busy mart The next instant you turn 
the corner, and lo ! the Forum on market- 
day ! If you had followed Main Street but 
a step farther, you would have lost sight 
of the town; for it would have been all 
at your back. 

The Forum of Wailuku — a brown street 
embedded in reddish-brown dust, flanked 
by two rows of small buildings with an 
original angle to every roof ; shops, bill- 
iard-rooms, coffee-houses, stand shoulder 
to shoulder, while a brilliant barber-pole 
enlivens the vista; troops of men and 
beasts flock in the middle distance. Flower, 
fruit and fish stalls on one side of the street 
are offset by a score of itinerant venders of 
similar wares, squatted upon the grassy 
slope over the way. 

The lamented lyaureate might trace his 
*' murmur of innumerable bees" to the 
Forum of Wailuku on market-day, albeit 
the busy ones are only busy idling, and are 
evidently wingless; full half their day is 
spent in inhaling odors and exchanging 
gossip for gossip with all the mouths 
within ear-shot. 



Would you have a handful of green and 
juiceless peaches about the size of almonds, 
or a netful of guavas cool from some 
mountain vale, or mangoes fat and over- 
ripe, the last of the lot? They are yours, 
and half the Forum will turn to bear 
witness that the same are cheap and 
desirable. 

There are melons yonder, and a broken 
dozen of eggs; here are fish, a fowl or two, 
together with a single claw of bananas, 
and as many oranges as a well man 
could squeeze dry before breakfast, — all 
held at a tolerably high figure; but, then, 
there are so many willing hands to pass 
them out for inspection, and such a wealth 
of smiles thrown in, that the bargain is 
irresistible. Waver even for a moment, 
and you may go your way with the coin 
of the kingdom. It is all the same to 
these merry merchants. 

If the love of money is the root of 
all evil, then the root has not entered the 
Hawaiian heart; and I, for one, notwith- 
standing some inconveniences, am glad of it. 

And the lions of Wailuku — where are 
they, I wonder? There in the Catholic 
mission, in the lower angle of the town, 
with its picturesque chapel — no one 
knows how picturesque till he has looked 
within it on a feast-day ; and there is the 
thriving school of the Brothers of Mary, 
and the hospital of the serene Sisters ; 
and lower down is the railway station and 
the Kahului turnpike. Under the hill 
that shelters the Mission are the tombs of 
the departed ; and yonder is that living 
sepulchre, the sea. Where, indeed, are 
the lions of Wailuku? 

There is Main Street, that extricates 
itself from a cornfield to run up hill and 
take a lover's leap into the mouth of the 
famous lao Valley ; and High Street, 
that begins bravely, but gets discouraged 
in a single square ; and Market Street, 
which is the Forum, but even this dips 
suddenly into the brawling Luku — or 
would but for the long bridge, over which 



THE AVE MARIA. 



156 



It is a crime punishable by law to pass 
faster than a walk. 

As for the other streets, whose names 
I have never heard breathed above a 
whisper, it is like cutting across lots to 
go through them ; in fact, it may also be 
said of Wailuku that she is minus her 
suburbs, and that one has only to climb 
over a fence to get into space. Perhaps it 
is providential that it is so. 

They were sitting on the veranda when 
I passed up the street the other day — 
some of the representatives of the town, 
male and female; they were still sitting 
there when I returned hours afterward; 
they will be sitting there when next I 
awaken the echoes of Wailuku with the 
sound of an unfamiliar footfall. 

It is a gentle life they lead. The even 
tenor of their way is broken only at 
respectable intervals — as, for instance, 
when the Kilauea Hou comes to port, or 
as, in the course of time, the primitive 
train rolls into the primitive Wailuku 
station. Then there is a charge of com- 
paratively empty expresses through the 
drowsy village streets. This is but the 
distraction of the moment; anon you shall 
see how these same expresses, that seem 
to have been suddenly materialized out of 
nothing, shall resolve again into nothing- 
^^ ness, to be seen no more for days together, 
^fe That Wailuku has at some former period 
^Bso far forgotten her reserve as to plunge 
^Binto a round of worldly gayety is evident 
^Hto the naked eye; for the faded trophies 
^Bpf the circus still cling to the edges of the 
l!^"town. The astonished wayfarer may mark 
how the trick ponies drive one another in 
chariots of fire through billows of red 
ochre; while athletes, like angels heedless 
of the law of gravitation and who seem 
ative of another planet where mascu- 
line physique is faultless, disport 'twixt 
eaven and earth, and cover themselves 
ith glory — and spangles. So dwells in the 
memory of Wailuku the one indiscretion 
|of the authorities, kept green by its 



damning evidence of posters that survive 
the war of elements, and the scent of the 
sawdust that hangs round it still. 

Must I add that Wailuku has lost her 
one celebrity? He was master of a large 
school at Cahors, in the south of France, 
during the Revolution of '48. The air 
was freighted with rumors, and rebellion 
threatened every hour. One day a stalwart 
pupil of about eleven years rushed into 
the play -ground, waving the red flag, 
and shouting at the top of his lungs the 
"Marseillaise." The whole school was at 
once in arms. It seemed that the revolu- 
tionists were about to carry everything by 
storm; but the master, seizing the young 
Republican by the shoulders, boxed his 
ears soundly, and sent him home to his 
father. The insurrection was crushed in 
that locality, and you doubtless know the 
rest of the history by heart; but perhaps 
you do not know that the master who 
restored order in that juvenile rebellion 
was Father Leanore, formerly of Wailuku, 
and now at the Cathedral in Honolulu. 
The lad was Leon Gambetta, late Presi- 
dent of the French Republic. 

Down the dusty road that winds between 
the sand-hills; over the low bridge that 
resounds like a drum as the hoofs of the 
flying horses crash across it; in the edge 
of the far-spreading cornfields, between 
the mountains and the sea, is the frag- 
mentary settlement I call half a village. 

Let not the dwellers in Squidwater 
revile me if I refer to them with seeming 
levity. In the wide world there is not one 
who loves them more truly than I. You 
should have seen me last twilight, O 
my friends! as I paused alone upon the 
lights above Squidwater, and marked how 
its stars shone like glow-worms among 
the taro patches far below one, while the 
fragmentary village burned its hundred 
tapers at my feet There was no sound, 
save the voice of many waters, — waters 
small and great, that streamed and cascaded 
and rivuleted out of the green gorges 



i56 



THE AVE MARIA. 



above me, fertilizing this secluded vale, 
and giving it a character quite single to it. 

No one would suspect from a glance at 
the cross-roads, the mill, the Maison Rouge 
— from which I write you, — at the smithy, 
or even the manor-house, that Squid- 
water could boast more than a good haul 
of squid; but I have seen, from the lights 
above us, how the grass-house has not yet 
gone to seed in the suburbs, and that the 
four winds of heaven rend the banana 
leaves which screen many an exclusive 
home circle hereabout, and shake down 
the plump papaia upon the domestic 
hearth, whose fires light the dim edges of 
the wilderness beyond us. 

We are not always so silent at Squid- 
water. There are times when the mill 
puffs and blows from dawn till dark and 
after ; when the groaning carts come heavy- 
laden from the fields; when the heart of 
the bullock-driver is lifted up, and a 
racket is heard in the land; when, indeed, 
there is but one sound that is unknown 
of Squidwater — to wit, the voice of the 
•sluggard. 

O busy island-world ! How glad I am 
that the tail end of the season has come, 
'that the telephone is down, and that we 
know nothing of the doings of states, 
liingdoms, principalities and powers, 
beyond our private horizon — a rim of 
tawny hills, walling us in like a shallow 
bowl! 

For the time being Squidwater is an 
Arcadia, of which Virgil might have 
sung, and where Horace might have found 
repose, had it only been within their 
reach. Multitudinous carts are stranded 
in a hollow square, each tipped at an angle 
of forty-five degrees; the trash-grounds so 
lately of a flaxen hue have grown a dusty 
brown. We are a community of husband- 
men, going afield at daybreak, tilling the 
soil, sowing seed, nursing the ratoons, 
pruning the vigorous young cane, and 
looking forward to the day when these 
golden-green acres shall nod again with 



plumes like puflfs of smoke. When that 
day comes, it will be time to think once 
more of the mechanical industries or of 
scoring up the profits of the year. 

The other day, when I had been 
lounging for hours in a wee balcony, 
about the size of an opera box — it is the 
specialty of the Maison Rouge, and my 
delight, — looking ofi" upon the mountains 
and the sea, it occurred to me that I had 
not yet paid my respects to the vacuum 
pan or the jolly boy who keeps his finger 
upon the feverish pulse of that one-eyed 
monster. So down I went to the mill, 
and climbed into the gallery, where the 
atmosphere is seven times heated, and 
the surroundings positively infernal. 

While hugging the vacuum, and feeling 
quite cool by comparison, I thought of the 
ingenuity of Dante, who pictures a cold 
corner in hades, where the sinful freeze 
forever in seas of imperishable ice ; and I 
imagined one of these lost ones, whose 
words drop like hail upon the glacier 
under his chin, imploring one balmy gust 
from the heart of a boiling-house — like 
ours, for instance. At that moment there 
arose a din from the bullock- drivers ; it 
was caught up on the trash-grounds and 
echoed throughout the mill ; and upon 
the top of it all some one set the steam- 
whistle ablowing, and it blew a long, loud 
blast that filled all the valleys on our 
side of Maui to overflowing. I thought it 
would never cease; and it didn't until a 
sharp order from headquarters put a stop 
to it. Then I learned that the very last 
load of cane had come in from the fields, 
and its arrival was the occasion of the 
tumultuous rejoicing. 

The boyish abandon of the moment was 
contagious : we all laughed like children 
and skipped for joy, without exactly 
knowing why. The work is not over by 
any means. In the sweat of our brows we 
still eat bread ; the cattle tread the dark 
furrows on the hillside ; the hoe swings 
merrily in the sunshine, and at nights we 



THE AVE MARIA. 



157 



see the furious forked tongues of flame 
licking the dust in the stubble. 

It is true I have not much to do with 
all this, save to observe it and retain an 
impression. I, too, am simmering down 
like the coolers in the mill yonder, and 
sugaring as it were, and perhaps getting 
three grades of experience. For the flow 
of meditation is uninterrupted at Squid- 
water; and, then, there are books galore; 
and last, but not least, there is the lust of 
the eye satiated with the beauty of the 
earth and with the splendor of the sea. 

There are times when the tumultuous 
clouds heaped upon Haleakala make for 
themselves a twilight at mid-day; times 
when the rainbows are shattered against 
it, and there are splashes of sunlight upon 
its awful slopes. And there are times 
when it seems to rise in majesty and tower 
into the seventh heaven of the afterglow. 

Across the sea sweep the curtains of 
tbe rain, and the waves cry out to us and 
cushion the beach with foam. This is for 
the eye only, to delight and satisfy it; and 
it is well for us that it is. So far we are a 
quiet people at Squid water; and within 
the precincts of the Maison Rouge we 
are perpetually at peace. The albuminous, 
long-fingered squid are not more so, nor 
the lake sleeping among the sand and 
rushes at the top of the village street. 

With the evening comes complete 
repose; no sound now save the unceasing 
sibilation of the mountain streams. The 
coolies emerge from their quarters and 
bathe by the brookside in a state of 
absolute Chinese — and then disappear in 
the gloaming. 

Nothing is visible thereafter save that 
Jack-o'-lantern, the night watchman, who, 
like a reversed Diogenes, seeks vainly for 
the improbable — a dishonest man. At last, 
when the late moon blooms in a vague 

I cloud, like a passion-flower, I fold my 
hands in silence, and deep sleep descends 
upon the Maison Rouge at Squidwater. 
(To be continued.) 



The Coming Catholic Congress.- 
Announcements. 



npHROUGH the kindness of William J. 
^ Onahan, Esq., we are able to publish 
a list of the papers to be read at the 
Columbian Catholic Congress next month. 
The following have already been received 
and accepted : 

"Woman's Work in Art," Eliza Allen 
Starr; ''Woman's Work in Literature," 
Eleanor C. Donnelly; "Woman in the 
Middle Ages," Anna T. Sadlier; "Pauper- 
ism: The Remedy," Dr. Thomas Dwight; 
"The Future of the Negro Race in the 
United States," *he Rev. John R. Slattery; 
"German Immigration," Dr. A. Kaiser; 
"Italian Immigration," the Rev. J. L. 
Andreis; " The Missionary Outlook in the 
United States," the Rev, Walter Elliott, 
C. S. P.; "The Encyclical of Pope Leo 
XIII. on the Condition of Labor," the 
Hon. Judge Semple; " Societies for Cath- 
olic Young Men," Warren E. Mosher; 
"Public and Private Charities" (two 
papers), Thomas F. Ring, Richard R. 
Elliott; "The Apostolate of Home and 
of Society," Katherine E. Conway ; "Life- 
insurance and Pension Funds for Wage 
Workers," the Hon. E. M. Sharon; 
"The Society of St. Vincent de Paul," 
Joseph A. Keman; "Our Twenty Millions 
Toss," M. T.Elder; "Public and Private 
Charities," Dr. Charles A. Wingerter. 

In addition to the foregoing list, the 
subjects given out and the writers who 
were invited to prepare papers for the 
Congress include the following : 

"The Encyclical of Pope Leo XIII. on 
the Condition of Labor," the Rt Rev. 
Bishop Watterson ; "Columbus: His Mis- 
sion and Character," Richard H. Clarke, 
LL.D. ; "Consequences and Results of 
the Discovery of the New World," George 
Parsons Lathrop; "The Relations of the 
Catholic Church to the Social, Civil and 
Political Institutions of the United States," 



158 



THE .AVE MARIA. 



Edgar H. Gans; "Isabella, the Catholic," 
Mary Josephine Onahan ; "Rights of 
Labor : Duties of Capital," the Rev. 
W. Barry, D.D., the Hon. John Gibbon, 
LL. D. ; "Poverty: Cause and Remedy," 
the Hon. M. T. Bryan; "Working Men's 
Organizations and Societies for Young 
Men," the Rev. Francis J. Maguire, the 
Hon. H. J. Spaunhorst ; "Life-Insurance 
and Pension Funds for Wage Workers," 
Col. John A. McCall, Prof. John P. Lauth; 
" Immigration and Colonization," the 
Rev. Michael Callaghan; "Intemperance: 
The Evil and the Remedy," the Rev. James 
M. Cleary, Ellen M. Cramsie ; "Condi- 
tion and Future of the Negro Race in 
the United States," Charles H. Butler; 
" Condition and Future of the Indian 
Tribes in the United States," the Rt. Rev. 
Bishop McGolrick; "The Independence 
of the Holy See," the Hon. M. F. Morris; 
"Woman in Her Own Field," Rose 
Hawthorne Lathrop; "Catholic Higher 
Education," the Rt. Rev. Bishop Keane; 
"Needs of Catholic Colleges," Maurice 
Francis Egan, LL. D. ; "The Catholic 
School System, ' ' Brother Azarias ; ' ' Cath- 
olic High Schools," the Rev. John T. 
Murphy, C. S. Sp. ; "Alumnae Associations 
in Convent Schools," Elizabeth A.Cronyn; 
"The Work of the Catholic Reading 
Circles and the Summer School," Kath- 
erine E. Conway; also "Woman's Work 
in Religious Communities." 

The following are among the speakers 
invited to address the public evening 
meetings to be held during the Congress: 
The Hon.Bourke Cockran,the Hon. Frank 
Hurd, the Hon. William L. Kelly, the 
Hon. Judge Moran, the Hon. John Rush, 
the Hon. Joseph H. O'Neil, the Hon. James 
B. Carroll, the Hon. Judge Morgan J. 
O'Brien, the Hon. James W. Bryon, Col. 
Robert M. Douglas, the Rev. Patrick 
Cronin, the Hon. William P. Breen, the 
Hon. John O'Neill, theHon.T. AWeadock, 
the Hon. Thomas B. Fitzpatrick, the Hon. 
Peter Doyle, and Gen. George W. Smith. 



The Death of Father Granger. 



IT was a saintly life that closed on 
Wednesday, the 26th ult, Feast of St. 
Anne, when the Very Rev. Alexis Granger, 
C. S. C. , was called to his eternal reward. 
Perhaps no man of his time accomplished 
so much good and attracted so little atten- 
tion. He was one of those quiet workers 
in God's vineyard whose lives seem cast 
in narrow circles, but who nevertheless 
exercise a far-reaching influence over the 
minds and hearts of their fellowmen. He 
seldom left the quiet shades of his beloved 
Notre Dame, he never appeared on the 
platform or in the public prints, and yet 
there are thousands of young men in the 
world who owe what is best in their lives 
to his saintly influence; and good priests 
in every State in the Union who attribute 
their vocation, under God, to his pious 
counsels and the example of his holy life. 

Father Granger's career was closely 
identified with the development of Notre 
Dame. He was one of the first who volun- 
teered to accompany its founder. Father 
Sorin, from France on his arduous mission; 
and his labors on behalf of the Indians 
and the few scattered whites who gathered 
around the mission cross were unceasing. 
In a few years his labors were further 
increased by the advent of students who 
came from the neighboring States to 
Notre Dame in quest of education. These 
soon became his chief charge; and the best 
efforts of his life were put forth in direct- 
ing them aright, in winning their young 
souls to the service of God. 

Like most of his countrymen. Father 
Granger had an affectionate love for the 
Blessed Virgin; and, after Father Sorin 
himself, he had most to do with making 
Notre Dame a rallying-point for her 
clients. In the early days, when there was 
no steward — nor indeed much need of one, 
— he taught the little community to look 
trustingly to Mary; and when the annals 



THE AVE MARIA. 



159 



of Notre Dame come to be written, 
numberless incidents will show how 
well-founded was this confidence. 

His humility was unconquerable, and 
it was perhaps for this reason that he was 
gifted with such peculiar graces in the 
confessional. His penitents frequently 
came from long distances, and none of 
them ever forgot the unction of his coun- 
sels or the gentleness of his reproofs. 
Even during his last months, when 
obedience compelled him to temper his 
zeal with prudence, he abated little of his 
former labor. He knew no fatigue wher- 
ever there was good to be done. 

His life was singularly unworldly. He 
knew the world only as a great battle- 
ground on which souls were to be won to 
Christ. No hermit ever lived in greater 
recollection of spirit, and he was interested 
in nothing that did not refer in some 
manner to the glory of God. An ideal 
religious and a model priest, he passed away 
in his seventy-sixth year full of merit, 
leaving the world richer by the example 
of his holy life. Peace be to his soul! 



Notes and Remarks. 



We take pleasure in laying before our 

readers this week the first part of the paper 

on Education read by the Rt. Rev. John L. 

Spalding, D. D., before the World's Congress 

of Representative Youth in Chicago on July 

18. It abounds with suggestive, practical 

thoughts, which will be found replete with 

[instruction for all interested in the great work 

' of training the youthful mind. The eminent 

.prelate is a master of the subject upon which 

[lie writes, and is devoted heart and soul to 

[the cause which it represents. His utterances 

I have commanded attention everywhere; and 

[the educational world, in this our land, looks 

to him as to a master-mind and guiding spirit. 



Catholic public is shown by the following 
editorial paragraph in the New York Sun: 

"Those people who entertain the opinion that the 
priests of the Roman Catholic Church Itve'only ia 
the past, deal only with traditions, know notliing 
ouUide of dogmatic theology and the old schoolmen, 
are afraid to speak their own minds, can not get 
beyond Church Latin, and sUnd in terror of modem 
science, criticism, speculation and progress, ought to 
pay a visit to the Catholic Summer School up at 
Plattsburg. The lectures of Father Zahm on science 
and of Father Doonan on logic this week would have 
been instructive to Darwin and to Chancellor Mc- 
Cosh, if they had heard them. It is possible that even 
Moody and Sankey or Talmage and Briggs might be 
edified by hearing the Plattsburg lectures. Father 
Zahm's scientific discourses were as free in their 
rationality as Dr. Doonan's were rigorous in their 
ratiocination. These priests do not seem to be afraid 
of any truth that may be discovered, nor of any of 
the revelations of nature or of life. After them come 
Father Hewitt, Brother Azarias, and about a dozen 
other priests and erudites, who will, perhaps, make it 
evident that they do not wear shackles any heaN-ier 
than those that are worn by Doonan and Zahm." 

In view of the recent utterance of President 
Eliot regarding the Harvard Law School, 
we could wish that he, too, had been present 
at these lectures. 



The good influence likely to be exerted by 
le Catholic Summer School on the non- 



At the Commencement exercises of Man- 
hattan College the Hon. Bourke Cockran 
offered the graduates some sterling advice. 
One might easily imagine the silver-tongued 
Dougherty himself uttering this noble senti- 
ment:- "I have said that we are no longer 
in danger of invasion by an armed band of 
foemen. No longer does any one trj* to take 
the cross down from over the steeple of our 
churches, to overturn altars, or to profane 
sanctuaries. But there are forces at work 
calculated to take the spirit of truth from 
your bosoms, and to overturn in your minds 
that reverence for the Christian faith, to 
which, if you are to be successful and credit- 
able and useful in your day, you must ever 
remain loyal." No fitter words could be 
addressed to young men about to enter into 
the lists of life. 

The Catholic Times revives the statement 
that Lord Beaconsfield died a Catholic, and 
adduces the strongest argument we have yet 
seen in its support. When Disraeli died, the 
English churchmen deplored the fact that 
no minister of the Established Church was 



160 



THE AVE MARIA 



present at his last moments. Later on it was 
rumored that Father Clare, a Jesuit and a 
warm friend of the statesman, had been 
allowed to enter the death-chamber. But the 
climax was reached when the Porcupine^ a 
Radical paper with decidedly anti-Catholic 
tendencies, announced, on information derived 
from the family of lyord Beaconsfield, that 
the dead statesman had been admitted into 
the Church on his death-bed. Of course the 
non- Catholic papers denied the statement; 
but when the Porcupine offered to prove it to 
their complete satisfaction, the matter was 
speedily hushed up. The one link that is 
missing in the testimony is the avowal of 
Father Clare himself. When questioned he 
maintained a studied silence ; and, so far as 
we can learn, he never spoke about the 
matter. Beaconsfield' s conversion would be 
no great surprise to students of English 
literature. His books abound in compliment- 
ary references to Catholic prelates, and he 
has frequently expressed his admiration for 
the character and history of the Church. 



The recent "unpleasantness" in Montreal, 
provoked by the blasphemous utterances of a 
pagan against the Blessed Virgin in her own 
city, ought to remind Catholics of their duty 
on such occasions. There will always be 
slanderous mountebanks — "escaped" nuns 
and perverted priests — to try our patience; 
and the only dignified course of action is to 
ignore the libel, to face it calmly, and to live 
it down. In no people on the earth is the 
sense of justice so strong as in Americans, 
and it is only necessary to convince them of 
error in order to win them to truth. Explosive 
frenzy such as the Montreal mob exhibited 
is wholly powerless to effect what a gentle 
life, a kindly deed, or a " soft answer ' ' might 
easily accomplish. 



An artistic piano from the factory of 
Sohmer & Co. draws admiring crowds around 
it at the Columbian Exposition. The 
"Golden Upright" it is called, the entire 
case having the appearance of having been 
dipped in a bath of liquid gold. The designer 
has appealed to the artist soul, and the 
carving is a triumph of skill as well as beauty. 



It is needless to say that, in richness and 
sweetness, the tone of this wonderful instru- 
ment is worthy of its setting. The piano has 
been given to endow a scholarship in the 
New York Conservatory of Church Music, 
and is to be disposed of at a grand concert 
on the 2 2d of November, the Feast of St. 
Cecilia, patroness of sacred melody. 

This Conservatory, which is under the 
careful and able direction of Father Joseph 
Graf, has for its object the training of organ- 
ists and choir-masters, and its staff of teachers 
includes the leading Catholic organists and 
composers of New York city. The advantages 
of a thorough course at this admirable 
institution can hardly be overestimated. 



Obituary. 



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

The following persons are recommended to the 
charitable prayers of our readers : 

The Rev. Felix Guddry, C. M., formerly pastor of 
St. Vincent's Church, Chicago, whose death took 
place a few weeks ago, in New Orleans; and the Rev. 
Leo G. Th^baud, who peacefully departed this life 
at Madison, N. J., on the 12th of May. 

Sister M. Simplicia, of the Sisters of I/Oreto, who 
>yas called to her reward on the 13th ult. 

Mr. P. Barden, who died suddenly in Philadelphia 
on the 4th ult. 

Mr. Andrew Friedle, of Garden ville, N. Y., whose 
exemplary Christian life was crowned with a holy 
death on the 21st of June. 

Miss Stasia Coady, whose life closed peacefully 
on the 26th ult., at Pana, 111. 

Mr. John F. Cotter, of Fredonia, Wis., who passed 
away on the 3d ult. 

Mrs. Mary White, who died a holy death on the 
5th ult., in New York. 

Mr. Thomas Keresey, Jr., and Miss Mary J. Strype, 
of Brooklyn; Mr. Robert H. Bogue, Baltimore; Mrs. 
Catherine O'Reilly, Reading, Pa. ; Miss Mary A. 
Shenk, Delphos,' Ohio; Mr. John Quinn, Bellevue, 
Del.; Mrs. Nancy Doherty, Providence, R. I.; Mrs. 
John Finnegan, Fillmore, Iowa; Mary J. Ward, New 
York; Mrs. Mary Foley, Chicago; Miss Margaret 
Maher, Middletown, Ohio ; Mrs. James Foley, 
Chelsea, Mass.; Mr. David Leahy, Boston; Mr. John 
Craven, Dublin; Mrs. Mary Byme-Iljurphy, Wash- 
ington, D. C. ; Mr. Maurice Drislan and Miss Annie 
Barrett, Fall River, Mass. 

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




UNDER THE MANTLE OF OUR BLESSED MOTHER. 



A Vacation Lesson. 



Sight-Seeing at the World's Fair. 



'HIS is vacation, and ain't I glad! 
I've nothing to do all day. 
I'll sleep all I want; and when I'm up, 

I've only to eat and play. 
I'll live as the birds, for they are free; 

Or the laughing summer stream; 
I/ike the drowsy bee I'll hum along, — 
The days shall be as a dream. 

But lo! as Ed looked, he saw the birds 

Were busy the livelong day: 
They sang and they chirped and flew about, 

But to make earth seem more gay. 
The stream carried life to trees and flowers. 

Though it seemed to gaily sing; 
The bees gathered honey for their hive. 

To last from fall to spring. 

And this was the lesson that he learned 

That happy summer day: 
There's always something for us to do, 

Yes, even in time of play. 
Be merry and cheerful all day long. 

Take plenty of time to rest; 
But never be idle, and you'll see 

Vacation will be blessed. 



The reading of books, what is it but 
conversing with the wisest men of all 

jEges and of all countries, who thereby 
communicate to us their noblest thoughts, 
choicest notions, and best inventions ? — 

[ Isaac Barrow. 



BY MARY CATHBRINB CROWLBV. 




I. 

T was the first week of 
vacation. Upon the shady 
veranda of a pleasant coun- 
try, home within a few 
miles of New York city, 
the three young people of 
the Kendrick family were discussing their 
prospects for the holidays. 

"I wish we could go to the World's 
Fair," said Aleck, who, seated at the top of 
the steps, was busy with his fishing-tackle. 
"Well, we can't," replied his sister 
Nora, swinging indolently to and fro 
in the hammock. ' ' Perhaps father and 
mother may go; and father says he would 
like to take us all, but he is unable to 
afford it. What differences there are in 
the world!" she continued, discontentedly. 
"Here we can not have this little trip, 
and yet our cousins, the Colvilles, are 
travelling all over Europe. How I wish 
we were as well off as they are!" 

"But we are better off; for they have no 
mother," interposed gentle Ellen, who, at 
a rustic table, was arranging several vases 
of flowers to be placed about the house. 

" I meant if we were only as rich as 
they," explained Nora; but somehow the 
little feeling of envy which had arisen in 



162 



THE AVE MARIA. 



her heart died away, as there came to her 
suddenly a sense of the blank there would 
be in her life if she had not her mother 
to turn to in all her small troubles, as 
well as in her careless happiness; and she 
vaguely felt that there are indeed different 
kinds of riches, and many things that 
money can not buy. She sighed impa- 
tiently, however; and, catching up her hat 
which had fallen to the ground, exclaimed: 
*'I believe I'll go up to the tennis- 
court. Some of the girls will be sure to 
be there; and I mi<»ht as well have a game 
as dally round here all the morning." 

The family were at luncheon when 
she returned. 

"I stopped at the post-office, mother," 
she said; "and here is a letter for you." 

"From Uncle Jack!" cried Mrs. Ken- 
drick, breaking the seal. " Here is grand 
news for all of you," she added, presently. 
"Uncle Jack will be here on Monday, 
and he invites you young folk to visit the 
World's Fair with him." 

* * Hip-hip-hooray ! ' ' exclaimed Aleck. 

Nora looked dazed, as if she could 
hardly realize that what they had wished 
for so much was really about to happen. 

"Do let me see what he says," she 
asked, impulsively. 

Mrs. Kendrick laughed and handed her 
the letter, which she proceeded to read 
aloud, amid many interruptions in the 
way of delightful comments. Even Ellen 
was aroused from her usual quiet pleasure 
in whatever was going on, and became 
excited and enthusiastic. 

The following days were devoted to 
preparation, and when Uncle Jack arrived 
he found his nieces and nephew ready 
for the journey. Uncle Jack Barrett was 
Mrs. Kendrick' s brother; and the children 
called him an old , bachelor, although he 
was not really at all old. 

The next morning he set out with his 
party for Chicago. The young people 
were unused to travel, and did not find it 
tedious to spend so long a time on the 



train; there was so much to be seen from 
the windows as they were carried swiftly 
farther and farther from home. Then, too, 
the handsome, vestibuled train itself was 
interesting, with its platforms enclosed by 
glass doors, so that one could pass from 
one end of it to the other with comfort 
and safety, even when it was running at a 
high rate of speed ; and the luxurious 
sleeping, dining and drawing-room cars. 

"Why, it is a kind of royal establish- 
ment on wheels!" remarked Nora. 

"And you are the prince and princesses 
off for a lark; while I am the majordomo, 
or master of the revels, ' ' said Uncle Jack. 

By the afternoon of the second day 
they had nearly reached their destination. 
As they approached the Metropolis of the 
West, they could hardly restrain their 
impatience. At last, outlined against the 
blue summer sky and bathed in sunlight, 
one after another the beautiful white 
buildings of the Columbian Exposition 
arose before them. 

"How lovely!" cried Nora and Ellen 
in a breath. 

"By jingo, it beats all my expectations, 
and I'm sure that is saying a great deal!" 
exclaimed Aleck. 

" The Exhibition grounds may well be 
called the White City," said Ellen. "What 
a great place it is, with its many streets 
and avenues! And see the throngs of 
people walking about!" 

" How bright and gay everything 
looks ! ' ' added Nora. ' ' See the flags flying! 
And — listen! Don't you hear the music 
of the bands?" 

"Yes: it is a city without one dark 
corner; almost unreal in its beauty; built 
as it were of snow and sunshine," Mr. 
Barrett continued, meditatively. 

"Ah, this I know is the Midway Plai- 
sance!" said Aleck, leaning out of the 
window to look down into the^long avenue, 
which for some blocks runs parallel with 
the railroad. 

"The Plaisance is without doubt the 



I 



THE AVE MARIA. 



163 



most curious thoroughfare on the globe," 
said Uncle Jack; **for here are to be met 
representatives of all the races — black, 
brown, white, yellow and red, — from the 
Esquimaux of the Arctic regious to a 
Dahomey village from the equator." 

"I should like to. jump right down into 
the midst of it all," began Aleck. 

"I dare say you would land on top 
of that queer Oriental pagoda, or break 
through the roof of one of those tropical- 
looking huts," laughed Ellen. 

Now the motley sights and varied sounds 
were left behind, and the train steamed 
into Chicago. Here the noises of traffic, the 
whir of the elevated railway and cable 
cars, the rush and activity of business, and 
the crowd of people, made the girls' heads 
dizzy, and even confused Aleck a little. 

"Gracious! this hurry, hurry every- 
where makes one feel so helpless," sighed 
Nora, *'It is worse than New York." 

They were amazed to behold street after 
street, any one of which might be mistaken 
for the great main artery of commercial 
life; and the sight of so many tall build- 
ings, some numbering fourteen stories, 
greatly astonished them. 

Notwithstanding their interest in every- 
thing they saw, Nora and Ellen especially 
were glad when they reached the hotel. 

In good season the next morning our 
party presented themselves at the 57 th 
Street entrance of Jackson Park. Click 
went the turnstile as one by one, having 
given up their tickets, they were allowed 
to pass, and found themselves at last 
within the precincts of the grandest 
exposition the world has ever seen. 

"Opposite is the electric elevated rail- 
way, the first ever built. It runs from 
station to station within the grounds, 

I and is called the Intramural," explained 
Uncle Jack. ' ' Would you not like to ride 
on it to the point at which we are aiming? ' ' 
"Oh, no!" protested the girls. "There 
is so much to be seen at every step, we 
would rather walk." 



"You will perhaps be of a different 
opinion to-morrow," laughed he. "But 
by going afoot you will certainly soon get 
an idea of the extent of the grounds, 
which are four times the size of those of 
the great Paris Expositions of 1878 and 
1889. First, you observe, we come to the 
State Buildings. We can not stop to 
inspect them now, but we will go a little 
out of our way to get a view of the most 
noted ones. That clock tower is upon the 
Pennsylvania Building, which is a repro- 
duction of old Independence Hall in 
Philadelphia, where the Declaration of 
Independence was signed, and from the 
steeple of which the freedom of the United 
States was proclaimed. Beyond it is the 
costly edifice erected by the State of New 
York. It is built upon the plan of one 
of the ancient Knickerbocker residences, 
which was for years one of the historic 
landmarks of the Empire City. A little 
farther on, you see the headquarters of 
Massachusetts, modelled after the Han- 
cock House, Boston, where Dorothy 
Hancock gave her famous reception to the 
officers of the French fleet. The State 
Buildings, you understand, are to serve 
as headquarters and furnish pleasant rest- 
ing and meeting-places for the people of 
the respective States who visit the Fair, 
and also for special exhibits. You will 
see the names on the flags floating above 
them, and also over the doors." 

"That is a picturesque and venerable- 
looking one just beyond us," said Ellen. 

"It is the California Building," returned 
her uncle; "and was made to resemble as 
much as possible the old adobe missions 
or monasteries of the Jesuit and Franciscan 
missionaries, who, you know, first pene- 
trated into that then unknown land from 
Mexico, Christianized the Indians, and 
taught them to cultivate the wilderness. 
The towers upon the four corners are 
named after the mission belfries, and in 
them swing some of the ancient bells 
brought from Spain more than two centu- 



164 



THE AVE MARIA 



ries ago, — the bells perhaps which, within 
the vast territory now known as the 
United States, first awoke the echoes of 
mountain or woodland, and broke the 
silence of the valley with the music of the 
Angelus chimes, or the call to Mass or Ben- 
ediction. That large edifice farther along 
is the Art Gallery ; and this one in front of 
us with the dome, the Illinois Building." 

They had now reached the Lagoon, a 
limpid lake with a wooded island in its 
midst, like an emerald set in crystal. 

Here Ellen began to show signs of 
flagging. 

* ' Ha-ha, Eilly Bawn ! beginning to be 
tired ? ' ' laughed Uncle Jack. ' * Well, we 
must have trudged a mile already. Sup- 
pose we vary the program by taking 
one of the omnibus boats that ply to 
and fro between the buildings?" 

They waited at the water's edge; and 
soon a little launch, with a gay awning, 
glided up, took them on board, and then 
continued swiftly and noiselessly upon 
its course. 

''What a remarkable little craft!" said 
Aleck. " I see no steam-power, and it 
has neither sails nor rowers. What makes 
it go?" 

"Electricity," answered his uncle. "Its 
only machinery is a small battery. Perhaps 
soon we shall see great ships like the 
Campania propelled by the same force." 

Seen from the water, the marble-like 
palaces upon every side seemed even fairer 
than before. New and more majestic ones 
came into view at every turn of the Lagoon. 

"Could there be a lovelier scene!" 
exclaimed Nora. 

"It is hard to imagine one," answered 
Mr. Barrett. "Yet, look now! " 

The launch swept under an arched 
bridge, and presently passed beneath a 
second one; and they found themselves 
floating upon the central lake, called the 
Great Basin, which reflects the splendor of 
the quadrangle known as the Grand Court 
of Honor. 



"This Court is the centre of the beauty 
and magnificence of the Exposition," said 
Uncle Jack. 

"Isn't it all like a dream city?" mur- 
mured Ellen. "I am almost afraid of 
awaking and seeing it dissolve into air. 
It seems as if it must have been conjured 
up by some poet's iniagination or some 
magician's skill." 

"Well, it wasn't: it was built by plain, 
everyday workmen; and there isn't the 
least danger of its fading away, so you 
need not be anxious," said blunt Aleck. 
"It is a picture that a fellow can never 
forget, though," he added, appreciatively. 

' ' That stately colonnade, which forms 
one side of the Court and connects the two 
Grecian buildings at either end, is called 
the Peristyle," explained Mr. Barrett. 
"Between its graceful columns you catch 
a glimpse of the blue waters of Lake 
Michigan, the strand of which is just 
beyond it. See how the sun gilds the 
Corinthian pillars and the statues, and 
again glints them with silver, or casts a 
shadow into relief. The sculptured group 
crowning the triumphal arch, in the centre 
of the colonnade, is called the Columbus 
Quadriga. It represents the Discoverer as 
he is supposed to have appeared in the 
fete given in his honor on his return from 
his first voyage, and shows him (as you 
will notice when we approach nearer) 
standing in a chariot drawn by four 
spirited horses, and leaning on his sword." 

"And there in front of the Peristyle is 
the colossal bronze -gold statue of the 
Republic, which we have heard so much 
about!" cried Nora. 

"Yes," said her brother. "I read 
somewhere that her ladyship is sixty-five 
feet tall, and her nose thirty inches long. 
Honest and true!" he went on, as the 
girls giggled incredulously. "It said, too, 
that she could hold all fqur of us in 
her hand." 

"I don't believe there was a word about 
wj," declared Nora, mockingly. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



165 



"Well, four persons I mean," corrected 
Aleck; "and that she would require a ring 
ten inches in diameter to fit her finger." 

"What a giantess!" laughed Ellen. 
**Is that the Manufactures and Liberal 
Arts Building at the left, Uncle?" 

" Yes," was the reply. "It covers thirty 
acres of ground. Here are gathered some 
of the finest exhibits of foreign countries 
and the United States. Beyond it are the 
Electricity and Mining Buildings, and on 
the opposite side of the quadrangle those 
devoted to mining and agriculture. Turn 
now and look across the water to the end 
of the Lake opposite to the Peristyle. 
There is the Administration Building, 
which you will perhaps consider the 
most beautiful of the g^oup, because of its 
graceful outlines and majestic, gilded dome. 
It completes, you see, the Grand Court of 
Honor. In front of it, rising out of the 
Lake, is the Columbia Fountain." 

' * I am glad I read the description of it 
beforehand; I can understand it so much 
better," said Ellen. "The figures repre- 
sent Columbia enthroned in a triumphal 
barge, guided by Time, heralded by Fame, 
and rowed by eight standing figures, 
representing on one side the arts, and on 
the other Science, Industry, Agriculture, 
and Commerce. Notice, Nora, it is drawn 
by eight sea-horses mounted by outriders. 
Look how the spray dashes about the 
horses' manes!" 

"I suppose those are the much-talked-of 
electric fountains on either side of it," 
said Aleck. 

His uncle nodded in assent, adding: 

"They throw streams of water one 
hundred and fifty feet high, and of all the 
colors of the rainbow ; but they can be 
seen to advantage only in the evening." 

Alighting from the electric boat, our 
friends now ascended the terrace to the 
walks of the Court of Honor, and wan- 
dered on, delighted with the beauty of 
the scene. 

(To b« continued.) 



How a Mother's Prayer was Answered 
at Last. 



BV SADIE L. BAKRR. 



in. 



Worn out with long watching, Theodora 
slept heavily; and when she woke the 
sun was shining brightly. She dressed 
hurriedly, listening for some sound from 
her boy's room, some step in the kitchen 
below; but all was quiet Outside there 
were the songs of the birds, the sound of 
the fitful summer wind in the tree-tops, 
and the far-off roar of the waters of the 
dam mingling with the near rush of the 
swift current of the river, foaming and 
eddying over its rocky bed. 

An undefined uneasiness, a fear of she 
knew not what, quickened her steps as she 
went through the little house, coming at 
last to her boy's closed door. She tapped 
lightly, her heart beating so hard that she 
could hear its muffled sound in her ears. 
Again and yet again she rapped, then 
pushed the door open with a shaking 
hand, and, leaning against it for support, 
looked around the empty room. 

Everything was as she had left it the 
night before, only the flowers were gone. 
Scarce knowing what she did, she went 
from room to room, seeking her lost; 
out in the garden, calling his name; 
searching every nook, as if her son were 
once more a little child hiding in play 
from his mother. 

Coming back to the oratory to kneel in 
voiceless prayer at the crucified feet of 
her Lord, she paused for a moment before 
the altar Will had fashioned for her, — his 
last Christmas gift, the work of his own 
hands. In the central arch was set an 
engraving of St. Joseph at his carpenter's 
bench, with the Holy Child Jesus working 
beside him; in tiny alcoves on either 
side, a crucifix and a statue of our Blessed 



166 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Mother with her Divine Son cradled in 
her arms; and lower a carved panel of the 
Good Shepherd bearing His lost sheep 
home on His bosom. 

Will carved the panel himself, working 
at it hour after hour; his mother sitting 
beside him, watching every touch, while 
the knitting-needles moved swiftly in her 
fingers. The loving face of the Good 
Shepherd bent over the poor wounded 
sheep held so tenderly in His arms, the 
tangle of thorny branches at one side, the 
border of interlacing vine-leaves and wheat- 
ears, were perfect in her eyes. The work 
kept Will at home many an evening, 
when he longed to be away with the jolly 
comrades who welcomed him so royally. 

Now as her desperate eyes searched 
every corner of the room, that was all open 
to the light of day, she saw a folded paper 
at the feet of the Blessed Mother. She 
seized it with trembling fingers, sank on 
her knees, and, every breath a prayer, read: 

Dear, Dearest Mother: — I know 
how I have sinned, and I know how perfect 
are your love and forgiveness. But I can 
not stay here, where I have disgraced you 
and myself. I am not brave enough or 
strong enough. Perhaps somewhere else I 
can conquer the terrible thirst that almost 
maddens me as I write. So I am going 
away, and I will never come back until I 
have proved my manhood. 

I was awake to-night when you came in 
my room. But I did not dare to Speak or 
open my eyes, though my heart was break- 
ing. I have stolen in for one laSomething- Else with a 
high-sounding name, but at some quiet 
inn, "at the Sign of the Maiden." 



I 




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HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED.— St. LukeJ. 48. 

Vol. XXXVII. NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, AUGUST 12, 1893. No. 7. 



[PabUtbrfnaySMoAiy. Ogfrrlikti Bn. D. B BadMa,C*.a] 



Our Queen Love-Crowned. 



yti HE term of love's probation now was past, 
/ jj And Mary's ever- virgin soul was free; 
^B' Her body, temple of sweet purity, 
Was not to nature's devastations cast, 
But was upborne by angels to the vast 
And glorious home of perfect harmony 
Where soul and body rest eternally, — 
The twilight years of yearning crowned at last. 

Ah ! long, sweet Mother, were thy waiting 
years; 
And yet each one was meted out by love, — 
A love that kindled into day the night. 
And made a solace of thy very tears; 
A love that bore thee to Itself above. 
And crowned thee Queen in realms of 
endless light. 



The Assumption of Mary. 



By the Rev. James McKernan. 




FTER the Ascension of her 
Divine Son, this world no 
longer possessed any attrac- 
tion for Mary. From that 
moment she was an exile on 
irth. Her heart was above; for was not 
[esus, her treasure, there? And did not His 
^wn sacred lips once say, *' Where thy 



treasure is, there is thy heart also" ? * Her 
life on earth had been pre-eminently one 
of sorrow; still in the midst of all her 
sufferings Jesus was with her. With Him 
clasped to her bosom, even Egypt was na 
exile to her. In Bethlehem, in Egypt, in 
Nazareth, and even on Calvary, her Son was 
with her; and, although she suffered, she 
was exactly where her heart would have 
her to be. Terrible, then, must have been 
the change she experienced when Our 
Lord had ascended, and when first she felt 
that she was in the world alone. 

To the merely human mind, it would 
seem that, like St. Joseph, she should 
have quitted this world before her Son, 
or at least have gone with Him; but the 
ways and the thoughts of God are not 
like ours. By the will of God she was 
destined to remain long upon earth, and 
to witness the early struggles of the 
infant Church. He whose ' wisdom reach- 
eth from end to end ' had His own motives 
in leaving Mary so long after Him. 
Perhaps it was that she might witness to 
the first converts the mystery of the 
Incarnation; or that she might assist the 
Apostles by her wise counsels; or that the 
bonds of affection and confidence between 
herself and her adopted children might, 
by actual contact, be more closely drawn ; 
and that they, having acquired the habit 
of seeking her assistance — feeling the 



♦ St. Matt., vi, 21. 



170 



THE AVE MARIA. 



power of her intercession whilst with 
them here — might be encouraged still to 
have recourse to her after her departure. 
Be it as it may, Mary must have been 
many years on earth after Our Lord's 
Ascension before death was sent to loose 
her captive soul. The general opinion 
seems to be that she was about seventy- 
two years of age at the time of her death; 
so that, accordingly, she must have 
remained nearly twenty-three years on 
earth after Christ's Ascension. 

The Holy Virgin died at Jerusalem, in 
the house of Mary the mother of St. Mark. 
It is said that the Archangel Gabriel, who 
announced to her the great mystery of 
the Incarnation, was sent to tell her of the 
approach of her dissolution. As her death 
drew nigh, the Apostles and Christians 
of Jerusalem gathered to be present at 
that glorious scene. St. Jerome says that at 
the last moment of her life the chamber 
in which she lay was filled with heavenly 
music, and that a supernatural light, of 
surpassing brightness, shone around her. 
Many miracles were wrought in the 
city. All the sick brought to her sacred 
body after death were cured ; and St. 
John Damascene says he learned from 
the most ancient traditions that those 
miracles were extended even to the 
unconverted Jews. 

They buried her in Gethsemane, outside 
of Jerusalem. Juvenal, the Patriarch of 
that city, who lived in the fifth century, 
relates, in a letter to the Emperor Marcian 
and the pious Empress Pulcheria, that 
the Apostles and faithful kept watch, day 
and night, for three days at her tomb; and 
that the same sweet music was unceas- 
ingly heard which had begun at the 
moment of her death. 

But that sacred body, which had been 
created for so great a purpose — to be the 
living tabernacle of the Most High, — was 
not allowed to remain in the tomb ; for 
the Lord would not permit "His holy One 
to see corruption. " It is the belief of the 



Church that God permitted Mary to remain 
in the tomb but three days, like her 
Divine Son ; and that on the third day 
her pure soul was reunited to her body, 
and she was assumed gloriously into 
heaven. 

The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin 
is not an article of defined faith ; hence it 
is in the same position as the Immaculate 
Conception was before its definition. It 
is universally believed in the Church, 
and has been so from the first ages. It 
has never been denied^ and consequently 
there has never been any necessity to 
define it. 

It is reserved for all God's saints to be 
assumed, body and soul, into heaven on 
the day of general judgment Mary's 
assumption, before the time, is a privilege 
which reason at once agrees to and 
approves. For it is not reasonable to 
suppose that the body of the Mother of 
Christ was left by God in the grave; and 
that her sacred body is to-day a handful of 
dust blown about by the winds or trodden 
under the feet of men, just the same as is { 
the body of Judas who betrayed Him. The 
honor of her Divine Son seems to require 
her assumption. Moreover, Jesus being 
perfectly human as well as divine. His 
Sacred Heart, full of tender love for His 
Mother, would naturally desire that as- 
sumption. With the desire, and the power 
to accomplish it, it is in the highest degree 
reasonable to conclude that the Sacred 
Heart of Mary, which gave Him His 
humanity, and upon which He pillowed 
His infant head, is to-day, not scattered 
dust, but a heart living, loving, and 
throbbing with heavenly joy in the 
kingdom of her Son. 

But we may venture even to say that 
Mary had a right to the glory of her 
assumption. Death and the humiliation 
of the grave are the penalties of sin; but 
Mary had never been touched by sin: 
why, then, should she sufier the penalties 
of sin? The Church admits, in the Mass 



THE AVE MARIA. 



171 



of the Assumption, that she died ; but 
death was not inflicted on her as a punish- 
ment; death for her was not necessary. 
But she endured many things besides 
death which were not of necessity. Her 
purification, after the birth of her Divine 
Son, was surely unnecessary. Sufferings 
of every kind are penalties of sin; hence 
no suffering could be necessary for her, 
who was sinless. Yet, at the presentation 
of her Divine Babe, the prophet foretold 
that 'a sword of grief should pierce her 
soul also.' The fulfilment of that prophecy 
earned for her the title of Queen of 
Martyrs. Her Son came to suffer, because 
He took upon Him the sins of the world, 
and by His sufferings saved us. The 
sufferings of Our Lady could not save 
the world, _ and were therefore unnec- 
essary for the world's redemption. Mary's 
close connection with her Son caused all 
her sufferings. As the first and most 
perfect of all Christians, she should be 
most like to her Son; for this is Christian 
perfection, to become like Christ. "Take 
up yov.T cross and follow Me," is His 
command to all His followers. Mary 
would not be an exception to that con- 
dition. Herein we find the reason of her 
death as well as of all her sufferings: she 
should be like Him in all things, — like 
Him in innocence, like Him in humilia- 
tioH, poverty, sufferings, and death. But 
should her likeness to her Son cease at 
death? Rather should we not expect it 
to continue and be completed by her 
assumption on "the third day')? And 
this is the tradition in the Church, 
believed and handed on from age to age. 
St. John Damascene and most of the 
Greek and Latin Fathers say that St. 
Thomas was the only one of the Apostles 
who was absent from the funeral of the 

, Blessed Virgin; and that when he arrived 
ind found she was dead and buried, he 
)egged them to open the tomb, that he 

|inight look once more upon the holy face 
>f her who had given birth to his Lord 



and Master. The Apostles concluded to 
grant his request The tomb was opened; 
solemnly and reverently they entered, but 
lo! the body of the Virgin was not there. 
Surprised, they looked at the place where 
they laid her, and there found only the 
grave-clothes in which the body had been 
wrapped. Filled with joy instead of 
sorrow, they closed the tomb, full of faith 
in what was so evident to their senses; 
and blessed God who made Mary like to 
His Son, not only in her sufferings and 
death, but also in her resurrection and 
assumption. Thus the same Apostle, who, 
although by his incredulity, was made so 
valuable a witness to the resurrection of 
our Saviour, was also, by God's provi- 
dence, the means of proving the assump- 
tion of the Blessed Virgin. 

The fact that the Church, since the 
fourth century, has solemnly commemo- 
rated every year the Assumption of Our 
Lady stamps this tradition with her 
authority, and is a proof of its truth*. 
Another proof is that no relic of the body 
of the Mother of God has ever been found 
in any part of the Church. The great St. 
Augustin, fifteen hundred years ago, in 
a discourse on the Assumption of Mary, 
thus refers to this fact: "The Divine 
Saviour causes the bones and ashes of His 
servants to be everywhere honored ; He 
authorizes the worship paid to them, by 
all manner of prodigies. Would He leave 
the relics of His Holy Mother in darkness 
and oblivion, without honor, if that holy 
body had remained on earth, if He had 
not speedily removed it to heaven? Was it 
becoming," he asks in the same discourse, 
"that the Saviour should leave in the 
tomb so pure a body, from which His own 
was formed, a flesh which was in some 
sort His own? No, I could not believe," 
he answers, "that the body in which 
the Divine Word had been made man, 
should be given as a prey to worms and 
corruption. The very thought strikes me 
with horror." 



172 



THE AVE MARIA 



The Assumption of Our Lady is full 
of hope and joy for all Christians. Her 
entrance into heaven was a triumph for 
the whole human race. Our Blessed 
Lord entered heaven on the day of His 
Ascension, the first human conqueror that 
ever entered there. But, as God, He had 
been always there ; and although He 
entered as man, being God also. His 
entrance does not present itself to our 
minds as distinctively that of a human 
being. Not so in the Assumption of Mary. 
Great as are her perfections and privileges, 
she is, nevertheless, wholly and only 
human. She entered heaven the first 
human being, not divine, that had ever 
passed the holy gates. It is this fact 
that makes her assumption so joyful 
and hopeful for us; it is this that makes 
it a triumph for the human race. In 
her assumption into paradise the great 
promise of Christianity, the dearest hope 
of Christians, was confirmed and fulfilled. 
We all hope to enter heaven, body and 
soul reunited ; this hope is confirmed 
forever by the Assumption of Mary. 

What a change for her was that 
enrapturing vision of light and joy which 
suddenly burst upon her bodily eyes after 
a life so dark and sorrowful ! Think of 
the tumultuous joy of the angels as they 
welcomed their Queen. Think of her 
meeting with St. Joseph, the faithful 
guardian of her life. And think of that 
meeting between the Mother and the Son. 
Heaven never witnessed a scene like that 
before. The angels and saints made way 
to let those two hearts meet — Jesus and 
Mary, never again to separate. 



The Vocation of Edward Conway. 



I AM no more surprised that some 
revealed truths should amaze my under- 
standing than that the blazing sun should 
dazzle my eyes. — Heryey. 

We do not know how strong the 
human mind can prove itself until we see 
it consecrated to the Truth. — Trail. 



BY MAURICB FRANCIS BGAN. 

XXX.— The Major. 

IT was over. The grief, the fear, the 
doubt were gone. Bernice Conway had 
her father again. They were in the study 
together, and they were silent. He had 
risen from the grave; her hand was in his; 
a miracle had happened, — for as yet she 
did not know the natural causes which 
had brought about his return. His hair 
seemed thinner; there were new lines in 
his face; his look was calmer than before; 
and his dress was, somehow, worn with a 
different air. 

Lady Tyrrell stood outside the study 
door. Under ordinary circumstances, she 
would have boldly entered. But there was 
something so sacred about the meeting 
of this father and daughter, whom death 
had separated for many days, that she 
felt herself forced to respect it. She would 
have paid this sentiment the deference of 
listening at the keyhole, but the key was 
unfortunately in the lock. She remained 
standing in the doorway, wondering at 
the silence within. 

Bernice was overwhelmed with a sense 
of her own unworthiness. What was she 
that God should be so good as to give 
her father back to her? What ecstasies of 
joy and gratitude ought to be hers! And 
yet she was as calm and composed as if 
no unusual grace and gift had been 
given to her. 

It seemed as a matter of course that 
her father should be there in the big 
leathern chair, and that she should be 
kneeling beside him. She could hear 
the clock strike as usual; the big white 
cat brushed against him and purred. 
Bernice in her daydreamS during the 
last sad months had imagined that he was 
back, and she had greeted him in her 



THE AVE MARIA. 



173 



imagination with rapture. There was no 
rapture now, only contentment. He was 
near her: that was enough. Afterward, 
when she became a Catholic and received 
the Blessed Eucharist, the memory of 
this meeting consoled her. And when- 
ever she reproached herself with a lack 
of the fervor she felt she ought to have at 
the supreme moment, she remembered 
how quietly content she had been at the 
coming of her earthly father, and she 
knew that the greatest joy is serene. 

By degrees the Major told his story, — 
only by degrees; for he, too, seemed to 
prefer to be silent. He sat there in the big 
chair, content to rest his hand upon his 
daughter's head and to think. 

He had, he said, fallen down the bank. 
He had clutched at — when he paused here 
Bernice knew whose name he might have 
mentioned, — and his foot had struck 
against a projecting rock. He could not 
recover himself: down he went, bruising 
his hands in attempts to' clutch the dry 
vines on the face of the bank. Once he 
hung for a minute or two in a sort of net 
made by the ropes of the wild wistaria. 
For that moment he thought he was safe, 
— but only for that moment The net 
parted — the strands, weakening as they 
separated, broke as he grasped them. 
Again his overcoat caught on a piece of 
rock, and he hung between the sky and 
earth ; but the silk lining gave way and 
again he fell. 

After this he had known no sensation, 
until he opened his eyes and saw, in the 
full moonlight, his brother, Tim Conway, 
standing before him, and in the act of 
thrusting his arms into a coat rougher 
than his own. Tim looked straight into 
his face. 

"I knew you weren't dead, Dion, — only 

ink. I've seen you this way before. 

Lnd as I know what your temper is when 

m're in this condition, I'll not ask you 

^r anything. In fact, I've helped myself: 

[ve changed clothes with you, you old 



hypocrite! I feel like a gentleman once 
more. I'm going to jump on the next 
train, and at the station, I'll let'm know 
where you are." 

The Major could not answer him; there 
was a sickening pain at the top of his 
head and his tongue seemed paralyzed. 
Tim, with a laugh, drew a flask from the 
Major's overcoat and forced some brandy 
into his mouth. 

"There," he said, mockingly; **don*t 
say I haven't divided." 

The Major knew no more for a time, 
except that he crawled some distance 
to the railroad track. He heard voices 
vaguely, seeming to come from beyond 
the dull ache in his head. He felt himself 
lifted. After that life had been a blank 
until he had found himself in a white- 
walled room, upon a bed, with a doctor 
and a Sister of Charity near him. Who 
he was, he did not know. He, Dion 
Conway, had forgotten his name ; had 
forgotten Bernice, Swansmere — all his 
former life. The Major confessed this, 
with a rising color. 

"Ah, Bernice!" he said, "that has 
made me humble: to be struck down by 
God and made as helpless as the most 
ignorant little child." 

The Sisters, into whose hospital he had 
been brought, called him Joseph Vincent, 
after two saints, their patrons. They told 
him that he had been picked up by a 
brakeman on a freight-train, near one of 
the Hudson River stations. The brakeman 
had discovered the wound on his head, 
and the police authorities had sent him to 
this hospital when he reached New York. 

Joseph Vincent had been well cared for. 
Kind people had come to see him; and 
the Sisters, discovering that he had not 
forgotten how to bless himself, had taught 
him his catechism. He remained about 
the hospital as a helper, docile and anxious 
to be useful, striving sometimes to remem- 
ber things that floated shapelessly before 
him, but never grasping them. 



174 



THE AVE MARIA. 



So it came to pass tliat old Joseph 
Vincent, who had come to the Sisters in 
the clothes of a tramp, was as a little 
child; and, with the faith of a.little child, 
he made what the Sisters called his First 
Communion. They even taught him to 
read, and he learned the prayers of his 
childhood over again with difficulty. So 
devoted, so pious, so anxious to be kind 
was he, that the Sisters laughed and said 
he was of their community. 

But by degrees he grew stronger; and 
one day in the late spring, when he was 
contently obeying an order of the young 
doctor who happened to be in the ward, 
the truth came upon him. Something in 
his head seemed to burst, and, like a 
flash, he knew that he was no longer 
Joseph Vincent, but Major Dion Conway, 
with a dear child waiting for him at 
Swansmere. 

The Sisters had become so accustomed 
to strange things — knowing humanity as 
one in a hospital learns to know it, — that 
they were not so amazed as other people 
might have been. They hunted up an old 
New York Sun^ with an account of the 
finding of the supposed body of the Major 
in the river. He understood who had 
died; he supplied the missing links very 
slowly. He understood now that Tim 
Conway, who had attired himself in his 
clothes, had made for the train, missed his 
footing, and been cast, cut and mangled, 
into the river. And this, after the Major's 
return and the exhumation of Tim 
Conway's body, was the explanation 
accepted by the newspaper and the people 
of Swansmere. There never has been 
any other. 

The Major had hesitated to return at 
once to his own house. The Sisters urged 
him to write, but he was too impatient 
for that. He had started for Swansmere; 
and, once there, he was filled with doubt 
as to the best manner of revealing him- 
self. He had smiled to himself and called 
himself Rip Van Winkle. He was in 



this state of doubt when he had entered 
Ward's house. 

Bemice listened to his story as if in a 
dream; she held his hand, from which 
the old ring was gone — it had been 
buried on Tim Conway's finger, — and 
kissed it from time to time. 

"My child," the Major said, tremu- 
lously breaking the silence which followed 
this story, "I have learned the value of 
faith. I have returned, heart and soul, to 
the Church of my fathers. And I ask you, 
out of your love, to try to understand 
how beautiful, how true it is." 

Bernice'rose and took her father's head 
between her hands. With shining eyes 
she kissed him. 

"Father," she said, "I know^ — I, too, 
have found the truth." 

"Thank God!" 

The father and daughter did not speak, 
lyady Tyrrell, who had managed by 
getting her ear close to a crack in the 
upper panel to hear the greater part of 
the Major's explanation, could bear the 
silence no longer. She pushed open the 
door. 

"What is the matter?" she demanded. 
"Are you both dead this time?" 

The Major started to his feet. Ladyj 
Tyrrell's entrance was a discord. 

"I must apologize for this intrusion," 
she said, perceiving the expression of his 
face. "But you have been away so long;' 
and," she added, with a touch of malice, 
"there was an unfounded rumor that you 
had gone to heaven." 

"And you never expected to meet me 
there," said the Major, with some of his 
old grimness. 

"It would have been a great surprise, 
I confess," said Lady Tyrrell, demurely. 
"There is somebody in the drawing-room 
waiting to see you. I fancy it is Giles 
Carton. He asked for Bernice, too. I 
know what people are in moments of 
agitation. We lose our heads, — all our 
generous impulses come into play. When 



THE AVE MARIA. 



175 



I heard that you had come back, I gave 
Maggie a five dollar note to pay the 
milkman, and never thought of counting 
the change. So don't let Bernice decide 
impulsively about Giles Carton until I 
have had a talk with you." 

"Giles Carton?" said the Major, 
looking at ^ Bernice. "I thought that 
Bernice had entirely given him up, — but 
she shall do as she pleases, of course. 
Only, if you are about to become a Cath- 
olic, Bernice, a marriage with a Protestant 
minister — " 

"Giles is going to be a Catholic, too, 
papa," Bernice began. 

She was interrupted. Giles appeared in 
the hall, on his way to the study. He had 
overheard Bernice' s last words. 

"Yes, Major," he said, with a glowing 
face. "I no longer pretend to an office 
which I have no grace and no right to 
fill. I can see no safety for myself, except 
in the Church to which I have been 
unconsciously tending, in spite of all the 
fripperies and fads about me. Major, I 
think Bernice will take me as I am, and 
forgive the past." 

Bernice put her face against her 
father's shoulder. 

"I am the last man in the world to 
stand in the way of your vocation, Giles," 
the Major said, smiling. "And it seems 
to me that Bernice is willing." 

"Major," Lady Tyrrell almost shrieked, 
^*you are ruining yourself! Bernice must 
larry Edward Conway. He is the heir of 
lat Southern money. I told you not to 
hasty." 

The Major's lips tightened. 

"Another time, Lady Tyrrell," he said. 
'*I don't care to talk business to-day. 
tnd, Giles, since it is all right with you 
id Bernice again, bring the Colonel 
bound to dinner to-night, and we'll open 

bottle or two of the Amontillado." 

Lady Tyrrell raised her eyes and hands 
>ward the ceiling, as if averting a curse. 

' (To be continued.) 



The CaMph'8 Question. 



BY MARY B. MANNIX. 



\ CHMET, the caliph, wandered o'er the 
strand, 
His smiling flatterers ranged on either hand. 

The caliph spake — each satrap bared his head; 
'Twas sunset time: the evening skies were red. 

And while, with naked brow and bended knee, 
They paid him court, "I have a thought," 
said he. 

"What is the rarest thing on earth?" And 

Bai, 
The gravest of them all, made bold to say: 

"The rarest thing on earth, my King and 

Lord? 
Fidelity. I swear it by my sword!" 

The caliph smiled, and, scornful, shook his 

head. 
"Nay, nay! My very dogs have that, " he said. 

" Unselfishness! " with daring front,cried one. 
• ' Can there be aught more rare beneath the 
sun?" 

The caliph frowned. " Your wits are dull," 

he said; 
"That trait belongs, I take it, to the dead." 

The jester ventured: "Master, I would call 
Sincerity the rarest thing of all." 

" Fool, thou art right," the stern -browed 

monarch said, — 
"Ah, right indeed !" and raised his haughty 

head. 

"And if it could be bought for any price, 
Or were there some keen craft or rare device 

"By which the stuff ray vessels mfght import, 
I'd have a cargo straightway brought to 
court ' ' 

He passed; they followed him along the shore 

With whispers low, — the caliph spake no 

more. 

•♦• 

Silence makes us good-hearted, as 
judging makes us little-minded. — Faber. 



176 



THE AVE MARIA 



Views of Education. 



BY THE RIGHT REV. J. I^ANCASTER SPAI,DING, D. D. 



(CONCLT7SION.) 

II. 

IT is easy to speak liglitly of words, as 
though they were mere idle sound; but 
an opinion or a belief which has once gotten 
itself rightly barricaded behind verbal 
breastworks, will withstand the onslaughts 
of armies and of centuries. Writing about 
books is, for the most part, idle writing; 
for each one must discover for himself the 
book or books he needs, and it is sufficient 
that he know there are but a few that are 
good. Books are saved from oblivion by 
quality of thought and style. Without 
this even the most learned and profound 
are soon superseded or forgotten; for the 
learning of one age becomes the ignorance 
of another; and true thoughts badly 
expressed pass into the possession of those 
who know how to give them proper 
embodiment, just as the story becomes 
his who tells it best. The best books are 
praised by many, read by some, and studied 
by few. The inventor of the telephone 
sets tens of thousands talking to one 
another from a distance, but their talk is 
the same old story they have been telling 
face to face these many centuries. Never 
shall mortal make a machine which will 
teach them to think nobler thoughts or to 
say diviner things. If the bodily eye needs 
much training that it may see rightly, 
distinguish accurately among the myriad 
forms and colors, how shall we hope, 
without discipline and habitual effort, to 
acquire justness of intellectual view, ability 
to see things as they are? 

A man's accidents, such as wealth or 
position, may give him importance while 
he is alive; but once he is dead, only 
what was part of himself, as his genius 



or his virtue, can make him interesting. 
The craving for recognition should be 
resisted as we resist an appetite for strong 
drink. To look for praise or place is to 
work in the spirit of a hireling. That 
alone is good for me which gives me free- 
dom and opportunity to lead my own life, 
to upbuild the being whicL is myself. 
Since human power is limited, that which 
is spent in one direction lessens the 
amount which might be used in another. 
The nerve force the sensualist consumes 
in indulgence, the higher man evolves 
into thought and love. Favor rather 
than opposition hinders development of 
mind and character. If self-culture is 
our aim, let us be thankful for foes, and 
deem ourselves fortunate when the world 
permits us to pass unnoticed. Should 
God lead me to a higher world and offer 
whatever I might crave, I should ask for 
the clearest intellectual insight and the 
purest love. 

Half of all that is printed is harmful, 
and of the remainder more than half 
is superfluous. It is a problem whether 
the daily newspaper will not eventually 
submerge both intellect and conscience. 
They who live for truth and love should 
renounce all hope of financial, political 
and social success; for those whose home 
is in higher spheres are not recognized, 
and should not care to be recognized, by 
the dwellers in lower worlds. There is a 
kind of talent which needs encourage- 
ment, but it is of the sort which is hope- 
lessly inferior. A Godlike power thrives 
most when men are heedless of its pres- 
ence; and the best work has been done by 
those who received little praise while they 
were living, and who cared little what 
should be said of them when dead. Where 
the individual dwindles, man becomes, 
not more and more, but less and less; for 
man exists only in the individual. Let 
not thy study be to provide for thy present 
wants or whims, but to do the absolute 
best God has made thee capable of doing. 



i 



THE AVE MARIA. . 



177 



Talent is inborn. It unfolds itself, how- 
ever, only under certain conditions. To 
provide these conditions is the business of 
the educator, and whatever else he. may do 
s harmful. He who has gained a higher 
point of view, looks with a kind of hope- 
less sadness upon those whose eyes are 
blinded by ignorance or passion. 

In whoever is destined to achieve 
distinction the spirit of discontent lives 
like a god. "To accustom mankind," 
says Joubert, " to pleasures which depend 
neither upon the bodily appetites nor 
upon money, by giving them a taste for 
the things of the mind, seems to me the 
, one proper fruit which nature has meant 
• our literary productions to have." Early 
ripeness, long life, and youthful-minded 
old age are the conditions required for 
the best development of man's powers. 
They who see things in a new light 
influence opinion, but mere makers of 
syllogisms and propounders of arguments 
speak and write to no purpose. To have 
value, knowledge must be intelligence 
and -not merely erudition. It is for the 
mind, not the mind for it. 

The philosopher, poet or man of science 
who says he has no time to waste in 
etting rich, speaks, in the opinion of the 
owd, sheer nonsense, though he simply 
presses the generally received truth 
t what we are is of more importance 
an what we possess. 
As distance seems to bring the stars 
ose together, so in remote epochs great 
en and great deeds appear to stand 
icker. This is but a form of the illusion 
■which perspective always creates, and to 
which we must also attribute the prevalent 
notion that in ancient times heroic virtue 
was less rare than in our own. ' ' In cheer- 
fulness," says Pliny, "lies the success of 
our studies. ' ' We live only as we energize. 
Energy is the mean by which our faculties 

te developed, and a higher self-activity is 
e end at which all education should aim. 



fail in love, and in this lies the essential 
sadness of life. He who can not perform 
noble deeds will not be able to write in a 
noble style. He who takes interest in a 
pugilist rather than in a philosopher or 
a poet is as though he were a dog or 
a cock. The lack of money may cause 
discomfort, but the lack of intelligence 
makes us poor, the lack of virtue makes 
us vulgar. Lack of money may be sup- 
plied, lack of soul never. The money 
we owe enslaves us, the money we own 
corrupts us. Whoever can influence men, 
should strive to make them more coura- 
geous, more enduring, more hopeful, 
simpler, more joyful. 

"Books," says Emerson, "are the best 
of things, well used; abused, among the 
worst. What is the right use? What is 
the one end which all means go to effect? 
They are for nothing but to inspire." 

There is no phrase more suggestive 
than this of the Gospel — to "throw pearls 
to swine." This is what the makers of 
literature have been doing from the begin- 
ning; and that which still survives as 
literature is what a few heavenly minds 
have picked up from beneath the hoofs 
of the herd, whose uplifted snouts pleaded 
for swill, not for thought. Descartes and 
Spinoza, like Plato and Aristotle, hold 
that blessedness consists in knowing in so 
living a way that to know is to admire, 
to love, to be filled with peace and joy. 
A man of genius is like a barbarous con- 
queror: he slays the victims he despoils, 
and so what he steals seems never to 
have belonged to others. 

' ' The philosopher," says St. Evremonde, 
"devotes himself not to the most learned 
writings to acquire knowledge, but to the 
most sensible to strengthen his under- 
standing. At one time he seeks the most 
elegant to refine his taste, at another the 
most amusing to refresh his spirits." Who- 
ever reads to good purpose seeks to place 
himself at the writer's point of view. He 
reads for inspiration and knowledge, not 



178 



THE AVE MARIA, 



to find fault. There are many whose view 
of education is that it is a process of 
taming, like the domestication of animals. 
They strive to subdue the child and 
make him pliable to another's will; and 
when he has become thoroughly tame, 
they think he is well educated. A tame 
horse, however, if we consider its own 
good, is inferior to one that is wild; and 
whoever or whatever is overcome and 
made subject is weakened and dispirited. 
Whatever we teach boys, girls should be 
taught the science and art of education 
itself ; for three- fourths of them will be- 
come mothers. And education is a mother's 
chief business, in which, if she fail, 
schools and other agencies are powerless 
to form true men and women. 

What gives pleasure is of little moment, 
what gives power and wisdom is all- 
important. The degenerate seek ease and 
comfort; the strong love adventure and 
danger, hardship and labor. To lead a 
moral and intellectual life is to make 
one's self, physically even, attractive. 

When the discerning perceive that an 
author addresses himself to a circle, a 
party or a class, they care not what he 
says ; knowing that if it were worth 
writing, he would utter it simply from 
his inner being, and without thought of 
impressing others. A book chance throws 
in our way, an acquaintance made by 
accident, changes the whole course of life. 
We are strong when we follow our own 
talent, weak when another's leads us. 
Whoever is made free, frees himself. This 
is the meaning of the Gospel phrase: 
" Ye shall know the truth, and the truth 
shall make you free." Another may break 
down prison walls and strike off fetters, 
but this liberating truth each one must 
teach himself, or never know it at all. 
Duration rather than intensity of high 
and passionate feeling makes the man of 
genius. The human race is so poor in 
men of real intellectual force that when it 
finds one it receives him gladly, whatever 



his defects or perverseness may be. 
Whoever impels to high thinking gives 
pleasure, and of a nobler kind than that 
which a fair scene or rich wine or delight- 
ful company can give. Why should the 
American who is most alive be able 
simply to make the most money? Why 
should he not think the highest thought, 
feel the deepest love? Sensation lies at 
the root of thought. We really know only 
what experience, suffering and labor have 
wrought into our very being. Hence the 
young have no true or deep knowledge. 

In educating, as in walking, we have an 
end in view. In educating this end is an 
idea — the idea of human perfection; and 
to develop and make plain this ideal is 
more important than any of the thousand 
questions with which our pedagogical 
theorists are occupied; for to say we live 
by faith, hope, love and imagination is but 
a way of saying that we live only in the " 
light of ideals. A student wrote this over 
his door: "Who enters here does me honor, 
who stays away gives me pleasure." "To 
read to good purpose," says Matthew 
Arnold, "we must read a great deal, and 
be content not to use a great deal of 
what we read." 

A cultivated mind entertains all ideas 
and all facts with attention, just as a polite 
and brave man is gracious to all comers. 
The painter studies the body in nude 
models. Let the thinker, if he would know 
the value of his thought, strip it of verbal 
ornament. The showy dress of words but 
hides the lack of truth, as a fine phrase 
makes its content credible. "Not more 
than one in one hundred thousand of the 
books written in any language," says 
Schopenhauer, "forms a real and perma- 
nent part of literature." 

In literature is preserved the essence of 
the intellectual, moral and imaginative 
life of the best minds. A good book may 
easily be more interesting than its author; 
for there we find pure and refined what in 
him was commingled with baser matter. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



179 



I can uot read all books, but I can read 
many; and the writers of the many I read 
liave read all that is worth reading. The 
'jurnalist is an alarmist. His newspaper 
jlls in proportion to the excitement 
he succeeds in creating. Wars, disasters, 
panics, famines, plagues, outrages, scandals, 
form the element in which he thrives. 
His readers lose the power to remember, 
to think. They lose the sense for simple 
truth and beauty, for proportion and 
harmony. Like the readers of cheap 
novels, they become callous, and can be 
roused to momentary attention only by 
what is startling or monstrous. The 
journalist seeks what will make immediate 
impression ; a real mind looks to truth 
and to pennament results. 

No one actually holds within his 
memory one ten-thousandth part of the 
information contained in a book such as 
the British Encyclopaedia , and he who 
knows most of the Eucyclopoelia is 
probably a mm in whom there is little 
spontaneity, little of that mental quality 
which gives one's thought personal, that 
is reil, charm and worth. ''Truth that has 
been merely learned," says Schopenhauer, 
"is like an artificial limb, a f .Use tooth, a 
waxen nose: it adheres to us only because 

|"t has been put on." 
; The right to punish implies the duty 
D teach and educate. Once we have 
|ained insight into life's meaning, we see 
bw nearly all men, like hounds astray, 
are following scents which lead nowhere. 
He who writes with care day by day will 
learn at least how to say things. For the 
education of men, which is the highest 
human work, one heroic, loving and 
! illumined soul is worth more than all the 
money-endowments. How poor are they 

I 'ho have only money to give! May it not 
e a consciousness of the small value of 
rhat they can bestow that hardens the 
earts of the rich? They who give money 
ive like those who g^ve food ; they 



As the miser lives ever, in thought, with 
his gold, the lover with his beloved, so 
the student lives always with the things 
of the mind, with what is true and fair 
and good. High purpose and the will to 
labor mark those who are predestined to 
distinction. To have knowledge but no 
skill, no ability to do any useful thing, 
avails nothing. Herein lies the defect of 
our education : we are taught everything 
except how to work wisely, bravely, and 
perseveringly ; how to strive not for 
money and place, but for wisdom and 
virtue. Learning without faculty leaves 
us impotent, and may easily render us 
ridiculous. In each soul there is a world 
in embryo, and the teacher's business is to 
help it to be born. To interest the young 
in themselves, in the world that is in and 
around them, that they may realize that 
its implications are divine, is a chief part 
of education. The best help is that which 
makes us reverent, self-active and inde- 
pendent. Work reveals character. We 
know what a man is when we know, not 
what his opinions and beliefs are, but 
what he does or has done. Oar highest 
aspirations reveal our deepest needs. 
Better be one whom men hate than one 
whose ideal is good digestion, good 
clothes, and general comfortableness. 

The true educator strives to draw forth 
and strengthen the sense for truth and 
justice, and to develop a taste for the 
purer and nobler pleasures of life. His 
aim is to make men good and reasonable, 
not to make them smart and eager for 
possession or indulgence. The discipline of 
sorrow, of sorrow of a great and worthy 
kind, has a high educational value. More 
than anything else it purifies the sources 
of life and forms character. Every choice 
spirit seeks some fortress, some soul- 
sanctuary, where he may live for truth 
and God, far from the crowd who neither 
know nor love. You are not I, your good 
is not mine. Go forward, then, and prosper; 
your gain can never be my loss. We 



180 



THE AVE MARIA. 



thoroughly understand only what we 
have outgrown. Intellectual progress is an 
approach to truer estimates of values. A 
man is what he is and who he is, not by 
virtue of wealth or office, but by the quality 
of his thought and life. "Thinking and 
doing, doing and thinking," says Goethe, 
' ' is the sum of all wisdom ; so recognized 
and practised from the beginning, but 
not understood by everyone." 



Memories of Hawaii. 



BY CHARLES WARRBN STODDARD. 



VII. — In and Out of Eden. 

WERE it possible to observe the three 
unities, I should send you these lines 
scratched with a thorn upon a folio of 
plantain leaves. As it is, I have but to 
jab my pen into the fleshy stalk of this 
highly decorative vegetable, inscribe a 
couplet on the hem of my handkerchief, 
dip it into the fountain at my feet, and 
the lines at once become indelible, like 
the memory of this peerless vale. 

You see how impossible it is for me to 
write of lao without gushing; therefore, 
dearly beloved, let us gush! 

lao is a profound mystery. One must 
get into the heart of her and lodge there 
for a time before she begins to reveal her 
manifold beauties. She has a thousand 
moods, and these might easily exhaust 
a whole volume of new adjectives, were 
such a treasure to be discovered now. 
She is as coy as a virgin, as inconsistent 
as a coquette; she smiles and weeps in the 
same breath, and threatens you with the 
bolts of Jove, while she lures you with a 
breath as fragrant as the first lisp of love. 

Alas! how many silken leaves of the 
banana might one cover with such rhap- 
sodies as these, and, as yet, have revealed 
nothing of the charms of lao! 



A vale of mystery is she, in no way 
to be compared with any other in the 
Kingdom, yet worthy to be named with 
the most famous on the earth. Waipio and 
Waimanu dazzle as you pass them upon 
the sea. Halawa, on Molokai, and the 
girdle of valleys that beautify remote 
Hana, at the foot of Haleakala, are all 
charming. Like voiceless sirens, they 
waylay the mariner; and, for aught I 
know, are as dangerous as were the 
tormentors of Ulysses. But it remains for 
lao to veil herself in vapors, put on her 
crown of cloud, withdraw into the 
fastnesses of the mountains, and there 
await her votaries. 

From the upper edge of Wailuku one 
looks into the mouth of this valley, a wild 
gorge that soon retires into the mists and 
vapors. The very clouds seem to reflect 
the prevailing tints — green flecked with 
gold, and gold tempered with green, — a 
soft, changeful light born of sunshine 
and verdure. 

There is a little settlement in the verjr^ 
throat of the valley — a few primitive cot 
with kalo patches on one side of them, 
and a screen of vigorous banana trees on. 
the other. Cattle feed in knee-deep grass; 
goats perch upon the low stone-walls, anc 
sniff" at the tender sprouts just out ol 
reach. Natives lie in the shade and wait 
for the harvest, which is already ripening^] 
Down through the midst of this peaceful 
picture bursts a foaming torrent ; and J 
following up the margin of the floodyl 
crossing and recrossing it again and yet 
again, we enter into the heart of lao. 

Now, blessed be the damp and sedj 
trail, and the broad, deep fords, with rolling-j 
stones in the bed of them ! Blessed be th< 
very gate that stops our way just as oui 
blood begins to leap and our eyes to gloT 
with glimpses of that inner world, — a' 
world untenanted, save by. the noiseless 
winged creatures that float over it like 
airy sentinels ! And blessed be the silent 
man who came out of the wood and let. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



181 



us into the depths thereof with a key ! 
He must have been dumb, and his key 
likewise ; for it turned noiselessly in the 
lock. Even the chain that fell upon the 
gate, as it swung open, clanked softly, and 
the keeper turned to follow us with his 
quiet eye. It was thus we entered the sanct- 
uary of lao; and, speechless, passed under 
the boughs in single file, and were locked 
in with the mysteries not yet revealed. 

Was the valley of Rasselas like this, I 
wonder? .Only at one point does the eye 
run down the narrowing seaward gorge, to 
spy out the world, and find it pleasing. For 
the most part if one can for the moment, 
turn away from the compelling majesty of 
lao to look back upon the plains and the 
sand and the sea yonder, they seem mean 
by comparison; but with a single leap 
here is paradise regained. Height, depth, 
breadth, eternal summer, living light, 
shadows profound, and an atmosphere that 
breathes terrestrial joy,— 7all, all are here. 
Yonder leap the streams from heaven to 
earth, some like momentary, foamy comets 
shot in the wake of a passing shower; 
others slipping like pearls through the 
green meshes of the fern; some again 
throbbing like veins charged with quick- 
silver; ' ' and some like a downward smoke, 
slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn"; 
^_ but all silent and far away. 
^B, Only the gurgle of the stream in the bed 
^Bof the valley is echoed here, or the sudden 
^Kflutter of wings in the boughs above us; 
^■or, perhaps, the deep sigh of the wind in 
j^Hsome remote depth, as if our approach had 
'^disturbed the slumber that possesses lao. 
There are pyramids of fern trees, that 
tower from the earth to the clouds. There 
are perpendicular walls, across the face of 

I which the birds fly without pausing, and 
lirhere I doubt if they can find rest for their 
muffled feet. There are sharp shafts of 
rocks that cleave the clouds like javelins; 
ind, between them, abysmal shadows in 
lirhich the snow-white birds fade like 
r •"" 



There is a table-land in the midst of this 
incomparable amphitheatre, from which 
the whole valley is seen at its best Here 
take your last look. Every hour is a new 
revelation. The bosom of the vale is 
oppressed with the shades of night, but the 
peaks that surround her are as brilliant as 
if cloaked with the golden-tinted, feather 
robes of royalty. There is a storm raging 
yonder, but we are lapped in calm. Cur- 
rents of air drive scurrying clouds through 
dim, aerial passes. They troop like the 
sorrowful brotherhood of the Misericordia 
— ghosts, every one of them, come to bury 
the ghosts that haunt this valley, and will 
not be laid for evermore. 

Through the gorge yonder I see a 
panel picture, — a picture slender and tall; 
a strip of rich green canefield; a strip of 
yellow beach; the exquisite silver sickle 
of the sea; one slope of the distant head- 
land, and then bright blue sky to the 
very zenith. That is quite another world 
than this, O dreamer! — one that is laid 
wide open to the horizon. Through it 
the winds rove. It is burning and bleach- 
ing in the sun. But among these hanging 
gardens the league-long creepers pour 
cataracts of blossoms from the cliff. The 
fruits ripen and fall in their season, and 
the dews nightly feed these unfailing 
fountains when that land yonder lies 
parched and dead. 

Of all this inner valley not a rood 
but is Nature's own. lao has been, and 
shall always be, the temple and the 
throne of beauty. Grove upon grove 
crowns her terraces; garden upon garden 
perfumes her cloudy lights. Babylon indeed 
is fallen, and its grandeur is laid waste ;^ 
but lao the solitary, whom art may not ap- 
proach nor utility desecrate, — lao, clothed 
in perennial splendor, savage, sombre, 
serene, shall endure and reign forever. 

Let the frivolous, who know Hawaii, 
and who believe themselves especially 
acquainted with the island of Maui, — let 
them laugh if they will when I take them 



182 



THE AVE MARIA. 



out of the Eden of lao to Kalepolepo by 
the shore. It is out of Eden, I am free to 
confess; but let those that sit in the seat 
of the. scornful keep their seats, for there 
are worse places in the Hawaiian world 
than Kalepolepo, and they probably occupy 
one of them. 

Not that I consider Kalepolepo the 
queen of Hawaiian watering-places; still 
if Midas were to expend as much money 
upon it as has been lavished upon certain 
unpromising summer resorts I wot of, 
Kalepolepo might easily take the palm — 
whether royal, cocoa, wine, cabbage, screw, 
fan or native palm. 

Kalepolepo is not puffed up, is not boast- 
ful of her architecture, her waterworks, 
or her public or private gardens. She sits 
quietly upon the hem of the desert, the 
sand drifting in upon her inch by inch; 
the sea playfully reaching up to her, as if 
to drag her down into the depths. Patience 
on a monument smiles not more blandly 
than she — and she has two griefs to smile 
at: first, there is her loss of prestige; 
second, there is the aggravating self-im- 
portance — the momentary and remittent, 
but nevertheless undeniable, importance — 
of her rival, Maalaea! 

Forlorn Kalepolepo, I salute thee! In 
memory of other and happier days, and 
for the sake of the solemn night I passed 
within your borders, I drop the silent tear. 

We had left Lahaina in the afternoon, 
my guide and I. We hoped to reach 
Ulupalakua by sunset; but, coming over 
the hill of difficulty, just above Maalaea, 
the wind loosened the shoes of our horses, 
so that by the time we had reached Kale- 
polepo the beasts were barefooted. Here 
the guide promptly unearthed a parent, 
and tearfully asked leave to hang until 
morning upon the maternal bosom. As we 
were about making the tour of the island, 
it seemed cruel to refuse him this request. 
I listened to the voice of nature. I slept 
at Kalepolepo — but this was years ago. 

Later it was revealed to me that my 



guide — he was but a lad then — had 
mothers at convenient distances through- 
out the sea-board of Maui; that he was 
the pet of a much be-mothered family; 
that his quasi-progenitors all wailed in 
the same key ; that the voice of nature, so 
to speak, was seldom if ever hushed; for 
no sooner had the last farewell died away 
in the distance than a fresh wail was 
lifted up among the hills ahead of us. 
Our feet were literally bathed in tears 
before we could get out of the saddle; in 
fact, we were pretty damp most of the 
time. I never before had so much emotion 
for so little money; and as for the guide, 
he was probably the least boy for the 
amount of mother that the world ever 
saw. And it all began at Kalepolepo. The 
oldest inhabitant dwelt in an antiqu^ed 
rookery; and, naturally enough, his name 
was Noe. Noe was still in possession ; but 
the family and the animals had gone out 
of the ark, as it were, — at least, most of 
the latter had gone. 

It was a dim ark, with lower halls and 
upper chambers and a hurricane deck, 
for aught I know. It looked as if it had 
quietly stepped ashore in a spring-tide, 
and was rather glad to get in out of the 
wet I remember the huge haircloth sofa, 
such as they used in Noe's day; and the 
mountain chain of spiral springs set all 
awry by some internal convulsion in the 
bed of that sofa. I settled down among 
the numerous valleys before morning, and 
slept like Giant Despair. I remember other 
pieces of dark, quaint furniture of pre- 
historic mould ; and, while waiting for the 
approach of sleep, I thought- of the days 
when the ark was the resort of ancient 
mariners, very like Captain Marryat's 
"King's Own," who were doing business 
on great waters — a very brisk business, 
too, — and came to Kalepolepo to bargain 
for hides and potatoes and watermelons. 

Those were piping times; but oh, what 
changes have come over the spirit of 
that past ! 



i 



THE AVE MARIA. 



i83 



Dana had not yet written "Two Years 
before the Mast"; Herman Melville was 
vagabondizing from Cancer to Capricorn, 
gathering material for those most delight- 
ful of all books of adventure, "Omoo," 
"Typee," ''Moby Dick," . and "White 
Jacket" Monterey was still thoroughly 
Mexican; California gold not even dreamed 
of; but Kalepolepo had store -houses 
bursting with bushels of potatoes, almost 
as good as so many nuggets of gold. She 
supplied the whaling fleet that summered 
in the Arctic, and long after gold had 
glorified the Pacific Coast she was shipping 
luxuries to the hungry miners. 

Ah me! Kalepolepo had her attractions 
then. What if her solitary boulevard could 
boast no shade? The solid sands were 
paced by the light-footed nymphs, who 
came hither to dazzle in silks and satins 
and fine feathers; and the flower of the 
forecastle —no doubt some true blue-bloods 
among them — scattered dollars like dross. 

There was good eating and good 
drinking then. Many a night the walls of 
the ark must have rung with revelry; 
and, if the night were calm without, there 
were music and laughter upon the silver 
sands, and the cocoa palms yonder nodded 
in the moonlight, as much as to say: 
Well, never mind what they said; for it 
is all done with now ! 

The ark is still here, creaking a little 
in the winds that blow bravely at Kale- 
polepo. The old sheds are here that were 
filled and emptied so frequently; spme of 
the original huts are still standing, and a 
few new ones have sprung up — prim 
wooden boxes, such as expel the airs of 
heaven and condense the blasts of the pit. 

Just over the ridge there are juicy, large 
watermelons ripening in the sand; and 
at times — alas for the rarity ! — somebody 
rides through the place, in the glare of the 
sun, looking in vain for the inviting vine 
and the fig-tree of refreshment. But, for 
all this, Kalepolepo has her memories; 
and these are what Maalaea has not — at 



least, none that she has any reason to be 
proud of. 

It was at Kalepolepo that Kamehameha 
the Conqueror beached his canoes. If 
the oldest inhabitant of Maalaea claims 
this distinction for his port, believe him 
not. I have the facts from an eye-witness. 
The sea was dark with victorious canoes; 
Kamehameha landed at Kalepolepo, and 
a kapu was put upon the nearest stream. 
It became sacred to royalty, as was the 
custom, and is known as Waikapu to this 
hour — that is, forbidden water. 

Presently the monarch began his march; 
and at the second stream a great battle 
raged, so those waters were called Luku. 
Luku — "to slaughter, to slay as in war, the 
destruction of many at once." Wailuku! 
only to think of her unimaginable 
tranquillity in this year of grace! 

The enemy was defeated and put to 
flight, and a third stream was called Ehu. 
Ehu — " to scare away, as hogs or hens," 
or as faint-hearted and sore-footed foes. 
Waiehu is a meagre rivulet, that seems to 
have wasted away under the influence of 
this withering epithet. 

There over the hill and down into the 
dale of Waihee rushed the panic-stricken 
hosts. As for the word Hee^ it may mean, 
probably does mean in this case, utter 
rout, or to be dispersed in battle; and well 
they must have been who fled before 
Kamehameha, inasmuch as Waihee is the 
jumping-off" place; after it — the deluge! 

That is the legend of the four waters, 
given me by one Paahao, of Waihee, who 
knew Kamehameha; whose hand I shook, 
which had been shaken by Kamehameha 
the great; who is the proud possessor of 
a pipe, the gift of the conqueror after he 
had buried the hatchet and was willing 
to smoke in peace. 

The other day I called on old Paahao. 
We were sitting in an arbor of castor- 
beans when the venerable savage asked 
me for a smoke. Alas for the depravity 
of this people! I took the cigarette from 



184 



THE AVE MARIA. 



between my lips, aud inserted it in the 
•cavity which he still uses as a mouth. 
The aperture closed about the pernicious 
weed, like a sack gathered up with a cord. 
Then he drew mightily again and again 
and again. His cheeks fell in. I began to 
fear that his suction, though audible, was 
defective, and that he was not able to 
fetch even a thread of smoke from the 
delicate wisp of paper that was gradually 
sinking into his face. But with wonderful 
energy he still worked at it; and at last, 
taking the live coal from his lips, he 
quenched it between his thumb and finger 
as deliberately as if it had been a pellet of 
chalk. Then, and not till then, did he 
begin to smoke; but having once begun, 
it was indeed he who was smoking. 
Dense volumes of vapor welled up out of 
the depths of him. He was oozing at 
every pore. Thick clouds obscured him. 
Like a frightful example of spontaneous 
combustion, he faded away before my 
very eyes. Then out of this pillar of 
cloud came a faint voice. Was it a voice 
of warning or exhortation? No, it was 
not the advice so freely offered by those 
who can not smoke to those who can. On 
the contrary, it was a heartfelt Aloha^ 
wafted to me from another country 
and another age, as it were; for Paahao 
smoked his first pipeful with his old friend 
Captain Cook, and he was at that moment 
flourishing, like the bay-tree, in the one 
hundred and twelfth year of his age. 

As I grasped his hand at parting, it 
was with inexpressible anguish that I 
realized how, in my possible threescore 
years and ten, though I were to smoke 
like a furnace night and day, I can never 
hope to rival this human volcano. So I 
turned sadly from him, and left him 
sitting in his bean arbor, belching at 
intervals a pale-blue vapory ring or two, 
and smiling to himself, down by the 
rice-paddy, overlooking the haunt of the 
dreamy squid. 

(To be continued.) 



The Evil of Divorce. 



T^HE statement can not be too frequently 
A made that one of the greatest evils 
with which our modern social organism 
is afflicted is the widespread liberality of 
existing divorce laws. A writer in the 
North American Review stigmatizes this 
most emphatically, and presents a phase of 
the question very uncomplimentary indeed 
to our Western States; but at the same 
time, it may be said, it finds its realization 
in our pioneer New England States. The 
words of the writer are well worth repro- 
ducing. He says: 

"As the scope of the law [of divorce] is little by 
little enlarged, an increasing number seek and obtain 
divorces, and after a while it becomes a perfectly 
respectable thing to contract what might be termed 
experimental marriages. In the West, especially, 
society receives back divorcees. The palaces of the 
well-to-do are open to them. Churches do not cast 
them out, and ministers welcome them at their 
Communion tables. They may occupy positions of 
trust and honor, two or three divorces to their credit 
side notwithstanding. And we are told that such 
sights have no influence on the growing generation 
of boys and girls. This is not true. Teach the rising 
generation by object-lessons, at an age when impres- 
sions are deep and lasting, that men and women 
may, without losing caste, divorce at pleasure, and 
the notion of the sanctity of the family life is under- 
mined. Let the newspapers dish up to the public, 
as they invariably do, all the details of divorce pro- 
ceedings, and joke about them, and the sanctity and 
morality of the family must necessarily be sapped.' 

It is true, indeed, that great harm is 
done by the publicity given to divorce 
proceedings in the newspaper reports. 
At the same time it is encouraging to 
think that the formation of a better 
public sentiment will do much toward 
counteracting the evil and cease to 
furnish any reason for the nauseating 
details *' dished up" by the public press. 

The Queen of England proscribes the 
reception of any divorced person; and this 
proscription has its salutary effect, limited 
though it may be. But it is the expression 
of a truth that wherever the influence of 
the Christian religion is permitted to be 
felt, those who would act counter to its 



THE AVE MARIA. 



185 



fundamental social law — the indissolu- 
bility of the marriage tie — are placed 
*' under the ban." The fact remains 
incontrovertible; and it gives the brightest 
hopes for the future of society that men 
and women of the present day, with minds 
unprejudiced and hearts free from the 
thraldom of passion, will refuse to mingle 
in the company of the divorced, or at least 
show their repugnance in being thus 
associated. It is consoling to note also 
that the abiding sense of right and wrong 
implanted in the soul of every human 
being is sure, in one way or another, 
to manifest itself; and God's law may 
never be violated with impunity. 



Notes and Remarks. 



The scientific world suffered a severe loss 
in the death of Father Benito Vinez, S. J.,who 
passed away last month at the Jesuit college 
in Havana. He was an authority in mete- 
orological science, and his observations of the 
West Indian hurricanes led to the modifica- 
tion of the laws of meteorology. He held 
constant correspondence with the more impor- 
tant scientific societies, and his publications 
were eagerly sought after by scientific 
students. The historian Froude, in his essay 
on "The English in the West Indies," 
describes a visit paid to Father Vinez in 
company with a Marquis who had been edu- 
cated by the Jesuits. Mr. Froude concludes 
his narrative with these words: "As we 
took our leave, the Marquis kissed his old 
master's brown hand. I almost envied him 
the privilege." 

All Catholics, and many other interested 
persons, have been curious to know why the 
Queen Isabella Association suddenly ceased 
to be heard of, and why the projected statue 

j of the friend of Columbus has no place in the 
Columbian Exposition. Miss Eliza Allen Stan- 
has, in The Seminary, satisfied all inquiries, 

> and at the same time given voice to a scathing 



arraignment of the managers of the World's 
Fair. The statue of the Catholic Queen was 
refused a place because there was no room 
for it! Those who have trod the weary miles 
in Jackson Park can have some conception of 
the absurdity of this pretext. No room for a 
Queen Isabella pavilion when temples were 
erected for the followers of every heathen 
rite which asked for representation! Was it 
bigotry which was at the bottom of the curt 
refusal? The list of members was by no 
means confined to Catholics, including the 
name of Mrs. Harrison, a Presbyterian, wife 
of the ex-President. 

But the Queen Isabella Association still 
lives; and the statue made by Miss Hosmer 
will occupy a suitable place outside the 
gates, as it is not welcome within them. 
And as the change in affairs necessitated a 
change of front, it is the statue of Isabella 
the Catholic, instead of Isabella of Castile, 
which will remain in Chicago ; for that is a 
condition, a permanent witness of the triumph 
of justice and truth over the barking wolves 
of prejudice. 

The Corpus Christi Monastery of the 
Dominican nuns at Hunt's Point, New York, 
has recently been enriched by the erection of 
a beautiful memorial chapel, the gift of Mr. 
John D. Crimmins. The altar is also due to 
his rdunificence. Above this altar, instead of 
the usual window, there is a niche in which 
the Blessed Sacrament is to be placed for 
perpetual adoration by the religious. It 
consists of a Gothic arch of purest marble, 
supported by onyx pillars. The pedestal for 
the remonstrance is adorned with precious 
gems, and is said to represent the careful 
savings of many years of one who desires 
to be unknown. The niche is the gift of a 
daughter of James and Rose Conway, a 
worthy couple, whose consistent lives and 
unostentatious charities will long be remem- 
bered by the Catholics of the Archdiocese of 
New York. 



The Holy Father, with that 
vigilance which has marked 
tificate, has observed that, for^ 
clergy, the progress of the C 
has been slower and more un 




186 



THE AVE MARIA. 



should be. In a recent Encyclical he says on 
this point: "The Catholic faith in the Indies 
will never have a sure defence, its propaga- 
tion in the future will not be sufficiently well 
guaranteed, so long as there is lack of minis- 
ters chosen from the natives of the covmtry 
and trained to the sacerdotal offices, who will 
not only be an aid to the foreign missionaries, 
but will also be able in their own cities to 
administer the life-giving Sacraments of the 
Christian religion." 

Farther on the Holy Father gives the 
reasons for the partial failure of the foreign 
clergy: "For the work of those apostolic 
men who leave Europe and enter India 
finds many obstacles, especially in a want 
of knowledge of the vernacular, which is 
acquired only with difficulty. Besides this, 
there is a difference of ideas, and a manner 
of living to which it requires many years 
to become accustomed. Hence, since the 
masses lend an unwilling ear to the voice 
of strangers, it is clear that the work of 
native priests will bear far greater fruits." 
Late dispatches announce that the Propa- 
ganda, acting on the Pope's recommenda- 
tion, has already established several new 
schools for the education of a native clergy. 



In a recent conversation, Mgr. Hutchinson, 
O. S. A. , Vicar- Apostolic of Northern Queens- 
land, described a very edifying custom that 
prevails among his people. The chief industry 
of the district is pearl-fishing, and the divers 
are nearly all Catholics. So earnest is their 
faith, that the diver invariably insists on 
having a crucifix hung around his neck in the 
pursuit of his dangerous avocation. It some- 
times happens that a diver forgets his crucifix; 
but as soon as the omission is discovered, he 
immediately signals his companions to raise 
him to the surface; then, having received 
the cross, he goes down contentedly to 
resume explorations. 



The Astronomical Congress to be held in 
Chicago on the 21st inst. will be under 
great obligations to Catholic savants. The 
celebrated astronomer. Padre Denza, of the 
Vatican Observatory, will transmit a paper 



on ' ' Astro - Photographic Investigations. ' * 
Stonyhurst, too, has been laid under contri- 
bution, the Rev. Walter Sidgreaves, S. J., 
contributing a risumi of the "Stonyhurst 
Solar Investigations." As our readers are 
aware, the astronomical exhibit at the 
World's Fair has already been enriched by a 
complete set of the publications issued by 
the Vatican Observatory. 



A noble woman, whose generosity is 
equalled only by her modesty, has given to 
Oakland, California, a memorial church of 
which any parish might be proud. It is pre- 
sumably bestowed in memory of her deceased 
husband, and was recently dedicated to God. 
So closely was the name of the donor kept a 
secret that it was not until this occasion that 
the curiosity of the people was gratified, and 
then it was mentioned as simply and in as 
few words as possible. Mrs. James Canning, 
an elderly widow, without children, declares 
that her exclusive object was the honor and 
glory of God, and she desires only to be 
considered His almoner. The edifice proper 
was built at a cost of about $150,000. Win- 
dows, an organ, and Stations of the Cross 
have been added by the munificence of 
other devoted women. 



The courteous action of the Rev. Mr.Giffin, 
pastor of the Baptist Church, Long Island 
City, has called forth words of approval from 
all the leading metropolitan journals. It 
appears that St. Mary's Church, Long Island 
City, was recently destroyed by fire. The 
next day the pastor. Father Maguire, received 
a letter of sympathy from Mr. Giffin,who also 
offered him the use of his own church until 
the Catholic congregation should be better 
provided for. The Rev. Mr. Weeks, of Ravens- 
wood, did the same. A temporary altar was 
erected, and the next Sunday witnessed the 
unusual sight of a Catholic priest vested for 
Mass in a Baptist temple. Mr. Giffin's con- 
duct was Christian and charitable. Heretofore 
it has been tacitly understood that Protes- 
tants, divided on every other point, were a 
unit in opposing the progress and vilifying 
the practices of the Church. Coming as it 



THE AVE MARIA. 



187 



does from a minister of the sect which is 
perhaps least kindly disposed toward the 
faith, this generous act has unusual signifi- 
cance. It is a genuine sign of the times, and 
indicates the direction in which the breeze 
of popular conviction blows. 

« 
« * 

There has been much hopeful talk of late 
years about a reunion of Christendom. Of 
course all Catholics understand that if such 
a reunion is actually to come about, our 
separated brethren must enter at the same 
door by which they went out. Still, there are 
many contingencies in which the united 
action of all Christians might compass results 
that are beyond the reach of any of the 
denominations taken singly. In the preser- 
vation of public morality, for instance, and 
in stemming the tide of modem infidelity, 
while we must always regret that there ajre 
large masses not directly under the influence 
of the Church, we ought to be glad of any 
power for good that Protestantism can exert 
in this direction. There can be no doubt, 
either, that a kindly act, such as Mr. Gifl&n 
performed, may induce a wholesome famili- 
arity with Catholic doctrine, and open the 
church-door to many Protestants in good 
faith, who, awed by the uncanny spirit with 
which early prejudice has invested the 
Church in their minds, stand wavering 
beyond the threshold. 



New Publications. 



The death is announced of Miss Mary M. 
Meline, of Cincinnati, Ohio, a well-known 
Catholic writer and lecturer. She was giving 
a course of lectures in one of the eastern 
cities a few months ago, when she was 
stricken with paralysis, from which she never 
recovered. Miss Meline had been closely 
identified with all the important intellectual 
movements that have been inaugurated by 
Catholics of late years, and she was an 
indefatigable worker in the cause of Catholic 
literature. She was literary by right of 
birth, — her father being a man of unusual 
parts, and her uncle the celebrated Colonel 
Meline, whose "Life of Mary Queen of 
Scots" caused Mr. Froude so much uneasi- 
ness on its first appearance. May she rest 
in peace! 



Reminiscences of Charles Saxtley, 
Student and Singer. Macmillan & Co. 

In these memoirs the author, Mr. Santley, 
takes his readers behind the scenes, so to 
speak, of theatrical life, where much of the 
glamour of the footlights vanishes in the 
glare of hard, disagreeable facts. The book 
concerns itself chiefly, however, with the 
career of the writer, whose early ambition 
led him to cast his lot with those who aspire 
to win fame and tortune in the world of tone. 
His stay in Italy for the purpose of voice 
culture and the mastery of the Italian lan- 
guage, his struggles with poverty and all 
the ills the opera-tic student is heir to, are 
graphically described in the first ten chapters; 
while, incidentally, much information is given 
relative to the greater and lesser lights of 
the stage of that day. The remainder of the 
book recounts, with a frank, straightforward 
honesty, the failures and successes, the praise 
and blame, that fell to his lot, once embarked 
upon a theatrical career. Anecdotes of men 
and women, who in days gone by sang them- 
selves into the good graces of European and 
American audiences, enliven its pages ; and 
not a little light is thrown upon the methods 
of certain theatrical stars. A notably pleasant 
chapter is that descriptive of Mr. Santley' s 
concert tour in the United States, in which 
also are given his opinions of matters and 
things American, his praise of the hospitality 
enjoyed on these shores, and his tribute to 
our postprandial oratory in general, and that 
of the late James T. Fields in particular. 

The book can not fail of doing good, as it 
shows what can be accomplished by courage 
and perseverance, even in the face of neglect 
and disappointment; while the too sanguine 
aspirant for footlight honors learns that he 
must serve a long and severe apprenticeship 
to labor, want and adverse criticism before 
he can claim the right to be heard. There 
are occasional lapses of style, and at times a 
disposition to take liberties with the "Queen's 
English ' ' ; but these faults can be condoned, 
especially as the writer disarms criticism 
by disclaiming any pretensions to literary 



i88 



THE AVE MARIA 



ability, — his only aim being to give the 
public a plain, unvarnished recital of facts. 
The type, paper and binding of the book 
are exceptionally fine. 

Reminiscences of Edgar P. Wadhams, 
First Bishop of Ogdensburg. By the Rev. 
C. A. Walworth. Benziger Brothers. 

This sketch of the life and work of Bishop 
Wadhams forms a very interesting and in- 
structive study. It embodies a portrayal of 
that "Oxford-like movement" among non- 
Catholics in our country, away back in the 
Forties, which led men like Brownson, 
Hecker, McMaster, as well as the subject 
and author of this quasi-biography, into the 
true fold. The book, therefore, possesses a 
charm and attraction peculiarly its own, as 
it delineates the character and qualities of a 
prelate through whose unostentatious zeal 
and devotedness so much good for religion 
was effected in a comparative wilderness in 
Western New York. A preface to the work 
is contributed by the present Bishop of 
Ogdensburg, the Rt. Rev. H. Gabriels, D. D. ; 
and its interest is still further increased by a 
number of illustrations — portraits of Bishops 
Wadhams and Gabriels,and Father Walworth, 
also pictures of localities wherein the salient 
stages of Bishop Wadhams' life-work had 
been placed. 

A Marriage of Reason. By Maurice 

Francis Egan. John Murphy & Co. 

This society novel, which formed a leading 
feature of the first volume of The Rosary 
while running therein as a serial, has been 
brought out in handsome style, and makes an 
attractive 1 2mo of more than three hundred 
pages. The story is brightly told, — comment, 
by the way, that is rather matter of course as 
to all Dr. Egan's narratives; and it inculcates 
an excellent and timely lesson, — a comment 
truer of Dr. Egan's stories, be it said, than of 
those of many of his compeers in the art of 
fiction. Katharine O' Conor, the heroine, is a 
thoroughly Catholic, sensible and lovable 
product of judicious convent training. Lady 
Alicia St. John, or, as Katharine calls her with 
the privilege of relationship and intimacy, 
Biddy Singen, is something of a departure 
fi-om the stereotyped Irishwoman so well 
known to admirers of trans- Atlantic fiction; 



and Mrs. Percival is a type of aristocratic 
Catholicity that we should like to think 
non-existent. Mrs. Sherwood is a devotee of 
fashions and fads, who is blessed with a 
husband far too good for her, and whom the 
author should in strict poetic justice have 
reduced to the necessity of once more carrying 
her basket to and from the market. Walter 
Dillon, a frank, friendly and humorous young 
architect, is the only male character in the ' 
story at all eligible for the task of making 
Miss O' Conor change her name; and most i 
readers of this sketch of social life in Phila- ' 
delphia will conclude that the inevitable 
marriage is one of reason, after all. The 
book should prove a popular addition to all 
Catholic libraries on whose shelves healthy 
fiction finds a place. 



Obituary. 



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

The following persons are recommended to the 
charitable prayers of our readers : 

Very Rev. Joseph A. Boll, V. F., of the Diocese of 
Harrisburg, rector of St. Francis Xavier's Church, 
Gettysburg, Pa., who yielded his soul to God on the 
26th ult. 

The Rev. Father William, a well-known priest of 
the Congregation of the Passion, whose happy death 
took place in Pittsburgh, on the 28th ult. 

Sister Mary Agnes, of the Sisters of St. Joseph, 
who was called to her reward on the 5th ult., at 
Troy, N. Y. 

Mr. Jeffrey Mockler, of Clontarf, Minn., who 
passed away on the 17th ult., fortified by the last 
Sacraments. 

Mr. Charles Reynolds, who departed this life on 
the loth ult., at Nantasket Beach, Mass. 

Mr. Roger A. Brown, of Philadelphia, who died on 
the 27th ult. 

Mrs. M. A. Burke, whose exemplary'Christian life 
was crowned with a holy death on the 21st ult., at 
Springfield, 111. 

Mr. John Courtney, of Lowell, Mass., whose life 
closed peacefully on the 23d ult. 

Mr. Michael J. Quinn, who breathed his last on 
the 22d ult., at Minneapolis. 

Tobias James Purcell, New York; Mrs. Margaret 
Maguire, Cohoes, N. Y. ; Timothy and Mary Muldoon, 
Troy, N. Y. 

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



i 




UNDER THE MANTLB OF OUR BLESSED MOTHER. 



Sight-Seeing at the World's Fair. 



BY MARY CATHERINE CROWLEY. 



II. 




I 



OW," said Uncle Jack,*' I am 
going to take you to the spot 
that is, as it were, the heart 
and soul of the Exposition; 
since it represents the origin 
of all this magnificence, and 
about it cluster the poetic 
associations of the discovery of America. 
Let us visit La Rabida." 

From the splendid Court of Honor, 
with its stately architecture, its sparkling 
fountains, its mirror of waters spanned 
by gleaming white bridges, and bordered 
by marble-like balustrades, and terraces of 
velvety grass adorned with statuary and 
sculptured vases filled with flowers, — 
from all this beauty he led them to a 
comparatively isolated part of the grounds. 
Here, on a rocky elevation just above the 
beach upon which the waters of Lake 
Michigan break in ripples of foam, they 
beheld a plain adobe building, with small 
windows, and a peculiar red-tiled roof, 
surmounted by an iron cross. 

" Why ! " exclaimed Nora, as she glanced 
up at its ancient-looking walls, "are you 
indeed a magician. Uncle Jack, and have 
you transported us back into the Middle 
Ages? Is this the blue sky of Spain 



above us, and will the gate of this old 
monastery be unbarred for us presently by 
a monk in a brown Franciscan habit and 
with sandalled feet?" 

"It is easy to imagine so," replied her 
uncle, laughing. 

Ellen said nothing. The tears started 
to her eyes, she could not exactly have 
told why. No doubt, however, it was 
because she felt the contrast between this 
austere, monastic solitude and the brilliant 
scene they had left; and yet realized that 
it was the hospitality of this humble 
monastery in Spain, four hundred years 
ago, that made the latter possible. 

As if divining her mood, Mr. Barrett 
remarked : 

' * How astonished good Father Perez 
would have been if he could have seen 
the vision of this dream-like, shining city 
by the Lake, the symbol of the great- 
ness of our country, arise before him as 
the outcome of his simple and pious act 
of kindness to a friendless stranger! Is 
it not a wonderful illustration of the old 
truth that good deeds are mariners sent 
forth with blessings upon the ocean of 
time, whose course we can not follow, 
and the far-reaching efiects of whose 
influences we can never trace?" 

"We know the story almost as well as 
we do our prayers," interrupted Nora: 
"how Columbus, a weary and penniless 
wanderer, paused at the door of the mon- 
astery to ask the alms of a bit of bread 
and a drink of water for his little son 



190 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Diego. The Brother porter invited them 
in, and set refreshments before them. 
While they were resting the superior, 
Father Juan Perez, happening to pass, 
noticed that, this grave, thoughtful man 
was very different from the usual way- 
farers who came to avail of the charity 
of the monks. He stopped to talk to 
him, and learned that the stranger was a 
navigator, who had sailed many seas, and 
had strange notions about the shape of 
the earth, and being able to get to India 
by crossing the ocean ; that he had spent 
years at the court of Portugal, trying 
to prevail upon the King to fit out an 
expedition for him ; and had received 
many promises, only to meet with disap- 
pointment in the end ; that he was now on 
his way to ask the aid of the sovereigns of 
Spain. Father Perez, being a very learned 
as well as a holy man, at once became in- 
terested in his great plans ; especially as 
he realized that Columbus thought more 
of bringing the light of the true religion 
to the heathen in the lands which he was 
sure lay beyond the sea than of anything 
else. Although living so retired and 
humble a life, the kind monk knew pow- 
erful people at court. He gave his guest 
letters to them, and promised to take care 
of the little Diego during his father's 
absence. So it was through the help of 
this friend that Columbus was able to lay 
his plans before Queen Isabella." 

"Bravo, Nora! I hope you know the 
last page of your American history as 
well as you do the first," said Aleck, 
with a wink at the others. 

Nora shrugged her shoulders, and Uncle 
Jack smiled as he said: 

"Thus, I suppose we may say, the 
unbarring of the door of the monastery to 
Columbus was in effect the opening of the 
gate of the West. The original Santa Maria 
de la Rabida, or Our Lady of the Frontier, 
was so called because it was situated upon 
the boundary of the country of the Moors. 
The history of Columbus shows that it 



was an outpost of civilization and Chris- 
tianity as far as the lands of the New 
World were concerned also : stretching 
out its charity toward them, and sending 
forth its light from the quiet cell where 
the saintly Father Perez studied and 
prayed." 

Passing through a low doorway, they 
now entered the chapel. 

' ' These solemn arches, and the dim light 
which comes from the little windows way 
up near the roof, make one almost feel as 
if it were the very chapel where Columbus 
knelt before the high altar, and where 
Father Perez offered Mass to obtain God's 
blessing on his cause," said Ellen. 

"The altar is wanting," replied Mr. 
Barrett; "but that picture of the Holy 
Family upon the end wall is the very one 
that once hung above it, and these smaller 
ones also once graced the sanctuary of 
the old La Rabida. They were loaned by 
Pope Leo XIII." 

"What quaint old kneeling benches!" 
Nora said. "And see this tall cross of 
mahogany, a fac-simile of the one raised 
at San Domingo four hundred years ago." 

' ' Look at this anchor near the sanctuary 
i:ail!" cried Aleck. "It seems half rusted 
away. It is thought to be the anchor of 
the Santa Maria^ and was found near 
the spot where she was wrecked. ' ' 

"In the paintings that surround us 
we have the whole history of Columbus, 
and the portraits of those who had to do 
with him, or with the Spanish court of 
his time," Mr. Barrett observed. "Here 
the kind face of Father Perez looks down 
upon us; there Ferdinand and Isabella 
hold audience, and about them are grouped 
infantes and infantas^ ecclesiastics and 
grandees, — very important personages no 
doubt, to judge from their imposing air, 
but whose names we haven't time to look 
up in the catalogue. Come and examine 
the old manuscripts from the archives 
of the Vatican. These and the Spanish 
memorials and historic papers connected 



THE AVE MARIA. 



191 



with Columbus make La Rabida indeed 
the treasure-house of the Exposition. They 
are in these glass cases ranged about 
the chapel. The officials at either end of 
each case are United States soldiers; and 
the muskets upon which they lean are 
loaded, for they are here to guard these 
priceless relics." 

"I should think they z«/^r^ priceless!" 
exclaimed Aleck, reading the description. 
"Here is a bull of Pope Alexander V. 
addressed to the sovereigns Ferdinand 
and Isabella, called forth by their letters 
to him announcing the discovery of a 
Western World, and granting them the 
same privileges of dominion over the new 
lands as were given to the King of Port- 
ugal on the west coast of Africa. And 
here are two of Pope Alexander VI., — 
one commending the further discoveries 
of Columbus, the other confirming the 
first missionary priest to this Continent. 
The Alexanders had a great deal to do 
with it, you observe." 

"Having found that out, I suppose you 
will be prouder of your name than ever," 
laughed Nora. 

"Notice, too, these bulls of Popes Julius 
II. and Clement VII., which also relate to 
America; and these old maps and charts 
of the sixteenth century, which are 
marked as belonging to the Propaganda," 
said Ellen. 

" This one with the curious line drawn 
across it is the celebrated Borgiau map; 
and that is the historic line traced by 
Pope Alexander VI., to settle the disputes 
of Spain and Portugal as to their rights 
to the New World," said Uncle Jack. 
"The PopeV pen indicated just what 
amount of territory each should have; and 
proud and haughty as their sovereigns 
were, they bowed to his decision." 

They proceeded now to inspect the 
Spanish documents. 

"Oh, can you realize it? " cried Aleck, 
with enthusiasm, — "that faded and 
tattered sheet of vellum is the very parch- 



ment signed and sealed by Ferdinand and 
Isabella, and given into the hands of 
Columbus, commissioning him to set out 
upon the unknown seas and seek the new 
lands he promised, under the banner 
of Spain." 

"And next are the actual royal letters 
patent from the sovereigns of Castile 
and Aragon, commanding the people of 
Palos to furnish Christopher Columbus 
with two caravels for the voyage," said 
Ellen; "and ordering that he may take 
without charge anything needed for the 
expedition." 

" Here are half a dozen more about his 
second voyage," announced Nora. "Why, 
we shall become quite familiar with the 
royal signatures! And see this letter 
written by the Queen to Columbus in 
1493, returning a book he had lent her, 
asking him to send her a certain sailing 
chart, and urging him to depart as soon 
as possible upon his second voyage." 

"Well, Isabella wouldn't take a prize 
for penmanship in any school nowadays," 
declared Aleck. " This looks as if her pen 
had set out on an exploring expedition 
for itself." 

"Now we come to the Otters of Colum- 
bus," Ellen said. "One to the Pope, 
several to the King and Queen, and a 
whole series to his son Diego. To think 
that those words before us were written 
by the Discoverer of America!" 

"He writes 'Christopher' with a cross, 
as we sometimes do Xmas," said Aleck. 

"And beneath the signature of all his 
papers are the initials X. M. J., which 
signify Jesus, Mary and Joseph, and show 
that all his enterprises were undertaken 
in these holy names," added Uncle Jack. 
"Last, but certainly not least, we come 
to the will of Columbus. By reading the 
translation, you will see that he who gave 
a new world to Spain was able to leave 
to his family little besides a heritage of 
royal promises, many of which were 
never fulfilled." 



192 



THE AVE MARIA. 



After inspecting this precious manu- 
script, our party passed out of the chapel 
into a low corridor; and the next moment 
the girls exclaimed with delight, as they 
found themselves again in the sunlit 
summer air, within the enclosure of the 
monastery. It was a peaceful picture, that 
retired spot; with a restful bit of green- 
sward in the centre, shaded by a dwarf 
palm-tree. Around the four sides of this 
patio^ or court, ranged the cloisters, or 
arched, open galleries, two stories in 
height, with the spaces between the arches 
of the second tier bright with a profusion 
of growing flowers, and blooming, trailing 
vines, like little hanging gardens. 

Shut in thus from all the sights and 
sounds which told of the actual world 
in which they lived, with the sunshine 
reflected from the adobe walls, and over- 
head a glimpse of azure sky, our friends 
might readily fancy themselves in the 
original I^a Rabida of Andalusia, within 
the same cloisters where the great navi- 
gator gained new courage, where he 
unfolded his plans to the discerning 
monk, or paced up and down with his 
young son ; while the boy, half sadly, 
half in joy at the rift in the clouds that 
had obscured their fortunes, listened to 
his parting words. 

Upon the walls they saw the old 
scenes portrayed: the wanderer and his 
child at the convent portal ; Columbus 
at the court of Castile and Aragon; the 
historic Bridge of Pines, where he was 
overtaken by the messengers of Isabella 
after he had left the court, discouraged 
and indignant at the delays and the idle 
promises of Ferdinand ; and Columbus 
receiving the farewell blessing of Father 
Perez upon his departure from Palos. 

Our friends now entered the cells, 
noticing upon the rough doors the old- 
style latch-strings. The walls, instead of 
being rude and bare as in monastic days, 
they found now, like the cloisters, hung 
with souvenirs of the hero-mariner. 



"Oh, how interesting!" cried Nora. 
' ' Here is a picture of the house in 
Genoa in which Columbus was born, and 
another of the church at Lisbon where 
he was married." 

"I have discovered something more 
attractive still," called Nora. "These old, 
worm-eaten pieces of wood are a door and 
jambs from the original La Rabida." 

"And come here!" cried Aleck, with 
boyish enthusiasm, as he paused before ■ 
a similar relic. ' ' Here is the actual door \ 
of the house in which Columbus lived 
with his wife Felipa at Funchal in the 
Madeira Islands. These near it are three 
of the window-shutters, and this block 
of wood was one of the doorsteps. Just 
think, his feet must have passed over it 
many times a day!" 

"I have found some ancient bricks and 
tiles from the Spanish monastery," said 
Ellen; "the catalogue states that they are 
supposed to be sixteen centuries old." 

' 'Jingo ! that makes our four-hundred- 
year-doors quite modern, Nell!" laughed 
her brother. 

' ' Now we come to the relics of Columbus 
in the New World," explained Uncle 
Jack. 

" Ho-ho ! " chuckled Aleck. " Look at 
these funny engravings of the wonders of 
the strange lands of the West! I suppose 
they were drawn from the descriptions of 
the curious things to be seen there, as 
given in the yarns of the sailors. See 
this whale swimming round with a ship 
on his back. And do look ! Here near 
his head is a kneeling congregation 
and an altar, and a priest is beginning 
to say Mass." 

"I wonder they didn't build a church 
there too," Nora said. "Here is a repre- 
sentation of the landing of Columbus, 
with the Indians coming to meet him 
and his followers," continued §he. "What 
queer seats they bring for them — pieces 
of wood carved in the shapes of beasts, 
with short legs ! " 



THE AVE MARIA. 



193 



"But now we have reality again," 
interrupted Ellen. "These stones piled in 
a corner are the remains of the first church 
built upon this Continent. It was erected 
by Columbus at Isabella, the earliest 
civilized settlement. These other stones 
near it are all that is left of that first little 
city of America." 

"Observe well this old bronze bell," 
said Uncle Jack; "for it was the bell of 
that primitive edifice, and the first that 
rang the summons to the services of the 
Church in the New World. It was brought 
from Spain, and was known as the Bell of 
the Fig-Tree; no doubt because, before the 
church was built, from the green branches 
of one of those beautiful trees its voice 
called the natives to the worship of the 
true God. When the old town was deserted 
for the new one of La Vega, nearer to the 
gold mountains of Cibao,the bell was taken 
too. But the latter place was destroyed by 
an earthquake, and for more than three 
hundred years this interesting relic was 
lost One day a shepherd, examining the 
ruins of the ancient chapel of ha. Vega, 
found it amid a tangle of vines, half 
buried in the earth. It was taken to 
San Domingo, where it is held in great 
reverence ; and was loaned by the Govern- 
ment of the island for the Columbian 
Exhibition." 

"Ah, now we see Columbus returning 
in triumph!" exclaimed Nora, stopping 
before a picture of the Discoverer offering 
at the feet of Queen Isabella the gold and 
jewels of the new Indies, and presenting 
to her the natives whom he brought back 
to Spain, to show what manner of people 
dwelt in those distant parts." 

"But how soon it is followed by the 
record which proves the forgetfulness of 
priuces and the ingratitude of those who 
had profited most by his discoveries!" 
Hsaid Mr. Barrett. "Look at this old 
^Bmanuscript. It i% the letter of Francisco 
^ttRoldan, which caused Columbus to be 
Hdeprived of his honors and sent home to 



Spain in chains. Roldan was a man whom 
the Admiral had loaded with favors, but 
his thirst for power and his jealousy caused 
him to .seek the ruin of his benefactor. 
There you have the picture of this noble 
Christian hero in chains, and beyond a 
photograph of the cruel fetters themselves. ' * 

"And," cried Aleck, setting his teeth 
— for somehow the sight of these things 
made him feel fierce, although it all 
happened so long ago, — "here are bits of 
wood from the timbers to which he was 
chained." 

They saw, too, the letter which he 
wrote to a friend at the Spanish court, 
complaining of the indignities heaped 
upon him ; and felt a satisfaction in 
learning that it fell into the hands of 
Isabella, who endeavored to atone in part 
for the injustice done him by the council 
of the Indies, which, unfortunately, too 
often overruled her wishes. 

It was sad to remember, however, that 
he was never reinstated in his honors and 
privileges; and by the time our young 
people reached the large painting of the 
death of Columbus, which hangs at the 
end of one of the long galleries, they 
realized the pathos of the story as they 
never had before. 

Then Mr. Barrett showed them a fac- 
simile of the casket in the Cathedral at 
San Domingo, which contains the remains 
of Columbus; and, leading them back to 
the chapel, pointed out, in one of the cases 
over which the soldiers stand guard, a 
tiny crj'stal locket, which contains a pinch 
of the dust found in that casket when it 
was last opened, — the dust of the great 
navigator, the hero as religious and 
patient as he was adventurous and brave 
— Christopher Columbus. 

^To be continued.) 



The chains of habit are generally too 
small to be felt until they are too strong 
to be hroken.— '/ok nson. 



194 



THE AVE MARIA 



How a Mother's Prayer was Answered 
at Last. 



BY SADIE L. BAKBR. 



IV. 



Theodora did not die. The fever burnt 
itself out, and slowly health and strength 
came back. They did as they would with 
her; for Will's sake she must get well. 
Only one thing she refused: she would not 
go away for a time, as they wished. She 
would be more at peace where every spot 
spoke to her of her boy. And Will might 
come any day; any hour she might hear 
the dear voice, see the loved face. How 
would it be with him if he came and 
found no mother to welcome him? 

One thing she was able to do. Sitting 
beside her, holding her hand as if she 
had been his own daughter, Mr. Stone 
told her the story of the robbery, the 
murder, the suspicions against Will, and 
his own sturdy belief in his innocence. 
The doctors said the men had been dead 
for hours when they found them in the 
early morning; that they must have died 
before midnight. 

"It was after ten," she said quietly, 
"before I went to Will's room, and twelve 
before I left it. Then I could not sleep 
for a long time, and afterward Will had 
come to write his letter. Not," she 
added, a little proudly, "that any one 
who knew my boy would believe the 
story; still, I am glad that even malice 
can not suspect him." 

At last such measure of health and 
strength as she was ever to know came 
back to her, and she took up the burden 
again, never to lay it down while life 
lasted. Whatever work her hands found 
to do she did, praying as she toiled. She 
kept the house bright for Will's coming. 
She found timq to visit the sick, to watch 
with the dying, to lay flowers tenderly 



about the dead, to comfort with her loving 
sympathy those who mourned; and, hardest 
of all to a breaking heart, to rejoice with 
those who rejoiced. 

Night or day, the door of her home 
was never locked. When Will's hand 
touched the latch it must open for him. 
His room was ready, and some dainty he 
had liked in his boyhood kept waiting for 
him. And always, when evening came, 
she brushed back her hair — white now as 
snow — as her dear boy liked to see it, 
and pinned a rose in the folds of muslin 
over her breast; then sat in the twilight 
and sang the hymns Will loved. Strangers 
smiled sometimes as they saw, through 
the open window, the white-haired, faded 
woman, with a rose at her* breast like a 
young girl, and heard the feeble voice 
quavering over the old tunes. But those 
who knew her felt their eyes grow wet, 
and joined their prayers to hers. 

A half score of years went by. The 
chapel on the hill was now a great church, 
with stained-glass windows and carved 
altars; but the shady hillside, where the 
faithful departed slept in peace, was un- 
changed. Father Conway here rested from 
his labors and the good works of a long 
life, and the love and prayers of his people 
followed him. Father Merideth ministered 
in his stead. It was not what the old 
Squire had wished. He had planned a 
future for his boy full of all the joys and 
triumphs of earth. It was bitter hard at 
first; but now as he knelt in his place at 
Mass, with a big prayer-book in his hand, 
and a great pride and joy in his heart, he 
was well content. 

Tom Jackson, sober now this many a 
year, followed Father Merideth like a 
shadow; and tended him with a love and 
reverence that were affectionately sub- 
mitted to, because Tom's old heart would 
be broken if they weren't. • 

Theodora was fifty-five, but she looked 
as if she had passed the allotted three- 
score years and ten. Not one of her 



THE AVE MARIA. 



195 



friends felt all the anguish of waiting, 
the love and hope of that poor mother 
heart, as Uncle Tom did, — .Uncle Tom 
now to everyone, and it was the name he 
liked best He did for her what no one 
else could. She let him roll and mow 
the grass-plot, and dig and weed in the 
garden. The basket of delicacies to tempt 
her appetite she took unthinking, because 
there was always some dainty that Will 
would like. And when Theodora's failing 
strength told him that the end was near, 
Uncle Tom installed a woman, strong of 
arm, but light of foot and soft of voice, 
who had known sorrow and want. He 
silenced Theodora's objections with the 
old plea: "You must save yourself for 
Will; you must be well when he comes." 
He never said if Will comes: he never 
talked to her of the certainty of Will's 
death, — that he surely would have written, 
sent her some word, some token, if he yet 
walked among men. He just hoped and 
prayed, loved and waited for her boy 
with her. And oh the comfort of it to 
her pcfor heart ! 

People often smiled as the old man 
passed them, and said: "He is old and 
failing fast; he is growing quite childish." 
Perhaps ; but he had surely sat at the 
feet of the Beloved Disciple and learned 
well his lesson — "Little children, love 
one another." 

Theodora's journey was almost done. 
The tired feet were nearing the end; the 
weary hands would soon be folded in rest, 
the tearful eyes close in the last long, 
dreamless sleep. But — thank God for the 
sure hope of a glorious immortality! — 
she could still pray without ceasing for 
her boy. They moved her bed, so that 
she could lie and watch the road over 
the river and into the beautiful country, 
for her boy's coming, — her boy still. And 
^lary kept all in order as Uncle Tom 
)ade her. 

When the end came. Uncle Tom, his 
leart yearning with a great love and pity. 



told Theodora that she had only a few 
hours left. • For a moment the dark eyes 
were dim with the agony of the loving, 
human mother. Oh to see once more the 
face so dear to her before her eyes closed 
on earth; to hear once more the voice 
sweeter to her than all else beside, before 
the sounds of life were dulled to her ears; 
to clasp his hands, to feel his head on her 
bosom, his arms about her ! Then a look 
of such faith and hope and love flashed 
over the dying face as almost transfigured 
it; and, through her streaming tears, she 
whispered : 

"My Father in heaven knows best. I 

can pray for my boy when I kneel at the 

feet of my crucified Lord as I can not here. " 

And Uncle Tom told her as well as he 

could for the sobs that choked him: 

"I will wait for Will as you have waited, 
pray for him as you have prayed. So long 
as I live the door shall he kept open, the 
house shall be bright, his room ready, the 
little feast spread. And if I die before he 
comes. Father Charley will do it" 

Theodora's eyes followed Mary as she 
went about the room, making everything 
bright and fresh for the Lord who would 
come, soon to His poor child for the 
last time, to go with and strengthen and 
comfort her as she passed down into the 
valley of the shadow of death. The white 
curtain^s and the covering of the bed and 
simple furniture were spotless; the soft 
May air, sweet with the perfume of lilacs 
and blossoming fruit-trees, came in at the 
open window; the little altar — poor Will's 
last gift — was fair with spring flowers, and 
bright with lighted candles. And all the 
time the thin lingers dropped one by 
one the beads of her rosary, the white 
lips moved in prayer. When the last 
Sacraments had been administered, and 
those who knelt around her prayed for 
the passing soul, her prayers were still 
for her boy. 

Friends came and went Father Meri- 
deth's mother knelt beside her son and 



196 



THE AVE MARIA. 



old Tom, who never left her. The Squire 
himself, his eyes dim as he thought of 
the night when his boy came home with 
Tom, and wished with vain regret that 
help had come to Will too, waited with 
the poor she has succored and some who 
had known and loved her when life was 
bright before her. 

As they watched, the pain of the last 
agony faded from her face, and, with a 
prayer for Will on her lips, she fell asleep. 
They thought she would never more 
waken on earth; but when the twilight 
shadows were gathering she opened her 
eyes and looked around, but saw not the 
faces bending over her. She sat up with 
the strength that comes to the dying; she 
held out her arms, then clasped them 
close, with a look of rapture, as if she 
folded something dear beyond words to 
her heart. She swayed softly to and fro, 
as a mother hushes a child to sleep on 
her breast; her lips parted in a smile, and 
sweet and clear came the strains of an 
evening hymn. Feeble as she was, she 
sang it through; then bent, as she had so 
often done, to kiss a dear dark head, and 
with her last breath whispered: "God 
keep my boy ! ' ' 

While Father Merideth's full voice 
rose in the beautiful prayers of the Church 
for the departed soul. Uncle Tom laid 
her tenderly back on the pillows,, closed 
her eyes and folded her hands. Tom it 
was, too, who stole into the room where 
Theodora lay coffined and ready for the 
grave, and, lifting her hands, laid a scrap 
of paper on which he had pencilled her 
last words, with two or three roses crimson 
and fragrant from the bush in the window; 
then laid the crucifix back in her fingers, 
and left her, with the prayer for her boy 
lying between her folded hands and her 
still heart. When she had been laid to 
rest, he trimmed and watered the sod over 
her grave, and planted at the head a 
slip from the red rose. 

(Conclusion in our next number.) 



A Kaffir Chief's Answer. 



A missionary to South Africa recounts 
an extraordinary interview with a Kaffir 
chief, to whom he was imparting the 
message of Christianity. "Your tidings," 
said the wild black man, "are what I 
want, and I was seeking before I knew you.- 
Twelve years ago I went to feed my flock. 
I sat down upon a rock' and asked myself 
sorrowful questions, — sorrowful, because 
I was unable to answer them: Who has 
touched the stars with his hands? The 
waters are never weary: they flow from 
morning till night, from night till morning. 
Who makes them flow thus? I can not see 
the wind. Who brings it? Who makes it 
blow and roar and terrify me? Do I know 
how the corn sprouts? Yesterday there 
was not a blade in my field, to-day I found 
some. Then I buried my face in my hands. ' ' 



A Monk's Lesson. 



It is related of two monks that one of 
them expressed to the other his regrets 
that he could not say his prayers without 
distractions. His companion declared that 
he was not troubled in that way. 

"Aren't you?" said the other. '.'Well, 
if you will recite the Pater Noster without 
harboring any thought but that expressed 
by the words of the prayer, I will give 
you my horse." 

"Agreed," said his companion ; and, 
sinking on his knees, he began: ''''Pater 
noster^ qui es in ccelis, sanctificetur nomen 
tuum — I wonder if he will give me the 
saddle?" thought the monk. "Ah, Brother, 
I was mfstaken! I trusted unwisely in my 
own powers. I can not do it." 

Nevertheless, the lesson was not lost 
upon him; but, applying himself to the 
task, he soon acquired such a power of 
concentration as to become an earnest, 
devout monk, and a great scholar besides. 




ntiw£»-ORTH ALL otNtftATiONS irtMLu CALL i>ic BLESSED.— St. Luke. I. 48. 



Vol. XXXVII. NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, AUGUST 19, i 



893. 



No. 8. 



tPaUhlHd nnj ttntij. Oopjrt|hli Rn. D. t Ba4Ma, C 8. ai 



A Sea-Song to Our Lady of the Did Pope Clement V. Buy the Tiara? 

Assumption. 



BY BLBANOR C. DOXNKI,I,Y. 



BY THE RBV. RBUBBN PARSONS, D. D. 



\ LL day among our rigging fair 
^ ■ The west wind crooned from shore, 
Behind us frowned grief, toil, and care; 

Joy, freedom smiled before. 
And soft we sang, as twilight pale 

Fell round us dreamfully: 
"Mother of Mariners, all hail! 

Hail, Queen of earth and sea ! " 

The moon was white upon the wave; 

The stars, on wastes forlorn,. 
Were like the lilies in thy grave 

Upon Assumption morn. 
And still we sang, 'neath silv'ry sail, 

Our faces to the lee: 
"Mother of Mariners, all hail ! 

Hail, Queen of sky and sea ! " 

Thou art our Moon, O Mary sweet ! 

Thou art our polar Star! 
We follow on thy shining feet 

Across Death's moaning bar. 
No cloud shall then thy pure face veil; 

We'll sing eternally: 
"Mother of Mariners, all hail ! 

We've reached our Port — and thee! " 

id^^BA Isle Citt, N. J. 

I 




HE commonly received account 
of the election of Clement V. is 
based solely upon the narrative 
of John Villani. * This author 
tells us that after the death of Benedict 
XL, on July 27, 1304, the Sacred College 
found itself divided into two nearly equal 
factions,— one headed by Matthew Rosso 
Orsini and Francis Gaetani, the latter a 
nephew of the late Pontiff; and the other 
led by. Napoleon Orsini dal Monte and 
Nicholas da Prato. After nine months of 
useless conclave, the Cardinals da Prato 
and Gaetani agreed, says the Florentine 
historian, that the Gaetani party should 
select three capable Transalpine candi- 
dates, f and from these the other faction 
should, in forty days, choose one on whom 
all could unite. In accordance with this 
compact, the choice of the Gaetani cardi- 
nals was Bertrand, de Got, Archbishop of 
Bordeaux, who, although a friend of the 
defunct Pontiff, "and no friend of the 
French King, because of injuries which 
his family had received during the Gascon 
war, at the hands of Charles de Valois," 



Prayer is like opening the sluices 
itween the great ocean and our little 
nnels. — Tennyson. 



* "Florentine Ilislorj'," b. S, c. 80; Venice, 1562. 
t An Italian cardinal would have l>een unaccept- 
able to Philip the Fair. 



198 



THE AVE MARIA 



brother of Philip, was known, nevertheless, 
as "one yearning for honors and power; 
and being a Gascon, as therefore by nature 
a covetous man," and one likely to come 
to terms with the monarch. The agreement 
of the two contending parties, continues 
Villani, was reduced to writing; and, with- 
out the knowledge of the Gaetani faction, 
the Da Prato cardinals sent the document, 
in eleven days, to Paris, "warning the 
French King, in their letters, that if he 
wished to recover his standing in Holy 
Church, and to rehabilitate his friends the 
Colonnas, he should be reconciled to his 
enemy, Raymond (read 'Bertrand') de 
Got, seeking him and offering him great 
advantages The King dispatched ami- 
cable letters to the Archbishop, asking for 
an interview; and in six days, attended by 
a small and trusty retinue, he held a parley 
with the said Archbishop in a forest near 
the Abbey of St. Jean d'Ang^ly. Having 
heard Mass together, and having sworn 
fidelity on the altar, the King addressed 
fair words to the Archbishop, trying to 
reconcile him to my Lord of Valois." 
Then, according to Villani, Philip said to 
the prelate: "You perceive, Archbishop, 
that I can make you Pope if I so desire. 
Now, I promise that this honor shall be 
yours if you pledge yourself to grant me 
six certain favors." Stupefied with joy, 
says our chronicler, Bertrand threw him- 
self at the royal feet, crying, ' ' My lord, 
now that I realize that you love me more 
than any other does, and that you propose 
to render me good for evil, you have 
only to command, and I shall obey." 
The monarch then raised the Archbishop, 
kissed him, and said: "These are the 
six favors I request: Firstly, that you 
reconcile me entirely with the Church, 
and pardon me for the evil committed in 
the capture of Pope Boniface. Secondly, 
that you restore me and my followers to 
communion. Thirdly, that you allow me 
to take, for my Flemish war, all the 
tithes in my kingdom during the next 



five years. Fourthly, that you promise to 
annul the memory of Pope Boniface. 
Fifthly, that you confer the honor of the 
cardinalate on my Lord James and my Lord 
Peter Colonna, and restore them to their 
pristine state; also that you raise certain 
other friends of mine to the purple. The 
sixth favor I shall communicate to you 
on some other occasion; it is at present a 
secret, and is very important." * Bertrand 
agreed to grant these requests, even 
swearing, adds Villani, on the Body of the 
Lord to keep his word. The parties then 
separated; and Philip immediately wrote 
to Cardinal da Prato that their Eminences 
might proceed with the election of the 
Archbishop of Bordeaux, said prelate being 
his "perfectly confidential friend." The 
Florentine historian then notes that this 
message of the King reached Perugia in 
thirty-five days (from the time of Gaetani' s 
letter to Philip), and that Bertrand de Got 
was therefore elected to the pontifical 
throne. 

The above narrative of Villani, certainly 
very coherent and calm, was repeated by 
all the olden historians. St. Antonine, 
Genebrard, Baluze, Pagi, the authors of 
"Christian Gaul," those of "The Art of 
Verifying Dates," Fleury, and even the 
greaC Muratori, receive it without any 
express questioning, f No wonder, then, 
that such writers as Giannone, Duchesne, 
Sismondi, and Hallam greedily accept it, 
and adorn it with their own amplifica- 
tions. But the prince of modern historians, 
Cantu, exposes its weakness when he asks 
whether Villani was a third party to the 
absurd colloquy. "The people simply 

* They who accept the narrative of Villani wander 
into conjectures as to the nature of this sixth favor. 
The Florentine himself (b. 8, c. loi ) and Masson 
("Life of Philip the Fair") hold that Philip wished 
Clement to give the Empire to Charles de Valois ; 
others believe that the Empire was to be restored to 
the French permanently. 

t Raynald seems to have some misgivings as to 
its truth; for he says: "If these things are true, 
what else than trouble for Chri^endom was to be 
expected?" 



THE AVE MARIA. 



199 



reduced to fact the ideas generated by the 
sequel." * The judicious Mansi also rejects 
the story, t The Abb^ Christophe gives 
many good reasons for preferring the very 
different narrative of Ferretti of Vicenza. X 
And now, we would ask, of what authority 
is Villani ? His diction is certainly Tuscan 
in its purity, and he is an ingenuous 
chronicler when he is unfettered by 
prejudice^ but his writings are not always 
to be received as Gospel truth. Muratori, 
than whom no better judge in matters 
like this can be desired, says that Villani 
"gives us not a few fables when he 
describes remote occurrences " ; § and that 
in regard to the time of Frederick II. and 
the following period "he is not always 
to be believed." II And we know that 
Villani was . very bitter toward all the 
Avignonese Pontiffs, and that he was ever 
ready to suspect each one of them of 
culpable condescension toward the French 
monarchs. Therefore, when he is uncor- 
roborated by even one contemporary or 
quasi- contemporary authority, we should 
not rely implictly upon his assertions ; 
especially when, as in the present case, they 
present intrinsic marks of inaccuracy, and 
perhaps of falsehood. His story of the 
forest interview is not even hinted at by 
any one of the many contemporary biogra- 
phers of Pope Clement V. , such as Ptolemy 
of Lucca, John of St. Victor, Bernard of 
Guido, Amalric of Rossillon, or the anony- 
mous Venetian. Similar silence is displayed 
by Ferretti of Vicenza, who finished his 
"Chronicle" in 1330, and who narrates in 
detail the acts of the Conclave of Perugia; 
by Pepin of Bologna, who wrote down to 
13 1 4, and was a severe critic of the Popes; 
by the "Chronicle of Parma"; by Dino 
Compagni, Trithemius, Matthew of VVcst- 



* "Uuiversal History." B. XIII.,c.6. 

t Notes to the "Annals" of Raynald. 

t " History of the Papacy in the Fifteenth 

jntury " Paris, 1S53. 

§ Preface to his edition of Villani. 

II "Writers on Italian Affairs." Vol. XIII., pt. 3. 



minster, and the Continuator of Nangy. 
Certainly this argument is purely 
negative ; but it acquires force when we 
consider the intrinsic evidences of unreli- 
ability presented by Villani's tale. For 
instance, if we are willing to believe that 
the Guelph cardinals quietly granted 
forty days of delay to their opponents 
without suspecting any snare, which we 
find it difficult to do, we can not believe 
that even the Ghibelline cardinals would 
have descended to such infamy as is 
implied in the alleged compact with Philip 
the Fair. The documents concerning 
these personages which have come down 
to us show that they wished, indeed, to 
elect a Pontiff who would be friendly to 
Philip, but not that they were capable of 
laying the tiara in the dirt Consider, for 
example, Cardinal Nicholas da Prato, to 
whom Villani assigns all the wire-pulling 
in the intrigue. From all accounts, this 
learned Dominican was an honorable 
man. Raised by the severe and uncom- 
promising Boniface VIII. to the See of 
Spoleto, made Cardinal-Bishop of Ostia 
by the discriminating Benedict XI., he 
had successfully filled the office of peace- 
maker in Tuscany and the Romagna 
when faction fury was at its height 
Albertino Mussato, a writer much lauded 
by Muratori, calls Da Prato "a man of 
great learning and wisdom." Dino Com- 
pagni styles him a man "of humble 
parentage ; but gracious, wise, and of 
profound science." Even Villani says that 
he was "very learned in the Scriptures, 
subtle, wise, foreseeing, and very prac- 
tical." It is difficult to believe that such 
a man, who, both before and after the 
pretended bargain, was always devoted to 
the true interests of the Church, would, 
for no advantage whatever, place the tiara 
at the disposal of so ambitious a sovereign 
as Philip the Fair. What had he to gain 
by such infamy? He had attained, as 
Bishop of Ostia, and therefore Dean of 
the Sacred College, the highest dignity in 



-200 



THE AVE MARIA. 



the gift of the Pontiflf. What could he 
obtain from Philip? History does not 
record that he» received anything; but 
Villani does record that Nicholas da 
Prato strenuously opposed Philip's two 
dearest wishes — the condemnation of Pope 
Boniface VIII. , and the election of Charles 
de Valois to the throne of the Holy 
Roman Empire.* 

Another intrinsic proof of the unrelia- 
bliity of Villani in this matter is found 
in his assertion that Bertrand de Got had 
been a foe of Philip, and that the reason 
of enmity was to be found in the injuries 
suffered by the Got family at the hands 
■of Charles de Valois during the Gascon 
war. Not only do the records of the time 
recount none of these injuries, but they 
show that in this struggle a brother of 
Bertrand combated on the royal side, 
and received as a reward from Philip 
the counties of I/omagne and Auvillars. 
Again, that there had been no dissension 
between Philip and Bertrand before the 
pretended interview, is evident from the 
fact that, during the five years of the 
tenure of the See of Bordeaux by the 
latter, he was covered with honors by the 
King, and obtained an increase of the 
privileges of his bishopric, as is mani- 
fested by the patents collected by Rabanis 
in the archives of the Gironde. And all 
these concessions bear dates between 
March, 1300, and April, 1304. We must 
conclude, therefore, that the cardinals who 
met at Perugia in July, 1304, regarded 
Philip and Bertrand as friends, and that 
they would not have felt any need to 
urge the monarch to be reconciled with 
the Archbishop. 

Again, we must remember that it is 
only in the pages of Villani that Bertrand 



* Villani tells how the Cardinal freed Clement 
from the importunities of Philip concerning the 
condemnation of Boniface VIII., by advising him to 
submit the affair to a general council ; and how he 
settled the imperial aspirations of Charles by having 
the Pope ask the electors to elect immediately 
Henry of Luxembourg. 



de Got appears as "a grasping Gascon," 
ready to swear on the Body of Christ that 
he will reduce God's Church to slavery. 
Everywhere else he stands conspicuous 
as a virtuous prelate as well as a man of 
spirit; and we are not obliged to recur 
to any such theory as that of Villani to 
account for his elevation to the Chair of 
Peter. His virtue was well known to the 
Roman court, especially his prudence, as 
evinced during his negotiations with the 
sovereigns of France and England, to 
each of whom he was a subject * It was 
not strange, therefore, when the electors 
deemed it wise to select a Transalpine 
prelate for the papacy, that they should 
think of Bertrand. While Pontiff, Clement 
V. was certainly over-condescending to 
King Philip the Fair, but he was never 
sacrilegiously vile, as Villani depicts him 
in the woods of St. Jean d'Ang^ly; nay, 
this same historian describes him as 
resisting those desires of the King which 
he is said to have wickedly promised to 
gratify. And since we are speaking of 
these wishes of Philip, it is well to note 
that from their very enumeration by 
Villani arises a reason for suspecting the 
worth of his narrative. Take, for instance, 
the first two requests. Their object had 
already been attained. In April, 1304, Pope 
Benedict XL, the successor of Boniface 
VIII. , had absolved Philip, his followers, 
and all France, from every censure, f 
excepting only the sacrilegious Nogaret, 
the prime author of the crime of Anagni,| 
and the wretched Sciarra Colonna. It is 
absurd, therefore, to suppose that Bertrand 
and Philip incurred the guilt of simony inj 
order to obtain things already legitimately^ 
granted. § Another error in the recital ofj 



* Edward I., of England, was also Lord of 
Guienne ; and Bordeaux was its capital. 

t Martene: "Collection of Old Monuments, "J 
Vol. I., col. 141 1. * 

t Nogaret was not pardoned, even by Clement V.J 
until 131 1. -; 

g Strange to say, Villani admits this reconciliatiot 
/n his 66th chapter. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



201 



Villani must also be noted as militating 
seriously against its historical value. He 
asserts that the election of Clement V. 
was effected by "compromise," as it is 
technically termed, and by the unanimous 
consent of the electors to the vote of Car- 
dinal da Prato. Now, the solemn decree of 
that election, preserved in the Vatican, 
and first published by Raynald, informs 
us that the choice was made by secret 
ballot; that of the fifteen voters, all 
mentioned by name, ten voted for Ber- 
trand ; that then the other five joined the 
majority by "accession"; and that finally 
the result was proclaimed, not by Cardinal 
da Prato, but by the rival leader. Cardinal 
Francis Gaetani. 

(Conclusion in our next number.) 



The Vocation of Edward Conway. 



BY MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN. 

XXXI.— Willie. 

SWANSMERE lived in a whiri of 
excitement after the Major's return. 
It was most grateful to him for the new 
sensations he had given it. The New 
York Herald'' s "story," printed on the 
first page, with a portrait of everybody 
concerned, was thought to be the biggest 
advertisement Swansmere-on-the- Hudson 
had yet received. 

The Major was welcomed, not only as 
a returned friend, but as a public bene- 
factor. He, chastened as he was, chafed 
under the insinuation that he had taken 
too much champagne on that eventful 
night. But, to save appearances, he bore 
it with as good a grace as was possible, 
or weeks after his return he spent every 
emoon with Colonel Carton. They had 
siness to look after, and serious business 
oo ; for Edward Conway had told the 
tory of the stolen money. 



^to 



Conway had another interview with 
Ward as soon as Willie began to recover 
from the effects of the hemonhage. Ward 
had thrown the notes into the kitchen fire. 
He understood that they were valueless 
now. At the last interview, Ward had said: 

' ' Your story may be a lie, Mr. Con- 
way, but I don't care. Fight it out 
with those two wolves. You'll find it 
hard to drag the money from their fangs. 
Fight it out! Everything on earth is 
against me. If there be a God, He, too, is 
against me. You are young, and I wish I 
were; I should begin over again in a 
different way. I should not live for ideals: 
I should be selfish, — I should be as gross 
and material, as money-grubbing as either 
Conway or Carton. Your materialist 
doesn't suffer: he is selfish." 

Ward looked at Conway with a glance 
in which scorn and pride were blended. 
Conway met it quietly. 

They stood on the bank near the 
boat-house Ward had built for his son. 
Jake Strelzer had rowed out in his boat 
to gather a handful of the wild wistaria 
which grew on a rock rising above the 
current of the river. Jake's boat-house 
adjoined Ward's ; and, since Maggie and 
Jake were to be married in a week's time, 
Jake was careful to arm himself with a 
big nosegay of wild flowers as an offering 
to Bernice when he called on Wednesday 
and Sunday nights. Both Ward and Con- 
way were silent, watching Jake pull the 
flowers from the side of the perpendicular 
rock. He stood up in his boat, and made an 
attempt to climb for a long branch of the 
purple blossoms; thp effort was unavailing. 

"Jake," Ward called out, "you can 
not do it,— that rock is as smooth as 
glass.— I guess you were going to say 
something," he added, turning to Conway. 

Conway did not answer at once. The two 
walked slowly toward Ward's house, and 
Ward invited him into the house. Conway 
accepted the invitation. Willie was asleep 
upstairs. After a time Conway said: 



202 



THE AVE MARIA 



*'You have, as I understand it, Mr. 
Ward, formed ideals of your own, — ideals 
which led you to hold the whole world in 
contempt. Submission and humble faith 
and obedience were left out of your scheme. 
You liked to think that you were an 
altruist, simply because your opinion held 
you above other people. Was not that pride? 
And is not pride a form of selfishness?" 

*'It has been the pride of an honorable 
manhood," answered Ward, frowning. "I 
am no prouder than Marcus Aurelius or 
Epictetus or Emerson." 

* ' I see you take pagan models, ' ' Conway 
said. " I do not mean to argue, but your 
pagan ethics have no place in a Christian 
world. With us Christians pride is the 
first of sins." 

"With me slavish submission to the 
will of an imaginary Being is the worst!" 
cried Ward, with passion. "And you 
would have me adore this Being, who is 
killing my son, who lets the rich flaunt 
and jeer at me; whose worship makes 
my wife a creature of superstitious fears, 
hesitating to obey a command of mine 
rather than jeopardize her soul. It is the 
duty of a wife to die with her husband ; 
last night," he went on, as if talking to 
himself, "I told her so. *If Willie dies,' 
I said, ' we must die, too. ' She was hor- 
rified. Better the pagan ideals than such 
Christian cowardice. ' ' 

Conway looked at Ward's drawn face, 
and his feeling of repulsion gave way to 
one of pity. 

"Mr. Ward," he said, rising from his 
chair — the two had been talking in the 
little parlor, — "you are an altruist: you 
live only for others — for the race ; and 
yet the keynote to all you have said is 
the word 'I.' There is your weakness. 
The only altruist was Jesus Christ. He 
died for the world." 

Ward looked almost fiercely at Conway. 

"If Willie lives, he is lost to me. He 
may be a priest, or perhaps a monk. At 
any rate, your Church has him in its 



clutches. There is one thing your God 
can not do — conquer me!" 

"He is all-powerful," Conway said^ 
reverently. "Good-bye." 

Ward walked out into the entry with 
him, and closed the door, without another 
word. Conway walked slowly toward 
Father Haley's house. Susanna, busy 
pursuing imaginary stains from the front 
porch, dropped her broom at sight of him, 
and rushed into the house, that she might 
open the door with dignity. 

The thought of Ward was heavy upon 
Conway's mind. There was something 
Satanic in the man's attempt at defiance, 
and something pitiable and human too. He 
was full of this as he walked into Father 
Haley's room, where the priest was busy at 
his desk. Father Haley looked up; he was 
always glad to see Conway. And, when 
he had finished his letter, Conway told 
him what was on his mind. 

"Why, you talk like a priest!" Father 
Haley said, when Conway had poured out 
all the thoughts which the words of Ward 
had aroused in him. "At this moment — 
the moment of a crisis, when, as you have 
told me, you and your sister may claim 
your rights and be rich, — you are thinking 
of this wretched creature! My dear boy, 
there is no doubt of your vocation in my 
mind, — there hasn't been for some time,'* 
added Father Haley, with a twinkle ini 
his eye; "although all Swansmere expects] 
you to marry your cousin." 

Edward Conway started ; he looked 
hurriedly into Father Haley's face to see 
whether he was entirely in earnest 

"I am sure. Father," he said, "that I 
would give my life to bring that wretched 
creature, as you call him, to God." 

"Conway," said Father Haley, "why 
not give your whole life to the service of 
God and the care of souls? If you had a 
passing liking for Bernice Conway, even 
if you were attached more deeply to her 
than you were aware, her reconciliation 
with Mr. Carton—" 



THE AVE MARIA. 



203 



Conway reddened, and then laughed. 

'* I assure you, Father Haley," he 
began — then he laughed again. "What 
matchmakers you priests are ! I assure 
you that would never have stood in the 
way. You have half guessed my secret : 
I have always desired, above all things, 
to be a priest To-day, when I felt so 
powerless to help Ward, I had the desire 
more strongly than ever. Two things 
have hitherto been in the way. I have 
always felt that I am too imperfect to be 
a priest of God — to partake every day 
of His Body and Blood, — to perform the 
most ineflfable Mystery." 

"We are all unworthy," said Father 
Haley, — "all! But God supplies what 
the man lacks. I was an orphan, neglected, 
uncouth, uneducated ; but I had the one 
desire, and God heard my prayer. I am 
unworthy, as you must see," he added, 
humbly; "but He makes use of me." 

Conway gazed at Father Haley's plain, 
somewhat coarse face, now glowing with 
something more than- human feeling. It 
was suddenly borne in upon him that he 
had all these years unconsciously doubted 
the power of God, and laid more stress on 
the man alone than on the man illumin- 
ated by the grace of priesthood. 

"There was another thing against 
me," he said, after a pause. "My sister 
Margaret and Judith May berry — you 
have heard me speak of Judith — are 
dependent on my exertions." 

"And what becomes of the money 
which Colonel Carton and Major Conway 
have borrowed all these years? Lady 
Tyrrell, who did me the honor to call on me 
this morning, enabled me to piece out that 
story. She came," Father Haley went on, 
with a laugh, "to warn me that Bemice 
was contemplating a mixed marriage. I 
told her that Mr. Carton was to be received 
into the Church. But to return to your 
money : I guess neither the Major nor 
Colonel Carton will let your sister starve." 

Conway's face lighted up. He shook 



Father Haley's hand warmly, saying 
nothing. He left the room and went over 
to the church. The red lamp burned like 
a ruby in the cool air which had twilight 
shades in it. It was after twilight in 
reality when Father Haley -touched him 
on the shoulder. Conway was prostrate 
before the tabernacle. 

"Come, Mr. Conway," Father Haley 
whispered. "There has been evil work." 

Willie Ward had recovered from the 
immediate effect of the hemorrhage. He 
was white and thin. The doctor said little: 
a convalescent who had gone backward 
as Willie had done, was not a promising 
patient. Willie was restless: he could not 
bear to have his father out of his sight. It 
seemed as if his father's thoughts were 
open to the boy. A few hours after Con- 
way's talk with Ward, Willie had called 
him as soon as he came home from work. 
Mrs. Ward had gone out on some house- 
wifely errand, and the father and son were 
together. Willie held his father's hand. 
* "How hard that hand has worked for 
me!" he said, softly. Then he gradually 
fell into a sleep. His father disengaged his 
hand after a time, kissed him lightly on 
the forehead, turned and looked at the 
white cheeks, on which the long lashes 
fell, and, with set lips, left the room. 

Shadows were in the air. Ward stood a 
moment at his door, and then went upstairs 
ao:ain. He had forgotten to notice whether 
the boy was covered warmly or not. He 
adjusted the quilt, — the homely red and 
blue patches in it, his wife's work, struck 
him with a pang as he did it. The slight 
movement awakened Willie. His father 
did not look at him again. He went down- 
stairs; and the shadows of night fell 
more thickly. 

Willie raised himself in bed. He was 
fully dressed; for he had been permitted 
to walk around his room during the day. 
He called out: 

"Father!" There was no answer, and 



204 



THE AVE MARIA. 



a great dread filled him. He threw on the 
thick' shawl which lay on the chair at 
his bedside, and went downstairs. His 
head swam; he tottered dizzily; when 
he reached the door, he saw his father 
striding toward the river, — toward the 
point where 'he had built the little boat- 
house. It faced the great rock just outside 
the middle current of the stream. 

Willie no longer tottered: he pushed his 
way through the young leaves of the shrubs 
which choked up the lane leading to the 
boat-house point. He lost sight of his 
father. He called out for him, but his 
weak voice died away in the twilight. 

Once out of the lane, he could not 
move fast, and the shawl caught in the 
blackberry bushes and young trees. He 
saw his father's figure on the hilly 
bank beside the boat-house. It was out- 
lined sharply against the opaline western 
horizon. Willie tried to go faster; his feet 
were clogged as if in a nightmare, and he 
could not cry out. Jake Strelzer was lying 
on the opposite bank, his boat drawn up 
on the beach. Willie tried to attract his 
attention. 

Ward raised his arms and disappeared 
from sight. Willie heard the splash of 
water. A cold wind seemed to oppose 
him, but he reached the bank. He saw 
his father's head above the surface. 

"Father!" he cried out. "Father!" 
Ward turned his eyes toward him. 
"Father, keep up! You must not die! — 
keep up! I can save you." 

Willie was the best swimmer in Swans- 
mere; he had almost lived in the river 
since he had come there. He tore oflf his 
stockings and the light slippers he wore. 
He plunged into the river, and made 
for the spot where his father seemed 
to be struggling. 

' ' Go back ! ' ' Ward cried, —* ' go b^k ! " 

Willie did not hear. He reached his 
father, who still kept himself afloat. Ward 
was not a good swimmer, but he seized 
the boy in his left arm; and, flinging him- 



self forward, he grasped with his right hand 
the vines that clung to the grey surface 
of the rock. 

Willie hung limp in his arm. 

' ' O father ! " he said, ' ' why ? — why ? 
We love you so! " 

Despair and horror contorted Ward's 
face as he heard these words. His hand was 
losing its grasp upon the slippery stems. 

"Let me go, father," Willie whispered^ 
"and live, — for God's sake, for mother's 
sake! Let me go!" 

"If I could only live now!" said Ward, 
as he measured the smooth wall of the 
rock with his eyes. "O God, you have 
conquered! O Christ, I am punished!" 

Willie raised his eyes hopelessly to the 
rock, and swept the bank with them. 
Ward called for help with all his might; 
but Strelzer seemed to be asleep. The boy 
could only whisper. 

"We must die, father," he said. "If 
you love me — if you love me say, * O my 
God, I am heartily sorry for all my sins, 
because they have offended Thee."* Say it, 
father!" 

Ward pressed his son closer to his heart. 
The vines, wet and smooth, were slipping 
from his grasp. He uttered a long, wild 
shriek, that startled men along the shore. 

"Say it, father: 'O my God— '" 

Ward repeated the words after his son. 
The vines slipped from his fingers. He 
still clasped Willie with all his strength. 
"Now and at the hour of our death,'* 
Willie murmured. And then loudly, 
clearly, Ward said into the ear of his child: 
" Because they have ofiended Thee, — 
because they have offended . Thee ! " he 
added, passionately. 

Large bubbles, tinged with that opaline 
reflection from the western sky, marked 
the spot where the father and son sank. 
Jake Strelzer had at last heard that shriek. 
He threw the oars into his boat. One 
of them fell into the river; he did not 
wait, but sculled toward the rock. He 
was in time to seize Willie as he came to 



THE AVE MARIA. 



205 



the surface. The boy spoke to Jake, whom 
he recognized, and gasped out to him how 
his father had died. 

As they touched the shore, Willie 
spoke the Sacred Names, — and the group 
from Swansmere saw Jake, with tearful 
•eyes, step ashore, with the body of the 
dead boy in his arms. His mother was 
not there. Father Hkley and Conway broke 
the news to her, as she hurried home 
in fear lest her child had needed her. 

(Conclusion in our next number.) 



Heart's- Ease. 



BY MARION MUIR RICHARDSON. 



I|% ENEA.TH the sun, the valley mold 
j\ Grew bright with sweeps of rose and gold ; 
I©/ 'pijg river shores, all green below, 
Were washed with drifts of perfumed snow. 

* ' But, ' ' mourned the stranger, ' ' here no more 
The clover blooms beside the door; 
Not all these tints of flame are worth 
To me our heart's-ease of the North." 

She sowed the seed in that drear land. 
That burning, blighted, breathless sand; 
But as they started, saw them pale 
Before the desert's sultry gale. 

Her heart within her seemed to pine 
nd wither at the evil sign; 
he longed, through hot, rebellious tears, 
'or the lost gloves of youthful years. 




hey lived at last, and gold and blue 
d ruddy purples flashed in view; 
Then, too, there blossomed in her eyes 
The heart's-ease of the quiet skies. 

Then, not till then, she loved the earth 
That gave familiar flowers birth. 
And touched with hands that moved to bless 
The flowers that brought her happiness. 

I7e find, O friend ! new blossoms far 
eneath the warmer, Southern star; 
ut never one for sweetness worth 
.......... 



Memories of Hawaii. 



BY CHARLBS WARRBN STODDARD. 



Vni. — The Land of Cane. 

KAHULUI has much to be proud of, 
and I dare say she is as proud as she 
has any reason to be. Most of us are, and 
this would be a sorry community if it 
were not so. 

I don't know if any local poet has as 
yet tuned his lyre in praise of Kahului, 
or if the indigenous prophet has foretold 
the greatness of her future; but any one 
who knows anything of this breezy port 
of entry, will not find it difficult to accept 
such a prophecy without much margin. 

Hers is not the ephemeral prosperity 
that fell to the lot of Kalepolepo in the 
halcyon days. She is backed by thriving 
plantations that gladden the highlands 
and the lowlands of Maui. She boasts her 
own mercantile marine, her custom-house, 
her railway, and her wreck in the harbor, 
of which only the spareribs are remaining. 

There is a court-house of brick and a 
club of good fellows, and far more spirit 
among. the people than might generally 
be looked for in a town of her size; for 
Kahului is not a "city of magnificent 
distances," as yet 

Were it not that I am shortsighted, I 
might have been a land-owner of some 
consequence before now; fori well remem- 
ber the day when I rode over the site of 
this city, following the cattle tracks in 
the stunted stubble, and wondering what 
manner of beast it might be that hunted 
in that region for refreshment 

Blinding sand-hills shut out the horizon 
on the one hand; blinding sea-hills break 
into avalanches of spune and spray on 
the other hand ; and between the two 
lies a perennial drought — the abomination 
of desolation. 

I didn't care to possess it then; I would 



206 



THE AVE MARIA. 



iiot like to hold a squatter right within a 
mile of it now — unless I could be sure of 
disposing of it for cash in season to take 
the first outward-bound train. 

Yet the town is full of wholesome 
people, who seem obliviously happy; and 
what man will gainsay them the right to 
be so, or compel them to show cause? 
They know a great deal more about the 
secret charms of Kahului than we do, — 
vastly more, no doubt, than we can ever 
hope to know. 

She has her dock jutting out into deep 
water; her barges, like floating docks, 
that easily accommodate themselves to 
the varying tides. She has also her 
Oriental eating-houses — how appetizing 
that sounds! — her billiard-halls, her ton- 
sorial artist, and — well, one of the best- 
furnished shops in the Kingdom. 

There are boating-parties, serenades, and 
late suppers on board the crack craft from 
the coast ; polite visitations among the 
, neighborly ; and on Saturday nights, or at 
least on some of them, much hilarity when 
the Spreckelsville boys come to town. 

The little dock is crowded whenever 
the steamer comes in. It is crowded again 
on the departure of the boat. One would 
almost imagine that there are nothing but 
meetings and partings in Kahului ; for 
between the acts she is not a frolicsome 
burg. If one were disposed to be ungracious, 
one might say that, outwardly, Kahului 
discovers the unpicturesque disorder which 
is characteristic of all border settlements. 

Everywhere one sees evidences of pre- 
maturity. If she has a street, it can hardly, 
even by courtesy, be called straight. 
The houses seem to have sprung up, like 
toadstools, wherever it was most con- 
venient. A better figure, perhaps, is that, 
like a bed of ostrich eggs, she seems to 
have hatched out in the sun-baked sand; 
and, judging from the almost total absence 
of verdure, one might add that, like the 
ostrich, the inhabitants are accustomed 
to bury their heads in the arenaceous 



deposits, and imagine themselves covered. 

I wonder if any green thing will take 
root and grow here — anything beside the 
thick, rank grass, and the fat- leaved sea- 
convolvulus, with its briny sap? 

I wonder, if the sea were to rise and 
pass over it, whether the town would take 
on a fresher look and show a bit of color 
here and there? She is of a sandy com- 
plexion and all of one tint The mud 
villages of the Egyptian Nile are not more 
so. She is right in the wind; and the 
booming trades, damp with spray, might 
cloud the glass in the rattling windows 
with salt; yet she seems knee-deep in desert 
dirt, and the biting sun fastens a sharp 
fang upon her, and keeps it there all day. 

In spite of this, she is lusty and 
ambitious, and, I doubt not, hopes to 
divide the Kingdom's commerce with the 
capital. She already has her depot and 
noble warehouses, and a spread of side 
tracks, like a skeleton fan, strung full of 
freight-cars that have evidently seen 
service. She has her daily trains running 
up and down the coast, with an elastic 
"time-table," one "to suit all sights and ^ 
to suit all ages." Moreover, she has a 
diminutive locomotive that is positively 
the most obliging of its kind that ever 
ran on wheels. 

It must be that "the last man" is a 
myth in Kahului ; for no one was ever^ 
known to get left there. After sitting 
for a long half hour on the uncoverec 
platform-car that does Pullman duty oiJ 
this line, after steeping in the sunshine! 
or scorching in the wind until patience 
perishes from sheer exhaustion, the little 
locomotive comes in out of the meadow 
as frisky as a corn- fed filly, and the tourist 
tightens his hat-band for instant flight 
But the locomotive is only pirouetting in a 
burst of enthusiasm and steam, rehearsing 
a kind of glide-waltz among the side- 
tracks. It slides off" in onfe direction to 
lead up a co- partner, then glides away in 
another to draw out a bashful mate from 



THE AVE MARIA. 



207 



the seclusion of the wood-piles. Perhaps 
it is the german and not the glide-waltz; 
for when there are enough of these partners 
in waiting, the whole of them are sent 
bowling down the main track, where we 
receive them with a bang and a suppressed 
shriek. The dance is kept up so long 
as there is anything to be gained by it, 
and long after there is any fun in it; and 
then when Hope and Despair have been 
sandwiched as deep as a jelly cake, we 
actually get started for Wailuku, Spreck- 
elsville or Paia, as the case may be. But 
even now the last man, woman or child 
does not hurry; for any one may toddle 
across lots, having wound up a conversa- 
tion and punctuated it, and comfortably 
board the train in the suburbs. 

All trains are accommodation trains — 
that is, if one is in no hurry. I believe the 
obliging engineer would, if so desired, 
reverse and go back to pick up the point 
of a joke; and, though in calm weather or 
on holidays he may encourage a brief 
spurt with some gallant horseman on the 
salt flats, beyond the town, it would prob- 
ably not interfere with the schedule or the 
sentiments of the railway company if he 
were to slow down to get out of the way 
of a fly on the track. 

I can assure you that it is a great con- 
venience to be able to mount a pyramid 
of freight when the two benches of the 
passenger-car are filled, even though a 
portion of that freight be animated pork. 
;t is joy to roll down the metals on an easy 
ade. Although the passenger accom- 
odations are primitive and limited, the 
e is reasonable enough. Travel on this 
!ne seems to be looked at in the light of a 
•lark"; and the travellers are apparently 
the jolliest people in the world until the 
locomotive begins to blow a whistle — a 

Iuercing, ear-splitting scream that is posi- 
ively paralyzing. But good-nature is soon 
estored, especially if we are approaching 
tahului. The array of inebriated-looking 
fut-houses is diverting; and the habit of 
I 



leaving hogsheads of fresh water at the 
rear elevation of those residences inhabited 
by water-drinkers — dropping them on the 
wing, as it were — is an amusing character- 
istic of the railroad employees. Finally, we 
are all perfectly happy when the trowser- 
less small boy, striding the fence in the 
foreground.waves the surplusof his solitary 
garment and shouts a wild '*Hooroo!" 

Only to think that I might have owned 
the whole parish — been a bloated capitalist 
— by this time, and have called the place 
Something- ville! Is it chagrin, I wonder, 
that causes me to confess myself bored? 
Is it because the palms of my hands are 
parching, and there is sand in my boots, 
and my throat is filled with dust, that I am 
constrained to whisper in your ear that 
Kahului at presen^ looks just a little as if 
the wind blew it in? 

Kahului is the seapoit of Spreckelsville. 
Of course you have heard all about 
Spreckelsville. It was probably your ear 
for euphony that caught the faint sound 
as it fell the first time you heard the word 
uttered; and to your last day it will ring 
loud and clear in the fine harmony of 
Hawaiian nomenclature. 

Spreckelsville! Think of the multitu- 
dinous waters that are associated with 
Hawaiian localities, and fly to Spreckels- 
ville for relief! After such a babbling of 
water-brooks, and of waters that sparkle 
or leap or sleep, or are imprisoned, — of 
waters that are sweet or bitter, silent or 
songful, sacred or profane, — waters of life- 
everlasting, or of death and destruction; 
after seas that jet, or rush rudely, or stand 
still ; that threaten or beguile, or do 
anything that seas may do to make a 
namesake of the land or lea that lies 
nearest them, — how refreshing to come 
upon such a name as Spreckelsville, with 
its numberless beautiful associations ! 

Sit still, my heart! Sing, O muse, of 
Spreckelsville! Let the prodigious extinct 
crater claim to be the habitation of the 
sun, and the groves above the brow of 



208 



THE AVE MARIA. 



yonder hill boast "ripe bread-fruit for the 
gods." We will show them what's in a 
name; for we can prove to the satisfaction 
of any nasal organ in Christendom that 
one bottle of the extract of Spreckelsville 
(there is a small lake of it down by the 
railway, to the windward of the Spreckles- 
ville headquarters) will smell as sweet, 
though you were to call it by any other 
name in the whole Hawaiian vocabulary. 

You must have heard how the modem 
Midas, with a touch of his magic wand, 
has made the desert to blossom as the 
rose. Great Christopher, what a desert it 
was in my day ! And to think that you 
or I might have possessed ourselves of 
Spreckelsville, when it was called Puu- 
nene, for a mere song — that is, if we had 
cared for it, and known how to sing! 

It was one of the waste places of the 
earth ; its only apology for existence was 
that it afforded an extremely disagreeable 
passage from East to West Maui. If the 
Red Sea had forgotten to close up again 
after the Israelites had gone through it 
dry-shod, the physical geography of the 
passage would no doubt resemble the site 
of Spreckelsville, and of the plantation, 
as it was when I first knew it. 

The four winds of heaven used to meet 
there, and raise cain long before Sir Claus 
Spreckels ever dreamed of doing it. There 
were mounds of dust, like brick-dust, 
where the winds wallowed. When they 
grew tired of that sport, they used to join 
forces and waltz madly among the dust- 
heaps. You should have seen them then! 
The dust grew restless and began to 
rise and whirl ; it took the shape of a 
cylindrical cloud, buzzing like a top, and 
climbing into the very sky. Higher and 
higher it climbed, reeling dizzily, twisting 
and curving as gracefully as a swan's 
throat. It was spun like a web out of 
that dust- heap; and when the fabric was 
complete, it trailed slowly along the arid 
plain. It had a voice, too, — a horrible 
voice, that hummed and muttered while 



the weird thing was spirally ascending; 
and then, when it was about a mile high, it 
started out across the waste like an aveng- 
ing spirit and passed on over the sea, or was 
drawn up into the heavens and dispelled. 

Sometimes there were two or three of 
these dust fountains abroad at one time. 
Water-spouts are pretty enough when you 
look at them from the windward ; but dust- 
spouts are far prettier, for they are like 
great amber tubes ; and you almost wonder 
that they don't snap and fall to the earth 
in fragments as they writhe in airy space. 
All these spectacular displays have 
given place to developments of a very 
practical nature. If you had asked me 
a few years ago what I thought of the 
isthmus of Maui as an investment, I 
would confidently have assured you that 
there was not a spoonful of good soil to 
be had for the digging from one end of it 
to the other. I would have suggested 
cutting a canal through the middle of itj 
so as to avoid, if possible, a repetition of 
the accident that befell a certain navigator 
some years ago, who came near running 
down the island and beached his ship below 
Spreckelsville, while heading for L,anai. 

But, after all, how little we scribes know^ 
of these things ! Perhaps the Pharisees 
are better posted. At any rate, it seems 
that one has only to flood the sand, and 
all the latent life that is in it buds and] 
blossoms and bears fruit, so that in a little 
time you would not know it had ever] 
been anything other than a garden spot. 

Midas needed innumerable hands to- 
do the work he had planned. His sails j 
whitened the seas, his hordes swarmed 
in upon the parched plains, and were, 
gathered into various camps and clansj 
under a head centre, who lived in a.] 
shadowless big -house. He wanted water. 
With a wave of his hand, lo ! Claudianj 
aqueducts poured mountain torrents int( 
the lap of the wilderness. ^ 

Then the sowers went forth to sow and] 
the reapers to reap; and b/ the time the] 



THE AVE MARIA. 



209 



mills — not the mills of the gods, that 
grind slowly but grind exceeding small — 
were well agoing, one could see almost 
at a single glance how the green shoot 
plumed and ripened, and the juice rippled 
and bubbled through mysterious processes, 
till it fell into yawning sacks in a shower 
of snowy flakes. 

Pardon me if my language is somewhat 
inflated! It is a custom one easily acquires 
in a community where everything is done 
on the Spreckelsville scale. And don't look 
to me for figures, save only the figures of 
speech; the weights and measures are all 
set down in their proper places; and when 
I have acknowledged the immensity of 
this particular enterprise, I have done all 
that can be expected of me in that line. 

Progress — the ogre of the nineteenth 
century — Progress, with a precipitous /*, — 
is the war-cry at Spreckelsville. In her 
track the steam-plow is rampant, and here 
mechanical ingenuity can go no further 
at present The vacuum-pan is as big as 
a balloon ; there is a forest of smoke- 
stacks over the engine-house ; so that 
that portion of the settlement looks like 
the levee at New Orleans in the cotton 
season. When the wind blows — did it 
ever cease at Spreckelsville? — and the 
pebbles begin to pour upon the roof, you 
would imagine a broadside of Gatling 
g^ns brought to bear upon the settlement. 

Yet the desert blossoms, as stated above, 

(nd the transformation is little short of 
liraculous. Do you wonder that I am 
eeply impressed at the numberless green 
cres of cane, — acres that stretch even 
to the horizon, and cane that is brought 
up by hand, as it were? Do you wonder 
that I am awestruck when I see armies 
marshalled forth from the several camps, 
and dispatched to their respective fields, 
as if by magic or machinery? 

It is true that, barring the green tinge 
of the growing crops and the brick-red 

Iust on the borderland, this plantation is 
_.„..-... 



eye it is, and probably always will be, 
without form and void; that its scattered 
camps are like barracks of the barest 
and bleakest description. Umbrageous is 
a word which will probably never find 
place in the lexicon of the still youthful 
Spreckelsville. 

Now, if I were a prominent shareholder, 
I would at once suggest that we "rub out 
and begin again" ; that we spend less 
money in splurging and more in civiliz- 
ing; we would not spread over so much 
land, very likely, but we would not spread 
it so thin. After all, what is your sugar- 
cane but a larger and juicier kind of grass? 
And what is the sugar market but a 
delusion and a snare? 

It has been the custom in some quarters 
to speak lightly of the Spreckelsville boys. 
Their name is legion. I can honestly say 
that they, at least, have some style about 
them. When I hear trousers fondly called 
"pants," and see spring-bottom editions 
of the article, which marks the year one 
of the Christian era in this Kingdom, 
flapping over a two-inch hoodlum heel, I 
assure myself and you that the wearers of 
those garments have not yet descended to 
the level of the "poor whites," some of 
whom have slunk away into the unvisited 
recesses of these islands. Poor whites, in- 
deed — a hopeless element, known through 
the South Pacific as Beche de mermen. 

At Spreckelsville the interest in athletics 
is retained. They still live in the hope of 
getting out of the Kingdom at some future 
day; and at Spreckelsville, more than at 
any other place I know of, the masculine 
sentiment of republicanism is nourished 
in all its vigorous virility. 

It is refreshing to see so large a body of 
young men successfully fighting against 
the voluptuous allurements of the climate; 
and it is not to be wondered at if, at times, 
some unlucky one is a temporary study in 
black and blue; or that the prodigal sons 
troop down to Kahului on Saturday night, 
to waste their substance in riotous living.. 



210 



THE AVE MARIA. 



In a community, like this, where every- 
thing is done on a great, I may say on a 
very great, scale — let us spell Great with 
a pot-bellied G^ — an escape valve is abso- 
lutely necessary. Perhaps nowhere in the 
world is an escape valve more necessary 
than at Spreckelsville — and here, if you 
please, we will spell Spreckelsville with 
an abnormal S. 

(To be continued.) 



A Noble Irishwoman. 



BY KATHARINE (TYNAN) HINKSON. 



IN the first week of July there passed 
away, in Dublin, Sarah Atkinson, one 
of the noblest and sweetest personalities of 
our time or any time. By her full name 
she will probably not be known to many 
outside her own city of Dublin. Her 
masterly biography — "Mary Aikenhead, 
Her Life, Her Work, and Her Friends" — 
she signed only with her initials; and the 
same inexpressive signature she attached 
to those learned and luminous articles 
which she contributed to many Catholic 
periodicals. She was a woman of great 
intellect. One only needed to look at 
her — her broad, beautiful forehead and 
girlishly bright eyes — to perceive that. 
She had also literarj' skill, a gift of style, 
much learning, and just that transmuting 
vein of poetry which goes to the making 
of the finest prose writers. If she had used 
her powers otherwise than she did, she 
would have left behind her a great literary 
reputation. As it was, she devoted them 
to the advancement of Irish and Catholic 
literature, the service of Truth, and the 
glory of God. 

Her one book was the life of the foun- 
dress of an order of Catholic nuns, — a 
much - hampered work ; for in writing 
such one has to leave again and again the 



great central subject to diverge into annals 
of this and that foundation. It is very 
difficult to make such a book free of 
pettiness and chitchat. The Sisters of 
Charity were wise indeed that they trusted 
their biographer with a free hand. The 
book, despite all difficulties, is a master- 
piece; so broad, so luminous, so compre- 
hensive, that I hesitate to place any 
biography higher than it, except that 
biography of all time, Boswell's Johnson. 
Mary Aikenhead lives for those of us who 
know this great life, as an Irish foundress , 
and saint, most human, broad, and kindly, 
and with an exquisite quality of humor, 
that sparkles at us out of the pages with a 
haunting pleasantness. The preface to the 
biography is a lucid history of Ireland in 
the penal days; and it is the fault of its 
subject that the whole book has not the 
vogue it deserves. Some of the English 
reviews, especially The Guardian^ the 
organ of orthodox Anglicanism, greeted 
it enthusiastically; as did Mr. Lecky, easily 
first of modern historians. 

Mrs. Atkinson's papers, which would 
have been eagerly welcomed by the organs 
of learned societies or the high-class 
reviews, she gave unsigned to the Irish 
Monthly^ or some such Catholic magazine 
in need of a helping hand. One of her 
subjects was the history of old Dublin, 
and she had a fine library dealing with it; 
another was Irish hagiology, and under 
her hand the histories of St. Fursey, Angus 
the Culdee, and many another obscure 
Irish saint, became indeed fascinating. 

She was always to be found at her desk 
in the time between breakfast and lunch. 
Her home was a big, roomy, old-fashioned 
house on the top of Drumcondra hill, 
northward of Dublin. I have never known 
anything like the purity of that house. 
It was so clean that the most vigilant 
sunbeam found no mote to float in it. 
One has heard of the odor of sanctity: the 
house was fragrant with th^ indefinable 
quality. Around Mrs. Atkinson at her 



THE AVE MARIA. 



211 



desk, in that room high over the city, 
was an atmosphere most light, bright and 
joyful. She had g^eat beauty of counte- 
nance: a broad forehead, regular features, 
delicate skin, and "eyes of youth" like 
Anne Page, startlingly vivid and shining 
in the face of a woman no longer young. 
But these did not make up her great 
beauty: it was the shining of the soul 
behind her face. The beauty of holiness, 
they say. Well, I have known many 
holy people who oppressed one with their 
extreme sanctity. They made one feel 
somehow unfit for their rapt presence. 
But Mrs. Atkinson was one of those who, 
closely united with God, was yet of human- 
kind ; and, perhaps seeing God in His 
creatures, was kind to them with a great 
tenderness. One never seemed to intrude 
on her. She was ready to drop her pen 
in the middle of a sentence and welcome 
one, and then to show the kindliest 
interest in all one's affairs. 

They were such high old rooms. The 
window-sill was full of flowers in bloom — 
always in bloom, it seemed to me. The 
walls of books rose either side ^he fire- 
place. On the mantel-shelf was a picture 
of St. Barbara with her tower. Mrs. 
Atkinson generally sat at the table, among 
her writing materials, in the front room. 
Beyond the open folding-doors was the 
dining-room, with more books. Outside 
the dining-room window was a carefully 
tended and fragrant flower-garden. The 
boughs of a big sycamore were over 
against the window, — a sycamore much 
frequented by nesting birds, whose spring 
secrets you were well acquainted with if you 
were curious in your point of observation. 

Just round the corner is the exquisite 
church of the Redemptoristines, a very 
jewel of church-building, where the Perpet- 
ual Adoration is carried on. There, winter 
and summer, wet or dry, Mrs. Atkinson 
was to be found at the four o'clock bene- 
diction. I have sometimes met her going 
or returning, in cloak and pattens, a 



picture of cheerful serenity. It is hard to 
realize that she has gone home to God, 
and so much sweetness lost out of the 
world. I have never known any one in 
whose presence one felt such an uplifting 
of the heart. 

Bitterly as we miss her, we have many 
mourners with us, in the penitentiaries, 
hospitals, orphan asylums, and other 
charitable institutions of Dublin. Her 
charities were so manifold and so inces- 
sant that one wondered how she found 
time for her writing, her friends, and 
those nearest ones whom she never failed. 
I heard before I ever saw her that she 
had extraordinary influence with refrac- 
tory female prisoners ; and that in a 
specially despera*:e case, when chaplain and 
matron alike had failed, she would be sent 
for. In the refuges she was as powerful. 

I remember once, when we went to visit 
a political prisoner at Kilmainham — it 
seems to me now that it was a great honor 
to have been in her company — that while 
we waited in the dark hall behind the 
monstrous gates, she talked of the treat- 
ment of women in prison, telling me with 
great tenderness how the fear and the 
loneliness of solitude and punishment often 
provoked outbursts of frenzy. She spoke 
of the prisoners as she might of so many 
children, frightened and in the dark. 

I remember again visiting a patient in a 
Dublin hospital one wet winter Saturday. 
Outside, the streets steamed with rain; 
and inside, the dark shadows crept up the 
great, blank walls, and the unadorned 
ward looked unutterably dreary. While I 
was there Mrs. Atkinson came in, in her 
lonof cloak and black bonnet, her arms 
laden with packages. She stopped at 
every bed ; for every patient she had a 
few cheery words and a little gift : there 
was an orange for one, a story-book for 
another, a package of tea for a third. Her 
face brightenecl the dreariness; and as I 
looked after her, I thought her indeed a 
ministering angel. 



-212 



THE AVE MARIA. 



The workhouses, too, received her bene- 
factions. I saved my papers for her for 
years ; and I remember her telling me, 
with intense enjoyment, of one old work- 
liouse woman who longed after a certain 
very frivolous fashion and society paper 
-which I used to supply. "I'd rather do 
widout me tay or me tobacky," said this 
old lady, "than not know of the fine 
weddin's, and the dresses the ladies is 
wearin'." She was specially glad one 
time when I gave her a bundle of Good 
Words and the Sunday Magazine. 

Another place she loved to visit was 
the Hospice for the Dying, at Harold's 
Cross, of which her sister, Mrs. Gaynor, is 
the beloved Reverend Mother. Another 
sister is Reverend Mother at the Stanhope 
Street Orphanage and Training School 
for Girls. Both these institutions are 
conducted by the Irish Sisters of Charity, 
Mary Aikenhead's spiritual children. She 
loved to go to the Hospice by its avenue 
of overhanging chestnuts ; and, after visit- 
ing the dying folk, who are so strangely 
happy, to sit under the noble trees, which 
are among the few relics of the fragrant 
garden that once was there, and look at 
the beautiful blue-grey mountains. Almost 
everywhere in Dublin that there was good 
work adoing Mrs. Atkinson's face was 
known and beloved. 

I say again that she was the most 
entirely human holy person I have ever 
known. She never irked one with a sense 
of one's own unlikeness and un worthi- 
ness, as so many holy people do. I never 
remember that she talked on holy subjects. 
She only made one feel the beauty and 
loftiness of holy living. She was very 
alert about books, music and pictures. 
Dublin literary and artistic folk often met 
at her hospitable board. How happy such 
reunions were, with Dr. Atkinson's dear 
and kind hospitality, and his wife's beau- 
tiful face shining impartially on us all ! 
There is a verse of an old poet which 
always seems to me written for her: 



"A sweet, attractive kind of grace, 
A full assurance given by looks, 
Continual comfort in a face, 
The lineaments of Gospel books." 

I never knew a face so comforting, and 
it is hard to realize that it shines no more 
on earth. Yet one is greatly privileged to 
have known her. Such a large mind, an 
even judgment, a tolerant view of all 
mankind. The unprejudiced, clear way of 
looking at things was very refreshing in 
a country where we are always vehement 
She had known great sorrow, but it had 
left no corroding lines on her face. The 
years had but moulded her face to a firmer, 
nobler beauty. One thinks of her as of 
some cheerful, diffused light and warmth ; 
and says over to one's self, in thinking of 
her, Henry Vaughan's exquisite lines of 
his dead friends : 

"They are all gone into the world of light, 
And I alone stand listening here ; 
Their very memory is fair and bright, 
And my sad thoughts doth clear." 

For, with her face in one's mind, neither 
murk nor cloudiness were possible. 



The Use of Fans in the Early Christian 
Churches. 



BY EDGKNE DAVIS. 



IT is not fjinerally known that fans were 
used during the celebration of Mass 
in the early Greek and Latin Churches, 
and were considered indispensable to the 
ceremonial of the Holy Sacrifice. An idea 
prevails that the fan has been from time 
immemorial an exclusively secular article; 
that it was originally manufactured for 
the purpose of providing the members of 
the fair sex with an antidote for summer 
heat, and to protect their delicate satin 
cheeks against any possible sunstroke. 
This is, however, an erroneous impression. 
I find, on examining several quaint old 
French and Latin tomes, that, so far at 



THE AVE MARIA. 



213 



least as Christians are concerned, the fan 
was regarded as an ecclesiastical accessory 
to worship before it was employed for the 
uses to which it has been devoted during 
the past few centuries. 

In the eighth chapter of the ninth 
volume of a Latin work dealing with the 
Apostolic Constitutions, it is said that 
during the celebration of Mass in Eastern 
churches, from the Offertory to Commun- 
ion, two deacons stood at either wing 
of the altar, holding in their hands fans 
of peacocks' feathers, with which they 
either sought to cool the temperature of 
the officiating clergyman, or prevented 
flies and other insects from hovering 
around the Holy Bread or dropping into 
the chalice. It must be remembered that 
in those early days of Christianity the 
faithful had no spacious or well- ventilated 
cathedrals in which they could worship 
the Lord their God. The Holy Sacrifice 
had to be celebrated often in dingy, ill- 
aired rooms, and sometimes in catacombs, 
when pagan persecution was still more or 
less rampant throughout the length and 
breadth of Europe. There was, moreover, 
another object for the use of \h& Jlabellum^ 
or fan, during Mass, if we are to credit 
Photius in his "Biblioth^que," who quotes 
a curious passage from the writings of a 
monk named Job, according to whom 
fans were also employed to attract the 
pious attention of the congregation to the 
painting of the Dead Christ that lined the / 
wall over the high altar, and thus help 
them to contemplate the adorable realities 
of the Eucharistic mystery. 

The Latin Church also adopted the 
fiabellum in its services. Fans were 
chiefly meant to ornament the temples of 
worship during important festivals. They 
were arrayed in artistic arches over the 
door and around the altar. The figure of 
a fan was found in an old fresco of St 

I Sylvester recently discovered ; while an 
antique sarcophagus represents the Magi 



holding Jlabella in their hands. Accord- 
ing to Duranti, in his work entitled *'De 
Ritu Ecclesiastico," St. Hildebert sent a 
fan as a present to one of his ecclesiastical 
friends for the latter's church; and mention 
is made elsewhere of many similar gifts 
by others for a like object. 

These fans were generally made of 
peacocks' plumes. There were several, 
however, manufactured from palm leaves. 
One of the fans, used by the Greek Cath- 
olics, was in the form of a six -wing 
cherubim. We are informed by the author 
of "De Rebus Liturgicis" that the fan of 
the Maronites of Armenia was of a circular 
shape, wrought from thin leaves of metal, 
from which tiny silver bells were suspended. 

The fiabellum still continues to be 
patronized by the Greek and Armenian 
Catholic priests; but its habitual use in 
divine service was abandoned by the 
Latin or Western Church toward the close 
of the fourteenth century. The only occa- 
sion on which it is now employed in the 
Roman Catholic ritual is at the Vatican, 
when, in the course of specially important 
ceremonials, the Holy Father is escorted 
in a sedan-chair, ornamented with two 
large beautiful fans, into the Cathedral 
of St. Peter. 

The only fiabellum connected with the 
Catholic Church proper which has 
survived the ravages of time, as well as 
those of Vandal hands, is that of the Abbey 
of St Filibert of Tournus, the origin of 
which dates as far back as the ninth 
century. This precious relic of a far-away 
past is well preserved, and is in the 
keeping of a certain M. Carraud, of 
Lyons, who had it exhibited in the 
Museum of the History of Labor at the 
Universal Exposition of Paris, held under 
the auspices of Napoleon III. in 1867. 
Quaint religious verses and paintings 
adorn its satin leaves, while its beauty 
as a work of art has been praised by all 
who have seen it 

Among the fans no longer in existence, 



214 



THE AVE MARIA 



which are referred to in the inventories 
of various English and French churches 
and cathedrals, the Marquis de Laborde, 
in an interesting volume on the subject, 
entitled a "Glossaire de Moyen Age," 
cites a silver Jla be Hum of St. Riquier ; a 
silken one of the Cathedral of Salisbury, 
England ; one of silk and gold, which 
belonged to the church of Amiens, 
France ; and one of peacocks' plumes, 
which adorned a niche over the high 
altar of St. Paul's, London, before that 
Cathedral fell into the hands of the 
unfaithful. 

When the fan lost its sacred character, 
having no longer its place in the sanct- 
uary, except in Eastern Europe, lay people 
began to utilize it — particularly iu the 
summer months — for defensive purposes 
against the sun. These objects of art 
were, however, so costly, owing to the 
high prices paid to the skilful operatives 
who were engaged on them, and to the 
sumptuous material of which they were 
made, that few outside the then eclectic 
circles of nobility could aflford such luxu- 
ries. Men rarely used them; as such use 
on their part was looked upon as a sign of 
eflfeminacy, which in a warlike age was 
a deep stain on the escutcheon of any 
gentleman, however blue his blood might 
have been. No chdtelaine in France, 
Switzerland, Flanders or Italy would 
consider her "make up" perfect unless a 
fan dangled at the end of a gold chain 
suspended from her girdle. These orna- 
ments were composed of the feathers of 
parrots and ostriches, supplemented by 
those of a peculiarly fine breed of crows 
indigenous to Indian skies. The handles 
of these fans were generally of rich ivory, 
inlaid with precious stones. 

Among the artists engaged on the 
Jlabella^ while they were still in favor with 
ecclesiastics, were several hermits, whose 
toil was a labor of love. The Abb^ 
Martigny, in his interesting "Dictionary 
of Christian Antiquities," assures us that 



sacred fans, as well as other church orna- 
ments, were manufactured by the monks 
of Syria, whose cultured tastes were 
exercised at the time for the sole purpose 
of adding to the beauty of the temples of 
God. The same authority thinks it prob- 
able that St Jerome was an accomplished 
adept in the same art during the long 
hours of his solitude in the bleak desert of 
Chalcis; and that SL Fulgence, Bishop of 
Ruspium, while still an abbk employed his 
leisure moments on a similar occupation. 



A Word Out of Season. 



IT is the fashion of the thoughtful and 
thrifty person to look ahead, to provide 
things in advance. He is never caught 
napping, never discovered in a sudden 
emergency without a little put aside for 
just such an unforeseen occasion; never 
found off his guard by sudden calls upon 
his purse or sympathy ; never surprised 
by the coming of the blasts of winter or 
summer's heat. If this person be a woman, 
she is even more a triumph of system and 
forethought Her larder knows no empti- 
ness, her family wardrobe no weak points. 
Unexpected visitors do not disconcert; 
monetary stringency does not alarm. She 
is so valiantly equal to any occasion that 
it may be said that she grows more 
cheerful with the adversity under which 
a less thrifty and admirable person would 
sink dismayed. 

Just now this good creature is employ- 
ing her summer leisure in gathering 
together or constructing various articles 
of more or less intrinsic value, which are 
to be distributed at Christmas-time to 
an ever-increasing circle of friends and 
kinsfolk. In this she is abetted by the 
inane newspaper column sjipposed to be 
devoted to topics feminine. Well-meaning; 
correspondents advise an anticipation of 
the gift season, and urge summer loungers, 



THE AVE MARIA. 



215 



and women in general, to take time by the 
forelock by an early providing of a stock 
from which to draw at that busy time. 

It is not too early for the thoughtful to 
venture a protest against this conventional 
Christmas prodigality, which masquerades 
as thrift; and to suggest that a vacation, 
if one is so fortunate as to have any, can 
be better employed than by assisting to 
perpetuate a custom which, innocent and 
suitable enough at first, has assumed 
proportions that threaten the real senti- 
ment of the most holy and happy season 
of the Christian year. 

The simple and delicate gift, once 
offered to a friend in memory of God's great 
Gift to mankind, has become metamor- 
phosed into an expensive token, which 
demands a like return. The bad taste and 
vulgarity of this exchange of valuables 
among the wealthy is obvious ; among 
the poor it is a slavery. Occupation of a 
different sort from embroidering costly 
trifles upon a summer hotel veranda, or 
picking up art treasures in anticipation 
of the annual drain upon one's pocket- 
book and ingenuity, may result in partial 
reform. A country trip given to a city 
waif or an overworked sewing-girl, 
although it may consume the "Christmas 
money" so carefully hoarded, will be a 
more acceptable gift to Him who was 
once a little Christmas Child than any 
amount of the conventional and inap- 
propriate barter which has become so 
g^eat a burden, and which has no meaning, 
religious or otherwise. 

Advice similar to this will, of course, be 
spread broadcast as the holidays approach; 
but it will then be too late: the thrifty 
person will have done her work. Hence 
this unseasonable reminder. Catholics 
ought surely to keep to the spirit of the 
season, and midsummer is not too soon to 
begin to meditate upon the best way to 
^effect a salutary and much-needed change. 

" He gives not best who gfives most ; 
But he gives most who gives best." 



Notes and Remarks. 



The spirit of poetry has invaded Jackson 
Park, and the result is the prettiest incident 
of the Columbian Exposition. Mr. W. E. 
Curtis has enclosed the original commission 
granted to Columbus by Ferdinand and 
Isabella in a glass case, and placed it upon the 
altar of the Convent of lyi Rabida. Encircling 
the precious case is the legend: "This is the 
beginning of American History." A solemn 
soldier in uniform stands guard beside the 
document, and a placard invites the masculine 
public to view it with uncovered heads. The 
action of Mr. Curtis was an inspiration. No 
more appropriate place could be fuund for 
the commission; it is just where the saintly 
Discoverer himself would have placed it. 



The Moniteur de Rome announces the 
transfer of Mgr. Joseph Rademacher, Bishop 
of Nashville, to the See of Fort Wayne, made 
vacant by the death of the Rt. Rev. Bishop 
Dwenger. Mgr. Rademacher is well known 
to the clergy and laity of Fort Wayne, and 
the news of his appointment has been 
received with much rejoicing. 

The reports published in the secular 
journals to the effect that Fort Wayne had 
been raised to an archbishopric, with sees 
in Illinois and Iowa as suffragans, originated 
with some penny-a-liner, whose judgment is 
as much at fault as his geography. 



The financial strain in the United States 
' suggests to the New York Sunday Sun a. series 
of reflections, in which there is far more 
truth than comfort. Contrasting the religious 
temper of the nation at the present time 
with the spirit which prevailed just before 
the war, that journal observes : 

"After the panic and business depression of 1857, 
the Great Awakening occurred. It was a religious 
revival, remarkable for its extent and its fervor. 
At midday the Fulton Street prayer-meeting was 
crowded for months together with distressed mer- 
chants. Religious services for prayer and exhorta- 
tion were held in theatres. The churches had to 
provide extra meetings to satisfy the demand for 
public opportunities to make confession of sin, and 
send up supplications to the mercy of God at a 



216 



THE AVE MARIA 



time when the wit of man was hopeless of finding a 
remedy for the prevailing distress. . . . The present 
depression in business is not leading to any general 
expression of faith like the Great Awakening of 
1857. It is occurring amid prevailing religious 
torpor, rather. The looking for relief is not to 
supernatural agencies, but to natural. It is a change 
which indicates a religious revolution of tremendous 
importance." 

The Su7i intimates that the "religious 
torpor" which has seized upon the public 
mind is due to the fact that most Protestants 
have lost their hold upon the Bible. Catholics, 
who do not feel themselves at the mercy of 
the "higher critics," have lost not one shade 
of their confidence in the over-ruling Provi- 
dence of God. However, it must be admitted 
that our religious enthusiasm has been sadly 
dampened of late by passionate discussion 
and barren controversy. 



The twenty-third annual Convention of the 
Catholic Total Abstinence Union of America 
was held at Springfield, Mass., closing on 
August 3. A large number of delegates were 
in attendance. The reports of the officials 
showed a most prosperous condition of the 
Union, the increase in membership being 
especially large this year. It was also an- 
nounced that the "Bureau of Temperance 
Truth," organized for the dissemination of 
the principles of the Union, has proved to be 
a success morally and financially. Many able 
addresses were made, and a resolution was 
adopted expressive of the loss caused to the 
Union by the death of the lamented President 
Walsh, of Notre Dame University, who was 
an indefatigable worker in the cause of 
temperance. Many new measures of policy 
were discussed; and, after the election of 
officers for the coming year, the Convention 
adjourned, to meet next year in St. Paul, Minn. 



In the July number of the American 
Catholic Quarterly Review^ the editor, the 
Most Rev. Archbishop Ryan, prefaces the 
publication of the Holy Father's recent letter 
on the School Question with a "note," which 
calmly and dispassionately presents an admi- 
rable statement of the whole situation. The 
reticence of the Quarterly during ' ' our edu- 
cational civil war' ' was due to a desire to allay 
the angry feelings of contending parties, and 



bring about a reconciliation between them, so 
far as the influence of a quarterly periodical 
could effect it. The following extract from 
the "Editorial Note" gives the gist of the 
differences which caused the controversy, and, 
« in accord with the Pontifical letter, shows the 
common ground upon which all may stand: 

" Now that the voice of supreme authority has 
quelled the storm, we begin to wonder why this 
controversy should have arisen. We can quite under- 
stand how, after it had arisen, both parties should 
become excited. On one side, the friends of the 
parochial schools feared, and not without reason, 
that deep injury would be inflicted on these insti- 
tutions. It is certain that many children were 
withdrawn from these schools because of the mis- 
interpretations of the proposition of the Apostolic 
Delegate. One school in the West lost three hundred 
children in a few weeks. His Excellency's subse- 
quent declaration that he was the friend of parochial 
schools, followed so quickly by the Papal document 
addressed to the American Bishops, has prevented 
further defection, which, otherwise, would certainly 
have appeared at the opening of the next scholastic 
year. Can we wonder that people who have made 
such sacrifices to build and maintain their parish 
schools should be thoroughly alarmed and indig- 
nant at such a prospect ? On the other hand, some of 
these good people were represented, in the heat of 
controversy, as holding the principle that the State 
should have nothing to say on the great question 
of the education of her own citizens. She has the 
undoubted right to provide for their education, 
and, in a country like this, where every man is a 
voter, and thereby a ruler, to see that they have 
the necessary qualifications to discharge the duties 
of their citizenship?" 



Dr. Richard H. Salter, a venerable and 
distinguished Catholic gentleman of Boston, 
passed away last week, at the advanced age of 
eighty-six. Dr. Salter was an earnest student 
as well as a successful physician ; and it was 
this circumstance, aided by the grace of God, 
that brought about his conversion to the 
true faith. He possessed a noble character 
and a genial temperament, and his ardent 
faith found expression in many a deed of 
charity done in secret. Let us hope that the 
Father "who seeth in secret ' ' will repay him. 



It was a holy and a useful life which 
closed on the 7th inst. , when the Rev. Joseph 
Alizeri, C. M., to whose poems* we have fre- 
quently drawn attention, breathed his last. 
His death, though unexpected, found him 



THE AVE MARIA. 



217 



not unprepared; for he had been a, faithful 
religious from early youth. Though born ia 
Italy, his life-work was in America. After 
his ordination he was engaged in missionary 
labors in the Western States, and he bore the 
toil and privation inevitable in that day with 
heroic courage. He was afterward summoned 
to Niagara University, where for more than 
forty years he has held a professorial chair. 
His Latin poems have made him well known; 
and he was, besides, an able theologian 
and an accomplijihed linguist. He was over 
seventy-two years old at the time of his 
death, and he has raised up many priests 
throughout the land to call him blessed. 
May he rest in peace! 



The Rev. Director of the Work of Mary 
Immaculate, in Paris, acknowledges with 
many expressions of gratitude the receipt 
of the con3ignment of 755,000 cancelled 
stamps, sent from Notre Dame a few weeks 
since. Hc' desires to thank all who con- 
tributed to the collection, " representing so 
much care and zeal," and declares that it 
will do much to promote the Work of Mary 
Immaculate. We learn that this consignment 
of stamps was the largest ever received, but 
we like to believe that the next will be still 
larger. The Work of Mary Immaculate is 
an apostolate to which almost every one can 
contribute a little, — and every little helps. 



An interesting feature of the Catholic 
Summer School was the attendance of a 
Jewish Rabbi from Montreal, with his wife 
and family, all of whom wore conspicuously 
the tasteful badge of the School, which con- 
sists of a bow made of the Papal and Amer- 
ican colors entwined. More interesting still 
was the Rabbi Veld's appreciation of the 
Summer School, expressed to a correspondent 
of the New York Sun. The Rabbi is reported 
to have said, in answer to a question touch- 
ing the actual work of the School: 

"Although in its infancy, the Catholic Summer 
I School is doing work of a distinctly higher intellect- 
I nal character than is attempted in other institutions 
[ of a similar nature. Here the work is entirely of a 
[university type; and, as you see, Plattsburg has 
I taken on, for this summer at least, the appearance 
[of a university town, I found that the lecturers. 



especially the Jesuits, were profound thinkers, who 
had made a thorough study of their respective 
subjects, and apparently were animated with the 
single purpose of enlightening their hearers, irrt-spec- 
tive of their creed. The subjects were treated in a 
clear, conversational, yet scholarly manner, that 
proved immensely interesting, and caused me often 

to regret that the lectures could not be extended 

Everywhere I was treated as one of their own, and 
I received every opportunity of getting the informa- 
tion I sought. In a word, I found the authorities and 
my Catholic fellow-students far more lilieral and 
tolerant than those who travel on a platform of 
avowed liberalism and professional toleration. I was 
not surprised at my treatment, since historically 
this is what I should look for. In the past the 
Roman Catholic Church has always been the pro- 
tector of the Jews. Nowadays it is Protestant 
Germany and ' holy Russia ' that mob and persecute 
my unfortunate co-religionists," 



Amidst unusual pomp and circumstance, 
and in the presence of many distinguished 
prelates, the Rt, Rev. Tobias Mullen, Bishop 
of Erie, celebrated the Silver Jubilee of his 
consecration on the Feast of Our Lady of 
Angels. Thousands of his own people met 
to do him honor, and the whole city was 
arrayed in festal garb. The crowning event 
of the celebration, however, was the dedica- 
tion of the grand new cathedral, under the 
patronage of St. Paul, Cardinal Gibbons 
preached an earnest sermon, in which he 
eulogized the zeal and piety of Bishop Mullen, 
and congratulated him upon the peace 
and prosperity that have characterized his 
administration. Among the visiting prelates 
were Archbishop Ryan, and Bishops O'Hara, 
Phelan, McGovern, Ryan, and Horstmann. 

» 
* * 

Following close upon the feies of the 
diocese of Erie came the celebration of the 
Silver Jubilee of the See of Columbus, Ohio. 
By a happy coincidence, Mgr. Watterson, 
the learned and pious Bishop of Columbus, 
commemorated at the same time the twenty- 
fifth year of his sacerdotal career. The 
occasion was a notable one for the Catholics of 
Central Ohio, who manifested in no uncertain 
manner the affectionate reverence in which 
they hold their chief pastor. After many 
years of devoted effort, it was fitting that the 
Bishop and his people should pause and 
renew their courage by a glance at the work 
they have accomplished. 



UNDER THE MANTLB OF OUR BLESSED MOTHER. 



How a Mother's Prayer was Answered 
at Last. 



BY SADIE t,. BAKER. 




( CONCLCSION. ) 



HE spring days passed, 
then summer came. The 
door of Theodora's home 
was never latched by 
day, never locked at 
night. Everyone knew 
the pitiful story of the 
poor mother heart that had slowly broken 
in those rooms, and they were sacred. The 
most lawless" vagrant stopped before the 
unlatched gate, the open door. Iron bars 
and bolts of steel could not have protected 
the house as did the memory of a pale, 
eager face watching at the window, the 
sound of a voice singing in. the twilight. 
Every day Uncle Tom gathered the 
fruit and vegetables that ripened in the 
garden, the flowers from the beds, and 
carried them to the sick and the poor. 
Even Father Merideth, who robbed him- 
self of rest, and seemed to know no fatigue 
as he went about his Master's work, 
whom little children loved and aged 
people blessed, was not more welcome 
than the gentle old man, who never 
dreamed that he was of use in the world, 
unless it were to see that his beloved 



Father Charley took time to eat and sleep. 

One day in the early autumn the air 
was so warm, the sky so blue, the clouds 
so white and fleecy, the fitful wind so 
light, that it was almost like summertime; 
but now and then a leaf floated down, 
crimson or yellow; goldenrod and asters 
brightened all the roadways ; sumach 
blazed from the hill-sides, and crickets 
chirped in the grass. 

As Uncle Tom sat at the open window 
of Theodora's house, resting before going 
home, he heard the gate open and foot- 
steps on the gravel walk. Thinking he 
might be later than usual, and Father 
Charley had come for him, he looked out 
smiling — but sank back in his chair 
behind the curtain, breathless and trem- 
bling There, leaning on the gate, the 
dark eyes searching eagerly, fearfully, the 
open doors and windows, with a weary, 
wistful look of love and longing, as he 
watched for his mother's face, listened for 
his mother's voice, stood Will Hammond! 

Uncle Tom waited as Will slowly passed 
up the walk and through the open door. 
There he met him, and put his hands on 
his shoulders with all the love and pity of 
his tender heart shining in his old face, 
and trembling in his broken voice. 

''Will, poor lad!" he said, as Will 
stood glancing at him with unrecognizing 
eyes ; while his gaze searched the room, 
and his lips vainly tried to frame some 
question. "Don't you kno>^ me. Will? 
Old Tom— don't you remember?" She's 



THE AVE MARIA. 



219 



at rest in heaven. Her last breath was 
a prayer for you. She" — he stopped; for 
Will, who had looked at him with a 
great horror and anguish in his eyes, his 
face growing every moment whiter, fell 
fainting at his feet. 

Old Tom bent over the unconscious 
form, noting the grey hairs, the deep lines 
on the face, the pitifully thin form, while 
he did deftly such things as he could. 

When Will's eyes at last opened, and 
the first storm of his grief had spent 
itself, Tom half led, half carried him 
into the little sitting-room, and, sitting 
beside him, told all Will longed to know 
and feared to ask^-every little detail that 
could speak of peace and love and pardon 
to this poor penitent. Tom told him 
tenderly of the place ready at the table; 
of the room' that was kept always as if the 
son had but gone to his work in the 
morning, and would come again in the 
evening; of the door that was ever open, 
night and day; of the mother voice that 
had sung in the twilight the hymns her 
boy loved, as she sat and waited, with the 
rose on her breast; and had still sung on 
as the shadows of the night of death closed 
around her. 

*'I put some of the same roses on her 
heart, Will," he said, as Will's thin, 
hot fingers closed tighter on his hand. 
" With the last words she said, 'God keep 
my boy!' " 

Will listened silently until the story 
was all told, keeping back the tears from 
his hot eyes, forcing down the sobs and 
cries that almost choked him. He could 
not fail yet. Not until he had knelt by 
his mother's grave, and asked forgiveness 
there, could he yield to the weakness, the 
strange torpor, that weighed on him like 
a heavy hand. 

Presently Uncle Tom went away, and 
le back with a dainty lunch — milk and 
)read, fruit and cakes. Will drank the 
[milk with feverish eagerness, but he could 
lot eat His dark, bright eyes seemed 



darker and brighter than ever, as he 
looked wistfully into the old man's face. 
Dear, tender old Tom! From the deptlis 
of his own dark p>ast, by his heavenly 
Father's perfect forgiveness, he seemed to 
divine poor Will's every wish. 

"Everything is just as your mother 
left it," he said, gently. "I will wait for 
you here." 

Will went away with bent head, walk- 
ing slowly and uncertainly, like an old 
man. His breath came in quick gasps as 
he went heavily up the stairs. Tom waited 
below, looking out at the peaceful autumn 
afternoon with troubled eyes, that saw 
nothing of its beauty. He heard Will go 
slowly from room to room; he knew when 
he threw himself down on the bed in his 
own room, where Theodora came to look 
her last on his face; when he knelt before 
the altar, where she prayed so often for 
her boy; when he fell beside her bed, and 
buried his face, with a bitter cry, in the 
pillow where her dying head had rested. 

He looked as if years had passed over 
his head when he came back, but he was 
calm and seemed stronger. He sat beside 
Uncle Tom, and the old man told him 
simply of the night wh^n Charley 
Merideth led him home, the wild fight 
with temptation that followed, and the 
peaceful years since. 

Will listened quietly; but all the time 
his eyes grew more brilliant, the hectic 
crimson burned brighter on his cheeks, 
and the muffled beat of the pulse 
sounding in his ears was so fast and loud 
it confused him a little. And through it 
all, in his fevered fancy, he seemed to 
hear his mother calling over and over, 
"Will! come home now, my boy! — come 
to mother dear," just as she had done so 
often when he was a little child. 

Speaking quietly, he told his story. 
Of the terrible temptation, the fierce 
thirst that burned within him, — the mad, 
wild longing that he would withstand 
sometimes for weeks, until at last it 



220 



THE AVE MARIA 



would conquer, and he would fall, only to 
re lew the bitter fight. Through it all, he 
never quite lost hope. He fell, only to 
struggle to his feet, and try once more. 
And at last there came a time when the 
burning thirst still tortured him, but he 
was strong to endure it. 

"Every morning," he said, telling the 
story to Tom, as he had hoped to tell it to 
his mother, "I stopped to pray in a church 
on a quiet street. It was a poor little 
church, but I liked it. Over the altar was 
a picture of the Good Shepherd bearing 
His lost sheep tenderly in His arms; and 
I fancied it was like the panel I carved for 
my mother. When I went away, it seemed 
as if the loving Shepherd went with me, 
and my mother was on the other side ; 
and the thought made me strong to resist 
the temptation that lay in wait for me at 
every turn. All the time I worked and 
managed to save a good sum, thinking 
that at last I could go home to my mother. 
Then, some way, I began to cough, and 
had to quit work for many weeks; and 
finally I grew so weak that I dared not 
wait any longer. I started, and when my 
money was all but used up I walked." 

He broke oflf suddenly ; and, turning 
his head away, looked longingly over the 
river, where the headstones shone white 
in the afternoon sun. 

' ' I stopped this morning at a church in 
the country," he continued. ''A white- 
haired priest, with a face like a pictured 
saint, was just coming out. I went back 
with him and made my confession — all 
the sins of my whole wasted life. I wanted 
to come to my mother with the peace of 
God's pardon in my heart, and I thought 
we would kneel together and receive Holy 
Communion to-morrow. Mother left this 
on my arm the night I went away." He 
drew up his sleeve, and showed a rosary 
twined around his wasted wrist. ' ' It has 
been there ever since," Will said quietly, 
touching the beads reverently. ' ' I brought 
her a little gift; I knew she would under- 



stand all I meant it to say. Will you take 
it now, for her sake and mine, and pray 
for us both sometimes?" 

He looked wistfully into Tom's face as 
he laid a box in his hand. The old man 
took a little silver rosary from the box, 
kissed the crucifix reverently, and passed 
the beads through his fingers with linger- 
ing tenderness, as Theodora might have 
done. It comforted Will, though he said 
no word. 

Will rose and looked all around. How 
dear it was — the home of his childhood! 
He thanked God that he had seen it once 
again. Nothing had been changed : the 
same flowers blossomed in the window, 
his mother's chair stood there always. He 
bent and kissed it with quivering lips. 
He looked beyond the river, sparkling in 
the sunshine, to the churchyard, where 
the beloved of the Lord, to whom He had 
given sleep, rested in peace; and over all 
shone the gilded cross on the church 
spire. The shadows were lengthening, 
the evening was near, the night was 
coming, — the solemn night, wherein no 
man can work. 

Tom laid his hand on Will's shoulder. 

"You'll go home with me now, Will," 
he said, wistfully. " Father Charley will 
know how to comfort you. Come with 
me, boy ! I can not leave you alone. ' ' 

"Not yet," Will answered. "I want to 
ask my mother's pardon by her" — he 
turned his face away. After a time he 
said: "I want to be there in the twilight 
After that you shall do with me as you 
will. Good-bye, dear old friend! God in 
heaven bless you for all you have done 
for her and for me!" 

And Tom answered : 

"Good-bye for a little while. I will 
come for you." 

Will gathered a few flowers, his mother's 
favorites — sweet-peas and mignonette, and 
a rose from the little bush, — and, with 
one last long look, went away. Tom 
watched him as he passed 'slowly down 



THE AVE MARIA. 



221 



the street ; then he knelt before the altar 
in Theodora's room, with Will's rosary 
in his hands, and prayed while he waited. 
Weak and weary as he was. Will forced 
himself to go steadily on, until he stood 
by his mother's grave. The wind whis- 
pered and sighed in the branches of a 
pine-tree above it ; and there were buds 
and blossoms on the rose-bush at the head. 
As Will stood there an overblown flower, 
shaken in the wind, fell in a crimson, 
fragrant shower over the sod. He threw 
himself on the ground and hid his face in 
the grass, with a bitter cry: "O mother! 
my mother, my mother, forgive me!" 

He felt a sudden, sharp pain, a strange, 
choking sensation ; then the blood bubbled 
from his lips. How plainly he could 
hear his mother calling: "Will darling, 
come to mother! Come home, my son!" 
And that other voice, sweeter and dearer 
even than hers! Listen: "Come unto 
Me." Could it be the voice of the Good 
Shepherd calling His poor lost wanderer, — 
the tender, loving Shepherd, who had 
given His life for His sheep? 

The organist was practising in the 
church; as the sun went down she sang 
an evening hymn. Will thought he was 
a child again, clasped in his mother's 
arms, while she sang to him in the twilight. 
A rose, swayed to and fro by the wind, 
brushed against his cheek. He smiled, 
and, folding his hands together, whispered 
a little prayer; then, with his head resting 
over his mother's dead heart, fell asleep 
in the peace of the Lord. And his mother's 
prayer was answered at last. 



Sight-Seeing at the World's Fair. 



BV MARY CaTHERINK CROWLEY. 



Do you not, as a boy, remember waking 
)f bright summer mornings *and finding 
jTour mother looking over you? Had not 
pe gaze of her tender eyes stolen into 
jrour senses long before you woke, and 

st over your slumbering spirit a sweet 
Ipell of peace and love and fresh-springing 
>y ? — Thackeray. 



Ill- — The Caravels and the Viking 
Ship. 

From La Rabida the Kendricks and 
their uncle proceeded to inspect the 
Spanish caravels, riding at anchor upon 
an inlet of the Lake opposite to the 
monastery. 

The Nina^ the Pinta^ and the Santa 
Maria^ supposed to be exact counterparts 
of the little fleet of Columbus, made a 
beautiful picture as they rested upon the 
silvery waters, with the sun shining full 
upon them, shedding a glory upon their 
antiquated hulls and rigging, and on the 
banner of Castile and Aragon, and the 
pennant of the Admiral of the Ocean 
Seas floating from their mastheads. 

"I know that the largest, with the high 
bows and stern, is the Santa Maria, the 
ship in which Columbus himself sailed," 
said Nora. 

"Yes," Ellen answered. "Of course it 
is readily distinguished by the quaint 
image of the Madonna upon the prow. 
What a beautiful custom it was for 
mariners to put their vessels under the 
patronage of the Blessed Virgin and the 
saints in this way !" 

"Yes, and it is still the practice of the 
seamen of Catholic countries," answered 
Uncle Jack. 

"The second ship must be the Pinta^ 
which, I remember to have heard, is built 
much after the same model as the Santa 
Maria,^'' said Aleck, after a pause; "and 
so I suppose the little one, that seems 
as if it had been cut down in front, is 
the Nina — " 

"How small they all are ! " interrupted 
Nora. "What a wonderful undertaking 
for Columbus to set out upon the ocean 



222 



THE AVE MARIA 



with such ships! It is not surprising that 
the sailors were afraid." 

They went on board the Santa Maria^ 
Uncle Jack assisting the girls down the 
steep ladder that leads to the low main- 
deck, situated in the centre, where the ship 
looks as if it had a piece cut out. Here 
they found themselves among the crew. 

"How foreign they appear, with their 
dark faces and flashing eyes, their gestic- 
ulating, and their chatter in a strange 
tongue!" whispered Ellen. "They seem 
indeed to have come from the farthermost 
parts of the earth." 

Nora watched them with fascinated 
curiosity. 

''Although slight and short of stature, 
these sailors are lithe and hardy, with 
muscles of iron, adventurous spirits, and 
remarkable powers of endurance," said 
Uncle Jack. "I presume the crew of 
Columbus were much the same. Undoubt- 
edly they were among the best seamen of 
the time; and, notwithstanding that they 
mutinied and gave him trouble, it was not 
until after they had ventured much farther 
upon the unknown ocean than had ever 
been recorded, in even the most extrava- 
gant traditions of the sea." 

Some of the men were engaged in 
the forecastle, cooking their rations, etc. 
Uncle Jack spoke a few words to a 
sailor in his native language, and the 
efiect was magical. The latter's coun- 
tenance brightened ; he smiled, showing 
his white teeth; touched his hat, and 
bowed as profoundly as if saluting a great 
hidalgo. Then he grew voliible, and the 
girls listened in pleased amazement at the 
vehemence with which he poured forth 
the rich and sonorous Spanish. With 
ready courtesy he pointed out the various 
objects of interest. In the open space at 
the stern they saw many specimens of 
the arms used by the fighting men of 
Columbus' day. 

"How these long lances and swords 
and battle axes make one realize the tales 



of the Crusades and of the wars with the 
Moors!" cried Aleck. 

He and Uncle Jack now became inter- 
ested in the armament of the ship, and 
walked to and fro examining it. 

"You observe," said Mr. Barrett, "the 
Santa Maria has four small carronades 
on the upper deck, and four breech- 
loading guns on the gunwale." 

"What queier contrivances some of 
them are!" said Aleck. "For instance, 
those large guns lashed with ropes to 
heavy blocks of wood to keep them steady. 
They look like the pictures of buccaneers' 
cannon. And these stone balls — what were 
they for?" 

' ' They were the kind of cannon-balls 
used at the tifne," said Mr. Barrett. 

The good-natured sailor showed them 
the method of loading the small cannon 
mounted on the rail; how a flat, curved 
pin holds in position an iron receptacle, 
which, upon the withdrawal of the pin, is 
readily removed. In this are placed the 
charge of powder and the stone ball; and 
the priming and firing are done in a very 
simple manner. Mr. Barrett remarked 
also the arrangement by which these guns 
may be pointed upward or horizontally. 
The odd- looking blocks for the tackles, 
which are used for raising the heavy 
yards, attracted Aleck's attention ; he 
examined the old windlass too, and the 
curious method of securing the cable. 

The girls were glad when the party 
proceeded at last to inspect the cabin, 
which extends, across the stern of the 
ship, and is said to be an exact copy of 
the one occupied by the great Discoverer. 
Here they saw upon the walls armor 
such as he wore, and ancient swords like 
those he uSed; while the furniture of the 
simple little room consisted of a quaint 
bedstead, a wardrobe, two uncomfortable- 
looking chairs, and an old table, on which 
were several antiquated " astronomical 
instruments, a curious old chart, a compass, 
etc. But from all these relics their gaze! 



THE AVE MARIA. 



223 



naturally turned to the centre of attr.iction: 
a time-fdded painting hanging between 
the two little porthole windows at the 
end of the cabin. 

"There is the picture of Our Lady of 
Perpetual Succor which Columbus loved! " 
cried Nora. 

"Hardly the original," answered Uncle 
Jack ; ' ' but at least it is the same dear face 
to which he raised his eyes when hope 
was darkest, and which ever suggested 
patience and renewed confidence in God." 

Our young people saw also a copy of 
the standard of Columbus^a banner with 
the Crucifixion portrayed on one side, 
and Our Lady of the Immaculate Concep- 
tion on the other. 

Having explored the Nina and the 
Pinta also, they next went on to visit the 
Viking Ship, which was built in Norway, 
and brought to the World's Fair as a 
memorial of the alleged discovery of 
America by the Norsemen in the tenth* 
century. 

"Of the stories of voyagers who are 
said to have reached the Western Conti- 
nent before the time of Columbus, the 
earliest is that of St. Brandan, of Ireland," 
explained Uncle Jack. "Tradition affirms 
that in the sixth century he sailed up the 
Chesapeake Bay as far as the mouth of 
the Susquehanna; and later, descending 
the coast, found the Potomac River. 
Following this, we have the tale of the 
Norsemen, which begins with the fact 
that about the year 860 some of the bold 
Norse Vi — or j^a-kings, who were really 
pirates, — established a republic in Iceland, 
which lasted four hundred years. A 
century after the discovery of this penin- 
sula, Eric the Red founded a colony in 
Greenland ; and not long afterward a 
Viking named Bjarne, while seeking this 

Iolony, was driven out of his course by a 
itorm, and is supposed to have sailed as 
ar south as Nantucket. Returning to 
Norway, he sold his boat to Lief Erikson 



large crew, found the lands as Bjarne 
described tht-m, and called the country 
Vinland, because of the grapes there. He 
is said to h ive spent the winter upo 1 the 
coast of Mi^sxchusetts. In the spring he 
returned to Greenland, and his brother 
Thorwald took his ship and went to 
Vinland. The latter established a town 
there, but was killed by the savages, so 
the story goes. Some antiquarians claim 
that there are traces of the Norsemen in 
New England ; but the tales of their 
explorations and exploits are largely made 
up of poetic legends. They were assuredly 
remarkably daring mariners for their 
time, however." 

"And their queer boat is very interest- 
ing," said Aleck. 

Among the group of persons on the deck 
was a young man whom they recognized. 

"Why," exclaimed Ellen, "there is 
Mr. Ned Champney ! " 

It was indeed the brother of one of 
her school friends. 

Mr. Ned saw them immediately, and 
came over to speak to them. 

"I belong to the party of Harvard 
students who volunteered to help the 
Norwegian sailors to row this ship through 
Lake Erie," he said. "And a jolly time 
we have had of it." 

He then went on to explain all about 
the singular vessel, saying, 

"It is a reproduction of an old Viking 
ship found in a mound on the coast of 
Norway, and "supposed to be that of 
Gogstod, in which, according to the 
Norse custom, the fierce old hero was 
laid to rest somewhere about the year 
four hundred." 

"But," began Nora, "this is hardly 
larger than a big open row-boat. We 
thought it extraordinary that Columbus 
should venture upon the ocean with the 
caravels ; yet how much greater must 
have been the risk in this little craft, 
tossed about like a cockle-shell by the 
waves!" 



224 



THE AVE MARIA. 



*'I have been told that she is in reality 
much smaller than Erikson's ship," 
admitted Mr. Ned. 

"And, with due regard to the hardihood 
and bravery of the old Vikings," said 
Uncle Jack, "we must remember that in 
their voyages they were never at a great 
distance from the shore. They, as it were, 
crept over to Iceland, and thence to 
Greenland. If indeed they reached the 
mainland now known as America, it was 
by following along the coast. They never 
set their course westward, across the wide 
and unknown seas, as Columbus did." 

"Their vessels certainly seem intended 
only for such coasting trips," said Ellen; 
* ' but this one at least is very picturesque, 
with its single mast, and curving and 
gilded bows and stern. Notice that splen- 
did shining dragon at the prow, Nora. 
Would you not like to watch it gliding 
through the waters?" 

' ' Yes : you should see the good ship 
under way," cried Mr. Ned, enthusiasti- 
cally; "with her square, striped sail filled 
with the breeze, and her crew of nearly 
fifty oarsmen plying their long oars 
between the line of warriors' shields 
which form an additional bulwark upon 
either side. It is a stately and imposing 
spectacle, and reminds one of the majesHc 
barges and galleys of imperial Rome. On 
board indeed there is no similarity; for 
here everything bespeaks the hardships 
and exposures of a rough, seafaring life. 
You observe there is no enclosure for 
cabin or forecastle; nothing in the way of 
shelter for the sea-king and his sailor 
subjects, or their modern representatives, 
but a canvas awning. And the two small 
boats at the foot of the mast appear to be 
the only provision against emergency." 

' ' I suppose that is the old Viking 
standard floating from the masthead?" 
said Aleck. 

"Yes: it is the red war flag, which for 
several hundred years held supremacy and 
carried terror with it upon the Northern 



Seas," was the reply. "Those are the 
Norwegian colors flying at the stern, and 
you need no introduction to the Stars and 
Stripes at the bow. The guns of the ship 
are quite as queer, you see, as those of 
the caravels." 

(To be continued.) 



The Founding of Bagdad. 



The people of Bagdad have a strange 
legend concerning the founding of their 
city. Once, they say, an Arabian caliph 
was riding along the bank of the river 
Tigris, when, struck by the beauty of the 
surroundings, he resolved to build a city 
there. He immediately told his courtiers 
of his design, and they tried to discourage 
him. He was turning the matter over in 
his mind when an old hermit issued 
from the forest. 

"My son," he said, "tradition tells us 
that a city will be built here, and the 
name of its builder will be Moclas." 

' ' There ! ' ' said the courtiers. ' ' The mat- 
ter is settled; for that is not your name." , 

But the caliph got ofi" his horse, knelt 
on the plain and gave thanks. 

"When I was a little lad," said he, "I 
stole my nurse's bracelet and pawned it 
Thereupon she ever afterward spoke of 
me as Moclas, after a great robber of that 
time. This old man could not have 
known of the name she gave me, and I 
believe I am to be the city's founder." 

And so it proved ; for he built Bagdad. 



A Hungry Boy. 



" TyyiLLIE," said mamma, "I left some cake 
W On the shelf a while ago; 
It isn't there, and where it has gone 
I would really like to know." 

"I gave it," he said, "to a little boy 

As hungry as he could be." 
"Godblessmy darling! And who was the lad ? " 
"Well, mamma, the boy was me." 




HtNCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL 



BLESSED.— St. Luke, I. 48. 



Voi,. XXXVII. NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, AUGUST 26, 1893. 



No. 9. 



(PoblMirfttMjMnAv. Odjrlite I^.B-B B«4m%0lI.«] 



An Envied Lot. 



BY THE REV. A. B. O'NEII.1,, C. S. C. 

^HO with envy hath not murmured 
Simon of Cyrene's name? 
Who but in his heart hath whispered, 
"Would my office were the same ! " 
What were trials, woes or anguish. 

What were any pain or loss, 
Could we help, a3 did blest Simon, 
Christ our Lord to bear His Cross ! 

May we not thus aid our Saviour, 

Help Him on His doleful way ? 
Surely yes; and not once only, 

But with each recurring day. 
Simon's lot one need not envy, 

Unto whom this truth is known: 
That the Cross of Christ we carry 

When for Him we bear our own. 



A Martyrdom on the Ocean. 



URING the time that St. Fran- 
cis Borgia was General of the 
Society of Jesus he sent out, 
at the request of Don Sebas- 
tian, the King of Portugal, a band of 
[missionaries to Brazil and other depend- 
encies of the Portuguese crown in South 
[America, to preach the Gospel t3 the 
leathen inhabitants of those countries. 




Somewhat later he commissioned Father 
de Azevedo, a Portuguese of high birth 
and rare merit, to go out to Brazil, to- 
encourage his brethren who were laboring 
there, and to report upon the state and 
prospects of the mission. On his return to 
Rome, Father de Azevedo informed the 
General that the fields were white for the 
harvest, but the laborers were few; in a 
word, that multitudes of souls were 
perishing for lack of priests to baptize 
and instruct them. On hearing this, St 
Francis determined to send a consid- 
erable number of Fathers and Brothers to 
carry on the good work, with Father de 
Azevedo, whom he nominated Provincial 
of Brazil, as their superior. He authorized 
him to select from the different provinces 
of Spain any Fathers who should express 
themselves as desirous of joining the 
band. And since a sufficient number of 
trained religious could not be spared 
without injury to the work the Society 
had already undertaken in Europe, he 
furthermore bade him recruit the ranks 
by admitting as novices men of piety and 
fervor, who were willing to offer their 
lives for the spiritual conquest of Brazil. 
Acting in conformity with the orders 
he had received. Father de Azevedo 
gathered together a band of sixty-nine 
missionaries, with whom he set sail from 
Lisbon in June, 1570. They were distrib- 
uted in three ships; the greater number — 
of whom a large proportion were novices,. 



226 



THE AVE MARIA. 



some of them very young men — were 
under the care of Father de Azevedo, on 
board a merchant vessel, the Santiago. 
Besides these three ships there were four 
more, which were taking out the newly- 
appointed Governor of Brazil, a Portuguese 
knight and a good Christian, who rejoiced 
to make the voyage in the company of so 
many priests and religious. The Rule 
and exercises usual in the Society were 
strictly observed by the Jesuits on board 
ship ; moreover, they gave instruction 
to the crew and passengers, preached 
sermons, read aloud the lives of saints, 
recited the Rosary and litanies on deck, 
and sang the Salve Regina every evening. 
On festivals Father de Azevedo used to 
place on a small altar a picture of Our 
Lady which had been given to him by 
St. Francis, a copy of the famous picture 
attributed to St. Luke. Before this paint- 
ing he kept a number of tapers burning 
in honor of her who is called Star of 
the Sea, and whom he loved to invoke 
under that title. 

When, at the close of a short sojourn 
on the island of Madeira, where a house 
of the Society had recently been erected, 
they were about to put to sea again, 
Father de Azevedo found that he and 
those who sailed with him would have 
to separate from their brethren in religion ; 
since the Santiago^ for the sake of trade, 
had to stop at the Isle de la Palma, one of 
the group of the Canary Isles. He there- 
fore assembled the little band under his 
immediate charge, and told them that the 
portion of the voyage upon which they 
were entering was one of no small danger; 
for the waters were infested with priva- 
teers, who would be almost sure to attack 
a vessel sailing alone. Furthermore, as 
these freebooters were heretics, there was 
little mercy to be expected at their 
hands. He therefore desired that if any 
one amongst them did not feel that he 
possessed the courage and fortitude to 
face peril and even death itself for the 



religion of Christ, he should at once say 
so, and join his brethren on one of 
the other vessels. Out of the forty-four 
whom he addressed only four — and they 
were novices, who ultimately left the 
Society — acknowledged that they feared 
to encoifnter such risks, and asked to 
remain in Madeira. Their request was 
granted; and the Santiago^ parting from 
her escort, went on her way to the 
Canary Isles. 

Just as they neared the port for which 
they were bound, a squadron of five vessels, 
commanded by a French captain, a well- 
known freebooter and a bitter antagonist 
of Catholics, hove in sight and bore down 
upon them. A large, well-equipped galleon, 
the captain's ship, opened fire on the 
Santiago; after a short resistance, she was 
grappled with and boarded. Father de 
Azevedo, with his fellow-religious, stood 
upon the deck; he held aloft the portrait 
of Maria Santissima as the standard round 
which his little army rallied; and, after 
they had all joined in singing the Litany, 
he exhorted them to stand firm, and lay 
down their lives in defence of their holy 
faith. All were prepared for martyrdom; 
not one even of the youngest showed a 
sign of trepidation when the heretic 
captain gave orders to his men to put 
the missionaries to death. "Away with 
these Papist dogs," he cried, "who desire 
to spread their pestilential doctrines 
in Brazil ! Pitch them headlong into 
the sea." 

Father de Azevedo was the first to fall. 
Whilst he was addressing a few last words 
to his companions, his head was cleft open 
by one of the heretics, and the picture he 
held was besprinkled with his blood. The 
heretics sought to take it from him as he 
lay prostrate and bleeding on the deck, 
but, although they employed force, they 
could not loosen his tenacious grasp. Nor 
when they had dispatched him with their 
swords did they succeed any better: in 
death as in life he held tightly clasped 



THE AVE MARIA. 



227 



the effigy of his Queen, and with his last 
breath he declared that he died for the 
faith of Christ and His Blessed Mother. 
Singular to relate, when he had expired, 
his feet drew together and his arms became 
extended in the form of a cross. In vain 
did his enemies bend his arms down by 
his sides and double up his knees: as soon 
as they let go their hold, the limbs resumed 
their former position. So at length they 
cast him overboard, with the picture still 
in his grasp. 

Animated by the example of their 
valiant leader, the other missionaries 
conducted themselves no less bravely. 
Bound hand and foot, with the names of 
Jesus and Mary on their lips, they too 
were thrown into the sea and swallowed 
up in the waves. Only one escaped: the 
Brother who had acted as cook to the 
community was spared, as the pirates 
had need of his services. They took him 
with them to France, where, on being set 
free, he was able, by the providence of God, 
to carry the sad tale to his superiors. 

The loss of these brave warriors of the 
Cross was known in Spain at the very 
moment it occurred. The seraphic St. 
Teresa, who had a near relative amongst 
their number, saw the whole band going 
up to heaven glorious and triumphant, 
each bearing a martyr's palm, to receive 
the reward of their labors, when those 
labors had but scarcely commenced. The 
number of forty was made up ; for in 
the place of the Brother whose life was 
spared we may reckon the nephew of the 
commander of the Santiago, who had 
been so impressed by the preaching of 
Father de Azevedo, and the edifying life 
of his companions, that he desired to 
enter the Society; £ind, although not yet 
admitted into their number, he had quietly 
taken his stand amongst them when the 
moment of sacrifice came. 

The body of Father de Azevedo when 
►thrown into the sea did not sink, but 
twas carried by the waves towa:d the 



port of Bahia, where after a few days it 
arrived, still in the form of a cross, and 
was picked up by a passing vessel near 
the entrance of the harbor. No sooner was 
the body laid on the deck of the little bark 
than the tightly-clenched fingers relaxed 
their hold, and gave up to the charge 
of the master and crew, who were good 
Catholics, the treasured picture, which 
all the efforts of the heretics had been 
unavailing to wrest from their grasp. 
The impression of the fingers in which 
it had been so long and so firmly clasped 
was left in marks of blood upon the 
picture. The remains of the martyr 
were taken ashore by the sailors, and rever- 
ently carried to the Jesuit house in Bahia. 

Thus not only by the crown of martyr- 
dom did Our Lady recompense the fidelity 
of her loving servant, who refused, even 
after the spirit had ceased to animate his 
mortal body, to relinquish his hold on her 
image, lest it shoud suffer desecration at 
the hands of unbelievers: she testified her 
appreciation of the devotion he displayed 
by preserving that body miraculously, 
and guiding it in safety over the wide 
ocean, to a spot where it would receive 
picus and reverent interment. 

Ave Maris Stella! E. S. 



Put your heart into the search for a 
friend, freely offer assistance to any of the 
crowd who need it, and sooner or later you 
will find a hand outstretched toward yours, 
and your soul will meet its likeness. Do 
not imitate those who, shut up in their 
individuality as in a citadel, indifferent 
to all passers-by, yet send forth on the 
four winds of heaven the melancholy cry: 
"There are no friends!" They do exist, 
be sure of it; but only for those who seek, 
for those deeply interested in the search, 
and for those who do not remain content 
to spin out the thread of life in a corner, 
like a spider's web, intended to catch 
h a ppi n ess. — Souvesire. 



•228 



THE AVE MARIA 



The Vocation of Edward Conway. 



BY SCAURICB FRANCIS BGA.N. 



XXXII. —The End. 

JUST as the first red rose was bursting 
from its green prison, Mrs. Ward's 
mind came back to its normal state. For 
days after ber husband and Willie had 
been laid away to await the Resurrection 
she knew no one and spoke to no one, 
except Bernice. Bernice had spent every 
possible hour with her. From the moment 
Father Haley had broken the news to 
her until late in May, she lay still, as if 
stunned. She had no fever; she had not 
seemed to be bodily ill; she was quiet, 
dazed, — her mind seemed to have gone 
into another world. She had looked for 
the last time at the faces of the two, and 
then relapsed into torpor. She would take 
food from Bernice at times; she moaned 
occasionally as one heart-broken ; she 
spoke only once or twice. Once she 
said: "Where is Willie?" And another 
time, she took Bernice' s hand in hers, 
and murmured: "You were always good 
to him." 

At last Bernice persuaded her to walk 
down into the parlor, which Susanna 
and Maggie had kept with scrupulous 
neatness. On the table lay Willie's little 
picture of Our Lady. She picked it up, 
and for the first time tears came into 
her eyes. 

"He has gone to A^r," she said, — "he 
has gone to her." j , 

Bernice fancied ; s^e saw a trace of 
jealousy in the face of the mother as she 
said this; but, after they had sat for a 
time in the little room, Mrs. Ward kissed 
the picture and placed it between' the 
leaves of her Bible. 

She seemed afraid to ask after her 
husband. One day she did ask Bernice 
liow he died; and she was told gently, 



with no word of Jake Strelzer's story 
changed or softened. Then she burst into 
violent sobs. 

"Oh, I can't bear it!— I can't bear it! 
And he clung to Willie, and he said the 
prayer! Oh, if Willie had lived to tell me 
so with his own lips! We were so happy 
in the beginning ; for James was a good 
man, — that is, he was good to me and 
Willie. And we were happy, so happy 
once, — in the beginning." 

Finally she closed the house and went 
to live with Bernice. And when Bernice 
was married she watched over the young 
wife as she had watched over Willie, and 
seemed serene and resigned. 

It was hard to arrange the Major's 
money-matters. He examined Edward 
Conway's proofs, and willingly agreed to 
return, with fair interest, the money Ward 
had put into his hands. It had long ago 
passed out of Colonel Carton's. But the 
Major had for many years lived beyond 
his means; he had mortgaged everything 
available to strengthen his interests at 
Swansmere. And his payment of any sum 
to Edward Conway and his sister was a 
matter of the future. 

"Of course," Lady Tyrrell said — she 
had forced herself into all the business 
conferences, — "you will sell Dion out, 
and serve him right. I don't see what 
Bernice sees in that stick of a Carton, 
when she might have had you!" 

Conway's face looked somewhat care- 
worn ; but he smiled at this, and replied, 
with a bow: 

"You do me too much honor. Lady 
Tyrrell." 

"It would serve Dion right, I say!" 
Lady Tyrrell snapped. "The idea of) 
letting a girl like Bernice marry whomj 
she choses! It's just disgusting! If mi 
nephew, Brian Thorndyke, were not k€ 
well in hand, he'd lose his head. I ha^ 
not heard from him for an age, though 
have written half a dozen times. Yol 
ought to know him. He's not unlike yoi 



THE AVE MARIA. 



229 



but not so good-natured. To think of your 
letting that Giles Carton cut you out ! 
Well, I suppose it can't be helped. And 
Giles is going over to Rome, too. It's a 
great impertinence to treat you as he 
has done, and then expect to worship at 
the same altar. As soon as she heard 
of his treachery, Alicia McGoggin went 
over to the Theosophists, and she is now 
learning all about astral bodies from 
Zenobia Winslow. I do pity Ethel Van 
Krupper from my heart How she must 
feel! — for, of course, she will never be 
sure that Giles will not tell all her 
confessions to Bernice." 

Lady Tyrrell concluded by wishing 
earnestly that her Virginia letter would 
come. 

Conway was anxious for a Virginia 
letter, too. His sister Margaret had signi- 
fied her intention of coming North ; but 
as yet he had heard nothing definite about 
it. There had come a short note from 
Judith Mayberr>', regretting that Edward 
had not recovered the "precious tazza when 
he found out who had the stolen money. 
He had brooded over Father Haley's 
words. It had become plain to him that 
his desires set toward one direction — the 
highest, the holiest And the prospect of 
having Margaret provided for out of the 
recovered money made his hope burn 
bright. That was all over now. An exam- 
ination of the Major's affairs showed him 
that the repayment, even were those 
affairs most carefully managed, could not 
even begin for several years; for the very 
house the Major lived in was heavily 
mortgaged. Conway had scarcely dared 
to think of the desire of his 'heart when 
there had been no hope. But Father 
Haley's word, uttered on the day of the 
death of Ward and his son, had forced 
all his thoughts and hopes upon this 
lesire, so long hidden except from his 
Hconfessor. 
^B Bernice and Giles were to be married, 
^^Hfcr}- quietly, in a week's time. Already 

I ' 



Father Haley's church had been enriched 
by Colonel Carton with a new organ, a 
thank-offering from that gentleman. A 
warm invitation had gone off" to Margaret 
from Bernice, who was to have only one 
bridesmaid, and she had chosen Margaret 
As yet there had come no reply. Bernice, 
who was to be received into the Church 
with Giles three days before the wedding, 
was too much occupied to be anxious. 
But Conway was very anxious. He went 
to the post-office twice a day. On the 
Monday before the wedding — it was to 
take place on Thursday — a letter and a 
telegram came from Virginia. The letter 
was for Conway; he read it, ^nd laughed 
aloud. The telegram was for Lady Tyrrell; 
she read it, took to her room, and sent 
for milk punch. 

Conway's letter was from Margaret It 
ran in this way: 

"I was about to fly Northward, to 
save you, I must confess, as I thought, 
from falling a victim to the fascinations 
of Bernice Conway, when Judith suddenly 
raised an objection. I could not travel 
without a chaperon, she said. 'We are 
poor,' she announced, in that doleful tone 
you know so well; 'but we have not fallen 
that low.' Of course Judith would rather 
die than venture herself among the 
atrocious Yankees. Tears, expostulations 
were useless; you know what Judith is on 
a subject of social etiquette. On second 
thoughts, my fear of your breaking your 
heart for any girl vanished. I have 
guessed more than you think. When 
we women love deeply, we can see into 
the centre of the earth. I guessed long 
ago that you wanted to be a priest, and 
that Judith and the old plantation and 
the cranberry swamp and I stood in 
the way. 

"Now, dear child, you can be rid of us 
all at once. The plantation can be sold 
to-morrow to a New- York capitalist, Mr. 
John Longworthy, who is living • here; 
and the sum he offers would keep us all 



230 



THE AVE MARIA. 



in comfort as long as we live. And as 
for me — well, it happened this way. That 
Mr. Brian Dermot Thorndyke I mentioned 
to you before has been down here, buying 
up land for a British syndicate. Judith 
saw him at Mass every Sunday, and 
wondered who he was so constantly that 
at last my attention was called to him. It 
turned out that he had a letter of intro- 
duction to you from a friend who had been 
at Stonyhurst with him. Of course we 
tried our best to be polite when he called ; 
and then Mrs. Longworthy — the nicest 
woman, with the loveliest voice and a 
tongue that can be a little sharp — asked 
us to dinner several times. He was always 
there, and Tie always took me into the 
dining-room ; and it seemed as if I had 
known him all my life. Judith gave a 
dinner too, and he came. Such a fuss, 
with all the best china out, and every piece 
of old silver — I cleaned it till my arm 
ached — on the table. 

"Well, just as I was most terribly 
anxious about you and dying to get to 
New York, Brian came in one day and 
asked for me. And then — well, he wanted 
me to marry him. (He is so good and 
kind, and he reminds me so much of 
you.) He said he should have to go back 
to Ireland within a month's time, and 
that I must take him at once. And / said 
yes. You are shocked, I know; but Judith 
and our dear old pastor and Mrs. Long- 
worthy approved when I told them. Mrs. 
Longworthy is just lovely, and she has 
been so kind and sympathetic. 

"But the question of a chaperon came 
up again ; so one day, when we were 
talking it over, Brian — some of his 
people call him Dermot ; which name do 
you like? — said that we might as well be 
married and go on to ask your blessing. 
And so we were — yesterday morning at 
eight o'clock, at Nuptial Mass; and Esther 
Longworthy sang. To-morrow we shall 
start for Swansmere, for your blessing. 
I am sure you will give it when you see 



Brian. I don't care much about living 
in Ireland; but we are coming back to 
old Virginia when his affairs in Dublin 
are settled. 

"I enclose Mr. John Longworthy's offer 
for the plantation. He wants to make it a 
colony of wage-workers from the crowded 
cities. It seems to me to be generous. We 
shall meet soon. And in the meantime 
pray for me; and remember that, if you 
do not sell the place, Brian and I will 
take care of Judith. You are free to 
enter the seminary when you like. I have 
guessed your secret, haven't I? 

"Margaret." 

There was enclosed a memorandum from 
Mr. John Longworthy. 

The telegram to Lady Tyrrell had 
contained these words: 

"Margaret Conway and I were married 
this morning. We shall see you in a 
few days. 

"Brian D. Thorndyke." 



The happy lovers came, and Conway 
found much to admire in the cheerful 
young Irishman whom Heaven and Mar- 
garet had given him as a brother-in-law. 
He was glad enough to accept Mr. Long- 
worthy's oflfer, and on the day after the 
marriage of Bernice and Giles he started 
for the seminary. 

When the bustle of the wedding was 
over, the Major and Colonel Carton stood 
together watching the departing train as 
it shot away from the station. 

"Well, Colonel," said the Major, "we 
are getting old. I fear death less than I 
ever did before; but I can not help wishing 
that I had learned some lessons sooner f 
in life." 

"There are things worse than death, 
Major ; and I have felt them, — things a 
thousand times worse than death. Come, 
comrade, let us be cheerfuV Our children 
are happy. And I have made Father Haley 
the blithest man in Swansmere: I have 



THE AVE MARIA. 



231 



given him Giles' little church. And yet, 
Major," added the Colonel, '*I am sad. I 
am growing old, too." 

"Young Conway's was the happiest face 
to-day at the wedding. I envied him," 
said the Major, with a sigh. "He has 
learned a lesson which you and I are just 
heeding." 

"A lesson?" asked Colonel Carton, as 
they turned their steps toward their lonely 
houses. 

"The lesson," said the Major, with 
reverence, "that the way of God should 
be followed, in spite of all. He is true to 
his vocation." , 

Lady Tyrrell announced, after dinner, 
that she had engaged her cabin on 
the Alaska. 

"I have had enough of America," she 
said; "all roads seem to lead to Rome 
here. When I think of St. Genevieve in 
the hands of the papists, I want to leave 
the country just as soon as I can. Besides, 
there is not an ounce of good tea from 
Alaska to Mexico." ' 

She kept her word. Nobody in Swans- 
mere even pretended to regret her 
departure. But Susanna Mooney never 
lost an opportunity of declaring that 
Lady Tyrrell was an elegant performer 
on the telephone. 

When Giles and Bernice came back to 
Swansmere, they heard that Conway had 
finally made his choice; and he wrote that 
he had been confirmed in the decision 
by the example of Father Haley, who 
could never be made to understand what 
he had to do with "the vocation of 
Edward Conway." 



Face to Face. 



It is not always the greatest philoso- 
j>hers, the most learned theologians, the 
ablest reasoners, or the most eloquent 
preachers, that have the most converts, or 

I at are the most effectual in drawing the 
tellectual, the cultivated, and the refined 



BY MARGARET B. LAWLESS. 



^jjSl F your heart were pure as the virgin gold 
^-^ Which lies in the earth's dark breast, 
So deep that the fingers of Greed and Gain 
Were never upon it pressed ; 

If your soul were pure as the new white snow 

That down in the valley lies, 
That never has sunk under Traffic's heel, 

And knows only sun and skies; 

If your mind were clear as the cloudless deeps 
Where the worlds their circles draw. 

Where only God and His angels are, 
And the untold beauty of law, — 

You would cease this questioning search for 
heaven, 

For a God these bitter cries, 
And rejoice in beholding Him Face to face 

In His gardens of Paradise. 



Did Pope Clement V. Buy the Tiara? 



BY THE REV. REUBEN PARSONS, D. D. 



(CONCLOSION.) 

STRONG as are the reasons already 
adduced for the rejection of the tale of 
Villani, they become almost trivial when 
compared with an argument presented by 
M. Rabanis in an apposite work on this 
subject.* Had the doctim'ents which this 
investigator unearthed been earlier known, 
many painstaking and :^ealous polemics 
would have been spared much chagrin. 
While Rabanis was delving in the 
archives of the Gironde in search of 
documents which might elucidate the 
history of the English domination in 



* " Clement V. and Philip the Fair. A Letter to M' 
Ch. Daremberg on the Interview between Bertrand 
de Got and Philip the Fair at St. Jean d'Ang^ly." 
Paris, 1S58. 



232 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Guienne, lie came upon a record which 
threw light upon another subject of equal 
interest to him — namely, the Pontificate 
of Clement V. Bundled among a lot of 
parchments referring to the rights and 
possessions of the See of Bordeaux, was 
a Register of all the movements and acts 
of Archbishop Bertrand de Got during a 
pastoral visit through his entire province, 
made from May 17, 1304, the day of his 
departure from Bordeaux, to June 20, 
1305, the day when he received, in the 
Priory of Lusignan, the announcement 
of his elevation to the papal throne. In 
those days such registers were accurately 
drawn up and jealously preserved; for the 
suffragans and parish priests had rights 
to guard, as well as duties to perform 
toward the metropolitan visitor and his 
retinue ; and these registers were safe- 
guards against extortions. The document 
discovered by Rabanis is a French 
translation, made in the sixteenth century, 
of the original Act known to Duchesne, 
who, writing his "Life of Clement V.," 
in 1653, styles it "an ancient Register 
still preserved in Bordeaux," and cites 
it as an authentic account of a pastoral 
visit by Bertrand de Got. The authors 
of "Christian Gaul," writing in the 
beginning of the eighteenth century, 
were also acquainted with this Register, 
and they quote it in their article on 
Bertrand. On examination of this docu- 
ment, Rabanis found that he possessed 
proof that the pretended interview, so 
particularly described by Villani, could 
not have taken place. Nor did he neglect 
to compare his discovered information 
with the Acts which referred to the 
movements of King Philip at the time of 
Bertrand' s pastoral visit. The result was 
a confirmation of the proofs obtained 
from the records of that journey. * 



Following the argumentation of M. 
Rabanis, we must first discover the precise 
date of the alleged colloquy between the 
two distinguished plotters. We find no 
trouble in this task, thanks to the exces- 
sive minuteness with which Villani 
endeavors to gain credit for his fable. 
He tells us that it took thirty-five days 
for the transmission of the message of 
Cardinal da Prato from Perugia to Paris, 
and for the arrival of the royal reply ; and 
that then their Eminences immediately' 
proceeded to the election. Now, it is 
certain that the election took place on 
June 5, 1305; therefore, thirty-five days 
back, 'the date of the courier's departure 
from Perugia for Paris, was the ist or 
2d of May. If we consider Villani's dates, 
and the nature of the business, eleven 
days (Villani's time) were consumed in 
the courier's trip to Paris; six days 
(Villani's time) then passed before Philip 
reached St. Jean d'Ang^ly. One or two 
days ought to be added for preparations, 
accidents, etc. Therefore, it must have 
been the i8th or 20th of May when 
Bertrand and Philip met; and this dater 
will appear the more probable one, if we 
reflect that the King had to return to 
Paris and then dispatch his reply in time 
for it to reach Perugia by the 5th of June. 
Where now were the two conspirators, 
we will not say on these precise days 
(the 1 8th to the 20th), but even about 
that time? As to the whereabouts of 
Bertrand, we are informed by the diary of 
the pastoral visit.* After he had visited 
the dioceses of Agen and P^rigueux, 
Bertrand found himself, in the middle of 
December, 1304, in that of Poitiers. He 
passed the beginning of 1305 in Maine, 
the Sevres, and Vendue. On April 1 8 he 
celebrated Easter at Lu^on ; then, going 
along the coast from parish to parish, he 



* Rabanis first published his thesis in a memoir • 

in 1846; but, at the request of M. Daremberg, he * The ecclesiastical province of Bordeaux then 

amplified the original, and produced the book contained, besides Bordeaux, the dioceses of Agen, 

before .us. ' P^rigueux, Poitiers, Angoul^me, and Saintes. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



233 



was at Beauvoir-sur-Mer on May the loth; 
he visited the Priory of Fontaines on the 
1 2th, and the Abbey of Frontenaux on 
the 13th; he then remained four days at 
the Priory of Chaise-le-Vicomte ; on the 
1 8th he was at the Priory of Les Essarts; 
on the 19th he went to Monchamp; the 
20th found him at Segornay-le-Puybeliard, 
and the 21st at Chasteaumur; the 2 2d 
was spent at Treze- Vents, and the 23d at 
the Abbey of Maul^on ; he then visited 
Malli^vre, and on the 27th he celebrated 
the Feast of the Ascension at Bressuire. 
We learn, therefore, from this Register 
that from the i8th of May to the 20th 
Bertrand was in the priories of Essarts, 
Monchamp and Segomay, the nearest of 
which was twenty leagues from St Jean 
d'Ang^ly. Ip those days he could not 
have travelled such a distance and also 
kept his appointments, as we see he did. 
The roads of France were then no roads 
whatever ; nor had they been such, any 
more than those of the rest of Europe 
outside of Italy, since the days of Charle- 
magne.* And through the entire months 
of April and May, according to these 
Acts, Bertrand was not near the desig- 
nated forest 

But where was Philip at this time? 
The public acts of his reign furnish 
irrefragable evidence as to his residences. 



* Even in the time of Francis I., 1515-47, there 
were only three carriages in Paris, — one belonging to 
le Queen, one to Diana of Poitiers, and the third 
Rene de Laval. The first public conveyance is 
leard of in 1587, and it ran from Paris to Orleans, 
ravelling was performed altogether on horseback 
in litters. Italy, of course, had fine roads ; but in 
ranee the weak successors of Charlemagne had 
leglected the roads which that monarch had made 
It of the ancient Roman routes. In vain had Philip 
Lugustus tried to introduce something like the old 
^stem. In England the first turnpike is found in 
le reign of Charles II. From all this we perceive 
le absurdity of supposing that Bertrand de Got 
ivelled twenty-five leagues in a very few hours, 
8, according to Villani's story compared Mrith the 
Register, he must have done in order to be supposed 
l)y his retainers to be, during this time, enjoying the 
St of the just in his ostensible lodgings. 



and as to the time he passed in each. * 
During the whole of May he was never 
nearer to St Jean d'Ang^ly than Poissy, 
which was at a distance of one hundred 
and twenty leagues. In the latter part of 
April he was at Plessis, near Senlis, at 
Villers-Cotterets, near Soissons ; and at 
Paris, which he left on the 3d of May. 
From the 3d to the iSth he was at Ger- 
migny in Brie, at Becoiseau, and Chdtres- 
sous-Montlh^ry. On the 19th he was at 
Poissy, and on the 25th at Cachant, near 
Paris. On the ist of June he was again 
at Poissy. A partisan of the Villani theory 
may urge here that precisely during these 
six days — between the 19th, when the 
records place him at Poissy, and the 25th, 
when he was at Cachant — Philip might 
have spurred to St Jean d'Ang^ly, held 
the famous parley, and returned. But we 
must recollect that on the 20th Bertrand 
was at Segornay; on the 21st at Chasteau- 
mur; on the 2 2d at Treze- Vents; on the 
23d at Maul^on (certainly we may pause 
here; for Philip had to be back in Cachant 
on the 25 th) ; and the nearest of these places 
was too far from the alleged rendezvous 
to permit of Bertrand' s being there, 
unless we believe that some kind fairy 
substituted another man in his place, 
giving to that substitute the name and 
appearance of Bertrand, fitting him for 
the making of pastoral visits and the 
administration of Confirmation, etc. But, 
granting for the moment that Bertrand 
could have reached the forest at the 
supposed time, how could Philip have 
made what was really a cross-country ride 
of two hundred and forty leagues in less 
than six days? That would have been his 
task if he left Poissy on the 19th, held 
the alleged interview, and was at Cachant 
on the 25th. 

But enough has been adduced to show 
that Villani's tale of the interview in the 



* "Memoirs of the French Academy of Inscrip- 
tions," Old Series, Vol. XX. 



234 



THE AVE MARIA 



woods of St Jean d'Ang^ly is a fable; 
that the presumed intrigue of the cardinal- 
electors has no foundation; and that no 
compact existed between King Philip the 
Fair and Bertrand de Got. What, then, is 
the truth concerning the election of Pope 
Clement V.? We know of no olden author 
who vies with John Villani in portraying 
the hidden motives and actions of the 
great (modern times have given us a 
Due de Saint-Simon and a Voltaire). 
But, in default of such contemporary aid 
in investigating the conduct of the con- 
clave of Perugia, we are content to rely 
upon Ferretti of Vicenza, who at least 
agrees with all the monuments of the 
time that have reached us. According to 
Ferretti, Philip the Fair used every art, 
through the deposed Cardinals James 
and Peter Colonna, to secure the election 
of a Pontiff who would be favorable to 
his interests. Other monarchs also had 
their special views to forward; while the 
Orsini cardinals. Napoleon and Matthew 
Rosso, coveted the tiara, — the former 
undoubtedly for himself, and the latter 
either for himself or for a nephew. But 
the Perugians soon tired of the delay, and 
forced the roof from the quarters of the 
conclave, trusting that exposure to the 
elements would compel the wranglers to 
come to a decision. The same citizens 
also blockaded the building, and prevented 
the introduction of any other sustenance 
than bread and water. Thus pressed, their 
Eminences, realizing that they could not 
unite upon an Italian, turned their eyes 
to the regions beyond the Alps, and the 
friends of Philip proposed the name of 
Bertrand de Got. This nomination pleased 
both Guelphs and Ghibellines; the former, 
because the prelate had been appointed 
by the heroic Boniface VIII., and had 
nobly defended that Pontiff; the latter, 
because he was friendly to King Philip. 
Accordingly, Bertrand was elected. 

But why should Villani fabricate such a 
falsehood, and how could he expect that it 



would be received as truth? We do not 
believe that the Florentine historian told 
a deliberate lie. He believed as most of 
the Italians of his day believed, and he 
regarded their apparently well-founded 
suspicions as incontrovertible facts. * The 
bribing proclivities of Philip the Fair 
were notorious, and the Italians became 
prejudiced against Clement V. because of 
his great condescension to that monarch. 
Above all, they blamed that Pontiff for 
transferring the papal residence to France, 
— an error which entailed much misery 
on their country, and was destined, as 
they speedily foresaw, to prove a source 
of agony to all Christendom. There were 
many tales current among the Italians of 
that period accounting for this reduction 
of their greatest glory to a "Babylonian 
captivity," and portraying Clement V. in 
no complimentary guise. Thus Bernardino 
Corio says that Bertrand de Got was 
chosen as Pontiff simply because the 
cardinals thought that he was dead;t and 
there were narrated many curious tales 
which showed that the indignation of the 
Italian clergy, as well as of the Italian 
laity, rendered them prone to credit 
almost anything which would derogate 
from the personal merits of Clement V. X 
But we are pleased by the course of 
several distinguished, though not Cath- 
olic, modern authors, in manifesting a 
disposition to do justice to the memory 
of this Pontiff. Thus Littr6 says: "No 
credence can be accorded to the anecdote 
narrated by the chronicler John Villani, 



* See our article on "The Avignonese Pontiffs," 
in The "Ave Maria" of November 30, 1889. 

t In his "History of Milan," Corio says that the 
cardinals had just heard of the death of Bertrand; 
and that they thought that by electing a dead man • 
they would gain time, and evade the starvation 
regimen to which the Perugians were reducing them. 

t Dante, in his "Hell," canto 19, places Clement 
V. therein, because of-the crime of simony. Villani 
tells how a papal chaplain had a tision of a fiery 
palace prepared in hell for Clement; and how, 
when the Pontiff was informed of 'the dream, "he 
was never again cheerful, and soon afterward died." 



THE AVE MARIA. 



235 



to the eflfect that the King^and the future 
Pope met in an abbey in the depths of 
the forest near St. Jean d'Ang^ly, and 
there entered into a bargain of sacred 
things, sealing it with an oath on the 
Host."* Renan admits that "the pre- 
tended interview of St Jean d'Ang^ly has 
been regarded as a fable for some time." f 



Memories of Hawaii. 



BY CHARLES WARREN STODDARD. 



IX. — Up Haleakala. 

SITTING on the balcony of the Maison 
Rouge at Waihee — a balcony that 
unconsciously affected the air of a prosce- 
nium box at the Grand Opera, and was 
certainly more comfortable and far less 
expensive, — sitting on the balcony, of the 
Little Red House at- the Corners, I wit- 
nessed day after day and night after night 
such spectacles as were never attempted 
on any stage we wot of. 

'T was an ever-varying combination of 
landscape, sea-scape and sky-scape. The 
whole gamut of color — the seven-toned 
prism — met and mingled in exquisite 
harmony in one sweep of the eye. In no 
two hours of the day was this all-embracing 
rospect quite the same. I think I may 
fely add that in no two hours of any 
o days, or two weeks either, was that 
picture quite the same. There was the 
dusty winding road in the foreground ; but 
delicious rain showers swept over the sea 
and went trailing up the road, and the 
ad was quite another road after that. Or 
rhaps the bullock-carts laden with 
icy cane -stalks came creaking down 
the hill and the volume of oker-tinted 

* In the "Revue des Deux Mondes" for Sep- 
iber 15, 1864. 
Ibi, March i, i83o. 



Hprc 

|^pw< 



dust that followed them made a pillar of 
cloud by day. 

Why, speaking of dust! I've seen from 
that very balcony of the Maison Rouge, 
away off in that strip of desert yonder, 
the meeting of two winds. When two 
winds meet, they waltz for a season before 
parting. In the giddy whirl of this waltz 
of the elements, their invisible skirts 
swept up so great a dust that the red- 
powdered earth spun itself into a long, 
slender, tapering column, that swayed and 
pirouetted in airy curves. 'Twas like the 
body of a serpent that is about to strike 
its adversary. Sometimes a pair of these 
would uncoil in midair, and soar serenely 
across the low, dustv isthmus that connects 
the two mountaiiious districts of Maui. 
Were they to come my way, it would 
behoove me to fly into some cave for 
shelter. And they are not to be trifled 
with. On land we call them dust chimneys. 
Happily, they are neither numerous nor 
long-lived. They are the only animated 
features in the landscape, — the only 
really animated features. Of course the 
clouds are ever with us, and the storm- 
cloud is one of these; but we fear the 
cloud less than the whirlwind with that 
exclamation point, the whirling chimney 
of red dust 

There is the sea, with its thousand 
changeful lights — the Eastern Sea. From 
my couch in the Maison Rouge I can 
watch the sun over the waves without 
raising my head from my pillow. If I 
grow weary of this matutinal diversion, 
I have only to turn, and there, from the 
opposite windows, my eyes rest upon pre- 
cipitous slopes, greener than the greenest 
emerald, the groves climbing far up their 
flanks, the clouds pressing down upon 
their brows, while from the bosom of these 
clouds gush half a score of rivulets: 
"And, like a downward smoke, each, slender stream 
Along the cliff to fall, and pause, and fall, did seem." 

Ah, this is the lotus eaters' land! You 
know that after ^very shower a thousand 



236 



THE AVE MARIA. 



streams are born; they don't last long — 
in half an hour or less they have run 
their course. But from the brow of every 
cloud-visited cliff, at any moment a 
stream may spring to life, and, running 
headlong into space, soon end itself. 

"A land of streams! Some like a downward smoke, 
Slow dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go ; 

And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke. 
Rolling a slumberous sheet of foam below." 

Yet all this is merely foreground. What 
I'm trying to get at is Haleakala, the 
great extinct crater that is a perpetual 
delight to the eye as I gaze at it daily — 
yes, and far into the night, when the moon 
is shining, while I lounge on the balcony 
of the Maison Rouge at Waihee. 

From a distance, Haleakala looks as 
sleek as a whale, and very like a whale. 
With a glass you may descry tufts of fuzz 
on its blue-grey sides. But you do not for 
a moment imagine that the fuzzy tufts 
are forests ; that the whole slope of the 
mountain is gutted with ravines ; and 
that the piebald patches scattered over its 
surface are jungles of wild weeds, grown 
wilder ever since the sun dried the deluge- 
damp out of the primeval soil. 

Very few of the continental tourists 
who are called out of bed at an unwonted 
hour, and creep forth, covered with 
blankets and confusion, to see the sun 
rise on the Righi Culm, realize that the 
selfsame sun rises daily all the world 
over; and that there are sunrises we 
know of that might put the Righi to 
the blush, though her sunrise were of 
the deepest dye. Why do so few island 
tourists do Haleakala? Is she not the 
"house of the sun"? Shall the sun not • 
rise in his own house, with all his para- 
phernalia about him, in as much state as 
upon any Alp in the world? Does he not 
refuse to rise at intervals upon the poles? 
And once up, does he not refuse to go 
down again, as if it were not worth his 
while? Where is his beam brighter, his 
glow fiercer, his reign longer, than in the 



tropics? And where else do such pomp and 
splendor wait upon his in-coming and 
his out-going as along the equatorial seas? 
Blankets we need on Haleakala, albeit 
we are in the tropics ; and provision and hot' 
coflfee; a guide to lead the way, and another 
to keep him company — both to be utilized, 
perhaps, as human warming-pans when 
the cold hours of the night come on. 
Bottles of water are also indispensable, 
and a bottle of spirits, and enough of the 
sweet Indian weed to burn the night out 
between fitful naps that are but dream- 
glimpses of Labrador, 

We set forth with breath enough to- 
shout joyfully to one another, as we pass 
in Indian-file along the trail. All this 
time the earth is receding, and the top of 
the mountain in like proportion ; it is as 
if the upward climbing path were elastic, 
and the two ends of it were being stretched 
out as we advance, leaving us to amble 
forever in the middle distance. But by 
and by come cooler currents of air, that 
flow over us, — invisible rivers of refresh- 
ment ; the clouds that were a canopy- 
become a carpet ; the flying scud brushes 
our faces ; we are at intervals enveloped 
in sudden and evanescent mists, that 
anon sweep noiselessly past, and become 
entangled among the deep, dark woods. 

It is very still; sometimes it is very 
steep; but we know that we may ride to- 
the rim of the crater without dismounting 
— unless by accident, — and that the air, 
which is already thin, will grow thinner 
and thinner to the last gasp on the tiptop 
of the globe. 

We are an asthmatical crew, man and! 
beast; legs and lungs are failing in concert. 
Oh, if one could only husband one's 
breath like the bagpipe, for instance, or 
blow one's self up like the balloon-fish 
against this hour of general debility! What 
a waste of energy goes on without ceasing 
in the worrisome little world flown yonder! 
And what does one gain, by it, save] 
hastening his end ? 



THE AVE MAPxIA. 



237 



Do very old people feel like this, I 
wonder? Five paces, and a halt for repairs; 
all things growing dim to the sight — men 
as trees walking, — and all sounds faint 
and far away, as if cotton were stuffed 
in their ears. 

The mountain top was as red as a live 
coal when we came to it; the sun was 
gone, but he was not yet forgotten. So 
we set up our tabernacle in the midst 
thereof, and kindled a huge fire — for with 
the feast of the eye came faintness and 
famine of the stomach, as is usually thecase. 
One can not travel far on the chameleon's 
dish; it has no staying qualities, and we 
must needs eat and drink and be satisfied 
before we sit down to a long and silent 
contemplation of nature. What a fright it 
was, the crater, when we first looked into 
it ! A burnt-out furnace, in which the gods 
might have forged the stars; or a bomb, 
out of which they might have shot comets, 
if they had cared to. Only think of it: 
thirty miles around the brim; two 
thousand perpendicular feet down to the 
bottom of it in the shallow parts, and at 
some points the walls towering eight 
hundred feet higher yet! All this is one 
colossal crater, the greatest in the world, 
having within it nigh a score of lesser 
craters, cone-shaped excrescences, the 
largest six hundred feet in height, and 
these with funnel-like mouths, after the 
fashion of Stromboli, Vesuvius and ^tna. 

The crater is a mixture of clay and 

I shale, veneered with successive lava flows. 
kt is as dry as a bone to-day. I doubt if a 
nove from the Ark could find so much as 
■ green leaf for a token, since all the 
P* house of the sun" has become as the 
abomination of desolation throughout its 
any mansions. In fact, it looks like the 
ong side of the world. 
At our camp-fire we brewed draughts 
ot as Tophet and sweet as Hyblaean 
lew. We stirred the embers and waited; 
r the night was chilly and dark, and 
ere was nothing to do but wait. The 



earth seemed to have sunk into space 
under us; we were alone on a rock in the 
sky. Presently something startled us ; 
the night heaved a long-drawn sigh; 
then a shadow rose before us where no 
shadow had been before, and, half in 
fright, we turned toward the crater and 
met the sad moon face to face. 

Immediately what had seemed to us 
hideous became beautiful ; the vast, shape- 
less depths were spiritualized; the walls 
were silvered, and they gleamed like 
sculptured marble; the floor of the crater 
was one broad mosaic, the inner craters 
like the basins of dry fountains sprinkled 
with star-dust. We saw a sky-pavilioned 
temple, with shadowy buttresses, dim 
niches peopled with glimmering statues, 
and echoless colonnades stretching beyond 
the vision — but never a worshipper save we 
three mutes, clinging like animalcules to 
a pinnacle among the heights. How cold 
it was all that time! — as cold as the moon 
looks through a telescope; and, like the 
moon, naked for all the cold. But even 
if you get down to zero, or below it, on 
Haleakala, suffer not your heart to be 
troubled. Weeping may endure for a 
night, but joy cometh with the morning. 

It must have been about an hour 
before daybreak, after a night of exquisite 
unrest, when we were again hanging 
upon the rim of the crater. Ribbons of mist 
were streaming in from the windward- 
^ap, floating airily along, under the shelter 
and the shadow of the walls, curling 
above and beneath the massive projec- 
tions; sometimes white in the moonlight, 
sometimes lost in thick darkness. Then 
fold upon fold unwound from the mass 
of cloud that was continually gathering 
in from the sea ; invisible hands bore it 
hither and yon, draping the rough rock^ 
festooning every cliff", wreathing the spires, 
and clothing the barren peaks with a pale 
garment. And then the figure was at once 
lost; for the flood-gates of heaven were 
thrown wide open, and wave after wave 



238 



THE AVE MARIA. 



of cloud poured through in one immeas- 
urable flood. 

The gulf was filled to the brim ; the 
whole earth and the world passed away ; 
we were lost in a stormy chaos of impal- 
pable snow. Away out upon the edge of 
it iwe saw a faint blue line : it was the 
horizon. Sometimes, in a lull, we caught 
glimpses of denser clouds : they were 
islands. I fancied I could almost see the 
globe bulging like an orange ; and I 
thought how we must look at a dim 
distance, as we hung suspended in midair, 
boundless space above us, boundless space 
beneath us, boundless space on either 
hand; we swimming, a mere puff ball, in 
the translucent tlement, which is without 
beginning and without end ; wherein 
we cast no shadow to speak of, the very 
shadow itself dissolving away in the 
space through which we swim insensibly, 
— the thought made me dizzy and faint. 
Why not rise up and take my Icarian 
flight, perchance landing upon some other 
planet ; or, missing that, disappear an atom 
in the universe? Rare air makes one 
light-headed. Meanwhile the day broke 
tumultuously. We hearkened, but heard 
nothing. Yet the turbulent clouds were 
gorged, and from gaping wounds gushed 
rivers of golden blood in a deluge of 
insufferable splendor. It was the storming 
of the Citadel of Silence ! 

I know they imagine a vain thing who 
hope to make the sun rise before another's 
eyes. I know that there is neither speech 
nor language that can image it; that one 
glimpse of the reality is suflicient to con- 
found the whole army of gazetteers. Yet 
we all try our hand at it, because it is our 
delight and our despair. We are flushed 
with the elixir that is drunk only upon 
the heights; its aroma is in our blood. O 
these heights! Is it any wonder that He 
went up into a mountain to pray, and that 
the blessed company of hermits and holy 
ones have followed in His footsteps since 
that day? 



Turn now your endazzled eye on the full 
splendor of the east, where the Shekinah 
is unveiled in clouds of glory, ineffable 
symbol of the All-glorious! And symbol- 
ically — since everything in nature is 
symbolical — in the uprising of yonder sun 
behold the Elevation of the Host! 

(To be continued.) 



An Irish Nepomucene. 



BY WII,I,IAM D. KEI,I,Y. 



IN the opening year of the fourth 
decade of the fifteenth century, com- 
plying with the repeated request of 
Nehemias O'Donoghue, who was then 
provincial of the Franciscans in the Irish 
County of Mayo, Edmund MacWilliam 
Bourke, the chief of the sept MacWilliam, 
founded at Moyne, in the barony of 
Tyrawley, and in the parish of Killala, 
and almost on the very brink of the 
historic River Moy, a convent of the 
Observantine friars, of which establish- 
ment the provincial became the first 
superior. The reason of this foundation was 
the refusal of the inmates of the neighbor- 
ing monastery of Rosserick to accept the 
Observantine rule ; in consequence of 
which refusal their house, dating from the 
year 1400, was placed- under a temporary 
interdict and finally deserted. 

The original intention in founding this 
Moyne Abbey was to build it at a place 
called Rappagh; but before MacWilliam 
was ready to put his plans into execution, 
according to a local tradition, a dove, 
whose singular movements attracted his 
attention, led him, as he followed its 
flight, to Moyne; where the bird traced 
the site of the abbey with its wings on 
the dewy grass that grew beside the river. 
The Moyne Abbey, whose €ite was thus 
singularly designated, soon became one 



THE AVE MARIA. 



239 



I 



of the most celebrated Observantine 
monasteries in the West of Ireland. During 
the first century of its existence as many 
as five provincial chapters of the Order 
were held within its walls. Among its 
inmates it counted representatives of 
many of the leading families in North 
Connaught; and a bell which subsequently 
hung in its tower, and which in the days 
of despoliation sold for £700, was pre- 
sented to the Abbey by the Queen of Spain, 
in memory of a Spanish prince, who, 
having forsaken the court to enter the 
cloister, fell ill and died while attending 
one of the early chapters held at Moyne, 
where he was buried. 

The monastery must have been stately 
and imposing; for forty years ago an 
ecclesiastical writer thus described it as it 
then appeared, despite the ravages of time 
and the vandalism of its later owners : 

' ' The Abbey is still almost perfect, except 
the roof and some buildings on the north 
side, which were taken down about 1750, 
by the then proprietor named Knox, to 
furnish materials for a dwelling-house. 
The church is 135 feet long by 20 broad 
toward the east ; from the west door to 
the tower the breadth varies from 40 to 
50 feet ; on the broadest space is a gable 
with a pointed stone window of fine 
workmanship. To the eastern wall of 
this portion of the building were two 
altars, having a piscina to each ; between 
the altars there is an arched recess, which 
would seem to have been a place of 
safety for the sacred utensils of the altars. 
Entering the west door — which was muti- 
lated in 1798 by some Hessian defenders 
of the British throne, — a lateral aisle 
opens to the view the beautiful eastern 
window through the arch of the tower. 
On the right of the aisle is a range of 
arches corresponding with the height of 
that of the tower, all in hewn stone ; 
the arches, which are hexagonal and 
turned on consoles, support the tower, 
which is nearly in the centre of the 



church, and about 100 feet in height The 
ascent to the summit of the tower is by a 
helix of loi steps, and well repays him 
who mounts it, as the scenery around is 
of unsurpassable beauty. The monastic 
buildings, however, are fast tottering 
to destruction. In the centre of these 
buildings is a square, or arcade, built on 
plain pillars in couplets. The tower and 
church are in perfect preservation." 

To this Abbey at Moyne, in the earlier 
years of its existence, came as a novice 
a scion of the powerful northern branch 
of the Hy Fiachra family, the O'Dowdas, 
which gave the sees of Connaught a num- 
ber of prelates eminent for their piety and 
erudition. One of those prelates. Bishop 
William O'Dowda, who presided over the 
diocese of Killala from 1347 until 1350, 
and became famous as the founder of 
churches and sanctuaries, built "the beau- 
tiful Abbey of St. Mary," as the annals of 
the Four Masters call it, at Ballina-glasse; 
and St. Colgan, St. Aldus and St Faila 
were all descendants of one branch or 
another of the Hy Fiachra. 

Friar John O'Dowda, the Observantine 
of Moyne Abbey, after his novitiate and 
ordination, remained attached to that 
monastery until the penal laws compelled 
its inmates to leave their cloister and seek 
shelter and safety wherever they might 
In 1579, during the terrible persecution 
of the Connaught Catholics instituted by- 
Sir William Drury (the English deputy by 
whose order Bishop O'Healey was bru- 
tally murdered the preceding year), Friar 
O'Dowda was caught by the priest-hunters 
while engaged in hearing confessions in 
one of the remo.te mountainous regions of 
Mayo, and led back to the Abbey. There 
his captors offered him his freedom and 
promised him abundant rewards on the 
condition that he would disclose the secrets 
he had learned in the confessional, which, 
they imagined, would afibrd them certain 
information which they were extremely 
eager to possess. Like another Nepom- 



■240 



THE AVE MARIA 



ucene, the Irish friar indignantly scorned 
the oflfer ; and his refusal of it so angered 
his captors that they bound his temples 
with the cord of his habit, and then, by 
the employment of one of their instruments 
of torture, twisted the ligature so tightly 
that his eyes burst from their sockets. 
His death soon followed. 

Sixteen years to the month after the 
■martyrdom of Friar O'Dowda, who passed 
to the eternal reward of his faith June 9, 
1579, Moyne Abbey and its possessions, 
including an orchard and four acres of 
pasture lands, with all the tithes and 
appurtenances belonging thereto, were, 
for an annual rental of five shillings, 
awarded to Edmund Barrett, who, in the 
expressive Irish phrase, speedily went to 
destruction. The next possessors, the 
Lindsays, began the demolition of the 
Abbey by blowing the roofs off the build- 
ing with gunpowder, and selling the 
bell aforementioned, which the Queen of 
Spain had presented to the friars. Nemesis 
overtook them also; and it was often 
said, before the total disappearance of 
the family from the barony, that a Lindsay 
could not set foot on the friar's lands 
without meeting with misfortune. So 
many evils befell the third owners, the 
Knoxes, that the last inheritor of that 
family became a Catholic in the hope of 
•escaping punishment, and at his death 
was buried in the arcade that stood in the 
middle of the monastery. The next pro- 
prietor became a madman, and had to be 
•confined in a Dublin asylum; so that as 
Wenceslas of Bohemia, after his infamous 
murder of St. John Nepomucene, learned 
to his sorrow that there was a God in 
Israel, it would appear that Heaven 
avenged the death of John O' Dowda by 
visiting its punishment on many of the 
individuals who ventured to assume sacri- 
legious possession of the shrine where the 
humble Irish Observantine friar fearlessly 
met his fate, and merited the glory and 
xeward of martyrdom. 



Ground Armsl 



THERE are two topics of the present 
day, the consideration of which may 
well occupy the thoughts of thinking 
men. The first is the determined endeavor 
of the yoiing Emperor of Germany to 
increase the standing army ; the second, 
the profound wish of the Pope to see 
the disarmament of Europe. Whether the 
rumor that Leo XIII. intends to issue a 
solemn recommendation upon the subject 
to the great powers be true or not, we can 
not say; but it is evident that this great- 
minded and humane Pontiff is aware that 
the present "armed peace" of Europe, 
which is but another term for imminent 
war, is crushing the life out of the people, 
is hindering the progress of Christianity, 
and is hurling an insult into the face of 
Him who is the Prince of a disarmed, not 
an armed. Peace. 

How many have taken the trouble to 
inquire concerning the war losses of the 
last century? The best accredited his- 
torical computations tell us that, simply 
in the civilized portions of Europe and the 
United States, nearly twenty millions of 
human lives have been sacrificed during 
that period. And this is not all. Multiply 
this stupendous number, if you would 
reckon the widows and orphans, the per- 
manently disabled, the broken down in 
health and heart and spirit. 

The treasure which has been wasted to 
accomplish this horrible Saturnalia of 
blood is simply beyond calculation. And 
it must be remembered that this treasure 
has not been taken from the coffers of 
kings or the vaults of the affluent, — 
no, but wrung from the savings of the 
peasantry and the common people — a war 
tax of blood. 

It is believed by those who know our 
gracious Pontiff best that if he could 
accomplish the peace of the world before 
entering the "rest which remains for the 



THE AVE MARIA. 



241 



the people of God" one of the dearest 
wishes of his pitying heart would be 
fulfilled. He may not be able to bring 
about this heavenly revolution ; but if he 
can not, neither can any man living. 
Time was when the whole Christian worid 
united in prayer for p>eace; and not alone 
the peace of tranquil consciences, but 
cessation of wars and rumors of wars. 
Let us pray, then, betimes for the coming 
of a universal peace. 

A little poem of Ruskin's, written, with 
the hopefulness of youth, many years 
ago, finds fitting place in connection with 
•this subject: 

AWAKE, AWAKE. 

Awake! awake ! The stars are pale, the east is russet 

gray; 
They fade— behold the phantoms fade, that kept the 

gates of Day; 
Throw wide the burning valves, and let the golden 

streets be free : 
The morning watch is past — the watch of evening 

shall not be. 

Put off, put off your mail, ye kings, and beat your 

brands to dust: 
A surer grasp your hands must know, your hearts a 

better trust; 
Kay, bend aback the lance's point, and break the 

helmet bar — 
A noise is on the morning winds, but not the noise 

of war. 

Among the grassy mountain paths the glittering 

troops increase: 
They come ! they come ! — how fair their feet !-*-they 
come that publish peace ! 
Tea, Victory ! fair Victory ! our enemies and oiirs; 
id all the clouds are clasped in light, and all the 
earth with flowers. 

still depressed and dim with dew, but yet a 
little while, 
id radiant with the deathless rose the wilderness 

shall smile, 
id every tender living thing shall feed by streams 
of rest. 
Nor lamb shall from the fold be lost, nor nursling 
from the nest. 

fr aye the time of wrath is past, and near the time 
of rest; 
id honor binds the brow of man, and faithfulness 
his breast, 
hold, the time of wrath is past, and righteousness 
shall be; 
id the Wolf is dead in Arcady, and the Dragon in 



A Touching Incident. 

HTHE destruction by fire, a few weeks 
*- ago, of the Cold-Storage Building on 
the World's Fair grounds, when seventeen 
brave men, amid the flames, sacrificed their 
lives to duty, was most appalling. The 
sad facts are well known ; but a touching, 
consoling incident occurred at the time, 
unobserved by most of the bystanders, 
which has been made public for the edifi- 
cation of all. With the crowd present at 
that terrible scene stood the Rev. Father 
O'Connor, of San Francisco. Whilst 
others were rendered frantic through 
horror at the sight, he looked steadily 
upward. He saw that no earthly help 
could reach the doomed men ; and as 
they were forced, one after another, to 
drop down into the fiery furnace, Father 
O'Connor raised his hand, and, pronounc- 
ing the formula of conditional absolution 
gave to each, in so far as he was capable of 
receiving it, the remission of sins through 
the Sacrament of Penance. The thought 
of this must give much consolation to 
the families of the departed heroes. 

In that supreme moment when eternity 
opens before it, the Christian soul longs for 
reconciliation with the God before whom 
it is called, desiring that, by His grace and 
mercy, it may be disposed to receive the 
benefits of the Sacrament through which 
the stains of sin committed after Baptism 
are removed. Thus the act of Father 
O'Connor, in the exercise of his sacred 
ministry, was in perfect accord with the 
loving spirit of Mother Church, whose 
mission upon earth is 'to seek after souls, 
and lead them to the Feet of their 
Heavenly Father. 



JiJST as there comes a warm sunbeam 
into every cottage window, so comes a 
love-beam of God's care and pity for 
every separate need. — Hawthorne. 



242 



THE AVE MARIA 



Notes and Remarks. 



One of the happiest results of the recent 
Eucharistic Congress at Jerusalem was the 
proposal to erect at Lepanto a sanctuary 
dedicated to Our Lady of the Rosary. It is 
to stand opposite to the very spot where, 
centuries ago, the Queen of Heaven came to 
the rescue of the Christian hosts and stayed 
the progress of the Mussulman. It is also 
proposed to erect, at the town of Patras, a 
large column in honor of the Blessed Virgin 
of Lepanto. On this column, which will be 
easily visible to the passing sailor, will be 
inscribed the names of those who were 
prominent in the Christian fleet. May this 
union in the love of Mary prove the pledge 
of that other union which is to bring the East 
and the West together at the feet of the 
Vicar of Christ! 



It is matter for rejoicing and gratitude 
that the services of so many able Catholic 
advocates have been secured for the Parlia- 
ment of Religions, which is to open in Chicago 
on the nth prox. The speakers have been 
admirably chosen, and the selection of sub- 
jects, representing a wide scope of argument, 
could hardly have been better. The impor- 
tance of the occasion, it is plain, was fully 
recognized, and there seems to have been a 
disposition to profit by it to the fullest extent. 
The Parliament of Religions promises to be 
one of the most important of the Chicago 
congresses. 

Catholic readers are always appreciative 
of the efforts made by the editors of Catholic 
newspapers to be up to the times, but there 
are forms of what is called enterprise that 
had better be left to the secular journals. 
It must be humiliating to those who have 
published, and exasperating to those who 
have perused, abstracts of the "New Encyc- 
lical" to learn that it is an imposture, one 
of many for which the New York World is 
responsible. The papal letter was alleged to 
be on the subject of Anarchic Socialism, 
and addressed to the Christian Powers. The 
Holy Father has published no such encyclical, 



nor is it known that he contemplates one. 
The abstract of the "expected document" 
was the work of some unscrupulous and 
imaginative penman. His performance is so 
much ahead of anything ever before attempted 
by a'newspaper correspondent that he deserves 
to be stigmatized as a rare monument of 
brazen mendacity. 

It is well enough for Catholic papers to be 
abreast of the times; but it is decidedly better 
to be behind the times when it is a question 
of unfounded rumors, sensational reports, and 
' ' expected encyclicals. ' ' 



The enormity of the offence of recklessly 
accusing our prelates of disobedience on 
disloyalty to the Holy See, and the wound 
such charges are sure to inflict, are shown by 
a remark made by the Most Rev. Archbishop 
Corrigan in the course of his well-considered 
address to his Excellency the Papal Delegate 
on occasion of his late ofiicial visit to New 
York. Archbishop Corrigan said: 

' ' I count it a special grace that I made my studies 
in philosophy and theology under the shadow of the 
Vatican. . . . All one's subsequent study and reading 
in theological channels strengthen and intensify the 
convictions of early years. And one who has enjoyed 
such advantages counts it no glory, but rather a 
humiliation,, that it should ever become necessary 
for him to avow that the thought even of resisting 
the Holy Father's will, much more of disobeying hiB 
positive enactments, never found lodgment in his 
mind. More than this one can not say. A virtuous 
matron shrinks from the very suggestion of proving 
that uo stain has come to her womanly honor. After 
the guilt of oflFending God, a conscientious bishop 
feels no wound more keenly than that his faith 
impugned or his oath of loyalty called in question,"! 

This noble sentiment is worthy of the| 
eminent Archbishop of New York, who spoke 
for all his confreres of the hierarchy as we 
as for himself. 



The letter which President Clevelandl 
transmitted in June last to the Holy Father,] 
congratulating him upon his Episcopa 
Jubilee, does credit to the mind and hes 
of the distinguished writer. He declares thai 
the pleasure attending his act ' ' is muc 
enhanced by the remembrancp that His Holi- 
ness has always manifested a lively interes 
in the prosperity of the United States, an^ 
great admiration for our political institu^ 



THE AVE MARIA. 



243 



tions." And these sentiments "are the 
natural outgrowth of the Holy Father's 
solicitude for the welfare and happiness of 
the masses of humanity, and his especial 
sympathy for every effort made to dignify 
simple manhood, and to promote the moral 
End social elevation of those who toil." In 
conclusion the President expresses his desire 
to place in the hands of the Sovereign Pontiff 
a book containing the official papers and 
documents written by him during his pre- 
vious term of office. 



One of the last notorious acts of ex-Com- 
missioner Morgan during his late administra- 
tion of Indian aflfairs was the abrogation of 
the contract with the Sisters in charge of the 
Indian school at Albuquerque, New Mexico. 
This bigoted action was taken upon a report 
made by one of his agents, which recent 
investigation has shown to be utterly false. 
Some weeks ago another agent, Mr. Cooper, 
after a prolonged visit to the school, re- 
ported that "it is an excellent institution, 
well-conducted, and consequently doing good 
work." Acting on this report, the contract 
with the Sisters has been renewed by the 
present administration. There is also assurance 
given that the Sisters will be recouped for 
the $3,500 which they expended to support 
the school after Mr. Morgan had abrogated 
their contract. 

It is a weirdly interesting story that is 
told in the current Month, under the startling 
caption, "A Convert through Spiritualism." 
It describes the wanderings of a student in 
those strange, unexplored fields that lie near 
the border-line of the spirit world. One of 
the most interesting and inexplicable expe- 
riences described in the sketch is this: 

"On the first evening that I joined their circle, Mr. 

B said to me: *I see a spirit standing near you 

in the dress of a priest. He says he is a priest. He 

belongs to your family. His name is H . He has 

been a long time in the other world. He wants you 

to pray for him. He takes a great interest in you.' 

I, who yearned above all things for communication 

rith my husband, was, although interested, somewhat 

ippointed, and exclaimed with some vexation 

it I knew nothing of any such person, and that 
lere were no priests in my family. ' He says there 
ere once priests belonging to it,' Mr. B — — replied; 

id he affirms that he belongs to your family.' 



Curiously enough, it was not until long afterward, 
when I had Iwjen a Catholic perhaps about ten years, 
that I chanced upon some family documents men- 
tioning a collateral ancestor, of the name given by 

Mr. B , who was the last abbot of a certain 

Cistercian monastery in the reigns of Henry VH. 
and Henry VHI. I may add that I am the first 
Catholic in my family since the Reformation. 
Supposing the communication to have been genuine, 
this might account for the interest expressed." 

The writer also states that her experience 
distinctly contradicts the statement so often 
made, that spiritualists who become Catholics 
usually prove deserters after a short time. 



A life of exceptional devotion and sacrifice 
was closed in Bruges recently by the death 
of Mr. Arthur Robinson, whose noble work 
on behalf of Catholic orphans has made his 
name a household word throughout the 
United Kingdom. Mr. Robinson came of a 
family that took just pride in having remained 
loyal to the faith through centuries of per- 
secution ; and he simply acted in accordance 
with the traditions of his family when he 
resolved to devote his time and fortune to 
the support of Catholic orphans. Few men 
are so sincerely mourned as he was, for few 
lives were so helpful as his. His greatest 
delight was to kneel before the Tabernacle 
' to implore the blessing of Heaven upon the 
orphan asylum which he founded. He was 
a near relative of Mr. Wilfrid Robinson, a 
well-known and devoted worker in the cause 
of Catholic literature. 



A statue of Cardinal Newman, for which 
it was expected a place would be given at 
Oxford, is to be erected in the London 
Oratory. The writings of this great Father 
of souls are his best memorial. It matters 
little where his statue is placed, since his 
fame is universal ; however, we feel sure he 
himself would have preferred the Oratory 
to Oxford. 

Chief among the sources of gratification to 
Catholic visitors at the World's Fair is our 
educational exhibit. Indeed it is one of the 
salient features of the Exposition. American 
Catholics have reason to be especially 
grateful to Bishop Spalding and Brother 
Maiu-elian, whose indefatigable labors in the 



244 



THE AVE MARIA. 



face of untold discouragements have made the 
exhibit what it is. Correspondents of the sec- 
ular press have many times expressed their 
admiration of the extent and completeness 
of this exhibit, so creditable to Catholic 
methods and to Catholic educators. An un- 
known friend has directed our attention to 
an appreciative notice published last week in 
one of the Chicago papers, from which we 
are pleased to quote these words: 

"What particularly strikes the visitor is the 
method displayed in these schools; for in the Catholic 
educational exhibit student -work and normal work 
are shown. This is the test of a school's work: that 
it gives to the youth an education leading up from 
first principles to solid knowledge; that it trains 
the mind, forms the character, and develops the 
body. The kindergarten work is ranked with the 
best in the Exposition, while the grammar schools 
present an array of systematic papers on different 
subjects that is made the object of flattering com- 
ment. The convents are here seen in their real light 
— homes of culture and nurseries of the fine arts. 
The colleges come to the front in creditable compe- 
tition with the best in the land, up to the standard 
in all academic studies, and pointing proudly to 
great men in all the walks of life as best proof of the 
vigor of their methods." 

Creditable as our educational exhibit 
undoubtedly is, it would have been much 
more so had there been co-operation on the 
part of all who should have felt deep interest 
in its success. 

The Sacred Heart Review is authority for 
the statement that the Rev. Mr. Russell, 
whose recent conversion has provoked much 
comment, was for some time rector of an 
Episcopal chapel in Florence. This circum- 
stance is little in accord with the reckless 
statements so often made by non-Catholic 
writers, about the enormity of " Rome's 
wickedness ' ' in Catholic countries. Mr. 
Russell's "going over to Rome" despite the 
"wickedness" is a very old story. Those 
who have enjoyed the best opportunities for 
studying the Church in Catholic countries 
are ever loudest in her praises. 



Blessed Virgin flocking to a beautiful sanctu- 
ary, which hardly half a century ago was the 
scene of a little Indian village, was a source 
of real edification to Catholics, and to the 
old-time Protestant residents of the vicinity 
subject for wonderment. Accompanying the 
pilgrims were the zealous pastors, the Very 
Rev. Dean O'Brien, Fathers Cullinane and 
Kennedy, of Kalamazoo, and the Rev. Father 
Mulcahy of Paw Paw. The Rev. President 
of the University of Notre Dame extended Xo 
the pilgrims a cordial welcome; and Dean 
O'Brien, on behalf of his people, left in the 
church of the Sacred Heart a beautiful banner 
of the Blessed Virgin, as a memento of the 
pilgrimage. 

It is pleasing to note that within a few 
years the so-called "Continental Sunday" 
will cease to be — what for a long time it has 
unjustly been — a term of reproach against 
the Church. The movement recently inau- 
gurated in Belgium for the observance of the 
Sunday rest is steadily gaining ground, and 
public opinion is so strongly in its favor that 
all opposition will be speedily removed. In a 
short time the influence of this movement 
will be felt in every Christian country on 
the Continent; and Sunday will no longer be 
the busiest day of the week. A day of rest, 
in accordance with the spirit of the Chris- 
tian religion, will thus be allowed to a vast 
majority of laborers each week, and the 
observance of a divine precept be secured for 
the temporal and spiritual good of all. 



Over a thousand persons from Kalamazoo, 
Mich., and neighboring towns took part in 
the annual pilgrimage to Notre Dame on 
the Feast of Our Lady's Assumption. The 
spectacle of so many devout clients of the 



The recent competitive examinations in 
New York, in which the pupils of the public 
schools were distanced in the race for honors 
by their Catholic rivals, has called forth the 
following statement from Mr. Joseph Howard, 
one of the best-known newspaper men of 
the metropolis: 

"The reason for this remarkable showing is easily- 
explained. The teachers in the Catholic schools are 
inspired by a higher motive than gain. The greater 
number of them belong to religious orders, and have 
been specially educated for the vocation of teaching. 
Personally, they receive no salaries ; the money they 
get from some parishes goes into the^ommon fund of 
their order, which cares for their absolute necessities 
and provides them with a home. They possess not a 
penny which they call their own. Living according 



THE AVE MARIA. 



246 



to a strict daily rule themselves, it is only natural 
that they should comwand order in their class rooms. 
Political influence has nothiu}{ to do with their 
appointment. Experienced judges pass upon their 
capacity, and place them in the sphere where they 
will do the most effective service." 

As the Baltimore Tablet suggests, this 
appreciative declaration, coming from the 
son of the man who brought Mr. Beecher 
to Brooklyn, is specially gratifying and 
significant. 

P^re Hyacinthe's "Testament," completed, 
as he says, at the age of threescore and six, 
and lately published to the world in French 
and English, has been received with the 
indiflference it merits. The document is sadly 
interesting, as showing how far an apostate 
can go. The unfortunate man alludes to his 
mock-marriage as the most Christian act of 
his life. He pretends to await with serenity, 
"on the brink of the tomb, the sentence of 
God , the Judge of all . " Time was when P^re 
Hyacinthe would tremble for another far less 
guilty. There is little hope for this fallen 
priest, who for so many years has scandalized 
the Catholic world, and who now, on the 
brink of the grave, glories in his shame and 
exults in his iniquity. 



The Holy Father has recently accorded 
to the Fathers of the Society of Jesus the 
privilege of a proper Mass and Ofl5ce in 
honor of Our Lady della Strada. The feast 
will be celebrated as a double of the second 
class on. the second Sunday of June. St. 
Ignatius had a special devotion to the 
Madonna della Strada, which he caused to be 
removed from the wayside shrine in which 
it was first venerated to the church of the 
Society in Rome. 



A glance at the programme of exercises for 
" Catholic Education Day " at the Columbian 
Exposition, on September 2, reveals a rare 
feast, which the friends of true education will 
not willingly miss. Not to speak of "The 

I Words of Welcome" to be spoken by Arch- 
bishop Feehan, whose zeal for education is 
BO well known, the orator-prelates, Arch- 
|[)ishops Ryan, of Philadelphia, and Hennessy, 



tional topics, an announcement which of itself 
assures a large attendance. The laity will be 
represented by the Hon. T. J. Gargan, of 
Boston, and the Hon. Morgan J. O'Brien, of 
the New York Supreme Court. The exercises 
will close most appropriately with a solemn 
Te Deum. 



The people of Italy are now experiencing 
the effects of the "civil marriage" idea. 
Divorce has become so frequent of late as to 
call for a popular demonstration against it. 
A petition, signed by sixty thousand of the 
most influential women of Italy, has been 
presented to the Government. The petition 
prays for the abolition of divorce, but it does 
not aim at the root of the evil. If marriage 
is only a "civil contract," why should not 
husband and wife dissolve partnership by 
mutual consent ? It is only when marriage is 
recognized as a Sacrament that the iniquity 
of divorce can be made apparent. 



Obituary. 



Remember them that are in bands, tu if you were bound 
with them. Hbb., xiii, 3. 

The following persons are recommended to the 
charitable prayers of our readers : 

Sister Mary of St. Osmana and Sister Mary of St. 
Francis de Sales, of the Sisters of the Holy Cross ; 
also Sister Mary Clotilda, of the Sisters of Notre 
Dame, who were lately called to the reward of their 
selfless lives. 

Mr. Edwin C. Belden, of San Francisco, Cal., who 
was drowned on the 31st of July. 

Mr. John Brennan, whose death took place on the 
19th of June, at St. Augustine, 111. 

Mrs. Mary A. Kennedy, of Taunton, Mass., whose 
good life closed peacefully on the 3d inst. 

Miss Jane Ahem, who died a happy death some 
time ago, at Charleville, Co. Cork, Ireland. 

Mrs. Hannah Keliey, of Portland, Me., who 
piously breathed her last on the 12th inst. 

Thomas Harney and Mrs. Mary McAlroy, of 
Galena, III.; Miss Katherine Lanigan, Pittsburg, Pa.; 
Mrs. Margaret Lynch, Helena, Mont. ; Mrs. Ellen 
McBride, Fall River, Mass.; Miss Mary McPadden, 
Cleveland, Ohio ; Mr. Bartholomew Ford, San Fran- 
cisco, Cal. ; Mrs. Margaret HafiFey, Fairbury, HI. ; 
and Mr. James Shields, Amboy, 111. 

May their souls and the souls of all the faith- 
ful de(>arted, through the mercy of God, rest in 
peace! 




UNDER THE MANTLE OF OUR BLESSED MOTHER. 



A Rhyme of Wise Boys. 



TT7HE poets have sung of the heroes young 
i Who have rushed to the field of glory, 
And bartered their life in a noble strife 

To live for all time in story; 
They crowd their lays with unstinted praise 

Of the gallant boy and earnest, 
The undaunted youth, strong in faith and truth, 

Who braves stern faith at its sternest. 

Now, here is a song for a goodly throng 

Of lads of all classes and ages; 
They are genuine boys, full of mirth and noise, 

Fond of fun in all its stages: 
For their future career no man need fear — 

They have given to Fortune retainers; 
And to help them succeed, here's a hearty 
Godspeed 

To these wise boys, the Total Abstainers ! 
Father Cheerheart. 



Sight-Seeing at the World's Fair. 



BY MARY CATHERINE CROWLEY. 



IV. — Modes of Travel, Old and New. 

FTER our friends had taken 
leave of the young collegian, 
Mr. Barrett said : 

' ' Since we have obtained 
an idea of the equipments of 
Columbus and the Vikings, 
suppose we go and see the exhibition of 
the modes of travelling nowadays?" 




A ride on the Intermural Railroad 
brought them to the immense Transporta- 
tion Building, which, in contrast to the 
marble whiteness of the others, is of a 
dull Egyptian red in color, and of Moorish 
architecture. 

"Notice the splendor of this vast arch- 
way beneath which we enter," said Uncle 
Jack. "Because of its beauty and richness 
it is called the Golden Door." 

Passing through it, they beheld in 
every direction an apparently endless vista 
of long aisles, and exhibits from all parts 
of the world. Here they saw specimens of 
every known method of transportation — 
of all kinds of ships, for instance, from 
the primitive canoe hollowed out from 
the trunk of a tree, to the model of the 
ill-fated Victoria^ the type of the formidable 
modern war vessel ; and an entire section 
of a Transatlantic liner, giving the design 
of the new American steamships. It was 
great fun going through the latter, which 
is four stories high, and shows the complete 
interior of an ocean steamer. 

"We can imagine we are just setting 
off for Europe ! ' ' exclaimed Nora, as she 
tripped along gaily. 

It proved a short voyage, however ; for 
Uncle Jack hurried them ashore again, 
as they said, and they found themselves 
in the midst of as many vehicles as one 
would encounter in the streets of London 
or New York. 

"Now we can observe the progress of 
everything that goes upon wheels, from 



THE AVE MARIA. 



247 



the first thought of this means of getting 
about to — what shall I say?" said Mr. 
Barrett. 

''To the bicycle," replied Aleck. "My! 
aren't those daisy ones over there?" 

"But this facsimile of an old Roman 
chariot is so much more interesting," 
declared Ellen. 

'*I am quite satisfied with these superb 
nineteenth -century carriages," sighed 
Nora, lazily. 

"See all these great engines and fine 
trains of cars!" exclaimed her brother. 
** One might imagine that the Grand 
Central Depot of New York was set down 
in this corner of the building." 

They inspected the Royal Blue Line 
Express of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad ; 
the luxurious Pullman train, perfect in 
all its appointments; and the White Train 
of the English Exhibit, which is similar 
to that which runs between Liverpool 
and London. 

"Oh, isn't it pretty!" cried Nora, as 
they stood before the latter. "Wouldn't 
you like to ride in one of those white 
carriages, Ellen? Here is one with the 
door open, so we can get a good view of 
it How comfortable it looks! Just like 
a hack, only larger, and with four seats 
on each side. Now I understand how 
people travel abroad ; for Claire Colville 
wrote me that the same kind of carriages 
are used all over the Continent, although 
they are usually painted a dark color." 

Uncle Jack and Aleck loitered to 
examine the locomotives, the different 
kinds of rails, etc., until the girls grew 
impatient. They were interested again, 
however, when they caught sight of 
the ancient engines, the queer, toy-like 
mechanisms from which the great Iron 
Horse of the present has sprung. Aleck, 
who had a taste for machinery, grew 

I more enthusiastic and excited every 
Ininute. 
I "Some of these are reproductions of 



Uncle Jack ; " but a number are the 
identical old engines." 

"Well, here's old Samson!" exclaimed 
the boy. "No reproduction about that; for 
I'm sure it looks as if it came out of the 
Ark. What a little thing it is, with its six 
small wheels and the boiler encased in 
wood! What an odd smoke-stack too, just 
like a stove pipe!" 

"Here is the Buffalo, built in Baltimore 
in 1844, and the first eight- wheeled loco- 
motive in the world," called Mr. Barrett 

"I see that this funny one is the 
Camel," said Nora. "And it is very well 
named too; for doesn't the long narrow 
smoke-stack, with its slanted top, remind 
you of the head and neck of that awkward 
animal? And, then, it has such a droll, 
bell-shaped hump." 

"Ha-ha!" laughed Aleck. "Here is an 
engine with its cab on top of the boiler. 
Looks as if it were riding horseback." 

They saw also the De Witt Clinton and 
the Dragon, the latter so called because of 
its fiery breath. 

"Don't despise the fac-similes," said 
Ellen. "Here is a quaint one of the Tom 
Thumb, which, the card attached to it 
says, was the first engine built, and the 
first to draw a train of cars on the Amer- 
ican Continent" 

"Ah!" exclaimed Uncle Jack, "that 
must be the one constructed by old Peter 
Cooper^ — the same who, when he grew 
rich and famous, founded the Cooper 
Institute in New York, you know." 

Aleck, notwithstanding the sign "Hands 
oflf," had been fidgeting about, patting 
and clapping every old relic, as if it were 
an ancient war-horse. He bent over to read 
the inscription on the Tom Thumb, and 
presently announced that the first train 
was run on the 28th of August, 1830, from 
Baltimore to Ellicott City — a distance of 
thirteen miles — in an hour and twelve 
minutes. 

"Just think — that was only sixty-three 
years ago!" murmured Ellen. "And that 



248 



THE AVE MARIA. 



engineer you stopped to speak to said that 
some of those English locomotives back 
there can go sixty miles an hour — " 

"Here's another genuine old fellow," 
interrupted Aleck. "The Atlantic, built 
in 1832. I see it is marked as the first of 
the grasshopper class. It really has some 
resemblance to a gigantic grasshopper; 
now, hasn't it?" 

"Would not you like to see it hop — go^ 
I mean?" suggested Nora. 

They smilingly agreed that they would; 
and Aleck darted off to look at Old Iron-f 
sides, and several others with ludicrously 
lofty and slender smoke-stacks. 

' ' What do you think of these for 
chimneys?" he asked. "Just notice that 
one at the end. It must be seven feet 
high." 

"It is the Thomas Jefferson, the first 
engine to use anthracite coal," replied 
his uncle. "In this next aisle we come 
to still older ones. Here is what I was 
looking for," he added presently, pausing 
before a peculiar vehicle like a gun- 
carriage. " It is a fac-simile of the Cugnot, 
the first self-moving carriage, or locomo- 
tive, of which there is record in history; 
and was constructed in 1769-71 by Nicolas 
Cugnot, an officer of the French army. 
His object was to find a means for dispens- 
ing with horses and mules for drawing 
artillery. Singularly enough, his invention 
has never been availed of or perfected 
for that purpose. The first idea of the 
inventors who turned their attention to 
the subject was to make a passenger car- 
riage for use on common roads. Here, 
however, is the very first locomotive that 
ever ran on a railroad and drew cars. It 
comes from Cornwall, on the borders of 
Wales, the country of Jack the Giant- 
Killer, you remember. And no doubt in 
the beginning the story of this prodigy 
was regarded as about as worthy of belief 
as the exploits of that doughty hero. 
It is known as the Trevithick Engine, 
having been constructed by a Cornish 



miner of that name in 1804. Perfected, 
its speed was ten miles an hour. Near it 
we see a section of the peculiar strap 
railway on which it ran, and here also 
are two of the original cars." 

The girls and Aleck peered into them. 

"What queer little things! It must 
have been like travelling in a bandbox in 
those days," said Nora. 

' ' They are more like the American 
than the English cars, judging from 
those we saw a while ago," observed 
Aleck. 

"Yes, that is a singular fact," replied 
Uncle Jack. "But the origin of the latter 
is easily understood. The Englishman 
was accustomed to journey in his family 
carriage or by the stage-coach. To render 
the new mode of travelling popular with 
him, it must be mada as nearly like the 
old as possible ; and so his carriage, or one 
resembling it, was simply transferred to 
the railway running gear. The same was 
the case on the Continent. In France, as 
late as 1853, one could have one's trav- 
elling carriage thus attached to a train, J 
and continue to enjoy its comforts and 
seclusion during the journey." 

"You can see just how they looked; 
for here is a train composed of genuine 
old stage-coaches mounted on railway 
wheels," called Ellen. 

The young people stood laughing 
before it. 

"Well! well!" ejaculated Aleck. "The 
clumsy, lumbering old vehicles look as if 
they had been suddenly aroused from" a 
nap, and before they were fairly awake 
found themselves hurried along, at a 
break-neck speed, they do not yet know 
exactly where. They make me think of 
Rip Van Winkle." 

"Do you want to see a horse-legged 
locomotive?" asked Uncle Jack, who had 
wandered on. 

Of course they did, and therefore 
hastened after him to view a reproduction 
of the Brunton (English) Engine, which 



THE AVE MARIA. 



249 



was built in 1803. They also made the 
acquaintance of Puffing Billy. 

"Hello, old boy!" cried Aleck, address- 
ing this burly member of the locomotive 
tribe. "Why, you were a strapping big 
fellow for those days; and a great blower, 
too, I should judge by the size of the 
smoke-stack with which you are fur- 
nished." 

"Next," said Uncle Jack, "we find 
fac-similes of the Bliicher and the Rocket, 
the first engines of Stephenson, whose 
improvements on the earlier models were 
so great that his invention is considered 
the basis of the locomotive as we have 
it to-day." 

" I'm sure this looks antiquated 
enough," Ellen remarked. 

"Let us go back to our own country," 
Aleck proposed, as if they had been 
travelling abroad. 

Turning into another aisle, they discov- 
ered several of the original American 
engines which they had missed before. 
As they paused before a quaint steam- 
carriage, of primitive construction, Mr. 
Barrett said : 

' ' We have seen the first engine which 
actually drew a train on this Continent; 
now, this represents the first recorded 
idea of steam propulsion in the Western 
world. It was invented in 1790, by a 
man named Nathan Reed, of Salem, 
Massachusetts. This and the Tom Thumb 
are reproductions ; but now we will go 
and see the oldest original locomotive 
in America." 

Uncle Jack led his party through 
many aisles and cross-aisles, and amid a 
maze of railway tracks, engines and cars, 
until they reached one of the great gates 
of the building. Going out and crossing 
a courtyard, they came to the exhibit of 
the Pennsylvania Railroad, which shows a 

I whole system of tracks and signals out of 
(doors, a handsome station, etc. Here, at 
lone of the platforms where it had drawn 



grounds, they beheld a very small, anti- 
quated locomotive and train. 

"I know!" exclaimed Aleck. "That is 
the old John Bull, still hale and hearty, 
and able to render service; since it came 
to the World's Fair as sprily as any of 
us, and brought all those cars with it" 
"I suppose you will be comparing your 
aged uncle to the John Bull presently," 
complained Mr. Barrett, with mock seri- 
ousness. "But if so, then all of you must 
be the little cars which I have to drag 
along with me." 
The others laughed. 
"Isn't it an interesting old engine?" 
said Aleck, walking around it in delight 
"See, this card says it went into service 
in 1 83 1, and was first used on the Camden 
& Amboy Railroad. It was exhibited at the 
Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia, and 
again at the 'Chicago Railroad Exposition 
in 1883. On the 17th of April of this year 
it left New York city under steam, and 
without assistance hauled these cars, 
known as the John Bull Train, the nine 
hundred and twelve miles to Chicago." 

"When you can tear yourself away 
from that old relic, my boy, we will come 
down a little nearer to our own times," 
said Mr. Barrett, after a while. 

They retraced their steps across the 
courtyard, and came to another engine, 
before which Uncle Jack paused, saying: 
"In its way, this is almost as inter- 
esting a memorial as any you have seen. 
It is the Pioneer, the first locomotive that 
ever ran out of Chicago, the metropolis 
which is now the starting point and 
terminus of more railroads than any city 
of the United States." 

Still Uncle Jack led on, till the girls 
declared they were "ready to drop" from 
fatigue; and Nora suggested that they 
would have to be sent home in one of the 
ambulance trains exhibited by the Red 
Cross Society, and intended for use in war 
times. At last he brought the party to a 
halt before a magnificent-looking locomo- 



250 



THE AVE MARIA 



tive, which an employee was occupied in 
burnishing. 

"See!" he cried, "the man evidently 
takes as much pride in his work as the 
Arab does in rubbing down the glossy 
coat of his steed. Notice how admiringly 
he regards it, much as the owner of 
Boundless might gaze upon that plucky 
race-horse, which won the great American 
Derby for him the other day. And well 
he might ; for this is the locomotive 
which has made the fastest run ever 
attempted in America." 

"What! Is this the famous 999?" 
inquired Aleck. 

"Yes," was the reply: "the engine 
that recently drew the already famous fast 
train from New York to Chicago, and made 
during the trip the marvellous record of 
one hundred and twelve miles an hour." 

( To be coutinued. ) 



A Painter of Bears. 



Many distinguished artists have been 
more foad of painting animals than of 
portraying scenery or human figures. 
Rosa Bonheur, for instance, delights in 
making pictures of cattle; and Sir Edwin 
lyandseer was at his best when putting the 
portraits of his favorite dogs on canvas. 

Not long ago there was a Dutch painter 
who was known as the Cat Raphael, 
because he painted cats so well; and now 
a young Swiss is called the Bear Raphael, 
because he has such a wonderful way of 
making pictures of bears. In the city of 
Berne, where he lives, many bears are kept 
in the public gardens; and this young 
artist is never happier than when he is 
studying their habits and watching their 
movements. And, strange as it may seem 
to us, he thinks that bears are very 
agreeable animals, and that the repu- 
tation we have given them is entirely 
undeserved. 



The city of Berne was once called 
"Baern," and was given that name on 
account of the many bears that roamed 
around it; and as Herr Hinnen was born 
there, he has had a fine chance to get 
acquainted with his four-footed favorites. 
His father was an artist, and the little 
fellow was brought up in the midst of 
paint brushes and pictures. At a very 
early age he showed that, if he were free 
to follow his own inclination, he would 
be an artist too. 

One day his father found him in the 
woods sketching'the outlines of a great bear 
upon a smooth flat stone, and recognized 
the portrait of the oldest and biggest bear 
in the town garden. He recognized, too, 
that here was genius of a fine sort, and 
after that the child was given every chance 
to learn. All animals seemed to love him, 
bears especially; and when he would go 
to a high place above their garden, they 
would try to reach up to him in a playful 
way. He often said that bears were not 
appreciated, that people did not under- 
stand them; and his mother and father 
were always afraid that he would go out 
into the forest to get acquainted with some 
that had not been tamed by the prison life 
of a bear garden. 

Some of these bear pictures have been 
brought to the World's Fair, where we 
hope many of our young people may see 
them. The best ones, however, had to stay 
at home, as they were painted in fresco 
on the walls of public buildings in the 
city of Berne; and it is not easy to carry 
a whole house across the ocean, even to 
a World's Fair. 



But what strange art, what magic can dispose 
The troubled mind to change its native woes? 
Or lead us, willing from ourselves, to see 
Others more wretched, more undone than we? 
This books can do ; nor this alone : they give 
New views of life, and teach us lft)w to live ; 
They soothe the grieved, the stubborn they chastise, 
Fools they admonish, and confirm the wise. 

— George Crabbe. 



AVE MARIA. 



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RT. REV. JOHN N. NEUMANN. C.SS.R., D.D. 




HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED.— St. Luke, I. 48. 
Vol,. XXXVII. NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, SEPTEMBER 2, 1893. 



No. 10.. 



[P«bU<kt4na7 

The Joy of Life. 

FOR all things below 
The sunshine is bright ; 
The rose for the thorn, 
The star for the night. 

The field for the flower ; 

For the leaflet, the tree ; 
For the eagle, the air ; 

For the honey, the bee. 

For the mountain, the cloud ; 

For the brooklet, its song ; 
For the bush and the bough. 

The gay feathered throng. 

In the joy of the whole 
Each creature has part, — 

So Peace for the soul. 
And I/)ve for the heart. 



Mn«v Ctrr^^ ln.llLl BaliOT.Caa] 



Our Lady of Campocavallo. 




BY BLI.IS SCHREIBER. 



the 
sin 



more. 



our Blessed Lady, who is the channel 
of grace to mankind, is pleased to 
manifest her loving kindness and ex- 
hibit her supernatural power in a most 
striking and wonderful manner. In a 
recent number of the Civilth Cattolica an 
account is given of some unwonted and 
marvellous occurrences that have been 
taking place for the last twelve months 
in the little church of Campocavallo, an 
obscure hamlet some three miles from 
the town of Osimo, and not far distant 
from the famous sanctuary' of Loreto. 
They have served greatly to increase or 
awaken piety and faith amongst the 
inhabitants of the country, and the 
strangers who, prompted by curiosity or 
devotion, have flocked to the spot. 

The little church in question owes 
its existence to the bounty of a private 
individual, who erected it at his own 
expense about twenty years ago. Over the 
altar is a large oleograph, representing 
Our Lady of Dolors holding in her arms 
the dead Christ Perhaps it may be said 
more correctly to represent the taking 
down from the Cross, since Mary is seated 
at the foot of the Cross, and the Crown of 
Thorns is on the ground beside her. Her 
heart is seen pierced with seven swords; 
her knees support the lifeless body of her 
Son, from whose wounded side the blood 
still flows; His head rests upon her right 
arm. The Mother of Dolors is looking 
upward with eyes undimmed by tears; her 



254 



THE AVE MARIA 



countenance is lighted up with a celestial 
brilliancy, as if she were lost in contem- 
plation of the mystery of Redemption, — a 
mystery in which, in virtue of her divine 
maternity, she co-operates. This picture 
has occupied its present position for eight 
years, having been placed there by a good 
priest, who is accustomed to say Mass in 
the church on festivals for the convenience 
■of the country people. 

Until the Feast of Corpus Christi, June 
i6, 1892, nothing remarkable had been 
observed in connection with the picture. 
On that day some devout persons, who 
remained after Mass to pray before the 
altar, were startled to see drops of water 
trickling slowly down the face of the 
Madonna. They called the attention of 
the custodian of the church to the cir- 
cumstance, the reality of which, after 
examination of the picture, he could not 
deny. He hastened to acquaint the parish 
priest of the nearest village with the 
fact ; also the priest above mentioned, 
who had ofifered the Holy Sacrifice in 
the church a few hours previously. The 
next morning this same priest, whilst he 
was saying Mass there, saw the drops of 
perspiration upon the Virgin's countenance 
so distinctly that he was ready to afiirm 
it upon oath. He had the discretion, 
however, not to proclaim that he had seen 
a miracle: on the contrary, he sought to 
account for the singular phenomenon 
from natural causes — the peculiar state of 
the atmosphere, or some such reason. But 
the news spread rapidly, and hundreds 
-came to the church, not a few of whom 
declared positively that they had seen the 
Madonna shed tears, or at least perspiring 
freely. On the afternoon of that day a 
violent storm broke over the hamlet. All 
who were in the church pressed around 
the picture, and with outstretched arms 
implored aloud the protection of the 
Blessed Virgin. At that juncture the 
Madonna was seen by all present to turn 
lier eyes toward the suppliants at her feet. 



These marvels soon became the topic 
of conversation in all the country side: 
the name of Our Lady of Dolors was on 
the lips of everyone. When what had 
occurred reached the ears of the Bishop of 
the diocese, he immediately wrote to his 
clergy, bidding them receive these reports 
with the utmost caution, and forbear from 
expressing any opinion on the subject. 
Acting upon these orders, they for a time 
held aloof; but so great was the concourse 
of persons, of every class and condition, 
who came to venerate the picture, that 
the authorities found it necessary to 
appoint a resident priest to preserve order 
in the church, minister to the spiritual 
needs of the faithful, and receive the 
offerings that were being made. Not a day 
passed without the movement of the eyes 
being observed by some, often a large 
proportion, of the faithful who were pray- 
ing before the picture. It is difficult to 
believe that so many individuals — and 
these not ignorant and untutored peasants 
alone, or fanciful and imaginative women, 
but men of sense and education — could 
be victims of an hallucination, of a mere 
optical illusion, repeating itself contin- 
ually. Several trustworthy eye-witnesses 
made written depositions of what they 
had seen ; from these we shall take a 
few extracts. 

Sometimes the Holy Virgin drops her 
eyes, which, as has been said, are repre- 
sented as gazing upward; or she raises 
them so high that the pupil is no longer 
visible to the on-looker from below. Some- 
times she is observed to turn them from 
side to side, as if she were looking to the 
right and to the left; at other times she 
closes the lids, then reopens them and 
fixes her eyes once more on heaven. On 
these occasions the expression of her 
countenance is altered, its habitual melan- 
choly becoming more or Jess marked. 
And all this, be it remembered, does not 
occur exclusively in the presence of a few 
witnesses, but in that of a multitude, — 



THE AVE MARIA. 



265 



of a multitude so vast that it can not be 
contained within the walls of the little 
church. Now and again the picture is 
taken down from the altar, and, in order 
to satisfy the devotion of the crowd, 
exposed for veneration outside the walls. 
All who are present do not invariably 
perceive each movement of the Blessed 
Virgin's eyes: it is remarked by one or 
two members of a family, whilst the others 
fail to discern anything. One man in the 
throng will observe the features change; 
but when he calls the attention of his 
neighbor to it, his appeal will meet with 
no response. Nor is it only adults, 
imaginative and excitable persons per- 
haps, from whose lips exclamations of 
wonder and amazement are heard : it is 
no unusual thing to hear the shrill accents 
of a young child, kneeling at its parent's 
side, call out in its childish voice: '*Look, 
father — the Madonna is shutting her eyes! 
Why does she shut them, father?" Or 
again: "See how Our Lady is crying! 
Now she is turning her eyes, — she is 
looking this way!"" 

When it happens that the extraordinary 
movement is simultaneously seen by all 
who are assembled before the picture, a 
shout of astonishment and delight^ mingled 
too with sounds of weeping, fills the little 
church. So great is the excitement of the 
people that it is no easy matter to obtain 
tranquillity for the services; the custodian 
is compelled to resort to the expedient of 
covering the picture with a veil at these 
times, in order to conceal it from view. 

We will allow a few of the witnesses 
to speak for themselves and relate their 
own experiences. 

The Very Rev. Father Piccini,Gnarflian 
of the monastery at Assisi, writes: ''On 
July 21, 1892, I went to visit the picture 
of Maria Addolorata, in the church of 
Campocavallo. Whilst I was there I dis- 
tinctly saw her turn her eyes from side 
to side, I am prepared to attest this 
statement upon oath." 



A young doctor, finding himself in the 
neighborhood of Campocavallo, went twice 
to the church. On each occasion, he 
affirms most positively, he saw the eyes 
of the picture change in an unmistakable 
manner, whilst he was standing close to it 

In March of the present year, a resident 
in Osimo wrote to a friend: "The Madonna 
of Campocavallo continues to move her 
eyes. A few days ago the magistrate of an 
adjacent district, who had just returned 
from the church, came to me with tears in 
his eyes, saying, ' How is it possible any 
longer to disbelieve what is so plainly 
manifest? It is more than manifest: it is 
indubitable.'" 

The Rev. Father Mortier, O. P., of 
Flavigny, wrote last April: "I declare that 
I distinctly saw the Holy Virgin of Seven 
Dolors, at Campocavallo, cast down her 
eyes and fix them upon me. She then 
opened and shut them several times. I 
beheld the same thing on a former 
occasion, when, in August of last year, I 
visited the church." 

A religious, who came from Loreto, 
before saying Mass in the church saw 
nothing extraordinary; but immediately 
after, before he left the altar, on looking^ 
up to the picture, he met the eyes of Our 
Lady, who regarded him with tenderness. 
He noticed that she opened and shut her 
eyes rapidly several times, as one does itt 
winking. A French lady who was present, 
and who had heard his Mass, corroborated 
the testimony of this religious. 

It is u>^eless to multiply these instances, 
as we might do indefinitely. As may be 
imagined, the wonders reported were duly 
noticed in the liberal and anti-Catholic 
periodicals, for they furnished an oppor- 
tunity too favorable to be neglected to 
blaspheme the Church of Christ, and deride 
the credulity of Christians. But their 
hostility served for the furtherance of the 
truth, as it attracted attention to the facts 
related, and made them more widely- 
known. Hundreds of persons, led by curi« 



266 



THE AVE MARIA 



osity, came from the surrounding country, 
with the purpose of exposing an impost- 
ure, and casting ridicule upon religion. A 
large proportion of these, who came to 
scoff, remained to pray, convinced by the 
evidence of their senses that there was 
more to be seen in the little sanctuary of 
-Campocavallo than human science or 
philosophy could account for. 

During the summer of 1892 the influx 
■of visitors increased so rapidly that the 
aspect of the tranquil little village was 
•completely changed. The long roads 
traversing the surrounding plains were 
alive with carriages, coming in some 
instances from a great distance, and with 
processions of pilgrims from neighboring 
places. The coming and going was inces- 
sant; crowds might be seen encamped in 
the shade of the large trees around the 
-church. As winter came on, the numbers 
naturally diminished, but not to any very 
great extent, and it was impossible to find 
suitable accommodation for the strangers. 
In order to shelter them from the 
inclemency of the weather, tents were 
put up and wooden hospices erected. 

The number of persons who visit the 
shrine, and their conviction of the reality 
of the wonders witnessed, may be estimated 
by the quantity of offerings presented. 
These offerings do not consist only of 
money, but of jewels and gold and silver 
ornaments of every kind, which, with the 
enthusiasm and generous impulsiveness 
of the Southern races, the faithful have 
taken off their own person to lay at 
the feet of their Queen, in token of their 
love and gratitude. One gentleman had 
come from a distance to implore some 
favor from Our I^ady. As he knelt at her 
feet, she fixed her eyes upon him. He was 
touched to tears; he felt at that moment 
that his petition was granted. The gift 
he had brought with him seemed by far 
too small; drawing a valuable ring from 
his finger, he added it to it, remarking to 
.a friend at his side: "If I had a million 



at my disposal, I would offer it to Our 
lyady." Even the poorest peasant can not 
be satisfied without making some offering, 
however homely and humble ; and he 
appears quite affronted if any hesitation 
is shown in accepting what, perhaps, he 
can ill spare from his own needs. 

These peculiar movements of the eyes, 
and the accompanying changes of expres- 
sion which pass over the countenance of 
the Mother of Sorrows, have continued 
ever since the Festival of Corpus Christi 
of last year up to the present date. She 
has not ceased to turn a mournful gaze 
upon the lifeless body of her Divine Son, 
to raise her eyes to heaven, where her 
sorrows will be changed into joys ; or to 
cast a sidelong glance of compassion 
upon the banished children of Eve, who 
in this valley of tears send up their sighs 
to her. And what renders them the more 
remarkable is that these phenomena are 
not visible at long intervals, in rare and 
isolated instances: they occur frequently, 
repeatedly, daily ; they are not seen by 
persons who behold the picture from afar, 
but by those who are in close proximity 
to it; they are not observed in the twilight 
or by the flickering light of a lamp, but 
in the broad glare of noonday; not by 
individuals whose sight is failing, or 
whose eyes, fatigued by long and intent 
contemplation of the countenance of the 
Madonna, are consequently liable to 
illusion, but by strangers who have only 
just entered the church ; and even by those 
who are unacquainted with what has 
drawn so many pilgrims thither. 1 

Who that loves and honors Mary canV 
fail to recognize in them fresh wonders of 
the Queen of Heaven, fresh signs of her 
loving kindness? They are, too, not sterile 
of results, but have been, and continually 
are, attended by marvellous cures, both 
spiritual and physical. Let the sick and 
the sinful cast themselves ^t the feet of 
the Queen of Martyrs, and in proportion to 
the faith that animates them will be the 



THE AVE MARIA. 



267 



graces she bestows on them. The revival 
of faith and devotion in all the conntry 
round about Campocavallo is most marked. 
Men who for years and years had neglected 
the Sacraments and lived as heathen, have 
been touched with compunction at the 
mere sight of the precious picture. 

The instance is given of a coachman 
who had driven a party of friends to 
Campocavallo, and, whilst awaiting their 
return, entered the church. An insolent 
smile was on his lips; he did not even 
remove his hat out of respect to the sacred 
edifice. Ere long, struck by the devotion 
and tearful fervor of the people present, he 
took off his hat, approached the picture, 
and knelt down on the outskirts of the 
crowd. Shortly after rising up he left 
the church, and was found by a passer-by 
seated under • a hedge, sobbing bitterly. 
On being asked what was the matter, 
he answered: "If God spares me till to- 
morrow, I mean to go to confession and 
begin a new life." 

Amongst the cures -of bodily ills that 
are recorded as having been wrought by 
Our Lady of Campocavallo is that of a 
comparatively young lady, who for twelve 
years had completely lost the use of her 
right arm through paralysis, and who 
suffered besides from a spinal affection of 
an acutely painful nature. Remedies of 
every description having been tried in 
vain, the sufferer determined to ask Maria 
Addolorata to afford her relief. She was 
accordingly taken to Campocavallo, where 
she arrived on August 9, and was imme- 
diately carried into the church, and placed 
before Our Lady of Dolors. Most earnestly 
-did she implore the Divine Mother to 
intercede with the Man of Sorrows, over 
hose pallid form she was weeping, to 
•tain her restoration to health. To this 
tlTect she asked those who were kneeling 
beside her to join her in reciting the Ave 

(ria three times. "As we repeated the 
)nd Ave [such are her words] an inde- 



and I felt convinced that I was cured. I 
found I could use my arm with perfect 
ease; I rose to my feet without experienc- 
ing the slightest pain; I walked from the 
church without the aid of my crutches." 
The restoration to health of this lady 
created a great sensation ; not only was 
the cure instantaneous and complete, but 
also permanent. 

Many other wonderful cures and conver- 
sions are recorded; but until the Church, 
that alone has authority to decide, has 
spoken, nothing can be asserted as to their 
miraculous character. The Bishop of the 
diocese has announced his intention to 
appoint a commission to make rigorous 
examination of facts, and ascertain the 
reality and authenticity of the cures said 
to have been obtained in virtue of prayers 
offered before the sacred picture of Campo- 
cavallo. That nothing has yet been done 
in this direction need awaken no surprise, 
when it is remembered that for three 
years the Bishop of Tarbes kept silence 
respecting the numerous and startling 
cures effected at the Grotto of Lourdes, 
which several French physicians of high 
repute in the faculty, and of avowed 
atheistic opinions, acknowledged to be 
simply impossible by natural means. 

The chapel, whose narrow precincts are 
far too limited in space for the multitude 
of worshippers, will soon be replaced by a 
large and handsome basilica, wherein the 
Queen of Martyrs may receive the homage 
of her clients. The foundation stone of 
the new edifice was laid on December 10, 
1892, the anniversary of the Translation 
of the Holy House of Loreto. It is stated 
that nearly 20,000 persons were present 
at the ceremony. The work is proceeding 
rapidly, and contributions flow in from 
all sides. 

May this token of the faith and piety 
of Italian Catholics, and their love for the 
Blessed Mother of God, avert the chastise- 
ments which their country has merited by 
its treatment of the Vicar of Jesus Christ ! 



258 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Through Sorrow's Seas.* 



I. 



ON a bleak November evening a number 
of persons were sitting before the 
cheerful blaze that leaped and crackled 
in the great fireplace of the drawing-room 
at Chdteau Pally. The wind moaned 
hoarsely through the skeleton branches of 
the giant oaks in the park without; angry 
gusts of rain lashed the windows as with 
whip-cord; and sudden squalls catching 
up the yellow, sodden leaves, whirled 
them fiercely away from the trunks of the 
parent trees, near which they had found 
their grave. 

"You are dreaming, Gerald,'' said a 
middle-aged lady, addressing a young 
man with an engaging countenance, who 
silently watched the antics of the flames 
as they chased one another about the 
hearth and up the broad old chimney. 

"It is true," was the reply. "To-night 
brings back to me memories that are 
photographed on my mind. Have you 
ever, in looking through an album, found 
a portrait of yourself taken when you were 
young? At the sight you again become a 
child. The past is before you more vivid 
than the present, and you behold yourself 
as you were in the long ago. Well, as 
often as I hear the moaning winds of 
November, I am similarly affected." 

The members of the fireside group being 
all intimate friends, there was no danger 
of appearing impertinent in asking him 
what were the memories to which he 
alluded ; and they accordingly did so. 

Gerald was naturally expansive; despite 
his twenty years, he had preserved the 
native simplicity of heart and the delight- 
ful frankness that characterize boyhood. 
But at first he refused to accede to the 
request of his friends. 

* Translated from the French of an unknown 
4, thor, By A. B. 0'N.,C. S. C. 



"It is too long a story," he replied. 
"But this is just the kind of evening 
when long stories are appreciated," was 
the rejoinder. 

At length, pressed on all sides, and 
unwilling to appear disoblig^ing, the 
young man consented. The story he 
narrated was his own — that of his mother 
and his family. Thanks to an excellent 
memory, he had forgotten very few, if any, 
of its more important incidents. Most 
of these incidents, moreover, had im- 
pressed him strongly at the time of their 
occurrence; he had frequently recalled 
them; and as his mother had confided to^ 
him her personal impressions, he had air 
the material necessary to construct hl*^ 
tale. Interesting in itself, the story bor- 
rowed an additional charm from the? 
circumstance of its being told by an eye- 
witness and an actor in its different scenes. 
We give it in his own words. 



*** 



I was ten years old, my mother was • 
thirty-two ; Emily, my eldest sister, was 
about twelve; and my sister Mary had 
been born only a few weeks before. We 
lived in Paris. Our dwelling was a hotel 
in the Faubourg St. Germain; but we were 
no longer its owners, my father having 
sold the property a few days previous to 
the date when my story opens. Father, 
sad to tell, was a confirmed gambler : he 
spent large sums in useless luxury ; and 
the consequence was that wide breaches 
had already been made in the handsome 
fortune left to him by my grandfather. 

Mother was profoundly unhappy ; yet she 
experienced in my love for her some little 
consolation for her sorrow- Emily had 
been sent to a convent school, to spare 
her the sight of the strange scenes of 
which our house was occasionally the 
theatre,— scenes of which I understood 
very little at that time, but which still 
gave me occasion to admke the angelic 
patience of my mother. 

This sombre autumn evening reminds 



THE AVE MARIA. 



259 



me of one very much like it. Mother 
was telling me some amusing story, play- 
ing the while with my curly tresses; my 
little sister was sleeping in her pretty 
blue and white cradle; and our old grey- 
hound Hector, stretched out before the 
liearth, was also lost in slumber. 

Suddenly father entered. He had spent 
two successive nights and the intervening 
day at the fatal green table. His face was 
pallid, the cheeks hollow, the eyes dull 
and sunken; and his walk seemed heavy 
and unsteady, like that of a drunken man. 
He placed his hat on a table, threw his 
overcoat on a sofa, and dropped into an 
arm-chair. 

I^ saw my mother approach him and 
imprint a loving kiss on his anxious brow. 
Undeterred by father's dejected attitude 
or by the cold indifference with which 
he received the tokens of her affection, 
she tenderly pushed back his hair, which 
fell in disorder about colorless features; 
and, turning to me with a glance in which 
even I could observe terrible anguish, 
exlaimed: 

"Gerald, come and bid your papa good- 
evening." 

I obeyed at once. Father received my 
boyish caresses with coldness at first ; 
then, all at once, he drew me between his 
knees, seized my two hands, looked at me 
fixedly and tried to smile. I smiled too, 
but my heart was full of tears. 

"Why do you tremble?" said father, 
noticing my agitation. 

"I am not trembling," I stammered 
in reply. The truth was that he fright- 
ened me by his fixed look, the change in 
his features, and the strangeness of his 
present behavior. 

He bent over to kiss me, and I felt 

I hot tear fall upon my cheek. Mother 
)ticed the tear'also, and took it for a sign 
" repentance. 
"Is there anything that troubles you, 
rthur?" said she, in her gentlest tone. 



his head between his hands, seemed to 
reflect earnestly. A few moments later 
he turned toward mother, and, looking at 
her as though his eye would pierce to 
her innermost being, he exclaimed, in a 
choking voice: 

"I am lost!" 

I did not understand what he meant, 
yet his manner terrified me. Mother, how- 
ever, with admirable composure, replied : 

"No, Arthur, you are not lost, since you 
have your wife and children near you." 

"Ruined, if you prefer the word," said 
he, thinking she had not understood him. 

"Ruined! Then you count as nothing 
my love and that of your family? Those 
are the only treasures that can not be 
replaced. Poverty or want does not affright 
me; what I dread is your indifference and 
neglect. Ruin! what matters it? If we 
must live in scJme obscure corner, we will 
do so"; if we must work, we will work. 
Only love us, my husband, and hope in 
God. He will surely aid us." 

Father had imagined that his declaration 
would produce the effect of a thunderbolt; 
he was surprised at my mother's reply, at 
once so simple and so noble. He looked 
at her to see whether her calmness was 
real; and, as she returned his glance with 
a smile, said, half-distractedly: 

"God! yes; and yet He gave me an 
angel." 

He rose hastily, as if to escape from 
penitent thoughts, and was about to enter 
another room, when mother placed herself 
in the way, and said, beseechingly : 

"Are you going to quit us already?" 

For answer father took her in his arms 
and pressed her to his bosom. While the 
embrace lasted I heard mother call him 
the tenderest names, and assure him that 
that moment was the happiest of her life, 
since she felt that he still loved her. 

"O Arthur!" she exclaimed, with a 
conviction born of faith and love, "no 
matter what sorrows the future holds in 
store for us, I feel myself strong to support 



260 



THE AVE MARIA 



them with you. Misery is less obstinate 
when one is not alone to oppose it. 
And then, dear, there is always God to 
help us. He never abandons those who 
believe and pray. Ah! it is a long time 
since you have prayed; that is why you 
despair. Courage, Arthur, courage! your 
wife is near you, and will ever be, though 
troubles encompass you." 

He did not reply in words, but I saw 
him return the affectionate caresses which 
mother lavished upon him. I felt happy 
at seeing them thus ; yet, since mother 
wept on receiving his kisses, to which 
she had long been unaccustomed, I began 
to cry also. 

This state of affair ended all too briefly. 
Father tore himself from mother's arms, 
and, as if ashamed of his passing weakness, 
repulsed her, to seat himself at a table cov- 
ered with papers. Seizing a pen, he began 
to write. She wished to dissuade him. 

"You are tired," said she: "why not 
take a little rest? Speak to us, who 
love you so much. A moment ago you 
embraced me and seemed happy, or at 
least more tranquil. What have I done 
since then that you should repulse me? 
Look at these pretty drawings that Gerald 
has begun to make," she continued, 
endeavoring to distract him. "He looks 
like you, does Gerald ; he has your eyes — ' ' 

"Enough of this childishness!" inter- 
rupted father, impatiently pushing away 
my drawing-book, which she had placed 
before him. Then, resuming his air of 
anxiety, he said curtly that he had to 
write, and that he hoped he would be let 
alone. It was not a request, but an order. 
Mother understood, and made no reply. 

She drew near the hearth, sat down, 
and mechanically took up a piece of 
embroidery. I was sitting on a stool at 
her feet, with a school-book in my hand; 
but I was so moved that I could not read 
it. Complete silence soon reigned in our 
apartment. Outside, the November wind 
sighed and shrieked, and the carriages 



rattled over the pavement; within, there 
was only the monotonous ticking of the 
clock and the scratching of father's pen. 
Sometimes the half hour or the hour, 
rung out with silvery distinctness, would 
break the stilly quiet; sometimes, as the 
baby murmured uneasily in her sleep, 
mother would run to the cradle, and father 
would arrest his pen, glance at his watch, 
and then renew his writing. 

I could not take my eyes off mother, 
who from time to time pressed my hand 
in hers. A little while before her tears 
had been sweet ones, now I felt she was 
weeping bitter ones, though they fell in 
silence. I saw them roll down her pale 
cheeks and fall on her work. The vague 
words of her husband gave her a forebod- 
ing of some approaching calamity. As 
she had said, conscious of being loved, she 
could support any trial ; repelled by her 
husband, she was indifferent to any blow . 
of fate. J 

She doubtless recalled her happy child- " 

hood and youth. She had often spoken 

to me of the sunny years she had spent 

with her father in Beaufort Castle, and 

the recollection of that bright period 

possibly aggravated her present suffering; 

for it is only too true 

"That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering 
happier things." 

At the age of eighteen, mother had left 
these "happier things" to follow him she 
loved. To her youthful fancy the future 
appeared radiant with hope. The sweet 
and tranquil joys to which her father had 
accustomed her seemed but the prelude to 
a fuller and not less constant happiness. 
She foresaw, it is true, even in her bright- 
est dream, that there would be some trials 
to bear, since no life can be wholly exempt 
from sorrow ; but she accepted these in 
the knowledge that love would render 
them supportable. Now the trials had 
come, and, alas! the love* was wanting; 
and this solitary affliction,- which she had 
not foreseen, appeared terrible. For a long 



THE AVE MARIA. 



261 



time she resolutely refused to believe in 
the reality of her misfortune. With the 
angelic sweetness, the patience and self- 
delusion of a loving woman, she flattered 
herself that she could regain her husband's 
affection, which was drifting from her to 
the accursed gaming-table. The work of 
disillusionment was wrought slowly but 
surely, and at length there came a day 
when of all her stately hopes nothing 
remained but a mass of shattered ruins. 

I thought of all this, which I under- 
stood only imperfectly then, but which I 
have since comprehended more fully. 
Father had said, "We are ruined"; and, 
in my exaggerated thought, it seemed to 
me that we should have no other resource 
than to go and beg, as I had seen the poor 
doing on the streets. I pitied my baby 
sister, sleeping there so quietly. I could 
already see cruel men approaching her,and, 
tearing away the blue silk drapery with 
which mother had adorned her cradle, rob 
her even of her clothes. I fancied that 
mother wept because -she foresaw all this, 
and I too cried in sympathy with her. 

Two hours passed in this manner, 

when a door opened and a servant entered 

with the tea-tray. Mother arose, poured 

out a cup of tea and took it to father, and 

then gave another to me. I was fond of 

tea, but that night the taste of it seemed 

bitter. There was silence again for a 

quarter of an hour, when, looking up and 

. addressing mother, father said: 

^K "Do you know at how much Beaufort 

^H^tle is valued ? I can And no information 

^^ki that point, and I have no distinct idea 

^Hs to the worth of the old barracks. ' ' 

^r "I do not know its value," coldly 

answered my mother. 

"Did your father never tell you, then?" 
"No; for he never thought I should 
eed to know." 
Father searched through a number of 
pers scattered over the table ; then, 
sing impatiently, he unlocked a bureau 
awer, saying as he did so : 



"The deeds are here, are they not?" 

"Yes," answered mother. 

He took out a bundle of papers, broke 
the red riband that tied th«m, and 
glanced hurriedly at each. His search was 
apparently unsuccessful ; for at length he 
angrily threw the whole bundle on the 
floor, exclaiming : 

"The accursed barrack is more bother 
than 'tis worth!" He reflected a few 
moments ; then, with some hesitation, 
asked : ' ' And you, at what price do you 
value it?" 

"I, sir," answered mother, with an 
indignation she could not control, — "I 
value that 'old barracks' at an inestimable 
price. I spent eighteen happy years there 
with my father, there my children were 
born, and there I had hoped to die." 

Her answer was so replete with dignity, 
pain, and regret, that it completely over- 
whelmed father, who said not a word in 
reply. Mother had understood that the 
property left her by her father had been 
lost at the gaming-table, or at least that it 
was to be sold to pay her husband's latest 
debts ; and she would have accepted the 
sacrifice as she had accepted so many 
others, without complaining, had it not 
been for the gratuitous insult she felt in 
the disdainful tone with which father had 
referred to her old home. 

Father again consulted his watch, folded 
the papers on which he had been engaged, 
gathered those strewn about the floor, 
approached the hearth to warm his hands, 
and, saying that he was overcome with 
fatigue, declared he was going to sleep. 
He received my good-night kiss with 
coldness, and went into his bedroom. 
Mother took the lamp from the table and 
followed him into the room, closing the 
door behind her. 

I To be continued. ) 



Only at night men hear the loud clock's beat, 
And souls regain the anchorage of prayer. 

— RawnsUy. 



262 



THE AVE MARIA 



Bishop Neumann. 



EDITED BY MARC F. VAI.LETTE, I.I*. D- 

THOSE who delight to contemplate 
heroic virtue and exemplary piety, 
and who hold in higher esteem the 
things that please God than those that 
command the vain applause of men, will 
find this sketch, written with so much 
simplicity, yet so accurately, devoted to 
the memory of a zealous, laborious and 
charitable servant of God, who has left 
the impress of his work upon a great 
and prosperous diocese. 

To write the life of a good pastor is to 
offer consolation to the flock that owes 
its vigorous growth to his wise and careful 
foresight. More especially is this consola- 
tion afforded to those who can trace back 
their recollections to the days when the 
shining light of his example guided them 
through the uncertain paths of life, and 
beaconed them onward to that happier 
land, to which his thoughts were ever 
turned and his steps ever bent. They who 

"Loved him living and lament him dead" 

can never forget his saintly example and 
his instructive lessons during his too brief 
abode among them. 

It will be a source of pleasure to all 
who appreciate true piety to follow the 
career of a religious, priest and bishop, 
who was not only a good pastor, but one 
of the best of those whom God grants to 
His people, to exemplify among them the 
man of His Heart and of His merciful 
promises : "I will give you pastors accord- 
ing to My own Heart, and they shall 
feed you with knowledge and doctrine." * 

Bishop Neumann was a great man. He 
was not what would be called an eloquent 
speaker, but he more than made up for 
any lack in this direction by the solidity 
of his talents and the profundity of his 

* Jer., iii, 15. 



thoughts. His great modesty prevented his 
appearance as an author; but his literary 
abilities were well known among his 
brethren. His memory was prodigious, 
and his capacity as a linguist unbounded. 
He spoke not only all the dialects of the 
Austrian Empire, but was master of the 
various modern tongues of Europe in 
addition to the dead languages studied 
in his ecclesiastical course. 

Such men as Bishop Neumann are rare 
in any community, and his loss was felt 
not only in America, but throughout - 
Europe. He was mourned as a saint, and, 
as my readers are aware, steps have been 
taken for the introduction of his Cause in 
Rome. It is confidently hoped that he 
will soon be enrolled among the heroes of 
Holy Church. The poor, the fatherless 
and the friendless especially remembered 
him with gratitude. By his example he 
taught them how to bear trials and 
practise self-denial. He 

"Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way." 

I. — Early Years. 
John Nepomucene Neumann was born 
on the 28th of March, 181 1, in Prachatitz, 
an old and rather important town of 
southwestern Bohemia. His father, Philip 
Neumann, was a Bavarian by birth and a 
stocking-weaver by trade. He had emi- 
grated to Prachatitz in 1802, and married 
there Agnes Lebus, the daughter of a 
respectable citizen of the town. Philip 
Neumann was an extremely sensible, 
industrious man, and highly esteemed by 
his fellow-citizens. His wife was a woman 
of superior merit. Simple and unpretend- 
ing in her way of life, a deterrnined enemy 
to gossip and detraction, she emulated her 
husband in practical benevolence and love 
of the poor. They were blessed with six 
children, of whom John was the third. He 
himself declared he was brought up in 
the "old Roman Catholic way"; and so 
successful were its teachings that he was 
punished only once by his father, and that 



THE AVE MARIA. 



263 



for a falsehood. This made an indelible 
impression on him, and even as bishop he 
often spoke of it with great thankfulness 
toward his upright father. 

He had inherited his love for learning 
from both parents, and was a diligent and 
attentive scholar. One night his younger 
brother, Wenc^slaus, who shared his room, 
went to their mother to say he did not 
know what was the matter with John, he 
was so restless and uneasy. Mrs. Neumann 
hurried anxiously to her son's bedside, 
and asked him what ailed him and why he 
was not asleep. ' ' Mother, ' ' said the child, 
sitting up excitedly in his little bed, 
" how is it possible that the earth on 
which we live hangs unsupported in the 
air?" — "Let the earth hang, ray son," 
answered his mother, smiling; "you have 
not to hold it, but to go to sleep, and to 
let your brother do the same." 

The boy showed a charitable disposition 
when still very young. He was only a few 
years old when he saw a beggar child with 
a bag for alms. "Oh," said John, "if I only 
had a bag like that, I would go and beg 
also, that this little boy might get more!" 
So great was his respect and reverence 
for divine worship and holy things that 
he was chosen to serve Mass, which office 
he fulfilled with the greatest respect and 
care. He would never break his fast 
before Mass when he had to serve it, so 
that on occasions of High Mass he was 
often fasting until afternoon. From the 
time of his First Communion — which he 
made when he was ten years old — the one 
thought and desire of the pious child 
was to become a priest. The straitened 
circumstances of his parents prevented 
him from letting them know this ardent 
wish ; but he opened his heart to his 
I master when he saw that his school-days 
^■were drawing to an end, and the latter 
^■facilitated matters for him. 
^B In October, 1825, ^^ was sent to the 
^Kjymnasium of Budweis, where he devoted 
^Hiimself to literary and theological studies 



for eight years. For the first four years 
his progress was so slow that he grew 
discouraged, and would have given up his 
studies had it not been for the encourage- 
ment his mother and brothers gave him. 
An examination which he passed success- 
fully roused him to fresh eflforts, and he 
thenceforth made such rapid advances that 
he won the admiration of his professors 
as well as of his comrades. Besides foreign 
languages, mathematics, astronomy and 
natural history were the branches of 
science in which he most excelled. 

Forearmed by the Christian education 
received from his childhood, he preserved 
his innocence through all the perils of 
a student's life, and his character grew 
daily firmer and more virtuous. One of 
his comrades described him at that time 
as "a mathematical spirit"; for, although 
cheerful and even gay in disposition, he 
detested excess of every description, and 
was always calm, measured and self- 
possessed. He was indifferent to food, rather 
old-fashioned in his dress, and determined 
on inuring his body to hardships. 

Young Neumann must have inherited 
these qualities from his father. It is related 
of the. old gentleman that on one occasion 
he was entrusted with a large sum of 
money, which he was to take to a certain 
place. To reach his destination he was 
obliged to pass through a lonely place in 
the forest He had hardly entered up6ii 
this part of the journey when a man sud- 
denly sprang out from the undergrowth, 
where he had been concealed, and rudely 
demanded the money he had learned 
Mr. Neumann had about his person. 

"Stop a moment, my friend," said 
Mr. Neumann. "You want the money? 
Very well : I shall have to give it to you; 
but don't be so rude about it. Let us talk 
over the matter." 

The robber was completely taken back 
by the wonderful self-possession of his 
victim, and awaited developments. 

"Now, my friend," Neumann went on, 



264 



THE AVE MARIA. 



"I am a much older man than you are, 
and a much weaker one; so you need not 
be so rough in your manner. The money 
is • not mine, and — by the way, do you 
use snufF?" 

Here the old gentleman took out his 
snuff-box, opened it quietly, and, after 
taking a pinch himself, offered it to his 
captor. The latter, completely off his 
guard, took the proffered pinch and was 
about to carry it to his nose, when sud- 
denly he received the entire contents of 
the box in his eyes. It is needless to add 
that while the robber was rubbing his 
eyes in astonishment, Mr. Neumann disap- 
peared in the forest. 

In the summer of 183 1 young Neumann 
completed his collegiate course. The 
priestly vocation which he had felt from 
childhood had suffered no abatement of 
fervor, yet the tempter laid a snare for him 
at the very moment he should begin the 
special studies for an ecclesiastical career. 
Only a limited number of free students 
could be received in the seminary at 
Budweis ; and Neumann, who had no 
influential friend to speak for him, thought 
it useless to apply, and almost determined 
on devoting himself to medical studies, 
for which he felt some attraction. 

Strange to say, his father rather favored 
the latter plan, but not so his mother. 
She begged and implored of her son not 
to give up his vocation, and to apply 
for admittance to Budweis Seminary, 
however hopeless his application might 
appear. He yielded, and sent in the 
necessary written petition. To the surprise 
of all, he was at once accepted; and he 
looked on this as a direct manifestation 
of the will of Heaven. 

The young cleric threw himself into 
his ecclesiastical studies with the same 
energy and ardor which he had shown in 
the gymnasium, and was soon one of the 
most promising students of the seminary. 
Two years later he was sent to the Uni- 
versity of Prague, in which the Bishop 



of Budweis held some free places at his 
disposal. This favor, which Neumann had 
asked in his zeal for thorough instruction, 
became to him a source of bitter regret. 
He had thought to find in Prague all the 
advantages of Budweis only in a much 
higher degree; but he was sadly deceived. 
In Prague the professors were thoroughly 
imbued with the spirit of the Josephite 
faction, and utterly opposed to the teach- 
ings and opinions which Neumann most 
cherished. The chair of dogmatic theol- 
ogy was filled by a master who, in 
Neumann's own words, " was more 
against than for the Pope"; that of moral 
theology by an incomprehensible phi- 
losopher; and that of canon law by a 
Josephite of the most pronounced type. 
"I could with difficulty," acknowledges 
Neumann, "so far overcome myself as to 
study matters of whose absurdity I had 
long since been convinced, and still less 
adopt views which I considered wrong 
and anti-clerical." 

The seminary, in which he was obliged 
to spend the two years of his university 
course, offered a dismal prospect as to 
perfection in clerical training. Although 
not absolutely bad, a most worldly spirit 
reigned amongst the students ; and noth- 
ing could have been more opposed to- 
Neumann's childlike faith, simple piety, 
and high aspirations. He felt lonely and^ 
out of place amid comrades filled witl 
the spirit of the world and their century; 
and so deeply did he feel his isolation 
that he frequently sought a'retired place 
and gave free vent to his tears. Laughed 
at openly by his companions, he was 
looked on as an eccentric fellow by his 
superiors, who considered his ideas un- 
practical and visionary, therefore requirii 
eradication. The relations between thei 
strained and uncomfortable ; 



were 



an( 



this weighed heavily on the young levite,^ 
who in vain sought for a helj)ing hand andj 
a guide for his soul in those around him.j 
His diary at this time is full of com- 



THE AVE MARIA. 



265 



plaints, and shows how he suffered; the 
more so as Divine Providence sent him 
many temptations and an overpowering 
melancholy just at this period. Yet he 
made the most remarkable progress in all 
his studies, as well as in the ascetic life, 
although almost his own master. Provi- 
dence so willed it evidently ; for, thus 
thrown on himself, Neumann acquired 
that firmness of character, love of solitude, 
tranquillity in contradictions, interior 
spirit and tenderness of conscience, so 
needful to .the future missionary. The 
University of Prague was for him a school 
of life; and looking back on the years he 
had spent there, on the eve of leaving 
Europe, he saw them in a new light, and 
exclaimed: " Happy Prague ! I bless thee, 
for I owe thee much." 

(To be continued.) 



Memories of Hawaii. 



O My Tired Soul I 



BY MARY E. MANNIX. 



£S MY tired soul, may Jesus give thee heart! 
i\j Thy time is short. Nay, why thus dread 
^ to go? 

Dost fear to soar? Somewhere amid the glow 
A new day waits below the horizon. So, 
Smiling and radiant, from thy durance part: 
Beyond is heaven. 

Many have been thy faults, thy virtues few. 

Thy sorrows? Of them lightly let us speak; 

*Twould naught avail to stain the withered 
cheek 

With sad and fruitless tears. Nay, that were 
weak 

When joys too we have known, and friend- 
ships true. 

On this side heaven. 

From wave to wave on the last stretch we toss; 
ty soul, be ready for the long, long throe. 
fax in the west the sun is dipping low; 
Jut Faith and Hope wait in the afterglow, 
lUing thee from the shadow of the Cross 
To rest in heaven. 



BY CHARLES WARREN STODDARD. 



X.— Of the Patriarchal Past. 

IT is not yet day when the Inter-Island 
steamer, bound to windward, comes to 
the port of Makena, — a port that looks as 
if a bite had been taken out of a not very 
appetizing coast. But here the wind is 
tempered; and the sea, during the preva- 
lence of the trade-wind, is far quieter 
than at Maalaea. 

If you are an expected guest, a saddle- 
horse, in charge of an amiable guide, awaits 
you, and without delay you begin the 
ascent of Haleakala. Three rather dreary 
miles lie between you and the homestead 
at Rose Ranch, two thousand feet above. 
The day breaks as you toil up the slope, 
through a wilderness of gigantic cactus;, 
but the dust rises long before the sun 
does. Courage! There is rest and refresh- 
ment, and a cool, bracing atmosphere at 
the end of the journey ; and from that 
elevation one looks back upon the 
tedious road in the superior and self- 
satisfied mood that usually succeeds any 
difl&culty well surmounted. 

Sparkling with the dew of the morning^ 
Ulupalakua merges, as if by enchantment, 
from a maze of clouds. Sometimes they 
overshadow it like a great downy wing; 
sometimes, but not often, they take pos- 
session of it, and the garden is drenched 
with fog. The air is always deliciously 
pure; and the garden breathes a delicate 
odor, the fragrance of which varies accord- 
ing to the floral calendar of the year. 

The welcome at the gate is followed by 
a breakfast, so soon as the stranger has 
had time to shake off the dust of travel; 
and then, by easy stages, he drifts on 
from one tranquil delight to another, — 
these delights growing more tranquil, but 
not less genuine, as they multiply. 



236 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Many changes have taken place since 
my first visit. Then the breeze sighed 
in the cane-fields, and the ox-carts were 
groaning up and down the winding roads 
from dawn till dark. There was a village 
full of plantation hands, — a busy village, 
peopled with mixed races, whose nation- 
alities ranged from Japan almost to the 
Antarctic. 

Cane-planting was the Captain's busi- 
ness, but tree-planting was his pleasure; 
and I know not how many thousand 
saplings were rooted under his very eyes; 
but there were many acres of them, and 
he watched their growth with ceaseless 
and loving care. We used to ride among 
the shrubs when they were scarcely up to 
our stirrups ; and he would talk of his 
plans — not those, however, that had to 
■do with the sugar market, or were in any 
way material or sordid, — and thus picture 
the estate, which was his joy and pride, 
as it would appear in after years. In his 
mind's eye he saw a highland garden, in 
the midst of grOves, possessing singular 
climatic advantages, and commanding a 
view of marvellous breadth and beauty. 

Comparative isolation, in this case, was 
a kind of advantage; for the Captain 
could at almost any moment declare 
complete independence, and look down 
serenely upon the little Kingdom that 
swam below him. The plantation hands 
were like members of one family. You 
could have ordered almost any one within 
sight to do your bidding, and it was done 
as a matter of course. 

The Fourth of July was the great 
holiday of the year. The Stars and 
Stripes floated from the liberty poles at 
the homestead and the plantation office, 
and from the mast of a private packet 
that plied between the ports of Makena and 
Honolulu, — a trim schooner-yacht that 
was hardly afraid to try her speed with 
the old Kilauea in any sort of weather. 
But let me not cast a reproach upon the 
steamer that is said to have whetted her 



keel upon every reef in the Kingdom; and 
when, after long years of faithful service, 
she was condemned, it required the aid of 
powder to dismember her. Yet if the pray- 
ers of the wicked could avail aught, she 
would probably have gone to the bottom 
at a much earlier period in her career. 

Ulupalakua was originally the best 
exemplification of the patriarchal system 
in the Kingdom, — a system that came in 
with the American missionaries and has 
now about disappeared. From the veriest 
child that was destined to grow up and 
probably end his days on the plantation, 
to the old fellow who passed his declining 
years upon the lawn, with a camp stool 
and a pair of scissors clipping the grass 
blades from season to season, and his 
antiquated wife, whose sole duty was to 
"shoo" the peacocks from time to time, 
the laborers looked upon the Captain's 
word as absolute. 

There were natives there whose parents i 
were born on the place; and an old coolie 
who died some time ago— he seemed to 
have no wish to live after the dust of his A 
master and mistress had been borne to 
the family mausoleum — had served thirty 
years under their hospitable roof. 

Just here I pause to recall a picture of 
the past. How often a memory of it has 
haunted me ! 

The long table in the dining-room was 
filled with naval guests. The host, who 
through the somewhat formal dinner had 
wielded the carver with unruffled compos- 
ure, although an Admiral sat on his right, 
was heartily commended when the viands 
were removed and the cloth displayed in 
all its original purity. Of course the 
Admiral's suite echoed the Admiral, and 
the applause was general. I believe we 
had no guest on this occasion less dis- 
tinguished than the companions of the 
ward-room, but the middies,had an outiug 
somewhat later in the week. 

Now the Admiral, who was uncom- 
monly gracious, wanted to stake his ship, 



THE AVE MARIA. 



267 



then lying at Makana, within easy reach, 
that the Captain-host at Ulupalakua was 
qualified to carve a peacock at a Roman 
feast. (We had been dining on the queenly 
bird.) A responsive chorus of approval 
from the two sides of the table followed 
the gallant speech. By this time, wine 
and cigars being in order, the conversa- 
tion became informal; but for the moment 
it had a noticeable peacock tinge. 

"By the by," said the Admiral, in a 
high voice, -which silenced all other 
tongues at the table, "I believe I have 
never seen a peacock with his tail spread, 
unless he were in a picture-book or on 
the title-page of a polka." 

"What! never?" cried the Captain, 
for it was not a crime to say these awful 
words in those days. "Then satisfy your- 
self that the tail is not fictitious." 

We all turned to the row of mauka 
windows, opening upon a terrace where 
a score of the foolish fowls were strutting 
in the pomp of their splendid plumage. 
You would have thought the Great Mogul 
had sent an embassy to treat with us, or 
that an Arabian night had been suddenly 
turned into day. The huge feathery disks 
were shimmering in the sun, now near 
its setting; the silken rustle of agitated 
plumage, the indignant rivalry, the amaz- 
ing pomposity, the arrogance and conceit 
of the silly birds, whose bosoms were 
aglow with phosphorescent beauty, drew 
shouts of admiration and astonishment 
from our half-bewildered guests. But 
finally the clashing of the imperious 
beauties began to be alarming, and no 
doubt damage would have been done 
had not the pageant been fortunately 
dispersed by the unceremonious arrival of 
I a pet dog. The whole flock took wing in 
[dismay, filling the air with discordant, 
[hysterical cries. 

As I recall the Ulupalakua of that 

[period, it seems to me that everything was 

j done upon a rather impressive scale. At the 

time of which I write the ladies were at the 



town-house in Honolulu or at the Califor- 
nia coast. The Captain had left the capital 
to escort the Admiral to Makena, where 
the flagship lay for two or three days. 

Ulupalakua hospitality began just as 
soon as a foot was set on shore. There 
were "cattle" enough to horse a cavalry 
company, or to stay the stomachs of a 
British regiment with the traditional roast; 
yet the herds would never have felt the loss. 

The main house was roomy and wide 
open; cottages were scattered about the 
garden — such cozy cottages as bachelors 
delight in, — and at night every chamber 
was lighted, so that the whole garden and 
the premises were sufiused with the glow 
of good cheer. 

On the hill above the house was the 
billiard-hall; and beyond that, though not 
so far away but the muffled thunder, peal 
on peal, was audible in the garden, stood 
the bowling-alley. Between these was the 
happy medium, croquet. 

Everywhere one saw evidences of busi- 
ness activity ; for method was th^ Captain's 
mania. But over all the plantation, in 
guest-time, pleasure played like a smile; 
cart-wheels groaned to the music of 
matinee billiards, and the steam-whistle 
down at the mill was hardly more pro- 
nounced than the matutinal crash of 
tenpins. I can see them now, the blue 
jackets off" duty, improving the shining 
hours with an earnestness that might put 
a bee to the blush ; for, between the side- 
board and the siesta^ time flew with the 
speed of a six- winged seraph. 

The ladies were, indeed, absent on this 
occasion; and it is folly to say that they 
were not regretted. But, in the patriarchal 
period, a household like this seemed 
almost to take care of itself When the 
young ladies were present and the guest 
chambers unoccupied — it sometimes so 
happened even at Ulupalakua — there 
came a cry from the garden: "Sister, do 
you see a dust?" And the sister upon 
the house-top said, wearily: "No!" Or 



i268 



THE AVE MARIA. 



perhaps the marine glass was turned upon 
the far-distant horizon, vainly seeking a 
sail. No sail from day to day. Then the 
piano was played more wildly, the balls 
shot madly from their spheres in the 
billiard-hall, and croquet grew perilous. 
Sometimes in desperation the ennuykes 
■dashed over the hills at a break-neck 
•speed, on hOrses that were but half broken. 

The navy was not so shy of us then as 
now. There was nearly always a glimmer 
of brass buttons in the tableaux of social 
life. Possibly their present disinclination 
to visit those remote shores is in conse- 
quence of premature decay. In other 
days many a young mariner, beautiful 
in broadcloth and bright buttons, and 
surcharged with the high and graceful 
accomplishments that are forever associated 
with the aspiring oflf-shots of Annapolis, 
found his way, as if by instinct, into the 
rose-garden of Ulupalakua. The shadows 
of the kamani avenue were known to 
him ; and in the kukui grove, under the 
lea of Puumahoe, he has left his heart 
forever imbedded in the impressionable 
bark of some love-nourishing tree. If he 
didn't, it was because he was not yet up 
to the high-water mark of the navy. 

When the social resources of the place 
were exhausted, and not till then, was the 
Admiral allowed to honorably withdraw 
from the siege of Ulupalakua. Jack Tar 
had relished his barbecued beef at Makena, 
and had had not half a bad time, though 
the port is a dull one between meals. 

The sun had set nightly with great 
^clat (the sunset was one of the features 
of our entertainment), and the magnolias 
had filled their alabaster bowls with 
moonlight of the first quality — moonlight 
that ran over and flooded the whole land. 
The Hawaiian singers had sung them- 
selves hoarse, and the clouds had come 
down — which they could very easily do, 
for we were two thousand feet above 
sea-level — to put a damper on our season 
of festivity. It was about time for the 



Admiral to steam back to the capital, 
taking his host with him as a souvenir of 
his jolly experience. 

Then followed a serene season of con- 
valescence, during which I was alone in 
my glory the most of the day. Transient 
guests dropped in upon us and dropped 
out again, without so much as causing a 
ripple upon the peaceful current of life's 
stream. The latch -string hung within 
reach of everyone; and, I regret to add, 
the hospitality of the house was some- 
times abused. 

I had books without number — many 
choice ones, long out of print, such as 
one stumbles on among the private 
libraries scattered through the Kingdom. 
There were romantic trails, to be tracked 
only in the saddle; pigeon-shooting in the 
cavern half-way down the mountain slope, 
and bowls whenever the muscles began 
to feel limp and languid. It was a queer 
game of bowls I played, with a little 
native in charge of each separate pin, and 
my every ten-strike received with three 
cheers and a tiger by the combined force. 

Looking back upon the many experi- 
ences I have shared there in times gone 
by, it can not be otherwise than that the 
memory of Ulupalakua is at once a con- 
solation and a regret; for those days are 
over. They were over long ago, and 'tis 
hardly to be wondered at. 

The entertainer's eye grows sharp as 
time advances, and, doubtless, not without 
reason ; for it was often hoodwinked in 
the days when the veriest stranger was 
welcomed with a cordiality worthy of an 
angelic guest. Now there are lodgings to 
be obtained on most thoroughfares; and 
the coolie is ready to serve you with the 
best the provincial market affords, at a 
price within reach of a light purse. 

If there was a house of public entertain- 
ment at Rose Ranch, it would be a most 
desirable resort for those who ^re beginning 
to succumb under the effects of the monot- 
onous temperature of the lowlands. Think 



THE AVE MARIA. 



269 



of the nights in which blankets, and 
several of thera, are indispensable luxuries; 
where at some seasons of the year a blaz- 
ing hearth would prove the chief attrac- 
tion. Think of the days that dawn in 
another zone, as it were, where temperate 
fruits are rijiening and ruddying; yet from 
under the shadow of these alien boughs 
the eye of contemplation kindles at the 
vision of glowing sands, by glittering seas 
where forlorn palms nod and quiver in 
the heat. 

The strange notes of unfamiliar birds 
are heard at intervals; for the woods are 
haunted by the shy progeny of those 
imported songsters, that seem not to have 
taken kindly to these islands. Once in a 
while a paraquet flutters in the edge of 
the garden, but the green solitudes farther 
up the heights offer superior attractions. 
Even the myna — that feathered Bohe- 
mian — finds the groves of Honolulu a fitter 
field for his gypsyism; and Ulupalakua 
resounds to the trumpet blasts of the 
peacock. But for these birds the quiet of 
Rose Ranch would take on a sombre tinge ; 
for the sound of the grinding is still, and 
the "lowing" herds that abound here, if 
they have not a thousand hills to feed on, 
have yet ample room in which to wander 
and browse, and are for the most part out 
of sight and sound. 

A cattle- drive used to be one of the 
more exciting pastimes, in which all 
joined with enthusiasm. If you desire to 
witch the world with noble horsemanship, 
let me see how you manage a mustang 
during a stampede in those vast orchards 
of prickly-pear, and I will answer for your 
chances in the game of witchery. Wild 
cattle stand not upon the order of their 
going; and they are as nimble- footed as 
goats when they get started for the cactus, 
which is like a rack full of reversed 
pincushions ; never was there a more 

I formidable cheval de /rise. Yet the cattle 
munch the barbed thorns with amazing 



as at a tournament in the age of chivalry, 
and it behoves him to ride well. Perhaps 
it was for this reason that I preferred to 
witness the contest on the tennis lawn. 
The bowling-alley was long since blown 
down in a gale, and croquet gave place to 
tennis; for it is easier watching a game 
in which feminine grace and masculine 
agility are striving for victory, and the 
looker-on has only to approve with equal 
fervor and discrimination. Prospect Hill, 
that was a nursery when the Captain and 
I used to climb it, is now a forest ; and 
the rows of solemn cypresses, the funereal 
urns, and the sad paths that surround the 
mausoleum, remind one of the terraces in 
a Florentine villa. 

The host and hostess at Ulupalakua 
— peace to their ashes ! — were not of the 
"faithful," but in Christian love they 
gave a handsome acre to the mission; 
they likewise contributed liberally toward 
the erection of a pretty chapel, now 
visited at intervals by the priest on his 
holy round. There, in a sheltered nook — 
for the winds are sometimes wild on that 
semi-tropic highland, — long ago I planted 
an evergreen; and, by the latest returns 
from over seas, I learn that its branches 
are now beautiful and widespreading. 

Ulupalakua when Englished means 
"Ripe Breadfruit for the gods." There 
was a day when it was worthy of its name. 
That day is well-nigh forgotten. The 
noble estate has fallen to decay; 'tis like 
an unweeded garden grown to seed. The 
modern spirit of enterprise has crowded 
it out of sight. Being an ideal spot, it 
early fell a victim to the breathless energy 
which has transformed the Kingdom, 
and robbed it of its individuality and its 
chief charm. 

Yet this is not a melancholy spot, even 
for those who remember the gayeties of 
the past; and if I dwell more upon the 
soft cadence of the evening breeze, the 
caress of drooping boughs, the silent 
shower of rose petals in the unvisited 



270 



THE AVE MARIA 



arbor, than upon the jollity of the season, 
it is because they are characteristic of the 
Ulupalakua in repose, — a repose singularly 
grateful to a disquieted soul. And these 
will lead me ever to think of the place 
and to write of it very much as Peter 
Martyr wrote long ago of the Queen's 
Gardens in the Antilles: "Never was any 
noisome animal found there, nor yet any 
ravaging four-footed beast, nor lion, nor 
bear, nor fierce tigers, nor crafty foxes, 
nor devouring wolves, but all things 
blessed and fortunate." 

(To be continued.) 



A Unique Hostelry. 



BY FLORA I,. STANFIELD. 



HIGH up in the Bavarian Alps, about 
two hours' ride from Munich, there 
is a health resort which has the distinction 
of being managed by the grandson of a 
King. This fact alone would not be suffi- 
cient to attract the world's attention; for 
impecunious scions of royal houses have 
often gone into trade. There are features 
dbout this famous mountain hotel, how- 
ever, which have rendered it the most 
unique hostelry in Christendom. The 
little village of Wildbad Kreuth is perched 
upon a mountain-side, 3,000 feet above 
the level of the sea. High as it is, 
the mountains surrounding it are much 
higher, and one of them always wears its 
cap of snow. Below the snow line the 
verdure is very rich, the country finely 
wooded; and Alpine roses, wild straw- 
berries, the blue gentian and the edelweiss 
are everywhere. Little silvery streams 
sparkle as they dash down the hillside 
and empty into a large lake far below. 
There is fine hunting thereabouts, if any 
one cares to shoot the beautiful chamois 
or the red deer. 

There is not an older health resort in 



Europe than Kreuth. In the eighth cen- 
tury the Benedictines learned the health- 
giving properties of a wonderful sulphur 
spring near by, and thriftily purchased a 
large tract of land which included it. 
There, as members of their Order needed 
recuperation, they were sent to find health 
and strength in a hospital conveniently 
located. When the Benedictines became 
the victims of persecution in 1803, the 
hospital, being confiscated, was turned into 
a farm-house. In 181 8 it changed hands 
again, coming into the possession of King 
Max of Bavaria, whose leading impulse 
was godly charity. The farm-house was 
once more made a hospital, and a wing 
added. Here the King brought poor sick 
people from the cities, and convalescence 
was rapid in the pure air. 

When King Max died, his widow found 
a condition attached to her inheritance. 
This mountain property was hers, provided 
the poor people were entertained as usual. 
But there was a grave obstacle : the spirit 
was willing, but the Bavarian exchequer 
was nearly empty. 

"What can we do for our poor people?" 
asked the kind Queen and her son. The 
result of a long consultation was a plan 
which has been faithfully carried out. 
Large buildings, capable of housing three 
hundred, were built, suitable servants 
engaged, and word went out far and wide 
that the summer hotel and famous sulphur 
spring of Kreuth were at the service of 
the public during the summer months. 
The result was favorable and immediate, 
the place, being at once thronged with 
well-to-do guests; and it flourishes to-day. 
There is every effort made to make the 
resort first class in every respect and a 
corresponding price is charged. 

On the last day of August the guests, 
who have been given due warning, depart, 
and the house is filled with the maimed, 
the halt, and the blind — the diseased of 
every sort, whom agents of the proprietor 
have been searching out for weeks. 



THE AVE MARIA. 



271 



Enough has been made during three 
months of thrifty inn-keeping to enable 
Duke Kad Theodor, King Max's grandson 
and the present proprietor, to entertain his 
impecunious guests until the snow flies, 
and to reserve a surplus whereby the hotel 
is again opened to the poor in the spring. 

The class of people who most fre- 
quent this hospitable place consists of 
worn-out teachers, disappointed artists, 
and professional people generally, — the 
very ones to profit by such a holiday. 
Each one is invited to stay three weeks, 
and the most beautiful thing about the 
invitation is the way it is worded. "You 
are invited," says the agent, "to honor 
Duke Karl Theodor by paying him a 
visit." There is no pretence of charity: 
with the ^lOst exquisite tact each guest is 
treated as an equal by the host, and 
departs with self-respect unimpaired. 

The Duke is one of the most noted 
oculists in the world, maintaining two 
hospitals exclusively devoted to treating 
the eyes; and whenever he visits Kreuth — 
which is often — his keen vision is instantly 
in search of any case needing his aid. 
The poor are given his almost priceless 
services gratuitously; the rich are charged 
good fees, which enable him to carry on 
his munificent charities. It is said that 
■every cent, apart from what is needed for 
the most frugal wants, is set aside to be 
devoted to this purpose. 

It is a pleasure to be able to add that this 
nobleman is a good Catholic ; he is a brother 
of the Empress Elizabeth of Austria. 



I 



A BENEVOLENT action is not only an 
investment for the benefit of the receiver, 
but the accomplishment of a pleasant 
duty to the giver ; and though lost on the 
obliged party, who knows not how to 
value it, need never be so to the benefactor, 
who may ever find in it a wholesome 
exercise for his sympathies and self- 
denial. — Ernile Souvestre, 



A Costly Experiment. 

EVER since the subject of the enfran- 
chisement of women first began to be 
discussed, it has been proclaimed by the 
adherents that the introduction of woman 
into the muddy pool of politics would be 
to purify it, as the housewife clears the 
pot of turbid cofiee, 'or a thunder-shower 
scatters foul air. With the approach of 
women at the polls, they have maintained, 
the gentle manners of the drawing-room 
would prevail ; the rough voter would 
withhold his oaths ; Discord would give 
way to mild- eyed Peace; and, above all, 
corruption, as we apply the word to 
politics, would cease to be. 

At the time when the subject of a 
Columbian World's Fair began to occupy 
public attention, these champions of the 
new method were early in the field. Here 
was the chance to make strides in behalf 
of the down-trodden sex as long as those 
which the giants of old measured with 
their seven-leagued boots. In some man- 
ner, no one seems to know just how, there 
arose a clamor for a building wherein to 
exhibit the handiwork of women, and for 
representation upon the administrative 
force. These privileges, notwithstanding 
the fact that no room could be found for 
a statue of the woman without whose 
help Columbus could not have set sail, 
were conceded. 

Very soon the Woman's Building, an 
expensive structure of doubtful archi- 
tecture, arose from the wild waste at 
Jackson Park, and the Board of Lady 
Managers received their appointments. 
But with its sessions mild-eyed Peace did 
not, to use the slang of the day, material- 
ize; in fact, it withdrew to a distance, and 
in its place wild-eyed Discord had the 
floor. Those who were to show the world 
how public life was to be transformed by 
the amenities their presence would furnish 
began to call one another uncompliment- 



272 



THE AVE MARIA, 



ary names, and to hurl at one another's 
metaphorical heads invectives suited only 
to a caucus of ward politicians. There 
was evidence of undue influence in the 
matter of patronage; and, worse than all, 
an obvious desire — nay, a determination 
— to secure the money this wrangling 
was costing the Government, by prolong- 
ing the sessions as long as a dollar of the 
appropriation was in sight. This was, in a 
measure, prevented by the tact of the sensi- 
ble President, Mrs. Palmer; but the Board 
did not adjourn in time to avert the deluge 
of criticism consequent upon its course. 
The cause of woman suffrage has not 
been promoted by this costly experiment 
On the contrary, those who have watched 
it most closely are, firmer than ever in the 
opinion that the influence of womankind 
is most powerfully and beneficially exerted 
when wielded from the throne of a shel- 
tered and well-ordered Christian home. 



Notes and Remarks. 



The cause of the beatification of the 
Venerable Cur6 d'Ars is being pushed 
forward, and there is reason to hope that ere 
long we shall see crowned with the highest 
honors of the Church this grand figure, 
whom God has raised up, in these times of 
impiety, for the glory of the priesthood and 
the revelation of the ineffable beauty of the 
supernatural order. On the occasion of the 
recent visit of the Bishop of Belley to Rome, 
the Sovereign Pontiff said to him : "I desire 
very much to proceed to the beatification of 
the Cvlt6 d'Ars. But," he added, smiling, 
"here we go slowly, — Rome is the Eternal 
City. ' ' The process is so far advanced, however, 
that probably before the end of the year the 
preparatory congregation will be held for the 
final examination of the heroic virtues of the 
servant of God; this will be quickly followed 
by two other congregations. The miracles 
will then be subjected to similar examination. 
The work of the advocates in regard to the 



heroic nature of the holy man's virtues is 
almost terminated, and their investigations of 
the miracles will be completed before the 
Sacred Congregation of Rites shall have 
finished the examination of the virtues. 



A notable feature of the Geographical 
Congress held recently in Chicago was the 
paper read by Mr. W. E. Curtis, who pre- 
sented the result of an investigation of the 
documents in the Vatican Archives relating to 
America prior to its discovery by Columbus. 
Over 1,400 documents had been examined. 
They did not prove, ho\yever, the assertion of 
certain Scandinavian scholars that the voyage 
of Lief Ericksen was known to Columbus; 
but they furnished evidence that a Catholic 
bishop resided in Greenland at the time, and 
that he reported to the Pope that there were 
unexplored regions toward the south that 
were peopled by savages. 



The sudden though not altogether unex-, 
pected death of the Rt. Rev. Bishop McMahon, 
of the Diocese of Hartford, took place on the 
2ist ult. He had lately celebrated the four- 
teenth anniversary of his consecration. Bishop 
McMahon was a man of strong character, but 
he had a tender heart, and performed many 
acts of charity which were known only to 
God. He had been an uncomplaining sufferer 
for many years, and few even of his intimate 
friends suspected that he was a victim of the 
disease to which he succumbed. The episco- 
pate of New England has lost in Bishop 
McMahon one of its strongest and most 
devoted members. May he rest in peace ! 



A pretty anecdote, which illustrates his 
simplicity and poverty of spirit, is told of the 
late Father Mauron, Superior- General of the 
Redemptorists. A short time after the election 
of the new General, Pius IX. entered the 
Church of St. Alphonso to pray. After 
satisfying his devotion, he visited the con- 
vent; and, going straight to Father Mauron 's 
room, he looked about carefully, opening 
boxes and drawers; and thei^, havinjg>^ex- 
amined the mattress of the bed, he/turned 
to the astonished priest, saying, /' Father 



THE AVE MARIA. 



273 



Mauron, I have looked into things here 
partly in jest, partly in earnest ; and I find 
that you live in strict accordance with the 
example of your holy founder." It was this 
virtue of self-sacrifice that enabled Father 
Mauron to unite so happily the Neapolitan 
and the non-Neapolitan Redemptorists into 
one great religious family, — one of the most 
useful and flourishing in the Church. 



Lady Burton's very diverting "Life" of 
her husband, the late Sir Richard, demon- 
strates two points very clearly: the first is 
that her wifely devotion was most admirable; 
and the second, that it entirely unfitted her 
to be Sir Richard's biog^rapher. She says 
many things about her husband that severely 
tax now one's patience, then his gravity. 
Sir Richard had a "keen sense of humor," 
and was a "pleasant" man to live with, as 
the following incident will show. Soon after 
he became consul, a loud-mannered negro 
stalked into Sir Richard's office, clapped him 
soundly on the back in the most jovial man- 
ner, and asked him to ' ' shake. ' ' Sir Richard 
vouchsafed a "quiet .stare of surprise," and 
then, being in wbndrous merry mood, turned 
to his colored canoe-men and called out: 
"Hi! boys, here! Throw this nigger out 
of the window, — will you ? ' ' The delighted 
canoe-men rushed forward and gleefully exe- 
cuted the command. The offending negro 
was forthwith flung out of the window. It 
is not recorded that he thought Sir Richard 
a "pleasant" man to live with. Toward the 
end of his life, the great Orientalist became a 
Catholic, and we like to believe that his 
conversion subdued his humor. 



The festival of the Assumption was the 
occasion of special rejoicing for the clergy 
and people of the Diocese of Pittsburg, as it 
marked the fiftieth anniversary of the estab- 
lishment of the see, with the consecration in 
jRome of its first Bishop, the Right Rev. Dr. 
>' Connor. But the particular commemora- 
ion of the Golden Jubilee was deferred to the 
Sunday following, when impressive religious 
jlemnities were held in St. Paul's Cathedral, 
tn accordance with the wishes of the devoted 
id beloved bishop, the Right Rev. Dr. 



Phelan, who now so ably and wisely directs 
the afiairs, temporal and spiritual, of the 
Diocese of Pittsburg, the celebrati<m was 
wholly and exclusively of a religious nature, 
confined within the sacred temple, in a spirit 
of prayer and thanksgiving to God for the 
many blessings bestowed upon the see since its 
erection. The happy, charitable thought of the 
good Bishop is that this Jubilee year may be 
crowned by the completion of a monument, 
which shall be enduring for the good of 
religion — the Protectory for Homeless Boys. 
In his own words: "To fittingly commem- 
orate this event, and to give public, external 
and lasting proof of grateful appreciation, it 
is recommended that St. Joseph's Protectory 
and Industrial School, now being erected in 
Pittsburg, be completed as a memorial of the 
Golden Jubilee of the Diocese. The objects 
of this institution are: To save well-disposed 
but destitute boys from the temptations and 
sufferings of poverty, the corrupting influ- 
ences of enforced idleness and evil associates, 
and from the perils of the street." 

Certainly this appeals to every Christian 
heart, and we bespeak for Bishop Phelan the 
realization of his hopes and aspirations. 



The late Mr. Horatio Rymer, who died 
recently near Dublin, bequeathed about one 
hundred thousand dollars, the bulk of a 
large fortune, to charitable institutions. The 
instances in which wealthy men make such 
admirable disposition of their property are 
rare enough. Mr. Rymer had evidently 
pondered with profit the memorable utterance 
of Cardinal Manning: " It is a poor will that 
does not mention Christ and His poor among 
the heirs." 

In his delightful volume entitled "With 
the Immortals ' ' Mr. Marion Crawford has 
told us that when a nation ceases to protect 
property, religion and the marriage tie, it is 
upon the verge of dissolution. That the 
present condition of Mexico is due, in some 
measure, to the intolerant attitude of the 
Government toward the Church can hardly 
escape even the superficial observer. It is 
only a few months since a young woman 
who desired to become a nun set out 
for Texas to accomplish her pious purpose, 



274 



THE AVE MARIA 



becmse she was not permitted to enter a 
convent in her own land. The Government 
minions promptly captured her, however, and 
led her back in spite of all protest. And 
now comes the Boston Republic with the 
announcement that Bishop Gillow, of Oaxaca, 
Mexico, is to erect an ecclesiastical seminary 
in San Antonio, Texas, it being practically 
impossible for him, under the existing laws 
of Mexico, to establish the institution in his 
own diocese. Catholics will probably hear no 
more of those brilliant lecturers who like to 
point to the bankrupt condition of our sister 
country as an effect of ' ' Catholic ' ' domination. 



In a learned work which appeared recently 
in England the late Mr. Bradshaw, who had 
made a careful study of the history and 
development of the Office of the Blessed 
Virgin, thus sets forth the result of his 
studies: 

"These Hours seem to me to have originated in a 
special commemorative service to be used during 
Advent in connection with devotion to the Incarna- 
tion; just as still later we find the 'Hours of the 
Passion ' {Horce de Sancta Cruce) and the Hours of 
the Holy Ghost' {Horn de Sancto Spiritu) drawn 
up, apparently, as special commemorative services 
for use at Passiontide and Whitsuntide. As time 
went on, the constant public use of the full daily 
Hour service in church, at which all were expected 
to attend, fell off, while the clergy, being bound in 
any case to say their Hours, were allowed to repeat 
them privately. The laity were relieved from the 
use of the full Hour service of the Breviary ; and 
these shorter commemorative services were then 
made of general application, instead of being supple- 
mentary devotions to be used merely during the 
season of the year to which they were especially 
appropriate. They thus came to be more constantly 
found in the layman's Prayer- Book. With the 
growth of the devotion to the Mother of Our Lord, 
the 'Advent Hours of the Incarnation' took the 
form, or rather the name, of ' Hours of the Blessed 
Virgin,' used constantly throughout the year." 

The whole history of the Little Office, 
however, has never yet been written; there 
is still enough mist about its origin to furnish 
interesting occupation for Catholic scholars. 



and instructive course of lectures before 
the Catholic Summer School when he was 
suddenly stricken with pneumonia, which, 
after little more than a week's duration, 
terminated fatally. A native of Ireland, he 
was in the forty-fifth year of his age and the 
thirtieth of his religious life. His efforts to 
further the noble cause of Christian education, 
to which his Order is devoted, have exerted 
a marked influence upon minds and hearts 
of our day. He was a voluminous writer — 
the author of many books and of numerous 
essays for home and foreign magazines. 
More than once the pages of The "Avb 
Maria" were graced by contributions from 
his pen, which, while displaying the resources 
of a gifted mind, revealed a tender, heartfelt 
devotion to the Seat of Wisdom. His works 
attracted the attention of the great leaders of 
modern thought; and the lectures which he 
was called upon to deliver before non- Catholic 
as well as Catholic assemblages left an 
impress upon the minds of his auditors 
which was productive of the highest good. 
God called him in the midst of his labors. 
He had fought the good fight, and we may 
confidently hope that an ineffable crown of 
glory is his reward. May he rest in peace ! 



Brother Azarias, of the Brothers of the 
Christian Schools, so well known in the 
literary world, died at Plattsburg, N. Y. , on 
the 2oth ult. He had concluded an interesting 



Obituary. 

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

The following persons are recommended to the 
charitable prayers of our readers : 

Mr. F. A. Grever, of Cincinnati, Ohio, whose life 
closed peacefully on the 19th ult. 

Miss Julia A. Pay, who died a happy death at New 
Bedford, Mass., on the feast of her patron, St. Anne. 

Mr. Eugene J. O'Hara, of New York "city, whose 
sudden but not unprovided death took place on the 
19th of July. I 

Mrs. Mary M. Gibbons, who calmly breathed her \ 
last on the i6th ult., in Chicago, 111. 

Mrs. Anne Flinn, of Lowell, Mass., whose happy 
death occurred on the 29th of July. 

Master Joseph Parks, who met with a violent death 
on the i8th ult., at 'S. Amana, Iowa. 

Mr. Joseph Schroeder, of Lafayette, Ind. ; Margaret 
McCuUough, Dubuque, Iowa; and Mrs. Elizabeth 
O'Rourke, New Bedford, Mass. 

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




UNDER THE MANTLB OF OUR BLESSED MOTHER. 



Christ, the Gardener. 



S. H., FROM THE GERMAN. 



C|E walked within the garden, 
rZ 'Twas full of stately trees ; 
He passed them by unheeded: 
He did not care for these. 

He bent down to the flowers, 
Their perfume was so sweet; 

They nestled in His pathway, 
And kissed His sacred Feet. 

And one looked up to greet Him, 
As in its face He smiled. 

He plucked it for His bosom, 
That flower— a little child. 



Sight-Seeing at the World's Fair. 



BY MARY CATHERINE CROWLEY. 




V. — A Glimpse of Europe. 

0-DAY we will take a trip 
to Europe," said Uncle Jack 
the next morning, as his 
party entered the World's 
Fair grounds. When the girls 
looked up at him in puzzled surprise, he 
Ij^dded: *'I mean we will visit the great 
^^Building of Manufactures, where Europe 
^^HDmes to us, as it were, in the grand 

I""""' 



They started to walk, but presently saw 
approaching them two queer little hooded 
carriages, mounted upon poles, and borne 
on the shoulders of two swarthy Turks 
in the traditional zouave costume and 
red fez (cap). 

"Oh, look!" exclaimed Ellen. **There 
is a sedan-chair ! Does not it look as if 
it had just come out of a picture-book?" 

"What fun it must be to ride in one!" 
said Nora. "I think I should feel like 
my own great-grandmother." 

"You shall have an opportunity of 
judging, if we can find another chair for 
Ellen," said her uncle. "These fellows 
belong in the Midway Plaisance, but 
occasionally come into the other parts of 
the grounds." 

He called to the men to halt ; and, as 
no second chair was forthcoming, thtf 
girls agreed to take turns in riding in 
this one. After each had had her turn, 
Aleck concluded to try it also. 

"I feel as if I were the Great Mogul 
being carried in state!" he exclaimed. 

At last they reached their destination. 
Mr. Barrett dismissed the Turks and the 
chair, and they entered the building. 

"Why, Uncle, this is a city in itself!" 
said Ellen. 

"It is the largest structure of the Expo- 
sition, you remember," said Mr. Barrett. 
"The central arch is the greatest ever 
constructed for any edifice in the world. 
You may form an idea of its size from a 
remark of the chief engineer of the Fair, 



•276 



THE AVE MARIA. 



who said the other day that if it were 
possible to put the Rookery — one of the 
largest of Chicago's great buildings — 
upon a mammoth wheelbarrow, and wheel 
it through the arch, it would not touch 
the sides or the top by several feet. One 
thousand cottages could find room within 
these walls; and, to come down to trifles, 
to complete the floor alone required five 
car-loads of nails." 

Aleck gave a prolonged whistle of 
astonishment. 

' ' What a grand glass roof ! ' ' said Nora. 
"It is as if the building had a sky of 
its own." 

"The ground space is divided into 
regular streets," continued Uncle Jack, 
smiling. "If any of you happen to get 
lost, ask one of the guards to direct you 
to Columbia Avenue ; for that is the 
name of this main thoroughfare. You 
see on either side of it the pavilions 
of the nations, of Europe principally, 
many of which are capacious buildings 
of themselves." 

' ' That high Clock Tower which spans 
the Avenue, away down about half a 
mile yonder, looks like the picture of an 
old clock gate of some foreign town," 
began Ellen. ' ' But hark ! ' ' 

At 'this moment the voices of the 
chimes rang out from the tower in clear 
and beautiful melody ; and our party 
paused to listen to the sweet music of "The 
Harp that once through Tara's Halls." 

"Bless me! we shall never make the 
rounds if we begin by loitering," said 
Uncle Jack, after a few moments ; so they 
went on, to visit the Italian exhibit, the 
first on their right. Here the girls nearly 
went wild (or Aleck said they did) over 
the varied works of art that met their 
eyes upon every side. 

Uncle Jack sighed, yet smiled, as he 
passed. 

"These things bring back so many 
pleasant recollections," he said. "My 
dears, these are the beautiful objects you 



would see in almost every shop-window if 
you were walking beneath the arcades of 
St. Mark's Square in Venice or through 
the streets of Florence. We shall see 
more of the treasures from Italy among the 
pictures and sculpture of the Art Gallery. 

"Crossing to the Spanish section, we 
are, as it were, in the heart of Madrid. 
Spain has indeed the proudest exhibit at 
the Fair; for she can point to this whole 
grand country, saying, ' See what I gave 
to the world! I alone, of all the nations 
of Europe, listened to the great navigator, 
and accorded him the aid he asked.' But 
apart from this she has sent us a very 
interesting representation. The caravels, 
you know, are her gift to the United States 
in commemoration of Columbus. In one 
of the other buildings she shows models of 
the fortresses of Monjuisch and Corunna, 
which date back to the time of the Moors; 
and also one of the world-famed bridge 
of the Guadalquivir at Cordova, the foun- 
dations of which were laid when Our 
Lord was a child at Nazareth. Cordova, 
you know, is said to be the oldest paved 
city in Europe." 

"How foreign everything seems here!" 
exclaimed Ellen. ' ' See these rich. Oriental- 
looking carpets, and the lovely Spanish 
embroideries and fans." 

' 'And the religious statues — how quaint 
yet sweet they are!" added Nora. "I/x)k, 
here is one of the Infant Jesus, that 
appears very real; and He is holding a 
crown of thorns in His hands." 

' ' Here is a portrait of the young King 
of Spain," said Ellen, presently. "He is 
a nice boy; but one almost pities him as 
he sits on the edge of the throne, and 
looks as if half afraid he may fall oflf." 

' ' Some European thrones are not very 
secure nowadays," replied Uncle Jack; 
"but let us hope that his little Majesty 
may only be the more firmly installed 
upon his as time goes on. Now we come 
to the English pavilion. The front is a 
reproduction of Hatfield House, one of 



THE AVE MARIA. 



277 



the most famous old palaces of England." 

*'How delightful!" cried Ellen. "Can 
you not fgincy, Nora, that we are sight- 
seeing] in England with the Colvilles?" 

"It will hardly add to its interest to 
you to know that beneath the original of 
this richly panelled ceiling Henry VIII. 
and , Queen Elizabeth took their daily 
meals," continued Mr. Barrett. 

"Notice the huge fireplace, Ellen, and 
the old tapestries." 

"And the carved oak wainscoting, the 
heavy folding -doors, and the armor," 
added Aleck. 

"Why, after seeing all this, I shall be 
able to talk quite as if I had been abroad," 
declared Nora, so seriously that the others 
all laughed. 

It took some time to view all that Great 
Britain has to show, especially as the 
girls lingered a good while, Aleck thought, 
amid the exhibit of English Art China. 
But Uncle Jack said one was likely to 
see such fine pieces of Royal Worcester 
ware only once in a life-time. And when 
Aleck saw, amid the Cauldon china, twelve 
plates on which are painted the story of 
Evangeline, and was told that they are 
valued at $2,000, he thrust his hands in his 
pockets, whistled softly to himself, and 
thought of the costly havoc the traditional 
bull in a china shop would make in that 
establishment. 

In the German pavilion even Aleck, 
however, admired the beautiful Dresden 
china figures, the gay youths and maidens 
and frolicsome children, the fairies and 
elves, and all the glad company that seemed 
to have nothing to do but sport and be 
merry amid green fields and sunshine; 
and, then, the collection of paintings upon 
the celebrated Munich porcelain. Ellen 
took a special fancy to one of them, a 
Madonna, and longed to bring it home. 

Here, too, they saw a fac-simile of the 
Reception Room of the imperial palace 
it Berlin, and one of a room in the palace 
of King Ludwig of Bavaria. 



"I hope his Majesty won't object to my 
sitting on his doorstep; for I declare I 
can't go any farther," exclaimed Nora, 
sinking down as she spoke. The others 
were very willing to follow her example. 

Presently, glancing at the clock in the 
tower. Uncle Jack cried: 

"Really, it is past noon! Let us go to 
the cafe at the entrance to the building 
for lunch." 

After a substantial collation and a half 
hour's rest, they were ready to resume 
their tour with renewed energy. 

"Now we will go to the French section, 
which is directly opposite to Germany," 
said Mr. Barrett. 

Here he led them first to see the 
Gobelin tapestries, which hang all around 
the walls of a large room, or hall. 

"This kind of tapestry is the finest 
in the world, and these in particular are 
magnificent specimens," he remarked. 
"The Gobelin works are owned by the 
French Government, and no piece can be 
bought at any price. They are made 
entirely by hand, and it takes an artisan 
more than a week to weave a bit an inch 
square, while a square yard is considered 
a good year's work. See, too, this match- 
less Sevres vase. You are aware that the 
art of making this, the most precious 
of all china, is a carefully guarded 
secret. But, girls, girls!" he continued, 
as the party emerged unexpectedly upon 
a display of gorgeous gowns and millin- 
ery. "Here you are, one may say, in the 
midst of the shops of Paris. There is 
Worth's establishment on one side, and 
Felix' on the other, with some other equally 
fashionable just across the way. Aleck, 
poor boy ! there is no hope for us. Your 
sisters will compel us to spend the 
remainder of the day here." 

Nora and Ellen laughed; and, although 
they had some compassion upon their 
escorts, it must be admitted^ 
delayed considerably in this 11 

"Did you ever see such si 




278 



THE AVE MARIA. 



cried Nora, suddenly darting over to an 
imposing show-case. "Just look at that 
lovely little boy in a white silk suit, with 
long black curls down to his waist, and a 
large white hat. And that other boy in 
a grey silk suit, climbing a tree." 

"Jingo! what dudelets!" exclaimed 
Aleck, teasingly. 

"But see this beauty dressed in yellow 
silk," continued Nora; "and that other 
in pink, and one in blue, — all with pretty 
hats to match, and the costumes designed 
by the most noted Parisian artists. There 
is a doll asleep, — see, she is really breath- 
ing. Would not you think she was alive?" 
cried Nora. "And here is one crying. 
Don't those look like actual tears rolling 
down her cheeks?" 

Tired of waiting. Uncle Jack and Aleck 
had sauntered on. The girls now has- 
tened after them to the Russian pavilion. 
Here they saw a magnificent display of 
cosily furs and Russian bronzes, besides 
tables of malachite and lapis lazuli worth 
almost their weight in gold; a dinner and 
tea service exquisitely enamelled on gold 
and silver, and many other objects of 
beauty and luxury from the land of the 
Czar. 

The Japanese pavilion proved particu- 
larly interesting. 

"Everything Japanese appears to be 
telling a story," said Ellen. "The droll 
sculptured dragons of the bronzes, the 
figures on the vases, even the pictures on 
the fans, — all seem to grin and nod at one, 
as if acting out some amusing fairy tale. 
I know it would be very interesting if one 
could only understand it." 

Then they went through the Cingalese 
pavilion, which is supported by pillars of 
ebony; and the Siamese, the front of which 
is CO ered with gold-leaf. They also visited 
the exhibits of South America, the East 
Indies, Egypt, Norway, Sweden and 
Denmark, Belgium and Greece, — in fact, 
of all the countries of the world which 
liave pavilions, pagodas or kiosks along 



the spacious avenues of this wonderful 
building. 

In the Swiss section they were fascinated 
by the beautiful watches. 

"See that teeiity watch set in a ring," 
said Nora. 

"There is another in the centre of a 
flower, and the flower itself is a brooch," 
added Ellen. "But oh, just look at that 
one between the wings of that little 
gold butterfly!" 

Aleck meantime was examining a new 
invention — a watch for the blind, the 
mechanism of which the attendant ex- 
plained to him. 

"We have been so taken up with 
foreign countries that we have not paid 
much attention to the splendid exhibit 
of the United States; but suppose we 
take the display of Tiffany & Co., the 
celebrated New York jewellers, as an 
example?" said Mr. Barrett. 

"We have seen nothing more splendid 
than this," declared Ellen, as they entered 
the section. Wherever they turned, their 
eyes were greeted either by great flagons, 
bowls and table services of gold and silver, 
or by the blaze of gems. 

"It reminds one of Aladdin's palace," 
Nora remarked. 

A throng of persons were gathered 
about a show-case containing a matchless 
collection of jewels. Crowding up too, the 
girls discovered that the centre of attrac- 
tion was a flashing yellow diamond as 
large as a robin's egg, and valued at a 
hundred thousand dollars. 

"These gems are all magnificent," said 
Uncle Jack; "because, although found in 
the clay like common pebbles, they are 
pure and perfect crystals, exquisite speci- 
mens of the" workings of Nature, and 
evidences of the prodigal splendor of 
God's creation. Regard them in this way, 
girls, and delight in them tQ your hearts' 
content. But do not, for goodness' sake, 
rave, as >ou say, over these rare diamonds, 
rubies, and sapphires, simply because they 



THE AVE MARIA. 



279 



are magnificent trinkets with which todeck 
one's vanity, or so many glittering stones, 
each one of which is worth a fortune." 

Nora gave her sister a sly nudge. 

"I suppose Uncle Jack speaks in that 
way because he is an old bachelor," she 
whispered; "but, after all, his idea about 
the gems seems to be the right one." 

After viewing a specimen chapel, the 
walls of which are lined with the hand- 
some Tiffany stained glass, and inspecting 
the fine silver statue of Columbus in the 
section of the Gorham Manufacturing 
Co., they mounted the vast galleries of the 
building, the Department of Liberal Arts. 
Here they saw the exhibits of the schools 
and colleges of the United States. 

" Somebody told me we should find 
here the first photograph ever taken," 
announced . Ellen. 

"I presume you mean the first sun- 
picture of the human countenance?" 
said a lady in charge. "It is this little 
miniature." 

The young people eagerly scanned the 
picture, which is of the kind called 
daguerreotype, that afterward became 
common in the days of our grandfathers 
and grandmothers. They saw a small 
faded portrait of a rather pretty young 
lady, in a much beruffled gown and an 
immense bonnet. 

"This was the sister of Prof. Draper," 
continued the attendant. "The picture 
was taken by him on the roof of the 
University of New York, one day during 
the summer of 1840. The camera which 
he used he had made himself out of a 
cigar box, the lens being one of the eyes 
of an old pair of spectacles. It was one of 
the first cameras known. In the case over 
there you will notice a copy of it. The 
picture was regarded as so great and 
interesting a scientific curiosity and dis- 
covery that Prof. Draper sent it to Sir 
John Herschel, the celebrated astronomer. 
Here is the autograph letter of Sir John 
acknowledging the gift. It is still the 



property of the Herschel family, and 
was sent by them from England for this 
exhibit. We have also the first telegraph 
message ever sent. Morse, the inventor of 
the telegraph, was, as perhaps you know, a 
professor of the University of New York." 

The party crowded around a show-case, 
upon the glass of which is fastened a strip 
of time-yelsowed paper, a bit of telegraphic 
tape pierced with a series of the lines 
and dots of the Morse alphabet, — those 
mysterious little characters which look so 
trifling, yet mean so much. 

In the section devoted to ' ' Old Harvard ' ' 
it was a rare treat to see two or three of 
the original manuscripts of Longfellow, 
and several of other of her distinguished 
litterateurs. 

Our friends next went on to the Catholic 
Educational Exhibit, in which Notre 
Dame and Georgetown Universities, and 
the schools of the Christian Brothers 
naturally make particularly fine displays; 
and many academies and schools are well 
represented. Uncle Jack paid a great deal 
of attention to this exhibit, and the girls 
and Aleck also found it very interesting. 

(To be continued.) 



An Indian Girl's Letter of Thanks. 



Holy Crcss Mission, 
Kosoriffsky, Alaska. 

Dear Benefactors: — Though I never 
saw you, I can say I know you. I know 
even many names of yours, they have 
been so often pronounced before us — as 
Rev. Father Yorke, Misses Anna Barnum, 
Francis Mayer, Mary Richard, Mrs. Ken- 
nedy, Welch and many other hard names 
for us, but their hearts are so good, so 
very good. 

When Father Tosi brought me here, I 
was very poor, and I knew nothing about 
God and my soul. Now I have three good 
dresses and the best of all I love God and 



280 



THE AVE MARIA 



the Blessed Virgin Mary with all my heart 
and I want to save my soul. 

We are eighty-three children here at 
the Sisters' school, boys and girls. We 
are thirty girls in the first course, all of 
whom have made their first Communion; 
and we all work hard to be good — We 
know very well how to pray and we pray 
for ourselves, for our parents and for all 
the indians that they get converted, and 
for all our Benefactors. 

We are very happy here altogether. In 
winter we go for a walk every day and we 
play in the snow. We are not cold because 
we are warmly dressed from your presents 
and we have our indian parquies on. 

All those who get good marks have an 
extra holiday every month, and on that 
day we have much fun. Sometimes we 
take a ride in the sleigh drawn by twelve 
or fifteen dogs and we keep them the 
whole afternoon. On this holiday we 
always have a dinner like at San Fran- 
cisco. The winter is long and dark but 
we don't mind it, you see that in spite of 
that and of the cold we are very happy. 

It is in winter we have the beautiful 
Christmas day with the Crib so nice and 
the little Jesus who extends his hand to 
us. And on Christmas evening Santa 
Claus comes. It is never the same one. 
This year he was coming from San 
Francisco by the mountains. He said that 
his nose got frozen and we saw that he 
had put a piece of golden paper on it 
to have it cured, I think. He was very 
nicely dressed. I think the ladies of San 
Francisco had made his dress and ample 
cloak, but God had made him his long, 
nice, white beard. 

He gave candy and many nice things 
from San Francisco to all the boys and 
g^rls. Those who were the best were 
named by the Sisters and they received 
more; I received plenty. That Santa Claus 
was very good. Many girls would write 
to him, but he did not tell us his name. 
Some girls said he talked a little like 



Father Barnum. We asked the Sisters if 
Father Barnum could have made himself 
like that, but they said they never saw that 
Santa Claus before. 

Spring and Summer are for us the most 
pleasant seasons. The snow was entirely 
gone this year about the twentieth of 
May. We go on the mountains to pick up 
the moss berries. Soon after them come 
the summer berries. We go for them 
every day. 

And it is the time of the boats. How 
much we enjoy them ! As soon as we 
hear the whistle, we run down to the 
beach to look at them. But when our 
exhibition is to take place, we put on our 
Sunday clothes, and in fifteen minutes we 
are ready. The people come and we sing, 
read, and count for them. We give pieces 
and we show our writing books and our 
work, sewing and knitting — the boys 
have drawing books. The people thank 
us and say we have nice exhibitions and 
say we learn everything nicely. 

When the new boat the Beware came, 
Mr. Hamilton gave us a big box of candy. 

I like very much to write. I would 
write longer, but Sister says it is enough. 
She told me perhaps my letter will be 
printed in The 'Ave Maria." Just 
think of it !. I am but an indian girl. 

Before closing my letter, I will thank 
once more all our benefactors. I thank 
them in the name of all the children. 
We are also very grateful to you, kind 
Editor, for putting this letter in your 
paper. Please have the charity to pray 
sometimes for us and for all the indians. 

Yours respectful and grateful 

Tattianna Maria. 

June i, 1893. 



It is a true saying that opportunity 
is kind, but only to the industrious. The 
Persians have a legend that a poor man 
watched a thousand years before the gate 
of Paradise. Then, while he snatched one 
little nap, it opened and shut. 




HENCEFORTH ALL GENERATIONS SHALL CALL ME BLESSED.— St. Luke, I. 48. 
Voi,. XXXVII. NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, SEPTEMBER 9, 1893. No. 11. 



(PabUahrfmijaMndv. Cofyrlfl* Bot.B.! Ha^M^aaia] 



Thrice Blessed Day I 



\ LONG the east at mom there steals a 
®^ mist . 

That melts the shades of night to silver gray; 
Then color mingles in a beauteous spray 
Of every tint from gold to amethyst; 
The changing clouds float idly as they list; 
The world is glad, for in the dawning day 
All gloom of night is banished far away, 
And earth with heaven keeps a loving tryst. 

And so, dear Mary, at thy happy birth 
The shades of Advent lost their darksome hue; 
The tints of hope spread far from east to west 
When thou, Salvation's herald, came to earth; 
Our sin-touched home to heaven was boimd 

anew. 
And in thy birth was man forever blest. 



Dante Gabriel Rossettl. — A Strayed 
Catholic. 



BY KATHARINE (TVNAN) HINKSON. 




T is not so long since The 
"Ave Maria" quoted from 
that painful book, the diary of 
the late William Bell Scott, its 
most painful passage — that in which the 
most narrow and contemptuous of unbe- 
lieving Protestants tells how in Rossetti's 
last days he entreated, and entreated in 



vain, that a Catholic priest should be sent 
for. At that time, if I mistake not, there 
were by his bedside the odious Mr. Scott 
and one other male friend only. If hi%^ 
own folk were there, his dying prayer 
had not been heard so ignorantly and un- 
comprehendingly. However, the passage, 
painful as it was, must have had the effect 
of setting many pitiful souls to pray for 
the poor soul, who, at least by desire, 
was one with them in the communion 
of saints. Rossetti was by accident an 
Englishman and a latitudinarian. I have 
heard that it was a curious desire of his 
to lool^ as bluffly Briton as possible; but 
how little his spirit was in accord with 
British ideas one sees in his poetry and 
art, where is to be found the highest 
expression of his inmost spirit. Rossetti 
was never in Italy in his life; nor, to the 
best of Mr. Bell Scott's opinion, did he 
ever enter a Catholic church. Yet he was 
as entirely a son of the South by nature 
as he was a Catholic, and it is as a strayed 
Catholic one thinks of him. 

Of the four children of Gabriele Rossetti 
and Frances Polidori,the two sons, William 
Michael and Dante Gabriel, were to be 
Catholics; the daughters, Maria Francesca 
and Christina Georgiana, were brought 
up in their mother's religion. Gabriele 
Rossetti, professor of Italian at King's 
College, London, was an Italian refugee, 
with a fine stock of hatred for the Papacy, 
and a curious theory which explained 



282 



THE AVE MARIA. 



Dante and the mass of great Italian liter- 
ature to be part of a Masonic crusade 
against the Pope. Frances Polidori, on the 
other hand, was a conscientious Protes- 
tant, who had informed her Protestantism 
with a fervor inherited, no doubt, from 
generations of devout Italian Catholics. 
She was also a woman of great mind and 
heart, of singular dignity and sweetness 
of character. It is not surprising that her 
daughters, brought directly under her 
religious influence, should have laid hold 
upon religion with a fervor and intimacy 
little enough Protestant. The sons, on the 
other hand, left to themselves and their 
father's anti-papal views, grew up indiffer- 
ent to forms of faith, and never identified 
themselves with their Catholicism. 

The old Catholic spirit strove and worked 
in all four children. Maria Francesca died, 
an Anglican nun, in the House of Mercy 
at Clewer. Christina is still with us, and 
draws from her fervent soul a stream of 
religious poetry so spiritual and rich in 
unction that not Crashaw himself has 
surpassed it. She too, though of the world 
nominally, has lived as a nun — seldom 
seen, heard of only in her work, her life 
devoted to the duty of tending her mother 
and her two aged aunts; as much enclois- 
tered in Torrington Square, Bloomsbury, 
as though the veil was over her brows ; 
and now, since those objects of her love 
have passed away, her service is given 
to the poor. 

But it is not of Miss Christina Rossetti 
I treat as "A Strayed Catholic": it is of 
the younger and greater of the two 
brothers, who were named from Arch- 
angels. Rossetti's Catholic art has not 
even the accident of Protestant influence, 
which his sister's has. Indeed, all his art 
is Catholic, in a sense, even when it seems 
farthest away from grace. His whole 
inspiration was from the glamouring 
Middle Ages, before Protestantism had put 
Art in a strait-waistcoat. I am the last 
to be unjust to our separated brethren; 



but, admirable conservators as they have 
shown themselves of the great relics in 
the Old World of Catholic splendor- in art, 
they have originated little that is beau- 
tiful ; and the wellspring of beauty is still 
far away, in the days when men labored 
for the service of a heavenly King ; the 
spark of the Divine in them straining after 
an ideal for His sake that should humbly 
look upward and imitate the perfection 
of His works. It is curious how the bent 
of modern literature and art goes back 
to those days. Pre-Raphaelism was the 
expression of the Catholic spirit in art, as 
later was the gold kernel that lay amid 
the husk of the Esthetic Movement. 

Gabriele Rossetti, to be near his college, 
lived in Bloomsbury, an unlovely part of 
London, which his children have not 
forsaken. At 38 Charlotte Street, Great 
Portland Place, Dante Gabriel Rossetti was 
born, on the 12th of May, 1828. Maria 
and William were his elders; Christina 
was younger than he. In that London 
house, among the strait, dark streets, the 
children grew up and manifested very 
early their bent toward literature. Miss 
Christina Rossetti has told me how they 
played at brute-rimes^ making distichs 
which now would be very precious if one 
possessed them. There were more ambi- 
tious efforts. At five years old Rossetti 
wrote a drama called "The Slave," the 
dramatis personce of which were two 
characters called respectively Slave and 
Traitor. At thirteen he produced a 
romance entitled ' ' Roderick and Rosalba. ' ' 
In his school- boy days he further wrote 
"Sir Hugh the Heron," a tale in verse, 
which was privately printed by his grand- 
father, Gaetano Polidori, a copy of which 
is now one of the treasures of the British 
Museum. At fifteen he began his education 
in art. He was a very precocious boy, 
full of opinions, as his affectionate letters 
to his mother in absence attest. He used 
to tell her everything — what he had seen, 
what he had read, the doings of birds and 



THE AVE MAHIA. 



283 



animals ; and he inundated her with a 
great deal of criticism, being sure of her 
sympathy. At this time he was collecting 
prints to illustrate Walter Scott, Shake- 
speare and Byron. 

Among his opinions one finds an 
enthusiastic outburst over the exhibition 
of cartoons for the Houses of Parliament. 
A year later his enthusiasm was for 
Gavarni, Tony Johannot, and Nanteuil. 
In poetry the "Colomba" of Prosper 
M^rim^e excited his admiration. Rossetti, 
boy and man, lived very much by admi- 
ration. To him criticism would seem, as 
it does to Swinburne, only worth doing 
*'for the noble pleasure of praising." 
This faculty of appreciation often led him 
into extravagant estimates of the works 
of others. This generosity was the natural 
complement of his extreme sensitiveness. 
In his later years he became quite morbid 
as to criticism, and took on a suspicious- 
ness which held him aloof from some of 
his oldest and most loving friends. This 
sensitiveness was intensified by Mr. Robert 
Buchanan's anonymous article, "The 
Fleshly School of Poetry" ; and Rossetti's 
friends believe that the effect of the article, 
by inducing insomnia and the consequent 
habit of using chloral, hastened his death. 

However, this is to look far ahead. In 
March, 1848, Rossetti wrote to Mr. Ford 
Maddox Brown, asking him to accept him 
as his pupil, he having been greatly struck 
with Brown's " Parisina " and *'The 
Giaour." This habit of his of frankly 
expressing his admirations laid the foun.r 
dation of some of his best friendships. 
Mr. William Bell Scott was another with 
whom his friendship began by letter- 
writing. He became Mr. Brown's friend 
and pupil, and in the latter half of the 
same year he painted "The Girlhood of 
Mary Virgin." The following year he 
painted "The Annunciation," which i-; 
now the property of the English National 
Gallery. "The Girlhood 'of Mary" is 
before me as I write The models for 



St. Anne and the Girl-Virgin were Mrs. 
Rossetti and Christina ; and when I saw 
them, after a lapse of nearly forty years, 
their very striking and noble faces had not 
passed from recognition as the younger 
faces of the picture. 

Indeed another photograph on my wall, 
the heads of mother and daughter, painted 
thirty years later, are easily recognizable 
as the two in the picture. Christina, with 
her oval face, her great, drooping eyelids^ 
her sad mouth, made an ideal model 
for one predestined to be the Mother of 
Sorrows. In the picture St. Anne and the 
Daughter sit side by side, embroidering 
a white lily. Over their heads float faint 
golden rings. A lily in a jar, which they 
are copying, staads on a pile of books, 
marked with the names of the virtues. 
A little angel stands by it, the long wings 
folded to two points. Outside we see St. 
Joachim nailing up the vine ; and on a 
bar of the trellis is the Dove, haloed about 
with gold. Then there is the pleasant 
Eastern country of trees and quiet waters. 
The picture has wonderfully the austere 
simplicity of the old painters; it is instinct 
with the unction and the grace that are 
in Angel ico or Bartolomeo. At the same 
time Rossetti wrote the sonnet which 
illustrates the picture, and is full of the 
same still and rapt reverence : 

This is that blessed Mary, pre-elect 
God's Virgin. Gone is a great while, and she 
Dwelt young in Nazareth of Galilee. 

Unto God's will she brought devout respect, 

Profound simplicity of intellect, 
And supreme patience. From her mother's knee 
Faithful and hopeful; wi.^e in charity; 

Strong in grave peace; in pity circumspect. 

So held she through her girlhood; as it were 
An angel-watered lily, that near God 

Grows and is quiet. Till, one dawn at home, 

She woke in her white bed, and had no fear 
At all, — yet wept till sunshine, and felt awed; 

Because the fulness of the time was come. 

That "Pre-Raphaelitism" was already 
a bond between a gifted group of young 
painters is shown by a letter of Rossetti 
in 1849 to "Our Pre Raphael ite Brother, 



-284 



THE AVE MARIA. 



James Collinson." Collinson was a con- 
tributor to The Germ^ the famous little 
organ of the Brethren, which lived so short 
a time. He was a Catholic, a convert, and 
instinct with mysticism and spirituality. 
His poem in The Germ^ "The Child 
Jesus," struck me much when I looked 
through Mr. William Rossetti's volume of 
that precious periodical. If my memory 
serves me, it was in the manner of an 
old mystery play, and full of light and a 
•quaint sweetness. 

Eighteen hundred and fifty was the 
year of The Germ^ the first number being 
published in January, the last in April. 
The potent Pre-Raphaelite Brethren, for- 
mulated, consisted of seven members, 
viz. : Holman Hunt, Millais, Rossetti, 
Woolner, James Collinson, F. Stephens, 
and William Rossetti. The contributors to 
The Germ were not confined to these. Miss 
Christina Rossetti contributed "Dream 
Land," "Dead Hope," and five other 
lyrics. Coventry Patmore, whose genius 
Rossetti fervently appreciated, sent his 
young admirer a poem for the new venture. 
Mr. Ford Maddox Brown contributed 
a sonnet. To the short-lived bantling 
Rossetti contributed more than his share. 
**Hand and Soul" was his prose contri- 
bution, and one may perceive a certain 
likeness between himself and the young 
painter who turned faint "in sunsets or 
at sight of stately persons." His poems in 
The Germ were six sonnets on pictures: 
"My Sister's Sleep," "The SeaUmits," 
"The Blessed Damozel," and the "World's 
Worth," so truly Catholic in its spirit. 

After the death of The Germ^ Rossetti 
^went on writing with the one hand, 
painting with the oth^r. In 1850 he met 
Klizabeth Siddall, the woman whose love 
and loss so terribly influenced his life. She 
was at that time a milliner's assistant in 
lyondon, and was sitting to his friend 
Deverell. Soon Rossetti induced her to sit 
to him. From the first he went wild over 
her beauty. She was very far indeed from 



being an ordinary artist's model. Her 
exquisite spirituality of face was responded 
to by much in the mind and soul. Rossetti 
soon discovered that she had an aptitude 
for art, and he set himself to teach her 
painting. She soon displayed a fine sense 
of color; and, inspired by the admiration 
the group of artists shed upon her, the 
beautiful creature began to make poems, 
which won also their enthusiastic praises. 
Her poems I have never seen, but her por- 
trait of herself, in Mr. William Rossetti's 
possession, is remarkable. Though she 
flashes her color upon us as brilliantly as 
a poppy, she does no such justice, of course, 
to the spiritual aspect of her beauty as 
does Rossetti in the wonderful picture 
' ' Beata Beatrix, ' ' in which, after her death, 
he painted his memory of her. Miss 
Christina Rossetti has shown me another 
full-length figure of her asleep in a chair, 
a sketch by her husband which gives one 
an idea of her surpassing grace. Miss 
Rossetti, in speaking of her to me, dwelt 
on this grace. She and Mrs. Morris were 
brides of one year, and the artistic world 
was sore put to it to award the palm of 
beauty between those fair and dark women 
of almost weird loveliness. 

Rossetti became engaged to Miss Siddall 
about 1853. The only cloud on his exu- 
berant happiness was her very delicate 
health, and the fact that for want of money 
they were unable to marry. He was full 
of raptures over her. "Lizzie is looking 
lovelier than ever," he writes to Mr. 
,Maddox Brown ; "everyone adores her, and 
I have made sketches of her with iris stuck 
in her dear hair." At most inconvenient 
moments for other people he would fall in 
ecstasies over some accidental position of 
hers, and refuse to stir till he had sketched 
it. Or again she is designing with him 
illustrations for a book of Scotch Ballads 
Allingham is editing for Routledges ; 
and displaying, says this thorough lover, 
"far greater fecundity of convention and 
facility than mine." Sometimes he is wild 



THE AVE MARIA. 



285 



with apprehension over her delicacy. In 
1854 an eminent doctor declared that she 
had curvature of the spine. They were not 
married till i860; and then when the 
marriage was approaching, it had to be 
postponed because of the bride's illness. 
Rossetti's letters at this period show great 
misery of mind. The marriage was again 
fixed for Rossetti's birthday, and had 
to be again postponed. Finally it took 
place on the 23d of May, the unlucky 
month for marriages. 

They were not long happy, poor things! 
After the birth of a baby, agonizing 
neuralgia seized on the delicate frame of 
the young wife. Laudanum was resorted 
to^ to relieve her; and one unhappy night 
she took an overdose, and before her 
husband could bring help she was dead. 
They had been married only two years. 

Henceforth her name is never men- 
tioned in Rossetti's correspondence. All 
the world knows how he buried his poems 
in her coffin. Seven years later he was 
persuaded by his friends to recover them, 
and the story goes that the dead woman's 
hair had grown about them. However, 
that he buried his heart with her there 
is no doubt. For five years he wrote no 
more poetry ; and from the day of her 
death the change set in which was to 
make him* in time an almost solitary 
misanthrope. The year after her death 
he painted "Beata Beatrix" ; the only 
important picture in which he had painted 
her during her lifetime was "The Princess 
Sabra." 

In 1 867 his miserable insomnia appeared. 
Two years later "Poems" was published, 
and suffered much from the Franco- 
Prussian war, which for the time being 
I left men scant leisure for poetry. In 
"Poems" was included the exquisite 
"Ave," which praises God's Mother so 
well that one must needs whisper a prayer 
to her for the troubled soul of her servant, 
Dante Rossetti. I give one of its most 
beautiful passages: 



I 



Mind'st thou not (when the twilight gone 

Left darkness in the house of John), 

Between the naked window bars 

The spacious vigil of the stars ? 

For thou, a watcher even as they, 

Wouldst rise from where throughout the day 

Thou wroughtest raiment for His poor ; 

And, finding the fixed terms endure, 

Of day and night that never brought 

Sounds of His coming chariot, 

Wouldst lift through cloud wastes unexplored 

Those eyes, which said, "How long, O Lord? " 

Then that disciple whom He loved, 

Well-heeding, haply would be moved 

To ask thy blessing in His name ; 

And that one thought in both, the same 

Though silent, then would clasp ye round 

To weep together, — tears long bound, 

Sick tears of patience, dumb and slow. 

Yet, "Surely, I come quickly," — so 

He said, from life and death gone home. 

Amen : even so. Lord Jesus, come ! 

There is no doabt that the reverence 
inherent in Rossetti was fostered by the 
lofty spiritual character of the women of 
his own family. Never was a mother so 
loved and reverenced as Rossetti's. 

When I saw Mrs. Rossetti in the winter 
of 1886, shortly before her death, she was 
being tended by her daughter Christina 
in the somewhat gloomy house in Tor- 
rington Square. Mrs. Rossetti was then in 
her eighties; but, shrunken and sunk as 
she was in the great arm-chair by which 
her daughter sat, caressing the thin old 
hand, her nobly handsome face was full 
of alert interest and warm kindliness. I 
had introduced myself to the family by 
my unsophisticated passion of enthusiasm 
for their brother. The aged mother of the 
Rossettis was keenly alive to hear all the 
worship I could pour out of the son so 
dearly beloved, so bitterly mourned. I 
remember how she kept nodding her 
head, and smiling at me out of her kind, 
undimmed old eyes. 

After his wife's death, Rossetti withdrew 
himself into an inner circle of his friends. 
He lived at that fine old house on the 
river-banks at Chelsea, called in his time 
Tudor House, but since his death, and its 
passing into the hands of the Rev. Mr. 
Haweis, known as Rossetti House. Here 



286 



THE AVE MARIA 



he kept the most extraordinary assortment 
of animals; inside he crowded his house 
with beautiful things. His collection of 
blue china was especially remarkable. 
Though most kindly in the circle of his 
friends whom his personal magnetism 
drew around him, and very accessible to 
any youngster whose attempts at art or 
poetry had struck his generous fancy, he 
was unknown to the public at large. His 
pictures never went to an exhibition, but 
were sold to private purchasers. The art 
critic invaded not his studio. It was a 
sign of the mystery about him that people 
believed a story, which he indignantly 
denied, of his having refused the Queen's 
daughter access to his studio. 

All those later years were, however, 
weighed upon by trouble that came from 
within. There were intervals of peace, of 
course; and for a long time he lived in 
the country, at Kelmscott House in 
Gloucestershire, which he shared with 
Mr. William Morris. A bright spot in this 
shadowed life is so welcome that one 
dwells on an occasional letter to his 
mother less morbid than usual. Once he 
writes : "I have often thought of you 
since we last met, — always whenever my 
path in the garden lies by the windows of 
that summer room at which I used to see 
your dear, beautiful old face last summer." 
But the insomnia and the chloral were 
on the increase, and the end was near. 

Rossetti died on Easter Sunday, April 
9, 1882, at Birchington-on-Sea ; and is 
buried in the little churchyard there, 
under a Celtic cross designed by his friend. 
Ford Maddox Brown. After his death there 
were two or three exhibitions of his 
wonderful pictures, all instinct with the 
Catholic feeling in art as is his poetry. 
To us Catholics he seems of right to have 
belonged, and to him we owe all our 
compunction and tenderness for his dark- 
ened life, and all praise as one who in 
words and in colors wrought as nobly as 
any of Florence or Fiesole. 



Bishop Neumann. 



EDITED BY MARC F. VALLETTB, 1,1,. D. 



II. ^Westward Ho! 

DURING the early portion of his 
sojourn in the Seminary of Budweis, 
John Neumann had resolved to become a 
missionary priest in America. He was at 
that time an eager reader of the Annals 
of the Leopold Institution; and the letters 
of Bishop Baraga and other German 
missionaries, which he read therein, acted 
with magnetic attraction on his ardent 
soul. He relates himself that his final 
resolve was formed during a walk with a 
friend on the banks of the Moldau. 

This friend, influenced by the enthusi- 
astic lecture of a professor on the apostolic 
labors of the evangelizers of peoples, had 
come to the conclusion that he would 
join those who were sowing the good seed 
in the New World, and made known his 
resolution to his friend Neumann during 
their walk. The latter jested on the 
subject at first; but, suddenly becoming 
seripus, they discussed the matter at 
length, and it ended by Neumann declaring 
he wQuld accompany his friend to America. 
From this purpose he never swerved ; and 
in his paternal friend. Father Hermann 
Dichtl, he found the counsel and sympathy 
he needed in this important affair. Dichtl 
for some time cherished hopes of founding 
a seminary for Foreign Missions in 
Bohemia, but they proved abortive. 

About the time that Neumann and his 
friend were drawing near to the conclusion 
of their studies, Bishop Kenrick, of Phila- 
delphia, wrote to Dr. Rass, the director of 
the seminary in Strasburg, to ask if he 
could not send him some German priests. 
Dr. Rass wrote to Dichtl, wljo immediately 
communicated with Neumann. The latter 
met with great opposition from many 
enlightened persons, as well as from his 



THE AVE MARIA. 



287 



lishop, who was naturally unwilling to 
lose .so promising a young ecclesiastic. 
What his afflicted parents would say, 
and how grieved they would feel, Neu- 
mann shrank from contemplating. When 
at last he found courage to make known 
his purpose to his father, the latter said: 
"If you believe that God calls you to 
this mission, we shall offer no opposition; 
but," he added, entreatingly, "take no 
farewell of us." The pallor of his coun- 
tenance showed the struggle which this 
apparently calm acquiescence cost him ; 
and Neumann, who knew his father well, 
fully appreciated the sacrifice he made in 
giving his consent. His mother did not 
seem astonished at his resolve ; her 
maternal perspicacity had probably pene- 
trated his secret before it was revealed 
in words. 

A very difficult undertaking now lay 
before the young levite — that of procuring 
the necessary funds - for his journey to 
America, his own resources being abso- 
lutely insufficient. A collection made by 
some friendly priests of the diocese enabled 
him to begin his journey, and he was 
promised a further contribution in Stras- 
burg. The friend who had intended to 
accompany him was unable to do so for 
wantof means, and Neumann's scanty store 
barely sufficed for indispensable outlays. 
He had as yet received no orders ; and 
he determined to leave Europe without 
them, and receive them in the country of 
his adoption. 

Many obstacles delayed his departure; 
it was only on the 8th of February, 1836, 
that he was able to set out, although 
he had finished his studies in the Uni- 
versity of Prague in July of the previous 
I jar. The future missionary took leave 
' his native place with 'a swelling heart. 
I compliance with his father's wish, he 
ide his family no formal farewell; it was 
lought that he had gone to Budweis for 
temporary absence, as he often did, until 
letter from that town, in which the 



devoted son took a touching and grateful 
leave of his excellent parents, showed 
them that the threatened sacrifice was at 
last consummated. 

Faith alone could have strengthened 
Neumann for the separation, which left 
every fibre of his heart quivering with 
anguish. And, as if God would try His 
faithful servant to the utmost, disappoint- 
ments and hinderances met him at every 
step. In Linz, Bishop Ziegler received 
him with great kindness ; but in Munich 
a bitter deception awaited him. There he 
met a missionary from Cincinnati, and 
was told by him that German priests 
were certainly sought for in America, but 
that the Bishop of Philadelphia no longer 
needed any, and had withdrawn the 
appeal which he had made to the Rector 
of Strasburg. He advised him to seek 
acceptance in the diocese of New York, 
Detroit, or Vincennes. The Bishop of the 
last named see would be in Paris, on his 
way home from Rome, about Easter; and 
he could perhaps make the journey to 
America with him. 

Neumann was greatly cast down at 
this news ; but, encouraged by Professor 
Phillips, he applied to Bishop Brut^, of 
Vincennes, for admission into his diocese; 
and pushed on to Strasburg, where, 
although kindly received, he learned to 
his dismay that the funds promised him 
for his journey had already been divided 
atnong other missionaries. The kind 
director of the Strasburg Seminary, how- 
ever, gave him a letter of introduction to 
a rich merchant i^ Paris, who was very 
friendly to missionaries; and on the}3d of 
March, after a week's stay in Strasburg, 
Neumann took his departure; and, being 
joined at Nancy by Father Schafer, a 
German priest, also bound for America, 
he reached the French capital on the 
nth of March. 

New disappointments awaited him in 
Paris. Refused admittance at St Sulpice, 
with the admonition that no foreigners 



288 



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were received there, it was only at the 
cost of many humiliations that he found 
temporary shelter in the otherwise most 
hospitable house of the Foreign Missions; 
and the merchant to whom he had been 
recommended was not to be found. At 
last, after much trouble, Neumann and 
his companion obtained a room for twenty 
francs a month ; and there, suflfering every 
privation and almost starved, he waited 
until Easter, without receiving any answer 
from Bishop Brut6, or any sign of his 
arrival from Rome. 

On the 28th of March, his birthday, he 
had satisfied his devotion by receiving 
Holy Communion at Montmartre; and, 
in remembrance of St. Francis Xavier, 
solemnly vowed to be his disciple in word 
and work, which greatly comforted and 
fortified him. On Easter Monday, April 4, 
. he again fortified himself with the Bread 
of lyife, and determined on starting for 
America before his small stock of money 
should be completely exhausted. 

He took a place in the Evening Express 
for Havre, but missed his train by five 
minutes. Determined to proceed, he took 
a cab to the city gates, and then trudged 
on in the darkness and rain to Nanterre, 
which he reached "thoroughly drenched, 
but not at all tired," he declares. From 
Nanterre he took the diligence to Saint 
Germain, and thence gained Meulan on 
foot. From the latter town to Havre he 
took the diligence. 

One bright episode of this toilsome 
journey he always remembered with grati- 
tude. His companions had descended from 
the vehicle to refresh themselves at an 
inn between Meulan and Havre. Neumann 
followed them hesitatingly, debating with 
himself how to obtain the refreshment he 
so badly needed with an almost empty 
purse. The hostess took him into a room, 
provided him with a most comfortable 
meal, and absolutely refused all payment, 
saying with a smile that he should pray 
for her in return. 



On the 7th of April he reached Havre, 
and found a vessel nearly ready to start for 
America. He also made the agreeable dis- 
covery that his money was sufficient for 
the passage. But he had to wait in Havre 
until the 20th of April, when, strengthened 
by Holy Communion received that morn- 
ing, he embarked on the Europa^ which 
immediately weighed anchor; and soon 
our young missionary saw the shores of 
the Old World vanish in the distance, — 
his heart full of hope, and his trust in 
Providence unshaken. 

in. — The Missionary. 

On the eve of Trinity Sunday, after a 
stormy voyage of forty days, Neumann 
saw the longed-for shores of America, like 
a grey mist on the western horizon. On 
the following day the Europa cast anchor 
about three miles from Staten Island, to 
undergo a short quarantine. 

Neumann afterward spoke of the inde- 
scribable pleasure it had given him and 
his fellow-passengers to see land again, 
after forty days of combat with wind 
and waves. "All," he wrote, "came on 
deck, notwithstanding the heavy rain ; 
and as long as we could see them, we 
watched the green banks and the red 
houses and villas. Even the sick forgot 
illness and weakness, and joined in the 
general rejoicing." 

By dint of persuasion, Neumann obtained 
leave from the captain to cross in a small 
boat to Staten Island on the morning of 
Corpus Christi; thence by steamer he 
reached New York at one o'clock in the 
afternoon. In a letter to a friend, to 
whom he was describing his landing in 
America, he wrote : 

"You can well imagine how I felt. My 
first thought was to find a Catholic church; 
and I wandered until evening in the 
mile-long streets of the city, seeing many 
temples and chapels, but ' no Catholic 
church. All my philological knowledge 
was called into account, and scarcely 



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289 



sufficed to enlighten me as to what wor- 
ship these various buildings belonged. 
Sometimes they bore no emblem, at others 
there was a weathercock surmounted by a 
cross, or a cross surmounted by a weather- 
cock. 'Ah!' I said to myself, 'however 
ably the devil disguises himself, the 
cloven foot will peep out.'" 

Unable to find what he sought, Neumann 
had to take a room at an inn, which by 
good luck had a Swiss host; and only the 
next morning he discovered the Catholic 
Cathedral. What was his joyful surprise to 
be received with open arms by the German 
parish priest, the Rev. Father Raffeiner, 
and to learn from him that he was already 
accepted for the New York diocese! Dr. 
Rass had, according to his promise, 
written from Strasburg about him; and 
three weeks before his arrival his accept- 
ance was determined on. 

Father Raflfeiner took Neumann to Bishop 
Dubois, a hale old man of eighty, who, 
in Neumann's own words, "did not know 
whether he should address him in Latin, 
French, or English', so great was his 
joyful surprise." The newcomer surpassed 
all his expectations, and seemed specially 
fitted to continue the work which the 
zealous missionaries, John Nicholas Mertz 
and Alexander Pax, had begun among the 
German emigrants in the western part 
of the State. His ordination was rapidly 
proceeded with. On the 19th of June he 
received minor orders and the subdiaco- 
nate, on the 24th and 25th the remaining 
' sacred orders; and on the 26th he had the 
joy of celebrating his first Mass, in the 
Church of St. Nicholas. 

Two days later he started for Williams- 
ville, his new residence; and, reaching it 
on the 1 2th of July, was introduced to 
his flock by the Rev. Father Pax. Besides 
Williamsville, several other parishes, of 
which Northbush and Lancaster were the 

tiost important, were confided to the care 
f the young missionary. 



The Unseen Friend. 

BY SARA TRAINKR SMITH. 

7TNSEEN, unknown, yet ever at my side, 
N-*. Sinless and glorious, my Angel Guide 
Far from the heights of heaven folds his wings 
And waits with me where earth's chill vapor 
clings. 

Waits, hopes and prays, watchful, alert and 

wise; 
The light of God, within his steady eyes, 
Illumes the shadows of that veilM way 
I tread, unresting, to death's night — or day. 

Ofttimes he holds me, and my steps are stayed 
Upon the crumbling verge of Sin's dark glade; 
Ofttimes he calls me with some vision fair 
From foul morass to God's pure, upland air. 

Ofttimes he shields me, and the shafts of woe 
Drop harmless, blunted, from his buckler's 

glow; 
Ofttimes he soothes me, and Pain's iron grasp 
Is loosed and palsied by his tender clasp. 

I know not how, I know not where, but still 
I know my Angel tempers every ill. 
Doubles my joys, and changeless, patient 

stands. 
The burden of my soul upon his hands. 

O thou God's Angel, whom I dare call mine! 
May every moment of my life yet shine 
A gem to crown thee when the soul God gave 
Full homage bears to Him from out the grave! 



Through Sorrow's Seas. 

IL 

LEFT alone in the dark, I grew afraid; 
although fear was a sensation to which 
I was usually a stranger. For the sake of 
company,! awoke old Hector. He stretched 
himself leisurely, drew near me and began 
to lick my hands. God forgive me, his 
caress involuntarily recalled thejcold kiss 
so recently bestowed on me by father. 
A few moments later mother re-entered 



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the room; and as t saw her face wet with 
tears I was stricken with sympathetic 
grief. Putting aside the greyhound, who 
had placed his paws on my knees, I ran 
to mother, threw myself into her arms and 
kissed her repeatedly. As she returned 
my caresses and clasped me closely to her 
bosom, I could feel her bosom palpitating 
violently. I desired to partake of her 
sorrow and to suffer with her, but she 
seemed bent on striving to hide from me 
the intensity of her woe. 

"Papa gfrieves you a great deal, does 
he not?" I asked her. 

"Still, he loves you very much, for all 
that," she replied, with a visible effort. 
"And, then, he is tired out after his exer- 
tions during the past few days. A good 
night's rest will completely restore him, 
I hope." The fire was burning low, and 
she added: "It is growing cold here; and, 
moreover, it is quite late; It is time for 
you also, Gerald, to go to bed." 

I understood that she wished to weep 
freely and unseen by me; but I insisted on 
remaining with her, for it pained me cruelly 
to think of her suffering in solitjide. She 
allowed me to stay for another half hour, 
and I spent the time in lavishing upon 
her all the consolation in my power. 
Finally we had to separate; I prolonged 
my good-night kiss, and could scarcely tear 
myself away from her loving embrace. 
The wind was howling furiously about 
the chdteau^ as if bent on forcing an 
entrance. I slept uneasily all night, and 
dreamed of a thousand terrible events. 

The next morning, on returning from 
the early Mass, which it was her daily 
custom to attend, she found my father's 
room empty. This surprised her somewhat, 
as he never went out so early. The servants 
could give only an imperfect explanation 
of his absence. Shortly after Madam's 
departure for the church, M. Albert de 
Vigroux had driven up to the door, had 
alighted and asked to see M. Melangon. 
They had conversed for about a quarter 



of an hour in the salon^ had exchanged 
some angry words, and finally driven 
away together. 

"I caught a glimpse of M. Melangon as 
he was leaving," said one of the maids. 
"He looked pale and much disturbed; and 
he put his head out the carriage window 
and looked in this direction till they turned 
the corner of Bonsecours Avenue." 

This was all that was known of the 
matter in our household, but this was 
enough to fill us with misgivings. Albert 
de Vigroux was only too well known of 
us. He had squandered the greater part 
of his jnother's fortune, and he led the 
wildest of lives. Father had been visited 
by him at different times, and had been led 
by him into circles where of late all his 
evenings had been spent. 

His quick, decided way of acting, and 
his somewhat cynical expression, half 
attracted, half repelled me. In truth it was 
antipathy with which he inspired me; yet 
he never neglected an opportunity of treat- 
ing my mother with great courtesy, and of 
showing much amiability to myself His 
visits were always the occasion of some 
gift to me, and he had a hundred skilful 
and gracious methods of winning mother's 
consent to father's accompanying him. 
For the most part, indeed, it did not require 
much diplomacy. Mother was naturally 
good and generous ; and if she occasionally 
urged father to remain at home, it was 
solely through love for him. Egotism was 
quite foreign to her character; she forgot 
herself and sought her happiness only in 
that of others. 

Still, she was not partial to M. de 
Vigroux. She never said so,- but I could 
readily perceive it. Incapable of hating 
any one, she felt for this man an instinc- 
tive repulsion ; and she could not but 
perceive the terrible ascendency which he 
exercised over her husband, — an ascen- 
dency that she was incapable of counter- 
balancing, and which bade, fair to become 
very prejudicial to father's interests. The 



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291 



latter's character, naturally yielding, and 
inclined to be influenced by any strong 
will with whom he came into contact, was 
moulded by M. de Vigroux for his own 
purposes. Briefly, this De Vigroux, who 
styled himself the best friend of her 
husband, was regarded by my mother as 
his most dangerous enemy. 

It was not without some uneasiness, 
therefore, that she learned of father's 
going out at so unusual an hour in the 
company of his evil genius. She was 
disturbed and ill at ease throughout the 
day ; and as night came on and brought 
no tidings of father, her anxiety became 
redoubled. Finally, she gave some orders 
to the servants, went into her room for a 
few moments, came out to where I was 
sitting, and, hiding her tears behind a 
black veil with which she had covered 
her face, said: 

*' Gerald, I must go out to look for your 

father; be a good boy while I am absent." 

ft She kissed me; and I felt, through her 

"veil, that her cheek was cold and wet. I 

heard her going downstairs with a light 

step, and saying to her chambermaid: 

"Rose, I may not be back until quite 
late. Watch over the baby till I return." 
Left alone, I ran to the window that 
looked on the street The weather had 
been fine during the day, but was now 
growing stormy. The rain began to fall 
on the sidewalks, and soon on either side 
of the street the water flowed along like a 
veritable rivulet. I watched for a time the 
street-lamps, that threatened every minute 
to be extinguished; and the few foot 
travellers, who, with umbrellas blown 
hither and thither by the rising wind, 
struggled doggedly onward. 

Soon growing tired of this monotonous 
and melancholy spectacle, I approached 
the table at which father had written so 

ing on the previous night. The pen 
hich he had used, and had thrown down 
irelessly, had left in falling an ink stain 



in red morocco. It was my mother's favor- 
ite volume, "The Imitation of Christ." 
The gloves which father had worn when 
he came, and had taken off when he began 
to write, were also lying on the table. 
I picked them up mechanically and 
examined them. As I did so something 
fell on the floor. Stooping down, I hunted 
for it till I found it — a gold ring which 
on her wedding-day mother had placed 
on father's finger, and which he prized 
highly. Doubtless, in his haste, he had 
pulled it ofi" without noticing the fact 
I remember thinking that if he had gone 
away for any length of time, he would be 
very sorry uot to have this souvenir of 
that happy day. J put the ring on the 
mantel-piece, and taking up an old album, 
began to look through it 

Father's picture was on almost every 
alternate page, now in one posture, now 
in another; but what astonished me was 
that in none of them could I see any trace 
of the sombre, anxious, discontented air 
which I had remarked in him since I was 
old enough to notice his features with 
intelligence. I saw, too, the picture of my 
mother at the age of seventeen. Time had 
changed her features somewhat, but had 
left her the gentle expression and the 
sweet smile that had always made her a 
general favorite. This portrait showed her 
in the act of mounting her horse. She was 
robed in an elegant riding habit, which 
set off" her lithesome figure to perfection. 
It was taken at the time when she lived 
with her father in Beaufort Castle. She 
had often spoken to me of the equestrian 
exercises which ' formed the favorite 
recreation of my grandfather, and in 
which she and father during their engage-, 
ment often took part 

Having looked the album through and 
through, I picked up the morocco-covered 
volume, and commenced to turn over its 
pages. I was attracted by one particular 
page, that seemed more soiled than the 
others, doubtless because mother perused 



292 



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it most frequently. It began: '*My son, I 
came down from heaven for your salva- 
tion; I clothed Myself with your miseries, 
not from necessity, but because of the love 
which I bear you; in order to teach you 
to be patient, and to endure without 
murmuring the hardships of this life. For 
from the moment of My birth until My 
death on the Cross, I never ceased to suffer 
some sorrow." 

As I finished reading these lines, I 
heard some voices talking in the next 
room, which was father's. Going quietly 
over to the door, I put my ear to the key- 
hole and listened. I could not follow all 
that was said, but I heard enough to terrify 
me. I recognized the voices as those of 
Rose and father's valet, Jules; and the first 
words I could catch came from the latter. 

"No, no: the revolver isn't here; he 
took it with him when he went out; and 
not without reason, either, — you may be 
sure of that." 

' ' What ! ' ' said Rose, indignantly. ' ' You 
imagine that M. Melan9on could do 
anything so wicked, — he who has a wife 
so saintly!" 

" I may be mistaken — I hope I am; but, 
you see, my dear, gambling, debts, and . 
despair very often travel together, and 
they are pretty bad advisers. As for 
me, I tell you candidly I shall not be 
surprised to learn that master has blown 
his brains out." 

A black cloud passed before my eyes, 
my teeth came together violently, my 
legs shook so that I could hardly stand. 
I uttered a cry of terror. The door was 
opened hastily and Rose appeared, but she 
wore a look of such consternation that she 
only increased my fright She grew still 
paler and more troubled when I asked her: 

"What do you think has become of 
my father?" As she hesitated before 
replying, I continued, indignantly: "What 
Jules says is infamous." 

Rose 'understood that I had heard the 
recent^conversation. 



"Don't pay any attention," said she, 
"to what that big, idiotic chatter-box 
has been saying. Some folks are always 
ready to think the worst of everybody. 
M. Melan^on will soon be back. I am 
sure of it." 

As she spoke with an air of conviction, 
I was somewhat reassured. Still, the 
terrible suspicion of the valet returned to 
my mind again and again, and it was in 
vain that I tried to drive it away. Father to 
commit suicide ! It was horrible to think 
of. Far from believing it, I should not 
allow myself to consider it possible. Yet 
last night he was very much agitated ; 
never had I seen him so gloomy and 
strange. And, then, why did he go out at 
so unusual an hour this morning? He 
might at least have told mother of his 
intended absence. And why did he take 
his revolver? There was something 
mysterious in the whole affair, and I 
could not free myself from the burden 
of a great dread. 

(To be continued.) 



Memories of Hawaii. 



BY CHARItBS WARREN^STODDARD. 



XI. — Afterglow. 

THERE is a bell in a certain tower, — 
a tower quite near me, yet not visible 
from my windows. At six o'clock every 
morning that bell does its best to tip over 
in delirious joy; but a dozen strokes of the 
big iron tongue usually complete its effort, 
and the last note vibrates and spins itself 
out indefinitely. I like to be awakened by 
that bell; I like to hear it at meridian, 
when my day's work is nearly done. It 
is swinging this very moment; and the 
heavy hammer is bumping its head on 
either side of the rim, wrought to a pitch- 
of melodious fury. 



I 



THE AVE MARIA. 



293 



The voice of it is so like the voice of a 
certain bell I used to hear in a dreamy 
sea-side village away off in the Tropics, 
that I have only to close my eyes and I 
am over the seas again, where I have dwelt 
of yore. As it rings now I fancy I am in a 
great house, built of coral stone, — a house 
surrounded by broad verandas and stand- 
ing in the midst of a grove of cocoa-palms. 
Just across a dusty lane lies the church- 
yard ; and in the congregation of the 
departed I catch a glimpse of the homely 
whitewashed walls of the old missionary 
church. As the bell of that church rings 
out at high noon the pigeons flutter from 
the eaves of the old church, and sail to and 
fro as if half afraid; yet this flight of 
theirs, which ends with the last note of the 
bell^then they quietly nestle themselves 
under the eaves once more, — this flight of 
theirs seems to be a part of the service 
that is renewed from day to day. 

In spirit I pace agaifl those winding 
paths; I meet dark faces that brighten as 
I greet them; I hear the reef-music blown 
in from the summer sea; through leafy 
trellises I look into the watery distance, 
where white sails are wafted like feathers 
across an azure sky. A dry and floating 
dust, like powdered gold, glorifies the air. 
The vertical sun has driven the shadows 
to the wall, and the dry pods of the tama- 
rind rattle and crackle in the intense heat; 
or perhaps a cocoanut drops suddenly to 
the grass with a dull thud. 

A vixenish hornet swaggers in at the 
rindow, which is never closed, dangling 
its withered legs — the very ghost of an 
[emaciated ballet-girl, — and pirouettes 
ibove my head, while I sit statue-like, 
)reathlessly awaiting my fate; but — O 
I what a relief! — presently she flirts herself 
mt of the window, and is gone. 

Do you think that nothing transpires 
^n this far-away corner of the world ? The 

)lie who brings me my matutinal 
:ocoanut, the cream of which I drink 
rom the tender young shell just broken 



for me, is now gathering fallen leaves, 
each one as big as a Panama hat ; they 
have covered the tennis-court during the 
night. Do you often see such a sight 
as that? 

Were I in Honolulu — the Tropical 
Metropolis, you know! — I could see from 
my window as of yore a singularly shaped 
hill, commonly called Punch Bowl. 'Twas 
once an active volcano, and the Punch 
brewed in it in those days was not good 
for lips of mortal clay. It has been empty 
for ages, as have all the volcanoes in the 
northern islands of the group; and now it 
looms above the sea of foliage that engulfs 
the little capital like an island in the air. 
There is a fortress up yonder, and a winding 
carriage way that leads from the edge of 
the town to the summit, and girdles that 
Ah! what a stretch of sea and shore invites 
the eye as one skirts the rim of old Punch 
Bowl! And in the twilight one is up among 
the stars. Punch Bowl has baked hard in 
the sun through all thesfe ages; it is for the 
most part as red as clay, though a tinge 
of green in its rain - moistened chinks 
suggests those bronzes of uncertain antiq- 
uity. 'Tis really an ornamental bit of 
nature's bric-a-brac. Above it roll snow- 
white trade-wind clouds, those commercial 
travellers that rush over us in such haste, 
as if they had important business else- 
where. Above all is the profoundly blue, 
blue sky, within whose depths one loses 
one's self so easily and feels so lonesome. 

I like better to picture the narrow street 
in my old neighborhood, wherein man 
and beast travel amicably ; and a discon- 
solate old KauHka, done up in a shirt or 
a sheet — it makes very little difference to 
him which one of these is his covering, — 
settles for a little while wherever it may 
please him to halt, and there takes about 
three whiffs of tobacco from a stubby, 
black, brass-bound, wooden pipe, before 
resuming his aimless journey to nowhere. 

Over the way there is a long, low rustic 
shed, with its beams hung full of dead- 



294 



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ripe bananas ; on a little bench under 
these yellow pouches of creamy pulp lie 
heaps of native watermelons, looking 
very delicious indeed. A comely native 
girl, with an uncombed head — but comely 
for all that, — will sell you her poorest 
stores with a grace that makes the article 
cheap at any price. 

Just beyond my window wave mango 
boughs, heavily fruited. There are strange 
flowers palpitating in the sunshine, 
covered thick with dust- pollen, — flowers 
whose ancestors have lived and died in 
Ceylon, Java, Japan, Madagascar, and all 
those far-away lands that make a boy's 
mouth water in study hours as he pores 
over his enchanted atlas. Sindbad had 
thrilling experiences and some hair- 
breadth escapes while he was travelling cor- 
respondent of the Daily Arabian Nights; 
but I warrant you there are plenty of us 
nowadays who would risk life and limb 
for a tithe of his wonderful adventures. 

I hear the tramp of hoofs upon the 
hard-baked street ; horsemen and horse- 
women dash by, — the men sitting limp 
in the saddle and seeming almost a part 
of the animal ; the women riding man- 
fashion, like Amazons, and outriding the 
men in a race. 

What the down is to the peach so is 
the last hour of sunset to the tropical 
day; it is the finishing touch that makes 
perfect the whole. The bell has just 
struck again, and its long reverberating 
note seems of a color with the picture 
in my mind; — a bell for sunset, it is 
the Angelus that calls me back again to 
the little village that lies half asleep 
over the dreamy sea. 

Just fancy a long, long beach, with a 
long, long wave rushing upon it and turn- 
ing a regular summersault, all spray and 
spangles, just before it gets there; a unique 
lighthouse at the top of the one solitary 
dock where the small boats land; the 
white spires of two churches at the two 
ends of the town, and a sprinkling of 



roofs and verandas but half discovered in 
the confusion of green boughs, — that is 
Lahaina from the anchorage; I think it 
the prettiest sight in the whole Hawaiian 
Kingdom. 

Let us hasten shoreward. Perhaps we 
wonder if that ridge of breakers is to be 
climbed in this small boat, and climbed in 
safety? Perhaps we look with a tinge of 
superstition into the affairs of Lahaina, 
questioning if it be really the abode of men 
in the flesh, or but a dream wherein spirits 
live and move and have their being ? 

Ah! we are speedily awakened by the 
boat- boy. Great is the boat-boy of Lahaina! 
He is agile and impudent and amphib- 
ious, and altogether comical. He has 
carried all the population of Lahaina — 
some two or three thousand — in his boat, 
first and last. He complacently suns 
himself on that solitary wharf, hour after 
hour, day after day, patiently awaiting a 
fresh arrival and' a renewal of business. 
Business he can not help ranking before 
pleasure, because in his case such busi- 
ness is the most pleasurable of his 
pleasures. 

Happy, thrice happy boat-boy ! He 
poises himself against the whitewash 
of the wooden lighthouse in startling 
relief; he recognizes you the moment he 
lays- eye on you, in spite of your week-old 
beard and the dilapidated state of your 
travelling suit; with the utmost cordiality 
he hails you by your Christian name — a 
custom of the country; you immediately 
fall a victim to his wiles. It is quite 
impossible not to brave the sea with him 
whether you will or no ; for he is the 
embodiment of presuming good-nature, 
and you are as wax under the influence of 
his beaming and persuasive smile. The 
finger of Time doubles up the moment it 
points toward him; he is the same yester- 
day, to-day, and forever. I can lead you 
to the very boat-boy who -collared me 
ages ago, I am sure of it; he must be still 
lying in wait for me, — not a day older, not 



THE AVE MARIA. 



296 



I 



a particle changed; and were I there in 
the flesh as I am there in the spirit, I 
should expect to fall into his hands within 
the hour, and should instinctively and 
instantly surrender whatever plans I may 
have cherished without a murmur and 
without a doubt • 

Ever consistent in his inconsistency, 
wonderful are the ways of the Kanaka. 
I am reminded of an incident which 
occurred within my personal knowledge. A 
Hawaiian congregation having, after con- 
siderable effort, succeeded in raising money 
enough for the purchase of a large bell, 
called a meeting of all those who were 
interested in church matters. You may be 
sure there was a full attendance, for this 
was an occasion of unusual importance. 
The new bell, paid for oufof the donations 
of those present, was hanging in the little 
square tower of the church; it was rung 
for the edification of the people; then two 
of the most popular and eloquent debaters 
in that part of the Kingdom were called 
upon to entertain .the multitude with an 
argument upon the respective merits of 
the bell and the conch-shell which was 
formerly in general use throughout Hawaii. 

The Hawaiians are never weary of 
arguing; there are very eloquent and witty 
orators among them ; they are fluent 
speakers and highly emotional ; they share 
tears and laughter in a breath. The 
champion of the bell arose. He spoke of 
the growth and development of the age 
we live in; of the propriety of keeping 
pace with said age; of how they, as a 
nation, had risen out of the darkness of 
superstition, and were now called upon to 
put away the childish things of the past 
The Hawaiian orator loves to refer to the 
regeneration of his race, the broken idols, 
and all that sort of thing; this is Hawaiian 
"Buncombe." He did not forget to 
describe the singular history of the bell, 
tracing it from the ore in the earth to the 
instrument in the air. He would have 
quoted Schiller's *' Lay " had Schiller been 



a Hawaiian. He concluded with a noble 
panegyric on the silvery, vibrating voice 
that should henceforth speak to them of 
prayer and praise in most persuasive tones. 
He ended amid a tumult of applause; it 
looked bad for the champion of the conch. 

Then the latter arose. Silent was the 
throng that gathered about him; his pros- 
pects were anything but encouraging. 
After a suitable pause he began to speak 
in a low mellow voice, that at once 
attracted attention. He said he had not 
risen to praise the works of man, — they 
spoke for themselves on every possible 
occasion ; he came to speak of that slender, 
delicate structure, framed by the hand of 
God Himself, whose twining, pearl-lined 
pipe responded only to the airs of heaven. 
Its home was in the sea, yet had it been 
cast up by the sea at their very feet — a 
beautiful and gracious offering; it was 
ancient as the earth. What could be more 
fitting than that this shell, out of the 
bosom of the blue waters, should whisper 
to the children of a day and call them 
home to God? It was forever singing; it 
was forever haunted by the spirit of song. 
Would they — should they — could they 
dash aside this exquisite structure, so 
ancient, so unique, so worthy of their vener- 
ation ? It was a memento of the past — God- 
given, and should be gratefully accepted. 
While all other mementos were fast per- 
ishing, this cried to the