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You are requested neither to abuse nor lend this 
Book. Extra charge will be made for any injury. 

gARSWELL CO. .Limited 





VOL. V. (New Series.) 


NO. i 

[Published every Saturday. Copyright, 1917: Rev. D. B. Hudson. C. S. C.] 

To the Blessed Virgin. 

BY J. S. V. 

6\T7 OTHER of God and Mother mine, 

With thy Infant all divine 
Prone, I worship at thy shrine. 
Let me feel thy loving care, 
Let me have some little^ share 
In thy efficacious prayer. 

Pray that I may humble be, 
Pure and from all evil free, 
Chaste and innocent like thee. 

Since I am thy exiled child, 
Shield me from the tempest wild, 
Keep me ever undefiled. 

And as years go rolling past 
"Hold me, Mother, hold me fast 
Till I'm safe with thee .at last! 

How I long to kiss thy hand, 
At thy feet to take my stand 
In thine ever-blessed land! 

The Epiphany of Our Lord.* 

OU have heard from the Gospel 
| ! lesson how, when the King of 
Heaven was born, the king of 
earth was troubled. The depths 
of earth are stirred, whilst the heights of 
heaven are opened. Now, let us consider 
the question why, when the Redeemer 
was born, an angel brought the news to 
the shepherds of Judea, but a star led 
the Wise Men of the East to adore Him. 
It seems as if the Jews, as reasonable 
creatures, received a revelation from a 

* A homily on the Gospels, by St. Gregory the Great. 
Translated by the Rev. D. G. Hubert. 

reasonable being, 'that is, an angel; whilst 
the Gentiles without, not listening to 
their reason, are attracted, not by a 
voice, but by a sign, that is, a star. Hence, 
St. Paul says: "A sign, not to believers, 
but to unbelievers; but prophecies, not 
to unbelievers, but to believers." (I. Cor., 
xiv, 22.) So the prophesying that is, of 
an angel was given to those who believed, 
and the sign to them that believed not. 
We also remark that later on the Redeemer 
was preached among the Gentiles, not by 
Himself, but by the Apostles, even as 
when a little child He is shown to them, 
not by the voice of angels, but merely 
by the vision of a star. When He Himself 
began to speak, He was made known to 
us by teachers; but when He lay silent 
in the manger, by the silent testimony in 

Whether we consider the signs accom- 
panying His birth or His death, however, 
this special thing is wonderful namely, 
the hardness of heart of the Jews, who 
would not believe in Him, in spite of both 
prophecies and miracles. All things in 
creation bore witness that its Creator was 
come. Let us reckon them up after the 
manner of men. The heavens knew that 
He was God, and sent a star to shine over 
where He lay. The sea knew it, and bore 
Him up when He walked upon it. The 
earth knew it, and quaked when He died. 
The sun knew it, and was darkened. The 
rocks and walls knew it, and broke in 
pieces at the hour of His death. Hell 
knew it, and gave up the dead that were 
therein. And yet, up to this very hour, 
the hearts of the unbelieving Jews do 


not acknowledge that He, to whom all 
nature did testify, is their God; and, 
being more hardened than rocks, refuse 
to be rent by repentance. 

But that which increases their guilt 
and punishment lies in the fact that they 
despise that God whose birth had been 
announced to them by the prophets hun- 
dreds of years before, and whom they had 
seen after His birth in the stable. They 
even knew the place of His birth; for 
they spoke of it to the inquiring Herod, 
and told him that, according to the 
testimony of Holy Scripture, Bethlehem 
was to be renowned as the birthplace of 
the Messiah. They strengthen, therefore, 
our faith, whilst their own knowledge 
condemns them. The Jews are like Isaac, 
whose eyes were overtaken with the 
darkness, of death when he blessed, but 
could not see, his son Jacob standing 
before him. Thus the unhappy nation 
was struck with blindness; and, knowing 
what the prophets had said about the 
Redeemer, would not recognize Him, 
though He stood in the midst of them. 

When Herod heard of the birth of our 
King, he betook himself to his cunning 
wiles; and, lest he should be deprived of 
an earthly kingdom, he desired the Wise 
-Men to search diligently for the Child, 
and when they had found Him, to bring 
him word again. He said, "that he also 
may come and adore Him ' ' ; but, in reality, 
if he had found Him, that he might put 
Him to death. Now, behold, of how 
little weight is the wickedness of man, 
when it is tried against the counsel of the 
Almighty. It is written: "There is no 
wisdom, there is no prudence, there is no 
counsel against the Lord." (Prov., xxi, 
30.) And the star which the Wise Men 
saw in the East still led them on; they 
found the newborn King, and offered Him 
gifts; then they were warned in a dream 
that they should 'not return to Herod. 
And so it came to pass that when Herod 
sought Jesus, he could not find Him. 
Even so it is with hypocrites who, whilst 
they make pretence to seek the Lord 

to offer Him adoration, find Him not. 

It is well to know that one of the errors 
of the Priscillianist heretics consists in 
believing that every man is born under 
the influence of a star. In order to confirm 
this notion, they bring forward the instance 
of the star of Bethlehem which appeared 
when the Lord was born, and which they 
call His star, that is, the star ruling His 
fate and destiny. But consider the words 
of the Gospel concerning this star: "It 
went before them until it came and stood 
over where the Child was." Whence we 
see that it was not the Child who followed 
the star, but the star that followed the 
Child. . . . 

Let the hearts of the faithful, therefore, 
be free from the thought that anything 
rules over their destiny. In this world there 
is only One who directs the destiny of 
man He who made him. Neither was 
man made for the stars, but the stars for 
man; and if we say that they rule over 
his destiny, we set them above him for 
whose service they were created. . . . 

Should a ridiculous astrologer, according 
to his principles, pretend. that the power 
of the stars depends on the very moment 
of the birth to which their whole operation 
is referred, we answer that the birth of 
man requires a certain space of time during 
which the stars continually change their 
position. These changes would conse- 
quently form as many destinies as there 
are limbs in those who are born during 
that space of time. 

There is another fixed rule accepted 
by the adepts of this pseudo-science 
namely, that he who is born under the 
sign of Aquarius (waterman) will never 
have any other profession than that of a 
fisherman. Yet we know from history 
that the Gatulians never carry on that 
business; but who will pretend that not 
one of them was ever born under that 
special sign of the Zodiac? By the same 
principle, they will say that all those 
born under the sign of the Balance will be 
bankers or money-lenders; but we know 
that there are many nations among which 


these kinds of business are unknown. These 
so-called learned astrologers must, there- 
fore, confess, either that these nations have 
not this sign of the Zodiac, or that none 
of their children are born under this sign. 
Many nations, as we know, have a law 
that their rulers must be of royal blood. 
But are not many poor children in these 
countries born at the very moment when 
the one who is destined to be king sees 
the light? Why, then, should there be a 
difference between those who are born 
" under the same sign, so that some are 
masters whilst others are slaves ? . . . 

The Wise Men brought gold, frank- 
incense, and myrrh. Gold is a gift suitable 
for a king, frankincense is offered in sacri- 
fice, and with myrrh are embalmed the 
bodies of the dead. By these gifts which 
they presented to Him, therefore, the 
Wise Men set forth three things concern- 
ing Him to whom they offered them. The 
gold signifies that He was King; the frank- 
incense that He was God, and the myrrh 
that He was mortal. There are some 
heretics who believe Him to be God 
but confess not His kingly domain over 
all things: these offer Him frankincense 
but refuse the gold. There are some others 
who admit that He is King but deny that 
He is God: these present the gold but 
withhold the frankincense. Again, there 
are other heretics who profess that Christ 
is both God and King but deny that He 
took to Himself a mortal nature. These 
offer Him gold and frankincense, but not 
myrrh for the burial incident to His 
mortality. Let us, however, present gold 
to the newborn Lord, acknowledging His 
universal kingship ; let us offer Him frank- 
incense, confessing that He who had been 
made manifest in time, was still God- 
before time; let us give Him myrrh, 
believing that He, who can not suffer as 
God, became capable of death by assuming 
our human mortal nature. 

There is also another meaning in this 
gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Gold is 
the type of wisdom; for, as Solomon 
says, wisdom is a treasure 'to be desired, 

and that it is found in the mouth of the 
wise. (Prov., xxi, 20, Septuag.) Frank- 
incense, which is burned in honor of God, 
is a figure of prayer; witness the words of 
the Psalmist (cxl, 2): "Let my prayer 
be directed as incense in Thy sight." 
By myrrh is represented the mortification 
of the body, as where Holy Church says 
of her children laboring in their strife after 
God even unto death : ' ' My hands dropped 
with myrrh." (Cant., v, 5.) We offer, 
therefore, gold to this new King when in 
His sight we reflect the brilliancy of true 
wisdom. We offer Him frankincense when 
our pious prayers, like a sweet odor before 
God, banish all wicked thoughts and 
inflame good desires. We offer Him myrrh 
when by fasting and penance we mortify 
our passions; for through the effects 
produced by the myrrh, as we have already 
remarked, the bodies are preserved from 
corruption. Our flesh is corrupted when 
we give up this mortal body to luxury, 
as the prophet says: "The beasts have 
rotted in their dung." (Joel, i, 17.) The 
image of these beasts indicates those 
carnal beings who give themselves up 
to their shameful desires, and hasten 
towards their own destruction. We bring, 
therefore, a present of myrrh to God when 
by temperance and mortification we pre- 
serve our bodies from all impurity. 

The Wise 'Men teach us also a great 
lesson in that ' ' they went back another way 
into their country"; and what they did, 
"having received an answer in sleep," we 
ought to do. Our country is heaven; and 
when we have once known Jesus, we can 
never reach it by returning to the way 
wherein we walked before' knowing Him. 
We have gone far from our country by 
the way of pride, disobedience, worldliness, 
and forbidden indulgence; we must seek 
that heavenly fatherland by subjection, 
by contempt of the things which aie seen, 
and by curbing the fleshly appetites. Let 
us, then, depart into our own country by 
another way. They that have by enjoy- 
ment put themselves away from it, must 
seek it again by sorrow. It behooves us, 


therefore, beloved brethren, to be ever 
fearful and watchful, having continually 
before the eyes of our mind, on the one 
hand, the guilt of our doings, and, on the 
other, the judgment at the last day. It 
behooves us to think how that awful 
Judge, whose judgment is hanging over us, 
but has not yet fallen, will surely appear. 
The wrath to come is before sinners, but 
has not yet smitten them; the Judge yet 
tarries, that when He arrives there may 
perhaps be less to condemn. 

Let us afflict ourselves for our faults 
with weeping, and with the Psalmist, 
"Let us come before His presence with 
thanksgiving." (Ps. xciv, 2.) Let us take 
heed that we be not befooled by the 
appearance of earthly happiness, or se- 
duced by the vanity of any worldly pleasure; 
for the Judge is at hand, who says : ' ' Woe 
to you that laugh now, for you shall 
mourn and weep!" (St. Luke, vi, 25.) 
Hence also Solomon says: "Laughter 
shall be mingled with sorrow, and mourn- 
ing taketh hold of the end of joy." (Prov., 
xiv, 13.) And again: "Laughter I counted 
error, and to mirth I said: Why art thou 
vainly deceived?" (Eccles., ii, 2.) And 
yet again : "The heart of the wise is where 
there is mourning, but the heart of fools 
where there is mirth." Let us fear lest we 
do not fulfil the commandments given to 
us. If we wish to celebrate this feast to 
His glory, let "us offer Him the acceptable 
sacrifice of our sorrow; for the Royal 
Prophet says: "A sacrifice to God is an 
afflicted spirit; a contrite and humble 
heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise." 
(Ps. 1, 19.) Our former faults were remitted 
by the Sacrament of Baptism, yet we have 
again offended God; and these sins which 
the water of baptism can not cleanse, will 
be forgiven only when in real and deep 
sorrow we shed tears of contrition. We 
have gone away from our real fatherland; 
we have followed the false gods which 
allured us; let us, therefore, return by 
another way, the way of suffering, the 
bitterness of which we shall endure with 
the grace of God. 

The Crest of the Bodkins.* 



T was the night of the iyth 
of March, the anniversary of 
Ireland's patron saint; and 
St. Patrick's Ball had gathered 
within the mirrored walls of St. Patrick's 
Hall, Dublin Castle, all the youth, wit, 
rank, beauty and fashion, not only of 
the Irish metropolis, but also of the 
country at large. 

The LoBd-Lieutenant, a shamrock nes- 
tling in the rich red of his ribbon of 
the Order of the Bath, had just finished 
a country dance, and was leading his 
flushed and smiling partner in the direc- 
tion of the supper room, when his eyes 
suddenly alighted upon a young and 
strikingly handsome man, attired in a 
simple court costume, who was engaged 
in casting searching glances along the 
line of dancers, as it slowly followed the 
Viceroy and the Household. 

His Excellency, calling one of his aids- 
de-camp, asked: 

"Is not that gentleman standing there 
Mr. Bodkin of Ballyboden?" 

"I do not know, sir." 

"Find out at once!" 

In less than a minute the aid-de-camp 

"That is Mr. Bodkin of Ballyboden, sir." 

"By whose invitation is he here?" 

V Your Excellency will recollect that any 
gentleman who has attended a levee is 
entitled to come to St. Patrick's Ball, 
unless the chamberlain notifies him to 
remain away." 

"It's rather cheeky! Eh, Folcamb?" 

* A revised version of "Nuestra Sefiora," 
published (by request) on account of the revival 
of interest in the country where the chief inci- 
dents of the story occurred. It was written 
especially for THE AvE MARIA by the famous 
raconteur whose stories have been so popular 
with Catholic readers. Circumstances prevented 
its appearance in book form. 


"You see, sir, I am so new that 

"Oh, I forgot! Please ask Carington to 
come to me." And turning to his partner, 
the, Viceroy courteously invited her to 
take a glass of champagne. 

Wh'ile the Lord-Lieutenant was engaged 
in clinking his glass with that of the 
corpulent, be-diamond lady beside him, 
Arthur Bodkin continued his inspection 
of the line. Suddenly his eyes lighted 
up, as though ten thousand volts of 
electricity had been flashed into them; 
and stepping forward to a young and 
beautiful girl in the line, eagerly asked 
her for the next dance. 

"Must it be?" she half murmured. 

"It must! 1 ' he almost whispered. "It 
is life or death to me." 

She grew very pale pale to the lips; 
while her Irish eyes assumed the deep, 
delicious hue of the violet. 

"I shall be over at the right-hand side 
of the throne," she said; and passed 
onward, to the intense relief of her very 
mystified partner, a Dragoon Guardsman, 
who afterward declared to a brother officer 
that 'he'd be hanged if he didn't think 
there was something deucedly romantic 
going on between Miss Nugent and that 
blooming civilian.' 

"Arthur Bodkin, I never expected to 
meet you here," observed Miss Nugent, in 
a low- tone; as, taking his arm, she was 
led to a somewhat dimly lighted and 
almost deserted corridor. 

"Let us step in here," said Bodkin, 
wheeling her into the deep recess of a 
window. "We shall be free from inter- 

The moon bathed the Castle garden, 
and the quaint roofs of the adjoining streets 
in liquid pearl. Her pale beams fell upon 
two white faces. 

"This is about the last place I ought 
to be, Alice, after my very marked atten- 
tion to one of her Majesty's representa- 
tives in Ireland." 

"Horsewhipped a Lord High Com- 
missioner," she laughed. 

"But I knew that you would be here 

with your uncle; so I drove over to 
Galway, caught the mail-train, got into 
this ridiculous costume. And now, dearest, 
is it true that you are going to Mexico?" 

"Yes, Arthur. You see, my uncle is a 
fighting Nugent. The Nugents have been 
in the Austrian service for centuries. 
My grand-uncle, Tom Nugent of Kells, 
sent his six sons to the field. My uncle 
has been specially appointed, and we are 
to go with the Archduke Maximilian. I 
am to be one of the maids of honor to the 
Archduchess, or Empress, I should say." 

"When do you start?" 

"I do not know. Very soon, I believe." 

There was a moment's silence. 

"Do you know, Alice," said Bodkin, 
in a troubled if not a hard voice, "you are 
taking this very coolly?" 

"What can I do, Arthur?" 

"Marry me at once, and come to Bally- 
boden. We can surely live on potatoes 
and point," he added, bitterly. 

Miss Nugent placed her small, gloved 
hand on his arm, and, gazing up into his 
set, stern face, exclaimed: 

"Arthur Bodkin, you know that I 
would share any fate with you; but your 
people what have they not said! What 
are they not saying! Have they not 
arranged everything for your marriage 
with Lady Travers by the way," she 
added, woman-like, "she is here to-night, 
and looking superb." 

"Shall I go to her, Alice?" 

"No, no, no! Be rational. Listen to 
me. It shall never be said that I marred 
your fortune, and " 

"Marred!" he burst in, with vehe- 
mence. "Alice, I must make my fortune 
before any one can mar it. And this I 
mean to do. And now listen to me. / am 
going to Mexico." 

"You, Arthur!" rapturously cried the 
young girl. 

"Yes, /. I shall enter the service of 
Maximilian; and, if I can't do better, as a 
trooper. I can ride, at all events; and the 
Galway Blazers will give me a 'character,' " 
he laughed. "I shall then be near you, 



Alice, shall breathe the same air, see 
the same sky, the same trees, and shall 
trust to luck to meeting you." 

"This is splendid, Arthur! Surely my 
uncle would 

"Put me in irons, and marry you to 
this Count Ludwig von Kalksburg. He 
is here to-night, Alice, and is looking 

"Shall I go to him, Arthur?" 

At that moment a deep-toned voice, in 
foreign accent, broke in upon them. 

"Paurdon me, Mees Noogent, but theese 
is our dawnce." 

Alice started, colored violently, drew back 
from the side of Bodkin, and exclaimed: 

"Not yet surely, Count Kalksburg! 
We are number nine." 

"Nomber sechs, Mees Noogent. It is 
wrote here," presenting a dance card, and 
in such a manner as to allow the moon- 
beams to light up- her name. 

"Miss Nugent does not wish to dance 
this dance," said Bodkin haughtily. 

The Count turned upon Arthur a look 
pregnant with cold dislike. 

"I do not ask upon what authoritee 
you spik for Mees Noogent " 

"Upon the authority of a -a a gentle- 
man; and I consider your pressing Miss 
Nugent to dance an impertinence," burst 
Arthur, grievously placing himself in 
the wrong. 

As Alice was about to interpose, the 
Count calmly exclaimed : 

"Paurdon, Mees Noogent! One word. 
Suppose, sir, I failed to claim theese ladee 
for theese dawnce, would I be acting the 
part of a gentleman?" 

"Mr. Bodkin," said Alice, "this is Count 
von Kalksburg' s dance. You have no 
right to speak for me. Count, your arm." 
And, taking Kalksburg's now extended 
arm, she swept majestically away, her heart 
down in her little white satin shoes. But 
she felt that one moment longer, and her 
impetuous lover would have been beside 
himself; and that this was the one 
chance to prevent a quarrel, with all its 
gruesome consequences. 

Arthur Bodkin turned to the window, 
flung it o]3en, and, leaning upon his 
elbows, his chin in his hands, indulged 
himself for a very bad quarter of an hour 

The eldest son of a right royal house, 
one of the oldest and bluest-blooded on 
the Galway side of the Shannon, Arthur 
Bodkin felt the daily, nay, hourly, bitter 
mortifications that sting the man of 
position who is honest and "hard up." 
Ballyboden was mortgaged to the hall 
door; and, save for some three hundred 
pounds a year the jointure of his 
mother, -the revenues from the once vast 
and fruitful estate found their undeviating 
way into the coffers of the British Law 
Life Insurance Company, whose agent, 
a Mr. William Brown, a very underbred, 
pushing Englishman, lorded it, as far as 
was permitted him and that was not 
far over Arthur, and the tenants who 
had once paid willing tribute to the Bodkin 
of Ballyboden. That tribute they still 
paid with their inner hearts; for "the 
Masther," as the late Mr. Bodkin was 
styled, had been the best of landlords, 
who had shared the "hard times" with 
the people on his estate, until acre by 
acre, the green sods were transmuted into 
yellow gold, leaving nothing but the 
"big house" unmelted in the devouring 
crucible. The Bodkin died a prematurely 
aged man, leaving a widow, two daughters, 
and a son, the hero of this narrative, who 
was recalled from Stonyhurst to close his 
loving father's eyes. 

Albeit the daughter of an 'English Earl 
who deeply detested Ireland and the 
Irish, Lady Emily had become so attached 
to Ballyboden that she would recognize no 
other home, although offered asylum with 
her "Irish brats" in one of his lordship's 
houses; while her children, who had never 
known what it was to wander outside the 
county save for occasional visitings, loved 
every stone in the great, gaunt, unwieldy 
house that had resisted the poundings 
of Cromwell's cannon-balls; had seen a 
gallant troop ride forth to strike a blow 


for King James; and a solitary horseman 
on a priceless hunter spur madly out into 
the night to arrive in time to thunder forth 
a "No" on the division in the House of 
Commons on- the fatal night when the 
Union was carried by the foulest machi- 
nation that ever men calling themselves 
gentlemen stooped to undertake. 

For ages Ballyboden House had been 
a stronghold; for generations the Bodkins 
had held it, sometimes against desperate 
odds, as they held the faith despite the 
allurements of "honor, office, gold; held 
it despite rack and gibbet; held it in the 
woful jaws of famine, in the desperate 
straits of penury. Within its massive 
walls the Holy Sacrifice of the -Mass was ' 
offered up when a price was upon the 
priest's head, and death and torture 
awaited every -man, woman or child who 
attended it; and it was on account of a 
foul and malignant jest uttered by Queen 
Victoria's Lord High Commissioner, in 
reference to the secrecy of the confessional, 
that Arthur Bodkin had given him the 
lie, followed by the sharp thong of a 
riding crop. 

The girl whom Arthur loved with the 
impetuosity of the Shannon in a flood, was 
the daughter of Tom Nugent, of Carrig-a- 
lea, who fell in the charge of the Light 
Brigade at Balaclava, whilst endeavoring 
to save the life of his Irish servant, Mike 
Donovan, who had been unhorsed. Both 
men went down, and the mural tablet 
in the little chapel at Monamullin prays 
for God's goodness for captain and trooper 
alike. R. I. P. Mrs. Nugent very soon 
followed her gallant husband; and Alice, 
their only child, was confided to the care 
of Tom Nugent 's brother, Alexander, 
to whom a cousin, Field-Marshal Count 
Nugent of the Austrian Army, had given 
a commission. As the Count was persona 
gratissima with "the powers that be," 
he was enabled to push upward the 
fortunes of his kinsman, until in % a few 
years Alexander had won the title "Baron," 
and a highly confidential and important 
position in the Emperor's household. 

Baron Nugent married into the noble fam- 
ily of the Princes of Thurn and Taxis, 
a lovely and amiable woman, who, how- 
ever, unhappily bore him no children; 
and Alice Nugent became the supreme 
object of their love and care. The Baron, 
like all the Nugents, being a superb 
horseman, and passionately devoted to 
hunting, had come over on a visit to the 
Master of the Ward Union Staghounds; 
and during this visit was held the St. Pat- 
rick's Ball at which the hero and heroine of 
this eventful tale met, after seeing a good 
deal of each other at various country 
houses where Miss Nugent, with her uncle 
and aunt, had been the guest of honor. 

"I have done it this time!" thought 
Arthur bitterly, as he gazed up at the 
moon that hung like a gem on the brow 
of the sky. ' ' What right had I to interfere ? 
I might have guessed I was nowhere 
with that cursed Count. It was infernally 
impertinent, his coming and following 
us up. He must have been watching. 
I am glad I told him what I thought of 
him. I shall let him have more of my 
mind before daydawn. And Alice! Why 
did she snub me in such a beastly way, 
and before that cad? It was shameful. 
I know how to pay her off. I'll dance every 
set. with Lady Julia Travers. Alice can 
dance with every count in Bohemia, for 
all I care. She is a heartless flirt, no one 
but a heartless flirt would treat a man so 
who had placed his heart under her feet. 
Pah!" And Arthur Bodkin, glowing with 
passionate anger against Alice Nugent, 
returned ' to the glittering glory of St. 
Patrick's Hall. 

"I say, Bodkin," exclaimed a man 
in the uniform of a Deputy Lieutenant, 
"Carington has just been asking me 
what the deuce brings you here that 
Lord Woodhouse has asked him." 

"For tuppence I'd pull Lord Wood- 
house's nose!" cried Arthur. 

"That would be high-treason, Bodkin; 
and you've come near enough to it in horse- 
whipping the Lord High Commissioner." 

"Oh, don't bother me! Really I -ah, 

H7- MAK1A 

there she is!" and he pushed his way 
to where Lady Julia stood, surrounded 
by Privy Councillors, guardsmen, and 
dragoons, all eagerly solicitous of obtain- 
ing the honor of "the next dawnce"; for 
the Lady Julia was an heiress in her own 
right, with 10,000 a year. She was also 
a very piquant and pretty young woman. 

Pleading a previous engagement with 
Mr. Bodkin, Lady Julia saluted her suitors 
after a quaint, old-world fashion, and was 
led to the dance a set of Lancers, 
and, ere Arthur could move higher up or 
lower down on the floor, they were planted 
vis-a-vis to Alice Nugent and the Count 
Ludwig von Kalksburg. The laws of 
conventionality commanded that the dance 
should be danced were it over red-hoc 
ploughshares; and Arthur found him- 
self mechanically moving about to the 
inspiriting strains of Liddel's band, watch- 
ing every movement of the girl he loved. 
For the Count, Arthur had a fierce, set 
glare of the eye, which was returned 
with compound interest, with a super- 
addition of malignity. Alice ever seeking 
Bodkin's glance, ever failed in catching 
it; and it was not till the last figure, 
known as "The Lady's Chain," where the 
dancers move from one to the other, 
touching and changing hands, that she 
whispered in passing: "Promise me not 
to quarrel with the Count." 

In the next round Arthur mercilessly 
retorted : " Is it because he is your lover? " 
To which unmanly retort Miss Nugent 
made no reply, save one of deep, piteous 
reproach through the medium ' of her 
lovely eyes. 

As our heroine was passing down the 
great stairway, in the gentle crush of the 
departing guests, Arthur edged in beside 

"Alice!" he whispered, hoarsely and 
eagerly, "I have been a brute. Forgive 
me, darling! I'll not quarrel with the 
Count; he is not your lover, and never 
will be. I shall be at Ballyboden till 
Saturday. Write me a line to tell me of 
your movements. You know that I love 

you as you ought to be loved, and you 
know I'll go to Mexico." 

** Count Nugent 's carriage stops the 
way!" bawled a functionary encrusted in 
gold lace; 

"God bless you, Arthur!" came fro:ri 
the sweet lips of Alice Nugent, as she 
disappeared beneath the portico whe.e 
the carriage awaited her. 

Arthur Bodkin stood for some moments 
out under the stars, the night breeze 
cooling a very feverish brow, his heart 
beating high. Every window in the upper 
Castle yard was glowing with subdued 
light; and the strains of "Patrick's Day" 
floated into the night. A very diminutive 
specimen of mankind, arrayed in the uni- 
form of an infantry officer, brushed past 
Bodkin ; on the arm of the warrior a colossal 
dame, fat, fair and forty. As the son of 
Mars assisted the portly widow into tho 
vehicle that was to bear her to her home in 
Fitz william Street, Arthur heard him ask, 
in tones thick with emotion and champagne : 

"Is it eight children and four hundred 
a year, Mrs. Bowderby, or four children 
and eight hundred a year?" 

"That will be a good story for Harry 
Talbot to-morrow," laughed Arthur, as he 
slowly wended his x way to -his lodgings 
in Kildare Street, a lodging house ' ' run ' ' 
by a former Ballyboden butler and house- 
maid, and where "Masther Arthur" was 
welcome as the flowers of May. 

(To be continued.) 

footprints of the Blessed Virgin 
show the road to heaven. These foot- 
prints are her virtues, her works, her 
example. She walked in our paths, espe- 
cially in those that are humble, sorrowful, 
difficult. At each step she gave immense 
glory to God and admirable lessons to 
us her children. These it is that form her 
footprints. It is the truest poetry to say 
that flowers have grown up wherever she 
trod; tjhat she has strewn pearls along the 
road and perfumed the way of perfection. 
Attach yourself to her and live by imita- 
tion of her. Mgr. Gay. 


St. Ephrem's Hymn in Honor of Mary 
and the. Magi. 


The Son is born. The light 'is shining. Dark- 
ness has left the earth. The universe is illumined. 
Praise to the Son who brought the light! The Son 
came from the bosom of the Virgin. His appear- 
ance banished the darkness of error; a bright 
light hovered over the earth. Praise to the Son! 

"A great tumult" (Zachary, xiv, Jj) came 
among the nations, and a light was shining in 
ihe darkness. The pagans rejoiced, and praised 
Him who at His birth brought light to them. He 
sent His light to tht Orient. Persia was illumined 
by the splendor of a star. The rising of the star 
announced to the East the birth of the Saviour, 
and invited all to come to the sacrifice that rejoices 
hearts. The star was showing the way as the 
light that was shining in the darkness, and in- 
vited the nations to come and rejoice in the Light 
that had descended to the earth. 

The heavens sent one of the stars- as a mes- 
senger to bring the news to the Persians, to 
invite them to come to the King and adore Him. 
The star urged the Wise Men to take presents 
and hasten to adore the great King who was born 
in Judea. Full of joy, the Persian princes took 
gifts from their country, and brought to the 
Son of the Virgin gold, frankincense and myrrh. 
At their arrival they' found the little Babe in a 
wretched hut; nevertheless, they rejoiced and fell 
down before Him, adored Him, and offered their 

MARY. To whom belong these gifts? 
What is their purpose? What moved you 
to leave your country and bring hither 
these treasures? 

THE WISE MEN. Your Son is King. 
He bestows crowns, because He is King of 
all. His dominion is greater than the 
whole world, and all obey His orders. 

MARY. When did it ever happen that 
a poor virgin was the mother of a king? 
I am very poor and lowly : how should 
tbe happiness of being the mother of a 
king be mine? 

THE WISE MEN. You are privileged 
above all others to give birth to the great 
King. Through you poverty will be 
blessed, and the kings of the earth shall 
subject themselves to your Son. 

MARY. I have no royal treasures. 1 

have never been rich. Behold this poor 
house, this empty dwelling! Why do you 
call my Son King? 

THE WISE MEN. Your little Babe is 
your treasure and your riches. He can 
enrich everyone. The treasures of kings 
perish but His possessions are everlasting. 

MARY. Mayhap the newborn sovereign 
you seek is some one else. Look for him. 
For this little Child is the Son of a poor 
handmaid who dares not raise her eyes 
to a throne. 

THE WISE MEN. Is it ever possible 
that the light going forth deviates from 
its path? It is not darkness that called 
us hither and guided us: we have walked 
in the light, and your Son is the King. 

MARY. But you see that the Child 
is silent, and the house of its mother is 
empty and small. There is no trace of 
royalty in it. How can the owner of 
such an abode be a king. 

THE WISE MEN. We see Him indeed 
gentle and silent. We recognize Him, 
nevertheless, as the King, even if He is 
poor, as you declare. For we saw that 
at His command the stars of heaven were 
set in motion, that they should announce 
His birth. 

MARY. Men, you must first find out 
who .that king is, and then adore him. 
Perchance you have erred from the way, 
and the king whom you seek is some 
one else. 

THE WISE MEN. Believe us, O Virgin, 
your Son is in reality the King! This we 
know from the star that can not miss 
its path; and the way on which it guided 
us is the right road. 

MARY. This is but a little Child; and, 
as you see, He has neither crown nor 
throne. What, then, do you find in this 
Child that you should honor Him as King 
and offer Him gifts? 

THE W T ISE MEN. He is small because 
He so willed it. He shows humility and 
meekness until He shall reveal Himself. 
For the time will come when crowned 
kings shall bow down and adore Him. 

MARY. My Son has no armies, no 



legions, no cohorts. He shares the poverty 
of His mother. How can you call Him - 

THE WISE MEN. Your Son's power 
and legions are not of earth. The heaven 
is His power, and flaming spirits are His 
armies. One of them came to summon us, 
and the whole country was terrified. 

MARY. My Son is but a child. How 
can He be a king, since He is unknown 
.to the world? How can a little boy rule 
over the great and the powerful? 

THE WISE MEN. Your Child is the 
Ancient One, the Eternal, the First of 
all. Adam is younger than He, and through 
Him the face of the earth shall be renewed. 

MARY. Then you must explain the 
whole mystery to me. Who in your coun- 
try has revealed to you that my Son is 

THE WISE MEN. You must believe 
that, if trutrf had not moved us, we would 
never, for the sake of a little child, have 
journeyed far, and come hither from a 
distant land. 

MARY. Tell me, then, how came this 
mystery to be known in your country, 
and who summoned you to come to me? 

THE WISE MEN. A great star, far 
more brilliant than all the other stars, 
whose light illumined our whole country, 
announced to us that a King had been 

MARY. Do not, I conjure you, tell 
this in our land, lest the rulers should 
know it, and out of jealousy try to kill 
this Child of mine. 

THE WISE MEN. Fear not, O Virgin! 
For your Son will subdue all the rulers 
of earth, and they shall not be able to 
do Him injury. 

MARY. I fear that Herod may rend 
my heart, using the sword to strike off 
the grape before it ripens on the vine. 

THE WISE MEN. You need not fear 
him; for your Son shall overthrow him. 
His crown shall be taken from him. 

MARY. Jerusalem is a river of blood, 
and all good men perish in its flood. If 
Herod is informed, he will lay snares for 

the Child. Speak not loudly, I beg, and 
noise it not abroad. 

THE WISE MEN. All streams and lances 
are stayed by the hands of your Son. 
The power of Jerusalem will come to 
naught, but your Son will not suffer unless 
He wills it. 

MARY. The scribes and priests at 
Jerusalem are treacherous, and accus- 
tomed to shed blood. Perhaps they will 
raise their hands against me and my 
Son. Do not speak of it, O Magi ! 

THE WISE MEN. The jealousy of the 
scribes and priests can in no wise hurt 
your Son. Through Rim their priest- 
hood will be abolished and their sacrifices 
come to an end. 

MARY. An angel appeared to me when 
the Child was conceived, and announced 
to me, as to you also, that my Son was 
King, that His kingdom is from heaven 
and will endure forever. 

THE WISE MEN. -The same angel of 
whom you speak came to us, in the form 
of a star, and announced that the Child 
is greater and more glorious than the 

MARY. When that angel appeared to 
me to announce the tidings, he declared 
that the Child's kingdom was without 
end, and that the mystery must remain 

THE WISE MEN. The star announced 
to us that your Son is the King of kings; 
the appearance of the angel was changed, 
and he told us not that he was an angel. 

MARY. When the angel appeared to 
me he called my Son, before He was con- 
ceived, his Master, and praised Him as 
the Son of the Most High, and of His 
Father no one knoweth. 

THE WISE MEN. The angel in the form 
of a star told us that the Lord of heaven 
was born. Hence your Son must command 
the star, and without His order they do 
not rise. 

MARY. Behold, I will declare to you 
another mystery, that you may be 
confirmed in your faith! As a virgin I 
brought -forth this Child who is the Son 



of God. Go now, and praise Him and 
make Him known to all whom you meet 
by the way. 

THE WISE MEN. The star told us that 
His birth is outside the order of nature, 
that your Son is above all, and is also 
the Son of God. 

MARY. The low and the high, the 
angels and the stars give testimony that 
He is the Son of God and the Lord of 
all. Bring back these tidings to your 

THE WISE MEN. By one star all 
Persia was moved, and convinced that 
your Son is the Son of God, and that all 
nations shall be subject unto Him. 

MARY. Carry back peace into your 
country. May peace reign in all lands! 
Be faithful messengers of truth on your 

THE WISE MEN. May the peace of 
your Son guide us back, as it has brought 
us hither! And when His kingdom is 
proclaimed to the world, may He also 
come to our country and bless it! 

MARY. May Persia rejoice in your 
message, and Syria triumph at your 
return! And when my- Son shall reveal 
His kingdom, He will plant His standards 
in your land. 

May the Church rejoice and praise God 
that the Son of the Most High is born and 
illumines the height and the depth of alii 
Praise Him who through His birth has 
brought joy to all mankind! 


TAKE care each day to add to your visit 
to the Blessed Sacrament a visit to Mary 
in some church, or at least before one of 
her pictures in your home. If you are 
faithful in following this practice with 
love and confidence, you may expect to 
receive great favors from this loving 
Queen, who, according to St. Andrew 
of Crete, is accustomed to grant great 
favors to whoever offers her the smallest 
act of homage, solet maxima pro minimis 
redder e. St. Alphonsus Liguori. 


NCI.E DICK'S and Aunt 
Cecilia's house is rather pecu- 
liarly situated: its left-hand 
neighbor is all of a hundred 
feet distant, while the neighbor on its 
right is almost jammed up against its 
walls. There was some trouble, I believe, 
between Uncle Dick and the owner of' 
the latter house, concerning boundary 
lines ; and, as a piece of spite work because 
the court decided in Uncle's favor, the 
other man .built his house as close to 
Uncle's as it was possible to come. When 
the thing was done he evidently regretted 
it, for he never lived in the house. To 
rent it proved to be quite impossible; 
for the neighborhood is a very exclusive 
one, and the people who could pay the 
rent would not care to reside in so one- 
sided a creation as this house certainly is. 

Of course Uncle's house, from an archi- 
tectural viewpoint, is nearly as grotesque 
as its affectionate neighbor. What Aunt 
Cecilia went through with Uncle Dick 
during its building and after the mon- 
strosity was finished, only she will ever 
know. I am far too young to remember 
those days; but if Uncle's present tem- 
peramental outbursts are, as Aunt, declares, 
merely squalls, I can at least get an 
idea of the ferocity of the storms in days 
gone by. 

Only once in a great while, however, 
has either Uncle or Aunt mentioned the 
house in recent years. Even I, who am 
an annual visitor there, have noticed it 
but little. Aunt Cecilia has made the 
other side of the house the livable one. 
The library, the drawing room, the dining 
room, Uncle's "den," and the family bed- 
rooms are all located in that part of the 
dwelling, and it really is not necessary to 
go into the darkened portion. 

Facing the other windows, too, is a 
splendid garden, which Uncle has made 


by far the loveliest private garden in 
the city. In a way, you see', things are 
balanced; and, in passing, people forget 
the absurd side when they behold the 
other; and if they view the former first- 
well, the beauty of the garden sustains 
them remarkably. 

During all of my visits at Uncle Dick's 
I think that only once was the other house 
tenanted. Since this time (five years ago) 
it has stood vacant, a gloomy, grey-brick 
.hulk of a house, kept-up, bu1 hideous 
despite its air of sleekness, until, my 
visit of last November. 

As soon as I greeted Uncle Dick I 
realized that something had occurred. 

"The house is rented," Aunt Cecilia 
explained in an aside to me. 

"The house" could mean only one 
thing, we had always called it such. 
In fact, I doubt whether the name of the 
owner had ever been told me; if it had 
been I had forgotten it. 

Uncle Dick was not well; he was 
confined more or less to the house, and he 
had plenty of time to brood; for his 
garden had long since been settled for 
the winter's sleep. The house, empty, 
would have bothered him not at all, or 
at least only when some one would be 
so unfortunate as to touch upon the sub- 
ject. Opened and occupied, with the 
necessary bustle about it, it grew to be 
particularly annoying; an obsession with 
him, a trial to us. 

"Why doesn't he buy the place?" 
I asked Aunt Cecilia, in despair. 

"My dear, he has tried for many years 
to do that." 

Poor Uncle Dick! During the first 
few days of my visit I had no time to 
spend with him. Chiistmas was fast 
approaching, and Aunt Cecilia had post- 
poned the bulk of her shopping until my 
arrival. "Young heads and young hearts 
for such things," she defended herself. 

One day, however, I was forced to 
promise to stay at home and play chess 
with him. 

"We will have our table placed in the 

old music room," he announced after 

"The old music room!" I echoed 

It was the front room next to ' ' the 
house," a dark, cheerless apartment, 
which required to be electric-lighted even 
in the sunniest hours of the day. 

"Don't be a parrot!" boomed Uncle 
Dick. "Ring for Peters." 

I rang for Peters. It was of no use to 
argue with Uncle Dick. 

Peters did not echo Uncle Dick's com- 
mand; he was too amazed (or seemed 
so from his looks). But he arranged the 
table for us. 

Uncle Dick said no word for some 
moments. Then, at a stupid play of mine 
my nerves were on edge, -he swept the 
pieces from the board and threw himself 
back into his chair. 

"It is impossible to try to play," he 
roared, " impossible ! We can't talk or 
eat or sleep in peace : we can't have 
air or light or " 

"But, Uncle dear," I interposed, "we 
" can go to the other side of the house. 
We never did care for this part." 

Alas! I could not distract him. After 
listening for half an hour to his solitary 
argument, I gave up in despair. Something 
else besides the occupancy of the house 
must have driven him to this extreme. 

"Who are the people living in it?" I 

I was beginning to suspect a mystery; 
and, anyway, my curiosity concerning the 
matter had never been fully satisfied. 

"It isn't 'people': it's just a 'he.'" 

"Don't you know his name?" I asked. 

"Don't want cp know his name. He 
has a cook and a valet who are as 
Indian-headed as Peters is." 

I smiled to myself. 

"Is he old?" 

"My age, I think. That's not ancient, 
is it? He plays chess, too. He reads a lot." 

So this was the trouble! 

"How " I began tactlessly. 

Uncle Dick's round face glared at me. 



"I guess I can look out of my own. Win- 
dows, can't I? And if somebody has 
built his windows right on top of mine, 
that isn't my fault, is it?" 

"Of course not, dear!" I answered 

Uncle Dick was lonely for neighbors. 
Naturally, he had friends (everybody 
loved him); but the neighbor on his 
other side was wintering in Florida, so 
his old heart was yearning for companion- 
ship in other directions. Who can really 
fill the place of the "people next door"? 

"He is an invalid," muttered Uncle 
Dick. "He never has callers and he plays 
chess with his valet." 

"Why ' I did not finish, however.' 
To visit the "spite house" would be an 
impossible task for Uncle Dick. 

"Did you ever meet the. owner of the 
house since he left it?" 

" Don't want to, wish I could, though," 
answered Uncle Dick. 

"Who is he?" I went on, striving to 
conceal my amusement. 

"Never could remember, his name. 
Names don't matter. He is a fool, any- 
way. He cut off his own nose. His son 
ran away from home no, that's not it. 
He did something, and the old man drove 
him out. The boy was right." 

"What did he do?" 

"Don't know." 

I giggled a little. 

Uncle Dick sat up abruptly. 

"-That's it! Laugh at me! I don't 
know. Maybe the boy was a fool, too. 
Young folks are mostly such in these 

"Thank you, Uncle dear!" I managed 
to say. 

"Well for one thing," muttered Uncle 
Dick as he rose, "I hope I hope that he 
will die alone and forsaken, as I am right 
now. I hope his boy will never come 
back to him. He was all he had, too." 

"O Uncle Dick!" I implored. "You 
promised Father Delafield " 

"Father Delafield and I will take 
care of our own broken promises. And, 

anyway anyway, who could call me 

I ran to him and hugged him tightly. 

When I begged Aunt Cecilia to find 
a solution for Uncle Dick's problem, 
she confessed herself as helpless as I was. 

"The one thing that would render him 
happier, he won't do. We shall have to 
wait. Time will show us the way out." 

"Well, I don't intend to wait," I 
declared vehemently. "I shall pray and 
and " 

Aunt Cecilia eyed me encouragingly. 

"And I shall I shall well, I shall do 
something," I added weakly. 

Praying proved for some time all that 
I could do. Suddenly following a remark 
of Uncle Dick's, there was generated in 
my mind a course of action. Uncle had 
said: "He's ill: he hasn't sat in the 
window since Tuesday. The doctor has 
called. He's surely ill." I did not reply; 
for the idea had come to me to go over 
myself and see the man. And this I did 
that very day. 

I coaxed a cup custard and a glass of 
blackberry jelly from the cook, and, 
without saying a word even to Aunt, I 
flew across or rather stepped from Uncle 
Dick's back door to theirs. The valet 
(I had grown to know him, as had Uncle 
Dick) opened the door. His mournful 
eyes set in a yellow, lined face lighted 
when he saw me. 

"Your master is ill," I introduced my- 
self. "I am sorry. Perhaps he would 
enjoy these. Could I could I see him?" 

The man shook his head. 

"No, Miss. I am grieved. I would 
like to accommodate you, but my master 
has a heart affection which is extremely 
dangerous. He sees no outsider but the 

My plans were momentarily forgotten. 

"Oh, I am sorry! Isn't there anything 
we can do? " 

He came nearer to me, then drew back, 
sighing miserably. 

"No, thank you, Miss!" 

I was disappointed; for I had antici- 



pated a meeting between Uncle Dick 
and the invalid. How it was to have 
happened I had not completely thought 
out; but I had had glowing hopes for 
its realization. 

Uncle Dick watched the "house" as 
closely as I during the next week. Our 
neighbor evidently did not improve, and 
the physician's visits grew more frequent. 

"He ought to have a nurse," growled 
Uncle Dick. 

"Or a priest," Aunt Cecilia joined in. 

"A priest!" I exclaimed. "Is he a 
Catholic, Aunt?" 

Uncle Dick, who was stamping up and 
down the room, turned upon me. 

"For Heaven's sake, Lucy, forbear that 
parrot talk! Of course he's a Catholic! 
There is a crucifix in his room." 

This was news to me. 

"No priest has come to see him. I shall 
tell Father Delafield." 

"Hem! I think I have informed Father 
Delafield already!" 

"But he hasn't been there?" 

"Hem! Can a priest go where he isn't 

Then I really prayed. Before, I had 
repeated some prayers a little mechanically. 

The holidays were at hand, but at 
Uncle Dick's we had practically given 
up all of our cherished plans and usual 
diversions. The case next door did not 
allow us to bestow our interest elsewhere. 
Several times I visited the invalid's home 
to inquire for him and to proffer a delicacy. 
The valet met me upon each occasion 
more cordially ; he had told the sick man ' 
of my inquiries, and the latter had shown 
signs of curiosity. 

"He is getting worse, though, Miss. 
Nothing much matters to him now." 

"You should send for a priest," I 
reminded him. 

His yellow face turned a sickly pale. 

"O my God, Miss, I daren't mention 
even the word to him!" 

"You are a coward! Let me see him!" 

But it was impossible. 

"There must have been something " 

the valet hesitated. "No one could tell 
him to have one." 

At this critical moment, Father Dela- 
field, one of Uncle Dick's dearest friends, 
was called from the city. A dying boyhood 
chum had asked to see him. 

Uncle Dick was quite beyond himself. 

"He shouldn't have gone. We needed 
him. The man may demand a priest any 
moment. / needed him, too\ Everybody 
is going away. There's no one here lo 
play chess or talk politics or the man 
might need him. What should we do?" 

"There are other priests here, dear!" 

"And there are other priests where he 
has gone, too." 

It seemed unfortunate; for Father 
Delafield had been so very kind to Uncle 
Dick. After his departure Aunt Cecilia 
became as gloomy as she ever does. 

Then came the time when the doctor's 
automobile stayed for the greater part 
of each day in front of the grey-brick 
house. Nurses two were added to the 

"They will kill him between them!" 
Uncle Dick concluded. 

Assiduously he watched "the house." 

" If he asks for a priest I shall be ready," 
Uncle Dick said with finality. 

But when the invalid felt disposed to 
do so, I was the only one at hand to 
respond. It was just four days before 
Christmas. Uncle Dick was lying down 
(in the music room), and Aunt Cecilia 
was at the parish house, arranging the 
last details for her poor children's holi4ay 
dinner and tree. 

Gazing out moodily at the desolate 
garden, and thinking of the poor soul next 
door, I was suddenly aroused by the 
entrance of Peters. 

"Miss Lucy, the neighboring gentle- 
man! " 

"Is dead?" I finished, jumping to my 
feet in dismay. 

Peters permitted me to rush out of the 
door, following me as fast as his aged legs 
could carry him. 

"He is asking for you, Miss!" 



I never knew how I reached the sick 
man. "Oh, what can I do for you?" I 
gasped, hurrying to the bed. 

One of the nurses tried to stay me, but 
the sick man raised a trembling hand. 

"Let her alone," he whispered 
hoarsely. "I must I want Father Jerry!" 

"A priest in this city? What is his 
last name?" 

"Father Jerry!" repeated the invalid. 
"You know him, don't you? I I want to 
spend Christmas with him." He closed his 
eyes in weariness. 

I turned in desperation to the valet. 

"Who is Father Jerry?" I asked. 

The servant shook his head. 

"I don't know, Miss. He has never 
mentioned a priest by name to me. He 
wouldn't let me say a word about any 
of them." 

The invalid opened his eyes. 

"You will -get Father Jerry for me? 
I sent him away ! I am sorry. I 
always was too hasty. This house 
this " bat he could not finish. 

"Oh!" It was evident that the man 
was dying. I gently touched his closed, 
blue-veined hand. "I don't know Father 
Jerry, but no doubt Father Delafield does. 
May I bring him?" 

"Delafield! The name sounds yes, 
yes, bring him. He will tell me where 
I can find Father Jerry." 

I rushed down the stairs. Not until 
I was in the street did I remember that 
Father Delafield had been called away. But. 
I ran on to the priest's house. At the door, 
about to enter, with his portmanteau in 
his hand, stood Father Delafield. 

"O Father," I said, "come come! 
He is dying!" 

Father Delafield never asks useless 

"When you come in and get a coat," 
he replied. 

I was coatless and hatless. I had not 
realized it before. 

While I was being hastily cloaked by 
the old housekeeper I told my story to 
Father Delafield. 

"He wants some other priest, but I 
am sure you will do," I concluded. 

When we went into the sick room I 
was astonished to see Uncle Dick there, 
holding the dying man's hand. 

"He's he's going to get well!" Uncle 
announced with pathetic joviality. ' ' He's 
he's a neighbor of mine, Father, ^ahein ! 
oh, just a neighbor! Names don't count." 

Father Delafield approached the bed. 

"Father Jerry?" sighed the invalid. 

' ' Father Jerry intends to spend Christ- 
mas with you, Mr. Hampton," Father 
Delafield answered smilingly. 

I was astounded. Father Delafield knew 
the man! But "of course his knowledge 
of Father Jerry was a pretence. 

"He told me he was coming. Now, 
shall we prepare for this meeting?" asked 
Father Delafield. 

We left the room, Uncle Dick clinging 
to one of my hands, and the weeping 
valet and cook grasping at the other. 

"We shall say the Rosary," I resolved. 
We did, I leading the prayers, while the 
cook mumbled his responses in Japanese, 
the valet in what I suppose was some 
East Indian lingo, and Uncle Dick in Gaelic. 
Soon Aunt Cecilia, her eyes shining with 
deepest content, joined us. 

We waited outside the room until 
Father Delafield's assistant, summoned 
by telephone, came with the Viaticum. 
Then we entered. The invalid, his sad 
eyes alight, was sitting up. We knelt 
beside the bed. 

"I I want to say I I am sorry that 
I built this house," he suddenly said. 

Uncle Dick's figure quivered with 

"Hem hem!" he answered at last. 
"Neighbors are privileged." 

The sick man's set mouth curved 
into a smile. 

"And and Father Jerry is coming? " 

Father Delafield's own eyes, I saw now, 
were tear-blinded. 

"Father Jerry will be with you in a 
moment or two, my friend. You will 
spend Christmas together." 


Shortly after receiving the Viaticum 
llic inv:ili<l died. 

When we li:id returned home ;uid eaten 
our laic dinner, I 'nde 1 >ick regained some 

..I iii:, l>st bluster, 

" ( )f course you had t< comfort him, 
of course! Hut hut I thought the end 
never justified hem! hem 1 " 

Father I )el;itield smiled. 

"Father Jerry \v:is my chum \vlio died." 

"( )Ii, wasn't il wonderful. J " 
'"His father, C.crald Hampton senior, 
horn ;i. Catholic, had abandoned his 
religion; and \\hcn Jerry insisted ii|)on 
following the vocation of his choice 
the priesthood his father disowned him. 
Fver since, almost daily, Father Jerry 
d reconciliation. K was : his 
father was unyielding. When I went to 
him last \\cek, lie (old me that he- intended 
passing Christmas with his father, in 
spite of the hitter's persistent refusals 
to receive him. I promised him that I 
would help him. lie did not know that, 
he would die so soon." 

" I It-ill! hem I" I 'ncle I )jek wiped his 

furtively. " Well well, you helped 
him !" 

"(od helped him, praised he His Holy 


I suppose (hat I should not add this 
anticlimax to I IK- beautiful incident, but. 
I waul you to kno.v. In Mr. Hampton's 
will I \\as iM\eii the house- next door! 
Immediately after learning ( ,f the legacy 
I \\ent to Uncle 1 >ick. 

" \'oii may have it to do with as you 
wish, deal ( 'ncle!" I said. 

He looked at me in ama/cnicnt. 

" I,ucv, for pity's sake, try to have a 
little sentiment about you! That house 
\\as a. neighbor's house. Neighbors 
\\ell, neighbors are neighbors!" 

\Vise Aunt Cecilia! 

SUCH drrds as tlion with !Vur and 
Wouldst, on ;i sick bed laid, recall, 
In youth and health eschew tin-ill all, 

Remcinbei in;.', life is 1'iail and brief. 


The Holy Wells of Cornwall. 



()T in the footsteps only of 
Irish saints up and down the 
hind in Cornwall do we find 
proofs of the debt which Kiitf- 
land owes to Ireland for the valiant work 
done bv her sons in routing the pa^an 
deities from Briton's shores ajjes 
but in the- number of wells still s 
up pure and fresh in almost every village 
and hamlet, as likewise in lone places and 
almost inaccessible spots where no commu 
nit v has ever existed. Wherever a holy man 
or hermit fixed his abode, there beside 
him was sure to be found a. well of pure 
water with which he bapti/.ed his neo and sat islicd his own phvsiea.1 needs. 
When the waters were blessed, the blind 
and the lame and the- infirm Hocked to 
the well for healing, ;l nd rarely Were 
they sent away without comfort and 
renewed heallh. 

These wells, however, Were not. all the 
property of Irish saints; we find many 
of them bearing the names of Ciod's 
Servants from various paris of Kuropc, 
men who had journeyed to this beautiful 
corner of the- \\orld to worship their Maker 
in peace and solitude, after it had been 
Christiani/ed by Irish sainis. Numbers 
of these founts are simply named Holvwell 
or Chapel Well. I found as many as 
fifteen not only called holy in ^uide 
books and other publications devoted to 
spots of beauiv and interest, but deemed 
so in fact, as well as in name amongst 
the Cornish people of the present day. 
I ''or example, a field near the village of 
Blisland has never, within the memory of 
the- oldest inhabitant, been used for 
lillatfc because a holy well still resorted 
to as a cure for weak eyes graces that 
field, and ill luck is said to follow any 
person doughty enough to desecrate the 
surroundings with team and plough. This 
field was also the site of a church of some 
nnown in early times. 



Holy well, in the parish of St. Breward, 
is visited even unto this day by people 
affected with weak eyes and other infir- 
mities. Holywell, Halton, was dedicated 
to two sisters Saints Indractus and 
Dominica, who lived the lives of hermits 
and died violent deaths for the Faith. 
Holywell, Golant, is situated within the 
church porch, and the wonders of tlie 
present-day Golant are recorded thus: 
"A tree above the tower, a well in the 
porch, and a chimney in the roof." A 
British hermit had his dwelling beside 
this spring, and it is presumed that the 
church was founded by him. 

But Holywell beyond Crantock, from 
which one of the most beautiful bays 
along the Cornish coast is named, stands 
out in comparison with the others because 
of its connection with Saints Kieran and 
Carantock, the chief of the Irish mission- 
aries deputed by St. Patrick to journey 
overseas and preach the Gospel to the 
Britons. The waters of this well are said 
to have gushed forth one Halloween, and 
parents were wont to bring their sickly or 
deformed children to bathe therein on 
Ascension Day. Even in this pleasure- 
loving, utilitarian age, one of the most 
noted pleasure excursions from Newquay 
is to Holywell Bay; and care is taken to 
choose a day when low water prevails, 
in order that the visitors may be able to 
enter the cave from the strand and see 
and taste the waters for themselves. 

Being possessed of a temperament which 
finds less fatigue in a long walk on a hot 
day than a drive in the company of a 
crowd of quick-change sight-seers, I visited 
Holywell Bay alone, and could therefore 
commune with nature at its wildest, and 
the spirit of the sainted dead unmolested. 
Has not some one written that beauty is 
kin to holiness? Be that as it may, Holy- 
well Bay must have been in very truth 
holy; for I have never seen one so beautiful . 

From Crantock there are two bold 
headlands, with a surface of shifting sands 
and sparse grass to be traversed before 
one arrives at the headland, afore- 

mentioned, itself a round knoll, somewhat 
gigantic in proportions, and covered 
exclusively with golden sand. This Sahara 
in miniature looks down on Holywell 
Bay, blue and golden like the robes 
of Our Lady, sparkling and scintillating 
like rare gems when the sun shines. 
Clean, smooth, and radiant, as if daily 
new-washed to live up to the name of 
the bay, the sand, like a counterpane 
of gold, covers the headlands on either 
side, and the ravine, up to the fringe of 
the downs (undulating gently inland as 
far as the square-towered church of St. 
Newelyna, the Irish White Cloud), and 
down to the water's edge. At the- entrance 
to the bay, a great grey boulder (the only 
rock to be seen) stands on a bed of gold, 
like a giant sentinel beating back the 
mighty on-coming, snow-flecked waves, 
lest their playful roughness should mar 
the vista of wonder around. 

To reach the well, it is necessary to walk 
some little way along the strand; for its 
home is in a cave, on the cliff-side, some- 
what after the manner of St. Kevin's 
Bed in the cliff-side above the Lake of 
Glendalough. I would hazard a venture, 
though I can find no proofs, that this was 
the "well of pure water" near which St. 
Kieran rested when, after his journey 
of eighteen miles along the coast from St. 
Ives, he at last decided to build a cell 
and begin his apostolic labors; for it is 
not more than a mile or two, as the crow 
flies, from this spot .o the lost church of 
St. Piran; and the marvels wrought there, 
coupled with his own reputed miraculous 
powers, harmonize in a remarkable manner, 
even if the fact that no well dedicated 
to this saint now exists near the lost 
church be left out of our reckoning. 

The Well of St. Carantock is now u 
mere village pump, though time was when 
it was an honored spot. The story of St 
Carantock's landing on the Cornish coast 
and his foundation there is second in 
interest to St. Kieran's only. He came on 
shore at the mouth of the Gannel, where 
at low tide only a thin silver belt of water 



runs between two wide golden sand-banks. 
Here a piece of land was granted to him 
for purposes of tillage; and, when he was 
not working thereon, he had a habit of 
whittling his staff to make the handle 
smooth to his touch. As he resumed his 
agricultural labors, he saw more than 
once a wood pigeon flying down, picking 
Up the shavings and . carrying them off. 
One day he followed the bird, to find that" 
she dropped the shavings in a heap on a 
particular spot. Taking this for a sign, 
he set about building there a church 
in which he taught the Catholic Faith, 
and in which he was afterwards buried. 

Soon after his death, the college of 
Crantock was built in his honor and dedi- 
cated to him. This college could lay claim 
to as much antiquity as any at Oxford, 
and possessed great revenues; but its 
life was not long, owing to the quantities 
of sea-sand blown up by the wind along 
the Gannel Creek, which eventually over- 
whelmed it. St. Crantock is said by some 
to have been the son of a Welsh king 
named Carantocus, and to have joined 
St. Patrick in his apostolic work in 
Ireland in the year 432. He remained 
there, doing great work for God, 
until the year 460, when he made one 
of the twelve chosen by St. Patrick for 
the conversion of Britain. The more 
general opinion, however, favors his Irish 
origin; and the other idea may have 
arisen from the similarity of the names. 

Not so many wells as one would wish 
are dedicated to our Blessed Lady. This 
fact may be accounted for by the people's 
speaking of wells by the name of the 
saint or hermit who had lived near, even 
though he had dedicated the fount to 
the Mother of God. Still there are Our 
Lady's Well of Megavissey, possessed of 
great healing powers; Our Lady's Well 
of Padstow; Holy well of Our Lady of 
Nants; and others. 

Many wells are named simply Chapel 
Well, from the circumstance that a chapel 
or church had usually been erected near 
them. It often happened, when the 

saint needed water for administering the 
Sacrament of Baptisnr that God worjced 
a miracle. Witness St. Ludgvan, an Irish 
missionary, who, when he wanted water, 
prayed over the dry earth, and a crystal 
stream gushed forth. Some of these holy 
wells were named after both the saint and 
his chapel, e. g., Chapel Euny Well in 
the parish of Sancreed, not far from the 
Land's End. Dr. Borlase, a seventeenth- 
century writer, in his "Natural History 
of Cornwall," bears testimony to this well's 
having been of much note and the 
scene of remarkable cures, such as drying 
humors and healing wounds. Of the well 
of St. Colurian, the same writer speaks of 
his having evidence of two persons being 
cured of the "king's evil" through drink- 
ing its waters and washing the affected 
parts therewith. 

Of St. Cothan's Well, near Merthyr, 
Whitaker, in his "Cathedral of Cornwall," 
writes: "This unknown saint appears, 
from his well and from tradition, to have 
been slain at his hermitage, not by the 
pagan Saxons, but in some personal pique 
by a private Saxon, who, at Athelstan's 
conquest of Cornwall, came to live at 
a house designated Tre-Sawson ("the 
Saxon's house"), about a mile to the south 
of the well. St. Cothan (the name sounds 
decidedly Irish) was honored as a martyr 
by the neighboring Christians, and his 
hermitage became a consecrated chapel 
and was annexed to the well. 

St. Cuby was of royal descent, and, if 
not exactly Irish, spent his last days in 
Ireland, where his remains await the 
"trumpet call." St. Constantine, to whom 
a church and well were dedicated in the 
parish of St. Merran, near Padstow, was 
also of royal descent. He lived two 
centuries after Constantine the Great. 
Giving up his sovereignty for the love of 
God, he retired to St. David's in Wales; 
but finally went to Scotland, where he 
founded a monastery, and died in great 
sanctity. His feast was wont to be observed 
in Cornwall on the 9th or loth of March. 
A number of wells are dedicated to the 


children of St. Brechan, King of Wales. 
Out of his cwenty-six children, fifteen 
achieved great sanctity; but of these St. 
Keyne stands forth as the most beautiful 
in mind and body. The Well of St. Keyne 
is particularly noted in the West country. 
In St. Neot's church, St. Brechan is 
represented in stained glass, with the 
portraits of his fifteen sainted children 
in the folds of his robes. 

One might fill many pages with the 
renown of these wells and their saintly 
patrons, together with the wonders wrought 
by their waters in other days. Suffice it 
that the fame of many lives yet, that the 
waters of practically, all have never been 
known to fail, and that many of the 
worldly-wise incumbents of the English 
Church still use the waters of these blessed 
wells for baptismal ceremonies. Indeed, 
some of them have gone so far as. to have 
the wells in their neighborhoods rebuilt 
or recovered, so that the waters should 
not* be used for profane purposes, such 
as quenching the thirst of cattle. 

Another interesting item in connection 
with this wonderful land of Cornwall is 
that, much later than the period of which 
I have been writing, the Blessed Cuthbert 
Mayne one of the gallant band of 
missionaries who came from Douai to 
keep the Faith alive in England during 
the Penal times was imprisoned in 
Launceston Castle, and hanged, drawn, 
and quartered on the 9th of November, 
1577, in the market square of Launceston 
Town. His skull is preserved in the 
Carmelite convent of Llanherne as a 
precious relic of the first martyr of the 
English Seminaries. 

In conclusion, I may remark that 
Catholicity is fast spreading in Cornwall, 
and visitors to Newquay and other sea- 
side resorts are much impressed by such 
places as Llanherne, where magnificent, 
if silent, work is being done for God and 
His Church. 

A Christian Odyssey. 

To him who does not love, it is seldom 
given wholly to see. -Anon. 

Y countrymen had a large share in 
the American Revolution," began 
an enthusiastic Irishman. "With- 
out doubt," granted his friend. "An 
Irishman sailed in the 'Santa Maria,' 
with Columbus, and helped to discover 
America. More than that, an Irishman 
discovered America, all by himself, in 
the sixth century!" 

This assertion was received with some 
incredulity; but investigation develops 
that the native of the Green Isle had 
much evidence in support of the fact that 
St. Brendan was the first white man to set 
foot on the "green land beyond the flood." 
This saintly navigator, say his supporters, 
resolved to go and find the country of 
which he had heard vague rumors, and 
out of three thousand monks chose four- 
teen to go with him. One biographer of 
the saint speaks of this undertaking as a 
second and Christian Odyssey, the record 
and recital of which charmed monastic 
listeners from that time on. There is no 
lack of biographies of St. Brendan; rather 
an embarrassment of riches so great that 
one hesitates as to the highest authority. 
Nevertheless, it is really in the Sagas of 
Iceland that we find the clear and au- 
thenticated tale of the wanderings of the 
Christian Ulysses. 

When the blond Harold usurped the 
kingly power in Norway, many of its best 
inhabitants fled to the far northern island; 
and there, in songs and poems, recorded 
and kept alive the story of Leif Ericson, 
who in the year 1000 found the fair fields 
and calm bays of a far land across the sea. 
But the Icelanders named that land, not 
Vineland, but Ireland it Mikla, or Great 

The story of St. Brendan, who found 
and named the new Ireland, is like a fairy 
tale in interest and incident. First gather- 
ing all information possible, he set sail, 
from a bay on the Irish coast overlooked 
by a mountain which still bears his name, 
in a frail little vessel, caulked on the out- 



side and covered with tanned hides. He is 
said to have been provisioned for a forty 
days' voyage. When those voyageurs had 
traversed that ocean which proved so 
kindly, they found a "spacious land" and 
a great river, a land of which they could 
find no limit, a river which seemed to 
have no end. Seven years, say those old 
chronicles, St. Brendan was away from the 
green hills of his home. With no one's 
conjectures to inspire him, without nautical 
instruments, without the support of any 
government, he crossed the mighty deep, 
found a new world, and returned to tell 
the tale. 

This exploit in no wise detracts from 
the golden deed of the great Columbus, 
whom God meant to be the cross-bearer 
to the heathen hordes. But the story of 
the voyage of St. Brendan may have had 
its share in encouraging him in his own 
enterprise. There are those, indeed, who go 
so far as to assert that the Irish saint set up 
various colonies in what we call America. 
However this may be, it is interesting to 
examine the claims of others beside the 
Genoese, whom we delight to honor, and 
from whose laurels no one can ever pluck 
a leaf; and the following statement of the 
Hon. Richard McCloud, of Colorado, is 
surely worth reading, even though it be 
taken, as the saying is, with a grain of salt. 

"The cliff-dwellers were the Taltecs, 
and received their knowledge of religion, 
art, and government from St. Brendan, who 
in the middle of the sixth century set sail 
from Ireland to engage in missionary labors 
beyond the sea. He discovered what is 
now known as America. Reaching Mexico, 
he spent there seven years in instructing 
the people in the truths of Christianity. 
He then left them, promising to return at 
some future time. He arrived safely in 
Ireland, and afterward set out on a second 
voyage; but contrary winds and currents 
prevented his reaching the American 
shores again, and he returned to Ireland, 
where he died in 575 A. D. In the 
mythology of Mexico St. Brendan is 
known as the god Quetzatcoatl." 

The Annual Resolving. 

ONE of the commonest tricks by which 
to secure the newspaper notoriety 
which is the best substitute for fame 
attainable by ordinary men, is pronounced 
opposition to some traditional belief of 
mankind. In accordance with this prin- 
ciple we have had of late years physicians 
announcing that cleanliness, instead of 
being, as most people have been wont 
to consider it, akin to godliness, is next 
door to disease, and a fruitful source of 
a thousand and one ailments to which 
the submerged tenth who fight shy of 
soap and water are never subject. A 
London doctor of some note not long ago 
asserted that oatmeal is so far from being a 
nutritious article of diet that it is a 
"national curse." A similar instance, and 
one not uncommon at this season of the 
year, is the declaration,, of not merely pro- 
fessional humorists but grave and learned 
philosophers and preachers, that the annual 
New Year resolving to which mankind 
has been traditionally partial is a yearly 
bit of folly, an utter futility. 

Commenting on the practice of taking a 
number of good resolutions on January 
i and on the quasi-certainty of seeing 
them broken before January 31, one 
sensational metropolitan preacher dis- 
courses in this fashion: "Now, that is, all 
of it, a doleful system of holy patch- 
work, and you can always detect the 
edges where the rags are sewed together. 
In the great Christ, on the contrary, you 
have all the details of perfect goodness 
woven into one another in the^ solid 
web of a living and personal whole, and 
divine at that; no patchwork, no lines of 
cleavage, no dislocations, no amputations 
or dissections, but goodness in its glorious 
entireness. ..." 

Could anything well be more ^utterly 
fallacious in the one practical direction 
to which this high-sounding paragraph 
points? If it teaches to the logical man 
any lesson at all, it is this: Unless you 


make up your mind to become perfectly 
Christlike, good with the "glorious entire- 
ness" of goodness, then don't bother 
about making any good resolutions at all, 
don't go into this "holy patchwork" 
business of taking resolves that you 
know you will break; don't play the old 
trick of promising yourself that you will 
effect a reformation which experience has 
repeatedly shown will be merely temporary. 
Now, that lesson, as pernicious as it is 
old, is a bit of satanic, not saintly, 

One of the most insidious temptations 
utilized by the professed enemy of mankind 
is his suggesting to the ordinary Christian, 
the average man in the workaday world, 
that it is tremendously difficult, not to say 
utterly impossible, to live up to his good 
resolutions for an indefinite series of weeks 
and months and years. A little reflection 
shows us that there is not the slightest 
necessity of our loading ourselves just now 
with the aggregate weight of all the trials 
and troubles and cares and struggles that 
will probably come our way in the course 
of the remainder of our earthly career. 
"Sufficient for the day is the" evil thereof." 
It is sheer folly to anticipate difficulties 
which, in the first place, may never 
overshadow our future, and which, even 
if they do present themselves, may find 
us thoroughly prepared to brush them aside 
or override them with perfect ease. 

It is, of course, most desirable that the 
man who "swears off" at New Year's 
should keep his good resolutions, not 
merely for a week or a month, but through- 
out the whole cycle of 1917; yet it is an 
excellent thing to take a good resolution 
even if it be kept for only a brief period. 
All the railing of pessimists and the 
laughter of pseudo-humorists to the con- 
trary notwithstanding, it is distinctly 
better to resolve and fail than never to 
resolve at all. True, 'he that perseveres 
to the end, he alone shall be saved'; but 
it is to be remembered that perseverance 
in a resolve presupposes that the resolve 
has first been taken. 

Notes and Remarks. 

Our country's need of a school of 
diplomacy has been shown many times, 
but never perhaps more humiliatingly 
than by President Wilson's note to the 
belligerent Powers. That such a commu- 
nication should convey to a large majority 
of intelligent citizens the impression of 
having been composed by one who was 
not sure as to just what he was to 
say, or sure as to just how it should be 
said, is regrettable enough; but that 
successive explanations (there is Secretary 
Lansing's admission regarding the first) 
should be necessary, is indeed humiliating. 
Of the President's good intentions no one 
entertains a doubt, and he is praised even 
by political opponents for his wisdom in 
taking action at the psychologic moment. 
But the unpleasant fact remains that if 
the right thing was done, it was done 
very blunderingly. The purpose of the 
note should' have been unmistakable. 
Such an ill-considered communication 
coming a month or two ago might have 
had disastrous consequences. 

As many know, it was the diplomatic 
tact of Secretary Seward no less than the 
forbearance of President Lincoln that 
prevented a war between the United 
States and England over the Trent affair. 
'Everything depends upon the wording 
of the English demand upon us and the 
wording of our reply to it,' Mr. Seward 
is reported to have said at the Cabinet 
meeting in which the matter was under 
discussion. Yes, we need a school of 
diplomacy, and we need it badly. 

As with the priest, so with the layman, 
the enforcement of his words proceeds 
from the example of his acts. The effect 
of a great deal that is admirably said by 
way of instruction or warning, especially 
to the young, is lost by failure to practise 
what is preached. A man must not only 
be fully persuaded of the truth of what he 
says, but conscious of striving to follow 



il in order i < make ol In r, ,hai e 1 he COD 
Dictions a.nd accept the -nidance- thai are 
his, 1 1 i'. otlen said of Mr. Joseph Scott, 

ol I, os Angeles, Cal., that he "talks like- 

a I horoiuduM'iii;; Catholi'-"; ami the la-'t 
t hal he is such \\ .,: plain to 

everyone that hears him by his utter 

lack of linn!: I le glories in \\ hat 

SO many of hi s fellou . do no! 'i horOUj 

app.- tat they are 

disposed (.. conceal; he prides himself 

on what they often blush to acknowh d 

A ciii/en ol" hk;h standing, a lawyer of 
prominence-, a man who has " made 
j;ood," as i hi i hoii^ht 

and his besi cndeax or are for the I In 
thai really matter, Hence when he- makes 
pccch he makes a.n impression, one- 
calculated to be- both las! in;; and beneficial. 
A New York pastor Id whom Mr. 
Scot, delivered a lecture last month, 
in aid of the parochial school, assure 
that he- will never be- i by any one 

so fortunate as io be- present on t he 
Occasion, I'/.pcciallv fortunate w as any 
\\e-ak kneed Catholic who heard words 
like- these: 'In a l'e\\ weeks the Christian 
\\oild \\ill celebrate the- ^.e-at fesii\a.l of 
Christ n; recnrn-nee of the f< 

that );la(l<le-i My parents 

were very poor, and the- forthcoming holy 
season e-arrie-s me back to my dear old 
Irish mother and my home on \'inei;a.r 
Hill. We- \\e-ie- extremely poor. I was 
only four months old my first Christmas, 
and my mother \\rapped my little blue, 
tremblim; bod\ in her shawl and took 
me to the- Crib in our parish church. ... I 
am proud that I was born in povcrlv 
and that my poor old mother belonged to 
a raev e>l saints and mars 

The- exceptional feasting and ^ooel cheer 
so characteristic of the- holidays may 
ace >nnt for the nature- of a re-cent bulletin 
issued by the- l ! . S. Public Health Serviev. 
It deals with eating. The- principles laid 
down, and the- cautions tfiven, are apj)li- 
cable, houcvcr, at all seasons; and the-re 
can be no doubt that additional attention 

paid to I hem by people generally would 
result in a. notable increase of health and 
elliciencN . Say the experts: "One of 
the j^rcal elements in maintaining health 
be K'v.iilation of the bodily intake Io 
meet the appetite. The man who works 
with his hands requires more food than 
the brain worker. The man who labors 
in the open air need, more nourishment 
than he who sils cooped in an office all 
day lon^. C.ive the- sedentary worker the 
appetite of the- day laborer, and if that 
appetite be tiiiconlrnlle:!, the body will 
become closed with the poisonous prod 
nets of its own manufacture-, and physical 

deterioration will surely follow. It 

just as bad to eat, too much as it is to 
eat too little. . . . Many a so-called case 
of dyspepsia is nothing but the- rebellion 
of an overworked stomach, the remoii 
strance of a body which has been stulTed 
to repletion." 

In view of the- fore^oini;, one is tempted 
to remark that, if the present liij^h cost 
of living should have the effect of inducing 
many persons to cat considerably less 
than they have been in the habit of doiiitf, 
the lii^li cosfr in question would be a 
blessing in disguise. 

. * _, % 

Tin- economic emancipation of woman, 
her proven ability to sustain herself 
independently of father or brother or 
husband, is manifest in many a field of 
industry once held sacred to the sterner 
sex. Women themselves an- perhaps the 
best judges as to whether or not the success 
they are achieving in these fields is really 
worth what it costs them; but there 
will be many a reader to a^ree with the 
para^rapher of the Brooklyn Tablet who 
: "To our mind, the most contented, 
best fed, healthiest and happiest women 
working for a living are those occupied 
with housework, 'living out,' as they 
call it." The' idea that such .\omeii 
housekeepers, cooks, maids of all work, 
etc. are. less independent than arc- their 
sisters who toil in the factories, behind 
the- counters in the stores, in the business 

offices as stenographers ami, 
is surely a fallacy. And if, as not a few 
of even the most pronounced "bachelor 
^irls" apparently believe, the real vocation 
of the great majority of women is to be 
wives and mothers, obviously those of 
their sex who "live out" are undergoing 
by far the better training for their eventual 
vocation, that of making attractive and 
satisfactory horn- 

The Catholic Societies of I/mdon have, 
united for the furtherance of a "Scheme 
to Extend the Influence of the Catholic 
Press." This movement has received 
the highest ecclesiastical encouragement 
and support. Definite plans of campaign 
have been outlined, and properly organ- 
i/A-d committees have been set to work. 
In two chief ways the promoters of this 
"Scheme" hope to advance the cause of 
the Catholic press: by increasing its 
circulation in all its different departments, 
and by the activity of Catholics in securing 
increased advertising for Catholic maga- 
zines, newspapers, etc. To say that this 
programme is-a worthy one- would be. but 
to emphasize the obvious. Its value, from 
our point of view, is in furnishing an 
example of enlightened activity in a cause 
about which Catholics in our own country 
are not over-zealous, and in "trying out" 
certain methods which, with due modifi- 
cations, may be found practical with us. 
But the great lesson is, the importance, 
which this mission accentuates, of the 
religious press. 

Coming from one more deserving of 
attention than the Hon. Bertrand Russell, 
whose views on religion, education, etc., 
are as ridiculous as they are false, the 
following utterance would doubtless be 
received with some measure of respect 
at this time by perhaps the majority of 
Englishmen: "At every moment during 
the war the wisest course would have 
been to conclude peace on the best terms 
that could have been obtained. . . . The 
utmost evil that the. enemy could inflict 

through an unfavorable peace would be a 
trifle compared l.o the evil which all the 
nalions inflict upon themselves by contin- 
uing to fight." 

The Holy Faihcr is reported to have 
said in his allocution at the recent Cos: 
tory: "The fearful war devastating Kurope 
is an example of the calamity and ruin 
that must come when those supreme laws 
which should adjust I h'- mutual relations of 
States are 'ignored. In this international 
conflict we see an unworthy profanation 
of sacred things and of the ecclesiastical 
dignity of sacred ministers. We 
numbers of peaceful eili/eus in the prime 
of life taken from their homes, leaving 
their mothers and wives and children to 
weep for them. We see unfortified cifies 
and unprotected populations made the 
victims of aerial attacks. Kverywherc 
on land and sea we note deeds vvhich fill 
us with horror. We deplore these evils 
piled upon evils, and we repeat (Mir rcpro 
bation of every unrighteous act per 
pet rated since this war began, wherever 
and by whomsoever it was done." 

Newspaper reports concerning the say 

and doings of Benedict XV. arc to be 
taken with a grain of salt; however, we 
find nothing in this report that his Holi; 
would be at all unlikely to say or to express 
differently, or, in fact, that he has not 
said, more than once, before. 

As we took occasion to remark some 
weeks ago, the Kmperor Francis Joseph 
died several years too late for an unbiased 
estimate of his lengthy career, at least 
on the part of the great majority of his 
obituary writers. History, half a. century 
hence, will perhaps award him greater 
credit than contemporary publicists seem 
inclined to give- him; and in the meantime 
the following paragraph from Rome may 
be accepted as all impartial summing up 
of his attitude towards the I'opi-: 

There w:is K'""l "-H'l ''"'I -'"Hi middling in his 
rehitions witli (lie Holy See. Only thirtem 
years ago wre BaiW him intruding his veto in tin 
e!'<tion of ;i. K<>ni;ui I'ontifl, in virlue of ;i 



historical claim denied and repudiated for cen- 
turies by the Popes; and when you remember 
that he easily found a Cardinal to voice his 
exclusive, you have an idea of the unwholesome 
influence which some of Francis Joseph's tradi- 
tional concepts have exercised over religion in 
Austria. But the Emperor had other and nobler 
traditions, and one of these was that of filial 
devotion to the Holy See and the Supreme 
Pontiff, of which not a few proofs have been 
given since September 20, 1870. His profound 
religious sense was shown at the great Bucharistic 
Congress held at Vienna in 1912, when the aged 
Emperor knelt in the pouring rain to open the 
door of the carriage in which the Papal Legate, 
Cardinal Von Rossum, bore the Sacred Host. 

In reading the Lives of the Saints we 
frequently encounter cases in which con- 
fessors of the faith, presented with an 
opportunity of securing the martyr's crown, 
evaded the persecutors and continued to 
live and do their appointed work. Others 
allowed matters to pursue their course 
and remained at their posts, irrespective 
of the threats and proclamations of the 
pagan authorities, and yet failed to win 
the coveted glory of martyrdom. To the 
latter class belonged Sister Teresa, a 
native Chinese nun whose death recently 
occurred at Ning-po. For well-nigh three 
decades this devoted religious gave herself 
up to the work of gathering the aban- 
doned children of the city and district, 
and bringing them to her convent to be 
cared for and brought up as Catholics. 
In 1900, during the Boxer uprising, she 
was warned of the danger she was incur- 
ring and advised to seek refuge from the 
murderous fanatics; but she calmly went 
about her usual work, replying to the 
friends who would have had her flee: "If 
the good God does not want to protect 
me, He knows best, and I shall have my 
reward the sooner." The good God did 
protect her from the Boxers' fury, but she 
has gained her reward at last. 

Madame de Navarro, "our own Mary 
Anderson," as she was wont to be styled 
in this country, the Catholic lady whose 
wise words on religious education we 
quoted a week or two ago. Madame de 
Navarro being about to appear publicly 
in Manchester for a charitable purpose, 
the Bishop wrote to the Guardian of that 
city a letter in which, after apologizing 
for his enforced absence on the occasion, 
he added: '''Miss Anderson has probably 
forgotten, but I have not, how once, when 
she spent a Sunday at Harrow, she came 
perilously near to breaking up divine 
service; for so eager were the boys to 
see her that it was difficult to bring them 
at the proper time into chapel. But to 
many who were not boys then, and who 
are very far from being boys now, she 
taught by her personality a lesson of 
respect for the profession which she 
adorned for only too short a time, as she 
showed them that the highest graces of 
nature and art are never so entirely admi- 
rable as in one of whom it may be truly 
said in Dante's exquisite language: 

Fra bella e buona 

Non so qual fosse p'iu. 

'Twixt beautiful and good 

I know not which was more:" 

Many of our readers will share the 
gratification which we have experienced 
in reading the graceful little tribute paid 
by the Anglican Bishop Welldon to 

We regret to chronicle the death, in 
his seventy-ninth year, of the Rt. Rev. 
Henry Joseph Richter, Bishop of Grand 
Rapids, Michigan. The venerable prelate 
had been at the head of his diocese since 
its creation in 1882, and was so devoted 
to the care of it as to be almost unknown 
outside its boundaries. He was a man of 
deeply interior life, austere in his personal 
habits, yet the soul of gentleness and 
kindliness. The condition of his diocese, 
the number and the variety of the insti- 
tutions which he founded and fostered, 
testify to his zeal for the glory of God, 
and his devotedness and wisdom as an 
administrator. He was indeed bonus 
pastor, -a good bishop. May his rest be 
with the saints! 

Good Wishes. 


LITTLE boy with eyes of blue that let the 
soul's white starlight through, 
What is my New Year's wish for you and what 

shall I impart? 
That, laugh or weep or wake or sleep, your soul 

the angels safe may keep, 
And Mary's Son may hide you deep within 
His guarding Heart. 

O little girl with haflr of gold, when New Year's 

wishes now are told, 
What message shall my lips unfold, what wish 

for you devise? 
That you may keep your spirit white as was the 

snow that wondrous night 
When in the stable bloomed the Light, the 
Light of Paradise. 

Con of Misty Mountain. 


I. CON. 

T was a hard winter on Misty 
Mountain, -a winter bleak and 
pitiless for man and bird and 
beast. Jack Frost had come early 
this year, no merry monarch, but a 
grisly old despot, that not even Misty 
Mountain with all its golden glamour 
could defy. The trees that usually flaunted 
their gay banners far into November, 
stood bare and shivering in the icy blasts 
before Thanksgiving; the birds had 
fluttered off early to warmer skies; all 
the furry little forest dwellers scuttled to 
shelter before half their harvesting was 
done. And to-day "Mountain Con" 
(he knew no other name), like the wild 
human thing he was, had come out with 

his hoarded nuts, to set traps for the 
unwary little creatures whose winter lar- 
ders were unfilled. 

For the "boys" were scattered in the 
hard-packed snows, and even old "Buzzard 
Bill" himself had vanished for the last 
fortnight. There was scant living up on 
the high steeps of "Buzzard Roost," as 
crippled Mother Moll had whimpered when 
she dealt Con out his coarse mush this 
morning. Mush is but light diet on a crisp 
December day for a sturdy lad of twelve, 
and Con had set out to get a rabbit or 
squirrel for Mother Moll's pot for dinner. 
With a root of the wild garlic drying in 
her smoky kitchen, and a few potatoes 
filched from some farmer's open bin, it 
would be all the stew a hungry v boy could 

For food and shelter were as yet the 
only needs that Con's young life knew. 
He had grown up like the other wild 
creatures of Misty Mountain, -lithe, strong 
and bold, but all unconscious of mind 
or heart or soul; a splendid, sturdy 
fellow, with a shock of yellow hair that 
seemed to have caught the sunshine in 
its tangles, eyes blue and bright as the 
summer sky, and a bright, brave young 
face that laughed hunger and cold and 
hardship to scorn ; for poor Con in his brief 
twelve years of life had known little of 
love or comfort or care. But he had 
learned many things in these twelve wild 
years that neither books nor schools can 
teach. He set his traps to-day with a prac- 
tised hand, brushing aside the snow with a 
dead branch, lest track or scent should 
betray him; then, bounding off lightly 
to a more sheltered hollow, flung himself 
down on the ground to wait for the furry 
little victims of his snare. 

It was Christmas Eve, but Con knew 
nothing of such blessed festivals. Neither 
Old Bill, hoary sinner that he was, nor his 



"boys" kept account of them; and poor 
old Mother Moll's memory had been 
seared into dull forgetfulness by years of 
sorrow and toil. But though no stocking 
nor tree nor gift, nor any of the holier 
blessings that these earthly joys typify, 
had a place in Con's thoughts, he was 
vaguely conscious of a pleasant thrill 
as he lay back upon the snow, his yellow 
head cushioned in his sturdy clasped hands. 
Perhaps it was the thought of a rabbit 
stew for dinner, or the warmth of the winter 
sunbeams caught on this cleft of the 
mountain, or the cheery glimpse of berry 
and vine clinging to the rocks above, 
where, screened by the beetling cliffs, 
some hardy winter growth was flourishing 
amid the snow. 

Well, whatever Christmas cause it may 
have been, Con lay most comfortably 
and happily in his ambush, when a sudden 
sound of voices made him start to his 
feet in fierce, breathless guard. Boys, 
boys from the Gap, the Valley; boys 
coming up here to frighten off his game, 
break his traps; boys, who had only 
taunts and jeers for wild Con of the 
mountain whenever they met! And Con's 
blue eyes flamed with sudden fire as he 
backed up against the rocks, and, grasping 
a handful of snow, hardened it in his 
strong young grip into a ball, that would 
start the fight he felt was to come. On 
they came, half a dozen or more of them. 
Con felt his blood boil in fiercer defiance. 
When had they ever come upon him 
in such numbers before? Dick Dodson 
and Jimmy Ward and Tommy Randall 
and Pat Murphy! Con's young muscles 
tightened, his breath came quick. He 
would hold his own against them all. 


It was red-headed Dick Dodson that 
first caught sight of the ragged young 
outlaw of Misty Mountain. Dick had 
cause to remember Con. Not three months 
ago they had met in a passage of arms at 
the Mill, where Con had gone for a sack 
of meal. The adventure had resulted 
rather disastrously for Dick. He had worn 

a patch over his left eye for a week, and 
had prudently avoided Con's ways ever 
since. But the strength of numbers was 
behind him now, and Con was alone. 

"Halloo!" shouted Dodson. "Boys, 
boys! Here's Buzzard Con! Look out 
for the henroosts! 'The Buzzard's on the 

"Look out for yourself, you red-headed 
weasel," flamed back Con. "I'll shut up 
one of them squint eyes of yours agin. 
Stand back, the hull lot of ye! Ye ain't 
going to tech my traps, if I have to fight 
you all!" 

"Buzzard! Buzzard! Buzzard!" rose 
up the mocking chorus. "Let's see what 
he's got behind him, boys ! It's somebody's 
Christmas turkey, sure." 

And there was a rush at Con, but he 
was ready for it. One icy snowball caught 
Pat Murphy on the bridge of his nose; 
another, that Con had snatched in his left 
hand, knocked Jimmy Ward dizzy ; then, 
grasping the lighter ammunition around 
him, the fight was on. The battle waged 
fierce and fast, but it was six to one. Con 
was making his last stand, with vengeful 
Dick Dodson clutching his legs and 
striving to pull him down, when a clear, 
strong voice rang like a clarion note 
through the white blur of the combat: 

"For shame, boys, for shame! What 
sort of a fight is this? Six of you against 
one! Take that, you young rascal! 
And that! And that!" And a stalwart 
figure sprang to Con's side and began 
to hurl mighty snowballs against his 
antagonists. "You forget I was captain 
of the team at St. Anselm's not so many 
years ago. Stop now, stop! Why, you've 
hurt this chap in earnest! Stop, Lsay!" 

And Con, reeling back dizzily against the 
rock, felt a strong arm thrown around him, 
heard a voice speaking in strange tones 
of kindness in his dulled ear. 

' 'Tain't nothing," he murmured. 
"Jest jest knocked out a bit. There 
was a stone in that ar last ball." 

"A stone?" The clear voice spoke out 
sternly now, as Con sank down on the 



ground and began, in primitive "first 
aid to the injured," to rub his dizzy head 
with snow. "I would like to know the 
boy that put it there, that played such 
a mean, cowardly trick. But I won't 
ask," continued the speaker, with fine 
scorn. "I won't tempt any of you to lie 
to me." 

Then Pat Murphy spoke up like a man: 

"I won't lie to you, Father Phil: it was 
me. He cut my nose with an ice ball 
first. He started the fight, didn't he, 
boys? There ain't no wuss fighter in all 
Misty Mountain than Buzzard Con. 
They're all fighters and thieves and jail 
birds up there at the Roost. Old Bill is 
dodging the sheriff now. Con started this 
fight hisself, didn't he, boys?" 

"Sure, for sure!" arose the affirming 
chorus. "He hit right out before we 
teched him at all." 

The clear eyes of his new friend looked 
down on the accused boy, who was rousing 
into remembrance now at the tingling 
touch of the snow. There was a pity and 
compassion in the questioning gaze, which 
Con answered simply: 

"They were coming to break my traps." 

"We warn't, we warn't! He's lying to 
you, Father!" was the indignant shout. 
"We didn't know nothing about his traps. 
We were coming up, like you told us, to 
get Christmas greens for the altar." 

"And a fine way this is to deck the 
altar of God!" said Father Phil, in stern 
rebuke. "A fine way to keep Christmas, 
the blessed time of peace and good-will, 
fighting, wrangling, flinging cruel, hard, 
angry words that hurt worse than blows! 
I came here so gladly to say a Christmas 
Mass for you my first mission Mass. 
There was no church, I knew; for I had 
been a boy here myself. But there was 
the old log cabin that had been our holiday 
camp in my school-days; and I felt that, 
with a lot of you sturdy chaps to help 
me, we could fix it up. We would bring 
Our Lord all we had to give, the light of 
the Christmas candles to brighten the 
winter night, the green of the Christmas 

wreath that we would seek even in the 
winter snow. But, above all, we would 
bring warm, young hearts that the cold, 
cruel, wintry world had not yet chilled. 
And I find you mocking, fighting, stoning, 
without any pity or mercy or love! You 
may go home, all of you!" Father Phil 
waved his hand in dismissal. "I will 
take no Christmas greens from you 

"O Father, please, please!" went up a 
pleading chorus. "Just look what fine 
ones are growing up there!" 

Father Phil glanced at the cliff to which 
the boys pointed, its steep, jagged sides 
curtained with a hardy growth of rich 
green vine, laden with scarlet berries that 
glowed like drops of blood in the winter's 
snow. Here, indeed, was fair decking for 
his simple Christmas shrine. For a moment 
he hesitated; then a second glance at the 
perilous height confirmed his judgment. 

"No," he aid decidedly. "They grow, 
as it seems fitting to day, too high for you 
to reach. I can't allow you to risk the 
climb. Go home and think of what I 
have said. I hope to find you all better 
boys this evening." 

The boys turned away, abashed; for 
there was a soldier note in the speaker's 
voice that commanded obedience. Father 
Phil paused a moment before he followed 
them for a friendly word to Con. 

"Is your head all right now, my boy? 
That stone was a scurvy trick." 

"It don't hurt now," answered Con, 
philosophically. "I'll give it back to 'em 
some day. But you all have skeered off 
everything: no critter will come nigh 
my traps to-day. And and 

Con stopped abruptly: it was not 
according to his code to "squeal" at such 
trifles as hunger or cold. 

"You were counting on your traps 
for a Christmas dinner," said Father 
Phil, with quick 'understanding. 

"Don't know nothing 'bout Christ- 
mas," answered Con; "but 'twas for a 
dinner sure." 

"That's too bad!" said this new friend 



kindly; "and as long as I set the boys on 
this track I ought to pay for your loss. 
Farmer Johnson, I hear, has some fine 
fat turkeys to sell for a dollar. Go buy 

"No," said Con, shaking his head as 
Father Phil held out a crisp bill. "He 
wouldn't sell no turkey to me. He'd 
think I stole the money. I'll set my 
traps farther up the rocks and catch some- 
thing maybe before night. But I say, 
Mister" (the blue eyes were lifted in a look 
that went straight to Father Phil's heart), 
"if you want them greens and berries up 
thar, I'll get 'em fur you." 

"Oh, no, no, my boy!" was the quick 
reply. "It's too steep and slippery a 

"Lord!" laughed Con. "That ain't no 
climb! I've hung out over Clopper's Cliff 
where it goes down most too fur to see. 
I've clumb up Eagle Rock where thar 
ain't twig or brier to hold. I've crossed 
Injun Creek with one jump. I ain't 
skeery 'bout a little climb like that over 
thar. What do you want them ar greens 
and berries fur, anyhow, Mister?" Again 
the blue'eyes looked up in a question that 
this young shepherd of the Lord, travelling 
far afield in his Master's service, could 
not resist. 

"I'll tell you," he said, reckless of the* 
flying hours of this busy day. And, 
seating himself oft the ledge of rock beside 
Con, Father Phil told his young listener the 
sweet story of Christmas, in brief, simple 
w r ords that even the young outlaw of Misty 
Mountain could understand. 

''Now you know," said Father Phil, 
after he had talked for half an hour. 

"Yes," answered Con, drawing a long 
breath; for the coming of the Holy Babe 
to the stable, the manger, the watching 
shepherds, the singing in the midnight 
skies had held him mute, in rapt attention. 
"I I never heard no talk like that before. 
Mother Moll, she's told me about spells 
and witches, and how the ha'rs from a 
black cat will give you luck, but nothing 
nice like that. I guess some of them ar 

shepherds was as rough and ragged as me." 

'"I'm sure they were," agreed Father 

"I would like to have been there," 
'said Con. "But I wouldn't have got in. 
You see, Uncle Bill and all our folks at the 
Roost are a bad lot. Nobody ever lets me 
in nowhar 'count of them." 

"My poor boy!" Father Phil had risen, 
for a glance at his watch had told him he 
could linger no longer. " Come down to the 
log cabin and I will let you in." 

"Will you, Mister?" There was a new 
light in Con's blue eyes as Father Phil 
grasped his sturdy young hand, regardless 
of its grime. "And kin I bring you down 
some greens and berries?" 

"Yes," answered Con's new friend, 
feeling this was the best way to secure 
this wild mountain sheep. "Only don't 
break your neck getting them, my boy." 

"Ain't no fear of that!" laughed Con, 
as Father Phil nodded a friendly good-bye. 
"I'll come." 

(To be continued.) 

The Baker's Coin 

BY B. L. F. 

N a pleasant little kitchen behind 
the shop, Pere Francois' nimble 
fingers were kneading away with 
all the celerity of which- he was capable. 
Were there not thirty cakes to be made 
and baked for the Epiphany? When he 
had sufficiently kneaded the pastry, wiping 
his floury hands, he crossed over to the 
front room and brought back a leather 
purse, whence he drew a brand-new 
twenty-franc piece. 

"It has been a good year: I can afford 
to be generous," he muttered to himself, 
as he made a tiny hole in the dough and 
dropped the coin into it. "May it go 
to the most deserving!" he added solemnly. 

It was not the first time that Pere 
Francois had dispensed alms in this 
somewhat singular fashion, though he ha4 



never been so generous as on the present 

He was still carefully covering up the 
hole he had made when the striking of 
the cuckoo clocl^ drew his attention to 
the lateness of the hour; and he set to 
work, with even greater speed than before, 
rolling, coloring and cutting out the 
"galettes," as they are called. At last, 
with a sigh of relief, he deposited the last 
flat cakes inside the oven, and sat down 
to rest till the baking was finished. 

"I'm not so young as I used to be," 
he groaned, as he started to open the 
oven. "This work is getting too much 
for me. I wish I could find a good, 
honest boy to help me. I'd teach him 
the trade it isn't a bad one, and leave 
the shop to him when I die." 


In a poor house at the outskirts of the 
village, two childish faces were pressed 
against the window-pane and two pairs 
of eyes vainly endeavored to pierce the 
falling darkness, the two little sons of 
a day-laborer. 

"What a long time daddy is!" remarked 
the elder of the two, raising himself to a 
position of vantage by climbing on a 
footstool. ^ "Won't he be home soon, 

"Yes, deary, to be sure! It will soon 
be supper time," replied their mother, 
a sweet-faced woman, who was busily 
engaged in threading a wire with variously 
colored beads, to be twisted and shaped 
into wreaths and crosses, which were 
sold for a few sous in the neighboring city; 

The father of the family had been ill 
for several weeks, and the savings of a 
whole year were exhausted. Work in 
winter was hard to find, and day after 
day he came back weary and discouraged. 
His wife was wondering what would 
become of them all, when a joyous shout 
of "Daddy! daddy!" echoed through the 
room; and the two boys rushed out to 
greet their father. 

"0 daddy," cried the elder of the two. 

tugging at his father's coat, "can't we 
have a 'galette' this year? Mother said 
we must ask you." 

The father smiled sadly, then looked at 
his wife. It was true that they had always 
bought a "galette" for the Epiphany, 
but this year every penny had to be 
considered. For a second he hesitated; 
then those two appealing faces proved 

"Marie," he said, "I think we must 
keep up the old custom; it may bring a 
blessing. Here, Jacques, are ten sous I 
earned by chance to-day; take them over 
to Pere Frangois and ask him for one of 
his brownest 'galettes.' We'll have a 
little feast to-morrow." 


When the family sat down to dinner 
next day, Jacques and his little brother 
Louis were filled with excitement. "Who 
will get the bean?" they kept asking. 
They were so eager to have the "galette" 
divided that their cabbage soup and bread 
vanished like magic. Then came the 
"galette." It looked delightfully flaky as 
it lay on the plate, and breathless silence 
reigned while it was being divided into 
four equal parts. Jacques had hardly 
taken a taste of his portion when he 
announced: "There's something hard in 
my piece: It's not a bean, though: it's a 
piece of money!" 

There was no doubt about it, there 
it lay, shining brightly. 

"A louis d'or!" exclaimed the mother. 
"What a Godsend, just when we needed 
help so badly!" 

"My dear, we can not keep this money," 
tne father replied; "it is not ours. Pere 
Frangois must have dropped it into the 
dough by mistake when he was kneading 
it yesterday." 

"You are right," said his wife, after a 
moment's hesitation; "I did not think of 
that. We must, of course, be honest and 
return the coin. Jacques can take it over 
to the baker's house as soon as he has 




Pere Francois was smoking his long 
pipe after his own dinner when his old 
servant announced the presence of a poor 
boy at the door. "Have him come in, 
Marie," said Pere Francois. "I am looking 
for a boy to help me in my work." 

"Please, sir, we found this gold piece 
in the 'galette' I bought yesterday. Papa 
said it must be yours." 

"Why didn't you keep it?" asked the 
baker in surprise. "You are not very 
rich, I suppose," he added, glancing at 
Jacques' patched clothes and worn-out 

"We are very poor, sir," the boy 
replied simply ; ' ' but father said the money 
was not ours. Mother said so, too." 

The baker's keen eyes twinkled, and he 
rubbed his hands energetically, a habit 
he had when pleased. "Good, honest 
people!" he said to himself; then remarked 
aloud : 

"Tell youi father that no one has a 
better right to the money than he has. 
Do you think you can remember the 
message ? ' ' 

The boy's intelligent smile was answer 
enough; and. he was about to leave the 
shop when Pere Francois asked: 

"Look here, youngster! Would you 
like to be a baker? I am thinking of taking 
a boy to help me, and carry on my 
business when I am dead." 

"Oh, yes, sir!" the boy answered 
eagerly. "I'll be glad to be a baker and 
earn some money to help my father 
and mother." 

"I think I've found my successor," said 
old Pere Francois, as he watched Jacques 
running down the street. 


That 6th of January remained a mem- 
orable one in the family of the poor work- 
man. The twenty-franc piece paid all their 
debts, and helped them over hard places 
until the father found steady work again. 
Jacques became the baker's apprentice; 
and bv the time the feast came round 

again he was able to make "galettes" fit 
for a king, as Pere Francois declared. 
He was also honest and reliable, a good 
bey in every sense of the word. 

There is not much more to be told. 
When the old baker died Jacques suc- 
ceeded him-, and prospered so well that 
the shop had to be enlarged; and Louis, 
having grown up, took his brother's place 
as apprentice. Jacques became famous for 
his Epiphany "galettes," into one of 
which he always placed a new twenty- 
franc piece, saying, "May it bring as good 
luck to the finder as Pere Francois' louis 
d'or brought to us!" 

An Accident and Its Lesson. 

When St. Paul's Church in London was 
nearly completed, Sir James Thornhill was 
employed to decorate the inside, of the 
dome. One day, while intent upon his 
work, he stepped back to the very edge of 
the scaffolding, in order to see the effect 
of a certain color he had just added; and 
would have been precipitated to the pave- 
ment below but for the happy thought of 
a friend who was with him, and who saw 
the danger. The friend quickly took a 
jDrush dripping with fresh paint, and 
threw it at the picture. The artist, filled 
with wonder and chagrin, stepped forward 
to prevent further mischief. Thus he 
saved his own life, though the work of 
many days was ruined. 

So God sometimes treats His faithful 
servants : spoiling the work of their hands 
for their own good, as did the friend of 
Sir James Thornhill. 

A Motto for all the Year. 

The following couplet is copied from 
an old brass of unknown date in Cheri- 
ton church, England. The motto is well 
worth remembering through the year, and, 
for that matter, all the years of life: 

Lyve well, and dye never; 

Dye well, and lyve ever. 



"The Oxford Book of English Mystical 
Verse," compiled by D. H. S. Nicholson and 
A. H. E. Lee, has just been published by Mr. 
Milford, of London. 

Longmans, Green & Co. announce "Some 
Minor Poems of the Middle Ages," selected and 
arranged, with an Introduction, by Mary E. 
Seger, and a glossary by Emeline Paxton. 

New publications of Messrs. Washbourne 
include "The Progress of the Soul; or, The 
Letters of a Convert," edited by Kate Ursula 
Brock. There is a foreword by Dom Bede 
Camm, O. S. B., and a facsimile letter from the 
late Monsignor Benson. 

An excellent and timely little book is "A 
Catechism of Catholic Social Principles," by 
Mr. J. P. Kerr, LL. D., just published by Browne 
& Nolan, of Dublin. Though written with an 
eye to Irish needs, much of what it contains! is 
of general interest and utility. 

"The Amber Valley" is the title of a new 
volume of poems by Rosa Mulholland, which is 
sure of a wide welcome, especially among the 
Irish and lovers of Ireland. Lady Gilbert is a 
singer whose verse never fails to charm. Sands 
& Co are the publishers. 

"Tommy Travers," Mrs. Waggaman's new 
juvenile book, the publication of which has been 
unavoidably delayed, is now ready. It is an 
attractive little volume of 315 pages, uniform 
with "Billy Boy," "White Eagle," and "The 
Secret of Pocomoke." Praise of these stories 
is superfluous, at least so far as readers of THE 
AvE MARIA are concerned; and it is generally 
known that there is nothing in Catholic juvenile 
literature superior to what comes from the pen 
of Mrs. Waggaman. 

Of interest to the general reader and of 
importance to the Catholic educator, "Develop- 
ment of Personality, a Phase of the Philosophy 
of Education," by Brother Chrysostom, F. S. C., 
with an Introduction by Thomas W. Churchill, 
LL. D., is a work deserving attention, especially 
from religious teachers, to whom it is dedicated. 
It advances the interesting thesis that the 
religious training which they receive is of the 
highest pedagogical value. Without discrediting 
the normal school, the author points out how its 
essential advantages, not to speak of other 
advantages which it does not afford, are to be 
had of the religious novitiate. The working 
out of this thesis in detail occupies the three 
hundred and seventy-nine pages of this study. 
The matter is especially well arranged, and fully 

provided with indices, bibliographies, etc. We 
could have been contented with fewer footnotes, 
however, as these frequently break the current 
of the thought and, to our mind, savor somewhat 
of pedantry. Published by John Joseph McVey, 

The Australian C. T. S. publishes, as No. 
247 of its penny pamphlets, "Are Catholics 
Intolerant?" an excellent essay by the Rev. 
P. Finlay, S. J. Another penny pamphlet, from 
the C. T. S. of Ireland, is "Our Duties to Our 
Dead, and How We Discharge Them," an 
expository dialogue by the Rt. Rev. Mgr. 
Hallinan, D. D. 

The first volume of the authorized trans- 
lation of Cardinal Mercier's "Manual of Scho- 
lastic Philosophy" Cosmology, Psychology, 
Epistemology (Criteriology), General Meta- 
physics (Ontology) is among new books issued 
by Kegan Paul & Co. The translators are 
T. L. Parker, M. A. and S. A. Parker, O. S. B., 
M. A. Prof. Coffey, of Maynooth College, 
contributes a preface. 

The plot of "The Delight Makers," by the 
late Adolf F. Bandelier, a new edition of which 
has been brought out by Dodd, Mead & Co., is 
based on a dim tradition of the Queres Indians 
of Cochiti, which the author manipulated in a 
way to interest numerous classes of readers. 
It presents a wealth of information about the 
Pueblo Indians of New Mexico. Besides the 
author's preface, there is a prefatory note by 
Mr. F. W. Hodge, head of the Bureau of Ameri- 
can Ethnology, and an Introduction by Mr. 
Charles F. Lummis, both testifying to the 
accuracy and great value of Mr. Bandelier's 
work. It was lately asserted, by the way, that 
he was not a Catholic; but his widow declares 
that he was a stanch and exemplary one. 

Catholics who travel should carry with them 
a little book of spiritual reading; if not the 
"Imitation," or some such recognized classic 
of the soul, then such a little gem as "The 
Divine Master's Portrait," by the Rev. Joseph 
Degen. Nor should Catholics who remain at 
home feel themselves cut off from the appeal 
of this book. We speak of the traveller especially, 
because the size of this volume permits of easy 
inclusion among travelling effects, and because 
the subjects and their manner of treatment 
favor that kind of reading which we know as 
"dipping into." It is the sort of book which 
supplies five hours' thinking for five minutes' 
reading. A series of essays on the spirit of Christ, 
it treats of the virtues of Our Lord, and of Our 


Lord in His relation* with children, animals, 
social reform, etc. Each chapter has a practical 
application, beside which the reader will be 
able often to make one of his own. It has a brief 
Introduction by the Rt. Rev. Mgr. J. V. War- 
wick. For sale by B. Herder. 

A veritable vade mecum for the ecclesiastical 
student'is "The Seminarian, His Character and 
Work," by the Rev. Albert Rung. Of similar 
books for the clergy there seems to be no end; 
but, if one except "Lex Levitarum," there is 
scarcely another volume of the same character 
as the present wise and helpful production. It 
is not a big book, happily, and yet it thoroughly 
covers the ground. Nine chapters, analytically 
rendered in the table of contents, discover its 
scope as taking in all that is of interest and 
importance in the life of the priest to be. The 
goal of the priesthood is of course constantly 
kept in mind, as furnishing ultimate standards 
of judgment. The book abounds in apt quo- 
tations from the masters of direction in clerical 
life, though one could wish that references on this 
score were occasionally more explicit. The book, 
unfortunately, lacks an index. It is not too 
much to say that every seminarian in the land 
should be possessed of a copy of this genuinely 
helpful volume, or at least should religiously 
read it sometime during his course. Published 
by P. J. Kenedy & Sons. 

The Latest Books. 
A Guide to Good Reading. 

The object of this list is to afford information 
concerning important new publications of special 
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will 
appear at the head, older ones being dropped out 
from time to time to make room for new titles. 
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new 
editions will not be indexed. 

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub- 
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United 
States will be imported with as little delay as 
possible. . There is -no bookseller in this country 
who keeps a full supply of books published abroad. 
Publishers' prices generally include postage. 

"The Divine Master's Portrait." Rev. Joseph 

Degen. 50 cts. 

" Tommy Travers." Mary T. Waggaman. 75 cts. 
" Development of Personality." Brother Chrys- 

ostom, F. S. C. $1.25. 

"The Seminarian." Rev. Albert Rung. 75 cts. 
"The Fall of Man." Rev. M. V. McDonough. 

50 cts. 
"Saint Dominic and the Order of Preachers." 

75 cts.; paper covers, 35 cts. 
"The Growth of a Legend." Ferdinand van 

Langenhove. $1.25. 
"The Divinity of Christ." Rev. George Roche, 

S. J. 25 cts. 

"Heaven Open to Souls." Rev. Henry Semple, 

S. J. $2.15. 

"Songs of Wedlock." T. A. Daly. $i. 
" Conferences for Young Women." Rev. Reynold 

Kuehnel. $1.50. 
"The Dead Musician and Other Poems." 

Charles L. O'Donnell, C. S. C. $i. 
"The Sulpicians in the United States." Charles 

Herbermann, LL. D. About $2.50. 
"Luther." Hartmann Grisar, S. J. Vol. .$3-25. 
"England and the Catholic Church under Queen 

Elizabeth." Arnold Oskar Meyer. $3.60. 
"Nights: Rome, Venice, in the Esthetic Eighties: 

London, Paris, in the Fighting Nineties." 

Elizabeth Robins Pennell. About $2. 
"The Netf York Novelists." Arthur Bartlett 

Maurice. $2. 
"A Brief Commentary on the Little Office of 

the Immaculate Conception." Rev. Charles 

Coppens, S. J. 50 cts. 
"Lights and Shadows." Rev. Joseph Spieler, 

P. S. M. About $i. 

"Her Father's Share." Edith M. Power. $1.25. 
"Distributive Justice." Rev. John A. Ryan, 

D. D. $1.50. 


Remember them that are in bands. HBB., xiii, 3. 

Rt. Rev. Bishop Richter, of the diocese of 
Grand Rapids; Rev. Andrew Johnson, diocese 
of Columbus; and Rev. Joseph Gorman, S. J. 

Brother Luke, C. S. C. 

Mother M. Aloysius (Morley) and Mother 
M. Aloysius (McGrath), of the Sisters of Mercy. 

Mr. William Drew, Mr. John Poulin, Mr. 
Robert H. Fletcher, Mr. William Day, Mrs. 
Anna Carr, Mrs. Catherine Witler, Mr. Henry 
McDonald, Mr. David and Mr. Daniel Hartigan, 
Mrs. Rose Golfer, Mrs. Elizabeth Walke, Mr. 
James Brady, Mr. Lawrence and Mr. Ronald 
Gillis, Miss Mary Kersten, Mrs. F. E. Malone, 
Mr. William Wallace, Miss M. R. English, Mr. 
and Mrs. Charles Bowen, Mrs. Eliza McNeil, 
Mr. William Haven, and Miss Mary Bartley. 

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

Our Contribution Box. 

"Thy Father, who seeth in secret, will repay thee." 
For the Foreign Missions: Friend (Waterbury), 
$2; A. K., $i; F. J. 3., $i; Mrs. J. H. D., $i. v 
For the rescue of abandoned children in China: 
Friend (Bradford), $5; Friend, $i. For the 
Bishop of Nueva Segovia: "In honor of the In- 
fant Jesus," $10. For the war sufferers: Friend, 
$2. For the Belgian Relief Fund: Friend, $2. 


VOL. V. (New Series.) 


NO. 2 

f Published 'every Saturday. Copyright, 1917: Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C.] 

The Mother. 



bells of silver and little coats of gold 
The children wear in heaven, never growing 

And when they play, the silver bells tinkle and 

ring, . 

And in and out their gold coats are like stars 

The little children in heaven play all day long, 
But a Woman cometh at evening, at the even- 

And putteth them. all to sleep, singing for them 
A little song remembered out of Bethlehem. 

Catholic Principles and International 


HATEVER may be the imme- 
diate outcome of the present 
European war, there can be no 
doubt that the issue will pro- 
foundly affect the whole structure of the 
civilized world, and not merely the des- 
tinies of the actual belligerents. For this 
war is a "world- war," not only because 
of the number of States concerned in it, 
but because it is the result of a policy 
and of ideas which for generations past 
have dominated the international relations 
of the world. If those ideas are allowed to 
continue to dominate the relationships of 
the nations when the war is over, it needs 

not a prophet to foretell an even greater 
evil than half the world in conflict. It is, 
however, almost unthinkable that things 
can remain as they were in the sphere of. 
national and international relationships: 
the shock of war has set men thinking, and 
has roused even the most conservative 
jut of a restful self-complacency. " Recon- 
struction" has become the accepted word 
in politics. 

But among the more serious thinkers, it 
must be a reconstruction primarily not of 
the mere machine of State though this 
must come in too, but of the very idea 
and conception of the State, both as 
regards its internal life and its external 
relations. .The modern State has been 
built up and governed on a false concep- 
tion of its true function. Its fundamental 
principle has been that each State 'is a 
separate unit, responsible to itself alone, 
and properly concerned only with its own 
interests. Any intervention in the affairs 
of other States is justified only when one's 
own interests are at stake; and, on the 
other hand, any interference with the out- 
side world might be justified if one's own 
interests demanded it. Thus if the self- 
judged interests of a State called for an 
extension of territory, a war of conquest 
was justified. The question of one's own 
interests must also determine whether a 
State should acquiesce in or protest 
against an injury done by another State 
to a third. In other words, self-interest 
has been the final law which has gov- 
erned international and national life since 
trre modern State was evolved four cen- 
turies ago. 


The result has been that in the modern 
State generally, might became synonymous 
with right : the State which had the power 
or the cunning to advance its own self- 
interest, needed no further justification. 
Thus political life was divorced from the 
ordinary moral law which honest men 
professed in private life, and Christian 
ethics gave place to opportunism in the 
councils of the State ; It is true that from 
time to time the Christian conscience or 
humanitarian instincts asserted them- 
selves, and forced upon the politicians 
problems which mere State interest could 
hardly deal with. In theory, too, the 
States professed allegiance to a system of 
international law; but the fundamental 
conception and character of the modern 
State were such that even humanitarian 
problems and international law must 
generally give way before the paramount 
self-interest of the individual State. 

The present war, if it has .done nothing 
else, has brought home to men's- con- 
sciences the inherent immoral and dehu- 
manizing tendency of this conception of 
the State as based upon merely national 
self-interest. Once this principle of state- 
ship is accepted, it leads logically to a 
policy of aggression, whether military or 
economic; and to "the conception of 
nations -as natural rivals, and of world- 
history as an incessant struggle between 
the nations for military domination"; 
and to the further conclusion "that 
national rivalries are outside the scope of 
the moral law." The present war, it is 
seen, is but a logical outcome of this 
theory, and witnesses to the moral bank- 
ruptcy of the State-idea which has ruled 
Europe and the civilized world for the 
past four hundred years. 

As a consequence of this revelation, 
the idea of co-operation between States, 
instead of rivalry, which for some years 
past has been urged by many serious 
thinkers, is now receiving more general 
attention than hitherto. In truth, the only 
alternative to international co-operation 
is universal militarism. No nation will 

be prepared, on the basis of the old 
system, to trust its destinies to paper- 
alliances, or mere declarations of good-will ; 
on that system it is the merest prudence to 
maintain large armed forces, whether for 
the protection of one's own rights or for 
-the assertion of one's claims, as Europe 
has learned to its cost. Militarism is, in 
fact, the logical outcome of the State- 
idea which has mostly dominated modern 
international relations. 

Against this is set the theory of inter- 
national co-operation. A recent writer has 
thus stated the case.* It resolves itself, he 
says, into two general propositions : ' ' First, 
that a system of government, or a national 
policy based on force and not on agreement, 
is necessarily futile and harmful. Secondly, 
that the nations of the civilized world 
are not rival units, but members of a 
community morally, intellectually, and 
economically interdependent, having com- 
mon interests only to be secured by 

He goes on to say: "This conception 
of co-operation between nations is based 
largely upon respect for nationality. If 
civilized life is not to be reduced to a dull 
level of uniformity, it is essential that 
every nation should be able to contribute 
to the common stock of civilization that 
which is characteristic and peculiar in its 
institutions and outlook, that which it has 
derived from its own special opportunities 
and traditions. But if tnis is to be the 
case, it is important that the energies of 
all shall not be perpetually diverted into 
one channel of preparation for self-defence ; 
and, above all, that the smaller nations, 
rich in genius and industry, but of little 
military power, shall be protected against 
the fear of conquest and subjugation by 
a larger but not necessarily more highly 
civilized neighbor. Where different 
nationalities live side by side under the 
administration of a single government, 
these considerations suggest that each 
should be free to cultivate its own lan- 

* G. Ernest Fayle, "The Great Settlement," 
p. 13 seq. 



guage, traditions, and institutions, and to 
contribute its own share to the life of the 
State and of the world." 

The theory of international co-operation 
thus set forth will probably commend 
itself to most people who look for a genuine 
reconstruction of international life. In 
its recognition of national life as the basis 
of the international community, it is far 
more in accord with practical, politics and 
the historical trend of civilization than 
any theory of internationalism or cosmo- 
politanism which eliminates national dis- 
tinctions. There is a force and sacredness 
in nationality which no political theory 
can ignore without ultimate disaster, as the 
history of Europe during the past century 
has proved. At the same time there is 
nothing in this theory of co-operation 
which precludes the existence of larger 
imperial unities or empires in which 
several nationalities are associated. "It 
requires only that the association should 
be voluntary, and that the self-government 
of the separate communities should be 
complete." The proposition of voluntary 
association in the case of existing empires, 
opens up difficulties; but doubtless the 
writer assumes that where complete 
national autonomy in internal affairs is 
secured, voluntary association will gener- 
ally follow. An empire, according to this 
theory would be a confederation of free 
peoples united for purposes of common 
interest and defence. "Confederation" 
would take the place of "domination" as 
descriptive of the common tie. 

But beyond the nation and the empire 
lies the ideal of a common international 
law to which all nations and empires will 
be subject, and which will utter and vindi- 
cate the universal principles of right and 
justice. Here we meet the crux of the 
whole problem. Some there are who would 
set up "a permanent council, having 
legislative powers, an international tri- 
bunal for arbitrating on all disputes 
between the States, and an international 
army or police to enforce the decisions of 
the tribunal." Apart from other difficulties 

which render this proposition impracti- 
cable, such a council, supported by force, 
would result in "the establishment of a 
tyranny rather than in the creation of a 
free community. Sooner or later, the 
system which the sword had established 
would be overthrown by the sword, and 
Europe would relapse into chaos." Quite 
rightly the writer suggests that the sanc- 
tion of international law on the principle 
of international co-operation must find its 
compelling power not in the swrd but in 
public opinion. 

So far one may follow Mr. Ernest Fayle 
with approval or with sympathy. But the 
theory as he expounds it lacks the back- 
ground of definite moral principle. The 
humanitarian sentiment, which has fre- 
quently of late years come across the path 
of the politicians, is in evidence; but such 
sentiment is riot enough for the guidance 
and regulation of the human conscience: 
what men need are definite moral princi- 
ples, with an objective sanction behind 
them which men must respect. For lack 
of this moral objective, Mr. Fayle's 
further elaboration of his theory draws 
him too frequently into the perilous path 
perilous, morally speaking of mere politi- 
cal expediency, as in his treatment of the 
division of "spoils," where he proposes to 
hand over the territories of the "uncivi- 
lized native" to this or that European 
Power, with seemingly no regard for the 
native himself.* 

Surely any "settlement" which is to 
gain the world's moral approval can not 
leave out of count the welfare and interest 
of the native population of the white man's 
colonies. Just this lack of a definite moral 
idea as the basis of international recon- 
struction gives a note of unreality to the 
various schemes of settlement which Mr. 
Fayle elaborates on the theory of co- 
operation. And yet the theory in its main 
principles must commend itself to the 
Catholic conscience, if to none other, as a 
signpost pointing the right direction to a 
Christian reconstruction of the world's 

* Vide p. 164 seq. 



politics. Co-operation between States, 
instead of rivalry; the due recognition of 
national life within the international com- 
munity; the sovereignty of international 
law, no one can doubt that these three 
ideals must enter into any reconstruction 
of international life, if the Christian con- 
science is to find itself at peace with inter- 
national policy. The primary need of 
the present moment, however, is not to 
elaborate schemes for acceptance by a 
Peace conference, but rather to elucidate 
principles, and bring them home to the 
conscience of the Christian people. The 
future peace and welfare of the world will 
depend much more upon the conscience 
of the peoples than upon the discussions 
of an international Conference. 

And here it is that a grave responsibility 
rests upon the Catholic body all the world 
over. Between the Church and the old 
separatist idea of the State there has 
been an essential antagonism. Catholicism 
could never recognize the self-centred 
State as morally legitimate. By the very 
force of its genius, it has stood for the 
community of the whole human race as 
against sectional interests, which denied 
the law and common welfare of the larger 
community whether the sectional interest 
be that of a class, or party, or of a nation. 
Its attitude towards the State has in con- 
sequence been denounced as anti-national; 
but to-day that attitude will be judged 
more fairly, now that the separatist idea 
of the State has wrought its own disaster. 
Anti-national in principle the Church never 
has been, except in so far as nationalism 
has stepped outside its own borders and 
threatened the welfare of the larger com- 
munity of the peoples, or in so far as it 
has built itself up upon principles which 
the Church, as the guardian of the Chris- 
tian idea, could not consistently allow. 

The very organism of the Catholic 
hierarchy, following, as it has done, the 
lines of national developments, under the 
supreme central authority, witnesses 
against any essential antagonism towards 
the national ideal. Undoubtedly, during 

the past four centuries, confronted with 
the separatist tendencies of the State-idea,, 
the Church has had to emphasize the 
cardinal truth of its own universality; it 
has had to stand chiefly as the representa.- 
tive of the larger Christian community, as. 
against the breaking up of the community 
into rival sections. Alone it has stood for 
the moral and spiritual unity of the human: 
race ; alone it has stood for the sovereignty 
of the universal laws of justice and charity 
amongst the peoples, as opposed to the 
disintegrating tendencies of a selfish State- 

From this point of view, the Church 
may well claim to have upheld the prin- 
ciple of a sovereign international law r 
grounded not in expediency but in the 
very moral nature of man; and of an 
international law which confesses to a real 
comradeship of nations. In this the Cath- 
olic idea of international law differs from 
the systems of the jurists of modern times, 
of whom Hugo Grotius is the most notable, 
as he was the most creative. His system, 
which has been the basis of international 
law since the sixteenth century, was based 
upon the idea of separate States acknowl- 
edging each other's right to exist, but 
avoiding all interference in each other's 
concerns so long as each State's own 
interest was not encroached upon. It 
assumed no real organic unity between the 
States, no real fellowship of the various 
political bodies. A State might massacre 
its own subject peoples, but this system 
of international law afforded no ground 
for a legitimate intervention by another 
State whose particular interests were not 
affected by the massacre. 

It need hardly be pointed out that such 
a conception of international relationship 
could not satisfy the Catholic conscience. 
International law, to meet the Catholic 
idea of human society, must not merely 
define individual rights: it must propound 
duties, the duties one State owes to 
another, and to the human race at large. 
Fellowship, not courteous isolation, is the 
Catholic ideal ; a fellowship which respects 


1 37 

the rights of all individual States and 
peoples, but binds them together in the 
confession of a supervening common life, 
with common rights and duties. 

Now, in Catholic teaching, that common 
life of men receives its most complete 
spiritual fulfilment and its highest sanction 
in the Catholic Faith and in the corporate 
life of the Church; but it has its natural 
root in the very life of humanity. Even 
the natural law, therefore, imposes upon 
the various peoples and States a common 
moral law which no individual State can 
violate in his own particular interest; 'nor 
has any State authority to compel its 
individual members to infringe the common 
moral law. 

Such are' the fundamental principles of 
international polity and law, for which 
the Church has stood in its opposition to 
the conception of the State as an isolated 
unit, concerned merely with its own rights 
and interests, and recognizing no duties 
or moral obligations except such as arise 
from its own particular interests. 

It is sometimes asked: How is it that 
the Catholic Church has done so little 
during the past four centuries to give the 
world's political theories and action a more 
Christian character? The answer is that 
so far as the teaching of the Church has 
been ineffective it is due to two causes: 
firstly, the determination of the State not 
to recognize the Catholic interpretation of 
the Christian law as the basis of politi- 
cal action; and, secondly, the unhappy 
divorce between public and private life 
which has characterized the conduct of the 
majority of professed Christians, who 
have been willing to allow in public life 
principles which in their private lives 
they would unhesitatingly repudiate. The 
Church has thus been forced into an atti- 
tude of protest: the dominance of the old 
State-idea has effectively foiled any large 
attempt at Catholic constructive action 
in the world's politics. 

The emergence, however, of the idea of 
international co-operation into practical 
politics gives the Church the opportunity 

so long denied it; for the Church alone 
can supply a historic ideal of international 
life which fulfils the demand of Christian 
ethics; and a polity built upon a definite 
Christian moral basis. The opportunity 
has arrived; but if it is to be realized two 
conditions are imperatively needful. The 
Catholic idea and Catholic teaching will 
have to be elucidated and made manifest, 
so that all the world may know and 
understand; and the Catholic people will 
have to put an end to their personal 
acquiescence in the anti- Christian and 
unmoral character of State polity, and 
bring their Catholic principles to bear on 
public life. 

In the first place, Catholic principles as 
concerning social and political life need to 
be made clear and convincing. So long 
has the science of political thought been 
run on prejudices favorable to the old 
State-idea, or upon purely naturalistic 
principles, that the very idea of a Christian 
politic has come to be generally discounted. 
' ' Give to Caesar the things that are 
Caesar's, and to God the things that are 
God's," has come to have a significance, 
even to many serious Christians, which 
never entered into the mind of Our Lord; 
and the application of Christian principles 
to the world's political life has become to 
most men almost unthinkable, just because 
the question has not been put forward 
in political thought in a way to compel 
attention: the urgent need of the mo- 
ment is that the study of actual political 
life on the basis of Catholic principles 
should be taken up seriously and scientifi- 
cally, and the results embodied in such 
form as to gain the people's attention. It 
is only in that way that public opinion 
can be influenced, and a public conscience 
moulded. To this end, "study-circles" 
might well be formed, such as the Catholic 
Social Guild in England aims at establish- 
ing wherever a body of earnest men or 
women can be got together; though the 
educative influence must come from ing^i- 
vidual students who are able to give to the 
study their chief thought and energy. 



But, however it may be diffused, a 
Catholic political science is one of the 
imperative calls of the moment. The 
science must embody Catholic ethics, 
Catholic political history, and the actual 
political problems of the present, and, not 
least, a sympathetic understanding of the 
aspirations and movements which to-day 
are tending towards a more Catholic con- 
ception of society, those aspirations and 
movements which, ,for lack of definite 
Christian principles, are apt to dissolve 
into vague .sentiment or mere political 
heresies, or be lost in a shoal of incon- 

In many ways the end of the European 
war will, it is hoped, see the beginning of 
a Catholic reconstruction in the world's 
thought and theories. In no way is it more 
imperative that Catholic thought should 
assert itself than in political science. Nor 
in the manifest political bankruptcy of 
the hitherto dominant secular theories, 
need Catholics fear that the world will not 
listen. At no time since the thirteenth 
century has Catholic constructive thought 
had such a favorable opportunity as at 

But mere scientific expositions will need 
to be re-enforced by Catholic action, and 
in a heightened sense of the duty which 
devolves on all Catholic citizens of bring- 
ing their principles to bear upon every 
phase of public life in which they have 
a part. This is where the individual 
Catholic citizen will prove himself a friend 
or foe of the Faith in the readjustment of 
the world's politics. 

The Crest of the Bodkins. 


MARY being the Mother of our Saviour, 
her dignity places her very high in heaven, 
near the Eternal Father; and the same 
Mary being our Mother, her love makes 
her bend very low to us, to pity our weak- 
ness and interest herself in our happi- 
ness. . . . Intercede for us, O holy and 
blessed Mary; for, as says your devout 
servant St. Bernard, who can speak for us 
as you can to the Heart of our Lord 
Jesus Christ? Bossuet. 


HE Upper Castle Yard known 
as the "Dirty Half Acre," on 
account of the unsavory deeds 
done within its enclosing walls 
prior to the Union is a dingy quadrangle; 
the south side being taken up with the 
apartments of the Lord- Lieutenant, and 
the north and west with the offices of the 
Chief Secretary for Ireland. The clerks, for 
the most part, are composed of the sons 
of pauper and English swells, who regard 
Ireland as a sort of penal settlement, and 
the Irish as so many half-civilized bar- 
barians. The salaries of these gentlemen 
are modest, but their social pretensions 
and their sense of superiority to their 
surroundings recognize no limit. They are 
languid, patronizing, sarcastic; and, as a 
consequence, wildly worshipped by the igno- 
ble snobs who live, move, and have their 
being within radius of the Viceregal Court. 

On the morning after St. Patrick's Ball, 
a tall, strapping, straight of back, broad 
of shoulder, tweed-clad young man strode 
into the Chief Secretary's office, and, with- 
out consulting fhe magnificent English 
porter lolling in his arm-chair, engaged 
in perusing the Freeman's Journal, passed 
along a corridor, and entered a large 
and well-lighted office occupied by three 
sleepy-looking, well-groomed clerks. 

"How goes it?" cheerily demanded 
the newcomer, Arthur Bodkin. "Where's 

"Getting a wigging from Tom Burke," 
the ill-fated Under-Secretary for Ireland, 
who was murdered later on by the blood- 
thirsty Invincibles. 

"What for?" 

"Well, you see," drawled a flaxen-haired 
youth, with an impertinence of manner 
that cried aloud for the application of the 
cudgel, "he haw! haw! objected to my 
being promoted over his head." 



"And quite right too, Mr. Ponsonby," 
said Bodkin. "How would you like a man 
to be promoted over your head?" 

"Well, if it was an Irishman, I'd ", 
The drawling youth ceased to drawl; for 
Arthur had drawn nearer to him, stern 
menace in every movement. " Hang it all I 
If my people have more influence than 
his, that ought to settle it." 

"Not a bit of it! You were foisted in 
this office about a year ago I remember 
it well, -and here's Harry Talbot, with 
six years' and more service, passed over 
to make room for you, because you are 
English. I don't suppose you've done five 
pounds' worth of work since you came 

"Not a shilling's worth," laughed Mr. 
Ponsonby; "and don't intend to. It was 
hard luck enough to be banished here, 
without being asked to work. Rot!" 

At this moment a young man bearded 
like a pard, and the very embodiment of 
physical strength, entered the office. His 
face was flushed, while in his honest grey 
eyes signs and tokens of a mammoth anger 
wave appeared in fitful flashes. Without 
looking to the right or to the left, he pro- 
ceeded to a desk, flung its lid wide open, 
and began sorting papers wearing the 
neat, cold, precise appearance of docu- 
ments that must be tied with red tape. 

"I say, Harry!" 

At the sound of Arthur's voice Talbot 
looked up, flung a package of official 
documents into the air, and, letting the 
desk lid fall with a bang, rushed over to 
Bodkin with' outstretched hands. 

"Why, Arthur, this is too good to be 
true! Don't let us stop in this infernal 
hole. Come over to the Dolphin. We're 
sure to meet Nedley or MahafTy, or some 
of the lads of the village. And I have 
a lot to tell you." 

As they emerged from the Castle yard 
on to Cork Hill, Talbot suddenly stopped, 
turned round and exclaimed: 

"Congratulate me, Arthur?" 

"I do, my boy. Who is she? When is 
it to be?" 

"It's not a she, it's an it. I have 
resigned. They were for popping that 
impudent fellow Ponsonby over my head, 
you know. I remonstrated. No go. No 
reason vouchsafed. Tom Burke cold as a 
cucumber. So I just told him -not five 
minutes ago that as they were providing 
berths for English paupers with whom no 
Irish gentleman would care to associate, 
he could have mine with pleasure. You 
should have seen his face, Arthur!" 

"I'm awfully glad you did it, . Harry. 
I wonder that you were able to stand it so 
long. I couldn't be in the office with any 
of those fellows five minutes without 
longing to tickle their ribs with this 
blackthorn," giving a vigorous shake to 
a kippeen which he swung in his right 
hand. "And what are you going to do?" 

"To take about a dozen walks to and 
from the Hill of Howth twenty-two 
Irish miles. By that time I shall have 
determined upon a plan. There's nothing 
like a long walk, alone, for letting your 
thoughts mould themselves." 

They had now reached the Dolphin, 
in Essex Street a famous hostelry kept 
by one Flanagan, a jovial old man, 
with a wooden visage, and wearing that 
description of artless wig known as a 

The two friends seated themselves at a 
small table, in a gaunt apartment singu- 
larly free from the meretricious air of 
modern decoration; and ordered a dozen a 
piece of the famous Poldoody oysters. 

"Have you any money, Harry?" asked 

"About 300. You're welcome to it, 

"Thanks, dear old boy! But I don't 
want a penny of it. You will want it for 
travelling expenses." 

"Travelling expenses! I am only going 
to travel to the Hill of Howth and back. 
What do you mean?" 

"I mean that you are going to take 
a long voyage. Harry, you are going to 

"Mexico!" Talbot stared at his com- 



panion. "What the dickens would bring 
me to Mexico?" 

"Listen!" And Arthur in a few minutes 
so "enthused" his friend that Talbot 
joyously consented to start, and was for 
setting forth on the following morning. 

"It is providential!" he exclaimed. 
"For years I have been longing to see 
that wondrous country. From the moment 
I first read Prescott, the word Mexico has 
had a fascination for me. I can easily do 
as well there as being a Castle hack here; 
and, at all events, I'll go. And here's my 
hand on it. And who knows," he added, 
laughingly, "but I may pick up a dark- 
eyed senorita, settle down and beco^ne a 
rancherof Hooray! Here comes Nedley. Sit 
down, Tom, and hear the news." 

A handsome man, of scarce yet middle 
age, entered. There was a flash of merri- 
ment in his smile that lit up the entire 
apartment. Dr. Nedley was persona grata 
everywhere. Physician to the Viceregal 
Court, his official position brought him 
into the highest circles, where he shone 
a bright, particular star; while his noble 
and generous heart led him to the pallet 
of the poorest, where his ready wit often- 
times proved much more efficacious than 
his most elaborate prescriptions. 

As soon as the genial Doctor had 
become acquainted with the plans of his 
young friends, the thought of serving 
both came uppermost. 

"I'll speak to his Ex., Talbot, and see if 
I can't make him give you a roving com- 
mission, of a purely scientific character." 

' ' But I know nothing of science, Doctor. ' ' 

"So much the better. You will go 
in totally unprejudiced and unfettered 
. by faci. Yes, I'll get Sam Houghton, of 
Trinity, to aid and abet me. Zoology, 
the Fauna of Mexico. Capital! The 
very thing! You will write a book, Talbot, 
and we will elect you an Honorary Member 
of the Royal Irish Academy. As for you, 
Arthur, the drubbing you gave 

"For Heaven's sake, Nedley, don't let 
me hear anything more about that." 

"Faith, you are as sore as the chap 

that got it, -sorer, 1 think. Well, I'll see 
if I can't dig out a couple of letters of 
introduction for you that may be of use. 
I can give you one myself to a country- 
man of ours, a banker Don Ferdinando 
O'Flynn. He married a girl who owned 
a silver mine, and now he's as rich, as 
Pat Dempsey would say, -as rich, my 
dear fellow, as Creosote." 

The room soon became crowded, and in 
a few 'minutes the resignation of Hairy 
Talbot was in everybody's mouth. 

"I'll ask a question in the House of 
Commons in regard to this gross injustice," 
observed a very pompous personage, half 
choked in an old-fashioned black satin 
stock. "I'll ask the Chief Secretary for 
Ireland " 

"I'll tell you one thing you won't ask 
him, Macdonna," interrupted Nedley. 

"And what is that, sir?" 

"You won't ask him to dinner." 

This sally delighted the listeners, to 
whom the Honorable Member's stinginess 
was familiar as a household word. 

As the two friends walked down Dame 
Street they met Father Healy of Bray. 

"I'll get you a letter of introduction 
to the Archbishop of Mexico," he volun- 
teered; "although, as I see there was an 
insurrection up there last week, he may be 
only a bishop in partibus by this time." 

Arthur Bodkin, by virtue of being a 
lieutenant in the Galway Militia, was a 
member of the United Service Club, to 
which palatial institution on St. Stephen's 
Green he bent his steps, after arranging 
to dine with Talbot at Burton Bindon's. 
In the hall of the Club he encountered a 
kinsman, Colonel Brown, who had lost his 
left arm in the trenches before Sebastopol. 
^When this gallant warrior found that 
Bodkin was bound for Mexico, he con- 
gratulated him very warmly. 

"I tell you what, Arthur, you'll see 
some fighting out there as sure as Sunday. 
Napoleon is foisting this poor Archduke 
on the Mexicans; and believe me there's a 
big anti-French party in the country that 
will fight to a man. So, by the powers, 



Arthur Bodkin may bring everlasting 
glory on the Galway Militia by taking 
a hand in the game; and he's not his 
father's son if he doesn't. And, now that 
I think of it, your cousin, Tom Ffrench, 
of Gortnamona is out there. He fought 
like a Connaught Ranger at the battle of 
Molino del Rey, and faith he remained 
in the country. If I don't mistake, he 
wanted to be president or lord-mayor 
or commander-in-chief, or something very 
swell. You look him up, Arthur, and your 
bread is baked, my boy!" 

"Is it Tommy Ffrench, of Gortnamona, 
you're talking of?" asked a little red- 
faced, red-necked, white-haired major. 
"Sure Tommy marched into Puebla with 
General Forey, and was at the taking of 
Mexico. He is now Capitano Tomaso 
Ffrench, and the same dare-devil chap 
that swam the Shannon from Kilrush to 
Tarbert, and that's nine miles." 

And as Bodkin wended his way to 
Burton Bindon's to meet Harry Talbot, he 
could not help- reflecting that the finger of 
destiny was fixedly pointing in the direc- 
tion of the Halls of the Montezumas. 


It was a lovely morning in spring. The 
birds were whistling on every hedge, and 
buds were peeping timidly forth, and pale 
primroses were wooing tender violets in 
green and mossy nooklets. 

The mail-coach from Galway drew up 
at a 'boreen to deposit a male passenger. 

"I'll carry on your luggage to Bally- 
boden, Masther Arthur," said the coach- 
man. "I'll lave it at the Widow Byrns 
till they sind for it from the house." 

"That's a good fellow!" said Bodkin; 
and, bestowing a cigar upon the, willing 
Jehu, he leaped into the roadway. 

As he passed up the boreen, a Tiarrovv 
road leading to the grand entrance to 
Ballyboden, he met Father Edward 
Murtagh, the parish priest of Glenismole, 
the good padre who had christened him, 
\had prepared him for Confirmation and 
for his first confession and Communion; 

one of those lovable, pure, and innocent 
men who are veritable saints in this 
world of sin and sinners. 

Father Edward was loved by all rich 
and poor, worldly and unworldly. He was 
as fearless as Death, and just as sure. 
People who differed from him in creed loved 
and respected him, for he invariably 
treated them as truant and erring children ; 
and the "soupers" who were endeavoring 
to seduce the poor peasants from their alle- 
giance to the true Church 
Savin' their sowles 
Wid pinny rowls, 
And flitches av hairy bacon, 

dreaded the very mention of his name. 
He was about sixty-five years of age 
tall, spare, straight as a whip, active as a 
man of thirty; with bright, piercing eyes 
beneath shaggy, bushy brows. He had 
never been attached to any other parish, 
and for forty years had celebrated the 
Holy Sacrifice of the Mass on the very altar 
where as a boy he had served as an acolyte. 

"My dear boy," he exclaimed delight- 
edly, "is this you? I have just been up. 
to the house. They don't expect you, 
they said you were in Dublin." 

"So I was, Father Edward, and I have 
just been dropped by the coach. I have 
great news for you, Father." And Arthur 
blurted out his plans, hopes, fears, wishes,' 
and prospects 

Father Edward listened with great 
earnestness, uttering such exclamations 
as "Dear me! See that now! Bless my 
heart!" his hand on the' young man's 
shoulder, half in benison, half in caress. 

"I don't know what to think, Arthur," 
he observed after a pause. "You are the 
only son of your mother, and Mexico is 

a long way off." 

"But, Father Edward, I can be idle no 
longer. What is my life? Nothing worse 
than nothing. Fishing, shooting, hunting, 
dancing; a month's drill with my regi- 
ment, 'which I do not enjoy, as it brings 
me to mess where foul mouths outnumber 
clean ones. I do nothing, Father Edward, 
but spend mother's money, and it belongs 



to my sisters. This is wrong, wrong!" 

"Wasn't Lord Gormanstown going to 
get you a berth in the Custom House?" 

"Father Edward, I am not fit for a 
desk ; and, besides, all promotion is for the 
Saxon." And he 'told the worthy priest of 
the injustice done to Harry Talbot. 

"I see that your mind is made up, 
Arthur; and you are your father's son. If 
your father God be merciful to him! 
resolved upon doing a thing, he couldn't 
be turned aside. But let me ask you a 
question or two, my son." 

"A thousand if you will, Father." 

"What do you mean to do when you get 
to Mexico? You do not speak their lan- 
guage. It will take you some months to 
pick up enough Spanish to make your 
way; and after that, what then?" 

"I mean to try hard for a berth in the 
Emperor's household." 

"What Emperor?" 

"Maximilian, the Archduke of Austria. 
He is going to rule over the country. He 
sails in a few days." 

"This is news to me. There's not a 
word about it in the Galway Vindicator. 
But what made you pitch on Mexico 
of all spots? Why not America, where 
you have blood-relations in many places? 
Why, there are five hundred and fifty 
people from this parish alone in the 
United States, all well to do. Why, Pat 
Kehoe, they tell me, is a millionaire; and 
he must be, for he brought over his father's 
remains to be interred in Glasnevin, and 
put up a monument like a small chapel." 

Arthur Bodkin thrust his hands into 
his pockets, only to pull them out again; 
then blushed like a girl of sixteen. . 

"The real reason, Father, is that Alice 
Nugent is going with her uncle, Count 
Nugent. She will be maid of honor to 
the Empress." 

"The old story," said the priest, kindly. 
"You remember Dante: Amor a nullo 
amato amar perdona, 'Love spares no 
loved one from loving.' And why not? 
Love and death are two great hinges 
upon which all human sympathies turn. 

The Nugents are good stodk sound 
Catholics. It seems so strange, though, 
the boy I had on my knee a few days ago, 
as it were, talking in this way! Have you 
pledged yourself to this young lady?" 

"Why, of course I have, Father!" 
Bodkin answered, impetuously. 

"And your mother, -does she know 
of this?" 

"I am going to tell her now. That 'is 
what brought me back. She wants me to 
marry money Lady Julia Travers, or 
something in that line?" 

"Is she acquainted with Miss Nugent?" 

"Oh, dear, yes! She met her last month 
at the Hunt Ball, at Sir Percy Bushe's, at 
Kilgobbin Castle a hundred places." 

The old priest looked grave. 

"It will be a double blow to your 
mother, Arthur; for mother's love is the 
cream of love. Deliver the blow gently.' 
Firstly, your love for any woman but 
herself; and secondly, your prolonged 
exile -for prolonged it must naturally be. 
If I can help you, I shall do so with a 
heart and a half. Do not underrate the 
difficulties that confront you." 

"I I wish that you would come back 
to the house, Father." 

"Come along," said Father Edward, 
cheerily. "We must talk her over. I do 
believe, Arthur, that this is the first cross 
you will ever have given your mother to 
bear; but it is the will of God, my son, 
the will of God." 

The entrance to Ballyboden was de- 
fended by two enormous granite pillars 
surmounted by mutilated stone lions. 
One gate had dropped its hinges; the 
other stood open, the grass growing luxu- 
riantly through the rusty ironwork. The 
lodge was in a very rickety condition, 
one half sinking beneath the weight 
and pressure of ivy, while the inhabitable 
half was tenanted by an old retainer, 
Molly Malone, whose "rheumatics" con- 
fined her to her fortress, whence she looked 
out through the single remaining diamond- 
shaped pane of glass. 

The house was about a quarter of a 



mile distant from the lodge; the avenue 
boasting a too luxuriant crop of grass, 
save where recent hoofs and wheels left 
their bright, particular indentations. A 
short cut across the pleasaunce led to the 
stronghold of the "bold, brave Bodkins." 

Ballyboden House was gaunt, and grim 
and square. An unlimited number of 
windows permitted its inmates to gaze 
over hill and dale, mead and march, away 
.to the blue and distant mountains of 
Connemara. An immense block of stabling 
v and outhouses stood in the rear, sur- 
mounted ^ by a clock-less clock tower, 
which grinned like a skeleton head, as 
though Ballyboden had done with Time. 

The beaten path led to a side door, 
through which Arthur and Father Edward 
now entered. Lady Emily Bodkin wel- 
comed her son with all the tender fervor 
of the true and loving mother. Her joy, 
however, was soon to be dismally dimmed; 
for Arthur, in a few eager, burning words, 
told of his engagement to Alice Nugent. 
Lady Emily's distress called Father 
.Edward to the front. 

"My dear Lady, you surely do not ex- 
pect the Bodkin of Ballyboden to remain 
a bachelor, and let the fine old name 
die out?" 

"No, no! But Arthur is so young, and 
this girl is a dependant." 

"She is the niece of Count Nugent," 
interposed Arthur. "She is the daughter 
of one of the Six Hundred. She is a wife 
fit for an archduke." 

"Can she pay off the mortgage on 

"I have not asked her to do so," said 
Arthur, with a toss of his handsome head. 

"Perhaps the Count would," meekly 
suggested Father Edward. 

"It is a splendid property," continued 
the discomfited lady; "and fifty thousand 
pounds would clear it up to the hall door, 
and yield a rent roll of seven thousand a 
year. You must not marry a penniless 
girl, Arthur. Good Heaven," she added, 
pacing the room, "have you no common 
sense, common feelings ! You are a splendid 

match for any girl with money. You, the 
representative of one of the oldest families 
in Ireland -aye, in the world, young, 
handsome, accomplished, honorable, with- 
out a stain or a reproach! You have the 
blood of the kings of Ireland in your veins, 
and what are the Guelphs? Hanoverians, 
dating from the sixteenth century; mere 
parvenus when mentioned with the Bodkins 
of Ballyboden." 

And the excited lady leaped from 
branch to branch of the genealogical tree 
with the readiness and accuracy of an 
expert in the Herald's College, or even of 
Ulster-King-at-Arms himself. 

"Why not try Manchester?" she con- 
tinued. "There are thousands of cotton- 
spinners' daughters who would jump at 
you. Or there's America. The daughter 
of a millionaire oil man is not to be 
despised, or the daughter of a Southern 
planter. Anything but a penniless girl, 
Arthur! Why," she went on, "look at us 
struggling to live nothing else, -and you 
could relieve us by a simple effort. Your 
two sisters will never get off with the 
small fortune they will have at my death. 
All the male Bodkins are handsome; the 
females, unfavored. Look at Ballyboden 
going to rack and ruin, the grass growing 
up to the hall door steps!" 

"I shall clear every blade of it away 
myself before twenty-four hours," said 
the impetuous Arthur. 

"Father Edward," continued Lady 
Emily, "do use your influence with Arthur. 
He respects and loves you. - Surely you 
.agree with me. He owes it to his position 
to make some sacrifice for the sake of the 
family, some sacrifice for his mother and 
sisters. And we have a charming match 
for him in Lady Julia Travers. She is not 
all that we could wish, as her grand- 
father was in trade; but she will do." 

"Lady Emily, let me say one word to 
you you'll excuse me, Arthur." And 
Father Edward led her ladyship to a 
window, where he detained her for some 
moments in a very earnest, and, on the 
part of the lady, very animated discussion. 

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innovations in their church services; but 
that the poorer classes liked the changes 
very much. 

And so we arrive at the church porch 
again, and the rector's requirements for 
his church services gave us both over to 
serious thinking. Can it be true, after all, 
that these Anglican clergymen have a 
hankering after the "scarlet impossible 
lady," as Monsignor Benson so aptly 
terms her in one of his books, and that 
they find the "rags of popery" are a nec- 
essary adjunct for the due carrying out of 
Christian worship? Well, well, who knows 
what may happen in the near future? 
And with these thoughts we leave the old 
church behind. 

The view from the churchyard here is 
one of the finest in the district. Before 
us is a great amphitheatre, surrounded in 
the distance by large and luxuriant woods. 
In the mid distance are' cornfields all 
glorious in the sunlight and in the hol- 
lows. The meadows are clad in "meadow 
sweet" and a host of other flowers peculiar 
to this neighborhood. As one gazes around, 
at least five noble church towers are 
plainly visible. 

Here we leave Blofield behind, and in 
another ten minutes we are passing the 
quaint old church of Strumpshaw, the 
interior of which attracts so many visitors. 
In another ten or fifteen minutes, lying- 
wood Church comes in sight. We pause 
and try the door, but find it locked. It 
possesses on its south porch a very ancient 
sundial. Alas! the gnomon is missing, but 
we find our watches pointing to 3.35. 
The time is passing quickly. Very soon 
we arrive at Burlingham, St. Andrew's 
rectory. Having received permission from 
the genial rector to see the church, the 
keys are handed to us, and in a short time 
we find ourselves in front of a typical 
Norfolk church, exteriorly as perfect as it 
was when it was built six hundred years 
ago. Standing as it does oh the fringe of 
a dense wood, beside park-like grounds, 
its appearance is most striking to the 

It was in this church possibly, one of 
the last of our magnificent rood screens 
was erected prior to the so-called Reforma- 
tion, and on the panels of which was said 
to have been the last painting ever put up 
of the glorious St. Thomas of Canterbury. 
This, my story will make clear later on. 
When we enter the building, this screen at 
once arrests our attention. As with the 
rest of our English screens, no vestige of 
the loft which originally existed, nor of 
the rood remains, nothing but the screen 
itself and its painted panels below. But 
the disused stairway which led to the 
loft may still be seen. The thought which 
comes uppermost in our minds as we 
gaze on these remains (still most beautiful, 
in spite of the mutilations and the uncared- 
for appearance) is this: what must have 
been the appearance of this screen on the 
eve of the Reformation? For it was 
actually at this particular period it was 
erected, as an inscription which I am 
about to give will plainly show. 

To the old paintings depicted on the 
panels we will now give special attention. 
The combination is somewhat unique, and 
so is the inception of the screen itself, 
its date in particular. The screen occupies 
the normal position the chancel arch. 
On each side of the central doorway are 
six painted panels, with profusely gilt 
ornamentation in the spandrels of each. 
The raised and embossed work in the 
diapering points to the free use of gesso; 
this is most noticeable in the diminutive 
niche and tabernacle work, and has a 
splendid effect. 

On the first two panels on the Gospel 
side of the screen (reading from the north) 
little is to be learned, as both paintings 
are sadly defaced, and one can not deter- 
mine who were the two saints represented 
in the first instance. On the third panel is 
a splendid picture of St. Withburga, a 
Norfolk saint. She founded East Dereham 
church and nunnery, said to be the earliest 
in England. She is shown with a cruciform 
church in her left hand, labelled, Ecclesia 
de est Dereham. Lying at her feet are seen 



two white does. (4) St. Benedict, with 
pastoral staff and book; two devils are 
crouching at his feet. (5) St. Edward, 
Confessor, with a sceptre and ring. (6) 
St. Thomas of Canterbury, with a cross 
staff, in the act of blessing. Those on 
the Epistle side are: (i) St. John Baptist, 
pointing to a Lamb, with 'the words, Ecce 
Agnus Dei. (2) St. Cecilia, with leaves, 
flowers, and a palm branch. The next one 
(3) is important, and shows St. Walstan of 
Bawburgh, Norfolk. He is in royal attire, 
and has a scythe in his hand, and the 
word Opifer at his feet. (4) St. Catherine 
of Alexandria, standing beside a spiked 
wheel. (5) St. Edmund of East Anglia 
(sadly obliterated). (6) St. Ethelreda; she 
is shown with a book and staff. 

Under the figures on the Gospel side is 
the following much mutilated inscription 
in Latin : "Pray for the soul of John 
Benet, and Margaret, his wife. Pray also 
for the good estate of Thomas Benet. 
Anno Dni 1536." On the Epistle side, 
immediately beneath the painting of St. 
John Baptist and St. Cecilia, is another 
imperfect inscription ' ' Pray for the soul 
of Johanis Blake, and of. Cecilia, his wife, 
on whose souls may God have mercy." A 
little farther on can be read: "Pray for 
the souls of Robert Frenys, and Katherine, 
his wife." It would thus appear that this 
screen was presented, or that it was painted, 
in the year 1536 at the expense of the 
families of Benet, Blake, and Frenys. It 
has been said by a well-known anti- 
quarian:* "The remarkable agreement 
between the names of the donors and the 
saints appears to indicate that the choice 
of these saints was made for their names' 
sake." Thus we have St. Thomas of 
Canterbury on the part of the screen for 
which we may suppose Thomas Benet 
paid ; and over the names of John and 
Cecilia Blake are painted St. John Baptist 
and St. Cecilia; whilst St. Catherine 
appears above the name of Catherine 

* Rev. John*Gunn, in "Norfolk Archaeology," 
vol. iii. 

The date 1536 comes immediately under 
the name of St. Thomas; and we can not 
help remembering that in this very year 
his Festival of Translation (July 7) was 
abolished; and that two years later, 
having been charged with treason, the 
attorney general appearing for the King, 
and the dead Archbishop being defended 
at the public expense, he was found on the 
roth of June to be guilty, and it was 
ordered that his bones should be burned, 
and his shrines demolished throughout the 
country. Only a few months later (in 
November, 1538) a royal proclamation 
suppressed his remaining festival, and 
commanded "that his name should be 
struck out of all calendars and service 
books, and that his images and pictures 
throughout the realm should be put down 
and utterly destroyed." 

How thoroughly this was carried out 
we all know; and it is both -strange and 
remarkable that this painting (and the 
mural painting of which we shall speak 
presently), both of them having his name 
attached, should have escaped. There is 
a tradition in this neighborhood that 
great devotion was paid to St. Thomas 
here, and that many of the well-to-do 
families in those sad times suffered greatly 
for defending the ancient Faith. Possibly 
some of the descendants of the pious donors 
of this screen may have used their influence 
in preserving this solitary panel painting 
of the saint. Who knows? 

So, casting a parting glance at the mute 
a'ppeal of these good sixteenth-century 
Catholics, we whisper a De Profundis for 
their eternal repose. Oh, how many 
thousands there must be, whose bodies lie 
mouldering in our ancient churches, who 
have a claim on our prayers as Catholics, 
the remnant of that Holy Church of which 
our forefathers were robbed in the sixteenth 
century! "Have pity on me, have pity 
on me, at least you, my friends!" is 
the whispered and mournful sound we 
ought to hear with the ears of faith, 
and willingly in some small way make 
restitution for the injustice meted out to 

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the poor woman, and earnestly desired to 
help her, but she could not fathom the 
depths of sorrow, she had been utterly 
unable to reach her. To-day she brought 
her Testament along. Ordinarily she did 
not touch on religion, as experience had 
shown her that these Italians were sen- 
sitive on that point, and that they were, 
somehow or other, beyond her compre- 
hension; but she strove by acts of kind- 
ness to win them over, and hoped that they 
would eventually "listen to the message of 
Christ" which she was bringing them, 

Angela she liked particularly, the 
little Italian was so gentle and refined. 
She had taken her out several times in 
the big machine which charitable people 
had put at her disposal. Although she 
knew that the Missionary Organization 
would not approve, she had even brought 
her to a moving picture theatre. All went 
well till Angela saw on the screen some 
one who looked like Tony, and she came 
home more despondent than ever. 

The Gospel Lady was at her wits' 
end. Something drastic had to be done. 
Her mission* of sunshine had failed, and 
she was depressed. Instinctively she felt 
that something more than sunshine was 
necessary to rouse Angela from her melan- 
choly; instinctively she felt that religion 
could cure this malady of the soul, and 
religion alone But religion was a hard 
subject to broach; for Angela, otherwise 
responsive enough, simply retired within 
herself every time this subject was men- 
tioned. But, since all other expedients 
had failed, she would try at least to give 
her the consolation of religion; and so 
she brought along her beloved Testament. 

She prayed long and earnestly in her 
perplexity. She prayed to the Father the 
Creator for help, to Christ the Consoler 
for grace, to the Holy Ghost the Illumi- 
nator for light Cheered and comforted 
after her prayer, she started on her mission, 
feeling, somehow or other, that God had 
heard her prayer, and that this time she 
would succeed. 

"Blessed are they 'that mourn, for they 

shall be comforted," said she, opening the 
Testament. Slowly and impressively she 
read of the widow of Nairn whom Christ 
met on the dusty highway. Then she 
spoke of Christ, the Consoler of all sad 
hearts. Afterwards she read of Lazarus, 
her voice trembling: "I am the resur- 
rection and the life. He that believeth 
in Me, although he be dead, shall live." 
As she read the sublime passages, her own 
heart was filled with emotion; but Angela 
seemed scarcely to hear. She sat there 
quietly enough, listening; but it was all 
too evident to the Gospel Lady that not 
yet had she sounded the sorrowful depths, 
not yet had she given the consolation of 
the Gospel. 

She began the story of the Crucifixion: 
"Now, there stood by the cross of Jesus 
His Mother. . . . When Jesus, therefore, 
saw His Mother and the disciple standing, 
whom He loved, He saith to His Mother, 
Woman, behold thy son." 

"Ah, poor Mother!" cried Angela. 
"How she must have suffered!" 

"Yes, indeed," murmured the Gospel 
Lady, hastily turning to another passage. 
"How deeply this instinct for the venera- 
tion of the Virgin Mary is rooted in these 
poor people!" she reflected. 

On she read, but poor Angela was riot 
even listening. Her mind had turned 
back to the little village in the Abruzzi 
where she was born. Vaguely she remem- 
bered the church, but clearly she pictured 
this same Mother of God with the seven- 
fold wound in her heart. As a child, the 
mystery of it had drawn her, and she 
wondered then what it was all about, 
but now she knew. How vividly the 
image of the suffering Mother stood forth 
since she had begun to suffer herself! 
The woman who left the Abruzzi a mere 
child, had almost forgotten her religion; 
for in this Western town there was nothing 
to remind her of it. 

In America things had been so different. 
There were no priests, at least she never 
saw the cassock on the street. She had 
never even heard the Angelus ring. Yes, 



it was all different, -a different country, 
different religion, all different. Religious 
memories of childhood were becoming 
more and more vague. But ever since that 
night when Tony was brought home to 
her, crushed and broken by the falling 
wall, she had likened her heart to the 
sorrowing heart of the Mother of God. 

The Gospel Lady saw that she was 
paying no attention. "Blessed are they 
that mourn, for they shall be comforted," 
she concluded. But, alas! Angela did not 
understand. Rising to go, she closed her 
v beloved b,ook with a sigh, and put it back 
in her reticule. Her prayer had not been 
heard. She had exhausted all her powers 
of consolation. She had failed, and she 
left the house sad and discouraged. Even 
her beloved Gospel had failed, -the last 
but infallible resort. For years she had 
tried to help Angela and gain her confi- 
dence. It was to win her soul in just such 
a crisis as this that she had hoped and 
she had failed. 

Then a daring thought struck her. Was 
it a temptation of Satan? Was it loyal 
to the Missionary Organization of which 
she was a volunteer worker? Was it even 
loyal to her own evangelical principles? 
She hesitated and was lost. Back she went. 

"Angela," she said, "you're a Catholic." 

"Yes," replied Angela, coldly. The 
subject had been broached before, and 
she did not like to talk religion with one 
who held beliefs differing so t radically 
from her own sacred traditions. The 
Gospel Lady spoke with an effort. 

"Your Church, the Roman Church," 
she said stiffly, "has opened a mission in 
town very recently. It is not far away. 
Here is the address." Taking out a card, 
she pencilled it rapidly, all the time 
feeling like a traitor; and then fled, 
lest she should repent. 

Angela took the card indifferently. 
She had been away so long. She remem- 
bered her prayers, but had almost for- 
gotten the rest. She wondered vaguely if 
it would be like the little church in the 
Abruzzi. If it were like the Abruzzi 

church, she would love to go. If she 
could see again the image of the suffering 
Mother yes, she would go. 

That night after supper she went with 
Caterina. Her first feeling as she stood 
in front of the little frame building was 
that of disappointment. Somehow she 
had hoped to see again the church of her 
native village. She entered. It was dark, 
but through the darkness she saw the red 
lamp flickering. Her heart beat quickly 
as she made the unaccustomed genuflec- 
tion. To the right was a little shrine, in 
front of which a few candles were burning. 
She went up to it. It was Our Lady of 
Sorrows, the Madonna of the Abruzzi, 
with the sevenfold wound in her heart. 

Long she knelt there passive, while 
half -forgotten prayers and tender greetings 
and snatches of hymns to the Madonna 
came back from the rich stores of child- 
hood impressions. She thought she was 
back again in the church of her native 
village. She lifted her head, to reassure 
herself rand sure enough there was Our 
Lady of Sorrows looking down at her 
with understanding eyes. The Madonna of 
Sorrows knew, the Madonna understood; 
for she herself had suffered. She could 
see the depths of sorrow in Angela's heart. 

Her long pent-up agony and sorrow 
gave way, the floodgates of her tears 
were loosened, and she cried 'and sobbed 
bitterly. How long she knelt there with 
bowed head, she did not know. She would 
have liked to stay forever. But Caterina 
was restless, and finally distracted her, 
and she lifted her bowed head. By the 
dim light of the candles her tear-filled 
eyes slowly spelled out the inscription 
below the shrine: 

"Blessed are they that mourn, for they 
shall be comforted." 

This time slie understood, and the prayer 
of the Gospel Lady was answered. 

ANY system of religion that is small 
enough for our intellectual capacity can 
not be large enough for our spiritual 
needs. Balfour. 


Where Raphael Rests. An Example to the World. 

BIOGRAPHERS of Raphael, il divino, 
D the artist pre-eminent among the 
many who delighted to place upon canvas 
the radiant face of Our Lady, are strangely 
silent as to his burial, or dismiss 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, 
now called 'S. Maria Rotonda. In 1833 
an association of Roman artists undertook 
a search for the precious remains in the 
presence of a number of public function- 
aries, ecclesiastical 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 i4th 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 pro- 
tected the receptacle had ill done its part; 
water gradually leaked in, destroying the 
wood of the coffin. But portions of what 
had been Raphael were there,- still so 
far 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, and again rested, as the 
great artist wished, under the protecting 
care of Our Lady, to await the morning 
of the resurrection. 

BETWEEN Chile and Argentina stands 
the great mountain chain of the 
Andes, and near their summit is placed 
one of the most remarkable monuments in 
the world. Mountain peaks, overwhelming 
in their vastness and sterility, rise twice 
ten thousand feet above the pass by 
which the people of the two countries 
cross the barrier that separates them. 
At the top of the pass, at Puenta de Inca, 
is an heroic figure of our Blessed Lord in 
bronze, twenty-six feet in height, holding 
in His left hand a cross, His right raised 
as if in earnest appeal. On the base of the 
massive granite pedestal are emblematic 
figures of the two States, clasping hands. 

It is a symbol of the ending of a dispute 
which at one time seriously threatened war. 
It was the thought of what Christ had 
done for both nations that led them to 
settle the question by arbitration instead 
of arms; the King of England being the 
arbitrator. The great mountains were no 
longer to be a barrier guarded by a line 
of fortresses, but a bond of union. And so 
the Christian people of the two countries 
had this statue cast from old cannon, 
and placed it here at the summit of the 
pass in 1904, with this inscription, "He 
is our Peace, who hath made both One"; 
and on another side, "Sooner shall these 
mountains crumble into dust than Argen- 
tines and Chileans break the peace to 
which they have pledged themselves at 
the feet of Christ the Redeemer." 

Though this is a matter of contemporary 
history, rather it seems like an event in the 
Ages of Faith. It is hard to connect such 
national Christian simplicity with our 
own times. Of necessity it brings to mind 
the great World War, and the problem 
uppermost in all minds now, its early 
settlement by terms of peace. No king 
Can be the arbitrator in this crisis: the 
only possible mediator in the long run is 
the Father of Christendom, who is the 
visible representative of the "Christ of 
the Andes." 



A Subject for Thought. 

ONE of the commonplaces of our day 
is that the average citizen, the. man 
in the street, takes his opinions at second 
hand, allows his thinking to be done 
for him by the newspapers. There is 
perhaps fully as much truth in this other 
statement, not so commonplace, that the 
average Catholic, the man in the pew, 
allows his religious thinking to be done 
for him by the pulpit, or books. Atten- 
tively to follow the thought- of a spiritual 
writer or a preacher is, beyond doubt, a 
good thing, but it is obviously not the 
same thing as doing one's own thinking 
on this or that subject of personal and 
important interest. The old, old plaint 
of Jeremias is probably as true to-day as 
when first it was uttered: "With deso- 
lation is all the land made desolate, 
because there is no one that cqnsidereth 
in the heart." ' 

The beginning of a New Year may 
surely be termed a singularly appro- 
priate season during which to rid oneself 
of personal liability to the prophet's 
reproach, by seriously considering "in the 
heart" several of those subjects which 
more than any others claim the thoughtful 
meditation of- every child of Adam. In 
downright reality, of course, each succes- 
sive morning is as truly the beginning of 
a new period in one's life as is the first 
day of January; but the traditions 
attached" to the conventional divisions 
of time make the New Year a convenient 
date for the inception of any social or 
spiritual reform. The present is accord- 
ingly an excellent time to meditate on 
subjects of outstanding importance; and 
a beginning may well be made with this 
one -the end of man. 

What is my mission in this world? 
What am I here for? Why have I been 
created? What is the object or end of my 
existence? There is surely nothing forced 
or extravagant in the assertion that these 
are questions which, first of all, should 
be asked and answered by every man 

who has come to the developed use of 
reason. And yet, among the hundreds 
of people who form the circle of our 
friends and acquaintances, how many 
are there who habitually, or even occasion- 
ally, reflect on these questions and the 
answers thereto? All Catholics doubtless 
remember from their Catechism days the 
comprehensive truth that we have been 
created to know, ( love, and serve God in 
this life and to enjoy Him in the next 
one, the life after death; but with how 
many is it not merely an abstract .truth? 

Outside the period of a mission in the 
parish or a laymen's retreat, how often 
does the average Catholic devote a half 
hour to really serious, concentrated 
thought on the end and purpose of his 
transitory life? He knows of course in a 
general way that it behooves him to avoid 
evil and do good, to obey the Command- 
ments of God and of His Church; but 
this knowledge may not prevent his order- 
ing his life as if its true end and pre- 
destined purpose were the amassing of 
riches, the attainment of honors civic or 
social, the achievement of worldly success, 
or even the procuring of sensual pleasures. 

The end one has in view should normally 
be the foundation and the guiding principle 
of one's activities, -the foundation on 
which one raises the superstructure desired, 
the guiding principle which -shapes the 
means proper to attain the end. In the 
ordinary affairs of life -in the professions, 
in business, politics, industry, etc., -men 
habitually act on this principle, adapting 
the means they use to the end they seek; 
in the supreme affair of life, they all too 
often either ignore the end of their exist- 
ence, or, knowing it as it were subcon- 
sciously, disregard the means which alone 
can secure the purpose they ought to have 
in view. 

Men and women in the world have 
need not only of vocal prayer, but of 
interior prayer meditation. If they would 
live their lives aright, they must per- 
force, occasionally at least, ' consider in 
the heart.' 



Notes and Remarks. 

One phase of the Prohibition Movement 
which has heretofore been practically 
ignored is now receiving considerable 
attention in more than one of our States. 
A New York magistrate recently expressed 
his conviction, formed after experience 
with many cases, that one jDy-product of 
Prohibition isa notable growth of the 
drug habit. It appears that very many 
users of heroin and other equally dele- 
terious drugs are travelling people whose 
inability to procure liquor in "dry" 
localities has led them to have recourse 
to a substitute easily carried around and 
easily placed before others desirous of the 
stimulus usually obtained from alcohol. 
That general addiction to drugs is grow- 
ing rapidly in this country is becoming 
increasingly evident; and no one needs 
to be told at this late day that the "drug 
fiend" is a still more degenerate slave than 
the chronic drunkard. Notwithstanding 
the apparent growth of Prohibition senti- 
ment in different parts of the country, 
it is by no means certain that national 
Prohibition will prove victorious at the 
polls in 1920 or 1924; but it seems evi- 
dent that, if it ever does become the law 
of the land, there will be need of a 
drastic canjpaign against a greater evil 
than the use of alcohol, addiction to 
poisonous drugs. 

When Lawrence Sterne wrote, "They 
order this matter better in France," he 
formulated a dictum frequently quoted 
from his day to ours. It begins to look at 
present, however, as if we Americans 
may well substitute Canada for France 
in the cited quotation. There are assuredly 
several matters which are far better 
ordered in the Dominion than in the 
United States. One of them, as we have 
more than once noted, is the administra- 
tion of criminal laws. Another is the 
question of divorce. The Canadian bank- 
ing system has also received high praise 

from some of our most eminent financiers. 
And now the Dominion's Industrial Dis- 
putes Act, passed in 1907, appears to be 
appealing to our legislators as a measure 
that may profitably be imitated, more or 
less closely, on this side of the border. 
The main provision of the act in question 
*is that strikes on the part of Labor and 
lockouts on the part of Capital are pro- 
hibited until an investigation of the 
matters in dispute has been made by duly 
authorized boards or commissions. While 
admittedly imperfect, this Canadian act 
has unquestionably proved its utility 
during the past decade; and such modifi- 
cations as experience has shown to be 
advisable are now under consideration 
by the Dominion's Minister of Justice. 
Briefly, the Canadian jurists are apparently 
alive to the necessity of rendering it 
impossible for either Capital or Labor to 
gratify its private ambition, avarice, or 
spite at the expense of the'general public; 
and our own jurists can not too speedily 
follow their example. 

Not every parish priest could be expected 
to write such a letter as the one with which 
the Rev. John Talbot Smith, of Dobbs 
Ferry, N. Y., greeted his flock at the 
opening of the New Year; but every pas- 
tor can emulate the spirit that prompted 
this communication, which is an admira- 
ble summary of particular instructions and 
counsels given in the course of regular 
Sunday sermons. One passage of this 
letter is so important and of such general 
application that we quote it entire: 

It should be well understood by all that the 
priest at the head of a parish is there solely for 
the good of his people. Nothing that concerns 
them can be foreign to him. If children are 
getting wild, if some one has taken to drink or 
idleness or gambling or other bad ways, if sick- 
ness is persistent and does not. yield to treatment, 
if business is going wrong, the sooner you carry 
your trouble to your pastor the sooner you will 
be out of it. 

Some dislike to thrust their affairs upon the 
priest; others wish to keep the trouble a secret 
from him, but as a rule the priest knows all 
about it long before, only he can not mention 



it until the parties interested bring it before 
him. It is a poor method to consult a wise man 
too late. The rule is to consult him early, 
when his experience and advice will count. 
Particularly should he be called in when parents 
suspect that their children are secretly stepping 
out of the right path, or preparing for the sneaky 
marriage (which has become so popular), or 
beginning to drink. Never let trouble grow. 
Attack it as you would a' fire, on the spot, with 
the fire department behind you. Do not let 
pride keep you silent, because the whole town 
knows your trouble before you do, and knows 
your pride too. 

There speaks the good and faithful 
shepherd, awake to the dangers of tjje day, 
strongly and wisely sympathetic, discreet 
as he is zealous, a true father of souls. 
Parishioners everywhere would do well 
to put these recommendations into prac- 
tice; and it would be very much less of a 
surprise than a gratification to see a 
general imitation of Father Smith's New 
Year pastoral. 

The fundamental principles of interna- 
tional polity and law for which the Church 
has stood, in its opposition to the self- 
centered State, are admirably set forth by 
Father Cuthbert, O. S. F. C., in our lead- 
ing article this week. He holds that the 
emergence of the idea of international 
co-operation into practical politics gives 
the Church an opportunity, long denied it, 
of supplying a historic ideal of interna- 
tional life which fulfils the demand of 
Christian ethics, and a polity built upon 
a definite Christian moral basis. In order 
that this opportunity may be realized, he 
contends that it is absolutely necessary 
for the Catholic people to bring their 
principles to bear on public life. "A 
Catholic political science is one of the 
imperative calls of the moment. The 
science must embody Catholic " ethics, 
Catholic political history, and the actual 
political problems of the present ; and, not 
least, a sympathetic understanding of the 
aspirations and movements which to-day 
are tending towards a more Catholic con- 
ception of society, those aspirations and 
movements which, for lack of definite 

Christian principles, are apt to dissolve 
into vague sentiment or mere political 
heresies, or be lost in a shoal of inconsist- 
encies. . . . But mere scientific expositions 
will need to be re-enforced by Catholic 
action, and in a heightened sense of the 
duty which devolves on all Catholic citizens 
of bringing their principles to bear upon 
every phase of public life in which they 
have a part." 

Father Cuthbert's suggestion that 
"study-circles" be established wherever a 
body of earnest men or women can be got 
together, in order to encourage the study 
of actual political life on the basis of 
Catholic principles, is very important and 
very timely. In all our institutions of 
higher education at least, it should be 
followed without delay. 

How is it that Catholics always give 
so good an account of themselves as 
American citizens when patriotism is put 
to a genuine test? Take the particular 
case of our Catholic soldiers down at the 
border. A Protestant chaplain, home on 
furlough, is quoted as saying to a priest 
of * his acquaintance: 

Father, I have never in my life wished that 
I was a Catholic priest until now. I feel that 
the only man who can do any good in the 
army is the priest. Last Sunday I had only 100 
at my service; the Catholics were on their 
knees by the thousand close by; and nothing 
impressed me more than the piety and devotion 
manifested. I had to return home, because 
some few of my parish had criticised me for 
going with the troops as they thought it un- 
necessary; but if ever' the presence of a minister 
was needed, it was there among so many men 
away from the influence of home. 

My eyes have been opened to the patriotism 
of the Catholics. I went there narrow, and, I 
must confess, bigoted; but after what I have 
seen from you Catholics, I have become as 
broad as the Atlantic Ocean; and I take off my 
hat to you. I am a member of all the patriotic 
organizations in my town organizations whose 
members are always preaching Americanism 
and patriotism, yet out of all these we got only 
six recruits. 

It is .a pity~ that other outsiders, less 
fair-minded than this observer, have 



not the same opportunity of seeing the 
patriotism of Catholics in action; they 
might then become less content with their 
own patriotism in words. Has any 
"Guardeen," we wonder, ever been able 
to point with pride to a regiment of his 
fellow-patriots in the field? We doubt it, 
as their only equipment would seem to 
be elocution. 

. An oldtime formula of New Year wishes 
besought for one's friends "health, wealth, 
and prosperity." Of these temporal goods 
the first is invariably perhaps* a blessing: 
the other two may occasionally partake 
more of the nature of a curse. So keen 
an observer of human nature, and, more 
specifically, Catholic human nature, as 
Cardinal O'Connell thought it well to say 
to a Catholic audience quite recently: 
"I do not hesitate to declare, much as I 
want our good people to succeed in pros- 
perity, that there are some now rich to 
whom the loss of their money would be 
the very best thing that could happen to 
them. At least, the crust of silly pride 
which prosperity has raised around their 
former selves would be broken, and they 
would be again genuine, sincere, and truly 
refined, qualities which money seems to 
have entirely destroyed in them. Be not 
deceived. We must keep our hearts warm, 
our blood red, our love aglow, or else pay 
the penalty." 

Not a few of our readers can doubtless 
specify concrete cases in which the Cardi- 
nal's reproach is thoroughly well deserved. 
The love of money is still the root of evil; 
and its possession is all too often the 
cause of relaxed spirituality, inordinate 
vanity, and the des'truction of true Chris- 
tian charity. 

It is interesting to note that whereas 
in Chicago all songs which had reference 
to the Christ-Child were, by order of the 
superintendent of schools, obeying a State 
law, debarred from the public school, 
programmes at Christmas, in other cities 
the public celebration of the great feast 

is becoming more Christian and even 
Catholic. Especially was this the case in 
Boston. The Republic observes editorially: 
"What would the Rev. Cotton Mather, 
what would Governor Endicott have said 
to Christmas carols on Christmas Eve in 
the streets of Boston, and especially to a 
Christmas carol recounting the Seven Joys 
of Mary? Verily, the old order changeth. 
What would they have thought of Arthur 
Ketcham's poem, 'Who Goes To-night 
to Bethlehem?' in the Boston Post: 

Who goes to-night to Bethlehem? 
The East is kindled light! 

The air is silver with song, 

And wings flash near and white. 

Mary the Mother bowed her head; 
'My little Son,' she said. 

"These carols," the Republic remarks, 
"were not sung by Catholics; but they 
mark the movement towards the Old 
Church of the devout element among our 
separated brethren. Piety, love of home, 
movements for the elevation of woman, 
all these strengthen the cry of Nature 
itself for honor to her of whom Christ 
came as 'the little Son.'" 

No class of people, it is safe to assert, 
are more disgusted with warfare and more 
desirous of peace than .those waging 
conflict. That the fighters of the present 
will be the pacificists (pacifists, if yqu will) 
of the future is abundantly proved by the 
letters that come from the front. There, 
is no disposition on the part of the writers 
or their comrades to shirk duty, hard 
as it is; but the letters show how hateful 
war has become to all who are actually 
engaged in it, daily sharers of its hardships 
and witnesses of its horrors. A French 
teacher, a non-commissioned officer, in a 
letter to M. Romain Rolland, quoted in 
a recent issue of La Paix par le Droit, 
says: "Everything that I have heard and 
seen since I came here has convinced me 
that war will never be sufficiently hated; 
and I. know that it is hated cordially by 
those who are carrying it on. . . . And 
the men of whom I speak have proved 



themselves: . . . they have done their 
duty, and sown the seeds of victory in 
the fields dug with their trenches and 
watered with the blood of thousands of 
their comrades. They will continue to 
do their duty; for it is done for peace, 
for the victorious peace which is the 
chief subject of their thoughts." 

The concluding passage of this rather 
notable letter may be quoted entire: 

War deserves to be hated; for, apart from all 
its unimaginable horrors, it has not even the 
much-extolled merit of creating and maintaining 
the heroic virtues. The crisis of the early days 
has long since passed. After the exaltation of a 
moment Vhich silenced every kind of baseness 
and meanness, men soon became what they 
had been before, some noble, others debased; 
the majority neither high-souled nor base, but 
simple and unassuming. A thousand miles 
away from their r ti elds, I find the peasants from 
my part of the country just as they are at home, 
submitting to circumstances with a fatalistic 
resignation, doing their work with docility, 
with the same routine-like patience; frequently 
complaining, but always obedient; not heroes, 
but just good fellows. The war has created 
nothing in them: it has brought out no quality 
that they did not already possess. Epic deeds 
of arms are rare; the actual struggle only 
demands, as a rule, the resistance of men accus- 
tomed to living hardly and simply. Any one 
who imagines that the France of to-day, the 
France which the world admires, has been 
created by the war, did not know France before 
the war, and is quite mistaken as to the France 
of to-morrow. 

As was to be expected, the death 
of Father Lacombe, the "Black-Robed 
Voyageur," or, to quote his obituary 
notice, the Rev. Father Albert Lacombe, 
O. M. L, V. G., has elicited from all 
quarters, and from representatives of 
both Church and State, warm tributes 
to the worth and work of that great 
missionary, a true pioneer of the Church 
in Canada. Our readers will recall appre- 
ciative sketches of the venerable Oblate 
which have appeared in THE AVE MARIA, 
and we need do no more at present than 
record our admiration for the indomitable 
missionary of half a century ago and the 
lovable old priest of the past few years. 

Born in 1827, and ordained priest in 1850, 
Father Lacombe spent on the mission 
field almost as many years as the Psalmist 
allots for the full life of man. The mission 
of St. Albert, founded by him in 1863, 
expanded ^ during his lifetime into the 
Province of Alberta. The construction of 
the Canadian Pacific Railway brought him 
into confidential relations with such public 
men as Sir William Van Home, Lord 
Strathcona, and Lord Shaughnessy, by 
whom he was held in the highest esteem. 
Among the Indians of the Canadian North- 
west he exerted an influence practically 
supreme; and, despite his numerous other 
claims to historical recognition, it will be 
as the Black-Robed Voyageur that he 
will be longest and most lovingly remem- 
bered. R. /. P. 

The assumption, by the English Govern- 
ment, of control over the coal mines of 
South Wales prompts a clerical contrib- 
utor to the London Catholic Times to 
utter a word of warning as to the academic 
discussion of Socialism by Catholic econ- 
omists and publicists. There is much food 
for thought on the part of Qatholics the 
world over in this brief paragraph from 
his .interesting communication: 

Some four or five years have gone since I 
ventured to suggest to you, sir, that it might 
turn out to be unwise for Catholics to fix limits 
to the process of lawful socialization. We shall 
have to live in this country, and abide by the 
laws of this country, and submit to the social- 
ization adopted by and for this country by the 
State. Would it not be well for us, therefore, 
to move very cautiously in pronouncing on the 
lawfulness of theories which to-morrow may be 
the facts of our life? The Church is slow to 
pronounce; the authorities of the Church do 
not rush in with decisions; and there is no 
possibility that Pope Leo XIII. will be found 
to have said anything to conflict with the 
future events towards which the present social- 
izing tendency of the State is swiftly and surely 
carrying us. 

It is the part of prudence, as well as of 
right reason, for Catholics in this country, 
as in England, not to IDC more Catholic 
than the Pope. 

Con of Misty Mountain. 



PHIL quickened Ms steps 

as he strode down the mountain. 

He would be late for dinner at Uncle 
Gregory's now; and with Uncle Gregory 
dinner was a serious consideration, that 
must not be trifled with even by his . 
sister's son, Father Philip Doane. What 
madness had beset Phil to become a priest, 
the old gentleman could not understand, 
when he might have been a doctor or a 
lawyer or even a soldier like Uncle Gregory 
himself. Still, it was done now the 
Doanes all had a queer streak in them, 
and the old captain believed in sticking 
to one's colors, be they black or white. 
Father Phil, in his early boyhood, had 
been a prime favorite with this old 
bachelor uncle and Aunt Aline; and now, 
after a dozen years or so of study at home 
and abroad, had been welcomed back 
warmly, though a little doubtfully. For 
neither Uncle Gregory nor Aunt Aline was 
a Catholic; the Faith had come from the 
Doane side of the house. Father Phil's 
mother had died a happy convert when 
her little girl was born, and his father a 
few years ago. 

"You may do as you please, Gregory," ( 
Aunt Aline had said tearfully when . dis- 
cussing their nephew; "but I couldn't 
give up Susie's boy if he turned into a 
turbaned Turk." So Father Phil, who had 
been ordained only last spring, had been 
invited to the "Manse" (as the big old 
house beneath the .mountain was called) 
for Christmas; and, there being no church 
within reach, had taken up th . log cabin 
for mission purposes, as we have seen. 
There was a little mining village some ten 

miles distant, where a travelling missionary 
said Mass once or twice a year in a "Hall" 
rented for the occasion by some of his 
flock. But the Hall had been pre-empted 
for Christmas festivities this year, and so 
Father Phil's log cabin was the centie of 
interest to all the faithful for twenty-five 
miles around. He had been busy for two 
days now. Aunt Aline had lent him the 
willing services of old Uncle Jerry, who, 
though a hard-shell Baptist himself, was 
ready to do anything for young Mas'r 
Phil; and the news of his coming 
for Phil Doane was a pleasant memory 
around Misty Mountain had spread far 
and near. 

There was to be a Midnight Mass, 
which was something of a departure from 
precedent; and he had hoped to make his 
mountain shrine a very Christmas bower; 
for usually winter came gently to Misty 
Mountain, and often the green growth in 
its sheltered hollows garlanded the rocks 
and cliffs until spring. But he and his 
boys .had been out this morning with 
scant results. He felt his log cabin would 
be as bare as the stable of old for the 
coming of the King. He must get back to 
it as soon as he could; there was much to 
be done yet, and confessions would keep 
him indefinitely in the evening. So he 
hurried on towards the wide old house that 
nestled under the shelter of the mountain, 
its broad lands stretching far down the 
valley where the Gregorys had lived and 
ruled for more than a hundred years. 
Indeed, Father Phil's great-great-grand- 
father had held the log cabin against the 
Indians when Misty Mountain bounded a 
wilderness that only the boldest of white 
men dared invade. And Uncle Gregory, 
who had fought on the border himself in 
the later Indian wars, though seventy 
years old now, was still a sturdy scion of 
his sturdy race. "Old Hot Scotch" he 



had been called in his soldier days, and 
"Hot Scotch" he was still. There was. a 
frown on his grizzled brow when his 
nephew appeared in the wide Hall to-day. 

1 ' Twenty minutes late ! " he said, looking 
up at the great grandfather's clock that 
never lost a second. "And a fine roast 
goose overdone! I thought they drilled 
better in that old Church of yours, young 
man, and made you march on time." 

"They do," was the good-humored 
answer. "But I'm out of rule and rank 
just now, Uncle Gregory. I'm sorry I've 
kept you waiting, and I'll do fitting pen- 
ance by not touching your goose to-day." 

' ' Tut, tut, tut ! ' ' said the old gentleman, 
testily. "You'll do nothing of the kind. 
I picked out that goose for you myself 
this morning, and had it stuffed by a 
recipe of my own. You may talk about 
Christmas turkeys, but a roast goose with 
apple-sauce is a dish for a king." 

" I am sure of it," was the hearty answer. 
"But, not being a king, only a young 
soldier in the ranks, I must keep to orders. 
It's fasting rations for me to-day, Uncle 
Gregory, bean soup or red herrings, or 
anything that doesn't travel on legs or 
wings." i 

"Nonsense, sir, arrant nonsense!" said 
Uncle Greg, angrily. 

"But orders, sir, orders!" laughed 
Father Phil. "I belong to an army and 
must march to the word of command. It 
is light rations for Christmas Eve. That's 
been down in our tactics before well, 
long before the Star-Spangled Banner 
began to wave, Uncle Greg. But just you 
wait until to-morrow! I'll tackle that big 
gobbler swinging in Aunt Aline' s pantry 
now, in a way that will astonish you." 

"Do as you fool please, sir," began the 
old gentleman irately and then suddenly 
paused as the great Hall door flung open 
again and a little fur-clad figure burst 
upon the threatening scene. 

"Brother Phil Uncle Greg!" And a 
pair of small arms somehow contrived a 
simultaneous embrace of both figures. 

' ' Susie ! " cried Father Phil in amazement. 

"God bless me! Little Sue!" gasped 
Uncle Greg, with a clearing brow. 

"Where, how what does this mean?" 
asked Susie's brother. 

"Scarlet fever N " explained the little 
lady, nodding a very fluffy golden head. 
"Scarlet fever broke out at St. Joseph's, 
and all the girls had' to go home; and I 
didn't have ' any home but St. Joseph's, 
so Mother Benedicta said I had better 
come up here. Lil Gray son's father they 
live at Greenville brought me in with 
Lil and dropped me at the gate. I hope 
you don't mind, Uncle Greg." And a pair 
of long-lashed grey eyes were lifted in a 
roguish appeal which the grimmest of old 
soldiers could not resist. 

"Mind! You little witch, minfy! You 
know well we'd have stolen you out of 
that jail of a convent if we could long ago," 
said the old man, heartily. "Scarlet fever! 
God bless me, my old colonel lost three 
boys in one week with it. The nuns did 
right to pack you off instanter. Drop your 
coat and hat right here, and come in to 
Aunt Aline and dinner." 

And then Aunt Aline, a nice, plump, 
rosy old lady, came bustling out to clasp 
the pretty little newcomer, and declared 
she was growing into the very picture of 
her dear dead mother. And all went in to 
dinner, where the roast goose was flanked 
by a boiled fish with oyster sauce, and 
followed by apple dumplings; for there 
was an Irish Nora in the kitchen who 
knew all that was due "his reverence" on 
Christmas Eve. And, though Uncle Greg 
glowered a little at the "Popish fare," 
Susie's gay chirp and Father Phil's laugh 
made such music at his table that he 
forgave fish and oysters to-day. 

"If I had only known you were coming, 
my little lass, we would have had a 
Christmas indeed. It's a dull time you'll 
be having up at Misty Mountain." 

"Oh, no, no, Uncle Greg!" said Susie, 
gleefully, as, jumping up from the chair 
beside him, she put her arms about the 
old man's neck and laid her soft cheek 
against his. "It's going to be a lovelv 



Christmas, with Brother Phil and you and 
dear Aunt Aline, and this nice, warm, old 
homey house all snuggled up in the snow. 
I never was in a dear old home like this 
at Christmas before, only in summer time. 
And Midnight Mass in the log cabin! 
Mother Benedicta said that would be so 
perfectly beautiful, just like the first 
Christmas night of all. O Brother Phil, 
may I help fix the altar? Sister Mary 
Margaret always lets me help at St. 
Joseph's. I can trim candles fine. Next 
year she will let me fill the vases with 
flowers. She says I might as well learn, as 
I'm going to be a nun myself." 

"You're going to be what?" thundered 
Uncle Greg, in a voice that would have 
appalled any one but little Sue. 

"A nun" she cooed her soft little cheek 
against his, "a nice little nun like Sister 
Mary Margaret herself." 

"You're not!" roared Uncle Greg, 
thumping the table with his clenched fist. 
"A nun! Thunderation ! I'll see that you 
are not, if I have to carry you off and lock 
you up from the whole black-gowned 
crew. A nun indeed! What sort of 
condemned nonsense are you putting in 
the child's head, Phil Doane, before she 
has fairly cut her teeth?" 

"I didn't put it there," laughed Father 
Phil; "did I, Susie?" 

"I'm not so sure of that," growled the 
old man, still unappeased. "When a chap 
like you, with the whole world in a sling, 
drops all his chances and turns priest, I 
am prepared for anything, anything, sir. 
But don't let me hear any talk about 
your turning nun, little girl; for that's 
more than I can stand. And another 
thing," added Uncle Greg, rising from the 
table in no very good humor: "about this 
midnight church business, who is going 
to keep order?" 

"Order!" repeated Father Phil in some 

"Yes, order, sir, order," said the old 
gentleman testily. "We had a camp meet- 
ing at Indian Creek last summer that 
ended in a free fight and a job for the 

sheriff. We've got a hard lot of chaps 
skulking about Misty Mountain these 
last few years. There's an old scoundrel 
and half a dozen or so young scoundrels 
Buzzard Bill they call him and his gang, 
dodging the liquor law and every other 
law, I guess, far up there in the Mists. 
Regular Will-o'-the-Wisps that we can't 
lay hands on. We've raided their den 
half a dozen times, only to find a gibbering, 
toothless old woman and her grandson, a 
sturdy young rascal that either can't or 
won't talk. But I'll get them yet!" said 
Uncle Greg, grimly. "I'll get that old 
Buzzard Bill behind bars before many 
weeks are over, if I have to go up after 
him myself." 

"I think I saw the grandson only a few 
hours ago," said Father Phil. "He was 
setting traps up in the mountain, a 
handsome little fellow, who looks as if he 
had been made for better things than seem 
to have fallen to his lot. 'Con' I think 
the boys, who were, I am sorry to say, 
badgering him cruelly, called him." 

"Aye, that's the chap!" declared Uncle 
Greg. "And a grand young rascal he is. 
There's not a hen-roost or a corn-bin safe 
from him. Fights like a game cock, too. 
Bound straight for the hangman, as 
everyone can see." 

"Is any one trying to stop him on the 
way?" asked Father Phil quietly. 

"No one, sir, no one. It's not a bit of 
use," answered Uncle Greg. "You might 
as well try your hand on a South Sea 

"That has been done and most effec- 
tively, as our old Church has proved, 
Uncle Greg. I had a little talk with Con 
myself this morning, and I feel sure 
something can be done with him." 

"Aye, aye!" answered Uncle Greg. 
"He coulql be locked up in the Reform, 
and that's where he will go if I have any- 
thing to say about it. They're a hard lot 
up there in the Roost. And you'll do well 
to look out for them to-night, or they may 
be down upon you for a bit of a Christmas 
lark, if nothing worse." 



Father Phil pondered over his uncle's 
warning as a little later he took his way 
along the rough path that led up to the 
log cabin. It would be wise perhaps -to be 
on guard, for the old soldier knew the ways 
of Misty Mountain. It was a boundary 
between two States, whose differing laws 
could be well evaded on its cloud-veiled 
steeps. There had been no such trouble 
in his younger days when the only dan- 
gerous denizens of the Misty peaks had 

'. been snakes and wild-cats; but changes 
had come of late years that had made 
lawless traffic and smuggling across the 
border line profitable. And the boy the 
boy in that outlaw den on the Roost, the 
boy whose blue eyes had looked into his 
with such appeal this morning Mountain 
Con, whom nobody would "let in," the 
thought of him stirred the young priest's 
heart to its warm depths. Con should 
not go on his way to the hangman while 
Philip Doane could help and save. 

And then Father Phil, who was close to 

r his log cabin chapel now, was startled out 
of his reveries by the indignant tones of 
good old Tim Slevin, whom he had left in 
charge. "Git out of this, ye thafe of the 
wurruld!" Tim was shouting. "Git off, 
I say! I'll not have the likes of ye and 
yer dhirty baste around this holy place." 
"Touch my dog if you dare, you twist- 
nosed Irisher!" came a fierce young voice 
in reply. "If I give Dick the word, he'll 
tear you into bits. The mister up on the 
mountain told me to come, he told me 
to bring him these 'ere berries and greens." 
And, hastily turning the bend of the 
mountain path, Father Phil faced the 
disputant, honest Tim holding the doorway 
of his mountain chapel; while before it 
stood Con and a huge wolf-hound, both 
loaded down with scarlet-berried Christmas 

(To be continued.) 

THE boy who is always telling, about 
what he intends to do to-morrow is the 
same boy that is always regretting what 
he left undone yesterday. 

A Noble Rival. 

We have very few anecdotes of the great 
Raphael. The young, sad-faced painter of 
Madonnas is associated for the most part 
with his wondrous masterpieces, and 
not with sprightly happenings over which 
we can laugh or chat. There is, however, 
one incident in his life of which you may 
care to hear. 

Before he had completed the frescoes in 
the chapels of Santa Maria della Pace he 
received five hundred scudi. When the 
last of the series was done he informed the 
cashier that there was more money due 

"I*think you have had enough," said 
the cashier. 

"But I haven't." 

"You can't have any more." 

"But if some good judge should say I 
had really earned more?" 

"Then I would give it. Appoint your 
own judge, and let him be one that knows 
what a painting is." 

"No: you yourself shall appoint the 
judge," said Raphael. 

Here was the cashier's opportunity. 
Michael Angelo, he reasoned, was jealous 
of Raphael, and would put a low estimate 
on his work. 

"I choose Michael Angelo," he said. 

"Very well," answered Raphael. 

Together the cashier and the great 
sculptor went to examine the frescoes. 
Michael Angelo took one look at them 
and stood spellbound. 

The cashier, thinking him indignant at 
Raphael's effrontery in demanding so 
much for such indifferent paintings as 
those before them, said: 

"Well, what do you think?" 

"I think a great deal. I think, in the 
first place, that we are looking at the 
most magnificent work imaginable. I 
think, too, that it is worth paying for." 

The cashier began to be frightened. 

"How much, for instance," he asked, 
"would you call the head of that sibyl 
worth ? ' ' 



"About one hundred scudi." 

"And the others?" 

"Each of them quite as much." 

Thereupon the cashier hied to the 
wealthy merchant who had undertaken 
the contract for frescoing the chapels, and 
told him the decision of the umpire. 

"Give him in addition three hundred 
scudi at once," said the merchant; "and 
be very polite to him. Why, if we have to 
pay for the heads at that rate, paying for 
the drapery will ruin us!" 

So Raphael got his price through the 
generosity of his great rival. 

" Here's the Truth." 

A countryman was paying his first 
visit to Glasgow, and, naturally, became 
much interested in the sights afforded 
by the shop windows. One thing, however, 
bothered him very much. Everything that 
he saw was represented as the cheapest of 
its kind. 

"Now, how can every shop in Glasgow 
sell the cheapest?" he said to himself. 
"It canna be at a'. They're jist a meesera- 
ble lot o' leears."' 

At last he reached the plumber's, where 
he saw a large sign which read, " Cast-Iron 

"Ah," he exclaimed, "here's the truth 
at last! 'Cast-Iron sinks.' Of course it 
does; but why do they have to put up a 
sign to tell it?" 

Honest Sandy. 

On a cold winter day, a gentleman in 
Edinburgh had, out of pity, bought a 
box of matches from a poor little shivering 
boy; and, as he had no pence, had given 
him a shilling, of which the change was 
to be brought to his hotel. Hours passed 
by, and the boy did not return. Very 
late in the evening a mere child came to 
the hotel. "Are you the gentleman that 
bought the matches frae Sandy?" 
"Yes." " Weel, then, here's fourpence out 

o' yer shillin'. Sandy canna come. He's 
verra ill. A cart ran ower him and knocked 
him doon, and he lost his bonnet and his 
matches and yer sevenpence; and baith 
his legs are broken, and the doctor says 
he'll dee; and that's a'." And then, putting 
down the fourpence on the table, the poor 
boy burst into sobs. 

"So I fed the little man," said the 
narrator; "and I went with him to see 
Sandy. The two little fellows were living 
almost alone. Their father and mother 
were dead. Poor Sandy was lying on a 
bundle of shavings. He knew me as soon 
as I came in, and said, 'I got the change, 
sir, and was coming back; and then the 
cart knocked me down, and both my legs 
were broken; and, O Reuby, little Reuby! 
I am sure I am dying, and who will take 
care, of you when I am gone? What will 
ye do?' I took his hand, and said .! 
would always take care of Reuby. He 
understood me, and had just strength 
enough to look up as if to thank me; 
and then suddenly the light went out of 
his honest blue eyes." 

Their Dogs. 


51 HE fate of the dog whose name was Rover, 

Who when he died, he died all over, 

Recalls the tale of the rover Jack 

Who met his end on a railroad track. 

I once had a dog; his name was Spot; 

He bit a man and then he got shot. 

We had a beautiful dog called Collie; 

When he played with us we all were jolly, 

And when he died we were melancholy. 

We had a little dog named Fluff, 

But he got into grandpa's snuff, 

And died soon after, sure enough. 

A dear old dog we knew as Tex; 

He reached old age by avoiding wrecks; 

He rode on the running-board of our car, 

And never minded jolt or jar. 

Many dogs we've already had, 

And all were good and none were bad. 

Father says to dogs be kind 

For faster friends you'll seldom find. 



An illustrated edition of La Fontaine's 
fables, entitled "The Masterpieces of La, Fon- 
taine," has been brought out by Messrs. Black- 
well, the Oxford publishers. 

We are sorry to notice that the Freeman's 
Journal of Sydney, N. S. W., Australia's oldest 
Catholic paper, has turned pirate in its old age, 
seizing upon anything that comes in its way, 
regardless of property claims, and defying 
copyright laws. 

We welcome from the press of P. J. Kenedy 
& Sons a new edition of that standard work, 
"The Lily of Israel," by the Abbe Gerbet. 
This beautiful biography of the Blessed. Virgin 
is now presented with many desirable revisions, 
and with a foreword by the Rev. William Living- 
ston. The price is 75 cts. 

The late Hamilton Wright Mabie, author, 
editor, literary critic, and educationalist, will be 
kindly remembered in those Catholic institutions 
where he lectured and where some of his works 
are in use as text-books. He was a man of noble 
character and amiable disposition, and had 
numerous, friends among Catholics. 

"A Holiday in Umbria," by Sir Thomas 
Graham Jackson, R. A., announced for imme- 
diate publication in London, is an illustrated 
narrative of visits paid to a part of Italy little 
known to travellers. In his account of the 
duchy and city of Urbino the author presents an 
abstract of the Cortegiano of Castiglione, "the 
best book," according to Dr. Johnson, "ever 
written on good breeding." 

The English C. T. S., to which the Catholic 
reading public are under so many obligations, 
has begun the issue of a new series of Scripture 
manuals, short commentaries on the Gospels 
and Acts, with Introduction and notes by the 
Rev. Robert Eaton of the Birmingham Oratory. 
The first volume is the Gospel of St. Luke, to 
be followed at an early date by others. The notes 
are suitable for students, their especial aim 
being to convey in English the full force of the 
original Greek. The series is designed for general 
readers, however, as well as students. 

-"A Course in Household Arts," by Sister 
Loretto Basil Duff, Sc. M. (formerly principal 
of Boston Public Schools of Cookery), is a regular 
opus. Part I, the present volume, consists 
of more than three hundred pages of solid matter. 
In substance it is the usual matter of Domestic 
Science in the department of cookery. There 
are clear divisions in the treatment of the 
various articles of food; and one would not ask 

to .have the chapter on "Vegetables" boiled 
down, or the treatment of "Milk" condensed. 
The book has a good index. Published by 
Whitco-mb & Barrows, Boston, Mass. No 
price is mentioned. 

A beautiful brochure, "Yonder," by the 
Rev. T. Gavan Duffy, says of itself in the preface: 
"This book is not a treatise; it ... only 
wishes to open up an avenue of thought in a 
region still untrod; it questions whether we all 
do our share of knowing, loving, helping, going 
Yonder. 1 ' By "Yonder" is meant the Foreign 
Mission field, and this excellent little work is 
a by-product of the author's zeal for the mis- 
sionary cause. This second edition is illustrated, 
and sells for 60 cts. 

The "Ave Maria," a sacred song, by Mr. 
Louis A. Reilly, which comes to us from the 
Alden Music Publishing Co., Denver, Colo., 
is a correct musical composition, and may be 
used as a motet during liturgical services. Any 
organist or singer can easily remove the mistake 
in the last line of the first page, by dropping 
the word et and starting the phrase with the 
syllable Be. Punctuation in all such composi- 
tions should conform with that which the 
Church uses in its official editions. i 

If the demand for new sermon books is even 
approximately equal to the supply, English- 
speaking priests must be anxious to have several 
scores of such volumes within easy reach. 
"One of the most urgent needs of the Church 
in our day is the multiplication of short sermons." 
This perhaps justifies the latest book of the kind 
to reach our table: "Brief Discourses on the 
Gospel," translated by E. Leahy, from the 
German of Father Seebock, O. F. M. Seventy - 
one sermons, occupying only two hundred and 
seventy pages, with about two hundred words 
to the page, are obviously short enough for even 
an" early Mass. They are good sermons, too, 
one for each Sunday and festival of the year. 
F. Pustet & Co., publishers. No price. 

"The Mass: Every Day in the Year," by 
the Rev. E. A. Pace, D. D., and the Rev. John 
J. Wynne, S. J., is an arrangement of the Roman 
Missal for the use of the laity who attend daily 
Mass. Father Wynne, it will be remembered, 
has already published an -arrangement of the 
Missal for Sundays and the principal feasts. 
The chief merit of thw present work is in its 
splendid quality as translation. We do not 
find it, however, a model of book-making. The 
printing shows through the pages, the inner 
margins are too narrow, and the copy sent to 



us is cracked at the back, showing inferior 
binding. We should not perhaps have i been 
observant of these defects if the opposite 
qualities had not been claimed for* the book by 
its publishers, the Home Press. 

"Enforced Peace," a twelvemo of some 
two hundred pages, is a report of the proceedings 
at the first annual national assemblage of the 
League to Enforce Peace, held at Washington 
in May, 1916. The proposed League is to be 
a world organization, which will tend to prevent 
war by forcing its members to try peaceable 
settlement first. It is worth while remarking 
that the League is not engaged in attempting 
to bring to an end the present European war, 
but looks beyond that conflict to future condi- 
tions. Its activities are thus rather academic 
than practical for the time being; and one can 
readily imagine European powers cynically 
suggesting that influential Americans may well 
insure peace in this Western hemisphere before 
volunteering their aid in preserving peace in 
the world at large. Meanwhile, the contents 
of the' book are not without interest to pacificists 
and indeed to people generally. Published 
by the League to Enforce Peace, New York. 

The Latest Books. 
A Guide to Good Reading. 

The object of this list is to afford information 
concerning important new publications of special 
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will 
appear at the head, older ones being dropped out 
from time to time to make room for new titles. 
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new 
editions will not be indexed. 

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub- 
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United 
States will be imported with as little delay as 
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VOL. V. (New Series.) 


NO. 3 

[Published every Saturday. Copyright. 1917: Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C.] 

The Flight. 


QTHE wind has blown faint streaks of red 
Across the sky's wan face; 
In cloudy disarray, 
Low droops the haggard day. 

Her tear-wet garments, rent and torn, 
Trail low upon the hill; 

She speaks no greeting word 

Through song of any bird. 

A thoughtful shepherd leads his flock 
Across the sodden plain; 

His lambs St. Joseph leads 

To safe and distant meads. 

The Babe lies at His Mother's breast, 
White bud against white rose; 

Slow fall her dewy tears 

From overclouding fears. 

She can not hear the mothers' cry, 
Who weep in Israel; 

But sees through tear-woof veil, 

A dream of mothers pale. 

She can not see the tender babes 
That gambol at her side, 

The snowy souls set free, 

His lovely guard to be. 

NEVER are we so near to the Blessed 
Virgin as when near the Cross. Remember 
that, in our measure, we all have to suffer; 
and suffering must either sour or sweeten 
us, according as we face it. God means it 
to sweeten us and to teach us pity. So it 
worked in Mary our Mother; so may it 
ever w r ork in us! Rev. R. Eaton. 

The Sacraments. 



FRANCISCAN saint, St. Leonard 
of Port Maurice, used to say 
that if he had one foot within 
the gate of heaven and a penitent 
were tQ take hold of his habit, asking him 
to hear his confession, he would imme- 
diately withdraw his foot and do so. Let 
us suppose that a penitent followed him 
thus. The meagre, emaciated friar with- 
draws his foot, returns outside the gate, 
and takes his seat as judge. The penitent 
casts himself on his knees, ^ both accused 
and accuser. The gate of heaven stands 
open, and all the inhabitants thereof 
listen to the case at the bar. It has to be 
conducted in due form, and thus begins: 
' ' In the name of the Father, and of the 
Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. Bless 
me, Father; for I have sinned." "May 
the Lord be in thy heart and on thy lips, 
that thou mayst truly and humbly confess 
thy sins!" 

The whole court of heaven sees the 
confessor make the Sign of the Cross over 
the kneeling penitent, and they turn their 
faces to "the highest place in heaven, 
next to God in power and glory," and there 
behold the adorable Lord that suffered 
on that Cross, bearing still the marks of 
His cruel but most sweet wounds. From 
these wounds unutterable light is shed at 
all times over the Nine Choirs of Angels 
and the innumerable "multitude of the 
redeemed, that no man can number"; 



but just now, because of the return of this 
poor prodigal, the light is "exceeding 
beautiful." 'There is more joy in heaven 
over one sinner that does penance than 
over ninety-nine just.' 

Like the Publican of old, the penitent 
only beats his breast, and dares not raise 
his eyes; but he knows that God, who is 
merciful, is there, and that Holy Mary is 
near, and all the saints; and so, from a 
contrite but trusting heart, he says most 
humbly: 'I confess to Almighty God on 
the great White Throne within; and to 
the Blessed Mary, ever- Virgin, immaculate 
from conception, who knew no sin; to 
blessed Michael the Archangel, who was 
the first to do battle against sin, and drive 
it forth from the precincts of heaven; 
to St. John the Baptist, who began life 
cleansed from sin in his mother's womb; 
who ended it in a prison, beheaded because 
of sin; to the chosen and chief Apostle, 
St. Peter, confirmed in grace so as never- 
more seriously to offend God, but only 
from the Day of Pentecost; "to St. Paul, 
vessel of election; to all the saints, at one 
time sinners on earth, now blessed in 
heaven, redeemed by the Blood of the 
Lamb; and to you, my ghostly Father, 
that I have sinned Very much and in many 
ways in thought, word, deed, and omission : 
through my fault, through my fault, 
through my exceeding great fault.' 

While the penitent has been acknowl- 
edging his guilt before the whole court of 
heaven, the confessor has been praying 
silently for grace that he, as representative 
of Jesus Christ, may duly perform his 
own part, and have the happiness of 
restoring this poor soul to God. He prays : 
"Set before me for a law the way of Thy 
justifications, O Lord! Give me under- 
standing, and I will search Thy law. Lead 
me into the path of Thy command- 
ments. . . . Teach me goodness and disci- 
pline and knowledge,* for I have believed 
Thy commandments." (Ps. cxviii.) imme- 
diately a wail is heard at the door of 

* The words in italics are the text of St. 
Leonard's beautiful little work on Confession. 

heaven : ' ' My son Absalom ! Absalom my 
son! Who would grant me that I might 
die for thee? Absalom my son, my son 
Absalom?" (II. Kings, xviii.) 

Priest and penitent in surprise look up, 
and standing in the doorway they see a 
bowed figure in garments soaked with 
blood; a crown of thorns is on His droop- 
ing head; blood is trickling down His pale 
cheeks; blood from feet and hands drops 
to the ground; a heavy cross presses on 
the scourged back and shoulders; and 
again is heard the cry : ' ' My son Absalom ! 
Absalom my son ! Who will grant me that 
I might die for thee, Absalom my son?" 

The Guardian Angel of the penitent 
touches him, and pointing to the bleeding 
and bowed figure, whispers: Ecce Homo! 
("Behold the Man!") At that very 
instant thunders are heard, the whole 
place is filled with angry lightning. A 
vengeful voice cries out: "Let me strike! 
let me strike ! hold not my hand ! let me 
strike!" It is the destroying angel. St. 
Leonard with upturned eyes tries to gaze 
into heaven, and catch if he can the humble 
form of his beloved father, the saintly 
Patriarch of Assisi. In the meantime he 
draws his cloak over the penitent's head, 
bidding him hold for protection the knots 
of the holy cord. The majesty of Almighty 
God fills the place. "A thick darkness, 
that might be felt," overwhelms and stuns 
them. From out of the thick darkness is 
heard the rush of the destroying angel's 
wings; and the gleam of his "flaming 
sword" is angrier and deadlier than the 
most vivid lightning. Once again the ex- 
postulation is heard: "Take thy hand 
from me; hold me not; let me strike, 
let me strike!" But he is restrained, and 
the pitiful wail is repeated: "My son 
Absalom! Absalom my son! Who would 
grant me that I might die for thee, my 
son Absalom! My son Absalom?" 

The destroying angel, minister of God's 
justice, crossed in his path, cries: "God 
hath bidden me proclaim: In this place is 
judgment to be held. ' Man, when he was 
in honor, did not understand; he is 


compared to senseless beasts, and is be- 
come like to them. They are laid in hell 
like sheep; death shall feed upon them.'" 
(Ps. xlviii.) 

The penitent, unable to utter a word, 
looks to the loving Figure on the Cross; 
and, trembling with dread and anxiety, 
the only words that he can utter words 
in which he now finds a meaning that he 
never felt before are: "With the Lord 
there is mercy, and with Him is plentiful 
redemption." His confessor whispers as- 
pirations into his ear; "God is my refuge 
and my strength; He is my helper in 
troubles, and they are multiplied on me 
exceedingly. Therefore I will not fear, 
even though the earth be troubled, and 
the mountains be moved into the midst of 
the sea. The Lord of armies is with us; the 
God of Jacob is our protector." (Ps. xlv.) 

Then was heard a thundering voice, and 
the archfiend, "glorying in malice, mighty 
in iniquity," proudly came forth. He had 
put on the lofty bearing and gracious 
splendor of an angel; but one look from 
the Crucified, casting him prostrate, 
turned him into a dragon with seven 
horns: pride, covetousness, lust, anger, 
gluttony, envy, and sloth. And the de- 
stroying angel, striking him with the flat 
of his naked sword, bade him withdraw 
all but the first horn. Then calling to the 
sinner, he commanded him to look to this 
one horn, which as a mirror reflected the 
sin of pride. Horror-stricken, backward 
the sinner drew. He had recognized 
himself therein. 

The destroying angel raised his chal- 
lenging and condemning voice: "Thou, 
sinner, hast come from God. Everything 
thou hast or can have is from Him. He 
made thee, and not thyself. Thou art of 
the people of His pasture, and of the 
sheep of His flock. Why, then, hast thou 
hardened thy heart, and lifted thyself up 
as in the provocation, according to the 
day of temptation in the wilderness? 
(Ps. xciv.) Dost thou not hear the 
Apostle of the Gentiles say, 'What hast 
thou that thou hast not received?' 

(I. Cor., iv.) Does not the faithful Tobias 
tell his son: 'Permit not pride to rule in 
thy thoughts or in thy words. This vice 
is the root of all perdition?' (Tob., iv.) 

' ' Behold where Satan dwelleth ; where 
the seat of Satan is!' (Apoc., ii.) Behold 
where he reigneth in fire, and with him a 
third of the angels of heaven! One sin 
brought them all there. One sin will keep 
them all there forever, -pride ! No pardon, 
no redemption! 'I will not serve.' And 
ever mindful of pride, they will never hum- 
ble themselves to ask pardon; and never 
therefore will God make peace with them." 

The sinner who had recognized in the 
horn of the dragon his sin with all its 
enormity, smote his breast and cried 
aloud: "God, be merciful to me a sinner!" 
Upon this, from the wan lips of the 
blood-stained Figure on the Cross comes 
the appeal of old: 'Father, forgive him, 
for he knew not what he did ! ' The hum- 
ble confessor, touched with pity, raises his 
voice: "My blessed father, St. Francis, 
and all ye holy Patriarchs and Prophets 
pray for him." 

The destroying angel pauses an instant; 
but, seeing that Heaven is as yet deaf to 
prayer, he strikes the red dragon a second 
time; and a second horn appears. It is 
covetousness. "Remember," he cries to the 
crouching penitent, " remember the trai- 
tor apostle who rested not night or day 
till he became 'the leader of them that 
apprehended Jesus,' and sold the Just One 
for thirty pieces of silver. Therein recog- 
nize thine own avarice, O sinner! In that 
horn of the beast behold thy sin! 'Thou 
that hast trusted in the abundance of thy 
riches, thou that hast loved malice more 
than goodness, and iniquity rather than 
to speak righteousness.' (Ps. li.) Again, 
is it not written, 'they that trust in their 
own strength, and glory in the multitude 
of their own riches, will not be freed by 
brother or redeemed by man?' (Ib., xlviii.) 
Behold, O sinner! Look at Him who hangs 
on the Cross. He might have all, for all 
was His; and yet what did He say? 'The 
foxes have holes, and the birds of the air 



nests; but the Son of Man hath not 
whereon to lay His head.'" 

(Listen to St. Augustine: "If the poor 
are blessed because theirs is the kingdom 
of heaven, then the rich are accursed, for 
theirs is the kingdom of hell." Would you 
hear another of the Fathers of the Church? 
Listen to St. Gregory: "Who would 
believe me if I were to call riches thorns, 
especially when the latter cause pain, 
whereas the former give delight? And 
yet they are thorns, because by the sharp 
points of their suggestions they lacerate 
the mind; and when they draw it to sin 
by the wound they inflict, they bleed it 
to death." Therefore the Lord says: "It 
is easier for a camel to pass through the 
eye of a needle than for a rich man 
to enter into the kingdom of heaven." 
(St. Matt., xix.) 

(The Apostle of the Gentiles gives the 
reason: "For they that will become rich, 
fall into temptation and into the snare of 
the devil, and into many unprofitable and 
hurtful desires, which drown men into 
destruction and perdition." (I. Tim., vi.) 
St. Augustine tells us that "'covstousness 
is an inordinate desire to have temporal 
goods." St. Thomas and St. Bona ven- 
ture called by men, the one "the Angel," 
the other "the Seraph of the Schools," 
both agree in describing it as " an excessive 
and immoderate desire of having riches or 
of obtaining them." All theologians teach 
that, in the first place, "it is not sinful to 
value and seek after money in moderation ; 
but, in the next, the love of money becomes 
inordinate when it causes a man to be too 
close and niggardly in spending it, too 
eager and absorbed in acquiring it, and 
ready to do what is wrong in order to 
conic at it. It is of itself a venial sin; but 
it becomes mortal wiien it leads to the 
transgression of a commandment, which 
binds under grievous sin."*) 

The penitent struck his breast; and, 
casting a look towards the Cross, humbly 
cried: "If Thou wilt observe iniquities, 

* Father Slater, S. J. 


Lord; Lord, who will stand it?" And 
the brown-robed Franciscan appealed to 
the Refuge of Sinners and to St. Bonaven- 
ture, the seraphic lover of Jesus Christ, to 
intercede for his penitent and himself in 
this dread extremity. 

The destroying angel, turning once 
again to the dragon, struck him with the 
flat of his sword for the tln'rd time. On 
the instant the second horn was with- 
drawn, and a third came forth. Unblush- 
ing and high- it raised its bestial and 
dreadful name. It was lust. 

Like the wail of the wind, so was the 
moan that came from the Cross: "It 
repenteth Me that I have made man on 
the earth. Great is the wickedness of man; 
from his youth the thought of his heart is 
bent upon evil at all times. All flesh hath 
corrupted its way." (Gen., vi.) Then was 
heard the voice of the destroying angel: 
"Man was made to God's image and like- 
ness. . . . To the "image and likeness of 
Himself did God create him." (Gen., ii.) 
"But they had become abominable in 
iniquities. God looked down from heaven 
on the children of men, to see if they did 
understand or seek God. All had gone 
aside from their way; they had become 
unprofitable together." (Ps. Hi.) 

The brown-robed friar shed abundance 
of tears, and invoked the early child-like 
companions of his blessed Father to pray 
for his penitent and for himself and for all 
mankind, that none may "stay in Sodom, 
where the cry is grown loud before the 
Lord, neither in the city nor in the country 
round about, lest they also perish with the 
city; but that, saving their lives, they 
fly into the mountains, lest they also 
be consumed." (Gen., xix.) The penitent, 
striking his breast, and growing in hope 
and gratitude, baiely whispered: "With 
the Lord there is mercy; and with Him 
is plentiful redemption." From the Cross, 
where the Saviour had once more taken 
His station, came a faint voice: "I 
thirst," thirsting for the souls of men; 
for the soul of the poor penitent there. 

next week.) 



The Crest of the Bodkins. 



HE grief in- the manor-house at 
the departure of Arthur for 
"furrin parts" was echoed in 
every home in the surrounding 
country. It fell upon the primitive com- 
munity with the weight of a heavy blow. 
"The Masther, " as he was familiarly 
'termed, was loved by every man, woman 
and child in the barony. He was always 
cheery, always gave joyous greeting, was 
always the gentleman. And does not 
the word gentleman mean truth, honor, 
courage, and fidelity? Arthur Bodkin of 
Ballyboden was a gentleman in the best 
sense of the term, and his word, in the 
most trifling as well as the most important 
matter, was a bond that knew no default. 

Father Edward had gone over the 
ground very carefully: had weighed the 
pros and the cons; had discussed Mexico 
from every standpoint; had turned the 
question of Arthur's future over and under 
and sideways. He reasoned that if the 
young fellow remained at home, there was 
the terrible element of idleness to contend 
against, the hidden rock upon which so 
many a gallant bark has foundered and 
gone down to the awful depth of eternal 

The good Father, having had experi- 
ence of three generations of Bodkins, 
recognized the strain of stubborn deter- 
mination that ran through their blue 
blood, and felt that to push matters to 
extremities was not only courting defeat, 
but possible disaster. Assuming that 
Arthur, in obedience to the wishes of 
his mother, consented to- wed for money, 
pitiful money, the marriage bells would 
but ring a death knell in his heart, killing 
the God-given grace of a pure young love. 

Then, again, the spirit of adventure 
had burst into blossom within the young 
fellow's bosom. Mexico! that land where 

the True Cross was planted by the most 
fearless iDand of men that ever drew bolt 
or blade! Mexico! that land of romance, 
where the wooing breezes were laden with 
subtle and unknown perfumes. To the 
fresh, ardent, impressionable mind of a 
youth like Arthur Bodkin, Mexico was a 
veritable land of Aladdin. 

Father Edward also foresaw that in the 
whirl and excitement of a new country, 
new people, new language and new cus- 
toms, there was a possible chance that love 
might be set aside for sturdier adventure, 
and that the atmosphere of a lady's 
boudoir would prove somewhat stifling 
in comparison with the perfume-laden 
breezes of the Sierras. In other words, 
that Arthur's love for Alice Nugent might 
cool off, and that the same influence 
which would reduce the gentleman's ardor 
might equally affect the lady. 

The dear old priest, well aware of the 
impoverished condition of the Bodkins, 
resolved that Arthur should set forth 
equipped as became the representative of 
a grand old Irish family; and from the 
resources of a venerable oaken chest 
he brought to light about one hundred 
golden guineas of ancient coinage, and fifty 
one-pound notes of the Bank of Ireland. 
This little hoard had accumulated during 
forty long years, and was mentally held 
in trust for the relief of the Bodkins 
should ever sharp or sudden crisis call for 
a sum of ready money. 

P'ather Edward had sent the "hard 
word" round through Con Dolan, "the 
priest's boy," that a small subscription, 
as a testimonial of affection to Bodkin, 
would-* prove not only a graceful but a 
very substantial recognition; and no less 
a sum than seventy-three pounds, fifteen 
shillings, and nine pence halfpenny was 
collected within a radius of ten miles. 
Tom Casey, the schoolmaster, was deputed 
to deliver the oration, a duty which, 
while it gratified his very highest ambi- 
tion, nearly plunged the worthy pedagogue 
into the tortures of brain fever. 

The neighboring gentry from every 



side of the county came bowling over to 
Ballyboden, some in superbly turned-out 
carriages, others in village carts or on 
outside cars, and a large number on 

"I never seen the like of it since the 
meetin' at Tara," old Phil Burke was 
heard to say, in tones of wondering 

Joe O'Hara, who kept the general shop 
at Knock drin, sent Bodkin a present of 
woollens more fitted to do battle with 
the cold at the north pole than the sultry 
suns of the Tierra Caliente; and Peter 
Finigan, th^ horse-dealer, rode up to 
Ballyboden on a cob fit for a Chancellor of 
the Exchequer, which he insisted upon 
leaving in the stable. 

"Bedad, sir, I want for to see you 
mounted better than any of the Mossoos 
out there; and that baste will take the 
consait out of them, or me name's not 
Peter Finigan." 

In vain Arthur explained that the con- 
veying of the cob to Mexico would cost as 
much as for himself, if not more; and 
that as yet he, Arthur, did not exactly 
know where his own passage money was 
to come from. 

"Lave the cob to me, sir," said Peter. 
"Just tell me where he is to be delivered, 
and it's done. Where is Mexico, anyway? 
So it is Africa or Asia or Turkey, it's 
all wan to me, Masther Arthur. That cob 
will be rode by you wherever you are 
going." And, finding that Arthur was 
silent, he whispered in his ear: "I'll 
deliver him in Dublin, at Sewall's, in 
Lower Mount Street. And and sure he 
ought to fetch two hundred and fifty, 
anyhow." And the honest fellow rushed 
from the stable-yard as if the hounds were 
after him. 

In pursuance of an invitation from 
Father Edward, Lady Bodkin, with her 
three children, repaired to the priest's neat 
little thatched house, where a deputation 
of the leading inhabitants of the village 
received them, the many-headed filling 
up the front garden and the backyard, 

every coigne of vantage having been 
eagerly seized. Father Edward deemed it 
wiser to bring the family to his house 
than to allow the presentation to take 
place at Ballyboden; as, in the case of 
the latter, the traditional hospitality of 
that famous mansion would be called into 
requisition, a. burden which, alas! it was 
now but feebly prepared to bear. 

In the parlor the portrait of Daniel 
O'Connell beamed down upon Lady 
Emily, who, with her daughters, was led 
to the seat of honor a horsehair-covered 
sofa that shone like silver. Arthur was 
placed standing upon her right hand, while 
Father Edward took the left, ceaselessly 
mopping his face and head with a crimson 

After a few preparatory coughs and a 
very pronounced clearing of his throat, and 
with a bow that would have done credit 
to the Count of St. Germain, the orator of 
the day, Tom Casey, proceeded to deliver 
an address that, for resounding and lengthy 
words, trope, allegory, and metaphor, has 
scarcely ever been equalled. 

This wonderful address opened with 

"The armed heel of Hernando Cortez 
plunged into the tawny sands laved by 
the heaving billows that passiona tely 
bounded into the outstretched arms of the 
New World he was about to subjugate." 

The learned and eloquent Casey then 
touched upon the history of the conquest 
of Mexico by the Spaniards, and gradually 
led up, in the most flowery language, to 
the conquest of Mexico by Bodkin of 

At this juncture the cheering from the 
front garden, aided by the backyard con- 
tingent, so completely drowned the orator 
that he was compelled to bring his oration 
to a conclusion almost in dumb show; 
and finally ended by placing in Arthur 
Bodkin's hands the well-filled purse, the 
golden guineas clinking cheerily during 
their transit. 

Lady Emily and her daughters wept 
copiously during the entire discourse, 
vigorously aided and abetted by such of 



the women folk as were within earshot. 
Father Edward flourished his - red hand- 
kerchief and blew his nose; while poor 
Arthur stood blushing like a schoolgirl, 
his eyes on the floor, his hands in and 
out of his pockets every other minute. 

But when Tom Casey presented the 
purse as "a small tribute of love and 
affection from the old tenants to Bodkin 
of Ballyboden," the poor young fellow 
was so totally overcome that he burst into 
a fit of sobbing over which he had not the 
v slightest control. 

"Let us all come into the church," 
exclaimed Father Edward, by a happy 
inspiration; "and then I will give him 
my blessing, and we will wish him God- 

Bodkin, supporting his mother on his 
arm, led the way in silence, the people 
following almost noiselessly; and Father 
Edward, mounting the steps of the altar, 
uttered a solemn blessing upon the for- 
tunes of the hero of this story. 

It was 'indeed a touching and beauteous 
sight the venerable priest, eyes and 
hands uplifted, the last rays of the setting 
sun lighting the glory in his face and sur- 
mounting his head as with a nimbus; 
while the kneeling people followed his 
words in sweet, low murmurs. 

"I will celebrate the seven -o'clock 
Mass at six to-morrow morning, my dearly 
beloved children." said Father Edward. 
"As Mr. Bodkin must take the early 
train for Dublin, I expect that every one 
of you will approach the altar, and make 
his departure from amongst us a day of 
grace and light." 

Arthur Bodkin of Ballyboden served 
Father Edward's Mass upon that memo- 
rable morning, as he had done when 
a little boy; and the entire congregation 
subsequently escorted hirn. to the railway 

A huge giant, in a brand-new suit of 
corduroys, whose shining and joyous face 
.literally glowed in the morning light, 
presided over the luggage. 

"Two thrunks, sir; wan hat case; wan 

gun case; two rugs; wan hand-bag. The 
thrunks is in the van and the rest in 
here," pointing to the empty compart- 
ment of a first-class carriage. 

"Thank you, Rody," putting his hand 
in his pocket for a shilling wherewith to 
reward the smiling giant. 

"That's all right, sir! Here's yer 
ticket. First class to Broadstone. If ye 
want anything on the road, sir, I'm in the 
third class." 

"What does this mean?" asked Bodkin, 
glancing from the yellow pasteboard ticket 
to the smiling visage of the donor. 

"It manes, Mr. Bodkin, that whin they 
tould me that ye wor goin' to furrin parts, 
I knew that ye'd want a boy; and who 
could sarve ye betther nor the son av the 
man that sarved yer father God rest his 
sowl! or the grandson av the man that 
your grandfather saved at Watherloo his 
sojer sarvint? I gev up me place at Lord 
Inchiquin's, tuk me money out av the 
savin' s-bank, and here I am glory be to 
God! reddy to folly ye to the ind av 
the earth, as me father and grandfather 
done before me." 

"Get into your compartment, Mr. 
Bodkin, if you please!" cried an excited, 
yellow-bearded guard, gently pushing the 
stupefied Arthur toward the carriage. " We 
are two minutes late, sir." 

As the train began to move, Father 
Edward exclaimed, still holding Arthur's 

"Remember our Irish proverb, Arthur: 
'God's help is nearer than the door.' " 

And a wild cheer went up from the 
ass mbled crowd as the train bore away, 
in search of fame and fortune, Arthur 
Bodkin of Ballyboden. 


In the April of 1864 the eyes of 
the whole civilized world were turned 
"toward Miramar, the castle of Archduke 
Ferdinand Maximilian Joseph of Austria, 
situated upon a jutting and precipitous 
headland that cast its turreted shadows 
over the blue and placid waters of the 



Gulf of Triest. Hither had repaired in 
this glorious springtime a score of deputies 
representing a plebiscite of the people of 
Mexico, solemnly authorized to offer the 
imperial crown to the "best gentleman 
in Europe." In the previous September 
came to this home of happiness and 
peace another deputation representing the 
Assembly of Notables, pleading for their 
unhappy country, and tendering the Arch- 
duke the Mexican throne. On that occasion 
the Archduke firmly refused to accept 
until the Mexican people should ratify 
the action of the Notables, and certain 
great Powers of Europe should guarantee 
the stability of the throne which was 
offered to him. 

The plebiscite had been taken, the 
guarantees had been given; Napoleon III. 
was becoming urgent; and in an evil hour 
for himself and his beautiful young wife, 
Ferdinand Maximilian Joseph of Haps- 
burg accepted the Imperial Crown of 
Mexico, with the title of Emperor Maxi- 
milian I., accepted it with its solemn 
oath of office: 

I, Maximilian, Emperor of Mexico, swear to 
God, by the Holy Evangels to procure, by every 
means in my power, the happiness and prosperity 
of the nation, to defend its independence, and 
to conserve its integrity and its territory. 

Maximilian was born at the Palace of 
Schonbrunn, near Vienna, in July, 1832, 
and at the date of his creation as Emperor 
of Mexico was thirty-two years of age. 
He was six feet high, and slender. His 
movements were exceedingly graceful, and 
his disposition genial and courteous. The 
expression of his* face was friendly, as 
was also his bearing; yet even with "his 
intimates he was never familiar, ever pre- 
serving a certain dignity of manner. He 
was true to his friends and loyal unto death. 
His love of beauty and harmony was so 
great that he could not divest himself of 
the idea that a fine form must contain a 
noble soul. Brought up in that gayest of 
capitals, Vienna, educated at its brilliant 
court, this Prince was never prone to 
frivolity, or to the follies usually 

vicious --that beset a youth in his p ,i 
tion ; and while others were sipping the 
intoxicating and enervating sweets of a 
life at court, he was immured with his 
professors, or engaged upon the mastery of 
some profound and erudite work. He was 
charitable in his judgments of men and' 
motives; and, though intolerant of any 
abuse of power, he was an imperialist in 
every sense; while his devotion to the: 
tenets of the Church recognized no limit. 

His sole vanity was his luxuriant beard, 
straw-colored in hue, which was cared 
for with feminine solicitude. When about 
to be shot on the "Hill of the Bells," and 
as he uttered, "Ah! what a glorious day! 
It is such as I desired for my death," he 
took his beard in his left hand, twirled 
it round, and placing it inside his vest, 
buttoned his. coat over it. 

The Castle of Miramar he built after 
his own design, and hither he retired 
in 1859, on the opening of the France- 
Italian campaign; resigning the governor- 
generalship of the Lombardo- Venetian 
kingdom, albeit this kingdom was to 
become one of the prizes of the campaign ; 
preferring his books to a diadem. 

On July 27, 1857, he wedded the Prin- 
cess Maria Carlotta Amelia, daughter of 
Leopold I., _King of Belgium, and the 
"pious Queen" Louise Marie, the second 
daughter of King Louis Philippe. She was 
but "sweet seventeen." when Maximilian 
wooed and won her, and bore her to his 
beautiful Castle of Miramar. It was a 
love-match on both sides, and one that 
gave richest promise of splendid fruition. 

Carlotta was tall, exquisitely moulded, 
and graceful as a fawn. Her eyes were.- 
of a very deep blue, heavy-lidded. Her 
nose straight, with a soupgon of the 
aquiline. Her mouth was small the lip^ 
being rich and red. When she looked at 
one, it was a gaze that sought the truth. 
She possessed a gentleness that won all 
who'niet her; while her manner, if courtly, 
was winsome and gracious to a degree. 
She spoke and wrote with equal fluencv 
French, German, English, Spanish, and 


Italian ; and was literally an expert in every 
matter appertaining to court etiquette. 
She was noted for her acts of charity from 
her childhood; she would spend hours, 
in the beautiful Cathedral of St. Gudule 
in Brussels; and on more than one 
occasion messengers were dispatched from 
the court to fetch her and her attendant 
back to the palace. So exemplary was 
the piety that at one time it was semi- 
officially announced that she had taken 
the veil. Had she done so, what anguish 
it would have saved her! 

It was on a glorious morning in the 
month of April that three pedestrians 
strode along the rocky causeway leading 
from the direction of Triest to the roman- 
tic Castle of Miramar. The view was 
indeed a superb one, Miramar gazing 
at its own beauties in the glassy waters 
beneath, where ships of war lay at anchor, 
gaudy with their multi-colored flags and 
gorgeous in bunting; while smaller craft 
of every sort, size, shape and description 
flitted hither and thither, their snow-white 
sailSj causing them to resemble so many 
gigantic sea-birds. In the distance, perched 
upon another headland, was the lordly 
Castle of Duino, the seat of the Hohenlohes, 
dating from the days of the Romans, and 
whither it was the custom of the lad 
Maximilian to pull across in a wherry, 
and take the young Princesses out for 
a row. From olive-crowned heights and 
hooded hollows peeped the blood-red cam- 
panile of many another lordly mansion; 
and tiny villages, glowing in whitewash 
and crimson tiles, dotted diminutive bays, 
or nestled near precipitous crags. 

"By jingo, we're late!" exclaimed Harry 
Talbot, clutching his companion, Arthur 
Bodkin, by the arm. 

"Why? How?" 

"Don't you see, man, that they are 
raising the Mexican "flag on the tower?" 
And as he spoke the trigarante floated 
majestically to the fresh and gladsome 
breezes of that glorious but ill-omened 
spring morning. 

"What does that mean, Harry?" 

"It means that Maximilian has just 
taken the oath of allegiance to Mexico; 
and, if we put on a spurt, we may push 
our way into .the church and be in time 
for the Te Deum." 

The roadway was blocked with 
vehicles, the horses gaily caparisoned in 
honor of the occasion, while the occupants 
were as so many clots of color vermilion 
predominating. The country folk in hun- 
dreds pressed onward; and as the cannon 
from the man-of-war in the picturesque 
bay thundered forth an imperial salute, 
cheer upon cheer answered from the rock- 
bound shore. 

Placing Rody O'Flynn in front, and 
urging him to do his "level best" to 
push his way to the Castle a task which 
the genial giant undertook with a will, 
a few minutes found them in the outer 
court, beyond which no one without a pass 
was admitted : a detachment of dismounted 
dragoons, leaning on their carbines, guarded 
the entrance to the Court of Honor, as 
the inner structure was named. 

"I'm afeard that we're bet, gintle- 
men," observed Rody, somewhat ruefully. 

"Well, it does look like checkmate," 
said Arthur, gloomily. 

At this moment a carriage attached to 
four horses, the postilions wearing the 
imperial livery, entered the court, the 
masses of people wedging closer in order 
to admit of its passage. Seeing thai further 
progress was hopeless, although the 
dragoons had gallantly come to the rescue, 
the door was flung open, the steps let 
down, and a lady helped out by a foot- 
man as gorgeous as a golden pheasant. 
The lady stepped almost on Arthur 
Bodkin's toes, and raised her eyes as if 
to apologize, when an exclamation of 
delighted astonishment burst forth from 
him, and a single word from her: 

"Alice Nugent!" 


They had not met since that night at 
St. Patrick's Ball at Dublin Castle. Upon 
receipt of Miss Nugent's telegram, Bodkin 
lost no time in rushing up to Dublin, 



only to find that she had left Merrion 
Square that morning for London. In 
London he could pick up no clue; conse- 
quently, after a delay of some days in the 
modern Babylon, where he was joined by 
Harry Talbot and the ever-cheerful, faith- 
ful Rody, the trio proceeded to Vienna, 
putting up at a wondrous old hostelry in 
the Brannergasse known as the Rothen 
Krebs, or Red Crab. 

As luck would have it, Talbot, the very 
morning after their arrival in Vienna, 
encountered an old friend in the person 
of the Honorable Bertie Byng, second 
secretary of the British Embassy, who put 
our friends up at the Jockey Club, where 
Arthur learned that Count Nugent with 
his niece had arrived in town a few days 
previously, and where he obtained the 
Count's address. On presenting himself, 
with a beating heart, at a rusty-looking, 
very venerable house in a gloomy little 
street, narrow as a laneway, the eaves of 
the houses shutting out the sky, he dis- 
covered to his dismay that the family had 
repaired to their country place in Bohemia, 
which he ascertained at the Club was in a 
very wild portion of the country twenty 
miles from the nearest railway station, 
and six hours from Vienna. 

"I must see her at all risks," he said 
to Talbot; "and I have no time to lose. 
Byng told me at the Club to-night that 
the deputation from Mexico will be 
received at Miramar this week, and that 
the new Emperor, Empress, and suite will 
sail on the i4th. They had the informa- 
tion at the Embassy." 

In pursuance of this intention, an early 
train found Bodkin en route to Podie- 
brad, a small wayside station in the heart 
of beet-growing Bohemia. Here, after 
considerable difficulty, owing to his abso- 
lute ignorance of an impossible language, 
he hired a rickety vehicle, attached to an 
equally rickety horse, and jogged along a 
road as straight as a rule and as even as a 
billiard table, bordered on both sides by 
plum trees laden with a superabundance 
of sweet-smelling blossoms. The only break 

in the monotony of the drive was an 
occasional peasant woman laden with 
an immense pack, which she carried on 
her back; or a line of geese marching 
in file with military precision, a. sweet, 
sunny-haired, rosy-cheeked little maid 
bringing up the rear, wattle in hand. 

The Castle of Hradshrad, the residence 
of Count Nugent, crowned a small 
eminence commanding the surrounding 
country, a splendid old pile forming 
three sides of a square; the Court of 
Honor being flanked by a church on the 
right hand. 

A hoary- headed seneschal received 
Arthur Bodkin with the Mediaeval defer- 
ence of a varlet waiting upon a plumed 
knight. As this worthy official spoke no 
language that Arthur could understand, 
a middle-aged woman who dabbled in 
French was brought into requisition; and 
after a very good-humored but vigorous 
word combat, poor Bodkin learned that 
the Nugents had slept but one night at 
Hradshrad; that they had gone to a 
place called Gobildno for one night; and 
that they were to make one-night visits 
en route to Triest, alias Miramar; Vienna 
being left out of the programme. After a 
substantial feed in an old oaken hall sur- 
rounded by grim-looking portraits, suits 
of mail, and the antlers of deer brought 
down in big "shoots," Arthur Bodkin 
returned to Nimburg, arriving at Vienna 
in the "wee, sma'' hours." 

Upon the following day Bodkin and 
Talbot, attended by Rody, started for 
Triest, where they found every hotel and 
lodging-house crammed from cellar to 
garret, the Emperor having passed through 
to Miramar; and after a night passed 
upon benches, Rody sleeping on the floor, 
the trio set out on foot for Miramar, it 
being impossible for love or money to 
secure a vehicle of any sort, shape, size, 
or description. 

(To be contiuued.) 

THE; soul of all improvement is the 
improvement of the soul. -Bushnell. 



The Best Angel. 


art thou comes to me 

From the veiled height afar? 
Upon thy head no wreath I see, 

Upon thy brow no star. 
For thee life burned the splendid sun 

Through years of toil and stress: 
Art thou the long-awaited one 

The Angel of Success?" 
Nay, Soul: I come at close of day, 

The angel of the Lord; 
Neither with laurel leaf nor bay, 

Neither with flaming sword; 
But with a balm for all thy shame, 

Bowed 'neath the chastening rod: 
Men call me Failure, but my name 

Is the Content of God." 

Pius VII. and the Coronation of 



HE nineteenth century witnessed 
the rise and fall of several 
Empires. There were two in 
r??-i France, neither of them lasting 
for even twenty years. There was an 
Empire of Brazil. There was a short-lived 
Empire of Mexico, ending in a tragedy. 
There was an opera bouffe ' ' Empire of 
Hayti," under the Negro Soulouque and a 
farcical attempt to found an ' ' Empire of 
the Sahara," under Jacques I., otherwise 
Monsieur Lebaudy, the son of a wealthy 
sugar refiner. 

Two solidly established Empires came 
into being when the old German Empire 
gave place in the map of Europe to the 
new Empire of , Austria ; and more than 
half a century later the sword of Von 
Moltke and the diplomacy of Von 
Bismarck founded the brand-new German 
Empire of the Hohenzollern Kaisers. Yet 
another Empire of older date, long regarded 

as belonging to the barbarous semi- 
Asiatic region, received its full status 
when it became the fashion to style the 
"Tsar of All the Russias" the Emperor cf 
Russia. Thus in the last hundred years 
"Emperor" has become a fairly common 
title of sovereignty. 

And this makes it somewhat difficult 
for us to realize what was the status of 
imperial rank in Europe in the first years 
of the nineteenth century, before such 
common use had tended to degrade from 
its antique splendor the title of the 
Caesars. leaving half-civilized Russia out 
of account, there was in Europe, when the 
new century began, only one Emperor, 
" The Emperor," for that was his real title. 
In popular phrase he might be spoken of 
as the "German Emperor," but he was 
not necessarily German. A great Spaniard 
had once worn the imperial crown. Most 
Emperors had been Germans, just as most 
Popes had been Italians, for cenruries 
past. But the dignity was elective, not 
hereditary. Francis I. of France was a 
candidate for it against Charles V.; and 
it was his rejection in favor of the Spaniard 
that was the origin of the long wars 
between them. 

The old European ideal was that there 
could be only one Emperor, as there could 
be only one Pope. The Emperor was to 
be the first in dignity among the ruleis of 
Christendom, the sword-girt champion of 
the Church. He was the successor of 
Charlemagne, the inheritor of the dignity 
conferred on him by Pope I/eo the Great. 
If the due order of his inauguration were 
carried out, he was twice crowned, -first 
at Aix-la-Chapelle, in the cathedral erected 
by Charlemagne and beside his tomb. 
Then there was to be a second coronation 
at Rome by the hands of the Pope, re- 
calling the memory of Charlemagne's 
coronation by I/eo on Christmas Day in 
the year 800. The Hapsburg Francis II., 
who was "The Emperor" in the days of 
the French Republic and the Consulate, 
was dignified by the tradition of a thousand 
years. And the imperial crown that Pope 


Leo gave to Charlemagne carried this 
tradition back still further; for the Empire 
was held to be a revival in a Christianized 
form of the older Empire of the Roman 
Caesars and Augusti. 

All this must be borne in mind if we are 
to realize the full significance of I he step 
taken by Napoleon when the ambition of 
this Corsican soldier, who had made him- 
self master of France, prompted him to 
claim for himself the time-honored title of 
"Emperor." Th* mere suggestion was a 
breach with all the past of Europe, and 
seemed to foreshadow a determination to 
play the part of its supreme ruler. 

The title had other associations, which 
commended it to Napoleon in view of the 
state of opinion in France itself. He was 
already Consul for life, with the right of 
designating his successor. He was King 
in all but name, but to assume the royal 
title would be to break openly with the 
Revolution. The pseudo-classicism of the 
Republic suggested the title of Emperor 
as the next stage of evolution from the 
Consulate. When Octavian took the title 
of Augustus and had himself proclaimed 
"Imperator," he retained the old forms of 
the Roman Republic as a thin disguise 
for the new Imperialism. So when in the 
early summer of 1804 Napoleon, after 
having broken up the remnant of the old 
Jacobin party, accepted the vote of the 
Senate offering him the title of Emperor, 
he followed the precedent of the first 
Caesars, and for years to come his coins 
bore on the obverse the inscription 
"Napoleon, Empereur des Frangais," and 
on the reverse " Republique Frangaise." 

But he was thinking of something more 
than a change of governmental forms in 
France itself: he was asserting his claim 
to establish a new European dynasty, 
which was to hold equal, or more than 
equal, rank among the crowned rulers of 
the Continent. He knew that in the courts 
of Hapsburgs and Romanoffs, Hohen- 
zollerns and Bourbons, he was regarded as 
a mere adventurer, a Jacobin upstart; 
and he meant to obtain for his new dignity 

;i. sanction that would link it with UK- 
historic past, and give it a consecration 
that none could lightly challenge. He had 
invoked the traditions of the Empire of 
the Caesars to satisfy the scruples of French 
Republicanism. He turned to those of 
the Empire of Charlemagne, the historic 
"Empire" of_JVIediseval Europe to con- 
ciliate the more conservative elements in 
France, and at the same time to justify 
his claim to enter the charmed circle of 
European sovereignty. 

This was why the soldier of the Revolu- 
tion proposed to Pius VII. that he should 
crown him as I/eo had crowned Charle- 
magne. He had already, by the Concor- 
dat, recognized the Catholic religion as 
that of the State; and re-established, after 
years of persecution, the free exercise 
of Catholic worship ' subject to certain 
conditions, some of which the Pope had 
accepted, while against others he always 
protested. When he finally consented to 
crown the new Emperor, the Pope acted 
on the principle that the Church always 
recognizes a de facto government accepted 
by the people over whom it rules. At the 
same time he hoped by this concession to 
Napoleon's wishes to obtain from him a 
still larger measure of freedom for the 
Church in France. But it was only after 
prolonged negotiations, and more than one 
change in the proposals as to place and 
time, that Pius VII. finally consented to 
crown the Emperor. The negotiations 
began at Rome in the spring of 1804, 
while the question of the proclamation of 
the Empire was still being debated in the 
French Corps Legislatif. At first the 
business was in the hands of the French 
Ambassador to the Vatican. But on 
April 4 Napoleon's uncle, Fesch, was sent 
to Rome to deal with the affair as a 
special envoy. 

Fesch had received Holy Orders in 
Corsica, but on the coming of the Revolu- 
tion he had thrown off the clerical dress 
and posed as a layman for some years. 
Then he had made his peace with the 
Church, and had taken a prominent part 



in the negotiation of the Concordat and 
the restoration of religion in France. Pius 
VII. had recognized these services by 
accepting his promotion to the archiepis- 
copal See of Lyons, and giving him a 
cardinal's hat. He was eminently fitted 
to carry the coronation negotiations to a 
successful issue. 

The first proposal was rejected by the 
Pope. Napoleon wished Pius to crown 
him at Aix-la-Chapelle, beside the tomb 
of Charlemagne, in the cathedral conse- 
crated by Pope Leo, and in which thirty 
sovereigns of the "Holy Roman Empire" 
had received the crown. But to celebrate 
the coronation of the new Emperor of the 
French in a city which had lately been one 
of the capitals of the Empire, over which 
the Hapsburg Emperor Francis still ruled, 
would have been a very possible source of 
a rupture between Rome and Vienna, and, 
the Pope refused to take such a risk. 

The old rulers of France had been 
crowned at Rheims, but Napoleon had no 
desire to figure as the successor of the 
Bourbons. Aix-la-Chapelle and Rheims 
being both impossible, he decided that the 
ceremony should take place in his capital 
in the cathedral of Notre Dame. The 
Pope still hesitated. Pressed by Fesch to 
give a decision, he replied: 

"I know that all manner of good things 
are said of the Emperor, and that he is a 
friend of religion; but he has around him, 
in his Council of State and among his 
generals, many who are in his confidence, 
and of whom the same can not be said, 
men who are "trying to give a different 
direction to his well-known moderate 
opinions. I shall pray to God to direct me 
as to what course I ought to take." 

It was not till the end of August that 
the Pope gave a general consent to the 
Emperor's proposals, leaving certain de- 
tails for subsequent settlement. Cardinal 
Consalvi, the Papal Secretary of State, 
had pointed out that the enormous expense 
of the temporary transfer of the Papal 
Court to Paris was itself an obstacle. 
The Emperor replied, through Fesch, that 

he knew well the poverty of the Papal 
treasury, and that all expenses would be 
liberally repaid. 

On September 4, Fesch was at last able 
to write to Napoleon that Pius had for- 
mally promised to go to Paris for the 
coronation. He assured the Emperor that 
he had great difficulties to contend with 
in obtaining this promise, and at the same 
time in avoiding giving any pledge as 
to a modification of the Concordat. The 
Pope asked that the Emperor's formal 
request that he would go to Paris should 
be conveyed to him by an officer of rank. 
If this request was received before Septem- 
ber 26, the Pope would be able to start 
from Rome by October 15. 

Accordingly, on September 29, General 
Cafarelli, one of the Emperor's aides-de- 
camp, arrived in Rome and presented the 
following letter to Pius VII.: 

COLOGNE, September 15, 1804. 

MOST HOLY FATHER: The happy effects 
on the morals and character of my people, 
r suiting from the re-establishment among 
them of the Chiistian religion, lead me to 
beg your Holiness to give me a fresh 
proof of the interest you take in my 
destiny, and in that of this great nation, 
on one of the most important occasions in 
the annals of the world. I request that 
you will come and give in the highest 
degree a religious character to the ceiemony 
of the consecration and coronation of the 
fiist French Emperor. This ceremony will 
acquire a new splendor if it is performed 
by your Holiness in person. It will draw 
down on us and on our people the blessings 
of God, whose decrees rule according to 
His will the fates of empires and of 

Your Holiness knows the feelings of 
affection I have long entertained for you, 
and can thus judge what a pleasure it will 
be to me to be able to give you new proofs 
of them on this occasion. 


The Emperor was not sincere. His 
envoy had taken care to pledge him to 



nothing, while holding out to the Pope 
the hope that, by meeting the wishes of 
the Emperor on this ceremonial matter, he 
would obtain important advantages for the 
Church in France and the other territories 
of the Empire. It was not until the Con- 
sistory of October 29 that Pius announced 
to the Cardinals his intention of going to 
Paris for the coronation. There had been 
repeated delays in arranging the details of 
his winter journey over the Alps. He was 
not able to leave Rome till November 2. 

All these delays had entailed more than 
one change on the date fixed for the 
coronation. It had originally been ar- 
ranged that it should take place on the 
fte day of the Republic, July 14, the 
day of the Batille. Then it was put off 
to November 9, the anniversary of 
Napoleon's coup 'd'etat of the i8th 
Brumaire. There had been long discus- 
sions as to the form of the ceremony. At 
one time Napoleon talked of a preliminary 
inauguration on the Champ de Mars -the 
parade ground of the Invalides, -where he 
was to be raised high on a shield borne by 
his generals, in imitation of the proclama- 
tion of the old warrior kings of the race of 
Clovis. This idea was dismissed as too 
perilously theatrical. Finally it was de- 
cided that the celebration should be 
limited to the religious ceremony at 
Notre Dame. After much study of prece- 
dents, the details of the ceremonial were 
fixed; and as soon as it was known that 
the Pope was ready to leave Rome, Sunday, 
December 2, was chosen as the great day. 

The Pope had started on his long 
journey on All Souls' Day, after saying 
Mass at St. Peter's and praying at the 
Tomb of the Apostles. The Romans 
crowded the streets to receive his blessing 
as he drove out of his capital, followed by 
a long train of carriages conveying his 
suite of over a hundred persons car- 
dinals, bishops, officials, and servants. 
Seven of the Sacred College went with 
him namely, the Cardinals Antonelli, 
Borgia, Braschi, De Bayan, Caselli, Fesch, 
and Di Pietro.- His journey through Italy 

was a triumph. At Ponte-Centino he 
crossed the frontier of his own States and 
entered the newly created Kingdom of 
Etruria. Its Queen, a Spanish princess, 
came to meet him with a guard of honor, 
and escorted him to her capital, Florence, 
where he arrived on November 5. There 
was a High Mass and Te Deum at the 
Duomo. Then the journey continued by 
Modena, Parma, and Piacenza. Piedmont 
was at the time French territory. At the 
frontier the Pope was welcomed by the 
Archbishop of Rheims and the Senator 
Aboville, in the name of the Church and 
State in France. Turin was reached on 
November 12, and there was a rest there 
for two days. 

Then came the most formidable part of 
the journey. The new road over the 
Mont Cenis had not yet been made, and 
the pass was traversed only by narrow 
and difficult paths, on the higher levels 
of which the winter snow lay deep. A 
little army of mountaineers had been 
assembled to clear the track and carry 
the Pope and his suite over it in litters, 
from Susa to St. Jean de Maurienne, 
where carriages were waiting for the jour- 
ney through France. 

The first stage was by ChambeYy and 
Beauvoisin to I/yons. This progress 
through France was at once a surprise 
and a consolation to the venerable Pontiff. 
Here, where only a few years ago relig- 
ion had been proscribed and its min- 
isters consigned to the scaffold, he was 
received in town and village all along 
the way with outbursts of enthusiasm. 
Loyal Catholics came from far and near 
to wait for his passage by the roadside, 
kneeling in the mud to receive his blessing. 
Even unbelievers were forced to assume 
a respectful attitude. 

He arrived at Lyons on November 19. 
Though the spectacle was somewhat 
marred by rain, the second city of France 
gave him a splendid reception. Half a 
league from the city, the cavalry of the 
garrison met him, and saluted him with 
lowered standards and the blare of trum- 



pets. Then they formed a brilliant escort 
for his carriage, the general in command 
riding beside it. On the long slope of the 
glacis before the eastern gate, the infantry 
and artillery were ranged in glittering 
lines. There was the salute of lowered 
standards and swords, the roll of drums, 
the thunder of a hundred guns. At the 
gate, the civil authorities, the chapter 
and the clergy were waiting to welcome 
him; and thence he was escorted to the 
cathedral, at the west door of which 
Cardinal Fesch, as Archbishop of Lyons, 
awaited him. After the Te Deum the Pope 
came out to give his blessing to the crowds 
that, despite the rain, thronged every 
open space around the cathedral. 

At Lyons, Cardinal Borgia fell ill, and 
was left there dying when the Pope's 
journey was resumed on November 21. 
Pius VII. passed by Moulins, Nevers, and 
Nemours, with the same demonstrations 
of filial devotion from the people and a 
stately welcome by the civil, military and 
ecclesiastical authorities in every town. 

On the morning of November 25 he 
approached Fontainebleau. At one of the 
crossroads of the Forest, the Emperor was 
waiting to greet him. Napoleon had 
ridden out with a detachment of the 
Guard to act as his escort. He dismounted 
and bent low at the carriage door to 
receive the Papal blessing; and then the 
procession went on by the woodland roads 
to the palace, where the Pope and his 
suite were to be the Emperor's guests. 

As we read history we can glance 
forward into what was then the future 
and is now the past. Fontainebleau was 
in a few years' time to witness scenes that 
throw a strange backward light on that 
meeting of Pope and Emperor. Pius was 
to be Napoleon's prisoner in the halls 
where he was now his guest. There the 
Pope was to defy the Emperor in the cause 
of the Church's rights. And, though the 
Emperor mocked at his protests and his 
warnings, in that same palace Napoleon 
was to sign his abdication. 

(Conclusion next week ) 

A Convert's Story. 

I WAS born in New York, and brought 
up in the Presbyterian Church. A con- 
stant attendant at Sunday-school and 
an omnivorous reader, I early imbibed a 
most inveterate hatred of the Catholic 
Church from books published by the 
American Tract Society, in which she is 
represented as the "Scarlet Woman," and 
the Pope as "Antichrist." When, finally, 
through God's mercy, my way led me 
across the ocean and I came to Italy, I 
was as bitterly opposed to the Church 
as ever I had been in the days of my 

I reached Florence the last day of May. 
That evening, in taking a walk with my 
sister, we chanced to hear singing in a 
queer little church called the Madonna 
delle Grazie, which used to be on the 
bridge of that name. We went in, at- 
tracted by the lights and the voices; it 
was something to see a bit of local color. 
It must have been the last service of the 
Month of Mary, and it -was the first time 
I had ever heard those blessed words, 
Rosa Mystica, Stella Matutina, Rejugium 
Peccatorum, ora pro nobis! 

I remember kneeling and praying for 
my absent mother; little dreaming that 
our dear Lord was on the altar before me, 
but fully, believing that 'where two or 
three are gathered together in His name, 
there He is in the midst of them.' 

I had come to Italy for six months; and, 
after visiting Florence and Siena, we came 
to Rome. We had a furnished apartment 
in the house of an Italian lady of rank in 
reduced circumstances. Upon one occasion 
she was to have a private audience with 
Leo XIII., and invited me to go with her. 
I knew very little Italian then, but I 
understood when his Holiness, with Irs 
genial smile, said to the Marchesa : ' ' And 
this young lady lives with you? She is 
good, is she not?" And I, not wishing to 
be under false colors, and thinking he 
meant to ask if I were a good Catholic, 
hastily made confession of faith there at 



the feet of the Holy Father, and said: 
"Your Holiness, I am a Protestant." 
He seemed amused at my ..candor, and, 
laying his hand on my head, answered: 
"But I will give you my blessing for you 
and for all your family." 

Time passed, and before my six months 
in Italy were ended I had promised to 
remain there forever. A year before my 
marriage, my sister had married the brother 
of my husband. Our husbands belonged 
to a Catholic family, one of whose 
ancestors had been a Crusader, but they 
themselves, I regret to say, were very 
lukewarm Catholics, in spite of a most 
devout mother; and we were married in 
the American Episcopal Church, in the 
Via Nazionale, at Rome, after, of course, 
the civil marriage at the Capitol, which 
is the only tie that binds according to 
modern Italian law. My husband's family 
expressed the desire that we should 
promise to baptize our childien in the 
Catholic faith. But I flatly refused, say- 
ing that it would be impossible for me to 
bring up my children in a creed in which 
I myself did not believe. So, when my 
dear boy was born, he was baptized at 
home by an Episcopal clergyman. 

When my son was two years old he 
became very ill from teething, and our 
physician ordered him to be taken to the 
mountains immediately. I was obliged to 
go alone with him, and we had decided 
upon Siena; in fact, the railroad tickets 
were bought for that place. But a singular 
aversion to the place came over me, and 
I passed a sleepless night revolving in 
my mind how I could avoid going there 
without being considered capricciosa. 

With the dawn I arose, and slipped 
away in my dressing-gown to call my 
brother-in-law and put the case before 
him. He met me more than half-way, 
succeeded in persuading my husband to 
send me to some relatives of theirs in 
Umbria, changed the tickets for us; and 
at the hour we were to have left for 
Siena we started for Gubbio. It was 
the 2d of July, the day on which the 

Church celebrates that most tender mys- 
tery of the Visitation, when "Mary arose 
in haste and w r ent into the hill country." 

Gubbio is one of the most interesting 
towns in Italy. It can be reached by 
diligence from Perugia; but is more 
accessible by way of Fossato, on the 
Ancona line, where a train on a branch 
road meets the oxpress, and in an hour 
takes one through the Apennines to 
Gubbio, situated picturesquely on the 
slope of Monte Ingino. Here St. Francis 
of Assisi lingered to talk to his friend the 
wolf, and gently persuade him not to 
continue his nightly depredations upon 
the flocks cf the good citizens. Mass is 
said annually in a chapel built in com- 
memoration of that event. Here Dante 
wrote canto xxii of the Paradiso, while 
on a visit to his friend Bossone. 

It was to this charming Mediaeval town 
that Providence led my footsteps. Here 
my husband joined me for the summer; 
and here we spent the winter months, too, 
on account of our child's health: It was 
a strange experience for one who .had 
always been in the midst of the busy, 
social life of a large city. It seemed 
almost uncanny to have absolutely no 
engagements; it was like taking a year 
out of one's life; and the isolation was 
like the snow about us, covering us "as 
with a garment" white and still, unbroken 
and very restful. 

With the exception of my husband's 
relatives, I knew only one lady in Gubbio, 
a most devout Catholic, who had been 
a governess in England for years. She 
was the only person with whom I could 
speak my native tongue; and she had 
been warned that it was better not to 
converse with me on the subject of relig- 
ion, as I wtis a bitter Protestant, always 
ready to protest, and rather antagonistic, 
which was only too true. 

She had a fine library, and she timidly 
ventured to offer me a copy of Longfellow. 
But what must have been her astonish- 
ment when I asked, instead, for Cardinal 
Newman's "Apologia pro Vita Sua"! I 



hastily explained, with my usual aggressive 
candor, that I desired to read it only from 
curiosity; that "Lead, Kindly Light," had 
long been my favorite hymn; and, though 
I could imagine how the soft falling light 
through painted glass, the music, ei caztera, 
of the Catholic Church, might appeal to 
the poor and ignorant classes, I could not 
understand how an intellectual man like 
John Henry Newman could possibly become 
a Roman Catholic. Very gently, in the 
Cardinal's own words, she replied: 
And I hold in veneration, 

For the love of Him alone, 
Holy Church as His creation, 
And her teachings as His own. 

Then she went her way, doubtless to 
pray for me in the depths of those dear, 
solemn churches which I so much despised ; 
though, thank God, I was always reverent 
in them out of respect for the feelings of 
others; and never talked nor laughed in 
a church, as I have seen so many Protes- 
tants do in Rome, especially in St. Peter's. 

I read the book, I read it conscien- 
tiously, from force of habit; and I made 
up my mind tfiat, in order intelligently 
to oppose the doctrines of the Catholic 
Church, I had better know something 
more about them, rit was mortifying to 
think I was a Protestant only because I 
was born one. Considering my right of 
personal judgment, in which I gloried, it 
was illogical not to know both sides of the 
question; and, then, St. Peter's words 
kept ringing in my ears: "Being ready 
always to satisfy everyone that asketh you 
a reason of the hope which is in you." 
So I borrowed other Catholic books of my 
patient friend. 

As soon as my friends on the other side 
of the ocean learned from my letters the 
trend of my thoughts the "dangerous" 
study upon which I had entered, they 
stretched out their hands to save me, and 
sent me volume after volume against 
Catholicism. I read them all, sitting up 
alone into the small hours of the night, 
reading for and against. This went on for 
nearly a year, till we were suddenly called 
to Rome for Easter, without having any 

definite plan of return to dear old Gubbio. 

On Easter morning I went to the early 
communion in the Protestant Episcopal 
Church, an edifice endeared to me by 
many sacred memories. Again I knelt at 
the chancel where I had knelt as a bride, 
but I came away with anguish of spirit: 
the service for me was void and empty. 
I had lost the faith of my childhood, and 
was unwilling to embrace any other. What 
I suffered in the days that followed only 
those will comprehend who have been 
through a similar mental upheaval. But 
I spoke to no one on the subject; and had 
it been possible for me to give up my 
belief in the divinity of Our Lord, I should 
certainly have become a Unitarian at that 
time; for I was fully persuaded that the 
Church of England was a national institu- 
tion, like her army and navy, with the 
Queen at the head. Another strong plea 
for the Unitarians was that the two most 
perfect characters I had known intimately 
were Unitarians, and I had met some 
very unworthy Catholics. I kept thinking 
of the words, "By their fruit ye shall 
know them." Still I could not deny the 
divinity of Our Lord nor cease to believe 
in the Blessed Trinity. 

After we had been in Rome a month, 
my husband received an order from Prince 
Torlonia to paint a picture on one of his 
estates near Gubbio, and we returned to 

For some time I had felt reluctant to 
pass by the churches without going in, for 
fear it might all be true; and perhaps Our 
Lord was really there, hidden in the 
tabernacle, as He was in His cradle at 
Bethlehem, where I should not have 
recognized Him had I been living at that 
time in Judea. 

I used to go and sit in the solemn cathe- 
dral, built into the mountain side, and try 
to realize that Mass had been said there 
daily for centuries, before America was 
discovered. Sometimes I was the only 
worshipper; and what was most impres- 
sive to me was the lovely music, exquisite 
singing, rich vestments' all used simply 



for the honor and glory of God with no 
thought of an audience or spectators. 
Imagine such a thing happening in any 
fashionable church in New York ! At last 
I began to feel "out in the cold," and 
to envy the innocent little children who 
came in to murmur a prayer, children 
whose happy destiny had caused them to 
be born Catholics. 

And when the evening bells rang out 
the hour at which so many Catholics 
repeats the De Profundis, that beautiful 
psalm of King David, in memory of the 
dead, my heart was wrung with sorrow 
for my dear mother in her distant grave; 
but my lips must remain silent, and my 
voice could not join in the refrain, " Eternal 
rest give to them, O Lord; and let per- 
petual light shine upon them. May they 
rest in peace!" because I had been 
brought up to think it a sin to pray for 
the dead, and had been taught to limit 
God's mercy to this side of the tomb. 

At last it came to me, this great gift of 
faith; for it is a gift, and no amount of 
clever argument will wear away one's 
prejudices; they must be melted by God's 
grace alone. It was on the feast of 
Corpus Christi, and I stood in the great 
piazza, waiting for the procession. Up the 
steep street came the children, scatter- 
ing flowers before the Sacred Host; the 
old Latin hymn rose triumphantly. I 
knelt, and all my doubts vanished. My 
heart became as that of a little child ; and 
the people kneeling about me little dreamed 
that one among' them had received her 
sight. Two months later, early one morn- 
ing, I was received into the Church by^ the 
Bishop of Gubbio, the ceremony being 
performed in his private chapel. 

Many years have gone by since then; 
and now, as I linger in these dear Roman 
churches, I no longer envy the little 
Italian children; for I have entered into 
their heritage; and, with St. Elizabeth 
of Hungary, I murmur: 

All without is mean and small, 

All within is vast and tall; 

All without is harsh and shrill, 

All within is hushed and still. 

The Unidentified. 


THE man in poor, shabby clothes stole 
into a rear seat in the big church. 
He blinked in the warmth and light: a 
sharp contrast to the night without, 
damp, cold and rainy. Already the priest 
in the pulpit was finishing his sermon; but 
his splendid closing was lost on the man, 
who realized only that he had reached a 
haven from the storm, whence, apparently, 
no one intended to tell him to move on 
or get out. 

When the priest's voice had ceased, the 
children's choir began the hymn to Our 
Lady before Benediction: 

How pure and frail and white, 

The snowdrops shine! 
Gather a garland bright 
For Mary's shrine. 

Hail Mary, Hail Mary! . . . 
The clear, resonant voices blended well in 
the sweet refrain. 

The man stirred, and his heart-throbs 
quickened. His eyes opened wide, and, 
half knowingly, he took in the scene before 
him; for the hymn and those voices were 
like the voices of yesterday, a yesterday 
of long ago. Back, far back, to that yester- 
day the thoughts of the man roved. 

Again it is a Sunday afternoon in a 
little church in a New England village. A 
white-haired priest is walking the aisles, 
and the hands clasped behind his back are 
grasping the Rosary. Up and down he 
paces. ' ' Hail Mary, ' ' ' ' Holy Mary, ' ' boys 
and girls answer, and on the Rosary goes. 
Interminable length it seems to a certain 
curly-haired lad with dancing, mischievous 
eye. Finally the wheezy organ sends forth 
a few wavering chords. The children rise 
for the hymn. The curly head is lifted, 
and mischief vanishes from -his eye when 
he sings. For sing he does, till the old 
priest, in passing, nods his approval at the 
volume of sweet sound issuing from the 
little throat. Ah, that Sunday-school of 
long ago! 

vSo it was May, May laden with mem- 


ories! A nearer and dearer one came back 
to him, of sweet, soft evenings, and a 
woman with a fair white face. She was 
young, despite her close-fitting black 
widow's bonnet and veil; and with her, 
trudging along rough country roads, was 
the same curly-haired, roguish lad. 

He drops her hand, and, running away, 
seeks side-paths; returning in a few 
minutes, hot and breathless. But his fat 
hands are filled with fragrant arbutus, 
whose secret, sandy, hilly growing places 
he well knows. He holds the flowers up to 
her. Patiently she takes them, and tells 
I him they are very sweet. Again they 
travel on together. 

The church is reached. He finds his 
corner in the pew, and ere long is curled 
up, fast asleep, awakening to see his 
mother kneeling in prayer, the black 
beads slipping through her thin fingers. 
"Hail Mary," and "Holy Mary," again 
the echoes ring through the little church. 
Then the hymn never did he sleep 
through the hymn! Ah, how he loved it! 

The man groaned aloud. A woman in the 
pew ahead turned and glanced at him- 
and then the man remembered that he 
was not living in yesterday, but to-day. 

"O God, is this leaden thing in my 
breast a heart?" he cried within himself. 
"I thank Thee that she is not living to 
see me here to-night, dirt, wretchedness, 
sin and rags. v She saw the beginning: 
Thou hast spared her the sorrow of seeing 
the end." He moaned. 

The bell rang, and the priest raised the 
Sacred Host in the monstrance above the 
heads of the faithful for the blessing. The 
man lifted his eyes to the altar, and there' 
was agony in his heart and look. 

Quickly the worshippers departed. A 
priest came out and made his way to the 
confessional opposite. He was a small, 
bent, aged man. The other, following him 
with his eyes, wondered: "Has he a 
heart like the priest of yesterday?" Then 
again to his own thoughts he returned: 
"Mother," he murmured, "mother, I'm 
weary of the years of sin. You're in 

heaven to-night. Can you look down and 
see me in my misery ? Could you be happy 
in heaven to see me here so " 

He stood up and staggered across the 
aisle. He parted the curtain and entered 
the confessional. 

With lightened heart, he rose from his 
knees; for the years of sin and strife had 
drifted away from him. In the fast 
shadowing church he sought the May 
Queen's shrine. "Lady, Mother of God," 
he prayed, "I thank thee! Tell her to be 
happy in heaven to-night! But, Lady, 
I'm weak I can't go straight for long. 
My way is hard, so hard ! God help me ! 
But make my way short, Lady, make it 
short, if I'm going to see thee and her." 

Terence Coyle, St. Michael's faithful 
custodian, who was extinguishing the last 
candles, threw suspicious glances upon the 
ragged figure bowed before Our Lady's 

"I'll bet that hobo is one of them 
thievin' rascals that help themselves to the 
money in the boxes!" Terence soliloquized. 

The man, all unconscious of the sharp 
looks cast upon him, was echoing in his 
heart the old refrain: 

Gather a garland bright 
For Mary's shrine. 

' His "garland bright" was a heart, -a sore, 
tired, battered heart, but still an offering; 
and he left it there. 

Then he rose to his aching feet and 
stumbled out. Lost in thought, he gained 
the street. He did not hear the horn that 
blew until the machine lights dazzled his 
misty eyes. It struck. Down on the wet, 
slippery pavement he fell, and lay still, 
crushed and covered with blood. 

Next morning the papers gave a few 
brief lines to the accident: "The body of 
the man who was struck by an auto in 
front of St. Michael's Church last night 
awaits identification at the City Hospital 
Morgue." And unidentified it remained. 
But the soul our Blessed Mother identified 
as that of the man who had pleaded for 
a short way, and the little lad who sung 
her praises in that yesterday of long ago. 



An Amiable Celebrity. 

r ~T"' HE late J. Henri Fabre was not only 
A a great naturalist, but a great philoso- 
pher and a great writer. A competent 
literary critic described "The Life of the 
Spider" as the best book published in 
English during the year of its appearance. 
It is certainly a volume of remarkable 
distinction, not only for the vast fund of 
scientific information which it presents, 
but for the style of the presentation. 
Among general readers as well as scien- 
tists this book has become a favorite, and 
its popularity is sure to increase as the 
years go by. Those, however, who have 
yet to make acquaintance with the works 
of Fabre would do well to begin with 
"The Life of the Fly," on account of the 
autobiographical essays which it contains. 
These were added from different parts of 
the "Souvenirs entomologiques," in order 
to render the dimensions of the volume 
uniform with the others of the series. 

Fabre was a rare personage. His cheerful 
optimism, his utter simplicity, his wondrous 
patience, and the sweetness of his disposi- 
tion, which neither poverty nor adversity 
could change, are so captivating that one 
is eager to learn all that one can about 
a man who was so great yet so humble, 
who was so much honored and remained 
so unspoiled. The chapters of "The Life 
of a Fly" entitled The Harmas, Heredity, 
My Schooling, Mathematical Memories: 
Newton's Binomial Theorem, Mathemati- 
cal Memories: My Little Table, Recollec- 
tions of Childhood, A Memorable Lesson, 
and Industrial Chemistry must be read 
as a whole, to be appreciated; however, 
a short passage describing his first school- 
teacher can be quoted to advantage: 

Our master was an excellent man, who could 
have kept school very well but for his lack of 
one thing; and that was time. He devoted to 
us all the little leisure which his numerous func- 
tions left him. And, first of all, he managed the 
property of an absentee landowner, who only 
occasionally set foot in the village. He had 
under his care an old castle with four towers, 

which had become so many pigeon-houses; he 
directed the getting-in of the hay, the walnuts, 
the apples, and the oats. We used to help him 
during the summer, when the school, which was 
well-attended in winter, was almost deserted. 
All that remained, because they were not yet 
big enough to work in the fields, were a few 
children, including him who was one day to set 
down these memorable facts. Lessons at that 
time were less dull. They were often given on 
the hay or on the straw; oftener still, lesson- 
time was spent in cleaning out the dove-cot or 
stamping on the snails that had sallied in rainy 
weather from their fortresses, the tall box borders 
of the garden belonging to the castle. 

Our master was a barber. With his" light 
hand, which was so clever at beautifying our 
copies with curlycue birds, he shaved the nota- 
bilities of the place: the mayor, the parish- 
priest, the notary. Our master was a bell- 
ringer. A wedding or a christening interrupted 
the lessons: he had to ring a peal. A gathering 
storm gave us a holiday: the great bell must 
be tolled to ward off the lightning and the hail. 
Our master was a choir-singer. With his mighty 
voice, he filled the church when he led the 
Magnificat at Vespers. Our master wound up 
and regulated the village clock. This was his 
proudest function. Giving a glance at the sun 
to ascertain the time more or less nearly, he 
would climb to the top of the steeple, open a 
huge cage of rafters and find himself in a maze 
of wheels and springs whereof the secret was 
known to him alone. 

The charm both of Fabre' s personality 
and style is shown in the chapter from 
which we have quoted. He was stimu- 
lated in his solitary study, he tells us in 
another chapter, by the desire that never 
failed him of learning and of afterwards 
communicating his knowledge to others, 
especially to the young. "Friends have 
reproached me," he writes, "with my style, 
which has not the solemnity, nay, better, 
the dryness of the schools. They fear lest 
a page that is read without fatigue should 
not always be the expression of the truth. 
Were I to take their word for it, we are 
profound only on condition of being 
obscure. Come here, one and all of you 
you, the sting-bearers, and you, the wing- 
cased armor-~clads 'take up my defence 
and bear witness in my favor. Tell of 
the intimate terms on which I live with 
you, of the patience with which I observe 



you, of the care with which I record your 
actions. Your evidence is unanimous : yes, 
my pages, though they bristle not with 
hollow formulas nor learned smatterings, 
are the exact narrative of facts observed, 
neither more nor less ; and whoso cares to 
question you in his turn will obtain the 
same replies. ... If I *-write for men of 
learning, for philosophers who one day 
will try to some extent to unravel the 
tough problem of instinct, I write also, I 
write above all things, for the young. I 
want to make them love the natural his- 
tory which you make them hate; and 
that is why, while keeping strictly to the 
domain of truth, I avoid your scientific 
prose, which too often, alas! seems bor- 
rowed from some Iroquois idiom." 

Fabre's books are being translated into 
English, admirably too, by Mr. Alexander 
Teixeira de Mattos, fellow of the Zoologi- 
cal Society of London, and published by 
Dodd, Mead & Co. of New York. Six 
volumes have already appeared. Their 
value and interest for general readers are 
greatly enhanced by the translator's numer- 
ous notes. 

N earing the Truth. 

NON-CATHOLICS of all denomina- 
tions would be benefited by the new 
series of tracts there are fourteen of 
them on the Apostles' Creed, just pub- 
lished by the Society for the Propagation 
of Christian Knowledge. The writers ap- 
parently have had in view that large class 
of men and women who have / all their 
lives held to Christianity, yet not without 
a feeling that if they were to examine into 
all the implications of the Apostles' Creed, 
they could scarcely meet its challenge 
without something more than hesitation, 
partly because they do not grasp its sig- 
nificance, and partly because they fear it 
might conflict with what is demanded of 
them by intellectual self-respect in other 

The author of the tract on the Holy Spirit 
remarks that 'the early Christians found 

themselves welded together into a religious 
and social community, in which they 
developed an ever-fuller comprehension 
of the unique significance of Christ. The 
same Divine Spirit who at the first enabled 
those in the fellowship of the faith to come 
to this fuller understanding of Christ 
still guides their successors to an ever- 
clearer conception of the truths which 
centre round Him. Thus it is inevitable 
that the Creed will be reinterpreted from 
time to time, and new values given to its 

In a sympathetic notice of the same 
tract, a writer , in the London Times' 
Literary Supplement, in reference to the 
tendency in some quarters to abandon all 
credal statements declares that "history 
more than justifies the Church's tenacious 
hold on the historic Creeds. They sprang 
into existence at the very beginning; for 
the shortest profession of faith is a creed. 
They grew, in order to express what the 
consciousness of Christians came to realize 
as the truth; to make it clear in the 
presence of controversy; and to defend 
it against heretical teaching. They have 
proved invaluable for the preservation of 
the Church's power; they have steadied 
it in times of turmoil, and provided a rule 
of faith for the instruction of each genera- 
tion of its catechumens. They still inspire 
its work and worship; but just because we 
can not afford to do without the Creeds,* 
it is all the more necessary that we should 
understand them." 

These short pamphlets we hope to 
see them collected and published in a 
single volume -can not fail, we think, to 
produce the effect so earnestly desired by 
their authors. In time will come a recog- 
nition of the Petrine Claims, which, by 
the way, are ably set forth in a little book 
just published by the English Catholic 
Truth Society. It is from the pen of a 
convert and is especially intended for 
the enlightenment and instruction of non- 
Catholic Christians. It should have a 
wide circulation wherever our language 
is spoken. 



Notes and Remarks. 

The mortuary statistics of the United 
vStates for the year 1916 are not calculated 
to superinduce optimistic expectations as 
to the speedy arrival of the millennium, 
but they are none the less both interesting 
and suggestive. One gratifying fact is 
that the number of lynchings was only 
fifty-eight as compared with ninety-eight 
in the preceding year. Another fact, 
the reverse of gratifying, is that, while 
the homicides for the year numbered 
9850, the legal executions numbered only 
115. The disproportion between these 
figures constitutes a graphic illustration 
of one of the weak points in our legal 
system, the utter inadequacy of our 
criminal laws, either in themselves or in 
their administration. Still another Madden- 
ing fact is that the crime of self-murder 
is increasing throughout the country. 
There were 14,965 suicides in 1916, as 
compared with 14,180 in the previous 
twelvemonth. Tabulated statements seem 
to indicate that ill health is becoming a 
rapidly growing factor among the various 
causes assigned for suicide. It is obvious 
to comment that spiritual ill health, a 
lack of definite religious belief and practice, 
is the root-cause of nine-tenths of all 
self-murders; and it ought to be obvious 
to even the most prejudiced partisans of 
the public school system that lack of 
religious training in youth is one of the 
greatest evils of American life. 

Considering how widely acts of bravery 
on the part of men at arms are published, 
the Rev. Ignatius O'Gorman, S. J., holds 
that the heights of holiness attained by so 
many others whose ears are now forever 
closed to sounds of earthly strife should 
not go unmentioned. In a sermon preached 
after a Requiem Mass for Lieut. Cecil 
Wegg-Prosser, who was killed while 
leading his men in an attack on a trench 
of the enemy, he declared that the thoughts 
and actions of this brave young officer 
were so constantly guided by religion as 

to render him a splendid example to his 
countrymen. How strong was his faith 
and how fervent his piety is shown by 
some brief extracts from home letters, 
which the preacher quoted: "The greatest 
consolation I find is religion; it has 
enabled me to bear with strength much 
that I could not have endured other- 
wise. ... I managed to get a Padre this 
morning and went to confession. ... If I 
come through, all right; if I am wounded, 
I shall be home again; if the worst comes 
to the worst, I am quite reconciled that 
this world is only a preparation for a 
better. We are all in the hands of the 
one Almighty, and He knows far better 
than we do what is best for us. This is 
the greatest consolation we have, since 
it applies to everything that befalls us. 
Reconciliation to the divine will is the 
greatest thing we can achieve." 

And in every army .doubtless there are 
thousands of others who put duty to God 
in the foremost place, and prepare them- 
selves for any sacrifice that He may exact 
from them. 

A recently published pamphlet relative 
to the seventh centenary of the Friars 
Preachers contains, besides two interesting 
letters from the Master-General of the 
Order, a remarkable communication from 
Benedict XV., glowing with affection for 
the sons of St. Dominic. We reproduce a 
paragraph in which reference is made to a 
saint of the Order who was a near relative 
of his Holiness: 

"At the congress of Dominican Ter- 
tiaries held at Florence three years ago, at 
which we and many other bishops were 
present, it was decided, with our entire 
approval and advice, that another con- 
gress of the same kind, but of far greater 
solemnity, should be held at Bologna 
during the solemn festivities that were 
shortly to be observed in memory of the 
seventh centenary of the confirmation of 
the Dominican Order. Little did we then 
suspect what the decrees of God had in 
store for our unworthiness, and what He 



was so soon to bestow upon us ; but certain 
personal and special reasons seemed to 
prompt us to honor the Institute and 
the memory of the most holy patriarch 
St. Dominic, since we were, so to speak, the 
defenders and guardians of his sacred 
ashes; and since, moreover, we venerate 
among those of Dominic's sons who have 
been raised to the altars of the Church a 
member of our own family. But now, 
since by the will of God it happens that 
at the approach of this centenary we find 
ourselves no longer in the Seat of St. 
Petronius, but in the very Chair of the 
Prince of the Apostles, therefore is it 
seemly that we should take into account 
the enduring benefits in behalf of the 
Church due to the Dominican Order 
rat-her than any private ties of our own, 
and that we should give some singular 
proof of apostolic charity towards this illus- 
trious Order." 

* ^ ^. . . 

A beautiful picture of married life is 
presented in the recently published biog- 
raphy of the great English astronomer, Sir 
David Gill, by George Forbes, F. R. S. 
His devoted wife shared his sacrifices and 
anxieties from the first, and accompanied 
him in his arduous expedition to Ascension 
in 1877. The success achieved there was 
largely due to her practical assistance and 
unfailing sympathy. Congratulating Gill 
on what he had accomplished in the 
face of so many obstacles, the president 
of the Royal Astronomical Society wrote: 
'The real merit of success is not wholly 
yours. There is somebody else who has 
a claim, that courageous and enthu- 
siastic lady who, just at the moment of 
greatest difficulty and anxiety, filled your 
tent with sunshine and your heart with 
fresh courage.' 

The Church Progress, of St. Louis, 
commenting on the reported benefaction 
made by Mr. Charles M. Schwab to St. 
Francis' College, Loretto, Pa., remarks: 
"We trust the unusual gift isn't prompted 
entirely by sentiment, but that it has 
behind it a keen appreciation of the impor- 

tance of Catholic higher education, and 
that it ambitions the breaking of the 
indifference which Catholic wealth has 
shown towards Catholic educational insti- 
tutions. If it in anywise attracts a greater 
loyalty in this particular it will have 
worked results beyond computing. Let 
us hope it is the dawning of a new era 
for Catholic education in this country, 
and that before many years have passed 
large endowments for such purpose will 
be not an extraordinary but an ordinary 

And this last hope is one which should 
be echoed by all forces which mould 
Catholic opinion!, including the school 
itself, from the lowest form of education 
to the highest. 

While the average Catholic may find it 
difficult to imagine that any considerable 
number of the anti- Catholic fanatics of 
our day and country are in good faith, 
actually believing what they profess to 
believe about our doctrines and practices, 
some of them are doubtless as sincere as 
was a former member of the A. P. A., Mr. 
G. P. Bemis. This gentleman some years 
ago ran for the office of mayor in Omaha 
on an A. P. A. ticket and was elected. 
The sincerity of his belief probably helped 
to earn for him the grace of faith, 'for he 
subsequently became a Catholic, and 
died the other day as a son of the true 
Church. We trust the Guardians of Liberty 
and similar societies have many members 
as sincere as was Mr. Bemis, though we 
can not help doubting it. 

The figures given out at the Protestant 
Foreign Missions Conference just held in 
Garden City, Long Island, are calculated 
to impress Catholics with the generosity 
of their separated brethren. Protestants 
of this country gave to their foreign mis- 
sions last year more than nineteen and a 
quarter million dollars, an increase of 
more than two millions over the contribu- 
tions made in 1915. Ten years ago only 
about eight millions were contributed to 



these missions, so that in a decade the 
increase has been one hundred and fifty 
per cent. If American Catholics are to 
accomplish their full duty towards our 
own missionaries on the foreign field, 
their- generosity must increase in a still 
greater ratio. The prosperity and "good 
times" of which our people not less than 
others are the beneficiaries nowadays, 
should assuredly react on the necessitous 
Fathers and Brothers and Sisters who are 
striving heroically to evangelize the 
heathen in distant regions. Whether .or 
not the European war is accountable for 
all or any of our prosperity, it is certainly 
the cause of a marked dearth of men and 
money for our foreign missions; and the 
increased activity of the sects, as evi- 
denced by the figures quoted above, should 
prove an incentive to all American Catho-, 
lies to give of their abundance, if not of 
their necessity, to a cause so sacred and 
so dear to the visible, as well as the Invisi- 
ble, Head of the Church. 

We have been reading of late a number 
of papers by a score or more of prominent 
Americans interested in the League to 
Enforce Peace. Their idea is that, at the 
conclusion of the present European con- 
flict, the nations of the world should 
organize so as to prevent any occurrence 
of wars. With full sympathy for the 
object of their endeavors, we have not, 
however, been very strongly impressed with 
the means proposed wherewith to accom- 
plish that object. None of the advocates 
of the desired perpetual peace emphasizes 
one point that can not but suggest itself 
to philosophic students. That point was 
well presented the other day by a priest 
in England, the Very Rev. Dr. McCabe. 
In the course of a sermon he said: 

Character more than ability is the want of 
our time. The union that is begotten by 
Christianity, the union of faith and the union 
of charity, can alone give the deathblow to the 
monster of militarism and afford a solid basis to 
international legislation. The machinery of the 
world must be fashioned anew in the mould of the 
Gospel, its lessons are for every age and adapted 

to all the stages of progress. "Ecce Homo" 
presents us with a picture for all time. Perfecti- 
bility is a dream if not framed on its model; 
the world will contain only tyrants and slaves, 
the concert of Powers and equilibrium of nations 
will be castles in the air, and material prosperity 
will spell in due time only ruin and decay. The 
Kingdom of God must exercise its influence on 
the thoughts and the actions of men. Then 
the mournings of the desolate will be silenced in 
the land, high principles will check the ebulli- 
tions of passion, all treaties and pledges will be 
honored as sacred, our deeds will be the faithful 
echoes ef our professions; and an era of peace 
and universal brotherhood will be the portion 
and inheritance of all the nations of the earth. 

The best service to peace that any man 
or body of men can render is to promote 
among his fellows true religious convic- 
tions that are translated into upright 
dealings among individuals, and groups of 
individuals, or nations. 

Accounting for the expensiveness of a 
day devoted to showing two acquaint- 
ances about town, a Chicago broker 
declared : ' ' One of the two was a Scotch- 
man, and the other didn't spend anything, 
either." The gibe at the parsimony of the 
canny Scot is perhaps unmerited; but it 
is traditional, and traditions admittedly 
die hard. There is nothing niggardly, 
however, about the Scotch Presbyterian 
when the interest of his sect, or the dis- 
advantage of Catholicism, is concerned. 
Scotland recently sent to Protestant 
proselytizers in Rome- $40,000, for the 
"conversion of the benighted Italians." In 
view of this notable generosity, allowance 
must be made for the failure of the same 
country to contribute to the fund for the 
starving Poles anything like an equal sum. 
Bigotry prompted the forty thousand; 
charity could extort only two thousand 
from the Land o' Cakes. 

We have so often expressed our appre- 
ciation of the Knights of Columbus, and 
given praise to so many of their activities, 
that we feel emboldened to proffer them 
a suggestion which might otherwise savor 
of unfriendly criticism. The suggestion 



is that, in addition to securing capable 
lecturers . for the instruction and enter- 
tainment of their fellow-Catholics, the 
Knights themselves should set these 
Catholics a good example by attending 
the lectures. In more than two or three 
of our exchanges in recent weeks we have 
noted censorious comments on the failure 
of the members of this or that' Council to 
be present in reasonably large numbers at 
public meetings where genuinely worth- 
while orators, secured by the Councils 
themselves, were to speak. This is 
obviously not as it should be. In the first 
place, it is a poor compliment to the 
speakers; and, in the second, it connotes 
on the part of the absent Knights a dis- 
regard for any other than frivolous 
amusements. It is well to provide in- 
structive and elevating lectures for one's 
coreligionists; but, if such lectures are 
good for others, they should be good 
enough for ourselves. 

Father Peter Bandini is dead, and there 
is general sorrow, mingled with joy, in 
Tontitown, grief for the passing of this 
great and good man, true priest and loving 
father; rejoicing that, his labors ended, he 
has gone to such a reward as must be in 
store for him. Father Bandini's fame was 
not limited to the little Arkansas town 
which he founded and fathered: he was 
known from one end of the country to the 
other for the wonderful success of a 
colonizing venture which made true and 
helpful American citizens of a whole sec- 
tion of Italian immigrants, and left them 
at the same time in possession of the best 
traditions and qualities of their race. 
Father Bandini would have been a striking 
personality had he never been a priest, 
but his priesthood was his great power. 
He lived in the atmosphere of the super- 
natural even when he was working out the 
most practical of material problems. Above' 
all, he was a father to his people, and as 
such he is mourned. He did much to 
point the way to a solution of the problem 
of Italian immigration, and did a work 

himself whose effects will be lasting. Offi- 
cials of Church and State have paid noble 
tributes to his personal worth and the 
value of his achievements. A man of 
God and a friend of man, may his soul 
rest in peace ! 

Although much of what is predicted as 
to changed social and industrial condi- 
tions in Transatlantic countries after the 
war is purely conjectural, some of the 
changes appear almost inevitable. In 
England, for instance, it is practically 
certain that there will be a new departure 
in the matter of land reform. Even now 
the big game-preserves have been abol- 
ished, and vast areas hitherto held as 
private pleasure-grounds have been opened 
up to agriculture; and it seems altogether 
probable that when the men in the 
trenches return to their homes, farmer 
ownership will largely replace the present 
system of great estates in the hands of a 
few. The British soldier in the present 
war has learned in France that a man 
and his family can manage a small farm 
for themselves and live well on it; and 
he is going to have something to say 
about the comparative merits of the land- 
lord system and peasant proprietorship. 
In fact, one by-product of the war is a 
back-to-the-land movement. 

"It is still just as much a violation of the law 
to use profane or obscene language in public as 
to steal a man's overcoat." This was the reply 
received by a citizen who, noting the frequent 
use of profane language on the streets and in 
other public places, asked a legal authority if 
there was now no law against the evil prac- 
tice. Sacred Heart Review. 

We know of one active Holy Name 
Society which has had reprinted for 
general distribution the State Statute on 
the use of foul and profane language. The 
statute was something of a dead letter till 
this body reminded officials of its existence 
and assisted them to put it in force. We 
need more activity of this sort, which 
will mould a strong public opinion against 
so detestable an abuse. 

The "Our Father" in Rhyme. 

BY R. K. 

kind, we bless Thy name: 
^ May all creatures do the same! 
Reign in us as on a throne, 
And our hearts he all Thine own. 
Here on earth Thy will be done 
As by angels: everyone 
Uncomplaining like Thy Son. 

Give to us this day our bread; 
May our souls on Christ be fed! 
Pardon us and bid us live, 
As each other we forgive. 
Keep temptation's wiles away, 
Nor toward evil let us stray, 
But be ready watch and pray. 

Con of Misty Mountain. 



PATHER PHIL had come upon the 
scene none too soon: boy and dog 
were in a dangerous mood for honest 
Tim. Con's eyes were blazing, and Dick 
growling ominously in his young master's 

"The boy is right, quite right, Tim," 
Father Phil said, laying a friendly hand on 
Con's shoulder. "I did tell him to come 
and bring me greens for our Christmas 
altar. And, oh, how beautiful they are, 
Con! And how much you have brought!" 

"I had to load up Dick, too," replied 
Con. "Couldn't kerry nothing wuth 
bringing myself. Been clar up to Eagle 
Rock, and down to Injun Creek and 
Snake Hollow. They was growing thick 
and fine thar. Skeered up a wild-cat, 
though, that made a jump for me." 

"A wild-cat!" echoed Father Phil, in 

"Oh, he didn't hurt me!" went on Con, 
cheerfully. "I dodged, and Dick did fur 
him. Dick can do up any wild-cat that 
was ever made. Where shall we drop 
these here greens, Mister? The Irisher 
won't let us in." 

And again Father Phil was conscious of 
the warm stir in his heart as he looked at 
the boy and dog, Con's yellow locks and 
ragged cap framed in verdant leaf and 
vine that he bore on back and shoulders; 
while the huge, tawny Dick was skilfully 
saddled with a burden of living green; 
brute and boy alike ignorant of whom 
they were serving, -to whose divine feet 
they were bringing their Christmas offering, 
gathered on ways of pain and peril from 
which His happier children would shrink. 

And then a sudden resolve came to 
Father Phil. 

"Unload your dog and send him home 
(of course he knows the 'way), and you 
my boy stay here and help me." 

"Help you, Mister!" echoed Con. 

"Yes: you have brought me more 
greens than Tim (who has a lame leg) or 
I can handle. I want a strong, active 
fellow that can climb and lift and put 
them in place. I'll show you how to do it. 
But first have you had your dinner?" 

"Yes," answered Con. "Dick brought 
in a pair of rabbits this morning. Mother 
Moll had them cooked when I got home, 
so I didn't have to wait fur traps. I'd 
like to stay and help you, Mister, sure." 
And there was a light of interest in the 
blue eyes, that told Father Phil his morn- 
ing talk with Con had not been in vain. 
"I'll unload Dick, fur he ain't safe ter 
fool with." (Dick's master cast a flashing 
look at Tim Slevin.) "And I'll send him 
home and stay here with you." 

"Arrah, Father dear," remonstrated 
Tim, while Con was busy disposing of 
Dick and his burden. "D'ye know what 



sort of a young rapscallion this boy is 
ye're taking in?" 

"One of those Our Lord came on earth 
on Christmas night to save, Tim," was 
the answer. 

"Av course, yer riverence, av course!" 
assented Tim, reluctantly. "But it's an 
out-and-out young divil Mountain Con 
is, as everybody knows. I'm thinking 
there will be quare talk if he is seen about 
here, Father; fur he is as like to fire the 
place as not. And there's them that say 
(God between us and harrum!) that old 
Mother Moll is a witch outright and 
has taught the lad more than a natural 
boy should know. Did ye hear him tell 
about the wild-cat? There isn't another 
craythur on the mountain that would dare 
go where he has been this day." 

"Poor boy!" said Father Phil, pity- 
ingly, "poor, bold, fearless, friendless 
Con! I am surprised at you, Tim. I 
thought you were a better Catholic, not 
to say a better Christian, than to listen to 
these ridiculous stories about witches and 
spells. There is sore need of instruction 
on Misty Mountain, as I can plainly see. 
Poor Con is no little devil, but a child of 
God as much as you or I. He has brought 
his Christmas offering to the altar; and 
he shall help us to place it there, let the 
gossips say what they will." 

Tim accepted the rebuke with due 
submission; for his "riverence," though 
young, was "knowledgeable" beyond 
Misty Mountain's wisdom, as all the 
dwellers round about who had heard of 
his studies and travels agreed. 

So Con was let in, and a strong and 
sturdy helper he proved. Perhaps it was 
because he had lived so close to Nature, 
and knew her ways and means, that he 
arranged his Christmas greens about walls 
and windows with an artistic touch that 
startled Father Phil. The log cabin was 
but a rough shelter for its Christmas 
King, the rude walls unplaned and un- 
plastered, the pointed rooftrees still wear- 
ing their rugged bark. Mountain Con would 
have been at a loss among fluted pillars 

and frescoed walls, but here he was at 
home. He knew how Mother Nature 
curtained and veiled and draped rough 
nooks like this; and he proceeded to 
imitate her, flinging trailing greenery here, 
massing feathery cedars there, lighting 
up the dark places with the glow of the 
scarlet berries, while he climbed and 
swung upon roof and rafter, as Tim Slevin, 
watching him breathlessly, declared again 
no "natural boy" would or could. 

At last it was done, and the rustic 
sanctuary was a bower of living green. 
With a flying leap from the pointed roof 
where he had adjusted his last pennant of 
glossy crowfoot, 'Con landed at Father 
Phil's feet. 

"Fine!" said the young priest, warmly. 
"You have made our little chapel beauti- 
ful, Con. There's not another boy on the 
mountain could have done so well." 

"I guess they couldn't," said Con, 
surveying his work with satisfaction. ' ' You 
see they hevn't watched how green things 
grow. That ar table ought to hev summat 
on it, too," he added, glancing at the 
impromptu altar, that, though arched and 
bowered with green, was as yet bare 
of all its furnishings. "It ought to hev 
moss on it like a rock. I kin get yer some, 
if you want it, Mister." 

"No: thank you all the same, Con, 
moss won't do," said Father Phil, gently. 
"A good woman and my little sister will 
fix the altar. Here they are coming now!" 

"Kin I stay and watch them?" asked 
the boy, eagerly. 

"Certainly," answered Father Phil. 
"Stay as long as you please. And I would 
like to have you here to-night, too. Can 
you come?" 

"Dunno," said Con, his face clouding. 
"If all them other boys are here, there'll 
be a fight sure." 

"Oh, no, no! I promise you there will 
not," was the quick answer, "not on 
Christmas night, Con. The boys will all 
be good, I'm sure." 

"I ain't a-trusting them," said Con, 
shaking his yellow head; "and I ain't 


trusting myself nuther. I don't stand fur 
no monkey jabbering, and I ain't furgot 
that stone in the snowball to-day. 
Wouldn't want to stir up no trouble for 
you, Mister; so I best keep away. I'll 
jest set here, if you don't mind, and watch 
how they're going to fix this table; and 
thin I'll go." 

"All right, then!" said Father Phil, 
who had a busy afternoon and evening 
before him; for there were confessions to 
hear in the little shack without. "I'm* 
sorry, Con. Let me give you a little 
Christmas present for all your trouble." 

He took out his pocketbook, but the 
boy's cheek flamed with sudden red. 

"No, Mister," he said, "I don't want 
no money! I wouldn't a-got all them 
'ere greens fur money: I got 'em 'cause 
you was nice and kind, and stood by me 
agin all them boys up thar; and talked 
to me like I was real folks, and not jest 
Mountain Con. I wouldn't like you to 
spile all that by paying me money, Mister." 

"I won't, then," answered Father Phil, 
as, almost ashamed of his offer, he replaced 
his pocketbook. "I'll only say thank you, 
my boy, and God bless you for what you 
have done ! And if you would like to have 
another talk, I'll come up to the mountain 
to-morrow afternoon. Be at the hollow 
where we met to-day about four o'clock, 
and we'll talk again." 

"Will you?" said Con, his face bright- 
ening wonderfully. "I'll be there, Mister, 

Then Father Phil was gone; and Con, 
watching, half hidden under his towering 
greens, could hear his cheery greeting to 
the newcomers outside. 

"Nora, Kathie, Susie why, this is 
great! Linens, laces, candlesticks! Good 
gracious! Aunt Aline must have opened 
her store closets, indeed!" 

"Sure she has, your riverence," an- 
swered Nora's rich Irish tones. "It was 
Miss Susie here that did it. She wouldn't 
stand for the plain tablecloths and the 
plated candlesticks you bade me bring. 
She said there was nothing too good for 

the holy altar, which is God's truth, as 
we all know. And so Miss Susie went 
crying to her aunt, and said that the poor 
things I had wouldn't do at all, at all 

"And they wouldn't, brother Phil," 
broke in a little voice that was like the 
twitter of a snow bird in Con's ear, 
M not when Aunt Aline has a whole closet 
of beautiful things she is keeping for me. 
I just told her what a Midnight Mass was, 
and how nothing could be too grand or 
great for it; and how the convent chapel 
looked, all shining with gold and silver. 
And Aunt Aline cried because I talked 
so much like my dear dead mamma, 
and said she couldn't refuse Susie's chil- 
dren anything, and I could do just as I 

"Good!" laughed Father Phil. "It is 
easily seen who is going to be mistress of 
the Manse this Christmas. Even the 
white hyacinths that dear Aunt Aline has 
been coaxing into winter bloom 

"I didn't ask for them," interrupted 
Susie, softly. "Aunt Aline offered them 
herself to remember mamma, brother 
Phil. Oh, we'll have a lovely Christmas 
altar, as lovely as even Sister Mary 
Margaret's that I helped to fix before I 
came away!" 

"Go ahead, then, little girl, and do 
your convent best!" said Father Phil.. 

And then Con fairly held his breath in 
surprise at the group that came in sight, 
Nora and Kathie, Aunt Aline's strong- 
armed Irish maids, laden with household 
treasures: Persian rugs, embroidered 
linen, silver candlesticks; while behind 
them, her hands filled with white hyacinths, 
was the loveliest little figure that Con had 
ever seen. She was wrapped and capped 
in soft brown furs, like the friendly little 
creatures of the rocks and ridges; but the 
fair, sweet face, half veiled in fluffy golden 
hair, was something that neither moun- 
tain nor cliff nor valley, nor even the stars 
and the moon, which were the wonders of 
Con's world, could show. Con had no 
great liking for little girls in general. 
They called him names and made faces 



at him, and wore ugly little hoods and 
were not nice at all. In fact, he often fired 
a couple of soft snowballs, to express his 
disapproval of them as they passed. 
But this this must be one of the 
fairies that figured remotely in Mother 
Moll's stories of witches and spells. 
Watching under his greens, Con stared 
breathlessly as she stepped forward into 
the log cabin, and then stood transfixed 
with delight. 

"O Nora, Nora, how lovely it is, 
how perfectly lovely! I/ook at all those 
beautiful vines and berries! I never saw 
such a lovely Christmas sanctuary before. 
It is prettier even than St. Joseph's. The 
greens reach to the very tiptop of the 
roof. How could brother Phil put them 
up there?" 

"Sure he didn't, Miss," answered old 
Tim, who stood much impressed by this 
new arrival. "No mortal man could. It 
was that b'y beyant, that can climb like 
a cat." 

And then the fairy vision turned and 
faced Con, faced him with a radiant 
light in her eyes, a radiant smile on her 

"Oh, how did you do it?" she asked. 
"How did you make this old rough place 
so beautiful, just like it was summer time 
again, and everything was growing fresh 
and green? Oh, you nice, good boy, to make 
our Christmas chapel look like this!" 

"I I ain't no nice, good boy, Missy," 
was the blurted answer. "I'm I'm jest 
Mountain Con. The Mister that is bossing 
here said he wanted some vines and greens 
and things, and I I got 'em for him, 
and twisted 'em up whar he told me. It 
do look pfetty, fur sure" Con surveyed 
his work with honest approval, "most as 
pretty as Misty Mountain hollows in the 
spring. And thar ain't no rattlers to 
strike you here. You hev to look out for 
rattlers when the mountain hollows get 
green as this." 

"Snakes you mean," said Susie, her 
soft eyes widening. 

"Yes," answered Con, "wust kind. 

Me and Dick killed one last summer with 
six rattles. I got 'em home now." 

"Goodness!" gasped Miss Susie, in 
breathless interest. "Who is Dick? Your 

"No: he's heap s better than a brother. 
Dick's my dog." 

"Oh!" And little convent Susie experi- 
enced another shock. "A dog can't be 
better than a brother!" 

"Dunno," answered Con. -"Ain't got 
no brothers or sisters, so I can't tell." 

"But you've got a mother and father," 
said Susie, in soft-voiced sympathy. 

" Naw!" replied Con, shaking his yellow 
head. "Ain't got 'nothing or nobody 
except Uncle Bill and Mother Moll; and 
they they jest tuk me in." 

"Miss Susie," Nora broke in anxiously 
upon this interesting conversation. "We'll 
be fixing the altar now, as your brother 
wants. Arrah, darlint," Nora sank her 
voice to a whisper as Susie reached her 
side, "don't ye be noticing the likes of 
him! It's one of thim Buzzards from the 
Roost above he is, and not fit to look into 
yer pretty face." 

"O Nora, but see how beautifully he 
fixed everything for brother Phil! He 
likes him, I am sure; and I I don't care 
if he is a Buzzard, I like him, too." 

"Whisht now, whisht!" reproved 
Nora. "Your brother is a holy priest 
and must like as the Lord wills. But 
ye're a little lady, Miss, and must keep 
to yer own. Come now! We'll be fixing 
the altar wid all the fine things we've 
brought for the Holy Mass to-night; for 
the days are short, and we haven't too 
much' time." 

And the little sacristan of St. Joseph's 
was soon so busy with her beautiful work 
that the wild boy of the mountain was for 
the moment forgotten. 

(To be continued.) 

A LAZY young fellow getting up late 
one morning complained that the bed was 
too short. "Ah!" said his father, "that is 
because you lie too long in it." 



A Moslem's Wit and Wisdom. 

SLOWLY, more slowly," is the motto 
of the Orientals, and they are slow 
enough whenever a joke is concerned. 
Yet these far-off people have a certain 
quaint way of telling a story, which often 
comes near to being positively funny. 
Usually their jokes concern a mysterious 
character named Nasred din-Hoja. 

The Hoja, as he is called, seems to have 
been some sort of a Moslem preacher, and 
much of his wit and wisdom was set forth 
in discourses delivered to the faithful 
of Islam. "Just dig a well," he is reported 
as saying, "then turn it inside out, and 
behold a minaret!" 

One day, it is told, he majestically 
ascended his pulpit. "Have you any idea, 
true believers," he began, "what I have 
in my mind to say to you?" 

"No," they answered. 

"Then what is the use of speaking to 
you at all?" he asked, getting down and 
walking away. 

A second time he appeared in the accus- 
tomed place. "Dear and true believers," 
he inquired as before, "have you any idea 
of the truths which I shall set before you? " 

Warned by their former experience, they 
cried: "Yes! yes!" 

"Then," he retorted, "as I am rather 
busy to-day, I will not stop to tell you 
that of which you are already aware." 
And marched off home again. 

The congregation thereupon consulted 
with one another. When the Hoja asked 
them this ridiculous question again, he 
would be met with wit as keen as his own. 
In due time he arose in the mosque to 
address them. 

"My friends," he said, as twice before, 
"do you know what I am going to say to 
you to-day?" 

"Some of us do, and others do not," 
came the answer from every side. 

Then the Hoja, leaving his people looking 
at one another in consternation, gathered 
his robes about him and started away. 

"Come back!" they called. 

"Oh, no!" came the voice of the un- 
daunted little man. "There is no use. Let 
those of you who know tell those who do 
not know." 

One day one of his neighbors went to 
him with a request. 

"I am needing a donkey very much. 
May I borrow yours?" 

"I have no donkey, dear friend." 

The neighbor looked in amazement at 
the Hoja, who only smiled graciously. 

" But you surely have a donkey? I have 
seen it many times." 

At that moment, as if to lend force to 
the neighbor's words, a donkey, that was 
grazing near by, set up a loud braying. 

"There!" said the man; "I hear him!" 

"Friend," answered the Hoja, "I am 
surprised at you. Has my life among you 
led you to distrust me thus? Have you 
so little confidence in me as to believe a 
donkey's bray in preference to my words? 
See and remember well how prone man is 
to discredit his neighbor?" 

The neighbor sighed, and went and 
borrowed a donkey elsewhere. 

The Duke and the Toad. 

The Duke of Wellington, although so 
resolute in character as to gain for himself 
the title of the Iron Duke, was no less 
remarkable for kindness towards children 
and animals. He never failed to show 
it. He once found a little boy weeping, 
and asked the cause of his grief. "Why, 
you see," explained the child between his 
sobs, "they are going to send me away to 
school, and there will be no one to take 
care of my pet toad, 'cause he isn't 
pretty." "I will look after -yeur toad," 
promised the Duke; ."and, more than 
that, I will write to you once in a while 
and tell you how he is getting on." 

So every morning the conqueror of 
Napoleon fed the little boy's pet, and 
several letters went from him to his young 
friend, to say that the toad was doing 
well, and was as happy as a toad could 
possibly be away from his master. 



D. Appleton & Co. announce for immediate 
.publication "Great Inspirers," a new book by 
the Rev. John A. Zahm, C. S. C. It affords pen 
pictures of St. Jerome and Dante, and shows 
how their achievements were promoted by 
noble women friends. 

An excellent little play for presentation in 
boys' schools is "The Boy Martyr of the Blessed 
Sacrament," a drama of the Catacombs in four 
acts, by Mr. Charles Phillips. It is published, 
with a musical supplement, by St. Francis' 
School, Watson ville, Cal. 

"A Short History of the Mission of Our 
Lady of Loretto for Italians on the Lower East 
Side" (New York) by "Some of the Boys," 
commemorates the silver jubilee of that founda- 
tion, and tells an interesting story of effective 
settlement work. The Mission is amply justified 
by the fruits already produced. 

Charles B. Towns, of New York, has written 
and published a very interesting pamphlet 
entitled "Federal Responsibility in the Solution 
of the Habit-Forming Drug Problem." Congress- 
men and others interested in legislation on this 
practical subject will find much in Mr. Towns' 
pages to give them serious thought. 

A pamphlet entitled "A Benedictine Priory 
in the United States," gives a brief summary of 
the history of the Order of St. Benedict, a 
detailed account of Downside Abbey, England, 
and a short statement regarding the foundation 
of a branch community in the United States. 
Persons interested in this new establishment 
are referred to Miss E. R. Wilson, New Brighton, 
Staten Island, N. Y. 

The "Life and Letters of Rev. Mother 
Teresa Dease," (Toronto: McClelland, Good- 
child & Stewart) is a charming biography of the 
foundress and superior general of the Institute 
of the Blessed Virgin Mary in America (Ladies 
of Loretto). Born in Ireland in 1820, Mother 
Teresa was one of five religious who, in 1847, 
went to Toronto at the request of Bishop 
"Power, to take up the educational work which 
she and her associates prosecuted so success- 
fully until her death in 1889, and which is still 
flourishing in a number of Canadian dioceses, 
as well as in the archdiocese of Chicago. This 
Life, edited by a- member of the Community, 
is not merely a narrative of a saintly and gifted 
religious, but a historical document of singular 
interest to Canadians. Because of its charac- 
ter as history, several inaccuracies should be 
corrected in a second edition. On page 231, for 

instance, mention is made of "Archbishop 
Sweeney of Halifax." There was never an 
Archbishop of Halifax of that name: the refer- 
ence must be to either Archbishop O'Brien of 
Halifax, or Bishop Sweeney of St. John, N. B. 
The book bears the imprimatur of Archbishop 
McNeil. No price is mentioned. 

An admirable treatise on a subject of uni- 
versal interest is " Beauty, " by Father A. Rother, 
S. J., professor of philosophy in St. Louis Uni- 
versity (B. Herder). A slender twelvemo of 
only 137 pages, it is nevertheless of genuine 
value and adequacy. The author follows the 
example of such masters as Aristotle, Cicero, 
St. Augustine, and St. Thomas, and proceeds from 
what is obvious to what is less evident and more 
scientific. His plan-of putting the main thoughts 
in the form of theses contributes not a little to 
the lucidity of his exposition. The chapters 
on beauty in relation to God, the standard of 
taste, and various false systems of beauty, are 
especially valuable. 

While few twentieth-century readers can 
truthfully say, with Rogers, "when a new book 
conies out I read an old one," a good many can 
thoroughly appreciate the spirit that prompted 
the remark. A still larger number perhaps turn 
with eagerness from the problem-novels and 
"smart-set" narratives of the up-to-date fiction - 
ists to luxuriate in an oldtime historical romance, 
full of stirring adventure, heroic friendships, 
sane loves, and the whole gamut of human 
emotions. One of the new books published by 
Kenedy & Sons is just such a romance, 
"Gerald de Lacey's Daughter," by Anna T. 
Sadlier. As a good, strong Catholic story, full 
of dramatic action, and of sustained interest 
throughout its generous length (473 pages), 
the book merits high praise and should prove 
popular with novel-readers, especially Catholic 
ones. It is a tale of the American Colonies 
during the period immediately following the 
accession of William of Orange to the English 
throne; and the author has been eminently 
successful in reproducing the customs, language, 
and local color of that bygone day. The heroine 
is a charming girl and a lovable one who wins 
through all her trials even her trial for witch- 
craft and reaches the goal that satisfies the 
desires of all readers. We congratulate author 
and publisher on this worth-while addition to 
Catholic fiction. 

A book that should find an eager welcome 
in every Catholic seminary, university, college, 
academy, monastery, convent, and home in 


this, and every other, English-speaking country 
is "The Holiness of the Church in the Nineteenth 
Century: Saintly Men and Women of Our 
Own Times," from the German of the Rev. 
Constantine Kempf, S. J., by the Rev. Francis 
Breymann, S. J. ' (Benziger Brothers.) While 
the author puts forward no claim of presenting 
new material, he has done, and done extremely 
well, a work eminently worth while, and one that 
entitles him to th'e gratitude of the faithful 
everywhere. The volume is a veritable treasure 
trove of human gems of multiform color and 
brilliancy, life-sketches that show forth the 
wondrous variety and ineffable charm of sanctity 
in a thousand and one different manifestations. 
The chief sources for the subjects presented in 
the volume have been the catalogues published 
by the Sacred Congregation of Rites in 1901 
and 1907, catalogues setting forth all the proc- 
esses (for beatification and canonization) then 
in progress before the Congregation. An idea 
of the wealth of material contained in the book 
may be formed from the statement that the list 
of holy personages presented comprises one 
Pope (Pius IX.), ten bishops, nineteen secular 
priests, fifty-four religious priests, forty-one 
nuns, seventeen lay persons, and fifty individual 
martyrs, exclusive of martyred groups. The 
volume contains a copious bibliography and a 
good index. 

The Latest Books. 
A Guide to Good Reading. 

The object of this list is to afford information 
concerning important new publications of special 
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will 
appear at the head, older ones being dropped out 
from time to time to make room for new titles. 
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new 
editions will not be indexed. 

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub- 
lishers. Foreign books not pn sale in the United 
States will be imported with as little delay as 
possible. There is no bookseller in this country 
who keeps a full supply of books published abroad. 
Publishers' prices generally include postage. 

"Beauty." Rev. A. Rother, S. J. 50 cts. 
"Gerald de Lacey's Daughter." Anna T. 

vSadlier. $1.35. 
"The Holiness of the Church in the Nineteenth 

Century." Rev. Constantine Kempf, S. J. 

"The Divine Master's Portrait." Rev. Joseph 

Degen. 50 cts. 

"Tommy Travers." Mary T. Waggaman. 75 cts. 
"Development of Personality." Brother Chrys- 

ostom, F. S. C. $1.25. 

"The Seminarian." Rev. Albert Rung. 75 cts. 
"The Fall of Man." Rev. M. V. McDonough. 

50 cts. 

"Saint Dominic and the Order of Preachers." 

75 cts.; paper covers, 35 cts. 
"The Growth of a Legend." Ferdinand van 

Langenhove. $1.25. 
"The Divinity of Christ." Rev. George Roche, 

S. J. 25 cts 
"Heaven Open to Souls," Rev. Henry Semple, 

S. J. $2.15. 
" Conferences for Young Women." Rev. Reynold 

Kuehnel. $1.50. 

"Songs of Wedlock." T. A. Daly. $i. 
"The Dead Musician and Other Poems." 

Charles L. O'Donnell, C. S. C. $i. 
"The Sulpicians in the United States." Charles 

Herbermann, L,!,. D. About $2.50. 
"Nights: Rome, Venice, in the ^Esthetic Eighties ; 

London, Paris, in the Fighting Nineties." 

Elizabeth Robins Pennell. About $2. 


Remember them that are in bands. HEB., xiii. 3. 

Rev. Thomas Gerrard, of the archdiocese of 
Westminster; Rt. Rev. John Kean, archdiocese 
of New York; Rev. Peter Bandini, diocese of 
Little Rock; and Rev. Edmund Charrier, S. M. 

Mother M. Agnes, of the Order of the Presen- 
tation; and Sister Irene Clare, Sisters of Charity. 

Mr. Thomas Church, Mr. B. M. Clemens, 
Mr. William Diamond, Mr. Louis Dennis, Mrs. 
Edward Murphy, Mr. John Morris, Mr. Michael 
O'Callahan, Mrs. Mary Murdock, Mrs. George 
Byrne, Mr. John Smith, Mr. L. J. Bocker, Mrs. 
Margaret G. Sherry, Mr. Richard Pennington, 
Mrs. M. C. Mulhall, Mr. T. M. Boles, Mrs. 
James Borland, Mr. John Lorway, Mr. Michael 
MacLellan, Miss Annie and Miss Mary Lee, Mr. 
Joseph Smith, Mr. Joseph Donovan, Mr. Michael 
Kennedy, Mr. R. J. Stevens, Miss Anna Curtin, 
Mr. Neil C. Flattery, Mr. Charles Gartland, 
Miss Anna McGrath, Mr. B. Holtmann, Mr. 
J. J. Howard, Mr. Timothy Hannon, Mrs. Ella 
-Hannon, Mr. Albert Kemp, Mrs. J. R. Masse, 
Mr. John Coates, and Mr. Nathaniel Udell. 

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

Our Contribution Box. 

" Thy Father, who seeth in secret, will repay thee." 
For the rescue of orphaned and abandoned 
children in China: W. H. S., $2; E. B., in 
behalf of the Souls in Purgatory, $8; Miss 
E. C., $i; Rev. J. T. D., $5; S. M. G., $i; 
M. E., $5- For the Foreign Missions: M. E. 
McK., $2. For the European war sufferers: 
C. H. M., $5. For the poor Mexicans: C. H. M., 


(Schola Art. Beuron.) 


VOL. V. (New Series.) 


NO. 4 

[Published every Saturday. Copyright, 1917: Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C.] 

The Paean. 

BY c. iv. O'D. 

"@ET us love God," I heard a robin say 
As he passe'd on sweeping wings; 

"Let us love God," the sun all day 
Its hymn of light sings. 

"Let us love God" from the grass dew-wet: 

The assenting trees nod; 
Shout the stars as they rise and set, 
"Let us love God!" 

Lourdes in War Time. 


T was a radiant autumn day when 
I set out from Pau on my pil- 
grimage to Lourdes, if to travel 
in a first-class carriage can be 
termed a pilgrimage. The nearer we 
approached to Lourdes, the more exquisite 
became the scenery. The sparkling Gave 
broke into cascades here and there, or 
flowed by in a dark stream, overshadowed 
by trees clad in all their glorious shades 
of brown and red, yellow, purple and 
green. And, overhanging all, the mountains 
loomed up, dark and mysterious at the 
base, gleaming silver at the summit. Then 
came Lourdes itself, with the sudden peep 
at the Grotto; then the old Castle, rugged 
and austere, -perched on the hill. Prisoners 
from Alsace-Lorraine are lodged there now ; 
but from below one sees no sign of them, 
in their picturesque but chilly eerie. 
I took a carriage at the "Gare," and 

told the driver to take me straight to the 
Basilica. We went through the forsaken 
streets of shops (every one of which 
exposes objets de piete for sale) at a smart 
pace, in spite of the hills. Here and, there 
a priest sauntered along, saying his Bre- 
viary; a woman or two stood at her shop 
door waiting for a stray customer, or a 
wounded soldier hobbled along on crutches. 
What a contrast to the thronged streets 
of former times! It is hard to believe that 
this is indeed Lourdes. 

Then the Basilica came in sight. On 
the left. towered the Chateau; and behind 
it the Pic du Gers, grey and glittering in 
the sunlight. 

"You've a good horse," I said to the 
driver, as I got out of the carriage. 

' ' Yes, Monsieur, you are right, although 
he's a reforme. He's been in a number of 
battles, on the Marne, and so on; then 
he got an eclat d'obns. v See there on -the 
left flank. You see the letter 'R' on the 

"Why is the wound so yellow?" 

"Ah ga? That is the tincture of iodine 
to keep it healthy and to help it to heal up. 
He's a good beast, and will live for many 
a long day." 

"And this is Lourdes to-day," I said 
to myself, as I looked round, a very 
different Lourdes from that of past years. 

An old priest paced up and down on 
the terrace in front of the Basilica; a 
peasant woman came out of the crypt; 
one or two soldiers sat on the benches in 
front of the Grotto, and a group stood 
drinking the water from the tin cups at 
the fountain. Soldiers in twos and threes, 



who had come down from the innumerable 
hospitals to pay their respects to the 
Immaculee, strolled about. 

All the convents from which the 
Government had expelled the nuns, and 
several hotels, have been turned into 
military hospitals; and the men are 
allowed, when sufficiently convalescent, to 
go to the Grotto, if they care to do so. Two 
poor fellows in wheel-chairs, which they 
were propelling themselves, .came along 
slowly. They will never walk again. Their 
faces were pale, attenuated, but lit up with 
a serene radiance. They had just been 
paying their devoirs to their Lady-Mother. 

Presently a group of khaki-clad men 
came along, Belgians en permission, who 
had taken advantage of the reduction in 
train fares for the military to come and 
visit the famous shrine*. I watched them 
as they came along, fine, sturdy, stalwart 
fellows, bronzed from exposure. They 
knelt down on the stones before the Grotto, 
made a big Sign of the Cross, and, after a 
long gaze at the statue, closed their eyes 
in prayer. Ten twenty minutes passed. 
I united myself to them in prayer, and 
entreated Our Lady to look down in 
pity on poor, ruined Belgium. Then 
out came their rosaries, and more than 
one of them extended his arms en 
croix, and remained motionless, while the 
beads slipped through his fingers. I 
counted sixty-four Belgian soldiers, who 
had come on leave all the way from the 
Yser, at the Grotto that day. 

Later on I tramped up the hill to the 
hospital of the Sceurs de 1'Esperance to 
see a friend of mine, an American, who 
has devoted his life for the past two years 
to working as an infirmier there. He took 
me round his ward, and pointed out the 
most interesting cases from a medical 
point of view. Here was a man from 
whose heart a great surgeon in Lourdes 
had extracted a large piece of shrapnel 
but a short time before. In a few weeks, 
the man told me, he expected to go back 
to the front. Another man with whom I 
chatted had received a bullet right through 

the forehead ; it had come out at the back 
of his head. In some miraculous way, it 
had skimmed over the brain; and, in 
spite of the hole, the man was as well as 
possible. Another cheerful patient told me 
that he had had thirty-six pieces of 
shrapnel taken out of his body, and he 
jubilantly produced the bits from a 
trouser pocket to show me. 

As we were leaving the ward, my friend 
pointed to a sad-faced man whose right 
arm had been amputated. 

"Do you see that poor chap? He's from 
the pays envahis, Lille. He had a letter 
from his wife yesterday, telling him that 
his sister, who had been deported to 
Germany in the beginning of the year, has 
just been sent back, owing to the remon- 
strances of Spain, mad, raving almost, 
with a baby at her breast. Poor fellow! 
He nearly went mad himself when he 
read the letter. 

I bade my friend farewell, and envied 
him for being able and willing to do some- 
thing to alleviate the lot of these poor 
fellows, heroes I should have said. One 
more word with Our Lady, one more 
glance round at the unfamiliar sparseness 
of worshippers, one more impression 
received of the brooding peace of the 
hallowed place, then farewell. 

I looked round at my travelling com- 
panions, while the train slowly glided out 
of the station, as we stood and waved a 
last salute to the Immaculee, two Belgian 
soldiers and a young French officer. I 
watched the two Belgians out of the corner 
of my eye as they sank back in their 
corner. One took out his rosary and, with 
a Sign of the Cross, began to tell his beads ; 
the other, opposite me, produced a small 
book from his pocket. "What is it?" A 
"Chemin de Croix." He read it through 
slowly, his lips moving. The third sat 
very still, gazing out of the window, till 
the others had finished their devotions; 
then we fell into conversation. 

"Where do you come from, Monsieur?" 
I asked of the young Frenchman in his 
smart, sky-blue uniform. 



"I, Monsieur? I come from a German 

"Comment? What do you mean?" 

" Et bien, I managed to escape with five 
others. Three poor diables were caught, 
but I and a copain managed to get into 
Holland. We hid by day and walked by 
night; and I've come to thank Our Lady, 
as I promised her I would, if I ever got 

"How long were you there?" 

'Six months." 
."Had a bad time?" 

"Pretty bad." 

"Well, here we are! Good-night to you 
all, and good luck! May you never fall 
into the enemy's hands again!" 

"Our Lady '11 see to that, never fear, 
Monsieur ! Adieu ! ' ' 

The Crest of the Bodkins. 



'TTT last! at last!" cried Arthur, 

/AJ taking Miss Nugent's hand, and 

/ </! holding it pretty tightly. "I have 

* * been chasing you all over Europe." 

And in a few words he informed her of 

his vain but vigorous efforts. 

"My uncle is very ill in Triest. He 
can not be here to-day of all days. I 
know that I am late. And you 

"We can't get in." 

" We?" interrogatively. 

"Let me present my dear old friend, 
Harry Talbot." 

Talbot having said something quite 
appropriate, Miss Nugent exclaimed: 

"I can pass you in. I see the officer 
of the Guard." And advancing to the 
spider- waisted, broad-shouldered, silken- 
mustached dragoon, who bowed to the 
very earth, she said something to him in 
a low tone, placed the tips of her fingers 
on his outstretched arm, and, turning 
round, whispered: "Come along!" 

The swelling organ "that lifts the 
soul to God" pealed forth the glorious 

Te Deum as our friends took up their 
places near the door of the church; and 
after each had knelt for a few moments, 
Miss Nugent said to Arthur: 

"Do not leave Miramar until I see you. 
I must join the court." And she glided 
away, accompanied by the slim-waisted 

Never did a more brilliant or imposing 
sight meet the eye than that presented 
in the beautiful church at Miramar. 
Within the altar railings were the Arch- 
bishop and numerous other prelates of dis- 
tinction, arrayed in full pontificals, mitres 
and copes and robes and crosiers glitter- 
ing with jewels; acolytes in crimson and 
white; court functionaries in resplendent 
dresses; officers of the army and navy in 
brilliant uniforms; ambassadors of foreign 
Powers with their ribbons and orders, and 
the Emperor Francis Joseph in state attire 
as the central figure; the newly-created 
Emperor looking proud, excited and happy ; 
and, his lovely Empress, her tears vying 
with the flashing diamonds of her diadem, 
surrounded by beautiful women in ravish- 
ing toilettes and bejewelled a I'outrance. 

As the Tantum Ergo sounded forth, 
Carlotta sunk upon her knees, followed by 
Maximilian, and then by all present; while 
the perfumed incense ascended heavenward 
like a visible prayer. 

The captain of the Guard, taking 
Arthur and Talbot under his care, after 
the ceremonies were over, brought them 
to the Guard's mess, where they ate like 
troopers, and drank to the Emperor and 
Empress of Mexico. Luckily, this officer 
spoke fairly good English, and proved 
himself amiable and intelligent as well 
as hospitable. He seemed intuitively to 
comprehend the relation between Count 
Nugent's niece and Bodkin, and was 
playful and facetious, in a gentlemanlike 
way, on the chance meeting of the lovers. 

"I may be court-martialed yet," he said 
in substance, "for I had strict orders; 
but who could refuse such eyes under such 
circumstances? My colonel is a fearful 
martinet, and woe to the sub who diso- 



beys an order of Ludwig von Kalksburg! 
Do you know him?" he asked, as a deep 
frown settled on Arthur's face. 

"Slightly," said Bodkin; "and I should 
be exceedingly sorry if you were to come 
to any grief through me." 

An orderly entered and handed the 
captain^ a note. 

" You will come with me, Mr. Bodkin," 
he said as soon as he had perused the 
missive; "and you will kindly remain 
until my return, Mr. Talbot." 

Following his cheerful guide, Arthur 
found himself in a small apartment over- 
looking the Gulf. 

"You will find me in the mess room, 
Mr. Bodkin. Don't hurry on my account," 
laughed the dragoon, as he quitted the 

In a few seconds a portiere of priceless 
tapestry was pushed aside, and Alice 
Nugent entered. What actually takes 
place at the moment of such a meeting 
is not for the chronicler's pen, at all 
events, it is not for mine. 

"What are your plans?" she asked. 

"My plans are to be near you, no matter 
how I can get there, or in what capacity. 
Alice, I mean to enlist in the Emperor 
Maximilian's bodyguard, if I can do no 
better. I shall go to Mexico, if not with 
you, by the next steamer. I may get there 
before you, as you will go in a man-of-war, 
the 'Novara,' a slow old tub." 

"Why, you seem to know all about it, 
Arthur. Let me see whom I could interest 
in your behalf," and she places a dimpled 
finger to her forehead. "I have it! I can 
give you a letter to Baron Bergheim, a 
dear old friend, who won't understand and 
who won't misunderstand. He is one of 
the chamberlains I'll write it now. He 
is in Vienna. You must return to-night 
and see him." And she disappeared. 

Arthur, his heart glowing with happi- 
ness, turned to the window, and, gazing 
down at the gaily-dressed ships, began to 
speculate as to whether he was destined 
to sail in one of them, and if so in which, 
when the ring of spurs smote his ear, and, 

turning, he found himself face to face 
with Count Ludwig von Kalksburg. 

The expression on the Count's face 
was malignant and menacing as, advancing 
a step, he said: 

"May I ask at whose invitation you are 
in this apartment, sir?" 

"I fail to recognize your right to 
ask me impertinent questions," retorted 
Arthur, red-hot anger flaming within him. 

"I have the right, sir. Here are my 
credentials." And he pointed to 'a small 
gold key attached to .his sword-belt, for 
he was in uniform. 

"That tells me nothing," was the rather 
contemptuous answer. 

"If you do not choose to leave the room, 
sir, I shall have you put out of it." 

"If you choose to continue your imper- 
tinence, I shall put you out of it through 
that window." 

At this juncture an authoritative voice 
called: "Kalksburg! Kalksburg!" 

"I shall see you later," said the Count, 
as, with a gesture denoting intense impa- 
tience, he hastily withdrew. 

Not a second too soon; for the tapestry 
was again pushed aside, and Alice Nugent 
reappeared, a letter in her hand. 

"This is for the dear old Baron. See 
him. He speaks English. You will like 
him. He will like you. Be frank with him." 

"How much may I tell him, Alice?" 

1 ' Oh, anything you . like ! There ! I 
must leave you. Write or wire me here. 
O Arthur, if I could only think that you 
were coming with us!" 

"Quiensabe!" laughed Bodkin. "That's 
my first attempt at Spanish, and I promise 
you it won't be the last. I shall be at 
it the whole way across. One second, 
darling! I'll write you to-morrow. In any 
case, I'll return here to say 'Adios.'" 

Arthur found Rody awaiting him in the 

"I colloguered a yoke out of an ould 
chap below that'll take us back to the 
town, Masther Arthur. Come this way, if 
ye plaze, sir it's a short cut. an' Misther 
Talbot's waitin'," 



"How did you manage the conveyance, 

"Well, sir, for to tell the truth, there's 
the nicest little colleen down below near 
the big gate. I got acquainted wid her; 
an', upon me soul, she undherstands me 
Irish betther nor me English. She got me 
into the chapel good luck to her! Glory 
be to God, it bates all I iver seen! Sich 
goold an' picthures; an' the althar solid 
goold, an' the candlesticks as high as 
Nelson's Pillar rale silver. I'd give a 
month's wages for Father Edward to set 
his eyes on it." 

Harry Talbot was at the gate. 

"I'm afraid that decent fellow, the 
captain, is in for a wigging. His colonel, 
an ill-looking blackguard, discovered that 
he passed us in ; and as I heard your name 
hissed out pretty often, I thought I'd take 
a hand in the game, knowing that his 
remarks were not exactly in praise of 
you; so I told him slowly, but very dis- 
tinctly, that if he said anything against 
you he would have to reply to me." 

They found an einspdnner, or one- 
horse carriage, in readiness, the pole in 
the middle, the horse on the right side of 
the vehicle; on the box a jovial old 
man, in the rear a comely young girl, 
with yellow hair and blue eyes, the eyes 
being only for the stalwart form of Rody 

"Good-bye, acushla!" he was heard 
to say. "It won't be my fault if I don't 
come across ye agin." 


The Vienna of to-day is not the "cab- 
ined, cribbed, confined," and wondrously 
picturesque place of fifty years ago. 
The magnificent "Ring" which now runs 
around the entire city w4th its superb 
palaces, resplendent shops, and double 
rows of trees, has replaced the old glacis, 
or stadt; arid even the "Graben" has put 
on a modern but ill-fitting suit, to keep in 
line with that grim and merciless leveller, 
Progress. The wondrous Cathedral of 
St . Stephen, despite a modern roof, still 

wears its fourteenth - century garb; and 
the interior is as mellow and sombre and 
solemn as when the Turks were hammering 
at the city gates. 

The Hof, or Castle, is a very irregular 
building, or series of buildings, one run- 
ning foul of the other. In the heart of this 
rookery, as it has been irreverently termed, 
are the imperial apartments; and in a 
small, exceedingly dark room, which had 
once formed part of a fortress, Arthur 
Bodkin awaited the Baron Bergheim, to 
whom he had transmitted the letter written 
by the dainty hand of Alice Nugent. He 
had not long to hold his soul in patience; 
for an orderly as straight and as stiff as 
Corporal Trim ushered him into another 
but larger apartment, where he found 
himself confronted by a small, very stout 
gentleman in a very tight-fitting uniform. 

"Hey, hey, hey! Mr. Bodkin Arthur 
glad to meet you! Hey! Shake hands. 
Miss Nugent seems to take great interest 
in you," here the Baron winked most 
facetiously. ' ' Good enough ! And so must 
I, I suppose. British army, hey?" 

"Militia, Baron." 

"Good enough. Hey! What rank?" 


"Good enough. Hey! Speak German?" 

"Not a word." 

"Bad enough. Hey! French?" 

'Yes, Baron'." 

"Good enough. Hey! Want to go to 

"Yes, Baron." 

"Good enough. Hey! Love or war?" 

"Both, sir." 

"Good enough!" and the merry little 
Baron laughed till the tears bedewed his 
spectacles, which he had to remove in 
order to wipe. 

Bergheim, who spoke* English with the 
greatest fluency, indeed, all the upper 
classes in Austria seem to feel a pride in 
being versed in this tongue, now pro- 
ceeded to put Arthur through his facings; 
and, finding the young fellow so frank 
and honest and earnest, took quite a fancy 
to him. 



"Hey! I'll see what can be done. Hey! 
Something must be done, or my pretty 
godchild will lead me the life of a half-pay 
officer. Where will a letter find you, hey ? " 

"At the Jockey Club, Baron." 

"Look for one this evening. Hey! 
Right about face now! March!" 

Arthur was perfectly delighted with 
this genial old gentleman, and felt assured 
that something would come of the visit. 
Nor was he in error; for upon the same 
evening he received a short note from the 
Baron informing him that he had been 
able to place him on his personal staff 
in a temporary position, owing to the 
occupant's having typhoid fever; adding, 
that Bodkin should report to himself at 
Miramar on April n. 

Bodkin was nearly delirious with joy. 
What a turn of the wheel of Fortune! In 
office en route to Mexico, and with her! 
Was it real? Could it be real? It was 
indeed scarcely credible. A few hours ago 
what was he? Nobody. Where was he? 
Nowhere. And now? An official of the 
court, with a uniform. He wondered which 
it would be, and if it would be as becom- 
ing as that of the Galway Militia. On the 
high road to fortune; for was not Mexico 
El Dorado, the country of Aladdin's Cave? 
And Alice! To be with her for days and 
days, sailing over summer seas. And the 
moonlight nights, with the glitter of 
tropical stars and the glory of the 
Southern Cross! 

Harry Talbot was delighted to hear of 
his friend's good fortune. 

"By jingo!" he cried, "patience and 
perseverance will carry a cat to Jerusalem. 
You'll have to take Rody with you, or 
he'll burn the ship. And I must come 
aboard as a stowaway." 

In the exuberance of his joy, Arthur 
had forgotten both his friend and his 

"I shall see the Baron at once, Harry. 
He's such a good sort that he is sure to 
help us." 

"You'll do nothing of the kind, old 
chap! I can paddle my own canoe till we 

get to Mexico. There I'll ' work ' your Royal 
Highness, as the Americans say, for all 
that you are worth. No, Arthur. You may 
possibly get in Rody, for you'll want your 
servant; but I'll push on to Vera Cruz 
aye, and get there before you. I was 
looking up steamers this very morning, 
and I see that a boat leaves for Genoa on 
Saturday. By starting to-morrow morn- 
ing, I can be in Genoa on Friday night. 
That's my little game." 

Arthur, however, did not feel satisfied 
with himself, and felt as though he had 
prove'd traitor to his friend. He instantly 
started for the Hof, only to find that 
Baron Bergheim had been summoned to 
Schonbrunn by the Emperor. It was too 
late to drive out to the Imperial Palace; 
and as Talbot was resolved upon his own 
course, there was nothing for it but to let 
him have his way. Arthur saw him off 
by the 7.30 train; and the wild valedictory 
cheer that Rody gave as the train pulled 
out caused the stately Viennese railway 
officials to imagine that some accident 
had taken place. 

Arthur beguiled the time until his 
departure for Miramar in "doing" the 
quaint and picturesque city, especially the 
old quarters, with their narrow streets, 
high houses, and curious windows and 
roofs. He heard Mass every morning at 
St. Stephen's, and afterward spent a couple 
of hours in studying the monuments and 
effigies. Every day, accompanied by Rody, 
he took a ten-mile walk in the Prater, 
that immense and splendid park of which 
the Viennese are so justly proud. 

"Bedad, the Phaynix Park would knock 
the consait out of it," Rody observed. 
"Sure the Fifteen Acres takes the dale, 
sir. Think of Knockmaroon an' Castle- 
knock! Sorra a chance the Danube has 
wid the sweet lyiffey. An' where's the 
Dublin Mountains, wid the Three Rocks; 
an' Boher-no-breena ? ' ' 

Arthur, by the advice of a young fellow 
whom he met at the Club, invested in light 
clothing suitable to the climate of Mexico. 

"You have three climates out there 


When I landed at Vera Cruz I was in 
the Tierra Caliente, or hot country, and 
broiled; at Orizaba, about halfway to the 
capital, I found myself in the Tierra 
Templada, or temperate country; and 
later, at the capital, the Tierra Fria, or 
cold country. So you have to prepare to 
dress for all three." 

Baron Bergheim became absolutely in- 
visible. In vain Arthur endeavored to 
catch him at the Hofburg, in vain at the 
Club, in vain at the opera, in vain at 
Schonbrunn. It was as though the earth 
had opened and swallowed him alive. 

Arthur wrote to Alice announcing his 
good fortune, and thanking her in very 
fervent terms. Her reply was most joyous, 

- "I have not a second to write one word 
more, I am so busy preparing for our 
voyage. The Empress is the sweetest and 
most delightful woman on earth, and, oh, 
so thoughtful! You will be enchanted 
with her." 

On the appointed day Arthur Bodkin 
"reported" at Miramar. 

"Good enough!" was Baron Bergheim's 
remark as the man from Gal way presented 
himself. "Hey! you must study German, 
my boy. Begin at once; and if the poor 
fellow whose shoes you are about to 
occupy should not turn up, you shall hold 
on. Hey! you are on my personal staff as 
extra aid. Hey! nothing to do but ogle 
the maids of honor at least, hey ! one of 
them aha ! ' ' 

Arthur, having thanked the Baron for 
his kindness, hinted at the question of 

"Hey! forgot all about it. Why didn't 
you come to me? Couldn't get at me? I 
should say not, hey! Well, we'll see what 
can be done. Hey, six feet " 

"One, sir." 

"Six one? Just Reichtsaal's height. 
Wait a minute!" 

He rang a bell, and proceeded to write 
a few lines. 

"Take this gentleman to Colonel von 
Bomburg. And you, Bodkin, give this to 

Bomburg. It is an order to open poor 
Reichtsaal's uniform case, which has come 
along with all his traps. You'll repay him 
if he turns up. Go and see Miss Nugent 
now if you can. No easy work. All 
etiquette and red tape, and hey! You'll 
find her in the right wing, Empress' apart- 
ments. And, hey ! don't show yourself until 
you are in uniform. Hey!" And the hearty 
old Baron hustled Bodkin out of the room, 

Reichtsaal's uniform fitted Arthur "like 
paper on the wall"; and a very splendid 
specimen of Irish manhood he presented 
in the white fatigue-jacket encrusted 
with bullion, and the light blue, trousers 
broadly striped with gold. The clink of 
his spurs was as music to his ears. 

In crossing to the apartments of the Em- 
press, his heart beating like a Nasmyth 
hammer, Arthur encountered Count von 
Kalksburg, who started violently upon 
perceiving him, and glanced up and down 
in unmitigated surprise at the uniform, 
from the spurs to the kepi. Turning 
rapidly on his heel, he preceded Bodkin 
into a large and sumptuously furnished 
corridor crowded with ladies and gen- 
tlemen, the latter being in uniform 
or in court costume. Approaching a tall, 
soldierly-looking man, with a green patch 
over his left eye and half his face, worn 
consequent upon a wound received in 
battle, the Count addressed him, pointing 
as he spoke to Arthur, who had just 
entered, and was standing eagerly search- 
ing with his eyes for the face and form 
he loved so devotedly. 

The tall warrior crossed to where our 
hero was standing, and, bowing until the 
sheep of the Order of the Golden Fleece 
hung out from his breast, he said: 

' ' I am Prince Thurn and Taxis, Master 
of the Horse. And you, sir?" 

"Arthur Bodkin, extra aid-de-camp on 
the staff of Baron Bergheim." 

"I might have guessed as much," said 
the Prince, with a bright smile. "Have 
you seen service, sir?" 

"No, your Highness nothing but 
drill in the Galway Militia on the Curragh 


77//-; AVE MARIA 

of Kildare, and indeed very little of that." 

"I know something of Ireland, Mr. 
Bodkin. I knew a Mr. Bodkin some 
years ago, 'Mr. Bodkin of Ballyshooly, 
I think." 

"Ballyboden," said Arthur. 

"The very word. I saw a good deal of 
him in London one season. He was a 
most charming man. Perhaps he was a 
relative of yours?" 

"My father, God be merciful to him!" 

' ' Then I am sincerely and especially glad 
to meet you. The sons of Ireland who 
have honored Austria with their services 
have ever done their duty well nobly. 
Some other time I must ask of you to tell 
me how you drifted here. I assume that 
you are going to Mexico with your chief?" 

"Yes, your Highness." 

"You start to-morrow. Do you sail on 
the 'Novara?'" 

"I really do not know." 

"You ought to have a very enjoyable 
trip. You will stop at Civita Vecchia and 
visit Rome. The Emperor and Empress 
are to receive the blessing of his Holiness 
on departing for their new Empire. A u 
rewir and bonne fortune!" and the Prince, 
genially saluting Arthur, mingled with the 

The expression on Count von Kalks- 
burg's face was not pleasant to behold. 
He had gone to Prince Thurn and Taxis, 
Master of the Horse, and insinuated that 
this stranger had no right to enter the 
sacred precincts of the state apartments, 
and hinted that it would be well for his 
Highness to demand his name and rank. 
The result was very much to the contrary 
of what the Count expected, so much so 
that, in order to conceal his chagrin and 
vexation, he quitted the room without 
questioning the Master of the Horse as to 
the result of his semi-official inquiries. 

As stated by Baron Bergheim, it was 
indeed no easy task either to find Miss 
Nugent, or when found to gain access to 
her. She was literally, as was every mem- 
ber of the imperial household, overwhelmed 
with the work of preparation for departure. 

And poor Arthur had to console himself 
with a very few words, but they were full 
of the most joyous consolation: "You 
are coming in the 'Novara.' We shall be 
together all the way to Vera Cruz." 

To Bodkin's intense astonishment, Rody 
turned up at night in the uniform of the 
Mexican Imperial Guard, and a very 
magnificent guardsman too. 

"Faix, Masther Arthur, I seen it was 
me only chance for to go wid ye; an' sure 
I got hould of that ould chap that dhruv 
us into Triest the other night. He spakes 
a little English, and I up and tells him 
that I must go wid ye. So he tuk me to 
his sarjint; an', be the mortial post, I was 
in them rigemintals in a jiffy! Murdher! 
but I wish I was at last Mass at Knockdrin, 
an' Mary Casey v comin' out of the chapel 
forninst me. An' who do ye think is 
comin', sir?" 

"I'm sure I can't say." 

"Ye'd never guess, sir. That day cent 
young girl that I med up to th' other day. 
She's comin' wid wan of the duchesses 
as lady's maid. An' she's for to tache me 
German, an' I'm for to tache her English 
or Irish, whichever she likes it's all wan 
to me on the sail across. An' sure, Mas- 
ther Arthur, we're for to stop at Rome, 
no less, an' for to see the Pope. Wurra! 
wurra! why haven't we Father Edward 
wid us?" 

Arthur Bodkin was on board the 
"Novara" at an early hour, after attend- 
ing the Pontifical High Mass, at which 
the Emperor of Austria, the Emperor and 
Empress of Mexico, and the entire court 
assisted. The embarkation took place 
amid the booming of cannon; and, as the 
Angelus was tolling across' the waters of 
the Gulf, the -majestic squadron of twelve 
warships quitted their moorings, the 
"Novara" leading, the imperial standard 
at the main. All along the coast the 
people assembled in thousands to witness 
the right royal pageant, while from every 
coigne of vantage the Austrian and 
Mexican flags were flung out to the per- 
fume-laden breezes of spring. 



At Civita Vecchia the imperial party 
disembarked and proceeded to the Eternal 
City, where they were received by the 
Holy Father attending his Mass and 
receiving Holy Communion at his hands, 
followed by" a solemn blessing. And, 
re-embarking on the sixteenth day of 
April, they started for the land of Cortez, 
Maximilian never to return; Carlotta to 
revisit Rome as a piteous supplicant, the 
seeds of insanity bursting into life in her 
tortured and grief-burdened brain. 

(To be continued.) 

Pius VII. and the Coronation of 


THE Pope remained at Fontainebleau 
till November 29. On that day he en- 
tered Paris, where the wing of the Louvre 
known as the Pavilion de Flore had been 
set apart as the residence of himself and 
his suite. There remained only two clear 
days before the great ceremony, and most 
of the histories of Napoleon assert that 
during this brief interval the Pope raised 
a new difficulty. As it is usually told, 
the story runs that Pius refused to crown 
the Empress unless her marriage with 
Napoleon was previously ratified by a 
religious ceremony. But the Pope never* 
raised the question; and when, some 
years later, Napoleon sought to obtain a 
divorce from Josephine, it was pointed 
out to him that, even if there were no 
evidence of a Subsequent religious cere- 
mony, his first contract of marriage must 
be upheld. 

It is true that it was only a contract, 
witnessed by the civil officials; but it was 
a public contracting of marriage between 
two baptized persons at a time when 
access to a priest had long been prac- 
tically impossible. Under the law of the 
Church, these conditions made it perfectly 
valid. When, later on, Napoleon sought 
to invalidate it in order to be free to marry 

an Austrian archduchess, the imperial 
lawyers argued that, as at the time the 
law of the Republic recognized divorce, 
the parties appearing before a Republican 
official to contract marriage could not 
have the necessary intention of pledging 
themselves to each other for life. It would 
be a temporary contract, and therefore 
not a valid marriage. But the Papal 
court replied that in the form of marriage 
there was nothing to show the contract 
was not for life; and that, unless there 
was distinct evidence to the contrary, the 
common-sense view must be held that a 
young husband and 1 wife, pledging them- 
selves to each other, have not in mind a 
reservation as to a future divorce. Under 
the conditions then existing, the marriage 
of Napoleon and Josephine was valid and 
binding. A subsequent blessing of the 
marriage by a priest might be a laudable 
proceeding, but was not necessary. 

The Pope never raised the question at 
Paris. It was Josephine herself who 
approached Cardinal Fesch and urged him 
to arrange for the religious ceremony 
before the coronation. Her motive may 
have been to set at rest scruples of con- 
science, but it is very likely that her chief 
reason was the hope that she would thus 
make her own future more secure. She 
had no prospect of children by this her 
second marriage; and she knew that, 
though her husband had rejected the 
idea, some of the heartless statesmen who 
surrounded him had proposed that he 
should cast her aside and replace her by 
some princess who would give him an 
heir to his new crown. Napoleon 'might 
yield to such persuasions as the years 
went on: the religious marriage would be 
a useful guarantee of her position. 

Fesch presented Josephine's request to 
the Emperor, and strongly supported it. 
Napoleon yielded the point, but under 
conditions that deprived Josephine of 
some of the advantages she had in view. 
The marriage mu^t be private, in the 
presence of witnesses selected by himself, 
and without any official record. He could 



easily urge the reason that he did not wish 
any doubt to be cast on the earlier 
ceremony of Republican days. 

Fesch then approached the Pope, but 
in a way that, while being technically 
correct, would enable him to act without 
letting him know what was really being 
arranged. He did not even mention the 
names of Napoleon and Josephine. He 
only told Pius VII. that, in his position 
of Grand Aum6nier (chief chaplain) of the 
Emperor's household, he had from time 
to time to deal with questions relating to 
marriages contracted under the difficult 
conditions of recent years. There was 
often a question of regularity and validity ; 
and he asked the Holy Father to allow 
him, in the interest of the peace of con- 
sciences, to deal directly with such cases, 
and to confer on him the widest possible 
powers, in order that he might he able to 
set matters right as simply as possible. 

The Pope gave him the faculties he 
asked for; and late in the evening of 
December i , in the chapel of the Tuileries, 
Fesch blessed the marriage of Napoleon 
and Josephine. Besides the Cardinal and 
the Emperor and Empress, only the two 
necessary witnesses were present. It is not 
quite certain who they were. Madame de 
Remusat declared she had Josephine's 
authority for saying that they were 
Berthier, the Emperor's chief of the staff, 
and Talleyrand. But Talleyrand, the ex- 
Bishop of Autun, was not likely to take 
part in such a ceremony; and there is 
more probability in Talleyrand's own 
statement that the witnesses were Duroc, 
Napoleon's aid -de -camp and devoted 
friend, and Portalis, the Minister "des 
Cultes" in the Emperor's cabinet. 

December 2, 1804, was a dull wintry 
day, with a hard frost, cloudy skies, and 
from time to time slight falls of snow. 
Before sunrise the streets and the windows 
on the route from the Tuileries to Notre 
Dame were crowded with spectators. 
The house fronts were hung with wreaths 
of paper flowers. The crowds were kept 
back on the sidewalks by lines of troops. 

At nine o'clock the Pope left the palace. 
There was a procession of carriages, es- 
corted by four squadrons of dragoons of 
the Imperial Guard. The second carriage 
was that of the Pope. It was drawn by 
eight greys, and had been specially de- 
signed for the ceremony. At each corner 
of the roof was a statue of an angel in 
gilded bronze; and the angels' wings 
formed a canopy of gold, bearing up a 
golden tiara. The large windows of the 
carriage gave a full view of the white- 
robed figure of the Pontiff, leaning forward 
with his hand raised in benediction. The 
troops presented arms as he passed; and 
it was noticed that, behind the long hedges 
of glittering bayonets, the people struggled 
for room to kneel, or bent down where they 
stood too closely to do more. In this 
progress to the cathedral, Pius VII. was 
traversing some of the very streets through 
which, a few years before, the red carts 
went by with their loads of victims for 
the guillotine. 

The square in front of Notre Dame was 
lined with the steel-clad cuirassiers of the 
Guards. At the great door of the cathe- 
dral, under overhanging canopies of tapes- 
try, the chapter waited with the Arch- 
bishop of Paris to welcome the Pope. The 
Archbishop, De Belloy, was a venerable 
man of eighty years. His long life was a 
link between the historic past and the 
wonderful present. When he was a boy, 
Louis XV. was King of France, and the 
decadence of the French monarchy had 
begun. He had seen its downfall. He had 
witnessed what the men of his boyhood 
would have held to be impossible. He had 
lain in hiding during the Terror, minister- 
ing by stealth, and at the peril of his life, 
to the sick and the dying; and now as 
Archbishop of Paris he was receiving the 
Father of Christendom in the cathedral 
which had so lately been desecrated with 
the orgies of the "worship of the Goddess 
of Reason." 

The procession was formed, and the 
Pope entered the cathedral while the 
great organ pealed forth and four hundred 



voices joined in the anthem Tu es Petrus. 
Thus the successor of St. Peter was con- 
ducted to the throne on the Gospel side 
of the high altar. 

The Emperor and his immediate suite 
were yet to come, but the great audience 
that was to witness the coronation was 
already arrayed in the cathedral. Ranges 
of lustre - decked chandeliers, bearing 
thousands of wax tapers, lit up the choir, 
'transept, and nave. Tribunes and gal- 
leries, hung with tapestry, had been 
v erected to increase the available space. 
Every place was occupied. Around the 
altar and along both sides of the choir 
were grouped sixty prelates and some 
hundreds of the clergy. On the Epistle 
side, under a gilded arch of triumph, were 
the thrones of the imperial pair. 

They were already on their Way to the 
cathedral, hailed with no great enthu- 
siasm by the crowds in the streets, who 
were tired with long waiting in the bitter 
weather. To those who expected them at 
Notre Dame, their coming was announced 
by the distant booming of cannon, and 
as they reached the cathedral square, by 
the rolling of five hundred drums and the 
deep-booming note of the huge bell in 
the western tower of Notre Dame. The 
French cardinals and bishops rose and 
streamed away to the great door to wel- 
come the Emperor. The Pope and his 
attendants awaited from the choir the 
return of the stately procession. 

First of all came the ushers in old court 
dress, with golden maces on their shoul- 
ders; then heralds with tabard and ban- 
nered trumpet, and pages in liveries of 
gold and purple; masters of ceremonies 
and chamberlains; officers of the Legion 
of Honor, carrying standards captured 
in battle; Marshals of the Empire, bear- 
ing the regalia and the two crowns; the 
Empress, with her long mantle borne by 
princesses; and then the Emperor in his 
robes of state, a golden laurel wreath on 
his brows r making his classic features 
look like the profile on a Roman medallion. 
To right and left of him walked his 

brothers Joseph and Louis. His face was 
calm and impassive, but there was a 
moment when he was human. As he 
reached the choir he bent towards Joseph 
and whispered: "If only our father could 
see us now!" * 

It was noticed that the sun shone out 
as Napoleon and Josephine seated them- 
selves on their thrones. Then the cere- 
mony began. The Veni Creator was 
intoned, and the Pope asked the Emperor 
if he promised to respect the rights of the 
Church and the Holy See. Napoleon 
laid his hands on the Gospels and his 
voice rang out like a word of command: 
" Prom-itto" ("I promise"), the oath he 
was so soon to break. 

Then the Solemn High Mass began, 
after the anointing of the imperial pair. 
There was a pause after the Gradual. The 
Pope blessed the regalia, and handed to 
the Emperor the ring and the swords of 
justice and mercy, and the sceptre of 
Charlemagne. The great Emperor of the 
West had received the crown from Leo; 
Napoleon marred this great moment of 
his life by an act of self-asserting pride. 
As Pius stretched out his hands to take 
the crown, Napoleon grasped it with a 
swift movement, raised it on high, and 
himself placed it on his head. 

Then the Empress was crowned, and, 
with the Emperor, conducted back to the 
throne, where he took the oath to the 
Constitution. There was a flourish of 
trumpets, and the voice of a herald pro- 
claimed that "the most august and 
glorious" Emperor Napoleon had been 
duly crowned and enthroned, ending with 
the cry of "Vive VEmpereur!" which was 
taken up by the thousands assembled in 
the cathedral. The bells rang out, and the 
roar of artillery announced to all Paris 
the accomplishment of the great event. 

The Mass was resumed, and again 
Napoleon marred the solemnity by a 

* His father had died many years before. His 
mother appears in the inner circle in David's 
official picture of the coronation. But she was 
not really there. 



departure from traditional usage. A Cath- 
olic sovereign fasts on the morning of 
his coronation; for the final act of his 
consecration as a ruler of his people, and 
the pledge of his loyalty to his oaths and 
to the Faith of his fathers, is the Holy 
Communion received during the corona- 
tion Mass. In the programme of the 
coronation, drawn up by De Segur, 
appeared under "Article 46" the words, 
"Their Majesties will receive Commun- 
ion," followed by directions for the cere- 
monial. Napoleon had with his own hand 
corrected the article by making it read, 
"// their Majesties receive Communion." 
And he had no intention of so doing. He 
had received Holy Communion as a boy 
at Ajaccio; as a young man he had 
abandoned the practices of religion. His 
next Communion was to be on his death 
at St. Helena. 

The sun was setting on the snowy 
streets when, after the long ceremonial, 
Emperor and Empress returned to the 
Tuileries. As the darkness came on 
quickly, Paris burst into a blaze of illumi- 
nations. Pius VII., who must have been 
weary enough by this time, was taken in 
his carriage along the boulevards, across 
the bridges to the Luxembourg, and back 
to the Louvre, in order "that he might see 
the brilliant display. A squadron of cav- 
alry and five hundred guardsmen carrying 
flaming torches formed his escort. He 
reached the Louvre at seven o'clock. 
Even then the fatigues of the day were 
not ended : there was still a state banquet 
at the Tuileries. 

For four months after the great day the 
Pope remained at Paris. The Emperor 
found pretext after pretext for delaying 
his departure, and tried to persuade him 
to make the city his permanent place of 
abode. Paris was to be the new Rome. 
He would give the Pope the "He de la 
Cite" (the island on which Notre Dame 
stands), and the Palais de Justice would 
be remodelled as a new Vatican. It needed 
no sagacity to see the snare thus plainly 

spread by the fowler. Napoleon hoped to 
make the Pope a great officer of the 
Empire, the mere head of an Imperial 
Department for Ecclesiastical Affairs, with 
a court of French cardinals and a sub- 
servient French successor. It would be 
worse than the ill-omened "captivity of 

, The Pope visited the monuments and 
museums of Paris; Denon, the famous 
savant of the day, acting as his guide. On 
January 12 he went to the great hospital 
of the Hotel-Dieu, and delighted the 
patients by his kindly interest in them. 
On the 3oth he paid a visit to the Imperial 
Printing Office. He saw more than a 
hundred presses in action at the same 
time; and, as a souvenir of the visit, he 
was given the work they produced the 
Pater Noster in a hundred different lan- 
guages; and a poem, celebrating his visit, 
in Latin, Greek, French, Spanish, Italian, 
and German. At the mint, gold and silver 
medals were struck in his honor. 

There were also visits to most of the 
churches of Paris. In many of them the 
Pope said or assisted at Mass. On Feb- 
ruary i he consecrated two bishops at St. 
Sulpice, and he gave the cardinal's hat 
to the Archbishops of Rheims and Paris. 

On March 24 the Pope was at St. Cloud. 
There he was the central figure in another 
stately ceremonial, the baptism of 
Napoleon Louis, the child of Louis Bona- 
parte and Hortense Beauharnais, the 
little prince whom the childless Emperor 
then intended to choose as his heir. 

Napoleon had tried to make the Pope 
the tool of his policy, and had failed. The 
Pope had tried to gain further concessions 
in the interests of the Church and the 
Holy See, and had also failed. The one 
boon the Emperor granted him was the 
promise that the Pantheon the dese- 
crated church of Ste. Genevieve should 
be restored to Catholic worship. Costly 
presents were a poor compensation for- the 
refusal of more solid advantages. The 
Emperor and Empress gave the Pope 
vases from Sevres, tapestry from the 



Gobelins' factory, golden altar plate, a 
crucifix and candlesticks for the -high 
altar of St. Peter's. But it was with a 
sense of relief that at last Pius VII. 
learned that he was free to return to Rome. 
He hoped for the best, but there were 
incidents of his stay in Paris that augured 
ill for the future. 

On April 4, after blessing a great crowd 
from an open window of the Tuileries, he 
drove out of Paris, surrounded by an 
escort of the cuirassiers of the Guard and 
saluted with royal honors. He stopped at 
Chalons for the celebration of" Holy Week 
and Easter; and then travelled by easy 
stages back to Rome, everywhere greeted 
by the people with reverent affection. 
Before long he was to make the journey 
back again to France as the Emperor's 
prisoner, only to be set free on the eve of 
Napoleon's downfall. 

But in later years, when he was restored 
to Rome, Pius VII. never spoke an unkind 
word of the Emperor. "We must forgive 
him everything," he said; "for he did 
great things for religion in France." 

(The End.) 

The .Sacraments. 


The Day's Delights. 


^"HE beauty of an even star, 
The matings birds' glad melody, 

A stretch of woodland reaching far, 
So common, yet so good to see. 

The crystal glitter of the dew, 

The shock of mountain piling high; 

Yet do you cry for pleasures new 
When rarest beauties in these lie? 

The trusting clasp of baby's hand, 
The loving largess of its smile, 

The silver reaches of the strand, 
The friendly rustic without guile. 

But these are all such simple things, 
That make the days seem commonplace; 

But seeing through the common things, 
We lift the veil o'er God's good face. 

IV. PENANCE. (Conclusion.) 

ONCE again the destroying angel 
struck the demon with his sheathed 
sword, and a fourth horn sprang up. It 
was anger. From the very foundation of 
hell there was gnashing of teeth; and a 
fearful shout of rage arose, that seemed 
to rock the dreadful prison. The saint 
was silent while his penitent trembled with 
fear. Turning in the direction whence 
came the tumult, the destroying angel 
cried: "It is written that He shall be 
called the God pf Peace, that His voice 
shall not be heard in the streets; the 
bruised reed He shall not break, and the 
smoking flax He shall not extinguish." 

(At His birth in the lone midnight, an 
everlasting hymn of peace was 'sung b}^ a 
"multitude of the heavenly host." They 
sang: "Glory to God in the highest, and 
on earth peace to men of good-will." 
But "as in the days before the Flood," so 
it is still. The evil daughters of men, 
that is, angry thoughts and words and 
deeds, bring forth children. 

(Behold their progeny, as St. Gregory 
and St. Thomas call them. "The first is 
indignation against the person by whom 
we have been offended, or think we have 
been offended; then follow maledictions, 
evil names, hatred, injury, contempt, which 
can hardly be free from grave sin. If to 
this there be added the determination to 
take the person's life or to do him serious 
bodily harm, there can be no doubt that 
there is a mortal sin. Then comes the 
offering of positive affront to a person's 
face, and thus provoking dangerous pas- 
sions; and here the circumstances of 
person, place, and time with all their 
surroundings have to be taken into account. 

("Finally, there is actual violence, from 
which spring enmity, hatred, blows, stab- 
bings, assassinations. These bring on for 
generations feuds between families, gen- 



crating in their turn quarrels, murders 
and bloodshed.") 

Just then a voice was heard high up 
in mid-space, calling out; "I will confess 
Thee before men!" All looked up. A 
young cavalier was drawing a naked sword 
on his prostrate enemy, who, with arms 
held in the form of a cross, was begging 
for life. Flinging aside his sword, the 
knight dropped on his knees, and, because 
of the likeness of the cross, he embraced 
his enemy, forgiving him from the heart. 
That enemy had killed his brother. 

As he looked towards the Saviour's 
Cross, the Adorable Lord whispered : Salve, 
Joannes! ("All hail, John!") and bowed 
to him. "I will confess thee before My 
Father, who is in heaven." It was St. 
John Gualbert. Thereupon the saint, in 
fourfold accidental glory, returned with 
his companions into heaven. "See them 
enter, clothed with white robes, into the 
joy of the Lord," continued the dread 
Angel of Judgment. "These are the meek, 
and theirs is the land of the living. They 
have conquered the dragon through the 
Blood of the Lamb, and through the 
covenant of His word." 

Saint and penitent wondered exceed- 
ingly, and the destroying angel cried out: 
"Blessed are the meek." And the sorrow- 
ing sinner prayed: "God of peace, have 
mercy on my soul!" 

For the fifth time the destroying angel 
struck the dragon with his sheathed 
sword; and a fifth horn appeared. It was 

(If man were without reason like the 
beast, he might plead that he had no 
rule to guide him. But St. Gregory and, 
after him, St. Thomas say that in five 
different ways does man, though enjoying 
reason, offend God by this vice : ( i ) when 
he eats or drinks before or out of time; 
(2) when daintier meat or drink is sought 
for than befits one's position, or the occa- 
sion of hospitality suggests; (3) when 
more food or drink is taken than is reason- 
able or necessary; (4) when food or drink 
is taken greedily, without due moderation; 

(5) when food or drink has to be prepared 

Listen to St. Paul, cried the destroying 
angel: "Let us walk honestly in the 
day, not in rioting and drunkenness." 
(Rom., xiii.) And again: "The Kingdom 
of God is not in meat and drink; but; 
in justice and peace and joy in the Holy 
Ghost." (Ib., xiv.) Once more: "Now the 
works of the flesh are manifest; which 
are fornications, uncleanness, . . . drunken- 
ness, re veilings; and they who do the like 
shall not obtain the Kingdom of God." 
(Gal., v.) "Be not drunk with wine, 
wherein is luxury; but be ye filled with 
the Holy Spirit." (Eph., v.) Hear the 
chosen head of the Apostles: "The 
Gentiles have walked in riotousness and 
lusts, excess of wine, banquetings and 
re veilings. Be ye not like to them." 

For the sixth time the angel struck the 
dragon, and another horn came forth, 
dull and yellow and hard-grained as 
flint. It was envy. Lucifer, the red dragon, 
because this was his first great sin, 
lifted up his monstrous head as if to speak, 
but the destroying angel commanded 
silence. "This hideous vice attempted to 
invade heaven," he cried. "The accursed 
dragon sought to be like to the Most High, 
who made all and rules over all. And 
from that hour he and his angels, 'who 
kept not their principality, but forsook 
their own habitation, are reserved in ever- 
lasting chains under darkness, unto the 
great day.'" (St. Jude, i.) 

"Again, man was scarcely placed in the 
Garden of Paradise when this same dragon 
insinuated envious thoughts into man's 
mind: 'On the day thou eatest thereof, 
thou shalt be like unto God. Thine eyes 
shall be opened, and thou shalt know good 
and evil.' Envy began with man's days, 
and cursed him at the beginning. It has 
continued with him through life, and has 
been his curse at all times, and will be to 
the end. Hear the Apostle: 'But if you 
have bitter zeal, and there be contentions 
in your hearts, glory not, and be not liars 
against the truth; for this is not wisdom 



descending from above, but earthly, sen- 
sual, diabolical. For where envy and 
contention is there is inconstancy and 
every evil work. But the wisdom which 
is from above first indeed is chaste, then 
peaceable, modest, easy to be persuaded, 
consenting to the good, full of mercy and 
good fruits.'" (St. James, iii.) 

("Every crime, every sin, that is com- 
mitted by man," says St. Chrysostom, 
"has some excuse, some defence Luxury 
has the fallen nature of our flesh for 
excuse; robbery has poverty; anger, the 
force of passion. All have excuses, ground- 
less no doubt, yet having an appearance 
of reason. But thou, envy! what excuse 
hast thou? Absolutely none, save thine 
own intense malice." And the saint would 
put the envious man out of the Church 
together with the open adulterer. 

("God is charity," says St. John; "but 
the dragon is envy." "The malice of 
envy," says St. Gregory, "is greater than 
that of all vices put together." He gives his 
reason: "By means of all the other vices, 
the tempter but scatters his poison in the 
human system; by envy he infuses it at 
once, and bodily, into the marrow and 
vitals of man." 

(St. Cyprian, in his great work "On 
Zeal and Envy," says that "envy is the 
root of evils, the fountain of murders, 
and the breeding-place of crime. Envy 
devours a man, as in Genesis the wild 
beast was said to have devoured Joseph." 
"They [the heathens]," says St. Paul, 
' ' were filled with all iniquity, malice, forni- 
cation, full of envy, murder, contention, 
deceit; . . . and they who do these things, 
are worthy of death.") 

The penitent on his knees was striking 
his breast; but while he bewailed his sins 
the destroying angel thundered forth: 
. Peccatum diabolicum. ("A diabolical sin," 
says St. Augustine. "And what else put 
the Holy Innocents to death? 'Now, 
Herod, seeing that he was deceived by the 
Wise Men, sending, killed all the children 
in Bethlehem and in all the confines 
thereof.' What else," continues the saint, 

"put the Adorable Redeemer to death 
but this diabolical sin?") 

For the seventh and last time the de- 
stroying angel struck the dragon; and 
slowly and reluctantly the horn of sloth 
appeared. Then the story of the "wicked 
and slothful servant" came to the peni- 
tent's mind, and the dread malediction 
invoked upon him: "Bind him hand and 
foot, and cast hina out into exterior dark- 
ness, there shall be weeping and gnashing 
of teeth." His thoughts, however, had not 
time to ponder on the judgment; for the 
destroying angel cried out: "Wo to 
you hypocrites, who have taken the Key 
of Knowledge, and have made use of it 
only to close the Kingdom of Heaven 
against man. Wo to you hypocrites, who 
devour the houses of widows, while you 
feign to pray. Wo to you hypocrites, 
because you bind heavy and insupportable 
burdens on men's shoulders, but with a 
finger of your own you will not move them. 
Blind leaders of the blind, who strain at a 
gnat and swallow a camel. Wo to you 
hypocrites, because you are like to sepul- 
chres, which are whitened on the outside 
that they may appear beautiful to men; 
but within are full of dead men's bones 

and all rottenness Ye spawn of vipers, 

how will you escape the wrath that is to 
come?" (St. Matt., xxiii.) 

(Sloth is directly opposed to the law of 
charity. "Spiritual sloth is a sluggishness 
of the soul in the exercise of virtue. It will 
be a mortal sin whenever, on account of 
it, a grave precept is violated."*) 

Trembling the penitent struck his 
breast, and cried: "A contrite and humble 
heart, O Lord, Thou wilt not despise. O 
God, be merciful to me a sinner!" At the 
same time Holy Mary drew near to the 
confessor, and, pointing to the Crucified, 
said: "Whatever He shall say to you, do." 
Then the merciful Saviour called gently: 
'Leonard, beloved son of Francis! As the 
living Father hath sent Me, so I also 
send you. Whose sins you shall forgive, 

* Father Slater, S. J. 



they are forgiven them. Unloose him and 
let him go.' 

Then the humble friar raised his right 
arm. The penitent in the meantime 
breathed his sorrow anew, saying: "Have 
mercy on me, O God, according to Thy 
great mercy, and according to the multi- 
tude of Thy tender mercies blot out my 
iniquities. More and yet more wash me 
from my iniquity, and cleanse me from 
my sin." Then blessed Leonard cried: 
" Miser eatur tui omnipotens Deus . . . Indul- 
gentiam, absolutionem, et remissionem pecca- 
torum tuorum . . . Deinde, ego te absolvo a 
peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et 
Spiritus Sancti. Amen." 

Floods of tears coursed from the peni- 
tent's eyes. A load was taken off his heart. 
A joy stole into his soul, the like of which 
he haa not known for many a long year. 
In that joy he seemed to lose consciousness 
of all things about him. 

He was awakened from the reverie by 
his confessor. He looked around in 
wonder. "You are at the gates of purga- 
tory," said the saint. "Come here always 
when you are performing your sacramental 
penance. But first look up, and join in 
what you hear." He raised his eyes, and 
heard "as it were the voice of many 
multitudes coming out from the Throne, 
saying: 'Arnen! Alleluia! Praise ye our 
God, all ye His servants both little and 
great. Let us be glad and rejoice, and 
give glory to Him; for [in the absolution 
of the priest] the marriage of the Lamb 
[with the human soul] is come. Blessed 
are they who are called to the marriage 
and supper of the Lamb.'" (Apoc., xix.) 

Then there came a call to the holy con- 
fessor. It came from all in heaven, but 
especially from the blessed members of the 
three branches of the countless Franciscan 
family: "Leonard! Leonard! make haste 
and come!" 

"I have now to leave, as you see," said 
the confessor. "But listen well. Come 
here often; come here to these gates of 
purgatory when you are going to per- 
form your sacramental penance. Look in 

through these bars and behold those 
penitential fires. Every stroke of your 
breast at these gates, every sigh of your 
heart, every word and work that as 
penance you say or do, every indulgence 
you gain, every Mass you hear" the holy 
man paused for an instant and looked 
with the utmost seriousness on the peni- 
tent's face; then, raising his finger, said: 
"Holy Mass is a hidden Treasure. I tell 
you," he repeated, and with greater 
emphasis, "Holy Mass is a hidden Treas- 
ure! Remember this everything you do 
in satisfaction for your sins every Mass 
you hear, every moment you spend in 
adoration, every Holy Communion you 
receive, every litany you recite, every 
Rosary you offer may take away days, 
even years of the temporal punishment 
due to your sins. And while you are look- 
ing at these searching, cleansing fires, you 
will do all things well; and there will be 
but a short purgatory in store for you. 

"After giving you absolution, the priest, 
by order of the Church, prays that the 
Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, the 
merits of the x Blessed Virgin, the virtuous 
works of all the saints, whatever good you 
yourself have done, or whatever wrong 
you have endured, may be to your 
credit in remission of your sins. By the 
economy of the Church, that prayer, to 
a certain extent, participates in the power 
of the Sacrament, and has a value that, 
apart from the Sacrament, it would not 

Voices were again heard calling: "Leon- 
ard! Leonard! make haste and come!" 

"You hear them calling. I can not 
delay. Finish the Confiteor ''Therefore I 
beseech the Blessed Mary ever Virgin,' 
and I wilt offer the prayer to be said after 
the absolution: ' Passio Domini nostri, 
Jesu Christi, merita Beat Marios semper 
Virginis, etc. . . .' 'May the Passion of 
our Lord Jesus Christ, the merits of the 
Blessed Mary ever Virgin, and of all the 
saints, whatever good thou hast done, 
whatever wrong thou hast suffered, avail 
thee to the remission of thy sins, to the 



obtaining, a greater increase of grace, and 
to securing for thee the reward of eternal 
life. Amen.' Now go' thy way, and sin 
no more." 

Once again the voices cried: "Leonard, 
Leonard, make haste and come! Blessed 
are they who are called to the marriage 
feast of the Lamb!" And he answered: 
"I come quickly." (Apoc., xxii.) And the 
penitent heard, as the blessed Leonard 
entered heaven, a voice saying: "Behold 
the Tabernacle of God with men; and He 
shall dwell with them; and He shall wipe 
all tears from their eyes; and death shall 
be no more, nor sorrowing; for the former 
things have passed away." (Apoc., xxi.) 

Our Village and the Zeppelins. 


WE say in our village, in a tone of 
superiority mingled with pleasur- 
able fear, that we are "within the danger 
zone," meaning that we are on the high- 
way of the Zeppelins which pass us on 
most occasions when they try to storm 
the "fortress of London." We are not a 
hundred miles from King's Lynn, in a 
country as flat as the sea. Our station is 
on the high road to the North, and all 
night long trains rush and lumber through 
it. When there are movements of troops, 
we are the first to know it; for hour after 
hour, through the darkness, the snaky 
monsters carry their living freight from 
camp to camp, or perhaps to the ships 
that lie waiting for them at the docks. 

The railway is silent only when the 
Zeppelins are about; so on a dark night, 
when half an hour has passed without a 
train, we all begin to strain our ears for 
that other sound like a quick-moving 
traction engine that we are beginning to 
know quite well. To most of us, the 
experience comes with- thrill enough to be 
almost pleasant; some of us perhaps just 
think of the ' ' quiet night and perfect end ' ' 
that we prayed for a few hours before. 

Soon we hear a tread along the village 
street. It is our vigilant policeman going 
his rounds to see that there are no lights 
to guide the monster on his death-bearing 
course. There is a knock at one door 
once twice repeated. "Put that light 
out!" Evidently there are expostulations 
from within, and the order is repeated, 
more forcibly this time; and he has his way 
and goes on. But it is sad to think that 
in that cottage he has left shrouded in 
darkness there is a tiny child lying shaking 
with fear, a little one to whose imagina- 
tion the Zeppelin is a thing of unspeakable 
terror. What images pass through the 
little brain as the boy lies shivering in 
the darkness, no one knows. He will not 
talk of it, and no one has been able to 
still his dread. 

So we wait. Presently the buzzing 
noise grows nearer and yet nearer, and 
then farther off again. Evidently the 
raiders are uncertain of their way. It is 
like listening to a thunderstorm that can 
not make up its mind to come. But 
the buzzing grows louder so rapidly that 
we can not lie still any longer. The sky 
is cloudy, with a young moon just setting; 
but there is light enough to see two 
shadowy forms with long, cigar-shaped 
bodies. There they go, making westward, 
evidently aiming at the great junction six 
or seven miles away. 

Suddenly the buzzing stops. There is a 
dull, ominous boom; another; and, farther 
off, another; then a volley of sharp, 
crackling reports. They have dropped their 
bombs! But where? We strain our eyes 
for the glare of fires, but all is dark. There ! 
That was surely an air-craft gun. Have 
the raiders been hit? We can not tell. 
But one of the monsters is coming back. 
The buzzing comes nearer again, the 
shadow passes over the dark and sleepless 
village, and melts away into the grey sky. 
The noise of its engines grows fainter and 
fainter; and then that dies away too, and 
there is silence. For the other monster 
we listen in vain, not knowing that, miles 
away, it is soon to be a burning mass of 



wreckage, a mighty holocaust at which 
London holds its breath. There is a faint 
light of day in the sky at last. The trains 
begin to run again, and we lie down to our 
long- delayed sleep. 

But there are many in our village for 
whom there is no more sleep this night. 
The women of the fenlands can not sleep 
in the morning (though Zeppelins buzz all 
night), now that they have to do their 
men's share of work as well as their own. 
But work and talk go together; and 
almost before the sun is over the edge of 
the wide plain, Wild tales are all over the 
countryside; for the Zeppelins here in the 
country are our modern dragons, fabulous 
monsters with no limit to their powers. 
The Zeppelin came so close to one house, 
we were told that Mrs. Crabb "could see 
right into it from her bedroom window, 
yes, Miss, that is gospel truth; and she 
saw that there German inside it eating 
beefsteak off a plate as plain as I see you! " 
What was the good of attempting to deny 
the evidence of the senses? 

There were other reports that the near- 
est town was burned to the ground; that 
the junction was a mass of ruins; that the 
particular Zeppelin that visited us was 
fitted with nets furnished at the corners 
with iron hooks whereby the "German 
cleared out all the inhabitants of the next 
village and took them away in his big 
machine!" But the people were extraor- 
dinarily free from anything like terror. 
Their attitude of mind was that they 
would not have missed this very thrilling 
experience for anything. 

As for myself, I repaired as soon as 
possible to collect reliable information at 
first-hand from the guard of the down 

"Well, James," I asked, "how much is 
left of N [the junction]?" 

"All of it when I was there ten minutes 
ago, Miss." 

"Then the Zeppelins did no harm?" 

"Only dropped two bombs, that didn't 
explode, about forty yards from the 

So now we knew what had not happened. 
Still, we wanted to find out what had 

Here comes a friend, a farmer from an 
outlying district. 

" Good-morning, Mr. Gilbey ! So you are 
still alive! Do you know if the Zeppelins 
did any damage?" 

"Well, Miss, they came to my place, 
and made two holes with their bombs in 
the forty-acre field; but the bombs didn't 
explode; and, with the exception of one 
of my ducks that got his wing broke, there 
was no casualties that I know of." 

That farmer's wife afterwards made 
three pounds for the Red Cr v oss, by charg- 
ing twopence admission to the forty-acre 
field to see the hole the bomb had made. 
So that, as the "one duck slightly 
wounded" represented our total casualties, 
the visit of the Zeppelin has been pure gain 
to the village. Even the duck has scored. 
He struts about with his injured wing, 
and domineers over the whole of the 
poultry-yard. The very turkeys bow 
down to him. He is relieved- of all further 
obligations for the rest of his life, and 
after his death he is to be stuffed and 
given a place of honor in the parlor as the 
duck that was injured in the Zeppelin 
raid of 1916. 

Two days after this memorable night I 
was accosted by a woman in a state of 
great excitement. 

"O Miss, have you seen the Zeppelin?" 

"No, Mrs. Carter. What Zeppelin?" 

"Why, Miss, the Zeppelin that has just , 
gone down the street." 

"But how did it go?" 

"On wheels, Miss, and them Germans 
all inside it." 

"Germans! How do you know they 
were Germans?" 

"Why, I could tell in a minute. They 
looked just like the pictures; and they 
had them nets with the iron hooks to 
catch the people." 

"But, Mrs. Carter, it is quite impossi- 
ble. The soldiers wouldn't let Germans go 
about England with Zeppelins on wheels." 



"But Mrs. Pooley and Mrs. Jones saw 
it too, Miss. We are sure it is a Zep; and 
it will hide in the Fens and come out 
at night when we are asleep. We are all 
going to sit up and watch." 

Nothing I could say as to the impossi- 
bility of her tale had the least effect. Mrs. 
Carter was absolutely convinced that she 
had seen a Zeppelin go down the street 
on wheels ! She was, therefore, the heroine 
of the village; and she certainly was not 
going to lose her pre-eminence through 
my scepticism. Everyone would believe 
her; and the whole village, children and 
all, would sit up that night, and perhaps 
the next. What was to be done? 

I was walking along, pondering the 
problem and discussing the situation, when 
there came up on his bicycle a young 
officer of engineers from a camp near at 

"Good-morning!" I called out. "Have 
you seen anything that looks like a Zeppe- 
lin on wheels?" And I told him the story. 

He seemed puzzled for a moment, and 
then suddenly crumpled up and went into 
peals of laughter. 

"It is a sea-plane on a trolley," he 
gasped as soon as he could speak -"on 
its way to Lynn with a detachment. I 
met it on the Lynn road half an hour ago." 

"A Zeppelin on wheels going down the 
Lynn road to hide in the Fens! O Lord! 
Do tell me where that woman lives!" 
And he went into another convulsion of 
helpless laughter. 

I told him, and he mounted his bicycle, 
still shaking with laughter. But I doubted 
whether he would convince Mrs. Carter. 

Identified by the Sign of the Cross. 

BLESSED HENRY Suso, the German 
mystic, relates: "One day as I was walk- 
ing down a narrow lane, I met a woman; 
I stepped into the mud to let her pass. 
'Kind sir,' she said, 'why do you, a 
priest of God, step aside to let me pass? 
'Tis I should do you honor.' 'Nay, 
lady,' I said, 'I must show reverence to 
all women for the sake of my Blessed 
Lady and Queen of Heaven.'" 

THE importance of the Sign of the 
Cross and of making it reverently is 
strikingly illustrated by the following 
experience which a priest in England was 
fond of relating. The lessons of it would 
be lost on those to whom it would be 
necessary to point them out; however, let 
us recall that the Sign of the Cross was 
made with such piety and solemnity by 
the celebrated Father de Ravignan at the 
beginning of sermons at Notre Dame that 
his audience never forgot it. "One has to 
pay attention to a preacher who is so 
deeply impressed with the importance of 
his office," it used to be said. 

A poor widow, an Irish Catholic, having 
fallen ill, was taken to a hospital, where 
soon afterward she died. Her only child, 
a boy of eight or nine years, had in the 
meantime been secretly placed in a Prot- 
estant orphan asylum. Fearing for the 
child's faith, his pastor desired to with- 
draw him, but on making his application, 
discovered that the authorities had 
already removed the boy to a different 
asylum, and had moreover entered him 
under a name other than his own. 

For a long time the priest was unsuccess- 
ful in his search, but finally he thought he 
had found the institution where the 
stray lamb of his flock should be living. 
He went to the asylum, examined the 
registers and interrogated the superin- 
tendent; but there was no evidence that 
a Catholic child, nor even one bearing an 
Irish name, had been received there. 

As the pastor was about to retire, an 
idea suddenly presented itself and he acted 
on it forthwith. He asked, to see all the 
orphans together. The superintendent 
told him that the children were about to 
enter the dining-room, and that in con- 
sequence there would be no inconvenience 
involved in his seeing them. 

As soon as all had entered, the priest 
stood on a bench and said: "Children, 
look at me! In the name of the Father, 



and of the Son ' He had scarcely placed 
his hand on his forehead to make the 
Sign of the Cross when he saw one of 
the boys raise his hand and instinctively 
bless himself; while all the others there 
were more than three hundred remained 
motionless, regarding the priest with open- 
mouthed wonder. 

Turning to the superintendent, the 
priest exclaimed: "There is the little 
Catholic that is the child I've been look- 
ing for so long!" 

The boy was placed in a Catholic 
orphan asylum, and soon thoroughly 
understood that it was to the Sign com- 
memorative of our redemption that he 
owed his preservation to the Faith. 

The Meaning of the Word Liberty. 

MR. RUSKIN was of the opinion 
that what is called liberty is often 
the worst sort of slavery, and that 
obedience is one of the most beautiful 
things in the world. To be obedient, he 
says, was one of the first lessons he 
ever learned; and he thus tells about it: 

"One evening, when I was yet in my 
nurse's arms, I wanted to touch the 
tea-urn, which was boiling merrily. It 
was an early taste for bronzes, I suppose; 
but I was resolute about it. My mother 
bade me keep my fingers back; I insisted 
on putting them forward. My nurse 
would have taken me away from the urn, 
but my mother said: 'I/et him touch it, 
nurse.' So I touched it, and that was 
my first lesson in the meaning of the 
word liberty. It was the first piece of 
liberty I got, and the last which for some 
time I asked." 

Generally it happens that submission to 
authority is our charter to truest liberty. 
It had been well for many, unduly con- 
cerned for the "unhampered development 
of their personality," had they learned 
early in life that by obeying we conquer 
our only enemy to freedom our own 
undisciplined self. 

Mistaking One's End. 

ONE of the half -score definitions of the 
word "end" to be found in large 
dictionaries is: that for which anything 
exists or is done; ultimate object or 
purpose. It is in this sense that the word 
is used in the Scriptural and theological 
phrase, "the end of man." Now, that for 
which we exist, the ultimate purpose or 
object of our life, is eternal *beatitude, the 
enjoyment of the beatific vision in heaven, 
the salvation of our soul. This supreme 
end is common to all, as is the proximate 
end which alone can ensure its achieve- 
ment, the leading of a good Christian life. 

It is the veriest truism to state that 
very many persons mistake or ignore this 
end. Ask the ordinary worldling what is 
the main purpose of his existence, and, 
while his answer may be any one of a 
dozen varieties, not one of them will con- 
tain any reference to his Creator, or to the 
duty of serving Him in this life in order to 
enjoy Him in the next. If the worldling 
belongs to the largest class of mankind, the 
working-class, he will probably reply that 
his main purpose in life is to earn his 
bread and butter, to gain a livelihood for 
himself and family, and, if possible, to 
lay up a competence for his old age. No 
one will assert that this is a reprehensible 
aim or ambition; on the contrary, it is a 
thoroughly laudable one; but, obviously, 
it should not be looked upon as the ulti- 
mate aim, the supreme end of any rational 
being, no matter how destitute of the 
"health, wealth, and- prosperity " that 
form the burden of so many New Year 
wishes. In reality, such a purpose differs 
little, if at all, from the aim if we may 
use the word in such a connection of 
many an irrational animal. 

Ask a worldling of the leisure class 
what is his main purpose in life, and the 
answer will very likely be one of these: 
to attain as high a niche as possible in 
the Temple of Fame; to acquire a com- 
manding position in the political or social 
life, of his country; to achieve distinction 



as a captain of industry; to amass a 
greater number of millions than any other 
financial magnate; to win the renown of 
being a genuine philanthropist, or a 
munificent benefactor of educational or 
sociological causes; to climb above his 
fellows and reach the pinnacle of success 
in his chosen profession law, literature, 
medicine, art, or science; or, finally (in 
not a few cases indeed), to have a "good 
time," to enjoy all possible pleasures, to 
"eat, drink, and be merry" while the 
capability of doing so survives, for "to- 
morrow we die." 

Excluding the last of these aims, not 
all the others are deserving of censure, 
provided they be regarded merely as 
temporal ends, or rather as temporal 
means to the one ultimate, supreme end, 
God's service in this present life and God's 
enjoyment in the life beyond the grave. 
The Lives of the Saints, and profane 
history as well, will furnish abundant 
evidence that great wealth, royal honors, 
fame, glory, distinction, world-wide re- 
nown, eminent social service, and the like 
conditions or circumstances are not in 
themselves -incompatible with the leading 
of that genuinely Christian life which is 
merely the externalization of our intimate 
conviction that we come from God, belong 
to God, and go to God. 

As a matter of fact, all the multifarious 
distinctions that mark off and separate 
man from man in this world riches, 
honors, talents, and the rest are of mini- 
mum import in the eyes of God: 
There is no great and no small 
To the Soul that maketh all. 

The really important point in His estima- 
tion is and must be, not what are the 
conditions of my life, rich or poor, great 
or little, famed or unknown, powerful or 
feeble, prosperous or bankrupt; but, do I 
utilize these conditions, as I certainly can 
use them, to promote His glory and 
thereby work out my salvation? If I fail 
to do so I am assuredly making the most 
radical of life's blunders, am mistaking 
my end. 

Notes and Remarks. 

Whatever be the outcome of the Con- 
gressional investigation (still in progress 
at this writing) of - the alleged "leak" 
of White House secrets information as 
to President Wilson's peace Note given 
privately for stock speculation purposes 
before it became generally known through 
the press, one fact has thus early been 
made superabundantly clear: perjury has 
been committed. Testifying under oath, 
the chairman of the committee declared: 
"There is not one grain of truth in that 
statement." And the maker of the state- 
ment, also under oath, reaffirmed: "What 
I stated a few moments ago was absolutely 
true to the word, so help me God!" Not 
the least sinister feature of the matter is 
the apparent lack of surprise at this 
palpably false swearing of either one or 
the other of the two men. The newspapers 
accept it as a matter of course, and hardly 
think it worth while to comment on the 
crime. For, be it remembered, not only 
does he who swears falsely "commit a 
grave act of blasphemy, and draw down 
upon himself the curse of God and the 
penalty of eternal perdition," but he is 
guilty of a criminal offence punishable by 
fine or imprisonment, or both. In former 
times, in England, the punishment was 
death; subsequently, the perjurer was 
banished or had his tongue cut out; and, 
after the Norman era, the penalty became 
forfeiture of goods and imprisonment. 
The alarming increase of perjury in this 
country, both in the criminal courts and 
in matters political, is one of the weak 
spots in our national life; and, be it re- 
marked incidentally, it is not likely to grow 
less among a generation now being in- 
structed in all branches of knowledge save 
in that which directly concerns the God 
whose name is so flippantly called upon 
to bear witness to a lie. 

Such of our readers as followed some 
months ago the story of the New York 
Charities investigation, a story revealing 



an unmistakable disposition to cripple 
Catholic charitable work in that State, 
will be glad to learn that the report of 
Commissioner Strong has been answered 
by a thoroughly competent body, the 
State Board of Charities. Referring to the 
charges against the Catholic institutions, 
the Board declare that the testimony con- 
clusively showed that "a most serious 
wrong had been done to the institutions 
attacked, and that the utterance of state- 
ments alleging that they were a public 
scandal and disgrace, or unfit for human 
habitation, was reprehensible and indica- 
tive of a deliberate' attempt to destroy 
their usefulness. The institutions managed 
their own defence, and were able convinc- 
ingly to disprove every really important 
charge against them." 

Apropos of the foregoing statement, the 
next mayoralty campaign in the metrop- 
olis should prove an exceptionally inter- 
esting one. 

Tributes to the Church from those out- 
side her fold are becoming so numerous 
as to lack that novelty which recommends 
them to the press as news of interest. 
Occasional tributes, however, are suffi- 
ciently striking to warrant more than 
local publication. Here, for instance, is 
one of unusual character. The Hon. 
Thomas H. Murray, of Clearfield, Pa., 
was the most prominent lay member of 
the Methodist denomination in Central 
Pennsylvania, a delegate for two decades 
to every national conference of his sect and 
to its international council held in England 
a few years ago. His family residence in 
Clearfield commanded a view of the Cath- 
olic church in that little town, and he evi- 
dently saw and was impressed with the 
throngs of worshippers who habitually 
frequented it. This exemplary Methodist 
died recently, and his will was found to 
provide for the payment of a legacy "to 
my personal friend, Rev. Father M. A. 
Ryan, to be used for the benefit of St. 
Francis' Roman Catholic Church, of this 
place, as a token of my high appreciation of 

what that Church has done for humanity, 
order, and the well-being of this community 
during nearly a half century that it has 
been under rny eye; and more particu- 
larly as an expression of my appreciation 
of the daily devotion and duty of his 
people, according to their ideal of true 
worship, as revealed to them by the light 
given them. In this respect I have always 
felt, and have not hesitated to say to my 
own people, they are an example to every 
church in town." 

Along with all the friends and benefac- 
tors of the Cowley Fathers (Society of St. 
John the Evangelist), from among whom 
there have been so many converts to the 
Church, we rejoice to hear that a branch 
house of this Anglican community, dedi- 
cated to St. Francis of Assisi, has been 
founded at Cambridge, Mass. It will be 
the American novitiate of the Society. 
The master of novices requests prayers 
"that its occupants may, with St. Francis, 
follow in the footsteps of Christ." The 
Cowley Fathers everywhere are rejoicing 
over the prospect of having the name of 
St. Francis added to the calendar of the 
Church of England, at least to that 
branch of it to which they adhere. They 
declare that they "long to have Christ 
honored in His saintly member, the Poor 
Man of Assisi." 

The members of the Catholic Woman's 
League, of Davenport, are to be con- 
gratujated upon the splendid address made 
to them recently by the Very Rev. Fr. 
Flannagan, V. G. Among the many nota- 
ble things said by that worthy speaker, 
none deserve more attention than the 
following, which we take from a recent 
issue of the Catholic Messenger: 

Catholic home influences should be empha- 
sized by the members of the League. The atmos- 
phere of the home is far too often one of worldli- 
ness and indifference. Put Catholic books into 
your libraries, Catholic magazines and weeklies 
on your library tables, Catholic pictures and 
symbols upon your walls. How pagan and 
material is the home where the Catholic picture 



or crucifix is relegated to the upper rooms and 
seldom seen, as if it were a thing to be hidden 
and despised! Catholic art is the loftiest form 
of art; nothing has ever surpassed it; and yet 
Catholics are ashamed to place a Madonna 
upon their walls lest they give offence to the 
non-Catholic visitor. 

In how many Catholic homes is attendance at 
Vespers known? I venture to say there are few 
present who can say that they attended Vespers 
three times during the past year; yet they 
would flock to an exhibition of choral singing in 
any theatre, could discourse learnedly upon the 
stately music of the grand opera, etc., when 
Sunday after Sunday the noblest chants of the 
- Church are sounded by priest and choir in the 
Vesper service, and all closed with the Benedic- 
tion of the Most Blessed Sacrament. 

Neglect of Vespers and Benediction has 
become, we fear, only too common of late 
years in many places. Pastors and all who 
are charged with the care of souls would 
do well to make Father Flannagan's mes- 
sage their own. 

The ironies of modern history would be 
a good subject for some competent pen. 
There is no lack of data. A recent author 
recalls that Napoleon's mother, old, blind 
and lonely, in her Roman palazzo, used 
to fondle the Star of Bethlehem in copper 
leaf which her masterful son kept for him- 
self, while he distributed among his little 
brothers the crowns off the heads of the 
Wise Men of the creche that came one 
Christmas to the house in Ajaccio. And 
the mention of Bethlehem reminds us 
that the Pennsylvania city which was 
piously named after the birthplace of the 
Prince of Peace has become the seat of 
one of the greatest armament factories in 
the world. 

Writing in the Holy Cross Magazine, 
which is Anglican, of "The Catholic 
Convert," Miss Zephine Humphrey makes 
it quite plain that she has been converted, 
not to the Church of All Lands, but to 
the Church of England. With reference 
to the convert's new sense of solidarity in 
religion, she says: "It is marvellous to 
him to look back and back not to Wesley, 
not to John Knox, not even (begging the 

Roman See's pardon!) to Henry VIII.; 
but back beyond Ambrose and Augustine, 
to the first rude Apostolic altars, and to 
know that the Sacrament offered there 
was the same which he himself received 
yesterday morning. Moreover, he thrills 
at the thought of the thousands all over 
the modern world receiving the same 
Sacrament with him, at the close of the 
same Epistle and Gospel, the same 
prayers, the same words of consecration. 
If unity is the ultimate aim of creation 
and of our restless destinies, surely the 
Catholic Church is the best realization of 
the ideal which experience affords." 

It is not the "Roman See's" pardon 
but the pardon of history the writer ought 
to ask for that error. The claim of unity 
is the weakest of all Anglican pretensions. 
Miss Humphrey is still a Protestant; but 
we hope that her pilgrimage is not yet 
finished, and that some day she will know 
from experience what it is to be a 
Catholic. It is very different from being 
an Anglican. 

Cardinal O' Council's great letter on 
Charity is a mine from which we have 
already taken priceless ore. But we are 
minded to borrow again. This time it is 
an incidental thought, but one most 
profitable to grasp. His Eminence is 
speaking of the odium into which the 
name of charity has fallen, and happily 
illustrates his point by citing a similar 
abuse of the name of Patrick: 

Here is an instance at hand. Patrick, mean- 
ing patrician, a noble name but Patrick was 
the name of Ireland's patron saint. If you hate 
saints, you will have one motive for removing 
all honor from the name of Patrick. If you hate 
Ireland, you will have another powerful motive. 
So you begin by getting people to laugh at 
Paddy; and, as parents don't like to have their 
children's names laughed at, the spineless ones, 
the time-serving ones, will not call their sons 
Patrick any more, but, well we shall say 
Waldorf or Oswald names which mean as much 
to a Celt as Chin-Chin does to a Bostonian. 
Nevertheless, the trick works, and little by 
little the noble and beautiful and illustrious 
name of Patrick disappears, until a generation 
arrives that sees through the contemptible trick 



and brings back the proud name into its old 
high honor again. 

Now you begin to see what is going to happen 
to the word charity, if we allow this trick to be 
worked under our eyes. Charity means love. In 
the Christian sense, love has for its highest 
object God. In that sense nothing can exclude 
God from love. Charity, therefore, means love 
of God prompting love of our fellowman. This 
was the word which thrilled Christianity in the 
Ages of Faith, which rescued the slave, which 
aided the unfortunate. 

It is a good point, well made. Inciden- 
tally, Boston might easily lead in a revival 
of the name of Patrick, since New England 
is now largely a New Ireland. 

It is high, though well deserved, praise 
of the Literary Supplement of the London 
Times to say that it quickly becomes 
almost a necessity to its readers, its lead- 
ing articles are so sane and brightly 
written, and its reviews of books so schol- 
arly and unbiased; the literary informa- 
tion it furnishes is so reliable and varied, 
and its manner so uniformly courteous. 
There is no literary journal published on 
our side of the Atlantic whose editor has 
not something to learn from this London 
periodical. The leading article in the 
issue for Dec. 28, just to hand, was in- 
spired by Mr. Lloyd George's plea for a 
national Lent, for the sacrifice of expensive 
superfluities during the war. It is a 
remarkable article, nobly conceived and 
admirably penned. "This national Lent," 
says the writer, "must be a Lent of the 
spirit, not of the frightened flesh; a purg- 
ing, not that we may exceed again, but 
that we may have clean minds and high 
desires forever." England will become 
worthy of all those who have died for it, 
if the lesson contained in this glowing 
passage does not go unheeded: 

Think what Christmas meant to us before the 
war, Lent then did not exist for us. It meant 
shops crowded and houses littered with glitter- 
ing trash that we bought and gave to each other 
as if we were hypnotized. No one wished to 
buy it, and no one wished to make it; yet it 
was bought as mechanically as it was made. 
We all, no doubt, desired the true joy of Christ- 
mas, the good-will, the mystery and beauty; 

but we could not rise to these, because we 
clutched at every gewgaw by the way. Think 
of our restaurant dinners with their noisy bands; 
and then think of the first Christmas, the 
Shepherds startled by music in the night, the 
Wise Men travelling far, and the birth that was 
to change the world among the beasts of the 
stable. There was a deeper unfaith in our 
manner of celebrating that than any disbelief 
in the story. We had forgotten even what the 
story meant, forgotten the humble, piercing 
beauty of it, and the- truth that all beauty 
which pierces to the heart is born in humility. 
Our forefathers knew that well enough, and had 
the secret of that beauty; they lacked our 
science and all the trash it gives us; but they 
had the science to build churches like heaven, 
and to make hymns that angels might sing. 

We have lost the power of making songs like 
that, we do not even sing them; and we 
shall not recover the power except through 
austerity, not for the sake of winning the war, 
but for the sake of brotherhood, that there may 
be no more leading into captivity in our streets; 
for the sake of beauty, that it may be shared 
and understood by all; for the sake of God, 
that we may no longer hide the light of His 
countenance from us with our own joyless 

It is a great pleasure to make room for 
an extract like this, though embarrassingly 
long, and a high privilege to set before 
thousands of readers, who otherwise might 
miss them, thoughts so beautiful and 

A venerable Methodist minister who 
served as a chaplain during the Civil War 
relates that once, bending over a mortally 
wounded soldier and asking if there was 
anything he could do for him, the dying 
man pointed to his breast where a crucifix 
was resting. The chaplain held it up, and 
the soldier, after gazing upon it for a 
moment, whispered, "He will forgive," 
and passed away. "I really believe," 
declares the Methodist, "that it was to the 
Lord Jesus, not to the symbol, that the 
dying Catholic looked and prayed." As 
Henry Harland once wrote, apropos of 
something said about him after his con- 
version by an old Protestant lady who 
had greatly admired "The Cardinal's 
Snuff-Box," "one has to smile at things 
like this to keep from crying." 

The Czar's Cane. 


PRINCE PLOUGOFF, one of the 
courtiers of Paul I., Czar of Russia, 
was engaged in a lawsuit with some 
peasants. It was a question about the 
ownership of a certain piece of land, so 
small and sterile that it was a wonder a 
rich and powerful noble would bother 
about it at all. Spite and anger, however, 
were so mixed up in the matter that the 
Prince was as much concerned as if the 
little strip were a whole province. 

Before the lawsuit was decided, Plougoff 
obtained an interview with the Czar and 
explained the matter to .him at length, 
giving of course only his own side of the 
quarrel. Paul I., though of furious temper, 
listened to him patiently until he had 
finished, and then promised him that the 
suit would speedily come to an end, and be 
decided in the Prince's fayor. That same 
day, the Czar, after his cabinet council, 
sent for the Judge who had charge of the 
suit. He was a frail and timid little old 
man, named Serge Alexandrovitch Kolossof . 
His father had been a valet de chambre 
in the household of Paul's mother, Cath- 
erine II., so the Czar knew him very well. 

"Serge Alexandrovitch," said Paul as 
the Judge presented himself, "I know 
you to be a good subject and an honest 

"A very modest one, Sire, the most 
modest in all holy Russia." 

"Well, listen. My friend Prince Plougoff 
has a lawsuit with some peasants about a 
piece of his land." 

"Yes, Sire; I am aware of it. I have 
all the documents, but have not yet had 
time to examine them." 

"Just so. I rejoice that your opinion 

has not yet been formed. Study the docu- 
ments as best you can, and hurry up the 
termination of the suit. These peasants 
claim that this bit of land has belonged 
for centuries to their hamlet; but the 
Prince's archives prove that the claim is 
fraudulent and that the Plougoffs have 
always owned it. That is what imperial 
justice should recognize and proclaim." 

"Yes, Sire." 

"You will return in a week, bringing me 
your judgment." 

A week later, wearing his regular robes 
of office, still timid, and perhaps a little 
paler than usual, Judge Kolossof was 
ushered into the presence of the Czar, 
who smiled at sight of him and the immense 
roll of papers which his lean arms could 
scarcely carry. 

"Have you had time to study, in so 
brief a period, all those documents you 
have there?" 

"Yes, Sire, I have read all the papers 
to the number of three hundred. I have 
analyzed and annotated them all, as it 
was my duty to do; so that for the past 
week I have really had only about half a 
night's sleep." 

"You are a good subject. L,et us chat a 
little. Sit down, ! give you permission. 
Tell me something about your decision. 
The claim of the peasants is perfectly 
absurd, is it not?" 

The Judge dropped his eyes and said 
with clearness but in a low tone: 

"No, Sire, 'not at all." 

"What's that?" 

"Their claim is perfectly reasonable, 
your Majesty." 

"Show me your decision." 

" Here it is, in this sealed envelope, Sire." 

"I haven't time to read it. Sum it up 
in one word. To whom do you adjudge 
the land? To Plougoff or the peasants?" 

"To the peasants, Sire." 



"But, you blockhead, don't you remem- 
ber what I told you the other day?" 

"I remember quite well, Sire. But I 
have made a study of the case, and decided 
it on its merits." 

The Czar flushed and his eyes snapped 
as he strode about the room without even 
a glance at Kolossof, whose pale cheeks 
became livicj. At last the angry ruler 
said in a menacing tone: 

"A fine answer, forsooth! You pretend 
to have studied the case, and you have 
studied nothing unless it be the wishes of 
my enemies. You told yourself: 'Our 
Little Father the Czar desires this decision ; 
but I will give the opposite one just to 
show him that he is not the master, that 
he has no more power than the meanest 
of his moujiks.' That's what you thought; 
is it not so?" 

"No, Sire, that is not what I thought." 

At this reply the Czar could hold him- 
self in no longer. 

"Ah, false Judge," he cried, seizing his 
cane, "false Judge, do you think you 
can call me a liar with impunity?" 

Kolossof retreated before the menacing 
cane; but the Czar followed him, and 
brought the cane down upon his shoulders 
once, twice, half a dozen times, the old man 
uttering no word of complaint or protes- 
tation. It was probably this silence that 
shortened the punishment. Paul soon grew 
ashamed of his action, and threw the cane 
aside, crying: 

"Get out of my sight! I lower myself 
in striking you. You will soon know what 
I have decided in your own case." 

Kolossof retired, well convinced that he 
was taking the first step towards Siberia. 

Several weeks passed, the unfortunate 
Judge using them in making his will and 
bidding farewell to his relatives; for the 
Siberia of those* days was a land from 
which one scarcely ever returned. Finally, 
one evening the expected letter arrived: 
it was not an edict of exile, but an invita- 
tion, chilling in its brevity, to present 
himself the next morning in the council 
chamber. - 

When, in obedience to the note, Serge 
appeared in the terrible room, he had the 
look of a criminal coming for his sentence 
rather than a judge. The Czar was seated 
at a table; his countenance was severe, 
grave, and sorrowful. On the table before 
him were the documents in the suit, and 
the cq,ne with which the Judge had been 
struck, its gold handle glistening in the 
morning sunshine. 

"Serge Alexandrovitch, I have sum- 
moned you for an important matter. Do 
you remember the Plougoff case?" 
"O Sire, how could I forget it?" 
"A month ago, you were the only one 
who had studied these papers: to-day 
there are two of us, two of us, I repeat," 
said the Czar, raising his voice 7 ; "for I, 
too, have read and annotated these docu- 
ments, without omitting a single one. 
Accordingly to-day the two judges are 
to deliver their decision. I am of your 
opinion. Plougoff is in the wrong." 

"Really, your Majesty has come to my 
way of thinking?" 

"Not only so, but I ask your pardon 
for my fit of rage. Do you forgive me?" 
"Of course, Sire, from the bottom of 
my heart." 

"That is not all. A worth-while pardon 
should be paid for. I struck you unjustly. 
You must strike me justly. Take my cane, 
place yourself where I was, place me where 
you were, and strike as hard and as long 
as I struck you." 

As he spoke, the Czar picked up the 
cane and proffered it to Kolossof, who 
retreated towards the door in confusion, 
while the hoarse voice of his royal master 
continued imperiously: 

' ' Here, take it ! I command you to take 
it! Come! Are you a faithful subject or 
not? You will have cause to fear my 
anger if you don't strike as I have ordered 
you to do, with all your strength." 

Kolossof shut his eyes, raised the cane 
and brought it down lightly on the Czar's 
shoulder. The Czar said joyously: 

"Go on! You have only touched my 
uniform . Harder ! ' ' 



But the unfortunate Judge looked so 
pitiable that at last Paul remarked: 

"Very well: you may stop. I thank you 
for letting me off so lightly; for I'm quite 
sure that my blows were of a different 
style. Keep the cane, and return to re- 
assure your family and friends. You will 
learn soon what I am to do for you." 

This time the Czar smilingly held out 
his hand to the astonished Judge. The 
latter, however, turning the cane about in 
his fingers, inquired timidly: 

"Since your Majesty gives me this cane, 
nave I your permission to destroy it?" 

"I forbid you absolutely; on the con- 
trary, I command you to show it to me 
every time you see me about to commit 
an injustice." 

On the next day Kolossof received, his 
appointment as Chief Justice of Russia's 
Supreme Court. 

Con of Misty Mountain. 


MEANTIME Con watched the com- 
pletion of his work with breathless 
interest. The Persian rug, with 
its rich-glowing hues, was spread on the 
earthen floor before the impromptu altar; 
richly embroidered linen, and lace delicate 
as the frostwork on the rocks, covered the 
rude boards; the tall silver candlesticks 
with their waxen tapers were arranged on 
each side; Venetian vases were filled with 
white hyacinths; and all this strange 
splendor was increased by the two great 
candelabra brought down by Jerry a little 
later, old-fashioned candelabra, glittering 
with pendant prisms like the icicles that 
hung on the Misty Mountain pines. Never 
had Con seen such glories before; and he 
stared spellbound, feeling with a thrill of 
delight that his greens and berries fitly 
framed these wonders. And v/hile he still 
watched with kindling eyes for what was 
coming next, little Susie, stepping back 
(as Sister Mary Margaret always did) to 

get a full view of taper and vase, found 
herself again at his side. 

"Gosh, but you made it fine!" ex- 
claimed Con, unable to restrain his admira- 
tion. "Are you going to light all them 
candles to-night?" 

"Oh, yes," said Susie, "every one!" 

"And set all them shining things to 
sparkling?" went on Con, eagerly. "Golly 
I'd like to see them!" 

"Oh, but you will, of course!" said 
Susie. " You'll come to Mass. Everybody 
has to come to Mass on Christmas night. 
It would be a great sin to stay away. 
But maybe" (a sudden harrowing assailed 
Susie), "maybe you're not a Catholic." 

"I ain't," answered Con. "Dunno what 
that is." 

"And and you've never been to 
church or Mass or or anything? " 
gasped Susie. 

"Nowhar," said Con. "Did think of 
starting to school this winter, but teacher 
said she was full up, jest didn't want to 
let me in." 

Speech failed Susie for a moment. Never 
had she faced such dizzy depths of igno- 
rance before. What oh, what would 
Mother Benedicta, what would Sister 
Mary Margaret, what would any of the 
dear nuns at St. Joseph's say or do here. 
Then suddenly little convent Susie seemed 
to see and know. 

' ' O you poor boy ! " she said softly. ' ' Isn' t 
H:here anybody to take care of you?" 

"Don't want nobody," declared Con. 
"I'm twelve years old now. Mother Moll 
says I can take keer of myself. There ain't 
much use in schooling nohow. 1 ' 

"Oh, but there" is, there is!" said 
Susie, eagerly. "You have to learn things. 
And church! to think you have never 
been to church! Oh, you must come to- 
night! It will be so beautiful! And you 
fixed all these lovely greens yourself." 

"Miss Susie dear, Miss Susie!" called 
Nora. "We're going home now." 

"Yes, yes! I'm coming, Nora, I'm 
coming!" The little convent missionary 
paused for a last breathless word. "The 



candles will all be lighted, and everything 
will be so perfectly beautiful!" 

"Miss Susie, what was it I tould ye, 

"Yes, yes! I'm coming, Nora, right 

And the lovely little girl was gone, 
leaving Con with his rough young heart 
strangely softened. For she, too, had 
talked to him as if he were "real folks," 
and not Buzzard's Con. 

"She said I was to come and see things, 
and he said so too. Golly, I've a mind to 
do it, if it wasn't for them boys a-hooting 
and a-jeering. I wouldn't like to get up 
a fight in all these fine fixings. I ain't 
forgot that stone in the snowball. I'm a 
going to have it out with that ar Tom 
Murphy sure. If I could snoop around 
somewhar the boys wouldn't see me, and 
watch them candles lighted to-night." 

Con was slowly taking his way along 
the mountain path while he thus con- 
sidered the situation. Suddenly he paused, 
his quick hunter's eye catching sight of a 
furry little thing beside the road. He made 
a stride forward and picked up, no wild, 
hurt, wood creature as he expected, but a 
small silk-lined muff, the muff that he 
had noted encasing the pretty little girl's 
hands when she first dawned upon his 
astonished eyes an hour ago. Con stared 
at his find curiously. It was so dainty and 
soft and silky, with a cord and tassel to 
swing on its owner's arm; and peeping 
out was an embroidered little handker- 
chief that smelt of violets and and 
Con's touch shook out something else: 
a small purse silver-meshed and silver- 
clasped, and filled with shining silver coins. 

"Golly, what a lot of money!" More 
dimes and quarters and half dollars than 
Mountain Con's rough hand had ever 
held before. It would make him rich for a 
year. It would buy what wouldn't it buy 
at Reddy Jones' across the mountain 
where nobody asked questions and Mother 
Moll dealt for sugar and flour and tea! 
Reddy had a pair of skates for a dollar 
that Con had been eyeing hopelessly for 

months. How he could clip down Injun 
Creek, frozen hard from shore to shore, on 
those skates! And Reddy had jackknives 
too, jackknives with four good blades 
that would cut fine. Con wanted a jack- 
knife more than anything on earth; his 
had only one rusty blade that simply 

My, but there was a lot of money in 
that little purse ; and he had found it all 
by himself, and nobody nobody would 
ever know. He could just kite up to the 
Roost with it, like Dick did when he found 
a bone but but the faint breath of the 
violets drew Con's attention to the dainty 
white handkerchief. .The little girl, the 
pretty little girl who had talked to him as 
if he were "real folks," all these things 
were hers. Maybe she was crying about 
them now. Any girl would cry at losing 
such treasures as these. And she had 
looked at him so kind and nice, and 
talked so soft and sweet, just like the 
birds twitter; and and he wouldn't 
have that pretty little girl cry (Con drew 
a long breath of renunciation) not for all 
the skates and jackknives in the world. 
He would take the fur and the handker- 
chief and the purse and the money and 
everything back to her right off. But 
where would he find her? Con paused now, 
as he framed his good resolve, to wonder 
where she had gone, this pretty little lady 
who was so unlike all her Misty Mountain 
kind. And while he stood thinking and 
wondering, he caught the sound of voices 
and footsteps. 

"Ah, the illegant muff and the purse 
with three good dollars in it! Och, was it 
in the chapel ye left it, Miss, or where?" 

"Oh, I don't know, Nora, I don't 
know!" came a quavering little voice in 
reply. "You see, we never carry muffs at 
St. Joseph's, and I forgot it." 

"Sure I know, darlint, I know! It's 
meself that should have kept me eyes on 
it. What I'm fearing is that boy that 
bad Buzzard ye were talking to, Miss - 
arrah, dear" (Nora's voice rose to a shrill 
cry of triumph), "there's he villyun wid 



it in his hand now, ye thief of the 
wurruld!" And the speaker sprang for- 
ward in righteous indignation to wrest 
his seeming pelf from Con's hand. "Give 
it to me, ye spalpeen, give it to me!" 

"Let go!" cried Con, repelling Nora's 
grasp. "Let go, I say! I ain't going to 
give it to you at all. I'm a-giving it to 
her." And he put the muff and its contents 
into Susie's hand. "Jest picked it up in the 
road here." 

"It's lying ye are, ye villyun!" broke N in 
N v ora, indignantly. "Ye found it in the 
chapel beyant, and were making way wid 
it when we come upon ye. Sure don't we 
all know what ye are? Count yer money, 
darlint, count yer money afore he gits 
off wid it!" 

"I haven't teched the money!" blurted 
out Con. 

"Oh, I'm sure you haven't!" said Susie, 

"Count yer money while I hould on to 
him, Miss!" repeated Nora, catching Con 
by the arm. 

Con loosened her hold with a jerk that 
made her sturdy figure reel; and then, 
leaping back against a rock, he stood with 
both fists clinched, prepared for further 

"Oh, please, please don't do like this!" 
cried Susie, piteously. "He didn't touch 
my money, I know, Nora. And I did drop 
my muff in the road, for it is all white 
with snow. Oh/ I'm so sorry I made all 
this trouble for you!" And she turned 
her tear-filled eyes on the defiant Con, 
softening him at once. 

" I was going to take it all back without 
hurting a thing." And the rough young 
voice had a tremor in it. "I was just 
standing here thinking where to go." 

"Oh, I know you were!" said Susie. 
"Thank you so much for finding it! The 
muff was a Christmas gift from brother 
Phil, and I wouldn't have lost it for the 
world; and Aunt Aline sejtt me the pretty 
purse on my birthday. I would have 
cried my eyes out if I hadn't got it back. 
I'd I'd like to give you something for 

bringing them to me," concluded Susie, 

"A quarter, then, Miss," put in the 
still suspicious Nora, "a quarter if ye 
must; though I'm not believing yet that 
he's not lying 1,0 ye." 

"Don't want no quarter!" blazed out 
Con. V Don't want no pay at all!" 

"Oh, I didn't mean pay!" said Susie, 
her grey eyes opening wide. "I meant a 
picture or a book, or something like people 
give me. I've got a lovely Christmas 
picture in my trunk; Mother Benedicta 
gave it to me yesterday. It is the shepherds 
watching their flocks on Christmas night. 
It's a beautiful picture," continued the 
little speaker. "The stars are shining, and 
the little lambs cuddled up asleep at the 
shepherds' feet, and the angels singing in 
the sky telling them Our Lord was born " 

"And a-lying in the stable," interrupted 
Con; "in the manger where they fed 
things; and the shepherds were rough and 
ragged like me. I know about it all. I'd 
like to have that picture first rate." 

"Come to the Manse, then, to-morrow," 
began Susie. 

"And he better not," broke in Nora, 
"not unless he wants to be took up. The 
Masther has his eyes on the whole Buzzard 
brood. It's in jail they all ought to be, 
young and old." 

"O Nora, Nora, you're just too mean 
for anything!" twittered Susie in soft 

' ' Let her gab ! ' ' said Con, fiercely. ' ' Who 
keers for her? Who keers for the Manse 
or its master? Let him try to jail Uncle 
Bill! Jest let him try! The boys will 
smoke him out of that ar fine house of his 
mighty quick." 

"Ye hear him, Miss, ye hear him?' 
said Nora. " Is it to a young haythen divil 
like that ye'd be giving book or money? 
Come on, darlint, come on ; for yer aunt 
is watching and worrying for us now. 
Come home quick!" And, catching Susie's 
little hand, Nora drew her" firmly away. 

Con stood looking after them with 
glowering eyes. He had learned to give 



back rough words as well as blows; but as 
he watched the little fur-clad figure disap- 
pearing in the distance, his eyes gradually 

"I oughtn't to have said that," he 
muttered. "I oughtn't to have skeered 
her by no such talk. I'd like to take it 
back. I'd like to tell her I wouldn't let 
no smoke or fire come near that house 
while she's in it. I'd rather burn up 
myself. I guess I'm done for now* She 
won't ever talk nice to me agin." 

And Con took his gloomy way up the 
mountain, feeling as if he had lost some- 
thing he co'ild never find. It was a hard, 
rough way; for Con went by the shortest 
cut, up sharp steeps, through thickets and 
briar bush, over ridge and rock and chasm 
where a misstep would have been death. 
Not even the "Boys," wild and reckless 
as they were, dared to "cut" over Misty 
Mountain like twelve-year-old Con. Swift- 
footed though he was, it was fall half an 
hour before he reached the jagged ledge of 
the mountain he called home. The "Roost" 
jutted out like a shelf from the pathless 
height that rose above it, and looked down 
on equally pathless depths below. A 
heavy growth of mountain pine fringed 
its edge and added to its forbidding gloom. 

Behind the pines, and half built against 
the towering cliff, stood a long, low ca*bin, 
or "lean-to," rudely constructed of logs 
and bark, and underpinned with rocks 
and stones that gave it a look of grim, 
defiant strength befitting the outlaws' 
den it was. Rumor whispered of passages 
and hiding-places, hollowed in the cliff 
behind, where the "Buzzards" carried on 
lawless work and stored ill-gotten goods 
safe from approach or discovery. At the 
old smoky cabin, Mother Moll, toothless 
and half-witted sometimes, Con, skinning 
his rabbits or setting his traps, were the 
only residents visible when investigators 

It was to this "home," like the den or 
cave of the wild beasts of the mountain, 
that Con was now making his hurried way. 

(To be continued.) 

; Stick to Your Last. 1 

The origin of this saying was an 
incident of ancient Greece, back in the 
golden days when the famous Apelles was 
painting his pictures. He was a friend 
of Alexander the Great, and painted his 
portrait, as well as that of many others of 
the conspicuous men of the day. The 
artist, in order to find out the real opinion 
of critics, used to place his work, when 
nearly finished, outside his house, and 
conceal himself behind the canvas to 
listen to the comments of the passers-by. 
On one of these occasions a cobbler took 
the liberty to mention to a companion 
that the sandals in the picture were not 
accurately drawn. Apelles, hearing this, 
took the remark in good part, and made 
the suggested correction. The next day 
the picture was displayed again; and, at 
about the same hour, the cobbler and his 
friend passed by as before. , 

"Ah!" he remarked, "I see that this 
painting fellow has heard of my criticism, 
and acted upon it. The sandals are all 
right, but the legs of the figure are a 
little wrong." 

Hearing this, Apelles rushed from his 
hiding-place, exclaiming, "Let the cobbler 
stick to his last! Legs do not concern 
him." From this came the time-honored 

It is not always wise, however, to fol- 
low proverbs blindly. If every cobbler had 
"stuck to his last" to the exclusion of 
everything else, the world would have been 
the loser; for there have been scholarly 
shoemakers, as there have been learned 

A Winter Joy. 

one of winter's joys, 
Is good for girls and good for boys. 
Fix your skates on snug and nice, 
Off you go across the ice. 
Cheeks grow red and eyes grow bright, 
It's splendid for the appetite. 



Longmans, Green & Co.'s list of new books 
and new editions includes "The History of 
Mother Seton's Daughters, the Sisters of Charity 
of Cincinnati, Ohio, 1809-1917," by Sister 
Mary Agnes McCann. The work will be com- 
pleted in three volumes, the first two of which 
will soon be ready. 

Intefesting penny pamphlets recently is- 
sued by the Australian Catholic Truth Society 
are: "The Church and the Citizen," by the 
Rev. C. F. Ronayne, O. C. C.; and "Faith Found 
oh the Battlefield," by the Rev. S. M. Hogan, 
O. P. The annual report of this Truth Society 
shows it to be in a fairly flourishing condition, 
considering the hard times in Australasia. 

One of the most interesting productions 
issued by the Shakespeare Press for the Ter- 
centenary celebration is Mr. Stephen S. Hale's 
study of the poet's religion, which contains 
this statement: "The conclusion to which I 
have come, after the most careful and impartial 
study (and may I be allowed to add? a 
conclusion different from what I had expected 
to find), is in clear and decided agreement with 
that of Mr. G. K. Chesterton, that Shakespeare 
was spiritually a Catholic." 

Something of a novelty in the line of aids 
to preachers is "Illustrations for Sermons and 
Instructions," edited by the Rev. Charles J. 
Callan, O. P. (New York: Joseph F. Wagner.) 
An octavo volume of 384 pages, it possesses a 
number of merits, but is not free from defects. 
One of these latter is the lack of a "Who's 
Who" index of the authors quoted. Not to 
know several of the said authors may possibly 
be to confess one's self unknown; but we are 
probably not singular in this respect. This 
much being said in justice to our critical sense, 
we hasten to add that on the whole the book 
will prove of genuine utility to such preachers 
as know how to use it judiciously. Published 
by Joseph F. Wagner. 

The urbanity of Mr. H. E. Hall's pamphlet 
on "The Petrine Claims" (English Catholic 
Truth Society), to which we called attention 
last week, is not the least of its merits. It is 
in reply to a pamphlet by the Rev. F. W. Puller 
entitled "The Relation of the Church of England 
to the Monarchical Claims of the Roman See." 
Though courteous, Mr. Hall is vigorous in 
expressing his indignation over the. methods 
sometimes adopted by Mr. Paller, who is called 
upon "to desist from repeating his refuted 
statements and for laboring to turn people 

from their true rest and salvation in the Holy 
Catholic and Roman Church." Mr. Hall 
concludes: "Holy Scripture, history, and the 
belief of three hundred million Christians are 
against him; and to this must be added the 
experimental knowledge of an overflowing 
stream of those who once were as Mr. Puller is 
now." The author of "The Petrine Claims" 
was one of them. 

Criticism of "Minnesota," a new collection 
of verse by Ambrose Leo McGreevy, author of 
"The God of Battles," published by the Jones 
and Kroeger Co., Winona, Minn., is disarmed 
by these lines, occurring in "L'Envoi": 

Tho I be guilty of technical crime, 

Tho faults there be in my verses and rhyme; 

Thoughts have I given in words of my choice, 
Hoping they linger with you for a time. 

It can be said that the muse singing in "Minne- 
sota" is gentle and unobtrusive, a little sad too 
now and then, as muses are wont to be. 

One of the most useful of Monsignor Benson's 
books is likely to be the collection of Catholic 
Truth Society pamphlets, to which has been 
added one or two other papers of his, which 
the C. T. S. has published under the title, "A 
Book of Essays." Father Martindale, S. J. 
has written a foreword for the volume, which 
also has as an Introduction Father Ross' splendid 
monograph upon the deceased author. The 
essays include: "Infallibility and Truth," 
"The Death-Beds of 'Bloody Mary' and 'Good 
Queen Bess,'" "Christian Science," "Spiri- 
tualism," "Catholicism," "Catholicism and 
the Future," and "The Conversion of England." 
These are characteristically Bensonian subjects, 
and they are done here in Monsignor Benson's 
best manner. Incidentally, an interesting study 
in temperament might be made by comparing 
the treatment of "Spiritualism" (Spiritism) in 
this book with Dr. Pace's discussion of it in the 
Catholic Encyclopedia. The volume is bound 
in cloth; the grade of paper differs with the 
varying* pamphlets. But the work is well worth 
70 cents, its selling price. 

The present generation of poetry readers 
have a pleasant surprise in store for them in 
"Dreams and Realities," by Rosa Mulholland 
(Lady Gilbert). It is work which dates back 
some decades, and will be as the production of 
a new author to many interested in poetry of 
the present. It is an astonishingly beautiful 
collection, if the adverb does betray our own 
youthfulness. Lady Gilbert is unmistakably a 
poet, as indubitably so as Miss Guiney or Mrs. 



Meynell. She has vision and power of poetic 
conception to a striking degree. She manipu- 
lates rhythm with a deft hand, often to effects 
as original as they are exquisite. Older readers 
of THE AvE MARIA will not need to be told 
these things, but they will be happy to have 
them recalled. We "miss our guess" if contem- 
porary criticism does not welcome this collection 
with the warmest praise. Almost any poem 
in the volume would adequately represent the 
author, but for reasons of space limitation we 
must choose a short one ; it is a sonnet, entitled 


I am not lonely, for I feel you near, 

Although your place is vacant to my eyes, 
And evermore I know the sad surprise 

Of shrouded rooms, and no voice in my ear. 

I am not all forlorn, nor do I fear 

Long wakeful nights and joyless morning skies, 
And lengthening eves when daylight slowly dies 

Along the suntide of the perfect year. 

For you are always close to me in faith ; 

And rather would I follow you through death 
Into your strange unknown eternal place, 
Where I again might see you face to face, 

Than live forgetting you, by you forgot, 

Possessed of newborn joys that know you not. 

If a "modern" critic came upon this unsigned, 
he might be pardoned for setting it down as 
the work of Christina Rosetti. "Dreams and 
Realities" is published by Sands & Co., London, 
and by B. Herder, St. Louis, Mo. The price 
($1.50) is rather excessive. 

The Latest Books. 
A Guide to Good Reading. 

The object of this list is to afford information 
concerning important new publications of special 
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will 
appear at the head, older ones being dropped out 
from time to time to make room for new titles. 
As a rule, devotional^ books, pamphlets and new 
editions will not be indexed. 

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub- 
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United 
States will be imported with as little delay as 
possible. There is no bookseller in this country 
who keeps a full supply of books published abroad. 
Publishers' prices generally include, postage. 

"Illustrations for Sermons and Instructions." 

Rev. Charles J. Callan, O. P. $2. f 
"Beauty." Rev. A. Rother, S. J. 50 cts. 
"Gerald de Lacey's Daughter." Anna T. 

Sadlier. $1.35. 
"The Holiness of the Church in the Nineteenth 

Century." Rev. Constantine Kempf, S. J. 

"The Divine Master's Portrait." Rev. Joseph 

Degen. 50 cts. 

"Tommy Travers." Mary T. Waggaman. 75 cts. 
"Development of Personality." Brother Chrys- 

ostom, F. S. C. $1.25. 
"The Seminarian." Rev. Albert Rung. 75 cts. 

"The Fall of Man." Rev. M. V. McDonough. 

50 cts. 
"Saint Dominic and the Order of Preachers." 

75 cts.; paper covers, 35 cts. 
"The Growth of a Legend." Ferdinand van 

Langenhove. $1.25. 
"The Divinity of Christ." Rev. George Roche, 

S. J. 25 cts. 
"Heaven Open to Souls." Rev. Henry Semple, 

S. J. $2.15. 
" Conferences for Young Women." Rev. Reynold 

Kuehnel. $1.50. 

"Songs of Wedlock." T. A'. Daly. $i. 
"The Dead Musician and Other Poems." 

Charles L. O'Donnell, C. S. C. $i. 
"The Sulpicians in the United States." Charles 

Herbermann, LL.'D. About $2.50. 
"Nights: Rome, Venice, in the Esthetic Eighties; 

London, Paris, in 'the Fighting Nineties." 

Elizabeth Robins Pennell. About $2. 


Remember them that are in bands. HEB., xiii, 3. 

Very Rev. Gerald Keegan, of the diocese of 
Shrewsbury; and Rev. H. G. M. Bruno, Mexico. 

Sister M. Gregory and Sister M. Carmel, of 
the Sisters of the Good Shepherd; Mother 
Marianne, Congregation of Notre Dame; and 
Sister M. Clare, Sisters of the Holy Cross. 

Mr. V. M. Mueller, Mr. J. B. Webster, Mrs. 
Helen D. Chute, Mr. C. Henggeler, Mr. William 
H. Hughes, Mr. Murdock McDonald, Miss 
Anna Vogel, Mr. Lawrence Kiesgen, Mr. Alex- 
ander McNeill, Mr. John Devlin, Mr. J. L. 
Campbell, Miss Mary Dunphy, Mr. J. W. 
Trainor, Mr. Joseph Unland, Mr. William 
Martin, Jr., Mrs. M. F. McElherne, Mr. Henry 
Van Pelt, Mr. ' Michael Corbett, Mr. Frank 
Halker, Mr. Edward Perkinson, Mr. Michael 
Jennings, Mr. Theodor r Albers, Miss M. A. 
Davenport, Mr. Michael McDonough, Mrs. 
Charles Casgrain, Mrs. Mary A. MacVeigh, 
Miss Katherine McHugh, Mr. James Knox, 
Mrs. William Ellis, and Mr. H: H. Geers. 

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

Our Contribution Box. 

"Thy Father, who seeth in secret, will repay thee." 
For the rescue of orphaned and abandoned 
children in China : J.,$i; Friends, $100; S. J. E-, 
$5; Child of Mary, $i. For the Bishop of Nueva 
Segovia: Friend, $5 ; Miss T. A. S., $2. For the 
Belgian war children: I. C., $3. For the Foreign 
Missions: Friend, $2. 


-i t ~ ii _ 


VOL. V. (New Series.) 


NO. 5 

[Published every Saturday. Copyright, 1917: Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C.] 

Our Lady's Offering. 


QUENCHED are the Christmas candles, 

Withered the Christmas bough 
But see! On Our Lady's altar 

What lights are gleaming now? 
They are rippling all about her, 

They shine at her sandalled feet, 
This day of her glad oblation, 

The Mother pure and sweet. 

Meekly the royal Maiden 

Enters the Temple door, 
With slow and reverent footsteps 

Treading the sacred floor; 
Carrying doves to the altar, 

The Dove of Peace on her breast. 
Vj&s ever so fond a nestling? 

Was ever so fair a nest? 

Lore of the Mass. 


iBUJTlON. This word is ap- 
plied to the wine and water 
with which the priest purifies 
first the chalice, and then his 
fingers after the Communion in the Mass. 
(The cleansing of the chalice is, however, 
generally called the purification.} This is 
done out of reverence for the body and 
blood of Christ, lest any part of the con- 
secrated species might remain attached to 
the chalice or the fingers of the priest. The 
chalice is purified first with wine alone, 
while the priest says, "What we have 

taken with our mouth, O I/ord, may we 
receive with a pure heart; and, of a tem- 
poral gift, may it become to us an ever- 
lasting healing." Next the priest holds the 
thumb and index finger, which alone have 
touched the Blessed Sacrament, over the 
chalice; and, while the server pours wine 
and watei^on them, says, "May Thy body, 
O Lord, which I have received, and Thy 
blood which I have drunk, cleave unto 
my inmost parts; and grant that no stain 
of sin may remain in me, who have been 
refreshed with pure and holy mysteries." 
The wine thus used for both purifications 
is immediately consumed by the priest, 
except when he has to say another Mass; 
then it is usually placed in a glass to be 
consumed after the next Mass. 

ACOLYTE. The term is Greek, and is 
derived from akolouthos, which signifies a 
young servant, or attendant. The duties 
of the acolytes are to supply the wine and 
water, and to light and* carry the candles 
at the Mass ; they also make the responses 
in the name of the people. These offices 
are now performed by boys or laymen, but 
in the early ages this right was conferred 
by a ceremony of ordination. Hence 
acolytes are counted among the/ four 
Minor Orders of the clergy; the other 

* In writing this dictionary I have 7 made use of the fol- 
lowing works: Catholic Encyclopedia; Addis and Arnold, 
Catholic Dictionary; De Herdt, "Sacra Liturgia "; Du- 
chesne, "Christian Worship "; Fortescue, " The Mass"; Gihr, 
"The Mass"; O'Brien, "History of the Mass"; Rock, 
"Hierurgia "; Semeris-Berry, "The Eucharistic Liturgy"; 
Shadier, "Beauties of the Catholic Church"; York, "The 
Roman Liturgy," etc. Thus acknowledging my sources 
in the beginning, I may, I trust, be excused from giving 
references under each article. The things explained are 
such as fall under the observation of the ordinary devout 
worshipper, or are often mentioned in connection with 
the Mass. 



three being Doorkeeper, Reader, and Ex- 
orcist. The manner of ordination to this 
office is thus laid down in an ancient work : 
"When an acolyte is ordained, let him be 
instructed by a bishop how he is to per- 
form his office. But let him receive from 
the archdeacon the candlestick with a wax 
taper, that he may know that to him has 
been consigned the duty of lighting the 
lights of the church. And let him receive 
an empty cruet to supply wine for the 
Eucharist of the blood of Christ." In 
ancient times also it was a custom for the 
Sovereign Pontiff at Rome, and for the 
bishops of the other cities of Italy, to send 
by acolytes a small portion of the Holy 
Eucharist which they had consecrated to 
the various titular churches of the city. 
The priest who was celebrating the Holy 
Sacrifice used to put this particle into the 
chalice. The object of this ceremony was 
to signify the communion of the same 
sacrifice and sacrament by which the head 
and members of the Church were united. 
Acolytes also carried the sacred species to 
the absent, especially to confessors of the 
faith detained in prison. The order of 
Acolyte is now received only as a step 
to the priesthood. 

ACTION. A word often used for the 
Canon of the Mass. (See "Canon.") 

AGNUS DEI (Lamb of God). This 
prayer occurs before the Communion. It 
runs thus: "Lamb of God, who takest 
away the sins of the world, have mercy on 
us. Lamb of God, etc., have mercy on us. 
Lamb of God, etc., give us peace." In 
Masses for the dead the responses are: 
"Give them rest; give them rest; give 
them eternal rest." It is also said by the 
priest before he distributes Holy Com- 
munion to the people during or outside 
Mass. Before the time of Pope Sergius I. 
(687-701), the chanting of the Agnus Dei 
was confined to the choir; but, by a decree 
of this Pontiff, it was extended to the 
clergy also. In a High Mass it is sung by 
the choir. It is omitted in the Mass of 
Easter Saturday, and in the Mass of the 
Presanctified on Good Fridav. 

ALB. So called from the Latin albus 
(white), is an ample linen tunic reaching 
to the feet. It is put on by the priest 
immediately after the amice. It is usually 
trimmed with lace, and is emblematic of 
that stainless candor and purity of soul 
which should adorn all those who minister 
around the altar where the Lamb without 
spot is sacrificed. When putting it on 
the priest says: "Cleanse me, O Lord, and 
purify my heart; that, sprinkled with the 
blood of the Lamb, I may enjoy eternal 
happiness." It is fastened at the neck 
by means of strings, and around the 
waist by a girdle, or cincture. The alb 
must be made of white linen, and needs 
to be blessed before use. The surplice may 
be considered as a substitute for the alb, 
and is used on less solemn occasions. 

ALLELUIA. A Hebrew expression, mean- 
ing "Praise ye the Lord." It occurs at the 
beginning or the end (or both) of psalms. 
It was looked on by the Church as an ex- 
pression of joy, and was first used in the 
services of Easter Sunday. Later on it 
was extended to the whole of Eastertide; 
and finally to all Masses which are joyful 
in character (that is, to all outside Lent, 
funerals and fast-days). It occurs in the 
Mass between the Epistle and the gospel. 
During Easter Week it is said twice after 
the lie Missa est, and after the Deo Gratias 
at the end of the Mass. 

ALTAR. "According to the best au- 
thorities, 'altar' is formed from the Latin 
altus (high), and am (a mound or eleva- 
tion)." It is the sacred table upon which 
the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is offered. 
According to the rule, it ought to be about 
three and one-half feet high, three feet 
wide, and six and one-half feet long. It 
must be made of stone, at least as to that 
part of it upon which the chalice and its 
appurtenances are laid. The right of the 
altar is the part to the right of the crucifix, 
or Gospel side; and the left, the left of 
the crucifix, or Epistle side. Formerly it 
was exactly the reverse. The altar during 
the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass must be 
covered with three linen cloths, blessed by 



the bishop or his delegate. For the first 
three centuries the altars were generally, 
though not always, of wood. Very often 
the tombs of Apostles and distinguished 
martyrs were employed as altars. The 
position of the altar was originally so 
arranged that it looked directly towards 
the east. Christ is called the Orient or the 
Dayspring from on high, and men looked 
to the east when they thought of Him as 
coming on the altar; hence in liturgical 
language that portion of the church which 
contains the altar is still called the east, 
ito matter at what point of the compass 
it may in reality lie. Anciently, the altar 
did not stand, as it nearly always does 
now, against the wall of the sanctuary, 
but was isolated, and placed so that the 
celebrant should face towards the people. 
Hence both the altar and the portals of 
the church were directed to the east. 
This is what is known as the orientation 
of the altar. 

Our Lord celebrated, or rather instituted, 
the Eucharistic Sacrifice at a wooden table. 
Hence in the early times many altars 
were made of wood, and had the form 
of a table. But stone was also employed 
and anointed for this holy purpose. And 
in the Catacombs, as a rule, a martyr's 
grave, covered with a stone slab, was used 
for an altar. The principal parts of the 
altar are the lower portion, and the stone 
slab on which the host and chalice are 
consecrated. The remainder is an addition 
artistically decorated, and differing in 
different times and countries. An altar 
is movable or immovable. A movable, or 
portable, altar is a four-cornered stone 
slab, in which relics are placed. It must 
be at least sufficiently large to allow the 
host and the greater part of the chalice 
to rest upon it. It can be moved with- 
out losing its consecration. (See "Altar- 
Stone.") An immovable altar is one whose 
table and base are of stone and united 
into one inseparable whole, not only by 
cement, but likewise by the holy anoint- 
ings of the consecration. If this connection 
is severed, or if the relics are removed, or 

if one of those essential constituents of 
the altar is essentially injured, the altar 
loses its consecration. The consecration 
of an altar embraces mystical prayers and 
chants, ceremonies and symbols, sprinkling 
with holy water and incensing, anointings 
and blessings. The inclosing in the altar 
of the relics of martyrs is one of the chief 
ceremonies in the rite of consecration. 

A PRIVILEGED ALTAR is one at which, 
in addition to the ordinary fruits of the 
Eucharistic Sacrifice, a plenary indulgence 
is also granted whenever Mass is celebrated 
thereon. The indulgence must be applied 
to the individual soul for whom the Mass 
is offered. To gain the indulgence, the 
Mass must be a Requiem Mass whenever 
the rubrics allow it. 

ALTAR OF REPOSE. Two large hosts 
are consecrated in the Mass of Holy 
Thursday, one being consumed that day, 
and the other placed in a chalice to be 
used in the celebration of Good Friday, 
when there is no consecration, but only 
the Mass of the Presanctified. The chalice 
is carried in procession, and placed in a 
richly decorated side altar, where it re- 
mains till' the next day. This side altar is 
called the Altar of Repose. 

ALTAR-BREADS. Wheaten bread is one 
of the two elements necessary for the 
Sacrifice of the Mass. The bread must 
have been made of pure wheaten flour, 
mixed with natural water; and it must 
be pure, white and fresh. In the Latin 
rite, the bread must be unleavened; the 
Greek Catholics use leavened bread; but 
both are equally valid. The altar-breads 
are made round in shape; a large one is 
used by the celebrating priest, and smaller 
ones are consecrated for the Communion 
of the faithful. They are baked between 
heated irons upon which is stamped the 
Crucifixion, the Lamb of God, a simple 
cross, or some other pious image. 

ALTAR-CARDS. For the convenience of 
the priest, three cards are placed on the 
altar during Mass. They contain certain 
prayers said in every Mass. That at the 
Gospel side contains that portion of the 



first chapter of St. John's Gospel, which is 
said in nearly every Mass. That in the 
center contains the Gloria, Credo, and cer- 
tain other prayers. That at the Epistle 
side contains the prayers said while putting 
the water into the chalice, and during the 
washing of the fingers. Only the center 
card is prescribed by the rubrics; the 
other two have been introduced by custom. 
Outside of Mass, they should be removed 
from the altar, especially during exposi- 
tion of the Blessed Sacrament. In some 
countries they are not used at all; and in 
others, only the center card is used. 

ALTAR - CLOTHS. During Mass the 
altar should be covered with three clean 
and blessed linen cloths. In place of the 
two undercloths, a single cloth doubled 
will suffice. The upper one should reach 
almost to the ground on either side. These 
cloths must be of linen, every other 
material being forbidden. The altar is 
covered with linen cloths throughout the 
year until Holy Thursday, when, after 
Mass, the stripping of the altar takes place 
as a preparation for the celebration of 
Good Friday. The altar remains bare 
until Easter Saturday, symbolizing the 
grief of the Church at the death of her 
Divine Spouse. The three linen cloths are 
a symbol of the Trinity, also a reminder 
of the linen cloths in which our Saviour 
was wrapped when laid away in the 

ALTAR- CRUCIFIX. The crucifix is placed 
on or over the altar during Mass, to remind 
us that the same Victim is offered in the 
Mass that was offered on the Cross. It 
should be visible to priest and people, and 
should be placed at the middle of the 
altar, between the candlesticks. During 
Passiontide the cross is veiled in purple. 
On Holy Thursday the cross on the altar 
on which High Mass is celebrated is cov- 
ered with white material, and on Good 
Friday with black. 

ALTAR-STONE;. If the whole altar is 
not consecrated, there must be at least 
a consecrated altar-stone in order to say 
Mass. The. stone must be consecrated by 

a bishop, and must be large enough to 
hold the host and chalice. It is placed on, 
or inserted in, the structure used for an 
altar, and may be moved without losing 
its consecration. The ceremonies of con- 
secrating an altar-stone are somewhat 
similar to those used in the consecration 
of an altar. The relics of martyrs are 
placed therein in a small cavity, and care- 
fully sealed. It loses its consecration by a 
removal of the relics or by being broken. 

ALTAR- WINE. 'Wine is one of the two 
elements necessary for the Eucharistic 
Sacrifice. It must be the pure juice of the 
grape, naturally and properly fermented. 
Red or white wine may be used. A small 
quantity of water is added to the wine 
before the oblation. There is a tradition 
that Our Lord did this at the institution 
of the Holy Eucharist; and it is also 
symbolic of the union of the two natures, 
divine and human, in Jesus Christ, or of 
the blood and water which flowed, from 
the side of our Saviour on the Cross. 

AMEN. A Hebrew form of affirmation, 
consent or desire. It was frequently used 
by our Divine Lord, and early passed into 
the use of the Christian Church. 

AMICE. The word is derived from the 
Latin amicire (to cover). The amice was 
introduced in the eighth century to cover 
the neck, which hitherto was usually bare. 
It is the first vestment put on by the 
priest about to 'say Mass, and consists of 
a linen cloth about three feet long and 
eighteen or twenty inches wide, with 
strings for fastening it around the neck 
and body. It has a cross in the middle, 
which the priest kisses before putting it 
on. Originally it covered the shoulders, 
neck and head. When the priest arrived 
at the foot of the altar, the amice was 
thrown back, and folded about the neck. 
The Dominicans and Capuchins still fol- 
low this manner of using the amice. Even 
now the rubrics direct that when putting 
it on, the amice must first be thrown upon 
the head, and then allowed to fall on the 
shoulders. In putting it on the celebrant 
says these words: "Place upon my head, 



O Lord, the helmet of salvation for repel- 
ling the attacks of the Evil One." 

ANTEPENDIUM. (Latin, ante-pendere: to 
hang before or in front.) A curtain or 
screen hung or placed in front of the altar. 
It is often made of costly metals, but gen- 
erally of cloth or silk stretched in a frame. 
It is usually ornamented. In color it should 
correspond with the color of the feast or 
Office of the day, as far as possible. In 
this country it is not in general use, except 
in Masses for the dead. 

ANTIPHON. By antiphon is generally 
"meant a short verse introducing and con- 
cluding a psalm. It gives a hint as to the 
fundamental thought of the psalm it in- 
troduces. The psalm said by the priest 
(Ps. xlii) at the foot of the altar when 
beginning Mass is preceded by such an 
antiphon; as is also the portion of a 
psalm used in the Introit. The antiphon 
is itself also usually a verse from one of 
the psalms. During Eastertide, two and 
sometimes three Alleluias are added to the 
antiphon in the Introit. 

ASPERGES. At the beginning of a High 
Mass on Sunday the celebrant, the altar, 
clergy, and people are sprinkled with 
holy water. This ceremony is called the 
Asperges from the first word of the 
antiphon (Asperges me, Domine, hyssopo) 
intoned by the celebrant, and sung by 
the choir during the ceremony. During 
Easter season a different antiphon is sung. 
The object of the- ceremony is to prepare 
the hearts of the congregation for the 
Holy Sacrifice by inciting them to senti- 
ments of reverence and penance. 

(To be continued.) 

The Crest of the Bodkins. 


PERFECTION, which without doubt 
adorned the Mother of the Son of God, 
does not consist in extraordinary or strik- 
ing actions. In her we find neither proph- 
ecies nor miracles, nor sermons to the 
people, nor ecstasies, nothing but what 
is simple and ordinary. . . . But these 
treasures remained hidden; outwardly 
nothing appeared but recollection, sim- 
plicity, the common life. Fenelon. 

HE "Novara," escorted by a 
war-ship, entered the harbor 
of Vera Cruz on the sixteenth 
of May. At a distance of half 
a mile from the mainland lay the fort of 
San Juan de Ulloa, grim, hoary, dented, 
the bayonets of the sentries flashing in the 
glorious tropical sunlight. A salute of 
twenty-one guns boomed from this little 
island, upon which Hernando Cortez first 
planted his mailed heel on the 2ist of 
April, 1519, just three hundred and 
forty-five years before. Vera Cruz, baked 
to a dull pink, stood out from a tawny 
sand-bank. Clean-cut against a keen, full, 
blue sky stood church towers and domes 
surmounted by burnished crosses. Here 
and there stately palms en silhouette, and 
snow-white houses with colored blinds 
peeped over walls and fortifications ragged 
and jagged as the outer surface of a rough 
oyster shell. Dim and shadowy spectres 
filled the background giant mountains 
jealously shrouded in mantles of clouds. 

All was bustle and excitement on 
board the "Novara" as everybody, from 
the imperial couple to the drummer boys, 
prepared to land. 

The voyage had been an uneventful 
one, save for the touching at Madeira and 
Havana. Arthur Jiad plenty to do, the 
Baron giving him such work as did not 
entail the necessity for speaking Ger- 
man, a language which our hero was 
rapidly acquiring through the medium 
of an Ollendorf and spasmodic efforts at 
conversation with his brother officers. Of 
Alice Nugent he saw but little. She, too, 
was busily engaged in the organization 
of the usages and etiquette for the new 
court; the Empress spending hours daily 
in drawing up instructions for the heads 
of various departments of the imperial 
household, a task which seemecl to afford 



her the keenest delight. The Emperor 
also was occupied from rosy morn to 
dewy eve in "the misery of detail," and 
in consultation with his secretaries of 
state and other high officials. 
. There were two or three dances; but 
as Arthur was not sufficiently advanced 
to be included in the imperial set, he 
had to stand aside and see Alice dance 
with others; and although, as a rule, her 
partners were old enough to be her father, 
he could not see her smile or laugh without 
feeling a sting from the green-eyed mon- 
ster. One night that before which they 
landed, while the ships lay at anchor 
opposite the island of Sacrificios, there 
was a dance under the tropical starlight, 
and Miss Nugent's partner was Count 
Ludwig von Kalksburg. Arthur felt 
inclined to fall upon them both, wrest 
Alice from the Count, and if necessary 
hurl the latter into the Gulf. But instead 
he went "forrard" to nurse his wrath, 
and stood until daydawn, arms folded, 
leaning over the rail, a prey to the hideous 
torments of jealousy. 

"She need not have danced with him 
if she did not wish to. She could have 
excused herself on the plea of headache 
or fatigue. She should not have danced 
at all, since I was not permitted to be her 
partner. I am not good enough. I am not 
a hochwohlgeboren, or whatever they call 
it. I am no Austrian count. But I am 
an Irish gentleman, thank God! That 
girl is only trifling with me. Let her 
flirt. Two can play at that game. But 
there's no one like her in all the world!" 
And thus did Arthur Bodkin alternate 
between love and a mild form of momen- 
tary hatred. 

The etiquette on. board the "Novara" 
was very strict. The lines laid down were 
hard and fast and impassable. Although 
Arthur was an aid-de-camp, he dare not 
cross the quarter-deck except on business. 
This was reserved for the Emperor, 
Empress, and the high and mighty per- 
sonages, male and female, composing their 
household. All the golden dreams that 

Bodkin had dreamed of wooing his "faire 
ladye" beneath an awning on a summer 
sea, or drinking in the music of her 
whisperings under the glory of the South- 
ern Cross and glitter of tropical stars, 
ended in moonshine. His quarters might 
have been in another dwelling a couple 
of blocks away. He seldom saw Miss 
Nugent, and then it was usually at the 
side of her imperial mistress. Alice, like 
a well-brought-up young lady, mentally 
refused pointblank to make herself in 
any way conspicuous with Arthur Bodkin; 
and, knowing that young gentleman's hot, 
rash, and inconsiderate temper, actually 
avoided meeting him; though her little 
heart would beat love's own tattoo when- 
ever the stalwart and handsome Irishman 
appeared on the scene. 

One morning, having been dispatched 
by Baron Bergheim with a communica- 
tion to the Emperor, Arthur resolved, once 
across the red-velvet roped barrier, that he 
would not recross until he should have 
spoken with Alice. Delivering his dispatch 
into the hands of Maximilian's private 
secretary, Bodkin asked one of the women 
whom he found on duty in the passage 
leading to the quarters of the Empress 
to say to the Fraulein Nugent that he 
wished to speak to her for one moment. 
The young girl, pale and with a scared look 
in her lovely eyes, immediately appeared. 

"What is the matter, Arthur? Anything 
gone wrong?" 

"Yes, I have pulled a wisp of hair out 
of the Emperor's beard, and I want you 
to plait it for me," he grimly responded; 
then angrily: "Pshaw, Alice! This sort of 
thing won't do. I must see you, speak with 
you. I say must. To-night, after dinner, 
I'll wait for you behind the first life-boat." 
And he turned on his heel. 

Miss Nugent failed to put in an appear- 
ance; but she wrote him a sweet little 
note, reproving him for his rashness, 
and bidding him be patient. "Patience 
may be bitter," she said, "but the fruits 
of it are sweet." 

The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass was 



offered up at 5.30 on the morning of the 
28th of May, the altar being on deck. It 
was a glorious morning, fresh and full 
of sheen and sunshine. A delicious breeze, 
laden with the thousand impalpable odors 
of tropical flowers, stirred the gay and 
gaudy bunting; and the sweet sound 
of bells summoning the faithful to early 
service came floating across the blue 
waters. In the purple .distance lay the 
island of Sacrificios, where the Aztecs used 
to offer up the bleeding hearts of their 
victims plucked throbbing from heaving 
"breasts; while snow-capped Orizaba, on 
the other side, stood out in richest 
radiance of pink and rose colors. In the 
city of Vera Cruz all was bustle and 
animation. From every house hung out 
carpets and flags and bunting, to the 
intense astonishment of the lazy buzzards, 
to whom the housetops alone belong; 
while the streets and quay walls were 
alive with joyous sight-seers, all on the 
aui vive to catch a glimpse of the Empress 
from beyond the sea. 

At an early hour a state barge put off 
from shore, laden with notables arrayed 
in gorgeous and glittering uniforms. This 
deputation was received on board the 
"Novara" with all honors, including a 
salute of seventeen guns. The Emperor and 
Empress shook hands with each member 
upon presentation, Carlotta speaking 
in Spanish, which greatly pleased the 

"This glorious morning is a good 
omen, your Imperial Majesty," observed 
General Alamonte. 

"I have prayed for it," said the Empress. 

An address of welcome was presented 
to the Emperor, who made a 'suitable 
response; a second address being tendered 
to the Empress, who responded in the 
purest Castilian. 

"She will rule all our hearts," remarked 
a swarthy deputy, tears in his voice. 

Amid the booming of cannon from the 
shore, from the forts, from the ships in 
the roadstead, and from the Themis, the 
imperial party embarked in a barge mag- 

nificently decorated for the occasion, the 
standard of Mexico to the fore, that of 
Austria caressing the wavelets from the 

"And this is Mexico," said Carlotta 
to Alice Nugent, as she lightly stepped 
ashore, "the land of my dreams, my 
future home!" 

"God grant that your Majesty may find 
it all that home implies!" responded the 
Maid of Honor, a strange solemnity in 
her dulcet voice. 

"Thank Heaven, the voyage is over!" 
growled Arthur Bodkin, as he descended 
the side of the "Novara." "And may I 
never see you again!" taking a last look 
at the good ship, which now bade adieu 
to her ill-fated guests, with manned yards 
and standard dipped. "I have had gall 
where I expected honey; nothing but 
vexation, mortification, and disappoint- 
ment; and for one ounce of happiness tons 
of misery." 

Far different were the cogitations of 
Rody O'Flynn, whose trip was one of 
a rare and roseate hue throughout the 
entire voyage. 

"Bad cess to it, why couldn't we have 
been becalmed or wracked, or pent up on 
a dissolute island! Wasn't everything 
aboard fit for the Lord-Mayor! And 
lashin's an' lavin's, an' every mother's 
son of thim all as civil to me as if I was 
a son of an Irish king? It was ( Mein 
Freund,' here, and ' Mein Herr' there, 
an' ' Vollen sie? ' all the time. An' that 
shoneavic daisy, Margery didn't I make 
it aisy for her in Irish? Faix she knows 
enough now for to hould until we come 
to the city, wherever it is. It's lucky I 
wasn't bespoke at home; for Margery is 
colloguerin' wid me heart, an' it's as soft 
as the bog of Allen." 

Arthur's first step after landing was to 
look out for Harry Talbot; and in vain 
he peered anxiously into the few bearded 
faces which he encountered on his way 
from the pier up to the Hotel Diligencia. 
Here he learned that an Englishman by 
that name had been stopping at the hotel, 



but that he had left for the capital with 
two of his countrymen. After a good deal 
of hard work for the excitement con- 
sequent upon the arrival of the imperial 
party was at fever heat lie succeeded in 
finding a letter addressed to himself from 
his friend, which he tore open with as 
much verve as though it had come from 
Alice herself. It was dated two days 
previously, and ran thus: 

Vera Cruz, May 26. 

MY DEAR ARTHUR: I got here, just 
as I thought I would, before you. I don't 
know when you may arrive. It may be 
manana, which means to-morrow; but 
everything in Mexico, so far as I can see, 
is manana. We had rather a rough time 
of it coming out, and didn't I envy you? 
Oh, no, not at all! 

I met at this hotel two men from Dublin, 
no less, one, James Corcoran, of Ormund 
Quay, who is here on mining business; 
and a Thomas O'Connor, cousin of Tom 
O'Connor, of Ballyragget, the fellow that 
rode his horse into the hall at Dublin 
Castle, and was going to be shot by the 
sentry. Young O'Connor is here for fun, 
and seems to be getting lots of it. 

By the way, the Emperor will not have 
a bed of roses here. There is a strong 
feeling against him, and the Mexicans are 
very patriotic. I heard a lot from Corcoran 
which leads me to think that your friend 
Maximilian would have done better not 
to exchange that beautiful Miramar for 
Mexico. A guerrilla war will be waged 
on him and his troops; so look out for 
squalls, old boy! I thought it better to 
push on to the capital with those two 
fellows, and I shall await you with great 
anxiety at No. 5, Calle San Francisco. 

God bless you, my dear Arthur! 

Yours faithfully, 


P. S. I ate some snails at this hotel, 
and I tell you they are delicious. 

P. P. S. I open this to say that Cor- 
coran has learned from his partner in a 
silver mine at Pachuca that this city is 

full of the followers of Juarez; and that 
Lerdo de Tejada, who was vSecretary of 
State under Juarez, is here in disguise. So, 
my dear, rash Bodkin, keep your weather 
eye open. Trust to no Mexican under any 
pretext whatever! Do with them as we 
were instructed to do with the Irish when 
I had the honor of serving her Majesty 
"use them." Give Rody O'Flynn this 
straight tip. He's the boy that will know 
how to use it. Come straight to me at 
No. 5, Calle San Francisco. It is the swell 
street of the capital. H. T. 

A right royal reception awaited the 
imperial party as, surrounded by an 
imposing escort commanded by General 
Alamonte, they proceeded through the 
quaint old city to the Municipal Palace. 
Here an address from the municipality 
awaited them, couched in terms of affec- 
tionate and respectful welcome. Later an 
almuerzo, or second breakfast, was served, 
at which Maximilian and Carlotta first 
tasted the Mexican national dish of 
frfeoles, or black beans, and ate of the 
tortilla, or flat wheaten bread. 

Arthur Bodkin managed to obtain a 
seat at a side-table directly opposite the 
imperial table, and facing Alice, who, 
being young and healthy, was excep- 
tionally hungry, and paid a very devoted 
attention to the curious and delectable 
dishes offered her. It was not until late 
in the banquet that, on looking up, she 
caught her lover's .eye fixed upon her, 
but with no love-like glance. She smiled 
brightly, and nodded to him in that sweet, 
familiar way that only some women with 
well-shaped heads know. He returned her 
salute with a cold bow, and ostentatiously 
began a conversation with a young lady 
seated next to him, to whom up to this 
moment he had not vouchsafed a word. 

"What have I done now, Arthur?" 
whispered Alice, when the party had 
broken up. 

"Done! Nothing that I know of, Miss 
Nugent." And the graceless youth, bowing 
low, mingled with the crowd, a rage 
glowing in his heart. 



"I will show her that I can live without 
her. She may flirt with every dark-eyed 
caballero, for all / care. Done! Oh, if she 
only loved me one half as much as I 
love her, she would do something! Done! 
Nothing ! She is made up of court conceit. 
Her head is turned by being Maid of 
Honor -upper lady's maid to a month- 
old Empress. She is frozen up in etiquette, 
and conventionality has iced her. Well, 
let her go! let her go!" 

In the afternoon Baron Bergheim sent 
for Bodkin. 

"You will push on, hey! and get to 
Orizaba. A Senor Manuel Gonzalez and 
two orderlies will ride with you. This dis- 
patch must be in Mare*chal Bazaine's hands 
by to-morrow. Do not mention its exist- 
ence to mortal. You have seventy miles to 
do. Hey, hey! You will have to ride. 
Fresh mounts at Soledad. And mind you, 
Bodkin, look out for brigands! Lerdo's 
ragamuffins are on the alert to pick up or 
pick off small bodies of our men and carry 
them into Chihuahua. And a rumor is 
abroad that the imperial cortege may be 
attacked. So keep your eyes open, and 
ride in the centre of the road. Adios, as 
we say in Mexico. And, hey! you have 
only time to say 'Dad me un beso' to 
Miss Nugent, whatever that means. 
Hey, hey!" 

An hour later found our hero, with 
Senor Manuel Gonzalez and two orderlies, 
spurring along the cactus-lined road that 
lay across the tawny plain in the direc- 
tion of 'Orizaba. 

(To be continued.) 

On the Mountain. 




^\ WILL not murmur at her loss, 

Dear as she was to me. 
Her kindly hands may reach across 

The deep Eternity, 
Just as she came, one summer day 
Like a June rose, then passed away, 

But left her love with me. 


LONELY mountain-top, lonely road; 
the far silence of immense unpeopled 
spaces ; a path along which the blackberry 
bushes offer their luscious dark berries 
in great clusters, untouched; among the 
pines and balsam firs, some young maple 
standing forth in sudden glory of scarlet, 
tremulous in its daring beauty, -and then, 
quite unexpectedly, in the midst of the 
solitude, the whir of machinery, and smoke 
pouring from a wide aperture like to the 
mouth of a pit. Without seeking it, and 
indeed by surprise, we have come upon 
the Tunnel Shaft. From the low building, 
a man, seeing strangers at the door, ad- 
vances to meet us. He has a certain air 
of dignity and reserve, as a guard might 
on duty; yet when he speaks the voice is 
unusually refined and courteous, and the 
eyes hold one's attention immediately by 
some extraordinary depth and serenity of 
light blue in them, the very color and 
look of those untroubled mountain lakes 
around us, secure in their high fastnesses, 
and open only to the sky. 

In answer to our questions, he tells the 
story of the tunnel; and, though we know 
it already, as the matter is one of history, 
the graphic words, spoken at that spot, 
make of it epic sculpture. Between the 
East and the West, the mountain, that 
Gibraltar of granite, stood, untaken, un- 
passable. Twice the attempt was made to 
bore through, from valley to valley; and 
twice impregnable rock, and water gushing 
in the inner bowels of it, had resulted in 
failure and loss of life. But the men who 
meant to pass the mountain were granite, 
too. A third attack was planned, East and 
West simultaneously; and, at the same 
time, even where the grass crumples now 
under our treading, a shaft was opened 
downward, piercing vertically, one thou- 
sand and more feet. That was how they 



did it, and the mountain was conquered. 

We could lean over the parapet, above 
a hole fifty or sixty feet wide in diameter, 
and peer into the inky blackness out of 
which the grimy toilers used to come. 
East and West, West and East, for four 
years, the armies of labor drove inward and 
outward; and when they met at length, 
hands gripping, cheers ringing, the roads 
they had made were found to be only nine 
inches at variance one with the other, 
every step of the advancing bodies hewed 
out of the solid rock! Five miles of steel 
rails lie now through the flank of the 
mountain, joining valley to valley, and 
the East and West are one. But on the 
headstone of him who first traced those 
lines on paper, which afterwards he wrested 
from the mountain, a significant word has 
been set: "He hath made straight his 
ways.'-' It is all that remains to the sleeper 
of his great enterprise. Yet up there on 
the hill the sun is shining. 

The shaft is used now as a ventilator 
for the tunnel, a huge fan, revolved by 
electric power, drawing the smoke up and 
out. Our friend opens, putting the whole 
strength of his vigorous body against it, 
the shutter-door which encloses the fan; 
and for one instant, in a sudden terrific 
swirl of air, we catch a glimpse of the 
monster wheel rotating in a whirlpool of 
driving smoke. Dante would have used 
the appalling sight in some similar murky, 
fear-haunted corner of his dream. That 
view shut out, we enter the engine house. 
Everything here is in perfect order; not 
a grain of dust anywhere; splendid 
machinery thrilling and whirling, belts 
shining, brass gleaming. It is no use to 
speak, for the voice can not be heard; but 
our guide, with a smile that shows his 
pride in work that is thoroughly well done 
and good to look at, brushes an imaginary 
speck from one of the cylinders. After 
that we come out into the evening air. 

He has told us already that if we will 
wait until six o'clock, the engines are 
"shut down," and we can further investi- 
gate the shaft after the fan has ceased to 

operate. So we sit on the end of a beam 
and wait. The hour is that divinely beau- 
tiful and fleeting hour which holds the 
sun's last tempered light. The far-away 
mountains are a soft, pale blue; the 
nearer ones stand trenchant in indigo; and 
those again which show against the ruti- 
lant west are of an indescribable color, 
a sort of red-purple, infused and glowing 
with light. To the east the light is on 
valley, forest and velvet summit; suffus- 
ing them, transfiguring them, in the pink- 
gold and delicate violet of the close of 
day. And over all breathes the vast 
silence that is so wide, so immensely 
ample, and so limpid in that pure air. 

The thought occurs to us of the unspeak- 
able loneliness of the mountain as a place 
of habitation. But our host smiles, indul- 
gently, as at a memory of past terrors. 

"Well, it isn't exactly what you might 
call crowded. The only thing is to get 
used to it. After a while you wouldn't go 
back down and live in a city for any price 
that could be offered you." 

He looks around him upon the won- 
drous, evanescent loveliness of the hill 
amphitheatre, all one glory of vivid yet 
tender color and melted gold. 

"You grow to love the mountain," he 
explains; "and nothing else but the 
mountain will do. I have been here 
eleven years n'ow, and I never want to 
live in any other place again. You passed 
my shack coming .up, didn't you? It's 
just a little back from the road, with firs 
all round it. No, not the yellow house: 
that's my partner's. There are two of us, 
you know; and he's got a family. Then 
in the summer there are always a few 
visitors, people who walk up, like you, 
or parties camping in the woods. And 
engineers are here quite often, inspecting, 
measuring, figuring. That's their last 
visit!" (He points, laughing, to the array 
of figures in tinted chalk.) "No, the 
summer isn't bad at all. I '11 "tell you what, 
though: the winter is what you want to 
see! There's nothing to be seen anywhere 
that isn't snow: the tops of the hills, the 



trees covered with it, all the roads and 
the paths wiped out. The deer and the 
fox, and wild birds you wouldn't know the 
name of, come sneaking out and around, 
in hopes of finding a little food. But when 
it breaks up in the spring, and all the 
waters of the mountain run loose and 
start to roar, then you have another kind 
of a time a-coming." 

"You don't get to church very often 
from up here, do you?" 

The string of a scapular or medal across 
his chest, where the grey flannel shirt lies 
open, prompts this question; but he turns 
bewildered eyes at our acumen. 

"Not very often. Are you Catholics? 
That's funny. I'm a Catholic, too." 

"We hope" (laughing) "that we are 
good ones." But the gravity of his next 
remark puts our levity to shame. 

"I don't know if I can say that / am a 
good one. Maybe I oughtn't to say that 
I am. But I will tell you how it is with me. 
I took this job because I was in need of 
it, and now I seem to be tied to it for good. 
The first time I went to confession after 
I came here, the priest didn't seem to like 
it at all; but he saw it soon enough when 
I had explained, seven miles each way 
to the church, no horse, no roads in 
winter, and the engines to run every day. 
D'you know Father O'Hare? It's him 
I'm telling you about; and we've been 
great friends, him and me, ever since that 
day. Well, he told me that if I couldn't 
come to church, I should say my beads 
every Sunday at the hour of the last Mass ; 
and that if I didn't say them, I should 
tell him next time I come to confession, 
just the same as if I had missed Mass. 
Of course I said them. I don't think I 
ever missed a Sunday saying them. And, 
somehow or another, I have got to like 
saying them. I always have them with 
me." He draws the worn string of black 
beads, with a cross attached to them, 
from his trousers pocket. "See, there 
they are! And as I go working around 
here, I often say them, sometimes even 
more than once a day." 

There is a long pause, during which he 
keeps tossing the Rosary in his hand, but 
gazing at it with great fondness; then 
he raises his clear glance again. 

"Funny, isn't it? I was never just 
what you might call pious, but this saying 
the beads has taken an awful hold of me. 
I don't know just what it is. If I don't 
say them I really miss something, and the 
day doesn't seem quite right. It may be 
the prayers, perhaps ; to say, ' I believe in 
God,' up here at the top of the world He 
made; or ' Our Father, who art in heaven/ 
with God's sky, and nothing but the sky, 
shining in your face; or 'Holy Mary, 
Mother of God,' that's wonderful; I 
never get to the end of wondering about 
it. 'Mother of God'! I don't know what 
it is. Those beads have changed the 
whole look of the world for me." 

We sit quite still, a little awed at this 
amazing self -revelation ; and wait, won- 
dering. For he is a guard at a tunnel 
shaft and every inch a man. He puts the 
Rosary back in his pocket; and into his 
face, tanned with the peculiarly golden 
tan of the mountain, less ruddy than that 
of the sea, and rarer, into his face steals 
a very tender glow. 

"I will tell you when I do go to church, 
and when I never would miss it, no matter 
what happens; and that is Christmas 
Day. Those are the two times in the 
year when I go to confession: Christmas 
and Easter. And Easter is fine, too; but 

Under the broken straw of the old hat- 
brim, the blue eyes have an eerie radiance 
and far-seeing quality, a sort of starry 
light of happiness that makes us wonder 
what joy must have been in the soul of 
Mary Virgin when she tasted for the first 
time this ineffable bliss of Christmas, 
which is now the whole world's bliss. How 
did the man on the mountain-top divine 
this secret? Or has he seen her joy, saying 
his Rosary? 

"It's night when I go down. The trees 
all stand there tall and solemn in the 
snow, with the stars hanging as it were 



between the branches; and all you hear 
is a crackling of timber, or sometimes a 
dog baying far away. Nobody knows 
what the stillness of it is like. And then, 
as I come back, it's sunrise, and the snow 
is pink all over. And then it's Christmas 

His voice, which has a peculiar sweet- 
ness of timbre, dies away; and the magic 
of the morning he has called up holds 
us spellbound a moment. Then he rises 
to his feet, .still smiling joyously. '"Six 
o'clock," he says. "I guess there isn't 
much up here for you people from town 
to see; but we shut down now, and it's 
a good time if you care to take another 
look at the shaft." 


Two weeks later the necessities of travel 
bring us not to the luminous summit, but 
to the black hole in the mountain-side, the 
western entrance of the tunnel. Autumn 
stands frosty in the air, and orange, saffron 
and crimson where the woods hang upon 
crag and towering rock. The mists, which 
have gathered night by night over the 
waters in the valley, to be dissipated 
when the sun rises, to-day thicken and 
cling, deadening sound, and sheathing the 
landscape as in a film of cotton-wool. The 
train always stops, as in physical aware- 
ness of the peril to come, and by way of 
preparation, before entering upon its four- 
teen and a half minutes of unfathomable 

Whistles blow, signals are given, electric 
bells ring along through the silence of the 
coaches; voices grow hushed in expecta- 
tion; then, with a short double-hoot of 
warning, the express chug-chugs into the 
gaping night. It is evident by the restless 
moving and glancing around that the 
passengers are nervous. Five miles are 
we to run through that horror of the 
depth, and the airless gloom closing us 
in. Four minutes have passed five : noth- 
ing has happened. The wheels are running 
smoothly. The tenebrous ramparts of 
stone fly past. People are beginning to look 
a little easier. Readers take up again 

their newspapers and magazines. A party 
of girls in a corner open a box of choco- 
lates and start to giggle. A woman in 
front of us rises to drink. 

At the instant, somewhere ahead in the 
night, the throbbing darkness is rent by a 
wild shriek as of some engine throat or e 
iron heart in agony and despair; and, 
before we know any more, the slam and 
crash come, one terrific smash, glass 
bursting to splinters, then night and 
chaos. One woman's scream has pierced 
shrilling above all others. "Holy Mother 
of God!" That is the only prayer said 
over us, but our souls acquiesce in it. 
"Holy Mother of God" indeed, for there 
is no other help for us, and we are too 
stunned to pray. Everybody is groping, 
one tumbling over the other, making for 
the doors. The air is dense with smoke, 
and asphyxiating in the odor of coal fumes. 
We stumble down the steps and find, at 
far intervals, a faint, faint glimmer from 
lamps in the tunnel wall. Otherwise there 
is nothing but gloom. And it is this -the 
pall-like, almost palpable darknessthat 
seems to us the greatest horror of it all. 

One man flashes an electric pocket bat- 
tery, and immediately around him voices 
begin: "What is it? What has happened? 
Is it a collision?" Nobody knows. Many 
of the travellers are remarkably calm. Our 
train stands, a 'black mass, scarcely dis- 
cernible against the surrounding black- 
ness. There is a trickle of water upon the 
wet gleaming granite opposite. Dusky, 
undistinguishable figures move confusedly, 
and swinging lanterns appear among them. 
A flagman passes, running with the red 
lamp his duty requires him to set upon 
the track. "Yes, a collision." "Any- 
body hurt?" He does not know. Then, 
from the same direction, another figure, in 
a cap and blue cotton jacket, running 
too, a terrible vision of a white, scared 
face, with fixed eyes and a something dark 
oozing down over temple and cheek. 
"Barker!" he keeps calling as he runs. 

It is like some hideous, unreal night- 



mare. Will they get us out? When? Can 
help reach us? We pick our way forward, 
fearfully, along the empty rails of the' 
second track. A group of trainmen and 
conductors are working feverishly, assisted 
by a few passengers of good-will. Our 
locomotive, somewhat battered, still looks 
fairly fit, and is singing energetically to 
itself in an undertone. The freight, our 
adversary, has suffered considerably, 
cab and tender smashed up, cars on end, 
and a good deal of wreckage lying around. 

The man in blue cotton comes back, 
still crying, only more piteously: "Where's 
Barker? I don't see Barker!" 

Somebody takes him by the shoulder, 
not too gently: "Here! What the get 
your head tied up, man, and never mind 

Fortunately, there is a physician, satchel 
in hand, elbowing his way to the front. 
He is a little out of breath, but ready. 

"Hold up that light, boy! All right! 
Send somebody through the coaches while 
I attend to this." 

Under the surgeon's hands, the engineer 
of the wrecked freight (for it is he) wails 
out his plaint: "S'help me, boys, it was 
the wrong switch that did it. I know it 
was! I couldn't see six yards ahead of me 
for the fog, but I've been over this here 
road too often to make such a mistake 
as that." 

"Well, keep quiet now, old fellow!" the 
professional voice urges him. " Everything 
will be all right. You know we are all 
going to stand by you, don't you?" 

The man begins to whimper a little, his 
nerve completely gone: "Where's Barker? 
I haven't seen Barker since she struck, and 
he was right along of me." 

A grimy fireman is pushed forward. 
"Here I am, Bill, large as life! What's 
the matter with you, anyway?" He has 
black eyes, and his smile snaps, the first 
thing to look human and natural in all 
that gruesome scene. 

It seems hours, centuries though prob- 
ably not one minute has gone to waste, 
before anything is really done to get us 

out. Yet that is the one insistent, repeated, 
unceasing cry of every man, woman and 
child there present: "Get us out as quick 
as you can." By clock-time, one hour 
and three-quarters so many eternities 
drag by. (How woful is the lot of those 
detained in God's deep place of proba- 
tion, though they are saved, though it 
shall end, though they will be brought 
forth at last to the "holy light" our 
prayers implore for them!) A runner has 
been sent to telegraph, we wait for orders, 
the wrecking crew is needed for the freight. 
It is a long time even before the power is 
turned on to illuminate the cars again; 
but at length we see clearly, and one phase 
of the dread trial is over. Presently all 
are ordered aboard, and very slowly the 
train begins to back out. The six minutes 
of advance are doubled to twelve in the 
egress, grow to be thirteen, and then, far, 
far away, a tiny speck of white shows the 
mouth of the pit into which we came ages 
and ages ago. The sides of the abyss grow 
paler, clearer; the radiance broadens; 
the speck of white enlarges apace; and 
suddenly, with such a gasp of, breath the 
deep joy of it is almost a pain, we emerge 
into God's blessed air. 

"Wait! Stop!" one woman cries hysteri- 
cally to the conductor. "I want to get 

"The train will stop in just a moment, 
ma'am," he answers gently. "But you 
needn't be afraid any more now/' 

Nevertheless, she alights, and many 
more follow her example. Those who are 
left draw together in little groups and tell 
their stories, a hundred of them, in many 
different ways. One stout gentleman holds 
the rear platform. 

"If the days of miracles were not over 
and done with," he says, with his foot on 
the rail, "I should certainly say it was a 
miracle ; for, though both trains were 
going slowly, it was a genuine head-on 
collision in a tunnel, too; and, according 
to my view of it, we were bound to cash 
in, every man of us, without hope of 



In our corner one low voice says: "It 
might be just as well to thank God, all the 
same." And another answers: "You bet!" 

"What were you thinking of when it 

"I don't know, I'm sure. But, just as 
the crash came, a vivid image flashed 
across my mind of that man up there on 
the mountain-top saying his Rosary. And 
I was mighty glad he was there. Would 
it not be strange if it was to him we owed 
our lives?" 

Why not, since we believe in the all- 
powerful protection of God's Holy Mother, 
and in the strong virtue of prayer? 

Catholic Life and Customs in the Tyrol. 


WHILE the Church in its fundamental 
doctrines is everywhere, of course, 
the same, there are in Catholic lands 
many peculiarities, many quaint and 
picturesque practices, many pious phrases, 
that are the expression of national idio- 
syncrasies. In the Tyrol, .for instance, 
there are various local customs which may 
be interesting to our readers. That glori- 
ous land of snow and sunshine has bred a 
race of sturdy mountaineers, whose simple 
piety is as yet untainted with the poison 
of unbelief. There the wayside Calvary 
still turns the thoughts of the passer-by 
to heavenly things; and the rustic shrine, 
with its perpetual lamp, is daily hung with 
garlands of wild flowers or winter-berries 
by the peasant children. 

The first Mass in the village church is 
at five; and to it on the cold, dark winter 
mornings the peasants stream from the 
mountain sides, each bearing a lantern to 
light him or her over the frozen snow and 
down the slippery by-paths. People there 
do not feel that it is scarcely correct to 
speak of God out of actual prayer time. 
When they meet, they cry, " Gruss Gott!" 
(Praise God!) the ordinary greeting in 
that country. 

Like their neighbors and oldtime ene- 

mies, the Bavarians, they are fond of 
adorning their houses with sacred pictures 
or images. The Holy Family, Christ bear- 
ing the Cross, the Madonna and Child, or 
St. Joseph, are those most often seen; but 
St. Sebastian pierced with arrows is also 
a favorite; while those who seek protec- 
tion against fire paint over their doors the 
figure of St. Florian, a gigantic, heroic 
figure, clad in armor, extinguishing with a 
huge pail of water a fire in a cottage of 
quite disproportionate minuteness. 

Fire is the great dread of the people. 
In a land where most of the houses are of 
wood, and where in winter the lakes are 
frozen to the depth of a foot, a spark and 
a high wind might reduce a whole village 
to ashes. In Kitzbiihel, about three hours' 
journey from Innsbruck, on the direct line 
to Vienna, there is a belief that if a certain 
number of the inhabitants unite in saying 
the fifteen mysteries of the Rosary daily, 
more than one house will not be burned 
at a time. As the Angelus rings one meets, 
therefore, a procession of peasant women, 
withered and bent (their gold-embroidered 
felt hats of sailor shape worn over a shawl 
tied tightly round their heads), and of 
old men (their heads similarly bound up), 
on their way to the Lady Chapel, or 
Frauen Kirche, that stands a few yards 
from the parish church. There, kneeling 
the men to the right and the women to 
the left, they repeat their Hail Marys 
and Holy Marys alternately. 

Under the Lady Chapel is a little crypt 
where stands the altar of the Mother of 
Sorrows, with a rude representation in 
carved wood of the Ecce Homo painted 
in brilliant hues. Round this are hung 
numerous ex votos, that, despite their 
intrinsic worthlessness and the lack of 
taste that so many display, are touching 
human documents. Wax arms, hands, and 
legs, that make one think of Heine's 
"Pilgrimage to Kevelaer"; wax eyes and 
spectacles, and children; framed pictures, 
embroidered samplers or perforated cards 
bearing the words ''Maria hat geholfen"* 

* Mary has helped. 



and a date, are hung round the sacred 
pictures tied on to the statues or secured 
to the walls. 

In the vestibule upstairs, and in the 
chapel of the Saviour carrying His Cross, 
which stands at the bottom of the lofty 
flight of steps leading to the churchyard 
on the height, still more curious thank- 
offerings may be seen. These are pictures, 
the work of local artists, out of drawing, 
crude in coloring some dated a hundred 
years back, some but of yesterday, de- 
picting various scenes of peasant life. In 
one is shown a man caught in a saw-mill; 
but Our Lady, seated in the clouds above, 
draws him out. In another a woman is 
seen rising, cured, from a sick-bed. In a 
third Our Lady draws a child from a 
burning house. In a fourth a man sits on 
a chair in the centre of a room; two 
peasants support him, and a queer little 
figure in a frock-coat presumably a doc- 
tor stands disconsolately behind. Over- 
head is seen the heavens opening, and an 
inscription below tells how Josef Borsl, 
after three months of cruel suffering, his 
life despaired of by physicians, called on 
the Health of the Sick and was cured. One 
might find much to smile at in these 
naive tokens of gratitude, were it not that 
they represent feelings so deep, so sacred, 
so intimately bound up with all that is 
best in human nature, that I pity any one 
who can see them without sympathy and 

The broad wooden balconies that run 
across most Tyrolean dwellings are often 
carved with the cross, the initials I. H. S., 
and a heart, together with the initials of 
the builder; and the pointed gable is 
crowned by a cross. Mottoes, too, and 
pious phrases are not infrequent. In the 
delightful little town of Kitzbiihel, for 
instance, where, whatever the reason, 
nerves fretted by the wear and tear of 
modern life are soothed, and new health 
is breathed in with every draught of pine- 
scented air, one tradesman gives forth his 
sentiments and announces his business in 
Mediaeval fashion: 

I trust in God, my duty do; 

I dye old hats or make you new. 

More striking still was a motto seen 
some years ago in the not far-distant 
Bavarian village of Parterkirchen, near 
Ober- Ammergau : 

I live, and know not how long; 

I die, and know not when; 

I journey, and know not whither; 

I wonder that I am merry. 

For profound melancholy a melancholy 
we are accustomed to think peculiar to 
our own day and to city life this verse 
is difficult to surpass. 

The Tyrol is a country of mountain 
streams, often expanding into rivers. Each 
bridge that spans them is guarded by a 
statue of St. John Nepomucene, the patron 
of bridges, who, it will be remembered, 
was drowned in the Moldau, at Prague, by 
the King of Bohemia, for refusing to reveal 
the secrets of the confessional. When the 
snow melts in spring and the floods set in, 
accidents are common enough. Wherever 
a death has occurred, a little memorial is 
set up on the bank, giving the name, age, 
and a rough portrait of the deceased, and 
asking prayers for his soul. "He left his 
home in the morning," says one, <( in 
health and strength and happiness. At 
night he was brought home a corpse. All 
you who read, remember that this may 
any day be your own fate; so let your 
soul be ever ready to meet its God." 

The beauty of the village churches in 
the Tyrol is remarkable, considering their 
remoteness and the humble condition of 
their frequenters. Skill in architecture is 
common in all parts of Germany and 
Austria; so most of these buildings are 
picturesque, imposing, and well situated, 
generally on an eminence towering above 
the crowded roofs of the little towns. As 
already indicated, early hours are kept; 
and if Mass in the morning is at five in 
winter, in summer it is at four; while on 
Sundays the last Mass "for the lazy" 
is celebrated at eight. 

At Midnight Mass and at these early 
celebrations the church is not lighted up, 



being but dimly illuminated by one or two 
oil lamps in addition to the candles on the 
altar. In consequence, each worshipper 
comes provided with a wax taper; so that 
each such occasion might be the Feast of 
the Purification, so far as appearances go. 
These twisted tapers, red and white, are 
for sale in the village shops, and are often 
carried in the pocket. The result of this 
primitive method is that the seats and 
backs of most of the church benches are 
blotched all over with circles and tricklets 
of melted wax. 

These benches, by the way, are often 
richly carved, and have an addition at 
each end unknown to us at home. This 
is a sort of pole, or, rather, a narrow 
plank, that runs'under the main seat, and 
may be drawn out by a brass ring. When 
the places are crowded, those in the aisles 
who would otherwise have to stand may 
find additional accommodation on these 
perches. The innermost is not too badly 
off; for he -or she is propped against the 
bench. The second occupies an insecure 
position, which is, however, better than 
remaining erect during a long service. 
When the planks are pushed back into 
place, no one would suspect their existence, 
as the ring apparently forms part of the 
general scheme of decoration. 

The wrought ironwork is excellent, 
often looking like lacework. The statues 
are all colored, and for the most part 
heavily gilded. The ceilings are painted 
with Scriptural scenes; very effectively, 
considering that they are generally the 
work of local artists. In few countries 
could such good effects be produced with- 
out calling in the aid of city artificers 
or importing the ornaments. The taste 
for decoration inherent in the people is 
remarkable, a striking contrast to the 
condition of things in English-speaking 
countries. Here the house doors are 
often made in patterns squares or dia- 
monds, .or rays diverging from a heart in 
the centre, instead of being the plain up- 
and-down arrangements of planks devised 
by our carpenters, relieved at most by 

sunken and levelled panels. The very 
cowsheds are often artistic. In one rich 
peasant's house which we visited, the ceil- 
ings of the best rooms had been painted 
by the village photographer with Biblical 
figures. At home people who had saved 
a little money would have been much 
more likely to spend it on purchasing a 
piano, on which their daughters would 
strum popular tunes. And if this love of 
art is to be found in the homes of the 
least educated, it is fully manifested in 
the churches. If the colors are rather too 
vivid, the gilding superfluous, and the 
designs somewhat florid, the whole effect 
is brilliant. The church doors are often 
marvels of carving; while the locks, bolts, 
and hinges are always beautiful specimens 
of metal- work. 

Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament is 
carried out in a fashion to which we are 
unaccustomed. During the singing of the 
Salutaris the priest takes the osten- 
sorium in his hands, and, turning, faces 
the people, holding it during the entire 
service. There is no actual movement of 
blessing. At the end he returns it to the 
altar and replaces the Sacred Host in the 

A curious and picturesque custom pre- 
vails in Carinthia and in the Tyrol. When 
a young priest has been ordained, he 
always returns- to his native village to 
celebrate his first Mass. This is a great 
festival, in which his relatives, friends, and 
neighbors take part; and its special fea- 
ture may be said to be the introduction of 
a picturesque figure called the Geistlicken 
Braut,* symbolizing his union with the 
Church. A little girl is chosen for the 
part. She must be under twelve years of 
age, and generally is about six. On the 
appointed day she appears in orthodox 
bridal costume: white robe, tulle veil, 
wreath of myrtle and orange blossoms. 

At the same time as the bride, a Braut 
Mutter^ is selected, 'often a pious and 
wealthy widow, who may or may not be 
related to the child. Her duty it is to 

* Priest's bride. f Bride's mother, 



provide the furniture of a room, complete 
in every detail, for the newly ordained 
priest, which he is expected to take with 
him to the parish where his future work 
is to lie. 

When the first Mass is to be celebrated 
a procession is formed, which passes 
through the village streets. First comes 
the cross-bearer, then the young priest, 
led by the Braut Mutter in festive array. 
Next follows the little bride, attended by 
six bride's-maids strewing flowers, -all 
children like herself. A myrtle wreath is 
borne before her on a red velvet cushion. 
After her come the clergy, walking two 
and two. Relatives of the persons con- 
cerned bring up the rear. Arrived at the 
church, the bride takes up a prominent 
position near the sanctuary; and when 
the Mass is over everyone adjourns to 
the house of the bride's mother, where 
a regular wedding-breakfast a Hochzeit 
Schmaus is held. 

The Tyrolese, of course, are not faultless 
(what people are?); but they are brave, 
courteous, hospitable, pious, and devoted 
to their children. Their love of 'their 
native country is proverbial; and, seeing 
its marvellous beauty, one can hardly 
wonder that they suffer terribly from home- 
sickness when compelled to leave it. In 
their national hero, Andreas Hofer, they 
have, moreover, given to the world 
the finest type of patriot the modern 
world has seen, a man of undaunted 
courage, humble, unselfish, God-fearing, 
seeking no personal aggrandizement, and 
desiring solely the ood of the people. 
His tragic abandonment by the Austrian 
Emperor, and his death in Mantua at the 
hands of the French in 1810, are familiar 
to all. 

In Kitzbiihel is a curiously wrought 
belt, dated 1797, that belonged to Speck- 
bacher, Hofer's friend and lieutenant, 
whose little son ran away from home to be 
near his father. Hidden behind a hedge 
during the progress of a fight with the 
French, the child amused himself by pick- 
ing up the spent bullets that dropped near 

him and presented himself at his father's 
side with a handiul just as the latter fell 
short of ammunition. The spirit that 
animated that noble boy has not died out 
in the Tyrol, and its brave and faithful 
people still speak of the days when, 
single-handed, they resisted Napoleon, and 
held their mountain passes against his 
forces in the memorable "Year Nine." 

The Little Flower's Motor Drive. 

BY A. D. C. 

HER life had been spent in mean streets. 
From poor house to poor house she 
had gone as a ministering angel, not a 
professional nurse, but a helpful, sympa- 
thetic tender of the sick poor, amongst 
whom she had earned enough to keep body 
and soul together, but not enough to lay 
by for a rainy day. So it was that, a few 
years short of the legal age, when the 
State pension could be hers, she found her- 
self tired with a life passed in work for 
others, and glad of the offer of the Little 
Sisters of the Poor, to spend her last years 
in their care. 

I was travelling to a town where St. 
Joseph's Home for the Aged was a well- 
known institution, and I made "Sister 
Mary's" acquaintance by chance. By 
chance! What am I saying, when the 
"Little Flower" arranged for our meeting! 
It was at a time, a few months back, when 
great bodies of troops were being moved 
about the country; and at a junction of 
lines the solitude of my railway carriage 
was broken in upon by a body of women, 
hustled in off the platform (which was 
surging with soldiers) by a distracted por- 
ter, who hurled their hand luggage after 
them and slammed the door. 

I noticed at once a nun, as I thought, in 
a habit I did not recognize: a plain black 
dress, with bonnet and veil, and a glimmer 
of white showing round the face. Then I 
observed that over the smooth brow bands 
of grey hair were neatly drawn; and J 



realized that, despite the gentle calm of 
face and eyes, my vis a vis belonged to no 
religious Order. Later, when one by one 
the other travellers went their way, I was 
given an outline of her history. She had 
begun by nursing her own parents, 
sacrificing, I guessed, to this duty not 
only her youth, but also her hopes of 
becoming a nun. Then the neighbors had 
claimed her help in time of sickness; and, 
although she could not follow her inclina- 
tion by entering religion, nursing the sick 
poor for God's sake had its usual effect, 
that of drawing the worker nearer and 
nearer to Him. 

She asked me if I was going to the city 
that was the terminus of that line. And 
receiving an affirmative reply, she in- 
quired whether I knew St. Joseph's Home. 
I answered that not only did I know the 
convent, but that the friends with whom 
I was going to stay lived only across the 
road from it. 

"But," I added, "the Little Sisters' 
convent is not in the city: it is on a hill 
in the suburbs. If it were not dark, we 
should see it, standing up in the trees of 
its garden, before getting in to the 

"Then it would be a long way for me 
to walk," she said a little anxiously. 

"Too long a way for you, Sister," I 
replied, giving her the title she told me 
her poor patients had used. 

"Then is there a tram?" she asked; and 
I saw that her anxiety was increasing. 

"There is a tram to the foot of the hill," 
I answered; "but it is a good walk even 
from the tram end. Besides, what would 
you do with your luggage?" 

"The Sisters will, send their cart, with 
one of the old men, for it in the morn- 
ing," she said. "This is all I should want 
to take with me to-night." 

"This" was a bulging basket, a brown 
paper parcel, and a large framed picture 
wrapped in sacking. 

"There is a cab-stand at the tram end," 
I suggested ; and I saw her furtively open- 
ing her purse and counting its contents. 

Then I understood her difficulty, which 
had stupidly not occurred to me before. 
I knew that I should be met at the ter- 
minus, and that my friends were both 
extremely kind and very fond of the Little 
Sisters and their inmates. 

"I wonder, Sister," I said, apparently 
unconscious of the empty-looking purse, 
"I wonder if you would care for me to 
give you a lift? My friends are sending 
for me and I shall pass St. Joseph's gate." 

Her face brightened at once. 

"Indeed and I would ! " she cried. " For, 
to tell you the truth,* I haven't the price 
of a cab fare with me, and I should be 
very wishful not to arrive at the convent 
a stranger and an expense." 

So we arranged it; and I saw her take 
her Rosary out, so that silence fell upon 
us again, until in half an hour's time the 
train drew up at the station that was our 
destination, and we alighted together. The 
porter who carried my luggage took also 
the basket and bundle of Sister Mary; 
the picture, large and cumbersome as it 
was, she would not part with. 

"You will not mind an open car, Sister?" 
I said, as we made our way to the motor 
which I saw was awaiting me. 

"Indeed not," she answered. "It won't 
be the first time that Sister Mary has 
journeyed on an outside car." 

"I meant an open motor," I explained 
"but there it is! And I see the top is up, 
so you will be all right." 

My companion did not answer. She 
stood silently -whilst I explained to the 
chauffeur the reason I was not alone, and 
why I wanted him to stop at St. Joseph's 
big gate before entering my friend's 
grounds. Silent also was she as she 
climbed into the car beside me, answering 
the chauffeur's offer to take the picture 
from her by a silent shake of the head and 
a closer clasp of her evidently precious 

As we glided away, a gasp made me 
wonder if my companion could possibly be 
afraid ; but the lights of the station lamps 
showed me a radiant face, eager as a 



child's; and I saw that it was enjoyment 
and not fear that made her gasp. 

The streets were fairly free of traffic and 
we skimmed along, increasing rather than 
diminishing our speed as we faced the long, 
sloping hillside on top of which lay St. 

"We have not very much farther to go, 
Sister," I said, breaking the silence that 
had fallen between us. "Another five 
minutes and we'll see St. Joseph's gate." 

"St. Joseph's gate!" she repeated. "And 
once I go inside it, please God I'll never 
come out again. I've worked hard for 
others, my dear," she went on, "all my 
life I've worked for others. Now I want to 
work for my own soul and for God." 

I could not help thinking that, in all 
she had done for others, she had not only 
earned her own reward but had also given 
glory to God, though in a different way 
from that which she now looked forward 
to doing. I knew the pretty, devotional 
chapel of St. Joseph's; and I guessed that, 
on the occasion of future visits, '"Sister 
Mary" would be one of the old ladies 
often found there in prayer before the 
Blessed Sacrament. 

"There are the lights of the Home!" I 
said, pointing to a glimmer in the darkness 
above us. "We have one more turn of the 
road and then we shall be there." 

My companion moved, and I felt a 
gentle hand upon my arm and a whispered 
voice was in my ear. 

" My dear," she said, "I can't go without 
telling you the wonderful thing that's 
happened me to-night. Ever since they 
were invented, I've watched these motors 
in the streets, and many's the time I've 
hoped it was no sin of envy I felt for those 
within them. Well, when my health 
began to leave me, and I got the offer of 
coming here to St. Joseph's to prepare to 
die, I had the great wish in me still to 
have one drive in one of them before my 
call should come. Not a day passed but I 
asked the Little Flower of Jesus to get me 
my wish." 

She moved the picture in her arms, 

revealing by a gesture that it was Sister 
Theresa's portrait to which she clung 

"It was a childish wish, maybe," she 
went on; "but Sister Theresa understood 
such childish things. Well, the days passed, 
and the time came near when I was to go 
through those gates ahead of us, never, 
please God, to cross them out again. Even 
this morning I thought to myself: 'Well/ 
if it's a disappointment, mustn't Sister 
Theresa know what's best for me? So 
welcome be the will of God ! ' Then at the 
junction, with all those soldier fellows in 
the third class, they put me in with you. 
Even when you spoke of an open car, 
'twas a jaunting car and not one like 
this I had in my mind." She gave a low, 
contented laugh. "And then when I saw 
this" (she laid her hand upon the leather 
seat), "I well, I couldn't say anything, 
my dear ; for the Little Flower of Jesus 
seemed to be so very near." 

And I, too, I could say nothing. Out of 
the darkness loomed St. Joseph's gate, 
and in another moment good old Sister 
Mary, with her precious burden, was 
climbing down. 

"God bless and reward you, my dear!" 
she said. "He'll not forget your kindness 
to a poor old woman." 

"It was nothing, Sister. I'm so glad! 
And, oh, please pray for me!" That was 
all I managed to say. 

Then the side gate opened and Sister 
Mary disappeared from view. 

The chauffeur got back to his place, 
and on we went. But, oh, I felt so proud, 
so proud ! The Little Flower of Jesus had 
deigned to make use of me to help to do 
her work of answering prayer. 

EDWARD EVERETT once said, illustrat- 
ing the effect of small things on character: 
"The Mississippi and St. Lawrence Rivers 
have their rise near each other. A very 
small difference in the elevation of the 
land sends one to the ocean amid tropical 
heat, while the other empties into the 
frozen waters of the North." 



A Reminiscence of Pius IX. 


WHEN, in 1833, Mgr. Mastai-Ferretti 
was transferred by Pope Gregory 
XVI. from the See of Spoleto to that of 
Imola, his first care was given to aban- 
doned children, who were to be found in 
large numbers at the entrances of churches, 
living on the offerings won from the pity 
of the passers-by. The new bishop com- 
missioned seven ecclesiastics to look after 
the boys, and seven Sisters of Charity to 
take charge of the girls; with orders to 
watch over the conduct of these poor 
children, instruct them in their religion, 
and have them adopted by childless 
families, or apprenticed to good, Christian 
tradesmen. His next care was to establish 
a house of refuge' for repentant girls who 
had fallen from virtue, and a home for 
those whose morals would be exposed to 
grave dangers in the world. For this 
purpose he caused four Sisters of the Good 
Shepherd to be brought from Angers, 

Pius IX. returned to visit Imola in June, 
1857, ten years after his elevation to the 
Papacy. He did not forget 'his deaf 
daughters of the Good Shepherd,' as he 
called them, and announced his intention 
of visiting their convent the next day. 

"It is impossible," says the manuscript 
narrative of the superioress, "to express 
the joy with which we learned that Pius 
IX., our illustrious founder and eminent 
benefactor, would visit his beloved daugh- 
ters on the morrow of his entry into his 
old episcopal city." 

After the ceremony of kissing the foot, 
Pius IX. expressed a desire to inspect every 
part of the convent, which he himself had 
caused to be built, guiding the architect 
in the most minute details, so that every- 
thing should be appropriate to the uses 
to which the house would be put, and 
convenient to the community. 

While the cardinals, bishops, and other 

prelates of the Pope's suite followed two 
of the four Sisters to an isolated building 
recently constructed, Pius IX., accom- 
panied by the other two religious, went to 
the second story of the fmain edifice. On 
this floor there was one large room that 
had not as yet been used for any purpose. 
The Pope opened the door, and, entering, 
intimated his intention of conversing 
somewhat more familiarly with the Sisters. 
There was no furniture in the room, not 
even a chair for his Holiness. 

"Standing up without any support," 
writes the superioress, "the Holy Father 
told us, with much simplicity, of the events 
which had occurred since his departure 
from Imola and his elevation to the Chair 
of St. Peter. When he came to the great 
act of December 8, 1854, I, feeling quite 
at my ease in the presence of a majesty so 
great, yet so humble and good-natured, 
ventured to say: 'Holy Father, would it 
be indiscreet to ask your Holiness what 
emotions filled your soul when you pro- 
nounced the words of the decree proclaim- 
ing that the Blessed Virgin was preserved 
from the stain of original sin?' 

"At this unexpected request, the Holy 
Father looked at me good-humoredly and 
said, with a smile: 'And here is Mary of 
the Angels wishing to give her own direc- 
tion to the conversation of the Pope!' 
Then, in the kindliest of tones, he contin- 
ued: 'You doubtless imagine, my daughter, 
that the Pope was ravished in ecstasy, 
and that Mary Immaculate deigned to 
appear to him at that solemn moment?' 

'"Surely there would be nothing aston- 
ishing, Holy Father, in the fact of the 
Blessed Virgin's appearing to your Holi- 
ness when you were glorifying her in so 
remarkable a manner, 'when you were 
commanding all Christendom and all 
future ages to believe that she was ever 
without sin.' 

' ' Well, no : I had neither vision nor 
ecstasy. But what I experienced, what I 
learned in confirming the dogma of the 
Immaculate Conception, in defining and 
promulgating it, no human tongue could 



ever express. When I began to read the 
decree, I felt that my voice was powerless 
to reach all the immense multitude who 
crowded the Vatican Basilica (50,000 per- 
sons). Yet when I came to the words of 
the definition proper, God gave to the voice 
of His Vicar a strength and a compass 
so supernatural that the whole Basilica 
resounded with its volume. I was so 
affected by this divine assistance,' his 
Holiness went on, with an emotion which 
was shared by his listeners, 'that I was 
obliged to stop for a moment and give free 
course to my tears. Then, whilst God pro- 
claimed the dogma by the mouth of His 
unworthy Vicar, He imparted to me a 
knowledge so clear and so comprehensive 
of the incomparable purity of the Blessed 
Virgin, that, plunged in the profundity of 
this knowledge, which no expression or 
comparison can translate, my soul was 
flooded with ineffable delights, with 
delights that are not of earth, which 
seemed capable of being experienced in 
heaven alone. No joy, no happiness of this 
world could ever give the slightest idea 
thereof. I do not hesitate to say that the 
Vicar of Christ needed a special grace 
to prevent his dying of happiness under 
the impression of this knowledge and this 
appreciation of the incomparable beauty 
of Mary Immaculate.' 

"Wishing to put himself upon our level, 
Pius IX. continued : ' You were happy, very 
happy, my daughters, on the day of your 
First Communion, happier still on that of 
your religious profession. I myself learned 
what happiness was on the day of my 
elevation to the priesthood. Well, put 
these and similar joys together, multiply 
them indefinitely, and you would have 
only a slight idea of what the Pope experi- 
enced on the 8th of December, 1854.' 

"While the Sovereign Pontiff recalled the 
occasion and spoke to us in this manner, 
his person seemed to be transfigured; 
and we, wonder-stricken, trembling with 
emotion, realized something of what the 
Apostle felt on Thabor when he exclaimed : 
'It is good for us to be here!'" 

Hardships and Long Life. 

FOLLOWING its usual - custom, the 
Missions Catholiques of Lyons pub- 
lishes in its last number for 1916 the 
necrology of the Foreign Missions for the 
preceding year, 1915. The list is an inter- 
esting one from several points of view, and 
not least -in the light which it throws on 
the relation between hardships and the 
duration of life. It will be granted, we 
presume, that the existence of the average 
priest on the Foreign Mission field is not 
an easy, comfortable, inactive, or delecta- 
ble life; that climatic conditions, difficul- 
ties of travelling, primitive lodgings, the 
simplest of food, and work that never ends, 
constitute what the generality of men con- 
sider genuine hardships. It is, accord- 
ingly, not uninteresting to examine how 
such an existence affects the longevity of 
the missionary priest. Is he, as a rule, 
long or short-lived? Does the admitted 
wear and tear of life in the field afar 
exhaust his vitality in a notably briefer 
period than does the more comfortable, 
complex, convenience-filled existence of 
his brother priest in the home missions? 
Let us see. 

The list of the dead in the foreign field 
during 1915 contains the names of ten 
bishops and one hundred and sixty-four 
priests. Of the ten prelates, the oldest had 
attained the age of seventy-eight, and the 
youngest (Mgr. Linneborn, C. S. C.) was 
fifty-one. The average age of the ten was 
sixty-five and three-quarters, a fairly long 
life for a bishop even in this country. 

As for the priests, it is to be remarked 
that the war is accountable for the loss 
of a number of v the younger missionaries, 
and that in consequence the average age 
at death is lower than would normally 
have been the case. Yet, notwithstanding 
the war, that average is something^ more 
than fifty-four years, quite as long a life, 
in all probability, as is generally enjoyed 
by parish priests in the United States. 

Of the missionaries who had reached 
their three-score years and died before 



completing their seventh decade, there 
were thirty-three. The Psalmist's limit of 
three-score and ten had been reached and 
passed by twenty-five; and no fewer than 
eleven had gone even beyond the four-score 

On the whole, it appears from these 
figures that the longevity of the Catholic 
clergy engaged in foreign missionary work 
is rather notable; and one is- almost 
justified in concluding from their record 
that the simpler one's life and the harder 
one's work, the longer will life endure. In 
any case, that record abundantly proves 
that very many of the luxuries of modern 
existence in lodgings, food, dress, trans- 
portation, etc., are really negligible as 
aids to prolongation of life, or, what comes 
to the same thing, to the preservation of 
perfect health. Plain food, and not too 
much of it, fresh air, and plenty of physi- 
cal exercise, these our missionaries invari- 
ably have; and a good many of us, in 
both lay and clerical circles, would un- 
doubtedly enjoy a far healthier and a 
longer life if in those respects we imitated 
their example. 

Notes and Remarks. 

The Devil's Net. 

AN old legend relates that the devil 
once held a great council of the 
fallen angels to devise means for hindering 
the work of salvation. One suggested that 
they go and tell the people of the world 
that all they heard of Christianity was 
false. But the devil said this would be of 
no use, as every one knew it was true, or 
at least felt that it might be true. Another 
suggested they whisper in their ears that 
Christianity was true, but need not be 
believed. But the devil said again, "This 
would be of little, use. We might draw 
some away, but the multitude would not 
listen." A third said, "Let us tell the 
people that all they hear is true, but per- 
suade them that there is no hurry about 
putting it into practice."- -"Ah!" said the 
devil, "that is fine. With such a net we 
shall catch a great multitude." 

A year or more ago we ventured to 
predict that the present war woiild come 
to an end only when the resources of one 
side were exhausted. This seems more 
likely now than ever. President Wilson's 
action has not helped matters a particle. 
The diplomatic acknowledgments of his 
Note to the Allies, though not what he 
expected, were sufficiently restrained; but 
representative men in all the countries 
in conflict, while praising his good inten- 
tions, berated him for his intimation that 
the different Powers did not know what 
they were fighting for, and his insinuation 
that the Allies had better accept Germany's 
peace proposals. Father Bernard Vaughan, 
expressing the sentiments not only of 
his own countrymen but of the French, 
Russians, and Belgians, declared that 
"it was their high mission to fight for 
everything the enemy was fighting against. 
They were fighting for humanity against 
' frightf ulness, ' for civilization against 
'Kultur,' for freedom against slavery, for 
Christianity against paganism, for Christ 
with His reign of peace against Odin and 
his religion of terror, blood and war." 

President Wilson's " peace without 
victory" speech is bitterly and openly 
denounced in all the belligerent coun- 
tries. Opinions 'are freely expressed that 
are as little indicative of a desire for 
peace as complimentary either to the 
United States or its chief executive. In 
England particularly the attitude of our 
Government is resented by press and 
pulpit. In reference to President Wilson's 
words relative to the freedom of the seas, 
which excited especial indignation, a 
prominent member of Parliament is 
quoted as saying: "The only possible 
interpretation of these words means taking 
from England the one weapon which 
enabled her to become what she is, and 
remain so in the face of her enemies. I 
see no way out of the situation but a 
victory peace." 

That the war must go on would seem 



to be the determination both of the 
people and the rulers of every country 
engaged in it. , "Unless the giant [Germany] 
is killed, the future peace and happiness 
of England must die instead," says Sir 
John Jellicoe. And the same is said 
by England's allies without exception. 
The Central Powers, seeing their peace 
proposals rejected, have enlarged their 
plans for a more vigorous conduct of 
hostilities, repeating the declaration that 
any restriction of their liberties or in- 
fringement of their rights would be 
intolerable to them. 

It seems we do not make enough use 
of our parish halls and school buildings. 
At least, that is the view of the Rev. 
Edward Hawks, of Philadelphia, who in a 
paper read before the National Conference 
of Catholic Charities, and printed in the 
St. Vincent de Paul Quarterly, makes a 
strong argument for Catholic community 
centre work. Father Hawks is aware of 
all that may be said against such effort, 
and is not in the least disconcerted by it. 
He is not an empty theorizer, but a worker 
who has had practical experience in this 
sort of settlement work, and knows whereof 
he speaks. He has much to say in detail 
of just what has been attempted, and an 
interesting tale to tell of noble results 
achieved. As comparing Catholic efforts 
with those of others, he says: 

I know that it is urged that the so-called 
"Institutional Church" is a failure. The boys' 
clubs, swimming pools, and sewing classes do not 
increase the church membership. I have seen 
this very objection repeatedly urged in non- 
Catholic journals, with a great deal of truth. 
But I think that this answer can be made. The 
"Institutional Church" is in nearly every case 
a non-Catholic organization. It does meet with 
success along those lines in which it can hope 
to be successful: It does afford opportunities for 
young people to advance themselves socially. It 
does keep them off the streets at night. It does 
teach them economy and refinement. If it does 
not make practical Christians out of them, that 
is only because its Christianity is ineffective, 
because it is not able to supply ihe needs of the 
soul, because it can not give divine certitude to 
the mind. I think there is some truth in the 

charge that the "Institutional Church" confuses 
the means with the end, and does make people 
think that the essence of religion lies, not in 
believing the truth, but in living an outwardly 
respectable lif. But ^his confusion can exist 
only where there is no true faith to propound. 
Such an objection would not be valid in the case 
of the Catholic Church engaging in social work. 
It would always be clear to everyone that the 
Church was solicitous about improving social 
conditions only in order to be able to save men's 
souls more surely. 

It is a happy circumstance, we v think, 
that this admirable paper is reprinted in 
full in the official organ of the St. Vincent 
de Paul Society; for if there is any organi- 
zation which can take up this project and 
make it a success, it is the Society of St. 
Vincent de Paul. 

Those who have been contributing to the 
support of charitable undertakings by the 
Sisters of Charity in China will be gratified 
to have the assurance that their accumu- 
lated alms are often providential. In ac- 
knowledging the receipt of an offering sent 
to Wenchow, which is in the very heart 
of Chinese heathendom, one of the Sisters 
tells us that, as a result of a visit by the 
Father Superior of the mission to some 
mountain villages, fifteen abandoned in- 
fants were laid at the door of the orphan 
asylum. The Christians in one place had 
promised several pagan families that he 
would take charge of these little unfor- 
tunates if only the parents .would await his 
arrival, and not drown them, as was the 
intention. ' How to support these baby 
girls is now our anxiety.' Another Sister, 
writing from Chentingf u, says : ' We could 
not have continued our work here, at 
least on the same scale, without the assist- 
ance that has come to us through THE 
AVE MARIA. We count upon its continu- 
ance. What should we do in the spring 
when the supply of grain runs short?' 

Difficult as it may be at this time to 
increase the number of chapels, catechu- 
menates, orphan asylums, etc., in foreign 
missions, it ought to be easy to maintain 
those already established. But, as we have 
often said, the means to do this must come 



from abroad. 'We observe the strictest 
economy,' says one of the Sisters, whose 
letter has been quoted, 'in order to make 
things last as long as possible and have no 
waste.' Significant words are these; they 
mean that privations of every sort are 
endured, and that no kind of hardship is 
avoided by the devoted Sisters and self- 
sacrificing priests. 

Most Americans who have given any 
thought to the matter at all have probably 
viewed the selection of Mr. Lloyd George 
as Prime Minister of England merely in 
its relation to the Great War. To the 
English people themselves, and particularly 
to those of them who belong to the 
Established Church, his selection wears 
another aspect. As head of the British 
Government, it will devolve upon Mr. 
George not only to see that the war be 
prosecuted with increased energy and 
efficiency, but to appoint Anglican bishops 
to such Sees as may become vacant during 
his tenure of office. Now, the Prime 
Minister is not a member of the Estab- 
lished Church, but a Nonconformist, a 
Dissenter or, to be specific, he is some 
sort of a Baptist. It will readily be under- 
stood that members of the Church of 
England "as by law established" are 
troubled by the prospect of such an 
anomaly as a Baptist's appointing Angli- 
can bishops ; but, after all, there is nothing 
to be surprised at. Their Church is 
admittedly a creature of the State; Par- 
liament can decide, and has decided, 
what is or is not its doctrine; and so, 
if the parliamentary leader, though a 
Baptist, names its bishops, it is simply 
because England is content with a lay 
government instead of the spiritual au- 
thority of Christ's Vicar. 

A correspondent in Paris tells us that 
the touching story of a Jewish rabbi 
(M. Abraham Bloch, of Lyons) who was 
killed after performing an act of kindness 
and charity in behalf of a dying Catholic 
soldier, is vouched for by the Rev. Father 

Jamin, S. J., in whose arms the rabbi 
expired. It seems that, although the 
majority of Jews in France profess no relig- 
ious belief, there are a few rabbis who 
serve as army chaplains. M. Bloch was 
of the number. During the shelling of the 
village of Taintrux, at which he was 
present, the ambulance of the i4th Corps 
was set on fire. The wounded men were 
rescued by the litter-bearers and chaplains 
at the peril of their lives. One of the 
soldiers who had been badly wounded, 
being about to die, taking the rabbi for a 
priest (their garb is somewhat similar) 
began to make his confession. When M. 
Bloch warned him of his mistake, he asked 
for a crucifix, which the good-hearted Jew 
hurried off to procure, and hastened back . 
to comfort the dying man with the 
cherished symbol of his faith. Very 
soon afterwards the rabbi himself was 
struck down by a shell, and, through a 
strange dispensation of Providence, died 
in the arms of Father Jamin. 

It is easy to believe with our correspond- 
ent that the arms of Divine Goodness were 
extended to one that had proved himself 
so heroically charitable, and that any 
grace which may have been needed was 
abundantly supplied. 

As an observation which is the result 
of long and careful study, the following 
judgment by the Rt. Rev. J. F. Regis 
Canevin, D. D., on the problem of loss 
and gain in Church membership in this 
country is sure to interest our readers. 
Concluding an article on the subject in 
the current Catholic Historical Review, 
Bishop Canevin observes: 

No body of Catholics in h' story approached to 
anything like the marvellous progress which this 
poverty-stricken, hard-working, unlettered, per- 
secuted, Catholic minority in the United States 
made between 1800 and 1900. Churches, schools, 
colleges, and universities have sprung up all 
over the land; institutions of mercy and charity 
are there to testify to the love of these people 
for their fellowman. There could not have been 
defections and apostasies of millions of Catholics, 
and at the same time a material and earthly 
progress of religious institutions and a Catholic 



virility that have not been surpassed in any 
nation or in any age. The stalwart faith and 
loyalty and piety of the Catholics of this country 
to-day, their unity and devotion to the Vicar of 
Christ, the position of the Church in the United 
States, prove that, amid the conflicts of the 
nineteenth century, faith and fidelity supported 
and sanctified the lives and work of those who 
preceded us, and ought to determine us not to 
accept without proof the statements of preju- 
diced minds that the Church has failed in this 
republic; \hat our losses have been greater than 
our g?ins, especially when we consider that our 
mission to those outside the fold and gains by 
conversion have, during the last one hundred 
years, been as great as, if not greater than, in 
any country of Europe. 

So much of the news from Rome ap 1 
pearing in the secular papers proves on 
inquiry to be quite incorrect that it is 
not strange to find responsible Catholic 
journals very chary about accepting as 
truth the recent report concerning the 
Sovereign Pontiff's contemplated action 
regarding the reunion of Christendom. 
Especially doubtful seemed the statement 
that a new inquiry into the validity of 
Anglican Orders is to be instituted. Now 
that the subject has again been men- 
tioned, however, it may be worth while to 
reproduce Cardinal Gasquet's thoroughly 
adequate reply to such Anglicans as 
resented, and still resent, Rome's adverse 
decision on the validity of their Orders: 

With every allowance for the feelings of those 
among the clergy of the Established Church 
who, holding advanced doctrines on the Eu- 
charist, regard themselves as being "sacrificing- 
priests" quite as really as ourselves, it is some- 
what hard to see what ground of complaint any 
one of them has with the Papal decision. They 
remain what they were before; and the whole 
question was essentially, so far as the Roman- 
authorities were concerned, a domestic one. The 
real question before the Commission and to be 
determined by the Pope was this and no other: 
Was the Church to regard the English bishops 
and priests of the Established Church as bishops 
and priests in the same way and in the same 
sense as those who have been ordained according 
to the rites and ceremonies prescribed in the 
Pontifical? Surely the living authority of the 
Roman Church had a right and, when the 
question had been formally raised, a duty to 
determine the answer without being considered 

either offensive or aggressive. Certainly no such 
motive was thought of in the discussions of the 

Having been a member of that Com- 
mission, Cardinal Gasquet knows whereof 
he speaks. On the face of it, it seems 
highly improbable that the findings of 
the Commission appointed by Leo XIII. 
will be subjected to a new study. So far 
as Rome is concerned, we imagine that 
the matter of Anglican Orders is what 
diplomats call a closed incident. 

That one manifestation of the revival 
of the religious spirit among French 
soldiers should be a frank, outspoken de- 
votion to the Blessed Virgin will surprise 
no one familiar with the history of the 
Marian cult in France, and the numerous 
shrines of Our Lady in that country which 
have been the scenes of almost innumera- 
ble prodigies. It is quite in keeping with 
the best Catholic traditions of France 
that a magazine intended for. the soldiers 
especially, "Freres d'Armes," should have 
thisjto say about a typical prayer to Our 
Blessed Lady: 

Do you possess a Rosary? No! Then tell your 
chaplain: he will give you one; or else write to 
your mother, your wife, your parish priest, and 
you will get one. If you lose it on the road or in 
the straw when you shake up your overcoat, do 
what you do when you lose your pipe: invest 
quickly in another. Keep your Rosary not in 
your pouch (you might forget to say it), but in 
your pocket. Say your Rosary. It is like the 
grenade and the rifle to be used. Say it when 
in church at Benediction time, together with the 
people; or if you are alone, go to a statue of the 
Blessed Virgin and recite it there. Say your 
Rosary when you are sad and you brood over 
home. Say it in the trenches when the enemy 
keeps quiet and the marmites are not falling 
about. Nothing simpler; it is the easiest prayer 
going. Nothing to learn, nothing to read, no 
mental strain whatever. It is the sweetest of all 
prayers. You speak to the Heavenly Mother, 
you recall her virtues, her power, her kindness. 
You ask her to watch over you, and if you die to 
take you to paradise. . . . 

Excellent advice for all Catholics, 
whether at the battle front in Europe, or 
on the firing line of life elsewhere. Devo- 
tion to the Blessed Virgin is a solace 



in trouble, a sweetener of life,~a prepara- 
tion for death, and an earnest of personal 

Of all historical lies, those to which man- 
kind clings most tenaciously, and which 
still survive among the multitude even 
after their falsity has been fully demon- 
strated by expert historical critics, none 
perhaps live so long as the high-sounding 
sentences placed in the mouths of famous 
or infamous men on this or that memorable 
occasion. "England expects every man to 
do his duty" is a nobler message than the 
real one sent by the hero of Trafalgar, 
which was, "Nelson expects, etc."; hence 
the former version is the accepted one. 
And so with the oft-quoted, and, during 
the present year, oft-to-be-quoted, words 
of Luther: "Here I stand; I can do no 
otherwise. God help me. Amen." Brave 
words, are they not, from the man who 
was asked to recant his errors? Their 
bravery or boldness, however, was not 
Luther's, as practically all competent 
historians, Protestant no less than Catholic, 
of the period have for years admitted. 
Luther concluded his speech at the Diet 
of Worms with a customary declaration at 
the end of a discourse, "God help me. 
Amen." The preliminary, "Here I stand; 
I can do no otherwise," is merely another 
historical lie. It is too much, however, to 
hope that all non-Catholic eulogizers of the 
so-called reformer will follow the advice 
of the Protestant author, Bohmer: "It 
would be well not to quote any more those 
most celebrated of Luther's words as 
though they were his." 

For ten men who condemn an abuse, 
there is usually only one who offers a 
remedy. It is the practical suggestions 
for "Cleaning Up the Corner News-Stand" 
which give value to Mr. Joyce Kilmer's 
article under that caption in the January 
number of the Columbiad. If your dealer 
offers for sale literature which is offensive, 
lose no time finding another dealer. But 
first a magnanimous warning to your 

original dealer may prove all that is nec- 
essary to get him to remove the objec- 
tionable matter from his stock. Again, 
where the offence is committed by maga- 
zines of standing, write to the editor; 
protests of this kind can do much. At all 
events, they will accomplish more than 
writing to your favorite Catholic paper 
about the delinquency in question. Finally, 
Mr. Kilmer ^greatly favors a department of 
magazine reviewing in the columns of our 
press; as he writes: 

When a magazine that has a good reputation 
prints an article in which some accomplished 
writer advocates free love or turns his scorn on 
law and religion, or a story in which Christianity 
and morality are attacked, then trained critics 
writing for our Catholic press should warn their 
readers that this particular issue of the magazine 
is one to avoid. This sort of criticism would 
eventually have a beneficial effect on the maga- 
zines criticised, and it would at once prevent 
Catholics from innocently spending their money 
for attacks on the things most dear to them. 

No magazine of reputation nowadays 
desires any free advertising as anti- 
Christian or anti-Catholic. Nothing will 
bring such a periodical to its senses more 
effectually than to put it down in the class 
of the vulgar and stupid anti-religious 

Apropos of the statement, now growing 
commonplace, that the Great War has 
profoundly modified the religious senti- 
ments (no matter what be said of the 
religious beliefs) of a multitude of people, 
it is significant that the January number 
of the Nineteenth Century contains no 
fewer than four papers dealing with relig- 
ious matters. Two of them are on 
"Communications with the Dead"; the 
third is '"If a Man die, shall he live 
again?' "; and the fourth asks the question: 
"Does the National Mission Interpret the 
National Soul?" In none of the four 
(save perhaps Sir Herbert Stephen's 
denial of spiritistic communication with 
the dead) will a Catholic reader be much 
interested; but their very appearance in 
the review is a sign of the times that 
seems worth noting. 

A Sleigh-Bell Rhyme. 


(T) THE jingle, jingle, jingle 

Of the sleigh-bells as they mingle 

In the ringing measure of a lilting chime! 
How it fairly makes you tingle, 
Stops your thoughts of fireside ingle, 

As you hear the sleigh-bells chant a merry rhyme ! 

How the horses go a-prancing, 
With a step or two of dancing, 

As they feel the glinting snow beneath their feet! 
Round the corners swiftly glancing, 
Sudden scenes the view enhancing, 

How the miles are vanquished by the horses fleet! 

Then a song with voices blending, 

Far away the echoes wending 
Carry sounds of laughter and of glee; 

And it's true without pretending, 

Sleighing is a way of spending 
Hours of splendid fun with friends most happily. 

Con of Misty Mountain. 


ON scrambled up the rocks through 
the pines, where Dick, who had 
reached him by ways of his own 
an hour ago, sprang out to meet him, 
barking delighted welcome. In a moment 
the low door of the cabin swung open, and 
Mother Moll, bent and shaking, stood on 
the threshold, lifting a skinny finger in 
warning. Con was used to Mother Moll's 
warning, and paused, with a silencing grip 
on Dick's jaw. 

"He is home,"' wheezed the old woman 
in a hoarse whisper, "home, and drunk 
and mad as the deuce can make him!" 
"Uncle Bill?" gasped Con. 
"Aye!" panted the old woman, nodding 

her grizzled head. "Nat is took; they've 
got him in the Pineville jail. It was old 
Gregory that put them on his track." 
Poor Mother Moll's voice quavered. "It 
will be twenty years for him maybe, and 
he not nineteen. Eh! Eh! And Dan and 
Wally daren't show their faces this side of 
the mountain. It's the old man at the 
Manse has done it all. He's sworn to 
clear out the Buzzards from Misty Moun- 
tain, if it takes every cent he's got. Aye, 
aye, but it's awful to hear Bill talk! Nat 
in for twenty years, and only nineteen! 
He'll be even with them that put him 
there, Bill says, if he has to swing for it 

Mother Moll had stepped out under the 
pines to convey all this lurid information. 
Con received it without a hock. He had 
lived among these fears and perils ever 
since he could remember clearly. True, 
there had been a dim distant time that 
seemed different; but it had become 
very shadowy. Sometimes the mists lifted 
in his dreams; but in his waking hours 
he was only the young outlaw of Misty 
Mountain Buzzards' Con. 

"Where is he now?" asked Con. 

"Asleep," answered Mother Moll. " He's 
drunk himself asleep. But it won't last. 
You'd best keep out of his way; for he 
was raving about you with the rest." 

"About me?" said Con, a little startled. 

"Aye, aye!" was the answer. "He's 
took it in his head that you've turned agin 
him agin us all." 

"Turned agin you?" repeated Con in 
bewilderment. "Where could I turn?" 

"That's what I told him," said Mother 
Moll. "You hedn't nobody or no place to 
turn. But the devil is in him to-day about 
Nat, and you'd best keep out of his way. 
You might go off to Reddy Jones'. There 
will be a turkey raffle there to-night, and 
I've got ten cents here." She felt in her 



bosom and drew out an old buckskin purse. 

Con knew what Reddy Jones' would 
be, the drinking, the eating, the gaming, 
the fighting. Last night the turkey raffle 
might have appealed to him; but what 
Mother Moll would perhaps have called a 
"spell" had fallen upon him to-day, a 
gentle spell, that he felt Reddy Jones' 
would break. The talk with the "Mister" 
on the mountain, the log cabin bowered in 
berries and green, the glittering glories of 
the Christmas altar; more than all, the 
soft-eyed, friendly little girl who had be- 
lieved, trusted, defended him, had opened 
a strange new world to Mountain Con, 
a world which he had never in his boyish 
memory known. If he must keep out of 
Uncle Bill's way (and that there was "wis- 
dom in Mother Moll's warning, Con from 
hard experience knew), he would go back, 
and from some safe shelter, which his 
boyish enemies could not penetrate, watch 
all the wonderful glitter and sparkle and 
glory of the log cabin to-night. He knew 
a place his keen eye had noted it as he 
passed this afternoon where, hidden by 
a clump of dwarf pines, he could look 
through one of the low windows and see 
all. But it would be just as well not to 
enlighten Mother Moll, in whose old 
withered heart there was still a spark of 
woman's feeling for the friendless boy. 

"I'll go, then," he said evasively. "Give 
me some cold corn-cake for supper, Mother 
Moll, and I'll keep out of Uncle Bill's way. 
Mebbe he'll be off in the morning." 

"I dunno," said the old woman, hope- 
lessly. Forty years of married life with 
Uncle Bill had left her doubtful of his 
moods. "I'll get ye the corn-cake and 
some cold bacon. Ye can stay in Reddy's 
barn for the night." She turned back into 
the house, and came out again with Con's 
supper wrapped in a piece of paper. "He's 
stirring," she whispered. Be off!" 

And, without waiting for further trouble, 
Con bounded away lightly as the hunted 
wild thing he was. He took the longer 
road this time; for the sun was near its 
setting, and soon the shadows would 

gather over rock and ridge, shadows that 
would make the short cut perilous even to 
Mountain Con. Otherwise he had no fear 
of darkness or night. It was a clear wintry 
evening, and just now the snowy heights 
around him were a glory of crimson and 
gold. Peak after peak caught the sunset 
radiance and flung it back from glittering 
summits, while the ice-clad pines sparkled 
and shimmered with rainbow light. As 
Con sat down on a jutting rock to eat his 
supper, he looked about him with a new 
consciousness of the beauty of the scene. 
He had helped to make beauty for the 
first time to-day, and it had roused some 
dormant sense in him. 

"Don't want no candles or shining 
things, nor berries and greens up here," 
he thought. "It's pretty enough without 
them. But I'll surely like to see all them 
ar fine fixings to-night." 

And, his supper finished, Con kept on 
his way down the wild steeps, darkening 
now in the swift-gathering winter twilight, 
until he reached his outpost. It was a - 
hollow under the rocks where perhaps 
fuel or ammunition had been stored when 
great-grandfather Gregory held the log 
cabin against the Indians; but it was 
choked up now with a thick growth of 
dwarf pines, through which Con and Dick 
had wiggled their way last week in search 
of an escaping woodchuck. The same 
pines had for years screened one of the 
narrow windows of the log cabin so effec- 
tively that the opening was scarcely no- 
ticed. But Con's quick eye had seen its 
possibilities while he debated on a "snoop- 
ing" place to-day; and he now hurried 
into its shadows, feeling that by breaking 
away a few boughs he would have a 
new view. 

There was nothing going on yet. Father 
Phil was busy in the little shack outside, 
hearing confessions. A few penitents were 
kneeling in the deepening shadows. Con 
recognized among them one or two of his 
morning enemies; and he felt that if 
there was to be peace at this strange 
gathering, it behooved him to keep out 



of sight and reach; for poor Con knew 
nothing of the blessedness that comes with 
Christmas Night. So he fell back cau- 
tiously into his shelter, and flung himself 
down in the hollow under the rocks. It 
was warm and dry, and carpeted with pine 
needles; and the wild young wanderer, 
who was a tired boy after his exciting day, 
soon dropped off to sleep. Perhaps it was 
the thought of the soft-voiced little girl, 
or the "Mister" on the mountain that had 
talked so nice to him, that brought pleasant 
dreams to Con to-night, the old pleasant 
dreams, that were growing more and more 
misty with the passing years, 'dreams in 
which neither Uncle Bill nor Mother Moll 
nor any of the wild crew at Buzzard 
Roost had place. 

He was by a fire (there had always been 
a bright blazing fire in these bid dreams); 
and there were windows hung with cob- 
webby stuff; and some one was holding 
him warm and safe in soft white arms. 
Who it was he did not know; he was 

r always too sleepy to see. He could 
only hear low, sweet singing, that kept 
him happy and still 'gee! Con's eyes 
opened wide in bewilderment. Why why 
he was hearing that singing now! He 
started up, half awake. Where was he? 
What had happened? It was night, late 
night. He could see through the feathery 
trees the glory of winter stars above him. 
He could hear hear the singing. almost at 
his side. He stood for a moment breath- 
less and wondering, as the shepherds of 

. old when that same Christmas Gloria burst 
upon their ears. Then his quick eye caught 
the golden light flickering into his shelter; 
and, parting the pine boughs, he looked 
in on the Midnight Mass. 

The little cabin chapel was crowded to 
its limit. Three of the boys that had come 
upon Con this morning were kneeling in 
the front row of worshippers; while 
Tommy Randall and Pat Murphy were in 
white surplices, reverently serving Mass. 
And and could that be the "Mister" 

"of this morning, the shining figure stand- 
ing there under the bowering greens, 

before the radiant altar? For a moment 
Con thought it must be one of the angels 
he had heard about, singing in the Christ- 
mas skies. And there, too, was the little 
lady of the Manse, and his late enemy 
Nora, kneeling with clasped hands and 
uplifted eyes; while all around and above 
them gleamed the glory of the lighted 
candles, rose the music of the hymns. 

What all this wondrous beauty and 
splendor meant poor Con did not under- 
stand. All he knew was that it had some- 
thing to do with the Babe that lay in the 
manger, at whose coming the angels had 
sung; and, like one of the shepherds of 
old, his rude, untaught soul felt a strange 
awakening thrill. There came a sudden 
hush in the music. Every knee was bent, 
every head was bowed; and outside in the 
pine shadows wild Con of the mountain 
knelt and bowed in unconscious worship, 
too. But even in this blessed moment 
he could not escape his luckless lot. 

"I saw ye, ye villyun!" muttered a 
hoarse voice in his ear; and Dennis, head 
groom of the Manse stable, laid a stern 
hand on his shoulder. "I saw ye a-peering 
in at the window, aye, and I heard what 
ye said to Nora Malone the last evening! 
The masther tould me I was to come and 
keep me eyes open for divilment. It's no 
harrum I'd bring to man or baste this 
blessed night, but I'll not have ye hiding 
around this holy place. What ye are here 
for I'll not ax; but it's for no good, I'm 
sure. So be 'off wid yerself , and let me hear 
out the holy Mass in peace." 

"I ain't doing no harm," muttered Con. 

"Whisht now, whisht! It's no time for 
talking," warned Dennis, sternly. "Off wid 
ye, I say! And ye may thank the Lord I 
am in His grace to-night, or it would be 
the worse for ye. It's for naither you nor 
me to make throuble at this holy time." 

For a moment Con stood fierce, sullen, 
defiant at this rough dismissal then it 
was no time to make trouble, he felt, 
with a new sense of reverence for the 
wonders around him; and he turned away 
from his hiding-place, and went out into 



the starry glory of the Christmas night. 

" Faix, and it's well I was on the watch," 
declared Dennis as, Mass over, he guided 
his sweetheart Nora and her little lady 
back over the moonlit path to the Manse. 
"That young villyun of a Buzzard Con was 
hiding in the bushes behind the chapel. I 
caught a glimpse of his yellow head in the 
half-shut window." 

" The Lord save us !" gasped Nora. "It's 
ye that have the quick eye and the wise 
head, Dennis, even in yer prayers." 

"I had me ordhers," answered Dennis. 
"Sez the masther to me afore we set out 
for the Mass: 'Keep yer eyes and ears 
open, Dennis, for thim rascals on the 
Roost. I'm thinking they may be up to 
some divilment to-night.' 'It will be a 
distraction in me prayers, sir,' sez I; 'but 
I must do my duty to you, sir.' 'Aye,' 
sez the masther, slipping a Christmas dol- 
lar into me hand; 'as the Good Book sez, 
we must both watch and pray.' And well 
it was that I did; for that young villyun 
was there for no good, I am sure 

"Oh, he was there for good!" broke in 
Susie, eagerly. "I told him to come, 
Dennis, I told him to come and see the 
altar and hear the Christmas Mass. And 
you drove him away! Oh, poor boy, poor 
boy ! Everybody is so mean to him, poor 
Mountain Con! He has no father or 
mother; no one to teach him, to help him, 
to be kind to him, not even on Christmas 
night, poor, poor Con!" And the sweet 
voice quavered into something very much 
like a sob. 

"Sure and it's not crying ye are, dar- 
lint?" remonstrated Nora. "Crying over 
that wild rapscallion, Buzzard Con ! What 
does the likes of him know about holy 
altar or holy Mass? It was some divil 
work he was afther when Dennis spied him. 
We may thank the Lord the roof wasn't 
fired over our heads, as the young villyun 
threatened us the past day. It's nervous 
ye are wid all the excitement and the long 
watching to-night, or ye'd never be fretting 
over a rapscallion like Mountain Con. 
Come now! We'll be hurrying back home, 

so ye can get into bed and go to sleep." 
And Nora hurried her little lady into 
the old house, whose lights could be seen 
glittering brightly through the leafless 
trees; while, far up on the mountain, the 
homeless boy for whom Susie grieved lay 
under a sheltering rock, his blue eyes fixed 
on the Christmas stars, thinking of all he 
had seen to-night. 

"It was fine," murmured Con to him- 
self dreamily, for sleep was stealing upon 
him, "finer than that ar sunset on Eagle 
Peak this evening. I'd like to have seen 
them angels the Mister talked about 
before before that big Irisher druv me 

(To be continued.) 

An Answer to a King. 

The late King of Prussia was once 
visiting a school when he asked the chil- 
dren to what kingdoms, as they are called, 
different objects belonged. There was the 
mineral kingdom, to which all iron and 
stone belong, and the vegetable kingdom, 
in which all plants and flowers and trees 
are placed, and, again, the animal kingdom, 
to which all living beings and beasts 
belong. At last the king asked, "Now, to 
which kingdom do I belong?" meaning, of 
course, the animal kingdom. But none of 
the children liked to class their good king 
with the animals, so all were silent until 
one little boy spoke up and said, "Your 
Majesty, you belong to the Kingdom of 

The king, it is related, was very much 
surprised at this unexpected answer; but 
he was very much pleased, too, and he told 
the boy he would remember that answer 
all his life long and try always to live 
as an inheritor of God's Kingdom. 


The word tally originally meant a cut- 
ting; then a cutting of notches to keep 
an account; and then simply an account, 
however .kept. 



A collection of stories of Irish life by the 
Rev. Mark O'Byrne, entitled "Thunder an' 
Turf," is announced for early publication by 
P. J. Kenedy & Sons. 

"The Will to Win" is the title of a new book 
for boys and girls by the Rev. Boyd Barrett, S. J., 
whose "Strength of the Will," for older readers, 
has had a wide welcome. Kenedy & Sons will 
be the publishers. 

Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons promise 
"The Celt and the World," by Mr. Shane Leslie. 
This new work by the brilliant author of "The 
End of a Chapter" is said to deal with "the 
historic conflict between the Celt and the 

The Mission Press, Techny, 111., has brought 
out in pamphlet form, for general distribution 
among the clergy of the United States, an 
excellent and timely article on "American 
Priests and Foreign Missions," contributed to 
the Ecclesiastical Review by the Rev. A. B. 
O'Neill, C. S. C. 

It has been well said that the line which 
separates versification from poetry is very 
elusive. Still one ought to be able to distinguish 
doggerel, even though produced by oneself. 
The little girl who says "the stars are loveliest 
when they wink at you" will be a poet if she 
lives, provided she is not spoiled by over- 
indulgence in rhymed prose. 

Miss Georgina Pell Curtis has undertaken 
perhaps too large a task in the compass she 
sets herself in her latest work, "The Inter- 
dependence of Literature"; for though her aim 
is only "to sketch in outline," inter-relations 
of literature, the result is not, we regret to say, 
a complete outline. For a second edition 
Posnett's important work on "Comparative 
Literature" should be consulted. As regards 
format, "The Interdependence of Literature" 
will not enhance the reputation of its publisher, 
B. Herder. 

There will be many persons, we feel sure, to 
welcome "Sermons and Sermon Notes," by the 
late Father B. W. Maturin, edited by the 
late Dr. Wilfrid Ward, with his fine tribute to 
his friend, reprinted from the Dublin Review, 
an informing preface by his widow, and a 
portrait of the lamented preacher. Of the 
eleven sermons contained in this volume, five 
were delivered while he was an Anglican, the 
others at various times after his submission to 
the Church. The notes, though fragmentary, 
bear the impress of Father Maturin's great 

gift of spiritual insight, so strikingly shown in 
the complete sermons. Those on the Lord's 
Prayer and at the clothing of a nun are perhaps 
the most notable examples of this remarkable 
psychological perception. We share the hope 
expressed by Mrs. Ward that numerous readers 
will derive from this book the help and consolation 
that it gave to its editor. Published by Long- 
mans, Green & Co. 

With Mr. Laurence J. Gomme as his pub- 
lishing sponsor, and Mr. Joyce Kilmer intro- 
ducing him in most approved lyceum manner, 
Mr. Hilaire Belloc makes his bow to Americans 
as a poet. "Verses" he calls his effort, but they 
are the verses of a poet. They are quite English 
verses, many of them; they are on English 
subjects, reprinted from English magazines. 
The strongest argument for Mr. Belloc's poetic 
power for it seems to be an open question 
with the reviewers as to whether or not he is a 
poet at all is his ability to relate such highly 
personal intuitions as those to which he gives 
voice, in "Balliol Men" and "The South 
Country, " to universal experience. But the most 
satisfactory argument is the book itself, which 
the lover of poetry will peruse with delight, and 
to which he will return again and again with 
fresh expectations. The Catholic reader will 
find Mr. Belloc a spiritual singer, with a dif- 
ference. Sing lustily, this poet seems to say, 
because you carry a cross. Mr. Gomme's press 
has again produced a faultless piece of book- 

The Rt. Rev. Francis C. Kelley, D. D., 
LL. D., offers through Extension Press, "Letters 
to Jack," a substantial - volume of some two 
hundred and fifty pages, the letters of a 
priest to his nephew. "In an easy conversational 
style he talks to the young fellow about pretty 
nearly everything," says his Grace Archbishop 
Mundelein in his laudatory preface. "At the 
same time he does not assume the preaching 
attitude of a reverent relic of a past generation, 
but rather he lets the young man feel that he is 
listening to the advice given by a chum, a friend, 
who has the one thing that he lacks namely, 
experience." How highly his Grace regards 
these "Letters" may be gauged from his closing 
words: "I would, if I could, put a copy of this 
book into the hands of every young man." It 
is a sentiment which we re-echo. Apart from the 
excellence of the advice here offered of which 
almost any priest in the circumstances would 
have been capable of rendering, there is a 
distinct personal charm in Monsignor Kelley's 



presentation of it; it is like the charm of a 
bright, kindly face. The book is well printed 
and durably bound, as it deseryed to be. 

The Rev. Thomas Gerrard, who died last 
month in England, and the Rev. Bonaventure 
Hammer, O. F. M., whose death occurred last 
week in the United States, had much in common. 
Notwithstanding the handicap of physical 
infirmity, both were industrious writers. The 
former, who was a convert to the Church, was 
the author of "The Cords of Adam," "Marriage 
and Parenthood," "A Challenge to the Time 
Spirit," and other books no less important, 
if not so well known, and a frequent contributor 
to Catholic periodicals at home and abroad. 
Father Hammer, besides writing several books 
of great usefulness, and many valuable articles 
for magazines and newspapers, rendered an 
important service by his translation into German 
of "Ben Hur." Competent critics have pro- 
nounced this work superior to the original. 
After retiring from active service, these tireless 
priests continued to promote the cause of 
religion in every way possible, and to the end 
gave a shining example of the virtues they had 
so often inculcated in public. Both were among 
the most amiable of men as well as the most 
priestly of priests. Peace to their souls! 

The Latest Books. 
A Guide to Good Reading. 

The object of this list is to afford information 
concerning important new publications of special 
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will 
appear at the head, older ones being dropped out 
from time to time to make room for new titles. 
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new 
editions will not be indexed. 

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub- 
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United 
States will be imported with as little delay as 
possible. There is no bookseller in this country 
who keeps a full supply of books published abroad. 
Publishers' prices generally include postage. 
"Sermons and Sermon Notes." Rev. B. W. 

Maturin. $2. 

"Verses." Hilaire Belloc. $1.10. 
"Letters to Jack." Rt. Rev. Francis Kelley, 

D. D. $i. 
"The Interdependence of Literature." Georgina 

Pell Curtis. 60 cts. 
"Illustrations for Sermons and Instructions." 

Rev. Charles J. Callan, O. P. $2. 
"Beauty." Rev. A. Rother, S. J. 50 cts. 
"Gerald de Lacey's Daughter." Anna T. 

Sadlier. $1.35. 
"The Holiness of the Church in the Nineteenth 

Century." Rev. Constantine Kempf, S. J. 

"The Divine Master's Portrait." Rev. Joseph 

Degen. 50 cts. 

"Tommy Travers." Mary T. Waggaman. 75 cts. 
"Development of Personality." Brother Chrys- 

ostom, F. S. C. $1.25. 

"The Seminarian." Rev. Albert Rung. 75 cts. 
"The Fall of Man." Rev. M. V. McDonough. 

50 cts. 
"Saint Dominic and the Order of Preachers." 

75 cts.; paper covers, 35 cts. 
"The Growth of a Legend." Ferdinand van 

Langenhove. $1.25. 
"The Divinity of Christ." Rev. George Roche, 

S. J. 25 cts. 
"Heaven Open to Souls." Rev. Henry Semple, 

S. J. $2.15. 
" Conferences for Young Women." Rev. Reynold 

Kuehnel. $1.50. 
"The Dead Musician and Other Poems." 

Charles L. O'Donnell, C. S. C. $i. 


Remember them that are in bands. HEB., xiii, 3. 

Rev. Efios Langford, of the diocese of Hart- 
ford; Rev. Hugh Fleming, diocese of Newark; 
Rev. Remy Lafort, archdiocese of New York; 
and Rev. Bonaventure Hammer, O. F. M. 

Brother Frederick, C. S. C. 

Sister M. Conception, of the Order of the 
Presentation; Sister M. Josephine, O. S. B., 
and Sister M. Eulalia, Order of the Visitation. 

Mr. Francis C. Ewing, Mr. Paul Berger, 
Capt. Robert de Courson, Miss Frances Howe, 
Mr. W. F. Maguire, Mrs. Margaret Doyle, 
Mr. Vincent Ebert, Mrs. E. P. Webster, Mr. 
Michael Hayes, Mr. William E. Moroney, Mrs. 
George Vorschmitt, Mrs. James Borland, Mr. 
Edward Hagan, Mrs. Margaret Shea, Mr. 
Walter Ferrier, Jr., Miss Mary Quigley, Mrs. 
C. A. Boehme/ Mr. Allan and Mr. Alexander 
McKinnon, Mrs. Teresa Dolphus, Mr. George 
Hirshman, Mrs. Bridget Thornton, Mr. E. C. 
Marly, Mr. Murdoch 'J. McNeil, Mr. M. S. 
Kohler, Mr. Edward Newman, Mrs. Anne 
Barney, Mrs. Mary O'Neil, Mr. W. F. Schmidt, 
and Miss K. E. Russell. 

Eternal rest give unto them, O Lord; and let 
perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest 
in peace! (300 days 1 indul.} 

Our Contribution Box. 

"Thy Father, who seeth in secret, will repay thee." 
For the rescue of orphaned and abandoned 
children in China: Friend, $5; "in honor of 
St. Anthony, $i; Friend, 75 cts. For the Bishop 
of Nueva Segovia: K. G. F., $10. For the 
Indian Missions: C. H. L., $8.65. For the 
Foreign Missions: Agnes and Mildred 
Kavanaugh, $3. 


VOL. V. (New Series.) 


NO. 6 

[Published every Saturday. Copyright, 1917: Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C.] 

Ad Vesperas. 


ENTER by the lowly chapel door, 

And leave a while the loud and lighted street, 
And in the twilight of this calm retreat 
Where all around me, kneeling on the floor, 
With diligent fingers tell their Rosaries o'er, 
And unseen choirs the Latin psalms repeat 
I seem to sit the while at Jesus' feet, 
As wistful Mary sat in days of yore. 

Soon will the Benediction rites begin, 

And 'incense rise, and votive tapers shine; 
The Sacred Host be hymned in strains divine 
That tell how grace has triumphed over sin: 
But now, while broods this hallowed gloom within, 
Seemeth the Eternal Presence more benign. 

St. Winefride's Well: The Lourdes of 




TIUTARIANISM has been re- 
sponsible for the uprooting and 
destruction of much that was 
the best and most beautiful in 
but to-day we had rather, not admit 
the word into general use, so we dress it 
up in fine clothes and call it by the high- 
sounding name of modern science. A rose 
by any other name would smell as sweet; 
and a Vandal's hammer is nothing more 
or less than a weapon of wanton destruc- 
tion, call it by what name you will. Old 
beliefs, old customs, old works of art as 
evidenced in cloister, church, and cathe- 
dral, have been swept away by the Vandals, 

under one excuse or another, in this tired 
old land of England adown the years of 
three centuries. But the older Vandals 
invariably worked above ground. Whether 
they were ashamed of it or not, the white 
light of criticism had full play on their 
work. To-day things are different. Per- 
haps it is that there is so little left 
above ground to ruin that the modern 
Vandals burrow underground to destroy 
the good and the beautiful. Be that as it 
may, they have succeeded in drying up St. 
Winefride's miraculous Well, styled "the 
Lourdes of Wales." The calamity for it 
is nothing less occurred in this wise. 

For some little time back, tunnelling had 
been in progress in the neighborhood of 
the Well; its object being to drain the old 
lead mines of the Halkyn Mountains, with 
a view to turning them into a profitable 
working concern in the near future. From 
the beginning this project had not com- 
mended itself to the fair-minded; and the 
possible effect of this mine-drainage on the 
miraculous Well was the occasion of a 
heated debate in the House of Commons, 
Westminster. But the so-called scientists 
carried the day. The catastrophe happened 
on the eve of Epiphany. The men engaged 
in the tunnelling had exploded a blasting 
charge, when a mighty rush of water made 
them seek safety with all possible speed. 
Presently the waters began to subside, and 
the men returned to their work; but what 
was their amazement to find that the flow 
of the Well (which had been normally 
about two thousand gallons per minute 
for over twelve centuries) had ceased! 
The next day a representative of a pushing 



daily paper disported himself on the dry 
floor of the outer bath, and reported the 
fact to the reading world. 

St. Winefride's Well, the scene of many 
cures since its spring first gushed forth up 
to the present day (the deaf, the dumb, the 
blind, the paralytic, and others coming 
in their numbers annually in quest of its 
healing virtues; and, having bathed in 
its waters, leaving their crutches, chairs, 
and other votive offerings by the shrine as 
a proof of their wholeness as well as by 
way of thank-offering), was not only of 
miraculous origin, but its stream served 
many mills along its banks, busy cen- 
tres of industry now silent through the 
act of these modern Vandals. As recently 
as the year 1870, a hospice for the poorer 
class of pilgrims was opened there; and 
so late as a matter of weeks an appeal was 
made for the exemption from military 
service of the caretaker of the Well on 
account of the difficulty of finding a man 
equally trustworthy to fill his place, and 
the necessity for such a man during the 
summer months, when the stream of 
pilgrims seeking the saint's intercession for 
ills bodily and mental greatly increased. 

For it was here that St. Winefride was 
born, about the year 600. Her father, 
Thevit, was a Cambrian magnate, and the 
possessor of three manors in what is now 
the County of Flint. Her mother, Wenlo, 
was a sister of St. Bueno and a member of 
a. family closely connected with the kings 
of Wales. It was the life and example of 
this saint which first kindled the love of 
God in the young girl's heart; for St. 
Bueno, wandering in quest of a suitable 
spot on which to build a monastery, came 
on a visit to his sister's house. Thevit's* 
lands lay on a bluff overlooking the town 
of Holy well; and the hollow where the 
present ruins of the Abbey of Basingstoke 
stand is stated to have been the identical 
spot where St. Bueno settled down, built a 
chapel, said daily Mass, and preached to 
the people. 

Amongst those who came to sit at his 
feet and listen to his inspired words, there 

was no one so attentive as his fifteen-year- 
old niece, Winefride, known as Gueneva 
in her own circle. She henceforth gave 
herself up to a life of austerity, and often 
watched all night in the little church, so 
great was her devotion to Our Lord in the 
Holy Sacrament of His Love. Under her 
uncle's guidance, she made such progress 
in virtue that, with her parents' consent, 
she decided to consecrate herself to the 
service of God. She was, however, a 
maiden of wondrous personal beauty, which 
fact did not wholly escape the eyes of men, 
and princes came to woo her, though she 
would have none of them. 

One especially, Caradoc, son of a 
neighboring prince, was so determined on 
winning her that he conducted his suit in 
person, meanly choosing an hour when 
Thevit and Wenlo were attending Mass 
and the youthful Gueneva was alone in 
the house. Horrified at his persistence, she 
fled his presence, hoping to find safety in 
the church with her parents. Beside him- 
self with passion thwarted, Caradoc fol- 
lowed in hot pursuit; and, coming up with 
the maiden on the slope of the hill, he 
drew his sword and severed her head from 
her body at one stroke. The head rolled 
a little way down the incline, and where it 
rested a spring of pure water gushed forth. 

On hearing of the tragedy, St. Bueno, 
who was celebrating Mass, left the altar 
and came to the spot. Taking up the head 
of his niece, he conveyed it to where the 
body lay, covered both with a cloak, and 
then went back to the church to finish the 
celebration of the divine mysteries. When 
Mass was over, he returned to the scene, 
knelt down beside the corpse, prayed 
fervently for some time, and ordered the 
cloak to be removed when the beautiful 
girl was revealed as if just awaking from 
sleep, with no sign of the foul deed, save 
a thin white line around her neck. The 
guilty Caradoc looked on in amazement. 
But St. Bueno, turning on him, cursed him, 
and he fell dead at the saint's feet. 

Thenceforth Winefride lived in a state of 
almost perpetual ecstasy, and held hourly 



familiar converse with Almighty God. A 
convent was built for her on her father's 
lands, and here she collected around her a 
community of young maidens. The chapel 
of this community was built directly over 
the Well. Meanwhile her saintly uncle re- 
turned to Caernarvon. But before his de- 
parture, he stood on a stone (which is said 
still to form a feature of the place), and 
there promised in the name of God "that 
whosoever on that spot should thrice ask 
for a bequest from Him in the name of St. 
Winefride should obtain the grace he asked 
for, if it were for the good of his soul." 

St. Winefride, on the other hand, made 
a compact with her uncle that so long as 
she stayed at Holywell and he lived, she 
would yearly send him a memorial of her 
debt to him, and her affection as well. 
Eight years later she received the news of 
his death, and at the same time an in- 
spiration to leave Holywell and retire 
inland ; for the inroads of the Saxons were 
already being felt in Wales, and she and 
her community were not safe so near the 
border. She found a refuge at Gwytherin, 
near the source of the River Elwy (a place 
where Welsh only is spoken to this day), 
with a friend of St. Elwy, from whom the 
river takes its name. It was he who 
afterwards wrote the first biography of 
St. Winefride. 

At Gwytherin, our saint lived the life of 
a simple religious, under the abbess of the 
community where she and her companions 
had found shelter. But after the death of 
the abbess she was elected to succeed her. 
It is said that during her life she was 
acknowledged a saint by all who came in 
contact with her, and that countless mira- 
cles were worked by her during her lifetime. 
Her death was foreshown to her by Our 
Lord Himself in a vision. She died on 
November 3, 660, on which date her 
feast is kept; but another feast in her 
honor that of her martyrdom is ob- 
served in midsummer. A life of the saint 
in manuscript, said to be the work of a 
British monk named Valerius, is preserved 
in the British Museum; and there is 

still another in the Bodleian Library at 
Oxford, supposed to have been written by 
Robert, prior of Salisbury in the twelfth 
century. Other biographies of her have 
also been published; but, even without any 
written evidence of her sanctity, the most 
sceptical could not fail to understand 
that her life and character were far beyond 
the natural order, if he would but take the 
trouble to visit Holywell and see for him- 
self the votive offerings hung., over the 
Well by the numerous pilgrims whose ills 
have been cured by her intercession after 
bathing in its waters. 

The drying up of St. Winefride's well 
comes as a great shock to the Catholics of 
Great Britain and Ireland; but to none 
more than to the poor, whom the saint 
loved and for whom she wrought untold 


> . . 

The Crest of the Bodkins. 




NE of the two orderlies* happened 
to be Rody O'Flynn. Bodkin ex- 
perienced considerable difficulty in 
obtaining permission for his faith- 
ful follower to "mount and ride," the 
chief objector being Sefior Manuel Gon- 
zalez. But, mindful of Talbot's warning 
letter, he flatly refused to stir without his 
own man. Gonzalez was swarthy, dark- 
eyed, short but very muscular, and was 
attired in full charro, which consisted of a 
felt sombrero laced with gold braid; a buff 
jerkin, or jacket, trimmed with gold; and 
trousers wide-flowing at the ankles, with 
stripes of gold buttons. His saddle was 
high peaked in front and rear, and trimmed 
with leopard skin; the box stirrups being 
wide and adorned with silver bars. At the 
saddle-bow hung a coil of silken rope, 
without which no caballero ever travelled. 
He was armed to the teeth, and mounted 
on a blooded Arab, which the man from 
Galway aye, the two Galwegians ar- 



dently envied him. Arthur's mount was 
nothing to boast of, but its rider knew 
that it was an animal that might be 
relied on should an extremity arise. 
Rody's horse was a powerful chestnut, 
deep in the chest, with an immense stride. 
The second orderly rode nearly as good 
an animal as that of Gonzalez. 

Sefior Gonzalez spoke very fair English: 
At times it was extremely labored, while 
occasionally he rattled it off after a very 
correct if a glib fashion. Somehow or 
other, Arthur did not "cotton" to him; 
and, without actually mistrusting him, felt 
as though he ought to be on his guard. 

"You have ridden before, Mr. Bodkin?" 
he observed, after a light gallop a sort 
of breather. 

"Well, rather." 

"An Englishman?" 

"An Irishman." 

There was a silence of some minutes. 

"You are on Baron Bergheim's staff?" 
said Gonzalez', interrogatively. 

"I have that honor," replied Bodkin, 

"And you are the bearer of a dispatch 
to Marechal Bazaine?" 

Recollecting his instructions, Arthur 
merely pushed his horse a little ahead, 
without replying. 

His companion rode up to him. 

"I assume that you did not hear my 
question, sir." 

"What question?" 

' ' I asked you if you were not carrying 
a dispatch to Marechal Bazaine." 

"Really?" said Arthur. 

Gonzalez glared at him from beneath 
the deep brim of the sombrero, and 
observed, with a light laugh: 

" Bueno! Caution in youth is old gold. 
I do not press my question, but it might 
amuse you to learn that I could repeat 
that dispatch word for word." 

"What dispatch?" asked Arthur, with 
superb simplicity. 

It was the turn of Sefior Gonzalez to 
push ahead now. After he had ri'dden out 
of earshot, Rody O'Flynn forged along- 

side his master, and whispered hoarsely: 

"There's danger out, sir. I want fur 
to spake wid ye. Not now, sir," he added. 
"This man beside me js no ordherly or 
common sojer at all. An' he spakes 
English. Be on yer guard, Masther Arthur, 
an' be nimble wid yer revolver." 

Bodkin felt somewhat inclined to scoff 
at his follower's suspicions. But he knew 
Rody to be a sharp, keen fellow, and 
brave as a lion; and this, together with 
his own instinctive mistrust of Gonzalez, 
caused him to take caution in both hands. 
He was for questioning his faithful orderly ; 
but the latter, with a warning gesture, 
held back. 

' ' Rody is too smart to warn me without 
good cause," he argued; "and too sharp 
not to make an occasion for further talk. 
I shall leave it all to him. If his suspicions 
are correct, I shall deal promptly with 
Sefior Manuel Gonzalez ; and Rody will give 
a good account of this amateur soldier." 

The road still lay through a double row 
of prickly cactus, and the light was good. 
They were approaching, however, a some- 
what narrow valley, lying in a sort of 
cleft in a foot-hill, the preface to the 
mountains lying around the base of the. 
extinct volcano Orizaba. 

"If Gonzalez means mischief," thought 
Arthur, "he will attempt it in yonder 
valley, where perhaps he may have accom- 
plices. What if he should be a follower 
of Juarez, and determined to have the 
dispatch. at any price?" 

The thought of a "scrimmage" caused 
Bodkin's heart to leap, and the blood to 
rush at fever heat through his veins. 
Instinctively he took a firmer grip of 
his saddle with his knees; and, while 
apparently adjusting the rein, loosened his 
revolver, which hung in its case from the 

"If he plays any game with me, I'm 
ready to take a hand," thought Arthur. 
"And if he should attempt to take the 
dispatch, and I succeed in foiling him, it 
may do me a good turn at headquarters. 
Alice will " 



At this moment a heavy groan from 
Rody caused the entire party to rein in. 

"O Masther Arthur, I'm bet up intirely! 
Oh! oh! oh!" 

"What is the matter, Rody?" 

"It's the heart disease, no less, that's 
struck me, Masther Arthur." 

The idea of O'Flynn's having an attack 
of heart failure was so utterly and entirely 
new that Arthur became alarmed. 

"lyet us push on to the nearest village!" 
he cried. 

"By all means," put in Gonzalez; and, 
addressing a few rapid words to his orderly, 
the latter put spurs to his horse, and 
dashed off at a gallop in the direction of 
the opening valley. 

"O Masther Arthur," groaned Rody, 
"would ye let me lane on ye for support? 
Och, murdher! I can't sit me saddle." 
And, apparently in grievous pain, he slid 
from his horse. 

Arthur dismounted and went to his 

" Don't let go yer horse, sir. See, I have 
mine. Put me up agin this bank aisy! 
aisy!" And as Arthur leaned over to him: 
"Now's our time, sir. Gonzalez is a spy. 
He's for to work ye, make ye prisoner, 
kill ye if necessary to get at yer papers. 
I kem to know all about it; but daren't 
spake or act, for fear of his suspectin' us. 
Be afther helpin' me to mount, sir; an' 
back me close to him. I'll lep on him; ye 
clap yer revolver at his head. It's life 
or death to ye, Masther Arthur, for to get 
yer papers safe. See! O ye murdherin' 
villain!" And before Bodkin could turn, 
Rody, with the agility of a panther, had 
bounded upon the Mexican's horse behind 
the rider, whose arms he pinioned as 
though in the grip of a steel vise. 

As Arthur turned, he saw that Gonzalez 
had drawn his revolver, a motion that 
caused Rody to act with such inconceiv- 
able and successful rapidity. 

Gonzalez struggled desperately; but, 
seeing that any effort to break loose only 
served to tighten the deadly grip of the 
herculean Irishman, he- took deliberate 

aim at our hero and fired, the ball actually 
ploughing his hair. The treacherous fellow 
was not permitted to fire another shot, 
however, for Rody, by a dexterous twist, 
jerked him out of his high-peaked saddle, 
falling with him to the ground, and on top. 

"Tie him up, sir, quick! For that 
shot will give the hard word to th' other 
spalpeen. There, sir, his own rope -on 
his saddle, that's it! Aisy, ma bouchal!" 
he added, as he proceeded to bind the 
struggling and prostrate Mexican. "I 
don't want for to touch yer neck. If ye 
were in Dublin, Calcraft the hangman 
would do that job for ye. Bad luck to ye, 
if ye let a sound out of yer head! Gag 
him, Masther Arthur; for he might let a 
screech that might make us sup sorrow." 

Arthur Bodkin, despite the vigorous 
protestations of Gonzalez, very deftly 
gagged him with his own neckerchief, 
while Rody deliberately went through his 
pockets; narrating in a few words while 
thus engaged how his suspicions had been 
aroused, principally from the fact of the 
supposed orderly being on equal footing 
with Gonzalez. 

"If we have valuable papers wid us, 
Masther Arthur, be jabers he may have 
the same; an' they might be of sarvice if 
we get into thrubble!" 

As a matter of fact, Rody did discover a 
small packet enfolded in a cone made of 
the fibres of the maguey or aloe, which 
he transferred to Arthur. 

"Who knows what that may do for the 
both 'of us?" he observed. "An' now, sir, 
up wid ye! I'll take care of this' shoneen. 
I'll go bail he won't give me the shlip." 

Having placed the prisoner upon his 
horse, Arthur and Rody mounted their 
respective steeds, keeping Gonzalez be- 
tween them. They had already advanced 
some short distance along the road when 
Arthur's attention became riveted on the 
entrance to the valley, where he distinctly 
perceived not one but half a dozen 
mounted men. This ambush for such 
it undoubtedly was had evidently been 
prepared and its site chosen with 



summate skill. For miles not a habitation 
was visible, not even an Indian hut. The 
valley more closely resembled a gorge, in 
being exceedingly narrow, and both sides 
of the mountain precipitous, and in some 
places almost sheer. 

Just where the road entered the valley 
there was a small clump of trees. Passing 
in front of these trees were the mounted 
men whom Arthur had perceived. 

"Sure enough, sir, they're lyin' in 
anguish for us ! " cried Rody . ' ' We daren't 
go that way. We must cut round be the 
foot of the hill. Our horses are fresh. This 
way, sir, right across the bog. Bedad, it's 
like the bog of Inchafeela, only harder, 
good luck to it! We'd betther put as much 
daylight betune us an' thirn murdherin' 
rapscallions as we can. Now for it!" 

In a trice they were galloping across 
the mesquite-dappled plain, hotly pursued 
by seven mounted men. Half a mile of 
a start, if your horse is in good condition, 
is so much in your favor that, barring 
accidents, you may reasonably expect 
either to show your pursuers a clean set 
of heels or to gain the haven of refuge 
whither you are bound in very satisfac- 
tory time. But no Mexican is ever badly 
mounted, and every Mexican rides well. 
In addition to this, he knows his horse 
and the nature of the country he is to 
ride over. Hence, although our trio made 
the pace, and that, too, at a strapping rate, 
they found to their dismay that not only 
were they not distancing their pursuers, 
but were losing ground. 

It was now becoming dark; and if the 
inky cloak of night was to befriend them, 
the chances of meeting obstacles in their 
ride were fairly doubled, obstacles that 
might easily be overcome in the day shine. 
There was nothing for it but to trust to 
Providence, and ride, ride, ride. 

"Perhaps the fellow Gonzalez might 
parley with them?" suggested Arthur. 
"I wouldn't thrust him, sir." 
"But with the pistol at his head?" 
"An' six pistols at yours, sir." 
"How is your horse, Rody?" 

"Illigant! Ye'd think it was racin' in 
ould Tim Burke's meadow he was. An' 
your baste, sir?" 

"Fresh enough for another mile, Rody. 
But they are gaining on us." 

Turning in his saddle, Arthur beheld 
his pursuers strung out, one man well to 
the front, and now within a few hundred 

"Hadn't I betther level him, Masther 

"I'll have no blood shed except in case 
of absolute self-defence, Rody. Is that a 
hacienda in front, to the left?" 

"A what, sir?" 

"A house? Yes no -yes, it is. Thiswa"y. 
Once inside, we can hold out against fifty." 
And Arthur pressed eagerly forward. 

In the very centre of the plain stood a 
solitary one-storied building of adobe, sur- 
rounded by low walls of the same mate- 
rial. Alone it stood, grim, gaunt, silent. 
It boasted one doorway and one window. 
As they dashed into the enclosed yard, a 
shot was fired by the leading pursuer, 
followed by another and yet another. 

"Bedad, if ye fired at a church ye'd 
hit the parish!" laughed Rody, as he 
unceremoniously bundled Gonzalez off his 
horse and in rear of Arthur. 

They lost no time in entering the 
building, bringing their horses with them. 
It was empty arid absolutely bare. A few 
logs lay in one corner; the door, which 
had been wrested off its hinges, in another. 
Arthur with the help of Rody, planted 
the door in its place, backing it up with 
logs. They also blocked the window with 
logs, and deliberately prepared for defence. 

"As long as we've this Mexico wid 
us, the spalpeens daren*'t fire, for fear of 
hurtin' him. Bad cess to him, but he's 
chokin' ! Hould up ! " And Rody pro- 
ceeded to remove the gag from the mouth 
of the gasping Gonzalez. 

"You shall suffer for this," he mut- 
tered, "both of you both of you!" 

At this moment shoutings were heard 
from without. 

"If ye rise yer voice bcyant a whisper, 



I'll " said Rody, brandishing the butt end 
of his revolver close to the Mexican's skull. 

The shoutings were repeated, nearer 
this time. 

' ' What had we better do, Rody ? ' ' asked 

"Spake Irish, avid That Mexico won't 
understand us." 

Adopting this very sagacious sug- 
gestion, they held council of war. To 
surrender to their pursuers meant death. 
To remain in the cabin meant starvation. 
To give up their prisoner was out of the 
question. He was their safeguard. There 
were six armed desperadoes surrounding 
the house. So long as these men remained 
around, life was at stake and hard fighting 
to be done. Assuming that Gonzalez drew 
them off, and that Arthur and Rody were 
allowed to depart, what guarantee had 
they, that by a short cut in the road, these 
villains would not pounce upon them, 
or pick them off from behind the safety 
of some rock or tree? 

' ' What are your terms ? ' ' said Gonzalez. 

"We will make none," replied Arthur. 

"You are outnumbered; besides," he 
added, "others are coming up." 

"Listen to me," said Arthur, and his 
face was white and set. ' ' The very moment 
that your miscreants attempt to enter this 
hut, I shall deal with you, not with them." 

"Let me free and / will deal with them. 
You shall go harmless. I guarantee that." 

"Aye! an' guarantee a shot in the back 
when a man's back is turned," put in Rody. 

"Oh that that was an accident!" 
stammered Gonzalez. 

"So would th' other be the same sort 
of accident. Bow-wow, sez the fox!" 

At this juncture a rush took place 
horses at a gallop entering the enclosure, 
the riders shouting and shrieking, while 
the sound of shots in rapid succession 
came nearer and nearer. Gonzalez began 
yelling directions to his followers, but was 
instantly throttled by Rody; while Arthur 
stood by the door, revolver in hand, Rody 
presently taking the window. Vigorous 
hangings at the door took place, with 

mingled threats and entreaties for admis- 
sion. But as shots were now close at hand, 
the hangings ceased, the Mexicans having 
taken to flight. 

"Cowards ! " muttered Gonzalez, bitterly, 
as the sounds of the retreating horses 
reached him. 

"What does this* mean?" demanded 

"It means," and the scowl on the man's 
face became devilish in its malignity, 
"it means," he repeated, "that some of 
Benito Juarez' people are upon us, and 
that they will, within five minutes from 
now, place us all three against a wall and 
shoot us like dogs. So let us fight for our 
lives, and sell them as dearly as we can. 
Loose my hands!" 

The newcomers were now within 
earshot; and Arthur, to his intense 
delight, discovered that they were speak- 
ing French discussing the question as 
to whether the house was inhabited or 
not, and fearing a hot surprise. 

"They are French, Rody!" cried Bodkin. 

"Glory! Sure we're as safe as the Rock 
o' Cashel! Shall I open the doore, sir?" 

Bodkin shouted in French that there 
were three persons in the hut, announcing 
his own rank ajid condition, and asking 
the officer in command to advance. This 
warrior, however, having had some expe- 
rience in the fearful guerilla warfare 
that was raging through the country, 
politely declined from behind the adobe 
wall, requesting Arthur to show himself. 
Feeling perfectly assured of his ground, 
and despite the most vehement protesta- 
tions on the part of Gonzalez, he, with 
the aid of Rody, pulled down the door, 
stepped into the yard, and in a trice 
was surrounded by a dozen dismounted 
troopers, while as many more entered the 
building pell-mell. 

Arthur, who spoke French with fluency, 
was soon on intimate terms with Capi- 
taine Parabere, who commanded the troop, 
relating the adventure in all its exciting 

"Aha!" laughed the Captain. "Little 



did these brigands imagine that we \vould 
turn up. We were marching down from 
Santa Maria del Flor to San Anita to 
reinforce the Emperor's escort, and by 
chance I -caught sight of three of them 
riding across country. I guessed at once 
that they were up to mischief, so I rode 
after them, and here'we are. But who is 
your catch?" 

"vSefior Manuel Gonzalez." 

"Don't know him. Here, Sergeant, 
strike a light!" 

A light having been struck and a lamp 
lit, Capitaine Parabere held it up to the 
Mexican's face. 

"Oho!" he cried, "whom have we here? 
Why, sir," he added, drawing Bodkin aside, 
"you have landed a big fish. This is, or 
I am much mistaken, Vincente Mazazo, 
one of the most daring and dexterous of 
Juarez' lieutenants, a man who would 
as soon cut your throat as look at you. 
You are in luck, Monsieur." 

"It would seem so," said Arthur, and 
his thoughts flew to Alice. He would 
show her that he was not a mere wasp- 
waisted, spur-clinking, mustache-twirling 

Capitaine Parabere provided Arthur 
with an escort of three picked troopers. 

"Avoid defiles, trees and rocks," he said 
at parting. "Keep a man well ahead as 
an outpost. Gag your prisoner, so as to 
prevent his giving any instructions even to 
the crows. Rely upon it, those fellows who 
have escaped me will not let their man 
be taken to Orizaba without an attempt at 
rescue. If I could spare you more men, I 
would do so willingly; but I dare not. In 
fact," he laughed, "as it is, I shall have 
to stand a courtmartial for doing what I 
have done. Au revoir! We shall meet in 
the capital." 

Having with him an escort acquainted 
with the country, Arthur now felt little 
uneasiness in regard to an attack of rescue, 
and started for Orizaba in the highest 
possible spirits, the excitement of adven- 
ture, that wine of the young, glowing 
withjn his heart. 

"Who is this Mexico that we 
demanded Rody, during a halt. 

"He is a conspiratoV, Rody, and we've 
made a haul." 

"Bedad, but this is the counthry for 
the likes of us, sir!" 

The next day at high noon Arthur and 
his party clattered over the stone bridge 
which spans a brawling stream deep down 
in the cleft of the mountains that so 
jealously guard the picturesque town of 
Orizaba. Their night ride had proved 
uneventful, no attempt at rescue having 
been made; although, from the ceaseless 
movements of their prisoner's head in 
searching the outer darkness, it was pretty 
evident that he expected succor. 

Having reported himself at headquarters, 
and finding, that Marechal Bazaine was 
visiting an outpost on the road to Puebla, 
and would not return to Orizaba for some 
hours, Bodkin, having seen his prisoner 
safely bestowed, treated himself to a bath, 
and subsequently to a breakfast such as 
only hunting men know how to dispose 
of. After almuerzo, the siesta; and our 
hero was happily awakened from a ghastly 
dream, in which Alice Nugent was being 
run away with by Manuel Gonzalez alias 
Vincente Mazazo, while he, Arthur, lay 
gagged and bound, and unable to make a 
solitary movement to save her. 

"Yer wanted now at headquarthers. 
Masther Arthur," said Rody. "Don't be 
bashful, yer honor. R^mimber Ballybodsn, 
aboo! Spake up, sir, bould as brass; an' 
tell thim yer reddy an' willin' for to ketch 
a dozen more fandangos if ye only get the 
chance. An' sure, sir," he added, "afther 
ye've got yer say in, ye might mintion 
me. An' it's a corporal they'll be makin' 
of me, as sure as Sunda'. A couple of 
sthripes on me arm would be worth a 
hundhred on me back, anyhow." 

(To be continued.} 

THE blind man understands what he 
touches better than we who can see, 
because he exercises the sense of touch to 
the full. Jean Quercy. 


Captive Souls. 


TJ^HERE lies that dark and dismal isle, 

Beside a sea of tears, 
A thousand captives mourn a while 

The faults of earthly years. 

And there they throb and watch and pine, 

With feverish desire 
To sing and praise their King Divine 

With the angelic choir. 

And, oh, the joy that lights their eye 

When, in that exile there, 
They see against an ebon sky 

The snowy sails of prayer! 

Lore of the Mass. 



"DALDACHINUM. (From the Italian 
.D baldacchino, a canopy ; from Baldacco, 
the Italian name for Bagdad, famous for 
its rich textiles.) A canopy erected over 
the altar, and supported by four pillars, or 
suspended from the roof. Curtains were 
sometimes dropped between the pillars, 
and, when drawn, shut off the view of the 
altar from the people. This canopy was 
also called the ciborium' and sometimes 
the Blessed Sacrament, in a dove-shaped 
vessel, was suspended from the interior 
thereof. The term is also applied to the 
canopy held over the priest who bears the 
Holy Sacrament in a procession. As well 
as being ornamental, the baldachinum 
serves to protect the altar from dust or 
other matter falling from the ceiling. The 
most beautiful specimen in the world is 
that in St. Peter's, Rome. 

BELLS. Bells are used both to summon 
people to Mass or divine services, as also 
during the Mass itself. In the former use 
they can be traced back for about twelve 
centuries, and are called church bells, or 
Mass bells. They are solemnly blessed 

(or "baptized") with washings, unctions, 
and prayers that they may IDC efficacious 
in warding off evil influences. The little 
hand bell rung in the church during Mass 
is called the altar bell, and is rung at the 
Sanctus, the Elevation, and the D online, 
non sum dignus.' It is the custom to omit 
the ringing of bells from the Gloria in the 
Mass of Holy Thursday to the Gloria in 
the Mass of Easter Saturday, when a 
solemn peal is rung in honor of the resur- 
rection of our Saviour, the Mass on 
Easter Saturday being the first Mass of 
Easter Sunday anticipated. The altar bell 
is not rung in a private Mass said before 
the Blessed Sacrament exposed during the 
Forty Hours' Devotion. 

form for dismissing the people at the end 
of Mass is lie, missa est ("<Go: all is over"). 
However, on days which bore the charac- 
ter of sorrow and penance, the people 
were, in former times, required not to 
leave the church, but to remain for further 
prayers Hence the custom arose of 
substituting for the regular form of dis- 
missal the ejaculation, Benedicamus 
Domino ("Let us bless the Lord"). This 
rubric still continues, and on those days 
this phrase is still retained. 

BINATION (or Duplication) is the priv- 
ilege given to a priest of offering up the 
Holy Sacrifice twice on the same day. This 
is allowed only when a number of the 
faithful would otherwise be deprived of 
Mass and no other priest can be had. A: 
priest may say three Masses on Christmas 
and on All Souls' Day. 

BIRETTA (berretta, beretta). An eccle- 
siastical cap, square in shape, having three 
or four horns, or projections, on top. The 
four-cornered birettas belong of right to 
Doctors of Divinity, and should be worn 
only when teaching in the Doctor's Chair; 
though from time immemorial the clergy 
of France, Germany and Spain have been 
accustomed to wear birettas of this kind. 
The biretta of patriarchs, primates, arch- 
bishops and bishops is purple; that of 
cardinals, red; . and that of all others 



black. The priest wears his biretta when 
going to and from the altar and when he 
sits during the celebration of the Mass. 

BLESSING. At the end of the Mass when 
the priest has said Ite, missa est, he turns 
to the aUar and says a prayer to the Holy 
Trinity; then, turning around and making 
the Sign of the Cross over the people, 
blesses them in the name of the Father 
and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. 
This blessing is omitted in Masses of the 

BREADS, ALTAR. Bread made of wheat 
is necessary for valid consecration in the 
Mass. In the Eastern Church leavened 
bread is used; and in the Western, unleav- 
ened; but either is sufficient for validity. 
It is baked between heated irons on which 
is stamped some pious image, such as the 
Crucifixion. The breads are made round 
in form, and of two sizes; the larger for 
the use of the priest and for the mon- 
strance in Benediction, and the smaller 
for the laity. 


BURSE. Is in shape like a square en- 
velope, and is meant to hold the corporal. 
It corresponds in color and material with 
the other vestments of the Mass. 

CANDLES. (See Lights.) 

CANON. -That part of the Mass which 
begins after the Sanctus with the prayer 
Te igitur, and ends, according to some, just 
before the Pater Noster; according to 
others, with the consumption of the ele- 
ments. In its present form it dates back 
to the time of Gregory I. (590-604). It is 
the most sacred and important part of the 
Mass, containing as it does the words of 
our Divine Saviour in virtue of which the 
bread and wine are changed into His own 
Body and Blood. It is sometimes called 
the ''Action" of the Mass. 

CANOPY. (See Baldachinum.) 

CAP.- (See Biretta.) 

CASSOCK. The long outer garment worn 
by the priest in everyday life and at eccle- 
siastical Junctions. It 'is also called the 
habit (especially in religious Orders), and 

the soutane. The cassock of a cardinal is 
scarlet, a bishop's purple, and a priest's 
black. The Pope wears a cassock of white 
silk. Some religious Orders wear other 

CELEBRANT. The priest who actually 
offers the Mass, as distinct from those 
who assist him in doing so. 

CELEBRET. An official document given 
to a priest by a bishop, in order that he may 
obtain permission to say Mass in another 

CENSER. -(See Incense.) 

CEREMONIES. A general name for the 
outward rites and forms used in religious 
services. Some are essential, such, for 
example, as concern the matter and form 
of the sacraments; some are non-essen- 
tial, that is, not necessary for validity. 

CHALICE. The chalice occupies first 
place among sacred vessels. It is the cup 
used in the Sacrifice of the Mass for the 
wine which is to be consecrated. It has 
varied in material and shape during the 
ages, but the present law of the Church is 
that it be made of gold or silver, or at 
least have a silver cup gilt inside. It must 
be consecrated by the bishop with chrism; 
and, once consecrated, is to be handled 
only by clerics or by those having per- 
mission. The consecration is lost if the 
chalice be broken or notably injured, or 
if the inside is regilt. When the laity 
were accustomed to receive Holy Com- 
munion under the appearance of wine, 
the chalices were much larger, and the 
Precious Blood was generally received 
through a reed. 

CHALICE VEIL. The veil with which the 
chalice and paten are covered at Mass up 
to the. time of the Offertory and after the 
Communion. It should be of silk, and 
correspond in color to the other vestments. 
It is of comparatively recent origin. 

CHASUBLE. The outer vestment w r orn 
by a priest in the celebration of the Mass. 
It is open on both sides, and generally has 
a large cross on the back and shoulders. 
It must be of very good material, and 
its color varies according to the liturgical 

77/7': AVE MARIA 


color of the day. When pulling it on tilt- 
priest says: "O Lord, who hast said, 'My 
yoke is sweet, and* My burden light,' 
grant that I may so carry it as to merit 
Thy grace!" In its original form, it com- 
pletely enveloped the whole body, and 
fell down to the ground (hence the name 
casula, a little house) ; but, for conven- 
ience' sake, it was gradually curtailed to its 
present form. Before being used it is blessed 
by a priest who has faculties from the 
bishop. When a priest at ordination is 
being invested with the chasuble, the 
officiating bishop says to him: "Receive 
the priestly vestment by which is signified 

CHRISMALE. A linen cloth saturated 
with wax and placed immediately over the 
altar-stone. It serves to preserve the 
altar-cloths from the dampness of the 

CIBORIUM. This word formerly meant 
the canopy over the altar, from which was 
suspended a vessel for the purpose of re- 
serving the Blessed Sacrament. It is now 
applied to the closed vessel, shaped like a 
chalice, in which the consecrated particles 
for the Communion of the Mass are pre- 
served. While containing the Blessed 
Sacrament it is always kept in the taber- 
nacle covered with a white veil, and may 
not be handled except by the sacred 
ministers. It is blessed by a bishop or 
by one deputed by him. The material 
should be gold or silver (baser metals are 
sometimes allowed), but the interior of 
the cup must always be lined at least 
with silver. 

CINCTURE. The girdle or cord which 
holds the alb around the waist. While 
putting it on the priest says: "Gird me, O 
Lord, with the girdle of purity, and ex- 
tinguish in my loins the fire of lust, that 
the virtue of self-restraint and chastity 
may remain in me." It is also called the 

CLAPPERS. The Mass bell is not rung 
from the end of the Gloria in excelsis on 
Holy Thursday, to the beginning of the 
Gloria in excelsis on Holy Saturday. 

During this Unit' it is customary to use 
wooden clappers. 

CLOTHS. (See Altar-Cloths. ) 

COLLECT. A name given to the prayers 
said before the Epistle in the Mass. Before 
beginning the Collects the priest turns 
towards the people and greets them, saying 
Dominus vobiscum ("The Lord be with 
you"); and then invites them to join in 
the prayers, saying, Oremus ("Let us 
pray"), and continues with extended hands 
to the end. The number of Collects may 
vary from one to seven ; they are said 
aloud in Low Masses, and sung in High 
Masses; and during the singing the con- 
gregation should stand. The following is 
an example of a Collect: "Have regard, O 
Almighty God, to our weakness; and, as 
we sink under the weight of our doings, 
let the glorious intercession of blessed 
N -, thy martyr and bishop, be a protec- 
tion to us; through our Lord Jesus Christ, 
Thy Son, who liveth and reigneth with 
Thee in the unity of the Holy Ghost, God, 
world without end. Amen." On all feast 
days the Collect contains a reference to 
the event whose memory is celebrated. It 
is so called because it gathers together, or 
"collects," the various needs of the people 
into one prayer. 

COLORS. In her vestments the Church 
uses five colors: white, red, green, purple, 
and black (cloth of gold may be used in 
place of white, red or green). The object 
is to impart splendor, and at the same time 
convey mystical meanings. On the feasts 
of Our Lord, of the Blessed Virgin, of the 
angels, and of those amongst the saints 
who were not martyrs, white is used not 
only to signify the purity of the Lamb 
and of His Blessed Mother, but to figure 
that "great multitude, which no man 
could number, of all nations and tribes and 
peoples and tongues, standing before the 
throne and in the sight of the Lamb, 
clothed with white robes." Red is worn 
on the feasts of Pentecost, the Finding of 
the Cross, the Passion, and of martyrs, .to 
typify those fiery tongues that rested on 
the heads of the Apostles when the Holy 



Ghost, descended visibly upon llieni; and 
in reference .to the blood shed by Jesus 
Christ and His martyrs. Violet (emblem- 
atic of penance) is worn in times of fasting 
and penance, also on the feast of the Holy 
Innocents (except when it falls on a Sun- 
day). Black (the color of mourning) is 
used in Masses of the Dead, and on Good 
Friday. Green, the symbol of hope, is used 
on those days which have, on the one hand, 
no special festive or joyous character; 
but which, on the other, are not days ap- 
pointed for penance and mourning. It is 
used therefore on the Sundays and week- 
days after the octave of the Epiphany until 
Septuagesima, and from the octave of 
Pentecost until Advent. Rose-colored 
vestments may be used at Solemn Mass 
on the third Sunday of Advent and the 
fourth in Lent. 

COMMEMORATION. 'Sometimes when a 
certain feast can neither be celebrated in 
whole nor transferred, a portion of the 
Mass thereof is inserted in the Mass of 
the feast which takes precedence, and this 
is called a commemoration. The parts in- 
serted are the Collect, Secret, and Post- 

COMMIXTURE. -The ceremony of the 
Commixture takes place between the 
Pater Noster and the Agnus Dei. The 
priest takes a portion of the consecrated 
bread and drops it in the chalice, to signify 
that the two natures in Christ are united in 
one person. While doing so he says : " May 
this mixture and consecration of the body 
and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ be to 
us that receive it effectual to eternal life." 

COMMON. The Common is used when 
speaking of the Mass of the Saints, and 
means the prayers, etc., which are com- 
monly said in the Masses of certain classes 
of saints, for example, virgins, martyrs, 
and so forth. 

COMMUNICANTES. One of the prayers 
in the Canon by which the priest recalls 
to mind and commemorates the saints in- 

COMMUNION. i. The receiving of Our 
Lord's bodv and blood is called Com- 

munion. It takes place near the end of 
the Mass, and is preceded by several 
appropriate prayers. The priest receives 
Communion under the species of bread 
and wine; but the lay people only under 
the species of bread, though in the early 
ages they received under both species. 
When himself receiving Communion, the 
priest says: "May the body of our Lord 
Jesus Christ preserve my soul unto life 
everlasting." "May the blood, etc." And 
when giving Holy Communion to the 
people he says : "May the body of our Lord 
Jesus Christ preserve thy soul unto life 
everlasting." 2. The name Communion 
is also given to the versicle which the 
priest reads from the Missal at the Epistle 
side immediately after the ablutions. It 
is usually taken from one of the psalms, 
and was formerly chanted while the people 

COMMUNION CLOTH. A linen cloth ex- 
tending along the sanctuary rail, or held by 
some one at either end, and used by the 
faithful when they receive Holy Com- 
munion, in order to prevent, in case of 
accident, the Sacred Host from falling to 
the ground. Sometimes a gilt plate is used 
in its stead, being held by the acolyte, or, 
in a Solemn High Mass, by the deacon. 

CONCELEBRATION. -Up to the thirteenth 
century it was customary on solemn festi- 
vals for several priests to unite in offering 
up the same Mass. This was called Con- 
celebration. A vestige of the custom still 
remains in the ordination of a priest and 
the consecration of a bishop. In the or- 
dination ceremony, the candidate takes 
up the Mass with the bishop ordaining at 
the Offertory, and continues to the end, 
reciting everything 'aloud. The same hap- 
pens in the consecration of a bishop. 

CONFITEOR. The first Latin word of 
the prayer beginning in English, ' ' I confess 
to Almighty God." It is said by the priest 
at the beginning of the Mass, as an ac- 
knowledgment of his sinf ulness ; and after- 
wards by the acolytes on behalf of the 
people. This portion of the Mass is pre- 
paratory, and was formerly said before 


coming, or on the way, to the altar. The 
Confiteor is also said again by the acolytes 
for the people when they are about to 
receive Holy Communion in, or outside of, 
Mass. Before Communion in Solemn High 
Mass, and before the promulgation of In- 
dulgences, it is sung by the deacon. While 
reciting the Confiteor, the priest, with his 
hands joined, makes a profound bow, to 
express his confusion for his sinfulness, 
and to imitate the humble publican, ' ' who 
would not so much as lift up his eyes 
towards heaven." (St. Luke, x-viii, 13.) 

CONSECRATION. That portion of the 
Mass in which the bread and wine are 
changed into the body and blood of Our 
Lord. "It is nothing else than the repeti- 
tion and copy of the first celebration of 
the Lord's Supper 'in the supper-room at 
Jerusalem." The priest narrates the first 
offering and institution of the unbloody 
sacrifice by Jesus Christ; and while re- 
lating this he performs the corresponding 
actions. He pronounces in the person 
of Christ the effective words of consecra- 
tion over the bread and wine, with the 
intention of changing the gifts at present 
lying on the altar, and thereby offering up 
in sacrifice the body and blood of Christ. 
(Gihr.) For the consecration of the bread 
the words are: "Who [Christ], the day 
before He suffered, took bread into His holy 
and venerable hands, and, with eyes lifted 
up towards heaven, unto Thee, O God, His 
Almighty Father, giving thanks to Thee, 
did bless, break and give unto His disci- 
ples, saying: 'Take, and eat ye all of this. 
For this is My Body.'" 

For the consecration of the wine the 
words are: "In like manner, after supper, 
taking also this excellent chalice into His 
holy and venerable hands, and giving 
thanks to Thee, He blessed and gave to 
His disciples, saying: 'Take and drink ye 
all of it. For this is the Chalice of My Blood, 
of the new and eternal testament, the mystery 
of faith; which shall be shed for you and 
for many, unto the remission of sins.' As 
often as you do these things ye shall 
do them in remembrance of Me!" The 

essential words of the consecration of the 
bread are, "This is My Body"; and the 
essential words of the consecration of the 
wine are, " This is the Chalice of My Blood." 
After each consecration the priest makes 
a genuflection, tKen raises the consecrated 
element on high for the adoration of the 
people, and then once more genuflects. 
At each of these motions the bell is rung 
by the acolyte to notify the congregation. 
The change of bread and wine into the 
body and blood of Christ at Mass is 
called " Transubstantiation " ; and this 
constitutes the essential portion of the 
Eucharistic sacrifice. 

COPE. A wide vestment of silk, reaching 
nearly to the ground, open in front, and 
fastened by a clasp. At a Pontifical High 
Mass it is worn by the assistant priest, who 
is especially deputed to wait on the bishop. 
It is also worn by the priest when giving 
Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament, as 
also in processions, in greater blessings 
and consecrations, at Solemn Vespers, at 
the Asperges, and at the absolution of the 
dead. As regards color, it follows that of 
the day, and it may be made of any rich 
or becoming material. 

CORPORAL. A square, white linen cloth, 
spread under the chalice during the cele- 
bration of the Mass, on which cloth the 
chalice and bread for the consecration are 
placed. It must be washed three times by 
a priest, or at least a subdeacon, before 
being sent to the laundry; and when in 
use may not be handled except by the 
clergy or by those who have special 
permission. Spiritually it represents the 
winding sheet in which the body of Christ 
was wrapped by Joseph of Arimathea. It 
is so called because it touches the body 
(Latirf, corpus] of Our Lord. When not 
in use it is kept folded up in the burse. 

(To be continued.) 

TO-DAY more than ever the principal 
strength of the wicked is the weakness 
of the good; and the power of the reign 
of Satan amongst us, the feebleness of 
Christianity in Christians. Mgr. Pie. 



Her Father's Ring. 


THIS is the coldest morning of the 
whole winter. I haven't seen a 
thermometer, but I know it's below zero. 
My poor ears! And, oh, my feet!" Miss 
Lebeau wailed, as she hurried, shivering, 
into Mrs. de Ruisseau's sitting room, her 
delicate face reddened by the wind, and 
her feet aching with cold. Her black 
cloak was buttoned closely up to her throat, 
but looked thin for extreme weather. She 
had bought it when her father died and 
still regarded it with admiration; but, 
though fine in its day, time and wear had 
made it old-fashioned and threadbare. 

"You poor child!" Mrs. de Ruisseau 
cooed sympathetically ; and, rising quickly, 
with her own frail old hands she drew a 
chair close to the grate. 

"How kind you are! I'll be comfortable 
after a minute or two," Miss Lebeau said 
bravely. "My hands are as warm as toast 
even now. I have my muff, you see." 

The muff was a sealskin one, long 
revered in her family, and carried only 
when bitterly cold weather warranted its 

"I ought to scold you for coming to see 
me on such a day. I would, if I weren't 
so glad to see you that I haven't the 
heart. We old people get very lonely in 
our forgotten corners. We love to see a 
friendly face. And how we do love to talk ! ' ' 

But after Miss Lebeau was seated and 
the weather had been exhausted as a topic 
of conversation, Mrs. de Ruisseau began to 
suspect that it was not solely to bear her 
company that Miss Lebeau had ventured 
out of doors. It was evident that some- 
thing lay heavy on her mind and heart; 
for, instead of her usual flow of pleasant 
and gentle, if too continuous, talk, there 
were long pauses, during which she 
watched the fitful blaze of the coal fire, 
absent-mindedly holding her hands close 
to it until their palms were red and hot. 

Mrs. de Ruisseau pretended to notice 
nothing. She knew that Miss Lebeau 
would soon broach the subject, if she had 
come to talk over whatever it was that 
troubled her. 

After a sijence, longer than any that 
had preceded it, Miss I v ebeau looked up 
into the tender old eyes that were watch- 
ing her, and her own were full of tears. 

"I came to tell you something, Mrs. de 
Ruisseau," she said. "I want you to say 
exactly what you think about it, but I 
hope you won't disapprove." 

"Marie dear, I won't disapprove, if I 
can help it; but I make no promises. You 
know I have to scold you once in a while 
to teach you to be as good to yourself ,as 
you are to other people." 

Miss Lebeau did not smile, as Mrs. de 
Ruisseau intended that she should; and 
it was quite a minute before she said any- 
thing more. When she did begin, there 
were tears in her voice and Her chin 
quivered. She went straight to the point, 
too much in earnest to do otherwise. 

"Mrs. de Ruisseau, I've made up my 
mind to sell father's diamond ring and 
give the money to the Missions. I am 
going to take it to a jeweler, I am going 
to take it to-day, and get all I can for it. 
Of course it's worth a great deal. It is 
my my one treasure. I wouldn't sell it 
for all the money in the world to buy some- 
thing for myself, not if I were hungry 
and ragged and homeless." 

"I know you wouldn't, Marie," Mrs. 
de Ruisseau agreed, with perfect under- 

"We all know this is a terrible time for 
the Missions. They are suffering all over 
the world. Some may even have to be 
abandoned. And it seems foolish or 
worse for me to hoard my treasure and 
let souls and bodies suffer for the money 
it would bring, though I do love it." 

"Of course you do. I remember the 
ring perfectly. Your father was fond of it 
and always wore it. The stone is very 
handsome. I admired it many a time; so 
did Mr. de Ruisseau, though he used to 



tell your father that he made unnecessary 
gestures just to call attention to it." Then, 
knowing Miss Lebeau's sensitiveness, and 
fearing she might be offended, she added 
quickly: "Of course Ruisseau was 
only teasing." 

"Father did love jewelry," Miss 
Lebeau said. (She had hardly heeded Mrs. 
cle Ruisseau's words.) "It was a pleasure 
to him even to look at the display in 
jewelers' windows. He never passed one 
without stopping. He would have bought 
many beautiful things, if he had been 
richer. And how he did cherish his 
diamond ring! That's why I -I can't 
help feeling badly over parting with it. 
When mother was ill so long, our store 
building was vacant for a time, and money 
was very scarce. Father could not bear 
to think she didn't have every comfort, 
so he sold his scarf pin and the other ring 
he used to wear, the topaz ring. You 
must remember it, too?" 

"Perfectly," Ruisseau -interjected. 

"But he never parted with his one 
diamond. I used to joke a little about it, 
and tell him it was his pet extravagance. 
Poor dear, he never defended himself! He 
would laugh at me, and insist he would 
never sell it." 

Miss Lebeau's tears were flowing un- 
heeded now. She was very lonely without 
her father, and treasured every remem- 
bered word of his, and even the smallest 
things he had used. 

, Mrs. de Ruisseau allowed her to weep 
uncomforted. She longed to advise her 
not to sell the ring, but her conscience 
would not let her; for she, too, was 
troubled over the present suffering of 
missions, poor even in their most pros- 
perous days. 

Presently Miss Lebeau, after more than 
one vain attempt to dry her eyes, said 
anxiously : 

"Tell me honestly, Mrs. de Ruisseau, 
do you think father will mind, if he knows ? 
Do you think he will understand?" 

"I am sure he will, and be proud of you, 
Marie," Mrs. de Ruisseau answered ten- 

derly. ' ' It's a real sacrifice you are making. 
You love the ring so much, and it is so 
beautiful, and so valuable! And and I, 
too, am proud of you, I can't tell you 
how proud! Surely God will bless you a 
thousand times for this." 

Miss Lebeau brightened a little. 

"I hope so," she said tremulously; 
adding with a rainbow smile: "I didn't 
mean to cry about it. I haven't cried 
before, though it took me three days to 
make up my mind." Then, after a moment 
she rose, saying nervously: "I think I'll 
go now, and do it, and have it over. I 
must stop at the bank before I go to see 
a jeweler. Mr. Barton has been keeping 
the ring for me in his vault. I had it 
in a locked drawer in my room for a year 
after father died; but night after night I 
imagined I heard burglars; and whenever 
I was away from the house, I was afraid 
every minute that some one would break 
into it before I got back. So I asked Mr. 
Barton to keep it. It was the only valu- 
able thing about my premises; and ever 
since I gave it into his care I have slept in 
peace, and gone out with an easy mind 
in daytime." 

Mrs. de Ruisseau helped her to fasten 
her cloak, and insisted that she should 
toast her feet before setting forth into the 
cold. At the last minute it occurred to her 
that a cup of tea would be heating and 
comforting, and she instantly sent for it. 
So Miss Lebeau had to unfasten her wrap, 
wait until it was brewed, and drink it 
after the slow fashion in which Mrs. de 
Ruisseau thought tea should be sipped. 
Then, having bundled herself onde more, 
she started towards the door. 

"It ought to bring at least a hundred 
and fifty dollars," she said happily. 

"At least that," Mrs. de Ruisseau 
agreed; and, after Miss Lebeau was gone, 
she hurried to the door and called to her 
across the yard: "I'm proud of you, 
Marie, and so glad for the Missions!" 

Mr. Barton, president of the Second 
National Bank, was occupied when Miss 
Lebeau asked to see him; but soon he 



came from his private office in search of 
her, welcoming her cordially. In the 
courtly way that made him the most 
charming old gentleman in the world, 
he led her to a comfortable chair beside 
his desk. 

"They told me how busy you are, 
Mr. Barton, and I am sorry to disturb 
you," Miss Lebeau apologized. "I shall 
not keep you long, but I want to get 
father's ring. You know you are keeping 
it for me." 

"Certainly, Miss Lebeau: you shall 
have it in a minute," he said. 

Calling a man, he- told him to get it; 
and while they waited he chatted pleas- 
antly about some one who was a friend of 
them both. When the clerk had brought 
the ring, and it lay sparkling on the desk, 
Miss Lebeau found courage to explain: 

"I am going to to sell it, Mr. Barton. 
I couldn't part with it to spend the money 
on myself, no matter how much I might 
need it; but our Foreign Missions, Mr. 
Barton, you know they were always poor; 
and now, with Germany and Belgium and 
our own generous France unable to help, 
they are suffering terribly. That's why T 
am going to part with the ring." 

Mr. Barton's answer came at last, slow 
and. halting: 

"The Missions do need help. I sup- 
pose there can be no doubt about that; 
though I don't know as much about the 
matter as I should. And and if you feel 
that you really wish to sell this ring of 
your father's, why may I ask, Miss 
Lebeau, what you hope to get for it?" 

"It must be worth at least a hundred 
and fifty dollars. It is a large stone, you 
see, and a beautiful one. Father prized it 
very much, and he was a judge of jewels. 
Once, when money was scarce with us, he 
parted with another ring and with a 
pearl scarf pin; but he valued this above 
all his treasures, and he wore .it to the 
day he died." 

"Yes; I often noticed it on his hand. 
He used to come here, after he gave up his 
office, and talk politics and economics - 

by the hour. He was a good talker and 
a good friend." 

Miss Lebeau beamed. 

After a thoughtful pause, Mr. Barton 
went on: 

"It would not be pleasant for you to 
dicker with a jeweler about this, Miss 
Lebeau. You are unaccustomed to busi- 
ness ways. Suppose I give you a hundred 
and fifty dollars for the ring? And if I 
can get more than that for it from Ross or 
Benton and Swartz, I will send you the 
balance before the end of the week." 

"O Mr. Barton, how- kind you are!" 
Miss Lebeau exclaimed, greatly relieved. 
"You can't imagine how I have dreaded 
going to the jeweler. I have dreaded it 
every minute since I made up my mind 
to part with the ring. You are so kind!" 

"We'll consider the matter settled, then. 
I will give you my check at once. And 
if I can do anything for you another 
time " 

Miss Lebeau rose, knowing that she must 
not infringe too long on Mr. Barton's time. 

"You are so kind: I can't thank you 
enough!" she repeated, receiving the pre- 
cious slip of paper from his hand; and, 
after trying to get a last look at the ring 
through her sudden tears, she groped her 
way through the lobby and to the street. 

Busy as he was, Mr. Barton did not move 
until the outer door closed behind her. 
Only then did he take from a drawer his 
private account book, and under the head 
of expenditures make this entry: "For- 
eign Missions, $150." Having replaced the 
book, he took the ring between his fingers 
and looked at it in a half-sad, half-smiling 
way, before he tossed it into the fireplace. 
Then he turned again to the letter which 
had been interrupted by Miss Lebeau's 

REFRAIN to-night, 

And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
To the next abstinence: the next more easy; 
For use almost can change the stamp of nature, 
And either curb the devil, or else throw him out 

With wondrous potency; 




A Catholic Celebrity of Our Times. 

NOT less charming than Fabre's de- 
scription of his first school-teacher, 
which we quoted in a recent number, is 
his account of a visit paid to him in his 
humble laboratory at Avignon by the 
Minister of Public Instruction, of his re- 
ception of the ribbon of the Legion of 
Honor, and of his interview with Napoleon 
III. For these delightful bits of auto- 
biography, gleaned from different parts of 
the "-Souvenirs Entomologiques," English 
readers are indebted to Mr. Alexander 
Teixeira de Mattos, who has embodied 
them in his translation of "The Life of 
the Fly"; thus rendering one volume of 
M. Fabre's works no less interesting to 
general readers than to students of science. 
We can not refrain from giving the ex- 
tracts entire; and this we do with a 
renewal of our hope that M. Fabre, who, 
besides being a great naturalist, "was a 
great philosopher and writer, may become 
better known to his English-speaking 


* ** 

One day, as I was looking after my St. 
Martial laboratory, in the midst of the 
steam from my vats, with my hands the 
color of boiled lobster claws from constant 
dipping in the indelible red of my dyes, 
there walked in, quite unexpectedly, the 
chief-inspector whose speech had stirred 
me, M. Jean Victor Duruy, Minister of 
Public Instruction. He was styled "Your 
Excellency." And this style, usually an 
empty formula, was well-deserved in the 
present case; for our new Minister excelled 
in his exalted functions. 

"I want to spend my last half hour at 
Avignon with you," said my visitor, with 
a smile. "That will be a relief from the 
official bowing and scraping." 

Overcome by the honor paid me, I 
apologized for my costume I was in my 
shirt sleeves, and especially for my lob- 
ster claws, which I had tried for a moment 
to hide behind my back. 

"You have nothing to apologize for. I 
came to see the worker. The workingman 
never looks better than in his overalls, 
with the marks of his trade on him. Let 
us have a talk. What are you doing 
just now?" 

I explained in a few words the object of 
my researches; I showed my product; I 
executed under the Minister's eyes a little 
attempt at printing in madder-red. The 
success of the experiment and the sim- 
plicity of my apparatus, in which an evap- 
orating-dish, maintained at boiling point 
under a glass funnel, took the place of a 
steam-chamber, caused him some surprise. 

"I will help you," he said. "What do 
you want for your laboratory?" 

"Why, nothing, Monsieur le Ministre, - 
nothing! With a little application, the 
plant I have is ample." 

"What! Nothing! You are unique then ! 
The others overwhelm me with requests; 
their laboratories are never well enough 
supplied. And you, poor as your are, refuse 
my offers!" 

' ' No : there is one . thing which I will 

"What is that?" 

"The signal honor of shaking you by 
the hand." 

"There you are, my friend, with all 
my heart. But that's not enough. ... I 
now know you as a chemist. I knew you 
already as a naturalist and a writer. I 
have heard about your little animals. I am 
sorry that I shall have to leave without 
seeing them. They must wait for another 
occasion. My train will be starting pres- 
ently. Walk with me to the station, will 
you? We shall be alone, and we can chat 
a bit more on the way." 

We strolled along, discussing entomology 
and madder. My shyness had disappeared. 
The self-sufficiency of a fool would have 
left me dumb ; the fine frankness of a lofty 
mind put me at my ease. I told him of 
my experiments in natural history, of my 
plans for a professorship, of my fight with 
harsh fate, my hopes and fears. He en- 
couraged me, spoke to me of a better 



future. We reached the station, and 
walked up and down outside, talking 
away delightfully. 

A poor old woman passed, all in rags, 
her back bent by age and years of work in 
the fields. She furtively put out her hand 
for alms. Duruy felt in his waistcoat, found 
a two-franc piece and placed it in the out- 
stretched hand; I wanted to add a couple 
of sous as my contribution, but my pockets 
were empty, as usual. I went to the 
beggar-woman and whispered in her ear: 

"Do you know who gave you that? 
It's the Emperor's Minister." 

The poor woman started; and her as- 
tounded eyes wandered from the open- 
handed swell to the piece of silver, and 
from the piece of silver to the open-handed 
swell. What a surprise! What a windfall! 

"Que lou bon Dieu ie done longo vido e 
santa, pecaire!" she said, in her cracked 

And, curtesying and nodding, she with- 
drew, still staring at the coin in the palm 
of her hand. 

"What did she say?" asked Duruy. 

"She wished you long life and health." 

"And pecaire?" 

" Pecaire is a poem in itself: it sums up 
all the gentler passions." 

And I myself mentally repeated the art- 
less vow. The man who stops so kindly 
when a beggar puts out her hand has 
something better in his soul than the 
qualities that go to make a mere Minister. 

We entered the station, still alone, as 
promised, and I quite without misgivings. 
Had I foreseen what was going to happen, 
how I should have hastened to take my 
leave! Little by little a group formed in 
front of us. It was too late to fly; I had 
to screw up my courage. Came the general 
of division and his officers, came the prefect 
and his secretary, the mayor and his 
deputy, the school inspector and the pick 
of the staff. The Minister faced the cere- 
monial semicircle. I stood next to him. A 
crowd on one side, we two on the other. 
Followed the regulation spinal contortions, 
the empty obeisances which my dear 

Duruy had come to my laboratory to 
forget. When bowing to St. Roch,* in his 
corner niche, the worshipper at the same 
time salutes the saint's humble companion. 
I was something like St.' Roch's dog in the 
presence of those honors which" did not 
concern me. I stood and looked on, with 
my awful red hands concealed behind my 
back, under the broad brim of my felt hat. 

After the official compliments had been 
exchanged, the conversation began to 
languish ; and the Minister seized my right 
hand and gently drew it from the 
mysterious recess of my wide-awake. 

"Why don't you show those gentlemen 
your hands?" he said. "Most people 
would be proud of them." 

I vainly protested with a jerk of the 
elbow. I had to comply, and I displayed 
my lobster claws. 

"Workman's hands," said the prefect's 
secretary, "regular workman's hands." 

The general, almost scandalized at seeing 
me in such distinguished company, added: 

"Hands of a dyer and cleaner." 

"Yes, workman's hands," retorted the 
Minister; "and I wish you many like them. 
Believe me, they will do much to help the 
chief industry of your city. Skilled as they 
are in chemical work, they are equally 
capable of wielding the pen, the pencil, the 
scalpel, and the lens. As you here seem 
unaware of -it, I am delighted to inform 

This time I should have liked the ground 
to open and swallow me up. Fortunately, 
the bell rang for the train to start. I said 
good-bye to the Minister, and, hurriedly 
taking to flight, left him laughing at the 
trick which he had played on me. 

The incident was noised about, could 
not help being so; for the peristyle of a 
railway station keeps no secrets. I then 
learned to what annoyances the shadow of 

* St. Roch (1295-1327) is always represented 
in his statues with the dog that saved his life by 
discovering him in the solitude where, after cur- 
ing the plague-stricken Italians, he had hidden 
himself lest he should communicate the pesti- 
lence to others- Translator's Note. 



the great exposes us. I was looked upon 
as an influential person, having the favor 
of the gods at my disposal. Place-hunters 
and canvassers tormented me. One wanted 
a license to sell tobacco and stamps; 
another, a scholarship for his son ; another, 
an increase of his pension. I had only to 
ask and I should obtain, said they. 

O simple people, what an illusion was 
yours! You could not have hit upon a 
worse intermediary. I figuring as a pos- 
tulant! I have many faults, I admit, but 
that is certainly not one of them. I got 
rid of the importunate people as best I 
could, though they were utterly unable to 
fathom my reserve. What would they 
have said had they known of the Minister's 
offers with regard to my laboratory? . . . 
Six months elapsed, and I received a 
letter summoning me to call upon the 
Minister at his office. I suspected a pro- 
posal to promote me to a more important 
grammar school, and wrote begging that 
I might be left where I was, among my 
vats and my insects. A second letter 
arrived, more pressing than the first and 
signed by the Minister's own hand. This 
letter said: "Come at once, or I shall send 
my gendarmes to fetch you." 

There was no way out of it. Twenty- 
four hours later, I was in M. Duruy's room. 
He welcomed me with exquisite cordiality, 
gave me his hand, and, taking up a number 
of the Moniteur, said: "Read that. You 
refused my chemical apparatus; but you 
won't refuse this." 

I looked at the line to which his finger 
pointed. I read my name in the list of the 
Legion of Honor. Quite stupid with sur- 
prise, I stammered the first words of 
thanks that entered my head. 

"Come here," said he, "and let me give 
you the accolade. I will be your sponsor. 
You will like the ceremony all the better 
if it is held in private, between you and 
me: I know you!" 

He pinned the red ribbon to my coat, 
kissed me on both cheeks, made me tele- 
graph the great event to my family. What 
! a morning, spent with that good man! 

I well know the vanity of decorative 
ribbonry and tinware, especially when, as 
too often happens, intrigue degrades the 
honor conferred; but, coming as it did, 
'that bit of ribbon is precious to me. It is 
a relic, not an object for show. I keep it 
religiously in a drawer. 

There was a parcel of big books on the 
table, a collection of the reports of the 
progress of science drawn up for the 
International Exhibition of 1867, which 
had just closed. 

"Those books are for you," continued 
the Minister. "Take them with you. You 
can look through them at your leisure: 
they may interest you. There is something 
* about 'your insects in them. You're to 
have this too : it will pay for your journey. 
The trip which I made you take must not 
be at your own expense. If there is any- 
thing over, spend it on your laboratory." 

And he handed me a roll of twelve hun- 
dred francs. In vain I refused, remarking 
that my journey was not so burdensome 
as all that; besides, his embrace and his 
bit of ribbon were of inestimable value 
as compared with my disbursements. He 
insisted : 

"Take it," he said, "or I shall be very 
angry. There's something else: you must 
come to the Emperor's with me to-morrow, 
to the reception of the learned societies." 

Seeing me greatly perplexed and as 
though demoralized by the prospect of an 
imperial interview: 

"Don't try to escape me," he said, "on 
look out for the gendarmes of my letter! 
You saw those fellows in the bearskin caps 
on your way up. Mind you don't fall into 
their hands. In any case, lest you should 
be tempted to run away, we will go to the 
Tuileries together, in my carriage." 

Things happened as he wished. The 
next day, in the Minister's company, I was 
ushered into a little drawing-room at the 
Tuileries by chamberlains in knee-breeches 
and silver-buckled shoes. They were queer 
people to look at. Their uniforms and 
their stiff gait gave them the appearance, 
in my eyes, of beetles who, by way of wing 


77/7'; AVE MARIA 

casts, wore a great, gold-laced dress coat, 
with a key in the small of the back. There 
were already a score of persons from all 
parts waiting in the room. These included 
geographical explorers, botanists, geologists, 
antiquaries, archaeologists, collectors of pre- 
historic flints, in short, the usual repre- 
sentatives of provincial scientific life. 

The Emperor entered, very simply 
dressed, with no parade about him beyond 
a wide, red, watered-silk ribbon across his 
chest, no sign of majesty: an ordinary 
man, round and plump, with a large mus- 
tache and a pair of half-closed, drowsy 
eyelids. He moved from one to the other, 
talking to each of us for a moment as the 
Minister mentioned our names and the 
nature of our occupations. He showed a 
fair amount of information as he changed 
his subject from the ice-floes of Spitz- 
bergen to the dunes of Gascony, from a 
Carlovingian charter to the flora of the 
Sahara, from the progress in beetroot- 
growing to Caesar's trenches before Alesia. 
When my turn came, he questioned me 
upon the hypermetamorphosis of the 
Meloidae, my last essay in entomology. I 
answered as best I could, floundering a 
little in the proper mode of address, mixing 
up the everyday monsieur with sire,-r-a. 
word whose use was so entirely new to me. 
I passed through the dread straits, and 
others succeeded me. My five minutes' 
conversation with an imperial majesty was, 
they tell me, a most distinguished honor. 
I am quite ready to believe them, but I 
never had a desire to repeat it. 

The reception came to an end, bows 
were exchanged, and we were dismissed. 
A luncheon awaited us at the Minister's 
house. I sat on his right, not a little em- 
barrassed by the privilege; on his left was 
a physiologist of great renown. . . . Duruy's 
son smiled at my impatience to get back 
to the thyme-scented hills and the grey 
olive yards rich in grasshoppers. 

"What!" said his father. "Won't you 
visit our museums, our collections? There 
are some very interesting things there." 

"I know, Monsieur le Ministre; but I 

shall iiud better things, things more to 
my taste, in the incomparable museum of 
the fields." 

"Then what do you propose to do?" 
"I propose to go back to-morrow." 
I did go back. I had had enough of 
.Paris; never had I felt such tortures 
of loneliness as in that immense whirl of 
humanity. To get away, -to get away 
was my one idea. 

Once home among my family, I felt 
a mighty load off my mind and a great 
joy in my heart. 

The Ant and the Grasshopper. 

TO what extent is the acquisition of 
money pardonable? How shall we 
draw the line between a proper thrift and 
that which is avarice masquerading under 
another name? How far can we go, con- 
sistently with our duty to God and our 
neighbor, in laying up a store for the winter 
of old age and adversity, -a treasury for 
the proverbial "rainy day"? The trouble 
is that, beginning by providing for that 
dreaded time, we do not stop at one day 
or many : we act as if it would lengthen into 
centuries,, this scarecrow of a rainy day, 
which in so many instances never comes at 
all. A wise forethought for the period when 
years and disease may render us helpless 
can not be wrong; on the contrary, it may 
even be encouraged; but there are two 
ways of telling the story of the ant and 
the grasshopper. The time-honored one 
runs briefly thus: 

There were once a foolish grasshopper 
and a wise ant; and the grasshopper played 
about in the sun all day, forgetting the 
time when the rain would fall and the frost 
come, never, in fact, thinking of anything 
but getting a good meal out of a rose leaf, 
or of making a flying trapeze out of a 
morning-glory vine. And in time the 
winter came, and there were no more leaves 
to eat and no more vines on which to 
swing; and the grasshopper, having 'no 
home, and nothing to eat if he had a home, 



laid down his worthless life and was for- 
gotten. But the ant, during all those long 
days when the grasshopper had been idle, 
had been gathering a store of provisions. 
He had not been squandering his hours in 
chattering with the birds; and when the 
snow came he crept into his cosy abode 
down in the grofind, and fared sumptuously 
all winter, and lived to welcome the flowers 
back in the spring, and to toil through 
another summer. 

There is another way to tell this little 
story. Once there were a foolish ant and 
ja wise grasshopper; and the grasshopper 
'did nothing all day but hop about in the 
isun and sing the praises of his Creator, 
! and be happy and cheerful, and try to 
brake others so. And at last the winter 
bame, and the grasshopper said: "My 
Mends the roses are dead, and it gives me 
;heumatism to be out in this chill air. 
[ have had a happy life and have tried to 
pe good. I do not think I have ever wil- 
dly harmed a fellow-creature, and I have 
Comforted others when it was possible, 
od has been good to me." So he gave 
ne last little chirp and died, and went 
o join his friends the roses. And the 
nt, who happened to be passing, said: 
Look at me! I have a cellar full of 
lainties. While that silly grasshopper has 
een praising God and helping his neigh- 
or by cheering his heart, I, who have had 
o time for such senseless employment, 
ave been making ready my home and 
ling it with food. Now my reward has 
me. I will repair to my comfortable un- 
erground dwelling, and " Just then the 
ousemaid came along with a broom in her 
and, and swept ant, house and all, out 
to the muddy gutter. 
The right, as usual, lies between the two 
dremes. The ant might have hoarded 
ss and bestowed some time on nobler 
ursuits; the grasshopper would have 
lown more wisdom if he had stopped 
3pping and singing long enough to pack 
vay a few green leaves in tjie trunk of 
hollow tree. And the moral is: be 
laritable rather than parsimonious. 

Notes and Remarks. 

The custom of issuing pastoral letters 
for such seasons as those of Advent and 
Lent is one which we hope to see more 
generally maintained by the members of 
the hierarchy. The bishop is the first 
pastor of all the faithful in his diocese, and 
what he has to say to them commands 
their utmost respect. Such a document, 
for example, as that already issued by the 
Bishop of Crookston for Lent of this year 
can not fail to have a most salutary influ- 
ence on the life of his subjects. It is prac- 
tically an application of Catholic principles 
to the whole round of human activities. 
Here are some of its sub - headings : 
"Wealth No Source of Happiness," "So- 
ciety People, " " Killing Time," "Mortifica- 
tion," "Dancing," "The Theatre," "Sex- 
Hygiene," "Religion the Only Source of 
Genuine Happiness," and "Happiness in 
Well-Doing." Throughout, Bishop Corbett 
is strongly practical in his analysis of 
existing conditions, and eminently wise in 
the remedies he proposes to apply to the 
evils of our time. These are no other 
than the tested practices of a consistent 
Catholic life. 

The European war still demands its 
toll not only of ordained priests but of 
students preparing for the priesthood. The 
ecclesiastical colleges of Rome, such of them 
as are still functioning, show a notable 
diminution in* the number of their attend- 
ants. The muster roll at the American 
College has fallen off thirty per cent; and 
the famous Gregorian University, which 
before the war counted from one thousand 
to fifteen hundred clerical aspirants, has 
at present only four hundred. In the 
meantime dearth of students has led to 
the closing of the Canadian College, and 
a number of others St. Anselm's, the 
German-Hungarian, the Ruthenian, the 
Greek v the Bohemian, the Maronite, etc. 
This means that for some years after the 
conclusion of peace the ranks of the 


7 '///<; AYE MARIA 

European clergy will be thinner than they 
have been for decades. All the more 
reason, therefore, for increased efforts in 
this country to supply piiestly workers 
for the Foreign Missions. 

Perhaps the most common accusation 
against President Wilson is that of vacil- 
lating. But it must be admitted that he 
has shown no such mental deficiency in 
dealing with the Immigration Bill recently 
passed by Congress, having vetoed it 
twice on account of its literary test pro- 
vision. His reasons for not signing this Bill 
are clearly and firmly stated. "I can not 
rid myself of the conviction," he says in 
his message to the House of Representa- 
tives, "that the literary test constitutes a 
radical change in the policy of the nation 
which is not justified in principle. It is 
not a test of character, of quality or of per- 
sonal fitness, but would operate in most 
cases merely as a penalty for lack of oppor- 
tunity in the country from which the alien 
seeking admission came. . . . Our experi- 
ence in the past has not been that the 
illiterate immigrant is, as such, an unde- 
sirable immigrant." 

It will be remembered that Presidents 
Cleveland and Taft vetoed similar legisla- 
tion for the same reason. 

A notable occasion was the celebration 
last month in Germantown, Philadelphia, 
of the tercentenary of the mission work of 
St. Vincent de Paul, and the centenary of 
the arrival of the Lazarist Fathers in the 
United States. The solemn function was 
graced by the presence of Cardinal Gibbons 
and several other members of the hier- 
archy. The sermon was preached by the 
Rt. Rev. Bishop Donahue, of Wheeling, 
and it was remarkable for that eloquence 
which is the fruit of genuine inspiration. 
Speaking of the appearance of St. Vincent, 
the Bishop said: 

In all times, in the darkest hours, and in 
centuries most corrupt, there have been men, 
honestly and without hope of earthly gain, 
striving to deliver the message of Christ; men 
whose lives measured up to the dictum of the 

Roiiuiu orator, that what gives force to the 
speech is the worth of the man behind it; nay, 
men whose saintly deeds shone like a torch in 
the black night, upon whose lips truth prevailed 
with double sway, and the torrents of denuncia- 
tion, exhortation and burning love fell, a 
Niagara of fire. They were and are the light of 
the world, the salt of the earth; and high among 
them yea, at the very summit stands the 
glorious name of Vincent de Paul. 

The sons of this great saint have 
carried on his work in their long hundred 
years of service in the United States, de- 
serving on this auspicious anniversary the. 
thanks and the congratulations of the 
entire Church in America. But more: 
they have earned and will receive the only 
reward for which they have any desire 
the blessing of Almighty God and the bliss 
of heaven. 

The biographer of Sir John Day has 
.many interesting things to tell about that 
great advocate, whose simple, manly piety 
was so much admired by his Catholic 
friends. 'To the end he was a firm be- 
liever in the sterner side of the divine attri- 
butes. He refrained from all devotions 
which he considered fanciful or far-fetched, 
but always loved the solid adjuncts of relig- 
ion. He never liked English prayers being 
tacked on at the end of Mass; he likened 
this to sending off popguns after the dis- ; 
charge of heavy artillery. . . . He would say 
his Rosary in a railway compartment with \ 
little, if any, attempt at concealment. . . 
If he did not often take an active part in 
Catholic life, it must have been that the 
fear of being or appearing fussy or officious 
restrained him. ... A lifelong lover of the 
Psalmist, . . . the love of the liturgy was 
strong upon him. . . . He would not resign 
until close on the end his privilege olt 
serving Mass when celebrated in hh 
private oratory.' 

Cardinal Gasquet, who knew Sir Johr 
intimately, and esteemed him highly foi, 
his sincerity, uprightness, and earnestness; 
writes in an Introduction to the volume; 
"He seemed to be the living exponent o, 
the principle inculcated by Holy Writ : 
'Whatever thy right hand findeth to dc 



do it with all thy might.' He quickly 
formed his opinion about men and things, 
and had no patience with those who pro- 
fessed one thing and did another. In any 
question of religion he was uncompro- 
mising. 'Is the man a Catholic?' he once 
asked about some one we had been talking 
about. And on my replying that he was, he 
added with vehemence: 'Then he should 
act as one, and not try to minimize his 
obligations. I've no use for, or indeed 
patience with, any man who knows his duty 
and hasn't the honesty and the strength 
to do it.'" 

Speaking at a meeting of the National 
Council of Public Morality held in London 
a few weeks ago, Canon Brown of South- 
wark put his finger on the real cause of 
the lower moral tone prevailing for some 
years past. He said that the country had 
shut the priest and religion out of the 
schools, and the lowered standard of 
morality noticeable of late years was the 
result. They had tried to do the impossi- 
ble teach self-control and a high moral 
standard without the one great prop on 
which poor weak human nature could 
rely, religion. 

The Canon's words are true, not only 
of England, but of France, of this country, 
and of all other lands in which young 
people are instructed in every branch of 
knowledge save that which has to do with 
their souls and their God. "Education" 
without religious training is, from decade 
to decade, everywhere proving itself in- 
capable of forming citizens who are 
really moral. 

While the "Question Box" department 
in many of our exchanges dates, as to its 
title, from the inception in this country of 
Missions to non-Catholics, the substance 
of the department is as old as Catholic 
newspapers. Subscribers to these papers 
have always been inclined to consult the 
editors on points of doctrine and practice, 
and not seldom indeed on points that are 
specifically treated in the ordinary small 

Catechism. Often enough, however, the 
answers to the questions propounded 
throw new, or at least additional, light on 
some more or less obscure matter; as, for 
instance, does the following answer given 
in a recent issue of the Bombay Examiner 
to the query : "Is there any sin that can 
not be absolved by the Church?" 

There is no sin which the Church can not 
absolve, provided it is validly repented of and 
confessed. A passage in the Gospel about "the 
sin against the Holy Ghost, which is not forgiven 
either in this world or the world to come/' can 
only be understood to mean the sin of impeni- 
tence. Hence we can interpret the text thus: 
Impenitence is not forgiven in this life so long' as 
it lasts; because without penitence no sin at all 
can be forgiven. But if a man, after a spell of 
impenitence, changes round and becomes peni- 
tent, and is sorry both for his sins and his former 
impenitence, then even impenitence (repented 
of) can be forgiven. But if a man dies in a state 
of impenitence, his chances of repenting have 
gone, and so the sin remains unforgiven forever. 

The experienced catechist will appre- 
ciate the particularity with which the 
Examiner's editor deals with the circum- 
stantial details involved in the question. 
The answer is that excellent thing, an 
explanation that explains. 

Among the churches destroyed or 
damaged by a tornado in Texas some time 
ago was one dedicated to the Blessed 
Virgin under the title Consolatrix Afflic- 
torum, at Vattmannville. This pretty 
little church, which was provided with an 
organ, bell, vestments, etc., and orna- 
mented with paintings and statues, was a 
complete wreck, being literally blown to 
pieces. Fortunately, there was no loss of 
life. The zealous priest who erected and 
furnished the church was doubly grieved 
over its destruction, fearing that some 
weak brethren might lose confidence in the 
Blessed Virgin, until a letter from the 
pastor of Vattmannville assured him that 
the religious spirit of his parish had suffered 
no weakening. "How could our Blessed 
Mother be Consoler of the Afflicted .if 
there were no afflictions to console?" they 
said. In the same spirit the great St. 



Teresa once consoled a faint-hearted com- 
panion by saying: "The Church did not 
cease to exist because on one and the same 
day St. Peter and St. Paul were taken 
away from it." A memorable saying. 
That little church at Vattmannville is 
sure to be replaced some time by a 
larger and better one. 

A quite unusual career closed in the 
death, on the 2oth ult., of Brother 
Potamian (Michael F. O'Reilly), head of 
the department of physics and dean of the 
faculty of Manhattan College, New York. 
He died full of years and honors, but kept 
throughout a long and exceptionally busy 
lifetime his native simplicity of heart un- 
changed, while he yearly grew in the spirit 
of his religious vocation. Born in the 
United States, he entered the novitiate 
of the Christian Brothers in Canada, 
whence he was sent to England. There he 
received the highest University honors in 
course, becoming later associated with the 
leading men of scientific thought. Among 
his friends were Cardinals Manning and 
Newman and several distinguished bishops 
and priests. On four occasions he was 
deputed by the English Government as 
one of its representatives to international 
exhibitions. His official reports and his 
articles on engineering were models of 
clear-cut English, and served to raise the 
young American professor high in the esti- 
mation of the English authorities. Brother 
Potamian's published works were mostly 
of a scientific nature, and are authori- 
tative in their field. He was a worthy 
associate of the distinguished Brother 
Azarias, and a true son of St. John Baptist 
de la Salle. R. I. P. 

The zeal of some sectarian bigots down 
in Georgia has recently been outrunning 
their discretion, with the result that they 
are now furnishing an instance of what 
Shakespeare considered excellent sport, 
"to have the engineer hoist with his own 
petard." Two Catholic schools in Sa- 
vannah, established prior to the Con- 

stitutional Convention of 1877, and forming ( 
an independent local system, have been 
receiving State aid. The zealous sectarians 
objected to this violation of "the policy 
of our Government in regard to the use of 
State funds for denominational schools." 
This was all very well so far as the 
Catholic schools were concerned; but, 
"Lo, and behold you," the attorney- 
general has found fifteen Protestant 
schools Methodist, Baptist, and Presbyte- 
rian thoroughly denominational schools, 
which were not only receiving State 
aid for their upkeep, but had actually 
been built with State funds. The net out- 
come of the zealous campaign against the 
two Catholic schools is that public funds 
are" withdrawn from all denominational 
schools, a consummation quite other than 
what was desired. 

Recent English exchanges chronicle the 
death of the Rev. Wilfrid Lescher, O. P., 
and of Mrs. Raymond-Barker, both of 
whom had numerous friends and acquaint- 
ances in this country. The former was 
a well-known figure in English Catholic 
life for many years, and became famous 
everywhere as a strenuous upholder of the 
Anti-Vivisection Society, of which he was 
for some time an official. He was also dis- 
tinguished as a controversial writer, and 
published much in defence of the Domini- 
can tradition in regard to the founding of 
the Rosary. He had been in feeble health 
for some months, as a result of a paralytic 
stroke. Mrs. Raymond-Barker, who had 
reached the advanced age of eighty-seven, 
was a convert to the Church and a distant 
relative of Dr. Pusey. A woman of re- 
markable energy and possessed of a 
graceful pen, she wrote numerous letters, 
articles, and pamphlets, including a short 
though adequate Life of Don Bosco and 
an account of the Little Sisters of the 
Poor, of whom she was a generous bene- 
factor as well as an enthusiastic admirer. 
Like Father Lescher, she was distinguished 
.for deep faith, tender piety, and ardent 
zeal. May they rest in peace! 

When You Pray. 

BY T. D. M. 

tlTTLE children, when you pray 
Lift your hearts to God and say: 
Father in our heavenly home, 
Do not let me ever roam 
From the path that I should walk; 
Let my thoughts be good, my talk 
Kind and gentle; what I do 
All is done for love of You. 
Little Jesus, play with me; 
All my lifetime stay with me. 
Holy Spirit, fill my heart 
With the comfort which Thou art. 
Blessed Mother, you know how 
To care for such as I am now. 
And my Angel, strong and sweet, 
Guard my eyes, my hands, my feet. 
Patron Saints, be sure to pray 
I may be with you some day. 
O my Father up in heaven, 
Remember I am only seven. 

Con of Misty Mountain. 


VI. "PALS." 

USIE slept late next morning: both 
Aunt Aline and Nora took care of 
that. When she awoke, the winter 
sun was winking a "Merry Christmas" 
greeting through her window; a bright 
wood fire was blazing in her old-fashioned 
chimney; and hanging to her big "four- 
poster" was a Christmas stocking filled 
with all the pretty things that could be 
procured at short notice for the unex- 
pected little guest, a lovely pearl breast- 
pin, a slender neck chain, a small sandal- 
wood fan, two or three cobwebby hand- 
kerchiefs, and an Irish lace collar. Aunt 
Aline had ransacked her treasure boxes, 

and Uncle Gregory had topped -things off 
with a golden half-eagle in a small birch- 
wood box that he had made himself. It 
was a very happy little girl that danced 
down the wide stairs to hug the dear ones 
waiting for her, and to breakfast on hot 
cakes and maple syrup, and other delica- 
cies unknown to the long tables of St. 
Joseph, with their chattering crowds. 

Everybody else had finished long ago; 
and Uncle Gregory was standing with his 
back to the roaring Christmas fire, in high 
good humor at the news that he was 
retailing triumphantly to Father Phil. 

"We've got one of the scoundrels, got 
him tight and fast behind the bars of 
Pineville jail. Fought like a tiger, Bronson 
tells me; but they brought him down 
I'll clear that whole den of thieves out 
before many weeks, if I have to go after 
them myself." 

"O brother dear, no, no!" remonstrated 
Aunt Aline. "At your age it would be 
madness, brother." 

"I don't care a darn what it may 
be, Madam!" blustered Uncle Gregory, 
fiercely. "Here I am a State official and 
justice of the peace, having- the laws 
broken every day at my very gates; 
letting a gang of scoundrels terrorize the 
mountain under my very nose, Madam! 
It's enough- to make me the laughing-stock 
of the country. It has gone beyond bear- 
ing and belief. Why, Dennis tells me that 
beggar brat of a boy from the Roost was 
down about here yesterday, boasting that 
the Buzzards could smoke me out of house 
and home! I, Captain Eben Gregory, out 
of house and home, Madam! And they 
could do it, too; there's nothing easier to 
such scoundrels. I tell you I'd rather have 
a band of naked Indians whooping on my 
tracks. As for that boy Con or Don, or 
whatever they call him, I've given all my 
men orders to seize and hold him on sight. 


77//i AVE MARIA 

I'll have no monkeying with any such 
young fire bug. He goes to the reform 
school or something rougher at once." 

The knife and fork had dropped from 
Susie's little hand ; the hot cakes and maple 
syrup lost all their flavor. When Uncle 
Gregory talked like that there was no use 
answering, as even brother Phil knew. 
But as the old soldier, having thus freed 
his mind, stalked out of the room to give 
his orders for the day, and Aunt Aline 
hurried away to look after the big turkey 
for dinner, Susie slipped out of her chair 
and stood trembling at brother Phil's side. 

"What! You're not done with your 
Christmas breakfast already?" he said. 
And then, turning a startled glance on the 
pale little face, he added: "Susie! Why, 
you are ill, darling!" 

" Oh, no, brother Phil, -no, not ill, only 
only sorry and frightened for poor, poor 
oh, poor Con, brother Phil! Oh, can't 
you help him, hide him, be good to him, 
for- for my sake, dear, dear brother Phil ? ' ' 
And Susie sank on her knees, and, burying 
her face in the big cushioned arm of her 
brother's chair, burst into a flood of tears. 

"There, there!" said brother Phil, gently 
smoothing her golden curls. "My poor 
little girl, don't cry! It's your first peep 
at the hard ways of a hard world, Susie." 

"Everybody is so mean to him," sobbed 
Susie, "Nora and Dennis and Uncle Greg, 
and everybody! Oh, I didn't think good 
people could be so mean to a poor boy!" 

"Another hard lesson to learn, Susie. 
Good people can not always hear and see," 
answered her brother. 

"Oh, no, they can't, they can't," said 
Susie, indignation drying her tears. " Nora 
thought Con was stealing my money; and 
Dennis, that he was going to burn the 
chapel; and Uncle Greg thinks he is the 
worst boy in the world. But you and 
I know better. Can't we do something 
for poor Con, brother Phil?" 

"That is what I have been wondering 
all night, Susie, ever since I saw the look 
on his young face as he stared in the chapel 
window, as, I think, the shepherds must 

have looked when they strayed in out of 
the darkness two thousand years ago. We 
must do something for poor Con. Whar 
shall it be, Susie?" 

"Get him away, brother Phil, get him 
away somewhere from Uncle Greg and 
Dennis and all those bad Buzzards in the 
Roost, and make him a real nice, good 

"I'll! I'll think of it, Susie. Only 
don't ever tell, or Uncle Greg will be ready 
to lock us all up." 

And, feeling it was well not to burden his 
little sister's heart and head with any 
further planning, Father Phil said no more, 
but, a little later, took his lonely way up 
the mountain, "thinking" very seriously 
indeed about the friendless young outlaw 
against whom every voice and hand seemed 
raised. The priest knew his uncle too well 
to attempt appeal or remonstrance there. 
The old soldier had taken his stand 
against the boy, and would keep it, 
though the heavens fell. And after the 
wild, free life of Misty Mountain, the 
stern discipline ,of the reform school would 
drive the reckless Con to sullen defiance 
or desperate revolt. 

As Father Phil recalled the look in the 
blue eyes lifted, to his face yesterday, the 
tone in the young voice refusing pay for 
his work ; as he thought of the wondering 
awe on the boyish face peering last night 
into the Holy of Holies, the purpose grew 
upon him to help, to guide this young out- 
cast, to save Con, soul and body, at any 
cost. Pondering over ways and means, 
Father Phil kept on up the rugged steeps, 
whose icy strength seemed softening into 
gentler mood to-day. 

Misty Mountain was given to these 
vagaries. It was seldom, indeed, that old 
Winter held its heights so grimly as he 
had done this passing year. Usually his 
was a friendly reign, with the little stream- 
lets trickling under the light ice crust, 
the snow only a soft warm mantle to keep 
the mountain mosses green, and Spring 
playing hide-and-seek with Jack Frost 
under the wreathing mists. 



And Con was at l.h< meeting place 
waiting for Father Phil, as he had prom- 
ised, rather a chilled and hungry Con; 
for he had been out on the mountain all 
night, and there had been only a scant 
crust of his corn-cake left for breakfast. 
He had supplemented it by some roots 
that he had learned were good to chew 
when provisions were scarce. Though 
Father Phil had not foreseen quite so 
dire a situation, he had guessed that a 
little Christmas cheer would be welcome, 
and his pockets were full, -ginger cookies 
and seedcakes, a big red apple and two 
oranges, nuts, raisins, and a small but 
wonderful box of bonbons that Susie had 
presented to him as a Christmas gift the 
day before, truly French bonbons, she 
assured him, made by Sister Melanie of 
sugar cane sent from her Louisiana home, 
and filled with Southern pecans. 

Never before had Con seen, much less 
tasted, such good things; and when Father 
Phil spread his Christmas feast on a flat 
rock and told him to "pitch in," he did it 
with a zest that stirred his new friend's 
compassionate heart. Oranges, apples, 
cakes, vanished without ceremony; nuts 
and raisins followed, -Con cracking the 
shells in his strong white teeth deftly as a 
mountain squirrel. But when it came to 
the bonbons, in their pretty, painted, lace- 
lined box, he hesitated. 

"Them ain't to eat?" he asked. 

"Yes," answered Father Phil. "And 
they are fine. Try one." 
; Con took up the sugary morsel doubt- 
fully. Each bonbon was in its little cap of 
fluted paper, as Sister Melanie's French 
traditions taught such confections should 
be. The careful combination was strangely 
suspicious to Con's mountain eyes. 

"They don't look like like eats," he 
said. "Mother Moll, she told me never to 
touch nothing I didn't know. I nigh kilt 
myself eating bird berries once. Had fits 
all night, and was bent double till Mother 
Moll straigthened me up with turpentine 

"No fear of fits in these," observed 

Father Phil, reassuringly. "See, I'll -take 
one myself." * 

Con followed suit, and doubted no longer. 

"Gee, but they are good," he said, 
"good and pretty! If you don't mind, 
Mister, I'd like to take a couple of them 
things to show Mother Moll." 

"Take them all," said Father Phil. 
"They are yours, to do as you please with, 
my boy." 

"Mine?" said C6n, breathlessly. "Mine, 
Mister? You don't mean box and all?" 

"Box and all," replied the priest, smiling. 

For a moment Con was reduced to 
amazed silence. He took the pretty box 
in his hand and turned it round and round. 

"Golly!" he said at last, lifting shining 
eyes to Father Phil's face. "Whatever 
makes you so good and nice to me, Mister ? 
I'm a-going to show this box and all these 
pretty things in it to Mother Moll, and 
tell her how good and nice you are. She 
don't believe nobody can be good and nice 
unless they are working you and tricking 
you for suthing. But you you ain't 
working and tricking me, I know." 

"My poor boy, no!" was the pitying 
answer. "I wouldn't work you or trick you 
for the world. I want to be your friend, 
Con, your real friend. Do you know 
what 'friend' means?" 

Con thought for a moment, for the word 
was not in the Buzzard vocabulary. 

"Suthing like a 'pal,' ain't it?" he 

"Yes," said Father Phil, nodding. "It's 
a 'pal,' Con, the best kind of a pal: one 
that never goes back on you, that stands 
up for you through thick and thin 

"And fights for you," put in Con, with 
a sparkle in his eye. 

"Yes, if necessary fights for you," an- 
swered Father Phil, "or, what is better, 
gets you out of the fight, Con." 

"*You can't do that," said Con, shaking 
his head. "When a fellow is in a fight he 
has to stand up to it." 

"Not always," replied Father Phil, 
"Sometimes there are stones in the snow- 
balls, Con, and you are knocked out." 



"You can get up and fight again," said 
Con. "I'll have it out with Pat Murphy 
for that yet." 

"No, you won't; for I've talked to Pat, 
and he is ready to say that it was a scaly 
trick, and he is sorry for it. And now I 
want to talk to you as I talked to him. 
You're having tough luck up here on 
Misty Mountain, Con. How would you 
like to cut away from it all, little pal, and 
go off with me?" 

"Off with you?" echoed Con, staring. 
"Go off with you, Mister? Where?" 

"To school," answered Father Phil. 
"You would like to go to school; wouldn't 
you, Con? You'd like to learn to read and 
write and count?" 

"I can do it a little," said Con. "Nat 
was a-learning me before they tuk him. 
He learned me to write C-o-n. There 
ought to been something else, he said, but 
he didn't know it. Nuther did I. We 
asked Uncle Bill, and he cussed and said 
he didn't know nuthing neither; so thar 
it had to stay- C-o-n. That ain't no sort 
of name to write for school, Mister." 

"We might find you another," said 
Father Phil, smiling. "And school would 
be a fine place, Con: not a shut-up little 
room, like that in the valley; but a big, 
wide house, with trees and grass around 
it, and plenty of room to run and jump 
and play ball. And you would have a nice 
white little bed all your own, and warm 
clothes to wear, and all that you could 
eat and drink. But, better than all these, 
you would learn beautiful things, Con, 
things like those I told you yesterday 
about the good God in heaven, and the 
little Babe who was born on Christmas 
night and laid in the manger, and the angels 
who sang in the midnight skies. And you 
would read books that tell all about this 
wonderful world we live in, and the sun 
and the stars and the moon; how the 
rivers run and the mists gather and the 
snow falls. And you would grow up not 
Mountain Con, fishing and hunting and 
trapping and fighting, but a wise, good, 
great man 

"Like like you, Mister?'' asked Con, 

"Oh, much better than I, I hope, Con!" 
was the cheery answer. 

"Nobody couldn't be no better," said 
Con. "I don't believe nobody could be so 
good. Jing, when I looked through the 
window last night and seen you standing 
thar all white and shining, I thought you 
couldn't be sure enough, that I must be 
asleep and dreaming dreams. And and 
(Con drew a long breath) "if if you'll 
take me, Mister, I'll go, I'll go wherever 
you say." 

(To be continued.) 

Birds of Blessing. 


I WONDER if you are well acquainted 
with the swallow family? Most of us 
know the chickadee and the bluebird; 
and the robin is a real friend to many of us; 
but swallows never seem to have time for 
calls and friendly intercourse and getting 
acquainted. It's rather a pity to be so 
busy as all that. Of course getting a living 
is the first thing, for bird folks and human 
folks alike. Birds probably never have 
any illusions on that score. Occasionally" 
persons get the notion that they will let 
some one else do the worrying, while they 
loaf or make speeches. And that means 
that some one *lse must work double time. 
But it's very loubtful if Inhere are any 
shirkers among +hf>^ed folks. Cer- 
tainly you can't imagine a swallow stopping 
to read a surreptitious story while the 
dusting waits. 

From dawn until dark the swallows are 
busy, flitting over n^eadows, floating, 
dipping and skimming, in pursuit of in- 
sects. It is quite amazing the number of 
bugs a swallow will capture in the course 
of the day's work. Some scientific person 
who wanted to get the exact facts killed a 
female martin and found in her stomach 
more than two thousand flies and mos- 
quitoes. As these two insects im- credited 



with spreading serious disease, you can 
see what a real friend of man the swallow 
is. That is the swallow's value to man in 
the economic sense. Perhaps you don't 
know just what that means; but keep it 
in mind, and a little later you will come to 
understand the economic relations of birds 
and society. 

Perhaps you'll be tempted to put too 
heavy an emphasis on the economic im- 
portance of things. 4 good many of us do. 
And so it's .pleasant to feel 'that, while 
there is an economic reason for liking 
swallows, because they eat up the bugs 
that eat up our wheat and corn, and eat 
up the insects that poison us as well as our 
food, there is another sense in which the 
swallows are the friend of man. Their 
association with home and loving friendli- 
ness and worship and wisdom is very 
ancient. They are part of the something 
pleasant and familiar and cheerful, 
something that responds to your inner self 
without your quite understanding why. 
Some night when you are away from home 
and very lonely, and you look out of the 
window and see the familiar stars just 
the same ones you always saw from 
your window at home,- you feel curiously 
comforted. They are something familiar in 
the strange place, something of home. And 
in the same way the swallows were the 
friends of man long before any one thought 
of their economic value. 

All over the world the swallows are 
known; and," as far back as there are any 
.records, they have been held in friendly 
regard. The old Bible writers mentioned 
the swallow any number of times. Among 
the Hebrews the word used for swallows 
meant "freedom." Evidently the people 
of Palestine were fond^of caged pet birds, 
and they probably found that the swallow 
died very quickly in captivity. Its wide 
wings called for the freedom of the fields. 
And while, the swallow could make such 
wonderful nights and keep on the wing 
almost continuously, just as it does to-day, 
it was a friendly and fearless bird. It 
made little mud homes under the low 

eaves of their dwellings; and while mothers 
cooed to their babies and sat on the door- 
sills to feed them, they could hear the 
gentle swallows over their heads doing 
likewise, though in a different fashion. 

The swallows built their nests in the 
temples in Jerusalem great colonies of 
them, and no one would have dared to 
interfere with them. Birds which entered 
a house of worship were supposed to be 
asking special protection of the Almighty. 
To kill them was a very serious matter. 
They were almost sacred. And so it came 
about that the swallows were thought to 
bring a special blessing to homes; and 
they were more than welcome when they 
chose a spot under the eaves of a cottage 
and proceeded to plaster up a little mud 
house for their family. They were a bless- 
ing in many ways, too. Not only were they 
a great help in keeping down the insect 
pests of that moist and sunny climate, but 
they were an ever-present example of tire- 
less industry, of cheerful home life and 

One of the loveliest sights you will see 
in a long life is a sunlit field, green with 
June hay, the sky blue and bordered with 
soft white clouds, and the misty gold air 
full of skimming, dipping swallows. You 
would think it some sort of dance in the 
air. They dip and flash and glide, and all 
the while they keep up a musical twitter. 
They seem to be always on the go. But 
it is something more than pleasure that 
keeps them continually on the wing. They 
are bent on the serious business of earning 
their daily bread, or rather daily bugs. 
You rarely see a swallow except on the 
wing. While there is a particle of day- 
light it ' ' keeps on the job " ; and during the 
months when it is with us in the North, 
that means a pretty long day, from dawn 
at four or five o'clock until sunset at half- 
past seven or eight. That's much longer 
than the eight hours that men have de- 
cided upon as the limit of a day's daily 

To be sure the swallow does his work in 
the pleasant, sunlit-, flower-garden world, 



never underground in black holes or in 
stuffy buildings. And the swallow seems 
to have held on to another secret his human 
brethren have lost. His work is living, 
and he goes about it singing. If swallows 
thought about things, they would say, 
"Why, of course this is living, earning 
the daily bugs, and feeding the babies, and 
talking with the brethren down in the 
meadow, and turning an eye up at the 
blue sky." His human brothers want to 
do as little work as possible, so they will 
have time to "live." Which is a rather 
upside-down view of things, when you 
come to think of it. Birds are wiser in 
some ways than we are, I imagine/ 

To most people, swallows mean the 
dusky-winged, sooty chimney swallows, 
which are not really swallows at all, but 
swifts; and the low-circling, buff-breasted 
barn swallow, the most lovable of a very 
lovable tribe. The purple martin is the 
handsomest member of the family, and 
the cliff swallow the cleverest. All of 
them seem to be declining in numbers in 
our part of the world, which is a great 
pity. The English sparrow is largely to 
blame for it. When barns were left open 
so the swallows might go in and build 
their nests on the rafters, the chattering 
sparrow followed and made a nuisance of 
himself, without offering the slightest re- 
turn for the farmer's hospitality. And 
now farmers have closed the swallow holes 
in the gables, and shut out the friendly 
swallow as well as the sparrows. This is 
not necessary. The swallows are with us 
only from mid-April until the first of 
September. If the swallow holes were 
closed when the birds migrated in the 
autumn and opened in the spring, the 
sparrows would not bother them. 

Perhaps you have been trying to coax 
the beautiful martins to nest in boxes set 
on poles in your garden. Usually they are 
very glad to accept such invitations, and 
they pay big rent for their little houses by 
keeping down flies and mosquitoes. But you 
will have to protect your tenants against 
the invasion of the cheeky sparrows, 

who recognize no prior rights whatever. 
You must close up the bird houses the 
first of September; and, if necessary, shoot 
a few sparrows with a rifle in the spring. 
That will keep them away until the swal- 
lows are settled. 

The home of the cliff swallow is a very 
wonderful affair. You will be likely to 
find, not one but a dozen or perhaps a 
hundred of them, ranged in rows along 
the top of a clay bank or bluff on the edge 
of a river or lake. You will notice that the 
abrupt bank seems full of holes, a sort of 
double-tiered decoration near the top. 
If you can get close enough to examine 
them, you will be astonished at their 
depth. The birds tunnel into the bank for 
three or four feet, and hen scoop out a 
little hollow, which the female proceeds 
to line carefully with down and feathers. 
The tunnel slants upward from the open- 
ing, so of course there is no danger from 
storms or rain. 

There are any number of interesting 
things I might tell you about swallows, 
but they will have to wait until we meet 
again. Meanwhile if you want to get an 
idea of how long ago the wisdom of the 
swallow was recognized, you might go to 
^sop's Fables (you know how old they 
are) and read the fable of the swallow 
and the hemp seed. 

A Crop of Sweetness. 

Once a little boy sowed the seed of a 
fragrant violet on a bank in his father's 
garden. Before long he was taken to a 
foreign land, where he grew up to be a 
man. But after many years he came back 
and went to visit the old home which was 
now his, the father having died. In the 
garden he found a bank, of sweet-smelling 
violets. He had sown sweetness, and now 
was able to gather it in abundance. Every 
little gentle word, and kindly act, and 
generous thought, is like the violet seed: 
It will grow and produce a great crop of 


It is pleasant to hear that Messrs. Long- 
mans, Green & Co. have in press a volume of 
the "Correspondence of John Henry Newman," 
covering the years 1839 to 1845, edited by the 
Fathers of the Birmingham Oratory. 

The index of the half-yearly volume of 
THE AvE MA&IA completed with 1916 (July- 
December) is now ready for those who bind 
their magazines. These supplementary pages 
are supplied gratis to all who apply for them 
during the year. 

The literary activity of Mr. Edward J. 
O'Brien is evidenced this year by two announce- 
ments, that of his poems under the happy title, 
"White Fountains," and "The Best Short 
Stories of 1916." Both volumes are published 
by Small, Maynard & Co. 

Mr. Joyce Kilmer, whose little volume, 
"The Circus and Other Essays," went through 
its first edition in a month from the date of 
publication, is issuing another book in prose, 
1 a series of literary interviews, which Harper 
Brothers are publishing; while George H. Doran 
& Cc. are bringing out his new poetic offering, 
"Main Street, and Other Poems." 

One of the new words brought into circu- 
lation by the Great War is "pacifist," which 
is not found in the dictionary; although place 
is made there for "pacificist," meaning an 
advocate of peace, an opponent of war. The 
Nineteenth Century protests against the first 
form. It says : ' ' Let us, in the name of Language, 
have either 'pacist' or 'pacificist'. . . . Either 
has a decent pedigree, but 'pacifist' is a bastard. 
Besides, there is already 'pacifier,' not to 
mention the English equivalents, 'peace-maker' 
and 'peace-monger.'" 

An essay which would venture a solution 
of industrial problems is "Operative Ownership," 
by Mr. James J. Finn, from the press of Lang- 
don & Co., Chicago. The author describes his 
system as one of industrial production based 
upon social justice and the right of private 
property. His analysis of existing ills in the 
industrial world is made the background for 
his thesis that no remedy yet proposed is ade- 
quate to meet these evils; hence his elaboration 
of the scheme of operative ownership. What it 
means, how it is to be introduced, and what 
are its benefits, all this is clearly set forth. 
The heart of the problem would seem to be 
what the writer terms the "disappearing rights 
of property"; to this he devotes two chapters, 
before the last in which he summarizes his 

conclusions. Students of economics, and par- 
ticularly such as are more interested in industrial 
problems, will find this a highly stimulating 
and suggestive volume, whatever they may 
think of the special thesis with which the writer 
is concerned. A fairly good index adds to the 
book's usefulness. 

In revising our exchange list, which has 
become unduly large, we shall discontinue such 
papers as have no apparent use for THE AVE 
MARIA or which fail to give credit for what 
they reprint from it. There are now so many 
Catholic publications of every sort that some 
discrimination has become a necessity. 

An especially timely and thoroughly valuable 
issue of the America Press is a pamphlet entitled 
."Church and Politics," by the Rev. Joseph 
Husslein, S. J. The topics which it treats are: 
"The Church and Politics," "A Political Night- 
mare," "Union of Church and State," "Catholic 
Social Movements and Politics," and "Political 
Bigotry in America." The second and third 
of these papers are on the same subject, and 
they are so well considered and so practical as to 
make the pamphlet well worth securing, if for 
no other reason. It is an ideal pamphlet for the 
church book rack. 

Lovers and they are legion of Maurice 
Francis Egan's writings will be grateful to the 
late Richard Watson Gilder for spurring Dr. 
Egan on to such literary activity as resulted 
in that charming volume, "Everybody's Saint 
Francis." We quote part of a letter, from Mr. 
Gilder's recently published "Letters," in which 
this urging was done. The editor of the Century 
wrote: " I might find fault with you no less than 
you with me, and perhaps better. Why don't 
you write more, now that you have what some 
might think the ideal position for a literary 
worker? Your own best work is so exquisite 
and artistic and individual that it is a shame 
you do not add more to it." It is to be hoped 
that this delightful admonition will be still 
further effective. 

To the lengthening list of poet-priests 
must be added the name of the Rev. P. J. Carroll, 
C. S. C., who has brought out, with a graceful 
forew9rd, through the Devin-Adair Co., a 
collection of verse which he calls "Songs of 
Creelabeg." As implied by the title, these 
poems are chiefly on Irish themes. There is a 
great variety of them. The general reader who 
does not find something to his liking in this 
handsome volume must be hard to please. 


'////< .-ii 7<: MARIA 

Irish readers will welcome it as a whole, though 
they may be at a loss to determine the location 
of the author's birthplace, as was the case with 
his delightful book of stories and sketches 
entitled "Round About Home." ("From what 
part i,s he, at all?" "A fight part, at anny rate. 
The sign is on.") Father Carroll, whether he 
writes in prose or verse, is at his best when his 
theme is the Irish exile's love and longing for 
home. Some of the poems contained in "Songs 
of Creelabeg" have been published before, 
others now appear for the first time. We much 
prefer the religious pieces with which we were 
already familiar, as being more essentially 
poetic and far more perfect as regards technique; 
for example, "To-day": 

O Father, guide these faltering steps to-day, 

Lest I should fall! 
To-morrow? " Ah, to-morrow's far away, 

To-day is all. 
If I but keep my feet till evening time. 

Night will bring rest; 
Then, stronger grown, to-morrow I shall climb 

With newer zest. 
O may I stoop to no unworthiness, 

In pain or sorrow. 
Nor bear from yesterday om bitterness 

On to to-morrow! 
Then, Father, help these searching eyes to-day 

The path to see; 
Be patient with my feebleness, the way 

Is steep to Thee! 

The Latest Books. 
A Guide to Good Reading. 

The object of this list is to afford information 
concerning important new publications of special 
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will 
appear at the head, older ones being dropped out 
from time to time to make room for new titles. 
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new 
editions will not be indexed. 

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub-- 
Ushers. Foreign books not on sale in the United 
States will be imported with as little delay as 
possible. There is no bookseller in this country 
who keeps a full supply of books published abroad. 
Publishers' prices generally include postage. . 

"Operative Ownership." James J. Finn. $1.50. 
"Songs of Creelabeg." Rev. P. J. Carroll, C. S. C. 

"Sermons and Sermon Notes." Rev. B. W. 

Maturin. $2. 

"Verses." Hilaire Belloc. $1.10. 
"Letters to Jack." Rt. Rev. Francis Kelley, 

D. D. $i. 
"The Interdependence of Literature." Georgina 

Pell Curtis. 60 cts. 
" Illustrations ' for Sermons and Instructions." 

Rev. Charles J. Callan, O. P. $2. 
"Beauty." Rev. A. Rother, S. J. 50 cts. 
"Gerald de Lacey's Daughter." Anna T. 

Sadlier. $1.35. 

"The Holiness of the Church in the Nineteenth 

Century." Rev. Constantine Kempf, S. J. 

"The Divine Master's Portrait." Rev. Joseph 

Degen. 50 cts. 

"Tommy Tr avers." Mary T, Waggaman. 75 cts. 
"Development of Personality." Brother Chrys- 

ostom, F. S. C. $1.25. 
"The Fall of Man." Rev. M. V. McDonough. 

50 cts. 
"Saint Dominic and the Order of Preachers." 

75 cts.; paper covers, 35 cts. 
"The Growth of a Legend." Ferdinand van 

Langenhove. $1.25. 
"The Seminarian." Rev. Albert Rung. 75 cts. 


Remember {hem that are in bands, HEB., xiii, 3. 

Rev. John H. Green, of the archdiocese of 
Baltimore; Rev. Louis Bohl, diocese of Newark; 
Rev. Charles Hutter, diocese of Detroit; Rev. 
Martin F. Foley, diocese of Peoria; Rev. P. S. 
Dagnault, diocese of Green Bay; Rev. John 
Therry, S. J. ; and Rev. Jerome Henkel, O. M. Cap. 

Sister M Joseph, of the Order of the Visita- 
tion; Sister M. Scholastica, Sisters of St. 
Dominic; Sister M. Laurentia, Sisters of the 
Holy Cross; and Sister M. Juliana, Sisters of 
the Good Shepherd. 

Mr. Edward Robinson, Mr. W. J. Summer, 
Mr. J. L. Homes, Mr. John Moclair, Mr. Henry 
Forbes, Miss B. Boland, Mrs. Mary Jordan, 
Mr. Joseph Hertzog, Mr. L. T. Winka, Mrs. 
Ellen McDonald, Mr. Michael Joyce, Mr. Hugh 
J. Gillen, Mrs. John Nicholson, Mr. Peter 
Murphy, Mrs. Allan McKinnon, Mr. Thomas 
Ling, Mrs. William Ling, Mr. Archie McCor- 
mick, Mrs. W. H. Bellinger, Mr. Michael Hayes, 
Mr. John Hardin, Mrs. Daniel Lyons, Mr. 
Joseph Cantoni, Miss Agnes McCann, Miss 
Anna Lloyd, Mr. M. T. Durnin, Mr. Edward 
Hagan, Mr. F. X. Fischer, Mrs. Mary Brennan, 
Mr. S. J. Handing, Miss Frances O'Donnell, 
Mr. Charles Heitzman, Mrs. Mary J. Cullen 
Mr. Charles Jeep, Mrs. Mary Kelly, Mr. Robert 
A. Lee, and Mr. John Taylor.' 

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

Our Contribution Box. 

" Thy Father, who seeth in secret will repay thee." 
For the rescue of orphaned and abandoned 
children in China: T. A. K. M., $i. For the 
Foreign Missions: C. F. S., $i ; M. M., $2. For 
the Bishop of Nueva Segovia: M. B. J., $6; 
Child of Mary, $5. 


VOL.V. (New. Series.) 


NO. 7 

[Published every Saturday. Copyright, 1917: Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C.] 

Eden Reopened. Marian Devotion in Mediaeval Wales. 


V7O man regarded where God sat 
Among the rapt seraphic brows, 
And God's heart heavy grew thereat 
At man's long absence frorn His house. 

Then from the iris-circled throne 
A strange and secret word is said; 

And straightway hath an angel flown, 
On wings of feathered sunlight sped 
Through space to where the world shone red. 

Reddest of all the stars of night 

To the hoar watchers of the spheres; 

But ashy cold to man's dim sight, 

And filled with sin and woes and fears 
And the waste weariness of years. 

(No laughter rippled in the grass, 
No light upon the jewelled sea; 

The sky hung sullenly as brass, 

And men went groping tortuously.) 

Then the stern warden of the gate 

Broke his dread sword upon his knees, 

And opened wide the fields where wait 
The loveless, unremembered trees, 
The sealed and silent mysteries. 

And the scales fell from off man's eyes, 
And his heart woke again, as when 

Adam found Eve in Paradise, 

And joy was made complete and then 
God entered in and spoke with men. 

JUST 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. 


iECENT events have tende.d to 
call the attention of both Chris- 
tian and secular thought to 
the "Celtic fringe" known as 
the Principality of Wales, whose quaint 
inhabitants, despite the conspiracy of the 
past, still retain all the attractive and 
picturesque characteristics of the Gael. 
The elevation of the Principality to the 
status of an independent ecclesiastical 
province, and the designation of the 
venerable city of Cardiff as the seat of 
the Metropolitan, caused not a little joy 
in English and Celtic Catholic circles. 
For Wales this was the "second Spring," 
which had all the grateful rejoicings that 
England had in the re-establishment of 
her hierarchy, and which Newman de- 
scribed in his famous and unforgettable 

Wales has, besides, become "known to 
fame " by the spectacular rise of its talented 
son, the Hon. David Lloyd George, who, 
by sheer force of his indomitable energy, 
forged ahead in such marvellous manner 
as there is scarcely any precedent for in 
British, perhaps not even in any Euro- 
pean politics. The little Welshman who 
from the plebeian smithy rose to occupy 
the aristocratic residence of England's 
Prime Minister and to be the practical 
dictator of the British Empire's destiny 
if not the world's in its most crucial 
period, is naturally the cynosure of all 



eyes. Like him, his native mountains are 
outstanding and in the lime light. 

Owing to the lack of knowledge of the 
Welsh language, the history of its past, 
and especially its religious history, has 
been a closed book. During the last few 
years, however, there has been published 
quite a lot of the researches of Welsh schol- 
ars and sympathizers. The most noted 
work is that of Mr. J. E. de Hirsh-Davies, 
the illustrious convert and friend of the 
great Bishop Hedley, so well known and 
held in fragrant memory for his illumi- 
native and highly literary contributions 
to THE AvE MARIA. Mr. de Hirsh-Davies, 
in his book "Catholicism in Mediaeval 
Wales," presents a thrilling and glowing 
picture of the pre-Reformation Church 
of his fathers. He easily explodes the 
notion, once held by Bund and other non- 
Catholic writers, that early Celtic Chris- 
tianity was "the morning star" of modern 
emotionalism, as expressed generally by 
present-day Nonconformists. He proves, 
by a formidable accumulation of docu- 
mentary evidence, that the Church in 
Wales down to the Norman irruption was 
Roman and Catholic; that it was intensely 
loyal to the Throne of the Fisherman; 
and that its faith found loving demon- 
stration in the enthusiasm of his Celtic 
ancestors in attending Holy Mass and in 
frequenting the sacraments, in their belief 
in the Abiding Presence, and in their 
simple love for the Mother of the 
"World's Ransom" and of the world. 

It is, however, with the Wales of the 
Middle Ages that he specifically deals, 
and the picture he paints is absorbingly 
Catholic. He begins his survey in the 
time of Howell the Good, the Justinian 
of Wales, the lawgiver of his people, the 
contemporary of the great St. Dunstan, 
who journeyed to Rome for the imprimatur 
of the "Keys," so that his tribal code 
would not be at variance with the canons 
of the universal Church. Our author con- 
tinues his narrative down to the reign of 
Edward VI., where he concludes, joining 
in the bardic protests of his countrymen 

against the English robbers of their dear 
old faith. 

It is peculiar that nearly all the evidence 
of those six centuries is gathered from the 
poems and folk-songs of the bards. The 
bard has ever been the voice of the Gael, 
that has told of his joys and his sorrows. 
No branch of the Gaelic family has devel- 
oped the bardic profession like the Welsh. 
For a people so deeply Catholic as they 
were, it is not surprising that their bards 
sang of the Church's triumphs in the ages 
of their incomparable Celtic faith. 

Neither is it to be wondered ^at that, 
amidst all the laments of the Gael, there 
is not one so sad and so pathetic as the 
Welsh lament over the loss of "Mair," 
the Virgin Protectress, in the devastating 
times of the so-called Reformation. The 
Welsh peasant's incentive device for many 
a century was "Geli a Mair Wen" (God 
and Holy Mary). When Holy Mary 
was removed from his simple life, it seemed 
that God went too, and all was dark, 
dreary, and unpoetic. The Celt deterio- 
rates where poetry decays, and the realism 
of the Lutheran schism never became 
natural to him. He longed for -and in the 
mountains he longs for still the beauti- 
ful doctrine that made God's Mother his. 

There is nothing so prominent in early 
and later Welsh religion as the cult of 
the Blessed Virgin. It is its most charac- 
teristically Catholic note. According to 
one writer: "From early times, Welsh 
authors show that the cult of the Blessed 
Virgin struck deep root in the Celtic 
mind; and the Reformation, in spite of 
its proscription of ' Mariolatry , ' has not 
to this day succeeded in obliterating the 
traces of the cult. The poets, uniting in 
their persons the genealogist and the bard, 
delighted in weaving around the Virgin's 
name a wreath of imagery, which in many 
cases reached a devotional strain of thought 
unsurpassed by German minnesinger or 
Provencal troubadour." 

Many of the bards who sang the glories 
of Mary and the praises of "Arglwyddes 
Fair" were members of the monastic 



houses; but the language of the common 
minstrel was no less perfervid and no 
less sincere. One reason why Welsh 
literature is so religious is because the 
"Eistedfodau," the conventions through 
which Welsh culture was principally dis- 
seminated, were usually held within the 
precincts or closures "of the religious 
houses. On occasions such as these 
poems, and especially religious' poems, 
were composed, and the sweet and beauti- 
ful Marian poetry was recited and sung. 
Many of the old miracle plays are focused 
on the Incarnation Mystery and the 
pathos of the Virgin Birth. Those plays 
were, as a rule, performed during the 
Christmas festival. The "Mair Wen" 
and "Ladi Wen" of modern rural Wales 
are a survival of them. 

The earliest allusion to the Blessed 
Virgin % one very striking in its high 
antiquity is attributed" to the sixth- 
century Aneurin: 

A royal Lady was born, 

Who has brought us 

Out of our sore captivity. 

These lines refer to the Nativity of Mary, 

and show the true Catholic regard for her. 

Howel Surwal in a fine poem speaks of 

The fair Maiden blessed from Heaven, 

Mary, the Virgin, 

Thy image we revere. 

God, the Son, good is thy burden. 

On thy breast thou didst rear 

The God of Heaven, God the King. 

When Mass is sung, 

I will go with wax to the Pure Lady. 

Hail to the Queen of Heaven! 

In "Buchedd Mair" the doctrine of 
the Immaculate Conception is pointedly 
professed; and Wordsworth's elegant line, 
"Our tainted nature's solitary boast," 
anticipated with no less beauty. The bard 
says: "There was not found the mark of 
sin nor its trace upon her." Here is a 
very unequivocal example to prove that 
this dogma of faith proclaimed by the 
"Pope of the Immaculate Conception" 
was no novel doctrine, but one which had 
even explicit sanction in the early tradi- 
tion of not only the Roman but also of 

the ancient British and Celtic Churches. 
Another of the bards writes: 
Mary is our trust against danger; 
Great privilege is to obtain by her miracle 
The holy body of God in the pure Church, 
And His blood from the chalice. 

There are hundreds of other bardic 
references to our Blessed Lady. The 
Welshman "invoked her in all his trials 
and his dangers. He sought her most 
powerful intercession to achieve success 
in arms and to bless his works at home. 
In the hour of death she was always his 
refuge. He ever prayed to her as the 
patroness of a happy death. The following 
is a touching example of his confidence 
in her aid at the supreme moment of 
earthly dissolution: 

May God at length bring us all 

To the eternal country and to the Feast; 

And may God there give happiness with Mary! 

Most humbly will I call on God 

And the Blessed Mary before I die. 

I will ask for peace before I die, 

Through the intercession of Mary. 

This intercessory function of the Blessed 
Virgin is extolled x all through Welsh 
minstrelsy, down to the days of the bard 
who probably sang the swan song of the 
last native Prince of Wales in 1300. 

Truly wonderful is this traditional devo- 
tion of the Welsh to our Blessed Mother. 
It seems to outrival that of Italy, ' ' Blessed 
Mary's land"; as it does outrival and 
outlast that of England, "Mary's Dowry." 
It is a very tenacious devotion, and all 
the efforts of the fanatic Reformers and 
their still more fanatic successors failed 
to eradicate it from the customs of the 
people. As an instance of this we have the 
old Celtic prayer, greatly in vogue amongst 
the peasants of Brittany, still recited^by 
many of the peasantry of Wales, and 
handed down through the ages from the old 
Cymry. This cherished prayer was called 
"Breuddwed Mair" (Mary's Dream). Spe- 
cial graces and blessings were promised 
to those who would faithfully say it 
every night. It takes the form of a dialogue 
between the Virgin Mother and the Holy 
Child. Mr. Davies quotes a short bit 



from it, to give an idea of its nature. N6 
doubt Gaelic-speaking Irishmen know the 
whole of it, though it is too long for full 
reproduction here: 

Over the mountain, the cold mountain, 
We see Mary, with her head on a pillow, 
Digging a space between every soul and hell. 

"It would be difficult," as Mr. Davies 
remarks, "to conceive a more vivid defini- 
.tion of the intercessory work of the Blessed 
Virgin than that expressed in 'the last line: 
Digging a space between every soul and hell." 

It is abundantly evident that early and 
Mediaeval Welsh Catholicism was full of 
Marian love and Marian reverence. The 
Blessed Virgin entered into the warp and 
woof of the national faith and national 
religious devotions. The people praised 
her in song and story. They dedicated 
their homes to her, and they called upon 
her to bless their children. They created a 
special season in her honor and called it 
"Mary Lent." They named their flora 
after her, and their most beautiful 
churches were raised to the glory of her 
all-fair name. 

It is not too much to hope that she who 
stood by the Cross of old and saw the sun 
grow dark, and yet again saw its golden 
outbursts on the Resurrection morn, will 
hasten in Wales the passing of the sombre 
cloud of unbelief, and plead with her 
Divine Son to reillumine with the full 
light of the old faith the hearts that were 
stolen from His keeping. May the day 
be not distant when the noble Welsh race 
will return to the codes of their beloved 
Howell Dda, the codes that take their 
inspiration from the Apostolic See, where 
the Vicar of Christ still reigns, fighting for 
the principle of the Old Welsh slogan, 
"For God and Holy Mary." 

The Crest of the Bodkins. 


IT is a venturous humility, and yet, after 
all, a true humility, which dares to take no 
less a pattern for its worship than that of 
God's own Mother, who worshipped for all 
God's creatures with a worship to which 
their united worship, endlessly prolonged, 
never can come near. Father Faber. 



Arthur Bodkin in the purely 
curt, military style. The man 
who within so short a time was 
destined to smirch his soldier's hard- 
earned fame by the dastardly surrender of 
Metz "La Pucelle," was small, thick-set, 
dark - eyed, round - faced, peak - bearded, 
heavy-mustached, and crop-headed. He 
was in uniform; and erect as the pro- 
verbial ramrod. 

"Dispatch for me?" 

"Yes, Marechal." 

"Hand it over." 

The Marechal read the dispatch very 
slowly, very carefully, his lips moving to 
the words. Then turning to Arthur: 

"You came over with the Emperor?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"From Miramar?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"How long have you been in the 
service ? ' ' 

Arthur told him to the very day. 

"Are you a Hapsburg puppet?" 

"I am an Irish gentleman, sir," an- 
swered Arthur, drawing himself up to his 
full height. 

"This is well, sir, this is well! The 
Irish are good sojdiers always!" And 
Bazaine, crossing his arms behind his 
back, the palms of his hands outward, 
after the fashion of the great Napoleon, 
commenced to pace up and down the red- 
tiled floor, his spurs clinking at each step. 
"This man Maximilian is a dreamer," 
he said, as though speaking to himself. 
"He is a poet. His mind is filled with the 
traditions of the most form-ridden court 
in Europe. He is accustomed to deal with 
thoroughly precedented and documented 
difficulties. How the deuce can one expect 
him to be practical! He is a man of 
illusions, and Maximilian admires Maxi- 



milian more than anybody else in the 
World. Bah! This country needs a hard, 
practical soldier-ruler. It needs a man 
like " here he stopped, and addressing 
Bodkin: "Have you seen any service? 
Been under fire?" 

"No, sir." 

"Then you shall be. Yes, we shall have 
plenty of hot fighting to keep this puppet 
on his toy throne. I am safe in thinking 
aloud in the presence of an Irish gentleman." 

"Thank you, Marechal. You are right." 

"Do you know Eloin or Scherzen- 

"No." x 

"These are the Emperor's lieutenants. 
Was he well received?" 

' ' Most enthusiastically. 

"The claque was well drilled. This 
dispatch asks for troops all along the line. 
Is it for show, or what?" 

"I rather imagine that Juarez and 
Lerdo de Tejada are at the bottom of it. 
An attack on the imperial cortege by 
their guerilla .troops." 

' ' Pshaw ! I have dealt these men such 
heavy blows that they are skulking in 
the mountains of Chihuahua. This is 
Scherzenlechner's doing. They shall not 
have a corporal's guard, not a single 
trooper." And Bazaine recommenced his 
marchings up and down the aparf-ment. 
"They won't catch me making Forey's 
mistakes. I am the man for the situation. 
I know them and they know me. I am in 
touch with their venerated Archbishop 
Labistada. I know their language. I also 
know my man in Emperor Napoleon. His 
first letter to me gave me my cue.. 'Above 
all things, ' he said, ' avoid any reactionary 
legislation. Consult the people; obtain 
their vote. Establish a monarchy, if that 
is the form of government desired by 
the majority. Leave alone bygones, such 
as nationalization of church property. 
Organize the army and treasury, and 
pacify the country. I can not prescribe 
eveiy step, but must leave much to your 
discretion. I deplore the decrees promul- 
gated by Forey. Do the best you can. 

What is needed is a stable government of 
one kind or another.' I have that letter 
written here" thumping his breast over 
the region of his heart. "I have organized 
the army and treasury. I have pacified the 
country. I have done my best for what? 
To find myself ridden by " 

Here Arthur coughed, being unwilling 
to overhear what perhaps Bazaine might 
heartily wish to recall. 

The Marechal started violently. 

"You here still, sir?" he queried, 
almost fiercely. 

"I have not been dismissed, sir." 

"True. You may retire." 

"And the person I captured?" 

"I have issued orders to have him 
interrogated. If it is as suspected, he shall 
be shot at sunset." And the commander- 
in-chief turned on his heel, entering an 
apartment to the left. 

Arthur Bodkin was invited to the mess 
of the Voltigeurs of the Guard a crack 
regiment whose officers met at dejeuner 
and dinner .at a quaint old fonda perched 
on a crag, its balconies leaning over a 
brawling stream that rushed through 
a cleft in the rocks two hundred feet 
beneath, waters contributed by the melt- 
ing of the snows of the giant extinct 
volcano Orizaba. 

The colonel of this corps took a great 
fancy to Bodkin, especially from the fact 
that the latter listened with breathless 
attention to the gallant warrior's descrip- 
tions of the various skirmishes, pitched 
battles, and sieges he had fought through, 
from the crossing of the Chiquihuite to the 
ignominious repulse of General Zaragoza 
at Puebla. He was loud in his praises of 
Bazaine, with whom he had victoriously 
entered the city of Mexico after the 
capture of Puebla. 

"Bazaine ought to be Emperor of 
Mexico. He has earned it. Why did not 
Napoleon do the right thing by him? His 
great-uncle would never have hesitated." 

It became evident to Arthur that the 
idea of Bazaine's being the ruler of Mexico 
was the idea of the army; and that such 



he was de facto was pretty evident, since 
the Marechal's name was in everybody's 

"Join us," urged the colonel. "We, as 
the Yankees say, 'run' Mexico. In fact, 
Mexico is now a French province. Our 
army is the army of the world. We are 

This poor colonel, later on, found to his 
cost at the battle of Gravelotte, where he 
lost a leg in retreating, that the French 
army was not so invincible as he fondly 
imagined it to be. 

The arrival of the imperial party was 
not expected for at least three days, 
leaving young Bodkin at his own disposi- 
tion. His first visit was to the house of 
the Master, a handsome church, with a 
magnificent altar, an exquisitely carved 
pulpit, and some very fine paintings. 
Arthur went to confession, for which the 
godless, thoughtless, young French officers 
chaffed him as much as they dared; for 
there was reproof so dignified, so austere, 
so holy in his expression that they literally 
bowed their heads to it, as though under 
the pressure of an unseen but irresistible 
power. There was no chaff at dejeuner 
next morning, although every man of them 
knew that Arthur Bodkin had received 
Holy Communion, a young lieutenant 
having strayed into the church and re- 
ported the circumstance to the mess. A 
feeling of respect for this stanch Catholic 
sprang up in the breasts of all, or nearly 
all; and Arthur Bodkin became a marked 
man, marker 1 as a soldier of Christ, 
marked with the Sign of the Cross, the 
most glorious decoration that man can 
gain in this fleeting world. 

Orizaba is exquisitely situated in the 
lap of the extinct volcano from which 
it derives its name. Towering seventeen 
thousand feet, perpetually crowned with 
snow, and flower-clad to within two thou- 
sand feet of its peak, Orizaba is one of 
the most picturesque while one of the 
most majestic mountains in the world. 
Viewed from the valley beneath, it would 
seem as though its white needle were 

actually piercing the blue vault of heaven. 
A deep, dark gorge in the neighboring 
mountain is known as Infernillo, or the 
Little Hell; and no true Mexican passes 
it without making the Sign of the Cross. 
The town of Orizaba is for the most part 
built upon the crags that topple over a 
fierce currented river, or into the sides 
of mountains that nestle at the foot of 
the volcano. On every side are orange 
and lemon and banana groves, while the 
tropical foliage and tropical flowers are 
very marvels of color-glory; the orchids 
like gorgeous butterflies newly lighted on 
trees, the greenery of their leaves actually 
glowing in a freshness that is unequalled. 

Arthur indulged in long walks by day, 
and in dreamy musings by night under 
the beams of a moon that bathed the 
world in liquid pearl. He thought of the 
strange turn of the wheel of Fortune that 
brought him hither, and vaguely won- 
dered, "What next?" Need I say that 
Alice Nugent was ever uppermost in his 
thoughts? Why had he quitted her in 
anger? In what had she offended him? 
Assuredly, the poor girl was compelled to 
adapt herself to her surroundings, and he 
had acted like a brute. He would write to 
her, implore her forgiveness, and promise 
never again to misjudge an action of hers, 
however apparently cold her demeanor 
toward him might be. 

Arthur was about to return to his quar- 
ters to indite a burning love-letter, when 
he met Rody, who was almost breathless. 

" Ye're wanted at headquarters, Masther 
Arthur; an' be nimble, sir. Quid Bazique 
is fit for to be tied. Be the mortial frost, 
but he has the timper of Widdy Maginn!" 

"I wonder what's up? Have you heard 
if anything has been done about Mazazo?" 

"Sorra a haporth, sir. Some was for 
hangin' him, as you know, others for 
shootin'; but they thought it was betther 
for to hould him a bit. If they don't tie 
him the way we did, Masther Arthur, he'll 
give thim the shlip." 

As a matter of fact, Bodkin was much 
chagrined that so little notice was taken 



of the Mazazo affair. Naturally enough, lie 
considered that he had performed a some- 
what notable feat in capturing a ruffian 
who had endeavored to shoot him in 
cold blood, a villain who was evidently 
wanted by the authorities^ /f wo days had 
elapsed since he had surrendered this 
man, and as yet no sign was vouchsafed. 
Arthur was too proud to ask questions, 
leaving it to Rody to ascertain if possible 
what was going on. 

Arthur found Marechal Bazaine engaged 
in pacing the patio, or courtyard, two 
of his aids-de-camp standing at a very 
respectful distance. 

"You said that you were an Irish gen- 
tleman," said Bazaine, in a short, sharp, 
snappy tone. 

"I did say so," quietly replied Arthur, 
adding: "Is there anybody who wants to 
question it?" 

"Not I, for one, sir. I so thoroughly 
believe it that I am about to confide to 
you a mission of considerable delicacy." 

Bodkin bowed. 

"You will leave here in half an hour 
for Puebla. You will not spare horse-flesh. 
You will proceed to the Portales Mer- 
catores, in the square surrounding the 
cathedral. You will announce yourself by 
your own name to Manuel Perez in the 
shop at No. 8. You can not mistake it 
or mistake him. A carriage with twelve 
mules will be in readiness within twenty 
minutes of your reporting yourself to 
Perez. In that carriage will be a lady, 
who will entrust herself to your honor. 
You will start at once on your return here. 
Do you speak Spanish?" 

"Only a few words, sir." 

"The fewer the better. This lady will 
want to talk, all women do. She speaks 
no language but Spanish. Give her 'Yes' 
and 'No,' nothing more. My reason for 
selecting you for this affair is that I con- 
sider that you are an Irish gentleman a 
man of honor, a brave man, and I have 
heard of your being to church. I can not 
trust to the discretion of any of my young 
officers aye, or the old ones either. Any 

money you may require will be delivered 
to you in gold by my secretary. Go to 
him. Not a word! You must be absolutely 
silent as to your mission. Capitaine 
Moliere, bring this gentleman to Monsieur 
Lemaitre. Au revoir, et silence!" 

Arthur Bodkin followed his conductor 
to a small apartment, where a tall, thin, 
sallow man, in civilian's dress received 
him, and, upon the departure of the Capi- 
taine, silently handed him a small bag 
of coin, that chinked as only yellow gold 
can chink. Then, pointing to the door, 
Monsieur L,emaitre bowed, and, seating 
himself at a desk, took up a pen and con- 
tinued writing. 

"This is an adventure," thought Bodkin, 
as he proceeded to his quarters to change 
his attire. "I wonder who this woman 
can be? She must be young, or Bazaine 
would not lay such injunctions as to trust, 
honor, and secrecy. What does it mean, 
anyway? I'd give anything that Alice 
could see me in the carriage with this 
mysterious person. Ought I to go, though? 
I am not in Marechal Bazaine's service 
or the service of France. The French are 
our allies, of course; but I owe duty to 
Austria and to Baron Bergheim. Suppos- 
ing that the imperial party were to arrive 
while I was dashing over the country 
behind a dozen mules with that unknown 
quantity, a mysterious lady? What then? 
I wouldn't trust the commander-in-chief 
to say anything that suited his purpose. 
Well, I'm in for it now, at any rate; 
and nothing venture, nothing win.". 

Rody's dismay upon finding that he 
was not to accompany his master was 
immense; nor was this feeling diminished 
at Arthur's reticence. 

"It bates me out an' out! It can't be 
that there's a lady in the case, or I'd know 
it. He couldn't kape it from the likes of 
me. Besides he's as thrue as Hecthor to 
Miss Nugent. Wirra! wirra! goin' off 
alone in a barbarious counthry, wid blood- 
thirsty pirates in every parish!" 

Bodkin's mount was all that even a 
member of the Galway Hunt could desire; 



and it was with a light heart that he 
cantered out of Orizaba, taking the road 
to Puebla, the air laden with the mingled 
perfume of orange and lemon blossoms. 
No adventure worthy of being recorded 
in these pages came to him. At San 
Miguel he changed his horse, and a 
couple of hours later he rode past the 
battered and dismantled forts that had so 
gallantly held the French at bay during 
both sieges of Puebla. 

Riding straight for the noble cathe- 
dral, Arthur readily found No. 8 in the 
Portales Mercatores, and within the shop 
Manuel Perez, a most cutthroat-looking 
villain, with a green patch across his 
right eye, and a black patch on the bridge 
of his nose. 

Perez was a man of few words. Beckon- 
ing Bodkin to follow, he led the way into 
a dark, dingy room at the rear, opened a 
locker, took out a black bottle and two 
wine-glasses, which he filled with tequila 
a spirit distilled from the century plant, 
pushed one glass toward Arthur, raised 
the other to his own lips, and, uttering 
the single word "Bueno!" drained it off. 

Arthur endeavored to imitate his ex- 
ample; but no sooner had he swallowed 
the liquor than he fell to coughing. It was 
his first drink of tequila, and he never again 
approached it without a copious dilution 
with water. 

His host quitted him, to return in a few 
minutes; and, again motioning him to 
follow, led Arthur to where he had left 
his horse. The horse had disappeared; 
and in reply to the young man's question- 
ing look, Perez exclaimed, in a guttural 
but reassuring tone: 

1 ' Bueno! ' ' 

While they stood beneath the colonnade 
of the Portales, the clattering of many 
hoofs, mingled with the short, sharp cries 
of the driver, was heard; and a dusty, 
ill - appointed, rickety - looking carriage, 
drawn by a dozen bedizened mules, jingled 
and rattled up. 

While Bodkin was still engaged in 
staring at this extraordinary equipage, 

Perez flung open the door, and, seizing 
him unceremoniously by the arm, literally 
pushed him into the vehicle, shouting to 
the driver to start, a mandate so rapidly 
obeyed as to fling our hero against a 
woman who sat in the far corner. 

"I beg your pardon!" blurted Bodkin, 
in English, 

The lady laughed a very low, light, 
musical laugh, and muttered something 
in Spanish ending in " Senor." She was 
slight, attired in black, and thickly veiled. 
There was no rear seat in the vehicle, so 
Bodkin was forced to sit beside her, squeez- 
ing into his own corner as best he could. 

"This is an adventure!" he thought. 
"What would Alice think if she saw 
me now?" 

The lady was silent, and presently drew 
forth a Rosary of large amber beads, 
the crucifix being of silver, and much worn 
and polished. 

"She is a Catholic and devout," thought 
Arthur, as she reverently began to recite 
the prayers. 

But never a word did she say to him. 
And he? Well, he was respectfully silent. 
He dared not interrupt her devotion, were 
he ever so willing to converse with her. 

Two hours passed, and the carriage 
stopped to change mules at a small venta 
by the wayside. Here the lady alighted 
and entered the house, being received 
with profound and profuse politeness by 
the host and hostess. A little later Arthur 
found her sipping a cup of chocolate, at 
which she motioned him to join her; but 
she sipped beneath her veil, .and her face 
was still as a sealed volume to him. Here 
he first tasted pulque, a liquor distilled 
from the maguey plant not by any means 
so strong as tequila, -the color and taste 
of buttermilk. Arthur did not relish it, 
however; one mouthful being more than 
sufficient. It is the national beverage, is 
sold at pulquerias, or saloons, at the street 
corners of the large cities, and is served 
in wooden vessels containing a little over 
a pint. 

The fresh relay of mules being ready, 



Arthur assisted the lady to the carriage, 
electing to sit beside the driver for the 
treble purposes of smoking, enjoying the 
scenery, and avoiding the veiled woman. 

"Who can she be? B v azaine's wife? 
No. If I thought that he dared use me to 
escort no, no! She is pious and good. It 
is some woman of use in diplomacy, some 
Mexican swell necessary to be brought 
into contact with the Emperor ancl 
Empress. But why employ me? Where 
is her duenna? I give it up." 

The driver was picturesquely attired in 
an old sombrero, whose brim was as "wide 
as a church door," and a travel-stained 
leathern jerkin, with continuations of the 
same material, wide at the feet and open 
from the knee. He wore a gaudy red 
scarf around his waist, and, in a leathern 
belt, a heavy revolver. At times he 
would stop and pick up stones lying in 
a receptacle beneath the box-seat, which 
he would fling at his mules with such 
marvellous dexterity as to cause one stone 
to remind three mules, or four, that it 
was necessary to improve their pace. He 
was about to use a particularly neat and 
angular stone upon the four leaders when 
he chanced to turn round, and, casting a 
quick, penetrating glance at the sky, pulled 
down the chin strap of his sombrero, 
gathered up the reins in hands that were 
all sinews, and, uttering a shrill cry, 
started his team at a pace they had never 
approached during the journey. 

Arthur clung to the railing of the 
seat, jolting and swaying, expecting every 
moment to be tossed into the thorny 
embraces of a cactus bush. The mules 
raced at their highest speed, Pedro yelling 
at them vigorously. In vain did Arthur 
search the plain behind and on either 
side: there were no pursuers nothing, 
in a word, to account for this extraor- 
dinary, tremendous, and uncalled-for pace. 
If they had been racing for their lives 
Pedro could not have been more excited; 
in fact, he seemed crazed with terror, and 
for a moment Arthur thought that the 
man had gone mad. 

A cry from the vehicle, and Arthur, 
on looking down, beheld a hand a fair, 
white hand about to tug at the tail 
of his coat. He called Pedro's attention 
to the lady, leaning back so as to permit 
of the driver's speaking with her. A 
few words from Pedro, in which Arthur 
caught " donner " and then "blitzen" when 
it came to him like a flash that they were 
fleeing from one of those dreaded tropical 
thunder-storms which come up out of a 
blue sky in a cloud no bigger than the 
hand, storms which often mean destruc- 
tion to luckless travellers caught upon 
the plains. 

It was now a race with death. Darkness 
set in with an extraordinary rapidity, 
what Longfellow describes as "a noonday 
night." A wind arose with a moan, sweep- 
ing clouds of blinding sand witlf it. The 
mules instinctively felt the danger, and 
showed their shining heels in quick flashes, 
as, heads down and ears flung back, they 
dashed along at a mad and break-neck 
pace. Pedro, whitish-yellow with terror, 
yelled and yelled and yelled; his beady- 
black eyes set in one direction, apparently 
toward some coigne of vantage. On, on, 
on; and Arthur, as violently excited as 
though he were riding the favorite at a 
Galway steeple-chase. A blinding flash, a 
groan from Pedro, and a rumbling peal 
from heaven's own artillery! A shout of 
joy! Right in front, not fifty yards away, 
the walls of an hacienda! One frantic 
effort, and the mules dashed into the 
patio. Arthur leaped from the box, flung 
open the carriage door, and, snatching up 
the veiled lady still veiled as though 
she were as light as a down pillow, plunged 
into the house, as another flash lighted 
up the darkness with its awful glare. 

There was considerable rejoicing in 
the hacienda at this escape from almost 
certain death. The sweet old dame who 
ruled the homestead led the way to a 
small chapel, and, flinging herself before 
the tiny altar, prayed aloud in thanks- 
giving to Almighty God, the entire house- 
hold following her, example, while the 



veiled lady, Arthur and Pedro knelt side 
by side. 

Refreshments were served while the 
mules were being baited; and in less than 
half an hour, the storm having disappeared 
with the same rapidity with which it 
had arisen, the mule equipage was again 
en route. 

It was late in the evening when it 
clattered into Orizaba, which was all 
alight with bonfires and rockets and 
illuminations in honor of the arrival 
of the imperial cortege the roads and 
streets being thronged with happy and 
enthusiastic natives from villages thirty 
miles around. 

Arthur, deeming it more advisable not 
to be seen perched on the box-seat, 
descended, and, asking the lady's permis- 
sion, entered the carriage. She turned 
graciously toward him, and thanked him 
with much empressement for his safe- 
conduct, adding something which he 
utterly failed to comprehend. She smiled, 
and taking his hand lightly pressed it 
between both of hers. 

As they spun into the patio at head- 
quarters, which was all ablaze with 
illumination, and Arthur alighted to report 
himself, the lady leaned forward uttering 
the words: 

"Asia manana." 

He turned to enter the building, and 
lo! right in front of him, staring at the 
carriage and its i veiled occupant, stood 
Alice Nugent, and beside her the Count 
Ludwig von Kalksburg. 

(To be continued.) 

Lore of the Mass. 

CHRISTIANITY has now developed and 
spread over the world, and brought its own 
civilization, and impregnated the world 
with some of its principles. But it is 
always hostile to the lower tendencies of 
human life in ourselves and in organized 
society. There is an element in it that 
may at any moment spring to the front 
and bid us face opposition, stand alone, 
make great sacrifices in its cause. 

Father B. W. Maturin. 



CREDENCE TABLE. The table on 
^-^ which the cruets, candles, etc., are 
placed during Mass, and from which they 
are taken as required for the sacrifice. It 
is placed on the Epistle'side of the altar. In 
a Solemn High Mass, the chalice (covered 
with a veil) is left on the credence table 
until the Offertory. 

CREDO. -The first word of the "Creed" 
said at Mass. 

CREED. A creed is a summary of the 
doctrines believed or taught. The one 
used in the Mass is called the Nicene Creed, 
because drawn up, almost as said to-day, 
by the Council of Nice, A. D. 325. It had 
for its basis the Apostles' Creed, and is 
said (in High Mass sung) after the Gospel 
on all Sundays of the year, on feasts of the 
Most Holy Trinity, Our Lord, the Blessed 
Virgin, the Holy Angels, St. Mary Mag- 
dalene, the Apostles and Doctors of the 
Church, and the Feast of All Saints. At 
the words Et incarnatus est all genuflect 
to venerate the mystery of the Incarna- 
tion and to adore God made man. After 
these words, the deacon, in a Solemn Mass, 
goes from his seat to the credence table, 
whence he takes the burse containing the 
corporal, which he spreads on the altar in 
preparation for the Offertory. 
CROSS. (See Altar Cross.) 
CRUCIFIX. (See Altar Crucifix.) 
CRUETS. The small vessels used for 
holding the wine and water for the Mass. 
They are made of glass, or sometimes of 
a precious metah 

DALMATIC. A vestment, somewhat like 
a chasuble, worn by deacons over the alb 
while ministering at Mass. It was orig- 
inally a garment of secular life, used by 
the people of Dalmatia (hence its name). 
It is worn by bishops, under the chasuble, 
at Solemn Pontifical Mass, but not at 
private Masses. Being the distinguishing 


outer vestment oi' the deacon, he is clothed 
with it at his ordination by the bishop, who 
at the same time says: "May the Lord 
clothe thee with the garment of salvation 
and with the vesture of praise, and may 
He cover thee with the dalmatic of right- 
eousness forever!" 

DEACON. The word "deacon" means 
a minister, or servant. His office is to 
assist the priest in the celebration of 
Solemn Mass and other functions; and, 
in certain conditions, to preach and bap- 
tize; originally also he assisted in admin- 
istering the temporalities of the Church, 
and in providing for the needs of the poor. 
Deaconship is now looked on simply as a 
step to the priesthood. In a Solemn High 
Mass the deacon presents the wine for the 
sacrifice, sings the Gospel, after incensing 
the Missal (it is held by the subdeacon), 
assists in giving Holy Communion, etc. 
He is vested in amice, alb, cincture, 
maniple, stole (over left shoulder), and 
chasuble (or dalmatic). "The deacon is 
the highest of all whose office it is to 
serve the priest in the administration of 
the sacraments ; and he is set apart for his 
work not merely by the institution of the 
Church, but by the Sacrament of Order, 
which he receives through the laying on of 
the bishop's hands." (Addis and Arnold.) 
The bishop also invests the new deacons 
with the stole on the left shoulder, and 
dalmatic; and finally makes them touch 
the Book of the Gospels, while he says: 
Receive the power of reading the Gospels 
in the Church of God, both for the living 
and the dead, in the name of the Lord." 

DEAD MASS. (See Requiem Mass.) 

DEO GRATIAS ("Thanks be to God"). 
It is said after the Epistle, after the last 
Gospel, and as a response to Ite, missa est, 
at the end of the Mass. 

DIES IR^ (literally "Day of Wrath"). 
The first words of a hymn said or sung as 
a sequence in Masses of the Dead, after 
the Tract. Formerly there were many 
such hymns, but Pius V. abolished all but 
five of them. The Dies Ira is ascribed to 
Thomas of Celano, a Franciscan friar of 

the thirteenth century; and is a descrip- 
tion of the General Judgment, and a prayer 
for mercy on that day. 

Agamus Domino Deo Nostro.) 

DIPTYCHS (from a Greek word meaning 
"twice-folded") were tablets hinged and 
folded together like a book. They con- 
tained lists of the living and the dead for 
whom prayers were to be said in the Mass, 
and were used in the Church up to the 
twelfth century. 

DISMISSAL. In ancient times the peo- 
ple were notified in a formal manner of 
the end of the Mass by the words: Ite, 
missa esi ("Go: it is the dismissal"). In 
later times other prayers were added; so 
that, although these words remain in 
their place, the people are supposed to wait 
for the concluding prayers. In a Solemn 
High Mass the words are sung by the 
deacon. In Masses of Advent and Lent, 
the priest, instead of Ite, missa est, says 
Benedicamus Domino ("Let us bless the 
Lord"); and in Requiem Masses he says, 
Requiescant in pace ("May they rest 
in j>eace"). In early times there was 
another dismissal namely, for the Cate- 
chumens after the Gospel, before the Mass 
of the Faithful began. 

am not worthy"). Immediately, before 
receiving Communion in the Mass the 
ptiest takes the consecrated particle in 
his left hand, and, striking his breast with 
the right, he says three times (the bell 
being rung at the same time by the 
acolyte): "Lord, I am not worthy that 
Thou shouldst enter under my roof; 
but only say the word and my soul shall 
be healed." The words are an adaptation 
of the reply of the centurion of Caphar- 
naum, to whom Our Lord had said that 
He would enter into his house and cure his 
sick servant. (St. Malt., viii, 5-14.) They 
are said also by the priest in the name of 
the people when he is about to give them 
Holy Communion, either during or out- 
side Mass. 

DOMINUS VOBISCUM. A salutation mean- 

20 \ 


ing "The Lord be with you," to which the 
reply is Et cum spiritu tuo^ ("And with 
thy spirit"). It is frequently repeated dur- 
ing the Mass. The priest, by this saluta- 
tion, wishes every grace to the people that 
the presence of God brings; and the people, 
by their Et cum spiritu tuo, implore that 
the soul of the priest may be filled with 
God, thus enabling him to offer worthily 
the Holy Sacrifice. 

DOVE. In former times the Blessed 
Sacrament was often preserved in a gold 
or silver vessel, made in the form of a 
dove, and suspended by a chain over the 

DOXOLOGY. From a Greek word mean- 
ing a "Glory-prayer." In the Mass there 
are two such prayers: the Gloria Patri 
and the Gloria in excelsis. 
DRY MASS. (See Mass.) 
DUPLICATION. (See Bination.) 
ELEVATION. After the consecration of 
the bread in the Mass, the priest genuflects 
in adoration, then elevates it for the adora- 
tion of the people; and finally, replacing 
it on the altar, genuflects before it again, 
the bell being rung at each mcvement. 
The same is done after the consecration of 
the chalice, and the whole action is known 
as the Elevation. At a Solemn High Mass 
incense is offered during the Efevation. 
The altar boy or deacon lifts up the priest's 
chasuble, this being a relic of former 
times, when the chasuble was a large gar- 
ment covering the whole body, and the 
priest could not conveniently genuflect 
unless it was raised by an assistant. There 
is another elevation, called the "Little 
Elevation," before the Pater N osier, when 
the celebrant raises the Blessed Sacrament 

EMBOLISM.-- Derived from the Greek 
embolismus ("added on"), and used to 
denote the prayer which is added after the 
Pater Noster. It runs thus: "Deliver us, 
O Lord, we beseech Thee, from all evils, 
past, present, and future ; and, through the 
intercession of the blessed and ever- 
glorious Virgin Mary, Mother of God, with 
Thy blessed Apostles Peter and Paul and 

Andrew, and all Thy saints, grant of Thy 
goodness peace in our days; that, being 
assisted by the help of Thy mercy, we may 
be always free from sin and secure from 
all disturbance." 

EPIKLESIS. A prayer invoking God to 
send the Holy Ghost, in order that the 
Eucharistic bread and wine may become 
the body and blood of Christ. 

EPISTLE (also called the Lesson). One 
of the two principal portions (the other 
being the Gospel) of Scripture read in the 
Mass every day. It follows immediately 
after the prayers, and is so called because 
it usually consists of a portion of one of 
the Epistles, or letters, of the Apostles. In 
a Solemn High Mass the IJpistle is chanted 
by the subdeacon. The people hear the 
Epistle sitting, and after it is finished the 
response is Deo gr alias ("Thanks be to 
God"). Sometimes the Epistles and Gos- 
pels for the Masses during the year are 
printed in a special book called a "Lec- 
tionary." The side of the altar at which 
the Epistle is read is called the Epistle 
side. The Epistle is read before the Gospel, 
to mark the subordination of the former 
to the latter. 

ET CUM 'SPIRITU Tuo ("And with thy 
spirit"). A response made by the server 
during Mass whenever the celebrant says. 
Dominus vobiscum. 

EUCHARIST. -A name by which the 
Holy Sacrifice is often designated. The 
word is Greek and means "Thanksgiving," 
thus expressing one of the ends for which 
the Sacrifice of the Mass is offered. 

EVANGELIARY. A book containing the 
"Gospels" (Evangelia) read in the dif- 
ferent Masses during the year. Generally 
speaking, the Gospels and Epistles of 
Mass are combined in one book, called a 

EXULTET. The hymn sung by the 
deacon in the Liturgy of Holy Saturday 
at the blessing of the Paschal Candle. 

early times, both those who were preparing 
for admission to the Church (the catechu- 
mens) and those who were already members 



(the faithful) were present at the early 
portion of the Mass. The former, however, 
withdrew after the sermon, following the 
Gospel ; and hence the portion of the Mass 
up to that was called the Mass of the 
Catechumens. The portion following was 
known as the Mass of the Faithful. 

FALDSTOOL. A portable seat used by 
a bishop when officiating in other than 
his own cathedral church. 

FAN. In early ages it was customary 
for two deacons to stand with fans at the 
altar between the Offertory and the Com- 
munion, to keep away flies and other 
insects from the sacred species and the 
priest. This usage was continued until 
about the fourteenth century. 

FLECTAMUS GENUA ("Let us kneel 
down"). A formula used in the early 
Church as an invitation to prayer, and 
still retained on Good Friday and Easter 
Saturday, when it is sung by the deacon; 
the subdeacon immediately adding the 
word Levate ("rise"). 

FLOWERS. Flowers may be used in 
decorating the altar except in penitential 
seasons or during Masses of Requiem. 
"The use of flowers is of very ancient date. 
In accordance with the law that nothing 
should be placed on the table except what 
was necessary for the Sacrifice, the flowers 
in early times were hung in garlands or 
wreaths around the altar or on the walls 
of the sanctuary. Artificial flowers were 
first made in the thirteenth century by 
certain nuns of Flanders. The custom of 
placing flowers on the ' retable ' was begun 
in some convents of women, was adopted 
by the Mendicant Orders, then spread to 
country churches, and was afterwards 
generally adopted. The Roman Basilicas, 
however, still prohibit them." (Yorke, 
"The Liturgy," n. 88.) 

FRACTION (of the Bread). Soon after 
the Pater Noster the priest takes the sacred 
host in his hand, breaking it into two equal 
parts. The part held in the right hand is 
then placed on the paten; and from the 
part he holds in his left he breaks a small 
particle, with which he makes three crosses 

over the chalice, and then lets it fall into 
the Precious Blood, saying, "May this 
commixture and consecration of the body 
and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ be to 
us who receive it life everlasting." This 
ceremony is known as the Fraction, or 
Breaking of the Bread. 

FRONTAL. The embroidered cloth which 
often covers the front of the altar. (See 

GENUFLECTION. The bending in adora- 
tion or reverence, frequently used during 
the Mass. A double genuflection (that is, 
of both knees) is made on entering or 
leaving a church where the Blessed Sacra- 
ment is exposed. 

GIRDLE. (See Cincture.) 

GLORIA IN EXCELSIS. The great hymn 
of praise sung in all festal Masses. The 
first words were those used by the angels 
on the night of our Saviour's birth; the 
remainder is very ancient, but of unknown 
authorship. In a Low Mass it is recited 
aloud by the priest; and in a High Mass 
it is sung by the choir after the priest has 
intoned the first words. Being a hymn of 
joy and festivity, it is omitted in Masses 
of the Dead, and on the Sundays of Advent 
and Lent. It is also known as the Great 
Doxology and the Angelic Hymn. Up to 
the end of the eleventh century, the 
Gloria was said by bishops at Mass on 
Sundays and festivals, and by priests only 
on Easter Sunday. Later on the custom 
arose of saying it on all festive occasions. 

GLORIA PATRI. The first words of the 
shorter Doxology or hymn of praise, re- 
cited as a rule after each psalm in the 
Office, and after the psalm Judica, and 
the Lavabo in the Mass. Its complete 
form is: "Glory be to the Father, and 
to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost. As 
it was in the beginning, is now, and ever 
shall be, world without end. Amen." It 
is omitted in Masses of the Dead, and 
in the Passiontide Masses, Holy Thursday 

tion of one of the Four Gospels, suitable 
to the day or the season, is read in every 



Mass by the priest, and in a Solemn High 
Mass it is also chanted by the deacon. 
In. a Low Mass the priest reads from the 
book placed on the altar to his left side; 
and the people stand while it is being 
read, out of respect for the sacred word. 
He begins by making the Sign of the 
Cross, first on the book and then on his 
forehead, mouth and breast; and ends by 
kissing the book and saying, "May our 
sins be blotted out by the words of the 
Gospel." The acolyte answers, Laus tibi, 
Christe ("Praise be to Thee, O Christ"). 
In a Solemn High Mass the deacon, after 
praying and asking the blessing of the 
celebrant, turns by his left side, and, 
having incensed the book (held by the 
subdeacon) proceeds to chant the Gospel 
in a loud voice. The side of the altar 
at which the Gospel is read is called the 
Gospel side, or the right side, right and 
left being determined by the arms of the 
figure of Christ on the cross over the 

GRADUAL. A few versicles, following 
the Epistle, and so called because they 
were originally read or sung from the 
step (Latin, gradus) of the ambo, or pulpit, 
whence the Gospel and Epistle were read 
or chanted in the early times. It is also 
called the Responsory. Sometimes it is 
the Church's own composition, and not 
taken from the Scriptures. 

("Let us give thanks to our God"). One 
of the short versicles by which the Preface 
is introduced. The response is Dignum et 
justum est ("It is meet and just"). 

GREGORIAN CHANT. (See Plain Chant.) 

Cor da.} 

HANC IGITUR. A prayer said before the 
Consecration. During its recital the priest 
keeps his hands extended over the obla- 
tion, and the acolyte rings the little bell to 
remind the people of the near approach of 
the moment when our Divine Lord will be 
present on the altar. The following is the 
text, of the prayer: "We beseech Thee, 
therefore, O Lord, that, being pacified, 

Thou wouldst accept of this oblation of 
our service, and that of all Thy family; 
and dispose our days in peace, and com 
mand us to be delivered from eternal dam- 
nation, and to be numbered in the flock 
of Thine elect, through Christ our Lord. 

HOST. The bread destined for conse- 
cration in the Mass. (See Altar Breads.) 

HUMERAL VEIL. A veil worn by the 
subdeacon at Solemn High Mass when 
he holds the paten, between the Offertory 
and the Pater Noster. In early times the 
number of communicants was very great, 
and consequently the paten from which 
they were distributed was so large that, 
for convenience' sake, it was removed 
from the altar from the Offertory until 
the Communion, being held by the sub- 
deacon in the meantime. This is the 
origin of the present custom, the veil being 
added for the sake of reverence. It is 
also worn at a Pontifical High Mass by 
the acolyte who bears the bishop's mitre. 

I. H. S. A monogram often used on 
altar cloths, altar breads, etc.; and it is 
an abbreviation of Jesus as written in 
Greek capitals: IHSOUS. It is some- 
times wrongly taken as the initials of 
Jesus Hominum Salvator ("Jesus the 
Saviour of Men"). 

INCENSE. A sweet-smelling substance 
obtained from certain trees, and burned 
in many religious rites. It is used in Solemn 
High Mass at the Introit to incense the 
altar; at the Gospel to incense the Gospel 
Book; at the Offertory to incense the 
sacrificial elements; and at the Elevation 
to incense the Blessed Sacrament. It sym- 
bolizes (a) the zeal with which the faithful 
should be consumed; (b) the good odor 
of Christian virtue; and (c) the ascent of 
prayer to God. The metallic vessel in 
which it is burned is called a thurible or 
censer, and the assistant who carries the 
thurible is called the thurifer. The incense- 
boat is the vessef containing the incense 
for immediate use. In a Solemn Requiem 
Mass, the incense is not used at the Introit 
or the Gospel. 



INTINCTION. One of the ways by which 
the Holy Sacrament is administered to 
the laity in the Eastern Church. The 
consecrated bread is dipped into the con- 
secrated wine, and thus the communicant 
receives under both species. This method 
was used also for some time in the Western 

INTROIT.--A portion of Scripture sup- 
posed to be sung by the choir during the 
entrance (Latin, introitus) of the sacred 
ministers to the church. It gives the 
keynote of the Mass of the day. It is read 
aloud by the celebrant when he ascends 
the altar; and should be considered as 
the real beginning of the Mass, since what 
has gone before should be considered as 

ITE, MISSA EST. (See Dismissal.) 

JUDICA. The first word of the psalm 
of preparation said by the priest at the 
foot of the altar, when beginning Mass. 

Kiss OF PEACE. This ceremony was 
in common use among the early Christians, 
to show their union and love; and was 
used in this way in religious services. 
Later it gave way to the embrace, which 
still, hbwever, retains the name of the Kiss 
of Peace, or the Pax (from the Latin word 
for "peace"). It takes place in Solemn 
High Mass after the Agnus Dei, and is 
confined to the officiating ministers and 
the clergy in the sanctuary. It is given 
in the following manner. Shortly before 
the Communion, the celebrant places his 
hands over the arms of the deacon, 
between the elbow and the shoulder; the 
deacon places his arms under the cele- 
brant's arms. Then each slightly bends 
towards the other, the celebrant saying, 
Pax Tecum ("Peace be with thee"); and 
the deacon replying, Et cum spiritu tuo 
("And with thy spirit"). The deacon 
then communicates the Pax, or kiss, to the 
subdeacon, and the subdeacon to the at- 
tending clergy. The Pax is not given in 
Masses of the Dead, or on the last three 
days of Holy Week. 

These words mean "Lord have mercy on 

us, Christ have mercy on us." They 
occur immediately after the Introit, the 
celebrant and server saying alternately, 
Kyrie eleison, three times; Christe eleison, 
three times; and, Kyrie eleison, three 
times again. In a High Mass they are 
sung by the choir immediately after the 
Introit. There is a very ancient tradition 
that our Divine Lord, in ascending into 
heaven, remained a day with each of the 
nine choirs of angels, and that in memory 
of the sojourn the invocation is repeated 
nine times. 

LANGUAGE OF MASS. Latin is the 
language of the Mass in the Western 
Church; but among the Eastern Churches 
in union with Rome, other languages are 
used, for example, Greek, Syriac, Coptic, 
Chaldaic, Armenian, Slavonic, Wallachian, 

LAST GOSPEL. This Gospel is said after 
the "Dismissal." It generally consists of 
the beginning of the Gospel according to 
St. John. Originally it was said by the 
celebrant after or while retiring from the 
altar, but there gradually arose the present 
custom of saying it before retiring. 

LAUDA SIGN. The opening words of a 
hymn said as a sequence in the Mass of 
Corpus Christi, and composed by St. 
Thomas Aquinas. 

LAUS TIBI, CHRISTE ("Praise be to Thee, 
O Christ"). A response said at the end of 
the Gospel, to testify our reverence, and 
to express our joy in the Gospel, and our 
affection towards Jesus Christ. 

LAVABO. The first word of the psalm 
used by the priest when washing his fingers 
after the Offertory. The name is also used 
to designate the ceremony itself. The rite 
symbolizes the purity of heart with which 
the priest should celebrate the holy mys- 
teries. The ceremony is thus performed: 
the first acolyte pours water from the 
cruet over the tips of the celebrant's fore- 
fingers and thumbs; the second then hands 
him the towel to dry the fingers; the 
celebrant saying meanwhile, Lavabo inter 
innocentes, etc. ("I will wash my hands 
among the innocent, etc.") 



LECTIONARY. (See Epistle.) 

LESSONS. (See Epistle.) 

LIGHTS. The use of lights in religious 
worship goes back to early Christian 
times. At first they were introduced 
through necessity, the Christian services 
being celebrated in the evening, or in the 
Catacombs. They were also used as sym- 
bolic of Jesus, who is the Light of the 
world. The Church prescribes both the 
material and number of these lights. They 
must be candles made of pure wax, and of 
white color. The number varies according 
to circumstances. 

LINENS. (See Altar Cloths.) 

LITURGY. The rites for the celebration 
of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. The 
liturgies of the East are numerous; but 
those that have been, or still are, used in the 
West are very few, the principal being : ( i ) 
churches in Spain ; (2) the ancient Gallican, 
used in Gaul until the ninth century; (3) 
the "Ambrosian," used at Milan; and 
(4) the "Roman" used in nearly all parts 
of the Catholic world. 

Low MASS. (See Mass.) 

(Conclusion next week.) 

Notre Dame de Montaigu. A Belgian 




(A mother to her daughter on her entering religion.) 

T| ^INB was the hand thy baby steps to guide, 
Mine was the arm to which thou first didst 


And while thy careless childhood's days took 

Thy soul did ever in my soul's sight bide. 

Then, so it seemed, I missed thee from my side; 
And for a space I sought thee sorrowing, 
To find thee in the temple of the King, 

Upon the Bridegroom's business occupied. 

And there I left thee. On thy choice I smiled; 
For did not He to Nazareth return 
For eighteen subject years, that I might learn 

That she who stays behind, by Love beguiled, 
To traffic in the spirit's great concern, 

Shall none the less remain her mother's child? 

A LTHOUGH Notre Dame de Montaigu 
/"V may be said to belong to the com- 
paratively lesser known shrines in honor 
of the Blessed Virgin, it is nevertheless of 
considerable importance; and not in its 
native Belgium only. Constructed on the 
verdant slopes of the mountain that gives 
its name to the little town of which it is 
the architectural gem, it seems to watch 
over the surrounding country, its circular 
walls and superb dome being visible to 
the approaching pilgrim while still a long 
way off. In centuries gone by, venerable 
trees spread hoary branches and cast their 
veil-like shadows where the sanctuary now 
rises ; and in the course of time a statue was 
fastened to the trunk of one of these trees. 
It was a statue of the Blessed Virgin, re- 
garded with much veneration by the people 
of the neighborhood. This veneration in- 
creased, as might well be expected, after 
the following extraordinary incident had 
taken place. 

A little shepherd who was tending his 
flocks on the mountain noticed that the 
statue of Our Lady had become unfastened, 
and stretching his hand to the oak that had 
so long served it as an altar, seized the 
sacred image with the intention of keeping 
it for himself. But he had scarcely taken it 
when he" found that his feet had become 
as if rooted to the spot. Do what he would, 
he could not move a step. The hours 
passed and night was closing in, when the 
boy's master, rendered uneasy by his pro- 
longed absence, set out in search of him. 
When he arrived at the sacred oak he was 
astonished to find the child standing 
motionless; and still more astonished 
to hear from his own lips the strange 
adventure that had befallen him. But the 
instant the man replaced the venerated 
statue in its former position, the boy 
recovered the use of his limbs; the first 



use he made of his liberty was to prostrate 
himself before 1 the statue he had just been 
trying to steal. 

The news of this wonderful* event soon 
spread to the neighboring towns, and drew 
to Montaigu large crowds, among whom 
were several sick and infirm. Many of 
their number were instantly cured at 
the intercession of Notre Dame de 
Montaigu, in reward for their faith and 
fervor. The statue disappeared completely, 
no one knew how, in 1580; and for a long 
time it was given over as lost. But pil- 
grims sought the holy spot as of old, the 
incense of their prayers ascending to 
Heaven day and night from the lonely 
mountain-top. Some years later, in 1587, 
when the followers of Luther pillaged the 
churches, a woman who purchased many 
of their sacrilegious spoils, bought amongst 
the number a statue of the BJessed Virgin, 
which she sold to an inhabitant of Mon- 
taigu. According to the general opinion, 
this was the very statue that had been 
fastened through ages to the old oak tree ; 
and it was now once more attached to it, 
amidst much pious enthusiasm; and here 
it remained, an object of general devotion, 
till the year 1602. 

It was at this period that a little wooden 
chapel was erected on the mountain, and 
the statue placed within its walls. The 
venerable oak was cut down, and its wood 
distributed amongst a crowd of pilgrims; 
the Archduke Albert of Austria being 
among the number of those so fortunate as 
to procure a piece. Not long after, this 
same Archduke obtained, through Notre 
Dame de Montaigu, the deliverance of 
Bois-le-Duc, then besieged by Maurice de 
Nassau ; and,. in order to show his gratitude 
to the Queen of Heaven, he made magnifi- 
cent offerings to her shrine at Montaigu, 
and granted many privileges to the in- 
habitants of the place. It was also about 
this time 1609 that, in concert with his 
wife Isabel, he laid the foundation stone 
of the present beautiful church of Notre 
Dame de Montaigu, as a Latin inscription 
tells the visitor. 

The building was completed in 1627, 
much of its interior magnificence being 
due to the zeal of Philip III., who attrib- 
uted the preservation of his fleet to 
Notre Dame de Montaigu. The Arch- 
duchess Marie Elizabeth of Austria came 
to Montaigu in 1638, accompanied by 
her entire court, to present a beautiful 
silver lamp to Our Lady's altar, which is 
itself also of solid silver. 

The Story of a Famous Statue. 

AN interesting story about his famous 
statue of Cain, not unlike some of the 
stories told of the patrons of the great 
masters of painting, is related by Giovanni 
Dupre. His Abel, which was completed in 
1842, had brought him before the world 
as one of the princes of art; but he was 
still wretchedly poor, while the jealousy of 
rivals and the suspicion cast upon his work 
by some professors of the Academy of Fine 
Arts threatened to ruin his hard-won 
reputation. He was accused of mechanical 
copying from the nude, the Florentine 
critics declaring that his masterpiece was 
too perfect to have been created by the 
free hand of any artist. Dupre was not, 
however, without the sympathy of friends, 
among whom was Count Francesco del 
Benino, ' who speedily came to his relief. 
How this was done Dupre tells in his 
"Ricordi Biografichi," after describing a 
sad interview with his good wife Maria, to 
whom he frankly explained his inability 
to maintain the family and at the same time 
pay for a model, a studio and material,' and 
the expense of casting the statue upon 
which their hopes were centered. 


"Without knowing it, I had a friend 
a true friend and benefactor, the Count 
Francesco del Benino. From the time I 
was a youth in the shop of Sani, when I 
worked in intaglio, and later, when I was 
with the Pacetti, up to the beginning of my 
Abel, for which he was one of the most 
liberal contributors, he had not lost sight 



of me, often calling when I was modelling 
the statue, and expressing himself pleased 
with it, and certain of my future. Hearing 
now of the intrigue and detraction that 
were striving to put me down, he was 
stirred with indignation; and, coming in 
upon me at the moment of my deepest de- 
spondency, when I knew not what saint 
to turn to, with his usual salutation, 
Sor Giovanni, che fa? seated himself in my 
only chair; then, seeing me downcast in 
spite of his cheerful good-morning, went 
on to say: 

"Come, come, courage, man! Do you 
know how these jackasses are braying? 
They need a sound beating with a good 
cudgel. You have no idea, but I know 
well what I say. I am often in their studios, 
and see and hear the cowardly war they 
are making on you. I have heard one of 
them no matter who, I have heard one 
of these noodles say, with a scornful 
laugh, "Yes, he could make the Abel well 
enough: it was only a reclining figure; 
but a standing one he is not up to; he will 
not be able to do that either this year or 
next." And the rest joined in the laugh. 
This I heard a few moments ago; and I 
have come to tell you that you must 
silence those yelping curs. 

"'Now, my dear Giovanni, you must 
make another statue; this time one on 
foot; and now be still! you must do it 
at once. I know what you want to say. I 
understand it all. And I say you must 
leave this studio: it is too small for an 
upright statue. Find another at once; 
order the trestles you want; fix upon the 
form of your statue, and the money you 
will need. The money I will furnish. You 
know where I live ; come to me ; put down 
on paper the sum you require, with your 
receipt to it; and when you get orders for 
your works, as you surely will by and by, 
and have plenty of funds in hand, you 
can repay the amount of the loan. Now 
be still! No thanks at all! In the first 
place, this shall not be a gift; in the 
second place, I shall get all the pay I 
desire in the opportunity you will give me 

by and by to laugh in the faces of this 
miserable rabble. They are mocking just 
now not less at me than you; for I tell 
them your Abel is genuine, and that I have 
seen you at work upon it. And so, you see, 
I am an interested party; for without the 
cost of a cent I am getting a revenge that 
all my money could not buy. And now, 
dear Giovanni, a riveder la! I expect you 
to call upon me for all you need. Be quick : 
keep up a good heart, and count me your 
most sincere friend.'" 

The good old Count, of course, had no 
idea of receiving any of his money back 
again; he was only smoothing the way for 
the despondent sculptor. Dupre hastened 
home to make the santa donna, as he called 
his wife, a participant in his joyful surprise ; 
then found and rented a new studio, hired 
his model, and purchased his equipment. 
What now should be the subject of his 
new statue not to be lying down, but 
"on foot"? Naturally the counterpart of 
the Abel, the conscience-smitten Cain, , 
fleeing in terror from the scene of his 
awful deed, dreading the wiath both of 
God and man. 

Scarcely had he entered upon his new 
work when his fortunes began to brighten. 
Proposals were made to him for copies of 
the Abel ; and while these were pending, an 
unlooked-for purchaser appeared both for 
the Abel and for the statue of Cain now 
in progress. The Grand Duchess Maria, 
daughter of the Emperor Nicholas and wife 
of Prince Leuchtenberg, while Visiting 
Florence, heard of the Abel and the con- 
troversy about it, and called at the 
studio to see this remarkable work. Then 
"she looked at the Cain that I had hardly 
begun, and exchanged some words with 
the Prince. Finally the Grand Duchess, 
grasping my hand, said : ' The Abel and the 
Cain are mine.'" The price received for 
the Abel was fifteen hundred scudi, and 
that to be paid for the Cain was two 

The first thought of Dupre was to pay 
his debt 'to the good Count del Benino. 
Accordingly, he presented himself at the 



residence of his kind patron; and, being 
received with the usual cheery good morn- 
ing, thus explained his purpose: "Signor 
Conte, I have come to make payment of 
the generous loan with which' you have 
enabled me to begin the model of the Cain; 
and, thank God, the work has excited the 
interest of the Grand Duchess Maria." 
Then he told the story of the interview, 
closing his speech by saying, "Your aid, 
so timely, has been to me a second life; 
without it, who knows what would have 
become of me? While I was speaking," he 
continues, "the habitual sunshine of the 
Count's face faded away; and when I got 
through he looked at me with a perplexed 
and grieved expression that I could not 
understand. 'There is time enough for 
this,' he said at last; 'be in no hurry; a 
thousand things will be needed.'" But 
when Giovanni persisted the Count looked 
still more troubled. Finally he exclaimed: 
" Leave me, my Giovanni, this satisfac- 
tion." And he tore up the receipt and 
threw the pieces into a wastebasket. 

"I was almost offended," adds Dupre; 
' ' but I was overcome by the expression of 
kindness in the countenance of this good 
man. He took my hand and said: 'Do 
not take it ill ; leave me the consolation of 
having contributed even in a small degree 
to your success, and, as you say, to your 
future career; and I know how honorable 
that is destined to be. I have received from 
you ample payment: I have the sweet 
satisfaction of knowing that this trifling 
sum has opened to you a prosperous 

future.' " 


The Cain was completed a year after the 
Abel, and is regarded by some critics as 
even a greater masterpiece and a more re- 
markable proof of genius than the earlier 
work. . Orders for copies of both statues 
in marble and Bronze came from various 
quarters, and it was not long before Dupre 
had the happiness of seeing his family 
beyond the reach of want. He lived long 
enough to complete numerous other works, 
hardly less celebrated than the two men- 

tioned; and, having triumphed over all 
detraction and silenced all^envy, died 
peacefully after receiving the Last Sacra- 
ments, while fervently repeating the "Our 
Father." The only regret he expressed was 
in regard to the statue of the Madonna 
he had hoped to finish for the Duomo. "I 
shall not make it," he said to his daughter 
Arnalia, who knelt by his bedside. "Thou 
hast made it," she replied, "so beauti- 
ful! the Addolorata for Santa Croce." 
"Yes," he answered, placing his hand 
lovingly on her head, "but I desired to 
make her as queen of Florence." 

The Fountain of Life. 

AN unknown artist once painted a 
picture for an altar-piece, and called 
it the 'Fountain of Life. It represented the 
Redeemer of the World in the arms of His 
sorrowful Mother, after being taken down 
from the Cross: From a large rock be- 
neath their feet .flowed the abundant 
waters of salvation, which are received into 
a great reservoir. Apostles and evangelists, 
martyrs, confessors, and virgins are drink- 
ing of the water, or filling their vases, an4 
passing them on to others. From the 
reservoir flowed streams into a lower plain, 
where all sorts and conditions of people 
are' drinking, with grateful looks. Then 
the streams flow away in the distance, 
where children and cripples can reach 
them ; and they are taking up the water in 
their hands, and drinking it with smiling 
lips, often looking towards the great rock. 
The meaning of the picture is that salva- 
tion is for all who will seek after it, that 
the Precious Blood is a life-giving fountain, 
forever flowing, inexhaustible, and accessi- 
ble to the whole world; that the Blessed 
Virgin, on account of her nearness to 
Christ, is man's most powerful intercessor; 
that the saints, because of their fidelity 
to the divine law, draw more abundantly 
from the seurce of grace ; that the streams 
are the sacraments by which it is imparted 
to souls. 



The Lenten Fast. 

A FREQUENT topic of conversation 
J-*. among elderly Catholics during the 
penitential season now at hand will be the 
striking contrast between the comparative 
mildness of the Lenten regulations nowa- 
days and the rigor and severity that char- 
acterized the Lent of their youth. Many 
of them can recall a period when the Lenten 
fast meant if not for themselves, at least 
for their parents simply one meal a day, 
and that, too, a meal at which not only 
meat but even milk, butter, eggs, and 
cheese were forbidden. 

Have we ever reflected upon the reasons 
that have brought about the present re- 
laxation from the oldtime rigor? Why 
have the Lenten rules grown so notably 
milder? Is it because Catholics in our day 
are conspicuously more virtuous than were 
their fathers and mothers, and conse- 
quently do not need to perform such severe 
penances? Have we fewer sins for which 
to offer satisfaction than had they? Is 
our flesh more subdued, less troubled by 
irregular appetites and passions? Are our 
souls more disengaged from the world and 
its vanities, more given to prayer? 

To summarize: has the change in the 
Church's discipline in this matter of the 
Lenten fast been occasioned by an in- 
crease in the fervid piety of the faithful, 
by such a higher standard of morality and 
spirituality among us as obviates the 
necessity of the severer mortification which 
the oldtime fast compelled? Or, rather, 
has not a deterioration in our spiritual life, 
a perceptible lowering of our standard of 
piety, made it expedient for the Church to 
grant concessions to our presumed weak- 
ness or our actual cowardice? Have we 
not become so accustomed to pampering 
our bodies that we shrink from all mortifi- 
cation, from aught that entails any genuine 
sacrifice of our comfort and sensual ease? 

The question is a purely speculative one 
which each may resolve at his leisure; but, 
resolve it as we may, two capital facts 
remain unchanged : the Lenten fast is just 

as necessary to our spiritual well-being 
now as it ever was in the history of the 
Church; and if we are less faithful than 
were our fathers in observing it, so much 
the worse for ourselves. That we should 
observe it in the measure commanded by 
the Church is a clear corollary from Our 
Lord's fast of forty days in the desert. His 
chief motive in undergoing that mortifica- 
tion was assuredly not to strengthen Him- 
self for His subsequent encounter with the 
tempter, but to instruct us by His divine 
example to acquit ourselves worthily of an 
obligation imposed by the divine law in 
both the Old and the New Dispensation. 

As a matter of fact, we learn from Holy 
Scripture, from the example of the saints 
of all ages, and from the constant doctrine 
and tradition of the Church, that fasting is 
an important, and in general a necessary, 
indispensable part of virtue. The practice 
is, indeed, justified by reason as well as 
revelation. Experience tells us that there 
is a constant struggle going on between the 
spirit and the flesh, and that mortification 
of the body is a powerful means of pre- 
venting it from inciting us to rebellion 
against God. By denying ourselves the 
lawful pleasures of sense we are able 
to turn with greater freedom and earnest- 
ness to the thought of God and virtue, so 
that spiritual writers speak of fasting as one 
of the wings of prayer. Lastly, our con- 
science tells us and even heathen writers 
have felt and acknowledged it that we 
ought to suffer for our sins, and mortify 
the flesh which has offended God. 

"Unless you do penance, you shall all 
likewise perish," says Holy Writ; and 
there is one sense not often commented on 
in which that sentence is particularly true. 
Unless you fast, we may paraphrase it, you 
will assuredly shorten your days on earth. 
Gastronomic sins, overeating and- over- 
drinking, are perhaps the. -direct or in- 
direct causes of more deaths than all the 
germs, bacilli, and bacteria known to 
science. Bodily as well as spiritual health 
will, accordingly, benefit from a faithful 
observance of the Lenten fast. 



Notes and Remarks. 

Now that the more unrestrained of 
jingos have had their say, those who are 
not war-crazed may be allowed to offer a 
few considerations regarding the entrance 
of our country into the great European 
conflict, the probability of which is any- 
thing but remote. Not to speak of the 
loss of life, or of the cruel sufferings, 
unending griefs, and heavy burdens that 
would result from a war with the Central 
Powers, it would cost hundreds, perhaps 
thousands, of millions of dollars, and 
forever involve the United States in those 
entangling alliances against which Washing- 
ton gave solemn warning. In circumstances 
like the present, the interests of the nation 
rather than its rights should be most 
considered. All the talk about our re- 
sponsibility to humanity, our obligations 
to weak nations, our duty to oppose 
Militarism, etc., is the veriest claptrap. 
It is altogether questionable, too, if our 
participation in the present war would 
not prolong its horrors instead of hasten- 
ing its end. That this will come only 
when one side is on the brink of ruin there 
can now be but little doubt. The belliger- 
ents are "seeing red"; and we shall soon 
be doing the same, unless the wise counsel 
prevails of men who, while loving their 
country no less sincerely than those who 
are so eager to fight for it, nevertheless 
value the blessings of peace more highly 
,than the glories of war. 

Let us hope, let us pray, that the most 
horrible of wars may soon be ended; that 
our country may be preserved from its 
scourge; and that, when bloodshed and 
destruction have ceased, the United States 
may be in a position to assist in binding 
the wounds of the world, and found worthy 
in a conference of the nations to plead 
ior the sway of universal justice and the 
establishment of universal peace. 

selves that the literacy test will exclude 
from this country any considerable number 
of prospective criminals, they are as- 
suredly hugging a delusion. That there 
is a close alliance between illiteracy and 
crime is a theory which is discredited 
both by psychological data and by actual 
experience. The latest evidence of the 
falsity of the theory is afforded by a 
survey of the prisoners in the Ohio State 
Penitentiary. Of the total number of 
prisoners, 1886, only 309 were illiterate. 
Of the other five-sixths of the inmates, 
all had received an elementary education; 
1 06 were graduates of high schools, and 
26 had graduated from universities. As 
a matter of fact, any habitual reader of 
the daily papers must have remarked that 
by far the greater number of violators of 
our laws are not illiterate dunces but 
clever and educated rascals. Crime in 
this country will be materially lessened 
when, and only when, the schoolboy gets 
religious instruction as a constituent part 
of his youthful training. 

If our sapient legislators who have 
passed the Immigration Bill over the 
veto of the President are flattering them- 

Discussing the English Government's 
economy measures, food control and rail- 
road restrictions, the London Athenaeum 
has something to say which it is to be 
hoped will be heeded in the interests of 
the poor, for whom, by the way, our 
learned contemporary invariably mani- 
fests consideration. The space which it 
is now devoting to economic problems 
shows how highly important they are 
considered to be, while the ability with 
which they are discussed fully sustains 
the reputation of that great English 
journal. The editor says he has little 
faith in the value of food control, and 
contends that it would hit the poor far 
more heavily than the rich. In his leading 
article he observes: 

It is highly desirable, in order that men and 
engines should be available for service in France, 
that the number of railway trains should be 
reduced; but the rise in railway fares is open to 
serious criticism. The rich, because of their 
wealth and not because of their need, can still 
travel; the poor, because of their poverty, will 



be debarred from using railway trains, though 
in the main their travelling is not for pleasure. 
There are two ways of restricting consumption; 
it may be done by limiting supply, which ordi- 
narily enables the wealthier section of the 
community to obtain more than their share of 
the commodity or service in question; or it 
may be done by limiting effective demand, by 
depriving people cf their power to satisfy their 
desires to more than a certain extent. The 
former method is that which has been adopted 
with regard to food control and railway restric- 
tions, though increased prices is one means of 
limiting a person's power to satisfy his desires. 
The principal weapon of the second method is 
taxation. The most certain, though perhaps 
most distasteful, way of preventing people 
spending money unnecessarily is to deprive them 
of that part of their income the expenditure of 
which is not needed for their welfare. The ideal 
method would be to leave the adult civilian an 
income equivalent to that of the soldier and his 
dependents. We do not suppose that so heroic 
a method is likely to be adopted, and we realize 
that many difficulties would arise if it were 
introduced; but we do urge a considerable 
increas^ in the income tax, in conjunction with 
heavy taxes on luxuries, or absolute prohibition, 
and greater production of necessaries. 

This strikes us as being eminently sane 
as well as humane. The subject is dealt 
with more fully in an article, in the same 
issue of the Athen&um, on "The National 
Income and the War." 

On e of the organs of the Lutheran Church 
in this country publishes a rather interest- 
ing compilation from ' ' The Census Report 
of Religious Bodies (1910)." It is a state- 
ment of the percentage of men among the 
members of some score of the larger 
Protestant denominations. It appears that 
in every hundred of such members, 
thirty-nine were men and sixty-one were 
women. "Over against this the member- 
ship of the Roman Catholic Church was 
reported as 49 per cent men and 51 per 
cent women. The Church last named 
lays much stress on its parochial schools." 
That the presence or absence of denomi- 
national schools has a notable effect on 
the church membership of men is abun- 
dantly clear from the figures given for 
such Protestant bodies as' have schools, 
as contrasted with those that have none. 

The latter invariably have the smaller 
percentage of male members. Our sepa- 
rated brethren would be well advised to 
substitute for their ' 'Go-to-Church-Sunday ' ' 
movement a " Build-a-Parish-School" cam- 

The question perennially arises of the 
presumed division of Catholic allegiance 
in the event of conflicting claims made 
by Church and State. The difficulty is 
admirably treated by Father Fisher, S. J., 
in a recent issue of America. One of his 
happiest analogies is the following: 

The Catholic is 110 more hampered in his 
loyalty to his native land by his subjection to 
Rome* than the citizen of New York is hampered 
in his loyalty to the State Government at 
Albany, by his subjection to Washington. The 
spheres of civil and Papal jurisdiction no more 
conflict than do the spheres of State and Federal 
jurisdiction. If at any time irreconcilable claims 
should arise, in one case no less than in the others 
the higher authority prevails. Such opposition, 
however, is not likely to occur, because the 
two authorities move in different planes. Indeed, 
there is much less probability of a clash taking 
place between the rights of Rome and the 
rights of Washington than between the rights 
of Albany and the rights of Washington. The 
reason is clear. Roman authority ^extends only 
to matters that concern faith and morals, about 
which secular authority has little, if any, con- 
cern; whereas both Albany and Washington deal 
with temporal and civil matters. 

The announcement that aero clubs are 
being formed in many of our leading 
educational institutions, and that a large 
number of the students have expressed 
their willingness to become aviators, 
prompts the remark that there are enough 
of college men up in the air already. They 
would be better employed, such of them 
as are qualified, in the improvement of 
operative machinery, or in proving the 
practicability of designs, already sub- 
mitted to the Government, for a new kind 
of submarine suitable for harbor and 
coast defence. The American inventor of 
the cruiser type of submarine which the 
Germans are now using asserts that if 
our need is not adequately supplied, every 
seaport on the Atlantic coast will be 



closed before the summer is here, in case 
the war should be prolonged and the 
United States become involved^m it. 

The status of Poland will probably be 
one of the most difficult matters to settle 
when the World War is at end. The Poles 
are stated 'to be the sixth nation in Europe 
as regards numbers, ranking next to the 
Italians. The grand total of the Polish 
population of the world is estimated at 
" 23,951,598. The Tsar has publicly offered 
to re-create the Kingdom of Poland. 
The Kaiser also has proclaimed a new 
"Kingdom of Poland," its territory to 
consist of all the Central Powers have won 
from Russia since 1914; Posen to remain 
German; Galicia, Austrian. The Tsar 
promises to leave the re-created kingdom 
free in religion, language, and self- 
government. But the Poles have no great 
faith in Petrograd. They have suffered 
more as a result of the great European 
conflict than either Belgium or Servia; 
and before it is ended they will have 
learned how to choose. 

"Our real weakness is a national indif- 
ference to knowledge," says' a recent 
English writer. It would seem that the 
craze for athletics, which is spreading 
overseas, is largely accountable for this 
evil. The tendency to subordinate studies 
to sports, however, is far less marked in 
England than in the United States. The 
Tablet declares that a Catholic headmaster 
in England would open his eyes if he 
were asked to sanction the absence of 
the football team or the cricket eleven 
for a trip of a week, or even several 
days. "In this country it is only when the 
glorious freedom of the Varsity is attained 
that such things are possible." 

In view of all we are likely to see and 
read during the present year concerning 
the Reformation, it is well that emphasis 
should be laid on the fact that the change 
in religion in different countries, and 

notably in England,, was not a movement 
of the people, but of their rulers. In this 
connection not a little interest attaches 
to a statement from the non-Catholic 
authors of a recent work, "The Pilgrimage 
of Grace and the Exeter Conspiracy": 
"The Papal authority was not always 
popular in England: men sneered at the 
Pope, grumbled at him, criticised him; 
but that he was the only supreme head 
of Christianity was as firmly believed 
and as confidently accepted as that the 
sun rose in the east." 

Commenting on the changing attitude of 
the English towards Catholicism, as shown 
by a variety of recent incidents, a Canadian 
exchange tells of a visit lately paid by 
Cardinal Bourne to the great British fleet, 
off the coast of Scotland, and of his cele- 
brating Mass on one of the war-ships in 
presence of the officers and crew. It is the 
first time in four hundred years, adds our 
contemporary, that such an incident has 
occurred. This is probably true; but only a 
couple of decades ago a British battleship 
served as a. Catholic mortuary chapel in 
a voyage across the Atlantic. Sir John 
Thompson, Canadian premier and member 
of England's Privy Council, had died at 
Windsor Castle, whither he was summoned 
by Queen Victoria; and his remains were 
sent to his home city, Halifax, on her 
Majesty's ship "Blenheim." 

Hoarding money for its own sake is 
surely one of the most senseless things of 
which we can be guilty. The beginnings 
of this habit should be watched with a 
vigilance keen as a Damascus blade. The 
miser at first sacrifices luxuries, then 
comforts, then necessities, then friends, 
then, often, his own soul. And for what? 
That he may count over his treasure and 
find it augmented. He longs for a little 
more, then a little more. "When I have 
so much," he says, "I will begin to srjend 
it. Then I shall enjoy life and its pleasures. 
Then I will give where help is needed." 
But, alas! he never does. He can not give 



alms without lessening his hoard. From 
his nearest and dearest sweet charity is 
withheld. He does not honor God or 
pray to Him; for in reality he worships 
only gold. And at last he dies unblessed, 
leaving his wealth to be fought for or 
squandered by those whom he had no 
time to love or even to think of. 

Many years ago, when the Santa Fe" 
trail was a great highway, there was much 
transporting of the silver dollars of Mexico 
from one end of it to the other. These 
coins were wrapped in fresh hides, which, 
dried by the fierce heat in transit, clung 
tighter and tighter to them, until, the 
journey being over, it was well-nigh impos- 
sible to separate the burden from its 
wrappings. So does the miser cling to his 
money until the very well-springs of his heart 
are dried up, the fountain of his mercy is 
smothered in the drifting golden dust and 
the end comes before he has any realization 
of his folly. 

Let us, before our hands are palsied, 
stretch them out and give of our super- 
abundance to those who need assistance. 
Let us, before our eyes are dim, search for 
the poverty which a tithe of our wealth 
could relieve. 'Let us not put thoughts of 
the rainy day, which may not come, in 
place of thoughts of the Cross of Christ, 
which came so long ago. If we are not 
able to fast during Lent, there is the duty 
of almsgiving. __ 

Archbishop Mundelein said much in 
few words in addressing the Holy Name 
Society of Chicago at its recent convention. 
Perhaps his most notable remarks were 
these, which we have from the New World: 

The chief concern of a pastor or a bishop 
should be the men of his parish, of his diocese. 
If they are faithful, if they are loyal, if they are 
devout, then all goes well with the flock. One 
of the things we can learn from history is this: 
whenever and wherever it happened that the 
Church lost its hold upon the men, where they 
became lax, indifferent, careless, then too did 
the influence of the Church upon the life of the 
people wane, religious activity stagnate. But 
when the men remained practical, fervent, 
good, the Church never needed to look for 

defenders, whether against persecution from 
without or disturbance from within: the Cath- 
olic laymen were her best defence. 

This is a profound truth. When Catho- 
lics live up to their Faith, they do not 
often need to defend it. 

The death of Cardinal Diomede Fal- 
conio, who passed away on Feb. 7, in his 
seventy-fifth year, will be mourned in 
many places where he won the respect 
and affection of clergy, laity, and civil 
authorities by his prudence, simplicity, 
piety, and devotion to duty. A member 
of the Order of St. Francis, whose habit 
he took when still a young man, and in 
which he held various important offices, 
he preserved its spirit to the end of his 
life. In Canada, where he was Apostolic 
Delegate before holding the same office 
in the United States,- in three districts 
of his native Italy where he was bishop 
and archbishop, and especially in this 
country where he completed his studies 
and was ordained, soon afterwards becom- 
ing president of the College and Seminary 
of St. Bonaventure, the deceased Cardinal 
will be held in affectionate remembrance 
by all who were so well acquainted with 
him as to know his true worth. May he 
rest in peace! 

The moral conditions of Philadelphia 
were investigated not long ago by a 
Commission appointed by the mayor of 
that city. The gentlemen of the Com- 
mission were presumably not interested in 
making things out worse than they really 
are; and, accordingly, the following extract 
from their report merits the attention of 
all friends and admirers of the public 
schools, in Philadelphia and elsewhere: 

So much vice was found among school- 
children that the Commission reluctantly con- 
cludes that vice is first taught to the Philadelphia 
child in the classroom. Sixty per cent of the 
school-girls interrogated turned out to have 
learned, before they were ten or eleven years 
old, a variety of bad habits. 

The public schools have been called 
"Godless"; are some of them to be des- 
ignated as diabolical? 

The Two Horses. 


T was at the end of September, 
1804. Marcel Rollin, a ten- 
year-old boy, was feeling rather 
blue that morning. His mother 
had told him, as she woke him up: 

"Well, Marcel, the holidays are over. 
To-day we leave for Lyons, where you will 
go to school once more." 

Accordingly, Marcel had to quit for a 
long time, perhaps forever, this charming 
little Swiss town stuck on the side of a 
big mountain. Over, the long excursions, 
from which he came back thoroughly but 
healthily tired out ; over, the picnic dinners, 
the games, the races. 

AH these thoughts had filled the lad with 
a strong inclination to cry, an inclina- 
tion overcome only by the prospect of a 
long trip in the stage-coach. It is such 
good fun to drive behind four horses ! And 
then the relays, where the horses are 
changed, the fresh ones champing their 
bits, impatient to be off; while the coach- 
man, cracking his whip, calls out: "All 
aboard, ladies and gentlemen!" 

"When I grow up," said Marcel to 
himself as he pictured the scene, "I'll be 
a coachman." 

Half consoled by these reflections, he 
asked suddenly: 

"Say, mamma, can't I go out on the 
road for a while, to say good-bye to the 
trees and things?" 

"Go," replied his mother; "but not too 
far. Keep within sight of my window, so 
that I may see you." 

And Madame Rollin proceeded to do 
the packing up for the whole family, 
while Marcel, already outside, was getting 
astride a splendid mechanical horse. This 

big toy was a veritable work of art, 
a wooden horse mounted on wheels. The 
animal was of elegant shape, painted in 
striking colors, fitted out with a magnifi- 
cent saddle and bridle, and easy to propel 
at quite a rapid gait. It was a gift from 
Marcel's rich uncle, who loved the boy 
and spoiled him not a little. 

The lad rode off then, very proudly, 
raising some little dust, and watching a 
group of native boys who looked on him 
with envy. One of them, about the same 
size and age as Marcel, was watching the 
latter with special attention. He was a 
slender, delicate-looking boy, whose yellow 
hair, all tousled, fell over his forehead 
down to his big blue eyes, just now full of 
wonder. His feet were bare, and his clothes 
more ragged than whole. 

Marcel, after some 'fancy riding, drew up 
before this boy, and, jumping down from 
his saddle, inquired: 

" You haven't got a fine horse like this, 
have you?" 

"I've never had any toys," came the 
reply in a queer accent and in a tone half 
friendly, half suspicious. 

Never had any toys ! Was it possible 
that some boys were so badly off as that? 

"What's your name?" he asked. 

"Jacob Muller." 

"Ah! My name is Marcel Rollin." 

Then he went back to his original 

"So your papa or your mamma doesn't 
buy you a box of soldiers nor tops nor balls 
and bats nor swords nor anything?" 

During his enumeration the barefooted 
boy's eyes lit up for a moment, and then 
grew dull as he replied: 

"Papa is dead and mamma is poor." 

For a second Marcel was ready to cry; 
but, controlling himself, he began to ask 
himself which of his toys he could give to 
this poor fellow, who had never had any. 

21 S 


Suddenly, however, his mother's voice 
was h^ard calling: 

' ' Marcel ! Marcel, where are you ? Come, 
hurry up! We are starting." 

Then the gallant little Frenchman, re- 
solving to do the heroic, said to Jacob 
Muller, as he handed him the bridle of his 
horse : 

"Here, take this. I give it to you." 

"You give it to me?" 

"Yes; take it, take it quick!" Then, 
hugging tenderly the horse's head, Marcel 
added: "His name is Toto. You'll take 
good care of him, won't you?" 

And he fled precipitately to the chalet, 
leaving the barefooted Jacob standing 
stupefied, in an ecstasy of joy, before his 
suddenly acquired treasure. 

Ten years went by. Marcel Rollin was 
twenty. He had just left the special mili- 
tary school of Saint-Cyr, established a few 
years before by the Emperor Napoleon I.; 
and, a young officer with an incipient 
mustache darkening his upper lip, he 
aspired to martial glory. He would have 
laughed heartily if some one had reminded 
him of his boyhood's dream of becoming 
one day a coachman. He dreamed now 
only of battles and victories, and he 
longed to employ against the enemies of 
France the shining sabre that trailed at 
his side. 

Meanwhile, by dint of conquering, 
Napoleon had tired out his fortune. After 
the Saxe Campaign, the Grand Army, still 
victorious, had nevertheless to beat a 
retreat. Then began that immortal cam- 
paign in which the Emperor employed all 
the resources of his genius to dispute every 
inch of French territory with the allied 
armies. It was in vain, however : numbers 
counted, and a day came when the enemy 
was marching on Paris. 

Marcel Rollin, wounded at Montmirail, 
had been taken prisoner by the Austrians. 
Despite his wound, which . caused his left 
shoulder to suffer terribly, he managed to 
escape; and after walking a day and a 
night he fell in with a group of French 

peasants,- -irregular soldiers, and implaca- 
ble ones, who occupied the woods and waged 
deadly war against the invaders. Marcel 
joined their ranks. It was not a question 
now of great battles : it was a question of 
sharpshooting, of waiting for the enemy, 
and of killing him on sight. 

But the risk in this kind of warfare was 
great. No sooner was a sharpshooter taken 
than he was shot. The allies had deter- 
mined on this action as the only one to 
discourage these stubborn Frenchmen. 
Yet the latter kept up their attacks. 
Almost .every hour, Austrian, Russian, and 
German patrols were assaulted and exter- 
minated;, every day officers disappeared; 
as often as the allied armies came to a 
river or stream, they found the bridges 

Marcel experienced a bitter joy in thus 
resisting step by step the progress of the 
invaders. Nobody would have recognized 
in him now the brilliant graduate, a few 
months ago, of Saint-Cyr. Sombre and 
savage, clad in tatters rather than a 
uniform, grown thin and haggard from 
misery and privations, he looked more like 
a bandit than a soldier; but his eye 
shone with indomitable energy, and his 
whole figure radiated his valor and his 

One day, after a brief skirmish with an 
Austrian troop, Marcel, whose unfailing 
gun had already killed the head officer and 
several of his aids, was suddenly attacked 
from the rear. He felt a sharp twinge in 
his left arm and lost consciousness. When 
he came to himself night was falling. He 
was lying in a sort of improvised ambu- 
lance. The men around him were speaking 
German; and, thanks to his knowledge of 
that language, he understood perfectly the 
tenor of the conversation. He was to be 
shot; and it was precisely for that reason 
that he had not been left to die where he 
had fallen. He was to be executed with a 
certain amount of solemnity, as a lesson to 
the other sharpshooters. For this purpose 
the execution was postponed until the 
next dav. 



The prisoner's guard, having noticed that 
Marcel had regained consciousness, sent 
word to his superior officer. The latter soon 
appeared and in good French asked: 

"What is your name?" 

"Marcel Rollin." 

"You are a sharpshooter?" 


"You know what is in store for you?" 

"Yes: I am to be shot at daybreak." 

Marcel gave this last answer with such 
heroic calm that the officer, impressed, 
said no more, but retired. 

It grew darker and darker; all noises 
ceased; and one by one the lights of the 
camp were extinguished. Of war there was 
heard nothing but the measured tread of 
the sentinels, and occasionally the pass- 
word exchanged by the patrol. 

Marcel, burning with fever, thought of 
his mother and of the tears she would shed ; 
told himself sometimes that it was hard to 
die when one was only twenty; and then, 
controlling his emotion, he would murmur : 
"I'll show these invaders how a French- 
man dies." 

All at once he felt somebody touch his 
arm. He looked up, and, by the light of a 
smoking torch burning at a short distance 
from him, he saw, quite close to his face, 
the countenance of his guard. Surely he 
had seen that face, those big blue eyes, and 
that tousled hair before. 

Said the guard in a voice that shook a 
little and that spoke French with a strong 
German accent: 

"Is your name Marcel Rollin?" 

Marcel nodded. 

Without another word, the guard cut 
the cord that bound the prisoner's wrists, 
helped him to his feet, and beckoned 
the astonished Frenchman to follow him. 
Crouching low, they proceeded for a time 
that seemed very long to Marcel, whose 
left arm, all swollen, and wounded shoulder 
were acutely painful. 

At last the guard stopped. Attached to 
a tree by the side of the road was a fine' 
horse ready saddled, 

"Down there," said the guard, pointing 

to the south, "is the French army. With 
a good mount one can reach it in three 

He put the horse's bridle in Marcel's 
hand, adding in a voice which this time 
Marcel readily recognized: 

"My name is Jacob Muller. I give you 
my horse as a souvenir of old times. His 
name is Toto. You'll take good care of him, 

won't you?" 


Con of Misty Mountain. 


lATHER PHIL was startled at the 
eager response. He had not ex- 
pected that Con, used to the wild 
freedom of Misty Mountain, could be lured 
so easily into unknown ways where that 
freedom would be lost. 

"I'd like to go, for sure," Con went on, 
with brightening eyes. "I'd like to get off 
the Roost, whar there's only cussing and 
fighting. I'd like to get away from the 
boys, before they get me jailed or hanged. 
I'd like to get away from Uncle Bill, 
that is the worst of all." 

"How?" asked Father Phil, who was 
beginning to hesitate at the thought of 
"Uncle Bill" and his perhaps lawful 
authority. "Does he treat you badly, 
my boy?" 

"Yes," answered Con, "cusses me, 
licks me, treats me worser than he treats 
Dick. I'd like to get away from Uncle 
Bill, sure." 

"Is he your real uncle?" asked Father 
Phil, realizing there might be difficulties 
in the way that he had not foreseen. 

"Dunno," said Con, "dunno what he 
is, 'cept that Nat and Dan and Wally are 
his real boys, and I ain't." The blue eyes 
looked puzzled for a moment. "Seems to 
me as if I had somebody else once, but I 
can't remember where or when. It has 
always been Uncle Bill. He warn't so bad 
to me long ago. Used to keep me and 
Mother Moll at a place where there was 



cows and chickens and growing things. It 
warn't so bad there; but since we came to 
Misty Mountain he has been mean to me, 
sure. Keeps a-growling and a-cussing and 
a-wishing he had never seen my face." 

"Then he won't object to your going 
away with me," was the cheerful answer. 

"Dunno," said Con. "Ain't going to 
ask him 'bout it. I'll jest kite off with you, 
Mister, where and when you say." 

"I wish you could." Father Phil found 
it hard to be as wise and prudent as the 
occasion demanded, with Con's blue eyes 
lifted in such boyish trust to his face. 
"But but if Uncle Bill is your relative 
1 and natural guardian, I am afraid we shall 
have to ask him, Con. Suppose you take 
me up to see him?" 

"To the Roost?" gasped Con. "You 
ain't ain't thinking of going up thar, 
Mister. Uncle Bill is that drunken mad 
jest now he'd he'd shoot you on sight." 

And, from what he had heard of the 
Roost and its denizens, Father Phil felt 
that perhaps Con was not far wrong. 

"Then then, suppose when Uncle Bill 
gets sober you talk to him yourself? Tell 
him you've got a chance to go away from 
Misty Mountain and make a man of 
yourself; that I will put you to school, 
clothe you, board you, and give you an 
honest start in life. Can Uncle Bill read 
and write, Con?" 

"Kin sort of scratch," answered Con, 

"Well, then I'll put it all down in 
writing," said Father Phil, taking out a 
tablet and fountain pen from his pocket. 
He wrote for a moment in large, clear 
characters. "Give this to Uncle Bill; 
and if he agrees to let you go with me, 
let him put his name or mark to it, and 
then all will be right. He will have you 
off his hands forever. And you you will 
be my little pal nay, better than that, 
Con, my little brother for good and all." 

Con looked at the paper wistfully. 

"You couldn't take me off without 
without this here, Mister?" 

"I'm afraid I couldn't, Con," was the 

reluctant answer. "It might make trouble 
for both of us." 

"Don't keer about trouble for me, but 
I surely don't want to bring trouble on 
you, Mister, not fur nothing. So I'll 
show this 'ere paper to Uncle Bill when he 
sobers up. If he wants to get shook of 
me, here's his chance. Mebbe he'll fix it 
up all right." 

"I think he will," said Father Phil, who 
knew how fiercely Uncle Greg was pressing 
the old outlaw, and felt that the Roost 
would soon be "cleared out," and Con 
well off his doubtful guardian's hands. 
"I'll be here again to-morrow to learn 
what you have to tell me. It will be good 
news for us both, I know. Till then 
good-bye, my boy, good-bye, and God 
bless you!" 

And Father Phil laid his hand on Con's 
yellow head in a benediction that the boy 
never forgot and then was gone, like 
a ray of sunshine threading the mists that 
were rising above the melting snow. For 
it was the last poor Con was to see of his 
good "pal" for many a long, hard day. 
But just now his young heart was stirring 
with the glad, new hope wakened by 
Father Phil's words. 

To go away with him, with this strong, 
kind man who was so good, so wise, so 
wonderful! Con thought of the shining 
figure he had seen at the altar last night, 
and felt that it must have power beyond 
mortal ken. To go away from the wild 
steeps of Misty Mountain, from the 
smoky old cabin in the Roost; from the 
cursing and fighting and drinking of 
Uncle Bill and the boys; from the dark, 
wicked ways in which they walked, and 
from which untaught, untrained Con had 
always instinctively recoiled! To go into a 
world where the men were like "Mister," 
and women perhaps sweet and soft- 
spoken as the little lady with the muff; 
where he would have a soft bed and good 
clothes like the boys that hooted and 
jeered at him, and things to eat such as the 
Mister had brought him to-day! To go 
to school, a school where they would 



let him in and teach him all those wonder- 
ful things of which Father Phil ha<i spoken, 
where he would be this kind Mister's 
pal nay, what was it he said at the 
last? His little brother for good and all. 
His brother! Something seemed to choke 
Con at this strange, sweet word; he felt 
almost as if it made him cry. 

It was such a dazzling, bewildering, 
outlook that opened before Con that he 
had to sit down when he reached Eagle 
Nest and think it all out. Even Misty 
Mountain seemed to grow soft and sweet 
and kind to-day. The sun was out bright 
and warm; there was a trickle of running 
water under the melting snow; and as 
he sat there thinking, he could hear the 
snap and crack of the breaking ice. Injun 
Creek was tugging at its winter fetters, 
and would soon be leaping in foaming 
freedom down the mountain. 

"A-busting loose like me," laughed Con 
to himself, as he nibbled at one of Sister 
Melanie's bonbons. "I'll be sort of sorry 
to leave old Mother Moll; but I ain't no 
good to her here. Mebbe sometime 
sometime, when I learn all them things 
the Mister talks about, I kin come back 
and bring her something better than these 
'ere sugar nuts. I'd like to bring her 
something real good, sure, -a bonnet with 
feathers on it mebbe, like Mrs. Murphy's; 
and a long coat edged with fur, and shoes 
that wouldn't hurt her poor feet. Yes, 
when I learn things like the Mister says, 
I ain't going to forget Mother Moll, sure. 
Jing! I never counted on having luck like 
this, never! I thought I was in to folly 
along with Nat and Dan, and might get 
jailed or hanged. I'd better step along, 
though, and give Uncle Bill this 'ere paper 
before he cuts off somewhar down the 
mountain agin. I wonder what he'll say 
to it?" Con surveyed the folded note 
curiously. "Jest cuss me, I guess, and let 
me go, glad to get rid of me; fur I rile 
him worse every year, why I dunno." 

And, still further cheered by these 
reflections, Con kept on his way over 
the heights, that he had to tread more 

cautiously to-day; for old Winter's reign 
was broken and his frozen ways insecure. 
The snowdrifts were slipping; now and 
then a great slide would thunder down the 
rocks, covering Con with feathery flakes;' 
the white mists wreathed and curled in 
the hollows; the ice sheaths of the pines 
were dripping off in soft murmurs; Injun 
Creek was making ready to leap the 
frozen falls. Con had to mind his steps 
to-day; so it was sometime before he took 
the final scramble through thicket and 
rift that landed him at the Roost, where 
Uncle Bill, in the mood that comes "the 
day after," was seated at the cabin door, 
sunning himself in the spring-like beams. 

Uncle Bill was not a very pleasant 
figure at his best: just now he was at his 
worst: a huge, hulking, hairy old giant, 
grizzly in brow and beard; with a red 
scar, gained in an early encounter, mark- 
ing one side of his face; and fierce, fiery 
eyes, reddened by much drinking, gleaming 
angrily in their sunken sockets. The 
one soft spot in his hard old heart had 
been reached by the arrest yesterday; 
for Nat was his favorite son, and the 
old man was still stinging and smarting 
under the hurt. It was a bad time to 
open communications of any kind with 
Uncle Bill; but this Con in his glad hopes 
for the future did not know. 

"Back, are you?" growled the old man, 
as Con appeared "It's about time, you 
durned young loafer, you! Whar have 
you been?" 

"Down to Piney Hollow and Wolf's 
Gap and every whar," answered Con, who 
was in too happy humor to notice that 
there was a blacker cloud on Uncle Bill's 
always frowning brow. 

"Filling your hungry maw with all the 
beggar pickings you can get," said Uncle 
Bill, casting a fierce look at the pretty 
box in Con's hand. "What's that you 
have there?" 

"Candy," answered Con, cheerfully, 
"the finest candy you ever tasted. Try 
one, Uncle Bill." 

"No sugar stuff for me! "growled the old 



man, whose palate had been burned out by 
fiercer flavoring. "Who gave it to you?" 

"A man," answered Con, "the nicest 
man I ever saw. I got him some greens 
and berries yesterday to fix up that ar 
old log cabin on the Ridge for Christmas." 

"To fix up what?" asked Uncle Bill, 
his sunken eyes beginning to gleam. 

"That log cabin down to Piney Ridge," 
continued Con, feeling he was arousing 
Uncle Bill into unusual interest. "Golly, 
we had it fixed up fine, all green and 
woody-like, with candles and all sorts of 
shiny things, and the people a-flocking 
from near and far. You never seen such 
a grand show, Uncle Bill." 

' ' And and they let you in ? What 
sort of game is this you're playing on me, 
you young dog, you? Turning agin me, 
are you, turning agin them that fed 
you and warmed you and keered for you, 
a-mating with the cursed scoundrels that 
is hunting down me and mine?" 

"Oh, no, Uncle Bill,..! was not turning 
against you at all! I was just snooping 
in the window at the grand show, and an 
Irisher came along and druv me off." 

"Druv you off!" repeated Uncle Bill, 
fiercely. "And that's what I orter have 
done long ago. What I'm keeping you 
around fur, you ungrateful whelp, I don't 
know! What good are you to me, that I 
don't kick you out, to scramble for your- 
self, like the stray young cur you are?" 

A spark flamed into Con's blue eyes 
at the words, a spark that told of some 
strange, new spirit wakened in the boyish 
breast, to which Uncle Bill was blind. 

"Don't want no kick to start me," 
was the answer. "I'm ready to go right 
now. That Mister I got the greens and 
berries fur yesterday says he'll take me 
off, and school me and keer fur me and 
make a man of me. He writ it all down 
on paper fur you to read, and say the word 
that I could go." 

And Con held out the paper to Uncle 
Bill, who snatched it from him with a 
fierce, shaking hand, and stared at the 
clear writing with blinking, bewildered 

gaze. Father Phil's courteous communi- 
cation ran as follows. 

MY DEAR SIR: I have taken a great 
liking to your boy Con. I will be glad 
to give him a better start in life than he 
can ever get at Misty Mountain. If you 
will permit him to go with me, I promise 
to send him to a good school, and provide 
him with all that he needs until he is 
able to support himself. All I ask of you 
is to sign this paper, giving your consent, 
as his present guardian, to my future 

care of him. 


Uncle Bill read the missive slowly. 
Reading was not very much in his line. 
Clear as was its meaning (lor Father Phil 
had worded it carefully), it took some 
time for the friendly offer to penetrate 
the old man's dull, befogged brain. At 
last he understood, or thought he did; 
and he stared at the boy before him, with 
sunken eyes that kindled, as he gazed, 
into brutal fire. 

"And and For the moment the 
maddened old sinner could not find words 
for his fury. "You dare bring me this 
this after all I've done! Ye'd bring the 
hellhounds down on me, you you 
Uncle Bill burst into a torrent of profanity 
terrible to hear; and, starting up to his 
full giant height, he caught Con in a 
grip that all his boyish strength could 
not resist. -"I've a mind to kill you for 
it, you whelp, to kill you!" 

(To be continued.) 

Some Letters of Advice. 


(0*OOD children should be like the B's 
That round the flower-beds one C's; 
And not be fond of too much E's, 
Which will their loving parents T's. 
And if they've hopes of growing Y's, 
They must learn how to use their I's; 
Then if they mind their P's and Q's, 
And every moment rightly U's, 
They surely must now mark it well 
Both in and out of school XL. 



A second series of Catholic "Sermon Notes," 
by the late Monsignor Benson, edited by the 
Rev. C. C. Martindale, S. J., is in press by 
Longmans, Green & Co. 

The International Catholic Truth Society 
has brought out in neat pamphlet form the 
Lent Gospels (exclusive of Holy Week). The 
print is sufficiently large and the paper good 
enough. The price is 5 cents. 

Admirers of the late Lionel Johnson will 
be glad to hear, that a selection of his religious 
poems has just been published by Elkin Mathews 
and Burns & Gates. There is a preface by Mr. 
Wilfrid Meynell. The selection is the work of 
Mr. George Engelbach. 

The Macmillan Co. announce a new novel 
by Richard Aumerle Maher. Its title, "Gold 
Must be Tried by Fire," covers the experience 
of a- mill-hand whose pluck and energy enable 
her not only to rise in life, but to effect a con- 
siderable social uplift among those about her. 
The story will appear next month. 

The Rev. Henry C. Schuyler's books on the 
"Obedience of Christ," the "Courage of Christ," 
etc., fill a distinct wart in modern spiritual 
literature. Hence there should be a warm and 
general welcome accorded to "The Sacrament 
of Friendship," a new addition to the series, 
published by Mr. Peter Reilly. It is an attractive 
book in its outward make-up, and that is as it 
should be. But chiefly its matter and the manner 
of its presentation give it distinctive value. 
It is, of course, all about the Blessed Sacrament, 
and particularly about Holy Communion. It 
is meant for the reading of layfolk, but clerics 
and religious of both sexes will find their love 
and their zeal quickened by the perusal of this 
ardent essay. We should like to put a copy 
of "The Sacrament of Friendship" in the 
hands of every Catholic. 

"The Ordeal by Fire," by Marcel Berger, 
translated by Mrs. Cecil Curtis (G. P. Putnam's 
Sons), is a story, largely in the form of a diary, 
of the early months of the war in France. The 
narrator is a sergeant in the French army, and 
an "intellectual" who, even after his experiences 
at the front, assured himself that he had been 
separated from religion beyond return "by my 
reading and speculations." (He had reached the 
very mature age of twenty-seven.) There is 
much realistic writing in the book, and some 
that is the reverse of realistic. The translator, 
for instance, gives us the talk of the French 

poilus in the cockney vernacular of Tommy 
Atkins. Only one Catholic, De Valpic, figures 
in the narrative; and one wonders that the 
sergeant met no priest-soldiers or even chaplain?. 
The book is a disappointment. 

We welcome a new edition (the third) of 
"The Catholic Church from Within," by Alice, 
Lady Lovat. It is a book of perennial timeliness, 
but there would seem to be an inspired appro- 
priateness just now in the chapter "On Marriage 
and the Bringing-up of Children, With a Few 
Words on Mixed Marriages." Longmans, Green 
& Co., publishers. 

From B. Herder, St. Louis, comes Volume 
II. of "Father Tim's Talks," by the Rev. C. D. 
McEnniry, C. SS. R. These talks, which in their 
essence are doctrinal instructions on a con- 
siderable variety of practical topics, have been 
appearing in the Liguorian, and well deserve 
this reprinting in book form. Let it be said 
incidentally that, in this era of high-priced 
paper, the price of the book a twelvemo of 
160 pages is very moderate: 75 cents, net. 

-"God's Fairy Tales," by Hnid M. Dinnis, 
satisfies both the artistic and the supernatural 
sense. These stories are beautiful renderings of 
spiritual beauty as witnessed in everyday life. 
Perhaps not everyday life, though the author 
makes that claim; certain inventions here found 
strike us as straining verisimilitude to ordinary 
life, as, for example, in "The Intruder" and 
"The Least of the Little Ones." In all the 
othrr tales, however, the "fairy" element 
makes just the right appeal to sympathetic 
faith. Particularly entrancing are "An Atmos- 
pheric Effect" and "The Place which is Called 
'God's Presence.'" From an artistic stand- 
point, the last story, "Veronica," is perfect. 
It is a noteworthy fact that whereas ordinarily 
short stories gathered into a book lose their 
special charm, being made to seem, what they 
were never meant to be, parts of a long fiction, 
these fairy tales of Miss Dinnis gain by being 
grouped. For sale by B. Herder. 

In an extended but altogether unfavorable 
notice of a new juvenile book by an American 
priest who has a widespread reputation as a 
story-teller, Catholic Book Notes, the organ of the 
English C. T. S., remarks: "We are compelled 
to believe that boys out there are very different 
from the 'soaring British variety.'" No doubt 
they are; for we know of books published by 
popular Catholic authors in England that 
wouldn't suit American boys "at all, at all." 



The editor of the C. B. N. is what they call in 
Scotland "an awfu' creetic." His review of the 
story in question might be described as a half 
page of well-written but unmitigated fault- 
finding. We ourselves did not admire the story, 
and so devoted only a short paragraph to it. 
"Why lavish words in needless blame, then 
spare them in approving?" 

A part of the inspiration of "A Book of 
Verse," by Miss Alice Colly, is drawn from the 
Great War; indeed, this constitutes its chief 
claim to distinction. The rank of this new poet 
may be judged from the lines which we subjoin; 
they are the best of the collection, which is a 
very small one. The book is exquisitely printed 
and tastefully bound in boards. Cornish 
Brothers, publishers; 39 New Street, Birming- 
ham, England. (Price 2s. 6d.) 

Unheard amid the music of the Spring 
Is the sad discord of a world at war. 
Your soul seeks mine, mine yours unfaltering; 
But Spring knows not if you be near or far. 
Her days are full of hope, her dreams of peace; 
Though friends be parted, hate, not love., shall cease. 

Nestling between the brown breasts of the earth. 
The snowdrops hang their heads so cunningly, 

Feeling the heart of her who gave them birth 
Throb with new hope and glad vitality. 

May peace be in your dreams. L,ove lives, hate dies. 

And Spring is here again with- laughing eyes. 

The Latest Books. 
A Guide to Good Reading. 

The object of this list is to afford information 
concerning important new publications of special 
interest to Catholic readers. The latest books will 
appear at the head, older ones being dropped out 
from time to time to make room for new titles. 
As a rule, devotional books, pamphlets and new 
editions will not be indexed. 

Orders may be sent to our Office or to the pub- 
lishers. Foreign books not on sale in the United 
States 'will be imported with as litlle delay as 
possible. There is no bookseller in this country 
who keeps a full supply of books published abroad. 
Publishers' prices generally include postage. 

"The Sacrament of Friendship." Rev. H. C. 

Schuyler. $1.10. 

"God's Fairy Tales." Enid Dinnis. $1.10. 
"Operative Ownership." James J. Finn. $1.50. 
"Songs of Creelabeg." Rev. P. J. Carroll, C. S. C. 

"Sermons and Sermon Notes." Rev. B. W. 

Maturin. $2. 

"Verses." Hilaire Belloc. $1.10. 
."Letters to Jack." Rt. Rev. Francis Kelley, 

D. D. $i. 
"The Interdependence of Literature." Georgina 

Pell Curtis. 60 cts. 
"Illustrations for Sermons and Instructions." 

Rev. Charles J. Callan, O, P. $2. 

"Beauty." Rev. A. Rother, S. J. 50 cts. 
"Gerald de Lacey's Daughter." Anna T. 

Sadlier.- $1.35- 
"The Holiness of the Church in the Nineteenth 

Century." Rev. Constantino Kempf, S. J. 

"The Divine Master's Portrait." Rev. Joseph 

Degen. 50 cts. 

"Tommy Travers." Mary T. Waggaman. 75 cts. 
"Development of Personality." Brother Chrys- 

ostom, F. S. C. $1.25. 
"The Fall of Man." Rev. M. V. McDonough. 

50 cts. 
"Saint Dominic and the Order of Preachers." 

75 cts. ; paper covers, 35 cts. 
"The Growth of a Legend." Ferdinand van 

Langenhove. $1.25. 


Remember them that are in bands. HEB., xiii. 3. 

Rev. James Gilfether, of the archdiocese of 
Boston; Rt. Rev. Monsignor John Koch, 
diocese of Harrisburg; and Very Rev. Jo'seph 
Costa, O. C. 

Brothers Chrysostom and Potamian, F. S. C. 

Sister M. Baptista, of the Order of the Visi- 
tation; Sister M. Agatha and Sister M. Bathilde, 
Sisters of the Good Shepherd; and Sister M. 
Anastasia, Sisters of the Holy Cross. 

Mr. George Knox, Mr. Thomas W. Kerr, 
Mr. Daniel Moore, Miss Anna Lloyd Mr. 
Thomas Erskine, Miss Katherine McHugh, 
Mr. L. J. Blakeley, Mrs. Kate Spalding, Miss 
Katherine Kennelly, Mr. David Buckley, Miss 
Mary Kellog, Mr. Edward F. Kelly, Mr. N. J. 
Clayton, Mr. Michael Hayes, Miss Margaret 
Ronan, Miss Minnie Salisbury, Mr. John Galen, 
Mrs. Mary J. W r hite, Mr. James White, Mr. 
M. J. Kam , Mr. Robert Bevin, Mrs. Margaret 
Ryan, Mr. William Rajek, Mr. H. T. Burg, 
Miss Mary E. Power, Mrs. Catherine Flynn, 
Mr. John Wegmann, Mrs. Mary C. Mulhall, 
Mr. J. E. Jones, Mr. John Jordan, Mr. Thomas 
Carroll, and Mr. Thomas Goldon. 

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

Our Contribution Box. 

" Thy Father, who seeth in secret, will repay thee." 
For the Foreign Missions: B. V. M., $i; 
Miss A. T., $i ; Margaret C., $i ; Miss E. V. H., 
$10. For the rescue of orphaned and abandoned 
children in China: Fiiend (Leavenworth), $5; 
Friend, $15; Friend (Wyoming), $6. For the 
Bishop of Nueva Segovia: C. H. L., $15- For 
the Chinese Missions: Miss M. C., $5 ; Friend, $2. 


VOL. V. (New Series.) 


NO. 8 

[Published every Saturday. Copyright, 1917: Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C.] 

Rosa Mundi. The Meaning of the Seed. 


fDOSE'OF THE WORLD! Thou perfect Love, 

^* Of human life the crown and flower, 
What earthly splendors rank above 

The fragrant grace which is thy dower? 

Then still, as day by day we fare 

Along our road in dust and heat, 
Breathe on our hearts that influence rare 

Whose presence makes and keeps life sweet. 
Though secret treasures, long enshrined, 

The conquered years submissive bring, 
Yielding their tribute to the mind 

That homage claims as Nature's king; ' 

Though Science weave her wondrous spell 
The powers of light and air to span, 

And Art and Wealth unite to swell 

That triumph song whose theme is man; 

And man himself doth strenuous press 
From goal to goal, from crown to crown; 

And, in his haste to grasp success, 

Oft thrusts his struggling fellows down; 

Yet still at times, despite the din 
And bustle of the crowded years, 

We call our venturous fancies in 
And stand confronted by our fears. 

Then turns to dust our hoarded gold, 
And pleasure wears a phantom air, 

And life looks naked, mean and cold, 

Stripped of the dreams that made it fair. 

We've had no time to think of flowers, 
And now of flowers remains no trace; 

In vain we search our withered bowers 
For heart's-ease or the herb o' grace. 

Yet should we bow our barren pride 
To yield the debt our spirit owes, 

Thou, Love, within us crucified, 

Shalt from the desert win the Rose. 


S Seed requires soft, manured, 
and tilled ground to grow in, 
so the Word of God must finde 
gentle, rich, and mortified Souls 
to fructifie upon. As Seed requires mois- 
ture and sun to bring it forth,, so the 
Soul requires the tears of sorrow for our 
Sins, and the Son of Justice, his heat of 
Grace to make the Word of God fructifie 
in mans heart, and bring forth Acts of 
love to God. As the Seed in the Earth 
must first dissolve and die before it spring, 
so must the Word of God be ruminated 
upon by meditation, and procure in us 
a death to the world, before we can find 
in our selves the spring of living in Gods 
favour. As the Seed must first take root, 
then sprout up, branch into leaves and 
boughs, next blossome, and then knit into 
a fruit, so the Word of God must first 
enter deep into our hearts, then rise by 
holy cogitations, branch it self into variety 
of good desires, blossom into religious 
resolutions, and at last knit it self up into 
the knot of good Works, which are the 
fruits of our lives. As the force and vertue 

* Extracts from an extremely rare old book entitled 
"The Christian. Sodality; or, Catholick Hive of Bees Sucking 
the Hony of the Churches Prayers from the Blossomes of 
the Word of God, Blowne out of the Epistlas and Gospels of 
the Divine Service during the yeare. Collected by the Puny 
Bee of all the Hive, not worthy to be named otherwise than 
by these elements of his name F. P. Printed [in Paris] 
in the year of our Lord MDCLII." According to Gillow, 
this work was probably written by Francis Gage, son of Sir 
Henry Gage, Governor of Oxford for King Charles I. The 
copy from which our extracts are transcribed is from the 
library of a member of the family and bears the owner's 



of all fruits is contracted into its Seed, 
so the force of all our good Works is 
lodged in the Word of God. As diverse 
seeds bring diverse fruits, so diverse sen- 
tences of Scripture bring forth diverse 
Vertues in our souls. ... As from the best 
Seed (man preparing his gr6und with 
most industry) proceeds the best Crop 
of Corn, so from the best chosen Texts 
delivered by the best Preachers (those 
that use the most diligence in preparing, 
and making soft the hearts of their 
penitents towards God) proceed the best 
fruits of Vertue and good Works here, 
as unto the best Saints, to serve as 
fruits for a heavenly banquet in the next 

Now we see the meaning of the seed: 
let us examine the reasons why these 
severall effects follow upon the severall 
grounds the Seed falleth on. First, that 
falling on, the high-way can not enter to 
take root for growth, and consequently 
lying open, to be both trodden to pieces 
by passengers, and pecked up by birds, 
must needs be like to so much cast away: 
such is the Word of God, as Saint 
Matthew sayes, heard, but not under- 
stood, because the hearer doth not ask 
his spirituall Adviser the meaning of what 
is told him, but pretends to be satisfied 
therein, when indeed he carries away onely 
the empty sound of words, but is wholly 
ignorant of the sense through his own 
lazinesse in not asking the meaning 
thereof; and consequently what is thus 
ignorantly received, is not understood; 
and by that means makes no entrance 
into the heart of the hearer, so is trodden 
to pieces even by our own trampling over 
it, whilst we run from Sermons, as if we 
had never heard a word of what the- 
preacher said unto us; which indeed is 
commonly their case that come to Church 
for curiosity, to hear humane eloquence, 
not divine preaching; to see, and to be 
seen, not to hear their faults, and amend 
them; to laugh indeed at the preacher, 
if he please not the pallate of their 
fancy, or curious ears, as those did, to 

whom (for that very reason) Christ spake 
parables, not clear sense; and to such as 
these, be the preachers words never so 
clear, never so easie, they sound as 
parables in his ears, whose own distracted 
minde robs him of the faculty of under- 
standing what he hears; and though such 
men seeme to come to God, when they 
appear in Churches, yet in very truth 
their coming is to the Devill in Gods 
House: and no marvell then he carry 
them and their understandings away 
with him, lest hearing (that is intelligently 
hearing) they believe, and believing plow 
up the high-way, their hearts, with acts 
of love, and so render the Corn (the 
Word of God) capable to sink into their 
souls, and take root to their emolument, 
indeed to their Salvation, as the Text 

The first reason of the Corn failing to 
grow, was the want of sinking into the 
earth: now it fails, (though sunk) be- 
cause it wants moisture by incountering a 
stony or rocky ground, which is covered 
with onely a shallow superficies of earth, 
and can not receive moisture enough to 
carry the Corn deeper into the ground, 
and to root it there. This place of the 
Gospel alludes to schismaticks, whose 
petrifying hearts, whose cold affections 
to God turn all they hear of him (how 
ever they believe it to be true) into rocks 
and stones, into sterility, and barrenness 
of Soul; and hence rather than suffer the 
least temporall losse for Go.ds sake, they 
hazard to loose themselves eternally. A 
clear place to covince Hereticks by, that 
Faith alone is not sufficient without good 
Works to save them; and that Souls, 
though once in the Grace of God, may 
nevertheless loose his favour, and the 
Kingdome of Heaven too. 

The second reason of failing, was for 
want of ground to take sufficient root, 
and to cherish the Seed, in both which 
may seeme to be defects of intrinsecall 
requisites. Now, the third reason points 
at what is extrinsecally necessary, and 
rather at defects of redundance than of 



waait: because the Corn wants no inward 
cause of prospering, but is outwardly 
hindred, by being choaked, or kept down 
with overgrowing bryars and thorns, that 
hinder the rising thereof. Now, though 
our Saviour best knew how to explicate 
his own meaning, and hath declared that 
by these Thornes he means Riches, which 
prick the Soules of those that possesse 
them in their rising up to acts of love 
towards God, and so force them down 
again to the love of earthly things: yet 
Saint Gregory found this exposition so 
beyond his expectation of this Text that 
he, admiring, sayes, If he had thus ex- 
pounded it, the world would not have 
believed him to attinge the true sense- 
thereof; as being possessed, what they 
handle and hugge dayly in their armes 
(their wealth and riches) can not prick 
nor gall them. Yet our Saviour sayes they 
doe, so we must believe it. And truly 
so it is; for what more ordinary than 
to see the high and mighty men of the 
world (mighty, I mean, in wealth) abject 
and lowe in their growth upwards to 
Heaven, to see them still pricking 
down their rising Souls. And under the 
title of riches we may here understand 
honours, pleasures, pastimes of the vain, 
licentious, and idle people of the world, 
whose own conscience tells them they 
doe ill in following such courses as yet 
they will not leave. 

By the good ground is here understood 
.a tender Conscience, which makes a 
religion of each action; and so hearing 
Gods Word, first labours to understand 
it, then puts in execution the doctrine 
thereof, and thereby brings forth fruits of 
all sorts of Vertue and good Works; nay, 
brings forth indeed an hundredfold, or 
more, according to the proportion and 
measure of grace received from Almighty 
God. But we are here to observe the 
reduplicative speech of a good, and a 
very good heart, that is to say, a heart 
illuminated with Faith and working by 
Charity; or, as Albertus will have it, 
Good, by being free from Sin; very good, 

by being in all things conformable to 
the Will of God: 'or, as Saint Bonaven- 
ture sayes, Good by verity, or rectitude 
in the understanding; very good, by 
rectitude in the affections; or, as Saint 
Augustine will have it; Good, by loving 
our neighbour as our selves; very good, 
by loving God above all things; saying, 
and they properly retaine the Word (as 
the Blessed Virgin did) and bring forth 
the fruit thereof in patience, that is, 
by bearing with unperturbed minds the 
perturbations of this world. 

Though Saint Luke doe not mention 
the quantities of fruits produced, yet Saint 
Matthew (chap. 13, ver. 23) speaks of the 
thirty fold, the sixty fold, and the hun- 
dredfold fruit of those who hear the Word 
of God as they ought to doe; meaning, 
it makes some good men, others better, 
others best of all, according to the re- 
spective measures of dispositions in their 
Souls, answerable to their severall pro- 
portions of Grace, and co-operations there- 
with; or if we will have these threefold 
quantities all in one Soul, then say, we 
bring forth thirty, when we think well; 
sixty, when we speak well; an hundred- 
fold, when we do well : or when we begin 
to be vertuous, profit therein, and at last 
attain to the perfection of vertue, till we 
arrive at the top of all Vertues, or when 
we observe not onely Gods Command- 
ments, but his Counsells too, and at last 
his transcendent charity, being ready to 
die his Martyrs, in requitall of his dying 
our Saviour; and so make degrees and 
steps in our own hearts up to Heaven, 
as the Royall Prophet sayes he did, 
Psal. 83, making Ascents in his heart, by 
rising up towards Heaven, from Vertue 
to Vertue. 

ALL the Christian virtues Hve in the light 
of faith, all look to hope, all obtain their 
life from love of God. They are founded 
in humility, ruled by justice, guided by 
prudence, sustained by fortitude, preserved 
by temperance, strengthened and protected 
by patience. -Bishop Ullathonic. 



The Crest of the Bodkins. 


F a bullet had been lodged in his 
throat, Arthur Bodkin could not 
have felt more stunned or more 
pained than on suddenly perceiving 
Alice Nugent in the company of Count 
Ludwig von Kalksburg; but he managed 
to lift his cap, <and bow loftily before 
striding into the corridor.^ 

On the other hand, Alice felt grievously 
injured. Here was her lover, who had 
already in Vera Cruz treated her coldly, if 
not contemptuously, and without cause, 
playing the same unworthy role with 
increased vim. And why? But in addition 
another actor had appeared upon the stage, 
in the shape of the lady in the travel- 
stained carriage. Who was this person? 
Where did she come from? How came it 
that Arthur had been her travelling com- 
panion, and all alone? 

If Alice had been more worldly, and as 
a consequence more wise, she would have 
waited and bided her time, until all these 
queries would come up of themselves to 
make answer. But her heart was too much 
pained, her emotions too fresh, her honesty 
too full of purpose to brook delay, so she 
burst out: 

"Who is that woman, Count?" 

The Count smiled a cynical smile, as 
he replied : 

"I really do not know, Frdulein." 

"You do your smile tells me that 
you do." 

"On my honor, no." And he spoke 
the truth. 

"Find out for me at once, please, 
Count!" wishing to know everything ere 
she should come face to face with Arthur. 

"I will do so, if I can." And, bowing 
low, he walked in the direction which 
Arthur had taken, while Alice repaired 
to the apartments of the Empress. 

Bodkin reported himself to Bazaine. 

' ' The- lady here ? ' ' 

"Yes, sir." 

"Good!" And, after a pause : "That will 
do for the present. You know nothing of 
this lady, so can tell nothing. Keep your 
own counsel. You have begun well. We 
leave for Puebla in the morning. Report to 
me at headquarters in Mexico. Au revoir, 
and thanks ! " And the Marechal withdrew. 

"The mystery of the veiled woman," 
thought Arthur, "is as deep as ever. But 
hang the veiled woman ! Alice is here, 
and so is that detestable Count. I must 
reckon with him aye, and with her!" 
he added, bitterly. 

Rody O'Flynn, who was on the watch 
for the return of his master, hailed him 
with delight. 

"Only for to think of yer gettin' back 
safe an' sound as the Rock o' Dunnamass, 
an' wid a grand lady no less 

"That will do, Rody. Not a word to 
anybody about this lady." 

"Is it' me, sir? Faix, I know betther 
nor that. Sorra a word will ever come 
out of me head. But, Masther Arthur 
awe, is she 

"Not a word, Rody!" said Arthur, 
sternly. "This much I will tell you. I do 
not know who she is. I do not know her 
name, her station. I can't," he added, 
with a laugh, "tell you whether she is 
black or white." 

, "O mother o' Moses!" exclaimed Rody. 
"It's a quare counthry entirely we've 
come to, Masther Arthur!" 

Baron Bergheim was very well pleased 
when Bodkin reported to him. He had 
already written at length and expressed 
warm approval in relation to the cap- 
ture of Vincente Mazazo, wondering that 
Bazaine had not instantly ordered him to 
be shot. 

"None of us can understand Bazaine. 
He gives us the idea of a man who is 
always playing his own game, and always 
for his own hand. Hey!" he added, 
"which of Kalksburg's corns have you 
planted your Irish foot upon? He is no 
friend of yours; and, let me tell you, he 



is not a pleasant enemy. HeyljDut I am 
keeping my eye on him. Hey! a word in 
your inside ear" here the genial Baron 
dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. 
"He is after that dear little Nugent girl. 
Hey! but he hasn't a ghost of a chance. 
Hey! we won't stand that, will we?" 

There was a something so sympathetic 
about Baron Bergheim that Arthur opened 
his heart to him; and, pledging him to 
secrecy, told him all about his visit to 
Puebla, the return with the veiled lady, 
and Bazaine's instructions as to silence. 

"Confound him! he has made a cat's- 
paw of you but no, he dare not. You 
are on my staff, and he should have to 
answer to me. Hey! but this is a curious 
business. Who can she be? And you tell 
me that she was perfectly discreet? Hey!" 
"Absolutely so." 
"A Mexican?" 
"She spoke Spanish only." 
' ' Did it appear to you that she was 
known at the place you stopped?" 

"Yes, Baron, and treated with the 
utmost respect." 

"Hey! but it is a poser. Hey! how 
women creep into everything, and set 
everybody by the ears! There: go! You 
are dying to see somebody." 

To Arthur's intense chagrin, Miss 
Nugent was nowhere to be seen. That 
she was closeted with tie Empress he 
justly surmised; for the charming Car- 
lotta found in Alice one of those sweet 
-intelligences, one of those honest and 
trustful and loyal natures, that are 
unhappily not to be met with save at very 
rare intervals. The favorite of royalty 
is a position undermined with danger. 
It begets suspicion and fosters sycophancy. 
But Alice Nugent bore herself with such 
dignity, such sweetness, and such straight- 
forwardness as to win the honest seekers 
for favor, and to discomfit the tricksters. 
Upon the following morning the imperial 
cortege departed from picturesque Orizaba; 
and, following the route taken by Arthu.r 
in his trip with the mysterious lady, 
arrived at Fuebla, amid the pealing of 

bells, the firing of cannon, and the frantic 
huzzaing of the people. 

Arthur could not get near Alice, as she 
was in a closed carriage with the other 
ladies of the court, and at times some 
miles ahead. Once he thought that he 
perceived his companion of the previous 
day in a vehicle drawn by mules. He rode 
alongside, only to find the blinds down, 
and did not care to push his investiga- 
tions further. He was rather tired of this 
adventure, which meant nothing but dis- 
comfiture for him; since he felt perfectly 
certain that he stood, compromised in the 
sight of Alice, and that Count von Kalks- 
burg would not lose so good a chance 
of making matters worse, even if Alice 
did still care a little for him, which at 
times he half doubted. How, when,, and 
where would he reckon with Kalksburg? 
To provoke him openly after the promise 
pledged to Alice on the night of St. 
Patrick's Ball was of course out of the 

It was upon the twenty-fourth birthday 
of the Empress that the imperial party 
made its public entry into Puebla, the 
second city of the Empire. The reception 
accorded Maximilian and Carlotta was 
both enthusiastic and affectionate. They 
were escorted by the leading inhabitants 
to the grand old cathedral, where a most 
imposing service was held. Carlotta ex- 
pressed an almost childlike wonder when 
the crypt beneath the high altar was 
lighted, and the light distinctly seen 
through a wall of onyx five feet in thick- 
ness. Maximilian made an effective speech 
after the reception held at the City Hall, 
concluding with these words: 

"With a sentiment of pleasure mingled 
with grief I see your city. With pleasure 
I salute one of the largest, most beautiful 
and important cities of the Empire. With 
pain I contemplate the inhabitants agitated 
by the evils of political disruption. The 
government, to whose elevation you have 
contributed, will impose upon itself the 
task of healing your wounds as soon as 
possible; and of facilitating the develop- 



ment of prosperity by means of institu- 
tions which are in accordance with the 
age, so that the resources of this rich 
country may be cultivated in the highest 

In the afternoon the ^Empress, , accom- 
panied by Miss Nugent and another lady 
of her suite, visited the hospital and half 
a dozen religious houses, in all of which 
she left generous alms, as was her birth- 
day custom from childhood. The condi- 
tion of the hospital affected her deeply. 

"Alice," she said, "I must do something 
for these poor sick and suffering people. 
It is my birthday; and do you know, dear, 
that ever since I was so high" -touching 
Miss Nugent's knee "I have always 
given away all that I had on that day for 
the sake of Our Lady? To-day, for the sake 
of Nuestra Senora, I shall send them all 
I have of my own. Let me see how much 
it amounts to," -consulting a small book 
bound in ivory, with gold clasps, that hung 
by a golden chain from her waist. "Good! 
I have three thousand dollars. "Please 
write a letter to the mayor for me." And 
the following letter, now an historical 
document deposited in the memorial room 
of the Palacio Nacional in the city of 
Mexico, was written by Alice at the dic- 
tation of the gracious, generous young 
Empress : 

"SENOR PREFECT: It is very pleasing 
to me to find myself in Puebla the first 
anniversary of my birthday which I have 
passed far from my own country. Such a 
day is for everybody one of reflection. 
And these days would be sad for me if the 
care, attention, and proofs of affection of 
which I have been the object in this city 
did not cause me to realize that I am 
in my new country among my people. 
And I give thanks to God because He 
has conducted me here, presenting unto 
Him fervent prayers for the happiness 
of the country which is mine. 

"I wish, Sefior Prefect, that the poor 
of this city may participate in the pleasure 
which I have experienced among you. I 
send you three thousand dollars of my 

own private fund, which are to be dedi- 
cated to the rebuilding of the House of 
Charity, the ruinous state of which made 
me feel sad yesterday; so that the unfor- 
tunate ones who found themselves deprived 
of shelter may return to inhabit it. 

"Assure my compatriots of Puebla that 
they possess, and will always possess, my 

"I wonder," observed the Empress, 
reflectively, "if I shall ever have enough 
to give away so that not a solitary poor 
person shall be found in the Empire? 
It might come to pass," she added: "they 
talk in such an extraordinary way about 
the wealth of the mines here -Aladdin's 
Caves. Who knows but on my next birth- 
day I shall have a mine pouring out 
silver like water?" 

Fate was unkind to our hero. Albeit 
lie was sighing for speech of his fair 
mistress, Kismet denied him this; and 
he was compelled to put up with distant 
glimpses of her, which seemed but to 
aggravate his passion. 

The Empress was so taken with Miss 
Nugent that she would scarcely allow 
her to quit her presence. She made' her 
private secretary, and committed to her 
care a correspondence that constantly 
increased. Luckily for Alice, she was a 
perfect Spanish scholar; her love for 
this most sonorous language the language 
of prayer having been imbibed from a 
number of old tomes in the possession of 
her father, sometime the property of her 
great - granduncle, .Father Nugent, who 
had been a student of Salamanca. Her 
knowledge of Spanish stood her in good 
stead with the Empress; and as Carlotta 
spoke the purest Castilian in the purest 
way, it was a source of delight to her to 
converse with her Maid of Honor in this 
language for hours at a time. But of 
course poor Bodkin could not imagine 
that all of Miss Nugent's time was 
demanded and consumed by her imperial 
mistress, and took her non-appearance as 
an evidence that she was engaged in 
avoiding him. 


"Let her go!" he would siiy to himself. 
"There are as good fish in the sea as 
ever came out of it are there?" was the 
query that leaped into life ere the sentence 
was one-half concluded. 

"Hey!" cried Baron Bergheim to 
Arthur, the morning after their arrival at 
Puebla, "you must get on to the capital 
within" (taking out his watch) "twenty 
no, ten minutes. Here are your dispatches. 
We leave to-morrow morning. I have just 
been making inquiries in the Portales 
Mercatores about your friend and his 
mysterious lady, and I may have news for 
you when we meet. Five minutes gone! 
Order your horse, and, hey! take five 
minutes with your lady-love." 

"I I can not see her, sir," stammered 

"She is always with the Empress. Hey! 
I will have her here when you return." 

It did not take five minutes to make 
the necessary preparations for departure, as 
Rody acted with lightning-like rapidity; 
and Arthur returned to Bergheim's apart- 
ments to find Alice Nugent in earnest 
conversation with the genial Baron. 

"Hey! you here, Bodkin? I thought 
you were on the road ere this," he 
laughed. "Why! Hey! What's this? A 
lover's quarrel, hey?" 



This word came simultaneously from 
the lips of both Alice and Arthur. 

"Hey! you can not fool me. Five 
minutes, caballero, and asta manana. What 
do you think of that, Alice? Hey!" 
And the gallant old worthy made his exit, 
nodding his head with a very roguish and 
knowing air. 

For two or three seconds there was a 
dead silence. 

"Was this meeting of your planning, 
Mr. Bodkin?" asked Alice, in so cold and 
measured a tone that every word fell on 
Arthur's hot heart like drops of frozen 

"It was not," replied Arthur, bluntly 
and decisively. 

" Indeed?" 

"Miss Nugent.," he exclaimed, "Baron 
Bergheim told me that you would be- 
here, and and God knows how glad I 
was! That's all." 

Her face, which had assumed a hard, 
set look, softened a little. 

"Who is that person you dashed over 
from Orizaba to meet and bring back- 

"I do not know." 

"You do not know?" her voice in- 
creasing in pitch at each word. 

"I do not." 

"You do not?" 

"Miss Nugent, I repeat to you that 
I do not know who she is, not even 
her name. I know absolutely nothing 
about her." 

"Perhaps you will tell me that you did 
not leave Orizaba at all; that you did not 
ride like the wind; that you did not 
meet her in this city; that you did not 
accompany her to Orizaba." 

"Every word that you say is perfectly 
true ; but I again repeat that I do not know 
who she is, and that I did not speak a 
dozen words to her." 

"This is diplomatic reticence with a 
vengeance. Outside of diplomacy, it has 
another name, and 

"Stop!" almost thundered Arthur. 
"Enough of this! You you would accuse 
me of lying, and to you! The day will 
come, Alice Nugent, when you will render 
me justice; and till then I must refer 
you for further particulars to Count 
Ludwig von Kalksburg." And, bowing 
low, and without casting so much as a 
parting glance at the pale, excited girl, 
Arthur Bodkin strode from the room. 

Some hours of hard riding brought our 
hero and his retainer to the city of Mexico, 
which they entered at night. Having 
'delivered his dispatches at the National 
Palace, where he was provided with quar- 
ters, he at once sallied forth in quest of his 
friend Harry Talbot, and experienced no 
difficulty in finding No. 5, Calle San Fran- 
cisco. Entering a dark archway, Arthur 



found himself in a patio, or quadrangle, 
with a gallery running round the four 
sides. In the centre was a bed of shrubs 
and sweet-scented flowers. Ascending a 
well-worn stone staircase, Arthur knocked 
at the first door to the left, and was invited 
in Spanish to enter. 

The apartment in which he found him- 
self was small, low-ceilinged, and dimly 
lighted. An oil-painting of Our Lady of 
Guadalupe and a portrait of the patriotic 
priest Hidalgo adorned the walls. The 
furniture was of carved oak, black as ebony 
from age, and dating from the time of 
Hernando Cortez. In a corner sat a man 
engaged in smoking a cigarette. He wore 
a sombrero with a brim about four inches 
wide, and a jacket of many buttons. This 
man did not remove his sombrero, and 
grunted something unintelligible in reply 
to Arthur's inquiry for Talbot. 

Again Arthur returned to the charge. 

"Manana! manana!" (To-morrow! to- 
morrow !) 

"Confound your to-morrow!" answered 
Bodkin, in an angry tone. "It's nothing 
but manana in this country." 

"Manana! manana!" shouted the man. 

"Oh, go to Hong-Kong!" instinctively 
burst from Arthur's lips. 

"Go "to Hong- Kong yourself, Arthur 
Bodkin of Ballyboden!" roared the man, 
flinging off his sombrero to reveal the 
well-known and thrice-welcome features 
of Harry Talbot, who wrung Arthur's 
hands again and again, crying: " Viva el 
Mexico! ' ' 

(To be continued.) 

Lore of the Mass. 


ALL creatures unite together, all help 
one another; the toil of each one benefits 
himself and all the world; the work has 
been apportioned among the different 
members of the whole of society by a 
tacit agreement. If in this apportionment 
errors are committed, if certain individuals 
have not been employed according to their 
capacities, these defects of detail diminish 
in the sublime conception of the whole. 

Emile Souvestre. 


MASS. The word "Mass" comes from 
the Latin missa, another form of 
missio meaning "dismissal." In early 
times during the Holy Sacrifice there 
were two solemn dismissals: one of the 
catechumens after the Gospel; next, of the 
faithful at the end of the service. But 
in the course of time the word for dis- 
missal came to signify the service itself. 
"We confess," says the Catechism of the 
Council of Trent, "that the Sacrifice of the 
Mass is one and the same sacrifice as that 
of the Cross; the Victim is one and the 
same, Christ Jesus, who offered Himself, 
once only, a bloody sacrifice on the altar 
of the Cross." Nearly all theologians are 
agreed that the essence of the Mass con- 
sists in the consecration of the bread and 
wine at the Elevation. Mass is always 
essentially the same; but, on account of 
accidental differences, we speak of different 
kinds of Masses. 

catechumens was given in the early Church 
to those who were being instructed pre- 
paratory to entering the Church. They 
occupied a special place in the church, and 
were dismissed after the sermon of the 
Mass. The part of the Mass at which they 
were present was called the Mass of the 

(2) Low MASS. Mass said without 
music, deacon or subdeacon ; the celebrant 
saying the Mass throughout, the server or 
acolyte making the responses on behalf of 
the people, and ministering to the priest. 

(3) DEAD MASS. (See Requiem Mass.) 

Mass said with a consecrated Host re- 
served from a former Mass. It is not 
properly a Mass at all, but the Commun- 
ion of the priest with a Host previously 
consecrated. Such is the Mass of Good 



(5) "DRY MASS." When neither Con- 
secration nor Communion takes place, 
the Mass is called a Dry Mass; though it 
is not, strictly speaking, a Mass at all. 
It was in ancient times said at sea, on 
account of the difficulty of offering the 
ordinary Mass; also for the sick and 
prisoners who could not attend services 
in church. 

(6) MISSA CANTATA. A Mass sung, but 
without deacon-* and subdeacon, or the 
ceremonies proper to High Mass. In this 
country such a Mass is generally called a 
High Mass. 

(7) NUPTIAL MASS. A special votive 
Mass for a bride and bridegroom, con- 
taining special lessons and chants suitable 
to the Sacrament of Matrimony. It may 
not be celebrated from Advent Sunday 
till after the. Octave of the Epiphany, 
nor from Ash- Wednesday till after Low 

(8) REQUIEM MASS. A Mass said with 
appointed rite for the dead, and so called 
from the first word of the Introit. It is 
said in black vestments. Masses of this 
kind are prohibited on some of the greater 
feasts, the Church being unwilling that the 
festivity of these days should be diminished 
by the mourning inherent in the Com- 
memoration of the Dead. If celebrated 
with deacon and subdeacon it is called 
Solemn Requiem. The psalm Judica, the 
Gloria and the Credo are omitted, as also 
the blessing at the end of the Mass. 

(9) SOLEMN HIGH MASS. 'Mass sung, 
with incense, music, deacon and subdeacon. 
If a bishop celebrates, this is called a 
Pontifical High Mass. 

(10) VOTIVE MASS. One which does 
not correspond with the Office of the day, 
but is said according to the choice (Latin, 
votum) of the priest. 

or minister whose duty it is to superintend 
the ceremonies at a High Mass, or other 
solemn ecclesiastical function. 

MEMENTO. Two prayers in the Canon 
of the Mass, the one before, the other 
after the Consecration. In the former, the 

priest makes a special commemoration of 
the living; and in the latter, of the dead 
for whom he may wish to pray. 


MISSAL. The book which contains the 
prayers said by the priest at the altar, as 
well as all that is officially read or sung in 
connection with the offering of the Holy 
Sacrifice of the Mass throughout the eccle- 
siastical year. Also called Mass Book. 

MUNDA COR MEUM. A prayer said by 
the celebrant or deacon before the reading 
or singing of the Gospel at Mass. It runs 
as follows: "Cleanse my heart and my 
lips, O Almighty God, who didst cleanse 
the lips of the Prophet Isaias with a burn- 
ing coal. Vouchsafe so to cleanse me, 
through Thy gracious mercy, that I may 
be able to proclaim Thy holy Gospel 
worthily. Through Christ, our L/ord. 

MUNDATORY. (See Purifier.) 

NICENE CREED. (See Creed.) 

to us sinners"). The first words of a 
prayer said before the Pater Noster, 
wherein the Church, asks that we may 
receive a share in the eternal blessedness 
enjoyed by the Apostles and other saints 

NUPTIAL MASS. (See Mass.) 

OBLATION. -(See Offertory.) 

OFFERTORY. The prayer and ceremony 
by which the priest offers up the bread 
and wine taken for the consecration in the 
Mass. The Offertory is usually from the 
Psalms, and, like the Introit, bears on 
the feast of the day. 

ORATE FRATRES. A prayer said by the 
priest after the Offertory and Lavabo, 
bidding the people pray that the sacrifice 
offered by him and them may be accept- 
able to God. The answer made by the 
server (in the name of the people) is: 
"May the Lord receive this sacrifice from 
thy hands to the praise and glory of His 
name, for our benefit also, and for that 
of the Holy Church." 

ORDINARY. Those prayers of the Mass 
which always remain the same. The 



variable parts are called the "Proper." 

ORDO. A book published annually con- 
taining all the feasts of the Church for 
each day in the year, with their rank and 
privileges in the ecclesiastical calendar. 

ORKMUS ("Let us pray"). An invita- 
tion prefixed to many prayer's in the Mass, 
inviting the faithful to join in prayer, and 
implying that the Mass is an act of 
worship in which both priest and people 
take part. 

ORIENTATION. (See Altar.) 

PALL. A square stiffened piece of linen 
placed on the chalice at Mass. Originally 
it was not distinct from the corporal, part 
of the latter being so arranged that it 
'could be easily drawn over the host and 
chalice. The upper side may be orna- 
mented with embroidery, or painting in 
various colors; but the lower piece must 
be of plain white linen. It is blessed by a 
bishop, or by a priest who has facilities 
to do so. 

words of two hymns celebrating, respec- 
tively, the Passion and the Blessed Sacra- 
ment. One of them, attributed to St. 
Venantius Fortunatus, is sung during the 
Veneration of the Cross on Good Friday; 
the other, written by St. Thomas Aquinas 
for the Office of Corpus Christi, is sung 
in the procession on that feast and on 
Holy Thursday. 

PARTICLES. (See Altar Breads.) 

PASCHAL CANDLE. The large wax 
candle blessed before the Mass on Easter 
Saturday. The blessing is performed by a 
deacon, wearing a white dalmatic. A long 
Eucharistic prayer, called the Exultet, is 
chanted by him; and in the course of this 
chanting, the candle is first ornamented 
with five grains of incense, and then 
lighted with the newly blessed fire. From 
Holy Saturday until Ascension Day the 
Paschal Candle is left with its candlestick 
in the sanctuary, standing upon the Gospel 
side of the altar, and it is lighted during 
High Mass, and Solemn Vespers on Sun- 
clays. It is extinguished after the Gospel 
on Ascension Day, and is then removed. 

The five grains of incense set crosswise 
in the candle recall the sacred wounds 
retained in Christ's glorified body; and 
the lighting of the candle with new fire, 
itself serves as a living image of the 

PATEN. The sacred plate of precious 
metal on which the host is placed at Mass. 
Like the bowl of the chalice, it must be of 
gold or silver, and it can not be used 
before it has been consecrated with chrism 
by a bishop. In ancient times it was much 
larger than now, for it was made to hold 
all the bread that was consecrated at 
Mass. Hence arose the custom of re- 
moving it from the altar and giving it to 
the subdeacon to hold from the Offertory 
till the Communion. 

PATER NOSTER. The first two words 
(Latin) of the Lord's Prayer. It occurs in 
the Mass shortly before the Communion, 
and in a High Mass is sung by the 

PAX. (See Kiss of Peace.). 

("May the peace of the Lord be always 
with you"). Said before the Agnus Dei; 
the response being, Et cum spiritu tuo 
("And with thy spirit"). 

ever and ever"). The concluding words 
of many of the prayers said in the 

PLAIN CHANT. The Church music in- 
troduced or perfected by St. Gregory the 
Great, and still dominant in Christian 
worship in all Western lands. It is also 
called the Gregorian Chant. 

PLUVIALE. (See Cope.) 

PORTABLE ALTAR. -(See Altar.) 

POST COMMUNION. A prayer, or pray- 
ers, varying with the day, and said after 
the priest has taken the ablutions. In a 
High Mass it is sung by the celebrant. 

PREDELLA. The highest step of the 
sanctuary, on which the altar stands. 

PREFACE. The solemn words of intro- 
duction to the Canon of the Mass, varying 
with the season. Its purport is to give 
praise to God for His mercies in the re- 

(U-iiiptioii of mankind; to call upon the 
angels to assist at our great sacrifice; and 
to put ourselves in communion with them 
in the songs of love and adoration which 
they continually present at the throne of 
God. In early times the number of Prefaces 
was very large. At present they are as 
follows: for the Nativity, the Epiphany, 
Lent, Passiontide, Easter, Ascension, Whit- 
Sunday, Trinity; for the Blessed Virgin, 
the Apostles, and a common Preface for 
days to which no other is assigned. 
The Preface is sung in High Mass by the 
celebrant, except the concluding portion, 
which is sung by the choir. This portion 
is known as the Sanctus, and is .as follows : 
"Holy, holy, holy, Lord, God of Hosts! 
The heavens and the earth are filled' 
with Thy glory. Hosanna in the highest. 
Blessed is He that cometh in the name of 
the Lord. Hosanna in the highest." At 
the Sanctus the server rings the bell to 
give notice to the faithful that the Canon 
of the Mass is about to begin. 


PRIEST. Only bishops and priests are 
qualified to offer up the Holy Sacrifice of 
the Mass. This power the priest receives 
at Ordination. For the worthy celebration 
of the Mass, it is necessary that the cele- 
brant be in the state of grace and fasting 
from midnight. 


PROPER. (See Ordinary.) 

PROSE. (See Sequence.) 

PURIFICATOR. A linen cloth, marked 
with a cross, used for cleansing the chalice 
in the Mass. Also called mundatory. Its 
size is not prescribed by the rubrics, but 
it is usually twelve to eighteen inches 
long, and nine or ten inches wide. Before 
being given to a lay person to be washed 
or mended, it must first be washed, 
then rinsed twice by a person in sacred 

RELICS. In the early ages of the Church 
the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass was often 
offered on the tombs of the martyrs ; hence 
arose the custom of enclosing a portion of 
their relics in the altar-stone. St. John, in 

his vision of the heavenly sacrifice-, says: 
"I saw under the altar the souls of thvm 
that were slain for the word of God." 
(Apoc.,vi, 9.) When the priest goes up to 
the altar at the beginning of the Mass, he 
kisses the place where the relics arc 

REPOSE, ALTAR OF. The altar where 
the Sacred Host, consecrated in the Mass 
of Holy Thursday, is reserved until the 
Mass of the Presanctified on the follow- 
ing day. 

REQUIESCANT IN PACE ("May they rest 
in peace"). Said at the end of a Requiem 
Mass instead of lie, missa est. 
REREDOS. (See Altar Screen.) 
RESPONSORY. (See Gradual.) 
RETABLE. (See Altar Screen.) 
RUBRICS. The rules and directions to 
be followed in Mass and other sacred ser- 
vices of the Liturgy. The word "rubric" 
is taken from the Roman law in which 
the titles, maxims, and principal decisions 
were written in red (Latin, ruber}. 

SACRISTY. The structure adjoining the 
sanctuary where the clergy vest for Mass. 
Also called the vestry. 

SACRIFICE. An offering or oblation of 
some sensible thing, by a lawfully ap- 
pointed minister, in order to acknowledge, 
by the destruction or, at least, the change 
effected in the offering, the majesty and 
sovereign power of God; to proclaim His 
absolute dominion over everything created, 
and to deprecate His wrath and seek His 
favor. Christianity knows but one sacri- 
fice, the sacrifice which was offered in a 
bloody manner on the Cross. But in order 
to apply to individual men in sacrificial 
form through a constant sacrifice, the 
merits of redemption definitely won by 
the sacrifice of the Cross, the Redeemer 
Himself instituted the Holy Sacrifice of 
the Mass, to be an unbloody continuation 
and representation of the bloody sacrifice 
of Calvary. 

SANCTUARY. The space in the church 
reserved for the high altar and clergy. 

SANCTUARY LAMP. A lamp, fed with 
olive oil, which burns before the altar 



where the Bk-sst-d Sacrament is preserved. 

SANCTUS. (See Preface.) 

SECRET. One or more prayers following 
the Offertory, and said by the priest in 
an undertone (hence the name "Secret"). 
The last clause, Per omnia sacula sczcu- 
lorum, is sung or said aloud by the cele- 
brant. There may be several Secrets in a 
Mass, the extra ones being commemora- 
tions of some other saint or festival. 

SEDILIA. The seats in the sanctuary 
for the officiating priest and his ministers. 

SEPULCHRE. (See Altar Cavity.) 

SEQUENCE. A rhythm sometimes said 
between the Epistle and Gospel. Sequences 
were formerly very numerous, but at 
present only five remain: Victims Pas- 
chali, at Easter; Veni, Sancte Spiritus, at 
Pentecost ; Lauda, Sion, at Corpus Christi ; 
Dies Irce, in Masses of the Dead; and 
Stabat Mater in two Masses of the Blessed 
Virgin. They are also called "Proses." 

SERVER. (See Acolyte.) 

SIGN OF THE CROSS. Several devotional 
acts are so named: (i) The large cross 
traced from forehead to breast and from 
shoulder to shoulder, while saying the 
words, "In the name of the Father, and of 
the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." 
This the priest does when he begins Mass 
at the foot of the altar. The same sign 
occurs frequently, with different words, 
throughout the Mass. (2) Another sign of 
the cross is that made in the air by bishops 
and priests when blessing objects of devo- 
tion. This is also done frequently during 
the Mass. (3) A third kind is made with 
the thumb, that, for example, which the 
priest or deacon traces on the book of the 
Gospels and then upon his forehead, lips 
and breast at Mass. 

SOUTANE. (See Cassock.) 

said in the Mass of the Seven Dolors of the 
Blessed Virgin. It celebrates the emotions 
of Our Laxly at the foot of the Cross, and 
was written probably by Jacopone da Todi 
(d. 1306), an Italian Franciscan. 

STIPEND. A certain monetary offering 
which any one makes to a priest, who 

accepts the obligation of celebrating a 
Mass in accordance with the intentions 
of the donor. It is sometimes called an 
"Intention." It is not, of course, a pay- 
ment for the Mass, but a contribution to 
the proper support of the clergy. 

STOLE. -A long band of precious cloth, 
of the same width as the maniple, but 
about three times its length. It is worn by 
the bishop hanging straight down in front, 
by the priest crossed on the breast, and by 
the deacon over the left shoulder only, and 
fastened at the right side. When putting 
on the stole the priest, kissing it, says: 
"Restore to me, O Lord! the stole of im- 
mortality which I lost through the trans- 
gression of my first parents; and, though 
I approach unworthily to celebrate Thy 
sacred mystery, may I merit nevertheless 
eternal joy . " At the ordination of a deacon, 
the bishop places it on the left shoulder of 
the candidate, saying: "Receive from the 
hand of God the white garment, and fulfil 
thy duty; for God is mighty enough to 
give thee His grace in rich measure." At 
the ordination of a priest, the bishop draws 
the part of the stole that rests at the back 
of the candidate's neck forward over the 
breast, and lays the two ends crosswise, 
saying: "Receive the yoke of the Lord; 
for His yoke is sweet and His burden is 
light." . 

STONE. (See Altar Stone.) 

SUBDEACON. A minister of the Church 
ranking next below the deacon. He prepares/ 
the sacred vessels and the bread and wine 
for Mass, pours the water into the chalice 
at the Offertory, and sings the Epistle. 
Subdeaconship is conferred when the 
bishop gives the empty chalice and paten 
to the candidate to be touched, saying: 
"See what kind of ministry is given you, 
etc." He also gives him the book of the 
Epistles to be touched, saying: "Take the 
book of the -Epistles, and receive power to 
read them in the Holy Church of God for 
the living and the dead, in the name of 
the Lord." A subdeacon is bound to celi- 
bacy and to the recitation of the Divine 
Office. In a Solemn High Mass he is vested 



like the deacon, except that he does not 
wear a stole. 

SURPLICE. The white linen garment 
which is worn, not by priests only, but 
also by the lowest minister who officiates 
at the celebration of divine service. It 
symbolizes the robe of innocence and 
purity purchased for the human race by 
our Divine Lord. 

SURSUM CORDA ("Lift up your 
hearts''). Said by the priest at the 
beginning of the Preface. The answer is, 
Habemus ad Dominum ("We have lifted 
them up to the Lord"). 

SYMBOL. A- primitive name for the 

TABERNACLE. The small structure, in 
the center of the altar, in which the Holy 
Eucharist is reserved under lock and key. 
No matter what its material be, the in- 
terior must always be covered over with 
silk, and a clean corporal must lie under 
the vessel in which the Blessed Sacrament 
is enclosed. Relics and pictures are not to 
be displayed for veneration either on or 
before the Tabernacle. Neither is it per- 
missible to place a vase of flowers in such a 
manner before the door of the Tabernacle 
as to conceal it. 

TE IGITUR. The opening word of the 
first prayer of the Canon. 

THURIBLE. (See Incense.) 

THURIFER. (See Incense.) 

TRACT. In all Masses from Septua- 
gesima to Holy Saturday, and on weekdays 
-in Advent, the Alleluia is omitted, and 
replaced by a portion of a psalm called the 
Tract, from being sung by the cantor 
above tractim, that is, without break or 
interruption of other voices. 

Church uses to express the doctrine that 
by the words of consecration the whole sub- 
stance of the bread is changed into the 
body, and the whole substance of the wine 
into the blood of Jesus Christ. 

VEIL. (See Humeral Veil, Chalice Veil.) 

Ghost"). A sequence for Pentecost, sup- 
posed to have been written in the eleventh 

century by Blessed Hermanus Contractus. 

first words of the Preface. 

VESTMENTS. During the lifetime of the 
Apostles and their immediate successors, 
^the form of the sacred vestments hardly 
differed from those used in ordinary life. 
Vestments are always blessed by the bishop 
or priest before being worn at the altar. 
The vestments worn at Mass are the amice, 
alb, girdle, maniple, stole, and chasuble. 

VESTRY. (See Sacristy.) 

written in the sixth century by Venantius 
Fortunatus, and sung on Good Friday 
when the Blessed Sacrament is carried in 
procession from the Altar of Repose to 
the high altar. 

VICTIM^ PASCHALI. 'A sequence sung 
at Easter; probably composed by Robert, 
King of the Franks, in the eleventh century. 

VOTIVE MASS. (See Mass.) 

WASHING OF HANDS. -(See Lavabo.) 

WATER. A little water is added to the 
wine in the Mass, according to a very old 
tradition that water was mingled with the 
wine in the Eucharistic cup by Our Lord 
Himself. Symbolically, it is supposed to 
refer to the water which, with blood, 
issued from our Saviour's side after His 
death, as also to, the human nature, 
united to* the divine, in Christ. 

WAX. For mystical reasons, the Church 
prescribes that the candles used at Mass 
and at other liturgical functions be made 
of beeswax. The pure wax extracted by 
bees from flowers symbolizes the pure 
flesh of Christ received from His Virgin 
Mother; the wick signifies the soul of 
Christ, and the flame represents His 
Divinity. It is not, however, necessary 
that they be made of beeswax without 
any admixture. 

WINE. (See Altar Wine.) 

(The End.) 

IT is a common remark that those men 
talk most who think least; just as frogs 
cease their quacking when a light is 
brought to the water-side. Richter. 





in your sloe-ping thoughts and in your 

The lure of distant places comes to you, 
While on a barren way your soul is making 
A noble battle fdr the pure and true; 

When hot rebellion sends you white and shaken, 
With eager feet, to seek the fairer way, 

And then, by heavenly impulse overtaken, 
You've turned again to fight another day; 

When you are tired of pain, and sick with 


And blinded by the tears you must not weep, 
When o'er your heart old dreams, old hopes come 


Back from the years that you had deemed 
asleep ; 

When, with relentless patience, you have crushed 


And made no useless moan for what has been; 
When wild desires awaken, you have hushed 


By God's own mercy, you have conquered 

- n .+.... - . -- 

The Way of a Maid. 


MY Gustav, my dear old Gustav, 
you can not imagine how happy I 
was during that week of furlough when we 
three were all together again as we used 
to be! And already it seems like a dream. 
Did I say "as we used to be?" Ah, no! 
For one of us, at least, had entered on a 
new, strange, sorrowful road our poor 
Frederic ! 

O Gustav, I feel so old! These months 
of war have been so long, so cruel; and 
I am old nearly twenty. And how could 
you have had the heart at this time to 
write such trivialities as: "You are so 
beautiful, Lena. Never have I seen you so 
charming as you are now?" Does any 
woman, German or French, whom this 
war has plunged into its most terrible 
anxieties, want, in these sad hours, atten- 

tion and flattery? No, no! Why did you 
not realize this, Gustav? I am displeased 
with you that, after all our years of 
friendship and companionship, you know 
me so little. I do not want compliments 
now and from you ! 

Always, always my mind goes back to 
those other days of our childhood. How 
united we were we three, two boys and 
an odd little girl! Yes, I was odd, I 
know it; otherwise I should not have 
preferred the society of two boys to that 
of girl friends. And you both must have 
been a little bit out of the ordinary to have 
cared so much for me. Well, our families 
were such close neighbors and sincere 
friends, that accounts for some of it. 

Do you remember the ambuscades we 
used to make, and the terrible onslaughts 
we had -playing Indian? Oh, how my 
soul used to thrill and my heart beat and 
my blood curdle at your savage cry of 
"Wah! Wah! Wah!" Frederic was not 
so fierce. He had compassion on my 
timidity now and then; but you, Gustav, 
never. And the day I fell into the pond! 
You can not have forgotten that; I am 
sure I never shall. You pulled me out; 
and we built a big fire to dry ourselves, so 
that we might not be scolded when we 
returned home. And Frederic warmed my 
feet in his hands, and you laughed because 
my hair, all out of curl, hung limp and 
dripping on my shoulders. Frederic dried 
that also, as well as he could, with our 
three handkerchiefs and the napkins in 
which we had carried our lunch. 

And the day they cut down our old oak 
tree! Do you remember we all cried, the 
boys of ten as well as the girl of six? And 
the day I beat Frederic with my fists be- 
cause he brought me a beautiful butterfly 
which he had first transfixed to a tree with 
a pin! And that time when you climbed 
the big plum tree and shook down the hail 
on my face as I looked up at you! My, 
how angry I was! An4 how we used to 
skate on the ponds in winter, from morning 
till almost night! And then, in the late 
afternoons, in our great chimney-corner, 



how you would both read to me, or tell 
me the most blood-curdling stor-jes? You 
remember it all, Gustav? 

Frederic was by far the sweetest and 
most gentle of the three; perhaps because 
he had lost his mother when he was so 
young. Yet I don't know I fancy he was 
born so. He did everything I told him 
to do, yet took such care of me. You, 
on the contrary, were very masterful: 
you gave us both orders and we did not 
question them. Yes, Gustav, you were 
sometimes rough in those days, you will 
acknowledge it. And you must confess 
that I was most docile, and that I loved 
you dearly. 

And then came the time when you both 
declared that when we grew up I must 
marry you. Even at that early age I 
comprehended I could not be the wife of 
Gustav and Frederic at the same time. So 
I said to each of you, ' ' Yes, yes, of course ! ' ' 
And that seemed to satisfy you. Once I 
remember, when Frederic urged me to 
give a final answer, you said, carelessly, 
"We will attend to that later." And so it 
went on ; both of you away at college and 
I at the convent; but always during the 
vacations great friends as ever. Yet with 
a difference. I began to understand it, 
to realize that you both loved me in a new 
fashion. And I O Gustav, I 'did not 
know what to do. 

And at last came the terrible news of the 
war! And you went, side by side, with 
your regiment, to the front. And I had 
not been able to say good-bye! Ah, how 
much I suffered you will never know ! And 
then and then Frederic shot and cruelly 
wounded, but for you, no doubt trampled " 
upon and crushed to death! But you took 
him on your shoulders and carried him to 
safety. Then leaving him to the care of 
others, you went back to the fight. Ah, 
yes, he told me all about it! 

During your leave, I am sure that, in 
spite of all the sad circumstances, we were 
happier than we had ever been in our 
lives. We 'can realize things; we are 
older; we have been tried. We were 

almost surprised, and certainly thankful 
to God that we had been permitted once 
more to be together. How joyfully Fred- 
eric took your hand and yet how sadly, 
as he said under his bandaged eyes: 
"Dear Gustav, when shall I be able to 
see your face again?" 

It was delightful, that visit, till the end, 
when you told me the doctor had said 
that Frederic would never again see your 
face or mine. And how we tried to 
keep it from him! 

Alas, alas, I can write no more to-day! 



you strange, selfish, kind, boyish, 
unreasonable Gustav! Why did you write 
me another such letter? Wanted me to 
promise myself to you now when when 
Gustav, you were not wont to be jealous. 
What has come over you? I should not 
think that in such dreadful times as these 
you would even think of love or jealousy. 
And jealous of Frederic, your dearest and 
oldest friend ! Yes, it is true that I seldom 
leave him, except to go home to sleep. 
But, Gustav, w r ould I not do the same for 
you if you were in his place? 

O Gustav, how hurt he would feel could 
he have known the contents of that last 
letter! I read parts of it to him, of course; 
but when I hesitated, skipping others, he 
would say, "You are concealing something, 
Lena. Has anything happened? Has 
Gustav been wounded?" And then I was 
obliged to tell a lie, saying, "No, Frederic: 
everything is right with Gustav, only 
his writing is so queer and scrawly! 
Probably he was using a drumhead for a 
desk." And then he laughed aloud and said, 
"O you dear little Lena, don't you know 
that there are no drumheads there, in 
the trenches where Gustav is? Did you 
think the bands went about playing, so 
that the enemy would know just where 
to catch us?" It teased me a little, I 
confess; but I was so glad to see the 
poor fellow so merry that I did not mind 
it at all. 

It is pitiful to hear him speak of the 



future, when he can return to the front, 
where you will again be together as before. 
He has not the slightest idea of his real 
condition, and who can tell him? No one, 
yet. He will have to realize it by degrees, 
and as the sad truth comes to him gradually 
with returning strength, he will be better 
able to bear it. We are all living from day 
to day. So, Gustav, do not bother your 
head with foolish thoughts, but let us both 
serve our friend as best we can, I, by the 
ministrations I am so glad to give; you, 
by your devotion to him, and to me, as 
friends. Do you understand? Do not soil 
your heart with jealous and unjust sus- 
picions; do not vex me again by referring 
to engagement or marriage. Why, Gustav, 
I can not reconcile those thoughts and 
ideas with what I know of you. 

Yesterday I broke off this letter to read 
your last just as unreasonable, just as 
foolish as the other. It seems to me your 
devotion is straying a little from your 
duties, and your country, to be able to 
pen such a rodomontade as that. And 
not a word of Frederic in the whole letter! 
I have not told him that it came yesterday ; 
there was nothing in it for him. You are 
going to alienate my friendship if you 
continue to go on in that way, Gustav. 
The more you rave and say ridiculous 
things, the nearer I draw to Frederic, 
who is so unsuspicious and so helpless, and 
who has for his little Lena the real, true 
love of a brother. It is so restful to be 
necessary to him; so sweet to wait upon 
him, to read to him, to walk slowly through 
the garden with him, morning and evening. 
And it is worse than disagreeable to be 
obliged to quarrel with a strong, healthy, 
grumbling soldier, who chooses a most 
extraordinary time for his selfish, unmanly 
wooing. Yes, Gustav, it is both selfish 
and unmanly, take it as you will! 
* Frederic is calling me. I must go. 


P. S. I open this to say that I did not 
mean to be quite so harsh. You and 
Frederic are not to be judged by the same 

standard. He is calm, sweet, reasonable; 
you, fiery, fierce, and masterful. But 
Gustav, I know you have a warm, tender 
heart. And so I hope has 

W T ell, Gustav, the doctors have told 
him, and he is resigned now. For twenty- 
four hours he had a bad fight. But he has 
come through it bravely, like himself 
our dear, patient Frederic! When he is 
a little better, he will go to a school where 
they teach the blind to read, and perhaps 
learn some occupation for which he may 
show an aptitude; although he will never 
need to work for his living. But neither 
could he bear to be idle. Manama has 
asked him to come to us for a while, 
and he has consented. The nurse has not 
yet left him ; the doctors think it best that 
he should remain some days longer. I 
do not know whether there is anything 
else the matter with him ; but they consult 
together a great deal, and look grave, 
and shake their wise heads. And he is 
thinner, eating very little, and daily 
growing paler. Mamma thinks he will 
improve after he has recovered from this 
last shock. I do hope so. 

Yes, I love him, Gustav. Don't you 
know that already ? He is my dear brother, 
like yourself. He needs me now, and every 
day of my life shall be devoted to him. 
Marriage is not for me, I know it. And 
as to marrying Frederic, do you think 
for one moment he would ask me now? 
Not if he loved me a thousand times better 
than you do. Frederic would never 
demand such a sacrifice from a woman. 
That is what it is called; but it would 
not be a sacrifice if one loved as I could 
love. But Frederic's noble heart would 
never dream of it. 

Console yourself, Gustav. And you will 
soon, perhaps ; for there is an old saying, 
"Hot love soon cools." Believe it. And 
when you are the proud and adoring hus- 
band of some maiden who is awaiting you 
somewhere in this dear Fatherland, you 
will wonder how you confounded your 



feeling for the little Vestal, as I shall be 
then, with the real, genuine passion. 

This morning we were talking, Frederic 
and I, of "old times in Arcady." And 
with him every other word was "Gustav," 
"old Gustav," "our Gustav." Doesn't 
it make you ashamed? But no, I should 
not have said it. Your letter to him, 
received yesterday, left nothing to be 
desired. And then Frederic told me a 
little incident which touched me very 
deeply. He said: 

"One day in spring, when our regiment 
had captured, inch by inch, the village of 

B , suddenly, at the end of a mass of 

ruins piled up high in front of us, we came 
to a broken wall, and there before our 
eyes was an old garden, arid we found 
ourselves face to face with the wonderful 
miracle of lilacs all a-bloom. I can smell 
that perfume still; I shall remember it 
till I die. It was so sweet, so delicate, so 
unexpected, so fraught with memories of 
home, that one young fellow threw himself 
^ at full length upon the grass and wept 
aloud. But the rest of us after having 
admired and inhaled the fragrance of the 
flowers which surrounded us like a bene- 
diction from God; in spite of all the 
horrors we had just witnessed, of all the 
, blood we had shed felt within us the 
desire to cry out to them, 'Welcome, 
welcome, blossoms of God, so fragrant, 
fresh and beautiful!' We gathered the 
delicate sprays, so dazzlingly white, so 
deliciously purple, and piled them up into 
huge bouquets. We returned to our 
companions, laden with luxurious blossoms. 
And Gustav said to me: 'Ah, Frederic, 
these lilacs are so wonderful, so beautiful, 
such a gift of God to us, that we might 
dare offer them, even with our bloody 
hands, if she were here, to our darling 
Lena ! " Thank you, Gustav ! 


MY GUSTAV: It was the last time that 
Frederic spoke to me of the war, the 
very last time. That was three weeks ago, 
and since I sent you the sad telegram I 
have not been able to write. After it was 

over I collapsed. Mamma said my nerves 
were all unstrung. And what wonder? 
It was so sudden, so unexpected! But I 
am much better now. I feel that I can 
collect my thoughts and tell you all that 
for which you must have been waiting with 
an anxious heart. 

We were sitting together in the arbor. 
I had been reading aloud; and Frederic, 
with his head resting against the pillow 
of the chaise-longue, had been attentively 
listening, as I knew by the appreciative 
or critical remarks he made from time to 

Suddenly he sat erect, made a sound as 
though he were choking, and the blood 
flowed from his lips. I put my handker- 
chief to his mouth, and beckoned frantically 
to the gardener who was just passing. 
Assistance came almost immediately. They 
bore him to the house. After every one 
had gone, I fell in a faint to the floor, 
where they found me some moments later. 
By that time I had recovered, and then 
I was sent to bed at once; though, as I 
told mamma, I felt perfectly well. I saw 
him next day, but only for a few moments. 
He seemed to improve, but looked weak, 
very weak. Another hemorrhage occurred 
that night ; and in the morning, not saying 
a word to mamma (who would have for- 
bidden it as dangerous), I went down to 
the village and brought up Father Paul. 
I left him at Frederic's door, knowing 
that he would do all that was necessary, 
without excitement or fuss. 

I lingered in the passage, and when the 
priest came out he said: 

"Frederic is all right, my child, ready 
for the road which he must travel very 

"How soon, Father?" I asked. 

"Perhaps to-day. Almost certainly to- 
morrow. At two I am coming to give him 
Holy Viaticum and anoint him." 

I went to mamma then. She scolded me 
a little, but presently acknowledged that 
she felt relieved. She had thought it 
might be necessary, but had not the 
courage to summon the priest. 



At midday Frederic asked for me, and 
I went in. He smiled, stretched out his 
hand, and held mine as I sat down beside 
him. He was lying on a low couch, near 
the window. 

"My brave little girl, my good little 
Lena!" he murmured. "Faithful to the 
very end! Do not cry!" 

But I could not help it, and he let the 
tears have their way until I had conquered 
myself a little. Then he went on: 

"This may be my last chance. I must 
tell you something you were never to 
have known." 

"What can it be?" I questioned. 

"That I love you,- that I have loved 
you for years, my Lena, as a man loves 
only the woman whom he longs to call 
his wife. But I never should have told 
you, had it not been for this." 

He paused a moment, fatigued with the 
effort of speaking; and I said: 

" Do not talk any more, Frederic. What 
does it matter now?" 

"Yes, only a few words more," he 
replied. "I would not have told you, 
because I knew that our dear Gustav 
loved you also, in his deep, strong way, 
and believed that your regard for us was 
so impartial that you might give yourself 
to him who would first ask you, and I 
resolved he should have the chance. 
Would you believe it, Lena? It so occupied 
my mind that I have pictured to myself 
your home and his; knowing I should be 
welcome there, perhaps even sharing it, 
with your friendship and his to compensate 
for other things, and your children about 
my knees. Yes, I have sometimes done 
that, Lena. But " 

I knelt beside the bed and wept, oh, 
how I wept! I kissed his dear hand again 
and again. And then he asked me a 
question, and I answered 

At two o'clock the priest came. Frederic 
AY as ready, and after a few moments 
mamma and I went in. He received the 
Holy Viaticum and also Extreme Unction. 
There were no tears, no break-down: God 
gave us all strength. It was so beautiful 

to hear him respond to the prayers, and 
to see him smile as he said "Thank you, 
Father!" when it was over. 

After Father Paul had gone, mamma 
and I lingered at the bedside, praying. 
He lay with closed eyes, his hands clasped 
outside the coverlet. Once he opened them 
and smiled. I think he was glad to have 
us there. 

The 'nurse came at last and touched 
mamma on the shoulder. 

"I think he will sleep now," he said. 

We arose and went out. But hardly 
had we reached the door of mamma's 
room when Michel came hurriedly behind 

"He is gone!" 

Three weeks, and it seems so long ! There 
have been dreadful battles since then. 
And perhaps even now, to-day, this 
moment, you are no, I can not think it! 
I shall see you again. 

My Gustav, can you guess the question 
Frederic whispered in my ear that day? 
It was, "Do you love my Gustav, Lena? 
He is worthy of you." And I answered 

Come, Gustav, come as soon as you 
can, to claim me ! Next to being your wife, 
the happiest thing in the world would be 
that I might call myself your widow. 
A horrible thing to say, some people 
would think; but not you, not you! 
Come, for I love you. Gustav, you are the 

one I have always loved. 


FOR the sake of Jesus we must learn to 
increase in our love of Mary. It must be 
a devotion growing in us like a grace, 
strengthening like a habit of virtue, and 
waxing more and more fervent and tender 
until the hour when she shall come to help 
us to die well, and to pass safely through 
the risk of doom. ... I repeat, it must 
grow like a virtue, and strengthen like a 
habit, or it is worth nothing at all. Love 
of Mary is but another foim, and a divinely 
appointed one, of love of Jesus; and there- 
fore if love of Him must grow, so also 
must love of her. Father Faber. 



An Irish Monastery and Its Martyr. 


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 abandoned. 

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 site was thus 
singularly designated, soon became one 
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 Aloyne, 
where he was buried. 

The monastery must have been state-h- 
and imposing; for sixty 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 material 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. At 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 101 steps, and well repays him who 
mounts it, as the scenery around is of 
unsurpassable beauty. The monastic build- 
ings, however, are fast tottering to de- 
struction. 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 remote 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 afford them certain 
information which they were extremely 
eager to possess. Like another Nepom- 
ucene, the Irish friar indignantly scorned 
the offer; 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 friars' 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 
Wenceslaus 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 friar fearlessly met his fate, 
and merited the reward of martyrdom. 

If I were Only Rich! 

THERE was once a poor man who 
often said to himself and others, 
" If I were only rich, I would show people 
how to give." In a dream one night he 
saw a pyramid of bright new silver dollars, 
and a voice reached him, saying: "Now 
is your time! You are rich at last; now 
show your generosity!" So he went to 
the pile to take some money for charitable 
purposes. But the pyramid was so perfect 
that he could not bear to break it; he 
walked all around it, but found no place 
where he could remove a dollar without 
spoiling the heap. So he decided that the 
pyramid should remain unbroken. And 
just then the dream ended. He awoke to 
know himself, and to see that he would be 
generous only while comparatively poor. 

His Patrons. 


Two Fallacies of the Season. 


A CELEBRATED Dutch physician, who 
JL~\ had practised in London for many 
years, was crossing Grosvenor Square one 
day, when his attention was attracted by 
a crowd surrounding a medicine vender 
who was selling his wares in great quan- 
tities. The man occupied a splendid 
carriage drawn by four horses, and was 
attended by richly garbed assistants. 
Much interested, the physician approached 
closely, gave his name and address, and 
invited the charlatan to call at his home 
next morning for an interview. 
The .man appeared at the appointed time. 

"Sir," began the physician, "I heard 
you declare yesterday that you had 
remedies for all sorts of ailments, ftave 
you any for curiosity? Looking at you 
closely, I thought I recognized you, but I 
can not recall where we have met." 

"I can satisfy you on that score," was 
the reply. "I served at Lady Waller's 
for several years, and I often saw you 
among her guests. I was her head lackey." 

"You excite my curiosity more and more. 
How has it been possible for a knowledge 
acquired in a few years to bring remuner- 
ation enough to enable you to live in 
such a splendid fashion, when, after forty 
years of constant application to my 
practice, I can barely keep up my modest 

"Before replying to you, sir, permit me 
to ask you a few questions," answered 
the charlatan. 

"Very well. Proceed." 

' ' You live on one of the most frequented 
streets of the city. How many persons 
do you think pass here in a day?" 

"Perhaps ten thousand." 

" Now, how many of those ten thousand 
do you think are people of good sense?" 

"You embarrass me, but probably one 
hundred are the kind you refer to." 

"Well, sir, you have yourself answered 
the question you asked me. The hundred 
sensible people t are your patrons. The 
ninety-nine hundred others are mine." 

LENT is pre-eminently the penitential 
season of the ecclesiastical year. Its 
keynote, despite all the dispensations 
accorded by Church authorities, still con- 
tinues to be self-denial, abnegation, sacri- 
fice; and unless this controlling thought 
dominates our mental life and is evidenced 
in our external actions throughout the 
forty days that commemorate the Holy 
Fast of Our Lord, we are illogical rather 
than consistent Christians, nominal rather 
than practical Catholics. 

Persons who are inconsistent usually 
have recourse to false reasoning of one 
kind or another to excuse their incon- 
sistency, -to "save their face," as the 
colloquial phrase has it; and there are 
two fallacies in particular which are very 
much in evidence in Catholic circles during 
Lent. One of them has to do with external 
penances. There are few subjects con- 
nected with the spiritual side of life, or 
growth in holiness, * about which men 
indulge in so much sophistical argument 
as about exterior mortification. If, as 
Shakespeare says, "the devil hath power 
to assume a pleasing shape," never perhaps 
does he exert that power so effectively 
as when he is persuading the comfort- 
loving, sensual, natural man that morti- 
fication of the senses is akin to folly, 
that fasting is suicidal, and that harsh 
penances inflicted on the body are merely 
the fanatical excesses of perverted piety. 

No sane expounder of the spiritual life 
denies that moderation in all things is a 
virtue, or that mortification may be, and 
occasionally is, carried to excess; but it 
will hardly be asserted by any man of 
sense that voluntary suffering, or self- 
denial as to bodily comforts, is so common 
in our day and generation that the average 
Christian needs to be warned against 
it. In point of fact, the spirit of the 
present age is so prevailingly easy-going, 
not to say luxury-loving, that by far the 
great majority of us practise no morti- 
fication whatever. We are particularly 


fond of insisting on interior sorrow for 
sin, of uttering such claptrap as, "Eat 
your three meals a day, and fast from 
backbiting and slander, from lying and 
profanity." We give exaggerated emphasis 
to the text, "Rend your hearts and not 
your garments"; and apparently forget 
St. Paul's statement: "They that are 
Christ's have crucified their flesh with its 
vices and concupiscences." We need, in 
a word, to reflect on this wise saying of 
St. Vincent de Paul: "Whoever makes 
little account of exterior mortifications, 
alleging that the interior are more perfect, 
shows clearly that he is not mortified 
at all, either exteriorly or interiorly." 

A second .Lenten fallacy has to do with 
health. An astonishingly large number of 
Catholics hardy, vigorous individuals, the 
very reverse of delicate discover about 
this season of the year that they are not 
nearly so robust as they seem to be. Fasting, 
they declare, is really quite impracticable 
for them because their health would suffer 
materially, and they would be unable to 
perform their allotted work, their neces- 
sary duties. Now, in very many cases, 
that is a pure fallacy. A good many 
persons, of course, are unable to fast. 
Perhaps one in fifty of those who 
allege their physical weakness as a reason 
for non-compliance with the laws of the 
Church is justified in so doing. Such 
exceptions being made, it is tolerably 
certain that the health of the other forty- 
nine would, instead of being injured, be 
positively benefited by the regular fast- 
ing and abstinence which the Church 

If there is one statement as to which 
all medical authorities of prestige are in 
agreement, it is that men and women 
all eat too much. The recent researches 
of Professor Chittendon, of Yale, on the 
physiological economy of nutrition, proves 
this conclusively. On the specific question 
of the Lenten fast, the London Lancet, 
the most authoritative medical journal 
published in English, has this to say: 
"The Lenten season gives the creature 

of more or less selfish or bad habits an 
excellent opportunity of relinquishing those 
habits for, at any rate, a certain period; 
and he may, and probably will, receive 
a salutary and moral lesson which may 
induce him to lead a better and physiolog- 
ically happier life. He may be poisoning 
himself, for example, by overindulgence 
in tobacco, alcohol, or even food; and 
he may find that as a result of his determi- 
nation to give up these excesses for a 
season, his mental and bodily activities 
are improved, his health is altogether better, 
and so he is constrained to go on with 
the 'godly, righteous, and sober life.'" 

American physicians are thoroughly in 
accord on this point with their London 
confreres. Speaking of New York's half 
million men and women "who adhere to the 
strictest rules of the Lenten observance," 
the N. Y. Sun stated a few years ago: 
"Eminent doctors declare that the forty 
days of fasting as practised here are of 
inestimable value to the health of the 
community that observe them." It is a 
commonplace to say of a confirmed toper, 
a habitual imbiber of intoxicating liquor, 
that he is "drinking himself to death." 
Now, the more one learns of the effects, 
direct and indirect, of immoderate indul- 
gence in food, the more convinced one 
becomes that, for every man who is in 
our day "drinking himself to death," there 
are at least a dozen who are just as truly 
eating themselves to death. 

It is entirely pertinent to add that the 
discomfort experienced for the first few days 
of one's fasting is not at all a sufficient 
reason for discontinuing the fast. A week 
or ten days, at least, should be allowed for 
the stomach to become habituated to the 
changed regime before one decides that 
fasting is really injurious to one's health 
or beyond* one's capability. The athlete 
who goes into training, or the lady of 
fashion who begins a war against obesity, 
willingly undergoes such discomfort: and 
it is a poor Catholic who will not do as 
much for his soul as do these for their 



Notes and Remarks. 

Although pessimists among us will have 
it that belief in a hereafter is perishing, 
there is abundant evidence that the 
question of the possibility of individual 
survival of bodily death, as the spiritists 
express it, is becoming more and more 
acute, doubtless as a result of the terrible 
war which spreads mourning everywhere. 
The output of spiritistic literature has 
vastly increased during the past two 
years; and the tendency to consult and 
to believe table-turners, crystal-gazers, 
' ' trance ' ' - messengers or ' ' automatic ' ' - 
writers has been enormously stimulated 
and developed. A well-known spiritist, in 
an article appearing in one of the leading 
English reviews, tells "how to obtain 
personal experience," assuring his readers 
that patient investigation along the lines 
suggested by him "seldom fails to yield 
good results. ' ' The faithful have repeatedly 
been warned against the sin and danger 
of necromancy; and a timely little book 
has just been published, under Catholic 
auspices, in England, as an antidote against 
the worse than foolish mania to learn 
hidden things and to peer into the future, 
which spiritism is spreading. 

That ,the best refutation of the ridiculous 
and monstrous charges brought against 
the Church and her adherents by the 
fanatical anti-Catholic journals of this 
country is the normal upright, law-abiding, 
and patriotic life of actual Catholics, is 
not only antecedently probable but de- 
monstrably true. Bigotry is most blatant 
where the Church is most scantily 
represented. The average American is too 
shrewd to allow his everyday experience 
of Catholic neighbors to be set at naught 
by the vague and general charges of wild- 
eyed preachers, or lay evangelists who are 
consulting the interests of their pockets. 
The Star of Ocala, Florida, recognizes this 
fact, as is clear from a recent editorial in 
which it said: "The Star would fight the 

Roman Catholic menace as strenuously as 
anybody if there was any such menace, 
but there is not and never has been in 
this country. It is a significant fact that 
agitation against the Catholics in this 
State is strongest in those districts where 
there are no Catholic churches and few, 
if any, Catholics, and where the people 
have had no information about Catholics 
except what they get from the Menace 
and papers of its stripe." 

Ignorance the crassest possible kind 
of ignorance, rather than downright 
malevolence, is the explanation of the 
opposition of the rank and file of anti- 
Catholic bigots; but their leaders can 
scarcely be found guiltless of deliberate 
falsification and calumny. 

Although the absurdity of such dis- 
patches from Rome as the following has 
repeatedly been pointed out, they continue 
to appear even in reputable newspapers : 

The Pope has warned the Kaiser and the 
Emperor of Austria-Hungary that the decision 
to resort to submarine frightfulness . . . would 
justify reprisals by th<- Allies, and a demand for 
the disintegration of Germany and Austria after 
the war. 

The same issue of the paper in which 
this dispatch appeared had the editorial 
remark that "an open mind and a closed 
mouth are the distinguishing marks of 
intellectual sobriety in these days." Lively 
imaginations, ears open to all sorts of 
rumors and reports, eagerness to give them 
all the publicity possible, and utter indif- 
ference to correction of mischievous gossip, 
are characteristics of foreign correspond- 
ents generally, and of Rome correspond- 
ents in particular. Intellectual sobriety 
would be too much to expect of them 
nor is it expected. The public gets what 
gives most satisfaction. 

A court decision which has robbed the 
"Catholic child-caring institutions" of 
Chicago of any pecuniary aid from the 
county or city, on the grounds that they 
were under the control of the Catholic 
Church and therefore constitutionally in- 



eligible to receive State aid, has inspired 
the Archbishop of Chicago to such a 
moving appeal for these institutions as it 
has rarely been our fortune to peruse. It 
is an appeal to the Catholics of his great 
archdiocese not to desert these charities, 
but rather to make up by their generosity 
for the withdrawal of State aid. A voice 
like that which was raised in Milan three 
hundred years ago is heard here: 

"No, my dear, faithful Catholic people, 
the Archbishop is not going to desert 
the orphan children: he will not abandon 
them to the cold, soulless care of the 
State: he will take the place of father 
and mother to them until they grow old 
enough to take care of themselves. Even 
if the great State of Illinois and the rich 
city of Chicago do not contribute a penny 
towards their support, he will manage 
somehow. If need be, he will beg from 
door to door for them; for their young 
souls are on his conscience, and for each 
of them he must one day answer at the 
judgment seat." 

Our extract is from the official circular. 
We can not conceive of such an appeal's 
being made in vain. 

In this time of blurred issues, when 
equivocal rhetoric is the first resort of men 
who feel they must speak, yet do not 
know what they should say, because they 
do not think or act from principle, there is 
all the force and freshness of a trumpet 
note in the recent utterance of Archbishop 
Ireland, urging Catholics to give the most 
loyal support to their country and their 
President in the great trial which as 
Americans we face. "That the crisis we 
now witness may go no further, we hope 
and pray," said his Grace. "We covet 
no holocaust of human lives: we fain 
would repel the advancing shades of war. 
But if the worse does come, if the leader 
of the nation decides that it must come, 
then are we ready for every sacrifice. . . . 
I speak in a particular manner to Catholics 
and on behalf of Catholics. With them 
patriotism is the dictate of religion: it 

is 'for conscience' sake.' Because they are 
Catholics, first ,and' foremost must they 
be in patriotism; and first and foremost 
are they in the message now flashing from 
every State of the Union to the President 
of the United States, saying, 'We are 
with you to-day, we will be with you 

"Here and there in America, in dark- 
some corners, some few have dared to say 
that Catholics are not loyal to America, 
that America can not afford to give itself 
in trust to them. The calumny has been 
again and again put to shame by the 
quick and- ready sacrifices made by Catho- 
lics upon the altar of America. . . . Well 
it is for the nation that Catholics are the 
millions among her sons; well it will be 
for the nation if all Americans be as loyal 
as those are who repeat daily in prayer, 
'I believe in the Holy Catholic Church.'" 

We have yet to read a pronounce- 
ment like this from the camps of the 
"Guardians" officially constituted to save 
our country when it is in no peril. 

For the nobility and the Catholic body, 
of England in particular, the i ith inst. was 
marked by the death of the Duke of Nor- 
folk, who passed away after a day's illness. 
The family of which he was so honorable 
a member has stood at the head of the 
English peerage for many centuries, and 
has held the dukedom of Norfolk since the 
beginning of the fifteenth century. Born 
in 1847, the deceased had worn his title 
for a longer period than has fallen to the 
lot of any other English Duke outside 
the Royal Family. As a Catholic, he was 
noted for his strong faith, solid piety, and 
steadfast zeal. Cardinal Manning said of 
him many years ago: "If there is any 
man in England who has acquired by the 
most just titles the affection and respect 
of every Catholic, that man is the Duke 
of Norfolk. I hardly know of any man of 
whom I can say with more confidence 
that he has a perfect rectitude of mind 
and life." There is no exaggeration in 
saying that these words of the great 



Cardinal became truer with each succeed- 
ing year. Even those who were most 
opposed to the Duke politically admired 
him for his unassuming disposition and 
the integrity of his character. Noble by 
birth, he was still more so by the profession 
and practice of his faith. In his example 
he has left his English coreligionists a 
precious legacy that will endure as long 
as the material benefactions for which he 
so well deserves their grateful prayers. 
May he rest in peace! 

The substitution, in the home, of 
electricity for the wood, coal, or gas stove 
that used to serve all the purposes for 
which fire was needed is not, apparently, 
without its dangers. "Because of their 
convenience, small electric devices, such as 
pressing irons, curling irons, toasters, elec- 
tric pads or blankets, electric plate warm- 
ers, and electric sterilizers or heaters, are 
now to be found in almost every commu- 
nity. If these were used with proper care, 
the danger would be negligible; but, un- 
fortunately, a proportion of their users 
do not realize the peril of leaving them 
in circuit when not in use. In such cases 
these devices tend to become .overheated, 
whereupon they are likely to set fire to 
anything combustible with which they are 
in contact." 

As a matter of fact, the Actuarial 
Bureau of the National Board of Fire 
Underwriters has noted about one hundred 
fires in one day from this very cause, and 
estimates that these small electrical devices 
are the occasion of 30,000 or more fires a 
year. Eternal vigilance is the price, not 
only of liberty, but of safety from the fire 
fiend; and the housewife who uses these 
devices should never fail to shut off the 
electric current as soon as her purpose 
has been served. * 

As an offset to the constructive libels 
so frequently launched against the Church 
by the half dozen misrepresentative Ameri- 
can papers whose trade is to vilify Catholi- 
cism, such a paragraph as the following 

from an editorial in a recent issue of the 
Washington Times is distinctly refreshing : 

It has been one of the sources of the Catholic 
Church's power that it has been a leader in 
practical good works. Its communicants have 
been trained in a firm belief that the deed makes 
the word fruitful. They maintain great agencies 
of mercy, aid and betterment for unfortunates; 
and their great system of parochial schools, 
sustained by a community which is also called 
upon to contribute to the maintenance of the 
public school system, is the most substantial 
testimony to their patriotism and devotion to 
their own high ideals. Catholic hospitals, 
asylums, homes for unfortunates, are everywhere 
models of efficiency and service. The constant 
effort to extend and improve their usefulness is 
one of the most important agencies for the 
progress and improvement of the whole nation. 

The Times evidently does not put much 
credence in the reports circulated by the 
famous investigators of New York's Cath- 
olic charitable institutions. 

"Generalizations," as I/owell remarks 
in one of the chapters of "My Study 
Windows," "are apt to be as dangerous 
as they are tempting." Not the least 
dangerous of them are those which affirm 
an exceptional individual of a class to be, 
not an exception, but a type of that class. 
It is a common enough practice in everyday 
life, as when, for instance, the dishonesty 
or dissoluteness of a particular Catholic 
is cited as conclusive proof that all Cath- 
olics, or at least the majority of them, 
are dissolute and dishonest. Writing in 
America, Blanche Mary Kelly, associate 
of the editorial staff of the "Catholic 
Encyclopedia," apparently thinks that this 
arguing from particulars to generals is 
doing injustice to our convent schools; 
and she asserts in their favor: "I have 
had unusual opportunities for observing 
the graduates of many convents who, at 
close grips with life, disclosed under trying 
circumstances their convent-bred Catholic 
womanhood, and proved the worth of 
their convent-trained brains. I have had 
opportunities for comparing them with 
the graduates of secular colleges and 
special schools, and in almost every 
instance the convent girls have been more 



alert, their knowledge more v;iried and 
deeply grounded, and the superiority of 
their work has demonstrated the value 
of a trained conscience 1 and an ingrained 
sense of responsibility." 

Our own observation quite tallies with 
the foregoing. Frivolous and flippant 
convent graduates there are, no doubt; 
but the average convent graduate whom 
we have met is far from being either 
frivolous or flippant.. 

A warning to the parents of boys in 
public schools issued by the Headmasters' 
Conference in England should be heeded 
everywhere. Safeguarding young persons 
from the infection of evil books and 
spectacles has become an urgent necessity : 

We desire to call the attention of parents 
of public school-boys to the serious risk to which 
their sons may be exposed if they witness plays 
or read books and magazines which verge upon 
indecency. We venture to do so because we 
have special opportunities of observing the 
actual effect upon boys and young men of 
suggestions so conveyed, to which we feel bound 
to bear witness. We have from time to time 
unquestionable evidence of the extent to which 
in this way their natural difficulties are increased, 
and in many cases their own strongest tempta- 
tions reinforced against them. We are sure such 
unwholesome influences are particularly strong 
and widespread at the present time; and we 
have some reason to think that, generally speak- 
ing, too little care is exercised to exclude them 
from the lives of the young. We, therefore, 
feel it a duty to urge that all possible precaution 
be taken to save boys from unnecessary trials 
by guarding them against theatrical and kine- 
matographic performances of doubtful tendency, 
books in which so-called "sex-problems" are 
discussed, and magazines containing coarse or 
suggestive illustrations. 

There is so much antagonism latent 
if not always expressed between organized 
charity and individual almsgiving, that 
the following paragraph on social work, 
from a paper by the Rt. Rev. Mgr. 
Parkinson, an English ecclesiastic of much 
experience in charitable enterprises, will 
be read with interest: 

The characteristic work of to-day is not so 
much to relieve the poor (though the poor must 

hi- helped, and helped before anything else- is done) 
as to repair the framework of society, and to 
reset its activities. One thing we must not fail to 
appreciate the difference between the modern 
and the Mediaeval world. Nowadays we do not 
deal so much with the individual as with the 
masses of men ; not so much with results as with 
their causes. Christian charity has done, and is 
still doing, a splendid work in its loving care for 
the needy of every description. Yet while still 
carrying on this noble work, it must study 
causes and stem the tide of evil, misery, and 
failure. It is admirable and imperative to help 
the fallen. It is equally important and urgent 
to remove the circumstances which led them to 
their fall. It is a supreme duty to rescue our 
waifs and strays, and to watch with ceaseless 
care over them. It is alike a supreme duty to 
remove the conditions which, with the certainty 
of a physical law, are growing a new crop for 
the rescuer. It is a duty to bestow alms; it 
is also a duty so to arrange the social and 
economic State that alms may be less needed. 

In brief, do this and don't neglect that. 
There are, of course, multitudes of persons 
living where no organized charitable or 
social work is in evidence; and for these, 
at least, individual almsgiving is the 
patent duty, especially during the present 
penitential season. 

A Catholic layman who has travelled 
widely through one of our largest States 
says it is not unusual to see priests cele- 
brating Mass without a server, not only 
in country places where people live at 
some distance from the church but in 
cities and large towns. Such a thing should 
not happen where boys live within reason- 
able distance of their parish church, above 
all, in places where there is a Catholic 
school. Serving Mass is both an honor 
and a privilege, and parents and school- 
teachers should see to it that the parish 
priest has a sufficient number of capable 
servers to ensure the Holy Sacrifice's 
being celebrated with the full comple- 
ment of rites and ceremonies. The privilege 
sometimes accorded' to missionary priests, 
of saying Mass without a server, should 
be taken advantage of only when there 
is grave reason for doing so; as an 
ordinary mode of action it is not to be 

How to Spend Lent. 

BY M. C. 

^HK winter time is nearly spent 

And now has come the season Lent, 
A time when we can show our love 
To God upon His throne above. 
The little trials that come each day, 
Just offer them to God and say: 
'Dear Lord, I wish to be Your child. 
(Help me, O Mary, Mother mild!) 
And everything I say or do 
I'll do it out of love for You." 
By doing this each day of Lent, 
'Twill mean much grace and time well spent. 
Then we'll be glad on Easter Day, 
Our hrarts like sunshine in array; 
And then we'll laugh and gaily sing 
In honor of our Risen King. 

Con of Misty Mountain. 


HE world seemed to swing around 
in a dizzy whirl before Con's 
eyes, as Uncle Bill struck at him 
with his huge, hairy fist and felled 
him to the ground at his feet. 

"I'll larn you," he panted, and he 
caught up the heavy stick that he used 
for mountain climbing and began to 
belabor the boy without mercy, "I'll 
larn you how to turn on me, you young 
whelp! Yes, I'll larn you how to bite 
the hand that feeds you! Take that 
and that and that!" And, fairly foaming 
with rage, the old man rained down the 
pitiless blows until the shrieking, strug- 
gling boy was stricken into a merciful 
semi-consciousness, through which he dully 
caught poor Mother Moll's pleading cry: 
"Stop! stop! Ye're killing the boy, 

ye're killing him, Bill Gryce! Stop, I 
tell ye, ye old fool, ye! They'll come look- 
ing for the boy from ye yet, and I'll tell 
all, I'll tell all! Stop! O Lord in heaven, 
I believe ye've done for the lad now, and 
what will ye be saying when they ax for 
him, what will ye 'be saying to them, 
Bill Gryce? O my poor lad! Ye've killed 
him outright!" 

The trembling wail was the last sound 
that fell on Con's ear: blackness closed 
around him, and he knew nothing more. 

How long this strange darkness lasted 
Con never knew. When he roused at 
last, it was to a dull ache in his head, to 
a sore stiffness in every strong young 
limb; to a dim, shadowy world in which 
for a while he seemed to have no place. 
Through a break somewhere in the gloom 
around him he could see stars. What 
was it he had heard about the stars 
shining pitifully down upon his helpless 
pain? Con looked up at their tender 
light, trying to remember. Then a cold 
nose was pressed to his face, a soft tongue 
licked his hand. He stretched out his 
stiff arm and it fell upon Dick, Dick 
watching there in the gloom beside him. 
He drew the dog's head close to his own, 
and fell asleep again, to wake into full 
consciousness now. He was lying on his 
own pallet of dried moss; the sun was 
shining through the smoky window above 
him, and Mother Moll was holding a 
bowl of something hot and spicy to his 
lips, -poor old Mother Moll, wht>se own 
eye was blackened by a blow, and whose 
weak hand trembled. 

"Drink this, my lad. It will draw the 
pain and hurt from ye. Eh, eh, but 
ye're the bold, strong boy that he couldn't 
kill! Drink this, and it will warm yer 
young heart, and ye can be off before he 
conies back to murder us again." 

Con emptied the bowl, as she had bade 



him; and strength seemed to come with 
the draught, strength and remembrance. 

"Uncle Bill!" he faltered, and a shiver 
went through the sore young limbs. 
"Where is he?" 

A curse broke from poor old Mother 
Moll's withered lips. 

"Off again," she answered, "off after 
he had done his worst to ye, off again 
somewhere to meet Dan and Wally, and 
be at some devil's work, I'm thinking. 
And listen, lad! Ye must be off, /too, 
before he gets back, off from this black 
hole forever." 

Con looked about him dully; for the 
light of the blue eyes was sadly dimmed. 
The hole on which he gazed was black 
indeed, with a low, smoke-grimed roof, 
a littered floor, a yawning chimney place, 
in which a few logs flickered cheerlessly. 
Rifles and powder flasks hung upon the 
rude walls. A few dried fish, bread, 
cheese, and a flitch of bacon provisioned 
the shelf that was Mother Moll's only 
larder. The light came dimly through 
two deep-set windows, whose thick glass 
was cracked, and patched with strips of 
leather. It was little better than the den 
of the wild mountain creatures that 
roved without. But it was the only home 
that Con knew; and, weak and sore as 
he was just now, he shrank from the 
thought of leaving it. For his eye had 
lost its light, and his young limbs their 
fleetness; and even his bold young heart 
had learned the chill of fear. 

"Where where can I go?" he asked. 

Mother Moll was quick with her answer. 

"To him," she said, putting a slip of 
paper into Con's hand. (It was Father 
Phil's message to Uncle Bill, that had 
produced such dire results.) "Where and 
what he is I dunno, lad; but he means to 
befriend ye, I am sure of that. So ye 
must find him by what ways ye can. And 
listen, lad! There's more that I must tell 
ye while I dare speak. What and who ye 
are I can't say, but ye're neither kith nor 
kin of Uncle Bill or me. He brought ye 
home to me one night when ye weren't 

three years old as fine a babe as I ever 
saw. There was trouble in yer family, he 
said; and I was to keep ye till it cleared 
up, and he was to be paid well for it. He 
had his pockets full of the money then. 
I had just lost me own little Bill, and me 
mother's heart was sore and empty, so I 
took ye to it without asking no more. I 
was to keep ye well; for there were those 
that might come looking for ye that 
would pay better still. But they never 
came, and the money gave out, and old 
Bill grew sorer and fiercer about ye every 
year. But I kept the pretty clothes ye 
had on, and the gold chain and medal ye 
had round yer neck. It had a clasp on it 
with the three letters C. O. N. We took 
that for yer name, though it could not 
have been, I know. That's all I can tell 
ye. Whoever ye belong to must have 
giv ye up long ago, so ye can look for 
nothing from them. Uncle Bill is now 
turned agin ye tooth and nail; so ye'd 
better go to the man that offered to take 
ye, let him be where he may." 

Go to him! Memory had wakened 
clearly now. The berries, the greens, the 
kind Mister of the Mountain, the radiant 
figure in the midnight glory of the log 
cabin, the strong, good friend who had 
promised to do all things for him, to take 
him for his "little pal," his "little 
brother," Con remembered all now. Ah, 
he would go to him indeed. Now that 
Uncle Bill's cruel blows had broken all 
bonds to the Roost, he would find, he 
would follow the Mister of the Mountain, 
let the way be where it might. 

But as yet poor Con was too stiff and 
sore in every limb to walk: he could only 
lie there on his moss pallet, letting Mother 
Moll minister to him in her simple way, 
binding his head with cooling cloths, 
rubbing him with oils and liniments of 
home manufacture, feeding him with 
strengthening teas and broths; for the 
old woman had not reared three stalwart 
sons to rugged, if reckless, manhood, 
without learning many things that neither 
schools nor doctors teach. 



In the meantime Father Phil had been 
once, twice, three times to the hollow 
below the rocks looking for Con, all in 
vain. Either the boy had failed him 
(which he could not believe) or Con's 
wild old guardian would not permit him 
to come. And then a sudden telegram had 
reached the Manse, summoning Father 
Phil back to duties which would not brook 
delay. His little sister would have to 
remain a few weeks longer, and he gave 
her his parting charge: 

"If you hear or see anything of Con, 
give him this card, Susie, and tell him to 
send it to me whenever he is ready to keep 
our bargain." 

"O brother Phil, I will!" was the 
eager answer. "But =but I'm afraid 
I'm afraid Uncle Greg and and every- 
body has scared him away, and we'll 
never see poor Con again, never again!" 

And Father Phil, taking his hurried 
way back to scenes of more pressing duty, 
felt, with a pang of regret for his little 
pal, that Susie was perhaps right. 

Happily for Con's returning strength, 
Uncle Bill stayed away for several days, 
long enough for Mother Moll's teas and 
unguents to do their work, and the boy's 
lithe young frame to recover something 
of its usual vigor. 

" Ye'd best, be gone, lad," urged the old 
woman when the third day was drawing 
to its close. "What devilment Bill will be 
after next no one can tell, for old Gregory 
is hunting him close. Here's two dollars 
to put in yer pocket, and the bit of paper 
that neither ye nor I can read. And I've 
tied up the little clothes and the neck 
chain in a bundle that ye're to keep 
buttoned up in yer jacket, though what 
good it will do ye after all these years I 
can not say. It's the sore, sad heart I have 
at letting ye go like this, my poor lad!" 
And Mother Moll, who had grown so dull 
to pain and sorrow that her old eyes had 
been tearless for years, began to cry. 

" There ! -don't cry, Mother Moll!" 
said Con, appalled at such unusual weak- 
ness; and he put his young arms around 

her and drew the poor old withered face 
to his own. "Don't take on like this; 
for I'm coming back, Mother Moll, 
coming back with all sorts of fine things 
for ye. And I'll carry ye off where there'll 
be no one to bother ye, Mother Moll; 
where ye'll have a nice warm fire and 
cushioned chair, and soft shoes for yer 
feet, and mebbe a cloak and bonnet like 
Mrs. Murphy's. I'm coming back to 
look out for ye." 

"I'll be dead and gone and the worms 
eating me before that day, lad," sobbed 
the old woman, lugubriously. 

"No ye won't," cheered Con. "Thar's 
lots of grit and go in ye yet, Mother Moll. 
Jest stand up to things and keep alive, 
and look out for me; for I won't forget 
ye, Mother Moll. I couldn't forget ye 
if I tried." 

"Ye won't, I know, my lad, ye won't. 
But whether ye'll ever get back to me is 
more than I can say. It's luck I wish ye, 
lad, the luck that ye'd never find here. 
And now be off, and find the good friend 
that will take ye away from Misty Moun- 
tain and, its wild ways forever." 

Con kissed the withered old cheek and 
was off, as she bade. Yet it was with a 
heavy heart ; for Mother Moll had been 
good to him in her own poor way, and the 
smoky old den in the Roost was the only 
home he knew. Whether he would find 
the kind Mister after all this time he could 
not tell; and he was still too sore and weak 
to spring and leap and climb, as was his 
wont, over the wild ways of Misty Moun- 
tain. It was a slow-stepping Con that 
wandered down the steeps, where the 
melting snows had left the jagged rocks 
sharp and bare. The pines stood green 
and feathery. Injun Creek was roaring 
in full flood down the Pass. And every- 
where, floating, wreathing, veiling the 
rocks and ridges and. hollows, was the mist, 
stealing white and still over the mountain 
like the ghost of the vanishing snow. 

Con loved the mist. It meant that 
the sharpest, hardest cold was over, and 
that he could wander where he willed 



without being frozen outright. There had 
been days and nights of late when he 
had to crouch with Dick by the smoky 
cabin fire, so bitter and deadly was the 
icy air without. But the mist meant that 
the dull silence of the mountain would 
soon waken into sound and life; that the 
birds would flutter back and begin nest- 
building, and the green things grow. 
Once the stern grip of Winter was broken 
in these border lands that the mountain 
guarded, Spring came on, playing hide- 
and-seek in the mists, as Con, without 
any dates or calendars to teach him the 
seasons, knew. 

But to-day, perhaps because he was 
still weak and sore and dizzy, the white 
cloudy veils seemed to bewilder him as they 
rose and fell, closing over the rough ledge 
of the Roost, and hiding it from his sight; 
surging up at his feet as if they would 
bar his way, opening into sunlight vistas 
as he went on. He was feeling very lost 
and lonely and strange, when suddenly 
there came a swift scurry through the 
thicket behind him; and, with a glad 
bark, Dick leaped out of the bushes, 
springing on his young master in a wild 
delight that sent them both tumbling 
over in the melting snow. 

"Dick! Dick!" laughed Con, as boy 
and dog rolled together in a joyous tussle. 
"Good old Dick! Come along, then, 
Come along, old fellow! You shall 'bust 
loose,' too. " 

(To be continued.) 

The Crossed-Out Figure. 

Tall Enough. 

It is related that a little New England 
boy of ten or twelve, who was small for 
his age, once found himself in a company of 
men who were swearing fiercely. Hap-^ 
pening to notice his presence, one of them 
asked him how old he was, and remarked: 
"Aren't you rather small for your age?" 
"Perhaps I am, sir; but I'm big enough 
to keep from swearing." Turning to one 
of his companions, the man whispered: 
" Pretty tall for his age." 

If you want to impress a friend with the 
idea that you are an extraordinary mathe- 
matician, or else a sorcerer, ask him to 
write down a good-sized number; and, to 
help him out, suggest 141453 or 235413. 
It is important, as will be seen later, that 
the number written down be one chosen 
by you, though you may give him his choice 
among four or five different ones. Then 
tell him to multiply that number by any 
figure he likes, without letting you know 
what figure it is. 

"Is that done?" you ask. 


"Now cross out some figure of the 
product any one you wish without tell- 
ing me which, the first, third, fifth, or other. 

"All right! That's done." 

"Now tell me the figures that are left," 
you say; "give them to me in any order 
you wish." 

When he does so, you tell him the figure 
he crossed out. As you did not know the 
product, or even the number by which he 
multiplied, your giving the correct figure 
crossed out will probably strike him as 
being really extraordinary. 

Here's the secret of the matter. You 
give him any number you wish at first, 
provided that its figures added together 
make just 18. Then, when he gives you 
the figures remaining after he has crossed 
out one, you simply add those figures 
together and divide by 9. The difference 
between the remainder resulting from this 
division and 9 will be the figure that has 
been crossed out. 

We will suppose the number chosen at 
first is 152343, the sum of whose digits,, 
you will notice, is 18, and that he multiplies 
by 6. The product will be 9 1 405 8. Suppose 
he crosses out the 4 and tells you he has 
left 5, o, i, 9, 8. The sum of these is 23, 
which, divided by 9, gives a quotient 2, 
and a remainder 5. The difference between 
this remainder and 9 is 4, the figure 
crossed out. 


The Encyclopedia Press announces a Life 
of the late Thomas M. Mulry, of New York, 
by Mr. Thomas F. Meehan. 

Among new pamphlets we note "The 
Self-Sacrifice of Total Abstainers" and "Pius 
X. and Frequent Communion," both by the 
Rev. Francis J. Tobin, S. S. J., Richmond, Va. 
They should have a wide circulation. 

-"The Rivals; or, A Pretty Pair," by Fred 
Edmonds, music by Rhys-Herbert, is a comic 
operetta, in two acts, for ladies' voices. It is 
comedy, sure enough, full of lively action and 
odd situations; and all ends well. Music and 
words are quite in keeping. J. Fischer & Bro., 
publishers. Price, 75 cts. 

D. B. Hansen & Sons, Chicago, have brought 
out new editions of "The Communion Prayer- 
Book, " by a Sister of St. Joseph; and "The 
Way of the Cross" (the form by St. Alphonsus, 
and a shorter one by the Rev. D. P. O'Brien). 
Some improvements have been made in the 
first of these publications; the latter should be 
sewed with thread instead of wire. 

A sixteenmo of 144 pages, "Lettres a Tous 
Les Francais," comes to us from the Comite 
de Publication, Paris. There are a dozen letters 
by six different authors, who discuss, in the 
first part, "Germany and her Allies"; and, in 
the second, "The Quadruple Entente." The 
introductory epistle has for specific title 
"Patience, Effort, Confidence"; and the con- 
cluding one deals with "French Vitality." 

It was a happy thought to reprint in 
pamphlet form the splendid tribute which the 
Rt. Rev. Mgr. Maurice M. Hassett, D. D., 
V. G., paid to the late Rt. Rev. John W. Shana- 
'han, D. D., third Bishop of Harrisburg, in the 
Records of the American Catholic Historical 
Society. "A career which was a model of kindly 
aggressiveness, in the greatest cause to which 
a man may devote his life": this is, in summary, 
Mgr. Hassett's judgment on the life and work 
of Bishop Shanahan. 

The Catholic Book Co., Wheeling, W. Va., 
have just put out three new volumes in their 
Young Folks' Series. The "Child's History of 
the Apostles," by the Rev. Roderick' MacEachen, 
tells, in a manner suitable for young readers, 
of the life and work of the Apostles; featuring, 
of course, the activities of St. Peter and St. 
Paul. Charles Wingerter, M. D., LL. D. 
offers a very readable account of America's 
discoverer in the "Child's Life of Columbus"; 

and the noble history of Mary, Queen of Scots, 
is narrated by Mary Margaret MacEachen. 
All three books are illustrated in an interesting 
manner. No price is given. 

Recent numbers of Bloud and Gay's "Pages 
Actuelles" pamphlets include: "La Paix Reli- 
gieuse," by Henri Joly; "Les Revendications 
Territoriales de la Belgique" and "France et 
Belgique," by Maurice des Ombiaux; and "La 
Representation Nationale au Lendemain de la 
Paix," by Un Combattant. All four of these 
pamphlets possess those notes of timeliness and 
interest which we have come to associate with 
this series of contemporary essays. 

"The Sacraments, Vol. III.," a dogmatic 
treatise by the Rt. Rev. Mgr. Pohle, Englished 
by Arthur Preuss (B. Herder), is the tenth 
volume of the whole series on Dogmatic 
Theology; and it is characterized by the same 
features of comprehensiveness and lucidity that 
have marked each of its predecessors. The 
particular sacrament treated of in the present 
volume is Penance, and the treatment is grati- 
tyingly full. Not the least interesting pages of 
the book are devoted to an exposition of the 
doctrine of Indulgences. 

A twelvemo of some eighty-four pages, 
"The Mystical Knowledge of God, an Essay in 
the Art of Knowing and Loving the Divine 
Majesty," by Dom Savinien Louismet, O. S. B., 
has full ecclesiastical approbation. The author 
makes his own the phrase of the Blessed Henry 
Suso, if memory does not fail us (for Dom 
Louismjet does not quote) that mystical 
knowledge is "experimental knowledge" of God; 
and his explanation of this experience forms the 
kernel of the present essay. Published, in style 
of handsome appropriateness, by Burns & 
Gates. Price, 25. 6d. 

"Letters of a Travelling Salesman," by 
Charlie Jacobsen (Magnificat Press), is a neatly 
printed and attractively bound sixteenmo of 
1 86 pages. It is easil