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A-    M-    D-    G- 

LORETTO  ABBEY. 


ST.  ALOYSIUS  LIBRARY. 


You  are  requested  neither  to  abuse  nor  lend  this 
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HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME   BLESSED.      ST.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JANUARY  6,  191?. 


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 
heaven. 

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 


7V//-;  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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, 


THE  AVE  MAR  A 


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.* 


BY    NUGENT   ROBINSON. 


I.— ST.  PATRICK'S  BALL. 

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 
returned. 

"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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"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- 
ruption." 

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, 


6 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
splendid." 

"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 
indeed. 

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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
her. 

"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  hisx  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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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


TRANSLATED  FOR  "THE  AVE  MARIA,"  BY  j.  B.  s. 


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 
treasures. 

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  WTISE  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 


10 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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

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 
King? 

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 
born. 

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 
heavens. 

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 
unknown. 

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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


11 


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 
country. 

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 
journey. 

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! 


Neighbors. 


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. 


BY    MARY    H.    KENNEDY. 

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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
luncheon. 

"The  old  music  room!"  I  echoed 
blankly. 

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 
asked. 

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. 


THE  AVF,  MARIA 


13 


"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 
soothingly. 

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 
days." 

"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 
forsaken?" 

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 
doctor." 

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- 


14 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
wanted?" 

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 
regime. 

"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!" 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


15 


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 
questions. 

"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 
surprise. 

"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." 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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!      hem1" 

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  va.in :  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 

Name!" 

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. 

—  Mahabharala. 


The  Holy  Wells  of  Cornwall. 

* 

HY     N.     I-.    DBGIDON. 

()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 
phyt.es  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,  ;lnd  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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


17 


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 


18 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


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 
Ireland. 

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- 


20 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  UAR1A 


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, 
philosophy. 

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 


22 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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  \\  .,: -i.de  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  type.wri1.crs, 
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 


24 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 

tiY    CATHAI,    MAU.OY. 

§  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. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


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  hungryvboy  could 
ask. 

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 


26 


THE  AYR  MART  A 


"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. 

"Halloo!" 

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 
hunt." 

"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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


27 


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 
to-day."- 

"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 


28 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
one." 

"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 
climb." 

"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 
wrords  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 
Phil. 

"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. 
I. 

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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


29 


never  been  so  generous  as  on  the  present 
occasion. 

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." 

II. 

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, 
mother?" 

"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 
irresistible. 

"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." 

III. 

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 
finished," 


30 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


IV. 

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 
shoes. 

"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. 

V. 

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  AYR  MARIA  :-?! 

WITH    AUTHORS   AND    PUBLISHERS 


—"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, 
Philadelphia. 

—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 


Ttt£  AYE  MARI.\ 


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 
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appear  at  the  head,  older  ones  being  dropped  out 
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As  a  rule,  devotional  books,  pamphlets  and  new 
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Orders  may  be  sent  to  our  Office  or  to  the  pub- 
lishers. Foreign  books  not  on  sale  in  the  United 
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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 

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"  Tommy  Travers."    Mary  T.  Waggaman.    75  cts. 
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VOL.  V.     (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JANUARY  13, 


NO.  2 


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


The  Mother. 


BY    CHARLES    L.  O'DONNELL,   C.  S.  C. 


^ 


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


And  when  they  play,  the  silver  bells  tinkle  and 

•     ring,  . 

And  in  and  out  their  gold  coats   are  like  stars 
flashing. 

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

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


Catholic  Principles  and  International 
Politics. 


BY    FATHER    CUTHBERT,    O.  S.   F.   C. 


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. 


TI1K  AVK  MARIA 


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 
co-operation." 

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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


35 


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  sw©rd  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. 


36 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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- 
policy. 

From  this  point  of  view,  the  Church 
may  well  claim  to  have  upheld  the  prin- 
ciple of  a  sovereign  international  lawr 
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 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


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. 


38 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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- 
sistencies. 

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 
present. 

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. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


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. 


II. — AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  DOLPHIN. 

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 
Talbot?" 

"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." 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Si9 


"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 
here." 

"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 
"jasey." 

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 
Bodkin. 

"About  £300.  You're  welcome  to  it, 
Arthur." 

"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!" 

"Mexico!"     Talbot  stared  at  his  com- 


10 


THE  AVE  AIM:/  \ 


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, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


41 


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. 

III. — BALLYBODEN. 

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 


42 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


43 


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 
vand  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 
Ballyboden?" 

"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. 


1 1 


I  !!!•     \  \  I     MM'I  \ 


"  I'll    go    l"    I  "il.lm     ii 

id,  padrt)  " and  n  •  (  ounl     ug<  nl     n  in 

i  M  Ii,     I  'II    ihOW    Inin     I  li.il     I"     '  onldn'l     do 

bettei  i  ii.m  pfl    ofl  ;  h  »n  i '..-1.11  y 

l.i,d<  M        II    In     r  .ii'l     i  M  I),    IK     inr.dil    ;;•  I     I  IK 
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I.-IM  .1     "It  i    a  i"»i  loud,  n  .••••IIM  h 

honni  .      •  «.n    •  M  in  -        .HM|       I  /  ill  Ii       m;r,        hi- 
,h  owned       I'ml      ;;l("      I"    '"  (  -"'I '      '»"•' 
i  ,    no I     i«  'JIIIH  •!    I-.    I>H       Dm  "I 

!  In        .'.ill 

i, .1.1     I'.inii     r.odi MI,  it  nol  10  impeiid 
,,i   iu<  •  •  •«.!  in  'i   by   i  ii( 

.,|     !•';,!  In  i     l-,dvv;nd     I"    '  "Ml-  •  »Un1 

I  III 

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kiwii,  ;md  i  shall,  of  cou  bo  call 

iii>..ii  i  IK  in     [  can  drivi  r,    I'mi , 

faai    i'.d  IK  > .  do  n  K    •  oui    niiiii,  ii. .    wii  h 

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.1    tO  SC(    I  li:M    Mini  l;'..i;;<    |».ml  oil ,  .m<l   In 

MI    Brown,  the  agenl  ni  the  law  UN- 
i  n  in  .UK  <   <  ompany,  .1  ;•.<  m  i<   picci  oi 

iinii.l      I  in  \  <.ii  I  IK. «    .  padre  t  \  h:il    ;imJ:i'  ion  . 

cocl  n1     .ih-.niuh  i\    |>i <   MUM     to  aspiri    to 

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will  i  in  .  i-  \  i  iinij;  up  i»i  ocei    stop?    i  feai 

d,  .ni'i 

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I'JIIll    ,     '  II.  I        I    III          I  II    |«       .1  "     I'lMll 

I  ii  -I. Mill       OW<   I       I  ll.ll        j'lnl  Kill.        !•:•    |>lll)l|.         .1 

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in.l    i.  pay,      .iinl    r.i.il  M  ml.     i  ,    I  IK     UK  in.. i  \ 
ill     I  IK      IK  .11  I 

"I     \'  I  M  I  IK  i      I  \il\v.i  i  il. 

MI  i  i  ., •///  say  ii .  i ii.ii     \\ im  la  i iii .  <  i.iiinii; 

ii|>     I  Ii,       i  \  ,  INK    '       \\  li\  .     il  '  ,     Tun      I  >ol.iu, 

.ni.i  \\  ii  ii  .1  telegram '     i    suppo  <    It's  ioi 

\ oil,    A  i  I  Inn  ."       IK     .n  1. 1«  «l 

Kill     I  ll.il     \  olllli;    i;,  ill  I,   in. ill    li.nl    ;ili,  .nh 

>i<  <  i   i  he  hull  iii  mi ,   IM  1*1,1.     i   wire 
\\  in.  1 1  read  ' : 

!•  H  <\\      \l  i  '!'«  •      \iinrr     I'.. 

I        M,  i l',.ill  vl""l'  n     N"1 

IMI  i>i  i  n  Coutitj   Onlv 

\\ .  leftvi    MI  IM  tlaj  i .  >i  \nniii     'MI.   ,  i  , 

l-.n  l  \      ..ill.    I i     M  ii  .im  M     A  |>i  il    l»iii  I.  i  ni  h 

(To  I "' """  <i  > 


'I  'In-    V.ilN  y   of    SiN-i. 


H|"Hi    CfO      .     mOUnd     tft(  i     MKHIIKI, 
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here,   wh-  1  e  "M.  .    i  IK  , 

ill,         I  1  1<  .'.(  I  '/       I'l.HII   , 

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urc   w  1  1  <  i  .    ill.-, 

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<ih   i  h>    .mi  him  '    quicki  mn 

'.ill        1  1  ll  1  1  "     1  1  >  I  I  1  1     :  i  1  1  (  •  W  , 

.    MI.  M   long  .ni'i  (jui'-i   ili  .  |. 

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\     IM  IK  '      \vi  .1  |.  .    I  In   ill     l  on  lid. 

..Ill,        il     i       h..l\      ;M(.IIII.| 

of    tin-    "Blissful    M;irlyr." 


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.In  .  (  I  n.ii,  IM  I  Ween  I  In  ;un  K  nl 
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whii-ii  were  N'midid  h\    ih-iixii   Lozinga, 

I  lie  In  .1  I.I  ,ll.»|i  nl  Nol  \\  n  ll.  In  I  v\< •<  II  I  hr 
\  .  ;il  .  MHJII  .nnl  I  I  I  o,  n«  ll  ll.llrd  I  III.  , 
,id|. .mill);  |.;ii  r  Ii.  .  <  :dlcd.  lllr  I'.lil  1 1 1 1;;  1 1.1  1 1 1  . 

IM-  ii  has  its  o\\  ii  pin  i  ,h  .  inn.  h    Those  ««i 
md  M    Peter's  are  \\ii inn  .1 
stone's  i  in  o\\   oi  i  ,u  h  oi  IK  i  ,    MI. 1 1   ni 

Kdllllllld'          IS       .d'olll        hill       .1       .illlr      hlllhrl 

away. 

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\\  |  ||<    I      nil      .1      jdnl  K .11         :  ',•    |.l<    Illli,    I      d.l\       |i.ll<l 

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.11.  .  tionS  "I    Si     ThOfll  18  "I    ^  '.minimi  \ 

\\iin-ii  are  «irpn-ini  mi  UK-  panels  •>!  H'1 
-    Audi.  \\ ' .  Church;   .md  als  • 

.1     HUM  .d     p. i  ml  mi;     <>l      I  he     '..line     '..iml      m 

UK     .j.i, i    parish   «»i    ;;i     I'Mumnd      ih 

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,  ,  Mini  |e  ,,  .Hid  aeS  "I  wllll  i  \\  .I'.ll  I  he 


////•    n  /•   MARIA 


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iii.ii  I  vi  "  \\;r.  mil  allnwrd  In  |id  r.h  ,  n<  il  lid 

will  "  hi',  \\rii  '.pi  n!  pih;i  Linage  "ii  eai  i ii 
evei  laiir  av 

r.rlm.       «!(  -.«  i  iimn;      !  In    .1       |i.iinl  iii" 

OKI  ..mi! ,  .imi  how  i in-v  \\<-ir  discovered, 
ii  may  nni  i>.  con  lidered  <>ni  <>i  plan-  in 

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•.ii naini  aiimii  seven  miir-.  imm  NI»I  ivich, 
whence  i  iiavrii.-<i  i»\  ham 

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bakes  its  name;    ami    i   .-mi  .\\   once  ft 

mimlrd,     rvrn      in      Ihr.     Mililndr,     nl      UK- 

id  i  ii>ir  vv.-n  i  ii.ii  li  raging .    for  1 i"   <  •  • > 

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j;;iV  Mil. Hi;;  n|  pri.pl,  I.,  da\  I  h,  wlulr 

sails  oi  i  in-  yachts,  i  in-  steam  .-mil  <  in-i  i  n 

I.IIIIK    ll<         .IK      «   OnSpil    limi        liV     I  III    II     .ill   . 

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is    inn  .1     in, I  n  i  ,il,|«  ,    .1  .    ;\oi  loll,     (  Nni  \\  n  h 

III      pill  ll«    lll.H  (  'll  \       i.l        \ll;,;l,   I    ."     .r, 

Well  ;i',  n|  ,  him  In  .,  |,nl  In  <|;i\  nnlir  .11, 
In  In  ,i.|i  Th,  M  I  i  ,  null  |  n|  I  hill;; 

)M-iin;i.iiv   bas  ei  i«irni i\    taken  tin-  I»|;M  • 

•  •I      .ill      I  hill;;   .     |.d  l.illiilii;     I,,     .  •  il  I  I  i  •  1 1 1 1  >l.  I  I  Hill 
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coast  towns  with  its  freight     truly  s  m«»'.i 

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England 

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Andrew's  i 'imirii,  r.inin  id  i-jniirdii.-d  as 


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p. n  i  .In. .in  i    .     iln     nOt     bak(      '   mdl\      In     I  hr-.r 


46 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
passers-by. 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


47 


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 
Frenys. 

*  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 


////•    AVI',   M/  II 


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10 


i  ICSHII  i '    i"    Hi-  •     <ii. 

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m.  I  HI-  In, In         '  .In      |.  II     |f!  "i"'"   I          "'  '         I"' 


50 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


51 


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 
vbeloved  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. 


52  THE  AVE  MARIA 

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." 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


.53 


•  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.' 


54 


THE  4V E  MARIA 


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  is»a  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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


55 


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 


56 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


57 


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 rti 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. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


II. — THE  MANSE. 

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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


59 


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  feverN"  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 


60 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
surprise. 

"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 
Islander." 

"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." 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


61 


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 
greens. 

(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 
him. 

"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  ? ' ' 


62 


THE  AVE  .MARIA 


"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 
Sinks." 

"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. 


BY    SEVERAL    YOUNG    HANDS. 


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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA  <>3 

WITH    AUTHORS    AND    PUBLISHERS 


• — 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 


64 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


us  is  cracked  at  the  back,  showing  inferior 
binding.  We  should  not  perhaps  havei  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 
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As  a  rule,  devotional  books,  pamphlets  and  new 
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Orders  may  be  sent  to  our  Office  or  to  the  pub- 
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"The   Divine  Master's  Portrait."     Rev.  Joseph 

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Obituary. 


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

Rev.  Alexander  Cestelli,  of  the  archdiocese  of 
Oregon  City;  Rt.  Rev.  Paul  Hoelscher,  diocese 
of  Buffalo;  Rt.  Rev.  Francis  Maguire,  diocese 
of  Albany;  Rev.  John  Rohlinger,  and  Rev.  James 
Gessl,  diocese  of  Green  Bay. 

Sister  M.  Carmel,  R.  G.  S.;  Sister  M.  Anasta- 
sia  (Legere),  Sisters  of  the  Holy  Cross;  Sister 
M.  Celestia,  Sisters  of  St.  Francis;  Sister  M. 
Catherine,  Order  of  Mt.  Carmel;  and  Sister  M. 
Bernard,  Sisters  of  St.  Dominic. 

Mr.  Thomas  C.  Casgrain,  Miss  Mary  E. 
Ingley,  Mr.  John  Drachbar,  Mr.  William 
Markoe,  Mr.  John  L.  Brophy,  Mrs.  Ann  Con- 
naghan,  Mr.  Henry  Ritchie,  Miss  Annie  Raul, 
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McCoy,  Mrs.  James  Barnett,  Mrs.  Dennis 
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Miss  Annie  C.  O'Rourke,  Mr.  Joseph  Herzog, 
Mr.  L.  L.  Hettiger,  Mr., Patrick  Kennelly,  Mr. 
F.  M.  Weber,  Mr.  D.  J.  Miller,  Mrs.  Catherine 
Moriarty,  Mr.  James  and  Mr.  John  Moriarty, 
Mr.  N.  L.  Voyard,  Mr.  Edwin  Huss,  Mrs.  Mary 
M.  O'Reilly,  and  Mr.  John  Lamka. 

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

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HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME   BUSSED.      8T.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JANUARY  20,  1917. 


NO.  3 


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


The  Flight. 


BY    M.   WOELLWARTH. 


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  wrork  in  us! — Rev.  R.  Eaton. 


The  Sacraments. 

BY    THE    VERY    REV.  R.   O'KENNEDY. 

IV. — PENANCE. 

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"; 


60 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


68 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 

(Conclusion 


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  AVE  MARIA 


69 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


IV. — PARTINGS. 

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 
perdition. 

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 


70 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
horseback. 

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

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 
bandana. 

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 
Ballyboden. 

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  AVE  MARIA 


1 


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- 
speed." 

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 
station. 

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 
hand: 

"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. 

V. — MIRAMAR. 

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 


72 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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!" 

"Arthur!" 

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, 


74 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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  AVE  MARIA 


75 


The  Best  Angel. 


BY  EDWARD  WILBUR  MASON. 


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 
Napoleon. 


BY    A.  HIIvUARD    ATTERIDGE. 


I. 

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 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


77 


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 
families. 

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. 

NAPOLEON. 

The  Emperor  was  not  sincere.  His 
envoy  had  taken  care  to  pledge  him  to 


78 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
f£te  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- 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


79 


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 
childhood. 

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 


80 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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  wrent  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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


81 


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 
Umbria. 

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 


82 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 

BY    MARY    HAYDEN    HARKINS. 

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- 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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.  vShe  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 
altar. 

"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. 


84 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


85 


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 
directions. 

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 
affirmations.' 

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. 


so 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


87 


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 
chronicle." 

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 


88 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


89 


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. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


III.— THE  LOG  CABIN. 

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 
hold. 

"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 
dismay. 


"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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


91 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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, 
sure!"  • 

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, — 
Mnot  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 
pleased." 

"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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


93 


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 
lips. 

"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 
brother?" 

"No:  he's  heap  sbetter  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." 


94 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 


THE  AYE  MA-RJA  .  95 

WITH    AUTHORS   AND    PUBLISHERS 


— 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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 
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Obituary. 


Remember  them  that  are  in  bands. — HEB.,  xiii.  3. 

Rev.  Thomas  Gerrard,  of  the  archdiocese  of 
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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.) 

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THE  FLIGHT  INTO  EGYPT. 

(Schola  Art.     Beuron.) 


HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME   BLESSED.      8T.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JANUARY  27,  191?. 


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. 


BY    H.  HAMILTON    GIBBS. 


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.  vSee  there  on -the 
left  flank.  You  see  the  letter  'R'  on  the 
shoulder." 

"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, 


98 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


99 


"I,  Monsieur?  I  come  from  a  German 
prison." 

"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 
through." 

"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. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 

VI. — THIS  MEETING. 

'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 
captain. 

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- 


100 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
apartment. 

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 
court. 

"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'," 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


101 


"How  did  you  manage  the  conveyance, 
Rody?" 

"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 
O'Flynn. 

"Good-bye,  acushla!"  he  was  heard 
to  say.  "It  won't  be  my  fault  if  I  don't 
come  across  ye  agin." 

VII. — BY  THE  BLUE  DANUBE. 

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?" 

"Lieutenant." 

"Good  enough.    Hey!   Speak  German?" 

"Not  a  word." 

"Bad  enough.    Hey!    French?" 

'Yes,  Baron'." 

"Good  enough.  Hey!  Want  to  go  to 
Mexico?" 

"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. 


102 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"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 
follower. 

"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 


THK  AVE  MARIA 


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, 
concluding: 

-  "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 
uniform. 

"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 


104 


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 
crowd. 

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  vcomin'  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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


105 


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 
Napoleon. 


BY    A.    HILLIARD    ATTERIDGE. 


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  and1  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 


106 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


107 


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  browsr  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. 


108 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
Avignon." 

,  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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


109 


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. 


BY    THE    VERY    REV.  R.  O'KENNEDY. 


The  Day's  Delights. 


BY    M.  SCHULTE 

^"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- 


110 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
gluttony. 

(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 
over-exquisitely.) 

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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


111 


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. 


112 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
have." 

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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


113 


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. 


BY    GERTRUDE    ROBINSON. 


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 


114 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
train. 

"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 
station." 


So  now  we  knew  what  had  not  happened. 
Still,  we  wanted  to  find  out  what  had 
happened. 

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  Crvoss,  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." 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


115 


"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 
hand. 

"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, 


116 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


11 


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 


118 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


119 


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 


120 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
vulgarity. 

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 
ennobling. 

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. 


E.    MANN. 


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 
magistrate." 

"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." 


122 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"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  voice7;  "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 ! ' ' 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


123 


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. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


IV.— MAKING  FRIENDS. 
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 


124 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


candles  will  all  be  lighted,  and  everything 
will  be  so  perfectly  beautiful!" 

"Miss  Susie,  what  was  it  I  tould  ye, 
darlint?" 

"Yes,  yes!  I'm  coming,  Nora, — right 
now!" 

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 
hacked. 

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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


125 


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!"  brokeNin 
Nvora,  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, 
eagerly. 

"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 
defence. 

"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, 
hesitatingly. 

"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 
reproach. 

' '  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 


126 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


back  rough  words  as  well  as  blows;  but  as 
he  watched  the  little  fur-clad  figure  disap- 
pearing in  the  distance,  his  eyes  gradually 
softened. 

"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 
called. 

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 
expression. 

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 
blacksmiths. 


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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 

• 

WITH    AUTHORS   AND    PUBLISHERS 


— 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. 


128 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 

PREFERENCE. 

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 
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As  a  rule,  devotional^  books,  pamphlets  and  new 
editions  will  not  be  indexed. 

Orders  may  be  sent  to  our  Office  or  to  the  pub- 
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3TEOTO 

-i  t  ~    ii  _ 

HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME   BLESSED.      ST.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  FEBRUARY  3,  1917. 


NO.  5 


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


Our  Lady's  Offering. 

BY    HOPS    WILLIS. 

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. 


BY    THE   REV.  T.  J.  BRKNNAN,  S.  T.  L.* 


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  have7  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. 


130 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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  AVE  MARIA 


131 


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 


132 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
sepulchre. 

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, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


133 


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. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


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. 


VIII.— VERA  CRUZ. 
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 


134 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


135 


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 
deputies. 

"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 
stern. 

"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, 


136 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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: 

FONDA  DIUGENCIA, 
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, 

HARRY  T. 

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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


137 


"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. 


BY    GABRIEL,    FRANCIS    POWERS. 


Janet. 


BY    MARION    MUIR. 


^\  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. 


I. 

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 


138 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


139 


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 
Christmas!" 

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 


140 


TtiE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
Day." 

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." 

II. 

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 
darkness. 

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  darkness—that 
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. 
"Barker!" 

It  is  like  some  hideous,   unreal  night- 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


141 


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 
Barker!" 

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 
out!" 

"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 
escape." 


142 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
happened?" 

"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. 

BY    C.  O'CONOR-ECCLES. 

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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


143 


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 
emotion. 

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, 


144 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
0  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 
tabernacle. 

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, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


145 


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 


146 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
terminus." 

"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 
burden. 

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 


THK  AYE  MARIA 


147 


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. 
Joseph's. 

"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 
tenaciously. 

"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." 


148 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


A  Reminiscence  of  Pius  IX. 


A    PAGE    FROM    A    PRIVATE    JOURNAL,. 


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, 
France. 

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 


THE  AVR  MARIA 


149 


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 


150 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
mark. 

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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


151 


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,  wevthink, 
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 


152 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVJK  MARIA 


153 


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  ap1 
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 
Commission. 

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 


154 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


in  trouble,  a  sweetener  of  life,~a  prepara- 
tion for  death,  and  an  earnest  of  personal 
salvation. 


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 
press. 

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. 


BY  ARTHUR  WALLACE  PEACH. 


(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. 

BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 

V. — AN  OUTLAWED  NIGHT. 
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 
Mmself." 

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 


156 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


157 


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 


158 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
away." 

(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 
Heaven." 

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. 


Tally. 

The  word  tally  originally  meant  a  cut- 
ting; then  a  cutting  of  notches  to  keep 
an  account;  and  then  simply  an  account, 
however  .kept. 


THE  AVE  MARIA  159 

WITH    AUTHORS   AND    PUBLISHERS 


— 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 
Teuton." 

— 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- 
making. 

— 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 


160 


AVE  MARIA 


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! 


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


Ad  Vesperas. 


BY    JOHN    FERGUSON. 


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 
Wales. 


BY    N.  F.  DEGIDON. 


¥' 


life: 


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 


Hi.! 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


163 


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 

miracles. 

> . ». « — 

The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


IX. — THE  DISPATCH  TO  MAR^CHAL 

BAZAINE. 

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- 


164 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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, 
stiffly. 

"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 
saddle-bow. 

"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 — •" 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


165 


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 
assistance. 

"  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 


166 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
yards. 

"Hadn't  I  betther  level  him,  Masther 
Arthur?" 

"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, 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


in? 


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 
Arthur. 

"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 
Arthur. 

"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 
details. 

"Aha!"    laughed  the  Captain.    "Little 


168 


THE  AV&  MARIA 


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 
aid-de-camp. 

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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Captive  Souls. 


BY    BROTHER    MATTHEW,  C.  S.  C. 

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. 


BY    THE    REV.   T.  J.  BRENNAN,    S.  T. 


(CONTINUED.) 

"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. 

"BENEDICAMUS  DOMINO. — 'The  ordinary 
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 


170 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


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 
Dead. 

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. 

BREAKING  OF  THE  BREAD. — (See  Frac- 
tion.) 

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 
colors. 

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 
diocese. 

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  wrorn 
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 


171 


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 
charity." 

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 
altar-stone. 

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 
girdle. 

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 


172 


TfiE  A  VE  MARIA 


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- 
Communion. 

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- 
glory. 

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 
communicated. 

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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 


174 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


Her  Father's  Ring. 


BY    FLORENCE    GILMORE- 


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 
use. 

"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  Ivebeau  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- 
standing. 

"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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


175 


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  Mr.de  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,"  Mrs.de  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 


170 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
visit. 


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; 


—Shakespeare, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


111 


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 

coreligionists. 

*  ** 

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 
accept." 

"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 


178 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
voice. 

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 
you." 

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  AYR  MARIA 


179 


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 


ISO 


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, 


THE  AVK  MARIA 


1*1 


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 
Greekv  the  Bohemian,  the  Maronite,  etc. 
This  means  that  for  some  years  after  the 
conclusion  of  peace  the  ranks  of  the 


182 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


183 


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. 


184 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 

BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 

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. 


186 


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 
boy." 

"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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


187 


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 
tea." 

"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 
asked. 

"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." 


188 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"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, 
softly. 

"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. 


BY    MARY    KELLEY    DUNNE. 


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>  fpr.th^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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


ISO 


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 
friendliness. 

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 
labor. 

To  be  sure  the  swallow  does  his  work  in 
the  pleasant,  sunlit-,  flower-garden  world, 


190 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
sweetness. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 
WITH    AUTHORS    AND    PUBLISHERS 


— 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. 


L92 


'////<  .-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! 


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Obituary. 


Remember  {hem  that  are  in  bands, — HEB.,  xiii,  3. 

Rev.  John  H.  Green,  of  the  archdiocese  of 
Baltimore;  Rev.  Louis  Bohl,  diocese  of  Newark; 
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Dagnault,  diocese  of  Green  Bay;  Rev.  John 
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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.} 

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HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME   BLESSED.      ST.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.V.    (New.  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  FEBRUARY   17,  1917. 


NO.  7 


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

Eden  Reopened.  Marian  Devotion  in  Mediaeval  Wales. 


BY    THEODORE    MAYNARD. 

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. 


BY    THE   RT.  REV.  BISHOP   POWER. 


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 
sermon. 

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 


194 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


195 


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 


19(3 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


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. 


X. — THE  VEILED  LADY. 

ARE;CHAL  BAZAINE    received 

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- 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


197 


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- 
lechner?" 

"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 


198 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


he  was  de  facto  was  pretty  evident,  since 
the  Marechal's  name  was  in  everybody's 
mouth. 

"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 
invincible." 

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, — marker1  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 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


KM) 


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; 


200 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


201 


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?  Bvazaine'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 


202 


THE  AYE 'MARIA 


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. 


BY    THE    REV.  T.  J.  BRENNAN,    S.  T.  L 

(CONTINUED.) 

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 


20') 


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. 

DIGNUM  ET  JUSTUM  EST.  —  (See  Gratias 
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. 

DOMINE,  NON  SUM  DiGNUS  ("Lord,  I 
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  \ 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
altar. 

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 
slightly. 

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 
"Lectionary." 

EXULTET. —  The  hymn  sung  by  the 
deacon  in  the  Liturgy  of  Holy  Saturday 
at  the  blessing  of  the  Paschal  Candle. 

FAITHFUL.  (MASS  OF  THE)  —  In  the 
early  times,  both  those  who  were  preparing 
for  admission  to  the  Church  (the  catechu- 
mens) and  those  who  were  already  members 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


205 


(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 
Antependium.) 

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 
excepted. 

GOSPEL  (AND  GOSPEL  BOOK). — A  por- 
tion of  one  of  the  Four  Gospels,  suitable 
to  the  day  or  the  season,  is  read  in  every 


200 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


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 
tabernacle. 

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. 

GRATIAS  AGAMUS  DOMINO  DEO  NOSTRO 
("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.) 

HABEMUS  AD  DOMINUM. — {See  Sursum 
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. 
Amen." 

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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


207 


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 
Church. 

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 
preparatory. 

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. 

KYRIE   ELEISON,   CHRISTE   ELEISON.- 
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, 
Ethiopic. 

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.") 


208 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
Shrine. 


BY    M.    BARRY 


Sonnet. 


BY    ENID    DINNIS. 

(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 

cling; 

And  while  thy  careless  childhood's  days  took 
wing 

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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


209 


use  he  made  of  his  liberty  was  to  prostrate 
himself  before1  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 


210 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


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 
thousand. 

The  first  thought  of  Dupre  was  to  pay 
his  debt 'to  the  good  Count  del  Benino. 
Accordingly,  he  presented  himself  at  the 


THE  AVK  MARIA 


211 


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. 


212 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 


THE  AVE  AfARIA 


213 


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 


214 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


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- 
paign. 

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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


215 


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 


216 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 


BY  A.  BARRY. 


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 
thought. 

"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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
destroyed. 

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 
patriotism. 

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  AVE  MARIA 


219 


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?" 

"Yes." 

"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 
hours." 

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. 

BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


VII. — A  PERILOUS  ATTEMPT. 
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 


220 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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, 
doubtfully. 

"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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


221 


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 


222 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 

PHILIP  J.  DOANE. 

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. 


BY    CASCIA. 

(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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA  22:] 

WITH    AUTHORS   AND    PUBLISHERS 


— 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." 


224 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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.) 

THE  MESSAGE  o?  SPRING. 
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. 

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"Sermons    and    Sermon    Notes."     Rev.    B.    W. 

Maturin.    $2. 

"Verses."    Hilaire  Belloc.    $1.10. 
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Obituary. 

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, 
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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." 
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$10.  For  the  rescue  of  orphaned  and  abandoned 
children  in  China:  Fiiend  (Leavenworth),  $5; 
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HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME   BLESSED.      ST.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.     (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  FEBRUARY  24,   1917. 


NO.  8 


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

Rosa  Mundi.  The  Meaning  of  the  Seed. 


BY    M.  E.  GRAHAM. 


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. 


A    LADDER    FOR    LENT.* 

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 
book-plate. 


220 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
World. 

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 
speaketh. 

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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


227 


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. 


228 


THE  AVE  1&AR1A 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


XL— VIVA  EL  MEXICO. 
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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


229 


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  t£ie  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 
question. 

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- 


230 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
degree." 

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 
affections." 

"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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"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 
Arthur. 

"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?" 

"Baron!" 

"Baron!" 

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 
water. 

"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- 
alone?" 

"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 


232 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


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. 


BY    THE    REV.    T.    J.    BRENNAN,    S.  T. 


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. 


(CONTINUED.) 

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. 

(1)  CATECHUMENS,  MASS  OF. — The  name 
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 
Catechumens. 

(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.) 

(4)  MASS    OF    THE   PRESANCTIFIED.— 
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 
Friday. 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


233 


(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 
vSunday. 

(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. 

MASTER  OF  CEREMONIES. — 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. 

MISSA  CANTATA. — (See  Mass.) 

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. 
Amen." 

MUNDATORY. — (See  Purifier.) 

NICENE  CREED. — (See  Creed.) 

NOBIS  QUOQUE  PECCATORIBUS  ("Also 
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 
mentioned. 

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 


2;u 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


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. 

PANGE  LINGUA  GLORIOSI. — The  opening 
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 
Resurrection. 

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 
celebrant. 

PAX. — (See  Kiss  of  Peace.). 

PAX  DOMINI  SIT  SEMPER  VOBISCUM 
("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"). 

PER  OMNIA  S^CULA  S^CULORUM  ("For 
ever  and  ever"). — The  concluding  words 
of  many  of  the  prayers  said  in  the 
Mass. 

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. 

PRESANCTIFIED,  MASS  OF. — (See  Mass.) 

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. 

PRIVILEGED  ALTAR. — (See  Altar.) 

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 
orders. 

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 
enclosed. 

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 


230 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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.) 

STABAT  MATER  DOLOROSA. — A  sequence 
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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


237 


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 
Creed. 

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. 

TRANSUBSTANTIATION.— This  term  the 
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.) 

VENI,  SANCTE  SPIRITUS  ("Come,  Holy 
Ghost"). — A  sequence  for  Pentecost,  sup- 
posed to  have  been  written  in  the  eleventh 


century  by  Blessed  Hermanus  Contractus. 

VERE  DIGNUM  ET  JUSTUM  EST.  — The 
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.) 

VEXILLA  REGIS  PRODEUNT. — A  hymn 
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. 


238 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


When. 


BY    LUCY    GERTRUDE    CLARKIN. 


in  your  sloe-ping  thoughts  and  in  your 
waking 

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 

longing, 

And  blinded   by  the  tears  you  must  not  weep, 
When  o'er  your  heart  old  dreams,  old  hopes  come 

thronging 

Back   from   the   years   that   you   had    deemed 
asleep  ; 

When,  with  relentless  patience,  you  have  crushed 

them, 

And  made  no  useless  moan  for  what  has  been; 
When    wild    desires    awaken,    you    have    hushed 

them, 

By  God's  own  mercy,   you  have   conquered  — 
then. 

-  n  .+....  -  .  -- 

The  Way  of  a  Maid. 

BY    MARY    E.    MANNIX. 

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, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


239 


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! 

LENA. 

*** 

0  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,  wrould  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 


240 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 

LENA. 

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 — • 


WTell,  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 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


241 


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 
time. 

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 
soon." 

"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. 


242 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
us: 

"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. 

LENA. 


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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


243 


An  Irish  Monastery  and  Its  Martyr. 


BY    WILLIAM    D.    KELLY. 


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 


244 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 


THE  AYE  MARIA 

Two  Fallacies  of  the  Season. 


24f 


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 
household?." 

"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 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


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 
prescribes. 

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 
bodies. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


247 


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- 


248 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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 
to-morrow.' 

"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 


THE  AVH  MARIA 


249 


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 


250 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


alert,  their  knowledge  more  v;iried  and 
deeply  grounded,  and  the  superiority  of 
their  work  has  demonstrated  the  value 
of  a  trained  conscience1  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 
commended. 


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. 

BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 

VIII. — BROKEN  BONDS. 
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 


252 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


253 


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 


254 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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. 

"Yes." 

"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  AVE  MARIA 
WITH    AUTHORS    AND    PUBLISHERS 


—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 
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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- 
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the  book  are  devoted  to  an  exposition  of  the 
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— A  twelvemo  of  some  eighty-four  pages, 
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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  easily  readable  at  a  sitting, 
but  will  prove  more  enjoyable  if  the  reading 
be  spread  over  a  number  of  sittings.  Like  most 
other  humorous  sketches  (even  Mr.  Dooley's) 
written  for  weekly  or  monthly  publication,  these 
letters  rather  suffer  from  a  continuous  perusal. 
They  are  reprinted  from  the  Magnificat,  whose 
readers,  we  are  told  in  a  prefatory  note,  "insisted 
on  having  them  in  book  form."  Many  others 
will  now  enjoy  them. 

—The  Rev.  Francis  A.  Gaffney,  O.  P.,  has  the 
distinction  of  being  the  most  prolific  sonneteer 
among  American  poet-priests.  Dr.  Egan,  when 


250 


THE  AVH  MARIA 


a  professor  of  English  literature,  used  to  insist 
that  a  sonnet  should  be  rewritten  at  least  thirty- 
six  times — or  was  it  sixty-three?  (the  number 
Varied,  we  are  told) — before  being  submitted  for 
publication;  and  he  furthermore  declared  that 
three  or  four  sonnets  a  year  was  the  utmost 
that  could  reasonably  be  expected  of  the  average 
poet.  The  sonnet  is  a  very  difficult  form  of 
verse  to  produce  successfully;  and  the  number 
of  those  Who  have  essayed  it  and  fallen  by  the 
wayside,  to  speak  poetically,  is  greater  than  that 
of  the  Vallombrosa  leaves.  Fr.  Gaffney  is  not 
an  old  man,  and  he  has  led  a  busy  life;  yet  the 
collection  of  his  sonnets  published  by  P.  J. 
Kenedy  &  Sons  numbers  eighty-eight;  and, 
besides,  there  are  "sermons  in  flowers,"  "jubilee 
verses,"  and  "lines  on  photographs  to  friends." 
The  book  ("Sonnets  and  Other  Verses"  is  its* 
title)  is  handsomely  produced,  and  sells  for  one 
dollar,  exclusive  of  postage.  Though  issued  less 
than  two  months,  a  second  edition  is  now  on 
the  market.  Which  goes  to  show  that,  whatever 
others  may  think  of  Fr.  Gaffney's  work,  his 
friends  have  been  quick  to  express  their  appre- 
ciation of  it.  Let  us  hope  that  all  future  poet- 
priests  will  refrain  from  publication  until  they 
have  produced  fully  as  many  sonnets  as  Fr. 
Gaffney,  and  rewritten  them  quite  as  often  as 
was  recommended  by  Dr.  Egan. 


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

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HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME  BLESSED.      ST.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  MARCH  3,  1917. 


NO.  9 


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


On  a  Picture  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in 
the  Temple. 

BY    S.   M.   M. 

ITHIN  the  Temple's  inner  court  she  stands 
Soft  arms  arid  breathing  breast 
Pillow  a  tender  Babe,   whose  little  hands 
To  her  still  lips  are  pressed. 

A  lily  chalice  she,   whose  crystal  cup 

The  Flower  of  Jesse's  rod 
Holds  meetly,   with  the  fair  face  lifted  up 

All  blossoming  to  God. 


The  City  of  the  Thessalonians. 


BY    A.    HIIvLIARD    ATTEJRIDGE- 


'ALONIKA  is  now  one  of  the  war 
centres  of  Europe, —  the  central 
base  of  operations  of  an  Allied 
Army  of  British  and  French, 
Serbians,  Russians,  and  Italians,  operating 
against  the  German  and  Bulgarian  armies 
that  are  holding  against  it  the  mountain 
borders  of  Macedonia.  The  city  has  a 
long  history  of  more  than  two  thousand 
years.  It  is  one  of  those  places  whose  very 
position  has  always  made  it  important. 
It  was  one  of  the  gateways  by  which 
Christianity  entered  Europe,  the  scene 
of  one  of  St.  Paul's  first  missions  after 
he  had  evangelized  the  greater  part  of 
Asia  Minor.  The  journeys  of  the  first 
missionaries  of  the  Apostolic  Age  followed 
mainly  the  great  lines  of  travel  and  com- 
merce in  the  ancient  world,  and  around 
the  Mediterranean  they  found  their  way 


first  to  the  places  where  a  Jewish  com- 
munity was  settled.  Then,  as  now,  the 
Jews  held  a  prominent  place  in  all  the 
great  commercial  centres;  and  Thessa- 
lonica,  the  Salonika  of  to-day,  was  one 
of  the  most  prosperous  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean seaports. 

It  has  a  splendid  natural  harbor  at  the 
head  of  the  deep  gulf  between  the  prom- 
ontories of  Chalcidice  and  the  mainland 
of  Thessaly  and  Greece.  From  the  plain 
that  surrounds  it,  highways  led  into  the 
interior  of  the  Balkan  lands  by  the  valleys 
of  the  Vardar  and  the  Struma,  and  the 
great  Roman  road  to  the  East  passed 
through  it.  This  road  started  from  the 
shores  of  the  Adriatic  at  Dyracchium,  the 
modern  Durazzo.  The  Roman  traveller 
to  the  East  took  ship  at  Brindisi  (Brun- 
dusium),  a  short  voyage  bringing  him 
to  Durazzo.  Thence  the  road,  guarded  at 
intervals  by  military  posts,  ran  through 
Albania,  and  reached  the  Mediterranean 
shore  at  Thessalonica,  and  then  went  on 
between  the  Rhodope  Mountains  and  the 
sea  to  Constantinople.  The  road  was 
known  as  the  Via  Egnatia  and  was  one 
of  the  great  highways  of  the  ancient  world. 
It  passed  through  Thessalonica,  entering 
and  leaving  it  by  two  gateways  on  the 
west  and  east,  —  one  of  which  was  de- 
molished only  a  few  years  ago;  the  other 
remains,  and  is  known  as  "the  Arch  of 
Constantine " :  the  gateway  of  to-day 
having  been  erected  by  the  first  Christian 
Emperor.  A  modern  tramway  line  passes 
under  it,  offering  a  sharp  contrast  between 
the  ways  of  the  past  and  the  present. 

In  the  days  of  the  Macedonian  kings 


25S 


A'  AVK  MAh'lA 


it  had  been  a  prosperous  commercial  city 
and  the  chief  station  of  their  navy.  When 
the  Romans  divided  Macedonia  into 
districts,  it  became  the  capital  of  the 
most  important  of  them;  and  when  the 
country  was  made  into  a  single  province, 
it  was  the  residence  of  the  ruling  Proconsul. 
In  these  Roman  days  it  played  a  part 
in  history.  Cicero  spent  his  exile  there 
when  he  left  Rome  after  the  conspiracy 
of  Catiline;  and  in  the  civil  wars  it  was 
first  the  headquarters  of  the  Pompeian 
party,  and  then  of  Octavius,  the  future 
Augustus  Caesar.  Then,  as  now,  to  hold 
Salonika  was  to  control  one  of  the  chief 
strategic  centres  of  the  Balkan  lands. 

When  St.  Paul  arrived  in  Thessalonica, 
it  was  essentially  a  Greek  trading  city 
under  Roman  rule.  The  strength  of  the 
Roman  Empire  depended  largely  on  the 
wise  policy  of  conceding  a  considerable 
amount  of  local  autonomy — or,  as  we  now 
call  it,  Home  Rule — to  the  great  cities 
and  provinces  of  the  Empire.  Thessa- 
lonica was  a  free  city,  ruled  by  its  own 
magistrates.  St.  Luke  tells  us  that  their 
title  was  "Politarchoi," — literally,  "Rulers 
of  the  Citizens."  The  word  is  an  unusual 
one.  It  was  long  suspected  that  there 
was  here  the  error  of  an  early  transcriber, 
and  that  the  word  should  be  "Poliarchoi," 
or  "City  Magistrates."  But  this  is  one 
of  the  many  instances  where  St.  Luke 
shows  accurate  local  knowledge  in  writing 
the  Acts  of  the  Apostles.  The  critics 
who  suspected  an  error  are  now  proved 
to  have  been  wrong;  for  various  inscrip- 
tions have  been  discovered  at  Salonika, 
in  which  the  title  occurs,  one  of  them  being 
actually  on  the  Roman  arch  leading  out 
to  the  Vardar  Valley. 

Professor  Ramsay,  who  has  done  so 
much  work  in  investigating  the  inscriptions 
of  Asia  Minor  and  the  Greek  lands  of 
Eastern  Europe,  gives  many  other  instances 
of  the  accuracy  with  which  St.  Luke  has 
described  the  state  of  things  that  existed 
in  the  Greek  cities  in  the  first  century, — 
the  days  of  the  first  preaching  of  Chris- 
tianity. Ramsay  tells  how  when  he  went 


to  the  East,  nearly  forty  years  ago,  he 
was  full  of  the  theory,  then  popular  at 
Oxford,  where  it  had  been  imported  from 
Germany,  that  the  Gospels  and ,  Acts 
were  not  reliable  contemporary  documents, 
but  works  of  the  latter  part  of  the  second 
century,  wrongly,  attributed  to  the 
Apostolic  Age.  He  tells  how,  after  his 
first  researches,  he  took  up  the  Acts  of 
the  Apostles,  not  in  any  hope  of  their 
throwing  light  on  Apostolic  times,  but 
with  the  idea  that  he  might  glean  from 
them  some  points  as  to  the  state  of  things 
in  the  Near  East,  about  the  year  200; 
his  idea  being  that  a  writer  of  that  time 
would  naturally  take  his  descriptions  of 
local  government  and  local  customs  in 
the  various  cities  from  the  state  of  things 
with  which  he  was  familiar. 

He  was  surprised  to  find  that  in  point 
after  point  the  evidence  of  the  Acts  of 
the  Apostles  coincided  in  a  wonderful 
way  with  the  state  of  things  revealed  by 
the  inscriptions  of  the  first  century.  He 
realized  that  it  would  have  been  quite 
impossible  for  the  writer  of  a  narrative 
composed  more  than  a  hundred  years 
later,  thus  to  restore  a  state  of  things 
which  had  then  passed  away;  and  he 
was  convinced  that  St.  Luke's  narrative 
must  be  a  contemporary  document,  giving 
reliable  first-hand  evidence  as  to  the 
earliest  years  of  Christianity.  The  theory 
of  a  late  date  for  the  New  Testament 
writings  has  long  since  been  rejected, 
even  by  the  free-thinking  critics  of  Ger- 
many itself;  though  it  is  still  to  be  found 
in  the  writings  of  a  class  of  an ti- Christian 
propagandists,  who  display  their  ignorance 
by  quoting,  as  the  latest  word  of  modern 
research,  theories  which  were  abandoned 
twenty  or  thirty  years  ago. 

To  come  back  from  this  digression  to 
the  days  when  St.  Paul  preached  in 
Salonika.  There  was  in  the  Greek  city  a 
prosperous  Jewish  colony,  with  the  Syna- 
gogue as  their  religious  and  social  centre. 
As  was  his  custom,  he  first  addressed  him- 
self to  the  Jewish  community;  and  St. 
Luke  tells  how  on  three  successive  Sabbaths 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


259 


he  spoke  in  the  Synagogue,  making  the 
prophecies  the  text  for  his  announcement 
that  the  hoped-for  Messiah  had  come,  and 
that  he  was  His  messenger.  There  were 
a  large  number  of  conversions;  and  it  is 
clear  that  these  were  not  among  the  Jews 
only,  for  the  Epistles  to  the  Thessalonians 
are  addressed  largely  to  converts  from 
paganism.  The  time  had  not  yet  come 
when  there  was  any  open  rupture  between 
the  Roman  power  and  Christianity.  It 
was  not  until  the  persecution  of  Nero  that 
the  mere  profession  of  the  new  religion 
was  counted  as  a  crime  against  the  State. 

Another  line  of  evidence  which  proves 
that  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  date  from 
the  middle  years  of  the  first  century, 
before  the  persecution  of  Nero,  is  that 
nowhere  in  the  Acts  do  we  read  that 
the  mere  charge  of  being  a  Christian  was 
the  accusation  against  the  Apostles  or 
their  disciples.  Wherever  the  opponents  of 
the  new  religion  stirred  up  a  persecution 
against  it,  they  had  to  find  some  special 
charge;  and  it  usually  took  the  form  of 
describing  its  preachers  as  seditious  men, 
who  troubled  public  order  and  were 
disloyal  to  Caesar. 

Thus,  at  Salonika,  we  find  the  leaders 
of  the  Synagogue,  alarmed  at  the  number 
of  converts  made  by  Paul  and  his  com- 
panion Silas,  raising  a  tumult  against 
them.  St.  Luke  tells  how  they  gathered 
a  mob  of  worthless  men,  the  scum  of  the 
population,  and  besieged  the  house  of 
Jason,  where  the  two  missionaries  had 
lodged;  and,  not  finding  them  there, 
dragged  Jason  and  some  of  his  Christian 
friends  before  the  Politarchs.  These,  they 
said,  '  are  the  men  who  came  here  to  disturb 
the  city,  and  whom  Jason  received  into 
his  house.  They  are  rebels  against  the 
decrees  of  Caesar;  for  they  say  there  is 
another  king,  Jesus.'  The  magistrates  seem 
to  have  disbelieved  the  charge  of  dis- 
loyalty. St.  Luke  gives  no  account  of 
the  trial,  but  only  of  its  result.  One  may 
well  suppose  that  the  Graeco-Roman 
Politarchs  regarded  the  whole  thing  as 
a  religious  quarrel  among  the  Jews  and 


their  Greek  friends,  and  perhaps  accepted 
Jason's  explanation  that  it  had  nothing 
to  do  with  politics.  But  in  a  Roman  city 
to  cause  a  disturbance  of  any  kind  was 
a  legal  offence.  Order  was  the  supreme 
interest  of  the  Government.  So  we  read 
that  Jason  and  his  friends  were  dismissed, 
but  only  on  condition  of  giving  security 
for  good  behavior. 

Palil  is  next  found  preaching  at  Berea. 
But  it  is  quite  evident  that  his  work  was 
not  seriously  interrupted  by  the  outbreak 
of  persecution;  for  his  letters  tell  of  the 
flourishing  state  of  the  Church  of  Salonika, 
which  soon  became  a  centre  of  Christian 
influence  for  all  Macedonia.  Father  Lattey, 
in  his  Introduction  to  his  new  version 
of  the  Epistles  to  the  Thessalonians, 
suggests  that  St.  Paul  may  have  stayed  in 
the  city  longer  than  the  brief  interval 
between  three  Sabbaths;  and  that  there 
was  some  time  in  which,  before  proceeding 
to  Berea,  he  remained  in  Salonika,  no 
longer  showing  himself  in  the  Synagogue, 
but  staying  in  the  houses  of  friends  like 
Jason,  and  gathering  many  converts  from 
among  the  Gentiles.  But,  however  this 
may  be,  it  is  certain  that  Salonika  was  one 
of  the  first  great  centres  of  Christianity  in 
Europe;  and  the  letters  addressed  by  St. 
Paul  to  the  Christian  flock  in  the  city  are 
among  the  earliest  of  the  New  Testament 
writings. 

For  some  hundreds  of  years,  Salonika 
was  one  of  the  most  populous  cities  of  the 
Roman  East.  It  seems  to  have  been  at 
one  time  only  by  a  chance  that  it  did  not 
become  the  Eastern  centre  of  the  Empire 
instead  of  Constantinople.  It  was  almost 
entirely  a  Christian  city,  when,  under  the 
Emperor  Theodosius,  it  was  the  scene  of  a 
terrible  tragedy.  The  citizens  had  insulted 
his  envoys,  and  in  his  anger  the  Emperor 
ordered  a  treacherous  massacre  of  the 
inhabitants,  of  whom  7000  were  put  to 
the  sword  in  the  great  Hippodrome, 
whose  stately  portico  still  remains.  Theo- 
dosius was  then  holding  his  court  at 
Milan;  and  a  popular  tradition,  which 
has  been  embodied  in  more  than  one 


260 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


great  work  of  art,  tells  how  its  Bishop, 
the  great  St.  Ambrose,  closed  the  doors 
of  the  cathedral  of  Milan  against  the 
Emperor  and  refused  to  admit  him  until 
he  had  done  penance  for  his  crime. 
The  actual  fact  is  less  dramatic;  for  the 
basis  of  the  legend  is  that  St.  Ambrose 
wrote  to  the  Emperor  a  touching  letter, 
representing  to  him  the  heinousness  of  his 
act;  and  Theodosius,  stripping  himself  of 
all  the  emblems  of  his  rank,  did  penance 
in  Milan  cathedral,  and  received  absolution 
from  the  saint. 

Under  Justinian,  in  the  great  cities  of 
the  East,  numbers  of  splendid  churches 
were  erected.  It  was  a  period  of  church 
building  on  a  vast  scale,  which  can  be 
compared  only  with  the  times  before  the 
Reformation,  when  the  Gothic  cathedrals 
were  being  built  or  rebuilt  in  half  the 
cities  of  Western  Europe.  Salonika  had 
its  share  in  the  imperial  munificence;  and 
the  cathedral  of  Santa  Sophia  was  erected 
there,  modelled  on,  and  almost  equal  in 
size  to,  the  more  famous  Santa  Sophia 
of  Constantinople.  Like  so  many  of  the 
other  churches  of  the  city,  Santa  Sophia 
became  a  mosque  after  the  Turkish  con- 
quest. There  is  an  older  church,  a  circular 
building,  with  a  dome  adorned  with 
mosaics,  once  dedicated  to  St.  George,  and 
believed  to  date  from  the  days  of  Con- 
stantine.  This,  too,  was  converted  into  a 
mosque  by  the  Mohammedan  conquerors. 

Before  their  coming  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, Salonika  had  had  many  masters.  Under 
the  Byzantine  emperors,  it  had  success- 
fully resisted  the  attacks  of  the  heathen 
Goths  and  Bulgars;  but  in  the  tenth 
century  it  was  raided  by  the  Arabs  from 
Northern  Africa,  whose  pirate  fleet 
carried  away  thousands  of  its  people  into 
captivity.  It  was  ruled  for  a  while  by  the 
Normans  from  Southern  Italy,  and  then 
passed  to  the  Venetians.  At  last,  in  1430, 
it  was  conquered  by  the  Turks,  who  held  it 
for  nearly  five  centuries.  Their  rule  ended 
only  when  the  Greeks  got  possession  of  it, 
as  the  result  of  the  Balkan  War  in  1912. 

The  city  bears  the  traces  of  its  changeful 


history,  and  contains  monuments  of  the 
various  races  that  have  been  its  rulers, — 
Greek  and  Roman,  Norman  and  Venetian, 
Arab  and  Turk. .  It  rises  on  the  long  slope 
of  a  hill  from  the  quays  of  its  harbor, 
with  suburbs  spreading  out  beyond  the 
five-mile  circuit  of  its  Medieval  walls.  A 
huge  castle  is  the  chief  monument  of  the 
days  of  Turkish  rule;  and  tall  minarets 
rise  beside  the  churches  that  were  so  long 
used  as  mosques,  but  several  of  which  have 
now  been  restored  to  Christian  worship. 
It  has  a  mixed  population  of  about  120- 
ooo, — Turks,  Greeks,  Bulgars,  Armenians, 
Jews,  and  a  sprinkling  of  other  nations 
attracted  there  by  its  commercial  impor- 
tance, which  has  grown  enormously  since 
the  place  became  the  terminus  of  the  rail- 
way from  Belgrade  by  the  Vardar  Valley, 
linking  it  with  the  railways  of  Central 
Europe. 

We  have  seen  that  the  city  had  a  Jewish 
colony  in  the  days  of  St.  Paul:  it  is  now, 
in  proportion  to  its  population,  perhaps 
the  most  Jewish  city  in  Europe.  The 
lowest  estimate  of  the  number  of  Jews  at 
Salonika  is  60,000,  or  about  half  the  total 
population.  Other  estimates  make  the 
proportion  still  higher.  These  Jews  of 
Salonika  are  mostly,  not  descendants  of 
the  old  Jewish  colony  of  Apostolic  times, 
but  men  of  Spanish  descent,  with  a 
dialect  of  their  own — the  Judseo-Spanish 
of  Salonika.  They  are  descended  from  the 
thousands  of  Jews  who  found  refuge  there 
after  the  expulsion  of  their  race  from 
Spain  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  II. 
The  sultans,  anxious  to  diminish  the 
influence  of  the  Greeks  in  the  city,  invited 
the  exiled  Jews  to  Salonika,  .giving  them 
special  trading  privileges,  and  allowing 
them,  to  a  great  extent,  to  govern  them- 
selves, according  to  their  own  laws.  Of 
the  non-Jewish  population,  the  Turkish 
element  is  the  strongest,  amounting  to 
nearly  one-fourth  of  the  population. 
Salonika  had  always  been  one  of  the  most 
important  of  the  Turkish  strongholds  in 
the  Balkan  lands;  and  here  it  was  that 
Enver  Bey  inaugurated  a  few  years  ago 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


261 


the  Young  Turk  revolt  against  the  Sultan 
Abdul  Hamid,  which  changed  the  whole 
course  of  recent  history  at  Constantinople. 
The  Greeks  number  about  15,000,  but 
are  the  most  numerous  of  the  Christian 
communities;  and  this  fact,  with  the 
older  history  of  Salonika,  is  the  basis  of 
the  Greek  claim  upon  the  city.  This 
claim  is  challenged  by  Bulgaria,  on  the 
alleged  ground  that  whatever  may  be  the 
numbers  of  the  Greeks  in  Salonika,  the 
Bulgar  race  is  more  numerous  throughout 
Macedonia.  The  Catholics  are  a  very 
small  body.  They  number  only  about 
3000.  They  have  a  mission  under  the  care 
of  the  Vincentian  Fathers,  with  schools 
directed  by  the  Christian  Brothers. 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


XII. — THE  CAPITAL. 

ARRY  TALBOT  had  no  adven- 
ture to  relate,  so  Arthur  Bodkin 
did  the  talking.  At  first  he  was 
absolutely  reticent  on  the  subject 
of  Alice  Nugent,  but  he  was  too  anxious 
to  speak  about  her  to  permit  silence  to 
hold  his  tongue.  He  told  his  friend  all, 
denouncing  her  in  unmeasured  terms,  and 
announcing  an  iron-bound  resolution  never 
to  see  or  speak  to  her  again.  Harry 
Talbot  was  too  much  a  man  of  the  world 
to  laugh  in  his  chum's  face,  or  to  tell 
him  that  he  was  uttering  arrant  nonsense; 
so  he  remained  gravely  silent,  while 
Arthur  raved  on,  until  the  sereno,  or 
night  watchman,  in  a  melancholy  whine 
announced  eleven  o'clock. from  the  street 
below. 

"Come  up  to  the  Cafe  Concordia, 
Arthur.  We  will  meet  everybody  who 
is  anybody  there." 

The  Caf£  Concordia  was  the  Delmonico's 
of  Mexico,  and,  as  a  consequence,  the 
favorite  lounge  and  trysting-place.  After 
the  music  in  the  Alameda,  or  the  opera, 
or  when  the  curtain  rang  down  at  the 


theatres,  the  "upper  ten"  strolled  to  the 
Concordia, — the  ladies  to  indulge  in  light 
refreshment  or  ices,  their  cavaliers  in 
pulque  compuesta,  which  consisted  of  pulque 
flavored  with  raspberry,  or  in  the  stronger 
beverage  of  tequila  or  mescal.  I  do  not 
wish  it  to  be  understood  that  the  Mexican 
senoras  or  senoritas  were  to  be  seen  at  the 
Concordia.  Far  from  it.  They  avoided 
this  glittering  rendezvous  as  they  would 
a  house  that  was  plague-stricken.  The 
"ladies  of  the  invasion,"  as  they  were 
styled  by  the  Mexicans,  dearly  loved 
the  light  and  license  of  the  Concofdia, 
which  was  thronged  day  and  night  with 
the  youth  and  beauty  of  foreign  lands, 
and  their  swarthy,  uniformed  cavaliers, — 
for,  during  the  Empire,  army  officers  in 
full  uniform  were  as  thick  as  leaves  in 
far-famed  Vallombrosa. 

Our  two  friends  seated  themselves  at  a 
small  marble-topped  table  and  called  for 
granazao,  a  delicious  lemonade  made  of 
the  sweet  lemon.  The  scene  was  very 
brilliant  and  very  striking.  On  crimson 
velvet  ottomans,  in  animated  conversation, 
were  coquettish  Frenchwomen;  each  with 
her  escort,  some  with  two  or  three.  Inter- 
spersed with  the  showy  uniforms  of  the 
French  officers  appeared  the  charro,  or 
full-dress  of  the  Mexican:  the  jacket  with 
rows  of  buttons,  some  of  solid  gold,  the 
rest  of  silver;  an  open-fronted  white  shirt, 
a  scarlet  scarf  twisted  into  a  sailor's 
knot;  a  crimson  sash;  trousers  very  wide 
about  the  feet  and  ankles,  adorned  with 
gold  and  silver  stripes,  with  the  attendant 
buttons;  and  then  the  spurs,  with  their 
enormous  rowels.  Every  caballero  carried 
a  revolver,  and  from  more  than  one  sash 
appeared  the  decorated  hilt  of  a  machete, 
a  knife  with  a  murderous  blade.  A  few 
gentlemen  appeared  in  plain  clothes;  but 
they,  somehow,  seemed  out  of  place. 

In  a  remote  corner  of  the  room  — our 
friends  occupied  an  inner  room,  the  third 
from  the  street— a  man  was  seated,  wear- 
ing his  sombrero,  which,  considering  that 
ladies  were  present,  and  the  other  men 
uncovered,  was  somewhat  remarkable. 


262 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"Who  is  that  unmanly  fellow  in  the 
corner  over  there?"  asked  Talbot. 

The  instant  the  man  perceived  that 
Arthur's  gaze  was  coming  in  his  direction, 
he  bent  his  head  so  as  totally  to  conceal 
his  face  by  the  broad  brim  of  his  hat. 

"He  won't  give  you  a  chance,  at  any 
rate,"  laughed  Talbot. 

Something  almost  familiar  about  this 
man  struck  Arthur,  stimulating  his  curi- 
osity. Who  could  he  be?  Assuredly  there 
were  no  familiar  forms  for  him  in  this 
strange  land.  He  had  met  so  few,  and 
then  so  briefly. 

The  man  saw  that  he  was  observed. 
Calling  for  his  check,  his  head  still  bent 
low,  he  paid  it.  In  order  to  reach  the 
Calle  San  Francisco  he  must  pass  where 
our  friends  were  seated.  Tilting  his  som- 
brero over  his  left  ear  and  inclining  his 
head  in  the  same  direction,  he  strode  past. 
Just  as  he  reached  the  door,  a  mozo,  or 
waiter,  suddenly  entered,  balancing  a  large 
tray  on  the  palm  of  his  uplifted  hand. 
This  tray  in  some  awkward  way  struck 
the  sombrero,  tilting  it  backward  and 
off  the  wearer's  hea^d.  The  man  swiftly 
stooped  to  pick  it  up,  concealing  his  face 
in  his  hand;  and,  having  replaced  it, 
dashed  out  of  the  Cafe. 

Arthur  Bodkin,  the  moment  he  saw  the 
face,  recognized  the  man.  Springing  to 
his  feet,  he  exclaimed: 

"Mazazo!  Follow  me,  Talbot!"  And, 
flinging  waiters  and  incomers  who  crossed 
his  path  aside  as  though  they  were  so 
many  light  bales  of  goods,  he  sprang  into 
the  street.  Few  people  were  abroad.  The 
Concordia  had  gathered  in  its  complement 
of  after-theatre  guests.  A  sereno  stood  at 
the  corner  of  every  street.  The  moon 
shone  gloriously, — a  moon  that  stood  high 
in  the  heavens  and  overhead.  Arthur 
looked  to  the  right  and  to  the  left.  He 
could  perceive  no  one.  In  the  side  street 
that  ran  by  the  window  of  the  Cafe,  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  retreating  figure 
of  a  man.  In  an  instant  he  was  in  a  run, 
and  a  minute  brought  him  beside  the 
object  of  his  pursuit.  Tl;e  height,  the 


square  build,  the  stride,  the  grey  som- 
brero,— all  told  him  that  the  man,  the  spy 
Mazazo,  was  in  front.  Without  a  second's 
hesitation  he  leaped  upon  him,  -and, 
pinioning  his  arms  from  behind,  plunged 
one  knee  in  the  other's  back.  The  man 
uttered  a  cry  of  pain  and  began  to 
call  for  help  at  the  top  of  his  lungs.  The 
sombrero  fell  off ;  and  Arthur,  to  his  amaze- 
ment and  horror,  found  that  he  held  in 
his  grip  not  Mazazo,  but  an  inoffensive 
citizen  on  his  way  to  his  virtuous  home. 

Two,  three  watchmen  came  running  up, 
rapping  for  aid  with  their  sticks.  What 
was  to  be  done?  Run  for  it! 

Arthur  Bodkin  at  Stony  hurst  had  won 
every  prize  worth  winning  for  running, 
leaping,  and  wrestling.  He  had  kept  up 
his  paces  ever  since,  and  not  many  days 
"passed  into  the  dark"  that  he  did  not 
take  a  ten-mile  breather — fifteen  being 
preferable.  Here  was  his  chance.  To  be 
arrested  for  violently  assaulting  a  peaceful 
citizen,  to  be  flung  into  jail,  to  have 
his  name  bandied  from  mouth  to  mouth 
until  it  reached  the  ears  of  Alice  Nugent! 
Horror ! 

So  he  started  down  the  street  like  a 
deer,  and  ere  the  astounded  officers  of  the 
night  had  recovered  their  astonishment  was 
round  the  corner,  and  spurting  up  a  narrow, 
foul-smelling  lane  that  led  to  the  cathe- 
dral. Darting  round  the  cathedral,  still 
going  the  pace,  he  found  himself  opposite 
the  National  Palace.  Here  he  pulled  up, 
and,  walking  slowly  and  deliberately, 
arrived  at  the  grand  entrance,  was 
admitted,  and  safely  reached  his  room, 
where  he  flung  himself  on  his  bed,  in  order 
to  cogitate  on  his  lucky  escape  and  the 
unexpected  appearance  of  the  spy  Mazazo. 

The  papers  next  morning  were  full  of 
a  dastardly  and  cowardly  assault  upon 
vSefior  Don  Ignacio  Martinez  Campos 
Echeverria,  a  distinguished  lawyer,  who, 
upon  leaving  the  Cafe  Concordiaj  was 
followed  by  a  Frenchman  well  known  to 
the  police,  who  were  upon  his  track. 

Not  wishing  to  be  seen  abroad,  for  fear 
of  recognition  by  Senor  Don  Ignacio 


'mi'  AYI<:  UAkiA 


Martinez  Campos  Echeverria,  Arthur  sent 
for  Harry  Talbot)  who  turned'  up,  more' 
or  less  bewildered.  The  name  Mazazo 
signified  very  little  to  him,  while  his 
friend's  acrobatic  conduct  and  sudden 
disappearance  savored  of  the  mysterious, 
if  not  romantic.  After  he  had  listened 
to  Arthur's  description  of  the  adventure 
of  the  preceding  night,  Talbot  became 
very  grave. 

"These  Mexicans  are  a  revengeful  race, 
Arthur,"  he  saiS;  "they  are  treacherous, 
too.  This  Mazazo  evidently  escaped  by^ 
connivance.  Somehow  or  other,  I  put 
your  veiled  lady  and  this  brigand,  or  spy, 
in  the  same  boat — aye,  and  that  sly  old 
fox  Bazaine.  There's  a  game  being  played 
in  which  you  don't  hold  a  trump.  Up 
to  this  you  have  been  down  on  your  luck, 
old  fellow!  You  have  quarrelled  with  Miss 
Nugent,  and— 

"It  was  her  doing,  not  mine!"  burst  in 
Bodkin. 

"You  have  made  a  deadly  enemy  in 
the  spy  Mazazo,  and  perhaps  as  formidable 
a  foe  in  Count  Von  Kalksburg.  You  have 
been  used  by  Bazaine  in  regard  to  this 
mysterious  woman,  and  now  you  are  in 
danger  of  arrest  and  imprisonment  for 
assault  and  battery.  And  let  me  tell  you 
that  if  a  man,  especially  a  foreigner,  is 
clapped  into  jail  here,  he  seems  never  to 
get  out.  He  is  as  much  forgotten  as  the 
Man  with  the  Iron  Mask." 

"But  what's  the  use  of  going  over  all 
this?"  growled  Arthur. 

"Oh,  bother ! ' '  laughed  Talbot.  ' ' Let  us 
look  at  the  situation  right  between  the 
eyes.  You  are  an  extra — what?" 

"Staff  officer." 

"Good!  You  are  a  staff  officer  pro  tern., 
Arthur,  with  no  pay  that  I  know  of,  and — " 

' '  What  in  the  world  are  you  driving  at, 
Harry  Talbot?" 

"This.  The  two  men  with  whom  I  am 
in  company  are  shrewd,  practical  fellows. 
Corcoran  has  studied  the  situation  till  he 
has  it  off  by  heart.  He  tells  me  that  there 
will  be  a  desperate  struggle  by  Juarez 
against  Maximilian,  and — 


"Pshaw!  Haven't  we  I'Yeiicli  troops  at 
our  back?" 

"They   haven't  done   very   much." 

"Only  taken  every  city  they  besieged 
and  won  every  battle  they  fought." 

"Not  every  battle.  And  now  mind  what 
I  say.  The  French  troops  will,  sooner  or 
later,  be  withdrawn;  and  then — " 

"The  deluge!"  laughed  Arthur. 

"Drop  this  military  business,  that  can 
.bring  you  nothing  but  possible  disaster; 
and  come  into  the  mines  with  me." 

"Oh,  bosh!" 

"It's  not  bosh:  it's  solid  silver.  Cor- 
coran has  got  a  mine  at  Santa  Maria  del 
Flor,  that  was  worked  by  the  Spaniards 
with  enormous  results  till  it  became 
flooded.  The  miners  of  that  day  used  to 
bring  up  the  ore  in  baskets  on  their 
shoulders,  climbing  rude  ladders.  When 
the  water  came  they  had  no  pumps. 
Corcoran's  title  is  absolute.  He  has  capital, 
and  has  imported  two  Cornish  pumps, 
such  as  are  used  in  pumping  out  flooded 
mines  in  Cornwall.  He  will  give  me  a 
share;  and,  by  Jove,  I  will  .share  with 
you!  Think  it  over,  Arthur.  It  is  well 
worthy  of  consideration." 

"Of  course  it  is,  Talbot;  and  you  are 
a  brick  of  the  most  adhesive  quality, 
for  bringing  me  in.  But  I  want  to  see 
this  thing  out.  If  I  were  down  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  I  would  never  see 
Alice  Nugent — not  that  I  care,"  he  hastily 
added, — "not  a  thraneen.  But  I  want  to 
spoil  Count  Ludwig  von  Kalksburg' s  little 
game.  Then,  the  Baron  is  too  good  a  soul 
to  leave  me  in  the  lurch.  He  has  taken 
me  by  the  hand,  and  may  be  able  to  help- 
me  up  the  ladder.  I  mean  to  have  a 
serious  talk  with  him  the  moment  we  get 
settled, — after  the  imperial  party  has 
quieted  down  somewhat.  I  can't  expect 
him  to  give  me  any  satisfaction  till  then. 
If  I  see  nothing  in  Bergheim,  then,  my 
dear  Harry,  I'm  your  man,  to  delve  for 
silver  or  anything  else." 

"You  will  not  be  able  to  get  at  Baron 
Bergheim  for  some  days.  This  place  will 
be  like  Donnybrook  Fair  for  weeks. 


264 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


Deputations  from  each  State  will  In- 
coming in  day  after  day,  with  all  the 
pomp  and  panoply  they  can  possibly  man- 
age. Now,  I  mean  to  clear  out— to  go  up 
to  the  mine,  which  is  scarcely  a  day's  ride 
from  here.  And  the  scenery!  O  Arthur, 
it  reminds  me  of  Killarney !  So  deliciously 
fresh,  so  enchantingly  green,  so  exquisitely 
lovely  all  round, — -an  emerald  set  in 
purple  hills." 

Rody  O'Flynn  entered,  to  announce 
that  Arthur  was  wanted  iri  the  Chamber- 
lain's office. 

"Dine  here  to-night,  Harry,"  he  said. 
"Something  tells  me  that  I  ought  to  turn 
miner.  What  is  it?  Quien  sabe!" 

XIII. — THE  IMPERIAL  COURT. 

Arthur  Bodkin  of  Ballyboden  found  a 
chance  of  speaking  with  Baron  Bergheim 
sooner  than  he  had  hoped  for.  After  the 
state  entry  of  the  Emperor  and  Empress 
into  the  capital,  a  levee  was  held  in  the 
National  Palace,  which  was  attended  by 
every  person  of  distinction  friendly  to 
the  new  Empire,  the  dark-eyed  senoras 
and  senoritas  being  in  considerable  force 
to  pay  homage  to  the  charming  and 
captivating  Carlotta. 

"Come  to  my  quarters  and,  hey!  we'll 
have  a  pipe,"  said  Baron  Bergheim  to 
Arthur,  after  the  long  and  tedious  cere- 
monial had  been  gone  through.  "Hey! 
but  this  is  good!" — flinging  off  his  coat 
encrusted  with  bullion,  and  dropping  into 
an  easy-chair.  "Hey!  but  we  were  well 
received.  Hey!  but  the  Empress  looked 
at  her  best,  and  our  little  Alice  too.  Hey! 
•  but  we  will  be  worked  to  death  for  the 
next  six  months.  The  etiquette  of  our 
court  is  the  most  drastic  in  the  world,  and 
their  Imperial  Majesties  mean  to  enforce 
it  to  the  hilt.  Hey!  but  there  will  be 
wigs  on  the  green  when  the  question  of 
precedence  comes  up,  and  the  Marquis 
Hernando  Cortez  insists  upon  keeping  his 
hat  on  in  the  imperial  presence,  or  trotting 
in  to  dinner  in  front  of  Prince  Salm  Salm. 
Hey!  we'll  have  some  fun  mixed  up  with 
our  work  too."  And  the  genial  Baron 


pulled   half   a   dozen   rapid   and  -vigorous 
whiffs  at  his  china-bowled  student's  pipe. 
"What  work  shall  I  have  to  do,  sir?" 
asked  Arthur. 

' '  Oh,  everything,  my  son, — -hey !  From 
leading  the  cotillion  to  breaking  in  a  burro." 
"On  your  staff,  sir?" 
"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  mean  to  have  you  on 
the  Emperor's  staff,  in  the  Household.  I 
could  have  managed  it  before;  but  that 
confounded  Von  Kalksburg  threw  some 
obstacle  in  the  way,  an(f  I  had  to  back 
water.  Hey!  but  it's  all  right  now.  I'll 
have  you  gazetted  in  the  first  gazette.  Hey ! 
whisper"  —here  he  dropped  his  voice— 
" the  Empress  has  been  enlisted.  Hey!  it's 
all  for  the  sake  of  our  little  Alice  that  I 
am  so  pleased.  Hey!  all  for  her  sake." 

"Has — has  Miss  Nugent  been  interest- 
ing herself  of  late  for  me?"  asked  Arthur, 
hesitatingly. 

"Not  she  indeed.  Hey!  it's  not  Miss 
Nugent 's  influence — although  she  has  a 
great  deal — that  is  shoving  you  up  the 
ladder.  Hey!  it's  the  other  woman.  Hey!" 
"The  other — other  woman!"  gasped 
Arthur.  "What  other  woman?" 

The  Baron  nodded  vigorously,  puffing 
away  at  each  nod. 

"Why,  the  one  you  imported  from 
Puebla, — Bazaine's  mysterious  woman. 
Hey!" 

To  say  that  Bodkin  was  astounded  is 
saying  very  little.  Who  was  this  person? 
Why  should  she  interest  herself  for  him? 
There  must  be  a  mistake.  A  woman  to 
whom  he  had  uttered  in  all  about  two 
dozen  words! 

"It's  all  right ! ' '  cried  the  Baron.  ' '  Your 
fortune  is  assured.  But,  my  lad,  look  out 
for  the  claws  of  fair  Mistress  Alice.  Hey! 
we  must  keep  it  dark — dark  as  Erebus. 
Hey!  Erebus!" 

"But  who  is  this  woman?"  insisted 
Arthur. 

"If  you  can't  tell,  who  can?  Hey!" 
laughed  the  Baron. 

Arthur  Bodkin  was  silent  for  a  moment; 
and  then,  with  set  and  stern  brow,  he 
slowly  exclaimed : 


THE  AVE  .MARIA 


205 


"Baron  Bergheim,  you  are  a  gentleman. 
You  have  behaved  to  me  like  a  father.  To 
serve  under  you  is  a  labor  of  love,  whether 
it  be  in  sunshine  or  in  peril.  To  one 
woman  I  am  indebted  for  your  kind  and 
generous  friendship.  To  her  I  do  not 
mind  being  in  debt  as  deep  as  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico,  for — I  love  her;  but  I  will  not 
owe  anything  to  any  other  woman,  high 
or  low.  Baron  Bergheim,  my  career  as 
regards  my  service  to  your  Emperor  must 
end  here.  I  decline  to  accept  favor  from 
this  woman  of  whom  nobody  seems  to 
know  anything." 

Arthur's  face  was  hot  and  flushed,  and 
the  honest  fellow's  heart  was  in  every 
word  he  uttered. 

"Hey!  hey!  Tut!  tut!"  laughed  the 
Baron.  "Think  over  the  heroes  of  the 
world.  Haven't  they  nearly  to  a  man  been 
made  by  a  woman?" 

"And  unmade,"  interjected  Bodkin.. 

"Granted,"  laughed  the  Baron.  "Those 
who  make  can  do  the  other  thing.  But, 
hey!  you  are  all  wrong  over  this — this — 
lady.  I  grant  you  there  is  a  mystery; 
but  you  know  that  our  Emperor  wouldn't 
stand  any  nonsense  from  the  French 
camp, — not  from  Napoleon  himself.  Take 
what  the  gods  provide,  Herr  Bodkin,  and 
don't  growl." 

"My  mind  is  made  up,  sir,"  said 
Arthur.  "I  want  to  see  Miss  Nugent,  say 
adios,  and — 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!  Hey!  but  you 
Irish  are  romantic.  Go  and  see  her  by 
all  means.  You  will  find  her" — here  he 
consulted  a  sort  of  programme- — "it  is 
now  a  quarter-past  twelve.  Yes,  go  up 
to  the  cathedral.  You  will  find  her  with 
the  Empress,  hearing  one-o'clock  Mass. 
Alice  will  talk  to  you.  Hey !  she'll  set  you 
right  somehow.  A  little  dose  of  jealousy 
is  the  best  medicine  for  some  women ;  but, 
mind  you,  the  dose  should  be  according 
to  the  constitution.  I  shall  want  you  at 
Chapultepec  by  four  o'clock.  The  court 
is  going  to  live  there  during  the  warm 
weather.  Till  four  o'clock,  Herr  Bodkin!" 

(To  be  continued.) 


A  Little  Bride  and  what  Became  of  Her. 


BY    VALENTINE    PARAISO. 
I. 

LONG  time  ago  there  was  a 
*  wedding,  all  arranged  for  the 
bride  without  her  having  anything 
to  say  to  it — as  was  the  custom  of 
those  days.  And  she  was  such  a  little 
creature,  small  and  slight,  extremely 
young  and  of  a  fair  race,  that  she  must 
have  looked  like  a  child  dressed  up. 

Her  holy  mother  had  died  only  the 
year  before,  and  the  father  was  giving  his 
two  daughters  to  two  knights  of  his  own 
choice.  So  the  country-house  was  busy. 
Its  spinning  wheels  and  looms  had  already 
made  stores  of  linen,  and  woven  fabrics 
for  wearing  apparel.  The  girls  themselves 
helped  in  the  brewing  and  the  baking; 
and,  when  everything  was  ready,  crowds 
assembled  to  see  the  cavalcades  riding 
between  the  castles  and  the  old  home; 
rings  were  exchanged  before  the  altar, 
and  each  marriage  was  blessed.  There 
were  knightly  jousts  and  sports,  dances 
and  feasting. 

The  little  bride,  Birgitta,  whose  fortunes 
we  are  following,  was  now  the  wife  of  Ulf 
at  Ulfasa.  She  had  put  on  a  white  coif, 
a  quaint  linen  cap  over  her  hair,  and  wore 
long  dresses  with  dignity;  and  began, 
like  the  "valiant  woman"  of  the  Book  of 
Proverbs,  to  look  well  tb  the  ways  of  her 
house.  Her  marriage  was,  to  Birgitta,  the 
will  of  God.  She  would  have  liked  to  stay 
at  home,  devoted  to  the  poor ;  but  she  was 
meant  for  Ulf  and  the  Castle  of  Ulfasa. 
And,  even  across  the  remote  distance  of 
centuries,  it  is  perfectly  clear  that  theirs 
was  a  marriage  made  in  heaven. 

Birgitta  was  the  child  of  a  good  father 
and  an  unworldly  mother,  fervent  in  her 
religion.  Those  were  the  days  when  to 
be  Christian  was  to  be  Catholic.  The 
sixteenth  century  and  its  heresies  had  not 
come.  By  the  fireside  the  child  heard 
stories  of  the  martyrs  who  first  brought 


2GG 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


the  faith  to  Sweden.  At  four  years  old  she 
went  with  her  mother  to  attend  daily  Mass. 

When  she  was  about  nine,  a  wonderful 
thing  happened.  One  night  she  thought 
the  Blessed  Virgin  held  out  a  crown  to 
her,  and  said,  "Come!"  It  matters  little 
whether  it  was  a  dream  or  a  vision:  the 
child  "came." 

A  year  or  so  later,  there  was  a  sermon, 
preached  probably  at  the  cathedral  of 
Upsala;  for  its  three  glorious  spires  were 
within  sight  of  the  country-house.  The  Fran- 
ciscans and  Dominicans  were  then  busy 
preaching  for  the  instruction  of  the  people, 
and  this  sermon  was  meant  to  make  them 
realize  the  sufferings  of  Christ  Crucified. 
All  day  afterwards  Birgitta  thought  of  it; 
and  when  she  went  to  bed  that  night,  she 
could  not  sleep,  but  lay  awake  sobbing. 
Before  dawn  she  looked  upon  a  vision 
of  Christ  Crucified.  Stretched  upon  the 
cross,  He  complained  to  her:  "See  how 
I  have  been  treated!"  -"O  my  Lord," 
she  said,  "who  has  done  this  to  Thee?" 
And  the  answer  was:  "Those  who  despise 
Me  and  forget  My  love."  She  certainly 
never  forgot  His  love  through  a  long  life; 
and  great  things  happened  as  a  result. 

At  her  marriage,  this  very  young  bride 
found  herself  something  like  a  princess. 
She  had  immense  wealth,  broad  domains, 
tenants,  dependants,  a  circle  of  rich  friends. 
Her  home  was  one  of  the  wood-built 
castles  of  Sweden,  with  moat  and  draw- 
bridge. If  there  were  rush-strewn  floors 
in  those  times,  there  was  finely  carved 
furniture;  the  meals  could  be  luxurious; 
the  clothing  for  high  days  and  holidays 
was  rich  in  color  and  texture.  Beautiful 
embroidery  was  worn,  and  ornaments  of 
gold  and  precious  stones.  Silver  was 
abundant,  not  only  for  the  table,  but 
on  the  belts  and  armor  of  men.  There 
must  have  been  plenty  of  armor  in  the 
Castle  of  Ulfasa,  with  antlers  on  the  walls, 
and  hangings  of  tapestry  woven  at  hand- 
looms,  and  embroidered  to  show  pictures 
wrought  in  silk  and  wool. 

The  guests  who  filled  the  great  hall 
never  imagined  that  their  young  hostess 


was  really  leading,  in  the  midst  of  riches, 
a  mortified  life — a  life  of  penance.  Ulf 
discovered  the  secret  that  she  wore  prickly 
haircloth  under  her  pretty  dresses.  He 
revered  her,  and  loved  her  the  more. 
If  she  said  a  hasty  word  in  the  busy  house- 
hold, she  put  bitter  herbs  in  her  mouth. 
She  blamed  herself  for  an  inclination  to 
pride  and  for  her  impetuous  ways.  Clearly, 
this  was  a  human  being  making  valiant 
efforts  against  defects;  but  we  must  not 
forget  that  the  defects  for  which  she  did 
penance  were  the  imperfections  shown  on 
a  pure  conscience  like  breath  upon  a  mirror. 

Every  day,  before  sitting  down  to  dine, 
she  served  twelve  poor  people  at  table. 
On  Thursdays,  she  girded  herself  with  a 
towel  and  washed  and  kissed  their  feet, 
in  memory  of  her  Lord.  The  hospitality 
of  Ulfasa  appeared  to  be  boundless;  but 
there  was  such  good  management  of 
Ulf's  possessions  that  a  large  share  was 
kept  for  Christ  and  His  poor.  The  husband 
and  wife  saw  that  the  laborers  on  their 
lands  did  not  want.  Churches  and  schools 
were  built.  The  hospices  already  existing 
were  set  in  order  for  the  poor  and  sick, 
and  new  hospitals  were  opened. 

In  all-  this  work  the  little  Birgitta  was 
leading  the  way,  full  of  energy  and  initia- 
tive; and  the  big  descendant  of  the 
Vikings,  the  great-hearted  Ulf,  "trusted 
in  her,"  and  carried  out  her  plans.  He 
seems  to  have  found  his  wealth  increasing, 
the  more  he  gave  away  writh  both  hands 
to  the  Church  and  the  poor.  He  must 
have  prospered,  for  he  rebuilt  the  Castle 
of  Ulfasa  in  stone.  While  he  looked  after 
the  estates,  Birgitta  was  entrusted  with 
the  rebuilding  and  furnishing.  We  read 
that  her  tender  heart  reproached  her 
when  she  saw  the  new  bedding  of  wool 
and  silk  and  fur..  She  thought  of  her 
Lord  on  the  hard  deathbed  of  the  Cross; 
and  made  up  her  mind  that,  whenever 
she  could,  she  would  sleep  upon  the  floor. 

Ulfasa  must  have  been  a  happy  home, 
gay  with  the  voices  and  footsteps  of 
children.  There  were  four  sons  and  four 
daughters.  The  mother  of  the  eight 


children  took  care  that,  as  in  turn  they 
grew  old  enough,  they  should  get  in  touch 
with  her  beloved  poor.  As  a  privilege, 
she  took  them  with  her  to  the  bedsides 
of  the  sick  and  even  of  the  leprous.  When 
officious  friends  spoke  about  prudence,  she 
answered  that  the.  children  of  Ulf  had  to 
grow  up  to  riches ;  and,  as  they  were  to  be 
the  treasurers  of  Christ,  they  should  learn 
their  work  in  good  time. 

We  hear  that  she  was  an  excellent  house- 
keeper. The  spinning  wheels  and  looms 
went  merrily.  The  hop-gardens,  orchards 
and  fields,  were  well  cultivated.  In  all 
great  country-houses  of  her  day  there  was 
plenty  to  be  done  in  brewing,  storing  the 
fruit,  and  baking.  There  was  extensive 
dairy  work  in  those  times, — dovecots  and 
poultry  yards  to  be  kept  full;  and  large 
houses  had  many  beehives  to  supply  the 
honey  that  was  the  sugar  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  Under  her  roof  no  one  wanted  for 
anything.  She  must  have  been  keenly 
interested  in  her  garden,  for  she  grew 
plants  brought  from  Southern  Europe. 

When  Ulf  was  raised  to  a  high  office  of 
the  State,  and  had  the  care  of  a  whole 
province,  Birgitta  found  time  to  study 
the  Swedish  and  Roman  law,  so  as  to  be 
able  the  better  to  help  him  and  to  share 
his  life.  Terrible  civil  wars  swept  over  the 
country,  making  the  history  of  Sweden 
a  tangled  story  of  struggle  and  bloodshed. 
The  day  came  when  Ulf  had  to  take  up 
arms.  The  brave  wife  with  her  own  hands 
helped  him  to  put  on  his  armor.  When 
he  was  gone,  she  turned  to  prayer  and 
austerities,  and  took  her  short  sleep  on 
the  floor  beneath  the  crucifix. 

It  must  have  been  a  trial  to  such  a  lover 
of  home  to  be  called  away  to  the  Court 
of  the  King.  Birgitta  was  about  thirty- 
three  when  she  was  chosen  to  take  charge 
of  the  royal  household,  and  went  to  live 
at  the  palace  in  Stockholm.  There  she 
had  to  wear  robes  of  state  and  a  jewelled 
coronet.  Fortunately,  one  of  her  dresses 
is  still  preserved,  enabling  us  to  imagine 
something  of  her  appearance ;  for  it  proves 
her  to  have  been  small  and  slender. 


King  Magnus  and  his  Queen  were  ju-ulv 
married,  as  frivolous  a  young  pair  as 
ever  amused  themselves  in  ;i  palace.  The 
royal  bride,  just  over  from  Holland,  was 
like  a  spoiled  child:  the  King  was  not 
much  older  or  wiser.  He  let  the  people  be 
crushed  by  taxes  to  pay  for  his  extrava- 
gance. The  money  affairs  of  the  kingdom 
were  in  confusion,  and  the  poor  were 
oppressed,  while  life  at  Stockholm  was 
a  wild  whirl  of  feasting  and  pleasure. 
Birgitta  had  to  retire  from  a  hopeless 
task.  There  was  nothing  for  her  to  rest 
her  influence  upon,  though  the  King  was 
her  own  cousin,  and  the  Queen  a  grand 
niece  of  St.  Louis.  But,  like  many  failures, 
hers  was  to  pave  the  way  to  a  future 
success.  The  time  was  to  come  when  she 
would  return  to  the  palace  of  Stockholm, 
and  speak  as  one  having  power. 

When  Birgitta  and  Ulf  had  been  about 
twenty-five  years  married,  they  left  home 
for  the  pilgrimage  to  St.  James  of  Com- 
postella.  We,  who  live  in  the  days  of 
railroads  and  steamers,  have  no  idea  of 
the  hardships  of  a  fourteenth-century 
pilgrimage.  The  journey  to  Spain  and  back 
took  nearly  three  years.  A  crowd  of 
laymen  and  women,  with  bishops,  priests, 
and  mendicant  friars,  crossed  the  sea  in 
boats  perhaps  twice  the  size  of  a  modern 
English  canal  barge,  delayed  by  adverse 
wind  and  calm,  and  tossed  by  storm. 
Arrived  on  land,  they  travelled  by  slow 
stages,  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  sheltered 
in  convents  and  monasteries,  or  at  friendly 
castles  and  wayside  inns.  The  pestilence 
called  the  Black  Death  was  abroad  at 
the  time,  adding  a  real  danger  to  the 
troubles  of  the  road. 

On  their  homeward  journey,  when  our 
pilgrims  from  Compostella  were  all  wearing 
their  scallop-shells,  Ulf  fell  sick  in  France, 
at  the  town  of  Arras.  He  vowed  that,  if 
his  life  was  spared,  he  would  pass  his 
remaining  years  in  the  seclusion  of  a 
religious  house.  He  recovered,  and  kept 
his  vow.  Going  back  to  Sweden,  he  was 
present  for  the  last  time  at  the  council  of 
{state,  and  put  all  his  affairs  in  order. 


208 


THE  AVK  MAKIA 


Then,  commending  the  younger  children 
to  Birgitta,  he  went  to  Alvastra,  a  Cis- 
tercian abbey  high  on  rocky  ground. 
He  was  not  a  monk,  but  a  guest  of  the 
cloister;  for  when  he  lay  on  his  deathbed, 
three  years  after,  we  find  him  receiving 
the  white  habit,  that  he  might  die  in  the 
robe  of  St.  Bernard. 

An  exception  to  the  abbey  rule  was  made 
for  Birgitta:  she  was  allowed  to  stay  in 
the  guest-house,  so  as  to  be  with  her 
husband  during  his  last  days.  They 
talked  of  paradise.  Ulf  thanked  her  for 
leading  him  heavenward,  and  for  all  her 
helpfulness  since  she  became  his  little 
bride,  twenty-eight  years  before.  Then, 
taking  the  ring  from  his  ringer,  he  gave  it 
back  to  her.  Birgitta  closed  the  eyes  of 
Ulf  in  peace,  realizing  that  they  were 
parted  only  for  a  while.  Even  in  the 
records  of  that  far-off  time  we  can  not  _ 
help  seeing  the  greatness  of  their  love:  it 
shine*s  across  five  centuries. 

And  now  strange  things  began  to  happen. 
Birgitta  lingered  at  Alvastra,  and  was  often 
in  the  abbey  church.  In  some  way  never 
known  before,  she  heard  a  voice  speaking 
to  her  soul.  In  her  humility,  she  thought 
it  a  delusion  of  the  evil  spirit,  and  fled  to 
the  Sacrament  of  Penance  and  to  Com- 
munion. The  voice  came  again;  and 
again  she  dreaded  some  snare  of  the 
devil,  and  sought  safety  in  the  sacraments. 
When  the  voice  spoke  a  third  time,  she 
was  not  allowed  to  fear  any  more.  Christ 
was  calling  her  soul  to  be  His  spouse. 
In  speaking  of  a  mystic  espousal,  He  was 
using  the  imagery  of  the  Canticle  of 
Canticles, — the  idea  that  has  filled  the 
cloisters  of  the  Church  in  every  age  with 
virgins  and  contemplative  saints:  "I  to 
my  Beloved,  and  my  Beloved  to  me,  who 
feedeth  among  the  lilies." 

For  Birgitta  a  new  life  of  frequent 
esctasy  began.  The  veil  between  heaven 
and  earth  seems  to  have  fallen  away. 
Christ  and  His  Mother,  saints  and  angels, 
looked  in  upon  her  at  any  moment  of  the 
day  or  night. 

(To  be  continued.) 


For  One  Day. 


BY    MARY    E.  TARRANT-IRONSIDE. 


,   Lord,  into  this  dim  heart  of  mine- 
Let  Thy  light  shine; 

And  when  I  bow  my  knee  to  Thee  each  day, 
Let  me  not  pray 

For    riches,  fame,  for  honors  or  great  power; 
But  in  that  hour 

Teach  me  to  lift  my  heart  and  freely  ask 
Strength  for  the  task 

Of  that  one  day:    to  live  well  and  be  kind, 
Leaving  all  else  behind. 


The  Grafters. 


BY    JOSEPH    CAREY. 


ISTER  SUPERIOR  folded  her  tired 
hands  in  contentment.  To  tell 
the  truth,  as  she  sat  there  resting 
after  her  labors,  she  did  not  look  like 
a  "grafter";  but  the  Commissioner  ex- 
plained that  later  she  became  one,  under 
American  influence.  Poor  Superior  was 
really  tired;  for  she  and  Sister  Dolores  had 
been  laboring  for  a  week  in  making  out  the 
report  of  the  work  at  the  great  leper 
hospital  and  colony  of  the  Curion  Island 
in  the  Philippines. 

Only  two  weeks  before,  Sister  Superior 
had  received  a  letter  announcing  the 
coming  of  the  American  Commissioner, 
and  she  had  been  not  a  little  frightened 
at  the  thought  of  making  out  a  report 
for  the  great  man.  She  had  heard  that 
these  Americans  were  very  businesslike 
people;  and  so  she  had  prepared  very 
carefully,  with  the  invaluable  aid  of  Sister 
Dolores,  a  long  and  detailed  account  of 
the  moneys  expended  and  the  work  done 
in  the  care  of  the  many  lepers  com- 
mitted to  her  charge. 

With  almost  a  sigh  she  thought  of  the 
rare  visits  of  the  Governor-General  under 
the  old  Spanish  regime.  He  always  came, 
clothed  like  Solomon  in  all  his  glory,  on 
the  Government  steamer.  Salvos  were 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


269 


fired  and  a  complimentary  dinner  was 
given  him.  He  made  nice  speeches, 
looked  around  a  bit,  and  then  departed, 
professing  himself  deeply  pleased  with  all 
he  saw.  In  those  days,  of  course,  the 
Governor  was  always  a  good  Catholic; 
and,  besides  his  respect  for  the  work  they 
were  doing,  there  was  always  a  touch  of 
reverence  in  his  dealings  with  the  Sisters, 
which  showed  that  he  appreciated  their 
consecrated  character.  ^ 

The  Governor  knew  that  many  of  them 
were  of  the  best  people  on  the  Islands 
and  in  Spain,  and  always  asked  especially 
for  some  of  the  Sisters  with  whose  families 
he  was  acquainted  in  Manila.  So,  far 
from  being  an  ordeal,  the  visit  of  the 
Governor-General,  the  representative  of 
King  Alfonso  in  the  Philippine  Islands, 
was  rather,  in  their  otherwise  uneventful 
lives,  an  event  to  be  looked  forward  to. 

And  so  the  Superior  sighed  a  little  as 
she  thought  of  the  days  gone  by,  when 
there  were  no  reports  or  statistics,  when  the 
visit  of  the  Governor  was  largely  a  matter 
of  form;  and  wondered  how  this  coming 
representative  of  the  President  of  the 
United  States  would  treat  them  on  his 
visit.  But  there  was  a  certain  contentment 
in  the  sigh,  for  the  voluminous  report  and 
the  statistics  were  ready.  How  fortunate 
that  the  assistant,  Sister  Dolores,  had 
been  trained  in  a  business  school  before 
she  had  entered  the  Sisters  of  Charity! 
She  understood  all  about  these  things, 
could  do  bookkeeping  and  typewriting, 
and  even  shorthand,  as  the  Superior  had 
heard  some  of  the  nuns  say, — that  is,  she 
could  write  down  all  sorts  of  queer  hiero- 
glyphics as  fast  as  one  talked,  and  after- 
wards could  read  them.  The  old  Superior, 
who  had  been  with  the  lepers  nearly  forty 
years,  had  never  before  heard  of  such 
a  marvel,  and  privately  doubted  whether 
it  were  possible. 

Sister  Dolores,  however,  had  made  out 
a  wonderful  report  for  her  to  hand  to 
the  Commissioner;  and  so  the  Superior, 
though  tired,  was  contented.  She  had 
taken  the  paper  reverently  in  her  hands, 


scanned  the  columns  of  figures  which 
represented  the  very  modest  income  and 
output;  read  the  statistics  of  the  sick 
and  the  dying,  of  the  number  of  Sisters 
and  nurses  and  doctors;  and  was  amazed 
at  the  simplicity  of  it  all  on  paper.  All 
this  she  had  always  carried  in  her  head. 
She  knew  just  who  was  working,  every 
cent  that  was  spent  and  how  it  was  spent; 
and  she  had  been  remembering  it  for  years, 
without  thinking  of  keeping  books;  but 
now  that  books  were  kept  under  the 
American  regime,  how  simple  it  all  was, 
and,  really,  how  much  better! 

Yes,  there  were  some  good  things  about 
the  American  regime.  For  one  thing,  the 
Americans  had  been  very  generous.  Some- 
times, under  Spanish  rule,  they  would 
wait  for  months  and  months  for  the  dole 
the  Government  gave  to  support  the  leper 
hospital;  but  with  the  Americans  it  was 
paid  promptly  and  generously.  The  little 
.improvements  she  had  been  suggesting 
to  the  old  regime  for  years,  to  her  sur- 
prise were  granted  immediately  by  the 
American  Government,  the  first  time  she 
had  petitioned.  She  only  hoped  that 
this,  important  person,  the  representative 
of  the  President  of  the  United  States, 
would  not  be  altogether  too  formidable; 
and  her  hands  clasped  and  unclasped  a 
little  nervously  till  she  took  between  her 
fingers  the  beads  that  hung  from  her 
girdle,  and  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
Sorrowful  Mysteries  forgot  all  about  this 
terrible  unknown,  the  Commissioner  of 
the  Philippine  Islands. 

Next  day  about  noon,  as  the  Superior 
was  finishing  her  daily  tour  of  inspection, 
the  great  bell  tolled,  and  she  knew  that 
the  steamer,  with  the  Commissioner  on 
board,  had  been  sighted.  In  the  old  days 
this  would  have  been  the  signal  for  Tomas, 
the  faithful  veteran  who  had  charge  of 
the  garden,  to  fire  a  salute  with  the  rusty 
cannon,  mounted  on  the  cliff  overlooking 
the  sea.  The  Superior  put  her  hands  to 
her  ears,  expecting  the  accustomed  roar; 
and  then  smiled  a  little  as  she  remembered 
that  the  old  order  had  yielded  to  the  new, 


270 


TUK  AYR  MARIA 


and  that  these  things  had  passed  away 
forever.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  omission 
of  this  part  of  the  program  pleased  her 
immensely,  as  she  always  dreaded  that 
some  day  the  old  cannon  would  explode 
and  Tomas  be  seen  no  more. 

She  hurried  along  the  path  to  the  main 
building,  where  she  found  the  Sisters 
clustered  together  awaiting  her,  —  a 
subdued  excitement  evident,  but  all  keep- 
ing silence  according  to  rule.  She  gave 
them  permission  to  speak;  and,  having 
formed  a  little  procession,  they  went 
down  to  the  stone  pier  to  welcome  his 
Excellency  the  Commissioner  on  his 
arrival. 

The  steamer  had  already  entered  the 
harbor  when  the  Sisters  arrived  at  the 
pier.  Old  Pablo,  the  fisherman,  had 
rowed  out  in  his  boat  at  daybreak  to 
fulfil  his  duty  of  pilot,  and  was  guiding 
the  Government  vessel  through  the  narrow, 
winding  channel.  The  little  steamer  was 
built  especially  to  navigate  the  shallow 
waters  of  the  Philippines;  but  the  tide 
would  not  permit  her  to  dock,  and  so 
she  anchored  in  mid-harbor. 

The  Commissioner,  who  was  at .  table 
when  the  boat  anchored,  had  no  intention 
of  going  ashore  immediately,  and  calmly 
finished  his  lunch,  chatting  meanwhile 
with  his  secretary.  Then,  after  the  coffee 
had  been  served,  he  lit  a  cigar  and  went 
up  on  deck  to  enjoy  an  after-dinner  prome- 
nade under  the  pleasant  shade  of  the 
canvas  awning.  He  happened  to  glance 
shoreward,  and  saw  the  little  sombre- 
colored  group  standing  in  the  full  blaze 
of  the  midday  sun,  awaiting  him.  There 
was  something  almost  pathetic  in  their 
simplicity,  and  the  Commissioner  felt 
ashamed  that  even  unconsciously  he  had 
kept  them  standing  there  waiting;  and 
so  he  ordered  the  gig  to  be  lowered  at 
once,  and  was  rowred  ashore. 

He  was  dressed  in  a  gray  business  suit 
and  wore  a  straw  hat;  and  when  he 
approached  the  shore,  the  Superior,  who 
had  been  accustomed  to  the  dignified 
pomp  of  gold-laced  uniforms,  could  hardly 


believe  that  this  plainly-dressed  man  was 
really  the  representative  of  the  President 
of  the  United  States.  She  went  forward 
as  he  landed,  and,  after  making  an  old- 
fashioned  courtesy,  which  amused  and 
pleased  the  Commissioner,  she  offered  her 
hand  in  American  fashion,  and  welcomed 
the  Commissioner  in  English,  the  language 
she  had  finally  mastered  in  part  after 
long  study  with  Sister  Dolores.  The 
Commissioner  was  more  pleased  at  this, 
and  answered  in  Spanish;  whereupon  the 
good  Superior  felt  a  great  load  roll  off  her 
heart.  The  Commissioner  was  not  so 
formidable,  after  all;  for  now  he  was 
smiling  pleasantly,  even  cordially. 

She  introduced  him  to  all  the  Sisters, 
and  he  had  a  pleasant  word  for  each. 
Then,  to  the  joy  of  the  nuns,  he  asked  the 
Superior  if  they  might  have  a  "free  day" 
in  his  honor.  An  American  Sister,  whom  he 
had  met  at  Manila,  had  'tipped  him  off' 
to  do  this,  and  the  Superior  gladly  conceded 
the  request  of  the  illustrious  Commissioner. 

After  the  nuns  were  dismissed,  the 
Superior  and  Sister  Dolores  accompanied 
the  Commissioner  to  the  main  hospital 
building.  It  had  a  very  pleasant  shaded 
veranda,  overlooking  the  sea;  and  there 
the  Commissioner  found  some  excellent 
Havanas,  and  was  served  with  sherbet, 
which  he  found  delightfully  cool  and 
refreshing.  The  Superior  then  presented 
her  report,  her  hand  trembling  a  little. 
She  wanted  to  tie  it  up  in  some  beautiful 
silk  ribbon  that  she  had  preserved  for 
that  special  purpose,  but  Sister  Dolores 
had  objected: 

"It  is  not  businesslike,  Mother,  and 
the  Americans  are  great  business  people. 
No,  we  must  not  roll  it  or  fold  it.  But 
see:  place  it  in  this  big  brown  envelope, — 
flat, — so.  That's  the  way  the  Commis- 
sioner will  be  glad  to  receive  it." 

In  fact,  the  Commissioner  was  glad  to 
get  it  so.  It  was  the  most  businesslike 
report  he  had  yet  received  on  his  visits; 
for,  as  a  rule,  both  Spaniards  and  Fili- 
pinos did  not  have  much  conception  of 
business  methods.  His  practised  eye  ran 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


271 


up  and  down  the  neat  columns  of  figures, 
and  to  the  Superior's  delight  he  remarked: 
"This  is  very  satisfactory  indeed,  Sister. 
And  now,  if  we  have  time,  I'd  like  to  make 
a  little  tour  through  the  hospital  and 
farms  and  workshops,  and  see  what 
improvements  we  can  make." 

"l^he  Commissioner  is  not  afraid  of 
leprosy?"  asked  the  Superior,  smiling. 

"No,"  he  answered.  "Why  should  I? 
If  you  women  aren't  afraid,  why  should 
I  fear?" 

"Oh,"  said  the  Superior,  simply,  "it  is 
our  life!  But,  really,  there  is  not  much 
danger.  I  have  been  here  forty  years." 

"Do  the  Sisters  ever  contract  leprosy?" 
he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  replied.  "There  are  three 
of  them  affected  now,  and  our  little  ceme- 
tery contains  many  who  have  died  of  it; 
but  it  is  all  in  the  day's  work,  and  recent 
science  has  greatly  helped  us.  We  take 
every  precaution,  use  powerful  disinfec- 
tants, and  are  careful  about  cuts  or 
abrasions.  So?  you  see,"  she  said,  smiling, 
"we  escape  very  frequently.  We  are  in 
God's  hands." 

By  this  time  they  had  arrived  at  the  door 
of  the  hospital  where  the  more  advanced 
cases  were  treated,  —  those  who  were 
unable  to  walk.  Not  even  the  powerful 
disinfectants  and  deodorizers  that  the 
Sisters  used  could  take  away  the  horrible 
smell  of  the  rotting  flesh  of  the  lepers. 
The  Commissioner  hesitated  a  moment, 
but  he  followed  the  Sister. 

Everything  within  was  neat  and  clean. 
The  Sister  in  charge  of  the  room  came  to 
meet  them  as  they  entered;  and,  leading 
the  way,  explained  everything  in  such  a 
manner  that  the  Commissioner  was 
impressed  with  her  scientific  knowledge. 
The  Superior  explained  that  the  Sister 
had  made  special  studies  in  medicine  at 
the  University  of  Manila  before  she 
entered  the  Order,  and  had  now  been  in 
charge  of  these  advanced  cases  for  many 
years. 

The  Commissioner,  after  the  inspection 
here,  was  glad  to  get  out  into  the  open  air 


and  sunshine,  to  look  at  the  pleasant  waters 
of  the  sea  and  the  green  grass  and  flowers. 
He  was  profoundly  moved  at  the  sight  of 
the  three  Sisters  in  a  little  room  by  them- 
selves, clothed  in  their  habits,  calmly 
awaiting  the  certain  death  that  was 
coming;  calm, — yes,  even  cheerful, because, 
as  one  of  them  said,  they  had  been  made 
to  resemble  Christ  in  their  sufferings. 

Then  he  saw  the  shops  where  those  who 
were  not  too  sick  spent  a  few  hours  each 
day  in  manual  labor;  the  schools  for  the 
children,  the  farms,  and  the  cottages 
where  the  farm-laborers  lived.  He  saw 
the  roads  the  lepers  built,  and  the  little 
chapel  which  was  the  work  of  their  hands; 
and  he  marvelled  at  the  neatness  and  order 
of  it  all.  He  saw  the  gratitude  and  love 
of  the  sick  for  the  Sisters;  he  saw  the 
cheerful  and  patient  heroism  of  the  latter; 
and  the  more  he  saw  the  more  he  marvelled 
at  their  unconscious  simplicity. 

The  tour  of  inspection  over,  he  prepared 
to  go  aboard  ship  again;  and  the  Superior 
accompanied  him  down  to  the  pier,  where 
Tomas  signalled  for  the  gig.  If  one  thing 
more  than  another  had  impressed  the 
Commissioner,  it  was  the  unconsciousness 
of  the  heroism  of  these  women.  They 
actually  did  not  seem  to  realize  that  they 
were  doing  anything  out  of  the  ordinary. 
He  found  them  so  simple  and  so  un- 
sophisticated that  it  really  amused  him. 
So  before  getting  into  the  gig  he  said  to 
the  Superior : 

"Now,  Sister,  our  tour  is  over,  and  I 
want  to  thank  you  for  a  very  pleasant  and 
instructive  afternoon;  and  I  want  to 
congratulate  you  on  the  way  everything 
is  conducted." 

"Thank  you,  Senor  Commissioner!" 
said  the  Superior,  a  little  flustered  by  his 
unstinted  praise. 

"Furthermore,"  he  went  on,  "I  would 
like  to  signalize  my  visit  here  by  doing 
something  for  the  community.  You  know, ' ' 
he  added  quizzingly,  "that  I  represent  the 
United  States,  a  great  and  rich  nation, 
and  I  have  full  powers  to  grant  you 
anything  you  ask.  Now,  Sister,  what 


272 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


would   you   like    for    your    community?" 
The  Superior  thought  for  a  moment. 
"Sefior    Commissioner,"    she   hesitated, 
"I   should  like  to  ask  the  advice  of  the 
community." 

"Very  well,"  answered  the  Commis- 
sioner, a  little  surprised.  "I  would  like 
to  have  you  come  out  to  the  ship  in  the 
morning,  when  the  report  will  be  signed 
and  the  instructions  ready;  and  you  can 
tell  me  then  what  the  community  needs 
most." 

The  Commissioner  then  took  his  leave. 
That  night,  as  he  walked  up  and  down 
the  deck,  enjoying  a  smoke  after  supper, 
he  began  to  wonder  what  the  Sister  would 
ask.  He  thought  that,  after  all,  she  had 
shown  a  good  deal  more  worldly  wisdom 
in  delaying  her  request  than  he  had  given 
her  credit  for  possessing.  Perhaps  she 
was  not  quite  so  simple,  after  all;  and  he 
hoped  that  her  request  would  not  be  for 
something  beyond  his  power-  to  grant, 
after  the  top-lofty  way  in  which  he  had 
assured  her  of  his  plenipotentiary  com- 
mission. He  smiled  a  little  to  himself 
as  he  remembered  that  he  had  told  her 
that  he  represented  the  rich  and  the  great 
and  the  powerful  American  people,  and 
sincerely  hoped  that  the  Sister  would  not 
count  on  getting  too  much.  If  she  should 
ask  for  a  new  building,  he  thought  it 
could  be  arranged ;  but  suppose  she  asked 
for  a  whole  set  of  buildings,  or  for  an 
entirely  new  equipment,  or  for  a  large 
annual  grant  to  help  them  in  their  work? 
The  appropriation  should  be  increased, 
he  knew ;  but  that  was  not  so  easily 
obtained,  and  he  began  to  regret  that  he 
had  talked  as  he  had,  and  put  himself 
at  the  mercy  of  the  community.  They 
had  appeared  to  be  very  simple  indeed, 
but  appearances  were  often  deceiving.  As 
he  looked  across  the  harbor,  he  could  see 
the  convent  lights  burning,  and  could 
picture  the  Sisters  in  consultation  with  the 
Superior,  drawing  up  a  list  of  the  things 
they  needed. 

Next  morning  he  welcomed  the  Superior 
and  Sister  Dolores  as  they  stepped  aboard 


from  the  gig  which  had  gone  to  meet 
them.  The  time  was  now  come  to  learn 
what  his  pompousness  would  cost  him. 
He  thought  he  might  as  well  have  it  over, 
and  so  he  asked  the  Superior: 

"Well,  Sister,  what  did  the  community 
think  of  asking  for?" 

The  Superior  looked  embarrassed  and 
turned  to  her  companion: 
"Tell  him,  Sister  Dolores." 
Sister  Dolores  answered  beseechingly: 
"Oh,  you  tell  him,  Mother!" 
The     Commissioner    held    his    breath. 
Surely  they  were  going  to  ask  for  something 
big.    Sister  Superior  turned  again  to  Sister 
Dolores,  and  this  time  said  quite  firmly: 
"No:  you  tell  him,  Sister  Dolores." 
So  Sister  Dolores,  compelled  by  obedi- 
ence,  told   the   Commissioner   that,   after 
due  deliberation  on  the  part  of  the  com- 
munity,  all  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that    what    they    needed    most    was — an 
alarm  clock! 

"A  what?"  gasped  the  Commissioner. 
He  was  not  sure  that  he  had^heard  aright. 
"An  alarm  clock,"  repeated  Sister 
Dolores,  visibly  embarrassed.  "Ours  has 
been  broken  for  some  time,  and  poor 
Sister  Mercedes  has  been  lying  awake 
nights  lest  she  ring  the  rising  bell  too 
late." 

The  Commissioner  laughed  with  relief. 
The  delicious  simplicity  of  it  all  struck  him 
as  funny,  and  he  laughed  and  laughed 
again;  and  the  laughter  was  so  infectious 
that  the  Sisters  joined  him,  delighted  that 
their  request  has  been  so  well  received. 

"I'll  send  you  a  dozen,"  he  exclaimed, 
"just  as  soon  as  I  get  to  Manila!" — • 
while  under  his  breath  he  exclaimed, 
"The  grafters!" 


THERE  are  some  vocations  that  are  very 
hard  to  understand.  I  have  not  the  least 
doubt  that  there  are  some  people  whose 
vocation — the  highest  of  all — is  to  suffer. 
To  many  seems  to  be  given  that  great  voca- 
tion of  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord,  to  suffer  for 
themselves  and  others. 

—Father  B.  W.  Maturin. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


273 


The  Leaping  Heart. 


BY    BLANCHE    M.    KELLY. 


T  was  not  an  unusual  spectacle  which 
had  brought  a  London  crowd  to  Tyburn 
Hill  on  a  certain  day  in  March  in  1595. 
The  spacious  days  of  the  reigning  queen 
and  those  of  her  worthy  father  had 
afforded  them  too  many  such  opportu- 
nities, and  martyrdom  had  become  a 
terrible  commonplace.  Nevertheless,  the 
occasion  was  characterized  by  unusual 
incidents,  and  the  crowd  by  an  unwonted 
demeanor.  It  was  common  enough  to 
see  the  victim  dragged  to  the  scene  of 
execution  as  was  this  one,  his  head  striking 
against  the  stones  of  the  street  as  the 
hurdle  jolted  over  them;  to  see  the 
eyes,  bleared  by  prison  darkness,  blinking 
against  the  sun;  to  see  gaunt  limbs 
endeavoring  to  support  a  wasted,  torture- 
racked  body  for  the  short  time  the  duty 
was  required  of  them;  and  to  hear  a  thin 
voice  commending  an  unflinching  soul 
to  its  God.  But  it  was  without  precedent 
for  the  onlookers  unanimously  to  forbid 
that  the  martyr  be  cut  down  alive;  and, 
life  having  gone  out  of  him,  for  the  hang- 
man to  carry  the  body  reverently  in  his 
arms  to  the  place  of  its  disembowelling. 
It  was  at  this  juncture  that  the  most 
startling  circumstance  of  all  occurred; 
for,  as  the  heart  was  cut  from  the  body, 
.it  leaped,  throbbing,  from  the  dissector's 
hand.  Small  wonder  that  a  noble  lord 
who  stood  by  should  have  cried  out, 
heretic  though  he  was:  "May  my  soul 
be  with  this  man's  soul!"  This  "leaping 
heart"  was,  in  the  words  of  a  witness  of 
his  witnessing,  later  to  share  in  his 
triumph, — the  heart  of  "Christ's  uncon- 
quered  soldier,  most  faithful  disciple, 
most  valiant  martyr,  Robert  Southwell, 
formerly  my  dearest  companion  and 
brother,  now  my  lord,  patron  and  king, 
reigning  with  Christ." 

There  was  something  eminently  fitting 
in  this  leaping  to  a  fiery  death  of  a  heart 


which  in  life  was  so  wrought  upon  by 
divine  love  as  almost  to  overpass  the 
restraints  of  the  body.  Robert  Southwell 
was  born  into  "calamity  of  times";  and 
it  may  have  been  merely  worldly  wisdom 
which  prompted  his  elders  to  send  the 
ardent,  chivalrous  boy  overseas,  out  of 
harm's  way,  at  so  early  an  age  that  he 
was  under  the  necessity  of  studying  the 
English  language  as  though  it  had  been 
a  foreign  tongue.  But  his  own  bent  was 
not  worldly.  All  his  poet's  soul  was  en- 
amored of  the  beauty  of  God's  house,  and 
he  was  eaten  up  with  its  zeal.  This  love 
was  to  pulse  through  his  poems,  and  this 
zeal  to  glow  through  his  prose;  and  that 
both  overflowed  into  his  spoken  words  is 
evident  from  the  fruits  of  his  sermons, — 
one  of  them  in  particular  having  been 
regarded  as  miraculous,  as  much  owing  to 
his  own  radiant  appearance  as  to  its  effect 
on  his  hearers.  The  Society  of  Jesus,  of 
which  he  became  a  member  at  the  age  of 
seventeen,  was  the  object  of  an  impassioned 
love.  "If  I  forget  thee,"  he  apostrophizes 
the  Company,  "may  my  right  hand  be 
forgotten!" 

It  was  natural  that  his  soul  should  have 
yearned  over  his  unhappy  country.  The 
six  years  of  his  missionary  labors  there 
make  extraordinary  reading ;  for  it-  seems 
nothing  short  of  marvellous  that,  at  a 
time  when  Catholicism  was  a  crime  and 
priesthood  treason,  this  priest,  whom 
Topcliffe,  after  his  capture,  boasted  to  be 
"the  weightiest  man"  he  ever  took, 
should  have  gone  about  England  for  so 
long  a  period, — disguised,  it  is  true,  and 
hunted  and 'eventually  caught;  but  carry- 
ing out  to  the  letter  the  conditions  of  his 
vow,  and  conducting  what  amounted  to  a 
propaganda  of  publicity.  From  the  great 
houses  where  he  acted  as  chaplain,  from 
his  hiding-places,  from  his  prison  cell,  his 
unfaltering  heart  sent  out  its  messages 
to  his  faltering,  sorely-tried  brethren. 
The  wretched  story  of  his  betrayal  and 
capture  has  been  often  told;  and  that  of 
the  tortures  devised  for  him  by  his  captor's 
"bloody  and  butcherly  mind"  scarcely 


274 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


bears  repetition.'  His  poems  are  fairly 
familiar  to  lovers  of  literature;  but  his 
prose  writings  are  not  so  well  known, 
and  it  is  with  some  of  these  that  this 
paper  proposes  to  treat. 

The  most  pathetic  of  them  is  the  impor- 
tunate Epistle  "to  the  worshipful  my 
very  good  father," — the  elder  Southwell 
having  conformed,  at  least  outwardly, 
for  the  sake  of  his  possessions.  Very 
earnestly  and  tenderly  Robert  calls  to 
his  remembrance  the  titles  in  virtue  of 
which  he  makes  this  remonstrance,  urging 
his  priesthood,  arid  how  "even  from  my 
infancy  you  were  wont  in  merriment  to 
call  me  Father  Robert."  And  again: 
"He  may  be  a  father  to  the  soul  that  is  a 
son  to  the  body."  He  reminds  him  of  the 
inevitable  and  speedy  coming  of  death 
and 'of  the  wisdom  of  a  thrifty  utilization 
of  time.  '"Be  not  you,  therefore,"  he 
entreats,  "of  those  that  begin  not  to  live 
until  they  be  ready  to  die;  and  then  after 
a  foe's  deserts  come  to  crave  of  God  a 
friend's  entertainment."  He  beats  out 
clanging  sentences  with  the  hammer  of 
logic  on  the  anvil  of  irrefutable  truth: 
1 '  He  can  not  have  God  for  his  Father  that 
refuseth  to  profess  the  Catholic  Church 
for  his  mother.  Neither  can  he  achieve 
the  Church  Triumphant  in  heaven  that 
is  not  a  member  of, the  Church  Militant 
here  on  earth."  He  becomes  very  eloquent 
when  he  dwells  on  the  price  which  Christ 
paid  for  the  purchase  of  our  souls:  "He 
made  His  body  as  a  cloud  to  resolve  into 
showers  of  innocent  blood."  And  in  a  final 
burst  of  pleading:  "Tender  the  pitiful 
estate  of  your  poor  soul;  and  hereafter  be 
more  fearful  of  hell  than  of  persecution, 
and  more  eager  of  heaven  than  of  Worldly 
repose."  It  is  comforting  to  have  the 
assurance  that  this  pleading  was  not  in 
vain,  and  that  the  father  "yielded  his  soul 
a  happy  captive"  into  the  consecrated 
hands  of  his  son. 

There  is  less  fire,  as  there  is  less  occasion 
for  it,  in  the  Epistle  entitled  "Triumphs 
over  Death,"  written  to  console  Philip 
Howard,  Earl  of  Arundel,  for  the  death  of 


his  half-sister,  Lady  Margaret  Sackville. 
It  is  the  production  of  a  man  to  whom, 
as  truly  as  ever  to  St.  Francis,  "our  sister 
the  death  of  the  body"  was  familiar  and 
friend.  Its  similes  and  periods  resemble 
those  of  vSir  Thomas  Brown;  and  its  quiet 
philosophy  finds  an  echo  in  one  of  South- 
well's own  poems,  "Content  and  Rich," 
which  would  be  Horatian  in  its  placidity 
were  not  this  placidity  grounded  on  the 
virile  hope  which  inspired  "The  Imitation 
of  Christ."  It  seems  cold  comfort  to  grief 
to  be  advised  to  "Make  sorrow  a  sequel, 
not  a  superior,  of  reason";  and  highly 
characteristic  of  his  age  is  that  play  upon 
the  lady's  name  which  gives  point  to  the 
observation:  "The  Jeweller  that  came 
into  this  world  to  seek  good  pearls,  and 
gave  not  only  all  He  had  but  Himself 
also  to  buy  them,  thought  it  now  time  to 
take  her  into  His  bargain,  finding  her 
grown  to  a  margarite's  full  perfection." 

But  the  chief  of  Southwell's  prose  works, 
in  which  his  impetuous  love  for  his  cap- 
tain Christ  piles  up  palpitant  words  into 
sentences  of  exquisite  beauty,  is  that  known 
as  "Marie  Magdalen's  Funerall  Teares," 
now  out  of  print,  but  fortunately  soon  to 
be  issued  in  a  new  edition  by  the  Encyclo- 
pedia Press,  through  whose  courtesy  I 
am  able  to  make  the  citations  which  follow. 
In  this  work,  which  has  well  been  called 
"a  prose  poem,"  Southwell  once  more 
descants  on  the  strings  of  love  and  sorrow 
whence  he  drew  such  soul-reaching  music 
in  "St.  Peter's  Complaint."  Surely  never 
were  the  desolation  and  abandonment  of 
grief  more  eloquently  and  accurately 
depicted  than  in  the  passages  which 
describe  Mary  Magdalen  confronted  by  the 
empty  tomb,  so  wrought  upon  and  undone 
by  the  realization  of  her  loss  that  the  words 
of  the  heavenly  messengers  carry  no 
meaning  to  her  mind  nor  comfort  to  her 
heart.  And  then,  across  the  distraction  of 
her  grief,  falls  the  voice  of  Christ  Himself, 
uttering  her  name:  "And  as  Mary  signi- 
fieth  no  less  what  she  was  than  what  she 
is,  so  is  this  one  word,  by  His  virtue  that 
speaketh  it,  a  repetition  of  all  her  miseries, 


THE  AVK  MARIA 


an  epitome  of  His  mercies,  and  a  memorial 
of  all  her  better  fortunes." 

We  are  borne  from  rapture  to  rapture 
with  her  who  was  thus  snatched  from  illim- 
itable grief  to  be  set  upon  the  pinnacle  of 
joy.  We  share  her  stupefaction  as  the  fact 
of  this  uttermost  miracle  dawns  upon  her ; 
we  witness  her  faltering  efforts  to  speak, 
her  dismay  and  renewal  of  sorrow  at  being 
bidden  to  leave  the  feet  of  her  newly  - 
recovered  Lord,  and  bear  to  His  disciples 
the  .news  of  His  Resurrection.  As  she 
departs  "sometimes  she  forgetteth  herself, 
and  love  carrieth  her  in  a  golden  dis- 
traction .  .  .  she  dreameth  that  His  feet 
are  in  her  folded  arms,  and  that  He  giveth 
her  soul  a  full  repast  of  His  comforts." 
The  book  concludes  with  an  eloquent 
outburst,  in  which  Southwell  appeals  to 
the  Christian  soul  to  take  Mary  Magdalen 
for  its  mirror;  and,  in  recapitulation  of  her 
experiences  on  that  first  Easter  morning, 
he  summarizes  the  whole  of  that  spiritual 
experience  which  is  a  continual  seeking 
for  the  Lord: 

"Learn  of  Mary  for  Christ  to  fear  no 
encounters,  out  of  Christ  to  desire  no 
comforts,  and  with  love  of  Christ  to  over- 
come the  love  of  all  things.  Rise  early  in 
the  morning  of  thy  good  motions,  and  let 
them  not  sleep  in  sloth  when  diligence 
may  perform  them.  Run  with  repentance 
to  thy  sinful  heart,  which  should  have  "been 
the  temple,  but,  through  thy  fault,  was  no 
better  than  a  tomb  for  Christ.  .  .  .  Roll 
away  the  stone  of  thy  former  hardness , . . . 
and  look  into  thy  soul  whether  thou 
canst  find  the  Lord.  .  .  .  Seek  Him  and 
not  His, — for  Himself  and  not  for  His 
gifts.  .  .  .  Thus  preparing  thee  with 
diligence,  coming  with  speed,  standing 
with  high-lifted  hopes,  and  stooping  with 
reclined  heart,  if,  with  Mary,  thou  cravest 
no  other  solace  of  Jesus  but  Jesus  Himself, 
He  will  answer  thy  tears  with  His  presence, 
and  assure  thee  of  His  presence  with  His 
own  words ;  that,  having  seen  Him  thyself, 
thou  mayest  make  Him  known  to  others; 
saying  with  Mary,  '  I  have  seen  the  Lord, 
and  these  things  He  said  unto  me.'" 


If  we  Desire  to  be  Heard. 

SEVERAL  years  ago,  recounts  Father 
Bailly,  Superior  General  of  the  Assump- 
tionists,  I  was  present  in  the  Bureau  of 
Verifications  at  Lourdes  when  there 
appeared  before  the  Board  of  Physicians 
a  poor  woman  who  had  been  brought 
to  Our  Lady's  favorite  shrine  by  the 
leaders  of  the  National  Pilgrimage.  The 
certificate  she  had  brought  with  her 
stated  that  she  _had  been  suffering  from 
"a  purulent  sore  on  the  leg,  an  ulcer  of 
large  area,  refractory  to  all  methods 
employed,  and  apparently  incurable." 
Now,  in  my  presence  the  doctors  declared 
that  the  sore,  which  had  been  unsuc- 
cessfully dressed  the  previous  evening, 
had  in  the  meantime  become  completely 
cicatrized.  They  questioned  the  recipient 
of  Our  Lady's  favor. 

"Sirs,"  said  she,  "all  I  know  is  that, 
in  the  first  place,  I  went  to  the  Grotto.  I 
prayed  there  very  hard,  and  I  wasn't 
cured.  Then  I  thought  to  myself  that 
prayer  wasn't  enough." 

"But,"  inquired  one  of  the  doctors, 
"how  long  had  you  been  suffering  from 
this  ulcer?" 

"Sirs,  the  certificate  tells  all  that. 
But  that  wasn't  what  was  bothering  me. 
I  said  to  myself:  'To  prayer  you  must 
join  the  Sacraments.'  Then  I  went  to 
confession  and  received  Communion — 
and  I  wasn't  cured." 

"Have  you,"  asked  another  doctor, 
"been  using  your  cane  and  crutch  for  a 
long  time?" 

"That,  sirs,  is  certain;  but  I  declare  to 
you  that  I  wasn't  concerned  about  that.  I 
said  to  myself:  'Since  Communion  hasn't 
cured  me,  I'm  going  to  make  an  act  of 
faith  that  will  be  hard  for  me.'  So  I  had 
myself  plunged  into  the  bath — -and  I 
wasn't  cured." 

"But,"  insisted  one  of  the  Board,  "it's 
about  the  ulcer,  its  nature,  and  its  history, 
that  we  have  to  concern  ourselves  here. 
Tell  us  all  about  that." 


270 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"vSirs,  I  ask  your  pardon!  But,  as  for 
me,  my  only  concern  was  to  have  recourse 
to  supernatural  means.  I  saw  only  that: 
the  rest  didn't  interest  me.  So,  after  the 
bath,  I  said  to  myself:  'You  haven't  made 
an  act  of  penance  or  mortification.'  Then 
I  climbed  up  to  the  Calvary.  The  Lord 
knows  with  what  suffering  I  reached  it. 
At  the  foot  of  the  Cross  I  hoped  to  be 
heard — but  I  wasn't  cured." 

"Yes,  yes!"  impatiently  exclaimed  one 
of  the  Board.  "But  all  this  is  not  what 
we  are  asking  you.  What  did  your  home 
doctors  say  about  your  ulcer  when  you 
started  to  come  to  gourdes?" 

"Sirs,  I  didn't  bother  about  the  doctors. 
One  sure  thing  is  that  it  wasn't  they  who 
cured  me.  Here  is  what  happened.  At 
the  foot  of  the  Cross  I  saw  two  cents  lying 
on  the  ground.  I  picked  them  up,  but  I 
hesitated  about  keeping  them;  although 
I  came  here  like  a  beggar,  those  good 
ladies  paying  my  way  and  giving  me 
hospitality.  While  I  hesitated  I  saw  a 
blind  man  asking  charity.  I  said  to  myself: 
'Ah,  you  haven't  given  alms!'  True,  I 
had  done  the  other  acts  of  the  Christian 
life!  —  prayer,  the  Sacraments,  the  acts 
of  faith  and  mortification.  It  remained 
for  me  to  give  alms.  So  then  I  gave  the 
two  cents  to  the  blind  man.  Hardly  had 
I  done  so  when  I  felt  a  queer  sort  of  shudder 
and  a  great  pain  in  my  leg;  and  then,  all 
at  once,  I  didn't  feel  anything  at  all!  I 
could  walk  easily,  came  down  from  the 
Calvary  without  trouble,  looked  at  my 
leg — and  the  ulcer  wasn't  there:  I  was 
cured!  The  Blessed  Virgin  taught  me  in 
this  way  that  one  must  do  all  the  acts  of 
the  Christian  life,  and  not  merely  some 
of  them,  if  one  wishes  to  be  heard." 

The  poor  woman's  story  may  not  have 
satisfied  the  physicians,  but  she  guilelessly 
taught  a  valuable  lesson  to  all  Christians: 
if  we  desire  to  have  our  prayers  answered, 
let  us  be  Christians  out  and  out,  and  not 
in  a  half-hearted  fashion. 


Realizing  One's  Limitations. 


A  LITTLE  of  the  truth  is  all  that  most 
men  care  to  know. 


*S  not  k°rn'"  savs  Goethe,  "to 
solve  the  problem  of  the  universe, 
but  to  find  out  what  he  has  to  do — and  to 
restrain  himself  within  the  limits  of  his 
comprehension."  That  is  a  suggestive 
thought,  which  the  average  individual  in 
every  class  of  society  and  every  state  in 
life  would  do  well  frequently  to  meditate, 
and  by  which  he  should  habitually  regulate 
his  activities.  Failure  to  recognize  one's 
limitations  and  to  confine  one's  exertions 
within  their  scope  is  a  fertile  source  of 
wasted  energy  and  misdirected  zeal  in 
politics,  literature,  business,  and  domestic 
economy. 

In  this  democratic  country  of  ours, 
where  every  man  is  supposed  to  be  quite 
as  good  as  every  other,  there  is  perhaps 
more  temptation  than  in  some  other  lands 
for  ordinary  citizens  to  forget  their  limita- 
tions in  the  matter  of  governmental  polity, 
economic  conditions,  sociological  questions, 
industrial  legislation,  and  other  subjects 
which  postulate  some  specialized  training; 
and  the  result  is  that  they  devote  to  such 
topics  a  considerable  amount  of  time  and 
attention  which  might  well  be  devoted  to 
matters  of  immediate  concern  to  them- 
selves and  their  families.  The  loquacious 
father,  for  instance,  who  declaims  so 
volubly  on  the  mistakes  of  the  law  in  the 
regulations  of  what  is  known  as,  pre- 
eminently, the  social  evil,  might  much 
more  profitably  be  engaged  in  seeing  to  it 
that  his  youthful  sons  and  daughters  are 
not  left  free  to  read  at  will  all  kinds  of 
tainted  literature,  and  frequent  unchided 
the  most  questionable  of  "movies"  and 
vaudeville  entertainments. 

The  evils  which  "big  business"  is  in- 
flicting on  the  country  at  large  may  possi- 
bly be  real;  but  the  man  who  recognizes 
his  limitations  will  not  in  consequence  neg- 
lect his  own  small  business  for  the  sake  of 
denouncing  the  said  evils.  "Whatsoever 
thy  hand  is  able  to  do,"  says  Ecclesiastes, 
"  do  it  earnestly  " ;  and  the  thorough  regu- 


THE  AVK  MARIA 


27' 


lation  of  one's  own  concerns  furnishes  in 
most  cases  full  scope  for  one's  most  ener- 
getic activities.  It  is  sad,  no  doubt,  that 
such  and  such  a  member  of  our  parish  is 
rather  neglectful  of  his  religious  duties; 
but  his  delinquency  in  this  respect  is  not  a 
justifying  reason  for  our  indulging  in  the 
sin  of  detraction  or  calumny  by  discussing 
his  faults  with  every  gossip  of  our  ac- 
quaintance. It  would  suit  us  far  better 
to  set  him  the  example  of  a  thoroughly 
consistent  Catholic.  "Turn  thine  eyes 
back  upon  thyself,"  says  the  author  of 
"The  Imitation,"  "and  take  heed  thou 
judge  not  the  doings  of  others.  In  judging 
others  a  man  labors  in  vain,  often  errs,  and 
easily  sins;  but  in  judging  and  looking 
into  himself  he  always  labors  with  fruit. . . . 
We  would  willingly  have  others  perfect, 
and  yet  we  mend  not  our  own  faults. 
We  would  have  others  strictly  corrected, 
but  will  not  be  corrected  ourselves." 

One  character  who,  more  habitually 
than  most  others,  fails  "to  restrain  him- 
self within  the  limits  of  his  comprehension  " 
is  the  unprofessional  critic.  Without 
having  ever  given  evidence  of  any  literary 
ability  that  might  entitle  him  to  some  little 
prestige  as  a  competent  judge  of  books  or 
journals,  he  magisterially  passes  on  all 
sorts  of  volumes,  denouncing  this  book  or 
that  periodical  with  an  assurance  and  an 
aplomb  calculated  to  impress  the  igno- 
rant— and  to  amuse  the  judicious  who  per- 
ceive his  shallowness.  It  is  of  course  the 
privilege  of  any  reader  of  any  book  to 
state  his  impressions  thereof;  but  becom- 
ing modesty  would  impel  a  great  many 
critics  to  preface  the  statement  with  the 
frank  avowal:  "I  don't  know  literature, 
but  I  know  what  I  like." 

In  the  scheme  of  a  truly  Christian  life, 
what  one  has  to  do  is,  first  and  foremost, 
to  accomplish  the  everyday  duties  of  his 
calling, — the  comprehensive  duties  that 
regard  Almighty  God,  hims'elf,  and  his 
neighbor.  Such  accomplishment  is  not 
outside  the  limitations  of  any  one,  but  it 
may  well  occupy  to  the  full  the  energy 
of  each. 


The  Horrors  of  War  in  Armenia. 

A  READING  of  the  message  cabled  last 
•L\  week  by  the  Foreign  Secretary  of 
England  to  the  American  Committee  for 
Armenian  and  Syrian  Relief  should  have 
the  effect  of  making  all  who  are  pray- 
ing for  the  restoration  of  peace  do  so 
more  fervently,  and  of  inducing  many 
others  to  follow  their  good  example.  I^ord 
Balfour  says: 

"The  sufferings  of  the  Armenians  in 
the  Ottoman  Empire  are  known,  but  it 
is  doubtful  if  their  true  horror  is  realized. 
Of  the  1,800,000  Armenians  who  were 
in  the  Ottoman  Empire  two  years  ago, 
1,200,000  have  been  either  massacred  or 
deported.  Those  who  were  massacred 
died  under  abominable  tortures,  but  they 
escaped  the  longer  agonies  of  the  deported. 
Men,  women,  and  children,  without  food 
or  other  provision  for  the  journey,  without 
protection  from  the  climate,  regardless  of 
age  or  weakness  or  disease,  were  driven 
from  their  homes  and  made  to  march  as 
long  as  their  strength  lasted,  or  until 
those  who  drove  them  drowned  or  mas- 
sacred them  in  batches.  Some  died  of 
exhaustion  or  fell  by  the  way;  some 
survived  a  journey  of  three  months,  and 
reached  the  deserts  and  swamps  along 
the  Middle  Euphrates.  There  they  have 
been  abandoned,  and  are  dying  of  star- 
vation, disease,  and  exposure 

"A  miserable  remnant  of  the  race  left 
behind  in  the  Ottoman  Empire  were 
plundered  and  oppressed;  women  and 
children  were  forcibly  converted  to 
Mohammedanism.  Some  few  (less  than 
a  tenth)  of  the  Armenians  who  were  in 
the  Ottoman  Empire  in  April,  1915,  after 
sufferings  and  privations  which  caused  a 
high  mortality,  fled  across  the  frontier." 

If  the  world  were  not  war-crazed,  the 
bare  recital  of  facts  like  these  would  be 
enough  to  excite  universal  horror,  and 
to  inspire  in  every  land  under  the  sun  so 
energetic  a  demand  for  the  cessation  of 
hostilities  that  no  belligerent  Power  would 
dare  to  disregard  it. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


The  passage  of  the  Immigration  Bill 
over  the  veto  of  the  President  is  perhaps 
the  most  striking  proof  that  could  be 
afforded  of  a  general  revival  of  Know- 
Nothingism  in  the  United  States.  The 
recrudescence  of  it  in  some  sections  of  the 
country  has  been  notorious  for  two  or 
three  years  past.  Now  is  a  good  time  to 
recall  the  condemnation  of  this  shameful 
intolerance  by  the  ablest  defender  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  and  the 
noblest  champion  of  liberty  among  Amer- 
ican statesmen.  In  a  letter  dated  August 
24,  1858,  Lincoln  wrote:  "Our  progress 
in  degeneracy  appears  to  me  to  be  pretty 
rapid.  As  a  nation,  we  began  by  declaring 
that  'All  men  are  created  equal.'  We  now, 
practically,  read  it,  'All  men  are  created 
equal  except  Negroes.'  When  the  Know- 
Nothings  get  control  it  will  read,  'All 
men  are  created  equal  except  Negroes,  and 
foreigners  and  Catholics.'  When  it  comes 
to  this  I  should  prefer  emigrating  to  some 
country  where  they  make  no  pretence  of 
loving  liberty, — to  Russia,  for  instance, 
where  despotism  can  be  taken  pure  and 
without  the  base  allo3J  of  hypocrisy." 

Again,  in  a  speech  delivered  in  Cincin- 
nati, on  Feb.  12,  1861,  the  same  great 
American  said :  ' '  Inasmuch  as  our  country 
is  extensive  and  new,  and  the  countries 
of  Europe  are  densely  populated,  if  there 
are  any  abroad  who  desire  to  make  this 
the  land  of  their  adoption,  it  is  not  in  my 
heart  to  throw  aught  in  their  way  to 
prevent  them  from  coming  to  the  United 
States." 

Broad-minded,  great-hearted  Lincoln! 
Nature  would  seem  to  have  taken  a  new 
mould  for  his  formation,  and  not  to  have 
used  it  again. 

The  whirligig  of  Time  certainly  brought 
in  one  of  his  strangest  revenges  when  the 
Spanish  Ambassador  who  was  diplomati- 
cally expelled  from  the  United  States  in 
1898  was  put  in  charge  of  American 


interests  in  Germany.  It  is  unlikely  that 
Count  Von  Bernstorff,  who  so  ably  and 
honorably  represented  his  country  lu-.re 
during  the  past  two  years  and  a  half, 
will  ever  be  returned  to  the  United  States; 
but  it  is  by  no  means  improbable  that 
within  a  score  of  years  he  may  find  himself 
charged  with  American  interests  in,  let 
us  say,  Tokyo.  There  is  nothing  so  strange 
in  the  pasf  that  may  not  be  matched  in 
the  future.  International  conflicts  will 
cease  only  when  there  is  an  end  of  inter- 
national jealousy  and  greed;  and  there 
will  always  be  need  of  the  services  of  men 
like  Count  Von  Bernstorff.  In  taking 
leave  of  this  country,  he  said  to  a  group 
of  newspaper  men :  '  I  tried  to  do  my  duty. 
I  have  not  always  told  you  all  the  truth; 
still  I  never  told  you  anything  that  wasn't 
true.'  Such  a  man  is  sure  to  come  to  the 
front  again.  Let  us  hope  that  in  the 
meantime  the  spirit  of  truth  will  have 
prevailed  to  the  same  extent  that  it  is  now 
overcome  in  nations  whose  Christianiza- 
tion  is  largely  sham. 


While  we  naturally  deprecate  the 
attendance  of  Catholic  young  men  at 
Protestant  or  non-sectarian  colleges  and 
universities,  we  admit  that  there  may  be 
extenuating  circumstances  connected  with 
such  attendance.  And,  given  that  Cath- 
olics are  present  in  such  institutions,  it 
is  interesting  as  well  as  gratifying  to  learn 
that,  sometimes  at  least,  their  religious 
interests  are  not  overlooked  by  the  edu- 
cational authorities.  We  read,  for  instance, 
that  in  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Uni- 
versity at  Denver,  there  were  recently 
held  "Days  of  Prayer,"  an  echo  of  the 
spiritual  retreat  that  has  always  been 
an  annual  affair  in  Catholic  colleges.  The 
interesting  feature  of  the  matter  is  that 
separate  meetings  were  held  for  the 
Protestant,  Catholic,  and  Jewish  students, 
at  which  meetings  the  speakers  were 
Protestant  ministers,  Catholic  priests,  and 
Jewish  rabbis.  Such  action  on  the  part 
of  the  faculty  of  the  University  is  some- 
thing of  a  guarantee  that  no  unworthy 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


279 


attempts  at  proselytizing  are  in  vogue 
in  the  Denver  institution;  and,  accord- 
ingly, the  thirty-five  young  Catholics  who 
attend  its  classes  and  lectures  are  less 
exposed  to  danger  than  they  might  easily 
be  in  some  so-called  non-sectarian  State 
University  where  religion  of  any  kind  is 
flouted  as  out  of  date. 


In  a  speech  on  the  Naval  Appropriation 
Bill,  delivered  in  the  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives, the  Hon.  Oscar  Callaway,  of 
Texas,  read  the  following  strange  state- 
ment, which  he  declared  had  been 
written  out  and  handed  to  him  by  a  "  man 
in  a  position  to  know": 

In  March,  1915,  the  J.  P.  Morgan  interests, 
the  steel,  shipbuilding,  and  powder  interests, 
and  their  subsidiary  organizations,  got  together 
12  men  high  up  in  the  newspaper  world,  and 
employed  them  to  select  the  most  influential 
newspapers  in  the  United  States,  and  a  sufficient 
number  of  them  to  control  generally  the  policy 
of  the  daily  press  of  the  United  States. 

These  12  men  worked  the  problem  out  by 
selecting  179  newspapers;  and  then  began,  by 
an  elimination  process,  to  retain  only  those 
necessary  for  the  purpose  of  controlling  the 
general  policy  of  the  daily  press  throughout 
the  country.  They  found  it  was  necessary  to 
purchase  the  control  of  only  25  of  the  greatest 
papers.  The  25  papers  were  agreed  upon; 
emissaries  were  sent  to  purchase  the  policy, 
national  and  international,  of  these  papers; 
an  agreement  was  reached;  the  policy  of  the 
papers  was  bought,  to  be  paid  for  by  the  month; 
an  editor  was  furnished  for  each  paper,  properly 
to  supervise  and  edit  information  regarding  the 
questions  of  preparedness,  militarism,  financial 
policies,  and  other  things  of  national  and 
international  nature  considered  vital  to  the 
interests  of  the  purchasers. 

This  contract  is  in  existence  at  the  present 
time,  and  it  accounts  for  the  news  columns  of 
the  daily  press  of  the  country  being  filled  with 
all  sorts  of  preparedness  arguments  and  mis- 
representations as  to  the  present  condition  of 
the  United  States  Army  and  Navy,  and  the 
possibility  and  probability  of  the  United  States' 
being  attacked  by  foreign  foes. 

This  policy  also  included  the  suppression  of 
everything  in  opposition  to  the  wishes  of  the 
interests  served.  The  effectiveness  of  this.scheme 
has  been  conclusively  demonstrated  by  the 
character  of  stuff  carried  in  the  daily  press 
throughout  the  country  since  March,  1915. 
They  have  resorted  to  anything  necessary  to 


commercialize  public  sentiment,  and  sandbag 
the  National  Congress  into  making  extravagant 
and  wasteful  appropriations  for  the  Army  and 
Navy  under  the  false  pretence  that  it  was 
necessary.  Their  stock  argument  is  that  it  is 
"patriotism."  They  are  playing  on  every  prej- 
udice and  passion  of  the  American  people. 

Unlike  most  Congressmen,  Mr.  Callaway 
(who  describes  himself  as  a  "belligerent 
pacifist,  ready  to  fight  those  of  this  country 
who  want  to  drive  us  into  war")  cares 
nothing  for  newspaper  reports  himself, 
but  his  informant,  he  said,  "would  not 
allow  his  name  disclosed  unless  he  be 
brought  before  a  proper  tribunal,  with 
power  to  summon  witnesses,  and  put 
them  on  oath,  and  follow  the  investi- 
gation to  a  conclusion,  because  he  feared 
he  would  be  'fired'  from  his  job,  and  he 
knew  he  would  be  hounded  to  death  by 
newspapers." 

Observant  readers  throughout  the  coun- 
try must  have  noticed  that  when  it  is 
a  question  of  public  improvements  the 
metropolitan  press  shouts,  "Pork  barrel!" 
and  that  when  opposition  is  raised  to 
enormous  expenditures  for  the  Army  and 
Navy,  it  shouts,  "Treason!" 


A  serious  objection  to  the  Question 
Box  department  in  some  of  our  Catholic 
contemporaries  is  that  attempts  are  often 
made  to  give  adequate  answers  in  as  few 
words  as  the  questions  themselves.  This 
is  sometimes  impossible,  and  the  impres- 
sion on  the  questioner's  mind  must  fre- 
quently be  that  the  difficulty  has  been 
dodged  rather  than  cleared  up.  A  good 
definition  of  Papal  Infallibility,  for 
instance,  need  not  be  a  long  one,  though 
it  should  be  long  enough  to  make  a 
distinction  between  "impeccability"  and 
"infallibility,"  which  are  so  often  con- 
founded. But  when  it  is  asked,  "If  St. 
Peter  was  infallible,  why  did  he  deny 
Our  lyord?"  other  explanations  as  well 
are  in  order. 

"Nothing  is  more  remarkable,"  writes 
Mr.  Shane  Leslie  in  a  communication  to 
America,  "than  the  way  in  which  the  Holy 


280 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


See  is  now  seeking  not  only  peace  between 
belligerents,  but  the  accommodation  of 
outstanding  differences  of  her  own.  The 
East  is  being  approached  by  the  West. 
There  seems  some  chance  that  the  Russian 
will  find  a  Catholic  cathedral  in  Con- 
stantinople 'with  the  Greek  Uniate  Rite 
in  possession.  Diplomatic  relations  be- 
tween England  and  the  Holy  See  seem 
to  be  cemented,  and  France  is  likely  to 
follow  the  example.  Since  1870  the  world 
has  pretended  it  could  get  on  very  well 
without  granting  an  official  existence  to 
the  Holy  See.  A  world  now  become  slightly 
anxious  as  to  its  own  prospect  of  existence 
holds  out  its  hands  to  the  one  unloosened 
stake  with  which  Providence  seems  to 
have  pegged  down  the  centuries." 

Remarkable     indeed,     and     a     faithful 
saying. 


We  have  seen  no  summary  of  Lenten 
resolutions  more  practical  and  complete 
than  the  following,  which  we  find  in  the 
New  World  of  Chicago: 

Go  to  Mass  every  morning.  Go  to  Holy 
Communion  every  morning,  —  at  least  go  to 
Holy  Communion  every  week.  Make  a  visit 
to  the  Bessed  Sacrament  every  day. 

Make  a  sincere  effort  to  keep  the  letter  and 
the  spirit  of  Lent.  More  people  are  killed  by 
eating  than  by  fasting.  We  all  eat  too  much 
meat.  The  doctors  say  it  is  a  prolific  source  of 
disease. 

Buy  a  book  of  Catholic  devotion.  Read  it  for 
at  least  fifteen  minutes  a  day.  Get  acquainted 
with  yourself.  Get  chummy  with  your  soul. 
A  meditation  of  ten  minutes  a  day  will  go  very 
far  to  make  you  a  thoughtful  Catholic. 

Attend  the  special  devotions  for  Lent.  Make 
the  Stations  of  the  Cross  at  least  once  a  week. 
This  practice  will  keep  you  in  the  spirit  of  Lent. 

Set  aside  some  of  the  money  you  save  from 
little  luxuries,  for  charity. 

All  of  these  suggestions  are  good,  and 
each  in  its  own  way  important;  but  the 
last  is  especially  appropriate  in  these  days, 
when  there  is  so  much  misery  and  suffering 
in  the  world. 

An  old  story  that  has  had  so  long  a  rest 
as  to  appear  new  is  now  being  told,  with 
proper  setting,  of  the  new  English  Premier. 


A  Welsh  deacon,  who  was  acting  as  chair- 
man of  a  political  meeting  at  which  Mr. 
Lloyd  George  was  to  speak,  introduced  him 
by  saying:  "Gentlemen,  I  haff  the  honor 
to  introduce  to  you  the  honorable  Member 
for  Carnarvon  Boroughs.  He  has  come 
here  on  purpose  to  reply  to  the  Bishop 
of  St.  Asaph.  In  my  opinion,  the  Bishop 
is  one  of  the  biggest  liars  in  creashon ;  but, 
thank  Heaven,  we  haff  got  a  match  for 
him  to-night!" 

Some  of  the  most  interesting  war  letters 
that  have  come  under  our-  notice  are 
from  the  pen  of  the  Rt.  Rev.-  Bishep 
Cleary,  of  Auckland,  New  Zealand,  who 
is — or  was  until  recently  —  serving  as  a 
chaplain.  Being  in  England  for  his  health, 
and  hearing  that  the  New  Zealand  troops 
in  France,  many  of  whom  are  Catholics, 
were  deprived  of  priestly  ministrations, 
he  offered  to  fill  the  place  himself  until  a 
regular  chaplain  could  be  provided,  and 
hastened  to  join  the  brigade  to  which  he 
was  appointed.  He  has  been  on  the 
firing  line  for  the  last  three  months.  From 
his  latest  letter,  dated  Jan.  4,  1917,  we  are 
privileged  to  quote  these  passages: 

For  the  Catholic  chaplain,  the  period  in  the 
trenches  is  certainly,  in  some  respects,  much  less 
toilful  than  the  period  of  so-called  "rest."  For 
during  "rest"  the  men  of  his  brigade  are  scat- 
tered through  villages  and  farms  over  a  wide 
area;  and  the  only  possible  hours  for  getting  into 
personal  touch  with  them — in  groups  not  larger 
than  a  Company — are  from  about  11.30  to  1.15, 
and  from  5  p.  m.  onwards.  But  in  the  trenches, 
the  chaplain  finds  his  men  concentrated  in  two 
lines, — with  the  exception  of  working  parties, 
which  are  daily  close  to  or  within  the  lines;  and 
reserves,  which  are  in  billets  close  behind.  . . . 
In  no  case,  however,  near  our  lines  is  it  possi- 
ble to  celebrate  Mass  or  carry  out  any  religious 
service  in  one  of  our  churches  on  Sundays, 
because  they  have  all  been  destroyed,  over  a 
wide  area  here. 

A  remarkable  feature,  however,  of  the  destruc- 
tion caused  by  incendiary  fire  and  artillery 
high  explosives  is  the  extraordinary  immunity 
from  damage  of  the  big  crucifixes  or  Calvaries 
in  town,  village,  and  country,  even  amidst 
otherwise  practically  universal  ruin  all  around. 
I  frequently  visit,  in  the  course  of  duty  here,  a 
village  where  the  church  has  been  pounded  to 


THE  AVK  MARIA 


281 


atoms,  the  tombstones  in  many  cases  battered 
to  fragments,  two  sets  of  graves  opened  and 
coffins  exposed  by  high  explosives,  and  a  life- 
size  crucifix  only  a ,  few  feet  away  perfectly 
intact.  Two  others  only  a  little  way  off  have 
not  so  much  as  a  scratch  upon  either  cross  or 
life-size  figure  of  the  Crucified;  while  in  the  case 
of  one,  there  is  hopeless  desolation  all  around; 
and,  in  the  case  of  the  other,  all  the  adjacent 
houses  have  been  heavily  holed  by  fragments 
of  flying  shell.  Many  of  our  troops  stop  to  view 
these  strange  sights,  and  with  men  of  all  faiths 
they  are  quite  a  common  subject  of  comment 
and  wonderment. 

While  our  men  are  in  the  trenches,  my 
."church"  on  Sundays  is  the  large  loft  of  a 
battered  barn,  the  roof  of  which  has  been  rid- 
dled by  shell  fire.  It  is  near  my  billet  in  an 
adjoining  farmhouse,  and  shells  fall  frequently 
all  around  about  and  along  the  adjacent  roads. 
Six  exploded  near  by  in  rapid  succession  last 
night.  Every  evening  in  my  billet,  and  for  an 
hour  before  Mass  on  Sundays,  I  carry  out  the 
loving  ministry  of  reconciling  penitents  with 
their  Creator.  Each  Sunday  there  is  a  crowd  of 
communicants. 

I  spend  the  greater  part  of  each  day  in  the 
firing  line;  reserving,  when  possible,  a  short 
period,  before  dark,  for  a  visit  to  one  or  two 
sectors  of  the  support  line.  The  roads  leading  to 
the  trenches  (near  which  I  live)  are  all  shelled 
from  time  to  time  by  the  enemy's  guns;  but 
some  risk  also  arises  from  the  almost  daily 
firing  of  anti-aircraft  artillery,  right  overhead, 
both  by  friend  and  foe.  The  fragments  of  burst- 
ing projectiles  come  buzzing  at  great  velocity 
through  the  air  with  a  musical  note,  and  may 
inflict  very  ugly  wounds.  One  of  these  dropped 
between  me  and  a  young  Aucklander,  failing 
to  "get"  me  "only  by  a  fraction  of  an  inch. 
The  last  part  of  the  way  into  the  front  and 
support  trenches  is  through  one  or  other  of  a 
series  of  narrow  winding  saps,  partly  dug  into 
.the  ground,  partly  built  up  on  each  side  like 
earth  fences,  topped  by  sandbags  (or  more 
correctly  earth-filled  bags),  and  supported  inside 
by  wooden  frames  splayed  outwards  and 
covered  with  close-mesh  wire-netting  to  sustain 
the  soft  clay  and  keep  it  from  falling  during 
damp  or  frosty  weather.  .  .  . 

I  make  it  my  business  each  day  to  see  per- 
sonally every  Catholic  along  the  sectors  visited, 
and  to  give  him  an  opportunity  of  performing, 
there  and  then,  the  religious  duty  that  may  be 
the  most  urgent  for  men  running  the  great  risks 
of  modern  war.  This  duty  is  done  in  any  con- 
dition that  offers, — lying  down  in  dug-outs, 
leaning  against  parapets,  or,  under  heavy  shell- 
fire,  crouching  low  in  the  shelter  of  friendly 
walls  of  sandbags.  ...  In  the  biggest  "strafe" 


against  us,  tens  of  thousands  of  all  sorts  of  shells 
were  poured  in  torrents  over  our  lines,  with, 
happily,  comparatively  lij,tle  loss  of  life.  But  there 
were  many  very  wonderful  escapes,  of  the  kind 
that  one  is  tempted  to  refer  to  as  miraculous. 

My  own  escape  from  a  high-explosive  five- 
point-nine  (practically  six-inch)  German  shell 
may,  perhaps,  present  some  point  of  interest 
to  you.  The  shell  exploded  only  eight  feet  from 
where  three  of  us  (one  a  young  English  artillery 
officer  observer)  were  standing  side  by  side, 
in  the  front  line  in  the  height  of  the  bombard- 
ment. The  shell  explosion  made  a  great  hole  in 
the  fortunately  soft  earth.  All  three  of  us  were 
thrown  flat,  with-  great  force,  and  quantities 
of  earth  and  niud  were  cast  on  and  above  us. 
Two  of  the  three  of  us  picked  ourselves  up  as 
quickly  as  possible;  the  other  —  the  young 
officer  at  my  right — never  rose  again. 

Bishop  Cleary  tells  us  that  no  mission 
with  which  he  has  ever  been  associated 
has  produced  so  rich  a  harvest  of  spiritual 
good  as  the  battle  front  from  which  he 
writes;  and  he  declares  that  he  will  leave 
it  with  sincerest  regret. 


As  an  example  of  how  truths  of  a  timely 
character  are  expressed  by  Mr.  John  B. 
Stoll,  of  the  Editorial,  we  quote  this  preg- 
nant paragraph: 

The  less  attention  the  people  of  the  United 
States  pay  to  the  editorial  utterances  of  most 
of  the  newspapers  printed  in  the  city  of  New 
York,  the  less  misconception  of  matters  discussed 
will  take  lodgment  in  their  minds.  Time  was 
when  it  was  reasonably  safe  to  heed  the  teach- 
ings of  the  New  York  press,  but  that  is  a  thing 
of  the  past.  The  judgment  of  those  who  fully 
understand  the  situation  is  that  most  of  the 
New  York  papers  are  provincial,  untrustworthy, 
unfair,  and  deplorably  unscrupulous. 

The  Editorial  is  distinguished  for  honesty 
no  less  than  for  ability.  Independent 
integrity  is  shown  in  every  word  that  is 
original  and  in  every  line  that  is  quoted. 
It  is  too  much  to  expect  that  a  periodical 
so  solid  and  so  superior  should  win  popu- 
larity all  at  once;  however,  there  is  the 
gratifying  assurance  that  the  number  of 
the  Editorial's  readers  is  steadily  if  slowly 
increasing.  It  is  one  of  those  rare  publi- 
cations that  become  almost  a  necessity 
to  any  one  who  attentively  peruses  a 
single  issue. 


Lessons  of  St.  Joseph, 

BY    E.  J.  MERRYWEATHIJR. 

OUNG  and  old  and  high  and  low, 

All  may  to  St.  Joseph  go: 
By  example,  not  by  speech, 
Such  sweet  lessons  did  he  teach. 

Yes,  dear  children,  even  so; 
All  may  to  St.  Joseph  go, 
Greater  though  on  earth   was  none 
Save   God's   Mother,   peerless   One! 

Many  a  lesson  you   may  learn, 
Children,   if  to  him  you  turn, — 
Meek  obedience,   prompt   and   true, 
Gentleness  and  kindness  too; 

In  Jesus'  company  to  live, 
Reverence  to  Him  and   Mary  give; 
To  love  them,  serve  them,  work  and  pray: 
Above  all,   humbly  to  obey. 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 

BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 

IX. — THROUGH  THE  MIST. 

N  and  the  dog  started  off, —  Con 
strong  in  heart  again,  now  that 
this  faithful  friend  was  at  his  side. 
They  stopped  for  a  while  in  the  hollow 
beneath  the  green-wreathed  rocks,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  the  "Mister"  there 
to-day.  The  moss  where  Con  had  lain  on 
Christmas  Eve  was  dripping  wet  now, 
and  the  melting  snows  had  made  a  little 
pool  where  he  had  battled  with  the  boys. 
Everything  seemed  to  have  grown  soft 
and  warm,  even  Con's  own  heart,  from 
which  all  the  fighting  spirit  had  fled.  If 
he  could  but  find  the  "Mister,"  and  go 
with  him  to  where  people  were  good  and 
gentle  and  kind! 

So  he  and  Dick  kept  on  their  way  down 
the  cloud-veiled  steeps  to  the  log  cabin, 


which,  Con  felt  after  all  the  splendor  of 
its  decorations,  the  "Mister"  must  still 
be  holding  as  his  own.  But  when  he 
reached  the  threshold,  Con  paused  in 
dire  dismay.  All  the  glory  of  the  Christ- 
mas, night  had  vanished  like  a  dream, — 
glittering  candelabra,  gleaming  tapers, 
laces,  broideries,  rugs.  The  cabin  stood 
rough  and  bare  and  deserted  save  for  one 
figure — -Con's  late  enemy,  Pat  Murphy,— 
busy  tearing  down  the  greens  and  berries, 
and  sweeping  them  out  to  burn;  Pat 
Murphy,  who  had  flung  the  stone  in  the 
snowball,  and  whom  Con  had  sworn  to 
"lick"  on  sight.  Xhe  blood  boiled  and 
then  chilled  as  suddenly  in  the  young 
outlaw's  veins.  He  was  stiff  and  sore  still: 
could  he  dare  an  encounter  with  sturdy 
Pat  to-day?  He  must,  though  it  killed 
him;  and  then,  as  he  stood  nerving  himself 
for  the  unequal  fight  that  he  felt  had  to 
come,  Pat  looked  up  and  stared  at  the 
intruder  for  a  moment  doubtfully: 

"What  are  ye  doing  down  here?"  he 
asked. 

"Ready  to  fight  you  about  that  'ere 
snowball,"  said  Con,  clenching  a  rather 
shaky  fist. 

"You  needn't,"  replied  Pat.  "I  gave  my 
word  to  say  I  was  sorry  the  first  time  I 
saw  you.  And  I'll  say  more,  too.  You  best 
skip  out  of  this  'ere  place  quick  as  you  can. 
Captain  Gregory's  put  a  price  on  you." 

"A  price!"  echoed  Con. 

"Yes,"  continued  Pat, — "twenty  dollars 
to  anybody  that  will  bring  you  up  to  the 
Manse.  I  might  try  for  it  myself,  but  I 
won't.  Father  Phil  give  us  all  a  talking  to 
about  you ;  said  we  were  mean  and  coward 
and  unchristian.  Oh,  he  give  it  to  us  hot 
and  hard!  And  we  promised  not  to  do  it 
no  more.  And  I  won't,  not  even  for  old 
Gregory's  twenty  dollars.  But  you  better 
skip  quick,  for  all  his  men  are  looking  out 
for  you  now." 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


283 


"What  do  they  want  with  me?"  asked 
Con,  in  bewilderment. 

"To  shut  you  up,"  answered  Pat.  "Old 
Greg  says  it  ain't  safe  to  have  you  loose. 
He's  going  to  put  you  in  the  Reform." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Con.    "Jail?" 

"Wuss,"  was  the  uncheering  reply, — "a 
heap  wuss.  I'd  ruther  be  in  jail  a  dozen 
times.  Old  Greg  says  he  is  going  to  put 
you  there.  And  if  you  don't  skip  far  and 
fast,  he  will." 

Con'  listened  in  wonder.  He  had  the 
wariness  of  the  wild  creatures,  and  he  could 
not  quite  understand  Pat's  sudden  change 
of  heart;  for  the  stone  in  the  snowball 
rankled  still.  It  would  be  well,  he  thought, 
to  keep  out  of  its  flinger's  way.  He  longed 
to  ask  some  questions  about  the  "Mister," 
but  he  did  not  dare  to.  Pat  might  trick, 
mislead  him  again. 

"You'd  best  make  for  the  Roost  and 
stay  there,"  cautioned  this  late  enemy; 
"or  old  Greg  will  get  you  sure." 

And  Con  turned  and  walked  off,  leaving 
Pat  to  clear  away  the  Christmas  debris 
with  a  sense  of  duty  well  done. 

Back  into  the  thickening  mists  went  Con, 
with  Dick  at  his  side.  All  unconsciously, 
the  boy  had  missed  an  opportunity  he 
would  never  regain.  A  word  about  Father 
Phil  and  his  offer  would  have  stirred  Pat 
into  eager  interest,  and  would  have  guided 
homeless  Con  straight  to  his  good  friend's 
side.  But  this  the  poor  Con  of  Misty 
Mountain  did  not  know.  Still  he  resolved 
to  heed  Pat's  warning:  he  would  skip 
far  and  fast  out  of  old  Gregory's  reach. 
He  could  travel,  like  the  hunted  fox  and 
deer,  by  ways  the  old  man  could  not  follow, 
until  he  was  far  beyond  his  power  or  rule; 
and  then  he  could  show  the  paper  in  his 
pocket  and  find  its  writer  without  fear. 

So  Con  planned  as  he  took  his  way 
up  the  mountain,  where  the  mists  were 
growing  whiter  and  thicker  as  the  day  wore 
to  its  close.  The  sun  was  setting,  a  red  ball 
of  fire  in  the  Gap,  and  Con  was  very  tired. 
Those  two  days  and  nights  of  pain  in  the 
smoky  old  cabin  had  taken  away  much 
of  his  fearless,  boyish  strength.  He  must 


find  a  shelter  for  the  night.  But  this  was 
no  new  thing  for  £on.  Misty  Mountain, 
with  its  hollows  and  hiding-places,  was 
familiar  camping  ground;  and  Mother 
Moll  had  filled  his  ragged  pockets  with 
bread  and  cheese;  for  Uncle  Bill  had  come 
home  laden  with  provender,  and  her  larder 
was  no  longer  empty.  He  knew  of  a  fine 
place,  not  so  very  far  up  the  mountain, 
where  he  could  sleep.  It  was  a  sort  of  cave 
or  cache,  as  Uncle  Bill's  boys  called  it, 
where  they  hid  things — kegs  and  boxes 
and  cans — that  they  did  not  want  to 
carry  up  the  steep  climb  to  the  Roost; 
then  there  was  a  lot  of  straw  and  heavy 
sacking  that  would  make  a  warm  bed  for 
the  night,  and  Dick  would  take  care 
that  no  wild  things  came  in  to  disturb 
their  sleep.  -  With  Dick's  keen  nose  and 
sharp  teeth  at  his  side,  Con  had  no 
fear  of  wolf  or  "wild-cat.  But  there  would 
be  worse  things  than  wolves  or  wild-cats 
astir  on  Misty  Mountain  to-night,  though 
Con  did  not  know  this  yet. 

He  felt  only  that  he  must  lie  down  some- 
where and  rest;  for,  though  his  sturdy 
young  frame  was  cased  in  muscles  that  had 
the  spring  of  steel,  they  still  were  strained 
and  sore,  and  his  head  was  not  altogether 
clear  yet.  Perhaps  that  was  why  the 
mists  rolling  up  thicker  and  whiter  in  the 
gathering  dusk  seemed  to  bewilder  Con. 
It  was  well  that  Dick  was  at  his  side, 
or  he  might  have  lost  his  way.  Sky  and 
stars  were  blotted  out;  even  the  ground 
beneath  his  feet  was  a  white  blur.  All 
around  him  was  a  cloudland,  in  which 
queer,  fantastic  shapes  seemed  to  start 
out  and  vanish  as  he  passed.  Rocks, 
trees,  thickets,  all  the  landmarks  he  knew 
so  well,  were  veiled  and  vague  and  strange 
to-night.  He  would  be  glad  to  reach  the 
cache  for  which  he  was  instinctively  making, . 
and  lie  down  in  the  warm  straw  to  sleep. 

But  Con  felt,  with  something  of  the  old 
spirit  rising  in  his  heart,  it  was  good  to  be 
free  even  in  this  cloudland;  good  to  be 
away  from  Uncle  Bill  forever;  good  he 
had  met  Pat  Murphy  and  been  warned  of 
old  Gregory's  hunt  for  him;  good  that  he 


284 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


and  Dick  could  go  on  their  wild  way,  by 
paths  that  the  old  man  in  the  Manse 
would  never  reach.  Now  that  the  ice  had 
melted,  the  fierce  grip  of  the  frost  broken, 
he  and  Dick  could  wander  for  days  and 
weeks  without  fear.  They  could  catch  the 
rabbits  and  hares  scurrying  out  for  greens 
in  the  mountain;  and  there  was  wood  to 
cook  them, — Con  knew  how  to  strike  fire 
from  sticks  and  stones.  There  were  roots 
and  mosses  quite  as  good  to  eat  as  potatoes 
and  beans.  And  always  there  were  warm 
nooks  and  hollows,  carpeted  with  pine 
needles,  where  he  could  snuggle  up  close 
to  big,  fur-robed  Dick,  and  sleep  for  the 
night.  Then,  when  he  and  Dick  were 
miles  and  miles  away  from  Uncle  Bill  and 
old  Gregory,  he  would  go  down  where 
there  were  people  and  houses,  and  show 
the  paper  in  his  pocket,  and  with  the  two 
dollars  Mother  Moll  had  given  him,  find 
the  "Mister"  who  would  take  him  for  his 
little  pal  and  brother  as  he  had  said. 

And,  with  this  hope  cheering  him,  Con 
kept  on  his  way  through  a  world  of  cloudy 
phantasms  that  might  well  have  dismayed 
many  an  older  and  wiser  traveller,  until 
a  sudden  sound  in  the  white  stillness 
made  him  pause  abruptly,  and  clap  a 
silencing  hand  on  Dick's  jaw  that  was 
just  opening  for  a  bark.  Dick  knew  the 
warning,  and  was  suddenly  motionless 
as  a  dog  turned  into  stone.  Voices — fierce, 
hoarse  voices — were  talking  near.  Con 
and  Dick  were  close  to  the  'cache  now, 
but — but — some  one  was  there  before 
them;  some  one — nay,  two,  three  speakers 
were  almost  within  touch.  Con,  in  dire 
dismay,  crouched  down  behind  a  clump  of 
bushes  that  had  started  out  of  the  blur 
beside  him.  He  dared  not  move;  for  it 
was  Uncle  Bill's  fierce,  husky  tone  that 
came  through  the  veiling  mists, 

"Take  plenty  of  ile,  fur  this  cussed 
fog  is  agin  us, — plenty  of  ile  and  turpentine 
as  well.  And  start  the  barns  and  stable 
fust:  the  hay  and  straw  will  catch  quick." 

"Aye,  aye!"  It  was  black -browed 
Wally's  voice  that  answered.  "We're  on 
to  the  job  all  right,  pap!  And  the  fog  is 


not  agin  us.  We'll  have  things  roaring 
before  they  catch  a  glim  of  light.  Dan 
stole  down  and  cut  all  the  wires  at  dusk; 
ye  couldn't  see  an  inch  beyond  yer  nose 
then.  We'll  smoke  the  Gregorys  out  fur 
good,  don't  ye  fear." 

"Aye,  we  will,  will,  the — the —  '  Uncle 
Bill,  hoarse  with  rage  and  hate,  broke 
into  a  burst  of  profanity  terrible  to  hear. 
"We'll  larn  them,  my  lads;  we'll  show 
them  that  Bill  Gryce  and  his  bold  boys 
are  not  to  be  hunted  down  like  wolves 
and  catamounts.  We'll  show  them  that 
we  can  hit  back, — can  fight  our  own. 
Nat,  my  brave  yellow-haired  Nat, — think 
of  him,  my  lads, —  think  of  your  bold 
brother  locked  up  in  the  jail  for  mebbe 
twenty  years,  as  old  Gregory  swears. 
Think  of  Nat,  lads,  and  do  your  wurst!" 

"We  will,  pap, — we  will,  don't  ye  fear!" 

"Plenty  of  ile,  plenty  of  turpentine," 
continued  the  fierce  old  voice;  "and  the 
hay  and  straw  fust.  But — -but  don't  ye 
stop  at  that,  lads,  don't  stop  until  that . 
thar  great  house  of  his  catches  fire  good. 
Don't  stop  till  it's  ablaze  from  roof  to 
ground.  Don't  stop  till  everybody  in  it 
is  choking  or  burning,  or  running  out 
yelling  and  screaming  into  the  night." 

"We  won't,  pap, — we  won't,"  came  the 
fierce  promise.  "We'll  make  a  blaze  that 
will  light  Misty  Mountain  to  its  tip." 

"I'd  like  well  to  help  ye,  lads,  but 
I'm  that  stiff  with  the  drubbing  I  gave 
that  young  whelp  the  other  day  that  I 
can't  hardly  lift  my  arm.  Lord,  but  lie 
riled  me,  plotting  and  a-planning  with 
them  that's  a-driving  me  and  mine  out 
of  house  and  home,  taking  the  bread 
out  of  our  mouths,  jailing  my  brave  boy! 
I  beat  till  I  couldn't  beat  no  more. 
Whether  I  killed  him  or  not,  I  don't  know." 

"What  was  the  good  of  killing  the 
boy?"  It  was  Dan  who  put  the  question 
rather  gruffly.  "Couldn't  you  jest  have 
kicked  him  out  and  let  him  go?" 

"No,"  answered  his  father  savagely,— 
"not  after  all  I've  done  and  risked  for 
him.  Keeping  that  thar  boy  meant  more 
for  me  than  you  all  know.  But  when  he 


THE  AVE  MARIA    • 


285 


turned  agin  me,  he  stirred  me  up  sure. 
Dead  or  alive,  I've  done  with  him  now; 
for  we'll  all  hev  to  be  off  from  here  before 
the  first  crack  of  day.  But  fust  I'm  a-going 
to  hev  my  spite  out  full  and  free.  I'm 
going  to  set  right  here  and  watch  old 
Eben  Gregory's  house  burn.  I'm  a-going 
to  watch  it  smoke  and  crackle  and  blaze 
from  ground  to  roof,  till  it  lights  the 
country  around;  and  when  it  tumbles, 
when  he  hasn't  roof  or  wall  to  call  his 
own  no  more,  when  he  is  turned  out  like 
he's  turned  me  and  mine  from  home,  I'm 
going  to  fling  my  curse  on  him,  and  go 
off  from  Misty  Mountain  forever.  But  I'll 
be  even  with  old  Gregory  fust,  boys, — 
we'll  be  even  with  old  Gregory  fust." 

"Aye,  we  will!"  said  black-browed 
Wally,  who  was  an  echo  of  his  old  father. 
Nat  and  Dan  had  a  touch  in  them  of 
poor  Mother  Moll.  "Jest  you  set  here  and 
watch  us,  pap !  We  hev  to  wait  until  that 
Irish  Dennis  and  the  rest  of  'em  get  off 
.to  sleep  before  we  start  work." 

"How  about  the  dogs?"  asked  the  old 
man,  suddenly. ' '  They  loose  them  at  night. ' ' 

"I've  got  sausage  for  them,"  said  Wally, 
grimly, — "sausage  that  kills  fust  bite." 

"Fling  it  to  them  quick,  lad!"  warned 
his  father.  "There's  a  wolf  hound  thar 
that  could  tear  ye  to  bits.  Hev  a  shot 
ready  for  him,  if  the  sausage  don't  work. 
Lie  down  within  now  and  rest  a  bit. 
I'll  call  ye  at  ten." 

' '  Better  tumble  in  the  shack  yerself ,  pap, ' ' 
said  Dan.  "This  'ere  fog  will  stiffen  yer 
bones  wuss  than  they  are  stiffened  now." 

"No!"  growled  Uncle  Bill.  "I've  got 
to  keep  watch  myself.  I  couldn't  sleep 
nowhar  or  nohow  to-night.  I  can't  never 
sleep  until  I  see  that  thar  house  a-blazing 
and  a-burning  as  I  want.  And  I  feel — 
I  feel  sort  of  as  if  somebody  war  going 
to  snatch  that  spite  from  me,  do  what  I 
will.  You  don't  hear  nothing  a-breathing 
or  a-creeping  round  here,  do  ye,  Dan?" 

"Lord,  no,  pap,"  reassured  Dan, — 
"nothing  at  all!" 

"I  thought  I  did,"  said  the  eld  man, 
doubtfully.  "I  sort  of  felt  like  thar  was 


something  hiding  and  listening  in  the  fog." 

"Spooks  mebbe?"  suggested  Dan. 
' '  Mother  always  said  that  the  '  hants '  walk 
out  in  the  mists  when  no  one  can  see." 

"Your  mother  is  a  fool!"  broke  out 
Uncle  Bill,  fiercely.  "She  allus  was. 
Thar  ain't  no  such  things  as  spooks. 
When  you're  dead,  you're  dead,  and  there 
ain't  no  more  to  you.  Never  believed  in 
no  preacher's  talk,  and  never  will.  But 
I've  been  sort  of  shaky  and  upset,  though, 
ever  since  I  laid  it  on  so  hard  to  that  thar 
young  whelp  of  a  Con.  Wonder  if  I  killed 
him  or  not?  Durned,  if  I  could  tell!" 

"Mother  was  sort  of  sot  on  him,  but 
I  guess  he  ain't  much  loss  to  ye,  pap," 
remarked  Dan,  philosophically. 

"Dunno  'bout  that,"  muttered  the  old 
man, — "dunno  'bout  that  at  all.  Now 
that  it's  over  with,  I  don't  mind  telling  ye 
I  got  a  lot  of  money  with  that  thar  boy, — • 
I  got  five  hundred  dollars  down." 

(To  be  continued.) 


St.  Kadok  and  His  Bell. 


i  EITHER  on  earth  nor  in  heaven  has 
St.  Kadok  his  equal,"  was  the 
refrain  of  an  old  war  song  sung  by 
the  victorious  Bretons  in  the  famous 
Combat  of  Thirty  (1351). 

Kadok  was  the  son  of  a  Breton  chief 
named  Gundliou.  On  the  day  of  his  birth, 
an  Irish  hermit,  a  disciple  of  St.  Patrick, 
presented  himself  before  the  child's  father 
and  said  to  him:  "My  lord,  I  had  two 
blue  ring-doves  and  a  black  cow.  My 
doves  came  to  eat  out  of  my  hand;  they 
played  on  the  roof  of  my  cabin,  rejoicing 
my  eyes  with  their  plumage,  and  my  ears 
with  their  song.  My  cow,  a  present  from 
a  noble  whose  son  I  had  educated,  fed 
with  her  milk  me  and  the  boys  of  the 
neighborhood  whom  God  sent  to  my 
school.  Now,  a  vulture  carried  off  my 
doves,  and  your  soldiers  have  stolen  my 
cow,  which  is  at  present  being  served  at 
your  table.  I  have  pardoned  the  bird  of 
prey,  and  I  forgive  your  men  of  war; 


286 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


for  it  is  written:  'Love  your  enemies; 
do  good  to  those  who  do  evil  to  you.' 
Accordingly  I  say,  '  Happy  day,  and 
bright  light  to  the  newly  born ! '" 

The  baby  was  brought  to  him.  The 
hermit  took  it  in  his  arms,  looked  at  it 
silently  for  some  time,  and  then,  taking 
water,  baptized  it,  calling  it  Kadok,  which 
means  bellicose. 

When  he  grew  up,  Kadok  set  sail  for 
Ireland,  and  spent  three  years  in  the 
great  Abbey  of  Lismor,  studying  the  seven 
branches  which  in  those  days  were  held  to 
constitute  a  liberal  education, — grammar, 
rhetoric,  dialetics,  arithmetic,  geometry, 
astronomy,  and  music. 

When  Kadok  had  been  three  years  at 
Lismor  he  heard  one  day  that  a  famous 
Breton  rhetorician,  named  Bac'han,  just 
from  Italy,  was  teaching  Latin  in  Brittany 
according  to  good  Roman  methods. 
Kadok  immediately  left  Ireland  to  attend 
his  countryman's  new  school.  He  remained 
there  until  he  thought  himself  sufficiently 
instructed,  and  then  resolved  to  become  a 
monk. 

Accompanied  by  Gabran,  Mac-Moil, 
and  Finnian,  the  last-named  being  a 
relative  of  the  great  Ossian,  he  set  out  on 
a  journey  through  Brittany,  seeking  a 
suitable  place  for  a  monastery.  Having 
found  one,  the  men  began  work  immedi- 
ately, and  soon  had  a  chapel  constructed. 
One  thing  only  was  wanting  to  its  com- 
pletion: they  had  no  bell. 

As  they  were  talking  one  day  about  the 
means  of  supplying  their  want,  they  saw 
a  man  dressed  like  the  Irish  approaching 
their  monastery.  It  was  the  monk  Gildas, 
noted  for  his  proficiency  in  working  at 
metals.  Kadok  looked  upon  him  as  being 
sent  from  Heaven,  and  requested  him  to 
show  them  some  of  his  masterpieces. 
Gildas  opened  his  leathern  sack  and 
brought  out  a  good-sized  bell,  wonderfully 
worked.  Kadok  took  hold  of  it  by  the 
handle,  looked  at  it  admiringly  for  some 
time,  and  then  gently  rang  it.  The  sound 
it  gave  forth  was  so  harmonious  that  all 
the  monks  were  delighted. 


"Here  is  a  beautiful  bell,"  said  Kadok, 
"and  one  which,  it  seems  to  me,  would  be 
quite  at  home  in  our  chapel." 

"I  would  willingly  give  it  to  you," 
answered  Gildas,  "were  it  not  that  it  is 
intended  for  the  Pope,  and  I  am  now  on 
my  way  to  give  it  to  him." 

Sure  enough,  Gildas  proceeded  to  Rome, 
and  presented  the  bell  to  the  Holy  Father, 
The  latter  admired  it  for  some  time  and 
then  rang  it;  but,  after  a  moment,  to  his 
great  surprise,  it  gave  forth  no  sound 
whatever. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  said  the  Pope. 
"It  has  a  tongue,  and  doesn't  speak." 

"Holy  Father,"  replied  Gildas,  "I  shall 
tell  you.  As  I  was  passing  through  Brit- 
tany, a  holy  man  named  Kadok,  having 
rung  my  bell,  exclaimed,  '  Here  is  a  beau- 
tiful bell,  which,  it  seems  to  me,  would 
be  quite  at  home  in  our  chapel.'  I  refused 
to  let  him  have  it,  as  I  desired  to  offer  it 
to  your  Holiness." 

"You  did  wrong,  my  son,"  said  the 
Pope.  "I  know  the  holiness  of  Kadok. 
I  know,  too,  the  Bretons:  they  have  hard 
heads  but  tender  hearts.  Take  the  bell 
back  to  the  man  of  God.  May  it  be  for  the 
Bretons  a  preservative  against  misfortune; 
and,  on  hearing  it,  may  they  remember 
that  they  have  a  father  in  Rome  as  well 
as  in  heaven/' 

Gildas  went  back  to  Kadok' s  monastery 
and  gave  him  the  bell,  which  immediately 
regained  its  voice  and  rang  out  more 
melodiously  than  ever. 


Small  Beginnings. 


A  hole  in  a  dyke  so  small  that  one  might 
stop  it  with  a  handkerchief  will  widen 
into  a  gap  as  big  as  a  church  door  in  ten 
minutes  by  the  pressure  of  the  flood 
behind  it.  Hence  the  greatest  care  is 
exercised  in  protecting  dykes  wherever 
they  exist.  The  proverb,  Obsta  principiis— 
"Resist  beginnings,"  is  as  wise  as  it  is  old. 
As  with  openings  in  dykes,  so  with  evil 
inclinations, 


THE  AVE  MARIA  287 

WITH    AUTHORS   AND    PUBLISHERS 


— A  book  on  "The  Present  Position  and  Power 
of  the  Press,"  by  Mr.  Hilaire  Belloc,  is  announced 
for  early  publication  by  Messrs.  Allen  &  Unwin, 
London. 

— Nos.  251  and  252  of  the  Australian  Catholic 
Truth  Society's  penny  pamphlets  are  "Medi- 
cally Unfit  and  /Dther  Stories,"  by  Miriam 
Agatha;  and  "St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary, 
Patroness  of  the  Poor,"  by  Thomas  B.  Reilly. 
Both  are  exceptionally  good. 

— The  current  issue  of  the  "Catholic  Edu- 
cational Association  Bulletin"  announces  that 
the  next  meeting  of  the  Association  will  be  held 
in  Buffalo,  June  25-28.  Cardinal  O'Connell's 
monumental  address  on  Charity  is  reprinted  in 
this  number,  also  an  excellent  paper  on  "School 
Surveys,"  by  the  Rev.  Albert  Muntsch,  S.  J. 

— The  Paulist  Press  has  issued  "A  Companion 
for  Daily  Communion,"  by  a  Sister  of  St.  Joseph. 
It  is,  in  form,  a  twenty-four  of  one  hundred  and 
forty  pages,  and  in  substance,  a  series  of  prep- 
arations for  Holy  Communion, — one  for  each 
day  of  the  month.  The  meditations  offered  are 
characterized  by  solid  piety.  For  sale  by  W.  E. 
Blake  &  Son,  Toronto.  Price,  50  cts. 

-"The  Stars  in  Their  Courses,"  by  Hilda 
M.  Sharp  (G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons),  is  a  somewhat 
conventional  novel  of  English  life  among  the 
upper  classes.  The  hero,  against  whom  the 
"stars"  of  the  title  fought  so  persistently,  is  a 
gambler  by  inherited  instinct,  who  took  one 
gambler's  chance  that  resulted  most  disastrously 
for  his  prospects.  He  is  nevertheless  a  strong 
character,  and  the  reader  will  be  apt  to  rejoice 
that  poetic  justice  is  at  last  meted  out  to  him 
and  to  the  unconventional  villain  of  the  story. 
As  usual  in  contemporary  novels,  the  religious 
note  is  struck  rarely,  if  at  all. 

-"The  Progress  of  a  Soul;  or,  Letters  of  a 
Convert,"  edited  by  Kate  Ursula  Brock,  is  a 
valuable  addition  to  the  growing  body  of  the 
literature  of  conversion.  These  letters,  in  book 
form,  were  to  have  had  an  Introduction  by 
the  late  Mgr.  Benson,  who  thought  very  well 
of  them,  and  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  they 
would  do  great  good.  But  they  have  a  preface 
by  Dom  Bede  Camm,  O.  S.  B.,  besides  full 
ecclesiastical  approbation.  Their  appeal  is  less 
to  the  Anglican  than  to  the  Agnostic  and  the 
Nonconformist,  and  hence  their  range  of  use- 
fulness is  all  the  wider.  They  are  written  with 
the  keenest  insight  into  the  difficulties  of  the 
minds  and  souls  they  would  set  at  ease;  and 
joined  to  this  inerrant  psychological  penetration 


they  have  a  gentle  wisdom  and  kindly  sympathy 
which  are  the  fruits  of  peace  attained.  More- 
over, they  have  a  grace  of  style  quite  uncommon. 
There  are  no  "purple"  passages;  rather,  as  was 
said  of  the  "Apologia,"  the  book-  is  a  product 
of  the  "white  art."  For  sale  in  the  U.  S.  by 
Benziger  Brothers. 

— In  a  profusely  illustrated  pamphlet  of  some 
seventy  odd  pages,  the  Rev.  E.  Gouin,  S.  S. 
tells  the  interesting  and  edifying  story  of 
"The  Good  Shepherd  and  Its  Works  at  Mon- 
treal." The  devoted  Sisters  who  conduct  the 
thoroughly  Catholic  work  associated  with  their 
name  have  been  in  Montreal  since  1844,  and  have 
in  the  intervening  decades  established  branch 
houses  in  different  parts  of  Canada.  They  are 
appreciated  by  both  Catholics  and  non-Catholics 
wherever  they  take  up  their  habitation.  The 
pamphlet  is  from  the  press  of  the  Deaf  and 
Dumb  Institution,  Montreal. 

— A  new  edition  of  West's  "Ancient  World," 
with  the  improved  title  "The  Ancient  World 
from  the  Earliest  Times  to  800  A.  D.,"  revised 
by  the  Rev.  Francis  S.  Betten,  S.  J.,  is  a  welcome 
text-book  for  Catholic  schools.  The  original 
work,  excellent  as  it  is  in  many  respects,  is 
saturated  with  materialism.  The  revision 
includes  the  maps  and  illustrations.  General 
readers  as  well  as  teachers  will  welcome  this 
improved  edition  of  a  book  which  has  many 
advantages  over  its  rivals.  The  index  should  be 
rendered  more  complete  in  the  next  edition. 
One  looks  in  vain  for  "Ireland"  in  it,  but 
finds  under  "St.  Patrick"  three  lines  on  page 
57  devoted  to  Ireland's  share  in  the  civilization 
of  the  \Vest.  Published  by  Allyn  &  Bacon, 
Boston  and  Chicago. 

-"The  Religious  Poems  of  Lionel  Johnson," 
with  a  preface  by  Mr.  Wilfrid  Meynell,  is  a 
volume  of  rare  delight.  To  match  the  inner 
beauty  of  the  poetry  itself,  it  has  an  exquisite 
format,  not  of  the  pale  paper  boards  variety, 
but  solid  and  substantial  cloth.  The  selection 
of  poems  has  been  made  from  the  complete 
issue  of  the  poet's  works  which  came  out  in 
1915.  That  volume,  we  venture  to  hope,  is 
comparatively  well  known.  At  all  events,  there 
will  now  be  no  excuse  for  readers  of  poetry  if 
they  do  not  get  acquainted  with  the  smaller 
collection  of  religious  poems  just  issued.  With 
Francis  Thompson,  Lionel  Johnson  is  a  ranking 
Catholic  poet,  the  two  together  having  given  the 
supreme  expression  of  Catholic  song  in  our  day. 
These  offer  bread  to  our  hunger  for  spiritual 
beauty;  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  we  shall  not  be 


288 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


content  with  a  stone  from  others.    Published  by 
the  Macmillan  Co. 

— Readers  of  poetry  are  already  familiar  with 
the  work  of  certain  members .  of .  the  "Irish 
Revolutionary  Brotherhood,"  as  it  has  been 
called;  and  will  accordingly  be  prepared  to 
Welcome  in  separate  issues  "Poems,"  by  Joseph 
Mary  Plunkett,  and  "Poems,"  by  Thomas 
MacDonagh.  (Frederick  A.  Stokes  Co.)  Both 
of  these  young  patriots  wrote  good  poetry,  as 
these  volumes  attest.  Neither  of  them,  however, 
had  quite  "found  himself,"  when  all  writing 
stopped.  A  character  of  roiscellaneousness  marks 
much  of  the  work  presented  in  their  collected 
editions.  Plunkett,  whose  talent  was  perhaps 
the  finer  of  the  two,  had  more  nearly  realized  his 
metier;  MacDonagh  wrote  more,  and  on  many 
themes,  and  with  a  freer  hand.  Time,  which 
was  denied  them,  would  have  seen  their  full 
formation  as  poets;  though  it  could  hardly  have 
given  them  a  more  assured  immortality  than  is 
already  theirs.  The  sister  of  Plunkett  writes  a 
warm-hearted  foreword  to  his  poems,  and  Mr. 
James  Stephens  performs  the  same  service  for 
MacDonagh.  Both  books  are  well  made,  but 
their  selling  price  seems  unduly  high.  (Plunkett, 
$1.50;  MacDonagh,  $1.75.) 


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Rtmember  them  that  are  in  bands. — HEB.,  xiii.  3. 

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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,  $i;  "in 
honor  of  the  Holy  Souls,"  $5;  Mabel,  25  cts. 
For  the  rescue  of  orphaned  and  abandoned 
children  in  China:  Friend  (Owasso),  $i ;  G.  M., 
$3;  Friend,  $75;  Michael  Fitzgerald,  $i.  For 
destitute  children  in  the  war  zones:  T.  M.,  $5. 
For  the  Bishop  of  Nueva  Segovia:  P.  E-  Z., 
O.  S.  B.,  $10. 


-'<swmiKsssm 

HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME   BLESSED.      ST.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  MARCH  10,  1917. 


NO.  10 


[Published  every  Saturday.     Copyright, 


The  Sorrowful  Mysteries. 


BY    R.  O'K. 


THE    AGONY    IN    THE    GARDEN. 
.  //  «'ns,  0  God,  Thou  wilt  observe, 
Lord,  who  will  stand  what  sins  deserve? 

©ETHSEMANE!     Gethsemane! 

Thy  midnight  Wrestler's  all  blood-red 
With  ruby  drops  of    royalty; 
Wrestling   a  bonded  race  to   free, 

And  life  eternal  give  the  dead. 
'Tis  Mary's  Son,   and  Mary  sees,  * — 
Mother,  I  ask  on  bended  knees, 
Touch  thou  my  inmost  heart  within, 
And  make   me  feel  the  guilt  of  sin. 

THE    SCOURGING    AT    THE    PILLAR. 

Wash  me  from  my  iniquity: 

A  clean  heart,  Lord,  create  in  me. 

At  morn  He  stands  condemned  and  bound, 

Trembling  in  man's  infirmity; 
They  scourge  Him  till  blood  slakes  the  ground, 
And  nought  but  one  commingled  sound 

Is  heard  of  lash  and  blasphemy. 
'Tis  Mary's  Son,  and  Mary  sees, — 
I  pray  thee,   Mother,   on  my  knees, 
Teach  me,   despite  of  scoffs  or  jeers, 
To  kiss  His  Wounds  with  sighs  and  tears. 

THE    CROWNING    WITH    THORNS. 
Go,  daughters,  see  on  Zion's  mound 
King  Solomon  in  glory  crowned. 

They  don  His  robes  of  royalty, 

Then  in  derision  bend  them  down, — 
An  old  red  cloak  for  majesty, 

*  Saints  say  that  when  Our  Lord  took  the  three  dis- 
ciples and  went  apart  with  them  into  the  Garden,  Our 
Lady  took  three  of  the  holy  women  and  went  apart  in 
the  Caenaculum;  and  that  she  saw  all  that  happened  that 
night  and  next  morning,  and  suffered  in  sympathy  with 
Our  Lord. — "Watches  of  the  Passion."  Fr.  Gallwey,  S.  J. 


1917:    Rev.  D.  E.  Hudson,  C.  S.  C.] 

An  empty  reed  His  sceptre  be, 

And  on  His  head  a  thorny  crown. 

'Tis  Mary's  Son,  and  Mary  sees, — 
Grant  me,   O  Mother,  on  my  knees: 
Ever  the  thorn-crowned   Two  revere, — 
My  Saviour  and  His  Vicar  here! 

THE  CARRYING  OF  THE  CROSS. 
With  garments  red,  from  Edom  flown, 
The  wine-press  dread  He  treads  alone. 

Purple  befits  His  royal  state; 

And,   marching  forth  to   Calvary, 
With  blood-drops  gemmed,  'mid  scorn  and  hate, 
He  passes  kingly  through  the  gate, 

Bearing  His  cross  to  victory. 

'Tis  Mary's  Son,   and   Mary's  near, — 
My  humble  prayer,   O   Mother,  hear: 
Daily  to  rise  at  morning  dim, 
Take  up  my  cross  and  follow  Him. 

THE    CRUCIFIXION. 

Better  that  One  die  on  the  cross 
Than  all  our  nation  suffer  loss. 

Not  heaven  above  like  contest  saw, 

Nor  mortal  eye  beneath  the  sun, — 
His  bleeding  wounds  defending  Law 
Through  earthquake's  shock  and  gloom  and  awe, 
With  His  last  breath  the  fight  is  won. 

'Tis   Mary's   Son,   and   Mary's  near, — 
Mother  of  Sorrows,   deign  to  hear: 
As  He  hath  borne  for  me  this  strife, 
Lead  me  for  Him  to  spend  my  life. 


MEDITATE  frequently  on  the  sorrows  of  the 
Mother  of  God, — sorrows  inseparable  from  those 
of  her  beloved  Son.  If  you  go  to  the  crucifix, 
you  will  there  find  the  Mother;  and  on  the 
other  hand,  wherever  the  Mother  is,  there  also 
is  her  Son.— St.  Paul  of  the  Cross. 


290 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Protestant  Missionary  Enterprise. 


BY   THE   REV.   J.   B.    CULEMANS. 


TRULY  remarkable  revival  of 
interest  in  Protestant  missionary 
r.  work  has  taken  place  of  late 
years.  The  churches  at  home  may 
complain  of  ever-decreasing  attendance 
and  resort  to  spectacular  methods  to 
attract  worshippers;  but  this  lack  of 
zeal  in  church-going  has  not  dried  up 
the  fountains  of  generosity  in  the  cause 
of  missionary  endeavors.  Perhaps  the 
slackers  are  compounding  with  their  con- 
science when  they  bestow  all  the  more 
liberally  of  their  abundance  upon  the 
heathen.  On  the  other  hand,  there  has 
been  waged  a  systematic  and  persistent 
campaign  for  the  collection  of  mission 
funds  outside  the  church  walls.  And  the 
results  to-day  make  an  impressive  total. 

In  1906  some  eight  million  dollars  were 
contributed  for  the  missionary  cause. 
On  November  15  of  that  year  a  series  of 
resolutions  was  adopted,  and  a  committee 
of  representative  laymen  appointed  by  the 
Men  and  Religion  Movement,  to  consult 
with  the  secretaries  of  the  various  mis- 
sionary boards  with  reference,  first,  to 
the  conduct  of  a  campaign  of  education 
among  laymen  to  interest  them  more 
largely  in  missions ;  second,  to  the  devising 
of  a  comprehensive  plan  for  the  evangel- 
izing of  the  world  within  the  present 
generation;  third,  to  endeavor  to  send  a 
committee  of  fifty  or  more  laymen  .to  the 
mission'  field  to  report  their  findings  to 
the  church  at  home. 

In  1907  sixty-six  laymen  were  com- 
missioned; and  they  visited  various  fields, 
at  their  own  expense,  to  investigate 
religious  conditions,  needs  and  results. 
After  their  return  many  of  them  engaged 
actively  in  giving  their  testimony  to  the 
public,  and  are  reported  to  have  been 
most  successful  in  stimulating  greatly 
increased  interest  in  missionary  work. 
The  annual  totals  began  to  climb  by  leaps 


and  bounds.  In  1915  some  seventeen 
million  dollars  were  collected;  in  1916 
this  was  increased  by  more  than  two 
million,  showing  a  total  of  $19,250,000. 
In  a  decade  the  increase  was  150  per  cent. 

The  possession  of  such  large  and  ever- 
increasing  means,  and  the  determination  to 
evangelize  the  world  in  this  generation, 
lead  naturally  to  the  inquiry :  What  success 
have  Protestant  missionary  efforts  met 
with  in  the  past?  And,  consequently,  what 
may  reasonably  be  expected  in  the  future? 
We  may  first  investigate  results  in  an 
entirely  pagan  country — China.  Although 
Catholic  missionaries  had  preached,  suf- 
fered and  died  there  for  centuries  past,  no 
Protestant  missionary  had  ever  set  foot 
in  China  from  the  Reformation  to  the 
beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

In  1807  the  first  Protestant  missionary, 
Robert  Morrison,  landed  at  Canton.  In 
1830  the  first  American  Protestant  mis- 
sionaries, Bridgeman  and  Abeel,  began 
their  work.  On  August  25,  1842,  by  the 
conclusion  of  the  treaty  of  Nanking 
between  Great  Britain  and  China,  the 
latter's  ports  were  opened  to  foreigners; 
soon  after  decrees  guaranteeing  religious 
liberty  were  issued,  and  the  missionaries 
obtained  a  free  field  for  their  work.  The 
latest  statistics  to  which  I  have  had  access, 
those  of  1913,  show  that  at  present  there 
are  at  work  in  China  104  Protestant  mis- 
sionary societies,  divided  as  follows:  22 
British  and  two  colonial  (Canada  and  New 
Zealand);  17  continental  European,  from 
Germany,  Denmark,  Sweden,  Norway, 
Finland;  40  American;  18  miscellaneous 
and  5  educational. 

Of  these  104  agencies,  only  seven  claim 
over  10,000  adherents;  they  estimate 
their  total  Christian  community  at  370,114 
adherents:  207,747  baptized  Christians 
and  33,618  catechumens.  These  are 
divided  among  4064  stations,  and  have 
3046  primary  schools,  with  79,530  scholars; 
760  intermediate,  high  schools  and  colleges, 
with  31,456  students;  64,012  Sunday- 
school  scholars.  This  is  the  result  of  a 
century  of  evangelical  work,  —  or,  if  we 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


291 


reckon  from  1842,  when  religious  liberty 
was  granted,  of  almost  eighty  years  of 
preaching  and  teaching  by  a  large  number 
of  missionaries,  provided  with  the  most 
ample  funds.  For  .these  agencies  have  a 
foreign  staff  of  5171,  and  a  Chinese  staff  of 
15,953, — a  grand  total  of  21,124  members. 

A  comparison  with  Catholic  missionary 
work  in  China  during  the  same  period  is 
interesting.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
nineteenth  century  there  were  some  202,000 
Christians  left,  the  pitiable  remnant  of  a 
once  flourishing  Church  that  at  one  time 
counted  close  to  one  million  members. 
There  were  about  eighty  missionaries 
caring  for  them  under  two  Vicars  Apos- 
tolic, .  at  Pekin  and  at  Nanking.  At 
present  there  are  1462  foreign  priests; 
4500  male  and  3000  female  catechists; 
300  foreign  and  native  Brothers;  200 
European  and  native  Sisters;  7000  ele- 
mentary and  1 60  higher  schools;  900 
charitable  institutions;  54  seminaries,  with 
1600  native  students  preparing  for  the 
priesthood;  1,750,000  baptized  Catholics, 
and  about  1,000,000  catechumens. 

The  net  result  of  a  century's  work 
stands  as  follows:  A  Protestant  mis- 
sionary staff  of  21,124  workers,  with 
ample  money,  has  baptized  converts  to 
the  number  of  207,747.  A  Catholic 
missionary  staff  of  12,122,  with  a  much 
smaller  money  allowance,  has  1,548,000 
baptized  Catholics,  exclusive  of  the 
200,000  found  in  China  at  the  beginning 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  An  eloquent 
comparison,  surely. 

The  tribute  which  Sir  Robert  Hart, 
a  Protestant  Irishman,  once  paid  the 
Church  in  China — and,  from  his  long 
residence  in  the  Celestial  Empire,  he  spoke 
with  fullest  authority — still  holds  true 
to-day:  "The  Roman  Catholic  mission- 
aries have  done  a  great  work  both  in 
spreading  the  knowledge  of  one  God 
and  one  Saviour,  and  more  especially 
in  their  self-sacrifice  in  the  case  of  deserted 
children  and  afflicted  adults.  Their 
organization  as  a  society  is  far  ahead  of 
any  other,  and  they  are  second  to  none 


in  personal  zeal  and  self-sacrifice.  One 
strong  point  in  their  arrangement  is  in 
the  fact  that  there  is  never  a  break  in 
continuity;  while  there  is  perfect  unity  in 
teaching  and  practice,  and  practical  sym- 
pathy with  their  people  in  both  the  life 
of  this  world  and  the  preparation  for 
eternity.  The  Roman  Catholics  were  the 
first  in  the  field;  they  are  the  most  widely 
spread  and  they  have  the  largest  number 
of  followers." 

But  Protestant  missionary  propaganda 
is  no  longer  confining  itself  to  pagan 
countries.  It  has  begun  to  invade  Catholic 
lands  in  the  most  aggressive  manner. 
The  Panama  Congress  for  Christian  Work 
in  I/atin  America,  held  in  February,  1916, 
reports  of  which  have  just  been  pub- 
lished, has  raised  high  hopes  of  certain 
success  in  this  new  field.  If  past  perform- 
ances are  a  safe  index  to  future  accom- 
plishments, we  have  at  hand  in  the  reports 
of  the  Congress  itself  sufficient  data  upon 
which  to  base  our  judgment. 

The  Rev.  William  Keech,  of  the 
American  Baptist  Home  Mission  Society, 
reported  as  follows  about  the  Republic  of 
Salvador:  "After  twenty-five  or  more 
years  we  have  hardly  begun  to  occupy  our 
field,  although  abundant  work  has  been 
done  with  faithfulness.  There  are  two 
principal  reasons  for  this:  first  of  all, 
Central  America  and  especially  Salvador 
has  been  afflicted  with  cranky  religionists. 
There  are  to-day  many  people  overrunning 
these  republics  who  are  spreading  a  type 
of  Christianity  which  is  not  attractive, 
but  rather  repellent  and  even  disgusting. 
Another  reason  is  that,  although  a  good 
deal  of  evangelization  has  been  carried  on, 
it  has  been  so  occasional  and  intermittent 
that  nothing  permanent  has  remained." 
In  view  of  these  facts  he  probably  thought 
it  useless  and  discouraging  to  give 
statistics  of  membership. 

The  Rev.  Alexander  M.  Allen,  a  mission- 
ary of  the  Presbyterian  Church  in  the 
United  States,  residing  in  Bogota,  Colom- 
bia, states  that  his  denomination  has  325 
communicants  there  after  fifty  years'  work. 


292 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


The  country  has  six   million  inhabitants. 

Buenos  Aires  has  1,484,000  inhabitants. 
A  report  to  the  Congress  states:,  "After 
a  half  century  of  attention,  this  metropolis 
of  the  Southern  Hemisphere  has  yet  to 
see  a  church  building  for  a  Spanish 
speaking  Protestant  congregation  that 
would  dignify  the  conception  of  religion 
in  the  minds  of  cultured  people.  There 
are  fourteen  evangelical  churches,  none  of 
which  •  is  yet  affecting  influentially  any 
main  current  of  Argentine  thought  or 
action."  This  spontaneous  avowal  is  worth 
noting.  With  regard  to  the  influence  of 
evangelical  schools  on  the  Catholic  pupils 
from  the  upper  classes  attending  them, 
another  report  reads:  "Converts  to  the 
evangelical  churches  are  seldom  made 
from  these,  even  though  they  remain 
several  years  under  school  influence." 

Admissions  made  at  the  Congress  throw 
light  on  the  methods  used  at  times  by 
evangelical  missionaries  to  enable  them  to 
report  a  large  number  of  converts,  as  a 
return  undoubtedly  for  the  money  ex- 
pended by  the  home  societies  supporting 
them:  "A  zealous  evangelist  once  bap- 
tized within  one  month  200  people  who 
had  never  before  heard  the  Gospel  message. 
Six  months  later  not  one  of  these  remained, 
and  all  would  seem  to  have  been  worse 
off  than  before."  So  runs  one  report. 
And  another:  "Many  offer  to  connect 
themselves  with  the  Evangelical  Church, 
counting  themselves  already  Protestants 
merely  because  of  an  antagonism  they 
have  conceived  against  Roman  Catholi- 
cism. Such,  however,  are  not  given  recog- 
nition by  most  evangelical  churches." 

In  an  endeavor  to  hide  the  signal 
failure  of  Protestant  proselyting  efforts 
in  Latin-America,  the  Panama  Congress 
makes  the  high-sounding  claim:  "Readers 
should  remember  that  those  who  are  re- 
ported as  members  are  far  from  represent- 
ing the  entire  strength  of  the  Protestant 
churches.  Back  of  these  tens  of  thousands 
stand  double  or  triple  their  total  of  friends, 
sympathizers  and  adherents ."  (Italics  mine.) 

Fortunately,  the  published  reports  (Vol. 


III.,  Appendix  D.)  enable  us  to  subject 
this  boastful  assertion  to  the  acid  test  of 
figures.  The  total  number  of  "full  com- 
municants" for  all  South  America  is 
given  at  93,337.  This  includes  24,029 
members  for  British  Guiana  and  7786  for 
Dutch  Guiana;  which  two  colonies,  being 
dependencies  of  Protestant  countries,  very 
naturally  show  a  decidedly  Protestant 
population.  Subtracting  them,  since  these 
colonies  were  never  Roman  Catholic  in  the 
sense  in  which  the  rest  of  South  America 
is,  we  get  a  total  Protestant  membership 
of  61,522  for  the  rest  of  the  continent. 
Even  with  this  reduced  and  more  favorable 
figure  as  a  basis,  let  us  look  for  "double  or 
triple  this  total  of  adherents."  The  same 
table  gives  the  "total  number  of  adherents 
of  all  ages,  baptized  and  unbaptized," 
as  29,792,  when  we  were  led  to  look  for 
from  120,000  to  180,000. 

As  for  "friends  and  sympathizers," 
they  are  easily  disposed  of  as  a  negative 
quantity,  since  in  another  report  of  the 
same  Congress  we  read :  ' '  There  are  many 
prominent  public  men  who  really  wish 
well  to  the  evangelical  cause,  but  gen- 
erally accomplish  little  for  the  cause  they 
sympathize  with  because  .they  will  not 
commit  themselves  to  any  action." 

Examination  of  the  figures  for  the 
various  countries  furnishes  even  more 
interesting  reading  as  to  the  success  of 
the  Protestant  propaganda,  especially 
when  we  consider  the  comparatively  large 
number  of  workers  engaged: 


Mexico 

Canal  Zone 

Cuba..... 

Porto  Rico... 

Argentina 

Bolivia 

Brazil 

Chile 

Colombia __ 

Ecuador 

Paraguay 

Peru 

Uruguay 

Venezuela.... 


ariea 
206 

134 

158 
132 

272 
58 

337 

1 66 

18 

12 
30 
50 

45 
27 


Staff 

nicants 

569 

22282 

l83 

10442 

200 

15639 

233 

I2O84 

210 

4932 

8 

157 

398 

49623 

148 

4247 

45 

326 

7 

40 

20 

293 

60 

78l 

32 

884 

1  1 

139 

Baptized  an 
Unbaptized, 
of  all  ages 

7960 
8l22 
9392 
4094 
I9l8 

90 

648 

2046 

58 

19 

28 


427 
5 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


293 


In  no  South  American  country,  therefore, 
is  there  anywhere  near  the  number  of 
"Christian  Adherents"  claimed;  and 
again  the  boast  remains  unsubstantiated,— 
nay,  is  totally  exploded.  These  figures  are 
the  most  scathing  commentary  on  the  high- 
sounding  Protestant  claim  of  "wonderful 
progress  under  the  Southern  Cross."  One 
need  not  be  a  prophet  to  foretell  that, 
if  the  new  Protestant  missionary  campaign, 
launched  with  a  great  blare  of  trumpets 
and  the  most  vicious  attacks  upon  the 
"dominant  Church,"  gains  some  new 
converts,  the  day  that  will  witness  the 
general  apostasy  of  Latin-America  is 
indeed  far  distant. 

Considering,  then,  the  Protestant  mis- 
sionary movement  as  a  whole,  in  juxtaposi- 
tion with  the  results  obtained  by  Catholic 
effort,  the  conclusion  forces  itself  even  upon 
the  most  reluctant:  it  has  been  a  dismal 
failure.  As  a  collecting  agency,  it  stands 
without  a  peer;  but  the  millions  invested 
have  brought  no  proportionate  returns. 
The  one,  all-explaining  cause  is  perhaps 
'not  far  to  seek:  truth  is  mighty  and  does 

prevail. 

— ~~+~~, 

The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


XIV.— MEXICO  CITY. 
HE  capital  of  the  United  States  of 
Mexico  stands  in  the  beautiful 
valley  of  Mexico,  which  measures 
45  miles  by  31  miles,  and  con- 
tains 500,000  inhabitants.  Its  climate  is 
temperate,  never  being  over  70  or  under 
50  degrees,  although  it  is  in  the  same 
latitude  as  Vera  Cruz.  But  this  compar- 
atively low  temperature  is  due  to  two 
causes, — viz.,  its  altitude,  7600  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  sea;  and  the  vicinity  of 
the  Cordilleras,  which  encircle  the  valley, 
and  of  which  two  of  the  highest  points, 
Popocatepetl  and  Iztaccihuatl,  are  covered 
with  perpetual  snow. 

In   the  latter   part   of   the   afternoon — 
when    the    sun    is    declining    majestically 


and  brilliantly  toward  the  western  Cor- 
dilleras, whose  summits  are  lost  in  one 
dazzling  blaze;  when  the  snowy  crests  of 
Popocatepetl  and  Iztaccihuatl  are  clothed 
in  rosy  radiance,  and  Adjusco  discovers 
ragged  portions  of  its  extinguished  crater 
illuminated  by  the  last  rays  of  day,  with 
immense  shadows  reflected  by  its  salient 
masses  of  rock,  —  that  is  when  a  view 
should  be  taken  of  this  wide  and  exquisite 
valley,  especially  from  the  heights  of 
Chapultepec,  or  from  the  hills  surrounding 
the  plain  where  the  small  but  dainty  city 
of  Tlalpan  has  its  seat.  Toward  the 
eastern  side  is  seen  the  crystalline  surface 
of  the  lakes  over  which  floats  a  vaporous 
mantle.  To  the  north  appear  the  naked 
eminences  of  Tepayac,  whose  deep  yellow 
contrasts  with  the  full,  keen  azure  of  the 
sky;  and  toward  the  south,  agglomerated 
above  the  mountains  that  confine  the 
valley,  are  various  cumuli  which,  as 
the  evening  advances,  lose  their  brilliant 
whiteness,  and  gradually  assume  the  purple 
of  the  plum,  or  the  heather  that  blooms 
on  the  hillside  in  the  far-famed  Killarney 
of  old  Ireland. 

In  the  midst  of  the  plain,  where  clusters 
of  trees  are  mingled  with  a  vapor  as 
ethereal  as  the  veil  of  a  fairy  bride,  the 
city  extends  itself,  slumbering,  as  it  were, 
amidst  the  gentle  breezes,  guarded  by  the 
not  inconsiderable  heights  of  the  penon 
on  one  side,  and  the  lengthy,  graceful 
aqueduct  on  the  other.  From  the  tower 
of  Chapultepec  groups  of  white  buildings 
are  distinguished  in  the  distance,  with  a 
mantle  of  emerald  verdure  reaching  to  the 
pine-covered  mountains  on  the  south.  On 
the  western  side  are  discovered  the  dry 
and  barren  hills  of  Santa  Fe,  patched  with 
forest  and  adobe  dwellings;  while  trees 
extend  in  all  directions,  with  the  venerable 
forest  of  the  Aztecs  for  their  centre. 

The  Calle  Plateros  is  the  Broadway  of 
the  city  of  Mexico.  It  stretches  from  the 
Alameda  to  the  Plaza  Mayor,  and  each 
block — there  are  at  least  twenty — -possesses 
a  distinct  and  separate  nomenclature. 
From  rosy  morn  to  dewy  eve  it  is  full  of 


294 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


life,  full  of  color.  Fancy  a  long  straight 
street,  lined  by  irregular  if  not  grotesque 
architecture,  from  the  palatial  mansion, 
blue-tiled,  gilt-balconied,  deep-eaved  and 
scarlet-blinded,  to  the  dingy,  flat-roofed, 
two-storied  store ;  a  deep  strip  of  shade  as 
cool  as  a  bath  upon  one  side,  and  liquid 
sunshine  on  the  other,  with  shafts  of  pale 
gold  at  the  intersection  of  the  cross  streets ; 
and  at  both  ends  the  glories  of  tropical 
verdure!  Some  of  the  houses  are  magnifi- 
cent. They  are  approached  by  large, 
superbly-sculptured  gateways,  the  gates 
being  closed  only  at  night. 

As  you  pass,  you  gain  a  glimpse  of  a 
deliciously  cool  interior,  with  its  gallery 
and  broad  stone  stairway,  and  its  wealth 
of  gorgeously-hued  flowers.  As  a  rule,  half 
a  dozen  Indians  are  hanging  about  in 
picturesque  attitude  and  in  picturesque 
garments.  The  women  wear  the  rebozo — a 
woven  scarf  of  pale  blue;  this  is  wrapped 
artistically  around  the  head,  and  serves  as  a 
frame  for  the  blue-black  hair,  clear,  swarthy 
complexion,  and  superbly  soft  brown  or 
black  eyes.  A  petticoat  of  white  cotton  or 
brown  cloth  completes  the  costume. 

At  the  corners  of  the  streets  intersecting 
the  Plateros  are  to  be  found  Indians 
squatted  before  immense  bouquets  of 
violets.  These  violets  are  gathered  in  the 
Chinampas,  or  floating  gardens  on  Lake 
Chalco,  and  brought  up  to  the  cities  in 
canoes.  To  go  out  along  the  Viga  Canal  at 
early  morn  and  meet  the  violet-laden  canoe 
fleet  is  a  favorite  excursion  of  the  aesthetic 
portion  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  city. 

The  Plateros  is  thronged  during  the 
day  both  by  pedestrians  and  carriages, 
the  latter  being  occupied  by  senoras  and 
senoritas  who  go  shopping.  A  Mexican 
lady  is  never  seen  on  foot  in  the  street, 
save  at  very  early  morn,  going  to  or 
returning  from  Mass.  The  carriages, 
occasionally  drawn  by  great  long-eared 
mules,  stop  opposite  the  entrances  to  the 
French-looking  stores;  and  dapper  assist- 
ants, high  as  to  shirt-collar — the  collar 
almost  conceals  the  back  of  the  head,— 
high  as  to  heels  and  slim  as  to  waist, 


emerge  from  the  stores,  laden  with  such 
commodities  as  the  fair  donas  may  covet 
through  their  mind's  eye;  while  a  number 
of  Indians  stand  gazing  at  the  treasures 
so  temptingly  displayed  beneath  their 
very  noses, — so  near  and  yet  so  far. 

The  public  conveyances  are  the  most 
remarkable  vehicles  in  the  wide,  wide 
world.  I  have  ridden  in  a  rickety  drosky; 
in  the  old-fashioned  covered  car  (I  believe 
there  is  only  one  left  in  Ireland  now);  in 
a  London  growler;  in  a  voiture  de  place 
of  doubtful  springs;  in  a  banquette, — in 
almost  every  size,  sort,  shape,  and  descrip- 
tion of  coach;  but  anything  to  equal  the 
jingling,  rattling,  jolting  moldy-smelling, 
Mexican  coach,  I  have  never  encountered 
in  all  my  wanderings.  The  mules — ay  de 
mi! — such  sorry-looking  brutes,  with  ears 
almost  as  long  as  the  whips  of  the  drivers, 
and  bones  as  strongly  developed  as  the 
ribs  of  a  wrecked  ship.  They  crawl  along 
the  ill-paved  streets,  and  such  is  the 
slowness  of  their  locomotion  that  the 
bells  attached  to  their  collars  fail  even  so 
much  as  to  jangle. 

Everybody  rides  in  the  public  coaches 
in  Mexico.  Your  swell  does  not  think  of 
walking  more  than  two  blocks;  therefore 
the  streets  are  ever  filled  with  these 
lumbering,  ill-proportioned  and  unsightly 
vehicles.. 

Strange  sights  greeted  Arthur's  eyes  as 
he  strolled  along  the  Plateros.  Hacienda- 
dos  and  rancheros,  in  their  sombreros  and 
leather  chaquetas  (jackets)  and  silver- 
frogged  breeches,  swaggering  along  the 
sidewalk,  their  great  spurs  jingling,  their 
silver  ornaments  dangling.  Indians  trot- 
ting onward, — the  man  bearing  live-stock 
and  fruit  in  a  wicker-frame  case  held 
to  his' back  by  means  of  a  flat  bandage 
attached  to  his  forehead;  the  woman, 
her  child  slung  in  the  folds  of  her  blue 
rebozo,  her  arms  engaged  in  carrying  the 
day's  or  mayhap  the  week's  provisions. 
Water-sellers,  fruit-sellers;  mules  driven 
by  half-naked  men  and  boys,  their  feet 
baked  white  in  the  hot  dust,  the  limbs 
bare,  and  seemingly  cast  in  bronze; 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


295 


muchachos  bearing  furniture  upon  their 
heads, — a  piano  will  be  carried  twenty- 
five  miles,  by  four  men,  in  a  day ;  a  demure 
senorita,  prayer-book  in  hand  and  clad 
in  the  picturesque  mantilla;  swells  in 
short-tailed  coats,  high-heeled  boots,  and 
narrow-rimmed  hats,  languidly  smoking 
cigarettes  through  silver  holders;  chinas, 
with  black  and  green  patches  on  their 
temples, — cures  for  the  headache;  leper os, 
or  half-breeds,  hawking  toys  or  glazed 
crockery  ware ;  companies  of  foot-soldiers 
attired  in  white,  their  uniforms  sadly  in 
need  of  the  necessary  offices  of  needle  and 
thread,  shuffling  along  on  their  guacharez, 
or  sandals, — they  seldom  wear  shoes  or 
stockings;  civil  guards  trotting  on  thor- 
oughbreds, in  buff  and  steel,  with  sword 
and  matchlock,  recalling  the  days  of  Crom- 
well's Ironsides;  and  occasionally  a  troop 
of  dare-devil  cavalry.  These  were  amongst 
the  sights  that  met  the  gaze  of  our  young 
Irishman  as  he  moved  along  the  Plateros 
en  route  to  the  cathedral. 

The  two  churches — the  cathedral  and 
the  Sagrario — are  surrounded  by  chains 
supported  by  one  hundred  and  twenty-five 
stone  pillars.  Hence  the  name  El  Pasco 
de  las  Cadenas — "the  Promenade  of  the 
Chains," — in  which  the  Mexican  popu- 
lation delighted  to  stroll  on  the  moonlight 
nights  from  8  p.  m.  till  midnight,  before 
Carlotta  laid  out  the  beautiful  Zocalo, 
which  is  now  their  chief  resort  and  their 
pride.  At  each  corner  is  the  representation 
of  a  human  skull  carved  on  the  stone,  and 
'on  the  top  a  wooden  cross  seven  feet  in 
height,  around  the  base  of  which  a  stone- 
carved  serpent  entwines  itself.  These 
effigies  are  emblematical, — the^  skull,  of 
death;  the  serpent,  of  original  sin;  and 
the  Cross,  of  Redemption.  The  gates  of  the 
basilica  are  of  the  Ionic  and  Doric  orders, 
as  are  also  the  towers ;  while  the  cathedral 
itself  Is  very  majestic,  crested  as  it  is  by 
a  magnificent  dome  and  two  lofty  and 
artistically  worked  twin  towers.  The  effect 
of  the  sunlight  upon  the  colored  tiles  of 
the  dome  is  one  of  rare  sheen  and  dazzle. 

The    facade    of    the    Sagrario    is    very 


singular.  It  exhibits  numerous  reliefs  of 
the  most  bizarre  sculpture,  a*hd  is,  as 
a  whole,  more  elaborate  than  artistic, 
although  some  of  the  detail  is  admirably 
conceived.  It  is  a  very  crust  of  adornment. 
Cemented  in  the  wall  on  the  west  side  of 
the  cathedral  is  the  circular  calendar, 
which  is  of  Toltec  origin.  It  is  of  great 
antiquity,  and  sculptured  on  a  monolith 
of  basalt  so  rough  and  seemingly  porous 
that  at  first  sight  it  looks  like  lava.  The 
stone — twelve  feet  six  inches  in  diameter 
and  weighing  twenty-five  tons — is  let  into 
the  masonry  of  the  church  at  a  height  of 
five  feet  nine  inches  from  the  pavement. 
From  this  calendar  stone  the  ancient 
system  of  Toltec  astronomy  has  been 
preserved  to  us.  It  proves  the  great  degree 
of  civilization  to  which  the  Toltecs  had 
attained, — a  civilization  doubtless  much 
superior  to  that  of  its  successors,  the 
Aztecs.  Their  year  coincided  almost 
exactly  with  that  of  the  Julian  Calendar. 
The  stone  was  placed  in  its  present  site 
in  1790,  and  dates  as  far  back  as  1279. 

Upon  his  arrival  at  the  cathedral,  where 
he  learned,  to  his  great  disappointment, 
that  the  Masses  for  the  day  were  over, 
Arthur  Bodkin  was  approached  by  an 
emaciated  monk,  carrying  a  few  coins, 
soliciting  a  contribution  for  the  poor, 
and  also  offering  to  act  as  cicerone.  Arthur 
accepted  his  services,  and  made  a  most 
conscientious  tour  of  the  five  naves, 
fourteen  chapels,  and  five  grand  altars. 

"We  used  to  have  superb  and  costly 
altar  furniture,"  observed  the  monk;  "but 
the  infamous  liberals  laid  their  sacrile- 
gious hands  upon  crucifixes,  chalices,  and 
statues,  and  melted  them  into  coin.  I'll 
tell  you  the  treasures  the  House  of  God 
possessed,  and  will  again  possess  under 
our  Catholic  Emperor,"  cried  the  monk, 
who  began  to  chaunt  as  though  reciting 
a  litany :  "  On  the  altar,  the  gifts  of  the 
devout  faithful:  6  chandeliers  of  solid 
gold;  a  golden  cup,  the  body  and  pedestal 
inlaid  with  precious  stones;  a  golden 
filigree  cross;  6  dazzling  gold  bouquets 
frosted  with  diamonds;  4  minor  chande- 


290 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


liejrs  of  gold;  20  gorgeous  chalices  of  the 
same  precious  metal;  6  golden  wine  and 
water  ewers  with  golden  stands;  a  pyx 
weighing  104  ounces  of  gold  and  covered 
with  1676  diamonds;  a  chalice  inlaid 
with  122  diamonds,  132  rubies,  143  eme- 
ralds, the  whole  mounted  on  84  ounces  of 
gold.  Then  we  had  2  golden  censers;  a 
statue  of  the  Conception  in  solid  silver, 
weighing  38  marks;  a  censer,  measuring 
one  yard  in  height,  studded  on  one  side 
with  5872  diamonds,  and  on  the  other 
side  with  2653  emeralds,  106  amethysts, 
44  rubies,  8  sapphires,  and  weighing  704 
ounces;  n  golden  lustres,  of  24  branches 
each;  2  pairs  of  large  chandeliers;  3  silver 
statues,  and  a  large  number  of  gold  and 
silver  bouquets." 

The  eyes  of  the  good  padre  assumed 
an  indescribable  sadness  as  he  informed 
Bodkin  that,  save  and  except  the  silver- 
gilt  altar  requisites,  there  was  not  an 
article  of  intrinsic  value  in  the  cathedral  at 
present;  the  sacrilegious  liberals  who  plun- 
dered Holy  Church,  having  stolen  every 
article  of  value  it  contained. 

"Here,"  exclaimed  the  monk,  as  the 
rusty  hinges  attached  to  the  iron  portals 
of  the  great,  strong  room  creaked  and 
groaned,  "was  our  treasure  vault!  Once 
upon  a  time  every  shelf,  every  square 
inch  of  it,  was  occupied  by  the  gold  and 
silver  ornaments  that  adorned  the  house 
where  His  glory  dwelleth;  but — "  and 
the  worthy  priest  was  silent.  Oh,  there 
was  eloquence  in  that  silence, — a  silence 
which  Arthur  did  not  dare  to  profane  by 
word!  "The  statue  of  the  Assumption 
was  the  very  first  to  go,"  continued  the 
padre.  "It  weighed  6984  castelones  of 
gold,  and  was  literally  incrusted  with 
precious  stones.  The  censer  used  on  great 
festivals  and  a  large  portion  of  the  jewels 
and  ornaments  were  bestowed  on  the 
cathedral  by  the  Emperor  Charles  V., 
of  vSpain.  In  1837  an  earthquake  caused 
such  damage  to  the  cathedral  that  the 
canons  were  compelled  to  dispose  of  some 
of  its  treasures  to  meet  the  expense  of 

(To  be 


repairs.  On  this  occasion  was  sacrificed 
a  magnificent  silver  lamp,  which  stood 
23  feet  high,  was  9  feet  in  diameter,  con- 
tained 54  branches,  and  cost  $71,343." 

After  adding  a  peso  to  the  monk's  im- 
poverished exchequer,  Arthur  again  turned 
into  the  glittering  streets,  and.  devoted 
himself  to  unmitigated  staring.  He  stared 
at  everything,  from  an  Indian  woman 
cooking  a  tortilla  at  the  corner  of  a  street 
to  .a  regiment  of  cavalry.  The  streets  of 
the  capital  are  straight  and  rectangular, 
the  buildings  lofty  and  massive,  and 
although  all  different  in  the  details  of 
execution,  are  pervaded  by  a  harmonious 
unity  of  conception  which  imparts  a 
sense  of  perfection  and  grandeur  rarely 
met  with  in  our  own  cities.  The  friend- 
ship for  colors,  so  generally  noticeable, 
prevails  consistently  in  the  capital;  and 
some  of  the  buildings  flare  with  painted 
coatings  of  yellow,  pink,  pale  green,  or 
a  blended  mixture  of  all  three.  This 
custom,  although  bizarre,  is  eminently 
satisfying  to  the  eye;  particularly  as  it 
must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  sparkling 
rays  of  an  unclouded  sun  and  a  lavish 
distribution  of  contrasting  foliage  are  no 
mean  contribution  to  the  enhancement 
of  the  general  effect. 

Every  line  of  streets  has  the  mountains 
that  surround  the  valley  for  a  background; 
and  in  the  early  morning,  or  just  when 
the  sun  has  set  behind  the  western  range, 
these  giant  warders  seem,  in  the  clear 
atmosphere,  as  though  they  were  at  the 
very  gates.  The  various  public  venders, 
muleteers,  water-carriers,  and  domestics 
are  commonly  Indians  or  Mestizos.  The 
pordioserQ,  or  Mexican  beggar,  is  not  very 
strongly  represented.  He  asks  his  alms  in 
the  name  of  God — por  Dios, — hence  his 
appellation.  But  the  lepero,  or  ragged 
vagrant,  is  perpetually  on  hand.  He  is 
cheerful  and  light-hearted,  with  the'gayety 
of  a  son  of  Naples  and  the  drollery  of 
an  Irish  peasant.  The  foreign  element  is 
numerically  of  no  account  in  the  capital, 
though  its  influence  is  paramount. 

continued  ) 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


297 


A  Little  Bride  and  what  Became  of  Her. 


BY    VALENTINE    PARAISO. 


II. 

BIRGITTA  was  amazed.  Her  Lord 
was  speaking  to  her — even  to  her! — 
and  saying  the  most  wonderful  things.  She 
was  afraid  her  unworthiness  might  drive 
Him  away;  so  she  plunged  deep  into 
humiliations  and  penances.  One  feels  how 
real  and  how  human  'she  was  when  one 
reads  how  she  blamed  herself  for  not  being 
able  to  keep  her  mind  off  the  thought  of 
food  on  fast-days.  Taking  bread  and  water, 
she  remembered  the  good  things  that  used 
to  be  'on  the  table  at  Ulfasa,  and  some- 
times "could  think  of  nothing  else." 

On  Fridays  she  drank  gall  and  dropped 
hot  wax  upon  her  hands  from  the  candles 
at  the  shrines  in  the  church.  Her  clothing 
was  poor  and  coarse.  She  rose  at  night  to 
recite  the  Psalms.  Her  sleeping  place  was 
often  on  the  tiled  pavement,  where  she 
lay  with  arms  extended,  as  if  still  in 
prayer.  Resolved  to  keep  nothing  back, 
she  parted  with  the  ring  that  Ulf  had  given 
her  on  his  deathbed.  She  was  too  fond  of 
it;  it  'kept  her  to  the  earth.'  Of  all  her 
sacrifices,  she  said  this  was  the  hardest. 

The  words  the  voice  had  spoken  to  her 
had  been  wonderful  indeed.  "You  shall  be 
My  spouse.  You  shall  see  spiritual  things, 
and  look  into  heavenly  secrets."  He  who 
spoke  was  the  Incarnate  Word;  and  He 
showed  her  in  vision  the  espousals  of  her 
soul.  She  wore  a  mystic  wedding  garment, 
and  partook  of  a  supernatural  feast. 

"I  have  opened  your  eyes  to  see  the 
things  of  the  spirit,"  Christ  said  to  her, 
"and  the  ears  of  your  soul  so  that  you 
may  hear.  ...  I  will  show  you  the 
image  of  My  mortal  body  as  it  was  before 
and  during  the  Passion.  I  will  show  you 
also  the  image  of  My  glorified  body  as  it 
was  seen  by  Magdalen,  by  Peter  and  the 
others,  after  My  Resurrection." 

It  is  explained  that  what  she  saw  of 
heaven,  purgatory  and  hell  was  not  the 
reality  but  a  representation,  just  as  her 


visions  of  the  Passion  of  Christ  were  a 
series  of  moving  apparitions.  Sometimes 
she  looked  upon  angels  "beautiful  enough 
to  make  one  die  of  joy."  At  other  times 
she  saw  and  heard  the  evil  spirits,  that, 
long  ago  in  childhood,  had  tried  to  frighten 
her  by  appearing  in  uncouth  shapes,  like 
the  grotesque  monsters  carved  on  the 
cathedral  of  Upsala. 

One  day  the  Blessed  Virgin  said  to  her: 
"Come,  my  daughter,  hide  yourself  under 
the  cloak  of  my  humility."  And,  being 
drawn  in  under  the  blue  mantle,  she  felt 
the  warmth  of  mercy  and  compassion 
spreading  from  the  person  of  Mary  like 
heat  from  the  sun.  In  one  of  her  Visions 
she  saw  the  whole  Church  upon  earth,  as 
the  City  of  God  attacked  by  His  enemies, 
while  Mary  interceded  for  sinners.  "There 
is  no  depth  from  which  she  can  not  save 
them,  no  leprosy  that  she  can  not  cure." 

All  her  visions  were  not  consoling.  She 
witnessed  the  judgment  of  souls  that  had 
gone  without  repentance;  and  there  is 
one  awful  revelation  of  the  vesting  of  an 
unworthy  priest  surrounded  by  demons, 
and  the  mockery  of  hell  while  he  offers  a 
real  Mass  with  a  real  Consecration. 

Her  knowledge  of  the  invisible  world 
led  her  to  pray  for  the  dying  and  the  souls 
in  purgatory.  She  saw  those  she  prayed 
for  suffering  and  then  delivered.  "Lord 
God,"  their  voices  came  from  paradise, 
"repay  a  hundredfold  those  who  have 
labored  to  lead  us  up  into  the  divine  Light, 
and  given  us  the  vision  of  Thy  Face!" 

Her  husband  Ulf  came  back  to  ask  for 
prayers  and  the  Divine  Sacrifice,  and  made 
it  known  that  he  was  expiating  such 
faults  as  his  weak  bringing  up  of  their 
son  Charles.  And  Ulf's  sister,  who  had 
loved  the  world  and  riches,  appeared  to  her, 
begging  for  Masses  and  prayers,  and  ask- 
ing especially  for  the  gift  of  golden  chalices 
to  poor  churches.  At  the  time  of  her  sister- 
in-law's  death,  Birgitta  had  still  some 
jewelry  left.  She  sold  the  last  of  it  to  buy 
the  chalices,  and  also  had  Masses  offered. 
The  apparition  came  again — this  time 
from  paradise. 


298 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


And  now  the  widow  from  Alvastra 
went  once  more  to  the  palace  of  Stock- 
holm. She  was  sent  there  by  divine  com- 
mand to  announce  the  anger  of  God. 
Her  own  brother  had  been  one  of  the 
council  of  regency  during  the  absence  of 
the  King,  and  he  knew  and  deplored  the 
oppression  of  the  people.  Her  two  sons 
were  at  Court, — Charles,  fragile  of  health 
and  weak  of  soul;  and  Birger,  who  was  a 
far  stronger  character,  and  of  the  massive 
build  of  the  Northern  heroes.  Birgitta  had 
abundant  knowledge  of  what  was  going 
on.  Then  came  the  divine  inspiration, 
and  she  arrived  before  King  Magnus  with 
a  new  power.  She  was  not  in  court  robes 
now,  but  in  the  grey  dress  and  black  veil 
of  a  poor  widow.  She  spoke  like  a  proph- 
etess. There  had  been  a  vision  of  ruin. 
She  had  seen  the  earth  full  of  reptiles 
slaying  men,  and  the  sun  and  the  moon 
had  gone  out. 

This  time  Magnus  listened  to  her;  and 
there  took  place  a  reform  from  the  smallest 
details  of  life  at  Court  up  to  the  taxes  of 
the  kingdom,  and  the  administration  of 
the  law.  The  King  was  not  to  lead  a 
careless  life,  but  to  respect  ceremonial,  so 
that  he  himself  might  be  respected.  He 
was  to  appear  on  great  occasions  as  became 
a  king.  He  was  not  to  eat  his  meals  alone, 
but  to  dine  with  his  counsellors  of  State. 
He  was  to  study  the  lives  of  the  heroes  of 
Sweden,  and  learn  what  others  had  done 
for  the  nation.  In  the  dispensing  of  justice 
he  was  to  allow  of  no  delays,  to  permit 
no  bribes,  to  respect  no  persons;  witnesses 
were  to  be  examined  in  each  other's 
presence,  and  given  a  fair  hearing;  there 
was  to  be  no  regard  for  anything  but  the 
truth. 

The  money  for  the  royal  extravagance 
had  been  squeezed  out  of  the  poverty  of 
the  people.  Vast  tracts  of  country  had 
become  heath  and  common,  because  the 
laborers  had  lost  heart,  having  to  pay 
nearly  all  the  harvest  in  taxes  to  the 
Crown.  Under  the  influence  of  Birgitta 
King  Magnus  made  restitution  by  grant- 
ing freedom  from  taxes,  for  ten  years  to 


come,  to  all  who  would  take  up  the 
cultivation  of  waste  land.  At  once  the 
ploughing  and  sowing  began.  Famine  was 
prevented.  What  may  be  called  a  Mediae- 
val state  of  strike  was  brought  to  an  end. 

One  can  not  read  of  this  wonderful 
woman  of  the  fourteenth  century  without 
admiring  her  splendid  intelligence  and 
energy.  The  Swedish  nation  of  the  twen- 
tieth century — alas!  largely  I/utheran,  and 
with  a  Protestant  government — still  counts 
her  as  one  of  the  great  women  of  Sweden, 
and  holds  her  name  in  honor  for  the  public 
work  she  did.  Even  as  the  world  reckons, 
she  must  have  had  great  gifts — intel- 
lectual grasp  of  a  situation,  address  and 
persuasion,  and  sound  common-sense.  We 
have  seen  her  keeping  house  to  perfection, 
managing  a  fortune,  beloved  of  her  hus- 
band, making  Ulfasa  a  centre  of  light  and 
bounty  while  she  lived  her  busy  home- 
life,  "the  joyful  mother  of  children." 
And  then  we  find  her  putting  right  the 
affairs  of  a  King  and  his  people,  beginning 
with  such  small  details  as  what  the 
King  is  to  wear  and  how  he  is  to  eat, 
and  presently  giving  a  fresh  start  to  the 
agriculture  of  the  country,  and  bringing 
down  the  taxes,  and  reforming  the  law- 
courts.  There  can  not  be  a  doubt  that  she 
was  one  of  the  clearest-minded  women 
of  her  century;  and,  judging  by  the  work 
for  which  her  country  still  thanks  her, 
she  appears  to  have  been  as  practical  a 
person  as  ever  lived. 

We  must  not  forget  the  soundness  of 
her  judgment,  and  the  practical  character 
of  her  mind,  when  we  consider  her 
ecstasies  and  revelations;  for  we  shall 
now  put  aside  the  name  by  which  she  was 
known  among  her  own  people,  and  reveal 
the  little  bride  of  Ulf  as  the  great  St. 
Bridget  of  Sweden. 

Her  home  name  was  Birgitta,  signifying 
"bright."  Yet  her  biographer  tells  us  the 
Irish  St.  Bridget  was  one  of  her  patron 
saints;  and  there  was  so  much  devotion 
in  Sweden,  in  those  Catholic  days,  to  the 
virgin  friend  of  St.  Patrick  that  there  were 
pilgrimages  across  the  North  Sea  to  Ire- 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


29!) 


land.    Raised  to  the  altars  of  the  Church, 
Birgitta's  name  is  spelled  in  many  ways. 

We  have  abundant  detail  of  this 
fourteenth-century  life,  because  it  was 
first  written  by  two  of  her  personal 
friends,,  a  Cistercian  arid  a  Dominican; 
and  one  of  them  had  taken  down  her 
visions  and  revelations  from  her  own  lips. 
It  is  one  of  the  charms  of  her  life  that  she 
is  so  simple  and  so  human, — a  real  figure 
never  lost  in  light,  though  her  mystical 
experience  is  a  marvel  for  all  time. 

She  went  back  from  the  Court  of  the 
King  and  the  public  affairs  of  Sweden,  to 
the  bedside  of  her  son  Benedict,  who  was 
a  schoolboy  at  the  Abbey  of  Alvastra. 
The  heartbroken  mother  heard  mysterious 
music,  and  was  told  that  she  should  not 
grieve,  because  this  boy  was  better  off 
than  any  of  her  other  children. 

Then  came  a  tremendous  vision,  showing 
in  symbolic  imagery  all  the  bishoprics  of 
her  country.  It  reads  like  a  chapter  of  the 
Apocalypse.  She  was  charged  to  write  to 
the  bishops,  passing  on  warnings  to  all 
who  had  need  to  hear.  Her  letters  are 
proofs  of  her  unique  position,  and  the 
weight  attached  to  her  revelations. 
"Priests,"  she  said,  "are  doing  what  all 
the  prophets  and  all  the  angels  could  not 
do."  For  the  zealous  amongst  them  she 
had  words  of  encouragement  from  Our 
Lord  Himself:  "I  have  borne  insults  that 
I  might  preach  the  truth;  do  not  fear 
to  suffer  insult  when  you  bear  witness  to 
it."  Then  He  added,  speaking  as  the 
Good  Shepherd:  "I  will  go  before  those 
who  are  working  with  Me  in  carrying  home 
My  sheep.  I  will  be  their  helper,  and  they 
shall  have  Myself  for  their  reward." 

In  the  abbey  church,  she  saw  upon  the 
altar  the  Lamb  surrounded  by  light; 
and  one  day,  at  the  Consecration,  the 
vision  was  of  Jesus  Risen,  saying,  "Blessed 
are  they  that  have  believed!" 

Here,  at  Alvastra,  Our  Lord  had  already 
told  her  that  He  would  make  her  to 
put  forth  blossom  and  fruit;  and  now  He 
revealed  to  her  the  plan  of  a  religious 
Order.  The  rule  was  taken  partly  from 


existing  Orders,  but  part  was  entirely  new, 
and  all  came  by  direct  inspiration.  While 
Bridget  was  dictating  it  to  Peter  the  prior, 
who  wrote  it  down  in  Latin,  she  was  in 
continual  ecstasy,  feeling  her  heart  "ready 
to  break  with  joy."  Even  the  habit  of 
the  future  Sisters  and  brethren  was 
revealed.  The  Sisters  were  to  wear  coarse 
grey  cloth,  made  warmer  for  the  winter 
of  the  snowy  North  by  being  lined  with 
common  fur.  White  linen  was  to  be  about 
the  face,  and  over  this  a  black  veil.  The 
head  was  to  be  encircled  by  a  narrow  white 
band,  or  tape,  with  two  strips  crossing  over 
the  top.  This  "crown"  was  to  bear  five 
round  spots  of  red  cloth,  in  honor  of  the 
Five  Wounds. 

The  Order  of  our  Most  Holy  Saviour 
should  be  approved  by  the  Pope,  and  he 
would  be  in  Rome  in  the  Jubilee  year. 
"Go  to  Rome,"  was  the  next  command, 
"where  the  streets  are  golden  and  the 
ground  has  been  wet  with  the  blood  of 
martyrs." 

(To  be  continued.) 


My  Trysting-Place. 


BY    JAMES    J.  X.  SULLIVAN. 


is  a  trysting-place  I  know, 
Where  my  Love  and  I  are  wont  to  go, 
Where  incense-laden  zephyrs  blow, 
Where  I  tell  my  Love  of  my  love. 

Shafts  of  shadow,  dark  and  tall, 
Shroud  us  as  they  softly  fall; 
And  silence  spreads  its  spell  o'er  all 
Where  I  whisper  my  love  to  my  Love. 

A  single,  slender  gleam  dares  steal 
From  out  the  shadows,  and  reveal 
My  Love's  throne  at  which  I  kneel 
With  my  tribute  of  prayer  and  love. 

He  sits  enshrined  in  loveliness, 
He  listens  while  I  pray  and  bless, 
He  loads  me  with  divine  largesse, 
His  love  consumes  my  love. 

No  knight  had  ever  greater  boast 
Than  keeping  vigil  at  a  post 
Like  mine  —  before  the  Sacred  Host,  — 
Before  my  dearest  Love. 


:sno 


THE  AVK  MARIA 


A  Hawser  of  Prayers. 


HY    R.    L.    DORSEY. 


I. 

IT  was  a  bitter  night  in  winter.  The 
streets  had  been  deserted  at  an  early 
hour,  and  the  wind  that  raged  up  from  the 
sea  tore  at  the  shutters  and  banged  at 
the  doors,  shrieking,  whistling,  and  roaring, 
till  the  townsfolk  turned  in  their  beds 
and  muttered:  "God  save  the  sailor  lads 
this  night!"  But  some  of  the  nervous  old 
women  covered  their  ears  and  said:  "The 
good-for-nothing  vagabonds!"  For  they 
thought  the  banging  and  shouting  came 
from  some  ship's  crew  just  landed,  and 
hurrying  to  the  tavern. 

Suddenly  the  wind  veered  to  the  north- 
west, and  whirling  down  out  of  the  low 
black  clouds  came  one  soft  white  flake,  then 
another,  and  another,  until  the  air  was  as 
white  as  the  surf  bursting  and  flying  out 
on  the  harbor  bar. 

And  all  the  time,  in  a  side  street  of  this 
water-end  of  the  city,  a  man  lay  face  down, 
a  knife  in  his  back,  and  death  on  his  lips 
and  in  his  heart.  And  the  snow  gathered 
and  covered  the  red  stain  that  crept  like 
a  scarlet  snake  from  the  small  wound,  and 
wrapt  him  in  a  winding-sheet  whiter  than 
any  flax  ever  spun. 

And  a  ship,  drove  safely  into  the  harbor 
out  of  the  storm,  let  go  her  anchor  with  a 
rattle  and  clank  of  chains,  and  a  hearty 
"  Yo  heave-oh!"  that  rang  merrily  through 
the  night;  and  one  of  the  sailors,  refusing 
with  a  laugh  to  wait  for  daybreak,  sprang 
into  a  small  boat,  and  struck  out  briskly 
for  shore  and  home.  Such  a  little  box  of 
a  home,  but  neat  as  a  pin,  and  an  old 
mother  in  it  dearer  than  all  the  world  to 
the  sturdy  young  fellow  tramping  through 
the  snow. 

"I  told  her  I'd  be  there,  and  of  course  I 
will;  for  this  here  wind  a-blowin',  and  the 
delay  from  the  backin'  and  fillin'  we  had 
to  do  outside  the  bar  thar,  so's  to  git  a 
good  headway  on  th'  old  gal  [the  ship],  ull 
have  her  that  uneasy  I  know  she  won't 


sleep  a  wink  this  blessed — hullo!  what's 
here?  Git  along,  old  chap!  'Tain't  safe 
for  a  feller  to  be  takin'  naps  in  this  here 
temperatoor.  Whew!  if  there's  one  thing 
I  hate  it's  a  feller  a-makin'  a  beast  of  him- 
self a-drinkin'.  Mebbe,  though,  I'd  been 
there  myself  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Father 
Tom;  so  here  goes  to  help  'the  man  and 
brother.'  My  Lord  A'mighty,  what's  this 
here?  It's  a  knife,  and  the  man's  dead 
as  a  door  nail!  Mur — 

But  an  iron  arm  had  him  round  the  neck, 
and  an  iron  hand  was  clapped  over  his 
mouth,  and  he  was  dragged  furiously  here 
and  there,  while  a  stentorian  voice  rang 
out,  "Murder,  murder!" 

In  the  mad  struggle  that  followed,  David 
Jameson's  clothing  was  torn  from  his  back, 
and  his  face  bruised;  though  he  defended 
himself  so  manfully  that  his  assailant  was 
put  to  it  for  breath  wherewith  to  keep  up 
his  shouting. 

The  harbor-watch  ran  panting  to  the 
scene,  and  before  Jameson — bewildered  by 
the  sudden  attack,  and  exhausted  by  the 
violent  tussle — could  speak,  the  man  who 
grappled  him  poured  out  a  voluble  story. 
He  had  been  coming  along  the  street  after 
spending  the  evening  at  Moreno's  cabaret, 
and  had  seen  the  two  men  struggling; 
this  one  had  plunged  a  knife  into  the  back 
of  the  other;  he  had  fallen  and  died  with- 
out a  groan.  Then  this  man  stooped  to — he 
supposed — rifle  the  dead  man's  pockets, 
and  he  had  seized  him. 

"You  lie!"  shouted  David.  "The  man 
must  have  been  dead  an  hour  when  I  saw 
him.  He  was  covered  with  snow — 

"Shut   up!"    said   the   harbor-watch. 

And  David's  captor,  with  an  expressive 
shrug  and  a  flinging  out  of  his  hands,  said : 
"Behold  the  knife,  signer." 

The  knife  was  a  black  clasp-knife,  such  as 
any  sailor  of  any  nation  might  carry;  but 
the  officers  smiled  contemptuously  when 
Jameson  declared  it  was  not  his,  and  told 
them  his  sheath  was  empty  only  because 
he  had  lost  his  knife  that  very  night  com- 
ing into  port — that  it  had  been  knocked 
out  of  his  hand  while  he  was  cutting  away 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


301 


some  raffle  tangled  up  by  the  gale.  And 
they  carried  him  off  with  every  indignity 
to  the  station-house,  treating  with  marked 
consideration  the  foreigner — an  Italian — 
who  had  captured  the  desperate  murderer 
at  such  risk  and  after  such  a  fight,  and 
thanking  him  with  some  effusion  for  his 
offer  to  be  at  their  service  day  or  night  so 
long  as  he  stayed  in  port,  noting  down  the 
place  of  anchorage  of  his  vessel;  for  of 
course  he  was  the  only  witness  for  the 
prosecution. 

Poor  David!  One  hour  before-  a  free, 
light-hearted  lad,  springing  home  to  his 
mother,  his  soul  innocent  of  guile,  and  his 
heart  at  peace  with  all  the  world.  Now  dis- 
graced, ironed  at  ankles  and  wrists,  his 
heart  a  pit  of  rage,  and  every  muscle 
aching  to  get  at  the  man  who  had  lied 
away  his  honesty,  his  integrity,  his  liberty, 
and — it  might  easily  come  to  that — his  life. 

The  jailer  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  so 
when  he  came  into  the  cell  in  the  early 
morning  he  asked  David  if  he  had  any 
friends  he  wished  to  see;  and  he,  poor 
fellow,  with  a  ray  of  hope  striking  across 
his  passion  of  rage  and  despair,  answered: 
"Let  me  see  Father  Fahey." 

"Father  Tom,  is  it?"  asked  the  jailer. 

"That's  the  one,"  said  David,  eagerly. 

"Oh,  I  know  him!"  said  the  man,  with 
a  broad  smile ;  ' '  and  it's  himself  always  has 
his  joke  and  his  good  word  for  everybody. 
I  tell  him  sometimes,  he's  sent  for  so  con- 
stant he'd  better  just  live  here.  Him  and 
me'd  make  a  good  pair,  and  trot  well  in 
double  harness — me  a-catchin'  the  corpus 
delictisses"  (he  had  his  little  vanities  of  fine 
language,  this  jailer),  "and  him  a-nabbin' 
the  bad  consciences." 

And  he  rubbed  his  chin  softly,  and 
repeated  his  words  with  intense  enjoyment 
of  their  neatness. 

"When  can  I  see  him?"  begged  David. 

"To-morrow  maybe." 

"To-morrow!"  and  his  face  fell  back  to 
its  lines  of  misery.  "Good  Lord,  man,  my 
old  mother'll  hear  it  before  that,  and  it'll 
kill  her  if  it's  broke  too  sudden  to  her! 
Father  Tom's  the  only  man  that  can  do  it." 


"Well,  well,"  said  the  jailer,  "I'll  send 
word  to  Father  Tom  for  you;  but — ", 
with  a-  sudden  sense  of  responsibility — 
"that  was  a  bad  trick  to  play  a  comrade." 

"I  didn't,"  said  David,  simply,  and  he 
raised  his  honest  eyes  to  the  jailer's  face. 
"I  never  saw  him  till — 

"There,  there!"  said  the  jailer,  sooth- 
ingly; "don't  talk  till  your  lawyer  gits 
here."  And  off  he  went  down  the  corridor, 
thinking  as  he  did  so:  "He  looks  honest, 
but,  great  Scott!  you  never  can  tell. 
They'll  look  like  cheraphs  and  serabims" 
(his  Biblical  knowledge  was  slight  and 
very  mixed),  "and  all  the  time  they'll 
be  up  to  any  dodge  on  the  p'lice  docket. 
This  feller's  cut  diff'rent  from  the  heft  of 
my  birds,  though." 

Ah  hour  later  Father  Tom  stood  in  the 
cell,  and  he  welcomed  David  as  if  he  had 
come  home  laden  with  honors  instead  of 
crushed  under  the  charge  of  crime.  Then 
he  said,  gently: 

"Now,  Davie,  tell  me  all  about  it." 
.  And  David  told  the  whole  story,  begin- 
ning with  the  start  from  the  ship,  and 
going  circumstantially  through  the  after- 
events,  from  the  brief  but  terrific  struggle 
over  the  dead  man's  body,  to  the  prison. 
Father  Tom  listened  intently,  and  David, 
as  he  warmed  up  to  his  story,  concluded 
with  "I  am  as  innocent  of  that  man's 
blood  as  you  are/Father  Tom;  but  if  Lhad 
that  Italian  here  I'd  surely  strangle  him." 

Father  Tom's  only  answer  was  to  pull 
out  the  crucifix  from  his  girdle,  hold  it  up, 
and  point  to  the  agonized  figure  on  it. 

David  hung  his  head,  and  with  the  cry, 
"But  think  of  my  mother!"  the  tears 
burst  from  his  dry  and  burning  eyes. 

Presently  Father  Tom  said:  "Now, 
Davie,  let  us  kneel  down  and  say  a  prayer 
together,  and  then  we'll  see  what's  to  be 
done  first." 

But  poor  David's  cry,  as  soon  as  the 
Amen  was  said,  was  again:  "O  Father 
Tom!  my  poor  old  mother!" 

"Now  look  here,  boy,"  said  the  priest, 
with  some  severity,  "do  you  suppose  such 
a  good  Catholic  and  such  a  devoted  servant 


302 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


of  Our  Lady  as  your  mother  is,  is  going 
to  waste  time  mourning  and  weeping?  If 
you  had  been  guilty,  then  she  might  have 
broken  her  heart;  but  she'll  have  so  many 
prayers  to  say  for  you,  and  so  many  things 
to  do  for  you — and  she  can  come  every  day 
to  see  you  too, — that  the  time  will  go  by 
almost  before  you  know  it.  I'll  go  to  her 
now  and  tell  her  all  that  has  happened. 
And  would  you  like  me  to  send  your  skipper 
or  any  of  your  shipmates  to  see  you?" 

"Not  yet,"  replied  Davie;  "tell  'em 
though.  And,  Father,  tell  'em,  too,  I  didn't 
do  it." 

"Ay,  ay,  lad,  you  may  depend  on  that. 
Now,  is  there  anything  you  want?  Have 
you  got  some  tobacco,  and  have  you  got 
your — oh,  yes,  there  are  your  beads!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Davie,  "I've  got  them 
safe;  but  it's  a  wonder  I  didn't  lose  'em 
last  night.  I  s'pose  I  would  ef  I  hadn't 
strung  'em  round  my  neck  before  I  went 
aloft.  The  wind  was  tremenjis  off  the 
Cape,  and  when  we  was  piped  up  to 
cut  loose  a  broken  yard  and  snug  down, 
I  didn't  count  much  on  seeing  home-lights 
again.  So's  I  run  along  the  deck  and 
began  scramblin'  up  the  shrouds,  I  slipped 
'em  over  my  head.  I  heerd  a  Breton  sailor 
say  once  that  our  Blessed  Lady'd  lift  us 
safe  and  sound  out  of  even  a  ragin'  sea 
into  heaven  by  'em.  Of  course  I  knew 
he  didn't  mean  the  real  body  of  us,  nor 
the  real  string  of  beads,  nor  the  real 
seas;  but  it  seemed  to  me  the  idee  was 
about  so — that  she'd  lift  the  souls  of  us 
out  of  the  pit  o'  death  and  tow  us  into 
port  by  that  there  hawser  of  prayers  we'd 
been  a-makin'  and  a-makin'  ever  sence  we 
could  toddle." 

"And  she  would,"  said  Father  Tom, 
heartily,  laying  his  hand  on  David's 
shoulder. 

"Keep  up  your  heart,  keep  down  your 
temper,  and  trust  in  God,"  were  the  priest's 
parting  words.  "I'll  send  you  some  papers 
to  read,  and  I'll  see  you  again  to-morrow." 

Then  he  went  and  had  a  little  talk  with 
the  jailer,  and  asked  such  privileges  as 
could  be  allowed  the  prisoner;  and  left  the 


jail  with  a  heavy  heart,  to  break  the  news 
to  David's  mother,  to  get  good  counsel  for 
him,  to  see  the  judge  of  the  criminal 
court,  whom  he  had  so  often  to  interview 
on  behalf  of  the  prisoners,  and  to  visit  the 
ship  to  which  the  young  sailor  belonged. 
And  the  farther  he  went,  the  more  de- 
pressed he  got — the  hour,  the  circum- 
stances, the  straight  story  told  by  the 
Italian,  all  tended  to  push  David  nearer 
and  nearer  the  gallows. 

There  was  a  certain  sort  of  good  luck, 
though;  for  the  court  was  in  session,  and  a 
sudden  lapse  in  the  testimony  in  a  long- 
drawn  bank  robbery  case  left  a  free  day, 
which  the  counsel  seized  upon,  asking  the 
judge,  in  view  of  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances, to  call  the  trial;  for  the  only 
actual  witness,  one  Manuel  Ignatius  Piz- 
arro,  would  have  to  sail  with  his  brig — the 
"Maria  di  Napoli" — on  the  following 
Wednesday  for  Marseilles. 

There  was  some  demur  about  precedent 
and  so  on,  but  the  point  was  carried,  and 
the  2oth  of  December  saw  the  court-room 
filled  to  hear  the  trial  of  David  Jameson, 
seaman,  for  the  murder  of  an  unknown  man 
on  the  night  of  the  i3th  day  of  that  same 
month,  in  the  year  of  Our  Lord  188-.  The 
court  was  opened  with  the  usual  formali- 
ties, and  the  case  presented  by  the  counsel 
for  the  Government.  Then,  after  a  brief 
citation  of  the  facts — "the  terrible  facts," 
they  were  called, — the  Italian,  "whose 
tongue  alone  could  tell  the  truth,"  was 
put  upon  the  stand. 

He  was  a  tall,  well-formed  man,  but  there 
was  a  furtive  trick  about  his  eyes ;  and  the 
eyes  themselves,  though  large  and  brilliant, 
were  so  near  together  that  they  seemed  to 
cross  at  times;  the  eyebrows  were  heavy 
and  met  at  the  root  of  the  nose,  which  gave 
a  sinister  look  to  his  face;  and  his  nostrils 
were  thin  as  paper,  and  vibrated  with 
every  breath.  For  the  rest,  he  was  hand- 
some enough ;  and  his  picturesque  costume 
was  becoming,  from  the  scarlet  Phrygian 
cap,  and  the  wide  gold  rings  in  his  ears,  to 
the  curiously  embroidered  top-boots,  and 
.  the  long  Spanish  cloak  in  which  he  draped 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


303 


himself  (as  he  entered  and  departed)  in 
folds  that  would  have  done  credit  to  an 
ancient  Roman. 

He  told  his  story  dramatically  and  with 
abundant  gesture,  and  wound  up  by 
saying,  "Doubtless,  excellency,  it  was  some 
secret  foe;  for  he  stabbed  him  with  such 
force,  such  savagery;  and  a  blow  in  the 
back — O  treachery!  O  cruelty — " 

"Stick  to  facts,  sir,"  said  the  judge, 
impassively. 

The  Italian  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
bowed,  but  his  eyes  seemed  to  leap  toward 
each  other,  and  their  flash  belied  the  wide 
smile  that  displayed  his  teeth,  white  and 
strong  as  a  shark's. 

Then  the  cross-examination  began. 

"At  what  time  did  you  go  to  Moreno's? " 

"At  twenty-two  hours  (10  o'clock 
p.  m.)." 

"Where  were  you  before  that?" 

"Aboard  the  'Maria  di  Napoli.' " 

"At  what  hour  did  you  leave  the  ship?" 

"At  twenty-one  hours  and  a  half 
(9.30  p.  m.)." 

"Were  you  alone?" 

"When?" 

"When  you  left  the  ship ? " 

"No.    My  mate  was  with  me." 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"Pedro  Maria  Allegrini." 

"Was  he  with  you  in  the  wine-shop?" 

"All  the  time." 

"Did  you  leave  together?" 

"No." 

"Why?" 

"  Pedro's  head  was  heavier  than  his  legs." 

"Where  is  Pedro  Allegrini?" 

"  Here,"  and  he  waved  his  arm  toward  a 
heavy,  stolid  man  among  the  audience. 

His  name  was  noted. 

"When  you  saw  the  two  men — the 
prisoner  and  the  deceased, — what  were 
they  doing?" 

"Struggling:  this  one  actively,  the  other 
like  a  man  heavy  with  wine." 

And  so  on,  and  so  on,  with  a  circumstan- 
tiality of  detail  and  a  distinctness  of  out- 
line that  were  appalling  to  Father  Tom 
and  David's  other  friends. 


And  when  Moreno  and  Allegrini  were 
called  they  confirmed  all  that  Pizarro  had 
said  up  to  the  hour  of  his  leaving  the 
tavern,  at  two  o'clock. 

The  witness  for  the  defence  could  do 
only  negative  service  by  testifying  to 
David's  previous  good  character,  and  this 
they  did  heartily;  but  the  jury,  after  a 
half  hour's  deliberation,  returned  a  verdict 
of  murder, — 'commending  the  prisoner, 
however,  to  the  mercy  of  the  court. 

When  the  foreman  had  spoken,  a  shrill, 
heartbroken  cry  rang  through  the  room: 
"My  son !  my  son !  Spare  him,  your  honor ! 
vSpare  him!  He  is  innocent!" 

It  was  the  old  mother,  who  tore  at  her 
gray  hair  and  beat  her  breast,  while  the 
slow  tears  of  old  age  rolled  down  her 
cheeks. 

"Poor  soul!"  said  the  judge  kindly;  "I 
can  only  let  the  law  take  its  course." 

Then  she  raised  her  tottering  frame,  and, 
with  hands  and  arms  uplifted,  she  cried: 
"God  of  Justice,  defend  us!" 

It  was  a  touching  little  scene,  and  many 
people  in  the  court-room  wiped  their  eyes; 
and  the  prisoner's  drooping  head,  clenched 
fists,  and  laboring  breath,  bore  witness  to 
the  anguish  he  endured. 

Father  Tom  came  to  him,  and  spoke  a 
few  cheering  words,  then  took  the  mother 
from  the  court-room ;  and  the  captain  and 
some  of  David's  shipmates  followed  him  to 
the  jail  to  see  him;  but,  finding  they  could 
.not  enter,  stood  about  and  talked  in  low 
voices  of  him  as  one  already  dead.  During 
the  week  they  came  back  one  by  one,  the 
captain  to  shake  hands  and  wish  him 
kindly  but  vaguely  "well  out  of  it";  the 
sailormen  to  shuffle  their  feet,  shift  their 
quids,  and  sit  about  awkwardly  and 
silently,  the  very  force  of  their  sympathy 
making  them  as  undemonstrative  as 
wooden  figureheads. 

Then  they  sailed  away,  and  the  "Maria 
di  Napoli"  spread  her  canvas  wings  for 
the  Mediterranean;  and  the  world  forgot 
David — all  except  Father  Tom,  and  his 
mother,  and  his  lawyer ;  the  latter  of  whom 
had  become  so  deeply  interested  in  his 


304 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


fate  that,  by  incredible  work  and  judicious 
appeal  and  presentment  pf  the  case  in  the 
right  quarters  (to  say  nothing  of  catching 
at  every  technical  straw  that  could  aid 
him),  he  secured  a  final  sentence  of  "im- 
prisonment for  life  at  hard  labor." 

But  all  this  took  months,  and  it  was  not 
until  the  jail  had  blanched  his  face,  and  the 
confinement  almost  burst  his  heart,  that 
David  was  taken  to  the  penitentiary, 
and  there,  among  forgers,  murderers,  and 
criminals  of  all  degrees  and  grades,  put 
to  work  out  a  life  of  misery. 

II. 

Again  it  was  a  night  in  winter,  and 
again  the  wind  blew  and  the  snow  flew — 
stinging  like  a  swarm  of  white  bees, — 
just  as  it  had  blown  and  flown  that  other 
night  three  years  ago,  when,  in  that 
Northern  seaport  town,  a  man  had  been 
stabbed  in  the  street,  and  a  young  sailor 
was  sent  to  the  penitentiary  for  it ; — sent  to 
the  penitentiary  for  life  on  circumstantial 
evidence,  and  the  testimony  of — of  the 
man  who  is  now,  on  this  bitter  winter 
evening,  creeping  along  against  the  houses 
of  that  same  town,  glancing  first  over  one 
shoulder,  then  over  the  other,  with  terror 
in  his  eyes  and  a  shivering  and  racking  of 
his  body  that  made  progress  slow.  Once 
or  twice  he  stopped,  panting  for  breath; 
but  started  up  and  hurried  on  again,  look- 
ing back  fearfully  as  if  pursued. 

Up  the  street  a  great  block  of  carriages 
stopped  the  way.  It  was  before  the  house 
of  an  old  German  merchant,  who,  forty 
years  before,  built  his  house  in  the  then 
most  fashionable  quarter  of  the  city;  but 
business  marched  up  and  on,  pushing  the 
gay  world  farther  and  farther  northward 
and  westward,  until  now  it  was  the  only 
dwelling  in  the  square.  But  the  old 
merchant  lived  there  contentedly,  and  on 
this  night  his  youngest  daughter,  his  golden- 
haired  Klsa,  came  of  age,  and  the  birthday 
was  celebrated  by  a  great  fancy  ball. 

This  the  Italian,  of  course,  could  not 
know;  for  he  was  a  stranger,  and  was, 
moreover,  half  crazed  with  drink;  but 


what  he  did  know  was  that  at  that 
point  the're  were  people,  there  was  life, 
there  was  the  sound  of  human  voices, 
and  above  all  there  was  light,  beautiful 
light, — light  that  kept  at  bay  the  terrors 
that  rent  his  soul  when  night  and  sleep 
fell  on  the  world. 

How  he  hated  the  dark!  It  swarmed 
with  such  ugly  things;  and  a  face — an 
awful  face,  with  staring  eyes  and  rigid  lips — 
would  start  into  such  ghastly  distinctness 
as  soon  as  the  sun  was  down.  And  it 
followed  him  like  a  shadow,  hounding  him 
from  place  to  place,  filling  him  with  an 
unnatural  vigor,  and  an  activity  that  tired 
out  the  stoutest  of  his  boon  companions; 
and  when  they  slept,  exhausted,  it  still 
drove  him  on,  tortured,  agonized,  panic- 
stricken,  till  the  day  broke,  and  the  sight 
of  the  living  helped  him  to  regain  strength 
and  reason. 

As  he  reached  the  awning,  and  crowded 
close  to  the  steps,  a  carriage  dashed  up  to 
the  curb;  the  door  of  the  house  was  flung 
open  for  some  parting  guests,  and  for  a  few 
minutes  a  dazzling  vision  was  revealed — 
fairies,  shepherdesses,  arquebusiers,  pages, 
halberdiers,  kings,  court  ladies  and  queens 
in  gorgeous  colors  and  flashing  jewels.  But 
the  Italian  saw  none  of  these;  his  staring 
eyes  fastened  on  a  stately  figure  that 
seemed  to  float  down  toward  him  between 
the  rows  of  orange  and  palm  trees  that 
lined  the  staircase.  On  it  came,  tall,  in 
.flowing  raiment,  a  cloud  of  golden  hair 
rippling  over  its  shoulders  from  under  a 
crown  of  light;  in  one  raised  hand  a  pair 
of  scales,  in  the  other  a  gleaming  sword, 
whose  point  seemed  to  mark  him  from  the 
throng. 

"God  of  Justice!  That's  His  angel!"  he 
shrieked ;  ' '  yes,  I  did  it — I  did  it !  I  mur- 
dered him!  Take  me — " 

And  he  fell  grovelling  at  the  feet  of  the 
policemen,  who  had  forgotten  their  official 
stolidity  to  stare,  open-mouthed,  at  the 
lovely  Angela  von  Henkeldyne,  who  in  her 
costume  of  "Justice"  had  wrought  such 
innocent  vengeance. 

On  principle  they  seized  the  Italian  for  a 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


rowdy:  but  his  repeated  cry,  "I  did  it — 
I  murdered  him!"  soon  attracted  their 
attention,  and  as  he  struggled  in  a  fit,  they 
called  up  the  patrol  wagon,  and  bore  him 
to  headquarters.  There  the  police  surgeon 
took  him  in  hand,  until  finally,  at  daybreak, 
he  recovered  consciousness.  On  being  told 
that  he  could  not  live  through  the  next 
night,  he  asked  for  a  priest,  and  who  but 
Father  Tom  was  brought  to  shrive  the 
poor  wretch,  and  listen  to  the  story  he 
had  to  tell! 

He  had  played,  he  said,  in  the  wine  shop 
that,  night  until  midnight  with  a  stranger, 
who  lost  heavily  to  him,  and  drank  deeply 
as  he  played.  But  his  losses  did  not  seem 
to  depress  him,  and  the  wines  did  not  con- 
fuse him,  and  Manuel  said: 

".You  are  a  gallant  man,  signor.  You 
lose  with  grace  and  courage." 

And  he  had  answered,  with  a  laugh :  "I 
can  afford  to.  I  have  fifty  thousand  dollars 
here."  And  he  touched  his  breast. 
Manuel  raised  his  eyebrows. 
"Don't  you  believe  me?"  asked  his 
companion  with  some  heat. 
Manuel  bowed  derisively. 
"Hang  it!"  said  the  man;  "I'm  telling 
you  the  simple  truth.  Look  here."  And  he 
drew  out  and  opened  a  small  doeskin  bag 
slung  around  his  neck,  showing  a  diamond, 
the  like  of  which  Manuel  had  never  beheld. 
"It  sent  a  madness  to  my  head,  Father, 
and  I  felt  I  must  have  it,  if  I  had  to  wade 
to  my  eyes  in  blood  to  get  it.  But  he 
tucked  it  away  again,  and  rose.  'I  must 
go.'  he  said;  'I  have  already  stayed  too 
long.'  I  pressed  him  to  wait,  but  he  got 
restless,  and  looked  at  me  suspiciously.  I 
asked  where  we  might  meet  the  next  day, 
and  drink  our  glass  and  play  our  little 
game  of  mora.  But  he  answered  he  didn't 
know — he  was  here  to-day,  and  there 
to-morrow,  and  far  away  the  day  after. 
I  laid  my  hand  on  his  arm.  'Come,  crack 
another  bottle,'  I  urged.  But  he  shook  me 
off  roughly,  and  pushed  out  of  the  cabaret, 
saying,  'Enough's  as  good  as  a  feast.' 

"I  knew  the  house.  There  was  a  cellar 
that  gave  on  the  street  he  must  pass.  I  said : 


'  I  must  have  a  bottle  of  lachrytna,  the  vin- 
tage of ''73.'  I  went  below — the  landlord 
knows  "me, — and  I  opened  the  cellar  door, 
and  stole  after  him.  In  the  dark  I  tracked 
him,  and  struck  as  I  sprang  on  him.  I 
wrenched  the  bag  from  his  neck,  and  nearly 
shrieked  as  something  soft  and  cold,  like  a 
dead  finger,  touched  my  cheek.  It  was  a 
snow-flake,  and  I  ran  in  hot-haste  back  to 
the  cabaret,  so  no  tracks  could  be  left.  I  had 
struck  well — the  blood  had  not  spattered, 
there  was  no  struggle.  It  was  the  stroke  of 
the  Vendetta.  The  whole  affair  did  not  take 
twenty  minutes,  and  I  came  back  into  the 
room,  and  drank  and  played.  But  the  dia- 
mond in  my  breast  burned  like  a  coal,  and 
I  thought  its  rays  of  splendid  fire  must  be 
seen;  and  in'  at  the  windows  the  dead 
man's  face  seemed  to  look — but  that  was 
only  the  snow  flying  past;  and  I  felt 
drawn  back  to  the  spot,  as  if  he  had  his 
hand  at  the  sleeve  of  my  jacket.  But  this 
I  fought  against,  until  suddenly  I  remem- 
bered with  terror  that  I  had  left  my  knife 
sticking  in  the  wound,  and  I  knew  I  must 
have  it  at  any  risk.  As  I  crept  along  I  saw 
a  sailor  coming  up  the  street.  He  stopped; 
he  touched  the  body.  Here  was  my  chance. 
I  sprang  on  him,  and  shouted,  'Murder, 
murder ! '  You  know  the  rest :  it  all  turned 
out  as  I  had  hoped  and  planned." 

His  face  was  distorted  with  emotion; 
and  it  was  some  moments  before  he  was 
able  to  add: 

"What  a  life  it  has  been!  I  dreaded  to 
be  robbed,  and  yet  I  dared  not  sell  for 
fear  of  detection ;  I  could  not  drink  for 
fear  I  might  betray  myself,  and  for  months 
the  diamond  hung  like  lead  on  my  breast. 
Then  I  went  to  South  America  and  from 
there  to  Paris,  where  I  sold  it  well,  with 
a  good  story  of  how  I  found  it  at  the 
mines,  and  smuggled  it  away. 

"  But  bad  luck  followed  me.  The  money 
went  at  play — I  lost,  lost,  lost,  at  every- 
thing; rouge-et-noir,  vingt-un,  roulette, 
mora — all  were  alike  against  me.  Every- 
thing I  touched  failed.  My  crew  got  the 
fever.  My  'Maria'  was  lost  off  the  Ba- 
hamas. My  savings  went  in  a  bank.  Then 


306 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


I  began  to  drink  hard.  And  forever  and 
forever  God  seemed  to  threaten  me  by 
night  and  the  dead  man  to  reproach  me 
by  day.  The  only  prayer  I  ever  said  was 
an  Ave." 

He  stopped,  shuddering  violently. 

"My  son,"  said  Father  Tom,  "what  you 
saw  to-night  was  not  the  Angel  of  Justice." 
He  then  told  him  what  had  really  taken 
place,  closing  with,  "Now  be  a  man  and  a 
true  Christian.  Come  back  to  the  manhood 
and  the  faith  you  have  betrayed.  That 
you  repent  truly  of  your  crime  I  firmly 
believe,  but  prove  it  by  confessing  before 
the  proper  officers  of  the  law ;  set  free  'the 
innocent  man  who  drags  out  his  days 
under  an  unjust  sentence  in  the  peniten- 
tiary; and  rest  assured  when  you  are 
weighed  in  the  great  scales  of  eternal 
justice,  Our  Lord's  Cross  will  outweigh 
your  sins,  and  Our  Lady's  hand  will  stay 
the  sword." 

Manuel  nodded  his  head,  and  with  a 
great  effort  raised  his  eyes  to  Father  Tom's. 
They  were  still  far  too  near  together  for 
honest  dealing  as  the  world  understands  it, 
but  there  was  a  new  light  in  them. 

"Father,  I  will,  but— but— I  fear  I 
could  not  do  this  if  I  did  not  know  I  was 
going  to  die.  I  would  not  have  the  courage. 
I,  who  call  myself  a  gallant  man — I  am 
a  coward!"  And  the  tears  began  to  roll 
down  his  cheeks. 

Father  Tom  felt  a  knot  in  his  own 
throat  at  this  confession,  courageous  in  its 
weakness,  pathetic  in  its  faltering;  and, 
although  the  words  of  St.  Augustine* 
seemed  to  stand  out  before  him  in  letters 
of  fire,  he  thought  of  that  hill  on  which 
once  hung  three  crosses,  and  he  heard  a 
thief  cry,  "Lord,  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner!"  and  the  Voice  that  answered 
through  the  gathering  darkness  across  the 
shuddering  earth,  "This  day  thou  shalt 
be  with  Me  in  Paradise."  And  while  he 
sent  for  the  nearest  magistrate,  he  said 

*  Beware  of  delayed  repentance.  A  sick-bed 
repentance  is  too  often  a  sickly  repentance;  and 
a  death-bed  repentance,  alas!  is  in  danger  of 
being  a  dead  repentance. 


such  words  of  hope  as  the  Church  alone 
can  breathe  to  the  penitent,  teaching  as 
he  did  it  the  meaning  of  true  repentance, 
and  filling  the  sinner's  heart  with  humble 
hope. 

After  all  was  over,  Manuel  begged  to 
see  David.  "I  dread  it,  but  I  can  not  go 
until  he  forgives  me,"  he  said. 

And  somehow,  in  spite  of  technicalities, 
Father  Tom  managed  it  so  the  two  men 
met  on  the  third  day;  for  Manuel  spoke 
the  truth  when  he  said  he  could  not  go 
without  forgiveness,  and  he  lived  on  until 
then,  to  the  amazement  of  the  prison 
physician. 

At  first  David  refused  outright  to  see 
him,  for  his  heart  was  bitter  with  the  load 
of  anguish  borne  through  those  three 
frightful  years.  But  Father  Tom  "talked 
to  him,"  and  his  mother,  handing  him  his 
rosary,  "his  hawser  of  prayers,"  gave  the 
final  stroke  that  determined  him. 

"Ye  must  go,  Davie,"  she  said,  as  she 
hung  on  his  neck.  "Ye  must  go,  boy;  ye 
must  forgive,  and  I'll  pray  that  it  may  be 
from  the  heart." 

And,  oh!  the  thoughts  of  the  two  men 
as  they  faced  each  other! 

Where  is  David  now?  Well,  his  story 
got  about,  and  there  was  quite  a  furore  of 
sympathy.  Some  good  soul  started  a  purse, 
and  big  hearts  and  good  incomes  ran  the 
money  up  to  enough  to  buy  him  a  half 
share  in  a  schooner,  of  which  he  ultimately 
became  owner  and  captain. 

The  old  mother  lived  to  dandle  his 
children  on  her  knee,  and  to  take  them 
on  sunny  Sundays,  sometimes  to  Father 
Tom's,  and  sometimes  to  a  quiet  grave- 
yard by  the  shore  of  the  bay,  where  they 
would  kneel  by  a  small  slab  of  gray 
granite,  and  pray  for  him  who  slept 
below.  And,  then,  as  they  rested  before 
starting  home,  small  hands  pulled  the 
weeds  from  the  grave,  and  picked  the 
lichens  from  the  letters  of  the  inscription, 
sometimes  spelling  them  out  as  they  did 
so.  And  the  spelling  read:  "Pray  for  the 
soul  of  Manuel  Ignatius  Pizarro." 


THE  AVK  MARIA 


An  Answered  "  Memorare." 


IT  was  in  the  early  spring  of  1861. 
Lowering  clouds  were  ready  to  burst 
and  deluge  our  country  in  the  seething, 
maddening  torrent  of  civil  war.  Fathers 
and  husbands  were  at  the  front,  drilling 
for  the  expectant  struggle  or  guarding  the 
strongholds  of  the  Republic.  Mrs.  Ander- 
son, then  living  in  Baltimore,  was  the  wife 
of  the  gallant  Major  Anderson,  who  de- 
fended Fort  Sumter  against  the  Confed- 
erate attack ;  and  when  conquered,  left  the 
Fort  only  on  the  condition  that  he  and  his 
men  should  march  forth  with  flying  colors 
and  to  the  sound  of  martial  music.  Her 
eldest  son,  a  comely  little  boy,  had 
been  attacked  by  a  malignant  fever;  for 
days  he  had  lingered  on  in  delirium,  wasted 
to  a  shadow.  Alone  with  the  nurse,  for 
her  husband  could  not  leave  his  perilous 
post,  the  anxious  mother  watched  day 
a.nd  night.* 

The  doctor  had  told  her  that  evening  that 
the  crisis  would  take  place  about  midnight ; 
there  was  small  hope  that  the  frail  little 
creature  would  pass  through  it;  all  that 
human  science  could  suggest  had  been 
done, — she  must  now  put  her  trust  in  God 
alone.  The  doctor  was  kind,  sympathetic; 
gave  parting  injunctions  to  the  nurse,  and 
left.  Mrs.  Anderson  kept  the  early  vigil 
of  the  night ;  but  the  nurse,  seeing  how  ex- 
hausted she  was,  replaced  her  earlier  than 
usual,  and  insisted  »that  she  should  take 
some  rest,  promising  to  call  her  when  the 
change  would  take  place  in  the  boy's 
condition.  Reluctantly  she  consented;  she 
pressed  her  lips  to  the  flushed  cheek  of  the 
child,  breathed  a  prayer  that  God  would 
spare  him,  then  went  into  an  adjoining 
room  where  there  was  a  couch,  and  threw 
herself  down  upon  it,  exhausted  and 
nervous. 

It  was  impossible  to  sleep:  her  anxious 
thoughts  dwelt  lovingly  on  the  gay  little 
creature  who  had  been  the  sunlight  of  her 
life  since  she  had  first  clasped  him  to  her 
heart  over  ten  years  ago;  she  recalled  his 


endearing  ways,  his  thoughtfulness  for 
her.  What  would  life  be  without  him! 
The  thought  was  too  harrowing  to  dwell 
upon.  In  the  faint  light  her  eyes  fell  upon 
an  old  painting  of  the  Madonna,  the  last 
gift  of  a  dear  friend,  who  had  presented  it 
to  her  the  previous  year  on  returning  from 
Italy.  It  brought  her  back  to  her  early 
school-life,  when,  though  a  Protestant,  she 
had  been  sent  to  a  convent  at  Florissant, 
had  spent  two  happy  years  there,  and  had 
received  from  the  lips  of  the  saintly  Mother 
Duchesne  instructions,  freighted  with 
golden  counsels,  precious  advice  that  sunk 
into  her  heart,  yet  had  not  brought 
her  the  light  of  faith.  The  unfailing  kind- 
ness and  motherly  interest,  in  a  motherless 
child,  of  her  dear  friend  and  mistress, 
Mother  Regis  Hamilton,  had  left  an  im- 
pression that  the  gaieties  and  pleasures 
of  a  happy  life  had  never  dimmed. 

As  she  looked  at  the  Madonna,  and  noted 
the  Mother's  joy  and  love  in  the  eyes  that 
gazed  upon  the  Divine  Babe,  she  recalled 
the  beautiful  instructions  given  on  Our 
Lady  at  her  convent  school,  the  burning 
words  of  the  sainted  Philippine  Duchesne, 
as  she  urged  the  children  to  have  recourse 
to  the  Mother  of  God  in  every  sorrow  and 
trial;  recalling  St.  Bernard's  words:  "It  is 
unheard  of  that  any  one  ever  had  recourse 
to  thy  protection,  implored  thy  help  or 
sought  thy  mediation  without  obtaining 
relief."  Why  had  she  not  thought  of  this 
before?  She  arose  from  her  couch,  threw 
herself  before  the  picture  of  the  Madonna, 
and  prayed  as  she  had  never  prayed  till 
then.  She  reminded  Our  Lady  that  she 
was  a  mother  and  knew  what  a  mother's 
anguish  was  in  giving  up  the  precious 
charge  that  had  been  hers  for  years.  Would 
she  not  help  her  now  in  her  hour  of  need, 
listen  to  her  prayer? 

She  knelt  there  pleading,  until  exhausted 
nature  asserted  itself.  Sleep,  that  boon  to 
weary  minds  and  saddened  hearts,  came 
at  last.  How  long  she  slept  she  did  not 
know,  but  she  awakened  with  a  start.  Her 
boy, — had  God  taken  him!  She  arose 
hastily,  and  silently  entered  the  sick-room, 


308 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


almost  afraid  to  glance  towards  the  little 
white  bed.  Some  one  stirred.  The  nurse 
came  towards  her  smiling;  and,  beckoning 
her  to  a  recess,  out  of  the  patient's  hear- 
ing, whispered:  "The  crisis  is  passed.  At 
midnight  he  fell  into  a  peaceful  sleep.  I'm 
sure  the  precious  life  is  saved." 

The  next  morning  when  the  doctor  re- 
turned, expecting  to  meet  a  heartbroken 
mother,  he  was  surprised  at  her  beaming 
smile;  and,  glancing  towards  his  little 
patient,  he  met  a  look  of  full  consciousness, 
and  heard  a  feeble  voice  say,  "I'm  almost 
well  now,  doctor." 

After  days  of  careful  nursing,  the  boy 
was  able  to  sit  up  in  the  adjoining  room, 
propped  and  supported  by  pillows,  and 
then  it  was  he  said: 

"I  wonder,  mother,  who  that  beautiful 
lady  was  that  came  to  me  the  night  I  was 
so  ill?" 

"What  lady  ? "  asked  the  mother.  "  You 
never  told  me  anything  about  her." 

"Well,  it  was  this  way.  I  thought  I  was 
in  a  desert  place;  the  sun  was  scorching 
and  I  was  burning  up  with  thirst.  In  the 
distance  I  could  see  a  spring  of  water, 
clear  and  cool,  but  I  couldn't  reach  it. 
Then  I  tried  to  call  you  to  help  me,  but  I 
couldn't  utter  a  sound.  Just  then  there 
came  towards  me  a  lady  all  in  white,  with 
such  a  beautiful  face!  O  mother,  I've  seen 
that  face  before!  I  knew  it  well,  but  I 
can't  remember  where  I  saw  her.  She 
took  a  shell  and  filled  it  with  the  cool, 
running  water,  and  brought  it  to  me.  I 
drank  it  eagerly;  and  when  I  looked  up  to 
thank  her,  she  smiled  and  placed  her  hand 
upon  my  head,  and  the  burning  heat  left 
me,  and  I  slept." 

There  was  a  pause.  Mrs.  Anderson  re- 
membered her  earnest  prayer  that  night. 
She  looked  instinctively  towards  the  Ma- 
donna; and  the  boy,  following  her  glance 
exclaimed : 

"There  it  is, — the  Madonna!" 

Many  years  had  passed  when  this 
story  was  told  to  me.  Mrs.  Anderson  was 
then  a  very  old  lady — nearly  eighty;  her 
.older  children  had  married  and  had  settled 


far  away,  and  she  was  living  with  her 
youngest  son  in  a  picturesque  little  cottage 
in  Canada,  near  the  church  and  college  of 
the  Basilian  Fathers.  Each  morning  she 
knelt  before  the  altar  at  early  Mass,  re- 
ceived Holy  Communion,  and  then  went 
forth  to  a  day  of  devotedness  among  the 
sick 'and  poor.  The  light  of  faith  that  came 
to  her  and  her  family  had  never  grown 
dim;  and  her  loyalty  to  the  Blessed 
Mother  of  God  was  the  guiding  star  that 
led  her  safely  at  last  to  heaven,  to  receive 
the  rich  reward  that  Christ  gives  to  those 
who  confide  in  His  Holy  Mother. 


Enemies  of  the  Cause. 


DURING  the  siege  of  Ladysmith  in 
the  Boer  War  a  civilian  was  arrested, 
tried  by  court-martial,  and  sentenced  to 
a  year's  imprisonment  for  being  a  "dis- 
courager." The  man  would  go  along  the 
picket  lines,  saying  disheartening  words 
to  the  men  on  duty.  He  struck  no  blows 
for  the  enemy,  but  he  was  a  discourager. 
It  was  a  critical  time.  The  fortunes  of 
the  town  and  its  garrison  were  trembling 
in  the  balance.  Instead  of  encouraging  the 
men  on  whom  the  defence  depended,  he 
put  faintness  into  their  hearts,  and  made 
them  less  hopeful  and  less  courageous. 
The  court-martial  adjudged  it  a  crime  to 
speak  disheartening  words  at  such  a  crisis. 
The  same  thing  is  true  of  the  Christian 
army.  It  is  always  a  time  of  war.  The 
Church  is  always  being  attacked  by  its 
enemies;  yet  there  are  men  and  women 
who  are  continually  doing  what  this  man 
did.  They  do  not  deny  their  religion,  but 
they  never  defend  it.  They  put  a  damper 
on  everything  by  their  coldness  and  in- 
difference. They  are  always  quick  to  find 
fault,  never  ready  to  give  service.  They 
are  silent  on  the  subject  of  their  faith, 
no  matter  how  incumbent  upon  them  it 
may  be  to  give  a  reason  for  it.  We  are 
all  soldiers  of  Christ;  and  unless  we  are 
bravely  confessing  Him.  we  are  discour- 
agers, and  injuring  His  cause. 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


309 


Little  Things  in  Lent. 


ALTHOUGH  the  real  importance  of 
little  things,  trifles,  details,  is  attested 
not  only  by  the  proverbial  wisdom  of  the 
ages,  but  by  Holy  Writ  itself,  the  major 
portion  of  mankind  continues  to  flout 
them  as  of  no  consequence  at  all  worth 
while.  "Little  and  often  fills  the  purse," 
"Little  by  little  one  goes  far,"  "Many 
littles  make  a  mickle,"  etc.,  are  common- 
places in  all  languages;  and  "He  that 
contemneth  small  things  shall  fall  by 
little  and  little"  is  the  assertion  of  Un- 
created Wisdom.  Yet  in  our  daily  life 
most  of  us  prove  that  we  have  not  as  yet 
taken  the  salutary  lesson  to  heart. 

In  the  spiritual  life,  still  more  perhaps 
than  in  our  temporal  affairs,  we  make  the 
mistake  of  undervaluing  the  power  and 
significance  of  little  matters,  if  indeed 
anything  directly  affecting  that  life  can 
truly  be  characterized  as  "little"  at  all. 
There  is  more  of  truth  than  perhaps 
Emerson  himself  was  aware  of  in  the 
familiar  couplet, 

There  is  no  great  and  no  small 
To  the  Soul  that  maketh  all; 

and  no  one  who  has  fathomed  the  lesson 
of  the  widow's  mite,  or  that  of  the  cup  of 
cold  water  given  in  the  name  of  Christ, 
can  consistently  flout  or  disregard  the 
import  of  moral  acts,  however  trivial  and 
insignificant  such  acts  may  appear  to  be 
in  themselves. 

The  present  penitential  season  is  a 
peculiarly  timely  one  for  the  consideration 
of  this  subject,  because,  since  the  milder 
legislation  of  the  Church  in  our  day  has 
relieved  us  from  the  bigger  things  in  the 
matter  of  sacrifice  and  self-denial,  it 
behooves  us  all  to  substitute  therefor  a 
multitude  of  little  acts  of  mortification. 
There  are  a  thousand  and  one  oppor- 
tunities daily  offered  to  each  of  us  for 
practising,  at  least  on  a  small  scale, 
that  self-abnegation  which  on  a  larger 
scale  is  beyond  the  limit  of  our  capacity, 
or,  it  may  be,  our  courage. 


We  are,  for  instance,  legitimately  excused 
from  the  obligation  of  fasting,  and  may 
accordingly  eat  our  three  meals  a  day 
without  scruple;  but  it  is  quite  possible, 
even  while  doing  so,  to  mortify  our  appe- 
tite in  a  variety  of  ways.  We  can  give  it 
less  than  it  craves;  can  deprive  it  of  the 
condiments,  or  some  of  them,  to  which  it 
is  accustomed;  can  choose  the  less,  rather 
than  the  more,  palatable  dishes  set  before 
us;  can  abstain  from  desserts  partially 
or  altogether. 

The  habitual  smoker  would  probably 
consider  it  a  big  rather  than  a  little  thing 
to  break  off  the  habit  entirely  during 
the  time  of  Lent ;  but  he  also  may  perform 
worth-while  acts  of  mortification  without 
altogether  renouncing  his  pipe  or  cigar. 

So,  too,  young  persons  may  mortify 
themselves  a  little  by  giving  up,  in  part 
or  entirely,  the  sweets  of  which  they  are 
all  so  fond.  They  may  abstain  from 
eating  between  regular  meals;  and  may 
quite  readily  refrain  from  actually  satiating 
their  appetites  even  at  those  meals. 

Another  of  the  little  things  of  Lent  that 
young  and  old  may  accomplish  much 
more  frequently  than  they  are  in  the 
habit  of  doing  is  intensified  devotion, 
performing  religious  acts  that  are  optional 
rather  than  obligatory;  attending  daily 
Mass,  for  instance,  or  "going  around  the 
Stations"  several  times  a  week,  or  at  least 
every  Friday;  contributing  to  works  of 
charity,  giving  personal  service  to  the  poor 
and  the  afflicted,  taking  a  more  active 
interest  in  Church  societies  of  which  they 
are  members,  and  the  like  commendable 
works. 

In  brief,  any  word  or  act  that  costs  an 
effort,  that  goes  against  our  natural 
grain,  that  represents  ever  so  small  a 
victory  over  our  passions  and  appetites, — 
this,  if  done  for  God's  sake,  and  in  a 
penitential  spirit,  is  effective  mortifica- 
tion; and,  despite  the  sneers  or  scoffings 
of  people  who  pride  themselves  on  being 
"broad-minded,"  is  eminently  worth 
while,  because  meritorious  in  the  sight 
of  Heaven. 


310 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


The  ill  wind  of  bigotry  in  Georgia  has 
already  blown  some  good  in  the  magnif- 
icent pastoral  letters  it  has  drawn  from 
the  Rt.  Rev.  Benjamin  Keiley,  Bishop  of 
Savannah.  We  do  not  now  speak  of  the 
good  effect  which  these  letters  are  bound 
to  have:  we  refer  simply  to  the  out- 
standing example  of  American  patriotism 
and  Catholic  principle  which  they  afford. 
If  space  permitted,  we  should  be  happy 
to  reproduce  entire  Bishop  Keiley's 
latest  defence  of  true  Americanism  and 
Catholicism;  but,  as  it  is,  we  must 
content  ourselves  with  quoting  only  the 
ringing  sentences  at  its  close: 

Catholics  are  not  asking  any  special  privileges 
in  the  State  or  in  the  United  States.  We  demand 
that  no  discrimination  shall  be  made  against  us 
on  account  of  our  religion,  or  against  any  person 
on  religious  grounds.  We  will  never  oppose  any 
one  on  account  of  his  religious  belief.  We  helped 
to  make  the  country  what  it  is — a  land  of  freedom 
where  no  religious  tests  shall  be  exacted  or  ap- 
plied,-«-and  we  propose  doing  everything  in  our 
power  to  keep  it  so.  We  want  no  union  of  State 
and  Church.  Protestant  England  and  Protestant 
Germany  have  such.  We  do  not  wish  to  follow 
their  example.  We  have  nothing  to  conceal,  and 
we  will  not  ask  to  be  left  in  peace  while  we  obey 
the  laws;  but  we  will  demand  and  secure  equal 
freedom  with  others,-  and  the  same  rights. 
Nothing  more,  nothing  less. 

Since  the  days  of  Archbishop  Hughes, 
we  can  not  recall  a  finer  expression  of  the 
Catholic  position  than  this. 


That  the  motion-picture  drama  has  an 
important  educational  mission,  and  is  a 
feature  of  modern  life  calculated  to  furnish 
wholesome  amusement  for  the  people  at  a 
trifling  cost,  hardly  admits  of  discussion. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  is  unquestionable 
that,  with  many  producers  or  managers, 
the  educative  aspect  of  moving-picture  ex- 
hibitions is  of  no  consequence,  and  that  an 
incalculable  amount  of  harm  is  being  done, 
especially  to  the  young,  by  the  suggestive 
situations  flared  out  before  them.  Not  a 
few  of  the  films  in  use  at  present  are  to  the 


detriment  of  public  and  private  morality. 
As  to  films  that  cause  interior  corruption 
while  pretending  to  advance  exterior  vir- 
tue, they  are  all  the  more  to  be  con- 
demned on  account  of  .the  insidiousness  of 
the  danger  attached  to  them. 

The  public  in  general,  and  parents  and 
guardians  of  youth  in  particular,  have 
been  repeatedly  warned  against  this  dan- 
ger from  the  pulpit,  in  the  press,  and  by 
police  court  Justices,  one  of  whom  lately 
urged  the  suppression  by  legislation  of  all 
scenes  that  depict  crime.  The  importance 
of  the  subject  is  emphasized  by  the  Bishop 
of  Helena,  who,  in  a  Lenten  letter  to  his 
clergy,  writes :  ' '  Urge  young  and  old  to  be 
very  discriminate  in  patronizing  moving- 
picture  shows.  This  wonderful  invention, 
by  its  nature  intended  to  be  an  instrument 
of  innocent  recreation,  of  education  and 
culture,  has  in  too  many  instances  of  late 
become  an  agent  of  immorality.  Unscru- 
pulous managers,  whose  eyes  are  on  the 
box  receipts  only,  with  a  boldness  unknown 
since  the  days  of  paganism,  have  put 
before  the  people  on  the  canvas,  on  the 
billboards,  and  in  the  newspapers,  the  nude 
and  the  obscene — and  called  it  art.  If  they 
persist  in  thus  violating  the  canons  of 
Christian  morality  and  common  decency, 
an  outraged  public  will  mete  out  to  them 
the  punishment  now  so  generally  inflicted 
on  the  low  saloon." 


Prof.  Wm.  Lyon  Phelps,  of  Yale  College, 
has  a  literary  reputation  based  on  writing 
little  savoring  of  religious  controversy. 
But  recently  he  felt  impelled  to  take  part 
in  a  discussion,  in  the  columns  of  the  New 
Haven  Courier-Journal,  of  the  question 
why  Protestantism  is  losing  ground  in 
this  country.  There  is  no  doubt,  to  our 
mind,  that  he  laid  bare  one  fundamental 
reason  for  it, — namely,  the  weakening,  or 
utter  loss,  of  faith  on  the  part  of  the 
ministers  themselves.  Prof.  Phelps  wrote 
(in  part)  as  follows: 

I  believe  that  the  majority  of  Catholic  priests 
and  Protes,tant  ministers  are  the  finest  men  we 
have  in  every  community, — the  most  devoted, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


311 


the  most  unselfish,  the  best  Americans.  But 
there  are  a  considerable  number  of  Protestant 
ministers  who  are  unsuccessful  in  persuading 
sinners  to  become  Christians,  —  who,  in  fact, 
have  very  little  religious  influence  of  any  kind. 
(I  have  no  New  Haven  clergyman  in  mind.)  In 
some  cases  I  feel  certain  that  the  reason  for  this 
distressing  inefficiency  lies  in  the  minister's 
lack  of  Christian  faith.  If  all  Christian  ministers 
without  exception  believe  in  the  divine  power  of 
Jesus  Christ  to  transform  sinful  human  nature, 
and  make  it  into  something  nobler  and  happier, 
why  should  the  late  Dr.  Home  (for  example), 
in  his  Yale  lectures  on  preaching,  advise  candi- 
dates who  have  no  Christian  faith  that  they  had 
better  choose  some  other  sphere  of  usefulness? 
.  . -  .  A  prominent  Congregational  clergyman 
in  Connecticut,  who,  according  to  his  own 
secret  belief,  is  now  non-existent,  asked  me,  a 
short  time  before  his  death,  if  I  believed  in  the 
future  life.  Upon  my  replying  heartily  in  the 
affirmative,  he  said:  "Well,  I  never  have 
believed  in  the  future  life.  That  may  sound  funny 
to  you,  as  I  have  been  an  orthodox  preacher 
so  many  years."  He  was  mistaken:  it  did  not 
sound  funny  at  all.  Only  two  weeks  ago,  a 
citizen  of  New  Haven  said  to  me:  "I  would 
go  to  church  oftener,  only  I  am  afraid  the 

minister  will  turn  out  to  be  one  of  these  d 

fakers  who  don't  believe  what  they  say." 

Now,  I  have  no  quarrel  with  professed  skeptics. 
I  am  a  profound  skeptic  myself  in  many  things. 
For  example,  I  have  as  little  faith  in  universal 
compulsory  military  training  as  many  of  my 
friends  have  in  God.  But  suppose  Captain 
Danford,  whom  I  greatly  admire,  should  say 
to  me  that  he  secretly  agreed  with  my  pacifist 
views,  I  should  riot  have  one  particle  of  respect 
for  him.  Imagine  a  Christian  minister  reciting 
irt  public,  "I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life," 
while  feeling  certain  in  his  own  heart  that  the 
words  are  meaningless.  It  would  be  an  imperti- 
nence for  me  to  attempt  to  define  Christianity 
to  a  man  like  Dr.  Maurer;  but  I  think  a  Christian 
is  one  who  has  even  more  faith  in  his  Master 
than  a  soldier  has  in  his  general ;  more  devotion 
to  Him  than  a  soldier  has  to  his  flag. 

The  Dr.  Maurer  alluded  to  is  Prof. 
Phelps'  pastor.  His  parishioner  has  given 
him  and  his  ministerial  confreres  some- 
thing to  think  about. 


Advertising  at  the  present  day  has 
become  a  well-recognized  business,  with 
its  own  set  of  principles,  its  own  elaborate 
ramifications,  and  even  its  own  press- 
equipment.  The  man  who  has  something 


to  sell,  the  woman  who  has  something  to 
buy,  the  politician  who  desires  election, 
the  clerk  who  is  looking  for  a  position, 
even  the  professional  man  on  the  lookout 
for  clients, — all  have  recourse  to  adver- 
tising. Educational  institutions,  not  to 
be  behind  the  rest  of  the  world,  pay  no 
little  heed  to  the  same  effective  means  of 
increasing  the  muster-roll  of  their  students. 
It  is  a  question,  however,  whether  all  or 
most  of  our  Catholic  institutions — 'Univer- 
sities, colleges,  or  convents — are  invest- 
ing their  advertising  fund  to  the  best 
possible  advantage.  Not  a  few  of  them 
pay  expensive  rates  for  brief  paragraphs 
in  the  secular  magazines,  and  ignore 
Catholic  periodicals  with  much  lower  rates, 
and,  collectively,  a  much  larger  clientage 
likely  to  be  interested  in  Catholic  schools. 
Apart  from  any  consideration  of  recipro- 
cating the  service  so  often  rendered  to  our 
educational  institutions  by  the  Catholic 
press,  it  is  probably  the  reverse  of  "good 
business"  for  the  heads  of  these  institu- 
tions to  neglect  what  on  the  face  of  it 
should  prove  the  best  organs  for  their 
advertisements  —  the  papers  habitually 
read  by  practical  Catholics. 


There  is  evidence  of  an  increased 
interest  in  the  work  of  the  Propagation 
of  the  Faith,  as  .well  as  in  missions  to  the 
Indians  and  Negroes,  and  in  local  charities, 
since  Lent  began.  This  is  as  it  should  be. 
Those  who  are  not  able  to  fast — a  great 
many  are  not — are  right  in  thinking  that 
their  almsdeeds  should  be  more  frequent 
and  their  prayers  more  fervent  in  this 
holy  season.  There  are  innumerable  forms 
of  penance,  and  one  may  gain  greater 
merit  by  a  charitable  offering  involving 
real  self-sacrifice  than  by  a  rigorous 
fast.  That  the  majority  of  Catholics 
are  convinced  of  this  truth  is  shown 
by  the  large  number  who  act  upon 
it.  We  are  frequently  in  receipt  of  sums 
for  the  Foreign  Missions,  etc.,  that  are 
princely,  considering  the  comparative 
poverty  of  the  contributors.  On  all  sides 
we  hear  of  benefactions  that  show  the 


312 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


most  generous  self-denial.  One  of  our 
exchanges  told  last  week  of  a  family 
whose  members,  by  a  unanimous  vote, 
decided  to  give  $1000,  which  they  had 
been  saving  for  the  purchase  of  an  auto- 
mobile, for  the  support  of  the  orphans 
of  their  diocese.  A  case  of  similar  gener- 
osity was  reported  in  another  Catholic 
paper.  The  handsome  sum  of  $5000,  repre- 
senting three  years  of  self-denial  during 
Lent  on  the  part  of  the  young  women  (most 
of  them  have  to  work  for  their  living) 
belonging  to  a  Sodality  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  was  turned  over  to  the  head  of  a 
Sisters'  hospital  for  the  endowment  of 
a  bed.  Instances  of  this  kind  could 
doubtless  be  multiplied. 

Those  who  can  not  give  alms — who  may 
even  be  objects  of  charity  themselves — 
can  contribute  to  all  good  works  by  their 
prayers.  It  was  only  'by  the  poor  lay- 
Brother's  humble  aid,  who  sat  upon  the 
pulpit  stair  and  prayed,'  that  the  eloquent 
preacher  was  enabled  to  stir  hearts.  So 
may  charitable  deeds  be  prompted  by 
humble  prayers. 

Mr.  Joseph  Scott,  of  Los  Angeles,  is 
apparently  proving  to  be  an  exception  to 
the  rule  that  "a  prophet  is  not  without 
honor  save  in  his  own  country  and  in 
his  own  house."  As  a  member  of  the 
Commission  on  Religious  Prejudice,  organ- 
ized by  the  Knights  of  Columbus,  and  a 
lecturer  on  religious  tolerance,  he  has  won 
fame  during  the  past  year  or  two  in  many 
States  of  the  Union,  and  assured  his 
place  among  the  really  prominent  Catholic 
laymen  of  our  country.  But  the  full 
stature  of  the  man  was  scarcely  realized 
in  his  home  city  until  Lincoln's  Day  of 
the  current  year.  On  that  occasion  Mr. 
Scott  told  his  own  neighbors  and  fellow- 
townsmen  what  he  has  been  telling  the 
rest  of  the  country  for  months  past  about 
tolerance  and  prejudice  and  patriotism 
and  ideal  American  citizenship;  and  in 
the  phraseology  of  the  man  in  the  street, 
he  more  than  "made  good."  In  a  glowing 
tribute  to  the  speaker  and  the  speech, 


Mr.  Charles  Lummis,  who  was  prominent 
among  the  non-Catholic  auditors,  said: 
"Though  I  have  known  Los  Angeles  for  a 
third  of  a  century,  I  do  not  recall  another 
time  when  six  thousand  people  sat  two 
hours  to  listen  to  one  man, — a  'local' 
man  at  that.  As  for  the  Spirit  of  that 
vast  audience — it  came  friendly,  expectant, 
with  a  certain  'atmosphere'  that  would 
have  warmed  the  cockles  of  the  great 
Emancipator's  heart.  That  audience 
came  receptive:  it  went  away  full  to 
overflowing  with  the  very  message  it  was 
awaiting, — a  message  stirring  as  the  bugle- 
call  of  patriotism.  No  chairs  creaked,  no 
feet  shuffled,  no  one  coughed.  For  two 
hours  and  a  half  that  great  congregation 
forgot  everything  else  but  the  occasion." 
It  is  especially  gratifying  that,  at  a 
.time  when  Know-Nothingism  is  rampant 
in  various  parts  of  the  country,  the 
lectures  of  a  sterling  Catholic  layman  like 
Mr.  Scott  should  have  so  many  appre- 
ciative attendants  among  our  separated 
brethren.  He  can  be  counted  upon  to 
tell  them  much  that  they  should  know, 
and  to  tell  it  in  a  way  calculated  to  make 
a  lasting  impression.  Besides  being  one 
of  the  most  earnest  of  speakers,  he  is 
thoroughly  persuaded  that  in  times  like 
the  present  "straight  talk"  is  golden, 
and  suave  silence  leaden. 


The  Boston  Republic  thinks  that  Dr. 
James  J.  Walsh  is  inclined  to  stress  too 
greatly  the  supposed  Protestantism  of  the 
Massachusetts  capital.  Writing  recently 
of  Sargent's  famous  mural  paintings  in  its 
Public  Library,  he  expressed  some  wonder 
at  finding  the  Madonna  occupying  so 
prominent  a  place  in  the  collection.  The 
Republic's  comment  thereon  is  interest- 
ing and  illuminative: 

The  more  rationalistic  of  the  scions  of  the  old 
Puritanism,  whose  stronghold  Boston  was,  are 
now  Unitarians.  It  was  said,  nearly  three 
decades  ago,  that  a  Unitarian  home  might  be 
known  by  the  number  of  pictures  of  the  Madonna 
adorning  its  walls.  This,  however,  must  be  attrib- 
uted rather  to  the  artistic  culture  and  travel 
of  these  Unitarians  than  to  religious  feeling  on 


313 


Uirir  part.  The  other  high -class  element  of  non 
Catholic  Boston  that  would  resent  the  descrip- 
tive term  "Protestant"  as  applied  to  themselves 
are  all  High  Church  Anglican.  These  have 
statues  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  St.  Joseph  in 
their  churches,  and  sing  hymns  in  honor  of  Our 
Lady.  The  old-fashioned  Protestant  is  now, 
numerically,  a  very  small  part  of  the  population 
of  Boston.  But  the  Catholics  are  about  sixty- 
five  per  cent.  Then,  statisticians  must  take 
account  of  the  Jews. 

And  even  the  more  cultured  members  of 
the  Jewish  body  would  not,  we  presume, 
raise  any  serious  objection  to  the  beauti- 
fying of  their  public  buildings  by  placing 
therein  artistic  canvases  or  sculptures, 
even  if  an  occasional  one  represented  the 
lyily  Maid  of  Israel,  who,  as  everyone 
knows,  has  been  the  inspiration  of  genius 
throughout  the  ages. 

The  New  York  Independent,  by  the 
way,  referred  to  the  unveiling  of  Sargent's 
paintings  as  'the  great  event  of  the  year 
in  American  art";  and  a  non-Catholic 
writer  in  a  recent  issue  of  the  Boston 
Herald  gives  to  the  hall  in  the  Public 
Library  which  enshrines  them  the  name 
of  "Boston's  little  Sistine  Chapel." 


A  worthy  appeal  is  that  made  by  Father 
George  Calavassy  in  behalf  of  the  Greek 
Catholic  Mission  of  Constantinople.  He 
has  come  to  this  country  with  the  highest 
authorization  from  Rome,  and  is  supported 
in  New  York,  where  for  the  present  he 
has  taken  up  his  station,  by  the  approval 
of  his  Eminence  Cardinal  Farley.  The 
reason  of  his  appeal  is  thus  clearly  set 
forth  by  Father  Calavassy: 

The  present  occasion,  I  think,  is  the  first  on 
which  a  missionary  has  been  sent,  officially, 
by  our  Holy  Father  and  the  Sacred  Congregation 
of  Propaganda  to  make  an  appeal  to  the  Catho- 
lics of  the  United  States  in  behalf  of  the  conver- 
sion of  the  Greeks  and  the  union  of  the  Eastern 
and  Western  Churches.  The  following  is  the 
reason  of  this  extraordinary  appeal. 

Some  years  ago  the  Sacred  Congregation  of 
Propaganda  worked  out  a  new  plan  of  bringing 
about  the  conversion  of  these  peoples  by  founding 
among  them  missions  of  the  Greek  rite,  which 
were  to  be  entrusted  to  a  native  clergy  in  the 
very  center  of  the  schism,  Constantinople.  The 
results  of  this  new  method  have  proved  more 


satisfactory  than  those  of  any  of  the  attempts 
at  reunion  made  during  the  past  thousand 
years.  In  view  of  this,  our  late  Holy  Father, 
Pius  X.,  in  the  year  1911,  erected  in  Constanti- 
nople a  Catholic  See  in  union  with  the  Vicar 
of  Christ,  and  placed  at  its  head  Monsignor 
Papadopoulos,  the  first  Catholic  bishop  of 
Greek  rite  in  Constantinople  since  the  break 
between  the  Eastern  and  Western  Churches  in 
the  eleventh  century. 

Our  present  Holy  Father,  Pope  Benedict  XV., 
has  this  reunion  of  the  Churches  very  much  at 
heart;  and,  as  a  first  step  towards  the  goal  of 
his  desires,  has  undertaken  the  work  of  develop- 
ing these  missions,  in  order,  if  possibl0,  to  win 
back  to  Catholic  unity  our  separated  brethren, 
who  to-day  number  over  100,000,000  souls.  He 
intends  fully  to  reorganize  the  Church  as  it 
existed  in  this  land  before  the  schism. 

The  magnitude  of  this  project  requires 
pecuniary  assistance  of  almost  similar 
proportions;  and,  no  help  being  available 
from  war-ridden  Europe,  America  is  the 
only  hope.  God  grant  that  the  same 
reason  which  has  shut  off  European 
resources  may  not  speedily  apply  in  our 
own  land  as  well! 


When  the  Cornell  Club  of  New  England 
held  their  annual  banquet  recently,  Dean 
Frank  Thilly,  of  Cornell  University,  must 
have  "sprung  a  surprise"  on  them  in 
the  matter  of  after-dinner  oratory.  Among 
other  things,  he  said:  "We  have  in  the 
universities  and  colleges  of  to-day  too 
many  'Charley  boys,'  who  are  not 
interested  in  anything  fundamentally 
which  the  college  stands  for.  A  univer- 
sity should  not  spend  its  money  on  those 
who  have  no  taste  for  education.  We 
should  not  have  institutions  where  men 
can  spend  four  jolly  years, — where  they 
will  learn  habits  which  it  will  take  them 
four  years  more  in  life  to  get  rid  of.  Busi- 
ness men  don't  want  to  spend  their  money 
on  idlers,  cynics,  and  men  who  '  loaf  on  the 
job.'  They  don't  want  'clock-watchers,' 
and  that  is  the  type  you  are  turning  out 
from  your  colleges." 

If  a  Catholic  critic  had  said  as  much, 
there  would  be  plenty  of  our  own  people 
to  cry,  "Sh!"  and  wonder  what  was 
wrong  with  his  digestion. 


To  a  Little  Girl  Named  Mary. 

BY    MARY    H.  KENNEDY. 

S^£  HAT  a  precious  name  you  carry, 

^    Little  maid  with  eyes  of  blue! 
Just  to  think  dear  Mother  Mary 
Shares  her  holy  name  with  you! 

Sweetest  name  in  all  the  ages, 

Loved  of  God  and  loved  of  man; 

Honored  by  all  saints  and  sages 
Ever  since  the  world  began; 

Praised  by  countless  voices  ringing 
In  the  bright  celestial  choirs; 

Blessed  by  little  children  singing 
Hymns  of  thanks  and  fond  desires; 

Gracious  with  a  grace  supernal, 
Lovely  as  a  morn  in  May, 

With  a  grace  that  is  eternal, — 
This  the  name  you  bear  to-day. 

'Tis  a  priceless  jewel  you  carry, 
Little  girl  with  eyes  of  blue; 

Yet  I  know  dear  Mother  Mary 
Gladly  shares  her  name  with  you. 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 

X. — A  YOUNG  HERO. 

hundred    dollars!"    exclaimed 
Dan  and  Wally  together.     "Five 
hundred    dollars    fur    Con!     How, 
when,  whar,   pap?" 

"I  ain't  a-telling,"  growled  the  old  man, 
with  returning  caution, — "I  ain't  a-telling 
no  more  yet.  But  ye  don't  think  I'd  been 
a-fooling  with  that  thar  boy  all  this  time 
if  I  hadn't  something  fur  it.  Ten  years 
I've  had  him  on  my  hands, — ever  since — - 
Wally!"  the  speaker  broke  off  suddenly  in 
his  revelations.  "Wally,  you  listen!  Durned 
if  I  don't  hear  something  a-sneaking  and 
stirring  in  the  mists!" 


"It's — it's  a  dog,"  blurted  out  Wally,  as 
Con  loosened  his  hold,  and  Dick  bounded 
in  upon  his  old  masters,  barking  cheerfully. 
"Blamed,  if  it  ain't  our  own  Dick!  How  in 
thunder  did  he  hunt  us  out  way  off  here?" 

And,  in  the  stir  of  surprise,  Con  was 
out  of  the  thicket,  unheard,  and  off  into 
the  saving  mists, — off,  reckless  of  ache  or 
pain  or  weariness  now; — off,  where  at 
first  Con  did  not  know  or  think.  He  only 
felt  he  was  off  from  the  cruel  old  man, 
whose  grip  would  have  been  on  him  in 
another  moment  if  Dick's  friendly  leap 
had  not  turned  keen-eyed  Wally  from  the 
search.  They  -would  not  harm  Dick. 
Nat  had  raised  him  from  a  pup;  and 
even  Uncle  Bill  took  pride  in  his  size  and 
strength,  and  often  flung  him  a  bone. 

With  the  quick  instinct  of  the  hunted 
thing,  Con  had  saved  himself  by  loosening 
Dick;  and  now,  his  heart  beating  madly, 
he  sped  on  through  the  mists,  growing 
thicker  and  heavier  with  the  night,  until, 
all  danger  of  pursuit  over,  he  sank  down 
upon  a  rock  beside  his  way,  to  take  breath. 
He  was  safe  now:  they  could  never  track 
him  in  this  white  cloudland.  Besides, 
thoughts  were  beginning  to  press  upon 
Con's  terror  and  bewilderment.  They  had 
wicked  work  to  do  to-night:  they  were 
going — to — burn  old  Gregory's  house, — 
to  burn  the  Manse! 

Slowly  but  clearly  the  conversation, 
only  half  comprehended  in  his  breathless 
affright,  came  back  to  Con  as  he  sat 
panting  and  trembling  in  the  mist.  Uncle 
Bill  and  the  boys  were  going  to  burn  the 
Manse.  They  were  getting  all  things 
ready, —  oil,  turpentine  to  soak  the  hay 
and  straw,  poison  and  shot  to  kill  the 
dogs.  They  would  steal  down  in  the 
misty  darkness,  when  everybody  was 
asleep,  and  fire  the  Manse;  and  it  would 
smoke  and  crackle  and  kindle  into  a  blaze 
that  would  light  Misty  Mountain  from 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


315 


base  to  peak.  For  a  moment  the  horror 
of  the  thing  held  Con  stunned,  spell- 
bound. Uncle  Bill  and  the  boys  seemed  to 
rise  to  awful  heights  which  his  fancy  could 
not  reach.  They  were  going  to  burn  the 
Manse  when  everybody  was  asleep, — 
all  the  maids  and  the  men;  the  "Irisher," 
who  had  driven  him  from  the  Christmas 
altar;  the  red-faced  Nora,  who  had  called 
him  a  thief;  the — the —  Con's  beating 
heart  seemed  to  leap  and  stand  still  at 
the  next  thought:  the  little  girl  who  had 
been  so  good  to  him, — she  would  be 
there  asleep,  too,  when  the  boys  fired  the 
house.  And  she  would  choke,  perhaps, 
as  Uncle  Bill  had  said,  and — and — burn 
up.  And  Con  started  up,  himself  choking 
as  the  picture  of  Susie,  with  her  sweet 
young  face,  her  golden  hair,  her  pitying 
eyes,  rose  before  him. 

"Jing!  She  shan't,  she  mustn't!  I — • 
I  won't  let  her!  I'll —  Like  a  lightning 
flash  the  resolve  burst  upon  Con's  be- 
wildered brain:  "I'll  stop  it!  I'll  go  blow 
the  whole  durned  thing!  They'll  get  me," 
he  continued,  facing  consequences  with  an 
unshaken  soul.  "They'll  lock  me  up, 
like  Pat  Murphy  said.  They'll  jail  or 
hang  me  mebbe.  But  I  don't — I  don't 
care  what  they  do.  I  ain't  a-going  to  let 
that  pretty  little  girl  burn  up." 

And,  sore,  stiff,  breathless,  our  young 
hero— for  surely  he  deserves  no  lesser 
name — bounded  off  through  the  blinding, 
bewildering  mists,  to  warn  and  save. 
At  any  time,  the  white  vapors  billowing 
and  surging  about  him  would  have  been 
confusing  even  to  Mountain  Con ;  for  tree, 
cliff,  beetling  rock,  jutting  peak, — all  land- 
marks were  lost  in  a  blurring  blank. 

Con  knew  every  turn  and  twist  of  the 
mountain;  but  to-night  he  was  not  his 
keen,  clear-headed,  sure-footed,  strong- 
limbed  self.  That  olden  Con  would  have 
curled  up  under  a  sheltering  rock  and  let 
Uncle  Bill  and  the  boys  do  their  worst ;  but 
something  better  than  the  old  self  had  now 
wakened  in  the  boy's  breast  and  was 
driving  him  on.  So,  forcing  his  tired,  aching 
limbs  into  fierce  speed;  bounding,  leaping, 


where  he  knew  the  way;  pausing  to  grope 
for  some  guiding  hold  when  the  white 
cloud- veil  was  too  thick  to  pierce ;  Creeping 
on  hands  and  feet  around  the  edge  of  the 
cliff  that  he  could  not  see;  taking  Injun 
Creek  at  one  reckless  spring;  stumbling 
over  hidden  root  and  into  sunken  hollow; 
staggering,  falling,  scrambling  to  his  feet 
and  his  path  again,  — •  Con  kept  nis 
desperate  way,  no  thought  of  safety  or 
self  turning  him  from  his  purpose:  to 
reach  the  Manse  before  the  boys  could 
start  the  blaze  that  would  mean  danger, 
perhaps  death,  to  the  little  girl  who  had 
been  good  to  him.  He  was  rushing,  as  he 
clearly  realized,  into  old  Gregory's  grasp. 
He  would  be  held,  bound,  put  into  the 
Reform  that  was  "wuss  than  jail";  for 
neither  justice  nor  mercy  had  entered 
into  poor  Con's  sad  experience.  He  would 
be  locked  up,  beaten,  starved,  perhaps. 
Jing !  he  did  not  care  fur  that  now :  he  must 
save  the  pretty  little  girl  who  had  been 
good  to  him. 

His  fierce  strength  began  to  fail, — he 
found  himself  swaying  on  his  feet,  reeling 
forward  dizzily.  A  sharp  hurt  roused  him: 
he  had  stumbled  against  a  projecting  rock, 
and  the  blood  was  flowing  from  a  cut  on 
his  forehead.  He  caught  up  a  handful  of 
melting  snow  and  pressed  it  to  the  wound. 
Head  and  eyes  seemed  to  clear,  and  he 
saw  that  he  was  down  the  mountain. 
Through  the  mists  came  the  blurred 
glimmering  of  the  lights  in  the  Manse, 
and  a  sound — a  fierce,  threatening  sound — • 
that  chilled  Con's  bold  young  heart: 
the  dogs, — the  dogs  that  were  loosened  at 
night  to  guard  the  house;  the  dogs  that 
old  Bill  -had  warned  his  boys  would  tear 
them  into  bits,  the  dogs  that  he,  lawless, 
reckless  intruder  that  he  was,  had  neither 
shot  nor  poison  to  silence.  Could  he 
brave  the  dogs?  Con  thought  of  the 
huge  wolf  hound,  "Boar,"  that  always 
tugged  at  his  chain  with  a  snarl  whenever 
he  and  Dick  passed  near  the  Manse. 
Boar,  with  his  fiery  eyes  and  fierce  fangxs, 
was  loosened  and  on  guard. 

A   tremor   came   over  the   brave   boy's 


316 


.     THE  AVE  MARIA 


sinking  frame.  Dared  he  brave  the  dogs 
even  to  save  the  pretty  little  girl?  Con 
stood  staring  at  the  glimmering  lights  of 
the  Manse,  fairly  shaking  with  such  fear 
as  he  had  never  felt  before. 

The  pleasant  sitting-room  of  the  great 
house  was  very  cheerful  and  cosy  to-night. 
The  heavy  damask  curtains  were  drawn, 
and  a  big  hickory  fire  leaped  on  the  wide 
hearth.  Aunt  Aline  was  knitting  by  the 
pink-shaded  lamp,  while  Susie  and  Uncle 
Greg  were  deep  in  a  game  of  checkers  that 
was  trying  even  the  old  soldier's  skill.  For 
Susie,  usually  no  match  for  her  uncle,  had 
withdrawn  to  a  double  corner,  and  was 
gleefully  eluding  his  most  skilful  attacks. 

"There,  there,"  said  Uncle  Greg,  testily. 
"What's  the  good  of  dodging  like  thatr 
You're  beaten,  Susie.  Give  up  like  a  man!" 

"Not   yet,"    twittered   Susie,    suddenly 
pouncing    out    upon    Uncle    Greg's    king. 
"What  do  you  say  to  that,  and  that?"- 
as  she  jumped  another  and  another. 

' '  That  you're  a  woman,  you  little  rogue !" 
he  laughed, — "and  women  never  give  up. 
Take  the  game.  I  won't  fight  it  out 
any  longer.  There  will  be  a  box  of  choco- 
lates at  your  plate  to-morrow,  if  I  can 
get  to  town,  to  pay  up." 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  any  chocolates, 
Uncle  Greg!  I've  got  a  big  box  upstairs 
now." 

"Sugar  almonds,  then?"  suggested  the 
old  gentleman.  "I  always  liked  them  best 
myself." 

"No,  no  sugar  . almonds  either,"  said 
Susie,  who,  with  her  pretty  face  supported 
on  "her  hands,  was  surveying  the  grim  old 
face  doubtfully.  Uncle  Greg  seemed  in 
rather  a  good-humor  to-night. 

"Well,  what  would  you  like?"  he 
asked.  "I  don't  know  much  about  little 
girls,  you  see,  but  I  want  to  put  this 
Christmas  business  through  right.  I'm  off 
to  Pineville  to-morrow  to  make  sure  that 
young  Gryce  rascal  doesn't  slip  my  hands 
by  any  lawyer's  tricking.  What  shall  I 
bring  you  back?  A  doll  baby,  or  a  ring 
for  your  pretty  little  finger,  or  a  watch 


maybe?  By  George,  that's  the  very 
thing, — a  nice  little  gold  watch!" 

But  the  soft  dark  eyes  only  studied  the 
grim  old  face  more  wistfully. 

"Oh,  no,  Uncle  Greg!  I  don't  need  a 
watch.  I  have  dear  mamma's.  Mother 
Benedicta  is  keeping  it  for  me.  If — if 
you  would  give  me  what  I  want  most  in 
the  world,  Uncle  Greg — but,"  (the  sweet 
young  voice  sank  sorrowfully)  "you 
couldn't,  or  you  wouldn't,  I'm  sure." 

"I  wouldn't,  eh?  And  why  not,  I'd 
like  to  know?  Just  try  me!"  answered 
Uncle  Greg,  his  gruff  tone  softening. 
"Out  with  it,  little  girl!  What  do  you 
want  most  in  all  the  world  ? ' ' 

"Con!"   ventured  Susie,   desperately. 

"W-h-a-t?"  roared  Uncle  Greg. 

"Poor,  poor  Con!"  continued  Susie, 
bolder  now  that  she  had  taken  the  first 
plunge  into  the  storm. 

"D'ye  mean  that  wild,  young  mountain 
devil?"  asked  Uncle  Greg,  fairly  gasping 
for  breath. 

"Oh,  he  isn't,  Uncle  Greg, — he  isn't  a 
devil  at  all!"  Susie's  spirit  was  up  now, 
and  she  faced  Uncle  Greg  fearlessly. 
"He  is  just  a  poor  boy  that  has  nobody 
to  be  kind  to  him.  He  told  me  so.  He 
said  he  nev^r  had  a  father  or  mother  or 
anybody;  he  had  never  been  to  church 
or  school;  he  never  had  anything  good 
or  nice.  And  you're  all  hunting  him  down, 
as  if  he  were  not  a  boy  at  all,  but  a  wolf 
or — or — a  tiger.  O  Uncle  Greg,  I  think 
you've  been  just  too  mean  for  anything 
to  poor  Con!" 

"Oh,  you  do,  do  you?"  said  Uncle  Greg, 
who  was  not  used  to  such  plain  speech. 
"I'd  like  to  know  what  you've  got  to  do 
with  it,  Missy.  I  suppose  this  is  some  of 
your  priest  brother's  meddling.  Con, — 
indeed  Con!  YouVe  been  talking  to  him, 
you  say, — talking  to  a  wild  young  savage 
that  is  ready  to  burn  the  roof  over  our 
heads;  talking  to  a  dirty  young  vagabond 
that  ought  not  to  have  dared  come  near 
you!"  Uncle  Greg  had  started  up  from 
the  table,  now  fairly  apoplectic  with 
wrath.  "Con  indeed!  Don't  let  me  ever 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


317 


hear  his  name  upon  your  lips  again  while 
you  are  in  this  house.  Con,  forsooth! 
Con,  thunderation ! "  Uncle  Greg  stamped 
out  of  the  room;  leaving  poor  little  Susie, 
appalled  at  the  storm  she  had  roused,  to 
fly  into  Aunt  Aline' s  arms  and  burst  into 
'frightened  tears. 

"There,  there,  my  dear!"  soothed  the 
good  lady.  "Your  uncle  can't  stand 
crossing;  he  never  could,  young  or  old. 
And  he  is  hard  set  on  those  people  at  the 
Roost;  and  with  good  cause,  I  must  say. 
They're  a  bad  lot,  Susie  dear,  and  ought 
to  be  driven  off  Misty  Mountain." 

"Driven  where,  Aunt  Aline?"  asked 
Susie,  choking  back  a  sob. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  lady, 
"but  somewhere  out  of  decent  Christian 
people's  way!" 

"But  if  you  drive  all  the  bad  people 
away  you  can  never  make  them  good, 
Aunt  Aline."  This  was  a  problem  that 
had  never  troubled  Aunt  Aline,  who  had 
walked  only  decent  Christian  paths,  where 
"bad"  people  did  not  intrude. 

"Of  course  not,  Susie  dear!  But  we 
can't  help  that." 

"Brother  Phil  thinks  he  can,"  said  Susie, 
softly.  "He  is  going  to  have  a  mission 
church  in  the  slums  where  all  the  people 
are  dreadful,  and  try  to  make  them  good." 

"A  church  in  the  slums ! "  exclaimed  good 
Aunt  Aline  in  dismay.     "God  bless   me," 
what  will  that  boy  be  doing  next?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Susie,  plain- 
tively. "Maybe  go  to  the  Cannibal 
Islands  and  get  eaten  up.  Then  he  would 
be  a  martyr;  and  Sister  Mary  Margaret 
says  it  would  be  a  great  thing  to  have 
a  brother  a  martyr.  But  I'm  not  good 
enough  to  want  anything  like  that." 

"I — I  never  heard  such  talk!"  said 
Aunt  Aline,  breathlessly.  "The  Cannibal 
Islands!  Phil  must  be  losing  his  mind, — • 
though  I  saw  no  signs  of  it,  I  must  say. 
Slums  and  Cannibal  Islands !  With  money 
of  his  own  to  live  comfortably  and 
respectably!" 

"Oh,  but  he  can't!"  Susie  shook  her 
golden  head  sagely.  "Priests  can't  live 


comfortably  and  respectably,  Aunt  Aline. 
They  have  to  go  in  all  sorts  of  dreadful 
places — jails  and  prisons  and  hospitals 
and  leper  islands, — making  people  good, 
just  like  Our  Lord  did,  you  know.  He 
didn't  drive  bad  people  away;  He  wouldn't 
let  them  be  stoned  or  hurt;  and  He  took 
the  good  thief  straight  to  heaven." 

"Gracious!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Aline,  in 
fresh  surprise.  "The  nuns  must  have 
taught  you  some  Bible  truths,  after  all, 
Susie.  And  Phil  is  one  of  the  finest  fellows 
I  ever  saw,  if  he  has  thrown  all  his  chances 
in  life  away,  as  I  was  saying  to  your  uncle 
to-night.  But  we  all  can't  see  alike;  and 
I'd  say  nothing  more  to  Uncle  Greg  about 
that  wild  boy  in  the  mountain,  Susie 
dear!  It  only  angers  him,  as  you  see." 

"Yes,  I  see,"  said  Susan,  sadly.  "I 
was  only  going  to  ask  him  to  send  poor 
Con  to  brother  Phil  instead  of  the  Reform. 
But  it's  no  use  in  talking  to  Uncle  Greg 
any  more.  O  Aunt  Aline"  (Susie  had 
turned  away  to  the  window  and  lifted 
the  heavy  curtain),  "how  funny  it  looks 
out  to-night!  We  seem  to  be  up  in  the 
clouds.  I  can't  see  the  skies  or  stars  or 
anything." 

"It's  the  mist,  dear!"  replied  Aunt 
Aline.  "It  always  comes  like  this  when 
winter  begins  to  break." 

"Oh,  does  it?"  said  the  little  girl, 
wonderingly.  "You  see,  I  never  was  up 
here  when  winter  broke  before.  I  —  I 
don't  think  I  like  mists,  Aunt  Aline." 

"Why  not,  dearie?"  asked  Aunt  Aline, 
who  was  one  of  those  plump,  comfortable 
ladies  who  took  things  as  they  were, 
and  did  not  worry. 

' '  I — I  don't  know ! ' '  answered  Susie,  with 
a  little  shiver.  "You  feel  so  lost  without 
the  sky  and  the  stars,  and  everything.  I 
can't  see  the  oaks  or  the  garden  hedge. 
It  is  as  if  we  were  in  cloudland,  where 
nothing  is  sure — and— and  all  sorts  of 
things  might  be  hiding, — dreadful  things 
we  can't  see." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Aunt  Aline,  cheerily. 
"What  could  possibly  be  hiding  in  mist 
that  breaks  at  a  touch,  my  dear?  I  am 


318 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


afraid  the  nuns  are  making  you  fanciful, 
Susie.  They  must  be  fanciful,  or  they 
wouldn't  think  it  right  to  wear  such  queer 
bonnets  and  shut  themselves  up  behind 
locks  and  bars.  Eh,  God  bless  me!"  Aunt 
Aline  dropped  her  knitting  and  started  to 
her  feet,  as  Boar's  thundering  bark  was 
echoed  by  half  a  dozen  shriller  yelps. 
"What  can  be  the  matter  with  the  dogs?" 

"O  Aunt  Aline,  Aunt  Aline,  what  is  it?" 
cried  Susie,  flying  from  the  window  in 
terror,  as  loud  shouts  added  to  the  clamor 
without,  Uncle  Greg's  voice  rising  above  all 
in  its  sternest  soldier  tone. 

"Jim,  Jerry,  call  off  the  dogs,  —  call  off 
the  dogs,  or  they'll  eat  the  young  rascal 
alive!  Treed  him,  did  they,  as  he  was 
scrambling  over  the  stable  roof?  Bring 
him  in  here,  —  bring  the  young  scoundrel 
in  here,  and  let  me  find  out  what  devil- 
ment he  was  at." 

And  while  Aunt  Aline,  Susie,  cook, 
housemaid,  and  everybody  flocked  out 
into  the  wide  hall  in  alarm,  Irish  Dennis 
appeared  at  the  doorway,  half  dragging, 
half  upholding  the  pale,  shaking,  bleeding, 
almost  fainting  figure  of  Mountain  Con,  — 
brave,  bold,  heroic  Con,  who  had  dared 
even  the  dogs  —  -to  face  this! 

(To  be  continued.) 


The  Little  Stowaway. 


A  Fable  of  the  Arabs. 

The  Arabs  have  a  fable  about  a  miller 
who  was  startled  by  seeing  a  camel's  nose 
thrust  in  the  opening  of  the  tent  where  he 
was  sleeping.  "It  is  cold  outside,"  said 
the  camel.  "I  only  want  to  put  in  my 
nose."  In  came  the  nose,  then  the  neck, 
finally  the  whole  body.  The  miller 
began  to  be  incommoded  by  his  ungainly 
companion;  he  felt  that  the  tent  was  not 
large  enough  for  both.  '  '  If  you  are  incon- 
venienced, you  may  leave,"  said  the  camel. 
"As  for  myself,  I  shall  stay  where  I  am." 

The  moral  of  this  fable  is  that  whoever 
yields  in  the  slightest  degree  to  a  bad  habit 
is  in  danger  of  being  entirely  overcome 
by  it.  We  must  not  allow  even  the 
camel's  nose  to  come  in. 


Some  years  ago  a  boy  of  ten  was  found 
on  a  steamer  from  Liverpool  to  New  York, 
hidden  away  among  some  casks.  He  was 
what  is  called  a  "stowaway,"  and  was  try- 
ing to  get  a  free  passage.  The  first  mate 
questioned  the  little  fellow,  who  told  him 
that  his  stepfather  had  put  him  on  board, 
giving  him  some  food,  and  bidding  him 
make  his  way  to  a  relative  in  -Halifax. 

The  sailors  believed  the  story,  but  the 
mate  would  not  be  convinced.  "Some  of 
these  men  are  in  the  secret,"  he  said. 
"Point  out  this  minute  the  one  who 
stowed  and  fed  you."  The  boy  only 
answered:  "I  have  told  you  the  truth, 
sir.  None  of  them  knew."  The  mate 
turned  angrily  to  the  crew  and  gave  this 
order,  "Reeve  a  rope  to  the  yard."  Then, 
pointing  to  the  cord  which  hung  from  the 
yardarm,  he  said  to  the  little  stowaway: 
"You  see  that  rope,  boy?  I'll  give  you 
ten  minutes  to  confess,  and  if  you  do  not 
tell  the  truth  before  the  time  is  up,  I'll 
hang  you  like  a  dog." 

The  little  fellow  turned  pale  but  never 
flinched,  whilst  the  crew  began  to  utter 
angry  murmurs.  "Eight  minutes!"  ex- 
claimed the  mate.  "Better  be  quick."- 
"I  won't  tell  a  lie,  if  I  die,"  answered  the 
boy;  "but  you  will  let  me  say  a  prayer." 
The  mate  nodded,  and  the  little  stowaway 
knelt  down  and  repeated  a  prayer  his 
mother  had  taught  him.  Then  rising,  he 
said  very  quietly:  "Now,  I'm  ready. 
I  told  you  the  truth."  In  a  moment 
a  change  came  over  the  stern  mate's 
face.  Tears  sprang  to  his  eyes,  and  he 
caught  the  boy  in  his  arms  and  cried: 
"God  bless  you,  my  boy!  You're  a  true 
Englishman,  every  inch  of  you.  I  believe 
your  word.  You  would  not  tell  a  lie  to 
save  your  life." 

The  mate  had  evidently  been  impressed, 
both   by   his  reading   and  his   experience 
throughout  his  life,  with  the  wisdom  and 
the  morality  embodied  in  the  couplet: 
Dare  to  be  true:  nothing  is  worth  a  lie: 
A  fault  which  needs  it  most  grows  two  thereby. 


THE  AVE  MARIA  319 

WITH    AUTHORS   AND    PUBLISHERS 


— Clients  of  St.  Camillus  of  Lellis,  "the 
hospital  saint,"  in  particular  will  welcome  a 
Life  of  him  by  the  Sisters  of  Mercy,  Manchester, 
N.  H.  It  is  announced  for  immediate 
publication. 

— "Grapes  of  Thorns"  is  the  title  of  a  new 
novel  by  Mary  T.  Waggaman,  published  by 
Benziger  Brothers.  A  juvenile  story  by  this 
popular  author  ("Tommy  Travers"),  reprinted 
from  THE  AvB  MARIA,  appeared  in  January. 

— Of  timely  interest  at  the  date  of  Ireland's 
festival  is  "The  Lost  Tribes  of  the  Irish  in  the 
South,"  an  address  delivered  by  Mr.  Irvin  S. 
Cobb  at  the  annual  dinner  (Jan.  6,  1917)  of  the 
American  Irish  Historical  Society,  in  New  York. 
It  is  a  very  readable  and  interesting  address,  well 
worth  printing  in  this  pamphlet  form. 

-"The  Columbian,"  a  patriotic  march  song, 
by  Messrs.  Gilday  and  McCarthy,  dedicated 
to  the  Knights  of  Columbus,  seems  to  be  a 
child  of  the  hour.  The  tripping  muse  has 
caught  the  martial  measure  and  produced  the 
required  strain.  "The  Columbian"  deserves 
popularity.  It  is  issued  by  the  Columbian 
Music  Publishing  Co.,  Boston,  Mass.,  and  sells 
for  12  cents. 

— Dom  Odo  Blundell,  O.  S.  B.,  F.  S.  A. 
'(Scot.),  already  known  as  the  author  of  "The 
Catholic  Highlands  of  Scotland"  (Central 
Highlands)  and  "Ancient  Catholic  Homes  in 
Scotland,"  has  produced  another  book  of  special 
interest  to  Catholic  Scotsmen — "The  Catholic 
Highlands  of  Scotland;  the  Western  Highlands 
and  Islands."  Lovers  of  Gaelic  literature,  too, 
will  welcome  this  work. 

— We  are  glad  to  note  that  the  third  edition 
of  a  "First  Communion  Catechism"  (Baltimore 
Text)  is  issued  in  leatherette  cover,  which  permits 
of  a  lower  selling  price  for  this  excellent  manual. 
In  lots  of  twenty-five  (or  more)  it  may  be  had 
for  15  cents  a  copy,  "when  cash  accompanies 
order,"  as  an  accompanying  circular  states. 
Published  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  Victor  Day,  Catholic 
Hill,  Helena,  Montana. 

— Fairy  tales  nowadays  appeal  not  only  to 
the  children  who  are  always  interested  in  the 
"once-upon-a-time"  stories,  but  to  the  folk- 
lorists  who  bring  their  learning  to  bear  on  the 
legends  that  have  come  down  to  us  from  the 
most  remote  periods.  A  double  welcome  is 
thus  assured  for  "Bast  o'  the  Sun  and  West 
o'  the  Moon,"  by  G.  W.  Dasent.  (G.  P.  Putnam's 
Sons.)  The  title  story  is  only  one  of  thirty-seven 
typical  Norse  fairy  tales — of  witch  and  ogre 


and  Troll,  those  descendants  of  the  frost  giants 
who  were  supposed  to  be  perpetually  scheming 
mischief  against  the  race  of  men.  Generic 
resemblance  there  is,  of  course,  with  fairy  tales 
of  other  regions;  but  the  specific  differences 
are  safe  to  captivate  the  youthful  reader,  and 
interest  such  of  his  elders  as  like  folklore. 

— In  good  time  for  Passiontide,  there  comes  to 
us  from  Longmans,  Green  &  Co.  "The  Three 
Hours'  Agony  of  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,"  by 
the  Rev.  Peter  Guilday.  A  slender  sixteenmo  of 
71  pages,  it  contains  nine  sermons  originally 
preached  in  New  York  on  Good  Friday  of  last 
year.  They  are  fervently  devotional,  and 
practical  as  well.  The  average  length  is  from 
fifteen  to  seventeen  hundred  words. 

— Late  issues  of  Bloud  &  Gay's  "Pages 
Actuelles"  pamphlets  and  brochures  include 
three  by  Francis  Marre:  "La  Chimie  Meur- 
triere  des  Allemands,"  "Les  Mitrailleuses," 
and  "Les  Armes  Deloyales  des  Allemands"; 
also  "Le  Service  de  Sante  Pendant  la  Guerre," 
by  Joseph  Reinach.  The  last  mentioned  in 
particular  is  full  of  interest,  and  is  sold,  we  may 
add,  for  the  benefit  of  the  French  Red  Cross 
organization. 

— The  Newman  Club  of  the  University  of 
California  is  to  be  congratulated  upon  its  two 
recent  pamphlet  issues — "The  Influence  of  the 
Missions  on  Present-Day  California,"  by  Mary 
Pius  Carroll;  and  "The  Attitude  of  the  Catholic 
Church  toward  Modern  Science,"  by  the  Very 
Rev.  Edward  A.  Pace,  Ph.  D.,  D.  D.  The  former 
is  the  Newman  Hall  prize  essay  for  1915;  the 
latter  an  address  delivered  some  time  ago  before 
the  Newman  Club. 

— Yet  another  refutation  of  a  quasi-religious 
system  comes  to  us  in  the  form  of  a  brochure 
of  128  pages:  "Christian  Science:  An  Apostasy 
from  Science  and  Christianity,"  by  the  Rev. 
Cyril  Buotich,  O.  F.  M.  It  consists  of  a  number 
of  lectures  delivered  in  a  San  Francisco  church, 
and  will  prove  interesting  to  such  readers  as 
have  no  distinct  impression  of  the  system 
denounced.  Copies  of  this  pamphlet  may  be 
procured  at  133  Golden  Gate  Ave.,  San  Francisco, 
Cal.  Price,  15  cents. 

— "The  Prince  of  Peace,"  a  sixteenmo  of  143 
pages,  by  the  Rev.  Alban  Goodier,  S.  J.  (Ben- 
ziger Brothers),  is  a  book  of  meditations  for 
Advent  and  Christmas,  thirty  meditations 
being  allotted  to  each  season.  Of  the  thoughts 
contained  in  the  little  volume  its  author  advises: 
"Let  them  not  be  tested  by  reading  only:  let 


320 


I  UK  AVE  MARIA 


them  also  be  allowed  to  grow  upon  the  mind 
and  heart."  The  latter  counsel  is  obviously 
impracticable  for  reviewing  purposes;  we  can 
Only  certify  that  the  considerations  stand  the 
reading  test  very  well.  We  regret  the  delay  in 
the  publication  of  this  excellent  work. 

- — A  solid  brochure,  small  octavo  size,  of 
over  240  pages,  represents  the  "Transactions 
of  the  Second  Annual  Meeting  of  the  Catholic 
Hospital  Association."  We  note,  among  a 
number  of  important  contributions,  a  paper  on 
"The  Nature,  Necessity,  and  Value  of  Team- 
Work  in  a  Hospital,"  by  Charles  H.  Mayo, 
M.  D.;  and  another,  "The  Ethical  Basis  of  Med- 
ical Practice  in  Hospitals,"  by  Austin  O'Malley, 
M.  D.,  Ph.  D.  The  latter  should  be  issued  in 
pamphlet  form,  as  it  is  an  invaluable  synopsis 
of  an  entire  department  of  pastoral  medicine. 
This  excellent  volume  is  issued  by  the  Modern 
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[Published  every  Saturday.     Copyright,  1917:    Rev.  D.  E.  Hudson,  C.  S.  C.] 


Our  Lady  of  Poverty. 


BY    M.   WOEXLWARTH. 


/«p  LJv  flushed  with  hope  and  tender  pride, 

-'  On   lightly   sandalled   feet, 
Our  Lady  went  at  close  of  day 
Adown  the  village  street. 

The  flower-soul  shone  sweetly  through 

Her  eyes'   dark  mystery, 
As  on  some  still  unfathomed  pool 

White  lilies  one  may  see. 

Against  the  bleak  and  rising  wind 

A  thin  poor  cloak  she  drew; 
It  fell  in  gracious  folds,  as  if 

Its  office  high  it  knew. 

Within  a  slender  hand  she  clasped 

A  little-used  purse, — 
Our  Lady  went  a-purchasing 

For  Him  she  soon  would   nurse. 

For  Him,  alas!    no  silken  web, 

No  soft-hued  broidery; 
But  linen  coarse  and  homespun  cloth 

His  swaddling  clothes   must  be. 

She  entered  in  the  dark  bazaar, 
Her  humble  wares  she  bought; 

She  held  them  close  with  love  and  awe, 
But  with  half-wistful  thought. 

For  self,   she  feared  no  poverty; 

For  Him  who  would  be  born, — 
Ah,   on  the    Mother's  rose  of  hope 

That  was  the  piercing  thorn! 


THE  heart  that  suffers  with  resignation 
sees  farther  than  the  mind  that  reasons. 
—Jean  Quercy. 


The  Holiest  Spot  in  Ireland. 


BY    JOSEPH    MAY. 

HERE  is  something  so  sacred 
about  the  soil  of  Ireland  that 
one  almost  hesitates  to  speak 
of  any  particular  portion  of  it 
as  being  holier  than  another;  for  does  not 
the  evergreen  emblem  of  the  Most  Adorable 
Trinity  grow  all  over  the  island,  and  has 
not  its  every  sod  been  soaked  with  some 
martyr's  blood?  But  when  one  thinks  of 
St.  Patrick,  what  his  work  in  Ireland  was, 
and  the  kind  df  man  he  is  universally  ad- 
mitted to  have  been,  it  seems  only  natural 
that  the  place  he  selected  for  special 
prayer  and  meditation  should  be  regarded 
with  a  particular  veneration,  not  by  the 
Irish  people  only,  but  by  Catholics  the 
world  over. 

Cardinal  Manning  went  so  far  as  to  say 
that,  with  the  exception  of  St.  Paul,  no 
other  saint  did  so  much  for  the  Church  as 
St.  Patrick;  and  that,  leaving  out  St. 
Peter,  no  other  saint  in  heaven  had  so 
many  children  as  St.  Patrick.  The  great 
Dominican  preacher,  Father  E^irke,  com- 
pared the  career  of  the  Apostle  of  Ireland 
more  to  the  triumphant  progress  of  a  king 
than  to  that  of  a  missionary  struggling 
with  obstacles  and  fighting  against  diffi- 
culties. "The  Gospel,"  he  says,  "with  its 
lessons  and  precepts  of  self-denial,  prayer 
and  purity, — in  a  word,  of  the  violence 
which  seizes  on  Heaven,  is  not  congenial 
to  fallen  man.  His  pride,  his  passion,  his 
blindness  of  intellect  and  hardness  of 


77/7:  AVK  MARIA 


heart,  all  oppose  the  spread  of  the  Gospel; 
so  that  the  very  fact  that  mankind  has 
so  universally,  accepted  it  is  adduced  as 
a  proof  that  it  must  be  from  God.  The 
work  of  the  Catholic  missionary  has, 
therefore,  ever  been,  and  must  continue  to 
be,  a  work  of  great  labor,  with  apparently 
small  results.  Such  has  it  ever  been  among 
all  the  nations;  and  yet  Ireland  seems  a 
grand  exception.  She  is  perhaps  the  only 
country  in  the  world  that  entirely  owes  her 
conversion  to  the  work  of  one  man.  He 
found  her  universally  pagan:  he  left  her 
universally  Christian." 

It  was  of  this  "one  man"  of  whom 
Father  Burke  spoke  so  truly  and  so  elo- 
quently that  St.  Sechnall  said:  "For  his 
good  deeds  he  is  compared  with  angels, 
and  for  his  perfect  life  he  is  equalled  to  the 
Apostles."  Indeed,  the  great  St.  Evin  did 
not  think  it  too  much  to  declare  St.  Patrick 
to  be  "a  true  pilgrim,  like  Abraham; 
gentle  and  forgiving,  like  Moses;  a  praise- 
worthy psalmist,  like  David;  an  emulator 
of  wisdom,  like  Solomon;  a  chosen  vessel 
for  proclaiming  truth,  like  the  Apostle 
Paul;  a  man  full  of  grace  and  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  Holy  Ghost,  like  the  beloved 
John;  a  fair  flower  garden  to  the  children 
of  grace ;  a  faithful  vine  branch ;  a  flashing 
fire,  with  force  and  warmth  of  heat,  to  the 
sons  of  life,  for  instituting  and  illustrating 
charity;  a  lion  in  strength  and  power;  a 
dove  in  gentleness  and  humility ;  a  serpent 
in  wisdom  and  cunning  to  do  good;  gentle, 
humble  and  merciful  to  the  sons  of  life; 
dark,  ungentle  toward  the  sons  of  death; 
a  servant  of  labor  and  service  of  Christ;  a 
king  in  dignity  and  power  for  binding  and 
loosening,  for  liberating  and  convicting, 
for  killing  and  giving  life.  So  long  as  the 
sea  girdeth  Erin,"  he  adds,  "so  long  his 
name  shall  hang  in  splendor  o'er  it  like 
the  stars  of  God."  And  ^Engus,  in  his 
celebrated  "Felire"  tells  us  that  "the 
Apostle  of  the  stainless  Erin  is  as  the 
blaze  of  a  splendid  sun." 

If  ever  a  man  had  the  gift  of  prayer,  St. 
Patrick  had  it;  and  in  this  probably  more 
than  in  anything  else  lay  the  secret  of  his 


miraculous  success  in  Ireland.  In  his 
"Confessions"  he  says  of  himself:  "I  was 
every  day  frequent  in  prayer,  and  often  in 
a  single  day  I  would  say  a  hundred  prayers ; 
and  in  the  night  almost  as  many,  in  woods 
and  mountains  before  daylight,  in  snow 
and  frost  and  rain;  and  I  felt  no  evil,  nor 
was  there  any  laziness  in  me."  Every 
canonical  hour  of  the  day  he  made  the 
Sign  of  the  Cross,  and  said  Mass  every 
morning  of  his  life.  In  short,  St.  Patrick 
appears  to  have  obeyed  to  the  letter  the 
divine  words  telling  us  that  we  ought 
always  to  pray.  But  it  is  the  mountain  of 
Croaghpatrick,  also  called  the  Reek,  that 
is  associated  with  what  may  be  called  his 
longest  prayer;  for  it  was  there  that  he 
once  prayed  and  fasted  during  forty  days 
and  forty  nights. 

We  have  only  to  turn  to  the  Sacred 
Scriptures  to  understand  why  the  moun- 
tains, whose  peaks  point  heavenward,  have 
always  had  a  sort  of  holy  fascination  for 
the  saints.  It  was  on  the  mountains  of 
Armenia  that  the  Ark  rested  as  the  waters 
of  the  Deluge  subsided.  It  was  on  Mount 
Horeb  that  God's  angel  appeared  to  Moses 
in  the  burning  bush.  It  was  on  a  hilltop 
that  Moses  lifted  his  hands  in  prayer 
while  Josue  fought  the  enemy.  It  was  on 
Mount  Sinai  that  Moses  received  the  Ten 
Commandments.  It  was  on  a  mountain 
that  Abraham  erected  an  altar  for  the 
sacrifice  he  was  not  doomed  to  make, — the 
mountain  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of 
"The  Lord  Seeth."  It  was  on  a  mountain 
that  our  Divine  Lord  preached  His  Sermon, 
after  the  miracle  of  the  loaves  and  fishes; 
and  it  was  on  a  mountain  that  He  again 
worked  another  miracle  of  a  similar  nature. 
It  was  on  a  mountain  that  He  was  trans- 
figured in  the  presence  of  Peter  and  James 
and  John.  It  was  upon  a  mountain  He 
was  crucified ;  and  it  was  from  a  mountain 
He  ascended  into  heaven. 

"Cruach  Phadraic"  means  the  "Moun- 
tain of  Patrick"  (hence  Croaghpatrick); 
and  the  Rick,  or  Reek — the  name  it  also 
goes  by, — is  but  a  literal  translation  of 
cruach,  the  Gaelic  term  for  a  conical- 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


323 


shaped  mountain.  The  cone  of  Croagh- 
patrick  rises  to  2600  feet  above  the  level 
of  the  ocean,  whose  foam-flecked  waves 
beat  against  its  base;  and  a  magnificent 
panoramic  view  of  the  whole  Province  of 
Connaught  can  be  had  from  it.  Like 
Moses  of  old,  St.  Patrick  was  commanded 
by  God's  angel  to  retire  to  the  mountain 
solitudes  for  prayer.  The  place  was  at 
that  time  called  Cruach-an-Aigle,  or  the 
"Eagles'  Mountain";  and  during  the 
saint's  long  vigil  it  was  haunted  by  evil 
spirits,  that  covered  its  slopes  under  the 
appearance  of  flocks  of  hideous  blackbirds. 
To  drive  them  away  the  saint  rang  his 
blessed  bell;  and,  as  they  dispersed,  he 
flung  it  among  them  to  complete  their 
rout. 

The  physical  as  well  as  the  spiritual 
sufferings  of  St.  Patrick  during  his  long 
fast  upon  the  mountain  were  very  great; 
and  we  know  that  he  had  also  to  endure 
the  severest  cold,  with  only  the  rocks  to 
shelter  him  against  the  snow  and  wind,  and 
with  only  a  bare  flagstone  for  his  pillow. 
But,  his  long  agony  over,  heavenly  consola- 
tions came  to  him,  as  they  did  to  his 
Divine  Master  before  him;  and,  the  evil 
spirits  gone,  beautiful  white  birds  de- 
scended in  crowds  upon  the  snow-capped 
summit,  and  sang  so  deliciously  that  the 
saint,  like  the  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles, 
seemed  transported  to  Paradise. 

When  the  celestial  choristers  had  ceased 
their  singing,  an  angel  appeared  to  St. 
Patrick  and  said:  "Now  get  thee  gone. 
Thou  hast  suffered  much,  but  thou  hast 
been  comforted.  These  white  birds  are 
God's  saints  and  angels  come  to  visit  thee 
and  console  thee;  and  the  spirits  of  all 
the  saints  of  Erin  are  here,  by  God's 
high  command,  to  visit  their  father  and 
join  him  in  blessing  all  this  land,  and 
to  show  him  what  a  fruitful  harvest 
his  labors  will  reap  for  God  in  this 
land  of  Erin." 

The  legend  adds  that  St.  Patrick  re- 
fused to  leave  the  mountain,  however,  till 
the  angel  had  obtained  a  promise  from 
God  that,  though  all  the  world  were  faith- 


less, Ireland  would  still  be  true  to  the 
Church  till  the  end  of  time.  The  promise 
was  at  first  withheld;  though  Patrick  was 
assured  that  as  many  souls  would  be 
saved  as  would  fill  all  the  space  over  land 
and  sea,  so  far  as  his  eye  could  reach,  and 
be  more  numerous  than  all  the  flocks  of 
birds  he  then  saw;  and  that,  till  the  end 
of  time,  every  Thursday  seven  souls  and 
every  Saturday  twelve  souls  should  be  re- 
leased from  purgatory.  He  was  further- 
more assured  that  whoever  recited  the 
last  stanza  of  Patrick's  own  hymn,  in  a 
penitential  spirit,  should  suffer  no  pains  in 
the  world  to  come.  He  was  also  promised 
that  as  many  souls  should  be  saved  from 
torments  as  there  were  threads  in  his  chas- 
uble; and  that  the  Saxons  (the  English) 
should  not  permanently  conquer  Ireland, 
but  would  be  eventually  driven  from  her 
shores;  that  seven  days  before  the  end  of 
all  things  the  sea  would  spread  all  over 
Ireland  so  as  to  save  her  people  from  the 
horrors  of  the  short  but  terrible  reign  of 
Antichrist;  and  that  St.  Patrick  himself 
would  be  appointed  judge  over  the  Irish 
on  the  Last  Day,  even 'as  the  Apostles 
should  be  judges  over  Israel. 

According  to  the  legend,  St.  Patrick 
pressed  this  point  very  strongly,  asking 
that  "on  the  day  the  twelve  royal  seats 
shall  be  on  the  mound,  and  when  the  four 
rivers  of  fire  shall  be  about  the  mount, 
and  when  the  three  peoples  shall  be  there — • 
the  people  of  heaven,  the  people  of  earth, 
and  the  people  of  hell" — he  himself  should 
be  "the  judge  over  the  men  of  Erin  on 
that  day."  The  angel  returned  with  the 
answer  that  God  refused  to  grant  so  great 
a  favor.  Whereupon  St.  Patrick  replied: 
' '  Unless  this  is  obtained  from  Him,  I  will 
not  consent  to  leave  this  Cruachan  from 
this  day  forever;  and  even  after  my  death 
there  shall  be  a  guardian  for  me  here," — 
in  short,  that  when  he  could  kneel  on 
Mount  Cruachan  no  longer,  another  should 
kneel  there  in  his  stead ;  and  another  after 
him  again,  if  need  be;  and  so  on  through 
the  centuries  till  the  prayer  was  granted. 
When  the  angel  came  back  again  from 


324 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


the  throne  of  God,  it  was  with  a  smiling 
face.  Patrick's  prayers  were  all  granted:  he 
was  to  judge  the  people  of  Ireland  on  the 
Day  of  Doom;  and,  since  (so  it  was  also 
promised)  they  were  to  remain  true  to  the 
Faith  till  the  end  of  time,  it  is  a  favorite 
belief  amongst  the  people  that  they  will 
all  be  saved,  and  enter  heaven  in  St. 
Patrick's  train,  their  brows  wreathed  with 
the  shamrock,  the  emblem  of  the  Most 
Holy  Trinity. 

It  was  during  this  memorable  sojourn 
upon  Mount  Cruachan  that  St.  Patrick  is 
said  to  have  banished  the  serpents  from 
Ireland  by  means  of  the  Baculus  Jesu,  or 
Staff  of  Jesus,  as  his  episcopal  crosier  is 
called  in  the  ancient  annals.  According  to 
tradition,  it  was  carried  by  our  Divine 
Lord  Himself,  and  was  brought  by  St. 
Patrick  from  Rome  when  he  was  ap- 
pointed by  Pope  Celestine  to  evangelize 
Ireland.* 

It  was  in  the  year  441  that  St.  Patrick 
ascended  Croaghpatrick ;  and,  while  there, 
news  was  brought  to  him  of  the  accession 
of  St.  Leo  to  the  See  of  Peter.  The  moment 
he  was  made  aware  of  the  fact,  the  saint 
sent  one  of  his  followers  to  Rome,  to  bear 
his  filial  homage  to  the  Pope,  give  him  an 
account  of  the  progress  of  his  mission  in 
Ireland,  and  ask  his  blessing  on  it,  even 
as  he  had  already  received  that  of  his  pred- 
ecessor. Pope  Leo  gladly  complied,  and 
the  joy  of  Patrick  was  great  indeed;  for 
his  particular  devotions  were  to  the  See  of 
Peter  and  to  the  Blessed  Virgin. 

The  walk  from  the  base  to  the  summit 
of  the  historic  mountain  means  a  journey 
of  about  three  miles ;  and  as  one  nears  the 
top  all  vegetation  ceases,  and  huge  boulders 
and  rocks,  nearly  perpendicular,  have  to 
be  clambered  over  before  the  end  is 
Breached.  The  summit,  which  viewed  from 
below  looks  like  a  large  cone,  is  in  reality 
quite  flat,  and  about  an  acre  and  a  half  in 
extent.  The  cup-shaped  hollow  in  its 
centre  was  an  active  volcano  many  cen- 

*  See  "The  Staff  of  St.  Patrick,"  in  THE  AvU 
.MARIA,  Vol.  Ixviii,  p.  353. 


turies  before  St.  Patrick's  time.  The 
little  oratory  close  by  is  of  comparatively 
recent  date,  and  is  built  of  concrete,  in 
the  Irish-Romanesque  style.  The  difficulty 
of  conveying  the  building  materials  up  the 
rugged  mountain  slopes  was,  apparently, 
of  so  insurmountable  a  nature  that  when 
it  was  first  spoken  of  the  old  men  of  the 
neighborhood  used  to  shake  their  heads 
and  say,  as  they  looked  at  the  cloud-capped 
summit  so  far  above  them:  "When  a 
chapel  is  built  on  the  top  of  that,  there 
will  be  eight  wonders  in  the  world!" 

Another  sacred  hill  connected  with  St. 
Patrick  is  the  Hill  of  Saul,  about  two  miles 
from  Down,  where  stood  the  sabhall,  or 
barn,  which,  with  the  adjoining  land, 
Prince  Dichu  bestowed  on  the  saint  and 
his  followers.  It  is  to  this  gift  St.  Patrick 
alludes  in  the  lines: 

The  blessing  of  God  on   Dichu, 

Who  gave  me  the  sabhall! 

May  he  be  hereafter 

Heavenly,  joyous,  glorious. 
It  was  here  that  St.  Patrick  built  his 
first  church  in  Ulster;  and  the  very  altar- 
stone  used  by  him  when-  he  said  Mass 
there  is  preserved  to  this  day  in  the  parish 
church  of  -Saul.  Since  1782  it  has  served 
as  the  table  of  the  high  altar,  being  about 
ten  feet  long,  four  feet  three  inches  broad, 
and  five  inches  in  thickness. 


WHY  did  Our  Lady  not  go  to  heaven 
with  Our  Lord?  She  was  left  behind  in 
this  vale  of  tears,  for  she  had  a  work  to 
do  for  the  infant  Church  through  fifteen 
long  years;  till  at  length  her  longing  was 
satisfied,  and  angels  bore  her  home  to  be 
crowned  as  Queen  of  Angels  and  of  Saints. 
Beautiful  and  "all  fair"  to  begin  with, 
by  her  martyrdom  she  became  more  lovely 
still,  the  Mother  of  Mercy,  the  Mother  of 
a  pitying  heart,  the  Mother  of  compassion 
for  us  her  exiled  children.  If  Mary  had 
known  no  pain  or  desolation  she  would 
still  be  splendid  in  our  eyes,  but  never 
could  she  be  the  mother,  the  friend  and 
comfort  to  us  that  she  now  is. 

—Rev.  Robert  Eaton. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


325 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 

BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 

XV. — IN  THE  PALACE  GARDEN. 
HAVE  digressed  a  little  from  the 
adventures  of  my  hero,  in  order 
to  give  the  readers  of  THE  AvE 
MARIA  an  opportunity  to  peep 
into  the  city  of  Mexico,  which  is  still  as 
picturesque  as  when  poor  Carlotta  planted 
eucalyptus  trees  in  the  Zocalo,  turning 
the  bald,  barren  and  sun-baked  square 
into  a  veritable  tropical  bower.  Some  few 
changes  have  taken  place  since  the  ghastly 
tragedy  of  the  "Hill  of  the  Bells."  A 
magnificent  new  street,  Cinco  Mayo,  has 
been  opened  up;  the  Alameda  built  upon; 
the  Iturbide  Palace  is  now  a  hotel.  Villas 
have  been  erected  on  the  road  to  Cha- 
pultepec,  and  residences  of  a  palatial 
character  at  the  fashionable  suburb  of 
Tacubaya.  The  small  stores  in  the  Calle 
San  Francisco  disport  plate-glass,  and 
the  trolley  has  replaced  the  mule  car. 
Railways  run  from  the  capital  in  every 
direction,  that  known  as  the  English 
Railway  passing  through  the  loveliest 
scenery  that  the  sub-tropics  produce.  But 
the  quaint,  picturesque,  bizarre,  color- 
glorified  capital  is  unchanged,  and  the 
scenes  and  sights  are  those  which  I  have 
feebly  endeavored  to  describe. 

Arthur  Bodkin  failed  to  gain  speech 
of  Alice  at  the  cathedral,  albeit  he  was 
within  touch  of  her.  For  Miss  Nugent 
would  recognize  no  one  in  the  House  of 
God;  and,  although  she  saw  Bodkin,  she 
veiled  her  eyes  with  her  long,  black  lashes, 
and,  reverently  making  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross,  swept  out  of  the  church  into  the 
glowing  sunlight.  Here  she  joined  the  Em- 
press, and  walked  with  her  Imperial 
Majesty  across  the  square  to  the  National 
Palace.  Arthur,  taking  a  short  cut,  was  in 
the  patio  of  the  Palace  ere  the  imperial 
party  arrived.  But  Carlotta,  instead  of 
passing  up  the  grand  stone  stairway,  en- 
tered by  the  small  door  adjoining  the 
guard-room. 


"How  lovely  she  looked!"  he  thought. 
"How  calm  and  holy  and  sanctified!  Did 
she  see  me?  I  think  so — and  yet — I  know 
her  of  old.  She  will  never  acknowledge 
any  but  the  Real  Presence  in  the  House 
of  God.  I  must  speak  with  her.  But  how? 
To  force  a  meeting  is  bad  form.  Bergheim 
spoke  of  Chapultepec.  If  I  could  meet 
her  under  Montezuma's  cedars— pshaw ! 
what  good  would  that  do  me?  All  is  over 
between  us.  I  shall  bid  her  a  light  adios, 
and  disappear  into  the  bowels  of  the 
earth  with  Talbot  and  his  friend  Corcoran. 
Yes,  it  is  best  so." 

A  blare  of  trumpets,  the  hoarse  cry  of 
the  officer  of  the  day  turning  out  the 
guard,  the  rattle  of  arms,  the  sound  of 
rushing  of  men,  the  clattering  of  horses' 
feet,  the  clinking  of  sabres — and  the 
Emperor,  Marechal  Bazaine  beside  him, 
rode  into  the  patio,  and  almost  over 
Arthur  Bodkin,  who  had  to  spring  aside 
to  avoid  being  "bowled"  by  Maximilian's 
superb  chestnut. 

The  Emperor  flung  a  short,  sharp,  keen 
glance  at  him;  returning  his  salute  with 
that  cold  courtesy  for  which  the  Hapsburg 
was  so  famous.  Bazaine  touched  the  peak 
of  his  kepi  with  the  first  finger  of  his 
right  hand. 

" Bonjour! "  he  exclaimed.  "Come  to 
my  quarters  in  an  hour."  And  he  followed 
the  Emperor  in  the  direction  of  the 
imperial  stables. 

"Oho!"  laughed  a  joyous  voice.  "You 
are  in  luck,  mon  brave!" 

Arthur  turned,  to  recognize  Capitaine 
Parabere,  the  officer  who  commanded  the 
party  of  rescue  at  the  adobe  hut  upon 
the  night  of  the  capture  of  Mazazo. 

"It  isn't  every  man  whom  a  Marshal 
of  France  honors  by  word  of  mouth.  You 
must  say  a  good  word  for  me.  I  want  to 
be  Chef  d'Escadron." 

"Jump  off  your  horse  and  come  to  my 
quarters!"  cried  Arthur. 

"Willingly.  I  am  as  dry  as  an  adobe 
brick."  And,  flinging  the  reins  to  an 
orderly,  the  gallant  captain  leaped  lightly 
to  terra  fir  ma. 


326 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Bodkin's  quarters  in  the  National  Palace 
were  not  of  that  description  known  as 
palatial.  They  were  situated  five  flights 
up,  and  consisted  of  a  single  whitewashed 
room,  with  two  windows  giving  upon  the 
square.  A  bed  adorned  one  corner,  a  set  of 
drawers  another;  while  a  round  pine  table, 
tattooed  like  a  Maori  chief,  stood  in  the 
centre.  Three  rickety  chairs  and  a  tumble- 
down sofa  completed  the  furniture.  In  the 
cupboard,  however,  were  a  few  bottles  of 
genuine  Chateau-Iyafitte — a  present  from 
Mr.  O'Connor,  Talbot's  friend, — an  im- 
mense cold  sausage,  and  a  supply  of  bread. 

The  French  officer  ate  as  though  he 
were  not  to  see  food  again  for  at  least  a 
week, — ate  like  a  famished  man;  and  fully 
justified  the  remark  he  had  made  in  regard 
to  the  strength  of  his  thirst. 

"Bon!  bon!"  smacking  his  lips.  "This  is 
wine.  And  how  is  the  world  going  round 
with  you,  man  ami?  The  right  way?  Eh?" 

Arthur  replied  in  general  terms. 

"Why  in  blue  lire  don't  you  join  us?" 
said  Parabere.  "We  are  the  rulers  of  this 
country — of  every  country,  except  our  next 
door  neighbor,  little  England.  Bazaine 
has  evidently  taken  you  up.  See  what 
lie  did  for  you!  Cheated  us  all  for  you. 
Why,  man,  that  trip  to  Puebla  and  back," 
he  added,  with  a  laugh,  "would  have 
made  you  Chef  d'Escadron,  as  sure  as 
there  are  cherries  at  Montmorency ! " 

"Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  who  my  com- 
panion was  on  that  occasion?" 

Capitaine  Parabere  pushed  away  his 
chair  from  the  table,  and,  gazing  steadily 
into  Arthur's  eyes,  exclaimed: 

"And   you   don't   know?" 

"I  do  not." 

"Neither  do  I." 

Both  men  were  speaking  the  truth. 

"What  do  you  know?"  asked  Bodkin, 
after  a  pause. 

"I  will  tell  you  all,— it  isn't  much," 
replied  the  officer.  "You  know  that  the 
Murechul  is  a  very  sly  old  fox,  and  that 
the  sour  grapes  of  this  Empire  business 
hiive  disagreed  with  him  most  thoroughly, 
hi  fact"-- -here  he  lowered  his  voice  tu  a 


whisper, — -"he  was  playing  the  cards  for 
himself,  and  he  still  imagines  that  he  can 
win  the  odd  trick." 

"How,  pray?" 

"That  is  where  this  woman  comes  into 
the  game, — at  least  that  is  what  I  learn. 
Of  course  everybody  talked  of  your  experi- 
ence; and  everybody  was  ready  to  swear 
that  you  had  either  sold  yourself  body 
and  bones  to  Marechal  Bazaine,  or  that 
you  had  bolted,  Irish  fashion,  with  the 
senorita.  The  former  opinion,  however, 
prevailed;  and — •" 

"Then  I  shall  show  every  one  of  you  that 
/  am  no  creature  of  Monsieur  Bazaine; 
and,  Marshal  of  France  though  he  be,  he 
has  played  a  very  dangerous  game  in 
making  a  cat's-paw  of  an  Irish  gentleman. 
Excuse  me  now,  Capitaine  Parabere,  I  am 
going  to  seek  Mare"chal  Bazaine." 

"But—" 

"By  his  order — -sir." 

My  hero  was  in  a  white-heated  anger 
when  he  presented  himself  at  the  quarters 
of  the  commander-in-chief;  and  was  for 
bursting  in  upon  that  exalted  official 
bon  grc,  mal 

"You  are  expected,  sir,"  said  one  of  the 
aids-de-camp.  "See,  here  are  my  instruc- 
tions: 'Monsieur  Bodkin  a  trois  hen  res.' 
And  until  that  clock  strikes" — pointing 
to  a  superb  Louis-Quatorze — -"I  really 
can  not  admit  you.  Orders,  you  know, 
Mr.  Bodkin,  are  orders." 

Arthur  bowed;  and,  compressing  his 
impatience  into  the.  smallest  compass  his 
will  would  admit  of,  turned  to  a  window 
which  gave  upon  the  garden  of  the  Palace. 
This  plaisancc  was  laid  out  with  flower- 
beds, all  abloom  with  the  glorious  tints  of 
the  tropics;  with  long,  shaded  alleys  and 
walks;  with  terraces,  and  with  fountains 
flinging  myriads  of  diamonds  saucily 
toward  the  sun. 

In  a  shaded  alley,  almost  beneath  the 
window  at  which  Arthur  stood,  a  man  in 
the  uniform  of  the  Austrian  Guard  was 
slowlv  strolling  by  the  side  of  a  lady 
who^e  head  and  shoulders  were  completely 
hidden  by  a  large  blood-red  parasol,  or 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


32: 


umbrella.  In  the  cavalier  my  hero  instantly 
recognized  Count  Ludwig  von  Kalksburg. 
At  the  end  of  the  alley  the  pair  turned; 
and  when  the  young  Irishman  beheld  in 
the  lady  the  lovely  face  and  form  of  Aliee 
Xugent,  his  pent-up  anger  almost  caused 
him  to  turn  giddy. 

The  Louis-Quatorze  clock  struck  three. 

"Now,  Monsieur  Bodkin,  you  can 
enter,"  said  the  courteous  aid-de-camp. 

"Never  mind.  Another  time.  Excuse 
me  to  the  Mare'chal.  I — am  not — well." 
And  Arthur  walked  out  of  the  room. 

"My,  he  does  look  awful!"  thought 
the  aid-de-camp.  "Heart  disease,  I  should 
imagine.  He  ought  to  see  Dr.  Contant. 
I  shall  send  for  him."  And,  ringing  a 
bell,  he  desired  the  orderly  who  responded 
to  seek  Dr.  Contant,  and  bring  him  at 
once  to  the  quarters  of  Mr.  Bodkin,  on 
the  staff  of  General  Bergheim. 

In  the  meantime  Alice  was  calmly 
walking  in  the  Palace  garden  with  the 
officer  of  the  day,  the  Count  being  on 
duty.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Miss  Nugent 
was  in  the  habit  of  repairing  to  the  gardens 
every  day  for  what  is  termed  a  "consti- 
tutional." Being  very  hard  worked  by 
her  Imperial  Mistress,  she  sought  for 
her  walk  the  hour  when  the  Empress 
indulged  in  a  siesta.  If  Arthur  Bodkin 
had  been  crafty  enough,  he  could  easily 
have  discovered  this,  and  perhaps  have 
made  his  peace.  But  instead  of  following 
method,  he  indulged  in  what  was  almost 
akin  to  madness. 

"What  a  charming  opportunity  for 
me!"  thought  the  Count,  digging  the  steel 
scabbard  of  his  sword  into  the  sun-baked 
earthen  walk.  He  was  pale  and  agitated. 

"Miss  Nugent,"  he  at  length  began,  his 
voice  hoarse  and  not  his  own,.  "I  have 
awaited  this — " 

"Count,"  interposed  Alice,  jerking  a 
tiny  watch  from  its  resting-place,  "I  must 
leave  you." 

"But—" 

"Her  Majesty  is  awaiting  me.  We 
start  for  Chapultepec  at  three,  and  it  is 
five  minutes  past  now.  Auf  wider  sehen! " 


And,  without  waiting  for  expostulation, 
Alice  darted  down  the  walk,  and  was  lost 
behind  a  hedge  of  cactus. 

Von,  Kalksburg  dug  his  scabbard  into 
the  earth,  drew  his  sword  and  began 
hacking  at  the  beautiful,  harmless  flowers, 
muttering  meanwhile  between  his  teeth, 
and  with  his  left  hand  tugging  viciously 
at  his  mustache.  So  occupied  was  he 
with  his  thoughts  that  he  did  not  hear 
a  scuffling,  scraping  sound  at  the  wall 
above  him;  nor  did  he  perceive  the  hands 
first,  then  the  spurred  foot,  then  the  half 
body  of  Arthur  Bodkin,  who,  with  pale, 
set  face,  now  bestrode  the  wall,  and  sat 
gazing  down  in  silence  upon  the  man  whom 
he  regarded  as  his  successful  and  un- 
scrupulous rival. 

WThat  Arthur's  next  move  might  have 
been  is  more  or  less  conjectural;  for  at 
the  moment  when  he  was  about  to  act  the 
sound  of  approaching  voices  came  to  him, 
and,  almost  before  he  could  scramble  into 
hiding,  the  Emperor,  accompanied  by  Esco- 
bedo — the  man  who  was  to  betray  him  later 
on — and  Bazaine,  turned  into  the  alley. 

"I  shall  reckon  with  him  by  and  by," 
muttered  Arthur.  "Now  for  Chapultepec! " 

(To  be  continued.) 


At  the  Cross-Road. 

BY    THE    REV.    HUGH    F.  BLUNT. 

^HE  road  of  life  I  went 

Singing  my  song; 
With  living  well  content, 

A  man — and  strong. 

But  after  pleasure  years 

A  grieving  morri ; 
The  travelled  road  appears 

A  way  of  thorn. 
A  flower  path  it  seemed; 

My  heart  now  knows 
How  all  its  lifeblood  streamed 

To  wet  each  rose. 

Christ's  road  now  let  me  go; 

Though  thick  with  thorn, 
'Twill  lead  to  joy,   I  know, 

One  blessed  morn. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


A  Little  Bride  and  what  Became  of  Her. 


BY    VALENTINE    PARAISO. 


III. 

r  I  ^HE  life  of  St.  Bridget  of  Sweden  covers 
JL  almost  exactly  the  same  years  as  the 
exile  of  the  Popes  at  Avignon.  During 
seventy  years,  successive  Popes  (seven 
in  all)  were  elected  and  reigned  in  a  city 
of  Southern  France,  under  the  power  of 
the  French  King.  The  Papal  Court 
became  luxurious:  religion  suffered;  the 
vStates  of  the  Church  in  Italy  were  neg- 
lected; and  before  the  end  of  the  century 
such  trial  and  storm  swept  over  the 
Papacy  as  nothing  merely  human  could 
have  weathered.  If  the  fourteenth  century 
proves  anything  at  all,  it  proves  that  the 
Church  is  divinely  founded  and  divinely 
upheld.  Neither  kings  nor  luxury  nor 
human  weakness  could  prevent  the  divine 
guidance.  In  spite  of  everything,  the  Faith 
was  preserved  without  fleck  or  flaw,  and 
the  succession  from  St.  Peter  was  carried 
on  in  unbroken  line. 

Great  saints  arose  in  the  fourteenth 
century,  as  in  every  other.  Two  of  these, 
St.  Catherine  of  Siena  and  St.  Bridget 
of  Sweden,  had  the  same  mission:  they 
were  to  have  a  large  share  in  bringing 
back  the  Pope  to  Rome.  One  was  an 
Italian  nun,  who  lived  but  thirty-three 
years;  the  other  was  the  widow  of  Ulf, 
from  the  far  North.  Different  in  age, 
country,  and  temperament,  they  were 
both  living  lives  of  prayer  and  ecstasy. 
Both,  being  great  .lovers  of  Christ,  were 
devoted  to  the  interests  of  souls  with  that 
splendid  sort  of  devotion  that  does  not 
reckon  difficulties  at  all,  and  that  never 
gives  up. 

Bridget  sent  a  letter  on  parchment  to 
the  Pope  at  Avignon,  before  her  journey 
to  Italy;  and  we  hear  that  in  Rome  the 
confessor  of  the  Pope  consulted  her  as 
to  the  will  of  God.  For  thirteen  years 
she  wrote  to  the  reigning  Pontiff,  to 
the  Roman  people,  and  to  the  kings  of 


England  and  France.  Urban  V.  did  come 
to  Rome  for  the  Jubilee  year  (1350); 
but  he  returned  to  Avignon,  against  the 
warning  of  Bridget — and  died.  Gregory 
XI.  finally  settled  in  Rome,  three  and  a 
half  years  after  the  death  of  Bridget,  and 
during  the  lifetime  of  Catherine  of  Siena, 
who  had  once  journeyed  from  her  cloister 
to  see  him  at  Avignon. 

Pilgrims  from  all  Christian  Europe 
went  to  Rome  for  the  half -century  Jubilee. 
They  approached,  over  the  Campagna, 
in  companies,  "praying  aloud  in  all 
languages."  At  her  first  sight  of  the 
towers  and  roofs  among  the  hills,  Bridget 
fell  upon  her  knees,  saluting  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul.  "The  vast  and  wondrous 
dome"  was  not  there  in  those  days.  The 
old  Basilica  of  Constantine  was  still 
standing,  with  Giotto's  mosaic  over  the 
entrance,  in  all  its  first  freshness  of  gold  1 
and  color,  —  the  ship  of  Peter  on  the 
waters:  the  Church  on  the  waves  of  the 
world.  The  pavement  was  then  on  the 
same  level  as  the  present  crypt.  One  had 
not  to  descend,  as  one  does  now,  to  the 
tomb  of  the  Apostles  and  the  hundred 
lamps.  Seven  porphyry  steps  went  up 
at  each  side  to  the  level  of  the  apse  and 
the  high  altar.  Arrived  at  this  marble- 
enclosed  tomb,  among  the  group  of 
Swedish  priests  and  people,  Bridget  passed 
into  ecstasy.  Coming  back  to  earthly 
consciousness,  she  told  the  prior  of  Alvastra 
that  St.  Peter  had  promised  she  would 
hear  the  people  of  Rome  cheering  for  his 
successor.  Wherever  she  went,  she  had 
at  heart  the  restoration  of  the  Pope,  and 
the  founding  of  her  new  Order.  For  these 
two  objects  she  must  have  prayed  during 
at  least  twenty-five  years. 

Urban  V.  arrived,  but  only  to  stay  for 
a  time.  He  received  Bridget  in  audience, 
with  her  two  sons,  Charles  and  Birger. 
Charles  wore  a  cloak  trimmed  with  ermine, 
under  which  appeared  a  broad  belt  of  silver 
richly  chased.  The  Pontiff  fingered  the 
heavy  metal,  and  remarked  that  to  wear 
such  a  weight  must  be  a  penance  for  his 
sins;  whereupon  Bridget,  who  had  not 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


329 


lived  at  the  Court  of  Stockholm  for 
nothing,  said:  "Holy  Father,  if  you  will 
see  to  the  Jubilee  indulgence  for  my  son, 
I  can  see  to  the  silver  belt." 

Her  daughter  Catherine  joined  Bridget 
in  Rome.  From  that  time  the  two  never 
separated;  and  mother  and  daughter 
became  canonized  saints.  St.  Catherine 
of  Sweden  was  remarkable  not  only  for 
her  loveliness,  but  for  her  choice  of 
virginity.  She  and  her  husband,  Edgard, 
had  lived  a  cloistral  life  in  their  forest 
castle.  To  her  great  grief,  he  died  during 
her  absence  in  Rome.  Then  she  was  so 
beset  by  suitors  for  a  second  marriage 
that  she  thought  of  smearing  her  face  with 
a  destructive  ointment,  to  spoil  its  beauty. 
Her  wise  mother  stopped  her,  saying, 
"  Do  not  destroy  the  work  of  the  Creator." 
St.  Catherine  of  Sweden  is  represented  in 
pictures  and  on  medals  with  a  lily  and  a 
stag.  There  is  a  pretty  legend  of  the  wild 
deer  taking  refuge  with  her  from  the 
hunters,  and  her  pleading  for  it  and  setting 
it  free;  and  the  beasts  of  the  chase  are 
said  to  have  appeared  in  Italy  when  she 
wanted  to  pass  unnoticed. 

These  two,  humbly  dressed  and  veiled — 
Bridget  and  her  beautiful  daughter,— 
were  familiar  figures  among  the  pilgrims 
in  Rome.  The  winter,  beginning  the 
Jubilee,  was  unusually  hard.  Shelter  could 
not  be  found  for  everyone  in  the  convents, 
hospices,  and  inns;  crowds  of  all  nations 
lay  in  the  streets  at  night,  about  huge  fires. 

Wonderful  things  soon  began  to  be 
whispered  about  the  elder  of  the  two 
Swedish  ladies.  She  had  healed  people 
with  blessed  objects,  or  even  with  the 
touch  of  her  hands.  At  St.  John  Lateran, 
she  went  among  the  sick,  and  they 
recovered.  In  the  Coliseum,  during  the 
Way  of  the  Cross,  she  had  been  observed 
kneeling — but  not  upon  the  ground;  and 
afterwards  it  was  known  that  she  had  a 
vision  of  the  martyrs.  People  had  seen 
her  in  the  Basilica  of  St.  Paul,  in  ecstasy 
before  the  life-size  crucifix  carved  by 
Pietro  Cavallini.  And  a  marvellous  thing 
had  happened  at  Santa  Croce.  When  the 


pilgrims  were  venerating  the  large  relic 
of  the  True  Cross,  all  at  once  her  face 
began  to  shine  with  light.  Everyone 
followed  her  when  she  rose  to  go  away, 
and  two  hermits  of  St.  Augustine  even 
went  after  her  into  her  house.  There  they 
saw  her  in  rapture,  "breathing  the  love 
of  God."  Then,  as  the  light  went  out, 
there  was  only  the  poorly-clad  woman 
whom  they  all  knew;  and  the  familiar 
face  was  just  as  usual,  under  the  shadow 
of  her  veil. 

Her  house  at  this  time  was  clpse  to 
the  turning  from  the  Corso  into  the  open 
space  called  the  Campo  dei  Fiori.  The 
great  building  at  the  corner,  the  Cancel- 
leria,  was  afterwards  erected.  Bridget's 
first  house  in  Rome  must  have  been  on 
part  of  the  site,  next  to  the  church  of  St. 
Laurence  in  Damaso.  Here  she  received 
the  Swedish  pilgrims,  the  poor,  the 
afflicted,  and  sinners.  Her  power  of  con- 
verting sinners  had  been  looked  upon  in 
Stockholm  as  something  like  a  miracle, 
bearing  witness  to  her  mission.  In  Rome, 
having  quickly  learned  Italian  during  her 
first  year,  she  put  it  to  good  use  in  attract- 
ing and  saving  the  lost. 

Her  rule  of  life  was  to  rise  at  four,  to 
go  to  confession  and  hear  Mass,  receiving 
Holy  Communion  on  Sundays  and  the 
frequent  feasts,  and  hearing  a  Mass  of 
thanksgiving.  Then,  if  there  was  time, 
she  went  to  St.  Peter's  or  one  of  the 
other  basilicas.  At  nine  o'clock,  the 
Swedish  pilgrims  breakfasted  together  at 
her  house,  taking  simple  food  in  silence; 
and  assembled  again  for  supper  towards 
evening,  and  probably  received  shelter 
under  her  roof.  We  are  told  that  she  looked 
upon  everything  in  her  house  as  a  divine 
gift, — her  bed,  her  table,  her  cups  and 
dishes.  And  before  using  anything  she 
would  say  a  prayer  that  had  been  specially 
taught  her  by  Our  Lord.  We  feel  how 
real  is  the  record,  and  how  simple  was  her 
life,  when  we  hear  that  she  spent  part 
of  the  day  in  mending  the  clothes  of  the 
other  pilgrims.  Manual  work  she  loved, 
for  she  could  do  it  in  the  thought  of  God; 


330 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


and  she   liked   the   humblest   tasks   best. 

Sometimes  she  sat  on  the  steps  of 
the  basilica  on  the  Esquiline,  near  the 
convent  of  the  Poor  Clares,  and  asked 
alms  with  the  beggars,  spending  her  share 
upon  the  poorest  of  the  Swedish  pilgrims; 
or  she  came  among  the  destitute  to  the 
convent  door,  and  gave  away  the  food 
she  received.  We  can  hardly  recognize 
in  the  beggar  on  the  church  steps,  or  the 
woman  stitching  at  old  clothes  while  the 
Italian  sun  shone  outside,  the  little  bride 
of  Ulf  who  once  reigned  over  rich  Ulfasa, 
or  the  great  lady  who  went  in  state  robes 
and  jewels  to  rule  over  the  palace  of  the 
King. 

Meanwhile  the  new  Order  of  Our 
Saviour  was  always  in  her  heart.  Some- 
time she  would  have  everything  arranged, 
under  the  approval  of  the  Holy  See.  Her 
own  property  of  Wadstena,  in  Sweden, 
was  waiting;  she  had  already  erected  a 
large  wooden  church.  The  first  abbey 
should  be  there. 

One  day,  while  she  looked  through  an 
open  window  from  her  oratory  into  the 
church  of  St.  Laurence  in  Damaso,  she 
saw  an  angel  in  human  form,  who  spoke 
to  her  in  her  own  language,  while  he 
remained  turned  towards  the  altar.  There 
is  still  preserved  in  Rome  the  manuscript 
of  the  "Words  of  the  Angel"  (Sermo 
Angelicus).  Her  own  account  of  it  was 
that  the  angel  dictated  a  series  of  twenty- 
one  lessons,  to  be  read  on  different  days 
of  the  week  in  the  Office  of  the  new  Order. 
Every  day  she  waited  at  the  window,  pen 
in  hand;  every  evening  she  showed  the 
manuscript  to  her  confessor.  Sometimes 
she  would  say,  "To-day  there  is  nothing; 
the  angel  did  not  come."  Judging  by  the 
facsimile  most  generally  known,  the  writ- 
ing of  St.  Bridget  was  square  and  firm,  the 
letters  standing  upright,  remarkably  even 
in  size.  The  handwriting  of  the  "Angel" 
manuscript  is  very  large  and  irregular, — 
exactly  as  if  it  was  written,  without  looking 
much  at  the  paper,  while  her  eyes  were 
watching  her  visitant  in  the  church  beyond 
the  window. 


She  learned  Latin  in  Rome,  beginning 
about  the  age  of  forty-six;  and  read  the 
Scriptures  in  the  Latin  Vulgate,  and  the 
Fathers,  especially  St.  Bernard. 

Since  her  young  married  days  in  Sweden, 
she  had  been  a  Tertiary  of  St.  Francis;  and 
now  the  saint  appeared  to  her,  wearing  his 
brown  habit  and  cord,  and  inviting  her  to 
come  and  sup  with  him  in  his  cell.  The 
story  is  like  an  exquisite  page  of  the 
"Fioretti."  Staff  in  hand,  she  led  out  a 
pilgrimage  from  Rome  to  the  wooded 
hills  of  Umbria.  When  they  reached  the 
Franciscan  convent,  and  knelt  at  the 
shrine  of  the  Poor  Man  of  Assisi,  Bridget, 
in  ecstasy,  heard  St.  Francis  say  to  her, 
"That  cell  where  you  shall  sup  with  me 
is  in  heaven." 

(Conclusion  next  week.) 


An  Altarpiece. 

BY    C.  I.   MARTIN. 

LITTLE  PIERRE  was  deeply  inter- 
ested. Day  after  day  he  had  watched 
the  beautiful  picture  grow  under  the  pain- 
ter's hand.  He  was  never  tired  of  looking: 
there  was  always  something  fresh  to  ad- 
mire. And  now  the  centre  panel  was 
finished.  There  lay  the  smiling  Burgundian 
landscape  he  had  seen  so  often  through  the 
city  gate, — the  fertile  plain  and  the  low 
hills  beyond.  Above  the  pleasant  earth 
one  saw  the  Blessed  Virgin  herself,  the 
Holy  Babe  in  her  arms,  adoring  angels 
around  her.  Below  stood  St.  Pierre  and 
St.  Anne,  each  with  a  protecting  arm  out- 
stretched towards  the  side  panels,  where 
knelt  the  donors  of  the  altarpiece — his 
father  and  mother,  in  their  habit  as  they 
lived. 

The  wonderful  painting  brought  religion 
into  the  daily  life  of  le  petit  Pierre,  and 
gave  a  new  meaning  to  fast-day  and  feast- 
day  and  to  the  great  cathedral.  It  was  all 
true;  for  his  mother  and  the  painter  told 
him  so.  They  explained  the  meaning  of 
those  protecting  saints.  The  lovely  Virgin 
floated  in  the  clouds  among  the  angels; 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


331 


her  Son  lay  a  helpless  Baby  in  her  arms; 
but  on  the  earth  stood  the  good  »St.  Pierre, 
a  link  between  his  little  namesake  and 
those  high  and  holy  ones. 

Not  only  the  donors  appeared  in  the 
predellas :  behind  his  mother  knelt  his  two 
elder  sisters;  and  in  the  yet  unfilled  space 
behind  his  father,  he,  little  Pierre,  was  to 
kneel:  a  great  honor,  as  his  mother  told 
him,  to  kneel  so  near  the  blessed  saints; 
but  he  was  not  content.  The  great  St. 
Pierre,  with  his  flowing  beard  and  his 
massive  keys,  was  his  patron  saint  as  much 
as  his  father's.  The  child  cherished  a 
burning  desire  to  kneel  beside  his  saint 
within  the  centre  panel.  Divided  from 
him  by  two  gold  frames  and  his  father's 
burly  figure,  how  should  the  good  saint 
protect  him  or  even  see  him?  But  if  he 
knelt  close  beside  him,  where,  if  need 
arose,  he  could  clutch  his  robe  for  protec- 
tion, what  evil  could  then  befall  him? 

Le  petit  Pierre  was  standing  for  his  por- 
trait, and  the  painter  and  he  were  alone. 
The  picture  was  very  near  completion.  A 
few  more  hours'  work,  the  painter  said,  on 
his  little  figure,  where  he  knelt  behind  his 
father,  and  all  would  be  done, — and  his 
opportunity  lost,  as  the  child  knew.  He 
gathered  up  his  courage  and  stammered 
out  his  request.  The  painter's  gentle  brown 
eyes  grew  wide  with  surprise. 

' '  What !  Put  thee  in  the  centre  with  the 
holy  saints,— thee,  little  Peter?" 

More  low,  stammered  entreaties,  and 
big  eyes  filling  with  tears  of  shame  and 
disappointment. 

' '  Thy  father  and  mother  in  the  predellas 
outside,  and  thee  within?" 

"Oh,  I  am  so  little,  and  sometimes  so 
afraid  in  the  dark  night  when  I  wake  and 
there  is  no  moon!  And  how  shall  the  good 
St.  Pierre £see  me  behind  my  father?" 
wailed  the  little  one. 

The  painter  was  young,  in  spite  of  his 
worn,  lined  face;  also  he  had  a  small 
brother  at  home;  and  the  wondering  ad- 
miration of  this  child  had  been  very  sweet. 

"See,  little  one,  I  can  not  do  this  thing 
that  thou  askest.  It  would  be  a  scandal." 


But  the  denial  was  gentle,  and  the 
shake  of  his  head  kind.  Le  petit  Pierre 
stopped  sobbing,  and  listened,  with  big 
eyes  fixed  on  the  speaker's  face. 

n  Say,  then,  if  I  draw  thee  very,  very 
small — -as,  in  truth,  thou  art  not  large — 
down  by  the  hem  of  the  good  St.  Pierre's 
robe,  would  that  content  thee?" 

Clasped  hands,  flushed,  smiling  face, 
and  shining  eyes  thanked  the  gentle  painter 
better  than  the  child's  stammering  tongue. 

"Now  thou  must  keep  very  still;  and 
be  a  little  saint  thyself,  seeing  thou  shalt 
kneel  with  the  blessed  ones." 

Little  Pierre  knelt  like  a  small  statue, 
scarcely  winking  in  his  fervent  gratitude. 

A  few  days  later  the  painter  and  he 
stood  alone  before  the  finished  picture. 

"Lo,  I  have  placed  thee  in  heaven,  little 
one!  See  thou  to  it  that  neither  thy  saint 
nor  I  repent.  For  if  the  good  St.  Pierre 
come  to  me  and  say,  '  Take  thou  that  little 
sinner  from  beside  me,'  then  must  I  take 
thee  away,  and  that  would  grieve  us  all." 

So  spoke  the  painter,  half-earnest,  half- 
smiling,  his  hand  on  the  child's  shoulder. 
And  little  Pierre  nodded,  and  promised: 
"I  will  be  good." 

Inside  the  centre  panel  there  knelt  a 
tiny  figure,  the  counterfeit  of  Pierre.  So 
minute  was  he,  however,  with  his  garments 
the  same  color  as  the  heavy  folds  of  the 
saint's  robe  behind  him,  that  at  a  short 
distance  he  was  invisible,  and  it  would 
need  a  careful  scrutiny  to  detect  the  tiny 
detail  when  near.  This  the  painter  knew; 
but  le  petit  Pierre  was  where  he  wished  to 
be,  and  was  utterly  content.  The  great 
St.  Pierre  would  not  overlook  him  now; 
or  if  he  did,  he  could  tug  his  robe,  as  he 
did  his  mother's  skirt  when  she  did  not 
attend  quickly. 

The  beautiful  picture  was  presented,  and 
fixed  in  its  place  over  the  high  altar  in  the 
great,  dim  cathedral.  From  that  day  the 
place  and  the  services  took  on  a  warm 
personal  interest  for  le  petit t  Pierre.  Was 
he  not  a  part  of  it  all  himself,  as  he  knelt 
close  to  the  saint's  robe  in  the  painting 
above  the  shining  high  altar?  The  cathedral 


////<.  AYE  MARIA 


came  to  be  u  second  home.  lie  was  always 
there,  left  safe  in  the  keeping  of  the  blessed 
ones,  when  the  services  were  over  and  he 
went  away  with  the  rest  of  the  family. 

After  some  childish  naughtiness  he 
would  creep,  repentant,  to  the  altar  foot 
in  fear  and  trembling,  to  recognize  with 
a  throb  of  thankfulness  that  the  great 
St.  Pierre  had  once  more  proved  forgiving. 
He  was  not  yet  blotted  out  from  his  place 
in  the  inner  picture. 

Since  the  painting  had  been  finished  he 
had  not  seen  the  gentle,  worn  face  of  his 
friend;  but  he  was  not  forgotten.  In  his 
limited,  tenacious  child's  heart  he  ranked 
after  his  father  and  mother,  and  before  the 
elder  sisters,  who  alternately  teased  and 
caressed  him.  Then  one  day  he  caught 
the  painter's  name.  His  father  and  mother 
spoke  of  him  as  painting  beautiful  pictures 
in  a  near  and  rival  city. 

"But  he  will  not  paint  them  the  great 
St.  Pierre?"  asked  his  little  namesake, 
with  a  beating  heart. 

"Hark  to  the  little  jealous  one!" 
laughed  the  father.  "It  is  our  bishop  over 
again."  Then  he  turned  to  his  little  son: 
"Ay,  look  to  thy  city's  honor  and  fame, 
my  son!  Shall  any  city  but  ours  possess 
such  a  masterpiece?" 

The  mother  looked  down  on  the  anxious, 
upturned  face,  and  smiled. 

"Nay,  little  heart,  thy  friend  paints 
great  lords  and  their  ladies, — no  St.  Pierres 
there." 

The  father  laughed  harshly. 

"Herods  and  Magdalens  would  better 
fit  them,"  he  began;  but  the  mother  sent 
her  little  son  away  to  the  cathedral  to 
say  two  Paters  and  Aves  for  his  friend. 

A  few  weeks  later  little  Pierre  heard  the 
painter's  name  again.  His  father's  brows 
were  overcast. 

"The  Lord  of  Valclairon  has  commanded 
an  altarpiece,  larger  and  more  beautiful 
than  ours.  He,  the  Lord  of  Valclairon, 
is  to  kneel  in  the  foreground;  and  she — 
his  light-o'-love"  (the  speaker  dropped  his" 
voice), — "her  face  is  to  serve  for  that  of 
the  Mother  of  God." 


His  wife  raised  eyes  and  hands  in  horror. 

"Ah,"  she  cried,  "he  will  not  paint  it!" 

"He — a  reed,"  was  the  scornful  answer, 
"he  to  strive  against  the  will  of  Val- 
clairon? 'Tis  as  the  bishop  said.  We 
did  wrong  to  let  him  go." 

Little  Pierre,  listening  with  all  his 
ears,  felt  rather  than  understood  that  his 
dear  painter  was  doing  wrong,  and  his 
father  was  angry  with  him.  He  pattered 
away  to  the  cathedral.  But  a  service  was 
going  on:  he  could  not  even  comfort  his 
heart  by  kneeling  close  to  the  high  altar, 
and  seeing  himself  safe  by  St.  Peter's 
robe.  Deeply  disappointed,  he  turned 
into  a  side  chapel,  prayed  to  his  saint  to 
make  his  friend  good  again,  and  crept 
home  with  a  heavy,  sorrowful  heart. 

"No  altarpiece  for  Valclairon!"  cried 
the  father  in  triumph  next  day.  "He  hath 
slipped  through  them  all,  our  painter.  We 
shall  have  him  back  among  us.  Val- 
clairon tears  his  hair  with  rage,  and  vows 
he  shall  paint  them,  though  he  do  it  on 
the  rack.  Thou  wast  right,  little  wife, 
after  all;  but  who  would  have  thought 
that  boy-face  had  a  will  behind  it?" 

"He  hath  a  good  heart,  which  is  some- 
times better,"  said  the  mother,  her  soft 
eyes  shining.  "Praised  be  the  holy  saints 
for  this!  St.  Pierre  be  his  guard!  Little 
Pierre,  thou  and  I  will  burn  two  candles 
for  him." 

"I,  too,  for  that  Valclairon  has  no 
altarpiece!"  cried  the  father. 

His  little  son  thought:  "It  is  the  good 
St.  Pierre.  When  I  see  him  I  will  thank 
him,  and  I  will  be  very  good." 

The  three  candles  burned  down  before 
the  altar,  and  others  followed  them;  and 
still  the  painter  came  not,  although  little 
Pierre  looked  for  him  every  day.  Then 
came  tidings.  The  poor  painter  had  been 
seized  by  a  band  of  robbers  while  crossing 
the  hills  which  hid  the  two  cities  from 
each  other.  Now  they  kept  him  prisoner 
in  a  ruined  hut  a  league  beyond  the 
city  walls,  while  they  treated  with  the 
Lord  of  Valclairon  for  his  ransom.  Little 
Pierre  listened  aghast. 


THE  AVR  MARIA 


333 


The  city  fathers  decided  on  rescuing  him 
by  force.  But  as  the  armed  band  issued 
from  the  gate,  a  paper  in  a  cleft  stick 
caught  the  eye  of  their  leader.  In  it  was 
written  that  half  of  the  painter's  dead 
body  was  all  they  should  ever  possess 
of  him  again,  the  other  half  going  to  the 
Lord  of  Valclairon.  If  they  desired  to 
obtain  their  share,  they  had  only  to  march 
on;  the  next  forward  step  would  end  his 
life.  After  a  short  debate  they  turned  and 
re-entered  the  city.  One  sternly  righteous 
soul  wished  to  proceed.  "Body  or  soul, — 
which  is  it  better  to  kill?"  asked  he,  but 
the  rest  shook  their  heads.  A  soul,  even 
a  saved  soul,  would  paint  no  more  master- 
pieces to  adorn  their  city. 

When  he  saw  his  father  return  without 
his  friend,  little  Pierre  wept  and  would 
not  be  comforted;  and  all  the  rest  of 
that  sad  day  he  spent  in  the  gatehouse 
with  the  gate-keeper,  who  was  his  friend, 
looking  with  tearful  eyes  towards  the  hut 
where  his  dear  painter  lay. 

Early  next  morning  he  persuaded  his 
mother  to  give  him  the  money  for  two  big 
candles  of  his  own  to  burn  before  vSt. 
Pierre.  She  was  busy,  and  could  not  go 
with  him.  He  was  not  sorry.  Now  St. 
Pierre  would  know  that  the  candles  were 
his  very  own,  and  would  give  him  what 
he  asked,  as  he  had  done  before.  The 
candles  were  placed  and  lighted,  and  le 
petit  Pierre  was  left  alone.  He  knelt  on 
the  topmost  step  of  the  high  altar,  fixed 
his  eyes  on  his  protector,  and  prayed  with 
all  his  little  heart  that  St.  Pierre  would 
bring  his  friend  back,  safe  inside  the  city. 
One  of  these  big  keys  of  his,  thought  the 
child,  would  surely  open  the  city  gate, 
and  the  other  would  do  for  the  prison. 

He  prayed  and  gazed.  His  eyes  were 
dazzled  by  the  glimmer  of  the  candles, 
but  he  still  knelt  on.  Suddenly  a  gust  of 
air  made  the  candles  flicker;  and  in  that 
moment,  so  it  seemed  to  the  child,  the 
good  St.  Pierre  turned  and  smiled. an  him. 
He  rose  and  turned  to  go.  He  knew  his 
saint  would  bring  his  friend  back  safe. 

Outside,     he    blinked    in     the '  noonday 


sun  as  it  blazed  down  on  the  open  square. 
Not  a  creature  was^  stirring.  And  then, 
quite  suddenly,  he  felt  a  warm  sense  of 
comfort  and  protection  (just  as  when  he 
trotted  to  feast  or  service  between  his 
mother  and  father,  with  his  sisters 
behind),  and  knew  what  he  must  do. 

He  made  for  the  city  gate.  It  was  not 
locked,  only  pushed  to.  Beside  it  the 
gate-keeper  drowsed  in  the  shadow.  He 
slipped  throiigh  unchallenged.  On  he  went 
over  the  open,  uneven  plain.  The  great 
sunlit  space  and  emptiness  were  strange 
to  the  child,  accustomed  to  the  narrow, 
crowded  streets  of  the  city.  He  was  very 
small,  and  the  sun  was  very  hot,  and  the 
way  much  longer  than  it  looked  from  the 
gatehouse,  but  he  trotted  sturdily  on,  and 
at  last  drew  near  the  hut.  Then  le  petit 
Pierre  halted,  terribly  afraid;  for  on  each 
side  of  the  hut  door  lounged  armed  men, 
fierce,  horrible,  with  long,  black  locks  and 
evil  faces;  and  they  were  looking  at  him. 
He  stared  back,  fascinated,  trembling.  Then 
somehow,  in  a  way  he  could  not  explain, 
he  was  back  in  the  cathedral,  gazing  at 
the  altarpiece  where  he  himself  knelt 
safe  beside  St.  Pierre's  robe,  and  he  went 
on.  As  he  did  so,  the  sense  of  protection 
grew  so  warm  and  real  that  he  smiled  and 
put  his  hand  up.  It  was  as  if  his  mother 
walked  beside  him. 

And  now  the  fear  which  had  left  him 
descended  on  those  evil  men.  They  looked 
with  starting  eyes  and  white  faces,  not  on 
little  Pierre,  but  above  and  beyond  him. 
He  reached  the  door  of  the  hut,  and  the 
men  fell  back  before  him.  Standing  on 
tiptoe,  he  could  just  reach  the  latch.  He 
lifted  it  and  went  in. 

There  on  a  heap  of  straw  crouched 
his  friend,  pale  and  despairing.  Le  petit 
Pierre  flung  himself  upon  him  with  a  cry 
of  joy,  unheeding  two  more  guards,  who 
started  scowling  from  the  shadows. 

"Come  home, — come  home!  The  good 
vSt.  Pierre  told  me  to  bring  you  home!" 
cried  the  child. 

The  guards  cowered  against  the  wall, 
covering  their  eyes  with  their  hands. 


334 


THE  AVE  AT  ART  A 


Still,  with  that  sense  of  an  enveloping 
protection  round  him,  Ic  petit  Pierre  led 
tlie  dazed  painter  to  the  open  door.  They 
passed  thro.ugh  it  hand  in  hand,  out  into 
the  free  air  and  the  blazing  sunshine,  none 
daring  to  hinder  them.  Within,  one  lay 
senseless  on  the  floor;  the  rest  shuddered 
and  hid  their  faces;  but  the  two  outside 
walked  on  unhasting,  their  faces  set 
towards  the  city  gate. 

"This  is  a  dream,"  said  the  painter  at 
length,  looking  round  with  unbelieving  eyes. 

"No,  no:  'tis  all  true!"  replied  the  little 
one,  eagerly.  "The  good  St.  Pierre  has 
done  it  all.  I  gave  him  two  great,  large 
candles,  and  he  smiled  at  me;  and  I  knew 
thou  wouldst  surely  come  home  safe,  and 
so  I  came  to  fetch  thee." 

It  was  all  quite  simple  to  le  petit  Pierre. 
The  painter  looked  down  on  him  wonder- 
ingly,  and  the  child  smiled  back. 

"In  truth,  I  feel  strangely  secure  and  at 
peace,"  said  the  painter.  "Thou  art  a 
blessed  child,  petit  Pierre.  Embrace  me, 
little  one;  and  the  saints  have  thee  in  their 
holy  keeping!" 

They  passed  the  gateway,  where  the 
keeper  slumbered  still;  and  all  the  streets 
were  empty  and  very  silent. 

"We  will  go  to  the  cathedral  and  thank 
the  good  St.  Pierre,"  said  the  child, 
contentedly. 

"I/et  us  go,"  answered  the  other,  softly. 

There  on  the  altar-steps  they  knelt 
together,  before  le  petit  Pierre's  two 
candles,  which  still  burned  high  and  clear. 
The  painter  lifted  the  little  one  to  kiss  the 
hem  of  his  saint's  robe,  but  the  good  St. 
Pierre  did  not  smile  again. 

The  Price  of  Blood. 


The  Poets  and  St.  Joseph. 


BY    T.   E.   B. 

riHE  shadows  lead  the  Sun  all-bleeding  to  the 

west, 

The  last  drops  of  his  lifeblood  to  outpour; 
And    Evening,   Judas-like,  remorse   in   her   dark 

breast, 
Flings  down  her  silver  stars  on  heaven's  floor. 


he 


VERY    true    poet    recognizes 
and  deeply  reveres  all  that  is 
beautiful,  heroic  or  holy.  That 
sincerest  flattery   of  imitation 
withhold,    but     his     admiration 
would.    More 


may 

never.  He  could  not  if  he 
surely  than  another  man  does  he  penetrate 
the  hero's  heart;  and  it  is  one  of  the 
alleviations  of  a  lot  proverbially  hard 
that  his  awe  and  love  and  reverence  need 
not  be  dumb:  he  can  sing,  if  his  heart  is 
so  deeply  stirred  that  silence  is  pain. 
Nature's  God-given  loveliness  and  God's 
immensity,  the  sage's  wisdom,  the  heroism 
of  soldier  and  of  saint,  are  his  to  praise; 
and  it  is  his  task  to  fix  forever  in  the  mind 
and  heart  of  his  duller  fellows  the  memory 
of  those  poignant  moments  of  history  and 
of  legend  which  are  the  richest  part  of  our 
heritage  from  the  past, — its  explanation, 
its  epitome. 

All  this  being  true,  how  strange  it  seems 
that,  almost  without  exception,  our  poets 
have  been  silent  about  St.  Joseph!  Had 
his  life,  like  that  of  many  a  saint  of  God, 
been  to  all  appearance  commonplace, 
this  silence  would  be  more  easily  under- 
stood. Even  poets  are  but  men;  and  men, 
always  fleeing  from  that  "inexorable 
ennui"  from  which  there  is  no  escape,  are 
not  easily  attracted  by  seemingly  everyday 
things  and  people.  But  why  should  a 
character  so  visibly  strong  and  humble 
and  beautiful  have  been  overlooked  by  the 
seers?  Why  have  they  neglected  a  life 
so  rarely  sweet,  so  marvellously  directed 
by  angels, — one  exalted  to  dizzy  heights 
from  the  day  when  his  rod  blossomed  into 
lilies  until  he  breathed  his  last  in  the 
arms  of  Jesus  and  Mary? 

There  is  hardly  a  Catholic  poet  and  there 
are  'few  Protestant  poets  who  have  not 
written,  and  written  exquisitely,  in  praise 
of  our  Blessed  Mother.  In  the  most 
unlikely-seeming  places  we  rejoice  to  find 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


335 


her  name  exalted.  We  meet  it  enshrined 
on  the  pages  of  Poe,  Longfellow,  Rossetti; 
of  Mrs.  Browning,  Scott,  Kipling.  George 
Herbert,  child  of  the  Reformation  though 
he  was,  dared  to  laud  her.  Wordsworth 
forgot  all  his  prejudice  against  Catho- 
licity long  enough  to  give  us,  perhaps,  his 
loveliest  sonnet.  Many  non-Catholic  poets 
have  written  also  in  praise  of  some-  saint 
whose  story  stirred  their  hearts,  or  whose 
holiness  awoke  longings  in  their  souls: 
St.  Mary  Magdalen  and  the  "Poor  Man 
of  Assisi"  being  the  best  beloved.  But 
we  do  not  find  poems  from  Protestant 
pens  that  laud  the  Foster-Father  of  Christ. 
The  one  exception,  Keble's  "St.  Joseph," 
but  proves  how  ironclad  is  the  rule. 

Among  our  Catholic  singers  the  omission 
is  marked,  if  not  unbroken.  Searching  for 
some  praise  of  him,  our  wonder  grows 
that  we  so  rarely  find  it.  There  is  not 
one  line  about  him  in  Dryden;  not  one 
in  Crashaw,  lover  of  St.  Teresa  though 
he  was,  and  faithful  watcher  at  the  door 
of  her  "flaming  heart";  not  one  line  in 
Coventry  Patmore,  Lionel  Johnson,  Francis 
Thompson,  or  Mrs.  Meynell.  There  is 
nothing  about  him  in  all  of  Newman's 
poetry,— not  even  in  the  ' '  Dream  of 
Gerontius,"  where  the  Patron  of  a  happy 
death  might  seem  to  have  deserved  a  place. 
Beautifully  did  the  great  convert  write  of 
our  Blessed  Lady;  fervid  was  his  praise 
of  the  Fathers  of  the  Church;  he  was 
never  weary  singing  his  love  for  his  own 
St.  Philip.  Why  was  he  silent  about  St. 
Joseph,  immeasurably  exalted  above  St. 
Philip,  St.  Athanasius,  St.  Gregory? 

Our  two  greatest  hymns  to  the  Nativity, 
Milton's  of  course,  and  Crashaw's,  do 
not  mention  his  name.  Why  is  it?  Father 
Matthew  Russell's  "St.  Joseph's  An- 
thology," not  a  very  small  book,  would 
seem  at  first  glance  to  show  that  much 
verse  has  been  written  about  him;  but 
on  examination,  part  of  it  proves  to  have 
been  composed  for  the  "Anthology"  at 
Father  Russell's  request,  and  more  to 
have  been  translated  for  it  from  French, 
Italian  and  Latin  sources — in  desperation, 


even  from  Coptic  and  Armenian!  Its 
index  boasts  of  but  two  great  names: 
Southwell  and  Newman.  Southwell's  "St. 
Joseph's  Espousals"  is  largely  in  praise 
of  Our  Lady;  and  Newman's  "Joseph" 
refers  to  the  Patriarch  Joseph.  It  was 
included  out  of  love  for  the  Cardinal,  and 
because  Joseph  was  a  type  not  only  of 
Christ  but  of  His  Foster-Father. 

Father  Russell's  own  pen  did  not  neglect 
St.  Joseph,  whom  he  hailed  "Patron  of  all 
who  work  in  humble  ways,"  and  to  whom 
he  spoke  thus  lovingly: 
O  Father  of  my  Lord,  most  near  and  dear 

To   those   whom   I   would   fain   hold   nearest, 

dearest! 
My  love  is  growing  all  too  bold,  I  fear, 

So  kind  and  fatherly  the  face  thou  wearest. 
Yet,  great  St.  Joseph,  let  me,  let  me  call  thee 
Father,  and  in  a  father's  rights  install  thee. 

Aubrey  de  Vere,  who  forgot  no  heavenly 
friend  and  no  earthly  one,  wrote  several 
little  poems  in  St.  Joseph's  honor;  so  did 
Father  Faber.  Father  Hill  and  Father 
Fitzpatrick,  Eleanor  Donnelly  and  Maurice 
Francis  Egan  have  also  remembered  him. 
Among  those  who  wrote  for  the  "An- 
thology," at  Father  Russell's  suggestion, 
was  Rosa  Mulholland,  whose  stanzas 
entitled  "St.  Joseph"  are  lovely,  —  both 
simple  and  loving,  as  is  befitting: 
O  Foster-Father  of  the  All-Divine! 

Can  He  who  rules  in  His  high  realm  forget 
The  little  hand  that  clung  of  old  to  thine? 

And  doth  not  the  young  Jesus  love  thee  yet? 

Oh,  dost  thou  carry  now  a  lovelier  light 
And  wear  a  whiter  lily  than  the  rest 

Of  those  irradiate  souls  who  glad  His  sight? 
No  other  bore  that  Babe  upon  his  breast.  .  .  . 

Doth  not  thy  God,  remembering,  turn  on  thee 
An  Eye  of  Light  that  shineth  on  thy  face 

With' filial  love  that  lives?    Eternally, 
By  Jesus'  side,  O  Joseph,  is  thy  place! 

Among  the  best,  and  the  best  known, 
poems  in  honor  of  St.  Joseph  is  Katha- 
rine Tynan's  "The  Man  of  the  House," 
which  marvels  reverently  and  lovingly  over 
the  saint's  nearness  to  the  Child  Jesus: 

There  are  little  feet  that  are  soft  and  slow 

Follow  you  whithersoever  you  go. 

There's  a  little  face  at  your  workshop  door, 
A  little  One  sits  down  on  your  floor, 


336 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Holds  His  hands  for  the  shavings  curled, — 
Soft  little  hands  that  have  made  the  world. 
But  when  they  are  counted,  poems  in 
praise  of  St.  Joseph — who  guarded  "the 
Lily  and  the  Child,"  the  "just  man," 
the  "shadow  of  the  Father,"  exalted, 
loving,  lovable — are  strangely  few,  —  so 
few  that  there  must  be  some  reason  for 
their  rareness.  It  is  said  that  Protes- 
tants have  never  loved  or  appreciated 
St.  Joseph;  but  how  explain  the  seeming 
neglect  of  our  own  poets? 

How  explain  it  unless  we  remember  that 
he  lived  and  died  "the  man  of  silence"? 
The  poets  have  but  followed  the  example 
of  Holy  Writ,  so  sparing  in  its  words  about 
him,  and  recording  not  one  syllable  from 
his  lips.  At  Bethlehem  he  effaced  himself: 
the  Wise  Men  found  "the  Child  with  Mary, 
His  Mother."  Time  has  not  changed  him, 
nor  has  heaven;  he  still  hides  himself, 
humble  under  the  stupendous  honors 
showered  upon  him  by  the  Most  Blessed 
Trinity,  awed  by  his  nearness  to  Mary 
and  to  her  Son.  The  poets  have  but  done 
his  will.  Who  can  doubt  it? 


The  Fallibility  of  Judgment. 

EVERYONE  has  heard  the  story  of 
Michelangelo's  brushing  the  marble 
dust  from  the  nose  of  his  famous  statue 
of  David,  that  he  had  pretended  to  file 
down  a  little  to  suit  the  keen  eye  of 
Soderini.  A  similar  story  is  related 
of  Giovanni  Dupre.  He  consented  on 
one  occasion,  after  much  entreaty  on 
the  part  of  a  certain  lady,  to  make  a 
portrait  bust  of  one  of  her  relatives  whom 
he  had  never  seen,  and  who  had  died 
in  a  foreign  land.  With  the  help  of  a  mask 
in  plaster  and  of  an  indifferent  photo- 
graph, he  moulded  a  portrait  in  clay; 
and  then  invited  the  lady,  with  any  friends 
she  might  wish  to  bring  with  her,  to  come 
and  pass  judgment  upon  it.  The  friends, 
after  looking  at  the  portrait  a  moment, 
smiled,  declared  it  a  failure,  and  went 
away.  The  lady,  however,  remained, 


and  presently  remarked  that  she  was 
entirely  satisfied  with  the  work,  excepting 
only  one  point. 

"I  should  like  to  have  a  little  alteration 

made  in  this  part  of  the  face"   (pointing 

at  it  with  her  finger),  "if  you  can  do  it." 

"But,  signora,  the  features  that  I  find 

in   the   mask   are   precisely   these,    and    I 

should  be  sorry  to  make  the  face  worse." 

"Pardon  me!    But  I  think  the  change  I 

propose  would  make  it  very  much  better." 

Dupre  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  said: 

"Very  well;    I  wish  you  to  be  satisfied. 

But  be  kind  enough  to  give  me  two  hours, 

and  you  will  find  it  ready." 

The  lady  retired,  and  meantime  Dupre 
occupied  himself  with  some  other  work. 
At  the  appointed  hour  she  returned. 

"Now  look  at  it,"  said  he.  "What  do 
you  think  of  it  now?" 

She  examined  it  again  and  again;  and 
then  with  some  hesitation  replied: 

"What  shall  I  say?   It  seems  to  me  now 
that  the  effect  was  better  at  first." 
"Really?" 
"Really." 
"Well,  then?" 

"Should  I  be  too  unreasonable  if  I 
asked  you  to  make  it  just  as  it  was 
before?" 

"No:  I  will  restore  it.  But  I  must  ask 
you  again  the  favor  of  leaving  me  two 
hours  at  liberty." 

Dupre,  of  course,  did  nothing;  and  the 
lady  returning,  and  examining  the  por- 
trait once  more,  turned  to  him  delighted, 
and  exclaimed: 

"Now  it  is  right, — exactly  right!  I  am 
perfectly  satisfied.  Just  finish  this  in 
marble." 

Venturi,  who  relates  this  story,  says 
that  Dupre  frequently  laughed  over  it, 
recalling  it  also  as  an  example  to  show 
how  easily  we  are  deceived  in  judging  of 
the  truth;  and  how  it  happens  almost 
invariably  that  one  and  the  same  model, 
placed  before  several  scholars,  is  seen  by 
them  with  different  icyes,  and  represented 
in  their  drawings  with  very  different 
characteristics. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


337 


The  Decadence  of  the  Home. 

THERE  exists  among  a  large  number  of 
non-Catholics,  especially  the  cultured 
classes,  an  aesthetic  interest  in  St.  Francis 
of  Assisi  which,  if  it  does  not  constitute 
a  genuine  devotion  to  that  pre-eminent 
Knight  of  Our  Lady  Poverty,  at  least  im- 
plies a  sentimental  fondness  for  his  life  and 
doctrine.  It  is  supremely  regrettable  that, 
here  in  America  more  than  in  most  other 
lands,  there  does  not  exist  among  our 
separated  brethren  a  similar  fondness  for 
the  foster-father  of  Jesus,  St.  Joseph, 
patron  par  excellence  of  the  Christian 
family.  Surely  the  lessons  taught  by  the 
ruler  and  head  of  the  Holy  House  of 
Nazareth,  and  the  sentiments  inspired  by 
a  study  of  the  conditions  therein  pre- 
vailing, are  sadly  needed  in  our  day  and 
generation. 

This  is  truly  an  age  of  wonders.  Mar- 
vels upon  which  the  fairies  in  the  old 
nursery  tales  would  look  with  incredulous 
surprise  are  of  yearly  invention.  We 
have  made  of  the  lightning  a  willing 
and  competent  servant ;  we  have  arranged 
matters  so  that  a  trip  around  the  world 
is  possible  in  a  summer's  outing;  we  have 
multiplied  printing-presses  until  all  that 
we  should  read,  and  much  that  we  should 
not,  is  easily  accessible;  we  have  brought 
heat  and  light  from  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  and  numbered  the  stars  in  the  firma- 
ment; we  have  put  an  education  within 
reach  of  the  poorest,  and  we  have  dotted 
the  land  with  philanthropic  and  reform- 
atory institutions  of  every  sort. 

What  are  we  doing  with  the  home? 
There  is  no  lack  of  houses.  They  spring 
up  everywhere,  like  weeds  after  a  spring 
shower;  and  among  them  —  Gpd  be 
praised! — are  many  which  are  homes  in 
the  true  sense  of  the  word.  But  what  shall 
we  say  of  those  which  remain  but  heaps  of 
building  material,  arranged  in  the  form 
convention  happens  to  smile  upon,  mere 
temporary  shelters  for  few  or  many  people? 

Love  of  home  is,  or  should  be,  one  of 


the  strongest  impulses  of  a  well-rounded 
life.  Thus  it  follows  that  in  time  of  war  the 
military  bands  of  one  European  country 
are  forbidden  to  play  a  certain  air,  because 
the  sound  of  it  would  produce  home- 
sickness and  cause  a  general  panic  in  the 
ranks.  In  the  lamentable  civil  war  in 
our  own  country  the  dead  wards  of  the 
hospitals  contained  many  men  who  might  * 
have  been  saved  but  for  nostalgia.  An 
air  of  doubtful  merit  and.  words  of  halt- 
ing rhythm  are  wedded  in  the  immortal 
"Home,  Sweet  Home!"-  And  when  we 
think  of  heaven,  it  is  of  a  place  which 
will  be  the  best  of  homes  forever. 

Why,  then,  are  there  presages  that  the 
homes  of  America  are  in  peril?  Because 
the  power  that  fashion  wields  is  great; 
because  there  exist  numberless  people 
in  every  community  who  follow  certain 
leaders,  and  those  leaders  are  looking  with 
compassionate  eyes  upon  the  heroes  of  the 
divorce  court,  and  rearranging  social  life  so 
that  the  home  continually  counts  for  less; 
because  multitudes  find  it  cheaper  and 
easier  to  dwell  in  "Furnished  Rooms," 
and  eat  at  restaurants, — and  the  one  who 
invariably  finds  mischief  for  the  idle  to 
do  is  not  slow  in  taking  advantage  of  this; 
and  because  women,  many  of  them,  are 
more  occupied  with  their  own  prospects 
as  social  and  political  leaders  than  with  the 
portends  of  the  revolution,  that  will  surely 
come  if  the  sacredness  of  the  home  life  is 
permanently  impaired-  It  is  a  perilous 
thing  to  help  along  this  frightful  crisis, 
even  by  failing  to  sound  the  alarm;  and 
anyone  who  is  active  in  precipitating  such 
disaster  is  not  only  "the  summer  pilot  of 
an  empty  heart  unto  the  shores  of  noth- 
ing," but  something  far  worse. 

In  the  hands  of  Catholics  lies  the  ounce 
of  prevention  which  is  better  than  the 
pound  of  cure.  The  conservative  opinions 
of  Mother  Church,  her  firm  stand  in  regard 
to  the  sundering  of  the  marriage  covenant, 
the  example  of  her  saints,  her  sweet  tradi- 
tions of  the  past,  and  her  holy  hopes  for 
the  future,  make  her  the  protector  of  the 
firesides  of  this  country. 


338 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


Just  one  hundred  years  ago  Matthew 
Field,  of  New  York,  issued  "  The  Laity's 
Directory  to  the  Church  Service,"  the 
prototype  of  the  Official  Catholic  Direct- 
ory which  for  some  years  past  has  been 
published  by  P.  J.  Kenedy  &  Sons.  The 
latest  issue  of  this  important  and  valu- 
able annual  contains  as  usual  a  variety 
of  information  as  to  the  status  of  Catholi- 
cism and  things  Catholic  in  this  country 
and  in  our  Island  possessions.  While  the 
definite  increase  of  the  Catholic  popula- 
tion of  the  country  is  placed  at  about  half 
a  million,  the  fact  that  such  great  arch- 
dioceses as  New  York,  Chicago,  and 
Boston  have  taken  no  new  census  since  the 
figures  for  1916  were  given  out,  suggests 
that  the  real  increase  has  been  consid- 
erably larger.  As  compiled  from  the  figures 
given  by  the  various  chancellors  of  the 
country,  our  population  is  something  over 
17,000,000;  but  the  compiler  has  strong 
reasons  for  believing  that  it  is  in  reality 
nearly  19,000,000.  There  has  been  during 
the  past  year  an  increase  of  411  priests 
and  357  parishes.  The  priests  number 
about  20,000,  more  than  a  fourth  of  them 
being  members  of  religious  Orders.  The 
parishes  are  15,520  in  number,  about  two- 
thirds  of  them  having  resident  priests. 
Other  figures  show  that  there  are  now  102 
seminaries,  216  colleges  for  boys,  676 
academies  for  girls,  .293  orphan  asylums, 
1 06  homes  for  the  aged;  as  well  as  5687 
parochial  schools,  with  an  enrollment  of 
as  many  as  1,537,644  children. 


One  of  the  most  impressive  word-pictures 
of  the  Great  War  that  have  come  under  our 
notice  is  drawn  by  an  Irish  officer  in  a 
recent  letter  to  the  London  Daily  Chronicle. 
"In  a  village  at  a  certain  point  at  the 
Front,"  he  writes,  "there  is  a  church 
which  is  crowded  each  evening  with  sol- 
diers. It  is  never  lighted  up.  A  few  candles 
are  burning  on  the  altar  of  Our  Lady  of 
Dolors  whilst  the  Rosary  is  recited.  It  is 


a  strange  scene  in  this  church  at  night. 
Entering  it,  all  is  dark  save  for  the  few 
fluttering  candles  on  the  altar  before 
which  the  priest  kneels  to  say  the  prayers. 
It  is  only  when  the  men  join  in  that  one 
becomes  aware  that  the  church  is  really 
full;  and  it  is  solemn  and  appealing  beyond 
words  to  describe  when  up  from  the  dark- 
ness rises  the  great  chorus  from  hundreds 
of  voices  in  response  to  the  prayers. 
The  darkness  seems  to  add  impressiveness. 
From  the  outside  are  heard  the  rumble 
and  roar  of  the  guns,  which,  not  so  very 
far  away,  are  dealing  out  death  and  agony 
to  the  comrades  of  the  men  who  pray.  .  .  . 
The  writer  has  seen  many  an  impressive 
spectacle  of  large  congregations  at  prayer 
in  great  and  spacious  churches  in  many 
lands,  but  nothing  more  truly  touching, 
impressive,  and  moving  than  that  dark- 
ened church  behind  the  lines,  thronged 
with  troops  fervently  invoking  the  inter- 
cession of  the  Mother  of  God  under 
almost  the  very  shadow  of  the  wings  of 
the  Angel  of  Death." 

What  a  subject  for  the  brush  of  one 
like  the  painter  of  the  "Roll  Call"  that 
scene  would  be! 


Tertullian's  dictum,  "The  blood  of  the 
martyrs  is  the  seed  of  the  Church,"  is  a 
generic  truth,  the  specific  aspect  of  which 
is  perhaps  best  expressed  in  our  day  by 
the  statement  that  the  Church  thrives  on 
opposition.  Many  of  our  readers  will  be 
apt  to  comment:  In  that  case  there  is  no 
good  reason  why  she  should  not  be  thriv- 
ing nowadays;  for  there  is  enough  of 
opposition  to  her  and  her  tenets  all  through 
this  country.  The  statement,  however,  is 
somewhat  too  broad,  as  is  clear  from 
an  editorial  in  the  Pilot.  Discussing  the 
power  and  the  promise  and  the  possibilities 
manifested  by  the  Church  in  the  arch- 
diocese of  Boston,  and  the  prominence 
and  prosperity  enjoyed  by  the  Catholics 
of  that  city,  our  contemporary  affirms  that 
opposition  to  Catholicism  in  the  capital  of 
New  England  is  now  practically  negligible. 
It  adds,  however,  a  word  of  warning  that 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


3,39 


is  eminently  wise,  and  may  well  be  taken 
to  heart  by  other  Catholic  communities. 
"The  danger  in  the  future,"  it  declares, 
"will  come  from  within.  The  Church  of 
the  past  was  strengthened  and  prospered 
by  struggle.  Opposition  gave  her  virility 
and  power,  and  the  longer  it  endured  the 
more  it  welded  together  the  elements  of 
which  she  was  composed.  The  Church  of 
the  future  will  have  no  such  struggles  to 
endure,  nor  such  sacrifices  to  make.  With 
peace  and  prosperity  as  her  inheritance,  it 
is  to  be  feared  that  her  children  will  grow 
indifferent  and  lose  the  warmth  and  sin- 
cerity of  faith  which  was  the  secret  of 
success  in  the  past." 

An  excellent  reason,  we  may  be  per- 
mitted to  remark,  why  the  Catholics  of 
Massachusetts  should  take  an  active,  en- 
ergetic interest  in  extra-diocesan  affairs  of 
the  Church,  in  the  rights  of  their  corelig- 
ionists in  less  favored  States  than  their 
own,  in  the  Foreign  Missions,  the  home 
missions  to  the  Negroes  and  Indians,  etc. 
Fighting  for  others  will  keep  them  active 
enough;  and  the  more  prosperous  they 
are,  the  greater  the  obligation  of  being 
zealous  and  charitable. 


It  is  an  age-old  truth  that  genuine 
greatness  is  invariably  simple;  and  an  age- 
old  fallacy  that  the  nobility  or  aristocracy 
of  monarchical  countries  are  invariably 
haughty,  ostentatious,  or  consequential. 
How  little  applicable  to  one  nobleman,  on 
whose  passing  we  have  already  commented, 
were  these  epithets  is  shown  in  the  follow- 
ing interesting  paragraph  borrowed  from 
Mr.  Shane  Leslie's  brief  sketch  of  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk,  contributed  to  America: 

It  required  the  combined  influence  of  his 
father,  Queen  Victoria,  and  the  Pope  to  prevent 
him  at  one  time  from  entering  the  religious  life. 
But  he  took  up  the  most  wearisome  of  duties 
instead — the  perpetual  patronage  of  Catholic 
charities  and  bazaars.  His  sense  of  duty  held  him 
to  the  wheel.  He  allowed  himself  no  luxuries  or 
pleasures  out  of  his  quarter  of  a  million  pounds 
of  income.  He  raced  neither  horses  nor  yachts. 
His  fortune  was  no  temptation  to  him;  for  he 
despised  it,  as  he  despised  the  gorgeous  livery 
which  it  was  his  alone  to  wear  at  Court.  In 


civil  life  he  took  pleasure  in  wearing  shabby 
clothes  and  assuming  a  neglected  aspect.  In  the 
Middle  Ages  he  would  have  worn  a  hairshirt.  In 
this  age  he  wore  the  mockery  of  ill-fitting  clothes. 
With  quiet  humor  he  once  accepted  a  tip  from  a 
tourist  to  whom  he  had  shown  his  grounds, 
and  allowed  himself  while  leading  the  English 
national  pilgrimage  to  Rome  to  be  mistaken  for 
a  cook's  agent. 

Nor  will  it  do  to  assert  that  his  Grace 
of  Norfolk  was  simply  an  exception  that 
proves  the  rule  of  aristocratic  hauteur  and 
ostentation:  all  travelled  Americans  know 
the  contrary  to  be  the  case. 


The  reputation  deservedly  won  by  the 
Irish  people  between  the  fifth  and  the 
tenth  century,  that  of  being  pre-eminently 
the  missionaries  of  the  world,  has  in 
greater  or  less  degree  been  maintained 
through  all  the  intervening  centuries,  and 
is  in  no  danger  of  being  forfeited  in  our 
own  time.  The  latest  manifestation  of  this 
apostolic  spirit  to  come  to  our  notice  is 
the  Maynooth  Mission  to  China.  A  few 
months  ago  five  Irish  priests,  with  the  ap- 
proval and  blessing  of  the  Irish  hierarchy, 
began  to  organize  the  Mission,  preaching 
and  collecting  funds  throughout  Ireland. 
Thus  far  fourteen  priests,  forty  or  fifty 
nuns,  and  a  large  number  of  ecclesiastical 
students  have  volunteered  for  service  in 
China,  and  some  thirty-five  thousand  dol- 
lars have  been  contributed  to  the  work. 
Ireland  saved  Europe  to  Christianity  in 
the  centuries  immediately  following  the 
days  of  St.  Patrick:  who  knows  but  she 
may  convert  China  to  Christ  in  our 
own  day? 

When  the  eighteenth-century  English 
philanthropist,  John  Howard,  took  up  the 
work  of  prison  reform,  there  was  undoubted 
need  of  amelioration  in  the  condition  of 
criminals  in  his  own  country  and  in  all 
Europe  as  well.  His  volume,  "State  of 
Prisons  in  England  and  Wales,  with  .  .  . 
an  Account  of  Some  Foreign  Prisons," 
published  in  1777,  may  with  little,  if  any, 
exaggeration  be  called  an  epoch-making 
book.  Since  Howard's  day  much  has  been 
done  to  eliminate  the  abuses  which  he  con- 


340 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


demncd;  and  in  our  own  time  the  pen- 
dulum seems  to  have  swung  from  the 
extreme  of  severity  to  that  of  lenity  in  the 
treatment  of  the  criminal  class.  Humane 
treatment  of  even  the  worst  of  men  will 
be  condemned  by  no  Christian;  but  the 
exaggerated  sentimentality  which  appar- 
ently considers  the  commission  of  crime  a 
condition  precedent  to  humoring  and  pam- 
pering is  an  economic  as  well  as  a  psycho- 
logical mistake.  We  rather  sympathize,  in 
consequence,  with  the  Commissioner  of  a 
New  York  jail,  who  says: 

The  city  of  New  York  is  not  conducting  penal 
institutions  to  please  the  inmates  and  to  make 
them  desire  to  come  back  to  the  institutions. 
Nothing  makes  me  happier  than  to  have  some 
one  go  out  feeling  that  it  is  a  place  to  be  avoided, 
provided  he  states  the  truth  and  says  that  the 
food  is  good,  that  the  clothing  is  good,  that  the 
prison  is  sanitary,  and  the  officers  enlightened, 
trained,  kindly  and  humane.  Granted  those 
things,  I  think  prisons  should  be  made  as  unde- 
sirable as  possible. 

The  great  majority  of  American  citizens 
will  probably  agree  that  this  is  a  common- 
sense  view  of  the  matter.  All  too  many  of 
our  criminals  never  enter  a  prison  at  all; 
those  who  do  should  not  find  conditions 
there  so  uniformly  pleasant  as  to  be 
inclined  to  repeat  their  visits  when  once 
they  are  released. 


A  Mediaeval  scholar  rather  than  a 
modern  fighting  man,  Arthur  Brandreth, 
M.  A.,  would  not  seem  to  have  been  the 
stuff  out  of  which  soldiers  are  made  in  this 
the  most  murderous  of  all  wars.  But  in 
her  beautiful  memoir  of  him  in  the  Feb- 
ruary Month,  Miss  Louise  Imogen  Guiney 
makes  such  a  reasoned  study  of  his  char- 
acter that  a  reader  must  feel  this  "Oxford 
private"  warred  as  logically  as  in  days  of 
peace  he  strove  to  revive  certain  graces 
of  the  Mediaeval  spirit.  Brandreth  was 
a  convert.  "He  cared  much,"  writes  Miss 
Guiney,  "very  much,  for  the  externals  of 
the  Faith,  and  the  sole  reason  of  that  was 
because  the  inner  spirit  of  it  was  the  very 
stuff  of  his  heart  and  conscience.  Religion 
was  not  his  sanctuary  alone,  but  his  play- 


ground too.  Everywhere,  at  home  or 
abroad,  in  his  University  days  or  behind 
the  firing  line,  his  joy  was  to  serve  the 
altar,  or  lend  a  hand  to  any  apostolic  lay 
work  a  priest  wanted  to  get  done.  Taking 
trouble,  as  it  is  called,  was  neither  a  phrase 
nor  a  thing  to  him:  in  the  service  of  God 
it  had  no  existence,  nor  had  obstacles  nor 
fatigues." 

This  recluse  of  a  University  town  was 
"blown  to  pieces  for  justice'  sake,  on  All 
Saints'  Day,  1916."  "He  had  kept,"  his 
friend  concludes,  "his  soul  so  white  during 
his  five  and  thirty  years  that  he  had  no 
need  to  fear  the  end.  It  is  speaking  in  the 
language  of  this  world,  in  the  inadequate 
language  of  a  quite  discredited  world,  to 
call  his  an  unfulfilled  life.  It  was  anything 
but  that.  A  Christian  death,  in  osculo 
Domini  (to  use  the  sweet  phrase  of  old), 
reached  and  crowned  him  in  the  terrible 
moment,  at  the  incredible  post  where  God 
had  willed  him  to  be." 


The  wisdom  of  taking  newspaper  war 
reports  with  a  grain  of  salt,  and  of  sus- 
pending judgment  regarding  accusations 
of  cruelty,  injustice,  etc.,  on  the  part  of 
belligerents,  is  shown  by  the  case  of  the 
American  Consuls  and  Government  agents 
who  were  said  to  have  been  detained  by 
force  in  Germany,  treated  with  much 
harshness,  and  subjected  to  all  sorts  of 
indignities  on  their  departure  from  the 
country.  It  turns  out  that  the  detention 
was  brief  and  wholly  unavoidable,  and 
that,  according  to  the  testimony  of  the 
officials  themselves,  there  was  nothing  to 
complain  of,  the  highest  traditions  usually 
followed  in  such  cases  being  punctiliously 
respected.  If  some  of  these  official  persons 
were  treated  with  less  courtesy  than  others, 
it  was  because  they  showed  themselves 
less  deserving  of  courtesy. 


An  exceedingly  interesting  article  on 
the  subject  of  missions  to  non-Catholics 
is  contributed  to  the  current  Missionary 
by  the  venerable  Father  lyindesmith,  of 
the  diocese  of  Cleveland.  "Reminiscences 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


341 


of  a  Veteran  Convert  Maker"  covers  the 
pioneer  period  in  Ohio  and  reaches  down 
to  our  own  day.  A  good  anecdote  is  told 
of  his  preaching  in  the  Quaker  meeting- 
houses. To  quote: 

I  preached  in  churches  of  the  following  de- 
nominations: Methodist  Episcopal,  Presbyterian, 
Lutheran  Reformed,  and  in  the  Friends  (or 
Quaker)  meeting-house.  Some  people  twitted 
the  Friends,  saying:  "*I  thought  you  did  not 
believe  in  those  educated  preachers, — that  you 
believed  only  in  the  inspired  preachers:  and 
why  did  you  get  that  college  educated  priest  to 
preach  in  your  meeting-house?"  The  answer  of 
the  Friends  was:  "Why,  that  Catholic  priest 
is  always  inspired."  Then,  too,  I  preached  in 
court-houses,  town-halls,  high-school  houses, 
temperance  halls,  and  other  society  and  club- 
halls.  In  one  of  my  courses  I  preached  in  a 
different  place  every  Sunday  night  for  six  weeks. 
I  kept  this  work  up  during  the  Civil  War. 

Father  lyindesmith,  who  is  now  in  the 
sixty-second  year  of  his  priesthood,  and 
nearer  to  ninety  than  to  eighty  years  of 
age,  writes  a  vigorous,  unvarnished  style, 
such  as  one  might  expect  of  a  man 
sprung  from  a  family  of  soldiers,  one  who 
is  himself  a  veteran  of  the  Cross. 


Thirty  years  of  missionary  experience 
in  Norway  entitle  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop 
Fallize  to  speak  with  authority  of  the 
change  of  conditions  through  which  that 
country  has  passed  under  his  observation. 
The  outstanding  fact  is  the  progress  made 
by  the  Church,  not  only  in  its  own 
development,  but  in  the  conquest  which 
it  has  made  of  the  sympathies  of  a  vast 
body  of  nou-Catholics.  "When  I  came 
to  Norway  thirty  years  ago,"  writes  the 
Bishop,  "the  great  temptation  that  beset 
Catholics  was  human  respect.  Their  stand- 
ing in  the  community  was  lessened  by 
their  religion,  and  they  were  apt  to  conceal 
rather  than  proclaim  their  affiliations. 
To-day  all  that  is  changed.  Our  priests 
are  honored,  our  nuns  esteemed  and  loved ; 
and  old  anti-Catholic  legislation,  which 
aimed  at  discouraging  the  growth  of 
Catholicity,  has  given  way  to  laws  of  the 
most  lenient  type, — all  this,  too,  while  our 
Catholics  remain  an  infinitesimal  part  of 


the  population."  Bishop  Fallize  further 
asseverates  that  "the  development  of  our 
Holy  Church  is  endangered  neither  by 
public  opinion  nor  by  legislation." 

Catholics  in  our  own  land  will  rejoice 
to  have  this  assurance,  the  more  so  when 
they  reflect  on  a  very  different  condition 
now  manifest  in  too  many  parts  of  the 
United  States.  ^ 

We  have  often  made  the  point  that 
the  most  prominent  object  in  every  church 
[after  the  altar  and  the  sanctuary  lamp,  if 
the  Blessed  Sacrament  is  present]  should 
be  the  crucifix.  An  interesting  confirma- 
tion of  that  contention  comes,  unexpect- 
edly, from  the  latest  literary  offering 
of  Mr.  Howells.  From  his  entrancing 
volume  of  reminiscences,  entitled  "Years 
of  My  Youth,"  the  Catholic  News  cites  this 
statement:  "There  were  no  services  of  our 
recondite  faith  [Swedenborgian]  in  Ham- 
ilton. Out  of  curiosity  and  a  solemn  joy  in 
its  ceremonial,  I  sometimes  went  to  the 
Catholic  Church,  where  my  eyes  clung 
fascinated  to  the  life-large  effigy  of  Christ 
on  His  Cross  against  the  eastern  wall." 

He  who  runs  may  read  the  lesson  of  the 
crucifix :  it  speaks  a  language  which  young 
and  old,  lettered  and  unlettered,  alike  may 
understand.  It  is  the  supreme  symbol  of 
Christianity:  hence  the  importance  of 
making  it  stand  out  supreme. 


The  sixteenth  annual  convention  of  the 
American  Federation  of  Catholic  Societies 
is  to  be  held  in  Kansas  City,  Mo.,  in 
the  closing  days  of  August.  At  a  meeting 
of  the  executive  board,  recently  held  in 
Chicago,  the  new  plan  of  organizing  the 
Federation  was  discussed.  In  this  plan 
the  diocese,  not  the  county  or  State,  is  the 
unit.  This  change  in  the  organization 
methods  was  endorsed  by  the  Federation 
Convention  held  in  New  York,  and  has 
thus  far  been  approved  by  a  large  number 
of  the  hierarchy.  Cardinals  Farley  and 
O'Connell  have  pronounced  in  its  favor; 
and  the  Apostolic  Delegate  has  also  added 
his  approbation. 


342 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


Notable  New  Books. 

Catholic  Christianity;  or,  The  Reasonableness 
of  Our  Religion.  By  the  Rev.  O.  Vassall- 
Phillips,  C.  SS.  R.  R.  and  T.  Washbourne; 
Benziger  Brothers. 

This  excellent  work  is  partly  apologetic  and 
partly  didactic.  The  answers  to  the  inquiries, 
"Is  Christianity  True?"  and  "Is  Catholicism 
True?" — the  apologetic  portion, — take  up  about 
two-thirds  of  the  volume;  while  the  remainder 
is  devoted  to  the  question,  "What  does  Catholic 
Christianity  Give?"  Although  a  thoroughly 
Catholic  work,  it  has  not  been  written,  primarily 
at  least,  for  Catholic  readers,  but  for  a  variety 
of  persons  whose  mental  attitude  and  require- 
ments are  widely  different.  The  author  says  in 
his  foreword  that  he  "could  only  endeavor  to 
bear  in  mind  the  questions  which,  as  experience 
has  taught  him,  are  generally  canvassed  in  the 
world  to-day — whether  by  Catholics,  Anglicans 
(of  one  type  or  another),  Nonconformists, 
professed  Agnostics,  or  men  and  women  without 
as  yet  any  definite  creed,  but  sincerely  desirous 
to  find  religious  truth — if  religious  truth  there 
be."  This  circumstance  does  not  at  all  lessen 
the  interest  of  the  work  for  those  who  have  the 
inestimable  gift  of  the  True  Faith;  on  the  con- 
trary, it  lends  an  added  charm  to  the  various 
chapters,  especially  as  the  author  insists  that 
the  positive  evidences  of  Christianity  are 
abundantly  sufficient  to  produce  intellectual 
conviction  of  the  claims  of  Christ  quite  inde- 
pendently of  the  presuppositions  of  belief. 

One  feature  of  the  book,  and  to  our  mind  an 
admirable  one,  is  that,  while  the  different 
chapters  in  each  of  the  three  parts  are  sufficiently 
co-ordinated  to  insure  unity,  each  is  also  com- 
plete in  itself,  and  may  be  "skipped"  by  a 
reader  not  interested  in  its  particular  subject 
without  injury  to  the  argument  as  a  connected 
whole.  At  the  present  time,  when  there  is  in 
the  press,  in  the  secular  universities,  in  the 
popular  novel,  and  in  club-room  talk,  so  much 
reckless  opposition  to  religion,  the  perusal  of 
this  important  volume  can  scarcely  fail  to  do 
good,  even  to  the  Catholic  reader.  We  are  glad 
to  be  able  to  say  that  it  has  an  excellent  table 
of  contents  and  a  good  index. 

Great  Inspirers.  By  the  Rev.  J.  A.  Zahm,  C.  S.  C., 

Ph.  D.    D.  Appleton  &  Co. 

No  one  at  all  familiar  with  biographical  liter- 
ature can  have  failed  to  notice  in  how  many 
instances  women  were  the  inspirers  and  collab- 
orators (often  both)  of  eminent  artists,  authors, 
scientists,  etc.  The  same  is  true  in  the  case  of 
men  who  have  labored  for  the  cause  of  religion. 
"Since  the  advent  of  Christianity,"  says 
Ozanam,  "nothing  great  has  been  achieved  in 


the  Church  without  the  co-opernlion  of  woman.' 
Broadly  speaking,  this  is  unquestionably  a  true 
statement.  As  a  rule,  however,  historians  and 
biographers  concern  themselves  rather  with  the 
outward  manifestation  of  feminine  influence 
than  with  the  inspiration  and  silent  support  so 
often  derived  from  woman. 

In  the  present  work  stress  is  laid  on  the  in- 
ward forces — encouragement,  sympathy,  and  in- 
fluence— of  which  women  are  the  centre.  Instead 
of  presenting  numerous  examples,  as  he  might 
easily  have  done,  and  producing  a  large  volume 
which  would  probably  have  few  readers,  the 
author  has  wisely  confined  himself  to  the  in- 
fluence of  Saints  Paula  and  Eustochium  on  St. 
Jerome,  and  that  of  Beatrice  on  Dante.  The 
illustrious  Dalmatian  and  the  immortal  Italian 
were  selected  on  account  of  their  achievements, 
and  because  they  are  the  chief  representatives 
of  two  of  the  greatest  turning-points  of  history. 
Dr.  Zahm  shows  how  strong  and  beneficial  the 
influence  was  in  each  case,  and  how  amiably 
it  was  exercised.  Only%a  psychologist,  and  one 
capable  of  appreciating  St.  Jerome  and  Dante — 
what  they  were  and  what  they  did, — could  have 
written  such  a  book  as  this.  It  will  be  read  with 
interest  on  account  of  its  subject-matter,  and 
with  pleasure  on  account  of  its  style. 

A  Manual  of  Modern  Scholastic  Philosophy. 
By  Cardinal  Mercier  and  Professors  of  the 
Higher  Institute  of  Philosophy,  Louvain. 
Authorized  Translation,  and  Eighth  Edition, 
by  T.  L.  Parker,  M.  A.,  and  S.  A.  Parker, 
O.  S.  B.,  M.  A.  With  a  Preface  by  P.  Coffey, 
Ph.D.  Vol.1.  London:  Kegan  Paul,  Trench, 
Triibner  &  Co.;  St.  Louis:  B.  Herder. 

In  the  course  of  his  informative  preface  to 
this  work,  Dr.  Coffey  speaks  of  "the  present 
little  volume."  The  epithet  is  anything  but 
happy.  A  bulky  octavo  of  six  hundred  pages, 
it  is  clearly  a  big  rather  than  a  little  book.  Yet 
the  student  or  the  general  reader  interested  in 
philosophical  systems  will  find  it  not  at  all 
too  ponderous;  and,  after  a  serious  perusal  of 
its  different  chapters,  will  be  eager  to  welcome 
the  publication  of  the  promised  second  volume. 
The  subject-matter  of  the  present  one  comprises 
Cosmology,  Psychology,  Epistemology  (Criteri- 
ology),  and  General  Metaphysics  (Ontology). 
With  the  exception  of  the  second  of  these  treatises 
(Cosmology,  by  D.  Nys,  S.  T.  B.,  Ph.D.),  all 
are  from  the  pen  of  Cardinal  Mercier;  and  no 
better  guarantee  of  their  illuminative  nature 
and  authoritative  weight  could  well  be  given. 
Not  the  least  interesting  portion  of  the  work  is 
the  general  introduction  to  Philosophy,  in  which 
the  prelate-author  discusses,  among  other  things, 
the  simplicity  and  universality  of  ideas,  specu- 
lative and  practical  Philosophy,  Scholastic  and 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


343 


modern  philosophers,  and  Philosophy  and  the 
particular  sciences.  The  absence  of  an  index 
to  the  volume  is  partially,  but  only  partially, 
supplied  by  an  analytical  contents  table. 

A  Retrospect  of  Fifty  Years.  By  James  Cardinal 
Gibbons.  2  vols.  John  Murphy  Co. 
Instead  of  being  what  we  think  most  persons 
would  suppose  from  the  title  they  bear,  these 
volumes  are  selections  from  the  venerable 
prelate's  essays  and  sermons,  with  his  famous 
Memorial  on  the  Knights  of  Labor,  and  his 
interesting  reminiscences  of  the  Vatican  Council. 
The  essays  are  on  "The  Church  and  the  Repub- 
lic" and  "The  Claims  of  the  Catholic  Church 
in  the  Making  of  the  Republic,"  "Irish  Immi- 
gration to  the  United  States,"  "Lynch  Law," 
and  "Patriotism  and  Politics."  Most  of  the 
subjects  here  treated  are  as  timely  as  ever, 
and  we  think  his  Eminence  did  well  to  present 
all  that  he  has  written  upon  them.  The  sermons, 
for  the  most  part,  were  delivered  on  great 
anniversaries  in  the  life  of  the  American  Church, 
and  for  this  reason  have  a  special  interest. 

In  his  Introduction  to  these  volumes,  Cardinal 
Gibbons  expresses  the  hope  that  'some  of  the 
selections  may  prove  valuable  for  the  history 
of  the  many  years  through  which  it  has  pleased 
God  to  spare  his  life.'  For  this  reason  the  work 
should  have  been  more  carefully  printed.  In 
examining  the  index  we  noticed  "Bismark," 
"Chaloner,"  "Vaughn,"  and  "Victor  Emanuel"; 
and  the  last  index-page  of  each  volume  has  a 
disfiguring  advertisement  on  the  back  of  it. 

The     Mass    and    Vestments    of    the     Catholic 

Church.     By    the    Rt.   Rev.    Monsignor    John 

Walsh.     Benziger  Brothers. 

This  substantial  volume  is  a  liturgical,  doctri- 
nal, historical,  and  archeological  exposition 
of  the  various  topics  embraced  in  its  title,  and 
will  be  found  as  comprehensive  and  as  inclusive 
of  recent  decrees  and  rulings  as  can  well  be 
desired.  The  inspiration  of  the  book,  we  are 
told  in  its  preface,  was  a  request  from  a  convert, 
who  asked  the  author  to  recommend  a  convenient 
handbook  on  the  Mass  and  vestments  that 
would  be  an  aid  in  giving  response  to  various 
questions  about  these  matters  proposed  by  non- 
Catholics.  The  present  work  aims  to  meet 
all  such  demands,  and  is  accordingly  meant  for 
the  laity  as  well  as  "the  busy  clergy  who  may 
wish  to  refresh  the  knowledge  once  imbibed 
from  more  authoritative  sources  no  longer 
accessible."  Several  of  the  chapters,  indeed — 
notably  those  on  the  sacrifice  and  the  efficacy  and 
fruits  of  the  Mass, — will  appeal  to  the  clergy 
far  more  than  to  their  flocks,  unless  the  latter 
are  fairly  well  versed  in  matters  theological. 

The   volume's  contents  are  cast  in  the  cate- 


chetical form — that  of  question  and  answer, — 
a  plan  with  which  we  are  not  inclined  to  quarrel, 
since  it  gives  additional  definiteness  and  pre- 
cision to  the  author's  views  and  teaching.  But  in 
so  far  as,  the  plan's  adoption  has  been  due  to 
the  author's  hope  that  his  work  may  some  day 
be  accepted  as  a  text-book  for  the  advanced 
pupils  in  our  Catholic  schools,  we  fear  the 
"some  day"  will  be  long  deferred.  In  the 
first  place,  the  book  is  too  large  (and,  we  opine, 
too  expensive)  for  such  a  purpose;  and,  in  the 
second,  much  of  its  material  is  beyond  the  most 
"advanced"  of  our  school-children.  For  the 
children's  teachers,  however,  as  for  their  fathers 
and  mothers,  the  volume  is  eminently  worth 
while;  and  we  are  inclined  to  think  that  priests 
will  welcome  it  among  their  books  of  reference. 
A  bibliography  is  appended  to  several  of  the 
chapters;  there  are  a  number  of  helpful  cuts 
scattered  through  the  pages;  and  the  index 
is  satisfactorily  full. 

The  History  of  Mother  Seton's  Daughters.  The 

Sisters  of    Charity  of  Cincinnati,  Ohio.   1809- 

1917.     By  Sister  Mary  Agnes  McCann,  M.  A. 

Vols.  I.  and  II.     Longmans,  Green  &  Co. 

To  speak  first  of  the  externals  and  the  literary 
appurtenances  of  this  somewhat  ambitious 
work:  we  have  two  handsomely  printed  octavo 
volumes  of  336  and  334  pages,  each  contain- 
ing about  a  score  of  good  illustrations,  an 
adequate  bibliography,  and  an  excellent  index, 
with  copious  supplementary  footnotes  on  the 
majority  of  the  pages.  Typographically,  the 
work  can  hardly  fail  to  please. 

As  for  the  substance  of  the  volumes,  while 
much  of  it  will  prove  of  genuine  interest  to  the 
general  Catholic  reader,  and  some  of  it  is  of  real 
historical  value,  a  good  deal  of  the  narrative 
will  appeal  rather  to  the  special  friends  of  the 
Sisters  whose  story  is  told  than  to  the  rank  and 
file  of  American  Catholics.  This,  however,  is  a 
drawback  common  to  all  histories  of  particular 
religious  families,  and  an  entirely  natural  one. 
Keen  as  should  be,  no  -doubt,  our  interest  in 
everything  relating  to  the  growth  of  the  Church 
and  of  religious  education  in  this  country,  we 
are  apt  to  prove  more  or  less  indifferent  to 
detailed  narratives  of  particular  dioceses  or  relig- 
ious communities  With  which  we  have  no  closer 
bond  than  that  of  our  common  Catholicity. 

The  present  volumes  (another  one  is  promised) 
bring  the  story  up  to  the  year  1871.  A  summary 
of  their  contents  is:  Mother  Seton's  life  and 
labors,  1774-18-21;  the  history  of  the  Daughters 
of  Charity  from  the  death  of  Mother  Seton  to 
the  affiliation  of  the  society  with  the  French 
mother-house  in  1851;  and  the  story  of  Mother 
Seton's  Daughters  of  Charity  of  Cincinnati  during 
the  past  two  decades. 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


XI. — PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT. 

'VE  got  him,  sir!"  cried  Dennis  in 
breathless  triumph.  "Got  him  on 
the  stable  roof,  that  he  tuk  to  like 
a  wild-cat  when  the  dogs  had  nearly  torn 
the  clothes  off  his  back.  Why  they  didn't 
ate  him  up  entirely,  God  only  knows." 

Aye,  only  God  knew, — God  and  the  good 
angels  whom  He  sends  to  aid  His  helpless 
little  ones;  for  Con  had  dared  beasts  as 
fierce  as  those  the  martyrs  had  fought  of 
old.  His  ragged  clothes  had  been  torn  into 
shreds;  his  sturdy  limbs  were  scratched 
and  bleeding;  his  blue  eyes  looked  out 
in  dull  bewilderment  from  a  pale,  desperate 
young  face. 

Uncle  Greg  needed  no  drumhead  court- 
martial  to  judge  the  case.  He  fixed  his 
condemning  gaze  upon  the  prisoner. 

"Coming  to  burn  us  up,  as  you  said,  eh?" 
he  questioned  grimly. 

"Yes,"  gasped  Con,  catching  confusedly 
at  the  words.  "They're  coming — to — to 
burn  the  house." 

"To  burn  the  house!  God  have  mercy 
on  us,"  gasped  Aunt  Aline. 

"The  murdhering  young  divil!"  rose 
the  wrathful  chorus  from  men  and  maids. 
•  "Out  with  it  all,  afore  I  take  the  horse- 
whip to  ye!"  cried  Dennis,  fiercely. 
"Where  was  it  ye  were  starting  the  blaze? " 

"In — in  the  stable,"  went  on  Con, 
striving,  in  his  bewilderment,  for  words  of 
warning.  "They're  going  to  bring  oil  and 
turpentine,  and  poison  for  the  dogs." 

"Poison  for  the  dogs — my  dogs?" 
roared  Uncle  Greg.  "Why,  you — you — " 
(a  string  of  old  soldier  words  punctuated 
the  wrathful  outburst)  "I'll  have  you  in 
worse  than  the  Reform  for  this!  Lock  him 


up,  Dennis, —  lock  him  up  until  morning; 
and  we'll  have  him  behind  bars,  sure 
enough.  Lock  him  up,  and  then  search 
the  place  high  and  low.  Oil  and  turpentine 
in  the  stables!  Thunderation !  Take  that 
young  villain  away,  Dennis,  before  I  choke 
the  life  out  of  him." 

"O  Uncle  Greg,  Uncle  Greg!"  came  a 
sweet,  pleading  little  voice.  "You  don't 
understand  at  all,  Uncle  Greg.  Con  is 
telling  you  about  some  one  else.  He  is 
warning  you,  Uncle  Greg.  He  didn't 
come  to  burn  the  house  himself, — oh,  I 
know  he  didn't." 

"Naw!  naw!"  panted  Con,  struggling  in 
Dennis'  wrathful  hold,  "I  came  to — to 
blow — to  blow  it  all.  Never  blowed  before, 
but  had  to  do  it  now, — had  to  do  it  for  you, 
little  Missy." 

"For  me, — for  me?  O  Uncle  Greg,  listen 
to  what  Con  is  saying !  Please  listen, 
Uncle  Greg.  He  came  to  tell  you  some  one 
was  going  to  burn  the  house  to-night." 

"Arrah,  don't  be  heeding  the  lies  he's 
telling,  Miss!"  said  Dennis.  "What  does 
the  likes  of  him  care  whether  we  burn  or 
not?" 

"I  didn't,"  blurted  out  Con,  his  dulled 
eyes  beginning  to  flash.  "I  didn't  care  for 
you  or  him"  (turning  a  glance  at  Uncle 
Greg),  "or  none  of  you.  I'd  let  you  all 
burn  up  to  ashes,  mebbe.  But  I  couldn't 
let  no  hurt  come  to  that  thar  little  girl, — 
that  pretty  little  girl,  that  was  so  good  and 
nice  to  me.  So — so  when  I  heard  Uncle 
Bill  and  the  boys  talking  about  what  they 
were  a-going  to  do  down  here  to-night 
when  you  were  all  asleep,  I  just  had  to 
come  and  blow  'em,  if  it  killed  me.  I 
couldn't  see  the  way  clear,  and  I  run  and 
tumbled;  and  had  to  jump  Injun  Creek, 
and  cut  my  head  agin  the  rocks,  to  get 
here  before  the  boys  could  start  the  blaze. 
The  dogs  nigh  scared  me  off.  But  I  had 
to  come  agin  them,  too.  I  had  to  come 


THE  AVR  MARIA 


34f> 


and  blow  it  all,  about  the  oil  and  the  tur- 
pentine and  the  poison,  so  you  eould  siave 
off  Uncle  Bill  and  the  boys,  and  not  let 
the  little  girl  get  choked  or  burned." 

"O  Uncle  Greg,  Uncle  Greg!"  sobbed 
vSusie,  imploringly.  "He  did  it  for  me, — 
for  me!" 

"Brother,  I  believe  every  word  that  boy 
says,"  put  in  Aunt  Aline,  with  unusual 
decision. 

"7  don't!"  declared  Uncle  Greg,  fiercely. 
"He  is  lying, — lying  to  get  on  our  soft 
side,  Madam, — lying,  thinking  he  will  slip 
out  of  a  tight  place.  Take  him  off,  Dennis! 
Lock  him  up  in  the  smoking-room,  where 
he  can  do  no  harm  for  the  night.  Turn 
out  all  the  men  to  watch  and  guard.  Shut 
up  the  dogs  from  harm.  It  will  be  ten 
dollars  extra  for  every  man  to-morrow 
morning  if  we  catch  these  scoundrels 
trying  any  devilment  on  us." 

It  was  an  exciting  night  that  followed 
at  the  Manse, — a  night  that  poor  little 
Susie,  used  to  the  calm,  untroubled  ways  of 
St.  Joseph's,  never  forgot.  When  it  was 
discovered  that  the  telephone  wires  had 
been  cut,  Uncle  Greg's  wrath  knew  no 
bounds.  A  mounted  messenger  was  sent 
out  to  give  the  alarm,  and  a  band  of  sturdy 
and  indignant  neighbors  gathered  round 
the  Manse  for  defence.  The  dogs  were 
safely  locked  up  out  of  reach  of  "poisoned 
sausage,"  and  Uncle  Greg  himself  took 
command  of  the  ambush  about  stable  and 
barns ;  while  the  wofnen-f oik  gathered  in  the 
sitting-room,  watching  and  trembling;  and 
even  Aunt  Aline's  calm  nerves  gave  way. 
"We  ought  to  thank  God  for  that  poor 
boy's  warning.  We  might  all  have  been 
burned  in  our  beds  before  day." 

"Is  it  Buzzard  Con,  ma'am?"  said 
Nora,  indignantly.  "Sure  he  is  head 
devil  of  them  all.  Didn't  ye  hear  him  say 
as  much?" 

"No,  we  didn't, — we  didn't,"  declared 
Susie.  "Uncle  Greg  got  it  all  wrong.  Con 
came  to  tell, — just  to  tell  and  save  us. 
Poor,  poor  Con!  O  Aunt  Aline,  can't  we 
go  in  to  the  smoking-room  and  say  a  kind 
word  to  him?" 


"No,  my  dear,  we  can't.  Your  uncle 
wouldn't  hear  of  it,"  answered  Aunt  Aline, 
tearfully, — "though  the  poor  boy  may  be 
dying  in  there  alone,  for  all  we  know.  He 
looked  ready  to  drop  at  our  feet  when  they 
dragged  him  in.  Go  to  bed,  Susie  dear,  or 
you  will  be  down  sick  to-morrow,  with  all 
this  trouble  and  turmoil.  Nothing  will 
harm  you,  darling!  There  are  strong  men 
all  around  us  in  watch. — You  go  up  with 
her,  Kathie,"  said  Aunt  Aline  to  the  little 
kitchen-maid,  who  had  come  up  with  the 
other  servants  and  stood  in  wide-eyed 
terror  by  the  door.  "Lie  down  on  the 
couch  in  Miss  Susie's  room,  and  both  of 
you  children  go  to  sleep." 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  sleep  a  wink  to-night, 
Aunt  Aline!"  sobbed  Susie. 

"You  must  try,"  said  the  lady.   "Go  up 
to  your  room,  like  a  good  child,  and  try." 
And,   followed  by  the  bewildered  little 
Kathie,  Susie  obeyed. 

There  were  no  orphan  asylums  for 
miles  around  Misty  Mountain,  and  Kathie 
was  one  of  an  orphaned  brood  that 
had  been  scattered  among  the  charitable 
housewives  of  the  neighborhood  to  "train" 
as  best  they  could.  Red-haired,  wild-eyed 
Kathie  had  fallen  into  Aunt  Aline's  care, 
and  was  the  trial  of  her  well-ordered  estab- 
lishment. "Sure  she  hasn't  the  sinse  to 
scour  a  pan!"  cook  and  Nora  declared; 
for,  in  her  bewilderment  at  her  new  sur- 
roundings, Kathie  aroused  their  ire  a  dozen 
times  a  day.  For  the  last  week  she  had 
been  more  breathless  and  stupid  still; 
for  Susie,  with  her  dainty  ways  and  dainty 
clothes,  had  held  her  dumb  with  admira- 
tion. Hitherto  she  had  never  dared  ap- 
proach this  lovely  being,  for  Nora  had 
sternly  bade  her  'keep  her  place';  and 
now— now  to  be  ordered  upstairs  with  her ! 
Fairly  speechless  with  delight,  she  fol- 
lowed Susie  up  into  the  pretty,  spacious 
room,  where  a  bright  fire  was  blazing  on 
the  hearth,  house  plants  were  in  winter 
bloom,  and  the  windows  and  dressing  table 
gay  with  flowered  draperies. 

As  Kathie  stood  dazed  in  the  midst  of 
these  glories,  their  little  mistress  dropped 


THE  AVK  MART  A 


into  thi1  cushioned  rocker  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"Don't  —  don't  scare!"  said  Kathie, 
eagerly.  "I'll  set  up  here  by  the  fire  and 
take  care  of  you.  Nothing  shan't  hurt 
you, — nothing  at  all." 

"Oh,  I  know,  I  know!  I'm  not  afraid 
for  myself  at  all.  It's  only  for  that  poor 
boy  downstairs.  He  just  came  to  tell  us, 
to  save  us, — to  save  me,  he  said;  and 
now — now!  O  poor,  poor  Con!" 

"Land!"  Kathie's  wide  eyes  popped 
wider  at  this  broken  explanation.  "You 
ain't  a-crying  'bout  Buzzard  Con!  Why, 
he  ain't  no  kin  or  'count  to  you!" 

"Yes,  he  is, — he  is!"  sobbed  Susie.  "O 
Kathie — is  that  your  name?" 

"It's  whot  some  folks  call  me,"  an- 
swered Kathie,  feeling  her  present  position 
demanded  something  more  high-sounding. 
"My  real  right  christen  name  is  Katherine 
Rosabelle." 

"I  like  Kathie  better,"  said  Susie.  "O 
Kathie,  do  you  think  poor  Con  is  dying 
down  there  in  the  smoking-room  all  alone? " 

"Whot  would  he  be  dying  for?"  asked 
Kathie,  staring.  "Nobody  ain't  shot  or 
cut  him.  My  pap  was  shot." 

' '  Shot ! ' '  gasped  her  little  hearer.  ' '  Who 
shot  him? " 

"Dunno,"  answered  Kathie.  "Mar  she 
always  'spicioned  Wally  Gryce.  She  were 
a-laying  for  him  when  she  got  snake  bite 
and  died  herself.  That's  why  we  wus  all 
orfants  and  had  to  be  divided  round.  But 
Con  he  ain't  shot  or  got  no  snake  bite  to 
hurt  him." 

"Oh,  but  he  was  all  fainting  and  bleed- 
ing!" said  Susie. 

"Jest  done  out,"  Kathie  nodded 
sagely, — "done  out  and  had  scratched  legs. 
But  he  is  going  to  get  wus  than  that.  I 
heern  Nora  and  Dennis  talking  'bout 
what  the  old  Captain's  a-going  to  do  to 
him :  how  he  is  going  to  shet  him  up  behind 
bolts  and  bars  till  he's  a  growed  man. 
Buzzard  Con  won't  stand  for  that  sure. 
He'll  go  luny  and  they'll  have  to  chain 
him  down." 

"Chain  him  down!"  echoed  Susie,  who 


\\:is  hearing  things  to-night  she  had  ncv.-r 
heafd  before. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Kathie,  whose  experi- 
ence had  been  wider  and  more  varied. 
"My  Uncle  Jim  went  luny,  and  that's 
whot  they  did  to  him.  And  he  bust  loose 
and  knocked  his  head  against  the  wall,  and 
kilt  himself  stone  dead." 

Susie  gasped  with  horror,  as  she  re- 
called the  breathless,  blood-stained  boy 
struggling  in  the  stufdy  Irishman's  grip. 
Kathie's  forecast  did  not  seem  improbable. 
She  clasped  her  hands  despairingly. 

"  O  Kathie,  it's  just  breaking  my  heart ! " 

"Don't  cry  no  more!"  blurted  Kathie, 
as  there  seemed  evidence  of  another  burst 
of  tears.  "I  hate  to  see  you  cry.  If  you 
want  me  too,  I'll — I'll  get  Buzzard  Con 
out  for  you." 

"You,  Kathie!"  exclaimed  Susie. 

"Yes,"  continued  this  new  ally,  breath- 
lessly. "Cross  your  heart  that  you'll 
never  tell,  and  I'll  get  him  out." 

"Oh,  you  can't,  Kathie!  I'll  never, 
never  tell  on  you;  but  you  can't." 

"Yes,  I  can,"  said  Kathie,  whose  eyes 
had  'not  been  so  wide-stretched  all  these 
weeks  without  seeing  things.  "Thar's  a 
door  opening  in  the  covered  porch  of  that 
thar  smoking-room.  They  hez  it  locked 
up  all  the  cold  weather,  but  I  know  whar 
Nora  keeps  the  key.  I  can  get  him  out." 

"O  Kathie!"  Susie  jumped  from  her 
chair  and  flung  her  arms  about  the  little 
kitchen-maid,  "if  you  could,  if  you  would, 
I'll— I'll  love  you  forever,  Kathie!" 

That  settled  matters.  Susie's  conquest 
was  complete.  With  arms  still  twined,  the 
two  small  conspirators  sank  down  on  the 
softly  cushioned  divan  before  the  fire, 
and  made  their  plans  to  outwit  all  the 
grown-up  powers  combined  against  poor 
Con  and  set  him  free  from  Uncle  Greg's 
relentless  grip.  It  was  an  oddly  con- 
trasted pair:  Susie  with  her  pretty  face, 
her  golden  hair,  her  dainty  dress;  and  the 
wild-eyed,  red-headed  little  kitchen-maid, 
ready  to  risk  all  things  in  her  service;  for 
Kathie  was  venturing  more  than  Susie 
could  understand. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


347 


"I  dussent  go  yet,"  said  Kathie,  '"cause 
the  men  are  all  out  watching,  and  every- 
body is  awake.  But  when  it  comes  nigh 
morning  and  the  fog  is  thick  over  things, 
and  folks  is  all  asleep,  then  I  can  sneak 
down  quiet  and  easy,  and  get  the  key  of 
that  back  door,  and  turn  the  lock  soft  so 
no  one  can  hear,  and  let  Buzzard  Con  out." 

"O  Kathie,"  exclaimed  Susie  in  breath- 
less gratitude,  "you  are  the  bravest  and 
kindest  and  dearest  girl  I  ever  saw !  Even 
Milly  Martin,  who  is  my  very  best  friend 
at  St.  Joseph's,  wouldn't  do  as  much  for 
me,  I  know.  She  wouldn't  dare.  Milly  is 
awfully  scary.  She  almost  faints  when 
she  .sees  a  mouse." 

"Whot  for?"  asked  Kathie. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!  She  is  just  that 
way, — not  like  you  at  all.  But  she  sits 
beside  me  in  class,  and  we've  be.en  best 
friends  for  nearly  two  years, — ever  since 
we  were  confirmed  together  and  took  the 
same  name.  She  gave  me  a  lovely  pin  for 
Christmas,  and  I  gave  her  a  ring.  Kathie, 
I'd  like  to  give  you  something  for 
Christmas,  too." 

"Me?"  said  Kathie,  breathlessly. 

"Yes,  because  you're  so  good  and  so 
kind  to  help  poor  Con.  Let  me  see  what 
I've  got  that  you  would  like,  Kathie." 
And  Susie  flung  open  her  trunk  and  pro- 
ceeded to  pull  over  its  pretty  contents — 
handkerchiefs,  collars,  hair  ribbons,  stock- 
ings, and  slippers ;  for  there  were  gala  days 
at  St.  Joseph's  when  such  little  vanities 
were  in  demand.  "Choose  anything  you 
want,"  continued  Susie,  who  was  in  a 
reckless  mood  to-night.  "How  would  you 
like  this  collar?  Sister  Patricia's  aunt 
made  it.  It's  real  Irish  lace.  Or  these  white 
silk  stockings?  They  were  all  embroidered 
in  forget-me-nots  for  the  last  May  festival, 
when  I  carried  our  Blessed  Mother's  ban- 
ner. Or  this?"  She  shook  out  a  shimmering 
thing  of  rose  and  silver,  gorgeous  to  behold. 

"Land!"  gasped  Kathie,  quite  incapa- 
ble of  further  speech. 

"It  is  the  scarf  I  wore  when  I  was 
Roman  herald  in  the  Christian  martyrs' 

(To  be 


play  on  Mother  Benedicta's  feast,"  ex- 
plained Susie.  "Would  you  like  it,  Kathie? 
You  could  wear  it  as  a  sash."  And  Susie 
draped  the  lustrous  fold  about  Kathie 's 
sturdy  waist  with  a  practised  hand. 

"You — you  don't  mean  to  give  this  here 
to — to  me?"  stammered  Kathie. 

"Yes,  if  you'd  like  it,"  was  the  smiling 
answer. 

"Like  it!  Land,  I'd  love  it!  But  it's 
too  grand  and  too  fine  for  me.  And  Nora 
and  cook  and  Dennis  would  jeer  and  sneer 
at  me  for  sure  if  they  seen  me  tied  up  in  a 
grand  sash  like  this.  But  I  won't  let  'em 
see  it.  I'll  put  it  away  till  I'm  growed  up 
and  get  merried." 

Kathie  hurriedly  slipped  her  new  splen- 
dor under  her  checked  apron  as  Aunt 
Aline  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

•"You  can  go  to  your  own  bed,  now, 
Kathie.  I'll  stay  here  with  Susie  until  she 
goes  to  sleep.  For  there  is  no  more  danger, 
dear!  Sheriff  Mott  and  his  men  caught 
those  two  dreadful  Gryce  boys  as  they 
were  stealing  up  to  the  barn  to  do  their 
wicked  work.  They  were  so  startled  that 
they  didn't  even  make  a  fight.  The 
sheriff  has  taken  them  off  to  the  lock-up  in 
the  Gap.  Thank  God  we  were  warned  in 
time,  or  no  one  can  say  what  would  have 
happened!" 

"And  Con — poor  Con  that  warned  us, — • 
did  they  take  him,  too?"  faltered  Susie. 

"No,"  answered  Aunt  Aline.  "Your 
uncle  told  the  sheriff  he  himself  would 
settle  with  Con." 

"O  Aunt  Aline!" 

"There,  there!  Don't  let  us  have  any 
more  trouble  about  Con  to-night,"  said 
Aunt  Aline,  a  little  sharply.  "My  nerves 
are  all  on  edge  now.  Your  uncle  must  have 
his  way;  he  always  does,  and  neither  you 
nor  I  can  change  him. — Go  to  bed,  as  I 
told  you,  Kathie.  It's  past  midnight,  and 
no  time  for  little  girls  to  be  awake." 

"Don't  scare,"  whispered  a  low  voice  in 
Susie's  ear,  as  Kathie  paused  for  a  second 
on  her  way  to  the  door.  "I'll  get  him  out 
for  you, — I'll  get  him  out,  sure!" 

continued.) 


348 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Blackie. 


EEW  men  of  our  time  have  travelled 
more  extensively  or  had  a  wider  ex- 
perience of  mankind  than  General  William 
Butler,  of  the  British  Army.  Born  in 
Ireland,  this  famous  Catholic  soldier  saw 
service  in  India,  Africa,  Canada,  and 
England.  He  was  a  brilliant  writer  as 
well  as  a  brave  soldier.  In  his  book  of 
travel  and  adventure  in  the  Northwest  of 
America  he  says:  "I  never  yet  knew  a 
man,  or,  for  that  matter,  a  woman — worth 
much  who  did  not  like  dogs  and  horses; 
and  I  would  always  feel  inclined  to  suspect 
a  man  who  was  shunned  by  a  dog." 
General  Butler  himself  was  a  lover  of 
horses  and  dogs,  and  tells  many  interesting 
stories  about  those  that  were  his  com- 
panions in  different  parts  of  the  world.  He 
would  not  tolerate  cruelty  to  these  benefac- 
tors of  man,  and  used  to  say  that  any  one 
who  would  needlessly  inflict  it  must  be  a 
very  cur  in  nature.  Of  "Blackie,"  a  little 
horse  that  was  a  real  benefactor  to  him  in 
"the  Great  Lone  Land,"  he  writes: 
*** 

My  horse  was  a  wonderful  animal.  Day 
after  day  would  I  fear  that  his  game  little 
limbs  were  growing  weary,  and  that  soon 
he  must  give  out;  but  no,  not  a  bit  of  it: 
his  black  coat  roughened  and  his  flanks 
grew  a  little  leaner,  but  still  he  went  on 
as  gamely  and  as  pluckily  as  ever.  Often 
during  the  long  day  I  would  dismount  and 
walk  along,  leading  him  by  the  bridle, 
while  the  other  two  men  and  the  six  horses 
jogged  on  far  in  advance. 

When  the  camping  place  would  be 
reached  at  nightfall,  the  first  care  went  to 
the  horse.  To  remove  saddle,  bridle,  and 
saddlecloth,  to  untie  the  strip  of  soft 
buffalo  leather  from  his  neck  and  twist  it 
well  around  his  fore-legs,  for  the  purpose 
of  hobbling,  was  the  work  of  only  a  few 
minutes;  and  then  poor  Blackie  hobbled 
away,  to  find  over  the  darkening  expanse 
his  night's  provender. 

My  little  Blackie  seldom  got  a  respite 


from  the  saddle;  he  seemed  so  well  up  to 
his  work,  so  much  stronger  and  better 
than  any  of  the  others,  that  day  after  day 
I  rode  him,  thinking  each  day,  "Well,  to- 
morrow I  will  let  him  run  loose."  But 
when  to-morrow  came  he  used  to  look  so 
fresh  and  well,  carrying  his  little  head  as 
high  as  ever,  that  again  I  put  the  saddle  on 
his  back,  and  another  day's  talk  and  com- 
panionship would  still  further  cement  our 
friendship.  ...  As  day  after  day  went  by 
in  one  long  scene  of  true  companionship, 
I  came  to  feel  for  little  Blackie  a  friendship 
not  the  less  sincere  because  all  the  service 
was  upon  his  side;  and  I  was  powerless  to 
make  his  supper  a  better  one,  or  give  him 
a  more  cosy  lodging  for  the  night.  He  fed 
and  lodged  himself,  and  he  carried  me. 
All  he  asked  in  return  was  a  water-hole  in 
the  frozen  lake,  and  that  I  cut  for  him. 
Sometimes  the  night  came  down  upon  us 
still  in  the  midst  of  a  great,  open,  treeless 
plain,  without  shelter,  water,  or  grass;  and 
then  we  would  continue  on  in  the  inky 
darkness  as  though  our  march  was  to  last 
eternally;  and  poor  Blackie  would  step 
out  as  if  his  natural  state  was  one  of  per- 
petual motion. 

On  the  4th  of  November  we  rode  over 
sixty  miles;  and  when  at  length  the  camp 
was  made  in  the  lea  of  a  little  clump  of 
bare  willows,  the  snow  was  lying  cold 
upon  the  prairies,  and  Blackie  and  his 
conjrades  went  out  to  shiver  through 
their  supper  in  the  bleakest  scene  my  eyes 
had  ever  looked  upon.  . . . 

When  the  morning  of  the  5th  dawned 
we  were  covered  deep  in  snow.  A  storm 
had  burst  in  the  night,  and  all  around  was 
hidden  in  a  dense  sheet  of  driving  snow- 
flakes.  Not  a  vestige  of  our  horses  was  to 
be  seen;  their  tracks  were  obliterated  by 
the  fast-falling  snow,  and  the  surrounding 
objects  close  at  hand  showed  dim  and  in- 
distinct through  the  white  cloud.  After  a 
fruitless  search,  Daniel  returned  to  camp 
with  the  tidings  that  the  horses  were 
nowhere  to  be  found.  So,  when  .breakfast 
had  been  finished,  all  three  set  out  in 
different  directions  to  look  again  for  the 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


349 


missing  steeds.  Keeping  the  snowstorm  on 
my  left  shoulder,  I  went  along  through 
little  clumps  of  stunted  bushes,  which 
frequently  deceived  me  by  their  resem- 
blance through  the  driving  snow  to  horses 
grouped  together. 

After  a  while  I  bent  round  towards  the 
wind,  and,  making  a  long  sweep  in  that 
direction,  bent  again  so  as  to  bring  the 
drift  upon  my  right  shoulder.  No  horses, 
no  tracks  anywhere,  —  nothing  but  a 
waste  of  white  drifting  flake  and  feathery 
snow-spray.  At  last  I  turned  away  from 
the  wind,  and  soon  struck  full  on  our  little 
camp;  neither  of  the  others  had  returned. 
I  cut  down  some  willows  and  made  a 
blaze.  After  a  while  I  got  on  to  the  top 
of  the  cart,  and  looked  out  again  into  the 
waste.  Presently  I  heard  a  distant  shout. 
Replying  vigorously  to  it,  several  indis- 
tinct forms  came  into  view;  and  Daniel 
soon  emerged  from  the  mist,  driving  before 
him  the  hobbled  wanderers.  They  had 
been  hidden  under  the  lea  of  a  thicket, 
all  clustered  together  for  shelter  and 
warmth.  .  .  . 

During  the  greater  portion  of  this  day 
it  snowed  hard;  but  our  track  was  dis- 
tinctly marked  across  the  plains,  and  we 
held  on  all  day.  I  still  rode  Blackie;  the 
little  fellow  had  to  keep  his  wits  at  work 
to  avoid  tumbling  into  the  badger  holes 
which  the  snow  soon  rendered  invisible. 
These  badger  holes  in  this  portion  of  the 
plains  were  very  numerous ;  it  is  not 
always  easy  to  avoid  them  when  the 
ground  is  clear  of  snow,  but  riding  becomes 
extremely  difficult  when  once  the  winter 
has  set  in.  The  badger  burrows  straight 
down  for  two  or  three  feet ;  and  if  a  horse 
be  travelling  at  any  pace,  his  fall  is  so 
sudden  and  violent  that  a  broken  leg  is 
too  often  the  result.  Once  or  twice 
Blackie  went  in  nearly  to  the  shoulder, 
but  he  invariably  scrambled  up  again  all 
right.  Poor  fellow !  he  was  reserved  for,  a 
worse  fate,  and  his  long  journey  was  near 
'  its  end !  .  .  . 

Day  dawned  upon  us  on  the  6th  of 
.November,  camped  in  a  little  thicket  of 


poplars  some  seventy  miles  from  the  South 
Saskatchewan;  the  thermometer  stood  3° 
below  zero;  and  as  I  drew  the  girths  tight 
on  poor  Blackie's  ribs  that  morning,  I  felt 
happy  in  the  thought  that  I  had  slept  for 
the  first  time  under  the  stars  with  35°  of 
frost  lying  on  the  blanket  outside.  Another 
long  day's  ride,  and  the  last  great  treeless 
plain  was  crossed,  and  evening  found  us 
camped  near  the  Minitchinass,  or  Solitary 
Hill,  some  sixteen  miles  southeast  of  the 
South  Saskatchewan.  .  .  . 

About  midday  on  the  yth  of  November, 
in  a  driving  storm  of  snow,  we  suddenly 
emerged  upon  a  high  plateau.  Before  us, 
at  a  little  distance,  a  great  gap  or  valley 
seemed  to  open  out  suddenly;  and  far- 
ther off  the  white  sides  of  hills  and  dark 
treetops  rose  into  view.  Riding  to  the 
edge  of  this  steep  valley,  I  beheld  a  mag- 
nificent river  flowing,  between  great  banks 
of  ice  and  snow,  300  feet  below  the  level 
on  which  we  stood.  Upon  each  side  masses 
of  ice  stretched  out  far  into  the  river;  but 
in  the  centre,  between  these  banks  of  ice, 
ran  a  swift,  black-looking  current,  the 
sight  of  which  for  a  moment  filled  us  with 
dismay.  We  had  counted  upon  the  Sas- 
katchewan being  firmly  locked  in  ice;  and 
here  was  the  river  rolling  along  between 
its  icy  banks,  forbidding  all  passage.  .  .  . 

It  froze  hard  that  night,  and  in  the 
morning  the  great  river  had  its  waters 
altogether  hidden  opposite  our  camp  by 
a  covering  of  ice.  Would  it  bear? — that 
was  the  question.  We  went  on  it  early, 
testing  with  axe  and  sharp-pointed  poles. 
In  places  it  was  very  thin,  but  in  other 
parts  it  rang  hard  and  solid  to  the  blows. 
The  dangerous  spot  was  in  the  very  centre 
of  the  river,  where  the  water  had  shown 
through  in  round  holes  on  the  previous 
day;  but  we  hoped  to  avoid  these  bad 
places  by  taking  a  slanting  (course  across 
the  channel.  After  walking  "backwards  and 
forwards  several  times,  we  determined  to 
try  a  light  horse.  He  was  led  out  with  a 
long  piece  of  rope  attached  to  his  neck. 
In  the  centre  of  the  stream  the  ice  seemed 
to  bend  slightly  as  he  passed  over;  but 


350 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


no  break  occurred,  and  in  safety  he  reached 
the   opposite   side.     Now   came   Blackie's 
turn.  ...  I    followed    close    behind    him, 
to   drive   him   if  necessary.     He   did   not 
need  much  driving,  but  took  the  ice  quite 
readily.    We  had  got  to  the  centre  of  the 
river,    when    the    surface    suddenly    bent 
downwards,  and,  to  my  horror,  the  poor 
horse    plunged    deep    into    black,    quick- 
running  water!    He  was  not  three  yards 
in  front  of  me  when  the  ice  broke.    I  re- 
coiled involuntarily  from  the  black,  seeth- 
ing chasm;    the  horse,  though  he  plunged 
suddenly  down,  never  let  his  head  under 
water,  but  kept  swimming  bravely  round 
and  round  the  narrow  hole,  trying  all  he 
could  to  get  upon  the  ice.    All  his  efforts 
were  useless:     a  cruel  wall  of  sharp  ice 
struck  his  knees  as  he  tried  to  lift  them 
on  the  surface;    and  the  current,  running 
with  immense  velocity,  repeatedly  carried 
him   back   underneath.     As   soon   as   the 
horse  had  broken  through,  the  man  who 
held  the  rope  let  it  go,  and  the  leather  line 
flew  back  about  poor  Blackie's  head.     I 
got  up  almost  to  the  edge  of  the  hole,  and, 
stretching  out,  took  hold  of  the  line  again; 
but  that  could  do  no  good  nor  give  him 
any  assistance  in  his  struggles. 
•   I  shall  never  forget  the  way  the  poor 
brute  looked  at  me.    Even  now,  as  I  write 
these  lines,  the  whole  scene  comes  back  in 
memory  with  all  the  vividness  of  a  picture  ; 
and  I   feel   again   the    horrible   sensation 
of   being   utterly  unable,   though    almost 
within  touching  distance,  to  give  him  help 
in  his  dire  extremity.    And  if  ever  dumb 
animal  spoke  with  unutterable  eloquence, 
that  horse  called  to  me  in  his  agony;    he 
turned  to  me  as  to  one  from  whom  he  had 
a  right  to  expect  assistance.    I  could  not 
stand  the  scene  any  longer. 

"Is  there  no  help  for  him?"  I  cried  to 
the  other  men. 

"None  whatever,"  was  the  reply:  "the 
ice  is  dangerous  all  around." 

Then  I  rushed  back  to  the  shore,  and 
up  to  the  camp  where  my  rifle  lay;  then 
back  again  to  the  fatal  spot  where  the 
poor  beast  still  struggled  against  his  fate. 


As  I  raised  the  rifle  he  looked  at  me  so 
imploringly  that  my  hand  shook  and 
trembled.  Another  instant,  and  the  deadly 
bullet  crashed  through  his  head,  and,  with 
one  look  never  to  be  forgotten,  he  went 
down  under  the  cold,  unpitying  ice! 

*** 

Though  a  cruel  necessity,  it  was,  of 
course,  a  merciful  kindness  thus  to  put  an 
end  to  the  poor  animal's  misery,  there 
being  no  hope  of  rescuing  him.  How  sorry 
General  Butler  was  to  be  obliged  to  kill 
his  poor  dumb  friend  may  be  judged  from 
what  he  says  in  concluding  his  narrative: 
' '  It  may  have  been  very  foolish,  perhaps — 
for  poor  Blackie  was  only  a  horse, — tout  I 
went  back  to  camp,  and,  sitting  down  in 
the  snow,  cried  like  a  child.  With  my  own 
hand  I  had  taken  my  poor  friend's  life. 
But  if  there  should  exist  somewhere  in  the 
regions  of  space  that  happy  Indian  paradise 
where  horses  are  never  hungry  and  never 
tired,  Blackie  will  forgive  the  hand  that 
sent  him  there,  if  he  can  but  see  the  heart 
that  long  regretted  him." 


His  Folly. 

BY    A.  S. 

/(p  NAMELESS  little  lad  one  night, 
^     Through  lonely  paths  returning, 
Took  up,   to  guide  his  steps  aright, 
A  lantern  brightly  burning. 

And  safe  he  travelled  by  its  ray, 

Until,  before  him  glancing, 
He  saw,  along  the  darksome  way, 
,  The  sparkling  fireflies  dancing. 

Then  he  discarded  with  disdain 
His  lantern,  calmly  beaming, 

To  follow  this  resplendent  train, 
In  fitful  radiance  gleaming. 

But  ere  a  second  step  he  took 
He  found  his  folly  humbled: 

The  flying  lights  his  path  forsook, 
And  in  a  ditch  he  tumbled. 

The  blame  remained  with  him  alone; 

For  half  the  ills  we  reckon 
J 'rot-red   from  leaving  lights  well  known. 

For  those  that  falsely  beckon. 


THE  AYR  MAR^A  351 

WITH    AUTHORS   AND    PUBLISHERS 


— We  learn  that  the  new  edition  of  the  "  Cath- 
olic Dictionary,"  soon  to  appear,  is  much  en- 
larged, and  that  the  previous  articles  have  been 
brought  up  to  date.  The  work  originally  ap- 
peared in  1884. 

— "The  White  People,"  by  Frances  Hodgson 
Burnett  (Harper  &  Brothers),  is  a  curious  fiction 
of  a  Scotch  girl  gifted  with  the  power  of  seeing 
ghosts — the  "white  people"  of  the  title.  We  do 
not  grasp  "the  deep  spiritual  significance"  which 
the  publishers  attribute  to  this  tale,  except  it  be 
a  reaching  out  to  prove,  somehow  experimentally, 
survival  after  death.  The  vagueness  of  the  au- 
thor's "message"  does  not,  however,  attach  to 
the  art  of  her  writing,  which  is  of  an  iridescent 
loveliness. 

— "Manly,"  a  brochure  of  170  pages,  is  the 
year-book  of  St.  Patrick's  (ecclesiastical)  College 
at  Manly,  a  few  miles  distant  from  Sydney, 
N.  S.  W.  Its  editors  express  the  hope  that  it  will 
develop  into  a  genuine  magazine;  and  if  succeed- 
ing numbers  prove  even  approximately  as  good 
as  this  first  one,  we  trust  their  hope  will  be  ful- 
filled. The  interest  of  its  contents,  the  neatness 
of  its  typography,  and  tlje  unusual  excellence 
of  its  illustrations  combine  to  make  it  an  annual 
of  exceptional  merit. 

— In  view  of  the  claim  made  by  agents  of  the 
Encyclopaedia  Britannica  that  it  now  contains 
nothing  to  which  Catholics  can  reasonably  take 
exception,  it  may  be  welt  to  state  once  more  that 
there  are  several  articles  in  this  work  which 
grossly  misrepresent  Catholic  teaching  and  prac- 
tice. It  is,  as  a  whole,  an  admirable  work  of  ref- 
erence, and  superior  in  ^many  respects  to  any 
other  encyclopaedia  in  the  language;  but  it  is 
far  from  being  reliable  on  some  points,  nor  is  it 
the  highest  authority  on  others. 

— From  Blond  &  Gay,  Paris,  we  have  received 
five  numbers  of  the  "Homage  Francais"  series: 
"I/Effort  Canadien,"  by  Gaston  Deschamps; 
"I/Effort  Britannique,"  by  Andre  Lebon; 
"I/Effort  de  1'Afrique  du  Nord,"  by  A.  Bernard; 
"L'Effort  de  1'Inde  et  de  1'Union  Sud-Africaine," 
by  Joseph  Chailley;  and  "I/Effort  Colonial 
Francais,"  by  A.  Lebrun.  These  pamphlets  are 
tributes  to  such  of  the  allies  of  France  as  are 
mentioned  in  the  titles.  From  the  same  pub- 
lishers comes  "Notre  Propagande,"  a  lecture 
by  Mgr.  Baudrillart,  of  the  Institute  of  Paris. 

— Judging  from  the  two  splendid  reports  which 
have  reached  us,  the  Holy  Name  Society  of  St. 
Charles,  Woonsocket,  R.  I.,  must  be  a  body  as 
actively  zealous  as  it  is  manifestly  enlightened 


in  matters  Catholic.  "  The  Holy  Name  Monitor ' ' 
records  their  activities  and  witnesses  to  their 
zeal.  Knowing  as  we  do  that  organizations  of 
this  kind  are  kept  active  largely  through  the  in- 
spiration of  some  guiding  genius,  we  can  readily 
surmise  back  of  this  body  a  genuinely  apostolic 
pastor,  whose  picture,  however,  does  not  appear 
in  these  pages,  and  whose  name  is  not  men- 
tioned therein. 

— "One  of  the  saddest  illusions  to  which  men 
are  prone  is  the  notion  that  some  high  emotion, 
some  mystic  experience,  can  take  the  place  of 
moral  achievement,"  writes  the  Rev.  Samuel 
McComb,  D.  D.,  in  "The  New  Life,"  a  little 
volume  in  which  he  investigates  the  familiar 
spiritual  experience  known  as  "conversion." 
There  is  much  that  is  true  and  well-said  in  this 
inspirational  treatise;  though  for  the  most  part 
it  is  concerned  with  difficulties  which,  for  Cath- 
olics at  least,  do  not  exist.  It  should,  however, 
help  outsiders,  who  are  in  earnest  for  their  own 
betterment,  on  to  resolution  and  determined 
action;  and  it  should  prove  stimulating  to  all. 
Its  intention  is  inspiring.  Harper  &  Brothers. 

— Reviewing  the  new  translation  of  the  Book 
of  Ecclesiasticus  (from  the  original  Hebrew,  by 
the  Rev.  Dr.  W.  O.  E.  OesterleyJ,  published  by 
the  S.  P.  C.  K.,  under  the  title  "The  Wisdom 
of  Ben  Sira,"  the  London  Tablet  observes: 

We  may  note  that  the  discovery  of  the  Hebrew  text  of 
Ecclesiasticus  has  a  not  unimportant  bearing  on  the  con- 
troverted question  of  the  canon  of  Old  Testament  Scripture, 
at  least  from  a  historical  standpoint.  The  fact  that  the 
deutero-£anonical  books  of  the  Old  Testament  were  not  in 
Hebrew  was  an  argument  widely  used  by  the  oldtime 
Protestants  for  their  rejection.  It  now  appears,  however, 
that  the  Hebrew  text  probably  did  not  wholly  disappear 
from  human  ken  till  about  the  eleventh  century,  A.  D.; 
and  that  the  ultimate  reason  of  this  was  the  rabbis'  exclusion 
of  it  from  their  own  post-Christian  canon.  So  true  is  it  that 
the  Protestants  took  their  canon  from  the  Synagogue 
instead  of  from  the  Church  of  Christ. 

— M.  Gustave  Lanson,  a  professor  of  the 
College  of  France,  and  a  sometime  lecturer  at 
Columbia  University,  has  recently  published 
a  book  the  translated  title  of  which  is  "Three 
Months'  Teaching  in  the  United  States."  A 
Montreal  journal  regrets  that  in  the  course  of 
the  book  the  author  speaks  of  the  French- 
Canadians  as  being  "enemies  of  modern  ideas." 
The  Semaine  Religieuse  of  Quebec  does  not  share 
its  contemporary's  regret.  "For  our  own  humble 
selves,"  it  declares,  "we  should  much  more 
regret  seeing  M.  Lanson,  in  either  his  books  or 
his  lectures,  classify  us  as  the  friends  of  modern 
ideas."  Just  a  few  of  those  ideas — divorce, 
militant  feminism,  birth-control,  socialistic  in- 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


ternationalism,  pornographic  license  in  literature 
and  on  the  stage — are  commented  on  by  the 
Semaine  in  terms  which  the  French  gentleman 
will,  if  he  ever  sees  that  issue  of  our  contemporary, 
find  decidedly  interesting. 

— The  Rev.  Michael  V.  McDonough,  author 
of  "Verses  of  Thirty  Years  Ago,"  just  published 
by  the  Angel  Guardian  Press,  would  grant  the 
title  "poetry"  only  to  the  very  best  passages  of 
the  great  classics;  however,  he  frankly  declares 
that  he  considers  his  verses  "too  good  to  throw 
away."  Readers  of  his  tiny  volume,  which  sells 
for  30  cents,  will  be  glad  that  he  did  not  discard 
the  "Dedicatory  Verses,"  which  we  subjoin. 
"The  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  of  Belgium,"  it  should 
be  stated,  was  the  high  title  given  to  the  Very 
Rev.  Pierre  Joseph  Triest  (1760-1836),  who 
founded  the  Brothers  of  Charity: 

Brothers  of  Charity,  yours  are  the  verses  here: 

Take  them  or  leave  them,  admire  or  disdain! 
Little  of  moment  the  rhymester  rehearses  here; 

Would  it  were  much!    For  his  spirit  would  fain 
Prove  you  its  gratitude,  pay  what  it  owes  to  you, 

Sons  of  the  Belgian  Vincent  de  Paul, 
Rich  in  the  kindness  and  grace  that  e'er  flows  to  you 

Down  from  the  Maker  and  Master  of  all. 

Workers  in  silence  for  Christ  and  His  dearest  ones, 

IvOve  is  your  portion  here,  glory  above. 
Many  profess;    but  the  true  and  sinccrest  ones 

Sacrifice,  suffer  and  live  for  their  love. 
Thus  speed  your  lives  away:  faith,  regularity. 

Self  all  forgotten — like  drops  in  the  sea — 
God  be  your  guerdon,  ye  Brothers  of  Charity, 

Christ  your  rewarder,  and  heaven  your  fee! 


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Obituary. 

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

Rev.  William  Barrington,  of  the  archdiocese  of 
Philadelphia;  Rev.  Patrick  Muldoon,  diocese  of 
Albany;  and  Rev.  L.  J.  Bohl,  diocese  of  Newark. 

Brother  Liguori,  of  the  Brothers  of  St.  Francis. 

Sister  M.  Joachim,  of  the  Sisters  of  the  Good 
Shepherd;  and  Sister  M.  Hermes,  Sisters  of 
the  Holy  Cross. 

Mr.  John  Moffit,  Mr.  Nicholas  Hirsch,  Mr. 
John  Plank,  Mrs.  Annie  Devlin,  Mr.  Henry  Cole, 
Mrs.  Mary  Moore,  Miss  Anna  Smith,  Mr. 
Donald  M.  Curry,  Mrs.  T.  J.  Butler,  Miss  Mary 
Godfrey,  Mr.  Philip  Tally,  Mrs.  Theodosia 
Andrews,  Mrs.  Jeremiah  Drerman,  Mrs.  Violet 
Steuber,  Mr.  Bernard  McCaffrey,  Mrs.  S.  S. 
Joslin,  Mr.  Richard  Knox,  Mr.  F.  J.  Meyers, 
Miss  Alice  Sheehy,  Mr.  Thomas  Hoffman,  Miss 
Alice  Reddin,  Mr.  F.  W.  Kaqnter,  Mrs.  Mary 
Galligan,  Mr.  Jacob  Schindler,  Mr.  M.  J.  Ament, 
Mrs.  Amelia  Derr,  Mr.  H.  R.  Fisher,  Mrs.  Bene- 
dict Quinn,  Mr.  Arthur  Angerman,  and  Mr.  John 
P.  Griffith. 

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


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;«22& 

HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME   BLESSED.      ST.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  MARCH  24,  191?. 


NO.  12 


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


Oblation  and  Promise. 

FROM   THE   SPANISH   OP    FERNAN-CORONAS,  O.  M.  I., 
BY    PAUL    A.  LEWIS,   O.  M.  I. 


r7*H'E  Angel  of  Summer  came  on  winged  feet 
And  brought  the  Predilect  an  ear  of  wheat; 
Emmanuel  kissed  the  gold  ear  lovingly; 
And  kissing  said,  "Thou  shalt  My  Body  be." 

The  Angel-  of  Autumn,  ere  its  days  were  sped, 
Brought  Him  a  ripened  branch  of  grapes  wine- 

red; 

Emmanuel  kissed  them,  fruit  of  the  amber  vine; 
And  kissing  said,  "  Thou  shalt  be  Blood  of  Mine." 


The  Annunciation. 


BY    DOM    COLUMBA    EDMONDS,    O.  S.  B. 


HE  feast  of  the  25th  of  March  has 
been  known  by  various  titles, 
probably  owing  to  the  fact  that 
it  commemorates  a  mystery  com- 
mon to  Christ  and  His  Blessed 
Mother.  The  Roman  Church  has  always 
inscribed  it  in  her  calendar  as  the  ' '  Annun- 
ciation of  the  Blessed  Virgin."  And 
rightly  so;  for,  as  Suarez  says,  the  gift  of 
Christ  to  men  was  not  perfectly  accom- 
plished till  the  moment  of  His  birth ;  hence 
the  Annunciation  is  to  be  regarded  as  a 
feast  of  Mary,  and  that  of  Christmas  as  a 
feast  of  our  Blessed  Lord.*  Among  the 
other  names  by  which  this  festival  has 
been  known  are  the  following:  "the  Con- 
ception of  Christ,"  "the  Lord's  Annuncia- 
tion," "the  Beginning  of  Redemption." 

*  Dictionnaire  de  Liturg.,   Migne. 


An  old  German  almanac  designates  it 
"Our  Lady  in  Lent."*  A  Council  of 
Toledo  calls  it  simply  but  expressively, 
"the  Festival  of  the  Mother  of  God."  In 
England,  for  many  .centuries,  it  has  been 
popularly  known  as  "Lady  Day." 

The  importance  of  the  mystery  which  is 
commemorated  can  not  be  overrated,  when 
we  reflect  on  the  stupendous  effects 
wrought  thereby  for  the  whole  world.  In 
truth,  as  Abbot  Gueranger  remarks,  this 
is  a  great  day  not  only  to  man,  but  to  God 
Himself,  f  To  St.  Luke  we  are  indebted 
for  the  account  of  the  Annunciation,  and 
it  can  not  be  doubted  that  the  Evangelist 
learned  the  details  from  Mary  herself.  The 
greatness  of  the  event  and  the  simple  sur- 
roundings of  its  accomplishment  stand  out 
in  marked  contrast.  The  lowly  Virgin  in 
her  humble  chamber  was  probably  ab- 
sorbed in  prayer  at  the  time  when  she 
received  her  heavenly  visitant.  The  hour 
is  uncertain;  but  a  common  tradition, 
which  we  find  embodied  in  the  writings  of 
many  learned  and  holy  men,  asserts  that 
the  angelic  salutation  took  place  about  the 
hour  of  midnight, — that  is,  at  the  beginning 
of  the  natural  day.  At  the  same  hour,  nine 
months  later,  Our  Lord  was  born  at 
Bethlehem.  This  tradition  seems  to  -be 
corroborated  by  the  mysterious  words  of 
the  Book  of  Wisdom,  which  the  Church 
adapts  to  the  night  of  the  Nativity,  but 
which  apply  in  a  still  more  forcible  manner 
to  the  night  of  "the  Annunciation:  "For 
while  all  things  were  in  quiet  silence,  and 
the  night  was  in  the  midst  of  her  course, 

v  *   "Our  Lady's  Dowry,"  p.  227. 
t   "  Liturgical   Year,"    Lent. 


354 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Thy  Almighty  Word  leapt  down  from 
heaven,  from  Thy  royal  throne."* 

The  dialogue  between  Mary  and  the 
Angel  forms  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
passages  of  St.  Luke's  Gospel.  Gabriel 
begins  with  the  salutation :  ' '  Hail,  full  of 
grace !  The  Lord  is  with  thee ;  blessed  art 
thou  among  women."  And  after  he  has  de- 
scribed the  attributes  of  the  Divine  Word, 
Our  Lady  asks  the  question:  "How  shall 
this  be  done,  because  I  know  not  man?" — 
a  question,  indeed,  full  of  sublime  faith. 
The  Angel  goes  on  to  declare  that  this 
great  work  will  be  accomplished  by  the 
Holy  Ghost,  and  then  he  awaits  her  con- 
sent. This  was  an  awful  moment ;  for  Our 
Lady  had  it  in  her  power  to  refuse.  "Be- 
hold the  handmaid  of  the  Lord :  be  it  done 
to  me  according  to  thy  word."  God  was 
now  free  to  act.  "In  that  moment,"  says 
Father  Faber,  "  a  Godlike  shadow  fell  upon 
Mary,  and  Gabriel  disappeared;  and,  with- 
out shock  or  sound,  or  so  much  as  a 
tingling  stillness,  God  in  a  created  nature 
sate  in  His  immensity  within  her  bosom; 
and  the  eternal  will  was  done,  and  creation 
was  complete.  Far  off  a  storm  of  jubilee 
swept  far-flashing  t  through  the  angelic 
world.  But  the  Mother  heard  riot,  heeded 
not.  Her  head  sank  upon  her  bosom,  and 
her  soul  lay  down  in  a  silence  which  was 
like  the  peace  of  God.  ^The  Word  was  made 
Flesh."  f 

It  was  because  of  this  mystery,  which 
we  celebrate  on  the  25th  of  March,  that 
Mary  was  adorned  by  God  with  those 
unspeakable  privileges  and  graces  pecu- 
liarly her  own;  they  were  all  intended  to 
prepare  her  for  this  great  day.  t  St. 
Ambrose  says:  "At  the.  Annunciation 
there  was  consummation  of  virginity  and 
fulness  of  maternity."  §  This  day  must  be 
considered  as  the  point  of  arrival  and  de- 
parture of  all  history;  it  is  the  pledge  of 
all  we  have  and  all  we  hope  for.  Surely 
such  a  wondrous  event  is  worthy  of  a 
most  solemn  annual  commemoration. 


The  Bollandists  state  that  the  Annun- 
ciation festival  is  of  such  great  antiquity 
that  it  is  quite  allowable  to  believe  it 
originated  with  Mary  herself.  Doubtless 
she  would  recall,  year  by  year,  with  special 
devotion  the  great  benefits  which  the  In- 
carnation conferred  not  only  upon  herself, 
but  upon  all  mankind.  The  Apostles, 
aware  of  this  holy  custom  of  the  Mother 
of  God,  would  imitate  the  practice  as  far 
as  they  could,  and  finally  would  sanction 
it  in  the  countries  where  they  preached 
the  Gospel.  In  support  of  this  supposi- 
tion— i.  e.,  the  Apostolic  origin  of  the 
festival, — the  words  of  St.  Augustine  are 
fittingly  applied :  ' '  That  which  the  Univer- 
sal Church  maintains,  and  which  is  not 
found  to  have  been  instituted  by  councils, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  has  been  unin- 
terruptedly retained,  is  rightly  believed 
to  have  been  handed  down  with-  Apostolic 
authority."  * 

It  is  most  probable  that  the  public  cele- 
bration of  the  Annunciation  had  a  place 
in  the  East  before  its  introduction  into  the 
West.  Even  now  the  Greeks  keep  before  it 
a  pro-festum,  or  vigil,  which  serves  as  a 
preparation ;  f  this  practice,  however,  is 
unknown  in  Rome,  Lent  being  looked  upon 
as  one  prolonged  vigil. 

Among  the  witnesses  to  the  existence  in 
the  West  of  a  commemoration  of  the 
Annunciation,  the  earliest  extant  is,  per- 
haps, St.  Augustine  (A.  D.  432),  who 
makes  mention  of  the  anniversary  in  one 
of  his  sermons  on  the  Trinity.  J  St.  Gela- 
sius  (A.  D.  492)  is  also  an  early  witness ;§ 
and  the  Council  of  Toledo  (A.  D.  656)  has 
something  to  say  on  our  present  subject. 
The  assembled  Fathers  speak  of  the  Annun- 
ciation as  of  a  feast  of  long  standing;  and 
they  declare  that,  whereas  the  feast  of  the 
Holy  Virgin  is  kept  in  Spain  at  different 
times  in  different  places,  and  since  it  can 


*  Wisdom,  xviii,  14,  15.       t  "Bethlehem," p.  69. 
t  "Mother  of  the  King,"  Coleridge,  p.  83. 
§  Ibid. 


*  Bened.  XIV.,  De  Festis  B.  M.  V.;  and  Acta 
SS.,  March  25. 

f  Acta  SS.,  March  25. 

t   De  Trinit.  Lib.  iv,  cap.  v. 

§  Butler's  Lives  of  the  Saints,  March  25;  and 
also  Smith's  Diet.  Christian  Antiquities. 


THE  AVE  MARlA 


355 


not  be  celebrated  in  Lent  without  trans- 
gressing traditional  rule,  it  should  be  ob- 
served eight  days  before  Christmas.  The 
reference  to  tradition  concerns  the  fifty- 
first  canon  of  the  Council  of  Laodicea 
(fourth  century),  which  forbade  the  ob- 
servance of  the  feasts  of  martyrs  during 
Lent.*  This  practice,  however,  was  not 
destined  to  endure;  and  we  find  in  the 
year  692  the  Council  of  Trullo  allowing 
Lady  Day  to  be  kept  in  Lent,  although 
other  feasts  were  still  excluded.  A  remnant 
of  the  Toledo  legislation  may  be  said  to 
survive  in  the  Feast  of  the  Expectation 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  which  in  many  coun- 
tries is  solemnized  on  the  iSth  of  December, 
eight  days  before  Our  Lord's  Nativity. 

It  is  an  immemorial  custom  of  the  Greek 
Church  never  to  celebrate  Mass  during 
Lent,  except  on  Saturdays  and  Sundays; 
and  we  read  that  it  was  ordained  in  a 
Council  of  Constantinople,  in  the  year  692, 
that  the  Mass  of  the  Presanctified  should 
be  celebrated  on  all  the  other  days  of  Lent, 
with  the  exception  of  the  Annunciation, 
when  the  usual  festal  Mass  should  be 
sung.f  This  rule  is  maintained  among  the 
Orientals  at  the  present  day. 

A  curious  observance  may  be  noted 
here.  At  the  church  of  Puy,  in  France, 
there  existed  a  custom  of  keeping  the 
Annunciation  even  when  it  happened  to 
fall  on  Good  Friday.  J  It  is  said  that  when 
this  coincidence  occurred  in  1842,  a  special 
papal  indult  was  obtained  to  authorize  the 
use  of  this  unique  privilege.  It  is  not 
stated  how  the  apparently  conflicting  cele- 
brations were  combined. 

The  Church  of  Milan,  which  still  main- 
tains much  of  the  ancient  severity  regard- 
ing feasts  in  Lent,  celebrates  the  Mass  of 
the  Presanctified  every  Friday  during  that 
season.  This  strictness  has  been  somewhat 
relaxed  lately,  in  favor  of  the  two  great 
feasts  of  St.  Joseph  and  the  Annunciation. 
Pope  Leo  XIII.,  in  the  year  1897,  granted 
permission  for  both  days  to  be  kept  during 

"Liturgical  Year,"   Lent,  p.  25. 
t  Acta  SS.,  vol.  ix. 
t  Art.  "Annunciation,"  Diet.  Liturg.,  Migiie. 


Lent;  and  if  either  feast  should  fall  on  a 
Friday,  Mass  was  to  be  celebrated.  Orig- 
inally the  Ambrosian  Liturgy  commem- 
orated the  festival  of  the  Annunciation 
on  the  Sunday  preceding  Christmas  Day.* 

In  Rome,  for  many  ages,  according  to 
the  ordinance  of  Pope  Sergius  I.  (687),  it 
was  customary  on  this  feast,  as  on  the 
other  three  ancient  feasts  of  Our  Lady,  to 
make  a  procession  from  St.  Adrian's 
Church,  near  the  Capitol,  to  the  Basilica 
of  St.  Mary  Major,  where  the  people 
assembled  for  Mass. 

Some  special  rites  in  connection  with 
this  feast  may  now  be  noted.  In  Bene- 
dictine monasteries,  when  the  festival  was 
announced  from  the  Martyrology  at  Prime, 
on  the  eve,  it  was  the  custom  for  all  to 
kneel  for  a  short  space  and  salute  Our 
Lady,  in  silence,  with  the  Ave  Maria.  In 
the  present  Roman  Liturgy  it  is  ordered 
that  at  Solemn  Mass,  while  the  choir  is 
chanting  the  words,  Et  incarnatus  est,  etc., 
of  the  Credo,  the  celebrant  and  his  ministers 
should  kneel  at  the  altar  steps.  A  similar 
ceremony  is  observed  on  Christmas  Day. 

Should  the  Annunciation  happen  to  fall 
on  Palm  Sunday  or  during  Holy  Week,  it 
is  transferred,  and  Monday  in  Low  Week 
becomes  its  proper  day.f 

x  While  contrasting  the  manner  in  which 
this  festival  was  kept  in  former  times  in 
England  and  the  way  in  which  it  is  cele- 
brated now,  Father  Faber  says:  "Time 
was,  in  Ages  of  Faith,  when  the  land  would 
not  have  lain  silent,  as  it  lies  now,  on  the 
eve  of  the  25th  of  March.  The  sweet  relig- 
ious music  of  countless  bells  would  be 
ushering  in  the  Vespers  of  the  glorious 
Feast  of  the  Incarnation.  ...  If  it  were 
in  Paschal-time,  it  would  double  men's 
Easter  joys;  and  if  it  were  in  Lent,  it 
would  be  a  very  foretaste  of  Easter.  "| 

As  Vespers  on  the  weekdays  of  Lent  are 
sung  before  the  midday  meal,  compara- 
tively few  of  the  faithful  are  able  to  assist 
at  this  solemn  Office.  The  antiphons  are 
taken  from  the  Gospel  of  St.  Luke,  and 

*  Acta  SS.,  vol.  ix.         |  Rubricae  Brev.  Rom. 
J  "Bethlehem,"  p.  52. 


350 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


recount  the  interview  between  Our  Lady 
and  St.  Gabriel. 

The  Mass  is  almost  identical  with  the 
Votive  Mass  of  Advent  (Rorate),  except 
that  the  Introit — Vultum  tuum:  "All  the 
rich  among  the  people  shall  entreat  thy 
countenance" — is  from  the  Votive  Mass 
of  Our  Lady  for  Christmastide.  The 
Epistle,  taken  from  the  prophecy  of  Isaias, 
contains  those  remarkable  words:  "Be- 
hold a  Virgin  shall  conceive  and  bear  a 
Son,  and  His  name  shall  be  called  Em- 
manuel." In  the  Offertory  the  Church 
addresses  the  Mother  of  God  with  the 
Angelic  Salutation.  The  proper  Preface  of 
Our  Lady  supersedes  the  Preface  of  Lent. 
As  a  Post- Communion  we  have  the  familiar 
prayer,  Gratiam  tuam,  which  concludes  the 
daily  Angelus. 

Frequently  during  the  history  of  the 
Church,  the  Annunciation  has  furnished  a 
title  for  religious  congregations,  military 
orders,  and  confraternities  not  to  speak  of 
numberless  churches.  A  famous  confra- 
ternity under  this  title  was  founded  in 
Rome  in  1470,  by  John  of  Turrecremata, 
with  the  object  of  furnishing  marriage 
dowries  for  poor  girls.  One  of  the  best 
known  churches  in  Florence  is  dedicated 
to  our  Blessed  Lady  under  the  title  of 
the  Annunciation. 

A  venerable  tradition,  worthy  of  all 
reverence  and  mentioned  by  Tertullian,* 
St.  Augustine,  f  and  others,  assigns  -the 
25th  of  March  as  the  actual  anniversary 
of  the  creation  of  the  first  man,  and  also 
of  the  Passion  of  Our  Lord.t  The  Roman 
Martyrology  furnishes  implicit  approba- 
tion of  the  second  fact  by  commemorating 
on  this  day  the  death  of  the  Good  Thief,  § 
who  merited  to  hear  from  our  Blessed  Lord 
on  His  cross  these  comforting  words: 
"This  day  thou  shalt  be  with  Me  in 
Paradise."  The  Martyrology  of  Gorman 
(twelfth  century),  written  in  Irish  Gaelic 
.contains  the  following  quaint  sentence: 
"Jesus'  conception  on  the  same  day  as 

*  Tert.  adv.  Judaeos,  cap.  viii,  Migne. 

f   De  Trinit.  Lib.  iv,  c.  v,  Migne. 

J  Acta  SS.,  vol.  ix.     §  Martyr.  Rom.,  March  25. 


His  crucifixion,  without  respect;  the  mis- 
chief was  pride."  *  And  in  several  ancient 
martyrologies  the  same  events  are  com- 
memorated; but,  in  addition,  others  are 
inscribed  as  having  taken  place  on  March 
25.  These  are  so  remarkable  that  it  may 
be  of  interest  to  recount  a  few  of  them.  In 
the  first  place  comes  the  triumph  of  St. 
Michael  the  Archangel  over  the  dragon; 
then  follow  the  fall  and  death  of  Adam; 
the  •martyrdom  of  Abel  the  Just;  the 
death  of  Melchisedec,  king  and  priest; 
also  of  Isaac,  son  of  Abraham;  and  lastly, 
the  Passage  of  the  Israelites  over  the  Red 
Sea.f  All  these  anniversaries,  which  have 
become  attached  to  this  festival,  tend  to 
prove  how  very  sacred  must  have  been 
this  particular  day  in  the  estimation  of 
our  Catholic  forefathers. 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


XVI. — THE  CASTLE  OF  CHAPULTEPEC. 

CHAPULTEPEC  and  other  charm- 
ing suburbs  of  Mexico  are  reached 
by  horse  (or  rather  mule)  cars, 
which  run  on  high  wheels,  and  are 
first  and  second  class.  The  first  class  has 
an  armed  guard  and  precedes  the  second, 
which  is  usually  filled  witH  Indians  and 
half -breeds.  The  cars  travel  fast  once  they 
gain  the  outskirts;  and  it  is  a  delightful 
sensation  to  stand  behind  the  driver  as 
the  mules  break  into  a  swift  gallop,  a  pace 
continued  until  the  destination  is  reached. 
The  uniform  of  the  guard  is  intensely 
picturesque:  a  richly-laced  sombrero,  a 
white  shirt  open  at  the  neck,  a  leather 
jacket  with  silver  blazonry,  a  red  sash,  buff 
boots  to  the  hips,  and  buff  gloves.  Each 
man  carries  a  Remington. 

Tacubaya  is  a  "swell"  suburb,  and 
stands  about  six  miles  from  the  San.Cosme 
gate.  It  numbers  many  beautiful  villas 

*  Ed.  1895  by  Bradshaw  Society.    The  "mis- 
chief "  is  evidently  a  reference  to  the  Fall  of  Adam, 
t  Acta  SS.,  vol.  ix. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


357 


and  mansions,  mostly  standing  in  their 
own  grounds  or  parks,  and  planted  in  a 
princely  manner.  All  the  skill  of  modern 
gardening  is  here  displayed  to  perfection. 
All  American  and  European  improvements 
have  been  pressed  into  the  service  of  the 
proprietors,— in  short,  everything  that  art 
can  supply  has  been  secured;  and  thus  a 
faint  idea  may  be  formed  of  the  result  in 
a  climate  where  Nature  yields  so  readily 
to  the  hand  of  man. 

Arthur  hailed  a  car  and  took  his  seat 
beside  the  driver.  The  ride  was  intensely 
picturesque  and  full  of  color.  Passing 
through  narrow  streets,  the  line  struck  the 
arches  of  the  Belem  Aqueduct,  passing  the 
Tivoli  de  San  Cosme,  a  first-class  hotel 
situated  in  a  magnificent  pleasure-ground, 
but  within  the  city  limits.  Here  the 
mules  began  to  gallop,  and  onward  they 
sped,  the  driver  yelling  like  mad,  and 
cracking  his  whip;  past  maguey  fields, 
adobe  houses,  and  jealously  walled-in 
haciendas;  past  quaint  little  churches  and 
shrines;  past  great  rows  of  eucalyptus 
trees;  the  old  aqueduct  still  on  the  left, 
its  arches  literally  wreathed  in  vivid 
greenery,  and  the  graceful,  drooping  heno 
that  hangs  in  festoons. 

"  Chapultepec ! "  called  the  conductor,  as 
the  car  swung  around  a  curve  and  halted 
opposite  a  guard-house,  around  which 
half  a  dozen  soldiers,  baked  like  bricks, 
lounged  in  listless  abandon;  their  wives 
and  sweethearts  crouched  in  graceful 
attitudes,  engaged  in  preparing  the  inevi- 
table tortilla  for  the  midday  meal  of  their 
dirty-looking  heroes. 

The  Castle  of  Chapultepec  stands  at  a 
distance  of  three  miles  from  the  city  of 
Mexico,  at  the  extremity  of  the  fashionable 
drive,  the  Calzada  de  la  Reforma.  The 
soldiers  stared  hard  at  Arthur  as  he  passed 
beneath  the  gates,  embellished  with  the 
imperial  monogram,  and  entered  the 
ahuehuete  -  shadowed,  grounds  so  loved 
by  the  luckless  Aztec  monarch,  —  those 
grounds  the  marvellous  beauty  of  which 
far  exceeds  their  fame.  High  above  him, 
clear-cut  as  a  silhouette  against  the 


keen  blue  sky,  rose  the  white  towers  and 
galleries  and  terraces  and  colonnades  and 
balconies  of  the  palace,  seated  on  its  lofty 
bed  of  porphyry,  tinted  by  the  setting  sun 
with  lines  of  living  fire.  Gorgeous  flowers 
glowed  on  all  sides, — on  the  eaves  of  the 
picturesque  guard-house,  on  terrace  walks, 
on  slopes  and  crags  and  balconies.  In  the 
many-tinted  foliage  appeared  parasites 
resembling  red,  yellow  and  purple  butter- 
flies ;  while  at  the  base  of  the  beetling  rock 
upon  which  the  fortress  is  perched,  stands 
the  guard  of  cypresses  whose  arching 
boughs  have  cast  protecting  shade  over 
the  head  of  the  ill-fated  Montezuma, 
whose  habit  it  was,  arrayed  in  garments 
covered  with  the  feathers  of  birds,  to 
wander  here  for  hours,  musing  on  the 
destiny  of  his  then  happy  and  beautiful 
country. 

Chapultepec  is  full  of  checkered  his- 
torical associations.  It  is  in  fact,  and  not 
in  name  alone,  a  royal  spot;  the  residence, 
during  revolutionary  and  eventful  cen- 
turies, of  the  leaders  of  the  nation.  The 
Castle  is  a  long  and  narrow  building, 
spreading  along  the  summit  of  the  por- 
phyritic  rock  and  necessarily  following 
in  form  the  outlines  of  its  foundation.  It 
stands  on  the  exact  site  of  .the  Royal 
Aztec  palaces.  The  approach  is  by  a 
zigzag  and  at  times  a  winding  roadway, 
broad  and  tree-lined.  As  you  ascend, 
the  view  becomes  every  moment  more 
enchanting,  until  you  are  compelled  to 
pause  at  every  turn  of  the  path  to  linger 
over  the  enchanting  panorama  that  grad- 
ually unfolds  itself  to  your  enraptured 
senses.  The  city  of  Mexico  set  like  a 
glittering  gem  in  its  fertile  valley;  the 
lakes  of  Texcoco,  Chalco  and  Xochimilco 
stretching  away  in  the  filmy  blue ;  Guada- 
lupe  with  its  magnificent  church ;  the 
quaint  and  many-arched  aqueducts  of 
Belem  and  San  Cosme;  and  towering 
above  all,  in  appalling  yet  watchful  silence, 
the  snow-peaked  volcanoes  of  Iztaccihuatl 
and  Popocatepetl. 

The  approach  to  the  Castle  is  beneath  a 
white  marble  archway.  Banks  of  flowers/ 


358 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


bordered  the  passage  to  the  main  door- 
way, and  a  terrace  walk  of  colored  tiles 
ran  round  the  entire  edifice.  For  some 
years  previous  to  the  brief  reign  of 
Maximilian,  Chapultepec  was  used  as  a 
military  school,  until  the  Emperor  ordered 
its  thorough  repair.  The  Castle  is  at  pres- 
ent used  for  the  purposes  of  the  National 
Observatory,  and  the  apartments  that  once 
echoed  to  the  frou-frou  of  imperial  trains 
are  now  given  up  to  telescopes  and  the 
impedimenta  of  astronomers. 

By  far  the  most  interesting  and  .beauti- 
ful part  of  Chapultepec  is  the  forest  of 
ahuehuetes,  or  cypresses,  by  which  it  is 
embowered.  These  cypresses  are  mighty 
trees  of  extraordinary  age,  counting  their 
years  by  centuries.  The  witnesses  of  Mon- 
tezuma's  daring  and  his  ancestors'  wild 
adventures,  they  were  regarded  even  by 
his  contemporaries  as  objects  of  wonder 
and  renown,  and  are  at  present  perhaps 
the  most  curious  memorials  in  the  world 
of  trees.  The  gnarled  trunk  of  the  oldest 
and  largest,  called  Montezuma's  Tree, 
measures  forty-eight  feet  in  circumference 
and  one  hundred  and  sixty-five  feet  in 
height.  Bodkin  had  never  seen  anything 
grander  than  the  twisted  stem  of  the 
ahuehuete,  with  its  majestic  pavilion  .of 
lofty  branches,  and  its  garlands  of  Spanish 
moss  hanging  down  in  delicate  ribbons 
from  every  twig,  with  the  grace  of  the 
drooping  pennants  of  the  weeping-willow. 
This  moss  —  barba  Espanol,  or  Spanish 
beard — is  one  of  the  strangest  parasites 
imaginable.  It  is  a  tangle  of  pale  green 
tendrils,  in  thickness  like  an  ordinary 
string;  and  while  one  end  is  closely 
wound  round  the  branch  of  the  tree,  the 
remainder  drops  in  long  straight  festoons. 
It  is  called  heno,  or  hay,  by  the  natives, 
and  at  a  distance  imparts  the  idea  that 
a  hay  shower  has  fallen  upon  the  trees, 
leaving  its  traces  in  this  singular  and 
remarkable  manner.  The  snow-white  attire 
of  the  Indians  as  they  glide  silently  in  the 
embowered  avenues  imparts  a  ghostly 
atmosphere  to  the  scene,  and  calls  to 
the  mind's  eye  the  spirit  of  Malitizin's 


daughter,  moving  like  vapor  through  the 
drooping  cypresses  until  it  vanished  in 
the  transparent  waters  of  the  Albuca, 
in  accordance  with  the  pathetic  Aztec 
legend. 

At  the  time  of  the  war  with  the  United 
States,  Chapultepec  was  heavily  armed. 
Its  frontage  of  nine  hundred  feet  and  its 
causeway  bristled  with  cannon.  In  its 
rear  stood  the  old  powder-mill  known  as 
Molino  del  Rey.  Santa  Anna,  with  the 
greater  portion  of  his  army,  occupied  the 
city  of  Mexico,  and  was  in  communication 
with  Chapultepec.  On  September  12,  1847, 
General  Scott  first  stormed  Molino  del 
Rey ;  then,  under  cover  of  a  demonstration 
against  the  city,  brought  four  batteries 
to  bear  against  the  Castle  from  an  opposite 
ridge ;  and,  after  a  heavy  fire  of  a  day  and 
a  half,  made  the  attack  in  two  columns. 
The  day  after  the  fall  of  the  Castle,  the 
city  of  Mexico  was  occupied  by  the 
American  forces. 

Bodkin  experienced  no  difficulty  in  find- 
ing his  friend  Bergheim;  for  the  genial 
Baron,  being  persona  gratissima  at  court, 
was  invariably  given  the  best  suite  of 
rooms  wherever  he  was  on  duty, — or  I 
should  say  invariably  annexed  them. 
He  was  seated  in  a  wicker  chair,  on  a 
terrace  overlooking  the  beautiful  valley 
of  Mexico,  his  favorite  china-bowled  pipe 
in  his  mouth. 

"Hey!  but  this  is  lovely.  Hey!  no 
wonder  Montezuma  liked  to  strut  about 
here  in  his  feather  cloak.  Hey!  just  look 
at  the  sunshine  on  the  roof  of  the  Church 
of  Our  I/ady  of  Guadalupe.  Hey!  look  at 
the  old  cathedral,  and  those  purple  moun- 
tains, and  those  two  snow-capped  volcanoes 
with  the  impossible  names.  Well,  my 
young  Irish  friend,  have  you  cooled  down? 
Hasn't  reason  come  to  the  rescue?  Have 
you  seen  your  friend?  She's  here.  I  was 
of  the  escort.  The  Empress  means  to 
live  here  as  much  as  possible.  No  wonder. 
That  Palace — see  it  over  there  to  the 
right  of  the  cathedral! — is  a  little  bit 
fusty."  And  he  rattled  on,  puffing  away 
at  his  pipe. 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


The  beauty  of  the  scene  produced  hut 
little  effect  upon  our  hero.  He  was  sick 
at  heart,  and  longing  for  one  half  minute 
wherein  to  tax  Alice  with  being  the  falsest 
of  her  sex.  Then  he  would  resign  his 
appointment,  return  to  the  city,  and  throw 
in  his  lot  with  Harry  Talbot  in  the 
silver  mine  at  Santa  Maria  del  Flor. 

"There's  the  Empress  down  below, 
admiring  Montezuma's  cedars.  They  are 
grand,  marvellous!  Why,  you  could  camp 
the  Guard  under  them  as  snugly  as  at 
Schonbrunn." 

Arthur's  gaze  became  riveted  on  a 
group  consisting  of  two  men — -one  in  uni- 
form— and  two  women  directly  beneath. 
In  one  of  the  ladies  he  recognized  the 
Empress,  in  the  other  Alice. 

"Have  I  your  permission  to  retire, 
Baron?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I  see!  She's  down  below,  sure 
enough.  Hey!  why,  of  course.  After  you 
have  had  your  interview,  come  up  here 
to  me.  Hey!  no  more  quarrelling.  I  see 
that  you  are  spoiling  for  a  fight — and — • 
pshaw!"  added  the  Baron  to  himself. 
"This  hot-headed,  hot -hearted  young 
Irishman  will  only  make  an  idiot  of  him- 
self. I  should  have  kept  him  here.  I'll 
recall  him."  And,  shouting  for  an  orderly, 
he  gave  the  necessary  instructions. 

In  the  meantime  Arthur  Bodkin  had 
reached  the  grove,  and,  utterly  regardless 
of  court  etiquette,  marched  straight  up  to 
where  Miss  Nugent  was  standing  engaged 
in  conversation  with  the  officer  on  duty, 
a  very  distinguished-looking  man,  covered 
with  decorations,  who  stared  in  well-bred 
surprise  at  the  utterly  unexpected,  unex- 
ampled intrusion. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Nugent!" 
said  Arthur,  in  a  cold,  measured  voice.  "I 
do  not  wish  to  intrude,  but  I  want  to  say 
one  word  to  you." 

Alice  became  deadly  pale,  then  flushed 
up  to  her  hair,  then  assumed  a  haughty 
look  such  as  comes  to  the  Nugents  under 
certain  conditions. 

"Please,  Mr.  Bodkin,  let  it  be  very 
brief.  It  must  be  very  urgent;  for  it  must 


be  evident  to  you  that  this  is  neither  Ihr 
tirne  nor  the  place! —  The  girl  spoke  in 
English  and  in  a  low  tone. 

"I  admit  that  it  is  not  the  Palace 
garden,  anxl  that  I  am  not  Count  Ludwig 
von  Kalksburg,"  retorted  Arthur. 

The  girl  never  blanched:   made  no  sign. 

"  I  am  about  to  resign  my  appointment." 

Her  little  hand  which  held  her  parasol 
closed  with  a  clutch  of  desperate  tightness. 

"Really?"  she  said. 

"Yes." 

"I  suppose  ^ou  have  good  reasons  for 
what  you  are  about  to  do?" 

"I  have  one." 

"And  that  is — 

"I  will  not  be  indebted  for  promotion 
to  a  woman.  I  don't  mean  you,  Alice," 
he  added  eagerly.  "I  mean  that  other 
woman — whom — 

"Good-day,  Mr.  Bodkin!  Excuse  my 
abruptness,  but  I  am  en  service,"  and  she 
turned  from  him. 

The  Empress,  who  saw  that  a  tragedy 
of  a  mild  form  was  being  enacted  under 
her  very  eyes—the  dramatis  persona  being 
white  and  agitated, — -gracefully  advanced. 

"Who  is  this  gentleman,  Alice?"  she 
asked  in  German. 

"A  countryman  of  mine,  your  Majesty," 
replied  the  Maid  of  Honor. 

"In  our  service?" 

"I — I — Relieve  so." 

"An  old  friend?" 

"Ye— yes." 

"Gently  born?" 

"The  best  blood  in  all  Ireland,"  said 
the  girl  proudly,  despite  herself. 

Seeing  that  her  Maid  of  Honor  was 
in  no  mood  for  replying  save  in  mono- 
syllables, Carlotta  cut  matters  short  by 
turning  to  Arthur,  who  remained  rooted, 
as  it  were,  to  the  spot. 

"You  are  in  our  service,  sir?" 

"I  have  that  honor,  your  Majesty," 
said  Bodkin,  instantly  regaining  complete 
self-control. 

"In  what  capacity?" 

!<I  am  extra  aid-de-camp  on  the  staff 
of  Baron  Bergheim." 


360 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


11  And  your  name?" 

"Arthur  Bodkin." 

The  Empress  searched  his  very  soul 
with  her  beautiful  eyes  ere  she  asked,  in 
a  very  low  tone: 

"And  you  are  desperately  in  love  with 
your  sweet  countrywoman?" 

"I  am,"  said  honest  Arthur, — "that 
is — I  was — I — I  really  don't  know,  your 
Majesty." 

"Perhaps  I  do.  She  fras  spoken  about 
you  in  a  way  that  made  me  suspect. 
Why  have  you  angered  her?" 

There  was  something  so'  sweetly  sym- 
pathetic, so  deliciously  womanly  about 
this  young  Empress,  that  Arthur,  forget- 
ting her  exalted  condition,  plunged  into 
confidences.  In  a  few  words  he  told  her 
all,  including  his  resolution  of  quitting 
the  service  sooner  than  be  indebted  for 
promotion  to  a  woman  whose  very  name 
he  did  not  know. 

The  Empress  remained  silent  for  a  few 
seconds,  then: 

"You  must  not  leave  our  service,  Mr. 
Bodkin.  I  will  ask  the  Emperor  to  place 
you  on  the  Household  Staff , — that  is,"  she 
archly  added,  "if  my  Maid  of  Honor  does 
not  object.  You  may  now  withdraw,  sir." 

The  great  cedar  trees  seemed  to  Arthur 
to  go  waltzing  round  as  he  retraced  his 
steps  toward  the  Castle.  Here  was  a  turn 
of  the  wheel.  Leave  the  service,  indeed! 
Never!  Harry  Talbot  and  Corcoran  and 
O'Connor  and  the  silver  mine  might  all 
go  to  Hong-Kong  together.  He  would 
never  again  speak  to  Alice  Nugent:  he 
would  show  her  that  she  was  as  indifferent 
to  him  as  the  snow  on  the  cap  of 
Popocatepetl.  Ha!  ha!  This  was  glorious. 
He  .would  repay  scorn  for  scorn,  and  he 
would  settle  scores  with  Ludwig  von 
Kalksburg  besides. 

(To  be  continued.) 


BE  certain  that  when  God  wills  that  an 
undertaking  succeed,  delay  never  harms  it ; 
there  is  always  more  of  Him  in  proportion 
as  there  is  less  of  ourselves  in  it. 

— St.  Vincent  de  Paul. 


To  a  "New"  Poet. 

BY    SPF.RR    STRAHAN. 

OlKE    some  frail   changeling  child   the  faeries 
bring, 

This  lost  young  poet  looks  upon  the  land 
With   changeling  eyes  that  find  but  sorrowing. 

With  what  sad  spirit  walks  he  hand  in  hand, 
Meeting  no  beauty  in  our  common  ways, 

Nor  in  those  proven  tales  the  years  have  told, 
Those  dim,  first  loves  of  unforgotten  days, 

Nor  in  that  ultimate  city  paved  with  gold? 
He   will  but  sing  of  the  poor  moths  that  glow 

In    death-fires  only, — sin  and  loss   and  strife: 
Christ,  let  Thy  burning  wind  from  heaven  blow 

And  scourge  him  to  the  fountainhead  of  life. 
Then  when  with  Thy  strong  drink  he  shall  wax 

strong, 
Anoint  his  singing  lips  with  utter  song. 


A  Little  Bride  and  what  Became  of  Her. 


BY    VALENTINE    PARAISO. 


IV. 

AFTER  Bridget's  death,  there  was 
largely  circulated  a  portrait  on  vel- 
lum showing  her  as  she  must  have  appeared 
in  Rome  towards  the  end  of  her  life.  The 
head  is  covered  with  a  veil,  such  as  Italian 
women  wear,  — •  short,  thick,  and  white, 
with  a  narrow  border.  She  bends  slightly 
forward,  the  shoulders  stooping  a  little. 
Possibly  the  old  portrait  has  left  out  lines 
and  wrinkles ;  but  the  face  is  rounded,  and 
neither  hollow-cheeked  nor  worn.  The 
veil  comes  almost  down  to  the  arched 
eyebrows,  lightly  traced.  The  very  large, 
mysterious  eyes,  with  drooping  lids,  are 
full  of  patience  and  wisdom.  The  small 
mouth  has  perfect  lips  of  great  sweetness. 
She  looks  like  a  wise  woman  who  could 
speak  with  common-sense  and  charm,  with 
a  soft  voice  and  a  smile.  And  yet  the 
round  chin  is  firm,  and  there  is  power  in 
the  breadth  of  the  covered  forehead.  Her 
dress  is  neatly  arranged;  no  doubt  it  was 
finely  sewn  by  her  own  hands.  From  a 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


361 


little  neckband,  close  folds  of  gathered 
linen  go  straight  down  under  a  pleated 
apron  or  bodice.  This  seems  to  be  grey 
with  large  shoulder-pieces,  under  which 
appear  the  sleeves  of  her  coarse  dark 
gown. 

She  was  nearly  seventy  years  old  when  a 
divine  inspiration  called  her  to  visit  the 
Holy  Land.  The  pilgrims  landed  at  Jaffa, 
and  reached  Jerusalem  in  the  May  of 
1372.  Bridget  knelt  in  ecstasy  in  the 
church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  And  next 
day,  on  the  Via  Dolorosa,  during  the  Sta- 
tions of  the  Cross,  Christ  appeared  to  her 
with  His  eyes  full  of  tears,  and  His  body 
covered  with  a  sweat  of  agony.  Then  the 
scenes  of  the  Passion  began  to  pass  before 
her.  She  saw  it  all,  until  the  Mother  of 
Sorrows  closed  the  eyes  of  her  Son  taken 
down  from  the  Cross;  and  His  arms  re- 
mained outstretched  in  death,  as  if  to 
embrace  and  claim  the  souls  of  men. 
Bridget  found  herself  following  the  sacred 
Burden,  in  the  company  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  and  St.  John,  St.  Mary  Magdalen, 
the  holy  women,  and  a  multitude  of 
angels. 

Everywhere  in  Palestine  she  saw  visions 
and  had  the  Gospel  explained  to  her.  In 
a  colloquy  with  Joachim  and  Anna,  she 
speaks  of  Mary  conceived  without  sin — a 
clear  reflection  of  the  mind  of  the  Church 
five  centuries  before  Pius  IX.  defined  the 
Immaculate  Conception  as  an  article  of 
Faith.  At  Bethlehem  she  saw  the  stable- 
c£ve,  and  Joseph  leading  the  ox  and  the 
ass  to  their  place,  and  hanging  up  the 
lantern  against  the  wall.  Then  the  angels 
were  singing;  and  she  watched  Mary 
folding  her  Child  to  her  bosom,  and  wrap- 
ping Him  in  swaddling  clothes.  It  is  a 
beautiful  touch  in  the  revelation,  that 
Joseph  helped  to  make  the.  little  bed  in 
the  manger.  After  four  months  among 
the  Holy  Places,  the  pilgrims  went  back 
to  Italy.  The  soul  of  Bridget  was  now 
literally  saturated  with  devotion  to  the 
Passion  of  Christ. 

After  her  death,  some  of  her  prayers  were 
published  in  many  languages.  They  ap- 


peared at  Antwerp  for  our  Catholic  fore- 
fathers, when  no  printing-press  in  England 
dared  print  a  Catholic  prayer.  The  first 
page,  yellowed  by  time,  begins:  "O  most 
sweet  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  eternal  sweetness 
of  those  who  love  Thee!"  There  is  knowl- 
edge in  the  word,  "Thy  solitary  Passion"; 
and  memories  of  contemplation  and  vision 
are  translated  in  the  quaint  old  English, 
"Remember  .  .  .  when  Thy  cruell  enemies, 
with  furious  and  dreadful  looks,  compass- 
ing Thee  round  about,  did  tare  off  Thy 
hair,  spit  upon  Thy  sacred  face,  scratch, 
beat  and  buffet  Thee."  And  again:  ''When 
the  perfidious  Jews  pierced  Thy  delicate 
and  tender  hands  and  feet  with  most 
rough  and  blunt  nails,  stretching  them 
forth  violently  with  cords  to  the  holes 
which  they  had  made  in  the  cross;  ...  all 
Thy  bones  being  so  disjointed  that  not 
one  remained  in  its  right  place,  not  having 
from  the  crown  of  Thy  head  to  the  sole  of 
Thy  foot  any  part  left  whole." 

After  the  visions  in  the  Holy  Land, 
Bridget  returned  to  Rome  to  die.  Her  home 
was  not  far  from  the  former  house;  it  was 
at  the  southwest  corner  of  the  Piazza 
Farnese.  There  she  appears  to  have  also 
established  a  hospice  for  Swedish  pilgrims; 
and  certain  rooms  still  shown  are  said  to 
have  been  occupied  by  her  and  her  daughter 
Catherine.  There  must  have  been  much 
rebuilding  since  the  fourteenth  century, 
but  "St.  Bridget's  house "  was  undoubtedly 
the  place  where  she  died. 

Her  last  illness  was  a  "real  martyrdom." 
She  ceased  to  have  either  ecstasy  or  conso- 
lation. Suffering  in  body  and  weary  of 
soul,  she  went  through  a  long  period  of 
temptation  and  darkness.  Mass  was  said 
daily  in  her  rooni,  and  daily  she  received 
Holy  Communion.  Remembering  the  aban- 
donment of  Our  Lord  on  the  cross,  we 
are  told  she  had  the  courage  to  prefer 
desolation  to  ecstasy. 

This  'dark  period  did  not  last  till  the 
end.  One  day  in  July,  just  after  the  feast 
of  Our  Lady  of  Mount  Carmel,  the  Blessed 
Virgin  comforted  her,  saying :  ' '  You  are 
beloved  by  my  Son  and  me,  and  that  is 


362 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


why  your  sufferings  are  prolonged."  It 
was  revealed  to  her  that  in  Jerusalem  she 
had  been  given  back  her  baptismal  inno- 
cence, but  that  "the  negligences  and  de- 
fects of  life  have  to  be  expiated  by  patience 
under  infirmities." 

Next,  she  perceived  in  a  mysterious 
manner  the  presence  of  Our  Lord  upon 
the  altar.  "Now  is  the  hour  of  consola- 
tion," He  said;  " prepare  for  the  fulfilment 
of  My  promise.  Here,  before  My  altar, 
you  are  to  receive  your  habit  and  make 
your  profession.  Henceforth  you  are  not 
only  My  spouse  but  a  religious — the  abbess 
of  Wadstena."  He  told  her  she  had  now 
come  to  the  end  of  her  labors.  In  five  days 
she  was  to  assemble  certain  persons,  and 
assign  to  them  their  duties  in  the  new 
Order.  Then  she  was  to  enter  into  "the 
cloisters  of  heaven."  Her  body  would  be 
carried  to  Wadstena. 

She  settled  everything,  even  to  the  hour 
of  the  abbey  Mass  in  winter;  wrote  a 
letter  of  advice  to  her  son  Birger,  who  was 
likely  to  fill  a  high  office  in  the  State ;  and 
then,  calling  her  daughter  Catherine,  she 
said  she  was  going  to-morrow.  This  was 
the  feast  of  St.  Mary  Magdalen. 

With  the  dawn  of  a  new  day,  Christ 
came  to  awake  His  servant,  and  let  her 
look  upon  Him  for  the  last  time  on  earth. 
The  sun  was  hardly  risen  beyond  the  hills ; 
it  was  too  early  yet  for  heat.  The  room 
of  Bridget  was  filled  with  kneeling  people 
before  Mass  began.  She  was  probably 
dressed  in  the  brown  robe  and  cord  of  a 
Tertiary  of  St.  Francis.  Out  of  humility, 
she  asked  to  be  lifted  from  her  bed  and 
laid  upon  the  boards  to  die.  After  Com- 
munion and  Extreme  Unction,  her  strength 
revived,  and  she  spoke  to  those  about  her, 
in  ecstasy.  Then  another  priest,  just 
arrived  from  Jerusalem,  began  the  Divine 
Sacrifice:  it  was  her  Mass  of  thanksgiving. 
Before  it  was  ended,  as  she  lay  supported 
in  the  arms  of  Catherine,  she  raised  her 
head  and  said  in  a  loud  voice :  "Lord,  into 
Thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit!" 

It  was  Saturday,  the  23d  of  July,  1373. 
Towards  nightfall  the  precious  body  was 


carried  to  the  church  adjoining  the  convent 
of  the  Poor  Clares  of  Padisperna,  on  the 
Esquiline.  This  was  the  church  where  she 
used  to  sit  on  the  steps  as  a  beggar  for  the 
Swedish  pilgrims.  At  every  cross-street  a 
new  crowd  had  joined  the  funeral;  and, 
singing  hymns  of  praise,  they  arrived  at 
the  church  doors,  with  cardinals,  priests  in 
great  numbers,  and  the  nobles  of  Rome. 
Bridget  had  humbly  desired  to  be  buried 
on  the  day  of  her  death,  according  to  the 
Italian  custom.  The  feeling  of  the  people 
was  too  strong:  the  remains  had  to  be 
left  before  the  altar,  among  lighted  candles, 
while  crowds  filled  the  church. 

Some  believed  themselves  to  be  in 
direct  communication  with  her  in  prayer. 
Others  touched  the  bier  and  her  garments, 
to  obtain  their  cure.  Marvels  were  happen- 
ing. The  whole  concourse  began  to  surge 
with  excitement.  The  white-faced  figure 
lay  still,  under  the  light  of  the  tapers,  and 
outbursts  of  thanksgiving  began  on  every 
side.  Instead  of  silence,  there  were  the 
Magnificat  and  psalms  of  praise.  Rumors 
spread  all  over  Rome.  Cures  without 
number  were  reported,  and  some  had 
many  witnesses.  A  nun  of  the  convent, 
who  had  been  ill  for  two  years  and  unable 
to  keep  the  rule,  was  carried  to  the  side  of 
the  bier  the  first  night,  and  in  the  morning 
Walked  into  the  cloister,  restored  to 
health.  A  woman,  whom/  every  one  in 
Rome  knew  to  have  an  immense  goitre  in 
her  neck,  could  be  seen  now  in  the  church, 
and  the  goitre  had  disappeared.  , 

Day  after  day  a  crushing  crowd  pressed 
about  the  portals  of  San  Lorenzo.  One 
had  to  wait  a  long  time  and  move  slowly, 
to  advance  to  the  upper  end,  where  the 
lights  shone  and  the  people  prayed  aloud. 
The  third  night  the  relics  were  secretty 
taken  away,  and  entombed  in  the  second 
chapel  on  the  right  side  of  the  basilica.  A 
noble  Roman  lady  gave  her  own  white 
marble  sepulchre ;  she  was  a  kinswoman  to 
the  nun  who  had  been  cured.  All  Rome 
still  flocked  to  San  Lorenzo.  Thanksgivings 
were  inscribed  in  many  languages;  and 
in  a  short  time  the  tomb  was  quite  hidden 


777 /<;  AVE  MAKJA 


by  cx-voto  offerings  bearing  witness  to 
answered  prayers. 

In  the  following  year  the  relics  of 
Bridget  of  Sweden  were  taken  back  to-  her 
own  country.  There  was  a  triumphal  pro- 
fession to  Wadstena.  Bishops,  priests  and 
people  came  to  meet  her;  it  must  have 
been  a  wonderful  experience  for  her  own 
son  Birger,  who  was  one  of  the  bearers. 
At  her  coming,  it  is  said  that  the  blind 
saw,  the  lame  walked,  and  the  dumb  spoke; 
mothers  rejoiced  in  the  healing  of  their 
children;  sin  and  hatred  ceased;  and 
there  were  spiritual  favors  as  marvellous 
as  the  visible  cures.  Several  attested 
miracles  are  recorded  in  the  Bull  of  her 
canonization. 

St.  Catherine  of  Sweden  was  abbess  of 
Wadstena. . The Bridgettine  Order  of  "Our 
Most  Holy  Saviour"  became  one  of  the 
greatest  Orders  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and 
spread  to  England,  France,  Italy,  Germany, 
Bavaria,  Poland,  Norway,  Denmark,  Fin- 
land, Holland,  Belgium,  Spain,  Portugal, 
and  Russia.  To  English-speaking  nations, 
the  most  interesting  abbey  was  at  Isle- 
worth,  near  London.  There  Henry  V.  laid 
the  foundation  stone  in  1415.  For  nearly 
a  century  and  a  half,  Syon  Abbey,  Isle- 
worth,  was  a  bright  centre  of  prayer  and 
charity,  learning  and  sanctity.  The  two 
separate  convents  held  monks  and  nuns 
"to  the  number  of  the  disciples";  and 
between  the  two  buildings  was  the  abbey 
church,  where,  according  to  the  plan  of 
the  foundress,  on  Sundays  and  feast-days 
the  poor  had  the  Gospel  preached  to  them. 
It  was  a  monk  of  Isleworth  who  composed 
the  Jesus  Psalter.  In  the  days  of  persecu- 
tion, the  confessor  of  the  nuns  was  one 
of  the  first  martyrs  at  Tyburn  for  the 
authority  <$f  the  Holy  See.  And  while  we 
honor  this  martyr-priest,  Blessed  Richard 
Reynolds,  "the  angel  of  Syon,"  we  should 
not  forget  the  humble  lay -brother, 
Thomas  Brownel,  who,  as  the  Syon  obit 
book  says,  "in  defence  of  ye  Catholick 
Faith  died  in  prison  at  Newgate."  These 
are  the  glories  of  Syon  Abbey.  There  is 
now  a  ducal  house  on  the  green  and  wooded 


land  by  the  Thames.  Most  of  its  si  ones 
were  once  built  into  that  holy  house  of 
the  Order  of  St.  Bridget. 

The  religious  were  first  driven  out  by 
Henry  VIII.,  and  again  by  Elizabeth.  The 
exiled  nuns  wandered  on  the  Continent, 
' '  in  perils  often. ' '  Yet  the  Syon  foundation 
had  a  continuous  community  life,  that 
was  never  broken;  and  they  found  their 
wray  back  to  England  again — very  few, 
very  poor,  but  the  Syon  community  still- 
in  our  own  time.  They  are  now  in  a  little 
grey  house  at  Chudleigh,  among  the  Dev- 
onshire hills.  Their  "abbey"  is  more  like  a 
cottage ;  but  they  still  have  in  their  chapel 
the  white  marble  statue  of  "our  holy 
mother  St.  Bridget"  which  was  once  in 
the  pre-Reformation  abbey  of  Syon  at 
Isleworth. 

There  is  hope  of  a  foundation  of  the 
Bridgettines  again  near  the  old  ground. 
Simultaneously  with  this  hope  comes  a 
sort  of  "stirring  of  the  waters."  The  devo- 
tion to  St.  Bridget  at  Isleworth  increases; 
favors  are  asked  and  granted;  and  it  is 
quite  possible  that  her  altar  in  the  local 
church  may  yet  become  a  London  pil- 
grimage. They  say  the  nuns  of  "Our 
Saviour  of  Syon"  are  coming  back;  at 
least,  such  is  the  desire  of  the  historic 
community  at  Chudleigh.  In  the  meantime 
their  foundress  becomes  an  intercessor.. 
Centuries  are  but  short  periods  to  the 
Church.  Quite  naturally  we  find  a  friend 
in  heaven;  and  the  twentieth  century 
holds  hands  with  the  fourteenth. 

(The  End.) 


THE  "Hail  Mary"  is  a  prayer  of  which 
we  never  grow  weary.  When  our  hands 
have  touched  aromatic  plants  they  per- 
fume everything  they  come  in  contact 
with.  Let  us  offer  our  prayers  by  the 
hands  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  She  will 
perfume  them.  At  the  end  of  the  world, 
I  think  Our  Lady  will  rest;  but  as  long  as 
the  world  lasts  she  will  be  besieged  on  ai* 
sides.  She  is  like  a  mother  who  has  many 
children  and  is  kept  busy  going  from  one 
to  another. — Blessed  Cure  of  Ars. 


364 


TUK  AVR  MARIA 


The  String  of  Pearls. 


BY    CIJORCINA 


I. 

THE  air  outside  was  raw  and  chilly, 
but  within  the  vast  Auditorium  all 
was  brightness  and  gaiety  as  the  crowds 
surged  in, — -some  intent  on  satisfying  their 
curiosity,  others  impressed  by  the  deeper 
meaning  that  underlay  the  gay  scene. 
Through  the  packed  aisles  a  little  woman  in 
deep  mourning  went  with  the  crowd;  then 
suddenly  she  paused,  and,  separating  her- 
self from  the  stream,  drew  near  one  of  the 
largest  and  handsomest  of  the  many  beau- 
tiful and  attractive  booths. 

A  pretty  girl,  standing  in  a  conspicuous 
position,  was  holding  up  to  view  a  marvel- 
lous string  of  shining  pearls;  the  electric 
lights  overhead  caught  and  intensified  its 
shimmering  radiance  until  every  pearl 
threw  out  its  soft,  moonlike  beauty,  daz- 
zling the  beholder.  Truly,  here  was  a 
necklace  worth  a  king's  ransom. 

The  pretty  girl's  voice  was  clear  and 
penetrating. 

"Only  two  dollars  a  share,"  she  said. 
"Who  will  take  a  share  in  the  ten  thousand 
dollar  necklace,  to  help  the  fatherless 
children  of  France?" 

"I  will,"  quietly  answered  the  little 
woman  in  black. 

She  opened  her  slender  purse,  as  she 
spoke.  Within  were  a  two  dollar  bill  and 
some  silver,  nor  did  the  gay  crowd  of 
women  inside  the  booth  know  that  it  was 
almost  all  the  ready  money  she  had  left  in 
the  world.  At  home,  safely  tucked  away, 
was  a  ten  dollar  bill.  After  that,  unless 
she  could  find  work,  and  find  it  soon,  there 
was  nothing  for  herself  and  her  five  father- 
less children  but  starvation. 

With  a  low  "Thank  you!"  she  received 
her  ticket;  and,  putting  it  in  her  purse, 
she  passed  on  her  way.  Everywhere  she 
heard  the  same  cry, — who  would  buy  or 
take  shares  to  help  the  fatherless  children 
of  France? 


Presently  she  was  out  in  the  raw,  cold 
air  again;  and,  drawing  her  well-worn 
wraps  closely  around Jier,  she  made  her  way 
to  a  church  farther  up  the  avenue.  She  was 
soon  inside  the  door;  and,  drawing  the 
well-worn  brown  beads  from  her  bag,  ske 
knelt  at  the  Blessed  Mother's  altar, — -that 
Mother  who  would  understand  her  prayers 
and  tears.  It  was  not  for  beauty  nor  for 
adornment  that  she  craved  the  wonderful 
string  of  shining  pearls  that  numbered  one 
hundred  and  fifty  perfect  and  priceless 
gems,  but  so  that  she  could,  if  she  were  the 
winner,  sell  them.  "It's  for  a  roof  and 
four  walls  for  my  children!"  was  her  cry; 
and  the  face  of  the  Compassionate  Mother 
above  the  altar  seemed  to  smile  upon  her. 
Yes,  surely  from  high  heaven  Blessed  Mary 
heard  and  understood. 

Presently  she  was  out  on  the  street 
again,  had  hailed  a  passing  car;  and  as 
she  rode  out  in  the  gathering  dusk  to  the 
little  house  on  the  West  Side,  that  she  had 
been  paying  for  on  the  instalment  plan, 
her  thoughts  turned  with  anxiety  to  the 
five  thousand  dollars  still  to  be  paid.  Un- 
less she  could  meet  these  payments,  she 
and  her  children  must  lose  their  home  and 
be  cast  on  the  world  without  shelter. 

It  was  only  a  little  over  a  month  since 
she  had  been  left  a  widow.  At  that  time 
her  husband,  John  Morgan,  a  young 
architect,  in  going  through  an  unfinished 
building,  had  taken  a  misstep  and  had 
slipped  and  plunged  to  "the  floor  below. 
He  had  been  picked  up  alive,  and  had  been 
taken  home,  where  it  was  found  that, 
beside  sustaining  two  fractures,  he  had 
been  paralyzed  by  the  fall.  For  two  days 
he  lived,  perfectly  conscious,  and  making 
repeated  efforts  to  talk  to  his  wife.  That 
something  was  on  his  mind  was  plain;  but 
the  sounds  he  was  able  to  make  were  so 
unintelligible  that  even  his  devoted  wife, 
straining  every  nerve  to  comprehend,  could 
not  understand.  He  had  had  the  last 
Sacraments  and  the  ministrations  of  a 
priest  who  had  known  him  since  he  was  a 
boy;  and,  thus  prepared,  he  died.  Near 
relations  there  were,  so  far  as  she  knew, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


365 


none.  She  had  been  an  Irish  girl,  an  orphan 
and  governess  in  a  family  in  Chicago  when 
they  had  met  and  married.  . 

All  these  thoughts  and  many  others 
pressed  upon  her  during  the  long  ride,  until 
finally  the  car 'stopped  at  San  Francisco 
Avenue  and  she  alighted.  A  walk  of  a  few 
blocks  brought  her  to  the  modest  brick 
house,  with  its  veranda  and  little  garden, 
that  had  been  their  joy  and  pride  ever 
since  they  had  made  their  first  payment  on 
it  five  years  ago.  Here  her  two  youngest 
children,  Mary  and  Catherine,  the  twins, 
now  four  years  old,  had  been  born;  and 
thinking  of  all  the  other  anniversaries — 
the  Christmases,  the  saints'  days  and 
birthdays — that  had  been  so  happily  cele- 
brated within  its  walls,  her  heart  was  nigh 
to  breaking. 

The  door  was  flung  open  before  she  had 
time  to  unlock  it.  There  was  Agnes,  the 
little  house  mother,  with  the  twins  clinging 
to  her  skirts;  and  behind  them  were 
Philip  and  James,  sturdy  boys  of  eight 
and  ten. 

"We  have  the  kettle  boiling  and  supper 
nearly  ready,  mother,"  they  said. 

Surely  the  world  was  not  all  sadness  and 
pain.  She  had  them  still — her  children, 
hers  in  anguish  and  loss, — to  comfort  her 
heart. 

After  the  evening  meal  was  over  she 
gathered  them  all  around  her  and  told 
them  what  she  had  done.  She  had  taken 
this  one  share  in  the  pearls,  hoping  they 
might  be  hers,  and  that  thus  she  could  pay 
off  the  mortgage  on  their  home  and  have 
something  laid  by  for  a  rainy  day.  She 
looked  around  at  the  familiar  little  faces, 
each  one  so  full  of  intelligent  compre- 
hension and  love;  and  then  she  unfolded 
her  plan. 

"It's  nine  days  yet  before  the  Bazaar 
will  close,"  she  said,  "and  then  the  awards 
will  be  made.  I've  been  thinking  there 
are  just  one  hundred  and  fifty  pearls  in 
the  necklace,  and  one  hundred  and  fifty 
'  Hail  Marys '  in  the  Rosary.  So  every  day 
let  us  kneel  down  and  say  the  Fifteen 
Mysteries, — the  five  Joyful  ones  in  the 


morning,  the  five  Sorrowful  ones  at  noon, 
and  the  five  Glorious  ones  in  the  evening. 
It  will  be  a  bit  of  a  prayer  to  say  all  in  one 
day,  and  for  the  nine  days;  but  each  prayer 
will  be  for  one  pearl,  that  the  whole 
hundred  and  fifty  pearls  may  be  ours." 

No  need  to  ask  if  they  would  do  it.  Even 
the  little  ones  seemed  to  understand;  and 
presently  they  were  all  kneeling,  repeating 
the  ever-old,  ever-new  ' '  Holy  Mary, 
Mother  of  God,  pray  for  us";  and  it  was 
the  sweet  child  voices  that  seemed  to  take 
the  lead. 

II. 

The  nine  days  were  over;  the  different 
awards  had  been  made, — all  but  the  pearl 
necklace,  which  was  to  be  awarded  last  of 
all.  With  a  beating  heart  Agnes  Morgan 
unfolded  the  newspaper  that  she  had  sent 
'Philip  out  to  buy  early  that  Saturday 
morning;  and  then  she  turned  to  the 
column  that  held  the  announcement  of 
this  the  last  and  most  important  award. 
Suddenly  a  mist  swam  before  her  eyes  and 
there  was  a  singing  in  her  ears — the  pearl 
necklace  had  been  won  by  one  of  the 
wealthiest  women  in  the  city. 

The  children  were  crowding  around  her, 
hope  and  expectation  in  each  eager  face. 

"We  have  not  got  it,"  she  said:  "it  has 
gone  to  some  one  else.  But  we  must  not 
despair." 

"Perhaps  God  will  send  us  something 
better,"  replied  Agnes. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  mother,"  said  Philip. 
"I  will  soon  be  a  man  and  will  take  care 
of  you." 

She  kissed  them  all  passionately.  Then, 
being  a  brave  woman,  she  put  away  the 
thought  of  the  pearl  necklace.  It  was 
time  now  for  her  to  go  out  and  look  for 
work  again. 

So  after  breakfast  she  left  the  house, 
with  a  number  of  advertisements  cut 
from  the  newspaper  in  her  bag.  From  one 
office  to  another  she  went,  but  from  all  she 
received  some  set-back.  She  had  not  been 
trained  to  work;  she  could  not  use  a 
typewriter;  she  was,  perhaps,  not  young 
enough.  She  had  stopped  in  a  cheap  res- 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


taurant  at  noon  for  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  slice 
of  bread,  and  while  she  stirred  her  tea  she 
made  her  decision.  One  thing  she  knew 
how  to  do,  and  that  was  to  teach.  She 
would  apply  at  some  teachers'  agency  and 
try  to  get  work. 

It  was  about  four  o'clock  when  she  was 
at  last  able  to  get  home.  She  had  registered 
at  two  agencies,  had  paid  the  fees  from  her 
fast  vanishing  store;  and  now,  faithful  to 
every  instinct  of  her  life,  she  was  stopping 
at  a  church  before  going  home.  Entering  a 
pew,  she  opened  her  bag,  but  her  beads 
were  not  there.  She  felt  in  her  coat 
pockets, — they  were  empty.  Then  she  re- 
membered: that  morning  after  they  had 
recited  the  Rosary  she  had  laid  them  down 
on  the  mantelpiece  in  her  own  room.  So 
she  said  her  prayers  without  the  beads, 
and  in  half  an  hour  she  was  on  her  way 
home.  Arrived  there,  she  entered  her  room 
and  walked  up  to  the  mantelpiece,  but 
no  beads  were  in  sight. 

"Where  can  I  have  put  them?"  she 
said. 

Philip,  who  had  followed  her,  and  was 
looking  over  the  mantelpiece,  suddenly 
uttered  an  exclamation.  At  the  same 
moment  there  was  the  sound  of  something 
striking  the  floor. 

"Oh,"  he  exclaimed,  "they're  gone!" 

Then  the  boy  turned  to  his  mother. 

"The  Rosary  has  fallen  in  this  crack," 
he  said.  "There  were  just  two  beads  that 
were  held  in  the  narrow  end  of  the  crack; 
but  when  I  tried  to  lift  it  out  it  slipped 
and  fell  down  inside." 

The  boy  was  feeling  the  woodwork  as 
he  spoke,  and  a  moment  later  he  ran  for  a 
screw-driver. 

"Look,  mother!"  he  said.  "I  will  take 
out  this  panel  on  the  side.  It  is  screwed  in 
and  can  easily  be  put  back." 

Five  minutes  later  Philip  lifted  out  the 
panel,  and  then  he  uttered  another  ex- 
clamation. 

"There's  a  letter  here  as  well  as  the 
beads!"  he  said. 

He  bent  down,  picked  them  up,  and 
brought  them  to  his  mother.  She  took  the 


Rosary  and  put  it  in  Her  pocket,  after  first 
kissing  the  crucifix.  To  her  the  beads  were 
as  a  friend, — -something  precious  and  inti- 
mate, and  keenly  missed  if  lost.  Taking 
up  the  letter,  she  saw  it  was  addressed  to 
her  husband  and  that  it  had  been  opened. 
Then  in  a  flash  she  remembered.  The 
night  her  husband  had  been  brought  home 
she  had  laid  his  watch,  a  bunch  of  keys 
and  this  letter  on  the  mantelpiece.  The 
watch  and  keys  she  had  afterward  put 
away;  the  letter  she  had  never  thought  of 
again.  Was  it  about  this  that  he  had  tried 
so  hard  to  talk  to  her? 

As  in  a  dream  she  opened  it.  It  was 
from  a  solicitor  in  Wales,  saying  that  a 
certain  Mr.  William  Morgan  had  died 
and  had  left  two  thousand  pounds  to  his 
grand-nephew,  John  Morgan  of  Chicago, 
the  grandson  of  his  late  brother  Alexander. 

Slowly  she  turned  the  letter  over.  The 
date  stamped  on  the  back,  showing  when 
it  was  received  at  the  Chicago  office,  was 
the  very  day  her  husband  had  died.  It 
was  addressed,  not  to  his  home,  but  to  his 
place  of  business  in  the  city.  And  then 
the  tears  rained  from  her  eyes  as  she  told 
her  children  the  news.  And  the  little 
room  became  a  sanctuary,  as  down  on 
their  knees  they  fell  with  a  great  uplifting 
of  fervent  thanksgiving. 

That  night  Agnes  Morgan  dreamed 
that  she  saw  our  Divine  I/ord;  and  before 
Him,  with  arms  outstretched,  was  His 
Blessed  Mother,  in  her  hands  a  Rosary; 
and,  lo !  each  bead  was  a  lustrous,  shimmer- 
ing pearl;  and  on  each  pearl  there  was  a 
tear;  for  of  such  had  faith  made  the 
brown  beads  of  her  Rosary. 


THE  duty  of  perseverance  on  our  part 
is  made  up  of  three  things:  of  fidelity  in 
following  the  Spirit  of  God;  of  fervor — 
that  is,  exactness,  regularity,  punctuality 
in  the  discharge  of  our  duties  toward 
God  and  our  neighbor;  and,  lastly,  of 
delicacy  of  conscience  so  that  our  ear  is 
prompt  to  hear  the  voice  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  and  our  eye  is  quick  to  see  what 
He  requires  of  us. — Manning. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


367 


Ville  Marie. 


BY    CLIO    MAMER. 

VILLE  MARIE!  Have  you  ever  heard 
of  Ville  Marie?  It  seemed  to  me  that 
from  my  childhood  I  had  known  about 
Ville  Marie,  its  Grotto,  and  its  quaint 
French  population.  And  yet  I  am  sure  it 
could  not  have  been  the  Ville  Marie  upon 
the  shores  of  Lake  Temiskaming;  for  this 
little  Ville  Marie,  with  its  comparatively 
recent  Grotto,  and  its  population  of  over 
twelve  hundred  people,  has  not  found  a 
place  upon  even  the  most  recent  maps. 
The.  Ville  Marie  I  had  dreamed  about  for 
years  was  at  least  a  hundred  years  old, 
while  the  Ville  Marie  I  found  is  no  more 
than  twenty-five  or  thirty  years  old  at 
the  most. 

It  was  the  clerk  at  the  Mattabannick 
Hotel,  in  Haileybury,  who  brought  back 
the  memories  of  my  childhood  by  asking 
us  if  we  were  going  to  Ville  Marie.  It  was 
a  short  trip,  and  one  well  worth  taking,  he 
volunteered;  and  as  we  were  sight-seers, 
"out  for  everything  worth  while,"  we 
immediately  decided  that  we  must  go  to 
Ville  Marie.  Little  did  the  clerk  at  the 
Mattabannick  dream  when  he  suggested 
this  excursion  to  us  that  he  was  losing  two 
guests,  but  that  was  exactly  what  he  was 
doing;  for  when  we  reached  the  little 
French  village  on  the  opposite  shore,  we 
forgot  all  about  Haiteybury,  with  its 
beautiful  shore  line,  in  which  the  Catholic 
cathedral  and  convent  played  a  most 
prominent  part,  and  the  comfortable  hotel 
at  the  water's  edge;  to  say  nothing  of 
Cobalt,  with  its  fascinating  silver  mines, 
its  warm-hearted  people,  and  its  mar- 
vellous sunsets  and  cloud  effects,  all  of 
which  things  had  contrived  to  keep  us  at 
the  Mattabannick  for  over  a  week. 

It  was  almost  six  o'clock  when  the 
"Silverland"  left  the  dock  at  Haileybury 
for  her  trip  across  Lake  Temiskaming,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  the  Daily  Nugget 
advertised  her  time  of  leaving  at  five 


o'clock.  But  when  a  boat  the  size  of  the 
"Silverland"  constitutes  the  only  means 
of  communication  between  a  village  of 
twelve  hundred  souls  and  the  more  popu- 
lous cities  of  New  Liskeard,  Cobalt  and 
Haileybury,  its  captain  is  very  apt  to  be 
indulgent  and  wait  a  bit  over  time  for 
passengers  and  freight. 

There  were  exactly  fourteen  passengers 
crowded  into  the  tiny  salon  of  the  "Silver- 
land,"  into  which  a  good  part  of  the  freight 
and  baggage  carried  upon  this  trip  over- 
flowed. Although  it  was  the  middle  of 
August,  we  were  glad  to  wrap  ourselves  up 
in  sweaters  and  coats,  and  stay  inside.  We 
were  the  only  Americans  aboard ;  but  there 
were  two  Englishwomen  who,  contrary  to 
all  precedent,  spoke  French  better  than 
their  own  language.  Our  other  travelling 
companions  were  all  Frenchmen,  who 
spoke  only  broken  English.  There  was  a 
little  French-Canadian  priest,  clad  in  his 
cassock,  who,  we  found,  understood  English. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  when  we  docked  at 
Ville  Marie;  but  it  was  still  light,  so  that 
we  had  a  good  view  of  the  town  as  we  drove 
up  to  the  hotel.  Ville  Marie  is  built  upon 
what  may  have  been  at  one  time  the  bed 
of  the  Temiskaming.  The  exceeding  rich- 
ness of  the  soil  between  the  village  proper 
and  the  low-lying  mountains,  or  high  hills, 
which  form  the  background  to  the  land- 
scape, incline  the  casual  observer  to  this 
opinion.  It  is  in  this  mountain  range  back 
of  the  village  that  the  Grotto  is  found.  The 
road  from  the  dock  to  the  Bay  View  Hotel 
led  along  the  principal  residence  street  of 
the  town;  past  the  "Point,"  a  jut  out 
into  the  Temiskaming  which  was  at  one 
time  the  trading  post  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company;  past  the  boys'  school;  past  the 
Bay  View  Hotel,  where  our  drive  ended, 
to  the  church  and  the  hospital  and  the 
prettiest  homes  of  the  village. 

It  was  with  some  misgiving  that  we  dis- 
mounted from  the  bus  when  it  drew  up  in 
front  of  the  hotel.  We  were  two  women 
alone  in  a  country  where  the  first  question 
asked  by  the  women  of  the  place  is,  "But 
where  are  your  mens? "  and  the  view  which 


368 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


unfolded  before  us  was  anything  but  re- 
assuring. It  was  the  side  entrance  to  the 
hotel,  and  the  porch  was  filled  with  cases 
of  empty  wine  and  beer  bottles,  and 
rough-looking  men  in  sombreros  and  high 
boots.  His  reverence  got  out  ahead  of  us 
and  went  in;  so  we  decided  that  maybe 
the  place  was  not  so  bad  as  it  looked,  after 
all,  and  were  comforted.  The  porter  took 
our  grips  with  a  bow,  and  we  followed  him 
quickly  past  the  barroom  into  the  office 
where  we  registered. 

We  were  assigned  a  front  room  on  the 
second  floor,  from  the  windows  of  which 
we  could  look  out  over  Lake  Temiskaming, 
with  its  seventy  miles  of  clear  ice-cold 
water,  and  its  banks  of  gleaming  birch  and 
darkening  spruce  and  pine  trees.  From  our 
window  we  could  see  each  night  the  sun  go 
down  between  the  hills  like  a  ball  of  gold; 
and  sometimes  his  rays  made  a  purplish 
roadway  through  the  water  for  the  little 
"Silverland"  as  she  came  puffing  into 
place.  And  then  one  memorable  night  we 
sat  and  watched  the  Northern  Lights ;  and 
after  that  wre  envied  the  simple  folk  who 
lived  year  after  year  in  this  land,  even  if 
the  temperature  did  fall  to  sixty  below 
zero  in  the  winter,  and  a  frozen  lake  did 
cut  them  off  from  all  communication  with 
the  world  beyond. 

On  the  1 5  th  of  August  the  church  was 
well  filled  with  both  men  and  women  at  the 
seven-o'clock  Mass  which  we  attended  the 
morning  after  our  arrival.  The  church, 
which  is  far  more  imposing  when  seen  from 
the  lake,  with  its  white  front  and  golden 
spires  gleaming  through  the  trees,  is  well 
laid  out  inside,  and  is  much  larger  than 
one  would  expect  to  find  in  so  small  a 
town.  To  the  right  of  the  main  altar  is  a 
tiny  replica  of  the  Grotto  of  Lourdes,  with 
little  doll-like  figures  to  represent  the 
Blessed  Virgin  and  Bernadette. 

On  one  side  of  the  church  is  the  hospital, 
with  a  reputation  for  efficiency  which  many 
a  larger  city  might  well  envy;  and  on  the 
other  side  is  the  home  of  the  Oblate 
Fathers,  who  are  in  charge  of  Ville  Marie. 
It  is  a  truly  wonderfulj.parish  they  have; 


for  everybody  in  Ville  Marie  seems  to  be  a 
Catholic  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word. 
Here  it  is  we  find  the  descendants  of  those 
early  French  trappers  and  voyageurs, — 
those  sturdy  pioneers  who  brought  with 
them  from  the  shores  of  their  native  land 
scarcely  anything  but  their  religion  and  a 
strong  love  for  the  manners  and  customs 
of  the  country  which  they  had  forsaken. 
Unlike  the  refugees  of  many  other  nation- 
alities, they  were  accompanied  by  priests 
who  underwent  with  them  innumerable 
hardships  to  keep  them  in  the  faith  and  to 
extend  that  faith  with  civilization  to  the 
Redmen  who  at  one  time  abounded  in  this 
region.  Shut  off  from  all  intercourse  with 
the  rest  of  the  world,  first  at  Fort  Temis- 
kaming and  later  at  Ville  Marie,  these  old 
settlers  and  their  children  and  grand- 
children— nay,  their  great-grandchildren — • 
have  clung  to  their  religion  as  their  most 
priceless  gift. 

I  could  not  but  ask  myself,  as  I  looked 
about,  whether  these  conditions  would 
persist  under  modern  progress.  Now  that 
such  large  and  prosperous  cities  as  New 
Liskeard,  Haileybury  and  Cobalt  have 
grown  up,  and  are,  comparatively  speaking, 
so  accessible  to  these  once  secluded  people, 
will  their  children  and  their  children's 
children,  who  must  inevitably  be  thrown 
into  close  contact  with  a  people  of  an  alien 
faith  and  an  alien  race,  be,  able  to  keep 
their  beautiful  childlike  faith  and  their 
nationality.  I  imagine  that  the  Oblate 
Fathers,  as  they  sit  upon  their  front  porch 
and  watch  an  occasional  automobile  which 
has  been  purchased  on  the  other  side  of  the 
lake  roll  by,  and  as  they  gaze  across  the 
Temiskaming  to  where  the  New  Ontario  is 
springing  into  life  by  leaps  and  bounds, 
must  often  regret  that,  wide  though  this 
great  body  of  water  is,  it  is  not  many 
miles  wider. 

Behind  the  church  and  some  distance 
from  it  is  the  convent  of  the  Grey  Nuns. 
It  is  a  large  red  brick  building,  and,  like 
the  hospital,  would  be  considered  a  very 
fine  building  in  a  much  larger  community. 
This  convent  accommodates  boarders  as 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


369 


well  as  day  pupils;  and  it  is  one  of  the 
sights  of  Ville  Marie  to  see  these  students, 
dressed  in  their  black  uniforms,  making  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  Grotto  upon  the  hill. 
They  march  reverently,  two  by  two,  along 
the  board  walk  which  runs  past  their  con- 
vent grounds  up  to  their  favorite  shrine. 

The  approach  to  the  Grotto  runs  up  the 
hill  and  past  the  convent  as  far  as  the  ceme- 
tery. Thereafter  the  road  is  merely  a  foot- 
path worn  out  of  the  hillside  by  the  inces- 
sant tramping  of  many  feet.  It  is  a  long, 
hot  walk,  as  we  found  out  the  first  morning 
we  attempted  it.  It  took  us  a  good  half 
hour  to  reach  the  Grotto  from  the  foot  of 
the  hill,  and  we  were  well  content  to  rest 
a  while  before  pushing  our  explorations 
further. 

The  Grotto,  so  I  was  informed'  on  what 
seemed  good  authority,  is  not  entirely 
a  natural  grotto.  Nature  began  the  work, 
it  seems,  and  the  pious  villagers  finished  it. 
In  a  recess  at  one  side  is  a  statue  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  at  her  feet  kneels 
Bernadette.  The  interior  of  the  shrine  is 
fitted  out  with  an  altar,  which  is  used  only 
once  a  year — on  the  Sunday  within  the 
Octave  of  the  Assumption.  On  that  day 
the  High  Mass  is  said  outdoors  at  this 
Grotto,  if  the  weather  permits,  and  people 
come  from  all  the  neighboring  towns  to  take 
part  in  the  festival.  For  a  number  of  years 
one  of  the  greatest  sights  in  the  North 
Country  was  that  of  the  Indians  coming 
up  the  Temiskaming  for  many  miles,  in 
their  canoes,  to  take  part  in  this  religious 
celebration.  There  is  a  platform  built  to 
one  side  of  the  Grotto,  but  it  is  far  too 
small  to  accommodate  all  the  worshippers 
who  kneel  about  under  the  surrounding 
trees.  The  top  of  the  Grotto  presents, 
from  the  rear,  the  view  of  a  fort.  It  is 
smooth,  and  looks  as  if  it  had  been  plas- 
tered. There  are  great  boulders  sticking 
up  at  intervals  all  over  this  smooth  surface. 

The  view  from  the  top  of  the  Grotto  was 
well  worth  the  effort  I  had  made  to  scale 
it.  Pine  trees  flanked  the  edge  of  the  knoll 
which  formed  a  natural  platform  before 
the  Grotto,  and  lined  the  path  on  either 


side  half  way  down  the  hill.  Straight  ahead 
stretched  the  walk  down  to  the  old 
town.  On  either  side  of  the  walk  were 
fields  of  ripened  grain.  Almost  hidden 
from  view,  the  cemetery  lay  to  the  right, 
only  its  whitened  tombstones  visible  among 
the  treetops.  Then  came  a  cluster  of 
white  farm  buildings,  which  belonged  with 
the  acres  of  golden  wheat.  Farther  down 
appeared  the  Convent  of  Notre  Dame,  the 
only  red  structure  in  sight.  Lower  still 
stood  the  church  and  the  hospital,  with 
most  of  the  village  buildings  to  the  left. 
And  in  front,  or  rather  behind  them  all, 
flowed  the  great  Temiskaming,  with  the 
low-lying  hills  which  concealed  the  vast  ex- 
panse of  water  on  the  other  side  of  them; 
then  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  hills 
upon  hills.  It  was  truly  a  vision  of  pine 
or  birch-clad  miniature  mountains;  and 
miles  and  miles  of  water,  with  acres  and 
acres  of  the  most  fertile  soil  the  most  ex- 
acting farmer  could  long  for,  scattered  in 
between;  and  through  it  all  one  could 
never  for  a  moment  lose  sight  of  the  church 
of  the  golden  spire,  with  its  hospital  and 
its  convent  in  close  proximity. 

From  the  summit  of  the  Grotto,  I 
picked  my  way  down  carefully;  and  if  it 
had  not  been  for  the  assistance  kindly  ren- 
dered to  me  by  my  less  adventurous  com- 
panion, I  probably  would  have  spent  the 
night  perched  upon  the  top.  There  were 
still  unexplored  regions  in  the  wilderness 
which  lay  behind  us.  A  trail  led  through 
the  bush,  and  finally  brought  up  at  a 
dairy  farm,  where  young  cattle  were  being 
raised,  and  milk  was  being  handled  in  a 
most  up-to-date  and  sanitary  manner, 
even  if  the  cows  were  not  milked  by' 
electricity. 

On  our  way  down  the  hill  we  stopped  to 
visit  the  cemetery  where  the  dead  of  Ville 
Marie  repose  in  tranquil  peace.  We  could 
not  but  be  struck  with  the  fact  that  most 
of  the  graves  were  those  of  women.  After 
a  moment's  consideration,  the  true  signifi- 
cance of  this  curious  phenomenon  was 
borne  in  upon  us.  We  remembered  the 
tales  we  had  heard  of  the  treachery  of  the 


370 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Temiskaming,  and  we  knew  then  why 
Ville  Marie  did  not  bury  her  men  side  by 
side  with  their  wives  and  children.  The 
times  when  men  braved  the  rapids  of  the 
Temiskaming  in  fragile  canoes,  in  their 
search  for  fish  and  game  as  a  means  of 
livelihood,  have  long  since  passed,  although 
this  region  is  still  a  mecca  for  sportsmen; 
and  yet  the  courageous  women  of  this 
quaint  bit  of  old  France  can  not  have  their 
husbands  and  brothers  and  sons  with  them 
in  the  little  graveyard  on  the  roadway  to 
the  Grotto.  To-day  their  men  lie  in  un- 
named, unmarked  graves  scattered  along 
the  Somme,  and  other  portions  of  that 
hideous  inferno  known  as  the  war  zone; 
for  Ville  Marie,  small  as  it  is,  has  sent  her 
children  to  the  sacrifice. 

May  the  reward  for  what  she  considers 
doing  her  duty  be,  not  the  branch  of  the 
great  Transcontinental  Railway  for  which 
she  prays  daily,  in  her  foolish  desire  to 
reach  the  outside  world  more  easily;  but 
the  strength  to  continue  in  her  present 
aloofness,  and  the  ability  to  hand  down  to 
her  children  the  faith  of  their  fathers! 


Meeting  a  Peripatetic  Unawares. 

CLERGYMAN  (on  his  way  to  a  confer- 
ence of  the  Ministerial  Association). — • 
I'll  not  refuse  you  some  assistance,  though 
you  appear  to  be  an  able-bodied  man. 
Why  don't  you  look  for  employment?  I 
should  think  you  would  be  ashamed  to 
go  about  begging  in  this  way.  You  give 
unmistakable  evidence  of  being  addicted 
to  the  use  of — 

PERIPATETIC. — Able-bodied,—- yes,  fairly 
so,  indeed.  But  surely  you  would  not  have 
me  go  and  break  one  of  my  legs  for  the 
sake  of  this  dime  you  have  given  me. 
(Pardon  the  pleasantry.)  I  am  not  an 
idler,  as  you  seem  to  suppose;  but  a  peri- 
patetic— a  yogi,  if  you  prefer, — travelling 
for  the  preservation  of  my  health  and  the 
prolongation  of  my  life.  Ministers,  you 
know,  indulge  once  in  a  while  in  a  rest  from 
their  arduous  labors  and  engrossing  cares. 


I  meet  them  wherever  enjoyment  is  to  be 
had,  and  there  is  "money  to  burn,"  as  the 
common  saying  is.  Their  presence  on  the 
playgrounds  of  the  world  and  at  the  fash- 
ionable health  resorts  must  be  exclusively 
for  missionary  endeavor.  I  can  not  other- 
wise explain  it;  for  the  clergy,  I  must  say 
(broadly  speaking,  of  course),  do  not  im- 
press me  as  being  overworked  or  underfed. 
Their  generally  prosperous  and  comfortable 
condition  may  have  some  connection  with 
the  spread  of  Socialism.  But  I  am  not 
disposed  to  discuss  that  matter  now.  You 
are  quite  mistaken — -excuse  the  correc- 
tion--in  thinking  that  I  am  begging:  I 
am  engaged  in  taking  up  a  collection,  so  to 
speak.  In  my  case  it  is  more  blessed  to 
receive  than  to  give,  since  I  need  all  that 
I  get  so  much  more  than  many  people 
need  all  they  have  got.  Perhaps  you  have 
a  bank  account,  doctor,  like  a  large  number 
of  your  reverend  brethren.  (I  speak  from 
hearsay,  not  being  in  the  banking  business 
myself.)  Why  not  draw  out  some  of  your 
ready  money  and'  lend  it  to  the  Lord? 
Permit  me  to  remind  you  of  what  the 
Good  Book  says  further  about— well,  I 
must  be  moving  on  myself.  Thank  you, 
doctor!  The  rust  shall  not  consume  this 
coin  you  have  bestowed  upon  me.  Salute 
the  brethren!  I  make  no  objection  to  your 
repeating  anything  I  have  said.  It  is  the 
vocation  of  a  peripatetic,  you  know,  to 
scatter  broadcast  the  seeds  of  sobering 
thought.  With  your  permission,  I  will 
now  proceed  to  slake  my  thirst. 

CLERGYMAN  (to  himself). — I'm  sorry  I 
couldn't  listen  longer  to  that  tramp.  In- 
stead of  reading  my  paper  ["The  Ideals  of 
the  Christian  Ministry"  was  the  title],  I 
think  I'll  just  relate  this  experience  of  mine. 
It  should  give  no  offence,  and  will  be  sure 
to  excite  interest. 


THERE  is  seldom  a  line  of  glory  written 
upon  the  earth's  face  but  a  line  of  suffering 
runs  parallel  with  it.-  They  that  read  the 
lustrous  syllables  of  the  one  and  stoop  not 
to  decipher  the  other,  get  the  least  half  of 
the  lesson  the  earth  has  to  give. — Faber. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


A  Virtue  for  Passiontide. 


THE  ever- memorable  prayer  of  our 
Saviour  on  the  Cross, ' '  Father,  forgive 
them;  for  they  know  not  what  they  do!" 
exemplifies  a  peculiarly  Christian  precept, 
obedience  to  which  is  the  distinctive  mark 
of  Christianity  among  all  religions  that 
have  ever  held  sway  over  the  minds  and 
hearts  of  men.  Thousands  of  years  before 
the  Incarnation,  it  is  true,  human  reason 
had  recognized  the  beauty  of  clemency; 
but  it  was  reserved  for  the  Man-God,  Jesus 
Christ,  to  introduce  upon  earth  a  practice, 
and  institute  a  command,  so  sublime  that 
reason  could  never  have  soared  to  its  con- 
ception; although  once  the  precept  was 
announced,  reason  readily  perceived  its 
widsom  and  experienced  its  utility. 

It  is  a  far  easier  matter,  however,  to  rec- 
ognize the  justice  and  wisdom  of  abstract 
theories  and  principles  than  to  exemplify 
in  our  individual  conduct  the  practical, 
concrete  application  of  such  principles. 
Many  a  man  who  professes  Christianity 
and  willingly  acknowledges  his  obligation 
to  obey  the  precepts  of  the  Gospel,  actually 
and  persistently  observes  in  his  daily  life, 
not  the  express  command  of  Christ,  "Love 
your  enemies,"  but  the  oldtime  law  of 
retaliation — -"An  eye  for  an  eye,  and  a 
tooth  for  a  tooth."  Returning  good  for 
evil  we  all  admit  to  be  our  duty — in  the 
abstract;  but  some  brief  moments  of  self- 
examination,  will  probably  make  it  clear 
to  many  of  us  that  from  day  to  day,  in 
small  matters  if  not  in  great,  we  frequently 
act  upon  the  principle  of  "tit  for  tat." 

To  forgive  our  enemies,  no  matter  how 
grievously  they  have  offended  or  how  con- 
siderably they  have  injured  us,  is  un- 
doubtedly an  arduous  duty;  but  it  is  just 
as  undoubtedly  an  essential  one.  Love  of 
God  and  hatred  of  our  neighbor  are  senti- 
ments that  are  absolutely  incompatible, 
and  it  is  the  merest  folly  to  endeavor  to 
persuade  ourselves  that  we  are  enjoying 
God's  friendship,  are  united  with  Him,  are 
in  the  state  of  grace,  while  we  are  con- 


scious of  harboring  resentment  against  our 
enemy  and  deliberately  entertaining  proj- 
ects of  revenge  upon  him.  St^  John,  the 
Beloved  Disciple  and  the  pre-eminent  eulo- 
gist of  love,  puts  the  matter  beyond  all 
question.  His  doctrine  is  as  unmistakable 
as  it  is  trenchant :  '  He  who  flatters  himself 
that  he  loves  God  while  he  holds  his  neigh- 
bor in  hatred'  or  aversion,  is  a  liar  and  a 
hypocrite,  unworthy  the  name  of  Chris- 
tian.' To  avow  one's  self  a  hypocrite  is 
perhaps  the  last  thing  one  is  apt  to  do; 
but  not  a  few  Christians  are,  nevertheless, 
clearly  guilty  of  the  glaring  inconsistency 
reprobated  by  St.  John. 

Self-deceit  is  as  easy  as  breathing,  as 
common  as  air;  and  on  few  points, 
perhaps,  are  people  so  adept  at  deluding 
themselves  as  on  their  observance  of  that 
difficult  precept:  "Love  your  enemies;  do 
good  to  them  that  hate  you;  pray  for 
them  that  persecute  and  calumniate  you." 
Some  seem  to  have  determined  that  full 
and  complete  observance  of  the  precept  is 
purely  and  simply  impossible;  that  while 
such  observance  would,  no  doubt,  be 
beautiful  and  in  every  way  advantageous, 
it  is  clearly  impracticable  to  all  save 
saints.  This  view  is,  of  course,  evidently 
false.  God  never  commands- — for  that 
matter,  He  could  not  command — impossi- 
bilities; yet  He  very  certainly  prescribes 
forgiveness  of  all  injuries  and  positive  love 
of  all  enemies.  He  rejects  all  service  that 
is  not  accompanied  with  a  merciful,  for- 
giving disposition.  "If  therefore,"  He 
tells  us,  "thou  offerest  thy  gift  at  the 
altar,  and  there  shalt  remember  that  thy 
brother  hath  anything  against  thee,  leave 
there  thy  gift  before  the  altar,  and  first 
go  to  be  reconciled  to  thy  brother;  and 
then  come  and  offer  thy  gift." 

A  number  of  Christians  deceive  them- 
selves in  another  fashion.  They  admit  the 
practicability,  with  the  assistance  of  God's 
grace,  of  pardoning  their  enemies,  and  are 
so  far  right;  but  they  delude  themselves 
as  to  their  own  actual  forgiveness  of  this 
or  that  enemy  in  particular.  It  is  not  only 
possible  but  quite  common  for  people  to 


372 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


profess  a  forgiveness  which  in  sober  reality 
has  no  existence.  How  many  protesta- 
tions of  the  most  Christian  sentiments  are 
made  by  lips  which,  were  they  truthful 
interpreters  of  the  heart,  would  speak  in 
an  utterly  different  strain.  "Oh,  yes!  I 
forgive  him;  I  don't  wish  him  any  evil!" 
This  sounds  well;  but  if  the  speaker, 
nevertheless,  preserves  in  his  inmost  heart 
an  unconquered  feeling  of  resentment  or 
hatred,  an  imperfectly  repressed  desire 
of  revenge,  an  unmistakable  disposition 
secretly  to  rejoice  over  the  humiliation  or 
downfall  of  his  enemy,  of  what  avail  are 
his  magnanimous  words? 

To  declare,  as  still  others  do,  that  they 
forgive  those  who  have  injured  them,  but 
can  never  forget  the  injuries,  is  often  to 
falsify  their  own  statements.  True,  Christ's 
law  does  not  prescribe  the  forgetting  of 
injuries,  and  such  forgetting  may  indeed 
\  be  quite  beyond  one's  power,  in  which  case, 
of  course,  there  is  clearly  no  violation  of 
charity ;  but  the  emphatic  declaration  that 
we  will  never  forget  what  our  enemies 
have  done  to  us  may  easily  enough  mean 
that  our  asserted  forgiveness  is  merely  a 
shallow  pretence. 

There  are,  in  fact,  so  many  ways  in 
which  men  and  women  who  lead  in  all 
other  respects  excellent,  nay,  exemplary, 
lives,  may  deceive  themselves  as  to  the 
necessity  and  the  fact  of  their  forgiving 
all  who  have  wronged  them,  that  a  search- 
ing examination  of  conscience  on  this  par- 
ticular point  may  well  be  advised.  The 
present  dolorous  season  is  a  peculiarly  con- 
gruous time  for  such  an  examination.  The 
sublime  figure  of  our  Blessed  Lord  re- 
ceiving from  His  enemies  so  many  and  so 
monstrous  injuries,  yet  calling  on  His 
Heavenly  Father  to  pardon  them,  should 
impel  all  His  professed  followers  to  sound 
the  very  depths  of  their  hearts  in  order  to 
discover  how  they  are  really  obeying  the 
law  of  love.  And  not  merely  in  Passiontide 
but  throughout  the  year  we  can  not  too 
frequently  reflect  on  the  truth  that  the 
measure  of  mercy  we  deal  unto  others 
that  same  will  be  dealt  unto  us. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


As  was  naturally  to  be  expected,  the 
Lenten  Pastorals  of  the  Catholic  bishops 
of  Great  Britain  lay  considerable  stress  on 
the,  importance  of  prayer  in  the  present 
conjunctuKe, — the  most  critical  state  of 
affairs  perhaps  that  has  ever  confronted 
the  Empire.  Cardinal  Bourne  emphasizes 
the  fact,  proven  time  and  time  again  in 
history,  that  only  God  can  give  success 
to  human  efforts,  and  does  not  hesitate 
to  declare  that  never  was  earnest  prayer 
more  needed  than  now.  So,  too,  Cardinal 
Logue,  advising  that  Catholics  should 
make  the  securing  of  a  just,  satisfactory, 
and  permanent  peace  a  leading  object  in 
the  mortifications,  devotions,  and  good 
works  of  Lent,  adds:  "It  is  right  and 
necessary  that  human  ability  and  resources 
should  be  used  in  the  great  struggle  with 
the  utmost  skill  and  to  the  best  advantage, 
but  men  should  not  forget  that  the  final 
issue  rests  with  God.  To  Him  they  should 
appeal  with  fervor  for  assistance,  using 
this  penitential  season  as  a  time  of  atone- 
ment for  the  sins  of  the  past." 


A  gentleman  from  New  York,  visiting 
some  of  the  Western  States  last  week,  ex- 
pressed surprise  at  finding  so  little  war 
sentiment  in  the  West  compared  with 
what  exists  in  the  East.  We  are  not  sure 
of  his  having  been  thoroughly  convinced 
that  the  whole  nation  was  belligerent; 
but  if  so,  he  is  now  thoroughly  convinced 
of  the  contrary.  The  people  of  the  Western 
States  do  not  want  to  have  the  country 
plunged  into  war,  and  they  have  expressed 
their  feelings  in  no  uncertain  tones.  In 
fact,  the  American  people  as  a  whole,  by 
the  ratio  of  possibly  ten  to  one,  are 
unequivocally  opposed  to  what  a  Western 
editor  describes  as  "the  mix-up  of  crowned 
heads  over  in  Europe."  However,  if  war 
with  Germany  proves  unavoidable,  there 
will  be  as  little  lack  of  patriotism  in  the 
West  as  in  the  East.  The  Adjutant- 
General  of  the  United  States  Army  reports 
that  fewer  than  one-quarter  of  the  appli- 


77/7';  AYE  MARIA 


c:uits  for  enlistment  throughout  the  coun- 
try have  proved  acceptable.  An  urgent 
demand  for  soldiers,  however,  would  be 
sure  to  send  to  the  recruiting  booths  a 
class  of  men  well  fitted,  mentally  and 
physically,  for  warfare.  They  would  gather 
from  every  part  of  the  Union;  and  the 
largest  percentage  of  them,  we  venture  to 
assert,  would  be  those  who  were  most 
strongly  opposed  to  war  until  it  was 
shown  that  honorable  peace  was  no  longer 
a  possibility. 

No  matter  how  much  one  may  differ 
from  the  agnostic  in  his  attitude  towards 
God  and  the  ultimate  nature  of  things, 
there  is  no  denying  that  in  the  sphere  of 
human  experience  he  may  be  an  able  and 
a  righteous  witness.  Nor  can  there  be  any 
question  that  more  than  one  agnostic  has 
given  valuable  testimony  in  behalf  of  the 
Church.  Huxley,  who  suggested  the  word 
"agnostic"  in  1869,  paid  generous  tribute 
to  Catholic  educators;  Mallock  has  more 
than  once  vindicated  the  logic  of  the 
Church;  and  now  Mr.  Norman  Murray, 
the  Scottish-Canadian  publicist  classified 
as  an  agnostic,  throws  this  mild  bombshell 
into  the  camp  of  the  ultra- Protest  ant 
preachers  and  writers  who  are  continually 
maligning  the  French- Canadians : 

Catholic  Quebec  is  much  more  moral  than  any 
district  of  its  size  in  the  Protestant  portion  of 
the  United  States  to  the  south  of  us.  There  are 
more  divorces  and  wife  deserters  to  the  thousand 
in  the  United  States  in  one  year  than  in  French 
Quebec  since  the  time  of  Jacques  Cartier.  We 
have  a  great  deal  more  liberty  in  Montreal  than 
they  have  in  Toronto.  The  overbearing  intoler- 
ance of  the  Protestants  th,ere  is  ,a  disgrace  to  a 
civilized  nation. 

Mr.  Murray's  statement  as  to  divorces 
in  this  country  does  not  make  pleasant 
reading,  but  we  regret  to  say  that  it  is  in 
accordance  with  truth. 


The  majority  of  Catholics  in  this  country 
have  read  during  the  past  few  weeks  the 
powerful  and  pathetic  statement  in  which 
Archbishop  Mundelein  has  told  his  people 
hqw  "the  great  State  of  Illinois  and  the 
rich  city  of  Chicago"  refuse  to  give  further 


pecuniary  aid  to  Catholic  child-caring  in- 
stitutions, with  the  resulting  fact  that  two 
thousand  Catholic  orphans  of  the  city 
have  to  be  supported,  if  supported  at  all, 
by  additional  Catholic  charity.  It  is  in- 
teresting, to  say  the  least,  to  read  in  this 
connection  a  paragraph  from  a  recent 
letter  of  Dr.  Keating,  Bishop  of  North- 
ampton, England: 

Especially  considerate,  and  even  generous,  is 
the  English  method  of  dealing  with  those  unfor- 
tunate classes  towards  which  the  State  stands 
in  loco  parentis — -poor-law  children,  deaf-mutes, 
cripples,  the  mentally  deficient,  and  reform- 
atory cases.  We  hear  with  indignation  of  the 
mean  devices  resorted  to  in  some  places  to  rob 
these  helpless  creatures  of  their  one  valuable 
possession — -the  Catholic  Faith.  Here,  on  the 
contrary,  the  bedrock  of  our  national  sentiment 
is  that  their  tender  years,  poverty  and  misfor- 
tunes, so  far  from  exposing  them  to  proselytism 
and  perversion,  ought  to  insure  them  meticulous 
care  for  their  religious  heritage.  Hence  our  civil 
authorities  have  adopted  almost  universally  the 
plan  of  handling  over  these  cases  to  the  charge 
of  their  coreligionists.  Every  Catholic  diocese 
possesses  two  or  three,  the  larger  dioceses  a 
multitude  of  "homes,"  mostly  under  the  care  of 
nuns,  where  the  adopted  children  of  the  State 
are  brought  up,  chiefly  at  the  State's  expense, 
surrounded  by  a  Catholic  atmosphere,  and  all 
the  loving  and  edifying  influences  that  Catholic 
charity  inspires. 

We  can  not  repress  the  comment  that, 
whether  or  not  we  Americans  have  the 
"greatest"  country,  we  unquestionably 
have  some  of  the  "smallest"  people  in 
the  world. 

Lincoln  used  to  say  that  the  world  was 
in  want  of  a  good  definition  of  the  word 
liberty.  The  United  States  just  at  present 
is  in  need  of  a  good  definition  of  the  word 
patriotism.  We  all  profess  to  be  patriots, 
but  we  do  not  all  attach  the  same  meaning 
to  being  patriotic.  Shrill  shouting  about 
our  honor  and  rights,  and  loud  boasting 
about  our  readiness  and  resources,  are  no 
proof  of  national  spirit.  I/ove  of  the  land 
of  our  birth  or  adoption  can  be  demon- 
strated only  by  deeds.  Profession  of 
patriotism  may  be  in  inverse  ratio  to  the 
possession  of  it.  Enthusiasm  is  an  admi- 
rable quality,  of  course,  and  it  is  to  be 


374 


777/<;  AYE  MARIA 


expected  of  youth;  but  there  are  other 
qualities,  no  less  important,  to  be  culti- 
vated—  respect  for  authority,  regard  for 
truth  and  justice.  If,  as  Judge  Taft, 
Senator  Watson,  and  numerous  other 
prominent  citizens  declare,  the  rising  gener- 
ation of  American  boys  have  little  regard 
for  authority,  and  are  lacking  in  other 
qualities  requisite  for  true  citizenship, 
then  by  all  means  let  us  have  military 
training.  It  is  the  surest  remedy  for  the 
evil.  The  cultivation  of  a  national  spirit 
is  our  greatest  need,  in  the  opinion  of 
Senator  Watson;  and  his  reasons  for 
advocating  military  training  are  well 
worthy  of  careful  consideration. 

"A  soldier  is  taught  to  obey,  to  respect 
authority.  Sent  to  a  post,  he  must  remain 
there  until  another  man  takes  his  place. 
Disobedience  is  followed  by  punishment 
and  disgrace.  Reverence  is  becoming  a 
lost  virtue  in  this  country.  We  complain  of 
everybody, — judges  and  legislators,  teach- 
ers and  ministers.  Each  man  is  a  free  and 
independent  republic  in  himself.  He  de- 
fies the  authorities;  and  at  home,  in  turn, 
he  is  with  impunity  defied  himself.  So  I 
would  put  his  sons  into  a  military  camp, 
where  they  would  have  to  keep  their  chins 
out,  their  shoulders  up,  their  shoes  blacked, 
and  their  rebellious  propensities  in  check, 
and  to  take  off  their  hats  whenever  they 
see  the  flag  broken  to  the  breeze." 

This  is  what  is  called  "straight  talk," 
and  there  was  never  greater  need  of  it. 
There  are  trimmers  and  time-servers 
aplenty,  whose  greatest  fear  is  to  be 
quoted  as  saying  anything  to  which  any- 
body will  not  agree. 


The  Anglican  Bishop  Bury,  who  lately 
visited  the  German  War  Office,  and  claims 
to  have  ' '  seen  far  deeper  below  the  surface 
than  it  would  have  been  possible  for  almost 
any  one  else  to  do,"  thus  refers  to  his  meet- 
ing with  the  military  authorities  of  Ger- 
many: "I  call  it  a  momentous  conference, 
because  all  through  its  course  the  thought 
was  never  absent  from  my  mind:  'How 
strange  it  is  to  be  here  in  our  principal 


enemy's  War  Office,  and  in  an  atmosphere 
apparently  so  sincere,  so  sympathetic, 
and  truly  courteous!'  And  that  sense  of 
strangeness  is  with  me  still."  The  comment 
.of  the  editor  of  the  London  Times  on  this 
passage  is  proof  of  how  useless  it  is  at 
the  present  time  to  try  to  make  people 
"hear  the  other  side."  After  indulging 
in  some  sarcastic  remarks  at  the  expense 
of  the  bishop  and  the  German  officials,  the 
Times  continues:  "Now,  we  are  far  from 
suggesting  that  the  bishop  meant  any 
harm.  It  is  a  reasonable  working  hypoth- 
esis that  bishops  never  mean  any  harm, 
and  that  any  harm  which  they  do  is  attrib- 
utable either  to  accident  or  to  lack  of 
acumen.  But  writing  of  that  sort,  however 
sincerely  inspired  by  the  spirit  of  Christian 
charity,  is,  in  effect,  a  very  mischievous 
and  misleading  kind  of  propagandism." 
There  you  have  it! 


Dr.  James  J.  Walsh  has  reopened  an 
engaging  chapter  of  Mediaeval  history  in 
his  contribution,  "Luther  and  Social  Ser- 
vice," to  the  current  Catholic  World.  The 
Lutheran  revolt  destroyed  the  Mediaeval 
agencies  of  social  service,  augmented  the 
evils  they  were  meant  to  meet,  and  left 
nothing  in  the  place  of  these  agencies  of 
assistance  and  relief.  This  is  the  Doctor's 
thoroughly  well-established  position.  But 
it  is  the  picture  he  makes  of  the  guilds 
which  we  review  with  fresh  .pleasure. 
They  were,  he  tells  us, 

the  social  centres  of  the  town  life.  There  is  no 
doubt  at  all  that  they  provided  playgrounds  for 
children,  kept  them  in  order,  offered  prizes  for 
athletic  contests,  and  in  general  took  the  place 
of  our  "playground  societies."  Most  of  the 
guilds  gave  several  banquets  annually  for  the 
members  of  the  guild  and  their  wives  and  "sweet- 
hearts." These  occasions  of  jollity  and  innocent 
pleasure  were  usually  followed  by  dancing  on  the 
village  green  and  by  games  of  various  kinds.  They 
financed,  besides,  such  community  entertain- 
ments as  the  Mystery  and  Morality  plays,  and 
the  various  celebrations  throughout  the  year.  .  . . 

In  a  word,  the  social  life  we  are  now  trying  to 
restore,  the  bringing  together  of  people,  so  that 
they  may  know  one  another  and  have  some 
relief  from  the  monotony  of  work,  was  largely  the 
care  of  the  guilds  in  the  older  time.  ...  As  the 


THE  AVE  MARLA 


375 


Rev.  Dr.  Jessopp  says:  "The  ring  of  the  mis- 
creants who  robbed  the  monasteries  in  the  reign 
of  Henry  VIII.  was  bad  enough,  but  the  ring  of 
the  robbers  who  robbed  the  poor  and  the  helpless 
in  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.  was  ten  times  worse 
than  the  first.  The  universities  only  just  escaped 
the  general  confiscation;  the  friendly  societies 
and  benefit  clubs  and  the  guilds  did  not  escape. 
The  accumulated  wealth  of  centuries,  their  houses 
and  their  lands,  their  money,  their  vessels  of 
silver  and  their  vessels  of  gold,  their  ancient  cups 
and  goblets  and  salvers,  even  to  their  very  chairs 
and  tables,  were  all  set  down  in  inventories 
and  catalogues,  and  all  swept  into  the  robbers' 
hoard." 

"There  were  to  be  no  more  such  relig- 
ious societies  under  the  new  religious 
dispensation,"  —  it  is  the  epitaph  of 
"Merrie  England." 


In  the  Indian  Ocean,  east  of  Southern 
Africa,  from  which  it  is  separated  by  the 
Mozambique  Channel,  is  the  island  of 
Madagascar.  It  has  been  a  French  colony 
since  1896,  and  French  missionaries  have 
as  a  matter  of  course  been  evangelizing  the 
natives,  called  Malagasy.  One  of  these 
natives  contributes  to  the  Missions  Catho- 
liques  a  very  interesting  letter  concerning 
a  ceremony  that  recently  took  place  in 
Antananarivo,  the  capital  of  the  island. 
It  was  the  taking  of  the  cassock  by  ten 
Malagasy  seminarists,  the  first  to  be  thus 
advanced  on  the  road  to  the  priesthood; 
and  the  occasion  was  naturally  a  joyous 
one  for  the  Vicar  Apostolic,  Mgr.  de 
Saune,  the  missionaries,  the  relatives  of 
the  levites,  and  especially  for  these  young 
men  themselves. 


It  would  seem,  according  to  the  testi- 
mony of  Anglican  chaplains  themselves, 
that  there  is  no  great  revival  of  religion  at 
the  Front,  at  least  among  soldiers  belong- 
ing to  the  Church  of  England.  They  con- 
sent to  attend  services  at  the  rear,  but  it 
is  only  in  the  trenches  that  they  are 
willing  to  receive  the  chaplains'  ministra- 
tions. "There  is  something  wrong  about 
our  status,"  says  the  Rev.  N.  S.  Talbot, 
himself  a  C.  of  E.  chaplain.  "We  belpng 
to  what  the  author  of  '  A  Student  in  Arms ' 


calls  the  'super-world'  of  officers,  which 
as  such  is  separate  from  the  men.  As 
a  class,  we  find  it  hard  to  penetrate  the 
surface  of  the  men, — -that  surface  which 
we  can  almost  see  thrust  out  at  us  like  a 
shield,  in  the  suddenly  assumed  rigidity 
of  men  as  they  salute  us.  We  are  in  an  un- 
christian position,  in  the  sense  that  we  are 
in  a  position  which  Christ  would  not  have 
occupied.  He,  I  am  sure,  would  have  been 
a  regimental  stretcher-bearer,  truly  among 
and  of  the  men." 

In  being  "truly  among  and  of  the  men," 
the  Catholic  chaplains  have  an  estimable 
advantage.  They  experience  no  difficulty, 
as  a  rule,  in  getting  the  soldiers  to  accept 
their  ministrations;  and  in  offering  them 
they  do  not  avoid  the  trenches,  no  matter 
how  great  the  danger  may  be  from  the 
enemy's  fire.  , 

The  Archbishop  of  Glasgow,  in  a  Lenten 
pastoral  in  which  he  considers  the  influence 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  our  lives,  pays  a 
high  and  well-deserved^  tribute  to  the 
virtues  of  the  daughters  of  Mary,  who  are 
the  mothers  and  daughters  and  wives  of 
men.  They  have,  he  says,  a  share  in  Our 
Lady's  own  blessedness.  To  quote: 

Blessed  and  blessing  they  have  been  to  those 
who  came  under  their  influence, — good  mothers, 
good  wives,  unselfish  daughters,  heads  of  mother- 
less families,  teachers,  sisters  of  prayer,  of  mercy, 
of  charity;  nurses,  society  workers  in  public  and 
private,  in  associations,  on  boards,  for  the  com- 
mon good,  for  the  purifying  of  society.  How 
many  men  owe  their  success  in  life  to  a  wife  or  a 
mother!  What  good  work  is  there  which  a 
woman's  influence  has  not  originated  or  helped? 
A  foolish  cynic  has  said,  speaking  of  crimes  and 
mishaps,  "Seek-  for  the  woman."  Those  who 
know  life  as  it  is,  not  the  picture  of  it  in  the 
shallow  mind  of  a  man  of  the  world,  will  rather 
say,  "Seek  the  woman"  in  every  work  of  use- 
fulness and  well  doing. 

From  the  women  who  followed  Our  Lord, 
ministering  to  Him,  to  the  women  who  are  to-day 
in  the  slums,  in  the  hospitals,  on  the  battlefield, 
ministering  to  those  whom  He  loved  and  died 
to  redeem,  history  is  full  of  the  good  deeds  of 
those  Who  have  been  worthy  daughters  of  her 
who  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  Cross. 

The  foolish  "cynic"  is  here  well  rebuked, 
and  not  for  the  first  time. 


The  Joyful  Mysteries. 

BY    T.    D.    M. 

(HS^I  HO  was  the  Angel  came  that  day 
^    To  tell  the  Blessed  Mother 
Our  Saviour  should  be  born  of  he.r? 
Gabriel,  no  other. 

Where  did  the  Blessed  Virgin  go 

From  her  home'  in  Nazareth? 
To  John  the  Baptist's  mother  dear, 

Her  cousin  Elizabeth. 

Where  was  the  Infant  Jesus  born? 

Where  did  she  lay  Him  down? 
In  a  stable  old,  in  the  night,  in  the  cold, 

In  Bethlehem,  David's  town. 

What  did  they  do  the  eighth  day  after? 

Joseph  and  Mary  trod 
Their  way  to  the  Temple  and  offered  Him, 

God's  only  Son,  to  God. 

When  Jesus  was  lost  at  twelve  years  old, 
Where  did  they  find  Him  then? 

In  the  Temple  doing  His  Father's  work, 
Teaching  the  learned  men. 

These  are  the  Joyful   Mysteries, 

The  first  of  the  Rosary: 
To  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 

All    praise   and    glory   be! 


Amen. 


The  Mystery  of  the  Giant's  Tower. 


BY    NEAL    E.    MAN.N. 

IN  the  midst  of  the  Central  Pyrenees 
there  is  a  little  valley  which  tapers 
off  into  a  narrow  ravine  running  between 
great  rocks.  In  the  cracks  and  crevices 
of  these  rocks  all  sorts  of  birds  of  prey 
build  their  nests.  On  the  summit  of  one  of 
the  largest  boulders  rises  a  stone  tower,  age- 
worn  and  covered  with  ivy  and  moss.  The 
mountain  folk  pretend  that  it  is  the  work 
of  a  giant  who  once  lived  in  the  valley; 
and  they  declare  that,  ever  since  his  death, 


a  mysterious  hobgoblin  resides  there  and 
prevents  any  audacious  visitors  from  ex- 
ploring the  ruins.  Accordingly,  none  of 
the  boys  of  the  valley  hamlet  dare  to 
prowl  around  the  Giant's  Tower.  At  least 
they  did  not  until  last  summer. 

In  July  of  last  year,  however,  a  Mr. 
Tremblay  and  his  family  came  from 
Montreal  to  spend  the  hot  season  in  this 
Pyrenean  valley;  and,  as  a  result,  the 
tradition  about  the  Tower  has  been  consid- 
erably discredited.  The  Tremblay  family 
numbered  six  in  all :  the  father  and  mother ; 
Charlie  and  Fred,  Maud  and  Nellie.  There 
was  just  a  year's  difference  in  age  between 
each  two  of  the  children, — the  eldest, 
Charlie,  being  fifteen;  and  the  youngest, 
Nellie,  being  twelve.  All  four  of  them 
spoke  French  and  English  with  equal 
facility. 

One  of  the  greatest  amusements  of  the 
young  folks  during  the  summer  afternoons 
was  to  visit  a  neighboring  stream  and 
fish  for  crabs.  On  a  certain  day,  as  they 
were  busy  at  this  pastime,  Fred  uttered 
a  cry  of  surprise.  "Look  at  that  big;  crab 
going  under  the  great  stone!  We  must 
catch  it." 

All  four  disposed  themselves,  with  their 
nets  around  the  stone,  and  anxiously 
awaited. 

"Twill  come  out,"  said  Maud. 

"I  bet  it  won't!"  replied  Nellie. 

"Keep  still!"  commanded  Charlie. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  crab  put  out  its 
head;  but,  after  taking  an  observation, 
concluded  there  was  danger  ahead,  and 
retired  backwards  into  the  hole  again. 

An  "Oh!"  of  disappointment  followed 
its  disappearance. 

"We  must  get  it,"  said  Fred.  "Here, 
Charlie,  catch  hold." 

Charlie  took  off  his  coat  and  laid  it,  with 
his  hat,  at  the  foot  of  a  tree ;  Fred  following 
suit.  Then  both  of  them  took  hold  of  the 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


377 


stout-  and  tried  to  move  it  aside.  It  was 
pretty  heavy,  however,  and  slippery,  too; 
so,  although  the  boys  could  move  it  a 
little,  they  could  not  overturn  it. 

"Pshaw!"  cried  Fred.  "We  might  as 
well  try  to  move  a  mountain." 

"Wait  till  we  help  you,"  said  Maud; 
and  she  and  Nellie  began  rolling  up  their 
sleeves,  preparatory  to  lending  a  hand. 

"No,  don't,"  counselled  Charlie.  "You'll 
only  break  your  bracelets." 

"Well,  we'll  take  them  off,"  rejoined 
Maud,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word. 
"We'll  put  them  in  your  hat." 

"That's  it,"  added  Nellie,  following 
Maud's  example.  "Now  you'll  see  how 
strong  we  are." 

The  additional  strength  proved  sufficient 
to  upset  the  stone;  and  in  the  hole  thus 
laid  open  there  were  a  number  of  good- 
sized  crabs,  all  of  which  were  soon  made 
prisoners.  The  young  folks  were  delighted 
with  their  victory.  But  when  they  went 
over  to  the  tree,  the  girls  were  both  sur- 
prised and  dismayed  to  find  that  their 
bracelets  had  disappeared. 

"Where  did  you  put  them?"  inquired 
Charlie. 

"Why,  we  laid  them  right  down  inside 
your  hat.  Whatever  can  have  become  of 
them?"  replied  Maud,  with  a  half-sob  in 
her  voice. 

Boys  and  girls  looked  about  everywhere 
near  the  tree,  and  all  around  it;  but 
nothing  could  be  seen  of  the  vanished 
bracelets.  Yet  nobody  had  come  near  the 
tree;  one  couldn't  have  done  so  without 
being  seen.  Well,  then,  the  bracelets  must 
be  somewhere  near.  If  they  were,  however, 
they  couldn't  be  found.  All  looking  and 
searching  proved  futile. 

"It's  mighty  queer,"  said  Fred. 

"They  couldn't  have  flown  away,  you 
know,"  remarked  Charlie. 

"Oh,  we  shall  never  see  them  again!" 
sobbed  Maud  and  Nellie. 

Just  then  there  appeared  in  the  meadow 
a  young  goatherd  with  several  goats.  He 
was  an  active  and  lively  lad,  whom  the 
peasants  called  Georget. 


" Good-day,. everybody !"  said  the  new 
corner. 

"  I  say,  Georget,  come  here  and  help  us, 
will  you?"  said  Charlie. 

The  goatherd  approached,  and  was  soon 
in  possession  of  the  facts  regarding  the 
strange  disappearance  of  the  bracelets. 
He  had  listened  with  a  serious  face;  and, 
when  the  story  was  told,  shook  his  head 
and  answered: 

"You  won't  ever  find  them.  In  this 
country  all  jewelry  disappears,  and  nobody 
knows  what  becomes  of  it.  Just  a  month 
ago,  when  old  Uncle  Jean's  daughter 
Marie  was  married,  three  rings  vanished 
like  ghosts." 

"Well,  what  about  the  police?"  asked 
Fred. 

The  goatherd  smiled  as  he  replied: 

"The  police  can't  do  anything.  The 
thief,  you  see  —  well,  I  know  one  who 
knows;  but—"  Then,  lowering  his  tones 
to  a  mysterious  whisper,  he  added:  "It's 
the  goblin  of  the  Giant's  Tower." 

"The  goblin  of  the  Tower!"  exclaimed 
the  children  all  at  once. 

"Not  so  loud!"  urged  Georget.  "He 
might  hear  you.  Yes,  I  know  what  I'm 
talking  about.  The  goblin  who  lives  in 
that  old  Tower  up  there, — he's  the  one 
that  has  stolen  your  bracelets  for  sure.  I 
know  it ;  for  one  night  I  went  up  as  far  as 
the  foot  of  the  Tower.  As  the  moon  was 
shining,  I  saw,  away  up  on  a  sort  of  shelf 
of  stone,  a  whole  lot  of  gold.  Oh,  it  was 
beautiful !  There  were  rings  and  brooches — 
and  everything.  Then  there  was  a  noise 
like  wings  flapping.  A  black  something 
passed  and  shut  out  the  sight:  it  was  the 
goblin  coming  to  hide  his  treasure.  Then 
I  ran  away.  Oh,  yes,  your  bracelets  are  up 
there  in  the  Tower,  fast  enough!" 

"Well,  then,  we'll  just  go  up  and  get 
them,"  said  Charlie. 

"Get  them?  What  are  you  talking 
about?  Remember  the  goblin!"  remon- 
strated Georget. 

"Huh!  I  ain't  afraid  of  any  old  goblin," 
rejoined  Fred.  "We  don't  have  any  in 
Canada,  an v way." 


378 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


At  the  brave  words  of  their  brothers, 
Maud  and  Nellie  dried  their  tears;  and 
Georget,  not  wishing  to  appear  cowardly, 
said : 

"Listen!  I'll  go  with  you.  We'll  start 
to-night;  for  it  will  be  a  fine  moonlight 
one.  I'll  take  you  up  to  the  foot  of  the 
Tower,  so  that  you  can  see  the  gold  shining 
on  the  stone  shelf  I  told  you  about." 

"That's  the  talk,  Georget!"  said  Charlie. 
"You're  a  fine  fellow.  Here,  take  some  of 
these  firecrackers.  To-morrow  is  one  of 
your  feast-days,  they  say;  and  you  can 
set  these  crackers  off  in  honor  of  our 
victory  to-night." 

So  saying,  he  gave  Georget  about  half 
of  a  big  bunch  of  firecrackers  he  had  bought 
in  Paris  a  few  weeks  before. 

After  supper  that  evening,  Charlie  and 
Fred  did  not  stay  downstairs  very  long, 
but  soon  made  an  excuse  to  go  up  to  their 
bedroom.  About  eight  o'clock,  however, 
they  slipped  quietly  down  again  and  stole 
outside.  Hurrying  to  the  other  end  of  the 
village  where  Georget  lived,  they  found 
him  waiting  for  them,  with  a  lantern.  The 
moon  had  not  yet  risen. 

"Are  you  still  bent  on  going  to  the 
Tower?"  inquired  the  goatherd. 

"Of  course  we  are,"  replied  Fred. 
"We've  promised  Maud  and  Nellie  that 
we'll  bring  back  their  bracelets;  and  you 
bet  we  will,  or  know  the  reason  why." 

"All  right,  then!     Come  on!" 

They  started  accordingly,  resolute 
enough,  but  with  some  vague  apprehen- 
sion notwithstanding.  What  was  all  this 
talk  about  the  mysterious  goblin  that 
everybody  in  the  village  seemed  to  believe 
in, — the  jewelry-robber  who  glided  about 
invisibly?  As  they  looked  up  at  the  great 
Tower,  now  becoming  clear  in  the  light 
of  the  rising  moon,  it  must  be  admitted 
they  trembled  a  little. 

Finally,  after  a  pretty  long  walk  and 
some  difficult  climbing,  they  reached  the 
base  of  the  Tower,  and  stopped  to  recover 
their  breath;  but  a  mournful  cry  breaking 
the  silence  sent  a  fresh  shiver  of  fright 
through  the  Tremblay  boys. 


"The  goblin!"   whispered   Fred. 

"Oh,  that's  nothing  but  an  owl!"  en- 
couragingly remarked  Georget.  "See, — 
there  he  goes!"  And  he  pointed  to  n  dark 
form  gliding  from  a  neighboring  tree. 
"Now,  come  on!"  he  continued.  "It  was 
from  that  mound  over  there  that  I  saw  the 
gold.  Get  down  and  crawl  after  me,  and 
don't  make  any  noise." 

Down  they  got  on  all  fours  and  made 
their  way  through  the  brush  to  the  indi- 
cated place.  Suddenly  Georget  stopped. 

"Now,"  he  whispered,  "look  up!" 

Charlie  and  Fred  looked.  The  Tower, 
flooded  with  moonlight,  stood  out  clearly; 
and  halfway  up  its  height,  sure  enough, 
there  was  a  big  hole  with  a  kind  of  shelf 
before  it ;  and  on  the  shelf  a  lot  of  gold 
and  precious  stones  gleamed  and  sparkled 
like  fire  in  the  rays  of  the  moon. 

"The  treasure!"  said  Georget.  "The 
bracelets  are  there,  I'll  bet  you!" 

"All  right!  Then  let's  climb  up  and 
get  them,"  said  Charlie. 

"But  the  goblin?" 

"The  goblin  be  blowed!  Say  three 
'Hail  Marys,'  and  our  Blessed  Mother  will 
attend  to  the  goblin,  if  there  is  such  a 
being.  Come  on!" 

Fortunately,  Georget,  who  had  thought 
these  Canadian  youngsters  might  insist  on 
climbing  the  Tower,  had  brought  with  him 
a  mountaineer's  rope  and  hook.  By  fixing 
the  hook  here  and  there  in  cracks  between 
the  stones  of  the  Tower,  and  supporting 
themselves  with  the  rope,  they  made  their 
way  slowly  upward.  The  moon  shone 
brightly,  and  the  goblin  seemed  to  be 
absent.  The  treasure  was  only  a  few  feet 
above  them. 

' '  There's  the  bracelets !  I  can  see  them ! ' ' 
cried  Georget. 

"So  do  I,"  said  Charlie,  who  climbed 
just  behind  the  goatherd. 

Hardly  had  the  words  left  their  mouths, 
however,  when  a  hideous  clamor  broke  out 
all  around  them.  From  all  sides,  and  from 
apparently  every  crevice  in  the  Tower, 
birds  of  prey  came  darting  and  shrieking 
around  the  three  boys.  There  were  eagles 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


379 


and  hawks  and  kites  and  owls,  their  eyes 
gleaming  with  fury,  and  their  cries  threat- 
ening all  sorts  of  dangers  to  the  rash 
invaders  of  their  stronghold. 

"Good  Lord!"-  ejaculated  Georget, 
"what  shall  we  do?" 

"Beat  them  off  for  a  minute,  and  you'll 
see,"  said  Charlie. 

Reaching  into  his  pocket,  he  pulled  out 
a  big  firecracker,  lit  it,  and  threw  it  into 
the  flock  of  birds.  It  exploded  with  a 
bang  that  effectively  scared  the  birds, 
which  at  once  flew  away. 

"Hurrah!"  shouted  Georget  and  Fred. 

"Now,  then,  up  we  go!"  said  Charlie. 

In  a  few  moments  Georget  was  on  a 
level  with  the  shelf;  and  was  just  going  to 
take  a  handful  of  the  treasure  when  he 
suddenly  turned  pale  and  whispered  to 
Charlie: 

"The  goblin  is  in  the  hole  here." 

Charlie  drew  himself  up  and  looked  in. 
He  saw  something  black  moving  in  the 
hole  back  of  the  shelf.  Lighting  the  fuse 
of  another  cracker,  he  threw  it  in.  Bang 
went  the  cracker,  and  out  flew  a  bird. 

"Why,  it's  a  magpie!"  cried  Fred,  with 
a  burst  of  laughter. 

"A  magpie!"  exclaimed  Georget. 

"Yes,"  said  Charlie;  "and  that  explains 
everything.  The  little  thief  has,  like  all 
its  kind,  been  carrying  to  its  nest  here 
every  bright  thing  it  could  find.  Just  look 
at  the  collection  it  has  made!  Here,  put 
all  these  in  your  pockets!" 

He  handed  out  not  only  the  bracelets 
but  a  collection  of  rings,  pins,  brooches, 
charms,  necklaces,  etc.,  that  would  have 
delighted  a  jeweller. 

On  their  return  to  the  village,  Charlie 
and  Fred  restored  the  bracelets  to  their 
sisters;  and  the  next  day  their  father  took 
the  rest  of  the  collection  to  the  mayor  of 
the  hamlet,  telling  him  that  the  famous 
goblin  of  the  Giant's  Tower  was  only  a 
magpie.  The  mayor  thanked  him  and 
lauded  the  bravery  of  the  Canadian  boys; 
but  the  older  peasants  only  shrugged  their 
shoulders,  intimating  that  they  had  their 
own  opinion  about  the  Tower's  goblin. 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 

XII. — THE  MORNING  LIGHT. 
xgflT  had  been  a  long  night  for  Con. 
Just  what  had  happened  to  him  he 
was  at  first  too  dazed  to  know.  Dennis 
had  flung  him  into  the  smoking-room  with 
no  very  gentle  hand,  turned  the  key  and 
left  him  to  himself.  And,  sinking  down  dully 
upon  a  rug  that  felt  very  soft  and  warm 
after  the  hard  flight  over  the  mountain, 
Con  was  glad  to  rest  his  bruised,  aching 
limbs,  his  dizzy  head,  without  any  thought 
of  what  was  to  come  upon  him  next. 

Uncle  Greg's  smoking-room  was  not  at 
all  a  bad  place.  There  was  no  nonsense 
about  it,  •  it  is  true :  everything  was  stiff 
and  rigid  and  soldierly;  even  the  rug  on 
which  Con  had  dropped  half  conscious  was 
the  skin  of  a  big  grizzly  that  had  nearly 
worsted  Uncle  Greg  one  dark  night  on  the 
.Rockies  fifty  years  ago.  There  were  a  few 
pictures  on  the  dark  wood  walls — grim 
old  Indian  fighters,  whose  names  Con 
would  have  known  if  he  had  ever  been 
"let  in"  to  school, — and  a  pair  of  huge 
antlers,  bearing  old-fashioned  guns  and 
pistols  that  had  done  their  work  and  were 
rusting  in  honorable  peace.  There  were 
jars  of  tobacco,  and  a  pipe-rack  that  held 
almost  everything  that  could  be  smoked. 

But  better  than  all  these  things,  on 
which  Con's  eyes  listlessly  turned,  there 
was  a  fire, — a  big,  roaring  coal  fire, — that 
filled  the  grim  old  soldier's  room  with 
warmth  and  glow,  and  seemed  to  wink  in 
friendly  fashion  behind  its  iron  bars,  as  if 
telling  Con  to  cheer  up.  Con  had  never 
before  seen  so  pleasant  a  fire ;  it  seemed  to 
charm  the  aches  and  pains  out  ^f  his  weary 
limbs,  to  set  the  young  blood  flowing 
through  his  chilled  veins,  to  clear  the 
clouds  from  his  dizzy,  throbbing  head. 

So  comforting  was  the  fire  that,  despite 
'all  his  doubts  and  fears  and  dreads,  Con, 
with  his  bruised  and  cut  face  pillowed  on 
the  old  grizzly,  fell  fast  asleep  in  the 
soothing  warmth,  to  dream  that  he  was 


380 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


back  again  in  the  log  cabin  under  the 
bowering  greens,  with  the  "Mister"  in  his 
shining  robes  smiling  at  him.  "You  saved 
her,  Con, — you  saved  the  pretty  little  girl 
who  was  good  to  you.  You  saved  my  little 
sister.  I  am  waiting,  watching  for  you, 
little  pal.  Come  and  be  my  brother. 
Come,  come,  come!"  The  words  were  in 
his  ear,  and  there  was  a  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  Con  started  up  from  his  rough 
bearskin  as  if  he  had  indeed  heard  the 
"Mister's"  call.  The  grey  light  of  the 
early  winter  dawn  was  struggling  through 
a  half-open  door,  and  some  one  was  shak- 
ing him  desperately. 

"Wake  up!"  came  a  gasping  whisper. 
"Wake  up,  ye  dumbhead!  Wake  up, 
Buzzard  Con !  Wake  up,  ef  ye  don't  want 
to  be  locked  and  chained  forever.  Beat  it, 
beat  it  quick!" 

"How — what — who  are  ye?"  said  Con, 
staring  at  the  small  figure  that  was  pant- 
ing and  trembling  in  the  breaking  shadows 
above  him. 

"I'm  Kathie,  and  I  promised — I  prom- 
ised her  I'd  let  ye  out.  Don't  stop  to  ax 
no  more.  The  dogs  is  shet  up  and  thar's 
the  door.  Get, — get!"  As  the  bewildered 
boy  started  to  his  feet,  the  speaker  clinched 
two  sturdy  little  fists  and  delivered  a 
double  punch  between  Con's  shoulders, 
that  sent  him  spinning  towards  the  open 
door.  "Get,  I  tell  ye, — quick,  quick!" 
And  Con  stumbled  out  into  the  morning 
light,  a  free  boy  again. 

Kathie,  drawing  a  long,  quivering  breath, 
closed  and  locked  the  door  on  the  outside. 
Stealing  back  into  the  kitchen  hall,  she  put 
the  key  in  its  usual  place,  and  softly  crept 
upstairs  again,  into  the  little  bed  at  the 
sleeping  Nora's  side,  where,  after  a  pru- 
dent interval,  she  began  to  sniffle  loudly. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Nora, 
rousing.  "After  all  the  fuss  we  had  last 
night,  can't  you  let  a  body  rest?" 

"I'm — I'm  skeered,"  whimpered  Ka- 
thie,—  "skeered  about  them  Buzzards 
gitting  loose  agin  and — and — 

"Arrah  keep  quiet!"  said  Nora,  tartly. 
"It's  only  half  sinse  ye  have,  as  everybody 


knows.  Go  to  sleep  now,  and  don't  be 
bothering  me." 

And  so  it  was  that  when,  a  few  hours 
later,  the  smoking-room,  though  still 
barred  and  locked  from  without,  was 
found  empty,  and  Uncle  Greg's  prisoner 
gone,  no  one  thought  for  a  moment  of 
the  little  kitchen-maid  who  had  been  so 
"skeered"  about  the  Buzzards  and  had 
only  "half  sinse." 

"How  the  boy  got  out  Heaven  only 
knows,"  said  Aunt  Aline  as  she  brought 
up  Susie's  breakfast;  for,  after  her  night 
of  excitement,  the  little  girl  had  slept  late. 
"Every  door  and  window  was  locked  and 
bolted,  just  as  Dennis  left  it  last  night. 
Really,  it  looks  like  witchcraft,  as  the 
servants  all  say." 

"And — and"  (the  little  "witch,"  sipping 
her  morning  cocoa,  found  it  hard  to  steady 
her  trembling  voice)  "will  Uncle  Greg  try 
to  catch  Con  again,  Aunt  Aline?" 

"No,"  answered  the  lady.  "Between 
you  and  me,  Susie,  I  think  he  is  rather 
glad  the  boy  is  gone.  For  your  uncle 
would  have  had  to  lock  him  up,  as  he  had 
sworn;  and  Con's  warning  saved  us,  with- 
out doubt.  Now  he  is  gone,  Heaven  knows 
where;  but  we'll  never  see  or  hear  of  him 
again,  I  am  sure  of  that." 

And  Con,  speeding  over  the  mountain 
as  fast  as  his  bruised  and  wearied  limbs 
would  carry  him,  felt  sure  of  it,  too.  He 
had  "blowed";  he  had  turned  against 
Uncle  Bill  and  the  boys;  he  had  broken 
away  from  his  captors  at  the  Manse;  he 
had  left  only  enemies  behind  him.  Now  he 
must  escape  while  he  could,  and  put  miles 
of  distance  between  him  and  Misty  Moun- 
tain forever.  He  dared  not  stop  even  for 
a  word  with  Mother  Moll;  for  he  had 
turned  against  her  boys,  and  she,  too,  was 
lost  to  him.  Hungry,  sore-limbed,  home- 
less, he  kept  on  his  way,  as  only  Mountain 
Con,  hardened  to  pain  and  fatigue,  could. 
Luckily,  the  rude  heights  over  which  he 
sped  so  desperately  were  no  longer  bleak 
and  frost-bound.  The  mists  breaking  in 
the  rising  sun  showed  only  paths  softening 
to  his  tread;  streamlets  trickling  through 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


381 


mossy  stretches  from  which  the  snows  had 
vanished;  pines,  that  had  dropped  their 
ice  sheaths,  rising  green  and  feathery  along 
his  way.  He  felt  he  must  keep  off  the 
usual  trails,  lest  he  should  meet  Uncle 
Bill  or  the  boys,  of  whose  fate  he  had 
not  heard;  he  knew  only  that  he  had 
"blowed,"  and  must  avoid  them.  For 
poor  Con  had  broken  the  only  law  which 
he  had  ever  been  taught, — fidelity  to  his 
kind, — and  he  realized  that  he  was  an 
outcast  indeed  forever. 

But  now  the  sun  was  up,  and  the  white 
veil  of  the  mist  threaded  with  golden 
beams,  and  all  the  terrors  of  the  night  had 
passed.  Con  found  himself  far  below  the 
Roost,  in  an  old  trail  that  had  long  been 
abandoned  for  the  new  wagon  roads  that 
cut  closer  to  the  railroad.  There  were  no 
"cuts"  about  the  old  trail.  It  wound  in 
and  out  and  around  the  mountain  by 
slow,  easy  ways,  which  no  modern  traveller 
would  stand ;  it  circled  all  the  rough  climbs, 
and  broadened  into  resting-places  under 
sheltering  rocks  and  by  crystal  springs. 
It  forded  Injun  Creek  as  best  it  could, 
and  edged  cautiously  around  the  landslide 
that  a  few  years  ago  had  tumbled  down 
to  block  its  way.  There  were  places  where 
it  seemed  to  vanish  entirely  in  young 
growth  of  underbrush  and  pines;  but  a 
little  farther  on  it  straggled  out  again, 
marked  here  and  there  by  the*  blackened 
stones  or  charred  logs  of  camp  fires 
made  by  hunters  or  picnickers,  or  other 
wanderers  from  smoother  ways.  The 
Misty  Mountaineers  themselves  had  no 
use  for  the  old  trail:  'It  was  too  durned 
snaky  and  slow.' 

Con  struck  the  old  trail  this  morning 
just  where  it  doubled  about  a  clear  spring, 
gushing,  full-fed  with  melting  snows,  from 
a  beetling  cliff.  Then  he  stopped  stock- 
still  on  his  hurried  way;  for  beyond  the 
bend  of  the  old  road  tents,  wagons,  horses, 
loomed  up  through  the  breaking  mists. 
Gypsies!  Con  realized  at  one  glance, — 
gypsies  who  sometimes  wandered,  in  the 
late  winter  or  early  spring,  through  the 
mountain  passes,  trading  horses  and  dogs, 


telling  fortunes,  and  doing  worse  things 
in  their  often  lawless  way. 

The  camp  upon  which  he  had  come  was 
still  sleeping,  and  the  unseen  intruder  was 
about  to  beat  a  prudent  retreat  when  the 
silence  was  broken  by  a  sound  that  made 
his  heart  leap,  and  held  him  to  the  spot. 
It  was  a  yelp  of  joyous  welcome  that  he 
could  not  mistake, — Dick's  yelp,  followed 
by  a  full  canine  chorus,  that  roused  the 
slumbering  camp  into  life  and  voice.  Men 
and  women  started  from  tent  and  wagon, 
to  find  a  strange  boy  in  their  midst;  and 
the  great  tawny  wolf  hound  they  had 
tied  to  the  wagon  leaping,  as  well  as  his 
rope  would  permit,  to  greet  his  master. 

"After  our  horses,  are  you?"  cried  the 
black-bearded  leader  of  the  band,  gripping 
Con  fiercely. 

"No,  I  wasn't, — I  wasn't  touching  your 
horses,"  answered  Con,  shaking  off  the 
hand  on  his  shoulder  with  something  of 
his  old  strength.  "But  I  want  this  dog 
you've  got  tied  up  here.  He's  mine." 

"Yours,  eh?"  said  the  gypsy,  scowling, 
as  Dick  made  another  frantic  leap  forward, 
while  his  deep  bay  rose  in  confirmation  of 
Con's  word.  "Who  says  so?" 

"7  say  so,"  replied  Con,  stoutly;  "and 
Dick  says  so,  too,  as  you  can  all  hear — 
don't  you,  Dick  ? ' '  And  Dick  made  another 
lunge,  forward  that  nearly  broke  his  rope, 
while  his  loud  bark  answered  the  question. 

"Get  out,  you  young  beggar!"  said  the 
man,  angrily.  "I  sell  dogs  and  buy  dogs 
and  swap  dogs,  but  I  don't  give  dogs  up 
for  the  asking,  not  much, — do  we,  Carita?" 
and  he  nodded  towards  a  bright-eyed, 
.  brown-faced  little  woman  who,  with  a 
babe  in  her  arms,  had  come  out  of  the 
tent  to  his  side. 

"Is  it  the  dog  you  found  last  night, 
Pippo?"  she  asked. 

"Aye,"  answered  the  gypsy, — "tied  to 
a  tree,  left  to  starve  and  freeze.  And  now 
this  here  young  thief  is  claiming  him.  But 
you  don't  get  him, — no,  not  while  I've  got 
a  rope  or  chain  to  hold  him.  You  don't 
get  that  dog  away  from  me  if  you  holler 
for  him  all  clav." 


382 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"What  are  ye  going  to  do  with  him?" 
blurted  out  Con. 

"Sell  him,"  answered  the   man,  curtly. 

Con's  dulled  eyes  flashed  into  light. 

"Jing!  then  I'll  buy  him,  if  you  won't 
let  him  loose  any  other  way.  I'll  buy  him." 

And  the  desperate  speaker  thrust  his 
hand  into  the  ragged  pocket,  where  Mother 
Moll's  parting  gift  had  been  secured 
through  all  his  trials  by  a  crooked  pin. 
"I'll  give  you  two  dollars  for  him." 

"Two  dollars!"  mocked  the  gypsy, — 
"two  dollars!  Ye  young  fool!  Two  dollars 
for  that  dog!  I'd  get  twenty  for  him  any- 
where 'long  my  road, — twenty,  and  maybe 
twice  twenty  if  I  slick  him  up." 

Twenty  dollars!  Con's  brain  whirled. 
Twenty  dollars!  He  had  never  seen  or 
even  heard  of  such  a  sum.  Twenty  dollars! 
He  clinched  his  hands  in  fierce  despair; 
they  were  too  weak  and  numb  this  morn- 
ing to  fight  even  for  Dick, — Dick,  who  was 
waking  the  echoes  of  the  old  trail  in  fierce 
impatience  to  be  at  his  young  master's 
side;  Dick,  who  would  soon  be  taken 
away  from  him  forever.  Even  the 
"Mister"  and  all  his  kind  promises  were 
forgotten.  Con  could  think  of  nothing  but 
Dick, — Dick,  the  old  comrade,  the  four- 
footed  friend,  whom  he  was  losing  forever. 

Carita's  eyes  rested  pityingly  on  the 
boy.  She  was  a  mother  herself,  this  Ijttle 
gypsy;  and  the  pale  despair  of  the  young 
face,  the  quiver  of  the  young  lips  touched 
her  mother-heart. 

"They  will  scold  you,  beat  you  perhaps, 
your  father  or  mother,  that  you  have  lost 
the  dog?"  she  said  sympathetically. 

"No,"  he  answered.  "I  haven't  any 
father  or  mother,  I  haven't  no  home,  I 
haven't  nothing;  or  nobody,  but — but  just 
Dick.  I'd  fight  you  all,  every  one  of  you, 
for  him"  (he  cast  a  defiant  glance  at  the 
three  men  looking  on),  "if  I  could;  but  I — 
I  can't.  I  can't  even  stand  agin  you  no 
more."  And,  broken  down  at  last  by  this 
final  blow,  Con  staggered  against  a  tree 
and  sank  down  upon  the  ground  at  the 
little  gypsy  mother's  feet. 

"Ah,  Santa,  Maria!"  cried  Carita;    for, 


with  her  Spanish  name  and  birth,  Pippo's 
brown-skinned  little  wife  had  retained 
faint  memories  of  the  olden  Faith.  "He 
is  dying, — the  poor  boy  is  dying,  Pippo!" 

"Let  him  die!"  growled  her  husband. 
"What  is  it  to  us?" 

"Ah,  much,  very  much!  It  will  bring 
the  curse  upon  us,  Pippo,"  said  the  little 
woman,  excitedly ,—"  the  curse  upon  our 
child.  To  turn  away  from  the  dying  and 
give  no  help  brings  death  quick  and  fast 
to  our  own;  so  did  my  mother  always  tell 
me, — -my  mother,  who  could  read  the 
stars  and  knew." 

"I  tell  you  we  can't  wait  now,"  answered 
Pippo.  "Load  up  the  wagons-,  strike  the 
tents,  mates.  We  must  be  across  the  pass 
before  they  stop  us  as  they  did  last  year. 
Foolish  Carita !  Come,  come !  Let  the  boy 
alone.  Get  into  the  wagon." 

But  Carita's  eyes  flashed  defiantly. 

"And  bring  the  curse  upon  my  child — 
your  child!"  she  cried.  "Brute  that  you 
are  to  ask  it  of  me,  Pippo, — to  bring  death 
upon  our  little  babe !  My  mother,  who 
read  the  stars,  told  me,  and  she  knew.  I 
will  not  turn  from  this  dying  boy  and 
bring  death  to  my  own." 

"Have  it  your  way,  then,"  said  Pippo, 
with  an  oath.  "Since  she  will  have  it  so — • 
the  fool  woman! — fiing  the  boy  into  her 
wagon,  men,  and  bring  him  along." 

t      (To  be  continued.) 


How  a  Famous  Bridge  was  Built. 

The  span  of  the  Suspension  Bridge  below 
Niagara  Falls  is  some  750  feet,  and  the 
height  of  the  Bridge  is  238  feet.  The 
cables  were  stretched  from  pier  to  pier 
by  the  aid  of  a  boy's  kite,  sent  up  on  one 
side  of  the  river  and  carried  by  the  wind 
across  to  the  other.  To  the  string  of  the 
kite  was  attached  a  cord,  and  to  the  cord 
a  rope.  Thus  a  communication  was 
established.  So  a  single  sin,  even  a  small 
sin,  may  draw  after  it  the  most  weighty 
consequences.  Let  us>  beware  of  the  first 
sin, — -the  first  oath  or  the  first  little  theft 
or  the  first  small  lie. 


THE  AYR  MARIA  383 

WITH    AUTHORS   AND    PUBLISHERS 


— "The  New  Freedom,"  President  Wilson's 
new  book,  is  recommended  as  "the  work  of  a 
man  who  has  had  the  most  sensational  oppor- 
tunity of  putting  academic  ideas  to  a  practical 
test." 

— We  are  glad  to  see  the  "Techny  Series  of 
Catholic  Plays,"  whose  first  number  is  "Garcia 
Moreno's  Death,  a  Modern  Tragedy  in  5  Acts," 
adapted  by  Frederick  M.  Lynk,  S.  V.  D.  We 
have  already  noticed  this  tragedy,  when  it 
appeared  independently  of  the  present  series. 
Mission  Press,  Techny,  111. 

— J.  Fischer  &  Bro.  have  just  published  two 
Masses  that  may  be,  recommended.  "Messa 
facile  in  Onore  di  S.  Giro,"  by  Eduardo  Bot- 
tigliero,  is  an  easy  composition  and  may  be 
mastered  by  ordinary  choirs.  The  Mass  in  honor 
of  St.  Catherine,  by  Rene  L.  Becker,  will  demand 
greater  talent,  and  some  "filing  in  the  practice" 
besides. 

— "Some  Minor  Poems  of  the  Middle  Ages," 
by  Mary  E.  Segar,  is  complementary  to  her 
recent  "Mediaeval  Anthology."  Some  of  the 
selections  are  widely  known;  others,  and  not 
the  least  interesting,  are  unfamiliar.  All  are 
intended  to  illustrate  the  mind  and  deeds  of 
the  time,  and  its  manners  and  customs.  Miss 
Segar  writes  an  Introduction,  and  a  glossary 
is  furnished  by  Emmeline  Paxton.  Published 
by  Longmans,  Green  &  Co. 

— It  would  be  difficult  to  say  what  quality 
has  escaped  translation  in  "  Catholic  Christianity 
and  the  Modern  World,"  a  course  of  sermons 
by  the  Rev.  K.  Krogh-Tonning,  D.  D.,  rendered 
into  English  from  the  revised  German  edition, 
by  A.  M.  Buchanan,  M.  A.,  and  published  by 
Mr.  Joseph  F.  Wagner.  We  have  the  trans- 
lator's word  for  it  that  this  is  the  most  widely 
known  of  the  famous  convert's  apologetical 
works.  As  such,  it  should  be  welcome  to  readers 
of  English,  though  it  can  hardly  be  said  to 
enrich  a  literature  to  which  men  like  Newman 
and  Brownson  contributed. 

—The  Rev.  Dr.  Thomas  B.  Scannell,  whose 
death,  occurred  last  month  in  England,  had 
fortunately  completed  his  enlargement  and 
revision  of  Addis  and  Arnold's  "Catholic 
Dictionary,"  which  will  soon  be  published  by 
Messrs.  Kegan  Paul  &  Co.  In  collaboration  with 
Dr.  Wilhelm,  he  also  wrote  "'A  Manual  of 
Catholic  Theology,"  another  able  work  well 
known  to  Catholic  students  and  much  prized  for 
its  sound  scholarship.  Besides  contributing  many 
articles  to  reviews  and  magazines,  Dr.  Scannell 


was  the  author  of  "The  Priest's  Studies."  He  was 
a  member  of  the  Commission  on  Anglican  Orders 
appointed  by  Leo  XIII.  in  1896,  and  held  im- 
portant offices  in  the  diocese  of  Southwark. 
His  death,  after  long  suffering,  is  much  regretted 
by  all  who  knew  him. 

— "Camillus  de  Lellis,  the  Hospital  Saint," 
by  a  Sister  of  Mercy,  comes  to  us  from  Benziger 
Brothers.  A  slender  twelvemo  of  165  pages,  it 
contains  a  dozen  very  interesting  chapters  of  a 
biography  that  can  not  but  prove  instructive  as 
well  as  edifying  to  any  reader  over  whom  the 
hedonistic  spirit  of  our  age  has  not  exerted  too 
dominant  sway.  The  author  has  made  much 
use  of  the  large  Life  of  the  saint  included  in 
the  well-known  Oratorian  Series. 

— An  addition  to  the  Early  Church  Classics 
Series,  published  by  the  S.  P.  C.  K.,  is  "St. 
Gregory  of  Nyssa:  The  Catechetical  Oration," 
by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Srawley.  The  Society  for 
Promoting  Christian  Knowledge,  by  the  way, 
is  so  well  known  as  the  official  publishing  concern 
of  the  Church  of  England  that  its  advertise- 
ments in  English  papers  are  always  headed 
"S.  P.  C.  K.  Books."  It  was  ^the  hope  of  Car- 
dinal Newman  —  a  hope  which  bids  fair  to  be 
realized  some  day — that  the  English  Catholic 
Truth  Society  would  become  to  the  Church  in 
England  what  the  S.  P.  C.  K.  is  to  the 
Establishment. 

— A  second  instalment  of  the  autobiography 
of  Mr.  Safroni-Middleton,  published  last  month 
in  London  under  the  title  "A  Vagabond's 
Odyssey,"  includes  interesting  particulars  con- 
cerning Father  Damien,  the  Apostle  of  Molokai; 
also  some  reminiscences  of  Robert  Louis  Steven- 
son, with  whom  the  author  became  acquainted 
during  a  visit  to  Samoa.  Mr.  Safroni- 
Middleton  will  be  remembered  by  many  readers 
as  the  author  of  "Sailor  and  Beachcomber." 
In  the  present  volume  he  presents  some  of  his 
experiences  and  adventures  in  the  United  States, 
Japan,  Australia,  New  Zealand,  Spain,  France, 
and  other  countries. 

— Nobody  knows  whether  he  (and  especially 
she)  has  made  a  "good  retreat"  until  a  year 
afterwards.  It  is  the  after-effects  that  count; 
the  reformation  which  a  retreat  effects  in  one's 
life  is  the  test  of  its  value  to  the  soul.  To  help 
render  these  fruits  permanent,  Father  John 
Rickaby,  S.  J.,  has  prepared  a  highly  useful 
volume,  which  he  calls  "Enlargements  upon 
Meditations  Made  in  Time  of  Retreat."  It 
deals  with  such  fundamental  matters  as  the 


384 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


end  of  man,  the  use  of  creatures,  sin,  etc., — 
just  such  subjects  as  form  the  staple  considera- 
tions of  a  retreat.  These  the  writer  enlarges 
upon,  from  a  wide  acquaintance  with  sacred 
science  and  a  deep  knowledge  of  the  human 
heart.  The  result  of  faithfully  perusing  such  a 
work  should  be  to  extend  the  influence  of  the 
retreat  and  make  its  effects  enduring.  Fr. 
Rickaby  writes  with  power,  all  the  greater  for 
his  rejection  of  the  artifices  of  style.  A  beautiful 
book,  well  worth -the  60  cents  for  which  it  sells. 
Mr.  Joseph  F.  Wagner,  publisher. 

— It  has  been  well  said  that  there  is  a  sort 
of  high  compulsion,  recognized  by  all  lofty 
minds,  to  bear  witness  to  the  truth  wherever 
found.  That  is  how  the  best  books  get  their 
circulation.  A  liberal-minded  reader  who  has 
learned  something  to  his  advantage  from  a  book 
is  eager  to  make  it  known  to  others.  Indeed, 
the  best  promoters  of  good  literature  everywhere 
are  readers  rather  than  reviewers,  many  of  whom 
often  fail  to  appreciate,  even  to  examine 
thoroughly,  the  books  which  they  criticise.  It 
frequently  happens  that  works  of  exceptional 
value,  instead  !of  being  noticed  as  they  deserve, 
are  dismissed  with  a  few  perfunctory  lines  of 
mere  mention.  Hence  the  obligation  of  all 
readers  to  make  known  the  good  books  that 
come  in  their  way. 


The  Latest  Books. 
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The  object  of  this  list  is  to  afford  information 
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Mr.  Daniel  Sullivan,  Mr.  Thomas  F.  Clarke, 
Mr.  Edward  Deenan,  Mr.  John  Doud,  and  Miss 
Abbie  Cremin. 

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


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HENCEFORTH  A!.!.  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME   BLESSED.      ST.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  MARCH  31,  1917. 


NO.  13 


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


Lenten  Communion. 


BY    KATHARINE    TYNAN. 


in  a  friend's  house,   Dear,   I  pray: 
The  way  is  long  to  Good  Friday, 
And  very  chill  and  grey  the  way. 

No  crocus  with  its  shining  cup, 
Nor  the  gold  daffodil  is  up,  —  • 
Nothing  is  here  save  the  snowdrop. 

Sit  down  with  me  and  have  good  cheer: 
Too  soon,  too  soon,  Thy  Passion's  here; 
The  wind  is  keen  and  the  skies  drear. 

Sit  by  my  fire  and  break  my  bread. 
Yea,  from  Thy  dish  may  I  be  fed, 
And  under  Thy  feet  my  hair  spread? 

Lord,  in  the  quiet,  chill  and  sweet, 
Let  me  pour  water  for  Thy  feet, 
While  the  crowd  goes  by  in  the  street. 

Why  wouldst  Thou  dream  of  spear  or  sword, 

Or  of  the  ingrate  rabble,   Lord? 

There  is  no  sound  save  the  song  of  a  bird. 

Let  us  sit  down  and  talk  at  «ease 

About  Thy  Father's  business. 

(What  shouts  were  those  borne  on  the  breeze?) 

Nay,   Lord,  it  can  not  be  for  Thee 
They  raise  the  tallest  cross  of  the  three 
On  yon  dark  Mount  of  Calvary! 

So  soon,  so  soon,  the  hour's  flown! 
The  glory's  dying:  Thou  art  gone 
Out  on  Thy  lonely  way,  alone. 


is  a  great  difference  between 
having  temptations  and  yielding  to  them; 
for  the  sin  consists,  not  in  being  attacked, 
but  in  surrendering.  —  Rodriguez. 


If  We  are  to  Make  Our  Calling  and 
Election  Sure. 


RUE  piety  presupposes  divine 
charity,  requires  that  the  state  <Bf  : 
sanctifying  grace  shall  be  at  least 
the  habitual  state  of  the  soul.  True 
piety  presupposes  also  a  faithful  endeavor 
to  keep  the  Commandments  of  God  and 
the  Church,  and  to  do  God's  will  by  carry- 
ing out  the  duties,  secular  as  well  as  relig-'";- 
ious,  that  pertain  to  each  one's  state  of 
life.  But  genuine  devotion,  the  devout  life, 
is  something  beyond  these  things, — it  adds 
something  to  them:  it  adds  to  them  a 
certain  promptness,  activity,  industry,  and 
readiness  in  the  service  of  God  our  Father; 
a  promptness,  activity,  and 'readiness  that 
are  due  to  divine  charity  working  within 
us,  and  to  our  willing  co-operation  with  the 
charity  of  God  that  is  poured  out  in  our 
hearts  by  the  Holy  Spirit.  Thus,  while 
charity  is  the  fire,  devotion  is  the  bright 
active  flame  that  bursts  forth  from  it. 
Devotion,  then,  is  charity,  not  left  languid 
and  unexercised,  but  carried  to  its  proper 
perfection  in  action. 

Now,  piety,  to  endure,  must  have  a 
strong  and  firm  foundation.  How  often 
we  see  young  people  apparently  full  of  a 
tender  piety  and  devotion,  frequenting  the 
Sacraments,  given  to  prayer,  fond  of  the 
Church,  eager  to  attend  services,— and 
then,  a  year  or  two  after  they  have  left 
school,  all  has  disappeared;  there  is  not  a 
vestige  of  their  former  piety  left!  Some- 
times we  see  the  same  thing  in  converts 
after  they  have  been  a  year  or  two  in  the 


3SO 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Church.  This  is  a  sure  sii^n  that  in  such 
cases  piety  was  not  built  upon  a  solid 
foundation.  It  was  built  upon  .sentiment 
or  natural  feeling  only,  or  on  the  desire  for 
emotional  sensations.  These  sensations 
were  obtained  from  religion,  and  the  desire 
for  sensation  was  satisfied  for  a  time  by 
religion.  But  now  the  desire  for  sensation 
finds  its  satisfaction  in  things  that  are 
more  exciting, — -in  the  allurements  of  the 
world,  and  the  pleasures  of  the  natural 
man  to  which  the  world  so  abundantly 
ministers. 

Emotion,  of  course,  has  its  proper  place 
in  religion  and  in  piety,  but  it  will  not  do 
for  a  foundation.  Piety  that  is  to  stand 
firm  against  the  assaults  of  the  world,  the 
flesh  and  the  devil,  must  rest  on  a  solid 
foundation  laid  deep  in  the  soul. 

The  foundation  of  true  and  solid  piety 
is  twofold,  it  comprises  two  elements,  it 
is  a  concrete  formed  of  two  indispensable 
materials:  they  are  a  strong,  living  faith, 
and  the  fear  of  God.  "We  see  many  young 
people,"  says  a  modern  saint,  "after 
manifesting  the  most  tender  piety,  allow- 
ing themselves  to  be  drawn  away  by  the 
pleasures  of  the  world.  The  reason  is  that 
they  chose  to  feed  their  souls  with  mere 
tender  sentiments,  instead  of  rooting  them 
deep  in  faith,  and  the  fear  of  God,  and  the 
horror  of  sin,  with  its  eternal  consequences." 

At  present  we  will  consider  only  faith,  as 
one  of  the  two  elements  of  the  foundation 
of  true  and  lasting  piety.  Indeed,  if  faith 
be  living  and  active,  it  can  'not  but  be  that 
the  fear  of  God  will  accompany  it.  Faith, 
according  to  the  words  of  the  Council 
of  Trent,  is  the  beginning,  the  foundation, 
and  the  root  of  our  justification.  These 
three  words,  "beginning,"  "foundation," 
"root,"  were  not  chosen  at  random  by  the 
holy  Council.  The  second  adds  something 
to  the  first,  and  the  third  to  the  other  two. 
Faith  is,  indeed,  the  beginning  of  every- 
thing. "Without  faith  it  is  impossible  to 
please  God."  (Heb.,  xi,  6.)  Without  faith 
there  can  be  neither  hope  nor  charity  nor 
supernatural  virtue  nor  salvation  itself. 
But  faith  is  not  merely  a  beginning:  it 


is  the  foundation.  The  foundation  is  the 
beginning  of  u  building;  but  it  is  also  that 
upon  which  the  building  securely  rests, — 
which  gives  to  the  building  all  its  firmness 
and  stability.  So,  whether  our  religion,  our 
piety,  stands  firm  or  not,  depends  upon 
whether  or  not  it  rests  upon  a  deep  faith 
that  nothing  can  shake. 

But  faith  is  not  any  kind  of  foundation : 
it  is  the  root.  Now,  the  root  is  also  the 
foundation  of  a  tree,  but  a  living  founda- 
tion, from  which  the  living  sap  passes  into 
the  tree.  So  also  faith  is  the  root  from 
which  the  tree  of  the  Christian  life,  with 
its  flowers  and  fruits  of  virtue,  rises  and 
has  its  sustenance,  drawn  by  faith  from 
the  rich  soil  of  Catholic  truth  and  doctrine. 
From  this  root  of  faith  the  living  sap  must 
go  forth  into  the  whole  tree.  In  other 
words,  as  the  basis  of  a  truly  Christian  and 
pious  life,  there  must  be  a  strong,  firm- 
rooted  and  living  faith, — a  faith  that  comes 
out  in  action, — a  faith  such  that  we  can 
say  of  its  possessor  that  he  really  and  truly 
lives  by  faith,  according  to  the  words  of 
the  holy  Apostle,  "My  just  one  liveth  by 
faith 

What  does  this  mean?  It  means  that 
faith  and  the  teachings  of  faith  are  the 
standard  by  which  the  just  man  regulates 
his  thoughts  and  his  conduct,  his  opinions 
and  his  judgment  and  all  his  activities. 
Of  worldly  men  we  truly  say  that  this  one 
lives  for  money,  that  one  for  pleasure, 
another  for  ambition  or  social  position, 
another  for  art,  another  for  sport,  another 
for  some  earthly  love.  This  money  or 
ambition  or  social  success  or  pleasure  or 
love  is  the  very  life  of  such  people.  The 
life  of  the  true  Christian,  of  the  truly 
pious  and  devout  Christian,  is  in  none  of 
these  things;  he  does  not  live  by  them  or 
for  them:  he  lives  by  and  for  his  religion; 
that  is,  he  lives  by  a  faith  which  makes  his 
religion  a  livmg  reality  to  him. 

Of  how  many  of  us  can  it  be  truly  said 
that  we  not  merely  have  the  faith,  but 
that  we  live  by  our  faith, — that  faith  and 
the  things  of  faith  take,  as  a  motive  power 
and  a  regulating  power  in  our  thoughts 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


387 


and  lives,  that  place  which  worldly  con- 
siderations take  in  the  lives  of  worldly- 
minded  people?  Unless  it  is  so — unless  we 
are  truly  living  by  and  for  our  faith,  putting 
it  before  every  other  consideration ;  taking, 
by  faith,  the  supernatural  view  of  things; 
striving  to  shape  our  thoughts,  our  charac- 
ters, our  conduct  according  to  the  teachings 
of  faith, — we  have  no  claim  to  be  con- 
sidered pious  or  devout;  nay,  more:  we 
have  no  claim  to  any  well-grounded  security 
that  we  are  even  on  the  road  to  salvation. 
This'  is  a  very  serious  matter. 

To  conclude,  let  us  take  one  test,  which 
will  show  us  in  one  particular  whether  our 
piety  is  founded  on  a  living,  active  faith. 
We  can  find  similar  tests  in  other  matters 
which  will  help  us  to  conduct  a  useful  and 
necessary  examination  of  our  lives  as  to 
this  question  of  really  living  by  our  faith. 

We  went  to  school;  we  learned  our 
catechism.  When  we  left  school  we  had 
presumably  a  good  and  full  knowledge  of 
our  religion.  What  is  our  knowledge  of 
the  Catholic  religion  to-day?  How  many 
questions  in  the  catechism  could  we  now 
answer,  and  give  an  intelligent  explanation 
of  the  meaning  of  our  answers  ?  Supposing 
a  non-Catholic  came  and  asked  for  an  ex- 
planation of  the  doctrine  of  Indulgences, 
what  should  we  be  able  to  say  to  him? 
Does  faith  enter  into  our  lives  sufficiently 
to  give  us  a  living  interest  in  our  holy 
religion  and  its  teachings— surely  the  most 
interesting  subject  upon  which  the  human 
mind  can  exercise  itself, — such  an  interest 
as  leads  us  to  feed  our  minds  with  Cath- 
olic literature,  with  good  reading  which 
will  nourish  and  keep  alive  our  faith? 

Here  is  a  test,  in  one  particular  only,  as 
has  been  said:  but  an  important  one, 
by  which  we  may  find  out  whether  our 
Christian  life  and  devotion  is  founded  and 
rooted  in  a  faith  that  is  not  half-dead,  but 
living,  permeating  and  regulating  thought 
and  conduct,  and  producing  its  due  fruit 
in  works  of  genuine  piety, — a  piety  that  is 
at  once  due  to  God  for  all  His  goodness, 
and  necessary  to  us  if  we  are  to  '  make  our 
calling  and  election  sure.'  (II.  St.  Pet.) 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


XVII.  —  VARIOUS  INCIDENTS. 


HARRY  TAI/BOT    was    bitterly 

f|  disappointed    upon    finding    that 

«  1  1  ^ate  ka(*  cast  t^ie  die  in  favor  of 
the  court  against  the  mine.  Now, 
Talbot,  who  was  keen  and  shrewd  —  having 
learned  a  good  deal  while  an  employee 
in  the  Chief  Secretary's  office  at  Dublin 
Castle,  —  had  no  great  faith  in  the  stability 
of  the  "Napoleonic  venture,"  as  a  caustic 
American  lady  very  tersely  put  it  ;  and  his 
belief  in  the  silver  mine  at  Santa  Maria 
del  Flor  was  absolutely  unbounded. 

"Bedad,  but  it's  too  bad  intirely,  sir!" 
observed  Rody,  ruefully,  after  a  conversa- 
tion with  Talbot,  in  which  the  latter  had 
represented  the  enormous  fortune  to  be 
gained  by  following  the  mine.  "But  sure 
there  never  was  a  Bodkin  that  did  not 
make  an  omadhaun  —  axin'  yer  pardon, 
sir!  —  an  omadhaun  of  himself  for  wan  of 
the  cutest,  contrariest  sex  that  ever  lived. 
I'm  no  inimy  to  fay  males  meself,  sir,  —  , 
begorra  it's  the  other  way.  Sojerin'  is 
an  illigant  thrade  for  a  gintleman  if  he's 
in  the  Faugh-a-Ballaghs  or  the  Connaught 
Rangers,  and  on  guard  at  the  Bank  of 
Ireland  or  the  Castle,  or  at  a  review  in  the 
Phaynix  Park  ;  .  but  for  to  be  sojerin'  in  a 
furrin  land,  in  a  furrin  army,  in  a  furrin 
langwidge,  and  for  to  be  Herr  Bodekeen 
instead  of  Bodkin  of  Ballyboden,  ain't 
worth  a  thraneen.  And  I'm  hopin'  that 
Masther  Arthur  will  turn  to  the  mine, 
dig  out  as  much  silver  as  will  draw  the 
sthrap  off  the  ould  place,  then  go  back 
to  Ireland,  and  take  Miss  Nugent  wid 
him;  and  won't  we  have  a  royal  -ould 
Irish  weddin'!" 

And  Rody  dashed  into  a  jig  that  would 
have  done  honor  to  the  biggest  "doore" 
at  Punchestown. 

There  were  such  "life"  in  Rody's  gyra- 
tions that  Talbot  was  fired  with  emula- 
tion, and  he  leaped  into  the  centre  of  the 


388 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


apartment,  faced  Rody  O'Flynn  and  com- 
menced to  "welt  the  flure"  in  so  artistic  a 
manner  as  to  beget  the  wildest  admiration 
of  his  partner. 

While  the  two  dancers  were  facing  each 
other,  the  wooden  floor  resounding  to  the 
rappings  of  their  toes  and  heels,  Arthur 
Bodkin  entered;  and,  finding  that  it  was 
the  Fox  Hunters'  Jig  that  was  being 
danced,  instantly  joined  in,  cutting  and 
capering  as  only  an  Irish  jig-dancer  can 
cut  and  caper.  Finally  Rody  bolted;  and 
Arthur,  fanning  himself  with  Talbot's 
sombrero,  went  out  on  the  balcony  to 
cool  off. 

"I  do  believe  they  have  seen  us  from 
the  imperial  apartments!"  cried  Arthur. 
"Come  out  here,  Harry.  You  see  that  line 
of  windows  with  the  crimson  hangings?" 

"Yes." 

"That  is  the  Empress'  suite;  and -I'll 
swear  that  she  and  another  lady  were 
taking  us  in  with  opera-glasses.  They 
jumped  back  as  I  came  out." 

"So  much  the  better.  They'll  command 
us  to  dance  it  at  the  next  Court  Ball." 

"Friday  night.  Would  you  like  a  card, 
Harry?" 

"Not  much.  I  have  done  with  gentle 
dalliance  of  every  description.  I  am  here 
to  dig  money  out  of  the  bowels  of  the 
earth;  and,  with  the  blessing  of  God,  I'll 
do  it.  See  if  I  don't." 

Some  time  later  Harry  Talbot  took  his 
departure  for  Santa  Maria  del  Flor,  a  wild 
little  place  perched  up  in  the  Sierra  Madre 
range,  ten  thousand  feet  above  the  level 
of  the  sea,  and  a  day's  ride  by  mule  from 
the  capital. 

In  due  season  Arthur  Bodkin  received 
his  commission  as  extra  aid-de-camp  on 
the  Imperial  Staff,  a  position  that  kept 
him  perpetually  on  the  move;  for,  being 
the  youngest  aid,  he  was  in  the  saddle 
from  rosy  morn  to  dewy  eve,  riding  hard 
between  the  National  Palace  and  Chapul- 
tepec,  and  vice  versa.  If  he  had  hoped 
to  see  Alice  Nugent  by  accepting  this 
position,  he  was  doomed  to  bitter  disap- 
pointment; since  his  dispatches  invariably 


led  him  to  the  quarters  of  the  Adjutant- 
General,  on  the  Molino  del  Rey  side  of 
the  Castle,  while  the  apartments  of  the 
Empress  and  of  her  ladies  were  at  the 
Guadalupe  side.  Once,  indeed-,  he  met  Miss 
Nugent  driving  into  the  capital  in  one 
of  the  imperial  victorias.  She  was  alone, 
and  her  crimson  parasol  became  instantly 
lowered  as  he  approached.  He  was  too 
proud  to  allow  himself  to  be  "cut  dead"; 
so,  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  dashed 
madly  toward  Chapultepec.  Had  he  but 
turned  round,  he.  might  have  taken  a 
small  dose  of  consolation  from  the  fact 
that  the  occupant  of  the  victoria,  possibly 
fearing  his  horse  had  bolted,  stood  up  in 
the  carriage  in  order  to  ascertain  if  her 
fears  were  unhappily  realized. 

At  the  first  Court  Ball,  a  most  magnifi- 
cent and  imposing  function,  our  hero  per- 
ceived Alice  standing  a  little  behind  her 
imperial  mistress,  looking  very  pale  and 
weary,  but,  oh,  so  beautiful,  so  distingue! 
Although  his  new  appointment  permitted 
him  within  the  red  silken  ropes  that  railed 
the  imperial  court  from  the  hoi  polloi, 
he  made  no  attempt  to  draw  near;  but 
from  the  music  gallery  and  behind  a 
gigantic  fern,  he  watched  her  every  move- 
ment. He  saw  Count  Ludwig  von  Kalks- 
burg  approach  her,  bow  low,  and  evidently 
ask  her  to  dance.  To  his  intense  joy, 
she  declined,  shaking  her  head  negatively 
as  the  Count  courteously  persisted.  The 
Empress  turned  and  said  something  to 
her,  which  caused  her  to  plant  her  fan 
before  her  face,  while  Carlotta  laughed. 
A  strange  instinct  told  Arthur  that  the 
Empress  had  alluded  to  himself,  and 
he  was  right.  Hearing  Count  Kalksburg 
pressing  her  Maid  of  honor  to  dance,  the 
Empress  laughingly  observed:  "She  will 
dance  only  an  Irish  jig  to-night,  and  is 
waiting  for  her  partner." 

Arthur  Bodkin  was  correct  when  he 
surmised  that  the  jig  in  his  quarters  had 
been  witnessed  by  the  Empress.  The  wild 
whop-whoop  of  Rody  attracted  one  of  the 
ladies  of  the  court,  who  not  unnaturally 
imagined  that  somebody's  throat  was 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


389 


being  split.  Seizing  an  opera-glass  and 
stepping  to  the  window,  great  was  her 
astonishment  upon  perceiving  two  men 
dancing  like  dervishes.  And  when  the 
Empress  joined  her,  a  third  had  cut  joy- 
ously in;  and  all  three  kept  silently 
watching  for  at  least  ten  minutest  Inquiry 
showed  that  the  apartment  in  which  the 
wild  dance  was  executed  was  the  quarters 
of  the  Irish  aid-de-camp,  and  the  dance 
was  naturally  set  down  by  Alice  herself 
as  the  national  jig. 

One  afternoon  at  Chapultepec,  while 
Arthur  awaited  dispatches,  a  chamber- 
lain came  to  him  to  announce  that  the 
Empress  desired  his  presence.  Carlotta 
was  seated  in  a  bower  composed  of  myrtle 
intertwined  with  orange  trees,  still  known 
as  "Carlotta's  Bower."  The  Countess  von 
Gleichen  was  in  waiting. 

"How  speeds  your  wooing?"  demanded 
the  Empress,  without  preface  of  any  de- 
scription; and,  perceiving  that  he  glanced 
askance  at  the  lady  in  waiting,  "Oh,  never 
mind!  She  does  not  understand  English. 
How  runs  the  course  of  true  love?" 

Arthur    was    dumfounded. 

"Not  smoothly?"  she  went  on.  "Your 
lady  is  very  obstinate.  She  is  only  a 
woman,  you  know.  I  am  about  to  make  a 
tour  of  our  provinces.  The  Emperor  can 
not  leave  the  capital.  I  purpose  going 
to  Yucatan.  I  have  named  you  on  my 
personal  staff,  because  you  are  brave — and 
in  love.  Miss  Nugent  shall  be  en  service. 
Due  notice  shall  be  given — no:-  not  a 
word.  You  may  retire." 

This  excursion  of  the  Empress  had 
been  canvassed  in  court  circles  for  some 
time.  Her  personal  charm  was  so  great, 
she  was  so  magnetic,  that  it  was  consid- 
ered extremely  advisable  for  her  to  show 
herself  to  her  subjects,  especially  in  the 
disaffected  districts.  In  its  strategic  posi- 
tion and  material  resources,  Yucatan  was 
of  uttermost  importance  to  the  interests 
of  the  Empire.  Its  inhabitants  had  not 
yielded  a  ready  obedience  to  their  new 
masters,  and  a  general  discontent  threat- 
cued  the  traditional  revolution,  the  curse 


of  Mexico.  The  Emperor  could  not  leave 
his  post,  of  constant  responsibility;  and 
the  Empress,  after  some  hesitation,  at 
length  consented,  with  a  few  friends  and 
a  small  escort,  to  pay  a  visit  to  the 
province,  assure  the  Yucatanese  of  the 
government's  interest  in  their  welfare, 
allay  their  suspicions,  and  attach  them  to 
the  policy  and  purposes  of  the  Empire. 

It  was  upon  a  glorious,  sunshiny 
morning  that  the  imperial  cortege  set 
forth  from  the  National  Palace  en  route 
to  Merida.  In  an  open  carriage  drawn 
by  six  white  horses,  and  surrounded  by 
the  elite  of  the  staff  mounted  on  superb 
chargers,  sat  Carlotta,  looking  every  inch 
a  queen.  Beside  her  was  a  lady  of  her 
court — the  Countess  von  Konnigratz; 
opposite,  another  court  lady,  a  Mexican; 
and  Baron  Bergheim.  Five  imperial  car- 
riages followed,  the  coachmen  and  footmen 
in  white  and  gold. 

To  his  dismay,  Arthur  perceived  that 
Alice  was  absent.  Could  she  be  ill?  Was 
this  the  cause  of  her  absence?  He  dared 
not  ask  the  Empress:  etiquette  compelled 
him  to  remain  silent  until  spoken  to, 
and  then  merely  to  reply, — not  to  interro- 
gate or  even  to  make  comment.  Another 
twinge  of  misery  assailed  him,  for  Count 
Ludwig  von  Kalksburg  was  not  of  the 
party.  Of  course  his  absence  was  easily 
accounted  for,  since  he  was  of  the  Em- 
peror's household;  but  he  was  under  the 
same  roof  with  Alice,  and  would  he  not 
use  every  wile  to  win  the  beautiful  Irish 
girl,  whom  he  very  sincerely  and  honestly 
loved? 

Arthur  being  acquainted  with  the 
Countess  von  Konnigratz,  during  the 
stoppage  for  luncheon  contrived  to  ask 
her  if  Miss  Nugent  was  not  to  have  been 
en  service. 

"Oh,  yes!  But  she  was  not  feeling  quite 
up  to  the  mark,  and  Dr.  Bochenbelst 
advised  her  to  remain  quietly  at  Chapul- 
tepec," said  the  Countess. 

"Pray  God  it  may  be  nothing  serious!" 
exclaimed  Arthur. 

"Oh,    nothing    at    all!     She    Im ;,    been 


390 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


very  hard  worked,  and  you  know  our 
Empress  does  not  spare  her.  In  fact,  her 
Majesty  was  desirous  of  postponing  this 
business  because  the  frdulein  could  not 
come.  Do  not  worry,"  added  the  Countess, 
with  a  laugh.  "You  Irish  people  have 
such  suqerb  constitutions,  and  all  Miss 
Nugent  needs  is  a 'little  absolute  rest." 

With  this  Arthur  had  to  rest  contented, 
and  it  was  but  poor  comfort  at  best. 

The  Empress  visited  the  principal  towns, 
and  was  received  with  the  uttermost 
respect,  the  uttermost  courtesy,  and  with 
considerable  enthusiasm, — an  enthusiasm 
that  became  stronger  during  her  progress. 
For  such  was  her  earnestness,  sincerity, 
charm  of  speech  and  manner,  that  she 
won  hearts  on  every  side,  as  she  had  done 
at  Vera  Cruz,  Puebla,  and  in  the  court 
circles  of  the  capital.  It  was  upon  her 
return  from  this  trip  that  the  Abbe 
Domenech  exclaimed:  "If  this  country 
had  ever  had  a  president  with  half  the 
tact,  energy,  and  honesty  of  the  Em- 
press, it  would  be  in  a  truly  prosperous 
condition." 

It  was  at  Merida  that  her  mission  cul- 
minated, and  the  story  of, her  success  is 
thus  told  in  a  letter  of  that  date: 

After  receiving  the  congratulations  of  the 
delegations  appointed  to  welcome  her,  her 
Majesty  advanced  into  the  city,  in  the  midst 
of  the  liveliest  acclamations;  the  cortege  being 
swelled  by  various  deputations  and  by  a  large 
number  of  distinguished  persons.  She  was 
received  upon  the  steps  of  the  porch  of  the 
temple  by  the  apostolic  administrator  of  the 
diocese,  the  venerable  ecclesiastical  chapter, 
and  all  the  clergy  of  the  capital. 

Kneeling  upon  a  crimson  velvet  cushion, 
bordered  with  gold  fringe  and  placed  upon  a 
rich  carpet,  her  Majesty  kissed  the  crucifix  pre- 
sented to  her,  and  then  entered  the  edifice  under 
a  canopy  borne  by  the  judges  of  the  Superior 
Court  and  the  members  of  the  Government 
Council  of  the  district. 

In  the  chancel  a  rich  canopy  was  prepared; 
and,  after  prayers  customary  upon  the  reception 
of  sovereigns,  and  a  chant  accompanied  by 
solemn  music,  worship  was  offered  to  Him 
through  whose  will  all  sovereigns  reign;  during 
which  the  Empress  remained  kneeling  in  a  most 
devout  attitude.  A  solemn  7V  J)rn»i,  expressly 
composed  for  the  occasion,  was  then  rendered. 


The  vast  cathedral'  was  filled  with  a  numerou8 
assemblage,  comprising  persons  belonging  to  the 
highest  as  well  as  the  lowest  degrees  of  society, 
collected  together  to  welcome  the  Empress. 

Upon  the  conclusion  of  the  religious  cere- 
monies, her  Majesty  received  the  congratula- 
tions of  the  officials  of  the  district,  in  a  mansion 
specially  arranged  for  the  purpose;  and  a  large 
number  of  military  and  civil  officers  and  citizens 
paid  their  respects.  In  reply  to  the  congratu- 
latory address,  she  appeared  on  the  balcony  of 
her  apartments,  at  the  request  of  the  multitude 
without,  and  expressed  herself  as  follows: 

"We  have  long  wished  to  visit  you,  in  order 
to  study  your  necessities  and  learn  your  desires. 
The  Emperor,  being  prevented  from  effecting 
this  important  object,  has  sent  me  to  you  to 
present  to  you  his  cordial  greetings.  I  assure 
you  from  my  heart  that  he  deeply  regrets  that 
he  can  not  be  here  with  me,  to  tell  you  how 
great  is  his  affection  toward  you.  He  will 
regret  it  still  more  when  I  inform  him  of  the 
enthusiastic  reception  you  have  given  me.  He 
desires,  and  by  all  means  will  endeavor  to  secure, 
the  prosperity  and  happiness  of  the  people  of 
Yucatan. " 

XVIII.— IN  PERIL. 

"Masther  Arthur,"  observed  Rody'one 
evening,  after  Bodkin  had  inspected  the 
stables  in  the  Old-World  hostlery  in 
Merida,  where  'the  staff  was  quartered, 
"may  I  make  bould  for  to  spake  up  to 
ye,  sir?" 

"Go  on,    Rody." 

"Well,  sir,  I'm  pickin'  up  Jarinin  as 
quick  as  I  could  pick  up  mushrooms  beyant 
in  ould  Mickey  Mulligan's  field  ;*  an'  I  keep 
me  ears  wide  open;  an',  mind  what  I  tell 
ye,  sir,  there'll  be  a  mighty  bould  attimpt 
for  to  carry  off  the  Impress  an'  her  crown." 

"Ha!"  said  Arthur,  all  attention;  for 
he  recalled  Rody's  suspicions  of  Senor 
Gonzalez,  alias  Mazazo,  and  how  well 
founded  they  proved  to  be. 

"Yes,  sir,  there's  somethin'  in  the  wind. 
An'  that  little  black,  that  sarvint  of  the 
ould  lady,  the  Countess  Can-you-scratch " 
(Rody's  pronunciation  of  Konnigratz),  "is 
in  it.  I'm  keepin'  an  eye  like  the  Skib- 
bereen  aigle  on  him;  but  I  think,  sir, 
it  would  be  the  best  for  to  have  him  well 
watched." 

"Rody,  this  may  be  serious.  You  are 
no  alarmist." 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


"Sorra  a  bit,  sir;  but  I  like  for  to  lake 
the  bull  be  the  horns.  It's  a  way  I  have 
wid  inc.  An'  another  thing  I'll  be  aft  her 
tellin'  ye.  Mazazo  or  his  fetch  is  here,  sir, 
as  sure  as  SundaV 

"This  is  serious,  Rody.  Why  didn't 
you  speak  of  this  before?" 

"Bekase,  Masther  Arthur,  it  was  yer 
own  father — the  heavens  be  his  bed  this 
night,  amin! — that  said  to  me:  'Rody, 
be  always  sure,'  sez  he,  'before  ye  take 
a  step  in  aither  love  or  war.'  An'  I'm  the 
cautiousest  craytur  ye  ever  met." 

Arthur  had  the  most  implicit  confidence 
in  the  shrewdness  of  his  retainer,  knowing 
him  to  possess  a  keen  power  of  observation, 
and  a  faculty  for  putting  two  and  two 
together.  In  addition,  O'Flynn  was  no 
alarmist.  He  was  as  fearless  as  a  Nubian 
lion,  and  would  prefer  being  in  a  "scrim- 
mage" any  day  to  being  out  of  one.  A 
note  of  warning  from  Rody  meant  as 
much  as  "boots  and  saddles"  from  any 
other  man. 

"Go  about  as  usual,  Rody,  and  keep 
your  ears  and  eyes  open.  We  leave  here 
to-night  for  Santa  Ysabella,  in  order  to 
allow  the  Empress  to  travel  in  the  cool, 
and  to  enjoy  the  glories  of  the  full  moon- 
light. If  danger  is  ahead,  it  ought  to 
burst  to-night,  and  on  this  trip.  Leave 
me  now,  and  report  every  hour.  Be  sure 
to  keep  your  eyes  and  ears  open." 

Bodkin  was  seriously  alarmed.  Should 
any  mishap  come  to  the  Empress,  every 
member  of  the  staff  was  doomed.  It  was  a 
case  of  do  or  die.  He  wandered  about  the 
rambling  old  building  in  which  the  staff 
was  quartered,  and  which  had  formerly 
been  a  convent,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  or 
hearing  a  something  that  might  concern 
Rody's  suspicions;  but  nothing  came  to 
him.  Quitting  the  building,  he  strolled  up 
the  Alameda,  and  pulling  out  his  briar- 
root  pipe,  "readied"  it  and  began  to 
smoke,  seeking  inspiration  in  the  soothing 
weed. 

An  hour  thus  passed  away,  during  which 
Arthur  cogitated  for  the  safety  of  the 
Empress;  the  image  of  Alice  standing  out 


in  boldest  relief  the  while.  Rut  nothing 
came  of  his  "cogitabtmdity  of  cogitation," 
save  the  opalescent  smoke  that  curled 
from  under  his  mustache  and  ascended 
the  spreading  arms  of  a  gigantic  cactus. 
The  clock  from  the  cathedral  rang  out  six, 
and  then  came  the  sweet,  prayer-inspiring 
sounds  of  the  Angelus.  Our  hero  removing 
his  cap,  placed  it  upon  the  seat  beside 
him;  and,  bending  his  head  reverently, 
repeated  the  familiar  prayer.  As  he  was 
about  to  replace  his  cap,  to  his  astonish- 
ment he  discovered  a  piece  of  paper  lying 
in  it  folded  strap-wise.  Hastily  opening 
it,  he  read  the  single  word:  "Muerta!" 
(Death!) 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  flinging  glances 
to  the  right  and  to  the  left;  but  the 
Alameda  was  absolutely  empty.  He  leaped 
behind  the  cactus,  that  spread  out  like  a 
hedge  as  a  screen  to  the  bench  on  which 
he  had  been  sitting;  but  there  was  nobody 
in  sight.  He  argued  that  no  bird  could 
have  dropped  that  death-warrant  into  his 
cap.  It  must  have  been  placed  there  while 
he  was  repeating  the  A ve  Maria,  and  the 
person  who  deposited  it  must  have  been 
waiting  for  an  opportunity.  What  did 
it  all  mean?  Worried  and  mortified  at 
being  cozened  after  this  fashion,  Arthur 
retired  to  the  hotel,  to  find  Rody  O'Flynn 
awaiting  him. 

"There's  something  up,  Masther  Arthur. 
They're  giving  a  double  dose  of  oats  to 
some  of  the  horses  this  minute,  an'  there's 
two  of  the  men  ready  for  to  start.  They're 
two  that  joined  us  at  the  place  wid  the 
quare  name." 

"  Tlamplanixametecar,   I   think." 

"Bedad,  sir,  if  ye  didn't  hit  it,  ye  made 
it  lave  that." 

"Who  took  these  men  on?" 

"Sorra  a  know  I  know,  sir." 

"Any  more  news?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Well,  /  have  news  for  you,  Rody!" 
And  Arthur  told  O'Flynn  of  the  warning 
word,  and  the  mysterious  manner  in  which 
it  came  to  him. 

Rody  gave  a  whistle. 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


"This  bangs  Banagher,  Masther  Arthur. 
Faix,  we  must  do  somethin',  or  somebody 
else  will  be  doin'  it  for  us." 

Arthur  sought  Baron  Bergheirn.  The 
Baron  was  at  first  inclined  to  laugh  at  the 
whole  affair;  but,  seeing  how  very  grave 
Bodkin  was,  and  recalling  the  Mazazo 
episode,  he  resolved  upon  taking  counsel 
of  the  military  commander  of  the  expedi- 
tion, General  Count  Hoyos.  After  con- 
siderable discussion,  it  was  eventually 
resolved  to  countermand  the  night  journey; 
and,  in  addition,  to  secretly  change  the 
route  for  the  next  day, — sending  Arthur 
and  an  orderly  on  the  prepared  road,  so 
as  to  allay  any  suspicions. 

"  We're  in  for  it,  anyhow,— Masther 
Arthur.  An'  I've  a  notion  that  we  ought 
for  to  take  a  couple  of  fine  bastes, — not 
our  own  sir,  for  I'm  thinkin'  that  my 
horse  is  docthored,  for  he's  off  his  oats 
an'  yers  is  only  dawney." 

"By  Jove,  you  are  right,  Rody!  You're 
a  perfect  brick!" 

"An'  I've  hid  our  revolvers,  sir,  till  the 
time  conies  for  startin'.  Lave  it  all  to 
me,  Masther  Arthur.  If  two  Irishmen 
isn't  aiqual  to  forty  Mexicos,  may  I  never 
set  foot  agin  on  the  ould  sod!" 

It  was  a  glorious  moonlight  night,  aad 
moonlight  in  Mexico  means  that  the 
"viceregent  of  the  sky"  bathes  the  earth 
in  liquid  pearl.  Arthur  Bodkin,  accom- 
panied by  his  orderly,  rode  out  of  the 
shadow  of  the  old  convent  as  the  clocks 
were  telling  the  hour  of  ten, — the  start 
of  the  imperial  cortege  being  named  for 
eleven.  Rody  had  picked  out  two  superb 
chargers;  being,  like  every  country-bred 
Irishman,  an  expert  in  horse-flesh.  He  had 
also  provided  himself  with  three  extra 
rounds  of  ammunition  and  a  pair  of  extra 
revolvers. 

Baron  Bergheim  seemed  to  realize 
danger  when  Arthur  reported  himself 
ready  for  the  road. 

"Hey!  but  it  takes  an  Irishman  to  run 
this  risk!"  he  cried.  "There  is  something 
up;  for  Hoyos  has  got  hold  of  some 
information  that  has  startled  him.  It 


is  due  to  you,  my  dear  boy.  And  if — if — 
you  should  come  to  grief,  I'll  take  good 
care  that  you  get  all  the  credit  due  to 
you."  And  the  old  man  turned  away 
without  another  word,  his  voice  a  little 
thick. 

The  two  horsemen  had  ridden  about 
three  miles,  and  now  reined  in  on  an  open 
plain  dotted  with  cactus. 

"We  can  speak  here  without  fear  of 
being  overheard,"  observed  Arthur. 

"Ye  can,  sir,  if  the  Mexico  behind  that 
bush  doesn't  understand  English." 

"What  Mexican? — what  bush?" 

"Just  there,  sir.  I  seen  him  dodgin' 
from  clump  to  clump  like  a  rabbit.  But 
don't  take  heed  of  him,  sir;  there's  more 
of  thim,  depind  on  that!  See  him,  sir — 
ah!  there  he  goes!" 

A  dark  form  was  seen  scurrying  from 
bush  to  bush,  almost  bent  double,  and 
moving  at  considerable  speed. 

"Perhaps  some  poor  peon  frightened 
to  death." 

"I've  me  doubts,  Masther  Arthur.  But 
whisht!  I  hear  horses  comin'  toward  us. 
Look  to  yer  baste,  sir,  and  out  wid  yer 
revolver.  Let  us  hould  up,  sir,  and  take 
the  middle  of  the  road." 

Rody's  acute  sense  of  hearing  warned 
him  of  the  approach  of  danger.  A  shrill 
whistle,  thrice  repeated,  from  the  direction 
which  the  bounding  figure  -had  taken, 
proved  that  the  scout  had  given  the  alarm ; 
and  in  a  few  minutes  four  horsemen  rode 
into  sight, — riding  slowly,  two  abreast. 

"Make  a  dart  for  that  big  lump  of  a 
cactus,  Masther  Arthur.  We'll  back  our 
horses  agin  it,  and  they  can't  surround 
us  anyway." 

This  advice  was  instantly  adopted;  and 
our  hero,  with  his  orderly,  reined  in;  their 
horses  facing  the  roadway,  their  revolvers 
in  their  hands. 

The  approaching  horsemen,  either  upon 
hearing  the  whistle  or  upon  perceiving 
Arthur  and  his  companion,  broke  into 
single  file  and  came  on  at  a  light  canter, 
which  changed  into  a  walk  when  within 
talking  distance. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


393 


As  they  came  up  the  leader  halted,  and, 
touching  the  rim  of  his  sombrero,  politely 
exclaimed : 

' '  Buenas  noches! ' ' 

"  Buenas  noches,  caballero!"  responded 
Bodkin,  touching  his  cap  after  the  military 
fashion. 

The  leader  then  asked  if  the  imperial 
cortege  was  close  at  hand.  To  which 
Arthur  gave  a  very  ungrammatical  and 
impossible  reply. 

"  Mucho  gracias!"  said  the  other,  as 
politely  as  though  our  hero  had  given 
him  every  possible  detail;  he  then  bowed 
low,  and,  putting  his  splendid  barb  into 
a  canter,  rode  away,  followed  by  his 
companions. 

"I'm  thinking  that  we  were  frightened 
without  cause,  Rody." 

"Mebbe  so,  yer  honor;  but  I  have  me 
doubts.  We're  not  out  of  it  yet;  for  here's 
more  of  them, — whatever  they  are,  frinds 
or  foes." 

Another  party  of  horsemen  now  rode 
into  view,  the  moonlight  flashing  on  the 
accoutrements  of  their  steeds.  This  party 
numbered  about  ten,  and  were  saluted  by 
the  same  shrill  whistle,  thrice  repeated. 

"I  thought  so!"  muttered  Rody.  "If 
we  have  for  to  light  now,  sir,  it's  not 
on  the  Fair  Green  of  Ballynowlan  wid 
kippeens  we'll  be."  And  as  the  caval- 
cade drew  nearer:  "We're  in  for  it,  sir. 
Almighty  God  and  the  Blessed  Virgin  help 
us!  I  seen  thim  dhrawin'  their  guns  and 
soords." 

Backing  their  horses  to  another  cactus 
bush,  Arthur  and  Rody  stood  prepared, 
every  nerve  at  its  highest  tension.  Even 
while  they  executed  this  manoeuvre,  the 
four  horsemen  came  up  at  a  gallop. 
There  was  no  mistaking  their  intentions, 
for  both  parties  rode  straight  to  the  two 
Irishmen. 

As  Arthur  raised  his  revolver  a  shot 
from  behind  rang  out,  and  then  another; 
and  two  saddles  were  instantly  emptied: 
those  of  Arthur  Bodkin  of  Ballyboden 
and  Rody  O'Flynn,  his  orderly. 

(To  be  continued.) 


Gethsemane. 


BY   THE   REV.  E.  E.  LAWS. 


strives  in  prayer  on  Olivet: 
The  moon  peeps  through  the  leafy  clefts  and 

sees 

Her  Maker  bowed  in  agonies, 
All  bathed  in  bloody  sweat. 
Awhile,  with  awe-struck  face, 
She  gazes  on  the  place, 
And  then  o'ershrouds 
Her  grief  in  clouds. 

The  stars,  no  longer  twinkling  bright, 

Are  dull  and  still; 

For,  lo!    their  Lord,  the  world's  Great  Light, 
Is  in  the  depths  of  gloom  this  night 

Upon  that  Olive  Hill. 

The  wind  is  moaning  low 

To  tree  and  plant  and  flower; 
And  they,  in  drooping  silence,  show 

They  keep  with  Christ  the  Holy  Hour. 

And  from  their  nests  the  song  birds  peer; 

They  can  not  sleep; 
With  leaden  tread,  the  beasts  draw  near 

And  vigil  keep. 

And   Cedron's   torrent  sobs 

For  Christ  in  pain. 
Anon   the   Dead  Sea  throbs 

With  life  again. 

Sad  Nature  hovers  near  the  tree, 
And  pours  the  balm  of  sympathy 
Upon  the  midnight  agony. 

And  there, 

Kyes  brimmed   with  dole, 
An  angel  chants  a  mystic  air 

To  soothe   Christ's  aching  soul. 

But  man,  unfeeling,  stands  aloof 

From  Him  who  bleeds  in  man's  behoof. 

Ah,  kneel  beside  the  Stricken  One 

And  learn  what  sin  can  do,  — 
What  love  hath  done 

For  you  ! 


How  great  a  good  is  fasting,  how  pow- 
erful a  shield  against  our  enemy  the 
devil. — St.  Chrysostom. 


394 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


At  the  Scala  Santa. 


BY    GABRIEL    FRANCIS    POWERS. 


w 


HAT  should  one  do  on  Good 
Friday?" 

"Think  about  one's  sins." 

"And  suppose  one  has- no  sins?" 

"•I  can't  imagine  anything  so  blissful." 

"That's  because  you  are  a  morose 
Papist,  imbued  with  Mediaeval  doctrines. 
Educated  people  don't  commit  sin,  Johnny. 
But,  of  course,  if  it  would  give  you  any 
pleasure,  I  could  put  on  a  long  black  dress 
and  a  very  long  black  veil  (like  those 
frights  the  other  day  who  were  going  al 
Vaticano  to. see  the  Pope),  and  spend  the 
rest  of  the  day  weeping  and  wailing." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  weep  and  wail. 
But  I  wish  you  wouldn't  joke  about  Good 
Friday." 

"My  dear  boy,  you  are  so  unreasonable! 
I  simply  ask  you,  for  my  information  and 
enlightenment,  how  people  spend  the  day 
in  Rome,  and  you  begin  to  upbraid  me  for 
my  sins,  instead  of  telling  me;  and  then 
you  rebuke  me  for  joking." 

"The  day  is  a  very  sacred  one;  and 
Catholics  don't  want  it  touched,  even  from 
afar." 

"Catholics,  yes!  But  I  am  not  a  Cath- 
olic. I  am  an  agnostic.  That  makes  a 
difference.  However,  if  you  will  just  tell  me 
where  I  can  hear  some  good  music,  I  will 
promise  to  leave  the  subject  immediately." 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  don't  think  you  will 
get  any  music.  Even  the  church  bells  are 
silenced.  And  if  there  is  any  singing,  it 
will  be  without  accompaniment." 

"Sheer  dreariness,  insomnia?  I  don't 
think  I  shall  like  it  at  all.  But  is  there  no 
service?" 

' '  Only  a  short  one  in  the  morning,  called 
the  Mass  of  the  Presanctified,  and  the 
Veneration  of  the  Cross.  In  the  afternoon, 
or  rather  beginning  at  noon,  the  Three 
Hours'  devotion  is  kept  in  a  good  many 
churches,— the  three  hours  on  the  Cross, 
you  know." 


"I  know. ...  But,  Johnny,  I  always 
thought  it  was  three  days." 

"No:  three  hours, — from  twelve  to 
three.  He  died  at  three  o'clock." 

"And  you  fast,  I  suppose?" 

"We  do." 

"Is  there  no  custom  or  observance 
special  to  Rome?" 

"Most  Romans  go  to  the  Scala  Santa 
sometime  during  the  day." 

"The  place  where  they  have  to  climb 
up  on  their  knees?" 

"Yes:  the  stairs  from  Pilate's  house  in 
Jerusalem,  brought  over  by  the  Empress 
Helena." 

"But  why  should  you  worship  Pilate?" 

"Great  guns — I  beg  your  pardon! — we 
don't  worship  Pilate.  We  don't  worship 
anybody  or  anything  but  God, — -and  cer- 
tainly not  Pilate,  who  was  an  unjust  judge, 
to  say  the  least  of  it.  But  Our  Lord  went 
up  and  down  those  stairs  in  the  early 
hours  of  the  first  Good  Friday,  and  we 
do  it  for  a  remembrance  of  Him." 

"  Yoii  don't,  Johnny,  surely?" 

"Indeed  I  do!  I  have  never  missed  it 
as  long  as  I  have  been  in  Rome.  And  I 
wouldn't  drop  it  now  for  anything.  Five 
a.  m.  sees  me  under  way." 

"Five  a.  m.!  Oh,  you  martyr!  But 
why  so  ungodly  an  hour?" 

"Because  I  like  to  say  my  prayers  in 
peace;  and  later  on  the  crowd, is  so  dense 
it  is  impossible  to  get  even  one  knee  onto 
the  first  step,  much  less  to  move." 

"It  must  be  quite  a  spectacle.  But  five 
a.  m.!  Isn't  it  dark  still?" 

"It's  growing  light." 

The  woman  shivered  slightly,  drawing 
in  her  shoulders — "You  Romanists  are 
such  uncomfortable  people,  Johnny!" — and 
leaned  back  to  look  at  him  laugh.  She 
was  very  fond  of  the  young  sculptor,  and, 
involuntarily,  it  touched  her  to  think  of 
the  good-looking,  life-loving  boy  going  up 
on  his  knees  in  the  bleak  daybreak,  'for  a 
remembrance  of  Christ,'  that  flight  of  steps 
which  had  looked  so  gloomy  and  terrible 
to  her  one  day  when,  sight-seeing,  she 
peeped  in  from  the  door. 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


After  lie  had  left  she  dined  alone.  It 
was  not  unusual  for  her  to  do  this.  But 
it  was  usual  for  some  social  engagement — 
the  theatre  or  visitors — to  follow;  and 
this  evening  she  was  to  be  alone.  "  Maundy 
Thursday"  he  had  called  it.  Were  the 
good  Romans  all  keeping  the  day?  She 
would  have  had  no  objection  to  being  left 
undisturbed  over  her  fire,  under  ordinary 
circumstances;  but  to-night  some  weird 
mood  of  troublesome  sadness,  of  mere 
physical  depression,  held  her  cowed  and 
unhappy  under  its  spell.  Who  can  help  the 
subtle,  unreachable  spirit  when  it  under- 
takes to  wander,  twisting  and  turning 
upon  itself  in  agony,  from  cave  to  cave  in 
its  secret  places  of  dread  and  horror? 

She  had  been  a  brilliant  and  courted 
girl  at  home;  no  need  to  roam.  She  had 
been  the  idol  of  a  man  who  set  her  very 
high  upon  a  pedestal.  She  could  not 
care  for  him.  Another  came,  whose  eyes 
and  lips  had  drawn  her, — one  who  prom- 
ised supreme  things  and  gave  them.  She 
was  his  bride,  the  culmination  of  all 
dreams.  And  then,  as  the  little  years 
ebbed  and  waned — three  or  four  of  them 
only, — she  had  seen  her  flowers  of  life 
wither,  and  tasted  the  fruitage,  ashes  and 
wormwood,  Dead  Sea  fruit.  Through  the 
splendid  luxury  of  their  outer  life,  a  some- 
thing hidden,  a  something  icy  and  blasting, 
had  crept  to  her  and  transfixed  her. 
There  came  a  night  when  she  had  seen 
clearly  and  understood.  Yet  he  kissed  her 
before  he  left  her.  It  was  that  made  her 
start  up  sometimes  when  she  was  alone, 
her  hands  and  teeth  clinched  lest  she  cry 
out  in  the  paroxysms  of  despair.  Why  had 
he  done  it?  Why  had  he  done  it?  He  did 
not  suffer. 

She  had  heard.  In  the  depths  of  the 
pinewoods,  near  the  sea,  was  the  new  home 
he  had  made.  Two  handsome  children — 
her  dream  which  had  never  come  true — 
were  in  the  nursery.  And  the  limousine, 
with  that  other  woman  who  was  so  fair, 
waited  for  him  every  evening  as  he  stepped 
off  the  train.  He  had  not  suffered;  and 
the  world  cares  little,  forgives  easily  and 


forgets.  Her  own  people  alone  would  not 
forgive,  could  not  forget.  It  made  her 
father's  house  unendurable.  Yet  she  would 
not  leave.  She  stayed,  head  high,  artificial 
bloom  on  her  white  cheeks,  and  said  it 
made  no  difference, — until  one  day  a 
chance  meeting,  a  mere  passing  of  that 
pale,  sumptuous  profile  she  knew  so  well, 
as  a  suburban  train  slid  past  her  own,  had 
sent  her  racing  away  tumultuously  from 
home  and  friends.  That  was  the  one  thing 
she  could  not  endure.  She  would  not  own 
to  herself  the  reason  why,  though  it  may 
be  she  knew  it.  She  had  fled  across  the 
sea,  from  country  to  country,  from  town 
to  town,  restless,  unsatisfied  everywhere. 

In  Rome  she  stopped.  The  city  held  her, 
fascinated  her.  It  was  Alma  Roma,  Cos- 
mopolis,  Sanctuary,  the  home  of  all  the 
living  and  of  some  dead, — some  four  days 
dead  who  will  reawaken  there  to  life.  She 
had  begun  to  count  the  things  for  which 
she  could  be  thankful.  Open  air,  sunshine, 
health  (except  for  insane'  nights  like  to- 
night, when  she  could  not  sleep,  and  hated 
every  hour  that  struck);  the  Campagna, 
friends;  the  young  sculptor  in  particular 
(she  was  most  thankful  for  him) ;  pictures, 
the  flowers  in  the  square.  If  one  could 
only  sleep  every  night!  And  then  the 
pain  stabbed  again,  deep  probing,  poison- 
ous, bitter  beyond  words.  Why  had  he 
done  it?  Why  did  he  steal  away  like  a 
thief  ?  If  he  had  grown  to  feel  that  no  other 
issue  was  possible,  why  had  he  not  talked 
it  over  as  a  friend  with  a  friend?  Why, 
with  betrayal  in  his  heart,  and  eyes 
averted, — why  had  he  kissed  her? 

Fiercely  she  started  up,  the  nails  hurting 
the  palms  of  her  hands,  so  tightly  did  she 
clinch  them.  It  was  not  indignation  alone : 
it  was  more  grievous  than  that, — a  resent- 
ment that  ate  into  the  soul,  corroding  and 
never  consuming  it ;  a  hidden  torture  that 
began  .again  every  day.  The  tip  of  her 
satin  slipper  struck  viciously  at  the  logs 
burning  in  the  fireplace  and  scattered 
them;  a  chair  overturned  as  she  thrust 
it  furiously  aside.  She  did  not  ring  for 
her  maid.  The  sound  of  a  voice  would 


77/7';  AYE  MARIA 


be  unendurable.  She  wanted  to  be  alone, 
alone,  alone.  Alone?  She  sat  upon  the 
edge  of  her  bed  and  laughed.  It  was  a 
soundless  laugh  exceeding  bitter.  What  else 
was  she  ever,  by  day,  by  night,  whether  she 
walked  the  streets  or  stayed  at  home? 

It  was  absolutely  of  no  use  to  go  to  bed 
to-night:  she  knew  s(he  would  not  sleep. 
And  yet  what  was  the  use  of  sitting  up? 
If  she  could  only  wipe  it  all  out  of  her  mind, 
make  her  memory  a  blank,  find  Nirvana! 
What  was  Nirvana?  Could  the  East  help 
her?  Those  mysterious  cults  of  the  Orient 
might  prove  a  solace.  Over  there  in  the 
little  enamelled  chest  were  sleeping  pow- 
ders. They  were  sure.  She  knew  them. 
How  many  sleeping  powders  would  it  take  ? 
Pshaw!  the  thought  was  contemptible. 
And,  besides,  she  was  still  too  much  in 
love  with  life.  Perhaps  afterwards, — -when 
she  had  exhausted  Rome.  But  not  yet. 
To-morrow  would  be  Good  Friday.  And 
at  dawn  that  poor,  dear,  foolish  boy  would 
be  going  up  those  dreary  stairs  on  his 
knees.  How  much  she  would  like  to  see 
him  do  it!  And  yet  perhaps  her  presence 
might  offend  him,  for  he  had  said  he  liked 
to  say  his  prayers  in  peace.  Yet,  why  not? 
The  place  was  a  public  one,  even  crowded 
at  times ;  and  she  would  keep  in  some  dark 
corner.  If  she  were  awake  in  time,  she 
would  go.  It  would  be  delightful,  quite 
an  adventure.  She  would  not  let  him  see 
her;  and  when  he  came  in  for  tea  at  five 
o'clock,  as  he  had  grown  into  the  habit 
of  doing  every  day  as  he  left  the  studio, 
she  would  surprise  him  by  telling  him 
where  she  had  been. 

She  did  awaken  early,  but  not  quite 
early  enough.  The  dim  day  was  struggling 
in  already  at  the  windows.  Hastily  she 
dressed  and  stole  out.  The  streets  were 
singularly  still  in  their  emptiness,  and  the 
pale  light  lay  wanly  upon  the  house  fronts 
and  the  uneven  little  cobble-stones.  A 
sleepy  cab-driver  remembered  what  day 
it  was  when  he  received  the  order,  "  Scala 
Santa,"  and  only  wondered  a  little  at  the 
bella  signora  going  out  so  early  in  the 
morning  unattended.  But  she  was  evi- 


dently uforestiera,  so  it  did  not  matter.  As 
they  rattled  past  the  Coliseum,  where  the 
Via  S.  Giovanni  begins,  the  "fair  lady" 
leaned  far  back  under  the  hood,  for  she 
recognized  the  tall  figure  in  the  polo-coat 
returning.  How  annoying  if  he  should  see 
her!  But  he  did  not.  With  his  collar  up 
against  the  chill  air,  and  his  hands  deep  in 
his  pockets,  he  seemed  to  be  lost  in  thought. 
Just  one  glimpse  of  his  face  she  caught, 
and  marvelled;  for  it  was  unusually 
happy  and  peaceful,  though  with  a  certain 
air  of  intensity,  as  of  spiritual  gaze  turned 
inward.  Then  he  was  gone. 

The  Piazza  S.  Giovanni  in  Laterano 
opened  to  view,  and,  with  a  jerk,  the  rolling 
cab  stopped  short.  A  few  steps  led  into  a 
marble  vestibule;  and  opposite,  in  gloom, 
was  the  long  flight  of  marble  stairs, 
sheathed  in  wood,  with  groups  of  dusky 
figures  kneeling  here  and  there  upon  them. 
At  the  top,  a  dim  fresco  of  the  Crucifixion 
filled  the  wall-space.  Very  slowly,  clamber- 
ing step  by  step,  and  pausing  upon  each 
to  pray,  the  dusky  figures  were  going  up. 
Occasionally  they  bent  and  touched  the 
plane  above  them  with  their  lips. 

The  stranger  at  the  door  stood  watching. 
She  had  not  the  smallest  intention  of 
ascending  the  steps.  She  wanted  only  to 
see — and  to  understand  if  she  could.  Yet, 
somehow,  the  silence,  the  devotion  of  the 
people,  and  the  hallowed  twilight  im- 
pressed her.  The  Passionist  Father,  sitting 
apart  at  his  custodian's  desk,  glanced  at 
her  once  or  twice.  Obviously,  she  was  not 
a  Catholic ;  yet  she  gazed  with  eyes  intent 
and  lips  parted,  wholly  absorbed  in  the 
unfamiliar  scene.  She  was  growing  colder, 
colder  every  minute  with  a  dread  numb- 
ness, and  a  feeling  almost  of  physical  sick- 
ness, because  of  her  loneliness,  her  apart- 
ness, her  weariness  of  life.  She  had  no 
share  with  these  people.  Their  worship 
was  idolatrous.  Neither  had  she  with  her 
own  people,  whose  decorous  temples  were 
empty.  She  was  not  even  sure  she  had  a 
soul.  Up  there  on  the  cross  hung  the  dying 
Figure,  with  head  bowed  very  low.  This 
was  the  day  on  which  He  died.  And  what- 


77/E  AVE  MARIA 


397 


ever  their  ignorance,  their  blindness,  their 
error,  these  people  had  a  faith,  a  something 
to  hold  by,  a  something  to  love,  since 
they  were  in  this  place  and  doing  this 
act  in  remembrance  of  Him  in  whom  they 
believed. 

She  moved  forward  a.  little,  trying  to 
spell  out  the  inscription  beneath  the 
fresco;  but  it  was  too  far  away,  and  too 
dark  to  see.  And  her  eyes  fell  instead, 
almost  by  surprise,  upon  one  of  the  two 
groups  of  statuary  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs, — -the  one  toward  which  she  had 
unconsciously  drawn.  It  was  close  beside 
her,  she  could  almost  touch  it,  and  every- 
thing else  seemed  to  fade  away  and  dis- 
appear. Tall  in  his  white  majesty,  the 
Galilean  halted,  as  any  man  in  like  case 
would  halt,  to  receive  the  proffered  greet- 
ing. The  divinely  beautiful,  mild  counte- 
nance under  the  parted  hair  was  full  of 
gentleness,  yet  full  of  unspeakable  sorrow, 
too;  and  the  eyes,  shadowed  with  a  pain 
that  seemed  to  reach  back  and  touch  past 
centuries,  yet  held,  vividly,  in  the  stab  of 
their  reproach,  this  other  image,  concrete 
before  them,  of  the  friend  turned  traitor 
who  was  delivering  Him  up  in  the  very 
act  of  saluting  Him. 

Raised  to  this  powerful  and  striking 
face — the  face  of  one  insulted  and  pierced 
to  the  heart,  yet  master  of  His  pain,  and 
too  great  to  hate  or  curse  even  a  traitor, — 
raised  to  this,  with  lips  advanced,  was 
another  face  full  of  craft  and  untruthful- 
ness, — a  low  face,  deceitful,  degraded, 
venom  in  the  eyes  and  at  the  corners  of 
the  drooping  mouth;  yet,  though  he 
kisses  Him,  approaching  Him  with  a 
snake-like  sinuousness  of  the  body,  his 
hands  do  not  dare  to  touch  Him,  and  trail 
backward  outspread.  Beneath  the  two 
figures  are  carved  the  words  of  the  Victim, 
so  tremendous  in  their  arraignment  of  the 
betrayer's  perfidy,  in  spite  of  their  gentle- 
ness: "Dost  thou  .betray  the  Son  of  Man 
with  a  kiss?" 

The  woman  read  the  Latin  through, 
and  read  it  again.  "  Osculo  filiiim  hominis 
tradis  f"  She  could  not  believe  what  she 


saw.  She  had  never  Heard  this  before. 
But  she  stood  dumfounded,  stunned  by 
the  knowledge  she  gathered  of  this  un- 
known thing.  Helpless,  searching,  she 
turned  instinctively,  as  blind,  to  the 
nearest  human  presence. 

"What  is  that?"  her  voice  implored. 
"What  does  it  mean?" 

The  Passionist  Father,  turning,  saw  the 
sweep  of  emotion,  and  the  trouble  in  the 
stormy  eyes. 

"It  is  our  Blessed  Lord  in  the  Garden  of 
Olives  when  the  soldiers  and  rabble  come 
to  seize  Him,  and  Judas  kisses  Him  as  a 
sign  to  them  that  it  is  He  whom  they  are 
to  take.  The  inscription  says:  Osculo 
t  filium  hominis  tradis?  ('  Dost  thou  betray 
the  Son  of  Man  with  a  kiss?')  the  Re- 
deemer's own  words,  you  may  remember,  as 
we  have  them  in  the  Gospel  of  St.  Luke." 

The  questioner  did  not  answer;  neither 
did  she  thank.  She  had  only  wanted  to 
be  sure.  Now  she  was.  She  had  understood 
perfectly  from  the  first,  but  could  not 
believe  the  evidence  of  her  own  senses. 
And  so  slight  was  her  knowledge  of  the 
Gospel  story,  she  had  never  heard  this 
detail  of  the  Passion  before.  How  appalling 
that  one  so  noble,,  so  gentle  and  so  kingly 
as  He  who  stood  there  in  the  austere 
purity  of  the  marble  should  have  been 
betrayed  in  the  basest  and  most  agonizing 
of  ways!  As  she  gazed,  she  found  that  a 
book  was  being  put  into  her  hands.  She 
looked  at  it  mechanically;  the  lines  were 
blurred  and  indistinct ;  then,  with  a  strong 
effort,  she  forced  her  mind  to  grapple  with 
the  open  page. 

' '  And  when  He  rose  up  from  prayer,  and 
was  come  to  His  disciples,  He  found  them 
sleeping  for  sorrow.  And  He  said  to  them : 
Why  sleep  you?  Arise,  pray,  lest  you 
enter  into  temptation.  As  He  was  yet 
speaking,  behold  a  multitude;  and  he 
that  was  called  Judas,  one  of  the  twelve, 
went  before  them,  and  drew  near  to  Jesus, 
to  kiss  Him.  And  Jesus  said  to  him: 
Judas,  dost  thou  betray  the  Son  of  Man 
with  a  kiss?" 

The  words  stamped  and  branded  them- 


80S 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


selves  upon  the  reader's  soul,  the  red-hot 
iron  of  their  meaning  torturing  its  very 
substance.  Judas!  She  knew  what  Judas 
meant.  It  was  the  name  of  every  treachery, 
of  every  betrayal,  of  every  lie  acted,  of 
every  selling  of  human  souls  and  bodies, 
to  the  world's  end.  She  returned  the  book, 
bending  her  head  in  acknowledgment.  She 
could  not  speak.  A  bench  lay  at  the  end 
of  the  long  vestibule,  in  shadow.  Thither 
she  went  and  sank  upon  it,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands  in  the  vain  effort  to 
think,  to  control  herself,  to  resist  the 
terrific  storm  that  was  shaking  her.  Before 
her,  from  everywhere,  that  commanding 
face,  silver-white  in  its  majesty  and  pain, 
seemed  to  be  looking;  and  the  voice  rang 
in  her  ears  clearly  sweet  and  compelling: 
"Dost  thou  betray  the  Son  of  Man  with 
a  kiss?  Dost  thou  betray  the  Son  of 
Man  with  a  kiss?" 

Why  should  she  weep?  This  was  no 
sorrow  of  hers.  She  did  not  know  Him. 
She  had  never  known  Him.  Those  people 
on  the  stairs  might,  •  perhaps.  The  boy 
Williams  seemed  to  know  Him,  but  not 
she.  Yet  the  sorrow  flooding  her  swept 
her  whole  being  in  its  irresistible  tide. 
Long  she  wept,  silently,  in  the  merciful 
darkness.  After  all,  between  Him  who 
suffered  and  herself  there  was  a  bond.  One 
suffering  had  been  common  to  both  of 
them.  And  the  awe  with  which  His 
holiness  inspired  her  was  tempered  by 
unspeakable  compassion,— the  compassion 
that  must  needs  give  tears.  If  the  ascend- 
ing of  those  stairs  upon  one's  knees  could 
be  any  compensation  to  Him,  if  there  were 
any  virtue  of  cleansing  in  the  fulfilment  of 
the  lowly  act,  how  gladly  she  would  under- 
take it !  Her  sin  was  unf orgivingness ;  but 
in  the  sculptured  face,  meek  even  in  re- 
proach, was  a  divine  essence  of  pity  that 
made  her  sure  the  one  human  emotion  that 
would  never  mar  its  loveliness  was  the 
unsightliness  of  hate.  A  face  like  that 
could  not  hate;  and  mercy  would  be  the 
breath  upon  its  lips.  How  marvellous  if 
one  could  see  its  beauty  kindle  in  love! 

Deliberately,   she  went  over  and  knelt 


upon  the  steps.  She  had  no  idea  of  any 
prayer  to  say, — she  did  not  think  she  knew 
any.  Arid  then  from  some  unused  area  of 
her  mind  a  long-forgotten  one  came  back 
to  her  from  childhood:  "Our  Father,  who 
art  in  heaven."  A  Catholic  nurse '  had 
taught  her,  and  she  could  remember  it 
quite  well.  "Forgive  us  our  trespasses  as 
we  forgive  those  who  trespass  against  us." 
He  who  had  made  this  petition  and 
promise  for  His  followers  hung  up  there, 
dying,  with  His  arms  extended;  forgiving, 
though  in  Him  was  no  sin.  As  she  ascended 
step  by  step,  stumbling  sometimes  in  her 
long  wraps,  she  began  to  be  able  to  dis- 
tinguish the  sentence  beneath  the  Cruci- 
fixion fresco :  ' '  Vulneratus  est  propter 
scelera  no  sir  a:  propter  iniquiiates  no  sir  as 
attritus  est."  Here  was  something  to  think 
about!  He  had  not  suffered  as  we  do, 
because  we  are  powerless  to  escape  and 
without  purpose:  He  was  'wounded  for 
our  sins,  and  bruised — crushed — for  our 
iniquities.'  Was  it  for  this,  too,  He  had 
endured  the  lips  of  Judas?  She  tried  to  see 
His  face,  the  look  upon  it;  but  the  gloom 
gave  her  nothing  save  the  pallor  of  it  and 
the  shell-like  whiteness  of  the  exhausted 
body. 

Yet,  as  she  ascended,  feeling  the  full 
strangeness  of  the  place  and  hour  and  of 
herself,  so  that  she  marvelled  at  it,  and 
most  of  all  at  her  own  presence  and  acts, 
nevertheless  she  found  a  sort  of  jubilance 
rising  in  her, — a  lightness  of  heart  alto- 
gether unusual,  —  an  unreasoned  gladness 
for  which  she  knew  no  cause.  A  girl  beside 
her  leaned  over  and  kissed,  upon  the  step 
above  them,  a  disc  of  glass  set  in  a  brass 
cross.  The  stranger  hesitated  a  moment, 
then  asked  very  low:  "Are  those  relics?" 
The  answer  came  only  after  a  pause,  the 
speaker  being  unwilling  in  that  hallowed 
spot:  "No:  drops  of  the  Precious  Blood." 
Once  more  shock  and  horror,  a  sense  of 
unbelief  and  of  the  credulous  superstition 
of  these  people,  paralyzed  the  alien.  This 
was  too  much.  In  this  she  could  not  par- 
ticipate. But  as  she  lifted  her  protesting 
eyes,  they  fell  upon  the  pallid  body, 


THE  AVE  MA*RIA 


399 


drained  of  life,  upon  the  direct  accusation 
of  the  Vulneratus  pro  pier  s  cetera  no  sir  a; 
and  again  the  awe  of  Him  held  her  where 
she  knelt.  "It  might  be  true,"  the  new 
mind  in  her  suggested;  and  she  bent, 
shivering  with  the  thought  of  it,  to  do  as 
the  girl  had  done. 

She  was  quite  near  the  top  now.  A  few 
more  steps  and  the  long  task  was  accom- 
plished. With  a  low  bending  of  the  head, 
natural  and  instinctive,  as  she  passed 
before  the  Christ,  and  a  curious  sense  of 
some  personal  relation,  bond,  or  fellowship 
established  between  them,  she  left  the 
stairs,  and,  following  the  crowd,  descended 
the  lateral  flight  of  egress.  In  the  vestibule 
she  paused  for  one  last  look  at  the  group  in 
marble  and  the  haunting  face  of  the  One 
who  was  betrayed.  Then  she  went  forth 
into  the  sunshine.  The  day  was  young  yet, 
a  trace  of  rose  still  lingering  behind  the 
blue  of  the  Alban  hills;  and  the  Campagna 
lay  stretched  in  its  beauty  of  brown  and 
heather  tones,  turning  to  purple  where  the 
shadows  deepened.  Out  of  one  heart  rose 
the  exulting  prayer: 

"Thank  God!" 

At  five  o'clock  that  evening  she  had  her 
hand  on  the  silver  urn. 

"Tea,  Johnny?" 

"No,  thanks, — that  is,  yes,  please,  if  I 
may  have  it  without  cream  and  nothing 
to  eat." 

"Whew!    vSuch  rigor'" 

"Rome  keeps  a  black  fast  to-day,  you 
know." 

"It  sounds  dreadful.  Did  you  do  the 
Scala  Santa?" 

"I  did." 

"All  the  way  up  on  your  knees?" 

"All  the  way  up." 

"So  did  I." 

He  put  down  his  cup  and  looked  at  her. 

' '  Did  you  stop  at  the  corner  of  the  Via 
S.  Giovanni  to  let  a  cab  pass?"  she  asked. 

"I — believe  I  did." 

"I  was  in  it." 

"And  you  were  going  to  the  Scala 
Santa?" 

"I  was." 


He  picked  up  his  cup  again,  shrugging 
his  shoulders. 

"I  give  you  up!"  he  said. 

"You  give  me  up?" 

"What  else?  Yesterday  you  were  an 
agnostic,  and  to-day — •" 

"To-day  what?" 

"To-day — I  don't  know.  I  wouldn't 
dare  to  venture  an  opinion." 

"To-day  I  am  going  to  be  a  Catholic." 

"You  are  joking." 

"I  was  never  more  serious  in  my  life." 

"But  you  can't  be  a  Catholic.  You 
don't  know  anything  about  it." 

"I  will  be  a  Catholic!  Nobody  shall 
stop  me.  I  will  learn  what  I  don't  know 
about  it." 

The  boy  only  answered  very  low,  iiis 
heart  ringing  in  every  word: 

"Thank  God  for  that!"  Then,  quite 
meekly:  "May  I  ask  how  you  happened 
to  make  up  your  mind  so  quickly?" 

' '  I  couldn't  tell  you,  really,  because  I 
don't  believe  I  know  myself.  It  was  this 
morning  at  the  Scala  Santa.  I  had  never 
even  thought  of  it  before.  And  I  came 
away  perfectly  sure." 

"The  Scala  Santa  seems  to  have  been 
an  inspiration  for  both  of  us." 

"Johnny  dear,  don't  tell  me  you,  too, 
are  going  to  turn  Catholic!" 

The  young  man  smiled,  scarce  conscious 
that  he  did. 

"I'm  afraid  I  took  that  turn  long  before 
I  was  born.  Did  you  notice  this  morning 
a  Father  with  a  black  habit  and  a  white 
emblem  of  a  heart  on  it,  sitting  near  the 
door?" 

"Yes;  he  spoke  to  me.  He  had  bare  feet." 

"He  belongs  to  a  religious  Order 
specially  dedicated  to  the  remembrance  of 
the  sufferings  of  Christ  and  called  the 
Passionists." 

"Yes?" 

"Well,  you  give  me  your  confidence,  so 
it's  only  fair  I  should  give  you  mine.  / 
made  up  my  mind  to  become  a  Passionist." 


SUSPICION  is  the  poison  of  friendship. 

— St.  Augustine. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Another  Answered  "Memorare." 


BY    J.   GODFREY    RAUPERT,    K.   S.   G 


IT  was  about  six  months  before  the  out- 
break of  the  Boer  War.  I  had  left  the 
shop  of  Messrs.  Burns  &  Gates,  near 
Oxford  Street,  in  London,  and  was  wending 
my  way  in  the  homeward  direction,  when 
I  heard  a  male  voice  loudly  calling  out  my 
name.  On  turning  back,  I  found  myself 
face  to  face  with  a  gentleman  bearing  the 
unmistakable  marks  of  the  British  officer. 
He  apologized  for  his  very  unconventional 
way  of  introducing  himself;  and  then  ex- 
plained that  he  had  entered  the  shop  a 
moment  after  I  had  left  it,  in  order  to 
ascertain  my  private  address;  and  that  he 
had  followed  me,  on  being  told  that  I  had 
only  just  left  the  premises.  I  invited  him 
to  accompany  me  to  the  suburban  station 
near  by,  and  subsequently  to  my  house  to 
dinner,  when  I  found  that  his  story  was 
an  interesting  and  likely  to  be  a  long  one. 
It  was  as  follows. 

He  had  been  brought  up  a  member 
of  the  Established  Church  of  England; 
but,  becoming  dissatisfied  with  its  contra- 
dictory schools  of  thought  and  with  its 
manifest  shallowness,  he  had,  after  con- 
scientious study  and  investigation,  sub- 
mitted to  the  Catholic  Church.  A  Carmelite 
Father,  well  known  to  me  in  London, 
had  received  him.  In  spite  of  strong  dis- 
approval on  the  part  of .  his. mother,  and 
much  hostile  criticism  on  the  part  of  his 
fellow-officers,  he  had  remained  loyal  to 
the  Catholic  profession,  and  become  quite 
a  champion  of  the  Faith.  His  Catholic  life 
and  practices  had  brought  him  very  real 
happiness  and  satisfaction. 

Two  or  three  years  subsequent  to  his 
submission,  the  publications  of  the  Society 
for  Psychical  Research  had  awakened 
his  interest  in  Spiritism, — a  subject  which 
had  proved  intensely  fascinating  to  him, 
and  respecting  which  he  had  acquired 
a  vast  amount  of  information.  He  told 
me  that  he  was  the  possessor  of  an  ex- 


tensive occult  library,  that  he  had  the 
acquaintance  of  a  number  of  the  leading 
spiritists  in  England,  and  that  he  had 
had  some  very  striking  experiences.  In 
the  course  of  time  his  Faith  had  become 
undermined.  He  had  found  it  impossible 
to  reconcile  Catholic  doctrine  with  the 
teaching  of  Spiritism:  believing  that  some 
of  the  communications  received  emanated 
from  departed  friends  of  his  and  could 
be  relied  upon,  he  had  abandoned  the 
former  and  embraced  the  latter.  One  or 
two  of  these  occult  experiences,  however, 
had  caused  him  some  disquietude;  and 
seeing  my  book  on  "The  Dangers  of 
Spiritism"  on  the  counter  of  Messrs. 
Burns  &  Oates'  shop,  he  had  bought  a 
copy  and  studied  it  carefully.  The  reading 
of  this  book  had  brought  about  a  violent 
reaction  of  thought  and  a  desire  to  meet 
me,  with  a  view  to  obtaining  further  in- 
formation, and  personally  to  discuss  the 
matter. 

Captain  W—  -  remained  with  me  that 
day  till  nearly  midnight.  I  gave  him  the 
fullest  possible  information,  and  details  of 
cases  which,  by  reason  of  peculiar  circum- 
stances, have  never  been  published.  The 
consequence  of  this  meeting  was  that  he 
burned  all  his  occult  books  and  returned 
to  his  allegiance  to  the  Church,  resuming 
his  Catholic  practices  with  peculiar  fervor 
and  devotion. 

As  Captain  W—  -  was  on  furlough  in 
London,  we  saw  a  great  deal  of  each  other 
and  became  personal  friends.  He  was  never 
tired  of  expressing  his  thankfulness  for  the 
happy  escape  which  he  had  had,  and  he 
seemed  to  realize  that  henceforth  a  grave 
responsibility  rested  upon  him.  And,  as 
he  was  a  man  of  very  forceful  character 
and  of  unique  independence  of  mind,  it 
was  evident  to  me  that  he  would  loyally 
discharge  that  responsibility. 

A  few  months  later  the  Boer  War  broke 
out,  and  Captain  W—  — 's  regiment  was 
under  orders  to  proceed  to  South  Africa. 
Although  devoted  to  his  profession  and 
glad  of  the  opportunity  of  gaining  promo- 
tion, he  seemed  in  some  respects  to  regret 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


401 


that  the  call  had  come  to  him.  "I  am 
glad  and  willing  to  go,"  he  explained  to  me; 
"but  I  do  not  want  to  lose  my  life.  I  am 
anxious  now  to  devote  that  life  entirely  to 
God,  and  to  prove  by  my  loyalty  how 
sincerely  I  regret  the  slip  which  I  made. 
I  am  longing,  too,  for  opportunities  to 
help  others,  and  especially  those  who  may 
be  attracted  by  the  fascinations  of  the 
occult.  I  want  to  help  you  in  your  difficult 
work."  This  thought  seemed  quite  to 
possess  him,  and  it  was  the  main  subject 
of  our  conversation  at  all  our  meetings.  I 
did  my  best  to  cheer  and  comfort  him,  but 
evidently  without  any  great  success. 

One  afternoon  he  came  unannounced 
|  into  my  study,  and  told  me  that  he  had  a 
strong  impression  that  if  he  could  by  any 
chance  secure  a  relic  of  the  True  Cross  and 
carry  that  relic  on  his  body,  he  would  go 
through  the  war  unharmed  and  return 
home  safe  and  sound.  I  was  somewhat 
amused  at  the  intensity  of  his  conviction 
and  the  simple  faith  animating  him;  but 
expressed,  of  course,  my  doubt  as  to  the 
possibility  of  securing  the  desired  relic 
for  the  purpose  indicated.  I  knew  that 
such  relics  are  jealously  guarded,  and  that 
it  would  be  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to 
obtain  the  loan  of  one  for  personal  use. 
Besides,  neither  he  nor  I  knew  anybody 
in  London  who  possessed  one.  Having, 
however,  at  various  critical  times  in  the 
course  of  my  Catholic  life  obtained  favors 
by  use  of  the  Memorare,  I  proposed  that  we 
should  both  say  the  prayer  daily,  earnestly 
and  devoutly ;  and  that  we  should  diligently 
and  fervently  apply  ourselves  to  our 
Catholic  duties.  We  parted  with  this  very 

distinct  understanding.  Captain  W 

returned  that  night  to  the  town,  not  far 
from  London,  where  his  regiment  was 
stationed,  and  we  did  not  meet  again  for 
some  days.  The  Captain  was  busy  with 
his  preparations  for  the  departure  for 
South  Africa  and  with  paying  farewell 
visits  to  his  friends  and  relatives;  and  I 
was  busily  engaged  preparing  a  book  for 
the  press. 

Some  nine  or  ten  days  had  passed  when 


I  found  amongst  my  letters  one  morning  a 
very  pressing  invitation  to  dine  with  a 
lady  who  had  for  some  time  past  taken  a 
keen  interest  in  my  work,  and  through 
whose  instrumentality  I  had  been  able  to 
disillusion  several  ardent  "seekers  after 
truth  in  the  sphere  of  the  occult."  I 
accepted  the  invitation;  and  met  at  the 
house  of  my  hostess  on  this  particular 
evening  several  persons  well  known  in 
London  Catholic  circles,  and  apparently 
specially  invited  in  order  to  discuss  with 
me  matters  occult.  The  conversation  thus 
turned  almost  exclusively  on  subjects  con- 
nected with  Psychical  Research  and  the 
spiritistic  movement,  on  the  -prominent 
scientific  men  then  connected  with  it,  and 
personally  known  to  some  of  the  guests 
present.  We  discussed  the  latest  "find- 
ings" of  the  Society,  and  what  the  attitude 
of  Catholics  should  be  respecting  them. 

The  ladies  had  left  the  dining  room,  and 
the  gentlemen  present  were  about  to  join 

them,  when  Lady  E ,  our  hostess, 

returned  and  desired  me  to  stay  behind  for 
a  few  moments,  as  she  had  several  ques- 
tions to  ask  me  respecting  an  individual 
in  whom  we  were  both  interested.  We  had 
thus  been  conversing  for  a  few  moments 
when  she  suddenly,  and  without  anything 
in  our  conversation  suggesting  the  idea, 
turned  to  me  and  said:  "Do .you  know, 
Mr.  Raupert,  that  we  have  a  relic  of  the 
True  Cross  in  our  family? "  I  must  confess 
that  the  remark,  coming  so  very  unexpect- 
edly and  having  no  sort  of  connection 
with  our  conversation,  quite  staggered  me, 
and  for  a  moment  I  did  not  know  what  to 
say.  Theri,  as  Mgr.  Benson  would  express 
it,  "I  thought  furiously,"  and  finally  asked 
permission  of  Lady  E —  -  to  reply  to  her 
question  by  telling  her  a  story. 

I  gave  her  a  detailed  account  of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  my  contact  with  Captain 

W ,  of  his  zeal  and  earnestness,  of  the 

Memorare  daily  going  up  from  two  loyal 
Catholic  hearts.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears 
as  she  listened  to  my  story,  and  then  there 
followed  a  long  silence,  which  she  finally 
broke  by  exclaiming:  "He  shall  have  the 


402 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


relic,  and  shall  be  free  to  retain  it  until 
the  end  of  the  war."  Lady  E —  -  herself 
could  not  in  the  least  understand  what 
could  have  moved  her  to  convey  this  infor- 
mation to  me  in  the  midst  of  our  talk  on 
a  subject  having  no  earthly  connection 
with  relics.  It  was  one  of  those  ' '  subliminal 
uprushes,"  as  modern  psychology  would 
term  it,  the  moving  cause  of  which  mani- 
festly lies  in  that  world  of  influences  and 
forces  of  which  we  catch  only  occasional 
glimpses.  In  this  case  the  moving  cause 
clearly  was  our  Blessed  Lady. 

I  telegraphed  late  that  night  to  Captain 

W ,  telling  him  that  the  relic  had  been 

located,  and  that  our  prayers  had  been 
answered.  He  came  to  me  the  next  day, 
full  of  joy  and  enthusiasm.  Meanwhile 

Lady  B had  the  relic  taken  from  its 

diamond  setting  and  had  placed  it  in  a 
simple  locket.  She  sent  it,  by  a  special 
messenger,  to  my  house,  where  Captain 
W —  -  attached  it  to  a  gold  chain  and 
fastened  it  round  his  neck. 

The  relic  carried  him  safely  through 
the  Boer  War.  Although  often  in  the 
thick  of  the  fighting,  with  bullets  whizzing 
around  him,  he  came  out  of  it  all  without 
a  scratch,  strong  in  faith,  and  loyally  de- 
voted to  the  service  of  Her  who  had  shown 
him  such  signal  fayor.  When  he  returned 
from  South  Africa,  we  spent  at  Lady 

B- 's  house  a  delightful  evening,  in  the 

course  of  which  he  told  us  of  his 
experiences  and  his  narrow  escapes,  and 
gratefully  restored  the  precious  relic  to 
its  gracious  owner. 

I  do  not  in  the  least  know  where  Captain 
(now  Major)  W—  -  is  at  present.  The 
war  has  separated  us.  His  regiment  was 
one  of  the  first  ordered  to  France.  I  can 
but  hope  and  pray  that  She  to  whose 
service  he  has  so  entirely  consecrated  him- 
self will  continue  to  extend  to  him  Her 
powerful  protection,  and  that  he  will 
remain  Her  loyal  and  faithful  servant  to 
life's  end. 

ONE;  soul  can,  by  its  very  presence,  act 
strongly  on  another.— Goethe. 


The  Legend  of  the  Tree  of  the  Cross 
as  Told  in  Palestine. 


2HTDAM    was    at   the    point    of    death. 

J ^  Being  afraid  to  die,  he  sent  his  son' 

Seth  to  the  gate  of  Paradise  to  beg  of  the 
cherub  who  guarded  it  for  a  single  fruit 
from  the  Tree  of  Life.  The  angel  replied 
that  he  could  not  grant  this  request;  but 
he  plucked  a  branch  with  three  twigs, 
which  he  instructed  Seth  to  take  to  his 
father's  home;  and,  if  he  were  still  living,  to 
bid  him  hope.  Seth  returned  with  all  speed, 
but  meantime  Adam  had  died  and  been 
buried.  Seth  therefore  planted  the  branch 
that  he  had  brought  with  him  at  the  head 
of  his  father's  grave.  There  it  took  root, 
and  year  after  year  added  to  its  size  and 
foliage.  It  survived  the  flood,  but  was 
afterward  forgotten  by  the  race  until  the 
time  of  Lot. 

This  patriarch  was  so  cast  down  by  the 
remembrance  of  his  great  guilt  that  he 
despaired  of  his  salvation.  He  fasted  and 
prayed,  yet  found  no  peace.  Finally,  how- 
ever, an  angel  appeared  to  him  and  in- 
structed him  to  take  a  jar,  fill  it  with 
water  from  the  Jordan,  carry  it  into  the 
hill  country,  and  water  a  sapling  that  he 
would  find  growing  in  a  certain  valley; 
assuring  him  that  this  little  tree,  a  product 
of  the  large  one  growing  at  the  grave 
of  Adam,  would  be  the  means  of  procur- 
ing pardon,  not  only  for  him,  but  for 
all  mankind. 

Lot  went  joyfully  on  his  errand,  though 
the  weather  was  very  hot  and  a  sirocco  was 
blowing.  He  filled  the  jar  from  the  rushing 
river  and  started  for  the  hills.  When, 
however,  he  drew  near  the  place  where  the 
Inn  of  the  Good  Samaritan  now  stands,  he 
found  a  man  lying  by  the  wayside,  appar- 
ently dying  of  thirst.  The  patriarch's 
compassion  being  excited,  he  felt  himself 
prompted  to  spare  the  perishing  man  a 
draught  from  his  jar.  He  did  not  know 
that  he  was  the  Evil  One,  thus  disguised 
for  the  purpose  of  rendering  Lot's  labors 
futile.  When,  therefore,  the  patriarch 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


handed   him  the  jar,  he  put  it  to  his  lips 
and  drained  it  at  a  single  draught. 

Lot  was  deeply  grieved;  but,  without 
saying  a  word,  returned  to  the  Jordan 
and  filled  the  jar  a  second  time;  and  again, 
when  he  was  well  on  his  way  with  it, 
vSatan  in  the  guise  of  a  pilgrim,  tgok  ad- 
vantage of  his  humanity  and  robbed  him 
of  the  precious  liquid.  A  third  attempt  to 
carry  water  to  the  thirsty  tree  was  equally 
unsuccessful.  Finally,  the  patriarch,  wearied 
with  his  efforts  and  discouraged  by  their 
failure,  threw  himself  upon  the  ground 
and  bewailed  his  unhappy  fate.  "If  I  do 
not  relieve  the  suffering  whom  I  meet," 
he  complained,  "I  shall  add  another  to 
the  sins  with  which  I  am  already  bur- 
dened. On  the  other  hand,  if  I  give  drink 
to  all  the  thirsty  who  appeal  to  me,  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  supply  with  needed  moisture 
the  tree  on  which  my  salvation  depends." 

At  last  he  fell  asleep;  and  while  he 
slept  an  angel  appeared  and  explained 
to  him  that  he  had  encountered  the  enemy 
of  man;  but  added  that  his  unselfishness 
had  been  accepted  by  the  Almighty  and 
his  sins  forgiven;  and  that  the  tree  had 
been  watered  by  angelic  hands. 

Lot  died  in  peace,  and  the  sapling  grew 
into  a  great  tree.  Still,  the  Evil  One  did 
not  cease  to  intrigue  for  its  destruction. 
Finally,  in  the  days  of  Solomon,  he  per- 
suaded Hiram  that  it  would  be  useful  in  the 
building  of  the  temple.  It  was  therefore 
cut  down  and  the  trunk  -brought  to  Jeru- 
salem. Then  the  architect  discovered  that 
if  was  of  a  sort  of  wood  unsuited  to  his 
purpose,  and  it  was  thrown  into  the 
Valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  where  it  served  as 
a  footbridge  between  the  city  and  the 
Mount  of  Olives. 

The  once  stately  tree  was  thus  used 
for  some  years,  or  until  the  Queen  of 
Sheba  paid  her  visit  to  Solomon.  As  she 
was  approaching  the  city  from  the  sacred 
Mount,  the  precious  character  of  the  bridge 
was  revealed  to  her.  When,  therefore,  she 
came\o  it,  instead  of  crossing,  as  she  was 
expected  to  do,  she  refused  to  tread  on  it, 
even  fell  down  and  venerated  it.  Solomon, 


who  had  come  forth  to  meet  her,  was 
greatly  surprised  on  seeing  her  prostrate 
herself;  but  when  she  told  him  whence 
the  trunk  came  and  the  purpose  it  was 
destined  to  serve,  he  had  it  removed,  care- 
fully cleaned,  and  preserved  in  one  of  the 
treasure  chambers  of  the  temple.  There 
it  remained  until  it  was  required  for  the 
cross  of  our  Saviour. 

Any  one  who  will  take  the  pains  to  ex- 
amine the  bridge  across  the  Kidron,  near 
Absalom's  Tomb,  can  see  some  of  the  large 
stones  from  the  first  bridge  with  which 
Solomon  replaced  the  trunk  of  the  sacred 

tree. 

»<»»« 

A  Wise  Answer. 


IN  the  great  mosque  (formerly  a  Chris- 
tian church)  called  'El-'Aksa  there  is  a 
remarkable  pulpit  inlaid  with  ivory  and 
mother-of-pearl;  and  near  this  pulpit,  on 
the  southern  wall  of  the  building,  is  a  piece 
of  ornamental  Arabic  in  a  gold  frame.  The 
guardians  of  the  mosque  say  that  it  was  a 
present  from  the  famous  Sultan  Mahmud; 
that,  in  fact,  it  is  his  autograph. 

The  sultan,  it  seems,  was  very  proud  of 
his  calligraphy.  Once,  on  hearing  that  a 
certain  scribe  was  the  most  expert  penman 
living,  he  challenged  him  to  a  trial  of  skill. 
The  challenge  was  accepted,  and  in  due 
time  the  contest  took  place.  The  specimens 
produced  were  then  sent  by  the  sultan  to 
various  persons  competent  to  judge  in 
such  matters,  that  they  might  decide  who 
was  the  better  artist.  All  but  one,  fearing 
to  offend  their  master,  voted  in  his  favor. 
This  one  contrived,  without  offending  him, 
to  be  just  to  his  really  more  skilful  rival. 
He  wrote  on  the  latter's  specimen,  "This 
is  the  handwriting  of  the  best  of  scribes"; 
and  on  that  of  the  royal  penman,  "This 
is  the  handwriting  of  the  best  of  scribes 
and  sultans." 

The  sultan  .was  so  pleased  with  the 
man's  shrewdness  and  honesty  that  he 
sent  him  a  handsome  present.  It  is  not 
so  much  what  one  says  as  the  way  in 
which  one  says  it. 


404 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


At  the  Supreme  Moment 


IN  St.  John's  account  of  the  culmination 
of  Good  Friday's  tragedy,  we  are  told: 
"When  Jesus,  therefore,  took  the  vinegar, 
He  said:  It  is  consummated.  And,  bowing 
His  head,  He  gave  up  the  ghost."  A  not 
unprofitable  occupation  for  Christians  dur- 
ing the  closing  hours  of  Lent  is  the  atten- 
tive consideration  of  the  significance  and 
import  of  those  three  words,  "It  is  con- 
summated,"— their  significance,  first,  on 
the  lips  of  Him  who  originally  enun- 
ciated them;  and,  secondly,  in  the  mouth 
of  each  one  of  us  individually  when  our 
turn  comes,  as  come  it  inevitably  will 
sooner  or  later,  to  bow  our  heads  and 
give  up  the  ghost. 

What,  then,  is  the  meaning  of  this  sen- 
tence as  coming  from  Jesus  Christ?  What 
was  it  that  was  consummated,  was  finished, 
as  He  drew  His  last  sigh,  and  breathed 
His  mortal  life  away?  Not  merely  His 
earthly  career,  not  merely  His  dolorous 
Passiontide,  not  merely  the  cup  of 
bitter  degradation  that  He  was  pleased 
to  drink  to  the  very  dregs, -"-no,  but  the 
whole  magnificent  scheme  of  the  Redemp- 
tion, the  whole  economy  of  that  reparation 
to  God's  honor  and  glory  which  was  ne- 
cessitated by  Adam's  fall,  and  by  the  in- 
terminable chain  of  grievous  sins  of  which 
that  disobedience  of  our  first  parents  was 
the  initial  link.  What  was  consummated? 
Everything:  the  purpose  of  all  the  sacri- 
fices of  the  Old  Law,  the  object  of  all  the 
prayers  of  all  the  patriarchs,  the  predic- 
tions of  all  the  prophets. 

At  that  supreme  moment  Jesus  saw 
that  He  had  left  undone  nothing  of  His 
appointed  mission.  He  had  given  to  man- 
kind a  doctrine  which  is  the  perfection  of 
reason  and  wisdom  and  beauty.  He  had 
enforced  that  doctrine  by  displaying  in 
His  own  conduct  the  absolute  exemplifica- 
tion of  the  precepts  He  laid  down  and  the 
counsels  He  proffered.  He  had  discredited 
the  false  estimate  which  men  had  been 
making  of  the  gifts  of  the  world:  had 


dethroned  wealth  and  honor  and  pleasure; 
and  honored  in  their  stead  poverty,  humil- 
iation, and  suffering.  He  had  humbled 
the  proud  and  exalted  the  humble, — cen- 
sured the  Pharisee  and  approved  the 
Publican.  He  had  testified  to  the  efficacy 
of  the  repentant  sinner's  prayer, — had  par- 
doned Magdalen  and  the  woman  taken 
in  adultery.  He  had  established  on  an 
immovable  foundation  the  Church  which 
was  to  continue  His  work  throughout  all 
coming  ages.  He  had,  in  a  word,  accom- 
plished all  that  the  outraged  justice  of 
His  Father  could  exact  of  reparation; 
all  that  charity  to  men  could  possibly 
demand;  and,  by  the  ineffable  gift  at  the 
Last  Supper,  all  that  even  the  infinite  love 
of  a  God  could  effect.  And  so  He  might 
well  exclaim,  "It  is  consummated." 

Now,  there  will  inevitably  come  to  each 
of  us  a  moment  when  we,  too,  shall  pro- 
nounce those  words,  or  when  at  least  we 
may  well  pronounce  them,  as  we  breathe 
our  last  sigh  and  give  up  the  ghost.  What 
will  then  be  their  significance?  What 
will  then  be  consummated,  accomplished, 
finished?  It  is  for  ourselves  to  determine 
now  while  we  have  health  and  strength, — 
now  while  it  is  still  the  acceptable  time, 
the  day  of  salvation.  From  the  spiritual 
standpoint,  each  of  us  can  shape  our  life 
as  we  will.  Supposing  it  to  be  a  worldly 
life,  given  up  principally  if  not  altogether 
to  the  acquisition  of  riches  and  fame  and 
honor,  or  of  creature  comforts  and  the 
pleasures  of  sense.  Supposing  that  we 
allow  our  temporal  interests  to  outweigh 
our  eternal  welfare;  prefer  the  plaudits 
of  a  corrupt  and  corrupting  world  to  the 
testimony  of  an  approving  conscience; 
sacrifice  God's  grace  and  friendship  to 
human  respect  or  the  gratification  of  sen- 
sual appetites;  give  all  our  care  to  the 
wants  of  our  body  and  neglect  the  concerns 
of  our  soul,  —  what  will  be  the  import 
of  our  "It  is  consummated"  as,  lying 
on  our  deathbed,  we  gaze  beyond  the 
dwindling  horizon  of  mortality  into  the 
infinite  vistas  of  the  other  world? 

Alas  for  the   bitterness,    the   woe,   the 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


lor, 


surpassing  misery  of  him  in  whose  mouth 
the  words  will  mean  only  this:  "It  is 
finished,  the  life  which  was  given  me  to 
devote  to  God's  sefvice  and  which  I  have 
spent  in  an  almost  total  neglect  of  that 
service.  I  have  flattered  my  senses,  pam- 
pered my  body,  satisfied  my  disordered 
appetites,  gratified  my  passions,  done 
homage  to  the  world,  living  for  its  praise 
and  grieving  at  its  censure;  have  scoffed  at 
piety '  and  sneered  at  fervor ;  have  neg- 
lected or  profaned  the  sacraments;  have 
prayed  rarely  if  at  all,  and  mechanically 
rather  than  truly;  have  abused  God's 
grace  month  after  month  and  year  after 
year,  and  now — all  is  finished  and  there 
remains  to  me  naught  but  remorse  for  my 
sins  and  terror  of  God's  judgment.  All  is 
finished;  and,  having  wasted  the  years 
of  time  in  folly  and  wickedness,  I  go  to 
spend  the  everlasting  cycles  of  eternity 
in  hopeless  suffering  and  horrible  anguish 
and  woe." 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  have  thoroughly 
taken  to  heart  the  lessons  of  Lent,  and 
especially  of  Passiontide,  if  we  appreciate 
at  its  true  worth  the  infinite  love  of  Christ 
for  men,  and  manifest  in  our  future  life 
our  personal  gratitude  to  our  crucified 
Redeemer  by  steadfastly  following  in  His 
footsteps  throughout  all  the  years  that 
may  still  be  left  to  us,  how  different  will  be 
our  reflections  at  the  supreme  moment! 
If  we  look  on  life  and  its  aims  and  purposes 
with  the  eyes  of  faith,  if  we  reduce  to 
habitual  practice  the  system  of  living  that 
we  theoretically  believe  to  be  wisest  and 
best,  if  we  constantly  regard  our  eternal 
salvation  as  our  paramount  business  while 
we  remain  on  earth,  if  God  and  our  soul 
and  death  and  judgment  are  subjects  of 
our  daily  thought  and  meditation, — then 
we  may  confidently  hope  that  the  import 
of  our  "It  is  consummated"  will  be  not 
unlike  St.  Paul's:  "I  have  fought  a  good 
fight,  I  have  finished  my  course,  I  have 
j  kept  the  faith.  As  to  the  rest,  there  is  laid 
I  up  for  me  a  crown  of  justice  which  the 
Lord,  the  just  Judge,  will  render  to  me 
in  that  day." 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

Whatever  may  be  the  outcome  of  the 
revolution  in  Russia,  it  is  evident  that  a 
new  day  has  dawned  for  the  Land  of  the 
Czars.  At  last  the  people  have  asserted 
themselves  in  sufficient  numbers  to  compel 
the  government  to  respond  to  what  they 
demand.  Their  right  to  do  this — -the  right 
of  any  people  to  shake  off  the  existing 
government  and  form  a  new  one  that 
suits  them  better — -is  unquestionable;  and 
the  exercise  of  this  right  is  likely  to  become 
more  general  when  the  Great  War  is  over. 
As  Lincoln  said  in  a  speech  delivered  in 
Congress  many  years  ago:  "It  is  a  quality 
of  revolutions  not  to  go  by  old  lines  or 
old  laws,  but  to  break  up  both  and  make 
new  ones."  The  day  has  passed  when 
people  could  be  made  to  believe  that 
revolution  and  rebellion  mean  the  same 
thing.  The  Russian  revolutionists  have 
not  risen  against  the  Czar,  but  against  the 
politicians  who  were  working  against  the 
interests  of  the  country.  New  lines  will 
now  be  established  there,  and  new  laws 
enacted.  That  a  form  of  government  just 
like  our  own  will  ever  be  adopted  by  the 
Russians  is  very  unlikely;  however,  they 
will  be  sure  not  to  relinquish  the  convic- 
tion that  their  country,  with  its  institu- 
tions, belongs  to  themselves,  and  that  it 
is  for  them  to  say  how  it  shall  be  governed. 
It  remains  to  be  seen  what  effect  the  revo- 
lution will  have  on  religion;  but,  with 
larger  liberty,  the  Church  is  sure  to  make 
greater  progress. 


Not  a  few  economic  doctrines,  political 
theories,  and  even  governmental  systems 
in  Europe  have  gone  by  the  board  since  the 
outbreak  of  the  Great  War;  and  their 
destruction  has  apparently  not  been  with- 
out its  influence  on  American  statesmen. 
Only  a  few  years  ago,  the  very  suggestion 
of  an  income  tax  was  opposed  in  strenuous 
editorials  of  papers  published  in  every 
State  from  Maine  to  California;  and  now 
we  are  told  that  the  Administration  is 


41 X) 


THE  AYE  MART  A 


considering  plans  for  a  new  revenue  act 
confiscating  all  personal  incomes  in  excess 
of  $100,000  a  year  during  the  period  of 
the  war  (seemingly  inevitable)  with  Ger- 
many. Opponents  of  Socialism  will  doubt- 
less deplore  any  such  legislation  as  that 
proposed;  but  Social  reformers  will  deny 
that  it  is  essentially  Socialistic,  and  will 
be  able  to  give  fairly  plausible  reasons  for 
the  passage  of  the  contemplated  act.  For 
one  thing,  the  confiscation  of  such  excep- 
tionally bloated  incomes  would  do  away 
with  the  argument  that  the  war  is  to  be 
waged  for  the  benefit  of  the  immensely 
rich.  It  would,  in  the  second  place,  reduce 
the  bonded  debt  which  any  war  must 
place  on  future  generations.  In  the  third 
place,  and  principally  important  in  the 
estimation  Of  the  man  in  the  street,  it 
would,  to  some  extent  at  least,  equalize, 
as  between  wealth  and  labor,  the  burden 
of  carrying  on  the  war.  Not  all  the  re- 
forms advocated  by  professed  Socialists 
merit  the  reprobation  rightfully  incurred 
by  some  of  their  principles ;  some  of  them, 
indeed,  have  been  already  adopted  by 
modern  States;  and  the  generality  of 
Americans,  we  opine,  will  not  be  found 
very  strenuously  opposed  to  this  revenue 
act  now  under  consideration. 


The  current  "Bulletin  of  the  Catholic 
Theatre  Movement"  will  be  found  espe- 
cially interesting  because  of  its  specialized 
study  of  the  American  drama.  Con- 
sidering the  great  popularity  of  the  so- 
called  "musical  comedy,"  there  is  much 
point  in  this  succinct  advice: 

Catholic  theatre-goers  would  be  less  easy- 
going in  their  attitude  toward  these  productions, 
and  more  careful  in  permitting  or  encouraging 
young  people  to  see  them,  if  they  would  remem- 
ber the  simple  law  of  cause  and  effect.  Nothing 
that  takes  hold  upon  our  mind  or  our  senses  is 
ever  wholly  without  effect  on  our  conduct.  Men 
who  look  daily  upon  death  usually  have  rather 
clear,  practical  ideas  about  life.  In  this  con- 
nection it  is  significant  to  read  the  judgment 
recently  passed  by  General  Lord  H.  L.  Smith- 
Dorrien,  of  the  British  Army,  upon  the  influence 
of  such  entertainments  from  a  purely  patriotic 
viewpoint.  He  says:  "I  am  convinced  that  our 


gallant  sailors  and  soldiers  themselves  would  be 
the  first  to  admit  that,  if  they  were  givi-n  the- 
choice,  they  would  prefer  performances  which, 
while  cheerful  and  inspiring,  appealed  to  tin- 
best  side  of  their  natures;  and  not  exhibitions  of 
scantily-dressed  girls,  and  songs  of  a  doubtful 
character.  The  whole  nation's  heart  is  at  last 
set  on  winning  this  Great  War;  and  an  impor- 
tant factor  undoubtedly  is  the  cleanliness  of 
mind  and  nobility  of  purpose  of  our  heroes  on 
sea  and  land.  It  seems  entirely  unnecessary  aud 
certainly  wrong  to  put  into  their  heads  demoral- 
izing thoughts  such  as  they  must  obtain  from 
many  performances  now  appearing  on  the 
stage." 

In  view  of  the  General's  words,  how 
criminal  appear  the  neglect  and  indiffer- 
ence of  many  parents  regarding  the 
"shows"  which  are  influencing  their  chil- 
dren's character! 

By  far  the  greatest  difficulty  which  a 
champion  of  the  Church  experiences  in 
dealing  with  a  sectarian  is  to  get  him  to 
state  exactly  what  he  believes.  He  is 
always  ready  to  profess  his  denials,  but 
is  rarely  disposed  to  profess  his  beliefs, — 
perhaps  because  so  many  of  them  are  so 
hard  to  defend.  For  this  reason  we  rejoice 
to  learn  (from  a  paper  contributed  to  the 
current  number  of  the  Constructive  Quar- 
terly) that  when  the  Anglican  Archbishop 
of  Melbourne  presided  over  a  joint  con- 
ference of  members  of  the  Church  of 
England  and  the  Presbyterian  Church 
Australia,  the  method  of '  proceeding  was  I 
for  each  side  to  state  the  doctrines  hel( 
according  to  the  accepted  formulae  of  eacl 
denomination;  and  then,  placing  tl 
side  by  side,  to  examine  the  points 
difference.  By  thus  excluding  persons 
limitations  and  views,  the  members  of  the 
conference  were  enabled  to  judge  of  the 
extent  of  their  agreement  as  witnesses 
a  common  faith.  It  was  a  capital  plan, 
worthy  of  being  adopted  by  all  sectarian 
bodies.  And  when  they  have  ascertained 
how  much  and  in  how  many  ways  they| 
differ  among  themselves,  may  it  occur 
them  to  compare  their  teachings  witl 
those  of  the  religious  body  which  the  Rev. 
William  R.  Alger  once  described  as  "tl 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


407 


most  imposing  organic  symbol  of  Christen- 
dom"— the  Church  that  has  propagated 
and  defended  the  teachings  of  Christ  ever 
since  the  Day  of  Pentecost! 

"To  say  that  Christ  did  not  institute  a 
Church  is  on  a  par  with  saying  that  He 
did  not  take  our  flesh,  or  rise  from  the 
dead,  or  ascend  into  heaven,"  writes 
another  contributor  to  the  Constructive 
Quarterly,  the  Rev.  Dr.  William  P.  DuBose. 
To  this  let  us  add:  to  deny  that  Christ's 
promise  to  abide  with  His  Church  has  not 
always  been  kept  is  equivalent  to  denying 
that  it  ever  was  made;  and  to  assert  that 
His  prayer  at  the  Last  Supper — -that  His 
followers  might  be  one — is  unrealized,  is 
the  same  as  to  assert  that  it  was  never 
uttered. 

Many  a  novelist  has  made  use  of  the 
apparent  economic  paradox  indicated  in 
the  advertising  columns  of  great  newspa- 
pers,— hundreds  of  employers  continually 
asking  for  workers,  and  hundreds  of 
workers  just  as  ceaselessly  asking  for 
employment.  Eight  years  ago  British 
economists  established  a  system  of  labor 
exchange  for  the  purpose  of  increasing 
the  means  of  communication  between  those 
seeking  and  those  affording  work.  Actual 
results  attained  seem  to  justify  the  hopes 
with  which  the  system  was  organized.  In 
the  year  1915,  for  instance,  these  labor 
exchanges  received  3,186,137  applications 
(2,326,803  individual  applicants),  regis- 
tered 1,797,646  vacancies,  placed  1,058,336 
persons  in  employment,  and  filled  1,308,137 
vacancies.  After  the  war,  the  system  will 
no  doubt  be  subjected  to  considerable 
modification  in  Qreat  Britain;  but  it  may 
well  be  operated  to  good  advantage  in 
other  countries  less  likely  to  be  affected  by 
grave  economic  difficulties  when  peace  is 
finally  declared. 

Much  of  the  never-ending  disputation 
about  the  supposititious  conflict  between 
the  Church  and  Science  is  due  to  the  fact 
that,  occasionally,  the  Church  is  con- 
founded with  an  individual  theologian,  and 


that  very  often  Science  is  confounded  with 
scientific  theories  which  are  by  no  means 
solidly  established.  Truth  is  one;  and  no 
truths  in  the  world  of  nature  are,  or  can 
be,  at  variance  with  the  dogmas  of  the 
Church  which  teaches  with  the  authority 
of  nature's  God.  The  man  in  the  street 
is  all  too  prone  to  accept  as  proven  fact 
whatever  some  more  or  less  eminent 
specialist  in  a  particular  branch  of  science 
affirms  to  be  fact,  unaware  that  some 
other  equally  eminent  specialist  in  the 
same  branch  holds  a  widely  different  opin- 
ion on  the  same  point.  Truth  is  one;  but 
opinion,  especially  scientific  opinion,  is 
multiplied — and  multiloquent.  It  is  ex- 
cellent advice,  therefore,  which  is  given 
by  Sir  Bertram  Windle,  a  scientist  worthy 
of  the  name,  in  an  article  on  "Early  Man 
and  Geological  Time,"  contributed  to 
America.  He  says:  "  With  such  differences 
of  opinion  existing  amongst  the  doctors,  it 
would  be  well  for  the  plain  man  to  suspend 
his  judgment,  and  to  remember,  when  he 
reads,  as  he  often  may,  in  the  daily  paper, 
that  such  an  ancient  specimen  of  man  is 
hundreds  of  -thousands  of  years  old,  per- 
haps even  millions,  that  the  statement  is 
based  on  pure  imagination  and  has  no 
real  foundation  of  any  kind." 


It  was  a  notable  discourse  that  the 
Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  Carroll  delivered  on  the 
occasion  of  the  reopening,  recently,  of  the 
cathedral  in  Seattle,  Washington.  He 
spoke  on  "Christianity  and  the  War;  or, 
Is  Christianity  a  Failure?"  One  salient 
point  the  Bishop  made  is  worthy  of 
especial  notice,  the  increased  prestige  of 
the  Papacy: 

No  one  can  fail  to  observe  the  position  of 
authority  and  influence  almost  universally  con- 
ceded to  Benedict  XV.  during  the  present  war. 
Nations,  like  Holland  and  England,  have  sent 
ambassadors  to  the  Vatican, — a  thing  they  had 
not  done  since  the  Reformation.  Germany  an- 
nounced that  a  copy  of  its  recent  peace  proposals 
had  been  sent  to  the  neutral  nations— and  to  the 
Holy  See.  The  voice  of  the  Pope  pleading  for  the 
betterment  of  the  wounded,  for  the  immunity  of 
non-combatants  and  of  the  monuments  of  relig- 


408 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


ion  and  civilization,  has  been  heard  and  re- 
spected throughout  the  world.  The  lesson  which 
the  Powers  of  Europe  are  now  learning  is  not  a 
new  one.  There  is  a  maxim  which  has  been  ac- 
cepted by  all  governments  and  all  great  states- 
men for  a  thousand  years — namely,  that  if  the 
peace  of  the  world  would  be  preserved,  the  inde- 
pendence and  moral  leadership  of  the  Papacy 
must  be  respected.  This  maxim  the  Congress 
of  the  Nations  at  Vienna  in  1815  recognized.  It 
was  recognized  again  by  the  Congress  of  the  Na- 
tions in  Paris  in  1856.  The  nations,  assembled 
at  the  Congress  of  The  Hague  in  1899,  refused 
to  recognize  it,  and  they  are  reading  the  hand- 
writing of  their  error  in  the  mad  hatred  and 
destruction  of  the  present  conflict.  Happy  will 
it  be  for  Europe  if  the  lesson  is  well  learned 
before  the  close  of  hostilities.  Then  "justice  and 
peace  will  have  kissed";  for  peace  will  then  be 
founded  on  the  basis  of  justice  and  Christian 
morality, — the  only  basis  that  can  make  it 
lasting. 

Every  Christian  soul  will  breathe  a 
prayer  that  God  may  speed  the  'day  which 
shall  witness  this  consummation. 


If  the  Lenten  sermons  in  Rome  this 
year  were  more  profitable  to  natives  and 
less  diverting  to  foreigners  than  formerly, 
it  is  to  be  attributed  to  the  Holy  Father's 
stirring  address  to  the  parish  priests  and 
preachers  on  the  Monday  preceding  Ash- 
Wednesday.  As  reported  by  the  Rome 
correspondent  of  the  London  Tablet,  his 
Holiness  spoke  very  strongly  against  cer- 
tain preachers  who,  in  their  oratorical  affec- 
tation, succeeded  only  too  completely  in 
absolutely  concealing  from  the  people  the 
word  of  God  they  are  entrusted  to  reveal. 
"Preachers  should  guard  against  that 
excited  delivery,  those  wild  looks,  that 
frenzied  speech,  those  insane  gestures, 
that  would  be  out  of  place  even  on  the 
stage.  It  has  been  a  great  sorrow  to  us 
recently  to  learn  that  such  preachers  do 
exist,  who  defend  themselves  by  saying 
that  the  people  like  it.  And  even  if  this  be 
true,  such  tastes  should  be  condemned  and 
not  fostered  or  indulged  by  those  who, 
with  us  all,  should  remember  those  words 
of  St.  Paul,  the  great  master  in  preaching: 
'  And  my  speech  and  my  preaching  was  not 
in  the  persuasive  words  of  human  wisdom, 


but  in  showing  of  the  spirit  and  power.'" 
In  reminding  the  preachers  of  the  abso- 
lute necessity  (if  their  efforts  were  to  be 
of  any  avail)  of  practising  what  they 
preached,  of  illustrating  in  their  own  lives 
the  virtues  which  they  sought  to  instil  into 
others,  the  Holy  Father  spoke  words  of 
more  general  application.  Parents  and  all 
others  who  exercise  authority  are  in  duty 
bound  to  exemplify  their  counsels  and  com- 
mands. The  superior  who  says,  Do  as  I 
say,  but  don't  do  as  I  do,  besides  stultify- 
ing himself,  undermines  discipline,  lowers 
standards,  shatters  ideals,  and  renders  it 
almost  impossible  ever  to  be  succeeded 
by  any  one  unlike  himself. 


The  Senate  of  Massachusetts  having  ad- 
vanced to  its  third  reading  a  Bill  to  pre- 
vent school  committees  in  that  State  from 
questioning  applicants  for  teachers'  posi- 
tions about  their  religious  convictions, 
the  Boston  Transcript  congratulates  the 
legislators  on  their  good  sense,  and  advo- 
cates equal  justice  to  all.  The  full  measure 
of  justice  due  to  Catholics  in  this  country 
in  matters  educational  is  not  likely  to  be 
granted  in  the  immediate  future,  as  that 
measure  would  mean  our  being  freed  from 
the  burden  of  an  unfair  double  educational 
tax,  which  Boston's  Cardinal  has  de- 
clared to  be  "nothing  short  of  outrageous 
tyranny";  but  meantime  it  can  not  too 
often  be  insisted  on  that  the  public  schools, 
to  whose  support  we  contribute  our  full 
share  of  taxation,  are  in  theory  and  in  law 
no  more  distinctively  Protestant  than  they 
are  distinctively  Jewish  or  distinctively 
Catholic.  To  question  an  applicant  for  a 
teacher's  position  as  to  his  or  her  religious 
belief  is  an  intolerable  impertinence,  and 
to  refuse  the  application  on  the  sole  ground 
that  the  candidate  is  a  Catholic  is  an  in- 
famous injustice. 


It  was  natural  that  Bishop  Keiley,  of 
Savannah,  should  be  a  storm-centre  of  the 
latest  outbreak  of  bigotry  in  the  Southern 
States.  He  had  given  ultra- Protestants 
"furiously  to  think,"  as  the  French  phrase 


7777';  AYR  MARIA 


has  it.  The  Daughters  of  the  Confederacy, 
described  as  a  non-sectarian  organization, 
having  invited  the  Bishop  to  be  the 
speaker  of  the  day  at  the  Memorial  Day 
exercises  this  year,  some  three-score  Con- 
federate veterans  of  Macon,  Ga.,  gave 
notice  that  they  would  refuse  to  take  part 
unless  the  invitation  be  recalled.  It  is  not 
going  to  be  recalled,  however.  The  ladies 
refuse  to  stultify  themselves,  and  so 
notable  a  journal  as  the  Atlanta  Constitu- 
tion applauds  their  course.  Its  editor,  Mr. 
Clark  Howell,  says,  commenting  on  the 
affair:  "What  better  vindication  of  the 
position  of  the  Macon  ladies  could  be  af- 
forded than  by  harking  back  to  the  records 
of  half 'a  century  ago,  when  Bishop  Keiley 
as  a  young  stripling,  radiant  with  patriot- 
ism, volunteered  in  defence  of  the  Con- 
federate cause,  donned  a  gray  uniform, 
and  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the 
war  rendered  brilliant  service  to  his 
country?  He  was  a  Roman  Catholic  then, 
just  as  he  is  now.  That  fact  did  not  debar 
him  from  patriotic  service  then,  nor  should 
it  now.  The  women  of  Macon  showed  the 
instincts  of  true  womanhood  and  patriot- 
ism in  their  spunky  response  to  the  re- 
calcitrant veterans,  which  reflects  infinite 
credit  upon  them." 

In  spite  of  all  that  is  being  done,  espe- 
cially in  large  cities  like  Rome  and  New 
York,  to  corrupt  and  pervert  the  Italians 
by  means  of  immoral  literature  and  sec- 
tarian propaganda,  the  results  are  any- 
thing but  successful.  In  the  latter  city, 
a  merchant  with  an  Italian  name,  who 
deals  in  anti-Catholic  books,  etc.,  evidently 
finds  it  hard  to  make  both  ends  meet;  for, 
along  with  shockingly  irreligious  publica- 
tions, he  advertises  various  objects  of 
piety — crucifixes,  statues,  etc.,  hoping  thus 
to  attract  customers  that  would  otherwise 
be  repelled.  "It  is  hard  to  make  a  convert 
out  of  an  Italian,  but  harder  still  to  make 
one  of  them  stay  converted,"  was  the 
frank  admission  of  a  sectarian  missionary 
who  had  labored  for  many  years  to 
"spread  the  Gospel  in  Italy."  Amusing 


stories  are  related  in  illustration  of  this 
failure.  One  old  woman,  on  receiving  a 
generous  alms  from  a  minister,  hurried 
off  to  the  nearest  church  to  engage  a  Mass 
for  her  deceased  husband.  Of  another  it 
is  told  that,  coming  out  of  a  Methodist 
meeting-house  in  the  Eternal  City  one 
cold  day  this  winter,  she  explained  to  a 
friend  who  was  passing  and  saw  her:  "It's 
so  nice  and  warm  in  there.  They  always 
give  me  a  lira  as. soon  as  I  come  in.  And 
it's  such  a  clean,  quiet,  comfortable  place 
to  say  the  Rosary." 


Whether  or  not  the  "movie"  has  come 
to  stay,  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  is  now 
with  us — with  all  its  powers  for  evil  and 
for  good.  It  is  to  utilize  this  modern  in- 
vention in  the  latter  way  that  there  has 
been  organized  a  "Catholic  Truth  Film" 
series,  the  first  number  of  which,  "A 
Dream  of  Empire,"  written  by  the  Rt. 
Rev.  Joseph  G.  Anderson,  auxiliary  to 
his  Eminence  Cardinal  O' Council,  is 
soon  to  be  produced.  The  second  film 
projected  is  entitled  "Christianity,"  by 
the  Rt.  Rev.  Francis  C.  Keiley,  of  the 
Church  Extension  Society.  Assuredly  the 
enterprise  is  begun  under  benign  auspices; 
and  its  avowed  object,  "to  spread  Chris- 
tian truth,"  should  win  for  it  the  strongest 
support  of  our  people. 

In  conferring  its  Laetare  Medal  this 
year  on  Admiral  William  S.  Benson, 
ranking-officer  of  the  United  States  Navy, 
the  University  of  Notre  Dame  not  only 
honored  a  most  worthy  Catholic  gentleman, 
whose  long  years  of  faithful  service  to  his 
country  entitled  him  to  consideration, 
but  accentuated  the  ideal  of  an  American 
citizen,  whose  first  thought  in  reference 
to  patriotism  is  of  God,  and  whose  most 
cherished  possession  is  the  love  of  liberty. 
An  American  of  the  highest  type,  a  patriot 
sans  peur  et  sans  reproche,  a  Catholic 
who  illustrates  his  faith  by  the  practice 
of  it,  Admiral  Benson  was  eminently 
deserving  of  the  Laetare  Medal.  "Honor 
to  whom  honor  is  due." 


Palm  Sunday  for  Any  Child. 


BY    S.   M.  M. 


5BKAR  child, 

Hosannas  arc  for  thee  to  sing! 
Dost  hear  glad  Alleluias  ring? 

Dost  see  in  thy  heart  undefilcd 
An  Easter  lily  for  the  King, 

Dear  child? 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 

XIII.— A  SICK  CALL. 
N  the  same  morning  that  Con  was 
tumbled  into  the  gypsy  wagon, 
unable,  as  he  truly  said,  to  "stand 
agin  them  any  more,"  Father 
Phil  was  just  finishing  his  Mass  at  the 
church  of  St.  Cyprian,  whither  he  had 
been  suddenly  called  by  the  illness  of  the 
pastor,  his  old  friend  and  preceptor,  Father 
Timothy  Burke. 

"It's  a  shame  to  break  up  your  holiday 
like  this,"  said  Father  Tim,  when  his 
"boy"  arrived  and  found  him  bound  hand 
and  foot  with  a  bad  attack  of  rheumatism. 
"But  I  waded  knee-deep  in  the  snow  to  a 
sick  call  on  Christmas  Eve;  and  that, 
with  being  up  the  rest  of  the  Holy  Night, 
finished  me.  I'm  forgetting  that  I  was 
seventy  last  St.  Patrick's  Day,  and  am 
overstaying  my  time." 

"Not  at  all!"  was  the  cheery  answer,  as 
Father  Phil  sat  down  by  the  old  priest  and 
gently  smoothed  his  crippled  hand.  "You 
are  worth  a  dozen  of  us  youngsters  yet. 
All  you  want  is  a  rest  that  will  set  you 
back  twenty  years — to  the  time  you  taught 
me  my  first  catechism." 

"And  you  were  the  distraction  of  the 
class,"  laughed  Father  Tim.  "I/ittle  did 
I  guess  where  the  I/ord  was  leading  you, 


you  little  curly-haired  rogue!  But  God 
loves  the  light  of  heart,  I  think,  He  so 
often  chooses  them  for  His  own:  maybe 
because  He  knows  the  weight  that  is  before 
them, — the  sorrows  and  the  sins  it  will  be 
theirs  to  lift,  the  dark  ways  they  must 
tread  to  help  and  save.  It's  no  easy  work 
you  have  taken  up,  my  boy." 

"It's  only  a  case  of  'follow  my  leader,'" 
answered  the  young  priest,  smiling.  "I 
have  you  to  show  me  the  way, — wading 
knee-deep  in  winter  snows  after  your  lost 
sheep.  No  wonder  you  are  laid  up." 

"And  little  good  I  did,  after  all,"  sighed 
Father  Tim,  whose  usual  cheer  had  deserted 
him  to-day;  for  an  attack  of  rheumatism 
like  this  was  enough  to  make  the  sturdiest 
of  shepherds  lose  heart.  "It  was  old 
Biddy  Foran  that  sent  her  grandson  for 
me,  with  the  word  that,  in  the  next  room 
to  her,  there  was  a  sick  man  crying  that 
there  was  that  in  his  soul  he  must  tell 
before  he  died.  Biddy,  who  says  her 
Beads  all  day  over  her  apple  stand,  knew 
only  one  man  for  such  business,  and  so 
she  sent  for  me.  When  the  dying  man  saw 
my  Roman  collar,  he  nearly  frothed  at 
the  mouth  with  rage  and  wanted  to  kick 
me  out." 

"To  kick  you  out!"  echoed  Father  Phil, 
indignantly. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  old  priest.  "That  is 
not  altogether  an  unusual  sentiment  with 
lost  sheep,  my  boy,  as  you  will  find.  But,  as 
he  was  quite  unable  to  do  any  kicking,  I 
stood  my  ground,  while  he  cursed  me  as 
volubly  as  his  failing  breath  would  permit. 
The  poor  chap  was  in  sore  need.  The 
tenement  where  Biddy  lives  is  one  of  those 
wretched,  ramshackle  things  that  I've  been 
trying  for  years  to  have  pulled  down,  and 
this  man  was  in  its  very  worst  hole.  I  saw 
to  it  that  he  had  food  and  fire  at  least 
before  I  wrent;  knelt  down  by  his  bed  and 
said  an  'Our  Father,'  while  he  glared 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


411 


breathlessly  at  me;  then  sent  a  message 
to  Dr.  Jack  Wilson,  who  is  looking  after 
the  poor  this  winter,  to  drop  in  upon 
Biddy  and  her  neighbors  and  see  what 
could  be  done.  What  has  become  of  the 
patient,  I  can't  say,  for  this  rheumatism  got 
me  that  night  as  soon  as  I  finished  Mid- 
night Mass.  I  suppose  he  has  gone,  poor 
man!  God  have  mercy  on  his  soul!" 

So,  after  this  pious  conclusion  of  the 
incident,  it  was  with  some  surprise  that 
Father  Phil,  as  he  finished  his  Mass  this 
special  morning,  found  the  old  apple 
woman  waiting  for  him  in  the  sacristy. 

"Your  reverence — "  she  began,  dropping 
a  respectful  curtsy;  for  this  tall,  handsome 
young  priest  was  a  much  more  awe- 
inspiring  figure  than  rosy,  white-haired 
Father  Tim.  "Axing  yer  pardon  for 
throubling  you  so  airly,  is  there  any  chance 
of  Father  Tim  being  out  to-day?" 

"None  in  the  world,"  was  the  decided 
answer.  "He  won't  be  out  for  another 
week  (if  I  can  keep  him  in),"  the  speaker 
added  mentally.  "But  I  am  here  in  his 
place ;  so  if  there  is  anything"  I  can  do  for 
you  this  morning — •" 

"Sure  and — amf  I  don't  know,  yer 
reverence."  Biddy  twisted  her  worn  hands 
in  perplexity.  "It  was  Father  Tim  the 
man  wanted.  He  is  far  gone  and  won't 
live  the  day  out." 

"Oh,  a  sick  call!  Then  I'll  come  at 
once,"  said  Father  Phil,  briskly. 

"And  I'm  not  sure  he  will  talk  to  you 
at  all,  yer  reverence,"  replied  Biddy,  anx- 
iously. "It's  no  Catholic  he  is,  poor  man! 
When  Father  Tim  came  to  him  the  other 
night  the  evil  spirit  himself  couldn't  have 
gone  on  worse." 

"Oh,  it's  that  fellow!"  said  Father  Phil, 
recognizing  the  "sick  "call"  that  had  laid 
his  good  old  friend  up.  "So  he  is  living 
yet,  and  wants  a  priest  at  last,  does  he?" 

"No,  yer  reverence, — no,  it's  not  the 
priest  he  wants:  it's  Father  Tim.  You 
see,  Father  Tim  is  old  and  soft  and  has  a 
way  with  him;  and  whin  he  just  nodded 
sort  of  friendly  at  all  the  poor  sinner's  mad 
talk,  and  ordered  my  Patsy  out  to  get  fire- 


wood and  soup  and  wine,  and  sint  the 
doctor  to  him,  and  said  the  prayer  at  his 
side,  it  somehow  touched  him,  yer  rever- 
ence ;  and  he  says  that  he  has  a  story  to 
tell  afore  he  dies,  and  he'll  tell  it  to  no  one 
but  Father  Tim." 

"That's  bad,"  answered  the  young 
priest,  briefly.  "But,  since  Father  Tim 
can't  go,  I  must.  So  lead  the  way,  my  good 
woman;  and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  in 
Father  Tim's  place." 

"I'm  fearing  it  won't  be  much,  yer  rev- 
erence," said  Biddy,  despondently.  "You 
see,  Father  Tim — " 

"Is  a  dear  old  Irish  saint,"  concluded 
the  young  priest,  warmly.  "I  can't  come 
anywhere  near  him  in  doing  God's  work, 
I  know.  But  still  I'm  here  to  make  a  try 
at  it.  So  we'll  go  at  once." 

And,  buttoning  himself  into  his  heavy 
great-coat,  Father  Phil  started  out  without 
further  hesitation. 

It  was  a  gloomy  way  that  the  honest  old 
Irishwoman  led.  St.  Cyprian's  was  the 
church  in  the  Slums,  of  which  little  Susie 
had  told  Aunt  Aline.  It  caught  the  tide  of 
homeless,  friendless  strangers  eddying  in 
this  floodgate  of  the  New  World  at  the 
darkest  and  worst.  It  held  up  its  cross- 
crowned  spire  as  a  beacon  in  labyrinths 
choked  with  sin  and  suffering  and  sorrow 
in  every  form.  Father  Phil  found  himself 
following  through  narrow,  high-built 
streets,  into  which  even  the  bright  morning 
sunbeams  could  not  make  their  way; 
through  alleys  where  the  snow  he  had  left 
white  and  spotless  on  the  mountain-side 
was  only  filthy  mire;  into  courts  where 
even  the  pure  winter  air  had  grown  heavy 
and  foul.  It  was  some  ten  minutes  before 
Biddy  reached  the  broken  steps  of  the 
tottering  old  tenement  she  called  her 
home.  She  paused  at  the  doorway. 

"I'll  be  going  up  and  spake  to  him 
first,"  she  said.  "You'd  best  not  go  in, 
yer  reverence,  until  I  see  whether  the  Evil 
One  will  rouse  in  him  again." 

"Let  him  rouse!"  returned  Father  Phil. 
"It's  my  business  to  face  him,  my  good 
woman,  when  a  soul  is  in  need  of  help." 


412 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


And  Biddy  led  on  up  flights  of  broken 
stairs,  where  every  step  was  a  pitfall,  into 
the  cobwebbed  attic  where  the  sick  man 
lay.  The  door  stood  half  open,  to  give  him 
air.  Biddy  pushed  forward  without  cere- 
mony into  the  low-roofed  room,  to  which, 
bare  and  wretched  as  it  was,  good  old 
Father  Tim's  late  visit  had  given  some 
poor  comfort.  A  fire  burned  in  the  rusty 
stove,  where  a  pot  of  broth  was  simmering ; 
there  was  a  coarse  blanket  on  the  cot; 
wine  and  biscuits  were  on  the  table  beside 
it;  while  several  vials  of  medicine  told 
that  Dr.  Jack  Wilson  had  not  been  un- 
mindful of  his  charge.  The  patient,  a  man 
of  about  five  and  forty,  lay  with  closed 
eyes,  seemingly  asleep.  The  gaunt,  sunken, 
ashen  face  already  bore  the  stamp  of 
Death. 

"Arrah,  and  it's  gone  he  is!  God  have 
mercy  on  him!"  murmured  Biddy  as  she 
bent  over  him. 

"No!"  came  the  gasping  answer,  and 
the  eyes  opened  in  a  blank,  sightless  stare. 
"I — I  can't  see.  Is  the  priest  here?" 

"He  is,"  faltered  Biddy. 

Father  Phil  knelt  down  by  the  wretched 
bedside  and  took  the  icy  hand  in  his  own. 

"I  am  here,  my  poor  friend,  in  God's 
name  to  save  you,  help  you." 

But  the  dulling  ear  seemed  only  to  half 
catch  the  kindly  whisper. 

"You're  a  man,"  came  the  husky  an- 
swer,— "a  man  to  trust.  You  gave  me 
help  for  hate,  blessing  for  cursing.  Unde? 
my  pillow  is  a  paper  that  I  have  kept  for 
ten  years.  It  was  a  bargain  of  devils — of 
devils — to — to — rob  a  child." 

"Ah,  God  pity  him!  His  poor  wits  are 
wandering,"  murmured  Biddy. 

But  Father  Phil  pressed  the  cold  hand 
encouragingly.  He  knew  that  the  soul, 
however  darkened,  often  rouses  at  the  last 
to  remorse,  contrition,  desire  to  atone. 

"The  child,"  repeated  the  dying  man, 
huskily, — ' '  the  child  may  be  living — still, — 
the  child  we  flung  out  of  the  way — long 
ago.  The  child  may  be  alive, — the  child 
tfrat — that—  '  the  speaker  struggled  piti- 
fully for  utterance.  "Will  you — try — to 


find  the  child,  and — and  give  him — back 
to — to — his  own?  Grip  my  hand  closer — 
if  you  promise  in  the  name  of  God,  in 
whom  you  believe.  Will  you  promise  to 
find  the  child — we  robbed — of  all — all? 
Find  the  child  and  do  justice." 

And  Father  Phil  gripped  the  icy  hand 
with  a  pressure  felt  even  through  the 
numbing  chill,  and  spoke  the  promise 
solemnly : 

"In  God's  name,  I  will,  if  possible,  do 
justice." 

An  hour  later,  after  doing  all  in  his 
power  for  the  poor  parting  soul,  Father 
Phil  closed  the  eyes  of  the  dead  man  and 
breathed  over  him  a  fervent  prayer  to  the 
Father  of  Mercies.  Then,  with  the  folded 
paper  that  he  took  from  under  the  pillow, 
he  returned  to  Father  Tim,  who  heard 
the  story  of  his  sick  call  with  pitying 
interest. 

"Ah,  God  rest  the  poor  soul!  He  was 
sore  tempted  into  evil  ways,  I  am  sure; 
and  the  Lord  is  merciful  to  them  that  are 
not  taught  rightly  to  love  and  serve  Him. 
Open  the  bit  of  paper  and  read  it,  Phil. 
Let  us  see  what  was  troubling  the  poor 
man's  last  hour." 

And  Father  Phil  unfolded  the  paper, 
that  had  been  indited,  so  it  seemed,  re- 
cently, in  a  trembling  scrawl.  It  held  a 
smaller  sheet,  yellowed  and  stained,  within. 
On  this  last  was  written  in  a  clearer, 
steadier  hand:  "Charles  Owens  Nesbitt, 
the  son  of  Charles  Nesbitt,  and  Elinor 
Owens,  his  wife.  Saved  from  the  wreck  of 
the  P.  &  B.  Limited  on  the  night  of 
October  16,  19 — .  Taken  by  me,  Wilmot 
Elkins,  from  his  cousin,  Arthur  Bell  Nesbitt, 
according  to  agreement.  Money  paid  ..." 

Then  followed  a  list  of  dates  and  sums 
extending  over  a  period  of  more  than  eight 
years. 

"God  bless  us!"  exclaimed  good  Father 
Tim  in  perplexity.  ' '  There's  money  enough 
marked  down  there  to  roof  a  church. 
What  do  you  suppose  it  all  means,  Phil?" 

"Rascality  of  some  sort,"  answered 
Father  Phil,  briefly. 

"Ah!    do   you    think    so,    lad?"-  sighed 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


413 


Father  Tim.  "God  have  mercy  on  the 
poor  man  that  was  trying  to  confess  it  at 
the  last!  Was  there  any  sign  of  sorrow  in 
his  heart,  Phil?" 

"I  think  there  was,"  said  Father  Phil. 
"You  had  reached  it  somehow.  He  said 
you  had  given  him  help  for  hate,  blessing 
for  cursing." 

"Listen  to  that  now!"  said  Father  Tim, 
his  old  face  kindling.  "  When  all  I  did  was 
to  send  out  Patsy  for  an  armful  of  wood 
and.  a  few  biscuits  and  some  soup.  Is 
there  anything  like  the  grace  and  mercy  of 
God  to  sinners?  I'll  say  Mass  for  that  poor 
soul  as  soon  as  I  can  get  up  on  my  feet. 
There's  many  a  good  thief  that  gets  to 
heaven. at  last." 

Father  Phil  did  not  hear :  he  was  closely 
studying  the  yellowed  paper  before  him. 

"Five,  six,  eight  thousand  dollars,"  he 
counted.  "'Paid  according  to  agreement.' 
For  what?  Some  sort  of  scoundrelly  work 
is  behind  this,  Father  Tim.  It  means 
blackmail  or  'hush  money.'" 

"Now,  now,  now,  don't  be  judging 
rashly,  Phil!"  pleaded  Father  Tim,  still 
tender  to  his  "black  sheep."  "And 
Nesbitt  is  a  decent  Catholic  name,  lad. 
I've  been  saying  Mass  for  the  dead  Nesbitts 
this  many,  a  year.  Every  Christmas  there 
comes  an  offering  to  St.  Cyprian's.  We 
don't  know  what  all  this  means.  Read  the 
other  bit  of  paper,  and  maybe  it  will  tell 
us  more." 

(To  be  continued.) 


A  King's  Golden  Deed. 

When  Louis  XII.  ascended  the  throne  of 
France  he  caused  a  list  to  be  made  of  all 
those  enemies  who  had  plotted  against 
him;  and  he  placed  a  cross  against  the 
name  of  each  one.  When  this  became 
known,  they  all  fled  in  terror,  believing 
they  Would  be  condemned  to  death.  The 
King,  however,  sent  for  them,  and  gave 
them  assurance  of  pardon,  saying  he  had 
I  put  a  cross  against  their  names  only  to 
remind  him  of  our  Saviour,  who,  on  the 
Cross,  forgave  His  murderers. 


A  Singer  of  the  Olden  Times. 


HEN  poets  nowadays  talk  about 
not  getting  "inspiration"  for  a 
projected  piece  of  work,  they  mean 
simply  that  the  desired  ideas  do  not  come 
to  them  as  readily  as  they  would  wish. 
When  theologians  talk  about  the  "in- 
spired" writings,  they  mean  that  the  Bible 
was  written  under  the  direct  action  or 
influence  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  Now,  one 
poet  at  least  enjoyed  this  real  inspiration; 
and  he  has  been  called  "the  father  of 
English  poetry." 

Away  back  in  the  seventh  century, 
thirteen  hundred  years  ago,  St.  Hilda 
ruled  the  famous  monastery  of  Whitby, 
in  Northumberland,  England.  Adjoining 
the  monastery — or  convent,  as  it  would 
now  be  called — there  was  a  farmhouse  in 
which  lived  the  laborers  who  did  the  work 
on  the  lands  belonging  to  the  Sisters,  looked 
after  the  horses,  attended  the  cows,  and  so 
on.  Among  these  workmen  was  one  named 
Caedmon,  who  was  even  more  ignorant 
than  his  fellow  -  laborers,  the  most  of 
whom  could  sing  and  play  the  harp, — 
accomplishments  that  were  not  at  all  un- 
common in  the  England  of  that  day,  even 
among  the  unlettered. 

Well,  one  night  when  the  workers  were 
gathered  about  the  table  for  good-fellow- 
ship, the  harp  was  as  usual  passed  from 
hand  to  hand.  Caedmon,  ashamed  of  know- 
ing nothing  of  poetry  or  music,  left  the 
others  and  went  to  the  stables,  as  he  was 
assigned  that  night  to  the  care  of  the  cattle. 
After  a  while  he  fell  asleep,  and  then  he 
had  a  vision.  A  voice  called  to  him: 

"Caedmon,  sing  me  something." 

"I  can't  sing,"  he  replied;  "that's  why 
I  left  the  table." 

"Still,  you  must  sing  for  me." 


"And  what  shall  I  singi 


-the 


"Sing  about  the  origin  of  things,- 
creation*  of  the  world." 

Forthwith  Caedmon  began  to  sing  verses 
in  honor  of  the  Creator, — verses  that  he 
had  never  heard  before,  and  the  sense  of 


414 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


which  was  something  like  this:  "Now 
must  we  chant  the  glory  and  the  power  of 
the  Creator,  author  of  all  wonders,  Father 
of  the  human  race.  He  has  given  men  the 
heavens  for  a  roof  and  the  earth  for  a 
dwelling."  There  were  many  more  verses 
to  his  song;  and,  a  very  unusual  thing  in 
mere  dreams,  he  remembered  them  all 
when  he  awoke  the  next  morning.  He 
went  to  the  head  farmer  and  related  what 
had  occurred,  and  the  farmer  thought  it 
important  enough  to  be  told  to  St.  Hilda. 

As  a  result,  Csedmon  was  brought  into 
the  presence  of  the  holy  Abbess  and  some 
learned  monks  from  a  neighboring  monas- 
tery, and  was  asked  to  recite  his  verses. 
He  did  so,  and^  all  "agreed  that  he  had 
received  a  divine  gift.  Then  some  sacred 
stories  and  some  doctrinal  truths  were 
told  to  him,  and  he  was  requested  to  turn 
them  into  verse.  Csedmon  went  back  to 
his  stable,  and  the  next  day  he  recited  to 
his  examiners  an  admirable  poetic  version 
of  all  that  he  had  heard. 

Thoroughly  convinced  that  God  had 
granted  a  signal  favor  to  this  poor  laborer, 
St.  Hilda  persuaded  him  to  become  a  monk; 
and  she  ordered  that  the  whole  series  of 
sacred  history  should  be  taught  to  him. 
Csedmon  listened  to  the  history,  thought 
it  all  over,  and  then  turned  it  into  poems 
that  charmed  all  who  heard  them,  and  that 
still  continue  to  delight  those  who  love 
poetry  in  which  are  combined  majesty, 
simplicity,  and  sweetness.  St.  Bede  (the 
Venerable  Bede)  lived  only  a  few  years 
after  Caedmon;  and  in  his  "Ecclesiastical 
History"  he  has  this  to  say  of  the  Whitby 
monk's  subjects: 

"Thus  sang  he  of  the  creation  of  the 
world,  and  the  beginning  of  the  race  of 
men,  and  all  the  history  of  Genesis;  of  the 
exodus  of  Israel  from  Egypt,  and  the  en- 
trance into  the  Promised  Land;  of  many 
other  stories  of  the  Holy  Scriptures;  of 
the  Incarnation  of  the  Lord,  His  passion, 
resurrection,  and  ascension;  of  the  coming 
of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  the.  teachings  of 
the  Apostles;  also  of  the  terrors  of  the 
future  judgment,  the  horror  of  hell- 


punishment,  and  the  sweetness  of  the 
heavenly  kingdom." 

Caedmon  never  composed  any  poems  on 
frivolous  or  worldly  subjects:  all  his  work 
was  intended  to  do  good.  When  he  had 
lived  for  a  number  of  years  in  the  monas- 
tery, he  one  day  felt  his  end  drawing  near, 
and  accordingly  ordered  his  bed  to  be 
made  in  that  part  of  the  infirmary  in  which 
the  dead  were  laid  out.  The  infirmarian 
obeyed  him,  though  he  did  not  think  that 
the  poet  was  very  ill,  as  he  was  up  and 
around  as  usual.  After  midnight,  while 
conversing  with  several  of  the  monks  who 
had  decided  to  sit  up  with  him,  Caedmon 
suddenly  asked  whether  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment was  reserved  in  the  little  chapel  of 
the  infirmary.  On  being  told  that  It  was, 
he  asked  that  It  be  brought  to  him. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  communicate 
now?"  asked  one  of  the  brethren.  "You 
are  not  at  the  point  of  death,  judging  by 
the  joyousness  of  your  conversation." 

"Bring  It  to  me  all  the  same,"  he  said. 

They  complied  with  his  request.  Before 
receiving  he-  asked  those  around  him  if 
any  one  had  anything  against  him,  or  any 
complaints  to  make  of  his  conduct.  They 
all  answered  in  the  negative. 

"No  more  have  I  of  you,"  wa's  his  com- 
ment. "My  soul  is  at  peace  with  all  the 
servants  of  God." 

He  then  received  the  Sacred  Host;  and 
shortly  afterwards  inquired  whether  the 
hour  for  waking  the  monks  for  the  Office 
was  at  hand.  On  being  told  that  it  was 
about  to  strike,  he  said: 

"Very  well,   Let  us  await  that  moment. 

Then,  making  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  he 
laid  his  head  upon  his  pillow  and  quietly 
sank  into  his  eternal  sleep. 


THE  palace  and  monastery  of  the  Es- 
curial  in  Spain,  in  memory  of  St.  Lawrence, 
who,  in  the  year  258,  was  put  to  death  on 
a  heated  iron  grate,  or  gridiron,  is  01 
of  the  most  magnificent  memorials  ever 
erected  to  a  martyr.  It  is  built  fn  the 
shape  of  a  gridiron,  upside  down,  the  towers  j 
representing  the  feet. 


THE  AVE  MAMA 
WITH    AUTHORS   AND    PUBLISHERS 


— Another  history  of  the  Holy  House  of  Loreto, 
by  the  Rev.  G.  E.  Phillips,  is  a  recent  publi- 
cation by  Messrs  Washbourne.  The  author  has 
been  engaged  on  this  work  for  several  years. 

—New  romances  by  John  Ayscough  and  Kath- 
leen Norris  are  announced  for  early  publica- 
tion. The  former's  book  of  war  impressions 
and  sketches,  under  the  title  of  "French  Win- 
dows," is  also  promised. 

-•"The  New  York  Apostolate,"  an  account 
of  twenty  years'  missionary  activity,  by  the  Rev. 
John  E^  Wickham,  is  now  reprinted  in  pamphlet 
form  from  the  March  number  of  the  Catholic 
World.  It  makes  inspiriting  reading,  and  should 
have  wide  dissemination. 

— Messrs.  Dodd,  Mead  &  Co.  have  just  pub- 
lished "The  Life  of  the  Grasshopper,"  by  J. 
Henri  Fabre.  It  forms  the  seventh  volume  in 
the  series  of  translations  by  Mr.  Teixeira  de 
Mattos  from  the  great  French  naturalist's 
"Souvenirs  Entomologiques." 

—"The  Catholic  Faith,"  by  the  Rev.  J.  B. 
Harney,  C.  S.  P.,  and  "Why  I  am  a  Catholic," 
by  Patrick  John  O'Hurley,  form  Nos.  253  and 
254  of  the  Australian  Catholic  Truth  Society's 
penny  pamphlets.  In  the  latter,  the  miracle 
of  Peter  de  Rudder,  familiar  to  all  our  readers, 
is  put  to  good  use. 

—There  will  be  many,  we  feel  sure,  to  welcome 
a  large-type  edition  of  the  Way  of  the  Cross 
according  to  the  method  of  St.  Alphonsus 
Liguori,  just  issued  by  Benziger  Brothers.  It 
is  clearly  printed  on  good  white  paper,  and 
durably  bound  in  cloth.  (Price,  15  cents.)  A 
devotional  page-picture  accompanies  each  of 
the  Stations;  and  at  the  end  of  the  book  will  be 
found  the  Stabat  Mater  in  Latin  and  English,  on 
opposite  pages.  This  is  a  capital  feature,  as  it  is 
the  custom  in  numerous  places  to  say  or  sing  a 
verse  of  that  wondrously  beautiful  sequence 
between  the  Stations. 

—True  to  its  purpose — which  is  "to  create  an 
atmosphere  of  mutual  confidence  and  to  induce 
a  better  understanding  and  a  truer  sense  of 
fellowship  among  the  isolated  communions  of 
Christendom," — the  Constructive  Quarterly  con- 
tinues to  publish  articles  by  Catholic  as  well  as 
non-Catholic  Christian  writers,  "presenting  the 
Faith  and  Work  and  Thought  of  each  Com- 
munion." Two  conditions  are  imposed — that 
absolute  integrity,  including  and  not  avoiding 
differences,  be  maintained;  and  that  no  attack 
with  polemical  animus  shall  be  made  on  others. 
It  is  gratifying  to  find  in  the  current  number  of 


the  Quarterly  a  presentation,  by  Mgr.  Batiffol, 
of  St.  Augustine's  thought  on  Catholic  unity,  on 
the  conditions  of  that  unity,  and  the  duty  of 
being  within  it.  Other  papers  are  of  great  in- 
terest, though  naturally  of  far  less  importance 
than  this,  to  Catholic  readers. 

— It  is  interesting  to  note  that  in  "Golden 
Rules  for  Adolescent  Purity,"  by  J.  Dengen 
(Walter  Scott  Publishing  Co.),  stress  is  laid  upon 
piety;  and  "reception  of  the  sacraments  and 
devotion  to  Our  Lady"  are  insisted  upon  as 
necessary  safeguards. 

— No  reader  familiar  with  Hibernian  poetry 
will  need  to  be  told  that  "Dark  Rosaleen" 
(P.  J.  Kenedy  &  Sons)  is  an  Irish  story,  or  that 
the  title  designates  Ireland  herself  rather  than 
the  heroine  of  the  tale.  And  few  readers  who 
have  perused  any  of  her  former  works  will  need 
our  assurance  that  this  latest  novel  of  M.  E. 
Francis  (Mrs.  Francis  Blundell)  is  thoroughly 
charming.  True,  it  is  a  story  of  Ireland  of 
to-day;  and,  accordingly,  the  tear  is  perhaps 
more  in  evidence  than  the  proverbial  smile; 
but  the  narrative  is  permeated  with  a  spirit  of 
sane  realism  combined  with  genuine  Irish 
otherworldliness  that  grips  one's  sympathetic 
interest  and  holds  it  in  thrall  even  to  the  artistic, 
if  somewhat  tragic,  conclusion. 

— "Prolegomena  to  an  Edition  of  the  Works  of 
Decimus  Magnus  Ausonius,"  written  as  a  dis- 
sertation for  the  doctor's  degree  at  Columbia 
University,  by  Sister  Marie  Jose  Byrne,  Ph.  D., 
professor  of  Latin  in  the  College  of  St.  Elizabeth, 
is  the  production  of  a  philologically  trained 
mind.  It  is  divided  into  five  sections:  I.  Life  of 
Ausonius;  II.  Friends  and  Correspondence;  III. 
The  Poet  and  His  Works;  IV.  History  of  the 
Text;  V.  Metre  and  Prosody.  An  extensive 
bibliography  follows.  These  prolegomena  are  re- 
markable, in  the  first  place,  for  the  thoroughness 
of  the  investigation,  which  is  evinced  on  every 
page.  The  discussion  throughout  is  original, 
nothing  being  taken  for  granted:  the  text  fur- 
nishes the  proof  for  the  results  obtained.  The 
judgment  of  other  critics  has  not  unduly  in- 
fluenced the  writer — neither  the  too  flattering 
encomiums  of  some,  nor  the  too  censorious  criti- 
cisms of  others.  On  disputed  points  she  ex- 
presses and  defends  only  such  opinions  as  are 
sane  and  conservative.  This  monograph  has 
been  approved  by  the  Department  of  Classical 
Philology  of  Columbia  University  as  a  contri- 
bution to  knowledge  worthy  of  publication,  and 
is  included  among  the  University's  publications. 
It  is  one  of  the  most  creditable  fruits  of  convent 


416 


TUR  AYR  MARIA 


scholarship  in  the  United  States,  and  does  honor 
both  to  its  author  and  the  institution  of  which 
she  is  a  member. 

— The  name  of  the 'late  Edmund  Bishop  has 
long  been  familiar  to  us  as  that  of  a  great  Catholic 
scholar  (in  early  manhood  a  secretary  to  Carlyle), 
whose  writings  on  historical  and  liturgical  sub- 
jects were  of  the  highest  value;  but  it  was  only 
last  week,  from  a  tribute  in  the  London  Tablet 
by  Dom  Hugh  Connolly,  O.  S.  B.,  that  we 
learned  something  about  Mr.  Bishop's  person- 
ality. A  convert  to  the  Church,  his  faith  and 
piety  were  no  less  remarkable  than  his  rare  gifts 
of  mind.  As  generous  as  he  was  humble,  his 
knowledge  and  time  were  always  at  the  dis- 
posal of  others;  and  the  greater  part  of  his 
work  lies  hidden  in  books  that  do  not  bear  his 
name.  The  loss  of  this  eminent  scholar,  writes 
Dom  Connolly,  "will  be  felt  far  beyond  the  pale 
of  the  Church  in  this  country;  and  in  th°  domain 
of  historical  research  it  will  perhaps  be  realized 
even  more  keenly  on  the  Continent  than  in 
England.  Indeed,  his  own  countrymen  -have 
been  on  the  whole  first  somewhat  tardy,  and  then 
somewhat  sparing,  in  their  appreciation  of  one 
whose  signal  services  to  the  Monwnenta  Ger- 
maniae  had  already  before  1879  won  the  personal 
recognition  of  Mommsen,  Waitz,  Wattenbach, 
and  the  whole  group  of  distinguished  men  then 
associated  in  the  production  of  that  great 
work." 

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Obituary. 

Remember  them  that  are  in  bands. — HEB.,  xiii,  3. 

Rev.  Francis  Doppke,  of  the  diocese  of  Cleve- 
land; Rev.  Thomas  Hayes,  archdiocese  of  St. 
Paul;  and  Rev.  Victor  Rodondo,  C.  M.  F. 

Sister  M.  Mancini,  of  the  Sisters  of  St. 
Dominic;  Sister  M.  Marcelline  and  Sister  M. 
Dosithea,  Sisters  of  St.  Joseph. 

Mr.  Frank  Misner,  Mr.  Edmund  Bishop,  Miss 
Ellen  Looney,  Mr.  Alexander  Cameron,  Mr. 
William  Nearing,  Mr.  Charles  McFadden,  Mr. 
Daniel  Hall,  Mrs.  Neil  McDonald,  Mr.  John  W. 
Sacarry,  Mr.  Angus  Cameron,  Mrs.  M.  Claffey, 
Mr.  H.  J.  Wessels,  Mr.  Henry  Runge,  Miss 
Eleanor  O'Kain,  Mrs.  G.  W.  Costello,  Mr. 
Jacob  Staudor,  Mrs.  T.  Mclnerney,  Mr.  Andrew 
Migl,  Mr.  Charles  Legg,  Mr.  Philip  Tally,  Miss 
Barbara  Lynch,  Mrs.  Mary  Lynch,  Mr.  Joseph 
Menard,  Mr.  William  Casey,  Mr.  Stephen 
Mersmann,  Mr.  Maurice  Walsh,  Miss  Alice 
Armstrong,  Mrs.  Julia  Shanahan,  Mr.  Thomas 
Cox,  Mr.  John  Burney,  and  Mr.  J.  A.  George. 

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  Bishop  of  Nueva  Segovia:  Mrs.  K.  B., 
$i.  For  the  rescue  of  orphaned  and  abandoned 
children  in  China:  J.  M.  K.,  $5;  Nora,  $i;  M. 
F.  R.,  $i.  For  the  Foreign  Missions:  E.  M.  N.,1 
$3;  Rev.  T.  F.,  $5.  For  the  war  sufferers:  G. 
E.  B.,  in  honor  of  St.  Joseph,  $i. 


HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  HE   BLESSED.      8T.  LUKE,  I.,  43. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  APRIL  7,  1917. 


NO.  14 


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


Peace. 


BY    THEODORE    MAYNARD. 


lives  are  bound 
By  sleep  and  custom  and  tranquillity 

Have  never  found 
That  peace  which  is  a  riven  mystery. 

Who  only  share 

The  calm  that  doth  this  stream,  these  orchards 
bless, 

Breathe  but  the  air 
Of  unimpassioned  pagan  quietness. 

Initiate, 
Pain  burns  about  your  head  an  aureole, 

Who  hold  in  state 
The  utter  joy  which  wounds  and  heals  the  soul. 

You  kiss  the  Rod 
With  dumb,  glad  lips,  and  bear  to  worlds  apart 

The  peace  of  God, 
Which  passeth  all  understanding,  in  your  heart. 


The  Feast  of  Gladness. 


BY    ST.  GREGORY    THE    GREAT.* 


HE  holy  women  who  followed  Our 
Lord  brought  sweet  spices  to 
His  sepulchre ;  having  loved  Him 
while  He  was  alive,  they  still 
followed  Him  with  careful  tender- 
ness now  that  He  was  dead.  It  behooves 
us  to  attend  well  to  what  they  did,  that  we 
may  afterwards  consider  with  ourselves 
what  we  must  do  after  their  example.  We 
also,  believing  in  Him  who  is  dead,  come 


*    Adapted  from  a  homily  on  the  Gospels, 
by  the  Rev.  D.  G.  Hubert. 


Translated 


to  His  sepulchre  bearing  sweet  spices,  if 
we  seek  Him  with  the  savor  of  pious  living 
and  the  fragrant  odor  of  good  works. 
These  women,  when  they  brought  spices, 
saw  a  vision  of  angels;  and  those  souls 
who  are  moved  by  the  pious  desire  to  seek 
the  Lord  with  the  good  odor  of  holy  lives, 
will  see  the  inhabitants  of  our  Fatherland 
that  is  above. 

If  we  inquire  about  the  mystery  con- 
tained in  the  fact  of  the  angel  who,  ap- 
pearing to  the  holy  women,  sat  on  the 
"right  side,"  we  shall  find  that  by  the 
left  side  is  meant  the  life  which  now  is, 
and  life  everlasting  by  the  right  side. 
Since,  therefore,  our  Redeemer  had  passed 
from  the  corruption  of  this  life,  the  angel 
who  told  that  His  eternal  life  was  come, 
sat  becomingly  on  the  right  side.  The 
angel  was  clothed  with  a  white  robe;  for 
he  announced  the  joy  of  this  great  solem- 
nity, and  the  shining  whiteness  of  his 
raiment  told  of  the  brightness  of  this  holy 
festival.  The  Resurrection  of  Our  Lord 
is  a  festival  of  gladness  for  us,  since  we 
now  know  that  we  shall  not  die  forever; 
and  for  the  angels  also  it  is  a  festival  of 
joy,  for  they  now  know  that  we  are  called 
to  complete  their  number  in  heaven. 

What  is  the  meaning  of  these  words 
spoken  by  the  angel  to  the  women  who 
had  come  to  the  sepulchre,  "Be  not 
affrighted"?  Is  it  not  as  though  he  had 
said  openly:  Let  them  fear  who  love  not 
the  coming  of  the  heavenly  citizens;  let 
them  be  affrighted  who  are  so  burdened 
by  the  flesh,  that  they  despair  ever  to  be 
joined  to  their  company.  But  as  to  you, 
why  do  ye  fear,  since  seeing  us  you  see 


41S 


THE  AVK  MART  A 


only  your  fellow-citizens?  St.  Matthew, 
describing  the  appearance  of  the  angel, 
says:  "His  countenance  was  as  lightning, 
and  his  raiment  as  snow."  The  lightning 
speaks  of  fear  and  terror;  the  snow,  of  the 
brilliant  whiteness  of  rejoicing.  Since  God 
the  Almighty  shows  Himself  terrible  to 
sinners,  but  at  the  same  time  well  pleased 
with  good  and  pious  souls,  it  was  but  right 
that  the  angel,  who  had  been  sent  by  Him 
to  give  testimony  to  His  resurrection, 
should  inspire  some  with  fear  and  terror 
by  the  lightning,  and  others  with  confidence 
and  hope  by  his  garment.  God  Himself 
wished  to  convey  to  us  this  meaning;  for 
He  guided  the  Israelites  through  the 
desert  by  a  pillar  of  fire  in  the  night  and  a 
cloud  during  the  day.  For  the  life  of  the 
just  may  be  compared  to  daylight,  and 
that  of  the  sinner  to  a  dark  night.  Thus 
the  pillar  of  fire  is  to  inspire  sinners  with 
fear;  whilst  the  just,  wandering  in  the  light 
of  the  day,  see  a  cloud  which  fills  them  with 
hope  and  security.  St.  Paul,  writing  to 
converted  sinners,  says:  "You  were  here- 
tofore darkness,  but  now  light  in  the  Lord." 
Lastly,  all  this  will  be  accomplished  by 
the  Lord  on  the  day  of  His  wrath,  when 
His  loving  countenance  will  shine  on  the 
just,  while  the  terror  of  His  justice  will 
crush  the  wicked. 

"You  seek  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  who  was 
crucified,"  said  the  angel.  This  holy 
name  belongs  in  reality  only  to  the  Re- 
deemer of  the  world,  who  was  crucified. 
The  angel  said:  "He  is  risen,  He  is  not 
here."  He  is  no  longer  here  in  His 
humanity,  though  His  divinity  is  present 
everywhere.  "But  go  tell  His  disciples 
and  Peter  that  He  goeth  before  you 
into  Galilee."  When  we  consider  that  St. 
Peter,  after  the  great  misfortune  of  deny- 
ing his  Master,  would  probably  not  have 
dared  to  accompany  the  other  disciples  to 
seek  and  meet  Jesus,  you  will  easily  under- 
stand why  he  was  specially  invited  and 
his  name  mentioned, — that  is,  that  he 
should  have  no  motive  to  doubt  that  his 
faithlessness  was  forgiven  him.  Acknowl- 
edge the  infinite  goodness  of  God!  He  had 


permitted  that  disciple,  chosen  by  Him  to 
be  the  visible  head  of  His  Church,  to  be  so 
frightened  by  the  words  of  a  maidservant 
as  to  deny  his  Redeemer,  so  that  the  re- 
membrance of  his  own  weakness  and  sin 
might  teach  him  patience  and  forbearance 
with  other  people's  misery,  and  with  the 
failings  of  the  great  flock  that  was  to  be 
entrusted  to  him. 

Not  without  a  special  reason  did  Our 
Lord  send  word  to  His  disciples  that  He 
expected  them  in  Galilee,  where  they  would 
find  Him.  The  word  "Galilee"  means 
"change,"  and  this  was  entirely  conform- 
able with  the  state  of  our  Saviour;  for  He 
had  now  passed  from  suffering  to  the  glory 
of  the  resurrection,  from  death  to  life. 
He  showed  Himself  in  Galilee,  glorious 
and  risen  from  the  dead,  to  manifest  Him- 
self to  them  by  the  place  He  had  chosen; 
and  to  give  us  to  understand  that  one  day 
we  shall  have  the  joy  and  happiness  of 
seeing  Him  in  the  glory  of  His  resurrection, 
if  now  we  pass  from  the  state  of  sin  to  the 
heights  of  Christian  virtues.  Notice  also 
that  our  Redeemer  had  Himself  announced 
to  the  disciples  near  the  place  of  His  sepul- 
chre, but  appeared  to  them  only  after 
changing  His  dwelling-place;  because,  ac- 
cording to  His  example,  the  mortification 
of  the  flesh  must  precede  in  this  life  if 
we  wish  for  the  beatific  contemplation  in 
the  life  to  come. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  life1:  the  one  we 
now  lead  in  this  world,  the  other  of  which 
we  have  no  knowledge.  The  life  we  now 
know  is  mortal,  the  other  is  immortal; 
by  the  one  we  are  subject  to  corruption, 
by  the  other  we  obtain  incorruptibility. 
Death  will  be  the  end  of  the  first,  and  our 
resurrection  will  be  the  beginning  of  the 
second.  Jesus  Christ,  who  came  as  the 
Mediator  between  God  and  man,  lived 
the  one  and  the  other  life ;  for  He  suffered 
the  death  of  the  first,  and  He  rose  from 
the  dead  to  give  us  some  knowledge  of 
the  second.  Had  He  only  promised  that 
one  day  we  shall  rise  again,  without  giving 
us  in  His  own  flesh  an  example  of  that 
resurrection,  no  one  perhaps  would  have 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


419 


referred  to  His  testimony.  But  by  taking 
our  human  nature,  and  becoming  like 
ourselves,  He  willingly  gave  up  His  body 
to  death;  then,  by  His  infinite  power, 
He  rose  again,  and  gave  us  in  His  own 
person  a  pledge  of  the  resurrection  He 
had  promised. 

In  order  to  enlighten  our  ignorance  and 
strengthen  our  faith  in  a  future  resurrec- 
tion, Our  Lord  wished  us  to  be  convinced 
not  by  the  example  of  His  resurrec- 
tion only.  For,  notice,  though  He  was  the 
only  one  who  died  at  that  moment,  yet 
Holy  Scripture  tells  us  that  many  bodies 
of  the  saints  that  had  slept  arose  at  that 
time,  thus  destroying  any  doubts  still 
remaining  in  the  minds  of  unbelievers. 
Providence  willed  people  of  the  same 
nature  as  ours  to  rise  with  Jesus  Christ. 
Being  members  of  the  Redeemer,  we  have 
no  doubt  that  what  is  seen  in  the  Head 
will  be  fulfilled  in  the  members;  that 
what  happened  to  those  who,  as  the  first 
members  of  the  Saviour,  rose  from  the 
dead,  will  also  happen  to  us,  though 
the  last. 

The  Jews  blasphemed  the  crucified 
Redeemer,  and  said:  "If  He  be  the  King 
of  Israel,  let  Him  now  come  down  from  the 
cross,  and  we  will  believe  in  Him."  Had 
Jesus  yielded  to  these  insults  and  mockery 
He  would  not  have  given  us  the  beautiful 
example  of  His  astonishing  patience.  How- 
ever, He  waited;  He  accepted  and  bore 
insults  and  blasphemies;  He  persevered 
in  that  wonderful  patience,  and  put  off 
the  time  for  giving  a  sign  of  His  almighty 
power,  that  would  then  have  caused  a 
momentary  amazement  only,  in  order  to 
show  a  greater  miracle — namely,  the  glory 
of  His  resurrection.  It  was  a  more  glorious 
triumph  to  leave  the  sepulchre,  full  of 
renewed  life,  than  to  come  down  from  the 
cross.  By  His  resurrection  He  triumphed 
over  death,  whilst  by  descending  from  the 
cross  He  would  only  have  saved  His  life. 
Meanwhile  the  Jews  were  jubilant;  for, 
in  spite  of  their  insults,  Our  Lord  was  still 
hanging  on  the  cross;  and  they  presumed 
that,  after  His  death,  His  name  would  be 


forgotten  forever.  Yet  out  of  the  bosom 
of  the  earth  His  name  was  spread  abroad 
all  over  the  world;  and  with  such  glory 
that  this  perfidious  nation,  so  eager  to 
punish  Him  with  an  ignominious  death, 
was  quite  confounded,  when  seeing  that 
the  torments  inflicted  on  Him  had  become 
the  cause  of  His  triumph. 

It  was  thought  of  Samson  by  the  Philis- 
tines that,  being  enclosed  within  the  walls 
of  the  city  of  Gaza,  and  surrounded  by 
guards,  he  would  soon  be  overcome  and 
bound  with  the  chains  they  had  prepared; 
but  during  the  night  he  took  the  doors  of 
the  gate,  and,  laying  them  on  his  shoulders, 
carried  them  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill. 
Thus  the  all-powerful  Saviour,  the  strong 
God  typified  by  Samson,  burst  the  bonds 
of  the  sepulchre,  surrounded  by  the  Jews 
with  guards,  whilst  they  fancied  that  the 
Author  of  life,  whom  they  had  killed  and 
enclosed  in  the  grave,  would  be  forever 
buried  therein.  And  this  all-powerful  God, 
more  terrible  after  His  death  than  Samson 
in  his  life,  came  out,  after  descending  into 
Limbo ;  and,  triumphing  over  His  enemies, 
ascended  into  heaven. 

Let  us  abide  by  this  glorious  resurrec- 
tion, which,  announced  by  the  Prophets, 
was  so  happily  accomplished.  Let  us 
desire  to  die,  that  we  may  be  partakers  of 
that  resurrection.  And  since  we  have 
heard  that  the  angels  who  announced  the 
resurrection  of  Christ  are  inhabitants  of 
the  eternal  dwelling  for  which  we  are  long- 
ing, let  us  endeavor  to  reach  them,  and 
thus  celebrate  this  festival  with  them. 
Though  we  are  not  just  now  able  to  enjoy 
a  glorious  resurrection  with  these  heavenly 
spirits  we  will,  nevertheless,  join  them 
with  the  ardor  of  our  desires.  Let  us 
forsake  sin  and  practise  virtue,  and  by 
this  change  be  able  to  see  the  face  of  our 

Redeemer. 

>...».>< 

No  one  can  ever  be  better  regulated  in 
his  actions  than  he  who  is  more  disposed 
to  do  what  the  divine  will  commands  than 
to  do  what  his  own  will  suggests. 

— St.  Augustine. 


420 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


XIX.— -A  FIGHTING  CHANCU. 

N  a  small  room  in  an  adobe  hut, 
on  a  neat  little  bed,  lay  Arthur 
Bodkin  of  Ballyboden.  A  man,  a 
surgeon,  was  stooping  over  him, 
probing  for  a  bullet  which  had  entered  at 
the  back  of  the  shoulder  blade,  and  had 
plowed  its  way  upward.  The  pain  of  the 
operation  was  almost  unendurable;  but 
the  wounded  man  closed  his  teeth  tight, 
clenched  his  hands,  and,  murmuring  an 
Ave  Maria,  made  no  moan.  The  surgeon 
came  upon  the  bullet,  and,  after  what 
appeared  to  the  sufferer  an  eternity  of 
pain,  succeeded  in  cutting  it  out  over  the 
collar-bone.  A  drink  of  tequila  was  admin- 
istered to  Arthur  by  a  tender-eyed  Indian 
woman,  the  wound  dressed,  and  the  patient 
advised  to  go  to  sleep.  Wearied  with  tor- 
ture, he  was  visited  by  "tired  nature's 
sweet  restorer";  he  slept  like  a  child, 
and  until  the  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens. 
When  he  awoke,  a  twinge  of  pain  caused 
his  memory  to  leap  back  to  the  moment 
when  the  cowardly  bullet  hurled  him  into 
unconsciousness,  and  a  red-hot  flame  of 
anger  lit  up  his  heart  as  he  thought  of  the 
treachery  that  had  laid  him  low. 

And  Rody?  What  of  good,  faithful 
Rody?  Had  he  been  shot  down  too — 
assassinated?  A  deep  groan  escaped  from 
Arthur, — so  deep,  so  prolonged,  as  to 
bring  the  Indian  woman  noiselessly  to  his 
side.  In  broken  Spanish  he  interrogated 
her;  but  she  failed  to  comprehend  him, 
replying  to  his  agonized  utterances  by 
placing  her  finger  to  her.  closed  lips,  as 
though  to  impose  silence. 

Presently  a  heavy  step  was  heard,  the 
door  was  flung  open,  and  a  man  entered. 
He  did  not  remove  his  sombrero.  Advanc- 
ing to  the  bedside,  he  gazed  down  at 
Bodkin,  and  chuckled  as  he  spoke  in 
English : 

"So  it's  you,  is  it?" 


It  was  Mazazo,  alias  Don  Manuel 
Gonzalez. 

Stupefied,  dazed,  dumfounded,  Arthur 
Bodkin  did  not  reply.  He  knew  well  that 
his  death  sentence  had  been  pronounced. 
Why  contend  now  with  this  miserable 
cheat  and  spy? 

"So  it's  you,  is  it?" 

And  the  man  chuckled  again,  showing 
teeth  like  fangs. 

"  It  is  my  turn  now,"  said  Mazazo.  And, 
in  order  to  gratify  his  lust  of  revenge,  he 
moved  to  the  end  of  the  bed,  so  as  to 
obtain  a  better  view  of  the  wounded  man. 
"Oho!  but  this  is  juicy, — this  is  delicious! 
You  had  me  hard  and  fast;  but  I  was  too 
slippery  for  you.  Bah!  all  the  ropes  that 
were  ever  made  of  maguey  could  not  hold 
me.  But  I  will  hold  you,  amigo  mio!  I 
will  have  a  nice  fat  rat  in  the  trap.  I  will 
see  that  you  regain  health  and  strength; 
and  then,  when  life  will  be  as  precious  to 
you  as  that  Irish  girl  who  is  with  the 
Austrian  woman,  I'll  have  you  brought 
and — no,  not  shot:  that  is  a  soldier's 
death, — I'll  have  you  garroted — strangled. 
Do  you  hear?" 

Arthur  made  no  sign. 

"It's  not  a  nice  way  to  die.  It's  about 
the  very  worst.  You  are  placed  in  a  chair, 
strapped  tight  into  it.  Behind  you  is  a 
post" — Mazazo  spoke  slowly  and  impres- 
sively, and  in  almost  perfect  English, — • 
"and  on  this  post  is  an  iron  collar;  this 
collar  will  be  fastened  round  your  mis- 
erable neck,  and  the  executioners  will 
twist  a  screw  that  will  tighten  it  until  your 
tongue  darts  out  like  a  snake's." 

Arthur  did  not  move  a  muscle,  but  he 
devoutly  murmured  Ave  Marias.  He  had 
heard  of  the  horrors  of  the  garrote,  and 
knew  of  its  hideous  processes.  To  reply 
to  this  rascal  could  avail  Arthur  nothing. 
If  he  asked  news  of  Rody,  Mazazo  would 
undoubtedly  lie  to  him;  and  the  very 
questioning  might  turn  the  relentless  vil- 
lain's attention  to  poor  O'Flynn.  Silence 
was  surer  than  speech,  and  in  this  extremity 
also  a  necessity. 

"Oho!"    laughed  Mazazo.    "You  won't 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


421 


speak?  You'll  find  your  tongue  for  Sefior 
Garrote,  I'll  warrant.  Adios!" 

And,  with  a  horrid  laugh  at  this  ghastly 
joke,  this  human  fiend  left  the  apartment. 

It  was  after  nightfall;  but  a  young 
moon  was  up  in  the  heavens,  and  peeping 
in  at  Arthur  Bodkin  of  Ballyboden.  The 
criada,  or  woman  servant  attached  to  the 
dwelling,  had  brought  him  his  supper, — • 
composed  of  eggs  dashed  with  garlic 
done  in  a  brown  earthen  bowl,  the  inimi- 
table tortilla,  and  black  coffee.  She  also, 
by  direction  of  the  medico,  placed  some 
tequila  beside  him,  and  a  cooling  unguent 
to  be  applied  to  his  wounds. 

He  thought  of  his  piteous  plight,  and 
could  not,  and  would  not,  realize  that  he 
was  now  almost  face  to  face  with  death. 
The  idea  of  escape  never  for  an  instant 
left  his  mind;  and  he  resolved,  cost  what 
it  would,  to  make  the  attempt.  Should  he 
fail,  it  was  only  to  lose  his  life  by  a  bullet 
instead  of  by  an  iron  collar,  with  all  its 
gruesome  details.  His  shoulder  had  ceased 
to  pain,  and  a  few  hours  ought  to  enable 
him  to  try  the  hazard  of  the  die. 

"I  never  yet  asked  anything  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,"  he  exclaimed  aloud, 
"that  she  did  not  grant;  and  now,  O 
sacred  Mother,  take  me  under  your 
glorious  protection ! ' ' 

A  slight  cough  close  at  hand  caused 
him  to  be  silent.  He  could  hear  the  beat- 
ing of  his  own  heart.  Was  this  a  response 
to  his  soul-uplifted  prayer?  Again  a 
cough.  This  time  it  had  a  sort  of  warning 
in  its  sound.  It  seemed  to  mean :  "Whisper, 
if  you  want  to  know  who  I  am." 

"Who's  there?"  asked  Arthur,  feebly. 

"It's  me,  sir!" 

' '  Merciful  God !— Rody ! " 

"Whisht!   I'm  creepin'  over  to  the  bed." 

Soon  Rody's  hand  was  in  his,  and  the 
two  men  were  sobbing  for  absolute  joy. 

"Where  am  I,   Rody?"    asked  Arthur. 

"Ye're  twenty  miles  from  everywhere, 
sir;  ye're  up  in  the  mountains,  no  less; 
ye're  in  the  hands  of  the  bloodiest  villyan 
unhung — Mazazo."  ' 

"I've  seen  him." 


"But,  plaze  God  and  His  Blessed 
Mother,  we'll  give  thim  all  the  shlip  afther 
a  while,  Masther  Arthur.  Never  fear. 
Couldn't  ye  ride,  sir?" 

"I  can." 

"More  power  to  ye!  And  walk  and 
run  a  bit?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so." 

"Well,  sir,  I  have  it  all  made  out.  The 
minute  that  moon  is  hid  be  that  hill, 
ye'll  have-  to  lave  this  place  as  soft  as 
ould  Mrs.  Malowney's  cat.  We'll  have  to 
creep  in  the  shadow  of  the  walls  and 
cactuses  for  about  a  mile  and  a  bit  more, 
where  I  have  an  iligant  pair  of  horses 
ready  to  fly  away  wid  us.  Of  course,  sir, 
we're  not  in  Sackville  Sthreet  nor  on  the 
Donnybrook  Road,  and  we'll  have  mebbe 
for  to  fight  our  way.  Here  is  a  revolver 
loaded  up  to  the  eye.  I  have  a  cupple 
myself.  Mazazo'll  have  for  to  dale  wid  a 
pair  of  corpses  if  he -wants  for  to  ketch 
thim  alive." 

"But  how  did  you  arrange  it  all, 
Rody?" 

"It's  the  ould  story,  sir:  be  manes  of 
the  ladies, — but  I'll  tell  ye  all  about  it 
whin  we're  safe,  sir." 

"Weren't  you  shot  down  too,  Rody?" 

"I  was,  sir;  but  that's  all  the  harm  it 
done  me.  I  was  only  scrotched.  Whisht!" 

The  sound  of  footsteps  approached. 
Rody  shrank  behind  the  bed.  The  criada 
appeared  in  the  doorway,  shading  a  small 
lighted  nut  in  her  hand,- — -the  oil  of  the 
nut  giving  a  strong  light  for  about  two 
minutes.  Luckily  the  back  -of  her  hand 
was  in  Rody's  direction,  the  light  being 
poured  upon  the  recumbent  form  of  his 
master,  who  pretended  to  be  asleep.  The 
woman,  after  gazing  pityingly  upon  him 
for  a  moment,  shook  her  head,  muttering, 
"Madre  de  Dios!"  and  moved  away. 

"Now  for  it,  sir,  — up  wid  ye!  The 
moon  is  just  turnin'  in.  Which  is  the  bad 
side?  The  right?  Aisy  now,— aisy!  If  ye 
get  wake  I  can  carry  ye.  Now,  t.hir, 
ye're  on  yer  feet!" 

Arthur  felt  faint  and  dizzy.  He  stretched 
out  his  hand,  and,  raising  the  bottle  of 


422 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


tequila  (a  very  strong  spirit)  to  his  lips 
took  a  long  draught.  He  offered  the  bottle 
to  Rody. 

"I'll  take  a  sketch  by  and  by,  sir,  and 
thank  ye  kindly.  Now  couldn't  ye  go  on 
all-fours  a  bit — follyin'  me?" 

"No,  I  can't.  My  shoulder  feels  a  ton 
weight  when  I  stoop." 

"Well,  never  mind.  We'll  get  to  the 
corner  of  the  house,  and  thin  we'll  have 
to  give  thim  leg-bail  if  they  discover  us. 
Don't  be  mindin'  me,  Masther  Arthur. 
Renumber  that  ye' re  Bodkin  of  Bally- 
boden.  They  can't  replace  the  likes  of 
you,  sir,  but  they  could  find  a  thousand 
O'Flynns." 

"Not  one  like  you,  Rody." 

"Now,  thin,  sir!  Rouse  the  griddle! 
Remimber  ye  keep  to  the  road  till  ye 
come  to  a  wood  on  yer  left.  Whin  ye 
get  there  call  out,  and  a  boy  will  ride  to 
ye  wid  the  horses.  Take  the  best,  and 
ride  for  dear  life  down  the  hill  and  on 
to  safety." 

"God  bless  you,  my  faithful  friend!" 
said  Arthur.  "  We  will  live  or  die  together. 
I  am  ready." 

As  Bodkin  uttered  this  last  word  the 
moon  hid  her  fair  young  face,  leaving  a  soft, 
warm  veil  of  darkness  over  the  hacienda. 
Rody  led  the  way,  walking  as  noiselessly 
as  the  cat  of  which  he  had  made  such 
honorable  mention,  Arthur  following.  The 
patio .  was  paved  with  red  brick,  which 
gave  back  no  sound.  As  they  emerged 
into  the  open  a  dog  growled;  but  Rody 
"soothered"  it  with  some  talismanic  ex- 
pression in  the  Irish  language,  so  powerful 
as  to  turn  hostility  into  friendship;  the 
intelligent  animal  insisting  upon  being 
their  escort  along  the  road.  Arthur's 
shoulder  commenced  to  pain  to  such  a 
degree  that  he  could  hardly  refrain  from 
crying  out.  Rody  made  the  pace,  ever  and 
anon  glancing  back  to  see  that  his  master 
was  following.  Each  large  cactus  bush 
was  utilized,  and  more  than  once  they 
stopped  to  breathe. 

"How  is  the  shouldher  now,  sir?"  Rody 
would  usk. 


"All  right,"  was  the  reply,  the  effort 
to  make  it  costing  throbs  of  excruciating 
agony. 

The  dog,  who  had  been  gambolling 
ahead,  suddenly  gave  a  joyous  bark. 

' '  Down,  sir, — -down !  There's  some  of  the 
people  comin'.  That  dog  knows  thim." 
And  poor  Rody,  forgetting  Arthur's  wound, 
flung  his  face  downward  behind  a  cactus 
bush.  It  took  all  the  pressure  of  Bodkin's 
will  power  to  refrain  from  yelling,  so 
unendurable  was  the  agony  caused  by  the 
shock.  The  fall  reopened  the  wound,  and 
the  hot  blood  came  soaking  through  his 
clothes. 

The  dog,  barking  joyously,  led  the  way, 
two  men  following  on  foot. 

"There's  only  two,  sir.  Be  ready  for  to 
fire,  and  don't  miss!"  hoarsely  whispered 
Rody. 

The  men  were  close  upon  them,  the 
cactus  barely  serving  as  a  screen.  Arthur, 
despite  his  grievous  condition,  firmly 
grasped  his  revolver,  resolving  to  die  hard. 
The  dog  bounded  up,  sniffed  at  Bodkin's 
body,  made  a  playful  snap  at  Rody,  and 
bounded  on,  the  men  following. 

"That  was  hapes,  as  Mrs.  Murphy 
remarked  whin  she  swallied  the  crab. 
Whew!  Masther  Arthur,  but  the  breath 
wint  clane  out  of  me  body.  Sorra  a 
closer  shave  Lanty  O'Toole  ever  made 
wid  his  Sunda'  razor.  Now  we  must  be 
stirrin'." 

"Rody,"  gasped  Arthur,  "I'm  afraid 
I'm  done  for.  The  wound  has  opened, — -I 
am  bleeding  to  death." 

"Oh,  murdher!  murdher!"  groaned 
O'Flynn,  gently  removing  the  clothes 
from  Bodkin's  shoulder,  and  tightly  com- 
pressing the  orifice  by  means  of  a  scarf 
which  he  wore  around  his  waist.  "If  it's 
God's  will  ye're  to  die,  sir — and  His  holy 
will  be  done, — ye'll  die  in  the  saddle 
makin'  a  dash  for  liberty";  adding,  with 
a  ring  of  fire  and  pride  in  his  rich,  mellow 
voice:  "A  Bodkin  of  Ballyboden  knows 
how  for  to  die, — but  not  in  a  ditch,  sir." 

There  was  something  so  inspiriting  in 
the  man's  tone,  so  strong  an  appeal  to  his 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


423 


manhood  and  to  his  pride  of  race,  that 
Arthur  resolved  upon  a  supreme  effort; 
and,  aided  by  his  servant,  ran  stumbling 
and  tottering,  in  the  direction  of  a  clump 
of  trees,  beneath  which  the  pair  arrived 
exhausted,  but  in  safety. 

"Take  a  golliogue  now,  Masther  dear!" 
exclaimed  O'Flynn,  producing  the  bottle 
which  contained  the  tequila,  and  which 
he  had  with  great  forethought  thrust  into 
a.  pocket  as  they  left  the  hacienda. 

The  stimulant  so  revived  Arthur  that 
he  was  enabled,  with  the  help  of  his 
companion,  to  mount  the  horse  that  was 
in  waiting;  and  Rody,  leaping  upon  the 
other,  they  started  across  the  plain,  avoid- 
ing the  highway.  As  good  luck  would  have 
it,  the  young  moon  was  in  the  sulks,  and 
did  not  reappear.  That  the  ride  was  an 
awful  ordeal  for  our  hero,  it  is  needless  to 
say.  Now  racked  with  pain,  now  numb 
with  torture,  every  bound  of  his  powerful 
horse  seemed  as  though  it  were  the  last 
agony;  and  were  it  not  for  a  judicious  use 
of  the  tequila,  he  would  have  fallen  to 
mother  earth.  Twice  did  he  faint,  to  be 
revived  by  the  almost  womanly  tenderness 
of  his  faithful  follower.  And  when  at 
length,  the  grey  dawn  breaking,  they  rode 
into  the  little  town  of  Calientas,  and  into 
safety,  poor  Arthur  fell,  limp  and  motion- 
less, into  Rody's  arms. 

"Mother  of  God,  he's  dead  entirely!" 
And  a  despairing  cry  came  from  the  very 
bottom  of  the  honest  fellow's  breaking 
heart. 

(To  be  continued.) 


Spanish  Footprints  in  California. 


BY    THE    REV.    T.    J.    BRENNAN,    S.  T.  I,. 


For  a  Church  Bell. 


BY    SHANE 

~\  CHIME  at  eve  and  morn, 
I  peal  the  happy  wed, 

I  ring  for  mortals  born, 
I  toll  the  blessed  dead. 

But  I  am  busy  most 

•When  all  my  work  is  done, 
In  silence  praising  Son, 
And  Father,   Holy  Ghost. 


names  as  a  rule  are 
very  uncommunicative.  They 
simply  indicate  the  presence 
of  some  person,  and  no  more. 
They  are  almost  as  nondescriptive  as  the 
number  on  a  house  or  on  an  auto  license. 
I  hear  the  name  Johnson,  for  example; 
but  whether  it  refers  to  the  great  lexi- 
cographer or  the  Governor  of  California  or 
the  local  grocer  I  can  not  tell.  I  hear  the 
name  Pope,  but  whether  it  stands  for  the 
poet  or  the  maker  of  automobiles  I  have 
yet  to  learn.  Of  course  when  the  names 
were  given  first  they  were  chosen  for  a 
reason  found  in  the  individuals  so  named. 
The  first  Johnson  was  the  son  of  John; 
the  first  Pope  was  so  called  because  of 
his  pretensions  to  some  attribute  of  the 
Sovereign  Pontiff.  Then  these  names 
became  family  names,  and  have  been 
borne  by  all  the  numerous  progeny  of  the 
first  bearers,  no  matter  what  their  charac- 
ters or  offices  in  life;  so  that  to-day  when 
Mr.  Johnson  or  Mr.  Pope  sends  up  his 
card,  I  know  no  more  than  if  I  were  told 
that  'man  No.  46  or  man  No.  54  desires 
to  see  you.' 

It  is  different  with  place-names.  They 
are  given  to  individual  places,  and  remain 
faithful  to  their  partner  till  death.  Besides, 
they  are,  as  a  rule,  given  with  a  reason. 
The  reason  may  be  geographical,  historical 
or  sentimental;  but  there  nearly  always 
is  a  reason;  .and  hence  the  study  of  the 
origin  of  place-names  is  often  a  key  to 
problems  in  history  and  ethnology, — is 
often  an  illuminating  comment  on  those 
who  gave  them. 

This  was  more  so  in  former  times  than 
now;  for  most  of  our  modern  place-names 
are  invented  and  affixed  by  real  estate 
men.  They  are  part  of  the  advertising 
scheme,  and  nearly  always  end  in  "Ter- 
race" or  "Park"  or  "View."  They  are 
meant  for  people  who  want  a  nice  name 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


for  their  suburban  residence  and  fur  t licit- 
visiting  cards,  and  who  pay  more  at  ten 
tion  to  sound  than  to  appropriateness. 
Formerly  it  was  otherwise.  Names  were 
given,  not  with  a  view  to  enhance  market 
value,  but  rather  to  describe  the  location, 
to  commemorate  the  day  or  the  cir- 
cumstance of  discovery,  or  to  honor  the 
discoverer;  and  there  they  will  remain 
forever,  a  spontaneous  tribute  of  disinter- 
estedness or  gratitude.  We  can  illustrate 
this  from  the  Spanish  place-names  of 
California,  using  as  our  basis  the  valuable 
work  of  Nellie  Van  de  Grift  Sanchez. 

The  present  State  of  California  was  ex- 
plored, and  its  early  settlements  named, 
by  the  Spaniards;  and  a  glance  at  the 
map  of  the  State  will  tell  us  more  about 
that  people  than  an  article  in  a  first-class 
encyclopedia.  It  will  tell  us  that  the  old 
romances  of  the  days  of  chivalry  still 
influenced  them;  it  will  tell  us  that  they 
reckoned  dates  not  by  the  civil  but  by 
the  ecclesiastical  calendar;  and  it  will 
bring  before  us  a  list  of  Spanish  family 
names  either  famous  in  sunny  Spain  or 
famous  in  this  epoch  of  discovery.  "In 
these  names  the  spirit  of  our  romantic 
past  lives  and  breathes,  and  their  sound 
is  like  an  echo  coming  down  the  years  to 
tell  of  that  other  day  when  the  savage 
built  his  beehive  huts  on  the  river  banks, 
and  the  Spanish  caballero  jingled  his  spurs 
along  the  Camino  Real."* 

Naturally,  the  names  reflect  many  moods 
and  many  sentiments.  They  were  not 
bestowed  at  a  council  table,  nor  after 
deliberating  on  the  characteristics  of  the 
place  to  be  named.  They  sprang  almost 
spontaneously  to  the  lips  of  these  pioneers 
as  a  description  of  some  local  peculiarity, 
or  a  commemoration  of  some  incident,  or 
as  a  tribute  of  love  to  some  favorite  saint 
or  personality.  The  christening  was  a 
very  rapid  and  very  informal  ceremony; 
and  in  that  way  all  the  more  valuable  as 
an  indication  of  the  character  of  those 
responsible  for  the  fact. 

Of  these  names  the  great  majority  are 

*  Introduction,  p.  i. 


religious, — that  is  to  say,  they  commem- 
orate the  name  of  some  saint  or  1'estivul 
or  doctrine  of  the  Church.  For  the  voyage 
of  discovery  was  religious  rather  than 
commercial.  Though  there  were  tales  of 
golden  treasure,  and  the  ambition  to  en- 
large the  empire  of  the  Spanish  monarch, 
yet  the  spiritual  needs  of  the  Gentiles  were 
the  motive  and  the  explanation  of  these 
heroic  exploits.  The  missionaries  were 
the  leaders, — if  not  in  fact,  at  least  in  zeal 
and  initiative.  Their  first  thought  was  to 
erect  the  standard  of  the  Cross;  their 
first  ministrations  were  to  the  souls  of  the 
heathens.  And  wherever  they  halted  or, 
wherever  their  eyes  rested,  they  called 
to  mind  some  saint  or  some  Christian 
mystery,  and  marked  by  a  Christian  name 
the  places  thus  brought  for  the  first  time 
under  the  influence  of  the  Gospel. 

There  is  scarcely  a  saint  in  the  calendar 
whose  name  you  will  not  find  on  the  map 
of  California;  there  is  scarcely  a  mystery 
or  festival  which  has  not  been  wedded 
to  one  of  its  lakes  or  rivers  or  mountains. 
To  illustrate  this  I  need  only  mention  our 
three  great  cities  —  San  Francisco,  Los 
Angeles,  and  Sacramento, — all  so  well 
beloved  by  tourists,  and  speaking  of  men 
whose  language  was  the  language  of  Spain 
and  whose  ideals  were  those  of  the  Church. 
Indeed  California  is  one  of  the  sacra- 
mentals  of  the  Church.  Its  place-names 
speak  to  us  of  apostles  and  confessors, 
as  well  as  of  martyrs  and  virgins.  They 
were  written  by  men  to  whom  saints  and 
angels  were  familiar  and  daily  influences; 
and  though  other  races  and  religious  have 
entered  into  possession,  from  end  to  end 
of  the  State  we  find  footprints  of  holy 
Padres,  and  we  hear  the  echoes  of  the 
heavenly  names  which  they  invoked  in 
hours  of  peril,  or  thanked  in  the  hour  of 
triumph. 

We  must  not  think,  however,  that  name- 
making  in  California  was  simply  a  matter 
of  running  down  an  alphabetical  list  of 
the  saints,  or  of  perpetual  recourse  to  the 
calendar  of  the  Church.  That  would  have 
been  easy;  but,  for  the  sprightly  Spanish 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


425 


mind,  it  would  have  been  too  monotonous. 
Sometimes  the  process  was  much  more 
simple  and  prosaic,  and  we  come  on  quite 
a  big  list  of  names  which  are  nothing  more 
than  a  literal  description  of  some  local  or 
geographical  characteristic.  For  example, 
they  call  a  place  Agua  Caliente,  which 
sounds  very  nice  and  sweet  and  mysterious 
until  you  know  that  it  means  simply 
"warm  water,"  and  is  merely  a  descrip- 
tion of  a  fact.  They  meet  a  dry,  treeless, 
dusty  plain,'  and  call  it  Soledad  ("Lone- 
liness"). They  come  on  a  dry  creek  and 
designate  it  Arroyo  Seco.  They  encounter 
a  pretty  piece  of  scenery,  cry  out,  "Beau- 
tiful sight!"  (Bella  Vista),  and  the  name 
is  given  and  will  remain  forever. 

Indeed,  it  is  fortunate  that  the  present 
settlers  are  so  ignorant  of  the  language  of 
the  pioneers;  otherwise,  many  of  these 
names  would  surely  be  discarded  as  too 
common  and  obvious.  Imagine,  for  in- 
stance, calling  a  place  in  English  "Round" 
or  "White"  or  "Swamp";  and  yet  to  the 
average  ear  these  names  sound  quite 
agreeable  in  Spanish:  Redondo,  Blanco. 
Laguna.  However,  that  is  the  advantage 
of  Spanish:  it  seems  to  lend  beauty  and 
poetry  to  the  common  and  ordinary  things 
of  life;  or  at  least  it  covers  ugliness  in 
words  not  " understanded  of  the  people." 

This  tendency  -to  be  realistic  has  often 
preserved  characteristics  of  places  which 
doubtless  the  present  inhabitants  would 
willingly  forget  or  conceal.  Who,  for 
example,  would  tolerate  such  a  name  as 
"The  Fleas"  on  his  visiting  card  or  as  his 
post-office  address?  And  yet  we  have  the 
name  Las  Pulgas  occurring  twice  on  the 
map  of  California.  Father  Crespi  tells  us 
how  it  arose  at  least  on  one.  occasion.  The 
soldiers  having  arrived  at  a  certain  Indian 
village,  and  some  of  them  having  rashly 
taken  refuge  in  the  huts  for  the  night,  they 
rushed  out  with  the  cry,  "Las  pulgas! 
Las  .pulgas!"  For  this  reason  the  soldiers 
called  it  theRancheria  delas  Pulgas  ("The 
Village  of  the  Fleas"),  —  a  name,  borne 
by  the  ranch  to  this  day.  With  equal 
indifference  to  the  feeling  of  posterity, 


they  called  another  place  by  the  name  of 
Buchon  ("The  Big  Crow");  another  by 
the  humorous  title  of  Sal  si  Puedes  ("Get 
Out  if  You  Can");  and  still  another  as 
Rancheria  del  Cojo  ("The  Lame  Man's 
Village"). 

Many  strange  adventures  were,  of  course, 
experienced  by  these  hardy  explorers. 
Some  of  them  have  found  their  way  into 
diaries  and  official  reports,  and  some  also 
have  been  commemorated  in  the  names 
of  the  places  where  they  occurred.  The 
island  of  Santa  Cruz  is  an  instance.  "By 
some  chance,  the  Padres  lost  there  a  staff 
which  bore  a  cross  on  the  end.  They  gave 
it  up  as  irretrievably  lost,  so  were  the 
more  pleased  when  the  Indians  appeared 
the  following  day  to  restore  it.  From  this 
they  gave  the  island  the  name  of  Santa 
Cruz  ('Holy  Cross')."  The  Canyon  of 
La  Salud  ("Health")  records  the  cure  of 
some  soldiers  who  had  sickened  on  the 
journey;  La  Espada  ("The  Sword") 
records  the  return  of  a  sword  that  had  been 
stolen  by  some  Indians;  and  La  Canada 
de  los  Osos  ("The  Glen  of  the  Bears") 
testifies  to  the  number  of  bears  found  in 
the  place  still  designated  by  their  name. 

Thus  California  place-names  tell  us 
much  of  the  early  Spanish  settlers.  They 
fix  forever  the  faith  and  the  ideals  of  those 
who  ventured  into  those  hitherto  unex- 
plored regions.  They  are  landmarks  set  by 
those  who  came  from  afar  off,  speaking  the 
sweet  Castilian  tongue,  and  treasuring  in 
their  hearts  the  names  of  the  saints  and 
mysteries  and  festivals  of  the  Church  in 
which  they  had  been  nurtured.  Their  de- 
scendants, as  well  as  the  children  of  the 
later  comers,  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to 
Miss  Nellie  Van  de  Grift  Sanchez  for 
having  brought  together  in  such  pleasing 
form  the  lore  and  legends  hidden  away 
under  the  Spanish  and  Indian  place-names 
of  California. 


BELIEF  is  not  a  thing  material, 

But  of  the  spirit  so  ethereal; 

It  grows  from  many  acts,  and  still 

A  single  act  its  life  may  kill. 

— Anon. 


426 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Two  Easter  Eves. 


BY    ANNA    T. 


I. 

HE  sun  of  Easter  Saturday  was 
setting  over  the  Common,*  with 
that  joyous  brightness  which 
seems  peculiar  to  Easter.  It 
symbolized  the  rising  of  Christ  from  the 
tomb;  for  Nature,  too,  had  seemed  to 
rise  from  the  grave  of  Winter,  and  to 
bring  gladness  in  her  train,  like  some 
merry,  laughing  child. 

Gabriel  Carpsey,  the  herdsman,  moved 
around  amongst  his  cattle.  They  were 
of  all  sorts, — brown,  black,  brindled,  and 
snow-white.  Their  fat,  sleek  sides  gave 
evidence  of  the  care  which  had  been  be- 
stowed upon  them.  As  they  raised  their 
heads  from  grazing  or  meditatively  chewed 
the  cud,  their  large  eyes  regarded,  with 
peaceful  indifference,  the  herdsman  passing 
to  and  fro  in  their  midst.  To  them  he  was 
a  part  of  the  landscape,  and  no  more.  They 
took  no  note  of  his  high  steeple-hat,  his 
low  shoes  with  brass  buckles,  and  his 
gray  hose. 

The  herdsman's  thoughts,  as  he  walked 
about  the  Common,  had  been  fixed  upon 
the  great  Mystery  which  was  to  be  com- 
memorated upon  the  morrow,  and  which 
appealed  to  his  naturally  religious  mind. 
"The  Lord  is  risen  indeed!"  he  repeated 
over  to  himself.  "This  is  the  day  the 
Lord  hath  made, — a  beautiful  day,  in 
truth."  And  as  he  pondered,  his  eyes 
took  in  the  fair  landscape, — the  East 
River  flowing  placidly,  its  surface  brilliant 
with  sunlight,  save  where  it  was  shadowed 
by  the  cliffs  of  Iphitomaza.  Nearer  was 
the  burg  of  New  Amsterdam,  which  had 
grown  daily,  under  the  prosperous  Dutch 
rule;  its  quaint  houses,  with  crow-stepped 
chimneys  and  gables  turned  towards  the 
tree-shaded  streets;  and  the  gardens, 
already  showing  signs  (for  Easter  was  late 

*  The  Common  in  Colonial  New  York  was 
the  site  of  the  present  City  Hall. 


that  year)  of  the  resurrection  that  should 
presently  fill  them  with  pans  bloemies  of 
all  sorts;  and  the  embryo  orchards  that 
barely  a  month  later  would  revel  in  blos- 
soms, as  a  sign  of  the  autumnal  fruition. 
He  walked  back  and  forth,  deep  in  thought, 
over  that  vast  field,  which  none  but  pro- 
phetic vision  could  have  discerned  as  the 
future  centre  of  civic  life  in  the  great 
metropolis. 

He  sighed,  though  he  could  scarcely 
have  told  why,  as,  taking  the'  horn  from 
his  shoulders  and  putting  its  silver  mouth- 
piece to  his  lips,  he  gave  forth  a  few  melo- 
dious notes.  Instantly  the  cattle  were  at 
attention,  their  heads  turned  towards  him, 
and  their  large  eyes  fixed  upon  the  man 
who  thus  announced  his  will  to  them. 
Soon,  they  were  all  in  motion,  their  warm 
breath  clouding  the  still  air,  filled  as  it 
was  with  the  thousand  and  one  intimations 
of  approaching  spring.  Gabriel  Carpsey 
walked  at  the  head  of  the  cattle  as  they 
streamed  forth  from  the  Common  on  to 
the  Broadway,  and  thence  into  the  heart 
of  the  town,  where,  for  the  night,  he  left 
each  animal  at  the  barn  of  its  owner.  When 
the  weather  grew  warmer,  he  often  re- 
mained all  night  upon  the  Common,  with 
his  peaceful  charges  sleeping  about  him. 
Occasionally,  as  the  herd  moved  along, 
Gabriel  played  upon  the  horn, — a  warning 
to  those  who  might  be  inclined  to  stray 
and  who  instantly  fell  into  step;  or  he 
called  this  or  that  animal  by  name. 

Bregji,  the  brindled  cow  of  the  Widow 
Glover,  was  restless  at  times,  and  apt  to 
incite  to  rebellion  Antie,  the  black  cow 
of  Jans  Wendel.  The  herdsman  addressed 
these  mildly  insubordinate  animals  in  pre- 
cisely the  same  terms  as  one  might  have 
employed  to  wilful  children:  "You  Bregji, 
the  cow  of  Widow  Glover, — -are  you  not 
ashamed  to  be  so  unruly,  seeking  to  dis- 
turb the  peace  of  the  streets  on  Easter 
Eve?  It  is  well  you  have  no  horns  with 
which  to  work  mischief,  so  wilful  are  you!" 
One  would  have  thought  the  animal  knew 
she  was  being  reproved;  for  her  long, 
silky  ears  drooped  and  she  turned  her  head 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


427 


uneasily  from  side  to  side.  "And  you 
bluek  one,  have  a  care  that  you  be  not 
deprived  of  the  warm  bran  mash  that  is 
being  prepared  for  you!"  He  blew  a  few 
admonitory  notes  almost  into  the  ears  of 
the  delinquents;  and,  as  he  returned  to 
his  place  at  the  head  of  the  bovine  com- 
pany, he  patted  the  sleek  sides  of  the 
staid  brown  cows  that  pursued  their  peace- 
ful way,  without  any  disposition  to  stray. 
"Good  ones! "  he  said  softly.  "You  are  the 
herdsman's  pride."  And  the  animals  so 
addressed  bowed  their  heads  and  swung 
their  tails  as  if  in  recognition  of  the 
compliment. 

Besides  the  Easter  joy,  there  was  another 
joy  in  the  heart  of  Gabriel  Carpsey.  "  Now 
that  I  have  my  position  secured  to  me," 
he  said,  "I  will  go  to-morrow  to  ask  for 
the  hand  of  Marje  Janse.  Her  father, 
Jans,  will  have  no  objection  to  offer,  since 
my  pay  is  good  and  on  my  name  there 
rests  no  shadow." 

II. 

If  the  sun  did  not  dance  on  that  Easter 
morning,  the  heart  of  Gabriel  Carpsey 
danced  as  he  reflected  that  before  it  went 
down  again  he  should  call  Marje  Janse 
his  betrothed  wife.  He?  had  seen  but 
little  of  the  girl  lately,  because  his  posi- 
tion of  official  herdsman  had  only  of  late 
been  confirmed,  with  a  correspondingly 
good  salary.  Until  that  was  assured,  he 
had  avoided  compromising  Marje  by  his 
attentions.  In  the  meantime  the  daughter 
of  Jans  Wendel  had  changed  considerably. 
A  new  influence  had  come  into  her  life. 
She  had  formed  a  close  intimacy  with  a 
young  Irish  girl  named  Nancy  O'Hagan, 
'who,  though  merry  and  light-hearted  to  a 
degree,  was,  nevertheless,  a  devout  Cath- 
olic. Though  her  religion  was  under  a 
ban  in  the  colony,  there  had  as  yet  been 
no  active  persecution  of  members  of  the 
true  Church;  but  all  public  worship  on 
their  part  was  forbidden,  and  the  priests 
who  visited  New  Amsterdam  did  so  in 
secret. 

On  more  than  one  occasion  Marje  had 
been  taken  by  this  friend,  with  strict  in- 


junctions to  seerecy,  to  the  house  of  a 
vSpaniard,  where  Mass  was  sometimes  tvle- 
brated  by  missionaries,  who  came  from 
some  near-by  colony.  On  Marje's  sensitive 
and  impressionable  nature,  the  secrecy,  the 
very  necessity  for  caution,  added  to  the 
attraction  which  she  felt  to  the  sacred  rites, 
the  liturgy,  and  the  figure  of  the  venerable 
priest  in  habit  of  brown  serge  or  in  rich 
vestments.  The  missionary  had  looked 
grave  when,  on  the  occasion  of  her  first 
visit,  he  had  learned  that  Marje  was  a 
Protestant.  Since  then  he  had  steadily 
put  aside  her  expressed  desire  to  join  the 
Church,  saying  that  it  was  a  matter  which 
required  much  consideration.  Only  at 
the  earnest  request  of  Nancy  had  he  even 
consented  to  give  her  a  Catechism  and 
other  books  of  instruction .  ' '  She  is  young, ' ' 
he  said,  "and  her  character — a  fine  one 
I  grant  you — is  but  imperfectly  devel- 
oped. We  must  test  her  before  it  will 
be  possible  to  admit  her  to  the  Church." 
Nancy,  herself  ardent  and  impulsive,  could 
not  understand  his  hesitation;  and  as 
for  Marje,  it  only  whetted  her  desire 
to  receive  without  delay  the  Sacrament 
of  Baptism. 

On  that  Easter  morn  she  had  stolen  out 
at  sunrising,  when  all  the  earth  seemed 
bathed  in  a  pure  gold,  which  lay  quivering 
and  shimmering  over  the  landscape.  In 
company  with  her  friend  Nancy,  Marje 
had  entered  those  mysterious  precincts, 
where  the  smell  of  the  Easter  lilies  upon 
the  altar  was  strong,  where  the  small  con- 
gregation knelt  in  rapt  devotion,  where  the 
Franciscan,  Father  Poly  carp,  clad  in  gold 
vestments,  celebrated  the  divine  mys- 
teries, and  poured  forth  his  soul  in  a  few 
burning  words  on  the  great  truth  of  the 
Resurrection.  Marje,  like  the  disciples 
of  old,  felt  her  heart  burn  within  her  as 
she  listened;  and  she  said  to  herself  that 
she  would  brave  all  things,  and,  as  soon 
as  the  Mass  was  over,  insist  upon  being 
admitted  into  the  society  of  those  favored 
few.  She  wept  to  see  Nancy  advance  with 
the  others  to  receive  Holy  Communion; 
and  her  pulses  leaped  and  her  heart  beat 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


fast  when  the  exultant  strains  of  the  old 
hymn  rame  forth  from  the  improvised 
choir: 

O   tilii   et    filiu-! 

Rex  coelestis,   Rex  glorice. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  all  the  gladness  of 
heart  experienced  by  the  first  disciples  was 
hers  that  day;  and  it  was  reflected  on  the 
faces  of  those  around  her,  as  they  saluted 
each  other  after  Mass  with  the  greeting: 
"The  I,ord  is  risen!"  To  which  came  the 
reply:  "He  is  risen  indeed,  Alleluia!" 

Marje  besought  Nancy  to  remain  after- 
wards, that  she  might  beg  of  Father 
Polycarp  to  receive  her,  upon  that  blessed 
Easter  Day,  into  the  company  of  the  faith- 
ful, and  to  prepare  her  forthwith,  so  that 
before  he  left  Manhattan,  and  before  the 
Eastertide  was  over,  she  might  receive 
the  Body  of  Our  Lord.  The  priest  studied 
her  face  for  a  few  moments,  -after  which 
he  bent  his  head  as  if  in  prayer.  Then  he 
gave  his  decision, — too  cold  and  cautious, 
as  it  seemed  to  Nancy;  absolutely  cruel, 
as  it  appeared  to  Marje.  And  it  was  that 
she  should  wait  a  week  longer,  lest  the 
beauty  and  the  joy  and  the  brightness  of 
that  Easter  morning  might  have  carried 
her  away.  "For  you  are  young,  child,"  he 
said,  "and  your  character  has  not  yet 
stood  a  test."  As  the  girl  .went  away  weep- 
ing, in  company  with  her  disappointed 
friend,  the  missionary  added  mentally: 
"A  fine  character,  I  make  no  doubt,  if 
once  it  had  been  tried  'so  as  by  fire.'" 
III. 

As  the  two  girls  pursued  their  homeward 
way,  Marje  was  at  first  petulant  and  dis- 
posed to  rail  at  the  over-caution  of  the 
missionary.  Though  Nancy  sympathized 
deeply  with  her,  she  refused  to  join  in  her 
strictures  upon  the  priest,  who  had  a  high 
reputation  for  wisdom  and  sanctity.  She 
made  a  determined  effort  to  change  the 
conversation  just  as  the  friends  were 
passing  the  Common,  where  neither 
Gabriel  Carpsey  nor  his  herd  was  at  that 
moment  visible. 

Marje,     in     the     midst     of    her    other 
perturbation,   sighed  involuntarily  at   the 


(Ifst-rted  aspect  of  the  place.  It  would 
have  been  so  pleasant  to  see  the  figure  of 
the  herdsman  there  amongst  his  cattle,  as 
she  had  so  often  seen  him.  Had  not  Nancy 
been  with  her,  she  would  have  lingered  a 
few  moments  to  survey  that  scene,  which 
in  her  mind  was  associated  with  him 
who  she  had  fondly,  but  somewhat 
vaguely,  hoped  might  be  her  lover.  Of 
late  he  had  made  no  attempt  to  single  her 
out  from  the  other  maidens  at  merry- 
makings; nor  had  he  even  so  much  as 
cast  a  glance  at  her  during  the  long  service 
in  the  Dutch  church,  to  which  of  late  she 
had  given  but  a  perfunctory  attention. 
Marje  had  never  said  a  word  to  her  friend 
of  the  keen  interest  she  had  long  taken  in 
the  herdsman,  nor  of  the  doubt,  strong 
and  poignant,  which  had  begun  to  replace 
a  long-cherished,  though  apparently  ill- 
founded,  hope.  Nancy,  unconscious  of  the 
trend  of  her  companion's  thoughts,  re- 
marked as  they  passed  the  Common: 

"The  herdsman,  they  say,  is  to  wed  very 
soon." 

"With  whom?"  inquired  Marje, — her 
heart  suddenly  chilled  as  though  it  had 
been  grasped  by  an  icy  hand. 

"Ah!  that  I  know  not,"  answered 
Nancy;  "though  I  have  heard,  in  truth, 
such  idle  surmises  as  that  it  be  the  daughter 
of  a  rich  farmer  in  the  Jerseys,  or  the  only 
child  of  Jacob  Kip,  the  baker." 

The  brightness  of  the  April  day  and 
the  joy  of  the  Easter  morn  were  sud- 
denly obscured  for  Marje;  while  the  lively 
Nancy,  intent  only  on  amusing  her  friend, 
rattled  on. 

"If  the  former  speculation  be  true," 
she  said,  "then,  alack-a-day!  Master 
Gabriel  Carpsey  shows  no  mark  of  par- 
tiality for  us  of  Manhattan, — nor  for  me, 
for  that  matter,  since  he  hates,  or  so  men 
say,  all  who  are  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Faith.  To  him  we  are  as  the  spawn  of  the 
Evil  One." 

There  was  something  in  this  speech  which 
raised  a  strange  tumult  in  the  heart  of 
Marje  Janse.  It  occurred  to  her  that,  had 
her  own  intuitions  been  correct  in  spite  of 


THE  AVK  MARIA 


429 


this  idle  gossip,  and  should  the  herdsman 
one  day  ask  her  to  be  his  wife,  how  could 
she  dare  to  tell  him  that  she  belonged  to 
that  accursed  sect  which,  as  Nancy  had 
declared,  he  hated  and  despised?  Her 
desire  (which  had  been  so  strong  in  the 
Spaniard's  room  that  morning,  and  in 
presence  of  the  altar)  to  embrace  the 
ancient  Faith  seemed  suddenly  to  grow 
weak.  The  Easter  hymns. that  had  been 
sounding  in  her  ears  became  faint.  It  was 
now  a  distinct  relief  that  the  friar  had  not 
taken  her  at  her  word  and  baptized  her  on 
the  spot.  What  had  been  a  grievance 
became  a  joy,  since  that  obstacle,  at  least, 
did  not  arise  between  her  and  Gabriel. 
From  that  time  on,  Nancy  had  no  difficulty 
in  keeping  her  friend's  thoughts  away  from 
the  cruelty  of  Father  Polycarp  in  refusing 
to  receive  so  ardent  a  neophyte.  Instead, 
Marje  returned  presently  to  the  subject 
of  Gabriel  Carpsey,  with  the  inquiry: 
"How  heard  you  that  the  herdsman  be- 
thought himself  of  marrying  after  these 
many  years  of  bachelorhood?" 

"It  was  his  own  saying,"  replied  Nancy, 
wondering  at  her  friend's  persistence,  "re- 
peated to  me  by  our  neighbor,  Claes  Groen, 
of  the  Sheep  Pasture." 

"Claes  Groen  told  you  that?"  exclaimed 
Marje,  her  heart  sinking  still  lower;  for 
she  knew  that  the  keeper  of  the  Schaafe's 
Waytie  was  Gabriel's  closest  friend. 

"Aye,"  said  Nancy,  "Master  Carpsey 
declared  to  him  that  he  meant  to  marry, 
now  that  he  had  been  made  official  herds- 
man of  the  city." 

"You  are  sure  that  he  named  not  the 
maid?"  Marje  asked. 

"Neither  maid  nor  widow!"  laughed 
Nancy.  "And  so  that  it  were  not  myself 
I  care  not." 

"You  might  do  worse,  my  Nancy!" 
cried  Marje,  with  some  heat.  "There  be 
worse  swains  in  New  Amsterdam  than 
Gabriel  Carpsey." 

"Much  worse,  in  truth,"  replied  Nancy, 
eyeing  her  friend  curiously.  "But  I  have 
given  you  my  reason  in  advance.  'Tis 
because  of  the  herdsman's  hatred  of 


Popery,  which  would  prevent  him  from 
marrying  a  Catholic  wife,— not  that,  in 
truth,  Master  Carpsey  has  ever  cast  a 
glance  in  my  direction." 
.  As  they  conversed  in  this  fashion,  there 
were  heard  the  notes  of  a  horn  which  sent 
strange  thrills  of  gladness  through  Marje's 
veins.  For  a  moment  all  else  was  forgotten, 
save  that  she  was  to  see  and  look  into  the 
face  of  Gabriel  Carpsey,  who  within  the 
last  half  hour — because  of  the  fear  of  los- 
ing him  irrevocably — had  become  inex- 
pressibly dear  and  precious  to  her. 

The  two  girls  moved  inside  the  boxwood 
hedge  enclosing  the  garden  of  Arendt 
Schuyler,  to  allow  the  herd  to  pass,— 
Marje,  watching  with  eager  eyes  the  agile 
figure  of  the  herdsman,  who  sounded  at 
intervals  a  few  melodious  notes  upon  his 
horn.  The  notes  were  clear  and  joyous, 
with  all  the  gladness  of  the  Easter  in  their 
sound;  and  for  a  moment  Marje,  with 
leaping  heart,  seemed  to  hear  again  the 
Alleluias  of  the  Easter  choir.  But  she 
closed  her  ears  to  the  voices  of  the  spirit, 
and  awaited  with  glowing  countenance  the 
moment  when  Gabriel  Carpsey 's  eyes 
should  meet  her  own;  for  she  fancied  she 
could  read  in  their  depths  the  truth  or 
falsehood  of  her  intuitions. 

But  at  the  very  moment  when  the  herd 
was  passing  the  Schuyler  garden,  the 
brindled  cow  of  the  Widow  Glover  and  the 
black  cow  belonging  to  her  father  began, 
as  was  frequently  the  case,  to  show  signs 
of  restiveness;  so  that  the  herdsman,  has- 
tening to  their  side,  turned  his  back,  upon 
Marje's  expectant  face.  She  went  the  rest 
of  the  homeward  way  in  almost  complete 
silence,  broken  by  an  occasional  and  quite 
irrelevant  remark  from  Nancy,  who  had 
begun  to  perceive  the  true  state  of  affairs. 
When  she  parted  from  the  girl  at  Jans 
Wendel's  door,  she  said  within  herself: 
"Perchance,  after  all,  Father  Polycarp 
was  right." 

IV. 

Marje  went  home  in  deep  depression. 
All  the  joy  of  that  glorious  festival  had 
faded  from  her  mind,  where  impressions 


430 


THE  AVE  MARIA  ' 


succeeded  each  other  as  clouds  upon  the 
surface  of  a  lake.  Only  that  morning  she 
had  wept  when  the  priest  in  moving  terms 
had  recalled  the  saci  story  of  the  Passion, 
only  to  intensify  the  glory  of  the  Resurrec- 
tion, which  had  burst  through  the  darkness 
with  a  splendor  that  illumined  all  the 
centuries.  She  had  thrilled  to  his  graphic 
portrayal  of  the  meeting  in  the  garden, 
that  first  Easter  morning,  between  Mary 
and  the  divine  Lover  of  her  soul.  The 
Alleluias  had  filled  her  with  a  keen  delight, 
and  her  spirit  had  leaped  for  joy  to  the 
words  of  the  Easter  hymn, 

O  filii  et  filiae! 

Rex  coelestis,   Rex  glorise. 

That  "glorious  King  of  Heaven"  had 
seemed  to  call  her  to  Him  with  compelling 
force ;  and  now  this  earthly  love  had  come 
to  dispute  that  sovereignty  and  to  occupy 
her  mind  and  heart  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
else.  The  doubt  which  her  friend's  words 
had  awakened  in  her,  the  fear  of  losing 
what  she  had  always  fondly  hoped  would 
be  her  own,  overwhelmed  her,  and  drove 
away  all  idea  of  heroic  sacrifice  which  she 
had  fancied  herself  strong  enough  to  make. 
There  was  agony  in  the  thought  that 
Gabriel  Carpsey  should  choose  another 
and  be  lost  to  her  forever.  She  went  about 
her  wonted  tasks  mechanically.  But,  at 
her  father's  somewhat  stern  command  to 
be  ready  in  time  for  church,  she  arrayed 
herself  with  care  in  her  new  Easter  gown 
and  went  down  to  await  her  father  in  the 
living  room. 

It  was  while  there  that  she  became  aware 
of  voices  in  the  best  parlor,  into  which, 
during  her  absence  upstairs,  her  father 
had  evidently  been  called.  The  circum- 
stance, indeed,  excited  her  curiosity,  which 
she  could  not  gratify  because  the  door  had 
been  shut  fast.  Sitting  down  to  wait  for 
her  father  with  such  patience  as  she  might, 
she  saw  all  at  once  that  the  parlor  door 
had  opened  and  that  some  one — not  her 
father — was  coming  out.  She  had  barely 
time  to  recognize  the  visitor  when  he  ad- 
vanced towards  her,  and,  taking  her  hand, 
inquired  in  a  tremulous  voice: 


"Will  you  walk  to  church  with  me  this 
Easter  morning,  Marje?" 

And  as,  knowing  full  well  the  significance 
of  the  question,  she  bowed  her  head  in 
assent,  Gabriel  Carpsey  added: 

"And  on  all  the  blessed  Sabbath  morns 
that  we  shall  spend  together?" 

A  tumultuous  joy,  a  sense  of  triumph 
and  exultation,  filled  the  girl  as  she  gave 
that  promise: 

"Yes,  I  will  walk  with  you  willingly, 
Gabriel  Carpsey,  on  this  Easter  morn  and 
every  other  Sabbath  while  we  both  shall 
live." 

Her  voice  sounded  so  loud,  with  a  note 
almost  of  defiance  in  it,  that  the  lover 
looked  at  her  in  surprise.  For  he  did  not 
know  that  her  words  meant  an  apostasy, 
and  that  she  was  seeking  to  drown  a  voice 
within  her, — the  voice  of  the  Risen  Lord 
Himself. 

"Then you  know, "said  Gabriel, in  tender 
tones,  "that  we  are  betrothed,  Marje,  and 
long  before  another  Easter  you  shall  be  my 
wife.  Your  father  has  given  his  consent, 
and  I  but  waited  for  yours." 

"I  have  given  it,"  replied  Marje,  with 
an  emphasis  that  once  more  sounded  some- 
what harsh  to  the  sensitive  ear  of  love. 
For  the  girl  was  denying  that  other  solemn 
pledge  taken  at  the  dawn  of  the  Resurrec- 
tion morning. 

As  the  two  went  forth  together,  some 
vague  perturbation  in  Marje's  mind 
clouded  ever  so  slightly  the  blue  of  the  sky, 
and  rendered  less  delectable  the  delicious 
balminess  of  the  air,  and  the  upswelling 
paean  of  gladness  with  which  reviving 
Nature  celebrated  the  central  mystery  of 
faith.  The  church  service  seemed  vague 
and  meaningless  to  her;  and  instead  of 
the  voice  of  the  minister  preaching,  she 
heard  the  tones  of  her  lover  asking  her  to 
be  his  wife.  Once  or  twice,  indeed,  that 
bare  and  mean  interior  seemed  to  fade  from 
her  view;  she  lost  sight  of  the  minister  in 
white  Geneva  bands,  and  saw  only  the 
worn,  ascetic  figure  of  the  Franciscan  in  his 
vestments  of  gold,  listened  to  his  exhorta- 
tion, inhaled  the  fragrance  of  the  Easter 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


431 


lilies,  or  heard  the  hymns  of  spiritual 
rejoicing.  But  the  next  instant  she  was 
noting  with  keen  satisfaction  the  envious 
glances  of  the  various  damsels,  who  fully 
understood  the  significance  of  her  appear- 
ance there  with  Gabriel  Carpsey.  Outside 
the  church,  the  two  received  more  or 
less  sincere  congratulations  from  their 
acquaintances,  and  at  her  own  gate  the 
herdsman  said: 

"Before  the  pans  bloemies  are  in  blossom, 
you  must  be  my  bride." 

Again  she  gave  her  promise,  and  ex- 
tended her  hand  that  he  might  put  upon  it 
a  ring  of  quaint  workmanship,  with  a 
motto  upon  the  inside, — a  ring  which  had 
been  worn  by  another  hand  than  hers, 
that  of  Gabriel's  mother.  He  left  her, 
promising  to  come  again  at  evening;  and 
she  waited,  with  her  hands  at  times 
pressed  over  her  heart  in  an  ecstasy  of 
happiness. 

When  twilight  had  come  she  heard  the 
sound  of  his  horn,  and  knew  that  he  was 
gathering  in  his  troop  for  the  night.  She 
stole  to  the  corner  of  the  street  to  watch 
for  him,  and  beheld  his  agile  form  coming 
in  the  midst  of  the  herd.  She  hid  herself 
from  view  with  a  new  kind  of  shyness. 
That  evening  found  him  at  her  side,  seated 
in  the  best  parlor,  which  had  been  opened 
for  this  special  occasion.  Gabriel,  diverging 
from  the  one  absorbing  topic  of  them- 
selves, touched  upon  the  significance  of 
that  day,  and  in  the  course  of  his  remarks 
incidentally  declared  that  he  hated  the 
Papists. 

"You  could  never  have  married  one, 
my  love?"  asked  Marje,  in  a  muffled 
whisper. 

"What  a  strange  question  you  ask, 
my  dear  one!"  answered  Gabriel.  "Why, 
not  if  no  other  woman  trod  this  green 
earth!  Those  Romanists  are  an  accursed 
sect." 

From  that  moment  Marje's  apostasy 
was  final.  She  could  never  give  her  lover 
up,  and  she  shuddered  at  the  thought  that 
he  might  discover  how  near  she  had  been 
to  professing  the  hated  creed. 


VI. 

When  the  year  sped  round  again,  and 
another  Easter  dawned,  Marje  had  been 
for  many  months  the  wife  of  Gabriel 
Carpsey.  Her  happiness  had  been  great 
at  first.  The  herdsman  made  a  tender  and 
affectionate  husband;  but,  to  the  eyes  of 
the  girl,  between  them  stood  a  shadow, 
now  grim  and  menacing,  now  compassion- 
ate and  sorrowful.  It  was  the  figure  of  the 
Christ  whom  she  had  forsaken.  She  grew 
pale  and  thin.  In  her  eyes  was  a  haunting 
look  that  dimmed  their  brightness;  and 
in  her  heart,  a  nameless  fear  that  stilled 
the  laugh  on  her  lips  and  seemed  to  poison 
all  her  joys.  She  was  conscious  of  an  in- 
tense loneliness,  so  that  she  often  went 
out  upon  the  Common  to  be  near  her 
husband,  though  between  him  and  her 
had  grown  up  a  strange  reserve.  She  wan- 
dered in  and  out  amongst  the  herds,  finding 
a  certain  comfort  in  their  silent  com- 
panionship, as  she  stroked  their  smooth, 
shining  coats.  The  society  of  those  dumb 
creatures  seemed  now  to  suit  her  best. 
Their  homely  companionship  attracted 
her,  since  she  dared  not  turn  toward  the 
sky  which  she  had  forsaken.  She  never 
said  a  prayer.  It  was  part  of  her  punish- 
ment that  she  who  had  forsaken  the 
things  of  heaven  must  sink  lower  and  lower, 
seeking  comfort  from  the  earth. 

When  Easter  Saturday  drew  near,  having 
finished,  in  a  mechanical,  half-hearted  way 
her  preparations  for  the  morrow,  she 
hurried  forth  to  the  Common,  where 
Gabriel  greeted  her  with  a  coldness  that 
had  become  marked  of  late.  She  wan- 
dered away  from  him  with  relief,  losing 
herself  amongst  his  bovine  dependents,  and 
particularly  addressing  those  two  that  were 
her  special  favorites, — Bregji,  the  brindled 
cow  of  the  Widow  Glover;  and  her 
father's  black  cow,  Antie.  They  lowed  at 
her  approach,  bending  back  their  ears  and 
swinging  their  tails  as  if  in  greeting. 

All  of  a  sudden  Marje  started;  for  she 
saw  pausing  at  the  $dge  of  the  Common, 
with  a  light  in  her  eyes  and  the  Easter 
hymn  upon  her  lips,  Nancy  O'Hagan. 


432 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Marje  felt  cold  and  faint;  for  she  had  so 
rudely  repelled  Nancy's  overtures  of  friend- 
liness that  an  estrangement  had  sprung 
up  between  them.  Nancy,  perceiving  her, 
now  advanced,  holding  out  her  hand,  with 
a  bright  smile  and  the  greeting: 

"Happy  Easter,  Marje!" 

But  the  girl  so  addressed  recoiling  as 
though  she  had  been  struck,  and  with  a 
cry  upon  her  lips,  fled  to  a  hiding-place 
amongst  the  animals.  Nancy,  spurred  on 
by  the  advice  of  the  Franciscan,  was  not 
so  easily  repulsed;  and,  following  her, 
exclaimed : 

"Why  do  you  turn  your  back  upon  me, 
Marje?  And  why  are  you  unhappy?" 

"Because,"  the  girl  answered  in  a  hollow 
voice,  "like  Peter,  I  have  denied  the  Lord." 

"But  Peter  was  forgiven,"  said  Nancy, 
softly.  And  she  added,  as  she  turned  to 
walk  away:  "Father  Polycarp  -will  be  in 
the  town  for  a  week." 

That  was  a  lovely  evening,  with  an 
opaline  clearness  in  all  the  wide  heavens; 
and  light,  subtly  beautiful  and  delicate, 
falling  over  the  cliffs  of  Iphitomaza  upon 
the  Breukelen  shore ;  upon  the  East  River, 
hastening  on  its  way  to  the  sea,  as  a  life 
hastens  towards  eternity;  over  the  Com- 
mon, and  the  sleek  backs  of  the  cattle. 
Marje  stood  there  alone,  as  one  stricken 
to  the  heart;  for  she  had  heard  once  more 
the  call  of  the  Risen  Lord.  Presently  she 
saw  Gabriel  approaching,  blowing  a  few 
notes  upon  the  horn  to  the  cattle  as  a  signal 
for  their  departure.  With  a  wild  impulse, 
Marje  ran  towards  him  and  clung  to  him. 

"Gabriel,"  she  cried,  "before  another 
Easter  morn  has  dawned  for  us,  I  must 
confess  all!" 

The  startled  herdsman  looked  at  her  in 
wonder. 

"Marje,"  he  exclaimed,  "what  have 
you  done?" 

Scarce  heeding  the  question,  she  began 
to  pour  forth  that  story  which  a  year 
before  would  have  roused  him  to  fury. 
But  Gabriel  was  strangely  silent,  his  arms 
folded  tightly  about  the  drooping  form 
of  his  wife.  And,  so  standing,  he  told  her 


in  turn  how  he,  too,  had  been  drawn 
towards  that  Church,  which  here  in  these 
Colonies  worshipped  like  those  of  old  in 
the  Catacombs,  in  lowliness  and  obscurity. 
When  the  brindled  cow  of  the  Widow 
Glover  had  been  ill,  he  had  been  a  good 
deal  about  the  house,  only  to  discover 
that  the  widow  and  her  invalid  daughter 
were  Catholics.  Impressed  by  the  saintlike 
demeanor  of  the  latter,  who  was  a  great 
sufferer,  he  had  been  led  to  inquire  into 
the  Catholic  Faith;  and  had  met 
there,  too,  the  Franciscan  missionary.  He 
was  reading  even  then  books  which  the 
latter  had  given  him,  and  he  hoped  that 
on  Easter  morning  he  should  be  baptized. 

The  two  stood  thus  for  many  moments, 
feeling,  for  the  first  time  in  months,  one 
in  heart  and  soul.  For  they  knew  that 
when  on  the  morrow  the  Easter  bells  rang 
out  from  the  Dutch  church,  where  they 
so  long  had  worshipped;  from  the  Hugue- 
not church  of  the  French,  or  from  the 
newly  erected  English  temple  of  Trinity, 
it  would  be  to  none  of  those  that  they 
should  go,  but  to  the  altar  of  God  erected 
in  the  house  of  the  Spaniard,  where  alone 
the  great  mystery  of  the  Resurrection 
would  be  celebrated  by  the  clean  Oblation 
of  the  New  Law. 

The  bovine  company,  grazing  or  chewing 
the  cud,  looked  towards  them  in  mild- 
eyed  surprise,  till  the  herdsman,  rousing 
himself,  raised  to  his  lips  the  silver  mouth- 
piece of  his  horn  and  gave  forth  notes 
summoning  them  for  the  homeward  march. 
Those  notes  were  of  such  piercing  joy  and 
sweetness  that  they  thrilled  Marje's  heart 
and  set  her  pulses  throbbing  with  a  new 
joy — that  of  the  penitent  Magdalen  on 
the  first  Easter  morning. 


THE  Church  does  not  stop  with  oppos- 
ing to  the  errors  of  the  age  or  nation  the 
truth  that  condemns  them;  but  embodies 
that  truth  in  institutions,  and  founds  in  its 
honor  and  for  its  preservation  feasts  and 
associations,  which  render  it  practical,  and 
cause  it  to  enter  into  the  life  of  the 
faithful. — Dr.  Brownson. 


THE  AVE  MARfA 


433 


Tales  of  Brother  Bozon. 


(Translated  from  a  Norman- French  MS.  of  the 
Fourteenth  Century,  by  J.  R.,  of  the  Honorable 
Society  of  Gray's  Inn.) 


HERE  was  a  rich  man  who  was 
very  charitable,  but  too  content 
with  bodily  ease;  for  he  would 
hardly  fast  on  any  Friday;  he  would  not 
get  up  in  the  morning,  nor  undertake  any- 
thing that  he  ought  to  vex  the  flesh,  but 
wholly  relied  on  almsgiving.  This  man 
caught  an  illness  so  that  he  thought  to  die. 
And  as  he  lay  in  a  trance  he  deemed  that 
Our  Lord  asked  of  many  of  the  souls  which 
passed  at  the  time  what  they  had  done 
in  this  world  for  Him.  "Aha!"  thought 
the  rich  man,  "I  have  a  good  answer." 

When  Our  Lord  came  to  him  He  did  not 
ask  at  all  "What  hast  thou  done?"  but 
what  he  had  suffered  for  Him.  The  other 
was  silent,  and  then  replied:  "I  have 
suffered  nothing  for  you,  Lord.  I  crave 
your  pardon,  but  I  gave  a  little  for  you. ..." 
"Verily!"  said  Our  Lord,  "what  you  gave 
I  lent  to  you.  But  you  never  thought  of 
rendering  to  Me  in  your  own  flesh  that 
which  I  endured  for  you  in  My  flesh,  but 
I  will  do  this  much  for  you  on  account  of 
your  charities:  I  will  give  you  time  to 
amend  yourself." 

When  this  man  came  out  of  his  trance 
he  praised  God.  for  this  vision. 
*** 

It  happened  on  a  cold  winter  night  that 
a  wolf  said  to  the  fox:  "I  have  found  a 
good  and  fine  cheese  as  shining  as  gold; 
if  I  could  have  it  I  should  be  glad." — • 
"Good!"  said  the  fox.  "Show  me  the 
cheese  and  you  shall  have  it."  The  other 
went  and  showed  him  the  moon  shining 
in  a  reservoir.  "Now  look,"  said  the  wolf; 
"what  a  fine  large  cheese!" — "Do  you 
wish  to  have  it?"  said  the  fox. — "Yes," 
said  the  other,  ' '  more  than  to  have  any 
thing."-  — "Put  your  tail  in  the  water," 
said  the  fox,  "and  I  will  go  to  the  other 
side  to  make  it  come  to  you;  and  when  it 
is  fixed  to  your  tail  you  will  draw  it  up." 


The  other  did  as  the  fox  said;  his  tail 
began  to  freeze,  and  the  fox  asked:  "How 
is  it  with  you?"— "Well,"  said  he,  "I  feel 
heavy  at  the  tail." — "It  is  well,"  said  the 
other;  "now  it  begins  to  fasten."  When 
the  fox  understood  that  the  ice  was  well 
hardened,  he  said  to  the  wolf  that  he 
should  draw  the  cheese  to  him.  And  the 
other  drew,  and  his  tail  remained  in  the 
water.  "Alas!"  said  the  wolf,  "now  have 
I  lost  my  tail  and  the  cheese,  and  am 
shamed.  At  an  evil  hour  did  I  wish  for  a 
thing  that  was  not  for  me." 

So  many  folk  desire  wisdom  and  knowl- 
edge of  this  world  that  is  like  the  moon, 
and  the  shadow  of  the  moon,  which  shines 
in  the  water,  for  when  you  think  to 
snatch  it  you  will  fail.  While  they  are 
for  gain,  the  fox  asks  them:  "How  is  it 
with  you?"-  -"Well,"  say  they,  "we  feel 
our  purse  somewhat  big  and  heavy." — 
"Truly,"  says  the  other,  "yet  hearken  to 
such  and  such  a  method  and  you  shall 
have  the  whole  cheese;  that  is  to  say,  all 
the  town  with  the  manor."  But  when  they 
think  to  snap  up  the  better,  then  they  go 
without  the  tail  of  earthly  possessions.  As 
to  which  there  is  naught  save  grief  and 
mourning  and  sadness,  as  says  the  Scrip- 
ture that  those  will  say  after  their  days: 
Alas!  we  chose  that  which  was  worth 
nothing,  and  we  did  not  see  the  sun  of 
right  understanding.  "Therefore  have  we 
erred  from  the  way  of  truth,  and  the  light 
of  righteousness  hath  not  shined  unto  us, 
'and  the  sun  of  righteousness  rose  not  upon 

us."     (Wisdom.) 

*** 

A  lion  once  wished  to  rest,  and  a  mouse 
came  and  waked  him.  Then  said  the  lion 
to  the  mouse:  "Away,  lest  I  kill  you!" — • 
"That,"  said  the  other,  "would  be  little 
prowess  in  you."-  "True,"  said  the  lion; 
"go  away  from  here  then;  be  off."  The 
mouse  went  away,  and  the  lion  slept.  The 
following  day  it  so  happened  that  the  lion 
was  taken  in  a  pit;  the  mouse  came  and 
found  him  groaning  and  complaining 
piteously.  Then  said  the  mouse:  "You 
did  me  kindness,  and  I  will  save  your 


434 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


life."  And  he  gathered  together  his  com- 
panions and  gnawed  the  cords  of  the  net 
with  which  the  pit  was  covered  that  the 
lion  should  break  the  cords  and  escape. 

So  it  is  with  great  lords,  prelates,  and 
officers  who  have  rule  on  earth.  If  they 
spare  others  while  their  power  and  their 
office  lasts  they  will,  through  this,  be 
helped  when  they  shall  have  need.  Where- 
fore says  Our  Lord,  "Blessed  are  the  mer- 
ciful: for  they  shall  obtain  mercy." 
*** 

The  nature  of  the  hare  is  such  that  he 
sees  better  and  more  clearly  aside  than 
before  him;  and  the  more  firmly  he  fixes 
his  sight  sideways,  so  much  the  sooner 
mishap  meets  him.  So  it  is  with  many  folk. 
They  have  a  clear  sidesight  to  see  the  mis- 
deeds of  another,  but  they  do  not  see  at 
all  in  front  of  them  their  own  bad  deeds 
that  they  have  done,  of  which  they  take  no 
heed.  Wherefore  says  Solomon:  "A  false 
balance  and  weight  is  despised  by  God." 
This  causes  one  to  err,  and  make  light  of 
his  own  act,  who  takes  more  care  of  the 
acts  of  another  than  of  his  own. 

Wherefore  I  would  that  each  one  did 
as  did  once  the  brothers  who  compiled 
concordances.  Each  took  charge  of  the 
letter  that  was  committed  to  him.  He  who 
had  A  had  nothing  to  do  with  B,  and  he 
who  had  charge  of  B  did  not  intermeddle 
with  C;  and  so  each  letter  of  the  ABC 
was  delivered  to  different  men,  and  each 
took  his  letter,  and  no  one  wished  to  in- 
terfere with  the  act  of  the  other.  Thereby 
they  arrived  at  the  noble  book  with  which 
the  Holy  Church  is  much  comforted.  So 
would  I  that  every  one,  clerk  and  lay,  out 
of  religion  or  in  religion,  might  take  care 
of  the  letter  delivered  to  him,  so  that 
Adam  and  Alice  might  not  intermeddle 
with  Bartholomew  nor  Beatrice,  nor  Colin 
nor  Colette  with  others,  only  each  with 

his  own. 

*** 

Three  companions  went  on  a  pilgrimage, 
on  which  they  came  into  a  town  where 
there  was  no  bread  for  sale,  but  only 
wheat,  of  which  they  made  a  cake.  And 


they  made  a  certain  agreement  among 
them  that  he  who,  when  asleep,  should 
have  the  most  wonderful  dream  might 
take  the  whole  cake  to  himself.  And, 
while  two  slept,  the  third  went  off  to  the 
cake,  and  ate  every  bit  of  it  and  then  lay 
down  to  sleep.  The  others  arose,  and  told 
two  dreams.  One  said  that -he  thought 
that  two  angels  took  him  and  carried  him 
to  heaven;  and  the  other  said  that  he 
thought  that  two  devils  took  him  and 
carried  him  to  hell.  When  they  came  to 
their  companion  and  began  to  awaken 
him  he  showed  signs  of  great  fright,  and 
did  not  cease  to  cry  out.  "What  is  this?" 
they  said;  "are  you  mad?" — "No,"  said 
he,  "but  I  am  wonderstruck  that  you 
have  come  back  from  so  far:  I  thought 
that  I  saw  two  angels  carry  one  of  you 
towards  heaven,  and  two  devils  carry  the 
other  towards  hell,  and  I  did  not  know 
what  better  to  do,  but  took  comfort  to 
myself  and  ate  all  our  cake."  Whereon 
said  the  others:  "It  is  indeed  true,  who 
covets  all  loses  all." 

*** 

The  philosopher  Pliny  says  that  if  the 
tongue  of  a  goat  touches  an  olive  tree, 
however  well  it  may  flourish,  it  becomes 
barren;  and  this  is  a  great  wonder.  So  is 
it  with  fools,  who  through  their  tongue 
spoil  many  virtues,  as  St.  Paul  witnesses: 
"Evil  communications  corrupt  good  man- 
ners." And  this  example  may  be  taken 
otherwise.  The  well  flourishing  olive  tree 
is  the  man  of  fair  life  who  can  easily  lose 
the  merit  of  his  good  deeds  if  he  yields  to 
the  tongue  of  the  goat, — that  is  to  say, 
to  foolish  flatterers.  Wherefore  Solomon 
teaches  us  and  says:  "My  son,  if  sinners 
entice  thee,  consent  thou  not."  Here  one 
may  tell  about  the  crow.  The  crow  carried 
cheese  in  her  mouth,  whom  the  fox  met 
and  said:  "What  a  fine  bird  you  are! 
And  you  would  be  indeed  precious  if  you 
sang  as  clearly  as  your  father  formerly 
did."  The  crow  was  joyful  at  the  praise, 
and  opened  her  mouth  to  sing,  and  lost 
her  cheese.  "Be  off!"  said  the  fox.  "I 
have  enough  of  your  song." 


THE  AYR  MART  A 


A  Legend  of  Eastertide. 


Our  Individual  Easter. 


S  King  Robert  of  Sicily  was  in 
church  he  heard  the  words  of  the 
Magnificat  chanted  by  the  clergy, 
' '  He  hath  put  down  the  mighty ' ' ;  and  in 
the  insolence  of  his  pride  declared,  "No 
power  can  shake  me  from  my  throne!" 
Full  of  this  haughty  confidence,  he  fell 
asleep  in  his  stall;  and  when  he  awoke  all 
was  dark  and  still  in  the  sanctuary.  He 
walked  to  the  door,  and  demanded  that 
it  should  be  opened.  The  gatekeeper  re- 
garded him  with  wonder  and  asked  who  he 
was.  His  gorgeous  clothing  had  become 
rags,  his  noble  mien  was  changed  to  the 
appearance  of  a  half-mad  jester,  whilst 
an  angel  bearing  his  likeness  took  his 
place  on  the  throne.  Wildly,  passionately, 
he  demanded  his  position,  his  sceptre,  but 
none  recognized  him;  all  treated  him  as 
the  mad  jester,  and  drove  him  from  the 
palace  gates.  Often  the  angel  would  ask 
him,  "Art  thou  the  king?"  and  in  his 
obstinate  pride  he  would  answer,  "I  am! 
I  am  the  king!" 

And  so  three  years  went  by  under  the 
beneficent  sway  of  the  angel  in  disguise. 
Then  came  a  journey  to  Rome  at  Easter- 
tide, and  the  hard  and  wilful  heart  of 
Robert  was  softened,  as  all  around  re- 
joiced on  that  holy  festival;  and  when  the 
angel  perceived  that  better  thoughts  were 
driving  out  the  pride  and  haughtiness 
of  the  degraded  monarch,  he  summoned 
him  to  an  interview,  and  once  more  the 
angelic  semblance  of  himself  inquired, 
"Art  thou  the  king?"  Subdued  at  last, 
Robert  replied: 

"Thou  knowest  best; 
My  sins  as  scarlet  are,  let  me  go  hence!" 

The  angel  smiled,  and  through  the  open 
window  came  the  chant,  "He  hath  put 
down  the  mighty  from  their  seat,  and 
hath  exalted  the  humble."  And  lo!  King 
Robert  was  alone  (the  angel  having  de- 
parted) ;  he  was  arrayed  once  more  in 
royal  apparel,  and  found  praying  on  his 
knees  when  his  courtiers  entered. 


EASTER  is  a  festival  of  jubilation  and 
triumph.  Its  annually  recurring 
watchward  is  "Alleluia!  Alleluia!  This  is 
the  day  that  the  Lord  has  made,  let  us  be 
glad  and  rejoice  therein."  The  rejoicing 
Counselled  is,  of  course,  a  spiritual  senti- 
ment, and  not  the  mere  satisfaction  en- 
gendered by  the  thought  that  the  season 
of  penance  has  come  to  an  end.  Is  our 
individual  rejoicing  truly  spiritual?  A 
good  touchstone  by  which  to  test  the 
genuineness  of  our  Easter  gladness  is  St. 
Paul's  word  to  the  Colossians,  so  often 
repeated  by  Holy  Church  at  this  season: 
"Therefore,  if  you  be  risen  with  Christ, 
seek  the  things  that  are  above." 

It  is  eminently  worth  while  to  ask  our- 
selves whether,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
Alleluias  of  the  Church  find  a  perfect 
echo  in  our  hearts  and  souls,  or  merely 
fall  from  our  lips  as  sterile  formulas  that 
hold  for  us  no  true  significance, — futile  ex- 
pressions of  a  fictive  gladness  that  is  not 
warranted  by  our  inner  consciousness.  It 
behooves  each  of  us,  indeed,  to  inquire 
seriously  whether  our  joy  in  the  Eastertide 
is  real  or  counterfeit, — real,  in  that  we  have 
"risen  with  Christ"  from  the  sepulchre  of 
sin;  or  counterfeit,  because  we  have  either 
not  risen  at  all,  or  have  not  risen  "with 
Christ,"  and  are  consequently  disinclined 
to  "seek  the  things  that  are  above." 

What  is  the  import  of  the  phrase  "rising 
with  Christ "?  It  means  to  take,  with  Him, 
a  new  life.  Now,  as  the  sign  of  life  is 
action,  so  the  signs  of  a  new  life  are  new 
actions,  new  thoughts,  new  desires,  new 
works, — a  life  of  faith  and  hope  and 
charity,  of  humility  and  meekness  and 
patience.  To  rise  with  Christ  is  to  pass 
from  the  death  of  sin  to  the  life  of  grace, 
or  from  the  simple  state  of  grace  to  a  more 
perfect  state, — from  lukewarmness  to  fer- 
vor, from  lassitude  to  activity,  from  a 
lower  to  a  higher  degree  of  justice  and 
holiness. 

Our  true  spiritual  resurrection  is  mani- 


430 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Tested  by  our  so  ordering  our  lives  that 
their  record  henceforth  shall  be  the  direct 
opposite  of  the  sad  and  guilty  and  shameful 
tale  which  of  late,  perhaps,  we  confided 
to  God's  minister  in  the  tribunal  of  pen- 
ance. The  spiritually  risen  give  to  the 
paramount  business  of  their  earthly  so- 
journment,  the  salvation  of  their  immortal 
souls,  that  prominence  which  it  unques- 
tionably merits.  They  give  to  it,  not 
merely  on  Sundays,  in  theory,  or  in  the 
abstract,  but  in  daily  practice,  in  very 
deed  and  truth,  the  attention  which  they 
have  heretofore  devoted  almost,  if  not 
quite,  exclusively  to  their  temporal  wel- 
fare :  a  matter  which  may  well  claim 
our  consideration  no  doubt,  but  which 
is,  nevertheless,  clearly  secondary  to  our 
one  necessary  work  in  life — our  sanctifica- 
tion.  This  is  the  one  thing  absolutely 
important  for  us. 

A  prominent  characteristic  of  our 
Saviour's  rising  was  that  it  was  visible 
and  manifest.  Now,  if  we  have  really 
risen  with  Him,  our  spiritual  resurrection 
should  likewise  be  apparent  to  all,  should 
be  exemplary  and  edifying.  God's  honor 
demands  not  only  that  we  rise,  but  that 
we  be  known  to  have  risen.  If  hitherto  we 
have  openly  violated  His  law,  our  lives, 
says  St.  Chrysostom,  should  henceforth  be 
a  public  apology  for  our  innumerous  trans- 
gressions. And  not  God's  honor  only, 
but  our  duty  to  our  neighbor,  necessitates 
the  publicity  of  our  rising.  That  neighbor 
has,  it  may  be,  been  disedified,  scandalized, 
induced  to  evil  by  our  bad  example:  it 
behooves  us  now  to  repair  our  scandals  by 
edifying  him,  encouraging  him  in  well- 
doing, leading  him  to  the  practice  of 
virtue  by  the  potent  force  of  our  good 
example.  It  is  essential  that  those  who 
have  been  the  injured  witnesses  of  our 
backsliding  shall  henceforward  behold  us 
steadfast  in  our  faith  and  devoted  to  good 
works. 

If,  for  instance,  through  human  respect, 
through  a  deplorable  indifference,  or 
through  a  supremely  silly  conceit  in  our 
intellectual  depth  and  broad-mindedness, 


we  have  neglected  our  palpable  religious 
obligations,  have  absented  ourselves  from 
the  tribunal  of  penance  and  the  Eucharis- 
tic  banquet,  have  not  scrupled  to  neglect 
Sunday  Mass  for  insufficient  reasons  or 
for  none,  have  spoken  with  reprehensible 
flippancy  or  disrespect  of  the  ordinances 
of  the  Church  and  her  hierarchy,  have 
partially  justified  by  word  or  deed  or 
omission  the  belief  that  we  are  nominal 
rather  than  practical  Catholics, — -all  the 
world  must  now  be  made  aware  that  the 
belief  is  unwarranted,  that  we  are  genuinely 
Catholic,  convinced  of  the  infallible  truth 
of  all  the  Church's  doctrines,  and  possessed 
of  that  full  courage  of  our  convictions 
which  habitually  shows  itself  in  truly 
Catholic  action. 

If,  as  heads  of  families,  we  have  been 
derelict  in  the  important  duty  of  properly 
training  our  children;  if  the  example  we 
have  set  them  in  words  and  actions  has 
been  pernicious  rather  than  beneficent; 
if  we  have  neglected  to  foster  virtue  in 
their  youthful  hearts  by  frequent  counsels 
and  by  a  judicious  choice,  not  only  of 
the  living  companions  with  whom  we 
allow  them  to  associate,  but  of  those  oft- 
times  more  dangerous  companions,  the 
books  and  papers  to  which  they  have  free 
access;  if  we  have  been  so  criminally  negli- 
gent as  to  allow  them  unchecked  license  in 
swallowing  the  poison  of  sensualism  and 
indifferentism  and  downright  infidelity 
that  makes  so  much  of  the  periodical 
literature  of  the  day  a  veritable  curse,- 
let  our  spiritual  rising  be  manifested  by 
our  awakening  to  a  sense  of  our  responsi- 
bility, and  our  immediate  turning  over  of 
a  new  leaf. 

And  so  of  scores  of  other  duties.  Our 
repetition  of  the  Church's  Alleluias 
throughout  the  Paschal  Time  will,  in  a 
word,  be  a  fitting  expression  of  our 
genuine  sentiments  only  inasmuch  as, 
shaking  from  our  souls  the  grave-clothes 
of  sinful  habits  and  criminal  affections,  we 
have  risen  with  the  triumphant  Christ, 
thoroughly  resolved  to  seek  for  evermore 
"the  things  that  are  above." 


TF1K  AVE  MAMA 


437 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

Even  the  extremists  among  those  who 
are  opposed  to  war  must  rejoice  at  the 
present  military  array  of  their  country, 
since  it  inspires  confidence  of  what  may  be 
done  should  war  be  inevitable;  however, 
they  may  still  express  the  hope  of  Lincoln, 
before  the  outbreak  of  our  Civil  War,  that 
in  the  shedding  of  blood  the  services  of  no 
citizen  may  be  needed.  "It  shall  be  my 
endeavor,"  he  said,  in  a  speech  delivered 
on  Feb.  22,  1861,  "to  preserve  the  peace  of 
this  country  so  far  as  it  can  possibly  be 
done  consistently  with  the  maintenance  of 
the  institutions  of  the  country."  It  will 
occur  to  some  to  ask,  What  institutions 
have  as  yet  been  threatened?  In  circum- 
stances not  unlike  the  present  Lincoln 
himself  asked:  "At  what  point  shall  we 
expect  the  approach  of  danger?  By  what 
means  shall  we  fortify  against  it  ?  Shall  we 
expect  some  transatlantic  military  giant  to 
step  the  ocean  and  crush  us  at  a  blow?" 
And  he  answered :  ' '  Never !  All  the  armies 
of  Europe,  Asia  and  Africa  combined,  with 
all  the  treasure  of  the  earth  (our  own 
excepted)  in  their  military  chest,  with  a 
Bonaparte  for  a  commander,  could  not  by 
force  take  a  drink  from  the  Ohio  or  make 
a  track  on  the  Blue  Ridge  in  a  trial  of  a 
thousand  years.  At  what  point,  then,  is 
the  approach  of  danger  to  be  expected? 
I  answer,  If  it  ever  reach  us,  it  must 
spring  up  among  us ;  it  can  not  come  from 
abroad.  If  destruction  be  our  lot,  we  must 
ourselves  be  its  author  and  finisher." 
*** 

Convinced  that  at  the  present  moment 
it  is  a  patriotic  service  to  recall  every  word 
of  warning  that  ever  fell  from  the  lips  or 
flowed  from  the  pen  of  Lincoln,  let  us 
repeat  what  he  said  in  reference  to  a 
danger  far  more  grave  than  the  one  upon 
which  the  attention  of  the  nation  is  now 
centered.  The  Civil  War  was  drawing 
to  a  close,  but  the  great  President  saw 
approaching  another  crisis,  that,  as  he 
declared,  "causes  me  to  tremble  for  the 


safety  of  my  country.  As  a  result  of  tin- 
war,  corporations  have  been  enthroned 
and  an  era  of  corruption  in  high  places  will 
follow ;  and  the  money  power  of  the  country 
will  endeavor  to  prolong  its  reign  by  work- 
ing upon  the  prejudices  of  the  people  until 
all  wealth  is  aggregated  in  a  few  hands,  and 
the  Republic  is  destroyed.  I  feel  at  this 
moment  more  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  my 
country  than  ever  before,  even  in  the 
midst  of  war.  God  grant  that  my  suspi- 
cions may  prove  groundless!" 

The  money  power  of  the  country  con- 
stitutes its  greatest  danger.  Not  the 
capitalists,  but  the  workingmen  are  the 
basis  of  government,  on  account  of  being 
more  numerous.  No  power  can  withstand 
them  when  they  rise  in  their  might  to  put 
an  end  to  oppression. 

The  alarming  increase  in  the  criminal 
population  of  this  country  is  impressing 
practical  sociologists  with  the  necessity  of 
the  State's  taking  a  more  active  part  than 
it  has  hitherto  done  in  the  matter  of 
preventing  crime.  The  Board  of  Prison 
Directors  for  California,  for  instance,  filed 
with  the  Governor  of  the  State  the  other 
day  a  report  in  which  it  is  declared  that 
"it  should  be  the  imperative  legal  as  well 
as  moral  duty  of  the  parents  to  rear 
children  properly.  If  the  moral  training 
of  children  is  neglected,  if  they  are  not 
taught  self-control,  if  no  rules  of  home 
conduct  are  promulgated,  or,  being  pro- 
mulgated, children  are  permitted  to  dis- 
regard or  evade  them,  it  may  be  expected 
that  such  children,  as  children,  or  when 
grown,  will  not  give  due  attention  to  rules 
of  organized  society." 

Obviously,  one  comment  on  the  Board's 
recommendation  will  be  the  stereotyped, 
"  You  can't  make  people  moral  by  statute  " ; 
but  statutes  may,  nevertheless,  lessen  im- 
morality by  prescribing  condign  punish- 
ment of  those  who  are  guilty  thereof.  In 
the  meantime  we  may  be  permitted  to 
suggest  that  the  legislators  of  California, 
as  of  all  other  States,  will  have  taken  a 
long  step  forward  in  the  prevention  of 


438 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


crime  when  they  decree  thai  (he  educa- 
tion provided  at  public  expense  for  the 
children  shall  include  the  only  basis-  of 
genuine  morality  in  child  or  adult — relig- 
ious training.  If  our  present  system  of 
schools  without  God  is  the  last  word  in 
American  statesmanship,  then  our  states- 
men have  very  little  reason  to  be  proud 
of  themselves. 


Germany  is  seen  in  a  new  role  by  the 
Countess  of  Warwick, — as  the  remedy  by 
which  a  desperate  disease  may  be  healed. 
"The  disease,"  she  says  (writing  in  the 
Bookman),  "is  the  pursuit  of  riches  and 
power  at  any  price.  To  this  end  millions 
of  men  in  Germany  and  Austria  had  been 
dragooned  out  of  all  proper  semblance  of 
humanity;  they  had  become  the  brute 
force  by  which  autocracy,  with  the  ai4  of 
prostituted  science,  sought  to  register  its 
evil  decrees.  In  England  the  pursuit  of 
power  and  riches  took  another  form.  Of 
Militarism  we  had  little  or  none ;  but  from 
ten  thousand  factories  and  workshops, 
from  a  thousand  slums  the  cry  of  the 
worker  uprose  to  God.  'The  voice  of  thy 
brother's  blood  crieth  unto  Me  from  the 
ground.'  In  the  midst  of  seeming  pros- 
perity, Europe  was  rotten  to  the  core. 
The  nations  have  been  chastened  because 
of  their  iniquities." 

We  do  not  believe  that  Europe  was 
"rotten  to  the  core,"  or  we  should  have 
less  hope  of  the  cure.  However,  there  is 
more  truth  than  poetry  in  what  the  Coun- 
tess says;  and  the  disease  of  which  she 
speaks  has  been  spreading  rapidly  in  our 
own  country. 

Spiritism  is  apparently  a  much  more 
timely  topic  on  the  otfyer  side  of  the 
Atlantic  than  on  ours.  Our  British  ex- 
changes not  infrequently  contain  editorial 
references  to  the  subject,  and  their  corre- 
spondence columns  still  oftener  manifest  the 
interest  felt  in  the  matter  by  their  con- 
tributors. One  such  contributor  to  the 
London  Catholic  Times  recently  took 
issue  with  a  writer  who  attempted  to  ex- 


plain all  the  phenomena  of  spiritism  by 
"the  surrounding  ether's  becoming  elec- 
trically charged,"  the  "thought  and  wish 
of  the  inquirer  being  focussed  and  thrown 
on  the  screen  of  the  ether,"  and  similar 
fanciful  statements, — the  purpose  being  to 
deny  the  existence  in  the  phenomena  of 
anything  preternatural.  Now,  the  mere 
denial  that  spiritism  has  aught  to  do  with 
diabolical  intelligences,  however  oracularly 
such  denials  may  be  made,  does  not  settle 
the  question,  any  more  than  the  discovery 
of  fraud  in  ninety  phenomena  disproves 
the,  genuineness  of  ten  others  inexplicable 
by  any  theory  of  fraudulent  practice  on 
the  part  of  mediums.  As  the  contributor  to 
the  Times  puts  it:  "For  instance,  no 
amount  of  hypothetical  ether  hypotheti- 
cally  charged  with  imaginary  electricity 
can  explain  the  extraordinary  levitation  of 
D.  D.  Home;  nor  the  communication  of 
knowledge  that  is  not  in  the  mind  of  any 
of  the  sitters ;  nor  how  a  medium  comes  to 
speak  strange  languages  of  which  he  is 
ignorant  in  a  normal  state." 

The  scoffers  at  any  connection  between 
spiritism  and  diabolism  need  to  be  re- 
minded that,  in  a  revised  version  of 
Shakespeare's  dictum,  'there  are  more 
things  in  heaven  and  earth — and  hell  than 
are  dreamt  of  in  their  philosophy.' 

We  take  from 'the  published  report  of 
the  "Mission  Work  among  the  Negroes 
and  Indians,"  an  excerpt  showing  what 
conditions  are  in  one  parish  such  as 
the  annual  collection  is  meant  to  relieve. 
The  pastor  of  St.  Bridget's  Church, 
Indianapolis,  Ind. — to  which  last  year 
$250  were  apportioned, — writes  as  follows, 
under  the  endorsement  of  the  Rt.  Rev. 
Bishop  Chartrand: 

My  church  is  located  in  the  midst  of  the  colored 
population,  of  which  there  are  about  40,000  in 
this  city.  It  was  not  so  thirty-seven  years  ago, 
when  the  church  was  built.  Since  that  time  the 
increase  in  the  colored  population  pressed  it  on 
every  side,  and  drove  out  the  white  residents,  and 
with  them  went  not  fewer  than  sixty  families  of 
Catholics.  At  present  most  of  my  white,  congre- 
gation is  bordering  on  the  colored  district.  My 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


439 


people  are  all  hard  working  and  looking  for  lower 
rent  rates.  The  receipts  of  my  church  last  year 
fell  short  of  expenses  over  $400;  the  year  before, 
$500.  I  have  no  revenue  for  schools.  The 
school  for  the  colored  Catholics  is  in  a  separate 
building,  a  block  away  from  the  white  school. 
At  the  expense  of  the  congregation  I  have  paid  for 
repairs  and  supplies,  but  can  not  pay  the  teacher's 
salary.  Her  salary  in  the  past  has  been  $300  a 
year.  She  is  manager,  janitor  and  teacher.  Her 
salary  for  two  years  has  not  been  paid.  If  the 
salary  of  the  teacher  can  not  be  paid,  there  is 
nothing  left  but  to  close  the  school.  In  the 
State  of  Indiana  there  is  no  church  exclusively 
for  colored  Catholics,  and  no  school  for  colored 
Catholics  except  this  one  which  I  have  been 
maintaining. 

The  overthrow  of  Russian  autocracy, 
and  the  recognized  possibility  that  similar 
dynastic  changes  may  occur  in  other 
European  realms  before  the  echoes  of  the 
Great  War  have  ceased  to  reverberate, 
give  the  quality  of  timeliness  to  the  fol- 
lowing paragraph  from  a  recent  issue  of 
the  Brooklyn  Tablet: 

The  "Divine  Right  of  Kings"  does  not  mean 
that  a  king  considers  himself  divine;  that  he 
can  do  no  wrong,  nor  that  he,  personally,  is 
divinely  appointed.  It  means  that  the  right  of 
a  king  to  rule  is  divine  in  its  origin;  for  "all 
authority  comes  from  God."  Authority  comes 
to  a  king,  sometimes  through  the  people  by 
suffrage  or  acclamation,  or  again  through  inher- 
itance. However,  it  comes  primarily  from  God. 
Thus  all  authority  is  grounded;  and  we  can 
speak  with  equal  truth  of  the  Divine  Right  of 
the  President  of  the  United  States. 

As  for  the  principle  "the  king  can  do  no 
wrong,"  in  modern  monarchical  countries 
it  has  come  to  mean  simply  that  to  the 
sovereign's  constitutional  ministers,  not  the 
king  himself,  is  to  be  imputed  any  wrong 
or  injustice  of  which  the  people  are  at 
any  time  the  victims. 


Not  a  few  historical  works  published  of 
late  years,  even  by  non-Catholic  authors, 
give  rise  to  the  hope  that  the  oldtime 
statement,  "History  for  a  thousand  years 
has  been  nothing  but  a  conspiracy  against 
the  truth,"  and  Sir  Robert  Walpole's 
briefer  dictum,  "All  history  is  a  lie,"  are 
in  a  fair  way  of  becoming  obsolete.  No 
reader  of  these  columns  needs  to  be  told 


that  the  Church's  action  throughout  the 
ages  on  the  question  of  slavery  has  been 
uniformly  beneficent;  but  a  large  number 
of  non- Catholics  in  this  and  many  another 
land  would  probably  read  with  surprise 
the  following  extract  from  a  new  book 
by  Agnes  Wergeland,  former  professor  of 
history  in  the  University  of  Wyoming: 

Another  stronghold  of  hope  for  the  slave  was 
the  power  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church.  What 
the  king  represented  within  the  political  sphere, 
the  bishop  represented  within  the  moral.  There 
is  no  doubt  that,  but  for  the  constant  good  offices 
of  the  Church  through  her  ministers,  the  im- 
provement in  the  condition  of  the  slave  would 
have  been  of  far  slower  growth.  The  bishop,  of 
course,  could,  as  little  as  the  king,  interfere 
with  the  actual  ownership,  or  abolish  slavery; 
but  he  tried  to  exercise  a  religious  as  well  as 
a  practical  pressure  upon  the  slaveholder.  On 
the  one  side,  mild  treatment  of  the  slave  was 
always  spoken  of  as  one  of  the  important  evi- 
dences of  a  Christian  spirit;  on  the  other  side, 
the  churches  and  monasteries  were  recognized 
places  of  refuge  for  the  fugitive,  or  abused  slave: 
the  priest  or  the  abbot,  before  giving  the  slave 
over,  exacting  an  oath  or  promise  from  the  slave- 
owner to  do  the  refugee  no  further  harm. 

The  work  from  which  we  quote  is 
"Slavery  in  Germanic  Society  during  the 
Middle  Ages";  and  it  contains  many 
other  tributes  to  the  stand  taken  by  the 
Church  on  the  question  that  disrupted 
our  own  country  little  more  than  half  a 
century  ago. 

Yet  another  instance  of  the  perennially 
potent  and  beneficent  influence  of  quiet, 
unobtrusive  good  example  is  mentioned  in 
a  lady  convert's  interesting  account  of  her 
journey  to  the  Church.  Chief  among  the 
contributive  causes  of  her  conversion  was 
the  example  of  a  young  Catholic  woman — • 
who,  by  the  way,  has  modestly  forbidden 
the  use  of  her  name  in  the  sketch  pub- 
lished in  the  Providence  Visitor.  The  por- 
trait drawn  of  her  in  the  following 
paragraph  is  a  true  likeness  of  many  a 
daughter  of  the  Church: 

To  see  her  soothing  the  last  moments  of  the 
dying,  counselling  the  wayward  to  keep  on 
the  path  of  righteousness,  bringing  peace  to 
families  that  had  lived  in  discord,  flitting  like 
an  angel  of  charity  from  house  to  house  whenever 


440 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


an  accident,  sickness  or  any  other  cause  became 
the  source  of  sorrow  and  affliction,  everywhere 
pouring  sunshine  by  her  very  presence  on  rich 
and  poor  alike — and  this  not  once  or  twice  but 
almost  daily  for  so  many  years, — would  bring 
home  to  the  most  inveterate  free-thinker  the 
conviction  that  the  religion  she  professed  must 
be  divine.  I  am  confident  that  God  has  pre- 
pared for  her  a  throne  in  heaven  in  recom- 
pense for  the  thousand  and  one  kindnesses  she 
has  performed,  and,  not  the  least  of  these,  for 
that  of  removing  my  difficulties  against  her 
Church. 

'Tis  the  old,  old  story,  "words  move  but 
example  drags."  A  Catholic  life,  however 
inconspicuously  lived,  inevitably  exerts  an 
influence  for  good  on  all  that  come  within 
its  sphere;  and  an  intensely  Catholic  life 
can  not  fail  to  draw  many  a  non-Catholic 
to  the  door  of  the  Church. 


Between  the  devil  and  the  deep  sea  is 
the  position  of  the  English  Government  in 
regard  to  Home  Rule  for  Ireland.  Having 
declared  that  it  had  decided,  on  its  own 
responsibility,  to  effect  a  settlement  of 
the  question,  the  Government  is  now 
called  upon  to  take  action,  and  warned 
(by  Mr.  John  Dillon)  that  if  it  does  not  do 
so  soon,  serious  results  will  follow.  But 
serious  results  are  likely  to  follow  in  any 
case.  Northeast  Ulster  has  repudiated 
Home  Rule;  and  the  Prime  Minister  does 
not  see  his  way  to  impose  it,  fearing  that, 
with  a  small  district  of  the  country  under 
the  protection  of  the  Parliament  at  West- 
minster, the  situation  might  become  even 
worse  than  it  is  at  present.  It  was  hoped 
that  the  opposition  of  the  Ulsterites  would 
be  overcome  as  the  war  progressed;  how- 
ever, little  seems  to  have  been  effected  in 
this  direction.  The  outlook  is  indeed 
dreary.  The  crux  of  the  question  is  the 
recalcitrancy  of  Ulster. 


According  to  a  recent  cable  dispatch 
from  London  to  the  New  York  Sun,  there 
is  a  universal  discussion  through  England 
and  France  of  the  proposal  that,  in  view  of 
the  Russian  revolution,  the  close  of  the 
present  war  must  be  followed  by  the 


promulgation  of  peace  terms  which  will 
bring  an  end  to  autocratic  institutions  any- 
where in  the  world.  It  is  urged  that,  as 
China,  now  a  republic,  has  entered  the 
war,  Russia  has  become  a  democracy,  and 
the  United  States  is  practically  certain  to 
enter  the  conflict,  the  world's  democracies 
will  be  pitted  against  the  last  remnants 
of  autocracy;  and  it  will  be  possible,  by 
pushing  the  war  to  a  decisive  finish,  to 
place  the  entire  world  upon  a  permanent 
democratic  basis.  With  that  accomplished, 
it  would  be  possible  to  effect  a  world-wide 
federation  of  democratic  governments, 
safeguarding  future  peace  and  promoting 
the  general  welfare  of  mankind. 

Such  a  programme  would  undoubtedly 
command  the  -support  of  Anarchists  as 
well  as  Socialists  everywhere.  The  latter 
are  more  numerous  in  Germany  than  any 
other  country;  but  the  Great  War  has 
had  the  effect  of  pacifying  them  to  a  large 
extent,  and  they  have  less  ground  now 
for  opposition  to  the  Government.  As 
for  the  Anarchists,  they  refuse  to  recog- 
nize the  fact  that  uncontrolled  authority 
is  well-nigh  a  thing  of  the  past.  "The 
Autocrat  of  all  the  Russias"  had  ceased  to 
be  a  title  of  the  Czar  long  before  the  revo- 
lution. It  is  significant  that,  whereas 
Anarchists  do  not  care  to  be  called  by  any 
other  name — ii  would  not  matter  if  they 
were, — present-day  Socialists  do  not  like 
to  be  called  Anarchists. 

There  could  hardly  be  a  better  answer 
for  those  who  say,  as  many  do,  that  there 
is  no  sense  in  sending  missionaries  to  pagan 
lands  when  there  are  so  many  pagans  at 
home,  than  to  quote  the  words  which  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  once  addressed  to  a 
young  parson  who  complained  because  so 
much  money  was  being  expended  for 
foreign  missions,  and  so  many  good  men 
were  required  to  equip  them.  The  Iron 
Duke  turned  to  him  and  said  briefly  and 
sternly :  "You  forget  your  marching  orders, 
sir!" — in  allusion  to  Our  Lord's  words, 
"Go  ye  into  the  whole  world,  and  preach 
the  Gospel  to  every  creature." 


Easter  Songs. 


BY    S.   M.   R. 


§HE  very  heart  of  Earth  is  glad 
And  Alleluia  sings, 
For  every  note  of  love's  glad  scale 
A   fragrant  flower  springs. 

A  thousand  happy  birds  take  up 
The  Earth's  glad  Easter  song, 

And  in  a  shower  of  melody 
The  ecstasy   prolong. 

But  flower  and  bird  songs  do  not  reach 

Beyond  the  arching  skies, 
While  Easter  songs  of  grateful  hearts 

To  Heaven's  portals  rise; 

Where,  joining  with  the  angels'  songs, 
Through  heavenly  choirs  they  ring, 

And  holy  praise  and  grateful  love 
They  offer  to  the  King. 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


XIV. — A  STRANGE  STORY. 

fATHER  PHIL  took  up  the  outer 
paper.    It  was  a  long  sheet,  written 
on  both  sides,  and  rather  illegibly, 
by'^a    trembling   hand.     The   lines 
were  irregular,  broken  by  dashes  and  blots. 
It    was    dated    only   ten    days   before,    on 
Christmas  Eve,  when  Father  Phil  had  said 
Mass  in  the  log  cabin. 

"I  am  dying,"  it  began, — "left  to  die 
like  a  dog  that  can  bite  and  hunt  no  more. 
I  am  telling  the  truth,  to  which  I  will 
swear  with  my  last  breath, — the  truth 
about  the  child,  Charles  Owens  Nesbitt, — 
the  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth.  I 
was  coming  East  from  California  on  the 
P.  &  B.  Limited,  on  October  16,  19 — .  At 
Colorado  Springs,  Arthur  Nesbitt  boarded 


the  train.  He  had  with  him  a  colored 
nurse  and  a  child  of  less  than  three  years 
old.  I  had  known  Arthur  Nesbitt  before 
when  we  were  in  Frisco.  We  had  been 
room-mates  for  a  while  when  we  were  both 
'down  and  out,'  as  I  was  still  on  this  night 
that  we  met  again.  But  he  had  struck  luck 
since,  had  been  taken  up  by  rich  relations 
in  the  East,  while  I  had  gone  down  lower 
every  year.  He  would  have  cut  me  dead, 
but  I  thought  I  might  touch  him  for  a 
few  dollars,  so  put  myself  in  his  way. 
'Married,  I  see?'  I  asked  after  we  had 
spoken  to  each  other. 

"'No,'  he  said.  'That  is  my  cousin, 
Charlie  Nesbitt' s  kid.  The  mother  and 
father  are  dead.  I  am  bringing  him  home.' 

"Then,  as  we  drank  and  smoked  to- 
gether, he  warmed  up  a  bit,  and  let  out 
the  grouch  that  I  could  see  was  in  him. 
The  kid  meant  tough  luck  for  him.  Its 
grandmother  (his  aunt)  had  quarrelled 
with  the  child's  father  about  his  marriage, 
and  taken  her  nephew  Arthur  up  in  his 
place.  But  now  the  'young  squaller,'  as 
he  called  the  little  Nesbitt  in  the  Pullman 
behind  us,  had  cut  him  out  clean.  The 
old  lady  had  sent  for  the  child  at  once 
when  she  heard  of  its  mother's  death. 
The  father  had  died  more  than  a  year  ago. 
This  youngster  would  step  into  every- 
thing, and  the  Nesbitts  had  millions. 

"'And  you've  been  counting  ahead,'  I 
said  knowingly.  His  face  blackened  with 
a  look  that  showed  me  I  had  struck  the 
truth.  'The  kid  is  in  your  way  sure,'  I 
went  on,  trying  to  keep  on  his  right  side; 
for  he  had  plenty  of  money  still,  and  I 
was  down  to  my  last  dollar.  'Pity  you 
couldn't  chuck  him  out  of  the  window,' 
I  tried  to  joke. 

'"I'd  like  to,'  he  said,  his  face  blacken- 
ing still  more;  and  then,  though  he  tried 
to  laugh  the  words  off,  I  knew  that  I 
had  struck  another  truth,  and  that,  with 


442 


THE  AVR  MARIA 


all  his  pockets  full  us  they  wore1,  Arthur 
Nesbitt  was  desperate. 

"I  now  began  to  tell  him  something  of 
my  own  troubles.  I  had  got  into  a  scrape 
gambling  in  Frisco,  and  had  to  leave 
quick  or  be  pinched.  He  heard  me,  chilly 
as  an  iceberg;  but  lent  me  the  five  dollars 
I  asked,  and  told  me  good-night.  It  was 
a  dirty  shake  off,  as  I  felt;  for  I  had  stood 
by  him  in  many  a  tighter  place  years  ago. 
Then  Arthur  Nesbitt  went  to  his  own 
berth  in  the  Pullman  sleeper,  done  with 
me,  as  I  knew  he  meant  to  be,  forever. 
And  I  was  sitting  in  the  smoker,  still 
thinking  of  what  he  had  said,  and  wonder- 
ing how  I  could  get  more  out  of  him,  when 
the  crash  came. 

"There  is  no  need  to  tell  about  that :  the 
papers  were  filled  with  it  for  days, — the 
worst  railroad  wreck  that  had  happened 
for  years;  and  in  a  wild  stretch  of  moun- 
tain, far  from  help.  I  was  knocked  dizzy 
for  a  few  moments;  but,  when  I  came  to, 
found  I  was  not  hurt.  I  groped  my  way 
out  of  the  derailed  car  into  the  horrors 
without,  of  which  I  can  not  tell.  One-half 
the  train  had  plunged  through  a  broken 
trestle.  There  was  some  human  pity  still 
in  my  heart,  and  I  went  around,  dragging 
victims  from  the  wrecked  and  burning 
cars,  and  helping  where  I  could.  It  was 
then  I  came  upon  the  child  and  its  nurse. 
The  poor  woman,  caught  in  the  wreckage 
of  the  Pullman,  had  thrust  the  child 
through  a  broken  window  of  the  car,  and 
was  crying  piteously  for  help.  'Take  the 
baby  some  one, — take  the  baby!  He  is 
little  Charlie  Nesbitt,  and  he  has  rich  folks 

in  N that  will  pay  you  to  be  good  to 

him.  Save  my  baby,  please  sir, — please!' 

"I  took  the  child  from  the  poor  creature 
(she  herself  was  pinned  helplessly  in  the 
ruined  car),  and,  turning  around,  faced 
Arthur  Nesbitt.  He  had  saved  himself 
somehow,  though  with  a  broken  arm,  and 
stood  there  in  the  light  of  the  blazing  car 
like  one  dazed. 

'"Here  is  the  child,'  I  said  hurriedly, 
for  I  meant  to  keep  on  with  my  work 
among  the  victims.  'I'm  afraid  it's  all  up 


with  the  nurse.    Hold  the  kid  while  I  try 
what  I  can  do.' 

"Curse  your  meddling!'  he  murmured. 

"Then  I  understood.  The  burning  car 
seemed  to  flash  its  light  upon  me.  It  was 
the  chance  of  my  life  to  hold  this  man, 
devil  that  he  was,  in  my  power, — the 
chance  of  my  life,  and  I  took  it. 

"It's  not  too  late,'  I  said  quickly. 

"'For  what?'  he  asked. 
"To  chuck  the  kid,'  I  answered.    'Give 
me  that  wallet  in  your  pocket  and  I'll  do 
it  for  you.' 

"You  mean — you  mean?'  His  voice 
shook.  , 

"No,'  I  said  bluntly:  'I'm  no  baby- 
killer.  Talk  quick  before  the  crowd  comes 
down.  That  wallet  in  your  pocket  and  all 
it  holds,  and  I'll  take  the  child  where  you 
will  never  see  it  or  hear  from  it  again.  It 
will  pass  for  dead  with  the  rest.  The 
wallet,  and  I'll  make  off  with  the  kid  that 
is  in  your  way!  Quick!  Is  it  a  bargain?' 

"He  stared  at  me  bewildered  like  for  a 
moment.  I  think  he  was  half  mad  with  the 
shock  and  the  fright,  or  the  thought  of 
the  chance  he  had  missed  when  I  showed 
him  the  child  safe.  Then  he  thrust  the 
wallet  into  my  hands.  'There's  fifteen 
hundred  dollars  in  it.  Take  'it,'  he  said 
with  a  curse,  'and  do  as  you  say.'  And  I 
took  it,  and  made  off  with  the  child." 

There  was  a  blot  here ;  the  lines  were 
growing  more  and  more  illegible,  as  if 
some  false  strength  that  had  sustained  the 
writer  was  giving  way. 

"Put — with  some  Negroes  until  morn- 
ing; then — kept  on;  found  a  trail  across 
the  mountain — moonshiner's  cabin, — said 
wife  would  take  care  of  child  if  I  would 
pay.  Gave  him,  what  he  asked, — an  old 
rascal;  jailed  next  year,  I  heard;  set  him 
up  a  while — then  struck  Arthur  Nesbitt 
again — hush  money — hush  money  till — 
till — "  The  story  broke  .off  here  in  a 
hopeless  scrawl. 

"And  is  that  the  end,  Phil?"  asked 
Father  Tim,  who  had  been  listening  with 
breathless  interest. 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer.    "And  a  scoun- 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


443 


drelly  end  it  is.    A  precious  piece  of  vil- 
lainy it  shows  up — if  it  is  true." 

"If  it's  true,  as  you  say,  lad,"  re- 
marked Father  Tim,  pityingly.  "I'm 
misdoubting  it  myself,  Phil.  It  may  all 
be  a  fever  dream.  The  dying  have  queer 
fancies  sometimes.  There  was  poor  Dan 
Devlin  crying  out  to  me  that  he  had  killed 
his  wife,  when  the  good  woman  was  safe 
at  his  side  that  minute,  praying  the  Lord 
to  save  his  soul." 

"Maybe  he  had  tried  the  killing,"  said 
Father  Phil,  grimly. 

"Ah,  no,  no!  Dan  wouldn't  do  the  like 
of  that,"  replied  his  old  pastor,  assuredly; 
"though  he  might  have  struck  her  a 
blow  now  and  then,  when  he  had  taken  a 
drop  too  much,  and  that  was  troubling  his 
mind.  It's  the  Lord's  own  teaching  that  we 
mustn't  judge,  Phil.  I'm  thinking  that 
all  this  queer  story  is  a  sick  man's  dream." 

"Perhaps,"  answered  the  young  priest; 
"though  the  first  part  of  the  story  runs 
mighty  clear  for  a  dream.  A  cold-blooded 
rascal  he  must  have  been." 

"Ah,  that  we  can't  tell,  Phil!"  replied 
his  old  friend, — "  we  can't  tell  till  we  know 
the  temptation.  But  for  the  grace  of  God 
you  and  I,  put  in  his  place,  might  have 
done  the  same.  When  you've  been  dealing 
with  sin  and  sorrow  as  I  have  for  nigh 
fifty  years,  lad,  you'll  understand  better 
those  words  of  the  Holy  Book:  'For  He 
knoweth  our  frame:  He  remembereth  we 
are  but  dust.'  I  was  a  dull  chap  at  school, 
Phil ;  and  it  was  only  my  poor  old  mother's 
prayers,  I  believe,  that  ever  got  me  into 
the  seminary  at  all.  I  never  had  the  head 
for  deep  book-learning,  though  I  did  my 
best.  'Never  mind,  Tim,'  said  good  old 
Father  Earl  when  I  floundered  in  my 
philosophy ;  '  you  can  get  to  human  hearts 
and  souls  without  all  this.  There  is  a 
wisdom  that  isn't  taught  in  schools.' 
And  I  believe  there  is,"  added  Father 
Tim,  simply.  "And,  though  you're  fitted 
maybe  for  other  things,  Phil,  you'll  learn 
more  of  the  Lord's  mercy  around  St. 
Cyprian's  than  any  book  can  teach." 
"I'm  sure  I  shall,"  answered  Father 


Phil,  with  a  meaning  his  old  friend  was  too 
humble  to  catch.  "But  in  this  case  we 
must  not  forget  that  there  may  be  justice 
as  well  as  mercy  involved.  And  so,  if  you 
will  allow  me  to  keep  this  paper  for  a  while, 
I  will  put  its  truth  to  the  test." 

"Then  do  it,  lad!"  said  Father  Tim, 
heartily.  "You  are  younger  and  cleverer 
than  I  am,  Phil.  Do  it,  in  God's  name." 

And,  with  this  permission,  Father  Phil 
set  forth  to  investigate  as  best  he  could, 
after  all  these  years,  the  truth  of  Wilmot 
Elkins'  startling  confession.  That  it 
might  all  be  the  delirious  fancy  of  one 
given  to  drink  or  drugs,  the  young  priest 
knew;  and,  from  the  dying  man's  ap- 
pearance, it  did  not  seem  unlikely  that  he 
had  been  addicted  to  one  or  both  of  these 
soul-destroying  habits.  His  story,  written 
intelligently  at  first,  as  if  under  some 
unnatural  stimulant,  had  broken  down  at 
the  end,  as  if  powers  quickened  by  that 
stimulant  had  failed. 

Although  Father  Phil  felt  doubtful  of 
the  whole  business,  his  promise  to  the  poor 
dying  wretch  remained:  he  must  try  to 
do  justice.  And,  with  this  promise  in 
mind,  he  turned  back  to  the  wretched 
tenement  in  which  Wilmot  Elkins  had 
died,  thinking  that  perhaps  from  some  of 
those  who  had  rendered  the  last  duties 
to  the  dead  man  he  might  learn  something 
of  his  past.  But  good  old  Biddy  Malone 
met  him  at  the  door  with  a  warning: 

"I  was  to  put  a  letter  he  gave  me  in  the 
box  as  soon  as  he  died;  and  there's  a 
saycret  society  sworn  to  bury  him.  They 
are  upstairs  now.  Ye'd  best  have  nothing 
to  do  with  them,  yer  riverence." 

And,  knowing  a  Catholic  priest's 
standing  with  "saycret  societies,"  Father 
Phil  felt  that  Biddy  was  right;  and, 
instead,  went  on  his  way  to  the  city 
library  to  consult  the  files  of  old  news- 
papers, that  were  in  such  orderly  array 
he  found  without  difficulty  the  date 
October  16,  19 — . 

There  indeed,  in  black  headlines  that 
had  not  faded  with  years,  was  the  story 
of  a  railroad  wreck  terrible  in  its  destruc- 


444 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


tion  and  loss  of  human  life.  Father  Phil, 
who  had  at  first  given  only  a  casual  glance 
at  the  column,  dropped  into  one  of  the 
library  chairs  and  read  with  breathless 
interest.  The  newspaper  narration  corrob- 
orated Wilmot  Klkins'  story  in  every 
detail, — the  broken  trestle,  the  derailed 
cars  in  the  mountain  wild,  the  burning 
wreckage,  the  piteous  cries  for  help  rising 
in  the  darkness,  the  aid  that  came  too  late 
to  help  or  save.  Beneath  was  the  long, 
harrowing  list  of  dead,  injured,  missing,— 
the  last  explained  sadly  by  the  charred 
ruins  of  half  a  dozen  cars,  in  which  many 
bodies  were  absolutely  beyond  recogni- 
tion. Among  the  injured  Father  Phil's 
quick  eye  caught  the  name,  "Arthur  J. 
Nesbitt,  arm  broken,  and  suffering  seri- 
ously from  shock";  while  the  list  of 
' '  missing ' '  held  the  sadder  items :  ' '  Charles 
Owen  Nesbitt,  two  years;  and. his  nurse, 
Caroline  Jackson,  colored;  both  in  the 
Pullman  sleeper,  and  supposed  to  be 
among  the  unrecognized  dead." 

(To  be  continued.) 


Little  Angelica. 


BY    AUBERTINE    WOODWARD    MOORE. 


T  was  Easter  Day  in  the  year 
of  Our  Lord  1790.  The  bells 
were  ringing  for  Mass  in  the 
beautiful  chapel  of  the  convent  of  Santa 
Lucia,  not  far  from  Rome.  A  long  train  of 
worshippers,  clad  in  picturesque  garb, 
moved  toward  the  cloister  gates.  Above 
them  glowed  and  sparkled  the  blue  sky 
and  the  golden  sunshine  of  Italy. 

The  windows  of  the  chapel  were  ablaze 
with  glorious  radiance.  Within  the  sacred 
edifice  there  prevailed  the  "dim  religious 
light,"  amid  which  the  statue  of  Santa 
Lucia,  hung  with  a  profusion  of  garlands 
arid  flowers,  stood  out  in  bold  relief.  When 
the  priest  ascended  the  altar,  every  knee 
was  bent,  every  head  bowed.  From  the 
elevated,  invisible  choir  burst  forth  the 
Kyrie  eleison  of^  Maestro  Palestrina.  The 
noble  strains  were  borne  to  the  hearts  of 


the  faithful  by  the  sweet  voices  of  the  nuns. 

In  the  Gloria  in  excelsis,  there  suddenly 
rang  out  a  silvery-toned  soprano  that 
soared  far  above  all  the  other  voices.  Its 
tones  were  of  a  totally  different  quality 
from  those  of  the  other  singers,  and  they 
aroused  a  little  wave  of  excitement  that 
surged  through  every  heart  in  the  congre- 
gation. In  the  Credo  the  marvellous  voice 
was  hushed;  it  was  heard  again,  however, 
in  the  noble  Agnus  Dei,  darting  through 
the  incense-laden  air  like  a  victory-bearing 
arrow. 

As  the  worshippers  wended  their  way 
homeward,  the  wonderful  voice  afforded 
the  main  topic  of  conversation.  No  one 
had  ascertained  the  name  of  the  invisible 
songstress.  That  there  was  some  mystery 
about  the  voice,  there  could  be  no  doubt, 
it  was  thought;  and  it  was  unanimously 
agreed  to  solve  it. 

The  following  morning  —  a  glorious, 
joyous  Italian  morning — an  eager  throng 
once  more  pressed  through  the  portals  of 
Santa  Lucia.  Expectation  was  depicted  on 
every  countenance.  Once  more  the  vibra- 
tions of  the  glorious  voice  throbbed  and 
thrilled  through  the  chapel.  Once  more 
hearts  fluttered  with  excitement.  Once  more 
curiosity  mingled  with  devotion.  At  the 
conclusion  of  the  service  those  who  silently 
and  thankfully  accepted  the  voice  as  a 
blessed  gift  from  Heaven  were  in  the 
minority.  The  greater  number  were  beside 
themselves  with  excitement. 

"It  is,  after  all,  a  child  whose  voice  we 
have  heard!"  cried  one  woman,  who,  hav- 
ing lingered  for  a  moment  in  the  chapel, 
finally  joined  her  companions.  "I  chanced 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  as  she  passed 
behind  the  grating.  She  is  as  beautiful  as 
an  angel,  and — 

"Nonsense!"  interrupted  another  voice. 
"The  singing  we  heard  was  that  of  no 
child." 

"Some  one  told  me,"  said  another, 
"that  a  famous  prima  donna  was  visiting 
the  Sisters  of  Santa  Lucia.  I'll  warrant 
you  it  was  she  who  sang." 

"No,  no!"  came  from  yet  another.    "It 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


445 


was  one  of  the  younger  Sisters, — some 
novice  perhaps.  The  child  behind  the 
grating  belongs  to  the  school." 

"It  was  neither  child  nor  woman,"  here 
broke  in  an  agitated  speaker.  "An  angel 
has  been  sent  by  Our  Lord  to  bring  honor 
to  this  house  of  piety  and  good  deeds, 
over  which  Mother  Teresa  presides." 

"What  childish  prattle!"  interposed  a 
tall,  sharp- visaged  man.  "The  whole 
affair  is  but  a  bit  of  deception." 

At  once  the  people  thronged  about  the 
last  speaker,  who  thus  continued: 

"The  convent  is  poor.  Santa  Lucia 
needs  a  new  velvet  robe.  The  myste- 
.rious  voice  came  from  a  cleverly  con- 
structed music  box,  in  human  form.  It  is 
nothing  but  a  wax  puppet,  with  machinery 
inside  that  can  be  wound  up  like  a  clock." 

"Such  miserable  trickery  is  a  disgrace 
to  Santa  Lucia,"  stormed  a  loud,  coarse 
voice.  "It  shall  be  borne  no  longer." 

Everyone  now  spoke  at  once.  The 
woman  who  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
child  remembered  that  its  eyes  had  a 
glassy  stare.  Moreover,  she  had  noticed 
that  there  was  something  waxlike  about 
the  face.  Another  woman  was  even  posi- 
tive she  had  heard  a  curious  whirring 
sound  at  the  end  of  the  Gloria. 

"That  was  the  clockwork  running 
down,"  explained  several  in  one  breath. 

The  long  and  short  of  it  all  was  that 
before  many  hours  had  passed,  a  noisy, 
heedless,  wrangling  mob  came  thundering 
against  the  ivy-framed  portal  of  Santa 
Lucia,  demanding  admission.  The  abbess, 
Mother  Teresa,  appeared  at  the  grating, — 
a  tall,  commanding  form,  whose  noble 
countenance  and  dignified  bearing  com- 
bined with  the  garb  of  her  sacred  calling 
to  calm  the  turbulent  peace-breakers.  It 
was  some  moments  before  one  of  the  in- 
truders found  courage  to  explain  the  sus- 
picions and  demands  of  the  assembled 
people. 

"Is  it  possible,"  she  said,  "that  you 
believe  me  guilty  of  such  base  deceit? 
The  voice  that  has  so  bewdldered  you  is 
that  of  a  little  maiden  of  ten  who  is  gaining 


an  education  in  this  convent.  Her  name 
is  Angelica  Catalani." 

"Show  us  the  child!"  cried  a  shrill 
voice,  whose  tones  excited  the  mob  anew. 

"Be  patient,  then,  for  a  moment,"  said 
Mother  Teresa;  and  the  calm  dignity  of 
her  voice  and  manner  cast  a  hush  over  the 
agitation  of  the  intruders. 

But  a  few  moments  elapsed  from  the 
time  she  turned  from  the  grating  until 
she  stood  at  the  wide-open  portal,  clasping 
the  hand  of  a  slender,  pale,  shrinking 
child.  With  startled  eyes,  the  little  girl 
surveyed  the  seething  mass  of  humanity 
before  her.  The  delicately  moulded  fea- 
tures and  white  skin  beneath  the  black 
hair  might  well  have  been  those  of  a  wax 
image,  so  lifeless  did  they  seem. 

"Be  of  good  courage,  Angelica,"  whis- 
pered Mother  Teresa.  "There  is  nothing 
to  fear.  Uplift  your  voice,  dear,  and  sing 
the  Regina  Cceli." 

Unhesitatingly,  little  Angelica  parted 
her  lips  and  soon  the  air  was  ringing  with 
the  joyous  strains  of  the  Easter  anthem  to 
Our  Lady.  The  child  began  simply;  but 
there  was  a  purity,  a  power  in  her  tones 
that  increased- to  so  overwhelming  a  climax 
that  the  multitude,  swayed  by  one  impulse, 
knelt  in  humble  devotion.  The  face  of 
Mother  Teresa  glowed  with  pleasure. 

When  the  last  note  had  died  away,  men 
and  women  gathered  about  the  child,  sob- 
bing and  laughing.  They  kissed  her  hands, 
the  hem  of  her  garment,  and  blessed  her, 
amid  tears  of  rapture.  Then  all  present 
united  in  a  ringing  Ewiva  Angelica 
Catalani! 

The  life  of  a  nun  had  been  planned  for 
Angelica  by  her  father;  but  she  was  des- 
tined to  be  borne  beyond  the  cloister 
by  her  superb  voice,  with  its  exquisite 
quality,  and  its  compass  of  nearly  three 
%  octaves,  and  her  wonderful  gift  of  song. 
*  Mother  Teresa  herself  sent  the  young 
songstress  forth  into  the  world,  convinced 
that  it  was  her  vocation  to  spread  abroad 
the  benign  influences  of  music. 

Angelica  Catalani  is  described  by  her 
contemporaries  as  a  tall,  majestic-looking 


446 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


woman,  with  a  beautiful  complexion, 
large  blue  eyes,  features  of  perfect  symme- 
try, and  a  bright,  engaging  smile.  Her 
early  religious  training  exercised  a  power 
over  her  entire  life,  which  was  as  exem- 
plary as  her  public  career  was  dazzling. 

It  was  Angelica  Catalani  who  pre- 
sented the  boy  Chopin  with  a  watch  as 
a  reward  of  merit,  affording  him  his  first 
encouragement.  To  her,  in  1849,  came 
Jenny  Lind,  offering  and  receiving  con- 
gratulations. A  few  days  later,  in  her 
sixty-ninth  year,  Angelica  fell  a  victim  to 
cholera,  then  raging  in  Paris,  where  she 
was  staying.  Her  name  and  the  results  of 
her  work  were  bequeathed  to  the  world. 


His  Recommendations. 


A  merchant  in  one  of  our  large  cities 
had  advertised  in  an  evening  paper  for 
a  boy  to  run  errands;  and  early  next  day 
his  office  was  crowded  with  little  fellows  of 
various  nationalities,  all  anxious  to  secure 
the  position.  Many  of  them  had  letters 
of  recommendation  from  former  teachers, 
friends,  etc.,  which  the  merchant  merely 
glanced  over  and  then  handed  back.  His 
choice  fell  on  a  boy  who  had  no  letter  and 
who  said  nothing  until  he  was  addressed. 
To  all  the  questions  put  to  him  he  answered 
in  such  a  way  as  to  impress  his  future 
employer. 

When  the  other  boys  had  all  left  and 
the  "new  boy"  had  been  put  to  work,  a 
gentleman  who  was  present  at  the  inter- 
view expressed  surprise  that  an  applicant 
without  a  single  recommendation  should 
have  been  preferred  to  any  of  the  others. 
"But  he  did  have  a  number  of  recom- 
mendations," replied  the  merchant.  "In 
the  first  place,  he  held  his  head  up  and 
showed  a  bright  face  and  steady  eyes. 
My  attention  was  attracted  to  him  the 
moment  I  saw  him.  He  wiped  his  feet 
and  closed  the  door  after  him,  showing 
that  he  was  careful.  He  took  off  his  cap 
when  he  came  in,  and  answered  all  my 
questions  without  hesitation.  He  waited 


quietly  for  his  turn,  instead  of  pushing  and 
crowding,  showing  that  he  was  honorable 
and  orderly.  While  I  talked  to  him,  I 
noticed  that  his  clothes  were  brushed, 
his  hair  in  order,  and  when  he  wrote  his 
name  I  observed  that  his  finger-nails  were 
clean.  Don't  you  call  those  things  letters 
of  recommendation?  I  certainly  do;  and 
I  would  give  more  for  what  I  can  learn 
about  a  boy  by  observing  him  closely  for 
a  while,  than  by  all  the  letters  he  can  bring 
me." 


The  Feast  of  Lights. 


In  ancient  times  there  used  to  be  a 
celebration  of  what  was  called  the  "Feast 
of  Lights,"  in  honor  of  the  Light  of  the 
World,  a  name  often  given  to  our  Saviour. 
It  was  held  at  night,  because  until  His 
coming  the  world  was  in  spiritual  darkness. 
The  people  flocked  to  the  church  with 
unlighted  tapers  in  their  hands, — the 
tapers  signifying  the  soul  in  darkness. 
After  the  Gospel,  twelve  priests,  repre- 
senting the  Apostles,  lighted  a  taper  from 
a  candle  on  the  altar,  and  then  went 
through  the  church  lighting  the  tapers 
held  by  the  people.  In  a  little  while  the 
whole  church  was  a  sea  of  glittering  lights. 
The  angel  who  announced  the  resurrec- 
tion of  Christ  was  clothed  in  light,  because 
light  inspires  hope  and  signifies  guidance. 
Our  Risen  Lord,  being  the  hope  and  guide 
of  all  who  follow  Him,  is,  therefore,  called 
the  Light  of  the  World,  the  glorious  title 
which  is  His  alone. 


An  Easter  Custom. 


In  the  beautiful  island  of  Capri,  in  the 
Bay  of  Naples,  a  very  touching  custom  is 
observed  on  Easter  Day.  The  people 
bring  caged  birds  to  the  church,  and 
while  the  choir  is  singing  about  our 
Risen  Saviour's  work  of  freeing  "the 
.souls  in  prison,"  the  imprisoned  songsters 
are  set  at  liberty. 


7777?  AVK  MART  A  44: 

WITH    AUTHORS   AND    PUBLISHERS 


— Whatever  else  "Some  Defects  in  English 
Religion  and  Other  Sermons,"  by  Dr.  John 
Neville  Figgis,  may  be,  it  is  a  sincere  and  can- 
did book.  The  defects  especially  indicated 
are  sentimentalism,  legalism,  cowardice,  and 
complacency. 

— "Devotion  to  the  Holy  Face,"  by  E.  Seton 
(Benziger  Brothers),  is  a  sixteenmo  of  128 
pages.  The  author  discusses  the  significance 
and  fruits  of  the  devotion,  and  appends  a  number 
of  prayers  and  devout  practices.  It  is  neatly 
printed  and  bound,  but  lacks  a  table  of  contents. 
No  price  is  given. 

— Some  weeks  too  late  to  ensure  any  timeli- 
ness in  our  notice  of  it,  there  comes  to  our 
table  "The  Chief  Evils  of  the  Times,"  a  brochure 
containing  a  Lenten  course  of  seven  sermons  by 
the  Rev.  H.  Nagelschmidt.  (J.  F.  Wagner.) 
The  subjects  are  well  chosen,  and  are  treated 
with  force  and  adequacy.  Price,  40  cents. 

— Presumably,  it  is  the  musical  setting  of  the 
three  songs  which  conclude  the  three  acts  of 
"Creighton  Hall"  that  makes  the  libretto  of  the 
play  so  expensive.  It  is  paper-bound,  24  pages 
quarto,  yet  it  sells  for  a  dollar.  One  can  not 
but  regret  the  necessity  of  so  prohibitive  a 
price  for  work  so  adaptable  to  presentation  by 
convent  schools,  church  societies,  and  girls' 
clubs.  The  text  is  by  a  member  of  the  Pres- 
entation Order  (St.  Michael's  Convent,  New 
York)  and  displays  a  practised  hand. 

— From  the  Archabbey  Press,  Beatty,  Pa., 
comes  a  new  "Manuale  Ordinandorum,"  which 
is  by  far  the  best  that  we  know  of.  It  contains 
everything  that  could  be  desired  in  such  a  work, 
and  the  presentation  is  perfect.  We  feel  sure 
all  who  examine  this  book  will  agree  that  it 
would  be  hard  to  improve  upon  it.  The  prepara- 
tion of  it  was  evidently  a  labor  of  love  to  the 
Rev.  Aurelius  Stehle,  O.  S.  B.,  who  is  to  be 
congratulated  on  his  performance.  The  externals 
of  the  book  reflect  credit  on  the  Archabbey 
Press.  There  are  two  editions,  in  paper  cover 
and  cloth;  and  they  are  sold  at  the  low  price 
of  twenty-five  and  fifty  cents. 

— An  ideal  pamphlet  for  the  church  book- 
rack  is  "Words  of  Encouragement,"  by  the 
Rev.  John  E.  Mullett.  (The  Good  Counsel 
Press,  Fredonia,  N.  Y.)  It  is  a  kindly  approach 
made  by  a  wise  pastor  to  careless  and  f alien- 
away  Catholics.  So  wise  a  management  of 
zeal  is  here  that,  we  are  sure,  the  effects  desired 
ought  readily  to  follow.  At  the  end  of  his 
discourse,  the  writer  offers  this  excellent  sum- 


mary of  "truths  to  live  by":  "I  have  a  soul  to 
save";  "Life  is  short";  "Sin  is  punished"; 
"God  is  my  Judge";  "Jesus  Christ  loved  me"; 
"The  Son  of  Man  came  not  to  destroy  souls 
but  to  save";  and  "God  pardons  the  penitent." 
Full  Scriptural  warrant  is  given  for  each  of 
these  truths. 

— A  recent  issue  of  the  Angelus  Series  is 
"On  Good  Will,"  translated  from  the  French 
of  Joseph  Schrijvers,  C.  SS.  R.,  by  Francesca 
Glazier.  It  contains  excellent  reading  for  souls 
striving  to  attain  any  degree  of  perfection. 
The  Angelus  Series  is  published  by  R.  and  T. 
Washbourne,  London.  For  sale  in  this  country 
by  Benziger  Brothers.  Price,  50  cents. 

— Readers  of  that  charming  book,  "Aunt 
Sarah  and  the  War,"  published  anonymously, 
but  now  known  to  have  been  written  by  Mr. 
Wilfrid  Meynell,  will  be  interested  in  the  state- 
ment, made  in  the  Book  News  Monthly,  that  a 
copy  of  the  work  is  often  sent  by  King  George 
and  Queen  Alexandra  with  the  letters  of  con- 
dolence which  they  have  so  frequent  occasion 
nowadays  to  forward  to  their  friends. 

— In  good  season  for  the  coming  Maytime  is 
"Thirty-One  Days  with  Our  Blessed  Lady,"  by 
Margaret  M.  Kennedy.  It  is  a  book  compiled, 
says  its  author,  for  a  little  girl;  and  as  such  will 
instruct  as  well  as  charm  all  young  clients  of 
our  Blessed  Mother.  The  interest  of  some  of 
the  chapters  is  enhanced  by  illustrations.  This 
new  May  book  is  a  i6mo  of  200  pages,  and  is 
for  sale  by  Benzigers.  The  price  is  not  stated. 

— "Antichrist:  An  Historical  Review,"  by 
James  J.  L.  Ratton,  M.  D.  (Burns  &  Gates; 
Benziger  Brothers),  a  twelvemo  of  162  pages,  is 
the  third  work  dealing  with  the  Apocalypse  and 
kindred  subjects  published  by  this  septuagenarian 
Catholic  layman  within  the  past  decade.  The 
fact  that  all  three  of  the  volumes  bear  the  West- 
minster imprimatur  is  a  guarantee  of  their 
orthodoxy;  and  even  a  cursory  examination  of 
the  present  book  suffices  to  assure  one  of  its 
genuine  interest.  Price,  35,  6d. 

— A  beautiful  memoir  of  Mother  Mary  Patricia 
Waldron,  first  superior  of  the  Sisters  of  Mercy 
(Dublin  foundation)  in  the  archdiocese  of 
Philadelphia,  is  issued  by  the  Dolphin  Press. 
Its  author  modestly  "indicates  his  identity  only 
through  the  initials  "H.  J.  H.,"  to  be  found  on 
the  last  page.  The  story  of  this  exemplary 
religious  life  is  told  in  lucid  style  and  orderly 
sequence,  entirely  devoid  of  exaggerated  em- 
phasis. An  altogether  convincing  portrait  is  the 


448 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


result.  We  should  like  to  see  this  memoir,  in 
internal  realization  and  in  external  format,  made 
a  model  for  all  similar  writing. 

— Few  year-books  have  a  greater  attraction 
than  the  various  "Who's  Whos."  They  are 
better  than  fiction,  because  of  being  concerned 
with  realities;  stranger  than  fiction,  on  account 
of  the  extraordinary  facts  which  the  records 
contain,  and  the  remarkable  characters  that 
they  portray.  But  if  those  who  seize  upon  such 
an  opportunity  to  exploit  themselves  could  only 
read  the  bit  of  autobiography  once  furnished  by 
"A.  Lincoln,"  and  prefaced  by  the  statement, 
"There  is  not  much  of  it,  for  the  reason,  I 
suppose,  that  there  is  not  much  of  me"!  The 
Great  Emancipator  wrote: 

I  was  born  February  12,  1809,  in  Hardin  county,  Kentucky. 
My  parents  were  both  born  in  Virginia,  of  undistinguished 
families, — second  families,  perhaps  I  should  say.  My  mother, 
who  died  in  my  tenth  year,  was  of  a  family  of  the  name  of 
Hanks,  some  of  whom  now  reside  in  Adams,  and  others  in 
Macon  county,  Illinois.  My  paternal  grandfather,  Abraham 
Lincoln,  emigrated  from  Rockingham  county,  Virginia, 
to  Kentucky  about  1781  or  1782,  where  a  year  or  two  later 
he  was  killed  by  the  Indians,  not  in  battle,  but  by  stealth, 
when  he  was  laboring  to  open  a  farm  in  the  forest.  His 
ancestors,  who  were  Quakers,  went  to  Virginia  from  Berks 
county,  Pennsylvania.  An  effort  to  identify  them  with  the 
New  England  family  of  the  same  name  ended  in  nothing 
more  definite  than  a  similarity  of  Christian  names  in  both 
families, — such  as  Enoch,  Levi,  Mordecai,  Solomon,  Abra- 
ham, and  the  like.  ...  If  any  personal  description  of  me  is 
thought  desirable,  it  may  be  said  I  am,  in  height,  six  feet 
four  inches — nearly;  lean  in  flesh,  weighing  on  an  average 
one  hundred  and  eighty  pounds;  dark  complexion,  with 
coarse  black  hair  and  gray  eyes.  No  other  marks  or  brands 
recollected. 

H.+.X 

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As  a  rule,  devotional  books,  pamphlets  and  new 
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Obituary. 


Remember  them  that  are  in  bands. — HEB.,  xiii,  3. 

Rev.  William  Donaldson,  of  the  diocese  of 
Brooklyn;  Rev.  John  P.  Gadient,  archdiocese 
of  St.  Paul;  Rev.  Pius  Schmid,  diocese  of 
Winona;  Rev.  Bernard  Murray,  archdiocese  of 
Chicago;  and  Rt.  Rev.  Mgr.  E.  Doyle,  diocese 
of  St.  John. 

Sister  M.  Theodora,  of  the  Sisters  of  the  Good 
Shepherd;  Sister  M.  Clement  and  Sister  M. 
Carmel,  I.  H.  M. 

Mr.  Frederick  Richardson,  Mrs.  Agnes  H. 
Staniforth,  Mr.  William  Canty,  Mrs.  Catherine 
Chambers,  Mr.  John  Maguire,  Mr.  Patrick 
Maguire,  Mr.  William  Masterson,  Miss  Josie 
Sanders,  Mr.  Michael  Walsh,  Mrs.  Mary  Sloan, 
Mr.  J.  G.  Dean,  Mr.  August  Fechter,  Miss 
Katherine  Hoyne,  Miss  Agnes  Coby,  Mr. 
Richard  Harris,  Mrs.  Ann  Cahill,  Miss  Isabel 
Cameron,  Mr.  R.  S.  McDougall,  Mr.  George 
Kranz,  Jr.,  Mr.  John  Mokwa,  Mr.  Michael 
Murphy,  Mr.  Stephen  Murphy,  Mr.  James 
Leddin,  Mr.  J.  H.  Reynolds,  Mr.  Henry  Stolte, 
Miss  Mary  McCollins,  and  Mr.  Louis  Winter. 

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

Our  Contribution  Box. 

"Thy  Father,  who  seeth  in  secret,  will  repay  thee." 
For    the    Bishop    of    Njueva    Segovia:      F.    J. 
Daveluy,  $5.  For  the  Chinese  missions:  in  behalf 
of    Mr.   and  Mrs.   O.    C.,  $i.      To    supply    good 
reading  to  prisons,  hospitals,  etc.;   Friend,  $5. 


HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME   BLESSED.      ST.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  APRIL  14,  1917. 


NO.  15 


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


Notre  Dame  des  Neiges. 


BY    ANNE    HIGGINSON    SPICER. 

^HH  good  priest  asks:  "Why  must  you  always 
weep? 

Four  still  are  -left  to  play  about  your  door." 

I  can  not  answer  him.     Aly  heart  is  sore 
For  one  who  on  the  hillside  lies  asleep. 
When  summer  comes,  the  hurt  is  not  so  deep. 

Through  the  green  woods  I  wander  with  my 
four, 

To  pick  anemones  he  loved  of  yore, 
And  violets  on  his  little  shrine  to  heap. 
But,  oh,  those  winter  nights  I  lie  awake, 

When  drifts  lie  deep  andjthe  cold  north  wind 

blows, 
My  bitter  tears  fall  slowly  for  his  sake 

Who  sleeps  alone  beneath  that  hill  of  snows. 
I  pray,   "O  Mary  Mother,  heed  my  prayer: 
Keep  thou  my  baby  in  thy  tender  care!" 


A  Layman's  Thoughts  on  the  Mixed- 
Marriage  Problem. 


BY    FRANK    H.    SPEARMAN. 


HE  subject  of  mixed  marriages 
is,  for  the  Church  and  for 
intelligent  Catholics,  always  a 
difficult  one.  Perhaps,  after 
all,  it  is  only  convictions  that  really  cost. 
In  any  case,  however,  for  those  Catholics 
to  whom  the  mixed  marriage  is  brought 
closely  home,  whether  they  be  intelligent 
or  otherwise,  the  results  are  almost  inva- 
riably painful.  If  I  can  have  anything  to 
suggest  on  the  question  it  will  be  based  on 


the  conditions,  as  I  see  them,  surrounding 
the  subject  in  our  own  day  and  our  own 
country. 

I  remark,  then,  that  outside  the  Church 
we  are  surrounded  in  our  country  to-day 
with  an  atmosphere  of  almost  complete 
religious  indifference;  and  this  is  more 
noticeable,  if  we  may  particularize,  among 
our  younger  people.  Beginning  with  the 
currents  of  thought  to  which  the  national 
mind  turned  after  the  excitement  of  our 
Civil  War,  all  foundations  of  dogmatic 
Christianity  among  the  sects  have  been 
gradually  but  persistently  undermined; 
and  this  chiefly,  it  should  be  noted,  by  the 
religious  leaders  themselves.  It  has  seemed 
the  fashion  in  the  pulpit— with  but  few 
exceptions,  and  these  stubborn  clergymen 
found ,  their  views  most  unpopular — to 
meet  the  enemies  of  Christianity  rather 
more  than  half  way  in  their  attack,  and 
to  concede  pretty  much  everything  that 
loose  infidel  thought  asserted.  The 
preachers  have  seemed  to  think  that,  by 
making  an  agnostic  view  their  own,  they 
could  strengthen  their  hold  on  the  pews. 
Acting  in  this  belief,  when  the  foes  of 
Christianity  have  wrenched  one  stone 
from  the  arch  of  Christian  faith,  the 
minister,  without  being  asked,  has  usually 
handed  ^them  two  more. 

In  addition  to  this  factor  in  disinte- 
grating the  Evangelical  creeds,  those 
leaders  of  the  sects  who  have  sought  to 
defend  their  dogmatic  positions,  and  keep 
intact  the  older  Protestant  disciplines, 
have  now  for  twenty  years  had  to  contend, 
in  holding  the  congregations  to  their 
Christian  traditions,  with  an  unexampled 


450 


77/7?  AVE  MARIA 


increase  in  the  wealth  and  prosperity  of 
our  country.  And  since  the  sectarian  dis- 
cipline is  in  itself  necessarily  feeble — e.  g., 
in  the  proper  observance  of  Sunday, — 
each  whim  and  desire  of  the  church-going 
people  has  searched  out  defects  in  it  and 
found  reasons  for  abating  it.  The  congre- 
gations have,  in  point  of  fact,  taken  the 
law  into  their  own  hands  and  adapted 
church  discipline  to  about  what  they 
were  willing  to  accept.  The  Protestant 
minister  has  become  the  mere  roi  faine- 
ant of  the  pews.  If  he  has  stood  staunchly 
for  the  older  order,  he  has  been  more  or 
less  discourteously  "deposed"  by  the  in- 
fluential pew  members;  if  he  has  compro- 
mised, he  has  been  tolerated,  provided  he 
was  clever;  and  only  clever  men  without 
deep  convictions  have  survived  the  in- 
evitable but  unhappy  situation. 

This  brings  us  to  a  generation  of  our 
young  men  and  young  women  of  to-day 
whose  parents  have,  for  the  most  part, 
been  affiliated  more  or  less  vaguely  with 
some  church.  But  the  atmosphere  of  in- 
differentism  in  the  home  as  well  as  in  the 
church  has,  of  course,  reflected  itself  in 
still  greater  degree  in  the  mental  attitude 
of  the  younger  generation:  these  are,  all 
of  them,  much  farther  from  the  Rock  of 
Ages  than  their  parents  feel,  even  though 
they  themselves  rarely  go  to  church.  The 
religious  views  of  the  young  people  are  so 
nebulous  as  no  longer  to  be  entitled  to  the 
designation  of  faith:  they  are  virtually 
agnostic,  and  their  conduct  is  governed 
solely  by  the  dictates  of  natural  prudence 
and  the  usages  of  society.  Nevertheless, 
they  are  the  same  happy,  care-free  youths 
that  the  rising  generation  always  has  been, 
and  always  will  be.  For  the  most  part, 
they  mean  to  do  about  what  is  right; 
they  are  naturally  decent  and  not  de- 
praved, but  they  are  certainly  without 
strong  convictions  on  any  subject,  except 
perhaps  that  they  should  have  a  good 
time. 

Coinciding  with  the  demoralizing  atti- 
tude of  the  pulpit,  we  have,  as  concerns 
Christianity,  a  correspondingly  demoral- 


izing attitude  in  practically  all  non-Catholic 
schools.  Here  the  great  aim  seems  to  be 
to  harmonize  all  possible  views  of  life- 
good  and  bad,  and  the  more  the  better, — 
and  to  square  with  these  in  a  nebulous 
blend  life's  duties  and  responsibilities.  No 
philosophy  in  this  atmosphere  need  despair 
of  recognition,  provided  it  is  urged  with 
sufficient  clamor  and  assurance  by  pagan 
or  Christian,  skeptic  or  sensualist.  Walt 
Whitman  and  Saint  Francis  are  in  equally 
good  standing  in  these  halls  of  learning. 
And  the  name  of  the  gentle  saint,  taken  in 
vain,  is  found  in  non-Catholic  sermons, 
lectures  and  essays  of  the  day,  frequently 
coupled  with  that  of  Luther,  Mahomet, 
Nietzsche,  and  Tolstoi ;  together  with  that 
of  the  Saviour  of  men. 

In  conditions  and  environments  such 
as  these,  we  need  be  at  no  loss  to  appraise 
the  mental  attitude  of  the  American  young 
person  of  to-day  concerning  Christianity 
and  its  claims.  It  is  one  of  innocent,  if  not 
quite  complete,  ignorance.  And  to  the  young 
person  all  variations  of  the  Christian  Faith 
look  much  alike.  The  Church,  it  is  true, 
is  much  farther  aloof  from  their  vision  than 
the  sects.  With  the  latter  they  have  a 
degree  of  familiarity;  with  the  Church, 
little  or  none.  We  live,  too,  in  a  period  of 
urban  and  suburban  life.  But,  broadly 
speaking,  one  must  get  down  to  the 
small  towns  and  the  country  districts  to 
find  Evangelical  religion  still  taken  with 
the  seriousness  to  which  any  variation  of 
Christianity,  no  matter  how  mutilated, 
should  be  entitled  at  the  hands  of  any 
youth.  It  is  also  especially  true  that  the 
urban  population  of  our  country  includes 
the  greater  number  of  our  own  young  men 
and  women,  and  it  is  with  the  fortunes  of 
these  that  we  have  to  deal.  In  view,  then, 
of  the  conditions  I  have  briefly  outlined, 
I  have  become  convinced  that  mixed  mar- 
riages for  our  young  people  are,  for  the 
greater  part,  wholly  unnecessary,  and  that 
many  of  them  now  take  place  solely  be- 
cause of  the  lack  of  a  little  reasonable 
effort  on  the  part  of  those  directly  and  in- 
directly concerned. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


451 


The  attitude  to-day  of  the  average  non- 
Catholic  young  man  and  woman  toward 
the  question  of  embracing  the  Catholic 
Faith  in  view  of  marriage  is  merely  one  of 
being  asked  to  undertake  something  about 
which  they  know  practically  nothing,  and 
concerning  which  they  have  very  little 
feeling  either  one  way  or  the  other.  The 
older  generation,  that  spent  its  evenings 
at  home,  read  seriously,  and  filled  itself 
with  the  historical  falsehoods  which  for 
three  hundred  years  have  marked  the  non- 
Catholic  attitude  toward  the  Church,  has 
passed. — at  least,  so  far  as  the  marriage 
question  is  concerned.  Youth  to-day  is 
almost  universally  as  free  as  a  March  wind 
from  any  very  deep-seated  prejudice  in 
any  direction.  It  is  a  sad  thing  to  contem- 
plate the  decay  and  passing  of  Evangelical 
faith;  but  in  this  decay  prejudice  likewise 
has  lessened,  and  the  young  mind  of  our 
country  is  largely  indifferent  on  all  serious 
subjects. 

There  is  still,  however,  one  subject  on 
which  the  mind  of  youth  never  is  indiffer- 
ent, and  I  hope  never  will  be  indifferent, — 
that  is,  the  subject  of  human  love  and  the 
desire  for  conjugal  happiness.  Outside  the 
heroic  virtues  of  the  religious  life,  there  is 
no  motive  in  human  conduct  so  moving 
and  so  compelling  as  this;  and  young 
people  filled  with  hope  and  happiness 
will  continue  to  mate  until  the  end  of 
time.  What  remains  for  their  fathers  and 
mothers  is  to  urge  that,  for  the  happiness 
of  their  future,  they  take  into  account  the 
experience  and  observation  of  those  who 
have  seen  one  full  generation  come  and  go, 
have  noted  the  pitfalls  of  the  mixed  mar- 
riage, and  who  realize  better  than  their 
children  that  the  mixed  marriage  is  not, 
after  all,  so  hard  to  escape. 

Let  us  examine  for  a  moment  the  atti- 
tude of  the  Catholic  youth  who  becomes 
interested  in  one  outside  his  or  her  Faith. 
Unhappily,  some  of  these  young  Catholics 
also,  not  soundly  trained  in  their  religion, 
have  imbibed  the  atmosphere  of  indiffer- 
entisin  with  which  they  are  surrounded 
in  the  world.  Such  are  in  themselves 


responsible  for  a  good  many  mixed  mar- 
riages,— more  responsible  than  the  non- 
Catholic  partner.  The  primary  fault  in 
such  cases  lies,  of  course,  with  the  Catholic 
parents  who  have  neglected  the  proper 
training  of  their  children.  The  result  is 
that  many  of  our  young  people  contract 
mixed  marriages  when  there  is  no  urgent 
reason  for  so  doing.  They  are  simply 
guilty  of  a  complete  lack  of  effort  to  bring 
the  non- Catholic  into  the  Church,  and  this 
I  characterize  as  the  responsibility  of  the 
slothful  Catholic  for  entering  into,  a  mixed 
union. 

More  than  once  I  have  personally  known 
non- Catholic  young  men  and  young  women 
who  were  absolutely  indifferent  on  the 
question  of  coming  into  the  Church.  I 
have  known  them  to  assert  that  the  ques- 
tion of  their  becoming  Catholic  was  "up" 
to  the  Catholic  prospective  partner;  and 
it  has  been  at  times  an  amazement  to  me 
that  young  Catholics,  naturally  ignorant 
of  the  pitfalls  ahead,  could  be  too  indiffer- 
ent even  to  ask  a  prospective  life  partner 
to  look  into  the  claims  of  the  Church.  I 
have  seen  this  even  when  children  have 
been  reared  in  homes  of  mixed  marriages 
and  themselves  been  made  familiar  with 
something  of  the  distresses  they  mean  to 
a  sensitive  Catholic  partner. 

Young  Catholics  of  the  class  I  am  con- 
sidering are  hyper-sensitive  on  the  question 
of  their  Faith.  They  conceive  it  as  viewed 
with  a  sort  of  abhorrence  by  the  non- 
Catholic,  whereas  it  is  usually  viewed  with 
nothing  more  than  an  innocent  ignorance 
of  its  claims  on  all  well-disposed  men  and 
women.  In  reality,  the  Catholic  often 
needs  but  to  stretch  out  his  or  her  hand  to 
bring  the  partner  into  the  Church.  They 
make  little  or  no  attempt  to  do  this,  be- 
cause their  own  conception  of  the  subject, 
makes  it  a  bugbear  for  them.  They  invest, 
in  their  thoughts,  the  mind  of  their  non- 
Catholic  friend  with  a  body  of  views  to 
which  it  is  quite  likely  to  be  a  complete 
stranger.  Far  from  being  viewed  with 
serious  suspicion  or  distrust  by  intelligent 
non-Catholics,  the  Church  is  secretly  re- 


452 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


spected  and  looked  up  to  by  them.  It  is 
often  defended  from  the  best  Protestant 
pulpits.  The  high  esteem  in  which  it  is  held 
by  the  best  of  our  jurists,  editors,  educators, 
and  public  men,  alone  constitutes  a  stamp 
of  approval  to  the  informed  non-Catholic 
mind. 

I  do  no  more  than  to  note  an  exception 
among  uninformed  and  extremely  pro- 
vincial people  who  openly  or  covertly  sym- 
pathize with  vulgar  propagandas,  such  as 
those  conducted  by  the  Menace  and  similar 
anti-Catholic  publications.  When  the 
Catholic  youth  in  the  humbler  walks  of 
life  comes  in  contact  with  a  possible  mate 
imbued  with  these  stupid  falsehoods,  a 
course  of  treatment  is  needed  that  must 
begin  with  a  mental  fumigation.  If  the 
human  love  of  such  a  person  is  not 
strong  enough  to  open  his  or  her  heart 
to  the  truth,  then  let  the  Catholic  partner 
beware.  No  earthly  happiness  lies  in  that 
direction. 

We  have  also  a  large  number  of  con- 
scientious Catholic  youth  who,  facing  the 
prospect  of  a  mixed  marriage,  are  imbued 
with  the  same  undue  timidity  of  the  com- 
paratively indifferent  young  Catholic.  For 
such  of  our  young  people,  there  exists  an 
urgent  need  of  guidance  and  counsel  on 
this  subject  of  timidity.  To  be  effective, 
such  counsel  needs  to  be  given  not  after 
our  youth  are  facing  the  marriage  question, 
but  before.  They  should  be  calmly  and 
quietly  grounded  while  their  minds  are 
still  open— not  after  they  are  obsessed  with 
an  idea  of  the  danger  of  offending  a  loved 
one— in  the  understanding  that  they 
possess  in  the  Catholic  religion  the  solitary 
earthly  and  heavenly  treasure  in  the  whole 
religious  world;  that  they  are  ignorantly 
rich  yet  amazingly  fortunate  in  their 
birthright  as  Catholics,  —  in  that  they 
have  been  born  into  the  only  Church  to 
which  all  intelligent  men  of  the  world, 
whether  they  are  Catholic  or  non-Catholic, 
pay  their  meed  of  praise.  Point  out  to  such 
young  Catholics,  unwearyingly  and  in 
ample  time,  that  the  sects  are  praised  by 
their  own  leaders  solely ;  but  the  Church  is 


praised  by  infidels,  agnostics,  sectarians — • 
by  everyone,  religious  or  irreligious,  that 
possesses  the  great  intelligence  to  which 
the  world  looks  up. 

Frequent,  short  altar  talks  are  needed 
along  these  lines  of  reassuring  Catholic 
youth  while  they  still  may  easily  be  re- 
assured, —  of  making  them  in  advance, 
not  only  confident  but  proud  of  the  relig- 
ious ground  they  occupy.  Every  pastor 
may  well  occupy  his  thoughts,  year  in  and 
year  out,  with  the  mixed-marriage  problem. 
He  should  not  wait  until  an  engagement 
is  announced  to  him  before  he  begins  to 
work, — it  is  frequently  too  late.  He 
should  fortify  his  youth  by  telling  them 
over  and  over  that  they  are  heirs  to  the 
strongest,  highest  and  best  Christianity  in 
the  world;  that  it  has  stood  the  "acid 
test"  of  all  the  centuries;  proved  the  best 
protection  for  woman  and  the  noblest 
restraint  for  man  ever  brought  into  the 
world,  and  affords  in  its  practice  and  dis- 
cipline the  surest  guarantee  of  wedded 
happiness.  He  should  correct  the  idea  lodg- 
ing in  their  minds  that  it  is  a  fearful  and 
impossible  thing  to  present  Catholic  claims 
to  the  one  brave  boy  or  fair  girl  in  whose 
hands  they  believe  their  future  happiness 
rests.  He  should,  years  ahead,  tell  them 
what  folly  it  is  to  raise  imaginary  moun- 
tains of  difficulty  where  none  really  exist, 
and  counsel  them  to  be  courageous  and 
to  take  at  the  outset  of  an  acquaintanceship 
high  and  firm  ground  on  the  subject  of 
one  Faith  for  a  really  happy  home. 

Clergymen  who  have  done  this  in  some 
parts  of  our  country — -I  recall  La  Crosse 
and  Denver — 'have  almost  eliminated 
mixed  marriages  from  their  parishes.  Less 
of  good  is  accomplished  by  the  hammering 
process,  gone  into  at  the  last  moment; 
its  results  being  only  confusing  and  usually 
frightening  to  the  Catholic  youth.  The 
dark  side,  the  prospective  unhappiness,  is 
properly  to  be  dwelt  on  in  the  advance 
counselling;  but  the  point  with  which  to 
clinch  the  argument  is  that  in  more  than 
ninety  cases  out  of  a  hundred  the  mixed 
marriage  is  wholly  unnecessary;  that  the 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


453 


proper  effort  put  forth  in  the  beginning  by 
the  Catholic  will  result  in  an  enlightening 
of  view  and  a  conversion  for  which  the 
loved  one  will  never  afterward  cease  to 
return  thanks  to  the  Catholic  partner. 

During  more  than  two  generations  a 
great  and  increasingly  important  body  of 
Catholic  schools  have  been  making  their 
educational  influence  felt  in  our  country. 
Here  again  a  consensus  of  the  best  non- 
Catholic  opinion  is  that  this  body  of 
schools  makes  for  the  highest  and  best  in 
the  education  of  American  youth.  The 
greater  part  of  the  students  of  these 
schools  are,  naturally,  Catholic;  but  their 
halls  of  learning  are  likewise  sought  by  a 
considerable  body  of  non-Catholic  youth, 
purely  for  the  advantages  they  afford  in 
training  and  discipline. 

I  remark  that  these  schools  are  con- 
ducted by  religious  societies  and  Orders 
that  have  had  their  beginnings,  as  a  rule, 
in  Europe.  They  have  brought  to  our 
American  life  many  valuable  social  tradi- 
tions and  much  social  and  educational 
discipline,  and  these  have  proved  of  ines- 
timable value  to  us.  It  is  quite  natural, 
however,  that  not  all  of  these  traditions 
and  disciplines  are  precisely  fitted  to  our 
American  needs.  The  primary  object  of 
every  religious  teacher,  that  for  which  our 
religious  have  sacrificed  the  allurements  of 
the  world  and  to  which  they  have  devoted 
their  lives,  is  to  implant  and  guaVd  the 
Christian  Faith  in  the  heart  of  the  pupil. 
But  when  we  consider  what  our  Catholic 
schools  are  doing  in  preserving  European 
customs,,  we  find  that  they  are  guarding 
with  the  utmost  strictness  against  every 
possibility  of  the  school  acquaintanceship 
between,  let  us  say,  a  body  of  convent 
girls  and  a  corresponding  body  of  Catholic 
college  men.  We  behold  our  devoted 
teachers  preparing  our  young  women  and 
our  young  men  in  institutions  strictly 
separate  (as  such  institutions  should  be) 
for  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  life, 
and  leading  them  in  their  youthful  training 
as  far  as  the  matrimonial  age  (and  to 
matrimony  the  greater  number  of  their 


students  must  look  forward) ;  and,  having 
painstakingly  done  this,  leaving  them  to 
plunge  unaided  into  the  social  life  in  which 
marriage  originates. 

I  have  sometimes  thought  that  an 
article  should  be  written  to  be  entitled, 
"Wanted:  Among  Our  Catholic  Schools: 
Matrimonial  Agencies"!  Consider  a  mo- 
ment the  attitude  and  the  tradition  of 
the  religious,  as  teachers,  on  the  subject 
of  matrimony  for  their  pupils.  They  have 
brought  with  them  on  this  subject  the 
European  traditions  of  the  convent  and 
the  college.  But  for  us  these  are  absolutely 
valueless.  In  the  European  countries,  mar- 
riages have  been  arranged  by  parents;  . 
they  charge  themselves  with  finding  a 
life-mate  for  their  son  or  daughter.  In 
America,  an  attempt  of  this  sort,  if  it  were 
made  by  a  solicitous  parent,  would  not  be 
regarded  seriously, 'even  by  a  good  Catholic 
boy  or  girl;  and  would,  in  any  case,  be 
likely  to  end  in  confusion  and  failure  for 
the  parent.  I  do  not  say  whether  this  is 
for  better  or  for  worse,  but  I  do  say  that, 
as  a  rule,  our  children  make  their  own 
matches. 

Shall  not  the  schools,  then,  within  per- 
fectly legitimate  bounds,  undertake  to  be 
of  some  aSvSistance  in  bringing  into  ac- 
quaintanceship bodies  of  Catholic  young 
men  and  Catholic  young  women?  I  have 
seen  academies  for  our  girls  arid  colleges 
for  our  young  men,  situated  within  a  few 
blocks  of  each  other,  where  the  respective 
student  bodies  never  cross  each  other's 
thresholds.  What,  in  the  name  of  common- 
sense,  is  gained  by  this  sort  of  tradition- 
worn  seclusion?  I  am  not  advocating  the 
letting  down  of  the  proper  bars  that  should 
segregate  the  sexes  in  their  school  work. 
What  I  am  urging  is  that  our  schools  must 
also  have  their  social  side :  that  open  doors 
and  open  days  are  needed  in  the  convent 
regime  for  college  student  bodies ;  and  that, 
at  certain  times,  colleges  should  open 
their  doors  in  the  same  way,  and  during 
periods  of  social  activities  prudently  to 
be  developed. 

Why  are  we  not  to  give  Catholic 


454 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


men  and  women  at  our  convents  and  col- 
leges a  chance  to  get  acquainted?  Why 
may  not  tea  be  drunk  in  convent  and 
college  reception  rooms  at  student  gather- 
ings of  young  men  and  women?  Why  may 
not  even  afternoon  parlor  dancing  be 
encouraged  under  such  circumstances? 
Athletic  games,  too,  should  be  made  social 
occasions.  Could  real  or  fancied  dangers 
from  such  innovations  produce  any  worse 
results  than  those  we  see  daily  about  us 
in  mixed  marriages  ?  Already  the  teaching 
Orders  have  been  forced  to  drop  many  .of 
their  Old- World  traditions,  and  find  them- 
selves none  the  losers  through  the  fact.  I 
remember  the  time  when  day  scholars  were 
taken  into  the  convent  at  eight  o'clock  in 
the  morning  and  kept  until  five  in  the 
afternoon.  To-day,  I  venture  to  say,  such 
hours  would  be  looked  on  as  an  absurdity 
in  an  American  convent  as  well  as  outside 
it.  Such  hours  prevail  in  Europe  to  this 
day ;  but  if  they  have  not  been  done  away 
with  here  in  all  of  our  schools,  the  end 
must  be  fast  approaching. 

I  recall  a  time  when  even  the  parents  of 
certain  bodies*,  of  convent  girls  were  not 
allowed  to  be  present  at  the  graduating 
exercises.  This  may  have  been  an  excellent 
rule  in  some  other  country,  at  some  other 
time;  it  is  too  exotic  to  find  any  place  in 
our  life;  it  is,  to  put  it  bluntly,  absurd. 
So,  too,  I  believe,  it  will  sometime  be  looked 
back  on  as  an  absurdity  that  our  devoted 
body  of  teachers  should  carefully  conduct 
the  boy  and  girl,  complete  strangers,  to 
that  period  of  life  when  they  face  the 
matrimonial  whirlpool,  and  leave  them 
to  jump  into  non-Catholic  society  without 
having  given  them  a  single  chance  to  know 
other  young  people  of  their  own  Faith  in 
school  days.  I  need  do  no  more  than  point 
out  how,  with  all  the  defects  of  discipline 
in  non-Catholic  schools,  undeniably  suc- 
cessful they  are  in,  not  let  us  say,  en- 
couraging matrimony  between  their  young 
men  and  young  women,  but  in  affording 
them  the  -chance  of  acquaintanceship  and 
the  breaking  of  the  social  ice  before  they 
leave  the  school. 


Details  of  such  suggestions  as  I  have 
made  must  be  worked  out  by  the  teaching 
bodies,  but  they  present  no  insuperable 
difficulties.  It  is  for  the  idea  itself  that  I 
contend,  because  it  seems  to  me  sane  and 
practical  to  meet  our  needs.  If  I  were  a 
teacher  in  a  Catholic  school  and  had  given 
my  life  to  the  training  of  youthful  pupils,  I 
should  esteem  my  most  devoted  effort  a 
partial  failure — sometimes  a  very  sad 
failure — if  I  saw  my  Catholic  girl  or  Cath- 
olic young  man  walk  out  in  the  world 
into  a  mixed  marriage,  knowing  in  my  own 
heart  that  I  had  failed  to  do  what  I  could 
have  done  to  give  them  a  chance  to  know 
and  meet  other  Catholic  youth  in  their 
school  and  college  days. 

Shall  we  not,  then — clergy,  teachers  and 
parents, — take  advantage  of  the  chaotic 
conditions  all  about  us  and  try  to  render  it 
easier  for  our  young  people  to  make  con- 
verts of  their  prospective  life  partners,  and 
also  to  know  their  Catholic  fellow-students? 
There  can  be  no  exaggeration  in  asserting 
that  the  responsibility  of  a  large  proportion 
of  the  unnecessary  mixed  marriages  rests 
with  us  as  well  as  with  the  youth  who 
enter  into  them. 


NOTHING  is  too  high  for  her  to  whom 
God  owes  His  human  life;  no  exuberance 
of  grace,  no  excess  of  glory,  but  is  becom- 
ing, but  is  to  be  expected  there  where  God 
has  lodged  Himself,  whence  God  has 
issued.  Let  her  "be  clad  in  the  king's 
apparel," — that  is,  let  the  fulness  of  the 
Godhead  so  flow  into  her  that  she  may  be 
a  figure  of  the  incommunicable  sanctity 
and  beauty  and  glory  of  God  Himself.  . . . 
Let  her  "receive  the  king's  diadem  upon 
her  head"  as  the  Queen  of  heaven,  the 
Mother  of  all  living,  the  Health  of  the 
weak,  the  Refuge  of  sinners,  the  Com- 
forter of  the  afflicted.  And  "let  the  first 
amongst  the  kings  and  princes  walk 
before  her";  and  let  angels  and  prophets 
and  apostles  and  martyrs  and  all  saints 
kiss  the  hem  of  her  garment  and  rejoice 
under  the  shadow  of  her  throne. 

— Cardinal  Newman. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


4;")-) 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


. —  "THE  BLACK  DECREE." 

HE  admirable  success  of  Maximil- 
ian's early  administration  of  affairs 
is  attributable  to  two  causes :  first, 
to  the  energy  and  dogged  perse- 
verance of  the  Emperor  himself, 
to  his  undeniable  executive  quali- 
ties, and  to  the  manner  in  which  his  plans 
were  frequently  devised  and  his  efforts 
seconded  by  his  kind  and  able  Empress; 
secondly,  to  the  fact  that  he  had  gathered 
round  him  a  number  of  Mexicans,  both 
in  and  out  of  the  Cabinet,  who  were 
absolutely  devoted  to  their  country,  and 
loyal  to  any  and  every  plan  that  might 
insure  its  prosperity  and,  above  all,  its 
peace.  The  high  financial  officials  sent  out 
to  Maximilian  by  Napoleon  III.,  and  the 
Mexicans  of  position  and  ability  selected 
by  the  Emperor  as  advisers,  formed  a 
Council  of  State  entitled  to  respect  and 
calculated  to  inspire  confidence. 

The  two  vital  questions  demanding 
immediate  attention  were  the  military 
operations  and  the  finances  of  the  country. 
In  the  year  succeeding  the  capture  of 
Mexico  by  General  Forey,  and  the  defeat 
and  dispersion  of  the  Republican  army, 
the  French  forces  had  been  actively  and 
remorselessly  engaged  in  pursuing  the 
remnants  of  the  Republican  troops,  who, 
broken  up  into  small  detachments,  roamed 
all  over  the  country,  robbing  and  murder- 
ing travellers,  plundering  and  burning 
houses,  and  sacking  and  desolating  villages. 
To  suppress  these  atrocities  became  the 
burning  question  of  the  hour;  since  sup- 
pressed they  must  be,  and  at  any  cost. 
After  grave  deliberation,  the  Emperor 
issued  a  proclamation  which  wound  up 
as  follows: 

"Hereafter  the  contest  will  only  be 
between  the  honorable  men  of  the  nation 
and  the  gangs  of  criminals  and  robbers. 
Clemency  will  cease  now;  for  it  would 


only  profit  the  mob,  who  burn  villages, 
rob  and  murder  peaceful  cili/ciis,  poor  old 
men,  and  defenceless  women.  The  Gov- 
ernment, resting  on  its  power,  from  this 
day  will  be  inflexible  in  its  punishments; 
since  the  laws  of  civilization,  the  rights  of 
humanity,  and  the  exigencies  of  morality 
demand  it." 

Carlotta  was  vehement  in  her  opposition 
to  this  decree,  however  necessary  it  might 
be,  and  opposed  it  both  at  the  Council 
and  in  private;  entreating  the  leading 
Ministers  of  State  to  use  their  influence 
to  prevent  its  being  issued,  arid  imploring 
her  husband  to  stay  his  hand.  Her 
agitation  was  so  violent — as  though  she 
had  been  permitted  to  lift  the  veil  that 
enshrouds  the  future— that  Alice  Nugent 
feared  a  reaction;  and  she  remained  as 
much  as  possible  with  her  Imperial 
Mistress,  to  whom  she  was  now  most 
lovingly  attached. 

The  Empress  incognita,  with  Alice, 
repaired  to  Tlalpan,  a  wondrously  pictu- 
resque village  some  ten  miles  distant  from 
the  city,  where  Monsefior  Labistada,  the 
Archbishop  of  Mexico,  was  then  sojourn- 
ing in  a  convent  dating  almost  from  the 
time  of  Cortez.  His  Grace  received  them 
with  that  sweet  yet  stately  courtesy  for 
which  he  was  so  distinguished,  and  prom- 
ised Carlotta  to  use  his  influence,  not 
only  with  the  Emperor,  but  with  certain 
members  of  the  Council  whom  he  thought 
he  could  impress.  This  visit  produced  a 
soothing  effect  upon  the  Empress. 

But,  despite  many  entreaties,  prayers, 
and  tears,  Maximilian  was  induced  to 
issue  the  proclamation,  and — O  the  pity 
of  it! — to  sign  his  own  death-warrant  in 
the  decree  which  at  the  last  closed  the 
ears  of  Juarez  and  the  victorious  Liberals 
to  all  appeals  for  mercy  and  pardon,  and 
which  will  ever  be  known  in  history 
as  "the  Black  Decree."  These  are  its 
articles : 

"Article  I. —  All  persons  belonging 
to  armed  bands  or  corps  not  legally 
organized,  whether  or  not  they  proclaim 
any  political  principles,  and  whatever  be 


4f>6 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


thr  number  of  those  who  compose  the. 
said  bands,  their  organization,  character, 
and  denomination,  shall  be  tried  militarily 
by  the  courts-martial ;  and  if  found  guilty 
only  of  the  fact  of  belonging  to  the 
band,  they  shall  be  condemned  to  capital 
punishment  within  the  twenty-four  hours 
following  the  sentence. 

"Article  II. — Those  who,   belonging  to 
the  bands  mentioned  in  the  previous  arti- 
cle, may  be  captured  with  arms  in  their 
hands,  shall  be  tried  by  the  officer  of  the 
force  which  has  captured  them;    and  he 
shall,  within  a  period  never  extending  over 
twenty-four  hours  after  the  said  capture, 
make    a    verbal    inquest    of    the    offence, 
hearing   the  defence  of  the  prisoner.     Of 
this  inquest  he  will  draw  an  act,  closing 
with  the  sentence,  which  must  be  capital 
punishment,  if  the  accused  is  found  guilty 
only    of    the    fact    of    belonging    to    the 
band.    The  officer  shall  have -the  sentence 
executed    within    the    twenty-four    hours 
aforesaid,  seeing  that  the  criminal  receive 
spiritual  assistance.    The  sentence  having 
been   executed,    the   officer   shall   forward 
the  act  of  inquest  to  the  Minister  of  War." 
It  is  but  just  to  the  memory  of  Max- 
imilian to  say  that  he  refused  on  three 
occasions  to  sign  the  fatal  document;    and 
it  was  only  when  the  French  and  Mexican 
generals,  who  were  called  into  the  fourth 
sitting   of   the    Council,    argued   that   the 
decree    ought    to    be    issued    as    a    mere 
menace  to  the  rebels,  that  it  was  a  military 
necessity,    and   that   the   sentence   of   the 
courts-martial   could   be   revoked   or   sus- 
pended,   that    the    Emperor    reluctantly 
assented,— the  protestations  of  his  beloved 
wife  ringing  in  his  ears. 

The  distress  of  the  Empress  was  simply 
appalling.  Every  morning,  after  a  sleepless 
night,  found  her  at  the  shrine  of  Our 
Lady  of  Guadalupe,  prone  upon  the 
ground,  praying  with  her  whole  soul 
that  the  terrible  results  which  she  so 
sagaciously  foresaw,  might  be  spared  her 
unhappy  people  and  her  adopted  country. 
Every  day  found  her  visiting  hospitals 
and  the  resorts  of  the  poor.  At  times  she 


would  «.',()  absolutely  unattended  save  by 
Alice;  at  others,  she  would  proceed  in 
state,  in  order  to  show  her  subjects  that 
she  was  both  Empress  and  woman. 

Ten  days  after  the  Black  Decree  was 
issued  came  a  swift  and  horrible  answer 
from  Tacambaro.  The  Imperialists,  com- 
manded by  Mendez,  defeated  the  Liberals ; 
and  General  Artiaga,  General  Salazar, 
Governor  of  the  Department,  and  four 
colonels  were  selected  from  the  prisoners 
of  war  and  shot,  pursuant  to  the  letter  of 
the  fatal  decree. 

When  the  news  reached  Chapultepec, 
the  Empress  swooned  and  for  some  con- 
siderable time  lay  insensible.  The  Emperor 
was  telegraphed  for  to  the  National 
Palace,  and  rode  out  in  hottest  haste.  The 
imperial  couple  were  left  alone;  nor  did 
they  emerge  from  their  private  apartments 
until  the  mo.on  was  high  in  the  heavens, 
both  looking  the  very  incarnation  of 
human  misery.  Carlotta  wept  during  the 
entire  night,  while  Alice  mingled  her  tears 
with  those  of  her  Imperial  Mistress  out 
of  sheer  and  womanly  sympathy.  The 
shadow  of  the  great  tragedy  had  fallen. 

XXI. — RODY  TELLS  His  STORY. 

Many  weeks  elapsed  ere  Arthur  Bodkin, 
nursed  with  the  most  tender  care  by  his 
faithful  follower,  could  be  pronounced  out 
of  danger.  In  addition  to  the  inflammation 
in  his  severe  wounds,  brought  on  by  the 
hardship  of  the  ride  for  life,"  a  fever  set 
in  that  kept  him  within  shadow  of  the 
grave,  reducing  him  to  a  living  skeleton. 
At  one  time  the  doctor,  a  very  pious, 
earnest  man,  advocated  the  amputation  of 
the  arm;  but  Rody,  ever  on  the  watch, 
uttered  so  fearful  a  threat  should  the 
physician  "put  a  knife  into  the  Masther" 
that  the  operation  was  happily  deferred, 
and  the  limb  eventually  spared. 

It  was  during  convalescence  that  Arthur 
learned  from  O'Flynn  how  the  latter  had 
contrived  the  escape. 

"Ye  see,  sir,  whin  the  both  of  us  fell, 
I  only  got  a  scotch  on  the  neck;  the 
bullet — bad  cess  to  it ! — just  rubbed  me  up 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


457 


enough  for  to  sind  me  off  me  horse.  And 
whin  I  seen  that  ye  were  kilt,  I  sez  to 
meself  mebbe  he's  not  kilt,  and  I  can  do 
him  more  harm  nor  good  be  attimptin'  a 
rescue.  So  I  lay  as  quiet  as  Corney 
Rooney's  ould  tom-cat  foreninst  a  turf 
fire;  while  Mazazo  come  up,  and  sez: 
'Don't  kill  him  off,'  sez  the  villyan.  'I 
want  him.  I  owe  him  a  debt  that  I  want 
to  pay  wid  intherest.'  At  laste,  that  is 
what  I  guessed  the  old  scoundrel  was 
say  in'.  And  lucky  it  was  for  him;  for  I 
had  me  revolver  ready.  Well,  sir, — would 
ye  believe  it? — they  were  so  much  tuk 
up  wid  ye,  Masther  Arthur,  that  sorra  a 
happorth  they  cared  about  me.  'Dead,' 
sez  wan.  'As  a  herrin','  sez  another.  And 
while  they  were  talkin',  I  shuffled  along 
a  little  ways  on  me  stomach,  and  nearer 
to  me  horse,  that  was  standin'  enjoyin'  the 
whole  thing.  I  prayed  to  the  Holy  Virgin 
for  to  guide  me.  And  she  did,  sir;  for 
instead  of  killin'  a  couple  or  mebbe  six, 
and  being  kilt  meself,  and  you  hung,  sir, 
we're  all  together,  glory  be  to  God  and  to 
His  Holy  Mother,  alive  and  well,  no  less ! " 

"But—" 

"Aisy,  sir;  aisy!  I'll  tell  ye  the  whole 
thing.  Well,  I  crep'  up  to  me  horse,  and  I 
med  ready  for  to  lep  on  his  back  the 
minute  I  seen  a  chance.  They  all  gother 
round  ye;  and  whin  I  seen  this,  and 
heerd  wan  of  thim  say  that  you  was  only 
hurted  a  little,  be  me  song,  I  med  wan  lep 
into  the  saddle,  and  before  ye  could  say 
Jack  Robison  I  was  a  mile  down  the  road, 
the  iligant  baste  knowin'  as  well  as  I 
did  that  I  was  ridin'  for  your  life  and  mine. 
They  sint  a  couple  of  shots  afther  me; 
and  wan  of  thim  darted  to  purshue  me, 
but  I  gev  thim  a  clane  pair  o'  heels,  and 
got  back  to  the  ould  convint,  and  gev  the 
alarm.  Och  wirra,  wirra!  but  thin  was 
the  rale  whulabilloo  when  I  tould  thim 
ye  was  kilt.  The  Baron  ordhered  out  all 
of  our  forces;  but  Count  Hoyos  held  thim 
back,  and  him  and  the  Baron  was  to  fight 
a  juel  over  it.  But  the  darlint  Impress 
threatened  thim  that  she  would  hang  thim 
both  if  they  didn't  give  over." 


"Bravo,  dear  old  Bergheim!"  cried 
Arthur. 

"He's  an  iligant  ould  gintleman,  sorra 
a  lie  in  it.  He'll  have  the  best  of  it  with 
ould  Hoyos,  now  that  yer  Honor's  alive. 
Well,  Masther  Arthur,  who  sends  for  me 
but  herself?" 

"Herself!" 

"The  Impress  of  Mexico,  no  less;  and 
of  all  the  darlinest  ladies  I  ever  come 
across,  she  bates  thim." 

"Yer  name,  me  good  man?'    sez  she. 

' '  Rody  O'Flynn,  yer  Majesty's  honor.' 
"So  yer  masther  sacrificed  hisself  for 
to  save  me?'  sez  she. 

"He  did,  ma'am,'  sez  I.  'And  we'd  do 
it  agin  and  agin  for  such  a  good  and  beau- 
tiful lady  as  your  Highness,'  sez  I. 

"Tell  me  all  that  happened,'  sez  she, 
in  a  sorrowful  tone,  cryin'  like." 

"And   did  you?" 

"Did  I,  sir!  Bedad  I  med  ye  out  the 
finest  hayro  that  ever  wint  to  wars.  I 
tould  her  that  ye  knew  ye  wor  in  for  it  as 
sure  as  if  ye  wor  in  the  dock  afore  Judge 
Keogh  wid  his  black  cap  on  him.  I  up  and 
tould  her  that  ye  fought  tin  of  thim — wan 
afther  the  other,  and  that  ye  left  a  half  a 
dozen  to  me.  I  tould  her — she  listenin' 
wid  big,  mournful  eyes,  and  her  mouth 
drawed  down  like  a  child  that's  goin'  to 
whimper — that  ye  kilt  thim  all — 

"You  never  did  that,  Rody!"  inter- 
rupted Arthur. 

"I  did,  sir.  Hould  on,  Masther  Arthur. 
I'll  tell  ye  why  I  done  it.  Lord  forgive  me 
for  tellin'  a  lie! — but  ye  see,  sir,  it  was 
me  only  chance  for  gettin'  ye  and  me 
promotion'.  They'll  never  know  the  differ; 
and  ye  and  me,  sir,  is  sure  of  iligant 
preferment.  I  tuk  the  chance,  Masther 
Arthur;  and  begob  I  knew  I'd  never  talk 
to  a  queen  again,  and  I  resolved  that  she 
should  remimber  what  I  said  to  her." 

Arthur  groaned. 

"Ye  can  say  that  I  med  a  mistake 
in  regard  to  what  ye  done,  sir,  and  set  it 
all  to  rights.  I  done  it  for  the  best;  and 
if  Father  Edward  was  here  this  blessed 
minute,  that's,  what  I'd  say  to  him." 


458 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Poor  Rody  seemed  deeply  distressed. 
Arthur  knew  very  well  that,  intoxicated 
by  being  spoken  to  by  the  Empress,  and 
in  the  glamour  of  her  presence  the  honest 
fellow  had  lost  his  head;  but  in  doing  so 
his  one  thought  was  to  make  his  master  a 
very  prodigy  of  valor. 

"Never  mind,  Rody.  I'll  set  it  to  rights 
when  we  get  back  to  Mexico." 

"Sure  ye  won't  deny  it  all,  sir?"  asked 
Rody,  eagerly. 

"Every  word." 

"Sure  ye'll  kill  a  couple  of  thim,  any- 
way ? ' ' 

"Not  one." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"Well,  Masther  Arthur,  won't  ye  lave 
a  couple  to  me,  anyhow?" 

"A  dozen  if  you  wish  it,  Rody."  And 
Arthur,  for  the  first  time  in  many  weeks, 
laughed  until  the  tears  came  coursing 
down  his  cheeks, — a  laugh  in  which 
honest  Rody  heartily  joined. 

After  this  burst  of  merriment  was  o\fer, 
Rody  continued: 

"Well,  sir,  the  darlint  Impress  ordhered 
the  whole  army  out  for  to  scour  the 
counthry;  but  ould  Hoyos  wouldn't  have 
it  at  no  price,  because  he  was  afeared  the 
Mexicos  was  for  risin'  and  takin'  her 
Majesty  a  presner.  He  spoke  so  powerful 
that  the  Impress  gev  a  sigh  that  would 
burst  Mick  Casey's  best  bellows. 

"Is  he  dead?'  sez  she. 

'"Sorra  a  dead,  yer  Honor,'  sez  I. 
'The  Bodkins  of  Ballyboden  never  die 
like  that.' 

"'What's  for  to  be  done?'  sez  she. 

' '  Will  ye  lave  it  to  me,  plaze  yer  Royal 
Highness?'  sez  I. 

' '  Of  coorse,'  sez  she.   '  I'll  be  said  be  ye.' 

"Well,  sir,  I  knew,  from  all  I  heerd,  that 
it  would  be  like  lookin'  for  a  needle  in  a 
bundle  of  hay  for  to  thry  and  find  ye  wid 
the  army;  for  it's  to  the  mountain  they'd 
be  afther  takin'  ye,  up  among  the  goats 
and  the  crows.  So  I  sez  to  the  Impress: 

"  'If  yer  Majesty  will  lave  it  to  me,  I'd 
ax  this.' 

"'Ax  and  have,'  sez  she. 


' '  I  want  a  lind  of  a  few  pounds,  and 
three  good  horses,  to  be  choosed  be  meself.' 

' '  Ye  can  have  all  the  money  ye  want 
for  this  purpose,'  sez  she,  'and  lashin's 
for  yerself  if  ye  save  yer  masther.  Tell 
him,'  sez  she — and  this  is  the  truth,  Mas- 
ther Arthur, — 'tell  him  that  he  done  a 
noble  deed;  and,'  sez  she,  'that  he  has  won 
me  gratitude  forever  and  a  day,  no  less. 
And  tell  him,'  sez  she,  'that  if  he's  dead 
I'll  have  the  vinerable  Archbishop  say  a 
Mass  for  his  sowl  every  mornin'  regular.' 
And  I  think,  Masther  Arthur,  she  was 
goin'  for  to  say  somethin'  in  regard  to  the 
Pope,  but  in  comes  a  lord  wid  ordhers 
for  her  to  start  on  the  minute. 

"Misther  O'Flynn,'  sez  her  Majesty, 
sez  she,  'I  have  for  to  lave  ye  now,  and 
I'm  heart-scalded  for  havin'  to  do  the 
same;  but  save  yer  brave  masther,'  sez 
she,  'and  come  to  me — to  me,'  she  said  it 
twict,  sir,  'for  yer  reward.'  And  she  dis- 
appeared like  a  comet." 

This  startling  simile  caused  Arthur  to 
smile,  as  well  it  might. 

"I  got  what  was  aiqual  to  a  hundhred 
pounds  from  the  Baron,  and  I  seen  the 
whole  coortage  off,  and  wid  a  sorrowful 
heart  wint  to  work  to  thry  and  get  at  ye, 
sir.  Me  neck,  be  raison  of  the  bullet,  was 
as  stiff  as  ould  Count  Gleichen's,  and  as 
sore  as  a  toothache,  and  me  head  was 
splittin'.  Down  below  in  the  valley  there 
was  a  mighty  nate  little  colleen,  that  put 
me  in  mind  of  Judy  Murphy  jof  Clonabate. 
So,  sick  and  sore  as  I  was,  I  gev  her  the 
time  o'  day  and  a  soft  word  or  two.  What 
do  ye  think,  sir,  but  I  med  out  be  her  that 
she  could  tell  me  about  ye;  and  she 
med  out  a  map  for  me  as  well  as  the 
county  surveyor  could  have  done  it;  and 
I  winnowed  a  grate  dale  of  information. 
That  night  I  hired  the  horses,  and  her 
brother  into  the  bargain,  who  come  wid 
me — lie  was  the  gossoon  that  waited  for 
us  in  the  wood  beyant, — and  thravelled 
to  the  wood,  where  I  had  all  day  beei 
circumspectin'  the  place  where  ye  wor 
laid.  In  the  evenin'  I  med  me  prepara- 
tions, and  the  minute  it  was  dark  started 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


459 


for  ye.    And  now,  sir,  ye  know  the  rest." 

"Was  there  no  attempt  at  pursuit?" 

"There  was,  sure  enough;  but  the 
Impress — God  be  good  to  her! — sint  back 
a  sthrong  guard  when  she  heerd  the 
news — and  begorra  it's  here  they  are  still, 
wid  ordhers  for  to  stay  till  they  escort 
ye  to  Mexico." 

"I  am  able  to  go  now." 

"Sorra  a  stir  ye' 11  stir  for  another  week. 
Why,  Mast  her  Arthur,  ye  never  wor  nearer 
seein'  the  glory  of  heaven.  Ye  must  stay 
where  ye  are,  sir,  till  the  coort  Docthor 
tells  ye  to  move  on.  It  was  he  that 
was  for  cuttin'  off  yer  arm.  I  wondher  I 
wasn't  put  in  jail  for  the  way  I  talked  to 
him.  I  called  him  all  the  names  in  Irish 
that  I  could  think  of." 

Bodkin  was  eager  to  ask  if  Rody  had 
any  tidings  of  Alice  Nugent,  but  he  feared 
to  put  the  question.  At  last,  however,  his 
anxiety  got  the  upper  hand. 

"Rody,  have  you — did  you  hear  how 
Miss  Nugent  was?" 

Rody's  face,  always  cheerful,  always 
smiling,  always  full  of  sunshine,  suddenly 
assumed  a  dark  if  not  a  menacing  expres- 
sion, the  features  hardening. 

"Well — I  heerd  she  was  all  right,  sir," 
he  answered. 

"Anything  more?" 

For  a  moment  Rody  was  silent;  £hen, 
as  if  animated  by  desperate  resolve: 

"Yes,  sir:  a  grate  dale  more.  I  heerd 
that  she  is  goin'  to  be  married  to  Count 
Kalksburg.  And  may  she — " 

"Not  another  word,  Rody!"  interposed 
Arthur,  pale  as  death. 

Upon  the  following  day  Dr.  Basch,  the 
Emperor's  private  physician,  arrived  with 
a  strong  escort.  The  worthy  Doctor,  who 
proved  so  stanch  and  true  to  his  Imperial 
Master  up  to  the  last,  after  a  careful 
examination,  ordered  Arthur  to  remain 
where  he  was  for  another  week,  and  then 
set  out  by  easy  stages  for  the  capital. 

"When  I  say  'easy  stages,'  I  mean 
'easy  stages.'  Ten  miles  a  day,  and  the 
mules  to  go  at  a  walk." 

Dr.  Basch  imparted  one  piece  of  infor- 


mation to  Arthur  that  caused  his  heart  to 
leap  with  pride  and  joy, — leap  as  it  had 
never  leaped  before;  for  an  order  had 
been  made  in  council  conferring  upon 
"Arthur  Bodkin  of  Ballyboden,  Aid-de- 
camp to  His  Imperial  Majesty  the  Emperor 
of  Mexico,"  for  distinguished  valor,  the 
Order  of  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe. 

"Alice  must  know  of  this,"  he  thought; 
"and  won't  they  all  be  glad  at  home!" 

Within  a  fortnight  from  that  date 
Arthur  Bodkin,  still  in  a  very  feeble  con- 
dition, but  on  the  high  road  to  substantial 
recovery,  reached  his  old  quarters  in  the 
National  Palace. 

"If  the  Impress  is  aiqual  to  the  occa- 
sion," thought  Rody,  "I'm  a  med  man — • 
perhaps  a  corporal.  But  sorra  a  care  I 
care.  Sure  the  Masther's  safe  and  nearly 
sound,  and  Ballyboden  foriver!" 

(To  be  continued.) 


The  East  Window. 


BY  GEORGE  BENSON  HEWETSON. 


(The  east  window  of  the  cathedral  at  Carlisle,  England, 
is  the  most  beautiful  and  largest  colored  window  in  the 
world.  At  the  Reformation  so-called,  the  cathedral  suffered 
the  loss  of  many  things  sacred  and  beautiful;  but  it  was 
not  until  •  the  days  of  Cromwell  and  General  Leslie  that 
the  nave,  consisting  of  eight  Norman  bays,  was  destroyed. 
The  stoneworkxof  this  famous  window  remains  practically 
as  its  fourteenth-century  builders  left  it,  the  design  of 
the  stonework  of  the  upper  part  being  absolutely  unique. 
The  original  fourteenth-century  glass  is  in  this  portion  of 
the  window,  and  represents  a  "  Doom,"  or  "  The  Second 
Coming  of  Our  Lord.") 

/4>  MONK  I  see  paint  thee  in  cell  of  stone, 
From  many  dawns  to  sunsets;    his  keen  eyes 
L/ustrous  with  wonders  of  the  opened  skies, 
Visioning  God  upon  His  burning  throne, 
And  shout,  angelic  voice,  and  trumpet  blown, 
And  happy  resurrection  of  the  wise; 
Then  silence;    then  a  hurricane  of  cries 
From  lost  souls  who  in  outer  darkness  moan. 

And,  lest  the  vision  from  his  sight  should  pass, 
He  deftly  paints  it  on  the  ready  glass, 

Making  its  glory  permanent  with  fire; 
That,  set  in  tracery  of  stone  unique, 
Erected  it  may  through  the  ages  speak 

Of  coming  Judgment  to  both  nave  and  choir. 


400 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


The  Historian  of  the  Reformation/ 


JOHANNES  JANSSEN  led  a  quiet 
<•)  I  and  retired  life.  It  was  seldom  that 
(^1  he  appeared  in  public,  being  rarely 
^— ^  seen  at  popular  or  learned  assem- 
blies; only  for  a  short  time  was  he  engaged 
as  a  parliamentarian;  and  in  his  latter 
years  he  could  not  be  persuaded  to  speak 
even  on  scientific  matters.  He  was  a  closet 
scholar,  but  this  is  exactly  what  was 
required  for  the  great  work  we  owe  to 
him.  The  external  course  of  his  life  is, 
therefore,  told  in  a  few  words. 

•  Born  on  April  10,  1829,  of  a  well-to-do 
tradesman  in  the  Rhenish  town  of  Xanten, 
he  received  from  his  virtuous  parents  a 
good  but  simple  education.  Of  his  mother, 
whom  he  lost  at  an  early  age,  he  always 
retained  a  loving  remembrance.  His  father, 
after  the  death  of  his  second  wife,  removed 
to  Frankfort  to  spend  the  remainder  of  his 
days  with  his  son,  who  had  meanwhile 
become  a  famous  man.  The  two  doubtless 
often  enjoyed  a  laugh  together,  when  they 
called  to  mind  the  time  when  the  elder 
Janssen  apprenticed  his  son  to  a  copper- 
smith. Happily,  old  Lahaye,  father-in-law 
of  Janssen  senior,  was  a  man  of  solid  sense, 
who  soon  perceived  that  the  apprentice 
was  capable  of  something  higher  than  his 
trade.  Thus  at  the  age  of  thirteen  we  find 
him  in  the  preparatory  school  at  Xanten, 
two  and  a  half  years  later  at  the  gymna- 
sium in  Recklinghausen,  and  after  three 
years  more  he  was  a  student  of  theology 
in  Minister.  It  is  an  agreeable  trait  in 
Dr.  Janssen' s  character  that  in  subsequent 
years  he  was  not  ashamed  of  the  time 
spent  in  trying  to  master  a  trade,  and  he 
often  spoke  of  having  forged  one  good 
nail  in  his  life.  In  the  first  volume  of  his 
"History  of  the  German  People,"  he  has 
devoted  to  German  trades  a  section  which 
is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  monuments 
ever  raised  to  the  industrial  arts. 

While  pursuing   his  theological    studies 

*  H.  Kerner,  in  the  Hausschatz.  Translated  and 
adapted  for  THE  AvE  MARIA,  by  J.  M.  T. 


in  Minister  and  Tvowen,  Janssen  did  not 
lose  his  taste  for  history,  which  he  had 
already  displayed  as  a  boy.  For  a  time  ill 
health  prevented  him  from  assuming  the 
priestly  office.  In  1850  he  entered  the 
course  of  philosophy;  and  in  Berlin  and 
Bonn,  whither  he  was  promoted  in  1853, 
he  completed  his  academical  course.  After 
a  short  time  spent  as  a  tutor  of  history  in 
Munster,  he  accepted,  in  1854,  the  position 
of  teacher  of  history  to  the  Catholic  pupils 
of  the  gymnasium  in  Frankfort.  Here  he 
remained  till  his  death.  In  that  city  he 
found  excellent  archives,  of  great  impor- 
tance for  the  history  of  the  country  in 
the  Middle  Ages. 

At  this  time  Janssen  formed  a  number 
of  friendships  that  ended  only  with  death. 
Johann  Friedrich  Bohmer  was  to  him 
a  fatherly  friend  and  teacher,  who  had  a 
decided  influence  on  his  future  career. 
Although  Bohmer  lived  and  died  a  Protes- 
tant, the  intimate  relations  between  the 
two  men  did  not  suffer  in  consequence  of 
Janssen's  ordination,  which  took  place  in 
the  Limburger  Dom,  March  26,  1860. 
When  Bohmer  died  in  1863,  his  young 
friend  was  one  of  the  heirs  of  his  literary 
treasures;  and  he  raised  to  his  teacher 
a  biographical  monument  such  as  few 
German  literary  characters  can  boast  of.* 

Seldom  was  Janssen's  life  at  Frankfort 
interrupted  by  a  journey  of  any  length; 
but  we  may  mention  a  long  stay  which  he 
made  in  Rome,  December,  1863;  where, 
being  already  well  known  as  a  learned 
man,  he  was  the  object  of  special  atten- 
tions, even  on  the  part  of  Pius  IX.  In  later 
years  his  feeble  health  obliged  him  to 
spend  a  part  of  each  year  in  the  country. 
Outside  of  a  few  excursions,  he  was  not 
easily  coaxed  from  Frankfort,  especially 
in  his  latter  years.  He  received  many 
invitations  for  scientific  lectures  and  dis- 
courses at  Catholic  assemblies ;  at  times  he 
let  himself  be  persuaded,  but  as  a  general 
rule  he  refused.  And  on  such  occasions  it 
was  usually  said:  "He  is  right;  for  he 
has  better  work  to  do  at  home." 

*   Bohmer's  Life,  Letters,  and  Shorter  Works. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


461 


The  professor  of  a  gymnasium  had  be- 
come a  celebrity.  Even  before  he  moved 
to  Frankfort  he  had  won  for  himself  con- 
sideration as  a  learned  man.  His  studies 
on  the  "Cologne  Sources  of  History  in 
the  Middle  Age,"  and  his  work  on  Abbot 
Wilbald  of  Stable  and  Corvey,  the  great 
statesman  of  the  twelfth  century,  show 
the  method  and  grasp  of  a  first-class 
investigator.  There  appeared,  in  1861,  his 
work,  ' '  Frankreichs  Rheingeliiste  und 
Deutschfeindliche  Politik  in  Friiheren 
Jahrhunderten,"*  in  which  he  answered 
by  anticipation  the  attacks  of  many  a 
peddler  in  patriotism.  In  1863  came  his 
criticism  of  Schiller's  historical  poems — 
"Schiller  as  a  Historian."  Soon  after 
appeared  the .  first  part  of  the  ' '  Frank- 
furter Reichscorrespondenz,"  t  which  he 
finished  in  1873,  and  which  is  important 
as  furnishing  a  key  to  the  documentary 
treasures  of  Germany  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  This  he  continued  on 
a  larger  scale  five  years  later  in  the 
"Deutsche  Reichstagsacten."  In  1869  he 
wrote  a  shorter  "Biography  of  Bohmer," 
which  was  preceded  by  a  documentary 
work,  "Zur  Genesis  der  ersten  Theilung 
Polens."  And  with  this  we  have  reached 
the  culminating  point  of  the  first  period 
of  his  literary  labors. 

But  the  foundations  of  the  real  work  of 
his  life  were  in  place  long  before.  The 
length  of  time  that  he  devoted  to  laying 
this  foundation  gives  us  an  insight  into 
Janssen's  character  and  his  method  of 
working.  We  know  that  the  plan  of  a 
history  of  the  German  people  was  laid 
out  in  the  first  half  of  the  Fifties;  it  Was 
only  at  a  later  period  that  he  resolved  to 
limit  himself  to  the  time  subsequent  to 
the  close  of  the  Middle  Ages.  He  was  free 
from  that  hasty  cacoethes  scribendi,  which 
makes  the  victim  of  the  malady  restless 
till  he  sees  his  first  pages  in  print.  For  two 


*  "  The  Lust  of  France  after  the  Rhine  Coun- 
try, and  Her  Anti-German  Policy  of  Former 
Centuries." 

t  The  official  correspondence  of  the  kingdom 
from  1367  to  1519. 


long  decades  he  was  gathering  together, 
from  archives  and  libraries,  thousands  of 
documents,  books,  and  papers;  sketching, 
changing,  improving,  before  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  issue  the  first  half  volume.  This 
was  in  1876.  Slowly  but  steadily  after 
that  time  the  immense  work  grew  until, 
when  he  was  putting  the  final  touches  to 
his  seventh  volume  before  giving  it  to  the 
printer,  death  overtook  him. 

This,  of  course,  is  not  the  place  to  give 
a  summary  of  this  history.  Janssen,  with 
full  deliberation,  considered  this  as  his  life 
work,  to  which  everything  else,  as  far  as 
possible,  must  give  way.  In  1879  he  was 
mentioned  for  the  chair  of  history  in  Bonn, 
and  at  the  same  time  for  a  high  position 
in  the  Church.  "I  at  once  declared,"  he 
writes,  "that  I  was  not  to  be  considered; 
my  mind  being  fully  made  up  to  accept 
no  other  work  and  to  aspire  to  nothing 
higher.  My  only  aim  is,  with  the  help  of 
God,  to  continue  my  history,  and  to  finish 
it  if  it  be  His  holy  will."  At  another  time 
he  wrote:  "I  must  continue  to  live  on  in 
my  usual  plain  surroundings  in  Germany 
as  long  as  it  is  the  will  of  God." 

To  succeed  in  his  object,  he  shrank  from 
no  labor.  From  the  very  outset  he  aimed 
at  a  history  of  the  German  people,  in 
which,  of  course — not  always  in  perfect 
harmony  with  Bohmer, — he  would  give  a 
leading  place  to  the  history  of  culture  in 
the  widest  sense.  It  is  hardly  necessary 
to  remark  that  for  this  purpose  he  was 
obliged  to  make  himself  thoroughly  famil- 
iar with  all  sorts  of  matters,  most  of 
which  at  first  he  knew  but  slightly. 

On  March  10,  1877,  he  writes:  "You 
must  have  received  the  fourth  part — which 
cost  me  much,  much  labor.  In  the  domestic 
surroundings  of  the  time  which  the  fifth 
part  will  reveal,  is  an  important  cardo 
rerum,*  even  for  the  apostasy  from  the 
Church, — that  is  to  say,  from  her  maxims 
of  domestic  life  in  particular.  I  have, 
therefore,  studied  with  special  care  the 
domestic  relations,  making  use  of  two  hun- 
dred documents."  On  December  29,  1888, 

*  Hinge  of  events. 


402 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


he  writes  further:  "I  have  placed  more 
than  twenty  libraries  under  contribution 
[for  the  sixth  volume],  in  order  to  be  able 
to  use  the  rarest  writings  and  pamphlets.  I 
have  paid  particular  attention  to  dramatic 
literature  and  the  stage  in  their  influence 
on  the  people.  In  the  last  two  parts  I  hope 
to  have  laid  pretty  solidly  the  foundations 
for  a  correct  explanation  of  witchcraft  and 
of  the  persecution  of  witches." 

He  understood  thoroughly  how  to  secure 
and  employ  the  help  of  others.  The  skil- 
ful hands  of  women  were  employed  in 
making  extracts  and  quotations;  whole 
divisions  were  discussed  beforehand  with 
specialists;  and  many  of  his  friends,  in 
looking  over  his  letters,  will  find  repeated 
invitations  to  visit  him  for  a  length  of 
time,  and  confer  with  him  on  portions  of 
his  manuscript.  How  many  a  day,  for 
instance,  did  August  Reichensperger  spend 
with  him  in  his  room  in  the  Cronberg 
Castle,  to  help  him  in  the  preparation  of 
the  history  of  the  fine  arts!  All  his  corre- 
spondence is  full  of  questions  on  important 
points  of  history;  he  took  counsel  with 
all  those  on  whose  ability  and  good-will 
he  could  rely. 

This  exchange  of  views  often  turned 
on  the  very  pith  of  the  work — namely, 
whether  at  the  bottom  of  the  "History  of 
the  German  People"  there  was  not  a  pre- 
conceived theory,  which  more  or  less 
influenced  its  entire  complexion.  On  the 
publication  of  the  first  volume,  some  such 
idea  was  entertained  even  by  those  who 
in  the  essential  points  agreed  with  him  in 
their  historical  views ;  and  the  reproach  was 
repeatedly  made  against  him  that  the  com- 
paratively bright  picture  of  the  culture  of 
the  fifteenth  century  was  somewhat  of  a 
riddle,  as  not  affording  a  full  explana- 
tion of  the  catastrophe  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  I  merely  mention  those  friendly 
criticisms  here  as  a  matter  of  fact,  in  order 
to  add  what  was  Janssen's  own  view. 
He  was  always  most  decidedly  opposed  to 
any  conscious  partiality  in  the  choice, 
presentation,  and  combination  of  facts. 
His  only  aim  was  to  attain  the  truth;  and 


in  attaining  it,  to  tear  down  those  legends 
of  the  Reformation  which  had  been  re- 
peated for  centuries,  and  which  threw  all 
the  shades  on  the  departing  Middle  Ages, 
and  all  the  lights  on  the  beginning  of  the 
change  of  religion. 

And  he  has  torn  them  down  effectually 
and  forever.  The  proof  of  this  is  found  not 
so  much  in  the  financial  success  (although 
the  sale  of  tens  of  thousands  of  copies  of 
a  learned  work  in  several  volumes,  not  to 
speak  of  the  translations,  is  something 
almost  unprecedented),  as  in  the  manifold 
literary  disputes  that  arose  from  his  German 
History.  Fortunately,  it  was  not  necessary 
to  go  in  search  of  a  champion  to  meet  the 
opponents  on  the  field.  The  very  first  half 
volume  was  attacked  fiercely;  and  with 
the  progress  of  the  work  the  attacks  con- 
tinued, though  the  assailants  were  by  no 
means  exclusively  those  competent  to 
judge.  To  the  attempts  at  silencing  him 
by  declamation  we  are  indebted  for  the 
splendid  supplements  to  his  History,  in 
which  Janssen  explains  matters  to  a  number 
of  opponents  who  were  earnest,  or  were  at 
least  so  considered.  The  pages  "To  my 
Critics,"  and  "A  Second  Word  to  My 
Critics,"  are  genuine  masterpieces  of  scien- 
tific polemics :  short,  to  the  point,  incisive, 
and  yet  courteous  even  to  such  opponents 
as  had  forfeited  all  claims  to  polite  treat- 
ment. That  Janssen  won  a  complete 
victory  is  now  hardly  questioned;  his 
superiority  in  learning  is  acknowledged, 
at  least  tacitly,  by  men  who  had  heretofore 
shrugged  their  shoulders  at  his  method. 

The  great  success  of  Janssen's  work  is  not 
due  solely  to  its  solidity  and  the  life  that 
he  infused  into  the  materials,  or  to  the 
opening  up  of  sources  hitherto  unknown: 
it  was  in  a  great  measure  the  reward  of  his 
special  gift  of  presenting  facts  in  a  clear 
light.  Dr.  Dollinger,  who  went  so  sadly 
astray  in  his  old  age,  has  often  been  men- 
tioned as  his  forerunner,  and  with  reason; 
especially  is  the  likeness  between  the  two 
men  strongly  marked  in  the  domain  of 
Church  history.  Dollinger,  in  his  lofty 
style,  pointed  out  that  the  usual  theory  as 


THE  AVE  MARPA 


463 


I 


to  the  change  of  faith  was  a  splendid 
delusion,  which  is  not  supported  by  histor- 
ical documents;  but  his  immense  work  on 
the  Reformation  is  rather  a  collection  of 
quotations,  which  beyond  a  doubt  prove 
his  thesis,  but  which  in  their  dry  presen- 
tation are  not  calculated  for  a  wide  circle 
of  readers.  That  attractive  style,  of  which 
Dollinger  was  unquestionably  a  master,  is 
altogether  wanting  here.  Far  otherwise  is 
it  with  Janssen.  His  matter  is  more  exten- 
sive and  varied.  Whilst  Dollinger  pays 
attention  almost  exclusively  to  the  theo- 
logical literature  of  the  period  of  the 
revolt,  Janssen  introduces  us,  as  far  as 
practicable,  to  the  entire  range  of  our 
intellectual  heritage:  theological  science 
and  diplomatic  correspondence,  polemics 
and  ecclesiastical  song,  ascetical  and 
secular  writings. 

How  easy  would  it  have  been  for  him, 
with  this  superabundance  of  matter,  to  lose 
sight  of  his  object,  and  to  give  us  a  collec- 
tion of  curiosities  instead  of  a  work  of 
history!  But  it  was  precisely  in  knowing 
how  to  handle  this  material  that  he  showed 
himself  the  master.  With  an  art  that  some- 
times borders  on  excess,  he  marshalled  his 
lines  of  quotation;  and  out  of  thousands 
of  little  stones  formed  mosaics,  whose 
harmony  is  really  bewitching,  and  which 
leave  on  us  the  impression  that  as  he  states 
it  so  it  must  have  been.  Carefully  have  the 
traces  of  the  hard  work  been  removed ;  the 
transition  to  a  new  subject  is  so  gradual 
as  to  be  unnoticed;  and,  what  is  surely 
no  reproach,  the  whole  often  reads  like  a 
romance.  The  question  whether  Janssen 
was  a  genius  has  been  answered  in  the 
negative;  perhaps  justly,  if  the  word  be 
taken  in  its  highest  sense;  but  the  attrac- 
tiveness of  his  style,  the  perfect  grace  of  his 
language,  is  beyond  question.  This  appears 
the  more  remarkable  in  the  ' '  History  of  the 
German  People";  because,  although  the 
work  was  of  the  hardest,  the  material  to  be 
used  was  of  the  dryest  and  most  intricate. 
Yet  in  their  way  his  pictures  of  times  and 
personages  are  complete  and  perfect. 

Janssen's    works,    in    the    perfection    of 


their  form,  are  the  reflections  of  his  own 
clear,  tranquil,  harmonious  personality. 
His  birthplace  lies  in  the  Rhineland,  but 
also  in  the  Westphalian  diocese  of  Miinster; 
and  one  might  perhaps  say  that  his  nature 
is  a  happy  blending  of  the  qualities  attrib- 
uted to  the  inhabitants  of  the  two  sister 
provinces.  He  possessed  the  positiveness, 
the  steady  perseverance,  of  the  Saxon ;  but 
also  the  jovial  temperament  and  the  quick- 
ness of  the  Rhenish  Frank.  A  more  incor- 
rect picture  could  hardly  be  formed  than 
to  represent  him  as  the  dry,  surly  book- 
worm and  religious  fanatic.  When  at  work, 
it  is  true,  he  disliked  being  disturbed,  but 
otherwise  he  was  very  sociable.  He  took 
great  pleasure  in  his  intercourse  with  some 
families  of  Frankfort;  and  he  had  a  large 
circle  of  friends,  with  whom  he  kept  up  a 
regular  correspondence. 

He  was  no  bigot.  Witness  his  friendship 
with  Bohmer,  as  well  as  his  relations  with 
Gerlach  and  Arnold.  Those  good  people 
who  in  resolutions  and  newspaper  articles 
held  him  up  to  reproach  on  account  of  his 
"abuse  of  the  Protestant  church,"  and  on 
other  charges,  the  offspring  of  their  own 
imagination,  would  be  greatly  surprised  if 
they  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  correspond- 
ence with  members  of  their  own  sects; 
and  many  a  time  would  they  doubtless  be 
shocked  by  the  confessions  of  earnest  Prot- 
estants as  to  the  impressions  produced  by 
the  reading  of  his  work. 

That  the  Catholic  priest  had  his  most 
intimate  friends  amongst  Catholics  is  a 
matter  of  course.  With  many  who  bore 
eminent  names  he  stood  on  a  friendly 
footing,  as  with  Cardinal  Reisach,  August 
Reichensperger,  Stolz,  Alzog,  Herder,  and 
many  others.  Windthorst,  we  all  know, 
thought  a  great  deal  of  him.  It  is  true  that 
Janssen  once  played  a  trick  on  him  by 
accepting  the  nomination  to  the  Prussian 
Chamber  of  Deputies  in  1875,  but  he 
withdrew  the  following  year.  It  may  be 
said  with  truth  that  as  a  legislator  his  place 
could  easily  be  filled,  but  as  a  historian  it 
could  not;  and  when  Windthorst  some- 
what testily  remarked  that  in  public  life 


464 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


nothing  could  be  made  of  Janssen,  he  him- 
self was  of  quite  the  same  opinion.  When 
Windthorst  made  the  closing  speech  at  the 
Catholic  assembly  on  September  14,  1882, 
he  expressed  his  high  appreciation  of  the 
historian,  and  was  heartily  applauded. 
"The  service  that  Janssen  has  rendered 
by  his  German  History  is  so  great  that  I 
can  not  find  words  to  express'  it.  My  only 
desire  would  be  that  this  man,  freed  from 
all  other  cares,  could  devote  himself  ex- 
clusively to  the  completion  of  his  work; 
for  when  he  has  finished  it,  he  will  have 
to  give  us  "an  abridgment  which  can  be 
read  in  every  household."  Janssen  himself 
often  spoke  of  such  an  abridgment,  at  least 
of  certain  portions  of  his  History,  which 
he  would  have  others  make  for  him. 

If  Janssen  gradually  withdrew  from  the 
public  gaze,  if  he  was  "not  at  home"  to 
mere  inquisitive  callers,  and  spent  most  of 
the  summer  in  the  country,  the  explanation 
is  found  not  only  in  his  attention  to  his 
life  work,  but    also    in    a    regard    for  his 
health.      Observing    the    well-built,    fine- 
looking  man,  no  one  would  think  that  he 
had  been  an  invalid  all  his  life.   In  his  child- 
hood he  was  delicate,  often  suffering  from 
bleeding  of  the  nose,  with  which  trouble 
indeed  his   last  illness  began;     and  as   a 
young    man    he    often    had    hemorrhages, 
which  sometimes  brought  him  to  the  verge 
of   the  grave.    We  can  only  wonder  that 
besides   attending    to   his    duties    in    the 
gymnasium,  which  were  sometimes  a  heavy 
tax  to  him,  he  had  strength  and  time  for 
literary  work  of  such  extent  and  impor- 
tance.   It  was  most  trying;    and  from  his 
correspondence  we  can  see  how  little  his 
strength   equalled   his   will.     Sleeplessness 
was  one  of  his  troubles.    "In  consequence 
of   obstinate   sleeplessness,"    he   writes   in 
1879,  "from  which  I  have  been  suffering 
for  weeks,  I  am  unable  to  do  any  mental 
work ;    to  guard  against  worse,  the  physi- 
cian  recommends  me  not  even   to  write 
letters.  . .  .  My  nerves  are  so  unstrung  from 
sleeplessness  that  I  can  hardly  write."    In 
1889:    "The  heat  affected  me  greatly.    I 
was  much  grieved  at  not  being  able  to  be 


present  at  the  last  meeting  of  the  Gorres 
Society.  I  had  prepared  to  set  out,  when 
a  rush  of  blood  to  the  head  obliged  me 
to  follow  the  doctor's  order:  'You  must 
remain  perfectly  quiet.'" 

His  last  summer  was  spent  in  the  little 
town  of  Ober-Ursel,  where  I  visited  him 
last  August  (1891).  In  the  Sisters'  house 
he  had  a  small  and  very  simple  bedroom 
near  the  sacristy,  besides  a  large  but 
equally  plain  workroom  at  some  distance 
off.  The  principal  article  of  furniture  in 
this  room  was  a  long  table  covered  with 
manuscripts.  I  found  him  in  the  best  of 
spirits.  The  three  hours'  interview  flew 
by  rapidly  and  pleasantly.  Besides  myself, 
*  Professor  Pastor,  of  Innsbruck,  his  favorite 
pupil,  was  present.  Without  monopolizing 
the  conversation,  he  spoke  of  all  conceiv- 
able things,  both  ancient  and  modern.  To 
his  literary  opponents  he  referred  very 
calmly;  and  he  was  cheerful  in  regard  to 
his  health,  which  allowed  him  to  be  out 
for  several  hours  in  the  afternoon.  He  was 
dissatisfied  with  no  one  but  himself.  Being 
the  universal  heir  (or,  more  properly,  the 
executor  of  the  will)  of  his  valued  friend, 
Miinzenberger,  he  had  already  spent  fifty 
days  in  settling  the  property,  and  he  was 
not  yet  through;  for  he  had  only  just  dis- 
covered that  he  was  the  owner  of  a  hoilse 
in  Diisseldorf.  Were  it  not  for  this,  he 
would  probably  have  been  able  to  publish 
his  seventh  volume  by  Christmas.  When 
I  bade  him  good-bye  at  the  little  station, 
I  did  not  for  a  moment  think  that  before 
the  end  of  the  year  he  would  have  followed 
Miinzenberger  to  the  grave. 

He  suffered  very  little  in  his  last  illness, 
except  for  a  few  days,  when  his  breathing 
was  difficult.  He  was  a  quiet  patient,  en- 
tirely resigned.  He  received  Holy  Com- 
munion daily;  he  took  an  affectionate 
leave  of  the  few  friends  that  were  admitted 
to  see  him ;  and  the  countless  testimonials 
of  regard  that  were  sent  him  from  all 
directions,  even  from  the  Holy  Father  and 
from  many  German  bishops,  pleased  and 
touched  him  deeply.  During  the  night  of 
the  23d  and  24th  of  December  he  calmly 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


465 


fell  asleep  in  the  Lord,  without  a  struggle. 
Leading  a  very  simple  life,  and  having 
a  considerable  income,  mostly  from  his 
writings,  Janssen  might  have  amassed 
what  would  be  a  fortune  for  a  literary 
man;  but  in  the  same  spirit  in  which  he 
rejected  one  proffered  honor  after  another 
(without,  however,'  undervaluing  these  dis- 
tinctions), he  also  renounced  wealth.  Dur- 
ing life  he  gave  away  a  good  deal  in  charity ; 
amongst  other  objects  of  his  benefactions 
were  poor  students,  and  an  asylum  for  des- 
titute children  in  Frankfort.  In  this  last 
work  he  took  great  interest.  What  re- 
mained to  him  at  death  he  bequeathed 
mostly  to  scientific  and  charitable  objects. 
He  had  no  near  relatives.  His  papers  and 
the  continuation  of  his  German  History 
he  left  to  Professor  Pastor. 


Little  Easter. 


BY    M.    M.    TAYLOR.  • 
I. 

T  was  a  stormy  night  when 
Sergeant  Rouzon  was  passing 
along  the  hilly  road  which  led 
from  the  town  of  Asier  to  his 
village.  Everyone  called  him  "Sergeant," 
though  he  had  long  since  retired  from  the 
army,  and  dwelt  in  a  little  cottage  in  the 
mountain  village  of  Bebele.  He  lived  all 
alone,  and  his  wife  and  two  children  rested 
in  the  pretty  graveyard  beside  the  Church 
of  St.  Joseph. 

As  the  Sergeant  walked  on,  anxious  to 
get  home  to  his  well-earned  supper,  he 
heard  behind  him  the  patter  of  tiny  feet. 
He  turned  and  waited  till  a  little  girl, 
breathless  from  running,  came  up  to  him. 
She  was  about  six  years  old,  bareheaded 
and  barefooted,  and  all  in  rags,  carrying 
in  her  hand  an  old  tambourine. 

"Where  do  you  come  from  all  alone, 
little  one?"  asked  the  Sergeant,  kindly. 

"I  don't  know,"  sighed  the  child. 

"You  don't  know?" 

"No.  They  buried  my  mother  this 
morning;  she  died  in  a  shed  belonging  to 


a  farmer.  He  was  angry  because  she  died 
there.  We  were  always  travelling.  She 
sang  and  I  danced  and  beat  my  tam- 
bourine. Now  she  is  gone,  and  I  am  all 
alone.  I  don't  know  where  to  go,  and  I 
am  frightened." 

"Very  well.  Walk  beside  me,  and  give 
me  your  hand.  What  is  your  name?" 

"Kita,"  answered  the  little  girl. 

"What  a  name!"  murmured  the  soldier. 
"Why,  it's  not  Christian!" 

At  last  they  reached  the  village.  The 
Sergeant  stood  still  and  scratched  his  head. 

"Where  will  you  go  now?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Kita,  sadly. 

"How  strange!  You  belong  to  no  one 
in  this  world,  really?" 

"To  no  one,"  she  replied. 

"Goodness  me!  Well,  suppose  you  stop 
with  me?  I'll  be  your  father.  I'm  as 
lonely  as  a  cuckoo,  and  it's  dull  enough." 

"You  look  so  good  and  I  am  so  miser- 
able!" answered  Kita.  "If  you  only 
would  take  me!" 

"I  will,  child;  I  will.  And  how  can  I  help 
it?  I  can't  leave  you  alone  in  the  night — • 
turn  to  the  left.  Here  we  are, — here's  my 
cottage.  Now  God  be  with  us !  This  is  His 
business.  He  won't  let  us  die  of  hunger." 

"I  know  He  won't." 

They  entered  the  cottage  of  two  small 
rooms,  with  scanty  furniture.  Dry,  black 
bread  was  all  the  Sergeant  could  give  his 
little  guest;  and  that  seemed  delicious  to 
the  starving  child,  who  was  soon  asleep 
on  some  straw  in  a  corner. 

Next  day  the  Sergeant  remarked  to  Kita : 

"I  can't  have  you  go  by  that  heathen 
name.  Where  were  you  baptized?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  sir." 

"Don't  you  know  about  the  good  God, 
and  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord?" 

"No,  sir.    Where  do  they  live,  please?" 

The  Sergeant  struck  his  head.  "The 
poor  child!"  he  exclaimed,  under  his 
breath, — "poor  in  everything.  My  God, 
I  will  guard  her  for  Thee!" 

There  was  soon  great  talk  in  the  village ; 
and  Monsieur  le  Cure  heard  the  news  from 
his  housekeeper,  who  had  heard  it  from 


466 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


the  baker,  who  had  it  from  the  road- 
menders.  Tongues  wagged  fast.  It  was 
seldom  anything  novel  happened  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  so  the  Sergeant  was 
laughed  at  and  criticised.  He  did  not  care, 
however;  but  soon  took  the  little  girl  to 
the  Cure.  Before  doing  so,  he  bought  a 
pretty  kerchief  and  a  hat  for  her.  Ready- 
made  clothes  were  not  sold  at  Bebele,  but 
a  good  girl  who  took  in  needlework  kindly 
consented  to  make  a  frock  for  the  child. 

"Monsieur  le  Cure,"  said  the  Sergeant, 
"will  you  baptize  this  morsel  of  a  child? 
She  has  neither  father  nor  mother,  nor 
house  nor  bread,  nor  any  mortal  thing. 
God  has  sent  her  to  me,  though  I  have  not 
much  more  than  she  has.  But  two  poor 
creatures  together  may  perhaps  trust  more 
to  His  good  providence.  I  want  her  to  be 
made  a  Christian  first  of  all.  I'll  be  her 
godfather;  and  I'm  sure  your  housekeeper, 
in  charity,  will  be  godmother." 

"You  are  a  good  man,  Sergeant,"  an- 
swered the  priest,  shaking  his  hand  warmly. 
"God  will  reward  you  a  hundredfold." 

"Bless  me,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  I'm  not 
doing  much,— only  just  a  bit  of  a  child! 
If  God  sent  me  a  hundred,  I  should  try  to 
feed  them  for  Him." 

The  Cure  laughed. 

Kita  was  taught  her  catechism.  She 
was  very  bright,  and  learned  rapidly;  and 
before  long  she  was  baptized,  and  given 
the  name  of  Rose. 

II. 

A  new  life  opened  for  little  Rose.  When 
the  Sergeant  questioned  her  more  fully 
about  her  past  life,  he  doubted  whether  the 
person  she  called  mother  had  really  been 
her  parent.  She  had  been  hard  and  cruel  to 
the  child,  and  Rose  soon  forgot  her  and 
the  misery  of  her  wandering  life.  Her  god- 
father was  very  p'oor,  but  always  kind  and 
good;  and  Rose  grew  to  love  him  with 
her  whole  heart,  and  was  bent  on  pleasing 
him.  She'  spent  half  the  day  at  school; 
she  kept  the  little  cottage  cleaiji  and  tidy, 
and  gained  a  few  pence  by  gathering 
violets  and  other  wild  flowers  to  be  sold  to 
the  chemists  in  Asier. 


Sergeant  Rouzon  had  a  small  pension, 
which  kept  him  in  clothes  and  tobacco. 
His  cottage  belonged  to  him:  it  had  been 
his  wife's  dowry.  In  its  little  yard  he  had 
a  few  hens,  and  on  Sundays  and  feast-days 
eggs  were  cooked  for  dinner.  For  the 
rest,  the  Sergeant  lived  by  his  "days,"  as 
the  French  say.  He  was  clever  at  most 
things, — could  doctor  a  sick  horse  or  cow, 
do  a  nice  bit  of  carpentry,  mend  a  lock; 
transact  a  little  business,  as  he  could  write 
and  keep  accounts;  and  was  so  perfectly 
trustworthy  that  he  was  employed  when- 
ever any  one  was  in  a  difficulty.  But 
difficulties  did  not  often  arise  in  Bebele, 
and  then  his  services  were  poorly  paid; 
so  the  Sergeant  had  had  a  hard  time,  and 
now  it  was  harder  still  to  keep  little  Rose. 
Tobacco  had  to  be  dispensed  with  by  the 
the  old  man,  and  bread  often  was  their 
only  food  for  days;  and  if  a  morsel  of 
something  better  came  along,  Rose  usually 
had  to  eat  it  all,  by  the  will  of  her  kind- 
hearted  godfather. 

The  industry  of  the  village  was  lacemak- 
ing ;  and  the  little  girl  soon  learned  it,  and 
in  the  winter  was  busy  with  her  fingers  on 
her  cushion.  In  the  summer  the  Sergeant 
took  a  long  journey  to  sell  all  the  lace  of 
his  neighbors;  and  Rose  staid  with  Elise 
the  seamstress,  whose  sight  was  not  good 
enough  for  lacemaking.  On  Sunday  after- 
noons she  amused  herself  with  the  other 
children,  and  to  their  delight  played  the 
tambourine  while  they  danced. 

Rose  grew  up  into  a  charming  girl,  and 
meanwhile  her  godfather  was  growing  old. 
One  day  he  said:  "How  good  a  cup  of 
buttermilk  would  taste  in  the  mornings! 
But  I  am  as  likely  to  get  it  as  is  one  of 
our  hens  to  lay  eggs  in  Monsieur  le  Cure's 
hat."  Rose  said  nothing  but  smiled. 

In  these  mountain  villages  it  is  cus- 
tomary on  Low  Sunday,  which  is  called 
"  Little  Easter,"  for  the  young  people  to  go 
round  begging  for  eggs,  and  of  these  eggs 
an  immense  omelet  is  made  for  a  general 
supper  that  night.  One  Little  Easter  the 
questing  party  was  about  to  set  out,  when 
Rose  with  her  tambourine  passed  by. 


THE  AVE  MARIA* 


"O  Rose,"  cried  one  of  them,  "If  you 
come  along  with  your  tambourine,  \v<- 
shall  get  ever  so  much  more." 

"Oh,  yes,"  called  out  the  others;    "do 

come,  Rose!    You  shall  have  your  share." 

"I'll   come,"    answered   Rose,    "if  each 

of  you  will  give  me  an  egg  to   do  as   I 

like  with." 

"  Agreed,— agreed !"  they  cried. 
So  Rose  went  with  them,  and  came 
back  at  night  with  fourteen  eggs,  all  of 
which  she  put  for  her  hens  to  sit  on.  After 
a  while  she  had  chickens  to  sell ;  and  so 
well  did  she  dispose  of  them  in  Asier  that 
she  brought  back  a  lamb.  The  lamb  grew 
into  a  sheep,  gave  its  wool,  and  was  finally 
sold  to  give  way  to  a  pig.  And  the  pig 
flourished  and  had  a  famous  litter.  And 
one  day  Rose  took  the  "great  pigs  and 
the  little  pigs  to  the  market,"  and  returned 
with  a  cow.  The  Sergeant  could  not  be- 
lieve his  eyes.  To  possess  a  cow!  His 
fondest  dream  was  surpassed.  Rose  had 
never  forgotten  his  words  about  butter- 
milk ;  and  as  she  led  the  pretty  red  cow  up 
to  the  vSergeant  she  said: 

"Godfather,  the  hen  has  laid  eggs  in 
Monsieur  le  Cure's  hat." 

It  was  a  happy,  a  delightful  moment. 
The  old  man  felt  the  sweetness  of  the  girl's 
gratitude,  and  she  felt  the  joy, known  only 
to  the  grateful  of  heart.  The  cow  was  called 
"Little  Easter,"  and  she  brought  prosper- 
ity. Rose  became  renowned  for  her  cream- 
cheeses,  and  one  comfort  after  another  came 
to  the  good  old  soldier  in  his  declining  days. 
Rose's  skill  and  industry  were  known  in 
all  the  country  around,  and  she  had  plenty 
of  suitors.  She  told  the  one  she  liked  she 
would  never  marry  any  one  who  would 
not  welcome  her  godfather  to  his  home. 
"An  easy  condition,"  said  Philip  Creze. 

So  Rose  and  Philip  were  married;  and 
when  last  we  heard  of  them  the  old  Ser- 
geant was  still  living,  the  slave  and  the 
playfellow  of  two  b«tmy  children,  who 
called  him  "Grandpapa."  Little  Easter  is 
always  a  day  of  rejoicing  in  the  household, 
and  Sergeant  Rouzon  says  the  grace  at 
dinner  with  special  fervor. 


Not  Every  Change  an  Improvement. 


THE  story  of  the  rebellious  citizens  in 
Capua  will  bear  retelling.  Pacuvius 
Calavius,  ascertaining  that  his  towns- 
people were  up  in  arms  against  their 
magistrates,  undertook  to  cure  them  of 
their  discontent.  He  had  great  power  in 
the  city,  and  found  means  to  shut  the 
senators  safely  up  in  prison, — the  first  step 
toward  carrying  out  his  plans.  Then  he 
called  the  people  together  in  the  market- 
place, and  informed  them  of  what  he 
had  just  done. 

"Now*,"  he  said,  "you  have  )^our 
tyrants  at  your  mercy.  They  are  unarmed 
and  helpless,  and  you  can  have  your 
revenge.  One  by  one  they  will  be  brought 
before  you,  that  you  may  accuse  and  judge 
them.  I  will  undertake  to  carry  out  your 
sentences.  There  is  but  one  condition:  as 
you  condemn  each  one,  some  better  man 
must  be  chosen  in  his  place;  for,  of  course, 
their  work  must  go  on." 

The  populace  cheered;  and,  at  the  bid- 
ding of  Pacuvius,  one  called  out  the  name 
of  a  senator  toward  whom  he  had  a  special 
grievance,  and  said:  "Let  -  —  take  his 
place."  At  that  the  rest  began  to  protest, 
and  at  least  a  hundred  charges  were  alleged 
against  the  one  chosen  to  fill  the  position 
of  the  condemned.  The  second  and  the 
third  accusations  were  attended  with  the 
same  confusion,  until  it  became  evident 
that  the  matter,  as  Pacuvius  had  shrewdly 
guessed,  could  never  be  settled  in  such  a 
way  as  he  had  proposed. 

One  by  one  the  people  stole  away  from 
the  market-place,  until  there  was  not  one 
left.  Each  decided  in  his  own  mind  that 
the  people  were  used  to  the  old  magistrates, 
and  that  probably  the  better  way  was  to 
stop  complaining,  and  not  run  the  risk  of 
doing  worse  by  making  a  change.  Truly, 
for  the  sake  of  peace  of  mind — even  if 
there  were  no  higher  reason, — it  is  very 
much  better  to — 

bear  those  ills  we  have 
Than  flv  to  others  that  we  know  not  of. 


77/7-:  AVE  MARIA 


The  Multiplicity  of  Devotions. 

THE  many  pious  projects  to  which  a 
Catholic  editor  is  asked  to  give  his 
support,  and  the  innumerable  devotions 
which  he  is  urged  to  recommend  and 
propagate,  may  be  taken  as  proof  of  the 
piety  of  Catholics,  as  well  as  of  the  zeal 
of  many  persons  for  the  spread  of  every 
pious  work  and  devotion  that  has,  been 
approved  by  ecclesiastical  authority.  But 
we  are  often  in  doubt  as  to  how  such 
approval  is  to  be  understood.  We  feel 
certain  that  many  devotions  which  have 
become  popular  were  never  intended  to 
be  propagated  or  practised  as  they  are, 
and  there  are  a  few  which  we  confess  we 
do  not  comprehend.  Some  that  of  their 
nature  should  be  subordinate  are  unduly 
prominent;  others  that  seem  to  be  suited 
to  a  particular  season  are  made  perennial; 
still  others  have  the  unquestionable  effect 
of  uprooting  devotions  planted  in  the 
garden  of  the  Church  by  saints,  and 
productive  of  rich  fruit  in  generations  of 
devout  souls.  The  result  is  the  confound- 
ing in  many  minds  of  essentials  with 
non-essentials,  of  obligations  with  matters 
of  mere  recommendation,  of  duties  with 
affairs  of  supererogation,  of  things  abso- 
lutely important  with  matters  of  compar- 
atively little  consequence.  When  devotions 
thus  lose  their  bearings,  the  danger  is 
that  sooner  or  later  the  very  dogmatic 
truths  from  which  they  spring  will  become 
obscured.  St.  Bernard,  we  know,  scented 
danger  in  every  pious  practice  that  had 
not  received  the  formal  sanction  of  the 
Holy  See. 

The  Church  does  not  intend  that  all  her 
children  shall  practise  all  the  devotions 
to  which  she  gives  her  approval;  indeed, 
this  would  not  be  possible.  So  many 
devout  persons,  however,  attempt  the 
impossible,  that  pietism  is  on  the  increase, 
while  genuine  piety,  which  is  always  well 
ordered,  seems  to  be  steadily  decreasing. 
This  is  a  great  evil.  Another  deplorable 
result  of  ill-regulated  piety  is  the  misrep- 


resentation of  the  Church  to  inquiring 
non-Catholics,  to  so  many  of  whom 
Christianity  is  one  thing  and  Catholicity 
quite  another. 

We  hazard  the  assertion  that  the 
multiplicity  of  devotions  so  industriously 
propagated  on  all  sides  is  of  no  advantage 
to  the  faithful,  and  positively  bewildering 
to  those  not  of  the  household  of  the  faith. 
We  should  like  to  express  ourselves  inore 
fully  and  still  more  freely  on  this  subject, 
but  we  must  not  forget  that  our  bishops 
and  parish  priests  are  the  best  judges  of 
what  is  to  the  spiritual  profit  of  their 
flocks.  What  we  have  said  is  only  by  way 
of  explanation  of  our  lack  of  sympathy 
with  many  pious  projects  to  which  we 
are  so  frequently  asked  to  lend  our  support, 
and  our  seeming  indifference  to  certain 
devotions,  which,  in  our  opinion,  are 
both  unwisely  propagated  and  unprofitably 
practised. 

The  Baron's  Retort. 


AN  irreligious  young  man  met  one  of 
the  Barons  Rothschild  in  a  Parisian 
cafe,  and  began  boasting  to  him,  and  to  a 
number  of  others  who  sat  at  the  table,  of 
his  extensive  travels.  He  was  most  enthu- 
siastic in  his  description  of  the  island  of 
Tahiti,  and  mentioned  certain  attractions 
of  that  favored  spot  which  the  Baron 
evidently  considered  rather  beneath  the 
notice  of  a  sensible  man. 

"My  dear  sir,"  asked  the  Baron,  in  a 
polite  tone,  "did  you  not  see  other  things 
worthy  of  note  on  the  island?" 

"I  observed,"  replied  the  young  man, 
indignantly,  ' '  that  it  was  fortunate  enough 
to  possess  neither  pigs  nor  Jews." 

"Indeed!"  said  the  Baron,  blandly,  not 
losing  his  temper  in  the  least.  "What  do 
you  say  to  accompanying  me  to  that  priv- 
ileged spot?  In  the  absence  of  others  of  our 
sort  we  should  be  very  sure  soon  to  make 
our  fortunes." 

The  young  man  suddenly  remembered 
an  engagement  that  he  had  elsewhere, 
and  left  the  cafe. 


THE  AYR  AMA7.T 


409 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


It  is  somewhat  surprising  to  be  asked  by 
presumably  intelligent  Catholics,  "What 
books  should  I  put  into  the  hands  of  a 
Protestant  friend  whom  I  am  trying  to 
get  interested  in  the  Church,  and  who 
politely  avoids  the  subject  of  religion?" 
Until  such  a  person  does  become  interested, 
no  book  would  be  of  the  slightest  use. 
Prayer  is  the  means  by  which  to  rouse 
such  interest.  "Do  you  know  the  first 
thing  a  Catholic  should  do  when  he  meets 
with  an  unbeliever  for  whose  conversion 
he  intends  to  labor?"  asks  Balmes.  "No 
doubt  you  will  say  he  should  look  over  the 
apologists  of  religion,  examine  quotations 
on  the  more  serious  questions,  consult 
learned  men  of  the  first  order;  in  a  word, 
supply  himself  with  arguments  as  a  soldier 
with  arms.  It  is  right,  indeed,  not  to 
neglect  preparing  for  every  phase  of  the 
discussion;  but  above  all,  before  be- 
ginning to  reason  with  the  unbeliever, 
what  he  should  do  is  to  pray  for  him. 
Tell  me,  which  class  made  more  conver- 
sions, the  learned  or  the  holy?  St.  Francis 
of  Sales  composed  no  work  which,  under 
the  polemical  aspect,  can  vie  with  Bos- 
suet's  'History  of  the  Variations';  and 
yet  I  doubt  whether  the  conversions  the 
latter  work  effected,  though  they  were 
many,  are  to  be  compared  with  those  which 
are  due  to  the  angelical  unction  of  the 
holy  Bishop  of  Geneva." 

Even  in  the  case  of  those  who  are  con- 
vinced of  the  truth  of  our  religion,  there 
is  needed  for  the  embracing  of  it  what 
theologians  call  pia  motio  voluntatis  (the 
pious  stirring  of  the  will);  and  for  this 
grace  is  necessary.  "It  were  much  to  be 
desired,"  says  the  author  just  quoted, 
"that  those  who  imagine  it  is  a  mere  ques- 
tion of  science,  and  the  goodness  of  God 
does  not  enter  into  it,  should  become 
persuaded  of  this  truth." 

The  widely  circulated  statement  that  in 
one  of  the  Western  States  where  Prohi- 


bition is  in  force  the  importation  of  wine 
for  sacramental  purposes  is  proscribed 
turns  out  to  be  an  exaggeration.  An 
amendment  advocating  such  proscription 
was  indeed  proffered  to  the  legislators; 
but,  to  their  credit  be  it  said,  they 
rejected  the  proposal.  It  is  difficult  to 
understand  how  any  men  blessed  with 
intelligence  enough  to  warrant  their  selec- 
tion as  lawmakers  could  so  stultify  them- 
selves as  to  uphold  the  amendment.  If 
it  is  ever  placed  on  the  statute  book  of  an 
American  commonwealth,  it  is  tolerably 
safe  to  predict  that  the  Supreme  Court  of 
the  country  will  declare  it  to  be  uncon- 
stitutional, as  representing  unjustifiable 
interference  with  the  religion  of  the 
State's  citizens. 


As  a  remedy  for  the  unruliness  of 
children,  a  learned  professor  in  a  Western 
university  suggests  concrete  school  work, 
well-cooked  food  in  variety,  plenty  of  phys- 
ical exercise,  recreation  in  the  open  air, 
the  maximum  of  sleep,  regular  baths,  etc. 
The  correction  of  an  unruly  child  must 
begin  and  be  continued  in  the  home. 
Parental  direction  is  what  boys  and  girls 
need  most  for  their  physical,  mental, 
and  especially  their  moral  development. 
There  is  no  training  ground  to  compare 
with  the  well-regulated  home.  Children 
who  are  insubordinate  to  their  fathers  and 
mothers  are  unlikely  ever  to  hold  any 
other  authority  in  much  respect.  Those 
psychological  educationists  who  scent  so 
much  that  is  wrong  with  the  younger  gen- 
eration, and  attach  so  great  an  importance 
to  physical  exercise  and  food  remedies, 
lose  sight  of  certain  very  common  things 
of  which  any  ordinarily  sensible  parent 
might  remind  them. 


Those  who  account  for  many  of  the 
spiritistic  phenomena  of  our  day  by 
"unconscious  cerebration"  should  know 
that  this  is  one  of  the  explanations  that 
do  not  explain.  According  to  an  eminent 
medical  scientist,  "all  the  facts,  incidents, 
and  associations  of  our  lives  are  kept  in 


470 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


the  re-cords  of  memory.  All  our  loves, 
hatreds,  and  emotions  Lire  written  there  in 
characters  that  are  never  effaced.  We  sit 
with  a  medium  and  ask  certain  questions; 
they  are  answered — to  us  in  a  mysterious 
manner.  We  are  told  things  that  we  had 
apparently  entirely  forgotten;  the  answer 
revives  our  recollection,  and  we  know 
that  they  are  true.  The  clerk  of  our 
memory  office  gives  the  records  to  the 
medium,  who  reads  therefrom."  So  far,  so 
good.  But  in  cases  where  any  fact  related 
was  unknown  to  the  medium,  the  sitter,  or 
to  any  other  living  being  on  earth,  this 
theory  will  not  hold.  One  such  case  is 
related  by  no  less  distinguished  a  scientist 
than  Sir  William  Crookes  in  his  "Re- 
searches" (page  96): 

"A  lady  was  writing  automatically  by 
means  of  a  planchette,  . . .  which  insisted 
that,  although  it  was  moved  by  the  hand 
and  arm  of  the  lady,  the  intelligence 
was  that  of  an  invisible  being  who  was 
playing  with  her  brain  as  on  a  musical 
instrument,  and  thus  moving  her  muscles. 
I  therefore  said  to  this  intelligence:  'Can 
you  see  to  read  this  newspaper?' — putting 
my  finger  on  a  copy  of  the  Times  which 
was  on  the  table  behind  me,  but  without 
looking  at  it. — 'Yes,'  was  the  reply  of  the 
planchette. — 'Well,'  I  said,  'if  you  can 
see  that,  write  the  word  which  is  now 
covered  by  my  finger,  and  I  will  believe 
you.'  The  planchette  commenced  to  move. 
Slowly  and  with  great  difficulty  the  word 
'however'  was  written.  I  turned  round 
and  saw  that  the  word  'however'  was 
covered  by  the  tip  of  my  finger.  I  had 
purposely  avoided  looking  at  the  news- 
paper when  I  tried  this  experiment,  and 
it  was  impossible  for  the  lady,  had  she 
tried,  to  have  seen  any  printed  words; 
for  she  was  sitting  at  the  table,  and  the 
paper  was  on  another  table  behind,  my 
body  intervening." 

*** 

The  attempt  to  explain  the  phenomenon 
commonly  known  as  "slate-writing"  by 
odic  force,  legerdemain,  etc.,  is  no  less 
unsatisfactory.  A  new  double  slate  en- 


closing a  tiny  bit  of  pencil,  held  vertically 
and  never  for  an  instant  out  of  the  owner's 
hands,  is  found,  after  a  few  moments,  to 
contain  an  intelligent  message  or  letter 
in  the  identical  handwriting  of  a  person 
long  since  dead  and  utterly  unknown  to  the 
medium, — this  is  a  common  phenomenon, 
which  professional  conjurers  as  well  as 
scientific  investigators  declare  to  be  inex- 
plicable. Many  of  the  latter  assert,  in 
the  exact  language  of  Prof,  de  Morgan: 
"I  have  both  seen  and  heard,  in  a  manner 
which  would  make  unbelief  impossible, 
things  called  spiritual,  which  can  not  be 
taken  by  a  rational  being  to  be  capable  of 
explanation  by  imposture,  coincidence,  or 
mistake.  So  far  I  feel  the  ground  firm  under 
me;  but  when  it  comes  to  what  is  the 
cause  of  these  phenomena,  I  find  I  can 
not  adopt  any  explanation  which  has  yet 
been  suggested.  The  physical  explanations 
which  I  have  seen  are  easy,  but  miserably 
insufficient;  the  spiritual  hypothesis  is 
sufficient,  but  ponderously  difficult." 

One  thing  of  which  every  Catholic  should 
be  thoroughly  convinced  is  that  nothing 
whatever  which  it  would  benefit  his  soul 
to  know  is  likely  to  be  learned  through 
spiritistic  practices. 


Mr.  lyucian  Lamar  Knight,  who 
describes  himself  as  a  "  blue  -  stocking 
Presbyterian,"  in  a  communication  to  the 
Atlanta  (Ga.)  Constitution  denouncing  the 
veteran  bigots  of  Macon  who  objected  to 
the  selection  of  Bishop  Keiley  as  Memo- 
rial Day  orator,  has  much  to  say  that 
is  well  deserving  of  the  serious  attention 
and  lasting  remembrance  of  all  Southern 
patriots.  We  quote  two  passages  of  more 
general  interest: 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  Macon  veterans 
in  accentuating  the  feudal  fires  of  the  Prot- 
estant Reformation,  have  ignored  the  events 
of  a  period  much  more  recent,  and  have  shown 
an  indifference  to  matters  much  more  relevant. 
In  the  first  place,  they  are  seemingly  forgetful 
of  the  fact  that  one  who  haS  done  more  than 
all  others  to  put  the  Confederate  cause  into  the 
literature  of  song  was  an  Irish  Catholic.  Who  of 
us  has  not  thrilled  to  the  music  of  Father  Ryan's 
"Conquered  Banner"?  What  war-poem,  born 


TJiE  AVE  MARINA 


471 


amid  the  throes  of  our  great  sectional  conflict, 
is  more  widely  known  or  more  frequently  quoted? 
Long  after  we  are  dead  the  memory  of  this  gentle 
singer  will  be  cherished  by  our  descendants. 
His  renowned  poem  will  be  recited  by  our 
children's  children  for  ages  to  come.  In  one  of 
the  great  hotels  of  Richmond,  Va.,  there  hangs 
a  magnificent  oil  painting  of  the  beloved  poet- 
priest.  It  is  admired  by  all  the  guests;  and  even 
Northern  tourists  each  year  stand  with  un- 
covered head  before  this  portrait  of  one  whose 
fame  is  indissolubly  associated  with  "The 
Conquered  Banner."  To  know  what  Father 
Ryan  thought  of  his  illustrious  chief,  one  needs 
only  to  read  "The  Sword  of  Lee." 

Two  famous  Confederate  war-songs  "Ashes 
of  Glory,"  by  Augustus  J.  Requier,  and  "Some- 
body's Darling,"  by  Marie  LaCoste,  were  both 
written  by  Catholics.  Was  not  Theodore  O'Hara, 
who  wrote  the  "Bivouac  of  the  Dead,"  a  member 
of  the  Church  of  Rome?  He  was  a  Confederate 
soldier;  but  his  renowned  elegy,  inspired  by  an 
episode  of  the  Mexican  War,  is  to-day  found  in 
all  the  Federal  cemeteries  of  the  land,  engraved 
upon  tablets  of  iron.  It  is  the  only  American 
poem  to  which  the  United  States  Government 
has  ever  given  •  official  recognition. 

In  an  editorial,  under  the  caption 
"Catholics  and  the  Lost  Cause,"  the 
editor  of  the  Constitution  commends  Mr. 
Knight's  card  to  the  attention  of  his 
readers.  Southern  Catholics  should  see 
that  it  is  widely  circulated,  especially 
throughout  the  States  of  Georgia  and 
Florida,  where  bigotry  has  been  rampant 
for  many  moons. 


In  the  course  of  an  illuminating  paper 
on  "Industry  and  Education,"  contributed 
to  a  recent  issue  of  America,  Mr.  A. 
Milliard  Atteridge  quotes  a  significant 
passage  from  the  words  of  a  great  English 
"captain  of  industry."  The  truth  em- 
bodied in  it  is  not  novel  by  any  means,  but, 
we  must  say,  it  is  freshly  put.  This  man  of 
affairs  writes: 

What  we  want  to  assure  ourselves  of  when  we 
take  a  boy  is  that  he  has  stability  and  moral 
strength  of  character.  I  submit  that  the  true 
function  of  education  is  to  teach  him  how  to 
learn  and  how  to  live — not  how  to  make  a  living, 
which  is  a  very  different  thing.  We  are  inter- 
ested naturally  to  know  if  a  boy  has  an  aptitude 
for  languages  or  mathematics,  or  a  mechanical 
turn  of  mind.  But  it  is  immaterial  to  us  whether 
he  has  acquired  this  aptitude,  say  for  languages, 


through  learning    Latin   and    Greek,    or   French 
and  German. 

The  specific  problems  of  the  schoolmen 
do  not  concern  this  employer  of  men. 
"Educate  while  you  are  educating,"  he 
asserts  broadly;  "and  let  the  boys  have 
practical  training  afterwards."  Nobody 
who  is  conversant  with  present  educational 
problems  will  question  this  writer's  fear 
that  our  "education"  is  being  commer- 
cialized "to  make  it  a  paying  proposition, 
to  make  it  subservient  to  the  god  of  wealth, 
and  thus  to  convert  us  into  a  money- 
making  mob."  This  was  said  of  education 
in  England;  but  it  is,  if  possible,  even  more 
true  as  applied  to  the  same  matter  in  the 
United  States. 

Other  persons  than  eugenists  may  find 
food  for  thought  in  the  very  interesting 
paper,  "The  Problem  of  Feeble-Minded- 
ness"  contributed  to  the  Missionary  by 
the  Rev.  Thomas  V.  Moore,  C.  S.  P. 
There  is,  for  example,  this  decidedly 
excellent  point  with  regard  to  teaching 
religion  to  the  feeble-minded: 

"Let  them  go  to  the  State  institutions,'*  I 
hear  some  say:  "they  can  not  learn  anything, 
anyhow:  why  try  to  teach  them  religion?"  It 
is  precisely  here  that  you  are  mistaken.  How 
simple  and  beautiful  is  the  religion  of  a  little 
child!  And  no  matter  how  old  these  poor  un- 
fortunates become,  they  always  remain  children. 
It  is  perfectly  possible  for  them  to  have  a  child's 
appreciation  of  religious  truths  with  all  the  simple 
faith  of  children,  and  be  ideally  happy  in  their 
religious  surroundings.  Religion  is  the  only 
thing  that  can  give  them  true  peace  and  con- 
tentment; and  may  God  grant  them  the  con- 
solation of  their  religion,  and  keep  their  souls 
from  starving  in  the  barren  halls  of  a  State 
institution! 

God  has  a  way  of  "coming  home"  to 
His  own,  and  these  least  of  His  children 
certainly  ought  not  to  be  deprived  of  their 
opportunity  of  knowing  Him.  Strange  as 
the  statement  may  seem,  there  are, 
according  to  Dr.  Moore,  only  two  Catholic 
institutions  in  this  great  country  of  ours 
for  the  feeble-minded. 

There  passed  away  in  Cincinnati,  on 
the  1 3th  ult.,  a  gentle  spirit  who  had  made 


472 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


life  mean  self-sacrifice  and  service  to  God 
and  fellowman.  Miss  Margaret  McCabe 
it  was  who  in  1882  founded  the  Sacred 
Heart  Home  for  Girls,  and  in  1885  was 
co-foundress  of  the  Boys'  Home,  remain- 
ing as  its  guiding  destiny  for  thirty  years. 
Her  qualities  were  a  rare  combination,— 
acute  business  sense,  unfailing  humor, 
and  the  faith,  the  patience,  and  the 
affection  of  a  mother  for  her  charges. 
The  good  she  did  is  incalculable.  Her 
funeral  witnessed  the  gathering  of  the 
great  and  the  lowly, — men  and  women 
from  all  walks  of  life,  who  held  her  name 
in  benediction.  The  Archbishop  of  Cin- 
cinnati, in  his  sermon  at  the  Solemn 
Requiem  Mass,  paid  a  noble  tribute  to 
Miss  McCabe's  worth.  She  was  a  valiant 
woman,  who  spent  her  life  doing  good. 
May  she  rest  in  peace! 


The  Fourth  Degree  Knights  of  Columbus 
of  Long  Island  are  to  be  congratulated  on 
the  action  taken  at  a  recent  meeting  of 
their  assembly.  Recognizing  the  benefits 
likely  to  accrue  from  the  cultivation  of  a 
better  knowledge  of  the  history  of  the 
Church  in  this  country,  and  convinced 
that  interest  in  the  study  of  that 
history  will  promote  a  loftier  loyalty  and 
a  more  intelligent  devotion  to  both  Church 
and  Republic,  they  resolved  "to  facilitate 
the  realization  of  these  patriotic  purposes 
by  the  establishment  of  a  library  of 
Catholic  'Americana,'  containing  the  best 
historical  and  biographical  works  by 
Catholic  American  authors,  with  particular 
reference  to  local  history."  The  multipli- 
cation of  such  libraries  in  different  parts 
of  the  country  would  be  a  veritable 
blessing,  not  only  stimulating  present-day 
Catholics  by  the  story  of  zealous  pioneers 
of  the  Faith,  but  providing  abundant 
material  for  the  future  historian  of  the 
Church  in  America. 

*** 

Apropos  of  the  Knights,  our  readers 
outside  their  ranks  will  be  gratified  to 
learn  that  the  nation-wide  celebration  of 


Washington's  Birthday  carried  out  by 
them  this  year  proved  a  genuine  success. 
The  press  of  all  parts  of  the  country  paid 
warm  tributes  to  the  spirit  manifested  and 
the  principles  approved.  So  representative 
a  paper  as  the  Springfield  Republican,  for 
instance,  in  the  course  of  a  lengthy  edi- 
torial, declared: 

It  is  not  too  late  to  say  that  the  series  of 
meetings  organized  by  the  Knights  of  Columbus 
throughout  the  country  on  Washington's  Birth- 
day, at  which  capable  speakers  set  forth  the 
patriotic  duty  of  Americans,  constituted  a  fine 
service  to  the  nation  at  this  time.  So  far  as  we 
have  observed,  the  speakers  were  temperate  and 
broad  in  their  treatment  of  the  national  situa- 
tion and  its  possibilities,  and  so  were  calculated 
to  be  effective  in  inspiring  patriotism.  . 
Any  who  seek  to  introduce  racial  antagonisms 
or  social  differences  at  such  a  time  as  this  are 
in  bad  business,  and  either  their  judgment  or 
their  motives  are  at  fault.  In  either  case  they 
are  blameworthy,  though  differing  in  degree. 
By  contrast  with  any  such  offence,  the  service 
which  the  Knights  of  Columbus  performed  on 
the  22d  shines  with  clear  and  reassuring  light. 

As  a  contrast  to  the  rabid  utterances  of 
the  Guardians  of  Liberty  and  similar 
anti-Catholic  fanatics,  the  sane  and  sober 
declarations  of  the  Knights  of  Columbus 
can  not  but  impress  all  fair-minded 
American  citizens.  The  patriotic  observ- 
ance of  Washington's  birthday  more  than 
justified  itself. 

The  little  girl's  definition  of  repentance 
is  worth  recalling  at  this  time,  when  every 
one  feels  the  necessity  of  being  a  more 
fervent  Christian, — of  rising  from  the 
grave  of  sin  and  "walking  in  newness  of 
life,"  as  St.  Paul  says.  Having  explained 
at  some  length  what  repentance  consists 
in,  the  teacher  called  upon  each  one  of 
the  class  to  give  a  definition  in  his  or  her 
own  words.  A  little  boy  answered  that  to 
repent  meant  "to  be  sorry  for  all  the  sins 
you  have  done";  which  a  little  girl  quickly 
amended  by  saying,  "Being  sorry  enough 
for  your  sins  to  stop  doing  them."  St. 
Thomas  Aquinas  himself,  who  was  a  master 
of  definitions,  would  undoubtedly  have 
admired  this  one. 


War  in  the  North. 

BY    MICHAEL    EARLS,  S.  J. 

*W  OT  from  Mars  and  not  from  Thor 

,-;'•  v 

™?  Comes  the  war,  the  welcome  war, 

Many  months  we  waited  for 
To  free  us  from  the  bondage 
Of  Winter's  gloomy  reign : 
Valor  to  our  hope  is  bound, 
Songs  of  courage  loud  resound, 
Vowed  is  Spring  to  win  her  ground 
Through  all  our  northern  country, 
From  Oregon  to  Maine. 

All  our  loyal  brave  allies 
In  the  Southlands  mobilize, 
Faith  is  sworn  to  our  emprise, 

The'  scouting  breezes  whisper 

That  help  is  sure  to-day: 
Vanguards  of  the  springtime  rains 
Cannonade  the  hills  and  plains, 
Freeing  them  from  Winter's  chains, 

So  birds  and  buds  may  flourish 
Around  the  throne  of  May. 

Hark,  and  hear  the  clarion  call 
Bluebirds  give  by  fence  and  wall! 
Look!    The  darts  of  sunlight  fall, 

And  red  shields  of  the  robins 
Ride  boldly  down  the  leas: 
Hail!     The  cherry  banners  shine, 
Onward  comes  the  battle  line, — 
On!     White  dogwoods  wave  the  sign, 

And  exile  troops  of  blossoms 
Are  sailing  meadow  seas. 

Winter's  tyrant  king  retires; 
Spring  leads  on  her  legion  choirs 
Where  the  hedges  sound  their  lyres; 

The  victor  hills  and  valleys 

Ring  merrily  the  tune: 
April  cohorts  guard  the  way 
For  the  great  enthroning  day, 
When  the  Princess  of  the  May 

Shall  wed  within  our  northlands 
The  charming  Prince  of  June. 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 

XV. — SUSIE  GUIDES. 

ATHER  PHIL  read  the  news- 
paper article  twice;  then  he 
took  Wilmot  Elkins'  paper 
from  his  pocket  and  reread 
it  carefully.  That  they  agreed  in  every 
particular  even  to  Arthur  Nesbitt's  broken 
arm,  he  could  not  deny.  And  if  the 
child  had  been  stolen,  robbed  of  ,name, 
home,  and  heritage,  and  flung  away  into 
rough,  cruel,  evil  hands  by  these  two 
dastards,  it  was  plainly  his  duty  to  un- 
mask the  evil-doers,  reveal  the  crime, — • 
to  do  "justice,"  as  he  had  promised  the 
dying  miner. 

But  how  and  where?  He  next  turned 
to  the  City  Directory.  There  were  three 
columns  of  Nesbitts,  from  a  major-general 
in  the  United  States  Army  to  dealers  in 
shoe-leather  and  bacon,  hardware  and  eggs. 
There  was  a  John  A.  and  a  Henry  A.  and  a 
Francis  A.  Nesbitt,  but  no  Arthur  Nesbitt 
at  all.  And  if  there  had  been,  how  could 
Father  Phil  confront  an  absolute  stranger 
with  this  wild  accusation  of  a  dying, 
perhaps  a  delirious  man?  So  he  put  aside 
newspaper  and  Directory,  pocketed  the 
scrawled  effusion  of  Wilmot  Elkins,  and 
returned  to  St.  Cyprian's  to  report  the 
result  of  his  investigation  to  Father  Tim. 

"Ah,  well,  well!"  said  the  old  priest, 
nodding.  "It's  a  queer  business  from  first 
to  last, — the  man  that  was  no  Catholic 
sending  for  me,  and  you  going  to  him  when 
he  was  too  blind  to  see,  and  the  strange 
story  that  he  tells,  —  a  story  that,  as 
we  have  learned,  must  be  more  than  half 
true.  I'm  thinking  the  finger  of  God  is 
here  somewhere,  pointing  us  to  ways  we 
can't  see.  It's  time  to  pray,  lad, — pray 
for  the  light.  And  if  it  is  the  I/ord's  will 


474 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


that  we  should  do  anything  more,  that 
light  will  come  to  us  somehow,  Phil.  And 
the  poor  fellow  was  buried  by  a  secret 
society,  you  say.  God  have  mercy  on 
him  that  was  never  taught  His  holy  ways ! 
There's  no  telling  what  grace  touched  his 
soul  at  last." 

There  was  a  letter  waiting  for  Father 
Phil  when  he  went  to  his  room  that  same 
evening.  A  tender  smile  lit  his  grave  face 
as  he  recognized  the  little  schoolgirl  hand. 
He  opened  it  and  read  this  somewhat 
lengthy  communication: 

"Tins  MANSE,  January  3. 

"DEAR,  DEAR  BROTHER  PHIL! — Such 
dreadful,  dreadful  things  have  happened 
since  you  left !  The  Buzzards  tried  to  burn 
the  house  the  other  night,  and  poison  the 
dogs  so  they  couldn't  bark,  and,  Aunt  Aline 
says,  to  murder  us  all.  And  Con — your 
Con,  my  Con,  brother  Phil, — heard  them 
talking  about  it ;  and  he  ran  through  the 
dark  night,  when  all  the  mountain  was  in 
clouds  of  mist,  and  let  the  dogs  nearly 
tear  his  clothes  off  him,  and  climbed  the 
stable  roof,  and  was  hunted  down  like  a 
wild  Indian  by  Dennis  and  everybody,  just 
to  tell  for  my  sake,  he  said,  brother  Phil, 
so  I  wouldn't  be  burned  up, — to  tell  and 
save  us.  But  Uncle  Greg  nor  Dennis  nor 
anybody  would  believe  this.  They  thought 
he  was  bad  as  the  rest,  because  they 
caught  him  on  the  stable  rpof ;  and  so  they 
locked  him  up  in  the  smoking-room  all 
night.  And  the  neighbors  came  with  guns 
and  pistols,  to  help  Uncle  Greg  to  watch 
for  the  other  Buzzards;  and  they  caught 
them  with  oil  and  turpentine  and  every- 
thing ready  to  burn  the  barn. 

"The  men  carried  the  other  Buzzards 
off  to  the  lock-up;  but  they  left  Con  to 
Uncle  Greg,  who  said  he  would  put  him  in 
the  Reform  next  day.  And,  oh,  that  nearly 
broke  my  heart!  For  I  thought  that  poor 
Con  would  go  crazy  at  being  locked  up; 
and  so — so — oh,  I  haven't  dared  tell  any- 
body this,  brother  Phil — I  coaxed  Kathie, 
the  kitchen-maid,  who  knew  where  Nora 
kept  the  key  of  the  outer  door  of  the 


smoking-room,  to  steal  down  early  in  the 
morning  and  let  poor  Con  out.  Oh,  was 
it  such  a  bad  thing  to  do,  brother  Phil? 
I  don't  know.  The  Sisters  never  taught 
us  about  dreadful  things  like  these.  We 
never  heard  of  Buzzards  burning  houses, 
or  of  locking  up  poor  boys  that  corne 
to  tell  you  and  save  you.  So  I  don't 
know  whether  it  was  wicked  or  not ;  and  I 
can't  ask  anybody,  because  it  would  be 
telling  on  Kathie  and  breaking  my  word. 
And,  oh,  it's  all  made  me  feel  so  queer  and 
nervous  and  shaky  that  I  am  almost  sick! 

"And  Dr. Grayson — he  is  Lil  Grayson's 
father — says  it  is  'nervous  shock.'  He  is 
going  to  take  Lil  to  N—  -  to  spend  a  week 
with  her  grandmother;  and  he  will  take 
me,  too,  for  a  change.  So  I  will  be  in  N— 
on  Tuesday,  brother  Phil;  and  won't  you 
please  come  to  see  me  right  away,  and  tell 
me  whether  I  did  anything  very  bad  in 
letting  poor  Con  out? 

"Your  own  little  sister, 

"SUSIE. 

"P.  S. — Lil's  grandmother  lives  in  a 
lovely  place  in  Riverdale.  It  is  called — 
something  about  a  tree — Oakwood  or 
Elmwood,  I  forget  which.  Oh,  please  come 
right  away,  brother  Phil !  I  want  to  see 
you  so  much, — so  muck!" 

"My  poor  little  girl!"  thought  Susie's 
brother,  anxiously.  "No  wonder 'she  has 
nervous  shock.  Let  the  boy  out,  eh!  The 
little  witch  has  more  pluck  than  I  thought. 
I  must  go  see  her,  as  she  says,  right 
away.  Riverdale?  I  can  get  there  in  an 
hour.  And  I  suppose  the  old  lady's  name 
is  Grayson.  Though,  Susie  is  a  little  vague, 
no  doubt  I  can  find  the  place, — named 
after  a  tree." 

And  Father  Phil  set  out  hurriedly;  for 
he  was  somewhat  troubled  at  his  little 
sister's  tidings.  She  was  not  very  strong, 
as  he  knew;  and  the  excitement  at  the 
Manse  must  have  been  a  shock,  indeed,  to 
one  whose  sweet  young  life  had  been 
hitherto  so  safely  sheltered.  And  Con,  poor 
Con, — Con  who  had  risked  everything  to 
save  her,  as  Father  Phil  well  understood! 
And  as  he .  recalled  the  look  in  the  boy's 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


475 


blue  eyes  at  their  last  meeting,  Susie's 
brother  felt  his  heart  turn  towards  his 
young  "pal"  with  a  tender  compassion, 
that  banished  all  thoughts  of  Mr.  Wilmot 
Elkins'  story  from  his  mind.  He  must 
track  Con  somehow.  He  must  find,  help, 
save  his  poor  little  mountain  friend. 

Meanwhile  the  trolly  was  bearing  him 
far  from  St.  Cyprian's,  into  wider,  brighter 
ways  than  those  he  had  chosen  to  tread 
with  Father  Tim.  Riverdale  was  an  old- 
fashioned  suburb  of  the  great  city,  that  had 
held  its  own  against  time  and  change. 
The  old  homes  still  stood  back,  amid 
groves  and  gardens  whose  high  stone  walls 
gave  them  an  almost  cloistral  seclusion 
from  the  busy  world  without.  As  Father 
Phil  looked  down  the  wide,  quiet  roadway 
where  the  trolly  had  left  him,  he  realized 
that  Susie's  directions  had  been  by  no 
means  clear.  Fully  a  dozen  fine  old  homes, 
any  one  of  which  might  have  been  occu- 
pied by  "Lil's  grandmother,"  lifted  their 
gabled  roofs  and  dormer  windows  and 
ivied  walls  in  sight. 

"I  am  looking  for  a  family  named  Gray- 
son,"  he  said  to  a  schoolboy  who,  with  his 
skates  slung  over  his  shoulder,  came 
hurrying  by. 

"Don't  know  'em,"  was  the  brief  re- 
sponse. 

"They  live  out  here  somewhere,  at  a 
place  called  Elmwood  or  Oakwood,"  said 
Father  Phil. 

"Oh,  Elmwood!  That's  right  across 
there,"  replied  the  would-be  skater,  who 
had  been  "kept  in"  and  had  no  time  to 
waste.  "You'll  see  the  name  on  the  gate." 

And,  with  a  friendly  "thanks!"  Father 
Phil  now  turned  across  the  street  to  the 
iron  gate  that  bore,  indeed,  in  tarnished 
letters  the  name  "Elmwood."  It  swung 
open  at  his  touch,  admitting  him  into  the 
broad  carriageway  that  led  to  a  fine  old 
mansion,  pillared  and  porticoed  in  the 
spacious  fashion  of  a  century  ago.  But 
there  was  no  sign  of  decay  or  neglect.  Box- 
bordered  paths,  garden  beds,  hedges, 
showed  trim  and  neat  even  in  their  wintry 
snow  wreaths,  —  a  wide  conservatory 


stretching  on  the  south  side  of  the  house. 
There  was  a  bronze  knocker  bearing  a 
crest — Elmwood  evidently  disdained  any 
modern  substitute.  "lyil's  grandmother 
must  be  an  old  lady  of  importance," 
thought  Father  Phil,  as  his  knock  re- 
sounded from  the  oak-panelled  door.  It 
was  opened,  after  something  of  a  pause,  by 
an  old  Negro  in  faded  livery. 

"Yes,  sah, — yes,"  he  answered,  putting 
his  hand  to  his  ear.  "Who  is  it  you  wish 
to  see?  I's  a  little  hard  ob  hearing  dese 
days.  Miss  Rayson?  Yes,  sah;  she  is  at 
home,  sah, — she  is  at  home." 

"My  little  sister  is  visiting  here,"  Father 
Phil  tried  to  explain,  as  he  handed  his  card. 

"Yes,  sah, — yes,"  nodded  the  old  butler, 
who  evidently  felt  he  had  heard  enough; 
and  he  flung  aside  the  damask  portieres 
of  an  arched  doorway  and  ushered  the 
visitor  into  a  suite  of  stately  rooms,  ter- 
minating in  the  glowing  beauty  of  the 
spacious  conservatory.  "Miss  Rayson, 
she's  at  home,  sah,  to-day." 

And,  finding  further  explanation  to 
this  deaf  old  personage  impossible,  Father 
Phil  decided  to  await  the  appearance  of 
"Lil's  grandmother"  to  introduce  himself 
as  Susie's  brother.  His  little  sister  was 
evidently  in  more  splendid  surroundings 
than  her  simple  life  had  ever  known.  All 
around  were  evidences  not  only  of  great 
wealth,  but  of  the  cultured  taste  that  can 
use  wealth  fittingly:  old  furniture,  old 
tapestries,  pictures  mellowed  into  fuller 
beauty  by  the  touch  of  time;  farther  in, 
the  white  gleam  of  marble  busts,  the 
stretch  of  richly  fitted  bookcases,  an  open 
piano,  a  shrouded  harp ;  beyond  these,  the 
plash  of  a  fountain  under  the  crystal  roof 
of  the  conservatory.  Yet  what  a  strange, 
deathlike  hush  there  was  in  all  this 
splendor.  Not  a  voice,  not  a  laugh  to 
break  the  stillness, — and  with  two  little 
girls  in  the  house! 

"Can  Susie  be  ill?"  thought  Father 
Phil,  anxiously.  And  then,  as  "Lil's 
grandmother"  still  delayed,  he  began  to 
pace  the  room  restlessly;  for  there  seemed 
something  oppressive  in  the  stillness  that 


476 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"got  on"  even  his  steady  nerves.  Susie 
must  be  ill,  he  felt;  and  in  his  anxiety  he 
paced  farther  in  through  the  arched  door- 
way of  the  library — when  suddenly  he 
paused,  startled  breathless  almost,  as  if 
he  had  received  an  electric  shock  Facing 
him  on  the  opposite  wall  was  the  life-size 
portrait  of  a  boy,  who  seemed  to  be  parting 
the  richly  colored  draperies  about  him  and 
stepping  into  the  silent  room, — a  rosy, 
radiant,  smiling  boy,  whose  eyes  looked 
up  into  Father  Phil's  with  a  glance  that  he 
knew.  For,  despite  the  smoothed  ripple 
of  the  yellow  hair,  the  buckled  shoes,  the 
picturesque,  princely  dress,  it  was  Father 
Phil's  little  "pal"  that  looked  out  from 
that  wondrous  canvas,  —  it  was  Con  of 
Misty  Mountain  to  the  very  life! 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  a  gentle  voice 
broke  in  upon  his  bewilderment.  "You — 
you — asked  for  me,  I  think.  I  am  Eunice 
Rayson." 

And  Father  Phil  turned  his  startled  eyes 
from  the  picture  to  meet  the  questioning 
gaze  of  a  slender,  graceful  woman  of  about 
thirty,  who  was  looking  at  him  with 
evident  surprise. 

"Miss  Rayson,"  he  echoed, — "Miss 
Eunice  Rayson!  I  thought — I  believed — • 
it  is  for  me  to  beg  pardon ;  for  I  must  have 
made  a  stupid  mistake.  I  came  here 
thinking  this  was  Mrs.  Grayson's  resi- 
dence. My  little  sister  is  visiting  her 
granddaughter." 

"Poor  Uncle  Joe  probably  did  not 
understand  you.  But  I  think  there  are 
two  little  girls  visiting  at  Oakwood,  Mrs. 
Burnett's  place,  just  beyond.'" 

' '  Burnett ! ' '  repeated  Father  Phil.  ' '  The 
little  girl  is  named  Grayson." 

"Mrs.  Burnett  is  her  mother's  mother, 
perhaps,"  said  the  lady,  smiling.  "We  all 
must  have  two  grandmothers,  you  know." 

' '  Of  course !  What  a  very  stupid  person 
I  must  seem!  Pardon  me  again!  You  see, 
we  priests  get  dull  in  the  ways  of  the  world, 
from  which  we  are  shut  out  so  long." 

"Father  Philip  Doane  could  not  possibly 
be  dull  in  anything,"  said  the  lady,  archly; 
"at  least  so  I  have  heard  from  my  cousin, 


Jack  Fenton,  who  was  his  classmate  and 
friend." 

"Jack  Fenton!"  Father  Phil's  face 
kindled  at  the  name.  "God  bless  him! 
Is  dear  old  Jack  your  cousin?  I  left  him  in 
Rome  with  the  Jesuits,  where  he  has  a 
long  road  to  travel  yet.  And  dear  old  Jack 
is  your  cousin,  and  this  your  home?" 

"Not  exactly,"  she  laughed;  "only  my 
abiding  place,  Father  Doane.  I  am  here — 
in  service,  perhaps  you  might  call  it." 

"A  very  good  name,"  he  assented  cheer- 
fully. ' '  We  are  all  in  service,  or  should  be, 
Miss  Rayson." 

"That  is  true,"  she  answered.  "And 
mine  is  as  light  and  sweet  and  well  re- 
warded as  I  could  ask.  I  am  secretary, 
companion,  and,  I  hope,  friend,  to  the 
dear  old  mistress  of  this  beautiful  home, 
Mrs.  Lavinia  Nesbitt." 

(To  be  continued.) 


The  Life  of  a  Mourning-Cloak. 


BY    MARY    KISLLKY    DUNNE. 

[AVE  you  scraped  acquaintance 
with  butterflies  yet?  I  don't 
mean  this  season,  exactly;  although  those 
who  are  on  intimate  terms  with  the  ' '  frail 
children  of  the  air, ' '  as  some  one  has  called 
them,  know  that  some  of  them  are  on  the 
wing  much  earlier  than  the  date  on  which 
you  are  reading  my  question.  -The  skunk 
cabbage,  which  is  usually  the  earliest  of 
our  spring  flowers,  and  the  Mourning- 
Cloak  appear  about  the  same  date.  Neither 
is  dismayed  by  the  most  frowning  weather. 
In  my  neighborhood,  if  I  am  venture- 
some enough  to  take  advantage  of  a  sunny 
day  in  early  March  or  even  in  late  Feb- 
ruary to  go  for  a  walk,  I  am  likely  to  be 
startled  by  the  sight  of  a  large  dark 
butterfly  fluttering  about  as  if  spring  were 
actually  at  hand.  It's  a  heartening  sight, 
for  butterflies  suggest  warmth  and  sun- 
shine and  fragrant  blossoms.  The  trees 
are  bare,  and  the  ground  is  hard  where 
the  hot  sun  has  not  turned  it  to  sticky 


THE  AVE  MARIA' 


477 


mud.  There  are  drifts  of  snow  piled  up 
in  the  fence  corners  and  along  the  paths 
in  the  woods.  The  pink  arbutus  is  still  a 
mere  bud  under  its  rusty  covering  of  last 
year's  leaves,  and  yet  here  is  summer  on 
the  wing.  One  wonders  what  a  butterfly 
can  possibly  find  to  live  on,  when  there 
are  no  flowers -of  any  kind  to  furnish  its 
usual  food  of  nectar  and  honey.  Nobody 
has  ever  heard  of  butterflies  laying  up  a 
store  of  food,  like  the  bees  and  squirrels. 
And  yet  a  good  many  of  the  butterflies 
hibernate  through  the  winter  and  come  out 
early  in  the  spring. 

Butterflies  have  such  attractive  names! 
You  would  think,  if  only  for  that  reason, 
everybody  would  want  to  get  acquainted 
with  them.  There  are  the  Painted  Lady, 
the  Red  Admiral,  the  Tiger  Swallowtail, 
the  Indian  Hesperid,  the  Hop  Merchant, 
the  Least  Skipper,  the  Monarch,  American 
Copper.  These  are  just  a  few  samples  of 
common  American  butterflies,  which  any- 
body may  know  by  keeping  his  eyes  open 
when  he  goes  outdoors  in  summer.  If  you 
include  the  night-flying  "children  of  the 
air,"  the  moths,  there  are  literally  thou- 
sands of  species.  If  you  could  gather  a 
collection,  including  a  specimen  of  each 
variety,  it  would  be  very  valuable  indeed, 
and  not  merely  from  a  financial  point  of 
view.  Not  only  could  you  get  a  large  sum 
of  money  for  it,  but  you  would  win  fame, 
and  add  a  mite  to  human  knowledge,  which 
is  something  well  worth  doing. 

The  Mourning-Cloak  is  familiar  to 
nearly  everybody  who  observes  butterflies 
at  all.  If  nothing  else,  its  unexpected  ap- 
pearance so  early  emphasizes  it.  If  you 
happen  not  to  be  sufficiently  intimate 
to  know  it  by  name,  although  you  know 
it  by  sight,  you  can  bring  the  two  items 
together  by  looking  for  purplish  brown 
wings  about  three  inches  across,  edged  with 
a  broad  buff-yellow  band.  Near  the  inner 
edge  of  the  band  and  on  the  darkest  part 
of  the  wings  you  will  see  a  row  of  pale 
blue  spots.  These  spots  do  not  go  all  the 
way  through  the  butterfly's  dress.  The 
underside  of  the  wings  are  crossed  and 


interwoven  with  a  fine  lacework  of  minute 
black  lines,  while  the  yellow  trimming  is 
much  paler  than  on  the  upper  surface. 

Before  I  go  any  further  I  may  as  well 
tell  you  the  unpleasant  fact  that  the 
Mourning- Cloak  belongs  to  the  Vanessini 
family,  and  that  its  scientific  name  is 
Euvanessa  Antiopa.  This  is  unpleasant, 
however,  only  because  it  is  so  much  harder 
to  remember  than  its  everyday  picture 
name  of  Mourning-Cloak.  But,  then,  as 
some  wise  person  remarked  ages  ago,  we 
have  to  take  the  bitter  with  the  sweet,  the 
pleasant  with  the  unpleasant;  and,  if  you 
will  take  the  trouble  to  remember  the 
scientific  as  well  as  the  familiar  names  of 
butterflies  and  flowers  and  birds,  you  will 
be  that  much  ahead  in  more  ways  than  one. 

Winter  seems  a  pretty  treacherous  time 
for  such  frail  creatures  as  butterflies  to  be 
abroad;  but  there  are  a  good  many  vari- 
eties which  live  over  the  cold  season, 
hiding  themselves  in  crannies  of  one  sort 
or  another.  Sometimes  you  will  find  them 
deep  in  the  wood-pile.  After  your  store  of 
fuel  has  been  nearly  consumed,  and  you 
have  got  down  to  the  second  or  third 
row  froln  the  bottom,  you  are  likely  to 
meet  with  a  butterfly  or  two,  quite  slow 
and  sleepy.  Sometimes  they  come  into 
the  cellars  of  houses  or  barns;  and  again 
they  fly  into  open  drains  and  suspend 
themselves  from  the  walls.  No  doubt  they 
are  often  drowned  in  these  dangerous 
hiding-places.  But  mostly  you  will  find 
them  in  the  woods,  where  they  have 
crawled  into  crevices  in  the  trees.  They 
prefer  hollow  places  down  near  the  roots. 
Under  a  pile  of  rocks  is  another  favorite 
hiding-place.  If  you  look  closely  enough, 
you  can  probably  find  a  few  specimens  of 
Vanessini  in  winter  in  almost  any  North- 
ern State,  and,  for  that  matter,  much 
farther  north,  in  Canada.  There  is  just 
one  portion  of  the  United  States  where  it 
is  rarely  found,  summer  or  winter,  and 
that  is  the  central  and  southern  plateau 
region. 

When  the  Mourning-Cloak  comes  out  of 
its  winter  quarters  on  the  first  sunny  days 


478 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


of  March  or  late  February,  it  must  have 
some  trouble  breaking  its  winter  fast. 
Its  usual  food  is  the  honey  of  flowers; 
but  it  always  arrives  ahead  of  the  most 
venturesome  swamp  maple,  and  that  is 
one  of  the  earliest  of  spring  blossoms.  But 
it  is  probably  a  member  of  the  maple 
family  which  saves  the  situation  for  it. 
You  know,  some  of  the  winter  birds  are 
fond  of  maple  sap;  and  before  the  farmer 
gets  around  with  his  little  spout  and 
buckets  and  begins  to  tap  his  sugar  bush, 
some  of  the  woodpeckers  are  pretty  sure 
to  have  drilled  holes  and  started  little 
fountains  of  sweets  for  themselves.  The 
butterflies  take  advantage  of  these  little 
pools.  And  sometimes  there  are  accidental 
breaks  in  the  bark  of  sugar  maples,  through 
which  the  sap  oozes  on  warm  days  in  spring. 
Perhaps  they  prefer  these.  A  butterfly 
might  instinctively  avoid  the  holes  made 
by  the  woodpeckers,  for  of  course  birds 
are  the  principal  enemies  of  insect  life. 

After  flying  about  in  the  leafless  woods 
for  several  weeks,  the  butterflies  mate,  and 
after  another  week  or  two  the  female 
begins  to  lay  her  eggs  around  the  tips  of 
the  twigs  of  the  elm  or  willow  or  poplar. 
Usually  you  begin  to  find  these  butterfly 
eggs  about  the  middle  of  May.  They 
hatch  in  twelve  or  fifteen  days,  depending 
upon  the  season.  If  the  weather  is  very 
warm  they  are  hastened,  and  if  the  season 
is  uncommonly  cold  it  takes  longer.  If 
you  happen  to  be  on  hand  at  the  right 
moment,  you  will  see  the.  caterpillars  bite 
their  way  through  the  top  of  the  tiny  eggs, 
and  then  hasten  at  once  to  the  nearest 
leaf,  where  they  arrange  themselves  in  rows 
side  by  side  and  proceed  to  eat  voraciously. 
They  remain  in  company  nearly  all  their 
lives;  although,  as  they  grow  larger,  they 
spread  out  over  more  space,  instead  of 
huddling  together  as  they  do  at  first.  It 
is  because  of  this  habit  of  remaining  in  a 
group  and  always  eating  the  next  leaves, 
that  a  whole  branch  may  be  eaten  quite 
clean  of  its  leaves,  while  the  rest  of  the 
tree  has  entirely  escaped  ravages. 

They  grow  to  about  two  inches  in  length ; 


are  black,  minutely  dotted  with  white, 
having  eight  large  bright  red  spots  down 
the  middle  of  the  back,  and  bristle  with  long 
black  spines.  About  the  last  of  June  you 
may  see  them  scurrying  along,  fat  and 
full-fed,  and  seemingly  in  a  great  hurry  to 
get  somewhere.  And  that  is  just  their 
mission.  For  the  first  time  they  are  jour- 
neying alone,  without  companions.  Each 
one  on  his  own  hook  is  looking  for  a 
substantial  place  where  he  may  hang 
himself  and  turn  into  a  chrysalis,  which 
is  the  next  stage  ordained  for  him  on  his 
way  to  becoming  a  Mourning-Cloak. 

The*  chrysalis  is  an  angular,  short-spined 
object,  usually  about  the  color  of  the 
weather-worn  board  underneath  which  it 
hangs.  A  rail  fence  seems  to  be  a  favorite 
spot  for  this  Mourning- Cloak  chrysalis. 
There  it  hangs  for  nearly  two  weeks,  and 
then  some  bright  morning  you  may  see  it 
open  and  the  butterfly  emerge,  with  wet 
wings.  It  poises  for  a  minute  on  the  fence, 
spreads  its  wings  to  dry,  and  then  soars 
up  in  the  air  and  away.  This  part  of  the 
performance  happens  along  in  July,  just 
after  the  last  of  the  ragged  and  battered 
Vanessini,  which  lived  over  the  winter,  have 
disappeared.  Their  life-work  finished,  they 
crawled  away  somewhere  and  died.  His- 
tory repeats  itself  with  the  new  and  bright- 
looking  Mourning- Cloaks.  By  the  middle 
of  July  eggs  are  being  laid,  and  about  the 
first  of  September  there  is  still  another 
lot  of  gay  children  of  the  air  afloat.  They 
remain  on  the  wing  until  sometime  in  j 
November,  when  they  seek  hiding-places 
and  stow  themselves  away  to  hibernate 
until  spring. 

So  you  see  that  the  life  history  of  even 
an  ugly  caterpillar,  as  you've  probably 
called  it,  has  some  thrilling  chapters  if 
you  only  know  how  to  read  it. 


THE  red,  white,  and  blue  of  the  flag 
of  England  are  said  to  have  been  originally 
chosen  in  honor  of  the  Blessed  Trinity,— 
white  to  represent  the  holiness  of  God; 
blue,  the  love  of  Christ;  and  red,  the  fire 
of  the  Holy  Ghost. 


THE  AVK  MARIA"  479 

WITH    AUTHORS   AND    PUBLISHERS 


— "St.  Bridget  of  Sweden,"  by  Sven  Magnus 
Gronberger,  a  study  in  Mediaeval  Church  History 
that  has  already  appeared  in  the  American 
Catholic  Quarterly  Review,  is  now  reprinted  in 
pamphlet  form.  It  is  an  interesting  essay  in 
itself;  and  the  interest  is  enhanced  by  a  brief 
sketch  of  the  author  by  the  editor,  Dr.  James 
J.  Walsh. 

— B.  Herder  has  brought  out  a  second  edition, 
revised  and  enlarged,  of  "An  Eight  Days' 
Retreat. for  Religious,"  by  the  Rev.  Henry  A. 
Gabriel,  S.  J.  We  need  not  supplement  our 
favorable  notice  of  the  first  edition  further  than 
to  say  that  the  work  may  be  used  profitably 
by  the  secular  as  well  as  the  religious  clergy, 
.  and  even  by  educated  laymen. 

— Visitors  to  Sante  Fe,  New  Mexico,  and  all 
who  are  interested  in  the  early  missionary 
history  of  the  far  Southwest,  will  do  well  to 
provide  themselves  with  the  illuminating  bro- 
chure descriptive  of  San  Miguel  Church  prepared 
by  Brother  David,  F.  S.  D.,  and  published  by 
St.  Michael's  College,  of  that  city.  From  the 
same  source  may  be  had  a  series  of  attractive 
post-cards  affording  views  of  the  locality  and  its 
unique  relics. 

— The  tremendous  theme  of  the  Passion  of 
Our  Lord  is  the  subject  matter  of  a  three-act 
play  entitled  "On  the  Slopes  of  Calvary,"  by 
the  Rev.  Aurelio  Palmieri,  D.  D.,  O.  S.  A., 
translated  from  the  Italian  by  Henry  Grattan 
Doyle,  A.  M.,  formerly  Instructor  in  Romance 
Languages  in  Harvard  University;  We  have  the 
author's  word  for  it  that  this  drama  has  already 
been  presented  with  conspicuous  success;  and 
we  have  no  doubt  that,  given  due  religious 
dispositions  on  the  part  both  of  performers  and 
audience,  it  would  lend  itself  to  effective 
representation.  On  page  13  we  note  this  charac- 
teristic example  of  what  has  come  to  be  known 
as  "Harvard  English":  "That  man  whom  we 
know  now  is  called  Peter,  had  the  daring  to  say 
to  me,  etc."  The  text  is  published  by  Our  Lady 
of  Good  Counsel  Printing  School,  Philadelphia. 
No  price  is  stated. 

—"St.  Bernard,"  Abbot  of  Clairvaux  (1090- 
I:[53),  with  seven  illustrations,  is  the  latest 
addition  to  the  excellent  Notre  Dame  Series 
of  Lives  of  the  Saints.  (Sands  &  Co. ;  B.  Herder.) 
Like  previous  volumes,  it  is  instructive  as  well 
as  edifying.  The  anonymous  author  has  studied 
the  period  in  which  St.  Bernard  lived,  and  is 
thus  enabled  to  give  a  portrait  of  him  that 
is  both  faithful  and  attractive.  The  chapter 


dealing  with  the  miracles  of  the  Thaumaturgus 
of  the  West  is  especially  interesting.  We  hope 
that  this  series  of  Lives  of  the  Saints  will  have 
many  readers  everywhere.  The  previous  volumes 
are:  "St.  Patrick,"  "St.  Margaret  of  Scotland," 
"St.  Anselm,"  "St.  Augustine  of  Hippo," 
"St.  Gertrude  the  Great,"  "St.  Gilbert  of 
Sempringham,"  and  "St.  Louis  of  France." 
The  books  are  i2mos  of  about  240  pages,  and 
are  well  produced.  All  things  considered, 
$1.25  is  a  very  fair  price  for  them. 

— The  many  friends  and  admirers  of  the  late 
Canon  Sheehan  will  •  be  glad  to  hear  that  an 
adequate  biography  of  him  by  one  who  knew 
him  intimately  will  soon  be  ready  for  publica- 
tion. His  pastoral  as  well  as  his  literary  life, 
his  wide  correspondence,  etc.,  will  be  in  the 
nature  of  a  surprise  to  most  readers.  While 
wondering  how  the  parish  priest  of  Doneraile 
could  accomplish  so  much,  they  will  admire 
the  spirit  in  which  he  labored,  and  be  edified 
by  the  example  of  his  many  Christian  and 
sacerdotal  virtues. 

-"Our  Anniversaries,"  adapted  from  the 
French  of  Abbe  Gaduel  by  the  Rev.  Joseph  V. 
Nevins,  S.  S.  (B.  Herder),  is  a  little  book  for 
priests.  It  offers  appropriate  meditation 
material  for  such  anniversaries  as  that  of  baptism 
and  the  early  sacraments,  Tonsure  and  all  the 
Orders  up  to  the  priesthood,  and  first  Holy 
Mass.  The  considerations  set  for  these  various 
occasions  are  exceedingly  happy.  For  the  priest 
who  piously  makes  use  of  them,  they  should 
result  in  that 'renewal  of  spirit  which  is  their 
aim  and  justification.  Neatly  bound  in  cloth; 
price,  35  cents. 

— "The  Love  of  God  and  of  the  Neighbor," 
by  the  Rev.  J.  V.  Schubert  (Joseph  F.  Wagner), 
is  a  twelvemo  of  some  160  pages,  wherein,  to 
quote  the  sub-title,  "the  fundamental  principle 
of  the  Divine  Law  is  demonstrated  to  children 
by  means  of  a  thorough  explanation  of  the 
Commandments."  Twelve  of  the  twenty-five 
instructions  are  devoted  to  such  Commandments 
as  specifically  relate  to  our  love  of  God;  the 
remaining  thirteen  deal  with  the  different 
subdivisions  of  the  general  precept  "Thou 
shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself."  It  is  a  work 
that  may  be  of  genuine  help  to  the  catechist 
of  our  young  people. 

— With  nine  pages  of  analytical  table  of  con- 
tents and  fourteen  pages  of  index,  "Philosophy 
of  Education"  (Volume  V.  in  the  Catholic 
University  Pedagogical  Series),  by  the  Rev. 


480 


THE,  AVE  MARIA 


Thomas  Edward  Shields,  Ph.  D.,  LL.  D.,  is 
such  a  "Sutnma"  of  Catholic  pedagogical  theory 
and  practice  as  will  be  welcomed  by  all  workers 
in  the  field,  be  they  writers,  students,  teachers, 
or  in  any  more  general  way  interested  in  educa- 
tion. The  immense  scope  of  the  work  is  indicated 
by  its  threefold  main  division:  "The  Nature  of 
the  Educative  Process,"  "Educational  Aims,"  and 
"Educative  Agencies."  The  last  of  these  three, 
in  which  the  author  discusses,  in  their  bearing 
on  education,  the  home  and  the  Church,  and 
such  other  outstanding  questions  as  "State 
School  Systems,"  "  The  Catholic  School  System, " 
and  "The  Teacher  and  his  Training,"  will  be 
of  the  most  practical  aid  to  the  pastor,  neces- 
sarily interested  in  matters  of  the  school;  and 
they  deserve  as  well  the  attention  of  our  Catholic 
laity.  It  is  not  to  be  expected — the  author 
frankly  disavows  such  a  hope — that  all  the 
ideas  advanced  in  these  pages  will  meet  with 
universal  acceptance.  Certain  it  is,  however, 
that  his  book  will  prove  stimulating  and  inspiring; 
and  both  for  what  it  is  and  for  what  it  is  destined 
to  accomplish  puts  the  Catholic  public  in  debt 
to  its  zealous  and  indefatigable  author.  Pub- 
lished, under  the  imprimatur  of  Cardinal  Gibbons, 
by  the  Catholic  Education  Press,  Washington. 
Price,  $2.25. 

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VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  APRIL  21,  1917. 


NO.  16 


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


Cloister. 


BY  CHARTS  L.  O'DONNKU,,  c.  s.  c. 


"Show  me  your  cloister,"  asks  the  Lady  Poverty  of 
the  friars.  And  they,  leading  her  to  the  summit  of  a  hill, 
showed  her  the  wide  -world,  saying:  "This  is  our  cloister, 
O  Lady  Poverty!  " 

^j^)KLL,  that  were  a  cloister;    for  its  bars 

Long  strips  of  sunset,  and  its  roof  the  stars. 

Four  walls  of  sky,  with  corridors  of  air 
Leading  to  chapel,  and  God  everywhere. 

Earth  beauteous  and  bare  to  lie  upon, 
Lit  by  the  little  candle  of  the  sun. 

The  winds  gone  daily  sweeping  like  a  broom, — 
For  these  vast  hearts  it  was  a  narrow  room. 


Dr.  Brownson  on  Devotion  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin. 

R.  BROWNSON  was  among  the 
strongest  defenders  of  the  honor 
of  the  Mother  of  God.  Before  he 
was  a  Catholic,  he  tells  us  in  his 
"Convert,"  he  invoked  her  intercession; 
and  after  his  conversion  he  was  most 
earnest  in  urging  on  Catholics  the  impor- 
tance of  soliciting  her  intercession  and 
imitating  her  virtues.  Among  his  contri- 
butions to  THE;  AVE  MARIA  were  many 
devoted  to  this  purpose. 

In  an  essay  on  the  "Moral  and  Social 
Influence  of  Devotion  to  Mary,"  Dr. 
Brownson  dwells  especially  on  the 
humility,  maternity,  and  purity  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  as  the  virtues  most  opposed 
to  the  corruptions  of  the  age,  and  the  most 
characteristic  of  Christians.  "Humility," 


he  says,  "is  the  root  of  all  the  virtues, 
without  which  there  is  and  can  be  no  real 
virtue.  Humility  is  not  servility,  mean- 
ness of  spirit,  but  is  real  greatness  of  soul, 
and  the  basis  of  all  generosity  and  dis- 
interestedness. Pride,  the  vice  opposed 
to  humility,  has  no  magnanimity,  no 
generosity;  is  always  cold,  narrow,  selfish, 
cruel."  Heathen  morals  were  based  on 
pride.  The  Gentiles  taught  self-denial, 
contempt  of  riches  and  honors,  detach- 
ment from  the  world,  and  superiority  to 
all  the  accidents  of  fortune,  and  the  accept- 
ance of  death  itself  as  a  welcome  refuge 
from  defeat  or  disgrace.  But  their  motive 
was  pride:  they  regarded  the  evils  and 
mishaps  of  life  as  trifles  to  be  despised; 
they  esteemed  themselves  too  superior  to 
the  world  and  its  accidents  to  admit  that 
anything  had  power  to  affect  or  move  them 
against  their  will.  They  isolated  them- 
selves from  humanity,  and  found  their 
strength  to  fail,  and  not  seldom  sought 
death  at  their  own  hand  while  asserting 
their  superiorit}/  to  fortune. 

The  Christian  overcomes  the  evils  of  life 
by  regarding  them  as  loving  chastisements 
of  his  Heavenly  Father,  and  he  makes  them 
the  means  of  his  spiritual  progress.  He 
observes  the  moral  law  from  love  and  a 
profound  sense  of  its  sacredness,  and  of 
the  justice  and  love  of  the  Author  of  the 
Law.  He  confesses  his  weakness,  and  seeks 
strength  in  Him  who  is  ready  to  help  and 
mighty  to  succor  those  who  cast  their 
burdens  on  Him.  He  unites  himself  by  love 
with  all  men  and  with  God,  and  has  with 
Him  and  for  Him  all  that  is  great  and  good 
in  heaven  and  on  earth,  and  is  powerful 


482 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


in  his  humility  and  invincible  in  his  love. 

"Now,  the  history  of  the  human  race," 
Dr.  B.rownson  continues,  "presents  us  no 
example  of  humility  so  .striking,  so  perfect, 
so  lovely  as  that  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 
Lowliest  of  Jewish  maidens,  though  exalted 
to  the  dignity  of  Bride  of  Heaven  and 
Mother  of  God,  not  a  thought  or  a  move- 
ment of  pride  or  vainglory  ever  assails 
her.  She  magnifies  not  herself,  but  in  the 
joy  of  her  humility  exclaims:  'My  soul 
doth  magnify  the  Lord,  and  My  spirit  hath 
rejoiced  in  God  My  Saviour;  because  He 
hath  regarded  the  humility  of  His  hand- 
maid; for  behold  from  henceforth  all 
generations  shall  call  me  blessed.  For  He 
that  is  mighty  hath  done  great  things  to 
me,  and  holy  is  His  name.'  Not  a  word  in 
glory  of  herself;  her  whole  soul  is  filled 
with  the  greatness  and  goodness  of  God, 
to  whom  she  gives  all  the  glory  of  the 
great  things  done  to  her. 

"Who  can  say  how  much  the  study  and 
meditation  of  her  example,  of  her  perfect 
humility,  to  which  the  honors  paid  her  by 
the  faithful  constantly  lead,  have  done  to 
destroy  that  pagan  pride,  and  to  change  the 
pagan  idolatry  of  self  into  the  worship  of 
the  Living  God,  and  to  promote  that 
meekness  and  sweetness  of  temper,  that 
respect  for  the  poor  and  lowly,  and  that 
tenderness  and  compassion  so  different 
from  anything  we  find  in  the  heathen 
world,  and  so  characteristic  of  Christian 
nations?  How  greatly  has  her  example 
helped  to  realize  'the  truth  of  what  she 
continues  to  chant:  'His  mercy  is  from 
generation  to  generation,  to  them  that 
fear  Him.  He  hath  showed  might  in  His 
arm;  He  hath  scattered  the  proud  in  the 
conceit  of  their  heart;  He  hath  put  down 
the  mighty  from  their  seat,  and  hath 
exalted  the  humble.  He  hath  filled  the 
hungry  with  good  things,  and  the  rich  He 
hath  sent  empty  away'!" 

Under  Christianity  marriage  is  made 
holy  and  elevated  to  a  Sacrament; 
woman's  rights  are  recognized,  and 
motherhood  is  invested  with  a  significance, 
a  sacredness,  an  awe  even,  never  before 


conceived  of  as  belonging  to  it.  Before  t  he 
establishment  of  the  Church,  (as  still 
outside  of  it),  marriage  is  a  mere  contract, 
like  any  other  bargain  and  sale;  woman  is 
a  drudge  or  a  luxury,  man's  accomplice  in 
pleasure  or  ambition;  and  child-murder  is 
legalized  or  connived  at.  The  difference  is 
due  to  the  homage  Catholics  pay  to  Mary. 
"When  God  Himself  condescends  to  be 
born  of  woman,  and  woman  becomes  the 
mother  of  Him  who  is  the  Creator  of 
heaven  and  earth,  and  the  Redeemer  and 
Saviour  of  mankind,  motherhood  becomes 
almost  a  divine  function,  and  something  to 
be  treated  with  reverence  and  awe;  for 
not  only  did  Mary  bring  forth  Him  who 
is  Christ  the  Lord,  but  every  human 
mother  brings  forth  a  child  destined,  if  I 
true  to  the  law  of  his  Maker,  to  be  one 
with  Christ,  one  with  God. 

"It  is  a  great  and  sacred  thing  to  be  the 
mother  of  a  child,  if  we  look  to  the  destiny 
to  which  every  child  may  aspire.  The  I 
mother  who  feels  it,  feels  the  sacredness  of 
her  relation  as  mother,  the  high  duty  it 
imposes,  and  studies  diligently  to  train  up  | 
her  child  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  in  sole 
reference  to  his  lofty  destiny.  This  esti- 
mate of  her  own  dignity  and  sacred  func- 
tion reacts  on  the  father,  and  compels  him 
to  think  seriously  on  his  relation  and 
solemn  duties  and  responsibilities. 

"Now,  devotion  to  Mary,  the  honor  we 
pay  to  her  in  motherhood,  brings  all  these  | 
great  and  solemn  truths  home  to  our  minds 
and  our  hearts.   We  are  led  to  reflect  on  the  j 
great  mysteries  of  the  Incarnation,  regen-  j 
eration,  and  glorification,  and  thence  on 
the    awful    dignity    of    motherhood,    the 
sacredness  and  worth  of  every  child  born 
of  woman,  and  the  obligation  to  reverence 
the    mother,    to    provide   for   the    child's  I 
present  and  future  welfare,  and  to  conform 
society  itself,   so  far  as   may  be,   to  the 
virtues  honored  in  the  maternity  of  Mary. 
From  this  it  is  easy  to  see  that  devotion 
to    Mary   has,   and    must    have,   a    most 
salutary  influence  on  all  domestic  relations, 
on  the  manners  and  morals,  and  therefore 
on  the  progress,  of  society  itself." 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


483 


"Mary  is  the  Mother  of  chaste  love," 
Dr.  Brownson  writes  in  another  place; 
"and  chaste  love  is  that  which  in  our  age 
is  most  rare.  The  predominating  sin  of 
our  times  is  that  of  impurity,  at  once  the 
cause  and  the  effect  of  the  modern  senti- 
mental philosophy.  All  the  popular  litera- 
ture of  the  day  is  unchaste  and  impure, 
and  it  boldly  denounces  marriage  as 
slavery,  and  demands  that  loose  reins  be 
given  to  the  passions.  Catholic  morality 
is  scouted  as  impracticable  and  absurd ; 
law  is  regarded  as  fallen  into  desuetude; 
intellect  is  derided;  reason  is  looked  upon 
as  superfluous,  if  not  tyrannical;  and  the 
heart  is  extolled  as  the  representative  of 
God  on  earth.  Feeling  is  honored  as  the 
voice  of  the  Most  High,  and  whatever 
tends  to  restrain  or  control  it  is  held  to  be 
a  direct  violation  of  the  will  of  our  Creator. 

"Hence  passion  is  deified,  and  nothing 
is  held  to  be  sacred  but  our  transitory  feel- 
ings. Hence  everywhere  we  find  an  im- 
patience of  restraint,  a  loud  and  indignant 
protest  against  all  rule  and  measure  in  our 
affections  and  all  those  usages  and  customs 
of  past  times  intended,  as  safeguards  of 
manners  and  morals,  and  a  universal 
demand  for  liberty,  which  simply  means 
unbounded  license  to  follow  our  impure  or 
perverted  instincts,  and  to  indulge  our 
most  turbulent  and  unchaste  passions 
without  shame  or  remorse. 

"The  last,  perhaps  the  only  remedy  for 
this  fearful  state  of  things  is  to  be  sought 
in  promoting  and  extending  the  worship 
of  Mary.  Society  is  lapsing,  if  it  has  not 
already  lapsed,  into  the  state  in  which 
Christianity  found  it  some  eighteen 
hundred  years  ago,  and  a  new  conversion 
of  the  Gentiles  has  become  necessary. 
Christian  society  can  be  restored  only  by 
the  same  faith  and  worship  which  originally 
created  it.  Jesus  and  Mary  are  now,  as 
then,  the  only  hope  of  the  world,  and  their 
power  and  their  good-will  remain  undi- 
minished.  The  worship  of  Mary  as 
Mother  of  God  redeemed  the  pagan  world 
from  its  horrible  corruptions,  introduced 
and  sustained  the  Christian  family,  and 


secured  the  fruits  of  the  Sacrament  of 
Marriage.  It  will  do  no  less,  if  cultivated, 
for  our  modern  world;  and  if  we  regard  as 
one  of  the  favorable  signs  that  better 
times  are  at  hand,  the  increasing  devotion 
to  Mary.  .  .  . 

"Nowhere  is  the  change  in  regard  to 
devotion  to  Mary  as  the  Mother  of  God 
more  striking  than  among  the  Catholics 
of  Great  Britain  and  of  our  own  country. 
This  devotion  is  peculiarly  Catholic,  and 
any  increase  of  it  is  an  indication  of  reviv- 
ing life  and  fervor  among  Catholics;  and  if 
Catholics  had  only  the  life  and  fervor  they 
should  have,  the  whole  world  would  soon 
bow  in  humble  reverence  at  the  foot  of  the 
Cross.  It  is  owing  to  our  deadness,  our 
lack  of  zeal,  our  lack  of  true  fervor  in  our 
devotions,  that  so  many  nations  and  such 
multitudes  of  souls  are  still  held  in  the 
chains  of  darkness,  under  the  dominion 
of  Satan. 

"There  are  two  ways  in  which  the  love 
and  service  of  Mary  will  contribute  to 
redeem  society  and  restore  Christian 
purity:  the  one  the  natural  influence  of 
such  love  and  service  on  the  heart  of  her 
worshippers,  and  the  other  the  graces 
which  in  requital  she  obtains  from  her  Son 
and  bestows  on  her  clients.  Mary  is  the 
Mother  of  chaste  love.  The  nature  of  love 
is  always  to  unite  the  heart  to  the  object 
loved — to  become  one  with  it,  and,  as 
far  as  possible,  to  become  it.  Love  always 
makes  us  like  the  beloved,  and  we  always 
become  like  the  object  we  really  and 
sincerely  worship.  If  we  may  say,  'Like 
worshippers,  like  gods,'  we  may  with 
equal  truth  say,  'Like  gods,  like  worship- 
pers.' The  love  of  Mary  tends  naturally, 
from  the  nature  of  all  love,  to  unite  us  to 
her  by  a  virtue  kindred  to  her  own.  We 
can  not  love  her,  dwell  constantly  on  her 
merits,  on  her  excellences,  her  glories, 
without  being  constantly  led  to  imitate 
her  virtues,  to  love  and  strive  after  her 
perfect  purity,  her  deep  humility,  her 
profound  submission,  and  her  unreserved 
obedience.  Her  love  checks  all  lawlessness 
of  the  affections,  all  turbulence  of  the 


484 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


passions,  all  perturbation  of  the  senses; 
fills  the  heart  with  sweet  peace  and  a 
serene  joy,  restores  to  the  soul  its  self- 
command,  and  maintains  perfect  order 
and  tranquillity  within. 

"Something  of  this  effect  is  produced 
whenever  we  love  any  truly  virtuous 
person.  Our  novelists  have  marked  it,  and 
on  the  strength  of  it  seek  to  reform  the 
wild  and  graceless  youth  by  inspiring  in 
his  heart  a  sincere  love  for  a  pure  and 
virtuous  woman;  and  the  most  dissolute 
are  restrained,  their  turbulence  is  calmed, 
their  impure  desires  are  repressed  in  the 
presence  of  true  virtue.  If  this  is  so  when 
the  beloved  is  but  an  ordinary  mortal, 
how  much  more  when  the  beloved,  the 
one  with  whom  we  commune,  and  whose 
virtues  we  reverence  and  long  to  possess,  is 
Mary  the  Mother  of  God,  the  simplest 
and  lowliest  of  handmaidens,  but  sur- 
passing in  true  beauty,  loveliness,  and 
worth  all  the  other  creatures  of  God! 

"When  the  type  of  female  worth  and 
excellence,  the  ideal  of  woman,  is  Mary, 
society  is  not  only  in  some  degree  virtuous, 
but  must  be  continually  rising  to  sublimer 
excellence,  to  more  heroic  sanctity.  The 
advantage  of  having  Mary  always  before 
the  minds  and  hearts  of  our  daughters,  as 
their  model  in  humility,  purity,  sweetness, 
and  obedience,  in  simplicity,  modesty,  and 
love,  is  not  easily  estimated.  Trained  up 
in  the  love  and  imitation  of  her  virtues, 
they  are  trained  to  be  wives  and  mothers, 
or  holy  virgins,  spouses  of  Jesus  Christ, 
sisters  of  the  afflicted,  and  mothers  of 
the  poor. 

"But  I  should  be  wanting  to  my  own 
faith,  and  do  far  less  honor  to  Our  Lady 
than  I  would,  if  I  stopped  here,  and 
limited  the  effects  of  devotion  to  the 
natural  effects  of  her  example.  This 
influence  is  great,  and  we  can  not  hold 
intimate,  loving,  and  reverent  intercourse 
with  the  wise,  the  great,  and  the  good, 
without  assimilating  something  to  our  own 
minds,  hearts,  and  life.  .  .  .  But  I  do  not 
believe  that  meditation  on  her  virtues 
could  alone  suffice  to  produce  and  sustain 


the  effects  I  have  adduced,  any  more  than 
the  simple  example  of  Our  Lord  Himself 
would  have  sufficed  to  redeem  the  world, 
and  elevate  souls  to  union  with  God.  .  .  . 
What  we  most  need  is  not  simply  instruc- 
tion or  precept,  but  strength.  We  are 
weak,  and  our  appetites,  passions,  pro- 
pensities are  too  strong  for  us,  and  enslave 
us.  We  feel  ourselves  sinking;  the  waves 
are  closing  over  us,  and  in  fear  and  agony 
we  cry  out:  'Lord,  save  us:  we  perish! 
Holy  Mother  of  God,  pray  for  us,  or  we 
are  lost!'  The  soul  oppressed  with  a  deep 
sense  of  its  weakness,  of  its  inability  to 
conquer  by  its  own  strength  in  the  battle 
of  life,  calls  out  for  supernatural  aid;  and 
it  is  precisely  this  aid,  so  much  needed, 
and  which  enables  us  to  resist  and  over- 
come our  enemies,  that  I  dare  believe, 
and  avow  that  I  believe,  the  Blessed 
Mary  can  and  does  obtain  for  those  who 
fly  to  her  protection. 

"In  conclusion,  I  will  say  that  efforts  to 
increase  devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin 
are,  to  me,  among  the  most  encouraging 
signs  that  God  has  not  forgotten  us;  'that 
there  are  still  faith  and  love  on  the  earth, 
and  that  there  is  still  a  recuperative  prin- 
ciple in  Christian  society.  I  thank  God  for 
society  itself,  that  there  are  still  those  who 
delight  to  call  themselves  children  of  Mary, 
and  to  keep  alive  in  our  cold,  heartless 
world  the  memory  of  her  virtues.  While 
she  is  loved  and  reverenced  there  is  hope 
for  society;  and  most  grateful  am  I  to 
God  that  the  hard  reasonings  of  this 
reasonless  age,  and  the  chilling  sneers  of 
the  proud,  the  conceited,  the  worldly,  the 
corrupt,  have  not  frightened  all  out  of 
their  deep,  ardent,  and  simple  devotion 
to  her  who  is  'blessed  among  wome.n.' 

"If  I  have  not  been  able  to  speak  fit 
words  in  honor  of  Our  Lady,  as  I  fear  I 
have  not,  let  me  at  least  avow  that  I  honor 
and  cherish  in  my  heart  of  hearts  all 
who  honor  her,  and  show  their  devotion  to 
her  by  imitating  her  virtues.  They  are  the 
real  philanthropists;  they  are  the  real 
moral,  the  true  social  reformers,  and  are 
doing  more  for  society,  for  the  progress  of 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


485 


virtue,  intelligence,  wisdom,  than  all  our 
statesmen  and  philosophers  put  together. 
They  love  and  honor  God  in  loving  and 
honoring  His  Mother,  and  I  love  and  honor 
them;  and,  all  unworthy  as  I  am,  I  pray 
them  to  have  the  charity  to  pray  her  to 
bestow  on  me  a  Mother's  blessing,  and 
to  obtain  for  me  the  grace,  when  my 
life's  pilgrimage  is  ended,  to  behold  the 
.face  of  her  Divine  Son,  my  Lord  and 
my  God." 

Much  more  has  Dr.  Brownson  written  on 
the  devotion  to  the  Mother  of  God,  and 
particularly  on  the  principles  which  under- 
lie it,  and  on  its  relation  to  the  Incarnation, 
that  central  mystery,  from  which  spring  all 
the  dogmas  and  practices  of  the  Church. 
But  further  extracts  would  extend  this 
article  beyond  our  limits,  though  we  may 
hereafter  recur  to  the  subject,  and  present 
some  extracts  on  the  reasonableness  of  the 
worship  of  Mary,  as  well  as  some  of  his 
answers  to  the  arguments  of  non-Catholics 
against  it.  The  extracts  we  have  here 
made  sufficiently  attest  the  importance  he 
attached  to  this  devotion,  and  show  how 
earnest  he  was  in  his  effort  to  extend  and 
increase  it.  We  may  well  trust  that  he 
now  beholds  the  face  of  Mary's  Divine 
Son,  his  Lord  and  his  God,  as  he  so 
humbly  prayed;  for  St.  Bernard  and 
others  assure  us  that  the  most  certain 
marks  of  predestination  is  sincere  devo- 
tion to  the  Mother  of  our  Redeemer. 

O  MARY,  we  also  have  to  suffer  in  this 
world,  and  no  one  can  tell  what  trials  will 
be  ours!  Perhaps  one  day  we  shall  suffer 
alone,  far  from  those  dear  to  us.  Come 
then,  O  Mary,  O  Mother, — come  when  we 
appeal  to  you !  Place  on  our  lips  the  name 
so  often  invoked  from  our  earliest  years, — 
the  name  which  calms,  which  purifies  all 
who  hear  it.  O  Mary,  who  wast  found 
worthy  to  console  and  strengthen  the 
Man-God  on  the  road  to  Calvary,  regard 
man's  weakness,  —  behold  our  weakness, 
and  turn  on  us  that  motherly  look  which 
lightens  the  weight  of  the  cross! 

— Abbe  Perreyve. 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


XXII. CUERNAVACA. 

RTHUR  BODKIN  was  com- 
manded to  Cuernavaca,  a  charm- 
ing spot  in  the  Tierras  Calientes, 
about  fifty  miles  south  of  the  capital. 
This  retreat  was  discovered  by  Carlotta 
upon  one  of  her  journeys  through  the 
country;  and  she  was  so  taken  with  it 
that  she  sent  for  Maximilian,  who  became 
equally  enthusiastic.  It  was  indeed  a  very 
garden  in  the  heart  of  a  valley  embosomed 
in  the  richest  flowers,  foliage,  and  greenery 
of  the  tropics.  At  first  their  Majesties 
resided  in  an  ancient  building  formerly 
occupied  by  Cortez;  but  so  enchanted 
were  the  imperial  couple  with  their  sur- 
roundings that  a  tract  of  land  of  about  six 
acres,  at  Acapanizingo  close  by,  was  pur- 
chased, and  a  house  containing  but  five 
rooms  and  a  swimming  bath  erected.  To 
be  "commanded"  to  Cuernavaca  was 
one  of  the  highest  honors;  since  it  was 
here  that  the  Emperor  and  Empress 
played  *at  being  common,  ordinary  work- 
ing people,  and  were  as  simple  and  unas- 
suming in  their  mode  of  life  as  any  of  the 
hacendados  around  them. 

Long  before  Arthur  had  reached  this 
delightful  spot  his  eye  had  been  feasted  by 
the  grand  and  beautiful  scenery.  Beneath 
him,  deep  ravines  seemingly  fathomless; 
above  him,  massive  rocks  standing  like 
sentinels  guarding  the  entrance  to  this 
Adamless  Eden;  while  flowers  of  gor- 
geous hue  flaunted  their  color  glories, — 
their  exquisite  perfumes  stealing  into  the 
senses,  accompanied  by  the  delicious 
melody  of  birds. 

"Be  the  mortial,  but  this  bates  the 
Dargle,  Masther  Arthur,- — -aye,  bedad,  wid 
Powerscoort  Watherfall  thrown  in!"  was 
Rody  O'Flynn's  observation,  as,  open- 
mouthed  and  lost  in  admiration,  he  gazed 
around  him. 

Bodkin,   who  was  still  weak  and  pale-, 


486 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


fairly  quivered  with  excitement  as  the 
mules  rattled  past  the  guard  house  at 
the  entrance  to  the  avenue;  and  he  felt 
sick  and  faint  when,  upon  turning  a 
clump  of  brilliant  blossoming  shrubs,  he 
beheld  the  Emperor  grubbing  up  a  flower 
root,  the  Empress  beside  him.  Maximilian 
was  attired  in  a  grey  short  jacket,  with 
a  green  cloth  collar,  and  trimmed  with 
green,  the  buttons  being  of  gold.  He  wore 
no  vest.  His  trousers  were  dove  colored, 
turned  up,  after  the  fashion  of  our  Ameri- 
can jeunesse  dore  of  to-day  when  it  rains 
in  London.  His  hat  was  of  pure  white  felt. 
The  Empress  wore  a  soft,  flowing  white 
dress  and  a  shawl.  She  it  was  who  first 
turned  to  the  newcomers,  and,  saying 
something  to  her  husband,  advanced  to 
meet  them. 

Arthur  leaped  from  the  carriage — -a.  very 
painful  effort, — and,  removing  his  hat, 
bowed  low. 

Carlotta  extended  her  hand,  which  he 
respectfully  raised,  pressing  her  finger  tips 
to  his  lips. 

"I  am  so  delighted  to  find  that  you 
are  convalescent,  Herr  von  Bodkin!"  she 
exclaimed. 

"I  can  never  sufficiently  thank  you, 
sir,"  added  Maximilian,  coming  up  at 
that  moment. 

"And  you,  too!"  cried  the  Empress 
to  Rody,  who  stood  grinning  from  ear  to 
ear,  and  touching  a  wisp  of  hair  that 
festooned  his  forehead  every  half  minute. 

"This  way,  Herr  yon  Bodkin.  There  is 
a  seat  here  with  a  charming  view  of  the 
valley." 

Her  Majesty  led  the  way,  Arthur 
walking  beside  the  Emperor.  In  an  em- 
bowered nook  were  three  or  four  cane 
chairs  with  hoods.  Seating  herself,  she 
motioned  Arthur  to  do  the  same;  while 
Maximilian  offered  him  a  cigar  from  an 
ivory  case  adorned  with  the  Mexican  arms 
in  gold. 

"You  come,  too!"  exclaimed  Carlotta, 
beckoning  and  smiling  to  Rody,  who 
shuffled  up  as  though  his  feet  were  actually 
shod  with  lead. 


"Now,  Herr  von  Bodkin,  let  me  thank 
you  once  more  ere  I  hear  the  story  of  your 
escape  from  the  hands  of  that  terrible 
man,  Mazazo.  And  to  think,"  she  said 
with  a  shudder,  "that  my  husband  trusted 
him!  Max,"  she  added,  gaily,  "you  seem 
to  me  to  trust  the  wrong  man — always." 

"But  never  the  wrong  woman,"  replied 
the  Emperor,  gallantly. 

Arthur  Bodkin  very  briefly  told  his 
story, — Rody  meantime  nodding  silent 
approval,  and  following  his  master's  words 
with  his  lips. 

"It  was  gallantly  done,  sir,"  said  the 
Emperor;  "and  we  have  since  learned 
that  there  was  a  force  of  one  thousand 
men  concealed  in  a  wood  about  two  miles 
farther  down  the  road.  My  God!"  he 
added,  "it  was  a  fearfully  narrow  escape. 
And  were  it  not  for  your  vigilance  and 
chivalry — •' ' 

"O  sire!  I  did  almost  nothing,"  inter- 
posed Arthur.  "All  the  credit  is  due  to 
my  faithful  friend,  O'Flynn  here.  It  was 
he  who  discovered  that  there  was  some- 
thing wrong,  and  it  is  to  his  sagacity 
that  we  owe  the  safety  of  our  beloved 
Empress." 

"Oh,  it's  dhramin*  he  is,  yer  Majesty," 
burst  in  Rody.  "It's  the  faver  that's  still 
workin'  at  him.  Sure  I  only  done  as  lie 
bid  me.  He's  not  responsible,  ycr  Royal 
Majesties;  but  he'll  be  all  right  in  a 
few  days.  Me,  indeed!  He's  Bodkin  of 
Ballyboden,  no  less;  and  I'm  plain  Rody 
O'Flynn." 

Rody,  after  a  few  questions,  was  dis- 
missed to  the  house,  where,  as  he  afterward 
told  Arthur,  he  was  "thrated  like  a  lord, 
and  had  lashin's  and  lavin's." 

Luncheon  having  been  announced,  Bod- 
kin was  for  leaving. 

"Not  at  all,  Mr.  Bodkin!"  cried  the 
Empress.  "You  will  lunch  with  us.  We 
have  a  very  small  household — one  gentle- 
man and  one  lady." 

That  one  lady  must  be  Alice,  and  poor 
Arthur     almost     felt     inclined     U>     bolt;    j 
although  his  most  eager  desire  was  to  see 
her,  even  if  only  for  one  moment.    The    | 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


4S7 


ne\vs  of  her  en^a^finrnt  to  Count  von 
Kalksburg  was  accepted  by  Bodkin  as  a 
brave  man  receives  his  death  sentence. 
Me  made  no  moan;  he  bowed  to  his 
Kismet.  Questions  he  would  riot  ask,  and 
her  name  never  passed  his  lips.  During 
his  illness  Count  Nugent  had  arrived 
from  Austria;  but  Arthur  had  not  met 
him,  being  compelled  to  remain  very 
quiet,  and  to  live  at  Tacubaya  on  account 
of  the  baths.  He  was  now  about  to 
meet .  Alice,  the  fiancee  of  another.  It  was 
a  cruel  jest  of-  fate.  Gladly  would  he 
have  avoided  her;  and  even  now  he 
would  plead  illness,  but  the  inexorable 
hand  was  at  work,  and  the  ordeal  must  be 
gone  through.  He  must  tread  the  red-hot 
ploughshares  of  "his  misery. 

How  should  he  behave?  How  address 
her?  Ought  he  to  congratulate  her  upon 
the  joyous  news? 

"Ivet  us  show  Herr  von  Bodkin  the 
manito,"  said  the  Empress,  turning  into 
a  narrow  path,  and  stopping  opposite 
a  tree  about  twenty  feet  high.  This  tree 
was  covered  with  flesh-colored  blossoms  in 
the  shape  of  a  bird's  claw, — hence  manito, 
or  little  hand.  "This  is  the  only  manito 
in  Mexico,"  said  Carlotta;  "and  we  are 
very  proud  of  it.  Now  for  luncheon.  I 
trust  that  you  have  a  good  appetite ;  but 
are  you  on  any  diet?" 

' '  No,  your  Majesty :  I  can  eat  anything, ' ' 
said  Arthur. 

They  were  met  at  the  entrance  by 
Count  Zichy,  one  of  the  grand  chamber- 
lains, who  led  the  way  to  the  dinner 
room  backward,  bowing  repeatedly.  He 
wore  no  uniform  or  court  dress  of  any 
description.  Awaiting  them  was  a  lady. 
The  sudden  change  from  the  fierce  sun- 
light of  Mexico  into  the  semi-darkness  of 
the  salon  almost  blinded  Bodkin;  but  so 
soon  as  his  eyes  had  become  accustomed 
to  the  partial  obscurity,  he  found  that  the 
lady  was — the  Countess  Zichy,  and  not 
Alice  Nugent. 

Etiquette  compelled  the  Emperor  and 
Empress  to  eat  at  a  separate  table,  so 
Arthur  sat  down  with  the  Count  and 


Countess;  and,  after  the  first  fierce 
of  bitter  disappointment,  he  IVlt  rather 
relieved  at  the  absence  of  (lie  woman  who 
had  held  his  heart.  The  conversation  was 
carried  on  in  English,  and  as  the  Countess 
was  a  very  genial  gossip,  Arthur  learned  a 
great  deal  of  what  had  been  going  on 
during  his  enforced  absence. 

"Have  you  met  Count  Nugent?"  asked 
the  'Countess. 

"In    Ireland— yes." 

"Miss  Nugent  seems  greatly  delighted." 

"Ah!" 

"She  has  plucked  up  wonderfully  since 
his  arrival." 

"Really!" 

"You  have  not  seen  her  since  your 
return?" 

"I  have  not  had  the  honor." 

"She  ought  to  have  been  here  to-day, 
but  she  left  yesterday  for  Chapultepec. 
You  must  have  met  her  on  the  road. 
She  had  an  escort  of  the  Hussars  of  the 
Empress." 

Arthur  could  have  groaned  aloud.  He 
had  met  the  carriage  drawn  by  sixteen 
mules;  he  had  met  the  escort  of  the 
Empress'  Hussars,  conspicuous  by  the 
crimson  jackets  and  gold  facings.  And, 
knowing  that  he  was  coming  to  Cuerna- 
vaca,  Alice  Nugent  had  taken  a  hurried 
departure!  This  was  as  bitter  as  death. 

The  Empress  smoked  a  cigarette,  Arthur 
having  the  honor  of  presenting  her  with 
a  light.  He  remarked  that  the  imperial 
lady  never  made  mention  of  Alice  or 
inquired  of  the  course  of  true  love,  as  she 
had  graciously  done  at  Chapultepec. 

"Mr.  Bodkin,"  said  the  Emperor,  "you 
want  change  of  air  and  scene,  and  I  shall 
commission  you  to  go  to  the  United  States, 
to  Washington,  on  a  matter  requiring 
absolute  secrecy.  I  know  that  I  can  rely 
upon  you.  Can  I  not,  Carlo?"  turning 
to  the  beautiful  woman  who  shared  his 
destiny. 

"Most  assuredly,"  she  said;  "and  to 
the  death." 

"This,  happily,  is  not  a  mission  fraught 
with  any  danger;  but  it  requires  tact  and 


488 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  English 
language.  You  will  receive  your  instruc- 
tions at  the  Palace.  Take  your  own  time. 
Do  not  endanger  your  health  by  any  rapid 
travel.  You  shall  go  down  to  Vera  Cruz 
by  easy  stages,  and  a  war-ship  will  land 
you  under  the  Stars  and  Stripes.  The 
nature  of  your  mission  will  be  explained 
to  you  by  Sefior  Iglesias.  And  now,  sir," 
rising,  "permit  me  once  again  to  thank 
you.  Wear  this  as  a  token  that  will 
ever  bring  you  to  me  wherever  I  may 
be,  and  ever  remind  me  of  my  debt  of 
gratitude."  And  removing  from  his  left 
hand  a  large  gold  ring  engraved  with  the 
Mexican  arms,  he  placed  it  on  Arthur's 
finger. 

Too  deeply  moved  to  utter  a  word, 
Bodkin  bowed. 

"And  this  from  me!"  exclaimed  the 
Empress,  hastily,  and  not  without  diffi- 
culty removing  a  small  gold  locket  set  in 
diamonds  from  the  chatelaine  she  always 
wore  dangling  from  her  belt.  "It  contains 
a  portrait,"  she  added;  "but  you  are  not 
to  open  it  until  I  give  you  special  permis- 
sion; then  my  motives  will  speak  for 
themselves.  One  word,  Herr  von  Bodkin," 
lowering  her  voice:  "I  have  not  spoken 
of  the  lady  you  love  for — a  reason.  Do 
not  despair.  All  is  not  lost  that  is  in 
danger.  A  pleasant  and  prosperous  voyage 
to  you!"  And  she  tendered  him  her  hand, 
which  he  reverently  kissed. 

The  Emperor  and  Empress  both  saw 
Arthur  to  his  carriage,  Maximilian  per- 
sonally assisting  him. 

"I  shall  send  you  a  friendly  introduction 
to  the  Austrian  Minister  at  Washington," 
said  the  Emperor.  "Start  when  you  feel 
well  enough.  And  mind — no  hurry!" 

At  this  juncture  Rody  O'Flynn  sidled 
up  to  the  carriage  from  behind  the  house 
bowing  and  scraping  and  shuffling  with 
persistent  vigor.  But  he  could  manage  to 
say  only:  "God  be  good  to  yer  Royal 
Majesties!" 

As  Bodkin  turned  to  take  a  last  look, 
the  Empress  had  placed  her  hand  upon 
her  husband's  shoulder,  while  with  the 


other  she   waved  an   adieu,   the   Emperor 
lifting  his  hat. 

"Masther  Arthur,"  said  Rody  from 
beside  the  driver,  after  they  had  cleared 
the  guard  house,  "would  ye  mind  sindin' 
this  home,  sir,  as  a  present  from  yerself 
to  yer  darlint  mother  and  the  young 
ladies?  It's  not  a  haporth  of  use  to  me, 
and  would  be  sure  for  to  bring  me  into 
mischief.  Don't  refuse  me,  sir;  and  I 
know  ye  wouldn't  like  me  for  to  get  into 
thrubble."  And  he  handed  Arthur  a 
warrant  upon  the  Privy  Purse  signed  by 
the  Empress  for  five  thousand  dollars. 

(To  be  continued.) 


April  in  Ireland. 

BY    P.  J.   COLEMAN. 

'"INTO  the  woods  of  Arnarec  young  April  came 

unseen, 
Her  hair  a  flame  of  fairy  gold,  her  gown  a  misty 

green. 
She  breathed  upon  the  mossy  banks  and  left  a 

primrose  scent, 
And   all   the  little   amorous   winds   ran   after   as 

she  went. 

She  breathed  upon  the  whitethorn  bush  and  left 

a  fragrance  sweet, 
And  little  golden  buttercups  laughed  up  about 

her  feet; 
And    where   she   touched    the   tender    grass    and 

where  her  steps  were  set 
She  left  a  trail  of  daisies  white  and  purple  violet. 

She  crossed  the  orchard's  dusky  floor,  and 
branches  that  were  bare 

Broke  into  foamy  bloom  and  flung  their  snow- 
flakes  on  her  hair; 

She  glimmered  o'er  the  garden  mold,  and  at  the 
fountain's  brink 

The  crocus  held  its  cup  of  gold  unto  her  lips  to 
drink. . 

.But   who   hath   seen   her   winsome   face,   though 

all  of  her  be  fain? 
Though  all  men  love  her  airy  grace,  none  may 

her  steps  detain. 
A  fleeting  glimpse,  a  vision  brief  is  all  she  deigns 

to  give, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


489 


Her  dryad  smile  'twixt  flower  and  leaf  half-hid 
and  fugitive. 

She  trembles  on  the  mountain  tops,  she  twinkles 

o'er  the  plain, 
But  round  her  form  in  field  and  copse  she  draws 

a  mist  of  rain; 
And  often  in  the  winds  of  eve  you  hear  her  sing 

or  sigh, 
Or  in  the  twilight  shadows  grieve,  but  none  to 

her  come  nigh. 

Ah,   does  she  sigh   for  faces   gone,   or   grieve  in 

rain  and  mist 
For  tender  maids  who   keep  alone   their  tearful 

"twilight  tryst? 
Or  does  she  share  the  hopeless   tears  of  broken 

hearts  that  mourn 
And  watch  for  those  who  through  the  years  shall 

nevermore  return, — 

Who  nevermore  to  troth  or  tryst  shall  come  at 

evening's  hour 
To  rosy  lips  of  love  they  kissed  when  fields  were 

last  in  flower? 
Or  does  she  sob  for  Hrin's  sons  who  crossed  the 

waters  grey 
And  fell  amid  the  roaring  guns  in   Flanders  far 

away? 

Ah,  lonely  love  will  pine  in  grief,  though  April's 

flowers  return, 
Nor  April's  smile  may  bring  relief  to  hearts  that 

wail  and   mourn. 
For  memory  will  wake  and  sting  when  April's  in 

the  lane; 
But,  oh,  may  Christ  sweet  comfort  bring  to  all 

who  watch  in   vain! 

SCIENCE,  without  the  idea  of  God  as 
the  beginning  and  end  of  knowledge,  is 
as  the  empty  and  withered  slough  of  the 
snake;  and  the  man,  however  "wise  and 
learned"  and  "well  conducted,"  who  has 
freed  himself  in  thought  from  the  happy 
bondage  of  that  idea,  is  among  the  most 
sordid  of  slaves,  and  viler  and  more 
miserable  than  the  most  abandoned 
profligate  who  is  still  vexed  by  a  con- 
science or  even  a  superstition.  The  latter, 
though  miserable,  is  still  alive;  but  the 
former  is  dead,  and  feels  "no  bonds  in 
his  death," — Coventry  Patmore, 


A  Manor-House  with  a  Tragic  Memory. 


BY    THE    COUNfESS    D13    COURSON. 


NEAR  the  dense  forest  of  La  Hunau- 
daye,  on  the  confines  of  Brittany, 
stands  the  manor-house  of  La  Guyomarais. 
It  is  a  long,  one-storied  building,  with  a 
square  tower  at  one  end.  In  front  is  a 
courtyard,  into  which  open  the  stables 
and  outhouses;  at  the  rear,  a  large 
kitchen-garden,  separated  by  a  moat  from 
a  small  wood  called  the  "Vieux  vSemis." 
The  place  is  even  now  difficult  of  access; 
the  roads  that  lead  to  it  lie  between  high 
banks,  and  a  century  ago  they  were  almost 
impassable  during  the  winter  months. 

At  the  time  of  the  Revolution  of  1790 
the  proprietor  of  the  manor  was  Messire 
Joseph  de  la  Motte  de  la  Guyomarais,  a 
gentleman  of  good  fortune  and  position. 
His  wife,  Marie  Jeanne  de  Micault  de 
Mainville,  was  unusually  intelligent  and 
handsome,  and  seems  to  have  been  an 
ideal  chatelaine,  kind-hearted,,  and  most 
hospitable.  Of  their  nine  children  only 
two  sons — Amaury  and  Casimir — and  two 
daughters — Agathc  arid  Hyacitithe- — sur- 
vived. The  family  led  an  uneventful  and 
prosperous  existence,  spending  the  summer 
at  their  country-house,  and  the  winter  in 
the  neighboring  town  of  Lainballe. 

In  1793,  however,  contrary  to  his  usual 
habits,  Monsieur  de  la  Guyomarais  was 
still  living  in  the  country  in  January.  The 
state  of  France  was  alarming  enough. 
The  King  and  his  family  were  prisoners; 
anarchy  and  terror  reigned  throughout  the 
kingdom.  The  Breton  gentleman  probably 
imagined  that  at  a  time  when  gentle  birth 
was  a  heinous  crime  he  was  safer  in  his 
lonely  manor-house  than  at  Lamballe, 
where  it  was  more  difficult  to  escape  notice. 
Besides,  he  had  grave  reasons  to  expect 
that  the  Royalists  of  Brittany  would  soon 
rise  in  arms  against  the  Revolutionary 
government;  and  it  was  easier  to  make 
the  necessary  preparations  in  the  com- 
parative solitude  of  La  Guyomarais. 


490 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


The  progress  of  the  Revolution  had  been 
viewed  with  peculiar  horror  and  irritation 
in  Brittany,  the  classic  land  of  fidelity  to 
God  and  the  King ;  and  it  was  with'  en- 
thusiasm that  nobles  and  peasants  alike 
were  preparing  to  shake  oft7  its  detested 
yoke.  The  moving  spirit  of  the  conspiracy 
was  one  whose  name,  down  to  this  day,  is 
a  household  word  in  the  homesteads  and 
manors  of  Northern  Brittany.  Armand 
Marquis  de  la  Rouerie  possessed  the  gifts 
of  a  leader  of  men;  and  the  mission  which 
the  King's  brother  had  entrusted  to  him 
was  eminently  suited  to  his  ardent  and 
adventurous  spirit. 

He  was  born  in  1750,  and  thus  was 
forty- three  when  our  story  opens.  He 
had  lost  his  father  when  a  child,  and  at 
the  age  of  seventeen  had  entered  the 
Gardes  Franchises.  After  a  turbulent  and 
dissipated  youth,  he  went  to  America  and 
served  in  the  War  of  Independence,  dis- 
tinguishing himself  by  his  extraordinary 
courage  and  enterprising  spirit.  In  1783  he 
returned  to  France  and  married;  but  his 
wife  died  six  months  afterward. 

Armand  de  la  Rouerie  was  at  a  loss  how 
to  employ  his  restless  activity  when  the 
Revolution  broke  out;  he  stifled  in  a 
calm  and  regular  life:  danger  and  warfare 
seemed  his  natural  element.  Not  regularly 
handsome,  but  irresistibly  fascinating; 
bright,  witty,  with  the  careless  gaiety  of 
his  race;  revelling  in  wild  adventures  and 
hairbreadth  escapes,  he  was  one  of  those 
men  whom  we  can  not  picture  to  ourselves 
leading  the  ordinary  life  of  a  country 
gentleman.  The  excesses  of  the  Revolution 
had  roused  his  hatred  and  indignation,  and 
he  resolved  to  devote  his  "life  to  stemming 
the  rising  tide  of  anarchy. 

In  1791  he  went  to  London,  then  to 
Coblentz,  where  he  informed  the  King's 
brothers  of  the  plan  he  had  conceived.  He 
wished  to  establish  throughout  the  western 
provinces  a  vast  military  organization, 
the  members  of  which  should  be  recruited 
among  nobles  and  peasants  alike;  and, 
when  fully  armed  and  ready,  he  and  his 
men  were  to  rise  in  a  body,  march  toward 


Paris,  deliver  the  King  and  re-establish 
the  ancient  monarchy.  In  order"  to  do  this 
more  effectually,  he  resolved  to  combine 
the  rising  in  the  west  with  the  march  of 
the  allied  armies  under  Brunswick  through 
the  eastern  provinces.  He  fondly  imag- 
ined that  the  Revolutionary  government, 
threatened  in  two  opposite  directions  at  the 
same  moment,  must  necessarily  succumb. 

On  returning  to  Brittany,  he  began  to 
organize  his  partisans.  His  activity  had 
at  last  found  a  congenial  employment; 
and  his  project  was  adopted  with  enthu- 
siasm by  the  Bretons,  whose  religious 
sentiments  were  daily  wounded  by  the 
persecution  of  all  they  loved  and  revered. 
Nobles,  peasants,  aged  men,  mere  boys, 
offered  their  services  to  the  leader  with 
touching  self-forgetfulness.  In  every  town 
and  village  he  established  a  committee,  to 
whom  he  transmitted  his  instructions; 
and  in  an  incredibly  short  time  the  military 
organization  of  which  he  was  the  head  had 
spread  far  and  wide.  Now  and  then,  at 
night,  the  Marquis  assembled  his  followers 
in  his  ancestral  home  of  La  Rouerie; 
faithful  retainers  guarded  the  avenues  of 
the  park,  while  within  the  chateau  the 
chief  addressed  burning  words  to  his  men. 
In  those  early  days  all  seemed  bright  and 
hopeful;  no  prophetic  visions  of  the  hideous 
guillotine  flashed  before  the  ardent  spirits 
of  the  Breton  Royalists  as  they  eagerly 
drank  in  their  leader's  impassioned  words. 

Although  every  effort  was  made  to  keep 
these  preparations  secret,  soon  the  Revo- 
lutionary government  learned  that  a  vast 
conspiracy  had  been  set  on  foot  to  deliver 
the  King.  La  Rouerie  was  a  soldier  rather 
than  a  politician,  and  he  imprudently  gave 
his  views  to  a  young  doctor,  a  friend  of  his 
early  days,  whom  he  believed  to  be  sin- 
cerely attached  to  him.  This  doctor, 
named  Chevetel — in  reality  a  traitor  of 
the  deepest  dye, — basely  betrayed  his 
confidences  to  the  government,  and  diligent 
efforts  were  made  to  seize  upon  the  Royalist 
chief.  La  Rouerie,  while  he  never  dis- 
covered Chevetel 's  teachery,  was  aware 
that  the  government  had  set  a  price  on 


THE  AVK  MARIA 


401 


his  head,  and  Iris  lift'  beratne  one  of 
continual  adventures. 

On  one  occasion  the  famous  peasant 
leader,  Jean  Cottereau,  better  known  as 
Jean  Clionau,  one  of  La  Rouerie 's  most 
devoted  auxiliaries,  had  attacked  a  party 
of  Republican  soldiers  near  Laval.  Sud- 
denly  a  man  appeared,  dressed  as  a  peasant, 
but  whose  hands,  manners  and  language 
betrayed  his  rank;  he  took  the  lead,  and, 
having  routed  the  enemy,  disappeared  as 
suddenly  as  he  had  come.  Deeds  like  this 
kept  up  the  prestige  of  the  Marquis  among 
his  partisans,  and  his  very  name  had  a 
magical  effect  throughout  the  castles  and 
cottages  of  Brittany  and  Maine. 

It  had  been  agreed  between  La  Rouerie 
and  his  followers  that  as  soon  as  the  army 
under  Brunswick  entered  Chalons,  the 
general  rising  should  begin;  and  it  was 
with  sickening  disappointment  that  the 
anxious  Royalists  learned  how  the  army 
on  whose  success  they  counted  was  hastily 
retreating  toward  the  Rhine.  They  re- 
mained uncertain  how  to  act;  while  the 
government,  freed  from  immediate  anxiety 
as  to  the  eastern  provinces,  resolved  to 
spare  no  means  to  crush  the  impending 
rebellion  in  the  west,  and  in  the  first  place 
to  take  possession  of  the  Marquis  la 
Rouerie,  living  or  dead. 

Among  the  friendly  houses  where  the 
outlawed  chief  knew  he  would  receive  a 
cordial  welcome  was  the  manor  of  La 
Guyomarais.  Its  isolation  and  the  charac- 
ter of  its  inhabitants  made  it  a  compara- 
tively safe  refuge.  In  November  and 
December,  1792,  the  Marquis  had  passed 
some  hours  under  its  roof.  Toward  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning  on  the  i2th  of 
January,  1793,  suddenly  the  watch-dogs  of 
the  manor-house  began  to  bark  furiously. 
It  was  dark  and  a  rainy  night;  and  when 
he  peered  into  the  darkness,  Monsieur  de 
la  Guyomarais  perceived  three  horsemen 
in  the  court.  "It  is  I — Gasselin!"  ex- 
claimed one.  Immediately  the  master  of 
the  house  went  down;  the  horses  were 
speedily  led  to  the  stables ;  and  ' '  Gasselin, ' ' 
in  whom  Monsieur  de  la  Guyomarais 


instantly  recognized  La  Kmieric,  \v:is  taken 
to  the  best  bedroom,  a  room  that  to  this 
day,  after  the  lapse  of  more-  than  a  century, 
has  remained  as  it  was  on  that  fatal 
January  night. 

The  Marquis,  who  knew  that  his 
presence  was  a  cause  of  grave  peril  to  his 
hosts,  seldom  remained  more  than  one 
night  in  the  same  place.  He  was  detained, 
however,  at  La  Guyomarais,  first  by  the 
sudden  illness  of  his  faithful  valet,  St. 
Pierre;  then,  when  his  servant  was  better, 
by  a  severe  attack  of  fever  that  laid  him 
prostrate.  His  state  became  so  alarming 
that  Monsieur  de  la  Guyomarais  sent 
at  once  to  Lamballe  for  a  physician  to 
visit  the  supposed  "Gasselin,"  whose  real 
identity  was  unsuspected  even  by  the 
servants.  After  a  few  days  the  invalid 
seemed  out  of  danger.  Late  one  evening 
Monsieur  and  Madame  de  la  Guyomarais, 
with  their  daughter  Agathe,  were  sitting 
in  the  salon  on  the  ground-floor  and  re- 
joicing at  their  visitor's  improved  condi- 
tion, when  a  loud  knock  made  them  start 
to  their  feet.  An  unknown  voice  called  to 
them:  "If  you  have  any  one  whom  you 
wish  to  conceal,  make  haste:  your  house 
will  be  searched  to-night." 

When  the  chief  heard  of  the  warning, 
he  implored  his  hosts  to  carry  him  to  the 
neighboring  forest;  but  Monsieur  de  la 
Guyomarais  was  resolved  that,  if  possible, 
he  would  save  the  life  of  his  guest. 
He  immediately  wrapped  him  in  thick 
blankets,  placed  him  on  a  horse,  which  his 
son  Casimir  led  along  the  dark  and  muddy 
roads,  while  he  himself  and  St.  Pierre 
supported  the  sick  man.  Thus  they  suc- 
ceeded in  bringing  him  to  a  neighboring 
farmhouse,  where  he  was  laid  in  one  of 
those  high  Breton  beds,  made  like  cup- 
boards, and  with  only  a  small  aperture 
at  the  top. 

Toward  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  the 
search  party  arrived  at  the  chateau;  but 
Monsieur  de  la  Guyomarais  had  taken  all 
possible  precautions,  and  no  trace  was 
found  of  the  outlaw's  presence.  On  their 
way  back  to  Lamballe,  the  gendarmes 


11)2 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


enlrred  tin'  farmhouse  where  La  kotirrie 
lay,  and  asked  for  a  drink.  The  fanner's 
wile,  apparently  in  deep  distress,  was 
kneeling  mi  a  high  stnnl  in  front  of  a 
P.i (Inn  bed.  "Take  all  you  want,,"  she 
answered;  "I  can  not  leave  my  poor 
brother,  who  is  dying."  No  one  thought 
of  inspecting  the  siij)])osed  brother,  and 
again  I /a  koucric  was  saved.  Next  night 
he  was  taken  bark  to  I, a  Guyomarais,  and, 
in  spile  of  his  midnight  ride,  seemed  better; 
his  mind  was  as  active  as  ever,  and  full  of 
the  King's  trial,  which  was,  he  thought, 
still  going  on  in  Paris. 

On  the  -jolli  of  January,  at  nightfall, 
two  mysterious  visitors  arrived  at  the 
manor  house:  they  were  Kontcvicux,  one 
of  the  chief's  messengers;  and  Chafner, 
an  American,  who  had  followed  his  fortunes 
since-  the  American  campaign.  The  news 
they  brought  made  Monsieur  de  la 
(  iiiyoinarais  start  and  his  wife  weep  and 
tremble.  The  King  had  been  beheaded 
live  days  before,  on  the  2ist  of  January; 
La  koneric's  hiding-place  was  suspected, 
a  traitor  having  betrayed  his  whereabouts 
to  the  government. 

It  was  spontaneously  agreed  among  the 
four  that  both  items  of  news  should  be  kept 
from  the  Marquis;  in  his  weak  state  he 
was  unfit  to  bear  a  shock,  and  it  was  im- 
possible to  send  him  adrift  to  seek  another 
hiding-place.  Monsieur  de  la  Guyomarais 
carefully  instructed  St.  Pierre,  who  was 
in  the  habit  of  reading  the  newspaper 
to  his  master,  that  he  must  suppress 
next  day  all  the  passages  relating  to  the 
King's  execution. 

The  valet  promised  to  do  so;  but 
something  in  his  manner  when  he  began 
his  usual  reading  must  have  roused  the 
chief's  suspicions.  He  suddenly  inter- 
rupted the  man,  sent  him  downstairs  on  a 
trilling  errand,  and  a  few  minutes  later 
the  sound  of  a  heavy  fall  brought  the 
terrified  servant  back  to  his  master's 
room.  The  Marquis,  who  had  risen  from 
his  bed  to  seize  the  newspaper,  where 
he  read  the  fatal  news,  now  lay  on  the 
ground  raving, — calling  out  in  frantic 


excitement  that  the  murdered  Kim; 
imploring  his  assistance.  With  great 
difficulty  lie  was  raised,  eai  i  ird  to  hi* 
bed  and  held  then-  by  main  force.  During 
two  days  he  raved  unceasingly;  his  hosts 
never  left  him;  and  Doctor  le  Masson, 
who  had  been  sent  for  in  hot  haste  from 
vSt.  Servau,  helped  them  to  nurse  him. 
P>ut  no  care  could  avail,  and  on  the  ^oth 
of  January  the  outlaw  breathed  his  last. 

His  death  caused  his  hosts  as  much 
terror  as  sorrow.  It  was  impossible-  to 
make  it  known  to  the  authorities,  as  the 
mere  fact  of  his  presence  at  La  Guyomarais 
meant  death  to  those  who  had  received 
him  under  their  roof.  The  house  was 
suspected,  probably  watched,  and  might 
be  searched  any  moment.  It  was  impossi- 
ble, therefore,  to  carry  the  body  far;  and 
yet,  on  account  of  the.  precious  lives  that 
were  at  stake,  it  was  imperative  to  bury 
it  without  delay. 

Monsieur  de  la  Guyomarais,  his  wife 
and  their  friends  held  a  council;  and  it 
was  decided  that  the  Marquis  should  be 
buried  close  by,  in  the  little  wood  called 
the  Vietix  vSemis. 

The  next  night  the  dead  man,  wrapped 
in  a  sheet,  was  cautiously  carried  from 
his  room,  across  the  garden,  to  the  wood, 
where  Thebault  de  la  Chauvinais,  tutor 
to  the  lya  Guyomarais  boys,  and  Perrin 
the  gardener  had  dug  the  grave.  These 
two,  with  the  doctor,  the  valet,  and  I/a 
Rouerie's  American  follower,  alpne  were 
present  at  the  ghastly  scene.  The  grave 
had  been  filled  with  quicklime  to  hasten 
the  destruction  of  the  corpse;  and,  to 
mark  the  spot,  a  holly  bush  was  planted 
over  the  grave. 

Next  day  Madame  de  la  Guyomarais 
called  Perrin  the  gardener,  the  only  one 
of  her  servants  who  had  been  present  at 
the  burial,  and  solemnly  cautioned  him 
never  to  allude  to  the  subject  in  the 
presence  of  others.  Then  Monsieur  de  la 
Guyomarais  drew  up  a  document  in  which 
the  death  of  the  Marquis  was  formally 
attested,  and  the  place  of  his  burial 
minutely  described.  This  paper  was  signed 


THE  AVE  MAK1A 


493 


by  his  two  friends,  and  by  tin-  dodor;  it 
was  enclosed  in  a  sealed  bottle  and  buried 
tinder  an  oak-tree,  where  it  was  accidru 
tally  discovered  in  1^35.  La  Roue'rie's 
companions  and  the  doctor  then  left  the 
manor-house,  where,  after  these,  days  of 
keen  anxiety,  life  apparently  resumed  its 
even  course. 

Alas!  this  period  of  calm  lasted  less 
than  a  month.  The  death  of  their  chief 
had  naturally  been  communicated  to  his 
partisans  throughout  the  country,  and 
the  intelligence  reached  the  government 
in  Paris.  Its  representatives  decided  to 
crush  any  attempt  at  rebellion  by  an 
example  that  should  effectually  terrify 
the  Breton  Royalists.  On  the  25th  of 
1'Ybruary,  at-daybreak,  a  body  of  official, 
and  soldiers  surrounded  the  manor.  At 
their  head  was  a  man  named  Lalligaud, 
commissioned  by  the  government  to 
search  the  house.  This  he  did  minutely, 
but  no  sign  of  La  Rouerie's  presence  was 
discovered. 

Then  Lalligaud  established  a  species  of 
tribunal  in  the  room  where  the  Marquis 
died.  The  La  Guyomarais,  their  children 
and  servants  were  placed  under  arrest, 
and  prevented  from  speaking  to  one 
another;  and  later,  one  by  one,  they 
were  brought  before  the  tribunal  and 
cross-examined.  This  lasted  one  day  and 
one  night,  but  only  from  the  gardener 
Perrin  could  Lalligaud  draw  the  least 
information.  Perrin  was  given  to  drink, 
and  after  drinking  became  dangerously 
loquacious.  He  began  by  confessing  that 
an  "unknown  guest"  had  died  in  the 
house;  then  he  related  the  circumstances 
of  the  secret  burial;  finally,  after  having 
been  promised  a  hundred  gold  pieces,  he 
undertook  to  point  out  the  place  where  the 
mysterious  stranger  was  buried.  At  last 
Lalligaud  had  triumphed;  he  knew  that  if 
once  he  discovered  the  chief's  dead  body, 
there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  proving  his 
identity,  and,  as  a  consequence,  the  guilt 
of  those  who  had  given  him  shelter. 

After  that  long  day  and  night  of 
anguish,  during  which  Monsieur  de  la 


Ciuyoinarais  knew  that  his  own  life  and 
the  lives  of  his  loved  ones  trembled  in 
the  balance,  the  prisoners  were  brought 
to  the  salon  on  the  ground-floor,  and 
locked  in  together;  while  Lalligaud  and 
his  men,  guided  by  Perrin,  proceeded  to 
the  little  wood.  Here  the  miserable  man 
pointed  out  the  grave.  It  was  now  late 
in  the  afternoon,  and  in  the  dull  grey 
light  the  half-decomposed  body  of  the 
Royalist  chief  was  dragged  from  its 
resting-place.  A  minute  description  of 
the  corpse  was  drawn  up  and  signed  by 
the  officials  present;  and,  by  Lalligaud's 
orders,  the  head  was  cut  off. 

These  proceedings  had  occupied  three 
long  hours,  during  which  Madame  de  la 
Guyomarais,  her  husband  and  children,  in 
mortal  anguish,  waited  the  result  of  the 
search.  They  did  not  know  that  Perrin 
had  spoken,  and  fondly  hoped  that  their 
guest's  grave  might  escape  discovery;  if 
so,  no  proof  existed  of  his  presence  under 
their  roof,  and  their  lives  were  saved. 

The  shades  of  evening  were  gathering 
round  the  house  when  they  heard  the 
party  return.  Soon  Lalligaud  entered 
the  room;  and  at  the  same  moment  the 
window  was  opened,  so  that  the  men  who 
had  assembled  in  the  court  outside  could 
see  and  hear  what  passed  within.  Then, 
advancing  toward  Madame  de  la  Guy- 
omarais, Lalligaud  addressed  her:  " Cito- 
yenne,  my  mission  is  ended.  Do  you  still 
deny  that  the  Marquis  de  la  Rouerie  found 
a  refuge  in  this  house?"  The  lady  hesi- 
tated; and  before  she  had  time  to  speak 
a  hideous  object,  covered  with  mud  and 
blood,  was  thrown  in  from  the  court.  It 
struck  her  dress  and  rolled  on  the  floor. 
The  unhappy  woman's  shriek  echoed 
through  the  old  house:  she  had  recog- 
nized the  disfigured  head  of  the  Royalist 
leader!  Monsieur  de  la  Guyomarais 
hastened  to  his  wife's  side,  and  with  a 
dignity  that  the  horror  of  the  scene 
rendered  still  more  striking  he  said:  "Yes, 
it  is  useless  to  deny  it:  that  is  the  noble 
head  of  the  man  who  made  you  tremble." 

On    the    following    day    the    lord    and 


404 


THE  AYR  MART  A 


lady  of  the  manor,  with  their  two  boys, 
Aniaury  and  Casimir,  and  their  servants, 
were  taken  to  Lamballe  and  subjected  to 
a  most  severe  trial.  Only  the  eldest 
daughter  Agathe,  a  beautiful,  fair  girl, 
and  her  little  sister  Hyacinthe  remained 
in  their  old  home.  In  a  corner  of  the 
garden  they  found  the  head  of  their 
father's  honored  guest;  and,  to  save  it 
from  further  insult,  they  laid  it  under  a 
slab  in  the  chapel.  It  was  sought  for  in 
vain  after  the  Revolution;  but  in  1877  it 
was  discovered  by  the  present  possessor  of 
the  manor. 

In  April  Monsieur  de  la  Guyomarais, 
his  wife  and  sons,  with  other  friends  and 
relatives,  all  of  whom  had  been  more  or 
less  connected  with  La  Rouerie,  were 
removed  from  Lamballe  to  Paris.  Their 
journey  was  a  long  via  dolor osa.  They 
were  exposed  to  the  insults  of  the  people 
in  the  towns  through  which  they  passed; 
and  at  Versailles,  where  they  arrived  on 
April  21,  they  were  paraded  through  the 
streets  and  avenues, — the  men  in  chains, 
the  women  arm  in  arm  with  a  republican 
official. 

Some  weeks  later,  on  June  3,  1793, 
they  appeared  before  the  Revolutionary 
tribunal.  Monsieur  de  la  Guyomarais, 
his  wife,  his  two  sons,  and  servants,  sat 
together;  close  to  them  was  Therese  de 
Moelien,  a  cousin  of  La  Rouerie,  who 
had  shared  many  of  the  perils  of  his 
adventurous  career. 

The  trial  lasted  fifteen  days.  Monsieur 
de  la  Guyomarais  generously  endeavored 
to  screen  his  wife  and  dependents  by 
asserting  that  he  alone  in  the  house  knew 
that  the  mysterious  visitor  was  the 
Marquis  de  la  Rouerie.  Mademoiselle  de 
Moelien  also  showed  great  courage.  She 
did  not  attempt  to  deny  that  she  had 
served  her  cousin. 

On  the  1 8th  of  June  the  verdict  was 
given:  twelve  among  the  twenty-five 
prisoners  were  condemned  to  death,  and 
among  them  were  Monsieur  and  Madame 
de  la  Guyomarais;  Fontevieux,  who  had 
been  present  at  the  death  of  the  Marquis; 


Thebanlt  do  la  Chauvinais,  the  tutor; 
and  Therese  de  Moelien.  The  tender  years 
of  Amaury  and  Casimir  de  la  Guyomarais 
saved  their  lives. 

The  execution  took  place  the  same 
afternoon,  in  presence  of  an  immense 
crowd.  The  calmness  and  courage  of 
the  Breton  Royalists  impressed  even  the 
bloodthirsty  multitude  that  surrounded 
the  guillotine.  The  fine  countenance  of 
Madame  de  la  Guyomarais  preserved  its 
expression  of  quiet  dignity  in  spite  of  the 
agonizing  thoughts  that  must  have  tor- 
tured her  spirit  when  she  remembered  her 
young  daughters  alone  in  their  desolate 
home,  and  the  boys  she  had  left  in  prison. 

More  than  a  hundred  years  have  now 
gone  by  since  the  drama  we  have  just 
related,  and  yet  the  Breton  manor-house 
is  much  the  same  as  it  was  when  the 
Marquis  La  Rouerie  found  a  refuge  under 
its  hospitable  roof.  Its  present  possessor 
is  Mademoiselle  Mathilde  de  la  Guyo- 
marais, the  daughter  of  the  boy  Casimir 
who  was  an  eye-witness  of  the  tragic 
episode.  She  heard  from  his  lips  the 
incidents  that  had  impressed  themselves 
in  letters  of  fire  on  his  youthful  memory, 
and  she  has  spent  her  long  life  in  silent 
devotion  to  the  past.  Within  the  manor- 
house  she  has  left  things  as  they  were  in 
1793.  The  room  where  the  Marquis  died 
and  his  bed  are  untouched;  the  wide, 
wooden  staircase  is  the  one  down  which 
the  dead  Royalist  chief  was ,  carried  on 
that  terrible  January  night;  the  salon, 
where,  in  her  black  dress,  the  venerable 
chatelaine  sits  under  the  portrait  of  the 
Marquis,  is  the  same  room  where  her 
grandmother  shrank  in  horror  from  the 
ghastly  head  of  her  late  guest. 

Outside,  under  the  green  trees  of  the 
Vieux  Semis,  a  small  monument,  bearing 
the  lilies  of  France  and  the  ermines  of 
Brittany,  marks  the  grave  of  him  whose 
noble  name  is  still  a  household  word 
throughout  Western  France. 


A  GRIEVOUS   sickness   maketh   the   soul 
sober. — Eccles. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


495 


A  Case  in  Equity. 


BY    DAVID   A.  DRISCOLI,. 


LAWRENCE  O'SULUVAN,  M.  D.,— 
honor  man  of  his  class,  winner  of  the 
interneship  prize  in  the  big  St.  Anthony's 
Hospital,  undeniably  successful  as  a 
general  practitioner, — was,  nevertheless, 
rapidly  approaching  the  conclusion  that 
his  life  was  dominated  by  too  many  "ifs." 
If  his  sympathetic  temperament  had  per- 
mitted him  to  seek  a  field  in  a  more 
financially  remunerative  section  of  the 
city;  if  he  were  not  quite  so  easy  with  the 
non-paying  class  of  patients;  if  he  turned 
over  to  charity  those  who  depended  upon 
charity  for  the  rest  of  their  sustenance ;  if  he 
had  not  had  the  misfortune  not  only  to  fall 
in  love  with  a  girl  afflicted  with  a  wealthy 
parent,  but  to  feel  that  that  love  was  about 
to  be  reciprocated;  if  there  were  not  the 
disparity  of  a  religious  faith, — the  lack  of 
any  one  of  these  "ifs"  would  have  per- 
mitted a  sure  and  swift  material  advance- 
ment along  the  lines  of  his  profession. 

He  was  young,  good-looking,  clever, 
fond  of  the  comforts  of  life,  of  course;  yet 
virtually  wasting  all  in  his  scrupulous 
devotion  to  that  vast,  voiceless,  crushed 
section  of  society  generally  abandoned  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  the  City  Poor  Laws. 
He  had  resigned  himself  stoically  to  his 
fate  until  the  advent  of  pretty  Abbie 
Eversole;  then  the  crudities  of  a  bachelor 
career  rather  made  his  gorge  rise  within 
him,  and  the  placid,  lazy  abnegation  of 
the  past  melted  into  a  fretful  introspec- 
tion, during  which  he  scathingly  arraigned 
himself  for  the  implied  renunciation  of  the 
charms  of  Miss  Abbie — who,  he  felt  sure, 
took  particular  pains  in  flaunting  those 
charms  before  his  supposed-to-be  love- 
blind  eyes.  Perhaps  none  put  the  matter 
so  neatly  and  incisively  as  Miss  Hayden, 
trained  nurse,  and  oldtime  friend  and 
admirer  of  the  brilliant  M.  D. 

"You're  a  fool!"  she  declared  one  day 
in  his  office. 

He  smiled  forlornly. 


"Which  remark,  if  not  gracious,  at  least 
sounds  practical," — with  an  amused  smile. 

"These  people  for  whom  you  are 
squandering  your  substance  could  get 
good  enough  treatment  from  the  District 
Physician,  Dr.  Bascom,  who  receives  his 
stipend  regularly  from  the  city — which 
yon  do  not." 

Dr.  Lawrence  ran  his  hand  through  his 
thick  mass  of  brown  hair  reflectively. 

"Only  in  thanks.  But,  then,  there's  the 
consciousness — •' ' 

"Nonsense!" 

"They  accord  me  that  last  fragment  of 
gratitude  not  crushed  out  of  them  by  the 
injustice  of  society — "  x 

"More  nonsense!" 

"Briefly,  I  haven't  the  nerve — 'that's  it — 
to  resist  a  call." 

"But  these  people  have  no  right  to  call 
on  you.  Bascom  is  for  that:  he  gives 
them  the  same  service  he  might  give  his 
patient  on  the  Boulevard, — not  so  good 
as  yours  perhaps." 

"Thank  you!" — in  vague  humility. 

"Never  mind!" — tartly.  "I  didn't  say 
that  to  hear  myself  talk,  but  I  must  object 
to  your  wasting — actually  wasting — your 
existence  and  talents  on  this  sort.  How 
are  you  going  to  live?" — which,  oddly 
enough/was  the  uppermost  thought  in  his 
own  mind  just  then.  "Moreover,  you  are 
unjust  to  another — a  woman"  (at  which 
he  winced,  flushed,  and  sought  to  evade 
her  accusing  eyes).  "What  right  have  you 
to  permit  a  woman,  a  millionaire's 
daughter  at  that,  to  reciprocate  your 
affections?"  (She  waved  aside  his  feeble 
repudiation  of  that  honor.)  "  Don't  tell  me! 
I  know  you  love  her,  and  I  feel  sure — " 
(with  a  tantalizing  pause  as  he  read  her 
eyes  hungrily)  "that  she  loves  you." 

He  smiled  grimly,  as  he  stuck  his  elbow 
on  his  desk  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hand. 

"The  one  disturbing  thought  in  my 
career,"  he  acknowledged  abjectly. 

"And  the  easiest  remedied.  Anyhow, 
I'm  glad  that  something  has  aroused  you 
from  your  Quixotic  dreams — 

Just  then  the  office  door  slowly  opened, 


496 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


and  there  insinuated  itself  a  form  that 
gradually  resolved  into  a  very  small  and 
very  cold-looking  boy,  just  big  enough  to 
reach  the  door  knob.  He  was  miserably 
clad  against  the  rigor  of  this  January  day ; 
his  face  pinched  and  purple,  speckled  with 
tears  forced  from  his  eyes  by  the  keen  air; 
while  his  arms  were  crooked  at  the  elbows 
in  a  futile  effort  to  warm  (by  drawing  into 
the  shelter  of  frayed  coat  sleeves)  the 
reddened  and  stiffened  hands. 

"Mudder  says,"  as  he  dragged  off  his 
shapeless  cap,  "can  you  come  an'  give  our 
Tommy  the  '  wanst  over '  ? "  And,  embold- 
ened by  the  kindly  looks,  he  sidled  across 
the  room  to  the  inviting  gas  fire. 
.  "Hem!"  coughed  the  astute  and  con- 
founded Miss  Hayden,  secretly  stricken  to 
the  heart  by  this  pitiable  apparition,  and 
vainly  striving  to  outface  the  derision  shin- 
ing out  of  the  eyes  of  the  tickled  O'Sullivan. 
"Now  then,"  he  jeered,  "put  your  iron 
theory  into  practice!" 

"What's  the  matter  with  Dr.  Bascom?" 
she  meekly  ventured,  at  which  the  shivering 
child  gave  a  look  that  set  the  pair  laughing. 
"Aw — aw,"  with  a  drawn-out  scorn 
unbelievable  in  so  short  a  syllable,  "give 
us  Dr.  O'Sullivan!"  And  then  the  dis- 
comfited censor  melted  from  the  office. 

"All right ! " — to  the  lad.  "After  you're 
well  warmed,  tell  your  mother  that  I'll 
be  over  there  directly."  And  then,  to  ease 
the  misgivings  stirred  by  his  other  visitor, 
"I'll  have  to  go  past  the  neighborhood 
anyway.  I'll  just  drop  in." 

An  hour  later,  he  was  standing  at  the 
junction  of  Lumly  Terrace  and  Railroad 
Lane,  gazing  down  the  one  line  of  dwellings 
in  this  latter  toward  the  home  of  the 
Downeys,  to  which  the  boy  had  summoned 
him;  and  the  ever-swelling  tide  of  anger 
and  bitterness  over  this  daily  vision  of 
misery  overcame  for  a  moment  all  thoughts 
of  his  own  precarious  prospects. 

"And  still  we  insist  that  these  people 
be  clean,  physically  and  morally!"  he 
moaned,  as  he  viewed  the  surroundings. 

Stopping  at  5 156,  he  took  his  way  around 
the  hcmse,  over  a  treacherous  board  walk, 


knowing  too  well  the  uselessness  of  trying 
to  attract  attention  from  the  front  through 
the  intervening  depth  of  sepulchral  rooms 
that  effectually  shut  off  the  one  living 
room  (the  kitchen)  necessary  to  be  heated. 
He  looked  up  at  the  thin,  dispirited  wisps 
of  smoke  oozing  lazily  from  battered 
chimney  tops;  and. then  back  across  the 
fields  at  the  lines  of  fat,  tempting  cars  of 
coal;  and,  despite  his  religious  training, 
caught  himself  wondering  bitterly :  ' '  Were 
my  wife  and  children  freezing,  how  long 
would  I  keep  my  hands  off  that  coal?" 

After  a  sharp  tap  at  the  door,  he 
entered, — greeted  abruptly  by  a  gusli  of 
soapy  steam  that  poured  out  of  the  wash 
boiler  on  the  stove.  Mrs.  Downey,  behind 
the  tub,  looked  up  in  mild  welcome,  dried 
her  hands  on  the  already  well-spattered 
apron,  and  stood  regarding  the  angel  of 
the  tenement  with  an  anxious  smile. 

"Tommy's  been  complaining  for  a 
couple  of  days  now,  Doctor,"  she  ex- 
plained, in  her  soft,  caressing  voice, — 
indicating  the  patient  (a  boy  of  about 
eight)  hunched  in  a  chair  in  a  corner  of 
the  room,  staring  in  fevered  patience  with 
that  dumb  acquiescence  to  his  fate  so 
early  implanted  in  the  poor;  and  all  in 
an  atmosphere  that  would  have  balked 
a  coal  trimmer  in  an  ocean  liner.  Over 
from  him  played  two  others;  while  in  a 
basket  behind  the  stove  tranquilly  reposed 
the  latest  sociological  problem. 

Setting  down  his  medicine  case,  after  a 
few  murmured  words  of  greeting,  Dr. 
O'Sullivan  made  a  swift,  practised  exam- 
ination; then  uttered  an  exclamation  that 
bordered  on  a  blistering  expletive. 

"We'll  have  to  get  this  little  man  by 
himself, "he  temporized,  while  she  hung 
on  his  words  and  looks.  "I  don't  like  to 
have  him  near  the  rest." 

She  sought  to  read  his  face,  an  inquisi- 
tion to  which  the  Doctor  had  never  quite 
accustomed  himself. 

"Oh,"  with  a  quick  catch  in  her  voice, — 
"oh,  there's  been  diphtheria  in  school!" 
And  she  twisted  her  hands  in  her  d,amp 
apron,  her  soft  eyes  beseeching, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


497 


"All  right!"  said  the  Doctor,  recovering 
himself.  ' '  Let  us  get  him  in  the  next  room ; 
then  we'll  decide  for  sure.  No  fire  there  of 
course  ? ' ' 

She  shook  her  head. 

"We  can  hardly  spare  the  extra  coal," 
she  began  timidly. 

"We'll  fix  that  all  right," — with  a 
cheeriness  giving  no  indication  of  the 
fact  that  extra  coal  meant  extra  waiting 
for  his  fee;  and,  gathering  scraps  of  kin- 
dling and  bits  of  coal,  he  piled  them  on  a 
base  of  paper  in  the  sooty  grate,  to  be 
rewarded  in  a  moment  by  a  burst  of 
flame  up  the  chimney.  This  done,  he 
fixed  a  screen  of  blankets  about  the  fire 
to  hem  in  the  precious  heat;  and,  taking 
the  sufferer  in  his  arms,  laid  him  tenderly 
on  an  improvised  couch.  Then  he  swabbed 
out  the  angry  throat,  for  a  test  by  the  city 
bacteriologist;  and,  after  administering 
the  needed  remedies,  left  to  get  a  supply 
of  anti- toxin. 

In  the  presence  of  the  trembling  mother, 
it  had  all  been  done  with  a  forced  calm; 
but,  once  by  himself,  skirting  the  uncertain 
footing  of  frozen  garbage  and  washtub 
emptyings,  Dr.  O'Sullivan  broke  out  in 
denunciation  of  the  owner  of  the  flats, 
vowing  swift  and  sure  vengeance  on  the 
rascal  who  was  too  callous,  too  impervious 
to  the  promptings  of  humanity,  to  look 
beyond  his  agent's  reports  of  income. 

Suddenly  he  checked  himself,  and 
halted  in  blank  amazement;  for  directly 
in  his  way,  smiling  at  him  with  all  that 
winsomeness  that  made  her  such  a  favorite, 
stood  Miss  Abbie  Eversole.  Instantly,  he 
became  the  courtly,  suave  physician,  and 
extended  the  greetings  of  the  day. 

"A  trifle  early  to  be  leaving  cards,  isn't 
it?"  He  laughed  as  he  held  her  hand — 
unrebuked. 

"Not  in  this  informal  neighborhood," 
she  replied  gaily.  Then,  to  dispel  the 
evident  mystery:  "I — I  have  started  out 
to  do  something, — something  different. 
I  have  grown  heart-sick  and  weary  of  the 
affected  study  of  Greek  art  and  mythology. 

(Conclusion 


I  believe  there  is  something  nearer  our 
times  and  our  consciences." 

She  saw  a  frown  slowly  overspread  his 
usually  cheery  features. 

"God  knows  there  is!"  he  answered 
wearily.  "And  I  congratulate  you  on  your 
decision.  May  I  proffer  my  advice?" — • 
which,  indeed,  she  was  just  about  to  ask; 
then  balked  timidly,  realizing  the  fact 
that  his  devotion  to  the  unremunerative 
poor  had  been  a  determining  factor  in 
her  renunciation  of  the  club  studies. 

"Where  .shall  I  begin?" 

"Not  on  this  street.  I  have  just  taken 
a  case  of  diphtheria,  and  goodness  only 
knows  what  this  promiscuous  neighborhood 
may  yet  show  up." 

She  winced  visibly  at  that — then  a 
fighting  look  crept  into  her  eyes. 

1 '  You  and  Miss  Hay  den  take  this  risk : 
why  shouldn't  I?" 

Her  simple  question  brought  to  life  the 
true  Gael  within  him,  and  settled  the  fate 
of  Dr.  Larry  O'Sullivan. 

"Because — well,  while  two  castaways/ 
such  as  Miss  Hayden  and  I,  are  risking 
ourselves  in^thrs  business,  it  is  our  own  risk 
solely ;  but  to  have  y<jii  thus  exposed  is  dif- 
ferent. I  prize  you  too  highly  to  permit  it." 

For  a  second  her  eyes  closed,  as  if  a 
gleam  of  the  sun  had  struck  them;  her  face 
paled,  then  flushed ;  her  eyes  opened  again 
to  look,  in  all  their  splendor,  into  his  eager 
ones.  Then  she  placed  her  hand  in  his. 

"My  reward  of  unselfishness ! "—with  a 
near  approach  to  a  cry;  while  he  strove  to 
maintain  the  proprieties  in  the  presence  of 
two  gaping  boys,  and  three  sniffing  dogs, 
and  not  sweep  her  into  his  arms.  "I 
feared  you  never  would  be  bold  enough  to 
make  that  confession  to  a  rich  man's 
daughter.  And  I  have  awaited  it  so 
patiently!"  she  added  with  a  tender  smile. 

After  a  few  more  exchanges  to  assure 
themselves  that  they  were  not  dreaming, 
they  parted, — she,  despite  her  demure  air 
of  submission,  to  seek  counsel  that  she 
might  go  intelligently  into  the  very  haunts 
against  which  he  had  warned,  her, 

next  week.) 


498 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


A  Memory  of  Bruges. 


SEVEN  o'clock  had  rung  out  from  the 
belfry  of  Bruges.  Twilight  was  creep- 
ing over  the  city,  the  shops  closed,  and 
everyone  hastened  homeward;  for  in  the 
fifteenth  century  no  one  dreamed  of  being 
out  after  nightfall. 

At  St.  John's  Hospital  the  Sister  por- 
tress was  locking  up  for  the  night,  when 
a  loud  knock  was  heard  at  the  door. 

"How  extraordinary!"  said  she.  "Who 
can  be  coming  so  late?"  She  opened  the 
wicket  and  asked:  "Who  is  there?" 

A  pale  face  appeared,  and  a  man's  voice, 
in  trembling  tones,  said: 

"Open  to  me  for  the  love  of  God!  I  am 
a  poor  soldier,  and  I  am  very  ill." 

"Can  you  not  wait  till  to-morrow?" 
said  the  Sister.  "Our  rule  is  not  to  admit 
any  one  after  sunset." 

The  only  answer  was  a  groan,  and  the 
man  fell  to  the  ground. 

The  terrified  Sister  ran  to  the  superior, 
and  the  latter  immediately  called  two  of 
the  male  attendants  from  the  men's  ward 
and  went  to  the  dooj. 

"Take  care,  Mother!"  said  the  Sister. 
"Perhaps  it  is  a  bad  man  or  a  lunatic." 

"We  must  run  the  risk  for  charity's 
sake,"  answered  the  Mother  Superior. 

The  poor  man  was  brought  in  and  put 
to  bed,  and  for  a  fortnight  hung  between 
life  and  death  with  a  severe  fever.  When  he 
began  to  recover,  he  told  the  kind  superior 
that  he  was  born  in  Bruges,  but  had 
been  for  many  years  in  Italy  studying  art. 
On  his  return  home  he  had  enrolled  him- 
self in  the  army 'of  the  t)uke  of  Burgundy, 
and  had  been  grievously  wounded  at  the 
battle  of  Nancy.  Returning  to  his  native 
place,  weary  and  wounded,  he  found  all 
his  relatives  scattered  or  dead,  and  the 
hospital  was  his  only  refuge. 

"It  was  your  Good  Angel  who  brought 
you  here,"  observed  the  superior,  kindly; 
"and  you  are  not  unknown  to  me,  poor 
Hans  Hemling." 

The  sick  man  looked  astonished. 


"Who  told  you  my  name,  Mother?'' 
he  asked. 

"You  mentioned  it  often  in  your 
delirium,"  replied  the  good  Mother;  "but 
no  one  recognized  it  save  myself.  Your 
mother  was  my  childhood's  companion, 
and  dear  to  me  as  a  sister.  She  married 
about  the  same  time  that  I  entered  the 
convent.  Poor  Ursula!  She  died  soon  after 
your  birth.  Be  of  good  courage;  if 
you  are  not  imprudent,  you  will  soon  be 
well,  our  doctor  says.  He  will  be  here 
in  a  little  while;  and  to-day  his  wife  and 
daughter  will  come  with  him.  Other  noble 
ladies  sometimes  accompany  them,  and 
bring  all  sorts  of  good  things  for  the  sick." 

Soon  afterward  these  ladies  appeared, 
bringing  with  them  baskets  filled  with 
cakes,  preserves,  flowers,  and  linen.  They 
went  round  to  all  the  sick,  greeting  each 
patient  with  pleasant  words  and  smiles. 

Madame  Van  Osten  and  her  young 
daughter  Martha  stood  by  the  bedside  of 
Hans,  and  Martha  said  to  him: 

"What  can  we  bring  you  that  you 
would  like,  next  time  we  come?" 

Hans  raised  his  eyes  to  the  sweetest 
face  he  had  ever  seen,  and  replied: 

"Pencils,  if  you  please;  a  sheet  of 
vellum,  some  colors  and  brushes.  But 
perhaps  I  am  asking  too  much?" 

"Oh,  no!"  rejoined  Martha.  "I  shall  be 
delighted  to  bring  these  articles  to  you. 
I  have  plenty  of  them  at  home." 

The  ladies  returned  in  a  few  days,  and 
found  Hans  able  to  rise.  They  brought 
him  all  he  had  asked  for ;  and  as  soon  as  he 
had  gained  a  little  strength  the  Sisters 
gave  him  a  room  in  which  he  could  paint. 
His  chief  desire  was  to  repay  as  best  he 
could  the  kindness  that  had  been  shown 
him  in  the  hospital ;  and  he  soon  began  to 
paint  on  wood  that  wonderful  chdsse  con- 
taining the  relics  of  St.  Ursula,  which  is  to 
this  day  the  pride  of  the  Hospital  of  St. 
John.  Hans  Hemling  spent  three  years  at 
this  exquisite  painting. 

One  day  while  he  was  engaged  in  his 
work,  Sister  Aldegonde  and  the  superior 
came  into  the  studio. 


I'll}::  AVE  MARIA 


490 


"  O  Mother,"  said  the  Sister,  "how  beau- 
tiful St.  Ursula's  face  is!  Don't  you  think 
it  is  very  like  our  dear  little  Martha  Van 
Osten?" 

"It  is  like  what  I  hope  she  will  be  in 
heaven,"  replied  the  superior;  "but  cer- 
tainly no  human  face,  save  that  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  was  ever  so  beautiful." 

"I  think,"  said  Sister  Aldegonde,  "if 
Master  Hans  were  to  sell  his  pictures  he 
would  soon  be  rich." 

"Indeed  he  would,"  was  the  reply; 
"and' when  this  chdsse  is  finished  he  must 
think  about  himself." 

At  this  moment  some  one  came  to  call 
Sister  Aldegonde  away,  and  the  Mother 
was  left  alone  with  the  artist.  He  turned 
toward  her  and  said: 

"Will  you  send  me  away  then,  Mother? 
Where  shall  I  go?  I  have  neither  friends 
nor  family.  In  the  world  I  met  with  noth- 
ing but  ingratitude  and  treachery.  I  have 
seen  its  pleasures  and  pomps,  and  found 
them  hollow.  Here  alone  I  have  found  true 
peace.  I^et  me  stay  here  and  paint  the 
angels  ancj.  saints.  Are  you  tired  of  me?" 

"No,  my  son.  But  I  am  old,  and  shall 
not  live  long.  Others  may  not  take  the 
same  interest  in  you.  I  think  you  ought 
to  take  a  studio  and  settle  down  as  a 
citizen  in  Bruges." 

Ten  years  later  a  well-dressed  traveller 
visited  the  Hospital  of  St.  John.  A  Sister 
opened  the  wicket. 

"I  wish  to  see  the  Reverend  Mother 
Angelica,"  said  the  stranger. 

"Alas!  sir,  we  lost  her  five  years  ago. 
Mother  Gertrude  is  now  superior." 

"Can  I  see  the  chapel,  Sister?" 

"Certainly,  sir;  but  if  you  wish  to  see 
the  work  of  Master  Hemling,  I  beg  to  say 
that  a  small  fee  is  expected.  The  hospital 
is  mainly  supported  by  this  means." 

He  was  admitted  into  a  room  where 
several  of  the  artist's  paintings  were  dis- 
played. He  looked  at  them  in  silence. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  Sister,  "what  do 
you  think  of  them?" 

"They  are  not  so  bad,"  he   answered. 


"Where    is   the     chdsse    of    St.    Ursula?" 

"  In  a  chapel  at  the  end  of  the  cloister." 

Many    persons    were    praying     in    the 

chapel,    and    many    lights    were    burning 

round  the  reliquary.    The  traveller  knelt 

down  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  chdsse. 

His  face  shone  with  joy  and  admiration. 

Soon  after  Hans   Hemling — for  it  was 

he — left    Bruges,    and    this    time    it    was 

for  good.     No  one  knows  where  he  found 

his  last  resting-place;    but  in  the  Hospital 

of  St.  John  of  Bruges  his  memory  will  live 

forever. 

Fashion  versus  Modesty. 


THE  English  dramatist  who  first  said, 
"As  good  be  out  of  the  world  as  out 
of  the  fashion,"  furnished  mankind  in 
general,  and  womankind  in  particular, 
with  an  epigrammatic  fallacy  that  has, 
ever  since  his  day,  been  as  popular  as  it  is 
specious.  The  dominion  of  fashion  over 
women  especially  is  another  proof,  if  any 
were  wanting,  that  human  nature  is  much 
the  same  in  all  ages  of  the  world.  Sixteen 
hundred  years  ago,  St.  John  Chrysostom, 
denouncing  the  woman  who  apparently 
went  to  Mass  to  attract  attention  and  show 
off  her  fine  clothes,  exclaimed:  "Thou 
popinjay,  is  this  finery  befitting  a  contrite 
sinner  who  comes  to  entreat  pardon? 
Such  garments  are  more  suitable  for  the 
ballroom  than  the  church."  And,  only  a 
while  ago,  an  American  archbishop,  of 
a  city  prevailingly  Catholic,  fulminated  in 
much  the  same  language  against  the 
irreverence  and  immodesty  of  Catholic 
women  who  ventured  even  to  approach 
the  Communion  rails  attired  in  gowns  of 
questionable  decency  in  any  public  place, 
and  of  unquestionable  impropriety  in  the 
house  of  God. 

Neither  the  Church  nor  her  recognized 
representative  in  this  or  that  city  or 
town  is  an  extremist.  Archbishops, 
bishops,  and  parish  priests  may  be  counted 
on  to  ignore  styles  of  dress  that  are  merely 
fantastic  or  artistically  extravagant.  It 
is  only  when  deference  to  the  decrees  of 


500 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


Fashion  results  in  patent  indecency  that 
any  of  them  feel  called  upon  to  protest; 
and,  accordingly,  the  fact  that  they  do 
protest  should  be  sufficient  to  convince 
any  Catholic  matron  or  maiden  that,  in 
obeying  the  dictates  of  Fashion,  she  has 
overstepped  the  boundary  line  which 
divides  the  respectable  from  the  equivocal, 
if  not  the  downright  improper. 

Those  who  object  to  offensive  styles  in 
woman's  dress,  be  they  clergymen  or  other 
moralists,  do  not  accuse  the  women  who 
wear  them  of  premeditated  immodesty,  of 
evil  intent;  but  evil  all  too  frequently 
follows,  none  the  less.  Fashion  is  assuredly 
not  the  criterion  of  morality;  the  most 
imperious  of  its  decrees  can  not  abrogate 
the  law  of  God,  or  alter  the  innate  sense  of 
right  and  wrong  possessed  by  the  average 
Christian;  and  hence  women  and  girls 
who  bow  to  Fashion  in  this  matter  need  to 
be  warned  occasionally  that  "those  who 
dress  immodestly  are  the  devil's  instru- 
ments for  the  ruin  of  souls."  Unconscious 
instruments,  no  doubt,  for  the  most  part; 
but  when  their  attention  is  called  to  the 
consequences  of  their  wearing  such  attire, 
they  can  no  longer  plead  ignorance  as  an 
excuse  for  the  scandal  they  give. 

Catholic  women,  above  all  others,  should 
not  only  eschew  toilets  of  questionable 
decency,  but  should  exert  their  influence 
to  ban  such  toilets  in  the  circle  of  their 
friends  and  acquaintance.  If  there  is  one 
incongruous  spectacle  in  present-day 
Catholic  life,  it  is  a  Catholic  maiden  who 
calls  herself  a  Child  of  Mary,  yet  dresses 
as  the  worst  form  of  fashion  prescribes. 
St.  Paul  declared:  "Let  women  adorn 
themselves  with  modesty  and  sobriety,  not 
with  plaited  hair,  or  gold  or  pearls  or 
costly  attire."  Heeding  his  counsel,  it  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  say,  does  not  entail 
on  any  woman  the  duty  of  making  herself 
odd  or  singular  among  others;  but  it  does 
entail  such  a  modification  of  prevailing 
styles  as  will  give  no  offence  to  the  claims 
of  modesty,  no  scandal  to  the  innocent, 
and  no  temptation  to  even  the  weakest 
among  men. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


Very  plain  reasons  may  be  assigned  to 
explain  the  lack  of  general  enthusiasm  or 
extraordinary  excitement  over  the  entrance 
of  our  country  into  the  great  World  War. 
The  opposition  to  this  action  on  the  part 
of  our  Government  was  strong  and  wide- 
spread; and  no  intelligent  citizen  was 
unaware  of  the  fact  that  we  had  been 
antagonistic  to  the  Central  Powers  from 
the  very  start.  An  official  declaration  of 
our  alliance  with  the  English  Government 
and  those  siding  with  it  will  occasion  no 
surprise  either.  We  have  been  virtually 
allied  with  them  all  along,  for  reasons 
which  it  is  unprofitable  at  this  time  to 
recall.  What  is  not  known  to  everybody 
now  will  be  plain  to  everybody  later  on. 
The  important  fact  to  be  borne  in  mind  is 
that  at  last  our  country  is  in  open  conflict 
with  a  powerful  foe,  whose  efforts  to  injure 
us  in  any  way  possible  will  be  all  the  more 
energetic  and  persevering  on  account  of 
being  so  much  provoked. 

It  is  too  late  now  to  talk  of  what  might 
have  been  done  "to  keep  us  out  of  war," 
and  it  is  quite  useless  to  berate  those 
Members  of  Congress  who  voted  in 
favor  of  a  resolution  to  which  they  were 
secretly  opposed.  The  die  is  cast.  The 
imperative  duty  of  every  American  citizen 
is  to  show  as  much  patriotism  as  he  can, 
and  to  refrain  from  any  word  or  act  that 
would  impair  the  patriotism  of  his  fellows. 
Though  it  may  prove  impossible  to  render 
this  war  popular,  it  may  be  rendered 
less  calamitous  by  concerted  effort  and 
patriotic  devotedness.  In  justice,  how- 
ever, those  most  responsible  for  the 
present  situation  should  be  made  to  bear 
the  larger  share  of  the  burdens  that  will 
be  imposed  and  the  sacrifices  that  will  be 
entailed.  If  they  are  wise,  our  legislators 
will  see  to  this. 

Those  Congressmen  who  effected  the 
passage  of  the  new  immigration  law  can 
not  now  be  felicitating  themselves  on 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


501 


their  wisdom  and  foresight.  As  one 
satirist  remarks,  they  showed  themselves 
n;ii  row  minded  enough,  however,  to  be 
able  to  see  into  a  gimblet  hole  with  both 
eyes  at  the  same  time.  By  erecting  new 
barriers  against  the  very  class  of  labor  to 
which  the  farming  sections  of  the  country 
were  already  looking  for  relief,  agriculture 
has  been  restricted,  and  the  cost  of  living 
increased.  War  was  almost  inevitable 
when  the  Bill  was  passed,  and  it  should 
have  been  realized  that  immigrants  of  the 
peasant  type  would  be  needed  to  till  the 
soil  as  well  as  to  make  ammunition.  The 
lure  of  high  wages  has  drawn  large  numbers 
of  American  workmen  to  all  manufacturing 
.centres  at  a  time  when  it  is  essential  to  the 
welfare  of  the  nation  that  more  land  should 
be  cultivated,  and  cultivated  more  inten- 
sively. Prices  are  high,  and  in  all  prob- 
ability will  become  still  higher.  For  this 
reason  the  increased  wages  which  workmen 
receive  are  of  no  benefit  to  them,  and  they 
know  this  full  well. 

Any  capitalist  who  contemplates  taking 
advantage  of  the  present  situation  to 
increase  his  wealth  had  better  beware. 
Those  food  riots  in  New  York  and  Chicago 
a  while  ago  were  portends  to  which  no 
citizen  should  close  his  eyes.  They  were 
strange  occurrences  in  a  land  of  plenty, 
and  they  may  be  the  forerunners  of  others 
far  more  serious.  The  cry  of  hungry  mobs, 
frenzied  by  real  or  imagined  injustice,  is 
an  awful  menace. 


Approved  by  the  Archbishop,  there  has 
been  organized  in  Chicago  a  central  body 
for  the  management  of  Catholic  charities. 
"The  special  purpose  of  the  new  move- 
ment," we  read  in  the  New  World,  "will 
be  to  collect  all  the  funds  for  Catholic 
charities  and  distribute  them  from  a  head- 
quarters that  will  be  the  clearing  house 
for  any  approved  Catholic  institution 
doing  charitable  work.  Most  of  our 
institutions,  both  large  and  small,  depend 
to  some  extent  for  their  support  upon 
alms  collected  principally  by  personal 
appeal  or  letter,  each  working  in  its  own 


individual  way  to  do  its  part  most  effect- 
ively. The  business  man  to-day,  however, 
complains  of  this  constant  source  of 
annoyance  both  as  humiliating  and  time- 
consuming;  and  very  often  the  con- 
tributor has  no  idea  for  what  specific 
purpose  the  donation  is  used.  This  same 
man  would  much  prefer  to  give  a  single 
donation  at  one  time  to  some  central 
Catholic  charity  which  would  apportion 
this  among  the  approved  organizations." 

The  fundamental  idea  would  seem  to 
be  an  excellent  one;  and  the  method 
where  it  has  been  tried  has,  we  believe, 
met  with  most  satisfactory  results.  It  is 
to  be  hoped  that  the  Chicago  venture  may 
attain  the  "maximum  of  efficiency,"  and 
also  that  it  may  employ  the  very  minimum 
of  red  tape. 

Actual  disasters  ought  not  to  be  needed 
in  order  to  make  ordinarily  prudent  persons 
realize  grave  dangers;  however,  there 
seems  to  be  no  other  way  by  which  many 
people  can  be  induced  to  adopt  necessary 
precautions.  The  recent  destruction  of  a 
large  building  in  one  of  our  Western  cities 
was  undoubtedly  caused  by  defective 
electric  wiring.  The  blame  for  this  has 
not  yet  been  determined.  The  work  may 
have  been  well  done  according  to  original 
specifications,  but  spoiled  by  additional 
wiring  undertaken  by  inexperienced  work- 
men, who,  while  doing  what  they  may 
have  considered  a  good  job,  all  uncon- 
sciously to  themselves,  made  a  fire  trap 
at  the  same  time.  Property  owners  should 
see  that  electric  wiring  is  done  by  experts, 
who  should  always  be  consulted  for  extra 
attachments.  Cheap  service  for  electrical 
work  is  apt  to  prove  very  expensive  in 
the  long  run.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
ignorant  carelessness  in  regard  to  the 
mode  of  lighting  that  has  become  so 
common.  For  instance,  it  is  generally 
supposed  that  there  is  no  danger  from 
electric  wiring  unless  the  lights  are  turned 
on;  such  is  not  the  case,  however,  if  the 
lamp  is  controlled  by  a  switch  attached  to 
the  lamp  itself,  because  the  current  is  at 


502 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


the  suitdi  at  all  times,  and  can  be  short 
circuited  anywhere  on  Ike  win-.  It  should 
be  known  that  lamps  with  drop  cords 
leading  through  woodwork,  or  in  contact 
with  other  inflammable  material,  are  a 
source  of  constant  danger  if  the  wiring 
is  not  what  it  should  be.  Electricians 
are  all  agreed  that  in  much  wiring  there 
is  much  danger. 

The  report  from  St.  Louis,  Mo.,  last 
week  of  a  distinct  earthquake  shock, 
with  after-vibrations  continuing  for  eight 
minutes,  goes  to  show  that  the  United 
States  is  not  immune  from  seismic  dis- 
turbances. The  shock  was  so  violent  that 
some  windows  were  broken  and  several 
chimneys  knocked  down.  There  were 
earthquakes  in  the  same  region  in  1811-12, 
when  the  course  of  the  Mississippi  is  said 
to  have  been  changed,  and  vast  areas  of 
land  uplifted.  The  Rev.  Daniel  Barber, 
A.  M.,  an  early  convert  to  the  Church  in 
New  Hampshire,  in  his  "History  of  My 
Own  Times,"  a  copy  of  which  has  just 
come  into  our  possession,  refers  to  a 
"great  earthquake"  in  1756,  "which 
shook  all  New  England."  An  account  of 
a  still  more  violent,  widespread,  and 
continuous  disturbance  of  the  area  of 
North  America  resting  upon  rock  of  the 
Ivaurentian  period,  which  occurred  on 
Feb.  5,  1663,  is  given  in  a  letter  of  one  of 
the  Jesuit  missionaries,  preserved  in  the 
archives  of  Georgetown  College.  We  quote 
the  more  striking  passages: 

Thunder  reverberated  and  lightning  flashed  in 
the  heavens.  The  earth  rolled  to  and  fro  under 
foot,  as  a  boat  is  restlessly  buffeted  about  by 
the  waves.  The  violence  of  the  first  shock 
subsided  after  about  an  half  hour.  Towards 
nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  the  earth  again 
began  to  shake,  and  that  alternation  of  shocks 
lasted  until  the  9th  of  September.  During  this 
period  there  was  a  great  variety  of  dissimilar 
shocks.  Some  were  longer,  others  shorter; 
some  were  frequent  but  moderate;  others  after 
a  long  intermission  were  more  violent.  These 
occurrences  seemed  to  be  more  frequent  by  night 
than  by  day.  Here  and  there,  wide  gaps  appeared 
in  the  earth  and  frequent  fissures.  New  torrents 
swept  their  way,  and  new  springs  of  very  limpid 


water  pushed  forth  in  full  si  reams.  On  level 
ground,  new  hills  have  arisen;  mountains,  on 
the  other  hand,  have  been  depressed  and 
flattened.  Chasms  of  wonderful  depth,  exhaling 
a  foul  stench,  have  been  hollowed  out  in  many 
places.  Planes  lie  open,  far  and  wide,  where 
there  were  formerly  very  dense  and  lofty  forests. 
Cliffs,  although  not  quite  levelled  with  the  soil, 
have  been  scattered  and  overthrown.  The 
earth  is  furrowed,  but  more  deeply  than  can 
be  done  with  a  plow  or  hoe.  Trees  are  partly 
uprooted,  partly  buried  even  to  the  ends  of 
their  branches.  Two  rivers  have  returned  to 
the  bowels  of  the  earth  whence  they  have  issued. 
Others  resemble  in  color  streams  of  milk  or 
blood.  The  River  St.  Lawrence  changed  its 
color,  not  for  a  brief  space,  but  for  eight  entire 
days, — put  on  a  sulphurous  one.  .  . .  From  various 
circumstances  we  are  forced  to  believe  that  all 
America  was  shaken  by  the  earthquake.  . . . 

There  is  no  record  of  the  number  of 
lives  lost;  in  all  probability,  many 
hundreds  of  Indians  perished.  If  the 
region  had  been  one-tenth  as  thickly 
populated  then  as  now,  the  earthquake 
of  1663  would  doubtless  be  memorable  as 
the  most  destructive  in  history. 

As  gruesome  a  description  of  a  battle- 
field as  could  possibly  be  desired'  is  given 
in  a  dispatch,  to  one  of  the  London  papers 
by  Mr.  Philip  Gibbs.  "The  war  continues 
to  go  well  on  the  Western  front"  is  the 
editor's  introduction  to  it: 

All  north  of  Courcelette,  up  by  Miraumont 
and  Pys,  and  below  Loupart  Wood,  this  wild 
chaos  all  so  upturned  by  shell  fire  that  one's 
gorge  rises  at  the  sight  of  such  obscene  mangling 
of  our  mother  earth — is  strewn  wrth  bodies  of 
dead  German  soldiers.  They  lie,  grey  wet 
lumps  of  death,  over  a  great  stretch  of  ground, 
many  of  them  half  buried  by  their  comrades  or 
by  high  explosives.  Most  of  them  are  stark 
above  the  soil,  with  their  eye-sockets  to  the 
sky.  I  stood  to-day  in  a  ravine  to  which  the 
Regina  trench  leads,  between  Pys  and  Mirau- 
mont; and  not  any  morbid  vision  of  an 
absinthe-maddened  dream  of  hell  could  be  more 
fearful  than  what  I  stared  at  standing  there, 
with  the  rain  beating  on  me  across  the  battle- 
field, and  the  roar  of  guns  on  every  side,  and  the 
long,  rushing  whistles  of  heavy  shells  in  flight 
over  Loupart  Wood.  l*he  place  was  a  shambles 
of  German  troops.  They  had  had  machine-gun 
emplacements  here,  and  deep  dugouts  under 
cover  of  earthbanks.  But  our  guns  had  found 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


503 


them  out  and  poured  fire  upon  them.  Some  of 
our  dead  lay  among  them;  but  out  of  850  lying 
hereabouts,  700  were  German  soldiers.  This 
gun  fire  of  ours  leaves  nothing  alive  or  whole 
when  it  is  concentrated  on  a  place  like  this, 
.  deliberate  in  smashing  it.  Here  it  had  flung  up 
machine-gun  emplacements  and  made  rubbish 
heaps  of  their  casemates  and  guns.  It  had 
broken  hundreds  of  rifles  into  matchwood,  and 
flung  up  the  kit  of  men  from  deep  dugouts, 
littering  earth  with  their  pouches  and  helmets 
and  bits  of  clothing.  Where  I  stood  was  only 
one  patch  of  ground  on  a  great  battlefield.  It 
is  all  like  that,  though  elsewhere  the  dead  are 
not  so '  thickly  clustered.  For  miles  it  is  all 
pitted  with  10  ft.  craters  intermingling,  and 
leaving  not  a  yard  of  earth  untouched.  .  .  . 

The  wonder  is  that,  with  pictures  like 
this  before  it,  the  world  is  not  filled  with 
horror  of  warfare.  If  it  were  more  Chris- 
tianized, it  surely  would  be  astounded  at 
the  butchery  and  destruction  now  going  on, 
and  far  more  likely  to  be  increased  than 
diminished. 


It  is  only  in  France,  of  all  the  belligerent 
countries,  that  priests  are  to  be  found  in 
the  fighting  ranks,  a  new  law  of  the 
Government  having  abolished  the  regula- 
tion allotting  mobilized  clergy  to  hospital 
and  prison  work.  The  rulers  of  Lutheran 
Germany  and  non-Catholic  England 
exempted  ministers  of  religion  from 
military  service  at  the  outbreak  of  the 
war.  This  was  done,  as  was  stated,  "in 
the  interests  of  the  country."  If  they  do 
not  know  already,  it  would  be  useless  to 
tell  Frenchmen  why  their  Government 
has  done  the  very  opposite.  In  con- 
gratulating President  Wilson  upon  the 
entrance  of  the  United  States  into  the 
World  War,  M.  Poincare  prates  of  a 
"revolt  of  the  conscience  of  humanity" 
which  it  has  succeeded  in  bringing  about; 
of  "outraged  laws  and  a  menaced  civiliza- 
tion." In  acknowledging  the  congratula- 
tions of  France,  our  President  wrote:  "We 
stand  as  partners  of  the  noble  democracies 
whose  aims  and  acts  make  for  the  per- 
petuation of  the  rights  and  freedom  of 
man  and  for  the  safeguarding  of  the  true 
principles  of  human  liberties." 

It  will  be  remembered  that  during  the 


Franco-Prussian  War  the  sympathies  of 
the  United  States  were  not  with  France, 
and  that  we  helped  England  to  crush  the 
Boers.  In  the  first  case,  religion  figured 
more  than  politics;  in  the  second,  com- 
mercial interests  were  well  safeguarded, 
while  the  principles  of  human  liberty  were 
entirely  ignored. 


Lapsing  into  a  moralizing  mood,  as  all 
editors  are  apt  to  do  betimes,  the  editor 
of  Catholic  Light  proffers  his  readers  this 
suggestive  paragraph: 

A  wit  that  is  unkind  is  not  a  gift  to  be  proud 
of.  It  usually  belongs  to  a  discontented  and 
spiteful  person,  who,  apart  from  these  failings, 
would  be  a  very  nice  friend;  but  the  biting  wit 
on  which  he  prides  himself  keeps  everybody  at  a 
distance.  While  one  dislikes  the  person  who  is 
ready  to  agree  to  anything  one  may  say,  it  is 
rather  better  to  have  that  than  continual  dis- 
agreement and  stinging  wit. 

Few  will  contest  the  justice  of  these 
observations.  Witticisms  are  never  agree- 
able when  they  are  injurious  to  others. 
As  Sheridan  put  it  long  ago,  "Wit  loses 
its  respect  with  the  good  when  seen  in 
company  with  malice;  and  to  smile  at  the 
jest  which  places  a  thorn  in  another's 
breast  is  to  become  a  principal  in  the 
mischief."  Unfortunately,  however,  com- 
paratively few  clever  persons  fully  deserve 
the  tribute  once  paid  to  Sheridan  himself 
by  his  friend  Moore: 

Whose  wit  in  the  combat,  as  gentle  as  bright, 
Ne'er  carried  a  heart-stain  away  on  its  blade. 

The  desire  to  shine  by  delivering  himself 
of  a  crushing  repartee  all  too  often  leads 
the  witty  individual  into  excesses  that 
seriously  offend  charity,  and,  not  rarely, 
justice  as  well. 

During  the  past  year,  the  churches  of 
the  Vicariate  of  Hawaii  contributed  to  the 
Propagation  of  the  Faith  the  sum  of  nearly 
$700.  Of  this  amount  the  lepers  of 
Molokai  gave  $118.65, — an  offering  which, 
as  Catholic  Missions  observes,  was  larger 
than  that  contributed  by  many  a  large 
parish  in  the  United  States.  We  refrain 
from  comment. 


April  Song. 


BY    M.  H.  K. 

^ET'S  sing  a  song  of  daffodils, 
Of  "crocuses  and  greening  hills; 
Of  cowslips  and  of  violets  blue, 
Of  sunshine  and  of  stars  and  dew; 
Of  wild  geese  sailing  through  the  skies, 
Of  Httle  children's  laughing  eyes; 
Of  flashing  blue  birds  home  again, 
Of  sparrows  scolding  in  the  rain; 
Of  hermit  thrush  and  stirring  bee, 
Of  happy  .you  and  happy  me! 
Let's  sing  of  Spring  and  flowering  hills, — 
Let's  sing  a  song  of  daffodils! 


How  Yu-Yu  Got  Even  with  the 
Mandarin. 


BY    FATHER 

|AI-TAO,  viceroy  of  the  province  of 
Hou-Pe  in  China,  was  a  civilian 
mandarin  of  the  highest  class, 
a  dignity  which  permitted  him 
to  wear  a  cluster  of  rubies  on  his  hat.  He 
was  an  upright  man,  but  was  very  proud 
and  subject  to  violent  fits  of  temper.  One 
of  his  servants,  his  fly-chaser,  was  an  old 
man  named  Kou-Si,  whom  the  mandarin 
esteemed  very  much  on  account  of  his 
honesty. 

For  his  part,  Kou-Si  liked  his  master 
very  much  also;  and  he  thought  a  great 
deal  of  his  office  of  fly-chaser,  since  the 
wages  he  received  allowed  him  to  support 
in  fair  comfort  his  good  wife  and  his 
thirteen-year-old  son,  Yu-Yu,  who  had 
received  the  nickname  Smooth-as-Amber 
because  he  possessed  an  ingenious  mind. 

Now,  as  the  mandarin  and  his  servant 
were  mutually  pleased  with  each  other, 
there  seemed  to  be  no  reason  why  they 
should  not  have  remained  together  all 


their  lives.  Last  spring,  however,  there 
occurred  an  incident  which  threatened  to 
separate  them  forever.  It  was  on  the 
occasion  of  the  festival  of  the  goddess  of 
agriculture,  and  an  immense  crowd  of 
people  had  gathered  together  in  the  city 
where  the  viceroy  Tai-Tao  held  his  state. 

On  the  day  set  apart  for  the  ceremony, 
all  this  multitude  assembled  in  a  large 
square,  in  the  centre  of  which  a  platform 
was  erected.  Fastened  to  red  and  white 
masts,  great  streamers  floated  to  the 
breeze;  an  orchestra — of  four  hundred 
and  twenty  trumpets,  an  equal  number 
of  accordions,  and  three  dozen  mechanical 
pianos — was  grouped  in  a  kiosk.  Behind 
the  pianos,  one  could  see  a  three-story 
pyramid  of  fruit.  The  school-children 
waved  palm  branches,  and  the  halberds  of 
the  soldiers  were  decorated  with  bouquets 
of  mimosa  flowers.  It  was  all  very  fine. 

About  nine  o'clock  a  furious  beating  of 
gongs  announced  the  arrival  of  the  viceroy. 
He  came  forward  in  great  majesty.  The 
rubies  on  his  hat  sparkled  in  the  sunlight; 
figures  of  birds  of  all  kinds  were  em- 
broidered on  his  magnificent  robes  of 
state;  and  after  him  followed  a  whole 
train  of  servants, — a  private  secretary,  a 
train-bearer  for  his  robes,  a  queue-bearer 
for  his  pigtail,  an  umbrella-bearer,  a  pipe- 
bearer,  a  .fan-bearer,  an  inkstand-bearer, 
and  a  pen-bearer.  Close  to  his  left  side 
walked  good  old  Kou-Si,  who  carried  a 
horse's  tail  adjusted  to  a  long  handle,  for 
the  purpose  of  keeping  the  flies  from  his 
master's  face. 

The  coming  of  the  mandarin  was  greeted 
with  tumultuous  roars  of  applause  from 
the  crowd.  Followed  by  his  attendants, 
with  Kou-Si  close  at  his  heels,  he  mounted 
the  platform,  and,  perfect  silence  being 
established,  he  began  his  address: 

"Venerable,  most  venerable  Chinese 
brethren,  the  elect  of  the  yellow  race  and 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


of  this   middle   empire,    whieh   is  situated 
at  the  end  of  the  world — 

Just  at  that  spoint  a  wasp  appeared 
from  goodness  knows  where,  and  began 
eireling  about  the  orator's  head.  Kou-Si 
saw  it  and  said  to  himself:  "Careful,  now! 
I  must  keep  my  eyes  open,  and  if  it 
comes  too  near — -bang!" 

Tai-Tao  did  not  see  the  insect,  and 
continued  his  speech: 

"Before  pronouncing  the  eulogy  of 
agriculture,  my  good  friends  of 'the  Hou-Pe 
province,  let  me  proffer  you  my  heartfelt 
gratitude  for  the  splendid  reception  you 
have  given  me.  Your  ovation  has  moved 
me.  I  applaud  the  respect  you  thus  show 
to  your  magistrates.  It  is  easy  to  see  that 
you  have  received  a  sound  education,  and 
that  you  approve  the  maxim  which  says — " 

The  wasp  was  growing  more  and  more 
indiscreet.  It  had  come  down  to  the 
neighborhood  of  the  viceroy's  head,  and 
was  flying  around  it  with  a  menacing  air. 
With  an  unsteady  hand,  Kou-vSi  swung 
his  horse's  tail. 

"Which  says,"  continued  Tai-Tao, 
1 ' '  thou  shalt  not  brush  the  face  of  a  mandarin 
even  with  a  peacock's  feather."' 

Bang!  Just  as  he  finished  the  sentence, 
the  horse's  tail  struck  him  full  in  the  face. 
His  spectacles  flew  a  rod  or  more  away,  his 
hat  fell  on  the  pipe-bearer's  head,  and  the 
cluster  of  rubies  rolled  down  to  the  feet 
of  the  orchestra's  leader.  A  shiver  ran 
through  the  crowd,  and  cries  of  horror 
arose.  Tai-Tao,  however,  took  up  the 
thread  of  his  speech  as  best  he  could;  but 
he  was  as  red  as  a  tomato;  he  gnashed  his 
teeth  as  he  lauded  agriculture,  and  it  was 
with  a  furious  voice  that  he  wished  the 
auditors  a  fine  crop  of  rice  and  tea. 

Once  the  ceremony  was  over  and  the 
crowd  had  dispersed,  the  mandarin  turned 
on  Kou-Si,  and  yelled  indignantly: 

"Away  with  you,  miserable  wretch! 
You're  discharged.  And  if  you  don't  want 
to  receive  a  hundred  lashes,  keep  out  of 
my  sight  for  the  future." 

"But  the  wasp  was  almost  touching 
your  honorable  nose." 


"It  was  not  the  nose —it  was  the  wasp 
you  should  have  struck." 

"But  you  shoved  your  respectable  head 
forward,  and  then 

"Then,  you  deserve  to  be  skinned  alive! 
I  content  myself  with  discharging  you. 
Profit  by  my  clemency." 

Trembling  and  dumfounded,  Kou-Si 
retired.  On  reaching  his  home,  he  told  of 
his  disgrace,  and  added: 

"There's  nothing  left  for  us  now  but 
to  starve  to  death.  In  vain  would  I  ply 
rriy  trade  of  fly-chaser  among  ordinary 
folks:  I  wouldn't  earn  my  salt." 

And  the  poor  man  walked  up  and  down 
the  room,  groaning  piteously;  and  his 
wife,  Kou-Sa,  shed  bitter  tears;  and  little 
Yu-Yu  cried,  too.  All  the  same,  this  last- 
mentioned  member  of  the  family  was  less 
discouraged  than  his  parents,  and  he  was 
already  seeking  some  method  (you  re- 
member he  was  nicknamed  "Smooth-as- 
Amber")  by  which  this  unfortunate  tangle 
could  be  smoothed  out.  But  the  more  he 
thought  the  less  he  succeeded  in  dis- 
covering a  plan,  and  the  day  passed 
without  any  thing's  being  done. 

The  next  morning,  as  soon  as  he  was  up, 
Yu-Yu  went  for  a  walk  through  the 
fields,  and  chance  led  him  to  the  border  of 
a  very  pretty  little  lake.  "I'll  go,"  he 
told  himself,  "and  sit  down  under  that 
willow  that  is  mirrored  in  the  water." 
It  was  a  superb  tree.  Its  roots,  like 
interlaced  serpents,  straggled  along  the 
bank;  and  its  branches,  drooping  from 
all  sides,  formed  a  sort  of  pavilion.  The 
boy  went  quickly  forward,  and  then 
suddenly  stopped,  considerably  surprised. 
There  was  some  one  under  the  tree  already, 
and  who  should  it  be  but  the  mandarin 
himself.  With  his  back  leaning  against 
the  trunk  of  the  willow,  the  viceroy  was 
quietly  fishing. 

Yu-Yu  retired  without  making  the 
least  noise,  and  betook  himself  citywards. 
On  his  way  thither  he  met  old  Madam  Pie, 
an  acquaintance  of  his,  who  was  returning 
from  the  market, —  a  loquacious  old  lady 
and  an  inveterate  gossip. 


,500 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"Where  are  you  goititf,  my  l.'id,  at  that 
rate?"  she  inquired. 

"I'm  going  home.    Say,  Madam  Pie 

"Well,-  what  is  it?" 

"Did  you  know,  you  who  know  every- 
thing, that  our  viceroy  likes  to  tickle  the 
fish?" 

"Know  it?  Of  course  I  know  it.  And 
if  you  have  just  heard  of  it  you're  the  only 
ignorant  one  around  here.  Why,  for; 
years  the  viceroy  has  been  going  every 
morning,  rain  or  shine,  to  the  lake  over 
there,  to  install  himself  with  pole  and  line 
at  the  foot  of  the  big  willow.  He  loves 
that  seat,  and  never  has  he  been  seen 
occupying  any  other  while  fishing." 

"That's  rather  strange,  Madam  Pie." 

"Every  one,  O  Smooth-as- Amber,  has 
his  peculiarities!  The  big  guns  have  theirs 
like  other  folks;  and  now  you  know  the 
viceroy's.  It  isn't  likely  to  make  you  any 
richer,  though." 

"Who  knows?"  said  the  boy  to  himself; 
and  he  continued  his  walk. 

All  that  day  Yu-Yu  spent  in  his  home. 
He  was  in  a  musing  mood,  sometimes 
talking  to  himself  in  a  low  tone.  "What 
are  you  dreaming  about?"  inquired  his 
mother;  but  he  gave  her  only  a  vague 
answer.  When  the  first  star  made  its 
appearance  that  evening,  he  stretched 
himself  on  his  sleeping  mat  and  was  soon 
fast  asleep.  Hardly  had  the  last  star 
disappeared  the  next  morning,  however, 
when  he  was  up,  wide  awake  and  stirring. 
He  went  out,  cut  down  a  long  and  slender 
bamboo,  tied  a  silk  thread  about  twenty 
feet  long  to  the  end  of  it,  and  proceeded 
to  the  lake.  Arriving  there,  he  attached 
a  small  stone  to  the  end  of  his  line,  threw 
it  into  the  water,  and,  seating  himself 
just  in  the  place  beloved  of  the  mandarin, 
awaited  developments. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  the  viceroy 
appeared,  his  pole  over  his  shoulder.  At 
sight  of  the  boy,  he  let  the  pole  fall  and 
frowned  very  much.  His  first  impulse  was 
to  take  the  lad  by  the  ear  and  oust  him 
violently  from  his  seat.  Tai-Tao,  however, 
was  an  upright  man,  as  we  have  already 


said;  and,  accordingly,  refrained  from 
summary  a  treatment  of  the  intruder. 
"After  all,"  he  mused,  "the  lake  and  its 
shore  are  common  property.  I  have  no 
right  to  oust  this  boy.  I'll  give  up  my 
fishing  for  this  morning,  and  be  on  hand 
earlier  to-morrow." 

Turning  around,  he  went  back  home. 
The  next  morning  he  set  out  for  the  lake 
much  ahead  of  his  usual  hour,  and  made 
his  way  to  the  willow,  quite  sure  of  finding 
his  favorite  seat  unoccupied.  False  hope! 
Motionless  as  a  statue,  and  gripping  his 
bamboo  pole  between  his  hands,  the 
obstinate  little  fellow  was  again  seated 
under  the  old  tree. 

"Ah,"  growled  Tai-Tao  to  himself, 
"this  is  no  joke!  Patience,  however, — 
patience!  It  will  be  my  turn  to-morrow." 

Sure  enough,  at  cockcrow  the  next 
morning  the  mandarin  quietly  let  himself 
out  of  his  palace,  and  started  for  the 
lake.  With  the  exception  of  a  few  dogs, 
everyone  in  the  city  was  asleep;  the  stars 
were  just  disappearing,  and  a  soft  glow 
of  color  marked  the  eastern  sky.  "Well, 
this  time,"  mused,  Tai-Tao, — "this  time 
it  is  I  who  have  the  advantage.  That 
little  scoundrel  surely  isn't  up  at  this 
hour;  and  when  he  comes  along  with  his 
pole  and  line,  I'll  have  the  satisfaction  of 
crying  out :  '  Too  •  late ! " 

It  was  a  case,  however,  of  "sold  again." 
The  same  boy  was  fishing  away  in  the 
same  coveted  seat.  This  time  Tai-Tao  did 
not  retreat:  he  was  too  much  vexed.  He 
approached  the  lad  and  said: 

"You  seem  to  like  fishing,  my  young 
friend." 

"Enormously." 

"And  this  seat  pleases  you?" 

"Very  much,  indeed." 

"Do  you  intend  coming  here  often?" 

"Every  morning  the  whole  year  round." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  broken 
by  the  flight  of  a  swallow  over  the  tranquil 
waters  of  the  lake.  The  mandarin  looked 
at  the  boy  severely  and  inquired: 

"Do  you  know  to  whom  you  are 
speaking?" 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


507 


"Yes,  your  Highness." 

"And  you  have  the  audacity  to — 

"Yes,  your  Highness." 

"Give  me  my  place,  you  young  rascal,— 
give  me  my  place!" 

"Then  you  give  my  father  his  place. 
I  am  Yu-Yu,  nicknamed  (at  your  service) 
Smooth-as-Amber;  and  it  is  on  account  of 
Kou-Si,  your  fly-catcher,  that  I  am  here. 
Give  him  back  his  position,  and  I  promise 
you  that  nobody  will  ever  again  see  me 
in  this  .seat,  nor  shall  I  interfere  with  your 
honorable  fishing." 

While  the  clever  lad  proposed  this 
settlement,  the  viceroy  hesitated  between 
anger  and  mirth.  At  last  mirth  got  the 
upperhand. 

"All  right!'*  he  said  with  a  laugh.  "I 
accept.  Off  with  you  now  to  inform  your 
father  that  from  this  moment  he  is  re- 
established in  his  office  as  fly-chaser,  but 
only  on  condition  that  he  promises  never 
more  to  chase  wasps." 


Con  -of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


XVI. — FOLLOWING  THE  LIGHT. 

RS.  LAVINIA  NESBITT!  Nesbitt! 
Nesbitt!"  Father  Phil  caught  his 
breath  as  he  repeated  the  name  Miss 
Rayson  mentioned.  He  surely  had  mis- 
understood "I  beg  your  pardon!  Did 
you  say — " 

"Mrs.  L/avinia  Nesbitt,"  repeated  Miss 
Rayson,  simply.  "Perhaps  you  know  the 
family.  They  have  lived  here  a  long  time — • 
sixty  or  seventy  years, — and  the  'old 
Madam,'  as  we  call  her,  is  the  last  of  her 
immediate  line.  She  is  lonely  and  childless, 
and  needs  love  and  care;  for  her  life  has 
been  very  sad.  So  I  am  here"  (there  was 
something  very  bright  and  pleasant  in  the 
lady's  voice  and  smile)  "to  take,  so  far  as 
I  can,  a  daughter's  place." 

"And—and—"  (Father  Phil's  usually 
clear  head  was  in  a  bewildering  whirl)  "she 
has  no  one  but  you, — no  family,  I  mean?" 


"She  has  relations,"  answered  Miss 
Rayson,  guardedly,  "but  no  one  very  near 
or  dear.  Years  ago  she  had  a  great  sorrow 
that  has  darkened  all  her  life.  Since  then 
she  has  lived  apart  from  all  the  outer 
world,  in  her  old  home  with  her  old 
servants.  For  the  last  three  years,  at  the 
suggestion  of  her  pastor,  Father  Brooke, 
she  has  had  me." 

"A  wise  addition  to  her  household,  I 
am  sure."  Father  Phil  felt  as  if  he  were 
talking  in  a  dream. 

"Well,  perhaps,"  smiled  the  lady.  "I 
do  my  best  to  brighten  things;  but — but 
that  is  not  much.  It  is  rather  a  sad  and 
silent  house,  as  you  see.  I  was  watching 
the  little  girls  playing  in  Mrs.  Burnett's 
ground  this  morning,  and  wishing  I  could 
bring  some  young  life  here." 

"You  have  it  portrayed  at  least  most 
beautifully,"  said  Father  Phil,  turning  to 
the  picture  that  had  so  startled  him. 
"That  is  really  a  wonderful  canvas.  A 
portrait,  I  suppose?" 

' '  Yes, ' '  replied  Miss  Rayson.  ' '  That  is — 
the  old  Madam's  only  son.  The  picture 
was  painted  by  a  great  French  artist  when 
the  boy  was  only  twelve  years  of  age,  and 
is,  I  have  heard  the  old  servants  say,  a 
remarkable  likeness.  He  died  young.  It 
was  all  very,  very  sad." 

They  stood  silent  for  a  moment  before 
the  picture, — the  picture  whose  blue  eyes 
seemed  to  meet  Father  Phil's  in  an  appeal 
he  could  not  resist.  He  should  be  going  to 
find  Susie.  Really,  there  was  no  excuse 
for  him  to  linger,  to  wonder,  to — to 
question.  But,  but  perhaps  because 
"Jack's"  cousin  was  so  friendly,  the  words 
burst  forth  almost  against  the  speaker's 
will: 

"It  is  a  most  startling  likeness!  Miss 
Rayson,  would  it  be  intrusive  to  ask  you 
how,  when,,  where  that  boy  lived — and 
died?" 

"He  lived  here"  (Miss  Rayson  seemed 
to  think  nothing  strange  in  the  question, 
for  the  portrait  awoke  a  vivid  interest  in 
all  who  saw  it),— "the  idol,  the  spoiled 
darling  of  this  beautiful  home ;  he  was  his 


508 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


widowed  mother's  all.  He  died — ah,  that 
is  the  sad  part  of  it! — exiled  from  her 
heart,  her  home,  her  life.  It  is  the  old 
story,  Father:  a  marriage  that  displeased, 
disappointed,  angered  the  mother  into 
words  the  son  could  not  forgive.  And  so 
he  died,  and  her  heart  broke,  and  her  life 
was  darkened  forever.  Poor  old  Madam — • 
there  is  her  bell  calling  me  now!"  Miss 
Rayson  started  as  a  silvery  sound  came 
from  the  hall  without.  "She  can  not 
spare  me  very  long,  you  see.  But  I  am 
glad  to  have  met  you,  Father  Doane,  even 
if  it  is  by  mistake.  You  will  find  Mrs. 
Burnett  without  any  difficulty  now.  Oak- 
wood  is  just  three  places  beyond  this." 

"Thank  you!"  said  Father  Phil,  realiz- 
ing he  could  not  question  further.  "I,  too, 
am  glad  to  have  met  Jack's  cousin  so 
pleasantly.  God  bless  you  and  'your 
service,'  my  dear  young  lady!  May  it 
bring  its  own  reward!" 

He  shook  hands  with  her  and  left, 
feeling  as  if  he  were  groping  through  the 
illusive  ways  of  Misty  Mountain  when  its 
white  cloud-veil  was  threaded  with  the 
light  of  a  sun  he  could  not  see.  Was  he 
being  guided  as  Father  Tim  had  said, — • 
guided  as  no  worldly  wisdom  or  foresight 
could  guide?  The  picture,  the  name,  the 
broken-hearted  old  woman!  Father  Phil 
felt  quite  dazed  by  the  bewildering  light 
shimmering  upon  him.  It  would  have  been 
rude,  intrusive,  unpardonable  to  question 
Miss  Rayson  further,  and  yet  he  must 
know  more. 

Susie's  brother  was  by  no  means  his 
usual  calm,  clever  self  when  he  rang  the 
bell  at  Oakwood,  and  the  door  was  opened 
by  a  plump,  comfortable  old  lady — Lil's 
grandmother  herself. 

"Father  Doane,  I  am  sure!"  she  said. 
"I  saw  you  coming  in  the  gate,  and  knew 
you  at  once.  Susie  will  be  so  glad!  She 
and  Lil  have  gone  off  for  a  little  skate  in 
Colonel  Bigsby's  ice  pond, — quite  safe, 
not  deep  enough  to  drown  a  kitten.  But 
they  will  be  back  for  a  twelve-o'clock 
luncheon.  My  daughters-in-law  all  declare 
it  shocking,  but  I  have  twelve-o'clock 


luncheon  yet,  and  make  the  gingerbread 
myself." 

"And  I  am  sure  it  is  good!"  laughed 
Father  Phil,  as  the  lady  led  the  way  into 
a  big  homey  parlor,  where  the  open  piano 
was  strewn  with  music,  and  the  center 
table  with  books  and  games.  A  great 
tabby  was  sunning  herself  among  the  red 
geraniums  in  the  south  window,  and 
grandmother's  gingerbread  was  in  the  air. 

Father  Phil  took  the  cushioned  chair 
his  hostess  pushed  forward  to  the  glowing 
grate,  and  accepted  her  invitation  to 
lunch  without  hesitation. 

"You  are  very  kind  to  take  my  little 
motherless  sister  in  like  this,"  he  said. 

"Not  at  all, — not  at  all,"  replied  the 
old  lady,  heartily.  "Susie  is  a  little  darling, 
and  I  am  only  too  glad  to  have  her  here 
with  lyil.  As  Lil's  father  said  she  needed  a 
change:  she  was  all  upset  with  those  wild 
doings  up  at  the  Manse,  and  could  neither 
eat  nor  sleep.  She  would  have  been  down 
with  nervous  fever  in  another  week.  But 
we  are  fixing  that  all  right,"  laughed  Lil's 
grandmother.  "If  you  could  have  heard 
the  crowd  of  them  in  here  last  night!  It's 
well  we're  not  next  door  to  that  poor 
Nesbitt  woman.  We'd  drive  her  into  the 
madhouse  outright." 

"Oh,  not  so  bad  as  that,  I  hope!"  said 
Father  Phil. 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  the  old  lady, 
nodding.  "I've  had  twelve  years  of  them, 
you  see,  and  am  used  to  hullabaloo  from" 
morning  to  night.  But  when  you've  had 
neither  chick  nor  child  about  you  for 
twenty  years  or  more,  and  sorrow  enough 
for  three  women  besides  (though  she  can't 
blarne  the  good  Lord  for  that:  it  was  her 
own  doing  from  first  to  last,  as  I've  always 
said),  it's  no  wonder  that  children's  voices 
and  children's  laughter  are  more  than  she 
can  bear." 

That  Lil's  grandmother  was  a  kindly 
old  gossip,  Father  Phil  could  see. 

"I  went  into  your  neighbor's  house 
through  mistake,"  he  said.  "Susie's 
direction  was  not  very  clear.  It  does  seem 
a  sadly  quiet  place  compared  to  this/' 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


509 


"Quiet?"  echoed  the  old  lady.  "It's 
like  a  morgue!  There's  a  chill  comes  over 
me  as  soon  as  I  cross  the  threshold, — 
which  I  do  every  now  and  then,  as  I 
believe  all  good  neighbors  ought.  Some- 
times  the  old  Madam  will  see  me,  and 
sometimes  she  won't,  though  we  were 
friendly  enough'  twenty  years  ago.  But 
I  said  my  say  when  she  turned  against  her 
boy  for  loving  and  marrying  to  suit  himself, 
as  every  man  and  woman  should.  They 
tell  me  she  spends  half  her  days  sitting 
before  his  picture  and  talking  to  it  as  if 
it  had  life.  But  you  can't  harden  your 
heart  against  your  own  and  not  suffer 
sooner  or  later.  When  my  Dick  ran  off 
at  nineteen  and  married  a  chorus  girl,  I 
felt  sore  enough,  too.  A  pair  of  young 
fools  they  were;  but  we  took  them  in, 
and  there  isn't  a  better  wife  or  mother  in 
all  the  country  than  that  girl  has  made. 
Her  boy  is  out  with  Lil  and  Susie  now.  I 
always  have  half  a  dozen  or  so  of  them 
round  the  house.  It  keeps  things  cheerful 
for  me,  now  that  father  is  gone.  Ah,  I 
often  think  what  a  different  place  Elmwood 
would  have  been  if  the  grandchild  had 
lived." 

"The  grandchild!"  echoed  Father  Phil, 
breathlessly.  "You  mean  that  the  dead 
son — that  boy  in  the  picture — left  a 
child?" 

"Aye,  a  fine  child!"  went  on  Lil's 
grandmother,  now  in  the  full  tide  of 
friendly  gossip.  "And  that  seemed  where 
the  judgment  of  God  fell,  indeed.  For, 
though  Lavinia  Nesbitt's  heart  was  cold 
and  hard  to  the  last  to  the  poor  young 
mother,  when  she  died  it  turned  to  the 
child,  the  son  of  her  son,  the  boy  that 
had  his  father's  name,  that  she  would  have 
taken  to  her  heart  and  home  in  his 
father's  place.  So  she  sent  for  him;  but 
on  the  way  back  to  her,  child  and  nurse 
were  killed  in  a  railroad  wreck — and — " 

The  gentle,  droning  voke  went  on  in 
dread  detail.  But  her  listener  was  spell- 
bound: the  light  had  burst  upon  him  in 
dazzling  radiance,  revealing  the  truth  that 
he  could  no  longer  doubt.  The  tarigled 


thread  of  Wilmot  Elkins'  story  straight- 
ened into  clear,  unbroken  lines.  The 
child  snatched  by  evil  hands  from  his 
dying  nurse's  arms,  sold  like  a  chattel 
near  the  flaming  wreck  in  the  mountain; 
robbed  of  name,  home,  birthright;  con- 
signed to  wild,  rude,  cruel  care, — that 
child,  Father  Phil  felt  and  knew,  was  Con 
of  Misty  Mountain,  the  little  pal  who 
'didn't  belong  to  nobody,' — Con  who  had 
saved  his  little  sister,  and  whose  blue  eyes 
had  looked  out  at  .him  from  his  dead 
father's  picture!  Con  was  Charles  Owen 
Nesbitt,  heir  and  master  of  the  splendid 
homp  he  had  just  left! 

And  it  was  for  him,  Father  Philip 
Doane,  to  show,  declare,  prove  it;  for  him 
to  "do  justice,"  as  he  had  promised  the 
dying  wretch  who  had  wrought  this  evil; 
for  him  to  denounce  and  unmask  the 
villain  who  bore  the  guilt  of  all.  It  was 
well  that  long  years  of  training  had  given 
Father  Phil  stern  self-control:  he  needed 
it  now,  to  conceal  the  emotion  thrilling 
heart  and  soul;  to  meet  Susie,  who  came 
flying  in,  rosy  and  breathless,  to  greet 
him;  to  shake  hands  with  Lil  and  Dick 
and  Fred,  and  half  a  dozen  more  "cousins " ; 
to  hear  about  the  coasting  frolics  and 
taffy  pulls  and  matinees  that  were  on 
his  little  sister's  programme  for  the  week. 

For  Susie  was  having  the  "grandest 
time"  of  her  life,  as  she  openly  declared. 
Lil's  grandmother  could  be  trusted  for 
that,  as  Susie's  brother  plainly  saw,  when 
he  was  drawn  in  to  the  twelve-o'clock 
luncheon  and  said  grace  for  a  table  full  of 
rosy,  happy  youngsters,  with  appetites 
which  had  been  sharpened  to  razor  edge 
by  a  morning  on  Colonel  Bigsby's  pond. 
Such  a  good,  old-fashioned  luncheon  as 
it  was !  For  there  were  no  frills  or  f olderols 
at  Lil's  grandmother's.  Even  Gladys, 
whose  mother  kept  a  butler  and  a  chef, 
passed  her  plate  three  times  for  creamed 
chicken;  and  Fred,  who  was  kept  strictly 
on  Graham  bread  at  home,  piled  in  hot 
biscuits  in  .a  way  that  would  have  made 
his  mother  faint;  and  Susie — -well, — it 
was  evident  that  the  doctor's  tonic  was  no 


510 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


longer  needed,  as  Lil's  grandmother  said. 
Only  Father  Phil  sipped  his  tea  absently, 
and,  to  that  good  lady's  disappointment, 
could  not  eat  at  all. 

"You're  not  sick,  brother  Phil?"  asked 
Susie,  anxiously,  as,  the  luncheon  over, 
grandmother  scattered  the  others  and  left 
brother  and  sister  in  the  big  parlor  to 
have  a  talk  to  themselves. 

"Not  a  bit!"  he  answered  cheerily. 
"Come  sit  down  beside  me  on  this  cushiony 
old  sofa,  and  let  me  hear  all  about  the 
trouble  at  the  Manse." 

And,  nestling  happily  at  dear  brother 
Phil's  side,  Susie  told  all  about  the  dreadful 
night,  and  how  Con — bra.ve,  bold  Con — 
had  come  to  warn  and  save,  "so  that  I — 
I  wouldn't  burn  up.  And  I  believe  that; 
don't  you,  brother  Phil?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  it,  Susie,"  was  the  answer. 

"Oh,  you  ought  to  have  seen  him, 
brother  Phil!"  continued  Susie,  her  voice 
faltering  at  the  remembrance.  "Dennis 
pulled  him  in  the  Manse,  all  pale  and 
bleeding  and  scarcely  able  to  speak;  and 
his  clothes  were  nearly  torn  off  by  the 
dogs,  and — and  everybody  scolding  and 
blaming  and  raging  at  him.  Oh,  it  makes 
me  cry  to  think  of  it!  And  Kathie — • 
Kathie  is  Aunt  Aline:s  new  kitchen  maid, 
brother  Phil,  and  the  nicest,  dearest  girl 
you  ever  saw, — Kathie  said  she  knew  that 
if  Uncle  Greg  locked  Con  up  he'd  go 
crazy  and  burst  his  head  against  the  Wall, 
like  her  Uncle  Jim.  And  it  just  broke  my 
heart  to  think  of  that,  brother  Phil."  Again 
Susie's  voice  quavered  very  close  to  a  sob. 

"Yes,  I  understand,  Susie.  So  you  and 
Kathie  let  Con  out?" 

"She  did,"  went  on  Susie.  "But  I  made 
her.  I  coaxed  her  to  do  it,  brother  Phil. 
Oh,  was  it  wrong,  brother  Phil,  when 
everybody  was  so  hard,  so  cruel  to  him?" 

"No,  Susie:  you  did  what  you  thought 
was  right  and  kind," — even  though  brother 
Phil  hesitated.  (He  could  not  tell  Susie 
how  glad  he  would  have  been  just  now  to 
find  Con  safe  within  his  reach.)  "So  don't 
worry  any  more  about  it.  And  you  or 
Kathie  can't  say  where  poor  Con  went?" 


"No,"  answered  Susie.  "Kathie  says 
she  just  pushed  him  out  into  the  mist. 
He  has  gone — nobody  knows  where,  and 
will  never,  never  come  back."  Susie  was 
sobbing  outright  now.  "We  will  never 
see  poor  Con  again,  brother  Phil, — never 
again ! ' ' 

And  when  brother  Phil  thought  of  the 
hunted  boy  fleeing  over  the  wild  ways  of 
Misty  Mountain,  he  felt  with  a  sinking 
heart  that  perhaps  Susie  was  right. 

(To  be  continued.) 


As  Pious  as  Brave. 


celebrated  Austrian  General 
^"^  Radetzky  was  as  pious  as  he  was 
brave.  Once,  whilst  resting  in  his  park 
near  the  imperial  residence  in  Vienna,  his 
Rosary  fell  out  of  his  pocket  unperceived. 
Some  soldiers  to  whom  he  had  given  the 
freedom  of  his  premises  found  it.  The 
General  happened  to  pass  near  the  bench 
soon  afterwards,  and,  seeing  them  showing 
some  object  among  themselves,  asked 
what  they  had.  "Father"  (such  was  the 
affectionate  title  given  the  old  General  by 
the  soldiers),  they  replied,  "we  have  found 
a  pair  of  beads  on  this  bench,  and  were 
wondering  what  soldier  it  is  that  is  simple 
enough  to  say  them. ' '  ' '  Give  them  to  me, " 
said  the  old  man;  "it  is  I  who  left  them 
there.  They  are  mine,  and  I  am  simple 
enough  to  say  them." 

Before  going  into  battle,  General 
Radetzky  always  exhorted  his  soldiers  to 
place  their  confidence  in  God.  On  account 
of  his  great  age  (he  was  more  than  eighty 
years  old  when  he  won  his  most  splendid 
victories),  he  was  obliged  to  drive  in  a 
carriage  when  the  army  was  in  motion. 
On  one  of  these  occasions,  when  all  was  in 
readiness  for  the  order  to  march,  the  old 
chieftain  was  missing.  He  was  discovered 
asleep  in  his  carriage,  with  his  Rosary, 
which  he  had  been  reciting,  beside  him. 
Uow  Gocl  blessed  the  arms  of  this  great 
military  leader  is  well  known  to  the 
student  of  history. 


THE  AYR  MARIA  511 

WITH    AUTHORS   AND    PUBLISHERS 


— A  good  reprint  from  the  Catholic  World  is 
"The  Greek  Schism  and  Benedict  XV.,"  by 
George  Calavassy,  to  whose  important  mission 
in  the  United  States  THE  AvE  MARIA  has 
already  called  attention. 

— The  Australian  C.  T.  Society's  latest  penny 
pamphlets  (Nos.  255  and  256)  are  "The  Litera- 
ture of  the  Liturgy,"  a  reprint  of  an  interesting 
lecture  by  Mrs.  M.  Goulter;  and  "The  Holy 
Angels  of  God,"  a  series  of  considerations  by  the 
Rev.  M.  J.  Watson,  S.  J. 

— Many  of  our  readers,  especially  among  the 
clergy,  will  be  grieved  to  learn  of  the  death  of 
Monsignor  O' Kelly,  late  editor  of  that  unique 
Catholic  weekly,  Rome.  Under  the  pen-name  of 
"Vox  Urbis,"  he  furnished  for  a  number  of  years 
valuable  Rome'  correspondence  to  journals  in 
this  country  and  England.  He  was  also  the 
official  English  translator  of  Papal  Encyclicals 
and  other  important  documents.  R.  I.  P. 

— In  the  London  Fortnightly  Review,  Mr. 
Edmund  Gosse  writes  interestingly  of  the 
late  Lord  Cromer,  not  as  diplomatist,  or  Consul- 
General  of  Egypt  for  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
but  as  a  man  of  letters.  The  following  quatrain, 
from  an  unpublished  translation  of  a  fragment  of 
Euripides,  Mr.  Gosse  reproduces  as  being  a 
favorite  of  Lord  Cromer  himself: 

I  learn  what  may  be  taught; 
I  seek  what  may  be  sought; 
My  other  wants  I  dare 
To  ask  from  Heaven  in  prayer. 

— Harper's  Centennial  Edition  of  "Crabb's 
English  Synonyms"  is  a  publication  that  is  sure 
of  a  wide  welcome.  Like  Roget's  "Thesaurus," 
it  is  a  standard  work  of  reference.  This  new 
edition  has  been  thoroughly  revised  and  ampli- 
fied by  the  addition  of  more  than  twenty-five 
hundred  new  keywords  with  synonyms  and 
cross  references.  The  entire  body  of  the  original 
work  and  explanations  is,  of  course,  retained, 
and  has  been  supplemented  by  a  large  number 
of  words  and  their  applications' that  have  grown 
into  the  language  within  recent  years, — terms 
relating  to  war,  science,  sports,  etc. 

-"The  Master's  Word,"  in  two  volumes, 
by  the  Rev.  Thomas  Flynn,  C.  C.,  is  heralded  by 
the  publishers,  Benziger  Brothers,  as  "a  new 
sermon  work  which  is  a  unique  departure  in  the 
realm  of  sacred  oratory."  The  work  contains 
sixty  sermons  for  all  the  Sundays  and  the  prin- 
cipal feasts  of  the  year;  and  such  justice  as 
lies  in  the  publishers'  claim  is  consequent  upon 
the  author's  plan  of  utilizing  both  the  Epistle 
and  the  Gospel  of  each  Sunday  or  feast  in  the 


composition  of  his  discourse.  The  sermons  are 
not  unduly  long,  averaging  about  ten  small 
octavo  pages;  and  their  structure  will  at  least 
interest  the  clerical  lover  of  anything  new  in  the 
line  of  sermon  books.  One  excellent  feature  of 
the  work  is  a  good  index. 

— From  Loyola  University  Press,  Chicago, 
comes  a  new  edition  (for  use  in  English  classes) 
of  "The  Dream  of  Gerontius,"  by  Cardinal 
Newman.  Father  John  J.  Clifford,  Ss  J.,  has 
done  the  task  of  editing,  with  a  view  to  meet 
actual  class-room  conditions.  It  is  a  splendid 
piece  of  work,  offering  remarkable  value  at  ten 
cents  the  copy.  By  the  same  press  is  issued 
"The  Master  Key  in  the  Hand  of  Joseph,"  by 
the  Rev.  Joseph  P.  Conroy,  S.  J.,  a  character 
study  of  St.  Joseph,  reprinted  from  the  Ecclesi- 
astical Review. 

— Persons  who  refrain  from  taking  books 
from  the  public  libraries  because  of  the  presumed 
danger  that  bacteria  lurk  in  their  pages  are 
unduly  timid.  A  bacteriologist  of  Johns  Hop- 
kins University  some  time  ago  examined  seventy- 
five  public  library  books  that  had  been  in  cir- 
culation for  many  years.  They  were  soiled  and 
dog-eared  and  uninviting  enough.  He  also 
examined  a  hundred  and  fifty  schoolbooks  from 
homes  in  which  diphtheria  was  known  to  have 
existed.  And  he  did  not  find  a  solitary  deadly 
germ  of  any  kind  on  one  of  the  two  hundred 
and  twenty-five  books. 

— "History  of  the  Sinn  Fein  Movement  and 
the  Irish  Rebellion  of  1916,"  by  Francis  P. 
Jones,  with  an  Introduction  by  the  Hon.  John 
W.  Goff,  is  a  well-printed  and  substantially 
bound  1 2  mo  of  462  pages.  It  contains  sixty- 
three  chapters,  with  an  appendix  and  a  fairly 
adequate  index.  Written  in  a  spirit  of  uncom- 
promising opposition  to  everything  English 
and  to  the  Irish  Parliamentary  Party,  the  book 
will  doubtless  be  admired  by  readers  of  the  same 
political  preferences,  and  it  will  prove  not 
uninteresting  even  to  those  who  believe  that 
the  Easter  "rebels"  of  1916  loved  Ireland 
"not  wisely  but  too  well."  Published  by  P.  J. 
Kenedy  &  Sons. 

— Objection  having  been  raised  to  the  use 
of  the  French  word  format  in  a  wider  sense  than 
by  the  French  themselves — among  whom  it 
signifies  simply  the  size  of  a  book  as  distin- 
guished from  the  forme,  not  the  "get-up," — a 
correspondent  of  the  London  Times  Literary 
Supplement  declares  that  "format"  supplies  a 
felt  want,  which  is  sufficient  justification  for 


512 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


its  use.  "Living  and  still  growing  languages," 
he  adds,  "like  English,  are  not  made  by  gram- 
marians and  scholars,  but  by  the  'ignorant  arid 
vulgar  masses,'  to  whom  we  owe  that  South- 
western Europe  is  enriched  not  only  with  its 
Latin  literature,  but  with  Italian,  Spanish, 
French,  and  English  literatures." 

— A  handsome,  not  to  say  sumptuous,  volume 
entitled  "Blessed  Art  Thou  Among  Women," 
compiled  by  William  Frederick  Butler,  and 
having  a  foreword  from  Archbishop  Ireland, 
has  just  been  published  by  Rand,  McNally  & 
Co.,  Chicago.  It  may  be  described  as  a  devotional 
work  of  art  for  Christian  homes.  It  comprises 
the  "Life  of  the  Virgin  Mother"  portrayed,  .in 
sepia  reproductions  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
pictures,  by  sixty-five  of  the  great  masters; 
and  the  "Story  of  the  Saviour"  as  told  in 
Isaias,  the  Sibylline  Oracles,  Vergil,  Alexander 
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on  his  painstaking  industry  and  excellent  taste, 
although  the  inclusion  of  so  much  of  Milton 
may  subject  him  to  some  criticism. 


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


"Sequentia"  of  an  Old  Priest. 


BY    R.   OK. 


(3LORY  to  God  for  the  Paschal  Time, 

Alleluia! 

Blessed  be  Christ  for  the  joyous  rhyme 
At  Mass  and  Matins,  at  Lauds  and  Prime, 
Alleluia!    Alleluia! 

I  have  been  young,  and  am  now  grown  old, 

Alleluia! 

The  days  of  my  pilgrimage  soon  are  told; 
The  Shepherd  is  calling  me  home  to  the  fold, 
Alleluia!    Alleluia! 

When  I  have  breathed  my  latest  sigh, 

Alleluia! 

East  or  west  'neath  the  bending  sky, 
Where  shall  my  motionless  body  lie? 
Alleluia!    Alleluia! 

It  matters  not,  so  'tis  Paschal  Time, 

Alleluia! 

And  the  Church  is  singing  the  blessed  rhyme 
At  Mass  and  Matins,  at  Lauds  and   Prime, 
Alleluia!    Alleluia! 

Simple  and  plain  bid  them  lay  me  down, 

Alleluia! 

Far  from  the  noise  and  glare  of  the  town, 
In  my  old  biretta  and  college  gown, 
Alleluia!    Alleluia! 

A  belfry  nigh,  and  the  Mass  bell  rings, 

Alleluia! 

And  its  heavenly  breath  the  censer  swings; 
Perhaps  I  may  hear  the  choir  as  it  sings, 
Alleluia!    Alleluia! 

Set  my  head  to  the  sunny  west, 

Alleluia! 

My  feet  by  the  morning  dawn  caressed, 
Anear  the  place  where  my  Lord  doth  rest, — 
Oh,  near  the  place  where  my  Lord  doth  rest, 
Alleluia!    Alleluia! 


Women  in  War  Time.— 17  Mulberry  Walk. 


BY    MARTIN 


UCH  has  been  written  and 
said  of  late  of  the  part  the 
women  of  England  have  played 
during  the  war.  It  may  in- 
terest the  readers  of  THE 
AvE  MARIA  to  know  something  more  in 
detail  of  one  of  the  centres  of  work  in 
London,  with  which  the  writer  has  been 
associated  since  its  modest  beginning. 

After  the  first  stunning  shock  and  thrill 
which  seemed  to  stir  the  very  groundwork 
of  English  life  and  habit,  Englishwomen 
were  not  slow  in  organizing,  and,  so  to 
speak,  drilling  themselves  into  an  army  of 
succor  behind  the  army  of  men:  uphold- 
ing and  helping  them,  seconding  their 
every  effort  with  a  valor  different  indeed 
from,  but  in  no  way  inferior  to,  that  dis- 
played in  the  field.  Led  by  Queen  Mary, 
who  lost  not  a  day  in  placing  herself  at 
the  head  of  the  chief  and  most  urgently 
necessary  of  the  many  works  which  sprang 
into  life  at  the  shock  of  arms,  a  vast  number 
of  women  began  their  labors  in  the  hospi- 
tals, canteens,  and  Red  Cross  work  of 
every  kind  for  the  wounded  and  the 
prisoners  of  war. 

When  universal  service  for  the  men 
came  into  being,  the  services  of  the  women 
became  universal,  too;  and,  with  an 
adaptability  which  took  the  world  by 
surprise— and  themselves  no  less, — they 
stepped  into  the  empty  places  of  their  men ; 
and  it  is  almost  safe  to  say  that,  except 


514 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


those  incapacitated  by  illness  or  infirmity, 
or  prevented  by  their  duties  to  the  children, 
hardly  an  idle  woman  is  to  be  found 
throughout  the  land.  In  a  greater  or  less 
degree,  all  are  playing  their  part  in  the 
grim  and  terrible  Game  of  War.  From 
the  highly  trained  woman  surgeon  and 
physician,  through  every  office  and  service 
directly  or  indirectly  interested  in  the 
war — to  the  women  guiding  the  plough, 
hoeing  the  potato  field  and  gathering  in 
the  harvest, — women  and  girls  and  even 
children  are  doing  -the  work  of  men; 
haltingly  at  first  perhaps,  but  keenly  and 
intelligently  serving  a  quick  apprenticeship. 
The  poet  shows  us  Pity  in  the  shape  of 
a  woman  standing  by  the  side  of  War, — 

Dejected  Pity  at  his  side 

Her  soul-subduing  voice  applied. 

Had  Collins  been  writing  to-day,  he  might 
have  substituted  the  word  "courageous" 
for  "dejected";  for  nothing  in  this  great 
trial  which  so  suddenly  came  upon  us,  and 
has  lasted  so  long,  has  been  more  marked 
than  the  calm  courage  and  endurance  of 
the  women:  tenderly-nurtured  girls  en- 
gaged for  long  hours  in  the  humblest  tasks 
in  hospital  kitchens,  in  canteens  and  work- 
shops; young  wives  sending  off  with  a 
smile  the  bridegrooms  of  a  few  days,  some- 
times even  of  a  few  hours;  the  mother 
who,  on  being  congratulated  on  the  heroic 
conduct  of  one  of  her  five  sons  on  active 
service,  quietly  replied:  "If  I  had  twenty 
sons,  I  should  want  them  all  to  go." 

When  the  English  Government,  in  the 
first  days  of  the  war,  offered  the  hospitality 
of  its  shores  to  the  unhappy  Belgians 
flying  before  the  invader,  one  of  the  finest 
pages  of  England's  domestic  history  was 
repeated  at  an  interval  of  more  than  a 
hundred  years.  As  the  heart  of  the 
Nation  was  stirred,  as  her  hand  was 
stretched  out  to  welcome  the  emigres  from 
the  French  Revolution  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  so  at  the  beginning  of  the  twen- 
tieth did  she  pour  out  with  the  utmost 
generosity  her  gifts  and  her  sympathy  to 
the  stricken  multitudes  of  helpless  people 
swept  to  her  shores. 


In  the  dire  emergency  and  stress,  as 
shipload  after  shipload  of  the  dazed  and 
horror-stricken  refugees  arrived  —  some 
stripped  of  their  all,  some  with  hastily 
tied-up  bundles,  pathetic  in  their  evidence 
of  sudden  flight  from  modest  homes;  a 
few,  more  fortunate,  with  old-fashioned 
trunks  and  boxes, — the  labors  and  difficul- 
ties of  the  reception  and  organizing  com- 
mittees may  be  more  easily  imagined  than 
described.  These  were  heroically  overcome, 
and  it  is  pleasant  to  remember  that  it  was 
the  Catholic  Women's  league  that  con- 
ceived the  happy  scheme,  soon  universally 
adopted,  of  distributing  the  Belgians  in 
the  towns  and  country  places  of  the  three 
kingdoms;  keeping  the  families  together, 
and  inviting  offers  from  the  various  places 
according  to  their  size  and  importance. 

The  response  was  extraordinary,  and 
beyond  all  expectation.  The  lord  mayor 
of  a  Northern  town  (the  first  Catholic  to 
hold  the  office)  received  invitations  for 
5000  guests,  in  answer  to  his  announce- 
ment that  3000  refugees  had  been  allotted 
to  his  borough.  Twice  or  thrice  a  week  the 
refugee  trains  brought  their  consignment 
of  human  beings,  ticketed  and  numbered. 
Wearing  his  gold  chain  and  jewelled  badge 
of  office,  the  mayor  received  his  honored 
guests  at  the  door  of  the  great  banqueting 
room  in  the  town-hall;  while,  outside, 
the  serried  crowds  cheered  (as  North 
country  crowds  know  how  to  cheer)  in  loud 
welcome  as  the  long  line  of  'motor  cars 
which  brought  the  exiles  from  the  railway 
station  filed  past.  Modest  refections  of 
coffee  and  plain  food  were  spread  where, 
in  former  times,  the  solemn  aldermanic 
banquets,  famous  for  their  luxury,  were 
held. 

Speedily  the  medical  examinations  are 
gone  through;  for  they  are  a  robust  and 
healthy  race,  and  the  sturdy  children 
obediently  put  out  their  rosy  tongues. 
Lists  are  made,  and  the  various  families 
are  handed  over  to  their  hosts  or  hostesses, 
and  whirled  off  on  their  last  motor  drive 
to  the  homes  provided  for  them,  and  where 
they  will  enjoy  the  first  quiet  night's  rest 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


515 


since  they  fled  from  their '  bombarded 
towns.  "Louvain,"  "Malines,"  "Ant- 
werp," come  from  their  weary  lips  in 
response  to  the  questions,  of  their  new 
friends.  And  there  the  conversation 
generally  ends,  if  there  is  no  interpreter  at 
hand;  for  the  language  difficulty  is  great, 
the  Flemish-speaking  Belgians  being  in 
the  majority. 

If  the  organization  in  its  business  details 
was  chiefly  directed  by  men,  the  women 
on  the  central  and  local  committees  under- 
took the  domestic  work,  for  which  they 
were  best  fitted, — the  finding  and  fur- 
nishing of  houses  and  hostels,  the  catering, 
the  clothing  (the  latter  a  vast  work  of 
collection  and  distribution),  the  depths 
of  their  pity  inspiring  them  with  a  tender 
regard  for  the  feelings  and  sentiments  as 
well  as  for  the  physical  needs  of  their 
guests;  pious  pictures  hung  on  the  walls, 
and  portraits  of  their  soldier-king, — "the 
bravest  man  in  the  whole  world,"  as  a 
little  English  urchin  explained  in.  showing 
King  Albert's  head  on  a  matchbox,  in 
those  early  days,  when  the  hearts  of  all 
men  melted  to  learn  the  woes  of  a  peaceful 
people. 

The  sudden  influx  of  a  large  Catholic 
population  into  the  midst  of  a  Protestant 
country  presented  its  own  difficulties ; 
and,  to  the  honor  of  the  latter,  it  must  be 
said  that,  with  very  few  exceptions,  the 
religion  of  its  guests  was  scrupulously 
respected  and  safeguarded;  the  nearest 
parish  priest  being  placed  on  the  local 
committees,  as  well  as  several  lay  members. 
A  Quaker  lady,  at  the  head  of  a  perfectly 
appointed  hostel  supported  by  the  Society 
of  Friends,  anxiously  inquired  from  a 
Catholic  friend  if  she  must  send  the  con- 
valescent soldiers  fasting  to  the  eleven 
o'clock  Mass  on  Sundays;  only  one  or  two 
of  her  "dear  Belgies,"  as  she  called  them, 
could  speak  a  little  French,  and  she  could 
not  make  them  understand  her  questions, 
as  she  had  forgotten  the  French  word  for 
fasting. 

The  whole  attitude  of  the  nation  was 
summed  up  in  a  poor  woman's  terse  and 


emphatic  "We  can  never  do  enough  for 
the  Belgians";  and  no  one  was  too  poor, 
no  hamlet  too  small  or  obscure  to  con- 
tribute a  share  in  the  general  effort. 
Their  cause  appealed  as  much  to  the 
laborers  and  their  wives,  who  saw  in  them 
a  multitude  of  outcasts  from  hearth  and 
home,  as  to  the  governing  and  military 
authorities,  who  recognized  to  the  full  the 
importance  of  that  gallant  stand  which 
bore  and  broke  the  first  shock  of  the 
German  Goliath.  When  an  ancient  Buck- 
inghamshire village  decided  to  provide  a 
home  for  one  Belgian  family  (all  it  could 
afford  to  do),  the  lady  of  the  manor 
invited  loans  of  furniture  and  equipment 
for  the  cottage  that  had  been  secured. 
She  went  next  day  to  see  how  her  invita- 
tion had  been  responded  to,  and  found  the 
place  so  full  that  several  things  had  to  be 
returned,  and  from  bedsteads  to  teacups 
the  house  was  practically  ready.  The  whole 
village  trooped  to  meet  the  train  and  to 
shake  hands  with  its  guests;  the  women 
regarding  the  bare  head  of  the  blond- 
haired  peasant  with  her  newborn  babe  in 
her  arms,  as  the  climax  of  her  sufferings, 
unaware  that  it  was  the  custom  of  her 
country.  That  baby  died,  as  so  many  of 
its  fellows  did;  and  another  has  been 
born  to  its  parents,  who  are  so  entirely 
acclimatized  to  their  new  home  and  work 
that  it  seems  probable  they  will  stay  on, 
and  make  no  effort  to  return  to  their 
desolated  birthplace. 

The  benefits  have  not  been  all  on  one 
side,  and  bid  fair  to  be  enduring  and 
far-reaching.  The  frugal  habits  of  the 
women,  their  excellence  in  cooking,  the 
strong,  intelligent  industry  of  the  men, 
can  not  but  exercise  a  certain  influence 
upon  their  neighbors.  It  is  perhaps  too 
much  to  hope  that  their  sobriety  and 
economy  may  prove  catching  to  their 
British  fellow  -  workmen.  More  than 
seventy-five  per  cent  of  the  refugees  in  our 
midst  are  now  earning  their  own  living. 

In  an  emergency  so  sudden  and  unex- 
pected that  it  taxed  and  strained  the 
great  organizing  powers  of  the  community,, 


516 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


it  was  inevitable  that  some  mistakes  and 
blunders  should  arise,  and  over-zeal  bring 
its  own  penalties.  On  the  other  hand,  in 
the  great  upheaval  which  had  flung  them 
on  an  alien  shore,  some  of  the  more  ignorant 
among  our  guests  were  led  into  odd  errors 
and  conjectures,  and  countless  rumors 
throve  in  the  mixed  companies,— -such  as 
that  their  exodus  had  been  planned  by  the 
Germans  in  concert  with  the  English; 
that  the  hospitality  they  were  receiving 
needed  no  thanks,  because  it  was  well  paid 
in  hard  cash  by  their  own  Government. 

The  very  lavishness  of  their  welcome  was 
calculated  to  mislead.  "I  like  our  women 
to  be  nicely  dressed,"  remarked  a  member 
of  the  house  committee  of  a  hostel;  "but 
I  do  not  see  why  three  of  them  were  pro- 
vided with  black  satin  coats  down  to  their 
heels  to  go  to  the  Cinema."  "Half  my 
time  is  spent,"  the  harassed  Belgian 
Consul  in  a  large  district  complained,  "in 
going  from  place  to  place,  bringing  our 
people  to  order.  You  are  spoiling  them 
and  giving  them  'swelled  heads,'"  he 
continued  to  a  member  of  a  Catholic 
ladies'  committee  who  had  come  to  ask 
his  intervention.  "You  give  them  chickens 
and  pheasants  to  eat,  and  more  pocket 
money  than  they  have  seen  in  their  lives. 
You  say  your  men  refuse  to  conform  to  the 
rule  that  they  shall  pay  fifteen  shillings 
out  of  their  weekly  wages  of  one  pound 
towards  their  own  support  and  that  of 
their  families.  Your  mistake  was  in  giving 
them  so  much:  two  shillings  would  have 
been  enough." 

Led  by  a  voluble  cobbler,  the  men  in 
that  particular  hostel  had,  in  fact,  struck 
work  rather  than  give  up  any  part  of  their 
earnings — chiefly,  it  may  be  supposed, 
with  the  purpose  of  making  a  little  purse 
ready  for  the  longed-for  day  of  expatria- 
tion. But  effervescence  died  down,  and 
matters  quickly  righted  themselves;  so 
that  the  chief  magistrate  of  a  great  town 
could  declare:  "In  all  my  dealings  with 
the  Belgians,  I  have  learned  to  respect  and 
admire  them."  The  calmness,  the  absence 
of  all  invective,  that  characterized  their 


rare  allusions  to  what  they  had  gone 
through — and  this  was  as  marked  in  the 
wounded  soldiers  as  in  the  refugees, — 
were  traits  which  commanded  the  homage 
of  all  who  had  to  do  with  them. 

Their  very  calmness  and  reticence  held 
an  element  of  danger,  and  it  soon  became 
apparent  that  a  tendency  to  great  despond- 
ency was  spreading  among  the  men,  espe- 
cially in  the  first  period  of  enforced  idleness. 
The  women,  with  their  children  and  hus- 
bands to  look  after,  were  less  liable  to 
depression.  Having  provided  for  the 
physical  needs  of  the  moment,  the  women 
of  England,  as  was  fitting,  took  up  the 
new  task  of  entertaining  and  amusing 
their  guests, — to  provide  mirth  as  an 
antidote  to  melancholy;  to  divert  into 
less  gloomy  channels,  even  for  an  hour, 
the  thoughts  of  an  afflicted  people.  How 
necessary  and  how  greatly  appreciated 
were  these  opportunities  of  intercourse 
and  amusement  was  strikingly  proved  by 
the  thunders  of  applause,  again  and 
again  repeated,  which  greeted  the  name 
(almost  the  last  on  the  list)  of  the  young 
lady  who,  during  the  two  years  of  their 
exile,  had  arranged  the  weekly  concerts 
and  coffee  parties  for  the  Belgians  at 
Crosby  Hall,  Chelsea. 

The  occasion  was  an  interesting  one,— 
the  presentation  of  a  banner  (subscribed 
for  by  the  pennies  of  the  Chelsea  refugees) 
to  the  committee  of.  that  historic  borough. 
As  the  Belgian  Minister,  at  the  close  of 
his  speech,  read  out  the  names  of  the 
persons  to  whom  he  offered  the  thanks 
of  his  Government,  the  presidents,  vice- 
presidents,  and  officials  of  the  various 
departments,  were  of  course  received 
with  cheers  by  the  enthusiastic  audience; 

but  it  was  when  he  read,  "Miss  N •," 

that  the  applause  burst  out  again  and 
again,  as  if  it  never  meant  to  cease.  It 
welled  forth  as  a  striking  proof  that 
"not  by  bread  alone  doth  man  live."  It 
recalled  many  a  homely  scene  during  those 
two  long  years.  The  refugee  families  from 
different  parts  of  London  met  together 
round  the  little  tables,  drinking  coffee 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


517 


or  knitting,  exchanging  their  views  and 
apprehensions,  their  hopes  and  their  con- 
dolences, or  listening  in  wrapt  attention 
to  the  songs  of  their  country,  the  verses 
of  their  poets,  or  the  stringed  instruments 
which  they  loved,  under  the  famous 
vaulted  roof  of  the  great  hall,  which 
had  belonged  to  Blessed  Thomas  More 
before  its  purchase  from  him  by  the 
rich  merchant  Crosby,  in  the  days  of 
King  Henry  VIII. 

When  the  city  of  London  found  that  a 
beautiful  old  building,  one  of  the  few 
remaining  gems  of  English  domestic 
architecture,  stood  in  the  way  of  its  im- 
provements, it  was  fitting  that  its  stones 
should  be  carried  to  Chelsea,  and  respect- 
fully set  upon  the  river  bank,  almost  under 
the  shadow  of  the  old  parish  church, 
where  More's  headless  body  lies  buried  in 
the  chancel,  and  within  a  stone's  throw 
of  the  convent  of  nuns  established  in  his 
garden,  who  cherish  with  reverent  care 
the  mulberry  tree  which,  tradition  says, 
grew  there  in  his  day.  A  few  hundred 
yards  up  Church  Street,  and  we  arrive  at 
Mulberry  Walk,  and  at  No.  17,  the  title 
of  this  article.  Rising  up  out  of  a  recently 
demolished  quarter,  it  is  a  quaint  and 
pretty  street  where  every  man  has  built 
his  house  very  much  according  to  his 
fancy,  under  the  watchful,  not  to  say  sus- 
picious, eyes  of  the  borough  inspectors; 
and  where  trees  and  bits  of  garden  have 
been  jealously  preserved  wherever  it  was 
possible. 

Like  several  inhabitants  of  the  street,' 
the  owner  of  No.  17,  Major  A——,  was  an 
amateur  artist;  and  a  studio,  opening  on 
a  paved  garden  with  a  stately  chestnut 
tree  in  its  midst,  was  one  of  the  chief 
features  of  his  beautiful  house.  The  war 
broke  out  before  the  house  was  finished, 
and  its  owner  went  to  serve  his  country. 
White,  bare  and  empty,  the  house  was  an 
ideal  place  for  a  surgical  requisite  depot. 
Happily,  its  owner  was  easily  converted 
to  the  same  view;  and  his  as  yet  unin- 
habited dwelling  was  handed  over  to  his 
country's  service.  On  the  8th  of  June, 


1915,  Cardinal  Bourne,  Archbishop  of 
Westminster,  came  and  blessed  it.  The 
lady  ^who  had  obtained  the  house  and 
started  the  whole  concern  is  a  Catholic. 
One  of  the  sisters  of  the  late  Duke  of 
Norfolk  is  on  the  Committee,  and  the 
proportion  of  Catholics  among  the  workers 
and  the  staff  is  unusually  large. 

In  order  that  no  soreness  might  arise  in 
the  minds  of  the  Protestants,  the  vicar  of 
the  parish  church  was  invited  to  the 
opening;  and  harmony  has  always  reigned, 
even  when  our  Catholic  treasurer  placed 
a  fine  replica  of  a  Luca  della  Robbia 
Madonna  and  Child  over  the  door  of  a 
new  annex  opening  from  the  paved  garden. 
The  most  evangelical  of  the  workers,  a 
native  of  Scotland,  opined  that  it  was 
' '  very  pretty ' ' ;  while  the  High  Church 
people  were  almost  as  glad  as  their 
Catholic  sisters  to  see  the  Mother  of 
Compassion  serenely  presiding  over  the 
busy  scene  of  their  life-saving  work. 

The  Surgical  Requisites  Association  is 
a  branch  of  Queen  Mary's  Needlework 
Guild,  of  which  her  Majesty  is  the  head, 
and  which  has  its  chief  offices  in  Friary 
Court,  within  the  royal  palace  of  St. 
James.  Q.  M.  N.  G.  is  therefore  inscribed 
in  gold  and  white  enamel  on  the  badge, 
bearing  the  Crown  above  the  Rose  of 
Lancaster,  superimposed  on  the  White  Rose 
of  York,  which  the  workers  have  the 
privilege  to  wear  when  they  have  been 
members  a  certain  length  of  time. 
Mulberry  Walk  stands  first,  with  Caven- 
dish Square,  among  the  depots;  and  in 
two  branches  of  its  work  stands  alone: 
the  arm  baths  of  papier-mache  for  the 
saline  and  iodine  treatment  which  is  in  so 
many  cases  superseding  all  bandages,  and 
the  arm  and  hand  slings  for  "hand-drop," 
the  boot  for  "foot-drop"  invented,  by 
two  of  its  members.  The  stretcher  quilt, 
made  of  two  layers  of  wadding  between 
khaki  water-proofed  casement-cloth,  mak- 
ing a  covering  both  light  and  warm  for 
stretcher  and  ambulance,  was  first  thought 
of  at  Mulberry  Walk,  and  has  been  adopted 
far  and  wide. 


518 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


As  no  part  of  the  human  frame  is  immune 
from  injury  in  battle,  so  no  wound  from 
scalp  to  the  poor  toes,  which  have  suffered 
so  cruelly  from  trench  foot  and  frost'  bite, 
but  has  its  proper  bandage,  specially 
devised  by  some  surgeon,  nurse  or  worker; 
and  great  is  the  interest  shown  when  some 
new  pattern  arrives.  But  no  part  of  the 
work  is  more  useful  than  that  done  in  the 
' '  sphagnum-moss ' '  room,  —  that  wonder- 
ful healing  plant,  used  for  hundreds  of 
years  by  old  women  in  Scotland  and 
Ireland  "for  the  treatment  of  wounds,  and 
ignored  by  the  medical  profession  until  an 
accident  brought  it,  and  pine-dust  dressing, 
to  the  notice  of  some  doctors  in  Germany 
a  few  years  before  the  war.  They  adopted 
it,  and  imported  quantities  from  the  moors 
of  Scotland  (where  it  grows  among  the 
heather)  and  the  bogs  of  Ireland.  To-day, 
thousands  of  tons,  made  up  in  little  muslin 
bags  weighing  a  few  ounces,  are  sent  to  the 
front,  and  to  hospitals  at  home;  so  great 
are  its  antiseptic  and  deodorizing  qualities 
that  surgeons  say  they  can  tell,  on  going 
into  a  ward,  if  it  is  in  use.  It  prevents 
gangrene,  and,  in  its  coolness  and  fresh 
fragrance,  it  advantageously  replaces 
cotton- wool. 

The  doyenne  of  English  women  of  letters, 
Lady  Ritchie,  in  describing  a  visit  to 
Mulberry  Walk,  notes  the  air  of  "quiet 
absorption  everywhere,  .  .  .  the  workers 
all  equally  interested  and  assiduous,  losing 
no  time;  for  they  have  much  to  do."* 
Well  may  it  be  so ;  for  it  would  be  difficult 
to  find  among  them  one  who  is  not  the 
wife  or  mother,  sister  or  daughter  of  an 
officer  at  the  front,  and  whose  mind  is 
not  fixed  in  its  inner  recesses  on  the 
sense  of  peril  to  its  beloved;  and  under  the 
snowy  linen  of  the  regulation  overdress  on 
many  (too  many)  may  be  seen  the  black 
garment  of  mourning.  There  is  no  de- 
pression visible:  the  high  courage  of  the 
women  of  England  stands  them  in  good 
stead  here  as  elsewhere.  The  talk,  as  they 

*  "Seagulls  and  While  Coiffcs  at  Chelsea," 
by  Anne  Thackeray  Ritchie.  Spectator,  August 
i'O,  1916. 


bend  over  their  work,'  is  of  the  war,  the 
last  news,  the  latest  rumors, — some  of  the 
latter  prodigious  enough;  and  there  are 
always  one  or  two  humorists  with  the 
happy  talent  of  evolving  mirth,  and  per- 
sistently looking  at  the  bright  and  hopeful 
side  of  things.  It  generally  needs  a  direct 
question,  or  expression  of  concern,  to 
draw  out  any  betrayal  of  the  torturing 
anxiety  heroically  concealed,  even  when 
it  is  the  acutest  of  all  in  its  poignant 
uncertainty  of  hope,  and  dread,  at  the 
tidings:  "Missing,  believed  to  be  killed." 

Lady  Ritchie  compares  the  white 
coiffes  worn  by  the  workers  as  they  move 
gracefully  about,  to  the  seagulls  hovering 
over  the  barges  in  the  Thames  close  by; 
and  the  whole  scene  in  the  white  rooms  is 
so  picturesque  that  painters  have  been 
tempted  to  reproduce  it,  but  in  vain;  for 
within  its  limits,  it  is  an  ever-shifting 
scene,  and  the  grouping  changes.  The 
old  women,  in  their  white  coiffes,  look  as 
if  they  had  stepped  out  of  Holbein's  por- 
traits, or  those  of  Philippe  de  Champaigne ; 
and  the  young  ones  look  like  novices,  or 
youthful  dames  of  days  gone  by. 

A  carpentry  branch  is  established  in 
premises  close  by,  -where  the  husbands  of 
several  of  our  workers,  and  other  excellent 
amateur  carpenters,  turn  out  crutches, 
bed-rests,  bed  tables  and  every  variety  of 
splint  and  adjustment;  the  latter  padded 
and  covered  in  the  splint-room  at  Mul- 
berry Walk, — -for  loving  ingenuity  has 
devised  the  means  to  minimize  pain  and 
hasten  recovery  in  every  form  of  injury, 
from  a  broken  finger  to  a  shattered  leg. 

Under  the  great  chestnut  tree  in  the 
paved  garden,  the  bath-makers  often  sit, 
pasting,  moulding  and  drying  the  baths, 
which  need  not  be  guarded  from  the 
touch  of  the  London  atmosphere  as  does 
the  other  work.  And  in  fine  weather,  at 
four  o'clock,  the  pretty  scene  changes; 
for  tea  is  served  there,  and  the  groups  of 
white-clad  women  make  pictures  as  they 
stand  about  chatting  and  sipping  tea,, 
glad  of  the  half  hour's  rest  and  change  of 
position. 


THK  AYR  MARIA 


r>H) 


The  groat,  tree  shades  other  scenes  as 
well,  wounded  officers  and  men  come  to 
have  their  specially  devised  splints  or 
boots  fitted.  A  young  naval  officer, 
wounded  in  the  Jutland  battle,  sat  there 
one  fine  summer  afternoon,  and  before  him 
knelt  the  maker  of  the  boot.  Never,  in 
ball-dress  and  diamonds,  could  she  liave 
looked  more  fair ;  never  could  the  exquisite 
face  have  worn  a  lovelier  expression, — 
watching  carefully  to  see  if  the  light  touch 
of  her  fingers  on  the  wounded  foot  brought 
any  wince  of  pain  on  the  youthful  bronzed 
face. 

Another  day  an  accident  happened.  A 
young  officer,  his  leg  in  plaster-of- Paris, 
had  had  a  boot  fitted  on,  and,  in  crossing 
the  garden  (it  was  his  first  outing  after 
ten  weeks  in  the  hospital),  anxious  to 
show  his  prowess,  pirouetted  on  his 
crutches,  which  slipped,  and  he  fell,  face 
downwards,  full-length  on  the  stone  pave- 
ment. Fortunately,  the  plaster-of-Paris 
held  good.  When  brandy  was  brought  (for 
he  was  half  fainting),  he  muttered  that  he 
was  a  teetotaler.  "It  will  do  you  all  the 
more  good.  Drink  it!"  was  the  imperious 
answer.  It  brought  the  color  to  his  face 
and  loosened  his  tongue,  to  utter  a  shame- 
faced apology  for  having  nearly  fainted  in 
the  presence  of  ladies.  He  hoped  they 
'would  not  think  him  a  coward.' 

The  eldest  worker  at  Mulberry  Walk  is 
a  lady  of  more  than  fourscore,  who  has 
worked  for  the  wounded  of  every  war 
since  the  Crimean.  Her  daughter  and  her 
two  granddaughters,  in  their  holiday  time, 
come  also.  The  youngest  worker  is  a  little 
maid  of  six,  a  French-Canadian,  habited 
in  the  regulation  costume,  a  coiffe  on  her 
curly  head,  who,  with  a  delightful,  con- 
scientious seriousness,  helps  her  aunt  to 
fill  rag  cushions  for  wounded  limbs.  But  a 
graver  interest  held  the  attention  on 
another  half-holiday.  A  beautiful  girl  in 
her  thirteenth  year  had  come  to  help  her 
mother,  who  had  given  her  a  strange  task. 
Before  her  lay  a  mass  of  white  linen,  which 
she  was  measuring  with  outstretched  arms. 
A  worker,  passing  her  with  an  armful  of 


bandages,  quietly  asked:  "Shrouds?"  A 
grave  little  inclination  of  the  golden  lirad 
was  the  answer,  and  the  child  continued 
her  task, — no  faintest  sign  of  distaste  or 
repugnance  on  her  face,  but  a  look  of  sweet 
seriousness  and  compassion.  At  first  sight 
it  seemed  incongruous;  but,  after  all,  it 
was  only  fitting  that  she  should  be  occupied 
in  the  last  work  of  mercy  towards  the  men 
who  had  guarded  her  slumbers  as  surely, 
though  indirectly,  as  if  they  had  stood 
before  her  threshold. 

When  Mulberry  Walk  was  blessed  by 
the  Cardinal  in  June,  1915,  it  mustered 
some  eighty  workers,  and  its  fortune  con- 
sisted of  forty  pounds  sterling.  To-day  it 
has  overflowed  into  another  house  in  the 
next  street;  its  members  are  500;  its 
expenditure,  almost  since  the  opening, 
has  averaged  fifty  pounds  a  week ;  and  the 
balance  at  the  bank  is  more  than  one 
thousand  pounds.  It  has  also  twenty 
sub-depots,  in  different  parts  of  England, 
Ireland,  and  Wales,  whose  members  send 
their  work  weekly  or  fortnightly  to  be 
inspected,  stamped,  packed,  and  dis- 
patched, with  the  work  done  at  Mulberry 
Walk,  every  Wednesday  morning  in  the 
royal  fourgon,  which  comes  to  take  the 
week's  work  to  St.  James'  Palace,  whence 
it  goes  to  the  ambulances  and  hospitals  at 
the  front  and  at  home.  The  average 
number  of  articles  sent  out  weekly  is  some 
20,000;  at  moments  of  great  "push," 
when  urgent  messages  are  telephoned 
from  the  palace,  and  work  has  gone  on 
throughout  Saturday  and  Sunday,  the 
number  has  reached  32,000. 

The  happy  financial  result  has  not  been 
achieved  without  some  ingenuity  and 
labor.  The  weekly  shilling  paid  by  the 
members  had  been  supplemented  by 
generous  gifts  in  money  and  kind;  and 
a  Bridge  tournament,  an  auction,  an 
"American  tea,"  above  all  a  revived  "Old 
Chelsea  Fair"  in  the  Royal  Hospital 
Gardens,  have,  at  different  times,  when 
funds  were  getting  low,  replenished  our 
coffers.  The  stream  of  charity  seems 
inexhaustible,  and  it  flows  to  us  from  across 


520 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


the  Atlantic  as  well.  Great  cases  of 
cotton-wool  (far  superior  to  what  can  be 
procured  in  England),  of  gauze  and  dress- 
ings come  from  the  United  States;  and  it 
sufficed  for  one  of  our  workers  to  write  to 
a  friend  in  Massachusetts  that  safety-pins 
were  getting  scarce,  having  been  monopo- 
lized by  the  War  Office,  to  obtain  a  regu- 
larly repeated  supply  which  has  practically 
satisfied  the  great  demand  for  that  useful 
little  article.  A  gracious  American  is  at 
the  head  of  the  chief  workroom,  and 
several  of  our  best  and  hardest  workers 
are  Americans. 

Queen  Mary  has  not  contented  herself 
with  sending  her  commands  to  Mulberry 
Walk,  and  her  thanks  for  the  work  done: 
she  has  come,  attended  by  one  lady-in- 
waiting,  and  carefully  inspected  every  part 
of  the  house  with  a  business-like  thorough- 
ness acquired  by  much  practice.  In  the 
kitchen,  her  Majesty  chanced  upon  an 
American  lady  engaged  in  ironing  ban- 
dages, who  exclaimed  afterwards,  with 
comic  pathos :  "To  think  that  my  presenta- 
tion dress  to  the  Queen  of  England  was  a 
clean  overall,  bought  at  John  Barker's 
for  three  shillings  and  sixpence!" 

And  so  the  work  goes  on.  Far  from  there 
being  any  abatement  in  the  demands  upon 
Mulberry  Walk  and  its  countless  fellows 
under  the  Queen's  Guild  and  the  Red  Cross, 
spread  like  a  beneficent  and  delicate  white 
network  over  the  face  of  these  islands, 
the  cry  is  still  for  more.  But  as  each 
day  brings  its  fresh  burden,  so  each 
day  is  lightened  by  the  knowledge  that 
the  morning's  news  from  the.  seat  of  war 
has  been  good.  Bought  at  a  great  price, 
the  belief  in  final  victory  is  no  longer  the 
"act  of  faith"  it  was  in  the  dark  days  of 
last  year,  but  a  blessed  and  ever- 
brightening  hope  and  certainty. 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


WE  learn  wisdom  from  failure  much 
more  than  we  do  from  success.  We  often 
discover  what  will  do,  by  finding  out  what 
will  not  do;  and  probably  he  who  never 
made  a  mistake  never  made  a  discovery. 

— Smiles. 


XXIII. — GATHERING  CLOUDS. 

ARLY  in  the  January  of  1866  the 
Empress  received  the  sorrowful 
tidings  of  the  death  of  her  father, 
King  Leopold,  whom  she  loved 
with  an  intense  love.  In  all  her  lifetime 
she  had  leaned  upon  him  for  counsel,  for 
confidence,  for  guidance.  An  "audience  of 
grief"  was  held  in  the  National  Palace,  at 
which  all  the  diplomatic  corps  attended 
in  deepest  mourning.  And  it  was  at  this 
audience  that  the  whisper  went  around 
on  all  sides:  "The  French  army  will 
be  withdrawn." 

To  the  Liberals  the  departure  of  the 
French  meant  the  opportunity  for  a 
general  uprising;  and  to  the  majority  of 
the  Conservatives  and  Imperialists  it  was 
synonymous  with  the  overthrow  of  the 
Empire,  the  repudiation  of  the  national 
debt,  and  the  inauguration  of  an  era  of 
reprisals.  Mexican  bonds  fell  at  once  in 
France;  in  Mexico  the  news  created  a 
panic,  which  Marechal  Bazaine  in  vain 
endeavored  to  avert  by  pointing  out  that 
even  if  the  French  troops  were  withdrawn, 
the  Austrian  and  Belgian  legions  would 
remain,  and  serve  as  a  nucleus  for  the 
native  army. 

The  Mexicans,  however,  took  a  different 
view  of  the  case.  The  withdrawal  of  the 
French  troops  meant  a  loss  of  30,000 
men — the  trained,  experienced  soldiers  of 
"a  nation  of  warriors."  Then  it  became 
very  evident  that  the  sympathy  of  the 
United  States  was  becoming  more  pro- 
nounced in  favor  of  the  Republican  party. 
On  the  Rio  Grande,  General  Sheridan  was 
understood  to  be  in  active  sympathy,  if 
not  in  touch,  with  the  Juarists;  while 
Santa  Anna  was  projecting  a  descent  upon 
Mexican  soil,  and  Ortega  planning  a 
filibustering  expedition. 

"A  little  later,"  says  Mr.  Head,  "and  in 
answer  to  a  petition  for  more  men  and 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


521 


money,  the  French  government  repudi- 
ated the  treaty  of  Miramar."  The  "guar- 
antees of  peace,"  so  readily  promised  in 
the  treaty  at  Paris  in  1863,  had  proved 
worthless  in  the  march  of  events,  when 
France  was  arming  for  intervention  or 
defence  in  a  new  struggle.  The  imperial 
treasury  was  empty;  no  further  loans  could 
be  made  in  the  European  exchanges;  and 
conspiracy  and  revolution,  with  Bazaine 
as  the  central  figure,  were  ripening  even 
in  the  Cabinet  and  Council.  The  Emperor 
was  unequal  to  the  occasion.  He  was,  says 
one  writer,  better  fitted  for  a  scholarly 
life  than  the  rugged  discipline  of  the 
camp  and  the  battlefield,  or  the  perils 
of  political  agitation;  for  the  triumphs 
of  peace  than  the  storms  of  war.  He  was 
vacillating  where  decision  alone  could 
save,  and  led  hither  and  thither  by  the 
last  plausible  scheme  of  his  counsellors 
of  state,  or  the  device  of  some  trusted  but 
visionary  friend. 

There  was  but  one  solution  of  the 
problem,  and  that  was  to  secure  money 
and  men  to  support  the  government. 
There  was  but  one  tribunal  to  which  an 
appeal  could  be  made — the  honor  of 
Napoleon.  Who  was  to  make  this  appeal? 
Not  Bazaine;  for  the  Marechal,  seeing 
that  the  game  was  up  so  far  as  his  hand 
was  concerned,  became  ferverishly  anxious 
to  withdraw  the  French  troops;  and  kept 
urging  on  his  imperial  master,  by  every 
mail,  the  uselessness  of  keeping  30,000 
first-class  men  to  prop  up  a  cause  that  was 
simply  odious  to  the  people,  and  in  daily 
danger  of  jeopardizing  the  friendship  of 
the  United  States.  Napoleon,  in  reply  to 
the  counsel  of  Bazaine,  wrote  to  him: 

"You  have  from  twelve  to  eighteen 
months  at  the  outside  to  prop  up  Max- 
imilian so  that  he  can  stand  alone;  or 
to  organize  some  responsible  republican 
government  in  the  place  of  the  Empire.  I 
leave  the  decision  to  your  judgment." 

The  death-struggle  of  the  Mexican 
Empire  began  as  soon  as  it  became  known 
that  a  date  had  been  set  for  the  with- 
drawal of  the  French  troops;  and  it  is 


characteristic  of  the  man  that  Maximilian 
alone  refused  to  believe  in  the  adoption 
of  this  course,  imposed  upon  Napoleon  far 
more  by  the  pressure  of  circumstances 
than  by  his  own  will. 

Arthur  Bodkin,  of  Ballyboden,  in  com- 
pliance with  the  instructions  of  the 
Emperor,  proceeded  to  Washington,  where 
he  was  received  by  the  Austrian  Legation 
with  all  possible  ceremony.  He  was 
lodged  at  the  Legation,  and  treated  with 
all  the  deference  due  to  a  special  envoy, 
if  not  ambassador  extraordinary.  His 
instructions  being  of  the  most  confidential 
character,  the  Minister  freely  unbosomed 
himself;  and  Arthur  could  readily  perceive 
from  the  drift  of  the  current  that  Austria 
feared  it  was  the  intention  of  Napoleon  III. 
to  leave  Mexico  and  Maximilian  in  the 
lurch. 

During  the  continuance  of  a  prolonged 
diplomatic  correspondence,  Bodkin  was 
compelled  to  remain  in  Washington, 
where  he  made  many  friends,  and  met 
half  a  dozen  from  the  "ould  counthry," 
one  of  whom,  Mr.  "Tim"  Blake,  of 
Auchnacloy,  who  had  run  over  on  a  ranch- 
searching  expedition,  was  full  of  Galway 
and  Dublin  news.  And,  oh,  how  grateful 
gossip  rs  to  us  when  we  are  three  thousand 
miles  away! 

Arthur  received  a  very  long  letter 
from  Father  Edward,  which  contained  the 
following  passage: 

"I  send  you  the  Galway  Vindicator,  in 
which  you  will  read  of  your  wonderful 
doings;  for  Rody  O'Flynn's  letter  was 
so  graphic,  I  dressed  it  up  a  little  and  sent 
it  to  the  editor.  I  modified,  however,  the 
news  of  your  engagement  until  I  heard  it 
from  yourself;  also  of  your  duel.  I  suppose, 
my  dear  son,  that  this  was  forced  upon 
you;  but  I  know,  from  the  teaching  you 
received  from  my  humble  self,  you  would 
never  take  the  life  of  a  human  being; 
and  I  rejoice  sincerely  that  you  spared 
the  Marechal's." 

It  was  lucky  for  Rody,  who  had  been 
sent  back'  to  Mexico  with  dispatches  a 


522 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


week  before  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  that 
he  was  out  of  the  way;  for  Arthur's  anger 
rose  to  flood-tide  as  he  recognized  the 
handiwork  of  his  all  too  faithful  friend.  . 
"Engaged  to  an  archduchess!" — -"A  duel 
with  Bazaine!"  .Oh,  it  was  too  much— the 
horrible  position  he  was  in !  For,  of  course, 
the  article  would  be  sent  over  to  Austria 
and  France  and  Mexico,  to  reappear 
perhaps  in  the  official  journals. 

He  sought  Mr.  Tim  Blake. 

"Did  I  see  the  Vindicator!  Did  I! 
Didn't  we  yell  over  it  at  the  Club,  and 
drink  your  health  and  the  archduchess', — • 
aye,  and  old  Bazaine's!" 

"But,  hang  it  all,  Blake,  you  never 
believed  it? — never  believed  such  trash?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that, 
Bodkin,"  retorted  Blake,  with  a  droll 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"It  is  enough  to  drive  one  mad!  If 
Rody  were  here,  I'd  break  every  bone 
in  his  body." 

"Well,  it  may  ease  your  mind  a  little 
to  know  that  the  letter  was  signed  Rody 
O'Flynn,  and' that  not  a  man  in  the  Club 
believed  that  you  had  any  hand  in  it." 

Arthur  felt  somewhat  relieved  at  this, 
and  proceeded  to  explain  Rody's  love  for 
him,  and  the  honest  fellow's  frantic  desire 
to  make  him  a  hero  above  all  men. 

"He  would  stop  at  nothing,  Blake.  He 
actually  told  the  Empress  that  I  had 
killed  half  a  dozen  Mexicans  in  a  skirmish 
we  had  en  route  to  Santa  Ysabella ;  whereas 
I  was  knocked  over  by  a  bullet  myself, 
without  firing  a  single  shot.  What  action 
shall  I  take  in  the  matter?" 

"  None.  Why,  man,  the  Vindicator  hasn't 
the  circulation  of  the  London  Times,  and 
it's  only  the  'boys'  who  know  anything 
about  Rody." 

"I  must  do- something,  Blake.  I  shall 
write  to  the  Vindicator.  How  long  is  it 
since  this  screed  appeared?" 

"Let  me  see!  I  left  Galway  on  the  8th. 
About  a  week  before  that, — say  six  weeks 
ago.  Perhaps  a  line  to  the  editor  would 
be  well." 

"I  know  it." 


This  conversation  took  place  in  the 
reading-room  of  the  Club,  so  Arthur  went 
over  to  a  desk  and  wrote  as  follows: 

Mr.  Arthur  Bodkin,  of  Ballyboden,  presents 
his  compliments  to  the  editor  of  the  Galway 
Vindicator,  and  begs  to  say  that  the  letter  signed 
Rody  O'Flynn;  published  in  the  Vindicator  some 
six  weeks  ago,  having  been  called  to  Mr.  Bodkin's 
attention,  Mr.  Bodkin  hastens  to  state  that 
there  is  not  a  scintilla  of  truth  in  the  statement 
that  he  is  engaged  to  an  archduchess,  or  that  he 
fought  a  duel  with  Marechal  Bazaine.  Mr. 
Bodkin  would  take  no  notice  of  such  obviously 
preposterous  statements,  save  that,  from  the 
well-known  character  and  respectability  of  the 
Vindicator,  this  letter  may  be  copied  into  foreign 
journals,  in  which  case  Mr.  Bodkin  will  appear 
in  a  pitiably  ridiculous  light. 

Lucky,  indeed,  was  it  for  honest  Rody 
that  he  was  out  of  reach  of  Arthur's 
strong  right  hand.  Bodkin  wrote  a  long 
letter  to  Father  Edward,  imploring  of  him 
to  take  any  information  respecting  his 
(Arthur's)  doings  in  Mexico  or  elsewhere 
with  a  very  big  pinch  of  salt,  if  said  infor- 
mation came  from  that  well-intentioned 
but  dangerously  imaginative  person,  Rody 
O'Flynn. 

After  a  sojourn  of  some  five  months  in 
Washington,  Bodkin  returned  to  Mexico. 
During  those  long  months  he  had  no  ' '  tale 
or  tidings"  of  Alice  Nugent,  save  what  he 
read  in  the  Mexican  papers,  where  her 
name  appeared  as  lady-in-waiting  at  some 
of  the  many  court  functions  of  which 
the  Empress  never  seemed  to  tire,  and  in 
which  she  took  the  keenest  interest  and 
pleasure.  Miss  Nugent's  engagement  to 
Count  Ludwig  von  Kalksburg  being  an 
accomplished  fact — albeit  he  had  seen  no 
official  announcement  of  it, — placed  her 
so  far  away  from  him  that  she  might  as 
well  be  a  resident  of  Mars  as  at  the  court, 
whither  he  had  now  returned. 

Baron  Bergheim  received  him  with  his 
honest  open-heartedness. 

"Hey!  but  we  look  well  and  handsome. 
Hey!  but  we  stand  high  with  great  and 
mighty  personages.  Hey!  but  we  are 
ordered  to  Cuernavaca,  an  honor  bestowed 
upon  few.  You  are  to  start  for  Cuernavaca 
to-morrow,  Herr  Bodkin,"  added  the 


77//«;  AYR  MARIA 


523 


Baron.  "You  will  find  their  Majesties 
Hither  gloomy,  as  you  may  well  suppose, —  . 
you  who  are  inside  the  sealing-wax. 
Napoleon  will  withdraw  his  troops  before 
the  end  of  the  year, — that  /  know!  I 
also  know  that  the  United  States  don't 
want  us;  they  are  Republicans,  and  want 
a  republic  here.  I  don't  blame  them, — 
not  a  bit  of  it!  They  know  what  they 
want,  and  hey!  they  must  have  it.  Hey! 
keep  your  head  cool  and  your  heart  on 
ice." 

When  Arthur  arrived  at  the  secluded 
and  exquisitely  beautiful  Cuernavaca,  the 
adjutant  en  service  informed  him  that 
their  Imperial  Majesties  would  not  be 
visible  for  at  least  an  hour. 

"Pe'rhaps  you  would  like  a  stroll  in  the 
grounds,  or  come  to  my  quarters,"  he 
suggested. 

"Thanks!  I  shall  take  a  stroll  in  the 
grounds." 

"Do  not  go  too  far.  Please  do  not  get 
lost  in  the  woods.  Be  sure  to  return  in 
about  an  hour." 

Assuring  the  official  that  he  would 
remain  within  close  proximity  to  the 
chateau,  Arthur  passed  out  by  the  path 
that  led  to  the  manito  (the  tree  of  which 
the  Empress  was  so  proud,  and  which 
she  had  taken  him  to  see  on  the  occasion 
of  his  last  visit),  and  on  toward  a  bower, — • 
a  veritable  bower  of  roses,  that  overhung 
a  deep  ravine  clothed  with  the  glorious 
coloring  of  the  rarest  orchids.  As  he  passed 
slowly  along  he  wondered  if  Alice  were 
in  waiting,  or  had  she,  on  learning  of  his 
coming,  made  up  her  mind  to  quit  the 
imperial  residence? 

"It.  was  not  necessary,"  he  bitterly 
thought.  "She  is  now  to  me  as  though 
she  were  the  wife  of  another.  It  would  be 
rather  funny,  however,  to  have  to  con- 
gratulate her." 

He  arrived  at  the  rose-bower  and  en- 
tered; thrusting  aside  great,  hanging 
clusters  of  roses  in  order  to  pass  in, — roses 
that  flung  themselves  back  into  his  arms, 
and  thrust  their  perfumed  petals  into 
his  face. 


The  interior  was  all  rose-color,  and  in 
deep,  cool  shade.  In  a  rustic  chair  sat 
Alice  Nugent!  She  flushed  and  then 
became  deadly  pale,  clutching  the  arms 
of  the  chair  as  though  to  prevent  herself 
from  falling.  Arthur  stood  stock-still*, 
staring  at  her,  hardly  realizing  that  all 
this  could  be  real. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Nugent!"  he 
blurted.  "  Upon  my  honor,  I  did  not  know 
that  you  were  here — at  Cuernavaca." 
And,  bowing  low,  he  turned  away. 

"Mr.  Bodkin!" 

Alice  stood  in  the  entrance,  enshrined  in 
roses.  A  fairer  picture  never  came  to 
Arthur's  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Bodkin,  I — I  want  to  speak  to  you, 
if  you  please." 

There  was  something  in  her  tone  that 
seemed  to  say :  '  I  want  to  speak  with  you 
on  business.  There  is  nothing  between 
us  now.  What  I  have  to  say  might  be 
said  in  the  Zocalo  or  the  Alameda  or  on 
the  hill  at  Chapultepec.' 

"Pray  step  in  out  of  the  sunshine,"  she 
added.  "A  coup  de  soleil  is  to  be  avoided 
in  this  country." 

She  led  the  way,  Arthur  followed.  He 
sat  down  on  a  low  stool  near  the  entrance, 
while  she  reseated  herself  in  the  chair 
she  had  just  quitted.  Alice  Nugent  never 
looked  more  beautiful  than  at  this  bright 
particular  moment, — a  moment  never  to 
be  forgotten  by  Arthur. 

"Mr.  Bodkin,"  she  said,  "things  are 
becoming  very  critical  with  us.  That 
Black  Decree  which  the  Emperor  was 
deluded — yes,  cheated — into  signing  is 
bearing  black,  black  fruit.  Napoleon  is 
about  to  withdraw  his  army;  we  have  no 
money  in  the  treasury;  the  United  States 
is  against  us,  and  there  is  but  one 
hope — an  appeal  to  a  man  who  will 
not  help  us — Napoleon  III."  She  spoke 
rapidly,  and,  oh,  so  earnestly!  "That 
appeal  is  our  last  hope;  and  that  appeal, 
we  are  told,  is  to  be  made  in  person  by 
the  Empress." 

Arthur  started. 

"No    one    knows    this    but    you    and 


524 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


me  and  the  Empress.  I  know  that  I  can 
trust  you." 

"You  can  trust  me,"  said  Arthur,  very 
slowly  and  very  calmly.  She  had  thrust 
aside  his  love,  and  was  there  facing  him 
as  her  friend. 

"I  know  the  Empress  well;  and. I  tell 
you,  Arthur — Mr.  Bodkin,  that  she  is  not 
fit  for  this  fearful  ordeal.  She  loves — 
adores  the  Emperor.  Separation  from  him 
now,  under  existing  conditions,  may  prove 
worse  than  death  itself.  The  strain  would 
be  too  great,  too  awful.  The  suspense 
would  sap  her  courage,  and  failure  would 
turn  her  brain.  Oh,  it  is  dreadful,  —  it 
is  dreadful!" 

"Has  her  Majesty  resolved  upon  going 
to  see  the  Emperor  Napoleon?" 

"Yes,  and  to  see  his  Holiness  the  Pope. 
My  God,  to  leave  her  husband  with  his 
people  in  revolt,  his  allies  about  to  desert 
him,  and  assassins  and  traitors  in  every 
corner,  —  why  —  why,  any  true  woman 
would  go  mad  under  such  a  strain!  I  tell 
you,  Arthur,  there  are  traitors  close  to  the 
throne,— vile  wretches;  and  Lopez  is  one 
of  them." 

"What  does  the  Emperor  say?"  asked 
Bodkin. 

"Oh,  he  is  weak,  weak,  weak!  He  is  too 
amiable,  if  such  a  thing  be  possible.  The 
Empress  has  a  soldier's  heart  and  a  states- 
man's head,  and  she  is  ( about  to  face  the 
situation  with  the  courage  of  one  and  the 
wisdom  of  the  other.  It  is  her  dream,  her 
ambition,  her  very  life,  to  wear  a  crown; 
and  the  loss  to  it  would  be  unendurable. 
Not  a  man  in  the  court — courtier,  soldier, 
politician,  statesman — -has  the  qualities 
to  serve  in  this  emergency.  You,  of 
course,"  she  quietly  added,  "are  not  of 
them,  but  you  are  greatly  admired  and 
fully  trusted  by  her.  You  shall  see  her  in  a 
few  minutes.  She  will  possibly  ask  your 
opinion.  Go  dead  against  her!  It  may 
cause  her  to  swerve.  Mgr.  Labistada 
is  against  it;  Almonte  has  failed.  HoW 
could  she  hope  to  succeed — and,  oh,  my 
God,  the  price" — here  she  lowered  her 
voice — "it  may  be  at  the  price  of  her 


reason!  So  glad  to  meet  you  again,  Herr 
Bodkin!"  she  added  in  a  louder  tout-. 
"Your  description  of  American  life  is 
most  diverting." 

Arthur  was  dumfounded.  The  sudden 
change  from  deepest  tragedy  to  this  sweet, 
light  vein  astonished  him.  Not  so,  how- 
ever, when  the  voice  of  the  adjutant 
exclaimed: 

"His  Majesty  the  Emperor  will  now 
receive  Mr.  Bodkin." 

Arthur  followed  the  official  to  the 
chateau,  and  was  ushered-  into  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Emperor,  who  received 
him  with  extreme  cordiality.  The  interview 
lasted  about  half  an  hour,  during  which 
Maximilian  kept  asking  questions,  and 
putting  down  Bodkin's  answers  in -a  sort 
of  shorthand. 

(To  be  continued.) 


Respice  Finem. 


BY    KATHARINE    RYAN. 


SEAR  heart! 
If  I  were  dead, 

Prom  life  of  striving  gone  to  endless  gain, 
Passed  unto  God,  where  Joy  shall  ever  reign; 

And  you,  moist-eyed,  should  touch  my  forehead 
cold, 

Or  press  your  lips  there,  as  you  did  of  old, 
I  know  you  would  forgive  the  bitter  pain 
Of  all  I  cost  you,  all  you  did  in  vain 
(Oft  on  your  soul  a  burden  I  had  lain),  — 

Dear  heart, 

If  I  were  dead! 

But,   God! 

If  you  were  dead, 

Your  eyelids  sealed,  hands   crossed  upon  your 

breast, 

Your  long,  hard  conflict  o'er,  your  soul  at  rest; 
Could  I,  with  broken  heart,  all  bravely  stand 
To  kiss  your  lips  or  press  your  icy  hand, 

I  think  your  eyes,  though  closed,  would  some- 

how see, 

Your  heart  would  feel  my  endless  agony 
For  all  the  pain  that  you  have  known  through 

me  — 
Dear   God!— 


Jf  yQu 


dead, 


THE  AVE  MARIA" 


525 


A  Case  in  Equity. 


BY    DAVID    A.  DRISCOUv. 


(CONCLUSION.) 

DR.  O'SULLIVAN  bore  down  on  the 
city  hall  like  an  avalanche,  to  submit 
the  result  of  the  throat  swab  to  the  city 
bacteriologist.  He  strode  into  the  inner 
sanctuary  of  official  incompetency  and 
neglect  in  the  health  department,  where 
he  dropped  on  the  leeches,  as  they  lolled 
with  feet  on  desks  and  chairs. 

Before  the  idlers  could  get  their  bear- 
ings, they  found  themselves  the  target  of 
the  fierce  wrath  of  an  honest-hearted 
Irishman,  who  soon  succeeded  in  con- 
vincing them  that,  owing  to  their  neglect, 
a  disease-spreading  spot  had,  in  defiance 
of  specific  laws  and  regulations,  asserted 
its  real  form.  That  was  merely  the  prelude 
to  the  symphony  of  the  denunciation,  as 
the  quiet  newspaper  man  in  the  corner 
noted  with  delight;  for  he  comprehended 
the  assertion  that  some  one  had  been  paid 
by  the  rich  owner  of  the  property  in 
Railroad  Lane  (under  cover  of  the  agent) 
to  shunt  aside  improvements  until  he  was 
ready  to  make  them.  Continuing,  the 
irate  Doctor  made  it  patent  that  he  had 
but  one  consuming  desire — to  have  the 
official  scalps  of  the  whole  crowd  orna- 
menting the  walls  of  his  office.  Then  he 
hurried  off  to  consult  the  city  solicitor. 

It  was  dusk  when  he  again  approached 
Railroad  Lane,  not  a  whit  more  inviting, 
with  its  ugly  shadows  accentuated  by  the 
listless  electric  light  hissing  on  the  corner. 
He  was  glad  enough  to  get  away  from  the 
harsh  screams  of  the  newsboys  carrying  all 
over  the  city  the  cry:  "All  about  the 
City  Hall  Scandal!  Dr.  O'Sullivan  Rips 
up  the  Health  Board!"  He  had  gathered 
enough  to  know  that  when  the  city 
extended  its  connections  to  this  part  of  the 
town,  some  one  had  had  influence  enough 
at  the  "Hall"  to  divert  the  attention  of 
the  inspector  from  the  Lane  and  postpone 
the  improvements  to  his  property.  The 


answer  was  a  glaring  red  card  on  the  house 
of  an  innocent  member  of  society,  power- 
less to  help  himself.  "And  I'll  go  to  the 
floor  once,  if  it's  my  last  fight,  with  the 
scoundrel  that  did  it!" — through  clenched 
teeth.  And  he  knew  what  his  officiousness 
meant. 

No  use  to  look  to  the  Hall  during  this 
administration  for  any  crumbs  that  might 
fall  for  a  struggling  physician.  Never 
mind, — never  mind!  No  well-paid  visits 
to  the  county  infirmary.  All, — all  right! 
No  part  of  the  appropriation  for  lectures 
in  the  new  city  hospital.  Let  it  go, — let  it 
go!  he  was  satisfied  with  other  hopes  and 
aspirations;  for  did  she  not  love  him? 
No  matter  what  his  pecuniary  situation, 
did  she  not  know  of  it?  And  did  she  not 
practically  agree  to  chase  his  bachelorhood 
into  the  shadows,  and  share  the  lot  of  a 
struggling  practitioner,  one  without  sense 
enough  to  "lie  down"  in  the  face  of 
municipal  corruption?  Ho,  what  of  the 
fury  of  the  officials  and  their  dirty  in- 
fluence! She  made  him  bold  as  a  lion. 

The  Downey  kitchen,  lighted  by  a 
coal  oil-lamp  bracketed  to  a  door  frame, 
and  shutting  out  the  bleak  night  behind 
drawn  curtains,  was  a  different  place 
from  what  it  had  been  in  the  moist  morning, 
i  With  the  washing  done  and  drying  in  a 
front  room,  the  atmosphere  was  fresh 
and  sweet  over  a  floor  that  ' '  you  could  eat 
off."  There  were  mingled  savory  odors  of 
bacon  and  liver,  with  onions,  while  a  pot 
of  fragrant  coffee  was  on  the  stove. 
Downey  himself,  smoking  his  pipe,  sat 
with  chair  reversed  to  permit  his  back  to 
greet  the  grateful  heat  coming  from  the 
open  oven  door.  He  took  the  heirloom 
from  his  mouth  as  the  Doctor  entered. 

"Howdy,  Doc!"  he  cried,  with  easy  but 
inoffensive  familiarity;  while  O'Sullivan 
noted  with  pleasure  the  altered  appearance 
of  the  room.  No,  these  people  were  not 
paupers.  They  did  not  ask  charity;  they 
did  think  they  were  entitled  to  the  same 
protection  to  their  bodies  as  the  rich,  and 
were  willing  to  pay  for  it  when  possible, — 
types  of  that  large  class  that,  justly 


52-6 


THE  AVK  MARIA 


liandled  and  not  insulted  by  flaunting 
charity,  can,  outside  of  sickness  and 
accident,  keep  its  head  above  the  poverty 
line.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  more  he 
saw  of  them  the  more  the  Doctor  loved 
them  and  studied  them? 

"He  seems  easier,"  the  mother  said 
happily. 

"That's  good.  The  bacteriologist  thinks 
it  indicates  a  gentle  case." 

' '  Thank  God  and  His  Blessed  Mother ! ' ' 
and  the  poor  woman  turned  to  the  table  to 
hide  her  tears. 

The  Doctor  stepped  into  the  patient's 
room — to  be  confronted  by  Miss  Eversole ! 
Her  hair  was  enclosed  in  a  rubber  cap; 
she  wore  regulation  rubber  gloves,  to- 
gether with  a  rough  gown  that  might  be 
burned  after  use.  He  stood  speechless  for 
a  moment — to  seek  a  solution  after  a  good 
examination  of  his  gentle  little  patient, 
whom  indeed  he  found  much  better.  His 
brain  was  in  a  whirl,  he  turned  to  her 
chidingly. 

"You  shouldn't  have  done  this." 

"I  thought  you  might  require  some 
assurance  of  my  sincerity — under  the  cir- 
cumstances. One  in  my  station  of  life 
can  not  be  expected  to  develop  all  at  once 
the  qualities  necessary  to  be  the  wife  of  a 
poor  physician.  I  have  to  furnish  an  alibi, 
don't  you  think?"  she  said  smilingly. 

Then  he  told  her  of  his  efforts  to  run 
down  the  owner  of  the  property,  finding 
his  indignation  shared,  far  more  volubly, 
by  herself.  But  suddenly  there  came  the 
murmur  of  a  strange  voice  in  the  kitchen; 
and  soon  Downey,  gulping  down  a  bite 
of  supper,  beckoned  him  to  the  room. 

The  newcomer  was  an  officer  of  the 
Board,  wearing  a  more  worried  look  than 
is  usual  in  his  happy-go-lucky  fraternity. 
He  regarded  the  black-browed  Doctor  with 
an  appealing,  scared  expression,  that  was 
a  virtual  acknowledgment  of  guilt.  At 
any  other  time  it  would  have  melted  the 
impetuous  Doctor;  but,  in  the  very  midst 
of  the  destruction  caused,  he  was  as  flint- 
hearted  as  Miss  Hayden  pretended  to  be. 

"Good-evening,  Doctor!"    he   quavered 


weakly,  nervously;  then,  at  sight  of  Miss 
Eversole  following  out  into  the  kitchen, 
he  ejaculated  fervently:  "Good  Ivord!" 

The  frying-pan  odors  mingled  in  a 
dramatic  atmosphere  that  evening  in  the 
humble  Downey  kitchen. 

"What's  the  fresh  dope?"  ^said  the 
Doctor,  irascibly,  while  he  strove  with 
Christian  fortitude  not  to  break  l<5ose  in 
a  gale  of  County  Cork  vituperation. 

"I'd  like  a  word  with  you  in  private, 
Doctor," — nodding  in  a  dazed  way  over 
his  shoulder,  with  frightened  glances  at 
Miss  Abbie;  but  the  Doctor  was  obdurate. 

"Hem!  How  much  have  you  to  salve 
my  palms?" — sourly. 

The  officer  colored,  and  again  entreated 
with  his  eyes  for  privacy  outside. 

"Nothing  like  that,  Doctor!  Only  give 
me  a  chance." 

"As  much  of  a  chance  as  you  gave  these 
people." 

"I'm  straight,   I  tell  you,   Doctor." 

But  the  latter  broke  out  impetuously: 

"You,  with  the  rest,  are  so  crooked 
you  couldn't  sleep  in  a  roundhouse." 

The  officer  mopped  his  perspiring 
forehead. 

"Well,  Blake's  run  down  the  owner  all 
right." 

"Aha!" 

"Yes,  and  they're  only  waiting  for  you 
to  swear  to  the  affidavit." 

"I  won't  detain  them.  I  wish  I  could 
do  it  over  the  phone." 

The  officer  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the 
other,  very  ill  at  ease. 

"So"     (with    another    look    of    agony 
about  the  room)  "the  chief  kind  o'  thought 
I  ought  to  see  you  in  private  and  give  you 
a  tip.   He's  a  friend  of  yours,  I  reckon, "- 
with  a  beseeching  look  at  Miss  Abbie. 

O' Sullivan  came  at  him  again. 

"So  that's  the  idea,  hey?"— with  a  bite 
in  his  words  that  presaged  fresh  trouble. 
"Wants  to  buy  me  off,  too,  the  miserable 
cur!  Not  a  bit  worse  than  the  scoundrel 
that  put  him  up  to  it." 

"Cut  it  out,  Doctor," — in  hoarse  en- 
treaty. "This  line  o'  talk  ain't  getting  us 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


527 


nowhere.  I'm  on  the  level  now," — with 
another  look  that  none  could  fathom. 

Abbie  laid  a  restraining  hand  on  the 
Doctor's  arm. 

"Let  it  go  until  morning,  Larry.  It 
won't  hurt  to  sleep  on  it." 

"Sure!"  interposed  the  officer,  tickled  at 
the  hint  of  a  reprieve.  "Let's  wait." 

"I'll  see  Blake  before  supper,"  said  the 
Doctor. 

The  officer  turned  to  go. 

"All  right!  Blast  it  all,  go  see  him!" 
he  snarled  back  from  the  door, — -"only 
when  you  get  your  hide  pickled  and  tanned 
don't  blame  me.  I  guess"  (with  a  mali- 
cious look  at  Miss  Bversole)  "she'll  be 
proud  of  you  when  you  drag  her  parent 
to  court.  Good-night!" 

There  ensued  a  tense,  bewildered, 
awkward  silence.  To  all  came  the  thought  : 
it  was  Stanley  Eversole  (her  stepfather), 
too  rich,  it  would  seem,  to  descend  to 
such  paltry  villainy,  who  had  prevailed 
on  lhe  city  officials  to  forswear  their 
oaths, — the  stepfather  of  the  woman  who 
but  a  few  hours  before  had  told  O'Sulli- 
van  she  loved  him!  And  he  turned  to 
note  the  effect  of  his  officiousness. 

She  was  too  stunned,  apparently,  to 
digest  the  import  of  the  words  hurled  back 
by  the  officer;  and  for  a  moment  her  face 
gave  no  indication  of  the  clash  of  affections. 
Downey  and  his  wife,  withf  horrified  gasps, 
turned  back  to  their  supper  in  a  crude 
delicacy.  O'Sullivan's  lips  moved  mechani- 
cally, but  the  usual  ready  flow  was  stopped. 
He  gazed  in  mute  appeal. 

"It  is  horrible!"  she  finally  whispered 
as  if  to  herself,  with  a  glance  into  the 
sick  room  that  might  yet  harbor  a  corpse. 
She  shivered  as  she  spoke.  "I'm  sorry 
I  came  into  your  thoughts  at  such  a  time," 
she  added  sadly,  after  a  painful  pause. 

He  smiled  bitterly. 

"I'm  only  sorry  for  the  test  it  imposes 
on  you.  I  am  used  to  it.  You  see,"  he 
said  gently,  "it  is  the  old,  interminable 
tangle  of  self-interest  and  common  decency. 
That  man  was  sent  to  me  conveying  a 
hidden  threat — " 


"And  received  his  proper  answer,"  she 
answered  admiringly. 

"I  can't  be  expected  to  prosecute  the 
stepfather  of  the  woman  I  love." 

"Forget  that," — and  her  eyes  fairly 
flamed.  "If  I  had  come  here  with  money 
to  throw  about,  with  no  sacrifice  to  myself, 
if  I  had  come  with  a  fad  to  exploit,  this 
revelation  would  have  been  a  calamity; 
but  I  have  volunteered  as  your  other  self." 

"You  share,  then,  my  notions  of  right?" 
he  asked  eagerly. 

She  nodded  emphatically. 

"I  could  marry  (provided  I  loved  him) 
a  pauper,  but  not  a  coward." 

And  at  the  something  he  read  in  her 
eyes  he  forgot  prudence. 

Whereat  Downey  signified  his  neutrality 
by  making  a  diversion  in  their  favor  in 
slapping  the  back  of  one  of  the  children 
who  had  gulped  down  a  mouthful  of 
boiling  coffee. 


The  Hunger  for  Romance. 


BY    FLORENCE    GILMORH. 

THE  world  is  hungry  for  romance. 
Men,  women,  and  even  children  find 
life  prosaic  and  monotonous,  which 
accounts  for  the  fact  that  novels  and 
moving  pictures  have  become,  if  not  their 
daily  bread,  at  least  their  daily  cake.  The 
writers  of  to-day,  essayists  and  poets  as 
well  as  story-tellers,  strive  without  rest  to 
satisfy  their  own  and  others'  craving;  the 
greater  number  of  them  admitting  all  the 
while  that  romance  and  the  twentieth 
century  have  little  in  common.  We  need 
not  conclude,  however,  that  our  day  is 
grayer  than  yesterday  or  the  day  before; 
that  never  before  was  life  "weary,  stale, 
flat  and  unprofitable";  for  thus  wailed 
men  in  the  Elizabethan  gala  day;  thus 
fretted  the  pampered  court  dames  of  pre- 
Revolutionary  France;  and,  if  we  accept 
Francis  Thompson's  explanation  of  the 
meaning  of  Don  Quixote,  Cervantes,  pet 
child  of  romance  in  a  romantic  age,  grieved 


528 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


that   romance  was    dying    out    of    Spain. 

Since  "Cadmus,  the  Phoenicians,  or  who- 
ever it  was,"  invented  books,  the  roman- 
ticist has  been  assured  of  an  audience, — 
attentive,  loving  and  grateful.  No  folk 
tale  ever  blushed  under  the  eye  of 
criticism;  no  "Chanson  de  Gestes"  was 
too  long,  or  Arthurian  legend  too  wonder- 
ful. The  mass  of  Defoe's  work  sleeps 
undisturbed  on  the  shelves  of  old  libraries ; 
but  "Robinson  Crusoe,"  as  romantic  as  a 
fairy  tale,  is  cherished  by  each  succeeding 
generation.  Scott's  novels  quickly  won 
world-wide  popularity  by  feeding  the 
hungry  of  his  day ;  and  such  different  men 
as  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  James 
Fenimore  Cooper,  Sir  Conan  Doyle,  and 
Henry  Harland  are  loved  because  they 
have  power  to  carry  their  readers  from 
everyday  surroundings  to  worlds  more 
exciting,  picturesque  or  charming. 

It  seems  to  be  a  kind  of  homesickness, 
this  hunger  for  sweeter,  brighter,  fairer 
things  than  men  find  in  their  daily  routine. 
It  is  the  inexorable  ennui  of  Bossuet. 
People  are  weary, — weary  of  noisy  streets 
and  hurrying  crowds  in  congested  cities; 
of  prosaic  work,  of  greed  and  selfishness. 
That  there  is  no  poetry  in  present-day 
customs  and  institutions,  but  that  the 
past  was  sweet  with  it,  is  considered  not 
to  need  proof.  None  suspect— or,  at  any 
rate,  will  admit — that  armor,  which  looks 
so  well  in  pictures  of  the  knights  of  old, 
was  burdensome  and  hardly  comfortable; 
that  shepherdesses,  so  happy  in  poems, 
must  have  had  their  unpleasant  times  when 
it  rained,  and  many  a  tedious  hour  when 
the  sun  shone  brightly;  that  beautiful, 
old,  turreted  stone  castles  superinduced 
chilblains;  that  the  wit  of  court  jesters 
was  often  lame;  that  life  may  not  have 
been  all  love  and  music  for  troubadours 
and  minnesingers,  nor  all  beauty  in  the 
eyes  of  Mediaeval  painters. 

But  the  hunger  is  very  real,  and  must 
be  satisfied.  It  is  on  writers  that  the 
burden  falls  heaviest;  and  they  are 
laboring  to  satisfy  this  craving  for  romance, 
day  by  day  suggesting  new  expedients. 


To  go  far  from  the  beaten  track  and  to  do 
things  now  considered  a  little  wild  is  the 
central  idea  of  many  of  their  plans,  some 
of  which  are  proposed  seriously,  some 
laughingly.  They  are  built  on  the  satis- 
faction to  be  found  in  getting  away  from 
to-day's  conditions,  however  comfortable 
and  attractive  in  themselves. 

Belloc's  "Four  Men"  wander  through 
Sussex  in  a  happy-go-lucky  way  that  is 
unconventional,  very  romantic,  and  pos- 
sibly, attractive — in  moderation.  Gilbert 
Chesterton,  with  a  love  of  romance  as 
big  as  himself,  suggests  a  return  to  the 
pageants  of  the  Middle  Ages  to  "enliven 
our  dull  lives."  It  is  in  search  of  romance, 
far  more  often  than  of  health,  that  people 
eat  and  sleep  out  of  doors.  Writers  are 
wont  to  recommend  doing  both.  They 
talk  rapturously  of  the  nearness  of  Nature, 
of  the  songs  of  birds  and  the  perfumes  of 
wild  flowers;  and  we  joyfully  carry  out 
their  suggestions,  with  heroic  disregard  for 
rain  and  snow,  mosquitoes,  and  the  sun's 
trying  summer  habit  of  early  rising.  A  few 
years  ago  Zephine  Humphrey  jeopardized 
her  popularity  by  lamenting  "the  passing  of 
indoors."  She  confessed  (humbly,  as  was 
fitting)  that  she  prefers  a  comfortable  bed 
within  a  room  to  a  cot  on  a  sleeping 
porch,  or  even — so  degenerate  is  she — to  a 
mattress  on  the  veranda  floor. 

Some  poets,  novelists  and  essayists,  with 
more  or  less  difficulty,  discover  romance  in 
commonplace,  conventional,  twentieth- 
century  surroundings.  May  their  tribe 
increase!  They  find  it  in  street  cars  and 
in  trains.  A  few  find  it  without  seeking. 
At  the  head  of  this  class  stands  O.  Henry. 
Nature  gave  him  rose-colored  glasses,  and 
through  all  the  accidents  of  life  he  wore 
them  unbroken.  Cheap  lunch  counters  he 
found  interesting;  cheap  lodging  houses 
were  to  him  enchanted  palaces;  every 
jaded,  ill-dressed  factory  girl  was  a  human 
being,  with  a  heart  and  a  story  worth 
knowing.  Joyce  Kilmer  is  happy  enough 
to  see  without  effort  the  poetry  in  many 
seemingly  prosaic  things.  "The  House 
with  Nobody  in  It"  proves  this,  as  do 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


529 


many  of  his  poems  and  each  essay  in  "The 
Circus."  Alfred  Noyes,  after  recording 
the  wonders  to  be  seen  from  a  London 
tram,  "while  the  world  goes  gallantly  by," 
marvels  that,  interesting  as  the  ride  is — 
a  very  panorama  of  life  in  its  noblest  and 
most  sordid  aspects, — "they  call  it  only 
riding  on  a  tram." 

Two  classes  of  people  have  always 
escaped  this  hunger  for  romance:  those 
too  hungry  for  bread  and  butter  to  be 
deeply,  interested  in  anything  less  tangible, 
and  all  who  have  their  fill  of  truest,  deepest 
romance.  There  are  many  such  in  every 
age.  By  way  of  illustration,  take  the 
Apostle  of  the  Pottawatomies,  I/ Abbe 
Petit,  hardly  better  known  in  his  own  day 
than  in  ours.  A  Breton,  he  began  life  as  a 
barrister  in  Rennes.  Soon  he  studied  for 
the  priesthood  at  St.  Sulpice;  and  in 
1836,  immediately  after  his  ordination, 
was  sent  to  Vjncennes,  Indiana,  to  take 
charge,  of  an  Indian  tribe.  On  the  day  he 
said  his  first  Mass  he  wrote  to  his  family: 
"To  go  from  Mass  to  Mass,  and  then  to 
heaven!  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  I  was 
born  in  a  lucky  hour?  You  see  that,  in 
my  first  mission,  God  is  treating  me  like 
a  spoiled  child.  I  always  wished  for  a 
mission  among  the  savages.  We  have 
only  one  such  in  Indiana,  and  it  falls  to 
my  happy  lot  to  be  the  Father— the  Black- 
robe— of  the  Pottawatomies."  Three 
years,  with  ennui  unknown;  three  years 
overflowing  with  happiness  and  crowded 
with  hardship  and  disappointment,  and 
then  from  Mass  to  Mass  he  went  to 
heaven. 


The  Doctor's  Scapular. 


As  health  is  a  gift  of  God,  so  also  is 
sickness;  and  God  sends  it  to  try  and  to 
correct  us, — to  make  us  sensible  of  our 
weakness,  of  our  dependence  upon  Him; 
to  detach  us  from  the  world  and  what 
perishes  with  it;  to  check  the  impet- 
uosity and  diminish  the  strength  of  our 
greatest  enemy,  the  flesh;  to  remind  us 
that  we  are  here  in  a  place  of  exile,  and 
that  heaven  is  our  true  home. 

— Rodriguez* 


NOBODY  doubted  that  Professor 
Marechal  would  have  scaled  the 
summits  of  medical  science,  had  he  taken 
up  his  residence  in  Paris  instead  of  in  the 
second-rate  city  of  X.  He  possessed  in  an 
unusual  degree  three  talents,  one  alone  of 
which  would  suffice  to  secure  celebrity. 
He  had  practical  skill,  erudition,  and 
eloquence.  I  have  known  him  in  the 
course  of  the  same  day  to  perform  a 
difficult  operation,  learnedly  to  discuss  a 
medical  theory,  and  to  rise  in  .magnificent 
language  to  the  highest  physiological  and 
philosophical  considerations. 

His  heart  was  as  kindly  as  his  intellect 
was  profound.  At  the  age  of  sixty,  when  he 
had  attained  all  the  honors  that  lie  within 
reach  of  a  provincial  doctor,  he  would 
get  up  at  midnight  to  attend  the  poorest 
peasant.  How  often  did  it  happen  that 
with  the  prescription  he  would  slip  into 
the  hand  of  an  attendant  the  money 
necessary  to  have  the  prescription  filled  at 
the  apothecary's!  In  him  was  realized  the 
old  adage:  The  true  doctor  cures  some- 
times, helps  many  times,  and  consoles  at 
all  times. 

There  were  twenty  of  us  students  fol- 
lowing his  course  of  pathology.  Had  we 
all  been  his  own  sons,  he  could  not  have 
treated  us  with  more  kindness,  or  looked 
after  our  interests  with  more  devotion. 
He  spurred  on  the  idle,  encouraged  the 
timid,  cheered  the  dull,  and  by  his  counsel, 
as  firm  as  it  was  affectionate,  brought 
back  to  the  path  of  duty  the  frivolous 
among  us  of  whose  escapades  he  had 
heard. 

The  medical  school  at  X.  had  for  its 
director  an  old  doctor  whose  appointment 
was  the  result  of  intrigue  rather  than 
merit.  He  prided  himself  on  and  often 
paraded  his  infidelity.  Doctor  Marechal 
did  not  scruple  on  occasion  to  stigmatize 
these  baleful  doctrines.  "A  doctor  who  is 
an  unbeliever,"  said  he,  "is  not  a  true 
doctor,  but  a  veterinary  surgeon."  He 
was  very  fond  of  repeating  that  saying 


530 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


of  Ambroise  Pare":  "I  attended  him,  God 
cured  him." 

Although  a  practical  Catholic,  Doctor 
Marechal  did  not  pose  for  what  we  called 
a  devotee;  and  consequently  we  were 
not  a  little  surprised  and  edified  at  an 
incident  which  occurred  during  one  of 
his  lectures. 

He  was  seated  at  his  table,  and  was 
speaking  with  his  customary  animation, 
when  my  right-hand  neighbor  nudged  me 
and  whispered: 

"Look  at  that  queer  thing  the  Doctor 
has  around  his  neck!" 

I  looked; 'but,  being  near-sighted,  could 
perceive  nothing  unusual.  The  other  stu- 
dents were  more  successful ;  for  soon  smiles 
and  chuckles  began  to  circulate  among 
our  little  group.  Evidently  there  was 
something  wrong  with  the  Professor's 
dress.  Thanks  to  an  eyeglass  which  was 
passed  to  me,  I  discovered  what  it  was. 
A  little  piece  of  brown  cloth  attached  to  a 
grey  string  was  hanging  outside  his  collar 
and  resting  on  his  shirt-front. 

"What  a  singular  cravat!"  whispered 
my  right-hand  companion. 

"It  is  not  a  cravat  at  all,"  I  replied; 
"it's  a  Scapular." 

"A  Scapular!" 

"Yes,  a  Scapular  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
such  as  is  worn  by  our  mothers  and  our 
sisters." 

I  was  too  cowardly  at  the  time  to  add: 
"Such  as  I  myself  wore  until  I  was 
twenty-one." 

All  the  students  soon  verified  the  exist- 
ence of  the  Scapular,  and  the  mirth 
increased  to  such  a  degree  that  .the 
Professor  became  disturbed. 

"Come,  come,  young  gentlemen!"  he 
exclaimed.  ' '  Attention ! ' ' 

We  endeavored  to  become  more  sedate; 
but  the  disturbance  continued. 

Doctor  Marechal  was  surprised  and 
pained  by  a  line  of  conduct  to  which  he  was 
quite  unaccustomed,  his  lectures  having 
always  been  listened  to  with  perfect 
attention. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  with  some  heat, 


"what  is  the  matter?  Are  you  medical 
students  or  mere  schoolboys?" 

Renewed  efforts  on  our  part  to  recover 
our  accustomed  gravity  having  failed,  the 
amiable  Professor  was  growing  really 
angry,  when  one  of  the  older  students 
came  to  our  rescue. 

"Professor  Marechal,"  said  he,  passing 
his  hand  about  his  neck  as  he  spoke,  "it  is 
that  object  that  you  have  there." 

The  Professor  turned  his  head  toward 
his  right  shoulder  and  saw  the  little  piece 
of  brown  cloth. 

"Thank  you!"  he  said  simply.  Then, 
opening  his  vest,  he  slowly  replaced  his 
Scapular  in  its  proper  position,  and 
resumed  his  lecture. 

Two  days  later  my  companion  and  I 
were  in  the  Doctor's  study. 

"Confess,  young  gentlemen,"  said  he, 
"that  you  were  surprised  to  see  me  wear- 
ing a  Scapular." 

Our  silence  spoke  more  significantly 
than  words. 

"I  have  worn  it,"  the  Doctor  went  on, 
"ever  since  my  First  Communion.  My 
mother  made  me  promise  on  that  day 
never  to  lay  it  aside,  and  such  a  promise 
was  too  sacred  for  me  to  break.  I  should 
add,  however,  that  a  rather  extraordinary 
circumstance  which  happened  years  ago 
contributed  not  a  little  in  making  me 
persevere  in  wearing  this  little  badge  of 
Our  Lady. 

"We  studied  hard  in  my  college  days, 
and  the  examiners  were  much  more  severe 
than  they  are  at  present.  I  spent  so  many 
nights  preparing  for  my  third-year  exam- 
ination that  I  fell  seriously  ill.  When  the 
crisis  was  over,  I  was  sent  for  recruiting 
purposes  to  an  uncle  of  mine,  who  lived 
in  the  country.  I  had  been  ordered  to  ride 
on  horseback  for  an  hour  a  day.  As  an 
equestrian  I  was  only  a  middling  success, 
not  to  say  a  dismal  failure.  Fortunately, 
Betsy,  my  uncle's  mare,  was  so  gentle  that 
a  child  could  have  ridden  her  with  safety. 
One  day,  however,  when  the  good  beast 
happened  to  be  lame,  the  stableboy  said 
to  me: 


THE  AYR  MART  A 


r>31 


"Yon  will  have  to  go  without  your 
ride  to-day.  Joliecrur  is  too  spirited  for 
you.' 

"I  was  hurt  by  this  observation,  in 
which  there  was  just  a  tinge  of  raillery, 
and  answered: 

"Why  can't  I  ride  a  horse  that  my 
cousin  uses  daily?  After  all,  he  is  a  year 
younger  than  I  am.  Must  one  be  a  member 
of  thie  Jockey  Club  to  take  a  ride  on  a 
level  and  well-known  road?  Saddle 
Jo.licceur  for  me.' 

"Pierre  did  so,  and  I  mounted.  Every- 
thing went  well  for  about  twenty  minutes. 
Master  Pierre  was  trying  to  frighten  me, 
thought  I :  Jolicoeur  is  not  a  bit  harder  to 
ride  than  Betsy. 

' '  I  had  hardly  made  this  reflection  when 
the  horse  took  fright  at  a  peasant  who, 
stick  in  hand,  suddenly  broke  through  the 
hedge  that  lined  the  road.  In  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye  Jolicoeur  turned  about  and  made 
for  [the  stable  on  a  gallop.  He  soon 
took  the  bit  in  his  teeth;  and,  one  of  my 
spurs  having  accidentally  pricked  him,  he 
became  utterly  furious.  The  terrified 
animal  no  longer  ran — he  flew. 

"I  reassured  myself  with  the  thought 
that  he  would  stop  on  reaching  the  stable. 
Unfortunately,  however,  the  stable  door 
was  open.  It  was  quite  low — no  higher, 
in  fact,  than  was  necessary  to  allow  the 
horses  to-  go  in  or  out,  and  that  too  with 
their  heads  bent.  Toward  this  opening  I 
was  being  carried  at  full  speed.  I  fully 
expected  that  I  should  have  my  head 
broken;  but,  instinctively  lying  as  low  as 
possible  on  the  horse's  back,  I  closed  my 
eyes  and  recommended  my  soul  to  God. 

"Jolicoeur,  foam-covered  and  trembling 
in  every  limb,  came  to  a  standstill  in  his 
stall.  Pierre  ran  to  me  and  lifted  me  from 
the  saddle.  My  coat,  waistcoat,  even  my 
underclothing  had  been  torn  from  me  by 
the  stonework  just  over  the  door;  but  my 
Scapular  was  intact,  and  I  had  not  re- 
ceived even  a  scratch. 

"My  uncle  and  cousin,  the  servants,  and 
all  the  villagers  declared  that  my  escape 
was  miraculous.  I  myself  was  then,  and  am 


still,  of  the  opinion  that  they  were  right, 
and  that  my  life  had  been  preserved  by 
invoking  the  Blessed  Virgin,  whose  livery 
I  wore. 

"So  you  need  not  be  surprised  that  I 
have  always  worn  the  Scapular.  I  have 
often  had  to  face  epidemics  and  contagions. 
The  Scapular  has  not  been  a  detriment  in 
such  cases.  In  short,  I  love  my  Scapular, 
and  should  never  feel  at  ease  were  it  not 
about  my  neck." 

I  went  to  the  Carmelite  Convent  that 
same  day,  procured  a  Scapular,  and  put 
it  around  my  neck,  where  it  has  remained 
ever  since. 

X.  Y.  Z. 


An  Old  Story  Recalled. 


ONCE  a  rich  man  had  three  friends, — • 
one  whom  he  valued  beyond  measure, 
and  for  whom  he  could  not  do  enough;  one 
whom  he  treated  well  or  ill,  as  he  felt 
inclined;  a  third  whom  he  positively  dis- 
liked and  frequently  slighted.  Finally,  it 
happened  one  day  that  the  man  got  a 
message  from  the  king  of  the  country  where 
he  lived,  commanding  him  to  appear  at 
Court  without  delay.  Not  wishing  to  do 
so,  and  afraid  that  for  some  reason  the 
king  was  angry  with  him,  he  tried  to 
find  excuses,  pleading  ill  health,  advanced 
age,  and  so  forth.  But  it  was  of  no  use: 
go  he  must.  Then  he  thought  of  his 
friends.  One  of  them  surely  would  accom- 
pany him,  and  see  that  no  evil  came  to 
him.  He  went  first,  naturally,  to  the  one 
upon  whom  he  had  long  lavished  so  much 
affection. 

"I  am  summoned  to  the  king,"  he  said. 
"Pray  come  with  me;  I  greatly  fear  to 
go  alone." 

But  the  friend  said:  "I  can  not  go,  and 
I  would  not  if  I  could." 

Surprised,,  mortified,  and  discouraged, 
the  man  turned  away,  and  sought  the 
one  to  whom  he  had  been  kind  when  in 
the  humor. 


532 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


"Come  with  me,  I  pray,"  he  pleaded, 
as  he  had  begged  of  the  other. 

"I  would  if  it  were  in  my  power," 
cheerfully  said  that  friend;  "but  whither 
you  are  going  I  am  not  prepared  to  accom- 
pany you.  Besides,  one  should  not  appear 
before  the  king  without  a  summons. 
However,  I  will  go  as  far  as  the  palace 
gate;  there  I  shall  be  obliged  to  leave 
you.  You  must  meet  the  king  alone." 

The  man  became  more  and  more  fright- 
ened. Only  the  other  friend  was  left;  and 
since  the  two  had  failed  him,  what  could 
he  expect  of  this  one,  whom  he  had  so 
ill-treated?  With  faltering  voice  and 
humble  mein  he  made  his  request.  "I 
have  no  right  to  ask,  but  will  you  go  with 
me  to  meet  the  king?" 

"I  will, — I  will  go  and  plead  your  cause; 
and  I  will  stay  by  your  side  until  the  king 
has  pardoned  you,  as  I  am  sure  he  will, 
whatever  your  offence  may  be." 

So  the  rich  man  took  heart  and,  with 
confidence  and  hope,  went  to  Court. 

And  the  friends?  The  first,  says  the  pld 
story,  is  worldly  goods,  which  no  man 
can  'take  when  he  enters  the  presence  of 
the  King  of  kings.  The  second  is  the 
group  of  friends,  who  can  go  but  to  the 
portal  of  the  grave;  and  the  third  is  our 
Blessed  Lord,  who,  though  so  often  un- 
thought  of  and  denied,  is  always  ready  to 
pass  beyond  the  gate  of  Death  with  the 
poor  sinner,  who,  no  matter  how  late,  calls 
upon  His  blessed  name.  He  is  the  Friend 
of  friends. 

The  Catholic,  however,  should  not  allow 
his  course  to  run  on  the  lines  of  this  alle- 
gory. If  he  be  thoroughly  practical  in  his 
religious  life,  he  will  rather  reverse  the 
order  in  which  the  friends  ranked  in  the 
rich  man's  esteem.  Worldly  goods,  far 
from  commanding  his  greatest  respect  and 
fondest  love,  will  be  valued  at  their  true 
worth,  and  so  take  the  lowest  place  in  his 
affection;  while  our  Blessed  lyord.  who 
has  titles  so  incomparable  to  the  supreme 
dominion  of  his  heart,  will  be  habitually 
regarded  as  the  one  true  Friend,  always  to 
be  trusted  and  loved. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


There  are  predictions  enough  about 
the  Great  War  to  enable  everyone  to  make 
a  choice.  For  ourselves,  we  prefer  those 
that  are  least  gloomy,  especially  if  they 
have  a  basis.  Two  solid  premises  are 
assigned  for  the  prediction  that  peace 
will  be  restored  before  the  summer  is 
past.  The  warring  nations  are  nearirig 
the  end  of  their  resources  of  men,  money, 
and  supplies;  and  the  spirit  of  liberty  is 
abroad  among  all  peoples  as  never  before. 
It  can  not  be  supposed  that  any  ruler 
will  continue  to  wage  war  when  it  becomes 
evident  that  the  ruin  of  his  country  is  a 
probability.  Then,  too,  within  the  last 
three  years  every  able-bodied  man  in 
Europe  has  been  turned  into  a  soldier. 
Standing  armies  to  put  down  rebellion 
are  a  thing  of  the  past  in  most  countries. 
And  the  people,  as  well  as  the  soldiers 
themselves,  are  tiring  of  bloodshed  and 
destruction.  Much  as  many  of  them  may 
reverence  their  rulers,  they  no  longer  fear 
them.  Any  abuse  of  authority  or  disregard 
of  the  demands  of  the  majority  of  the 
people  on  the  part  of  no  matter  how  strong 
a  government  would  result  in  re  volt,  more 
quickly  now  than  ever  before.  For  these 
reasons  we  credit  the  prediction  that  peace 
is  on  the  way. 


In  his  proclamation  to  the  American 
people  calling  for  their  support  in  war, 
President  Wilson  says:  "This  is  the  time 
for  America  to  correct  her  unpardonable 
fault  of  wastefulness  and  extravagance." 
It  certainly  is.  Conservation  of  what  we 
have  been  wasting  and  deprivation  of 
what  we  don't  need  are  now  plainly 
nothing  short  of  an  obligation,  a  dictate 
of  prudence  as  well  as  of  patriotism. 
Wastefulness  is  always  more  than  a  fault, 
however;  and  at  present  it  amounts  to  a 
crime.  Extravagance  is  the  forerunner 
of  want.  The  practice  of  economy  and 
retrenchment  has  become  a  duty.  It 
should  begin  in  the  homes  of  the  land  and 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


be  taught  to  the  children,  the  rising 
generation  of  whom  are  even  more  waste- 
ful and  extravagant  than  the  present  one. 
Great  wealth  constitutes  a  danger  to 
individuals,  families,  and  nations.  Luxury 
and  lavishness  are  its  wonted  attendants, 
and  decay  an  unfailing  follower.  The 
War  will  be  worth  its  cost  if  it  convinces 
the  world  that  poverty  of  spirit  consti- 
tutes true  blessedness. 


A  chapel  in  the  home  may  not  be  within 
the  means  of  the  average  American  family, 
but  there  is  no  doubt  that  some  sort  of 
sanctum  should  there  be  dedicated  to 
God.  A  Philadelphia  lawyer,  having 
recently  provided  himself  with  such  a 
"luxury"  in  a  new  house  which  he  built, 
a  secular  newspaper,  the  Newark  Evening 
News,  commented  upon  the  fact  in  the 
following  well-considered  words: 

Modern  homes  have  garages;  bath  rooms  for 
family,  guest  and  maid;  pool  rooms  for  son; 
nurseries  and  play  rooms  for  the  "kiddies,"  and 
sewing  rooms  for  mother.  Mr.  Wilson  believes 
that  the  old-time  custom  of  having  a  place  for 
prayer  and  meditation  is  to  be  revived  in  the 
modern  home.  He  has  such  a  chapel  in  his  own 
home.  How  could  he  help  it?  When  he  entered 
the  house,  there  was  just  the  place,  six  feet 
square,  and  with  a  stained-glass  window  in  it. 

It  may  be  safe  to  assume  that  fewer  families 
offer  grace  before  meals  than  formerly,  that 
fewer  families  gather  together  for  prayer,  that 
fewer  read  the  Bible.  Time?  There  is  not  time 
enough  for  the  recreations  of  the  age,  not  time 
enough  for  fashion's  demands,  not  time  enough 
to  do  one-thousandth  part  of  the  things  we 
think  we  ought  to  do.  .  .  . 

The  little  chapel,  if  built,  would  be  a  curious 
invasion  of  the  ultra-modern  home.  There  it 
would  stand,  peaceful,  uncomplaining,  a  place 
for  our  sorrows  and  a  place  for  our  joys, — that 
is,  if  we  gave  it  our  confidence.  The  tiny  boy  of 
to-day  might  there  say  his  evening  prayer  to 
mother,  and  maybe  its  influence  would  wrap, 
him  up  for  years.  Who  knows  what  the  little 
home  chapel  might  do?  When  we  read  the 
columns  of  divorce  cases,  the  little  chapel 
appeals  peculiarly.  Surely  though  angry  voices 
were  raised  in  all  of  the  rooms  of  the  house,  the 
little  chapel  would  be  a  place  of  repose. 

The  young  girl  who  slips  into  the  house  at  the 
hour  when  the  sun  threatens  to  reveal  her — 
what  effect  would  the  little  chapel  have  upon  her 
as  it  interrupts  with  its  presence  her  journey 


upstairs?  Would  it  not  bring  families  into  more 
loving  relationship.— husbands  mid  wives, 
brothers  and  sisters? 

The  month  of  May,  we  are  led  to 
observe,  would  be  an  appropriate  time 
for  Catholics  to  introduce — or  reintro- 
duce — the  custom  of  family  prayers  into 
their  homes,  in  so  many  of  which  a  little 
sanctuary  might  be  made. 


Of  course  one  can  not  be  sure  as  to 
what  the  Anglican  bishop  of  London  meant 
by  saying  that  all  our  sacrifices  will  be 
in  vain  unless  we  have  "a  new  country, 
a  new  Church,  a  new  Empire,-  and  a  new 
world."  (We  quote  from  the  foreword 
which  he  contributes  to  a  new  book 
whose' thesis  is  that  the  most  urgent  heed 
of  the  hour  is  for  woman,  by  the  power  of 
the  spirit  of  God,  to  take  her  place  in  the 
regeneration  of  the  world.  Unless  she 
does,  it  is  very  unlikely  that  there  will  be 
any  regeneration  to  speak  of.  But  let 
that  pass.)  Since  the  bishop  is  so  firmly 
convinced  that  a  new  Church  is  needed 
it  ought  to  be  plain  to  him  that  there 
is  no  need  of  the  one  he  has.  And  there 
isn't  and  there  never  was  and  there  never 
will  be.  What  the  world  sorely  needs  is 
the  Old  Church,  whose  authority  has  been 
disowned,  and  whose  teachings  are  so 
sinfully  disregarded. 


Gov.  Cox  of  Ohio  must  have  felt  at 
home  with  his  audience  when,  in  a  speech 
to  the  farmers  of  Butler  Co.  last  week, 
he  declared  that  what  the  United  States 
needed  most  now  was  "patriotism  and 
potatoes."  There  is  shouting  enough  on 
all  sides,  but  the  recruiting  is  decidedly 
in  arrears.  The  number  of  young  men 
applying  for  marriage  licenses  in  order 
to  be  exempted  from  military  duty  has 
increased  tremendously  all  over  the  country 
since  the  beginning  of  open  hostilities 
with  Germany.  In  order  to  "round  up" 
these  "slackers,"  as  they  are  called,  a 
bill  has  been  introduced  in  Congress 
proposing  that  exemption  from  compulsory 
service  shall  not  apply  to  those  married 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


aflcr  April  i,  except  under  a  special  order 
(»!'  (he  vSecretary  of  War.  It  was  asserted, 
and  the.  vote  of  the  vSenate  and  House 
cited  to  prove  the  assertion,  that  the 
vast  majority  of  American  citizens  were 
in  favor  of  war  at  any  cost  and  at  any 
sacrifice.  The  recruiting  does  not  prove 
that  such  was  the  case.  But,  whether  it 
was  or  not,  now  every  true  patriot  should 
be  ready  to  defend  the  flag,  and  with  his 
life,  if  need  be.  The  time  has  come  to 
give  practical  proof  of  personal  patriotism. 
Foreign-born  citizens  have  set  the  example. 
In  a  list  of  recent  recruits  that  came  under 
our  notice,  almost  every  name  indicated 
adoption.  The  very  class  whose  loyalty 
was  under  suspicion,  and  who,  for  reasons 
easily  explained,  were  strongly  opposed 
to  the  entry  of  the  United  States  into 
the  great  'international  conflict,  were 
among  the  first  to  show  their  loyalty. 

Gov.  Cox  was  right  about  ^potatoes  as 
well  as  patriotism.  The  officers  of  the 
Government  realize  that  the  production 
and  conservation  of  staple  foods  is  one 
of  the  most  serious  problems  that  now 
confront  the  nation.  The  potato  supply 
is  said  to  be  in  the  worst  condition  of  all. 
Experts  assert  that  the  reduction  of  food 
reserves — bread,  meat  and  potatoes — all 
over  the  world  as  a  result  of  the  war 
threatens  famine. 


We  had  occasion,  at  the  time  of  its  first 
appearance,  to  comment  favorably  on  a 
volume  of  essays  published  in  England 
under  the  title  "Duty  and  Discipline," 
and  to  reproduce  in  our  columns  more 
than  one  or  two  apt  paragraphs  therefrom. 
That  the  efforts  of  the  authors  of  the 
various  papers  in  that  book  are  still  being 
continued  is  made  evident  by  Sir  Dyce 
Duckworth's  contribution  on  the  subject 
to  the  current  issue  of  the  London  Fort- 
nightly Review.  The  mere  substitution  of 
President  for  "Sovereign,"  and  Republic 
for  "Empire,"  in  the  following  excerpt 
will  make  his  remarks  fully  as  applicable 
to  our  country  as  they  are  to  his: 

Our  efforts  are  directed  to  call  attention  to  the 


neglect  of  public  duties  and  private  responsi- 
bilities in  regard  to  home  and  school  training 
of  the  young.  We  appeal  especially  to  young 
parents  to  foster  an  instinctive  obedience  to 
lawful  authority,  loyalty  to  the  Sovereign,  devo- 
tion to  their  country  and  the  needs  of  the  Empire. 
We  urge  them  to  cultivate  in  their  children  self- 
respect  and  respect  for  the  aged.  We  seek  to 
improve  the  virility  and  bodily  development  of 
the  rising  generation,  now  more  than  ever  im- 
perative; and  to  enforce  the  necessity  for  self- 
effacement  and  self-sacrifice.  Our  movement 
endeavors  to  check  the  prevalent  general  slack- 
ness, sentimentality,  self-indulgence  and  pleasure- 
seeking  which  have  been  destroying  character 
and  debasing  young  people. 

In  default  of  a  widespread  Duty  and 
Discipline  movement  in  our  land,  the 
proposed  universal  military  training  may 
prove  of  some  positive  worth.  Discipline, 
at  least,  is  inculcated  in  any  system  having 
to  do  with  war  or  preparation  for  war; 
and  no  judicious  observer  of  young 
Americans  will  deny  that  there  is  urgent 
need  of  its  inculcation. 


As  showing  the  difficulty  of  getting  at 
the  facts  about  many  things  nowadays, 
and  the  wisdom  of  receiving  war  reports, 
whether  to  our  liking  or  not,  with  the 
proverbial  grain  of  salt,  we  may  cite  two 
letters  from  Catholic  chaplains  serving 
in  the  British  Army.  Both  of  these  com- 
munications appear  in  the  same  number 
of  an  English  Catholic  paper.  One  writer 
complains  of  a  shortage  of  Catholic 
chaplains,  while  the  other  draws  attention 
to  the  extraordinarily  high  ,  percentage 
of  priests  at  the  Front.  The  explanation 
is  that  the  number  of  Catholic  chaplains 
is  small  for  the  number  of  Catholic  troops, 
and  large  considering  that  the  soldiers 
classed  as  belonging  to  the  Church  of 
England,  who  form  the  great  bulk  of  the 
Army,  have  only  twice  as  many.  The  vast 
difference  in  the  work  of  the  Catholic 
and  Protestant  chaplains,  which  needs 
no  explanation  for  any  one,  is  also  to  be 
remembered. 

An  anonymous  correspondent  of  the 
Brooklyn  Tablet  requests  the  editor  of 
that  paper  to  perform  for  him  a  service 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


535 


which  Catholic  editors  are  always  willing 
to  render, —that  of  distributing  alms 
among  worthy  missionary  enterprises. 
The  alms  in  question  are  worth  while 
noticing  because  of  the  way  in  which  they 
were  collected.  Briefly,  on  Good  Friday  of 
1916,  the  correspondent  made  a  resolution 
that  he  would  save  a  dime  a  day  for  the 
missionaries,  and  as  a  result  three  hundred 
and  sixty-five  dimes  were  ready  for  dis- 
tribution on  Good  Friday  of  this  year. 
Every  little  counts  in  any  enterprise;  and 
this  modest  Catholic's  savings  are  already 
bringing  joy  to  necessitous  toilers  in  the 
vineyard  of  the  lyord.  Would  that  his 
praiseworthy  example  were  far  more 
generally  followed. 


The  publication  of  President  Wilson's 
wise  economic  message  to  the  people  of 
this  country  gives  special  timeliness  to 
the  leading  article  in  our  present  number. 
Our  women  readers  in  particular — • 
mothers,  wives,  and  daughters— will  find 
"Women  in  War  Time"  of  exceptional' 
interest,  as  supplementing  in  concrete 
fashion  the  general  principles  laid  down 
by  the  President.  While  the  optimists 
among  us  may  hope  that,  even  though 
we  are  at  war,  such  activities  as  are 
described  in  the  article  in  question  may 
not  soon  be  demanded  of  American 
women,  judicious  preparedness  is  far  better 
than  negligent  optimism.  Even  if  Ameri- 
can women  are  not  called  on  to  imitate 
the  work  of  their  English  sisters  at  "17 
Mulberry  Walk,"  they  owe  it  to  their 
country  to  practise  at  present  the  utmost 
thrift  and  saving.  As  President  Wilson 
truly  and  tersely  puts  it,  "every  house- 
wife who  practises  strict  economy  places 
herself  in  the  ranks  of  those  who  serve 
the  nation." 

A  Methodist  organ,  the  Western  Chris- 
tian Advocate,  having  asserted  that  the 
future  of  America  lies  in  the  path  of 
Democracy,  and  that  the  only  security 
must  be  found  in  Protestantism,  "for 
in  it  rests  the  spirit  of  free  thought  and 


speech  and  free  institutions,"  the  Chicago 
Israelite  takes  occasion  to  dissent.  Pre- 
mising that  the  leaders  of  the  various 
religious  sects  are  not  unlike  political 
leaders  in  their  practice  of  claiming  every- 
thing and  conceding  nothing,  our  Jewish 
contemporary  thus  neatly  confutes  the 
reverend  Methodist  editor: 

The  writer  has  evidently  forgotten  that  it 
was  France  first,  then  Italy  and  next  Portugal, 
all  Roman  Catholic  countries,  which  threw 
off  the  imperial  yoke  and  became  democracies. 
In  Russia,  in  which  Protestantism  plays  a 
most  insignificant  role,  we  have  a  triumph  of 
democracy  in  our  own  day.  The  Church  of 
England,  with  its  hierarchy  and  governmental 
support,  can  hardly  be  called  Protestant.  In 
fact,  the  only  great  nation  in  Europe  which  is 
really  Protestant  is  Germany;  and,  singularly 
enough,  it  is  the  one  among  them  which  is 
furthest  from  being  a  democracy.  The  editor 
of  the  Advocate  should  be, more  careful  in  what 
he  claims  for  his  sect. 

This  sal'i^ary  advice  \vill  not,  however, 
be  followed.  The  Methodist  organ,  like 
its  contemporaries  of  every  other  denomi- 
nation, will  continue  to  identify  all  pro- 
gressive civilization  with  the  legitimate 
outcome  of  Protestant  principles;  whereas, 
in  ;  reality,  those  principles  underlie  all 
social  retrogression,  the  present  World 
War  not  excepted. 


Nothing  could  be  more  natural  than 
the  blame  which  attaches  to  the  British 
Government '  for  its  delay  in  granting 
Home  Rule  to  Ireland.  The  reason  for 
this  is  the  opposition  of  a  minority  of 
Protestants  in  Ulster.  The  majority  of 
Irishmen  are  demanding  that  this  opposi- 
tion be  overruled:  that  all  cries  of 
Coercion  be  ignored,  as  they  undoubtedly 
would  be — and  would  deserve  to  be — if 
raised  by  a  handful  of  Catholics  against 
a  political  measure  favored  by  a  vast 
majority  of  non-Catholics.  It  can  not 
be  doubted  that  if  all  Irishmen  were 
Protestant,  the  boon  of  Home  Rule  would 
have  been  theirs  long  ago.  The  Ulsterites 
dread  harsh  treatment  by  an  Irish  Parlia- 
ment, because  they  know  it  would  be  well 
deserved.  But  if  they  behave  themselves 


536 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


they  will  have  nothing  at  all  to  fear — any 
more  than  the  Jews  in  Ireland. 

One  thing  is  certain:  Home  Rule  is 
sure  to  come  in  spite  of  all  opposition  to 
it.  The  entry  of  this  country  into  the 
Great  War  and  its  sympathy  with  the 
cause  of  the  Allies  will  undoubtedly 
further  the  national  aspirations  of  the 
Irish  people.  English  statesmen  must  be 
well  aware  that  the  political  situation  in 
Ireland  is  a  very  weak  joint  in  their  armor 
when  they  undertake  to  discuss  such 
matters  as  the  right  of  small  countries  to 
such  a  form  of  government  a£  the  inhabi- 
tants of  them  as  a  whole  desiderate  and 
are  capable  of  supporting. 


It  was  inevitable  that  a  book  by  so 
eminent  a  scientist  as  Sir  Oliver  Lodge, 
recording  alleged  communications  from 
his  dead  son,  should  provoke  comment 
and  criticism.  One  of  the  most  prominent 
critics,  Dr.  J.  Beattie  Crozier,  discusses 
the  matter  at  much  length  in  a  recent 
issue  of  the  London  Fortnightly  Review, 
and  says  among  other  things : 

My  main  object  in  this  article  is  seriously  to 
warn  the  public  to  think  twice,  and  again  twice, 
before  they  embark  on  these  perilous  spiritual- 
istic seas  of  speculation.  .  .  .  Let  them  beware; 
for  three  of  my  friends,  men  of  eminqnce  who 
really  believe  in  Spiritualism,  have  told  me  that 
they  have  forbidden  the  very  name  of  it,  or 
any  allusion  to  it,  to  be  mentioned  in  their 
homes;  have  forbidden  their  wives  and  children 
to  touch  it,  as  if  it  were  a  thing  accursed.  And 
why?  Because,  not  being  really  known  and 
explainable,  it  puts  their  minds  on  the  rack; 
and  by  the  "black  magic,"  which  is  always  a 
part  of  it,  so  often  leads  to  insanity  and  death. 

Pooh-poohing  the  idea  that  there  is 
anything  else  than  human  fraud  and 
trickery  in  Spiritualism  is  a  convenient 
way  of  disposing  of  the  subject;  but 
it  is  so  far  a  dangerous  way  that  it  may 
lead  the  unwary  to  meddle  with  spiritistic 
practices,  a  course  that  can  not  fail  to 
affect  them  injuriously  sooner  or  later, 
somehow  or  other. 


If  you  will  talk  about  the  war,  reader — 
there  is  nothing    to  prevent  you,  and  no 


reason  why  you  shouldn't, — pray  do 
not  insist  that  others  coincide  with  all 
your  views.  They  may  not  think  or  feel 
as  you  do  on  some  points  and  yet  be 
quite  right  in  the  main.  Don't  try  to 
draw  everyone  out.  At  all  times,  and 
especially  in  times  like  these,  the  wisest 
have  least  to  say,  and  speak  with  most 
restraint.  Be  patient  with  those  who  a 
while  ago,  without  ceasing  to  be  patriots, 
identified  themselves  with  the  cause  of 
peace.  Be  forbearing  with  those  who, 
though  having  foreign  names,  have  helped 
to  make  the  country  what  it  is.  The 
former  can  not  become  belligerent  all  at 
once ;  and  the  hearts  of  many  of  the  latter 
are  still  bleeding  for  kith  and  kin  who  have 
fallen  in  the  war  or  are  left  to  endure  its 
grinding  miseries.  We  are  all  Americans, 
much  as  many  of  us  may  abhor  warfare 
and  sympathize  with  one  or  another  of  the 
foreign  nations  closely  engaged  in  it. 
If  it  continues,  and  we  are  called  upon  to 
bear  full  part,  the  discredited  pacifist 
will  see  where  his  duty  lies  and  not  fail 
in  its  performance;  nor  will  the  citizen 
of  foreign  birth  be  wanting  in  whole- 
hearted devotion  to  the  land  where  his 
fortunes  are  cast,  where  he  has  toiled  and 
endured,  and  tp  which,  as  no  professional 
patriot  need  remind  him,  his  allegiance 
is  due  at  all  times  and  in  whatever 
circumstances. 

The  appearance  of  a  book  on  "The 
Psychology  of  Sound,"  by  a  lecturer  in 
the  University  of  Glasgow,  emphasizes 
the  need  of  a  work  on  the  psychology  of 
silence.  There  is  the  silence  of  forests, 
the  silence  of  plains;  the  silence  of  sleep, 
of  wakefulness,  of  dread  and  hope,  of 
weakness  and  strength,  of  love  and  death. 
To  those  perceptive  of  what  is  called 
"atmosphere,"  there  is  a  subtle  difference 
in  these.  Silences  are  as  unlike  as  sounds. 
In  all  probability,  Prof.  Watt  is  canny  in 
the  sense  that  is  not  contemptuous,  and 
could  tell  us  as  much  about  the  psychology 
of  silence  as  about  the  psychology  of 
sound. 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 

XVII. — BACK  TO  MISTY  MOUNTAIN. 

USIE'vS  brother  could  only  soothe 
the  sorrowing  little  girl  in  his  own 
.  tender,  cheery  way,  and  promise 
her  he  would  try  to  find  her  lost 
friend.  Not  even  to  little  Susie  could  he 
tell  how  strong  was  this  purpose, — what 
new  reason  he  had  for  his  interest  in  the 
homeless,  outcast  boy. 

"You  must  pray,  Susie,"  he  said 
gently, — "pray  to  the  good  God,  to  our 
Blessed  Mother  to  guide  me;  for,  if  Father 
Tim  can  spare  me,  I  am  off  to-morrow 
morning  to  find  your  Mountain  Con." 

"Oh,  if  you  could,  brother  Phil!"  said 
Susie,  clasping  her  little  hands.  "  Kathie 
said  he  would  hide  and  starve  and  fight 
like  a  wild-cat  before  he  would  be  caught 
again.  But  he  wouldn't  hide  from  you. 
He  knows  you  would  be  good  to  him." 

"Yes,  he  knows  that,  Susie,"  answered 
her  brother,  wondering  at  the  mysterious 
Providence  that  had  made  him  the  one, 
the  only  friend  that  outcast  Con  had  ever 
known.  "So  pray,  little  girl,  that  the  good 
angels  will  guide  me  in  my  search;  for  it 
won't  be  an  easy  one  " 

It  was  only  to  good  old  Father  Tim 
that  the  young  priest  told  the  full  story 
of  all  he  had  heard  and  learned  on  this 
bewildering  day.  His  old  friend  listened 
with  breathless  interest,  all  his  doubts 
vanishing  into  convictions  that  the  finger 
of  God  was  here. 

"There  is  a  fight  before  us,  lad,"  said 
Father  Tim,  his  eyes  flashing  into  Irish 
fire, — "a  fight  to  down  the  villain  that  has 
done  this  work.  Did  you  hear  aught  of 
him?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Father  Phil,  who  had 


made  some  cautious  inquiries  at  the  little 
post  office  in  Riverdale.  "Arthur  Nesbitt 
is  abroad.  He  spends  most  of  his  time  in 
London  and  Paris.  He  has  an  income 
from  his  aunt  and  will  inherit  all  that 
she  has." 

"Not  if  that  boy  steps  out  of  the 
picture,"  said  Father  Tim,  nodding.  "Go 
look  for  him,  lad.  I'm  on  my  feet  again — 
thank  God! — and  don't  need  you.  Go1  find 
that  boy  and  bring  him  here.  What  is  to 
be  done  then  I  don't  know.  It  is  never 
wise  to  look  too  far  into  God's  guiding. 
Bring  the  boy  here,  and  He  will  show  us 
what  we  are  to  do  next." 

And  so  it  was  that  two  days  later 
Father  Phil  found  himself  once  more  in 
the  familiar  ways  of  Misty  Mountain,  in  a 
search  for  his  little  pal.  It  must  be  a 
cautious,  guarded  search;  for  as  yet  he 
had  no  direct  proof  of  the  boy's  identity; 
and  to  set  this  strange  story  of  evil-doing 
afloat  might  do  incalculable  harm.  But 
in  his  own  mind  there  was  no  doubt:  the 
picture  of  Con's  dead  father  had  filled  all 
the  broken  gaps  in  Wilmot  Elkins'  story, — 
had  spoken  to  him  almost  as  if  it  had  life. 
There  would  be  denial,  dispute,  conten- 
tion,— legal  fight  perhaps,  as  Father  Tim 
had  said;  but  he  would  not  as  yet  look  to 
that:  he  must  first  find  the  lost,  hunted, 
desperate  boy,  and  then  stand  up  for  him 
as  best  he  could. 

So,  giving  only  as  excuse  for  his  return 
the  mission  work  that  he  was  in  truth 
doing,  in  his  way,  through  these  shepherd- 
less  mountains,  Father  Phil  stopped  for  a 
brief  visit  at  the  Manse.  Uncle  Greg  was 
still  in  a  "hot  scotch"  fury  at  the  remem- 
brance of  the  attack  on  his  home,  and 
gave  his  nephew  full  details,  punctuated 
with  profanity,  which  Aunt  Aline  gently 
reproved. 

"Brother  dear,  you  forget  Phil  is  a 
clergyman  now!" 


r,3,s 


77/7?  AVE  MARIA 


"  No,  I  don't,  Madam, — 1  don't !  Clergv 
man  or  not,  I've  got  to  blow  out  when  I 
talk  of  this  business,  blow  out  or  burst. 
Coming  to  burn  my  house,  poison  my  dogs, 
cut  my  wires  to  keep  off  all  help !  Caught 
them  in  the  act,  sir, — caught  them  in  the 
act,  loaded  down  with  oil  and  turpentine 
to  start  the  blaze!" 

"It  was  well  you  were  warned,"  said 
Father  Phil,  quietly. 

"It  was,  sir, — it  was!"  continued  the 
old  gentleman,  hotly.  "Not  that  I  alto- 
gether believe  that  young  devil  came  to 
warn  us,  but  the  men  caught  him  and 
scared  him  into  giving  the  thing  away.  A 
villainous  bunch,  the  whole  of  them,  young 
and  old!  But  we've  cleared  them  off 
Misty  Mountain  forever.  Got  three  of 
them  behind  bars,  where,  if  there  is  any 
law  in  the  land,  I'll  keep  them  for  a 
good  twenty  years.  Arson,  murder;  for 
they  wouldn't  have  stopped  at  killing  us 
in  our  beds,  I  know."  And  Uncle  Greg 
burst  forth  again  into  a  tirade  of  words 
more  forcible  than  polite. 

"And  the  boy,"  interrupted  his 
nephew,  —  ' '  the  boy  they  tell  me  got 
away." 

"He  did,  sir, — he  did;  how,  only  the 
old  Nick  knows;  broke  out  of  a  locked 
and  barred  room,  and  was  gone  before  day. 
It  was  witch  work, — devil  work,  as  the 
servants  say."  (Father  Phil  found  it  hard 
to  restrain  a  smile.)  "They  tell  me  that 
old  hag  in  the  mountain  had  taught  him 
more  than  mortal  boy  should  know.  Not 
that  I  believe  any  such  nonsense,  of  course ; 
but  how  he  got  out  of  that  room,  with 
every  lock  and  bolt  turned,  I  can't  see." 

"And  you  made  no  search  for  him?" 

"No,  sir,  I  haven't,"  answered  Uncle 
Greg,  testily.  "After  all,  the  boy  had 
warned  us, — warned  us,  he  said,  for  little 
Susie's  sake." 

"And  I  believe  he  did,  brother,"  put 
in  Aunt  Aline,  eagerly. 

"I  don't,  Madam!"  roared  Uncle  Greg, 
flaming  up  into  fresh  fury.  "I  don't 
believe  there  was  any  good  in  the  whole 
lot.  But  I  caught  the  three  worst  of  them; 


and  Hie  older  villain  fell  down  with  a 
stroke  of  some  kind  when  he  heard  it, 
and  is  dying  in  the  log  eabin  now." 

"In  the  log  eabin?"  echoed  Father  Phil, 
startled, — "your  log  cabin?" 

"Yes;  why  not,  sir?"  asked  Uncle  Greg, 
who  would  not  have  been  caught  "soften- 
ing" for  the  world.  "We  couldn't  let  him 
die  like  a  dog  in  the  hole  on  the  mountain 
where  he  was  hiding.  Dennis  and  Jerry 
found  him  there  yesterday.  The  old 
woman's  caterwauling  led  them  to  the 
spot;  and  there  they  found  them  both, 
old  man  and  wife,  without  food  or  fire,  in 
a  hole  of  a  place  you  couldn't  stand 
upright  in.  The  log  cabin  was  the  nearest 
shelter,  and  I  told  the  men  to  put  them 
there.  The  doctor  says  he  can't  last 
another  night.  So  he  is  done  for.  As  for 
the  boy,  I'll  bother  no  more  with  him. 
You  might  as  well  hunt  a  wild-cat,  the 
men  say.  He'll  never  be  seen  on  Misty 
Mountain  again.  Let  him  go  where  he 
will." 

And  Uncle  Greg  stalked  away  to  his 
stables,  while  Aunt  Aline  fell  to  talking 
about  Susie  and  her  nervous  breakdown; 
and  Father  Phil  had  to  give  his  cheering 
account  of  the  gay  doings  at  "Lil's  grand- 
mother's," and  how  rosy  and  happy  his 
little  sister  was  growing  under  that  good 
old  lady's  tender  care. 

"It  was  a  hard  time  on  the  poor  little 
darling!"  said  Aunt  Aline,  tremulously. 
"What  with  the  fright  and  fear  and  excite- 
ment of  it,  I'm  all  shaken  up  myself;  and 
now  to  have  that  wretched  old  man  dying 
in  all  his  wickedness  at  our  door!  I'm 
so  nervous  I  can't  sleep  at  night,  Phil. 
Of  course  he  doesn't  belong  to  your 
Church,  and  I  don't  suppose  he  would 
listen  to  you;  but  I'd  feel  better  if  you 
would  say  a  good  word  or  so  to  him,  Phil." 

"Just  what  I  was  going  to  propose 
myself,  Auntie  dear!  Now  that  Uncle 
Greg  is  out  of  the  way,  I'll  start  off  to  the 
log  cabin  at  once." 

Early  as  it  was  in  the  year,  old  Winter's 
sceptre  was  broken  in  the  rugged  ways 
of  Misty  Mountain;  his  icy  region  was 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


539 


over  in  the  sun-kissed  heights  that  faced 
the  south.  The  snow  was  gone,  save  where 
it  hung  in  fading  wreaths  high  up  on  the 
r.ocky  ridges,  or  lingered  in  sheltered 
hollows  that  the  sunbeams  did  not  reach. 
Hardy  shrubs  laden  with  "bird"  berries, 
pines  feathering  into  new  growth,  tangles 
of  the  same  "Christmas  greens"  that  Con 
had  brought  to  him  generously,  hedged 
Father  Phil's  path  to-day.  Soft  twitterings 
came  from  the  dwarf  trees  through  which 
Con  had  peered  in  at  the  Christmas  altar: 
some  daring  little  birds  were  already 
building  their  nests.  Soon  Misty  Moun- 
tain would  be  a  springtime  paradise, 
through  which  the  hunted  boy  could  find 
his  way  like  any  other  wild  thing  of  the 
wood,  —  happy,  reckless,  unafraid.  It 
would  be  hard  to  find  Mountain  Con  in 
the  gladness  and  glory  of  the  Spring. 

The  heavy  door  of  the  log  cabin  stood 
a  little  ajar.  Father  Phil  pushed  it  open 
hesitatingly.  His  little  Christmas  shrine 
made  a  desolate  picture  indeed  to-day. 
But  in  the  stone  chimney-place  that 
belonged  to  its  far  past  a  log  fire  was 
burning.  Before  it,  on  a  pallet  made  by 
pitying,  even  if  reluctant,  hands,  was 
stretched  the  huge,  helpless  form  of  the 
old  mountain  outlaw,  Uncle  Bill,  his 
half-bared  breast  heaving  with  stertorous 
breathing,  his  lips  twitching,  his  eyes  fixed 
in  a  glassy,  unseeing  stare. 

"Take  it  away!"  he  gasped,  with  a 
curse,  to  poor  old  Mother  Moll,  who  was 
holding  a  spoonful  of  broth  to  his  lips. 
"Wanter  choke  me,  do  ye,  ye  old  witch 
hag?"  And  he  lifted  a  shaking  fist  and 
tried  to  strike  at  the  trembling  old  woman. 

"Ivook  here,  old  man!"  Father  Phil 
stepped  forward  in  stern  rebuke.  "  None  of 
that  now!  Don't  you  know  that  you  are 
dying?"  he  went  on,  feeling  it  was  not  the 
place  or  time  to  mince  his  words, — "that 
in  a  little  while  you  will  stand  before  the 
judgment  seat  of  your  God  and  Maker  to 
answer  for  all  the  crimes  of  your  life?  And 
you  would  die  cursing,  striking  like  this! 
Ask  God  for  mercy,  pity,  old  man,  while 
you  may." 


Uncle  Bill  gasped  speechlessly.  Not  in 
all  his  seventy  years  of  wicked  life  had  so 
clear  and  strong  and  fearless  a  tone  chal- 
lenged his  evil-doing.  It  seemed  to  pierce 
into  the  dull,  sodden  depths  of  his  una- 
wakened  soul. 

"Who — what  air  you?"  he  whispered 
hoarsely. 

"I  am  a  priest,"  answered  Father  Phil 
in  a  gentler  tone, — "a  minister  of  God. 
I  come  to  you  in.  His  name.  It  is  not  too 
late  to  turn  to  Him,  my  poor  friend, — to 
beg  His  mercy!" 

"Listen  to  the  gentleman,"  pleaded 
poor  old  Mother  Moll, — "listen  to  him, 
Bill!  He  is  the  kind  that  can  lay  spirits, 
witches,  devils,  Bill.  It's  the  lad  that's  in 
his  mind,  sir,"  she  said,  turning  her  dim 
eyes  to  Father  Phil,— "the  lad  that  he 
nigh  beat  to  death  a  bit  ago.  He  thinks 
he  killed  him,  sir,  and  it's  his  spirit  that's 
turned  agin  him  and  the  boys,  and  brought 
all  this  bad  luck  on  us.  There,  there!" 
soothed  poor  Mother  Moll,  as  the  old  man 
began  to  gasp  and  mutter.  "The  mad 
fit's  coming  on  him  agin.  He  thinks  he  is 
talking  to  Con." 

"I  see  ye!"  panted  Uncle  Bill,  his  star- 
ing eyes  fixed  on  vacancy.  "I  see  ye,  ye 
young  devil!  Ye  got  the  best  of  me, — -ye 
got  the  best  of  Uncle  Bill.  Ye  brought  me 
bad  luck  from  fust  to  last.  What  I  took 
ye  for  I  don't  know.  It  was  the  five 
hundred  dollars  the  man  gave  me  to  keep 
ye  till  he  came, — five  hundred  dollars 
down,  and  then  he  would  give  me  more. 
He  wouldn't  give  no  name.  There  was 
something  behind  it  all,  I  'knew.  And 
it's  ten  years  I've  had  ye,  ye  young 
whelp;  ten  years  I've  given  ye  bit  and 
sup;  ten  years — •" 

There  was  a  step  behind  Father  Phil. 
Some  one  entered  the  log  cabin  quietly. 
It  was  old  Dr.  John  Murphy,  who  was 
taking  Dr.  Grayson's  practice  during  his 
absence, — good  old  Dr.  John,  who  was 
known  as  friend  and  helper  to  sinner  and 
saint  alike  for  twenty  miles  around.  A 
man  of  God  surely! 

"Father  Doane!"  he  exclaimed  in  sue- 


540 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


prise.     "I   beg   your   pardon!     I    did   not 
know  you  were  here." 

"Don't  go,  Doctor!"  Father  Phil  laid  a 
detaining  hold  on  the  old  gentleman's  arm. 
"This  is  not  a  confession  you  are  inter- 
rupting. But  this  old  man  is  telling  strange 
things,  that  it  would  be  well  for  another 
witness  to  hear — about — about — the  boy 
he  has  had  with  him  for  so  long." 

"Mountain  Con!"  exclaimed  the  old 
Doctor,  with  interest.  "I  always  said  that 
fine  young  chap  did  not  belong  to  those 
rascals  at  the  Roost.  What  is  it,  Gryce?" 
The  friendly  hand  the  old  Doctor  laid  on 
Uncle  Bill's  clammy  brow  seemed  to  clear 
the  dulled  brain.  "You  were  telling  us 
about  Con.  Give  it  to  us  straight,  Gryce. 
Where,  when,  how  did  you  get  the  boy? 
For  he  isn't  yours  we  know." 

"No,"   gasped   Uncle   Bill,    striving   for 
clear  speech.     "He  ain't  ourn.    The  man 
give  him  to  me  at  Rykus  Ridge  ten  years 
ago.    It's  cut  on  my  gunstock  the  time — 
The  words  broke  into  a  hoarse  cry. 

"O  Lordy,  Lordy,  he's  a  going, — my 
poor  old  Bill  is  going!"  wailed  Mother 
Moll. 

And  then  priest  and  Doctor  bent  over 
the  struggling  form  to  give  what  help  and 
comfort  they  could.  Perhaps,  as  Father 
Phil  hoped,  his  whispered  words  into  the 
old  sinner's  failing  ear  awoke  some 
response  in  his  dulled  soul;  perhaps 
some  blessing  lingered  in  the  log  cabin 
from  the  Midnight  Mass  that  had  sancti- 
fied it  so  short  a  time  ago. 

Father  Phil  did  all  he  could  for  this 
"black  sheep"  with  a  kindness  that  poor 
old  Mother  Moll  never  forgot;  and  when 
all  was  over,  and  the  old  mountain  outlaw 
lay  in  a  peace  his  wild  life  had  never 
known,  the  old  woman  told  this  good 
friend  all  that  she  knew  of  Con, — the  fine, 
noble  babe  that  had  been  put  in  her  empty 
mother's  arms  ten  years  ago.  She  brought 
Father  Phil  the  old  gunstock,  and  together 
they  made  out  the  date  cut  there :  October 
1 6,  19 — . 

"I  gave  him  the  little  lace-edged  slip 
and  the  neck  chain,  and  the  bit  of  money 


I  could  spare,"  sobbed  the  old  woman; 
"and  then  I  told  him  to  go  and  find  you, 
that  would  be  a  friend  to  him.  But,  after 
all  this,  he  will  never  dare  show  himself 
near  Misty  Mountain  again.  He  is  gone, 
God  knows  where,  sir." 

"Never  mind!"  said  Father  Phil, 
cheerily.  "I'm  off  to  find  him,  if  possible. 
And  the  boy  that  you  took  so  long  ago 
will  make  up  to  you,  I'm  sure,  for  all  the 
sorrow  and  trouble  of  the  past." 

(To  be  continued.) 


Bertha  and  Bertrade. 


HO  has  not  heard  of  the  Montmartre 
windmills,  those  ancient  landmarks 
which  have  gazed  down  on  Paris 
and  its  environs  for  over  a  thousand  years? 
One  alone  of  these  giants  now  remains, 
silent  witness  of  many  a  struggle;  but  this 
is  the  story  it  whispered  to  me  on  a  fine 
summer's  evening  in  June. 

"It  was  on  such  a  day  as  this,"  the 
windmill  sighed,  "that  the  whole  thing 
began.  Pippin,  surnamed  the  Short,  was 
King  of  France,  and  Paris  did  not  yet 
extend  beyond  the  islands  in  the  Seine. 
The  inhabitants  were  hard  at  work  that 
afternoon,  preparing  for  the  arrival  of  the 
queen-elect,  Bertha  de  Vermandois,  daugh- 
ter of  the  Count  of  Laon.  Pippin  had 
never  seen  the  young  Countess,  but 
report  had  made  her  out  to  be  such  a 
model  of  beauty  and  goodness  that  he  had 
asked  for  her  hand  in  marriage.  Even  now 
her  chariot  was  supposed  to  be  on  the 
road;  for  Erchinwald,  chief  officer  of  the 
palace,  had  been  dispatched  to  meet  her. 
No  one  knew,  however,  that  with  him  had 
set  out  his  ambitious  daughter,  Bertrade. 

"How  well  I  can  remember  that 
evening!  What  if  it  was  a  few  hundred 
years  ago !  I  was  young  in  those  days,  and 
the  red  paint  gleamed  fresh  upon  my 
strong  thick  beams.  But,  in  spite  of  my 
youth,  the  close,  sultry  air  had  made  me 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


541 


drowsy.  I  was,  indeed,  just  sinking  into 
a  comfortable  doze  when  the  barking  of 
a  dog  and  the  trot  of  a  horse  announced 
my  master's  return  from  the  city. 

"'Simone!  Simone!'  he  cried.  'Come 
down  at  once.'  That,  as  you  may  imagine, 
made  me  open  my  'eyes. 

"The  sun  was  sinking  away  in  the  west, 
but  its  crimson  rays  were  brightly  reflected 
against  the  front  of  the  miller's  cottage. 
By  their  light  I  could  see  my  master, 
Jehan  Cartier,  slowly  dismount  from  his 
horse  and  lift  down  in  his  arms  a  queerly- 
shaped  bundle,  which  I  took  at  first  to  be 
a  meal-bag.  He  laid  it  carefully  upon  the 
greensward;  and  then,  to  my  horror,  I 
became  aware  that  the  bundle  was  not  a 
meal-bag  at  all,  but  the  senseless,  if  not 
lifeless,  form  of  a  young  and  beautiful 
woman.  Her  skin  was  white,  not  brown 
like  Dame  Simone's;  while  her  abundant 
hair,  spread  loose  upon  the  grass,  had  the 
color  of  harvest  corn.  I  was  most  struck, 
however,  by  the  silken  gown  that,  shining 
between  the  folds  of  a  cloak,  proved  its 
owner  to  be  a  person  of  rank. 

"My  reflections  were  cut  short  by  the 
arrival  on  the  scene  of  Dame  Simone,  my 
master's  wife;  and  loud  were  her  exclama- 
tions of  amazement  until  Jehan  peremp- 
torily silenced  her.  Together,  they  carried 
the  unfortunate  lady  into  the  hall.  Then 
my  master  came  out,  led  the  horse  to  the 
stables,  re-entered  the  house  and  barred 
'the  door. 

"Two  days  elapsed,  and  I  had  seen  no 
more  of  the  strange  lady  when,  on  the 
morning  of  the  third  day,  she  stepped  out 
of  the  porch,  alive  and  apparently  in  good 
health.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  tall, 
graceful  figure,  even  though  she  had 
quitted  her  blue  silk  skirt  for  Dame 
Simone's  Sunday  gown.  My  master  was 
in  the  act  of  feeding  me  with  grain  when 
she  came  across  the  grass  towards  us. 

"Master  Jehan,'  she  said  in  a  sweet, 
low  voice,  'when  next  you  ride  into  the 
city,  buy  me,  I  pray  you,  wherewith  to 
embroider.  My  work  will  fetch  a  good 
price  at  the  court,' 


"My  master  willingly  undertook  the 
commission,  and  when  evening  came  re- 
turned with  the  desired  silks  and  materials. 
At  the  same  time  he  imparted  an  interest- 
ing bit  of  news :  the  King  was  disappointed 
in  the  bride  he  had  chosen,  and  the  wedding 
had  been  put  off. 

"I  could  see  that  our  guest  was  pleased 
at  the  miller's  tidings,  and  early  next 
morning  she  began  her  work.  Day  after 
day,  for  many  hours  at  a  stretch,  she  sat 
on  the  porch,  plying  her  needle.  When  the 
embroidery  was  done,  the  miller  took  it 
to  the  city  and  offered  it  for  sale  at 
King  Pippin's  palace.  There  it  was  much 
admired  by  the  court  ladies;  while  the 
King  himself,  who  happened  to  be  present, 
expressed  some  curiosity  about  the  fair 
needlewoman. 

"The  miller  brought  back  from  the 
city  several  orders  for  embroidered  dresses, 
and  the  long  days  of  June  and  July  were 
occupied  to  the  full.  In  August  the  work 
was  completed,  and  carefully  packed  in 
my  master's  basket.  He  was  about  to  ride 
away  when  the  lady  called  to  him: 

;"  Master  Jehan,  should  his  Majesty 
desire  to  see  me,  tell  him  that  he  must 
come  to  the  heights  of  Montmartre.' 

"A  short  time  after  this  a  wonderful 
thing  happened;  for  the  woods  became 
alive  with  the  blowing  of  horns,  the 
baying  of  hounds,  and  the  tramping  of 
horses'  feet.  Then  all  of  a  sudden  I  became 
aware  that  a  short,  stout  man  in  a  hunts- 
man's coat  was  rapping  vigorously  at  the 
miller's  gate.  Who  could  he  be? 

"The  door  flew  open  and  my  master 
rushed  out, — checked  his  wrath,  however, 
and  bowed  profoundly.  Out,  too,  came 
Dame  Simone  and  curtsied  low.  I  guessed 
immediately  that  here  was  no  commoner, 
but  the  King  himself. 

' '  Where  is  your  lodger  ? '  he  asked. 

"Dame  Simone  answered  with  another 
curtsy:  'Sire,  I  will  call  her  down.' 

"The  good  dame  retired,  while  the 
King  and  the  miller  sauntered  together  iti 
my  direction. 

"'A  fine  mill,'  remarked  Pippin,  to  my 


542 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


secret  delight.  'And,'  he  continued,  as  he 
reached  my  little  knoll,  'a  still  finer  view.' 
"The  King  was  right:  he  was  gazing 
down  on  as  fair  a  landscape  as  any  man 
could  desire.  Below  him,  descending  the 
river  bank,  straggled  a  rich  profusion  of 
trees  and  bushes,  the  outskirts  of  the 
Clichy  forest.  At  the  foot  of  the  bank 
flowed  the  even  current  of  the  Seine,  its 
waters  dotted  with  large  and  small  sailing 
boats,  that  told  of  a  thriving  trade.  And 
yet  again,  beyond  the  river,  rose  the  walls 
and  towers  of  ancient  Paris.  Pippin's 
heart  must  have  swelled  with  pride:  he 
had  made  himself  the  monarch  of  France. 
"For  several  long  minutes  the  King 
remained  motionless,  absorbed  in  his  own 
reflections;  then  he  turned  towards  the 
house.  Lifting  his  eyes,  he  uttered  an 
exclamation ;  while,  following  the  direction 
of  his  glance,  I  also  was  quite  astonished. 
For  there  stood  the  strange  lady,  no 
longer  clad  in  Dame  Simone's  gown,  but 
wearing,  with  wondrous  grace,  the  dress 
I  had  first  seen  on  her.  In  silence  she 
confronted  us,  tall  and  stately. 

"It  was  Pippin  who  spoke  the  first: 
"Madame,  who  may  you  be?'" 
vShe  looked  him  frankly  in  the  face. 
"'Sire,'  she  said,  'you  see  before  you 
the  victim  of  treachery.  I  am  Bertha  de 
Vermandois,  your  promised  bride.  Yes,' 
she  continued,  as  the  King  made  a  gesture 
of  incredulity.  'Your  Majesty  had  dis- 
patched a  chariot  to  meet  me  halfway 
between  Laon  and  Paris;  the  chariot 
being  in  charge  of  one  Erchinwald,  the 
principal  officer  of  your  palace.  But,  Sire, 
that  man  had  treason  in  his  soul;  for 
after  we  had  entered  the  gloomy  forest,  he 
drugged  my  wine,  and,  when  I  fell  asleep, 
cast  me  out  to  die  among  the  bracken. 
Had  not  our  good  miller  here  ridden 
that  way,  your  affianced  bride  must  have 
perished,  devoured  by  some  hungry  beast.' 
'"Mon  Dieu!'  cried  the  King,  amaze- 
ment in  his  tone.  'Then  who  is  the  lady 
residing  at  my  palace?' 

"It  was  the   miller   who   answered: 
'"If  she  is  a  blond  and  of  about  the 


same  size  as  this  young  Countess,  she 
must  be  Bertrade,  Erchinwald's  daughter. 
I  saw  her  once  on  their  country  estate.' 

"Perhaps,  Sire,'  added  the  lady  con- 
clusively, 'I  can  give  you  a  better  proof 
that  what  I  say  is  true.  Bertha  de  Ver- 
mandois has  been  given  a  nickname.  Do 
you  happen  to  know  it?' 

"Yes,'  assented  Pippin:  'Bertha  of  the 
long  foot.' 

"With  a  dexterous  movement  of  her 
hand,  the  lady  drew  back  her  silken  skirts, 
disclosing  to  the  King's  gaze  a  pair  of 
dainty  feet,  one  of  which  was  somewhat 
longer  than  the  other. 

"The  King  was  now  fully  convinced. 
I  could  not  see  his  eyes;  but  he  stepped 
hastily  forward,  and,  taking  her  pretty 
hands  in  his  own  large  ones,  respectfully 
raised  them  to  his  lips." 
*** 

When  I  got  home  to  my  lodgings  that' 
night  I  read  the  history  of  good  Queen 
Bertha, — how  she  was  beloved  and  ad- 
mired by  King  and  people;  and  how  she 
won  over  to  his  party  the  turbulent 
nobles,  thus  strengthening  her  husband's- 
somewhat-  precarious  position.  But,  in 
the  eyes  of  posterity,  her  greatest  title 
to  glory  is  that  she  gave  birth  to  the 
Emperor  Charlemagne. 


A  Horse's  Petition  to  His  Driver. 

Just  outside  of  the  great  city  of  London 
there  is  a  much-travelled  road  which 
winds  up  a  steep  hill;  and  at  the  foot  of 
this  hill  some  one,  who  appreciates  what 
a  good,  faithful  friend  the  horse  is  to 
man,  has  caused  to  be  hung  a  sign  bearing 
these  lines  of  petition: 

Up  the  hill  whip  me  not, 

Down  the  hill  hurry  me  not; 

In  the  stable  forget  me  not; 

Of  hay  and  grain  rob  me  not, 

Of  clean  water  stint   me  not; 

With  sponge  and  brush  neglect   me.   not; 

Of  soft,   dry  bed  deprive  me  not; 

When  sick  or  cold  chill  me  not; 

With  bit  or  rein  jerk  rue  not; 

And  when  angry  strike   me  not. 


THE  AVE  MARIA  r>43 

WITH    AUTHORS    AND    PUBLISHERS 


— Among  new  books  published  by  Constable 
&  Co.  we  note  "German  and  English  Educa- 
tion," a  comparative  study  by  Fr.  De  Hovre, 
Ph.  D.,  formerly  "Maitre  de  Conferences"  on 
the  Philosophy  of  Education  at  the  Higher 
Institute  of  Philosophy,  Louvain. 

— There  is  a  new  edition,  in  paper  covers,  of 
the  "Golden  Wreath  for  the  Month  of  Mary," 
a  3 2 mo  of  215  pages.  (AvE  MARIA  Press.)  Its 
appearance  is  well  timed  for  the  season's  devo- 
tions; and  this  well-known  and  really  excellent 
May  manual  should  find  a  place  in  all  book- 
racks.  Price  25  cents,  postpaid. 

— Recent  brochures  issued  by  Pierre  Tequi, 
Paris,  include:  "Retraite  de  Jeunes  Filles,"  by 
the  Rev.  J.  Millet;  "Lettres  de  Saint  Bernard," 
arranged  by  the  Rev.  P.  Melot,  O.  P.;  and  "Les 
Briseurs  de  Blocus,"  by  M.  Gaudin  de  Villaine. 
Another  interesting  French  pamphlet,  "Le 
Clerge  et  les  CEuvres  de  Guerre,"  by  J.  B. 
Eriau,  comes  to  us  from  Bloud  &  Gay. 

-"False  Witness,"  the  authorized  translation 
of  "Klokke  Roland,"  by  Johannes  Jorgensen 
(Hodder  &  Stoughton),  is  a  12 mo  of  227  pages, 
with  several  illustrations.  The  work  is  a  con- 
demnation of  the  German  War;  and  the  neu- 
trality of  its  author  not  less  than  his  eminence 
as  a  litterateur  increases  the  importance  of  his 
verdict.  The  poet,  as  well  as  the  philosopher 
and  historian,  shows  in  the  unique  analysis 
and  graphic  tale  of  the  mighty  conflict  herein 
discussed. 

— Remarkably  temperate  in  tone  is  "The 
War  of  Ideas,"  an  address  to  the  Royal  Colo- 
nial Institute,  by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  published 
in  pamphlet  form  by  the  Clarendon  Press, 
Oxford.  In  contrasting  the  temperaments  of 
the  two  chief  belligerent  nations — England  and 
Germany, — this  English  gentleman  does  not 
fail  to  give  due  credit  to  the  enemy  for  certain 
undoubtedly  great  qualities  which  they  possess. 
Sir  Walter  writes  with  a  grace  of  style  not 
unworthy  cf '  his  historic  namesake. 

—"Anthony  Gray,— Gardener"  (G.  P.  Put- 
nam's Sons),  will  not,  we  think,  enhance  the 
reputation  of  the  author  of  "The  Peacock 
Feather,"  "The  Jester,"  etc.  It  is  a  capital 
story,  however,  with  an  unusual  plot,  and  is 
written  in  the  attractive  style  for  which  Leslie 
Moore  is  distinguished.  It  is  hard  to  say  just 
what  is  missing  in  this  story,  but  one  gets  the 
impression  that  the  weaving  of  it  must  have 
been  hurried  towards  the  close.  Perhaps  the 
concluding  chapters  only  require  more  leisurely 


reading  than  we  were  able  to  give  them.  It  is 
a  stirring  tale,  the  scenes  of  which  are  laid  in 
South  Africa  and  England.  The  characters  are 
portrayed  with  remarkable  skill,  Pia  di  Donatello, 
the  heroine,  being  the  most  convincing  of  all, 
as  well  as  the  most  amiable.  "Anthony  Gray" 
is  of  kindred  interest  with  "The  Wiser  Folly." 
The  author's  two  other  books,  "The  Peacock 
Feather"  and  "The  Jester,"  are  unique.  All 
of  them  are  distinctly  superior. 

— Beautiful  in  form  and  substance,  "The 
One  Hundred  and  Five  Martyrs  of  Tyburn," 
by  the  Nuns  of  Tyburn  Convent,  is  one  of  the 
most  worthy  issues  to  come  from  the  presses 
of  Burns  &  Gates,  Ltd.  Dom  Bede  Camm, 
O.  S.  B.  writes  an  appropriate  foreword;  and, 
besides  the  short  biographies  which  the  brochure 
presents,  there  are  furnished  also  a  guide  for 
visitors  to  the  convent,  a  list  of  relics,  etc.  This 
work  breathes  the  very  holiness  of  the  shrine  to 
whose  upkeeping  the  authors  are  so  sincerely 
devoted.  No  price  is  given. 

— Fifty  years  of  college  poetry  are  represented 
in  a  little  book  entitled  "Notre  Dame  Verse," 
issued  by  the  University  Press,  Notre  Dame, 
Ind.  The  contents  of  this  simple  volume  are 
gathered  from  the  Notre  Dame  Scholastic.  With 
the  exception  of  two  or  three  poems  by  professors, 
the  numbers  were  all  written  by  undergraduates. 
Many  of  the  themes  exhibit  considerable 
felicity  in  the  management  of  metres,  while 
occasionally  there  are  distinct  approaches  to 
poetry.  The  volume — tastefully  bound  in  gray 
boards — is  compiled  and  edited  by  Speer  Strahan 
and  Charles  L.  O'Donnell,  C.  S.  C.  The  selling 
price  ($1.00)  might  seem  unduly  influenced  by 
the  Great  War. 

— If  such  phrases  as  "intensely  interesting 
from  start  to  close,"  "charmingly  written," 
"far  superior  to  the  vast  majority  of  best- 
sellers," etc.,  were  not  so  much  overworked, 
they  might  all  be  honestly  employed  in  the  case 
of  Mrs.  Mary  T.  Waggaman's  new  book,  "  Grapes 
of  Thorns,"  just  published  by  Benziger  Brothers. 
It  is  one  of  the  best  Catholic  stories  we  have 
ever  read,  and  we  hope  it  will  have  the  wide 
sale  it  so  well  deserves.  No  reader  can  fail  to 
be  uplifted  as  well  as  entertained  by  it.  Of 
the  plot  no  hint  shall  here  be  given;  but  we 
may  say  that  it  is  an  entirely  fresh  and  very 
absorbing  one,  admirably  worked  out.  The 
author's  skill  in  portraiture  and  power  of 
description  are  shown  in  every  chapter.  It  is 
gratifying  to  add  that  the  book  is  worthily 
produced,  and  embellished  with  three  excellent 


544 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


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of  God  are  put  forth  with  that  undemonstrative 
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of  Mediaeval  England.  We  hope  the  editor  of 
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in  petto.  R.  &  T.  Washbourne;  Benziger 
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Obituary. 


Remember  them  thai  are  in  bands. — HUB.,  xiii,  3. 

Rev.  J.  H.  Stapleton,  of  the  diocese  of  Hart- 
ford; Rev.  Julius  Papon,  diocese  of  Marquette; 
Rt.  Rev.  Mgr.  Enright,  diocese  of  Little  Rock; 
Rev.  Matthew  Coleman,  diocese  of  Sacramento; 
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Rev.  A.  V.  Higgins,  O.  P.;  and  Rev.  Peter 
Franciscus,  C.  S.  C. 

Sister  Margaret,  of  the  Order  of  St.  Ursula; 
Sister  M.  Seraphine,  Sisters  I.  H.  M.;  and 
Sister  M.  Veronica,  Sisters  of  Charity. 

Mr.  William  Carbray,  Mrs.  P.  H.  Groonell, 
Mr.  Hugh  Gillis,  Mr.  James  Cann,  Mr.  C.  J. 
Bub,  Mr.  Jacob  Stauder,  Mr.  John  and  Mr. 
James  O'Handley,  Miss  M.  C.  Howe,  Mrs. 
A.  E.  Lawler,  Mr.  James  Bradish,  Mr.  Hugh 
Mclntyre,  Mr.  William  Echtle,  Jr.,  Mr.  Edward 
Powers,  Mr.  John  P.  Lauth,  Miss  Katherine 
Donnellan,  Mr.  Charles  Johnson,  Mrss  Margaret 
Fitzwilliam,  Mr.  M.  /R.  Kensley,  Miss  Jane 
McLoughlin,  Mr.  E.  J.  Lareimore,  Miss  Maria 
Smith,  Mrs.  Margaret  Mulroney,  Mr.  John 
McGillivray,  Mr.  A.  C.  Winslow,  Mrs.  Anne 
Hartnett,  Mr.  Philip  Kelly,  Mrs.  A.  P.  Davis. 
Mrs.  Malcolm  McPhee,  Mr.  George  Bessler, 
and  Mrs.  M.  E.  Mudd. 

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


HENCEFORTH   ALL   GENERATIONS   SHALL  CALL   ME   BLUSSED.      ST.  LUKE,  I..  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  MAY  5, 


NO.  18 


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


The  Wild-Apple  Tree. 

BY    ARTHUR    WALLACE;    PEACH. 

NCE  in  a  forest  deep   I  found, 
Where  birch  and  maple  grew  around, 
A  little  apple  tree  in  bloom, 
Sending  far  a  sweet  perfume. 
There  in  the  forest's  open  space 
It  stood  in  dainty,   winsome  grace, 
And  brightened  all  the  woods  near  by 
With  blossoms'  beauty,   dim  and  shy. 
There  only  rabbits  came  to  play 
Reneath  its  shade  at  close  of  day; 
And  bir.ds  among  its  branches  stopped, 
And  through  the  leafy  bowers  hopped. 
Now,  every  spring  there  comes  to  me 
A  happy,  tender  memory 
Of  my  wild-apple  tree  in  bloom 
Far  in   the  forest's  dusky  room. 
It  does  not  bloom  in  beauty  there 
To  win  man's  commendation  fair: 
Its  friends  are  rabbits,  birds  and  bees, 
Maples  green  and  the  white  birch  trees. 


The  Oldest  Church  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 

BY    THE    REV.  II.  G.  HUGHES. 

HRISTIAN  tradition  has  ever, 
with  unvarying  voice,  proclaimed 
the  glory  and  extolled  the  priv- 
ileges of  the  Blessed  Mother  of 
God;  and  in  Rome,  guardian  and 
depositary  of  that  tradition,  Catholic 
teaching  about  her  unrivalled  dignity  and 
Catholic  devotion  to  her  sacred  person 
have  ever  found  their  clearest  and  their 
truest  expression. 


This  is  so  to-day;  for  Rome  is,  above 
everything,  the  city  of  the  Madonna,  as 
fair  Italy  is  the  land  of  the  Madonna. 
Churches,  shrines,  images,  the  very  names 
of  streets  and  squares,  attest  the  fact. 
On  the  walls  of  houses,  in  every  shop, 
in  each  room  of  every  Christian  house, 
may  be  seen  the  image  or  picture  of  the 
beloved  Madonna,  with  its  glimmering 
lamp  of  olive  oil  burning  in  token  of 
undying  love.  Numerous  confraternities 
and  sodalities,  with  their  continual  public 
devotions  to  the  Mother  of  God,  foster 
and  keep  alive  and  fervent  those  deeply- 
rooted  sentiments  of  affection  for  her  and 
of  confidence  in  her  intercession  for  which 
Rome  is  remarkable. 

And  as  it  is  now  so  it  has  been  from 
the  beginning.  The  practices  and  teaching 
of  our  own  times  are  but  the  development 
of  what  has  existed  for  centuries  past. 
The  much-venerated  pictures  of  to-day— 
whether,  like  the  celebrated  image  of  Our 
Lady  of  Pompeii,  they  are  of  recent  date; 
or,  whether,  like  the  famous  image  of  Our 
Lady  of  the  Portico  or  the  Madonnas  of 
St.  Peter's,  St.  Mary  Major's,  and  number- 
less others,  they  come  to  us  from  remote 
antiquity, — are  but  the  descendants  of 
still  more  ancient  paintings  of  the  days  of 
the  Catacombs  which  bear  witness  to  the 
Christian  practice  of  the  very  first  ages 
of  the  Church.  The  pictures  and  images 
of  later  times  find  their  prototypes  in  such 
antique  frescoes  as  the  painting  of  "The 
Adoration  of  the  Magi,"  in  the  Catacombs 
of  SS.  Peter  and  Marcellinus,  which  dates 
from  the  fourth  century;  or  the  exceed- 
ingly beautiful  Madonna  and  Child  of  the 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Cemetery  of  St.  Emerentiana,  also  of  the 
fourth  century;  and,  most  ancient  of  all, 
the  "Regina  Prophetarum"  of  the  Cata- 
comb of  St.  Priscilla, — a  painting  which 
the  best  authorities  declare  to  belong  to 
a  period  not  later  than  the  beginning  of 
the  second  century  of  our  era. 

It  has  been  reserved  to  our  own  days 
to  witness  the  rediscovery,  after  nearly 
eleven  hundred  years  of  oblivion,  of  the 
oldest  church  known  to  have  been 
formally  dedicated  to  the  Virgin  Mother. 
Formerly  this  honor  was  claimed  by  an 
ancient  church  at  Ephesus,  and  St.  Mary 
Major  in  Rome  claiming  the  second  place. 
The  question  is  now  settled  in  favor  of  the 
Roman  Church  of  S.  Maria  Antiqua,  or 
Old  St.  Mary's,  which  excavations  in  the 
Roman  Forum  in  recent  years  have  just 
brought  to  light. 

To  understand  the  position  of  this 
most  interesting  relic  of  Christian 
antiquity,  the  reader  who  has  visited 
Rome  must  imagine  himself  standing  at 
the  western  end  of  the  Roman  Forum, 
on  the  modern  street  that  runs  between 
the  high  structure  of  the  Capitol  on  the 
one  hand,  and  the  Arch  of  Septimius 
Severus  and  the  beautiful  Temple  of 
Saturn  on  the  other.  Having  his  back 
turned  to  the  Capitol  and  looking  between 
the  two  latter  monuments,  he  will  enjoy 
a  full-length  view  of  the  excavations  which 
have,  during  many  long  years  of  patient 
labor,  revealed  to  us  the  remains  of  what 
was  first  the  centre  of  Roman  municipal 
life  and  afterward  the  converging  point 
of  a  .world- wide  empire.  On  the  right, 
easily  recognizable,  are  the  remains  of  the 
vast  Julian  Basilica — nothing  now  but 
a  large,  raised,  oblong  platform,  with 
the  bases  only  of  its  numerous  columns 
left  standing.  Farther  on  is  a  point, 
marked  by  the  graceful  columns  of  the 
Temple  of  Castor  and  Pollux,  where 
the  huge  substructures  of  Caligula's 
addition  to  the  imperial  buildings  of 
the  Palatine  Hill  descend  to  the  Forum. 
At  this  point,  built  within  the  royal 
palace  itself,  and  probably,  like  all  the 


first  Christian  churches,  only  an  adap- 
tation of  some  great  hall,  already  in 
existence,  was  constructed  the  Oratory 
of  vS.  Maria  Antiqua.  Over  this  spot,  until 
recent  years,  stood  the  modern  church  of 
S.  Maria  lyiberatrice,  on  the  site  of 
an  earlier  church  known  as  S.  Maria 
de  Inferno.  Both  these  titles  are  derived 
from  the  invocation,  Libera  nos  a  posnis 
inferni, — "Deliver  us  from  the  pains  of 
hell."*  It  was  decided  that  this  church 
must  be  demolished  for  the  furtherance 
of  excavations  on  this  side  of  the  Forum. 
This  decision  of  the  Italian  Government 
caused  some  dismay  at  the  time;  but 
we  may  surely  agree  that  the  treasure 
which  has  been  unearthed  makes  up 
for  the  destruction  of  one,  and  not  a 
very  beautiful  one,  of  the  multitude  of 
modern  churches  in  Rome. 

The  process  of  demolition  and  the 
subsequent  excavations  were  watched 
with  absorbing  interest  by  Christian 
archeologists ;  for  now  at  last  the  long- 
contested  question  of  the  position  of 
the  famous  Church  of  S.  Maria  Antiqua 
was  likely  to  be  set  at  rest.  Mgr. 
Duchesne,  on  the  one  side,  contended 
that  S.  Maria  Antiqua  stood  on  the 
site  now  occupied  by  the  Church  of 
S.  Francesca  Romana,  on  the  opposite 
or  north  side  of  the  Forum,  where  had 
stood  in  old  pagan  days  the  Temple  of 
Venus  and  Rome.  Father  Grisar,  S.  J., 
on  the  other  hand,  contended  for  the 
sit£  which  the  event  proved  to  be  the 
correct  one.  The  excavations  very  soon 
brought  to  light  a  large  and  important 
church,  with  an  imposing  portico  and 
three  naves,  separated  by  columns  of 
grey  granite.  The  building  terminates  with 
the  customary  apse.  There  are  also  two 
chapels,  one  on  each  side  of  the  church. 
Inscriptions  and  paintings  place  beyond 
doubt  the  identity  of  this  building  with 
the  famous  S.  Maria  Antiqua  so  often 
mentioned  in  the  "Iviber  Pontificalis," 


*  For  historical  details  I  am  indebted  to  an 
article  by  Father  Grisar,  S.  J.;  and  to  notices  by 
Professors  Marucchi  and  Borsari. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


547 


a    record    of   the   reigns    of    early    Popes. 

The  original  foundation  of  the  church 
dates  back  to  the  fourth  century, — the 
century  which  saw  the  foundation  by 
Constantine  of  St.  Peter's,  St.  Paul's 
and  the  Lateran  Basilica;  and,  after 
Constantine's  death,  the  founding  of  the 
Basilica  of  St.  Mary  Major  by  Pope 
Liberius.  This  date  has  been  established 
by  Father  Grisar  from  the  fact  that 
when,  in  the  century  following  its  first 
foundation,  Pope  Sixtus  III.  rebuilt  the 
Lateran  Basilica,  which  thenceforward 
came  to  be  known  as  St.  Mary  Major, 
the  church  now  brought  to  light  was 
already  distinguished  by  the  honorable 
title  of  Old  St.  Mary's.  When  Sixtus 
rebuilt  the  Basilica  on  the  Esquiline  as 
a  triumphal  monument  of  the  victory 
of  the  Church  over  heresy  at  the  Council 
of  Ephesus,  and  as  a  standing  witness 
to  the  sublime  title  of  Mother  of  God 
there  secured  forever  to  Mary,  the  new 
church  became  known  as  St.  Mary 
Major  (Greater  St.  Mary's),  to  distin- 
guish it  from  the  older  but  smaller 
building  of  the  Palatine. 

Of  the  inscriptions  that  are  still  legible 
the  most  interesting  is  that  of  the  dedica- 
tion, which  is  a  grand  testimony  to  the 
Catholic  faith  in  the  perpetual  yirginity 
of  Christ's  Mother.  It  begins  on  the 
left  foot  of  the  arch  which  spans  the 
apse,  being  continued  on  the  corresponding 
base  of  the  arch  on  the  right.  This  inscrip- 
tion has  been  restored  by  Father  Grisar 
as  follows: 

SANCT^E  DEI  GENITRICI  SEMPER 
VIRG1NI    MARINE.  * 

The  paintings  within  the  church  are 
of  the  greatest  beauty,  and  for  the 
most  part  in  pure  Byzantine  style, 
belonging  to  the  seventh,  eighth,  and 
ninth  centuries.  Our  Lord  on  the  cross, 
surrounded  by  adoring  angels;  the 
figure  of  the  Saviour;  symbols  of  the 
four  Evangelists;  scenes  from  the  life 
of  the  patriarch  St.  Joseph  in  Egypt, 

*    To  the  Holy   Mother  of   God   aud  livcr-Virgiu   Mary. 


typical  of  the  Christian  dispensation,  are 
among  the  subjects  represented  in  the 
frescoes.  The  most  interesting,  perhaps, 
of  all,  is  a  portrait  in  one  of  the  side 
chapels  representing  Theodotus,  who 
restored  the  chapel  under  Pope  Zachary 
(A.  D.  741-752).  He  is  pictured  bearing 
in  his  hand  the  model  of  a  church, 
thought  to  be  the  very  chapel  in  which 
the  portrait  is  found.  This  Theodotus, 
who,  besides  being  a  fervent  Christian, 
was  a  man  of  the  highest  military  rank, 
held  the  office  of  steward,  or  ceconomus, 
of  the  "diacony"  of  S.  Maria  Antiqua. 

Readers  of  this  paper  will  remember 
what  an  important  part  the  "diacony," 
or  deaconry,  played  in  the  life  of  the 
early  Christians.  The  whole  city  was 
divided  into  regions,  or  districts,  at  the 
head  of  each  being  placed  a  deacon. 
The  object  of  this  arrangement  was  to 
systematize  the  abundant  almsgiving 
which  characterized  the  Christian  com- 
munity. To  the  church  of  the  diacony 
came  at  fixed  times  all  the  poor  of  the 
district,  to  be  relieved  at  the  expense  of 
the  charitable  wealthy  folk  of  the  congre- 
gation. It  was  through  the  diacony  that 
so  many  wealthy  martyrs  distributed  their 
goods  to  the  poor  when  the  call  came 
to  lay  down  their  lives  for  the  faith. 

The  office  of  the  deacon  was,  besides 
assisting  at  the  Holy  Sacrifice,  to  super- 
intend the  distribution  of  these  alms  and 
to  take  under  his  care  the  poor  of  the 
district.  He  thus  became  a  personage 
of  some  importance;  and  St.  Jerome, 
writing  in  the  fourth  century,  tells  us 
that  there  was  a  tendency  to  rate  the 
position  of  deacon  higher  than  that  of 
priest — a  tendency  of  which  the  Saint 
strongly  disapproves.  Such  a  diacony 
was  early  established  at  S.  Maria 
Antiqua;  and  in  the  eighth  century,  as 
we  have  seen,  the  office  of  steward,  or 
ceconomus  —  presumably  an  assistant  of 
the  deacon,  —  was  held  by  Theodotus, 
restorer  of  the  chapel  containing  his 
portrait,  arid  which  probably  represents 
the  original  oratory  of  Our  Lady,  round 


548 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


which  grew  up  the  larger  basilica  of 
which  we  now  see  the  remains. 

But  S.  Maria  Antiqua  came  in  time  to 
be  more  than  the  church  of  a  diacony; 
for  Pope  John  VII.,  who  reigned  from 
A.  D.  705  to  707,  founded  there  an 
episcopal  dwelling.  From  that  time  till 
the  reign  of  Pope  Leo  IV.  (845-855) 
this  was  the  Papal  residence.  From  this 
spot,  therefore,  for  more  than  a  hundred 
years  the  Catholic  Church  'as  ruled 
and  taught  by  the  Sovereign  Pontiffs. 
Under  Leo  IV.  came  the  change  which 
in  later  days  has  caused  so  much 
discussion.  Owing  probably  to  the  fall 
of  some  of  the  old  royal  buildings  on  the 
Palatine  Hill  which  overhung  the  church, 
the  latter  was  destroyed,  and  buried  so 
effectually  that  nothing  has  been  seen 
of  it  since  recent  years.  The  destruction  of 
the  old  church  of  the  diacony  necessitated 
the  latter 's  establishment  elsewhere.  A 
newly-erected  church  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  Forum  was  selected.  This  is 
now  known  as  S.  Francesca  Romana,  and 
stands  close  to  the  famous  Arch  of  Titus. 
The  new  diacony  was  at  first  called  after 
its  predecessor,  S.  Maria  Antiqua;  but  was 
soon  rechristened,  and  from  the  middle  of 
the  ninth  century  it  was  known  as  S.  Maria 
Nova  (New  St.  Mary's). 

This  change  of  name  was  the  cause 
of  all  the  uncertainty  which  had  perplexed 
modern  archeologists.  But  the  question 
is  now  set  at  rest;  and  in  S.  Maria  Antiqua, 
built,  no  doubt,  originally  as  a  protest 
against  the  lingering  superstition  of  the 
worship  of  Vesta,  mother  of  the  Romans, 
whose  temple  stood  hard  by,  we  possess 
still  another  eloquent  though  silent  witness 
to  the  life  of  a  remote  period  of  Christian 
Rome, —  another  record  of  the  devoted 
piety  of  our  forefathers  in  the  faith 
at  a  time  when  the  Church  of  God  was 
-following  up  her  victories  within  the 
Empire,  and  was  stretching  her  bounds 
far  beyond  the  limits  of  civilized  society 
to  embrace  in'  her  bosom,  under  the 
patronage  of  Mary  Immaculate,  the 
barbaric  peoples  of  the  earth. 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


XXIV. 

foil  will  lunch  with  General  Almonte, 
Mr.  Bodkin,"  said  the  Emperor.  "I 
would  ask  you  to  lunch  with  us,  but 
the  Empress  is  not  feeling  quite  herself. 
You  and  I  will  have  a  cigar  on  the 
terrace  after  luncheon,  and  then  I  must 
send  you  back  to  work  with  all  possible 
haste," — this  smilingly. 

Arthur  perceived  a  change  in  the 
Emperor.  He  was  thinner,  the  lines  of 
his  face  were  more  defined,  and  a  look 
of  apprehension  lay  in  his  soft,  hand- 
some, heavy-lidded  eyes.  His  manner  was 
slightly  nervous,  and  during  the  conversa- 
tion either  his  left  or  his  right  hand  was 
always  engaged  in  stroking  his  yellow 
beard. 

Would  Alice  Nugent  reappear?  was 
the  sole  thought  that  occupied  our  hero's 
mind.  Their  meeting  was  so  strange! 
The  girl's  manner  was  so  serious,  so 
purposeful,  and  so  distant!  And  yet  she 
called  him  "Arthur"  twice, — once  cor- 
recting herself,  but  on  the  second  occasion 
letting  it  go. 

That  "Arthur"  was  evidently  a  lapsus 
lingua,  an  echo  of  the  olden,  golden  time, 
and  meant  nothing — not  even  an  echo. 
Well,  be  it  so.  He  must  take  his  punish- 
ment— must  pay  the  penalty,  be  it  ever  so 
heavy.  How  exquisite  she  looked  amid 
her  sister  roses!  Oh,  what  would  he  not 
give  for  that  sweet  half  hour  at  Dublin 
Castle  when  she  told  him  of  her  intention 
of  coming  to  Mexico,  and  he  told  her  of 
his  determination  to  follow  her  to  the  end 
of  the  earth1  When  did  this  separation 
occur?  How?  Why?  Being  in  the  wrong, 
Arthur  failed  to  discover  the  cause, 
rushing  at  the  conclusion  that  Alice  was 
untrue  to  him  and  in  love  with  Count 
von  Kalksburg. 

In  a  wretched  state  of  mind,  our 
hero  sat  down  to  luncheon  with  General 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


549 


Almonte,  the  Grand  Marshal  of  the  Court, 
and  Sefiora  Guadalupe  Almonte,  a  very 
charming  and  amiable  woman.  In  any 
other  condition  of  heart  Arthur  would 
have  regarded  this  as  a  signal  honor, 
as  well  he  might;  but  his  mind  was  else- 
where. 

On  the  terrace  overlooking  the  orchid- 
clotted  valley  the  Emperor,  with  Almonte 
and  Arthur,  smoked  a  cigar,  chatted  gaily, 
almost  boisterously,  as  though  he  had 
taken  a  glass  of  wine  too  many.  This, 
however,  was  not  the  case.  Maximilian 
was  a  very  frugal  man  and  exceedingly 
regular  in  his  habits.  He  usually  retired 
between  eight  and  nine  o'clock;  when  at 
Guernacava,  at  eight  o'clock.  He  would 
rise  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
immediately  begin  writing — replying  to 
letters  and  signing  all  official  documents. 
At  half-past  five  he  took  a  single  cup  of 
coffee;  at  seven  he  rode  out  for  an  hour. 
He  breakfasted  between  eight  and  nine. 
He  dined  at  half-past  three.  After  his 
post-prandial  smoke  he  rode  out  in  a 
carriage  usually  drawn  by  six  white 
mules,  with  coachman  and  footman,  and 
one  mounted  orderly  in  advance, — all 
uniformed  in  soft  tan  leather.  After  his 
drive  he  would  play  billiards.  The  Empress 
and  he  always  dined  together;  when 
he  was  away  she  had  Miss  Nugent,  or 
Senorita  Josef  a  Varela,  a  favorite  Maid 
of  Honor.  The  Emperor  was  accustomed 
to  receive  his  ministers  from  one  to 
half-past  two. 

The  jingling  of  bells,  and  the  Emperor's 
carriage  with  its  six  white  mules  rattled 
up  to  the  piazza;  and  following  this 
picturesque  equipage  Arthur's  vehicle, 
also  drawn  by  mules  to  the  number  of 
twelve.  Arthur  realized  now  that  he  must 
leave,  and  that  his  last  chance  of  seeing 
Alice  was  gone.  He  dared  not  ask  to  see 
her,  so  rigid  were  the  convenances  of 
Austrian  court  etiquette  in  Mexico. 

Standing  bareheaded,  he  saw  the  Em- 
peror drive  off. 

"Now  1  must  go,"  thought  Bodkin, 
with  a  heavy  sigh. 


However,  he  suddenly  remembered  that 
he  had  not  inscribed  his  name  in  the 
Imperial  Visitors'  book.  He  returned  to 
the  house,  entered  the  hall,  his  eye  flashing 
about  like  a  search-light.  It  was  a  straw, 
but  a  drowning  man  will  grasp  at  a  straw 
frantically.  He  signed  his  name — slowly  as 
would  a  schoolboy, — put  the  pen  aside, 
and  strode  out- to  the  piazza.  His  equipage 
had  disappeared,  the  driver  wisely  seeking 
the  sombra,  or  shade,  not  knowing  how 
long  he  might  possibly  be  detained. 

The  chateau,  as  I  have  already  men- 
tioned, was  exceedingly  small,  and  Arthur 
had  to  pass  through  a  narrow  corridor  to 
gain  the  second  piazza  in  order  to  reach 
his  conveyance.  As  ne  passed  the  open 
door  of  a  small  boudoir  he  beheld  Alice 
Nugent  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
apartment,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands 
and  sobbing  bitterly.  Without  a  second's 
hesitation  he  hurried  to  her  side. 

"Alice!"  he  said,  in  a  voice  hoarse 
from  emotion. 

The  girl  turned  away  from  him,  and, 
uttering  the  words,  "The  Empress!" 
disappeared  behind  a  portiere. 

"It  is  the  Empress  she  was  crying  about, 
poor  girl!"  thought  Bodkin.  "What  was 
I  thinking  of  when  I  rushed  in?" 

Another  minute  and  the  twelve  mules 
were  bearing  him  along  the  exquisite  drive 
on  his  way  to  the  capital. 

XXV. NUHSTRA    vSENORA. 

When  it  was  decided  that  the  Empress 
should  be  permitted  to  undertake  a  mission 
whose  success  meant  the  saving  of  an 
Empire,  Carlotta  became  so  feverishly 
anxious  as  to  cause  grave  alarm  to  those 
who  were  in  intimate  relations  with  her. 
Alice  Nugent,  who.  was  in  daily  touch 
with  her  Imperial  Mistress,  feared  that 
the  mental  strain  would  prove  disastrous, 
and  that  the  wreckage  of  a  superb  intellect 
would  result  from  the  anxiety  attendant 
upon  the  expedition.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  Empress  was  so  bent  upon  undertaking 
the  delicate  and  all-important  mission, 
and  withal  so  sure  of  success,  that  she  was 


550 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


like  a  city  child  on  the  eve  of  a  joyous 
trip  into  the  green  fields  of  the  country. 
The  Emperor  was  so  engrossed  with  the 
details  of  his  high  position,  all  of  which 
he  most  conscientiously  endeavored  to 
carry  out,  that  he  saw  but  little  of  his 
wife,  and  was  rather  pleased  than  other- 
wise at  the  pleasure  and  confidence  ex- 
pressed by  her  in  regard  to  the  issue  of 
her  eventful  trip. 

"I  shall  appeal  to  the  honor  of  Napo- 
leon and  the  pride  of  the  Hapsburgs!" 
This  was  her  perpetual  thought;  and  she 
would  utter  this  a  dozen  times  a  day  to 
Alice,  to  her  ladies  in  waiting  and  such  of 
the  chamberlains  as  were  in  the  confidence 
of  the  Court. 

Upon  a  lovely  morning  in  the  July 
of  1866  the  Empress,  attended  by  Miss 
Nugent,  repaired  to  the  shrine  of  Our 
Lady  of  Guadalupe.  Her  Majesty  was 
attired  in  the  Mexican  costume  of  black, 
wearing  a  high  comb,  and,  suspended  from 
it,  a  long  black  veil.  The  Church  of 
Nuestra  Sefiora  de  Guadalupe  is  looked 
upon  as  the  most  holy  in  all  Mexico, 
owing  to  the  miraculous  portrait  of  the 
Blessed  Mother  of  God  enshrined  over 
the  high  altar. 

A  poor,  simple  shepherd  was  returning 
to  his  little  adobe  hut,  on  the  side  of 
a  mountain,  when  the  Blessed  Virgin  sud- 
denly appeared  to  him  in  the  white 
radiance  of  a  light  never  seen  on  land  or 
sea.  Bewildered,  awe-stricken,  a  sense 
of  frantically  joyous  wonderment  and 
veneration  took  possession  of  him;  but  he 
refused  to  think  that  he,  so  poor,  so  lowly, 
was  to  be  so  marvellously  honored.  He 
reasoned  that  the  apparition  was  an 
hallucination  of  the  brain,  and  trudged 
homeward,  blessing  the  name  of  Mary  at 
every  step.  Again  and  again  and  yet 
again  did  the  Blessed  Mother  of  God 
appear  to  the  humble  shepherd,  and 
always  in  the  same  place — the  side  of  a 
steep  hill,  -and  in  the  shadow  of  the 
early  nightfall.  Despairing,  sick  with 
wonder,  transfixed  with  beatitude,  the 
shepherd  still  refused  to  credit  the  visita- 


tion; and  it  was  not  until  our  Blessed 
Lady  impressed  her  glorious  image  on  his 
tilma,  or  blanket,  that  he  allowed  himself 
to  believe  that  he  was  honored  above  every 
man  on  earth.  Hurrying  to  the  bishop, 
to  whom  he  had  already  confided  the 
tidings  of  the  apparition,  he  displayed  the 
miraculous  portrait ;  and  later  his  Holiness 
Pope  Clement  VII.  proclaimed  Our  Lady 
of  Guadalupe  as  patron  and  protector  of 
Mexico. 

A  shrine  was  erected  on  the  exact  spot 
where  the  Madonna  appeared  to  Juan 
Diego,  and  a  magnificent  church  arose, — 
the  church  to  which  the  Empress  Carlotta 
had  now  come  to  implore  the  intercession 
of  Nuestra  Sefiora.  Hither  on  the  i2th 
of  December  every  year — the  anniversary 
of  the  apparition — -the  faithful  make 
pilgrimages  from  every  corner  of  Mexico; 
and  the  shrine  is  covered  with  offerings 
from  the  afflicted,  who  here  found  consola- 
tion, and,  in  numerous  instances,  cures 
that  came  within  the  boundaries  of  the 
supernatural. 

Th'e  Empress  flung  herself  at  the  foot 
of  the  altar,  and  remained  prone,  her  face 
in  her  hands,  her  hands  on  the  step.  So 
still,  so  lifeless  did  she  continue,  that  Alice 
was  for  addressing  her,  thinking  perhaps 
she  might  have  swooned.  Presently,  how- 
ever, she  lifted  her  head;  and  there  was 
such  an  expression  of  holiness,  of  divine 
grace  in  that  face,  that  her  companion 
gazed  upon  her  with  a  feeling  of  awe, 
and  as  though  she  were  in  the  presence 
of  a  human  being  in  close  touch  with 
the  other  world.  For  many,  many  minutes 
Carlotta' s  face  retained  this  glorified 
expression. 

-  Refreshed,  comforted,  consoled  by 
prayer,  the  Empress  whispered  to  Alice  as 
she  passed  into  the  vestibule: 

"If  I  have  a  fearful  task  before  me,  I 
know  that  Nuestra  Sefiora  will,  in  some 
sweet,  gracious  and  merciful  way,  aid 
me,  not  to-day,  perhaps,  or  to-morrow,  or 
ye1  the  next  day;  but  I  feel  that  she  will 
one  day  help  me  to  come  into  the  presence 
of  her  dearly  loved  Son.  And  what  crown, 


77//<:  AVE  AT  ART  A 


5f)l 


pomp,  vanity  or  circumstance  can  \vcigh 
against  that?  J  low  horribly  small  arid 
insignificant  one  feels  when  one  comes  to 
think  of  time  and  eternity,  of  the  majesty 
and  splendor  of  our  Blessed  Redeemer! 
Alice,"  she  added,  as  they  slowly  quitted 
the  sacred  edifice,  "I  feel  that  there  is  a 
great  black  cloud  settling  over  me  and 
my  beloved  husband;  but  I  feel  also  that 
behind  it  there  is  light,  light,  light!" 
And,  repeating  the  word  "light,"  she 
descended  the  steps,  where  a  hired  carriage 
awaited  her, — the  Empress  having  visited 
the  shrine  in  complete  incognito. 

It  was  now  officially  announced  that 
her  Imperial  Majesty  would  leave  the 
capital  on  the  tenth  day  of  July ;  that  she 
would  travel  with  a  Minister  of  State,  two 
chamberlains  of  the  Imperial  Household, 
two  Ladies  of  Honor,  and  her  physician. 
It  was  also  announced  that  his  Imperial 
Majesty  the  Emperor,  with  a  suite,  would 
escort  the  Empress  as  far  as  Rio  Frio, 
and  there  take  leave  of  her. 

All  this  came  to  Arthur  Bodkin  officially, 
as  it  reached  everybody  else  attached  to 
the  Court;  but  Arthur  also  learned  that 
Alice  was  one  of  the  Ladies  of  Honor, 
having  been  specially  selected  for  this 
duty.  But  what  did  it  matter  to  him 
whether  Miss  Nugent  was  in  Mexico  or 
Timbuctoo?  She  was  nothing  to  him,  and 
never  could  be  anything  to  him.  Her  love 
for  him,  if  it  ever  existed,  had  died  out; 
a  new  passion  had  arisen,  and  for  another. 
A  very  brief,  simple  story;  commonplace, 
and  as  likely  to  happen  in  an  adobe  hut 
as  in  an  imperial  palace.  Let  her  go.  It 
meant  perhaps,  that  her  fiance  would  get 
leave  of  absence,  join  her  in  Europe,  and 
return  with  her,  Alice  the  Countess  von 
Kalksbrurg. 

Somehow  or  other,  Arthur  never  thought 
of  the  return  of  the  Empress.  From  cer- 
tain rumors  that  had  reached  him  of  the 
critical  condition  of  things,  he  imagined 
that  her  Majesty  would  repair  to  her 
beloved  Miramar;  and  that  the  Emperor, 
sick  and  disgusted,  would  follow  her 
thither,  leaving  his  crown  and  his  ambi- 


tion behind  him.  Maximilian  was  a  lover 
of  quirt  and  a  lover  of  books,  of  music,  of 
home;  and  assuredly  the  life  he  was  now 
compelled  to  lead  must  not  have  had  one 
single  congenial  moment  in  it  for  him. 
Baron  Bergheim,  who  was  very  cautious, 
but  with  our  hero  very  confidential, 
thought  very  much  in  the  same  lines; 
declaring  that  if  Maximilian  asked  his 
advice,  he  would  say:  "Return,  sire,  by 
the  next  steamer!" 

It  was  with  no  feeling  of  joy  that  our 
hero  received  notification  that  he  was  put 
en  service,  and  ordered  to  accompany  the 
Emperor  to  Rio  Frio.  Joy!  Quite  the 
contrary;  for  although  Miss  Nugent  was 
nothing  to  him  now,  the  fact  of  seeing 
her  depart  left  a  very  bitter  taste.  He 
would  apply  to  have  another  aid-de-camp 
put  on  in  his  stead;  plead  illness — any- 
thing sooner  than  see  those  beautiful  eyes 
turned  toward  him  in  "adieu." 

Arthur  asked  Baron  Bergheim  to  be 
relieved. 

"Hey!  my  dear  fellow,  impossible! 
Reachbach  and  Van  Roon  are  at  Guada- 
lajara. Kalksburg  is  at  Vera  Cruz — he  will 
see  her  Majesty  on  board.  Pappenhein  is 
abed.  Hey!  the  whole  staff  is  occupied,  so 
you  must  go.  There's  nothing  else  for  it, 
and  parting  is  such  a  sweet  sorrow.  Hey! 
I  have  some  of  your  Shakespeare  off,  you 
see." 

And  so  it  fell  out  that,  bon  gre,  mal  gre, 
Arthur  Bodkin  of  Ballyboden  was  one  of 
the  escort  to  Rio  Frio. 

(To  be  continued.) 

THE;  Bible  is  not  the  print  and  paper, 
but  the  meaning  of  the  Sacred  Book. 
If,  instead  of  discerning  that  meaning, 
we  contemplate  in  the  text  but  our 
own  reflection,  finding  in  Holy  Scripture 
simply  what  our  several  acquirements 
or  associations  have  enabled  us  to 
bring  to  it,  have  we  not  reason  to  fear 
that  we  have  thus  changed  the  Word 
of  God  into  the  word  of  man,  and 
destroyed  by  misusing  the  divine  gift? 

— Aubrey  de  Vere. 


55! 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Five  A.  M. 


BY    CHARUvS    PIIIM.II'S. 


"IN   the  dim,  quiet  light  two   parallels 

Of    cold   bright  steel   stretch   down    the  silent 

street, 
Then  dawn's  gray  hush  is  wakened  by  the  feet 

Of  toil's  vast  conscript  host,  lockstepped  from  cells 

Of    weary   sleep,   back   to   the   wearier   hells 
Of   drudgery   again,    the   grime   and   heat 
Of  grinding  day.  .  .  .  Yet  strange    and    wanly 
sweet 

A  bird's  call   breaks  above  the  clanging  bells. 

O   little   city   bird,    you   have   not   lost 

All  of  the  music  of  God's  field  and  stream. 

Still  in   your  treble  chirp  a  note  is   tossed 
Of  airy  spaces,   and  the  -lilt  and   gleam 

Of  running  waters;  still  the  gift  is  given 

For     toil-worn     men     to    smile,    and     dream     of 
Heaven. 


Laboratories  at  the  Vatican  and  Papal 
Scientists. 


I3Y    JAMES    J.  WALSH,    M.  D.,  PH.  D.,  SC.  D. 


PROFESSOR  SARTON,  a  Belgian 
scholar  of  distinction,  driven  from  his 
home  country  by  war  conditions  there, 
has  been  engaged  in  organizing  in  this 
country  an  institute  for  the  history  of 
science.  He  was  in  Washington  for  some 
time,  in  touch  with  the  Smithsonian  and 
other  Government  scientific  institutions; 
and  more  recently  has  been  at  Harvard. 
Strange  as  it  may  appear,  in  the  midst  of 
all  the  interest  of  our  day  in  science  there 
has  been  comparatively  little  interest  in 
the  history  of  science  until  very  recent 
years.  The  consequence  has  been  a  very 
general  misconception  of  the  place  of 
science  in  the  older  time.  Indeed,  except 
among  those  who  paid  particular  attention 
to  the  history  of  science  there  has  been 
a  notion  prevalent  that  there  was  practi- 
cally no  development  of  physical  science 
until  our  time,  and  that  the  development 
of  science  represented  as  it  were  a  new 


phase  in  the  evolution  of  the  human  mind. 
Nothing  could  well  be  less  true  than  this ; 
for  at  all  times  men  have  been  interested 
in  science,  and  at  many  times  they  have 
made  very  significant  observations  and 
drawn  important  conclusions  from  it. 

A  lack  of  knowledge  of  the  history  of 
science  has  made  men  misunderstand 
entirely  certain  phases  of  the  relation  of 
science  to  education  and  to  religion.  There 
are  a  great  many  people  who  seem  to  think 
that,  before  the  last  generation  or  two,  the 
classics  had  constantly  formed  the  basis 
of  education  practically  since  the  old 
classic  days  themselves.  Very  few  realize 
that  the  classics  were  introduced  under 
the  name  of  the  Humanities,  or  the  New 
Learning,  as  the  basis  of  education  only  in 
the  Renaissance  time,  and  that  this  phase 
of  education  has  lasted  only  some  four 
hundred  years.  Before  that  period  science 
was  the  principal  subject  of  attention  at 
the  universities;  and  indeed  practically 
every  topic  taken  up  in  university  curric- 
ulums  was  studied  from  the  scientific 
standpoint.  This  has  come  to  be  realized 
very  well  by  those  who  understand  the 
significance  of  what  were  known  as  the 
liberal  arts  in  the  older  time;  for  these,  in 
spite  of  their  name,  were  really  seven 
important  phases  of  education  studied  as 
sciences. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  failure  to  recog- 
nize the  fact  that  the  Medieval  universities 
were  all  scientific  universities  has  been  the 
fundamental  reason  for  the  erroneous 
assertions  with  regard  to  the  attitude 
of  the  Church  toward  science.  Just 
as  soon  as  it  is  understood  that  the 
old  Medieval  institutions  (founded  under 
Papal  charters,  fostered  by  Churchmen, 
usually  with  the  chancellor  of  the  cathe- 
dral of  the  university  town  as  the  chan- 
cellor of  the  university,  with  houses  of  the 
various  religious  Orders  connected  with 
the  university,  and  most  of  the  professors 
ecclesiastics)  were  quite  literally  scientific 
universities,  then  the  idea  of  any  inherent 
opposition  between  Church  and  Science 
at  once  vanishes. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


553 


Professor  Sarton's  work  deserves,  then, 
thorough  encouragement;  and  an  insti- 
tute for  the  history  of  science  which 
would  give  proper  scope  for  scholarship  in 
this  great  field  would  do  more  than  any- 
thing else  to  remove  misunderstandings 
that  are  almost  unpardonable  because 
founded  on  ignorance.  Probably  nothing 
would  illustrate  better  the  necessity  for 
an  organized  knowledge  of  the  history 
of  science  for  those  who  are  interested  in 
the  subject  than  a  passage  from  Professor 
Huxley's  inaugural  address  as  Lord  Rector 
of  the  University  of  Aberdeen,  in  which  he 
took  for  his  topic  "Universities  Actual 
and  Ideal."  Professor  Huxley  was  usually 
very  careful  to  look  up  his  authorities 
and  to  scrutinize  the  sources  of  his  infor- 
mation, and  seldom  made  a  serious  slip; 
and  yet  on  that  occasion  he  made  some 
declarations  which,  when  investigated  in 
the  light  of  knowledge  that  has  accumu- 
lated as  regards  the  history  of  science  in 
more  recent  years,  proved  to  be  absurdly 
fallacious.  The  fallacy  of  the  remark  was 
all  the  more  striking  because  there  are 
several  passages  in  that  inaugural  address 
which  I  have  often  quoted,  to  show  that 
Professor  Huxley  was  quite  willing  to 
acknowledge,  when  he  knew  it,  the  good 
work  that  was  being  done  by  the  older 
universities. 

It  is  said  that  when  Professor  Huxley 
began  the  preparation  of  his  inaugural 
address  he  thought  that  the  best  treatment 
of  bis  subject  would  be  a  definite  compari- 
son between  Medieval  and  modern  univer- 
vsities, — a  comparison  which  would,  of 
course,  prove  unfavorable  to  the  older 
educational  organizations,  and  therefore 
illustrate  clearly  and  emphasize  strongly 
the  necessity  for  modern  modifications  in 
university  curriculums  which  would  prove 
more  advantageous  for  our  age.  At  that 
time  Oxford  and  Cambridge  were  still 
conservatively  clinging  to  the  classic 
curriculum  as  the  essence  of  education, 
and  presumably  were,  therefore,  still 
Medieval  universities  in  the  modern  time. 

To  his  great  surprise,  however,  Professor 


Huxley  found  that  the  teaching  of  the  old 
Medieval  universities  was  very  different 
from  what  he  had  imagined.  He  inves- 
tigated rather  carefully  the  significance  of 
their  usual  curriculum,  recognized  that 
the  fundamental  principles  of  it  were 
scientific;  and  then,  after  devoting  some 
time  to  the  definite  meaning  of  the  trivium 
and  quadrivium,  the  so-called  seven  liberal 
arts,  found  that  these  represented  very 
valuable  elements  in  education.  Every 
one  of  them  was  studied  from  its  scientific 
aspect.  Professor  Huxley  was  charmed  to 
find  how  thoroughly  scientific  had  been 
the  methods  of  Medieval  university 
teachers,  so  that  he  did  not  hesitate  to  say 
that  the  work  of  these  old  institutions  of 
learning  "however  imperfect  and  faulty 
judged  by  modern  lights  it  may  have  been, 
brought  them  face  to  face  with  all  the 
leading  aspect  of  the  many-sided  mind  of 
man";  and  he  added,  "I  doubt  if  the 
curriculum  of  any  modern  university  shows 
so  clear  and  generous  a  comprehension 
of  what  is  meant  by  culture  as  this  old 
trivium  and  quadrivium  does." 

There  is,  however,  another  passage  in 
the  same  address  that  has  always  interested 
me  even  mprc  than  this  striking  expression 
of  praise  from  so  unexpected  a  source 
for  the  Medieval  universities.  Its  interest, 
however,  is  due  to  the  fact  that  in  it 
Huxley's  customary  caution  not  to  make 
assertions  until  he  had  looked  up  his 
authorities  deserted  him.  He  was  caught 
by  the  tradition  of  Church  opposition  to 
science,  and  allowed  himself  to  make 
declarations  that  even  a  little  careful 
study  would  have  shown  him  to  be  quite 
untrue.  His  address  was  published  in  the 
Contemporary  Review  of  the  year  in  which 
it  was  delivered,  and  even  so  glaring  a 
contradiction  of  history  as  is  contained  in 
the  passage  that  I  shall  presently  quote, 
passed  unnoticed,  and  was  considered  by 
many,  if  not  practically  all  the  readers,  to 
represent  the  actual  truth  of  the  matter. 
It  sums  up  in  a  few  words  what  was  the 
impression  of  Huxley's  generation,  and 
what  has  continued  to  be  the  impression 


554 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


of  a  great  many  people  who  think  they 
know  something  about  such  matters,  or 
indeed  often  assume  that  they  know  all 
there  is  to  be  known  about  them;  and  are 
quite  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  they  are 
accepting  an  oldtime  historical  tradition 
founded  on  religious  prejudice,  but  abso- 
lutely devoid  of  any  foundation  in  the 
history  of  things  as  they  actually  happened. 

Huxley  is  talking  of  the  attitude  of  the 
Church  toward  science;  that  is,  of  course, 
toward  the  physical  sciences,  and  does  not 
hesitate  to  say  with  that  thoroughgoing 
completeness  of  assertion  always  so  charac- 
teristic of  the  man  who  is  on  a  subject 
of  which  he  is  profoundly  ignorant: 
"Physical  science,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
an  irreconcilable  enemy  to  be  excluded  at 
all  hazards.  The  College  of  Cardinals  has 
not  distinguished  itself  in  physics  or 
physiology ;  and  no  Pope  has  as  yet  set 
up  public  laboratories  in  the  Vatican." 

I  feel  sure  that  most  of  his  hearers  at 
Aberdeen,  as  well  as  his  readers  in  the 
Contemporary  Review,  responded  to  this 
sally  of  Professor  Huxley  with  a  good- 
humored  smile  over  even  the  bare  idea 
that  cardinals  should  ever  have  interested 
themselves  in  physics  or  physiology,  or 
that  any  Pope  should  ever  have  ^set  up 
public  laboratories  in  the  Vatican.  The 
very  notion  was  a  good  joke.  I  am  just  as 
sure  that  a  great  many  people  in  our  time — 
indeed,  I  venture  to  say  most  of  those  who 
are  teaching  the  physical  sciences  at  the 
universities — would  feel  the  same  way 
even  now.  And  yet  the  direct  contradictory 
of  both  these  propositions  is  quite  literally 
demonstrable  of  proof;  for  cardinals  and 
even  Popes  have  distinguished  themselves 
in  physics  and  physiology,  and  the  Popes 
during  many  centuries  set  up  public 
laboratories  in  the  Vatican. 

And  it  is  not  in  our  time  alone  that  such 
apparently  surprising  events  have  occurred, 
but  it  was  in  the  long  ago;  and  there  has 
actually  been  a  definite  effort  on  the  part 
of  the  Popes  not  only  to  keep  in  touch 
with  physical  science,  but  to  foster  it,  often 
to  endow  it  liberally,  over  and  over  again 


to  honor  its  great  workers,  and  to  encourage 
their  labors  in  a  great  many  different  ways. 
To  take  the  second  proposition  first,  the 
utter  absurdity  of  it  in  the  light  of  history 
is  susceptible  of  demonstration  without 
having  to  appeal  to  anything  more  than  a 
modicum  of  knowledge  of  history.  For 
there  have  been  Papal  astronomers  at  the 
Vatican, — taking  that  term,  of  course,  in 
the  generic  sense  in  which  Professor  Huxley 
used  it  of  the  residence  of  the  Popes — 
almost  continuously  for  centuries.  Pope 
Iveo  XIII.  in  his  Encyclical  Motu  Proprio, 
issued  some  twenty-five  years  ago,  reminded 
us  that  "Gregory  XIII.  ordered  a  tower 
to  be  erected  in  a  convenient  part  of  the 
Vatican  gardens,  and  to  be  fitted  out  with 
the  greatest  and  best  instruments  of  the 
time.  There  he  held  the  meetings  of  the 
learned  men  to  whom  the  reform  of  the 
calendar  had  been  entrusted.  The  tower 
stands  to  this  day,  a  witness  to  the  munifi- 
cence of  its  founder." 

Gregory  XIII. 's  policy  in  this  matter 
was  pursued  faithfully  by  his  successors, 
though  the  observatory  founded  by  him 
fell  shortly  afterward  into  disuse  for  the 
purpose  originally  intended,  not  at  all 
because  of  any  opposition  to  science, 
but  because  its  place  was  supplied  by 
another  Roman  institution  almost  as 
directly  under  the  patronage  of  the  Popes. 
This  was  the  Roman  College,  the  great 
mother  school  of  the  Jesuits  at  Rome. 

The  Jesuits  had  a  special  vow  to  carry 
out  the  wishes  of  the  Popes  in  all  regards. 
As  they  were  the  most  important  teaching 
Order  of  the  Church,  deeply  interested 
in  science  as  well  as  in  the  classics,  as 
indeed  under  Gregory  XIII.  the  scientist 
in  control  of  the  correction  of  the  calendar, 
holding  the  charge  of  the  Vatican  Ob- 
servatory, was  Father  Christopher  Clavius, 
the  well-known  Jesuit,  it  is  not  sur- 
prising that  succeeding  Popes,  in  order 
to  avoid  duplication  of  work  that  would 
be  done  much  more  efficiently  in  a  single 
institution,  allowed  the  Vatican  Observa- 
tory to  lapse,  so  as  to  give  all  their 
patronage  to  the  Observatory  of  the  Roman 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


College,  which  really,  after  all,  was  in  many 
ways  the  .Papal  or  at  least  the  Roman 
Observatory.  The  best  proof  of  this  is 
that  the  Vatican  Observatory  has  always 
been  restored  whenever,  as  at  present,  the 
Jesuits,  for  any  reason,  were  not  allowed 
to  continue  their  work  at  the  Roman 
College. 

Of  course  there  may  be  people  in  our 
time  who  do  not  think  of  an  astronomical 
observatory  as  a  laboratory,  but  that  is 
exactly  what  it  is.  There  are  some  for 
whom  the  word  laboratory  means  only  a 
chemical  laboratory,  or  at  most  a  chemical 
and  physical  laboratory.  There  is  no 
reason  at  all,  however,  for  such  a  distinc- 
tion; for  what  is  meant  by  a  laboratory  is 
a  place  where  actual  scientific  observations 
are  recorded  and  their  significance  wrorked 
out.  As  the  Century  Dictionary  says,  a 
laboratory  is  "a  room,  building  or  work- 
shop especially  fitted  with  suitable  appa- 
ratus for  conducting  investigations  in  any 
department  of  a  science." 

It  is  interesting,  however,  to  note  that 
this  was  not  the  only  form  of  laboratory 
that  the  Popes  not  only  countenanced 
but  patronized,  and  often  endowed.  At 
the  older  universities  the  two  forms  of 
laboratory  work,  that  is,  opportunities  for 
the  making  of  actual  observations,  were 
in  astronomy  and  in  anatomy.  The  old 
medical  schools  did  their  laboratory  work 
in  the  dissection  rooms.  It  might  be 
thought  by  many,  because  of  an  erroneous 
tradition  in  the  matter,  that  surely  in 
this  department  there  would  be  no  likeli- 
hood of  the  Popes'  having  a  laboratory; 
but,  then,  those  who  think  that  the  Galileo 
case  demonstrates  the  utter  opposition  of 
the  Popes  to  science  would  be  quite  sure 
that  there  could  have  been  no  astronomical  • 
observatory  at  the  Vatican,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  Gregory  XIII.  's  observatory 
just  mentioned  was  established  some  fifty 
years  before  the  condemnation  of  Galileo. 

There  is  a  very  widespread  persuasion 
that  the  Popes  and  the  Church  were 
opposed  to  anatomy ;  but  there  is  nq  truth 
in  it.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  comparatively 


easy  to  show,  as  I  have  done  in  my  book, 
"The  Po|;>es  and  Science,"  that  the  Popes 
encouraged  the  study  of  anatomy  by  dis- 
section, and  that  the  Papal  University  of 
Rome  at  the  Sapienza  did  excellent  work 
in  this  department,  and  successive  Popes 
for  several  centuries  invited  some  of  the 
most  distinguished  anatomists  of  their  time, 
who  were  also,  by  the  way,  some  of  the 
most  distinguished  anatomists  of  all  time, 
to  become  professors  of  anatomy  at  the 
Papal  Medical  School.  This  was  not 
situated  at  the  Vatican  of  course,  literally 
speaking,  but  it  was  so  closely  in  touch 
in  every  regard  with  the  Pope  that  it 
comes  without  any  far-fetched  construc- 
tion or  undue  stretching  of  significance 
to  represent  a  definite  contradiction  of 
Huxley's  expression  with  regard  to  the 
absence  of  laboratories  under  Papal 
patronage  in  their  capital  city. 

Among  those  invited  to  teach  and 
develop  anatomy  at  the  Sapienza  were 
such  distinguished  anatomists  as  Columbus, 
to  whom  we  owe  the  first  description  of 
the  circulation ;  Eustachius,  after  whom  the 
Eustachian  tube  is  named;  Piccolomini, 
one  of  the  great  teachers  of  anatomy  in 
his  time,  though  his  name  is  attached  to  no 
special  discovery;  Caesalpinus,  one  of  the 
most  learned  men  of  his  day,  who  had 
taught  botany  at  Pisa  and  brought  the 
Botanic  Garden  there,  the  first  of  its 
kind,  into  magnificent  condition;  Varolius, 
after  whom  the  Pons  Varolii  in  the  brain 
is  named;  Malpighi,  who  with  the  highest 
right  of  discovery,  has  his  name  attached 
to  more  structures  in  the  human  body 
than  any  other;  I^ancisi,  a  great  teacher, 
and  a  fine  original  investigator,  whose 
lectures  not  only  attracted  students  from 
all  over  the  world,  but  even  brought  some 
of  the  most  distinguished  medical  men 
from  every  country  in  Europe  to  listen  to 
them.  All  this  was  done  at  Rome  in  the 
Papal  Medical  School,  under  the  patronage 
of  the  Popes,  and  the  important  publica- 
tions issued  by  these  men  while  teaching 
at  the  Papal  Medical  School  were  usually 
dedicated  to  the  Popes. 


556 


THE  AYE  MART  A 


As  to  the  two  forms  of  laboratory  work, 
then,  astronomical  and  anatomical,  that 
universities  took  up  in  the  older  days  the 
Popes  not  only  were  not  in  opposition  to 
them,  but  showed  themselves  ready  to 
foster  and  eneourage  them  in  every  way. 
There  has  been  no  laboratory  of  chemistry 
or  physics  found  at  the  Vatican,  but 
then  circumstances  have  been  different  in 
modern  times,  and  there  has  been  no  good 
reason  for  the  Popes  to  take  such  extraor- 
dinary steps  as  such  foundations  would 
imply.  In  the  old  times  their  attitude 
toward  science  was  all  important  for  its 
development,  and  they  made  their  dis- 
position in  its  regard  quite  unmistakable 
by  their  foundation  of  laboratories  in  the 
two  sciences  which  were  studied  in  this 
practical  way. 

When  the  science  of  meteorology  began 
to  develop  the  Popes  encouraged  that,  and 
did  for  it  very  much  the  same  thing  that 
they  had  done  for  anatomy  and  astronomy 
in  the  older  days.  During  the  latter  half 
of -the  nineteenth  century  Father  Secchi 
was  working  at  Rome.  The  Popes  took 
great  interest  in  his  work,  encouraged  his 
development  of  astronomical  instruments, 
and  also  of  instruments  of  various  kinds 
for  the  automatic  observation  of  the 
weather,  and  enabled  him  to  accomplish 
much  in  this  way. 

All  over  the  world  Jesuits  have  been 
deeply  interested  in  the  development  of 
the  science  of  meteorology,  and  have 
installed  instruments  so  that  there  might 
be  larger  numbers  of  observations  to 
collate.  The  Jesuits  in  the  Philippine 
Islands  reduced  these  observations  to 
such  terms  as  gave  them  definite  practical 
results  in  their  ability  to  foretell  storms 
probably  better  than  others.  The  sudden 
severe  storms  of  the  Philippine  regions 
had  been  extremely  destructive  of  life  and 
property  particularly  at  sea,  and  the  Jesuit 
developments  in  meteorology  showed  that 
these  storms  were  by  no  means  so  sudden 
as  had  been  thought,  but  gave  due  warnings 
of  their  coming.  Almost  needless  to  say, 
without  the  positive  encouragement  of 


the  Popes  such  experimentation  would  not 
have  been  allowed  lo  continue  in  the  Order 
which  makes  its  special  vow  of  obedience 
to  the  Pope,  and  whose  general  policy  is 
made  to  conform  so  strictly  to  Papal  wishes. 

As  with  regard  to  meteorology,  so,  too, 
seismology,  the  science  of  the  phenomena 
related  to  earthquakes  and  terrestrial 
tremors  of  all  kinds,  has  been  mainly 
developed  by  the  Jesuits  with  the  encour- 
agement and  even  the  patronage  of  the 
Popes.  Jesuits  from  distant  missionary 
countries  on  visits  to  the  Vatican  have 
been  asked  about  their  work,  stimulated  to 
go  on  with  it ;  and  presents  have  been  made 
by  the  Popes  themselves  as  well  as  by 
members  of  the  curia,  especially  cardinals 
who  wanted  to  show  their  interest  in 
this  important  subject.  Huxley's  slurring 
remark,  well  calculated  to  raise  a  laugh, 
is  really  an  example  of  ignorance;  though, 
of  course,,  it  is  rather  a  question  of  failure 
to  estimate  properly  the  significance  of  the 
factors  of  the  Papal  policy  expressed  in  a 
number  of  ways.  There  is  an  old  English 
maxim,  "  Laugh  and  show  your  ignorance," 
that  is  quite  literally  exemplified  in  expres- 
sions- of  this  kind. 

The  other  expression  of  Huxley,  "The 
College  of  Cardinals  has  not  distinguished 
itself  in  physics  or  physiology,"  might  well 
be  thought  to  be  less  susceptible  of  direct 
contradiction  than  the  relation  of  the 
Vatican  to  laboratories;  and  yet  I  may 
say  at  once  that  only  a  little  knowledge  of 
the  actual  details  of  the  history  of  science 
in  the  older  times  is  needed  to  show  that 
that,  too,  is  an  absurdly  ignorant  remark. 
Of  course  cardinals  are  ecclesiastics;  that 
is,  men  devoted  to  Church  work,  and  there- 
fore it  can  not  be  expected  that  many  of 
them,  whose  lives  are  perforce  occupied 
with  interests  very  widely  diverse  from 
physical  science,  and  above  all  from  physics 
and  physiology,  should  make  distinguished 
contributions  to  these  sciences.  And  yet 
it  is  not  difficult  to  name  some  cardinals, 
and  at  least  one  Pope,  whose  names  are 
associated  directly  with  advances  in  these 
sciences.  These  facts  will  serve  to  show 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


557 


clearly  that  it  was  not  because  of  any 
opposition  on  the  part  of  the  Church  to 
physical  science  that  its  highest  digni- 
taries did  not  reach  distinction  in  these 
departments  of  science,  but  only  because 
they  were  occupied  with  other  interests. 

Probably  the  most  distinguished  contrib- 
utor to  physics  and  physiology  among  the 
cardinals  was  the  great  Cardinal  Nicholas 
of  Cusa,  who  was  so  close  to  the  Popes 
during  the  fifteenth  century  and  whose 
works  are  full  of  extremely  interesting 
original  observation  with  regard  to  subjects 
related  to  both  physics  and  physiology. 
He  has  a  distinct  place  in  the  history  of 
medicine;  for,  as  I  pointed  out  in  my  "Old 
Time  Makers  of  Medicine,"  he  was  the 
first  to  suggest  exact  methods  of  diagnosis 
for  medicine.  The  counting  of  the  pulse 
rate,  and  noting  its  relation  to  the 
patient's  condition,  seems  a  very  obvious 
thing  now;  but  in  his  day  it  was  a  real 
scientific  innovation.  Besides,  he  taught 
that  specific  gravity  as  a  principle  for  com- 
parative estimation  of  the  fluids  of  the 
body  might  serve  to  give  a  scientific  basis 
to  diagnosis  which  it  did  not  possess -before. 
In  describing  this  suggestion  of  Cardinal 
Cusa  in  medical  journals  I  have  called  it 
medicine,  which  it  is.  The  whole  story  is 
very  interesting,  and  the  Cardinal's  book 
De  Docta  Ignorantia,  that  is  "On  learned 
Ignorance,"  in  which  he  points  out  how 
many  things  there  are  which  people  think 
they  know,  but  which  they  really  do  not 
know  at  all,  represents  an  accurate  scien- 
tific point  of  view  usually  supposed  to  be. 
modern. 

(Conclusion  next  week.) 


The  Girl  from  the  Home. 


BY    JOSEPH    CAREY. 


GOD  permitted  the  Apostle  of  Nations 
to  remain  two  years  in  prison  at  a  time 
when  the  primitiye  Church  had  great 
need  of  men  to  preach  the  Gospel.  Do  not 
think  much  of  it,  therefore,  if  God  detains 
you,  as  it  were  in  prison,  by  an  illness  of 
two  weeks  or  two  months  or  two  years, 
if  it  be  His  will,"  since  you  are  not  so 
necessary  to  His  Church  as  the  Apostle 
was. — Rodriguez. 


THE  pastor's  study  was  a  cheerful 
place,  and  his  old  friend  Father  John 
sat  back  in  his  chair,  watching  the 
smouldering  logs  in  the  large,  open  fire- 
place. Outside  the  wind  raged,  and  the 
spirits  of  the  storm  sought  entrance,  but 
in  vain,  through  the  great  square  chimney 
of  the  old-fashioned  New  England  rec- 
tory. The  two  friends  sat  in  silence  for 
some  time;  for  they  had  long  ago  arrived 
at  that  happy  state  of  mutual  understand- 
ing which  can  dispense  with  continuous 
conversation.  As  Father  John  was  watch- 
ing the  flame-pictures  with  fascinated  eyes 
a  log  broke  in  two,  and  a  shower  of  sparks 
ascended  the  chimney.  The  pastor  leaned 
over  with  the  tongs  to  build  up  the  fire, 
while  at  the  same  time  he  called  out: 

"Katey!  Katey!" 

"By  the  way,"  queried  Father  John, 
"what  has  become  of  Hannah?" 

"Oh,"  chuckled  the  pastor,  still  busily 
poking  the  fire,  "didn't  you  hear  that  she 
was  married?" 

"No,"  answered  Father  John,  "I  didn't. 
She  was  a  good  girl — God  bless  her!  You 
won't  find  another  like  her  in  a  hurry." 

"I  know  it,"  answered  the  pastor.  "She 
was  with  me  nearly  eight  years,  but  I 
was  glad  to  take  Katey  from  the  Home; 
she's  the  girl  who  waited  on  table  to-night." 

A  shadow  crossed  the  face  of  Father 
John.  "From  the  Home?"  he  queried 
thoughtfully.  "A  very  charitable  and  kind 
thing  to  do,  Father,  I  know;  but  my 
mother  once  took  a  girl  from  the  Home — •' ' 

A  sudden  gust  of  wind  shook  the  old 
house. 

"I'm  glad  I  prevailed  on  you  to  stay 
to-night,"  interrupted  the  pastor.  "It's 
a  wild  night.  I  don't  believe  you  could  get 
home.  lyisten  to  the  wind  howl,  and  a 
foot  of  snow  has  fallen  since  you  came." 

"Well,  I  didn't  intend  to  stay,"  an- 
swered Father  John;  "but  that  marriage 


558 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


case  was  bothering  me,  and  I  wanted  to 
get  your  opinion  on  it.  However,  as  long 
as  I  telephoned  home,  they  won't  be 
worrying  about  me." 

"What's  that  you  were  saying  about 
your  mother's  taking  a  girl  from  the 
Home?"  queried  the  pastor. 

"Well,  Father,  I'll  tell  you.  It  was  this 
way.  When  I  first  went  to  the  seminary, 
my  mother  took  a  girl  from  the  Home  to 
keep  her  company.  She  was  all  alone, 
you  know,  as  my  father  was  dead,  and 
she  missed  her  troublesome  boy.  So  she 
thought  she  would  like  to  have  a  com- 
panion in  the  house  with  her,  and  at  the 
same  time  she  could  afford  to  give  a  girl 
a  good  home.  So  she  adopted  a  young 
girl.  Mary — that  was  her  name — stayed 
with  us  about  four  years,  and  my  mother 
became  greatly  attached  to  her.  She  was 
a  good  girl,  innocent  and  refined, — but 
it's  the  old  story.  There  was  a  young 
scamp  in  the  village  who  paid  great 
attention  to  her,  and  my  mother  forbade 
him  to  come  to  the  house.  One  night  the 
girl  disappeared  with  her  belongings,  and 
an  old  brooch  which  belonged  to  my 
mother.  It  was  of  no  great  value,  though 
mother  often  wore  it,  a  miniature  of  the 
Madonna  della  Sedia.  I  suppose  the  girl 
took  it  as  a  keepsake.  It  was  a  run- 
away marriage  and  turned  out  badly, 
for  the  scamp  soon  tired  of  her  and 
deserted  her.  When  mother — God  rest 
her  soul! — heard  the  news,  she  tried  her 
best  to  get  the  girl  again,  but  the  poor 
thing  had  disappeared.  No  trace  of  her 
could  we  ever  find,  though  God  knows, 
mother  tried  hard  enough.  She  was  broken- 
hearted about  it,  and  I  felt  it  myself. 
So,  you  see,  I've  never  had  the  heart  to 
take  such  a  responsibility  upon  myself." 

"Well,  I  can't  blame  you  after  a  sad 
experience  like  that,"  answered  the  pastor; 
"but,  somehow,  it  is  different  with  Kate, 
for  I've  had  the  responsibility  of  her  for 
the  past  twenty  years.  It  was  thrust  upon 
me,  in  a  way;  but  I've  never  regretted  it, 
as  she's  a  good  girl  and  has  never  given 
me  any  trouble.  You  will  notice  how 


cheerful  and  willing  she  is.  Very  pious, 
too,  with  a  special  devotion  to  the  Souls 
in  Purgatory.  She  has  set  her  heart  on 
joining  the  Sisters  and  is  making  a  first 
postulate,  as  it  were.  Her  story  is  rather 
interesting." 

"Katey!"  he  called  again.  This  time 
she  heard  him ;  and,  from  somewhere  down- 
stairs, a  voice  answered: 

"Yes,  Father." 

"A  few  sticks  of  wood  for  the  fire,  like  a 
good  girl." 

"All  right,  Father,"  said  a  pleasant  voice. 

"Well,  you  know  my  first  appointment 
was  at  Rowley.  You  remember  what  a 
wilderness  it  was  twenty  years  ago.  I 
was  on  a  sick  call  on  just  such  a  night  as 
this, — no,  even  worse.  There  had  been  a 
heavy  snowstorm,  and  it  had  turned  to 
rain  which  froze  when  it  touched  the 
ground.  The  wind  was  howling,  as  it  is 
howling  to-night,  and  there  was  also 
thunder  and  lightning,  rare  enough  in  a 
winter  storm.  Altogether,  it  was  as  bad 
a  night  as  I  have  ever  known.  I  met  the 
sexton  on  his  rounds  about  ten  o'clock, 
and  when  he  saw  me,  he  remarked:  'A 
terrible  night,  Father.  I  hope  there'll  be 
no  sick  calls.' 

"As  you  know  sick  calls  often  come  on 
a  night  like  that.  About  midnight  my 
bell  rang  furiously,  and,  after  hastily 
dressing,  I  went  to  the  door.  A  young  lad 
was  there.  He  told  me  a  woman  was 
dying  and  calling  for  a  priest.  'She  lived 
at  the  Crossroads  about  four  miles  distant. 
He  wasn't  a  Catholic,  but — God  reward 
him  for  his  charity — 'he  had  come  through 
that  wild  night  out  of  pity.  He  was  willing 
to  go  back,  but  I  wouldn't  listen  to  it,  and 
put  him  in  the  spare  room  for  the  night. 

"I  called  the  sexton  and  told  him  to 
harness  up  the  horse  as  soon  as  he  could. 

"'Pretty  bad  night,  Father,'  he  an- 
swered dubiously,  when  I  told  him  where 
the  sick  call  was.  '  I  don't  think  the  horse 
can  make  it.' 

"I  know,  Mike,'  I  answered,  'but  it 
can't  be  helped.' 

"I'm  going  with  you,  Father,'  he  said, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


559 


and  obstinately  held  to  his  resolve  when 
I  tried  to  dissuade  him. 

"He  brought  the  horse  around  and  we 
started  off.  The  horse  slipped  at  nearly 
every  step,  and  I  thought  the  wind  would 
rip  the  hood  off  the  old  buggy.  After 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  it  the  horse 
refused  to  go  farther.  I  said:  'All  right, 
Mike.  Get  home  as  best  you  can.  I'll  go 
ahead  on  foot.' 

"So  I  braced  myself  against  the  wind 
and  plodded  on  through  the  storm.  I 
slipped  and  fell  half  a  dozens  times;  but, 
thank  God,  I  was  not  hurt.  I  had  the 
Blessed  Sacrament  with  me,  and  somehow 
I  wasn't  afraid.  Finally  I  came  to  the 
house.  No  lights  were  burning,  and  a 
savage  dog.  barked  and  growled  as  I 
approached  the  door. 

"I  knocked,  and  there  was  no  answer. 
I  pounded  the  door  furiously  till  at  last 
I  saw  a  light  was  lit.  A  window  opened 
and  a  man  asked: 

' ' '  What  do  you  want  ? ' 

'"I'm  the  Catholic  priest  from  the 
village,'  I  answered.  'I  was  told  that 
there  was  a  woman  dying  here.' 

"Yaas,'  he  drawled,  'there's  a  woman 
upstairs.  She's  been  hollerin'  for  a  priest. 
I  guess  my  boy  must  er  let  you  know.  I 
dunno  what's  the  matter  with  her.' 

" '  Well,  hurry  up ! '  I  replied  impatiently, 
'I'm  freezing  out  here.' 

"He  disappeared  from  the  window  and 
the  next  minute  opened  the  door.  He 
lit  an  old  lantern  that  was  near  and 
handed  it  to  me. 

"'She's  upstairs,'  he  said. 

"I  looked  to  where  he  indicated,  and 
there  was  a  sort  of  ladder  leading  to  the 
upper  story,  and  I  started  to  climb. 

"When  I  got  to  the  loft,  or  attic,  I 
suppose  you'd  call  it,  though  it  was  more 
of  a  barn  than  a  house,  I  made  out  the 
form  of  a  woman,  apparently  sleeping, 
on  a  rude  cot  to  one  side. 

"I  tried  to  awaken  her.  I  was  a  young 
priest  then,  but  I  shall  never  forget  the 
shock  I  received  when  I  touched  her  icy 
hand.  She  was  cold  in  death. 


"I  stood  there  in  horror  for  a  moment. 
I  was  entirely  unnerved  to  meet  only  death 
after  my  long  struggle,  and  tears  came 
into  my  eyes  at  the  pity  of  it  all,  when 
suddenly  something  stirred  quite  near  me. 
My  blood  ran  cold.  I  looked  around.  No 
one  had  followed  me.  I  lifted  up  the 
lantern  and  peered  into  the  surrounding 
darkness.  I  could  see  no  one,  and  yet  I 
was  sure  that  something  had  stirred. 

"There  it  was  again— and  then  I  saw 
at  the  woman's  feet  what  looked  like  a 
bundle  of  rags.  It  stirred  again,  and  I 
went  over  and  found — a  little  child, — I 
should  judge  about  a  year  old. 

"Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  I 
left  the  house  of  death  and  made  my  way 
back  to  the  rectory.  Next  day  I  went  to 
see  what  had  been  done  with  the  child. 
I  found  the  town  authorities  had  already 
taken  it  and  put  it  in  a  non- Catholic  Home. 
You  know  what  bigots  they  were  in  those 
days  in  Rowley,  but  the  voice  of  that 
woman  calling  for  a  priest  haunted  me, 
and  I  fought  the  case  hard  to  get  possession 
of  the  child.  It  would  have  been  difficult  to 
prove  that  the  baby  was  a  Catholic,  as  I 
had  never  even  seen  the  mother;  but 
on  its  dress  there  was  a  medallion  with 
a  picture  of  our  Blessed  Lady  on  it.  So  I 
got  possession  of  the  child  and  was  made 
guardian  by  the  Court.  I  have  been 
responsible  for  her  ever  since.  The  Sisters 
reared  her  for  me,  and  she's  a  thoroughly 
good  Catholic  girl.  Wasn't  it  fortunate 
that  she  should  have  been  wearing  that 
picture  of  the  Blessed  Virgin?  Otherwise 
I  never  could  have  rescued  her. 

' '  Ah,  here  she  comes  now  with  the  logs ! 
Katey,  I  was  telling  Father  John  about 
your  medallion  of  Our  Lady.  Have 
you  got  it  with  you?  Father  John  would 
like  to  see  it." 

From  her  collar  she  unpinned  the 
medallion  and  handed  it  to  Father  John. 

He  started  with  surprise  —  his  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  which  Katey,  however, 
did  not  notice.  He  could  not  speak. 
"My  mother's  brooch,"  he  said,  when 
she  had  left  the  room. 


560 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Yet  Another  Answered  "  Memorare." 


BY  J.  GODFREY  RAUPERT,  K.  S.  G. 

IT  was  two  years  or  so  after  my  sub- 
mission to  the  Church.  I  was  in 
Germany  on  a  visit  to  my  relatives,  and 
to  recover  my  health,  which  had  been 
seriously  undermined  by  the  severe  and 
prolonged  mental  conflict  through  which 
I  had  so  lately  passed.  But  deep  down  in 
my  mind  there  was  the  ardent  desire  to 
visit  Rome  in  order  to  see  the  famous  Pope, 
for  whom,  even  before  my  entrance  into 
the  Church,  I  had  entertained  feelings  of 
profound  respect  and  admiration,  and 
who  would,  I  felt  sure,  be  regarded  in 
all  times  to  come  as  one  of  the  most 
striking  and  interesting  personalities  of 
the  century. 

Cardinal  Vaughan,  who  had  always 
shown  me  much  kindness,  had  told  me 
that  he  would  either  present  me,  his  spir- 
itual son,  personally  to  the  Pope,  or  that, 
should  this  prove  impossible,  he  would 
give  me  introductions  that  would  enable 
me  to  see  my  wishes  realized.  Yet  it  was 
rumored  that  Leo  was  seriously  ill,  and 
that,  in  view  of  his  advanced  age,  his  life 
was  literally  hanging  by  a  thread.  I 
therefore  wrote  to  Cardinal  Vaughan,  ask- 
ing him  for  the  promised  introductions, 
and  intimating  my  resolution  to  proceed 
to  Rome  at  once.  They  came  by  return 
of  post,  and  were  addressed  to  person- 
ages in  Rome  in  closest  contact  with 
the  Vatican,  and  likely  to  afford  me  every 
possible  aid  towards  the  gratification  of 
my  wishes.  I  started  for  the  Eternal  City, 
confiding  my  aims  and  my  cause  to  our 
Blessed  Lady,  who  had  so  often  proved  a 
powerful  friend  and  helper  to  me  through- 
out the  entire  journey  South,  and  I 
diligently  repeated  the  familiar  words  of 
the  Memorare. 

On  the  day  I  left  Germany  news  came 
that  the  Pope's  indisposition  had  assumed 
a  grave  character,  and  that  an  operation 
might  be  found  to  be  the  only  chance  of 


prolonging  his  life.  At  the  first  Italian 
station  to  which  we  came  it  was  rumored 
that  the  operation  had  been  performed 
and  that  the  Holy  Father's  condition  was 
critical.  When  I  reached  Florence,  late  at 
night,  papers  were  handed  into  the  train, 
announcing  that  the  Pope  was  dead.  I 
felt  greatly  distressed  and  disappointed; 
but,  moved  by  something  approaching  an 
intuition,  or  it  may  be  by  the  force  of 
habit,  I  continued  to  recite  the  Memorare. 
At  a  station  or  two  before  Rome,  the 
earlier  statement  was  not  only  emphatically 
contradicted,  but  it  was  reported  that  the 
Pope  was  decidedly  better,  and  that 
there  was  every  prospect  of  his  making  a 
complete  recovery.  When  I  arrived  in 
Rome  I  found  this  favorable  news  con- 
firmed on  personal  inquiry  at  the  Vatican. 
The  Swiss  on  guard  assured  me  that  all 
was  well,  and  that  the  Holy  Father  was 
fast  gaining  strength. 

On  the  following  day  I  presented  one 
of  my  letters  of  introduction,  which  was 
addressed  to  Monsignor  (now  Cardinal) 
Bisletti,  through  whom  all  arrangements 
for  audiences  were  then  made.  Monsignor 
Bisletti  was  kindness  and  courtesy  itself, 
but,  of  course,  stated  very  decisively  that 
audiences  would  be  quite  out  of  the  ques- 
tion for  a  long  time  to  come.  He  told 
me  that  even  royal  personages  then  in 
Rome  had  no  prospect  of  seeing  the  Holy 
Father,— that  instructions  to  this  effect 
had  that  very  day  been  sent  to  them. 

I  recognized  the  entire  reasonableness  of 
the  decision,  and  determined  to  make  the 
best  of  the  situation  by  making  myself 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  inner  life 
of  Rome  and  by  studying  its  interesting 
pagan  and  Christian  monuments.  My 
other  letters  of  introduction,  which  I 
presented  in  due  course,  brought  me  in 
personal  touch  with  many  interesting  and 
well-known  personages  in  Rome.  But  I 
did  not  discontinue  the  daily  recitation 
of  the  Memorare. 

I  thoroughly  enjoyed  Rome,  and  seized 
eVery  opportunity  of  meeting  thoughtful 
students  and  theologians,  with  whom  I 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


561 


discussed  those  problems  of  psychical  re- 
search in  which  I  was  taking  a  keen  and 
growing  interest.  Still  I  was  never  for  a 
moment  unconscious  of  the  sense  of  a 
great  disappointment.  It  was  Leo  I  had 
come  to  see;  it  was  he  who  filled  my 
thoughts  and  who  dominated  my  imagina- 
tion. Every  night,  as  I  returned  to  my 
hotel,  I  realized  that  there  was  absolutely 
no  hope;  every  morning  my  hopes  revived 
and  I  recited  the  Memorare. 

I  had  presented  my  letter  of  introduction 
to  his -Eminence  Cardinal  (then  Monsignor) 
Merry,  del  Val,  who  was  in  daily  personal 
contact  with  the  revered  Pope,  and  I 
had  seen  him  several  times  since.  But  he, 
too,  gave  me  no  hope.  At  a  luncheon  given 
at  S.  Sylvestro  in  honor  of  the  consecra- 
tion of  the  late  Bishop  Brindle,  at  which 
I  sat  next  to  Monsignor  Merry  del  Val,  I 
had  the  opportunity  of  ascertaining  the 
actual  state  of  things,  and  that  hope  would 
indeed  have  to  be  abandoned.  The  Pope 
was  up  and  about,  was  in  good  spirits, 
but  still  so  feeble  that  the  thought  of 
audiences  was  not  likely  to  be  entertained 
for  many  weeks  to  come. 

The  time  allowed  me  on  my  ticket  was 
drawing  to  a  close;  it  was  necessary  for 
me,  therefore,  to  think  of  my  departure 
from  Rome.  In  spite  of  all  this,  I  continued 
to  recite  the  Memorare;  and,  full  of  confi- 
dence in  Our  Lady's  intercessory  power,  I 
went  to  the  railway  office  and  had  my  ticket 
prolonged  for  a  week.  At  the  end  of  that 
week  the  situation  remained  unchanged; 
but  I  had  the  ticket  prolonged  a  second 
time,  all  the  while  continuing  to  recite 
the  familiar  prayer.  Realizing,  however, 
that  this  kind  of  thing  could  not  go  on 
indefinitely,  that  my  exchequer,  moreover, 
was  exhausted,  and  my  return  to  England 
was  becoming  a  necessity,  I  made  final 
arrangements  for  my  departure.  And  it 
was  at  the  very  last  hour  that  the  unexpected 
and  seemingly  impossible  happened. 

When  his  Eminence  Cardinal  Vaughan 
sent  me  those  various  letters  of  introduction 
to  Germany,  he  intimated  at  the  same  time 
that  it  would  be  well  for  me  to  have  a 


copy  of  my  book,  giving  the  history  of 
my  conversion,  suitably  bound,  for  pres- 
entation to  the  Holy  Father,  since  Leo 
was  known  warmly  to  appreciate  personal 
gifts  of  that  kind.  I  had  brought  the  copy, 
bound  in  white  satin,  with  the  Papal  arms 
stamped  in  gold  upon  the  cover,  with  me 
from  Germany;  but,  realizing  the  impos- 
sibility of  presenting  it  personally  to  the 
Holy  Father,  I  took  it  to  the  Vatican  on 
the  day  preceding  the  day  of  my  con- 
templated departure,  in  order  to  leave  it 
in  the  hands  of  Monsignor  Merry  del  Val. 
He  received  me  with  great  kindness ;  'and, 
to  my  delight,  told  me  that  he*and  other 
personages  at  the  Vatican  were  most 
anxious  that  I  should  see  the  Pope,  and 
that  it  was  a  pity  I  could  not  stay  on 
in  Rome.  There  was  a  possibility,  he 
said,  of  Cardinal  Vaughan's  coming  there 
shortly  in  order  personally  to  ascertain 
the  Holy  Father's  views  on  an  important 
matter ;  and  that  it  would,  in  that  case,  be 
an  easy  thing  for  his  Eminence  to  take 
me  with  him  to  the  Pope. 

I  wefghed  the  matter  fully  in  my  mind, 
but  at  the  same  time  realized  that  I  could 
not  possibly  delay  any  longer.  With  a  sad 
heart,  I  finished  my  preparations  for 
departure,  and  spent  the  remainder  of  the 
day  paying  farewell  visits.  In  the  evening 
I  received  a  line  from  Monsignor  Merry 
del  Val,  asking  me  to  come  to  the  Vatican 
at  once.  He  told  me  on  my  arrival  that 
they  had  received  information  that 
Cardinal  Vaughan  was  on  his  way  to 
Rome, — that  he  would,  in  all  probability, 
arrive  at  midnight.  It  was  not  usual,  he 
added,  even  for  a  Cardinal,  to  be  received 
by  the  Pope  on  the  day  following  his 
arrival.  The  Cardinal,  moreover,  was 
known  to  be  suffering  from  heart  weakness, 
and  would,  doubtless,  require  rest  after 
the  long  and  fatiguing  journey  from 
London. 

The  Pope  had,  however,  been  informed 
of  the  circumstances,  and  had  consented 
to  receive  his  Eminence  on  the  morrow. 
I  was  instructed,  therefore,  to  come  to  the 
English  College,  where  the  Cardinal  would 


562 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


be  staying,  ready  dressed,  at  an  early  hour 
on  the  following  day.  A  letter  would 
meanwhile  be  written  to  his  Eminence, 
informing  him  of  the  arrangements  made, 
and  asking  him,  if  at  all  possible,  to  fall  in 
with  them.  I  need  not  say  that  I  spent  a 
restless,  though  prayerful  night,  repeating 
the  Memorare  over  and  over  again. 

At  an  early  hour  next  day  I  drove,  ready 
dressed,  to  the  English  College.  On  entering 
the  building,  I  saw  a  Cardinal's  carriage, 
with  a  Cardinal's  great  cloak  lying  inside, 
slowly  driving  up  and  down.  I  knew  then 
that  the  unexpected  and  seemingly  impos- 
sible was*  about  to  happen,  and  a  warm 
prayer  of  thanksgiving  went  up  to  Our 
Lady.  As  I  was  coming  along  the  corridor 
of  the^.College  I  met  Joseph,  the  Cardinal's 
valet,. whom  I  knew  well;  and  he  told  me 
that  his  Eminence,  although  very  tired, 
was  dressing,  and  that  he  was  going  to  the 
Vatican  at  eleven  o'clock.  A  few  moments 
later  the  Cardinal  came  out  of  his  bedroom 
and  greeted  me  with  that  charming  smile 
of  his  which  I  knew  so  well.  "Yes,"  he 
exclaimed,  "we  are  going  to  the  Vatican, 
and  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  presenting 
my  son  in  the  Faith  to  the  Holy  Father!" 
Half  an  hour  later  I  was  sitting  next  to 
the  Cardinal,  driving  to  the  Vatican  for  a 
private  audience  with  Leo  XIII. 

I  was  like  a  man  in  a  dream.  I  realized 
more  than  I  have  ever  realized  in  my  life 
that  "there  are  more  things  in  heaven  and 
on  earth  than  is  dreamt  of  in  our  philoso- 
phy." Who  but  a  hardened  sceptic  could 
doubt  that,  in  view  of  the  extraordinary 
sequence  of  events  ?  When  we  entered  the 
Holy  Father's  anteroom,  Monsignor  Merry 
del  Val,  with  exquisite  courtesy,  handed 
me  my  book,  which  he  had  retained,  so 
that  I  might  have  the  pleasure  of  per- 
sonally presenting  it  to  the  Pope. 

The  audience  itself  will  always  remain 
one  of  the  most  interesting  and  moving 
incidents  in  the  history  of  my  complex  and 
eventful  life.  I  can  to  this  day  vividly  recall 
every  detail  of  it.  The  Cardinal  explained 
to  the  Holy  Father  the  circumstances  of 
my  conversion,  the  bitter  sacrifice  which  I 


had  been  called  upon  to  make,  the  long 
mental  conflict  which  had  preceded  it. 
He  then  handed  him  the  copy  of  my  book. 
All  this  time  I  was  kneeling  before  the 
Pope,  who  kept  his  right  hand  upon  my 
head,  holding  my  little  book  in  the  other, 
attentively  listening  to  what  was  being 
told  him.  Then  he  blessed  me  and  my 
family,  promised  me  his  prayers,  and 
earnestly  begged  me  to  devote  all  the 
energies  of  my  mind  and  soul  to  that  great 
cause  with  which  the  true  and  enduring 
interests  of  mankind  are  so  intimately 
bound  up. 

I  was  deeply  moved;  for  about  Leo 
personally,  and  about  the  circumstances 
of  the  case,  there  was  that  which  could  not 
fail  to  move  a  man  who  thought  deeply 
and  seriously  about  the  great  problems  of 
life  and  death.  But,  alas!  if  nature  has 
endowed  me  with  a  deep  sense  of  the 
seriousness  of  human  life,  it  has  also  given 
me  a  keen  sense  of  humor;  and  the  more 
tender  and  solemn  feelings  of  the  moment 
were  rudely  dissipated  when  I  suddenly 
heard  the  Cardinal  say  to  me  in  English: 
"Now  kiss  his  foot,  and  then  we'll  go." 

As  we  were  leaving  the  presence  of  the 
Pope  and  turned  to  him  once  more  at  the 
door,  he  affectionately  waved  his  hand 
to  the  Cardinal  bidding  him  farewell.  I 
can  not  remember  whether  they  met 
again,  those  two  great  and  interesting  men. 
May  we  not  hope  that  they  are  both  now 
in  the  enjoyment  of  the  Beatific  Vision, — 
in  the  immediate  presence  of  Him  whom 
they  both  loved  and  served  so  well? 

It  was  impossible  for  me,  at  the  close  of 
this  audience,  to  accompany  the  Cardinal 
on  his  visit  to  the  Cardinal  Secretary  of 
State.  I  hurried  back  to  the  hotel,  changed 
my  clothes,  and  an  hour  later  was  on  my 
way  to  Munich,  deeply  pondering  over  the 
remarkable  events  of  the  day,  and  over 
the  wonders  wrought  by  our  Blessed  Lady 
in  response  to  the  Memorare. 


WITHOUT  Christianity,  either  civilization 
does  not  exist  or  it  perishes. 

— Giovanni  Dupre. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Claire  Ferchaud. 


BY    II.    IIAMII/rON    GIBBS. 


r  I  1O  this  tiny  corner  of  Anjou,  where 
A  God  seems  to  have  drawn  to  Himself, 
in  a  special  manner,  an  ardent  young  soul, 
and  to  whom,  it  is  said,  He  has  been  pleased 
to  manifest  Himself  in  inspiring  her  with  a 
mission  to  the  French  people  in  these  sad 
times,  I  made  my  way  some  days  ago. 
It  is  a  country  of  miracles.  From  the 
heights  of  a  hill  the  tomb  of  the  Blessed 
de  Montfort  dominates  the  countryside. 
On  all  sides  are  small  Calvaries  and  wayside 
oratories.  On  my  way  to  Rinfillieres,  where 
the  new  visionary  lives,  I  passed  the 
chapel  Du  Chene-Rbnd,  built  in  1858  in 
thanksgiving  to  God  for  having  delivered 
the  country  from  a  terrible  scourge,  after 
ardent  prayers  had  been  offered  up. 

It  is  a  real  pilgrimage  to  reach  the  farm 
of  Rinfillieres,  where  this  young  peasant 
(she  is  only  twenty-one)  is  reported  to  have 
been  vouchsafed  a  vision  of  the  supernat- 
ural. A  tortuous  pathway  leads  up  to  it, 
winding  round  the  side  of  the  hill.  It  was 
a  stiff  climb,  but  the  view  repaid  me  a 
hundredfold.  One  looks  down  on  a  pano- 
rama which  seems  boundless,  and  which 
fills  one  with  a  sense  of  peace.  Here,  on 
this  height  above  the  world,  I  found  Les 
Rinfillieres.  Life  was  going  on  as  usual. 
Father  and  son  were  working  in  the  fields. 
The  son  was  guiding  a  plough,  drawn  by 
the  patient  oxen;  and  as  he  went  he  sang 
an  old  song  to  himself. 

I  made  my  way  to  the  farmhouse,  and 
went  in.  There,  in  her  spotless  kitchen 
and  living  room,  I  found  Madame  Jeanne 
Ferchaud,  the  seer's  mother.  The  place 
breathed  an  atmosphere  of  piety  and 
peace.  I  told  her  why  I  had  come,  and 
asked  her  if  she  would  be  so  kind  as  to 
tell  me  a  little  about  her  daughter. 

"Monsieur,  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you. 
My  daughter  is  a  simple  peasant  girl, 
pious  and  good;  but  as  to  these  visions 
you  talk  of,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  I 
know  nothing  of  all  that.  The  only 


thing  I  do  know  is  that  I  strongly  object 
to  all  these  people  flocking  here  and  dis- 
turbing our  peace.  If  it  continues,  we 
shall  have  to  put  up  a  wall  all  round  the 
place, — a  pretty  expense.  I  miss  my 
daughter  sadly,  now  that  she  has  gone 
to  Paris.  I  long  for  her  to  come  back." 

The  good  woman  ^allowed  me  to  visit 
the  chapel  where  the  young  girl  is  said 
to  have  had  her  ecstasies  and  revelations. 
This  sanctuary  was  erected  somewhere 
about  the  year  1860.  The  forbears  of  these 
braves  gens  had  been  attacked  by  some 
terrible  malady,  and  both  men  and  beasts 
perished.  A  vow  was  made  to  build  a 
chapel  on  the  farm,  if  the  sqourge  would 
cease.  From  that  day,  the  legend  has  it, 
health  and  prosperity  returned  to  Les 
Rinfillieres.  But  the  vow  was  not  fulfilled, 
in  consequence  of  which  during  six  con- 
secutive years  one  or  other  member  of 
the  family  died.  At  last  the  chapel  was 
built,  and  the  deaths  ceased. 

During  these  months,  this  little  chapel 
has  witnessed,  according  to  report,  the 
supernatural  visitations  of  Our  Lord  to  the 
young  Claire.  I  knelt  on  the  spot  'where, 
it  is  said,  she  received  her  instructions  from 
Him,  and  I  saw  the  pen  with  whiqh,  as  I 
was  informed,  she  had  written  therrf  down. 

I  am  not  yet  permitted  to  say  anything 
very  definite  about  these  revelations.  The 
Church  is  investigating  matters,  and 
theologians  are  testing  Claire's  writings. 
But  all  those  who  have  known  her  say 
that  she  is  a  simple  peasant  girl,  very 
active  and  industrious,  with  no  vanity, 
and  remarkably  pious.  She  is  quite 
unlettered,  writes  an  unformed  hand,  and 
ma'kes  faults  in  spelling.  I  saw  her  portrait. 
Her  face  is  pleasmg,  calm,  and  has  a 
gentle  expression. 

Her  mission  seems  to  be  to  approach 
the  French  President  with  a  request  that 
he  should  add  to  the  national  flag  a  sacred 
emblem,  and  that  certain  acts  of  reparation 
should  be  made  in  order  to  win  the  war. 
She  has  offered  herself  to  God  as  a  victim; 
and,  it  is  asserted,  He  has  revealed  to  her 
that  she  is  the  fiftieth  victim  who  has  volun- 


564 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


tarily  offered  herself  to  Him  in  expiation 
for  the  sins  of  the  world,  and  to  obtain 
peace  for  it. 

Claire  is  now  in  Paris.  She  has  seen  the 
President.  From  the  quiet  convent  where 
she  is  stopping,  she  wends  her  way  on  a 
daily  pilgrimage  to  the  Church  of  the 
Sacred  Heart  at  Montmartre,  and  spends 
hours  in  prayer  there.  She  says  she  will 
die  very 'soon.  Everyone  is  talking  of  this 
young  girl.  All  kinds  of  stories  are  being 
bruited  abroad,- — that  she  is  in  command 
of  a  company  at  the  front,  and  so  forth. 

What  I  have  written  is  the  truth.  But 
the  fact  remains  that  an  extraordinary 
concourse  of  people  has  turned  Les 
Rinfillieres  into  a  place  of  pilgrimage. 
This  simple  peasant  girl  has  drawn  forth 
by  her  piety,  by  her  wisdom,  by  her  exam- 
ple a  real  movement  of  devotion.  In  a  few 
short  weeks  she  has  changed  the  quiet 
retreat,  hidden  away  on  a  wooded  hill  in 
La  Vendee,  into  a  sacred  spot,  where  the 
faithful  flock  to  pray,  and  where  tourists 
go  to  admire  the  beauties  of  nature,  and 
satisfy  their  curiosity. 


A  Strange  Commission. 

RE  AT  statesmen,  and  clever  politi- 
cians  anxious  to  be  thought  statesmen 
little  or  great,  have  always  considered, 
naturally  so,  that  secrecy  concerning  their 
projects  was  an  indispensable  condition 
prerequisite  to  the  success  of  such  projects. 
Accordingly,  we  find  mention  made  of  the 
most  extraordinary  ruses  employed  by 
them  in  order  that  even  those  who  served 
them  in  carrying  out  their  designs  should 
have  no  suspicion  of  the  importance  of 
the  mission  in  which  they  were  engaged. 
When  Cromwell  had  some  matter  of 
importance  to  settle,  he  dictated  to  his 
secretary  two  letters,  one  contradicting 
the  other,  signed  and  sealed  both,  and 
then  gave  to  his  courier,  or  messenger,  the 
letter  which  contained  his  real  purpose. 
Louvois,  the  Minister  of  Louis  XIV.  of 
France,  took  other  means.  For  instance, 
he  confided  his  secrets  only  to  writers  who 


were  very  unintelligent.  Being  reproached 
for  this  on  one  occasion  by  the  Minister 
of  a  foreign  Power, .  Louvois  called  his 
secretary  and  dictated  to  him  this  note: 
"You  express  surprise,  sir,  that,  in  con- 
sulting with  you  about  a  matter  which 
calls  for  the  utmost  secrecy,  I  should 
employ  any  other  hand  than  my  own. 
Let  me  assure  you  that  the  clerk  of 
whom  I  make  use  is  so  ineffably  stupid 
that  he  doesn't  even  understand  this 
reply  which  I  have  the  honor  of  sending 
you."  History  does  not  say,  unfortunately, 
what  the  secretary  thought  of  the  matter; 
but,  as  Louvois  did  not  always  succeed 
in  finding  agents  as  dense  as  that  par- 
ticular clerk,  he  was  forced  to  make  use 
at  times  of  ingenious  expedients,  when 
those  who  served  him  were  inconveniently 
intelligent. 

He  summoned  M.  de  Chamilly  one  day 
to  give  him  instructions  on  an  important 
mission  to  be  confided  to  him.  "You 
will  leave  this  evening,"  said  he,  "for 
Bale  [Basel];  you  will  get  there  in  three 
days.  On  the  fourth  day,  exactly  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  you  will  take 
your  stand  on  the  Rhine  bridge  with  a 
note-book,  pen,  and  ink.  You  will  examine 
and  commit  to  writing  with  the  greatest 
exactitude  everything  that  you  observe 
for  two  hours.  At  four  o'clock  sharp  you 
will  have  post-horses  harnessed  to  your 
carriage;  you  will  leave,  and  will  drive  at 
full  speed  day  and  night  to  bring  me  the 
written  account  of  what  you  have  seen. 
No  matter  at  what  hour  you  return,  come 
at  once  to  me." 

M.  de  Chamilly  obeyed  the  orders  given, 
and  left  for  Bale  that  evening.  On  the 
day  and  at  the  hour  specified  by  the 
Minister  he  was  on  the  bridge,  and  wrote 
down  all  that  he  noticed  going  on.  In  the 
first  place,  a  woman  selling  fruit  from  a 
couple  of  baskets  came  along;  then  a 
traveller  in  a  blue  riding-coat,  on  horse- 
back. Just  at  three  o'clock  a  man  dressed 
in  yellow  coat  and  trousers,  and  carrying 
a  stout  cane,  walked  halfway  across  the 
bridge,  stopped,  went  over  to  the  railing, 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


565 


leaned  over  and  looked  down  at  the  river, 
sh-pped  back  a  few  paces,  and  struck  three 
blows  on  the  floor  of  the  bridge  with  his 
cane.  M.  de  Chamilly  recorded  these 
different  actions  with  all  the  detail  of  a 
newspaper  reporter.  Two  girls  with  a  dog 
were  the  only  other  persons  to  appear  on 
the  bridge  before  four  o'clock,  at  which 
hour  M.  lyouvois'  messenger,  following 
instructions,  entered  his  carriage  and  set 
off  for  Paris. 

Two  days  later,  a  little  before  midnight, 
*  he  reached  the  Minister's  residence,  and 
presented  his  report,  expressing  at  the 
same  time  his  regret  that  it  contained 
nothing  save  the  unimportant  trifles  we 
have  mentioned.  I/ouvois,  however,  seized 
the  report  eagerly,  ran  his  eye  rapidly 
over  its  contents,  and  when  he  came  to 
the  paragraph  describing  how  the  man  in 
yellow  struck  the  floor  of  the  bridge  three 
times  with  his  cane,  he  could  not  conceal 
his  joy.  He  proceeded  at  once  to  the 
King,  spoke  with  him  a  few  moments,  and 
forthwith  dispatched  in  different  directions 
four  mounted  couriers,  who  for  some 
time  had  been  ready  to  depart. 

Eight  days  later,  the  city  of  Strasburg 
was  entirely  surrounded  by  French  troops ; 
and  on  September  30,  1681,  being  sum- 
moned to  surrender,  it  capitulated  and 
opened  its  gates.  The  three  blows  struck 
on  the  bridge  at  Bale,  at  a  fixed  day  and 
hour,  were  the  sign  of  the  success  of  an 
intrigue  between  Louvois  and  the  Strasburg 
magistrates.  The  man  in  yellow  who 
acted  for  them  knew  no  more  of  the 
significance  of  his  actions  than  did  M.  de 
Chamilly,  who  recorded  them. 

NOTHING  can  be  more  unworthy  and 
ungrateful  than  for  a  person  who,  having 
forfeited  life  and  estate  for  treason  to 
his  prince,  and  having  the  one  spared 
and  the  other  restored  to  him  by  royal 
bounty,  falls  again  into  treason  and 
rebellion.  Such  a  one  deserves  to  feel  the 
utmost  rigor  of  the  law.  "Sin  no  more, 
lest  some  worse  thing  befall  thee." 

—Pacificus   Baker,  0.  S.  F. 


The  Threefold  Peace. 


E  Eavstertide  Gospels  inform  us  that 
1  the  first  salutation  addressed  by  the 
Risen  Saviour  to  His  Apostles  was  a  prayer 
for  their  peace,  and  that  this  greeting  was 
repeated  more  than  once  during  that  first 
interview.  It  has  probably  occurred  to  a 
good  many  of  bur  readers  that,  in  view  of 
prevalent  conditions  in  the  world  at  large, 
and  now  at  last  in  our  own  country  as 
well,  the  greeting  appears  to  be,  during 
this  particular  Eastertide  of  1917,  some- 
what incongruous  or,  if  one  may  say  so 
without  irreverence,  somewhat  ironical. 
Pax  vobis! — ' '  Peace  be  to  you ! "  "  Peace 
I  leave  with  you,  My  peace  I  give  unto 
you," — these  words  may  well  appear  to 
the  unthinking  sadly  inappropriate  when 
addressed  to  a  world  madly  at  war.  Only 
the  unthinking,  however,  will  question 
their  propriety  even  during  the  world 
struggle  that  is  being  waged. 

"Not  as  the  world  giveth,"  continued 
Our  Lord,  "do  I  give  unto  you";  and 
we  may  add  that  the  peace  of  which  He 
spoke  was  not  that  which  the  world  has 
in  mind  to-day  when  it  speaks  of  hoping 
and  praying  for  peace.  The  peace  which 
Christ  wished  for  His  Apostles  and  for  us 
is  threefold — peace  with  God,  peace  with 
our  neighbor,  'and  peace  with  ourselves. 
Of  these  the  first  is  clearly  the  most  im- 
portant,— is,  in  fact,  inclusive  of  the  two 
others.  We  can  not  be  really  at  peace 
with  God  if  an  unquiet  conscience  tells  us 
that  we  are  individually  at  strife  with 
our  neighbor  or  with  our  better  self.  On 
the  other  hand,  while  the  nations  of  the 
earth  are  at  deadly  strife,  it  is  entirely 
feasible  for  the  individual  soldiers  to 
experience  that  heavenly  gift  of  which 
the  Holy  Ghost  says,  "The  work  of  justice 
shall  be  peace";  and  '"the  fruit  of  justice 
is  sown  in  peace." 

Virtue,  our  personal  virtue,  can  alone 
produce  in  our  souls  that  peace  of  God 
which  surpasseth  all  understanding;  and 
it  is  a  truism  that  virtue  is  so  far  from  being 
impracticable  on  the  battlefield  or  in  the 


77/7-:  AYR  MART  A 


trenches,  tlud  it  easily  may,  and  not 
infrequently  does,  attain  in  such  environ- 
ments a  heroic  degree.  The  religious 
performance  of  duty,  whether  in  peaceable 
or  warlike  times,  is  the  forerunner  of  our 
personal  tranquillity;  for  God  wills  that 
we  owe  to  religion  not  only  that  ever- 
lasting rest  in  heaven  to  which  we  aspire, 
but  also  the  measure  of  rest  we  may  enjoy 
in  this  life :  He  wishes  that  here  below  the 
just  should  find  in  their  interior  calm  a 
foretaste  of  the  bliss  that  awaits  them  in 
eternity. 

Reduced  to  its  simplest  terms,  the  con- 
dition, and  the  only  condition,  on  which  a 
Christian  can  enjoy  true  peace  of  heart 
and  soul  is  expressed  in  the  comprehensive 
commandment,  Avoid  evil  and  do  good. 
The  faithful  fulfilment  of  our  individual 
duties- — -to  God,  neighbor,  and  self, — this 
is  the  course  which  unerringly  leads  to 
serenity  of  spiritl  "For  if  thou  hadst 
walked  in  the  way  of  God,  thou  hadst 
surely  dwelt  in  peace  forever."  Failure  to 
accomplish  these  duties— in  other  words, 
sins  of  omission  and  commission — can  not 
but  banish  such  serenity.  "The  wicked 
are  like  the  raging  sea,  which  can  not  rest  ; 
and  the  waves  thereof  cast  up  dirt  and 
mire.  There  is  no  peace  to  the  wicked," — 
not  merely  the  notoriously  unrighteous, 
branded  by  the  world  as  such,  but  those 
(apparently  just)  transgressors  whose  con- 
sciences are  burdened  with  a  single 
grievous  sin. 

Our  duty  to  our  neighbor  varies  at 
different  times.  Just  at  present,  our 
pre-eminent  neighbor  is  our  country;  and 
the  duty  of  the  hour  is  whole-hearted  and 
unequivocal  loyalty  to  the  flag  and  what 
it  represents.  American  Catholics  have 
been  left  under  no  doubt  as  to  what  their 
religion  demands  of  them  in  these  days  of 
trial  and  stress.  Patriotism  indeed  is  a 
peculiarly  Catholic  virtue,  and  it  behooves 
every  American  Catholic  to  show  himself, 
each  in  his  own  sphere  of  activity,  an 
approved  patriot.  Thus  only  can  we  secure 
the  true  peace  which  religion  makes  feasible 
for  us  all. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


The  appearance  in  recent  years  of  so 
many  books,  by  non-Catholic  writers,  like 
"The  Blessed  Virgin  and  all  the  Company 
of  Heaven"  is  something  for  which  to 
rejoice  and  be  grateful;  They  mark  the 
passing  of  "the  ferocities  of  the  Refor- 
mation period,"  and  the  lessening  of  the 
general  prejudice  against  our  holy  religion. 
The  reading  of  them  can  not  fail  to  impart 
to  our  separated  brethren  a  realization  of 
the  truth  that,  as  Eve  was  a  minister  of 
ruin  to  mankind,  so  the  Blessed  Virgin 
is  a  minister  of  salvation  to  all  men, — 
to  inspire  confidence  in  her  power  of 
intercession,  and  to  encourage  the  practice 
of  invoking  her  patronage.  "The  spiritual 
efficacy  of  a  right  use  of  the  invocation 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  the  Saints  in 
glory,"  writes  the  Rev.  Dr.  Wirgman, 
the  author  of  the  book  mentioned,  "needs 
to  be  accepted  as  a  factor  in  our  spiri- 
tual development.  .  .  .  The  holy  incense 
of  these  intercessions  rises  ever  before 
the  Throne  for  those  who,  through 
ignorance  or  invincible  prejudice,  never 
realize  the  fact  that  the  Blessed  Virgin 
and  the  Saints  pray  for  them,  and  conse- 
quently never  ask  for  their  prayers.  To 
believe  in  this  intercession  and  never  to 
ask  for  it  is  to  ignore  the  brightest  aspect 
of  the  Communion  of  Saints.  We  may  go 
even  further,  and  say  that  a  vast  spiritual 
gain,  hardly  to  be  measured  by  /the 
cautious  bonum  et  utile  of  the  Council  of 
Trent,  lies  open  to  those  who  not  only 
ask  for  this  intercession,  but  realize  in  it 
the  true  position  of  the  Communion  of 
Saints  in  the  revelation  of  Christ's  Church. 
Especially  is  this  true  with  regard  to  a 
full  and  free  recognition  of  the  unique 
greatness  of  the  QeoTo^og,  and  her  relation 
to  the  members  of  Christ  in  the  economy 
of  Redemption." 

For  Catholics  also  many  of  the  books 
to  which  we  refer  would  prove  helpful. 
The  quotations  which  they  present  from 
the  Fathers-  and  Doctors  of  the  Church 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


567 


are  admirably  translated;  and  these 
especially  are  well  calculated,  not  only 
to  convey  a  higher  appreciation  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin's  place  in  Christian  wor- 
ship, but  to  strengthen  our  confidence  in 
her  intercession,  and  to  convince  us  that, 
in  order  to  be  true,  our  devotion  to  Christ's 
Mother  must  be  based  on  a  sincere  desire 
of  doing  His  will. 

In  times  like  the  present,  public  speakers 
should  weigh  well  all  their  references  to 
the  War.  Addressing  an  audience  of  the 
farmers  of  his  State,  one  of  our  governors 
said:  "We  entered  this  war  with  the 
purpose  of  not  fighting  against  the  German 
people,  but  of  fighting  for  the  German 
people.  As  soon  as  all  the  kings  and 
kaisers  in  Europe  are  deposed  there  will 
be  no  more  war."  This  is  "buncombe" 
pure  and  simple.  Our  Government,  as 
Lincoln  declared,  is  not  charged  with  the 
duty  of  redressing  or  preventing  all  the 
wrongs  in  the  world,  but  with  the  duty 
of  preventing  and  redressing  all  wrongs 
which  are  wrongs  to  itself.  The  plainer 
this  fact  is  made  to  the  people,  the  easier 
it  will  be  to  stir  up  patriotism.  It  can  not 
be  done  by  buncombe.  Enlightened  pub- 
lic sentiment  is  everything  in  a  country 
like  ours.  With  it  we  are  sure  to  be 
united  and  are  bound  to  succeed;  without 
it  we  are  fated  to  be  disunited  and  to  fail. 
Our  country  is  in  this  war  for  itself,  if 
not  by  itself;  and,  unless  peace  is  declared 
within  a  year,  we  shall  need,  to  quote 
Lincoln  again,  "the  most  men,  the  longest 
purse,  and  the  largest  cannon."  It  will 
be  time  enough  to  talk  about  the  high 
place  of  our  nation  in  the  conference  that 
will  discuss  the  terms  of  peace  when  the 
time  comes  to  set  the  conference  table. 
Meanwhile  let  us  promote  patriotism  and 
discourage  palaver. 

The  sale  at  auction  last  week  in  New 
York  city  of  a  thirteenth-century  manu- 
script Bible  must  have  been  a  shock  to 
all  benighted  non-Catholics  who  heard  of 
it.  A  Bible  discovered  and  transcribed 


so  long  before  the  time  of  Martin  Luther! 
"Who'd  a-thought  of  such  a  thing?"  And, 
what's  more,  there  were  even  concor- 
dances with  which  to  "search  the  Script- 
ures" in  those  days.  Copies  of  them 
are  not  often  offered  for  sale,  but  they  may 
be  seen  in  many  of  the  great  libraries  of 
Europe.  The  Bible  just  sold  in  New 
York  is  written  in  Gothic  characters  on 
fine  vellum ;  it  is  one  of  the  smallest  known 
manuscript  Bibles,  the  leaves  being  only 
four  and  seven-eighths  by  three  and  one- 
half  inches.  It  fetched  $910.  At  the  same 
sale  $345  were  paid  for  a  fourteenth- 
century  French  manuscript  Bible. 

The  consoling  circumstance  about  the 
dispersal  of  so  many  monastic  libraries  in 
Europe  during  recent  years  is  that  their 
precious  treasures  are  thus  made  known 
to  the  general  public.  A  non-Catholic 
lady  living  in  Italy  is  the  happy  possessor 
of  a  Breviary  which  belonged  to  St. 
Charles  Borromeo,  and  has  notes  in  his 
handwriting.  She  keeps  it  under  a  glass 
cover  and  delights  to  show  it  to  all  her 
visitors, — -very  few  of  whom,  whether 
Catholics  or  non-Catholics,  by  the  way, 
are  as  familiar-  with  the  Roman  Breviary 
as  her  good  Protestant  self. 


The  fight  against  drink  is  a  Protestant  fight. 
—  Christian.  Advocate  (Methodist}. 

It  really  should  be,  brother.  Drunken- 
ness is  as  old,  of  course,  as  Noah  himself; 
but  it  had  become  a  comparatively  rare 
vice  at  the  time  of  the  Reformation.  Even 
now,  in  countries  whose  population  is 
preponderatingly  Catholic,  excessive  drink- 
ing is  almost  unknown.  '  To  mention  only 
one — 'Luxemburg.  A  drunkard  is  an  out- 
cast there,  and  is  regarded  as  an  apostate. 
Scotland  is  one  of  the  most  intemperate 
countries  in  the  world,  and  it  is  also  one 
of  the  most  intensely  Protestant.  A  local 
statistician  estimates  that  as  many  as 
30,000  persons  in  Glasgow  alone  go  to 
bed  drunk  on  Saturday  night  during  the 
larger  portion  of  the  year. 

Ireland,  contrary  to  the  common  notion, 
is  "not  in  it"  with  Scotland  for  drunken- 


568 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


ness.  "The  Irish  drink  much  more  than 
is  good  for  them,"  writes  an  American 
traveller;  "but,  as  a  rule,  they  do  not  go 
to  excess.  I  was  surprised  to  see  so  few 
cases  of  intoxication  in  Ireland.  The 
Irish  have  been  grossly  slandered  in  respect 
to  their  drinking  habits.  I  saw  more 
drinking  and  drunkenness  in  Glasgow  in 
one  day  than  I  saw  in  Ireland  in  ten  days." 

That  there  was  a  distinct  revival  of 
drunkenness  when  the  so-called  Reforma- 
tion began,  and  in  the  very  land  of  I^uther, 
is  unquestionable.  In  the  "second  and 
much  enlarged  edition"  of  his  "Mirrour" 
(1654),  the  Rev.  S.  Clark,  a  notoriously 
anti- Catholic  writer,  says:  "The  sin  of 
Drunkennesse  in  these  moderne  times 
began  in  Germany."  Luther's  own  con- 
fession, as  quoted  by  Froude,  was  that 
"the  world  had  become  blind"  as  the 
Reformation  spread;  and  that  "drunken- 
ness, usury,  and  a  thousand  other  vices, 
had  come  in  with  it." 

If  the  one  who  is  responsible  for  spread- 
ing a  destructive  fire  is  under  greatest 
obligation  to  help  in  putting  it  out,  then 
indeed  the  fight  against  drink  should  be 
especially  energetic  on  the  part  of  all 
Protestant  persons. 

All  things  considered,  the  revolution  in 
Russia  is  the  most  momentous  event  of 
the  year.  It  was  startling  and  it  is  signifi- 
cant. Russia,  to  most  people,  was  a  land 
ruled  with  a  rod  of  iron,  where  it  was  a 
crime  to  express  political  opinions  at 
variance  with  those  of  the  Czar;  where 
Finns  and  Poles  were  treated  like  slaves, 
and  Jews  were  in  constant  dread  of  some 
new  form  of  oppression.  Russia  was  the 
autocracy  of  autocracies.  This  impression 
was  obtained  from  exiles,  many  of  whom 
knew  as  little  of  the  changes  that  had 
taken  place  in  Russia  as  foreigners  did. 
A  sudden  revolution  and  a  complete  change 
of  government  with  little  or  no  public  dis- 
turbance was  naturally  a  surprise  to  the 
majority  of  people. 

The  event  is  significant  in  that  it 
augurs  revolutions  in  other  countries. 


A  well-known  publicist  is  quoted  as  saying 
that,  after  the  war,  a  revolution  will  be 
needed  in  Great  Britain, — a  revolution 
in  methods,  outlook,  spirit.  He  might 
have  included  also  France  and  Italy. 
What  was  so  nobly  said  of  the  Russians 
years  ago  by  the  great  Dostoevsky  might 
be  repeated  by  any  representative  French- 
man or  Italian  to-day: 

The  significance  of  the  Russian  race  is  without 
doubt  European  and  universal.  To  be  a  real 
Russian  and  to  be  wholly  Russian  means  only 
this:  to  be  the  brother  of  all  men,  to  be  univer- 
sally human.  To  the  true  Russian,  Europe 
and  the  affairs  of  the  great  Aryan  race  are  as 
dear  as  the  affairs  of  Russia  herself;  because  our 
affairs  are  the  affairs  of  the  whole  world;  and 
they  are  not  to  be  obtained  by  the  sword,  but 
by  the  strength  of  fraternity  and  by  our  brotherly 
effort  towards  the  universal  union  of  mankind. 

If  the  universal  union  of  mankind  can 
be  effected  only  by  revolutions,  then 
welcome  to  the  Revolution! 


One  may  speculate  how  a  man  named 
Donovan  should  have  been,  apparently  all 
his  life,  a  Freemason;  but,  in  view  of  the 
good  end  which  he  made,  it  seems  impossi- 
ble that  he  should  not  have  been  in  good 
faith.  He  had  penetrated  to  the  inmost 
councils  and  attained  the  highest  positions 
in  the  various  Masonic  bodies,  only  to 
make,  some  time  before  his  death,  an  ab- 
solute renouncement  of  them  all  and  to 
profess  his  entire  submission  to  the  Church 
of  Christ.  This  declaration  he  made 
before  some  of  the  highest  degree  Masons 
and  prominent  Catholic  gentlemen  in  the 
city  of  Dallas,  Texas.  The  last  five  weeks 
of  his  life,  we  are  told,  were  most  edifying. 
His  only  ambition,  in  the  event  of  his 
recovery  from  sickness,  was  to  practise 
the  Faith  and  to  teach  its  doctrines  to 
the  rising  generation.  In  these  admirable 
dispositions  he  died. 

It  was  a  singular  grace  which  this  man 
received;  and  who  shall  say  it  was  not 
somehow — perhaps  by  another's  prayers — 
deserved?  R.  I.  P. 

The  episcopal  Silver  Jubilee  of  Bishop 
McDonnell,  of  Brooklyn,  is  exceptionally 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


notable  as  emphasizing  the  rather  extraor- 
dinary growth  of  liis  diocese  during  the 
past  quarter  of  a  cvntiiry.  When  he  was 
consecrated  in  1892,  his  diocesan  flock 
numbered  280,000:  at  present  it  numbers 
793,000.  He  had  then  219  priests,  and  has 
now  442;  while  the  list  of  churches  has 
grown  from  116  to  229.  In  1892  Brooklyn 
had  60  ecclesiastical  students  and  some 
28,000  parish  school  pupils:  in  1917  the 
aspirants  to  Holy  Orders  number  360, 
and  the  school-children  63,000.  Another 
notable  increase  has  been  in  the  religious 
Orders  at  work  in  the  diocese:  no  fewer 
than  twelve  different  Congregations  have 
been  introduced  during  the  Right  Rev. 
jubilarian's  tenure  of  office.  In  extent  of 
territory,  Brooklyn  ranks  with  the  larger 
dioceses  in  the  country;  and  in  Catholic 
population,  it  is  surpassed  by  only  three 
archdioceses — New  York,  Boston,  and 
Chicago.  The  clergy  and  the  laity  of  the 
diocese  of  Brooklyn,  accordingly,  had 
abundant  cause  for  joy  in  the  celebration 
of  their  Ordinary's  jubilee. 


In  connection  with  the  subject  of  Cath- 
olic chaplains  for  the  different  armies  in 
the  Great  War,  one  impression  concerning 
Irish  priests — an  impression  very  generally 
prevailing  in  this  country — is  proved  to  be 
erroneous.  Most  of  our  readers  probably 
think  that  there  is  no  dearth  of  priests 
in  the  land  of  St.  Patrick;  but  Cardinal 
Logue  is  authority  for  the  statement  that 
"there  is  a  great  scarcity."  In  ordinary 
times  tilers  are  barely  enough  priests  in 
most  dioceses  to  meet  parochial  wants. 
The  scarcity  does  not  arise,  it  is  needless 
to  say,  from  either  lack  of  vocations  or 
failure  to  follow  the  divine  call,  but  rather 
from  the  missionary  spirit  which  impels 
the  young  Irish  levite  to  follow  the  example 
of  saintly  predecessors  and  carry  the  seeds 
of  the  Gospel  to  other  lands.  It  is  worth 
while  noting  that  the  Irish  Cardinal  is 
so  alive  to  the  advisability  of  supplying 
a  sufficient  number  of  chaplains  that  he 
does  not  hesitate  to  say:  "It  is  a 
question  whether  parochial  claims  should 


not  be  sacrificed  in  order  to  come  to  the 
aid  uf  brave  rneu  who  are  in  momentary 
danger  of  death." 

Though  not  unexpected,  news  of  the 
death,  on  the  2oth  ult.,  of  Archbishop 
Blenk,  of  New  Orleans,  came  as  a  distinct 
shock.  It  is  always  thus  when  Death  hits 
his  "shining  mark."  The  beloved  prelate 
had  been  in  failing  health  for  many  months, 
though  within  the  last  year  or  so  he  had 
undertaken  certain  of  the  most  arduous 
of  the  many  activities  that  occupied  his 
well-directed  zeal.  Foremost  figure  of  New 
Orleans,  and  one  of  the  most  beloved 
citizens  of  the  South,  he  will  be  deeply 
mourned  by  thousands  who  loved  the  man 
while  they  revered  his  sacred  office.  Not 
only  in  the  archdiocese  of  New  Orleans, 
but  in  Porto  Rico,  where  he  was  bishop 
for  some  years,  he  has  left  many  memorials 
of  his  zeal  in  the  cause  of  religion  and 
education.  The  Marist  Society,  with 
which  we  sympathize  upon  his  loss, 
may  be  congratulated  upon  producing  so 
apostolic  a  Churchman,  so  exemplary  a 
religious.  Among  the  thousands  of  Arch- 
bishop Blenk's  spiritual  children  who 
mourn  for  him,  none  will  cherish  his 
memory  with  truer  devotion  than  the 
members  of  the  Congregation  of  Holy 
Cross.  R.  7.  P. 

Several  of  our  contemporaries  have  been 
discussing  of  late  months  the  claims  of 
different  dioceses  to  the  honor  of  having 
the  oldest  priest.  While  attention  has  been 
called  to  more  than  one  nonagenarian,  we 
have  seen  no  mention  of  a  case  at  all 
comparable  to  that  of  the  Ven.  Drago- 
nettes,  to  whom  reference  is  made  in  a 
recent  Papal  Letter  published  in  the 
"Acta  Apostolicse  Sedis."  This  member 
of  the  Order  of  Pious  Schools  (the  third 
centenary  of  which  is  the  occasion  of  the 
Letter)  was  teaching  at  the  age  of  ninety, — 
of  itself  a  notable  enough  fact;  and,  an 
almost  incredible  truth,  continued  the 
work  up  to  the  extraordinary  age  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty. 


A  Hymn  for  May. 

BY    B.    G. 

(T)  SPOTLEvSS  Mother,   Mystic  Rose, 

Thy  purity  like  Carmel's  snows, 

O   may  my  life  a  candle  be 

To  burn  out  bright  for  love  of  thee! 

O  spotless   Mother,   Mary   mild, 
Chosen  to  bear  the  Holy   Child, 
Make   fit   my   mind   and   heart   to   be 
A  dwelling-place  for  God  and   thee! 

O  patient  Mother,    tried  by  sorrow, 
vStrengthen  me  for  life's  to-morrow; 
Our  time  is  brief  and  soon  'tis  past,- 
This  very  day  is  fleeting  fast. 

O  Mother,   help   me  .live  for  thee; 
O  dearest  Mother,  shelter  me! 
And  if  for  thee   my  life  is  spent, 
O  Mother,   I  shall  be  content! 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


XVIII. — THE;  WILD  BIRD'S  FLIGHT. 

|ITH  Uncle  Bill's  dying  word, 
and  Mother  Moll's  living 
witness,  removing  any  shadowy 
doubts  that  might  still  have 
lingered  in  his  mind,  Father  Phil  started 
on  his  search  for  Con, — for  Charles  Owen 
Nesbitt,  the  old  Madam's  grandson  and 
heir;  for  the  child  that,  ten  years  ago, 
Wilmot  Elkins,  by  his  own  acknowledg- 
ment, had  taken  at  Arthur  Nesbitt's  word 
from  the  burning  wreck,  to  rob  of  name, 
home,  and  heritage. 

Father  Phil's  heart  kindling  with  right- 
eous indignation  at  the  cruel  wrong,  with 
glowing  eagerness  to  restore  his  little  pal 
to  home  and  friends,  he  began  a  task  that 


at  first  seemed  almost  hopeless.  For  Misty 
Mountain  was  but  the  edge  of  a  mighty 
ridge  that  stretched  in  jagged,  rocky 
heights  for  miles, — pathless,  inaccessible, 
save  for  the  scattered  cabins  of  trappers, 
and  one  or  two  rude,  uninhabited  settle- 
ments that  were  scarcely  deserving  of  the 
name. 

A  boy  like  Con  could  wander  in  these 
wilds  for  months,  find  his  way  to  some 
distant  State,  where,  without  name  or 
friends,  he  might  never  be  traced,  and 
would  live  and  die  unknown.  But  Father 
Phil's  heart  was  in  his  task.  God  was 
guiding  him,  he  felt,  and  he  would  not 
fail.  Meanwhile  ne  could  do  mission  work, 
sorely  needed  in  those  wild  ways,  where 
church  and  priest  were  almost  unknown. 
So,  hiring  a  sturdy  little  mare  used  to, 
mountain  climbing,  he  filled  saddlebags 
with  all  that  was  needed  for  his  journey, 
and  set  out  on  his  quest. 

"You'd  best  take  the  old  trail  as  far 
as  it  goes,"  advised  Dr.  John  Murphy,  to 
whom  Father  Phil  had  given  some  hints 
of  his  purpose.  "It  strikes  one  or  two 
settlements  yet,  and  you  might  hear  of 
the  lad  there.  Meanwhile  I  myself  will 
set  a  few  watchers  out  nearer  h9me.  The 
thing  is  not  to  scare  the  lad  off  further  by 
letting  him  know  he  is  being  hunted  down. 
He  has  had  such  tough  luck  all  his  life, 
poor  chap,  that  he  will  think  it  is  after 
him  still." 

And,  indeed,  Con's  "tough  luck" 
seemed  to  be  following  him  still;  for 
Father  Phil  took  the  winding  way  of  the 
old  trail,  questioning  in  vain  at  shack  and 
cabin.  The  dull-eyed  dwellers  there  had 
seen  nothing  of  a  blue-eyed,  yellow-haired 
boy,  who,  the  pleasant-voiced  stranger 
suggested,  had  perhaps  stopped  to  ask 
for  shelter  or  food. 

"Were  he  one  of  them  ar  Buzzards  in  the 
Roost?"  asked  one  day  a  sharp-faced 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


571 


youngster,  who  seemed  a  bit  keener  than 
the  rest. 

"Yes,"  answered  Father  Phil,  eagerly. 
"  Have  you  seen  him?  Here's  a  silver  dollar 
to  tell  me  when  and  where.  I  am  very 
anxious  to  find  him." 

"Naw,"  said  the  boy,  "I  ain't  seen  him. 
I  don't  know  nothing  'bout  him;  and  I 
wouldn't  tell  you  for  no  hundred  dollars 
if  I  did." 

And  that  this  was  the  spirit  of  Misty 
Mountain  Father  Phil  realized  more  and 
more  as  he  went  on  his  rugged  way.  For 
one  so  young,  strong,  and  active,  it  was 
a  pleasant  way  enough, —  climbing  wild 
heights  where  every  glimpse  was  a  picture 
no  artist  could  paint;  "where  his  path  led 
through  wind-tossed  pines,  and  by  water- 
falls foaming  down  the  rocks  in  all  the 
glad  freedom  of  corning  spring.  Some- 
times night  found  him  on  a  lonely  stretch 
where  there  was  no  shelter,  and  he  had  to 
camp  out  as  he  had  learned  to  do  in  his 
student  days,  tethering  his  sturdy  little 
Jenny  where  she  could  find  tender  crop- 
ping of  vines  and  shoots.  After  making  a 
simple  meal  on  the  bread,  cheese,  and 
bottle  of  milk  which  he  bought  at  the 
mountain  cabins,  and  had  ready  in  his 
saddlebags  for  such  emergencies,  he  spent 
wonderful  nights  of  prayer  and  sweet 
rest  under  the  stars. 

But  usually  the  best  that  cabin  and 
shack  could  give  was  cheerfully  offered 
to  this  pleasant-voiced  stranger.  Several 
times  he  stopped  on  his  way  to  say  Mass 
in  humble  Catholic  homes,  where  the 
priest  came  only  at  long  intervals,  and 
was  welcomed  rapturously  by  young  and 
old.  But  in  none  of  these  places  could  he 
hear  aught  of  Mountain  Con.  He  would 
have  turned  back,  feeling  he  was  wasting 
time  and  effort  in  the  search,  but  for  the 
encouraging  letters  that  reached  him  at 
various  stopping  places  from  old  Father 
Tim. 

"Keep  on,  my  lad!"  wrote  his  old 
friend.  "It's  mission  work  you're' doing, 
if  nothing  else;  and  mission  work  that  is 
sadly  needed  up  in  those  lone  mountains. 


You've  got  the  leave  to  give  all  the  help 
there  you  can." 

And,  knowing  how  that  help  was  indeed 
needed,  Father  Phil  kept  on  his  way, 
bearing  blessing  and  comfort  as  he  went. 

In  the  meantime  where  had  the  "wild 
bird,"  as  old  Mother  Moll  called  Con, 
flown?  It  had  at  first  been  a  broken, 
helpless  flight,  of  which  the  half-conscious 
boy  retained  only  dull  remembrance.  For 
even  Mountain  Con's  rude  strength  had 
given  way;  the  boy  flung  by  rough  hands 
into  the  gypsy  wagon  had  "give  out" 
indeed,  and  could  stand  "agin  things  no 
more."  Only  the  wild- wood  creature's 
fear  of  recapture  had  sustained  him  so 
long.  But  he  was  dulled  to  fear  and  pain 
at  last.  Jolting  over  rude  ways  in  the 
gypsy  wagon,  it  would  have  gone  hard 
with  Con  if  the  little  brown-faced  Carita 
had  not  been  at  his  side,  trembling  with 
superstitious  dread  of  what  might  happen 
to  her  own  if  she  left  this  friendless  boy  to 
die.  It  was  Carita  who  really  fought  for 
Con,  when  the  men  of  the  overladen 
wagons  would  have  thrown  out  this 
unwelcome  stranger  by  the  roadside  at  the 
noonday  rest.  It  was  Carita  who  bound  his 
fevered  head  with  wet,  cooling  kerchiefs 
as  they  jolted  again  on  their  way;  it  was 
Carita  who,  when  they  reached  their 
camping  place  at  sunset,  brewed  the 
potion  (as  she  had  been  taught  by  her 
mother  who  understood  herbs)  that  made 
Con  sink  into  the  restful  sleep  that  was 
to  bring  back  strength  and  health  to  him. 

How  long  he  lived  in  the  gypsy  wagon 
and  under  the  little  gypsy  mother's  care, 
Con  never  exactly  knew;  he  was  content 
to  lie  on  the  rough  blanket  that  served  as 
pallet,  and  jolt  along  over  the  rough 
mountain  roads,  and  play  with  brown-faced 
Tony,  whom  the  little  mother  left  in  the 
boy's  care  at  the  stops  on  the  road,  while 
she  cooked  and  washed  for  the  men.  But 
that  they  were  taking  their  way  into 
wild  depths  unknown  even  to  the  bold 
hunters  of  Misty  Mountain,  Con  began 
to  see.  The  tall  peaks  around  which  the 


572 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


trail  wound  were  higher  and  rougher  than 
any  Con  had  seen  before,  the  mountain 
passes  deeper  and  darker,  the  springs 
by  which  the  wagons  rested  clearer  and 
sweeter  in  their  flow. 

"It  is  the  gypsy  'patteran,'"  Carita 
told  him.  "We  go  by  ways  that  no  one 
else  can  find,  by  marks  that  no  one  else 
can  see." 

"Where  are  we  going?"  asked  Con, 
whose  wits  were  beginning  to  work  again. 

"To  the  Gypsy  Glen,"  answered  Carita, 
who  often  drove  the  wagon  while  Peppo 
looked  after  the  horses  and  dogs  that 
straggled  in  long  line  behind  it.  Like  all 
simple,  tender-hearted  women,  she  felt 
that  the  boy  she  had  saved  belonged,  in 
a  way,  to  her;  and  she  talked  to  him  as 
freely  as  if  he  were  one  of  her  black- 
browed  tribe.  "Every  ten  years,  when  the 
trees  bud,  the  gypsies  meet  there  to  choose 
their  king,"  Carita  explained. 

"King?"  echoed  Con,  who  had  gathered 
some  few  facts  about  his  country  from  the 
"boys'  "  talk  around  the  smoky  fireside  of 
the  Roost.  "Didn't  think  we  had  any 
kings  over  here:  jest  sheriffs  and  jedges 
and — and  presidents." 

"The  gypsies  have  kings,"  continued 
Carita;  "and  they  rule  the  tribes  far  to 
the  sunset  and  down  the  'patterans' 
that  lead  to  the  great  waters,  and  far  up 
into  the  lands  of  snow.  It  is  a  great  thing, 
my  Conde"  (for  so  she  had  softened  her 
protege's  name),  "to  be  a  gypsy  king. 
Perhaps,"  (her  voice  sank  to  a  lower  tone) 
"it  will  be  Peppo — this  year — unless — 
unless  they  hear  I  am  not  real  Romany, 
but  Spanish-Indian  born;  and,  true  wife 
as  I  am  to  Peppo,  I  can  not  forget  that 
once  I  was  the  child  of  God,  though  I  can 
be  so  no  more." 

"The  child  of  God!"  Memories  of  the 
kind  Mister  of  the  Mountain  and  all  that 
he  had  told  him  wakened  in  Con's  mind 
at  the  words.  He  had  a  Father  in  heaven, 
that  good  friend  had  said, — a  Father  who 
was  God. 

"But  it  is  too  late  to  think  now,"  said 
Carita,  with  a  light  sigh;  "though  when 


Tony  was  born  and  I  feared  I  would  die, 
I  prayed  again.  I  vowed  to  Santa  Maria 
that  if  I  and  the  child  lived,  I  would  have 
the  blessed  water  poured  on  him  that 
would  wash  away  the  sin." 

"The  sin?"  repeated  Con,  who  knew  a 
little  less  than  Carita. 

"Ah, yes! "  went  on  Carita, as  the  wagon 
turned  into  a  narrow  dell  where  the  way 
was  carpeted  thick  with  pine  needles  from 
the  trees  on  the  cliffs  above.  The  wheels 
turned  noiselessly;  the  setting  sun  filled 
the  pass  before  them  with  golden  light. 
The  men  had  galloped  ahead  to  find  a 
camping  place  for  the  night;  and  Carita 
slackened  rein  over  her  tired  horses  and 
took  the  clamoring  Tony  in  her  mother 
arms,  while  she  talked  on.  "Great  sin  is 
on  the  gypsy  race,  from  father  to  son.  So 
Peppo's  grandmother  told  me  when  I 
first  came  to  the  tents,  nearly  four  summers 
ago.  Very  old  is  Peppo's  grandmother, — 
more  than  one  hundred  years;  but  her 
eyes  still  burn  like  fire  in  her  wrinkled 
face,  and  she  can  tell  all  things  that 
are  past,  all  things  that  are  to  come. 
'Little  fool,'  she  said,  when  Peppo  brought 
me,  shy  and  fluttering  like  a  newly-caught 
bird,  to  her  tent,  'to  leave  your  people 
and  your  God  for  a  race  accursed!'  A 
chill  fell  upon  my  heart,  at  the  words. 
'What  is  it  she  means,'  I  asked  Peppo, 
as  we  passed  out  into  the  sunlight. — 
'Old  granny  tales,'  he  laughed,  kissing  me 
as  we  went  off  to  dance  to  Pietro's  guitar. 
But  before  Tony  was  born  and  I  sat  with 
the  old  woman  in  the  tent  and  learned 
to  make  baskets,  she  told  me  all, — all  the 
sin  that  was  to  fall  on  my  child:  how  the 
Romanies  had  been  rich  and  great  in  the 
old  countries  in  the  long  ago,  with  many 
horses  and  great  tents,  with  hangings  of 
red  and  gold,  and  camels  on  which  they 
crossed  the  deserts  and  went  from  land 
to  land.  But  you  have  heard  of  the 
Christmas  night  when  the  good  Lord  was 
born  on  earth  a  little  child." 

"Yes,"  said  Con,  with  breathless  in- 
terest. "I  have  heard  all  that, —  about 
the  stable  and  the  manger,  and  the  angels 


'  THE  AVE  MARIA 


573 


singing   in   the   skies,    and   the   shepherds 
watching  beneath  the  stars." 

"It  was  the  eve  of  that  holy  night," 
went  on  Carita,  "and  the  tents  of  the 
Romanies  (or  gypsies  as  they  call  us 
now)  stood  in  the  valley  below  the  hill 
slope  of  Bethlehem.  All  the  inns  were 
full;  but  in  the  tents  there  was  room,  and 
soft  carpets  to  rest  upon,  and  hangings  of 
silk  and  gold.  For  the  men  were  proud 
and  strong,  and  the  women  wore  rings  in 
their  ears  and  about  their  ankles;  and 
they  had  come  up  from  the  great  river  of 
the  South  to  buy  and  sell  at  the  vast 
gathering  that  had  been  called  by  the 
King  of  the  Jews.  And  as  the  sun  went 
down,  Santa  Maria,  the  Blessed  Mary, 
came  over  the  hillside,  with  San  Jose", 
looking  for  a  place  to  rest.  From  door  to 
door  they  had  gone,  and  there  was  no  room 
for  them;  and  they  were  tired  with  long 
journeying,  and  the  night  was  coming  on. 
But  the  tents  of  the  Romanies  stood  open 
to  the  sunset,  and  the  women  were  laughing 
and  singing  within;  and  San  Jose  and  the 
Blessed  Mary,  who  could  find  no  shelter, 
stopped  and  asked  if  they  might  stay  with 
them  to-night—" 

"And  the  gypsies  turned  them  away," 
burst  forth  Con,  indignantly;  "and  they 
had  to  go  to  the  stable  and  the  manger, 
where  it  was  all  bare  and  cold." 

"Yes,"  rejoined  Carita;  "and  Peppo's 
grandmother  says  for  that  hard-hearted 
sin,  the  judgment  fell  upon  the  race.  They 
must  wander  without  home  or  country, — 
wander  until  the  end  of  the  world.  Often 
have  they  tried  to  rest,  Peppo's  grand- 
mother told  me  with  her  bright  eyes 
burning,  to  build  houses  and  plant  trees 
and  gardens,  but  they  who  do  it  grow  sick 
and  die.  And  the  child  of  gypsy  blood, 
wherever  they  strive  to  hold  it,  breaks 
loose  from  school  and  farmhouse,  for  the 
mountains  and  the  hills.  So  it  must  be 
until  the  end  of  the  world.  Still  it  is 
a  glad  life  the  gypsy  leads,  my  Conde, — 
glad  and  free." 

"I  wouldn't  like  it,"  answered  Con, 
bluntly. 


"Eh?"  said  the  little  gypsy  mother, 
startled.  "And  why  not?" 

"I  want  to  be  something  else,"  said 
Con,  his  thoughts  turning  back"  to  the 
Mister  of  the  Mountain.  "I'd  like  to  go 
to  school  and  read  books  and  learn  things. 
I'd  like  to  live  in  a  house  with  pictures 
on  the  walls  and  frilly  things  at  the 
windows,  and  everything  nice  like  it  was 
at -the  Manse.  But  I  can't  never  go  nigh 
there  again.  I've  got  to  hit  out  for  myself 
now, — far  away  as  I  can-  get.", 

"Then  stay  with  us,  Conde!"  pleaded 
Carita,  eagerly.  "If  Peppo  is  made  king, 
we  will  have  money,  and  our  gypsy  pot 
will  boil  full  of  all  good  things;  and — -we 
will  be  great  among  the  tribes  from  East 
to  West.  And  you  will  have  your  dog  to 
yourself  again,  and  a  horse  all  your  own, 
and — a  fine  jacket  and  boots  with  silver 
spurs,  even  as  if  you  were  my  own 
brother.  For  you  have  no  home,  no 
father,  no  one  of  your  blood  or  kin.  Be 
a  gypsy  with  us,  Conde.  Let  me  stain 
your  white  skin  brown,  so  that  the  others 
may  not  know  you  are  a  stranger  among 
us,  and  forget  all  that  is  past." 

(To  be  continued.) 


A  Memorable  First  Communion. 


the  French  Revolution  a 
^•^  noble  lady  was  imprisoned  in  a 
gloomy  dungeon  at  Paris.  Her  little 
daughter,  twelve  years  old,  remained 
under  the  care  of  a  faithful  old  servant. 
The  child's  father  was  absent  with  the 
army  of  Conde. 

The  little  girl's  one  thought  was  to  get 
admission  to  her  mother's  prison.  At  last 
she  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  jailer's 
wife ;  and  the  kind  woman  used  to  dress  her 
in  her  own  child's  clothes,  and  send  her 
to  her  mother's  cell  on  various  errands. 
For  three  months  she  used  to  visit  her 
mother  regularly,  though  only  for  a  short 
time. 

But  one  day  the  mother  took  the  child 
in  her  arms,  and  with  sobs  and  tears  told 


574 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


her  that  they  must  soon  part:  she  was 
called  to  trial,  and  she  would  certainly  be 
condemned.  When  the  violence  of  their  first 
grief  was  over,  the  mother  told  the  child 
to  go  to  a  certain  priest,  and  ask  him  to 
let  her  make  her  First  Communion  during 
her  mother's  life. 

The  same  evening  the  little  one  went  to 
the  priest,  and  he  readily  granted  her 
request — heard  her  confession,  and  bade 
her  return  the  next  morning.  When 
she  went  back  on  the  following  morning, 
he  had  just  offered  the  Holy  Sacrifice 
for  her  mother's  intention,  and  reserved 
two  Hosts. 

"My.  child,"  he  said,  "I  am  going  to 
trust  you  with  a  sacred  mission.  In  early 
Christian  times  children  used  to  carry  the 
Blessed  Sacrament  to  the  martyrs:  I  am 
going  to  let  you  carry  It  to  your  good 
mother,  in  this  hour  of  direst  need;  and 
you  shall  make  your  First  Communion  at 
the  same  time." 

The  child  went  in  solemn  joy  to  her 
mother,  bearing  Christ  the  Consoler.  The 
jailer's  wife  left  the  two  alone,  knowing  that 
it  must  be  their  last  meeting.  They  fell  on 
their  knees,  and,  placing  the  sacred  Hosts 
on  the  table,  adored  in  silence  for  a  long 
time.  The  mother  then  bade  her  little 
daughter  say  some  prayers  which  she  had 
taught  her  in  infancy;  and,  taking  one  of 
the  Hosts  in  her  hand,  she  received  It  as 
Viaticum,  and  then  gave  the  child  her 
First  Communion. 

The  next  day  the  little  girl  went  to  the 
prison  to  see  her  mother  once  more;  but 
the  jailer's  wife,  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
said  that  her  mother  was  no  longer  there. 
She  went  to  the  priest,  but  he  pointed  up 
to  heaven,  and  said,  "Your  mother  is  in 
heaven,  my  dear  child;  and  there  you 
must  look  to  meet  her." 

The  little  girl  grew  up  to  womanhood 
and  to  old  age;  and  in  telling  this  won- 
derful story  to  her  friends  she  used  to  say : 
"It  happened  seventy  years  ago,  but  I 
have  never  forgotten  the.  scene  of  my  First 
Communion,  or  ceased  to  join  my  prayers 
to  those  of  my  dear  mother." 


A  Narrow  Escape. 


To  the  north  of  Scotland  lies  an  island 
called  Bressay.  It  is  one  of  the  Shetland 
Islands,  and  its  shores  are  very  rocky. 
On  the  south  coast  of  Bressay  is  a  slate- 
quarry.  The  workmen  have  to  descend 
the  cliff  to  it  by  means  of  a  ladder.  One 
evening  a  violent  and  sudden  storm  drove 
the  quarrymen  from  their  work;  and  the 
ladder  was  left  in  its  place.  During^ the 
night  a  ship  which  was  struggling  with  the 
waves  was  driven  close  to  the  island.  Her 
crew  beheld  with  terror  the  white  foam 
of  the  breakers  as  they  dashed  against 
the  rocks.  They  knew  that  if  the  ship 
were  stranded  they  must  be  lost.  Still 
the  howling  winds  drove  her  forward; 
the  waves  dashed  over  her,  filling  the 
cabin  with  water.  The  sailors  now  climbed 
into  the  rigging.  They  were  at  the  mercy 
of  the  furious  wind  and  of  the  raging 
sea.  Many  prayers  and  cries  for  deliver- 
ance were  uttered. 

On  came  the  ship,  and  struck  the  shore. 
The  poor  seamen  felt  that  death  was 
almost  certain.  .  On  the  summit  of  the 
cliff  was  safety,  but  how  could  it  be 
reached  by  those  who  were  helplessly 
dashed  at  its  foot?  Just  as  the  ship  struck 
near  the  rock  their  terror  was  changed  to 
joy.  Close  beside  them,  on  the  steep  face 
of  the  cliff,  was  a  ladder.  It  seemed  as  if 
placed  there  on  purpose  for  .them.  In 
haste  they  sprang  from  the  rigging, 
mounted  the  ladder,  and  reached  the  top 
of  the  cliff  in  safety.  The  vessel  went  to 
pieces  so  quickly  that  by  the  next  morn- 
ing not  a  trace  of  her  was  left. 


God's  Footprints. 


"How  do  you  know  there  is  a  God?" 
said  a  scoffer  to  an  Arab  guide.' — "How 
did  I  know  a  camel  passed  my  tent  in  the 
darkness1  but  by  the  print  of  his  hoof?" 
was  the  reply.  "So,"  said  lie,  pointing  to 
the  sunset,  "I  know  that  yonder  footprint 
is  not  man's,  but  God's." 


THE  AYR  MART  A  575 

WITH    AUTHORS    AND    PUBLISHERS 


— A  third  volume  of  Dr.  James  J.  Walsh's 
"Catholic  Churchmen  in  Science"  will  be  ready 
for  publication  in  the  autumn. 

— A  catalogue  of  the  Petrarch  collection 
bequeathed  to  Cornell  University  by  Mr. 
Willard  Fiske,  compiled  by  Mary  Fowler, 
curator  of  the  Dante  collection,  will  be  pub- 
lished next  month. 

—Messrs  Chatto  &  Windus  announce  a'  new 
novel  entitled  "Jaqueline,"  by  John  Ayscough. 
We  venture  to  hope  it  is  not  a  story  of  the  War, 
though  a  new  novel  by  John  Ayscough  on  any 
theme  would  be  welcome. 

— Students  interested  in  what  is  known  as 
the  Vespucci  Problem  should  not  fail  to  consult 
the  "Vespucci  Reprints,  Texts,  and  Studies," 
lately  published  by  the  Princeton  University 
Press.  They  are  of  genuine  value. 

— "Lord  Edward  [Fitzgerald]:  A  Study  in 
Romance,"  by  Katharine  Tynan  (Smith,  Elder 
&  Co.),  is  described  as  "most  interesting  and 
delightful  reading,"  by  Truth;  and  it  adds:  "No 
Englishman  can  read  the  book  without  coming 
to  understand  Ireland's  ineradicably  rooted 
mistrust  of  England." 

—A  reissue  seemed  well-advised  of  "Mixed 
Marriages,  Their  Origin  and  Results,"  by  the 
Rt.  Rev.  Mgr.  A.  A.  Lambing,  D.  D.  (Tnis 
AVE;  MARIA  Press.)  A  fourth  edition  Of  this 
authoritative  brochure  attests  its  perennial 
timeliness  and  importance.  No  clerical  student 
should  be  without  it,  as  a  supplement  to  his 
pastoral  theology.  Price,  15  cents. 

— "Benedictus  Qui  Venit,"  by  Father  W. 
Roche,  S.  J.  (Longmans,  Green  &  Co.),  is  a  new 
Mass  book  for  youth ;  it  contains  a  series  of  very 
excellent  prayers  and  reflections  proper  for  Mass 
and  Communion  that  should  appeal  to  young 
persons.  The  text  is  set  down  in  broken  lines, 
suggestive  of  "free  verse";  but  it  is  not  at  all 
intended  as  a  literary  novelty.  The  purpose  of 
this  arrangement  is  to  suggest  the  pauses  that 
will  aid  meditation.  Bound  in  cloth  and  sold 
for  25  cents. 

— Paper  boards  of  a  delicate  tint,  handsome 
though  they  are,  would  not  seem  the  most 
fitting  casing  for  the  excellent  monograph  of  the 
Rev.  E.  Boyd  Barrett,  S.  J.— "The  Will  to  Win." 
(P.  J.  Kenedy  &  Sons.)  The  durable  merit  of 
the  ^book  requires  a  more  durable  binding. 
In  substance,  the  volume  is  a  condensation  for 
Catholic  American  youth  of  the  author's  ex- 
tended volume,  "Strength  of  Will."  A  work  of 


value  at  all  times  in  its  central  message,  it  is 
assuredly  a  book  for  the  hour,  now  when  the 
call  of  patriotism  demands  strong  and  powerful 
action  of  our  young  men.  Indeed,  readers  old 
and  young,  of  both  sexes,  will  find  it  a  tonic 
influence  in  their  lives. 

— Deliberately  writing  nonsense,  George  Ber- 
nard Shaw  can  be  exceedingly  entertaining,  as 
witness  the  following  thoroughly  mixed  meta- 
phors from  a  recent  communication  of  his  to 
the  London  New  Witness: 

Its  organ  tones  boom  majestically  from  the  battle-axe 
of  Gilbert  Chesterton,  and  fly  in  stinging  spindrift  from  the 
Jew's-harp  of  Israel  Zangwill.  In  the  great  churn  into 
which  the  milk  of  human  thought  continually  pours,  it  is 
visible  as  the  next  leaf  to  be  turned  over  in  the  torch  of 
progress.  Many  are  too  blind  to  hear  its  footsteps;  but 
those  who  have  found  the  light  can  feel  the  thin  end  of  the 
wedge  rising  beneath  the  surface  of  the  wave,  soon  to  blos- 
som in  the  asphodel  meadows  of  the  loom  of  Time. 

— In  the  preface  to  "Mrs.  Norton's  Cook- 
Book"  (G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons)  it  is  plainly  stated 
that  "to  become  a  good  cook  one  must  love  the 
work  and  never  find  it  too  hard  or  disagreeable, 
and  must  be  impervious  to  heat  or  cold."  It 
is  a  high  and  hard  avocation.  Too  many  cooks, 
it  is  to  be  feared,  do  not  cook  con  amore,  and  are 
extremely  sensitive  to  atmospheric  mutations. 
The  very  sight  of  this  appetizing  volume  of 
634  pages,  with  its  carefully  prepared  index, 
should  make  all  cooks  take  heart  again,  though 
we  do  not  see  how  it  can  promote  imperviousness 
to  heat  and  cold.  It  must  be  that  cooks,  like 
poets,  are  born,  not  made,  constitutionally 
immune  from  temperature,  so  to  speak.  In  the 
words  of  the  advertiser,  the  present  work  should 
"bring  joy  to  many  a  jaded  appetite."  It  is 
the  king  of  cook-books,  and  so  deserves  to  have 
its  full  title  given — "Mrs.  Nortons'  Cook-Book: 
Selecting,  Cooking,  and  Serving  for  the  Home 
Table."  Price  $2.50,  net. 

— What  is  a  novel?  "A  good  story  well  told," 
answers  Professor  Phelps.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
Father  Maher's  new  novel,  "Gold  Must  Be 
Tried  by  Fire,"  fits  the  definition.  It  is  a  good 
story  and  it  is  particularly  well  told.  It  is  the 
second  novel  by  Richard  Aumerle  Maher  to  be 
published  by  the  Macmillan  Co.  (By  the  way, 
his  publishers  refer  to  him  as  Mr.  Maher,  and 
there  is  nothing  in  the  title-page  to  indicate 
that  the  author  is  a  priest  and  an  Augustinian 
friar.)  This  would  seem  to  argue  a  reading 
public  fairly  established.  Father  Maher's  readers 
will  find  in  his  latest  offering  a  plot  perhaps  not 
so  fresh  as  that  involved  in  "The  Shepherd  of 
the  North,"  but  they  will  find  a  much  firmer 
handling  of  the  story  elements.  Here  is  a  story 


576 


THE  AYE  M-ARIA 


that  does  "grip"  you  from  the  start,  and  holds 
you  till  the  last  page.  Its  two  chief  characters 
are  really  human,'  not  super-mortals,  though 
one  is  perforce  the  masterful  man,  and  the  other 
the  superior  girl.  "Gold  Must  Be  Tried  by 
Fire"  is  no  dreadful  problem  novel,  but  an 
exceptionally  interesting  tale  of  wholesome 
romance,  laid  against  a  realistic  background  of 
industrial  life.  It  is  the  best  popular  novel  we 
have  seen  since  "V.  V.'s  Eyes,"  with  which 
it  has  many  excellences  in  common. 

-"Hurrah  and  Hallelujah"  (George  II. 
Doran  Co.)  is  a  translation,  by  Jessie  Brochner, 
from  the  Danish  of  Dr.  J.  P.  Bang,  professor 
of  theology  at  the  University  of  Copenhagen; 
the  Introduction  to  the  work  being  by  the 
Canadian  author,  Ralph  Connpr.  The  peculiar 
title  of  the  book  is  identical  with  that  of  a  vol- 
ume of  poems  published  by  a  German  pastor, 
Dietrich  Vorwerk,  and  has  been  adopted  by 
Dr.  Bang  as  being  "absolutely  characteristic 
of  the  German  spirit:'"  The  contents  of  this 
book  are  made  up  almost  entirely  of  quotations 
embodying  the  teaching  of  German  poets, 
professors,  and  preachers.  Coming  as  it  does 
from  a  neutral  who  quotes  rather  than  argues, 
the  work  is  a  strong  indictment  against  what 
its  author  styles  the  "new-German  spirit."  Its 
perusal  may  comfort  such  Americans  as  deplore 
this  country's  entry  into  the  World  War. 


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HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME  BLESSED.      ST.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  MAY  12,  1917. 


NO.  19 


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


Vesper. 

BY  'ROSAMOND    LIVINGSTONS    MCNAUGHT. 

0"*HIS  subtle  sweetness  in  the  twilight  air, — 
It  fills  my  soul  until   I  am  afraid. 
From  rubric-  glow  of  sky  and  misty  shade 

Comes  melody  that  mingles  with  my  prayer. 

My  simple  Rosary  with  thee  I  share, 

And  thou  to  me  a  wondrous  gift  hast  made: 
Upon  my  soul  thou  hast  a  glory  laid, 

And  in  this  hour  removed  my  cross  of  care. 

Could  such  blest  happiness  be  mine  at  last, 
What  then  to  me  were  vain  misgiving's  tears 
Which  in  the  cold  gray  mists  of  morning  flow? 
What  then  were  all  the  'yearnings  of  the  past 
That    built  my  cross   through   empty,   painful 

years? 
Into  a  song  my  Rosary  would  grow. 


Denis  Florence  MacCarthy. — A  Centenary 
Appreciation. 


BY    W.    H.    GRATTAN    FLOOD,    MUS.   D. 


MID  the  hurly-burly  of  the 
greatest  war  in  the  .  world's 
history,  one  must  not  forget 
the  memory  of  the  great  men 
of  the  past;  and  surely  to  all  lovers  of 
Anglo-Irish  verse  the  name  of  Denis 
Florence  MacCarthy  conjures  up  the  recol- 
lection of  a  delightful  poet  and  litterateur. 
The  centenary  of  the  birth  of  this  dis- 
tinguished lyrical  writer — also  known  as 
the  translator  of  Calderon — falls  on  May 
26;  and  it  is,  therefore,  appropriate  to 
give  a  brief  memoir  of  so  remarkable  a 


man,  whose  work  was  invariably  on  a 
high  level,  and  whose  verse,  according  to 
T.  W.  Rolleston,  "was  marked  by  sincere 
feeling,  wide  culture,  and  careful,  though 
unpretentious  art." 

Denis  Florence  MacCarthy  was  born 
at  No.  14  Lower  Sackville  Street  (now  the 
Imperial  Hotel),  Dublin,  on  the  26th  of 
May,  1817,  and  displayed  an  early  pre- 
dilection for  reading.  It  is  said  that  he 
wrote  some  verses  in  1832,  at  the  age  of 
fifteen;  but  his  earliest  printed  poem 
appeared  in  the  Dublin  Satirist  in  1834. 
Other  poetic  trifles  followed  at  sporadic 
intervals;  and,  towards  the  close  of  the 
year  1843,  he  contributed  a  poem  signed 
"Desmond"  to  the  Nation.  Almost  im- 
mediately his  verses  in  the  Nation  attracted 
considerable  attention,  and  the  young 
poet  joined  the  weekly  suppers  of  this 
famous  journal,  forgathering  with  some 
of  the  most  brilliant  writers  and  thinkers 
in  Ireland.  In  Gavan  Duffy's  "Memoir 
of  Thomas  Davis"  we  read  as  follows: 
"MacCarthy  was  our  Sydney  Smith.  His 
humor  was  as  spontaneous  as  sunshine, 
and  often  flashed  out  as  unexpectedly  in 
grave  debate  as  a  gleam  of  sunshine  from 
behind  a  mask  of  clouds.  Some  practical 
man  proposed  that  there  should  be  a 
close  Reason  for  jokes,  but  they  did  not 
impede  business :  they  rather  seasoned  it 
and  made  it  palatable.  MacNevin  and 
Barry  were  wits  and  sayers  of  good  things; 
MacCarthy  was  a  genuine  humorist." 

In  connection  with  the  Nation,  Mac- 
Carthy edited,  in  1846,  "The  Book  of 
Irish  Ballads,"  dedicated  to  Samuel  Fer- 
guson. This  admirable  compilation  of 


578 


THE  AVK  MARIA 


282  pages  is  prefaced  by  an  Introduction 
which  well  deserves  to  be  reprinted  in  some 
modern  anthology.  It  contains  three  of 
his  own  ballads — namely,  "Alice  and  Una," 
"The  Vale  of  Shanganah,"  and  "A 
Lament."  In  the  same  year  (1846)  he 
published  "The  Poets  and  Dramatists 
of  Ireland,"  giving  selections  from  the 
writings  of  Stany hurst,  Lodowick  Barry, 
Sir  Johrt  Denham,  the  Earl  of  Ossory, 
the  Earl  of  Roscommon,  Richard  Flecknoe, 
Nahum  Tate,  Thomas  Southern,  \yilliam 
Congreve,  Swift,  Sheridan,  Delaney,  Far- 
quhar,  Steele,  Dunkin,  Madden,  and  Par- 
nell.  This  little  volume  has  long  been 
out  of  print,  and  is  now  very  scarce;  but 
it  is  to  be  hoped  that  it  will  be  reissued 
ere  long.  By  a  rare  good  fortune,  the 
present  writer  was  given  the  presentation 
copy  of  this  book  which  the  poet  had 
sent  to  the  late  Father  Charles  P.  Meehan 
a  short  time  before  his  death. 

MacCarthy,  who  was  called  to  the 
Irish  Bar  in  1846,  also  contributed  much 
verse  to  the  Dublin  University  Magazine, 
including  the  well-known  lyric,  "Summer 
Longings,"  beginning, 

Ah,  my  heart  is  weary  waiting, 
Waiting  for  the  May! 

which  has  been  set  to  music  by  at  least 
a  dozen  composers  since  its  appearance 
in  1848.  In  1846  he  became  fascinated 
with  the  works  of  the  Spanish  poet  Cal- 
deron;  and  in  1848  he  published  "Justina" 
over  the  signature  of  "  J.  H.";  followed  by 
"The  Dramas  of  Calderon"  in  1853. 
Meantime,  in  1850,  appeared  his  "Ballads, 
Poems  and  Lyrics,  Original  and  Trans- 
lated"; and  these  established  his  literary 
reputation. 

MacCarthy  joined  a  literary  and  quasi- 
convivial  society,  the  "  Mystics,"  in  Dublin, 
in  1852.  A  passage  from  his  diary,  under 
date  of  March  15,  1853,  records  a  meeting 
of  the  "Mystics"  at  Dalkey:  "About 
thirty  of  the  brethren  attended:  Waller 
(Dr.  John  Francis)  in  the  chair;  Magrath, 
vice ;  Gilbert  sat  next  me ;  Wilde,  Starkey, 
Porter,  King,  Corcoran,  Jones  the  sculp- 
tor, Hayes,  Darcy,  Armstrong,  Thornton, 


and  many  others  whose  names  I  did  not 
catch.  Waller  proposed  my  health  in  his 
usual  friendly  manner.  The  society  may 
grow  into  one  of  some  value,  but  it  will 
require  revision  and  care." 

Somewhat  later  in  the  same  year 
MacCarthy  again  dined  with  the  "Mys- 
tics" in  company  with  Sir  John  Gilbert  and 
John  Edward  Pigot,  as  well  as  Sir  William 
Wilde.  Pigot,  who  was  an  intensely  earnest 
man,  regarded  the  new  Society  as  too 
frivolous  for  serious  workers,  and  he  thus 
wrote  to  Sir  John  Gilbert  in  December, 
1853 :  "  Ere  this  they  have  made  a  'Mystic' 
of  you,  and  you  have  sacrificed  to  the 
Jupiter-^sculapius  and  Juno-Minerva  (Sir 
William  and  Lady  Wilde)  of  Westland 
Row.  I  wish  you  joy  of  the  pleasant 
company  you  are  likely  to  meet  in  your 
new  courses,  and  of  the  pleasant  antici- 
pations of  literary  and  historical  eminence 
into  which  you  are  sure  to  rise  in  such 
company!" 

In  regard  to  Sir  John  Gilbert,  I  have  been 
assured  that  no  two  greater  friends  existed 
than  himself  and  MacCarthy;  and  that 
friendship  remained  unbroken  during  life. 
He  was  always  a  welcome  guest  at  Villa 
Nova,  Blackrock,  where  Lady  Gilbert 
still  resides.  MacCarthy  thus  writes  to 
Gilbert  on  the  appearance  of  the  first 
volume  of  his  "History  of  Dublin,"  in 
1854:  "You  are  so  accustomed  to  praise 
that  I  know  you  would  attach  but  little 
importance  to  any  new  accession  of  that 
cheap  incense,  even  though  the  censer 
were  swung  by  '  a  hand  less  unworthy  than 
mine.'  Yet  I  can  not  help  incensing  you 
by  saying  this  at  least:  that  I  shall  be 
greatly  disappointed  indeed  if  your  book 
is  not  pronounced  by  universal  acclamation 
the  most  important  original  contribution  to 
local  Irish  history  which  this  century  has 
seen.  In  point  of  interest  and  attractive- 
ness, you  have  an  easy  victory  over  all 
your  predecessors,  not  only  in  local  but 
in  general  Irish  history.  You  have,  in 
fact,  'solved  the  Irish  difficulty'  by 
proving  that  our  history  is  not  necessarily 
connected  with  insipidity,  dryness,  and 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


579 


want  of  attractions,  which  have  been 
too  long  its  position.  You  have  done  more : 
by  a  happy  and  characteristic  accident, 
you  have  shown  the  world,  by  the  color 
of  the  binding  of  your  volume,  that  an 
Irish  blue  book  must  be  re(a)d, — a  miracle 
which  I  believe  has  never  been  effected 
out  of  Dublin." 

A  postscript  to  this  playful  letter  was 
the  now  well-known  sonnet,  "Written  after 
reading  Gilbert's  'History  of  Dublin,'" 
which  may  be  here  reproduced.  In  the 
autograph  it  is  dated  March  u,  1856: 

SONNET. 

(Written  after  reading  Gilbert's  "History  of  Dublin.") 
Long  have  I  loved  the  beauty  of  thy  streets, 
Fair  Dublin;  -long,  with  unavailing  vows, 
Sigh'd  to  all  guardian  deities  who  rouse 
The  spirits  of  dead  nations  to  new  heats 
Of  life  and  triumph: — vain  the  fond  conceits, 
Nestling  like  eaves-warmed  doves  'neath  pa- 
•  triot  brows!  i 

Vain  as  the  "Hope"  that,  from  thy  Custom 

House, 
Looks  o'er  the  vacant  bay  in  vain  for  fleets. 

Genius  alone  brings  back  the  days  of  yore. 
-Look!    look,  what  life  is  in  these  quaint  old 

shops! 

The  loneliest  lanes  are  rattling  with  the  roar 
Of  coach  and  chair;    fans,  feathers,  flambeaux, 

fops 

Flutter  and  flicker  through  yon  open  door, 
When   Handel's  hand  moves  the  great  organ 
stops. 

When  Newman  became  rector  of  the 
Catholic  University  of  Ireland  in  1854, 
one  of  the  first  appointments  he  made 
was  that  of  Denis  Florence  MacCarthy  as 
professor  of  poetry,  and  this  position  he 
retained  till  his  death.  MacCarthy  then 
lived  at  Summerfield,  a  pretty  place  in 
Dalkey;  but  in  1864  he  and  his  family 
went  to  reside  at  Boulogne.  While  living 
there  Miss  Mary  Gilbert,  sister  of  the 
historian  of  Dublin,  sent  him  a  spray  of 
shamrock  picked  out  of  the  lawn  at 
Villa  Nova,  which  the  poet  acknowledged 
by  forwarding  on  March  17,  1865,  the 
original  manuscript  of  a  poem  entitled, 
"A  Shamrock  from  the  Irish  Shore"  (On 
receiving  a  Shamrock  in  a  Letter  from 


Ireland),  of  which  I  venture  to  quote  the 
first  and  last  stanzas: 

O  Postman,  speed  thy  tardy  gait, — 

Go  quicker  round  from  door  to  door! 
For  thee  I  watch,  for  thee  I  wait, 

Like  many  a  weary  wanderer  more. 
Thou  bringest  news  of  bale  and  bliss — 

Some  life  begun,  some  life  well  o'er. 
He  stops — he  rings — O  Heaven!    what's  this? 

A  Shamrock  from  the  Irish  shore! 
And  shall* I  not  return  thy  love? 

And  shalt  thou  not,  as  thou  shouldst  be, 
Placed  on  thy  son's  proud  heart,  above 

The  red  rose  or  the  fleur-de-lis? 
Yes,  from  these  heights  the  waters  beat, 

I  vow  to  press  thy  cheek  once  more, 
And  lie  forever  at  thy  feet, 

O  Shamrock  of  the  Irish  shore! 
Mary  Gilbert  acknowledged  the  poem 
as  follows:  "I  do  not  know  how  to  thank 
you,  or  in  what  words  to  express  our 
delight  in  the  beautiful  lines  you  sent 
yesterday.  The  exquisite  taste  and  fancy, 
the  poetic  imagery  and  tenderness  of  the 
verses  are  only  what  might  have  been 
expected  from  yourself.  I  believe  the 
English  are  right,  after  all,  in  crushing 
and  bruising  us:  they  are  an  eminently 
practical  people,  and  find  that  the  best 
good  is  wrung  from  us  after  we  have  been 
driven  out  of  the  dear  old  land  we  all  love 
so  well.  It  strikes  me  that  you  might  have 
been  looking  at  the  shamrocks  of  Summer- 
field  long  enough  before  those  twelve 
sweet  stanzas  would  have  come  forth. 
We  have  just  been  reading  the  poem  to  an 
English  Protestant  clergyman,  one  of  the 
last  in  the  world  you  would  suppose  likely 
to  appreciate  it;  and  he  has  become  so 
enthusiastic  about  it  that  I  had  to  give 
him  your  autograph  to  carry  away  to 
England." 

In  1857  MacCarthy  published  two 
important  volumes  —  ' '  Under  Glimpses, 
and  Other  Poems,"  and  "The  Bell  Founder, 
and  Other  Poems";  followed  in  1861, 
by  "Love,  the  Greatest  Enchantment," 
from  Calderon.  The  great  Spanish  dram- 
atist was  popularized  by  MacCarthy;  but 
in  the  years  1867  and  1870  he  issued 
further  translations  from  Calderon — "  Mys- 


580 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


teries  of  Corpus  Christi"  and  "The  Two 
Lovers  of  Heaven."  He  also  revised  and 
recast  his  "Book  of  Irish  Ballads"  in  1869. 

MacCarthy's  Diary,  in  the  year  1874, 
is  most  interesting.  He  was  then  residing 
in  Ireland  at  8  Eglinton  Park,  Kingstown. 
Under  date  of  August  9,  1874,  we  read: 
"  Dined  at  J.  J.  MacCarthy's,  with  Gilbert, 
A.  O'Hagan,  Father  Meehan;  P.  J.  Smyth, 
M.  P.;  Charles  Hart,  Dr.  Joyce,  Edward 
Fottrell, — to  meet  Sir  Charles  Gavan 
Duffy.  Gilbert  and  I  left  him  at  the 
Shelbourne  Hotel."  A  month  later  he  and 
Gilbert  had  a  fortnight's  tour  in  England, 
and  from  his  voluminous  correspondence 
I  quote  the  following  extract  of  a  letter 
from  MacCarthy,  dated  Belle  Vue  Hotel, 
Bournemouth,  Sept.  23,  1874: 

"Gilbert  and  I  spent  a  very  agreeable 
day,  yesterday,  in  visiting  some  interest- 
ing places  in  the  neighborhood  of  this 
attractive  watering  place.  We  went  by 
train  in  about  ten  minutes  to  Christchurch, 
a  small  town  four  or  five  miles  off,  to 
visit  the  noble  priory  church  there.  As 
I  enclose  two  photographs  of  this  ancient 
structure,  I  need  not  attempt  any  de- 
scription of  it.  It  contains  a  number  of 
monuments — seven  marble  slabs  and  an 
elaborate  cenotaph  of  Shelley,  erected  to 
his  memory  by  his  son,  Sir  Percy  Shelley, 
who  lives  in  this  neighborhood.  ...  I  asked 
for  the  Catholic  church  here  [Bourne- 
mouth], and  was  directed  to  a  magnificent 
building  called  St.  Peter's,  to  which  a 
very  lofty  tower  has  just  been  added. 
This  is  the  great  Ritualistic  church  of  the 
town,  the  rector  being,  I  believe,  the  well- 
known  Rev.  Mr.  Bennett. 

"In  the  grounds  about  the  church,  which 
are  beautifully  laid  out  as  a  cemetery, 
there  are  a  considerable  number  of  graves, 
almost  every  one  of  which  has  a  white 
marble  cross,  some  of  them  resembling 
our  own  dear  one  at  Glasnevin.  Among  the 
graves  which  had  not  a  cross  was  a  large 
one,  surrounded  by  a  hedge  of  ivy,  in  which 
are  the  remains  of  William  Godwin  and 
Mary  Wallstonecraft  Godwin,  removed 
from  St.  Pancras'  Cemetery,  London,  by 


their  grandson,  Sir  Percy  Shelley,  as'  well 
as  those  of  his  mother,  the  poet's  wife. 
Close  to  this  I  came,  to  my  great  surprise, 
upon  a  rather  plain  headstone  erected  to 
the  memory  of  the  wife  of  Daniel  Mac- 
Carthy, Esq.,  and  daughter  of  the  late 
Admiral  Sir  H.  Popham,  who  died  July  3, 
1847,  aged  forty  years.  The  hotel  where 
we  are  staying  is  nicely  situated  close  to 
the  sea  and  the  pier.  It  is  the  hotel  at 
which  Aubrey  de  Vere  always  stops  in  his 
annual  visit;  and,  by  a  curious  accident, 
I  occupy  his  room.  He  left  Bournemouth 
a  fortnight  ago." 

MacCarthy  took  up  his  residence  in 
London  in  November,  1874,  at  4  Char- 
lotte Street,  Bedford  Square;  and  in 
March,  1875,  ne  wrote  to  Mary  Gilbert 
that  he  was  "longing  to  sit  under  the 
broad-leafy  limes  at  Villa  Nova."  In  the 
winter  of  1877-8  he  visited  Paris,  and 
stayed  at  Hotel  Saint  Romain,  Rue  du 
Dauphin,  from  which  address  he  wrote 
Sir  John  Gilbert  a  most  amusing  letter, 
dated  January  26,  1878,  which  concludes 
thus:  "I  am  here  on  Cosas  de  Espana, 
in  one  of  those  fine  chateaux  in  that  airy 
region  which  I  am  not  yet  tired  of  con- 
structing. I  am  greatly  pleased  with  this 
duodecimo  Delphin  edition  of  a  hotel. 
Tennyson's,  mine,  and  other  great  people's 
names  are  in  the  visitors'  book.  I  dare 
say  at  the  end,  when  they  'send  bill,'  I 
may  have  to  change  my  mind— and  many 
Napoleons." 

In  1879,  on  the  occasion  of  the  centenary 
of  Thomas  Moore,  MacCarthy  was  com- 
missioned to  write  the  ode,  and  he  thus 
wrote  to  Mary  Gilbert :  "I  feel  very  much 
indisposed  to  go  to  Dublin  at  all  until 
this  Moore-ish  centenary  business  is 
happily  well  (or  ill)  over.  ...  I  feel  a 
natural  repugnance  to  stand  in  the  pillory 
of  my  own  condemnation  when  my  ode 
is  pretty  sure  to  receive  its  deserved 
quietus  on  the  28th  inst.  Sir  Robert 
Stewart  will  not  be  able  to  set  it  to  music, 
as  there  is  not  time;  but  he  writes  to  me 
in  too  laudatory  terms  of  the  verses.  I 
have  great  fears,  but  with  Tisdall's  fine 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


581 


elocution  it  may  pass.  I  shouldn't  be 
at  the  ordeal  of  the  recitation  for  any 
consideration." 

A  few  days  later  the  poet  wrote  a  further 
letter  on  the  same  subject:  "With  regard 
to  the  ode,  I  am  put  under  a  sort  of  vow 
by  Dr.  Tisdall  not  to  send  even  a  single 
copy  to  Ireland  before,  as  he  says,  it 
'comes  living  and  breathing'  from  his  lips. 
He  thinks  more  highly  of  it  than  it  deserves, 
and  wishes  that  it  should  burst  with 
absolute  novelty  and  freshness  for  the 
first  time  on  the  ears  of  his  audience.  It  is 
not  the  first  time  a  man  broke  his  vow  for 
the  sake  of  a  lady,  as  I  do  now  in  your 
behalf.  Although  the  offering  has  the 
taint  of  perjury  about  it,  I  trust  that  you 
will  graciously  accept  it  and  condone  the 
offence." 

MacCarthy  was  induced  to  come  over 
to  Dublin  for  the  Moore  Centenary;  and, 
notwithstanding  his  well-known  modesty, 
he  was  obliged  to  submit  to  the  public 
presentation  of  a  wreath  of  laurels  in 
recognition  of  his  ode.  Lady  Gilbert  thus 
describes  this  incident:  "After  this  event 
the  laureate  and  his  friend,  'J.  T.  G.,' 
returning  to  spend  the  evening  at  Villa 
Nova,  called  at  Sion  Hill  Convent,  Black- 
rock,  to  display  the  wreath  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  Sister  Mary  Stanislaus,  the  poet's 
daughter ;  and  the  good  Dominican '  Sisters ' 
and  '  Mothers '  still  relate  how  Gilbert 
placed  the  wreath  on  MacCarthy 's  head, 
and  how  the  two  serious  scholars,  linked 
arm  in  arm  and  with  peals  of  laughter, 
danced  about  like  schoolboys  in  the  con- 
vent parlor." 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  1881  Mac- 
Carthy's  health  was  failing,  and  he 
determined  to  spend  the  remainder  of  his 
days  in  Ireland.  With  this  object  in  view, 
he  commissioned  Mary  Gilbert  to  select 
a  house  for  him  in  the  vicinity  of  Black- 
rock,  as  near  as  possible  to  Sion  Hill 
Convent  and  to  Villa  Nova.  The  house 
was  duly  selected;  and  the  poet,  after 
many  exiles  in  foreign  lands,  came  home 
only  to  pass  peacefully  away,  tended  by 
loving  and  willing  hands,  and  fortified  by 


all    the    rites    of    the    Church,    on    Good 
Friday,  April  7,  1882. 

Mine  is  not  the  pen  to  appraise  the 
writings  and  poetry  of  Denis  Florence 
MacCarthy:  this  has  been  done  by  far 
abler  hands.  My  task  has  been  merely 
to  reveal  a  little-known  biography  of  a 
most  lovable  Irishman  and  a  good  practical 
Catholic,  whose  acquaintance  I  was  privi- 
leged to  enjoy  for  a  few  years  prior  to  his 
lamented  death.  His  lyrical  poetry  always 
appealed  to  me  in  a  special  manner;  and 
if  I  were  asked  to  single  out  my  favorite 
song  of  his  I  should  unhesitatingly  name 
"Summer  Longings"  as  instinct  with  the 
divine  afflatus.  By  way  of  conclusion,  let 
me  quote  the  first  and  last  verses  of  this 
delightful  song: 

Ah!    my  heart  is  wCary  waiting, 

Waiting  for  the  May, — 
Waiting  for  the  pleasant  rambles, 
When  the  fragrant  hawthorn  brambles, 
With  the  woodbine  alternating, 

Scent  the  dewy  way. 
Ah!   my  heart  is  weary  waiting, 
Waiting  for  the   May! 

Waiting,   sad,   dejected,   weary, — 

Waiting  for  the   May. 
Spring  goes  by  with  wasted  warnings, 
Moonlight  evenings,  sunbright  mornings; 
Summer  comes,  yet  dark  arid  dreary 

Life  still  ebbs  away: 
Man  is  ever  weary,   weary, 

Waiting  for  the  May! 


IF  the  Church  is  ever  pleading  for  her 
children,  so  is  Mary;  and  the  earliest 
pictorial  representation  of  her  is  the 
"Orante"  of  the  Catacombs,  who  stands 
with  outstretched  arms,  in  endless  inter- 
cession, among  tombs  still  red  with  the 
martyrs'  blood.  If  the  "sword"  passed 
through  her  heart,  the  Church,  too,  has  to 
suffer.  If  it  was  a  hidden  life  that  Our  Lord 
lived  with  His  Mother  for  thirty  years,  it 
is  a  sacramental,  life  that  He  leads  with 
His  Church.  If  Mary  could  be  suspected, 
can  not  the  Church  be  reviled?  The 
Church  is  a  teacher,  and  so  is  Mary: 
"Wisdom  doth  sit  with  children  round 
her  knees." — Aubrey  de  Vere. 


582 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 

XXVI.— Rio  FRIO. 
EVER  did  the  valley  of  Mexico 
look  more  intensely  beautiful  than 
on  that  memorable  July  day  when 
the  Empress  Carlotta  set  forth  on 
her  journey  to — despair.  Pausing  for  a 
while  on  the  piazza  at  Chapultepec,  she 
gazed,  .her  beautiful  eyes  dimmed  with 
unshed  tears,  over  the  luminous  greens 
and  golds  and  purples  and  crimsons.  Lean- 
ing upon  the  Emperor's  arm,  she  stood 
gazing  as  though  she  knew  that  this  was 
the  last  glance  she  would  ever  cast  upon  a 
valley  which  she  had  learned  to  love  so 
well.  The  Emperor  suddenly  placed  an 
arm  round  her,  and  kissed  her  with  a 
long,  lingering,  loving  kiss.  The  ladies 
and  gentlemen  of  her  suite  turned  away, 
and  Alice  Nugent  sobbed  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

"Hey!  hey!"  cried  honest  Bergheim,  his 
voice  thick  'and  unnatural.  "It  is  high 
time  to  be  stirring,  your  Majesties.  I 
have  to  place  you  safely  in  San  Miguel 
before  the  sun  sets.  If  it  please  you,  we 
must  now  to  horse." 

Slowly — oh,  so  slowly! — the  imperial 
couple  turned  away;  and  Carlotta's  glance 
fell  for  the  last  time  upon  the  gigaitic 
cedars,  beneath  whose  shade  the  ill-fated 
Montezuma  foreboded  the  destruction  of 
his  kingdom  and  himself. 

The  imperial  escort  was  a  very  strong 
one,  as  the  Juarists  were  growing  bolder, 
and  the  country  to  be  passed  through 
thoroughly  disaffected.  The  Hussars  of 
the  Empress — the  Corps  d' Elite — rode  in 
advance,  their  scarlet  dolmans  and  gold 
braidings  making  a  brave  and  splendid 
show.  Next  came  two  hundred  gentlemen 
of  the  Court,  in  various  uniforms,  all 
superbly  mounted  and  armed  to  the  teeth; 
then  the  imperial  carriage  drawn  by 
twelve  white  mules,  in  which  sat  Carlottu 
and  Maximilian-  alone;  for,  having  so 


much  to  say  ere  the  sad  and  solemn  leave- 
taking,  the  usual  etiquette  of  driving  with 
the  lady-in-waiting  and  the  adjutant  was 
dispensed  with.  Closely  following  the 
imperial  carriage  came  another,  occupied 
by  the  two  ladies-in-waiting — -of  whom 
Miss  Nugent  was  one — and  a  Minister  of 
State;  and  a  second,  in  which  were  seated 
two  chamberlains  of  the  imperial  house- 
hold and  the  Empress'  physician.  Four 
other  vehicles  carried  the  servants  and 
the  baggage.  The  rear  was  brought  up  by 
a  picked  body  of  Belgian  troops,  and  the 
rear-guard  was  composed  of  a  troop  of 
French  cavalry.  Marechal  Bazaine  insisted 
upon  accompanying  the  Emperor,  greatly 
to  Maximilian's  disgust;  for  of  late  the 
Emperor's  eyes  were  being  opened  as  to 
the  real  Bazaine,  not  the  Marshal  of 
France. 

It  was  a  brave  and  glittering  cavalcade;, 
and,  to  all  seeming,  the  glory  of  the  Empire 
was  never  so  refulgent  as  when  that  July 
sun  flashed  on  the  sabres  of  the  bold 
and  brave  troopers  who  gallantly  galloped 
beside  the  imperial  equipage. 

Our  hero's  mount  was  a  splendid  bay,, 
the  gift  of  Baron  Bergheim;  and,  being 
in  a  low,  if  not  a  despairing,  frame  of 
mind,  he  rode  as  far  away  from  the  imperial 
carriage  as  he  dared.  Ever  and  anon  a 
sudden  halt  or  a  turn  in .  the  road  would 
bring  him  almost  face  to  face  with  Miss 
Nugent;  but  he  never  once  raised  his 
eyes  to  her,  or  gave  her  a  chalice,  if  she 
even  wanted  to,  to  bow  to  him.  Officially 
he  learned  that  Count  Ludwig  von 
Kalksburg  would  be  in  waiting  at  Rio 
Frio,  and  this  unexpected  announcement 
was  quite  sufficient  to  sour  poor  Bodkin 
heart  and  soul. 

With  the  sad — nay,  tragic  parting  of 
the  Emperor  and  Empress,  of  husband 
and  wife,  I  shall  not  deal.  Both  felt  that 
it  might  be  the  last  time  that  they  would 
meet  on  earth,  but  neither  would  admit 
the  sombre  thought  in  any  way  to  ripen. 
There  was  no  attempt  at  cheerfulness,  - 
no  such  thing  as  an  expression  of  hope 
that  the  mission  of  the  heroic  woman 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


583 


would  succeed.  There  was  no  "An  rcwir!" 
"Cod  keep  you!"  were  Maximilian's  last 
words  to  his  loving  wife  on  this  side 
of  the  grave. 

At  a  little  venta,  or  inn,  a  troop  of 
Austrian  horse  metf;  the  imperial  cortege, 
and  commanding  this  troop  was  Count 
Ludwig  von  Kalksburg.  Military  etiquette 
compelled  Arthur  to  salute  the  Count,  the 
same  law  compelling  Von  Kalksburg  to 
return  the  salutation. 

"Good  God,  how  happy  he  ought  to 
be!"  thought  Arthur.  "If  I  were  in  his 
place,  I'd  fling  all  Court  etiquette  to  the 
winds,  and  fly  to  her  side.  This  fellow 
doesn't  seem  in  any  hurry  even  to  greet 
her.  Well,  what  is  it  all  to  me?  Shall  I 
say  adieu?  Cui  bono?  She  wanted  only 
to  talk  business  with  me  the  other  day 
at  Cuernavaca.  Aye,  but  she  called  me 
Arthur — twice.  Pshaw!  force  of  habit. 
And  he  turned  away.  • 

The  halt  lasted  but  one  brief  half  hour. 
The  Emperor  was  to  return  to  Mexico,  the 
Empress  to  push  on  to  Vera  Cruz.  The 
trumpets  sounded  "boots  and  saddles," 
and  Rody  came  up  with  Arthur's  charger. 

"Herself  wants  for  to  spake  to  ye, 
Masther  Arthur." 

"The  Empress?" 

"No,  sir.    Miss  Nugent." 

"Did  she  say  so?" 

"Yes,  sir,  she  did.  'Rody,'  sez  she,  'tell 
yer  masther  I  want  for  to  say  good-bye 
to  him.'"  He  added,  in  an  undertone: 
"Bad  cess  to  her,  couldn't  she  lave  him 
alone ! ' ' 

'  Arthur,  leading  his  charger  by  the  bridle, 
crossed  to  where  Alice  Nugent  was 
standing. 

"I  wish  to  say  good-bye,  Mr.  Bodkin," 
she  said  very  slowly,  as  if  controlling  her 
words. 

"Thank  you!"  he  answered;  and,  for 
want  of  better  words,  he  added,  "When 
do  you  think  of  returning?" 

"  Sabe  Dios!  " 

"But  you  will  return;  at  least — well — 
perhaps  not.  You  will,  I  presume,  remain 
in  Austria;  and,"  he  added,  with  a  ghastly 


attempt  at  gayety — he  was  pale  as  death,— 
"I  suppose  I  ought  in  all  cli<juetle  lo 
to  congratulate  you." 

"Congratulate  me!  " 

"Yes,  yes!" 

"On  what?" 

"O  Miss  Nugent!  you — well,  on  your 
engagement  to — -that  gentleman  over  yon- 
der," bending  his  head  in  the  direction 
where  the  Count  was  engaged  in  earnest 
conversation  with  the  Emperor. 

At  this  moment  the  Empress  entered  her 
carriage,  and  called  to  Alice  to  join  her. 

"Arthur  Bodkin,"  said  Miss  Nugent, 
white  as  himself,  "what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  I  congratulate  you  on 
your  engagement  to  the  most  noble,  the 
Count  Ludwig  von  Kalksburg,"  his  tone 
cold  and  measured. 

While  you  could  count  three  slowly 
Alice  was  silent. 

"Arthur,"  she  said,  and  her  beautiful 
Irish  eyes  filled  with  tears,  "I  am  not 
engaged  to  Count  Ludwig  von  Kalksburg. 
I  never  was  engaged  to  him.  And — and — 
I  never  was  engaged  to  anybody  but — • 
you.  Good-bye!" 

And  in  another  instant  she  was  seated 
beside  her  Imperial  Mistress,  and  the 
carriage  was  driven  rapidly  away. 

XXVII. — THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END. 

When  the  devoted  Carlotta  had  departed 
on  her  mission  of — despair,  Maximilian 
was  left  alone  to  face  the  embarrassment 
of  perils  that  menaced  his  government. 
It  was  a  task  for  statesmanship,  for  the 
mastery  of  conflicting  forces,  in  the  end; 
but  for  the  time  being,  one  of  negotiation, 
of  expediency,  until  the  result  of  the  mis- 
sion of  the  Empress,  with  its  glad  tidings 
of  great  joy,  should  be  known;  for  the 
Emperor  never  for  a  second  doubted  the 
issue.  Carlotta,  his  beloved  Carlotta,  fail! 
And  was  not  the  honor  of  Napoleon  IH. 
at  stake? 

When  Baron  Saillard,  Napoleon's  special 
envoy,  announced  to  Maximilian  his 
purpose  to  withdraw  the  French  troops, 
Bazaine  hastened  to  issue  the  orders  for 


584 


THE  AV£  MARIA 


execution.  In  the  distant  provinces  the 
retreat  had  already  begun;  Juarez  had 
removed  his  seat  of  government  inland 
from  the  Rio  Grande  to  Chihuahua; 
gloom  and  anxiety  reigned  in  the  court, 
and  conspiracy  in  the  Council  of  State. 

Napoleon   wrote  to  Marechal   Bazaine: 

"I  have  told  the  Empress  frankly  that 
I  can  not  spare  a  single  man  or  a  dollar 
for  Mexico.  I  have  written  to  the  Hmperor 
that  the  time  for  half  measures  is  past, 
and  that  he  must  either  maintain  himself 
unaided  or  abdicate." 

In  October,  after  a  brief  sojourn  at 
Miramar,  Carlotta,  having  failed  with 
Napoleon,  resolved  to  repair  to  Rome  and 
seek  counsel  of  the  Holy  Father.  At  all 
the  large  towns  she  was  greeted  with  every 
token  of  enthusiasm  and  of  sympathy. 
While  at  Miramar,  Alice  Nugc  it  was  her 
constant  companion;  and  to  her  Carlotta 
seemed  to  turn  for  consolation  after  the 
unlooked-for  failure  at  the  Tuileries.  There 
was  something  so  beautiful,  so  sympa- 
thetic in  Alice's  Irish  nature  that  the  poor 
Empress — -now  almost  wrecked  with  grief, 
mortification,  and  anxiety — clung,  as  it 
were,  to  her  loyal  Maid  of  Honor, — clung 
with  a  sort  of  despairing  tenacity. 

The  idea  of  repairing  to  Rome  seemed 
to  brighten  up  the  Empress,  and  it  was 
put  into  execution  without  an  hour's 
unnecessary  delay. 

As  I  have  stated,  the  reception  accorded 
Carlotta  all  along  the  line  took  the  shape 
of  an  ovation;  for  her  sad  story  was  widely 
known,  and  the  people  beheld  in  her  a 
noble  and  devoted  woman,  who,  single- 
handed,  was  fighting  for  her  rights,  and 
claiming  fulfilment  of  solemn  promises. 

It  was  during  this  journey  that,  as  the 
special  train  was  slowing  into  the  station 
of  Livorno,  the  Empress  turned  to  Alice, 
and  said,  in  a  low  but  deeply  impressive 
tone : 

"Alice,  I  will  not  go  to  Rome:  I  am 
afraid  they  will  poison  me  there.  I  will 
go  back  at  once  to  Miramar." 

Alice  Nugent' s  heart  beat  hard  with 
fright;  a  deadly  fear  beset  her.  There 


was  that  in  Carlotta's  voice  which  told 
her  that  the  very  apprehensions  she 
had  confided  to  Bodkin  in  the  bower  at 
Cuernavaca  had  come  to  bear  fruit, — 
that,  merciful  God!  the  reason  of  her 
beloved  mistress  had  yielded  to  the  fearful 
and  agonizing  strain.  In  a  moment  or  two, 
however,  the  Empress  resumed  her  natu- 
ral tone,  and  did  not  again  speak  of  going 
to  Miramar. 

She  was  received  at  the  Papal  court  with 
the  highest  ceremony  and  the  highest 
honor.  Numerous  personages,  representing 
different  nationalities,  tendered  her  their 
assurances  of  respect  and  sympathy;  and 
she  won  the  warmest  admiration  by  her 
dignity,  her  grace,  and  her  wondrous  lin- 
guistic accomplishments.  Alas!  it  was 
but  the  flash  ere  the  shadow  fell. 

In  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day,  while 
reclining  upon  a  lounge,  she  suddenly 
sat  up  very  straight,  stared  .as  it  were  to 
pierce  futurity,  pushed  her  hair  back  with 
her  beautiful  white  hands,  and,  falling 
back,  began  to  sob  piteously. 

In  an  instant  Alice  was  by  her  side. 

"Dearest  lady,  what  is  it?"  the  young 
girl  asked  tenderly. 

The  Empress  pulled  Miss  Nugent 's 
head  down  until  she  could  whisper  into 
her  ear. 

"Alice,"  she  said,  intense  terror  in 
her  voice,  "not  a  word  to  a  human 
being!  Napoleon  has  hired  three  of  my 
suite  to  poison  me;  and  no  one  must  be 
allowed  near  me  but  you,  darling.  I  shall 
ask  the  Holy  Father  to  arrest  the  Mexican 
Minister  and  Cardinal  Antonelli." 

This  attack  partly  passed  away,  but  it 
left  traces  that  could  not  be  mistaken. 
In  a  final  audience  at  the  Vatican,  she 
entreated  protection  from  her  enemies,  and 
piteously  declared  that  it  was  only  within 
the  walls  of  the  Vatican  that  she  felt  safe 
from  the  human  fiends  who  were  endeav- 
oring to  poison  her.  This  dreadful  delu- 
sion took  so  strong  a  hold  upon  her  that 
she  refused  to  take  any  food  or  drink  unless 
purchased  by  herself  in  the  streets,  and 
prepared  in  her  presence  by  her  devoted 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


585 


Maid  of  Honor.  The  most  skilful  medical 
treatment,  the  most  devoted  service, 
failed  in  their  merciful  and  hopeful  pur- 
poses; and  in  the  last  days  of  October 
the  Empress  was  taken  in  charge  by  her 
mother,  and  brought  back  to  her  beloved. 
Miramar. 

All  that  love,  ambition,  and  the  inspired 
qualities  of  true  womanhood  could  do  to 
save  the  Empire  had  been  done,  and  the 
mission  of  the  Empress  was  over. 

The  dread  news  reached  Maximilian  on 
the  8th  of  October,  a  very  short  time  after 
the  intimation  that  the  mission  to  the 
Tuileries  had  failed.  It  was  about  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  that  Baron 
Bergheim  rushed  into  Arthur  Bodkin's 
quarters,  his  face  pale,  hair  dishevelled, 
and  tears  in  his  voice. 

"God  help  her!  God  help  her!"  he 
moaned.  "Her  reason  has  succumbed." 

Then  the  prophetic  words  of  Alice 
Nugent  came  back  to  Arthur. 

The  Emperor  started  as  if  a  bullet  had 
struck  him,  clapped  one  hand  to  his  heart, 
the  other  to  his  head,  closed  his  eyes,  and 
stood  rigid  and  white  as  chalk.  Thus  did 
he  remain  for  about  five  minutes,  his  lips 
moving  slowly,  as  if  in  prayer. 

"A  horse!"  he  said  to  Bodkin,  and 
that  was  all. 

Accompanied  by  Baron  Bergheim  and 
Arthur,  who  respectfully  and  sorrowfully 
kept  behind,  Maximilian  rode  out  to 
Chapultepec,  his  head  bent  forward,,  and 
with  never  a  return  salutation  to  his  bow- 
ing subjects, — he  who  was  always  so  par- 
ticular in  touching  his  hat  even  to  a  ragged 
peasant.  Completely  prostrated,  he  shut 
himself  up  in  his  private  apartments, 
where  he  received  but  three  or  four  of  his 
suite — men  whom  he  loved  and  trusted. 

Broken  by  this  unendurable  sorrow, 
perplexed  by  the  foul  course  adopted  by 
Bazaine,  and  believing  that  the  jealousy 
and  intriguing  of  the  latter  had  so  weak- 
ened the  political  ties  around  him  that 
nothing  but  misfortune  could  be  seen 
looming  up  in  the  dark  clouds  enshrouding 
him,  he  repaired  to  /Orizaba,  resolving  to 


abdicate,  fly  to  the  side  of  his  beloved 
and  afflicted  wife,  and  leave  the  country 
without  even  re-entering  the  capital.  On 
October  the  2ist  he  wrote  to  Bazaine: 
"To-morrow  I  propose  to  put  into  your 
hands  the  necessary  documents  by  which 
to  end  this  impossible  state  of  things." 

The  next  few  days  were  full  of  uncer- 
tainty and  wild  confusion.  Maximilian 
did  not  send  the  expected  documents,  yet 
his  letters  to  headquarters  were  all  of  a 
testamentary  character.  The  Emperor's 
personal  property  was  made  over  to  Senor 
Sanchez  Navarro;  and,  with  the  exception 
of  the  plate,  the  valuables  in  the  Palace 
were  packed  and  forwarded  to  Vera  Cruz. 

A  short  reflection,  however,  and  Maxi- 
milian's drooping  spirits  were  aroused,  and 
the  inclination  to  light  it  out  to  the  bitter 
end  gradually  mastered  him.  He  deter- 
mined to  submit  the  question  of  his  abdi- 
cation to  a  vote  of  the  Privy  Council; 
and,  with  a  view  of  learning  the  views 
of  the  Mexican  people,  he  issued  the 
following  proclamation : 

MEXICANS: — Circumstances  of  great  magni- 
tude, relating  to  the  welfare  of  our  country,  and 
which  increase  in  strength  by  our  domestic  diffi- 
culties, have  produced  in  our  mind  the  conviction 
that  we  ought  to  reconsider  the  power  confided 
to  us. 

Our  Council  of  Ministers,  by  us  convoked,  has 
given  as  their  opinion  that  the  welfare  of  Mexico 
still  requires  our  presence  at  the  head  of  affairs, 
and  we  have  considered  it  our  duty  to  respect 
their  judgment.  We  announce,  at  the  same  time, 
our  intention  to.  convoke  a.  national  congress,  on 
the  most  ample  and  liberal  basis,  where  all 
political  parties  can  participate. 

This  congress  shall  decide  whether  the  Empire 
shall  continue  in  the  future;  and,  in  case  of 
assent,  shall  assist  in  framing  the  fundamental 
laws  to  consolidate  the  public  institutions  of  the 
country.  To  obtain  this  result,  our  councillors 
are  at  present  engaged  in  devising  the  necessary 
means,  and  at  the  same  time  arranging  matters 
in  such  a  way  that  all  parties  may  assist  in 
an  arrangement  on  that  basis. 

In  the  meantime,  Mexicans,  counting  upon  you 
all,  without  excluding  any  political  class,  we 
shall  continue  with  courage  and  constancy  the 
wor-k  of  regeneration  which  you.  have  placed  in 
charge  of  your  countryman, 


MAXIMILIAN. 


ORIZABA,  Dec. 


586 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


On  the  fifth  day  of  January,  1867,  Max- 
imilian, accompanied  by  Father  Fisher, 
arrived  at  the  capital.  It  was  decided  that 
the  Empire  was  to  be  maintained  by  ten 
ayes  against  eight  nos. 

During  the  next  two  months  the  prep- 
arations for  the  evacuation  of  Mexico 
were  continued  slowly,  but  systematically. 
As  the  French  garrison  moved  out  of 
each  town  it  had  occupied,  the  keys  were 
delivered  to  the  Imperialists,  who  within 
twenty-four  hours  usually  turned  them 
.over  to  the  Juarists.  All  relations,  always 
strained,  between  the  Emperor  and  Bazaine 
were  broken  off;  and  when,  on  the  5th  of 
February,  the  French  troops  marched  past 
the  Palace  on  their  way  to  the  coast — the 
fleet  sailed  from  Vera  Cruz,  March  12 — • 
every  window  in  the  great  structure  was 
closed.  Behind  the  blinds  of  the  case- 
ment Maximilian  watched  the  retreating 
columns,  and  as  the  rear  one  disappeared 
he  turned  to  his  secretary,  Mangino:  "At 
last,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  am  free!" 

"Let  the  French  go!"  was  the  cry  at 
Court.  "We  want  them  not.  Be  no  longer 
the  tool  and  puppet  of  Louis  Napoleon. 
Mexicans  will  save  the  Empire,  and  die 
in  the  service  of  your  Majesty." 

In  the  face  of  General  Castlenan's 
appeal,  as  says  Mr.  Taylor,  and  Bazaine's 
brutal  urgency  to  abdicate;  of  the  Emperor 
Francis  Joseph's  offer  to  restore  the  right 
of  succession  to  the  Austrian  throne  he 
had  renounced  in  1864;  of  the  incoming 
tide  of  Liberal  victories,  and  Juarez' 
refusal  of  amnesty;  of  the  departure  of  his 
French  allies;  of  his  former  settled  reso- 
lution to  turn  the  government  over  to  the 
French  commander,  and  leave  the  Empire 
to  its  fate;  of  his  love  and  sorrow  for 
Carlotta,  and  his  yearning  to  be  with  her 
in  her  misfortune, — in  the  face  of  all  this, 
the  soul  of  the  young  Emperor  was  stirred 
to  its  inmost .  depths;  and,  with  a  courage 
that  dignifies  all  mistakes  of  royal  lives, 
lie  came  to  an  unalterable  decision  to 
remain  in  Mexieo,  and  battle  for  his 
sovereignty,  his  honor,  and  his  adherents. 

(To  be   continued.) 


Laboratories  at  the  Vatican  and  Papal 
Scientists. 


BY    JAMES    J.   WALSH,    M.  D.,    PH.D.,    SC.  D. 


(CONCLUSION.) 

ANY  one  who  wants  to  realize  how  very 
different  from  the  attitude  of  opposi- 
tion to  science  was  the  position  of  the  Popes 
and  the  Church  should  read  the  story  of 
Father  Kircher,  S.  J.  It  is  to  be  found  in 
the  first  volume  of  Catholic  "Churchmen 
in  Science,"  and  makes  very  clear  how  gen- 
erously scientific  activities  were  encouraged 
in  Rome.  There  is  scarcely  any  mode  of 
physical  science  that  Father  Kircher  did 
not  pursue  with  enthusiasm,  and  his  great 
books  are  marvels  both  of  printing  and 
illustration  and  landmarks  in  the  history 
of  science.  Brother  Potamian,  in  his  cata- 
logue of  the  Latimer  Clark  Library  of 
the  Institute  of  American  Engineers,  calls 
particular  attention  to  the  fact  that  electro- 
magnetismos  is  the  astonishing  title  which 
Father  Kircher  gave  to  a  chapter  of  his 
book  Magnes,  sive  de  Arte  Magnetica, — 
"The  Magnet;  or,  On  Magnetic  Art," 
which  was  published  in  1641. 

There  is  scarcely  a  phase  of  ordinary 
physical  science  on  which  Kircher  did  not 
write  a  text-book,  and  these  text-books 
were  not  little  manuals  but  huge  tomes 
usually  magnificently  illustrated,  so  that 
they  are  now  among  the  bibliographic 
treasures  of  the  world  in  the  history  of 
science.  Besides  the  book  on  magnetism 
already  mentioned,  three  years  later  there 
appeared  a  book  on  light  and  shade,  Ars 
Magna  Lucis  et  Umbra;  and  five  years 
later  a  book  on  acoustics,  Musurgia 
Universalis,  with  the  sub- title,  Ars  Har- 
monics et  Discordioe,  "The  Universal 
Science  of  Music  and  the  Art  of  Harmony 
and  Discord";  and  later  there  was  a  book 
on  Astronomy  called  Iter  Celeste,  "The 
Celestial  Way";  and  then  one  on  geology, 
metallurgy  and  mineralogy  called  Mundus 
Subtcrraneus,  which  was  often  referred  to 
as  the  author's  greatest  book,  and  was 
translated  into  a  number  of  modern 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


,r>87 


languages  including  fvngHsli,  though  in  the 
seventeenth  century  Englishmen  were 
loath  enough  to  draw  their  inspiration 
from  Jesuit  writers  even  on  such  indifferent 
subjects  as  science. 

Curiously  enough,  one  of  his  books  was 
called  Physiologia  Experimentalis,  which 
might  be  translated  "Experimental  Phy- 
siology," though  it  was  really  a  text-book 
of  experimental  physics.  It  contained  all 
the  experimental  parts,  and  especially  the 
demonstrations  in  chemistry,  physics, 
music,  magnetism  and  mechanics,  as  well 
as  acoustics  and  optics  drawn  from  his 
larger  works  on  these  phases  of  science. 
This  book  of  Father  Kircher's  formed  the 
groundwork  of  most  text-books  of  science 
for  a  full  century  after  his  time,  and  it 
was  freely  drawn  upon  for  matter  and 
illustrations  in  many  countries. 

All  of  these  books  were  published  not 
only  without  opposition  on  the  part  of 
the  Pope,  but  with  the  greatest  possible 
encouragement.  Father  Kircher  was 
making  Rome  a  centre  of  interest  for  the 
physical  science  of  the  world,  and  was 
at  the  same  time  the  personal  friend  of 
many  successive  Popes,  often  admitted  to 
private  audiences,  and  asked  to  explain  his 
most  recent  discoveries  and  demonstrate 
his  experiments. 

Above  all,  Father  Kircher  was  active  in 
another  field  of  physical  science  which  I 
feel  sure  Professor  Huxley  would  have 
thoroughly  commended  had  he  known  it, 
or  rather  had  he  thought  of  it  at  the 
moment  when  he  was  making  his  scoffing 
observation.  Father  Kircher  is  deservedly 
looked  up  to  as  the  originator  of  the 
modern  museum  movement.  He  gathered 
together  a  whole  host  of  curios  of  many 
kinds  in  his  famous  museum,  called  after 
'him  the  Museo  Kircheriano  or  more  simply 
The  Kircherianum.  He  aroused  the  lively 
interest  of  Jesuit  missionaries  all  over  the 
world,  and  they  sent  him  curious  speci- 
mens of  many  kinds  illustrating  anthro- 
pology, ethnology,  zoology,  folklore  and 
•other  phases  of  natural  history  and  science 
usually  considered  to  be  much  more 


modern  in  origin  than  his  time;  and  he 
gathered  all  these  together  so  as  to  provide 
material  for  study.  The  Popes  when  they 
received  curiosities  from  distant  mission- 
aries, sometimes  deposited  them  with 
Father  Kircher,  or  willed  them  to  his 
collection  after  their  death;  and  this 
museum  is,  I  think,  the  pioneer  in  its  line, 
in  the  history  of  the  world. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  some,  there 
is  at  least  one  philosopher  physician  among 
the  Popes,  though  there  are  of  course  many 
more  great  theologians  (and  theology  is  a 
science),  many  distinguished  philosophers, 
and  many  illustrious  scholars.  The  philoso- 
pher physician  was  John  XXI.  who  had 
been  known  before  his  election  as  Pope  as 
Peter  of  Spain  and  who  had  been  a  professor 
in  several  universities  before  he  was  made 
a  bishop,  and  eventually  raised  to  the 
Papal  See.  Curiously  enough,  he  is  the 
only  Pope  whom  Dante  speaks  of  as  in 
Paradise,  placing  him  beside  other  such 
distinguished  scholars  as  Saints  Bonaven- 
ture,  Augustine,  Chrysostom,  Anselm,  along 
with  Abbot  Joachim  and  Hugh  of  St. 
Victor.  The  poet  calls  Pope  John  XXI. 

Him  of  Spain 

Who    through    twelve    volumes    full    of    light 
descants. 

The  fame  of  this  Pope  must  have  been 
still  fresh  in  the  minds  of  Dante's  genera- 
tion ;  for  Peter  of  Spain  was  born,  according 
to  the  best  ascertainable  record,  in  the 
second  decade  of  the  thirteenth  century, 
living  to  be  past  70  years  of  age;  and  as 
Dante  himself  was  born  in  1265,  they 
must  have  been  for  a  time  contemporaries. 
Peter  made  his  medical  and  scientific 
studies  at  the  University  of  Paris,  and  in 
a  letter  in  later  life  he  confesses  that  he 
retains  a  special  affection  for  Paris,  because 
'within  its  dwellings  he  had  been  brought 
up  from  early  years  and  applied  himself  to 
various  sciences,  finding  the  opportunities 
provided  for  education  most  favorable. 
After  the  deep  draughts  of  knowledge  there 
obtained  as  far  as  the  God  of  majesty,  the 
Giver  of  true  wisdom,  permitted  him  to 
take  its  opportunities,  he  does  not  think 


5S8 


77/7?  AVE  MARIA 


that  he   will  be  ever  able  to  forget   how 
much  he  owes   to   this  mother  of  study.' 

When  he  was  about  thirty-five  years  of 
age  Peter  received  an  invitation  to  the  chair 
of  physics,  as  medicine  was  then  called, 
at  the  University  of  Siena.  While  here  he 
wrote  a  text-book  on  eye-diseases.  Thence 
he  returned  to  his  native  country,  Portugal, 
where  he  became  the  administrative  head 
of  the  schools  which  existed  there  under 
the  Archbishop  of  Lisbon.  His  adminis- 
trative ability  in  this  position  led  to  his 
selection,  after  the  death  of  the  incumbent 
of  the  See,  as  Archbishop  of  Lisbon.  A 
physician  archbishop  was  not  such  an 
anomaly  then  as  he  would  be  now,  for 
many  ecclesiastics  of  that  time,  practised 
both  medicine  and  surgery  and  became 
distinguished  in  this  profession. 

One  of  the  greatest  of  the  surgeons  of 
the  thirteenth  century  whose  text-book' 
has  been  preserved  for  us  was  Bishop 
Theodoric,  an  Italian.  He  wrote  on  the  use 
of  anesthetics  as  well  as  on  many  modes  of 
operation  that  are  supposed  to  be  quite 
modern.  Monks,  and  members  of  religious 
Orders  generally,  were  forbidden  to  practise 
medicine  and  surgery,  and  this  prohibition 
is  sometimes  asserted,  but  erroneously,  to 
have  applied  to  all  clergymen.  There  is 
abundant  evidence  that  the  secular  clergy 
were  quite  free,  under  certain  circum- 
stances at  least,  to  continue  the  practice 
of  both  medicine  and  surgery. 

John,  the  physician,  Archbishop  of 
Lisbon,  rose  subsequently  to  hold  other 
high  positions  in  the  Church,  becoming  a 
Cardinal  and  finally  Pope.  What  is  inter- 
esting for  us  here,  because  of  Huxley's 
contemptuous  sneer  as  to  physiology  at 
the  Vatican,  is  that  his  little  book  on  eye- 
diseases  also  discusses  the  anatomy  and 
the  physiology  of  the  eye  according  to  the 
ideas  which  were  prevalent  at  that  time. 
His  work  shows  that  he  was  familiar 
with  the  writings  of  his  age,  and  it  has 
at  -racted  a  good  deal  of  attention  'from 
modern  ophthalmologists. 

Pope  John  XXI.  was  not  the  only  Pope 
distinguished  in  science,  for,  some  two 


centuries  before  him,  Pope  Sylvester  II. 
had  been  tlu  famous  physicist,  and  phy- 
sical scientist  of  his  time.  He  became 
well  known  for  his  inventions  for  teach- 
ing and  demonstration  purposes.  He 
lectured  on  astronomy  at  Rheims;  and  in 
order  to  make  his  lectures  clearer,  he 
constructed  elaborate  globes  of  the 
terrestrial  and  celestial  spheres,  on  which 
the  courses  of  the  planets  were  marked. 
He  ingeniously  fitted  up  an  abacus  for 
demonstrations  in  arithmetic  and  geomet- 
rical processes;  and  the  development  of 
demonstrations  in  teaching  were  evidently 
his  fort.  His  mathematical  apparatus  is 
said  to  have  had  twenty-seven  divisions 
and  a  thousand  counters  of  horn.  There  are 
some  speculations  on  light  from  him,  and 
he  was  very  much  interested  not  only  in 
music  but  the  scientific  aspects  of  sound. 
William  of  Malmesbury  has  incorporated 
into  his  chronicle  a  description  of  a  great 
complex  musical  instrument,  which  'was 
still  to  be  seen  at  Rheims  in  his  day  and 
which  was  attributed  to  Gerbert's  inven- 
tive and  mechanical  ability.  A  contem- 
porary declares  that  Gerbert  made  a 
clock,  or  sundial,  at  Magdeburg  which 
measured  the  hours  exactly,  and  that  it 
was  soon  imitated  throughout  Europe. 

What  particularly  takes  the  point  out 
of  Professor  Huxley's  passing  jest  on  the 
supposed  utter  impossibility,  of  the  Popes' 
having  ever  had  laboratories  at  the 
Vatican,  or  the  cardinals  doing  anything 
for  physiology,  is  the  fact  that 'one  of  the 
most  noteworthy  features  in  the  lives  of 
not  a  few  but  very  many  Popes  is  their 
friendship  for  distinguished  scientific 
workers  of  their  generations.  I  have 
already  mentioned  Cardinal  Nicholas  of 
Cusa,  probably  the  greatest  scientific 
genius  of  his  day,  and  his  intimate  rela- 
tions not  alone  to  one  but  to  three  or  four 
Popes  of  his  time.  In  the  thirteenth 
century  the  men  most  highly  honored  at 
Rome  were  Albertus  Magnus,  Thomas 
Aquinas,  and  others  whose  works  con- 
tained many  significant  references  to 
physical  science,  who  discussed  seriously 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


589 


the  philosophic  problems  that  underlie 
scientific  principles,  and  who  gathered  to- 
gether all  the  information  that  could  be 
secured.  In  this  regard  it  must  not  be  for- 
gotten that  we  owe  to  Roger  Bacon  great 
books,  the  contents  of  which  would  have 
seemed  utterly  beyond  comprehension  or 
imagination  as  having  been  compiled  in  his 
time,  did  we  not  actually  possess  them. 
That  possession  is  due  to  the  friendship  of 
Cardinal  Foulques,  who  was  afterwards 
Pope  Clement,  for  Roger  Bacon.  In  similar 
fashion  we  probably  owe  most  of  the  pre- 
cious writing  of  Constantine  Africanus  to 
the  persuasion  of  Abbot  Desiderius,  who 
was  afterwards  Pope  Victor  III.,  and  who 
continued  while  Pope  to  encourage  Con- 
stantine in  his  writing. 

In  the  latest  edition  of  my  volume  on 
"The  Popes  and  Science"  I  have  devoted  a 
special  Appendix  of  nearly  fifty  pages  of 
rather  small  type  to  the  story  of  the  Papal 
physicians.  There  is  no  set  of  men  whose 
names  are  connected  together  by  any 
bond  in  the  history  of  medicine  who  are 
so  distinguished  as  these  Papal  phy- 
sicians. Many  of  them  are  famous  for 
distinguished  original  work.  All  of  them 
had  done  some  at  least  of  the  work  to 
which  they  owe  their  fame  before  being 
invited  to  Rome  to  continue  it  there. 
It  was  because  of  their  reputation  as  great 
original  scientists  that  they  were  invited 
to  Rome  to  become  the  Papal  physicians. 
I  know  nothing  in  the  whole  history  of 
science  which  makes  it  so  clear  that,  far 
from  opposing  science  in  any  way,  the 
Popes  wanted  to  encourage  and  patronize 
it  to  the  best  of  their  ability,  as  the  fact 
that  when  they  wished  to  appoint  a  Papal 
physician  they  chose  one  who  was  famous 
in  the  scientific  world,  and  gave  him 
the  prestige  of  this  position  which  as- 
sured him  a  place  in  the  Christian  world 
higher  than  any  that  could  be  secured  in 
any  other  way. 

It  is  easy  to  remember  what  confidential 
relations  existed  between  the  Popes  and 
their  physicians.  We  can  judge  of  them 
very  well  from  the  relations  between  edu- 


cated men  and  their  physicians  at  the 
present  day.  In  the  older  time  physicians 
were  even  less  likely  to  be  narrow  in  their 
interest  in  science  than  they  are  at  present ; 
and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  many  of  the  Papal 
physicians  made  important  contributions  to 
the  sciences  related  to  medicine,  and  not 
a  few  of  them  were  distinguished  pioneers 
in  the  biological  sciences.  Nothing  could 
have  been  better  calculated  to  maintain  a 
favorable  attitude  toward  science  and  its 
advances  on  the  part  of  the  Popes,  than 
the  presence  in  so  influential  a  position 
close  to  them,  of  representative  physicians 
who  had  been  honored  by  their  fellows 
in  many  ways  and  had  done  distinctly 
original  scientific  work. 

Between  the  appointment  of  Papal 
physicians  and  the  maintenance  of  Papal 
astronomers,  the  Popes  certainly  did  all 
they  could  to  keep  properly  in  touch  with 
physical  science  and  even  to  maintain 
laboratories  at  least  in  anatomy  and 
astronomy,  and  to  encourage  in  every  way 
the  development  of  these  two  important 
sciences.  Under  these  sciences  in  the 
older  days  were  included,  on  the  one  hand, 
not  a  little  of  physics  and  mathematics, 
and  on  the  other* a  great  deal  of  physiology, 
and  by  its  medical  relations  much  of 
chemistry  and  the  related  sciences.  Only 
profound  ignorance  of  this  could  possibly 
have  permitted  Mr.  Huxley  to  indulge  his 
humor,  at  the  expense  of  the  Popes  as  he 
thought,  though  it  was  really  at  his  own 
expense;  for  his  expressions  make  it  very 
clear  that  this  phase  of  knowledge  had 
never  come  to  him,  and  that  he  too,  like  so 
many  others,  was  being  led  astray  by  the 
Protestant  prejudice  with  regard  to  the 
attitude  of  the  Popes  toward  science.  It 
was  Huxley  himself  who  wrote  home  from 
Rome  to  St.  George  Mivart,  the  English 
biologist,  that  he  had  been  looking  into 
the  Galileo  case  and  found  "that  the  Pope 
and  the  cardinals  had  rather  the  best  of 
it."  What  he  meant  was  that  the  ordinary 
impression  with  regard  to  the  Galileo  case 
was  founded  on  a  misconception  of  the 
real  nature  of  that  celebrated  case. 


590 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


In  spite  of  this  recognition  of  the  r61e 
that  prejudgment  plays  in  such  cases, 
Huxley,  as  we  have  seen,  allowed  himself 
to  be  led  astray  by  a  similar  misunder- 
standing with  regard  to  the  general 
policy  of  the  Church  toward  science. 
The  Galileo  case,  even  if  it  were  what 
many  people  imagine  it  to  have  been, 
an  attempt  to  throttle  science— which  of 
course  it  was  not— is  the  single  example  of 
that  kind  of  activity  that  most  people 
know  anything  about;  and,  as  Cardinal 
Newman  remarked,  if  this  is  the  single 
exception  in  a  policy  of  600  years,  then  it 
is  surely  the  exception  which  proves  that 
the  very  opposite  was  the  rule. 

Even  Huxley,  however,  in  spite  of  his 
rather  careful  investigation  of  such  dis- 
puted points  in  general,  did  not  have 
available  sufficient  details  of  the  knowledge 
of  the  history  of  science  to  appreciate  the 
real  place  of  the  Popes  with  regard  to  it. 
They  were  literally  patrons  of  science, 
just  as  much  as  they  were  of  art  and 
education  and  literature,  even  to  the 
extent  of  making  foundations  for  astronom- 
ical observatories  and  anatomical  labora- 
tories in  their  capital  city  when  there  was 
ever  so  much  more  nee'd  for  patronage 
than  there  is  at  the  present  time.  When 
these  were  the  only  two  kinds  of  labora- 
tories organized  in  science,  both  of  them 
were  to  be  found  at  Rome  under  Papal 
patronage,  and  in  both  some  of  the  best 
work  of  the  world  was  being  done. 

Manifestly,  then,  there  is  a  place  for  an 
institute  of  the  history  of  science,  and  its 
collections  and  the  investigations  that  it 
will  initiate  and  encourage  can  not  fail  to 
do  a  great  deal  to  remove  erroneous  im- 
pressions, above  all  with  regard  to  the 
relations  of  science  to  education  and 
religion.  What  we  need  is  more  knowledge; 
and  then  prejudice  will  disappear.  Modern 
scientific  history  by  replacing  vague  im- 
pressions with  exact  documentary  details 
and  altering  undocumented  convictions 
into  reasonable  open-mindedness,  has  done 
an  immense  amount  already  to  clear  up 
historical  fallacies  with  regard  to  the 


Church.  The  history  of  science  carefully 
written  would  be  of  enormous  weight 
in  removing  all  sorts  of  prejudices  which 
have  accumulated  since  the  Reformation; 
for  the  one  idea  of  the  Reformers  and  their 
successors  has  been  to  make  people  believe 
that  until  the  sixteenth  century  there 
was  nothing  at  all  worth  while  being  done 
in  the  intellectual  order,  and  that,  above 
all,  men  were  not  free  to  think  for 
themselves. 


Thursday  at  Eight. 


BY    JOHN    M.  ST.  JOHN. 


THERE  were  drops  other  than  those 
intended  falling  upon  the  dainty  white 
gown  that  Mrs.  O'Brien  was  sprinkling. 
After  a  hurried  departure  that  morning, 
Mary  had  called  back  a  request  to  be 
sure  to  have  her  white  muslin  pressed  by 
half-pas.t  six  that  evening.  Now,  there  was 
nothing  in  the  mere  pressing  of  a  white 
dress  for  the  prettiest  girl  of  St.  Patrick's 
parish  to  cause  the  tears  to  flow.  No, 
indeed:  on  the  contrary,  the  pure  white 
folds,  as  they  adjusted  themselves  into 
graceful  lines  under  the  skilful  iron, 
looked  innocent  enough;  and  yet  the 
tears  continued  to  fall.  The  memories 
awakened  by  that  simple  gown  were  the 
cause  of  all  the  trouble.  They  formed  so 
decided  a  contrast  to  the  memories  of 
the  past  month  that  more  than  one  fond 
heart  was  saddened  by  the  contrast. 

Was  it  a  whole  year,  she  asked  herself, 
since  her  child,  her  little  Mary — now  so 
tall  and  beautiful, — had  walked  foremost 
in  the  procession  of  the  Children  of  Mary, 
bearing  aloft  the  banner  of  Our  Lady? 
Yes,— her  child  had  led  that  band  all 
clothed  in  white,  symbolic  of  the  purity 
of  Our  Lady's  faithful  children;  for  it  was 
she  who  from  among  four  hundred  had 
been  chosen  by  priest,  Sisters  and  com- 
panions alike  to  be  the  president  of  the 
society  which  has  for  its  sublime  purpose 
and  object  the  preservation  of  holy  virtue 
and  the  honoring  of  the  Mother  of  God. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


591 


And  to-day  was  the  first  of  May.  How 
the  mother's  heart  had  looked  forward 
to  this  day!  For  would  not  her  daughter, 
named  for  Our  Lady,  again  lead  the 
flowers  of  St.  Patrick's  girlhood  through 
the  spacious  aisles  of  the  cathedral, 
straight  to  the  altar  of  Our  Lady?  There 
it  would  be  her  duty  as  president  to  make 
the  act  of  consecration  and  promises  in 
the  name  of  the  society, — promises  which 
would  mean  holiness  and  happiness  to 
those  who  should  keep  them. 

But,  it  appeared,  this  was  not  to 
be;  for  during  the  past  month  Mary's 
choice  seemed  to  lie  in  the  broad  path 
of  pleasure.  No  formal  sin  had  entered 
that  pure  young  soul,  fortified  by  prayer 
and  the  sacraments;  but  the  danger  was 
drawing  near,  and  a  decided  fear  had 
entered  the  heart  of  Mrs.  O'Brien  this 
bright  May  morning.  Neither  had  the 
fear  arisen  without  some  reason.  To-day, 
for  the  first  time  in  eighteen  years,  in 
any  matter  of  importance,  Mary  had 
persisted  in  having  her  own  way,  con- 
trary to  the  will  and  expressed  wish  of 
the  mother. 

"My  poor  darling,  sure  you  don't 
realize  the  danger!  I  know  you,  don't, 
my  own!"  the  poor  woman  moaned,  as 
she  hung  up  the  spotless  dress.  "If  the 
Lord  would  only  let  you  see  just  once 
these  so-called  friends  of  yours  in  the  way 
He  sees  them,  I  tell  you  you'd  drop  them 
quick, — that  you  would,  my  child.  They 
and  their  talk  of  a  career  for  you!  Sure 
when  I  was  young,  the  career  for  lasses 
of  eighteen  was  to  obey  their  parents  and 
say  their  prayers.  You've  told  me  I 
don't  understand.  Maybe  I  don't;  but 
I  understand  enough  to  know  that  you, 
my  own  chick  and  child,  should  be  with 
the  Children  of  Mary  to-night  instead 
of  walking  across  the  stage  of  a  theatre; 
and  I'll  pray  to  Our  Lady,  that  I  will,  all 
this  livelong  day  for  you." 

In  the  meantime  the  once  dutiful  Mary 
was  sitting  rather  disconsolate  at  her 
typewriter  in  the  office  of  Forsyth  & 
Cummins,  city  attorneys.  She  had  just 


been  reprimanded  for  an  error  in  a  type- 
written copy  of  an  important  letter;  and, 
as  she  sat  smarting  under  the  humiliation, 
she  felt  that  the  world  was  very  unkind 
to  her  indeed.  In  her  present  frame  of 
mind,  she  was  in  no  mood  to  realize  the 
justice  of  the  correction. 

Did  you  ever  meet  a  girl  who  felt 
herself  called  upon  to  reform  the  world 
and  thoughts  of  mankind  through  the 
medium  of  the  stage?  Yes,  she  will  tell 
you,  she  often  heard  it  said  that  the  best 
way  to  reform  the  world  is  to  lead  a  good 
life  oneself;  but  that  is  too  slow,  too 
prosaic  for  her.  One  must  do  something, 
and  why  not  begin  with  the  stage?  Take 
even  a  menial  position:  when  you've 
impressed  the  managers  with  your  im- 
portance, and  made  them  realize  that  you 
are  the  "greatest  ever,"  and,  therefore, 
indispensable,  —  then  choose  your  own 
type  of  play  or  "vehicle,"  as  the  news- 
paper critics  call  it,  and — presto! — the 
world  is  reformed. 

Not  that  Mary  O'Brien  had  the  disease 
so  badly  as  some;  but  she  needed  a  little 
lesson,  without  realizing  it.  The  day  wore 
itself  away  somehow;  and  as  the  hour  of 
six  drew  near,  Mary's  crushed  spirits 
began  to  revive. 

"If  only  mother  and  Sister  Mary 
Agnes  didn't  feel  so  bad,  I'd  be  the  happiest 
girl  in  the  world!"  she  sighed. 

Gathering  together  her  work  and  slip- 
ping into  her  wraps,  with  a  final  glance 
in  a  mirror  that  gave  back  a  very  lovely 
reflection,  she  made  her  way  lightly  down 
the  stairs,  and  out  into  the  open  air. 

"Thank  goodness,  the  day's  work  is 
over,  at  any  rate,  and  I  can  enjoy  every 
moment  of  the  glorious  evening  before  me ! " 

"Amen  to  that!"  a  deep  voice  responded 
at  her  elbow. 

She  started,  'then  blushed  and  held  out 
her  hand. 

"Why,  good-evening,  Mr.  Bosanquet! 
You  startled  me.  I  hadn't  any  idea  I  was 
expressing  my  thoughts  aloud.  I'm  afraid 
I'm  developing  more  than  one  bad  habit," 
she  laughed. 


592 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"Oh,  no!  Don't  be  getting  morbid 
notions  into  that  pretty  head  of  yours. 
I'm  sorry  I  frightened  you,  but  the  fact  is 
I  strolled  around  this  way  to  walk  home 
with  you.  There  is  a  detail  or  two  I  want 
to  discuss  with  you  regarding  to-night's 
performance." 

Mary  flushed  happily.  This  was  the 
subject  she  loved,  and  she  could  not  help 
recognizing  the  compliment  paid  her  by 
Mr.  Bosanquet,  manager  of  the  Lyceum 
Players  Stock  Company. 

"You  know,  Miss  O'Brien,  we  are  to 
have  supper  in  the  Osborne  Grill  Room 
after  the  play,  and  I  should  like  to  be 
your  escort.  May  I  have  that  pleasure?" 

"It  is  kind  of  you;  but  won't  it  be 
dreadfully  late, — after  twelve?"  she  asked 
hesitatingly. 

"Why,  yes,  it  surely  will  be  after  twelve. 
But  what  of  that?  Haven't  you  ever  been 
out  after  the  hour  of  midnight,  dear 
proper  young  lady?" 

"Yes,  but — well,  I  will  go.  And  thank 
you  so  much!" 

The  answer  was  just  a  little  tremulous. 
She  did  not  explain  that  her  hesitation 
was  due  to  a  plan  she  had  made  to  go  to 
confession  and  Holy  Communion  on  the 
following  morning,  it  being  the  anniver- 
sary of  her  first  Holy  Communion.  Some- 
how, she  felt  he  would  not  understand. 

"I  didn't  think  so  new  a  member  would 
be  in  requisition.  You  see,  I'm  not  used 
to  this  new  way  of  life  yet,"  she  explained, 
laugningly,  all  hesitation  and  doubt  finally 
thrown  to  the  winds. 

"Then  we'll  have  to  begin  to  educate 
you,"  he  responded,  in  her  own  mood. 

As  they  turned  the  corner,  the  modest 
cottage  of  the  O'Brien's  came  into  view, 
but  the  familiar  figure  that  usually  stood 
in  the  doorway  this  fine  weather  was  not 
in  sight.  Mary  missed  the  dear  old  face, 
but  supposed  that  her  mother  was  probably 
busy  about  her  household  duties. 

"Here  I  am  home  and  you  haven't 
yet  discussed  those  details,"  she  reminded 
him. 

"The  principal  thing  was  the  supper, 


you  know;  and,"  he  added  smoothly, 
glancing  at  her  quizzically,  "I  almost 
forgot  to  tell  you  that  I've  ordered  my 
chauffeur  to  call  for  you  and  have  you 
at  the  theatre  promptly  at  eight.  Now," 
he  insisted,  as  he  saw  her  about  to  remon- 
strate, "it's  all  right  and  proper.  Besides, 
I  want  him  to  know  you,  so  that  he  can 
rescue  you  from  the  crowd  that's  sure 
to  surround  the  stage  door  after  the 
performance.  Why,  he's  perfectly  reliable, 
and  has  done  it  for  me  scores  of  times 
with  other — 

He  stopped  short,  at  a  loss  how  to  finish 
without  blundering  worse  than  he  had 
already  done,  in  his  eagerness. 

"No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Bosanquet!  I'll 
manage  to  get  there  on  time,  never  fear. 
Good-evening!" 

She  turned  and  opened  the  gate.  As 
he  raised  his  hat,  he  smiled  brightly  in 
spite  of  his  disappointment. 

"I'll  appear  promptly  at  eight,  Mr. 
Bosanquet,"  she  returned,  with  a  smile 
that  was  rather  out  of  keeping  with  a 
vague,  indefinable  fear  that  had  begun 
to  find  place  in  her  heart. 

She  hurried  indoors,  crushing  down  the 
misgiving  that  had  arisen  but  a  moment 
before.  All  within  was  silent. 

"Mother, — mother    dear!"    she    called. 

No  answer.  Just  a  little  frightened,  she 
hurried  to  the  doorway  leading  upstairs, 
and  was  about  to  run  up  when  she  detected 
an  envelope  lying  on  the  table  td  the  right 
of  the  stairway.  Opening  it,  she  read: 

DEAREST  CHILD: — I've  gone  to  church 
early  in  order  to  avoid  the  crowd  at  Father 
Shealy's  confessional  before  the  services 
at  eight.  I  want  to  receive  Our  Lord  at 
your  side  to-morrow.  You  will  find  your 
dress  and  everything  else  you  need  ready 
in  your  room.  Sister  Mary  Agnes  called 
about  five  o'clock,  and  said  she  would 
leave  your  place  open  until  the  last  minute. 
Ruth  O'Neill  is  very  nervous,  it  seems, 
about  leading,  and  is  still  hoping  that  you 
may  come.  I  assured  Sister  it  was  useless 
to  expect  you.  God  bless  you,  child! 

MOTHER. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


593 


That  was  all,  Not  a  word  of  reproach. 
The  reason  for  it  Mary  .knew  well.  The 
subject  of  her  vocation  had  been  quite 
exhausted  last  night,  in  her  mother's 
vain  attempt  to  dissuade  her  from  electing 
the  stage  as  a  life  work.  And  what  a 
coincidence !  She  was  expected  in  two  places, 
so  widely  different,  at  the  same  hour. 
"Thursday  at  eight," — what  a  familiar 
phrase  it  had  become.  "Thursday  at 
eight,"  had  been  singing  itself  into  her 
inner'  consciousness  for  a  month  past; 
for  it  was  to  be  the  night  and  the  hour 
of  her  first  appearance.  It  occurred  to  her 
that  the  choice  might  still  be  made.  She 
was  not  bound  by  contract.  Her  part 
was  too  unimportant  for  that.  On  the 
one  hand,  there  was  the  theatre,  with  all 
its  glitter  and  excitement,— a  rather  ner- 
vous sort  of  pleasure,  it  is  true;  on  the 
other  hand,  there  was  the  great  cathedral, 
with  its  subdued  tones,  solemn  hush,  and 
soothing  effect  upon  the  worshipper. 
Choosing  the  former  might  mean  the 
first  step  in.  a  successful  worldly  career; 
choosing  the  latter,  a  return  to  familiar 
surroundings  and  influences  that  had 
meant,  in  the  past  at  least,  a  quiet  joy 
and  peace  of  soul,  and,  above  all,  the 
light  of  love  and  contentment  on  the  faces 
of  those  she  loved. 

The  clock  struck  the  half  hour.  She 
started.  Goodness,  only  an  hour  to  dress! 
She  must  stop  this  idle  dreaming  and  get 
hold  of  realities.  In  less  than  an  hour  she 
was  ready,  and  a  little  at  a  loss  what  to 
do  with  herself.  She  dare  not  let  herself 
get  dreaming  again.  Finally,  she  decided 
to  go  at  once  to  the  theatre,  and  there, 
alone  in  her  dressing  room,  rehearse  her 
part  until  the  dreaded,  yet  longed-for, 
moment  should  arrive. 

She  had  scarcely  seated  herself  in  her 
room  when  a  knock  came  to  the  door. 
It  was  Mr.  Bosanquet. 

"Miss  O'Brien,  I  had  begun  to  fear 
you  had  deserted  us.  You  are  the  last 
to  arrive,  although  it  still  lacks  a  half 
hour  of  eight.  We  couldn't  get  on  without 
you,  you  know." 


She  smiled  her  thanks,  realizing  in  her 
heart  the  falsehood  of  his  last  statement. 
She  had  not  yet  been  sufficiently  ''edu- 
cated" to  say  what  she  did  not  mean. 

"Try  to  make  yourself  comfortable," 
he  resumed,  "until  the  call  boy  gives  you 
your  cue.  Good  luck  to  you!" 

She  thanked  him  in  words  this  time,  but 
was  grateful  when  the  door  closed  with 
him  on  the  outside.  She  had  detected 
a  faint  odor  of  liquor,  and  if  there  was 
anything  in  the  world  she  feared  it  was 
an  intoxicated  man.  Her  delicately  nur- 
tured soul  had  an  innate  aversion  to  every 
vice.  Repulsion  for  many  things  con- 
nected with  stage  life  seemed  to-night  to 
have  her  firmly  in  its  grip.  Heretofore 
they  had  been  at  least  bearable  in  the 
light  of  her  lofty  aim  and  purpose,  but 
to-night — 

She  was  getting  decidedly  nervous.  She 
began  to  pace  the  room,  and  review  her 
lines  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  fix  her 
attention.  Now  and  then  the  voice  of 
the  other  girls  could  be  heard  through  the 
thin  partition.  Evidently  all  of  them  had 
gathered  in  the  room  next  hers.  Should 
she  go  in  with  them?  She  shrank  from 
doing  so.  What  in  the  world  was  she  to  do? 
She  must  conquer  this  aloofness,  above 
all;  for,  if  her  life  were  to  be  among  such 
people,  she  must  learn  to  associate  with 
them. 

Suddenly  the  shrill  voice  of  Emily 
Harrison  rose  above  the  rest. 

"Say,  girls,  we  all  know  she  can't  act, 
unless  she  gets  the  part  of  a  nun,  and 
this  posing  part  she  has  is  the  nearest 
thing  to  it.  I  hope  to  goodness  she 
doesn't  bolt  and  leave  it  to  me.  It's  not 
my  style." 

Emily  was  the  supply  or  understudy 
used  to  fill  in  any  part  that  might  be 
missing. 

A  loud  laugh  greeted  her  remark. 

"And  say,"  she  continued,  "Bonnie 
says  Mary  thinks  we're  jealous  because 
he's  taking  her  to  the  spread  to-night. 
What  do  you  think  of  that  for  nerve, — 
eh,  girlies?" 


594 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


A  chorus  of  derisive  laughter  was  their 
reply  again.  They  seemed  to  be  especially 
efficient  in  the  line  of  mocking  laughter. 

A  bell  sounded  somewhere  and  the 
hasty  scampering  of  feet  and  general  hush 
told  her  that  the  rising  of  the  curtain  must 
be  very  soon  now.  She  tried  to  dismiss 
from  her  mind  the  conversation  she  had 
just  heard  and  to  remember  that  she  was 
about  to  enter  upon  her  career— the  ful- 
filment of  her  dreams.  How  delicious 
that  word  "Career"  had  sounded  to  her 
a  month  ago,  when  it  had  first  fallen  as 
delightful  music  from  the  lips  of  Mr. 
Bosanquet!  It  was  on  the  day  he  had 
"discovered"  her,  to  use  his  own  words. 
Somehow  or  other  she  didn't  seem  to 
derive  much  assurance  from  the  fact  that 
she  was  entering  upon  her  "career."  The 
term  sounded  flat.  Well — she  mustn't 
lose  her  grip  on  things.  She  was  getting 
nervous  again,  and  found  that  she  was 
summoning  forth  all  the  arguments  she 
had  used  to  convince  others  to  convince 
herself. 

Memories  of  the  great  cathedral  on 
such  occasions  as  that  of  to-night  began 
to  occupy  her  mind.  The  magnificent 
edifice  rapidly  filling  with  devout  worship- 
pers, reverent  whispers  of  prayer,  her 
dear  old  mother  at  Our  Lady's  altar 
telling  her  beads — all  these  pictures  tended 
to  offset  the  stability  of  her  arguments. 
She  had  had  such  faith  in  those  reasons 
of  hers  and  now  they  were  so  singularly 
weak.  But  had  they  been  her  reasons 
after  all?  Were  they  not  rather  the  reasons 
of  Mr.  Bosanquet  so  skilfully  and  craftily 
insinuated  that  they  had  seemed  her  own? 
Oh,  why  had  she  ever  turned  from  the 
old -ways? 

She  was  beginning  to  feel  ill.  She  must 
get  out  in  the  fresh  air  for  a  moment. 
She  glanced  at  the  time.  It  still  lacked  a 
quarter  of  the  hour.  She  opened  the 
door  and  passed  out,  timidly,  at  first; 
but  seeing  that  the  passage  was  deserted, 
she  hurried  on  into  the  narrow  street 
back  of  the  stage  door.  Just  as  she  did 
so,  the  great  chimes  of  St.  Patrick's 


Cathedral     burst    forth    into     Newman's 

beautiful  hymn: 

Lead,  kindly  Light,  "amid  the  encircling  gloom, — 

Lead  thou  me  on. 
The  night  is  dark  and  I  am  far  from  home: 

Lead  thou   me  on. 

Keep  thou  my  feet;    I  do  not  ask  to  see 
The  distant  scene, — one  step  enough  for  me. 

Mary  O'Brien  stood  transfixed,  the  familiar 
words  sinking  into  her  soul  with  a  new 
significance. 

As  the  last  note  died  away,  running, 
almost  sobbing,  she  made  her  way  across 
the  few  streets  that  separated  her  from 
her  haven  of  rest  and  contentment. 
Breathless  but  happy,  despite  the  tears 
that  sparkled  in  the  brown  eyes,  and  the 
tremulous  lips  that  tried  to  smile,  she 
drew  up  just  in  time  to  realize  that  the 
procession  was  about  to  begin.  In  less 
than  three  minutes  the  pealing  organ 
announced  to  the  worshippers  that  the 
procession  was  passing  through  the  side 
door.  Thence  it  would  wind  its  way  across 
the  front  of  the  church,  down  the  steps, 
and  through  the  center  aisle,  thence  back 
again  through  the  side  entrance  on  the 
opposite  side. 

Just  as  the  procession  reached  the  step 
leading  down  to  the  center  aisle,  the  bent 
form  of  a  woman,  who  had  been  kneeling 
for  more  than  an  hour  before  Our  Lady's 
shrine,  raised  itself  slowly  and  turned  to 
view  the  procession.  The  grey  head 
moved  as  though  startled,  then  bent  to 
view  the  scene  more  closely.  »A  great 
light  stole  across  the  gentle,  gracious 
countenance,  then  the  form  leaned  for- 
ward again  ia  prayer.  Her  child  was 
leading  the  procession  of  the  Blessed 
Mother's  children! 


Invocation. 


BY    ANGELA    EWING. 


Maiden,  Virgin  Mother, 
Still  the  race  of  life  we  run: 
That  we  reach  the  goal,  triumphant, 
Pray  for  us  to  Christ,  thy  Son. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


A  Necessity  in  Matters  of  Faith  and 
Religion. 


("Easie  Decision  of  Controversies,"  by  II.  W.  1654.} 

CONSIDER  the  necessity  of  a  living 
judge:  No  form  of  Government  (be 
it  Monarchy,  Aristocracy,  or  Democracy) 
can  subsist  in  an  orderly  being  without  it. 
No  suit  either  in  Civil  or  Canon  Law,  no 
action  of  debt  or  dammage  can  come  to 
a  tryal,  no  sentence  can  be  passed  upon 
any  person  or  cause,  without  the  voice  of 
a  living  judge;  two  Counsellors  cannot 
without  a  Judge,  as  Umpire,  put  a  final 
period  to  any  one  cause  (for  example,  in 
the  Court  of  Chancery),  so  as  that  both 
parties  shall  understand,  and  acknowledge 
it  to  be  decided:  much  lesse  will  the 
Plaintiffe  and  Defendant  end  their  quarrell 
by  themselves  alone,  without  a  Judge; 
for  each  one  would  still  plead  for  himself : 
the  dead  letters  of  the  written  law  can 
never  sufficiently  expound  either  the  legis- 
latours  mind,  or  its  own  meaning:  nor 
shal  men  at  any  time  understand  by  it 
alone  who  is  cast,  who  hath  got  the 
better:  in  fine,  all  injustices  and  outrages 
would  be  committed;  and  no  malefactours 
punished,  without  a  living  judge;  and 
that  such  an  one  as  from  whose  sentence 
there  is  no  appeal. 

Now,  if  these  instances  prove  (as  they 
do  most  effectually)  the  requisitnesse  of 
a  living  judge,  for  the  upholding  of  all 
true  civill  judicature  and  government: 
much  more  is  a  living  judge  necessary  in 
ecclesiasticall,  in  which  matters  of  Faith 
and  Religion,  and  consequently  of  eternal 
moment,  are  to  be  tryed. 

Consider  that  since  Sectaries  reject  the 
authority  of  the  Popes,  nor  can  have 
General  Councels,  and  consequently  no 
living  judge;  they  must  fly  either  to 
Scripture  alone,  or  to  the  private  spirit. 

As  for  the  Scripture;  first,  it  cannot 
perform  the  Office  of  a  Judge;  which  is 
clearly  to  pronounce  sentence,  so  that  both 
parties  which  contest  about  the  thing 
controverted  may  understand  and  ac- 


knowledge who  is  cast,  who  hath  got  the 
better.  Second,  there  is  a  difference 
betwixt  the  written  laws,  and  the  judge 
in  civill  matters;  the  one  is  the  rule 
acording  to  which  the  judge  must  give 
sentence;  but  the  other  (to  wit,  the 
judge)  must  give  the  sentence;  he  is  the 
mouth  of  the  law,  and  must  interpret  its, 
and  the  legislatours  mind:  now  the  same 
Analogy  and  comparison  hold  betwixt 
the  holy  Scripture  (the  written  law  of 
God)  and  the  ecclesiasticall  judge. 

About  the  Scripture  it  self  arise  many 
controversies,  which  have  been  long  agi- 
tated to  and  fro;  as  what  Books  are 
Canonicall,  which  Apocriphal;  the  Roman 
Catholicks  say  the  books  of  Judith, 
Toby,  Wisdome,  Ecclesiastics,  the  first 
and  second  of  the  Macchabees,  are 
canonicall  Scripture;  the  Protestants  deny 
them  to  be  so:  Now,  how  shal  this  great 
controversie  be  decided?  The  Scripture 
cannot  give  sentence,  for  it  hath  not  a 
living  voice;  in  like  manner,  about  the 
sense  and  meaning  of  many  places  of  the 
canonicall  Scriptures,  many  long  quarells 
have  been  amongst  different  Sectaries 
themselves,  and  betwixt  them,  and  Roman 
Catholicks;  the  Scripture  it  self  can  never 
compose  these  controversies,  for  want  of 
a  living  voice. 

The  old  Hereticks  had  ne/ver  been  con- 
vinced nor  condemned,  if  the  Scripture 
had  been  appointed  for  judge:  for  still 
they  would  have  had  evasions;  the  Scrip- 
ture neither  did  nor  could  give  sentence 
against  them;  but  the  Church,  by  the 
Pope  and  General  Councels. 

As  for  the  private  spirit,  this  must 
either  be  supposed  to  be  an  infallible 
judge  or  not.  If  not,  sectaries  can  never 
have  their  controversies  truly  decided; 
for  this  judge  may  erre,  give  a  false  reso- 
lution, and  so  expose  poore  soules  to  an 
evident  danger  of  frequently  believing 
that  to  be  point  of  divine  Faith  which 
is  not  so;  or  the  contrary.  If  infallible, 
what  shameful  presumption  will  it  be  to 
challenge  to  your  own  particular  person 
such  an  assistance  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  as 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


by  it  you  shall  infallibly  Judge  a  right,  in 
whatsoever  point  of  Controversie;  and 
yet  deny  this  to  the  whol  body  of  the 
Roman  Church!  The  question  is,  whether 
that  private  spirit  be  the  holy  Ghost,  or 
a  wicked  spirit,  or  your  own  spirit, — to 
wit,  your  own  judgment  or  fancy:  How 
shal  this  question  be  determined? 

O  miserably  misled  souls,  of  such 
Sectaries;  do  you  not  see  in  what  laby- 
rinths of  errours  and  miseries  you  wilfully 
involve  your  selves?  Is  not  this  to  walk  in  a 
circle,  like  the  wicked?  But  since  you  will 
be  so,  heare  the  word  of  the  Lord:  Wo  be 
to  the  foolish  Prophets,  who  follow  their 
own  spirit.  (Ezech.,  xiii,  3.)  Mark  these 
words  well,  and  amend,  least  your  folly 
in  following  your  own  spirit  bring  you  to 
eternal  wo. 

O  thou  infinite  goodnesse,  God,  send 
forth  thy  spirit,  that  these  deluded  souls 
may  become  new  creatures:  make  them 
members  of  that  Church,  to  which  only 
the  spirit  of  truth  teacheth  all  truth. 

Amen. 


Rogation  Days. 


Sayings  of  St.  Bernard. 


It  is  only  ths  humble  that  are  never 
jealous. 

Zeal  without  knowledge  is  often  more 
dangerous  than  useful. 

A  magistrate  should  lend  one  ear  to  the 
oppressed  and  the  other  to  the  oppressor. 

A  false  Catholic  is  more  dangerous  than 
a  veritable  heretic. 

Idleness  is  the  mother  of  frivolous  con- 
versations and  the  cruel  stepmother  of 
the  virtues. 

It  is  difficult  to  say  which  is  the  guiltier, 
he  who  retails  slander  or  he  who  listens 
to  it. 

Divine  Goodness  permits  that,  for  the 
preservation  of  humility,  the  more  progress 
one  makes  in  virtue,  the  less  one  perceives  it. 

The  repentant  sinner  pleases  God  as 
much  as  does  the  just  man  who  has  not 
fallen;  but  the  ungrateful  just  man  dis- 
pleases Him  as  much  as  the  sinner  who  is 
impenitent. 


SELDOM,  if  ever,  in  the  history  of  the- 
Church,  and  never  in  the  lifetime  of 
any  of  our  readers,  "has  there  been  a  year 
when  the  special  devotion  known  as 
Rogation  Days  was  more  congruous  or 
more  necessary  than  it  is  at  present. 
Instituted  by  the  Church  to  appease 
God's  anger  at  man's  transgressions,  to 
ask  protection  in  calamities,  and  to  obtain 
a  good  and  bountiful  harvest,  these  days 
of  prayer,  or  Minor  Litanies,  as  they  are 
technically  termed,  are  obviously  most 
appropriate  at  the  present  time,  not  only 
in  the  blood-drenched  lands  of  Europe, 
but  in  our  own  country  as  well. 

In  the  final  analysis,  man's  trans- 
gressions are  at  the  bottom  of  the  great 
World  War,  which  God  has  permitted  for 
His  own  inscrutable  purposes,  and  from 
which  He  will  eventually  draw  a  lasting 
good.  That  war  itself,  now  brought  to  our 
own  doors,  is  a  calamity  of  major  propor- 
tions, and  will  assuredly  be  the  cause  of  a 
multitude  of  minor  calamities  affecting  the 
great  majority  of  American  families,  if  not 
every  individual  citizen  of  our  country. 
And  as  for  the  third  purpose  for  which 
these  Minor  Litanies  were  instituted, — 
the  obtaining  of  a  good  and  bountiful 
harvest, — that  is  a  boon  for  which  there 
is  far  greater  need  of  earnestly  petitioning 
God  than  is  in  all  probability  realized 
by  the  average  reader  of  these  columns. 
While  actual  famine  may  be ,  a  remote 
danger  to  the  people  of  our  country, 
there  can  be  no  question  that  considerable 
retrenchment  both  in  the  kinds  and 
quantities  of  food  consumed  will  speedily 
become  a  matter  of  war-necessity. 

With  more  than  usual  earnestness,  there- 
fore, it  behooves  Catholics  to  take  part 
in  these  devotional  exercises  which  precede 
the  great  festival  of  the  Ascension.  The 
urgency  of  our  need  should  be  the  only 
incentive  required  to  make  us  observe 
them  as  veritable  petitioning  days,— 
"asking"  days,  indeed.  Wherever  circum- 
stances permit  the  holding  of  the  public 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


.597 


procession  which  is  a  distinctive  feature 
of  the  Rogation  Days,  the  ranks  should  be 
swollen  by  all  who,  without  very  notable 
inconvenience,  can  attend  the  function; 
a1. id  the  prescribed  Litany  of  the  Saints 
should  be  recited  with  unwonted  fervor 
even  by  those  who  are  unable  to  take 
part  in  the  procession. 

The  origin  and  history  of  Rogation  Days 
has  been  so  often  discussed  in  these  columns 
that  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  dwell  at 
any  length  upon  them  here.  The  practice 
of  public  supplications  to  God  on  occasions 
of  public  danger  or  calamity  is  traceable 
to  a  very  early  date  in  Christian  life;  but 
the  specific  fixing  of  the  Monday,  Tuesday, 
and  Wednesday  immediately  preceding 
the  Feast  of  the  Ascension  as  days  for  the 
Minor  Rogations,  or  Minor  Litanies,  is 
ascribed  to  St.  Mamertus,  Bishop  of 
Vienne,  France,  in  the  middle  of  the  fifth 
century.  St.  Mamertus  ordered  the  pro- 
cessions in  time  of  famine,  as  is  generally 
held — or,  according  to  several  authors, 
on  the  occasion  of  a  threatened  earth- 
quake,— in  the  confident  hope  that  these 
public  exercises  of  piety  would  have  the 
effect  of  averting  the  divine  anger.  His 
action  was  duplicated  by  the  Fifth  Council 
of  Orleans  in  511,  and  was  afterwards 
approved  by  Pope  Leo  III.  (795-816). 

It  is  interesting  to  learn  that  in  oldtime 
Catholic  England  these  days  of  public 
prayer  were  known  as  "Gang  Days," 
and  the  week  of  their  occurrence  was 
called  "Cross  Week."  Thus  in  Rock's 
"Church  of  Our-  Fathers"  we  read: 
"During  the  Rogation,  or,  as  they  were 
then  better  called,  the  Gang  Days,  and 
whenever  any  swart  evil  had  betided  this 
land,  our  clergy  and  people  went  a  pro- 
cession through  the  streets  of  the  town, 
and  about  the  fields  of  the  country 
parishes."  Significant  of  the  respect  in 
which  these  Gang  Days  were  held  in 
England  is  the  fact  that  King  Alfred's 
laws  considered  a  theft  committed  on  one 
of  them  equal  to  one  committed  on  a 
Sunday  or  a  higher  Church  holy  day. 
Let  it  be  said,  incidentally,  that  the 


Rogation  processions  were  celebrated  in 
England  even  up  to  the  thirteenth  year 
of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth. 

The  Major  Rogation,  although  it  now 
falls  on  the  25th  of  April,  has  no  connection 
with  the  Feast  of  St.  Mark  also  celebrated 
on  that  date.  It  was  introduced  at  a  very 
early  period  in  the  Church's  history;  and 
Pope  Gregory  the  Great  (590-604),  who 
is  said  to  have  been  its  originator,  merely 
regulated  a  long  existing  custom. 


With  a  Lay  Theologian. 


AS  a  rule,  we  fight  shy  of  books  by  lay 
theologians  of  the  Church  of  England, 
having  noticed  that  when  such  productions 
are  at  all  orthodox  they  are  apt  to  be  very 
dull,  and  that  when  they  are  horribly 
heretical  they  are  usually  very  bright. 
A  new  work  by  Mr.  Alexander  Pym  on 
the  "Divine  Humanity"  is'  a  puzzle  to 
us,  perhaps  because  his*  references  to  the 
Church  are  sometimes  to  the  Church  of 
England  and  sometimes  to  the  Church 
of, All  Lands.  Unlike  many  Anglicans, 
even  presbyters,  he  accepts  the  doctrine 
of  the  Virgin  Birth;  but  he  holds  that 
the  emphasis  laid  upon  an  orthodox 
faith  seems  to  be  a  shadowing  of  the  spirit 
of  Christianity  by  the  letter.  What  can 
he  mean  by  saying  that  "articles  of 
belief  have  been  multiplied  by  an  accen- 
tuation of  non-essentials"?  Again  he  says: 
"It  is  thought  to  be  of  the  first  impor- 
tance to  be  a  good  Churchman  rather 
than  a  good  Christian."  But  unless  being 
a  Churchman  and  being  a  Christian  are 
different,  how  can  a  good  or  bad  Church- 
man be  otherwise  than  a  good  or  bad  Chris- 
tian? In  speaking  of  "the  deadness  of  the 
Church  at  the  present  time,"  Mr.  Pym 
could  not  have  had  in  mind  a  divine 
institution  founded  for  the  salvation  of 
the  world,  the  Church  of  the  living  God. 
A  clearer  conception  of  what  Christ  is 
and  a  better  understanding  of  what 
Christ  did  and  does  is  sadly  needed  by 
this  Anglican  theologian. 


598 


77/7*;  AVE  MARIA 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

A  recent  issue  of  the  Boston  Herald 
contained  an  item  of  news  that  should 
prove  decidedly  interesting  to  such  Ameri- 
can Catholics  as  may  have  sons  attending 
Harvard  University.  The  item  had  to 
do,  not  with  Harvard  itself,  but  with 
an  enterprise  of  Harvard  professors — 
the  establishment  of  a  modern  scientific 
Sunday-school,  no  less;  or,  in  professorial 
diction,  "a  laboratory  for  the  study  of 
worship."  The  school  is  for  the  children 
of  the  professors  themselves,  although 
some  fifty  other  young  people  have  been 
admitted  to  this  select  establishment. 
The  most  enthusiastic  promoter  of  the 
school  thinks  it  probable  that  its  pupils 
will  never  attend  any  church;  and, 
judging  by  one  incident  recounted  by  the 
journal  mentioned,  we  are  inclined  to 
agree  with  him.  It  appears  that  these 
boys,  ranging  from  three  and  four  to 
thirteen  and  fourteen  years,  are  told 
what  are  the  various  opinions  that  are 
current  on  the  subject  of  religion,  and  are 
left  to  draw  their  own  conclusions!  Here 
is  one  of  the  said  conclusions  arrived  at 
by  a  philosopher  in  short  trousers:  "Fel- 
lers, there  isn't  any  God  any  more  than 
there's  a  Santa  Claus."  Is  it  too  much 
to  say  that  the  boys  are  getting  just  a 
few  years  earlier  what  the  vast  majority 
of  the  students  of  secular  institutions 
get  before  their  undergraduate  days  are 
over?  And  are  Catholic  parents  willing  to 
have  their  sons  submitted  to  such  baleful 
influences? 

It  is  to  the  high  credit  of  President 
Wilson  that  he  has  never  compared  himself 
to  Lincoln;  however,  his  letter  to  Mr. 
Arthur  Brisbane  in  reference  to  the  so- 
called  Espionage  Bill  is  not  un-Lincoln- 
like.  He  declared  that  he  was  opposed  to 
any  system  of  censorship  that  would 
deny  to  the  people  of  the  United  States 
their  right  to  criticise  their  own  public 
officials.  "So  far  as  I  am  personally  con- 
cerned," wrote  President  Wilson,  "I  shall 


not  expect  or  permit  any  part  of  this  law 
to  apply  to  me  or  any  of  my  official  acts, 
or  in  any  way  to  be  used  as  a  shield  against 
criticism,"  This  recalls  Lincoln's  famous 
letter  to  Col.  Edmund  D.  Taylor,  of 
Chicago,  in  which  he  says:  "How  many 
times  I  have  laughed  at  you  telling  me 
plainly  that  I  was  too  lazy  to  be  anything 
but  a  lawyer!" 

Col.  Roosevelt  when  he  occupied  the 
White  House  used  to  divide  the  Presidents 
of  the  United  States  into  two  classes, 
"Buchanan  Presidents"  and  "Lincoln 
Presidents;"  among  the  latter  of  whom 
he  had  no  hesitancy  in  placing  himself. 
Apropos  of  this  identification,  the  fitness 
of  which  seems  to  have  escaped  the  notice 
of  any  one  else,  Judge  Taft  tells  one  of 
his  best  stories.  As  a  friend  of  his  was 
returning  home  one  evening,  his  little 
daughter  ran  to  meet  him,  all  aglow  with 
the  importance  of  what  she  wished  to 
communicate.  "Papa,"  she  exclaimed, 
"I'm  the  best  scholar  in  the  class!" 
Surprised  and  delighted,  the  father  in- 
quired: "When  did  the  teacher  tell  you, 
Mary?  This  afternoon?" — "Oh,  no,"  was 
Mary's  reply,  "the  teacher  nor  nobody 
didn't  say  so!  I  noticed  it  myself." 

To  be  likened  to  Lincoln  is  sufficient 
praise  for  any  of  the  Presidents  that 
have  come  after  him;  and  to  be  as  little 
unlike  Lincoln  as  possible  should  be  the 
aim  of  all  future  Presidents. 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  very  many  Ameri- 
can people  are  flattering  themselves,  that 
the  reiterated  warnings  of  government  and 
press  as  to  the  urgent  necessity  of  retrench- 
ment and  economy  in  the  matter  of  food 
stuffs  are  merely  the  cries  of  alarmists, 
and  that  the  actual  situation  is  not  at  all 
so  serious  as  the  Administration  and  the 
papers  are  trying  to  make  out.  The 
average  citizen  will  believe  that  he  must 
economize  only  when  definite,  specific 
action  by  the  authorities  limits  his  pur- 
chasing of  this  or  that  food  in  particular. 
Yet  judicious  citizens  may  well  attribute 
to  these  warnings  not  a  little  importance,. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


599 


if  for  no  other  reason  than  because  the 
American  who  is  admittedly  the  best 
qualified  to  speak  with  knowledge  and 
authority  on  the  subject,  Mr.  Herbert  C. 
Hoover,  the  efficient  chairman  of  the 
American  Commission  for  Relief  in  Bel- 
gium, says  of  the  matter:  "The  total 
stock  food  of  to-day  available  in  the  allied 
world  is  simply  not  sufficient  to  last  till 
September,  if  America  continues  its  present 
rate  of  consumption.  We  are  now  face 
to  face  with  the  result  of  last  year's  poor 
harvest,  the  diversion  of  man-power  from 
agriculture  all  over  the  world,  the  un- 
availing efforts  of  the  European  women  to 
•  plant  available  fields  fully,  the  isolation 
of  Russia,  the  sinking  of  food  ships,  and 
many  other  causes.  England,  France  and 
Italy  are  reducing  consumption  by  drastic 
steps;  but,  even  with  all  this  reduction, 
they  must  have  from  us  during  the  next 
three  months  more  than  twice  as  much 
food  as  we  should  have  exported  normally, 
or  than  we  can  send  if  we  consume  as 
usual.  The  only  hope  of  providing  the 
deficiency  is  by  the  elimination  of  waste, 
and  actual  and  rigorous  self-sacrifice  on 
the  part  of  the  American  people." 

The  danger  is  that  not  until  planting 
time  is  over  will  our  people  wake  up 
to  the  realization  that  all  the  planting 
possible  will  be  found  in  no  degree  super- 
fluous for  coming  needs. 

Rarely  has  the  wisdom  of  the  Church 
in  making  religion  an  indispensable  part 
of  her  primary  education  been  more 
triumphantly,  if  indirectly,  vindicated  than 
in  the  realistic  narratives  so  frequently 
sent  out  from  the  trenches  "somewhere  in 
France."  To  cite  only  one  that  has 
recently  come  to  our  notice,  here  are  the 
impressions  received  in  those  trenches  by 
Mr.  Ian  Malcolm,  M.  P. : 

War  does  one  of  two  things  to  a  man:  either 
it  deepens  the  religious  sense,  or  it  expels  it 
altogether.  Whieh  it  does  depends  enormously 
on  early  training.  I  have  noticed  the  occurrence 
of  both  of  these  phenomena  in  the  French 
army.  .  .  .  Immeasurably  the  greater  number 
I  have  heard  of  have  been  of  men  deepened 


in  their  convictions,  or  returned  perhaps  after 
long  desertion  to  the  colors  of  Christ.  ...  I 
have  seen  regiments  arid  battalions  bowed  in 
worship;  silent,  shrouded  congregations  at  all 
hours,  prostrate  in  prayer  and  intercession. 
They  were  not  moved  to  such  devotion  by  any 
ethical,  indeterminate,  undenominational,  new- 
fangled theories  of  a  higher  life.  No:  they  were 
just  practising  the  religion  taught  to  them  by 
their  mothers  or  their  village  priests  in  their 
childhood, — -a  religion  based  upon  the  most 
definite,  the  most  dogmatic  principles  of  the 
Incarnation  and  the  Atonement.  That  was 
what  they  wanted  in  time  of  trouble.  No 
shadowy  substitutes,  no  short  cuts,  no  com- 
promises would  give  them  the  courage  that 
they  needed  in  the  trenches  or  in  the  home. 
So,  under  the  shadow  of  the  guns,  or  stunned 
with  grief,  they  turned  again  like  children  to 
their  mother's  knee,  and  clasped  in  faith  the 
outstretched  hands  of  the  Man  of  Sorrows. 


Having  some  understanding,  we  think, 
of  the  child  ,mind,  and  knowing  how  deep 
are  the  impressions  of  childhood,  and  how 
difficult  it  is  to  remove  or  to  correct  them, 
we  should  hesitate  a  long  time  before 
placing  a  set  of  "The  Children's  Ency- 
clopedia" in  the  hands  of  any  Catholic 
boy  or  girl,  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  this  work  has  been  revised  by  a 
"competent  Catholic,"  and  is  now  highly 
recommended  by  some  of  our  people  as 
being  "free  from  any  reasonable  ground 
of  complaint,"  and  containing  "nothing 
unsuitable  for  Catholic  children,"  etc. 
Admitting  that  this  encyclopedia  is  a 
wonderland  of  instruction  and  amuse- 
ment for  the  young,  and  feeling  deeply 
the  pity  that  our  children  should  be 
excluded  from  it,  we  can  not  overlook 
the  very  important  fact  that  the  standard 
of  human  values  set  up  and  maintained 
throughout  the  eight  volumes  is  dis- 
tinctively Protestant.  For  the  most  part, 
it  is  true,  the  work  contains  comparatively 
little  that  could  offend  or  mislead  Catholic 
children.  The  picture  of  and  references 
to  Luther,  however,  are  enough,  in  our 
opinion,  to  condemn  the  work,  and  to 
warrant  its  being  withheld  from  our  young 
people  until  further  revision  and  excision 
have  been  made. 

The  picture  just  referred  to  represents 


600 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


the  apostate  monk  in  the  act  of  burning 
the  Pope's  Bull,  with  the  legend  under- 
neath, "His  boldness  inspired  many 
weaker  men."  Another  inscription  tells 
how  Luther's  father  prayed  over  his  son's 
cradle  that  he  might  become  a  refiner  in 
God's  Church.  "We  all  know  in  what 
way  this  prayer  was  answered."  All  this 
conveys  an  utterly  false  and  thoroughly 
mischievous  impression,  the  very  contrary 
of  the  one  which  Catholic  children  should 
receive  about  Luther  and  the  so-called 
Reformation. 

It  was  not  until  he  had  grown  to 
manhood  and  visited  Germany,  Dr.  C.  C. 
Felton,  president  of  Harvard  College, 
tells  us  in  his  "Familiar  Letters  from 
Europe,"  that  he  could  rid  himself  of  his 
false  ideas  about  Luther.  Let  this  emi- 
nent American  scholar's  deliberate  judg- 
ment of  the  "hero  of  the  Reformation" 
again  be  quoted  here:  "There  was 
nothing  high  and  grand  about  Martin 
Luther.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  connect 
any  heroic  idea  with  the  man." 

And  shall  our  Catholic  children,  exposed 
to  all  sorts  of  danger  to  their  religion,  in 
an  age  of  weak  faith  be  led  to  believe  that 
Martin  Luther  was  one  of  the  greatest 
men  that  ever  lived,  and  that  his  influence, 
instead  of  being  at  all  pernicious,  was  in 
reality  "refining"  and  beneficial! 

One  phase  of  the  apostolate  of  the 
press  is  exemplified  in  the  action  of  a 
small  band  of  Catholic  laymen  "in  Grand 
Rapids,  Michigan.  According  to  Our 
Sunday  Visitor,  which  justly  applauds 
their  zeal,  they  publish  a  weekly  leaflet — 
usually  a  four-page  folder  of  convenient 
size, — and  distribute  from  twenty-five  to 
forty  thousand  copies  thereof.  The  subject- 
matter  is  either  written  by  one  of  the 
pastors  of  Grand  Rapids,  or  it  is  a  reprint 
of  some  instructive  article  which  has  first 
been  published  elsewhere. 

vSimilar  action  might  well  be  taken  by 
zealous  Catholics  in  many  other  places; 
or,  if  it  appears  too  ambitious  a  project 
for  the  ordinary  men  in  the  street,  these 


latter  might  at  least  emulate  the  good 
example  by  purchasing  and  distributing 
occasional  hundreds  of  the  penny  pam- 
phlets published  by  the  various  Catholic 
Truth  Societies  of  this  country  and  other 
English-speaking  lands.  Many  of  these 
pamphlets  are  of  exceptional  apologetic 
value,  and  are,  moreover,  thoroughly 
interesting  to  non-Catholics. 


All  who  are  not  utterly  hard-hearted  or 
blinded  by  national  prejudice  must  feel 
genuine  gratification  as  well  as  refreshment 
to  read  of  deeds  of  kindness  and  charity 
performed  by  soldiers  and  others  whose 
hearts  are  supposed  to  be  filled  with 
rage  and  hate  towards  those  against 
whom  they  are  fighting.  The  number  of 
such  golden  deeds  already  recorded  would 
fill  volumes;  and  when  the  Great  War 
is  happily  ended  we  shall  hear  of  many 
more,  no  less  striking  or  praiseworthy. 
There  is  reason  to  hope  that  with  peace 
may  come  an  increased  love  of  humanity, 
to  soften  the  national  pride  and  selfishness 
that  have  so  long  held  sway.  A  quality 
higher  and  holier  than  patriotism  was 
shown  by  those  German  troops  who  on 
evacuating  the  little  town  of  Noyons,  in 
Northern  France,  left  seventy  cows  so 
that  the  children  might  not  be  deprived 
of  milk.  Along  the  roads  leading  to  the 
place  were  posted  notices  announcing 
to  the  oncoming  French  forces  that  it 
was  not  fortified,  and  that  eight  thousand 
civilians  were  sheltered  there. 
*** 

Concluding,  in  the  current  number  of 
the  Atlantic  Monthly,  a  narrative  of  his 
captivity  in  Germany  ("At  the  Enemy's 
Mercy"),  a  French  officer  writes:  "I  have 
not  reported  a  single  case  of  German 
atrocity,  because  I  have  not  seen  any 
myself.  ...  I  think  that  no  one  but  an 
actual  witness  should  take  upon  himself 
to  denounce  Germans.  ...  I  will  say  only, 
by  way  of  conclusion,  what  every  officer 
now  imprisoned  in  Germany  would  say 
with  me:  the  Germans'  treatment  of 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


601 


wounded  enemies  has  grown  more  and 
more  humane  in  proportion  as  the  war 
lasted  longer.  Officers  taken  in  1914  had, 
I  know,  much  to  suffer  at  the  hands  of 
the  Germans,  and  many  have  actually 
seen  things  which  pass  imagination.  After 
three  months'  war,  such  cases  were  quite 
exceptional.  French  prisoners  picked  up 
on  the  battlefield  in  the  course  of  the 
Champagne  offensive  of  September,  1915, 
or  during  the  German  advance  toward 
Verdun  in  1916,  are  unanimous  in  their 
praise  of  the  Germans'  correctness  and 
even  courtesy.  Fancy  Frenchmen  prais- 
ing the  '  Boches '  for  their  courtesy !  The 
latter  must  indeed  have  been  unspeakably 
correct  and  courteous  to  have  wrung 
such  a  compliment  from  their  French 
prisoners." 

Sentiments  and  statements  like  these 
are  full  of  significance,  and  are  no  less 
creditable  to  Frenchmen  than  to  Germans. 
They  go  to  prove  that  soldiers  at  least 
are  not  so  blinded  by  hate  that  they  can 
not  be  fair  to  their  foes,  and  throw  dis- 
credit on  all  reports  of  inhuman  acts  that 
are  not  vouched  for  by  actual  witnesses, 
and  that  have  not  been  investigated  in 
all  their  circumstances. 
*** 

It  is  well  to  remember  that  there  prob- 
ably never  was  a  war  in  which  atrocities 
were  not  committed.  In  his  recently- 
published  diary,  Gen.  McClellan  says  of 
our  own  soldiers  in  the  Mexican  War: 
"They  plunder  the  poor  inhabitants  of 
everything  they  can  lay  their  hands  on, 
and  shoot  them  when  they  remonstrate; 
and  if  one  of  their  number  happens  to 
get  into  a  drunken  brawl  and  is  killed, 
they  run  over  the  countryside  killing 
all  the  poor  innocent  people  they  can  find 
in  their  way,  to  avenge,  as  they  say,  the 
murder  of  their  brother." 


can  readily  understand  the  significance 
and  import  of  this  sentence:  "The  ideal 
as  it  exists  in  many  minds  outside  Ireland 
is  disturbed  by  emotion  and  distance, 
and  demands  more  than  Ireland  herself 
wants."  The  fact  is  that,  just  as  the 
Normans  who  went  to  Ireland  became 
more  Irish  than  the  Irish  themselves, 
so  a  large  number  of  Americans  who  are 
Celtic  by  birth  or  descent  are  a  great 
deal  more  anti-British  than  are  the  rank 
and  file  of  the  dwellers  in  the  Green  Isle. 
These  ultra-Hibernian  Americans  seem 
to  ignore  that  democratic  principles  have 
been  at  work  even  in  England  for  several 
decades  past,  and  that  the  English  people, 
as  a  whole,  are  not  averse  to  Ireland's 
obtaining  what  she  has  so  persistently 
demanded.  What  that  demand  is  Mr. 
Leslie  thus  states:  "She  asks  to  possess 
and  enjoy  that  full  colonial  independence 
enjoyed  by  Canada,  and-  of  which  the 
principle  is  assured  to  the  world  by  the 
entry  of  America  into  the  war.  She  can 
not  ask  less.  She  need  not  want  more, 
at  least  in  this  generation.  For  the  time 
being  we  must  be  practical  and  recon- 
structive, remembering  that  Ireland  is 
immortal,  and  that  her  final  form  and 
destiny  is  with  God." 


There  is  an  implied,  if  not  an  outspoken, 
rebuke  to  not  a  few  Irish-Americans  in 
Shane  Leslie's  latest  contribution  to 
America,  "What  Does  Ireland  Want?" 
Readers  of  some  of  our  Catholic  weeklies 


Even  the  most  strenuous  opponents  of 
Prohibition  in  the  country  generally  will 
hardly  object  to  its  operation  among  our 
Indians,  who  have  suffered  more  from  the 
white  man's  "fire  water"  than  from  any 
other  specific  cause,  not  excepting  the 
white  man's  greed.  It  is,  accordingly, 
gratifying  to  be  able  to  state  that  the 
action  of  the  Federal  Government  in 
suppressing  the  liquor  traffic  in  the  Indian 
country  has  been  notably  successful. 
Especially  among  the  Osage  Indians  of 
Oklahoma  has  a  veritable  reversal  of  form 
been  brought  about  during  the  past  few 
years.  "The  only  good  Indian  is  a  dead 
Indian"  was  an  unwarrantable  libel  of 
other  days;  but  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  the  only  good  Red  Man  nowadays 
is  the  sober  Red  Man. 


On  the  Feast  of  St.  Michael. 


BY    HUGH    PHILLIPS. 


fT\  MICHAKL,  warrior-angel,  guard  and   guide 

me! 

So  loud,  so  near  the  battle-thunders  roll. 
When  courage  fails,  when  sin  and  death  betide 

me, 

With  bright  sword  drawn  keep  watch  beside 
my  soul. 

No  mortal  foe,  but  powers  and  dominions 
Be  these  we  strive  against  in  lifelong  fight; 

Huge   carrion  birds  they  seem,   with   outspread 

pinions 
That  blot  the  sunlit  day  to  sudden  night. 

Great  Captain,  ere  those  sable  wings  enfold  me, 
Lead  to  my  rescue  all  the  heavenly  host, 

And  in  thy  Master's  sacred  name  uphold  me, — - 
Almighty  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost! 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


XIX.— THE  GYPSY  GLEN. 

WILL  think  of  it,"  said  Con  to  the 
kind  gypsy  woman.  "Mother  Moll 
always*  said  we  should  think  for  a 
day  and  a  night  before  saying  yes  or  no. 
If  she  had  done  so,  she  would  never  have 
married  Uncle  Bill." 

"Nor  I,  perhaps,  Peppo,"  said  Carita, 
with  a  little  sigh.  "But  he  gave  me  no 
time  to  think  even  for  a  minute.  Ah! 
Santa  Maria,  only  in  dreams  at  night  the 
old  life  comes  back  to  me, —  all  that  I  left 
for  him:  the  altar,  the  red  light  always 
shining  like  a  star,  old  Padre  Antonio 
with  his  kind  voice  and  his  hands  out- 
stretched to  bless.  Tony  is  named  for 
him,  though  Peppo  must  never  know  that. 
Poor  little  Tony,  on  whom  I  have  brought 


the  gypsy  sin!"  And  Carita's  dark  eyes 
filled  with  tears  as  she  drew  the  brown- 
faced  baby  closer  to  her  breast. 

But  Peppo's  call  sounded  in  the  distance. 
In  a  moment  she  shook  away  the  tears, 
and,  putting  Tony  hurriedly  in  Con's 
arms,  caught  up  the  slackened  reins. 
"Pancho,  Lara,  lazy  ones,  your  master  is 
calling!  Get  on, — get  on!"  And  the  wagon 
jolted  on  around  the  bend  of  the  high 
cliffs  into  the  meeting  place  of  these 
wandering  tribes — the  Gypsy  Glen.  All 
about  it  rose  the  mountains,  steep,  rugged, 
dark  with  pine  forest,  save  where  a  few 
loftier  peaks  shot  up  high  and  sharp  like 
watch-towers,  crested  and  capped  with 
snow.  Leaping  down  one  of  the  rocky 
cliffs  was  a  waterfall,  that  rilled  the  air 
with  its  music,  and  widened  into  a  little 
stream  that  went  rippling  and  winding 
down  the  Glen.  Full  a  dozen  tents  were 
already  up,  with  their  fires  burning,  and 
horses,  mules,  dogs  tethered  around. 

Peppo  had  secured  his  camping  place, 
and  was  already  busy  driving  stakes  to 
make  his  claim.  Men  were  shouting  to 
their  beasts  and  calling  cheerily  to  each 
other;  women  chattering,  children  crying, 
dogs  barking, —  it  was  a  busy  scene  into 
which  Carita's  wagon  jolted.  Srje  sprang 
from  it  gaily,  as  blithe  a  gypsy  as  the  rest, 
and  joined  a  crowd  of  younger  women 
gathered  about  the  van  where  a  black- 
eyed  peddler  was  showing  his  wares, — gay 
kerchiefs  and  skirts  and  ribbons,  cheap 
watches,  brooches,  and  'strings  of  amber 
and  coral. 

Con  was  left  with  Tony  while  Carita 
bargained  for  the  red  silk  waist,  the  mock 
jewels  that  would  befit  the  dignity  of  a 
gypsy  queen.  Other  vans  there  were  to 
tempt  the  silver  from  her  beaded  purse; 
for  this  meeting  brought  peddlers  of  all 
kinds  to  fleece  their  gypsy  brethren,  and 
Peppo  was  generous  to  his  pretty,  black- 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


603 


-eyed  wife.  Carita  bought  soft  little  booties 
and  a  tasselled  cap  for  Tony;  cakes  made 
of  nuts  and  honey,  after  old  recipes  the 
Romany  tribes  had  brought  across  the  sea ; 
dates  and  figs  pounded  into  pastes. 

Con's  charge  was  a  bit  restless  and 
fretful;  so  he  lifted  him  from  the  wagon 
and  let  him  roll  on  the  soft  grass  under  the 
shelter  of  the  pines,  until  at  last  he  fell 
asleep  in  the  gathering  dusk.  And  now 
lights  began  to  glimmer,  and  fires  to  glow, 
and  gypsy  pots  to  boil,  while  unctuous 
odors  of  stews  and  broths  filled  the  air. 
Con,  whose  appetite  was  sharpening  daily, 
began  to  think  of  Carita's  talk  this  even- 
ing. It  did  not  seem  so  bad  to  be  a 
gypsy,  after  all.  It  would  mean  gay  free- 
dom, such  as  he  had  never  known;  for 
until  now  he  had  not  strayed  very  far 
from  the  smoky  fireside  of  the  Roost 
and  Uncle  Bill's  fierce  rule.  It  would  mean 
food  and  fire  and  light,  and  poor  Con 
had  often  starved  and  shivered  in  the 
darkness.  It  would  mean  living  in  cheery 
company,  instead  of  fighting  a  cold,  un- 
friendly world  alone.  The  gypsy  camp 
looked  very  bright  in  the  deepening 
shadows,  as,  their  beasts  fed,  and  their 
tents  staked,  the  men  flung  themselves 
on  the  new  grass,  playing  cards,  throwing 
dice,  or  touching  their  mandolins  and 
guitars  into  tinkling  music. 

And  he  would  have  Dick  for  his  own 
again,  —  faithful  old  Dick,  who  always 
pulled  on  Peppo's  stout  leash  whenever 
Con  came  near;  Dick  who,  when  he 
was  sometimes  loosed  at  the  evening  rest, 
came  bounding  and  leaping  to  Carita's 
wagon  to  lick  his  young  master's  out- 
stretched hand.  With  his  returning 
strength,  Con  had  been  considering  the 
possibility  of  cutting  Dick's  leash  some 
quiet  night,  and  making  off  with  him  into 
the  darkness.  But  his  old  daring  had  not 
come  back  to  him  yet,  and  he  knew  he  was 
in  strange  wilds,  through  which  he  could 
not  find  his  way.  With  its  boiling  pots, 
its  gleaming  lights,  its  laughter  and 
music,  the  gypsy  camp  looked  very 
pleasant  to  the  homeless  boy  to-night,  as, 


stretched  out  by  Tony's  side  in  its  cheerful 
shelter,  he  thought  of  the  dark,  pathless, 
lonely  wilds  above.  And  then  Carita  came 
back  to  find  her  two  nurslings,  and  bring 
her  Conde  a  generous  share  of  dainties 
she  had  bought  in  the  vans. 

"The  boys  and  girls  are  dancing,"  she 
said,  "and  the  Arab  Achor  has  set  up  his 
Tent  of  Wonders  against  the  cliffs.  He 
has  a  bird  that  talks,  and  a  dog  that 
plays  cards.  And  they  are  rolling  balls 
and  shooting  at  a  mark.  Take  these  three 
dimes,  Conde,  and  go  and  be  gay  with 
the  rest." 

It  was  an  invitation  no  live  boy  could 
resist.  Con,  whose  ragged  clothes  had  been 
replaced  by  a  khaki  suit  of  Peppo's,  much 
shrunk  by  repeated  washings,  but  still 
gay  with  green  braid  and  brass  buttons, 
pulled  his  brimless  hat  over  his  yellow 
hair  and  set  out  to  be  a  gypsy  to-night 
"with  the  rest."  Seldom  in  his  hard, 
rough  young  life  had  he  been  "let  in"  at 
any  of  the  pleasuring  of  Misty  Mountain. 
Not  even  when  the  circus  had  made  its 
way  through  the  old  trail,  and  spread  its 
tents  on  Farmer  Dennis' '  three-acre  lot, 
had  he  been  allowed  anything  more  than 
a  peep-hole  at  the  wonders  within.  Now, 
with  three  dimes  in  his  grasp,  he  felt 
rich  indeed.  He  was  a  little  shy  of  these 
strangers  at  first,  and  stood  apart,  watch- 
ing the  dancing  and  the  ball  rolling.  But 
the  shooting  he  understood.  Nat  had 
taught  him  to  hit  a  bird  on  the  wing 
three  years  ago. 

"It's  ten  cents  to  win  or  lose  a  shot," 
the  black-eyed  man  was  calling. 

The  bull's-eye  flaming  out  bright  and 
clear  against  the  darkness  seemed  an 
easy  mark  indeed  for  Mountain  Con. 
And  he  took  up  the  clean  new  rifle,  unlike 
anything  in  the  old  Roost,  and  shot  one, 
two,  three,  four,  five  times.  The  gypsies 
pressed  around,  shouting  and  laughing. 
They  had  never  seen  a  boy  shoot  like 
this  before. 

"  But  five  shots  was  the  limit,"  the  black- 
eyed  man  declared  angrily,  as  he  put  the 
five  dimes  in  the  winner's  hand;  and,  with 


604 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


this  new  wealth  added  to  his  store,  Con 
felt  like  a  fairy  prince  indeed. 

"But  he  is  a  rogue,  that  Caspar,"  said 
a  girl  who  had  been  watching  at  Con's 
side.  "He  should  let  you  shoot  more." 

"It  is  enough,"  laughed  Con.  "Now 
I  will  try  the  rolling  balls."  Again  his 
quick  eye  and  steady  hand  won. 

"Come  and  dance  now,"  said  the  girl, 
who  was  about  his  own  age,  and  had  long 
black  hair  tied  with  red  ribbons,  and  wore 
a  necklace  of  gold  beads. 

"No,"  replied  Con.  "I  can  shoot  and 
roll  balls,  but  I  never  danced  in  my  life." 

"Then  it  is  as  I  thought,"  and  the  girl's 
dark  eyes  flashed.  "You  are  no  gypsy. 
What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I  fell  sick  on  the  road  up  in  the  moun- 
tain, ' '  answered  Con ;  ' '  and  Carita,  Peppo's 
wife,  would  not  leave  me  to  die.  She  put 
me  in  the  wagon  and  brought  me  here." 

"Then  you  are  white,  you  are  Christian, 
you  are  stranger!"  exclaimed  the  girl, 
breathlessly. 

"To-night,"  said  Con;  "but  I  may  be 
brown-skinned  and  a  gypsy  to-morrow.  I 
do  not  know  yet." 

"To-morrow?"  repeated  his  new  friend. 
"To-morrow  you  may  be  a  gypsy?  Oh, 
how — why — I — do  not  understand!" 

"Carita  wants  me,"  answered  Con.  "I 
will  have  my  own  horse  and  my  own  dog 
again.  Peppo  has  Dick  here  now  on  his 
leash.  And  I  have  broken  loose  from 
everybody  and  everything  else.  I  haven't 
any  place  to  go,  and  it's  nice  here.  I 
think  I  would  like  to  stay  always,  but  I 
am  not  quite  sure  yet.  I  must  think 
longer  before  I  say  yes  or  no." 

"I  would  not  think,"  said  the  girl, 
eagerly.  "If  I  were  a  white-faced  boy  like 
you,  I  would  say  no,  no,  no!" 

"You  would?"  Con  stared  in  amaze- 
ment at  the  breathless  young  speaker. 
"But  you  are  a  gypsy  yourself." 

"Yes,  yes,  and  I  can  not  change.  But 
if  I  were  like  you,  with  the  white  blood, 
the  white  heart,  the  white  skin,  I  would 
hold  to  them  always — forever,  forever!" 
repeated  Zila,  passionately,  "You  can 


have  houses,  gardens  with  roses  in  them, 
birds  singing  in  cages  at  the  windows. 
Ah!  I  have  often  seen  all  these  things  as 
our  wagon  passed  down  the  roads,  with 
the  tins  clinking  and  the  dogs  following 
us,  and  the  men  hurrying  us  on  to  the 
camping  place  for  the  night.  It  is  always 
hurrying  on  and  on  with  the  gypsies.  I 
would  like  to  have  a  home  with  walls 
that  are  strong  and  sure,  and  to  go  to 
school  and  to  church.  I  went  to  church 
one  morning —  Zila  paused  as  if  the 
experience  had  been  a  most  thrilling  one. 

"Was  it  a  Christmas  church?"  asked 
Con,  recalling  the  log  cabin. 

They  had  seated  themselves  on  a  mossy 
ridge  beside  the  little  stream. 

"No,"  answered  Zila.  "The  May- 
flowers were  in  bloom.  Our  camp  was  down 
in  a  hollow,  and  the  women  came  there  to 
have  their  fortunes  told  and  buy  charms 
and  spells.  My  grandmother  had  sent  me 
into  the  woods  to  look  for  old  snake  skins 
and  young  tortoises  that  she  could  sell 
to  bring  luck.  But  I  could  find  none, 
and  kept  on  and  on  by  strange  paths 
I  did  not  know,  picking  May  blossoms 
as  I  went,  and  listening  to  the  birds 
singing  on  the  treetops.  Then  I  heard 
other  singing  louder  than  that  of  the 
birds;  and  I  stopped,  hiding  in  a  thorn 
bush  to  hear  and  see.  And  down  the  path 
near  me  came  a  line  of  little  boys  and 
girls  all  dressed  in  white,  with  their  hands 
full  of  flowers.  They  had  a  white  banner 
larger  than  the  red  and  yellow  flag  that 
flew  from  my  grandmother's  tent;  and, 
though  the  sun  was  shining,  some  of  the 
boys  carried  lighted  candles.  And  there 
was  a  tall  man  behind,  with  a  lace  gown 
over  a  long,  black  dress;  and  all  were 
singing  together  as  they  came  through  the 
trees.  I  stole  along  after  them  to  see 
where  they  were  going;  and  I  found  that 
it  was  to  a  church  around  the  bend  of 
the  road;  and  —  and  then  I  forgot  all 
about  the  snake  skins  and  tortoises,  and 
followed  in  with  all  the  rest." 

"And  it  was  all  green  and  woodsy - 
like,"  put  in  Con,  as  the  narrator  stopped; 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


605 


"and  there  was  a  great 'table  filled  with 
lights  and  flowers." 

"Yes,"  said  Zila,  "and  a  lady  was 
standing  there, — not  a  real  lady,  but  a 
beautiful  statue  dressed  in  blue  and  white, 
with  a  gold  crown.  And  all  the  singing 
children  laid  their  flowers  at  her  feet  and 
knelt  down;  and  crowds  of  other  people 
came  into  the  church,  and  I  hid  in  a  dark 
corner  where  no  one  saw  me,  and  heard  it 
all, — the  singing  and  the  praying  and  the 
organ  music.  And  after  they  had  gone, 
and  there  was  nobody  to  see  me,  I  stole 
up  to  the  beautiful  lady  and  put  my  May 
blossoms  there,  too,  with  all  the  rest." 

"And  you  didn't  find  the  snake  skins?" 
asked  Con,  sympathetically. 

"No,"  answered  Zila.  "Grandmother 
was  angry  and  struck  me  with  her  cane, 
but  I .  didn't  care.  For  the  next  day  we 
broke  camp,  and  I've  never  been  to  church 
since.  I  was  glad  I  went  that  once,  so  I 
can  remember, — remember  it  forever." 

Then  a  shrill  old  voice  from  a  neighbor- 
ing tent  called: 

"Zila!" 

"Grandmother!"  she  said,  starting  up 
and  hurrying  off. 

Grandmother,—  grandmother!  The  old 
gypsy  witch  wife!  Grandmother  who  sold 
snake  skins  and  tortoises  to  foolish 
women!  Even  poor  old  Mother  Moll  was 
wiser,  better  than  that. 

The  vans  were  closing  up  for  the  night, 
the  men  quarrelling  over  their  cards  by 
the  dying  fires. 

"Where  Peppo  is  I  do  not  know,"  said 
Carita,  as  Con  came  up  to  the  wagon. 
"They  have  made  kim  drunk,  I  fear,  the 
rascals!  And  something  is  wrong  with 
Tony, — my  Tony!  That  old  witch  Huldah 
has  cast  the  evil  eye  upon  him,  I  know.  I 
heard  her  hiss  like  a  snake  as  we  passed 
her  tent." 

Tony  ill,  Peppo  drinking,  old  Huldah 
casting  her  wicked  spells!  The  Gypsy 
Glen  was  losing  something  of  its  charm  for 
Con.  Better  the  white  skin  and  the  white 
.soul,  as  Zila  had  said. 

/T<>   be   contintic'I.) 


Simple  tte. 

BY    A.  DOURUAC.* 

§IMPI,ETTE  was  a  little  beggar  girl, 
without  family  or  home,  without 
beauty  or  cleverness.  Being  thus 
unfavored  by  nature,  birth,  and  fortune, 
she  might  have  considered  herself  most 
unfortunate  and  become  sullen.  She  did 
nothing  of  the  kind,  however:  she  was 
always  cheerful.  A  smile  was  ever  on  her 
lips  and  a  blossom  in  her  hand. 

She  loved  flowers,  and  she  gathered 
large  bouquets  to  sell  at  the  door  of  the 
church  and  on  the  passage  of  processions. 
Being  timid,  she  stood  aside,  afraid  to 
approach  the  fine  gentlemen  and  beautiful 
ladies  as  boldly  as  did  her  companions; 
so  she  often  failed  to  make  a  single  sale. 
But  for  this  she  consoled  herself  quite 
easily,  praying  before  the  Madonna,  and 
laying  at  her  feet  the  overflow  of  both  her 
basket  and  her  heart.  Neither  her  flowers 
nor  her  prayers  were  lost. 

One  day  an  old  lady  with  a  wrinkled, 
parchment-like  face,  and  little  beady 
black  eyes  peering  out  'from  under  her 
faded  bonnet,  tottered  up  to  the  church 
porch,  where  the  child  was  arranging  her 
flowers  in  her  basket. 

"Oh,  what  lovely  flowers!  And  how 
sweet  they  smell!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Would  you  like  some  of  them, 
madame?"  asked  Simplette. 

"Yes;  but  what  if  I  haven't  any  money, 
my  little  girl?" 

"That  doesn't  matter  if  you  want  some." 

"So  you  would  make  me  a  present  of 
them?" 

"Yes,  gladly.'" 

"You  are  very  generous;  but  you  might 
be  able  to  sell  them." 

"Oh,  a  bunch  more  or  less  won't  matter;! 
Just  one  wouldn't  make  me  much  richer." 

"What's  your  name,  child?" 

"They  call  me  Simplette." 

"Are  your  parents  living?" 

"Both  are  dead,  madame." 

*    Translated   for  THE   Avii  MAKIA   by    11.   Twiti-hcll 


606 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"Well,  Simplette,  I  will  accept  your 
bouquet,  and  I  thank  you  for  it." 

The  old  lady  took  the  flowers  and  passed 
on  her  way.  The  rest  of  the  venders  then 
began  to  mock  Simplette. 

"So  you  make  presents  to  old  Dame 
Leonarde ! ' '  they  cried.  ' '  She's  a  miserable 
old  miser,  rich  enough  to  buy  all  your 
flowers  a  hundred  times  over,  if  she  wasn't 
so  stingy.  She  pretends  to  be  poor  and  lives 
in  a  tumble-down  old  house,  and  doesn't 
have  as  much  to  eat  as  the  poqrest  of  us." 

"Then  I  did  right  in  giving  her  the 
bouquet,"  was  Simplette's  gentle  answer. 

Dame  Leonarde  did  have  a  very  un- 
pleasant reputation,  especially  among  her 
relatives,  in  whose  eyes  her  chief  offence 
was  her  delay  in  growing  old.  Still,  in  spite 
of  all  their  ill-will,  they  overwhelmed  her 
with  gifts  and  attentions,  in  the  hope  of 
being  remembered  in  her  will.  They  sent 
her  the  choicest  cakes,  cuts  of  meat, 
syrups  and  cordials,  according  to  their 
several  occupations.  All  these  gifts  were 
accepted  by  the  old  lady  with  apparent 
gratitude. 

"  How  you  spoil  me,  children ! "  she  would 
often  say.  "And  I'm  sure  it  is  not  for  my 
fortune,  I  am  so  miserably  poor!" 

"Of  course  not,  aunt." 

"That  is  what  gives  value  to  your 
generosity.  For  all  that,  it  chagrins  me 
not  to  have  some  little  souvenir  to  leave 
to  you." 

"Don't  worry  about  that,  aunt,"  they 
all  hastened  to  say,  each  one  secretly 
hoping  he  would  be  the  favored  one  in  the 
old  lady's  will.  She  had  sold  her  old  house 
to  the  notary  years  ago,  but  was  thought 
to  be  still  wealthy. 

In  the  course  of  time  Dame  Leonarde 
passed  away,  as  all  mortals  must  do.  On 
the  day  of  her  funeral — which  was  very 
simple, — when  the  casket  was  being  carried 
through  the  church  door,  Simplette,  in  her 
accustomed  place,  thought  it  was  very 
sad  to  go  to  the  grave  without  a  wreath 
or  a  single  flower,  so  she  laid  a  choice 
bouquet  on  the  bier  as  it  passed  by  her. 

After  the  ceremony  was  over,  the  heirs 


gathered  round  the  notary  to  hear  him 
read  the  will  of  the  deceased.  Dame 
Leonarde  began  by  thanking  her  relatives 
for  all  their  acts  of  kindness  to  her.  For 
these,  she  would  have  liked  to  show  her 
gratitude  after  her  death.  But,  alas!  she 
could  leave  nothing,  absolutely  nothing, 
to  recompense  them,  excepting  an  old 
prayer-book  that  she  had  carried  for  fifty 
years,  and  which  was  quite  worn  out. 
If,  however,  this  souvenir  of  their  old 
aunt  possessed  any  value  in  the  eyes  of 
any  of  them,  she  bequeathed  it  to  the  one 
who  would  accept  it.  If  no  one  wanted  it, 
it  was  to  go  to  little  Simplette,  who  had 
once  given  her  a  bouquet  of  flowers. 

Great  was  the  » indignation  when  the 
reading  was  over. 

"Think  of  it!  An  old  rag  of  a  book  for 
all  my  good  hams!"  said  one.  "And  for 
my  choice  cakes!"  cried  another.  "And 
for  my  delicious  syrups  and  cordials!" 
grumbled  a  third.  "She  must  have  lost  all 
her  money  in  some  way,"  they  all  agreed. 

"  So  no  one  wishes  to  accept  the  legacy? " 
inquired  the  notary. 

No  one  wished  to  do  so,  and  all  resented 
being  made  sport  of  in  such  a  fashion. 

"And  you,  Simplette?"  continued  the 
gentleman,  addressing  the  young  girl, 
whom  he  had  had  summoned. 

"I  will  accept  it  gladly,"  was  the  reply. 
"I  am  grateful  to  Dame  Leonarde  for 
thinking  of  me  at  all,  and  I  shall  keep  her 
prayer-book  in  memory  of  her.',' 

All  the  others  sneered  at  her  simplicity. 
Then  the  notary,  presenting  the  book  to 
her  with  a  grand  flourish,  said: 

"Simplette,  you  ar£  heir  to  this  book 
and  to  all  the  fortune  of  Dame  Leonarde, 
which  amounts  to  forty  thousand  crowns; 
for  on  the  first  page  of  the  book  is  written 
by  herself:  'The  person  who  will  accept 
my  old  prayer-book  shall  be  the  heir  to 
my  entire  fortune.'  Her  mind  was  slightly 
affected,  it  is  true,  but  she  was  quite  com- 
petent to  make  a  will." 

And  this  is  how  the  selfish  relatives  were 
punished,  and  the  grateful,  kind-hearted 
Simplette  was  rewarded. 


THE  AVK  MART  A  607 

WITH    AUTHORS    AND    PUBLISHERS 


—The  April  issue  of  the  Catholic  Choirmaster 
is  a  particularly  valuable  one.  Besides  the  usual 
discussion  of  matters  important  in  their  bearing 
on  our  music,  it  contains  several  excellent  pieces 
of  approved  church  music. 

— The  Techuy  Press  was  well-advised  in 
issuing  "Veni,  Sancte  Spiritus!"  by  the  Rev. 
Clem.  M.  Thuente,  O.  P.  This  small  pamphlet 
is  an  excellent  meditation  for  the  approaching 
Feast  of  Pentecost,  and  suitable  at  all  times  to 
inspire  devotion  to  the  Holy  Ghost.  Single 
copies  are  sold  for  5  cents. 

— Among  brochures  recently  received  from 
French  publishers  are  Nos.  75  and  76  of  Bloud 
&  Gay's  "Pages  Actuelles"  series:  "  De  1'Yser 
I  a  1'Argonne,"  by  C.  Danielou;  and  "Journal 
d'un  Officier  Prussien,"  by  H.  De  Vere  Stack- 
poole;  "Les  Traits  Eternels  de  La  France,"  by 
Maurice  Barres  (Emil-Paul  Freres);  and  "La 
Haine  de  1'Allemagne  Centre  la  Verite,"  by  Mgr. 
C.  Bellet  (Libraire  A.  Picard  &  Fils). 

— There  are  many  splendid  reflections  in  "A 
Casket  of  Joys,"  and  there  is  a  rich  collection  of 
excerpts  from  the  poets  and  prose  writers  of  all 
time.  The  Rev.  J.  T.  Durward  has  prepared  this 
brochure,  and  issued  it  through  the  Pilgrim 
Publishing  Co.,  Baraboo,  Wis.  There  are  some 
proof  mistakes,  one  particularly  in  the  spelling 
of  Francis  Thompson's  name,  twice  occurring. 
Sold  for  15  cents;  "fancy  cover,"  25  cents. 

— A  pleasantly  told,  fanciful  story,  thoroughly 
J  saturated  with  the  atmosphere  of  the  opera  house, 
is  "  All-of-a-Sudden  Carmen,"  by  Gustave  Kobbe 
(G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons).  Considering  the  ordinary 
connotation  of  stage-life  in  the  mind  of  the 
general  reader,  the  tale  is  singularly  free  from 
objectionable  features, — this  freedom  being  due 
no  doubt  to  the  fact  that  the  heroine  enters  the 
scene  as  a  baby.  The  details  of  the  good-nature 
and  generosity  of  the  various  members  of  the 
company,  and  the  na'ive  devotedness  of  the 
amiable  baby's  self-constituted  guardian,  Yudels, 
make  pleasant  reading,  which  even  the  melo- 
dramatic funeral  service  (in  the  opera  house) 
can  not  altogether  spoil. 

— We  think  that  the  Rev.  Augustine  Springier 
in  "Our  Refuge"  (B.  Herder)  has  conceived  his 
subject  and  arranged  his  matter  in  a  very  excel- 
lent way.  This  little  book  is  concerned  with  the 
Most  Holy  Eucharist,  and  aims  to  give  a  series 
of  practical  instructions  on  that  sacred  theme. 
The  author  is  a  pastor,  and  he  knows  people; 
he  knows  both  what  to  say  to  the  ordinary 
Catholic  and  how  to  say  it.  It  is  difficult  to 


single  out  any  particular  chapter  in  his  work 
as  uncommonly  happy,  since  that  quality  distin- 
guishes all  the  chapters.  The  book  is  bright, 
direct,  brief,  dogmatic  throughout,  and  not  even 
remotely  suggestive  of  the  pietistic.  Pastors 
would  do  well  to  study  it,  apply  its  methods  in 
their  own  work,  and  promote  its  circulation 
among  their  flock. 

— It  was  worth  while  reprinting  in  pamphlet 
form  the  excellent  lecture,  "International  Law 
and  Autocracy,"  which  was  delivered  before  the 
University  of  Pennsylvania  by  George  G.  Butler, 
M.  A.,  Fellow  and  Librarian  of  Corpus  Christi 
College,  Cambridge.  It  is  an  examination  of 
the  "social  contract,"  and  an  exposition  of  how 
this  theory  fails  in  its  application  to  the  origin 
of  international  law.  A  ringing  message  to 
American  schools  of  legal  thought  concludes  this 
timely  and  forceful  discussion.  Published  by 
Hodder  &  Stoughton,  London. 

— There  will  be  many  a  heartfelt  prayer 
offered  for  the  repose  of  the  soul  of  Eleanor  C. 
Donnelly,  the  oldest  of  American  Catholic 
poets,  and  a  versatile  prose  author  of  distinction 
as  well.  Her  death  occurred  last  week.  For 
a  full  half  century  her  writings  have  been  a 
source  of  pleasure  and  edification  to  her  English- 
speaking  coreligionists.  Her  first  volume  of 
poems,  "Out  of  Sweet  Solitude,"  was  published 
in  1873,  and  not  long  thereafter  she  became 
known  as  the  American  Adelaide  Procter.  She 
never  claimed  for  herself,  nor  did  her  friends 
claim  for  her,  the  title  of  "great  poet,"  any 
more  than  it  is  claimed  for  our  best  and  most 
effective  preachers  that  they  are  great  pulpit 
orators;  but  the  minor  poets,  like  these 
preachers,  probably  do  more  good  to  more 
people  than  is  accomplished  by  the  master 
singers  who  so  often  soar  beyond  the  compre- 
hension of  the  multitude.  If  not  a  great  poet, 
however,  Miss  Donnelly  was  a  true  one.  May 
she  rest  in  peace! 

— Sir  Francis  C.  Burnand,  founder  of  "The 
Catholic  Who's  Who,"  editor  of  Punch  from 
1880  to  1906,  author  of  more  than  six -score 
light  plays  ("Box  and  Cox"  and  "Black -eyed 
Susan"  among  them);  autobiographical  writer 
of  "My  Time  and  What  I've  Done  with  It" 
and  "Reminiscences";  and  essayist  whose 
"Happy  Thoughts"  has  gone  through  twenty- 
six  editions, — is  dead  at  the  age  of  eighty-one. 
His  life,  especially  his  early  manhood,  was  a 
varied  one.  Graduating  from  Cambridge,  he 
prepared  for  a  time  for  the  Anglican  ministry; 
became  a  convert  to  the  Church  in  1857;  tried 


608 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


his  vocation  to  the  priesthood  under  Dr.  (after- 
wards Cardinal)  Manning;  was  called  to  the 
Bar  in  1862;  and  only  thereafter  discovered 
his  real  vocation  as  a  play-producer  and  a 
writer  of  light  literature.  To  the  aged  humorist, 
who  had  contributed  to  Punch  for  years  before 
becoming  its  editor,  no  finer  tribute  could  be 
paid  than  the  unanimous  verdict  of  his  con- 
temporaries: "Not  one  of  his  myriads  of  arrows 
•of  wit  was  ever  poisoned."  R.  I.  P. 

— The  following  is  a  translation,  presumably 
by  an  Italian,  of  a  curiosity  dealer's  circular, 
which  a  traveller  in  Italy  secured  and  brought 
home  with  him: 

Joseph  the  Cook,  he  offer  to  one  illuminated  public,  and 
most  particularly  for  Unglish  knowing-  men  in  general,  one 
remarkable,  pretty,  famous,  and  splendid  collection  of  old 
goods,  all  quite  new,  excavated  from  private  personal  dig- 
gings. He  sell  cooked  clays,  old  marble  tones,  with  ancient 
basso-relievos,  with  stewing  pots,  brass  sacraficing  pans, 
and  antik  lamps;  .  .  .  also  old  coppers  and  candlesticks, 
with  Nola  jugs,  IJtruscan  saucers,  and  much  more  intel- 
lectual minds  articles;  all  entitling  him  to  a  learned  mans 
inspection  to  examine  him,  and  supply  it  with  illustrious 
protection,  of  whom  he  hope  full  and  valorous  satisfaction. 

N.  B. — He  make  all  old  tings  brand  new,  and  the  new 
tings  all  eld,  for  gentlemans  who  has  collections,  and  wishes 
to  change  him.  He  have  also  one  manner  quite  original  for 
make  join  two  sides  of  different  monies;  producing  one 
medallion  all  indeed  unique,  and  advantage  him  to  sell 
for  exportation  for  strange  cabinets  and  museums  of  the 
Exterior  Potentates. 


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VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  MAY  19,  1917. 


NO.  20 


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

After  Ascension.  The  Story  of  a  Conversion. 


BY  KATHARINE  TYNAN. 


twelve  years  from  Ascension 
Until  the  day  of  meeting  broke, 
She  was  not  so  much  all  alone 

As  it  might  seem  to  common  folk, 
Because  no  day  passed  without  bliss: 
He  gives  Himself  back  to  her  kiss. 

He  comes  no  more  in  human  guise, 
Yet  He  is  in  their  midst  again; 

His  wounds  are  there  in  all  men's  eyes, 
So  doubting  Thomas  sees  them  plain. 

They  pour  the  Wine  and  break  the  Bread, 

And  her  heart's  hunger  's  comforted. 

The  Apostle  takes  the  Cup  of  Wine, 

The  white  Bread  on  the  paten  bright,  — 

O  Food  of  Angels,  dear,  divine! 

The  Lord  of  Life  comes  down  in  light, 

And  sweeter  than  the  honeycomb 

Rests  in  the  heart  that  was  His  home. 

Give  place!    His  Mother's  claim  is  first! 

Her  arms  embrace  her  Son  once  more; 
On  the  kind  breast  where  He  was  nurst 

He  hath  sweet  ease,  as  oft  before; 
Morn  after  morn  through  all  the  years, 
His  love  makes  rapture  of  her  tears. 

She  guards  the  youngling  Church  as  once 
She  kept  her  small  Son  while  He  grew, 

vSafe-sheltered  from  the  winds  and  suns, 
Comforted  with  soft  rain  and  dew; 

Till  it's  full-grown,  and  she  is  free 

For  the  long  bliss  that  is  to  be. 


BY  THE  COUNTESS  DE  COURSON. 


MANY    are    the   roads    by   which    God 
carries  His  own  to  heaven. — -Cervantes. 


HE  conversion  here  described 
was  '  not,  like  many  others, 
brought  about  by  the  war; 
but  the  hardships  of  the  great 
conflict,  and  above  all  the  supreme  sacrifice 
sthat  it  demanded,  tested  the  convert's 
sincerity:  the  flowers  of  spirituality 
planted  in  his  soul  developed,  under  the 
stern  blasts  of  adversity,  with  marvellous 
rapidity.  The  hero  of  this  sketch,  Pierre 
Lamouroux,  returned  to  the  faith  of  his 
fathers  only  three  months  before  the 
call  to  arms  in  August  1914;  but,  though 
a  recent  convert,  he  was  fully  equipped 
to  meet  the  ordeal.  The  close  presence 
of  danger  and  death  has  over  and  over 
again  during  the  war  brought  neglectful  or 
careless  soldiers  to  their  knees.  In  souls 
safely  anchored  in  the  waters  of  religious 
faith,  the  same  cause  has  developed  hero- 
ism and  holiness  above  the  common.  In 
one  word,  the  war,  with  its  attendant 
trials,  has  often  turned  pagans  into 
Christians,  and  ordinary  Catholics  into 
spiritual  heroes. 

A  Jesuit  writer*  has  told  the  French 
public  a  story  that  illustrates  this  fact. 
It  might  be  called  the  "story  of  a  soul." 
It  tells  us  of  the  development  of  a  noble 
nature,  that  won  its  way  back  to  faith 
by  study,  humility,  and  prayer;  and 
that,'  under  the  stress  of  a  supreme  ordeal, 
attained  in  a  few  months  a  high  degree 

*      "Ames     Nouvelles,"     par     Albert     Bessieres,     S.  J. 
"  Etudes,"    1916. 


610 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


of  perfection.  The  fine  quality  of  the 
soul  whose  evolution  we  are  led  to  follow 
makes  the  story  sympathetic,  but  it  touches 
on  wider  issues.  Pierre  Lamouroux  is  a 
sample  of  a  class  of  Frenchmen  whose 
influence  is  great,  because  they  hold  in 
their  hands  the  future  of  the  children  of 
the  people, — a  class  of  men  generally 
anti-clerical  and  revolutionary,  trained  by 
the  French  University  whose  programmes 
ignore  the  existence  of  God. 

Before  the  war,  a  certain  religious  and 
spiritualistic  movement  might  be  observed 
among  some  young  intellectuals;  and 
many  books  and  reviews  pointed  out  its 
existence  and  development.  It  had  dis- 
tinct characteristics.  Those  who  per- 
sonified it  were  realists  in  the  exact  sense 
of  the  word:  they  wished  to  find  religious, 
moral  and  social  truth;  and  their  search 
was  marked  by  thoroughness,  logic, 
patience,  and  good  sense.  They  prized 
convictions  rather  than  impressions,  logic 
rather  than  imagination.  Their  mental 
attitude  was  as  different  as  possible  from 
the  romantic  school  that  was  in  fashion 
some  eighty  years  ago;  it  was  more  in 
keeping  with  the  scientific  age  in  which 
we  are  living. 

Pierre  Lamouroux  was  a  convert  of 
this  type.  His  forefathers  were  peasants; 
but  his  father  filled  a  modest  official 
employment,  and  this  fact  may  account 
for  the  lack  of  religion  that  marked  the 
boy's  surroundings.  He  was  born  at 
Camy,  a  village  in  Languedoc,  in  1882; 
and  began  his  studies  at  the  Lyce*e  or 
Government  College  of  Janson  de  Sailly, 
in  Paris.  He  pursued  them  at  Tulle, 
Cahors,  and  again  in  Paris,  according 
to  the  changes  that  occurred  in  his  father's 
career.  He  had  been  baptized,  and,  at 
Cahors,  made  his  PAirst  Communion,  prob- 
ably with  only  a  superficial  preparation; 
for,  beyond  these  two  acts,  he  grew  up 
outside  any  religious  practice. 

This  handsome,  intelligent  lad  was 
singularly  attractive  and  highly  gifted. 
He  passed  all  his  examinations  brilliantly, 
and  decided  to  become  a  schoolmaster 


under  the  Government.  Tlis  first  post 
was  at  a  primary  school  in  Paris;  but  in 
1912  he  became  professor  at  the  Lycee 
Rollin,  and,  had  his  life  been  spared,  he 
seemed  destined  to  a  successful  career 
in  the  French  University.  The  Jesuit 
who  writes  his  story  had  been  his  play- 
fellow in  childhood.  Later  he  lost  sight 
of  him  for  some  years,  their  roads  lying 
far  apart.  But  they  corresponded  at 
intervals;  and  in  the  end  it  was  to  this 
friend  of  his  youth  that  Pierre  Lamou- 
roux owed,  after  God,  his  return  to  the 
practice  of  our  holy  religion. 

His  mental  attitude  at  the  beginning 
of  his  career  was  a  curious  one.  He  was 
by  nature  an  idealist  and  a  mystic;  abso- 
lutely sincere  in  his  speech,  socialistic 
in  his  theories;  and,  in  reality,  under  his 
untiring  energy  lay  a  feeling  of  doubt  and 
unrest.  He  confessed  to  his  friend  that, 
as  far  back  as  1904,  he  realized  that  to 
enforce  a  moral  law  without  admitting 
the  existence  of  God  was  an  impossibility. 
A  trivial  incident  was  the  immediate 
occasion  of  this  realization.  One  of  his 
small  pupils  committed  a  grave  fault.  "You 
must  not  do  that,"  said  the  master.— 
"Why?"  asked  the  boy.—  "Because  it 
is  forbidden." — "  Forbidden  by  whom?"- 
"By  me."  The  lad  turned  away,  and 
Lamouroux  heard  him  mutter  in  untrans- 
latable French  slang:  "As  if  I  cared  what 
the  fellow  forbids!" 

Pierre  owned  that  he  experienced  a 
shock.  This  trifling  incident  led  him  to 
notice  the  insufficiency  of  the  morale 
laique  that  alone  prevails  in  the  official 
schools  where  the  existence  of  God  is 
systematically  ignored.  He  was  shocked 
to  discover  that  even  the  authors  of  this 
lay  catechism  did  not  believe  in  its 
efficacy.  -The  boys  openly  laughed  at  it. 
He  had  considered  his  work  as  a  school- 
master less  as  a  career  than  as  an  apostle- 
ship;  and  now  his  ideal  seemed  falling 
to  pieces,  because  it  had  no  solid  founda- 
tion. His  colleagues  took  matters  less 
seriously.  This  alone  created  a  barrier 
between  them  and  our  earnest  young 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


611 


schoolmaster,  who  dreamed  more  of  ele- 
vating and  educating  than  of  merely  teach- 
ing his  charges.  His  Jesuit  friend,  to  whom 
he  confided  his  disappointment,  advised 
him  to  pray.  "How  can  I  pray  when  I 
do  not  believe?"  replied  Lamouroux. 

In  1905  he  was  called  upon  to  fulfil 
the  military  service  to  which  every  French- 
man is  obliged.  He  professed  to  be  not 
only  a  socialist  but  an  anti-militarist 
and  pacifist.  At  first  the  weariness  of 
his  military  life  at  Lisieux  only  made  these 
opinions  stronger;  but  by  degrees  he 
realized  the  advantage  of  discipline, — so 
much  so  that  at  the  end  of  his  year's  ser- 
vice he  passed  the  examinations  that  were 
necessary  to  become  an  officier  de  reserve, 
and  afterward  he  voluntarily  went  through 
a  period  of  military  service  every  year. 

In  1908  he  was  appointed  to  a  post  in 
the  suburbs  of  Paris;  and,  as  his  mind 
expanded  and  ripened,  he  soon  exercised 
remarkable  influence  over  those  of  his 
colleagues  who  viewed  their  profession 
from  the  same  elevated  standpoint.  In 
his  eyes  it  was  an  apostleship,  and  he 
clung  to  this  ideal  in  spite  of  disappoint- 
ments. To  serve  it  more  effectually,  he 
founded  a  review  called  L'Avenir  de 
I' Enfant  ("The  Future  of  the  Child"), 
in  which  he  and  his  disciples  expounded 
their  views.  These  aimed  at  nothing  less 
than  the  reform  of  official  methods.  The 
review  was  short-lived,  but  its  purpose 
was  a  brave  and  honest  attempt  to  improve 
the  moral  tone  rather  than  the  actual 
teaching  of  our  lay  schools. 

The  secret  of  Lamouroux's  influence 
lay  in  his  personality.  He  was  generous 
and  loyal,  hard-working  and  earnest, 
high-minded  and  transparently  sincere. 
Among  the  young  schoolmasters  who 
gathered  round  him  to  discuss  moral, 
religious  and  social  problems  were  a 
chosen  few  whose  aims  were  as  noble  as 
Ins  own,  though  their  ideas  were  often 
deplorable.  Such  was  Thierry,  once  an 
anti-militarist,  who  afterward  fought  like 
a  lion,  risked  his  life  to  save  the  wounded, 
and  died  the  death  of  a  hero  at  Noulette 


in  May,  1915.  This  Thierry,  an  unbeliever, 
had  in  him  the  makings  of  a  saint.  He 
once  wrote  that  "the  power  of  sacrifice 
is  above  anything";  and  in  his  soldier's 
knapsack  were  found  three  books — Dante, 
Pascal,  and  St.  Paul. 

Pierre  Lamouroux's  own  library  was, 
about  this  time,  going  through  a  gradual 
transformation  that  corresponded  with 
his  mental  evolution.  The  anti-militarist 
and  socialistic  volumes  that  he  had 
prized  were  now  discarded,  and  the  works 
of  Pascal,  Bossuet,  Monsabre*,  Pe"re  Jan- 
vier, St.  Augustine,  and  the  Gospel 
had  their  place  on  his  shelves.  Even  his 
own  attitude  was  different.  He  spoke  less 
and  meditated  more  than  formerly.  He 
became  an  assiduous  reader  of  the  Action 
Franc,aise,  an  organ  that  advocates  order, 
discipline,  and  authority.  These  things, 
which  he  had  once  underrated,  now  seemed 
to  him  of  paramount  importance. 

What  continued  to  puzzle  him  was  how 
he  could  fulfil  his  chosen  mission  as  a 
trainer  of  souls  (it  was  thus  that  he  con- 
sidered it)  without  a  definite  doctrine 
on  which  to  build  his  teaching.  His 
very  conscientiousness  added  to  his  suffer- 
ing. ,  Religion  was  banished  from  the 
official  programme  of  the  French  Univer- 
sity: how  could  its  empty  place  be  filled? 
To  fill  it  somehow  was  a  necessity.  Yet 
tolerance,  justice,  mutual  support  and 
assistance,  without  the  idea  of  God,  were 
vain  words,  at  which  the  lads  on  whom 
they  were  impressed  only  laughed.  Log- 
ically, concluded  this  earnest  thinker, 
the  so-called  neutral  school  is  an  impossi- 
bility and  a  failure. 

His  personal  experience  only  strength- 
ened the  conclusions  to  which  his  medita- 
tions led  him.  He  had  striven  honestly 
to  educate,  not  merely  to  teach;  and  the 
result,  in  an  atmosphere  where  God  was 
absent,  had  been  null.  His  aims  and 
anxieties,  and  those  of  his  friends,  were 
voiced  in  the  Avenir  dc  V  Enfant.  They 
were  increased,  rather  than  otherwise, 
by  a  careful  perusal  of  books  written 
expressly  for  the  guidance  of  young 


012 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


schoolmasters.  The  theories  expounded 
therein  seemed  to  him  absurd :  the  moral 
improvement  of  humanity  was  to  be  the 
outcome  of  "solidarity";  by  the  mere 
progress  of  civilization  the  moral  and 
physical  defects  of  mankind  were  to  be 
gradually  eradicated!  High-flown  theories 
that  had  no  solid  basis,  empty  words 
that  represented  no  tangible  and  reason- 
able doctrine,  disgusted  Lamouroux,  who, 
together  with  a  poetical  and  tender  soul, 
had  the  essentially  practical  spirit  that 
characterizes  the  men  of  his  generation. 
There  is  nothing  shadowy  and  romantic 
about  these  earnest  searchers. 

All  through  the  little  periodical  that 
was  edited  by  Pierre  Lamouroux  at  this 
epoch  runs  a  pathetic  note  of  anxiety 
and  disappointment.  Logic  and  common- 
sense  combined  to  destroy  the  theories 
that  were  propounded  by  men  whom  he 
looked  up  to  as  his  superiors.  At  last 
when  these  vain  methods  and  doctrines 
had  utterly  collapsed,  into  the  space  left 
empty,  there  stepped  a  truth  that  was 
henceforth  to  shape  Lamouroux' s  spiritual 
life;  he-  thus  expressed  it  in  a  letter  to 
his  Jesuit  friend:  "Humanity  can  not  be 
separated  from  God." 

About  the  same  time  he  was  appointed 
professor  at  the  College  Rollin  in  Paris. 
His  horizon  was  enlarged,  and  he  became 
acquainted  with  the  "Bulletin"  issued 
by  a  group  of  Catholic  professors  who 
belonged  to  the  French  University,  and 
whose  attitude  was  all  the  more  noticeable 
because  it  contrasted  with  the  atmosphere 
in  which  they  moved.  Their  doctrines 
appealed  to  his  present  state  of  mind. 
Meditation  and  logic  had  made  him  a 
nationalist  and  a  traditionalist;  and, 
although  not  a  Catholic  in  practice,  he 
was  now  ready  to  accept  all  that  Catholi- 
cism implies.  The  story  of  this  gradual 
and  steady  transformation  demonstrates 
in  a  striking  manner  the  force  of  sincerity 
in  an  earnest  soul.  It  proves  how  sweetly 
Almighty  God  ever  leads  one,  whose  search 
for  Truth  is  absolutely  disinterested, 


to    complete   illumination    and    certainty. 

Three  days'  retreat  at  a  house  directed 
by  the  Jesuits  at  Mours,  near  Paris, 
marked  the  crowning  stage  of  Pierre 
Lamouroux's  quest.  He  prepared  himself 
for  it  by  meditation  and  prayer.  In 
April,  1914,  he  wrote  to  his  friend:  "I 
have  meditated,  prayed,  and  observed. 
I  felt  that  two  arms  were  stretched  out 
towar4s  me,  and  into  them  I  have  thrown 
myself.  ...  I  can  only  repeat:  God  be 
blessed!"  Being  an  unbeliever,  although  a 
baptized  Catholic,  Pierre  Lamouroux  had, 
several  years  before,  contracted  a  purely 
civil  marriage :  he  now  caused  his  marriage 
to  be  blessed  by  a  priest;  and  a  few  days 
later  he  and  his  wife,  to  whom  he  seems 
to  have  been  devoted,  received  Holy 
Communion  side  by  side  in  a  chapel  at 
Montmartre. 

He  was  thirty-two,  in  the  full  strength 
of  manhood,  when  he  entered  a  path  that 
he  seemed  to  have  trodden  since  his  birth, 
so  rapidly  did  he  assimilate  Catholic  ideas 
and  practices.  Instead  of  a  prodigal 
reclaimed  after  years  of  exile,  he  was  like 
a  happy  child,  familiar  at  all  times  with 
his  Father's  mansion.  Some  of  his  former 
friends  resented  his  conversion;  and  one 
represented  to  him  that,  being  now  a 
practical  Catholic,  he  was  bound  not  to 
remain  in  the  neutral,  or  rather  anti- 
religious,  French  University.  To  this 
Pierre  Lamouroux  replied  that  there  was 
no  contradiction  between  his'  religion 
and  his  career.  He  might  have  added 
that  the  former  would  give  him  light  to 
fulfil  more  perfectly  the  duties  entailed 
by  the  latter. 

He  had  the  desire  of  all  converts  to 
share  the  truth  he  now  possessed  with 
those  who  were  still  groping  in  the  dark; 
but  he  preached  more  by  his  attitude 
than  by  his  spoken  words.  During  a 
mental  crisis  that  had  lasted  two  years, 
he  recognized  that  prayer  had  served 
him  more  than  argument;  and  he  always 
impressed  upon  seekers  after  truth  that 
prayer  must  be  their  chief  resource. 


(Conclusion  next  week.) 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


613 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGKNT    ROBINSON. 


XXVIII.— PACHUCA. 
N  a  rude  bench  in  front  of  an  adobe 
hut,  in  the  heart  of  the  mining 
regions  of  Pachuca,  sat  two  young 
men,  both  with  pipes  in  their 
mouths,  both  speaking  English  —  Harry 
Talbot  and  Arthur  Bodkin. 

"I  foretold  all  this,  didn't  I,  Arthur?" 
said  Talbot, — they  had  been  discussing 
the  situation. 

"You  did." 

"I  told  you  that  the  French  troops 
would  be  withdrawn,  that  Maximilian 
was  not  the  man  to  hold  the  reins — not 
'half  strong  enough, — and  that  he  was  sur- 
rounded by  traitors.  I  can  now  tell  you 
more.  Those  hounds  are  on  his  track,  and 
close  to  Maximilian  there  is  a  fellow  called 
Lopez  who  is  a  regular  Judas." 

"The  Emperor  believes  in  him  and  has 
loaded  him  with  favors." 

"I  tell  you,  Arthur,  that  he  is  ready  to 
betray  as  Judas  did,  and  for  silver.  Why, 
the  whole  thing  is,  as  they  say  in  the 
United  vStates,  'busted.'  You  have  no 
Mexican  army;  the  country  is  against 
you;  the  Liberals  are  closing  up,  and 
popping  troops  into  every  small  hole  of 
a  town  all  round  the  place.  The  Austrian 
troops  are  too  few,  and  the  Belgians  the 
same.  General  Porfirio  Diaz  is  a  born 
leader,  and  his  soldiers  will  follow  him  into 
flames.  Drop  it  all,  Arthur,  come  up  here 
and  make  some  money,  or  go  home!" 

"And  desert  Maximilian,  and  have 
them  say  at  the  Kildare  Street  Club  that 
7  was  a  coward  and  a  sneak?  Oh,  no! 
Harry,  I  shall  stand  by  the  Emperor- 
to  the  last." 

"Can't  some  of  you  fellows  get  him 
away?  I  tell  you,  Arthur,  that  Juarez  is  a 
cutthroat ;  and  as  for  Lerdo,  he  would  ask 
nothing  better  than  to  see  the  red  blood 
dyeing  the  Emperor's  yellow  beard." 

"He  has  been  advised  to  abdicate,  and 


had  resolved  to  do  so;  but  his  high  sense 
of  honor  compels  him  to  stand  by  his 
army  so  long  as  there  is  a  corporal's 
guard  left." 

"Who  has  influence  with  him?" 

"The  poor  Empress." 

"Lord  of  heaven,  how  sad  about  her!" 
Awful !  awful ! ' '  And  Arthur  groaned. 

"They  say  she  is  at  Miramar." 

"She  is." 

"And  that  her  mind  is  absolutely,  hope- 
lessly blank." 

"God's  will  be  done!" 

"Do  you  remember  that  day,  a  few 
months  ago,  when  we  got  into  the  Castle, 
and  saw  her  in  the  first  flush  and  pride 
of  their  new  dignity?  How  royal  she 
looked!  Who  could  have  thought  that  in 
so  short  a  time  this  dreadful  wreckage 
was  to  take  place?  Let  me  tell  you  that 
if  you  fight  the  Liberals,  you  will  be 
beaten." 

"Assuredly." 

"And  what  then?" 

"Shot,  I  suppose.  My  dear  Harry, 
7  am  prepared  for  the  very  worst;  and 
that  is  the  reason  why  I  have  come  out 
here  —  to  press  your  honest  hand  once 
more,  and  to  say  God  bless  you  and 
good-bye." 

The  two  friends  looked  each  other  in 
the  eye. 

"I  have  a  presentiment  that  I  shall 
come  to  grief,  Harry;  and  I  want  you 
to  see  that  this  locket" — -opening  his 
shirt  to  show  the  locket  which  the  Empress 
had  given  him,  suspended  by  a  ribbon 
from  his  neck — -"that  this  locket,"  he  re- 
peated, "is  handed  to  Miss  Nugent.  The 
Empress  made  me  promise  not  to  open  it 
until  she  granted  me  permission." 

"Let  me  look  at  it,"  said  Talbot. 

Arthur,  removing  it  from  his  neck, 
handed  it  to  his  friend. 

"It  is  very  handsome,"  said  Talbot.  "I 
wonder  what  she  meant  by  exacting  such 
a  promise  from  you?  Of  course,  Arthur, 
that  promise  is  void,  since  the  poor  woman 
is  morally  dead,  and  never  can  give  you 
permission  to  open  it." 


614 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"She  is  not  dead.  I  shall  never  open  it 
until  the  Empress  permits  me." 

"Then  /  will, — there  is  no  interdict 
on  me."  And,  pressing  a  spring,  the  locket 
flew  open,  to  reveal  an  exquisitely  painted 
miniature  of  Alice  Nugent. 

"You  should  not  have  done  this!" 
remonstrated  Arthur,  devouring  the  por- 
trait with  his  eyes. 

"Why  not?  You  were  not  to  open  it, — 
assuredly  the  command  did  not  reach  out 
to  me  or  to  anybody  else." 

"I  feel  ashamed,  Harry.  I  feel  as  though 
I  had  broken  my  word  to  the  Empress." 

"Bosh!  My  dear  fellow,  you  are  a  peg 
too  low.  You  are  full  of  presentiment  that 
you  will  be  bowled  over,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  There  may  be  no  fighting 
at  all.  If  the  United  States  would  only 
step  in,  the  Emperor  could  ride  down  to 
Vera  Cruz,  go  on  board  a  war  ship,  and 
retire  with  all  the  honors  of  war." 

"We  are  going  to  Queretaro.  Five 
thousand  men  will  be  left  to  garrison  the 
capital,  two  thousand  to  garrison  Puebla, 
and  we  shall  have  ten  thousand  to 

"Give  battle  to  sixty  thousand.  Bah! 
lie  is  as  mad  as  she  is  if  he  fights  against 
such  odds." 

Arthur  Bodkin  had  come  to  Pachuca 
to  see  his  old  friend.  He  longed  for  a 
grasp  of  Talbot's  hand,  for  a  sound  of 
the  rich  Irish  brogue.  He  longed  to  have 
a  talk,  even  if  it  were  to  be  the  last, 
about  dear  old  Ireland;  of  the  Kildares 
and  Royal  Mcaths  and  the  Blazers;  of 
Punchestown,  and  Baldoyle, — of  the  thou- 
sand and  one  things  that  come  to  us  with 
a  sweetness  that  surpasses  words  when  the 
heart  is  sick  with  grief  and  the  outlook 
black  as  night. 

Every  word  uttered  by  Harry  Talbot 
was  coined  in  the  same  mint  of  thought 
as  his  own.  He  knew  that  the  Empire 
was  gone,  and  the  Emperor,  in  bitter 
straits,  would  be  betrayed.  He  recognized 
the  fart  ili;it  fighting  was  hopeless,  and 
that  ruin  and  death  were  grimly  waiting 
for  Maximilian  an<i  his  adherents. 

Many    of    the    courtiers    had    already 


deserted,  under  one  pretext  or  another; 
and  nearly  all  were  prepared  to  fly  upon 
the  loss  of  the  first  skirmish.  It  was  to 
be  sauve  qui  pent.  To  our  hero's  credit, 
with  destruction  staring  him  in  the  face; 
with  possible  death — for  he  knew  that 
Mazazo  longed  for  revenge;  with  his 
heart's  only  joy  in  Europe,  the  last  words 
of  Alice  having  rekindled  high  hope; 
with  an  honorable  plea  for  retiring, — nay, 
more,  a  command,  for  Baron  Bergheirn 
had  arranged  that  he  was  to  take  private 
dispatches  to  the  Emperor  of  Austria, — • 
Arthur  never  for  a  second  thought  of 
deserting  the  Emperor,  and  flung  his 
proud  "No!"  a£  every  proposition  that 
hinted  at  his  leaving  his  post. 

It  had  been  his  intention  to  give  Harry 
Talbot  the  locket,  and  letters  for  his 
mother  and  for  Father  Edward,  in  the 
event  of  any  dire  mishap.  But  the  locket 
was  so  precious,  on  account  of  the  portrait 
of  Alice,  that  he  resolved  never  to  part 
with  it.  It  would  be  on  his  beating  heart 
if  he  lived;  on  his  dead  heart  if  he  died. 
His  loyalty  to  the  Emperor,  his  decision 
to  stand  by  him  to  the  bitter  end,  to 
fall  fighting  if  needs  be,  resolved  itself 
into:  "What  would  Alice  think  of  me 
if  I  deserted  the  cause,  even  when  it 
was  most  hopeless?  How  could  I  ever 
face  her?" 

Arthur  spent  two  days  with  Talbot, — 
days  almost  wholly  occupied  on  his  part 
in  talking  of  Alice.  In  Talbot  he  had  a 
man  who  could  smoke  and  listen,  and  that 
was  all  he  asked.  Of  course  he  unbosomed 
himself  to  his  friend,  often  repeating  her 
last  words. 

As  the  two  men  were  parting,  Talbot 
observed : 

"You  will  come  out  of  this  all  right. 
You  will  go  home  and  marry  Alice 
Nugent;  aye,  my  dear  fellow,  and  I  shall 
run  over  and  dance  at  your  wedding." 

And  as  Arthur  slowly  wended  his  way 
down  the  hill,  his  true  and  honest  friend 
nintlered  to  himself:  "f  don't  like  this 
business  at  all.  I  must  be  in  readiness  to 
come  to  the  rescue  if  I'm  wanted." 


THE  AYR  MARIA 


615 


XXTX. — RODY'S  RKI,ATIONS. 

Upon  his  return  to  his  quarters  in  the 
National  Palace,  Arthur  found  Rody  in  a 
condition  of  almost  frenzied  excitement. 

' '  It  bates  the  world  out,  Masther  Arthur ! ' ' 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Rody? 
Have  you  been  taking  too  much  mescal?" 

"Is  it  me,  sir,  and  ye  away!  Sorra  a 
sup  I  tasted,  barrin'  wan  dhrink  of  poolkay, 
since  ye  left,  sir.  No,  begob!  It's  not 
dhrink,  sir,  at  all,  at  all.  It's  all  be  rayson 
of  meetin'  a  cousin  up  here.  Sorra  a  lie 
I'm  tellin'  ye.  Me  own  cousin — an  O'Flynn 
of  Ballybogue,  Masther  Arthur,  that  kem 
out  here  forty  years  ago,  and  is  a  native 
now  no  less,  and  as  rich  as  a  leprechaun." 

"This  is  news." 

"It  bates  the  Vindicathor, — aye,  and  the 
Irish  Times.  His  name  is  O'Flynn,  and 
it's  over  his  dure  in  St.  Francis'  Sthreet 
below.  Well,  sir,  wouldn't  ye  like  for  to 
hear  all  about  it?"  • 

"Wouldn't  I!" 

"Well,  Masther  Arthur,  the  mornin' 
afther  ye  left,  sir,  for  to  visit  Misther 
Talbot — a  fine  gintleman,  and  I  hope  he's 
coinin'  up  there  beyant, — I  was  a  bit  lone- 
some; so  I  tuk  a"  shough  of  the  pipe,  and 
thin  I  wint  for  a  walk.  I  was  meandherin' 
along  the  sthreet,  just  thinkin',  sir,  that" 
it  smelt  as  bad  as  the  River  Liffey— good 
luck  to  it! — whin  I  seen  a  word  over  a 
shop  dure  that  tuk  me  breath  from  undher 
me.  O'Flynn  it  was,  sir, — O'Flynn  it  is, 
sir,  as  bowld  as  brass.  I  crossed  the  sthreet, 
sir,  for  to  make  sure;  and,  sure  enough, 
there  was  O'Flynn  lukkin'  down  at  me 
from  over  the  dure  in  letthers  of  goold. 
'Well,'  I  sez  to  meself  sez  I,  'there  must 
be  some  Irish  in  the  house ' ;  so  I  med 
bowld  and  walked  in.  The  place  was 
cowld  and  dark,  wid  a  counther  and  iron 
rails  as  thick  as  ISJewgate;  and  the  ceilin' 
would  crack  yer  conk,  it  was  that  low; 
and  behind  the  bars  was  a  little  ould  man, 
wid  an  O'Flynn  gob  on  him  that  would 
have  saved  any  thrubble  to  a  detective.  It 
was  an  O'Flynn,  as  sure  as  Sunda';  and  a 
rale  Irish  Ballybogue  O'Flynn  at  that,  sir. 
He  lukked  at  me  and  I  lukked  at  him; 


so  sez  I  to  meself  sex  I:  'P.edad,  I'll  have 
a   hack   at   ye  in    Irish.'     So    1   ups  and    1 
gives  him  the  time  <>'  day.    Well,  Masther 
Arthur,  it  was  betther  nor  a  play  in  the 
Theayter  Royal  for  to  see  his  astonishmint. 
He  opened  his  eyes  as  wide  as  oysthers. 
What  do  ye  mane  ? '  sez  he  in  Irish . 
' '  I  mane  the  top  o'  the  mornin'  to  ye, 
O'Flynn  of  Ballybogue!' 
"Who  are  ye?'  sez  he. 
"Yer  own  cousin,'  sez  I. 
"Bedad,'  sez  he,  afther  lukkin'  at  me 
the    way    a    magpie    luks    at    a    marrow- 
bone,— 'bedad,   I'm  inclined  for  to  think 
that  ye  are  an  O'Flynn.' 

"Faix  I  am  that,'  sez  I.  'I'm  Pether 
O'Flynn's  own  son,  Rody.' 

"Pether  had  a  son,  sure  enough.' 
"Thrue  for  ye,'  sez -I. 
' '  I  heerd  that  some  twenty  years  ago. 
And  is  Pether  alive?' 

"He  is,  and  walks  to  the  Kilronan 
chapel  and  back  every  day  of  his  life,  and 
he's  now  over  seventy -five.' 

"Well,  Masther  Arthur,  for  to  make  a 
long  story  short,  the  ould  chap  cross- 
examined  me  as  if  I  was  in  the  dock  and 
he  was  the  poliss  magisthrate. 

Come  in,'  sez  he.  '  Ye're  me  cousin  as 
sure  as  eggs  is  eggs.  But  what  brought 
ye  out  here  at  all,  at  all?' 

"Well,  I  ups  and  tells  him  the  whole 
story;  and  how  we  rescued  the  Impress — • 
God  sind  her  back  her  seven  sinses  and 
more,  amin! — and  how  ye  were  as  thick 
as  pays  wid  the  Imperor,  and  all  to  that. 
And  just  as  I  was  givin'  him  a  hint  that 
it  might  be  well  for  him  to  be  very  civil, 
in  kem  the  sweetest  little  crayture  I  ever 
seen.  She  kem  in  be  the  back  of  the 
office  from  the  dark,  and  I  declare  to 
ye,  Masther  Arthur,  she  brought  in  the 
light  wid  her;  for  the  ould  place  was  no 
longer  dark.  The  ould  man  said  somethin' 
to  her  very  low,  and  she  lukked  at  me  out 
of  a  pair  of  eyes  that  could  melt  the  Hill 
o'  Howth;  and,  putting  a  soft,  white  little 
hand  out  betune  the  bars,  she  tould  me 
I  was  welkim. 

"Well,  I  spint  the  day  and  yestherday 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


and  this  mornin'  wid  thim.  He's  an  mild 
miser,  as  rich  as  the  Bank  of  Ireland 
itself;  but  he'd  skin  a  Hay.  He  kem  out 
here  —  wraeked  below  on  the  roeks  at 
Vera  Cruz;  set  up  in  bizness  there,  and 
med  his  way  to  Puebla,  where  he  done 
more  bizness;  and  now  he's  here  doin'  all 
the  bizness.  He's  a  cross  betune  a  pawn- 
broker and  a  bill  discounther.  Be  the 
mortial,  if  it  wasn't  for  his  daughther 
Mary,  I'd  disown  him,  poor  as  I  am.  Bad 
cess  to  him,  he's  the  first  of  the  breed  for 
to  go  and  disgrace  us!  I  hear  he's  as  hard 
as  Wicklow  granite,  and  turns  everything 
he  lays  hands  on  into  goold.  He  owns 
wan  of  thim  mines  out  beyant  where 
Misther  Talbot  is;  and,  though  it  has 
a  hape  of  silver  in  it,  won't  take  the  risk 
of  workin'  it  till  the  counthry's  settled; 
and  faix  I  think  he's  about  right,  Masther 
Arthur.  Things  is  in  a  quare  way." 

(To   be   continued.) 


Quo  Vadis,  Domine? 

.  A  LKGKND  OF  THE;  KARLY  CHURCH. 

BY    JOHN    FERGUSON. 

IT^HAT     time     Rome's     azure    sky     vermilion 

turned, 

As  'neath  its  vaulted  dome  the  city  burned — 
"Death   to   the   Christians!"   half   the   populace 

cried; 

"Down  with  the  Christ!"  the  other  half  replied; 
"'The  Christian  dogs,  'tis  they  have  wrought  this 

woe, 
And  for  revenge  have  laid   the  city  low." 

Now,  Peter  lodged  in  Rome,  and  strove  to  keep 
His    faithful    watch    o'er    Christ's    few    scattered 

sheep; 

"Fly,    Shepherd,— fly!"    those    pious    souls    im- 
plored ; 

"Nor  suffer  death  at  point  of  Ca?sar's  sword. 
With  thee  the  Word  will  perish;    therefore  go, 
And  on  fresh   fields  the  precious  seed  bestow." 

But  Peter  answered,  "Tears  and  prayers  are  vain: 
Though  others  flee,   I  constant  will  remain; 
Through  blinding  mists  I  yet  will  strive  to  guide 
Christ's  foundering  bark  across  the  treacherous 
tide." 


"Nay,  Shepherd, "urged  the  faithful  few,  "not  so, 
But    just    because   we   love   yon    bid    you    go 
Regard    our    tears,"    they    trembling   cried    anon; 
And   Peter  faltered,  "  Lord,  Thy  will  be  done!" 

Next   morn,    what   time   the   sky   was   shot    with 

gold, 

And  Night  her  ebon  curtains  backward  rolled, 
With  many  a  look  behind,  and  fond  delay, 
Two  figures  stole  along  the  Appian  Way: 
Peter — old,  bent  and  weary — and  his  guide 
Nazarius,  ever  faithful,  at  his  side. 

But  ere  the  climbing  sun  had   mounted  high, 
The  Apostle  saw  a   vision  in  the  sky; 
From  the  sun's  disc  down  to  the  earth  it  came, 
At  once  a  shining  light  and  burning  flame. 
And   Peter,   prostrate  falling,  then  adored; 
For  well  he  knew  the  vision  was  the  Lord. 

"Lord,  whither  goest  Thou?"  the  Apostle  cried. 
"I  go  to   Rome,"   the  Vision  soft   replied; 
"Since   thou    hast   fled,    no   shepherd    tends    My 

sheep, 

That,  scattered,  strive  in  vain  a  fold  to  keep. 
Once   more   this   head    must   wear   the   crown    of 

thorn, 

These  hands  anon  by  cruel  nails  be  torn, 
And  swords  again  must  pierce  this  wounded  side: 
I  go  to  Rome  to  be  re-crucified." 

"Nay,     Lord,"    cried    Peter,    trembling, — "nay, 

not  so; 

For  I,  Thy  servant,  to  ray  post  will  go. 
Though  winds  are  blowing  wild  and  waves  run 

high, 
Though  sails  are  rending,  and  though  dark  the 

sky, 

I  by  their  side  my  faithful  watch  will  keep, 
And  be  their  pilot  o'er  the  engulfing  deep." 

The  vision  vanished  whither  it  had  come, 
And  Peter  turned  his  face  again  to  Rome; 
And,  with  those  stricken  souls  he  strove  to  - 
Found  in  that  city  an  ensanguined  grave. 

ST.  CHRYSOSTOM  says  that  veritable 
martyrdom  consists  not  only  in  the  shed- 
ding of  blood,  but  that  a  complete  with- 
drawal from  sin,  and  the  practice  and 
following  of  the  divine  commandments, 
constitute  martyrdom.  True  patience  in 
adversities  also  makes  us  martyrs. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


617 


The  Saint  of  Rocca  Porrena. 


BY    THOMAS    B. 


N( )  province  of  Italy  is  richer  in  its 
fruitage  of  arts  and  letters,  the  fame 
of  its  saints  and  sanctuaries,  than  that  of 
Umbria.  It  lies  in  the  central  part  of  the 
kingdom,  where,  dotting  the  wildly  beauti- 
ful slopes  of  the  terraced  Apennines,  are 
cities  the  names  of  which — Assisi,  Spoleto, 
Foligno,  Todi,  Cascia,  Rieta,  Norcia, 
Narni — not  only  fire  the  Catholic  heart 
but  thrill  the  mind  of  Christendom. 

Here,  a  few  miles  southeast  from  Assisi, 
along  'the  eastern  line  of  the  triangle 
formed  by  Spoleto,  Norcia,  and  Leonessa, 
in  a  valley  among  overhanging  mountains, 
broods  the  ancient  village  of  Rocca  Por- 
rena. There  is  scarcely  any  outlook 
except  overhead,  whence  the  sun  for  a 
few  brief  hours  sweeps  with  ardent  light 
the  austere  and  rugged  basin. 

Some  five  hundred  years  ago,  beyond 
the  rim  of  those  cliff-like  hills,  an  impas- 
sioned world  groaned  in  travail  of  flesh 
and  spirit.  It  was  a  day  of  mind-baffling 
contrasts,  physical  abasements,  intel- 
lectual outbursts,  and  intense  spiritual 
stress.  It  was  an  hour  that  thrilled 
with  the  heroisms  and  messages  of 
many  great  saints, —  a.  Vincent  Ferrer,  a 
Frances  of  Rome,  a  Lawrence  Justinian,  a 
John  Capistran,  a  Bernardine  of  Siena,  and 
a  Rita  of  Cascia. 

None  of  these  memorable  children  of 
the  Church  claim  so  large  a  tribute  from 
the  thoughts  of  modern  Christendom  as 
does  that  of  the  Augustinian  nun  of 
Cascia.  The  day  of  her  birth  is  uncertain, 
but  it  is  generally  agreed  that  she  was 
born  in  the  springtime  of  1381,  in  the 
little  village  of  Rocca  Porrena.  She  was 
the  only  child  of  an  humble  and  peace- 
-  loving  couple,  Antonio  and  Amata 
Mancini.  Shortly  after  her  birth  she  was 
taken  to  the  neighboring  town  of  Cascia, 
some  three  miles  distant,  where  she  w-is 
baptized  in  the  Church  of  St.  Mary 


Magdalen.  .The  mother,  obedient  to  an 
interior  inspiration,  had  the  child  named 
Rita, — a  name  that  has  come  to  identify, 
the  world  over,  a  great  daughter  of  the 
Church  and  a  marvellous  agent  of  Cod, 

As  a  child,  Rita  Mancini  was  remarked 
throughout  the  village  for  her  piety, 
reticence  in  worldly  speech,  simplicity  of 
dress,  and  her  insistent  charity.  She  was 
strangely  affable,  plain  of  taste,  and  fond 
of  retirement.  At  about  the  age  of  twelve 
she  wished  to  enter  the  convent  of  the 
Augustinian  nuns  at  Cascia.  Her  parents, 
advanced  in  age,  objected.  After  the  cus- 
tom of  the  time,  they  set  about  to  provide 
her  with  a  husband.  The  father's  choice 
fell  upon  an  irascible  youth  named  Ferdi- 
nand, whose  moods,  like  those  of  his  day, 
were  swift  and  reckless.  The  girl,  sub- 
missive to  parental  authority,  became  the 
young  man's  wife.  Not  long  after  the 
marriage,  he  began  to  ill-treat  and  abuse 
her.  She  accepted  this  cross  with  such 
uncomplaining  obedience  and  invincible 
patience  that  not  only  was  her  husband's 
violent  spirit  subdued  but  his  reformation 
actually  accomplished . 

Of  this  union  two  sons  were  born, 
each  of  whom  displayed  quarrelsome  and 
stubborn  natures.  The  heart -worried 
mother  struggled  for  years  to  correct 
and  guide  them,  her  efforts  meeting  with 
scant  success.  Meanwhile  her  parents, 
each  verging  on  ninety,  died.  Shortly 
thereafter  her  husband  was  carried  home 
and  laid  at  her  feet,  lifeless.  He  had  been 
murdered  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village. 
The  two  sons  instinctively  gave  themselves 
up  to  thoughts  of  vengeance.  Advice 
and  pleading  proving  fruitless,  the  mother 
begged  God  either  to  soften  their  hearts 
or  take  them  to  Himself.  Both  died  peace- 
fully at  home,  their  hands  unstained. 

Alone  in  the  world,  the  young  widow 
again  planned  to  enter  the  convent  of  the 
Augustinian  nuns  at  Cascia.  Three  times 
she  sought  admission  and  thrice  was 
refused.  Her  ceaseless  prayers  and  in- 
domitable spirit  of  perseverance  were 
finally  and  strangely  rewarded.  One 


(US 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


morning,  toward  the  hour  of  Matins,  led 
by  a  vision  of  Saints  John  the  Baptist, 
Augustine,  and  Nicholas  of  Tolentino, 
she  found  herself  physically  present  within 
the  walled  enclosure  of  the  convent. 
To  the  astonished  nuns  that  gathered 
about  her  she  related  her  miraculous 
experience.  She  was  shortly  thereafter 
accepted  as  a  novice,  was  professed  four 
years  later,  lived  forty-four  years  in  the 
religious  life,  and  died  May  22,  1456. 
Although  beatified  in  the  early  part  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  it  was  not  -until 
May  24,  1900,  that  she  was  canonized 
by  Pope  Leo  XIII.,  who  acclaimed  her  as 
"the  Jewel  of  the  Umbrian  Province." 

This  is  merely  the  shadowgraph  of  a 
life  the  spiritual  brilliance  of  which  is 
second  to  none  among  the  portraits  of 
saintly  women.  The  humanly  inexplicable 
attended  the  saint  from  birth  to  death. 
As  an  infant  she  would  take  nourishment 
only  three  times  a  day,  and  on  Fridays 
nothing  at  all.  Shortly  after  her  birth, 
little  white  bees  were  seen  entering  and 
leaving  her  mouth.  These  followed  her 
throughout  her  life,  and  after  her  death 
took  up  their  abodes  in  a  wall  opposite 
the  convent  gate.  They  had  no  sting  and 
produced  no  honey.  To-day,  writes  Dr. 
Ferina,  the  bees  found  nesting  in  the  wall 
midway  the  saint's  tomb  and  her  cell 
are  of  a  deep  yellow  color.  They  leave 
their  cells  in  Holy  Week  and  return  only 
after  the  saint's  feast-day. 

Saint  Rita's  wifehood  was  signalized 
by  an  unflinching  courage  of  soul,  instant 
obedience  to  an  exacting  husband,  and  an 
invincible  patience  before  the  onslaughts 
of  his  quarrelsome  nature.  As  a  mother, 
she  toiled  and  prayed  for  seventeen  heart- 
breaking years  in  an  effort  to  calm  and 
direct  the  impassioned  lives  of  her  sons, — 
a  struggle  that  ended  only  in  an  act  of 
supreme  sacrifice.  As  a  widow,  she  led  a 
life  of  Christian  retirement,  leaving  her 
home  only  to  assist  at  the  services  of  the 
church,  or  to  perform  some  act  of  charity 
or  deed  of  mercy.  In  the  convent  she  gave 
herself  up  to  a  life  of.  ceaseless  denial, 


sharp  disciplines,  unquestioning  obedience, 
smiling  acceptance  of  crosses  and  humilia- 
tions. She  scourged  herself  thrice  daily, 
wore  a  torturing  garment  of  rough  hair, 
kept  rigid  fasts  and  many  night-long 
vigils.  With  smiling  eagerness  she  sought 
the  meanest  of  tasks,  found  her  keenest 
delight  in  nursing  and  comforting  the  sick 
of  the  community.  In  such  moments  she 
gladly  forewent  her  usual  devotions  that 
she  might  draw  still  nearer  God  in  a  work 
of  mercy.  Naturally  reticent,  she  imp* 
upon  herself  as  a  nun  a  rule  of  more  than 
ordinary  silence.  She  used  at  times  to 
keep  a  pebble  in  her  mouth  to  remind 
her  of  the  golden  virtue.  Nevertheless, 
when  circumstances  called  for  words,  her 
speech  was  singularly  fluent  and  rarely 
musical. 

Saint  Rita's  progress  in  the  spiritual 
order  was  accompanied  by  sweeping  temp- 
tations against  vows  and  virtues.  She 
suffered  not  only  interior  assaults  but  also 
open  violences  from  the  spirit  of  evil. 
The  force  she  was  called  upon  to  use  in 
her  battles  against  self  and  circumstance 
gave  her  a  specially  tender  sympathy  for 
those  distraught  by  trials  and  sufferings. 
Fortitude,  pity,  and  perseverance  were 
among  her  marked  characteristics.  In 
her  eager  pursuit  of  poverty,  she  wore 
only  one  habit  throughout  her  conventual 
life,  while  next  her  skin  was  a  cilicium  of 
torturing  bristles.  Her  cell  was  the  least 
endurable  in  the  dormitory.  Its 'ornaments 
were  a  few  pictures  of  the  Passion.  Four 
rough  boards  served  as  a  bed.  In  one  j 
corner  of  the  room  she  had  built  a  mound 
of  stones  and  surmounted  it  with  a 
crucifix.  She  took  food  only  once  a  day,  : 
reducing  the  amount  until  her  com- 
panions marvelled  that  she  could  live. 
Other  times  apart,  she  fasted  three  full 
Lenten  periods  each  year.  This  is  the  ' 
saint  that,  obeying  an  order  of  her  mother- 
superior,  patiently  watered  for  months  a 
dead  tree  in  the  convent  garden.  The 
tree  revived,  blossomed  and  bore  fruit. 

The  sentiments  Toused  in  Rita's  heart 
at  thought  of  the  agonies  endured  by  Our 


TtiE  AVE  MART  A 


Lord  in  His  Passion  were  so  keen  as  to 
cause  her  to'l'uint.  This  deep  and  intimate 
sympathy,  inereasing  with  time,  had  a 
strange  climax.  One  day,  about  twenty  - 
cight  years  after  her  entrance  into  the 
Order,  she  was  present  with  other  nuns 
at  the  parish  church  of  Cascia  when 
vSt.  James  of  Monteprandone,  a  noted 
missioner  of  the  time,  preached  a  sermon 
on  the  Passion.  .On  her  return  to  her  cell, 
the  saint  fell  grief-stricken  before  her 
cruficix,  from  which  a  ray  of  light  sud- 
denly darted  toward  her.  A  moment  later, 
a  thorn,  detached  from  the  crown,  struck 
her  violently  on  the  side  of  the  forehead. 
The  result  was  an  intensely  painful  wound, 
which,  because  of  its  intolerable  odor, 
brought  about  the  isolation  of  the  saint 
from  her  companions.  The  wound  became 
worm-infested,  the  worms  now  and  then 
dropping  to  the  ground.  These  she  called 
her  "little  angels."  This  condition  lasted 
fifteen  years. 

In  the  year  1450,  a  Jubilee  year,  pilgrims 
v/rre  crowding  the  highways  leading  to 
Rome.  Some  of  the  nuns  of  Cascia  had 
received  permission  to  make  the  pilgrimage. 
Rita  begged  to  accompany  them.  In 
view  of  the  wound  on  the  saint's  forehead, 
the  mother-superior  thought  it  unwise 
to  permit  her  to  appear  in  public;  but 
remarked  that  should  the  wound  be  cured 
she  might  go.  A  few  days  later  the  wound 
closed/and  Rita,  at  the  age  of  sixty-nine, 
set  out  on  foot  for  Rome.  On  her  return 
to  the  convent,  the  wound  reopened  and 
never  again  healed.  Not  long  afterward 
she  was  visited  with  an  undetermined 
illness,  which  confined  her  to  her  bed. 
The  last  four  years  of  her  life  were  years 
of  intense  suffering,  a  period  wherein  she 
existed  solely  on  the  Blessed  Sacrament. 

One  day  in  January,  a  few  months 
before  Rita's  death,  a  relative  from  Rocca 
Porrena  came  to  visit  her.  The  saint, 
being  asked  if  she  had  any  requests  to 
make,  told  her  relative  to  fetch  her  a  rose 
from  the  garden  of  the  old  home  at  Rocca 
I  Porrena.  The  visitor,  thinking  the  saint 
delirious,  took  her  leave.  On  her  return 


to  the  village,  however,  she  entered  the 
garden  of  Rita's  home,  and  there  on  one 
of  the  frozen  bushes  saw  a  full-blown  rose. 

From  that  on  the  saint  failed  rapidly. 
Shortly  after  the  last  Sacraments  of  the 
Church  were  administered,  she  looked  up 
at  her  companions  and  whispered:  "My 
dear  ones,  abide  with  the  I^ord  in  holy 
peace  and  sisterly  charity.".  They  were 
her  last  audible  words.  She  died  May 
22,  1457,  passing  away  as  one  falling  into 
tranquil  sleep,  in  the  seventy-sixth  year 
of  her  age,  after  forty-four  years  of  strict 
religious  life. 

In  that  hour  of  death,  the  color  of  youth 
and  health  flushed  the  saint's  cheek. 
Her  age-worn  and  wasted  features  slowly 
assumed  the  appearance  of  a  girl  of  twenty. 
One  of  the  attending  nuns  saw  the  saint's 
soul,  aflame  with  light,  borne  upward  in 
the  company  of  angels.  The  convent 
bells  without  visible  agency  began  to  ring. 
The  bare,  bleak  walls  of  the  cell  were 
flooded  with  supernatural  light.  The 
wound  on  the  saint's  forehead  glowed  with 
radiance,  its  former  nauseating  odor  becom- 
ing an  exquisite  perfume,  which  filled 
not  only  the  convent  but  was  sensibly 
present  beyond  the  walls. 

During  the  obsequies  many  striking 
miracles  'occurred.  Since  then,  for  more 
than  five  hundred  years,  the  gifts  and 
favors  received  through  the  saint's  inter- 
cession have  been  countless.  Her  body, 
miraculously  preserved  from  decay,  was, 
when  visited  by  the  superiors  of  her 
Order  or  by  the  bishops  of  Spoleto,  often 
seen  to  rise  to  the  level  of  its  coffin.  It 
still  diffuses  a  wonderful  fragrance,  which 
is  specially  noticeable  on  certain  anni- 
versaries, on  the  feast-day  of  the  saint, 
and  whenever  favors  are  granted  through 
her  intercession.  This  supernatural  per- 
fume is  one  of  the  miracles  embodied  in 
the  decree  of  canonization.  Strange  to 
relate,  the  same  fragrance,  when  a  favor 
is  being  granted  in  far-distant  countries, 
is  often  sensibly  present. 

Public  devotion  to  Saint  Rita  spread 
very  rapidly.  It  was  particularly  vigorous 


620 


THE  AVE  MARTA 


in  vSpain,  Portugal,  and  in  »Sonth  America. 
It  was  at  Cadiz,  vSpain,  where  she  wrought 
so  many  miracles,  that  she  was  first 
hailed  as  the  "  Saint  of  the  Impossible, "- 
a  title  that  to-day  identifies  her  through- 
out the  Christian  world. 

The  deeds  and  teachings  of  the  holy 
ones  of  Umbria  have  passed  into  the 
literatures  of  the  world,  directing  the 
genius  as  well  as  moulding  the  destinies 
of  countless  souls.  Few  of  these  lives, 
however,  have  so  continuously  startled 
the  indifference  and  shaken  the  skepticism 
of  self-sufficient  minds  as  has  that  of  this 
Augustinian  nun.  Her  life  was  one  wherein 
the  world  had  played  a  bitter  and  a  tragic 
part;  it  was  a  career  of  great  spiritual 
brilliancy, — seventy  odd  years  of  struggle 
miraculously  sanctioned  by  God.  The 
briefest  story  of  that  career  will  to  the 
unbeliever  appear  a  pious  fiction,  an 
improbable  tale,  but  the  attested  facts  of 
her  life  and  their  no  less  marvellous  con- 
sequences, which  human  science  can  neither 
explain  nor  alter,  were  searchingly  scru- 
tinized by  the  Church  for  more  than  four 
hundred  years.  Her  findings  may  not  be 
set  aside,  nor  her  conclusions  evaded. 

Though  each  generation,  in  every 
country,  has  its  favorites  among  the  elect 
of  God,  there  are  certain  saints  whose 
popularity  is  of  a  steadily  expanding  and 
cumulative  character.  They  are  seen 
moving  flame-like  across  the  ages,  seizing 
on  the  mind  and  heart  of  every  nation, 
answering  the  more  constant,  the  broader, 
queries  of  every  age.  Of  such  is  the  "Poor 
Little  Man  of  Assisi,"  renewing  in  the 
breast  of  the  creature  love  for  its  Creator; 
of  such  is  St.  Anthony  of  Padua,  rekindling 
the  fire  of  charity  in  the  human  heart; 
of  such  also  is  St.  Rita  of  Cascia,  miracu- 
lously enforcing  faith  in  God.  And  it  is 
the  great  glory  of  this  humble  daughter 
of  St.  Augustine,  around  whom  a  world- 
wide and  ardent  devotion  has  grown  up, 
that  she  was  specially  chosen  by  God  to 
show  to  the  world  the  potency  of  persever- 
ing prayer  and  the  incredible  power  of  an 
act  of  genuine  faith. 


A  Memory  of  May. 

BY  SARAH  FRANCKS  ASHBURTON. 

I  DO  not  know  what  is  the  custom  now- 
adays in  convent  schools;  but  when 
I  was  a  little  girl — a  long  time  ago, — at 
the  school  which  I  attended,  the  ist  of 
May,  the  opening  of  the  Month  of  Mary, 
was  always  celebrated  in  a  very  impres- 
sive and  delightful  manner.  All  the  girls 
in  white,  the  little  ones  strewing  flowers, 
walked  in  a  procession,  at  the  head  of 
which  were  four  of  the  model  scholars 
of  the  school  carrying  an  exquisite  statue 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  After  having  walked 
round  and  round  the  convent  garden, 
chanting  a  .beautiful  French  Litany — for 
that  garden,  though  a  lovely  spot,  was 
comparatively  small, — they  deposited  the 
image  of  Our  Lady  on  the  altar  prepared 
for  it,  in  a  shrine  consisting  of  a  Gothic 
roof  and  four  .slender  columns.  The  shrine 
was  really  intended  as  a  protection  against 
the  showers,  which  are  apt  to  come  as 
frequently  in  May  as  April,  the  so-called 
month  of  showers.  Open  at  all  sides, 
with  potted  plants  and  flowers  from  floor 
to  apex,  reaching  even  high  above  the 
head  of  Our  Lady,  it  presented  a  beautiful 
appearance  in  the  midst  of  the  garden, 
which,  small  as  it  was,  might  well  be 
called  a  parterre  of  bloom;  for,  under  the 
care  of  the  Sisters,  every  inch  of  ground 
between  the  narrow  paths  was  radiant 
with  color  and  fragrant  with  blossoms. 

Although  the  academy  (or  pay  school) 
and  the  parish  (or  free)  school  were  on 
different  sides  of  the  great,  square  convent 
building,  reached  by  separate  entrances, 
with  their  playgrounds  divided  by  a  paling, 
the  Sunday-school  classes  were  common 
to  both;  and  on  May  Day  all  the  children 
formed  one  company  in  the  grand  proces- 
sion, blending  their  fresh,  young  voices 
in  the  lovely  canticles,  and  offering  their 
innocent  prayers  in  unison.  All  were 
accustomed  to  bring  offerings  of  flowers 
on  that  day,  making  the  shrine  and  its 


AYR  MARIA 


021 


surroundings  a  veritable  bower  of  beauty. 

A  unique  custom  prevailed  at  St.  Anne's, 
which  I,  at  least,  have  never  seen  else- 
where,— but  there  were  many  beautiful 
customs  in  that  peaceful  retreat  which 
seemed  to  belong  to  itself  alone.  After 
the  image  of  Our  Lady  had  been  deposited 
on  the  miniature  altar  and  a  canticle  was 
sung,  the  children  ranged  themselves  in 
two  long  rows,  reaching  far  beyond  the 
garden  gate  and  into  the  academy  play- 
ground, preparatory  to  the  election  of  a 
May  Queen,  who  was  always  chosen  from 
the  four  who  had  been  appointed  to  carry 
the  statue, — this  office  having  been  deter- 
mined by  the  greatest  number  of  marks 
for  attendance,  good  conduct,  and  Chris- 
tian Doctrine  at  Sunday-school.  Thus  the 
honor  was  as  likely  to  fall  to  the  lot 
of  a  child  of  poverty  as  to  one  to  whom 
the  good  things  of  this  world  had  been 
more  freely  given. 

Two  of  the  vSisters  passed  up  and  down 
the  lines  with  boxes  containing  marbles, 
one  being  given  to  each  of  the  children. 
All  were  then  ordered  to  whirl  about, 
with  their  backs  to  the  shrine;  the  four 
candidates  being  sent  to  the  extreme 
front,  where  they  could  not  possibly 
watch  the  balloting.  Four  boxes  were  then 
placed  at  the  feet  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
each  bearing  the  name  of  a  candidate. 
One  by  one  the  children  left  the  ranks 
and  deposited  their  votes,  it  being  impos- 
sible from  the  position  of  those  in  the 
ranks  to  see  the  destination  of  any  ballot. 

When  all  had  finished,  the  Sisters  in 
charge  counted  the  votes,  and  announced 
the  name  of  the  successful  candidate.  The 
two  next  in  order  were  first  and  second 
maids  of  honor;  the  third  being  called  the 
herald,  who  taking  a  basket  of  flowers 
prepared  for  the  occasion,  presented  it  to 
the  Queen.  The  new  dignitary  now  slowly 
and  modestly  advanced  through  the  ranks 
bearing  her  flowery  burthen,  the  columns 
closing  up  behind  her  and  again  facing 
the  shrine.  Arrived  at  the  foot  of  the 
altar,  she  knelt  down,  and,  laying  the 
fragrant  gift  at  the  feet  of  the  .Madonna, 


recited  the  Act  of  Consecration  in  the 
name  of  herself  arid  her  kneeling  com- 
panions. After  this  another  canticle  was 
sung,  and  the  children  dispersed  to  a  large 
arbor,  where  a  table  was  set,  covered  with 
cakes,  fruit,  confectionery,  and  lemonade, 
wherewith,  after  dancing  around  their 
Queen,  they  regaled  themselves.  The  after- 
noon closed  with  songs,  games,  and  other 
happy  plays  of  childhood.  All  this,  how- 
ever, is  prefatory  to  a  little  story. 

To  the  parish  school  of  St.  Anne's  there 
had  come,  about  six  months  previous  to 
the  ist  of  May,  -a  little  Irish  girl  fresh 
from  the  "Green  Sod," — sweet,  modest, 
clever,  and  beautiful.  Her  eyes  were  as 
blue  as  the  sky;  her  delicate  pencilled 
brows  and  long  thick  lashes  were  of 
ebony  blackness,  as  was  also  her  luxuriant 
hair,  which  hung  in  a  single  thick  braid 
below  her  waist.  Her  skin  was  of  a  trans- 
parent red  and  white ;  white  and  even  teeth 
making  more  evident  the  perfect  beauty 
of  her  delicate  lips,  nearly  always  parted 
in  a  smile,  which  played  around  two  deep 
dimples  in  either  cheek.  And  yet  this 
beautiful  creature  was  a  child  of  poverty; 
her  mother,  a  widow,  having  died  almost 
on  her  arrival  in  this  country. 

Little  Bridget  had  no  relatives  in 
America — none  in  all  the  world  that  she 
knew  of, — and  it  became  her  lot  to  cast 
her  fortunes  with  those  of  a  kind  Irish- 
woman whose  husband  "carried  the  hod," 
and  who,-  for  the  assistance  Bridget 
gave  her  morning  and  evening  with  her 
large  family,  allowed  her  to  go  to  school. 
The  child  was  hungry  to  learn  and  eager 
to  make  her  first  Holy  Communion;  while 
the  good  woman  who  sheltered  her  gave  her 
every  indulgence  in  her  power.  She 
had  been  well  taught  at  home,  knowing 
her  catechism  perfectly,  and  soon  took 
her  place  near  the  head  of  the  second  class 
at  Sunday-school.  She  was  also  well 
grounded  in  her  other  studies,  and  before 
long  became  a  favorite  with  her  teachers 
as  well  as  her  companions,  who,  although 
they  laughed  at  first  at  her  quaint  speech 
and  pronounced  accent,  soon  learned  to  be 


622 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


chary  of  criticism  and  chaff  in  the  face 
of  her  unfailing  good  humor,  which  led 
her  to  laugh  at  her  own  peculiarities  as 
heartily  as  did  her  companions. 

On  the  Sunday  before  May  Day,  after 
the  classes  had  been  dismissed,  a  group  of 
girls  were  gathered  around  their  teacher, 
discussing  the  arrangement  and  decoration 
of  the  shrine  for  that  all-important  day. 

"As  many  lilies  as  you  can  find,  girls," 
said  Sister  Margaret;  "they  are  so  pure 
and  lovely,  so  typical  of  Our  Lady.  I  do 
not  think  there  are  any  flowrers  so  beau- 
tiful as  lilies." 

"Violets  are  lovely  too,"  said  one  of  the 
girls.  "And  this  is  their  season.  But 
they  are  so  dreadfully  expensive,  as  they 
are  nearly  all  raised  in  hot-houses." 

"I  once  knew  a  spot,"  said  the  Sister, 
reflectively,  —  "a  thick  shady  clump  of 
woods,  carpeted  with  green  moss,  where 
the  loveliest  wrhite  and  purple  violets 
grew  by  hundreds  and  thousands.  My 
home  was  not  far  from  there.  In  spring 
we  used  to  gather  them  by  the  basketful 
while  they  lasted,  and  Our  Lady's  altar 
was  always  decked  with  them.  May  Day 
never  comes  but  I  wish  we  could  have 
some  of  those  lovely,  fragrant  violets  to 
lay  upon  the  Blessed  Virgin's  altar." 

"And  is  that  place  very  far  from  this, 
Sister?"  inquired  Bridget,  who  was  one  of 
the  group. 

vSister   Margaret  smiled. 

' '  Comparatively  near,  and  yet  it  might 
be  called  far,"  she  said.  "I  do  not  think 
even  the  railroad  runs  to  it  now;  it  is 
reached  only  by  wagon  or  carriage.  It  is 
a  very  secluded,  quiet  spot,  about  ten 
miles  from  the  city." 

"And  what  is  the  name  of  that  place, 
Sister?"  continued  Bridget.  "Maybe  one 
could  write  there,  and  have  the  people 
send  a  basket  down." 

"Ah,  Bridget  dear!"  replied  the  Sister, 
with  a  little  sigh,  "it  is  a  long  time  since 
I  lived  there;  and  all  those  whom  I  knew 
have  either  died  or  gone  away  or  forgotten 
me.  It  would  not  be  possible  to  get 
violets  from  there  now,  child.  Indeed,  I 


doubt  if  the  woods  have  not  been  cleared 
and  cultivated  long  since." 

"  Hut  maybe  if  you  told  us  the  name 
of  the  place,  some  of  us  could  find  it  out 
and  make  our  way  to  it.  .  Sure  'twould  be 
aisy  enough  to  do  that." 

"Bridget,"  said  one  of  the  older  girls, 
"didn't  you  hear  Sister  say  it  was  ten 
miles  from  here?" 

Bridget  looked  at  her  with  one  of  those 
bright  smiles  which  made  her  sweet,  young 
face  seem  all  dimples,  as  she  answered: 

"And  what's  ten  miles  if  one  had  a 
good  road  under  foot?" 

"It  is  every  step  of  that  to  Verdon 
Woods,"  said  Sister  Margaret.  "And  in 
this  country,  little  Bridget,  we  think  five 
miles  a  long  walk." 

No  more  was  said.  The  group  dispersed, 
taking  their  several  ways  home. 

Thursday  was  the  ist  of  May.  The 
day  broke  soft  and  warm,  with  myriads 
of  birds  in  the  air  and  not  a  cloud  in 
the  sky.  It  was  an  ideal  May  Day.  At  two 
o'clock  the  children  began  to  assemble  for 
the  ceremonies  which  were  to  commence 
at  three.  Little  Bridget  had  been  chosen 
as  one  of  the  four  who  were  to  carry  the 
statue, — an  honor  which  had  so  delighted 
her  as  to  bring  tears  to  her  beautiful 
Irish  eyes.  This  was  on  the  day  after  the 
conversation  above  related.  When  Sister 
Margaret  informed  her  of  the  privilege  to 
which  her  number  of  good  marks  entitled 
her,  she  clasped  her  hands  together,  raised 
her  eyes,  and  exclaimed:  "Sweet  Mother 
in  heaven,  but  I'm  proud  and  happy  this 
day!"  Sister  Margaret  said  afterward  that 
the  rapt  expression  of  the  child's  face 
had  brought  tears  to  her  own  eyes. 

Always  one  of  the  first  to  arrive,  little 
Bridget  delayed  so  long  that  afternoon 
that  Sister  Margaret  began  to  feel  afraid 
she  was  ill,  and  was  already  looking  up 
and  down  the  waiting  ranks  for  some  one 
to  take  her  place. 

"The  child  must  be  ill,"  she  said  to 
one  of  the  other  three.  "Nothing  but  that 
would  detain  her,  she  was  so  delighted  at 
having  been  chosen." 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


623 


"Perhaps  she  had  no  white  dress, 
Sister?"  suggested  the  girl,  timidly.  "You 
know  how  poor  she  is." 

"A  friend  supplied  it,"  quietly  replied 
Sister  Margaret,  who  had  provided  the 
gown  herself  the  week  before,  when  the 
child  had  received  and  thanked  her  for 
it  with  streaming  eyes. 

Suddenly  a  murmur  came  swelling 
through  the  lower  ranks  nearest  the  gate; 
and,  looking  down  the  long,  gravelled 
path,  Sister  Margaret  beheld  little  Bridget, 
neatly  arrayed  in  her  new  white  dress, 
toiling  under  he  weight  of  a  large  basket, 
which,  as  she  came  nearer,  was  discovered 
to  be  filled  to  the  top  with  fragrant  wood 
violets,  which  shed  their  incomparable 
perfume  all  about,  as  they  smiled,  cool, 
fresh,  pure,  from  their  native  mossy  beds. 

Two  of  the  girls  hastened  to  relieve  her 
of  her  burthen,  but  she  would  not  re- 
linquish it  until  she  had  deposited  it  at 
Sister  Margaret's  feet.  Then,  with  bright 
eyes  shining  through  tears,  her  lovely 
face  wet  and  flushed  from  the  weight 
of  the  heavy  basket,  she  said: 

"Sure  'tis  in  a  terrible  way  I  was, 
vSister  dear,  for  fear  I'd  be  late  for  the 
marching,  and  lose  my  place  with  the 
image  of  our  Blessed  Lady.  But  now  I'm 
here,  thank  God!  And  I  hope  I  didn't 
keep  ye  waiting  for  me." 

"But,  my  dear,  dear  child,"  said  Sister 
Margaret,  taking  the  trembling  hands  in 
her  own, "  where  did  you  get  those  violets, 
and  how?" 

' '  At  Verdon  Woods.  W'here  else,  Sister  ? ' ' 
was  the  reply,  accompanied  by  a  roguish 
smile. 

"But  how  did  you  get  there?"  asked 
the  wondering  nun. 

"Walked  there,  of  course.  Sure,  'twould 
be  nothing  if  it  wasn't  for  the  hurry  I 
was  in,  and  the  weight  of  the  basket. 
Many's  the  time  I  went  that  length  and 
more  with  my  grandmother  in  Ireland." 

"Walked!"  was  the  exclamation  that 
rose  from  many  throats. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  looking  round  at  them 
all,  her  face  full  of  shy  laughter.  "I  made 


sure  Sunday  to  get  them,  after  I  heard 
the  name  of  the  place.  And  so  when  I 
went  home  I  asked  Mr.  McMullen  did  he 
know  of  it.  He  did,  and  from  the  way  he 
told  me  I  knew  it  was  a  straight  road 
all  the  way." 

"But,  Bridget,  how  could  they  have 
let  you  go  so  far?"  said  Sister  Margaret, 
putting  her  arm  about  the  sturdy  little 
shoulders. 

"I  was  in  dread  of  that,  Sister,"  said 
the  child,  looking  up  archly.  "So  I  wrote 
a  bit  of  a  nete  last  night  and  pinned  it 
on  the  kitchen  window,  where  'twould  be 
seen  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  I  lay 
awake  all  night,  for  fear  I'd  oversleep 
myself;  and  at  the  first  streak  of  light  I 
was  up  and  away,  with  a  bit  of  bread  in 
my  pocket  and  my  basket  on  my  arm.  Oh, 
but  it  was  a  lovely  walk  going,  Sister!" 

By  this  time  the  children  had  broken 
ranks  and  were  gathered  around  her,  but  she 
went  on  quite  simply  and  unconsciously: 

"Oh,  but  it's  the  dawny,  dainty  place, 
Sister  Margaret!  There  were  heaps  and 
heaps  of  the  pretty  violets.  It's  longing  I 
was  for  some  one  with  another  basket  to 
be  with  me." 

"And  you  carried  that  heavy  load  all 
the  way  back — ten  miles,  little  Bridget?" 

"I  did,  Sister,"  answered  the  child,  as 
simply  as  before.  "  I  wouldn't  have  minded 
a  haporth  only  for  the  fear  of  being  late. 
'Twas  two  when  I  got  home,  and  Mrs. 
McMullen  made  me  ate  a  bite  before  I  got 
ready,  and  I  ran  all  the  way  to  the  school 
after  that." 

In  the  meantime  some  one  had  fetched 
two  great  meat  platters,  on  which  the 
violets,  still  in  their  bed  of  moss,  were 
arranged;  but  there  were  so  many  that 
the  remainder  filled  two  flat,  oval  flower- 
baskets. 

After  the  procession  was  over,  the  ballot- 
ing went  on  briskly;  and, without  a  single 
exception,  the  votes  were  cast  for  little 
Bridget;  though  she  had  previously  stood 
fourth  on  the  list.  Trembling,  astounded, 
reluctant,  she  wished  to  forego  the  unex- 
pected honor  her  companions  forced  upon 


624 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


her;  but  all  in  vain.  She  was  the  fairest, 
sweetest,  loveliest  Queen  that  ever  held 
her  May  Day  court  at  dear  St.  Anne's.  So 
said  we  all,  without  one  dissenting  voice. 
So  impressed  were  the  Sisters  by  her 
devotedness  that  Mother  Superior  deter- 
mined to  give  her  all  the  advantages  of  a 
good  education;  and  a  few  weeks  subse- 
quent to  the  above  incident  little  Bridget 
was  installed  as  a  boarder  in  M —  —  Acad- 
emy, distant  about  fifty  miles  from  the 
scene  of  my  little  story.  And  if  by  chance 
she  should  read  this  recital,  I  do  not  doubt 
she  will  forgive  the  narrator,  who,  after 
all,  has  so  concealed  her  identity,  as 
not  in  the  least  to  offend  the  beautiful 
humility  and  characteristic  modesty  of 
her  who  exchanged  the  familiar  title  of 
"little  Bridget"  for  that  of  Sister  Mary 
many  years  ago. 


Oxford  in  War  Time. 

BY    GERTRUDE    ROBINSON. 

IT  is  the  middle  of  the  Oxford  "  Lent 
Term," — the  term  which  used  to  be  the 
buj5iest,  if  not  the  gayest,  of  terms,  when 
Oxford  read  hard  and  played  strenuously. 
In  the  old  days — for  so  we  call  them  now — 
the  river  was  crowded  with  youth  bending 
to  the  oar;  the  towing-path  was  full 
of  admiring  onlookers;  not  to  speak  of 
anxious  coaches  racing  along  beside  the 
boats,  and  pouring  out  instructions,  vi- 
tuperations, and  praise,  according  to  the 
performance  of  their  pupils.  For  the  Lent 
Term,  as  everybody  knows,  was  the  term 
of  both  the  Torpids  and  the  Boat  Race. 
It  is  three  years  since  the  last  Torpids, — 
only  three  years  since  we  were  carried  along 
the  towing-path  in  the  midst  of  a  yelling, 
flannelled  mob.  Only  three  years  ago  there 
they  were,  a  crowd  of  happy,  irresponsible 
boys.  To-day  where  are  they? 

Their  pleasant  quarters,  the  ink-stained 
lecture  rooms,  the  quadrangles  that  echoed 
with  their  laughter  and  fun,  the  chapels 
that  "bored"  them,  the  river  that  they 
loved, — all  seem  to  be  crying  out  for  them. 


The  roads  to  Bagley  and  Stow  Woods, 
to  I  slip  and  Eynsham,  no  longer  look  for 
the  passing  of  boys  with  clear-cut,  serious 
faces,  who  in  their  generous  talk  were 
wont  to  set  to  rights  all  the  wrongs  of  the 
world.  They  have  gone  to  set  them 
right  in  another  way. 

Bodley's  Library  misses  the  short  gowns 
and  ill-used  caps  of  the  undergraduates 
it  once  found  so  tiresome.  The  halls  and 
examination  schools,  whence,  in  the  days 
that  seem  so  long  ago,  young  men  ran 
gladly  out,  trying  to  look  unconscious  of 
their  white  ties,  are  filled  with  rows  of 
beds.  No  longer  black,  but  khaki,  grey 
and  red  are  the  prevailing  colors.  And  the 
great  building  is  redolent  of  antiseptics, 
for  it  is  a  military  hospital.  Somerville 
College  has  turned  out  its  women  students; 
and  wounded  officers  are  nursed  in  the 
pleasant  rooms,  and  lie  on  warm  days  in 
the  pleasant  gardens.  Sacrosanct  Oriel  has 
given  up  one  of  its  halls  to  the  houseless 
women.  Of  the  colleges,  Balliol  admits 
with  a  certain  shyness  that  it  has  still 
forty  undergraduates:  four  or  six  are 
the  usual  number  in  the  other  houses; 
while  some  colleges,  it  seems,  are  in  the 
proud  position  of  having  only  one  or  two. 
But  Balliol,  as  well  as  other  colleges, 
balances  its  superfluous  undergraduates 
by  housing  cadets. 

Even  in  the  days  of  the  Civil  War, 
there  was  no  such  subordination  of  gown 
to  sword.  We  have  men  of  all  ranks  and 
nations — English  cadets  in  their  round 
caps;  Australians  in  their  picturesque 
slouch  hats;  here  and  there  Belgian, 
French  and  Serbian  officers;  and  always 
the  flying  men,  with  their  queer,- "devil- 
may-care"  Glengarries  stuck  on  the  side 
of  their  heads.  They  are  everywhere. 
College  gateways  pour  them  forth;  the 
streets  are  full  of  them;  companies  of 
them  march  beneath  the  great  elms, 
which  seem  to  miss  the  merry  lads  who 
used  to  swarm  down  day  after  day  to  the 
football  fields  or  the  river. 

In  the  college  halls  the  tables  are  spread 
not  for  students  but  for  soldiers,  and  the. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


625 


high  tables  are  officers'  mess.  The  Dons, 
who  still  bravely  (how  bravely  and  with 
what  aching  hearts  no  one  knows  but 
themselves)  carry  on  the  work  of  teaching 
the  few  boys  who  are  left,  grow  white 
and  tired  with  the  constant  strain  of 
anxiety  and  loss.  The  walls  of  their  rooms 
are  crowded  with  pictured  faces, — faces 
full  of  promise,  bright  with  youth,  and 
fair  with  the  beauty  not  only  of  the  flesh 
but  of  mind  and  spirit.  And  to  one  after 
another  they  point,  saying,  "He  is  gone, 
and  he,  and  he!"  He  fell  storming  the 
heights  of  Gallipoli;  he  was  last  seen 
cheering  on  his  men  in  the  battle  of  the 
Marne;  and  he  brought  in  a  wounded 
Tommy  of  his  Company  under  a  hell  of 
fire,  aad  fell  down  and  died  just  as  they 
both  reached  safety.  And  as  the  roll  goes 
on,  the  room  is  filled  with  the  blithe  spirits 
who  loved  to  gather  there, — the  boys  to 
whom  life  was  so  great  a  5oy,  and  who  laid 
it  down -without  a  murmur. 

Nay,  not  only  college  rooms,  but  Oxford 
itself  is  full  of  those  brave  presences.  They 
linger  about  the  streets  and  lanes;  they 
inspire  the  places  whence  they  drew  their 
own  young  inspiration.  No  pale  ghosts 
are  here  of  Homer's  imagining,  but  spirits 
who  have  reached  the  fulness  of  life  by 
passing  through  the  gates  of  death.  Age 
is  nothing  to  them  now.  They  are  all 
young  .together.  The  priest  who  went 
down  in  the  "Lusitania"  laughs  with  the 
boy  fresh  from  school,  who  fell  in  his 
first  battle.  All  are  here  in  the  Oxford 
that  they  loved.  Quadrangles,  chapels, 
streets  and  byways  are  full  of  them. 
But  it  is  by  the  river  that  their  joyous 
spirits  are  most  to  be  felt, — the  river 
on  whose  bosom  in  their  earthly  days 
they  played  and  shouted  until  the  meadows 
round  rang  with  their  noise,  and  the 
staid  University  barges  felt  old  and  left  out. 

Now  the  river  paths  are  very  silent. 
You  may  walk  to  Marston  and  meet  no 
one.  Over  the  low  hills  to  the  north  the 
red  sun  sinks,  and  the  mists  wreathe 
themselves  over  wood  and  meadow.  '  In 
the  quiet,  narrow  stream  whose  fame  is, 


wider  than  that  of  the  yellow  Tiber, 
(for  it  has  spread  wherever  an  English- 
man's thought  has  gone  back  with  yearn- 
ing love  to  his  Alma  Mater)  are  reflected 
the  clear  Oxford  sky,  and  the  low  reddish 
branches  of  the  alders,  and  the  black  hulk 
of  the  rickety  ferryboat.  And  all  around 
us  is  a  great  company :  the  spirits  of  the 
gallant  dead,  who  loved— ah,  how  they 
loved! — this  plaything  of  a  river.  Now 
they  love  it  even  more.  Was  not  the 
thought  of  its  gentle  comradeship  with 
them  in  their  death  grips  with  the  foe? 
As  they  lay  tortured  with  thirst  on  the 
battlefield,  it  came  to  them  in  their 
delirium;  and  they  dreamed  that  they 
trailed  their  fingers  in  it,  and  its  gentle 
coolness  bathed  their  scorched  and  black- 
ened flesh.  It  followed  them  along  the 
burning  sands  of  Mesopotamia,  and  as 
they  fell  back  dying  on  the  arid  beaches 
of  Gallipoli  they  heard  its  quiet  lapping. 

But  we  can  not  bear  this  any  more. 
Let  us  walk  out  the  other  way  towards 
Wolvercote.  The  river  is  wide  there,  and 
less  intimate.  It  is  a  winter  afternoon. 
Before  us  stand  the  old  crumbling  walls 
of  the  pathetic  little  nunnery  of  Godstow. 
In  a  crystal  sky,  the  great  corn-colored 
moon  is  rising.  There  lies  the  river,  wide 
here  and  deeper.  All  is  very  still,  except 
for  the  occasional  mournful  cry  of  a  moor- 
hen. The  bosom  of  the  river  is  empty  of 
all  save  the  swans,  whose  whiteness  shows 
very  white  on  its  silver  grey. 

But  listen  for  a  moment,  and  look? 
Once  more  we  are  in  the  midst  of  that 
innumerable  company  of  her  sons,  who 
whisper  happy  greetings  to  their  river, 
who  go  smiling  about  their  oldtime  bath- 
ing places,  who  give  God-speed  to  their 
brethren  in  arms.  In  them  is  no  touch 
of  fear,  no  breath  of  sadness,  no  whisper 
of  regret.  They  are  out  in  the  larger  life. 
They  have  given  up  all  and  possess  all, 
and  have  come  back  to  whisper  greetings 
to  Oxford,  and  their  gratitude  to  her  for 
their  days  under  her  shadow.  For  now 
they  know  what  was  the  meaning  of  those 
days,  and  how  great  was  their  worth.. 


626 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


The  Golden  Mean. 


FEW  rules  relative  to  our  habitual 
conduct  in  life  have  received,  either 
from  pagan  sages  or  Christian  philosophers, 
so  authoritative  and  nearly  universal  a 
sanction  as  that  which  bids  us  observe 
the  golden  mean.  The  rule  does  not,  of 
course,  apply  in  cases  where  its  observance 
would  conflict  with  the  laws  of  God. 
Between  right  and  wrong,  truth  and  false- 
hood, good  and  evil,  there  is  no  mean 
which  it  is  permissible  to  adopt;  but 
there  are,  apart  from  such  cases,  a  thou- 
sand instances  in  which  the  avoidance  of 
extremes  in  either  of  two  contrary  ways 
has  always  been  commended  as  the  true 
secret  of  judicious  living,  the  last  word 
of  practical  wisdom  in  the  domain  of 
everyday  ethics.  . 

"Moderation  is  best,"  said  Cleobulus, 
one  of  Greece's  seven  wise  men;  and,  in 
slightly  varying  forms,  his  sentiment  has 
been  re-echoed  by  hundreds  of  moralists 
in  every  century  since  his  own.  "Modera- 
tion, the  noblest  gift  of  heaven!"  exclaims 
Euripides.  "Observe  moderation,"  coun- 
sels Hesiod.  Ne  quid  nimis  ("Avoid  ex- 
cess"), advises  Terence.  "There's  a  mean 
in  morals,"  declares  the  sagacious  Horace. 
"Therefore  love  moderately,  long  love 
d.oth  so,"  comments  Shakespeare.  "What 
is  all  virtue  but  a  moderation  of  ex- 
cesses?" asks  Robert  South;  and,  to 
make  an  end  of  quoting,  "Moderation  is 
the  silken  string  running  through  the 
pearl  chain  of  all  the  virtues,"  says 
Bishop  Hall. 

Now,  if  a  man's  recognition  of  the  excel- 
lence of  an  advice  were  any  guarantee 
that  he  would  forthwith  adopt  it  as  his 
own  rule  of  action,  the  golden  mean  would 
unquestionably  be  very  generally  observed; 
and  the  misguided  zealots  whom  we  term 
extremists  would  be  as  rare  as  in  actual 
life,  unfortunately,  they  are  common. 
While  the  ordinary  man,  however,  is  quite 
willing  to  admit  as  a  general  principle 
that  extremes  are  vicious,  that  "too  far 


east  is  west,"  he  is  prone,  nevertheless,  to 
cherish  some  favorite  fad  or  hobby  of  his 
own,  which  he  rides  beyond  all  bounds  of 
reason  or  discretion.  One  need  not  be  very 
astute  or  observant  to  note  this  strange 
anomaly  of  human  nature:  that  men  of 
normally  sound  judgment  on  general 
matters  seem  mentally  color-blind  as  to 
certain  particular  subjects;  and  that, 
in  advocating  specific  action  in  connec- 
tion therewith,  they  deliver  themselves, 
not  in  forcible  arguments  based  on 
recognized  principles  of  good  sense,  but 
in  the  merest  extravagant  rant  and  silly 
rodomontade. 

No  one  who  has  ever  listened — and  who 
has  not? — to  a  thoroughgoing  political 
partisan,  or  who  has  read  the  columns 
of  an  out-and-out  party  newspaper,  can 
have  failed  to  perceive  instances-  of  such 
departure  from  common-sense.  Absolute 
denial  of  patent  truths ;  positive  perversion 
of  well-known  facts;  reckless  imputation 
of  the  most  unworthy  motives;  dogmatic 
assumptions  unsupported  by  argument  or 
evidence;  fulsome  and  lavish  praise  of 
party  friends,  and  'copious  abuse  of  party 
foes, — all  this  is  as  common  in  •  public 
life  as  daylight  and  darkness.  Of  the 
extremist  in  politics  one  may  say,  as 
Punch  once  said  of  Froude:  "He  writes 
without  restriction."  The  partisan  who 
has  persuaded  himself  that  all  truth  and 
virtue  and  worth  and  wisdom  are  resident 
in  his  own  political  camp  has  either  his 
perception  or  his  judgment  badly  clouded, 
and  his  discourse  is  accordingly  less  apt 
to  be  sane  than  foolish. 

So,  too,  of  extremists  in  other  matters 
than  politics:  in  municipal  reforms,  for 
instance,  or  in  social  questions  of  a 
dozen  different  characters.  Zeal  all  too 
often  outruns  discretion;  and  the  best- 
intentioned  advocates  of  the  most  meri- 
torious causes,  through  non-observance  of 
the  golden  mean,  not  only  fail  to  effect 
the  good  which  their  more  moderate 
advocacy  would  probably  accomplish,  but 
frequently  bring  down  public  ridicule  on 
their  causes  and  themselves.  There  is, 


TJJK  AVE  MARIA 


027 


t»f  course,  considerable  truth  in  Kmcrson's 
dictum,  that  "Nothing  great  was  ever 
achieved  without  enthusiasm";  but  en- 
thusiasm, as  a  commendable  quality, 
implies  merely  an  exalted  state  of  the  mind 
or  imagination,  and  is  not  identical  with 
perverted  logic  or  a  radical  departure  from 
right  thinking.  The  most  enthusiastic 
and  impassioned  denunciation  of  an  indif- 
ferent act  does  not  make  the  act  immoral, 
though  it  may  cause  the  denouncer's 
sanity  to  be  called  in  question.  Such  ex- 
travagant abuse  indeed  not  seldom  serves 
as  a  boomerang,  and  the  extremist,  instead 
of  making  new  converts,  alienates  old 
friends. 

"Above  all,  manifest  no  zeal,"  said 
Talleyrand ;  and  if,  as  we  may  sup'pose,  he 
meant  what  St.  Paul  styles  "a  zeal  not 
according  to  knowledge,"  his  advice  is 
clearly  worthy  of  adoption  by  many  a 
public  and  private  teacher  and  preacher. 
No  one,  it  need  hardly  be  said,  will  blame 
a  Christian  teacher  for  eulogizing  virtue 
in  terms  the  most  encomiastic,  or  for 
denouncing  vice  with  the  strongest  epithets 
in  his  vocabulary;  but  where  the  extremist 
is  apt  to  err  is  in  characterizing  as  vicious 
in  itself  what  is  not  really  such,  though, 
as  all  reasonable  persons  admit,  it  may 
become  evil  through  abuse  or  under  cer- 
tain circumstances. 

Take  such  subjects,  for  instance,  as  the 
observance  of  the  Sabbath,  attendance 
at  theatres,  dancing,  playing  cards  for 
amusement  merely  or  for  small  money 
stakes,  reading  novels,  drinking  malt  or 
spirituous  liquors,  or  even  smoking;  and 
who  can  not  recall  his  having  heard  or  read 
thereon  the  most  preposterous  fallacies 
urged  with  all  the  insistence  of  an  infallible 
dogmatist?  On  one  side  and  on  the  other 
of  all  such  questions  will  be  found  some 
disregarders  of  the  golden  mean, — very 
excellent  persons,  no  doubt,  but  extremists 
whose  tongues  and  pens  are  guided  by 
extravagant  bias,  prejudice,  and  passion, 
rather  than  by  sanity  of  judgment,  correct 
taste,  and  the  saving  virtue  of  common- 
sense. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

Somewhat  unique  among  episcopal  mes- 
sages calling  upon  American  Catholics  to 
"stand  by  the  President,"  to  aid  in  the 
production  and  conservation  of  food- 
stuffs, to  "rally  round  the  flag" — at  the 
recruiting  stations  —  etc.,  is  the  pastoral 
letter  addressed  to  his  spiritual  subjects 
by  Bishop  Busch,  of  St.  Cloud,  Minnesota. 
In  the  present  emergency  he  advises  in  a 
particular  manner  works  of  charity.  "This 
shake-up  of  nations,"  he  writes,  "is  a 
sign  that  men  have  been  slow  in  making 
Voluntary  sacrifices.  .  .  .  Charity  covers  a 
multitude  of  sins,  and,  consequently,  is 
the  surest  refuge  in  this  hour  of  danger, 
and  during  all  these  days  of  apprehen- 
sion." After  specifying  the  way  in  which 
the  spirit  of  self-denial  may  be  shown  in 
concrete  fashion,  and  urging  his  people  to 
practise  it,  the  Bishop  continues: 

To  strengthen  this  appeal  and  to  show  the 
sincerity  of  my  convictions  and  feelings  in  this 
matter,  I  have,  in  obedience  to  the  Saviour's 
precept — "If  thou  wilt  be  perfect,  go,  sell 
what  thou  hast  and  give  to  the  poor;  .  .  .  and 
come,  follow  Me," — disposed  of. all  my  personal 
property  and  devoted  the  proceeds  to  such 
works  of  mercy  and  charity  as  appear  most 
necessary  and  meritorious  in  these  times.  I 
implore  God  to  accept  this  little  sacrifice  as 
retribution  for  my  mistakes,  and  as  a  petition 
for  grace  to  guide  and  assist,  according  to  the 
spirit  and  heart  of  the  Saviour,  those  entrusted 
to  my  spiritual  care;  and  that  God  may  prepare 
our  hearts  to  accept  His  decrees  in  the  spirit 
of  devotion,  docility,  and  strength  of  soul 
manifested  by  Christ  the  Master. 

A  rather  notable  instance  of  true  con- 
sistency, —  having  the  courage  of  one's 
convictions;  or,  as  the  old  dictum  has  it, 
practising  what  we  preach. 


Shocking,  though  apparently  quite  un- 
conscious, as  is  Billy  Sunday's  irreverence, 
wearisome  as  are  the  descriptions  of  his 
buffoonery  and  the  repetitions  of  his  coarse 
slang,  it  must  be  admitted  that  this 
eccentric  and  energetic  "evangelist"  some- 
times says  good  things  while  railing  at 
"salt  mackerel  Christians,"  and  calling 


628 


THE  AYR  MA1UA 


upon  them  to  "get  square  with  the  Lord." 
Many  persons  in  attendance  at  Mr. 
vSuii day's  revival  meetings  doubtless  care 
nothing  for  what  he  says,  but  like  to 
watch  his  antics  and  to  study  the  effect 
of  his  vehement  exhortations  on  the  crowds 
that  forgather.  Even  mere  spectators, 
however,  must  be  disposed  to  listen  when, 
at  the  top  of  his  high  voice,  with  gestures 
which,  though  frequent  and  violent,  no 
one  could  call  appropriate  or  graceful, 
he  shouts  reproaches  and  exhortations 
like  the  following: 

God  doesn't  run  excursions  to  heaven.  You 
must  pay  the  full  fare.  Your  religion  is  worth 
just  what  it  costs  you.  If  you  get  religion  and 
then  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep,  your  joints  will 
get  as  stiff  as  old  Rip  Van  Winkle's  did,  and  you 
will  never  win  a  religious  Marathon.  .  .  .  Some 
preachers  I  know  of  have  study  cushions  that 
need  half  soling  more  than  their  shoes  do. 
But  I  can  say  the  same  about  all  of  you, — add 
TOO  per  cent  to  it,  double  that,  and  still  not  be 
within  gunshot  of  the  truth.  Some  people 
work  only  with  their  mouths.  God  wants  your 
hands  and  your  feet  as  well.  He  wants  you — 
all  of  you!  If  God  had  your  hands  He  would 
make  you  let  go  of  a  lot  of  things  that  are 
dragging  you  down  to  hell.  There's  no  such 
thing  as  bargain-counter  religion.  .  .  .  God 
doesn't  want  us  to  look  as  if  having  religion  was 
like  having  the  toothache.  If  you  are  one  of 
these  long-faced  Christians,  get  rid  of  that, 
face!  God  never  put  that  kind  of  a  face  on 
anybody.  .  .  .  Heart  power  in  singing  can  not 
be  printed  in  notes.  You  can  not  make  a  painted 
fire  boil  eggs.  One  of  the  great  needs  is  more 
prayer  and  less  nonsense  in  our  church  choirs. 

These  are  not  "specimen  bricks"  by 
any  means.  Seldom  does  the  Rev.  William 
Acrobat  Sunday  say  anything  half  so 
good  or  so  bright,  and  he  often  says  things 
that  are  shocking  and  that  would  be 
unquotable  in  THE  AvE  MARIA.  Some- 
thing greatly  to  be  feared  is  that  he  will 
have  many  imitators,  that  blatancy  and 
buffoonery  will  henceforth  be  more  com- 
mon with  so-called  preachers  of  the  Gospel. 
And  one  Billy  Sunday  is  enough  for 
any  country,  for  all  time.  We  fear  that 
the  result  of  his  levivals,  far  outweighing 
any  good  they  may  effect,  will  be  a  lessen- 
ing of  reverence  for  God,  than  which,  as 
Father  Dalgairns  says,  nothing  is  more  to 


be  dreaded.  "  No  greater  evil  can  possibly 
happen  to  a  soul  than  the  loss  of  reverence 
for  God."  Watching  Billy  Sunday's  antics 
and  listening  to  his  stories  would  be 
harmless  diversion  for  Catholics  were  it 
riot  that,  while  thus  indulging  themselves, 
they  are  most  likely  to  hear  references  to 
our  Divine  Lord  that  can  not  be  otherwise 
than  injurious  to  their  souls.  It  is  hard  to 
understaad  how  one  who  calls  upon  the 
Holy  Name  jestingly  can  really  believe 
in  the  divinity  of  Him  who  bears  it;  or 
how  any  one  who  sincerely  reverences  the 
"Name  above  names"  can  hear  it  thus 
invoked  without  feeling  deep  horror  and 
indignation. 

The  Christians  of  Algeria,  spiritual 
children  of  the  White  Fathers  founded  by 
the  lamented  Cardinal  Lavigerie,  are  soon 
to  have  another  celestial  patron.  The 
Cause  of  the  Venerable  Geronimo  has 
recently  been  advanced  another  stage, 
and  his  beatification  will  probably  be 
soon  decided  upon.  Geronimo  was  a 
heroic  convert  from  Mohammedanism  in 
the  sixteenth  century.  Offered  the  choice 
of  abjuring  the  Christian  faith  or  being 
buried  alive  in  the  walls  of  a  fort  that  was 
being  constructed,  he  resolutely  refused 
to  return  to  Islamism,  and  so  won  the 
martyr's  crown  in  September,  1569.  His 
body  was  discovered  in  1853.  The  Arch- 
bishop of  Algeria  has  issued  a  pastoral, 
urging  his  pastors  and  their  flocks  to 
pray  that  the  full  honors  of  canonization 
may  soon  be  accorded  to  this  Confessor 
of  the  Faith. 

The  necessity  for  repealing,  recently, 
certain  legislation  which  stood  as  an 
effective  barrier  to  the  appointment  of 
Catholic  chaplains  in  our  Army  and  Navy 
emphasizes  the  need  of  our  being  con- 
stantly on  the  alert  to  safeguard  legiti- 
mate Catholic  claims  and  interests.  "The 
watch,"  as  the  New  World  declares  in  a 
leading  article,  "will  have  to  be  constant; 
for  there  are  parties  lobbying  in  Wash- 
ington who  are  seeking  to  have  the 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


commissions  of  chaplains  given  to  the 
secretaries  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  instead 
of  to  ordained  ministers  and  priests.  This 
would  be  the  greatest  misfortune  that 
could  possibly  befall  the  American  soldier. 
While  the  recreation  and  amusement 
provided  by  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  and,  during 
the  border  mobilization,"  by  the  Knights 
of  Columbus,  to  the  enlisted  men,  is  of 
value,  it  is  readily  appreciated  that  this 
can  never  be  substituted  for  religious 
service.  A  Catholic  trooper  may  appre- 
ciate a  quiet  place  to  write  a  letter,  or 
an  opportunity  to  hear  phonographic 
music  that  the  camps  established  by  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  and  K.  of  C.  afford;  but  such 
things  can  never  replace  the  Holy  Sacrifice 
and  the  reception  of  the  Sacraments." 

Because  of  the  breakdown  of  dogmatic 
faith  among  the  sects  generally  and  the 
substitution  of  "sociology"  for  religion, 
our  fight  will  probably  be  a  single-handed 
one;  but  that  should  only  be  another 
incentive  to  watchful,  vigorous  and  un- 
wearying action. 

Captains  of  the  automobile  industry 
are  reported  as  saying  that  the  five  per 
cent  war  tax  on  their  products  and  the 
threatened  commandeering  of  the  steel 
supply  will  result  in  the  ruin  of  their 
business,  that  many  factories  will  be 
forced  to  close  by  the  tax,  and  that  all 
will  be  stopped  if  the  Government  persists 
in  its  proposed  plan  of  assuming  control 
of  the  steel  industry.  Such  results  may  well 
be  regarded  as  more  or  less  disastrous  by 
the  manufacturers  of  motor  cars;  but 
these  will  probably  survive  even  the 
temporary  closing  of  their  factories.  As 
for  the  laborers  employed  in  the  industry, 
the  chances  are  that  abundant  work  of 
various  kinds  will  be  available  for  all 
American  workmen  during  the  next  year 
or  two;  hence  the  cessation  of  automobile 
making  need  not  spell  unemployment  for 
the  men  and  distress  for  their  families. 
This  being  so,  may  one  not  express  the 
belief  that  this  country  is  already  supplied 
with  a  sufficient  number  of  motor  cars  to 


fill  all  really  legitimate  demands  during 
the  probable  interim  of  non-production? 
Fully  one-half  of  those  who  use  automobiles 
would  assuredly  be  better  off  in  the 
matter  of  health — -which  is,  after  all,  the 
supreme  natural  boon — if  they  discarded 
this  facile  means  of  transportation  and 
employed  their  legs.  The  U.  S.  Public 
Hearth  Service  periodically  issues  warnings 
as  to  the  deplorable  results  following  from 
the  growing  tendency  to  neglect  healthful 
exercise ;  and  it  reiterates  its  warnings  to 
the  American  people  that,  to  keep  their 
muscles,  arteries  and  other  organs  in 
good  condition,  they  must  "walk,  walk, 
walk."  If  a  restricted  output  of  auto- 
mobiles means  an  increase  in  the  whole- 
some exercise  of  walking,  the  tax  may  well 
prove  a  blessing  in  disguise. 

American  Catholics  in  general,  in  par- 
ticular those  of  the  diocese  of  Brooklyn, 
who  lately  celebrated  the  episcopal  Silver 
Jubilee  of  their  beloved  Bishop,  and 
rejoiced  over  the  extraordinary  growth  of 
the  diocese  during  the  past  quarter  of  a 
century,  would  be  astonished  if  they  were 
to  examine  a  copy  of  "The  Laity's  Direc- 
tory" for  1822  (the  first  issue).  At  that 
time  the  diocese  of  New  York  compre- 
hended the  whole  State  "together  with 
the  northern  parts  of  Jersey."  The 
Bishop,  Mgr.  Connolly,  had  only  eight 
priests  under  him.  The  Rev.  Philip 
Larissy,  it  is  stated,  "attends  regularly 
at  Staten  Island,  and  different  congre- 
gations along  the  Hudson  River."  There 
were  only  two  Catholic  churches  in  New 
York  city,  and  the  Catholic  population 
of  the  diocese  was  estimated  at  20,000, 
"mostly  natives  of  Ireland  and  France." 
The  only  other  places  that  could  boast 
of  churches  were  Albany,  Utica,  Auburn, 
Patterson,  and  Carthage,  "near  the  Black 
River."  Not  less  notable  are  the  statistics 
of  the  seven  other  dioceses  of  the  United 

vStates  in   1822. 

*** 

The  compiler  of  the  Directory,  the 
Rev.  John  Power,  in  "A  Brief  Account 


030 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


of  the  Establishment  of  the  Kpiscopacy 
in  the  United  States"  says:  "  Fu  looking 
back  to  the  period  of  the  first  introduction 
of  Catholicity  into  this  country,  under 
Lord  Baltimore  in  the  settlement  of  Mary- 
land, and  contrasting  the  state  of  the 
Church  then  with  what  it  now  is,  the 
handful  of  individuals  then  composing 
the  flock  of  Jesus  Christ,  confined  to  a  small 
province,  with  the  immense  numbers 
now  spread  over  every  part  of  this  Union, 
we  are  at  once  struck  at  the  astonishing 
rapidity  of  the  increase:  we  can  not  but 
see  in  it  the  protecting  hand  of  the 
Almighty,  who  has  been  pleased  to  bless 
in  so  extraordinary  a  manner  the  labors 
of  His  servants;  and  from  the  judicious 
arrangements,  combined  with  other 
operating  causes  made  by  the  Holy  See 
for  establishing  new  dioceses  in  the  dif- 
ferent vStates,  in  proportion  to  the  diffusion 
of  Catholicity  among  them,  we  are  led 
to  hope  for  a  still  more  abundant  harvest, 
a  still  greater  increase  of  faithful:  and 
that  the  Lord  will  continue  to  add  daily 
to  His  society  such  as  shall  be  saved." 

How  wondrously  the  writer's  hopes 
have  been  realized  is  shown  by  the  current 
statistics  of  the  diocese  of  Brooklyn 
(undreamt  of  in  1822):  a  Catholic  popu- 
lation of  793,000,  with  442  priests,  229 
churches,  and  schools  for  63,000  children. 
Within  twenty-five  years  twelve  religious 
communities  have  been  introduced  into 
the  diocese.  In  1822  there  were  not  so 
many  in  the  whole  country. 


Cardinal  Gibbons  is  firmly  and  unal- 
terably opposed  to  National  Prohibition, 
perhaps  even  to  Prohibition  by  State  as 
against  Federal  action,  but  certainly  to 
Prohibition  by  Constitutional  amendment. 
Along  with  other  reasons  for  the  stand 
he  takes,  this  venerable  churchman  and 
staunch  American  states  the  following 
indisputable  facts: 

The  American  people  already  show  a  strong- 
drift  toward  temperance.  Drunkenness  is  no 
longer  regarded,  either  in  society  or  industry, 
with  the  good-natured  tolerance  that  it  was 


only  a  few  ye  Widespread  health  in- 

struction in  our  schools,  colh-gcs,  newspapers, 
and  maga/.ines  is  another  great  power  for 
i; Mod.  Tiu-u,  too.  our  industrial  and  commercial 
life  has  so  increased  in  complexity  a'.id  in- 
tensity that  the  man  who  drinks  to  excess 
is  inevitably  eliminated. 

It  is  infinitely  better  for  humanity  if  it  is 
allowed  to  exercise  its  own  will  power  rather 
than  to  attempt  to  drive  it  and  regulate  it 
by  laws.  We  develop  a  higher  type  of  man 
spiritually — a  better  citizen,  a  better  neighbor, 
a  better  husband,  a  better  father— by  requiring 
him  to  use  his  own  initiative  in  moral  matters 
rather  than  by  attempting  to  hold  him  con- 
stantly in  legislative  leading  strings. 

I  believe  that  we  can  attain  national  tem- 
perance, but  I  am  firm  in  the  belief  that  any 
enactment  of  a  widespread  Prohibition  measure 
is  a  long  step  backward. 

And  a  step  that  sooner  or  later  will 
have  to  be  retraced,  and  in  all  probability 
with  evil  consequences. 


There  are  many  things  about  the 
United  States  which  provoke  the  astonish- 
ment of  peoples  in  other  lands;  and, 
especially  in  countries  that  are  prepon- 
derantly of  one  religion,  Catholic  or 
Protestant,  the  mixture  of  different  creeds 
in  our  large  cities  is  a  source  of  constant 
surprise.  Our  Lyons  contemporary,  Les 
Missions  Catholiques,  for  instance,  has 
this  comment  in  its  latest  issue:  "In 
New  York,  according  to  recent  statistics, 
the  frequenters  of  church,  temple,  or 
synagogue  number  a  million  and  a  quarter 
of  Catholics,  three  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  thousand  Protestants,  and  two  hun- 
dred thousand  Jews.  Extraordinary  city, 
more  Catholic  than  Rome,  more  Protes- 
tant than  Geneva,  and  more  Jewish  than 
Jerusalem!"  If  our  French  friend  had 
cared  to  subtract  the  foregoing  numbers 
of  church-goers  from  the  total  population 
of  our  greatest  city,  he  might  have  been 
inclined  to  add,  "And  more  pagan  than 
Babylon!" 

A  great  many  people,  it  would  seem,  are 
still  unaware  of  the  fact  that  since  the 
separation  of  Church  and  State  in  France 
the  Government  has  asserted  ownership 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


631 


of  the  churches.  The  keys  of  them  are 
in  the  custody  of  officials,  and  it  is  only 
by  their  consent  that  the  parish  priests 
are  allowed  to  possess  a  duplicate.  It 
was  hard  to  make  the  German  invaders 
understand  this  at  first;  but  when  they 
did,  they  rightly  concluded  that  a  Govern- 
ment irreligious  enough  to  seize  church 
property  would  have  no  scruples  about 
using  it  for  war  purposes.  That  some 
churches  were  thus  used  there  can  be  no 
doubt;  and  that  destruction  of  them  was 
not  avoided  by  the  enemy  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at.  If  people  jwere  willing  to 
hear  both  sides,  they  would  have  an 
explanation  of  many  of  the  barbarities 
of  this  most  barbarous  of  wars. 

The  statement  that  after  one  of  the 
battles  fought  "somewhere  in  France" 
mutilated  bodies  of  German  soldiers  were 
found,  seems  somewhat  less  incredible 
after  one  reads  in  the  first  chapter  of  John 
Ayscough's  new  war  book:  "Now,  too, 
was  seen  for  the  first  time  the  ugly  cut- 
throat gesture  (to  be  seen  continually 
.  henceforth)  of  a  hand  sharply  drawn  across 
a  gullet,  silently,  or  with  the  one  word 
'Deniain!' — significant  invitation  of  what 
should  be  done,  in  the  gesticulator's 
mind,  to  .some  German." 

*** 

"I  never  liked  the  Germans,"  confesses 
John  Ayscough;  "but  it  is  absurd  to 
think  they  are  all  devils."  This  is  about 
all  he  has  to  say  in  favor  of  the  "Huns," 
and  it  is  about  all  that  many  of  his  readers 
would  be  willing  to  have  him  say.  Perhaps 
when  the  orgy  of  rage  and  hate  and  revenge 
is  over,  and  the  world  is  sickened  of 
bloodshed  and  ruin,  there  will  be  more  to 
say.  But  it  would  be  quite  useless  to  say 
any  more  at  present.  Whatever  violation 
of  charity  there  may  be  in  thinking  the 
Germans  are  "all  devils,"  such  thinking  is 
at  least  an  absurdity. 


The  members  of  the  Women's  Foreign 
Mission  vSociety,  of  St.  Louis,  must  have 
been  gratified  to  hear  the  report  of  condi- 
tions in  South  America,  as  that  account 


was  rendered  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Hazlett, 
an  elderly  Presbyterian  minister  now 
stationed  in  their  city.  As  conscientious, 
upstanding  Christians,  they  must  have 
rejoiced  to  learn  that  things  are  not  so 
bad  as  they  might  have  expected  in  the 
Southern  Republics.  They  might  have 
expected  otherwise,  because,  as  Dr.  Hazlett 
came  right  out  and  told .  them,  "many 
a  book  and  lecture  on  Latin  America  is 
a  disgraceful  suppressio  veri,"  —  and  the 
English  equivalent  for  this  is  not  at  all 
nice.  The  Presbyterian  lecturer,  who  was 
different,  went  on  to  say,  as  the  Rev.  J.  S. 
Jollain,  S.  ].,  reports  him  in  America: 

They  present  a  picture  full  of  shadows  and 
with  no  lights.  The  .  exquisite  politeness,  the 
warm  hospitality,  the  gentility,  the  tenderness 
of  those  people  are  passed  over;  the  fact  that 
we  Protestants  have  not  been  persecuted,  that 
we  have  been  given  an  open  field  and  fair  play, 
is  not  mentioned:  Some  of  my  best  friends 
in  Latin  America  are  priests  of  the  Roman 
Church.  Of  course  they  do  not  like  their  people 
to  come  to  my  church,  just  as  I  should  not 
like  to  see  my  people  desert  my  parish  for 
Roman  Catholic  churches.  But  there  was  no 
bitterness  in  them.  They  were  friends  to  me 
and  gentlemen. 

It  must  have  been  further  interesting 
to  those  worthy  ladies,  distressed  over  the 
statistics  of  illegitimacy  in  South  American 
countries,  to  be  told  that  "a  sin  of  human 
frailty  is  not  crowned  with  the  crime  of 
child-murder,"  and  that  "you  never  find 
an  empty  cradle"  among  those  benighted 
Latins.  All  in  all,  it  must  have  been  a 
very  interesting  lecture. 

A  century  and  more  ago,  De  Maistre, 
seeing  the  demolition  of  religious  houses 
in  France,  prophesied:  "If  you  destroy 
houses  of  prayer,  you  will  be  forced  to 
erect  barracks  and  prisons  on  their 
ruins."  His  prophecy  has  been  fulfilled. 
The  prisons  were  multiplied  before  the 
present  war,  one  of  them  costing  1 1,000,000 
francs;  and,  though  there  are  now  barracks 
and  hospitals  for  wounded  soldiers  in 
many  large  cities,  the  number  of  them  is 
inadequate.  If  the  mills  of  God  grind 
slowly,  they  grind  exceeding  fine,  • 


A  Child's  Thought. 


BY    JOSEPHINE    MORONEY. 


Y-i  HK  stars,  I  think,  are  the  angels'  eyes 

Watching  us  fondly  from  heavenly  skies, 
Shining  on  earth  with  a  friendly  light 
To  guide  and  protect  us  through  the  dark  night. 

The  angels'  wings  are  the  cloudlets  white 
Veiling  in  mist  the  stars  so  bright; 
As  if  to  shut  out  all  ugly  things, 
The  angels  hide  behind  their  wings. 

And  when  the  skies  are  sullen  and  frown, 
And  the  showers  of  rain  conie  pouring  down, 
'Tis  then,  I  fancy,  the  angels  weep 
That  the  ways  of  God  men  will  not  keep. 


The  Little  Fowler  of  Feroe. 


BY    UNCLE    AUSTIN. 


OUITK  near  the  uninhabitable  polar 
regions,  the  Feroe  Islands  raise 
their  arid  and  rugged  cliffs  ab- 
^igviX  ruptly  from  the  sea.  The  ice- 
floes hurl  themselves  with  crashing  violence 
against  the  rocky  shores,  and  the  north 
wind  sweeps  down  upon  the  islands  in 
glacial  squalls.  A  few  fishermen  and  a 
few  fowlers  dwell  upon  these  islets:  they 
are  all  acclimated  to  the  rigorous  weather, 
as  also  to  fatigue  and  poverty. 

One  morning  three  boys  bravely  set 
out  to  climb  a  path  leading  up  one  of  the 
steepest  cliffs,  carrying  with  them  a  long 
rope,  a  net,  and  a  canvas  bag.  Clinging 
to  the  jutting  points  of  rock,  the  two 
bigger  boys  helping  the  smallest,  whose 
foot  now  and  then  turned  on  the  stones 
of  the  path  or  slipped  down  a  steep 
place,  they  climbed  on  higher  and  higher 
until  finally  they  reached  the  summit. 

The  wind  was  howling  fiercely,  swelling 
out  their  blouses  and  making  desperate 


efforts  to  snatch  off  their  well-secured  caps. 
The  tallest  of  the  boys  advanced  to  the 
brink  of  the  precipice,  lay  down  for  fear 
of  vertigo,  and,  stretching  his  head  for- 
ward, looked  downward  towards  the  sea, 
which  growled  hoarsely  some  nine  hundred 
or  a  thousand  feet  beneath. 

"Do  you  see  them,  Henrik?"  asked  one 
of  his  companions. 

"No — ah,  yes  I  do!  There's  one,  two, 
three.  They've  just  gone  into  a  hole. 
There  must  be  a  nest  there." 

To  explain  this  conversation,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  state  that  it  was  the  season  when 
the  great  sea-birds  come  to  the  islands. 
They  build  their  nest  in  the  hollows  of  the 
cliffs,  far  from  the  summits;  they  sweep 
along  the  level  of  the  waves,  seeking  their 
food;  they  carry  this  food,  or  part  of  it, 
to  their  young,  but  they  do  not  expose 
themselves  to  man's  attacks,  keeping  well 
hidden  rather  in  the  deeps  of  the  rocky 
caverns. 

And  yet,  as  there  is  considerable  profit 
in  the  capture  of  these  birds,  every  year 
sees  a  number  of  intrepid  islanders  tak- 
ing terrible  risks  to  effect  such  capture. 
They  let  themselves  be  lowered  from  the 
cliff-tops  hundreds  of  yards,  by  means  of 
a  rope  in  the  hands  of  companions  who 
aid  them  in  descending  and  remounting. 
On  the  most  inaccessible  of  all  the  islands, 
there  had  been  a  fowler  who  was  brave 
and  strong  beyond  all  his  mates,  and  he 
often  went  down  in  search  of  nests. 
His  success  rendered  him  comparatively 
comfortable.  He  had  a  snug  cabin,  well 
protected  from  the  sea  and  the  winds; 
and  was  able  to  provide  for  his  wife  and 
four  children,  who  were  growing  up  stout 
and  strong  under  the  fortifying  influence 
of  the  vSea  air. 

But  one  unfortunate  day  the  father 
slipped  down  a  precipice  and  broke  his 
legs,  thus  terminating,  for  months  at 


THE  AVK  MARIA 


least,  liis  hunting  expeditions.  A  few 
ueeks  later,  the  mother  died,  and  the  pangs 
of  poverty  began  to  he  felt  in  the  little 
household.  The  poor  father  was  almost 
heartbroken;  but  at  the  request  of  his 
boys  he  often  told  them  of  the  hazardous 
trips  he  had  taken.  The  boys  listened 
with  the  keenest  interest;  and  one  evening 
the  eldest,  Henrik,  exclaimed: 

"Oh,  papa;  if  I  could  only  take  your 
place!  I'm  strong  and  I'm  not  afraid. 
I  could  earn  enough  to  have  you  well 
cared  for." 

"Yes,  but  you're  too  young.  The 
custom,  which  prudence  demands,  should 
be  followed.  It  is  this — not  to  go  fowling 
before  one  is  fifteen;  and  you  are  scarcely 
thirteen." 

"And  I'm  only  ten!"  sighed  little 
Yvan,  the  second  of  the  boys. 

Well,  it  is  Henrik  who  is  up  there  on 
the  steep  cliff  this  morning;  and  his 
companions  are  Yvan  and  a  neighbor's 
boy,  Jannie. 

After  watching  for  a  few  minutes, 
Henrik  got  up. 

"It's  settled,"  he  said. 

The  three  boys,  evidently  understood 
one  another. 

"As  I'm  the  oldest,"  continued  Henrik, 
"I'll  go  down.  You  two  will  hold  the  rope. 
I'll  surely  find  some  nests  with  young 
fowl  in  them;  but  I  mean  to  try  to  catch 
a  big  one,  too,  in  my  net,  as  papa  used  to  do. 
I'll  take  down  some  provisions  with  me 
in  my  bag.  You  can  tell  papa  that  I'm 
on  a  safe  ledge,  watching  for  birds,  and 
to-morrow  evening  you  can  come  back 
for  me." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  that  you  know  the 
right  place?" 

"Of  course  I  do.  You  let  yourself  down 
just  here  till  you  reach  a  big  rock  jutting 
out  from  the  cliff;  then  there's  an  empty 
space,  another  rock,  and  then  a  wide  ledge 
with  nests  on  it.  One  can  move  about  on 
it  quite  easily  and  spend  the  night  well 
sheltered  in  a  sort  of  grotto.  I've  seen 
it  from  the  sea,  and  heard  papa  describe 
it  lots  of  times." 


The  boy  had  :i  serious  and  deU-rmincd 
air.  He  placed  around  his  neck  the  canvas 
bag  holding  the  food  they  had  brought 
from  home;  tied  one  end  of  the  rope 
around  his  body  and  shoulders,  using  a 
knot  which  the  fishermen  had  taught  him 
to  make;  thrust  the  handle  of  his  net 
through  his  waist  band,  leaving  his  hands 
free  to  help  his  descent;  and,  being  all 
ready  for  the  adventure,  said  to  Jannie: 

"You'll  hold  tight  till  you  find  the  rope 
quite  slack?" 

"Don't  fear,"  replied  Jannie.  "I  could 
do  it  alone  with  the  purchase  I  have;  but 
Yvan  will  help  me,  to  make  sure.  Go  down 
slowly,  and  be  sure  to  say  '  Hail  Marys ' 
till  you  get  to  the  grotto.  Our  Ivady 
of  the  Cliffs  will  help  you  all  right,— 
and  we'll  come  back  for  you  to-morrow 
afternoon." 

And  now  Henrik  starts  down  the  face 
of  the  cliff.  He  is  supple  and  active;  and 
the  two  youngsters  above,  who  have  the 
other  end  of  the  rope  hitched  around  a 
broken  pillar  of  stone,  hardly  feel  the 
strands  gliding  through  their  fingers.  Only- 
no  w  and  then,  when  the  youthful  fowler 
jumps  from  one  vantage  point  to  another, 
or  glides  rapidly  down  a  few  yards  at  a 
time,  do  they  need  to  brace  themselves 
to  keep  the  rope  taut.  At  last  the  rope 
becomes  quite  slack  without  further 
movement.  Yvan  lies  down  to  look  over 
the  brink,  wrhile  Jannie  holds  him  by  the 
feet  to  prevent  his  falling. 

"I  can't  see  him  at  all,"  says  Yvan. 

"That's  all  right,"  replies  Jannie.  "  He's 
got  to  the  ledge.  Come  on  home,  now." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Henrik  had  reached 
a  ledge,  but,  as  he  soon  discovered,  not 
the  ledge  he  intended  reaching. 

"It's  here,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he 
stood  on  the  narrow  platform  of  rock, 
"that  papa  used  to  find  the  nests." 

He  looked  about  him,  and  found  two 
nests  in  which  were  three  young  fowl. 
These  he  easily  secured  and  placed  in  his 
canvas  bag.  Then  he  turned  around  the 
corner  of  the  little  platform,  expecting  to 
find  the  wide  ledge  and  the  grotto  where  he 


034 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


could  sleep  all  night  at  bis  ease  but  the 
ledge  was  not  Minx-.  There  was  nothing 
but  this  narrow  level  on  which  he  was 
standing.  He  had  made  a  mistake  about 
the  plaee  whence  lie  should  have  started. 
He  could  not  spend  the  night  on  this  mere 
shelf  of  rock, — and  Jannie  and  Yvan  had 
gone  away. 

"Well,  with  Our  Lady's  help,"  he  mur- 
mured, "I'll  shin  up  the  rope  with  the 
strength  of  my  own  arms.  If  I  could  only, 
before  starting,  catch  a  full-grown  fowl  in 
my  net!  It  would  be  fine  to  sell  it  for  a 
good  price  and  take  some  money  home." 

The  boy  loosened  his  net-handle;  but 
the  rope  about  his  body  bothered  him, 
and  he  decided  to  free  himself  of  it  until 
he  began  to  climb  up  the  cliff.  Accordingly, 
he  untied  it,  and  was  just  going  to  make 
the  end  fast  to  the  point  of  a  projecting 
boulder,  when,  as  he  turned  around,  the 
rope  {slipped  from  his  grasp  and  dangled 
against  the  face  of  the  cliff  at  least  six 
feet  beyond  his  reach. 

Henrik  grew  pale,  and  surely  he  had 
reason  enough.  Above  him  was  a  sheer 
wall  of  rock  with  never  a  broken  surface 
to  afford  him  the  ghost  of  a  foothold; 
below  him  was  an  abyss;  and  six  hundred 
feet  down,  the  sea  w^as  boiling,  threatening 
and  terrible. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  thunderstruck 
and  motionless.  Then,  feeling  that  he  was 
yielding  to  vertigo,  he  leaned  back  against 
the  rock.  He  closed  his  eyes  to  shut  out 
the  intense  void  that  attracted  him  towards 
it;  his  head  turned,  and  the  solemn  still- 
ness was  broken  only  by  the  lugubrious 
cry  of  the  billows  beneath,  inviting  him  to 
destruction.  He  was  as  good  as  lost.  In  a 
flash  he  pictured  to  himself  Yvan,  Jannie, 
and  his  poor  father  who  would  assuredly 
die  of  grief.  Then,  with  a  prayer  on  his 
lips,  he  shook  himself  together.  Securing 
his  bag  tightly  about  him,  and  laying  aside 
his  net,  he  measured  with  a  resolute  eye 
the  distance  that  separated  him  from  the 
rope  hanging  loosely  over  the  abyss. 

Calling  on  Our  Lady  for  help  in  his 
extremity,  he  drew  back,  crouched  for  a 


moment,  and  jumped  for  the  rope.  He 
caught  it,  and  with  the  arlivity  of  a  squirrel 
he  twisted  it  around  his  wrists  and  began 
to  clamber  up  the  cliff.  It  was  slow  work. 
Two  or  three  times  the  rough  places 
bruised  his  knees;-  his  knuckles  were  bleed- 
ing, and  his  forehead  also,  as  it  came  in 
contact  \vith  a  jutting  bit  of  spar.  Still, 
up  he  climbed.  The  canvas  bag  began  to 
grow  very  heavy;  his  muscles  were 
strained  and  sore;  his  eyes  grew  dim  with 
pain  and  dread;  but,  with  a  stout 'heart, 
he  made  a  final  effort  and  reached  the 
summit.  It  was  full  time,  for  his  strength 
was  exhausted;  and  no  sooner  had  he 
gained  the  level  at  the  top  of  the  cliff 
than  he  fell  forward,  almost  senseless. 

In  the  meantime  an  old  fowler,  who  had 
been  hunting  in  the  vicinity,  had  noticed 
the  rope  fastened  to  the  stone  pillar,  and 
was  wondering  what  it  meant.  He  had 
not  heard  that  any  one  intended  descend- 
ing the  cliff;  and  he  knew  how  dangerous 
the  descent  would  be  at  that  particular 
point.  Imagine  his  astonishment  when  he 
suddenly  saw  the  rope  agitated  and  then 
the  curly  head  of  Henrik  appear  above  the 
surface  of  the  rock-platform.  He  rushed 
forward,  seized  the  boy  in  his  arms,  restored 
his  consciousness  and  strength  with  some 
drops  of  a  powerful  cordial;  and  half- 
helped,  half-carried  him  down  the  regular 
path,  Henrik  telling  him  the  while  all 
about  his  adventure. 

That  evening  every  cabin  resounded 
with  the  praise  of  the  intrepid  boy-fowler, 
and  in  his  own  home  visitors  overwhelmed 
.him  with  congratulations.  Better  than 
that,  he  was  declared  old  enough  to  take 
up  fowling  as  his  trade.  Thereafter,  his 
services  were  in  demand  for  all  difficult 
expeditions;  and  he  had  the  happiness 
of  earning  enough  to  provide  every  comfort 
for  his  father  and  his  younger  brothers. 
And,  like  a  good  boy,  he  never  failed  to 
thank  Our  Lady  of  the  Cliffs  for  his 
preservation  from  an  awful  death. 


THERE  is  no  grace  in  a  favor  that  sticks 
to  the  fingers. — Seneca. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


635 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


XX.— CON  "THINKS." 
ONY  is  sick?"  asked  Con. 

"Yes,  yes!"  answered  Carita. 
"Feel  his  head,  how  hot  it  is; 
and  he  will  not  lie  still.  It  is  old 
Huldah's  evil  eye,  I  know.  She  wants 
her  son,  the  black  Carlo,  to  be,  king.  They 
are  making  Peppo  drink,  so  he  will  talk 
foolishness  and  all  will  think  he  has  no 
brains.  And  me  they  hate,  for  that  I  am 
not  Romany  born.  Old  Huldah  is  a  witch 
woman,  as  everyone  knows.  She  hates 
all  who  are  Christian  born;  and  the  old 
women  in  the  tents  say  that  she  put  the 
spell  on  Zila's  mother  that  killed  her 
when  the  girl  was  born." 

"Zila?"  repeated  Con,— "the  girl  with 
the  black  hair  and  red  ribbons?  I  was 
talking  to — her — to-night." 

"Then  talk  no  more,"  said  Carita, 
sharply.  "Though  her  dead  mother  was 
a  Christian,  she  has  witch  ways,  too.  Lie 
down  in  the  wagon  and  go  to  sleep.  I 
must  watch  here  for  Peppo;  and  Tony 
will  not  rest." 

And,  crooning  to  the  fretful  child  in  her 
arms,  Carita  paced  up  and  down  in  the 
starlight,  all  her  gypsy  gladness  and  gayety 
gone.  Con  lay  down  in  the  wagon,  but 
not  to  sleep.  He  was  thinking  of  all  he 
had  heard  and  seen  of  gypsy  life.  The 
camp  was  very  quiet  now;  the  voice  of 
the  waterfall  its  only  music,  the  stars 
shining  down  upon  the  shaded  Glen  its 
only  light.  Now  and  then  the  cry  of  a 
child  or  the  bark  of  a  dog  broke  the  silence 
for  a  moment,  then  all  was  still  again.  It 
had  been  a  gay  evening,  —  the  gayest 
Mountain  Con  had  ever  known.  Every- 
thing had  been  open  to  him, — the  peddlers' 
vans,  the  shooting  match,  the  ball-rolling; 
he  now  had  silver  jingling  in  his  pockets 
that'  would  buy  him  more  gayety  to- 
morrow. Ah,  it  was  a  glad,  free  life,  that 
of  the  gypsy,  as  Carita  had  said! 


And  yet  —  yet  —  something  in  Con's 
"white  soul"  recoiled  from  it  all.  To 
wander  forever;  to  have  no  home,  not 
even  the  smoky  old  fireside  of  Buzzard 
Roost;  to  follow  the  "patteran"  over 
wild  mountain  heights,  without  rest!  But 
he  would  have  his  horse  and  dog,  his 
gay  jacket,  his  boots  with  clinking  spurs; 
the  gypsy  pot  would  boil  with  rich  broth 
for  him;  there  would  be  warmth  and  rude 
shelter  at  night,  glad  freedom  all  the  day. 
He  would  never  have  to  plough  or  dig  or 
work  with  saw  and  hammer  and  chisel; 
never  have  to  bend  over  desk  or  be  shut 
up  in  store.  He  could  live  like  the  wild 
things  of  the  wood,  free  from  all  thought 
and  care.  And  then  Con  remembered 
Zila,  and  all  she  had  said  to  him;  he 
remembered  the  "Mister"  of  the  Moun- 
tain and  the  log  cabin  and  the  Christmas 
night;  he  remembered  Susie,  with  her 
eyes  like  violets  and  her  golden  hair. 

It  was  not  often  that  Con  found  "think- 
ing" so  bewildering  that  he  could  not 
sleep.  And  the  cakes,  the  honey  nuts,  all 
the  strange  sweets  he  had  eaten  that 
evening  had  made  him  very  thirsty. 
He  felt  he  must  steal  down  in. the  dark- 
ness to  the  water  and  get  a  drink.  Very 
softly  (he  had  learned  the  hunter's  trick 
of  soft  creeping)  Con  edged  his  way  about 
the  camp.  He  must  not  rouse  the  dogs 
or  wake  the  sleepers  to  angry  alarm. 
He  had  almost  reached  the  waterfall  that 
leaped  in  crystal  coolness  down  the  rocks, 
when  he  caught  the  sound  of  voices  on 
the  other  side, — voices  that  mingled,  half 
heard,  with  the  music  of  the  water  that 
filled  the  night.  Peppo!  Con  paused 
anxiously  as  he  recognized  the  tone  of 
Carita 's  lord  and  master  rising  in  drunken 
boast  above  the  rest.  Peppo,  whose  little 
wrife  was  watching  for  him  even  now, 
with  the  sick  Tony  in  her  arms!  Peppo, 
who  was  perhaps  losing  all  chances  of  his 
kingship  by  foolish  talk  and  more  foolish 
drinking! 

Con  IV 11  he  must  guide  IVppo  buck  to 
what  he  called  home,  if  he  could.  But 
Peppo  sober  was  quick-tempered  enough, 


636 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


and  would  brook  no  meddling;  with 
Peppo  drunk,  Con  felt  he  must  be  cautious 
indeed.  He  stepped  forward  a  little,  so 
that  he  could  see  around  the  projecting 
rocks.  Though  it  was  now  past  midnight, 
half  a  dozen  men  were  stretched  out  on 
the  new  grass,  gambling  under  the  flaring 
light  of  a  huge  pine  torch  thrust  in  a 
fissure  of  the  cliff  above.  Con  recognized 
Caspar  of  the  shooting  tent,  the  swarthy 
owner  of  the  rolling  balls,  and  several 
others  who  were  conducting  the  business 
end  of  the  camp, —  all  keen-eyed  and 
clear-headed  at  their  game.  Only  Peppo 's 
voice  was  thick  and  his  eyes  dull.  He  was 
losing  to  these  sharpers,  it  was  plain. 

Thinking  of  the  little  wife  waiting  for 
Peppo  in  the  darkness,  Con  stood  wonder- 
ing anxiously  how  he  could  coax  him 
home  without  rousing  his  wrath. 

"There!"  Carita's  lord  and  master  was 
saying  angrily.  "Robbers  that  you  are, 
you  have  taken  all  my  money!  I  will  play 
no  more." 

"Pouf,  pouf,  you  scare  easy!"  answered 
the  hook-nosed  Caspar.  "Luck  changes, 
man!  Try  again." 

"I  tell  you  my  money  is  gone.  Ten, 
twelve  dollars — I  do  not  know  how  much 
I  have  lost  to  you  to-night.  And  my 
woman  is  waiting  for  me.  She  has  a  tongue 
that  can  talk  sharp  and  fast." 

"Bah!"  laughed  the  swarthy  ball-player." 
"The  bold  Peppo  must  have  changed 
indeed  when  he  fears  a  wpman's  tongue. 
And  who  cares  for  money?  I'll  play  you, 
man,  for  one  of  those  fine  dogs  you  have 
in  your  string."  (Now  indeed  the  listener's 
heart  leaped.)  "In  another  hour  you  will 
have  all  your  losing  back  and  more.  Luck 
is  a  shy*  bird;  it  never  perches  long  on 
one  shoulder.  Last  night  I  gamed  until 
my  pockets  were  emptied;  then  I  staked 
my  box  of  balls,  and  won  straight  running 
until  my  pockets  were  full.  Come,  I'll  play 
you  for  a  dog.  I  saw  your  pack  as  you 
came  into  the  Glen  this  evening.  It's  ten 
dollars  against  that  tawny  wolf-hound  of 
yours  that  holds  his  head  like  a  dog  king." 

"Pooh!"    said    Peppo,    brightening    up 


somewhat  at  the  bargaining.  "Ten  dollars 
for  that  dog!  With  a  few  more  pounds  of 
flesh  on  him,  any  fancier  would  give  me 
five  times  ten  for  Dick." 

"And  cry  out  on  you  for  a  gypsy  dog- 
stealer!"  was  the  mocking  rejoinder. 
"Better  fight  shy  of  the  fanciers  with 
that  dog.  They've  got  him  on  their  look- 
out list,  you  may  be  sure,  and  are  watching 
for  the  chap  that  brings  him  in.  He 
ain't  no  'pick-up,'  as  anybody  with  eyes 
can  see.  But  I  am  asking  no  questions. 
I'll  make  it  fifteen  dollars  for  him,  though 
it's  a  risky  business,  I  know." 

"Fifteen  dollars,  and  the  chance  to  win 
fifty  more.  Fifteen  dollars,  and  stick  to 
the  game  like  a  man!" 

"Done!"  said  Peppo,  his  dull  eyes 
kindling.  "It's  Dick  against  fifteen  dollars, 
and  I'll  play  again." 

And  then — then  Con's  feet,  that  had 
seemed  glued  to  the  earth,  suddenly  found 
wings.  He  was  off  into  the  darkness  in  a 
wild  flight  that  knew  no  pause.  Dick, 
his  friend,  his  comrade,  almost  his  other 
self!  Peppo  was  staking,  selling,  gain- 
ing for  Dick,  who  would  soon  be  lost  to 
him  forever;  for  that  Peppo  would  never 
win  against  these  sharpers,  Con  well 
knew.  But  for  Peppo,  for  himself,  even 
for  Carita,  and  for  Tony,  just  now  Con 
had  no  thought  or  care.  He  must  save 
Dick;  he  must  keep  him  out  of  cruel  hands 
that  would  starve,  abuse,  maltreat  him. 
They  must  fly  together,  where  or  how 
Con  did  not  stop  to  think.  Only  the  old 
mountain  instinct  guided  hi's  bounding 
steps,  and  hushed  their  swift,  light  tread. 
Noiselessly  he  sped  on,  past  tents,  wagons, 
sleepers ;  keeping  cautiously  in  the  shadow 
until  he  reached  the  sheltered  nook  where 
Peppo  had  corralled  his  beasts, — the  five 
horses,  the  seven  dogs  that  their  owner 
had  led  so  proudly  into  the  Glen  a  few 
hours  ago.  Tired  with  their  long  day's 
journey  over  the  mountain,  full-fed  from 
the  gypsy  pots  and  kettles,  all  were  sleeping 
too  heavily  to  catch  the  light  footfall 
that  scarcely  bent  the  springing  grass. 

Dick    was    stretched    out    a    bit    apart 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


637 


from  the  rest,  his  tawny  head  and  white 
breast  plainly  visible  in  the  dim  starlight. 
Con  caught  his  jaw  in  the  old  silencing 
grip;  and  Dick  started  up  at  the  familiar 
touch,  mute,  breathless,  with  eyes  up- 
lifted, ears  pricked,  limbs  quivering,  as 
he  recognized  his  master's  hand. 

"Dead,  Dick!"  whispered  Con.  "Play 
dead,  while  I  cut  your  leash.  Dead,  old 
boy, — dead!" 

It  was  one  of  the  tricks  the  boys  had 
taught  their  puppy  playmates  on  the  Roost  ; 
and  at  the  word  Dick  fell  over  stiff,  stark, 
and  silent.  Con  had  in  his  pocket  the 
knife  Peppo  had  loaned  him  to  cut  kindling 
for  Carita's  fire.  It  took  but  a  moment 
for  its  sharp  .edge  to  sever  the  leathern 
leash,  and  Dick  was  free  once  more. 

"Come  now!"  said  Con,  his  hushing 
grip  upon  the  dog's  jaw.  "Easy,  Dick,— 
quiet  and  easy,  old  fellow !  We're  off 
together  again." 

And  boy  and  dog  bounded  away  noise- 
lessly into  the  darkness,  whither  neither 
of  them  thought  or  cared.  The  starlight 
shimmered  faintly  through  the  trees;  the 
wild  mountain  heights  rose  rough  and 
pathless  above  them.  Without  food,  shelter, 
guide,  the  two  friends  sped  joyously  along, 
free,  fearless,  and  together  again. 

It  was  close  to  the  break  of  day  when 
Peppo  came  staggering  back  to  his  tent 
and  wagons,  to  find  Carita  still  watching, 
wide-eyed  and  anxious,  over  her  fretting 
child.  He  had  a  sharp  welcome,  for  the 
little  mother's  nerves  were  sorely  strained. 
Never  in  all  his  twenty  months  of  wander- 
ing life  had  Baby  Tony  been  ill  before. 

"Brute  that  thou  art,"  she  cried  pas- 
sionately, as  her  lord  appeared,  "to  leave 
me  all  night  with  my  dying  child!" 

"Dying!"  echoed  Peppo,  sobered  some- 
what at  the  word.  "Tony  dying!  What 
arc  you  talking  about,  fool  of  a  woman?" 

"Look  at  him! ".said  Carita,  thrusting 
the  child  forward  so  his  father  could  see. 
"His  head  is  burning;  his  eyes  will  not 
shut.  He  has  been  tossing  in  my  arms  all 
night.  And  you-  you  dog  of  a  father, 
without  heart  or  soul— have  been  gaming, 


drinking,  while  your  child  dies!  Why  did 
I  ever  bring  him  to  this  accursed  place, — 
my  Tony,  my  Tony,  my  baby,  my  little 
boy!"  And  Carita's  voice  rose  into  a 
piteous  wail. 

"Hush,  then, — hush!"  said  Peppo,  who, 
with  all  his  faults,  had  a  fierce  love 
for  his  wife  and  child.  "You  have  given 
him  something — some  of  that  sweet  stuff 
from  the  vans." 

"I  have  given  him  nothing,  nothing!" 
said  Carita,  stirred  into  new  fury.  "Do 
you  think  I  am  a  fool,  without  head, 
without  heart  like  yourself?  It  is  the 
old  witch  woman  that  has  put  the  'spite 
spell '  on  him.  Always  has  she  hated 
me  since  I  came  to  the  tents.  Did  I 
not  hear  her  hiss  on  us  as  we  drove  into 
the  Glen  this  evening?" 

"And  if  she  has  I  will  throttle  the  life 
out  of  her  for  it!"  said  Peppo,  fiercely. 
"Some  one  has  put  the  black  luck  upon 
us,  I  know.  All  my  money  have  I  lost 
this  evening,  and  my  best  dog." 

"All  your  money  and  your  best  dog!" 
Carita  gasped.  "Is  it  Conde's  Dick  you 
mean?" 

"Aye!"  replied  Peppo,  sullenly.  "Here 
comes  Caspar  for  him  now.  I  must  un- 
leash and  give  him  up." 

And  while  Carita  sat  quite  dumb  with 
dismay  at  this  new  disaster,  the  black- 
eyed  ball-tosser  came  up  to  Peppo's 
tent  to  secure  the  prize  for  which  he  would 
not  wait  even  until  the  break  of  day;  for 
the  wolf-hound  he  had  just  won  was 
worth  ten  times  all  he  had  staked  on 
him,  the  crafty  Caspar  well  knew. 

"I  must  be  off  early,"  he  said.  "There 
is  a  fair  down  the  valley  where  I  can 
make  more  than  here.  I  will  take  my 
dog  now." 

"Rogue,  villain,  rascal,  you  are  robbing 
us!"  burst  forth  Carita,  passionately; 
while  Peppo  led  the  way  back  of  the 
wagon  where  his  dogs  were  tied. 

And  then  in  a  moment  shouts,  cries, 
litT'T  tumult  roused  the  camrj.  Men 
and  women  came  starting  out  half- 
wakened,  to  find  Peppo  and  Gaspar 


638 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


cursing  as  they  clenched  in  hot  fury.  For 
the  dog  was  gone — where,  Peppo  swore 
in  the  teeth  of  his  wrathful  antagonist 
he  did  not  know. 

But  the  quick-witted  Carita  snatched 
back  the  canvas  of  her  wagon,  and  guessed 
all.  For  Con  was  gone,  too,  all  his  thinking 
over,— gone  from  the  gypsy  camp  and 
the  gypsy  life  forever, — gone  with  his  dog. 

(To  be  continued.) 


About  a  Great  Saint. 


Just  the  One. 

Stephen  Girard,  the  wealthy  Phila- 
delphia merchant  who  founded  Girard 
College,  was  so  much  opposed  to  all 
religions  that  no  clergyman  was  allowed 
to  hold  office  there,  or  even  to  enter  the 
premises.  He  left  an  immense  fortune; 
but,  although  a  generous  public  benefac- 
tor even  during  his  life,  had  no  personal 
friends.  He  was  a,  hard  taskmaster, 
never  permitting  any  one  in  his  employ, 
however  useful  to  him,  to  disregard  his 
slightest  wish,  no  matter  how  unreason- 
able it  might  be. 

One  Saturday  he  ordered  all  his  clerks  to 
come  on  the  morrow  to  his  wharf  and  help 
unload  a  newly  arrived  ship.  One  young 
man  replied  quietly:  "Mr.  Girard,  I  can't 
work  on  Sunday." — -"You  know  our 
rules?"  was  the  reply. — -"Yes,  I  know," 
said  the  young  man.  "I  have  a  mother 
to  support,  but  I  can't  work  on  Sunday." 

•"Well,  then,  the  cashier  will  settle  with 
you,"  said  Mr.  Girard. 

For  nearly  a  month  the  young  man 
could  find  no  work,  but  one  day  a  banker 
called  at  Girard's  office  and  asked  him  if 
he  could  recommend  a  man  for  cashier 
in  a  new  bank.  The  discharged  young 
man  was  at  once  named  as  a  suitable  per- 
son. "But,"  said  the  banker,  "I  hear  you 
dismissed  him  from  your  own  employ." — 
"Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "because  he  would 
not  work  on  Sundays.  A  man  who  would 
sacrifice  a  good  place  for  conscience'  sake 
would  make  a  trustworthy  cashier,  in  my 
opinion.  He  is  just  the  one  you  want." 
And  he  was  appointed. 


St.  John,  Patriarch  of  Alexandria,  was 
so  kind  and  generous  to  the  poor  that  he 
was  called,  and  is  still  called,  after  twelve 
centuries,  "St.  John  the  Almoner"  or 
almsgiver.  He  spent  great  sums  in  charity, 
and  God  blessed  him  by  multiplying  his 
gold  and  by  many  other  striking  miracles. 
"Never  refuse  an  alms,"  St.  John  used  to 
say,  "and  you  will  never  be  in  want 
yourself."  He  was  no  less  zealous  about 
the  forgiveness  of  injuries,  counselling  all 
to  forgive  wrongs  done  them  if  they 
expected  their  own  sins  to  be  pardoned  by 
God.  Many  beautiful  stories  are  related 
of  St.  John  the  Almsgiver,  who  is  venerated 
all  over  the  world. 

A  nobleman  came  to  see  him  one  day, 
and  the  conversation  turned  on  a  grievance 
which  the  visitor  had  received.  So-and-so 
had  wronged  him  cruelly,  and  never  to 
his  dying  day  could  he  forgive  him.  He 
spoke  with  warmth;  his  face  darkened 
with  passion  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with 
anger. 

Just  at  that  moment,  the  bell  rang  for 
prayers  in  the  Bishop's  private  chapel, 
and  he  rose  and  invited  the  nobleman  to 
follow  him.  St.  John  the  Almsgiver  knelt 
at  the  altar,  and  the  nobleman  knelt 
immediately  behind  him.  Presently  the 
holy  Bishop  began  in  a  loud  voice  the 
Lord's  Prayer,  and  the  nobleman  repeated 
each  part  with  him.  "Thy  will  be  done 
on  earth,-  as  it  is  in  heaven.  Give  us  this 
day  our  daily  bread" — St.  John  stopped 
abruptly.  The  nobleman,"  not  thinking, 
went  on  alone:  "And  forgive  us  our 
trespasses  as  we  forgive  them  that  trespass 
against  us."  Then,  finding  he  was  alone, 
he  stopped  short  also.  The  Bishop  did 
not  go  on,  but  remained  silently  kneeling. 
Then  suddenly  the  sense  of  the  words 
of  the  petition  he  had  just  made  rushed 
on  the  nobleman's  mind.  He  silently 
rose  from  his  knees,  bent  low  before  the 
altar,  and  then  went  out;  and,  soon 
finding  the  man  who  luul  offended  him, 
he  frankly  forgave  him. 


THE  AVE  MARIA  (i::<) 

WITH    AUTHORS    AND    PUBLISHERS 


— A  new  edition  of  "A  Flower  for  Each  Day 
of  the  Month  of  June,"  by  the  Rev.  John  J. 
Murphy,  S.  J.,  has  been  published  by  the  Home 
Press,  New  York. 

— In  his  preface  to  "A  Study  in  Christology," 
by  the  Rev.  H.  M.  Relton,  just  published  by  the 
S.  P.  C.  K.,  Dr.  A.  C.  Headlam  declares  that 
all  the  difficulties  about  the  Person  of  Our  Lord 
which  confront  us  to-day  were  threshed  out  in  the 
controversies  of  the  fourth,  fifth,  and  sixth 
centuries;  and  that  by  their  help  we  can  find 
adequate  answers. 

— The  North  American  Teacher,  the  first 
number  of  which  is  just  to  hand,  makes  this 
statement  of  its  purposes: 

The  North  American  Teacher  will  deal  exclusively  in 
matters  of  moment  to  teachers  in  our  Catholic  schools.  It 
will  aim  to  give  the  best  thought  of  educators  on  every 
subject  in  the  curriculum.  The  articles  will  be,  as  far  as 
possible,  practical  rather  than  theoretical.  They  will  treat 
of  the  most  efficient  methods  in  school  studies,  and  will 
endeavor  to  aid  the  teacher  in  solving  the  many  perplexing 
problems  which  she  has  to  face. 

We  wish  the  new  magazine  and  its  accom- 
plished editor,  Mr.  Denis  A.  MacCarthy,  all 
possible  success. 

— Some  interesting  information  about  the  late 
Fr.  Eric  Leslie,  S.  J.,  who  will  be  remembered  as 
the  author  of  "To  Calvary  through  the  Mass," 
is  furnished  by  the  London  Tablet.  He  was  a 
convert  to  the  Church,  and  the  doyen  of  the 
English  Jesuits,  having  almost  completed  his 
ninety-first  year.  His  conversion  to  the  Church 
was  delayed  by  a  now  forgotten  book  written 
by  Dr.  Allies  while  he  also  was  an  Anglican. 
Both  made  fullest  reparation.  Fr.  Leslie  was 
noted  for  his  cheery  disposition,  fervent  zeal 
and  piety,  and  devotedness  to  the  poor.  He  is 
survived  by  a  sister,  Mother  Mary  Sales,  of 
St.  Margaret's  Convent,  Edinburgh. 

—"The  Hundredth  Chance,"  by  Ethel  M. 
Dell  (G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons),  is  a  novel  of  English 
life  in  some  of  its  less  stereotyped  aspects.  The 
story  has  to  do  with  a  horseman  whose  chief 
characteristic  is  masterly,  force  as  evinced  in  his 
treatment  of  horses,  jockeys,  and  eventually 
his  wife, — to  say  nothing  of  his  wife's  crippled 
brother,  a  rather  trying  youth.  The  genuine 
manliness  and  innate  tenderness  of  this  uncon- 
ventional hero  are  revealed  in  a  number  of  cir- 
cumstances, and  become  manifest  at  last  to  all 
those  who  are  associated  with  him  in  the  develop- 
ment of  the  narrative.  It  is  a  novel  of  generous 
length — 567  twelvemo  pages. 

— Additional  issues  of  the  Angelus  Series 
published  by  R.  &  T.  Washbourne,  and  for 


sale  in  this  country  by  Benziger  Brothers,  are 
"Maxims  from-  the  Writings  of  Katharine 
Tynan,"  by  the  compiler  of  "Maxims  from  the 
Writings  of  Mgr.  Benson,"  etc.;  and  "A  Year 
of  Cheer,"  chosen  from  Catholic  sources  by 
Scannell  O'Neill.  Both  of  these  little  volumes 
present  a  great  variety  of  helpful  thoughts. 
Those  of  the  latter  are  arranged  for  the  days  of 
the  year.  The  title  "A  Year  of  Cheer"  is  a 
happy  and  appropriate  one  for  Mr.  O'Neill's 
compilation,  which  shows  wide  and  careful 
reading.  Price,  50  cents. 

— Those  who  have  re-ad  any  book  by  John 
Ayscough  will  know  what  to  expect  in  "French 
Windows,"  just  published  by  Longmans,  Green 
&  Co.;  for  others,  a  brief  extract  from  it  will 
suffice.  It  may  be  described  as  a  collection  of 
war  pictures  and  vignettes  of  peace,  done  with 
wondrous  power  and  skill.  Only  one  possessed 
of  the  most  delicate  psychological  insight,  the 
keenest  appreciation  of  the  good,  the  beautiful, 
and  the  true,  could  have  produced  these  pictures. 
Numerous  books,  in  great  variety,  dealing  with 
the  World  War  have  been  published,  but 
"French  Windows"  is  unique;  its  interest  is 
enduring,  its  value  permanent.  It  is  difficult 
to  make  choice  of  a  passage  for  quotation, 
there  are  so  many  of  exquisite  beauty  and 
penetrating  pathos,  of  the  highest  spirituality 
and  the  most  delicate  humor.  Perhaps  we  had 
better  present  the  author's  account  of  his  inter- 
view with  a  Scotch  Presbyterian  who  was  among 
the  rows  of  wounded  to  whom  the  "Ancient" 
was  once  ministering,  and  whose  eyes  seemed 
to  beg  the  Catholic  chaplain  to  linger: 

"Sir-r,"  he  almost  whispers,  with  the  bewitching  Scot's 
burring  of  the  r,  and  a  shyness  wholly  compelling,  "I  would 
be  glad  if  ye  would  comfort  me  too.  I'm  Presbyterian:  but, 
perr-haps  ..." 

"No  perhaps:   if  I  can  make  you  feel  less  lonely — " 

"It's  that,  sir, — just  that  only.  I'm  not  so  varra  badly 
wounded:  only  it  came  over  me,  hearing  yon  lad  talking  to 
ye  of  his  folk,  to  talk  a  wee  of  mine.  There's  nane  here  that 
would  under-r-stand,  but  I'm  thinking  you  would.  .  .  . 
Hame's  hame,  Catholic  or  Presbyterian,  Hielandman  or 
Lowland;  and,  eh,  mine's  far  away!" 

He  soon  dropped  "sir,"  and  called  the  Papistical,  pre- 
latical  priest  "Father,"  and  meant  it  and  felt  it.  His  own 
father  was  in  heaven;  his  mother  had  none  on  earth  but  him. 
To  her  also  the  priest  was  to  write.  Simply  and  shyly  he 
talked  of  God:  and  in  that  common  Friend  found  instantly 
a  bridge  of  meeting,  that  strode  at  once  athwart  all  estrange- 
ment of  belief. 

"Ye  gave,"  he  said  soon,  "a  wee  Christ  upon  the  Cross  to 
you  Catholic  fellow.  Have  ye,  Father,  e'en  one  for  me?  Eh, 
it's  strange!  I've  seen  a  whole  village  smashed,  and  a  whole 
kirk,  by  they  Germans'  shells;  but  the  great  Christ  upon  the 
Cross  stood  untouched;  His  arms  spread  out.  His  head 
leaned  weary,  His  face  turned  up  to  cry  His  Father's 
mercy  on  us  men  that  killed  Him.  And  all  the  shells  couldna 
break  Him;  and  He  said,  I  mind,  "When  I  am  lifted  up 


(.40 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


I'll  draw  all  to  Myself."  Father,  pray  Him  to  druw  me. 
I've  been  a  wilful  laddy,  and  His  words  have  been  dour  and 
dismal  talk  to  me.  And  I  went  aye  my  ain  gait,  that  wasna 
His;  and  I  liked  laughing-talk  and  merry  things;  and  noo 
I  know  what  suffering  is,  and  I  can  understand  better. 
Father,  ye'll  mind  to  ask  Him  mak'  me  His  ain  laddie.  Ma 
mither  gave  me  willing  to  the  war,  as  His  gave  Him  willing 
to  the  death:  ye'll  write  to  her,  and  pray  for  her?  And 
I'll  keep  this  Christ  upon  the  Cross  ye  give  me  all  my  life 
long,  if  any  more  of  it  is  for  me;  and  I'll  never  forget  ye, 
Father,  never.  If  He  gives  it  me  to  win  hame  again,  I'll 
pray  always  for  ye;  and  most  on  Saturday  at  e'en,  when  we 
make  the  evening  exercise  preparing  for  the  Sabbath,  and 
if  not  .  .  ." 

"If  you  get  Home  before  me,  to  that  other  Home,  you 
will  pray  still  for  me,  that  I  may  come  there  too?  " 

"Deed  will  I!    Good-bye,  Father!" 

"French  Windows"  is  not  fiction.  We  have 
the  author's  assurance  that  "every  episode  and 
every  character  is  drawn  from  reality  and  life: 
nothing  is  imaginary.  That  which  is  described 
is  what  the  writer  saw  and  heard,  so  far  as  he 
has  been  able  to  translate  into  words  what 
eyes  and  ears  told  him."  How  much  is  to  be 
learned  from  this  touching  and  beautiful  book! 
May  it  have  a  legion  of  readers,  not  one  of  whom, 
we  feel  certain,  will  fail  to  derive  some  benefit 
from  its  perusal. 


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VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  MAY  26,  1917. 


NO.  21 


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


Our  Lady  of  the  Waves. 


BY     THKODORE    BOTRSI,.      TRANSLATED     BY 


(J)  MARY,  our  Mother,  hear! 

Thou  who  art  Queen  of  the  wave, 
Graciously  hear  our  prayer, 

Watch  o'er  our  seamen  and  save! 
While  they  are  absent  long, 

Kneeling  we  cry  to  thee; 
Take  pity  upon  our  woe, 

Thou  who  hast  suffered  —  as  we! 

Oh,  from  the  tempests  keep, 

Guard  from  the  wrath  divine; 
Cover  their  heads  with  a  fold 

Of  that  blue  veil  of  thine! 
vSpare  us  so  many  fears 

When  the  waves  rise  wrathfully; 
And  dry  our  weeping  tears, 

Thou  who  hast  wept  —  as  we! 

Thou  knowest  how  yesterday 

We  gave  thee  of  our  best: 
With  broom  and  blossoms  sweet 

Thy  chapels  fair  we  drest. 
Save   our  husbands,  our  sons,  — 

Save  from  the  deep,  deep  sea, 
Thou  who  wast  here  on  earth 

Woman  and  Mother  —  as  we! 


ST.  CYRIL  of  Jerusalem  (A.  D.  315-386) 
says:  "Since  through  Eve,  a  Virgin,  came 
death,  it  behooved  that  through  a  Virgin, 
or  rather  from  a  Virgin,  should  life  appear ; 
that  as  the  Serpent  had  deceived  the  one, 
so  to  the  other  Gabriel  might  bring  good 
tidings." 


In  the  Days  of  the  Early  Martyrs. 


BY    A.   HILUARD    ATTRRIDGR. 

OST  of  us  have  derived  our 
»««  first  impressions  of  the  martyr 
a^e  °^  ^e  early  Church  from 
Wiseman's  "Fabiola."  It  was 
first  published  anonymously  in  the  winter 
of  1854,  though  the  date  on  the  title- 
page  is  1855.  It  is  much  more  than  a 
mere  work  of  fiction.  There  is  a  solid 
historical  basis  to  the  story,  and  it  first 
brought  to  the  popular  knowledge  of 
the  English-speaking  world  the  results 
of  De  Rossi's  explorations  of  the  Cata- 
combs. The  book  abounds  in  documents, 
reproductions  and  translations  of  inscrip- 
tions from  the  Catacombs,  and  quotations 
from  Prudentius  and  Damasus, — the  Chris- 
tian poet  who  celebrated  the  triumphs  of 
the  martyrs  in  the  first  days  of  the  peace 
of  the  Church;  and  the  contemporary 
Pope,  who  was  also  a  poet  and  devoted 
his  literary  powers  to  the  composition  of 
new  inscriptions  for  the  martyrs'  tombs. 

Wiseman's  work  thus  gives  us,  at  the 
same  time,  an  insight  into  the  honors 
paid  to  the  martyrs  during  the  actual 
time  of  persecution,  and  those  accorded 
to  them  in  the  years  after  Constantine 
inaugurated  the  new  policy  that  made  the 
Empire  no  longer  the  foe  but  the  protector 
of  the  Church.  Newman  has  pointed  out 
that,  in  the  age  that  followed  the  period 
of  persecution,  devotion  to  the  martyrs 
rose  to  something  like  enthusiasm.  This 
is  easy  to  understand.  The  long  struggle 


642 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


was  over,  and  those  who  were  enjoying 
the  new  period  of  peace  looked  back  with 
devout  gratitude  to  the  heroic  men  and 
women  who  had  given  their  lives  to  the 
Faith  during  three  hundred  years  of  strife 
with  paganism. 

Our  popular  manuals  of  Church  His- 
tory, with  their  tendency  to  analyze 
and  reduce  everything  to  cut-and-dried 
formulas,  originally  devised  to  assist 
the  student,  usually  enumerate  ten  per- 
secutions of  the  Church  and  of  the  Roman 
Empire.  The  classification  is  rather  mis- 
leading. From  the  days  of  Nero  to  those 
of  Constantine,  the  Church  was  always 
under  the  ban  of  the  Roman  Empire. 
It  is  true  that  there  were  times  when  there 
was  more  or  less  of  slackness  on  the  part 
of  the  authorities  in  putting  the  existing 
laws  into  force.  There  were  thus  periods 
of  something  like  a  truce;  but  these 
intervals  of  peace  were  often  confined 
to  this  or  that  province  of  the  Empire, 
and  there  was  never  any  general  or 
lasting  security  for  the  professors  of 
Christianity. 

Our  Lord  Himself  had  warned  His  fol- 
lowers that  they  must  expect  persecution, 
that  they  would  be  hated  by  all  men 
for  His  name's  sake,  and  that  those  who 
put  them  to  death  would  think  they  had 
done  a  good  deed.  But,  humanly  speak- 
ing, though  a  conflict  with  Judaism  seemed 
probable,  official  persecution  by  the  author- 
ities of  the  Roman  Empire  must  have 
appeared  by  no  means  a  likely  event. 
The  Apostles  always  taught  that  the 
laws  of  the  Empire  were  to  be  obeyed, 
just  as  their  Master  had  decided,  when 
the  question  was  put  to  Him,  that  tribute 
must  be  paid  to  Caesar.  Christianity 
never  challenged  a  conflict  with  the  Em- 
pire. In  a  sense  it  was  non-aggressive. 
Even  in  the  midst  of  the  persecutions, 
Christians  were  warned  not  to  insult 
the  popular  religion  of  the  country. 
Even  the  institution  of  slavery  was  not 
directly  attacked,  though  in  its  essence 
it  was  opposed  to  the  ideal  of  Christian 
equality  and  brotherhood. 


M.  Paul  Allard,  in  his  painstaking  work 
on  the  subject,  has  shown  how  the  aboli- 
tion of  slavery  was  effected  by  a  gradual 
process.  To  attack  it  at  the  outset 
would  have  been  to  preach  a  revolution. 
In  the  Roman  Empire,  slavery  was  an 
essential  part  of  the  social  organization. 
Domestic  servants,  agricultural  laborers, 
workers  at  the  mechanical  arts,  and  even 
large  numbers  of  the  class  of  clerks, 
secretaries,  and  copyists,  were  slaves. 
In  our  version  of  the  New  Testament 
where  St.  Paul  bids  servants  to  be  obe- 
dient to  their  masters,  a  more  strictly 
accurate  rendering  would  put  the  word 
"slaves"  instead  of  "servants."  And 
in  the  Epistle  to  Philemon  we  see  how 
he  sends  back  the  convert  slave  Onesimus 
to  his  master,  telling  him  to  receive  him, 
no  longer  as  a  mere  slave,  but  also  as  "a 
dear  brother  in  Christ." 

Thus  Christianity  was  not  aggressive 
in  all  its  relations  to  the  civil  life  of  the 
Empire.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
whole  system  of  the  Roman  Empire  was 
remarkably  tolerant  of  the  various  relig- 
ions professed  by  its  subjects.  The  gods 
of  the  various  nations  within  its  bound- 
aries were  treated  as  other  forms  or 
manifestations  of  the  gods  of  the  Roman 
Pantheon.  Thus,  for  instance,  when 
Egypt  became  a  Roman  province  no 
attempt  was  made  to  substitute  the  gods 
of  old  Rome  for  those  of  the  Nile;  and 
Roman  emperors  repaired  the  old  temples 
in  Egypt  and  Nubia,  or  built  new  ones 
dedicated  to  Egyptian  deities,  with  in- 
scriptions bearing  the  name  of  the  emperor 
in  hieroglyphs.  This  tolerance  was  part 
of  the  general  policy  of  the  Empire,  the 
tendency  of  which  was  to  interfere  very 
little  with  local  custom  and  usage.  How, 
then,  did  the  conflict  between  the  Empire 
and  Christianity  arise? 

It  was  a  gradual  development.  In  the 
first  years  of  Christianity,  of  which  we 
can  trace  the  story  in  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles,  and  to  some  extent  in  the 
Epistles,  where  one  of  the  teachers  of 
the  new  religion  is  brought  into  conflict 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


643 


with  the  civil  authority,  it  is  never  directly 
on  the  mere  charge  of  being  a  Christian. 
It  was  a  Roman  governor's  duty  to  pre- 
serve order  and  to  protect  the  interests 
of  the  population;  and  we  find  that 
the  Apostles  and  their  colleagues  are 
accused  as  causing  disturbances,  or  acting 
in  a  way  that  would  be  damaging  to  some 
powerful  local  trade  or  interest.  Jewish 
hostility  in  those  early  days  took  the 
form  of  attempts  to  represent  the  new 
teachers  as  disloyal  to  the  Empire. 

The  first  great  instance  of  this  is 
the  accusation  made  against  Our  Lord 
Himself  before  the  Roman  governor  of 
Judea.  In  the  Gospel  narratives  of  the 
Passion,  we  have  two  trials  and  two 
different  accusations.  The  Jewish  leaders 
arrest  Him,  and  carry  through  a  secret 
trial  in  the  night  before  the  high  priests 
and  the  council.  Here  the  accusation 
is  based  entirely  on  Jewish  law  and  tra- 
dition. They  knew  perfectly  well  that 
the  Roman  governor  would  not  have 
listened  to  it  for  a  moment,  and  they  had 
no  power  to  give  effect  to  any  judg- 
ment they  passed  from  such  a  charge. 
In  the  morning  they  arraigned  Him  before 
the  governor,  and  here  the  charge  was 
sedition — disloyalty  to  Caesar.  The  charge 
was  false;  the  attempts  to  prove  it  broke 
down ;  but  they  frightened  a  weak  man 
into  sacrificing  their  Victim,  in  his  fear 
of  having  to  deal  with  a  popular  tumult 
if  he  did  not  yield  the  point.  The  whole 
procedure  is  typical  of  much  that  hap- 
pened in  the  first  fifty  or  sixty  years  of 
Christianity. 

Organized  persecution  of  the  Chris- 
tians, as  such,  began  very  soon,  and  dates 
from  the  year  64,  under  the  reign  of 
Nero.  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  were  among 
its  victims,  with  thousands  more,  of  whose 
names  there  is  no  record.  Apart  from 
Christian  evidence  on  the  fact,  we  owe 
our  knowledge  of  the  Neronian  perse- 
cution chiefly  to  Tacitus  and  Suetonius. 
The  of  ten -quo  ted  passage  of  Tacitus 
tells  how  Nero  accused  the  Christians 
of  having  been  the  authors  of  the  great 


fire  which  destroyed  a  large  part  of  Rome, 
and  put  them  to  death  in  such  numbers 
and  with  such  cruelty  that  at  last  the  people 
began  rather  to  pity  the*  victims  than 
to  feel  any  horror  at  their  alleged  crimes. 
But  the  language  used  in  this  passage, 
as  in  the  parallel  passage  of  Suetonius, 
shows  that  Nero  was  able  to  do  this, 
because  the  public  opinion  of  pagan  Rome 
was  already  hostile  to  the  Christians. 

There  were  many  causes  for  this  hostil- 
ity. I^agan  observances  formed  a  part  of 
social  and  family  life,  and  when  a  man  be- 
came a  Christian  he  cut  himself  off  from 
all  these.  To  take  no  part  in  public 
ceremonials,  in  which  pagan  observances 
played  a  large  part,  was  to  run  the  risk 
of  being  regarded  as  unpatriotic  and  dis- 
loyal. Moreover,  Christian  worship  was 
conducted  in  private,  almost  in  secret, — 
the  greatest  care  being  taken  that  none 
but  the  faithful  should  be  present,  in 
order  to  avoid  profanation  of  the  sacred 
mystery  of  the  altar.  Under  all  despotic 
government,  private  meetings  of  any 
kind  are  regarded  with  suspicion.  At 
a  very  early  date  popular  calumny  was 
busy  with  strange  stories  about  the  nature 
of  these  secret  meetings.  They  were  con- 
fused with  the  gatherings  of  the  Gnostic 
sectaries,  whose  religion  was  a  -strange 
mixture  of  magic  and  superstition,  includ- 
ing the  worship  of  Oriental  deities. 

Hence  came  the  calumny  that  the 
Christians  met  for  a  degraded  ritual 
worship  of  an  ass'  head, —  a  story  whose 
origin  was,  no  doubt,  based  upon  the 
part  played  in  Gnostic  ritual  by  the 
Egyptian  anubis  (the  conductor  of  the 
dead  to  the  other  world) , — a  figure  with 
a  sharp  snout,  and  long  ears  on  its  head, — 
the  head  of  a  jackal,  which  might  easily 
be  mistaken  for  that  of  an  ass.  There  was 
another  story,  arising  probably  from  a 
perverted  account  of  the  Holy  Eucharist, 
that  the  Christians  met  for  a  cannibal 
feast,  at  which  they  killed  and  ate  a  child. 
Yet  another  series  of  horrible  charges 
arose  from  confounding  the  Christian 
ritual  with  certain  features  of  the  sect 


644 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


of    I  sis    worshippers,    whose    ritual    was 
largely  immoral. 

There  is  no  proof  that  Nero  put  the 
Christians  to  death  simply  because  they 
were  Christians.  They  were  condemned 
as  enemies  of  the  Empire,  and,  to  use  a 
phrase  that  afterwards  became  traditional, 
"enemies  of  the  human  race."  They 
were  charged  with  having  burned  the 
city;  and  the  charge  was  readily  believed 
because  they  belonged  to  the  sect  which, 
in  the  words  of  Tacitus,  practised  "a 
detestable  superstition,"  so  that  they  were 
capable  of  any  crime.  1  i*| 

It  is  often  said  that  the  first  formal 
edicts  of  persecution  date  from  the  reign 
of  Trajan  (98-117).  This,  I  think,  is 
a  mistaken  view.  As  to  the  persecution 
under  Trajan,  we  have  abundant  docu- 
mentary evidence  in  the  famous  correspond- 
ence between  the  Emperor  and  Pliny  the 
Younger,  who  was  acting  as  Roman 
governor  of  the  province  of  Pontus  and 
Bithynia,  part  of  northern  Asia  Minor 
along  the  shores  of  the  Black  vSea.  Pliny, 
a  successful  lawyer  who  had  already  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  the  public  service, 
rwas  sent  to  Pontus  after  a  weak  governor 
had  allowed  the  affairs  of  the  province  to 
fall  into  considerable  disorder.  His  business 
was  to  set  things  right.  As  its  governor,  he 
possessed  all  the  powers  of  the  Emperor; 
but  there  were  many  instances  to  prove 
that,  under  the  imperial  system,  in  all 
serious  matters  governors  of  provinces 
were  accustomed  directly  to  consult  the 
Emperor  himself  and  his  council.  It  was 
prudent  to  do  so;  for  if  they  acted 
on  the  advice  thus  received,  they  were 
secured  from  any  blame  if  things  were 
wrong. 

Pliny's  letters  are  often  quoted  as  a  " 
testimony  to  the  extent  to  which  the 
Christians  had  increased  in  numbers  by 
the  end  of  the  first  century,  and  as  a 
tribute  to  their  blameless  lives.  But  a 
great  deal  more  can  be  learned  from  the 
letters.  On  one  point  they  are  decisive. 
When,  as  governor  of  Pontus  and  Bithynia," 
he  put  large  numbers  of  Christians  to 


death,  he  was  not  acting  in  virtue  of 
any  new  persecuting  edict  of  Trajan, 
but  in  pursuance  of  an  accepted  system 
that  had  long  been  enforced.  To  use  a 
phrase  familiar  to  American  and  English 
lawyers,  one  might  say  he  was  acting 
not  under  any  statute  law,  but  under  the 
common  law  of  the  Empire. 

Trajan  was  one  of  the  best  of  the  Roman 
emperors.  He  was  a  man  of  high  charac- 
ter, and  contemporary  evidence  speaks 
of  him  as  having  been  kindly  and  generous. 
Pliny  was  also  a  good  public  servant, 
who  evidently  meant  to  do  the  best  he 
could  for  the  State  and  for  his  province. 
Yet  we  find  the  Emperor  and  the  proconsul 
accepting  as  an  obvious  fact  that,  under 
certain  circumstances,  there  is  no  alter- 
native but  to  put  the  Christians  to  death. 

The  correspondence  can  be  thus  sum- 
marized, keeping  only  the  essential  points 
in  view :  Pliny  writes  to  the  Emperor  that 
he  found  there  were  large  numbers  of  the 
Christians  in  his  province.  They  were 
denounced  to  him  simply  as  Christians, 
and  as  such  liable  to  the  punishment 
of  death.  He  had  condemned  and  exe- 
cuted several  who  were  accused  before  him. 
vSome,  however,  on  being  accused,  either 
pleaded  that  they  had  once  been  Christians 
but  had  long  since  abandoned  Christian 
belief  and  practice,  or  admitted  they  were 
Christians  and  expressed  themselves  as 
willing  to  abandon  their  religion  in  order 
to^save  their  lives. 

We  have  here  clear  proofs  that  Pliny 
was  acting  under  no  recent  legislation,  but 
in  virtue  of  a  long  accepted  state  of  things. 
It  is  obvious  that  in  the  thirty  or  forty 
years  between  Nero  and  Trajan,  the  Nero- 
nian  precedent  of  regarding  the  Christians 
as  ^the  enemies  of  the  State,  and  men 
recognized  as  being  stained  with  a  variety 
of  crimes,  and  therefore  outlaws,  had  been 
accepted  as  part  of  the  ordinary  system 
of  the  Empire.  Pliny,  a  fair-minded  man, 
has  no  hesitation  in  sending  men  and 
women  to  death  merely  on  the  proof  or 
acknowledgment  that  they  are  Christians. 
He  does  not  go  further  and  find  out  if 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


645 


they  are  really  guilty  of  the  crimes  popu- 
larly alleged  against  them.  This  is  made 
quite  clear;  for  he  tells  the  Emperor 
that  he  has  made  such  an  investigation, 
not  in  the  case  of  the  martyrs,  who  ac- 
cepted death  and  made  no  attempt  to 
evade  it  by  apostasy;  but  in  the  case  of 
the  other  class,  who  tried  to  make  out 
they  were  no  longer  Christians,  or  who 
professed  themselves  willing  to  apostatize. 
He  says  he  did  not  liberate  them  at  once, 
but  he  proceeded  to  inquire  as  to  what 
crimes  they  had  committed  as  Christians. 

In  two  cases  at  least  he  employed 
torture  in  order  to  obtain  evidence. 
Torture  could  not  be  used  in  the  case  of  a 
free  citizen;  though  we  find  in  the  later 
persecutions  that  this  rule  was  abandoned 
in  the  case  of  Christians,  probably  on 
the  ground  that  they  were  outlaws. 
Pliny,  in  Pontus,  had  amongst  the  ac- 
cused two  slaves  who  were  Christian 
deaconesses,  and  slaves  could  be  tortured. 
There  is  nothing  to  prove  that  they  were 
apostates, — in  fact,  the  probability  is  the 
other  way.  A  man  like  Pliny  would  be 
more  likely  to  use  the  torture  in  the 
case  of  a  prisoner  who  had  already  forfeited 
his  life.  Even  under  torture  he  could 
obtain  no  evidence  of  crime;  and  his 
letters  show  that  the  final  result  of  his 
investigations  was  that,  though  the 
Christians  were  the  adherents  of  what  he 
calls  "a  depraved  and  extravagant  super- 
stition," and  though  he  regarded  their 
obstinacy  in  adhering  to  it  as  something 
criminal,  they  were  otherwise  people  of 
blameless  lives. 

He  tells  how  he  had  found  out  that  the 
Christians  were  accustomed  to  meet  in 
the  early  morning  and  sing  together  a 
hymn  to  Christ  as  to  God,  and  then  take 
an  "oath"  which  bound  them  to  commit 
no  evil.  The  Latin  word  he  uses  is  sacra- 
mentum,  the  common  meaning  of  which 
was  the  oath  of  loyalty  and  fidelity 
taken  by  the  legionaries  on  enlistment. 
But  evidently  his  informant,  while  con- 
cealing from  him  the  Christian  doctrine 
of  the  Holy  Eucharist,  used  the  word 


sacr amentum  in  what  was  coming  to  be 
its  Christian  sense. 

Pliny  speaks  of  the  obstinacy  of  the 
Christians,  but  at  the  same  time  his  cor- 
respondence shows  that  they  were  ready 
to  yield  any  non-essential  point.  There 
was  a  Roman  law  against  secret  societies, 
which  forbade  private  assemblies;  but  the 
law  did  not  apply  to  assemblies  for  any 
kind  of  recognized  religious  worship.  It 
was  an  accepted  fact  in  the  ancient  world 
that  the  worshippers  of  any  religion  might 
reasonably  wish  to  exclude  all  those  who 
did  not  belong  to  it.  Pliny  tells  how, 
besides  the  morning  gatherings  for  the 
religious  rite  he  describes,  the  Christians 
had  been  accustomed  to  meet  in  the  even- 
ing and  feast  together;  but  that,  in  obe- 
dience to  his  desire,  they  had  abandoned 
the  evening  meetings,  though  they  still 
met  in  the  early  morning  before  sunrise. 
One  sees  here  the  distinction  between  the 
Agape,  or  brotherly  social  feast  in  the 
evening,  which  could  easily  be  given  up, 
and  the  meeting  for  Mass  and  Commun- 
ion in  the  morning,  which  could  not  be 
abandoned,  whatever  might  be  the  risk. 

Pliny  discovers  that  the  Christians  are 
not  guilty  of  the  crimes  popularly  attrib- 
uted to  them,  but  are  men  of  blameless 
lives.  Still  the  fact  remains  that  they 
are  Christians,  and  as  such  outside  the 
system  of  protection  given  by  the  Empire 
to  all  its  citizens.  Their  views  make  them 
unlike  others.  They  do  not  take  part  in 
the  ordinary  round  of  Roman  life;  they 
are  outside  the  system,  outlaws,  and  thus 
a  source  of  disorder  and  danger  to  the 
State.  But  they  are  numerous  in  every 
class,  in  every  age;  and  he  recoils  from 
the  idea  of  the  widespread  massacre  that 
would  result  from  a  strict  enforcement  of 
the  traditional  law.  But  for  the  Roman 
proconsul,  law  exists  in  order  to  be  put 
in  force;  and  he  puts  on  the  Emperor  the 
responsibility  of  directing  him,  showing 
in  guarded  .phrases  how  his  own  opinion 
inclines. 

Trajan  replies  that  he  need  take  no 
steps  to  prosecute  any  one  on  mere  current. 


640 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


rumor,  or  on  anonymous  denunciation; 
but  if  any  one  is  accused  before  him  by  a 
competent  witness  of  being  a  Christian 
and  does  not  deny  or  disprove  it,  the  law 
must  take  its  course.  Here  we  have  no  new 
edict,  but  simply  an  explanation  of  how 
the  law  is  to  be  administered, — if  anything, 
restricting  its  operation.  The  Emperor, 
with  all  his  humanity  and  kindliness, 
accepts  it  as  a  fact  that  Christians  are 
outside  the  law,  and  must  take  the 
consequences. 

Obviously,  this  was  the  state  of  things 
that  had  arisen  since  the  first  persecution 
under  Nero.  The  historical  fact  thus  proved 
by  documentary  evidence  has  some  inter- 
esting indirect  results.  Twenty-five  years 
ago,  under  the  influence  of  German 
theories  which  have  since  been  abandoned 
even  in  Germany  itself,  it  was  the  fashion 
for  those  who  called  themselves  the 
"Higher  Critics"  to  describe  the  Acts 
of  the  Apostles  as  a  pious  compilation 
of  some  writer  of  the  latter  part  of  the 
second  century  or  even  later,  and  not 
the  work  of  a  contemporary  witness. 
It  is  quite  certain  that  a  writer  of  this 
late  date  would  have  introduced  into 
his  partly  fictitious  narrative  the  con- 
ditions of  his  own  time, — -living  in.  days 
when,  for  more  than  a  hundred  years, 
Christians  had  been  accused  before  the 
tribunals,  and  put  to  death  on  the  mere 
accusation  that  they  were  Christians.  He 
would  represent  this  as  the  official  attitude 
of  the  authorities  in  the  times  he  described. 
But,  as  vSir  William  Ramsay  has  pointed 
out,  the  mere  fact  that  in  the  Acts  we 
have  no  instance  of  the  mere  charge  of 
being  a  Christian  being  the  subject  of  accu- 
sation, is  (in  addition  to  other  evidence)  a 
proof  that  the  book  belongs  to  the  period 
before  the  Neronian  persecution,  and  must 
have  been  written  soon  after  the  events 
with  which  the  narrative  closes. 

We  have,  then,  before  the  end  of  the 
first  century,  a  state  of  things  in  which 
the  Christians  were  outlawed,  and  as 
such  liable  to  denunciation  and  the 
death  penalty.  Throughout  the  second  and 


third  centuries  we  have  from  time  to 
time  rescripts  of  the  emperors  directing 
the  authorities  to  see  that  the  law  was 
enforced.  These  produced  the  repeated 
outbursts  of  active  persecution,  but 
created  no  new  state  of  the  law.  Pliny, 
in  Pontus,  had  not  regarded  at  first  the 
act  of  apostasy  as  a  reason  for  acquitting 
the  prisoner.  The  Christians  were  supposed 
to  be  guilty  of  various  crimes,  and  the  guilt 
of  each  individual  must  be  investigated. 
He  was  logical  in  his  policy,  and  it  led 
to  the  discovery  that  the  alleged  crimes 
were  non-existent.  But  after  his  time, 
when  the  charge  was  merely  the  pro- 
fession of  Christianity,  it  came  to  be  the 
accepted  practice  to  put  the  accused  to 
the  test,  and  allow  him  a  ready  means 
of  escape  by  calling  upon  him  to  offer 
incense  to  the  gods.  In  this  later  period 
the  outlawry  of  the  Christians  had  a 
further  reason  from  the  fact  that  pagan- 
ism was  crystallizing  into  a  kind  of 
state  religion,  a  central  idea  of  which 
was  that  the  emperors  were  themselves 
divine,  holding  the  places  of  the  gods 
on  earth.  With  such  a  doctrine  ac- 
cepted in  high  places,  it  was  easy  to  make 
out  that  Christianity  necessarily  implied 
disloyalty.  And  there  came  the  new  re- 
finement of  cruelty  of  trying  to  break 
down  the  martyr's  constancy,  or,  by  the 
use  of  torture  in  various  forms,  force 
him  to  denounce  other  Christians.  One 
finds  the  same  plea  of  the  persecutor 
used  again  and  again  in  history.  Under 
the  Tudor  and  Stuart  persecutions  in 
England,  Catholics  were  condemned  to 
death  on  the  accusation  of  high  treason. 
The  Roman  persecutors  were  somewhat 
franker  in  their  policy.  Their  victims 
were  condemned  as  Christians,  but  behind 
the  accusation  of  Christianity  there  lay 
the  traditional  view  of  the  law  that 
they  were  the  enemies  of  the  State  arid 
of  the  human  race. 

The  word  "martyr"  means  "witness," 
and  the  history  of  the  steady  growth  of 
the  Church  during  those  early  centuries  of 
persecution  proves  the  truth  of  the  saying 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


647 


that  "the  blood  of  the  martyr .  is  the 
seed  of  the  Chureh."  From  the  super- 
natural point  of  view,  one  sees  that  "each 
of  these  champions  of  the  Faith  must 
have  become  a  new  intercessor  for  the 
Church  before  God.  But  one  can  also 
realize  that  the  sight  of  men  and  women 
dying  bravely  for  the  Faith  they  professed 
must  have  exercised  a  deep  influence 
on  those  who  heard  their  profession  of 
faith  and  witnessed  their  constancy. 

The  persecutions  had  another  effect,  which 
is  often  left  out  of  sight.  We  dwell  more 
upon  the  triumphs  of  the  martyrs  than 
on  the  failure  of  those  who  yielded  to  the 
threats  of  the  persecutors,  but  there  were 
times  when  this  class  was  very  numerous. 
The  record  of  one  of  the  persecutions 
tells  how,  in  a  great  city,  on  the  day 
when  the  edict  was  published,  so  many 
flocked  to  save  their  lives  by  offering 
incense  to  the  gods  that  before  evening 
the  supply  of  incense  had  failed.  Perse- 
cution thus  weeded  out  the  self-seeking, 
the  half-hearted,  and  the  insincere.  It 
tended  to  make  the  Christians  a  body  of 
thoroughly  earnest  men  and  women,  ready 
to  sacrifice  anything  and  everything  for 
the  Faith  they  held;  not  Christians  in 
mere  name  but  in  heart  and  soul. 

When  the  edict  of  Constantine  put  an 
end  to  the  persecutions  of  the  Church, 
and  the  profession  of  Christianity  no 
longer  entailed  personal  peril  of  life  and 
liberty,  but  rather  became,  to  use  a  popular 
phrase,  something  fashionable,  it  was 
noted  with  regret  that  amongst  the 
crowds  of  new  converts  who  flocked 
to  the  churches,  and  even  among  the 
old  professors  of  Christianity,  there  came 
a  laxity  of  practice,  and  great  numbers 
of  Christians  were  little  more  than  Chris- 
tian in  name. 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


THE;  Fathers  saw  in  the  Blessed  Virgin 
a  type  of  the  Church.  This  idea  occurs  as 
early  as  the  Epistle  of  the  Churches  of 
Lyons  and  Vienne  (A.  D.  177),  where  the 
Church  is  called  the  "Virgin  Mother" 
rejoicing  over  her  martyrs. 


XXX. 

rTT  FTER  a  short  visit  to  the  Bishop 

AA|    of  Puebla,  Maximilian  returned  to 

/  /  I    the   capital,   and   immediately   is- 

•*        *    sued  orders  for  the  concentration 

of    the    troops.      Marquez    was    made    a 

General  of  Division.   Miramon  had  already 

taken  the  field,  and  the  final  struggle  was 

,now  at  hand. 

Bazaine,  who  was  furious  because  of  the 
refusal  of  the  Emperor  to  abdicate,  played 
his  last  card  by  issuing  a  decree  that  the 
Frenchmen  who  had  enlisted  in  Maxi- 
milian's service  would  on  return  to  their 
regiments  receive  the  same  rank  and  pay 
as  before,  and  be  permitted  to  join  the 
French  forces  on  their  departure.  Thou- 
sands who  had  sworn  allegiance  to  Maxi- 
milian, and  had  received  the  bounty  for 
enlistment,  left  his  service,  and,  under  the 
protection  of  the  French  flag,  and  under 
the  -orders  of  a  Marshal  of  France,  openly 
deserted.  Thus,  about  one-third  of  the 
imperial  army — Frenchmen  who  had  en- 
listed for  two  years  under  very  large 
bounties — returned  to  the  ' '  Army  of  Occu- 
pation." The  Emperor,  with  that  nobility 
of  nature  which  stamped  him  as  a  right 
royal  gentleman,  at  once  issued  a  decree 
granting  the  same  privileges  to  his  own 
countrymen. 

Miramon  and  Mejia  were  finally  driven 
to  defence  in  Queretaro,  and  it  became 
necessary  to  determine  at  what  point  the 
final  stand  for  the  Empire  should  be  made. 
Military  authorities  are  agreed — I  quote 
Taylor — that  if  the  defence  had  been 
made  in  the  city  of  Mexico,  a  possible 
success  might  have  resulted.  Diaz  could 
not  have  brought  his  heavy  siege  train 
from  Puebla;  and,  at  worst,  a  line  for 
safe  retreat  to  Vera  Cruz  would  have  been 
left  open;  and  in  the  last  extremity  the 
Emperor  could  have  escaped  his  fate,  or 
dictated  honorable  terms  of  surrender.  In 


(US 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


settling  this  decisive  question  Maximilian 
was  guided  by  the  counsels  of  Lanos, 
president  of  the  Council  of  Ministers,  to 
whom  the  Emperor  had  also  referred 
the  vital  questions  of  ending  the  war  and 
establishing  some  form  of  government 
through  the  intervention  of  Congress,  in- 
volving his  own  abdication  and  terms  of 
amnesty  with  Juarez;  and  the  suggestions 
of  Marquez,  who  had  already  in  mind  a 
scheme  for  his  own  glorification  and  profit. 

Marquez  persuaded  Maximilian  that  if 
he  showed  the  Mexicans  that  he  had 
implicit  confidence  in  them,  by  taking 
command  in  person,  and  that  he  did  not  * 
rely  solely  upon  his  foreign  troops,  he 
would  forever  attach  them  to  him  and 
to  his  cause.  This  fired  the  chivalrous 
nature  of  Maximilian;  and,  to  the  amaze- 
ment of  his  friends,  he  permitted  Marquez, 
with  five  thousand  Mexican  troops,  to  leave 
the  capital;  reserving  a  garrison  of  only 
two  thousand  two  hundred  foreigners  and 
five  thousand  Mexicans. 

On  February  13,  1867,  Maximilian  set 
forth  on  his  march  to — death.  He  rode 
a  superb  white  charger,  and  was  attired 
in  the  uniform  of  a  Mexican  general. 
General  Marquez  and  Senor  Aguirra, 
Minister  of  War,  accompanied  him;  also 
his  doctor,  secretary,  and  Hungarian  body 
servant;  and  his  forces  amounted  to  about 
eighteen  hundred  men.  On  the  iSth, 
after  some  skirmishing  with  guerillas,  he 
reached  Arroya  Seco;  and  after  a  sharp 
engagement  at  Calpulalpan,  in  which  the 
Emperor  displayed  great  personal  bravery 
under  a  murderous  fire,  he  entered  Quere- 
taro,  where  he  was  received  with  every 
manifestation  of  loving  loyalty,  and  by 
Generals  Miramon  and  Mejia  at  the  head 
of  three  thousand  men. 

This  city  is  distant  from  the  capital 
about  one  hundred  and  seventy  miles.  It 
was  founded  in  1445,  and  formed  a  portion 
of  Montezuma's  empire.  On  July  25,  1531, 
it  was  taken  by  Don  Fernando  da  Tapia, 
who  christened  it  Santiago  de  Queretaro. 
During  the  war  with  the  United  States 
Mexico  held  its  congressional  sessions 


there,  and  there  executed  the  treaty  of 
Hidalgo  made  between  these  two  govern- 
ments in  the  year  1848. 

Maximilian  took  up  his  quarters  in  the 
Queretaro  Club,  and  on  the  25th  received 
a  reinforcement  of  four  thousand  men 
under  General  Mendez. 

The  Emperor  ordered  fortifications  to 
be  constructed  on  El  Cerro  de  las  Cam- 
panas  (the  Hill  of  the  Bells),  about  one 
mile  northwest  of  the  city.  He  attended 
to  this  work  in  person,  remaining  at  his 
post  day  and  night  from  the  6th  to  the 
1 3th  of  March.  The  first  three  nights 
this  "haughty  Hapsburg"  lay  upon  the 
ground;  on  the  fourth  day  General 
Mejia  had  a  Turkish  tent  erected  for  his 
Majesty.  The  Emperor  being  now  in 
readiness  for  the  expected  attack,  I  shall 
leave  him,  and  retrace  my  steps  to  the 
city  of  Mexico,  where  our  hero  and  his 
retainer,  greatly  to  their  disgust,  were  left 
in  garrison. 

XXXI. — THE  OLD  STORY. 

"Masther  Arthur  awe,"  observed  Rody, 
after  the  order  had  been  received  com- 
manding them  to  remain  within  the  walls 
of  the  capital,  "it's  a  quare  thing  that 
they'd  lave  two  fine  warriors  like  us,  sir- 
aye,  and  Irish  warriors, — and  not  take  us 
on  where  the  fightin'  is  goin'  for  to  be." 

"Oh,  don't  fret,  Rody!  The  chances  are 
we'll  have  to  fight  our  way  out  of  this 
place,  and  every  inch  of  the  road  to  Quere- 
taro," said  Bodkin. 

Rody  brightened  up. 

"Bedad,  there's  some  comfort  in  that, 
Masther  Arthur." 

"Why,  I  thought  you  would  like  to  be 
here  to  protect  that  fair  cousin  of  yours," 
laughed  Arthur. 

"  Och,  bedad,  and  sure  I  would,  of  coorse, 
sir;  but  sorra  a  fear  of  her.  The  ould 
chap'll  take  care  of  her  and — himself," 

"If  Juarez  gets  in  or  Diaz,  they'll  take 
care  of  his  pesos,"  replied  Arthur. 

"They  wouldn't  lave  him  a  mag,  sir; 
and  for  that  rayson  he's  packin'  up.  He's 
goin'  for  to  lave  the  town." 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


649 


"So  he  does  not  feel  safe  here?" 

"He's  thinkin'  of  goin'  back  to  the 
ould  counthry,  and  lavin'  thim  Mexicos 
for  to  fight  it  out." 

"And  your  Mary?" 

"Well,  bedad,  she  can  wait,  sir,"  said 
Rody,  with  a  roguish  smile. 

"Here?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir!  Out  beyant  at  Ballanis- 
cotney." 

"Wait  for  you?" 

"Till  the  war  is  over, — till  I'm  -kilt  or 
come  back  and  claim  her." 

"Then  you  have  settled  it  between 
you?" 

"Arrah,  Masther  Arthur  dear,  do  ye 
think  I'd  settle  anything  widout  a  talk 
wid  yerself,  sir?"  responded  Rody,  with 
a  grin.  "Sure  I'd  be  a  proud  boy  if  ye 
could  say  a  word  for  me  to  herself." 

"I'll  do  it,  Rody,  and  to-day — -now, 
for  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  Come  along." 
And  in  a  few  minutes  Arthur  found 
himself  in  the  dark  little  apartment  which 
Rody  had  so  graphically  described. 

"Misther  O'Flynn,  this  is  Misther  Bod- 
kin of  Ballyboden,"  observed  Rody  to  the 
dark  object  behind  the  bars,  which  now 
moved  forward  in  the  person  of  the  bill 
discounter. 

"I'm  proud  to  see  vrou,  sir.  Won't  you 
walk  upstairs?  Rody,  you  know  the  way. 
Take  Mr.  Bodkin  up,  while  I  make  a  little 
calculation  here." 

Mr.  O'Flynn  was  engaged  in  jotting 
down  certain  figures  on  a  ragged  piece  of 
paper,  evidently  for  the  information  of  a 
man  standing  beside  him,  wearing  a  richly- 
laced  sombrero  which  completely  hid  his 
features  from  Arthur  and  Rody. 

Passing  upstairs,  Rody  ushered  Bodkin 
into  a  well-lighted  apartment,  the  walls 
adorned  with  ornaments  of  feather-work, 
especially  birds, — an  art  in  which  the 
Mexicans  stand  unrivalled.  The  furniture 
was  composed  of  odds  and  ends,  some  of 
it  extremely  rich,  some  of  it  extremely 
old,  and  much  of  it  of  carved  oak  dating 
from  the  days  of  Cortez  and  black  as 
ebony  from  age.  A  priceless  Louis  XIV. 


clock  ticked  on  a  bracket,  and  a  trophy  of 
Spanish  armor  that  might  have  encased 
Don  Pedro  del  Alvarado  stood  against 
the  wall. 

"I  must  beg  a  thousand  pardons,  Mr. 
Bodkin!"  observed  O'Flynn,  who  now  en- 
tered, bowing  low.  "But  my  house,  my 
servants,  my — 

"Arrah  be  aisy!"  interrupted  .Rody,  "we 
know  all  that  soart  of  codclin'  be  heart. 
Yer  house  and  everything  ye  have  is 
ours,  whin  ye  wouldn't  lind  us  a  loan  of 
a  peso!  Be  Irish,  man,  and  dhrop  the 
Mexico  palaver!" 

"Mr.  O'Flynn,"  said  Arthur,  "I  have 
come  here — 

"For  a  little  pecuniary  aid,  sir?  Well,  I 
assure  you,  Mr.  Bodkin,  that,  owing  to 
the  disturbed  condition — 

"Arrah,  what's  the  matther  wid  ye 
at  all,  at  all?"  burst  in  Rody.  "Sure  the 
Masther  here  could  lind  money — aye, 
thousands — instead  of  borryin'  it.  And,  be 
me  faix,  I'd  rayther  have  wan  pound  in 
the  Bank  of  Ireland  this  minute  than  tin 
thousand  in  the  Bank  of  Mexico." 

"Are — are  things  so  bad  as  all  that, 
sir?"  inquired  O'Flynn  of  Arthur,  in 
anxious  tones. 

"Bad!"  cried  Rody.  "Be  me  song,  the 
sooner  ye  get  back  to  Ballymacrow  the 
betther.  If  Diaz  gets  in  or  Lerdo,  or  that 
villyan  Juarez,  '  sorra  a  lialfpinny  they'll 
lave  ye.  Bedad,  they'll  take  all  ye  have 
while  ye'd  be  axin'  for  the  loan  of  a  sack. 
Ain't  I  right,  Masther  Arthur?" 

"Well,  Rody,"  laughed  Arthur,  "I  do 
not  imagine  that  they  will  use  much 
ceremony." 

"Mr.  Bodkin,"  said  O'Flynn,  "I  know 
you  to  be  a  noble,  honorable  gentleman, 
and  one  in  whom  I  can  place  the 
uttermost  reliance.  I  know,  sir,  that  you 
are  on  the  inside,  anti  that  you  hear 
what  the  like  of  me  can  not  hope  to 
hear.  In  fact,  I  hear  nothing  but  lies. 
I'm  told  one  thing  by  one,  and  another 
thing  by  another,  until  I  don't  know 
what  to  believe.  Now,  sir,  I  am  free 
to  confess  that  I  have  a  little  money; 


650 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


but,  Mr.  Bodkin,  I'm  dreadfully  uneasy 
about  it.  It's  not  safe  here — -nothing  is 
safe, — and  I  would  feel  forever  honestly 
obliged  to  you,  and  would  make  it  worth 
Rody's  while,  if  you  could  give  me 
some  information  on  the  condition  of 
things.  The  Emperor  is  leaving  the  city, 
I  hear,  to-morrow.  Is  this  true,  sir?" 

"Yes,  his  Majesty  leaves  to-morrow," 
answered  Arthur. 

"For  the  coast?" 

"No,  sir:    for  Queretaro." 

"To  fight?" 

"Most  assuredly." 

"Does  he  know,  sir, — do  you  know 
that  the  Liberals  are  closing  in  on  every 
side?  Does  he  know,  sir,. — do  you  know 
that  this  city  is  full  of  spies  and  traitors? 
That  man  I  had  in  my  office  as  you  came 
in,  and  who  knows  you,  sir, — his  name 
is  Mazazo." 

"What!" 

"Do  you  know  him,  senor?"  asked 
O'Flynn,  in  a  suspicious  tone. 

"See  here!"  said  Rody, — "is  he  below 
now?" 

"No:    he  left — and  very  hurriedly." 

"I  thought  as  much." 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Arthur. 

"Well,  senor — sir,  I  mean, — I — do — not 
know— 

"Ye  lie,  ye  do!"  interrupted  Rody. 

"Rody!"  exclaimed  Arthur,  severely. 
.  "Och,  Masther  Arthur,  let  me  dale 
wid  me  own  flesh  and  blood!  Won't  ye, 
sir?  To  be  sure  ye  will. — Now,  luk  here, 
me  ould  scrobaun.  Just  up  and  tell  us 
all  that  ye  know  about  this  chap,  and  I'll 
go  bail  ye'll  get  a  crock  of  goold  for  yer 
thrubble." 

"From  whom  —  from  where?"  the 
usurer  eagerly  demanded,  turning  from 
Rody  to  Arthur. 

"From  the  impayrial  threasury  no  less. 
Won't  he,  Masther  Arthur?" 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  his  being  most 
munificently  rewarded." 

"Arrah,  man  alive,  sure  it's  this  Mazazo 
that  nearly  cotcht  the  Masther  and  me 
out  beyant  there  near  the  say — the 


murdherin'  villyan!  .And  it's  him  that 
thried  to  decoy  the  Impress;  and  it's  him 
that  came  to  the  foot  of  Misther  Bodkin's 
bed  whin  he  was  lyin'  wid  a  cut  in  his 
shoulder  as  big  as  a  lock  in  the  Grand 
Canal,  and  gibed  him,  and — •" 

"Never  mind,  Rody,"  interposed  Arthur. 
"Mr.  O'Flynn,  you  will  earn  our  deepest 
gratitude,  and  that  of  his  Majesty  the 
Emperor,  I  assure  you,  if  you  will  assist 
us  in  capturing  this  desperate  scoundrel, — 
for  a  more  unmitigated  one  does  not  exist 
in  all  Mexico." 

"It  would  be  running  a  desperate  risk, 
senor.  He  is  the  most  dangerous  man 
in  this  country  to-day;  and,  I  may  tell 
you  in  confidence,  I  know  he  came  to  me 
by  way  of  getting  a  loan,  but  in  reality 
to  lay  plans  for  plundering  me.  Yes,  I 
will  assist  you.  It  is  safer  for  me  to  side 
with  my  own;  and  blood  is  thicker  than 
water,  any  way.  Now  I  will  tell  you  all 
I  know  about  him." 

For  more  than  an  hour  did  the  usurer 
unbosom  himself — aye,  and  to  the  fullest 
measure.  His  hatred  for  Mazazo  recog- 
nized no  limit;  and  now  fear  had  joined 
issue  with  hate,  and  the  old  man's  keenest 
desire  was  to-  get  away  from  the  capital 
and  from  the  country  with  his  money. 
Never  for  once  did  he  refer  to  his  daughter. 
It  was  his  hard-earned  treasure  that 
troubled  him;  and  for  the  safety  of  that 
treasure  he  would  have  sacrificed  any- 
thing but — money. 

"We  have  to  deal  with  a  serpent  and 
thief,  a  murderer  and  a  desperate  man; 
and  this  requires  very  nice  handling.  He 
has  appointed  to  come  here  to-night  as 
the  cathedral  clock  sounds  twelve;  he 
will  not  come  alone, — he  will  come  with 
half  a  dozen  at  -  his  heels  resolved  on 
robbery  and  murder.  I  could  read  it 
in  every  word  and  in  every  gesture, 
while  I  was  putting  down  the  interest  of 
five  thousand  pesos  which  I  was  to  borrow 
for  him." 

"And  have  you  prepared  to  meet  him?" 
asked  Arthur. 

' '  Yes,  we  have  prepared  as  far  as  possi- 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


651 


blc:  by  locking  up  the  house  and  making 
for  the  coast." 

"To-night?" 

"To-day.  Your  coming  alters  this;  for 
I  look  for  a  guard  of  soldiers, — and  a 
strong  one,  mind  you,  Mr.  Bodkin, — a 
very  strong  one;  for  Mazazo  with  a  few 
desperadoes  is  equal  to  fifty — aye,  a 
hundred  ordinary  soldiers." 

At  this  moment  Mary  O'Flynn  entered 
the  room;  she  blushed  a  rosy  red,  and, 
hesitating,  finally  stopped,  dropping  a 
quaint,  Old- World  curtsy. 

"Miss  O'Flynn,"  said  Arthur,  advanc- 
ing, "permit  me  to  introduce  myself.  I — •" 

"The  Bodkin  of  Ballyboden,"  answered 
the  girl. 

(To  be  continued.) 


The  Story  of  a  Conversion. 


BY    TIIR    COUNTUSS    I>13    COURSON. 


The  Trysting-Place. 


BY    ENID    DINNIS. 

llOU  came  to  me,  no  visioned  form 

To  soothe  the  eye  grown  sore  for  thee, 
When,  as  in  answer  to  my  prayer, 
You  spanned  the  space  'twixt  here  and  there 
And  kept  your  tryst  with  me. 

Here,  in  the  meadow  'twixt  the  stiles 

Which  men  "God's  presence"  strangely  call; 

Where,   'witched  by  bygone  sanctities, 

As  ancient  as  the  bordering  trees, 

'Neath  Heaven's  own  spell  we  fall, — 

You  came:    nay,  you  had  never  gone 

Save  but  that  earth-bound  ways  I  trod! 
For  absence,  'tis  a  flesh-wrought  thing, — 
In  heaven  they  know  no  severing, 
And  heaven's  the  thought  of  God. 

You  stood  not  there  nor  there,  your  form 

Made  plain  by  memory's  inward  eye; 
Here  in  the  place  where  children  play, 
Which  men  "God's  presence"  still  this  day 
Would  call — I  wonder  why? 

But  at  the  evening  hour  of  prayer, 

When  pain  with  peace  keeps  tender  troth, 

As  softly  down  the  darkness  stole, 

I  felt  your  soul  within  my  soul 
And  God  about  us  both. 


(CONCLUSION.) 

IT  has  been  said  of  Ernest  Psichari, 
the  young  convert  whose  death  at  the 
beginning  of  the  war  deprived  the  Church 
of  a  promising  apostle,  that,  once  a 
Catholic,  he  instinctively  grasped  not  only 
the  great  truths  but  the  minor  practices 
of  his  new-found  faith.  Pierre  Lamouroux 
was  the  same;  and  his  joyfulness,  his 
complete  peace  of  mind  proved  how 
earnest  had  been  his  search  and  how 
efficacious  his  prayer.  Small  difficulties 
that  stand  in  the  wav  of  many  devout 
but  narrow-minded  Catholics  were  dis- 
missed by  him  with  a  good  sense  that 
looked  above  the  obstacle.  He  admitted 
that  his  conversion  had  been  made  more 
difficult  by  his  acquaintance  with  a 
"mediocre"  priest.  "I  was  wrong,"  he 
remarked.  "Priests  are  chosen  among 
men,  not  among  angels;  and,  after  all, 
they  are  only  'go  betweens.'"  Like  all 
great  minds,  he  was  more  prone  to  count 
the  riches  than  the  deficiencies  of  the 
family  to  which  he  now  belonged;  and  he 
owned  that  each  day  his  studies,  his 
meditations,  and  his  prayers  unveiled  to 
him  new  treasures  in  the  spiritual  world 
that  he  explored  with  admiration  and 
gratitude. 

Colored  by  the  religious  faith  that 
satisfied  all  his  aspirations,  Pierre  Lamou- 
roux's  future  was  now  full  of  promise. 
He  proposed  to  found  among  his  col- 
leagues an  association  of  Catholic  profes- 
sors who  would  keep  and  spread  the  faith; 
who,  by  their  union,  would  assist  one 
another  to  become  "better  Catholics." 
He  was  full  of  happiness  in  the  plans  and 
hopes  that  were  the  outcome  of  his  new 
convictions.  The  disappointments  of  the 
past  were  forgotten  in  the  content  of  the 
present, — or,  rather,  they  were  gratefully 
counted  as  stepping-stones  to  a  happy 
end.  Thus  Pierre  appeared  to  his  Jesuit 


652 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


friend  in  June,  1914,  only  a  few  weeks 
before  the  war.  Ivven  his  home  seemed 
influenced  by  his  spiritual  joy.  It  was 
bathed  in  an  atmosphere  of  peace;  and 
the  priest  noticed  that  Pierre's  little 
daughter  Aimee  was  taught  by  her  father 
to  say  grace  before  and  after  meals. 

When  trie  Paris  schools  broke  up  for  the 
holidays,  Lainouroux  went  as  usual  to 
Ctimy,  the  village  in  Languedoc  where 
lie  was  born.  Here,  in  the  church  where 
his  ancestors,  believing  peasants,  had  once 
prayed,  he  took  up  traditions  that  had 
been  forgotten,  and  linked  the  present 
with  the  past.  In  that  quiet  country 
village  came  the  summons  that  was  so 
tragically  to  transform  the  young  pro- 
fessor's life;  and  in  the  little  church  of 
Camy  he  offered  liis  last  prayer  before 
starting  work  as  a  soldier. 

He  belonged  to  the  43d  regiment  of 
Colonial  Infantry,  which  he  immediately 
•rejoined.  The  impression  he  made  on  his 
family  when  he  left  home  was  one  of  happy 
tranquillity.  He  had  no  natural  inclination 
for  the  life  of  a  soldier,  but  its  higher 
aspects  appealed  to  him;  and  at  a  moment 
of  supreme  trial  he  kept  these  aspects 
before  him,  and  went  with  contented 
submission  to  meet  whatever  God  might 
appoint.  In  his  letters  to  his  priest  friend, 
he  touches  on  the  nobler  features  of  the 
war  more  willingly  than  on  its  material 
sufferings;  and,  although  unprepared  by 
his  career  for  the  new  duties  that  now  fell 
to  his  share,  he  fulfilled  them  with  cheerful 
good  will,  and  was  keenly  alive  to  the 
heroic  virtues  that  sprang  into  bloom 
under  the  pressure  of  pain  and  sacrifice. 
His  men  soon  grew  to  trust  and  love  their 
generous,  kind-hearted  chief,  whose  spirit 
breathed  encouragement. 

Pierre  I^amouroux's  military  career 
lasted  just  fourteen  months — -from  August 
2,  1914,  to  October  3,  1915, — during  which 
his  long  and  numerous  letters  faithfully 
related  his  adventures  and  described  his 
impressions.  In  spite  of  the  dreary 
monotony  of  life  in  the  trenches,  he 
kept  a  wide  lookout  on  things  in  general, 


and  was  keenly  interested  in  the  moral 
and  material  well-being  of  his  friends. 
Hearing  that  one  of  them  was  going 
through  the  same  spiritual  experiences 
that  led  to  his  own  conversion,  he  writes 
to  his  wife  his  delight  that  X —  "is  on 
the  way  to  the  truth.  ...  I  will,  *as  far 
as  I  am  able,  assist  him  to  discover  the. 
right  path." 

With  cordial  delight  he  welcomed  the 
arrival  of  a  new  sergeant,  an  agriculturist, 
who  farmed  his  own  bit  of  ground,  and 
who,  while  his  horses  rested,  used  to  sit 
down  in  the  fields  to  read  "L,es  Pense"es  de 
Pascal."  This  was  a  man  after  Pierre 
Lamouroux's  own  heart.  He  thus  describes 
him  to  his  wife:  "  H—  -  is  pleasant,  civil, 
brave,  and,  although  a  peasant,  well- 
informed,  having  read  and  reflected  a 
great  deal.  He  is  also — this  is  better  still — 
and  ardent  and  practical  Catholic.  .  .  .  He 
is  so  frank  and  loyal,  so  full  of  good  will 
and  good  humor,  that  even  those  who  do 
not  think  as  he  does  must  esteem  him.  .  .  . 
One  thing  only  makes  him  suffer:  his 
great  pity  for  the  sufferings  of  others. 
He  endeavors  to  relieve  them  with  the 
most  delicate  Christian  charity." 

The  spiritual  side  of  Pierre  I/amouroux's 
character  expanded  in  his  new  surround- 
ings. He  was  an  intellectual  by  his 
tastes,  a  soldier  from  duty;  but  the  self- 
conquest  that  he  practised  to  fulfil  this 
duty  brought  out  all  that  was  best  in  his 
noble  nature.  Whenever  it  was 'possible, 
he  was  present  at  Mass  and  received  Holy 
Communion,  and  he  found  in  prayer 
"an  inexhaustible  source  of  confidence." 
His  letters  to  his  wife  touch  only  on  the  . 
brighter  aspects  of  the  war;  they  sound 
a  constant  note  of  encouragement :  ' '  Con- 
tinue to  be  patient,  resigned  to  the  will 
of  God.  Resignation,  however,  is  not 
sufficient:  one  must  accept  His  will  with 
love  and  gratitude.  This  is  the  best 
encouragement  that  you  can  give  me. 
As  long  as  we  do  this,  whatever  happens, 
we  possess  the  better  part,  and  God  will 
help  us.  ...  The  end  of  the  trial  will 
come,  and  it  will  bring  joy.  .  .  .  Small 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


653 


miseries,  sadness,  weary  hours, — all  these 
are  little  sacrifices  that  we  are  proud  to 
suffer  for  the  love  of  France  and  the  love 
of  God.  ...  I  know  that  your  prayers 
accompany  me  always,  and  nothing 
encourages  me  more." 

These  extracts  reveal  to  what  a  height 
of  supernatural  detachment  this  convert 
schoolmaster  had  risen,  after  practising 
for  only  one  year  his  new-found  faith. 
Absolute  conformity  to  the  will  of  God 
supported  him  so  powerfully  that  it 
dominated  the  sufferings,  material  and 
moral,  of  his  soldier's  life.  He  assures  his 
wife  that  he  can  endure  the  trials  of  his 
lot  "without  the  slightest  feeling  of 
interior  revolt  or  bitterness.  Are  the 
sense  of  duty  and  the  joy  of  sacrifice  the 
fruits  of  prayer?  There  is  something  of 
this  in  the  strength  that  supports  me,  and 
there  is  also  the  grace  that  God  bestows  so 
largely  on  us  both.  We  shall  never  thank 
Him  enough."  The  death  of  many  of  his 
friends,  however,  caused  him  keen  sorrow. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Pierre 
Ivamouroux's  home  letters  are  colored 
solely  by  the  religious  thoughts  that 
evidently  filled  his  mind:  many  of  them 
are  delightfully  humorous  and  picturesque. 
He  gives  his  wife  charming  accounts  of 
his  trench,  and  describes  in  glowing  colors 
its  appointments  and  its  aspect.  He  had 
the  gifts  of  a  letter  writer — humor,  pictu- 
resqueness,  brightness, — and  it  is  easy  to 
read  between  the  lines  this  strong  man's 
desire  to  sustain  the  woman's  courage. 

To  his  priest  friend,  he  speaks  more 
openly  of  the  weariness  and  danger  of 
life  in  the  trenches,  where  the  thought 
that  he  is  "close  to  God"  is  always  present. 
He  finds  help  in  prrayer.  "During  the 
solitude  of  the  long  winter  nights,"  he 
writes,  "how  often,  deep  in  my  dugout, 
wrapped  up  in  my  cloak  and  rug,  I  have 
felt  far  removed  from  the  stern  reality! 
.  .  .  Alone  in  the  presence  of  God,  I 
draw  from  prayer  strength,  courage,  and 
confidence.  The  memories  upon  which 
I  dwell  most  willingly  are  those  of  that 
memorable  Easter  Retreat  that  crowned 


my  conversion."  He  escaped  from  the 
weary  present  by  recalling  past  graces, 
and  also  by  looking  forward  to  the  spiritual 
conquests  of  the  future.  From  the  tre- 
mendous trial  of  the  Great  War  he  seems 
to  see  "the  advent  of  a  Catholic  revival 
that  will  be  infinitely  more  important  in 
its  consequences  and  its  quality  than 
that  of  the  sixteenth  century." 

At  the  end  of  July,  1915,  Pierre  Ivamou- 
roux  had  a  few  days'  leave,  which  he  passed 
with  his  wife  at  Camy,  the  southern  village 
where  he  was  born.  He  attended  Mass 
in  the  old  parish  church,  devoutly  follow- 
ing the  prayers.  To  his  parents  and  his 
wife  he  showed  a  cheerful  countenance; 
and  his  parting  words  were  full  of  hope 
and  confidence,  though  he  had  the  secret 
conviction  that  he  would  never  come  back. 
He  returned  to  his  trenches  early  in  August, 
and  was  received  "like  a  father"  by  his 
men.  "Let  us  go  on  hoping  and  praying 
with  all  our  hearts,"  he  writes  to  his  wife. 

In  September  came  the  offensive  that 
raised  so  many  hopes  and  that,  alas! 
cut  short  so  many  precious  lives.  On 
September  19  Lamouroux  wrote  that  he 
was  busy  finishing  his  preparations,  and 
had  just  heard  Mass.  Then,  on  September 
30,  came  another  letter — the  last, — written 
during  the  tremendous  effort  made  by  his 
regiment  to  dislodge  the  enemy  from  its 
positions  near  Arras.  The  letter  is  short, 
tender,  and  bright.  Four  days  afterwards, 
on  October  3,  the  writer  was  shot  through 
the  head,  while  leading  his  men  forward.. 
"He  died  like  a  hero,"  wrote  Sergeant 

C ,  close  to  the  wood  of  Givenchy,  not 

far  from  Vimy.  It  was  a  desperate  fight. 
Out  of  two  hundred  and  ten  men  only 
thirty-three  survived;  and  not  one  officer 
came  back. 

Among  the  letters  received  by  the  young 

widow  is  one  from  Sergeant  H ,  whose 

society  had  been  a  joy  to  Pierre  i,amou- 
roux  during  many  months.  Their  religious 
opinions  created  a  strong  bond  between 
them,  and  H—  —  mourns  the  dead  hero  as 
"the  best  chief  and  the  most  affectionate 
friend  that  ever  was."  Another  friend  of 


654 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


Pierre,  a  schoolmaster  like  himself,  and  an 
unbeliever  such  as  he  had  been,  regrets 
the  loss  of  his  "best  friend  and  spiritual 
director."  In  memory  of  him,  this  sincere 
and  earnest  seeker  after  truth  wrote  to 
the  priest  whose  influence  had  guided 
Lamouroux  towards  the  fold  of  the  great 
Mother.  He,  too,  was  militarized,  and  only 
by  his  letters  could  he  reach  the  religious 
whose  assistance  he  implored.  After  stating 
that  he  had  been  an  anti-clerical,  a  Free 
Mason,  and  a  revolutionist,  he  explained 
that  Pierre  Lamouroux  had  gradually  won 
him  to  embrace  doctrines  that  he  now 
recognized  as  the  only  safe  and  true  ones; 
but  his  friend's  death  had  left  his  moral 
education  unfinished,  and  he  begged  his 
priest  correspondent  to  continue  the  task. 
"I  must  arrive  at  faith!"  exclaimed  this 
earnest  soul. 

The  help  thus  asked  .for  could  not 
be  withheld.  In  February,  1916,  Pierre 
Lamouroux's  convert  had  learned  to  pray. 
The  following  question  addressed  to  his 
clerical  friend  proves  that  this  neophyte 
had  even  grasped  the  secret  of  mental 
prayer:  "Is  not  prayer  an  intimate  com- 
muning of  the  soul  with  God,  —  a  secret 
outpouring,  without  any  reticence?"  In 
his  intervals  of  leisure  he  read  the  books 
recommended  by  his  spiritual  guide,  and 
by  prayer  and  meditation  prepared  to  be 
reconciled  to  the  Church.  On  the  eve  of 
an  attack,  a  few  months  back,  he  went 
to  confession  and  received  Holy  Com- 
munion; and  then,  in  his  new-found  peace, 
he  penned  lines  that  Pierre  Lamouroux 
would  not  have  disowned:  "You  may 
judge  of  my  joy!  I  am  quite  calm;  and, 
as  you  told  me,  I  have  found  peace.  I 
can  now  look  forward  with  entire  confidence 
to  the  evil  days  that  are  coming.  I  am 
persuaded  that  the  event  most  detrimental 
to  me,  from  a  material  standpoint,  will, 
if  it  occurs,  procure  me  eternal  peace.''' 

This  schoolmaster-soldier  has,  so  far, 
escaped  the  fate  that  his  new-found  faith 
enabled  him  to  face  with  such  absolute 
detachment.  He  lives,  and  may,  we  hope, 
in  the  future  continue  his  friend's  work. 


He  and  his  "spiritual  director,"  Pierre 
Lamouroux,  belong  to  a  class  of  French- 
men difficult  to  influence  for  many  reasons, 
and  among  whom  conversions  to  Catholi- 
cism are  comparatively  rare.  They  are  of 
humble  origin;  they  have  acquired  an 
instruction  above  their  condition;  but 
their  moral  training  is  generally  null. 
They  have  been  fed  on  the  empty  theories 
(all  the  more  dangerous  because  of  their 
deceptive  generosity)  that  made  Pierre 
Lamouroux  an  anarchist  until  his  personal 
experience  pointed  out  their  falsehood. 

The  young  men  trained  to  be  school- 
masters by  the  godless  French  University 
represent  a  tremendous  force.  To  their 
hands  are  committed  the  children  of  the 
people,  whose  souls  are  moulded  and 
shaped  by  them.  Hence  the  interest  that 
is  attached  to  conversions  like  the  one  we 
have  just  related.  The  anxieties  and 
questionings  of  Lamouroux  and  his  friends 
are  hopeful  symptoms,  that  point,  we  are 
told,  to  a  more  general  evolution  among 
the  men  of  their  class  and  profession. 

The  war  has  cut  short  many  promising 
lives  among  the  French  "intellectuals." 
Poets  like  Peguys,  writers  like  Psichari, 
professors  like  Lamouroux — educated  men 
who,  being  converts,  were  better  able 
to  influence  the  younger  generation  of 
their  countrymen, —  have  fallen  in  battle. 
The  Church,  that  counted  on  their 
brilliant  service,  is  no  doubt  the  poorer 
for  their  loss;  but  the  dogma  of  the 
Communion  of  Saints  reminds  us  of  the 
mysterious  but  certain  links  that  bind  the 
Church  Militant  to  the  Church  Tri- 
umphant, and  thereby  brings  light  and 
consolation  into  the  void  created  by  their 
disappearance.  These  ardent  spirits,  who 
are  now,  we  devoutly  hope,  safe  with  God, 
can  not  be  less  solicitous  than  they  were 
on  earth  for  the  building  up  of  a  new  and 
better  France;  and  we  may  safely  count 
that  their  assistance  will  not  fail  the 
builders  of  the  future. 


A  GOOD  teacher  is  always  the  best  of 
pupils. — Anon. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


655 


The  Royal  Monastery  of  Valparaiso.* 

IN  an  olden  chronicle  we  are  told  of  the 
gracious  Dona  Ines  de  Ponteve'dra, 
illustrious  for  her  name  and  for  her  virtue, 
who  lived  long  years  ago  in  the  beautiful 
land  of  Andalusia.  The  mother  of  the 
governor  of  the  "Donceles,"  Don  Martin 
Fernandez  de  Cordoba,  she  was  one  of 
those  rare  women  whose  lives  are  devoted 
to  prayer  and  deeds  of  charity.  Like  all 
who  think  wisely,  Dona  Ines  constantly 
aspired  to  the  joys  of  heaven.  Eager  to 
attain  this  greatly  desired  happiness,, 
she  donated  to  Fray  Vasco  de  Sousa  the 
splendid  lands  which  she  possessed  in  the 
most  fertile  part  of  the  mountains  of 
Cordoba.  "Valparaiso"  (Valley  of  Para- 
dise) was  the  melodious  name  bestowed 
upon  this  land,— a  title  won,  no  doubt, 
through  the  charm  of  its  landscape  and 
the  fertility  of  its  soil,  which  produced 
fruit  and  flowers  in  great  abundance. 

In  the  year  1405,  Fray  Vasco  de  Sousa 
and  his  devoted  companions,  the  monks 
of  St.  Jerome,  took  possession  of  this 
lovely  land.  In  a  short  space  of  time, 
aided  by  prayer  and  charitable  works, 
De  Sousa  succeeded  in  erecting  here  a 
monastery,  the  stones  of  which  are  even 
to-day  venerated  by  lovers  of  historic 
art.  Throughout  Cordoba  and  among  the 
neighboring  provinces,  a  genuine  interest 
was  awakened  in  this  establishment.  Dona- 
tions, gifts,  and  ex-votos  were  showered 
upon  it.  It  was  frequently  chosen  as 
a  place  of  retirement  and  meditation. 
Gradually  enlarged  and  enriched,  it  won 
recognition  as  one  of  the  foremost  among 
the  many  magnificent  edifices  which  do 
honor  to  the  architectural  history  of  Spain. 

No  doubt  the  industrious  monks,  in 
the  construction  of  their  edifice,  made 
excellent  use  of  the  ruins  of  other  monas- 
teries of  still  earlier  times,  which  existed 
within  the  environment  of  Valparaiso. 
Certain  it  is  that  these  humble  servants 
of  God  obtained  from  the  city  of  Cordoba 

*  From  the  Spanish,  for  THB  AvE  MARIA,  by  U.  S.  M. 


permission  to  collect  and  employ  in  the 
erection  of  the  new  monastery  material 
from  the  ancient  palace  of  Medina 
Zahara, — a  fact  which  plausibly  explains 
the  vestiges  of  Arabian  architecture  dis- 
covered, after  a  long  lapse  of  time,  in  the 
construction  of  the  Valparaiso  edifice. 
A  notable  specimen  of  this  type  of  Arabian 
art  is  a  bronze  fawn,  adorning  the  court 
of  columns  in  the  monastery.  In  the  pass- 
ing of  the  centuries,  various  extensions 
were  naturally  added  to  the  original 
buildings;  but  extreme  care  was  always 
maintained  to  preserve  a  true,  artistic 
proportion. 

Many  mechanical  marvels,  too,  were 
accomplished  by  these  monks  in  the 
building  of  the  monastery, — the  principal 
of  which,  perhaps,  was  a  labyrinth  of 
bronze  and  clay  pipes,  serving  as  a  conduit 
for  the  curative  waters  of  adjacent  springs; 
while  still  another  of  their  praiseworthy 
achievements  was  a  device  which  con- 
trolled and  diverted  the  course  of  a 
neighboring  mountain  torrent  that  at 
times  threatened  the  foundation  of  the 
monastic  edifice. 

Until  the  year  1912,  however,  when  the 
Marquis  de  Merito  came  into  its  posses- 
sion, the  monastery  remained  in  that 
lamentable  state  of  abandon  and  dissolu- 
tion which  during  the  lapse  of  the  centuries 
had  befallen  it,  and  many  other  similar 
edifices  in  Spain.  Although  numerous 
restorations  have  been  made  in  this 
beautiful  monastery,  the  nave  of  the  church 
proper  is  still  roofless.  But  the  side  walls 
have  been  made  secure,  and  the  altar — 
an  exquisite  single  slab  of  pink  marble — 
has  been  remodelled.  Underneath  this  altar 
runs  an  ornate  border,  embellished  by  a 
Cardinal's  hat  surmounting  a  shield,  which 
bears  the  three  bars  of  Cordoba  and  the 
emblematic  lion  of  the  Order  of  St.  Jerome. 

Entering  through  the  main  door  into 
the  church,  which  in  the  olden  days  was 
used  as  a  cemetery  by  the  monks,  one 
notices  a  slab  bearing  the  date  1540. 
But  the  church  itself  is  of  a  later  period, 
having  been  erected  (according  to  an 


656 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


inscription  found  upon  an  ancient  tomb- 
stone there)  in  1740.  An  exquisite  screen 
made  from  the  iron  grating  taken  from 
the  Palace  of  Onate,  in  Madrid,  divides 
the  church;  while  the  cloister,  restored 
with  nice  exactitude  of  detail,  also  displays, 
in  the  tiles  which  adorn  it,  some  few 
vestiges  of  the  original  design. 

Particularly  conspicuous  for  artistic 
worth,  however,  are  the  domes  of  the 
chapter  house  and  the  adjoining  building 
which  formed  the  library.  In  the  immense 
hall  of  this  latter  building— the  hall 
which  was  sometimes  called  "De  Pro- 
fundis,"  and  as  frequently  designated 
"In  Pace," — it  was  the  pious  custom  of 
the  monks  to  gather  and  recite  in  unison 
their  orisons  for  the  dead. 

Splendidly  true  also  in  its  restoration 
to  the  model  of  the  sixteenth  century  is 
the  refectory  of  this  ancient  monastery, 
with  its  noble  walnut  table,  and  its  great 
benches  extending  the  entire  length  of 
the  vast  hall.  Within  this  lofty  room  is 
preserved  a  painting,  by  Pefialosa,  of 
"The  Last  Supper."  Painted  in  the 
monastery  in  the  year  1613,  this  work  was 
originally  intended  to  adorn  the  convent 
of  the  Friars  of  St.  Francis  de.  Paul  de 
Cordoba.  After  a  considerable  lapse  of 
time,  however,  it  became  private  property, 
and  eventually  came  into  possession  of 
the  present  owners  of  Valparaiso,  who 
fittingly  bestowed  it  upon  the  monastery 
within  whose  quiet  walls,  centuries  before, 
it  had  been  executed.  Among  the  many 
architectural  beauties  of  this  oldtime 
edifice,  however,  the  south  facade,  it 
must  be  conceded,  preserves  the  greatest 
excellence.  Severe  and  elegant  in  outline, 
it  resembles  in  numerous  details  the 
famous  Italian  convent  of  Assisi. 

Numerous  quaint  tombstones  of  ancient 
date  abound  in  this  interesting  monas- 
tery of  the  "Jeronimos."  One  of  these, 
to  be  seen  in  the  Chapel  of  the  Annun- 
ciation, is  inscribed  to  the  memory  of 
Fray  Vasco  de  Sousa,  the  worthy  founder 
of  the  institution;  while  still  another 
bears  the  name  of  Dr.  Antonio  de  Morales, 


with  a  dedication  by  his  son,  the  famous 
historian,  who  was-  at  one  time  a  novice 
of  the  Order.  Upon  the  walls  and  inner 
arches  of  the  edifice  have  been  found 
other  ancient  inscriptions,  which  play 
an  important  part  in  the  reconstruction 
of  the  buildings, — serving  as  they  do 
accurately  to  fix  the  exact  date  of  the 
foundation  of  the  monastic  residence. 
But,  owing  to  the  constant  labor  of 
restoration  being  enacted  at  the  present 
time,  the  edifice  will  soon  lose  altogether 
its  pathetic  aspect  of  abandon,  and  will 
shine  forth  once  more  in  all  its  former 
splendor. 

Innumerable  beauties  lie  here  still  to 
be  discovered  and  deciphered  by  all 
lovers  of  the  antique  and  the  artistic. 
In  the  great  halls  and  under  the  deserted 
arcades  of  the  time-stained  cloisters,  one 
may  evoke  the  figures  of  the  pious  monks, 
who  lived  out  their  holy  lives  in  those 
mystical  and  heroic  yester-years, — those 
austere  men  of  God,  who  received  from  the 
gentle  Dona  Ines  de  PonteveMra  the  gift 
of  ground  upon  which  they  built  their 
home  and  their  sepulchre. 

Yet,  above  all  other  interests,  the 
greatest  significance  of  this  olden  edifice 
lies  in  its  fragrant  memories.  Within 
its  pleasant  solitude  the  Catholic  Queen 
Isabella  prayed  and  meditated;  here  she 
pondered  upon,  and  prepared  for,  her 
expedition  against  Granada;  Here  she 
brought  her  trophies  of  conquest  when, 
above  the  pagan  walls  of  the  Alhambra, 
the  victorious  Christian  hosts  had  raised 
the  glorious  standards  of  the  Cross. 

Other  royal  personages,  too,  at  various 
times  sought  shelter  within  these  monastic 
walls.  Charles  I.,  Phillip  II.,  and  Charles 
IV.  were  among  its  imperial  visitors ;  while 
the  great  Christopher  Columbus  found  in 
the  enveloping  peace  of  Valparaiso  the 
quietude  which  he  so  ardently  craved  in 
his  perturbation  and  anxiety  of  mind. 

History  connects  also,  in  a  touching 
little  incident,  the  name  of  the  illustrious 
Gonzalo  de  Cordoba  ,with  the  Jeronimos 
monastery.  When  the  "great  Captain,'' 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


G57 


as  Gonzalo  was  called,  was  but  seventeen 
years  of  age  and  had  not  as  yet  begun 
to  dream  of  military  laurels,  he  sought 
refuge  and  consolation  here  for  an  unhappy 
affair  of  the  heart.  The  youth,  destined 
one  day  to  gird  himself  for  the  triumphs 
of  the  battlefield,  desired,  while  in  his 
melancholy  frame  of  mind,  to  don  the  habit 
of  St.  Jerome.  But  the  good  prior  of  the 
Order,  inspired  by  a  prophetic  revelation, 
sent,  the  young  Gonzalo  back  to  the  world 
he  had  fled,  saying  kindly  to  him:  "Go, 
and  may  God  be  with  you,  my  son!  He 
has  reserved  you  for  a  great  undertaking." 

Many  other  anecdotes  might  be  related 
of  this  historic  old  establishment.  Indeed, 
the  story  of  the  last  few  days  of  the  life 
of  the  founder,  Fray  Vasco  >de  -Sousa,  is 
replete  with  instructive  interest  and  reads 
like  a  page  from  a  sacred  book.  This 
humble  man  ha4  foreknowledge  of  his 
approaching  death  at  the  great  age  of 
one  hundred  and  twelve  years.  With 
sweet  serenity  of  spirit  he  announced  to 
his  community  the  exact  moment  at  which 
his  demise  would  occur,  saying  that  his 
father,  St.  Jerome,  had  made  it  known  to 
him.  The  truth  of  his  words  was  later 
proved  beyond  dispute.  He  passed  to  his 
eternal  life  exactly  as  he  had  predicted,  and 
the  certainty  of  his  revelation  was  con- 
firmed by  the  testimony  of  his  companions. 

For  an  astounding  length  of  time  the 
body  of  this  saintly  man  resisted  the 
decay  of  death,  while  the  monks  marvelled 
exceedingly  at  the  miracles  wrought  in  his 
name.  He  was  indeed  deemed  worthy  of 
canonization  by  the  good  Bishop  of  Cor- 
doba, whose  efforts  to  accomplish  this  high 
honor  to  the  memory  of  De  Sousa  were, 
however,  sadly  ended  by  his  own  death. 
But  the  title  "Venerable"  was  bestowed 
upon  Fray  Vasco  de  Sousa ;  and  his  name, 
revered  for  its  piety,  is  even  to  this  day 
a  glory  of  the  Order  of  St.  Jerome. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  therefore, 
that  the  Cordoban  Monastery,  founded 
by  so  devout  and  holy  a  man,  became  in 
the  Middle  Ages  an  ideal  refuge  from  a 
wprlci  of  sin  and  care.  Ever  propitious 


to  deep  peace  and  meditation,  it  is,  even 
in  the  present  materialistic  day,  visited 
with  reverence  by  lovers  of  history  and  of 
art.  Its  dismantled  walls,  its  solitary 
rooms  and  dreamy  cloisters,  which  now 
softly  reflect  the  dazzling  light  of  day, 
still  impart  a  sense  of  beauty  and  of 
holiness.  Under  a  sky  of  sapphire  blue, 
against  a  background  of  laurel  and  of  myrtle 
trees,  enveloped  in  an  atmosphere  that  is 
ever  sweet  with  the  scent  of  jasmine  and  of 
orange  flowers,  this  historic  monastery 
even  yet,  amid  its  ruin,  stirs  one's  soul  to 
an  abiding  peace  with  God. 


Silhouettes. 

WE  are  all  acquainted  with  the  quaint 
portraits  called  silhouettes,  but  the 
way  that  they  came  by  their  name  is  not 
so  well  known.  So  long  ago  as  when  Louis 
V.  was  King  of  France,  his  chief  minister 
was  the  Marquis  Etienne  de  Silhout. 
When  he  took  charge  of  the  finances  of  the 
country  he  found  them  in  dire  confusion, 
and  at  once  set  to  work  to  evolve  some 
sort  of  order  out  of  the  almost  hopeless 
chaos.  But  his  efforts  were  of  no  use,  and 
cutting  down  expenses  did  not  seem  to 
have  the  slightest  effect  upon  the  fearful 
drain  that  was  threatening  to  make  the 
kingdpm  bankrupt. 

Finally,  after  a  courageous  struggle  of 
eight  months,  he  tendered  his  resignation 
and  retired  from  public  life.  But  before  he 
withdrew"  from  his  position,  some  witty  and 
clever  fellow  cut  a  profile  portrait  of  the 
Marquis  out  of  black  paper,  and  exhibited 
it  in  a  prominent  show  window.  Crowds; 
flocked  to  see  it,  and  some  one  said:  '%et 
us  name  this  sort  of  portrait  after  the 
Marquis;  for  it  is  black  as  his  seal  and 
empty  as  his  treasury."  The  people  took 
up  the  idea  with  alacrity,  and  ever  since 
then  similar  representations  of  the  human 
face  have  been  called  silhouettes.  Thus 
the  Marquis  gained  a  little  place  in 
history,  •  although  he  %won  no  credit  in 
managing  the  treasury  of  France. 


658 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


The  Gifts  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 


THE  joyous  festival  of  Pentecost,  or 
Whit-Sunday,  has  appropriately  been 
styled  the  birthday  of  the  Church.  The 
foundations  of  the  Church  were,  of  course, 
laid  by  Christ  when,  in  the  course  of 
His  public  life,  He  gathered  about  Him  a 
number  of  disciples,  chose  twelve  from 
among  them  to  preside  over  the  rest, 
and  appointed  one  in  particular  to  be 
the  head  of  all.  Yet  in  a  certain  intel- 
ligible sense,  the  organic  life  of  the  Church 
may  be  said  to  date  from  the  descent 
of  the  Holy  Ghost  upon  the  Apostles, 
the  great  and  comforting  mystery  of 
Pentecost. 

That  the  feast  has  ever  been  consid- 
ered one  of  primary  importance,  ranking 
in  grandeur  and  solemnity  with  Christmas 
and  Easter,  is  evident  from  the  testimony 
of  ecclesiastical  writers  all  through  the 
successive  centuries  of  the  Christian  era. 
Eusebius  (2 64-349), sometimes  called  "The 
Father  of  Church  History,"  institutes 
a  species  of  comparison  between  the  fes- 
tival of  Our  Lord's  Resurrection  and  the 
Pentecostal  Day,  and  does  not  hesitate 
to  proclaim  the  pre-eminence  of  the  latter. 
"We  prepare  for  the  festival  of  Easter," 
he  says,  "by  forty  days  of  fasting,  and 
we  dispose  ourselves  for  Pentecost  by 
fifty  days  of  a  holy  gladness.  At  Easter, 
baptism  is  received;  at  Pentecost,  the 
Holy  Ghost  is  received,  and  this  is  the 
perfection  of  baptism.  The  Resurrection 
of  Jesus  Christ  strengthened  the  Apostles; 
it  was  Pentecost  that  perfected  their 
charity  and  made  them  invincible.  On 
this  day  the  Holy  Ghost  was  given  to  the 
Church  with  all  the  fulness  needed  to 
subjugate  the  whole  world.  Wherefore, 
I  regard  Pentecost  as  the  greatest  of 
festivals." 

Whether  or  not  we  adopt  this  opinion 
of  Eusebius,  we  must  at  least  recognize 
that  Whit-Sunday  is  a  feast-day  eminently 
worthy  of  our  best  efforts  to  celebrate  it 
with  a  heartiness  and  a  fervor  thoroughly 


in  unison  with  the  spirit  of  the  sacred 
liturgy.  It  is  peculiarly  the  festival  of 
the  Third  Person  of  the  Holy  Trinity, 
the  Paraclete  and  Comforter,  whom  Christ 
promised  to  send  to  His  Apostles;  and 
since  it  is  to  this  same  Paraclete,  the 
Holy  Ghost,  that  each  of  us  owes  all 
of  good  that  is  in  us,  we  may  well  honor 
His  special  day  with  unwonted  thanks- 
giving and  joy.  While  a  review  of  the 
struggles  and  triumphs  of  Holy  Church 
since  her  natal  day  when  "parted  tongues, 
as  it  were  of  fire"  sat  upon  each  of  the 
Apostles,  "and  they  were  all  filled  with 
the  Holy  Ghost,"  would  doubtless  prove 
an  appropriate  theme  for  Pentecostal  med- 
itation, perhaps  a  more  practically  useful 
subject  for  our  personal  consideration  is 
the  measure  in  which,  not  the  Apostles 
but  our  individual  selves  have  received 
the  gifts  of  the  Spirit  of  Truth. 

The  Holy  Ghost  is  the  fountain  of 
all  good,  so  that  we  owe  to  Him  not 
only  some  but  all  graces, —  not  merely 
a  certain  number  of  benefits  but  the 
totality  of  our  gifts.  Sacred  Scripture, 
nevertheless,  enumerates  seven  specific 
gifts  as  being  peculiarly  ascribable  to  God 
the  Holy  Ghost.  We  find  them  named 
in  that  passage  of  Isaiah  in  which, 
speaking  of  Christ  the  incarnate  Son  of 
God,  the  Prophet  says:  "And  the  Spirit 
of  the  Lord  shall  rest  upon  Him:  the 
spirit  of  wisdom  and  of  understanding, 
the  spirit  of  counsel  and  of  fortitude,  the 
spirit  of  knowledge  and  godliness.  And  he 
shall  be  filled  with  the  spirit  of  the  fear 
of  the  Lord." 

These  seven  gifts,  or  seven  virtues 
of  the  soul,  are  given  to  all  who  have 
sanctifying  grace.  We  received  them  in 
baptism,  and  they  were  increased  in  us 
when  we  were  confirmed.  They  become 
strengthened  and  intensified  as  one  ad- 
vances in  perfection;  but,  alas!  they  are 
lost  by  mortal  sin;  and  it  accordingly 
behooves  whoever  is  at  enmity  with  God 
to  make  a  supreme  effort  to  recover  these 
virtues,  since,  lacking  them,  one  will  inev- 
itably find  life  mere  weariness  and  vexa- 


THE  AYE  MART  A 


tion  of  spirit,  and  death  a  woe  unutterable. 
A  word  or  two  of  explanation  as  to  these 
gifts  of  the  Holy  Ghost  may  be  so  far 
useful  as  to  animate  us  to  praise  and 
glorify  the  Divine^Giver,  and  so  dispose 
us  to  pray  fervently  for  a  fuller  measure 
of  each  of  the  seven. 

Four  of  the  gifts  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
have  for  object  the  enlightenment  of  the 
understanding,  using  that  word  in  its 
broadest  sense, — the  knowing  power  in 
general.  The  gift  of  wisdom  enables  us 
to  recognize  the  genuine  emptiness  of 
earthly  things  and  to  regard  .  God  as 
our  greatest  good.  He  who  possesses 
it  knows  for  a  certainty  that  sin  is  the 
greatest  evil .  in  life,  or,  rather,  the  only 
thing  in  life  that  really  deserves  the  name 
of  evil;  and  hence  he  resolves  to  shun 
it  everywhere  and  always.  The  gift 
of  understanding,  specifically  considered, 
consists  in  a  certain  illumination  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  "whereby  we  are  enabled 
to  look  deeply  into  the  mysteries  of  our 
faith,  and  to  understand  them  better 
than  the  wise  and  learned  of  the  world"; 
or,  as  Spirago  puts  it,  "it  enables  us  to 
distinguish  Catholic  teaching  from  all 
other  doctrine,  and  to  rest  in  it."  The 
gift  of  knowledge  aids  us  in  obtaining  a 
clear  grasp  of  the  teaching  of  the  Church 
without  any  special  or  profound  study. 
By  its  means  we  are  "led  into  the 
mysteries  of  religion,  and  at  the  same  time 
enabled  to  lead  others  into  them."  As 
for  the  gift  of  counsel,  it  consists  in 
our  being  so  enlightened  by  the  Holy 
Ghost  that,  under  difficult  circumstances 
and  in  doubtful  cases,  we  know  what 
is  good  and  expedient  for  us  to  do, — in 
other  words,  know  what  is  God's  will. 
The  presence  of  these  four  gifts  in  the 
poor,  the  lowly,  and  the  illiterate  is  the 
true  explanation  of  many  an  astonishing 
fact  in  everyday  life,  where  the  unin- 
structed  so  often  hold  juster  views  and 
give  sounder  advice  in  matters  spiritual 
than  do  accomplished  scholars  and  pre- 
tentious philosophers. 

The  three  remaining  gifts  are  designed 


to  strengthen  the  will.  Fortitude  "enables 
us  to  bear  courageously  whatever  is  nec- 
essary in  carrying  out  God's  will."  It 
is  an  extraordinary  strength,  which  sus- 
tains us  in  violent  temptations,  in  heavy 
sufferings,  and  in  situations  where 
God  requires  of  us  costly  sacrifices. 
Godliness,  or  piety,  is  a  gift  that  helps 
us  to  make  continued  efforts  to  honor 
God  more  and  more  in  our  hearts,  and  to 
be  careful  not  only  to  avoid  offending 
Him  but  to  augment  our  love  for  Him  from 
day  to  day.  Finally,  fear  of  the  Lord  causes 
us  to  dread  giving  offence  to  God  more 
than  all  the  so-called  evils  of  the  world. 
Even  servile  fear — that  generated  by  the 
thought  of  punishment  consequent  upon 
transgression— is  good  and  is  a  gift  of 
God,  as  we  learn  from  the  Catechism 
of  the  Council  of  Trent;  but  the  seventh 
•  gift  of  the  Holy  Ghost  is  rather  the 
filial  fear  of  loving  children  intent,  upon 
shunning  everything  that  might  displease 
the  kindest  and  best  of  Fathers. 

The  reception  of  all  these  inestimable 
gifts  is  practically  dependent  upon  our- 
selves. By  purifying  our  souls  in  the  sal- 
utary .waters  of  penance,  we  shall  receive 
at  least  the  germs  of  each;  and  our  rjer- 
severing  prayers  will  infallibly  bring  about 
a  beneficent  development  that  will  trans- 
form our  homely,  commonplace,  unlovely 
lives  into  things  of  beauty  in  the  sight 
of  God  and  His  angels.  To  this  end  let 
us  imitate  and  invoke  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
who  was  in  the  company  of  the  Apostles 
when  they  received  the  Holy  Ghost. 
She  was  an  example  of  fervor  and  per- 
severance to  them.  Through  her  merits 
and  prayers  Almighty  God  poured  forth 
the  Holy  Spirit  more  abundantly,  and  on 
account  of  her  humility  and  sinlessness 
she  received*  His  gifts  in  fullest  measure. 
She  ceases  not  to  pray  for  us,  tfrat  we  also 
may  share  them.  Pentecost  should  live 
in  our  memories,  not  only  as  the  birth- 
day of  the  Church,  but  as  the  happy 
date  of  our  own  soul's  birth  into  a  new 
and  fuller  life  of  union  with  the  Spirit  of 
Truth,  the  Holy  Ghost. 


660 


77/7?  AYE  MART  A 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

No  weightier  words  on  any  s'ubject 
have  been  uttered  in  the  United  States 
Senate  during  the  month  than  those  of 
Senator  Lodge  in  reference  to  the  abdi- 
cation of  the  powers  and  functions  of 
the  Congress.  "The  idea  is  spreading,"  he 
declared,  "that  the  functions  of  the  Con- 
gress are  simply  to  serve  as  the  vehicle 
for  the  enactment  into  law  of  whatever 
the  executive  branch  of  the  Government 
may  formulate  into  a  legislative  propo- 
sition. This  idea  has  grown  in  the  minds 
of  some  persons  to  the  extent  that  all  that 
is  necessary  to  be  done  is  for  a  measure 
to  be  framed  by  some  very  excellent 
gentlemen,  perhaps  only  a  very  short 
while  holding  a  position  of  executive 
authority,  and  for  us  to  receive  it,  read 
it,  and  pass  it  without  discussion  or 
amendment.  Our  functions  are  clearly 
defined  under  the  Constitution,  and  we 
should  be  in  the  last  degree  recreant  to 
our  duty  to  the  people  who  have  elected 
us  if  we  did  not  discuss,  analyze  and 
amend  measures  as  they  come  to  us  for 
consideration." 

Considering  that  the  demands  upon 
Senators  and  Congressmen  for  the  abdi- 
cation of  the  powers  vested  in  them  by  the 
Constitution  are  made  by  the  President 
and  members  of  his  Cabinet,  it  ras  high 
time  for  protest.  In  upholding  the  legis- 
lative branch  of  the  Government  and 
opposing  the  present  tendency  of  the 
Administration  to  usurp  the  powers  and 
functions  of  the  Congress  of  the  United 
States,  Senator  Lodge  was  only  following 
the  lead  of  Lincoln,  who  said  in  a  speech 
delivered  at  Pittsburgh  in  Feb.,  1861: 
"By  the  Constitution,  the  Executive  may 
recommend  measures  which  he  may  think 
proper,  and  he  may  veto  those  he  thinks 
improper,  and  it  is  supposed  that  he  may 
add  to  these  certain  indirect  influences 
to  affect  the  action  of  Congress.  My 
political  education  strongly  inclines  me 
against  a  very  free  use  of  any  of  these 


means  by  the  Executive  to  control  the 
legislation  of  the  country.  As  a  rule,  I 
think  it  better  that  Congress  should 
originate  as  well  as  perfect  its  measures 
without  external  bias." 

It  was  plainly  to  guard  against  the  most 
monstrous  of  all  autocratic  oppressions — 
the  involving  of  people  in  war  and  their 
consequent  impoverishment  —  that  the 
framers  of  our  Constitution  determined  to 
restrain  the  Chief  Executive  from  expressly 
or  impliedly  seizing  and  exercising  the 
permanent  legislative  functions  of  the 
Government. 

"We  must  get  back  to  God,"  is  the  gist 
of  an  admirable  Pastoral  on  the  War  by 
Bishop  Chartrand  of  the  diocese  of  Indian- 
apolis.   With  a  brevity  and  point  that  does 
credit  to  "literary"   Indiana,  he  delivers 
his  message.     Speaking  of  our  allegiance 
to  the  Church,   he  points  out  in  passing 
that  it  does  not  conflict  with  loyalty  to 
our  country.    On  the  contrary,  the  Bishop 
observes   "the  story  of  this  terrible   war 
is   surely  the   complete   and  final   answer 
to  any  doubt  on  this  matter,  by  whom- 
soever   entertained.      Catholics    in    these  * 
many  and  different  countries  are  fighting 
nobly  for  their  native  land,   and,   at  the 
same  time  they  are  one,  one  in  that  unique 
unity  of  the  world,  one  in  the  Faith,  one 
in  the  victory  which  overcometh  the  world, 
our  Faith,  the  Faith  of  ages.   Consequently, 
it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  urge  Catholics 
to  be  patriotic.     Good  Catholics   can  not 
be  otherwise,  because  patriotism  is  a  duty, 
a   duty   to  justice,    a   duty  to  gratitude. 
Duty  to  our  country  is  duty  to  God,  for 
all   authority   comes   from   God.     This  is 
the    sacred    doctrine    which    the    Church 
teaches  in  regard  to  civil  authority.    This 
is    the  sacred   doctrine   which    we   preach 
in  season  and  out  of  season,  which,  day 
after   day,    we   inculcate   into   the   minds 
of  a  million  and  a  half  of  children  in  our 
parochial  schools,  the  country  over.    The 
constant  teaching  of  this  sacred  doctrine 
of   reverence,    obedience,    and   loyalty   to 
civil  authority,  surely  makes  our  schools, 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


661 


schools  of  patriotism  by  eminence;  surely 
makes  our  schools  the  very  support,  the. 
very  strength,  the  very  stability  of  those 
principles  upon  which  rests  the  Consti- 
tution of  our  Republic." 

The  effects  of  this  training  are  already 
manifest:  throughout  the  country,  as 
enlistment  records  show,  our  Catholic 
young  men  have  done  credit  to  the  spirit 
of  the  parochial  schools. 

It  is  unusual  to  find  such  a  passage  as 
the  following  in  an  actual  "best-seller," 
but  the  excerpt  is  genuine.  A  minister, 
in  one  of  the  present-day  popular  successes, 
contemplating  marriage,  remarks  in 
defence  of  his  forsaking  celibacy,  "I  am 
nothing  but  a  man";  and  is  told  by  one 
of  his  parishioners: 

Oh,  no,  Arthur,  you're  a  good  deal  more  than 
a  man,  as  men  are  known  to  us!  To  a  lot  of  us 
you've  been  the  guide  going  on  before  the 
climber.  .  .  .  You're  one  of  the  men — •  there 
have  been  a  good  many  of  them  in  the  world  at 
one  time  or  another — who  come  to  us  as  inter- 
preters of  a  life  purer  than  our  own.  The  minute 
you  marry  you  come  down  into  our  life;  and 
when  you  do  you  can't  help  us  any  more.  .  .  . 
You  wouldn't  find  the  largest  churches  of  East 
and  West  making  it  [clerical  celibacy]  an  essen- 
tial if  it  didn't  respond  to  a  demand  within  the 
human  heart.  When  you've  said  all  you  can  for 
marriage,  it  remains  physical,  material,  of  the 
earth  earthy,  and  good  enough  only  for  the 
common  man.  I've  often  thought  that  a  large 
part  of  the  flabbiness  of  Protestantism,  and  of 
its  economic  wastefulness,  comes  from  the  fact 
that  we've  so  few  guides  going  on  above  us, 
and  a  lot  of  blind  leaders  of  the  blind  struggling 
along  in  the  mass. 

The  'parishioner  misunderstands  and 
degrades  the  great  Sacrament  of  Christian 
marriage  in  describing  it  as  of  the  "earth 
earthy,"  but  the  concept  of  Holy  Orders 
is,  on  the  other  hand,  high. 

Popular  eloquence  has  been  defined  as 
"vehement  simplicity."  Just  what  con- 
stitutes this  vehement  simplicity  is  a 
matter  open,  of  course,  to  various  inter- 
pretations; but  it  will  be  generally 
conceded  that  the  truly  eloquent  speaker 
is  he  who  succeeds  in  achieving  his  desired 


purpose,  whether  that  purpose  be  to 
entertain,  to  instruct,  to  convince,  or  to 
persuade.  The  orator  who  compels  his 
hearers  to  agree  with  his  views  or  to  take 
the  action  which  he  wishes  them  to  take 
is,  essentially,  and  for  all  practical  purposes, 
a  really  eloquent  speaker.  It  does  not 
necessarily  follow  that  he  is  invariably  a 
polished  or  elegant  turner  of  phrases, 
or  that  he  rigorously  excludes  from  his 
platform  vocabulary  colloquial  expressions 
or  even  an  occasional  bit  of  effective 
slang.  He  adapts  himself  and  his  language 
to  the  actualities  of  the  occasion,  "and 
utilizes  such  munitions  of  his  oratorical 
equipment  as  will  best  serve  his  purpose. 
A  case  in  point  is  interestingly  treated 
in  the  current  Columbiad,  in  which  Mr. 
C.  P.  Connolly,  writing  of  Mr.  Joseph 
Scott,  disposes  of  a  possible  miscon- 
ception on  the  part  of  some  of  that  gentle- 
man's audiences.  To  quote: 

Scott  thumps  out  his  eloquence  with  such 
force  and  home-speaking  and  with  such  disregard 
for  conventionalities  that  some  people  are 
inclined  to  think  he  is  a  raw,  breezy  Westerner 
fresh  from  the  California  diggings.  Alas  for 
the  fallibility  of  human  judgment!  Scott  is 
one  of  the  best  polished  diamonds  ever  turned 
out  of  the  famous  Ushaw  College  of  England. 
He  took  the  gold  medal  in  his  class  there.  For 
three  and  a  half  years  he  taught  rhetoric  and 
English  literature  at  St.  Bonaventure's  College, 
Alleghany,  N.  Y.  He  has  the  LL.  D.  degree 
from  St.  Bonaventure's,  from  Santa  Clara,  and 
from  Notre  Dame. 

Magniloquent  promise  and  meagre  per- 
formance is  a  sequence  common  enough 
among  the  braggarts  of  all  lands,  and  not 
at  all  rare  in  this  republic  of  ours,  home  of 
big  things  of  every  kind,  adjectives  in- 
cluded. In  the  domain  of  politics,  civil 
service,  municipal  government,  education, 
sociology,  or  any  one  of  a  dozen  other 
activities,  experience  proves  that  the  most 
elaborately  drawn  programmes  of  what 
quasi-reforrners  purpose  to  accomplish  not 
infrequently  dwindle  to  a  pitiful  residue 
of  actual  achievement.  Even  when  the 
promisers  are  both  sincere  in  their 
utterances  and  resolute  in  their  endeavors 


662 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


to  supplement  their  words  by  works,  they 
:iiv  apt  to  discover  that  in  every  sphere 
of  life  the  most  logical  and  admirable 
theories  are  likely  to  stiller  considerable 
abrasion,  if  not  mutilation,  in  the  process 
of  their  reduction  to  practice.  Even 
when  sincere,  we  say;  for  very  often  the 
promisers  are  insincere.  They  mistake 
their  admiration  of  a  certain  line  of 
conduct  for  an  effective  will  to  follow  that 
line;  their  desire  for  it  is  mere  velleity, 
that  lowest  kind  of  volition,  which  does 
not  at  all  prompt  to  action.  Hence,  the 
failure  of  so  many  of  our  "new  brooms" 
in  various  spheres  of  activity  to  better 
conditions  which  they  so  strenuously 
vowed  they  would  ".sweep  clean."  This 
discrepancy  between  promise  and  per- 
formance is  akin  to  the  notable  difference 
between  what  many  men  could  do  (in 
their  own  opinion)  if  they  only  would, 
and  what  they  actually  accomplish.  A 
man  may  intelligibly  and  more  or  less 
congruously  claim  to  be  able  to  do  what 
he  has  already  done;  but  to  boast  of  his 
ability  to  achieve  a  heretofore  unper- 
formed task  "if  I  only  felt  like  it"  is  the 
cheapest  sort  of  braggadocio.  The  really 
efficient  man  is,  as  a  rule,  a  modest  indi- 
vidual who  "does  things"  and  refrains 
from  talking  about  them;  the  inefficient 
man  talks  of  what  big  things  he  could  do — 
and  refrains  from  doing  them. 


English  speaking  Catholics  the  world 
over  share  with  their  brethren  of  Aus- 
tralia the  grief  evoked  by  the  death  of  the 
Most  Rev.  Thomas  Joseph  Carr,  Arch- 
bishop of  Melbourne.  Born  in  Ireland  in 
1840,  the  late  prelate  served  in  his  native 
land  as  professor  at  Maynooth  College, 
editor  of  the  Irish  Ecclesiastical  Record, 
and  Bishop  of  Galway,  before  Rome 
transferred  him  to  the  archiepiscopal  See 
of  Melbourne  in  1886.  During  the  three 
decades  of  his  tenure  of  that  important 
position,  Archbishop  Carr  more  than 
fulfilled  the  by  no  means  modest  expecta- 
tions engendered  by  his  appointment. 
Within  a  decade  of  his  arrival  he  had  com- 


pleted St.  Patrick's  Cathedral,  developed 
the  Catholic  school  system  to  a  most 
gratifying  extent,  multiplied  charitable 
institutions,  established  scores  of  new 
parishes,  etc.  The  deceased  prelate  was 
not  only  an  administrator  of  exceptional 
ability,  but  an  author  of  distinction.  A 
volume  of  his  lectures  and  polemical 
letters,  published  a  few  years  ago,  revealed 
the  scope  of  his  scholarship  and  the 
literary  quality  of  his  style.  A  successful 
upbuilder  of  the  Church  in  Australia,  he 
fought  the  good  fight  for  almost  fourscore 
years.  R.  I.  P. 


Word-mongers  of  the  future  who  will 
be  chiefly  interested  to  record  what  was 
said  about  current  events  by  present-day 
writers,  ignoring  causes  in  their  perusal 
of  documents,  and  psychological  forces 
in  their  search  for  contemporary  opinions, 
and,  of  course,  calling  their  productions 
history,  will  surely  be  puzzled  as  to  the 
meaning  of  many  passages  of  the  circu- 
lars issued  by  the  Comite  Catholique  de 
Propagande  Francaise  a  1'Etranger.  The 
latest  of  these  documents  contains  the 
following  paragraph,  which  is  reproduced 
verbatim  and  literatim:  • 

The  really  infernal  struggle  which  has  im- 
mobilised on  the  Yser,  and  at  what  price  the 
German  advance  on  Calais  has  been  fertile  in 
heroical  incidents  that  historians  themselves 
will  always  ignore,  so  many  obscure  sacrifices 
having  contributed  to  paralyse  at  last  the  mad 
attack.  Belgium  has  seen  unfolded  these  scenes 
of  the  war,  these  pictures  of  the  front  which  the 
ancient  Deputy  Charles  Danielou  has  noted 
for  the  use  of  civilians  that  do  not  know  the 
zone  of  the  armies,  in  his  short  treatise  of  the 
I' Yser  d,  I'Argonne.  It  has  greeted  the  mar- 
vellous deed  of  the  Fusilliers  marins  of  France, 
the  Britannic  endurance,  the  cooperation  of  the 
variegated  armies  of  Indians  or  Balck  that  cause 
so  much  grief  to  Germany,  unable  to  understand 
how  much  these  Barbarians  are  less  inhuman 
than  Bernhardi's  disciples,  sristorian  of  the 
War  "atrocious  and  short."  She  continues  to 
hear  the  canon  of  the  line  of  trenches  that 
preserve  its  last  strip;  she  waits  under  the  boot, 
but  animated  by  the  an  captive  and  intrepid 
voice  of  his  great  cardinal  of  Malines,  the  end 
of  the  trial,  long  to  come  but  sure  and  un- 
avoidable, as  the  arrival  of  justice  slow,  tardive 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


663 


and  yet  certain.  And  in  their  Field  of  the 
Dead  strewn  dy  so  many  tombs  where  rest, 
in  the  expectation  of  reparation  and  triumph, 
those  who  slumber,  their  work  ended,  the 
oppressed  suffer  hope,  but  are  sure  of  the  morrow. 
They  know,  them  also  hou  much  is  true  the 
writing  down  thought  by  the  officier  Hainrich 
in  the  pocket-book  on  the  War  published  by 
Henry  Frichet. 

This  paragraph  will  perhaps  furnish  an 
interesting  footnote  for  some  future  his- 
torian, like  certain  bits  of  Luther's  table- 
talk  which  none  of  his  biographers  ven- 
ture to  translate.  One  of  the  latest  of 
them,  Dr.  Preserved  Smith,  writes:  "No 
amount  of  precedent  can  excuse  the  dis- 
gusting things  he  said  about,  etc.";  and 
in  a  footnote-:  "These  are  quite  unquotable, 
but  are  sufficiently  numerous  to  be  easily 
found  in  the  originals." 


"Where  are  the  Guardians  of  Liberty 
and  the  Knights  of  Luther? "  The  question 
is  easily  answered.  Now  that  our  country 
is  at  war,  the  members  of  these  cockroach 
organizations,  as  Mr.  Taft  called  them, 
have  gone  into  hiding  and  ceased  to 
attack  Catholic  citizens,  feeling  sure  that 
in  present  circumstances  the  Government 
would  not  permit  them  to  continue  their 
campaign  of  vilification.  But  when  the 
war  is  over,  these  worthies  will  be  sure  to 
renew  operations,  and  it  is  unlikely  that 
for  doing  so  the  use  of  the  mails  will  be 
refused  them.  Meantime  Catholics  will 
show  yet  again  what  kind  of  Americans 
they  are,  and  become,  it  is  to  be  hoped, 
so  influential  as  to  render  constant  protes- 
tation of  their  loyalty  entirely  superfluous, 
and  powerful  enough  to  secure  every 
right  to  which  the  Constitution  of  their 
country  entitles  them. 


In  the  course  of  an  interesting  and  infor- 
mative paper  on  the  Church  in  England 
and  Ireland,  Mr.  Hugh  Law,  a  prominent 
member  of  the  Irish  Parliamentary  Party, 
writes  thus  appreciatively  of  Newman: 

If  he  was  with  us,  with  what  insight  and 
inspired  imagination,  with  what  grave,  noble 
eloquence  would  he  tell  that  other  part  of  the 
story  which  is  concerned  not  with  Acts  of 


Parliament,  but  with  the  spiritual  life  of  his 
nation!  One  thing,  however,  we  may  be  sure 
he  would  not  tell  us :  how  profoundly  his  sernions 
and  his  writings,  above  all  his  saintly  life  and 
example,  have,  even  to  this  day,  affected  the 
thought  of  England.  To  him  and  to  his  great 
contemporary,  Cardinal  Manning,  it  was  given, 
each  in  his  own  way,  to  win  from  their  country- 
men in  the  teeth  of  ingrained  prejudices,  first 
respect,  then  veneration,  lastly,  affection  for  the 
hitherto  despised  and  hated  figure  of  the  Cath- 
olic priest.  Nor  have  their  successors  in  high 
ecclesiastical  places  lost  the  sympathies  thus  won. 

The  truth  of  the  foregoing  assertion 
has  been  made  abundantly  evident  in  a 
hundred  and  one  instances  occurring 
during  the  past  decade  or  two,  and  is 
patent  in  the  from-day-to-day  history  of 
our  times.  Equally  true,  it  would  appear, 
is  this  other  statement  of  Mr.  Law's: 

The  English  Catholic,  whether  priest  or  lay- 
man, no  longer  feels  himself  at  the  smallest 
disadvantage,  political,  economic,  or  social. 
On  the  contrary,  he  is  conscious  of  being  in  a 
community  which  respects  him  all  the  more 
because  of  his  faith.  With  the  general  slackening 
of  religious  sanctions  among  all  Protestant 
bodies,  the  grandeur  of  Catholic  discipline  has 
become  the  more  manifest.  The  Church  is 
seen  to  be,  indeed,  built  upon  a  rock,  safe  and 
untouched  by  the  floods  which  are  submerging 
all  else.  Outside  her  communion,  many  devout 
men  and  women,  perplexed  but  honest  seekers 
after  truth,  look  with  a  kindly  envy  towards 
those  for  whom  the  Church  is  .still  a  visible  form, 
a  speaking  voice. 

The  suggestion  of  a  companion  song  to 
"I  Didn't  Raise  my  Boy  to  be  a  vSoldier," 
to  be  entitled  "I  Didn't  Raise  my  Girl 
to  be  a  Mother,"  is  proof  of  the  lowering 
of  patriotic  and  moral  standards.  The 
suggestion  is  infamous,  though  intended, 
perhaps,  to  be  only  sarcastic,  and  to 
intimate  that  both  songs  would  appeal 
to  the  same  class  of  mothers.  Military 
training,  if  only  to  save  the  rising  genera- 
tion of  American  boysfrommollycoddleism, 
is  a  national  necessity.  And  some  means 
ought  to  be  found  to  impress  American 
girls  with  the  idea  that  motherhood  is 
a  high  vocation,  disregard  of  which, 
besides  being  a  violation  of  the  law  of 
God  and  man,  would  be  the  ruin  of  our 
great  Republic. 


Just  a  Homely  Dog. 


BY    ARTHUR    BARRY. 


f 


NCLE  PARENT  was  an  old 
woodcutter  who  had  taken  up 
his  residence  in  a  high  and  roomy 
grotto  situated  in  the  depths  of  a 
wood  near  Bar-le-Duc,  and  belonging  to 
Madame  vSommes,  widow  of  a  notary 
public.  "Uncle,"  by  the  way,  was  a 
term  of  affection  or  good  nature  bestowed 
on  the  old  man  by  the  community  gen- 
erally, and  did  not  imply  that  he  had 
any  nephews  or  nieces.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  he  had  no  relatives  living,  and  no 
special  friends  either,  if  we  except  his  sole 
companion,  Finaud,  a  homely,  if  intelli- 
gent, cross  between  a  St.  Bernard  and  a 
Newfoundland. 

More  than  once  or  twice  officious 
acquaintances  had  spoken  to  Madame 
Sommes  about  the  old  fellow  who  had 
"squatted"  on  her  property,  occupying 
it  with  no  thought  of  paying  her  any 
rent  therefor. 

"Without  being  aware  of  it  perhaps, 
Madame,  you  are  harboring  some  old 
rascal." 

"I  know, — I  know!"  she  would  reply. 
"But,  in  the  first  place,  Uncle  Parent  is 
anything  but  a  rascal.  I  have  made  all 
due  inquiries  about  him,  and  am  quite 
satisfied  that  he  is  thoroughly  deserving. 
He  is  honest,  an  excellent  workman,  and 
no  doubt  would  endeavor  to  pay  me  for 
his  occupation  of  my  grotto  did  I  insist 
upon  it.  Age  has  come  upon  him, — he  is 
more  than  seventy -five:  that's  his  only 
fault.  In  the  second  place,  it  does  not 
inconvenience  me  in  the  slightest  that  he 
should  live  as  a  hermit  in  my  woods, 
especially  as  I  never  set  foot  there  myself. 
All  I  ask  of  Uncle  Parent — or,  rather, 


all  I  have  got  him  to  promise  to  Monsieur 
Marchal,  my  agent — is  that  he  won't 
light  any  fire  outside  the  grotto." 

The  very  embodiment  of  Christian 
charity  and  generosity,  Madame  Sommes' 
constant  business  was  to  do  as  much  good 
as  possible  to  her  neighbors.  Of  unusually 
short  stature  arfd  very  stout,  she  walked 
with  difficulty,  which  accounted  for  her 
never  visiting  the  grotto  in  the  woods. 

Near  those  woods,  Monsieur  Marchal, 
the  agent,  owned  a  cottage,  with  a  garden ; 
and  there  during  the  holidays  my  Aunt 
Victorine  used  to  take  me  and  Marie 
Marchal  to  spend  the  afternoon.  Thus  we 
came  to  know,  by  sight  at  least,  Uncle 
Parent,  "the  hermit,"  as  we  christened 
him,  who  lived  in  the  grotto  with  no  other 
companion  than  Finaud,  the  dog  of  which 
we  have  spoken.  Finaud  was  an  extraor- 
dinary dog;  but  he  would  not  be  eligible 
for  the  beauty  prize  at  any  dog-show. 
He  was  big  and  black,  with  a  shaggy  coat 
of  hair  that  needed  washing  and  comb- 
ing,—as,  for  that  matter,  did  the  hair  and 
beard  of  his  master.  The  animal  was  not 
very  young;  he  looked,  indeed,  rather  old 
and  tired,  although  the  intelligence  and 
vivacity  of  his  eye  and  the  activity  of  his 
movements  seemed  to  promise  years  of 
service  to  be  rendered  yet 

Every  morning  Finaud  left  the  grotto 
and  went  to  town  in  search  of  provisions, 
which  consisted  generally,  and  exclusively, 
of  tobacco  and  bread.  As  Ferry's  grocery 
was  away  at  the  farthest  end  of  the  main 
street,  he  began  by  going  there.  Entering, 
he  went  over  to  the  counter,  put  both 
forepaws  upon  it,  and  wraited  without 
barking,  standing  with  his  nose  high  in 
the  air,  until  he  was  served, — that  is, 
until  the  clerk  took  two  pennies  out  of 
the  little  bag  he  carried  around  his  neck, 
and  put  into  the  bag  instead  the  little 
paper  of  fresh  tobacco. 


THE  AVK  MARIA 


From  the  grocery  Finaud  proceeded 
to  the  bakery,  where  he  went  through  the 
same  performance,  except  that  there  he 
had  no  money  to  pay  out,  as  the  wood- 
cutter personally  settled  for  his  bread  once 
a  week.  And  it  would  not  do  for  Uncle 
Parent  to  drop  or  forget  in  the  shop  the 
leathern  purse  which  served  him  as  bank. 
He  had  dropped  it  on  the  floor  one  day, 
and  Finaud  would  not  allow  him  to  leave 
the  place  until,  by  barking  and  then 
seizing  the  old  man's  trouser-leg,  he  had 
called  his  attention  to  the  purse. 

Having  often  accompanied  his  master 
to  the  store  of  Monsieur  Perardel,  the 
wood  merchant  on  Chavee  Street,  and 
having  noticed  how  one  managed  to 
get  the  door  opened  by  pulling  a  knob 
(ringing  the  bell),  Finaud  concluded 
that  he  might  do  that  job  himself.  Accord- 
ingly, one  day  he  approached  the  door, 
stood  up  on  his  hind  legs,  stretched 
himself  to  his  full  height,  and  grasping  the 
knob  in  his  teeth,  gave  it  so  vigorous  a 
pull  that  the  bell  inside  jangled  loud 
enough  for  a  fire  alarm. 

On  one  occasion,  when  this  Monsieur 
Perardel  had  driven  out  to  the  woods  to 
look  after  some  timber  he  had  purchased, 
and  had  left  his  horse  and  buggy  standing 
in  the  road,  the  horse,  exasperated  by  the 
flies,  suddenly  ran  away  at  full  speed, 
He  was  in  imminent  danger  of  breaking 
his  legs  and  ruining  the  buggy  by  tumbling, 
at  the  first  turn,  into  the  deep  ditch  which 
bordered  the  road;  and  accordingly  his 
owner  and  the  woodcutters  started  in  hot 
haste  after  the  frightened  animal,  shouting 
' '  Whoa ! — whoa ! ' '  till  they  were  all  out 
of  breath.  In  the  meantime  Finaud  had 
seen  the  flight,  and  he  was  soon  among  the 
pursuers.  In  a  few  minutes  he  had  outrun 
all  the  men  and  was  rapidly  gaining  on 
the  horse.  Another  few  minutes,  and  he 
had  reached  the  animal's  head.  With  a 
determined  leap,  he  caught  the  bridle  in 
his  teeth  and  hung  on  with  such  tenacity 
that  the  horse  had  to  stop  altogether. 

Another  of  Finaud's  accomplishments 
was  the  killing'  of  snakes.  He  would  seize 


them  in  his  teeth,  toss  them  into  the 
air  at  once,  seize  them  again  when  they 
fell  back  to  the  ground,  and  continue  this 
performance  until  they  were  stupefied; 
and  he  delivered  his  tossings  so  quickly 
that  they  never  had  a  chance  to  sting  him. 
In  the  Massonges  forest,  one  day,  he  "had 
thus  saved  from  certain  death  a  charcoal- 
burner's  little  daughter,  who  was  just  on 
the  point  of  being  attacked  by  a  venomous 
reptile.  The  fact  is  that  at  Bar-le-Duc 
they  were  always  telling  of  the  wonderful 
things  that  were  being  done  by  this 
decidedly  homely  but  most  intelligent  dog, 
who  could,  according  to  common  report, 
"do  everything  but  speak." 

One  afternoon,  as  Aunt  Victorine,  Marie 
Marchal,  and  I  were  passing  Madame 
Sommes'  house,  she  tapped  at  the  window, 
and  then,  opening  it,  asked  my  aunt  to 
bring  her  the  news  of  Uncle  Parent. 

"They  say  he  is  very  sick,"  she  said.  "I 
got  the  Little  Sisters  to  take  him  some 
soup  and  wine;  but  it  is  impossible  for  us 
to  look  after  him  while  he  is  at  such  a 
distance.  If  you  can  persuade  him  to  go 
to  the  hospital,  I'll  have  a  carriage  sent 
to  bring  him  there.  We  can't  leave  him 
at  the  grotto  alone." 

Aunt  Victorine  promised  Madame  Som- 
mes to  take  her  message,  and  that  was 
how  we  came  to  enter  the  "hermit's" 
grotto.  -  He  was  lying  stretched  out  on  a 
bed  of  branches  and  rushes,  shivering, 
despite  the  warm  weather,  under  a  bundle 
of  quilts;  while  his  dog,  sitting  at  his  feet, 
seemed  to  be  watching  him,  as  if  awaiting 
orders.  Just  as  though  he  recognized 
friends  in  the  visitors,  Finaud  got  up  with- 
out growling  and  came  towards  us,  wagging 
his  tail. 

"Good-day,  Uncle  Parent!"  said  Aunt 
Victorine.  "Tarn  come  to  learn  how  you 
are.  It's  your  landlady  who  sent  me,— 
Madame  Sommes,  you  know,  on  whose 
property  you  are  living," 

"I  thank  her  very  much,"  stammered 
the  poor  man.  "I  have  not  the  honor  of — 
knowing  her  whom  you  call  my  landlady. 
But  she  is  a  very  good  lady.  She  sent  me 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


the  day  before  yesterday  those  provisions 
you  see  there." 

He  looked  as  he  spoke  towards  a  eorner 
of  the  grotto  where  some  bottles  and 
packages  were  arranged  on  a  kind  of 
shelf. 

"But  I  can't  eat,"  he  continued.  "  I  have 
no  appetite  for  anything.  Even  tobacco  is 
no  longer  to  my  taste." 

"It  isn't  easy  to  have  the  doctor  come 
away  up  here  to  see  you  and  give  you  his 
attention,"  replied  my  aunt.  "You'd  be 
better  off,  a  thousand  times  better  off, 
at  the  hospital." 

"I  know  that — yes — 

"Madame  Sommes  offers  to  send  a 
carriage  for  you." 

"No,  no!    It  isn't  possible." 

"And  why  not?" 

"Because  —  because  —  I'll  tell  you, 
Madam."  (Uncle  Parent  did  not  know 
that,  despite  her  forty  years,  Aunt  Vic- 
torine  was  not  married,  and  ought  to  be 
called  "Mademoiselle.")  "Because  if  they 
took  me  to  the  hospital,  what  would 
become  of  my  dog,  my  good  Finaud? 
They  wouldn't  want  him  at  the  hospital, 
would  they?  So — " 

Aunt  Victorine  said  nothing,  knowing 
quite  well  that,  in  truth,  the  hospital 
authorities  would  not  admit  the  dog,  no 
matter  how  wonderfully  intelligent  he 
might  be. 

"And  so  I  say,  no.  I  prefer  to  remain 
here  alone  with  him." 

And,  just  as  if  he  understood  that  his 
old  master  was  speaking  of  him,  and  pro- 
claiming the  strong  affection  that  bound 
them  one  to  the  other,  Finaud  went 
over  to  him  and  gently  licked  his  hand. 

"You  see!  He  hears  me,  and  he  knows 
very  well  what  I  am  saying,  you  may  be 
sure.  No,  Madam, — no;  not  for  the  whole 
world  will  I  consent  to  be  parted  from  my 
Finaud,  or  abandon  him.  No,  no,  never! 
You  will  please  give  my  thanks  to  the  lady 
in  whose  woods  I  have  planted  myself 
without  asking  her  .permission,  and  who 
has  tolerated  my  presence  here.  It's  a 
sure  thing  that  if  all  her  tenants  were 


like  me  she  wouldn't  soon  grow  rich.  You 
will  tell  her  how  grateful  I  am,  will  you 
not,  Madam?" 

"I  shall  not  fail  to  do  so,  I  promise 
you." 

"But  as  for  going  to  the  hospital  and 
leaving  my  dog,  I  simply  can't." 

"But,"  said  my  aunt,  "if  your  illness 
grows  worse  and  your  sufferings  increase?" 

"I'd  suffer  more  from  my  separation 
from  Finaud  than  from  my  illness.  To 
say  nothing  of  the  suffering  I'd  cause  him." 

Aunt  Victorine  did  not  insist  any  further, 
and  we  came  away. 

A  week  later,  as  Monsieur  Marchal 
approached  his  cottage  one  morning,  he 
saw  the  dog  running  towards  him,  barking 
loudly.  Having  attracted  his  attention, 
Finaud  ran  back  a  short  distance,  turning 
his  head  around  to  see  if  he  was  being 
followed;  then  came  back  and  retired 
again  in  the  same  way.  It  was  impossible 
to  say  more  clearly:  "Come  on, — follow 
me." 

Monsieur  Marchal  understood  at  once 
that  something  out  of  the  ordinary  had 
occurred,  and  so,  guided  by  Finaud, 
immediately  made  his  way  to  the  grotto. 
On  arriving,  he  found  the  poor  old  man 
lying  dead  on  his  couch  of  rushes.  Only 
death  had  been  able  to  separate  him  from 
his  beloved  companion. 

What  became  of  Finaud  after  the  death 
of  his  master?  Monsieur  Marchal  asked 
nothing  better  than  to  take  care  of  him, 
assuring  the  faithful  animal  a  soft  couch 
and  good  living;  but  Finaud  had  disap- 
peared. Some  people  said  that  the  dog 
had  betaken  himself  to  a  band  of  wood- 
cutters of  his  acquaintance  in  the  Trois- 
Fontaines  forest  some  sixteen  or  eighteen 
miles  from  Bar-le-Duc.  But  they  were 
wrong.  Three  months  after  the  burial 
of  Uncle  Parent,  Finaud's  dead  body  was 
found  stretched  on  his  grave.  Just  a 
homely  dog,  if  you  like;  but,  if  "Handsome 
is  as  handsome  does,"  perhaps  not  so 
homely,  after  all. 


AN  unkind  word  may  cut  like  a  sword. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


667 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


XXI. — THROUGH  THE   DARK   To 

DAWN. 

ARITA  sank  back  trembling, 
as  turmoil  spread  through  the 
gypsy  camp. 

' '  Liar !— Thief ! — Robber ! — Rascal ! ' '  rose 
the  angry  cries. 

That  the  dog  had  been  stolen  or  hidden 
by  Peppo  to  escape  payment  of  his  losings 
the  other  gamesters  stoutly  swore.  No 
one  had  thought  of  Con  as  yet.  It  would 
be  a  short  shrift  with  him  if  he  were 
caught  making  off  with  Dick,  Carita 
well  knew.  She  must  give  the  white- 
faced  boy  a  chance, — hide  his  absence 
until  day.  While  the  crowd  gathered, 
she  put  the  crying  Tony  back  into  the 
covered  wagon,  and  was  ready  to  face 
Peppo  when  he  broke  away  from  his 
antagonists  to  question  her. 

"The  dog?  Where  is  the  wolf-hound? 
You  have  been  sitting  up  with  the  child 
all  night,  you  say,  so  you  must  have  .seen 
and  heard." 

"What  do  I  know — what  do  I  care 
for  your  dogs  when  my  child  is  dying," 
she  cried  out.  "Listen  to  him, — listen 
to  him!  Brute  of  a  father  that  you  are, 
with  no  thought  but  for  your  dogs!  Hitch 
the  horses  to  the  wagon  and  let  me  go, — 
go  with  Conde  and  the  child  beyond 
reach  of  the  old  witch  hag's  spell, — the 
spell  that  will  kill  my  Tony  if  we  stay  in 
this  place  accursed  any  longer.  Quick, 
quick,  I  say,  or  the  child  will  be  dead 
before  the  dawn!" 

Tony's  cry  sounded  sharply  from  the 
wagon,  where  the  half-muddled  Peppo 
thought  he  was  held  as  usual  in  Conde's 
arms. 

Fool  of  a  woman !  Where  will  you  go  ? " 
asked  Peppo,  with  rough  anxiety;  for 
this  wild  fury  of  his  little  wife  stirred  the 
natural  father  love  in  his  heart. 

"To   the   hills,"    she   said   breathlessly, 


"where  the  'patteran'  turns  around  the 
spring  by  which  we  stopped  to  drink  at 
Monday.  Quick,  put  Lara  in  the  traces! 
he  will  be  enough.  You  can  stay  with 
the  horses,  the  men,  the  tents.  I  must  fly 
to  save  my  child." 

She  was  loosening  the  big-boned  Lara 
as  she  spoke,  while  Tony|s  cry  rang  out 
sharp  and  shrill  from  the  wagon.  Peppo 
never  dreamed  he  was  lying  on  the  blanket 
untended,  while  his  little  mother  pushed 
harness,  strap  and  buckle  feverishly  into 
place.  It  was  only  a  moment's  work, 
for  the  gypsy  gearing  was  simple.  Lara 
was  soon  ready;  and  Carita  sprang  into 
the  wagon,  took  the  reins,  and,  heedless 
of  the  wondering,  jabbering  crowd  that 
had  gathered  around,  drove  off  into  the 
night. 

"She  is  mad,"  explained  Peppo, — "mad 
with  fear  for  her  child!  Some  poison 
breath  has  touched  him.  If  harm  comes 
to  him  I  will  throttle  that  old  witch  hag 
Huldah  till  the  dry  bones  in  her  throat 
crack  like  dead  sticks.  She  is  putting  the 
curse  on  me  to-night,  that  her  black-eyed 
Carlo  may  be  king.  But  I  will  stand,— 
stand  for  Peppo,  the  son  of  Elkanah, 
against  all.  And  since  the  hound  is  gone, 
where  I  know  not,  I  will  give  two  others 
in  his  place,  to  show  that  I  am  neither 
rogue  nor  rascal." 

And  with  this  disappointing  bargain 
the  sharper,  who  had  cheated  the  befud- 
dled Peppo  from  start  to  finish,  had  to 
be  content. 

Meanwhile  Carita,  had  flung  the  loos- 
ened reins  about  her  wrist  and  let  Lara 
take  his  way  unguided;  while  she 
caught  the  fretting  Tony  to  her  breast, 
sobbing  out  her  heart  in  a  passion  of 
mother  love  and  fear.  But  she  had  saved 
Conde, — saved  the  white-faced  boy,  who, 
if  the  wrathful  Peppo  had  guessed  the 
truth,  would  have  been  hunted  down 
with  scant  mercy.  Conde  was  gone  with 
his  dog,  and  would  be  miles  away  in  these 
pathless  wilds  before  his  absence  could 
be  discovered. 

Slowly   the  cautious  Lara  kept  on  his 


668 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


way,  following  the  "patteran"  tracked 
by  a  score  or  more  of  his  mates,  up  into 
the  hills  still  towering  black  against 
the  starlight;  while  Carita  sobbed  and 
crooned  by  turns  over  her  wailing  child. 
Dark  despair  was  in  the  poor  little  mother's 
heart;  never  in  all  her  gay,  thoughtless 
life  had  she  faced  such  loneliness  as  this. 
In  her  wanderings  before,  Peppo  had 
always  been  at  her  side,— bold,  black- 
eyed  Peppo,  Who  had  lured  her  from 
the  old  life  to  share  his  gypsy  fortune. 
Memories  of  that  life  came  pressing  upon 
her  heartbreak  now:  the  little  adobe 
home  in  the  valley,  that  had  seemed  so 
narrow  and  dull  when  the  gypsy  lover 
came  singing  to  his  guitar  under  her  win- 
dow,—the  lover  of  whom  the  good  Padre 
Antonio  had  forbidden  her  even  to  think; 
then  the  wild  flight  like  that  of  an  un- 
caged bird,  to  the  nearby  town,  where 
before  the  Justice  of  the  Peace,  in  a  dim 
law  office,  some  unhallowed  rite,  which 
she  did  not  understand,  had  made  her 
Peppo's  wife;  and  then  freedom  and  glad- 
ness and  gayety  such  as  her  prisoned 
young  life  in  the  old  adobe  home  had 
never  known. 

But  it  had  all  been  wrong,  wicked, 
sinful,  as  she  felt  with  a  sharp  pang  of 
remorse  to-night.  She  had  not  asked  the 
good  God's  blessing  on  her  marriage; 
she  had  not  sought  it  for  her  child;  and 
now  Tony  was  dying, — he  was  being 
taken  from  her  as  she  deserved.  Light 
little  butterfly  that  she  was,  Carita's 
fluttering  wings  were  crushed  with  a 
weight  of  woe  they  could  not  bear.  Even 
the  gleam  of  the  stars  that  Ijt  her  lonely 
way  had  a  reproachful  light.  They  seemed 
to  shine  down  upon  her  with  the  pale 
radiance  of  the  tapers  on  Padre  Antonio's 
altar, — the  altar  she  would  never  see 
again. 

Suddenly  her  sobbing  ceased;  her  quick 
ear  had  caught  a  sound  that  made  her 
heart  leap, — a  light,  swift  footfall.  Some 
one  was  following  her!  She  caught  up 
the  heavy-handed  whip,  prepared  to  lay 
it  on  the  intruder  boldly,  when  a  young 


voice  called  sharply  through  the  breaking 
darkness : 

"Carita,  wife  of  Peppo,  wait  for  me, — 
wait, — wait!  My  breath  is  gone  climbing 
the  hills  after  you.  Wait, — wait!" 

"Who  are  you?"  called  Carita,  drawing 
up  her  horse;  for  the  girlish  tone  was 
reassuring. 

"Zila,"  was  the  answer,  as  the  slight 
figure  came  panting  through  the  shadows, 
and,  without  further  question,  leaped  into 
the  wagon  at  its  owner's  side.  "I  can  run 
no  more.  Let  me  rest  before  I  speak." 

"Keep  away  from  the  child!"  said 
Carita,  sharply.  "You  are  following  me 
for  no  good.  I  am  flying  from  you  and 
yours  now." 

"I  know,"  said  Zila;  "and  it  is  for 
that  I  have  come.  My  grandmother 
has  done  it  no  harm.  It  is  all  lies,  fool- 
ishness. Come  back  to  the  tents  in  the 
Glen,  and  do  not  fear  a  poor  old  woman 
whose  wits  are  half  gone,  and  who  her- 
self cries  like  a  child  for  her  food  and 
drink.  I  live  in  her  tent  and  I  must 
know  how  it  is." 

"She  hissed  like  a  snake  as  we  passed 
her. at  sunset,"  said  Carita  hotly.  "The 
child  has  been  ill  ever  since  she  cast  the 
evil  eye  upon  him." 

"Her  eyes  can  see  no  longer,"  replied 
Zila.  "She  is  blind.  She  would  curse  me 
if  I  told.  She  fears  they  will  leave  her 
with  the  Christians  to  die.  But  'when  I 
heard  you  were  mad  with  fright  for  the 
child  to-night,  I  followed  you  to  say 
that  you  can  come  back  without  fear: 
my  grandmother  neither  saw  nor  heard 
you  this  evening." 

"Is  this  the  truth?"  asked  Carita, 
breathlessly.  "I  have  heard  that  she  can 
blight  with  a  look,  a  touch." 

"Lies!"  answered  Zila  scornfully, — 
"all  gypsy  lies!  But  they  have  brought 
silver  to  her  hand,  meat  to  her  pot,  and 
so  she  lets  the  fools  shake  and  fear.  She 
can  do  your  child  no  harm.  Turn  back 
to  the  tents." 

"I  dare  not,"  said  Carita,  though  her 
voice  trembled.  "And  you  were  good  to 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


669 


follow  me  through  the  darkness  like  this 
to  lift  the  weight  from  my  heart.  But 
there  is  another  curse  upon  my  Tony  that 
you  do  not  know." 

"What?"  asked  Zila, -curiously.  "Did 
the  moonlight  fall  upon  him  barred  by 
a  crossed  tree?  A  black  crow  flap  wings 
over  him  as  he  slept?  Did  you  lift 
him  over  running  water  with  uncovered 
head?" 

"None  of  these  things,"  said  Carita, 
stirred  into  confidence  by  the  sympathy  of 
her  listener.  "You  would  not  understand, 
for  I  am  not  like. the  other  gypsies.  Once 
I  was  a  Christian.  I  went  to  the  church. 
I  knelt  at  the  altar." 

"With  the  singing  boys  and  the  girls 
in  white?"  asked  Zila.  "And  did  you 
bring  flowers  to  the  beautiful  Lady?" 

"Yes,  yes!"  answered  Carita,  with  a 
little  choke  in  her  throat  as  she  recalled 
the  May  procession  of  her  childhood. 
"Zila,  Zila,  how  did  you  know?" 

And  then  Zila  told  of  the  adventure  she 
had  recounted  to  Con;  and  soon  both  of 
these  little  half  gypsies,  children  alike  in 
heart  and  soul,  were  chattering  in  friendly 
mood— when  big  Lara  suddenly  made  a 
stumble  in  the  darkness  and  went  down 
.  on  both  knees.  The  wagon  lurched  for- 
ward on  a  broken  trace,  and  then  jolted 
down  hopelessly.  Luckily  its  inmates 
were  young  and  lithe  enough  to  spring 
to  the  ground  without  hurt  or  harm. 
Carita  burst  into  wild  lament.  Here  was 
tragedy  indeed.  High  up  on  the  pathless 
mountain,  with  a  dying  child  in  her  arms, 
and  no  help  within  reach!  What  she 
would  have  done  without  the  friendly 
little  gypsy  girl  who  had  followed  her  we 
can  not  say.  Zila  had  learned  "first  aid" 
for  such  emergencies  that  no  books  could 
teach.  She  freed  the  fallen  Lara  from  his 
entangled  gearing,  pulled  him  up  to  his 
feet,  and  righted  the  wagon  as  best  she 
could. 

But  Lara's  knees  were  shaking.  With 
trace  and  axle  broken  they  could  make 
their  way  no  farther  up  these  rough 
heights  without  stronger  and  more  skilful 


help.  Happily  the  day  was  now  breaking. 
The  pale  light  of  the  early  dawn  showed 
them  their  surroundings.  A  level  stretch 
dusky  with  pines  opened  to  their  right. 
Through  it  came  the  soft  murmur  of 
running  waters.  l 

"It  is  the  Crystal  Spring,"  said  Zila. 
"My  grandmother  made  me  fill  six  bottles 
with  the  water  as,  we  passed  yesterday. 
It  keeps  away  death,  she  said.  Come,  we 
will  sit  here  until  day,  and  then  you  can 
bathe  the  child  and  give  him  the  water 
to  drink  that  will  make  him  well  and 
strong  again." 

And,  taking  command  of  the  situation 
which  seemed  too  much  for  the  poor  little 
gypsy  mother,  Zila  led  Carita  into  the 
shelter  of  the  pines,  already  grey  with 
the  morning  twilight,  that  in  the  heights 
beyond  was  blushing  with  the  rose  of 
dawn. 

It  had  been  a  wild  plunge  into  unknown 
darkness  for  Con  and  Dick.  They  had 
no  "patteran"  to  guide  their  flight  up 
the  black,  pathless  heights  that  formed 
above  the  gypsy  camp.  Together,  they 
sped  on  over  rock  and  ridge  and  gully, 
through  thickets  of  thorn  and  tangles  of 
vine;  wading  the  streams,  leaping  the 
chasm's  that  the  pale  starlight  showed  in 
their  way.  Just  where  he  was  going  Con 
did  not  think  or  care  until  he  was  miles 
away  from  those  who  would  have  taken 
his  four-footed  comrade  from  him  forever. 
Then  he  sank  down  upon  a  mossy  stretch, 
and,  with  his  head  pillowed  upon  Dick's 
willing  back,  slept  as  the  hunted  creatures 
of  the  wood  can  sleep  after  glad  escape 
like  his  —  softly  and  happily  until  the 
break  of  day. 

When  he  and  Dick  awoke,  they  break- 
fasted (somewhat  sparingly,  we  must 
confess)  on  the  cakes  and  sweets  that  still 
remained  in  Con's  pockets  from  the  last 
night's  feasting,  and  began  to  look  about 
on  the  rough  heights  which  they  had 
reached  in  the  darkness, — heights  now 
flushed  with  all  the  glory  and  beauty  of 
the  dawn.  Con  had  learned  wariness  by 


670 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


hard  teaching,  and  he  was  no  dullard. 
With  the  gypsies  gathering  from  far  and 
near  in  the  Glen  below,  he  knew  that 
these  rose-lit  ways  weie  not  safe,  either 
for  him  or  Dick.  Already  a  search  party, 
headed  by  the  wrathful  Peppo  or  Caspar, 
might  be  looking  for  them.  And,  BS  these 
were  not  the  familiar  ways  of  Misty 
Mountain,  how  far  he  had  gone  Con  could 
not  tell. 

So  it  was  with  watchful  eye  and 
stealthy  tread  that  he  kept  on  his  jour- 
ney to  safety;  while  Dick,  thinking 
doubtless  that,  as  of  yore,  they  were 
hunting  some  shy  game  that  must  not  be 
startled,  moved  noiselessly  at  his  young 
master's  side. 

Then  suddenly  through  the  thicket 
of  pines  by  which  they  were  creeping 
came  sounds  that  made  boy  and  dog 
pause  breathless  and  alert, — the  sobs  of 
a  woman,  the  cry  of  a  child! 

(To  be  continued.) 


The  Mouse  that  Looked  dut  for  Number 
One. 


Once  upon  a  time  a  mouse,  having 
come  of  age  to  leave  home,  started  out  to 
seek  his  fortune.  The  first  thing  he  came 
to  was  a  tall  tree,  up  which  he  nimbly 
climbed,  and  at  the  top  he  found  many 
large  nuts.  "Here  is  food  aplenty,"  he 
said,  "if  I  can  only  get  inside."  He 
gnawed  through  the  rough  husk,  but  then 
came  to  the  hard  bark,  of  the  nut.  "  Perse- 
verance will  overcome  all  difficulties,"  he 
said  to  himself;  and  soon  he  found  a  small 
soft  place  in  the  bark,  and  quickly  made 
his  way  through  it.  There  before  him  lay 
a  most  delicious  feast  of  milk  and  sweet 
white  cocoanut  meat. 

Now,  this  mouse  might  have  hurried 
out  and  told  his  relatives  and  neighbors 
of  the  feast  he  had  found,  enough  for  all 
for  many  days,  and  invited  them  to  join 
in  it;  or  he  might  have  stood  in  the  hole 
and  passed  out  meat  to  his  friends,"\vho 
could  carry  it  to  other  mice  that  lived 


at  a  distance,  many  of  whom  might  be 
in  hunger.  But  our  mouse  did  neither 
of  these  things:  he  said,  "Look  out  for 
number  one,"  and  "First  come,  first 
served,"  and  repeated  some  other  similar 
proverbs  that  he  had  been  careful  to 
remember.  So  he  stayed  inside  the  nut, 
and  ate  and  ate  and  ate,  till  he  had  eaten 
it  all  up;  and  then  he  said,  "I  will  now 
take  a  good  sleep,  and  then  go  out  and 
find  another  nut  for  to-morrow."  But. 
alas!  when  he  would  go  outside,  he 
could  not  possibly '  squeeze  through  the 
hole,  his  stomach  had  grown  so  big; 
and  he  could  not  gnaw  the  hard  shell,  he 
was  so  weak  from  overeating;  so  he  had 
to  stay  inside  till  he  died.  And  when  the 
cocoanut  gatherers  came  they  found  one 
nut  too  light  to  be  good;  and,  cracking  it 
open,  lo!  it  was  the  tomb  of  the  unfor- 
tunate, selfish  mouse. 

It  is  quite  a  common  thing  to  find  large 
cocoanuts  with  nothing  inside  but  dead 
mice.  This  is  the  way  the  poor  things 
get  there.  And  this  is  the  lesson  that 
they  teach:  we  may  keep  everything  for 
ourselves,  or  we  may  share  things  with 
others,  especially  those  in  want.  But  if  we 
follow  the  mouse's  example  we  shall  meet 
with  misfortune  in  the  end. 


A  Good  Counsel. 


BY    E.   BECK. 


/<plvL  those  who  feel  distress  and  care 

All  those  who  laugh  and  sing, 
The  workman  and  the  millionaire, 

The  subject  and  the  king; 
The  rich  and  poor,  the  high  and  low, 

Will  find  it  no  bad  plan 
In  every  trial  they  may  know 

To  do  the  best  they  can. 
No  learned  sage,  no  seer  of  old 

Could  better  counsel  speak; 
It  suits  the  timid  and  the  bold, 

The  strong  man  and  the  wcnk; 
'Tis  fit  for  those  in  places  high, 

Those  farthest  from  the   van; 
And  none  can  fail  who  really   try 

To  do  the  best  they  can. 


THE  AVE  MARIA  671 

WITH    AUTHORS    AND    PUBLISHERS 


— A  list  of  new  books  in  press  by  Longmans, 
Green  &  Co.  includes  "Horace  and  His  Age: 
A  Study  in  Historical  Background,"  by  the 
Rev.  Dr.  J.  F.  Dalton,  of  St.  Patrick's  College, 
Maynooth. 

— "French  Windows,"  by  John  Ayscough,  is 
made  up  of  the  papers  published  in  the  Month 
under  the  title  "French  and  English."  Another 
book  already  bore  the  former  name.  Otherwise 
no  alterations  have  been  made. 

— The  "Commisione  de  Archeologia  Sacra," 
of  Rome,  is  publishing  the  numerous  Christian 
inscriptions  discovered  from  time  to  time  by 
further  explorations  in  recesses  of  the  Cata- 
combs in  the  new  series  of  the  "Roma  Sotte- 
ranea  Christiana."  The  editor  is  IJDr.  O. 
Marucchi;  and  he  has  now  brought  out  the 
second  part  of  Vol.  I.,  containing  an  account  of 
excavations  carried  out  since  1912  in  the  Ceme- 
tery of  Domitilla. 

— Among  recent  pamphlets  and  brochures 
we  note  "Work  for  the  Newman  Society" 
and  "God's  Voice  in  the  Soul,"  issues  of  the 
Australian  C.  T.  S.;  "Belgium  and  Greece,"  by 
J.  W.  Headlam;  and  the  "German  Idea  of 
Peace  Terms,"  by  J.  M.  Robertson,  M.  P., 
both  published  by  Hodder  and  Stoughton; 
also  "Canada  to  Ireland"  and  "The  Condition 
of  the  Belgian  Workmen  Now  Refugees  in 
England."  (T.  Fisher  Unwin.) 

— Longmans,  Green  &  Co.  have  just  published 
"The  Work  of  St.  Optatus,  Bishop  of  Milevis, 
against  the  Donatists,"  translated  by  the  Rev. 
O.  R.  Vassall-Phillips,  C.  SS.  R.,  with  critical, 
historical  and  other  notes.  It  seems  strange 
that  St.  Optatus'  treatise  has  never  before  been 
translated  into  English.  It  contains  the  first 
sustained  argument  against  both  heresy  and 
schism,  and  asserts  -"the  Notes  of  the  Church 
as  at  present  defined.  The  saint  lived  in  the 
latter  half  of  the  fourth  century. 

— There  is  good  news  for  poetry-lovers  in  the 
announcement  that  the  John  Lane  Co.  are 
shortly  to  issue  "Poems  of  Charles  Warren 
Stoddard,  Poet  of  the  South  Seas."  The  work 
of  collecting  these  poems  has  been  done  by 
Miss  Ina  Coolbrith,  a  lifelong  friend  of  the  poet, 
and  herself  a  writer  of  beautiful  verses;  and  the 
editing  by  Mr.  Thomas  Walsh,  also  associated 
with  Stoddard  by  ties  of  friendship  and 
kindred  genius.  This  volume  will  be  the  more 
interesting,  representing  as  it  does  the  best  of 
what  Catholic  song  was  before  the  quickening 
revival  of  the  nineties,  with  which  are  con- 


nected such  great  names  as  Francis  Thompson 
and  Lionel  Johnson.  Stoddard's  poetry  in 
his  own  day  won  the  praise  of  Tennyson, 
Longfellow,  Robert  Buchanan,  Swinburne, 
Stevenson,  and  numerous  other  discerning  minds. 
Many  of  his  best  pieces  were  contributed  to 
MARIA. 


—"The  Story  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles," 
by  the  Rev.  D.  Lynch,  S.  J.  (Benziger  Brothers), 
is  a  twelvemo  of  295  pages,  enriched  with 
fifteen  photogravures  and  a  map  illustrating 
the  journeys  of  St.  Paul.  While  essentially 
merely  an  amplification  of  the  Acts,  the  work  is 
a  thoroughly  interesting  and  detailed  narrative 
of  the  development  of  the  early.  Church;  and, 
as  the  publishers  put  it,  an  enchanting  account 
of  a  personally  conducted  tour  of  the  East 
under  the  leadership  of  the  Apostle  of  the 
Gentiles.  For  the  general  reader,  as  differen- 
tiated from  the  critical  Biblical  student,  the 
work  performs  a  service  rendered  by  no  other 
volume  which  we  can  at  present  recall. 

—"The  Poems  of  B.  I.  Durward  (Illustrated 
Centenary  Edition,  1917).  With  Life  and 
Criticism  on  Poetry,"  comes  from  the  Pilgrim 
Publishing  Co.,  Baraboo,  Wis.  Our  interest  in 
the  volume  has  centred  rather  in  the  Life  than 
in  the  poems,  undoubted  as  is  the  merit  of  some 
of  the  hundred  odd  selections  of  poetry  —  and 
verse.  The  fact  that  the  reverend  editor  of  this 
memoir  is  a  son  of  the  poet  explains  the  other- 
wise ^hardly  explicable  statement  that  "Mr. 
Durward  easily  holds  still  the  first  place  in 
[sic]  America's  Catholic  poets."  This  assertion, 
it  is  safe  to  say,  will  be  news  to  the  great  majority 
of  our  readers;  and  not  without  reason.  As 
the  editor  remarks,  there  is  no  mention  of  B.  I. 
Durward  in  the  Catholic  Encyclopedia;  and, 
as  we  have  taken  the  trouble  to  ascertain,  he 
is  not  represented  in  either  the  first  or  second 
series  of  Orby  Shipley's  "Carmina  Mariana,  "- 
an  anthology  which,  nevertheless,  contains 
poems  by  a  number  of  American  Catholic 
poets  of  whom,  apparently,  the  Rev.  J.  T. 
Durward  has  never  heard;  whom,  in  any  case, 
he  does  not  mention.  This  much  being  said 
by  way  of  scarcely  avoidable  criticism,  le,t  us 
assure  our  readers  that  they  will  find  much  to 
enjoy  in  both  the  poetry  and  the  prose  of  this 
handsome  twelvemo  of  some  300  pages.  The 
price  of  it  is  not  given. 

—  A  book  brimful  of  actuality  is  "Literature 
in  the  Making,"  by  Some  of  Its  Makers,  pre- 
sented by  Mr.  Joyce  Kilmer  (Harper  &  Brothers). 
An  octavo  of  over  300  pages,  it  is  made  up  of  a 


672 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


series  of  interviews  which  this  alert  journalist 
has  had  with  writers  of  to-day  who  are  by 
common  consent  regarded  as  important,  or 
at  least  successful.  Thus  we  find  William  Dean 
Howells  on  the  theme  "War  Stops  Literature"; 
Kathleen  Norris  discussing  "The  Joys  of  the 
Poor";  Booth  Tarkington,  "National  Prosperity 
and  Art";  and  Montague  Glass  with  the  happy 
subject  "Romanticism  and  American  Humor," — 
to  cite  only  the  first  four  of  these  twenty-three 
engaging  interviews.  One  character  these  papers 
have  which  may  surprise,  as  it  will  surely  gratify, 
the  reader — they  do  not  exploit  the  individual 
writer:  rather  they  afford  these  writing  men  and 
women  an  opportunity  of  expressing  their  views 
on  subjects  about  which  it  may  be  allowed  they 
think  in  a  manner  authoritatively.  As  a  result, 
the  outstanding  feature  of  the  volume  is  its 
quality  of  being  alive.  These  are  not  dust-dry, 
classroom  dissertations:  they  are  bright  and 
piquant  conversations  on  subjects  well  suited 
to  academic  discussion.  Mr.  Kilmer  claims 
credit  only  for  "presenting"  these  discourses 
to  the  -public,  but  it  is  manifest  throughout 
that  it  is  his  "leading"  which  has  produced 
much  of  the.  value  which  these  replies  possess. 
We  should  say  that  this  book  is  indispensable 
to  the  student  of  contemporary  literature. 


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Sisters  of  St.  Francis. 

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Mr.  Jacob  Laskowitz,  Mrs.  C.  J.  Sharkey,  and 
Mrs.  Louisa  Popps. 

Eternal  rest  give  unto  them,  O  Lord;  and  let 
perpetual  light  shine  upon  them.  May  they  rest 
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•Of 

'CT£0  TQ  •} 
V  //  •'/  VT^^^^vVvXV 

HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME   BLESSED.      ST.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JUNE  2,  1917. 


NO.  22 


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


June. 


BY    MARION    MUIR. 


sick  of  toil,  with   many  tears; 
And  sick  of  life,  beset  with  fears, 
I  climbed  along  the  path  where  Spring 
Had  stopped  a  moment,  on  the  wing, 
To  cast  her  veil  of  vapor  down 
Below  the  summit's  shining  crown 
Where  June,  the  joyous,  laughed,  and  tossed 
From  her  white  brow  the  lingering  frost; 
And  scattered  riches  far  and  wide, 
As  best  befits  a  royal  bride. 

A  network  of  uncounted  flowers 
Ran,   banner-like,  along  the  towers,     , 
Where  links  of  fairy  gold  entwine 
The  morning  stars  of  columbine, 
The  silver  lily,  clasped  in  fire, 
By  the  red  warrior's  daring  spire 
With  violets  and  bluebells  blown, 
By  every  ragged  shaft  of  stone; 
And,   warm  against  a  wall  of  snows, 
The  dawning  color  of  the  rose. 

WThere  tiny  crystal  ripples  grew 

Wide-spreading  to  a  pool  of  blue, 

I  saw  my  own  reflected  face 

Look  upward  from  a  shaded  place, 

All  white  with   beads  of  blossom  shorn, 

When  sudden  showers  shook  the  thorn; 

And  thanked  the  Lord,  who  made  this  earth, 

But  gave  me  little  of  its  mirth, 

That  I,   in  spite  of  many  ills, 

Could  still  be  happy  in  the  hills. 


IN  the  works  of  God  progress  is  really 
greatest  when  obstacles  crowd  thick  and 
fast.— S*.  Paul  of  the  Cross. 


"Woman,  what  is  it  to  Me  and  to  Thee?" 


A  STUDY  IN  EXEGESIS. 


BY    THE    RT.  REV.   BISHOP   MACDONALD. 


HERE,    is    no    end    of    com- 
mentary on  the  text  (St.  John, 
ii,    4)    where  these   words   are 
found.     Of    course    "woman" 
here    is    a    term    of    respect,    as    it    must 
needs   have   been   in   the   mouth   of   Him 
who  bids  us  honor  father  and  mother;    as 
it  was  in  the  after  time  when  He  spoke 
from     the    Cross,     "Woman,    behold   thy 
son";    as  it  is  in  the  well-known  lines: 
Woman  above  all  women  glorified, 
Our  tainted  nature's  solitary  boast. 

But  the  other  words  certainly  appear  to 
imply  a  rebuke  or  remonstrance.  The 
same  expression,  word  for  word,  or  equiv- 
alently,  occurs  several  times  in  Scripture 
(II.  Kings,  xvi,  10;  xix,  22;  III.  Kings, 
xvii,  18;  IV.  Kings,  iii,  13;  II.  Paral., 
xxxv,  21 ;  St.  Matt.,  viii,  29;  St.  Mark, 
i,  24) ;  and  always  in  a  deprecatory 
sense, — always  by  way  of  protest  against 
interference.  The  Hebraism,  done  liter- 
ally into  the  Latin  "Quid  mihi  et  tibi?" 
is  uniformly  rendered  in  later  editions  of 
the  Douay  Version,  "What  have  I  to  do 
with  thee?"  save  only  in  the"  text  of  St. 
John  cited  above,  where  we  have,  quite 
wrongly,  "Woman,  what  is  that  to  Me 
and  to  thee?"  A  study  of  the  other  pas- 
sages in  which  the  idiom  occurs  forces 
upon  one  the  conclusion  that  the  meaning 
here  is,  "Woman,  let  Me  alone;  do  not 
interfere";  which  is  further  borne  out  by 


674 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


the  words  that  follow,  "My  hour  is  not 
yet  come."  On  the  other  hand,  the  context 
makes  it  plain  that  Our  Lady  did  not 
take  the  words  of  her  Divine  Son  as  a 
refusal  or  reproof;  for  she  went  right  on 
to  tell  the  waiters,  "Whatsoever  He  shall 
say  to  you,  do. ye";  and  forthwith  the 
water-pots  were  filled,  and  the  water  was 
changed  into  wine.  How,  then,  account 
for  the  seeming  repulse?  An  explanation 
may  be  found  in  the  fact  that  Our  Lord, 
as  His  Virgin  Mother  well  knew,  some- 
times made  an  outward  show  of  denial 
when  He  really  meant  to  do  the  very  thing 
which  His  words  or  actions  seemed  to 
indicate  He  would  not  do.  We  have  many 
instances  of  this  in  the  Gospels. 

When  the -five  thousand  followed  Jesus 
into  the  desert  place  where  He  wrought 
the  great  miracle  of  the  multiplication  of 
the  loaves  and  fishes,  He  said  to  Philip: 
"Whence  shall  we  buy  bread  that  these 
may  eat?"  St.  John  adds:  "And  this  He 
said  to  try  him,  for  He  Himself  knew 
what  He  would  do"  (vii,  6).  Again,  when 
the  disciples  were  in  the  boat  on  the 
Sea  of  Galilee  and  the  wind  was  against 
them,  Jesus  came  to  them  walking  upon 
the  sea,  "and  He  would  have  passed  by 
them"  (St.  Mark,  vi,  48) — i.  e.,  made  as  if 
to  pass  by  them, — but  presently  "went 
up  to  them  into  the  ship,  and  the  wind 
ceased"  (vi,  51).  Once  more,  when  the  two 
disciples  were  on  their  way  to  Emmaus, 
after  the  Resurrection,  and  Jesus  joined 
them,  as  they  drew  nigh  to  the  town, 
' '  He  made  as  though  he  would  go  farther. 
But  they  constrained  Him,  saying:  Stay 
with  us,  because  it  is  toward  evening,  and 
the  day  is  now  far  spent.  And  He  went 
in  with  them."  (St.  Luke,  xxiv,  28,  29.) 

There  are  two  other  even  more  striking 
instances  of  the  thing.  One  is  in  St.  Mat- 
thew, xv,  where  the  woman  of  Canaan 
besought  Our  Lord  to  have  mercy  on 
her,  because  her  daughter  was  grievously 
troubled  by  a  devil.  At  first  He  "answered 
her  not  a  word."  And  when  the  disciples 
interceded,  He  said  He  was  not  sent 
but  to  the  sheep  that  were  lost  of  the 


House  of  Israel.  But  she  came  and  fell 
at  His  feet,  saying,  "Lord,  help  me!" 
To  this  humble  and  moving  entreaty 
He  made  answer  in  words  which  are,  on 
the  face  of  them,  so  harsh  and  unkind 
that  we  can  scarce  conceive  them  to  have 
fallen  from  His  lips:  "It  is  not  good  to 
take  the  bread  of  the  children  and  to  cast 
it  to  the  dogs."  They  did  but  draw  from 
her  the  rejoinder,  sublime  in  its  humility 
and  unfaltering  trust:  "Yea,  Lord,  for 
the  whelps  also  eat  of  the  crumbs  that 
fall  from  the  table  of  their  masters."  Not 
even  a  heart  of  stone  could  remain  un- 
moved, much  less  could  the  Heart  of  all 
hearts  the  most  loving  and  tender.  "Then 
Jesus,  answering,  said  to  her:  O  woman, 
great  is  thy  faith;  be  it  done  to  thee  as 
thou  wilt.  And  her  daughter  was  heak-d 
from  that  hour." 

The  other  instance  is  recounted  by  the 
Beloved  Disciple  (xi).  Lazarus,  brother  of 
Martha  and  Mary,  is  sick.  His  sisters 
send  to  their  Divine  Friend,  who  is  now 
afar,  in  the  country  beyond  the  Jordan, 
this  touching  message:  "Lord,  behold  he 
whom  Thou  lovest  is  sick."  How  like  to 
the  words  of  Our  Lady  at  the  Wedding 
Feast,  in  wistfulness  and  simple  faith! 
Yet,  even  as  in  the  latter  case,  Our  Lord 
at  first  seems  to  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  this 
gentle  appeal,  all  the  more  affecting  for 
its  being  but  half-spoken.  "When  He  had 
heard,  therefore,  that  he  was  sick,  He 
still  remained  in  the  same  place  two  days." 
And  by  the  time  He  reached  Bethany  the 
body  of  Lazarus  was  already  rotting  in  its 
grave.  Imagine  the  feelings  of  Martha  and 
Mary  in  the  meantime!  Little  wonder  if 
they  should  have  thought  that  the  One 
they  loved  and  trusted  most  in  all  the 
world  had  failed  them  in  their  sorest  need. 
It  was,  indeed,  a  trial  of  faith,— to  be 
rewarded,  however,  by  a  yet  more  stu- 
pendous miracle  than  that  which  turned 
water  into  wine  in  Cana  of  Galilee. 

What,  then?  Have  we  not  here  a  solu- 
tion of  our  difficulty?  The  Virgin  Mother 
of  the  Saviour,  gifted  above  all  the  crea- 
tures of  God;  she  who  watched  her  Divine 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


675 


Son  day  and  night  during  all  the  silent 
years  at  Nazareth;  she  who  knew  His 
ways  so  well, — did  she  not  know  that 
this  was  a  way  He  had,  ta  hide  at  times 
under  a  mask  of  reproof  and  denial  the 
kindness  of  His  loving  Heart?  She  did 
beyond  a  doubt.  And  so,  despite  the  seem- 
ing stern  remonstrance,  with  supreme 
confidence  in  His  goodness  and  power, 
she  told  the  waiters:  "Whatsoever  He 
shall  say  to  you,  do  ye."  And  her  faith, 
too,  was  rewarded  by  what  St.  John 
calls  a  "beginning  of  miracles." 

Yes,  a  beginning  of  miracles,  and  the 
beginning  of  the  end.  This  is  what  Our 
Lord  seems  to  have  in  His  mind  when  He 
says,  "My  hour  is  not  yet  come."  In 
every  other  instance  in  which  the  expres- 
sion "My  hour,"  "His  hour,"  "the  hour" 
occurs  in  St.  John's  Gospel,  and  it  occurs 
frequently  (vii,  30;  viii,  20;  xii,  23;  xiii,  i; 
xvi,  4;  xvii,  i),  it  refers  to  His  passion, 
His  passing  out  of  this  world.  It  appears 
to  do  so  also  in  the  present  instance,  at 
least  in  the  mind  of  Our  Lord.  The  mar- 
riage in  Cana  figured  the  "marriage  of  the 
Lamb."  (Apoc.,  xix,  7.)  The  wedding  feast 
there  was  a  type  of  the  Feast  begun  in 
the  Cenacle  and  continued  evermore  in 
the  Holy  Mass;  the  change  of  water  into 
wine  shadowed  forth  the  change  of  wine 
into  the  Blood  of  the  New  Testament 
when  its  Author,  coming  from  Edom,  with 
dyed  garments  from  Bosra,  trod  the 
winepress  alone.  (Is.,  xiii,  1-3.)  Evermore 
does  the  Wine  run  short  at  this  Wedding 
Feast,  being  drained  by  the  countless 
guests;  and  evermore  is  it  made  new 
again  in  the  Kingdom  of  God  by  the  Word 
once  spoken  and  passing  not.  And  as 
often  as  the  joy  of  life,  whereof  wine  is 
the  symbol,  ebbs  and  dies  away  in  the 
hearts  of  believers,  so  often  is  it  made  to 
live  again  by  the  mystic  wine  which  alone 
truly  maketh  glad  the  heart. 

It  remains  to  point  out  the  lesson  we 
may  gather  from  this  short  study.  Jesus 
Christ  as  God  is  One  with  the  Father  and 
the  Holy  Spirit,  for  there  is  but  one  God. 
His  way  of  dealing  with  His  disciples,  with 


the  woman  of  Canaan,  with  Martha  and 
Mary,  with  His  own  Virgin  Mother, 
exemplifies  His  way  of  dealing  with  men 
throughout  all  the  ages.  Always,  as  at 
Cana,  He  keeps  the  good  wine  to  the 
last.  Those,  whom  He  loves  He  tries, 
even  as  gold  is  tried  in  the  furnace;  and 
those  whom  He  loves  the  most  He  tries 
the  hardest.  It  was  so  under  the  Old 
Testament,  it  is  so  under  the  New. 
Abraham  and  Joseph  and  Job  and  Tobias 
and  David,  —  was  it  not  through  trial 
they  were  made  so  strong  and  pure  and 
pleasing  to  God?  And  the  Christian 
virgins  and  confessors  and  martyrs — they, 
too,  passed  through  great  tribulations, 
and  so  washed  their  stoles  and  made 
them  white  in  the  Blood  of  the  Lamb. 
Nor  did  they  falter  in  their  trust  when  the 
outlook  was  darkest,  and  God  Himself 
would  seem  to  have  abandoned  them. 
Their  cry  was  ever,  in  the  words  of  holy 
Job,  "Though  He  slay  me,  yet  will  I 
trust  in  Him." 

This  lesson  it  will  be  well  to  lay  to 
heart  in  the  time  of  sore  trial  that  we  are 
passing  through  to-day.  Per  crucem  ad 
lucent.  Through  the  Cross,  the  darkness 
and  the  dereliction,  we  pass  securely  into 
the  light  of  the  Eternal  Day.  This  is  the 
divine  law  of  advancement  in  the  spiritual 
life.  "I  am  the  true  vine,"  says  our 
Blessed  Lord;  "and  My  Father  is  the 
husbandman.  Every  branch  in  Me  that 
beareth  not  fruit  He  will  take  away; 
and  every  one  that  beareth  fruit  He  will 
purge  it,  that  it  may  bring  forth  more 
fruit."  (St.  John,  xv,  i,  2.) 

And  there  is  another  lesson  closely  bound 
up  with  this  one.  It  is  the  duty  of  per- 
severing prayer.  "We  ought  always  to  pray, 
and  not  to  faint."  (St.  Luke,  xviii,  i.)  Both 
lessons  are  brought  out  in  some  simple 
lines  of  my  own  that  were  published 
anonymously  about  ten  years  ago  in  Tim 
AVE)  MARIA,  under  the  heading, 

WAITING    UPON    THE    MASTlvK. 

To  btancl   and  wait,  the   Master  bids  Uis  own; 
To  stand  and  wait — aye,  stand  and  wait  and. 
pray, 


676 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


And  cleave  to  Him,  their  strength  and  surest 

stay; 
For  who  can  stand  or  who  can  wait — alone? 

To  stand  in  faith,  not  wavering  'mid  the  storm 
And  deepening  gloom,  when  skies  are  overcast: 
The  wildest  tempest  is  the  soonest  past, 

On  blackest  clouds  is  limned  the  rainbow's  form. 

To  wait  from  dawning  e'en  till  close  of  day, 
And  murmur  not,  nor  pine  for  promised  rest 
From  pain  and  labor, — these  give  added  zest 

To  bliss  bestowed  in  God's  appointed  way. 

To  pray  and  faint  not, — yea,  to  pray  the  more 
When  shadows  thicken  and  the  soul  is  sad, — 
O  Light  of  Light,  make  Thou  our  sore  hearts 
glad; 

Show  forth,  on  life's  dark  sea,  the  eternal  shore! 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 

BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 

XXXII. — CONFERENCES. 
"^STOU   have   been    born   in   this   coun- 

Q|5)  try?"    asked     Arthur    when    Mary 

{      O'Flynn  had  seated  herself  near  the 
admiring  Rody. 

"Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Bodkin!  My  poor 
mother — God  rest  her  soul! — was  a  Mexi- 
can,— an  Alvarado,"  said  the  girl,j:>roudly; 
"but  I — /  am  Irish  heart  and  soul.  Oh," 
she  adder),  with  a  charming  gesture,  "I 
long,  long,  long  to  sec  Ireland!" 

"And  so  ye  will,  mavournccn,"  mut- 
tered Rody,  "if  we  escape  bein'  kilt." 

"It  was  a  strange  piece  of  luck,  your 
kinsman  turning  up  so  unexpectedly." 

"It  was  splendid.  Madre  de  Dios,  how 
delightful  to  meet  any  one  from  Ireland! 
Do  you  know,  Mr.  Bodkin,  I  have  not  a 
particle  of  love  for  this  country?  Isn't 
that  queer?  Born  here,  never  having  been 
five  leagues  out  of  this  city,  never  having 
seen  the  sea,  yet  I  know  Ireland,  almost  by 
heart,  from  Kingstown  Harbor  to  Bantry 
Bay.  Won't  you  let  me  show  you  my 
collection  of  photographs?  Alas!"  she 
added,  almost  tearfully,  "I  can  not"- 
lowering  her  voice  to  a  whisper, — "they 
are  all  packed  up." 

At  this  moment  the  cathedral  clock 
boomed  out  the  Angelus.  Instantly  the 


girl,  Arthur  and  Rody  dropped  upon  their 
knees;  and  the  old  man,  after  gazing  at 
them  in  bewilderment,  slowly  sank  into 
a  posture  of  reverence — without  kneeling, 
however, — and  murmured  the  response 
that  ascends  daily  from  millions  and 
millions  of  th'e  faithful  to  the  feet  of 
Nuestra  Senora. 

"  I  must  leave  you,"  said  Arthur.  "You, 
Rody,  can  remain.  I  do  not  want  to  see 
you  till  four  o'clock.  Mr.  O'Flynn,  may  I 
have  a  word  with  you  in  private?" 

And  as  Arthur  followed  O'Flynn  down 
the  stairway  Rody  exclaimed,  in  a  sort  of 
ecstasy: 

"Isn't  he  one  of  the  shupayriorest  men 
of  the  whole  world!" 

Rody  remained  with  his  amiable  relative 
until  almuerzo,  and  long  after,  telling 
her  the  most  extravagant  stories  of  the 
glory  of  the  Bodkins  and  the  splendors 
of  Ballyboden, — -weaving  in  legends  a 
century  old  with  events  of  the  hour,  until 
if  Mary  yearned  to  see  Ireland  before,  an 
edge  was  put  upon  her  appetite  that  was 
more  likely  to  become  sharper  by  time 
instead  of  lending  itself  to  rust. 

Arthur  and  the  older  O'Flynn  held 
a  long  and  secret  conference.  The  old  man 
knew  that  he  had  a  gentleman  and  a  man 
of  honor  to  deal  with,  and  flung  the' gates 
of  his  confidence  open  wide.  He  narrate'! 
in  brief  his  career,  never  seeking  to  conceal 
that  it  was  by  usury  the  most  usurious 
that  he  had  amassed  considerable  wealth. 

"I  have  been  a  madman  in  not  send- 
ing it  out  of  a  country  where  we  have- 
revolutions  once  a  month,"  he  groaned. 
"Instead  of  that" — -here  he  lowered  his 
voice  to  a  keen  whisper — "I  have  it 
mostly  in  silver,  in  this  house,  senor,— 
in  old  boxes  and  trunks  and  cases.  Some 
I  have  up  in  a  mine  at  Pachuca,  hidden 
in  a  spot  which  I  will  show  you,  sir. 
Here's  the  little  map," — and  he  produced 
a  scroll  from  a  dark  cupboard  possessing 
a  most  formidable  lock.  "Here  it  is — • 
vSanta  Maria  del  Flor." 

"Why,  that  is  where  niy  friend,  Harry 
Talbot,  is  working!"  cried  Arthur, 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


677 


"Yes,  sir:  Talbot  is  the  name,  with 
two  other  Irish  gentlemen.  Is  Mr.  Talbot 
a  friend  of  yours?" 

"One  of  the  best  and  oldest  I  have." 

"Then,  sir,  my  property  is  safe  in  his 
hands?" 

"Safe  as  can  be.  He  is  one  of  the 
most  straight  and  honest  fellows  alive." 

"Would  you  trust  him  with  a  secret?" 
asked  O'Flynn,  eagerly. 

"I  would  trust  him  with  my  life." 

The  old  man  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  for  about  five  turns,  his  head  sunk 
on  his  breast,  then  said: 

"I'll  trust  him.  Will  you  send  him 
this  map  and  this  letter?  You  see,  sir,  I 
had  them  both  ready  in  case  of  the  worst. 
This  letter  will  tell  Mr.  Talbot  what  to  do, 
and  where  he  will  find  certain  documents, 
and — and — -gold.  This  is  for  my  little 
girl,  in  case  anything  happens  me;  for"- 
here  he  shuddered  and  glanced  across 
,his  shoulder — "they'll  murder  me  for 
what  they  won't  get," — the  scowl  of  fear 
being  replaced  by  a  scowl  of  hatred — 
bitter,  undying.  "Oho!"  he  chuckled,  not 
exactly  addressing  Arthur,  but  as  it  were 
thinking  aloud, —  -"oho!  they  think  they 
can  steal  my  hard  earnings  of  years  in  a 
single  night.  Not  so.  I  am  one  too  deep 
for  them.  They  will  get  a  few  hundred 
dollars  here."  The  old  man  groaned  as  lie 
thought  of  the  loss.  "Well,  it  is  better  to 
lose  a  few  hundred  than  thousands.  Yes, 
I  can  trust  this  Bodkin  and  his  friend. 
Perhaps  if  he  knew  the  size  of  Mary's 
fortune — 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  O'Flynn,  but 
let  us  talk  to  a  purpose,"  said  Arthur, 
who  did  not  relish  the  turn  things  were 
taking.  "We  must  devise  some  method  to 
entrap  this  villain  Mazazo.  You  say  that 
he  is  to  return  to-night?" 

"Yes,  sir.  But  I  must  tell  you  that 
though  he  calls  himself  Mazazo,  his  real 
name  is  Lopez, — Manuel  Lopez,  brother 
of  that  man  whom  your  Emperor  thinks 
so  much  of,  by  all  account." 

"Brother?" 

"Yes,  his  own  brother." 


"This  is  astounding!" 

"I'll  astound  you  more  before  I'm  done 
with  you,  sir.  I  know  things  that  no- 
body else  knows.  I  know  secrets  that 
have  a  life  in  every  one  of  them, — 
men's  lives,  —  aye,  and  women's  lives.  I 
know — 

"But  this  Mazazo, — I  want  to  settle  an 
account  with  him." 

"So  you  should,  senor.  Step  this  way. 
Walls  have  ears, — aye,  and  mouths  too." 

The  usurer  led  the  way  into  a  small, 
dark  crib,  the  door  of  which  he  closed, 
after  Arthur  had  entered;  then  rapidly 
reopened  it,  peered  into  the  outer  semi- 
darkness,  and  closed  it  again.  In  this  dark 
and  seemingly  padded  room,  the  heat 
being  almost  stifling,  he  arranged  with 
Arthur  the  details  necessary  for  the  capture 
of  Mazazo. 

"Mr.  Bodkin,"  he  continued,  "now  to 
speak  of  the  safety  of  my  child.  How  am 
I  to  provide  for  her?  I  have,  alas!  made 
no  friends,  and  have  permitted  her  no 
intercourse  with  the  outer  world.  I  now 
see  my  mistake, — my  terrible  mistake. 
Where  can  I  send  her  for  protection  and 
safety  ? ' ' 

"I  will  gladly  arrange  that  she  shall 
be  received  by  the  Baroness  von  Stein  into 
her  household.  She  is  a  dear,  charitable, 
sweet  old  lady.  She  has  apartments  in 
the  palace.  Her  husband  has  gone  to 
Queretaro  with  the  Emperor.  With  the 
Baroness  your  daughter  will  be  perfectly 
safe;  and  she  will  have  her  kinsman 
Rody  to  look  after  her." 

"And  you,  sir, — you?  She  will  be  a 
great  heiress,  Mr.  Bodkin, — a  great  heiress 
some  day,  if  all  goes  well;  and  as  good 
and  pious  a  girl  as  ever  prayed  to  Our 
Lady  of  Guadalupe.  Her  poor  mother, 
who  was  a  most  devout  creature,  on  her 
deathbed  placed  the  child  under  the 
guardianship  of  Nuestra  Seiiora.  She  is 
fit  mate  for  the  best  man  in  the  world. 
I  have  old  blood  in  my  veins,  and  the 
O'Flynns  of  Ballynavca  were  lords  of 
Oranmore  at  one  time.  Her  mother  was  an 
Alvarado, — yes,  senor,  lineally  descended 


678 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


from  the  famous  Don  Pedro  del  Alvarado, 
who  made  that  wonderful  leap  on  the 
Noche  Triste.  As  for  her  grandfather,  he 
was  a  pure  hidalgo,  and — 

Arthur  was  compelled  to  interrupt  the 
old  man. 

"Once  more,  Mr.  O'Flynn,  let  us  under- 
stand each  other.  Firstly,  as  regards  the 
safety  of  your  daughter:  I  shall  send  a 
carriage  here  for  her  within  one  hour. 
Secondly,  as  regards  the  maps  and  plans 
of  your  mine:  I  shall  send  them  by  sure 
hand  to  my  good  friend,  Mr.  Harry 
Talbot.  Thirdly,  as  regards  the  capture  of 
Mazazo:  I  shall  come  here  about  eleven 
o'clock  to-night,  sending  half  a  dozen 
picked  men, — one  at  a  time,  in  order  to 
prevent  suspicion." 

"Soldiers?" 

"Yes." 

"In  uniform?" 

"Certainly." 

"Oho!  oho!  What  a  poor  general  you 
would  make,  Mr.  Bodkin!  Why,  sir, 
Mazazo,  has  spies  at  every  corner  and  a 
soldier's  uniform  would  tell  a  story  that 
would  make  very  interesting  reading  for 
him.  No,  sir:  your  men  must  come  here 
dressed  as  men  who  needed  financial 
assistance  would  dress.  Pick  out  six 
trustees.  Let  them  come  one  by  one.  Arm 
them  to  the  very  teeth;  for  Mazazo  will 
not  be  taken  alive,  if  he  can  help  it.  I 
shall  get  him  to  come  into  this  room,  to 
sign,  as  it  were,  the  necessary  documents, 
clap  the  door  on  him,  and  then  we  have 
the  rat  in  the  trap.  Oh,  won't  it  be  glorious 
for  both  of  us— both  of  us!" 

After  some  further  discussion,  Arthur 
returned  to  where  he  had  left  Rody  and 
Mary  O'Flynn,  to  whom  he  confided  the 
nature  of  his  arrangements  for  her  com- 
fort and  safety. 

XXXIII.— A  RAT  IN  Tim  TRAP. 

Arthur  Bodkin  felt  enormously  elated 
at  the  thought  of  having  Mazazo  in  his 
power,  while  Rody  was  beside  himself 
with  fxriteim-ut. 

"Masther    Arthur,"    he    cried,    "you're 


too    soft    and    aisy    wid    such    creatures. 
Won't  ye  lave  him  to  me?" 

"Wait  till  we  catch  him,  Rody." 

Mary  O'Flynn  had  been  duly  received 
by  Arthur's  friend,  and  had  made  an 
instant  and  a  charming  impression. 

Armed  to  the  teeth,  Arthur  and  Rody 
repaired  to  the  O'Flynn  house  about 
half -past  ten  o'clock;  three  picked  men 
having  preceded  them,  while  two  arrived 
later,  and  a  guard  of  fifty  had  orders  to 
stand  at  arms  under  the  arcade  of  the 
Port  ales  Mercatores.  At  a.  given  signal 
this  guard  was  to  come  on  at  the  double 
and  enter  the  house.  Arthur  stationed  his 
five  men  in  the  little  back  den,  while  he 
himself,  with  Rody,  took  the  stairs. 

The  old  usurer  was  fearfully  agitated, 
and  shook  like  one  stricken  with  the  palsy. 

"If  we  fail,  senor,  I  am  a  dead  man. 
Mazazo's  vengeance  will  follow  me  like 
light.  He  is  as  relentless  as  he  is  cruel." 

O'Flynn  paced  the  floor  in  paroxysms  of 
agitation,  gesticulating  wildly,  and  mut- 
tering alternately  in  Spanish,  English,  and 
Irish. 

"Arrah,  hould  yer  whisht!"  said  Rody 
in  Irish.  "It's  bringin'  disgrace  on  the  ould 
counthry  ye  are  wid  yer  talk.  Spake  in 
Mexico,  if  ye  will,  but  don't  let  a  cowardly 
word  in  Irish  cross  yer  lips.  What  are 
ye  afeared  of?  Isn't  Masther  Bodkin  of 
Ballyboden  and  me  here  for  to.  difind  ye 
agin  a  thousand  Mexicos?" 

Arthur  now  issued  his  instructions. 

"Mr.  O'Flynn  will  open  the  door  for 
Mazazo  and  permit  him  to  enter.  The 
moment  he  is  in,  the  door  will  be  shut; 
we  will  seize  our  man  and  pinion  him.  If 
he  should  be  enabled  to  shout  or  whistle, 
the  guard  shall  be  called  by  two  shots 
from  the  roof.  This  will  be  your  duty, 
Arnhein,"  addressing  one  of  the  men. 

"Won't  ye  let  me  lep  on  him,  sir?" 
eagerly  demanded  Rody. 

"You  can  pin  him  down,  Rody;  but 
look  out  for  his  knife.  A  Mexican  can  use 
his  knife  in  fifty  different  ways.  There  is 
this  to  be  considered  also.  Mazazo  may 
not  enter  first,  and  Mr.  O'Flynn  here  is  in 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


079 


such  a  nervous  condition  tint  lie  may  fail 
to  recognize  him." 

"I'd  know  him  in  ten  thousand,  Mr. 
Bodkin.  -I'll  go  bail  for  that,"  said  the 
old  man,  £ercely. 

"But  if  Mazazo  is  not  first  man,  what 
then?" 

"Let  the  first,  second,  and  third  in,  if 
necessary.  I  have  some  old  dollar  bags  in 
this  closet  that  we  can  clap  over  their 
heads  as  they  come  in."  And  he  proceeded 
to  produce  the  bags,  made  of  the  fibres 
of  the  maguey  plant. 

"He's  as  cute  as  a  pet  fox,"  observed 
Rody,  admiringly.  "We  can  bag  the 
villyans  wan  be  wan,  till  we  ketch  the 
right  wan;  and  it'll  be  good  sport  into 
the  bargain.  The  more  we  ketch,  the 
betther." 

Finally,  the  last  stroke  of  twelve  rang 
out  from  the  clock  of  the  old  cathedral. 
Almost  ere  the  sound  had  died  on  the  ear, 
a  soft,  muffled  knock  was  heard  at  the 
door, — the  preconcerted  signal.  The  old 
usurer  stood  ready  to  open  the  door,  and 
Rody  behind  him,  every  muscle  in  tension. 
The  door  was  opened,  and  a  man  swiftly 
entered.  In  a  second  the  door  was  shut  to, 
and  the  man  in  the  vise-like  grip  of  Rody 
O'Flynn.  The  man  did  not  struggle  and 
made  no  outcry. 

"This  is  not  Mazazo,  Masther  Arthur. 
There's  no  fight  in  him.  Give  us  a  light, 
sir,  quick!" 

Arthur  flashed  a  lantern  in  the  man's 
face.  It  was  not  Mazazo,  but  as  ill-visaged 
a  ruffian  as  ever  spurred  across  the  Rio 
Grande. 

"Where  is  your  leader?"  demanded 
Arthur. 

"What  leader?"  said  the  man,  sullenly. 
"Let  me  go.  I  have  done  nothing.  You 
have  no  right  to  use  me  in  this  way.  I 
came  with  a  letter.  I  was  to  get  a  package 
in  exchange  for  the  letter." 

"Where  is  your  letter?" 

"If  this  tiger  will  let  me  go,  I'll  give  it 
to  you,  sir,"  addressing  the  usure'r. 

"Rody,  loose  him;  but  be  on  your 
guard,"  said  Arthur  in  Irish. 


Rody,  still  clutching  the  man's  arm, 
permitted  him  to  insert  a  hand  in  a 
pocket,  and  to  produce  a  letter,  which  old 
O'Flynn  eagerly  pounced  upon. 

"Speak  Irish,"  said  Arthur, — "they  can 
not  understand  us." 

"It's  a  letter  to  say  that  he  is  unex- 
pectedly detained,  but  sends  this  man  for 
the  money,  and  with  him  notes  payable 
in  thirty  days.  Oh,  I'm  lost!  lost!  lost!" 
groaned  O'Flynn.  "This  hound  of  hell 
will  run  me  into  the  earth.  I  must  fly, — 
not  a  minute's  to  be  lost!" 

"Arrah,  be  aisy  wid  yer  flyin'.  Hould 
yer  jaw,  and  listen  to  raison.  What's  for 
to  be  done,  Masther  Arthur?" 

"We  have  missed  it  this,  time,  Rody. 
The  fellow  was  too  cunning  for  us.  It  is 
quite  evident  that  he  recognized  us  to-day, 
and  took  precaution  accordingly." 

"Couldn't  we  frighten  the  sowl  out  of 
this  villyan,  sir?" 

"To  what  end,  Rody?  He  would  only 
deceive  us.  Depend  on  it,  he  is  faithful  to 
his  leader — unless,  perhaps,  we  could  bribe 
him.  Let  me  try  him."  And,  turning  to 
the  man:  "Where  is  your  leader?" 

"I  have  no  leader." 

"Where  is  the  man  who  wrote  this 
letter?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

"Were  you  not  to  bring  him  a  package? " 

"Yes." 

"To  where?" 

"I  forget." 

"Oh,  you  forget,  do  you!  Possibly  your 
memory  could  be  refreshed — say  by  ten 
tnousand  pesos?" 

"No,  nor  by  ten  million  pesos."  And 
the  ill-favored  wretch's  face  actually  be- 
came for  a  moment  handsome  in  its  exalta- 
tion of  loyalty. 

"'Pon  my  honor  you  are  right,"  cried 
Arthur;  "and  I  respect  you.  Let  him 
go,  Rody.  He's  only  obeying  orders,  and 
is  faithful  to  them." 

And  as  the  man  passed  Arthur  he 
half  whispered: 

"I  may  be  able  to  do  you  a  good  turn 
yet,  sir." 


680 


'nil'.  A  VI''.  MARIA 


XXXI V.—"  GRIM- ViSAGEfi  WAR." 
I  must  leave  the  city  of  Mexico  for  a 
brief  span,  and  repair  unto  Oueretaro, 
which  was  destined  to  prove  a  "bloody 
and  memorable  spot  on  earth's  fair  face." 
Maximilian,  who  had  many  of  the  qualities 
that  make  up  a  great  captain,  lacked 
experience, — lacked  that  military  training 
without  which  even  the  great  Napoleon 
would  have  dismally  failed.  He  possessed 
the  general  idea  of  war — those  vague  out- 
lines which  are  but  cobwebs  to  be  brushed 
away  when  the  fearful  and  fateful  game 
has  to  be  played  in  grim  and  cruel  earnest. 
His  generals,  though  he  did  not  know 
it,  were  absolutely  ignorant,  cowardly, 
and  untrustworthy, — with  few  exceptions, 
such  as  Miramon,  Mejia,  and  Vidaurri. 

In  a  letter  which  I  have  seen,  bearing 
the  date  of  Queretaro,  March  2,  1867,  the 
Kinperor  wrote: 

I  have  communicated  personally  with  the 
chiefs  who  pretend  to  fight  in  the  name  of  liberty 
and  of  the  principles  of  progress,  to  induce  them 
to  submit  themselves,  as  I  have  the  intention  of 
doing,  to  the  national  vote.  What  has  been  the 
result  of  these  negotiations?  Those  men  who 
invoke  progress  have  not  wished,  or  have  not 
dared,  to  accept  that  judgment.  They  have  re- 
.sponded  to  me  by  ordering  loyal  and  distin- 
guished citizens  to  be  executed;  they  have 
repulsed  the  fraternal  hand  extended  to  them; 
they  have  worked  as  blind  partisans  who  know 
no  other  means  of  governing  but  the  sword. 

Where,  then,  is  the  national  will?  On  the  side 
of  whom  exists  the  desire  of  true  liberty?  Their 
.only  excuse  is  in  their  blindness. 

It  is  impossible  for  us  to  rely  on  such  men; 
:and  our  duty  is  to  work  with  the  greatest  energy 
to  restore  the  liberty  of  the  people,  so  that  they 
may  express  voluntarily  their  will. 

This  is  the  reason  why  I  have  hastened  to 
<come  here:  in  order  to  try  all  means  to  establish 
order,  peace,  and  to  prevent  another  and  more 
.terrible  foreign  intervention  in  this  country.  The 
French  bayonets  have  marched;  it  is  necessary, 
then,  to  impede  the  action  of  every  influence 
which,  directly  or  indirectly,  might  threaten  our 
independence  and  the  integrity  of  our  territory. 

In  this  moment  our  country  is  for  sale  at 
public  auction. 

The  Emperor,  being  in  consultation 
with  his  generals,  prepared  to  defend 
•Queretaro  at  all  and  any  cost, — strength- 


ened every  loophole,  and  raised  well-armed 
batteries  where  the  defences  were  weakest. 
Kscobedo,  who  commanded  the  Liberals, 
sent  vaunting  and  taunting  words  inside 
the  lines,  declaring  that  he  would  take 
the  city  by  assault  on  the  i4th  of  March; 
and,  true  to  his  boast,  upon  that  date 
he  began  an  attack  with  nearly  thirty 
thousand  men,  while  the  Imperialists  num- 
bered but  nine  thousand.  The  Emperor 
upon  this  occasion  displayed  a  gallantry 
that  won  the  admiration  of  the  oldest 
veterans.  He  was  here,  there,  everywhere; 
exposing  himself  where  the  fire  was 
hottest,  and  cheering  by  his  presence 
troops  that  quailed  before  the  storm  of 
Liberal  bullets.  He  seemed  to  lead  a 
charmed  life;  for  although  members  of 
his  staff,  right  and  left  of  him,  were 
wounded,  he  never  received  a  scratch. 
An  Austrian  officer  who  was  in  that 
battle  told  me  that  he  forgot  everything 
in  his  admiration  of  the  coolness  of  the 
Emperor.  "It  was  something  sublime," 
he  said. 

After  this  engagement  Maximilian 
moved  his  quarters  to  a  building  adjoining 
the  Church  of  La  Cruz.  Here  he  lived  in 
a  single  room,  his  body  servant  occupying 
another.  The  furniture  of  the  Emperor's 
apartment  consisted  only  of  a  camp-bed, 
two  common  tables,  and  six  chairs.  "I 
will  gladly  share  with  my  men  all  their 
hardships  and  privations,"  he  wi:  s  heard 
to  remark. 

On  the  22d  of  March  General  Marquez 
left  Oueretaro,  by  order  of  the  Emperor,  at 
the  head  of  a  thousand  mounted  troopers. 
The  object  of  this  movement  was  a  march 
upon  the  city  of  Mexico,  there  to  obtain 
reinforcements  of  men,  procure  munitions 
of  war,  and  with  the  strictest  orders  to 
return  within  fifteen  days. 

"If,"  said  the  Emperor  to  Marquez,— 
"if  there  are  not  men  enough  to  hold  the 
city  of  Mexico,  abandon  the  capital,  and 
come  back  here  to  reinforce  our  garrison. 
Raise  every  man  you  can.  It  is  here  the 
last  stand  must  be  made." 

That   the    Emperor's   command   was  a 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


681 


wise  one  is  corroborated  by  the  opinions 
of  historians;  for  if  Marquez  had  only 
executed  it,  such  a  concentration  of  the 
imperial  for^s  at  Queretaro  would  have 
saved  the  Emperor  and  destroyed  the 
army  of  Escobedo. 

It  is  asserted  that  Maximilian  on  this 
occasion  conferred  upon  Marquez  the 
title  of  "Lugarteniente,"  or  Lieutenant  - 
General.  His  Majesty  deemed  it  absolutely 
necessary  to  place  unlimited  power  in  the 
hands  of  Marquez,  in  order  to  the  success 
of  his  plan  of  campaign.  That  this  was 
another  most  unhappy  selection  the  sequel 
proves. 

When  Marquez  arrived  at  the  capital 
he  showed  his  authority,  and  one  of  the 
first  to  question  it  was  Arthur  Bodkin. 

"I  do  not  believe  that  this  is  genuine," 
he  said  to  Baron  Bergheim. 

"But,  hey!  hey!  it  has  his  Majesty's 
signature.  You  can't  go  behind  that,  hey ! " 

"His  Majesty  is  not  insane,  and  to  give 
this  man  a  power  equal  to  his  own  is 
simply  insanity." 

"But,  hey!  I  saw  the  signature.  I  know 
the  Emperor's  signature  as  well  as  I  know 
my  own.  Hey!  I  could  forge  it.  Here  it  is." 

And  the  Baron  wrote  the  imperial  auto- 
graph with  a  boldness  of  imitation  and  a 
dexterity  that,  while  it  won  the  admira- 
tion of  Arthur,  only  confirmed  the  idea 
that  the  signature  to  the  commission  of 
"  Lugartcnientc  "  was  a  counterfeit.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  whether  the  document  was 
genuine  or  not,  Marquez  vilely  disabused 
his  power,  and  went  beyond  the  limits  of 
justice  and  of  honor.  Instead  of  raising 
recruits  to  return  to  Queretaro  and  con- 
front Escobedo,  Marquez  increased  his 
forces  to  four  thousand,  and  advanced  in 
the  most  leisurely  way  upon  Puebla, 
which  was  being  besieged  by  Diaz  and 
gallantly  held  by  about  three  thousand 
imperial  troops. 

It  is  due,  however,  to  Marquez  to  state 
that  he  hoped  for  an  engagement  with 
Diaz,  who  was  notoriously  short  of  the 
munitions  of  war,— ^an  engagement  which 
would  relieve  the  Imperialists  within  the 


walls  of  Puebla.  But  Diaz  was  a  born 
leader,  and,  seeing  that  the  critical 
moment  had  now  arrived,  and  being  pressed 
by  Marquez,  ordered  an  assault  upon  the 
city  on  the  morning  of  the  2d  of  April, — 
an  assault,  which,  if  successful,  was  won 
after  the  most  desperate  and  valiant 
fighting  on  the  part  of  the  besieged. 

"We  could  have  held  out  for  two 
months,"  said  General  Rodriguez,  "and 
have  kept  Diaz  busy  every  day  of  them, 
if  Marquez  had  not  spoiled  the  entire 
plan  by  his  ill-timed  march." 

(To  be  continued.) 


Missouri. — A  Foreign  Mission. 


BY    FLORENCE    GILMORE. 


THE  approaching  centenary  of  ven- 
erable Mother  Duchesne's  coming  to 
America  vividly  recalls  the  long  martyr- 
dom of  her  life,  and  reminds  us  of  many 
things  easily  forgotten.  Driven  by  the 
Revolution  from  her  first  convent  home, 
she  had  known  bitterly  hard  years  in 
the  world,  when  her  heart  bled  hourly 
for  the  sins  and  sorrows  of  France,  as 
well  as  for  her  own  shattered  life;  years 
sweetened  by  the  help  she  was  able  to 
give  confessors  on  the  eve  of  their  martyr- 
dom, and  the  hope  that  one  day  it  would 
be  possible  to  go  back  to  the  convent  she 
loved.  And  we,  seeing  from  afar  the- 
suffering  of  the  nuns  of  France  and  Mexico, 
have  been  amazed,  heartbroken,  forgetting 
that  persecution  is  not  new;  forgetting 
that  it  makes  saints. 

The  centenary  reminds  us  also  of  the 
humble  beginnings  of  the  Society  of  the 
vSacred  Heart  in  the  United  States.  Hun- 
ger and  hard  manual  labor,  disappoint- 
ment, ingratitude  and  failure,  were  the 
daily  portion  of  the  religious.  More 
difficult  of  realization,  when  distant  lands, 
Christless  and  sad,  are  looking  to  us  for 
men  and  money,  light  and  encouragement, 
is  the  fact  that  a  hundred  years  ago  our 
Central  and  Western  States  were  honor 
posts  in  the  foreign  mission  field,  coveted 


682 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


by  heroic  souls,  who  for  their  Lord  and 
their  Lover  longed  to  sacrifice  "all  save 
the  glory  of  treading  where  He  first  trod." 

In  1818  the  territory  between  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico  and  the  Great  Lakes,  the 
Mississippi  and  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
comprised  the  diocese  of  New  Orleans 
whose  bishop,  the  Rt.  Rev.  Louis  William 
Dubourg,  driven  from  his  episcopal  city 
by  the  difficulties  of  his  position  there, 
made  his  headquarters  at  St.  Louis.  In 
all  this  vast  region  there  were  only  ten 
priests,  some  of  them  old,  and  all  broken 
by  the  hardships  of  their  lives.  Insufficient 
food,  poor  clothing,  wretched  lodging, 
and  long  journeys  afoot  had  been  their 
portion  for  years.  By  gathering  recruits 
from  many  corners  of  Europe,  Bishop 
Dubourg,  immediately  after  his  consecra- 
tion, increased  their  number  to  forty; 
and  his  men  were  young  and  strong,  and 
not  less  zealous  than  those  who  had  gone 
before  them.  The  white  population  was, 
for  the  most  part,  at  least  nominally 
Catholic.  To  some  of  the  Indians  the 
Gospel  had  not  been  preached;  others 
were  relapsing  into  heathenism.  Com- 
paratively few  among  them  had  ever  seen  a 
"black-robe";  he  was  but  a  tradition. 
There  was  only  one  resident  priest  in  St. 
Louis,  a  straggling  town  of  six  thousand  in- 
habitants. The  pro-cathedral  was  a  wooden 
hut,  the  episcopal  palace  little  better 
than  a  barn.  It  had  but  one  room,  which 
served  as  dormitory,  kitchen,  and  study 
for  Bishop  Dubourg  and  any  priests  who 
were  too  ill  to  serve  their  missions;  and 
was  indeed  "the  headquarters  of  poverty," 
as  Mother  Duchesne  called  it  in  a  cheery 
letter  sent  to  France. 

Communication  between  parts  of  the 
vast  diocese  and  with  the  world  beyond 
was  slow  and  difficult.  There  were  prac- 
tically no  roads.  Steamboats — spoken  of 
by  Mother  Duchesne  as  "an  admirable 
invention,  which  enables  people  to  accom- 
plish in  twenty  days  what  two  years  ago 
was  a  business  of  six  months"  —  were 
beginning  to  be  used  on  the  Mississippi, 
but  were  still  very  primitive.  Mother 


Duchesne's  own  journey  from  New  Or- 
leans to  St.  Louis  took  forty-one  days. 
On  every  trip  frequent  delays  were  oc- 
casioned by  trouble  with  the  engine, 
sandbanks  and  driftwood.  Lack  of  fuel 
sometimes  made  it  necessary  for  crew 
and  passengers  to  go  ashore  and  gather 
wood  in  the  forests;  and  for  lack  of  food 
it  was  not  unusual  to  interrupt  a  journey 
to  hunt  wild  turkeys  or  to  scour  the  woods 
for  fruit. 

Bishop  Dubourg's  own  journey  to  his 
diocese  after  his  consecration  in  Rome 
illustrates  the  conditions  of  the  time  and 
the  heroic  fortitude  of  the  missionaries. 
Landing  at  Annapolis,  he  set  forth  for 
Pittsburg  at  the  head  of  the  band  of 
apostles  whom  he  had  gathered  in  Europe. 
Through  Pennsylvania  and  Maryland  they 
trudged  on  foot,  struggling  through  the 
brushwood  with  staves  in  their  hands. 
Their  clothes  were  often  torn,  their  hands 
and  feet  bleeding.  Before  they  reached 
Pittsburg,  seeing  that  he  was  faint  and 
almost  exhausted,  Bishop  Dubourg's  com- 
panions procured  a  horse  for  him;  but  he 
refused  to  use  it,  saying  that  a  captain 
should  set  the  example  to  his  soldiers. 
The  party  travelled  from  Pittsburg  to 
Louisville  in  a  boat,  which  his  Lordship 
piloted.  On  reaching  the  outskirts  of  his 
own  diocese, he  planted  a  cross;  and,  kneel- 
ing before  it,  besought  Christ  to  apply  the 
merits  of  His  Precious  Blood  to  that 
neglected  corner  of  His  vineyarc}. 

His  vicar-general  was  the  learned  and 
saintly  Father  Felix  de  Andreis,  whose 
longing  to  die  for  God  had  drawn  him 
from  Italy  to  the  American  wilds,  where 
he  did  die  prematurely — at  the  age  of 
forty-two, — worn  out  by  labors  far  beyond 
his  strength.  He  was  not  only  a  linguist 
and  a  theologian  but  an  apostle  and  a 
mystic.  After  his  death  miracles  were 
wrought  through  his  intercession,  and 
there  is  hope  of  his  canonization. 

Father  Delacroix,  stationed  for  a  time 
at  Florissant,  and  very  successful  in  work 
among  the  Indians,  had  been  one  of  the 
seminarists  forced  into  Napoleon's 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


B83 


Among  the  first  to  offer  himself  when 
Bishop  Dubourg  travelled  through  Prance 
and  the  Low  Countries  in  quest  of  priests 
for  the  foreign  missions,  he  delighted  in 
the  dangers  and  hardships  which  fell  to 
his  lot  in  Missouri.  He  feared  neither 
hunger  nor  wild  beasts  nor  floods,  nor  the 
depths  of  lonely  forests  by  night,  and 
counted  no  labor  or  fatigue  worth  reckon- 
ing when  souls  were  at  stake.  At  one  time 
he  insisted  on  giving  his  house  to  Mother 
Duchesne  and  her  little  community,  and 
lived  in  a  miserable  hut.  It  had  one 
opening  which  served  for  a  door  and  win- 
dow. There  he  lodged,  quite  content, 
until  he  fell  ill  with  fever,  and  the  Bishop 
provided  him  with  a  house  made  of  old 
planks  rudely  fastened  together. 

Mother  Duchesne' s  own  missionary  life 
began  with  years  of  destitution,  ill  health, 
and  apparently  almost  fruitless  labor  for 
souls  indifferent  to  the  things  of  God. 
Bishop  Dubourg  being  unable  to  house 
the  community  in  St.  Louis,  the  first 
academy  of  the  Sacred  Heart  in  America 
was  opened  at  St.  Charles,  twenty-five  miles 
away.  Small  as  it  was,  the  village  con- 
tained Americans  from  the  East,  French,' 
German,  and  Irish  colonists,  Indians, 
and  Negroes.  Of  the  children  whom  she 
hastened  to  gather  about  her,  Mother 
Duchesne  wrote:  "They  know  absolutely 
nothing  of  heaven  and  hell,  or  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.  When  we  tell  them  the 
story  of  His  birth,  life  and  death,  they 
stare  at  us,  and  I  am  obliged  to  say  to 
them  continually,  'Remember,  it  is  all 
true  '  Only  two  of  them  know  more  than 
the  letters  of  the  alphabet;  and  yet,  with 
all  their  ignorance,  we  have  to  fight 
against  love  of  dress."  They  were  lazy 
and  self-indulgent,  and  considered  docility 
belittliag.  If  one  of  their  companions 
tried  to  be  good,  they  would  say  scorn- 
fully that  she  obeyed  "like  a  Nigger." 
But  little  by  little  the  example  and  teach- 
ing of  the  religious  had  its  effect.  In 
time  some  of  the  girls  became  really 
zealous ;  a  few  learned  to  love  prayer, 
and  to  bear  humiliations,  and  it  was  not 


very  long  before  vocations  to  the  religious 
life  developed  among  the  children  of  the 
New  World. 

Every  inch  of  spiritual  progress  among 
the  children  was  won  at  the  cost  of  bodily 
suffering  on  the  part  of  the  nuns.  At- 
tached to  the  little  convent  at  St.  Charles 
were  two  acres  of  land,  so  full  of  brushwood 
that  it  was  difficult  to  walk  across  it. 
Laborers  could  not  be  found  to  till  it, 
even  for  the  then  enormous  wages  of 
two  dollars  a  day.  Mother  Duchesne 
wrote :  ' '  We  have  all  kinds  of  occupations 
here.  We  dig,  we  water  the  cows,  carry 
manure,  and  clean  the  stable."  It  was 
in  September  that  they  settled  there; 
by  midwinter  food  had  become  scarce 
and  drinking  water  was  hard  to  get;  a 
little  later  the  community  Was  sometimes 
without  bread  and  often  without  fire;  and 
in  the  spring  the  room  used  for  a  chapel 
burned,  and  everything  it  contained  was 
destroyed,  except  a  picture  of  the  Sacred 
Heart,  a  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and 
some  relics.  The  Blessed  Sacrament  was 
removed  in  good  time. 

Bishop  Dubourg  soon  saw  that  the 
foundation  at  St.  Charles  had  -been  a 
mistake,  and  counselled  the  religious  to 
settle  in  Florissant,  which  is  nearer  to  St. 
Louis,  whence  most  of  their  pupils  came. 
The  moving  was  described  by  Mother 
Duchesne  in  a  humorous  way  unusual  to 
her.  "  Sister  Octavie  Berthold  and  two  of 
our  pupils  left  first.  I  was  to  close  the 
march  in  the  evening,  with  Sister  Mar- 
garet, the  cows,  and  the  hens.  But  the 
cows  were  so  indignant  at  being  tied, 
and  the  heat  so  great,  that  we  were 
obliged  to  put  off  our  departure  until 
the  cool  hours  of  the  morning.  Then,  by 
dint  of  cabbages  which  we  had  taken 
from  the  cart,  they  were  induced  to  pro- 
ceed. I  divided  my  attention  between 
the  reliquaries  and  the  hens.  On  landing. 
Margaret  and  I  drew  up  our  charges  in 
line — she  the  cows,  'and  I  the  hens, — and 
fed  them  with  motherly  solicitude.  Father 
Delacroix  came  on  horseback  to  meet  us. 
He  led  the  way,  galloping  after  our  cows 


IJS4 


THE   AVE  MARIA 


when,  in  their  joy  ;i1  being  untied,  they 
darted  into  the  woods." 

The  nuns'  first  lodging  at  Florissant 
was  the  house  which  Father  Delacroix 
had  been  occupying.  Their  own  was 
ready  for  them  shortly  after  the  middle  of 
December.  Though  the  cold  was  intense 
and  the  wind  high,  on  Christmas  Eve 
they  set  out,  wrapped  in  blankets,  driving 
the  cattle  before  them  through  snow  a 
foot  deep.  Again  and  again  the  cows  ran 
away,  and  had  to  be  pursued  and  coaxed 
back  to  the  straight  and  narrow  path 
which  led  to  the  convent;  and  it  was 
evening  before  they  reached  their  des- 
tination. The  room  intended  for  a  chapel 
had  been  piled  with  logs:  at  once  the 
weary  religious  set  to  work  to  remove 
them.  Later,  with  the  help  of  Father 
Delacroix,  an  altar  was  set  in  place,  and  a 
confessional  improvised.  The  nuns  then 
went  to  confession,  and  at  midnight  Mass 
was  celebrated. 

No  difficulty  could  discourage  the  pen- 
niless, almost  friendless  band.  They  were 
exuberantly  happy  over  having  so  much 
to  suffer  for  God.  Monsieur  Duchesne 
offered  to  send  money  to  pay  his  sister's 
passage  to  France.  "Tell  him  that  I 
beg  him  to  give  it  for  the  travelling  ex- 
penses of  two  more  nuns  for  Louisiana," 
was  her  reply.  Nor  did  the  long  years  of 
her  long  life  wear  out  her  patience  or  her 
courage,  or  tarnish  her  zeal,  or  cool  her 
love  of  poverty  and  mortification.  At 
the  age  of  seventy-two,  still  stout  of 
heart  though  feeble  in  body,  she  went  to 
Sugar  Creek,  many  miles  west  of  St. 
Louis,  to  help  to  found  there  a  mission 
among  the  Pottawatomies.  Her  days  of 
active  work  were  over,  not  so  her  days  of 
prayer.  "The  woman  who  prays  always" 
the  Indians  learned  to  call  her.  On  her 
arrival  among  them,  being  told  that  for 
thirty-five  years  she  had  longed  to  live 
with  the  Indians,  the  chief's  wife  said: 
"To  show  our  joy  at  seeing  you,  all  the 
women  of  the  tribe,  married  and  un- 
married, will  now  embrace  you."  The 
ceremony  that  followed  was  complimen- 


tary- rather  than  pleasant,  but  Mother 
Duchesne  bore  it  bravely. 

The  Pottawatomies  were  docile,  and,  to 
a  certain  degree,  pious;  but  incredibly 
lazy  and  appallingly  greedy.  The  religious 
of  the  Sacred  Heart  opened  a  school  in 
their  reservation,  and  soon  had  fifty 
girls  in  attendance,  all  of  whom  were 
taught  the  catechism,  and  to  cook,  sew, 
spin  and  weave.  As  ii  every  foreign 
mission,  the  language  presented  great 
difficulties, — insuperable  ones  they  proved 
to  be  for  Mother  Duchesne.  She  could  not 
learn  it.  "It  is  too  barbarous  and  to;) 
difficult,"  she  wrote  to  her  sister.  "Word? 
of  eight  and  ten  syllables;  no  dictionary, 
no  grammar,  no  books!  I  shall  never  be 
able  to  master  such  a  language."  Her 
infirmities  increased;  and  after  one  year 
spent  in  Sugar  Creek  she  was  recalled  to 
St.  Charles,  there  to  pass  her  last  years, 
awaiting  the  end  so  slow  to  come. 

By  such  stout  hearts  and  hands,  amid 
such  dangers  and  privations,  was  the 
Faith  sown  in  tears,  a  hundred  years  ago, 
in  the  portion  of  the  old  diocese  of  Loui- 
siana now  comprised  in  the  archdiocese 
of  St.  Louis;  proving  that  not  only  the 
blood  of  martyrs  but  the  sweat  of  confes- 
sors is  the  seed  of  Christians, — proving 
it  for  the  encouragement  of  those  who 
labor  with  little  apparent  success  in  the 
unploughed  fields  of  difficult  missions  at 
home  and  abroad,  and  as  a  spur  to  all 
of  us  who  might  do  much  to  hel'p,  but 
find  it  easier  to  do  little  or  nothing. 


The  Crimson  Shower. 

BY    P.   J.   COLEMAN. 

"\  SAW  a  shower  of  roses  in  a  wood, 
A  cascade  of  wild  roses  in  a  dell 

Drenching  a  rock's  breast,  like  a  shower  of  blood 
Transformed  to  crimson  leaf  by  miracle. 

Then  thought  I  of  another  crimson  shower 
Outpoured  upon  Gethsemane's  green  sod — 

Our  Saviour's.  Blood,— each  drop  a  ruddy  flower 
That  blossomed  from  the  sacred  veins  of  God. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


685 


The  Lily  of  Goldenfern. 


BY    M.    M.    TAYI.OR. 


I. 


LONG  ago,  in  the  days  of  St.  Louis 
and  the  Crusades,  there  lived  in  the 
heart  of  the  Swabian  forests  a  knight 
whose  father  had  been  a  marauding  baron 
before  him,  and  had  left  his  only  son 
an  inheritance  of  several  castles  and  vast 
estates,  together  with  fierce,  ungoverned 
passions,  —  all  the  rough  brutality  of  the 
period,  and  an  indomitable  will.  So  Baron 
Fritz  von  Thornstein  was  only  what  Baron 
Konrad  von .  Thornstein  had  been.  And 
when  the  neighboring  counts  and-  barons 
heard  that  he  had  wedded  the  young 
Countess  Adelaide  of  Goldenfern  they 
shrugged  their  shoulders  and  shook  their 
heads,  saying:  "What  could  Count  Golden- 
fern  have  been  thinking  of,  to  marry 
the  Lily  of  Goldenfern  to  the  Thorn  of 
Thornstein?" 

However,  it  was  done,  the  bride's  wishes 
being  thought  very  unimportant  in  those 
days.  And,  after  all,  Fritz  was  handsome, 
clever,  and  attractive  in  many  ways; 
and  the  young  bride  was  gentle  and  pious, 
and  determi  led,  from  a  sense  of  duty,  to 
live  in  peace  with  her  husband.  For 
some  months  she  hoped  that  his  evil 
companions  would  leave  the  castle  when 
she  became  its  mistress.  But  no:  they 
still  remained;  and  day  by  day,  night  by 
night,  her  heart  was  well-nigh  broken 
by  scenes  of  violence  and  dissipation. 
|  After  a  time,  and  when  her  lord  and 
master  found  he  could  neither  induce  her 
to  uphold  and  share  in  his  wild  career 
nor  to  remain  a  passive  spectator  of 
it,  he  came  to  an  open  rupture  with  her, 
took  horse,  and  rode  off  with  his  boon 
companions  to  a  distant  castle,  vowing  he 
would  never  return  to  Thornstein. 

The  Lily  of  Goldenfern  drooped  her 
fair  head  beneath  the  blow;  but,  though 
she  bent,  she  did  not  yield  to  despair.  She 
had  a  secret  hope  which  supported  her 


through  the  next  few  months;  and  one 
lovely  spring  morning,  when  all  nature 
rejoiced,  and  every  twig  put  forth  fresh 
leaves  and  buds,  and  in  every  little  nest 
was  heard  the  twittering  of  frappy  parent 
birds,  the  soft  cooing  of  a  tiny  babe 
nestling  in  the  young  mother's  arms 
brought  renewed  joy  and  hope  to  the 
old  castle. 

"Father,"  said  the  happy  Baroness  to 
the  old  chaplain,  as  he  stood  by  her  side  a 
week  later,  "my  little  Fritz  will  win  his 
father  back,  I  am  sure.  See!  his  Guardian 
Angel  .  is  even  now  whispering  sweet 
messages  from  above ;  and  the  newly  bap- 
tized innocent  knows  more  than  we  of 
the  ways  of  his  Father  in  heaven  toward 
the  repentant  sinner.  Is  there  any  news 
of  my  lord?  Has  he  heard,  think  you,  of 
this  joy?" 

The  priest  shook  his  head  sadly.  There 
was  no  news  fit  to  breathe  in  the  young 
mother's  ear  in  the  presence  of  her  in- 
nocent babe. 

"Will  you  not  be  my  messenger — the 
messenger  of  peace  to  my  poor  husband? 
Go,  my  Father,  for  the  love  of  the  Infant 
of  Bethlehem,  and  tell  Fritz  that  his  little 
son  awaits  him,  and  the  joys  of  a  happy 
home  may  yet  be  his." 

"Gladly  will  I  do  your  loving  errand, 
my  daughter,"  said  the  holy  man;  "and 
do  you  meantime  pray  that  my  words  may 
be  acceptable  to  the  Baron." 

"Ah,  Father,  I  am  sure  of  it!  What 
earthly  father  could  resist  the  thought  of 
delight  at  seeing  his  first-born?" 

The  priest  set  forth  at  once,  and  the 
lady  waited  and  prayed.  A  few  days 
passed,  as  the  castle  in  which  the  Baron 
had  established  himself  was  in  an  almost 
inaccessible  region,  many  leagues  distant 
from  Thornstein. 

On  Father  Karl's  return,  the  Baroness 
rose  eagerly  to  meet  him,  holding  her 
child  in  her  arms. 

"What  news,  Father?  Is  my  lord  on 
the  way?  How  seemed  he  in  health?"  But 
she  turned  pale  as  she  met  the  Father's 
sad  gaze,  and  sat  down  again,  saying: 


THE  AVF.  MARIA 


"Tell  me  the  worst,  Father:    T  ean  bear 
it.     Is  he  dead?" 

"No,  my  child,— not  dead,  except  to 
the  voice  of  affection." 

"What  mean  you,  Father?  Does  he 
not  wish  to  see  his  son  and  heir?" 

"Alas!   yes,  my  daughter." 

"What,  then?" 

"He  will  not  see  the  mother." 

"But  howr — "  and  her  voice  trembled — • 
"you  can  not  mean —  She  stopped, 
with  her  horror-struck  eyes  wide  open. 

"My  daughter,  the  Baron's  message  is 
peremptory.  You  are  to  send  the  infant 
at  once,  by  trusty  hands,  to  his  castle.  He 
says  iie  will  not  have  him  brought  up 
among  monks  and  nuns,  but  intends  to 
make  a  man  of  him,  and  rear  him  under 
his  own  eye." 

The  pale  cheeks  and  trembling  lips  of 
the  Baroness  recovered  their  color,  and 
her  eyes  flashed  with  the  heroic  courage 
of  a  mother  defending  her  offspring. 

"  Never,  Father !  My  innocent  babe  shall 
never  be  corrupted  by  such  a  life." 

"But,  daughter,  what  can  you  do?  I 
would  say  the  same,  but  we  are  helpless. 
There  are  but  a  few  old  retainers  and 
our  faithful  villagers  around  us;  your 
own  father  and  all  his  friends  and  forces 
are  even  now  at  the  Crusades.  How  can 
you  protect  the  child  here  or  hide  him 
elsewhere?" 

"My  Father" — and  the  Baroness  drew 
herself  up,  holding  her  babe  before  the 
roughly  carved  image  of  the  Blessed 
Mother  and  Child  which  stood  over  her 
prie-dieu,  —  "she  who  fled  from  King 
Herod's  troopers  with  her  Babe  knows  the 
agony  of  my  heart  at  this  moment,  and 
will  inspire  me  with  some  means  to  save 
my  infant  from  a  fate  worse  than  death. 
Give  me  time  to  think.  Even  now  I  have 
an  idea,  but  I  will  say  nothing.  How  soon 
will  he"- — and  she  shuddered — "be  here?" 

"I  know  not  exactly,  my  poor  child. 
He  will  wait  a  while  probably,  to  see  if 
you  obey  and  send  the  little  one  to  him; 
so  perhaps  in  another  week  we  may  look 
for  him." 


"So  be  it,  but  he  will  never  find  his  son! " 

"  Poor  mother!  Do  your  best,  but  much 
I  fear  all  will  be  in  vain  unless  it  pleases 
the  Mother  of  God  to  obtain  a  miracle 
from  her  Divine  Son." 

"If  it  be  necessary,  she  will  do  even 
that,  Father;  but  first  we  must  try  what 
human  means  she  suggests.  There  is  no 
time  to  lose.  Give  me  a  blessing,  my 
Father,  and  pray  for  my  success." 

"God  and  Our  Lady  help  you  and  your 
child ! ' '  fervently  prayed  the  good  old  priest, 
as  he  withdrew. 

II. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  coming  and 
going  at  the  castle  for  the  next  few  days, 
but  only  of  poor  peasants  receiving  alms 
and  food.  There  was  also  much  needle- 
work going  on  in  the  long  workroom, 
where  spinning  wheels  and  embroidery 
frames  were  kept  busy,  and  a  great  outfit 
was  apparently  being  made  for  the  young 
baron.  Carpenters  were  busy  down  in 
the  hamlet  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  on 
which  the  castle  stood;  and  mules  went 
up  to  the  castle  gate  laden  with  large 
packages,  and  returned  to  the  village 
.without  their  burdens.  But  nothing  was 
said,  and  those  who  were  in  the  secret  of 
these  preparations  held  their  tongue. 

A  week  after  the  chaplain's  return  the 
neighborhood  was  roused  by  the  thunder- 
ing of  horses'  feet,  as  the  Baron,  at  the 
head  of  a  train  of  followers,  all  fully  armed, 
swept  through  the  hamlet  and  up  the 
ascent  to  the  castle,  never  drawing  rein 
till  arrived  at  the  drawbridge,  which  was 
down.  Seeing  no  sign  of  resistance,  they 
crossed  it;  and,  throwing  his  horse's  bridle 
to  a  groom,  the  Baron  sprang  to  the 
ground,  and,  followed  by  his  suite,  strode 
into  the  hall.  Up  the  stairs  to  his  lady's 
chamber  he  went,  his  spurs  and  sword 
clanking  at  every  step  and_giving  notice 
of  his  approach.  He  threw  open  the  door 
and  entered. 

His  wife  rose,  pale  and  gentle. 
"Welcome,  my  lord,"  she  said,  calmly. 
"Will  you  be  seated  while  I  order  refresh- 
ments for  vou?" 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


687 


His  eyes  roamed  tttrough  the  room  as 
he  replied,  roughly:  "Where  is  my  son? 
I  have  come  for  him." 

"You  can  not  mean  to  take  him  from 
his  poor  mother,"  she  said,  pleadingly. 
"Think,  Fritz,  he  is  too  little  to  learn 
more  than  a  mother's  love  can  teach  him 
as  yet.  Leave  him  for  a  while." 

"No!"  thundered  the  Baron,  and  his 
eyes  blazed  with  anger.  "I  will  have 
him  now,  and  feed  him  on  the  forest 
wolves'  milk  rather  than  that  he  should 
drink  in  cowardice  and  learn  psalm- 
singing  in  his  cradle." 

"Then,  if  you  can  find  him,  you  will 
take  him,"  said  the  mother  bravely.  "I 
am  defenceless." 

"Where  is  he?"    shouted  the  Baron. 

"Here,"  said  the  mother,  draw.ing  aside 
a  heavy  curtain  at  the  end  of  the  room. 

The  Baron  entered,  and  his  companions 
crowded  round  him  to  catch  a  sight  of 
the  young  heir.  But  though  he  entered, 
and  though  he  searched  and  stormed, 
and  threatened  the  dungeon  and  the  rack 
to  all  concerned,  he  could  never  find 
the  child,  and  yet  the  child  was  there. 
There  was  no  wonderful  machinery  intro- 
duced to  conceal  the  young  infant.  God 
did  not  strike  the  father  with  sudden 
blindness,  nor  was  any  miracle  wrought 
in  favor  of  the  poor  young  mother,  whose 
heart,  inspired  by  the  Virgin  Mother, 
had  prompted  her  to  adopt  a  wonderful 
expedient,  and  at  the  same  time  to  do  a 
deed  of  charity. 

The  sight  that  met  the  Baron's  eyes 
on  entering  the  room  was  that  of  twelve 
cradles,  each  exactly  alike,  within  which 
twelve  babes  were  lying,  all  clothed  in 
the  same  costly  linen  and  embroidery. 
How  could  he  tell  one  from  another?  If 
he  took  any  one,  it  might  be  that  very 
one  was  the  son  of  Ralph,  the  wood- 
cutter; or  of  Huldah,  the  kitchen  girl, 
whose  husband  had  been  hanged  for 
murder  by  the  Baron's,  own  order  six 
months  before. 

There  was  an  atmosphere  of  peace  in 
the  room;  and  even  the  confusion  caused 


by  the  Baron's  rough  entrance,  and  the 
cries  of  the  twelve  babies  as  he  took  one 
after  another,  vainly  trying  to  find  some 
sign  of  superior  birth  or  resemblance 
to  himself,  could  not  long  mar  the  tran- 
quillity. A  stormy  scene  with  his  wife 
followed,  in  which  her  resolution  bore 
his  down;  for  if  he  should  kill  her,  as  he 
threatened,  how  could  he  ever  hope  to 
discover  his  child? 

At  length  he  departed,  secretly  deter- 
mined to  return  on  some  unexpected  day, 
and  find  his  own  son  restore'd  to  his  right- 
ful position.  But  that  day  never  came. 
Whenever  he  made  a  sudden  raid  upon 
the  castle  he  found  the  twelve  boys  all 
growing  up  round  the  youthful  mother, 
and  vying  with  one  another  in  love  and 
obedience  to  her. 

As  years  went  on  he  questioned  them. 
"What  is  your  name,  my  boy?"  he  said 
to  a  fine  dark-eyed,  black-haired  boy, 
who  he  thought  might  prove  his  image 
when  older. 

"Fritz  Peter,  my  lord,"  was  the  child's 
ready  answer. 

"And  yours,  my  little  fellow?"  as  he 
turned  from  Fritz  Peter,  scowling,  to  a 
golden-haired  lad,  with  the  blue  eyes 
and  fair  complexion  which  seemed  to 
point  him  out  as  the  son  of  the  Lily  of 
Goldenfern. 

"Fritz  Johann,  Lord  Baron." 

And  so,  in  turn,  each  answered  to  the 
name  of  Fritz,  with  that  of  an  Apostle 
added. 

Did  he  say  to  either,  "Who  is  your 
mother?"  each  answered:  "There  is  our 
lady  mother,"  and  bowed  to  the  Baroness 
in  reverence  and  love;  while  she  smiled 
on  them,  well  pleased  that  her  inspiration 
to  adopt  eleven  little,  peasants  in  honor 
of  the  twelve  Apostles,  and  to  bring  them 
up  as  her  own,  had  been  so  blessed. 

After  years  of  hopeless  searching,  the 
wild  man  gave  up  all  quest  of  his  son,  but 
went  daily  from  bad  to  worse.  One  day, 
however,  Our  Lord  had  mercy  on  him; 
and  while  pursuing  a  stag  along  a  rocky 
path,  his  horse  slipped,  rolled  over  with 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


him;  and  when  he  came  to  his  senses  he 
found  himself  lying  in  a  cave  hewn  out 
of  a  rock,  with  a  venerable  old  man  watch- 
ing him  anxiously.  For  many  days  he 
raved  in  fever  from  his  injuries,  and  when 
he  began  to  recover  he  heard  that  his 
horse  had  been  killed  close  to  the  hermit's 
cave,  and  he  himself  seriously  injured. 
He  was  still  compelled  to  remain  for  some 
weeks  dependent  on  the  hospitality  and 
good  nursing  of  the  hermit  for  recovery 
of  strength. 

Little  by  little,  as  he  lay  there  watching 
the  old  man  at  his  vigils  and  disciplines 
before  the  rude  crucifix  in  his  cave,  the 
Baron's  proud  heart  softened.  Memories 
of  days  of  innocence,  recollections  of  his 
gentle  wife,  longings  for  the  boy  who 
might  have  been  his  stay  in  sickness  and 
old  age,  crept  over  him. 

One  day  the  hermit  said  to  him,  point- 
ing to  the  figure  of  the  Crucified: 

"My  son,  thou  seest  what  He  has  done 
for  thee:  what  wilt  thou  do  for  Him?" 

The  strong  man's  frame  shook  with 
emotion,  as  he  answered,  humbly  and 
sadly : 

"For  me,  Father?  Ah,  you  do  not  know 
me!  I  am  Fritz  von  Thornstein." 

Then  the  holy  man  spoke  to  him  of  the 
Refuge  of  Sinners,  and  of  St.  Dismas,  the 
penitent  thief;  and  by  degrees  won  him  to 
confession  and  the  promise  of  a  new  life. 

But  when  at  last,  whole  in  body  and 
soul,  he  was  preparing  to  leave  the  cave, 
he  said  to  his  spiritual  guide: 

"My  Father,  I  can  not  yet  present 
myself  to  my  dear  and  holy  wife.  I  must 
first  do  penance  and  expiate  my  sins  in 
the  Holy  Land,  which  saw  my  Saviour 
die.  I  will  at  once  join  the  Crusading 
army,  which  even  now  must  be  embarking 
for  the  Bast;  and  if  it  please  Our  Lord 
that  I  return,  then  will  I  seek  her  whom 
I  have  so  sinned  against,  and  pray  her  to 
show  my  son  to  these  unworthy  eyes." 

"So  be  it,  my  son;  and  God  be  with 
thee  in  thy  going  out  and  in  thy  com- 
ing in!" 

Thus  they  parted, 


III. 

Before  the  gates  of  Acre  lay  heaps  of 
the  slain.  St.  Louis  had  died  on  the  coast 
of  Africa,  but  the  English  Edward  and 
many  Crusaders  of  all  ranks  and  nations 
had  pressed  on  to  the  Holy  Land.  They 
had  fought  valiantly  that  day,  and  driven 
back  the  infidels.  The  last  rays  of  the  sun 
were  sinking  into  the  sea,  or  gilding  the 
bloody  field  with  promises  of  crowns  of  glory 
awaiting  those  who  had  died  in  Our  Lord's 
own  land,  fighting  in  defence  of  the  faith. 

A  knight  was  going  round  among  the 
wounded,  giving  drink  to  one,  stanching 
the  wounds  of  another,  lifting  another 
from  beneath  the  horse  which  had  fallen 
on  him,  when  he  heard  a  groan  from  one 
close  at  his  side. 

"Water,  sir  knight!  A  drink,  for  the 
love  of  God  and  the  Lily  of  Goldenfern!" 

At  those  words  the  knight  started.  He 
turned  hastily,  and  saw  a  young  warrior 
lying  with  upturned,  boyish  face.  The 
golden-brown  hair  was  clotted  with  blood, 
and  the  death-damp  lay  on  his  forehead. 

"Who  are  you?  In  the  name  of  God 
and  Our  Lady,  speak  again!"  And  he 
raised  the  lad's  head — for  he  seemed  little 
more  than  seventeen  or  eighteen  years, — 
and  put  his  flask  to  his  lips,  helping  him 
tenderly  to  swallow  a  few  drops  of  the 
cordial. 

The  young  Crusader  revived,  and,  open- 
ing his  large  blue  eyes,  answered: 

"Fritz  Johann  von  Thornstein." 

"Tell  me,"  gasped  the  knight,  who  was 
none  other  than  Baron  von  Thornstein, 
"how  came  you  here?  Have  you  any 
brothers?" 

"My  mother  is  the  Baroness  von  Thorn- 
stein. When  the  news  of  a  fresh  Crusade 
carne  to  our  castle,  she  agreed,  at  our 
urgent  request,  that  I  with  my  eleven 
brothers  should  take  the  Cross  and  offer 
our  services  to  Our  Lord  to  obtain  my 
father's  conversion.  We  were  to  ask  for 
everything  in  the  name  of  God  and  for 
the  love  of  the  Lily  of  Goldenfern,  while, 
she  united  her  prayers  at  home  with  our.s 
on  the  battlefield." 


THE  AVK  MARIA 


GS9 


"But  where  are  your  brothers  ?"  asked 
the  father,  in  his  agony  of  uncertainty  as 
to  which  might  prove  to  be  his  son. 

The  young  Crusader  gave  a  sweet,  proud 
smile,  and  pointed  right  and  left. 

"We  fought  shoulder  to  shoulder  as  we 
had  lived;  and  we  all  fell  together,  but 
they  are  dead.  I  crawled  to  each,  and  gave 
them  all  I  had  of  wine  in  my  flask.  I 
am  the  last." 

"And  you — are  you  her  son  and 
mine?"  And  briefly  the  penitent  knight 
recounted  his  fall  and  his  conversion. 

"Thanks  be  to  God!  Bless  me,  my 
father!"  murmured  the  dying  soldier.  "I 
am  her  son,  but  only  she  and  I  know  it. 
She  named  me  Johann  in  honor  of  the 
Beloved  Disciple  to  whom  the  Blessed 
Mother  was  given.  Ah!  my  head  swims — 
see— there  is  light  indeed!  Dear  father, 
take  my  mother  my  last  word — Love!" 

The  sun  sank,  and  the  young  Crusader's 
face  lay  in  the  marble  stillness  of  death, 
with  a  golden  halo  lingering  round  it. 
The  bells  from  the  city  chimed  out  the 
sunset  Avc;  the  camp  of  the  Crusaders 
resounded  with  their  evening  shout  as 
each  bent  his  knee, — "For  God  and  His 
Holy  Sepulchre!  God  wills  it!"  And 
Baron  Fritz  von  Thornstein  knelt  too, 
and  from  his  penitent  heart  went  forth 
the  echo  of  that  cry:  "God  wills  it!" 


A  Protestant   Estimate    of   Catholic 
Methods. 

BY    J.   P.   II. 


THE  Christian  religion  has  always  been 
at  its  best  when  it  is  surrounded  by  an- 
tagonism and  persecution.  When  at  any 
time  that  passes  away  and  things  settle 
down,  the  spirit  of  worldliness  may  enter 
into  it  corporately  and  individually,  and 
that  is  its  emasculation.  There  is  some- 
thing so  grand  and  great  about  the  Church 
that  we  can't  but  feel  proud  of  it, — its 
great  history,  its  marvellous  organization, 
its  solemn  ritual.  Many  a  person  takes 
this  for  the  spirit  of  the  true  Catholic:  it 
isn't.  The  true  spirit  is  the  mind  of  Christ, 
and  that  is  the  martyr  spirit,— the  readi- 
ness to  make  sacrifices  when  called  for. 

— Father  B.  W,  Maturin. 


THE  Catholic  mind,  in  the  perusal  of 
non-Catholic  periodicals,  must  often 
be  thoroughly  bewildered.  In  one  issue 
will  appear  at  length  the  most  impassioned 
advocacy  of  the  reunion  of  all  Christian 
peoples;  and  the  chances  are  that  in  the 
next  one  will  be  printed  a  severe,  if  not 
bitter,  denunciation  of  their  Catholic 
brethren  because,  forsooth,  these  will  not 
make  an  unconditional  surrender,  to  be 
tossed  to  and  fro  by  every  wind  of  doctrine. 
Worse  by  far  is  the  vituperative  bigotry 
of  other  publications,  in  which  the  writers 
indulge,  while  protesting  a  zeal  for  relig- 
ious liberty.  One  can  not  but  be  puzzled 
when  one  happens  upon  clearly  unwilling 
tributes  to  the  methods  pursued  by  Holy 
Mother  Church,  though  they  call  to  mind 
the  words:  "Then  shall  they  say  among 
the  Gentiles:  The  Lord  hath  done  great 
things  for  them.  And  her  children  rejoice 
with  exceeding  great  joy,  for  her  enemies 
He  has  clothed  with  confusioa." 

In  a  recent  number  of  the  Christian 
Evangelist  were  published  these  words, 
afterward  quoted  with  much  unction  by 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Speer  in  the  Missionary 
Review  of  the  World:  "Catholicism  grows 
up  almost  entirely  by  absorbing  its  own 
children  rather  than  by  proselytism.  Prot- 
estants frequently  let  the  children  get 
away  from  them  and  then  hold  big  revi- 
vals to  bring  them  back.  We  need  an 
evangelism  which  will  hold  the  children 
quite  as  much  as  one  which  will  bring 
them  again  into  the  fold." 

Truly  a  tribute  well  worth  noting, 
coming  as  it  does  from  the  mouthpiece  of 
an  alien  organization,  and  endorsed  by  a 
publication  whose  chief  intention  is  to 
undermine  the  very  body  whose  methods 
it  commends.  It  is  such  instances  as 
this  that  should  invite  every  earnest  and 
practical  Catholic  to  pray  the  prayer  of 


690 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Eliseus  at  Dothan :  '  Lord,  open  our  eyes, 
that  we  may  see.'  And  not  our  eyes  only 
but  those  of  our  adversaries,  that  they  too 
may  see  how  far  removed  they  are  from 
the  way  and  the  city  they  seek  to  attack. 

It  is  testimony  such  as  the  above 
citation  which  should  increase  in  every 
Catholic  attachment  for  Holy  Mother 
Church.  The  writer  is  "only  a  convert," 
but  he  well  remembers  how  deeply  he 
was  moved  when  he  first  saw  the  throngs 
of  children,  all  under  the  vigilant  yet 
gentle  eyes  of  the  religious,  crowding 
into  the  Catholic  churches  to  hear  Mass; 
and  still  more  so  when  the  young  men  and 
maidens,  the  old  with  the  younger,  rev- 
erently, with  folded  hands,  made  their 
way  to  the  altar  to  receive  Holy  Commun- 
ion; and  he  knew  that  all  alike  had  been 
to  the  tribunal  of  penance.  It  was.  then 
he  realized  that  "Jerusalem  which  is 
above  is  built  as  a  city,  which  is  compact 
together;  and  that  in  her  strength  is 
peace,  and  abundance  in  her  towers." 

Enkindled  with  this  divine  spirit  of  love, 
how  can  Holy  Church  but  be  inspired  with 
wisdom  from  above,  that  will  keep  her 
true  to  her  trust,  so  that  she  will  ever  be 
ready  to  present  herself  before  her  Lord, 
with  the  children  whom  He  hath  given  her 
for  a  sign  and  for  a  wonder  ?  *  Should 
they  wander  from  her  side,  she  Watches 
and  waits  for  their  return,  confident  that 
once  they  have  tasted  the  sweetness  of 
her  fruit  and  known  the  odor  of  her 
ointments  in  the  storerooms  of  her  King,  f 
they  will  return  to  the  Mother  who  pro- 
vided meat  for  them,  and  looked  well  to 
the  paths  of  her  house,  so  that  her  chil- 
dren rise  up,  and  call  her  blessed.  J 

As  the  Evangelist  well  says:  "Prot- 
estants frequently  let  the  'children  get 
away  from  them,  and  then  hold  big 
revivals  to  bring  them  back."  What 
else  is  to  be  expected?  In  the  home 
must  be  found  parental  restraint  and 
tender  discipline;  otherwise  it  will  be  an 
abode  where  may  be  found  only  food  and 

*  Is.,  viii,  18.  f  Cant.,  i,  3. 

J   Prov.,-  xxxi,  15-28, 


shelter,  and  whose  bonds  may  be  cast  off 
at  will.  So,  too  often,  our  separated  breth- 
ren provide  for  everything  but  the  one 
thing  which  is  of  supreme  importance — • 
the  nurture  of  the  soul.  Their  schools  are 
devoid  of  everything  which  can  in  any 
way  develop  the  religious  sense.  Secular 
accomplishments — dancing,  athletics,  social 
culture,  dramatics,  and  the  like, — are  all 
carefully  provided  for;  but  in  the  realm 
of  the  religious  life,  the  utmost  to  be 
looked  for  is  an  hour  once  a  week  in  a 
desultory  study  of  the  Bible;  and  a 
possible  argumentative  discussion,  through 
the  week,  of  senseless  questions,  —  a 
"doctrine  of  vanity,  which  is  wood."  Even 
the  oldtime  Protestant  catechisms  have 
either  been  abolished  or  reduced  to  ' '  many 
vanities  and  words  without  number." 

Compare  the  ordered  life  of  the  Catholic 
child  under  the  discipline  of  the  confes- 
sional, with  the  perverse  and  oftentimes 
refractory  life  of  the  average  non-Catholic 
child.  Even  when  the  latter  is  "governed" 
by  its  parents,  how  many  fathers  and 
mothers  have  an  intimate  knowledge  of 
their  children's  inner  lives — their  weak- 
nesses and  temptations,  the  questionings 
that  puzzle  them  and  the  doubts  that 
torment?  So  long  as  their  carriage  and 
deportment  are  up  to  the  prevailing 
standard,  nothing  more  is  required. 

As  a  substitute  for  the  careful  training 
of  the  Church,  which  watches  over 
the  children  and  keeps  them  ever  in  the 
atmosphere  of  religion  and  the  doctrine 
of  the  Apostles,  emotional  revivals  are 
held  by  Billy  Sundays  and  similar 
"evangelists."  Under  the  hysterical  ex- 
citement thus  generated,  the  young  folks 
"hit  the  trail"  and  are  "brought  back." 
Truly,  O  Evangelist,  what  your  coreligion- 
ists need  is  "an  evangelism  which  will 
hold  the  children  quite  as  much  as  one 
that  will  bring  them  again  into  the  fold." 
And  the  only  way  that  c.an  be  accom- 
plished is  to  take  good  care  that  they  be 
"nourished  up  in  the  words  of  [the]  faith 
and  of  the  good  doctrine."  : 
*  I.  Tim.,"  iv,  6. 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


GDI 


The  Doctor's  Fee. 


THE  wife  of  Meissonier  had  a  little  dog 
of  which  she  was  very  fond.  One  day 
it  fell  ill,  and  she  dispatched  a  messenger 
for  the  family  physician,  who,  thinking 
that  it  was  the  great  artist  who  needed 
his  services,  'made  haste  to  answer  the 
summons.  When  he  found  out  that  it 
was  only  a  lapdog  that  needed  his  atten- 
tion, he  was  highly  indignant;  but  he 
pocketed  his  pride,  and  administered 
suitable  remedies  without  a  word  of  anger 
or  complaint. 

When  the  time  for  settling  accounts 
came  around,  the  doctor  sent  his  bill  to 
Meissonier,  -whose  wife,  according  to  her 
custom,  was  the  first  to  examine  it. 

"Ah,  doctor,"  she  said  when  she  next 
saw  him,  "you  made  an  error  in  your  bill! 
You  remembered  your  other  valued  pro- 
fessional services,  but  forgot  to  make  any 
charge  for  attending  poor  Fifine." 

"I  do  not  attend  dogs,"  said  the  physi- 
cian. "I  am  glad  to  have  helped  your 
four-footed  friend;  however,  I  can  not 
think  of  making  a  charge  for  such  an 
unimportant  service." 

"But,"  insisted  Madame  Meissonier,  "I 
sent  for  you,  and  I  really  ought  to  pay 
you.  I  am  happy  to  say  Fifine  is  now 
well  again  and  as  strong  as  ever.  I  feet 
under  great  obligations  to  you." 

"My  dear  lady,"  answered  the  doctor, 
"your  husband  and  I  will  exchange  kind- 
nesses. The  hinges  of  my  gate  are  very 
rusty,  and  in  sore  need  of  a  fresh  coat  of 
paint.  Have  the  goodness  to  send  Mon- 
sieur Meissonier  to  paint  them  for  me, 
and  we  will  call  services  even." 

"But  my  husband,  I  would  have  you 
know,  does  not  paint  gates." 

"And  I  do  not  doctor  dogs.  Good- 
morning,  Madame!" 

The  great  painter,  it  is  safe  to  say, 
never  complied  with  the  physician's  re- 
quest. Whether  or  not  he  succeeded  in 
making  him  accept  a  fee  for  attending 
Madame  Meissonier's  lapdog  is  equally 
uncertain . 


Of  Real  Importance. 

E  educators  who  contend  that 
literary  study  should  take  precedence 
of  science,  that  familiarity  with  the  writ- 
ings of  the  great  minds  of  antiquity  is 
of  inestimable  advantage  to  the  young 
student,  and  that  the  importance  of  a 
mastery  of  his  own  language  can  not  be 
too  much  insisted  upon,  will  be  interested 
in  the  chapter  of  Fabre's  "  Life  of  the  Fly  " 
entitled  "Newton's  Binomial  Theorem." 
The  great  naturalist  expresses  his  deep 
regret  that  his  literary  studies  were  not 
more  carefully  conducted  and  further 
prolonged;  and  tells  of  his  delight,  some- 
what late  in  life,  in  those  good  old  books 
which  then,  as  now,  are  usually  sold 
secondhand  with  their  leaves  uncut.  Age 
and  experience  had  taught  him  that 
literary  expression  is  by  no  means  a  thing 
to  be  despised.  ."It  seems  to  me,"  he 
writes,  "that  an  idea  stands  out  better 
if  expressed  in  lucid  language,  with  sober 
imagery.  A  suitable  phrase,  placed  in  its 
correct  position,  and  saying  without  fuss 
the  things  we  want  to  say,  necessitates  a 
choice, — often  a  laborious  choice.  There 
are  drab  words,  the  commonplaces  of 
colloquial  speech;  and  there  are,  so  to 
speak,  colored  words,  which  may  be 
compared  with  the  brush  strokes  strewing 
pajtches  of  light  over  the  grey  background 
of  a  painting.  How  are  we  to  find  those 
picturesque  words,  those,  striking  features 
which  arrest  the  attention?  How  are  we 
to  group  them  into  a  language  heedful  of 
syntax  and  not  displeasing  to  the  ear? . . . 
If  the  fire  that  runs  through  our  .veins, 
if  inspiration  do  not  come  to  our  aid,  we 
shall  flutter  the  pages  of  the  thesaurus 
in  vain:  the  word  for  which  we  seek  will 
refuse  to  come.  Then  to  what  masters 
shall  we  have  recourse  to  quicken  and 
develop  the  humble  germ  that  is  latent 
within  us?  To  books." 

Readers  of  M.  Fabre's  own  books  need 
not  be  informed  that  they  have  a  distinct 
charm  of  style.  How  the  magic  of  words 
was  revealed  to  him  he  himself  tells  us. 


692 


THE  AYE  MART  A 


"As  a  boy,  I  was  always  an  ardent  reader; 
but  the  niceties  of  a  well-balanced  style 
hardly  interested  me:  I  did  not  -under- 
stand them.  A  good  deal  later,  when 
close  upon  fifteen,  I  began  vaguely  to  see 
that  words  have  a  physiognomy  of  their 
own.  Some  pleased  me  better  than  others 
by  the  distinctness  of  their  meaning  and 
the  resonance  of  their  rhythm;  they 
produced  a  clearer  image  in  my  mind; 
after  their  fashion,  they  gave  me  a  picture 
of  the  object  described.  Colored  by  its 
adjective  and  vivified  by  its  verb,  the 
name  became  a  living  reality:  what  it 
said  I  saw.  And  thus,  gradually,  was  the 
magic  of  words  revealed  to  me,  when  the 
chances  of  my  undirected  reading  placed 
standard  pages  in  my  way." 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


Inhumanity  at  Home. 

PRESS  dispatches  last  week  from  Mem- 
phis, Tenn.,  reported  the  burning  to 
death  of  a  Negro  murderer  near  that  city. 
He  was  bound  to  a  tree,  drenched  with  oil, 
and  then  set  on  fire,  after  being  identified 
by  the  mother  of  the  white  girl  whom 
he  had  killed.  Between  two  and  three 
thousand  persons — men,  women  and  chil- 
dren— witnessed  the  execution.  Hundreds 
of  automobiles  patrolled  the  roads  leading 
to  the  scene,  to  prevent  any  interference 
on  the  part  of  the  authorities.  "There 
was  no  disorder  and  little  excitement," 
reads  the  dispatch  of  the  Associated 
Press.  "The  mob  was  well  organized, 
worked  quietly,  and  dispersed  after  the 
burning."  An  investigation  of  the  affair 
will  perhaps  be  made  by  a  Grand  Jury; 
but,  as  usual,  nothing  will  come  of  it. 

And  we  talk  about  atrocities  com- 
mitted by  soldiers  in  France,  Belgium, 
etc.;  of  ruthless  U-boat  warfare,  Zeppelin 
barbarities,  etc. !  Yet,  for  utter  inhumanity, 
the  World  War  will  probably  produce 
nothing  to  equal  the  Memphis  incident. 
The  fact  of  its  being  attended  with  "no 
disorder  and  little  excitement"  renders 
futile  any  attempt  at  palliation. 


The  strong  reaction  in  favor  of  definite 
dogmatic  teaching,  so  noticeable  in  Eng- 
land, coupled  with  the  irreligion  of  the 
soldiers  at  the  front,  of  which  Anglican 
chaplains  have  repeatedly  borne  testi- 
mony, leads  the  Archbishop  of  Liverpool 
to  hope  that  one  of  the  blessings  for  the 
country  that  may  issue  from  the  present 
war  will  be  the  triumph  of  denomination- 
alism  over  undenominationalism.  "When 
the  future  problems  which  centre  round 
the  child  have  to  be  faced,"  says  the 
archbishop,  "we  can  not  but  feel  that, 
with  the'  evidence  of  the,  failure  of  un- 
denominationalism before  its  eyes,  that 
religious  denomination  will  incur  a  serious 
responsibility  which  refuses  to  have  its 
own  denominational  schools.  It  is  only  in 
such  schools,  that,  by  careful  and  earnest 
instruction,  day  after  day,  week  after 
week,  and  year  after  year,  the  responsible 
leaders  of  a  denomination  can  make  a 
lifelong  impression  on  the  minds  and 
hearts  of  their  children,  by  whatever  of 
Christian  truth,  by  whatever  of  Christian 
power  and  influence  still  finds  a  home  in 
their  midst." 

As  showing  what  has  been  forcing  itself 
upon  the  minds  of  Nonconformists  in 
England,  the  archbishop  cites  the  words 
uttered  about  three  years  ago  at  the 
Wesleyan  Annual  Conference  by  its-  pres- 
ident. "Many  of  us  are  weary,"  he 
declared,  "of  what  is  called  undenomina- 
tional Christianity  and  undenominational 
teaching,  whether  to  adults  or  to  children. 
We  will  not  have  at  any  price  an  expe- 
dient for  evacuating  Christianity  of  its 
great  characteristics,  such  as  the  Divine 
Lord  and  the  Atoning  Sacrifice,  and  for 
making  of  the  Bible  a  cluster  of  human 
opinions  more  or  less  fallible,  rather  than 
the  sure  revelation -of  the  mind  and  will 
of  God.  I,et  us  beware  of  untheological 
evangelism,  untheological  preaching,  un- 
theological class  meetings  and  Sunday- 
schools.  Everything  in  a  church  that  is 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


693 


untheological  is  by  so  much  imperfect. 
It  has  been  said  with  great  warrant  that 
modern  divinity  has  become  in  the  main 
merely  linguistic  and  documentary.  God 
speed  the  day  when  it  shall  have  become 
again  intensely  theological!" 

It  would  indeed  be  a  blessed  thing  if 
the  Great  War  should  effect  a  realization 
of  the  need  of  a  radical  change  in  the 
religious  x instruction  of  the  young.  And 
there  could  be  no  surer  guarantee  of 
lasting  peace  among  nations  than  a 
propagation  of  Christian  principles,  any 
abrogation  of  which  is  a  retrogression  to 
paganism  with  all  its  immoralities  and 
inhumanities. 

No  reader  of  history  can  fail  to  see  that 
great  events  always  had  great  causes,  and 
that  they  invariably  centre  around  some 
mysterious  personality.  The  eventful  his- 
tory of  Europe  from  1800  to  1814  A.  D., 
for  instance,  spells  Napoleon.  There  being 
no  culminating  personality  in  the  world 
at  present,  we  may  conclude  that  God  is 
using  nations  instead  of  individuals  as 
His  instruments.  "Just  as  all  Athenian 

I  history  gravitated  towards  Pericles,"  says 
Emil  Reich,  "just  as  all  Carthaginian 
history  gravitated  up  to  Hannibal,  and  all 
Roman  history  to  Julius  Caesar;  even  so, 
on  a  plane  even  more  elevated  and  more 
H  significant,  all  Hebrew  history  necessarily 
culminated  from  personality  to  person- 
ality, in  Jesus."  In  Him  all  'history 
centres.  Not  for  fourteen,  but  for  nine- 
teen hundred  years,  does  Christ  spell  the 
history  of  Europe  and  the  history  of  all 
the  rest  of  the  world  as  well. 


Under  the  caption  "New  Problems  for 
Education,"  the  New  York  Nation,  in 
an  educational  supplement,  recently  gave 
editorial  expression  to  criticism  of  our 
educational  management  which  few  who 
know  the  facts  will  regard  as  extreme. 
"A  teacher,"  says  the  Nation's  editor, 
"who  has  merely  to  teach  is  rapidly  becom- 
ing a  curiosity.  The  problem  which  more 
and  more  confronts  one  is  to  find  time, 


after  she  has  sent  Johnnie  home  to  rewash 
his  face,  and  Susie  to  the  dentist,  and 
Jimmie  to  the  oculist,  and  Mary  to  the 
specialist  in  pediatrics;  after  she  has 
decided  that  Edwin  is  a  defective  child, 
and  that  Edward  is  an  exceptional  child, 
and  taken  measures  accordingly, — to  find 
time  to  hear  the  rest  recite.  The  school 
has  become  a  clearing  house  for  the  home, 
the  hospital,  and  society.  Teaching  is 
still  done  between  the  intervals  of  filling 
out  blanks  upon  the  amount  of  arithmetic 
needed  to  meet  actual  social  demands, 
and  replying  to  questionnaires  which  seek 
to  know  whether  the  prolonged  study  of 
grammar  yields  any  actual  capacity  in 
the  direction  of  the  functional  use  of 
grammar  in  translation;  but  one  gathers 
that  such  activity  is  no  more  than  a 
concession  to  tradition.  In  the  school  of 
to-morrow,  the  pupils  will  have  nothing 
to  do  but  go  and  be  observed.  It  will  be 
the  teacher  who  will  take  problems  home. 
Education,  which  was  invented  to  give 
answers,  has  ended  by  asking  new 
questions." 

There  is,  happily,  little  of  this  nonsense 
in  the  conduct  of  our  parochial  schools; 
and  that  is  why,  on  the  mere  academic 
side,  they  so  generally  stand  head  and 
shoulders  above  their  highly  financed  and 
would-be  "efficient"  rivals. 

A  communication  from  the  secretary 
of  the  National  Conference  of  Catholic 
Charities,  the  Rev.  W.  J.  Kerby,  D.  D., 
urges  upon  all  Catholic  organizations  the 
duty  of  reporting  to  the  Conference  the 
nature  and  extent  of  the  activities  in  which 
they  may  be  engaged  in  our  country's 
behalf  at  this  critical  time.  In  the  words 
of  the  circular: 

The  National  Conference  of  Catholic  Charities 
is  eager  to  collect  records  concerning  activities 
of  all  Catholic  relief  organizations  during  the 
present  national  emergency.  Societies  and  heads 
of  institutions  which  engage  in  any  form  of 
social  work  are  expected  to  do  their  full  share 
in  anticipating  problems  of  civil  and  military 
relief,  and  to  co-operate  as  circumstances  may 
"require  with  related  efforts  in  this  field.  It  is 


094 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


important  for  our  history  to  assemble  records 
which  will  show  the  patriotic  response  of  Catholic 
organi/ations  to  (his  call  of  our  country.  Copies 
of  resolutions  adopted,  and  accounts  of  meetings, 
addresses,  and  of  all  arrangements  made,  sep- 
arately or  in  conjunction  with  other  civic 
bodies  should  be  gathered,  classified,  and 
preserved  for  the  use  of  the  historian.  Officers 
of  organizations  and  others  interested  in  social 
work  are  urgently  asked  to  send  information 
to  the  National  Conference  of  Catholic  Charities, 
Catholic  University  of  America,  Washington, 
D.  C.,  in  order  that  this  may  be  done.  Neglect 
of  this  service  will  rob  the  Church  of  a  golden 
opportunity  to  show  to  the  world  the  spirit  of 
her  benevolence  in  its  incomparable  splendor. 

At  such  a  call,  Catholic  societies  should 
put  away  their  well-known  modesty — • 
or  indifference  to  publicity — and  let  their 
light  shine  before  men,  not  for  their  own 
but  for  the  Church's  glory. 


The  present  cry,  "vSave  democracy," 
is  queer,  considering  that  democracy  is 
really  in  less  danger  than  it  ever  was 
anywhere.  It  is  sure  to  triumph  sooner  or 
later,  even  in  Russia,  though  perhaps 
after  many  revolutions  have  occurred 
there.  As  for  Germany,  it  already  has 
about  as  much  democratization  as  the 
people  desire,  and  a  great  deal  more 
than  most  foreigners  have  any  idea  of. 
The  Germans  are  too  well  educated  not 
to  know  when  they  are  well  off.  Theirs  is  a 
government  of  the  people,  by  an  hereditary 
ruler  whose  power  is  by  no  means  absolute ; 
for  the  people,  whose  welfare  is  that 
ruler's  first  thought.  Universal  peace 
may  indeed  depend  upon  democracy,  but 
it  is  not  necessary  that  it  should  be  the 
kind  of  democracy  which  everyone  is 
now  shouting  to  have  saved.  Which  of 
the  countries  at  present  engaged  in  war 
was  interested  in  democracy  when  the 
fighting  began? 

President  Wilson,  in  an  effort  to  restore 
peace  to  the  world,  called  upon  the 
belligerent  Powers  to  state  why  they  had 
entered  into  conflict;  and  only  last  week 
he  himself  was  constrained  yet  again  to 
explain  the  reasons  for  our  country's 
participation.  It  would  have  sufficed  for 


the  President  to  refer  to  his  address  to 
the  vSenate  in  January  and  his  message  to 
Congress  in  April.  Anyone  who  at  this 
late  date  has  not  learned  why  the  United 
vStates  is  at  war  is  little  entitled  to  know. 
But  if  the  German  people  do  not  under- 
stand how,  while  professing  to  have  no 
hate  in  our  hearts  for  themselves,  we  can 
shpw  nothing  but  hate  for  their  Gov- 
ernment, then  let  President  Wilson's 
assurances  be  reiterated. 

If  the  machinery  of  the  national  Govern- 
ment that  has  been  set  in  motion  to  curb 
food  speculators  and  to  supervise  the 
distribution  of  supplies  is  not  clogged,  the 
public  may  hope  for  relief  from  extortion 
and  deprivation  against  which  in  days  of 
peace  it  would  be  useless  to  complain. 
The  investigations  of  the  commission 
appointed  last  month  by  the  District  of 
Columbia  show  clearly  that  speculators 
who  withheld  foodstuffs  from  the  market 
were  principally  responsible  for  the  ab- 
normal prices  then  prevailing.  They  held 
back  coal,  too,  until  the  bins  of  the  con- 
sumers were  empty  in  order  to  win  ex- 
tortionate profits.  The  exigencies  of  war 
necessitated  official  action  against  these 
worthies,  and  it  is  likely  to  be  continued 
and  extended.  Production  and  distribution 
of  the  necessaries  of  life  are  matters  to 
which  the  Government  must  henceforth 
give  particular  attention.  Let  us,  hope 
a  system  will  be  established  that  will 
remain  in  vogue  when  the  war  is  over,  and 
lose  nothing  of  its  effectiveness. 


A  general  convention  representing  the 
various  religious  bodies  of  the  State  of 
Indiana  recently  met  in  Indianapolis  to 
consider  how  the  churches  might  better 
serve  their  country  during  the  war. 
Prominent  in  this  movement  was  an  able 
Catholic  representation.  The  resolutions 
drawn  up  contain  the  following  wise 
observations : 

We  believe  that  the  churches  can  do  no  better 
service  to  the  State  at  this  time  than  in  a  re- 
newed effort  to  make  of  its  citizens  God-fearing 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


695 


men  and  women,  imbuing  them  with  high  ideals 
of  moral  and  religious  life,  with  the  spirit  of  self- 
sacrifice  and  fraternal  charity,  and  reminding 
them  that  patriotic  duty  is  also  a  religious  duty. 
A  great  service  to  the  country  will  be  rendered 
by  the  clergy  if  our  citizens  can  be  brought  to 
recognize  God  as  the  source,  not  only  of  authority 
and  power,  but  also  of  love  and  beneficence, 
as  the  Father  of  all  men,  and  that  patriotism  is 
purified  and  ennobled  by  religious  sentiments. 

We  stand  firmly  by  the  principle  of  our  Govern- 
ment— -nonrecognition  of  any  form  of  religion 
as  an  -established"  church,  and  the  principle  of 
.freedom  of  conscience  and  liberty  of  worship. 
These  principles  do  not  imply  an  antagonism 
between  the  State  and  religion;  on  the  contrary, 
they  safeguard  freedom  of  conscience.  The 
traditions  of  the  Republic  and  the  customs  of 
the  American  people  evidence,  indeed,  a  spirit 
of  reverence  for  religion  and  its  institutions. 
We  believe,  therefore,  that  the  State,  in  calling 
its  citizens  to  the  service  of  arms  in  the  defence 
of  the  country,  can  not  do  better  than  to  afford 
to  its  soldiers  in  the  camp  and  in  the  field  those 
opportunities  of  worshipping  God  according  to 
the  dictates  of  their  conscience  that  they  enjoyed 
at  home.  In  the  encouragement  of  the  practice 
of  religious  obligations  the  State  will  benefit 
by  the  maintenance  of  the  moral  welfare  of  its 
soldiers.  To  furnish  these  opportunities  of 
worship,  the  religious  organizations  .of  the 
State  stand  ready  at  all  times. 

These  excellent  sentiments  do  credit 
to  the  convention  which  gave  them 
expression,  and  are  worthy  of  the  highest 
and  most  general  endorsement. 


Discussing,  in  America,  the  question  of  a 
reasonable  holiday,  or  summer  vacation, 
especially  for  our  adolescent  boys  and  girls, 
Dr.  James  J.  Walsh  deduces  some  excellent 
conclusions  from  the  experience  of  the 
young  men  who  were  sent  last  year  to  the 
Texas  border.  He  claims  that  ninety-five 
per  cent  of  these  young  soldiers  who  went 
to  camp  in  the  Southern  State  came  back 
better  in  health  than  when  they  went, 
and,  in  most  cases,  better  than  they  had 
ever  been  before.  Dr.  Walsh  summarizes 
his  advice  as  to  the  best  of  holidays  in 
this  judicious  paragraph: 

It  does  not  matter  much  where  the  holiday  is 
spent.  Life  should  be  lived  in  the  open,  vigorously ; 
and  early  rising  should  be  the  rule.  Food  should 
be  plain  and  substantial  and  should  be  taken  with 
moderation,  Two  or  three  weeks,  of  this  regime 


would  probably  do  all  the  young  folk  of  this 
country  more  good  than  frivolous  vacations 
spent  in  lolling  during  the  day  and  in  dancing 
at  night.  What  the  youth  of  the  country  need 
is  not  rest  but  reasonable  activity  under  such 
discipline  as  requires  -  persistence.  Then  the 
results  will  speak  for  themselves. 

Dr.  Watsh  rather  underestimates,  we 
think,  the  benefit,  in  the  matter  of  a 
recreative  holiday,  of  change, — change  of 
air,  scenery,  people,  diet,  and  activities. 
Experience  teaches  that  a  vacation  spent 
elsewhere  than  in  one's  ordinary  habitat 
is,  other  things  being  equal,  by  far  the 
most  beneficial. 


There  must  be  not  a  few  of  our  readers 
in  New  England  who  were  reminded  by  a 
recent  event  in  Boston  of  Shakespeare's 
"Thus  the  whirligig  of  Time  brings  in 
his  revenges."  In  the  middle  nineteenth 
century  New  England  generally,  and 
Boston  particularly,  seethed  with  Know- 
nothingism.  "Irish"  was  synonymous 
with  "Catholic,"  and  the  popular  slogan 
was,  "No  Irish  need  apply."  Some  six 
decades  later,  Boston  is  largely  a  Catholic 
city,  and  the  rendition  of  Sir  Edgar 
Elgar's  settitig  of  "The  Dream  of  Geron- 
tius"  in  Symphony  Hall  moved  Cardinal 
O'Connell  to  exclaim:  "This  is  another 
of  my  hopes  realized!  A  majestic  poem 
by  a  great  Cardinal,  rendered  into  music 
by  a  famous  Catholic  composer,  executed 
by  a  splendid'  Catholic  choral  union, 
directed  by  a  fine  Catholic  musician 
before  a  large  Catholic  audience, — is  indeed 
a  combination  to  be  thankful  to  Almighty 
God  for.  We  are  living  in  days  of  promise 
and  fulfilment." 


There  has  recently  been  established 
at  Techny,  111.,  "The  Mission  Crusade 
Bureau,"  an  institution  with  the  laudable 
aim  of  interesting  Catholic  college  students 
in  the  home  and  foreign  missionary  activi- 
ties of  the  Church.  It  is  high  time  such 
a  movement  were  started.  It  should  meet 
with  the  most  earnest  co-operation  on  all 
sides,  if  we  are  to  deserve  our  name  of 
the  children  of  light. 


Ave  Maria. 

BY     LIONEL    BYKKA. 

PJg  HEN  first  'twas  heard,  that  blessed  word, 
D4^"Hail   Mary,  full  of  grace!" 
All  Nature's  frame  made  glad  acclaim 

To  Mary,  full  of  grace. 
Each  star  afar  with  joy  was  filled, 
Each  cave  'neath  wave  of  ocean  thrilled, 

And  o'er  earth's  varied  face 
New  light  broke  bright  in  haste  to  write, 
"Hail  Mary,  full  of  grace!" 

On  myriad  strings  still  Nature  sings, 

"Hail  Mary,  full  of  grace!" 
Chant  birds  and  bees  and  soothing  bree/.e, 

"Hail  Mary,  full  of  grace!" 
The  strain  of  raindrops  in  the  night, 
The  theme  of  streamlet  in  its  flight, 

Of  river  in  its  race, 
Full  strong  the  song  the  whole  day  long  — 

"Hail  Mary,   full  of  grace!" 

Like  earth  and  sky,   I'll  ceaseless  cry, 

"Hail   Mary,  full  of  grace!" 
My  lifetime   through   to  her  still   trmv  - 
To   Mary  full  of  grace. 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


XXII. — A  MORNING  JOURNEY. 
OFTLY  parting  the  feathery  branches, 
Con  peered  in  upon  the  scene  they 
framed.  Carita  and  Tony, — Tony, 
whose  piteous  cry  was  rending  the  poor 
little  mother's  heart.  Tony,  sick,  dying 
perhaps  from  some  hurt  that  had  befallen 
him  in  the  Gypsy  Glen.  Tony,  the  little 
charge  and  playmate  whom  Con  had 
learned  to  love.  vSo  stirred  was  he  at  the 
sight  that  he  forgot  all  peril  to  himself 
and  burst  through  the  pine  thicket  to 
Carita's  side. 


"Conde!"  she  called  out  in  delight  and 
surprise. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  asked 
breathlessly.  "Tony!  What  is  wrong  with 
Tony, — my  Tony  ? ' ' 

"The  curse  is  upon  him!"  sobbed 
Carita.  "I  tried  to  fly  from  it,  but  it  was 
too  late.  My  baby  is  dying, — dying, 
Conde!  And  it  was  to  save  you,  too,  that 
I  came.  Peppo  thought  you  were  with 
Tony  in  the  wagon." 

' '  Peppo  ? ' '  echoed  Conde.   "  Is  he  here  ? ' ' 

"No,  no!"  answered  Carita;  and  then 
in  a  few  words  she  explained  her  flight  from 
the  camp,  and  the  breakdown  on  the 
mountain-side.  "Zila  has  gone  to  some 
cabins  that  we  saw  down  in  the  hollow, 
for  help  to  mend  the  traces,  so  that  we 
can  go  back  to  the  Glen.  Tony  must  not 
die  up  here,  away  from  his  father  and 
his  father's  people.  What  would  I  do 
with  him,  stiff  and  cold  in  my  arms, 
alone, — alone?"  And  she  burst  into  cries 
and  sobs  at  the  thought. 

"You  shall  not  be  alone,"  said  Con, 
eagerly.  "I  will  stay  with  you  and  Tony. 
I  will  go  back  with  you  to  the  Glen.  Ik- 
shall  not  die.  Give  him  to  me.  I  am 
younger,  stronger  than  you,  Carita.  I 
will  hug  him  close,  as  Mother  Moll  made 
me  hug  Nat  once  when  he  had  the  moun- 
tain ague;  and  he  will  draw  my  life  and 
strength.  Come,  Tony, — come!" 

Tony's  black  eyes  blinked  open  at 
this  comrade  call,  and  he  stretched  up  his 
arms  to  be  caught  in  a  bearish  hug  to 
Con's  breast. 

Then  Zila  came  hurrying  through  the 
brightening  dawn  to  greet  cheerily  her 
friend  of  the  previous  night.  Now  Con 
could  mend  the  traces  with  strips  of  bark 
cut  from  a  neighboring  tree;  for  her 
search  in  the  cabins  had  been  fruitless. 
She  had  found  only  one  old  woman,  too 
crippled  to  walk;  all  the  rest — twenty  of 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


them— had  gone  before  break  of  day  (so 
tlie  old  woman  had  told  her)  to  Corbett's 
Cut,  where  there  would  be  great  doings, 
whether  circus  or  camp  meeting  Zila 
could  not  quite  understand.  "Mass,"  the 
old  woman  had  called  it. 

"Mass?"  echoed  Carita,  with  a  start. 
"Surely — surely  not  that!" 

"It  was  what  she  said,"  declared  Zila; 
"and  that  it  was  two  years  since  there 
had  been  a  Mass  in  these  mountains, 
and  she  would  have  been  glad  to  crawl 
the.  ten  miles  on  her  hands  and  knees 
if  she  could  only  go." 

"It  must  be  Mass,  then,"  said  Carita, 
breathlessly.  "So  I  have  heard  my  poor 
old  grandmother  talk  when  she  was 
crippled  long  ago.  Mass — up  in  these 
mountains!  But  how,  where?  There  is 
no  priest,  no  church." 

"I  do  not  know,"  answered  Zila.  "But 
she  said  the  people  were  flocking  to  Cor- 
bett's Cut  for  miles  around, — men,  women 
and  children,  all.  They  were  even  taking 
the  babies  that  could  not  walk.  That  was 
foolish,  I  thought;  but  she  said  no. 
What  it  all  meant  I  did  not  understand, 
do  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  yes!"  said  Carita,  tremu- 
lously. "There  is  a  priest  somewhere 
near, — a  pries-t  saying  Mass,  preaching, 
blessing,  baptizing, — baptizing  as  I  vowed 
long  ago  my  Tony  should  be  baptized. 
It  would  wash  the  sin  from  him;  it 
would  lift  the  curse.  O  my  baby,  —  my 
baby!  If  I  could  take  him  with  the 
others, — if  I  could  take  Tony,  too!  And 
I  will, — I  will!"  she  cried  in  sudden  re- 
solve. "Mend  the  trace,  the  wagon,  if 
you  can,  Conde,"  she  added,  snatching 
Tony  from  his  arms.  "If  you  can  not,  we 
will  walk, — crawl,  as  the  old  woman  said, 
ten,  twenty  miles.  It  is  the  good  God, 
the  Blessed  Mother  to  whom  I  prayed, 
that  have  had  pity  on  me.  Living  or 
dying,  my  Tony  shall  have  the  blessed 
water  poured  on  him;  he  shall  be  bap- 
tized,— he  shall  be  baptized!" 

And,  stirred  by  Carita's  appeal,  Con 
hurried  off  to  do  his  best  for  the  broken 


wagon.  But,  even  with  Zila's  skilful 
help,  all  his  efforts  were  vain.  Axle  as 
well  as  trace  were  shattered  hopelessly. 
Lara  was  limping  painfully  on  a  la  ne 
leg,  that  would  make  travel  over  these 
mountains  most  precarious,  even  if  it 
were  possible. 

"Then  we  must  walk!"  cried  Carita, 
in  a  fever  of  mother  love  and  fear.  "What 
are  ten  miles  to  such  blessing  for  Tony! 
And  I  vowed  it  when  he  was  born.  God 
is  punishing  that  broken  vow  by  taking 
him  from  me.  The  blessed  water  shall  be 
poured  upon  him:  he  will  live, — my  baby 
will  live!  Did  not  the  other  women  and 
children  walk  from  their  cabins  ?  We,  too, 
will  go  to  Corbett's  Cut.  The  old  woman 
to  whom  Zila  talked  will  show  us  the  way." 

But  when  they  stopped  at  the  hut  in 
the  hollow,  the  old  crone,  hobbling  to 
the  door,  with  the  beads  in  her  hand, 
eyed  them  suspiciously. 

"You  do  be  gypsies  from  the  Glen 
below,"  she  said.  "They'll  want  no 
jigging  and  junketing  at  Corbett's  Cut. 
You'd  best  keep  off." 

"No,  no!"  answered  Carita.  "For  I 
was  a  Christian  once,  old  mother;  and 
my  child  is  sick,  I  fear  to  death.  I  go 
to  the  priest  to  have  the  blessed  water 
poured  on  him.  In  God's  name  show 
us  the  way." 

"Whether  ye  be  telling  lies  or  truth  to 
me  I  do  not  know,  but  what  ye  ask  in 
His  name  I  must  give,"  was  the  still 
doubting  answer.  "Keep  down  the  rocks 
to  the  right  of  ye,  and  then  follow  the 
creek.  It  leads  to  Corbett's  Cut.  But  if 
ye're  looking  to  doing  fortune-telling  or 
witch  work  there,  it  will  be  worse  for  ye, 
I  warn  ye.  The  divil  daren't  show  horns 
or  hoofs  to-day  nigh  Corbett's  Cut." 

And,  nodding  her  snowy  head  in  evident 
distrust  of  these  questioners,  the  speaker 
turned  back  into  her  cabin  and  hurriedly 
closed  and  bolted  the  door.  She  had  told 
them  enough;  only  a  slight  clue  was  needed 
to  guide  such  wanderers;  and  they  kept 
on  their,  way,  along  the  rocks  to  the 
right,  until  the  voice  of  the  creek  below 


698 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


gave  them  further  guidance.  It  was  only 
a  low  voice  at  first,  murmuring  through 
a  cleft  in  the  mountains,  but  growing 
fuller  and  deeper  as  they  followed  its  call. 
Con  and  Dick  led  the  way,  parting  the 
tangles  of  thorn-bush  and  vines,  that  the 
others  might  pass  through.  What  this 
strange  journey  meant  neither  boy  nor 
dog  knew.  But  if,  as  Carita  said,  it  was  to 
bring  life  and  strength  to  Tony,  Con  was 
only  too  willing  to  go  at  once  wherever 
she  willed. 

"It  is  foolishness!"  declared  Zila,  as  she 
came  up  beside  Con.  "Carita  is  mad  with 
fear  for  the  child,  as  we  all  can  see.  When 
she  has  a  dozen,  like  the  wife  of  Caspar, 
she  will  have  more  sense." 

"But  the  water  may  be  good  for  Tony, 
as  she  says,"  replied  Con,  thoughtfully. 
"There  are  many  things,  Zila,  that  the 
gypsies  do  not  know." 

"Nor  you  either,"  she  returned  sharply. 

"That  is  true,"  said  Con.  "If  I  could 
find  the  'Mister'  who  came  to  the  moun- 
tain last  Christmas,  and  told  me  so  much 
that  I  had  never  heard  before,  he  would 
teach  me  again." 

"Who  was  he?"  asked  Zila,  curiously. 

"I  do  not  know,"  answered  Con.  "I 
had  his  name  written  on  paper,  but  I 
lost  it  when  I  was  sick.  I  can  never  find 
him  now.  He  was  tall  and  straight, — 
tall  and  straight  and  young  as  Peppo; 
but  his  eyes  were  not  black  and  fierce: 
they  were  blue  and  kind.  And  when  he 
stood  in  the  log  cabin,  with  the  light 
shining  upon  him,  all  dressed  in  white 
and  gold — 

"In  white  and  gold!"  interrupted  Zila, 
breathlessly.  "Was  he  a  king,  then." 

"I  do  not  know,"  answered  Con  again. 
"It  all  seemed  as  if  I  was  not  awake  but 
dreaming, —  the  lights,  the  flowers,  the 
singing,  the  people  kneeling  with  their 
heads  bowed.  Then  Irish  Dennis  came 
and  turned  me  out.  I'll  never  see  any- 
thing so  fine  again,  I  know." 

The  voice  of  the  creek  had  grown 
deeper,  louder;  the  cleft  of  the  mountains 
wider.  The  young  travellers  could  now 


see  the  waters  swirling  and  foaming 
through  the  gorge  below,  as  they  forced 
their  way  from  its  wild  darkness  into 
freedom  and  light.  Then  the  rugged  bunks 
sank  into  softer  slopes  beside  the  broad- 
ening stream,  that  swept  on  in  shining 
guidance  through  the  parting  mountain. 
Con  paused  suddenly.  His  quick  ear  had 
caught  a  sound,  startling  on  these  moun- 
tain wilds:  singing,  —  full- voiced  singing 
such  as  he  had  heard  in  the  log  cabin  on 
Christmas  night;  singing  that  woke  the 
echoes  of  cliff  and  ridge.  And  as  he  stood 
listening  a  cry  came  from  behind  him, 
and  poor  Carita  sank  down  helplessly  on 
the  ground. 

"I  can  go  no  farther!"  she  panted. 
"My  head  is  burning,  «iy  breath  is  gone." 

"Get  her  some  water!"  said  Zila 
quickly.  "The  long  walk  with  that  heavy 
child  in  her  arms  has  taken  away  all 
her  strength." 

Con  filled  his  cap  from  the  creek. 
Zila  bathed  the  poor  little  mother's  head, 
held  water  to  her  lips;  but  Carita  could 
only  lean  back  white  and  faint  against 
the  rock  behind  her. 

"We  are  almost  there,"  said  Con, 
striving  to  urge  her  on.  "Listen!  You 
can  hear  the  people  singing!" 

Louder  came  the  voices  now,  blending 
in  a  chorus  of  deep-toned  praise.  It  was 
music  such  as  the  poor  little  gypsy  had 
not  heard  for  years.  She  tried  to  rise  at 
its  call,  but  sank  down  again  helplessly 
into  Zila's  arms. 

"I  can  not  walk!"  she  moaned.  "All 
the  way  here  I  have  been  cold  and  weak; 
but  I  thought  to  keep  on  for  Tony's  sake, 
that  the  blessed  water  might  be  poured 
on  him  by  the  priest,  as  I  had  vowed, — 
that  he  might  be  a  child  of  God.  But  I 
can  go  no  farther  with  him." 

"And  all  will  be  over  if  we  wait," 
said  Con;  "for  the  people  have  stopped 
singing  now.  Perhaps  they  are  moving 
off." 

For  a  moment  he  hesitated.  Hunted 
young  outlaw  that  he  was,  he  knew  not 
what  danger  he  might  face  among  these 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


699 


singing    people.      Then    he    boldly    flung 
away  all  thought  of  fear. 

"Let  Zila  stay  with  you,  Carita,"  he 
said.  "Give  Tony  to  me.  I  will  take  him 
to  the  Cut  and  have  the  blessed  water 
poured  on  him  as  you  wish." 

"Oh,  if  you  will,  Conde, — if  you  will!" 
pleaded  Carita,  despairingly.  "Take  Tony 
to  the  priest,  ask  him  to  baptize  him,— 
lift  the  curse  and  sin  from  my  baby,  as  he 
can.  Take  him,  Conde,  and  I  will  thank 
you  all  my  life." 

And  Con  took  the  fretting  Tony  from 
his  mother;  and,  with  the  baby  arms 
clasping  his  neck,  the  baby  head  nest- 
ling on  his  shoulder,  he  and  Dick  started 
off  again,  along  the  bank  of  the  creek, 
swelling  into  loud-voiced  triumph  at  his 
side  as  it  guided  him  on  nearer,  nearer, 
nearer  to  the  singers, — the  singers  whose 
hymn  of  praise  now  came  clearly  through 
the  morning  gladness: 

Holy  God,  we  praise  Thy  name! 
Lord  of  all,  we  bow  before  Thee! 

All  on  earth  Thy  sceptre  claim, 
All  in  hcav'n  above  adore  Thee; 

Infinite  Thy  vast  domain, 

Everlasting  is  Thy  reign. 

Con  turned  the  bend  of  the  guiding 
creek,  and  stood  transfixed.  Men,  women 
and  children,  in  numbers  he  could  not 
count,  filled  the  slopes  of  the  Cut  between 
the  parted  mountains,  crowding  around 
an  altar  that  seemed  to  flame  in  the  morn- 
ing sunrise  with  glory  and  light  that 
dazzled  his  wondering  eyes.  And  standing 
there,  in  shining  robes  like  those  of  Christ- 
mas night,  was — was — oh,  Con  felt  he 
was  dreaming!  This  could  not  be  true! 

(To  be  continued.) 


A  Little  Brother  to  the  Sun. 


BY    MARY    KELIvEY    DUNNE. 


WASHINGTON'S  principal  diver- 
sion as  a  boy,  we  are  told,  was  training 
baby  foxes.  He  was  fond  of  fox-huating, 
and  would  pay  well  for  a  family  of  young 
reynards.  He  took  the  animals  home 
and  trained  them  in  all  kinds  of  tricks; 
and  he  used  to  say  that  the  fox  had  more 
brains  than  any  other  animal.  We  have 
all  heard  the  expression,  "as  cute  as  a 
pet  fox." 


§NCE   upon  a  time  there  was  a  little 
boy  who    said  he  would  like  to  get 
acquainted    with     dandelions.      But 
the  other  children  said  scornfully:    "Who 
cares  about  dandelions?    They're  nothing 
but   weeds.    Besides,"  his  companions  in- 
sisted, "there   are  no  dandelions:  they're 
all  dead,  because  it's  winter." 

But  Anthony  felt  sure  there  must  be 
dandelions  somewhere,  because  his  mother 
had  told  him  there  would  be  some  very 
soon.  They  must  be  somewhere,  and  they 
must  be  coming.  Daddy  was  away,  but 
he  was  coming  soon,  too.  And,  sure 
enough,  a  few  weeks  later  Anthony 
came  hurrying  home  from  school  and 
excitedly  assured  his  mother  that  daddy 
was  coming  home.  And  his  startled 
mother  discovered,  after  much  questioning, 
that  Anthony  had  associated  his  father's 
coming  from  away  off,  with  the  coming 
of  the  dandelions.  And  there  was  a  tiny 
golden  sun  in  a  sheltered  spot  in  the  lane. 
Then  she  took  the  little  fellow  on  her 
knee  and  told  him  all  she  knew  about  the 
little  brother  to  the  sun.  The  dandelion 
is  such  a  very  common  flower  that  most 
of  us  miss  both  its  beauty  and  its  inspi- 
ration. Only  to  imaginative  children  and 
to  poets  does  it  reveal  its  secrets.  Lowell 
knew  it  well: 

Fringing  the  dusty  road  with  harmless  gold, 
Thou  art  the  type  of  those  meek  charities 
Which  make  up  half  the  nobleness  of  life, — 
Words  of  frank  cheer,  glances  of  friendly  eyes, 
Love's  smallest  coin,  .  .  . 
Bringing  forth  many  a  thought  and  deed; 
And,  planted  safely  in  the  eternal  sky, 
Bloom  into  stars  which  earth  is  guided  by. 

Anthony  was  quite  right  in  believing 
that  dandelions  are  always  somewhere 
and  coming.  Deep  down  in  the  earth, 
Mother  Dandelion  has  her  big  taproot  and 
is  working,  planning,  resting.  And  when 
the  spring  sun  begins  to  warm  the  earth  a 
little,  she  sends  her  sap  blood  through  the 


700 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


little  tendrils,  and  they  begin  to  uncurl, 
pushing  slowly  and  gently  through  the 
brown  soil  until  they  reach  an  opening, 
white,  pale  and  tired.  Then  after  a  little 
rest,  just  far  enough  up  so  they  can  breathe, 
they  begin  to  unfold.  One  tiny  white 
leaf  loses  its  pale  color  and  grows  stronger 
and  longer;  and  another  and  another 
follow.  Then  in  the  centre  of  the  bunch  of 
leaves  a  little  flat  knot  forms  aid  grows 
and  unfolds.  Presently  there  comes  an 
especially  bright,  warm  day ;  and,  although 
the  wind  may  still  have  a  sharp  edge,  there 
on  the  grass  is  a  tiny  blazing  emblem  of 
the  sun  and  humble  good  deeds. 

I  am  sure  that  the  dandelion  is  more 
deserving  of  being  our  national  flower 
than  the  goldenrod.  Not  only  is  it  very 
beautiful  as  to  color,  but  it  is  useful 
both  as  food  and  medicine;  and,  besides, 
it  has  many  of  our  national  character- 
istics, and  some  others  of  its  own  which 
it  would  be  wise  for  us  to  adopt. 
It  is  persistent  and  sturdy,  and  coura- 
geous and  cheerful.  It  does  not  mind  a 
little  cold  and  blustering  weather.  The 
snow  still  lingers  and  the  dandelion  has 
sent  up  a  few  cheery  disks,  promises  of 
coming  golden  sunny  days.  The  world 
could  much  easier  spare  its  orchids  than 
its  dandelions 

Give  the  dandelion  half  a  chance  and 
it  will  grow  an<*.  prosper.  It  never  grumbles 
and  says,  "If  I  had  only  had  the  other 
fellow's  chance  I'd  have  done  things 
worth  while."  It  just  makes  the  best  of 
the  place  in  which  it  happens  to  come  up. 
If  the  fickle  summer  breeze  lands  one  of 
the  seed  balloons  between  two  stones  in  a 
vacant  lot  in  a  city  block,  the  seed  sprouts 
and  grows,  and  makes  the  most  of  the 
scanty  bit  of  nourishment  in  the  tiny 
crevice.  Its  blossoms  are  not  so  large 
and  its  stems  are  not  so  long  as  those  of 
its  brethren  who  fell  on  the  side  of  the 
moist  and  shady  lane,  but  no  doubt  it 
is  thankful  that  it  is  not  worse  off.  It 
might  have  dropped  between  the  paving 
blocks  of  the  city  street,  and  then  there 
would  have  been  no  chance  at  all.  But, 


there  in  the  vacant  lot,  who  knows  what 
inspiration  it  may  furnish  or  whose  table 
may  be  enriched  by  a  salad  of  its  leaves! 
I  have  seen  a  cheery  dandelion  growing  in 
the  choked  gutter  of  a  city  roof.  It 
sent  up  its  short-stemmed  miniatures  of 
the  sun,  and  it  furnished  comfort  and 
cheer  to  a  little  invalid  whose  window 
overlooked  the  roof. 

There  is  one  characteristic  of  the  dan- 
delion which  we  have  not  yet  adopted  as 
we  should,  although  no  doubt  we  shall 
come  to  it  when-  you  young  folks  are 
quite  grown  up.  The  dandelion  is  one  of 
the  great  examples  of  the  value  of  co- 
operation. What  you  see  in  the  dandelion 
head  is  not  one  flower  but  a  hundred,  and 
sometimes  two  hundred  perfect  flowers 
set  on  one  little  stem.  The  tiniest  flowers 
are  in  the  centre,  and  the  largest  and 
strongest  on  the  outer  edge  as  a  sort  of 
protection.  They  grow  sturdily  and  kindly 
together;  and  when  the  seeds  begin  to 
form,  the  stem  lengthens  and  pushes  the 
seed  balls  up  over  the  surrounding  grasses. 
This  is  done  so  that  the  wind  may  catch 
the  feathery  balloon  attached  to  each 
seed  and  carry  it  far  away  from  the 
crowded  paternal  home,  to  some  spot 
where  there  will  be  room  for  it  to  take 
root  and  live  its  own  life.  This  growth  of 
the  stem  after  the  blossoms  form  seeds  is 
a  characteristic  of  the  dandelion.  Plants 
usually  get  their  growth  before  the  blossom 
forms. 

Did  you  know  that  all  our  weeds,  with 
a  few  quiet,  unobtrusive  exceptions,  are 
immigrants  from  Europe?  They  followed 
the  human  immigrants  mostly  in  bags  of 
grain.  The  dandelion  came  originally  from 
Greece,  but  it  has  made  itself  thoroughly 
at  home  here,  an.1  has  become  quite  as 
much  an  American  as  any  of  us.  It  is 
not  right,  however,  to  call  the  dan- 
delion a  noxious  weed.  It  serves  too  many 
useful  purposes,  although  it  does  become 
an  annoyance  when  it  insists  on  crowding 
out  the  grass  on  the  lawn. 

Everybody  knows  how  good  the  dan- 
delion leaves  are  cooked  as  a  vegetable 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


701 


in  the  early  spring.  And  the  tender 
leaves  dressed  with  oil  make  a  delicious 
salad.  Country  people  make  a  tonic 
from  the  freshly  dug  roots;  and  the 
peasants  in  Germany,  after  drying  and 
grinding  the  roots,  use  them  instead  of 
coffee.  So  it  is  hard  to  say  whether  the 
dandelion  is  a  weed  or  a  vegetable.  Some 
of  our  plants  change  their  character  from 
time  to  time  according  to  their  environ- 
ment, just  as  human  beings  do  sometimes. 
Many  of  our  vegetables  were  once 
valueless  weeds.  Cultivation  and  breeding 
have  so  changed  them  that  we  value  them 
highly  for  food. 


The  Prodigy. 


I. 

[TTLE  Jean  was  very  ill  with  a  fever. 
Every  few  minutes  his  mother  cov- 
ered her  face  to  hide  her  tears.  His 
father  bit  his  lips  at  the  same  time,  to  pre- 
vent his  own  tears  from  falling.  The  old 
doctor  came  twice  a  day  to  the  Fromentin 
home.  He  placed  under  the  left  arm  of  his 
young  patient  a  bright  narrow  tube,  a  ther- 
mometer, which  he  examined  afterwards, 
shaking  his  head  with  an  air  of  discour- 
agement. Little  Jean  had  noticed  all 
this;  for,  in  lucid  intervals  between  ter- 
rible nightmares  that  left  him  in  a  cold 
sweat,  he  could  think  with  remarkable 
clearness.  At  such  times  he  would  keep 
saying:  "There's  one  thing  that  bothers 
me  —  to  die  before  I  see  an  aeroplane. 
I've  been  asking  Our  Lady  to  let  me  have 
that  pleasure,  and  I  hope  she  will  give  it 
to  me." 

The  fact  was  that  for  more  than  a  year 
Jean  had  been  hearing  of  aeroplanes  almost 
morning,  noon,  and  night.  Aviation  and 
aviators  had  been  the  staple  of  conver- 
sation among  his  older  companions.  He 
had  often  dreamed  of  seeing  the  conquerors 
of  the  air  taking  flight.  Before  falling  ill 
he  had  read  the  story  of  "Five  Weeks 
in  an  Air-Ship";  arid  had  read,  besides, 
the  real  adventures  of  the  Bleriots  and 


Lathams  and  Farmans  and  Wrights.  One 
day,  indeed,  his  father  had  taken  him  to 
Issy-les-Moulineaux,  where  there  was  to 
be  a  demonstration  of  flying;  but  a  chilly 
rain  began  to  fall,  and  the  artificial  birds 
could  not  be  taken  from  the  hangars;  so 
.Mr.  Fromentin,  Jean  and  his  twin  brother 
Paul  had  returned  home  with  severe  colds. 
In  Jean's  case  the  cold  had  developed  into 
pneumonia,  and  he  now  lay  stretched  on 
his  bed  of  suffering,  with  only  breath 
enough  to  murmur:  "I'll  die  without 
ever  having  seen  an  air-ship!" 

Then  the  fever  would  seize  him  again, 
and  he  would  groan,  moan,  and  pronounce 
odds  and  ends  of  phrases,  about  air-ships, 
monoplanes,  bi-planes,  and  trips  up  into 
the  blue  sky.  When  the  attack  subsided 
Jean  resumed  his  plaint:  "And  I'll  die 
before  I've  seen  an  aeroplane!" 

The  doctor  became  more  and  more  anx- 
ious; mamma  cried  oftener;  papa  hardly 
spoke,  and  Paul  was  still  as  a  girl.  One 
night,  after  consulting  his  thermometer,  the 
physician  held  a  mysterious  conversation 
with  the  parents, — a  conversation  which 
ended  with  these  words,  emphasized  with 
an  expressive  gesture:  "And  so,  unless  a 
real  prodigy  occurs — 

The  senses  of  sick  people  often  become 
very  sharp.  Although  the  words  were 
pronounced  in  a  low  tone,  they  did  not 
escape  the  ears  of  little  Jean,  who  moaned : 
"There  won't  be  any  prodigy — and  I'll 
die — and  I  won't  have  seen — 

His  mother's  embrace  interrupted  him; 
whilst  his  father  said  to  Paul,  who  had 
silently  stolen  into  the  sick-room:  "Since 
when  have  small  boys  learned  to  listen 
to  the  talk  of  their  elders?  Be  off  with 
you  to  bed,  you  little  rogue,  instead  of 
trying  to  hear  what  the  doctor  is  saying! 
I  thought  you  were  sound  asleep." 

And  Paul,  bowing  his  head  under  the 
scolding,  hurried  away. 

II. 

The  sun  was  shining  brightly,  flooding 
with  its  rays  the  field  of  aviation.  It  was 
half -past  eight  in  the  morning.  The  famous 


702 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


aviator,  Mathal,  was  testing  his  motor, 
humming  to  himself;  the  open  door  of 
the  hangar  allowed  the  noise  of  the  pro- 
peller to  be  heard  at  some  distance. 
Mathal  was  in  the  best  humor;  he  was 
getting  ready  to  beat  all  his  records. 

Suddenly  there  appeared  at  the  door  a 
little  fellow  about  five  years  of  age, 
dressed  as  a  sailor,  a  small  blue  cap  rest- 
ing jauntily  on  his  curly  head,  his  short 
legs  spread  apart  like  a  regular  old  salt, 
and  his  hands  stuck  in  the  pockets  of  his 
wide-legged  trousers. 

"Get  away  from  there,  my  young 
friend!"  said  the  aviator.  "I'm  going 
to  fly  after  a  little  while,  and  you'll  be 
in  danger." 

But  the  little  sailor  drew  one  hand  from 
his  pocket,  took  off  his  cap,  and  politely 
explained : 

"Mister  Aviator,  my  name  is  Paul 
Fromentin.  My  brother  Jean  is  going  to 
die  unless  there's  a  prodigy;  so  the  doctor 
says.  He  has  never  seen  an  air-ship,  and 
he  wants  to  see  one  ever  so  badly  before 
he  dies.  Won't  you  please  come  and  do 
some  flying  near  our  house?  There's  a  big 
square  not  far  off,  and  Jean  could  see 
you  nicely  from  his  bed."  And  then  he 
went  on,  confidentially:  "I  know  that 
you  earn  a  lot  of  money  when  you  go 
flying;  so  I've  brought  you  all  I  had  in 
my  bank.  There's  eighteen  cents." 

As  he  spoke  Paul  took  his  other  hand 
from  his  pocket,  and  presented  the  great 
Mathal  with  a  dozen  and  a  half  of  big 
coppers.  The  aviator  said  nothing  for  a 
moment;  then  he  took  the  coppers,  made 
as  if  to  count  them  and  replied:  "You're 
a  generous  little  fellow,  I  must  say,  and 
eighteen  cents  is  a  big  sum  of  money. 
Hurry  back  to  your  brother,  so  that 
you  can  both  enjoy  his  surprise." 

About  an  hour  later,  little  Jean,  who 
since  early  morning  had  not  opened  his 
mouth,  despite  the  tender  questionings  of 
his  parents,  suddenly  smiled  feebly  as 
Paul  burst  into  the  room,  quite  against  the 
doctor's  orders. 

Before  Mr.  Kromentin  had  time  to  turn 


the  young  intruder  out,  the  latter  cried, 
as  he  pointed  to  the  window:  "Look, 
Jean, — look!" 

And  the  sick  boy  saw,  out  in  the  golden 
sunlight,  a  monoplane  with  silken  wings 
float  and  turn  and  go  up  and  come  down 
and  loop  the  loop  and  go  through  all  sorts 
of  wonderful  evolutions.  When  it  was 
all  over,  Jean  settled  back  in  bed,  his 
feverish  little  hands  clasped  as  he  said: 
"Our  Blessed  Mother  heard  me;  at  last 
I've  seen  one.  'It  is  the  prodigy!" 

When  the  doctor  paid  his  next  visit  he 
found  his  little  patient  quietly  sleeping, 
his  face  composed,  and  his  breathing  quite 
regular.  A  great  change  had  taken  place. 
The  physician  examined  him  for  some 
time,  listened  to  his  respiration,  and 
joyfully  exclaimed:  "He  is  saved!" 

Jean  smiled  in  his  sleep;  helpless  in  his 
bed,  he  dreamed  that  he  had  wings  and 
was  flying  among  the  clouds. 


Words  with  Queer  Meanings. 


If  you  were  reproved  for  not  being 
buxom  to  your  parents  or  teachers,  cr  for 
grutching  at  their  hests;  if  your  were 
cautioned  to  overlook  dis-eases;  urged  to 
cultivate  cunning;  recommended  to  be 
sad  in  church  and  to  say  your  prayers 
sadly;  to  clepe  every  one  by  his  or  her 
proper  name;  to  show  a  pleasant  chere; 
never  to  speak  of  the  faults  of  your 
companions  without  skill;  if  you  were 
reminded  that  many  things  we  miss  are 
better  forelore;  and,  finally,  if  you  were 
urged  to  con  all  this  well,  you  would  surely 
smile  and  say  you  didn't  know  what  was 
meant.  But  boys  and  girls  who  lived  in 
England  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  before  the  discovery  of  America 
undertsood  well  the  meaning  then  attached 
to  all  the  words  here  printed  in  italics. 

Buxom  meant  obedient;  grutching, 
grumbling;  hesls,  commands;  dis-easc,  dis- 
comfort; cunning,  knowledge;  sad,  seri- 
ous; clepe,  to  call;  chcrc,  countenance;  skill, 
reason;  forelore,  lost;  con,  to  consider. 


AYR  MART  A  703 

WITH    AUTHORS    AND    PUBLISHERS 


— There  is  printed  in  pamphlet  form  a  splendid 
lecture  entitled,  "The  Influence  of  Irishmen  in 
Colonial  Days,"  by  the  Rev.  Martin  C.  Keating. 
We  regret  that  we  can  not  advise  as  to  either 
publisher  or  price. 

— The  first  part  of  the  "Liber  Pontificalis"- 
the  Lives  of  the  Popes  from  St.  Peter  to  Gregory 
I. — has  been  translated  into  English  by  Dr. 
Louise  Ropes  Loomis,  and  published  by  the 
Columbia  University  Press.  The  translation 
(an.  abridged  one)  is  entitled  "The  Book  of 
the  Popes."  The  notes  would  have  been  ren- 
dered more  useful  by  the  aid  of  a  Catholic 
collaborator. 

— At  the  conclusion  of  a  very  discerning 
appreciation  of  the  late  Eleanor  C.  Donnelly, 
Mrs.  Honor  Walsh  writes,  in  America:  "A 
critically  chosen  collection,  now  in  contem- 
plation, containing  only  the  richest  fruits  of 
Eleanor  Donnelly's  genius,  will  do  more  to 
perpetuate  her  fame  than  could  be  effected 
by  thirty  or  fifty  or  a  hundred  volumes  of 
unedited  reprints."  It  is  our  hope  that  Mrs. 
Walsh  may  be  chosen  as  editor  of  the  contem- 
plated edition. 

—The  Rev.  Francis  P.  Donnelly,  S.  J.,  to 
whom  devout  souls  are  already  so  deeply 
indebted  for  his  little  books  of  spiritual  per- 
suasion, has  increased  this  debt  of  gratitude  by 
his  latest  offering,  "The  Holy  Hour  in  Geth- 
semane,"  a  handy  volume  of  meditations  on  the 
beautiful  prayer  "Anima  Christi."  The  volume 
is  intended  for  use  in  the  public  exercises  of 
the  Holy  Hour,  but  it  may  also  be  used  privately 
by  the  individual  adorer.  Published,  in  good 
form,  by  P.  J.  Kenedy  &  Sons,  and  sold  for 
80  cents,  postpaid. 

— During  the  closing  years  of  St.  Teresa's 
life  her  inseparable  companion  was  Sister  Anne 
of  St.  Bartholomew,  a  lay-Sister,  who  on  May  6 
of  this  year  was  solemnly  beatified,  and  is  now 
known  as  Blessed  Mother  Anne  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew. The  Rev.  M.  Bouix,  S.  J.,  translated 
into  French  the  unpublished  autograph  of  this 
servant  of  God,  adding  thereto  a  commentary 
and  historical  notes;  arid  this  French  work  has 
just  been  published  in  an  English  translation 
by  a  religious  of  the  Carmel  of  St.  Louis,  A 
slender  octavo  of  160  pages,  this  Life  is,  never- 
theless, quite  complete.  .We  find  therein  an 
address  (on  the  occasion  of  the  reading  of  the 
decree  approving  the  two  necessary  miracles) 
by  his  Holiness  Benedict  XV. ;  a-  letter  from  the 
Carmelite  General;  the  decree  for  Beatification; 
a  short  preface  by  the  Rev.  Walter  Elliott, 


C.  S.  P. ;  a  longer  one  by  the  editor;  the  auto- 
biography of  Blessed  Anne,  and  an  appendix 
supplementing  her  own  story  of  her  career.  It 
is  an  exceedingly  interesting  as  well  as  a  most 
edifying  book;  and  is  so  far  important  that,  as 
Father  Elliott  well  says,  "to  know  St.  Teresa 
thoroughly  well,  one  must  have  this  Life  of 
Sister  Anne."  Published  by  the  Carmel  of  St. 
Louis,  Mo.,  and  sold  for  85  cents. 

— The  simplicity  of  former  times  is  illustrated 
by  an  item  appearing  in  the  December  number 
of  a  magazine  edited  by  Mark  Forrester  and 
published  in  Boston  -about  the  middle  of  the 
last  century.  Only  four  volumes  would  seem 
to  have  been  issued.  After  returning  fervent 
thanks  to  "Edwin  C.  S. "  for  a  bag  of  chestnuts, 
the  editor  says:  "If  I  had  a  nice  large  yellow 
pumpkin,  I  should  be  provided  for  upon  Christ- 
mas day."  It  is  to  be  hoped  the  need  was 
supplied.  If  Mr.  Forrester  were  living  in  our 
times,  he  would  wish  to  receive  a  bag  of 
onions  and  potatoes. 

— It  was  a  gracious  act  of  filial  devotion 
for  the  Sisters  of  Providence  of  Newport, 
Ky.,  to  prepare  a  memorial  volume  in  honor 
of  their  founder  in  this  country  and  spiritual 
father,  the  late  beloved  Bishop  Maes.  Under 
the  title  "Character  Sketches  of  the  Rt.  Rev. 
C.  P.  Maes,  D.  D.,"  they  have  gathered  bio- 
graphical data  and  numerous  quotations  from 
his  public  utterances.  The  collection  gives  a 
fairly  clear  picture  of  the  lamented  prelate. 
Needless  to  say,  the  sketching  has  been  done 
con  amore.  His  Eminence  Cardinal  Gibbons 
contributes  a  preface  to  the  volume,  which  is 
tastefully  produced,  and  embellished  with  a 
pleasing  portrait.  John  Murphy  Co.,  publishers; 
price, '$1.25,  postpaid. 

— Mr.  P.  J.  Desmond,  the  bard  of  Norwood, 
Mass,  (it  may  boast  of  other  poets,  but  there 
are  none,  we  feel  certain,  that  can  sing  as  he 
sings),  has  just  published  a  booklet  of  52  pages, 
entitled  "Selected  Gems."  (Angel  Guardian 
Press,  Boston.)  At  the  end  of  the  collection  we 
find  these  alluring  lines: 

There  is  a  word  in  every  clime 

To  every  heart  most  dear: 
In  English  'tis  "Forget  Me  Not," 

In  French  'tis  "Souvenir"; 
And  may  all  who  read  "Selected  Gems" 

Receive  from  Gems  Good  Cheer! 

The  gem  that  has  cheered  us  most  is  the  one 
called    "Civic    Association,"    the   first   and   last 
stanzas    of    which    are    appended.      Those    who 
refuse  to  be  cheered  by  our  selection,  as  well  as    * 
pernickety    persons    who    object    to    such    little 


704 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


eccentricities  of  technique  as  the  rhyming 
of  "join"  with  "fine,"  are  referred  to  the  gem 
entitled  "The  Sinking  of  the  Lusitania,"  which 
is  threnodial  in  character: 

At  Norwood  central  statidn  there's  a  club  you  would  like  to 

join; 

It's  the  Civic  Association,  where  they  have  everything  so  fine; 
When  you  once  become  a  member  your  life  will  be  sublime; 
They  have  chess  and  they  have  checkers  and  they  have  all 

sorts  of  fun, 
And  you  can  get  instructions  in  the  gymnasium. 

So  you're  out  upon  the  race  track,  and  with  your  nimble  feet 
You  can  sprint  around  the  oval  and  there  a  record  seek; 
And  should  you  make  a  mis-step  or  there  be  taken  ill, 
Without  delay  they  will  bring  you  to  the  Civic  hospital. 

— From  St.  Joseph's  Catholic  Press,  Jaffna, 
Ceylon,  there  comes  to  us  a  i6mo  brochure  of 
260  pages,  "Philosophical  Saivism,"  by  the  Rev. 
S.  Gnana  Prakasar,  O.  M.  I.  Saivism  is  the 
religion  of  Siva,  the  third  person  of  the  Indian 
Triad.  The  author  distinguishes  between  popu- 
lar Saivism,  "a  congeries  of  superstitions,  self- 
tortures,  and  formal  observances,"  and  Saiva 
Siddhanta,  or  a  philosophical  system  com- 
bining two  schools  of  thought,  the  Sankya  and 
Vedanta,  with  the  addition  of  a  certain  number 
of  tenets  from  other  sources.  While  of  minor 
interest  for  the  general  reader,  this  brochure  is 
worth  while  perusing  by  students  of  world 
philosophies  in  general  and  of  Eastern  cults 
and  systems  in  particular. 


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. 
Publisher's  prices  generally  include  postage. 

"Literature    in    the    Making."      Joyce    Kilmer. 

$1.40. 
"The  Story  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles."     Rev. 

E.  Lynch,  S.  J.     $1.75. 

"French  Windows."  John  Ayscough.  $1.40,  net. 
"Our  Refuge."  Rev.  Augustine  Springier.  6octs. 
"The  Will  to  Win."  Rev.  E.  Boyd  Barrett,  S.  J. 

56  cts. 
"Gold     Must     Be    Tried    by     Fire."      Richard 

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"Hurrah  and  Hallelujah."  Dr.  J.  P.  Bang.  $i. 
"Anthony  Gray, — Gardener."  Leslie  Moore. 

$1.50. 
"Blessed  Art  Thou  Among  Women."     William 

F.  Butler      $3.50. 


"History  of  the  Sinn  Fein  Movement."    Francis 

P.  Jones.     $2.00. 
"The    Master's   Word."     2   vols.     Rev.   Thomas 

Flynn,  C.  C.     $3.00. 

"Dark  Rosaleen."    M.  E.  Francis.    $1.35. 
"An  Eight   Days'  Retreat  for  Religious."     Rev. 

Henry  A.  Gabriel,  S.  J.     $1.50. 
"The  Love  of  God  and  the  Neighbor."    Rev.  J. 

V.  Schubert.     $1.25. 
"Prolegomena   to   an   Edition   of   the   Works   of 

Decimus  Magnus  Ausonius."     Sister    Marie 

Jose    Byrne,.  Ph.    D.     $1.25. 
"Catholic  Christianity  and  the  Modern  World." 

Dr.    Krogh-Tonning.     $1.25. 
"Camillus    de    Lellis,    the    Hospital    Saint."     A 

Sister  of  Mercy.     $i. 
"Catholic  Christianity;    or,  The  Reasonableness 

of  Our  Religion."    Rev.  O.  Vassall-Phillips, 

C.  SS.  R.     $1.50. 

"A  Retrospect  of  Fifty  Years."     Cardinal  Gib- 
bons.    2  Vols.     $2. 

Obituary. 

Remember  them   thai   are   in   bands. — HEB.,    xiii,   3. 

Rev..  Casimir  Reichlin,  of  the  diocese  of 
Cleveland;  Rev.  John  Stas,  diocese  of  Scranton; 
and  the  Rev.  Michael  Milasx.ewski,  diorrsr  of 
Fort  Wayne. 

Brother  Andrew,   C.   S.   C. 

Mother  M.  Dosithea,  of  the  Sisters  of  Loretto; 
Sister  M.  Michael,  Order  of  the  Visitation; 
Sister  Teresa  Vincent  and  Sister  M.  Miriam, 
Sisters  of  Charity. 

Mr.  George  Elliott,  Miss  Margaret  Jacobs, 
Mr.  James  Boland,  Mrs.  Mary  Council,  Mr. 
John  O'Sullivan,  Mr.  William  Blair,  Sr.,  Mr. 
E.  J.  Schreiber,  Mr.  Timothy  Fitzpatrick,  Mr. 
George  McDeavett,  Mr.  Henry  Hughes,  Mr. 
William  Yanda,  .Mr.  and  Mrs.  Andrew  Sullivan, 
Mr.  Thomas  Smith,  Mr.  Anthony  Richter,  Mrs. 
Patrick  McArdle,  Miss  Teresa  Carroll,  Mr. 
Thomas  Knox,  Mrs.  Bridget  Gray,  Mr.  George 
Lohe,  Mr.  W.  T.  Pickett,  Mr.  Michael 
Hennessey,  Mr.  John  R.  Kelly,  Mr.  Robert 
Runyan,  Mr.  Paul  Smith,  Mr.  John  Colligan, 
Mr.  Michael  Duffy,  Mr.  J.  C.  Bouvier,  Mr.  A.  E. 
Frenz,  and  Mr.  George  Hoffmann. 

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  seelh  in  secret,  will  repay  thee." 
For   the   rescue   of  orphaned  and  abandoned 
children  in  China:   K.  C.  R.,  $i.     For  the  Dacca 
Mission:  Miss  A.  S.,  $5-     To  supply  good  read- 
ing to  prisons,  hospitals,  etc.:  friend,  $2. 


THE  FINDING  IN    THE  TEMPLK. 
(Schola  Art.    Beuron.) 


JTETO  TO ' 

1    I  r       i   .. 
HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME  BLESSED.      ST.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JUNE  9,  1917. 


NO.  23 


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


Stella  Maris. 


BY    J.  F. 

f@)OW  hung  the  mist  athwart  the  twilight  sea, 

The  multitudinous  waves  had  fallen  on  sleep, 
Nor  swish  nor  sob  was  shoreward  borne  to  me, 

Nor  drift  nor  spume  disturbed  the  outer  deep; 
It  was  so  soft  a  night,  the  world  seemed  veiled 

In  gray  and  downy  slumber,  when  from  far 
Into  the  amplitude  of  space  there  sailed 

A  splendid  and  a  solitary  star. 

I  thought  upon  Our  Lady,  and  I  knew 

It  was  her  star,  her  bright    and  vestal  flame; 

The  enshrouding  mist,  a  guilty  thing,  withdrew 
As  from  that  orb  benignant  influence  came. 

lyove-lit,  I  yearned  for  speech  all  tender-true, 
To  sing  the  peerless  honors  of  her  name. 


The  New  Medievalism. 


BY    THE    REV.    J.    B.    CUI.KMANS. 
J. 

UTSIDE  the  Church  it  has  long 
been  an  undisputed  axiom  that 
we  are  the  beneficiaries  of  a 
new  intellectual  life  which  be- 
gan with  the  Reformation.  Contemptuous 
reference  to  the  ' '  Dark  Ages ' '  was  oppres- 
sively common  not  only  in  a  certain  type 
of  popular  literature,  but  among  thinkers 
and  professors  who  posed  as  beacon  lights 
of  progress.  It  was  a  wilful  and  blind 
aversion  from  all  that  bore  the  hallmark 
of  Catholicism.  Whatever  men  had  done, 
written  or  thought  in  the .  Middle  Ages 


was  hardly  worth  while  mentioning,  much 
less  investigating. 

For  some  years  back  a  notable  change 
has  slowly  come  over  men's  minds.  Sur- 
feited with  materialistic  science,  and  the 
blatant  agnostic  philosophy  that  pre- 
tended to  be  based  upon  it,  they  expe- 
rienced a  violent  revulsion;  and  began  to 
seek  surcease  from  black  despair,  and 
solace  for  their  sore-tried  feelings,  in  the 
bright  and  warm  idealism  of  the  days 
of  Christian  unity. 

It  is  with  genuine  satisfaction  that  one 
watches  the  efforts  made  by  non-Catholic 
scholars  to  unearth  from  old  libraries 
every  manuscript  that  displays  the  man- 
ners, the  views,  the  intellectual  preoccu- 
pations of  those  remote  days ;  every  scrap 
of  poetry  and  prose  that  gives  an  insight 
into  the  hearts  and  souls  of  those  nations 
that  represent  the  infancy  of  Europe, 
nurtured  and  guided  by  the  motherly 
hand  of  the  Church.  The  writings  of 
Medieval  prelates  and  monks  have  sud- 
denly acquired  a  literary  distinction,  a 
philosophic  value,  an  artistic  merit,  that 
none  but  Catholics  ever  suspected;  that 
none  but  Catholics  appreciated,  and  then 
not  always  at  their  true  worth. 

The  hymns  and  sequences  used  for 
centuries  in  our  liturgy  are  being  redis- 
covered by  these  investigators,  and  held 
up  as  gems  of  lyrical  composition.  The 
nai've  stories  of  the  "Legenda  Aurea" 
and  the  "Fioretti"  are  displayed  before  a 
blase  public  as  products  of  true  poetic 
inspiration.  Candidates  for  degrees  delve 
into  the  old  liturgical  and  historical  rec- 
ords and  make  them  the  subjects  of  their 


?06 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


academic  dissertations,  bringing  back  to 
life  forgotten  heroes  of  pen  and  sword. 
Saints  like  Gregory  of  Tours  are  found  to 
write  interesting  chronicles,  even  if  their 
Latin  is  barbarous.  Saints  are  even  found 
to  be  intense  lovers  of  science  and  philos- 
ophy. They  are  conceded  to  be  men  of 
disparate  and  conflicting  views:  identical 
religious  tenets  and  the  trammels  of  au- 
thority did  not  kill  their  individuality  of 
thought  and  expression.  While  submissive 
to  the  teachings  of  theology,  they  were 
broadly  human,  and  singularly  alert  in 
seizing  upon  the  manifold  problems  pre- 
sented by  nature  and  man.  All  this  and 
much  mor.e  non- Catholic  students  in 
the  service  of  the  new  Medievalism  are 
bringing  to  light  with  an  ingenuity  and 
perseverance  worthy  of  their  task. 

II. 

From  recent  secular  publishers'  cata- 
logues, a  fairly  long  list  might  be  made  up 
of  books  of  unequal  merit,  but  all  of  them 
endeavoring  to  make  the  Middle  Ages 
better  known  to  a  wide  circle  of  readers. 
One  of  the  most  satisfactory  of  these 
works,  because  it  aims  at  a  -general  sur- 
vey of  Medieval  intellectual  life,  is  H. 
Osborn  Taylor's  "The  Medieval  Mind."* 
The  fact  that  the  two  bulky  volumes 
have  gone  into  a  second  edition  in  a  short 
time  is  in  itself  proof  of  the  deep  interest 
on  the  part  of  the  reading  public  in  the 
refreshing  newness  of  the  rediscovered 
fields  of  literature,  art,  law,  philosophy, 
and  religion. 

It  were  too  much  to  expect  that  an 
Englishman's  Protestant  bias  should  not 
come  to  the  surface  now  and  then.  It 
does  crop  out  at  times,  but  hardly  in  a 
grossly  offensive  manner.  And  one  readily 
forgives  him  for  the  sake  of  his  sympa- 
thetic attitude  towards  the  writers  and 
their  works  he  has  .set  out  to  study  and 
interpret  for  the  men  of  to-day;  for  his 
honest  effort  to  enter  thoroughly  into 
their  ways  of  thinking;  and  for  his 
steadily-kept  resolve  to  judge  them  by  the 

*  The  Macmillan  Co. 


standards  of  their  time,  and  not  by  those 
of  our  twentieth  century,  "enlightened" 
by  the  glorious  Reformation. 

There  is  scarcely  anything  finer  from 
the  pen  of  a  Protestant,  anything  more 
discerning  and  at  the  same  time  more 
objectively  true,  than  this  tribute  to 
the  prince  of  scholastics,  Thomas  Aquinas, 
so  much  maligned  since  the  rise  of  ' '  mod- 
ern" philosophy.  "The  unity  of  Thomas' 
personality  lay  in  his  conception  of  man's 
summum  bonum  which  sprang  from  his 
Christian  faith,  but  was  constructed  by 
reason  from  foundation  to  pinnacle;  and 
it  is  evinced  in  the  compulsion  of  an 
intellectual  temperament  that  never  let 
the  pious  reasoner's  energies  or  appetitions 
stray  loitering  or  aberrant  from  the  goal. 
Likewise  the  unity  of  his  system  con- 
sists in  its  purpose,  which  is  to  present  that 
same  summum  bonum,  credited  by  faith, 
empowered,  if  not  impassioned,  by  piety, 
and  constructed  by  reason.  To  fulfil  this 
purpose  in  its  utmost  compass,  reason 
works  with  the  material  of  all  pertinent 
knowledge,  fashioning  the  same  to  complete 
logical  consistency  of  expression — Thomas' 
intellectual  powers  work  together  in  order 
to  set  his  thought  of  this  summum  bonum 
on  its  surest  foundations,  and  make  clear 
its  scope, — his  faculty  of  arrangement  and 
serious  and  lucid  presentation;  his  careful 
reasoning,  which  never  trips,  never  over- 
looks, and  never  either  hurries  or^is  taken 
unprepared;  his  marvellous  unforgetfulness 
of  everything  which  might  remotely  bear 
on  the  subject;  his  intellectual  poise  and 
his  just  weighing  of  every  matter  that 
should  be  taken  into  the"  scales  of  his 
determination.  Observing  these,  we  may 
realize  how  he  seemed  to  his  time  a 
new  intellectual  manifestation  of  God's 
illuminating  grace. .  ; . 

"Thomas  was  the  greatest  of  the  school- 
men. His  way  of  teaching,  his  translucent 
exposition,  came  to  his  hearers  as  a  new 
inspiration.  Only  Bonaventura  may  be 
compared  with  him  for  clearness  of  ex- 
position,— of  solution,  indeed,  and  Thomas 
is  more  judicial,  more  supremely  intel- 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


707 


lectual;  his  way  of  treatment  was  a 
stronger  incitement  and  satisfaction  to  at 
least  the  mind  of  his  auditors.  Thomas 
exposed  every  difficulty  and  presented 
its  depths;  but  then  he  solved  and  ad- 
justed everything  with  an  argumentation 
from  whose  careful  inclusiveness  no  ques- 
tion strayed  unshepherded.  The  material 
that  Thomas  works  with  and  many  of 
his  thoughts  and  arguments  are  to  be 
found  in  Albertus  Magnus;  and  the 
pupil  knew  his  indebtedness  to  the  great 
master,  who  survived  him  to  defend  his 
doctrines.  But  what  is  not  in  Albert 
is  Thomas, — Thomas  himself,  with  his 
disentangled  reasoning,  his  clarity,  his 
organic  exposition,  his  final  construction 
of  the  Medieval  Christian  scheme."  * 

III. 

One  of  the  most  surprising  things  for 
the  modern  reader  which  the  investi- 
gations of  the  new  Medievalism  have 
brought  to  light,  is  the  fact  that  the  in- 
tellectual pursuits  of  the  Middle  Ages 
were  not  by  any  means  centered  in 
abstruse  questions  of  philosophy  and 
theology.  The  old  pagan  poet's  Homo  sum, 
et  nil  humanum  a  me  alienum  puto,  re- 
echoed in  their  hearts,  and  they  manifest 
as  varied  an  interest  in  all  the  phases 
and  fortunes  of  life  as  did  the  men  in  any 
epoch  of  the  world's  history.  Shining 
virtues  are  shadowed  by  violent  out- 
breaks of  passion.  The  deep  humility  of 
the  Poverello's  lowly  followers  stands  in 
powerful  contrast  with  the  scathing  de- 
nunciations of  princes  and  prelates  by 
writers  of  prose  and  verse.  Yet  to  the 
latter  the  Protestant  of  the  sixteenth 
century  as  well  as  his  successor  of  to-day 
will  generally  look  in  vain  for  support  in 
his  warfare  upon  the  divinely  constituted 
Church  of  Christ.  It  is  a  Protestant  who, 
after  close  study  of  the  documents,  makes 
this  admission: 

"Medieval  denunciations  of  the  Church 
range  from  indictments  of  particular 
abuses,  on  through  more  general  invectives, 

*  Vol.  II.,  pp.  466,  7. 


to  the  clear  protests  of  heretics  impugning 
the  ecclesiastical  system.  It  is  not  always 
easy  to  ascertain  the  speaker's  meaning. 
Usually,  the  abuse  and  not  the  system  is 
attacked.  Hostility  to  the  latter,  how- 
ever sweeping  the  language  of  satirist  or 
preacher,  is  not  lightly  to  be  inferred. 
The  invectives  of  St.  Bernard  or  Damian 
are  very  broad;  but  where  had  the 
Church  more  .devoted  sons?  Even  the 
satirists  composing  in  old  French  rarely 
intended  an  assault  upon  her  spiritual 
authority.  It  would  seem  as  if,  at  least  in 
the  Romance,  countries,  one  must  look  for 
such  hostility  to  heretical  circles,  —  the 
Waldenses,  for  example.  And,  from  the 
Medieval  standpoint,  this  was  their  most 
accursed  heresy."  * 

This  broad  outlook  on  life  was  partly 
due  to  the  fact  that  during  all  those 
Medieval  centuries  the 'classics  of  Rome, 
and  to  a  smaller  extent  those  of  Greece, 
were  sedulously  studied,  imitated  at  times 
with  more  or  less  success,  and  more  often 
assimilated  to  good  advantage  by  men 
who  lived  in  a  different  environment  and 
fed  upon  a  heritage  of  Christian,  not 
pagan,  ideals.  It  is  becoming  gradually 
recognized  that  the  "barbarous  Latin"  of 
the  Middle  Ages  is  more  expressive  of 
individuality,  more  virile  in  structure  and 
content,  more  redolent  of  the  soil  from 
which  it  sprang,  than  the  formal  and 
lifeless  Ciceronian  Latin  of  the  pedants 
of  the  Renaissance.  Hear  this  spirited 
reply  of  Peter  of  Blois,  a  Frenchman  re- 
siding in  England,  where  he  died  about 
the  year  1200.  Writing  to  the  Bishop  of 
Bath  concerning  the  accusation  of  some 
unknown  detractor  that  he,  Peter,  is  a 
useless  compiler,  who  fills  letters  and  ser- 
mons with  the  plunder  of  the  ancients 
and  Holy  Writ,  he  says:  "Let  him  cease, 
or  he  will  hear  what  he  does  not  like; 
for  I  am  full  of  cracks,  and  can  hold 
nothing  in,  as  Terence  says.  Let  him  try 
his  hand  at  compiling,  as  he  calls  it.  But 
what  of  it!  Though  dogs  may  bark  and 


*  Ibid.,  p.  61. 


708 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


pigs  may  grunt,  1  shall  always  pattern  on 
the  writings  of  the  ancients;  with  them 
shall  be  my  occupation;  nor  ever,  while  I 
am  able,  shall  the  sun  find  me  idle."  * 

Of  course  the  productions  of  the  Latin 
writers  of  those  days  are  not  all  of  equal 
literary  merit,  no  more  than  are  the  works 
of  English  authors  of  to-day.  But  most  of 
them  formed  their  minds  upon  the  best 
of  what  the  ancients  handed  down  to 
posterity.  Peter  of  Blois  himself  tells  us: 
"Besides  other  books,  I  gained  from  keep- 
ing company  with  Trogus  Pompeius, 
Josephus,  Suetonius,  Hegesippus,  Quintus, 
Curtius,  Tacitus,  Livy,  all  of  whom  throw 
into  their  histories  much  that  makes  for 
moral  edification  and  the  advance  of 
liberal  science.  And  I  read  other  books 
which  had  nothing  to  do  with  history, 
very  many  of  them.  From  all. of  them  we 
may  pluck  sweet  flowers,  and  cultivate 
ourselves  from  their  urbane  suavity  of 
speech." 

The  prose  writings  of  men  like  him  or 
like  Einhard,  John  of  Salisbury,  Hilde- 
bert  of  Lavardin,  Hildebert  of  Le  Mans, 
St.  Bernard,  St.  Anselm,  St.  Bonaventure, 
and  others,  will  give  those  who  feel  drawn 
to  read  them  no  mean  idea  of  the  literary 
powers  of  the  writers.  "Considering  that 
Latin  was  a  tongue  which  youths  learned 
at  school  rather  than  at  their  mother's 
knee,  such  writing  as  Bernard's  is  a 
triumphant  recasting  of  an  ancient  lan- 
guage." That  is  high  praise  from  a  Prot- 
estant bred  in  an  environment  of  enmity 
and  contempt  for  all  that  Bernard  and 
his  contemporaries  stood  for  all  through 
the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries.  And 
he  continues:  "Two  hundred  years  later 
Medieval  Latin  prose,  if  one  may  say  so, 
sang  its  swan  song  in  that  little  book 
which  is  a  last  sweet  echo  of  all  melli- 
fluous Medieval  piety.  Yet  perhaps  this 
'De  Imitatione  Christi'  of  Thomas  a 
Kempis  can  scarcely  be  classed  as  prose, 
so  full  is  it  of  assonances  and  rhythm  fit 
for  chanting."  f 


*  Ibid.,  p.  161. 


t  Ibid.,  p.  214. 


IV. 

It  is  indeed  in  its  poetical  productions 
that  one  of  the  noteworthy  achievements 
of  the  Middle  Ages  lies, — an  achievement 
that  shines  out  with  new  lustre  as  the 
rich  store  of  poems  of  all  kinds  is  extracted 
from  dusty  manuscripts  and  brought 
to  the  light  of  day.  The  Medieval  poets 
made  a  distinct  step  forward  when  many 
of  them  broke  away  from  antique  metres, 
and  introduced  the  rhyme  which  was 
practically  unknown  to  the  classical  Ro- 
mans and  Greeks.  This  new  departure 
in  poetical  endeavor  did  not  make  the  old 
metre  at  once  obsolete.  Numerous  ex- 
amples are  extant  where  it  was  used  very 
felicitously;  and  Hildebert  of  Lavardin, 
whom  we  have  met  among  the  great 
prose  writers,  used  it  with  consummate 
skill. 

But  under  the  influence  of  the  vulgar 
tongues  which  were  then  forming,  the 
quantity  of  the  Latin  syllable  was  lost 
sight  of  and  gave  place  to  the  accent. 
The  latter  superseded  the  former  in  verse, 
the  accented  syllable  taking  the  place  of 
the  long,  and  the  unaccented  the  place  of 
the  short  syllable.  Add  to  these  a  defi- 
nite number  of  syllables  in  a  line,  and 
the  regularly  recurring  sameness  of  sound 
which  is  called  rhyme,  and  the  Medieval 
ars  poetica  stands  out  complete  in  its 
individuality. 

Catholics  are  familiar— and  non-Cath- 
olics, to  their  great  surprise  arid  delight, 
are  familiarizing  themselves — with  those 
splendid  specimens  of  religious  poetry 
which  have  long  formed  an  integral  part 
of  the  Offices  of  the  Church.  Here  again 
not  all  are  of  equal  worth,  and  it  is  no 
disparagement  of  the  great  Aquinas  to 
say  that  some  of  his  hymns  are  inferior 
in  poetical  inspiration  and  beauty  of 
thought  to  those  (e.  g)  of  Adam  of  St. 
Victor.  But  it  would  be  a  mistake  to 
think  that  Medieval  poetry  was  confined 
to  religious  themes:  the  subjects  are  as 
various  as  the  ever-changing  aspects  of 
nature,  and  the  vagaries  and  moods  of 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


709 


man.  And,  since  the  poets  wrote  for  love 
of  their  subject  and  not  for  personal -glory, 
the  authorship  of  many  a  piece  can  not 
even  be  traced  to-day. 

It  is  an  almost  hopeless  task  to  attempt 
a  translation  of  those  unique  poems  that 
were  on  the  lips  of  the  sainted  recluse  of 
the  cloister,  as  well  as  of  the  care-free 
student  setting  out  for  Paris  in  quest  of 
learning.  Dr.  Taylor  quotes  several  good 
specimens  in  the  original.  Any  one  who 
wishes  to  break  away  from  the  trite  and 
commonplace,  and  gratify  his  taste  for 
poetical  novelty,  will  be  amply  rewarded 
for  dipping  now  and  then  into  the  "the- 
saurus" of  Medieval  verse.  Many  a  lilting 
line  will  keep  on  haunting  the  memory 
and  bid  him  return  to  the  same  source. 

The  point  of  it  all  is  that  the  exuberant 
Catholic  life  of  the  Middle  Ages  is  being 
rendered  more  accessible  to  an  ever- 
widening  circle  of  readers;  is  dispelling 
black  and  heavy  clouds  of  misunderstand- 
ing; is  drawing  the  minds  and  hearts 
of  men,  who  thus  far  have  been  hostile 
or  indifferent,  to  know  and  to  love  true 
beauty  closely  allied  to  unchangeable 
divine  truth. 

THE)  modern  tendency  feo  deny  the  pos- 
sibility of  miracles  is  absolutely  anti- 
Christian.  Catholics  can  make  no  terms 
with  this  development  of  "modern 
thought"  without  denying  the  fundamen- 
tal truths  of  "the  Faith  once  delivered  to 
the  Saints."  The  anti-Christian  temper 
of  modern  Cerinthianism  tends  to  violate 
all  the  laws  of  unbiassed  historical  inves- 
tigation. Dr.  Swete,  the  Regius  Professor 
of  Divinity  at  Cambridge,  has  well  said 
of  the  critical  methods  of  these  modern 
heretics:  "It  is  too  commonly  assumed 
that  evidence  which  would  be  good  under 
ordinary  circumstances  is  bad  where  the 
supernatural  is  involved"  (Church  Congress 
Report,  1902,  p.  163).  The  denial  of  the 
miracles  of  the  Virgin-Conception  and  the 
Virgin-Birth  is  ipso  facto  a  denial  of  the 
Catholic  doctrine  of  the  Incarnation. 

— Dr.  Wirgman  (Anglican) . 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


XXXV.— STIRRING  EVENTS. 

N  the  4th  of  April  Diaz  dispatched 
three  thousand  cavalry  under  Gen- 
eral Toro  to  attack  Marquez.  On 
the  6th  Toro's  corps  came  up 
with  the  Imperialists  at  the  Hacienda  de 
San  Diego  de  Notario,  about  fifteen  miles 
from  Apizaco.  Toro,  instead  of  harassing 
the  enemy,  offered  him  battle,  with  the 
result  of  defeat, — General  Leva  saving- 
utter  disaster  by  a  brilliant  attack  on  the 
left  flank  of  Marquez,  compelling  the 
latter  to  draw  off  and  to  retreat  in  the 
direction  of  Apizaco. 

General  Leva  felt  his  way  very  thor- 
oughly ;  and,  forming  three  thousand 
cavalry  in  lines  of  battle  on  the  crest  of  a 
hill,  he  awaited  Marquez.  The  Imperialist 
General  ordered  his  men  to  dismount,  and, 
charging  up  the  hill  on  foot,  drove  the 
Liberals  before  him;  the  latter  retreating 
as  fast  as  possible  to  Piedra  Negras,  about 
seven  leagues,  where  they  encamped  for 
the  night. 

General  Diaz  arrived  next  day  with 
twelve  thousand  men,  and  at  Apam  pre- 
pared to  give  the  Imperialist  forces  battle. 
Diaz  placed  an  infantry  soldier  behind 
each  cavalry  man.  Six  thousand  men  thus 
mounted  advanced  slowly,  for  the  roads 
were  wet  and  in  a  wretched  condition. 
The  light  munition  pieces  were  placed  on 
the  backs  of  mules.  About  six  o'clock 
Diaz  prepared  for  action;  and,  with  four 
pieces  of  artillery,  dashed  at  Marquez' 
right  flank,  carrying  the  position.  Then 
he  formed  his  line  of  battle  around  the 
Hacienda  San  Lorenzo,  the  men  sleeping 
on  their  arms. 

Marquez,  under  cover  of  the  night, 
retreated;  and  in  the  morning,  when  Diaz 
expected  battle,  the  enemy  was  out  of 
sight.  Not  to  be  balked,  however,  Diaz 
ordered  his  cavalry  in  pursuit,  at  a  gallop, 
and  came  up  with  Marquez  at  a  bridge 


710 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


spanning  a  ravine,  into  which  the  latter 
tan  his  artillery  there  abandoning  it.  The 
Emperor's  troops,  who  held  the  post  of 
honor,  the  rear-guard,  stood  their  ground. 
A  few  hundred  yards  beyond  the  bridge 
was  a  narrow  pass,  where  Marquez  could 
have  held  the  enemy  in  check,  and  have 
retrieved  perhaps  the  losses  of  the  day; 
but  this  miserable  coward,  selecting  a 
small  but  well-mounted  escort,  fled  back 
to  the  capital,  his  command  arriving  a 
few  days  afterward. 

It  was  when  Marquez  returned  to  the 
city  of  Mexico  that  Arthur  Bodkin  saw 
that  the  city  was  virtually  given  up  to 
the  Liberals.  Surrender  was  in  the  air. 
Gloom  was  upon  the  visage  of  every 
foreigner,  while  sly  smilings  and  confident 
struttings  denoted  the  feelings  of  at  least 
ninety  per  cent  of  the  Mexicans. 

"I  want  your  leave,  sir,  to  join  the 
Emperor,"  said  Arthur  to^Baron  Bergheim 
the  morning  that  Marquez  told  a  lying 
story  of  his  defeat. 

"I  shall  come  with  you,  Hcrr  Bodkin, — 
I  shall  come  with  you !  Prepare  to  start 
to-morrow.  Hey!  this  is  no  place  for  honest 
men.  If  we  have  to  die,  let  us  die  fighting 
for  Maximilian." 

When  Rody  O'Klynii  received  orders  to 
inarch,  his  first  thought  was  for  his  fair 
relative. 

"Couldn't  we  smuggle  her  wid  us,  sir? 
vShe  won't  be  safe  here,  I'm  afe.ard.  They're 
'all  bloody  villyans." 

"She  will  be  quite  safe  with  the  Von 
vSteins,  under  the  Austrian  flag." 

"I  suppose  so,  Masther  Arthur;  but  I'd 
rayther  have  her  wid  us.  They  say  the 
ould  man  is  only  fit  for  Swifts.  He's  shut 
up  in  the  house  below,  and  won't  let  man 
nor  mortal  inside  the  dure.  I  wint  down 
there  yestherday,  and  I  knocked  until  me 
knuckles  were  wore  off.  At  last  he  kem 
to  a  top  windy.  'Who's  that?'  sez  he. 
'It's  me,'  sez  I.  'Who  arc  ye?'  sez  he. 
'Rody,'  sez  I.  'If  it  wasn't  for  ye  and 
yer  cqlloguerin'  I'd  bo  safe,  and  sound. 
Be  off  wid  ye!'  sez  lie.  Well,  sir,  I  thried 
for  to  arguey  wid  him,  but  he  wouldn't 


hear  raison.  'Have  ye  any  message  for 
Mary?'  sez  I.  'I  have,'  sez  he,  'for  yer 
betthers!'  And  he  ups  and  he  shuts  the 
windy.  Mebbe  ye  could  get  at  the  soft 
side  of  him,  Masther  Arthur." 

"I'll  have  a  try  for  your  sake,  Rody." 

"God  bless  ye,  sir!" 

It  was  after  nightfall  when  our  hero, 
alone,  visited  the  house  in  the  Calle  San 
Francisco,  Rody  awaiting  him  in  the 
Portales  Mercatores.  After  considerable 
banging  at  the  door,  the  old  man  hailed 
Arthur  from  an  upper  window;  and,  upon 
learning  who  it  was,  descended  to  the 
ground-floor,  unbarred  the  shutters  of 
the  store,  or  counting-house,  which  were 
defended,  as  is  usual  in  Mexico,  with 
enormous  iron  bars. 

"Did  you  send  the  papers  to  your 
friend  Talbot,  to  the  mine?"  asked  the 
usurer,  eagerly. 

"Yes,  of  course, — at  once." 

"Didn't  you  get  a  receipt?" 

"Certainly." 

"Have  you  got  it?" 

"I  have, — here  it  is." 

"Are  you  mad,  man?  Keep  it  —for  her! 
They're  after  me.  Mazazo's  devils  are 
watching  me;  but  I  can  hold  out  in  this 
old  fort,  I  tell  you.  I  have  plenty  of 
victuals,  and  my  faithful  old  criada  comes 
to  the  window  when  nobody  is  about, 
and  leaves  me  some  fresh  food.  What  is 
going  to  be.  done?  I  hear  that  Marquez 
ran  for  his  life." 

"We  are  going  to  Queretaro." 

"Who's  we?" 

"Rody  and  myself." 

"Oh,  that's  bad,— infernally  bad!  Rats 
deserting  the  ship." 

"We  are  no  rats,"  laughed  Arthur;  "we 
are  true  men.  Our  Emperor  is  at  Quere- 
taro, and  it  is  under  his  command  that 
we  want  to  be." 

"Where's  Mary?" 

"Your  daughter  is  perfectly  safe  with 
the  Baroness  von  Stein." 

"That  sounds  v;r:m<l,  In  it  YOU  know 
she's  an  Alvarado.  You're  not  married, 
Mr.  Bodkin?"  significantly. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


711 


V'I  am  really  much  obliged  for  your 
confidence,  Mr.  O'Flynn;  but  I  can 
marry  only  one  woman,  and  that  woman 
is  not  your  daughter." 

The  old  man  groaned. 

"But  I  have  reason  to  know,"  said 
Arthur,  "that  as  noble  a  "man,  as  brave,  as 
loyal,  as  truthful  a  man  as  ever  walked  in 
God's  sunlight  is  in  love  with  her,  and — 

"Who  is  he?" 

"Your  kinsman,  Rody." 

"Bah!"  yelled  the  old  man,  as  he 
swiftly  banged  the  wooden  shutters  to, 
and  proceeded  to  put  up  the  bars. 

Arthur,  seeing  that  it  was  useless  to 
endeavor  to  regain  the  old  man's  ear, 
returned  to  the  Portales  Mercatores. 

"So  he  said  'Bah,'  sir!  Begob  he  should 
have  said  'Yah,'  and  that  manes  yis. 
But  it's  all  right,  and  God  be  good  to 
ye,  Masther  Arthur,  for  trying." 

XXXVI.— IN  THE  THROES. 

Arthur  Bodkin  received  a  number  of 
letters  from  home  almost  as  he  was  about 
to  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup  to  join  the 
Emperor.  His  mother  and  sisters  wrote 
long  epistles,  giving  him  all  the  local 
gossip,  which  is  always  so  precious  when 
we  are  away  from  the  domestic  hearth. 
And  Father  Edward,  who  never  missed 
sending  the  Weekly  Vindicator,  also  wrote. 

"  I  have  been  told,"  said  the  good  priest, 
"that  your  Miss  Nugent  is  with  the  poor 
Empress,  and  that  she  is  the  greatest 
comfort  to  her.  Lady  Oranmore,  whose 
husband  is  Ambassador  at  Vienna,  in- 
formed your  good  mother,  who  told  me.  I 
pray  every  morning  for  your  own  safety, 
and  for  that  decent  boy,  Rody  O'Flynn, 
and  also  for  the  restoration  of  the  poor 
Empress  to  her  reason.  We  see  all  sorts  of 
things  in  the  papers,  but  I  don't  believe 
anything  unless  it  comes  from  you.  There 
are  too  many  rockets  in  Rody's  letters, — 
fireworks  of  all  sorts. 

"  Mr.  Mike  Ffrench,  of  Loughnagarrawn, 
is  a  little  out  of  his  head,  and  is  after  me 
to  take  a  trip  with  him  to  the  South  of 
France.  His  family  are  pressing  me  hard — 


very  hard.  Of.  course  lie  will  have  Pat 
Dempsey,  his  own  man,  with  him,  in  case 
lit-  gets  too  crazy;  so  I  would  be  safe. 
I  am  going  to  ask  the  advice  of  my  dear 
parishioners  next  Sunday  at  last  Mass. 
I  can't  realize  going  farther  than  the 
Tulburny  crossroads  north,  or  Cahir-na- 
Corin  south.  If  I  do  go,  I'll  go  and  see 
Miss  Nugent,  and — well,  I'll  go  bail  she'll 
talk  freely  with  me." 

This  was  the  only  tale  or  tidings  that 
Arthur  had  had  of  the  lady  of  his  love  since 
that  glorious  July  evening  at  Rio  Frio; 
and,  small  as  the  crumb  was,  the  poor 
fellow  made  a  hearty  meal  on  it.  Alice  was 
safe  and  well.  That  was  reassuring.  Did 
she  ever  think  of  him?  Did  her  thoughts 
return  to  the  land  of  Montezuma?  Did 
she  wonder  what  he  was  doing,  and  if  he 
was  with  Maximilian?  And  did  she  know 
of  the  crisis,  and  the  desperate  game 
that  was  being  played  by  desperate  men 
against  desperate  odds? 

When  Arthur  Bodkin  arrived  at  Quere- 
taro,  not  without  considerable  risk,  he 
found  the  Emperor  and  staff  in  the  very 
best  of  spirits;  for  on  the  previous  day  a 
sortie  in  force  had  been  made,  in  which 
nineteen  guns  and  six  hundred  prisoners 
had  been  captured;  and  the  moral  effect 
upon  the  Liberals  was  very  marked. 

The  Emperor,  as  soon  as  he  saw  Arthur, 
advanced  toward  him,  exclaiming: 

"What  tidings  of  Marquez?" 

Arthur  told  him  all  that  he  had  learned. 

"This  is  bad,"  said  the  Emperor;  and, 
turning  to  Prince  Salm-Salm,  he  entered 
into  a  prolonged  and  animated  discus- 
sion, gesticulating  violently — -a  thing  very 
unusual  with  him,- — and  slapping  Salm- 
Salm  on  the  breast  by  way  of  emphasizing 
his  words. 

Later  in  the  day  Prince  Salm-Salm 
came  to  Arthur. 

"The  Emperor  is  full  of  grim  mis- 
givings as  to  the  loyalty  of  Marquez,"  he 
said,  "and  has  ordered  me  to  leave  for 
Mexico  to-night.  I  am  to  order  Marquez 
to  come  here  with  his  entire  force;  and 
in  the  event  of  refusal  I  am  to  arrest  him. 


712 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


I  am  to  take  five  hundred  troopers — the 
Hussars.  Would  you  like  to  come  with 
me?" 

"  It  is  what  I  would  have  asked,  Prince." 

"Then  be  ready  at  midnight.  We  leave 
by  the  Cerro  Gordo  road,  and  may  drop 
into  some  fighting." 

At  midnight  the  smart  little  force 
emerged  from  Queretaro;  but  instead  of 
striking  the  Cerro  Gordo  road,  the  Prince 
swung  round  by  Buena  Vista,  as  the 
enemy  was  concentrated  in  force  at  the 
road.  After  riding  a  couple  of  miles  a 
brisk  fire  was  opened  upon  them  on  the 
right,  while  in  front  dark  masses  of  the 
enemy  in  course  of  formation  told  Salm- 
Salm  that  to  proceed  would  prove  disas- 
trous. Calling  a  halt,  he  rapidly  explained 
the  situation. 

"We  must  retire,"  he  said;  adding, 
"besides,  I  am  hit." 

He  had  been  shot,  slightly  though,  in 
the  left  foot,  and  the  wound  was  becoming 
exceedingly  painful. 

It  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  Arthur 
rode  'back  into  Queretaro:  he  was  for 
dashing  through  the  enemy,  spurring 
hard  to  Mexico,  arresting  Marquez,  and 
returning  in  force. 

Arthur  saw  a  great  deal  of  the  Emperor 
during  the  next  few  days.  His  Majesty, 
who  rose  at  daybreak,  visited  the  outposts 
on  foot.  He  inspected  every  battery  him- 
self, and  sighted  every  gun;  then  he 
would  repair  to  the  hospital  to  minister 
to  his  wounded  soldiers.  After  hearing 
Mass,  he  would  walk  in  the  square  before 
the  Church  of  La  Cruz;  at  sunset  he 
would  walk  for  exactly  one  hour  in  the 
same  place.  It  was.  here  that  Arthur 
strolled  with  him.  He  liked  the  young 
Irishman,  his  earnestness,  his  enthusiasm, 
and  his  truthfulness.  Arthur  spoke  as 
freely  to  Maximilian  as  he  would  to 
Trafford,  and  told  him  what  he  thought 
of  Lopez  and  the  whole  affair  of  Mazazo. 

"We  shall  deal  with  Mazazo,  Bodkin," 
the  Emperor  said.  "As  regards  Lopez, 
your  judgment  is  in  error.  He  is  true  as 
steel." 


The  tower  of  the  Church  of  La  Cruz 
was  the  Emperor's  observatory  until  it 
became  too  hot  to  hold  him ;  for  Escobedo's 
guns  were  posted  opposite,  and  some  of 
them  within  six  hundred  feet.  One  morn- 
ing Maximilian  and  his  staff,  Arthur  being 
with  them,  ascended  the  tower.  The 
Bodkins  of  Ballyboden  were  ever  remark- 
able for  wondrous  powers  of  vision,  being 
accredited  by  the  county  people  with 
being  able  to  see  in  the  dark;  and  as 
Arthur  was  passing  a  loophole,  he  per- 
ceived Escobedo,  field-glass  in  hand, 
directing  the  position  of  a  masked  cannon. 
Darting  up  the  steps,  ye  yelled: 

"Have  a  care,  sir!  Escobedo  is  training 
a  gun  upon  you.  Down!  down!" 

Scarcely  had  the  words  escaped  his  lips 
ere  a  shell  burst  over  their  heads,  scatter- 
ing bricks  and  mortar,  and  wounding  the 
Count  Ehrich  Gratzberg. 

"This  is  a  little  too  near  to  be  pleasant, 
gentlemen.  Let  us  descend,"  laughed 
the  Emperor,  ordering  the  stairway  to 
be  closed. 

About  the  first  of  May  came  ominous 
whisperings  of  a  scarcity  of  food,  and  of 
terrible  suffering  on  the  part  of  the  poor. 
The  Emperor  issued  an  order  that  all 
persons  possessing  a  stock  of  edibles 
should  sell  at  a  reasonable  rate,  and  he 
personally  organized  a  staff  to  see  that  the 
poorer  citizens  were  at  least  secure  from 
utter  destitution;  while  the  afmy  was 
reduced  to  rations  of  horse  and  mule  fa-si i. 
Although  the  Emperor  had  in  his  suite 
half  a  dozen  cooks  of  the  highest  skill,  he 
fared  exactly  as  did  the  commonest 
private  soldier  under  his  command;  and, 
save  for  an  occasional  glass  of  wine,  coffee 
was  his  daily  beverage. 

It  were  profitless  to  tell  in  detail  the 
story  of  the  siege,  with  its  horrors  and 
distress,  its  heroism  and  cowardice,  its 
achievements  and  its  sacrifices.  There 
were,  all  told,  only  about  nine  thousand 
men  in  the  Imperial  army  to  withstand 
forty  thousand  Liberals.  The  dashing 
charge  of  Prince  Salm-Salm  with  his 
cuirassiers,  and  other  encounters;  the 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


713 


rascally  desertion  of  Marquez;  the 
gallant  defence  of  the  Cruz;  the  attempts 
to  break  through  the  lines;  the  councils 
of  war;  the  overtures  to  the  enemy;  the 
final  surrender  through  treachery, — all 
these  have  passed  into  history. 
i  As  the  siege  neared  its  termination, 
when  it  was  known  that  vengeance  was 
the  dominant  sentiment  of  Mexico,  and 
that  Maximilian's  life  was  to  be  the  price 
of  satisfaction,  the  Emperor  was  entreated 
to  take  the  cavalry,  force  his  way  to  the 
capital,  and  leave  the  remainder  of  the 
troops  to  continue  the  defence. 

"I  do  not  deceive  myself,"  he  said;  "I 
know  if  they  get  me  they  will  shoot  me. 
But  while  I  can  fight  I  will  not  run  away : 
I  would  rather  die.  It  is  against  my  honor 
to  leave  the  army.  What  would  become 
of  this  city,  so  faithful  to  us?  And  our 
wounded  we  can  not  possibly  take 
away.  It  is  simply  impossible  what  you 
propose." 

So  marked,  even  among  the  veterans 
of  so  many  fields,  was  the  bravery  of 
their  chief  that  they  bestowed  upon  him 
the  bronze  medal  for  valor;  upon  one 
side  of  which  was  the  head  of  Maximilian, 
on  the  other,  "'Al  Mcrito  Militar"  Upon 
one  memorable  day,  when  some  officers 
and  men  who  had  won  this  eagerly 
-  coveted  distinction  were  paraded  to 
receive  it,  General  Miramon  stepped  for- 
ward, and  presented  the  medal  to  the 
Emperor  himself,  with  these  eloquent  and 
soldierly  words: 

"Your  Majesty  has  decorated  your 
officers  and  soldiers  as  an  acknowledg- 
ment of  their  bravery,  faithfulness,  and 
devotion.  In  the  name  of  your  Majesty's 
army,  I  take  the  liberty  of  awarding  this 
mark  of  valor  and  honor  to  the  bravest 
of  all,  who  was  always  at  our  side  in  all 
dangers  and  hardships,  giving  us  the  most 
august  and  brilliant  example,  —  a  distinc- 
tion your  Majesty  deserves  before  any 
other  man." 

Upon  the  nth  of  May  Maximilian  by 
decree  created  a  regency,  and  upon  the 
morning  of  the  i4th  preparations  were 


made  for  the  evacuation  of  Oueretaro. 
This  was  the  sixty-seventh  day  of  the 
siege  and  the  fifty-second  since  Marquez 
left  for  Mexico  for  reinforcements  and 
money,  and  he  made  no  sign.  Food  and 
fprage  were  nearly  exhausted,  the  garrison 
was  on  the  verge  of  famine.  A  council  of 
war  was  held,  and  it  was  decided  that  the 
whole  army  should  move  out  at  mid- 
night and  force  its  way  through  the 
Liberal  lines. 

(To  be  continued.) 


By  the  Confessional. 

(In  Retreat.) 


BY    MAUDE    ROBERTSON    HICKS. 


^TRANGERS,  we  waited,  kneeling  there, 

Our  turn  to  enter  in, 
And  bow  the  heart  and  lay  it  bare 

Of  strife  and  sin; 
And  humbly,   through  " Absolvo  te," 

Pardon   to  win. 

My  neighbor  turned   (white-haired  was  she) 

And   whispered   very   low: 
"Say  just  a  little  prayer  for  me 

In-fore   I    go." 
She  laid  her  hand  upon   my  hand 

And   pleaded   so! 

I  think  that  I  shall  always  feel 

Those   aged   fingers  press, 
The  pathos  of  their  mute  appeal 

And  shy  caress, — 
A  soul  betraying  to  a  soul 

Its  loneliness. 

She  spoke  as  simply  as  a  child, — 

A  child  of  trusting  mood: 
I  looked  into  her  eyes  and  smiled, 

And  understood, — • 
We  made  a  compact,  she  and  I, 

And  it  was  good. 

Strangers,   we  waited,  kneeling  there, 

Our  turn  to  enter  in, 
And  bow  the  heart  and  lay  it  bare 

Of  strife  and  sin; 
And  humbly,  through  " Abt.olvo  te," 

Pardon  to  win. 


714 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


The  Sacraments  in  the  Catacombs. 


BY    B. 


DOWN  in  the  silent  barracks  of  the 
soldiers  of  Christ  lie  almost  price- 
less treasures  of  history.  In  the  frescos, 
bits  of  gilded  glass  and  carvings,  one  tr>ay 
read  in  rude  outline  the  story  of  the 
Church  in  the  days  of  persecution.  They 
are  her  picture  lessons,  illustrating  the 
Sacraments,  pointing  morals,  and  exciting 
desires  for  heavenly  things.  Save  in  some 
of  the  earlier  productions,  one  would  look 
in  vain  for  the  artistic  touch.  The  swiftly 
sketched  figures  Were  designed  for  a  pur- 
pose and  not  merely  for  ornamentation. 
Yet  they  remain  as  valuable  evidence  of 
the  "sameness"  of  the  Church  through- 
out the  centuries. 

In  the  days  of  early  Christianity,  the 
path  of  a  catechumen  was  not  altogether 
an  easy  one.  He  was  closely  questioned  by 
the  bishop  before  being  admitted  to 
instruction;  and  when  the  bishop  had 
satisfied  himself  concerning  the  good 
dispositions  of  the  aspirant,  he  laid  his 
hands  on  him,  made  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross  on  his  forehead,  and  put  salt  on 
his  lips,  as  a  symbol  of  the  wisdom  he 
sought  and  would  find  in  the  Church  of 
Christ. 

He  was  now  a  catechumen  of  the  first 
'class,  and  for  two  years  must  study  the 
Commandments,  the  precepts  of  charity, 
Bible  history,  and  be  present  at  the 
Holy  Sacrifice  until  the  creed  was  read, 
when  he  was  dismissed.  As  a  catechumen 
of  the  second  class,  he  was  obliged  to 
fast  during  Lent,  to  confess  his  sins,  to 
hear  sermons,  and  to  undergo  exorcisms. 
Just  before  his  baptism  he  learned  the 
Creed  and  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  the 
doctrine  of  the  Holy  Trinity  was  carefully 
explained. 

Baptism  was  usually  given  solemnly, 
by  immersion.  St.  Paul  speaks  of  it  as  a 
bath,  yet  this  sacrament  was  also  given 
by  a  simple  pouring  of  the  water  on  the 


head  as  at  present,  if  immersion  were  not 
possible.  Frescos  teaching  the  meaning  of 
baptism  are  many,  and  illustrations  drawn 
from  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  are 
characteristically  apt.  Noah  within  the 
Ark  represented  a  soul  safe  in  the  ship  of 
the  Church.  Perhaps  one  would  at  first 
find  it  difficult  to  recognize  the  scene  of 
the  Deluge  in  the  meagre  outline  of  a 
man,  in  a  chest,  holding  out  his  hand 
toward  a  dove  flying  near  by.  But  from 
the  writings  of  the  early  Fathers  we  are 
convinced  that  it  must  be  so.  The  Deluge 
is  considered  as  a  type  of  baptism;  the 
Ark,  as  a  figure  of' the  Church;  the  dove, 
a  symbol  of  the  Holy  Ghost  dwelling 
within  us  by  baptism. 

An  old  fresco  represents  a  man  standing 
in  the  water,  pouring  water  over  another 
man,  evidently  baptizing  him.  Another 
roughly  sketches  a  man  seated  on  a  rock, 
catching  fish.  Its  meaning  is  made  clear 
by  that  saying  of  Apostolic  times,  "We 
Christians  are  little  fish,  after  the  model  of 
Jesus  Christ,  the  true  Fish."  The  Greek 
word  for  fish  formed  the  famous  acrostic 
made  of  the  initial  letters  of  five  Greek 
words — meaning  "Jesus  Christ,  Son  of  God, 
Saviour," — and  was  a  secret  sign  among 
Christians  as  a  symbol  of  Christ.  Since 
He  gave  us  the  example,  by  His  baptism 
in  the  Jordan,  and  as  He  has  given  us  a 
commandment,  we  use  water  as  lie  bids 
us,  that  we  may  be  saved.  Moses  striking 
the  rock  is  another  illustration  of  baptism. 
The  "Rock  was  Christ,"  and  the  water 
coming  forth  was  a  means  of  salvation  to 
the  people. 

The  Sacrament  of  Penance  is  repre- 
sented in  several  striking  frescos.  One 
shows  the  scene  of  the  healing  of  the 
paralytic,  and  a  companion  picture  near 
by  gives  us  the  key  to  its  meaning.  The 
palsied  body  represented  the  soul  diseased 
by  sin,  and  the  words  of  Christ  typified 
the  absolution.  In  another  fresco  a  man 
is  kneeling  before  a  priest,  who  is  evidently 
pronouncing  an  absolution.  St.  Basil  says: 
"As  a  man  makes  known  his  bodily 
ailments  to  a  physician,  so  we,  the  ailments 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


715 


of  the  soul  to  a  priest,  that  we  may  have 
them  forgiven."  And  St.  Jerome  insists 
that'  "without  showing  the  wound,  it 
ean  not  be  healed."  The  cure  of  disease 
by  Our  Lord  was  often  used  as  an  illus- 
tration of  the  Sacrament  of  Penance  in 
its  similar  effect  on  the  soul. 

Frescos  of  the  Holy  Eucharist  in  type 
and  symbol  are  present  in  great  numbers. 
One  of  the  most  famous  is  the  "Fractio 
Panis"  (the  Breaking  of  the  Bread), 
found  in  the  Catacomb  of  St.  Priscilla. 
It  is  attributed  to  the  early  part  of  the 
second*  century,  and  represents  an  Agape, 
or  love  feast  of  the  Christians. 

That  there  might  be  a  commemoration 
of  the  Sabbath  of  the  Old  Testament, 
the  Christians  were  accustomed  to  meet 
on  that  day  at  sundown  that  they  might 
fittingly  prepare  for  the  Holy  Sacrifice  on 
Sunday.  Tertullian  describes  the  order 
of  events.  After  an  introductory  prayer, 
the  guests  took  their  places  on  couches, 
and  a  simple  supper  was  served,  during 
which  the  talk  was  to  be  on  things 
sacred.  The  washing  of  the  hands  fol- 
lowed, and  the  hall  was  lit  up.  The  singing 
of  Psalms  or  irryprovised  hymns,  and  the 
f\nal  prayer,  closed  the  evening. 

The  fresco  shows  the  guests  reclining 
on  couches  about  a  table,  on  which  is 
placed  the  symbolic  fish  and  a  chalice. 
The  place  of  honor  is  occupied  by  a  ven- 
erable old  man,  described  by  St.  Justin  as 
"The  president  of  the  brethren," — prob- 
ably the  bishop  or  priest.  He  is  in  the 
act  of  breaking  the  bread,  hence  the  title 
of  the  picture.  The  bread  was  taken  as 
typifying  the  outward  appearances  of  the 
Holy  Eucharist,  under  which  the  body 
and  blood  of  the  Lord  was  truly  present. 

In  the  crypt  of  St.  Lucina,  in  the  oldest 
part  of  the  Catacomb  of  St.  Callistus, 
there  are  two  frescos  of  a  fish  bearing 
a  basket  of  bread.  In  the  baskets  one 
may  discern  a  tiny  chalice  filled  with  a 
red  substance.  The  symbolic  inference 
is  clear. 

In  1864  a  Ver7  °ld  fresco  was  discov- 
ered in  a  catacomb  at  Alexandria.  The 


scene  is  divided  by  three  trees,  and  is 
painted  in  the  apse  above  tin-  spol  when- 
the  altar  probably  stood.  In  the  centre 
Christ  is  shown,  with  a  nimbus  about  his 
head.  St.  Peter  and  St.  Andrew,  identified 
by  inscriptions,  stand  near  him.  He  is 
in  the  act  of  blessing  some  loaves  and 
fishes.  Under  an  adjoining  fresco,  now 
almost  destroyed,  the  wrords  are  traceable : 
"Those  partaking  of  the  Eulogia*  of 
Christ."  The  nimbus  was  not  used  until 
after  the  fall  of  paganism,  in  the  fourth 
century,  from  which  it  was  borrowed.  This 
fresco  can  not,  therefore,  be  placed  in 
the  days  of  persecution,  but  is  a  work 
of  later  date. 

One  little  chapel  in  the  Cemetery  of 
St.  Callistus  deserves  to  .be  called  the 
crypt  of  the  Holy  Eucharist.  It  is  the 
burial  place  of  several  bishops,  from  St. 
Pontianus  in  235  to  St.  Melchiades  in 
314.  The  frescos  in  general  refer  to  the 
Holy  Eucharist,  and  are  of  high  antiquity. 
One  represents  a  priest  standing  behind  a 
table  on  which  is  a  single  loaf  and  a  fish. 
His  hands  are  outstretched  in  blessing. 
Opposite  him  kneels  a  woman  in  an  atti- 
tude of  prayer.  In  his  "Confessions,"  St. 
Augustine  describes  a  Eucharistic  feast 
in  these  words,  "That  in  which  the  Fish 
is  set  before  us,  which,  drawn  forth  from 
the  deep,  becomes  the  Food  of  pious 
mortals." 

There  are  several  representations  of 
the  grades  of  Holy  Orders.  The  fossors, 
those  heroic  workmen  who  gave  their 
labor,  and  frequently  their  lives,  to  the 
task  of  excavating  and  protecting  the 
Catacombs,  are  thought  by  some  schol- 
ars of  note  to  have  been  the  first 
Ostiarii,  or  Porters,  of  the  early  Church. 
Although  they  are  not  mentioned  in  the 
list  of  Roman  clergy  sent  to  St.  Cyprian 
in  the  year  240,  they  are,  nevertheless, 
formally  listed  in  an  official  document  in 
the  first  decade  of  the  fourth  century,  in 
which  their  name  appears  after  the  sub- 
deacons.  The  document  is  one  by  which 
the  authorities  of  a  church  in  Africa 

*   Kucharist. 


716 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


gave  up  their  possessions  to  a  pagan 
magistrate,  in  obedience  to  the  decree  of 
Diocletian,  in  the  year  303.  The  fossors, 
or  Ostiarii,  could  not  have  been  present 
merely  as  grave-diggers;  for  the  act  was 
not  drawn  up  "in  a  house  where  the  Chris- 
tians used  to  meet,"  after  their  church 
had  been  destroyed.  vSeven  fossors  are 
recorded  as  being  present,  which  is  the 
more  reasonable  when  one  realizes  that 
the  early  Porters  were  regarded  as  the 
guardians  of  church  property. 

Perhaps  the  earliest  representations  of 
fossors  are  to  be  found  in  the  Catacomb 
of  St.  Callistus,  among  paintings  dating 
back  to  the  beginning  of  the  third  cen- 
tury. The  fossors  are  frequently  shown, 
pick  in  hand,  and  with  the  tunic  loose, 
as  though  ready  to  begin  work.  Theirs 
was  the  task  of  standing  disguised  by 
the  martyr's  side,  or  as  near  as  might  be, 
and,  when  the  end  had  come,  to  gather 
up  the  precious  remains  for  a  hasty  burial. 
The  work  was  in  itself  a  prolonged  martyr- 
dom. One  old  fresco  bears  the  inscription 
"Diogenes  the  Fossor."  Its  decoration 
and  the  general  plan  of  the  picture  would 
seem  to  indicate  that  he  was  a  master 
fossor.  Behind  him  one  sees  the  unfinished 
plan  of  a  building.  About  him  lie  the 
implements  of  his  work,  —  pick,  chisel, 
compass  and  a  lamp.  The  painting  is 
evidently  over  his  tomb. 

There  are  many  frescos  of  deacons,  and 
of  priests  in  the  work  of  their  ministry,— 
baptizing,  hearing  confessions,  giving  the 
Holy  Eucharist,  ministering  to  the  needy. 

Martyrs'  tombs,  rude  altars,  and  many 
a  carefully  cut  inscription  reveal  the 
ancient  order  of  a  Mass  in  the  Catacombs. 
But  there  is  one  little  crypt  of  which  St. 
Gregory  of  Tours  speaks  in  terms  of  rev- 
erent love,  which  enshrines  an  exquisite 
scene.  It  lies  between  two  little  Cata- 
combs on  the  Via  Saleria  Nova,  and  its 
site  has  been  marked  by  De  Rossi.  A  small 
group  of  Christians  had  gathered  for  the 
Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass.  In  some  way 
their  place  of  meeting  was  made  known 
to  the  pagans,  and,  all  means  of  escape 


cut  off,  the  martyrs  were  left  to  die. 
In  the  days  of  Pope  Damasus  the  crypt 
with  its  precious  relics  was  discovered. 
The  little  altar  supported  an  ancient 
chalice,  which  was  overturned.  The  body 
of  the  priest  was  lying  on  the  stone  floor. 
Near  by  were  the  forms  of  those  who  had 
heard  their  last  Mass,  and  had  passed  from 
the  terrors  of  the  days  of  persecution  to 
the  unveiled  vision  of  the  King.  The  tiny 
crypt  was  reverently  closed  by  the  Pope, 
and  the  martyrs  were  never  given  other 
burial.  An  inscription,  in  exquisite  Darn- 
asine  characters,  told  the  story  through  the 
years,  of  a  love  that  was  stronger  than 
death.  The  narrow  gallery  leading  to  the 
chapel  is  now  blocked  by  an  accumulation 
of  soil  and  refuse;  but  the  site  is  known, 
and  it  may  one  day  be  again  exposed  to 
the  veneration  of  the  faithful. 

Year  by  year,  as  archaeologists  continue 
their  work,  new  treasures  of  the  past  are 
being  uncovered,  —  treasures  that  bring 
the  days  of  old  very  near,  and  touch  us 
with  the  spirit  of  other  years.  The  Cata- 
combs are  the  mines  of  the  Church:  there 
lie  her  jewels  hidden  in  the  dust  of  cen- 
turies. Unseen  angels  brood  over  the 
silent  spaces;  the  breath  of  sacrifice,  as 
the  fragrance  of  incense,  lingers  along 
the  quiet  galleries;  and  great  glory  is 
shrouded  in  a  greater  peace. 


IF  you  tremble  before  the  *  Divine 
Majesty,  because  in  becoming  Man  He 
remains  God,  and  if  you  seek  for  an  inter- 
cessor with  Him,  have  recourse  to  Mary. 
The  Son  will  hear  the  Mother.  The 
Father  will  listen  to  the  Son.  This  is  the 
ladder  of  sinners.  In  this  lies  my  confi- 
dence, the  foundation  of  my  hope.  'You 
have  found  grace  before  God,'  said  the 
Archangel.  Yes,  there  is  the  subject  of 
her  joy.  She  has  found  grace,  and  she 
will  ever  find  grace;  and  all  we  need  is 
grace.  The  Wise  Virgin  does,  not  ask, 
like  Solomon,  for  wisdom,  for  riches,  for 
glory,  for  honors,  nor  for  power:  she 
begs  for  grace,  and  it  is  grace  which  saves 
us. — 5^.  Bernard. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


717 


The  Legend  of  St.  Azenor. 


WHILE  Genevieve  of  Brabant's  touch- 
ing story  is  'familiar  to  every 
European  nursery,  that  of  Queen  Azenor, 
though  resembling  it  in  many  respects, 
"wastes  its  sweetness"  in  musty  old  vol- 
umes kept  by  some  village  cure  in  the 
heart  of  Brittany. 

Somewhere  about  A.  D.  500  a  daughter 
was' born  to  Prince  Leo,  one  of  Armorica's 
most  popular  lords,  whose  rich  domains 
exteided  from  the  great  harbor  of  Brest 
far  into  the  mainland;  and  whose  numer- 
ous armed  retainers  stood  ready  to 
fight  at  his  bidding.  This  little  princess, 
whose  birth  set  the  joy  bells  ringing,  grew 
up  to  be  a  beautiful  maiden  "straight  as  a 
palm  and  fair  as  a  lily"  says  the  chronicler; 
and  withal  possessing  such  sweet  ways 
that  old  and  young  alike  loved  her.  At 
the  many  jousts  and  tournaments  held  at 
court  she  was  the  chosen  queen,  and  happy 
was  the  victor  who  received  the  prize  at 
the  hands  of  beautiful  princess  Azenor. 

Yet,  though  to  all  appearance  entirely  ab- 
sorbed by  the  gay  life  her  rank  demanded, 
Princess  Azenor's  greatest  happiness  was 
to  steal  away  from  the  court  and  its  pleas- 
ures, to  the  quiet  of  her  oratory,  where, 
her  pure  spirit  enjoyed  sweet  communion 
with  Him  to  whom  she  had  consecrated 
herself  in  early  childhood. 

One  day  while  the  Princess  was  praying 
as  usual  in  her  private  chapel,  five  knights 
in  gorgeous  raiment  rode  up  the  steep 
road  leading  to  the  castle.  That  they 
were  strangers  could  be  gathered  from  the 
curious  glances  they  cast  about  them  as 
they  approached ;  and  that  they  were  men 
of  rank  could  be  judged  by  their  noble 
bearing.  On  being  ushered  before  Prince 
Leo,  they  addressed  him  as  follows: 

"We  come,  O  Prince,  from  our  noble 
lord,  Count  Gaolo,  to  sue  on  his  behalf 
for  the  hand  of  your  daughter,  Princess 
Azenor.  And  to  prove  how  anxiously  our 
master  awaits  a  favorable  answer,  we  bring 
thee  these  presents  which  we  hope  will  be 
acceptable." 


This  proposal  was  most  pleasing  to  Prince 
Leo,  who  saw  the  advantages  of  such  an 
alliance;  for  he  knew  enough  of  Count 
Gaolo's  reputation  as  a  gallant  knight  to 
be  sure  of  his  daughter's  happiness  as 
his  spouse.  He  bade  the  knights  a  hearty 
welcome,  set  rich  viands  before  them,  and 
drank  of  his  best  wine  to  the  success  of 
their  mission. 

Before  giving  his  guests  any  definite 
promise,  he  went  in  search  of  his  daughter. 
vShe  had  never  told  him  of  her  desire  to 
consecrate  herself  to  the  service  of  God, 
but  now  she  could  be  silent  no  longer:  in 
burning  accents  she  spoke  to  him  of  the 
resolve  made  in  her  childhood.  Her  words 
were  a  bitter  blow  to  the  old  man.  Still 
he  loved  his  daughter  too  well  to  enforce 
obedience;  and  only  insisted  on  her  giving 
her  answer  in  person  to  the  envoys,  so  that 
he  might  not  be  blamed  for  her  refusal. 

Opposition,  it  is  said,  but  increases 
desire:  it  was  so  with  Count  Gaolo 
when  he  heard  of  the  failure  of  his  hopes. 
And  the  marvellous  accounts  given  by  the 
envoys  of  Azenor's  grace  and  beauty  only 
strengthened  his  determination  to  obtain 
her  hand.  Ere  many  suns  had  set  a  second 
cavalcade,  loaded  with  even  richer  presents 
than  on  the  former  occasion,  was  dis- 
patched to  Prince  Leo's  court. 

The  envoys,  on  arrival,  met  with  the 
same  hearty  welcome  as  before.  A  splen- 
did residence  was  placed  at  their  disposal; 
and  Prince  Leo,  flattered  by  the  Count's 
persistence,  promised  to  use  his  utmost 
influence  with  his  daughter.  He  began  by 
securing  his  wife's  support,  and  their 
combined  influence  proved  too  much  for 
Azenor's  determination.  Trained  to  im- 
plicit obedience,  she  considered  it  her 
first  duty  to  comply  with  her  parents' 
demands,  and  gave  a  reluctant  consent. 

All  was  now  joy  at  the  castle.  Prepa- 
rations for  the  wedding  were  started  at 
once;  and  the  envoys  rode  away  rejoic- 
ing. A  few  weeks  later  the  ceremony 
took  place  with  great  pomp.  Tourna- 
ments were  held  on  shore,  sham  sea  fights 
in  the  harbor,  and  everyone  predicted 


718 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


lasting  happiness   for  so  noble  a  couple. 

Alas  for  human  predictions!  Scarcely 
had  the  young  bride  settled  down  in  her 
new  home,  a  lovely  castle,  surrounded  by 
a  moat  lying  halfway  between  the  two 
estates  of  Leon  and  Gaolo,  when  the  first 
cloud  on  their  happiness  appeared  with 
the  news  of  her  mother's  sudden  demise. 
This,  in  itself  a  cruel  blow  to  so  loving  a 
daughter,  was  further  intensified  by  Prince 
Leo's  second  marriage,  a  few  months  later, 
to  a  woman  who  by  flattery  and  intrigue 
had  succeeded  in  gaining  a  complete 
ascendency  over  the  old  man. 

Little  is  known  of  this  woman,  of  her 
family  or  antecedents,  but  this  much 
stands  clear:  from  the  day  she  first  set 
eyes  on  Azenor  she  was  devoured  by 
jealousy,  which,  being  unrestrained,  devel- 
oped into  a  hatred  so  intense  that  her 
one  thought  was  how  to  get  rid  of  this 
stepdaughter  who  lived  so  inconveniently 
near.  With  artfully  concealed  malice, 
she  opened  a  campaign  against  Azenor's 
reputation;  and  when  she  saw  that 
Count  Gaolo's  jealousy  was  sufficiently 
roused,  she  brought  him  such  apparently 
convincing  proofs  of  his  young  wife's 
unfaithfulness  that  both  father  and  hus- 
band could  not  but  believe  her.  By  their 
orders  Azenor  was  locked  up  in  the  tower 
overlooking  the  moat. 

Prince  Leo's  daughter,  as  we  know, 
had  never  set  her  affections  on  worldly 
pleasures,  nor  unduly  appraised  the  ad- 
vantages of  rank  and  fortune;  their  loss, 
therefore,  now  left  her  indifferent.  But 
the  sudden  withdrawal  of  her  husband's 
love  and  confidence  was  a  heavy  cross, 
which  only  her  deep  piety  enabled  her  to 
bear  with  resignation. 

While  Azenor  was  thus  patiently  en- 
during captivity  and  isolation,  her  step- 
mother was  bribing  certain  unscrupulous 
persons  to  bear  false  witness  against 
her;  and  in  this  she  was  so  successful 
that  the  evidence  produced  at  the  trial 
proved  overwhelming.  Azenor  saw  from 
the  first  that  any  effort  to  defend  herself 
would  be  unavailing.  But,  lest  those  present 


should  interpret  her  silence  as  an  evidence 
of  guilt,  she  rose  and  faced  her  judges. 
"My  lords,"  she  began  (and  rarely  had 
she  looked  more  beautiful),  "it  matters 
little  to  me  whether  I  live  or  die;  for 
I  have  never  set  so  much  value  on  this 
life  as  to  dread  parting  with  it.  My 
fate  lies  in  your  hands.  You  can  take  away 
my  life  with  a  stroke  of  your  pen;  but 
that  which  you  can  not  take  from  me 
is  the  true  love  I  bear  my  husband,  and 
the  clear  conscience  which  I  will  take 
with  me  to  my  grave,  in  spite  of  all  the 
calumnies  brought  against  me  by  my 
enemies."  Amid  the  silence  that  followed 
her  words,  Azenor  returned  to  her  seat, 
whence  she  was  led  back  to  prison. 

As  soon  as  she  had  left  the  hall,  the 
verdict  was  given:  the  young  wife  was 
found  guilty,  and  condemned  to  b~e  burned 
alive;  but,  on  account  of  her  being  with 
child,  the  sentence  was  commuted  to  one 
of  death  by  drowning.  "It  was  a  sorry 
spectacle,"  says  the  chronicler,  "to  see 
this  beautiful  Princess  walk  from  the 
castle  to  the  harbor,  bound  with  ropes, 
surrounded  by  soldiers,  and  followed  by 
a  large  crowd,  some  of  whom  hooted, 
whilst  others  wept  and  pitied  her. 

In  the  harbor  a  small  vessel  lay  in 
readiness:  it  took  Azenor  on  board  and 
set  sail  for  the  open  sea.  When  the  land 
had  been  left  far  behind,  she  was  told 
that  her  hour  had  come.  With  gentle 
dignity  she  thanked  the  officers  for  their 
courtesy,  and  implored  them  to  assure 
her  husband  of  her  innocence;  then, 
pressing  the  crucifix  to  her  bosom,  she 
stepped  into  the  large  wine  cask,  which 
was  then  closed  and  cast  into  the  sea. 

In  those  days  there  were  few  boats 
sailing  about  the  English  Channel;  so 
that,  according  to  all  'human  calculations, 
Princess  Azenor  must  have  died  in  her 
narrow  prison,  and  her  body  been  cast 
up  somewhere  on  the  rocky  coast.  God, 
however,  was  watchful  over  His  faithful 
servant.  After  several  hours  of  weary 
tossing  on  the  rough  waves,  Azenor  felt 
herself  overcome  by  weakness.  "O  Holy 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


719 


Virgin,"  she  prayed, — ••''them  who  hast 
ever  succored  me  in  my  need,  help 
me,  now  that  my  last  hour  has  come!" 
Scarcely  had  she  uttered  these  words 
when  a  dazzling  light  lit  up  the  barrel 
and  an  angel  appeared  to  her.  "Fear  not, 
Azenor,"  he  said:  " God  is  watching  over 
you,  and  will  bring  you  and  your  offspring 
safe  to  the  shore."  Then  depositing 
food  and  drink,  the  heavenly  messenger 
disappeared,  leaving  the  Princess  greatly 
comforted. 

A  young  Irish  lad  was  strolling  along 
the  shore  of  his  native  land,  near  the 
port  of  Abervrao,  when  he  caught  sight 
of  a  weather-beaten  cask  floating  into 
the  bay.  Curious  as  to  its  contents,  he 
ran  down  armed  with  a  hammer,  and  was 
proceeding  to  remove  the  lid  when  a 
child's  wail,  coming  apparently  from  in- 
side, made  him  drop  his  tool  and  fly  to 
the  monastery  near  by  with  his  strange 
story.  It  brought  the  Father  Abbot  and 
several  monks  down  to  the  seaside,  and 
in  their  presence  the  cask  was  opened. 
Great  was  the  amazement  of  all  present 
when  the  poor'  young  wife  was  disclosed, 
bearing  her  child  ia  her  arms.  The  monas- 
tery of  Abervrao  was  well  known  for  its 
hospitality:  it  opened  its  kindly  portals 
to  the  poor  outcasts  from  over  the  sea, 
and  the  young  wife's  story  was  heard 
with  pity  and  astonishment. 

In*  the  meantime  King  Leo's  court  was 
steeped  in  melancholy.  The  poor  old 
man  could  not  overcome  his  grief  at  his 
daughter's  sad  end;  and  Count  Gaolo, 
now  that  his  fit  of  jealous  anger  was 
expended,  often  recalled  his  wife's  sweet 
character  and  devoted  ways.  The  only 
one  who  secretly  rejoiced  at  the  success 
of  her  machinations  was  the  mistress  of 
the  castle  who  now  held  the  sovereign 
sway  she  had  so  long  coveted. 

Yet  her  ill-gotten  satisfaction  was  not 
to  be  of  long  duration;  scarcely  had  a 
few  months  elapsed  when  the  wretched 
woman  was  struck  down  by  some  strange 
disease  which  soon  brought  her  to  death's 
cloor.  Seeing  herself  on  the  very  thresh- 


old of  eternity,  a  terrible  fear  beset  her. 
In  the  dark  hours  of  sleeplessness  her 
victim's  pale  face  haunted  her  unceasingly, 
until  in  an  agony  of  fear  she  sent  for 
Prince  Leo  and  made  a  full  confession. 
The  poor  old  man  was  unable  to  stand  the 
shock  of  such  an  avowal.  His  voice  and 
limbs  failed  him,  and  he  was  carried 
away  senseless  by  his  retainers. 

Count  Gaolo's  anger  on  hearing  the 
truth  was  terrible.  He  cursed  the  woman 
who  committed  such  a  crime,  and  he 
cursed  his  own  folly  for  believing  the 
accusation.  He  moved  about  as  one  dis- 
traught until  his  friends,  fearing  for  his 
reason,  suggested  that  possibly  some  news 
of  his  wife  might  be  obtained  by  searching 
the  coast.  As  a  drowning  man  catches 
at  a  straw,  so  Count  Gaolo  grasped  at 
this  suggestion;  and  as  soon  as  a  ship 
could  be  made  ready,  a  search  party 
headed  by  the  Count  himself  proceeded 
to  explore  the  many  gulfs  and  inlets  of 
that  rocky  coast. 

Needless  to  say  their  efforts  were  in 
vain.  Count  Gaolo,  however,  refused  to 
give  up  hope.  From  Brittany  he  crossed 
over  to  the  coast  of  Cornwall;  and,  while 
everywhere  the  same  answer  met  his 
anxious  inquiries,  he  was  told  that  bits 
of  wreck  had  often  been  found  off  the 
more  distant  Irish  shore,  and  so  he  sailed 
once  more  in  that  direction.  Amongst 
other  ports  he  entered  Abervrao.  Like 
all  strangers  he  made  straight  for  the 
monastery, — and  who  could  describe  his 
joy  when  his  long-lost  wife  threw  her- 
self into  his  arms! 

He  was  so  happy  among  the  hospitable 
islanders,  in  the  sunshine  of  Azenor's 
forgiveness  and  the  company  of  his  son, 
that  he  never  returned  to  Brittany.  It 
was  only  many  years  later,  and  after  his 
death,  that  Azenor  returned  to  the  land 
of  her  ancestors  with  her  son,  now  a  priest. 
And  anyone  travelling  through  Armorica 
can  not  fail  to  hear  of  the  -wonderful 
conversions  wrought  by  one  of  Brittany's 
greatest  bishops— Azenor's  sea-born  son, 
St,  Budoc, 


720 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Where  Cain  Lies  Buried. 


THE  "Rose  Garden  of  Syria,"  or  the 
Oasis  of  Damascus,  is  usually  thought 
of  only  in  connection  with  the  city  of 
Damascus.  But  the  great  white  town, 
embowered  in  the  fragrant  shadows  of 
her  numberless  groves  of  orange  and  other 
trees,  has  that  in  its  vicinity  which  .speaks 
of  the  antiquity  of  its  fertile  situation. 
This  is  the  Tomb  of  Cain,  according  to 
Eastern  traditions,  far  up  in  the  ever- 
lasting hills  which  tower  over  all. 

When  one  has  tramped  through  the 
unique  Grand  Bazaar,  and  with  slippered 
feet  has  stepped  into  the  Great  Mosque, 
surveyed  the  quaint  architecture  of  the 
Dervishes'  College,  and  enjoyed  the  truly 
Eastern  atmosphere  of  the  city,  the 
"diamond  of  the  Turkish  Empire,"  one 
can  not  do  better  than  start  the  next 
morning  for  the  top  of  Mount  Salahiyeh. 
Here,  in  the  silence,  ruggedness,  and 
desolation  of  the  rocky  summit  stands  the 
sepulchre  of  him,  the  'fugitive  and  vaga- 
bond in  the  earth,'  forever  branded  to  the 
eyes  of  men  because  of  his  slaying  of  his 
brother. 

Mount  vSalahiyeh,  the  highest  of  the 
many  formidable  hills  that  form  the 
guardians  of  the  city,  is  approached  by 
a  broad  and  level  road  not  quite  three 
miles  in  length.  Dusty  though  it  is  at 
times,  it  is  enjoyable,  with  its  cool  breadths 
of  floating  shadow;  its  trim  little  white 
houses  peeping  out  of  their  sheltering 
masses  of  foliage;  its  high,  mossy,  Med- 
iaeval walls,  and  charming  rivulets  which 
make  music  on  every  side.  To  this  day 
the  Abana  and  Pharpar,  brooks  which 
one  can  almost  jump  across,  and  other 
streams,  have  a  fertilizing  power  which  it 
would  be  difficult  to  overestimate.  Naa- 
man's  boast  was  certainly  not  unfounded, 
for  these  streams  have  made  the  Oasis 
the  glorious  garden  that  it  is. 

As  one  passes  on  to  the  village  of  Sala- 
hiyeh, striding  camels  are  encountered, 
with  lowered  necks  and  long,  noiseless 
frond;  and  round,  fat  Turks  perched  QJJ 


the  backs  of  small  donkeys;  veiled  women 
in  straight  blue  mantles;  dusty  men  in 
ragged  clothes;  and  dustier  children  in  no 
clothes  at  all  save  loinbands.  Salahiyeh 
itself  is  a  picturesque  and  disorderly 
place,— little  flat-roofed,  windowless  houses 
with  smooth  white  walls,  on  which  the 
sun  shines  with  a  blinding  glare.  You 
feel  the  great  heat,  and  wonder  at  the  lack 
of  windows,  screened  and  latticed  against 
the  burning  rays.  Then  you  encounter  a 
sand-storm,  and  cease  wondering.  Syria 
has  many  afflicting  sand-storms,  but  these 
of  the  Oasis  of  Damascus  seem  the  worst. 

There  is  a  puff  of  wind  in  your  face,  and 
then  in  another  second  everything  around 
becomes  blurred  and  indistinct.  The 
laden  camels  plodding  their  way  through 
the  driving  sand  appear  and  vanish  like 
phantoms.  Women  clutch  fast  at  their 
veils;  and  men  flit  past,  coughing  and 
putting  shadowy  hands  to  shadowy  faces. 
Here  and  there  and  everywhere  the  wind 
buffets  you,  sending  the  hot,  prickly, 
fine  sand  through  your  clothing.  It 
catches  on  your  naked  skin,  and  you  feel 
as  if  you  are  being  rubbed  with  sand- 
paper. Then  all  of  a  sudden  the  simoon 
stops,  and  the  air  is  pellucid  again,  and 
the  sun  beats  down  on  your  head.  There, 
where  the  village  falls  away  to  the  right 
and  left,  stands  the  grim  pyramid  of  gray, 
gaunt  rock,  clear  against  the  sky — the 
very  symbol  of  desolate  grandeur. 

There  are  mountains  and  mountains. 
vSalahiyeh,  compared  with  the  giants  of 
the  Alps,  the  Andes,  and  other  mountain 
ranges,  is  a  mere  hill.  Yet  climbing  its 
almost  vertical  slopes  is  very  difficult. 
In  addition  to  the  steepness,  and  the 
shoals  of  flat  and  other  kinds  of  stones 
rolling  away  from  underfoot  like  a  tread- 
mill, Salahiyeh  has  the  irritating  peculiar- 
ity of  having  three  summits,  each  in  turn 
hidden  by  the  other.  Panting  and  tired, 
dusty,  perspiring,  and  with  your  clothing 
torn  by  the  jagged  rocks,  you  scale  the 
second  knife-like  top,  only  to  find  that 
the  real  Salahiyeh  is  still  towering  far 
oyerhead.  About  three  quarters  of  aq 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


721 


later,  through  sheer  struggling  with  hands, 
knees,  and  feet,  you  reach  the  summit  of 
the  bleak,  rocky  ridge. 

Everywhere  are  grey  stones-  and  rocks, 
weather- washed,  grim,  and  desolate.  Nearer 
the  farther  brink  of  the  summit  stands 
the  little  square  tower  of  greyish  stone 
which,  according  to  tradition,  marks 
the  grave  of  the  first  murderer.  All  is 
silence,  ruggedness  and  desolation,  blasted 
by  .the  fierce  storms.  Where  Cain's 
miserable  life  did  end,  only  his  Maker 
knows.  But  surely  no  fitter  spot  than 
this — if  this  it  was — could  be  found. 

The  view  from  beside  the  Tomb  of  Cain 
is  one  of  most  wonderful  beauty.  Right 
up  to  the  bases  of  the  mountains  on 
either  side  ranges  a  luxuriance  of  greenery, 
through  which,  like  a  silver  thread,  winds 
the  stream  of  the  Abana.  Here  and  there 
above  the  groves  of  trees  rise  shining 
cupolas  and  lofty  white  towers;  and  in 
the  midst  of  all  lies  the  Oasis  city,  her 
massive  walls  and  tapering  minarets  show- 
ing dazzling  white  in  the  sunshine,  and 
the  mighty  dome  of  the  Great  Mosque 
crowning  the  whole.  The  atmosphere  is 
wonderfully  transparent,  and  everything 
looks  very  near.  The  village  of  Salahiyeh 
which  you  left  behind  two  weary  hours 
ago,  seems  to  be  lying  now  just  under 
your  feet. 

Yet  few  spots  on  this  earth  have  wit- 
nessed such  terrible  scenes  of  blood  and 
slaughter  as  has  this  quiet  and  most 
beautiful  valley, — from  the  hour  when, 
according  to  the  tradition,  Hazael  braved 
death  to  spread  the  thick  cloth  dipped 
in  water  over  his  master's  face,  and  Cain 
found  peace,  till  the  first  fateful  night  in 
1915  when  10,000  murderers  came  howling 
round  the  Armenian  and  Drusite  quarters 
of  Damascus  to  butcher  the  helpless 
inmates,  and  drive  thousands  of  them  out 
of  the  city  to  die  of  famine  or  exposure. 
Not  since  the  Monguls,  700  odd  years  ago, 
took  the  city  and  put  its  289,000  inhabi- 
tants to  the  sword,  has  the  spirit  of  Cain 
looked  down  upon  §o  base  and  so  dreadful 
a  massacre, 


Dont's  for  Short  Story  Writers. 


WE  are  almost  invariably  asked  by 
the  young  writers  who  submit 
short  stories  to  us  to  offer  a  criticism  of 
their  fictions.  We  can  not  do  this  with 
individual  contributors.  It  would  not  be 
kind,  and  it  would  take  much  time. 
We  do  not  wish  to  make  enemies  nor  to 
multiply  correspondence.  Instead,  we  have 
thought  to  set  down  a  few  strictures,  for 
the  young  writers  particularly,  which 
may  help  to  explain  why  in  a  given  case 
a  story  has  been  rejected. 

i. — -Don't  imagine  there  is  any  preju- 
dice against  you  because  you  are  a  young 
and  as  yet  unknown  writer.  Editors  are 
anxious  to  discover  new  talent. 

2. — Don't  imagine  you  can  write  a 
good  short  story  without  studying  the 
form  of  the  short  story.  Secure  a  manual 
on  the  short  story. 

3. — Don't  fancy  a  story's  chances  are 
improved  by  labeling  it  ''a  true  story," 
or  declaring  that  it  is  "founded  on  fact." 
We  look  for  fiction  in  the  short  story, 
not  history,  and,  above  all,  not  a  mixture 
of  the  two. 

4.— Don't  send  stories  whose  plot  hinges 
on  a  novena  or  a  miracle,  or  stories  which 
end  .with  a  vocation  or  a  conversion. 
Such  themes  are  so  hackneyed  that  only 
a  master  hand  dare  touch  them.  (Don't 
think  you  have  a  master  hand.) 

5. — Don't  submit  stories  of  the  super- 
natural, vision,  ghosts,  etc. 

6. — Don't  call  your  story  "Mrs.  Flan- 
agan's Christmas  Dinner,"  or  "Mary 
Gray's  Easter  Egg."  Don't  call  your 
story  anybody's  anything.  These  posses- 
sive titles  are  no  good. 

7. — Don't  forget  that  a  short  story 
must  begin  to  get  its  effect  with  the  very 
title.  Titles  should  be  apt  and  striking. 

8. — Don't  think  that  a  story  in  a 
Catholic  periodical  must  be  pious,  like  a 
sermon.  It  should  be  Catholic,  but  that 
gives  it  all  the  range  of  Catholic  life, 
which  includes  the  seashore  and  the, 
mountains,  fishing  and  baseball. 


722 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


9. — Don't  think  that  the  sources  of 
Catholic  fiction  are  exhausted.  They  are 
almost  untouched. 

10. — Don't,  if  your  story  fails  in  none 
of  these  respects,  ask  us  for  a  further 
reason  for  rejection.  You  may  conform 
to  the  letter  of  all  rules  and  your  story 
may  yet  be,  in  itself  or  for  our  purposes, 
quite  impossible. 


A  Perennial  Devotion. 


FROM  Advent  until  now  the  Church 
has  been  commemorating  in  her 
sacred  liturgy  the  works  accomplished  for 
our  redemption;  on  Trinity  Sunday  she 
proposed  for  our  veneration  the  source 
from  which  these  works  have  proceeded, 
and  the  end  to  which  their  glory  must  be 
referred.  In  point  of  time  the  festival  has 
been  most  congruously  and  admirably 
fixed.  On  Ascension  Thursday  we  closed 
the  series  of  feasts  dealing  with  the  Son  of 
God  made  man.  On  Pentecost  and  during 
its  Octave  we  celebrated  the  manifestation 
and  the  priceless  gifts  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 
On  the  festival  of  the  Trinity  we  honored 
the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost,— 
one  God  in  three  divine  persons.  But 
every  Sunday  and  holyday  of  the  year,  as 
well  as  every  festival  of  Our  Lady  and  the 
saints,  is  in  reality  designed  to  honor  the 
Holy  Trinity,  the  end  and  term  of  all  our 
worship;  all  religious  festivals  being  God's 
days  in  the  wide  and  general  sense. 

That  our  individual  honoring  of  the 
Holy  Trinity  may  be  worthy,  it  is  in- 
cumbent upon  us  to  learn  from  the  Church 
both  what  we  are  bound  to  know  con- 
cerning this  ineffable  mystery  of  our 
faith,  and  what  we  are  bound  to  do  in 
consequence  of  that  knowledge. 

First,  we  must  know  that  in  the  Trinity 
there  is  one  God  in  three  persons:  the 
Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost.  There  is 
one  God, — -that  is,  a  Being  on  whom  all 
things  else  depend, —  a  Being  infinitely 
good,  just,  powerful,  and  perfect;  and 
that  in  this  one  God  there  are  three 
persons,  who,  although  really  distinct  one 


from  the  other,  have  identically  the  same 
-nature,  the  same  essence,  the  same  per- 
fection. Thus,  the  Son  is  not  the  Father, 
nor  is  the  Son  the  Holy  Ghost;  never- 
theless, the  Father  and  the  Son  and  the 
Holy  Ghost  are  but  one  God,  one  Lord, 
one  Creator  of  all  things.  The  Son  was 
begotten  of  the  Father,  and  the  Holy 
Ghost  proceeded  from  the  Father  and  the 
Son;  but  the  Father  was  not  in  existence 
before  the  Son,  nor  were  the  Father  and 
Son  before  the  Holy  Ghost.  The  Father 
is  eternal,  the  Son  is  eternal,  the  Holy 
Ghost  is  eternal;  and  still  they  are  not 
three  eternal  beings,  but  one.  Any  one  of 
these  three  Divine  Persons  is  as  perfect 
as  the  other  two,  and  any  two  are  not 
more  perfect  than  one,  because  each 
possesses  fully  every  perfection  of  that 
Divine  Nature  which  is  identical  in  all.  In 
a  word,  the  Father  and  the  Son  and  the 
Holy  Ghost  are  equal  in  all  things ;  and  in 
God  we  adore  a  Unity  of  nature  in  a  Trinity 
of  persons,  and  a  Trinity  of  persons  in  a 
Unity  of  nature. 

As  for  the  manner  in  which  we  may 
give  a  practical  expression  of  our  devotion 
to  this  mystery,  let  it  be  premised  that  we 
have,  in  our  own  souls,  a  certain  adumbra- 
tion or  faint  representation  of  the  Trinity 
itself.  God's  image  or  likeness  to  which 
man  was  originally  made  is  especially 
brought  out  in  the  three  faculties  of  the 
soul:  understanding,  will,  and  memory. 
Now,  as  agreeable  a  sacrifice  as  we  can 
offer  to  the  Blessed  Trinity  is  our  conse- 
crating to  God  the  exercise  of  these  three 
faculties  in  the  acts  of  virtue  proper  to 
each  of  them. 

In  the  first  place,  we  should  offer  to 
the  Three  in  One  the  homage  of  our 
understanding  by  a  humble  and  unques- 
tioning belief  in  this  and  in  all  other 
mysteries  of  our  holy  faith.  We  do  not, 
of  course,  understand  the  Trinity  and 
Unity  of  God,  nor  is  it  at  all  necessary 
that  we  should.  There  are  very  many 
things  in  life  and  the  world  that  we  do 
not  understand.  The  self-styled  philoso- 
pher whose  boast  it  is  that  he  believes 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


723 


nothing  that  he  does  not  comprehend  is 
making  a  puerile  or  idiotic  statement. 

We  should,  in  the  second  place,  offer 
to  the  Blessed  Trinity  the  homage  of  our 
will  in  the  most  perfect  love  of  God  and 
in  our  inviolable  attachment  to  His 
divine  law.  Nothing  can  be  more  just 
than  to  love  the  infinitely  lyovable, 
nothing  more  advantageous  than  to  devote 
ourselves  to  that  which  alone  can  make  us 
happy.  How  shall  we  prove  our  love  of 
God?  Christ  Himself  tells  us:  "He  that 
hath  My  commandments  and  keepeth 
them,  he  it  is  that  loves  Me." 

Finally,  to  acquit  ourselves  of  our  full 
duty  to  the'  Blessed  Trinity,  we  should 
frequently  exercise  our  memory  by  re- 
calling God's  goodness,  and  testifying  our 
gratitude  for  the  favors  conferred  upon  us 
by  each  of  the  three  Divine  Persons. 
These  specific  favors  are  our  creation  by 
the  Father,  our  redemption  by  the  Son, 
and  our  sanctification  by  the  Holy  Ghost. 
What  should  particularly  excite  our  grati- 
tude is  the  thought  of  our  unmerited  call 
'to  the  faith, — the  thought  of  the  grace 
of  Baptism  that  we  have  received,  and 
of  the  august  character  of  Christian  with 
which  we  have  been  honored.  Through 
these  blessings  we  entered  into  special 
relations  with  the  Blessed  Trinity:  we 
became  children  of  God  the  Father, 
brethren  of  God  the  Son,  and  temples 
of  God  the  Holy  Ghost. 

We  have,  indeed,  countless  reasons  for 
blessing  the  three  Divine  Persons,  who 
have  chosen  us  for  such  inestimable 
privileges,  in  preference  to  so  many  others 
who  would  have  shown  themselves  more 
grateful  and  more  worthy;  and  we  should, 
therefore,  manifest  our  devout  thankful- 
ness by  living  up  to  the  glorious  "titles 
by  which  we  have  been  ennobled.  The 
purity,  piety,  and  perfection  of  our  daily 
life  should  be  the  concrete  expression  of 
that  hymn  which  echoes  unceasingly 
around  the  throne  of  the  Most  High: 
"To  the  King  of  ages,  immortal  and 
invisible,  the  only  God,  be  honor  and 
glory  forever  and  ever!  Amen." 


Her  Thanksgiving  and  Praise. 

ON  a  Sunday  in  May,  just  as  the  noon 
Angelus  was  ringing,  there  died  a 
venerable  old  lady.  She  lacked  one  year 
of  completing  her  century.  She  was  such  a 
wonderful  woman  as  the  combination  of 
Irish  birth  and  Catholic  faith  so  often 
produces.  The  keen  mind,  the  ready 
speech/  the  tireless  energy,  the  realiza- 
tion of  the  unseen,  the  native  nobleness 
of  person  and  manner, — all  these  gifts 
she  had.  She  had  "kept  the  faith"  for 
well-nigh  a  century,  but  such  reserves 
of  inner  power  did  she  possess  that  one 
felt  she  might  have  begun  another  century 
with  undiminished  vigor.  -  But  she  died 
this  May,  a  month  she  loved;  on  Sunday, 
the  day  most  dear  to  her;  at  the  ringing 
of  the  Angelus,  Jier  favorite  devotion. 
She  had  been  saying  the  Angelus  for  over 
ninety  years.  Once,  when  she  had  first 
come  out  to  this  country  and  was  engaged 
in  domestic  service  in  a  large  city,  an 
incident  occurred  which  determined  for 
life  her  devotion  to  this  familiar  form 
of  prayer. 

It  was  early  in  the'  morning;  she  had 
risen  to  get  a  good  start  on  the  day's 
work,  and  by  six  o'clock  was  ready  to 
.emerge  from  the  basement  with  a  basket 
of  clothes  when  the  Angelus  rang.  She 
set  down  the  basket  and  repeated  the 
prayer.  When  she  had  finished,  she  saw, 
in  the  act  of  slinking  away  from  the  base- 
ment window,  the  figure  of  a  very  evil- 
looking  man.  Had  she  not  paused  to  say 
the  Angelus,  she  reflected,  she  would  have 
come  to  grief.  Nor  was  the  fear  unfounded ; 
for  that  very  morning  the  villain  found 
another  victim.  For  the  rest  of  her  long 
life,  the  saying  of  the  Angelus  three 
times  daily  was  an  act  of  thanksgiving 
and  of  praise.  To  those  who  knew  her, 
it  seemed  a  sweet  consideration  of  Heaven 
that  she  should  have  ended  her  long  life 
with  the  sound  of  Angelus  bells  in  her 
ears,  and  in  her  heart  the  beloved  prayer 
whose  realization  she  was  so  soon  to 
behold  in  paradise. 


724 


THE  AYE  MARIA 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


A  measure  which  many  of  our  readers 
will  be  disposed  to  consider  not  the 
least  likely  to  prove  effective  in  securing 
for  the  weary  world  the  peace  now  desired 
by  so  many  nations  is  the  addition  by 
Pope  Benedict  of  another  invocation  to 
the  Litany  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  Begin- 
ning with  the  initial  day  of  the  present 
month,  reciters  of  that  beautiful  series  of 
epitomized  prayers  terminate  the  series, 
not  with  "Queen  of  the  Most  Holy  Rosary, 
pray  for  us,"  but  with  "Queen  of  Peace, 
pray  for  us."  The  congruity  of  the  in- 
vocation at  any  period,  and  its  peculiar 
opportuneness  in  the  present  crisis,  will 
be  recognized  by  all  clients  of  Christ's 
Mother  the  world  over;  and  the  entry 
of  our  own  Republic  into  the  group  of 
warring  Powers  will  stimulate  American 
lovers  of  her  who  is  our  national  Patroness 
to  renewed  fervor  in  multiplying  recitals 
of  the  Litany  of  I^oreto,  and  in  dwell- 
ing with  intensified  earnestness  on  its 
concluding  plea,  "Queen  of  Peace,  pray 
for  us." 

There  is  nothing  erroneous  in  our  state- 
ment about  Germany's  not  being  an  auto- 
cracy, nor  is  it  classed  as  such  by  "The 
Statesman's  Year  Book."  Its  Emperor  has 
no  veto  on  laws  passed  by  the  Bundesrat 
(Federal  Council),  which  represents  the 
individual  States  of  the  Empire;  or  the 
Reichstag  (Diet  of  the  Realm),  which 
represents  the  German  nation.  In  these 
bodies  are  vested  all  legislative  functions 
of  the  Empire.  As  to  our  other  statement, 
that  the  German  people  have  about  as 
much  democratization  as  they  desire, 
and  are  well  satisfied  with  their  form  of 
government,  Dr.  David  Jayne  Hill,  for- 
merly United  States  Ambassador  to  Ger- 
many, after  remarking  that  "the  Germans 
are  more  loyal  to  the  Kaiser  than  the 
Democrats  are  to  President  Wilson," 
added:  "The  President  has  said  that  we 
have  no  hostility  toward  the  German 
people,  but  do  not  the  German  people 


support  the  Imperial  German  Government 
to  a  man?  .  .  .  How  many  Germans  in 
Germany  can  you  find  who  are  not  im- 
perialistic? I  have  never  found  one." 

According  to  the  Constitution  of  the 
German  Empire,  all  the  States  of  Germany 
"form  an  eternal  union  for  the  protection 
of  the  realm  and  the  care  of  the  welfare 
of  the  German  people."  It  is  altogether 
unlikely.,  though  very  much  desired  by 
his  enemies,  that  the  Kaiser  will  be  de- 
throned by  a  revolution.  The  German 
people,  as  we  have  already  remarked,  are 
too  well  educated  not  to  know  when  they 
are  well  conditioned. 


The  number  of  young  men  seeking 
to  join  the  Quakers  just  before  Regis- 
tration Day  was  an  astonishment  to 
the  Friends  themselves.  For  many  years, 
they  declare,  their  meetings  have  been 
without  any  notable  additions  to  member- 
ship. Towards  the  end  of  last  month, 
however,  scores  of  youthful  Americans 
made  application  to  enter  the  Society. 
The  elders  shook  their  gray  locks  and 
said  Nay,  convinced  that  these  postulants 
had  not  been  studying  Quaker  literature 
as  they  should,  and  fearing  they  were 
"not  honest  and  sincere."  As  everybody 
knows,  the  Quakers,  Dunkards,  and  a 
few  other  societies  in  this  country  are 
opposed  on  principle  to  war  and  the 
bearing  of  arms  against  their  fellowmen, 
and  for  this  reason  are  exempt  under  the 
conscription  law.  Their  converts,  however, 
are  expected  also  to  show  signs  of  re- 
pentance for  sin,  and  to  be  ready  to 
relinquish  all  such  forms  of  jollification 
as  the  ungodly  indulge  in. 

It  may  be  that  the  recent  applicants 
for  membership  in  the  Society  of  Friends 
have  been  moved  by  meditating  on 
Gen.  Sherman's  familiar  definition  of  wai. 
As  commonly  quoted,  it  consists  of  only  the 
three  words  at  the.  end  of  a  declaration 
by  him  cited  in  a  speech  of  the  Hon. 
Charles  Randall  of  California  in  the  House 
of  Representatives  on  May  7.  These 
are  "the  exact  words  of  Gen.  Sherman 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


725 


about  war":  "I  confess  without  shame 
that  I  am  tired  and  sick  of  war:  Its 
glory  is  all  moonshine.  Even  success,  the 
most  brilliant,  is  over  dead  and  mangled 
bodies,  the  anguish  and  lamentation  of 
distant  families  appealing  to  me  for  miss- 
ing sons,  husbands,  and  fathers.  It  is 
only  those  who  have  not  heard  a  shot  nor 
heard  the  shrieks  and  groans  of  the 
wounded  and  lacerated,  that  cry  aloud 
for  more  blood,  more  vengeance,  more 
desolation.  War  is,  hell!" 

*** 

In  concluding  his  speech,  Mr.  Randall 
took  occasion  to  express  the  conviction 
that  disarmament  is  the  only  remedy 
for  the  horrors  of  war,  saying:  "War 
does  not  necessarily  settle  any  dispute 
on  the  right  side.  The  most  .powerful 
enemy  wins,  whether  right  or  wrong. 
Other  means  of  settling  disputes  between 
nations  will  come  when  all  nations  are 
disarmed.  If  out  of  this  war  should  come 
an  international  disarmament  agreement, 
then  peace  will  be  established  and  justice 
will  prevail  throughout  the  world." 


A  clerical  contributor,  discussing  in 
the  London  Catholic  Times  some  of  the 
problems  to  be  worked  out  after  the  war, 
hazarded  the  suggestion  that  in  order  to 
bring  about  the  conversion  of  England, 
the  rule  obtaining  in  the  West  with 
regard  to  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy  might 
perhaps  be  relaxed,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
Uniats  in  the  East,  in  order  to  persuade 
Anglican  and  other  Protestant  ministers 
to  enter  the  Church.  The  suggestion  is 
combated  pretty  strenuously  by  several 
of  our  London1  contemporary's  corre- 
spondents. One  of  these,  a  convert,  says 
among  other  things: 

As  a  result  of  my  experience  of  English  Prot- 
estantism— experience  which  could  possibly  only 
have  been  gained  from  within — I  say  unhesitat- 
ingly that  that  law  [of  celibacy]  is  one  of  the 
strongest  weapons  in  the  hands  of  the  Church 
in  England  to-day;  a-nd  that  any  relaxation  of  it, 
though  only  with  regard  to  convert  clergy,  would 
tend  to  weaken  the  magnetism  which  the  Faith 
undoubtedly  exercises  among  sincere  and  truth- 


seeking  non-Catholics.  Englishmen  are  surfeited 
with  the  armchair  Christianity  of  the  typical 
comfortable  rectory;  they  have  begun  to  realize 
the  mockery  of  having  the  Gospel  of  Sacrifice 
preached  to  them  by  men  whose  lives  are  in- 
variably softer  and  easier  than  those  of  the  major- 
ity of  their  flocks;  and  in  the  reaction  from  this, 
the  vision  of  the  Catholic  priesthood  voluntarily 
renouncing  that  which  men  hold. dearest  on  earth 
for  the  sake  of  the  Cross  of  Christ,  appeals  very 
strongly.  Any  exception  to  this,  in  favor  of 
raising  married  converts  to  the  priesthood,  would 
inevitably  weaken  that  appeal. 

The  celibacy  of  Catholic  priests  is,  of 
course,  a  matter  of  Church  discipline, 
not  of  essential  doctrine  or  dogma;  and 
Rome  could  consistently  relax  the  law  in 
favor  of  married  Protestant  ministers — 
but  she  most  probably  will  not. 

The  Rev.  Dr.  D.  M.  Hazlett,  of  the 
Presbyterian  denomination,  has  the  dis- 
tinction of  being  one  of  the  very  few 
American  sectarian  ministers  who,  having 
visited  or  resided  in  any  Latin-American 
country,  can  refer  to  its  inhabitants 
without  patent  injustice  and  downright 
calumny.  We  have  already  quoted  what 
Dr.  Hazlett  had  to  say  in  a  recent  lecture 
about  the  "exquisite  politeness,  the  warm 
hospitality,  the  gentility,  the  tenderness 
of  those  people, " — their  fairness  and  free- 
dom from  religious  bitterness. 

Referring  to  the  women  of  South 
American  countries,  Dr.  Hazlett  said: 
"There  are  no  words  in  which  I  can 
express  my  appreciation  of  the  sweetness 
of  Latin-American  womanhood,  too  often 
wronged  and  exploited,  but  always  patient, 
gentle,  affectionate  and  womanly.  ...  I 
will  tell  you  what  the  trouble  is  with  some 
people.  I  used  this  illustration  at  the 
Third  Baptist  Church  the  other  day, 
and  will  use  it  again;  for  it  sums  up  what 
I  have  to  say.  Suppose  that  an  English- 
man or  a  Frenchman  should  come  to  St. 
Louis  and  should  be  shown  only  that 
part  of  our  beautiful  city  which  lies  east 
of  Fourth  Street  down  to  the  Mississippi 
River.  Suppose,  further,  that  the  English- 
man or  the  Frenchman,  upon  his  return 
to  his  native  land,  should  take  a  fancy  to 


720 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


write  a  book  on  St.  Louis,  judging  only 
from  what  he  had  seen  east  of  Fourth 
vStreet:  just  imagine  what  sort,  of  story 
IK-  would  tell  about  St.  Louis." 

Dr.  Hazlett's  illustration  is  apt  and  quite 
to  the  purpose;  and  it  would  be  equally 
adequate  were  the  name  of  any  other  of 
our  large  eities  substituted  for  that  of  St. 
Louis.  And,  just  as  none  of  these  eities 
should  be  qualified  in  terms  fitting  only 
for  their  most  depraved  quarters,  so  Latin 
America  can  not  be  fairly  judged  by 
unsympathetic  travellers  who  are  avowedly 
looking  only  for  spots  on  the  sun,  wilfully 
ignoring  the  liglit  and  heat  that  radiate 
all  around  them. 

Once  the  seed  of  Christianity  has  been 
planted  anywhere,  no  human  power  can 
ever  wholly  uproot  or  destroy  it.  A 
nucleus  always  remains,  which,  sooner  or 
later,  infallibly  yields  abundant  harvests. 
Were  it  possible  to  annihilate  the  Church 
in  France,  for  instance,  the  Revolution 
would  assuredly  have  accomplished  this. 
Nothing  was  left  undone  to  complete  the 
effacement  of  the  Catholic  religion.  For 
eight  or  nine  years  the  churches  were 
closed  and  the  bishops  and  priests  banished ; 
the  word  of  God  was  not  preached  nor 
were  the  sacraments  administered  except 
by  stealth;  and,  in  order  to  guard  against 
attempts  for  the  re-establishment  of  the 
Church  in  the  future,  all  institutions  for 
the  training  of  priests  were  destroyed.  No 
one  is  ignorant  of  what  took  place  when 
the  famous  First  Consul  permitted  the  free 
exercise  of  the  Christian  religion.  It  will 
be  the  same  when  the  present  regime  in 
France  comes  to  an  inevitable  end.  The 
self-sacrifice,  devotedness,  and  heroism  of 
the  clergy,  more  than  two  thousand  of 
whom  have  laid  down  their  lives,  are 
already  bearing  fruit.  A  great  change 
has  been  wrought  in  the  French  Govern- 
ment and  the  anti-clerical  party  which 

established  it. 

*  ** 

A  remarkable  circumstance  in  proof  of 
what  has  just  been  said  is  noted  by  Mr. 


Edward  Fox  Sainsbury  in  the  current  num- 
ber of  Our  Dumb  Animals.  "Twelve  y« 
ago,"  he  writes,  "the  French  Ministry 
consisted  of  some  fifteen  members,  eleven 
of  whom  were  declared  agnostics,  three 
figured  as  Catholics,  but  one  was  a 
'preaching' Catholic.  The  greater  number 
of  the  present  Ministry  are  not  only  good 
Catholics  but  practising  ones.  In  the 
army  it  is  the  same.  Distinguished  gen- 
erals set  an  example  by  observing  their 
religious  duties  and  giving  opportunities 
for  their  men  to  do  so.  In  all  ranks  men 
are  no  longer  ashamed  to  be  seen  going 
to  Mass  as  they  formerly  were.  Nowadays 
men  crowd  round  their  priests  when 
divine  help  is  sought. . . .  From  end  to  end 
of  France  religion  has  become  sacred. 
A  new  and  purified  race  will  emerge 
from  all  the  orgies  of  blood  that  have 
stricken  the  dear  Motherland.  That  so 
gifted  a  people  as  the  French  should  once 
more  embrace  the  faith  they  had  in  a 
great  measure  abandoned,  and  the  spec- 
tacle of  churches  filled,  as  we  know,  to 
the  doors,  is  a  comforting  fact,  from  which 
legitimate  hope  of  a  better  future  for  t  lu- 
nation is  permissible." 


The  failure  to  harmonize  practice  with 
theory  in  our  public  school  system  neces- 
sarily gives  rise  -to  frequent  complaints 
from  this  or  that  class  of  people  whose 
rights  or  conscientious  scruples  are  in- 
fringed upon  or  set  at  naught.  Theo- 
retically, the  schools  are  non-sectarian, — 
are  neither  Protestant  nor  Catholic  nor 
Jewish.  For  all  practical  purposes,  the 
great  majority  of  them  are  rather  agnostic 
than  anything  else;  but  some  of  our 
separated  brethren  persist  in  imagining 
that  the  schools  are,  and  of  right  ought  to 
be,  Protestant.  Their  position  is  clearly 
untenable,  as  is  indeed  the  more  general 
contention  that  at  least  the  schools  are, 
or  should  be,  Christian.  In  view  of  the 
fact  that  a  fair  share  of  the  educational 
fund  which  supports  these  public  schools 
is  furnished  by  citizens  of  the  Jewish 
religion,  such  citizens  have  the  logic  of 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


727 


the  situation  on  their  side,  and  are  en- 
tirely within  their  right  when  they  protest 
against  a  practice  thus  censured  by  the 
editor  of  the  Chicago  Israelite: 

The  last  verse  of  Julia  Ward  Howe's  "Battle 
Hymn  of  the  Republic"  should  never  be  allowed 
to  be  sung  in  the  public  schools.  The  words  of 
the  concluding  line  are  purely  sectarian;  and, 
though  they  may  be  sung  with  propriety  in  a 
Christian  church  or  home,  children  of  parents 
who  do  not  believe  that  "Christ  died  for  you 
and  me"  should  not  be  made  to  sing  tjicm  in 
the  schools. 

As  we  have  repeatedly  pointed  out, 
the  only  congruous  course  to  be  adopted  by 
our  Protestant  friends  who  will  introduce 
sectarian  practices  into  the  schoolroom 
is  to  follow  Catholic  example  and  build, 
equip,  and  support  schools  of  their  own. 
Their  assumption  that  the  public  schools 
of  this  country  as  at  present  constituted 
are  theirs  is  "one  of  the  things  that 
ain't  so." 

The  Central-Verein  draws  from  the 
official  recognition  given  by  the  War 
Department  to  the  Young  Men's  Chris- 
tian Association  the  lesson  that  Catholics 
should  be  up  and  doing  many  of  the 
things  that  this  Protestant  organization 
is  so  effectively  accomplishing.  We  note, 
by  the  way,  that  in  the  General  Order 
officially  recognizing  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
it  is  stated  that  "it  seems  best  for  the 
interest  of  the  service  that  it  shall  con- 
tinue as  a  voluntary  civilian  organiza- 
tion"; which  means,  we  presume,  that  the 
members  of  the  Association  neither  rank 
with  military  chaplains  nor  receive  the 
same  consideration  as  such  avowedly 
religious  workers.  At  the  same  time  it  is 
worth  noting  that  officers  are  enjoined  to 
render  the  fullest  practicable  assistance  and 
co-operation  in  the  maintenance  and  ex- 
tension of  the  Association  both  at  per- 
manent posts  and  stations  and  in  camp 
and  field. 

It  is  pleasant  to  read  in  La  Croix  of 
Paris  that  a  project  of  spiritual  charity 
organized  by  its  directors  at  the  begin- 


ning of  the  war  in  1914  has  been  entirely 
successful.  The  paper  solicited  subscriptions 
for  the  purpose  of  supplying  the  soldier- 
priests  with  portable  chapels  wherein, 
in  a  sfnall  compass,  are  packed  all  the 
articles  necessary  for  celebrating  Mass. 
Each  chapel  costs  about  thirty  dollars, 
and  it  is  stated  that  from  five  to  six  thou- 
sand of  them  are  sent  to  the  front  every 
month.  The  object  of  the  work  is  thus 
purely  religious;  and  it  speaks  well  for 
the  Catholicity  of  the  great  middle  class 
of  French  citizens,  among  whom  La 
Croix  chiefly  circulates,  that  in  less  than 
three  years  they  have  subscribed  one 
million  francs  for  so  spiritual  a  purpose. 
Rationalistic  and  agnostic  excrescences 
may  be  visible  on  the  surface  of  France, 
but  her  heart  is  undoubtedly  sound  and 
genuinely  Catholic. 


Whatever  it  may  be  at  other  times, 
the  "Congressional  Record"  is  decidedly 
interesting  reading  at  the  present  time; 
and  it  merits  attentive  perusal  by  all  who 
would  be  accurately  informed  as  to  what 
is  now  being  said  and  done  in  the  Senate 
and  the  House  of  Representatives.  It 
would  be  a  great  surprise  to  many  Ameri- 
can citizens  if  they  were  to  read  the  full 
text  of  debates  held,  speeches  delivered,  or 
remarks  made.  The  people  should  know 
that  of  such  matter  the  newspapers 
select  only  what  suits  their  purpose, 
and  that  the  venal  ones  are  very  careful 
never  to  refer  to  anything  that  "shows 
them  up."  There  would  be  far  less  respect 
for  some  of  our  "leading  journals"  if 
the  patrons  thereof  were  aware  of  what 
has  been  said  of  "great  newspapers" 
in  Congress  of  late  weeks. 

It  may  be  truthfully  asserted  of  our 
vSenators  and  Congressmen  that  not  a  few 
of  them  speak  their  minds  on  every  occa- 
sion, and  always  show  the  courage  of  their 
convictions.  The  only  fault  we  have  to 
find  with  these  honorable  gentlemen  is 
that  they  are  apt  to  be  too  sensitive 
to  adverse  criticism  and  not  indifferent 
enough  to  acrid  abuse. 


The  Woodcutter's  Fiddle. 


BY    NtfAL    E.   MANN. 


TEPHANO  and  Toche  had 
returned  home,  bringing  their 
school  honors  with  them.  They 
had  passed  brilliant  examina- 
tions in  Warsaw,  and  there  was  great 
joy  in  the  Castle  of  Nowy-Dwore  when 
the  boys  arrived  to  spend  their  holidays 
among  their  loved  ones. 

Stephano  was  in  his  sixteenth  year, 
and  Toche  in  his  fifteenth.  Both  were 
accomplished  horsemen;  and  their  first 
visit  outside  the  castle  was  to  the  stables, 
where,  among  dozens  of  other  steeds, 
they  caressed  their  own  special  mounts, 
two  splendid  sorrels.  The  holidays  prom- 
ised to  be  most  enjoyable;  for,  as  a 
reward  for  their  hard  work  at  school, 
their  parents  had  furnished  their  common 
purse  with  a  hundred  dollars. 

Both  brothers  were  anxious  to  try 
their  horses  after  months  without  any 
riding,  and  accordingly  secured  permis- 
sion from  their  father  to  take  dinner 
the  next  day  in  a  little  village  completely 
buried  in  a  forest  about  a  dozen  miles 
distant.  Twenty -four  or  twenty-five  miles 
for  a  first  day's  ride  is  no  trifling  distance; 
but  the  two  brothers  thought  nothing  of 
it,  and  they  cantered  gaily  along  the  good 
roads,  fairly  brimming  over  with  high 
spirits  and  good  humor. 

As  they  brought  their  steeds  down  to 
a  walk  after  an  occasional  gallop,  they 
spoke  of  the  various  excursions  they 
would  take  during  their  holidays;  and 
both  lauded  the  generosity  of  the  father 
and  mother,  who  had  provided  them  so 
abundantly  with  funds.  For  this  first 
day's  expenses  they  had  brought  with  them 
only  a  dollar  or  two;  that  was  quite 


sufficient  to  pay  for  their  dinner  in  the 
village  tavern. 

It  was  drawing  on  toward  noon  when 
the  first  signs  of  the  village  appeared. 
The  hamlet  consisted  of  a  number  of 
rather  shabby  cabins  tenanted  only  by 
woodcutters  and  sabot-makers,  who  lived 
off  their  earnings  there  in  the  forest. 
The  landlord  of  these  villagers  was  Count 
Wieninski,  a  hard  man  and  a  miserly 
one,  who  showed  no  consideration  what- 
ever for  his  tenants  at  the  best  of  times; 
and,  what  was  worse,  displayed  no  pity 
when  misfortune  overtook  them.  He  was 
ably  seconded  in  his  work  by  his  agent 
Vassilief,  who  was,  if  anything,  a  more 
relentless  taskmaster  than  the  Count. 

Stephano  and  Toche  had  consigned 
their  horses  to  the  stable  hands,  and 
given  orders  for  their  dinner,  which  their 
exercise,  coupled  with  the  fresh,  pure  air, 
made  particularly  welcome.  Two  gentle- 
men were  already  seated  in  the  tavern's 
dining-room  when  our  young  friends  took 
their  places  at  the  table,— two  lawyers 
of  the  neighboring  town  of  Skierniewicz 
who  had  come  to  make  a  sale  of  the  effects 
of  one  of  the  village  woodcutters.  ' 

"And  why,"  asked  Toche,  "is  .the  poor 
fellow  to  be  sold  up?" 

"Because  he  is  unable  to  pay  his  rent 
to  Count  Wieninski." 

A  half  hour  later  the  boys  had  finished 
their  dinner,  and  took  their  way  through 
the  village  streets,  looking  for  the  humble 
home  of  the  unfortunate  woodcutter. 
They  soon  found  it,  as  a  number  of 
buyers  were  already  on  hand  examining 
the  furniture  and  other  effects  of  the 
defaulting  tenant, — all  of  which  had  been 
thrown  pellmell  into  the  street. 

On  the  doorstep  of  the  cabin  stood  a 
bareheaded  man,  silently  watching,  through 
the  tears  that  rolled  ,down  his  cheeks, 
the  overhauling  by  prospective  buyers 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


'29 


of  the  goods  that  were  to  be  his  no  longer. 
Near  him,  seated  *on  a  wooden  bench, 
were  four  poorly  clad  children — two  boys 
and  two  girls, — the  oldest  not  being  more 
than  ten  years  of  age.  They  were  thin, 
almost  haggard-looking,  and  crept  closely 
together  like  fledgelings  in  a  nest.  They 
evidently  understood  the  misfortune  that 
had  befallen  them. 

Witnessing  this  cruel  spectacle,  Ste- 
phano and  Toche  felt  their  hearts  rent 
with  pity;  for  they  were  naturally  good, 
with  that  goodness  which  never  sees 
misery  "without  an  impulse  to  lessen  it. 

"It's  very  painful,"  said  Stephano, 
furtively  wiping  his  eyes. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Toche;  "it's  cruel.  If 
we  could  only  console  these  poor  people!" 

"I  was  thinking  of  that,  Toche." 

They  approached  the  woodcutter. 

"Why  are  you  being  turned  out?" 

"Because  misfortune  has  struck  me." 

"And  the  mother  of  your  children?" 

"Dead,  two  months  ago.  It  was  that 
caused  our  misfortune.  Providing  for 
her  during  her  illness  exhausted  all  our 
.resources." 

"And,  knowing  all  that,  your  landlord 
won't  give  you  time  for  the  payment  of 
your  debt?" 

"The  landlord  doesn't  know  the  mean- 
ing of  pity.  He  knows  I  owe  him  seventy- 
five  dollars  that  I  can't  pay  him:  that's 
all  he  wants  to  know." 

"Seventy-five  dollars!"  murmured  Ste- 
phano, and  his  eyes  turned  to  Toche. 
In  one  glance  the  brothers  understood 
each  other. 

Just  then  two  men  approached,  and 
spoke  in  an  insolent  manner  to  the  group 
who  were  examining  the  woodcutter's 
effects. 

"That's  Count  Wieninski,  no  doubt?" 
said  Toche. 

"Yes,  and  his  agent  Vassilief." 

All  the  bystanders  bowed  and  made 
way  for  their  masters. 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  the  Count,  con- 
temptuously regarding  the  woodcutter's 
effects.  "There  won't  be  enough  made 


out  of  that  to  pay  half  of  my  rent. 
When  does  the  sale  begin?" 

"At  four  o'clock,"  replied  Vassilief. 
"I  fixed  that  hour  so  that  the  forest 
workers  would  have  time  to  be  here." 

Stephano  and  Toche  had  retired  to 
one  side.  By  a  common  impulse  of  their 
generous  hearts  they  had  shaken  hands 
on  a  purpose  as  to  which  neither  had  as 
yet  spoken  a  word. 

"We  understand  each  other,  Toche," 
vSaid  the  elder  brother.  "We  mustn't 
allow  these  four  children  to  be  left  without 
house  or  home." 

"No,  Steph,  we  mustn't,  especially  as 
we  can  pay  the  seventy-five  dollars  and 
still  have  enough  for  our  holidays." 

"But  how  can  we  get  this  poor  man  to 
accept  it?  He  seems  rather  proud,  and  he 
doesn't  know  us." 

"That's  so,  Toche.  If  we  can  save 
him  without  humiliating  him,  it  will  be 
fine." 

Toche  reflected  for  a  moment  and  then 
struck  his  forehead,  with  a  laugh. 

"I  have  it!"    he  said.     "Come  along!" 

The  Count  had  withdrawn,  but  the 
agent  remained  and  was  delivering  him- 
self of  sundry  advices  to  the  prospective 
buyers.  Stephano  arid  Toche  "began  turn- 
ing over  the  various  objects  to  be  sold, 
and  finally  the  latter  picked  up  an  old 
fiddle  that  had  only  two  strings  and  no 
bridge;  it  was  all  covered  with  dust. 

"I  understand  you  now!"  whispered 
Stephano.  "We'll  buy  the  fiddle." 

The  two  then  proceeded  to  examine  the 
old  instrument  after  the  manner  of  con- 
noisseurs, turning  it  this  way  and  that, 
looking  carefully  all  over  the  upper  saddle, 
finger-board,  and  tail-piece. 

"Where  did  this  violin  come  from?" 
inquired  Toche  of  the  woodcutter. 

"I  don't  know,"  was  the  reply.  "It 
was  always  in  the  house  in  my  father's 
time;  and  I  have  a  faint  recollection  that 
it  was  left  there  by  a  stranger." 

Vassilief  had  quietly  approached,  and, 
without  pretending  to  do  so,  was  listening 
to  the  conversation. 


730 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"Perhaps  it's  a  vStradivarius,"  said 
Toche  in  a  low  tone  to  his  brother. 

"It  may  be,"  replied  Stephano. 

"If  so,  it's  worth  considerable  money." 

Here  Vassilief  intervened  with  the  re- 
mark: "The  sale,  young  sirs,  is  set  for 
four  o'clock." 

"Thanks!"  said  Stephano.  "We  shall 
probably  get  back  here  by  five.  Will 
you  kindly  ask  them  to  defer  putting  up 
this  violin  until  we  return?" 

The  brothers  then  went  into  the  tavern 
and  ordered  their  horses  saddled.  Before 
k-aving  they  called  the  landlord  aside. 

"vSay,  vSergius,"  said  Stephano,  "you 
know  us  and  our  father.  We  are  going 
home  to  get  some  money  to  pay  for  a 
violin  that  we  want  to  buy  at  the  sale 
this  afternoon.  If  we  chance  to  be  late, 
and  the  violin1  is  put  up  before  we  get 
here,  will  you  bid  for  us  as  high  as  seventy- 
fix' e  dollars?" 

"All  right,  sir!  I  suppose  the  violin  is 
really  valuable?" 

"Yes — to  us;  for  we  expect  it  to  give 
us  a  great  deal  of  pleasure." 

And  the  boys  rode  off  at  a  round  pace. 

In  the  meantime,  Vassilief  had  hurriedly 
joined  the  Count. 

"Your  Excellency,"  said  he,  "I  have 
good  news.  You  will  be  fully  indemnified 
by  the  proceeds  of  the  sale." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?  That 
pile  of  rubbish  isn't  worth  ten  dollars." 

"On  the  contrary,  one  object  alone  is 
worth  more  than  all  that  is  owing  to  you; 
and  there's  a  buyer  for  it." 

He  then  recounted  what  he  had  heard 
the  two  brothers  say  of  the  violin. 

"Fine!"  exclaimed  the  miserly  Count. 
"And  these  young  fellows  said  they 
would  be  willing  to  give  two  hundred 
dollars  for  the  instrument?" 

"Yes,  though  they  expect  to  get  it 
for  something  less.  They'll  be  here  by 
five  o'clock." 

The  hour  for  the  sale  having  arrived,  an 
idea  suddenly  occurred  to  the  avaricious 
Count.  As  four  o'clock  struck,  he  ordered 
the  auctioneer  to  put  up  the  violin. 


"Excuse  me,  your  Excellency!"  ven- 
tured the  tavern-keeper.  "Couldn't  that 
be  held  over  until  five  o'clock?" 

"I  have  given  the  order,"  was  the  curt 
reply. 

"Very  well,  then;  I  bid  one  dollar  for 
the  violin,"  rejoined  Sergius. 

"Ten  dollars!"  bid  the  Count. 

"Twenty!"  cried  Sergius. 

"Fifty  dollars!"  was  the  Count's  next 
offer. 

"All  right!"  quietly  remarked  the 
tavern-keeper.  "I  bid  seventy-five." 

"One  hundred!"   said  Wieninski. 

"At  that  figure,  Count,  you  may  have 
it,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned:  my  limit 
was  seventy-five." 

"Sold  to  Count  Wieninski  for  one  hun- 
dred dollars;  and  the  sale  is  over,  since  the 
first  lot  covers  the  creditor's  claim.  The 
law  is  formal  on  that  point,"  announced 
the  auctioneer.  Then,  turning  to  the  wood- 
cutter, he  added:  "My  man,  take  these 
effects  inside  again;  they  are  yours." 

The  poor  fellow  could  scarcely  believe 
his  ears.  Overcome  with  joy,  he  embraced 
his  children,  whom  some  extraordinary 
luck  had  just  saved  from  misery.  Just 
then  two  riders  came  up  at  a  gallop. 

"The  violin  is  sold,  sirs,"  said  the 
tavern-keeper. 

"And  you  bid  it  in  for  us?" 

"No;  it  brought  more  than  the  sum 
you  told  me  to  bid." 

The  brothers  looked  at  each  other, 
at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  make  of  this 
turn  of  the  affair.  Vassilief,  however, 
came,  in  the  name  of  the  Count,  to  en- 
lighten them. 

"My  master  is  also  a  connoisseur," 
he  told  them;  "but,  if  you  care  to  give 
two  hundred  dollars  for  the  violin,  he  will 
let  you  have  it." 

"Oh-ho!"  laughed  Stephano.  "Your 
master  is  certainly  a  generous  man,  to 
pay  a  hundred  dollars  for  an  old  fiddle 
that  isn't  worth  twenty-five  cents.  No, 
thank  you,  we  don't  care  for  it!" 

"And  yet,  after  dinner  you  said — 

"Yes,  after  dinner  we  wanted  to  buy  the 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


731 


violin  so  as  to  pay  the  debt  of  that  poor 
father,  and  the  instrument  would  have 
been  a  souvenir  of  a  good  deed;  bu£  as 
your  master  has  done  the  good  deed 
himself,  it  is  only  right  that  he  should 
keep  the  souvenir." 

The  Count  almost  had  a  fit  of  apoplexy 
when  he  learned  how  he  had  overreached 
himself.  As  for  the  generous  brothers 
.whose  intentions  alone  had  sufficed  to 
relieve  the  distressed  woodcutter,  they 
used  some  of  their  holiday  money  to  help 
him  still  more  effectively. 

And  in  the  little  forest  village  they 
still  tell  the  story  of  the  pitiless  land- 
lord who,  without  knowing  or  wishing  it, 
himself  paid  the  debt  of  the  poor  wretch 
whom  he  was  prosecuting  so  relentlessly. 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


XXIII— CORBETT'S  CUT. 
T7OR  long  weeks  Father  Phil  had  been 
pvs  journeying  through  the  mountains, 
\  bearing  God's  blessing  as  he  went; 
traversing  wilds  where  the  good  seed 
had  not  been  scattered  for  years;  where 
the  lost  sheep  had  grown  deaf  to  their 
Master's  call;  where  souls  slept  dull  and 
heavy  in  the  darkness,  or  hungered  sor- 
rowing for  the  Bread  of  Life.  Wherever 
there  was  need  or  shelter  or  welcome  for 
him,  he  had  stopped,  saying  Mass,  preach- 
ing, instructing,  marrying,  baptizing,  with 
such  zeal  and  fervor  that  the  fame  of 
this  young  missioner  had  gone  forth  into 
the  wilderness;  and  at  the  news  of  his 
coming,  men  and  women  gathered  from 
miles  around.  But,  though  he  had 
questioned  far  and  near,  he  could  learn 
nothing  of  Con.  Inquiries,  advertise- 
ments, even  the  help  of  the  police  in  the 
cities  nearest  to  Misty  Mountain,  had  all 
been  in  vain.  Father  Phil  was  at  last 
reluctantly  forced  to  conclude  that  Con 
was  either  dead  or  lost  to  him  beyond 
discovery.  And,  as  these  mountain  wilds 


were  not  the  apportioned  field  of  his  life 
work,  it  was  time  for  him  to  go  home  and 
abandon  his  search. 

He  was  holding  what  he  intended  to  be 
the  last  "station"  at  good  Mike  Branni- 
gan's  farmhouse  in  the  valley  when  a 
letter  reached  him  in  a  roundabout  way 
from  Father  Tim. 

"I  will  be  glad  to  see  you  back,  Phil; 
for  I'm  not  so  strong  as  I  was  before  my 
last  spell  of  rheumatism,"  wrote  his  old 
friend.  "And,  though  it  may  have  been 
a  Will-o'-the-wisp  you've  been  chasing, 
you've  tlone  God's  holy  work  along  your 
way.  There  are  some  people  of  my  own 
up  there  that  I  have  not  seen  or  heard  of 
for  years, — a  first  cousin  of  my  mother's, 
that  went  into  sheep  raising.  Corbett 
is  his  name, — Terence  Corbett.  If  not  too 
much  trouble  you  might  look  them  up 
if  you  are  any  place  near,  and  pass  them 
a  friendly  word." 

"Corbett?"  said  Father  Phil's  host, 
when  his  reverend  guest  questioned  him. 
"Old  Terence  Corbett?  Sure  yes,  Father, 
I  know  him  well;  and  it's  a  fine  place 
he  has  when  ye  once  get  there.  Corbett's 
Cut  they  calls  it.  But  it's  a  good  twenty- 
five  miles  from  here,  with  the  backbone 
of  two  mountains  betwixt  us.  But  ye'd 
be  welcome  as  the  flowers  of  spring;  for 
ould  Terry  has  a  lot  of  poor  craythurs 
tending  and  shearing  for  him  that  never 
see  a  priest  from  year  to  year." 

Twenty-five  miles,  and  over  the  back- 
bone of  two  mountains!  Father  Phil 
had  learned  by  hard  experience  what  that 
meant,  and  he  had  intended  to  start  home 
to-night.  Still— still,  Father  Tim's  letter 
seemed  to  sound  his  Master's  call  into 
farther  wilds.  He  would  go  to  Corbett's 
Cut.  Young  Pat  Brannigan  went  as  his 
guide,  for  he  could  never  have  found  his 
way  alone. 

The  "backbone"  was  all  that  a  moun- 
tain's backbone  could  be.  They  were  a 
night  and  a  day  crossing  steep,  rugged 
heights,  ribbed  with  granite,  hollowed  into 
gorge  and  chasm,  veined  with  snow-fed 
streams.  It  was  the  wildest  road  Father 


732 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Phil  had  struck  yet,  and  he  wondered 
that  mortal  man  should  choose  so  rude  a 
fastness  for  an  abiding  place. 

"There  do  be  softer  ways  beyond  the 
Cut,  Father,"  young  Pat  explained.  "But 
the  gypsies  are  camping  in  the  Glen  this 
spring:  it  is  safer,  I  think,  to  keep  to  the 
rocks." 

And,  knowing  the  lawless  ways  of 
gypsies,  Father  Phil  felt  that  this  young 
guide  was  right.  The  sun  was  far  to  the 
west  when  they  reached  the  Cut,  a  narrow 
valley  between  great,  wooded  heights 
that  sheltered  it  alike  from  sun  and  storm. 
A  swift,  clear  stream,  that  seemed  to  have 
cleft  this  passageway  through  the  moun- 
tains, .swept  on  by  widening  banks,  where 
the  old  sheep  farmer's  flocks  grazed  in 
placid  security. 

The  broad,  low  house,  with  its  far- 
reaching  folds  and  outbuildings,  was  a 
picture  of  pastoral  prosperity;  and  Father 
Phil's  welcome  was  all  that,  even  after 
this  long,  rude  journey,  he  could  have 
asked.  Old  Terence  and  his  wife  fell  on 
their  knees,  and,  in  the  exuberance  of 
their  joy  and  gratitude,  kissed  their 
visitor's  hand. 

"We  weren't  looking  for-  any  such 
blessing  as  this;  but  now  that  yc've  come, 
Father,  we'll  spread  the  good  word  far  and 
near.  Andy,  Darby,  Tom,  —  boys,  all  of 
ye  be  off!  Never  mind  the  dumb  bastes 
to-night:  scatter  all  of  ye  with  the 
blessed  news.  The  priest  is  here  to  say 
the  Holy  Mass.  T/et  every  man,  woman 
and  child  be  at  Corbett's  Cut  by  break 
of  day.  There's  not  room  enough  in  the 
house,  Father;  but  we'll  raise  an  altar 
out  under  God's  own  blue  sky,  where 
everybody  can  hear  and  see." 

There  was  little  rest  that  night  about 
Corbett's  Cut,  as  the  blessed  news  was 
borne  far  and  near,  even  to  the  widening 
ends  of  the  valley,  where,  as  of  old, 
"the  shepherds  watched  their  flocks." 
Sturdy  young  hands  raised  the  altar  on  a 
grassy  knoll,  beyond  the  house;  and, 
though  these  simple  folks  had  no  such 
treasures  as  Aunt  Aline,  Mrs.  Corbett 


brought  out  spotless  Irish  linen,  and  Irish 
lace  woven  by  her  maiden  hands  in  the 
old  country,  candles  made  from  her  own 
beeswax;  while  the  boys  and  girls  were 
off  before  dawn,  gathering  mountain  laurel 
and  wild  cherry  blossoms, — all  the  first 
fragrant  offerings  of  early  spring. 

As  he  stood  before  this  bower  of  bloom 
in  the  morning  sunrise,  Father  Phil's 
thoughts  went  back  to  the  Midnight  Mass 
in  the  log  cabin,  to  the  blue-eyed  boy 
who  had  decked  that  winter  shrine  with 
Christmas  green;  and  his  kind  heart 
ached,  even  in  this  holy  hour,  for  that 
little  "pal"  whom  he  had  sought  for  so 
vainly, — the  lost  heir  to  whom  he  had 
tried  to  do  justice, — the  friendless,  home- 
less, hunted  boy,  whom  he  felt  he  would 
never  see  again.  "God  guide  and  protect 
him,  since  I  can  not!"  was  the  young 
priest's  sorrowing  prayer,  as  he  bowed 
before  the  mountain  altar  in  the.  gladness 
of  the  sunrise.  "Be  a  Father  to  poor 
fatherless  Con!" 

The  Mass  was  over.  The  hymn  of 
praise  with  which  Father  Phil  always 
concluded  his  mission  services  had  died 
into  a  silence,  broken  here  and  there  by 
eager  whispering : 

"He'll  be  blessing  and  baptizing  now. 
Take  up  your  beads  to  him,  Norah,  and 
the  cross  that  Dan  brought  you  last 
Christmas." 

"There's  Molly  Maxwell  taking  up 
her  six-weeks  babe  for  the  baptizing; 
and  ould  Norah  Finley  the  two  grand- 
children that  never  saw  the  priest  afore 
in  all  their  life." 

"Sure  and  it's  a  great  day,  the  Lord 
be  praised!  Did  ye  sec  o.ild  O'Flaherty 
on  his  knees  this  morning, — him  that  has 
been  the  heartbreak  of  his  poor  wife  this 
ten  years  and  more.  And  it's  the  lovely 
face  his  riverince  has, .  and  he  little  more 
than  a  lad  himself!" 

"Aye,  but  he's  the  grand,  knowledgeable 
man,  for  all  that,  as  any  one  can  see  and 
hear.  Will  he  be  staying  long,  d'ye  think, 
Mrs.  Mulligan?" 

"No:     he's    off    again    to-night,    young 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


733 


Matt  Corbett  was  telling  me.  Ye  couldn't 
expect  the  likes  of  him  to  be  wasting  his 
time  with  us.  Not  that  there  isn't  sore 
need  of  him,  the  Lord  knows!  It's  little 
of  His  holy  word  and  law  we  get  up  here. 
Though  I'm  doing  my  best,  it's  hard  to 
keep  the  boys  and  girls  in  God's  ways. 
And  now  comes  them  h'aythen  gypsies 
into  the  Glen  below,  with  their  ball- 
spinning  and  fortune-telling  to  turn  the 
children's  heads.  I  told  me  own  plain 
enough  that  if  I  caught  any  of  thim 
straying  off  to  the  camp  I'd  make  thim 
sorry  for  it — arrah,  what  are  ye  pushing 
in  here  with  that  dirty  big  dog  for?" 
broke  out  this  sturdy  old  Christian 
mother,  as  a  strong  young  arm  pressed 
her  unceremoniously  aside  in  the  midst 
of  her  whispered  gossip. 

"Let  me  by,  I  tell  you, — let  me  by!" 
panted  the  eager,  breathless  boy,  who  was 
making  his  way  through  the  crowd,  a 
child  in  his  arms  and  a  great  wolf  hound 
at  his  heels.  "Don't  scrouge  Tony! 
He's  sick.  I  want  to  take  him  to  the 
Mister  there, — my  Mister!" 

"The  Mister!"  echoed  the  good  woman, 
wrathfully.  "Your  Mister!  And  is  it  to 
his  riverince  ye're  giving  that  name,  ye 
unmannerly  young  villyan?  Ye  must  be 
half-witted  or  worse.  Mister  indeed, — the 
priest  of  God  standing  afore  the  altar! 
The  Lord  forgive  ye!" 

"It's  a  gypsy,  he  is,  mother!"  giggled 
the  girl  at  her  side.  "Can't  you  tell  it 
by  his  dress?" 

"A  gypsy?"  gasped  the  mother.  "The 
Lord  save  us!  One  of  thim  vagabonds 
from  the  Glen  below?  What  is  the  like 
of  him  doing  here,  for  the  love  of  Heaven? 
Stand  back  ye  thief  of  the  world!  Stand 
back,  with  yer  dirty  beast !  Ye've  no  right 
here!" 

"Let  me  by,  I  tell  you, — let  me  by!" 
panted  the  boy.  "You  shan't  stop  me. 
It's  my  Mister!  I'm  going  to  him  to  have 
the  water  poured  on  Tony  here.  It's  my 
Mister,  that  talked  to  me  upon  the 
mountain,  and  said  he'd  take  rne  away 
with  him.  That  is  my  Mister  standing 


up  there  in  that  shining  coat.  I'm  going 
to  him.  I'm  going  to  be  his  brother, 
his  little  pal — 

"Pal,  brother!  Sure  it's  downright  mad 
the  craythur  is!"  rose  the  indignant 
murmur  around  the  young  speaker.  "It's 
no  good  he  is  after.  Here,  Dan,  Eddie, 
don't  be  letting  this  omadaun  up  to  his 
riverince  with  a  dog  ready  to  ate  us 
alive.  Put  thim  out,  lads!" 

"Try  it!"  said  Con,  his  eyes  flashing 
with  their  old  fire  as  two  sturdy  boys 
turned  at  their  mother's  call.  "Just  you 
try  stopping  me  or  putting  me  out!  I — 
can't  fight  'you  with  Tony  in  my  arms, 
but  I'll  set  my  dog  on  any  one  that 
touches  me." 

"He  will, — he  will!"  rose  the  alarmed 
cry.  "Keep  out  of  that  dog's  way,  boys! 
Let  the  men  bring  a  noose  or  chain  to 
hold  the  beast  while  they  drive  this  boy 
off." 

And  the  hubbub  spread  through  the 
crowd  to  the  altar,  where  Father  Phil 
was  preparing  to  bless  and  baptize,  as 
he  had  promised  to  do  after  the  Mass. 

"What  is  the  trouble  back  there?"  he 
asked  of  the  tall  young  Matt  Corbett, 
who  had  been  his  acolyte  and  had  gone 
into  the  crowd  to  hush  the  noise. 

"It's  a  fool  of  a  gypsy  boy,  Father, 
from  the  Glen.  He  has  brought  a  child 
with  him." 

"To  be  baptized?"  asked  Father  Phil. 
"By  all  means!" 

"I  don't  think  he  knows  what  he  wants," 
said  Matt.  "But  he  is  making  a  row  there 
among  the  old  women.  Father  has  sent 
one  of  the  men  to  put  him  out." 

"With  the  child, — the  unbaptized  child? 
My  dear  boy,  no,  no,  no!"  said  Father 
Phil,  earnestly.  "What  are  you  thinking 
about?  Quick,  bring  the  boy  back  before 
he  can  take  the  child  away !  Gypsy  or  not, 
it  is  one  of  God's  little  ones  that  I  am  here 
to  save  and  bless." 

But  there  was  no  need  for  sturdy  Matt's 
help:  Con  had  forced  his  own  way. 

"Let  me  in, —let  me  in!"  pleaded  a 
young  voice  that  made  Father  Phil's 


734 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


heart  leap.  "I'll  set.  Dick  on  if  you  try 
to  hold  me  back !  Let  me  in  to  my  Mister ! ' ' 

And,  flushed,  panting,  desperate,  Tony 
held  high  in  his  arms  to  escape  hurt  in 
the  pressing  crowd,  Dick  stalking  boldly 
behind  him,  a  blue-eyed,  yellow-haired 
boy  pushed  his  way  forward  to  the  rustic 
altar. 

"Mister, — my  Mister!"  he  cried.  "D'ye 
mind  me?  I'm  Con, — Con  of  Misty 
Mountain;  Con  you  were  so  good  to  last 
winter.  Mister,  I've  found  you — found 
you — found  you  at  last!" 

And  the  lost  heir  of  the  Nesbitts  stum- 
bled forward  to  Father  Phil's  feet. 

(To  be  continued.) 


The  "Ave  Maria  Beetle." 


A  Cool  Sentinel. 

As  King  Leopold  I.  of  Belgium  left  his 
palace  on  foot  one  day,  he  met  a  sentinel 
at  one  of  the  gates  busily  engaged  in 
disposing  of  a  fruit  pie. 

"Where  are  you  from,  my  friend?" 
inquired  the  King. 

The  soldier  was  a  new  arrival  and  did 
not  know  his  royal  master  by  sight;  so  he 
answered  carelessly: 

"You're  rather  curious,  are  you  not?" 

All  the  same  he  furnished  the  desired 
information;  but  he  asked  in  his  turn: 

"And  who  are  you,  pray?  A  soldier 
probably?" 

"Yes,"  .replied  the  King. 

"Retired?" 

"Pensioned.    But  guess  my  grade." 

"Captain?" 

"No;   higher  than  that." 

"Major?" 

"No." 

"Colonel?" 

"No." 

"General?" 

"No;  still  higher." 

"So  you're  the  King  himself?" 

"Yes." 

"In  that  case,  I  will  ask  you  to  hold 
this  pie  a  minute  so  that  I  may  present 
arms  to  your  Majesty." 


In  the  rural  districts  of  Brazil,  journeys 
are  usually  suspended  at  the  "Ave  Maria," 
— that  is,  the  hour  of  the  evening  Angelus, 
which  is  the  time  of  sunset.  Instead  of 
a  curfew,  a  very  simple  and  pleasing 
circumstance  announces  this  period  in 
remote  districts. 

A  large  beetle,  with  silver  wings,  just 
then  issues  forth,  and,  by  the  winding 
of  its  small  but  clear  and  sonorous 
horn,  proclaims  the  hour  of  prayer.  A 
coincidence  so  striking,  and  so  regular  in 
its  occurrence,  was  not  likely  to  escape 
the  honor  of  a  religious  observance.  The 
pious  inhabitants  regard  the  beetle  as  a 
herald  of  Our  Lady,  to  announce  the 
time  of  her  evening  prayer.  Hence,  it  is 
called  the  "Ave  Maria  Beetle,"  or  "Our 
Blessed  Mother's  Beetle."  "On  the  hill  of 
Santa  Teresa,"  says  an  American  traveller, 
"I  have  heard  it  often  in  the  evening, 
humming  round  the  venerable  old  con- 
vent, and  joining  its  harmonious  note  to 
the  sweet  chant  of  the  nuns  within  at 
their  evening  prayer." 


Morning  Song. 


BY    lv.   MKRRYWEATHLvR. 

stm  is  rising  high, 
And  the  birds  arc  flitting  by,— 
Early  morning  is  the  sweetest  time  of  all; 
But  these  lazy,  lazy  heads 
Will  not  rise  and  quit  their  beds,— 
Grown-ups,  children,  they  are  sleeping,  one  and 
all! 

I'm  the  watchman   on  the  wall; 

I  am  very  wise  and  tall; 
But  no  one  seems  to  listen,  though  I  call. 

That  people  are  not  rising 

Is  really  most  surprising, 
Though  I'm  calling  with  a  clear,  loud  call. 

Now  a  curly  head  is  peeping, 

A  little  maid's  not  sleeping, 
She  has  heard  at  last  the  watchman  on  the  wall. 

vShe  cries:  "Cock-a-doo!   Your  noise 

Will  awake  the  little  boys; 
So  we'll  get  up  very  quickly,  one  and  all." 


THE  AVE  MART  A  735 

WITH    AUTHORS    AND    PUBLISHERS 


— Three  motets  for  four  male  voices,  -0 
sanctissima,  0  salutaris,  and  Tantum  ergo, 
by  Joseph  J.  McGrath,  are  compositions  which, 
for  their  earnest  simplicity  and  accurate,  melo- 
dious setting,  are  sure  to  find  favor  with  choir 
masters.  Published  by  Fischer  &  Brothers; 
price,  40  cents. 

— St.  Vincent  Charity  Hospital,  of  Cleveland, 
Ohio,  has  shown  commendable  enterprise  in 
the  issue  of  a  beautiful  souvenir  brochure  of 
its  Golden  Jubilee.  The  volume  tells  the  noble 
story  of  the  founders  and  the  small  beginnings, 
and  exhibits  the  marvellous  development  of 
the  institution.  May  Providence  prosper  it 
many  another  half  century! 

— In  a  pamphlet  of  34  pages  which  comes  to 
us  from  Hodder  &  Stoughton  (New  York  and 
London),  Mr.  Arnold  J.  Toynbee  discusses  "The 
Murderous  Tyranny  of  the  Turks."  Considerable 
information,  historical  and  contemporaneous, 
is  given  in  succinct  and  readable  form;  and  some 
political  philosophy  worth  perusal  is  presented 
in  the  preface  which  Viscount  Bryce  contrib- 
utes to  the  pamphlet. 

— "Benoit  XV.  et  la  Guerre,"  by  the  Abbe  E. 
Duplessy  (Paris:  Pierre  Tequi),  is  a  sixteenmo 
brochure  of  100  pages,  dealing  with  the  Holy 
Father's  attitude  towards  the  Great  War  and 
his  utterances  thereon  during  the  past  three 
years.  It  is  a  thoroughly  interesting  as  well  as  a 
suggestive  little  work,  the-  orthodoxy  of  which  is 
guaranteed  by  the  imprimatur  of  Cardinal 
Amette,  Archbishop  of  Paris. 

— We  find  it  impossible  for  our  eye  to  read 
."The  Fragrant  Note  Book,"  by  C.  Arthur  Coan, 
with  a  frontispiece  and  decorations,  by  C. 
Challenor  Coan.  The  reason  is  that  the  decora- 
tions run  through  the  text,  or  rather  they  stand 
out  through  the  printed  words  like  an  all  too 
obtrusive  watermark  in  the  paper.  This  device 
closes  the  book  to  us,  and  we  should  fear 
to  risk  a  child's  eyes  reading  it.  Apart  from 
this,  the  price  of  the  volume  seems  exorbitant. 
G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons. 

—The  Dublin  Review  for  April  makes  its 
appeal  to  American  interest  in  the  leading 
article,  "My  Memories,"  by  Cardinal  Gibbons. 
There  is  no  other  American  contributor,  unless 
residence  gives  that  title  to  Mr.  Shane  Leslie. 
For  many  readers  the  most  important  writing 
in  this  number  will  be  the  authoritative  review 
of  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  volumes  of 
"The  Cambridge  History  of  English  Litera- 
ture." In  all  points  where  Catholic  writers  are 


concerned,  the  work  is  shown  to  be  both  in- 
accurate and  unfair.  On  the  evidence  of  this 
review,  it  seems  impossible  to  withhold  the 
verdict  that  Mr.  George  Saintsbury,  the  editor, 
is  a  bigot;  and  the  Cambridge  University 
Press  shourd  be  accorded  by  Catholic  papers  all 
the  free  advertising  it  can  possibly  desire  as 
ministering  to  stupidity  and  prejudice. 

— A  correspondent  of  the  London  Times 
Literary  Supplement  furnishes  the  following 
interesting  parallelism: 

And  this  our  life  exempt  from  public  haunt, 

Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 

Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything. 

—As  You  Like  It,  Act  II..  Sc.  i. 

IJxperto  crede;  aliquid  amplius  in  silvis  invenies  qtiam  in 
libris.  Ligna  et  lapides  docebunt  te  quod  a  magistris  audire 
non  possis. — Ep.,  cvi.  "Ad  Magislrum  Henricum  Murdach." 
S.  Bernardi  Op.,  Paris,  1719,  Vol.  I.,  p.  no. 

— "Household  Organization  for  War  Service," 
by  Thetta  Quay  Franks  (G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons), 
is  a  slender  twelvemo  of  90  pages.  Its  justifi- 
cation is  found  in  President  Wilson's  statement 
that  "Every  housewife  who  practises  strict 
economy  puts  herself  in  the  ranks  of  those  who 
serve  the  nation."  We  think  well  of  the  little 
work,  and  especially  commend  such  sentences 
as  "The  stigma  upon  domestic  service  is  a  relic 
of  slavery,"  and  "Happy  the  State  whose  women 
accept  their  great  privilege  of  home-making  and 
motherhood  as  a  career  of  dignity  and  honor, 
to  which  they  bend  their  keenest  intelligence." 
That  is  excellent  philosophy  for  any  period, 
war  time  or  peace  years. 

— "Life  of  *  the  Venerable  Louise  de 
Marillac,  Foundress  of  the  Company  of  Sisters 
of  Charity  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,"  by  Alice 
Lady  Lovat,  with  a  preface  by  Father  Bernard 
Vaughan,  S.  J.  (Longmans,  Green  &  Co.),  is 
an  octavo  volume  of  five  hundred  pages,  which 
tells  a  story  that  can  not  fail  to  interest  and 
charm  any  reader  who  has  a  kindly  feeling—- 
and who  has  not? — for  the  typical  religious 
woman  of  the  Church,  the  world-renowned 
Sister  of  Charity..  Although  more  than  one 
Life  of  the  Venerable  Louise  de  Marillac  has 
appeared  in  French,  that  by  Mgr.  Baunard 
(1897)  being  an  exceptionally  valuable  one, 
this  is  the  first  to  be  written  in  the  English 
language.  It  is  all  the  more  authoritative  and 
interesting  because  of  the  author's  availing 
herself  largely  of  the  French  works  of  her 
predecessors.  The  story  is  a  somewhat  detailed 
account  of  the  Venerable  Louise's  career  from 
her  birth  in  1591  to  her  death  in  1660.  As  wife, 
mother,  catechist,  simple  religious,  and  superior- 


736 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


ess,  she  was  an  eminent  example  of  all  that 
Catholic  holiness  implies;  and  her  relations  with 
St.  Vincent  de  Paul  furnish  the  reader  with  a 
continuous  lesson  in  humility,  common-sense, 
and  entire  reliance  on  the  providence  of  God. 
The  volume's  worth  is  not  a  little  enhanced  by 
its  preface.  Father  Vaughaii  writes  most 
appreciatively  of  a  community  that  he  has 
known  and  loved  for  long  years. 

— Since  the  publication  of  the  Papal  Decree 
Quam  singulari  Christi  amore  (1910),  by  which 
Pius  X.  invited  the  children  of  the  Catholic 
world  to  an  earlier  approach  to  the  Kucharistic 
Banquet  than  had  hitherto  been  customary,  the 
oldtime  First  Communion  has  necessarily  lost 
much  of  the  exterior  pomp  witli  which  it  used 
to  be  surrounded.  In  France,  and  possibly 
elsewhere  as  well,  there  has  been  installed  in 
its  stead  a  Solemn  Communion,  preceded  by 
special  instructions  given  to  the  children  who 
are  to  receive  in  a  body,  although  they  have 
been  going  to  Communion  privately  for  some 
time  before.  Canon  Jean  Vaudon  has  written, 
and  Pierre  Tequi  (Paris)  has  published  in 
brochure  form,  "Retraites  de  Communion 
Solennelle,"  a  series  of  instructions  for  such 
occasions.  They  are  admirably  adapted  for 
their  purpose,  and  might  well  be  translated  into 
English  by  some  of  our  devout  litterateurs. 
Both  children  and  priests  would  find  them  of 
genuine  interest. 


The  Latest  Books. 
A  Guide  to  Good  Reading. 


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"Life    of    the   Venerable    Louise    de    Marillac." 

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Obituary. 


Remember  them  thai  are  in  bands. — HUB.,  xiii,  3. 

Rev.  John  Morgan,  of  the  archdiocese  of, 
New  York;  Rev.  John  Bausch,  diocese  of 
Altoona;  Rev.  Edward  Murphy,  diocese  of 
Hartford;  Rev.  Thomas  Rafter,  diocese  of  Grand 
Rapids;  Rev.  Francis  McKenny,  S.  S. ;  and  Rev. 
Francis  Adams,  S.  J. 

Sister  M.  Inesita,  Sister  M.  William,  and  Sister 
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Sister  M.  Seraphin,  Sisters  of  the  Holy  Cross. 

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Weaver,  and  Mr.  Herman  Wilkens. 

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

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HENCEFORTH   ALL  GENERATIONS   SHALL  CALL   ME   BLESSED.      ST.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JUNE  16,  1917. 


NO.  24 


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


Defence. 


BY    S.   M.   M. 


^t^OD    grant  -that  heaven's  defender  grow   not 

mild! 

Upon  a  time  he  found   a  guardsman   sleeping, 
Sheathed  sword  and  idle  armor  vigil  keeping. 

"Angel,"  he  spake,   "thy  honor  is  defiled!" 

The  awakened  spirit  answered:    "vSce,  a  child 
I  keep,   who  keepeth   me.     With   weeping 
The  night  is  sown,  he  of  it  joy  is  reaping.'" 

'"Tis  well,"  the  stern  Archangel  said  and  smiled. 

The  world  and   I  have  eaten  bread  of  sorrow, 
The  world  and  I  have  drunk  to  death  of  sin; 

Great   Michael,   let  our  guardian  spirits  borrow 
Thy  naked  sword,  O  heaven's  paladin! 

Defend  our  leaguered  gates,  that  on  the  morrow 
The   King  of  Hosts  may  fitly  enter  in. 


Sargent's  Murals  in  the  Boston  Library. 


BY    MARIAN    M.   SANDS. 


HE  mural  decorations  in  the 
Boston  Public  Library,  es- 
pecially those  by  Mr.  John 
Singer  Sargent,  are  so  familiar 
to  many  of  us  that  we  perhaps  fail  to  give 
a  second  thought  to  the  deeper  significance 
of  these  wonderful  paintings.  But,  now 
that  the  latest  additions  are  open  to  the 
public,  it.  may  not  be  inappropriate  to 
glance  back  at  the  entire  series  and  to 
reawaken  our  flagging  interest  in  these 
powerful  pictures.  • 

Nearly  thirty  years  ago  the  trustees  of 
the    Library    commissioned    Mr.  Sargent, 


then  a  brilliant  young  portrait  painter 
rising  to  international  fame,  to  decorate 
both  ends  of  the  gallery  on  the  third  floor, 
which  has  since  been  given  the  name  of 
Sargent  Hall.  He  chose  as  his  subject  the 
Development  of  Religion  from  earliest 
times  to  the  Christian  Era.  Perhaps  he 
realized  only  partly  the  magnitude  of  the 
task  he  had  set  himself;  for,  instead  of 
merely  decorating  both  ends  of  the  Hall, 
he  has  had  to  enlarge  the  original  scheme, 
adding  lunettes,  ceilings,  and  panels,  until 
at  present  there  is  a  series  of  paintings 
extending  around  the  room. 

The  first  of  the  series  were  completed  in 
1895,  to  be  followed  in  1903  by  the  Dogma 
of  the  Redemption;  and  finally,  last 
December,  four  days  .  before  Christmas, 
the  public  were  invited  to  view  the  latest 
additions:  the  Story  of  the  Madonna, 
wrhich  all  but  completes  one  of  the  greatest 
artistic  achievements  of  modern  times, 
and  which  will  cause  Sargent's  name  to 
go  down  to  posterity  as  one  of  the  great- 
est muralists  of  his  day,  rivalling  the  old 
Masters  in  the  importance  of  his  message 
and  the  skill  with  which  it  is  delivered. 
vSargent  Hall  has  recently  been  called  the 
Sistine  Chapel  of  the  United  States, 
and  the  artist  himself  likened  to  Michel- 
angelo for  his  forceful  presentation  of  the 
great  lesson  he  desired  to  teach. 

Mr.  Sargent  starts  his  history  with  the 
earliest  infancy  of  religion  in  its  crudest 
form:,  the  pagan  polytheism  of  the  ancient 
nations  represented  by  the  deities  of  Egypt 
and  Assyria.  The  background  of  the  ceiling 
is  formed  by  the  colossal  figure  of  the 
Goddess  Neith,  the  cartel-mother,  all 


738 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


embracing,  who  stretches  her  vast  form 
from  cornice  to  cornice  of  the  vaulted  roof. 
On  her  breast  are  the  signs  of  the  zodiac, 
from  the  lower  rim  of  which  the  sun  sends 
down  its  rays  upon  the  earth,  each  ray 
ending  in  a  golden  hand  holding  the  seed 
of  life.  Above  her  head  is  the  full  moon; 
around  her  neck  is  coiled  a  serpent, 
which  the  archer  Thammuz,  defender  of 
the  seasons  and  beloved  of  Astarte,  is 
endeavoring  to  slay,  only  to  be  crushed 
himself  in  its  silvery  coils, — typifying  the 
change  of  seasons  which  Mother  Earth 
controls,  and  which  in  the  Spring  will  see 
the  archer  once  more  attempting  his 
endless  task.  On  either  side  of  Neith  are 
Astarte,  the  moon  goddess,  and  Moloch, 
god  of  the  sun.  Astarte,  beautiful  in  a 
sensuous,  material  way,  is  clothed  in  rich 
Egyptian  garments  and  enfolded  in  a 
misty  veil,  which  seeks  to  give  her  a  more 
ethereal  look.  Moloch,  with  his  horned 
head  reaching  to  the  sun,  crushing  his 
victims  in  his  huge  hands,  is  a  grotesque, 
horrible  figure,  typical  of  the  age  when 
animals  were  adored  as  gods.  At  his  feet 
are  the  figures  of  Isis,  Osiris,  and  Horus, 
characters  familiar  in  mythology;  and 
before  them  lies  a  mummy,  completing 
the  picture  of  this  particular  form  of 
belief. 

Below  these,  in  the  lunette,  are  repre- 
sented the  Egyptian  and  Assyrian  civi- 
lizations,— their  kings  erect  before  their 
gods,  their  victims  at  their  feet;  between 
them  the  kneeling  forms  of  the  captive 
Jews,  arms  upraised  in  supplication  to 
Jehovah  to  establish  order  out  of  this 
chaos,  and  to  lead  them  back  to  their  own 
land.  Back  of  them  burn  the  fires  of  the 
clean  sacrifice  to  the  One  God;  while  the 
winged  Goddess  Pasht  seeks  to  shut  out 
the  Seraphim  who  are  endeavoring  to 
restore  peace.  To  show  the  strife  between 
the  old  order  and  the  new  law  struggling 
to  make  itself  felt,  the  painting,  at  first 
glance,  presents  a  scene  of  wildest  con- 
fusion: Egyptian  and  Assyrian  deities 
crowding  against  each  other,  standing  in 
each  other's  way,  and  trampling  their 


victims  under  foot.  In  the  foreground  the 
colossal  forms  of  the  Pharaoh  and  the 
Assyrian  king  stand  out,  their  weapons 
raised  ready  to  strike;  but,  thrown  into 
strong  relief,  are  the  figures  of  the  kneeling 
Hebrews,  who  by  their  very  simplicity 
are  brought  into  prominence.  The  con- 
trast between  the  nude  beauty  of  the  sup- 
pliant Jews  and  the  huge  forms  of  the 
kings  suggests  the  essential  difference  in 
their  faith,  and  points  to  the  pure  doctrine 
of  the  existence  of  Jehovah,  the  one  true 
God.  On  the  gilded  beam  between  ceiling 
and  wall  are  these  words  taken  from 
Psalm  cv,  21-45: 

"They  forgot  their  Saviour,  who  had 
done  great  things  in  Egypt.  And  they 
served .  .  .  idols,  which  were  a  snare  unto 
them.  Yea,  they  sacrificed  their  sons  and 
their  daughters  unto  devils,  and  shed 
innocent  blood,  even  the  blood  of  their 
sons  and  their  daughters,  .  .  .  unto  the 
idols  of  Canaan.  .  .  .  Therefore  was  the 
wrath  of  the  I/ord  kindled  against  His 
people.  .  .  .  And  He  gave  them  into  the 
hand  "of  the  heathen,  and  they  that  hated 
them  ruled  over  them.  Their  enemies  also 
oppressed  them,  and  they  were  brought  into 
subjection  under  their  hand.  Nevertheless, 
He  regarded  their  affliction  when  He 
heard  their  cry,  and  He  remembered  for 
them  His  covenant." 

Fitting  words,  by  which  we  are  led  to 
the  frieze  of  the  Prophets,  among  them 
Moses,  an  heroic  figure,  holding  the  Tables 
of  the  Law.  In  the  calm  repose  and  dig- 
nity of  these  figures,  the  hopeful  look  in 
Haggai's  eyes,  his  gesture  of  rejoicing  at 
the  coming  of  the  Messiah  whose  advent 
he  has  foretold,  the  meditation  of  Jeremiah, 
the  striking  attitudes  of  them  all,  we  are 
taught  the  Jewish  conception  of  the  Unity 
of  God,  not  perfect  yet,  for  the  Redeemer 
is  still  to  come;  but  in  its  peaceful  har- 
mony a  forerunner  of  the  future  perfection 
of  the  true  Faith. 

The  culminating  point  of  this  first  half 
of  the  series  is  the  figure  of  Christ  cruci- 
fied, rightly  the  central  point  between  the 
Old  Dispensation  and  the  New.  In  this 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


739 


painting  Sargent  has  abandoned  the  Egyp- 
tian and  Assyrian  style,  so  marvellously 
carried  out  in  depicting  the  pagan  civili- 
zations, and  uses  instead  the  Byzantine 
method  of  the  early  Church,  thereby  draw- 
ing attention  to  the  influence  of  Chris- 
tianity even  in  the  field  of  Art.  The  beauty 
of  the  picture  is  very  great.  Above  are 
seated  three  figures  in  priestly  robes, 
representing  the  Triune  God;  against  the 
centre  figure  rests  the  cross  with  its  divine 
Burden,  whose  Precious  Blood  is  being 
received  in  chalices  from  either  hand  by 
Adam  and  Eve.  Below  is  a  frieze  of  the 
Angels  of  the  Passion,  two  of  them  sup- 
porting the .  foot  of  the  cross,  on  which 
is  pictured  the  symbolic  pelican  feeding 
her  young  with  her  own  blood;  the 
others  bearing  the  instruments  of  the 
Passion. 

The  angels  are  very  beautiful  in  their 
reverent  dignity,  marking  at  once,  by  the 
spirituality  expressed  in  their  faces  and 
attitudes,  the  contrast  to  the  coarseness  of 
the  heathen  gods  and  goddesses.  It  is  Sar- 
gent's first  opportunity  to  point  out  the 
Christian  symbolic  meaning  of  his  paint- 
ings, and  he  seems  to  grasp  it  with  eager- 
ness. The  forms  of  Adam  and  Eve  held 
swathed  to  the  figure  of  Christ  crucified, 
receiving  His  Precious  Blood  in  upheld 
chalices,  teach  us  the  lesson  of  atonement, 
which  their  fall  had  made  necessary, 
and  to  accomplish  which  God  willed  to 
descend  from  His  heavenly  throne.  But 
in  portraying  this  doctrine,  Sargent  sees 
the  larger  view,  and  presents  it  to  us  in 
the  Triumph  of  Religion, — our  triumph, 
by  which  we,  in  the  form  of  our  first 
parents,  are  reclaimed  from  the  bondage 
of  sin  and  restored  to  our  rightful  position 
as  children  of  God. 

This  beautiful  painting,  called  the  Dogma 
of  Redemption,  forms  the  connecting  link 
between  the  old  and  the  new  order;  and 
from  it  we  are  led  to  contemplate  the 
completion  of  Redemption  and  the  triumph 
of  Christianity.  Sargent  knew  that,  in 
order  to  show  this  triumph  in  all  truth,  he 
had  to  center  his  story  in  the  Blessed 


Mother  of  God,  without  whom  the  redeem- 
ing of  man  could  not  have  been  accom- 
plished. So  well  does  he  grasp  this  fact 
that  the  latest  paintings  in  great  part 
relate  entirely  to  her,  telling  the  story  of 
her  holy  life  from  the  moment  of  the 
Angel's  announcement  and  her  ready 
response  to  the  divine  call,  to  the  last 
culminating  act,  her  crowning  in  heaven. 
It  is  a  significant  fact  that  Boston 
has  chosen  to  place  these  murals  in  her 
Library,  one  of  the  most  important  in  the 
country.  New  England  was  known  in 
olden  times  as  the  hotbed  of  Puritanism 
and  all  anti-Catholic  feeling,  where  the 
Mother  of  God  was  unknown  and  unloved. 
It  seems  fitting,  therefore,  that  now  at 
last  she  should  be  enthroned  in  honor  in 
this  very  spot,  to  receive  from  all  the 
homage  which  is  her  due  as  Patroness  of 
our  country. 

In  this  second  half  of  the  Hall  the  ceiling 
is  composed  of  the  five  Glorious  Mysteries. 
The  panels  represent  the  Ancilla  Domini 
and  Our  Lady  of  Sorrows,  each  crowned 
respectively  by  the  grouped  Joyful  and 
Sorrowful  Mysteries.  The  lunettes  depict 
the  Return  to  Eden,  or  the  Messianic  Era; 
Law,  the  veiled  figure  of  Jehovah,  on  whose 
majesty  no  mortal  gaze  may  rest,  teaching 
young  Israel  the  beginnings  of  the  New 
Law;  the  overthrow  of  law  and  order, 
or  Gog  and  Magog;  the  Last  Judgment, 
where  good  and  bad  are  weighed  impar- 
tially in  the  scales  of  God;  Heaven  and 
the  Blessed  playing  on  musical  instruments; 
Hell,  a  hideous  monster  devouring  the 
lost,  —  all  subjects  entirely  familiar  to 
Catholics. 

The  handling  of  this  very  difficult  theme 
gives  testimony  of  the  long  and  careful 
study  Mr.  Sargent  has  given  to  it;  for 
the  treatment  is  perfect  down  to  the 
least  details  and  accessories.  His  symbolism 
is  deep  and  beautiful,  the  contrast  between 
the  Old  and  the  New  Law  striking,  and  the 
reverence  with  which  sacred  matters  are 
treated  could  not  be  bettered.  Let  us 
compare,  for  instance,  two  prominent 
figures  at  either  end  of  the  Hall.  Among 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


.'H  pagan  deities,  Astarte  attracts  our 
Lilention;  the  goddess  of  the  moon,  the 
female  counterpart  of  Baal  or  Moloch,  with 
r.11  that  this  means  of  grossness.  She  is 
'  .  -.utiful  in  her  way,  but  it  is  a  repellent, 
sx-r,suous,  material  beauty,  symbolizing 
c:i'y  too  well  the  cult  that  is  hers.  She  is 
si;  nding  on  a  crescent  moon  with  a  cobra 
ceiled  at  her  feet,  and  is  surrounded  by 
her  priestesses,  dimly  seen  at  their  rites. 
71  -e  whole  is  a  true  portrayal,  as  it  is  meant 
l/»  be,  of  the  spirit  of  those  early  times, 
Y,  i  th  all  its  coarseness  and  immorality. 
But  at  the  other  end  of  the  Hall  we  find 
>ther  vvoman  represented;  not  a  god- 
•:•.  ss,  but  the  Mother  of  God;  with  the 
noon  under  her  feet,  but  rising  above 
it,  to  typify  her  supremacy,  as  Queen  of 
( !  c  Heavens,  over  all  things  earthly  and 
r  u  table.  Clasping  to  her  heart  the  seven- 
ft  Id  sword  of  her  agony,  her  beautiful  face, 
with  its  suffering  mother-look,  gazes  down 
tit  us;  seeming  to  tell  us  that,  just  as  she 
j;ood  beneath  the  cross  of  her  Son,  so  will 
K'  stand  by  us  and  support  us  in  our 
1  our  of  trial,  if  we  will  but  follow  Him. 
And  again  another  contrasting  picture  is 
•  liown  to  us:  the  Ancilla  Domini,  the 
lovely  little  Handmaid  of  the  Lord,  rising 
In  response  to  the  divine  call  heard  in  her 
soul;  her  Child  held  clasped  in  her  mantle, 
His  little  hand  raised  in  blessing  even  in 
His  sleep,  —  typifying  so  wonderfully  the 
Virgin  Mother,  humble,  obedient,  ready  to 
take  her  part,  whatever  it  may  be,  in  the 
mighty  work  of  her  Son.  Her  deep,  grave 
gaze  seems  to  penetrate  into  the  future 
and  to  see  all  that  it  will  mean  to  the  Child 
in  her  arms  and  to  her.  She  is  'pondering 
these  things  in  her  heart,'  and  faces  calmly 
and  willingly  the  suffering  which  she  knows 
is  to  fall  to  her  lot. 

The  fifteen  Mysteries  of  the  Rosary, 
the  chaplet  with  which  her  children  de- 
light to  crown  their  Blessed  Mother,  are 
beautifully  pictured  in  their  groups  of  five. 
The  Joyful,  centering  in  the  mystery  of 
the  Annunciation,  form  part  of  the  ceiling 
above  the  Ancilla  Domini,  and  seem  to 
belong  to  her  and  to  be  relating  the  his- 


tory of  that  holy  life;  just  as  the  Sorrow- 
ful Mysteries  above  Our  Lady  of  Sorrows 
appear  to  be  reminding  us  of  every  step 
of  the  dolorous  journey  she  and  her  Divine 
vSon  trod  for  our  sakes.  Here  again  Sargent 
makes  use  of  symbolism  in  the  figures  of 
the  first  and  second  Eve  in  the  Joyful, 
and  the  first  and  second  Adam  in  the 
Sorrowful  Mysteries.  The  first  Eve  is  in 
the  act  of  reaching  up  her  hand  to  grasp 
the  forbidden  fruit;  the  first  Adam, 
crouching  in  the  exhaustion  of  his  first 
attempt  at  labor.  The  second  Eve,  how- 
ever, the  Mother  of  God  and  of  Mercy, 
sits  with  hands  extended  in  blessing,  the 
Gifts  of  the  Holy  Ghost  on  her  breast 
ready  to  be  dispensed  to  her  children; 
and  the  second  Adam,  the  Good  Shepherd, 
is  returning  from  His  arduous  search,  with 
the  lost  lamb  on  His  shoulders.  At  the 
head  of  each  group,  legends  bear  the 
names  of  the  Evangelists  with  their 
characteristic  symbols:  Saint  John  and 
Saint  Mark,  historians  of  the  Passion; 
vSaint  Luke  and  Saint  Matthew,  of  the 
joyful  episodes  of  Our  Lord's  life. 

The  Glorious  Mysteries,  surrounding 
the  crowning  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in 
heaven  as  their  central  point,  very  fittingly 
form  the  ceiling  of  this  part  of  the  Hall. 
Perhaps  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the 
pictures  is  this  central  medallion.  The 
Blessed  Mother  is  presented  to  us  in  all 
her  youthful  beauty  and  freshness.  The 
lines  of  care,  of  suffering  and  of  age  have 
disappeared  from  her  face,  and  she  is  once 
more  the  maiden,  kneeling  to  receive  her 
reward  from  the  hands  of  her  Divine  Son 
and  His  Heavenly  Father. 

Very  beautiful  in  its  symbolism  is  Sar- 
gent's picturing  of  the  Holy  Trinity.  The 
Father  and  Son  are  seated  in  equal  glory, 
and  the  Holy  Ghost  in  the  shape  of  a  dove 
rests  between  them,  the  tips  of  its  ex- 
tended wings  touching  the  lips  of  each 
Divine  Person.  It  is  a  striking  and  lovely 
illustration  of  the  Catholic  doctrine  which 
teaches  us  to  believe  in  "the  Holy 
Ghost,  the  Lord  and  Giver  of  Life,  who 
proceedeth  from  the  Father  and  the  Son, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


741 


who  together  with  the  Father  and  the  Son 
is  adored  and  glorified." 

Sargent  is  singularly  successful  in  por- 
traying the  Blessed  Mother,  and  in  giving 
her  the  spiritual  expression  without  which 
she  is  lost  to  us;  and  in  these  paintings, 
which  so  markedly  center  around  her, 
the  change  from  the  young  maiden  to  the 
sorrowing  mother,  and  finally  to  the  old 
woman  awaiting  her  release,  is  so  beau- 
tifully pictured  that  it  carries  one  on, 
without  the  need  of  words,  through  the 
whole  history  of  her  life  to  its  final  crown- 
ing triumph. 

Of  course  to  a  great  many  who  willx 
see  these  paintings  they  will  appear  as 
incomprehensible  and  involved  as  the  ear- 
lier ones ;  indeed,  this  criticism  has  already 
been  made  by  those  who  do  not  under- 
stand. They  are  not,  however,  incompre- 
hensible to  all.  These  are  the  words  with 
which  one  critic  expresses  himself:  "Those 
who  go  to  scoff  may  remain  to  pray;  for 
these  wall  decorations  are  masterly  in 
their  way,  and  are  unsurpassed  by  any 
modern  works  in  the  world,"* — a  remark-, 
ably  significant  expression  of  opinion  from 
the  world  at  large  of  the  impression 
conveyed  by  this  exquisite  picturing  of 
Catholic  doctrine.  We  who  understand 
have  the  key  and  can  read  the  history 
placed  before  us,  with  its  richness  of 
symbolism  and  its  deep  underlying  truths. 
What  is  more,  we  can  follow,  with  a  keener 
insight  even  than  that  of  the  artist,  the 
gradual  development  and  enlightenment 
of  the  world,  until  it  was  given  to  man  to 
realize  the  whole  extent  of  the  wisdom, 
power  and  goodness  of  God,  and  of  His 
mercy  in  leaving  us  His  Church  to  guide 
our  faltering  footsteps. 

Little  need  be  said  of  the  execution  of 
these  murals:  the  art  of  John  Singer 
Sargent  is  too  great  for  casual  criticism. 
His  international  reputation  is  based,  as 
everyone  knows,  on  his  success  as  a  por- 
trait painter.  But  had  he  accomplished 
nothing  else  in  the  field  of  art,  his  work  in 
the  Boston  Public  Library  would  alone 

*  A  merican  A  rt  News. 


suffice  to  make  him  famous.  Born  in 
Florence  and  cradled  in  the  home  of  Fra 
Angelico,  Michelangelo  and  the  Delia 
Robbias,  it  is  perhaps  not  surprising  that 
he  should  be  gifted  with  so  deep  an  insight 
into  things  spiritual,  and  should  have  so 
profound  a  knowledge  of  the  teachings 
of  the  Church,  to  whose  family  he  has  not 
the  happiness  of  belonging.  He  is  called 
the  Master-Craftsman,  and  in  these  dec- 
orations he  proves  his  right  to  the  title. 
It  was  not  an  easy  task  to  change  from  the 
crass  barbarism  of  ancient  days  to  the 
refinement  of  method  necessary  in  the 
picturing  of  Our  Lord  and  of  His  Mother. 
Yet  the  balance  between  the  two  epochs 
is  perfectly  preserved,  and  that  by  the 
ready  adoption  of  the  Byzantine  style 
in  the  Dogma  of  the  Redemption  which 
binds  together  the  two  halves  of  the 
history.  In  color  the  decorations  are 
eminently  handsome,  even  beautiful.  Mr. 
Sargent  has  made  use  of  his  customary 
richness,  not  to  say  riot,  of  color,  which 
contributes  its  share  in  the  telling  of  his 
story. 

It  is  a  wonderful  work,  and  one  of  which 
Catholics  may  well  be  proud.  The  choice 
of  the  subject  is  significant;  and,  placed 
as  they  are  on  the  walls  of  a  public  building, 
these  paintings  will  not  only  excite 
curiosity,  but,  in  their  beauty,  their 
symbolism,  and  their  more  than  earthly 
inspiration,  they  will  lead  thinking  men 
on  to  a  fuller  knowledge  of  Catholic  Truth, 
and  will  afford  for  all  time  convincing 
proof  of  the  beauty  and  priceless  worth 
of  the  True  Faith  of  Christ. 

IN  the  Catholic  Church  there  is  a  certain 
thing — what  I  call  a  quality — that  arrests 
every  open-eyed  man  who  scans  her. ...  It 
is  that  quality  that  preaches  louder  than 
any  preacher  in  any  pulpit.  .  .  .  Polemics, 
controversy,  special  pleading  would  simply 
bore  you,  and  set  all  your  opposition 
alert  on  guard.  But  that  quality  arresLs 
you;  and  because  it  is  a  fact,  patent  in 
itself,  it  impresses  you  more  than  any 
assertion  of  it  could. — John  Ayscough. 


742 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


XXXVII. — TREACHERY  AND  TRUST. 

TRAITOR'S  name  should  turn  to 
gall  on  the  tongue.  I  have  to  speak 
of  a  traitor  of  traitors,- — -a  man 
whom  Maximilian  took  into  his 
closest  confidence, — a  despicable  wretch, 
who  betrayed  his  true,  loyal  and  honest 
friend ;  a  great  coward  as  well  as  a  traitor- 
Miguel  Lopez.  A  cavalry  officer  in  the 
Mexican  army,  he  had  attracted  the 
Emperor's  attention  by  his  fine  face  and 
bearing.  He  was  given  the  governorship 
of  the  Castle  of  Chapultepec;  and,  being 
promoted  step  by  step,  was  finally  honored 
with  the  command  of  the  Empress' 
regiment, — the  most  valued  of  all  the 
commissions  in  the  service. 

To  this  traitor  Lopez  were  granted  many 
gifts  in  money  and  articles.  The  Emperor 
stood  godfather  to  one  of  his  children, 
and  he  was  gazetted  commander  of  the 
Imperial  Guard,  —  a  guard  created  for 
the  personal  protection  of  the  Emperor. 
Bazaine  decorated  him  with  the  Cross  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor,  and  at  the  opening 
of  the  siege  he  had  been  selected  as  the 
most  fitted  to  take  charge  of  the  key  to 
the  position — the  Convent  of  La  Cruz.  And 
this  was  the  man  who,  while  loud-mouthed 
in  his  demonstrations  of  loyalty  and  affec- 
tion, opened  negotiations  with  the  enemy, 
and  sold  his  friend  and  benefactor  to — 
death.  And  the  pitiful  price  of  the  foul 
dishonor  was  two  thousand  gold  ounces, 
and  a  guarantee  of  his  own  personal  safety ! 
I  have  had  the  satisfaction,  small 
though  it  may  be,  of  seeing  the  grass 
growing  on  the  steps  of  the  entrance  to 
the  mansion  purchased  by  this  Judas' 
gold;  and  of  hearing  one  of  Mexico's  best 
citizens  say,  as  he  pointed  out  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  bright  green  grass,  "Traitor! 
traitor!"  while  he  literally  spat  between 
the  bars  of  the  gates. 

The  name  of  Lopez  has  unfortunately 


to  be  coupled  with  that  of  Maximilian; 
but  it  is  as  the  serpent  and  the  lion,  the 
miscreant  and  the  man  of  honor. 

It  was  upon  the  morning  of  the  i4th 
that  Baron  Bergheim  informed  Arthur 
that  the  Emperor  wanted  to  see  him. 

"Hey!"  cried  the  Baron,  who  was 
smoking  his  beloved  china-bowled  pipe. 
"His  Majesty  has  had  a  bad  quarter  of  an 
hour.  Hey!  he  doesn't  believe  any  more 
in  his  Kismet.  He  seems  to  think  that 
the  black  shadow  is  descending  upon  him, 
and  the  air  a  cur  a  is  awaiting  him.  I 
have  done  my  best  to  rally  him,  but  he 
was  grave  and  preoccupied  and  silent.  I 
tell  you  all  this,  Bodkin,  to  prepare  you. 
Hey!  hey!" 

"Have  you  any  idea  of  what  he  wants 
of  me?" 

"Not  an  idea  in  the  world.  I  asked 
Prince  Salm-Salm,  and  he  couldn't  guess. 
Bodkin,  you  will  stand  by  the  Emperor 
whatever  it  may  be?" 

"To  death!"  was  the  solemn  answer. 

Arthur  Bodkin  found  the  Emperor  in  a 
small  room,  Prince  Salm-Salm  being  with 
him.  Maximilian  strode  forward  and  took 
our  hero's  hand.  This  was  very  unusual 
with  the  Emperor,  who  was  diffident  with 
his  nobles,  and,  though  scrupulously  cour- 
teous, always  distant  with  the  outer  set. 
Maximilian  was  a  man  with  whom  it  would 
be  simply  impossible  to  take  a  liberty. 

"Herr  Bodkin,"  he  '  said,  "you  have 
done  us — I  mean  my  wife  and  myself — 
brave  service,  and — 

"O  sire!"  burst  in  Arthur. 

"/  am  sensible  of  it,  and  shall  always 
be  so,  whether  my  stay  on  earth  be  long 
or  short, — but,"  he  added,  reverently, 
"that  lies  with  God  Almighty.  Now,  sir, 
I  want  a  service  done  me." 

"You  have  but  to  command,  sire,"  said 
Arthur. 

"It  is  not  from  you,  but  through  yon, — 
your  orderly — that  countryman  of  yours." 

"O'Flynn?" 

"  Yes.  I  want  to  use  him  in  a  dangerous 
and  difficult  service.  He  is,  I  feel  assured, 
devoted  to  you,  and  honest — " 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


743 


"  As  the  sun,  sire." 

"Just  as  I  imagined,  Herr  Bodkin.  I 
have  no  faith  in  the  idea  of  cutting  our 
way  out  of  Queretaro,  although  Prince 
vSalm-Salm  has." 

"It  can  be  done,  sire!"  exclaimed  the 
Prince. 

"Yes,  if  we  had  not  treachery  to  deal 
with.  Mendez  is  a  traitor,  and  there  are 
others  whom  I  suspect." 

"Name  them,  sire!"  cried  Salm-Salm; 
"and  leave  me  to  deal  with  them." 

"A  short  shrift,  Prince!"  laughed  the 
Emperor;  then,  turning  to  Bodkin,  went 
on:  "I  have  some  secret  dispatches  that 
I  want  to  send  to  Austria.  I  would  send 
them  by  your  countryman.  He  is  brave, 
faithful,  honest,  and  strong  as  a  lion. 
I  have  selected  him  because  he  has  proved 
himself  so  dependable.  May  I  use  him, 
Herr  Bodkin?" 

"Sire,  it  is  an  honor  he  never  could 
have  anticipated." 

"I  shall  want  you,  sir,  or  I  might  have 
asked  this  favor  of  you;  but  in  asking 
your  countryman  and  trusted  friend  I  feel 
that  I  have  chosen  the  right  man.  Will 
you  kindly  prime  and  load  him,"  laughed 
Maximilian,  "and  I  will  send  him  off?" 

Rody  looked  very  glum  when  Arthur 
informed  him  of  the  Emperor's  wishes. 

"And  I'll  have  for  to  lave  ye,  sir?"  he 
began,  dolefully. 

"Yes." 

"And  the  fightin'?" 

"Yes;  but  you  may  have  a  little  on 
your  own  account,  Rody." 

"  Masther  Arthur,  I  want  for  to  get  even 
wid  Mazazo.  Is  there  no  way  I  could  get 
at  that  afore  I  lave,  sir?" 

"I  don't  know  when  you  are  to  leave, 
Rody." 

"Well,  sir,  if  it's  all  the  same  to  his 
Highness,  I'd  rayther  let  it  stand  for  a 
while;  but  sure  I  must  obey  ordhers.  I 
wondher  if  I'll  see  Mary  afore  I  go  to 
furrin  parts?" 

"Who  knows?  If  the  Emperor  sends 
you  to  the  capital,  I  rather  imagine  that 
you  will  see  her." 


"Ye  may  dipind  on  that,  sire!"  said 
Rody,  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

It  was  very  late  when  Rody  returned 
after  his  interview  with  the  Emperor. 

"It's  all  up  wid  me,  Masther  Arthur!" 
he  groaned.  "I'll  have  for  to  lave  in  an 
hour,  no  less.  The  Baron — good  luck  to 
him  wherever  he  goes! — axed  me  in.  Sure 
enough,  there  was  the  Imperor  wid  the 
Prince  wid  the  double  knocker  of  a  name. 
'Rody,'  sez  he,  'I've  got  an  iligant  carac- 
ther  of  ye  from  Herr  Bodkin' — for  which 
I'm  thankful,  Masther  Arthur,  as  you 
know. — 'And/  sez  he,  'I  want  ye  for  to  do 
me, ' — laynin'  hard  on  the  word,  d'ye  mind, 
sir? — 'do  me  a  rale  good  turn,'  sez  he.  'I'll 
do  it,  yer  Royal  Majesty,'  says  I,  'wid  all 
the  cockles  of  me  heart.'  Thin  he  tould  me 
that  I  was  goin'  into  danger.  '  Bedad,  yer 
Royalty,'  sez  I,  'that's  where  the  O'Flynns 
comes  out  sthrong  intirely.'  And  I  riz  an 
iligant  laugh  out  of  him  and  the  Prince. 
Well,  Masther  Arthur,  he  thin  tould  me  he 
had  dispatches  for  me,  and  letters  that  I 
w,as  for  to  deliver  to  no  wan  else  but 
into  the  heel  of  the  fist  of  the  Imperor  of 
Austhria,  no  less ;  and  that  I  was  to  make 
me  way  to  the  coast,  and  get  out  to  say  as 
soon  as  I  could,  boat  or  no  boat;  and  to 
land  when  I  could,  land  or  no  land.  He 
said  that  all  the  money  I  wanted  was 
ready  for  me  in  goold.  And — and — • 
Masther  Arthur  dear,  I'm  goin'  to  part 
wid  you  in  an  hour." 

And  here  the  poor,  honest,  whole-hearted 
man — aye,  every  inch  of  him  a  man — 
burst  into  tears. 

XXXVIIL— BETRAYED. 

It  was  decided  that  the  sortie  should 
be  made  on  the  west  side  of  the  city, 
where  the  forces  of  General  Corona  were 
stationed;  and  orders  wrere  issued  by 
General  Castillo  to  the  various  command- 
ing officers  to  be  in  readiness.  No  fires 
were  allowed,  and  the  strictest  silence 
was  imperative.  The  men  were  ordered 
not  to  burden  themselves  with  anything 
not  absolutely  necessary,  as  the  forced 
march  was  to  be  made  through  the  rocky 


744 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


defiles  and  mountain  gorges  of  the  Sierra 
Gorda.  General  Mejia  had  armed  twelve 
hundred  citizens,  who  were  to  remain 
behind  for  the  protection  of  the  city, 
and  to  surrender  to  General  Escobedo,  at 
discretion,  twenty-four  hours  after  the 
evacuation. 

Having  arranged  for  every  contingency, 
the  Emperor .  retired  about  one  in  the 
morning;  Prince  Salm-Sahn  and  Arthur 
Bodkin  remaining  at  work  arranging  the 
Imperial  papers,  which,  when  sorted,  were 
placed  in  small  maguey  bags,  ready  to  be 
strapped  to  the  escort  saddles. 

Between  one  and  two  o'clock  the  traitor 
Lopez,  who,  Judas-like,  had  previously 
made  his  terms  for  betraying  his  master, 
silently  threaded  his  way  through  the 
dark  and  narrow  streets  to  the  quarters  of 
Escobedo.  He  silently  joined  hands  with 
Colonel  Garza,  commander  of  the  advance- 
guard  of  the  enemy,  who  led  him  to 
General  Veliz;  and  the  latter,  with 
Lopez,  repaired  to  the  room  of  Escobedo. 
After  an  interview  of  some  ten  minutes, 
Veliz  turned  over  his  command  to  Garza, 
ordering  him  to  follow  Lopez,  who  was 
officer  of  the  day.  Lopez  led  the  way  to  a 
break  in  the  wall  close  to  the  Church  of 
La  Cruz.  Veliz  remained  here,  ordering 
Garza  with  his  command  to  enter  the 
city  through  the  break, — Lopez  to  lead. 
The  command  passed  through;  and,  upon 
arriving  at  the  first  guard  of  the  Imperial 
forces,  Lopez  asked  the  officer  on  duty 
if  there  was  anything  new.  Receiving  a 
reply  in  the  negative,  he  ordered  the 
Imperial  guard  to  march  to  a  distant 
portion  of  the  city,  posting  Garza's  in  its 
stead.  Lopez,  with  an  increased  guard, 
marched  from  post  to  post,  replacing  the 
Imperialists  by  Liberals;  and,  being  officer 
of  the  day,  his  orders  were  instantly  and 
implicitly  obeyed. 

As  lights  were  forbidden,  Prince  vSalm- 
Salm  and  Bodkin  did  their  packing — the 
sorting  having  been  completed  early  in 
the  night — by  the  light  of  their  cigarettes, 
aided  by  an  occasional  match. 

"My  last  match!"  cried  the  Prince. 


"My  last  cigarette!"  said  Bodkin.  "One 
moment, — I'll  run  over  to  my  quarters 
for  a  fresh  package." 

"Good!" 

As  Arthur  was  crossing  the  narrow 
street  he  perceived  Lopez — for  it  was  now 
dawn, — and  heard  him  issue  an  order 
removing  the  guard.  At  the  end  of  the 
street  he  saw  a  regiment  stealthily  creep- 
ing, not  marching,  in  the  direction  of  the 
Casa  'Blanca.  Something  in  the  uniform 
of  the  regiment  struck  him,  and  he 
darted  swiftly  and  as  noiselessly  as  possi- 
ble down  an  alley,  which  enabled  him  to 
intercept  it. 

One  glance. 

"Betrayed!"  cried  Arthur,  as  he  rushed 
back  to  warn  the  Emperor;  yelling,  as  he 
ran,  at  the  top  of  his  lungs:  "To  arms! 
to  arms!  We  are  betrayed!"  Bounding 
up  the  stairs,  Arthur  rushed  into  the  room 
of  Don  Jose  Blasio,  the  Emperor's  secre- 
tary, crying:  "Up!  up!  The  enemy  is  in 
the  garden!"  Then  he  leaped  into  the 
apartment  where  Prince  Salm-Salm  was 
awaiting  him.  "We  are  betrayed  by 
Lopez!" 

"The  dog!"  cried  the  Prince,  as  he 
strode  in  to  the  Emperor. 

Just  then  General  Castillo,  Colonel 
Guzman  arid  Colonel  Pradillo  arrived, 
breathless. 

"The  enemy  has  occupied  the  convent, 
sire,"  hoarsely  panted  Pradillo.  *'He  has 
posted  a  number  of  guns  in  the  Plaza." 

The  Emperor  spoke  not,  but  calmly 
taking  up  two  revolvers,  handed  Pradillo 
one,  and,  retaining  the  other,  moved  to  the 
door,  followed  by  Pradillo  and  the  others. 
They  crossed  the  corridor  and  •  passed 
down  to  the  stairs,  at  the  bottom  of 
which  a  sentry  stood  at  "Present." 

"Let  them  pass!"  cried  Colonel  Rincon. 
"They  are  citizens." 

They  traversed  the  Plaza,  making  for  the 
quarters  of  the  Emperor's  Corps  d' Elite, 
the  Hussars — the  regiment  of  the  Empress. 
Here  they  were  met  by  an  armed  guard  of 
the  enemy,  who  ordered,  them  to  halt. 
Again  Colonel  Rincon  exclaimed: 


THE  4V E  MARIA 


745 


"Let  them  pass!    They  are  citizens." 

"Good  God!  was  that  Lopez  whom  I 
saw  with  the  enemy — a  prisoner?"  cried 
Maximilian. 

"It  was,  sire!"  cried  Arthur  Bodkin. 
"Not  a  prisoner,  but — 

"But  what,  sir?"  asked  the  Emperor, 
excitedly. 

"A  traitor,  sire." 

"Is  this  true?"  and  he  gazed  helplessly 
around  him. 

"I  saw  him  and  heard  him  removing 
our.  guard  not  ten  minutes  ago,  sire." 

At  this  moment  Lopez  rode  up;  and 
Arthur,  with  the  agility  of  a  panther, 
sprang  up  at  him,  dealing  him  a  terrible 
blow  in  the  face,  crying: 

' '  Traitor ! ' ' 

Half  a  dozen  of  the  staff  rushed  in  as 
Lopez  was  about  to  cut  Bodkin  down, 
compelling  the  latter  to  go  with  them  in 
the  direction  of  El  Cerro  de  las  Campanas. 
The  Emperor  absolutely  refused  to  mount 
his  horse,  as  the  others  were  on  foot.  At 
El  Cerro  they  found  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  of  their  men,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  Hussars  rode  up. 

"Where  is  Miramon?"  was  the  anxious 
cry  of  Maximilian. 

Dense  columns  of  infantry  surrounded 
the  position;  several  batteries  opened 
a  murderous  fire,  and  but  a  handful 
of  the  Imperialists  reached  the  top  of 
the  hill. 

Suddenly  the  bells  of  the  convent — 
bells  that  were  wont  to  ring  for  prayer — 
now  rang  out,  proclaiming  that  the 
treachery  of  Lopez  was  successful. 

Miramon,  for  whom  the  Emperor  still 
kept  calling,  awakened  by  the  bells,  rushed 
into  the  street,  among  troops  which  he 
mistook  for  his  own. 

"I  am  General  Miramon!"  he  cried. 
"Follow  me!  To  the  rescue  of  your 
Emperor!" 

A  shot  fired  at  him  lodged  a  ball  in  his 
check.  A  running  fight  ensued.  Miramon, 
fighting  like  a  lion,  sought  refuge  in  a 
house  the  door  of  which  was  open.  Here 
he  was  made  prisoner,  tied  down  and 


dragged  to.  the  Convent  of  the  Terrccitas. 
For  fully  half  an  hour  after  the  arrival  of 
the  Emperor  and  his  small  but  devoted 
force  at  El  Cerro  de  las  Campanas,  two 
batteries  played  upon  them  in  a  fearful 
cross-fire, — one  from  San  Gregorio,  the 
other  from  the  garita  of  San  Celaza. 
During  a  pause  in  the  hottest  of  the  fire, 
Maximilian  cried,  piteously: 

"O  Salm,  if  it  were  the  will  of  God,  how 
gladly  I  would  now  welcome  a  friendly 
shell!" 

Colonel  Gonzales  rode  up,  announcing 
that  Miramon  was  wounded  and  a  prisoner. 
The  Emperor,  stepping  aside  with  Castillo 
and  Mejia,  asked  if  it  were  possible  to 
break  through  the  lines  of  the  enemy. 
Mejia,  as  cool  as  if  on  parade,  deliberately 
lifted  his  field-glass  and  surveyed  the 
position. 

"Sire,"  he  answered,  "it  is  impossible. 
But  if  your  Majesty  orders,  we  will  try. 
I  am  ready  to  die  with  you." 

Maximilian  for  one  instant  swept  the 
position;  then,. clutching  Pradillo  by  the 
arm,  said: 

"I  must  decide  quickly,  in  order  to 
avoid  more  bloodshed.  Run  up  the  white 
flag." 

' '  Are  we'  not  to  make  one  stroke  for  life 
and  liberty,  Prince?"  demanded  Arthur 
of  Salm-Salm. 

"It  is  too  late,"  returned  the  other, 
pointing  to  the  flag  of  truce  now  floating 
from  the  fort  in  the  breeze  of  the  summer 
morn. 

A  messenger  was  sent  with  a  flag  of 
truce,  to  treat -for  terms  of  surrender.  A 
squadron  of  cavalry  came  up  at  a  gallop, 
and  the  Emperor  surrendered  to  General 
Echegary: 

"If  you  should  demand  a  life,"  said 
Maximilian,  "take  mine.  I  am  willing  to 
die,  if  you  require  it;  but  I  want  to  see 
General  Escobedo,  in  order  to  obtain  his 
promise  to  spare  the  life  of  my  officers." 

The  Emperor  and  his  officers,  being 
provided  with  horses,  and  surrounded  by 
a  strong  escort,  descended  the  hill  to 
Escobedo's  headquarters.  At  the  city  gate 


746 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


they  delivered  up  their  swords;  and,  after 
a  brief  interview  between  Maximilian 
and  Escobedo,  an  order  was  given  for  a 
return  to  El  Cerro.  On  their  arrival,  at 
Escobedo' s  request  they  entered  one  of  the 
tents,  accompanied  only  by  Salm-Salm, 
Bodkin,  and  Miraf erentes ;  and,  after  a  few 
minutes'  silence,  the  Emperor  proceeded 
to  make  three  requests :  that  if  more  blood 
must  be  shed,  it  might  be  only  his  own; 
that  all  who  had  served  in  the  Imperial 
army  should  be  spared;  and  that  all 
-persons  of  his  household,  who  wished, 
might  be  granted  safe  escort  to  the  coast 
to  sail  for  Europe.  Escobedo  could  answer 
for  nothing,  merely  stating  that  all  should 
be  treated  as  prisoners  of  war. 

Then  Escobedo  delivered  the  Emperor, 
Generals  Mejia  and  Castillo,  and  Prince 
Salm-Salm  into  the  hands  of  General 
Riva  Palacio,  who  conducted  them  to  the 
Convent  of  La  Cruz,  where  each  was 
assigned  a  room,  a  sentinel  at  each  door, 
and  a  double  guard  at  each  approach. 

And  at  the  moment  of  her  husband's 
capture,  the  unhappy  Empress,  who  was 
loaning  over  the  terrace  wall  at  Miramar 
and  gazing  into  the  blue  waters  of  the 
Gulf,  had  a  lucid  interval.  Staring  out 
across  sea  and  land,  Carlotta  suddenly 
exclaimed  in  heartrending  accents,  never 
to  be  forgotten  by  those  who  heard  them: 
"  They  will  kill  him!  I  know  the 
Mexicans." 

(To  be  continued.) 


The  Shrine  of  St.  Edmund,  King  and 
Martyr. 


BY    WALTER   J.  PIPER. 


The  Eucharist. 


BY    THE    REV.   E.  F.   GARESCHE,  S.  J. 

~\  SAW  a  desert  people  fed 

t,ach  morn  with  heaven-descended  bijead! 

Dear  God,  a  wonder  sweet  and  dread! 

Lovedst  Thou  these  Jews  than  us  more  clear? 

I  see  a  world-wide  altar, — there 
God's  body  lies,  His  people's  'fare. 
Oh,  sweet  and  dread  beyond  compare! 
Yon  was  the  show — the    Substance  here! 


HPHERE  is  little  doubt  that  the  first 
J-  among  the  monastic  foundations  of 
Suffolk  was  the  great  Benedictine  Abbey 
of  St.  Edmundsbury,  the  shrine  of  the 
Saxon  king  and  martyr,  St.  Edmund.  It 
was,  besides,  the  most  important  place  of 
pilgrimage  in  England.  The  story  of  this 
abbey  has  been  well  told  by  the  witty 
Jocelyn  of  Brakeland,  a  monk  of  this 
famous  house,  who  probably  took  his  name 
from  one  of  the  streets  of  this  quaint  old 
town, — possibly  the  one  in  which  he  was 
born.  For  'antiquarian  interest,  perhaps 
St.  Edmundsbury  is  unequalled  in  impor- 
tance by  any  other  town  in  East  Anglia. 
Especially  noteworthy  is  it  among  old 
English  towns  for  having  preserved  the 
imposing  remains  of  one  of  the  wealth- 
iest and  most  celebrated  of  English 
monasteries. 

Even  to-day,  to  the  Catholic  visitor 
who  gazes  upon  the  crumbling  remains  of 
this  ancient  temple  of  God,  it  is  certainly 
an  inspiration.  Thoughts  upon  thoughts 
will  crowd  upon  him, — thoughts  of  the 
piety  of  our  ancestors  who  conceived  the 
idea  of  so  stupendous  a  work,  to  the  honor 
and  glory  of  God  and  of  our  Blessed  Lady. 
Artistic  imagination,  aided  by  the  bene- 
factions of  our  forefathers,  could  do  this, 
it  is  true;  but  the  hewers  of  stone  and 
wood  and  the  drawers  of  water  were 
necessary  to  bring  the  work  to  perfection. 
Again,  how  painstaking,  too,  were  those 
old  workers!  In  this  county  no  stone 
was  procurable  for  building  purposes ;  and 
so,  first  of  all,  in  the  quarries  far  away— 
perhaps  beyond  the  seas — the  stone  had 
to  be  cut  and  shaped;  and  then  trans- 
ported by  water  to  this  far-away  inland 
town;  and  there  placed  one  upon  another 
until  this  stately  fane  was  complete. 

How  reverently,  then,  ought  we  to 
tread  the  courts  of  these  venerable  build- 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


747 


ings!  Tt  is  true,  God,  in  the  Sacrament 
of  His  Love,  does  not,  as  of  old,  dwell 
within  the  walls  of  these  once  consecrated 
temples;  nevertheless,  it  is  impossible 
not  to  feel  the  inspiration  of  the  ancient 
cathedral  and  the  ruined  abbey,  dese- 
crated as  both  may  be.  These  thoughts 
are  most  insistent  while  one  walks  through 
the  quiet  streets  of  a  sleepy  and  historic 
town  such  as  St.  Edmundsbury  in  Suffolk. 
Even  the  "Angel  Inn,"  facing  the  noble 
abbey  gate— an  inn  which  has  become 
world-famous  as  the  headquarters  of  Mr. 
Pickwick  during  those  eventful  days  when 
he  and  Sam  Waller  were  victimized  by 
that  artful  adventurer,  Alfred  Jingle,  and 
his  satellite,  job  Trotter — can  not  divert 
one's  thoughts  from  the  fact  that  it  was 
good  St.  Edmund  who  made  this  little 
Suffolk  town  what  it  was  even  down  to 
the  time  of  the  dissolution  of  the  religious 
houses — the  Glastonbury  of  East  Anglia. 
The  object  of  this  brief  sketch  of  the 
life  and  times  of  St.  Edmund  is  not  to 
reveal  fresh  data,  but  to  select  from  and 
co-ordinate  that  which  has  already  been 
gleaned,  in  the  hope  that  it  may  prove 
at  least  of  passing  interest  to  many, 
who  hitherto  have  read  but  little  of  this 
martyr-king. 

To  assist  us  to  appreciate  fully  the 
story  of  St.  Edmundsbury,  it  will  be  well 
to  say  a  few  words  about  the  conversion 
of  East  Anglia.  This  carries  us  back  to 
the  reign  of  King  Sigebert  in  A.  D.  632. 
He  it  was  who  appointed  Felix,  a  Bur- 
gundian  monk,  first  bishop  of  East  Anglia. 
This  saintly  prelate  established  his  See 
at  Dunwich,  on  the  Suffolk  coast,  and 
governed  it  seventeen  years — till  his  death, 
which  occurred  on  the  8th  of  March,  647. 
Such  progress  did  Christianity  make — a 
progress  greatly  stimulated  by  King  Anna 
and  his  four  sainted  daughters — that  in 
673  East  Anglia  was  divided  by  Archbishop 
Theodore  into  two  Sees,  the  second 
bishopric  being  established  at  North  Elm- 
ham,  in  Norfolk.  Owing  to  the  ravages 
of  the  Danes,  the  See  of  Dunwich  lapsed 
soon  after  the  year  850,  after  which  no 


record  of  the  East  Anglian  Bishops  is 
met  with  for  nearly  a"  hundred  years.  In 
1075  the  See  was  transferred  by  Bishop 
Herfast  from  Elmham  to  Thetford.  Soon 
after  this,  in  the  year  1094,  Herbert  de 
Lozinga,  last  Bishop  of  Thetford,  trans- 
lated it  to  Norwich,  and  founded  the  pres- 
ent cathedral  and  the  adjoining  Benedic- 
tine monastery. 

It  was  the  above-mentioned  King  Sige- 
bert who  built  the  first  Christian  church 
and  monastery  at  Boederic worth  (now 
St.  Edmundsbury),  and  dedicated  it  to 
our  Blessed  Lady.  Abbo,  a  learned  French 
monk,  states  that  the  town  took  its  name 
from  Boederic,  a  distinguished  Saxon, 
who  at  his  death  bequeathed  it  to  St. 
Edmund.  It  would,  of  course,  be  difficult 
to  say — with  all  the  myth  and  traditions 
which  have  been  handed  down  to  us  in 
the  generally  accepted  life-story  of  St. 
Edmund — how  much  is  true  and  how  much 
is  doubtful;  but  it  is  unquestionable  that 
St.  Edmundsbury  owes  its  early  celebrity 
and  its  prominence  in  history  to  the 
fame  of  this  saint,  whose  body  was 
always  considered  to  remain  incorrupt 
within  the  shrine  of  his  abbey  church, 
down  to  the  very  day  of  the  suppression 
of  this  religious  house. 

Traditionally,  King  Edmund  was  a 
native  of  Nuremberg ;  and  on  being  offered 
the  crown  of  East  Anglia,  he  landed  at 
Hunstanton,  on  the  north  coast  of  Norfolk. 
Here,  as  we  read,  "he  flung  himself  on 
his  knees  on  the  shore;  and  from  that 
spot  gushed  forth  five  springs  of  pure 
water,  which  circumstance  gave  his  name 
to  that  town  to  this  day."  This  part  is 
still  called  St.  Edmund's  Point.  Not  far 
from  here  stands  the  modern  Catholic 
church  which  is  under  his  patronage. 
We  next  hear  of  the  King  at  Attleborough, 
where  he  spent  some  time  in  preparing 
himself  for  his  kingly  dignity.  Here  he 
gave  himself  to  the  close  study  of  the 
Psalter.  A  very  ancient  copy  of  it  still 
exists  in  the  library  of  St.  James'  church 
at  St.  Edmundsbury,  and  is  considered  by 
competent  antiquarians  to  be  the  very 


748 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


book  used  by  St.  Edmund  at  that  period. 

There  is  told  another  interesting  story, 
which  occurred  somewhat  later,  and  is 
perhaps  the  most  extraordinary  of  all. 
We  read  that  "Lodbrog,  King  of  Denmark, 
being  very  fond  of  hawking,  was  one  day 
pursuing  his  favorite  sport  near  the  coast, 
when  his  hawk  and  its  prey  fell  into  the 
sea.  Anxious  to  save  the  bird,  he  got  into  a 
small  boat  which  happened  to  be  near. 
A  storm  arose  before  he  could  land,  and 
he  was  carried  by  the  waves  out  to  sea, 
and  up  to  the  mouth  of  the  Yare  as  far  as 
Reedham.  The  inhabitants  brought  the 
stranger  to  Edmund's  court,  then  at 
Caistor,  near  by.  The  king  received 
Lodbrog  kindly  and  treated  him  with  the 
respect  due  to  his  rank.  Lodbrog's  skill  at 
hawking  led  to  the  jealousy  of  Bern, 
Edmund's  falconer,  and  one  day  the  man 
took  an  opportunity  to  kill  him  and  bury 
his  body.  But  by  the  sagacity  of  a  grey- 
hound the  body  was  recovered,  and  the 
crime  brought  home  to  the  culprit,  who, 
as  a  punishment,  was  put  into  his  victim's 
boat  and  sent  adrift,  exposed  to  the  wind 
and  waves.  The  boat  was,  after  some 
time,  cast  upon  the  shores  of  Denmark  and 
recognized  as  the  one  in  which  Lodbrog 
had  been  lost.  Bern  was  questioned  by 
Inguar  and  Hubba,  the  sons  of  Lodbrog; 
and  he  told  the  story  that  their  father 
had  been  villainously  murdered  by  Ed- 
mund's authority." 

An  expedition  was  immediately  fitted 
out  by  Inguar  and  Hubba.  They  first  rav- 
aged the  Yorkshire  coasts,  and  after- 
wards landed  in  East  Anglia,  and  attacked 
the  king  in  his  court  at  Thetford.  Edmund 
collected  an  army  to  defend  his  kingdom 
and  people;  but,  after  an  engagement 
which  lasted  a  whole  day,  he  was  defeated 
and  pursued  to  Hoxne,  where  he  was 
taken  prisoner.  His  captors  offered  him 
his  life  if  he  would  abjure  the  Christian 
Faith,  but  this  he  refused  to  do;  and, 
proving  inflexible,  they  bound  him  to  a 
tree,  where  he  was  scourged,  shot  at  with 
arrows,  and  finally  beheaded, — his  head 
being  contemptuously  thrown  into  the 


thickest  part  of  a  wood.  This  scene  was 
witnessed  by  the  saintly  Bishop  Humbert, 
who,  immediately  after  Edmund's  death, 
himself  gained  the  martyr's  crown,  being 
hacked  to  pieces  by  the  order  of  Inguar. 

St.  Edmund's  martyrdom  is  commem- 
orated in  the  arms  of  St.  Edmundsbury, 
in  which  the  three  crowns  borne  by  the 
East  Anglian  kings  appear;  each  is  trans- 
fixed by  two  arrows,  crosswise.  It  may 
be  added  that  out  of  the  thirty-six  pre- 
Reforrhation  churches  in  Norfolk  and 
Suffolk  dedicated  to  St.  Edmund  —  and 
scores  of  other  churches  besides, — there 
is  scarcely  one  in  which  may  not  be  seen, 
either  in  sculpture,  carving,  or  painting, 
these  triple  crowns  and  arrows;  and 
frequently  the  wolf  is  shown  with  the 
head  of  the  saint  between  its  paws.  Even 
to  this 'day,  the  crest  of  the  corporation 
of  St.  Edmundsbury  is  the  wolf  and  St. 
Edmund's  head.  It  was,  in  fact,  the 
abbey's  seal  from  the  time  of  its  first 
foundation  down  to  the  destruction  of 
the  house. 

Having  slain  St.  Edmund  and  the 
Bishop,  the  Danes  retired;  and  the  East 
Angles,  prompted  by  the  affection  to 
their  late  sovereign,  assembled  to  pay  the 
last  honors  to  his  remains.  The  body 
was  soon  discovered  and  conveyed  to 
Hoxne;  but  the  head  could  nowhere  be 
found.  His  faithful  servants  then  divided 
themselves  into  parties  to  explore  the 
woods.  Here  some  of  them  got  separate 
from  their  companions,  and  began  to  cry 
out,  "Where  are  you?"  The  head  of  the 
saint  immediately  replied,  "Here!  Here! 
And  Lydgate  continues  to  tell  us  that  it- 

Never  ceased  of   al  that  longe  day 

So  for  to  cryc  tyl  they  cam  where  he  lave. 

Arriving  at  the  spot  whence  the  voice 
proceeded,  they  found  a  wolf  holding  tl 
head  between  its  forefeet.  The  woli 
abandoned  his  fierce  nature  and  followei 
them  until  the  head  was  placed  with  tht 
body;  he  then  retired  again  to  the  woods, 
and  was  seen  no  more.  The  head  and  bod] 
thus  brought  together  became  miraculously 
united,  so  that  the  mark  of  the  union 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


749 


could  scarcely  be  seen.  This  happened 
about  forty  days  after  the  death  of  the 
saint. 

After  this  his  sacred  relics  lay  unnoticed 
in  the  little  church  of  Hoxne;  later  on, 
they  were  placed  in  the  monastery  of  our 
Blessed  Lady.  But,  owing  to  some  care- 
lessness on  the  part  of  the  secular  canons 
of  this  house  regarding  the  shrine,  a  change 
was  made  by  Canute;  and  thirteen 
Benedictine  monks  from  St.  Benet's  Abbey, 
in  Norfolk,  were  installed  here  instead,  and 
half  the  goods  of  that  abbey  were  trans- 
ferred to  their  new  home.  These  monks 
took  great  care  of  the  shrine,  which  soon 
became  very  famous  through  the  mira- 
cles wrought  at  St.  Edmund's  intercession. 
Many  nobles  first  visited  it;  afterwards, 
as  many  as  thirty-five  reigning  sovereigns 
came  here  to  venerate  the  saint. 

It  was  about  the  year  1010  that,  owing 
to  the  Danish  incursions,  the  body  of  the 
saint  was  removed  to  London,  where  it 
remained  at  least  three  years.  This 
translation  was  carried  out  by  Aylwin, 
the  first  monk  of  St.  Mary's  Monastery, 
who  afterwards  became  Bishop  of  Elmham. 
During  this  journey  numerous  miracles  are 
spoken  of,  only  one  of  which  shall  be  no- 
ticed here.  At  Eadbright,  in  Essex,  where 
the  body  rested  for  a  night,  an  illumi- 
nation took  place,  and  lasted  the  whole 
night,  while  heavenly  voices  filled  the  air. 
The  body  was,  in  all,  removed  six  times, 
either  for  safety  or  to  a  more  splendid 
resting-place.  So  great  was  the  recognized 
sanctity  of  these  holy  relics  that  King 
Sweyn  is  said  to  have  been  punished 
by  death  because  he  required  St.  Edmund's 
people  to  pay  exorbitant  taxes.  Canute 
was  terrified  by  this  event;  and,  in  order 
to  expiate  his  father's  crimes,  and  propi- 
tiate the  outraged  saint,  he  at  once  took 
the  monastery  under  his  special  protection. 

About  the  year  1021  the  Bishop  of 
Elmham  laid  the  foundation  of  a  mag- 
nificent church,  the  expenses  of  which 
were  defrayed  by  a  voluntary  tax  which 
the  good  people  thereabout  imposed  on 
themselves,  and  by  the-  offerings  of  the 


pious  clients  of  St., Edmund  elsewhere.  In 
1032,  the  church  was  finished,  and  con- 
secrated by  Athel worth,  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury.  The  relics  of  the  royal 
martyrs  were  then  deposited  in  a  splendid 
shrine,  adorned  with  jewels,  precious 
stones  and  costly  ornaments.  Canute 
himself,  repairing  hither  to  perform  his 
devotions,  offered  his  golden  crown  at 
the  tomb  of  the  saint.  St.  Edward  the 
Confessor  granted  to  the  abbot  and  convent 
the  town  of  Mildenhall,  with  its  produce 
and  inhabitants,  and  many  villages  besides. 
He  likewise  conferred  the  privilege  of 
coining  at  a  mint  which  he  established 
within  the  precincts  of  the  abbey. 

We  can  not  do  better  than  give 
Iceland's  account  of  the  general  appearance 
of  this  religious  house  as  he  saw  it.  "A 
city"  (he  writes)  "more  neatly  seated, 
•  the  sun  never  saw,  so  curiously  does  it 
hang  upon  a  single  descent,  with  a  little 
river  on  its  east  side ;  nor  a  monastery  more 
noble,  whether  one  considers  its  endow- 
ments, magnitude,  or  its  magnificence. 
So  many  gates  it  has,  many  whereof  are  of 
bronze;  so  many  towers,  and  a  church 
than  which  nothing  could  scarcely  equal; 
as  appendages  to  which  there  were  three 
more  of  admirable  beauty  and  workman- 
ship, within  the  same  churchyard." 

The  abbey  church  was  505  feet  in  length, 
and  202  feet  across  the  transepts;  the  great 
west  front  measured  240  feet.  Here  stood 
two  side  chapels  of  large  size,  dedicated 
to  St.  Faith  and  St.  Catherine.  On  the 
northwest  and  southwest  stood  two  others 
surmounted  with  octagon  towers  richly 
sculptured.  The  height  of  these  was  over 
40  feet.  The  great  shrine  of  St.  Edmund 
was  preserved  in  a  semicircular  apse,  or 
chapel,  at  the  extreme  east  end;  and  on  the 
north  side  of  the  choir  was  the  chapel  of 
our  Blessed  Lady,  80  feet  long  and  40 
broad.  Another  chapel,  St.  Mary  at 
Cryptis,  was  100  feet  in  length,  So  in 
breadth,  and  supported  by  twenty-four 
pillars.  It  was  in  the  former  chapel  that  the 
ancient  and  miraculous  statue  of  Our  Lady 
presented  by  the  saintly  King  Sigebert 


750 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


found  a  permanent  niche  over  the  altar 
dedicated  in  her  honor.  There  was,  besides, 
the  great  central  tower  with  its  glorious 
lantern,  and  the  great  western  tower. 
It  is  conjectured  that  this  famous  church 
had  few,  if  any,  to  equal  it  in  England, 
except  Glastonbury  itself. 

The  head  of  this  illustrious  religious  house 
was  a  mitred  abbot.  As  such  he  enjoyed 
within  his  district  the  powers  and  priv- 
ileges of  a  bishop,  and  even  discharged 
some  episcopal  functions.  He  appointed 
the  parochial  clergy,  and  held  synods  in 
his  own  chapter  house.  He  was  also  a 
spiritual  parliamentary  baron  and  a  chief 
magistrate.  Even  the  king's  officer  could 
not  exercise  his  functions  without  the 
abbot's  leave.  Few  abbeys  had  so  many 
royal  benefactors.  Besides  Canute  and  St. 
Edward  the  Confessor,  mentioned  above, 
we  read  of  Athelstan  laying  -on  the  high 
altar,  "for  the  benefit  of  his  soul,"  a 
copy  of  the  four  Gospels.  Henry  I.  on 
two  occasions  presented  thank-offerings 
at  the  same  altar.  Richard  I.  endowed  the 
abbey  with  lands,  but  when  he  was  taken 
prisoner  we  are  told  the  place  was 
stripped  of  its  gold  to  pay  his  ransom. 
On  his  return,  he  offered  the  abbey  the 
rich  standard  taken  from  the  King  of 
Cyprus.  Henry  III.  held  a  parliament  in  the 
refectory  of  this  abbey  in  1272.  Edward 
I.  also  held  a  parliament  here  for  obtain- 
ing supplies  for  wars.  Again  in  1446, 
Henry  VI.  did  the  same.  At  this  parliament 
was  planned  the  destruction  of  "good 
Duke  Humphrey"  whose  death  on  the 
third  day  of  the  session  seems  not  a 
little  significant. 

Such  is,  in  brief,  the  story  of  St.  Edmund 
and  the  famous  abbey  of  Bury.  One  of  the 
greatest  privileges  of  this  house  was  the 
possession  of  an  altar  made  of  a  block  of 
porphyry,  at  which,  by  an  especial  boon 
from  Pope  Alexander  II.  Mass  might  be 
said,  even  though  the  whole  country  lay 
under  an  interdict.  The  gift  of  this  altar 
was  made  to  Abbot  Baldwin  in  the  twelfth 
century.  It  would  seem  not  to  have  been 
used  when  the  need  was  the  sorest, — 


when  through  the  misdeeds  of  King  John 
all  England  lay  under  the  ban,  in  the  year 
1208.  Roger  Wendover  writes:  "Since  it 
[the  interdict]  was  expressed  to  be  by 
authority  of  our  lord  the  Pope,  it  was 
inviolably  observed  by  all,  without  regard 
of  persons  or  privileges.  So  all  church 
services  ceased  to  be  performed  in  England 
with  the  exception  of  the  Sacraments  of 
Baptism,  Penance,  and  Holy  Viaticum  in 
cases  of  extremity.  Even  the  bodies  of  the 
dead  were  buried  .  without  the  Church's 
prayers  and  the  attendance  of  priests." 

But  the  evil  days  came  at  last,  and  the 
famous  abbey  was  suppressed,  all  the 
accumulated  wealth  of  ages  falling  into 
the  hands  of  Cromwell  and  his  wolves. 
With  fiendish  alacrity  they  stripped  this 
monastery  of  all  its  wealth;  and  to-day 
nothing  remains  of  this  glorious  monument 
and  the  piety  of  our  ancestors,  except  a 
few  eloquent  ruins.  What  became  of  all 
the  holy  relics?  What  of  the  shrine  and 
body  of  good  St.  Edmund?  What  became 
of  the  bones  of  St.  Petronilla  and  St. 
Botolph?  What  of  the  precious  relics  of 
St.  Stephen,  and  those  of  the ' '  blisful 
and  holy  martyre,"  St.  Thomas  of  Canter- 
bury? The  very  site  of  St.  Edmund's 
high  altar  can  only  be  conjectured, — a 
spot  sacred  in  English  history  in  more  ways 
than  one;  for  here  it  was  that,  in  the  year 
1215,  Cardinal  Langton  and  the  barons 
solemnly  swore  to  make  King  John  ratify 
Magna  Charta, — an  oath  which  they  most 
religiously  kept.  Indeed,  St.  Edmunds- 
bury  may  justly  share  with  Runnymede 
the  honor  of  being  closely  associated  with 
the  bulwark  of  England's  liberties. 

In  conclusion  it  maybe  said  that  the  bases 
of  the  great  central  tower  are  still  to  be 
seen  in  a  private  garden  of  the  abbey 
precincts ;  and  on  the  side  of  one  of  them — 
affixed  strongly  in  the  masonry — is  a 
descriptive  tablet  recording  the  names  of 
the  twenty-five  barons  who  enforced  this 
Charta.  There  is  also  another  tablet  with 
an  inscription,  by  Dr.  J.  Donaldson,  a 
former  master  of  King  Edward's  school, 
which  reads: 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


751 


Where  the  rude  buttress  totters  to  its  fall, 

And  ivy  mantles  o'er  the  crumbling  wall, 

Where  e'en   the  skilful  eye  can  scarcely  trace 

The  once  high  altar's  lowly  ^resting-place, — 

Let  patriotic  fancy  muse  a  while 

Amid  the  ruins  of  this  ancient  pile. 

Six  weary  centuries  have  passed  away; 

Palace  and  abbey  moulder  in  decay; 

Cold  death  enshrouds  the  learned  and  the  brave — 

Langton,  Fitz- Walter  slumber  in  the  grave. 

But  still  we  read  in  deathless  records  how 

The  high-souled  priest  confirmed  the  barons'  vow; 

And  Feedom,  unforgetful,  still  recites 

This  second  birthplace  of  our  native  rights. 

It  was  this  most  important  event  in  the 
history  of  this  quaint  old  Suffolk  town 
which  suggested  the  motto  which  it  bears 
to  this  day :  Sacrariutn  Regis,  cunabula 
legis  ("The  shrine  of  the  King,  the  cradle 
of  the  law"). 

At  this  point  it  may  reasonably  be 
asked:  But  what  of  the  old  faith  which 
was  planted  in  this  spot  by  good  King 
Sigebert  and  watered  by  the  blood  of 
St.  Edmund?  Does  it  still  live  on  here? 
Oh,  yes!  It  was  in  or  about  the  year 
1633  that  the  Jesuit  Fathers  arrived 
in  this  part  of  Suffolk,  and  they  be- 
gan at  once  gathering  the  remnant 
which  still,  in  holes  and  corners,  professed 
the  ancient  faith.  "In  1678,"  writes 
Brother  Foley,  S.  J.,  "the  number  of 
Fathers  residing  in  the  district  was 
sixteen  or  seventeen."  About  the  year 
1780  a  mission  was  founded  here;  but  not 
till  1838  was  it  possible  to  erect  a  per- 
manent church, — an  imposing  structure, 
dedicated  to  St.  Edmund.  Within  this 
church  may  be  seen  a  remarkable  painting, 
by  Delafosse,  representing  the  martyrdom 
of  the  saint;  and  a  splendid  statue  of  him 
stands  over  an  altar.  At  the  west  end 
there  is  an  interesting  alms  box  made  of 
the  wood  of  the  tree  to  which  St.  Edmund 
was  bound  when  he  was  killed  by  the 
Danes.  The  church  contains  also  a  precious 
relic  of  the  saint  (set  in  a  costly  reliquary), 
presented  by  Cardinal  Duprez  in  1867. 

But  what  of  the  good  Benedictines? 
Have  their  successors  returned  to  St. 
Edmundsbury?  Not  yet.  But  not  far 
distant,  by  a  singular  coincidence,  they 


already  possess  two  of  the  most  handsome 
churches  in  the  Northampton  diocese — 
namely,  St.  Benet's  Minster,  Beccles,  a 
large  stone  cruciform  church;  and  St. 
Edmund's  Church  at  Bungay.  The  carved 
enrichments  of  the  martyrdom  of  St. 
Edmund  on  its  west  front  it  would 
be  difficult  to  equal  in  modern  church 
architecture.  Both  these  churches  are 
worthy  of  the  best  traditions  of  Bene- 
dictine work  in  Mediaeval  days. 

These  two  quaint  towns  are  delightfully 
situated  on  the  rising  ground  overlooking 
the  valley  of  the  Waveney,  and,  within 
sight  of  each  other,  being  only  six  miles 
apart.  Both,  too,  were,  in  pre-Reformation 
days,  closely  associated  with  the  abbey 
and  monks  of  St.  Edmundsbury.  On  the 
magnificent  south  porch  of  St.  Michael's, 
Beccles,  are  displayed  the  abbey  arms — 
the  crowns  and  cross  arrows.  The  same 
occurs  on  the  great  southeast  tower  of 
the  church  (St.  Mary's)  at  Bungay,  now 
the  parish  church.  In  the  old  days  this 
was  the  conventual  church  of  a  Benedictine 
nunnery;  and, strange  to  say,  in  its  church- 
yard stands  St.  Edmund's  Church  men- 
tioned above.  So  after  nearly  four  hundred 
years  the  past  and  the  present  of  this 
great  religious  Order  in  East  Anglia  are 
being  linked  together  again.  And,  perhaps, 
in  God's  good  time,  another  great  abbey 
may  rise  from  the  ashes  of  the  Past. 


ST.  IREN^US,  writing  about  A.  D.  180- 
190,  gives  a  summary  of  the  Catholic 
Faith,  which  he  says  the  whole  Church 
scattered  throughout  the  world  received 
from  the  Apostles — namely,  the  belief  ' '  In 
one  God  the  Father  Almighty,  and  in  one 
Christ  Jesus,  the  Son  of  God,  who  was 
incarnate  for  our  salvation,  and  in  the 
Holy  Ghost;  .  .  .  and  the  Birth  from  the 
Virgin,  and  the  Passion,  and  the  Resur- 
rection from  the  dead."  He  adds  that  the 
Churches  of  Germany,  Spain,  Gaul,  the 
East,  Egypt,  Libya,  and  "those  estab- 
lished in  the  central  parts  of  the  earth" 
(by  which  he  evidently  means  Rome  and 
Italy)  are  agreed  in  .this  Faith. 


752 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


The  Little  Soul. 


BY    KATHARINE    TYNAN. 


"G 


OD  can  not  condemn  a  little  child," 
said  vSoeur  Therese  of  Lisieux,  who 
chose  always  to  be  a  child  for  Christ's 
sake.  "An  earthly  father  having  a  grown- 
up son,  sends  him  forth  to  support  himself. 
But  I  have  taken  care  never  to  grow  up 
and  can  not  earn  my  own  livelihood  which 
is  eternal  Life  and  my  Heavenly  Father 
will  provide  for  his  little  one."  And  again 
she  cries:  "Would  I  could  tell  all  little 
souls  of  Thine  ineffable  condescension! 
This  I  implore  Thee,  this  I  entreat  Thee, 
to  let  Thy  divine  eyes  rest  upon  a  vast 
number  of  little  souls." 

This  childlike  little  nun,  the  object  of 
so  much  devotion,  who  in  her  picture  has 
an  air  of  shaking  back  her  veil  as  if  it  were 
her  curls,  has  certainly  procured  the  gift 
of  childlikeness  for  her  devotees.  I  picked 
up  somewhere  one  day  a  most  'charming 
account  of  a  miracle  ascribed  to  the  Little 
Flower,  by  which  the  darling  pet  pony  of 
some  little  Catholic  children  was  restored 
to  health  almost  at  the  last  gasp.  The 
story  was  told  by  the  children's  mother — 
their  father  happens  to  be  a  literary  man 
of  world-wide  reputation  as  well  as  an 
ardent  Catholic, — and  the  picture  of  the 
stable,  the  dying  pony,  and  the  kneeling 
children  crying  out  to  the  Little  Flower 
for  their  pet  has  remained  in  my  memory 
as  something  truly  Franciscan. 

That  childishness  of  Sceur  Therese 
has  been  most  happily  commemorated  in 
the  wonderful  home  for  feeble-minded 
Catholic  children  which  has  been  estab- 
lished at  Besford  Court  in  Worcestershire, 
— a  home  which  one  almost  imagines 
Sceur  Therese  must  have  foreseen  and 
indeed  planned.  Her  roses  must  have 
fallen  in  showers  on  Besford  Court,  which 
is  a  beautiful  old  house  in  the  very  heart 
of  English  beauty. 

Of  all  sad  lots,  perhaps  none  is  so  dread- 
ful as  that  of  the  neglected  feeble-minded 


child.  The  soul  sits  there  in  the  helpless, 
unguarded  body,  at  the  mercy  of  any 
cruelty,  any  wickedness.  There  is  no  crea- 
ture in  all  the  world  so  needing  love  and 
tenderness.  If  a  tender  mother  watches 
over  it,  the  maimed  and  crippled  soul 
may  become  a  thing  of  wings;  its  very 
disability  may  be  its  perfect  innocence. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  poor  little  soul 
may  become  like  an  ill-treated  animal; 
and  worse  than  that,  since  the  corruption 
of  such  a  soul  is  possible:  it  may  be  turned 
into  an  appalling  thing, — that  thing  which, 
grown  to  man's  or  woman's  estate,  is 
the  despair  of  the  social  reformer.  Surely 
it  was  the  Little  Flower,  with  her  pity  and 
love  for  little  things,  who  put  it  into  the 
heart  of  some  of  her  lovers  to  create  this 
heavenly  charity. 

I  have  said  that  Besford  Court  lies  at 
the  very  heart  of  English  beauty.  The 
sick  soul  of  the  child  might  have  cried 
to  be  "comforted  with  apples";  for  this 
stately  home  is  in  the  midst  of  the  fruit- 
growing Midlands  of  England,  in  Shake- 
speare's Country.  It  belonged  originally 
to  the  monks  of  Pershore  Abbey,  and 
Pershore  itself  is  the  name  of  a  plum. 
On  such  a  day  as  this  May  Day  on  which 
I  write,  all  the  great,  beautiful  valley 
lying  between  the  Cotswolds  and  the 
Malvern  Hills  will  be  full  of  the  bleating 
of  sheep  and  lambs  and  the  singing  of 
running  waters.  The  pear  and  plum  and 
cherry  will  be  bursting  to  a  miracle  of 
whiteness;  the  rosy  mouths  of  the  apple- 
bloom  will  be  just  opening.  I  have  seen 
apple  trees  there  that  were  like  one 
great,  beautiful  rose,  showing  no  green 
between.  The  nightingales  will  be  singing; 
the  plover  and  the  cuckoo  calling.  Pres- 
ently the  whole  countryside  will  be  white 
with  the  May  bloom,  fit  for  Our  Lady's 
veil,  running  like  foam  along  the  hedges, 
enclosing  the  lovely  villages,  the  manors 
and  farms  and  churches,  and  the  old 
black  and  white  houses  which  add  to  the 
glories  of  that  exquisite  valley. 

Surely  the  poor  maimed  little  ones  of 
Cb.ri.st  who  came  to  this  lowly  horm;  are 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


753 


blest.  The  one  who  had  done  most  to 
realize  Besford  Court,  as  it  might  be  a 
dream  of  the  Little  Flower,  tells  us  nothing 
about  how  he  came  to  discover  a  place 
so  strangely  suited  to  its  purposes.  It 
might  be  a  miracle  of  the  Little  Flower, — 
one  of  those  naif  miracles  to  which  thou- 
sands of  her  clients  testify.  He  is  sin- 
gularly unrevealing.  He  tells  us  about 
the  house  on  which  the  Little  Flower  rains 
her  roses,  but  he  does  not  tell  by  whose 
agency  and  beneficence  the  place  was 
prepared  for  its  merciful  uses. 

Besford  Court  is  a  beautiful  old  black 
and  white  manor  house, — "our  fair  manor 
of  Besford,"  as  it  appears  in  the  chronicles 
of  the  Pcrshore  monks.  The  house  had 
been  carefully  preserved  and  restored, 
and  lies  surrounded  by  gardens  and  many 
broad  acres.  We  arc  told  that  it  came 
suddenly  into  the  market.  We  are  not 
told  where  the  money  came  from  to  buy  it, 
with  all  its  broad  acres;  but,  whoever 
found  the  money,  doubtless  the  Little 
Flower  smiled,  shaking  down  her  roses 
as  •  though  she  shook  the  pink  bloom 
from  the  boughs  of  this  orchard  land. 
Surely  she  found  a  place  to  her  mind. 
Listen  to  this: 

"Behind  the  ancient  house,  with  its 
centuries-old  oaken  doors,  its  gables  and 
massive  timberwork,  and  connected  with 
it  by  clever  modulations  of  architectural 
style,  stood  the  shell  of  an  immense  build- 
ing erected  by  the  previous  owner  at  a 
cost  of  from  £55,000  to  £60,000.  Appar- 
ently it  had  been  built  regardless  of 
cost,  and  it  closely  followed  the  plan 
and  appearance  of  the  ancient  colleges 
of  our  universities.  It  stood  round  a 
spacious  quadrangular  court,  into  which 
from  every  floor  looked  the  windows  of 
broad  and  airy  cloisters.  Opening  out 
from  the  cloisters  were  suites  of  rooms  full 
of  light  and  air;  some  suited  to  become 
classrooms  and  schoolrooms;  others  re- 
fectories, recreation  rooms,  dormitories, 
and  kitchens;  while  others  afforded  the 
space  and  accommodations  required  for 
all  the  manifold  purposes  of  a  great 


lishmcnt.  No  expense  had  been  spared 
in  the  quality  or  kind  of  its  materials. 
It  was  built  of  stone  throughout,  and  ab- 
solutely fireproof.  There  was  even  an 
exquisite  little  chapel  with  an  unfinished 
sanctuary.  All  round  the  quadrangle  on 
the  uppermost  floor  were  broad  open 
terraces,  from  which  another  access  could 
be  gained  to  a  whole  series  of  rooms, 
which,  by  reason  of  privacy,  were  emi- 
nently suited  to  serve  as  a  convent  for  the 
nuns  in  charge.  The  old  Tudor  House,  of 
Besford  Court,  with  this  great  modern 
addition,  was  .  .  .  offered  at  so  small  a 
price  .  .  .  that  it  was  decided  to  make  the 
venture  of  faith  and  secure  the  whole 
property. 

"The  Court  stands  in  the  midst  of  an 
estate  that  was  purchased  with  it.  To  the 
west  is  the  long  outline  of  Malvern  Hills; 
to  the  cast,  Bredon  stands  up  against  the 
sky;  the  Avon  flows  close  by,  and  on 
every  hand  arc  the  fertile  lands  that 
border  on  the  Vale  of  Evesham  and 
stretch  away  to  Worcester.  Leafy  lanes 
twisting  round  fields  and  orchards  lead 
from  the  highroad  to  where  Besford 
Court  stands  amid  its  immemorial  elms. 
Close  to  the  Court,  within  the  inner  circle 
of  its  grounds  and  shaded  by  lofty  trees, 
the  ancient  fishponds  still  remain,  which 
are  to  be  made  into  bathing  pools  for  the 
children." 

A  couple  of  ancient  Tudor  cottages 
make  an  abode  for  Father  Newsome, 
the  administrator.  Close  by  are  the  farm 
buildings  —  stables,  cow-sheds,  granaries, 
hay-sheds,  piggeries, — with  farming  and 
live  stock  keeping  in  full  swing.  Beyond 
the  great  orchards  is  the  walled  garden  of 
two  acres,  full  of  flowers  and  vegetables 
and  fruit.  All  around  stretch  the  plough- 
lands  and  the  pastures  of  Besford  Court. 

It  is  all  a  perfect  bit  of  ancient  England, 
and  how  beautiful  that  can  be  the  travel- 
ling American  well  knows.  I  have  stayed 
in  that  delicious  bit  of  England,  and  I 
remember  it  as  an  abode  of  quietness. 
Under  Malvern  Hills  the  Spirit  of  Place 
moves  with  her  finger  to  Uer  Ups, — so 


754 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


quiet  it  is  in  that  land  of  apples  and  bean 
fields,  milk  and  honey,  where  at  evening 
in  the  dewy  fields  the  nightjar,  sawing 
away,  reminded  us  of  our  Irish  corncrake, 
and  all  his  associations  with  youth  and 
moonlight  and  the  smell  of  May. 

Those  fields,  before  the  war,  which  for 
the  first  time  has  really  brought  war 
home  to  English  firesides,  were  drenched 
with  peace  as  with  the  dews.  Under 
Malvern  Hills  there  was  only  quietness. 
It  was  a  Catholic  bit  of  England.  The 
quietness  had  a  thought  in  it  of  those 
who  had  loved  Our  Lady  and 'the  saints. 

What  a  refuge  for  those  pitiful  children! 
Surely  the  Little  Flower  rained  roses  with 
both  hands  from  the  trellises  of  heaven 
when  she  secured  Besford  Court  for  the 
littlest  ones  of  all. 

The  children  are  in  charge  of  Sisters 
of  Charity  of  St.  Paul.  You  will  meet 
a  nun  with  her  picturesque  cornette  out- 
lined against  the  background,  coming 
through  one  of  those  wonderful  doors, 
along  a  corridor,  across  the  gardens,  with 
a  child  held  by  a  tender  hand.  They  say 
the  child  who  is  born  feeble-minded  does 
not  grip.  He  lays  no  hold  on  the  world 
that  can  give  him  so  little.  Well,  at 
Besford  Court  the  children  learn  many 
things  besides  the  clinging  to  a  loving  hand. 
The  little  afflicted  brethren  of  Christ  can, 
with  infinite  patience,  be  taught  to  do 
many  things.  Much  more  can  be  done 
by  patience  and  love  than  any  one  could 
believe  possible.  The  fields  and  the 
gardens  and  the  bright,  airy  workshops 
replace  the  fetid  streets  and  horrible  slum 
dwellings,  from  which  in  so  many,  many 
instances  these  little  ones  have  been 
gathered, 

Happy  children  to  have  been  born  at  a 
time  when  love  of  God  and  humanity 
makes  them  worth  the  saving, — happy 
at  least  by  comparison  with  the  poor 
children  of  an  earlier  day,  the  victims  of 
cruelty  and  worse !  It  is  a  far  cry  from  the 
days  when  it  was  a  diversion  of  fashion- 
able London  society  to  go  to  stir  up  the 
lunatics  at  Bethlehem  Hospital — Bedlam — 


with  red-hot  pokers,  after  attending  a 
hanging  at  Newgate  in  the  morning 
perhaps.  The  world  has  progressed  and 
is  progressing;  and,  despite  the  innumer- 
able cruelties — and  magnanimities — of  the 
Great  WTar,  we  shall  grow  better  through 
faith  and  hope  and  love. 

Beauty,  brightness,  fresh  air,  sunshine, 
silence  except  for  the  songs  of  birds  in 
their  seasons,  an  untiring  gentleness  and 
patience,  wholesome  country  food  with 
plenty  of  fruit  and  vegetables, — amid 
these  will  the  tiny  soul  of  the  maimed 
child  thrive  and  expand.  The  clean, 
honest  life,  with  its  many  dignities,  will 
uplift  the  child  and  steady  its  wayward 
will.  The  child  will  no  longer  be  the  pit- 
eous object  of  a  cruel  merriment;  stirred, 
like  the  Bedlam  lunatics,  to  outbursts  0? 
feeble  and  futile  anger;  neglected,  often 
hidden  away  as  a  reproach  and  a  disgrace. 
The  unwanted  child,  the  most  unwanted 
of  all, — upon  him  or  her  descend  the  roses 
in  a  shower. 

This  immense  charity  is  carried  on 
entirely  without  funds  other  than  volun- 
tary gifts.  Besford  Court,  besides  being 
a  real  home  for  the  poor  children,  is  also 
the  centre  of  the  devotion  to  the  Little 
Flower;  and  the  shrine  of  Our  Lady  of 
Victories  is  the  centre  of  the  many  novenas 
which  are  being  made  all  over  the  world 
by  lovers  of  the  Little  Flower  for  her 
beatification. 

Father  Newsome  publishes  now  and 
again  a  little  "Bunch  of  Besford  Roses," 
which  is  a  booklet  containing  the  acknowl- 
edgments of  those  who  believe  that  the 
intercession  of  the  Little  Flower  has 
obtained  for  them  some  favor,  spiritual 
or  temporal.  She  scatters  her  roses  over 
all  the  world.  Many  of  the  letters  come 
from  Ireland  of  the  faithful  heart,  but 
they  come  from  all  over  the  globe.  A 
worldling  might,  perhaps,  smile  at  the 
simple  faith  of  those  letters  which  record 
so  many  wonderful  cures, — of  paralysis, 
of  dropsy,  of  cancer  among  other  things; 
so  many  conversions,  so  many  tempta- 
tions conquered,  so  many  temporal  favors. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


755 


granted.  The  last  rose  of  the  1916  bunch 
is  a  fair  sample  of  the  roses.  I  quote  it 
because  its  need  is  up  to  date,  not  of  the 
needs  which  are  always  with  us: 

"REV.  AND  DEAR  SIR: — I  do  not  belong 
to  your  faith,  but  my  attention  and  inter- 
est have  been  awakened,  by  a  friend,  to 
the  Little  Flower  of  Jesus  and  your  work. 
Through  my  friend  I  sent  a  small  donation 
and  enclosed  my  husband's  name  in  the 
envelope  you  sent  her  to  be  placed  on 
the  altar  for  the  no  vena.  I  now  write  to 
tell  -you  how  wonderfully  my  husband's 
life  has  been  preserved.  He  was  an  officer 
on  board  one  of  his  Majesty's  transports 
(I  am  not  permitted  to  tell  the  name). 
On  March  $8,  during  that  awful  bliz- 
zard, a  German  submarine  torpedoed 
the  transport  without  warning,  close  to 
England.  While  they  were  getting  into 
the  boat,  nine  rounds  of  shrapnel  were 
fired  at  them;  and  for  eight  hours 
they  were  in  the  open  boats,  some  but 
half  clad,  exposed  to  intense  cold  and 
heavy  seas.  Not  one  was  killed  or  suffered 
any  ill  effects  from  their  terrible  experience, 
except  the  second  engineer,  who  was 
slightly  wounded  in  the  thigh." 

The  work  at  Besford  has  episcopal  and 
archiepiscopal  blessing.  A  letter  from  the 
Archbishop  of  Birmingham  says: 

"To  you  and  to  the  clients  of  Sceur 
Therese,  the  Little  Flower  of  Jesus,  and 
to  the  faithful  at  large  I  most  earnestly 
commend  the  cause  of  the  mentally- 
deficient  children.  The  Home  will  be 
staffed  by  the  Sisters  of  Charity  of  St. 
Paul,  whose  members  have  undergone 
special  training  to  qualify  them  for  this 
work.  We  may  hope  to  be  able  to  point 
to  Besford  as  to  a  model  Home  which 
others  may  do  well  to  copy. 

"The  serious  work  which  is  pressing  is 
the  raising  of  a  fund  for  the  initial  out- 
lay. For  this  you  must  appeal  to  the 
clientele  of  the  Little  Flower  and  to  the 
faithful  generally  all  the  world  over.  I 
implore  the  blessings  of  God  upon  all  who 
respond  to  your  appeal." 

To  which  one  can  only  answer,  "Amen." 


A  Muscular  Mendicant. 


A  STALWART  novice  of  one  of  the 
mendicant  Orders  was  returning  to 
his  convent,  on  one  occasion,  with  his 
wallet  well  filled.  To  shorten  the  way,  he 
left  the  main  road  and  followed  a  path 
running  through  the  woods.  Here  he  was 
met  by  a  robber,  who,  with  pistol  in 
hand,  shouted: 

"Your  wallet  or  your  life!" 

The  poor  novice  tried  to  explain  that 
his  state,  representing  absolute  poverty, 
should  shield  him  from  such  demands. 
His  efforts  were  useless,  and  he  was 
again  ordered  to  give  up  everything  he 
had.  Fearing  to  be  killed  if  he  resisted, 
he  delivered  up  his  sack,  and  the  few 
coins  that  had  been  given  him  in  alms. 
The  thief  was  walking  away,  well  satisfied 
with  his  adventure,  when  the  novice,  recov- 
ering his  self-possession,  called  him  back. 

"My  friend,"  he  said,  "you  have  been 
kind  enough  to  spare  my  life;  but  when 
I  return  to  the  convent,  I  run  the  risk 
o  being  reprimanded  for  not  doing  my 
duty.  Perhaps  you  would  oblige  me  by 
shooting  a  hole  through  my  cloak,  to 
show  that  I  was  overpowered,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  do  except  to  deliver  up 
the  fruits  of  my  expedition." 

"I  will  do  that  willingly,"  replied  the 
robber,  with  a  smile.     "Stretch  out  your 
cloak." 
'  The  man  then  fired. 

"But  I  don't  see  any  hole,"  said  the 
novice. 

"That's  because  my  pistol  was  loaded 
with  nothing  but  powder.  I  only  wanted 
to  scare  you." 

"Haven't  you  another  pistol  with  you 
that  is  better  loaded?" 

"No." 

"Then,  you  rascal,  we  are  equally 
armed!"  exclaimed  the  sturdy  novice. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  fell 
upon  the  robber,  beat  him  soundly,  recov- 
ered his  sack  and  money,  and  returned  in 
triumph  to  his  convent,  bearing  the  pistol 
with  him  as  a  souvenir  of  his  encounter. 


756 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


After  Corpus  Christi. 


THE  observance,  last  week,  of  the 
solemnity  of  Corpus  Christi,  the 
Feast  of  the  Body  of  the  Lord,  must  have 
suggested  to  many  a  thoughtful  Catholic 
the  tremendous  width  and  depth  of  the 
spiritual  chasm  separating  those  who 
assert  from  those  who  deny  that  Christ 
is  God.  So  deep-rooted  and  intimate  in 
Catholics  is  the  intellectual  and  spiritual 
conviction  of  Christ's  divinity,  so  closely 
and  inextricably  is  that  doctrine  inter- 
twined with  all  our  other  vital  and 
vitalizing  religious  beliefs,  that  only  with 
the  greatest  difficulty  can  we  picture 
to  ourselves,  even  approximately,  the 
mental  state  of  those  who  deny  that 
the  vSon  of  Mary  is  the  Son  of  God,  is 
God  Himself. 

Yet  this  denial  is  made,  not  merely  by 
atheists,  materialists,  agnostics,  and  in- 
fidels; not  merely  by  non-Christian  deists, 
Jews  and  Buddhists  and  Mohammedans; 
but  by  a  large  and,  it  is  to  be  feared,  an 
increasing  number  of  those  who  style 
themselves  Bible  Christians  and  profess 
allegiance  to  some  one  or  other  of  the 
Christian  sects.  The  most  cursory  ex- 
amination of  contemporary  non-Catholic 
religious  thought  as  mirrored  in  the  great 
reviews,  in  the  more  scholarly  magazines 
and  journals,  and  even  in  controversial 
novels,  is 'sufficient  to  convince  one  that 
not  all  who  pass  for  Christians  are 
satisfied  that  the  Infant  born  on  the  first 
Christmas  in  the  stable-cave  at  Bethlehem 
was  as  certainly  God  as  He  was  truly 
man.  Whether  or  not  the  tendency  be  a 
legitimate  result  of  the  Higher  Criticism, 
there  certainly  is  a  tendency  among  many 
of  those  outside  the  Church  to  identify  the 
"historic  Christ"  with  the  Christ  of  the 
eighteenth-century  rationalists, — that  is, 
a  more  or  less  mythical  personage ;  a  great 
philosopher,  who  with  the  lapse  of  ages 
has  become  idealized;  a  man  purely  and 
simply,  but  one  so  typical  of  the  perfection 
to  which  the  race  is  aspiring  that  He 
was  deified  in  the  estimation  of  His  con- 


temporaries, and  has  been  enjoying  for 
nineteen  hundred  years  a  title  to  which 
in  its  literal  sense  He  never  had  -a  claim. 

We  have  no  intention  here  of  discuss- 
ing, or  even  enumerating,  the  arguments 
which,  to  the  believer  in  revelation, 
conclusively  establish  Christ's  divinity. 
Our  present  purpose  is  merely  to  point 
out  once  more  a  gross  fallacy  of  its  present- 
day  opponents, — to  call  attention  to  a 
position  which,  although  taken  by  many 
a  non-Catholic  and  non-Christian,  strikes 
us  as  being,  even  on  non-Christian  grounds, 
clearly  unstable,  utterly  untenable.  That 
position  may  appropriately  be  stated  in 
the  form  of  this  question  frequently  asked: 
Can  not  a  man  reverence  Jesus  as  the 
highest  and  most  perfect  type  of  the  race 
without  acknowledging  Him  to  be  divine? 
A  fairly  respectable  acquaintance  with 
the  four  Gospels  necessitates  an  uncom- 
promising "No."  An  attentive  perusal 
of  the  Gospel  narrative  ought  to  convince 
any  reflecting  man  that,  if  Jesus  Christ 
was  not  really  God,  then  He  was  anything 
but  the  highest  and  most  perfect  type  of 
the  human  race.  If  He  was  nothing  more 
than  a  mere  man,  then  the  Gospels  afford 
abundant  proof  that  he  was  not  even 
a  good,  sincere,  or-  truthful  man,  but 
rather  a  false  prophet,  and  the  most 
flagitious  impostor,  without  exception,  that 
has  ever  figured  in  the  world's  history. 

Consider  for  a  moment  how  often  and 
in  how  many  ways  Christ  throughout  the 
four  Gospels  clearly  asserts  His  divinity, 
claims  perfect  equality  with  the  Eternal 
Father,  bespeaks  for  Himself  from  man- 
kind a  homage  identical  with  that  offered 
to  the  Father;  gives  the  world  to  under- 
stand that  He  and  none  other  is  the  Mes- 
sias,  the  promised  Saviour  and  Redeemer 
of  men.  "I  and  the  Father  are  one.  .  .  . 
All  power  is  given  to  Me  in  heaven  and 
on  earth.  . . .  Before  Abraham  was,  I  am. . . . 
Glorify  me,  O  Father,  with  Thyself, 
with  the  glory  which  I  had  before  the 
world  was,  with  Thee.  .  .  .  What  things 
soever  the  Father  doth,  these  the  Son  also 
doth  in  like  manner.  .  .  .  That  all  may 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


757 


honor  the  Son  as  they  honor  the  Father." 
When  the  Samaritan  woman  said  to  Him 
at  the  well,  "I  know  that  the  Messias 
cometh  who  is  called  Christ,"  He  replied, 
"I  am  He  who  am  speaking  with  thee." 
When  Caiphas  said  to  Him,  "I  abjure 
Thee  by  the  living  God  that  Thou  tell  me 
if  Thou  be  Christ,  the  Son  of  God,"  -He 
answered,  "Thou  hast  said  it."  So,  too, 
He  commended  Peter  for  calling  Him 
"the  Christ  the  Son  of  the  living  God." 
All  these  and  a  score  of  similar  utterances 
are,  of  course,  perfectly  in  keeping  with 
the  character  of  a  divine  Jesus,  such  as 
we  Catholics  know  Him  to  be;  but  strip 
Him  of  His  divinity,  suppose  Him  to 
be  a  purely 'human  teacher,  and  the  fore- 
going texts  can  not  be  considered  other 
than  superlatively  arrogant  and  unmis- 
takably blasphemous. 

To  allege  that  in  such  passages  as  have 
been  quoted  Christ  implies  nothing  more 
than  His  "moral  unity"  with  the  Father, 
or  an  "adopted  sonship,"  is  clearly  to 
minimize  unduly  the  significance  of  plain 
language,  to  wrest  it  from  its  evident 
meaning.  The  Jews  certainly  did  not 
understand  the  unity  which  Christ 
claimed  with  His  Father  to  be  merely  a 
moral,  spiritual,  or  mystical  unity.  They 
took  it  that  He  meant  a  real  oneness, 
and  He  encouraged  them  so  to  take  it. 
"We  stone  Thee  for  blasphemy,"  they 
said,  "because  that  Thou,  being  a  man, 
maketh  Thyself  God."  And  He  never 
repudiated  the  charge.  When  He  told 
them  that  "the  Son  of  man  is  Lord  even 
of  the  vSabbath  day,"  they  understood 
Him  to  proclaim  Himself  the  equal  of 
Jehovah,  who  had  prescribed  the  law; 
and  they  "sought  the  more  to  kill  Him, 
because  He  said  God  was  His  Father, 
making  Himself  equal  to  God";  and  yet, 
far  from  renouncing  such  a  claim,  He 
reiterated  it  time  and  time  again. 

It  would  appear,  then,  that  if  Christ  was 
really  a  worthy  man,  He  was  infinitely 
more  than  merely  that;  and  that  those 
who  admire  Him  as  the  most  admirable 
and  consummate  type  of  the  human  race 


arc  logically  bound  to  believe  His  word, 
and  so  confess  His  divinity.  There  is  no 
room  for  a  middle  term.  If  Jesus  of 
Nazareth  merits  our  esteem  at  all,  then 
He  is  supereminently  worthy  of  the  high- 
est possible  homage,  the  supreme  worship 
and  adoration  which  He  has  constantly 
received  from  Catholics  of  every  century 
since  the  first  Christmas, — the  worship 
and  adoration  which  year  after  year  in 
all  Catholic  lands  is  publicly  avowed 
and  proclaimed  in  the  impressive  outdoor 
processions  of  Corpus  Christi. 


Getting  Younger. 


A  YOUNG  Portuguese,  who  had  abun- 
dant leisure  and  rather  a  facetious 
turn  of  mind,  assumed  one  day  the  title 
of  doctor.  He  advertised  in  the  Lisbon 
papers  that  he  had  discovered  a  recipe  by 
means  of  which  he  could  rejuvenate  in 
twenty-four  hours  the  oldest  of  men  and 
women. 

The  Portuguese  world,  not  less  than  the 
American,  likes  to  be  humbugged;  and 
so  the  self-styled  physician  had  numerous 
clients,  who  called  on  him  the  day  after 
the  appearance  of  his  advertisement. 
To  each  of  them  he  presented  a  card  on 
which  he  requested  them  to  write  their 
family  name,  Christian  name,  and  age.  He 
then  asked  each  to  return  the  next  day. 

On  the  following  day,  as  each  client 
presented  himself,  the  pretended  doctor 
feigned  to  have  misplaced  his  card. 

"I  must  ask  you,  therefore,"  he  said, 
"to  give  me  the  same  information  that  I 
received  from  you  yesterday,  because  after 
a  certain  age  you  are  beyond  my  skill." 

On  the  new  card  each  of  the  clients 
appeared  to  from  five  to  ten  years 
less  old  than  the  first  card  had  stated. 
Whereupon  the  humorous  doctor  smiled 
as  he  produced  both  cards,  saying: 

"Here  are  your  ages  yesterday  and 
to-day.  I  beg  you  to  remark  that,  owing 
to  my  treatment,  you  have  already  be- 
come considerably  younger." 


758 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


It  is  stated  that  no  fewer  than  27,390 
British  officers  and  men  were  killed  at  the 
front  in  the  one  month  of  May.  The  losses 
of  France  and  the  other  allied  countries, 
and  of  Germany,  Austria,  etc.,  during  the 
same  period  have  not  as  yet  been  officially 
reported,  though  there  is  little  doubt 
that  they  were  proportionally  great.  A 
casualty  list  so  appalling  indicates  that 
the  gigantic  conflict  must  be  drawing  to  an 
end.  No  country  engaged  in  it  is  populous 
enough  to  bear  such  a  drain  on  its  manhood 
for  any  great  length  of  time.  It  would 
mean  ruin,  no  matter  where  victory 
perched.  Lulls  in  the  offensive  and 
defensive  in  the  battles  of  the  Somme 
and  Arras  have  given  an  opportunity  to 
consider  actualities  and  probabilities,  to 
estimate  gains  and  losses.  The  material 
gains  for  either  side  are  not  appreciable, 
but  the  losses  in  men  can  be  estimated 
almost  exactly.  In  the  four  years  of  our 
Civil  War  the  total  number  of  Northern 
soldiers  killed,  wounded,  and  taken  prisoner 
was  only  400,000,  yet  the  whole  nation  was 
aghast;  and  long  before  the  South  was 
crushed  there  was  a  growing  demand  for 
the  cessation  of  hostilities.  It  may  well  be 
that,  in  face  of  national  ruin,  the  soldiers 
and  civilians  of  one  or  another  of  the 
countries  in  conflict  may  compel  its  ruler 
to  make  sacrifices  which  at  the  beginning 
of  the  war  would  not  for  a  moment  have 
been  considered,  and  to  accept  terms  which 
at  any  later  period  would  have  been 
rejected  with  scorn. 


There  is  a  basis  of  truth  for  the  assertion 
that  the  present  conflict  of  nations  is  due 
to  the  lowering  of  Christian  ideals  at  the 
time  of  the  so-called  Reformation.  When 
Luther  rebelled  against  the  authority  of 
the  Church,  rulers  and  peoples  turned 
their  backs  on  Christ's  Vicar,  and,  follow- 
ing pagan  maxims  of  nationalistic  policy, 
made  war  the  arbiter  of  the  world.  To 
the  German  and  English  civil  conflicts 
succeeded-  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  the 


Seven  Years'  War,  the  French  Revolution, 
and  the  Napoleonic  wars.  Since  then 
armed  peace,  which  is  a  constant  menace, 
has  been  the  universal  policy  of  nations, 
the  smallest  of  which  have  tried  to  main- 
tain a  standing  army.  The  present  san- 
guinary and  devastating  struggle  in  which 
almost  every  country  is  involved,  shows 
how  completely  the  world  has  abandoned 
the  Christian  ideal  of  universal  peace  and 
brotherhood  upheld  by  the  Popes. 

In  spite  of  all  that  lias  been  said  and 
done  indicating  the  contrary,  we  do  not 
believe  that  there  is  a  general  lack  of 
genuine  patriotism  in  the  United  States, 
or  that  a  nation-wide  lecture  campaign 
on  patriotic  and  war  topics  is  necessary  to 
stir  it  up.  Better  to  act  calmly  and  go 
slowly  now.  The  minds  of  the  people  are 
inflamed  and  excited;  they  will  become 
calmer  presently.  Week  by  week  they 
have  been  expecting  to  hear  that  a  treaty 
of  peace  is  under  consideration  by  the 
rulers  of  the  belligerent  European  nations. 
As  Representative  Connelly,  of  Kansas, 
recently  remarked  in  Congress,  'There 
is  a  hope  in  every  heart  that,  before  the 
full  sacrifice  is  demanded,  reason  will 
again  become  enthroned,  and  love  and 
mercy  take  the  place  of  hate  and  revenge.' 
But  should  our  country  meantime  be 
drawn  into  the  vortex  (to  quote  Mr. 
Connelly  again),  "may  He  who  searches 
the  hearts  of  men  and  women  and  finds 
there  the  gold  and  the  dross,  when  He 
looks  into  the  heart  of  every  patriot  find 
only  the  pure  gold  of  an  honest  desire  to  be 
true  to  the  country  and  its  best  tradi- 
tions, and  meet  whatever  test  the  times 
demand." 

The  founder  and  president  of  the 
Catholic  Women's  Association  in  the  arch- 
diocese of  Cincinnati,  Mrs.  Bellamy 
Storer,  calls  attention,  in  various  letters 
to  the  press,  to  an  anomalous  condition 
as  regards  relief  work  among  our  soldiers 
and  sailors.  That  work  is  exclusively  in 
the  hands  of  the  Red  Cross.  To  become 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


759 


a  member  of  this  organization,  one  must 
enter  as  an  individual,  and  wear  a  costume 
every  detail  of  which  is  minutely  pre- 
scribed. These  provisions  exclude  bodies 
of  women  in  our  country  who  already  have 
a  history  of  war  service  as  nurses  — 
namely,  the  Catholic  Sisterhoods.  It  is 
matter  of  common  knowledge  what  mag- 
nificent service  they  then  rendered.  In 
the  organization  of  which  Mrs.  Storer  is 
director,  there  are  a  thousand  nuns  who 
are  hospital  nurses;  there  are  many 
thousand  others  in  the  United  States. 
According  to  present  regulations,  these 
nurses  are  excluded  from  service  with  our 
forces.  In  France  the  nursing  Sisters  are 
associated  'with  the  Croix  Rouge,  some 
of  them  winning  the  Legion  of  Honor 
for  heroic  service.  In  the  interests  of 
"efficiency,"  to  put  it  on  no  higher  plane, 
it  is  expedient  for  the  Government  to 
make  a  place  for  our  Sisterhoods  with 
the  ambulance  train. 

The  paper  on  mixed  marriages  and  one 
preventive  thereof,  contributed  to  our 
columns  by  Mr.  Frank  H.  Spearman,  has 
been  provocative  of  considerable  comment, 
most  of  it  favorable,  in  Catholic  circles 
and  in  the  Catholic  press  throughout  the 
country.  The  editor  of  America  having 
written  appreciatively  of  the  plan  to 
promote  acquaintanceship  between  Catho- 
lic college  students  and  convent  pupils, 
several  correspondents  to  his  columns 
have  been  discussing  different  aspects  of 
the  question.  In  a  late  issue  appears  a 
letter  from  a  Catholic  lady  who  suggests 
the  formation  in  our  educational  insti- 
tutions, whether  for  young  men  or  young 
women,  of  "A  League  for  the  Promotion 
of  Catholic  Ideals  in  Social  Intercourse." 
One  function  of  such  a  league  will  be  very 
generally  applauded  by  those  who  have 
studied  this  question  with  any  seriousness, 
all  the  more  so  because  its  feasibleness  is 
not  dependent  on  the  action  of  the  authori- 
ties in  our  colleges  and  convents,  many  of 
whom  perhaps  will  be  thought  ultra- 
conservative  in  the  views  they  entertain 


of  a  departure  from  the  oldtime  exclusive- 
ness  that  marks  the  college,  and  especially 
the  convent,  home.  To  quote: 

At  this  very  season  there  is  work  for  such  a 
league.  There  are  many  smaller  social  affairs 
under  way;  but,  above  all,  there  is  the  Catholic 
Summer  School  of  America,  an  ideal  Catholic 
colony,  where  comradeship  and  every  form  of 
outdoor  and  indoor  enjoyment,  intellectual, 
social  and  athletic,  religious  and  secular,  is  to 
be  found.  Why  not  a  campaign  in  our  Catholic 
colleges  to  make  this  delightful  place  well 
known  and  well  patronized?  Why  not  cottages 
taken  for  the  season  by  a  combination  of  students 
as  a  social  center  or  even  a  camping  ground 
under  homelike  supervision?  What  Catholic 
college  will  be  the  first  to  have  its  pennant 
float  over  such  a  summer  home  and  its  name 
emblazoned  on  the  doorplate?  By  all  means, 
Let  them  get  acquainted. 

We  must  decline  requests  to  give 
publicity  to  certain  alleged  acts  of  bigotry 
on  the  part  of  non-Catholic  chaplains 
on  the  firing  line  in  Europe.  We  feel  sure 
that  such  acts  are  altogether  exceptional, 
and  would  rather  chronicle  incidents  like 
the  following,  which  we  like  to  believe 
are  frequent.  "An  old  subscriber"  has 
our  best  thanks  for  this  narration  by 
the  Rev.  Charles  W.  Gordon  ("Ralph 
Connor")  of  Winnipeg: 

The  other  night  a  young  chap  was  brought  in 
with  bad  wounds.  My  heart  went  out  to  him. 
He  had  lost  blood  and  was  pallid  to  the  lips,  but 
his  smile  was  bright  and  brave.  The  doctor 
fixed  him  up.  He  chatted  away  with  me  quite 
cheerfully.  We  took  him  into  the  adjoining 
dugout,  or  cellar,  to  await  the  ambulance.  I 
got  him  some  cocoa  and  made  him  comfortable. 
Oh,  he  was  grateful!...!  saw  he  must  go  soon. 
I  spoke  to  him  of  his  Father  in  heaven.  He 
listened  eagerly.  "Shall  I  pray  with  you?" 
I  asked.  —  "Yes,  sir;  but  I  am  not  of  your 
religion." — "You  are  a  Roman  Catholic?"  I 
asked. — "Yes." — "Have  you  got  your  crucifix?" 
— "No:  I  left  it  in  my  kit."  I  sent  around  to  find 
a  crucifix  among  the  boys;  but,  strange  to  say, 
could  not  find  any.  (I  made  up  my  mind  I 
would  carry  one  with  me  after  this.)  I  went 
out,  cut  two  little  twigs;  the  doctor  tied  them 
together  in  the  form  of  a  cross.  I  held  up  the 
cross  before  his  eyes,  now  growing  dim.  His 
eyes  brightened,  his  face  really  shone  in  a  smile. 
"I  see  it, — I  see  it!"  he  said.  "Lift  up  my 
head."  I  lifted  it  up  for  him.  "I  can't  pray,"  he 
said. — "Never  mind:  God  knows.  Say  after  me, 


760 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


'God  be  merciful  to  me,  a  sinner!  Forgive  my 
sins  for  Jesus  Christ's  sake,  and  receive  me  now.'  " 
He  said  the  words  after  me,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  cross.  He  moved  his  lips:  I  placed  the 
cross  against  them.  He  kissed  the  symbol  of 
infinite  love  and  mercy.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
closed  his  eyes  and  was  gone. 

May  there  be  some  one  to  press  a 
crucifix  to  the  lips  of  this  good  Presby- 
terian minister  when  he,  too,  "shall  feel 
the  pangs  of  death";  and  may  his  soul 
be  brought  "to  the  participation  of 
heavenly  joys"! 

Those  editors  and  correspondents  who 
have  reproached  us  for  unfairness  to 
Germany  in  our  incidental  references  to 
the  World  War  will  perhaps  be  placated 
to  know  that  other  editors  and  corre- 
spondents charge  us  with  being  unfair  to 
the  Allies.  The  contradiction  is  easily 
explainable.  A  peculiarity  of  prejudice 
is  that  while  it  prevents  one  from  seeing 
existing  things  straight,  it  doesn't  prevent 
one  from  seeing  things  that  have  no 
existence  at  all,  except  in  one's  own 
imagination.  No  editor  should  be  held 
responsible  for  what  he  didn't  say,  or  for 
more  than  he  intended  saying, — for  any- 
thing, in  fact,  but  just  what  he  said. 
People  who  have  the  habit  of  "reading 
between  the  lines,"  as  it  is  called,  forget 
that  what  they  visualize  is  only  a  reflection 
of  themselves,  the  expression  of  their 
personal  thoughts,  the  manifestation  of 
their  private  sentiments.  The  habit  is 
not  an  excusable  one  except  in  the  case  of 
writers  who  express  themselves  badly, 
or  who  evidently  conceal  their  meaning. 
Then  only  may  we  inculpably  speculate 
as  to  what  the  meaning  may  be.  In  no 
case,  however,  can  there  be  justification 
for  attributing  malicious  motives,  or  for 
suspecting  sinister  intents. 

If  there  is  anything  of  which  a  person 
can  be  very  sure — of  which  others  can  not 
be  sure  at  all  —  it  is  his  motives  and 
intentions.  If  he  knows  anything,  he  must 
know  what  moves  him, — that  is,  if  he  is 
influenced  instead  of  being  impelled.  His 
intentions,  the  moment  they  are  formed, 


are  the  most  certain  knowledge  he  can 
possibly  possess.  Let  us  assure  our  readers 
of  all  nationalities  that  we  have  pub- 
lished nothing  from  malevolent  motives. 
We  have  no  ill  will  for,  nor  any  conscious 
prejudice  against,  any  people  on  earth. 
Our  only  intention  has  been  to  uphold 
religion  and  to  defend  truth.  And  our 
willingness  to  be  forgiven  for  unintentional 
offending  is  constant  and  entire. 

The  death  recently  of  Sister  Teresa 
Vincent,  co-foundress  and  for  the  past 
seventeen  years  superioress  of  the  New 
York  Foundling  Hospital,  brought  to 
light  the  wonderful  service  which  that 
great  religious  had  given  to  her  time. 
There  was  a  ring  of  challenge  in  the  words 
of  Bishop  Hayes  when  he  said  of  her: 

In  case  some  cold-hearted  official  should  try 
to  take  credit  from  the  work  Sister  Vincent 
did  during  her  years  at  the  Foundling  Hospital, 
let  me  quote  some  statistics.  In  fifty  years 
66,000  persons  passed  under  her  eye  and  impress; 
20,000  children  were  placed  in  happy  homes; 
10,000  were  returned  to  their  mothers  when 
they  were  able  to  care  for  them — and  some  of 
the  boys  are  now  vice-presidents-  of  banks  and 
United  States  Senators. 

Her  record  has  added  another  glorious  chapter 
to  the  work  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity  and  the 
Sisters  of  St.  Paul  and  Catholic  charities.  Cath- 
olic charities  in  the  past  have  been  unjustly 
accused.  The  pitiless  light  of  adverse  publicity 
has  been  thrown  upon  them  in  order  to  attain 
the  ends  desired  by  certain  people.  The  cowardly 
things  that  have  been  said  at  times  threatened 
to  make  our  own  people  believe  that  such  things 
as  were  described  so  unfairly  were  true. 

We  will  continue  her  work,  ministering  unto 
little  children,  whether  the  city  of  New  York 
wants  us  to  or  not. 

If  Sister  Teresa  Vincent  and  her  worthy 
associates  were  working  only  for  the 
applause  of  men,  there  might  be  some 
ground  for  regret  at  certain  times  in  the 
history  of  their  activities.  But  these 
noble,  self-sacrificing  women  are  too  wise  to 
look  for  temporal  rewards. 

The  season  is  at  hand  when  we  may 
expect  the  verification  of  the  oldtime 
almanac  prophecy;  "About  this  time  look 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


761 


out  for  drowning  accidents."  Throughout 
the  summer  months  the  casualty  columns 
of  the  metropolitan  dailies  and  the  local 
columns  of  smaller  journals  all  over  the 
country  make  frequent  mention  of  disasters 
at  sea,  and  of  fatal  accidents  at  ocean 
beaches,  on  lakes  and  rivers,  in  creeks 
and  ponds.  A  notable  feature  of  the 
lengthy  roll  is  the .  very  large  percentage 
of  such  accidents  that  are  easily  prevent- 
able! Apart  from  those  that  are  due  to 
such  absolutely  culpable  imprudence  as 
"rocking  the  boat,"  how  many  a  life 
would  be  spared  if  the  passenger  on  ferry- 
boat, steamer,  or  yacht,  or  the  pleasure- 
seeker  in  sailboat,  skiff,  or  canoe,  were 
capable  of  swimming! 

Swimming  is  not  only  an  athletic 
exercise  that  is  thoroughly  beneficial  for 
health  purposes,  but  a  "safety  first" 
precaution  for  all  who  embark  in  boats 
of  any  kind  for  any  purpose.  The  prudent 
parent  who  lives  within  reach  of  a  fairly 
large  body  of  water  should  not  only  see 
to  it  that  he  himself  learns  how  to  swim, 
but  should  teach,  his  children,  girls  and 
boys  alike,  the  same  easily  acquired  and 
eminently  useful  accomplishment.  The 
exploded  fallacy  that  "it  is  just  the 
strongest  swimmers  who  are  most  fre- 
quently drowned-"  arose  from  the  surprise 
occasioned  by  such  a  result's  happening 
now  and  then.  The  drowning  of  those  who 
can  not  swim  is  a  matter  of  course, 
occasioning  no  surprise  at  all,  .  and  con- 
sequently less  commented  upon. 


We  took  occasion  some  months  ago 
to  comment  on  the  incongruity  of  a 
Catholic  paper's  referring  to  a  priest  in 
such  terms  as  "Reverend  Hogan"  instead 
of  "Reverend  Father  Hogan";  and  added 
that  the  former  title  is  habitually  used 
only  by  the  less  cultured  of  even  Protes- 
tant editors.  The  better  class  of  non- 
Catholic  journals  invariably  use,  if  not 
the  second  form,  at  least  "Rev.  Mr. 
Hogan."  The  matter  is  briefly  referred  to 
in  the  answer  given  by  the  Ecclesiastical 
Review  (for  June)  to  this  query  of  a  cor- 


respondent: "Is  a  person  in  Minor  Orders 
entitled  to  be  called  'Reverend'?  At 
what  Order  does  a  person  acquire  the  title? 
Is  there  a  rubric  in  the  matter,  or  merely 
a  custom?"  To  which  the  Review  replies: 
"The  matter  is  regulated  by  custom,  and 
the  general  usage  seems  to  be  to  address 
a  subdeacon,  deacon,  priest,  or  professed 
religious  as  'Reverend  John  Smith,'  for 
example,  or  'Reverend  Brother  Smith.' 
The  form  'Reverend  Smith'  is  an  abomi- 
nation. Equally  reprehensible  is  the  use 
of  'Reverend'  alone;  for  example,  'Tell 
me,  Reverend,  what  do  you  think  of  the 
high  cost  of  living?" 

Of  cognate  interest  is  the  proper  form 
of  address  for  religious  women.  While 
"Sister  Michael"  would  seem  to  be 
sanctioned  by  Catholic  usage  in  this 
country  as  sufficient  for  the  rank  and  file 
of  our  nuns,  the  form  "Reverend  Sister 
John"  or  "  Reverend  Mother  Mary  Agnes" 
appears  authorized  in  the  case  of  those  in 
authority,  and  perhaps  also  in  the  case 
of  nuns  who  have  reached  an  exceptionally 
advanced  age. 

In  acknowledging  the  receipt  of  her 
share  of  offerings  made  by  readers  of 
THE  AvE  MARIA  for  the  rescue  and  support 
of  orphaned  and  abandoned  children  in 
China,  the  head  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity 
at  Chusan  writes :  '  I  beg  of  you  to  let 
our  generous  benefactors  know  how 
deeply  grateful  we  are  to  them  for  coming 
to  our  aid  in  our  hour  of  need.  We  are 
living  on  Divine  Providence.  Day  by 
day  Sisters  and  children  remind  our 
Heavenly  Father  that  He  is  our  provider 
and  protector,  and  that  we  rely  upon  Him 
to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door.  He 
rewards  our  confidence  in  a  wonderful 
way.  During  the  past  three  years,  when- 
ever we  were  in  greatest  straits,  He 
raised  up  more  friends  to  help  us  and 
enable  us  to  continue  our  work,- — to  feed 
the  little  ones  and  to  succor  the  poor.  That 
the  good  God  may  abundantly  reward  our 
benefactors  is  the  daily  prayer  of  Sisters 
and  children.' 


My  Dream. 


BY    S.    MARR. 


/Y  S  summer  without  flowers, 

Without  the  bird-songs  free, 
Would  be  my  life,  dear  Mother, 
Without  the  thought  of  thee. 

Thou  art  as  sunshine,   Mother, 
That  wooes  the  opening  flower, 

Or  as  the  soft  refreshing  dew 
At  twilight's  peaceful  hour. 

Thou  art  my  dream,  dear  Mother, 
That  doth  day's  joy  renew; 

And  when  I  die,  oh,  may  I  see 
My  dream  of  love  come  true! 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


XXIV.— A  N£W 

T  was  a  wonderful  day  that  fol- 
lowed for  Con, — the  happiest  and 
most  wonderful  he  had  ever  known. 
First,  Tony  was  baptized.  What  that 
meant  Con  only  dirnly  understood;  but 
that  it  would  bring  his  little  black-eyed 
charge  help  and  blessing,  he  was  sure. 
Then  having  explained  his  coming  to 
Father  Phil,  that  good  friend  took  every- 
body and  everything  in  his  kindly  care. 
Many  and  various  were  the  rumors  cir- 
culating about  Corbett's  Cut  as  the  moun- 
tain worshippers  scattered.  The  most 
favored  story  was  that  Con  had  been 
stolen  by  the  gypsies,  and  had  fought 
his  way  to  his  friend,  the  priest,  when 
he  learned  he  was  near. 

After  such  a  breakfast  as  Con  had  never 
tasted  before,  Father  Phil's  kind  hosts 
furnished  him  with  horses  and  wagon, 
that  Con  might  take  Tony  back  in  safety 
to  his  little  mother,  who  was  watching 


anxiously  for  his  return.  Father  Phil  had 
a  long  talk  with  Carita  as  they  drove 
back  along  the  winding  road  that  led 
to  the  Gypsy  Glen, — a  talk  to  which  Zila 
listened  with  breathless  interest.  Just  how 
or  why  they  did  not  understand,  but  they 
knew  that  Con  was  going  out  of  their  life 
and  their  world  forever. 

"I  would  like  to  go,  too,"  said  Zila, 
while  Carita  wept  softly  over  the  little 
"child  of  God"  now  sleeping  happily  in 
her  arms.  "Ever  since  I  listened  to  the 
singing  children,  my  heart  has  turned 
from  the  gypsy  tent,  the  gypsy  life.  So 
I  told  Conde  last  night.  But  my  grand- 
mother is  old  and  blind,  and  I  can  not 
leave  her." 

"When  she  dies  you  can  come,"  said 
Con,  as  they  stopped  on  the  hill  beyond 
the  camp;  for  it  would  not  have  been 
wise  for  him  to  go  farther.  "But  where 
you  will  find  me  I  do  not  know." 

And,  to  ease  the  sad  parting,  Father 
Phil  put  the  address  of  Saint  Cyprian's 
on  a  card  and, had  Con  leave  it  with  these 
simple  friends,  should  they  want  to  hear 
from  him.  For  the  young  priest  knew 
that  this  poor,  outlawed  boy  might  have 
power  and  place  they  little  guessed,  and 
might  reward  their  kindness  to  him  in 
the  years  to  come.  So,wjth  words  of  hope 
and  cheer,  and  blessings  from  Father  Phil, 
Con  bade  his  gypsy  companions  adieu, 
and  went  back  with  his  "Mister"  to 
Corbett's  Cut,  where  the  good  woman  of 
the  house  was  ready  to  "mother"  him, 
as  the  boy  charge  of  his  "riverince" 
should  be  mothered. 

Bathed,  brushed,  dressed  in  a  "decent" 
suit  that  belonged  to  her  own  Mike,  the 
wild  gypsy  lad  was  transformed  into  a 
fitting  companion  for  Father  Phil's  further 
journeying.  And  the  old  sheep  farmer 
would  not  hear  of  the  young  missionary's 
return  over  the  "backbone"  of  the  moun- 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


763 


tain.  He  insisted  upon  furnishing  wagon 
and  driver  for  easier  route  to  the  railroad, 
some  thirty  miles  distant,  where  the  old 
watchman  at  a  lonely  crossing  flagged  a 
passing  train. 

The  travellers  were  soon  speeding  on  in 
a  way  bewildering  indeed  to  Mountain  Con. 
It  was  to  be  a  night  journey;  and,  though 
he  had  been  talking  freely  to  Father  Phil 
as  they  jolted  over  the  mountains,  a  sudden 
silence  fell  upon  him  when  they  took  the 
train.  As  it  thundered  off  into  the  gather- 
ing darkness,  a  strange  look  came  upon  the 
young  face,  into  the  widening  eyes.  Father 
Phil  could  see  that  the  sturdy  hand  hold- 
ing tight  to  Dick's  collar  was  trembling. 
Con, — Con  of  Misty  Mountain  trembling ! 

"What  is  it,  Con?"  asked  his  good 
friend,  kindly.  "Do  the  cars  make  you 
ill,  my  boy?" 

"No,  Mister,"  was  the  answer,  while 
the  speaker's  breath  came  short  and 
quick.  "It  ain't  that.  I  don't  know  why, 
but  I'm  scared  like — like  as  if  my  bad 
dream  was  coming  true." 

"Your  bad  dream,  Con?"  questioned 
Father  Phil. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Con,  panting.  "I  used 
to  have  it  when  I  was  a  little  chap,  but  I 
'most  forgot  it, — a  dream  about  a  rushing 
and  a  reeling  like  this,  and  fire  and  smoke, 
and  somebody  catching  me  up  out  of  it  all 
in  the  darkness.  But  I'm  wide  awake  now. 
This  ain't  no  bad  dream,  is  it,  Mister?" 

"No,"  answered  Father  Phil,  his  own 
voice  trembling  a  little  as  he  realized  what 
Con  was  dimly  remembering.  "This  is 
no  bad  dream:  you're  wide  awake,  Con, 
with  a  friend  at  your  side,  and  nothing 
to  fear,  my  boy, — nothing.  Look  around 
you!  See!  Nobody  is  afraid.  Everybody 
is  bright  and  happy." 

And  then  a  boy  came  along  selling 
chocolate,  and  Father  Phil  bought  a  box. 
And  the  little  girl  in  the  seat  beyond 
began  to  make  friends  with  Dick,  and  her 
father  said  he  was  the  finest  dog  he  had 
ever  seen.  And  altogether  things  became 
so  cheery  and  pleasant  that  Con  forgot 
his  bad  dream,  and  was  his  own  bold  self 


again.  And  when  he  turned  into  his 
berth  that  night,  dead  tired  and  sleepy, 
his  last  remembrance  as  he  closed  his 
eyes  was  the  Mister's  kind  voice  mur- 
muring: "Go  to  sleep,  my  boy!  There  is 
nothing  to  fear,  God  bless  you!" 

Breakfast  had  just  been  served  in  St. 
Cyprian's  modest  rectory  when  Father 
Phil  walked  in  upon  the  pastor,  with  a 
sturdy  boy  at  his  side,  a  big  wolf  hound 
behind  him. 

"Well,  here  we  are,  Father  Tim!"  was 
his  cheery  greeting.  "Here  is  your  roving 
shepherd,  and  the  lost  lamb." 

"Eh — what — what?  What  is  it  you 
say,  lad?"  Father  Tim  dropped  his  soft- 
boiled  egg  in  a  hopeless  smash,  as  he  started 
to  his  rheumatic  feet.  "Who  is  it  you  have 
with  you,  Phil?" 

"The  lost  heir,"  answered  Father  Phil, 
clapping  his  hand  on  Con's  shoulder, — 
"though  he  doesn't  know  himself  by  that 
name  as  yet.  He  is  just  now  only  Con, 
my  little  pal  and  brother, — Con  of  Misty 
Mountain,  that  God  has  given  into  our 
hands  and  care.  Down  on  your  knees,  Con, 
and  get  Father  Tim's  blessing." 

Then  Con  and  Dick,  who  were  equally 
ignorant  of  the  future  this  coming  fore- 
casted for  them,  were  committed  to  the 
care  of  Mrs.  Farrell  (Father  Tim's  cook 
and  housekeeper),  and  had  their  break- 
fast in  the  sunny  rectory  kitchen;  while 
Father  Phil  gave  his  old  friend  a  detailed 
account  of  his  wanderings  and  their 
ultimate  success. 

"There  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  boy's 
identity,"  he  concluded.  "Everything 
confirms  it,  even  his  dimly  remembered 
terror  at  the  night  journey  on  the  cars." 

"Yes,  Phil/ — yes:  it's  God's  guidance 
from  first  to  last,  as  even  our  dull  eyes  can 
sec,"  said  the  old  priest.  "And  a  fine, 
noble  lad  he  is,  even  if  he  never  comes  to 
his  own." 

"But  he  shall  come  to  his  own!"  There 
was  nothing  dull  in  the  younger  priest's 
eyes,  as  they  flashed  with  resolution. 
"He  must  have  the  rights  to  which  he 


764 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


was  born, — name,  home,  family,  fortune. 
He  must  have  justice,  as  I  promised;  and 
as  that  means  a  legal  fight,  I  am  sure,  I 
intend  to  put.  all  the  scattered  proofs  I 
have  gathered  in  the  hands  of  the  best 
lawyer  I  can  find,  and  let  him  go  to  work 
at  once — this  very  day." 

"You  may  be  right, — you  may  be  right, 
Phil."  Father  Tim  rubbed  his  chin  as 
was  his  fashion  when  in  doubt  or  per- 
plexity. "I  am  a  simple  old  priest  that 
never  had  much  worldly  wisdom;  and  the 
lawyers,  poor  men,  have  to  make  their 
living,  as  we  know.  But  the  saints  have 
all  been  against  lawsuiting  when  it  can  be 
helped,  Phil.  It  brings  on  bitterness  and 
scandals  and  heart-burnings.  And  since 
God  has  guided  us  this  far  so  wonderfully, 
couldn't  we  trust  Him  a  bit  further,  Phil? 
His  ways  are  those  of  peace  and  love  and 
mercy,  lad.  Can't  you  think  of  something 
better,  wiser,  holier  than  a  fight?" 

"No,  I  can't,"  was  the  answer.  For 
Father  Phil  was  only  twenty-six,  arid  had 
in  his  breast  a  soldier  spirit  that  even 
cassocks  can  not  altogether  quell.  "With 
that  villain,  Arthur  Nesbitt,  alive  and 
ready  to  give  the  lie  to  all  that  we  can  say 
or  prove!" 

"I  suppose  he  will,"  sighed  Father  Tim, 
sadly.  "It  would  be  only  poor  human 
nature  without  God's  grace,  Phil.  Ah, 
well,  well!  It's  a  sinful  world  we're  living 
in,  and  sometimes  it's  hard  to  see  the  way. 
It  will  do  no  harm  to  wait  a  bit,  and  look 
around  us,  and  pray,  Phil, — pray.  I've 
seen  many  a  dark  .way  lightened  and 
crooked  way  made  straight  just  by  prayer. 
You  have  the  lad  safe  and  sound  now, 
thanks  be  to  God!  Why  not  take  him 
around  a  bit,  show  him  the  parks  and  the 
shops  and  the  pictures, — all  that  he  has 
never  seen?  You  couldn't  trust  him  by 
himself,  wild  young  kiddy  that  he  is;  and 
the  other  boys  would  be  making  game  of 
him  for  his  innocence.  You'd  best  give 
him  a  day  or  two,  and  show  him  the  town." 

And  Father  Phil,  who  had  learned  the 
simple  wisdom  of  his  old  friend's  guidance, 
agreed  to  give  Con  "a  day  or  two"  in  this 


new  world,  where  his  little  pal  was  a  stran- 
ger indeed;  for  the  wildest  ways  of  Misty 
Mountain  had  not  been  so  bewildering 
to  him  as  the  busy  streets,  with  their  cars 
and  motors  and  hurrying  crowds.  At 
first  Con  kept  at  his  good  friend's  side  in 
a  dumb,  dazed  silence;  but  very  soon  he 
brightened  into  eager  interest,  and  began 
to  wonder,  to  question,  to  enjoy.  It  was 
almost  as  if  he  had  been  transported  into 
another  planet.  And  Father  Phil,  who  had 
not  quite  realized  what  a  transition  it  was 
for  Mountain  Con,  found  a  keen,  almost 
boyish  pleasure  in  -being  his  guide  through 
this  unknown  wonderland. 

They  went  into  great  Gothic  churches, 
where  Con  asked  if  the  soaring  pillars 
"grew"  there;  into  public  parks,  where 
he  wondered  what  had  changed  the  states- 
men and  heroes  "into  stone."  He  had  to 
be  guided  (who  had  never  needed  guidance 
in  the  wildest  ways  of  Misty  Mountain) 
through  the  perilous  rush  of  cars  and  mo- 
tors and  bicycles;  and  rescued,  almost  at 
the  peril  of  Father  Phil's  life,  from  tin 
ambulance  speeding  with  "right  of  way," 
which  the  staring  young  mountaineer 
blocked.  Con,  who  had  never  seen  a  ship 
stood  in  breathless  wonder  on  the  wharves 
while  Father  Phil  showed  him  the  great 
ocean  steamers,  the  white-winged  sailing 
vessels,  all  the  crowd  of  smaller  craft 
making  ready  to  cross  a  world  of  waters 
to  other  lands  he  could  not  see.  They  rode 
out  to  the  Zoo,  where  the  young  hunter  of 
Misty  Mountain  stared  doubtfully  at  his 
olden  enemies  behind  bars,  and  couldn't 
"see  no  sense  in  caging  wild  critters. 
They'll  bust  out  some  day.  I'd  bust  out 
myself  if  they  shut  me  up  like  that." 

Many  and  various  were  the  sights  Con 
saw  during  those  first  few  days  in  the 
great  city, — always  coming  back  at  sun- 
set for  a  quiet  evening  in  the  rectory  at 
St.  Cyprian,  where  Father  Tim  and  Father 
Phil  talked  to  him  of  other  things  more 
wonderful  and  beautiful  still.  Most  won- 
derful of  all,  one  evening  there  came  a 
letter  to  Con  himself.  It  was  from  Susie, 
who  was  back  at  St.  Joseph's  now,— 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


765 


Susie,  to  whom  Father  Phil  had  written 
of  his  finding  Con  at  Corbett's  Cut,,  and 
who  sent  a  rejoicing  letter  to  the  dear 
Mountain  Con,  who  could  be  her  friend 
forever  now  that  he  was  brother  Phil's 
own  boy.  Then  at  night  there  were  prayers 
sometimes  in  the  dear  old  sanctuary  of 
Saint  Cyprian's,  sometimes  by  his  snowy 
little  cot  in  Father  Phil's  room, — prayers 
which  Con  was  learning  to  echo  even  if 
he  did  not  as  yet  quite  understand;  for 
Father  Tim's  household  was  making  a 
novena  for  guidance  and  help. 

"Give  me  nine  days'  talk  with  Saint 
Joseph,  Phil,"  said  the  old  priest,  simply; 
"and  then  you  can  go  ahead  with  your 
lawyers  and  make  your  fight." 

Con  learned  a  great  deal  during  these 
nine  days  of  waiting;  for  the  "Mister" 
gave  him  much  of  his  thought  and  time, — 
gently  correcting  the  rude  words  and  ways 
of  the  Roost  and  the  Mountain,  teaching 
him  the  little  proprieties  of  manner  and 
speech,  which  to  the  wild  young  outlaw 
of  the  past  had  been  quite  unknown. 
And  Con,  watching  this  big  brother  and 
pal  of  his  with  keen,  loving  eyes,  proved 
an  apt  pupil,  and  was  soon  managing 
knife  and  fork  and  napkin  like  a  gentleman 
born.  Then,  as  Mike  Corbett's  suit  was 
of  rather  a  tight  cut  for  the  stalwart  Con, 
Father  Phil  took  him  up  town  one  day  and 
had  him  outfitted  anew  from  cap  to  boots. 
With  his  shock  of  yellow  hair  trimmed  into 
shape,  in  his  stylish  English  tweeds,  with  a 
blue  tie  (that  just  matched  his  eyes) 
finishing  the  spotless  linen  at  his  throat, 
Con  was  as  handsome  a  boy  as  any  "big 
brother"  could  desire. 

"He  looks  what  he  is — the  Ncsbitt  son 
and  heir,"  thought  Father  Phil,  as  they 
paused,  for  a  while  on  their  homeward  way 
through  the  park  to  watch  the  goldfish  in 
the  fountain.  "Father  Tim's  novena  is 
up,  and  it  is  evidently  time  now  to  work 
as  well  as  pray.  I  will  see  my  father's  old 
friend,  Judge  Verrell,  and  put  the  case 
in  his  hands  to-morrow." 

"Father  Doane!"  spoke  a  pleasant 
voice,  and  a  lady  passing  by  paused  and 


stretched  out  her  hand  in  cordial  greeting. 
"You  have  forgotten  me,  I  see;  but  I 
have  not  forgotten  you.  I  am  your  friend 
Jack's  cousin,  Eunice  Rayson." 

"Forgotten  you?  Not  at  all!"  was  the 
warm  answer.  "My  visit  to  you  was  in 
every  way  a  memorable  one.  I  wrote  Jack 
a  lengthy  account  of  it.  By. the  by,  I  had 
a  delayed  letter  from  him  this  morning. 
He  is  off  to  the  seashore,  he  tells  me:" 

The  speaker  paused  as  he  saw  the  lady 
did  not  hear.  With  wide,  startled,  almost 
frightened  eyes,  she  was  staring  at  the 
boy  beside  him. 

"I  —  I  beg  your  pardon!"  she  said, 
recovering  herself.  "For  a  moment  I  was 
bewildered,  Father  Doane.  The  likeness 
is  so — so  astounding.  That  boy  with  you — • 
for  God's  sake,  who  is  he?" 

"Ah,  the  fight  is  on!"  Father  Phil 
thought,  and  he  flung  out  Con's  colors 
fearlessly  at  the  question.  —  "Ah,  you 
recognize  him,  I  see,  Miss  Rayson!  This 
is  Charles  Owen  Ncsbitt,  the  child  of  that 
boy  in  the  picture, — Charles  Owen  Nesbitt, 
who  is  here  to  claim  name  and  home." 

(To  be  continued.) 


A  Puzzling  Trick. 


of  the  tricks  or  puzzles  that 
@\  appear  simple  enough  when  one 
t^  is  told  how  to  do  them  re-present 
considerable  mathematical  ingenuity  in 
the  person  who  invents  or  discovers 
them.  Our  young  folks  can  solve  the 
puzzles  or  perform  the  tricks  when  they 
learn  the  secret  of  their  solution;  but  the 
real  reason  why  doing  so  and  so  will 
produce  such  and  such  results  involves  a 
knowledge  beyond  the  capacity  of,  not 
only  our  young  folks,  but  the  great  ma- 
jority of  grown-ups  as  well.  Any  boy  or 
girl  of  ordinary  intelligence  can  do,  for 
instance,  the  following  trick  when  he  or 
she  reads  our  explanation  of  it;  but  it 
was  an  exceptionally  clever  man  who 
discovered  the  principles  on  which  the 
trick  is  founded. 

You    place    on    a    table    four    objects. 


766 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Any  kind  of  objects  will  do,  but  for  our 
purpose  we  will  suppose  them  to  be:  a 
little  box,  a  coin,  a  pencil,  and  a  book. 
Then  you  invite  four  persons  to  seat 
themselves  at  the  table,  and  you  place 
before  them  a  handful  of  counters — 
buttons,  pennies,  peas,  beans,  matches, 
beads,  or  similar  articles.  You  give  one  of 
these  counters  to  the  first  person,  two  to 
the  second,  three  to  the  third,  and  four  to 
the  fourth,  leaving  the  remaining  counters 
on  the  table. 

Going  into  another  room,  or  into  a 
corner  where  you  can  not  see  the  table,  or 
having  yourself  blindfolded  if  you  like,  you 
tell  the  four  persons  to  take  each,  one  of 
the  objects  and  hide  it  from  you  in  their 
pockets  or  elsewhere.  You  then  proceed: 

"Whoever  has  the  box  will  please 
take  from  the  table  as  many  counters 
as  I  gave  him.  Whoever  has  the  coin  will 
take  four  times  as  many  counters  as  I 
gave  him.  The  holder  of  the  pencil  will 
take  sixteen  times  as  many  counters  as 
he  received  from  me;  but  whoever  has 
the  book  will  take  none." 

When  this  has  been  done  you  inquire 
how  many  counters  are  still  left  on  the 
table;  and  on  being  told  the  number, 
you  at  once  declare  who  has  each  of  the 
objects.  .  It  would  take  altogether  too 
long  to  explain  how  this  has  been  worked 
out;  but  here  is  the  way  to  tell  which 
persons  have  the  separate  objects.  To 
begin  with,  the  number  of  counters  at 
the  start  must  be  just  88.  Suppose  we 
call  the  four  persons  Tom,  Jack,  Joe,  and 
Jim, — Tom  being  No.  i  and  Jim  No.  4. 
Now,  according  to  the  instructions  given 
above,  you  give  one  counter  to  Tom,  two 
counters  to  Jack,  three  to  Joe,  and  four  to 
Jim.  Then  suppose  Tom  takes  the  book, 
Jack  the  pencil,  Joe  the  coin,  and  Jim  the 
box.  Following  your  instructions,  Jim, 
who  has  the  box,  takes  from  the  table 
as  many  counters  as  you  gave  him,  4; 
and  consequently  he  has  8  altogether. 
Joe  has  the  coin;  and  when  he  takes 
four  times  as  many  counters  as  you  gave 
him  (3),  he  will  have  altogether  12  and  3, 


or  15.  Jack  has  the  pencil,  and  must 
take  sixteen  times  as  many  counters  as 
you  gave  him  (2),  or  32,  and  then  he  will 
have  34.  Tom,  having  the  book,  takes  no 
other  counters  than  the  one  he  received 
from  you.  So,  at  the  close,  Tom  has  j, 
Jack  34,  Joe  15,  and  Jim  8;  or,  all  four 
have  58  counters,  so  that  there  remain  on 
the  table  88 — 58,  or  30.  Now,  if  you  look 
at  the  following  printed  table  you  will 
see  that  when  the  counters  left  number 
30,  the  ist  person  (Tom)  has  the  book; 
the  2d  person  (Jack)  has  the  pencil;  the 
3d  person  (Joe)  has  the  coin;  and  the 
4th  person  (Jim)  has  the  box. 

There  can  not  be  any  other  number  of 
counters  left  than  those  given  in  this 
table,  unless  a  mistake  is  made  by  the 
persons  engaged.  As  you  can  hardly 
"memorize"  the  table,  you  had  better 
make  a  copy  of  it,  which  you  may  consult 
as  often  as  you  try  the  trick. 

The  first  column  contains  the  number 
of  counters  remaining  after  each  person 
has  taken  his  allotted  number;  the  other 
four  columns  tell  what  object  each  person 
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THE  AVE  MARIA  767 

WITH    AUTHORS    AND    PUBLISHERS 


— "White  Knights  on  Dartmoor"  is  the  title 
of  a  new  book  by  Olive  Katharine  Parr  (Beatrice 
Chase)  just  published  by  Longmans,  Green  & 
Co.,  London. 

— Canon  L  Poulin,  whose  reputation  as  an 
exceptionally  eloquent  pulpit  orator  is  well 
established  in  Paris  and  indeed  throughout 
France,  has  brought  out,  through  the  publishing 
house  of  Pierre  Tequi,  .  a  n^w  collection  of 
sermons  and  addresses,  "Les  Sources  d'eau 
vive."  The  work  is  in  brochure  form  (360 
pages),  and  contains  seventeen  chapters  of 
uniform  and  timely  interest. 

-"Kantisme  et  Modernisme/'  by  the  Abbe 
Van  Loo  (Paris':  Pierre  Tequi),  is  a  sixteenmo 
brochure  of  236  pages.  A  philosophical  and 
theological  essay,  the  work  may  not  at  first 
blush  appear  to  possess  much  opportuneness 
or  actuality  in  these  days  of  almost  universal 
warfare;  but  it  will  be  found  that  both  the  war 
and  the  coming  quarto-centenary  of  Luther 
give  it  a  note  of  especial  timeliness. 

— It  is  a  gratification  to  find  in  each  new 
volume  of  the  "Angelus  Series"  a  list  of  all  the 
preceding  issues.  An  ever-increasing  number  of 
readers  will  thus  be  secured  for  these  excellent 
little  books.  The  gem  of  the  Series  is  "Life, 
Science,  and  Art,"  by  Ernest  Hello.  The 
volumes  are  of  321110  size  and  contain  about 
1 60  pages;  they  are  well  printed,  neatly  bound, 
and  provided  with  a  marker.  Published  by  R. 
&  T.  Washbourne;  and  for  sale  in  the  United 
States  by  the  Benzigers.  Price,  50  cents. 

— Meditations  for  Religious"  is  the  sub-title 
of  "Sponsa  Christi,"  by  Mother  St.  Paul,  of 
the  House  of  Retreats,  Birmingham;  and  the 
religious  connoted  are,  of  course,  Sisters!  Father 
Rickaby,  S.  J.  points  out,  however,  in  his  brief 
preface,  that  the  term  has  a  wider  application, 
and  that  the  designation  "spouse  of  Christ" 
applies  to  every  soul.  So  we  may  say  that  these 
bright  and  practical  meditations,  while  designed 
primarily  for  nuns,  may  be  used  by  the  faithful 
more  generally,  and  with  every  expectation  of 
profit.  The  use  of  Holy  Writ  in  this  little  book 
is  particularly  admirable.  Longmans,  Green  & 
Co.  publishers;  price,  90  cents. 

— It  is  always  a  pleasure  to  welcome  a  novel 
by  Isabel  C.  Clarke.  There  is  an  antecedent 
probability,  not  to  say  certitude,  that  it  will 
prove  to  be  not  merely  a  "novel  by  a  Catholic" 
but  a  genuine  "Catholic  novel."  And  "The 
Rest  House,"  her  latest  contribution  to  Catholic 
fiction,  amply  realizes  one's  expectations.  It 


is  a  narrative  interesting  enough  to  charm  the 
most  blase  novel-reader,  and  Catholic  enough 
to  serve  as  spiritual  reading.  Peggy  Metcalfe, 
the  heroine,  is  the  youngest  daughter  of  a 
wealthy  Protestant  family  in  England.  She 
accidentally  spends  a  night  in  a  Catholic  home 
(the  house  of  the  title)  in  which  there  is  a 
chapel,  and  she  attends  Benediction.  It  proves 
an  epoch-making  experience,  and  the  remainder 
of  the  book  tells  of  what  eventually  resulted 
from  that  casual' visit.  A  novel  that  deserves 
wide  circulation. 

—We  welcome  a  new  edition  (the  third)  of 
"The  Fairest  Argument,"  by  the  Rev.  John  F. 
Noll,  LL.  D.,  of  Huntington,  Ind.  The  first 
edition  of  this  excellent  and  very  useful  work 
was  entitled  "For  Our  Non-Catholic  Friends"; 
with  the  sub-title  which  is  now  used  as  the  main 
one.  The  other  changes  consist  in  the  elimina- 
tion of  all  testimony  that  lacked  exact  reference, 
and  in  the  substitution  of  more  recent  Protestant 
testimony  for  the  old.  These  changes  are 
decided  improvements,  and  they  will  render 
the  book — it  is  supplied  with  a  good  general 
index — still  more  valuable  to  priests  and  other 
public  speakers,  and  more  interesting  to  general 
readers.  The  work  is  divided  into  seven 
parts:  Dispelling  the  Mists  for  Clearer  Vision; 
The  Catholic  Idea  of  the  Church  Defended; 
Witnesses  Admit  that  God  is  Served  Best  in 
the  Catholic  Church;  *  Catholic  Teaching 
Defended  by  Protestants;  Protestants  Defend 
the  Church  in  Other  Matters;  Erroneous 
Impressions  Exposed;  Protestant  Witnesses 
against  Protestantism.  The  volume  is  a  i2mo 
°f  399  pages;  it  sells  for  75  cents  in  cloth;  for 
25  cents  in  paper  covers.  Postage  extra. 

— In  spite  of  its  faults,  Mr.  Previte  Orton's 
new  book,  "Outlines  of  Mediaeval  History," 
will  give  non- Catholic  readers  a  more  correct 
notion  of  the  Middle  Ages  than  the  vast  majority 
of  them  now  entertain.  Especially  notable  is 
the  author's  favorable  judgment  of  certain  of  the 
Popes  of  the  period,  395-1492.  These  limits 
are  arbitrary,  of  course;  but  they  have  the 
merit  of  convenience,  395  being  the  year  of  the 
death  of  Theodosius  the  Great,  and  1492  that 
of  the  discovery  of  America.  Reviewing  this 
author's  work,  which  is  published  by  Cambridge 
University,  the  London  Times  remarks: 

The  term  "Medieval"  has  come  to  have  an  ill  sound. 
For  it  has  been  so  often  used  in  a  depreciatory  sense,  as 
pointing  to  a  time  when — so  it  is  assumed — ignorance, 
perfidy,  and  violence  reigned  in  the  world,  that  to  many 
minds  it  has  lost  all  nobler  significance.  At  best  it  suggests 
to  them  merely  what  is  obsolete.  It  is  unfortunate  that  this 


768 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


should  be  so,  since  the  period  known  as  the  Middle  Ages, 
with  all  its  barbarism  and  its  inhumanities,  was  yet  one 
inspired  by  lofty  ideals,  prolific  of  noble  thought,  and  rich 
in  splendid  achievement.  It  can  show,  too,  a  glorious  roll 
of  saints  and  heroes,  among  whom  can  be  counted  some  of 
the  greatest  of  mankind.  If  much  that  it  produced  has 
passed  away  forever,  it  has  left  not  a  little  for  which  the 
world  to-day  is  its  debtor. 

— By  an  egregious  and  regrettable  mistake, 
the  authorship  of  "Selected  Gems,"  noticed  by 
us  recently,  was  attributed  to  "P.  J.  Desmond" 
instead  of  to  P.  J.  Pendergast,  the  producer 
and  proprietor  thereof,  to  whom  we  hasten  to 
offer  sincerest  apologies.  We  can  not  delay 
till  July,  as  he  suggests  in  the  following  gentle 
lines,  the  expression  of  our  regret  for  so  stupid 
a  blunder.  It  was  no  typographical  error,  for 
which  printer  or  proofreader  might  be  blamed, 
but  a  flagrant  mistake  of  our  own  making. 
We  have  all  the  more  satisfaction  in  complying 
with  Mr.  Pendergast 's  request  because  of  his 
holding  his  "Gems,"  as  he  says,  so  clear  and 
by  so  clear  a  title: 

Dear  AVE  MARIA,  pray  be  not  severe. 
And  I  pray  to  this  note  you'll  respond; 

For  the  "Gems"  you'll  agree  were  written  by  me 
And  not  by  P.  J.  Desmond. 

The  title  all  clear  of  the  "  Gems"  I  hold  dear, 

And  have  held  them  since  April  past. 
Now  let  me  explain,  I  still  do  remain, 

Your  devoted  P.  J.  Pendergast. 

In  the  month  of  July,  I  hope  and  rely 

And  pray  that  these  lines  will  appear; 
For  the  "Gems,"  you  can  see,  they  are  dear  unto  me, 

likewise  THE  AVE  MARIA. 


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Very  Rev.  Charles  Wood,  of  the  diocese  of 
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C.  M.  F. 

Brother  Jerome,  C.  SS.  R. 

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Morr,  and  Mrs.  Mary  C.  Brown. 

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in  peace!  (300  days'  indul.) 

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nzo  TO  ' 

f\f  •- 

HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME   BLESSED.      8T.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JUNE  23,  191?. 


NO.  25 


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


In  Nazareth  Lanes. 


BY    M.    WOEUAVARTH. 

J^KR  eyes  shone  like  the  summer  stars 

That  glow  with  heaven's  light; 
But  sometimes  from  dark  water's  depth 

They  gaze  at  us  by  night, — 
As  though  a  star  had  given  birth 
To  stars,  and  cradled  them  on  earth. 
Her  soft  smile  was  so  kind  and  glad, 

So  tender  and  so  good, 
As  though  the  Heavens  had  set  a  seal 

On  perfect  womanhood, 
Or  signed  her  with  an  outward  grace, 
Who  first  had  seen  her  Maker's  Face. 

She  walked  among  the  flowered  lanes, 

The  Child  was  at  her  side; 
The  flaunting  red  anemones 

Their  sombre  hearts  belied; 
Pale  blossoms  like  a  carpet  lay 
'Neath  hyacinth  and  orchid  spray. 
The  roses  wove  a  fragrant  hedge, 

Breast-high  the  lilies  grew; 
And  in  and  out  the  butterflies 

Like  flower  spirits  flew; 
Of  jasmine  leaf  and  flower  she  twined 
A  wreath  His  baby  brow  to  bind. 

She  walked  among  the  flowering  lanes, 

The  Child  was  at  her  side; 
This  was  the  garden  of  her  life, 

Her  memory's  Hallow-tide, 
That  garnered  dream  from  flower  and  scent, 
As  through  the  blossomed  lanes  she  went. 


WHEN   the   hand  ceases  to  scatter,  the 
heart  ceases  to  praise.— Irish  Proverb. 


"Dominus  Vobiscum"  in  the  Mass. 


BY    THE    VERY    REV.    R.    o'KENNEDY. 


OT  fewer  than  seven  times  in 
any  Mass,  in  some  Masses 
oftener-,  does  the  priest  say 
Dominus  vobiscum.  And  we  are 
to  remember  that  it  is  not  of  his  own 
option  he  does  so,  but  in  obedience  to  the 
command  of  the  Church;  and  that  makes  it 
far  more  important  and  more  impressive. 
We  ask,  Why  does  the  Church  enjoin  this 
upon  him?  The  Church  does  so  in  order 
that  those  attending  Mass  may  assist  at 
the  tremendous  Sacrifice  with  all  due 
solemnity  and  awe. 

We  need  not  be  told  that  the  Mass  is 
the  same  Adorable  Sacrifice  which  Our 
Lord,  on  Good  Friday,  offered  on  Mount 
Calvary.  We  know  it  well  enough;  the 
Church  is  satisfied  of  that.  But,  unhappily, 
with  our  best  intentions,  we  too  often 
forget  it.  It  is  to  bring  its  solemnity 
time  and  again  before  our  minds  that 
the  Church  orders  the  priest  to  pray. 
"The  Lord  be  with  you." 

The  altar  is  frequently  called  by  the 
Church  "the  Mount  of  God."  Earlier 
than  Calvary,  there  was  another  mount — 
Mount  Sinai.  The  Jewish  people  were, 
on  a  solemn  occasion  long  ago,  gathered 
around  the  mount,  as  the  Christian  people 
"at  the  hour  of  morning  Sacrifice"  gather 
around  the  altar  to-day.  God  came  down 
on  that  mount,  and  God  conies  down  on 
the  altar. 

The  Book  of  Exodus  tells  us  what  took 


770 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


place  when  "the  children  of  Israel,  de- 
parting from  Raphidim,  came  into  the 
desert  and  camped  before  the  mount." 
We  look  to  it,  for  it  will  help  us  to  under- 
stand the  Dominus  vobiscum;  and  the 
warning  therein  given  will  assist  us  to 
attend  reverently  at  the  tremendous  Sac- 
rifice. "And  Moses  going  up  unto  God, 
the  Lord  called  to  him  out  of  the  mountain : 
Thus  shalt  thou  say  to  the  House  of  Jacob : 
You  have  seen  what  I  did  to  the  Egyptians 
[He  had  overwhelmed  them  in  the  Red 
Sea];  but  you  I  have  borne  on  the  wings 
of  eagles."  We  ought,  at  the  foot  of 
the  altar,  to  confess  and  declare  that  God 
has  indeed  brought  us  on  the  wings  of 
eagles  to  these  adorable  mysteries;  for 
the  sublimest  faith  under  heaven  is  neces- 
sary to  believe  thfcm. 

God  tells  two  things  to  Moses:  (i)  "Be- 
hold, I  will  come  down  on  the  mount  in  a 
thick  cloud."  The  "thick  cloud"  strikingly 
foreshadows  the  impenetrable  mystery  of 
the  altar.  (2)  "No  one  shall  come  near 
the  mount,  man  or  beast.  If  he  does, 
he  shall  be  stoned  or  shot  through  with 
arrows.  If  he  touch  it,  he  shall  not  live." 
This  shows  the  awe  with  which  it  behooves 
us  to  approach  the  celebration  of  the 
Holy  Mass.  Instead  of  coming  near,  or 
touching  the  mount,  the  children  of  Israel 
are  ordered  to  "wash  their  clothes,  and 
to  be  sanctified  against  the  third  day." 
We  hear  the  priest  and  Mass-server  alter- 
nately reciting  the  Confiteor  and  see  them 
striking  their  breasts.  That  is  the  washing 
of  the  clothes  with  us, — we  are  rending 
our  hearts,  and  not  our  garments.  And 
the  priest  says  in  the  name  of  all:  "May 
the  almighty  and  merciful  Lord  grant  us 
pardon,  absolution,  and  remission  of  all 
our  sins.  Amen." 

As  another  Moses,  the  priest  is  now 
about  to  go  up  into  the  mount,  unto  God. 
But  listen  to  what  he  says  first:  "Turn  to 
us,  O  God;  and  Thou  wilt  make  us  live." — • 
"And  Thy  people  will  have  joy  in  Thee." 
The  children  of  Israel  said:  "We  will 
obey  the  Lord,  we  will  serve  our  God." 
And  the  Lord  said:  "If  you  do  so,  you 


shall  be  My  [especial]  people,  and  I  will  be 
your  God."  The  priest  continues:  "Show 
us,  O  God,  Thy  mercy  [and  not  Thine 
anger]."-  -"And  grant  us  Thy  protection," 
reply  the  people.  The  priest  adds:  "O 
Lord,  hear  the  prayer  [I  have  offered  Thee 
for  myself  and  this  people]." — "And  let 
our  cry  come  unto  Thee,"  answer  the  con- 
gregation. And,  opening  wide  his  hands, 
as  he  is  going  to  lay  his  foot  on  the  first 
step  of  the  altar,  the  priest  calls  to  the 
people,  Dominus  vobiscum. — "O  brethren, 
the  Lord  be  with  you!" 

Let  us  listen  again  to  Exodus:  "And 
God  called  Moses  to  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain, and  He  said  to  him:  Go,  get  thee 
down;  and  charge  the  people  lest  they 
break  through.  And  Moses  said  to  the 
Lord:  The  people  can  not  come  up  unto 
Mount  Sinai;  for  Thou  didst  charge  us, 
saying:  Sanctify  the  mount  and  set 
bounds  round  about  it."  Hear  the  em- 
phatic, almost  passionate  charge  of  God: 
"But  God  said:  Go,  get  thee  down;  and 
charge  the  people.  There  shall  not  a 
hand  touch  the  mount,  but  he  shall 
surely  be  shot  through.  Whether  it  be 
beast  or  man,  he  shall  not  live."  It 
seems  to  us  now  that  we  begin  to  under- 
stand why  the  priest  says  Dominus 
vobiscum  just  at  the  moment  he  makes 
ready  to  ascend  the  altar.  Oh,  "this  is 
a  terrible  place!" 

The  priest  goes  to  the  Book  and  reads 
the  Introit.  He  returns  to  the  middle  of 
the  altar,  and  again,  with  hands  joined 
together  and  eyes  cast  down,  he  calls 
three  times  to  God  the  Father  for  mercy, 
and  three  times  to  God  the  Son,  and  three 
times  to  the  blessed  God  of  Love.  There 
are  days  on  which  the  Church  will  not 
permit  him  to  say  the  Gloria  in  Eoccelsis; 
but  if  he  does  say  it,  you  notice  that  he 
gives  praise  to  God  the  Father  first, 
secondly,  to  God  the  Son;  and  finally  to 
God  the  Holy  Ghost.  But,  whether  read 
or  not,  he  immediately  turns  round  to 
the  people,  and,  warning  them,  cries  out: 
"'Dominus  vobiscum."  "And  there  were 
thunders  and  lightnings  and  a  thick  cloud 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


771 


on  the  mount,  and  the  voice  of  the  trumpet 
exceeding  loud;  and  all  the  people  trem- 
bled. .  .  .  And  God  said  to  Moses:  Go, 
get  thee  down ;  and  charge  the  people  lest 
they  break  through,  and  I  kill  them.  And 
Moses  went  down  unto  the  people,  and 
spoke  with  them." 

The  Book  is  removed  to  the  Gospel 
side.  The  priest  approaches;  but  before 
he  reads  a  word  from  it  he  again  warns 
the  .people, — for  as  truly  as  the  words, 
"I  am  the  Lord,  thy  God,"  are  the  words 
of  God  the  Father  on  the  mount,  quite  as 
truly  are  the  words  of  the  Gospel  the 
inspired  words  of  God  the  Holy  Ghost. 
And  therefore,  as  Moses  warning  the  people, 
the  priest  repeats,  Domimis  wbiscum. — 
'  O  brethren,  may  the  Lord  not  depart 
from  you  in  anger,  but  be  in  the  midst 
of  you  in  love!' 

And,  to  manifest  what  reverence  the 
Church's  minister  has  for  the  inspired 
words  of  the  Gospel,  he  makes  the  Sign 
of  the  Cross  on  his  forehead,  on  his  lips, 
and  on  his  breast, — on  his  forehead,  that 
with  due  awe  he  may  understand  them ; 
on  his  lips,  that  with  sacred  reverence 
he  may  utter  them;  and  on  his  breast, 
that  with  spiritual  affection  he  may  love 
them.  And,  concluding  the  Gospel,  he  kisses 
the  Holy  Book  that  contains  those  words. 

The  priest  now  reads  the  Nicene  Creed. 
Oh,  never  pass  it  idly  by!  If  you  and  I 
had  to  write  a  history  of  that  Creed — 
not  of  its  sublime  truths,  but  of  the  saintly 
Doctors  that  composed  its  formula;  of 
the  many  Fathers,  some  without  hand, 
some  blind,  some  lame,  maimed  in  the 
persecutions,  and  forming  a  large  number 
of  that  venerable  Council  held  in  325, — 
what  should  we  have  to  say?  And  what 
should  we  have  to  say  of  the  millions  of 
holy  bishops  and  priests  who  from  that 
day  to  this  have  stood  at  the  altar?  And 
of  the  still  greater  number  of  lay  people 
that,  from  stall  and  seat,  have  accom- 
panied bishops  and  priests  while  they 
recited  this  exalted  and  magnificent  Creed  ? 
Oh,  be  sure  you  are  aloft  on  the  mountain- 
top  when  you  are  reciting  it! 


But  the  dread  beginning  is  going  to  be. 
The  priest  is  about  to  lay  his  hands  on 
the  elements  of  bread  and  wine,  which 
by  his  words  shall,  with  divine  power, 
like  the  overshadowing  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  at  the  Incarnation,  be  made  flesh 
and  blood,  — •  the  flesh  and  blood  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

A  veil  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  Temple 
of  old.  It  was  of  gorgeous  fabric  and 
magnificent  color.  One  man  once  in  the 
twelve  months  passed  through  it.  That 
man  was  the  high-priest,  bearing  a  bowl 
of  steaming  blood  into  the  Holy  of  Holies. 
The  priest  is  at  the  entrance  of  the  new 
Holy  of  Holies.  He  is  about  to  raise  the 
veil  that  conceals  the  elements  which 
presently  are  to  be  divinely  and  mirac- 
ulously transubstantiated.  Before  he  un- 
veils them — oh,  the  terrible  need  for  warn- 
ing!— again  he  prays:  Dominus  wbiscum. 
Then  his  mouth  is  made  dumb  and  you 
hear  him  no  more.  The  high-priest  has 
gone  within  the  veil. 

"The  people  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
mount;  and  all  Mount  Sinai  was  on  a 
smoke,  because  the  Lord  had  come  down 
on  it  in  fire;  and  smoke  arose  from  it  as 
out  of  a  furnace ;  and  the  whole  place  was 
terrible.  .  .  .  And  the  Lord  called  Moses 
to  the  top  of  the  mount." 

If  ever  man  went  to  the  top,  the 
Christian  priest  at  the  Consecration  goes 
to  the  top  of  the  mount.  Before  he  does 
so,  he  again  breaks  silence,  and  repeats 
the  solemn  warning  once  more.  "May  the 
Lord  continue  with  you,  brethren.  .  .  . 
Let  us  raise  our  hearts  to  the  Lord.  .  .  . 
Let  us  give  thanks  [unceasing]  to  the 
Lord,  our  God." — All  answer:  "It  is 
right  and  just."  —  "Oh,  truly  right  and 
just,"  proceeds  the  priest,  "most  fitting 
and  most  salutary  is  it  to  praise  Him, 
whom  the  choirs  of  angels,  knowing  all 
things,  praise  day  and  night,  singing: 
Holy,  holy,  holy  Lord  God  of  hosts! 
The  heavens  and  the  earth  are  filled  with 
Thy  glory.  Blessed  is  He  that  cometh  in 
the  name  of  the  Lord!  Hosanna.  in  the 
highest!." 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


God  told  Moses  many  things  on  the 
top  of  the  mount;  giving  in  detail  the 
ceremonies  of  the  morning  and  the  evening 
sacrifice,  and  the  lamb  that  was  to  be 
offered  thereat.  This  was  to  be  "  for  a  per- 
petual sacrifice  to  the  Lord  for  all  their 
generations.  And  God  will  be  in  the  midst 
of  them;  and  they  shall  know  that  He  is 
their  God." 

Oh,  would  not  one  think  that  the  Lord 
was  blind  like  the  heathen  gods,  and  could 
not  see  what  the  children  of  Israel  were 
at  that  moment  doing?  The  Book  of 
Exodus  tells  us:  "The  people,  seeing 
that  Moses  delayed  to  come  down  from 
the  mountain,  gathering  together  against 
Aaron,  said:  Arise;  make  us  gods  to 
go  before  us;  for,  as  to  this  Moses,  we 
know  not  what  has  befallen  him.  And 
Aaron  said  to  them:  Take  the  golden 
earrings  from  the  ears  of  your  wives, 
and  your  sons  and  daughters.  .  .  .  And  he 
fashioned  them  into  a  molten  calf." 

But  the  Lord  was  not  blind.  He 
saw  what  they  were  doing,  and  He  said 
to  Moses:  "Go,  get  thee  down.  Thy 
people,  which  thou  hast  brought  out  of' 
Egypt,  .  .  .  have  made  to  themselves  a 
molten  calf,  and  have  adored  it,  and, 
sacrificing  victims  to  it,  have  said:  These 
arc  thy  gods,  O  Israel,  that  have  brought 
thee  out  of  the  land  of  Egypt."  (Nay, 
do  not  condemn!  It  is  just  what  man  is. 
The  Scripture  bears  testimony,  saying: 
"Every  man  is  a  liar."  He  says  he  .will 
do,  but  does  not.)  And  Moses,  horned 
in  the  head,  horrified  in  the  heart,  came 
down  as  the  people,  having  eaten  and 
drunk,  rose  up  to  play.  "And  he  saw 
the  calf  and  the  dances;  and,  being  very 
angry,  he  threw  the  Tables  out  of  his 
hand,  and  broke  them  at  the  foot  of 
the  mount." 

Now  you  know  why  the  priest  says 
Dominus  vobiscum.  You  see  the  entreating 
gesture  with  his  outstretched  hands  which 
the  Church  wishes  him  to  make,  as  the 
father  of  the  prodigal  child  embracing  him. 
Answer  it  from  your  heart  as  often  as  you 
hear  it  in  Holy  Mass. 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


XXXIX.— "Tim  VEILED  LADY." 
'O  the  Emperor  was  allotted  the  room 
which  he  had  previously  occupied 
in  the  convent.  He  requested  that 
all  the  officers  of  his  household 
be  permitted  to  have  quarters  there, 
and  'in  his  immediate  vicinity.  These 
officers  were  Prince  Salm-Salm,  Colonels 
Guzman  and  Pradillo,  Baron  Bergheim, 
Minister  Aguirre,  Arthur  Bodkin,  Doctor 
Basch,  and  Don  Jose  Blasio,  his  secretary. 
I  may  state  here  that  his  Majesty  and 
staff  remained  in  the  Convent  of  La  Cruz 
for  four  days,  when  they  were  removed  to 
the  convent  of  the  Terrecitas,  occupying 
this  building  for  seven  days;  and  then 
they  were  transferred  to  the  convent  of 
the  Capuchinas,  where  were  also  imprisoned 
all  the  generals  of  the  Imperial  army. 
The  Emperor  and  his  household  occupied 
the  first  floor  of  the  Capuchinas  for  three 
days;  and  on  the  fourth  he  and  Generals 
Miramon  and  Mejia  were  changed  to  the 
second  or  upper  floor,  where  they  remained 
until  ordered  out  to  be  executed. 

Arthur  Bodkin  was  placed  in  a  cell  in 
the  Convent  of  La  Cruz.  This  cell  was 
next  to  that  occupied  by  Baron  Bergheim, 
and  the  corridor  was  free  to  the  entire 
household;  a  strong  guard  being  stationed 
at  either  end,  and  a  sentinel  at  every 
window.  The  patio  was  filled  with  picked 
troops. 

On  the  morning  after  the  surrender 
Mendez  was  taken  out,  placed  with  his 
back  *to  a  wall — an  old  sun-kissed  wall, 
covered  with  a  creeper  whose  blossoms 
were  as  sparkling  rubies, — and  shot. 

About  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
Arthur,  who  was  engaged  in  discussing ' 
the  situation  with  Baron  Bergheim,  was 
beckoned  from  the  apartment  by  an  officer, 
who  requested  him  to  follow  him,  leading 
the  way  down  the  stone  stairs  across  the 
patio,  through  a  dark  passage  into  a  smaller 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


73 


patio.  Stopping  opposite  an  open  door 
with  the  number  5  written  in  white  chalk, 
the  officer  directed  Arthur  to  enter.  The 
cell  was  of  stone,  narrow,  and  lighted  only 
by  a  slit  in  the  solid  masonry.  Some  straw 
was  heaped  in  a  corner,  and  this  constituted 
the  entire  furniture. 

"What  does  this  mean,  sir?"  demanded 
our  hero. 

"This  is  your  cell." 

"But  why  am  I  separated  from  the 
Emperor?" 

"I  have  my  orders." 

"General  Escobedo  ordered  that  the 
Emperor's  household  should  occupy  the 
same  floor  in  the  same  building  with 
himself.  Are  you  aware  of  that,  sir?" 

"Perfectly." 

"Then  why  am  I  made  an  exception?" 

"For  the  assault  committed  on  Colonel 
Lopez." 

"Oh,  would  that  I  had  the  hanging 
of  that  traitorous  villain!" 

The  officer  put  his  finger  U>  bis  lips. 

"Walls  have  cars,"  he  half  whispered. 

"I  care  not.  Of  all  the  vile  traitors  the 
world  ever  saw,  this  cur  Lopez  is  the 
foulest.  My  Emperor  trusted  him,  took 
him  to  his  heart,  promoted  him,  covered 
him  with  favors,  and — 

At  this  instant  two  men  darkened  the 
doorway.  One  was  Lopez,  the  other 
Mazazo. 

"That  is  my  man,"  coolly  observed  the 
latter;  adding,  "The  cards  arc  in  my  hands 
now.  You  can  not  escape  this  time— you — 
dog!"  And  he  spat  in  Bodkin's  face. 

Arthur  sprang  at  him;  but  the  officer, 
putting  out  his  foot,  tripped  him  up. 
Bodkin,  however,  was  not  yet  done  with 
Mazazo;  for,  catching  him  and  Lopez  by 
their  respective  ankles,  he  gave  them 
a  twist  which  sent  both  men  on  their 
faces,-  and  in  an  instant  he  was  raining 
blows  on  the  head  of  the  traitor  Lopez. 

Arthur,  in  his  wild  passion,  was  now 
seeking  the  throat  of  the  Judas.  But  a 
quick  blow  on  the  back  of  the  head  caused 
Bodkin  to  let  go  his  hold;  and  a  second, 
which  seemed  to  crash  into  his  skull, 


knocked  him  senseless.  When  he  recovered 
consciousness  he  was  lying  stretched  on 
the  straw  in  the  corner  of  his  cell,  an 
agonizing  pain  shooting  through  his  head. 
On  feeling  the  back  of  his  skull,  he  found 
the  hair  clotted  with  blood. 

It  was  now  dark,  and  everything  was 
silent,  save  for  the  occasional  challenge  of 
a  sentinel,  or  the  melancholy  whistle  of  a 
sereno,  or  watchman,  within  the  city. 

"I  am  left  here  to  die!"  thought  Arthur. 
"Well,  if  it  is  God's  will  my  time  has 
come."  And  he  fell  to  repeating  the  Litany 
of  the  ever-blessed  Mother  of  God.  "I 
shall  call  upon  her,"  he  thought,  "so 
long  as  reason  remains." 

While  he  was  thus  solemnly  and 
devoutly  engaged,  the  door  of  his  cell 
opened  and  a  human  form  entered.  Fear- 
ing assassination,  Arthur,  although  fear- 
fully weak  from  loss  of  blood,  backed 
up  against  the  wall,  resolving  to  struggle 
to  the  very  last  as  best  he  could;  for  oh, 
how  sweet  is  life  to  the  young! 

A  man's  voice  addressed  him: 

"Hush!  Silence  for  the  love  of  God!  I 
am  a  friend.  You  are  to  be  shot  at  day- 
break. I  want  to  save  you  if  I  can." 

"Who  are  you?" 

"The  man  you  treated  as  a  gentleman 
in  old  O'Flynn's  house." 

"What  man?" 

"The  man  who  would  not  betray  his 
master  for  silver." 

"I  recollect  you,  and — I  trust  you." 

"You  can.    Are  you  able  to  stand?" 

vSo  precious  and  invigorating  is  the 
thought  of  liberty  that  Arthur  literally 
sprang  to  his  feet. 

"I  have  some  tequila  here  and  a  sponge. 
I  must  attend  to  your  head.  I  saw  it  after 
you  were  knocked  senseless.  Steady!' 
And  the  man  proceeded  to  apply  the 
spirit  to  the  wound,  and  sponge  it  with 
the  gentleness  of  a  woman.  "Now  I  shall 
leave  you  until  they  change  guards.  That 
will  be  in  about  fifteen  minutes.  Be  ready 
when  I  return." 

That  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  will  ever 
be  remembered  by  Arthur  Bodkin  as 


774 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


brimful  of  agony.  It  seemed  a  century. 
In  about  five  minutes  after  the  man  had 
left  the  guards  were  changed,  and  the 
new  sentry  peered  into  the  cell,  holding 
a  lamp  over  Bodkin's  closed  eyes, — for 
he  feigned  sleep.  When  the  allotted  time 
had  come  and  gone,  Bodkin's  new  friend 
noiselessly  entered. 

"Put  these  on,"  he  said,  placing  a  wide- 
brimmed  sombrero  on  Arthur's  head  and 
a  flowing  serape  over  his  shoulders.  "Keep 
the  brim  of  the  hat  well  over  your  eyes; 
bring  your  serape  up  to  the  chin,  and 
partly  on  the  chin, — so." 

"How  can  I  ever  hope  to  repay  you?" 
asked  Arthur. 

"We  are  not  safe  yet.  Besides,"  was 
the  reply,  "there's  another  helping  you." 

"Who?" 

"You  will  see  presently.     Hush  now!" 

They  emerged  from  the  cell,  the  man 
closing  the  door;  then  he  led  the  way 
through  half  a  dozen  dark,  cold,  stone- 
paved  passages  to  a  door.  Now  he  darted 
across  a  small  alley,  and  traversed  yet 
another  set  of  passages. 

"Wait  a  moment!"  he  whispered,  as  he 
placed  a  knife  in  Arthur's  hand;  "and 
be  ready  to  defend  yourself  if  necessary." 

Our  hero  stood,  his  back  against  the 
wall,  his  teeth  set.  The  passage  was  narrow 
and  dark  as  Erebus.  The  walls  were  cold 
and  clammy. 

A  sound — a  something  living, — and  a 
clog  dashed  past  him  with  a  fierce  howl. 
Arthur's  heart  had  leaped  into  his  mouth. 
Footsteps — slow,  cautious,  almost  noise- 
less. Arthur  Bodkin  clutched  the  machete. 

"Come  on!" 

It  was  the  voice  of  his  friend.  Retracing 
his  steps,  the  man  turned  sharply  to  the 
left,  then  into  an  alley,  and  through  a 
garden  to  a  gate  giving  upon  a  highway. 
At  this  gate  stood  a  carriage. 

"Get  in — quick!  Not  a  word!  God 
save  you!"  And  the  man  pushed  Arthur 
into  the  vehicle,  cautiously  closing  the 
door. 

In  a  second  the  mules  were  clattering 
at  high  speed  along  the  road. 


Arthur  was  not  alone.  It  was  the 
gentle  voice  of  a  woman  that  addressed 
him: 

"We  meet  again,  Sefior  Bodkin." 
And  in  a  flash  Arthur  knew  that  he  was 
seated  beside  the  mysterious  woman  whom 
he  had  fetched  from  Puebla  to  Orizaba  at 
the  command  of  Mare'chal  Bazaine. 

XL. — EL  CERRO  D$  LAS  CAMPANAS. 

"Where  am  I?" 

And  Arthur  Bodkin  gazed  around  him 
with  that  gaze  of  wonder  which  fills  the 
eyes  of  a  waking  child. 

"You  are  safe,"  replied  the  woman. 

"Safe!" 

"Yes." 

"But—" 

"Keep  quiet!  Ask  no  questions  until 
you  are  better." 

But  Arthur  was  not  the  man  to  be  put 
off  as  a  child. 

"I  am  well  enough,"  he  said  sternly, 
albeit  in  a  weak  tone.  "Where  are  the 
Emperor  and  vSalm-Salm?" 

"Be  quiet,  and  I -will  tell  you  every- 
thing that  has  happened  since  you  escaped 
from  the  house  in  Queretaro  until  we 
arrived  on  this  ship." 

"Ship!" 

A  ship  it  was,  and  she  was  rolling 
gently  but  speeding  onward  on  a  summer 
sea.  Bodkin  saw  that  he  was  reclining  in 
a  berth  in  a  small  cabin.  Opposite  was 
an  old-fashioned  mahogany  locker,  a  tar- 
nished mirror  hanging  above  it.  This, 
together  with  a  camp  chair,  formed  the 
furniture.  Then  he  turned  his  eyes  to  the 
right,  and  beheld  the  woman  who  had 
rescued  him,— the  woman  whom  he  had 
escorted  from  Puebla  to  Orizaba. 

"Who  are  you,  pray?"  he  asked  in  a 
tone  that  brooked  no  denial;  for  he  owed 
this  woman  resentment  for  coming  between 
him  and  Alice  Nugent,  even  though 
innocently. 

"I  am  the  Sefiora  Pillar  Rosita  Gon- 
zalez," she  answered. 

"That  tells  me  nothing,"  said  Arthur. 

"Well,  I  am  the  wife  of  the  man  whom 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


775 


you    tried   to   kill, — whom   you   knew    as 
Mazazo." 

Poor  Arthur  fell  back  in  wild  astonish- 
ment. The  wife  of  his  deadliest  foe,— the 
wife  of  the  man  who  seemingly  thirsted 
for  his  life !  And  this  woman  risked  every- 
thing to  save  him!  Why?  What  was 
the  mystery?  What  did  it  all  mean?  The 
tool  of  Bazaine, — -the  wife  of  Mazazo! 
.  "Sefiora,"  said  Arthur,  "tell  me  why 
Mare'chal  Bazaine  selected  me  to  fetch 
you  to  him." 

"He  selected  you,  Sefior,  because  you 
knew  nothing  ami  could  tell  nothing. 
You  could  not  then  speak  any  Spanish, 
and  you  were  an  honorable  gentleman. 
My  husband  was  intriguing  with  Bazaine 
to  place  the  Marechal  on  the  throne.  I 
was  their  tool,— the  tool  of  both.  With 
my  husband  I  have  done  forever.  I  helped 
you  to  escape,  because  I  knew  that  he 
would  imagine  I  was  in  love  with  you, 
and  that  we  left  as — lovers.  For  such 
vengeance,"  and  her  voice  trembled,  "I 
am  willing  to  die  a  thousand  times. 
Car  j  aval,  the  man  who  spoke  so  well  of 
you,  helped  me.  I  gave  him  ten  thousand 
pesos,  which  my  husband  had  stolen  from 
the  Irishman  in  the  capital." 

"Q'Flynn?" 

"Yes,  after  he  had  murdered  the  old 
man — 

' '  Murdered ! — merciful  Heaven ! ' ' 

"Yes,  murdered  him.  He  robbed  him 
of  thrice  that  sum." 

Murdered !  Then  the  old  miser^  had 
been  called  to  his  account  with  a  lie  in 
his  throat;  and  Arthur  remembered  his 
words  when  he  declared  he  had  but  a  few 
hundred  dollars  in  the  house.  What  of 
the  thousands  up  at  the  mine  in  the  care 
of  Harry  Talbot? 

"I,  Sefior,  am  not  in  love  with  you,  or 
you  with  me.  I  know  where  your  heart 
is.  I  am  going  to  follow  up  the  Marechal; 
for  I  hold  such  compromising  letters  as 
will,  if  he  does  not  silence  me  by  their 
purchase, — as  will  cost  him  his  baton  and 
more.  You  are  on  board  the  'Ethel,' — a 
brig;  and,  if  the  wind  holds  good,  we 


shall  be  in  New  Orleans  in  three  days." 

"The  'Ethel,'— a  brig— New  Orleans!" 
he  gasped. 

"Yes;  this  is  how  it  happened.  You 
recollect  that  you  got  knocked  on  the 
head,  a  cruel,  cowardly  blow?  You  recol- 
lect— or  how  much  do  you  recollect?" 

There  was  a  pause. 

"We  passed  through  a  gate  to  a  carriage. 
You  were  in  the  carriage.  My  head  was 
paining  me  awfully.  I  don't  remember 
anything  more." 

"I  thought  as  much,"  she  said.  "That 
carriage  carried  us  to  a  hacienda  near 
Santa  Rosita,  to  relatives  of  mine.  There 
you  got  brain  fever,  and  remained  for  a 
time  in  a  eomatose  condition.  My  cousin 
learned  that  they  were  on  our  track;  so, 
bad  as  you  were,  we  had  to  put  you  in  a 
carriage,  and  we  jolted  for  two  days  and 
three  nights,  my  cousin  driving,  until  we 
reached  the  coast.  Luckily  this  brig  was 
about  to  sail,  and  we  got  on  board.  This 
is  the  whole  story.  And  now  go  to  sleep, — 
not  another  word."  And  she  glided  from 
the  cabin. 

Arthur  Bodkin  lay  on  his  back  gazing 
at  the  deck  so  close  to  his  face,  and 
wondering,  — •  wondering  at  his  escape ; 
wondering  at  the  story  of  this  revengeful 
woman ;  wondering  at  the  anger  of  Mazazo ; 
wondering  if  the  Emperor  and  Prince 
Salm-Salm  had  missed  him;  wondering 
if  the  court-martial  were  over,  and  if 
the  Emperor  and  Bergheim  and  Count 
Nugent,  and  all,  were  on  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico  en  route  to  Miramar;  wondering 
if  faithful  old  Rody  were  still  in  Austria; 
wondering  if  Father  Edward  had  seen 
Alice;  wondering  if  Alice  ever  cast  a 
thought  toward  him. 

And  the  ship  sailed  on,  and  every  hour 
gave  strength  to  Arthur  Bodkin;  his  fine 
constitution  standing  by  him  right  royally. 

He  found  the  companionship  of  Sefiora 
Gonzalez  very  agreeable,  especially  when 
she  referred  to  Alice,  which,  woman-like, 
she  did  very  often  indeed,  and  at  times 
somewhat  irrelevantly.  And  the  summer 
days  and  summer  nights  passed  away,  and 


776 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


the  good  ship  "Ethel"  entered  the  Missis- 
sippi; and  reached  the  Crescent  City, 
where  Arthur  bade  the  Senora  adieu, — 
endeavoring  to  utter  words  of  gratitude 
whose  roots  were  deep  down  in  his  honest 
heart,  and  could  hardly  be  torn  up. 

"We  shall  meet  again,  Sefior  Arthur 
Bodkin;  for  I  have  kinsfolk  in  Ireland — at 
a  place  near  Gal — Gal — 

"Galway?" 

"Yes,  yes!  But  you  shall  not  see  me 
until  I  have  made  Bazaine  disgorge." 

Arthur  repaired  to  the  St.  Charles' 
Hotel,  and  "lay  off"  for  about  a  week, 
writing  home  and  writing  to  Hergheim  und 
Salm-Salm. 

In  the  hands  of  LI  skilful  surgeon  his 
wound  soon  healed. 

"It  was  a  near  touch,  though,"  said 
the  doctor;  "and  the  inflammation  that 
supervened  must  have  been  of  the  fiercest 
description." 

As  well  it  might  after  the  bumping  and 
jolting  and  shaking  in  the  mule  carriage 
on  the  awful  cross-roads  from  Orizaba  to 
the  coast. 

By  sheer  good  luck,  Arthur  had  with 
him  Austrian  bank-notes  for  a  good  round 
sum,  also  some  English  gold.  Senora 
Gonzalez  placed  this  money  in  his  hands 
so  soon  as  he  was  on  his  legs.  This 
strange  woman  had  carefully  stowed  it 
away  for  him. 

From  New  Orleans  our  hero  started  for 
New  York,  putting  up  at  the  New  York 
Hotel.  Should  he  go  to  Miramar  or  to 
Ballyboden?  He  resolved  to  await  the 
news  from  Mexico.  Perhaps  the  Imperial 
party  would  return  via  the  United  States, 
in  which  case  he  would  join  it.  Never  for 
a  single  instant  did  he  imagine  the  awful 
tragedy  of  El  Cerro  de  las  Campanas. 

(Conclusion   next   week.) 


A  Pioneer  Missioner. 


BY    R.   F.  O  CONNOR. 


SUCCESS  rides  on  every  hour.  Grapple 
it,  and  you  may  win;  but  without  a 
grapple  it  will  never  go  -with  you.  Work 
is  the  weapon  of  honor,  and  who  lacks 
the  weapon  will  never  triumph. 

—Donald  G.  Mitchell 


E  death,  in  December,  1916,  as  the 
JL  waning  year  was  drawing  to  its  close, 
of  the  venerable  Oblate  missioner,  Father 
Albert  I/acombe,  was  the  passing  of  a 
remarkable  ecclesiastical  personality.  It 
took  place  in  the  Home,  Midnapore, 
nea'r  Calgary,  in  Alberta — a  home  for  the 
homeless,  one  of  the  many  creations  of 
his  active  zeal, — when  he  had  reached  the 
patriarchal  age  of  eighty-nine.  He  was 
not  the  oldest  Oblate:  that  distinction 
belongs  to  Father  Dandunard,  the  first 
French-Canadian  received  into  the  Con- 
gregation of  Mary  Immaculate,  now  very 
nearly  a  centenarian,  who  has  survived 
him;  but  he  was  one  of  the  most  notable 
of  the  Catholic  missioners  who  planted 
the  Faith  in  Western  Canada!  He  had 
done  his  work — a  great  work, — and  for 
some  years  was  lingering  out  life's  taper 
to  the  close  in  well-earned  repose  and 
retirement,  awaiting  the  "one  clear  call" 
which  was  to  summon  him  to  the  eternal 
rest. 

His  long  and  strenuous  life  is  a  part — 
and  no  small  part — of  the  history  of 
Catholicity  in  the  great  Dominion.  He 
was  one  of  the  foremost,  most  active,  and 
most  enterprising  of  those  intrepid* pioneer 
missioners  who  Christianized  and  civilized 
the  Canadian  Northwest  in  the  last  cen- 
tury. They  made  history  and  converts, 
and  have  written  their  names  large  in  the 
annals  "of  that  country,  which  embraces 
an  area  far  more  extensive  than  half  a 
dozen  European  kingdoms. 

Father  Lacombe  was  the  apostle  of  the 
Indians  and  Metis  half-breeds.  He  com- 
pletely identified  himself  with  them,  made 
himself,  as  it  were,  one  with  them;  led 
their  nomadic  life  on  the  prairies;  labored 
for  them,  prayed  for  them,  begged  for 
them,  pleaded  for  them;  and  when  the 
rapid  inrush  of  immigrant  whites  threat- 
ened their  extinction  as  a  race  apart, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


777 


sorrowed  with  them  and  strove  hard  to 
save  them,  —  to  save  the  remnants  of 
a  vanishing  race  from  the  vices  of 
a  so-called  civilization  which  was  fast 
degenerating  and  demoralizing  them.  For 
more  than  sixty  years  he  devoted  himself 
to  their  service  with  a  whole-hearted 
self-sacrifice  that  was  nothing  short  of 
heroic. 

French-Canadian  of  a  good  old  Catholic 
stock,  a  farmer's  son,  who  helped  his 
father  in  his  farm  work,  he  had  a  tincture 
of  Indian  blood  in  his  veins  from  his  remote 
ancestry;  for  his  mother,  Agatha  Duhamel, 
was  a  descendant  of  a  French  maiden- 
one  of  the  Duhamels  of  vSaint  Sulpice, — 
carried  into  captivity  over  a  hundred 
years  earlier  by  an  Ojibway  chief,  to  whom 
she  bore  two  sons.  So  that  he  felt  nat- 
urally drawn  towards-  the  Indians,  for 
whom  he  entertained  a  lifelong  affection. 
Besides,  he  came  of  a  roving  race — the 
early  French  settlers.  To  him  the  call  of 
the  prairies,  with  their  boundless  expanse, 
their  wide  horizon — 

Which,  like  the  circle  bounding  earth  and  skies, 
Allures  from  far,  yet  as  we  follow  flies, — 

was  like  the  call  of  the  desert  to  the 
Oriental  traveller. 

His  parish  priest,  the  kindly  old  Abbe 
de  Viau,  called  young  Lacombe  mon 
petit  sauvage  ("my  little  Indian");  fos- 
tered his  vocation,  sent  him  to  the  semi- 
nary, and  paid  his  way,  prophetically 
remarking,  "Who  knows?  Some  day  our 
little  Indian  may  be  a  priest  and  work 
for  the  Indians."  This  was  in  1840, 
when  he  was  only  thirteen.  He  nobly 
fulfilled  the  prediction.  Ordained  by 
Bishop  Bourget  on  June  13,  1849,  he  was 
sixty-seven  years  a  priest,  and  the  whole 
of  his  sacerdotal  life  he  gave  to  the  Indians. 
Loving  and  beloved,  they  were  linked 
by  ties  of  mutual  affection.  He  was  all- 
powerful  with'  the  tritjes,  and  on  very 
critical  occasions  his  influence  over  them 
enabled  him  to  render  signal  services  to 
the  State,  particularly  during  the  rebel- 
lion of  the  half-breeds  under  Louis  Kiel, 
when  his  peaceful  mediation  was  most 


valuable,  and  when  he  restrained  them 
from  opposing  armed  resistance  to  the 
construction  of  the  Canadian  Pacific  Rail- 
way, when  the  lines  were  being  laid  in 
the  Indian  territories. 

He  was  an  intimate  friend  of  the 
late  Sir  William  Van  Home,  president  of 
the  C.  P.  R.  And  Lord .  Mountstephen, 
another  president,  on  one  occasion  at  a 
meeting  of  the  Board  of  Directors,  va- 
cated the  chair  in  compliment  to  Father 
Lacombe;  so  that  the  Oblate  voted 
thereto  was  for  a  brief  space  nominal 
head  of  the  greatest  railway  corporation 
in  the  world.  They  have  given  his  name 
to  a  town  near  Edmonton;  and  he  will 
go  down  in  history,  along  with  Tache, 
Grandin,  and  other  famous  Oblates,  as 
one  of  the  makers  of  Canada;  fit  to 
occupy  a  space  as  large  as,  if  not  larger 
than,  Lord  Strathcona  himself,  with  whom 
he  was  on  intimate  terms,  and  others 
whose  names  are  hardly  less  familiar  to 
the  public. 

Father  Lacombe  impressed  everybody 
with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  He 
impressed  Lord  Southesk,  who  records 
in  his  book  on  his  Western  travels  that 
he  found  Peres  Lacombe  and  Le  Frain 
"agreeable  men  and  perfect  gentlemen"; 
adding,  "God  bless  them  and  prosper 
their  mission!"  Lord  Milton  and  W.  B. 
Cheadle,  who  visited  Saint  Albert  in  1863, 
were  equally  impressed;  and,  contrasting 
the  work  of  Catholic  priests  with  that  of 
Protestant  ministers,  wrote:  "It  must  be 
confessed  that  the  Romish  [sic]  priests 
far  excel  their  Protestant  brethren  in 
missionary  enterprise  and  influence.  They 
have  established  missions  far  out  in  the 
wilds,  undeterred  by  danger  or  hard- 
ship; and,  gathering  half-breeds  and 
Indians  around  them,  have  taught  with 
considerable  success  the  elements  of 
civilization  as  well  as  of  religion;  while 
the  latter  remain  inert,  enjoying  the  ease 
and  comfort  of  the  Red  River  settle- 
ment; or,  at  most,  make  an  occasional 
summer's  visit  to  some  of  the  nearest 
posts," 


778 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


The  late  General  Sir  William  Butler 
(then  Captain  Butler),  who  met  Father 
Lacombe  at  Rocky  Mountain  House  in 
1870,  says:  "He  had  lived  with  the  Black- 
feet  and  Cree  Indians  for  many  years, 
and  I  enjoyed  more  than  I  can  say  listen- 
ing to  his  stories  of  adventure  with  these 
wild  men  of  the  plains.  The  thing  that 
left  the  most  lasting  impression  on  my 
mind  was  his  intense  love  and  devotion 
to  these  poor  wandering  and  warring 
people, — his  entire  sympathy  for  them. 
He  had  literally  lived  with  them,  sharing 
their  food  and  their  fortunes  and  the  ever- 
lasting dangers  of  their  lives.  He  watched 
and  tended  their  sick,  buried  their  dead, 
and  healed  'the  wounded  in  their  battles. 
No  other  man  but  Father  Lacombe  could 
pass  from  one  hostile  camp  to  another, — 
suspected  nowhere,  welcomed  everywhere; 
carrying,  as  it  were,  the  'truce  of  God' 
with  him  wherever  he  went."  Sir  John 
Macdonald  must  have  had  good  Father 
Lacombe  in  his  mind's  eye,  wljen  he 
publicly  declared  in  England  in  1886: 
"The  finest  moral  police  force  in  the 
world  is  to  be  found  in  the  priesthood 
of  French  Canada." 

Among  those  who  enjoyed  Father  La- 
combe's  intimacy  and  held  him  in  the 
highest  esteem  were  Lord  and  Lady  Aber- 
deen, who  made  his  acquaintance  in 
Canada  during  Lord  Aberdeen's  occupancy 
of  the  position  of  Governor-General.  Al- 
though a  man  of  ceaseless  activity — 
crossing  the  Atlantic  several  times  to 
tour  Europe  in  the  interest  of  the  Indian 
missions,  or  to  procure  priests  of  the 
Lithuanian  rite  for  the  Polish  immigrants; 
interviewing  the  Pope  and  the  Austrian 
Emperor;  questing  Canada  for  Bishop 
Grandin's  Indian  schools'  scheme,  and 
himself  establishing  industrial  schools  to 
train  the  Indians  to  skilled  labor  (and  it 
was  a  difficult  thing  to  break  to  industrial 
harness  those  young  nomads  habituated 
to  the  free,  unfettered  life  of  the  plains), — 
Father  Lacombe  longed  to  bury  himself 
in  some  obscure  retreat,  to  lead  a  re- 
tired life,  and  for  a  time  hid  himself 


in  a  kind  of  hermitage  on  a  hillside  at 
Pincher  Creek.  Lord  Aberdeen  offered 
him  a  place  on  his  Scotch  estate,  where 
he  might  gratify  his  desire.  But  the 
active,  not  the  contemplative,  life  was 
Father  Lacombe's  true  vocation. 

Even  when  he  was  seventy-two  lie 
recognized  that  his  proper  sphere  was 
among  his  beloved  Indians  and  half- 
breeds,  who  idolized  him.  When  he  was 
far  away  from  them  on  his  travels,  he  was 
always  homesick  for  the  plains.  The 
Indians,  in  their  expressive  dialect,  called 
him  "the  man  of  the  good  heart,"  and 
"the  man  of  the  beautiful  soul."  Crow- 
foot, one  of  their  chiefs,  said  of  him,  in 
presence  of  Sir  John  Macdonald,  at  a 
public  reception  in  Ottawa:  "This  man  is 
our  brother, — not  only  our  Father,  as  the 
white  people  call  him;  but  our  brother. 
He  is  one  of  our  people.  When  we  weep, 
he  is  sad  with  us;  when  we  laugh,  he 
laughs  with  us.  We  love  him.  He  is 
our  brother."  He  was  a  genuine  Oblate, 
whose  whole  life  was  a  living  commentary 
on  the  motto  of  his  Order:  "  Evangelizare 
pauperibus  misit  me." 

Father  Lacombe's  career  belonged  to 
what  may  be  called  the  heroic  epoch  of 
Catholic  missionary  work  in  Northwestern 
Canada.  It  was  a  time  to  try  men's  souls, 
to  try  their  faith  and  courage  and  self- 
sacrifice;  to  put  their  resoluteness  to  the 
severest  test.  Vast  regions,  now  peopled 
and  studded  with  cities  and  towns,  were 
then  a  wilderness,  overrun  by  barbarous 
and  warring  tribes,  who,  when  not 
making  fiercest  war  on  one  another, 
hunted  the  still  countless  herds  of  buffa- 
loes, now  all  but  extinct.  The  missioners 
took  their  lives  in  their  hands  even  long 
after  many  of  the  Indians  had  been 
Christianized  and  at  least  semi-civilized. 
Father  Lacombe  himself  nearly  lost  his 
life  on  one  occasion  when  interposing  as 
a  peacemaker  during  a  night  attack  made 
by  the  bellicose  Blackfeet  upon  a  Cree 
encampment. 

As  missioner-chaplain,  he  often  accom- 
panied the  Indians  in  their  buffalo  hunts,— 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


779 


a  hazardous  pursuit,  which  not  infre- 
quently involved  duels  a  la  mort  between 
man  and  beast.  "I  can  never  express  how 
good  these  Metis,  children  of  the  prairies, 
were,"  he  observed,  "in  the  golden  age 
when  they  hunted  the  buffalo  and  prac- 
tised our  holy  religion  with  the  fervor 
of  the  first  Christians.  Their  lives  were 
blameless.  They  .were  a  beautiful  race 
then." 

In  the.  forest  mission  of  Pembina  he 
served  his  apprenticeship  to  missionary 
work— his  life  work, — being  then  a  young 
secular  priest.  In  1852  he  joined  the 
,Oblates,  offering  himself  to  Mgr.  Tache 
for  the  Red  River  mission,  founded 
'by  Bishop  Provencher.  He  thoroughly 
mastered  the  Indian  language,  and  com- 
piled a  Cree  dictionary  and  grammar, 
besides  writing  a  score  of  sermons  in  the 
Cree  language.  It  was  through  their 
native  language  he  found  his  way  to  the 
Indians'  hearts;  his  knowledge  of  it 
was  admitted  by  the  half-breeds  to  be 
superior  to  theirs.  Finding  that,  unlike 
most  tribes,  the  Crees  were  to  be  won 
through  their  reason,  and  not  through 
their  hearts  or  feelings  alone,  he  ingeniously 
made  a  picture-catechism,  which,  starting 
with  the  Creation,  went  down  through 
Bible  and  Church  history.  Priests  called 
it  "The  Ladder,"  from  its  shape.  Nuns 
in  Montreal  reproduced  it  in  colors.  He 
had  16,000  copies  of  it  printed  in  France; 
and  when  it  was  shown  to  Pius. IX.  that 
holy  Pope  ordered  several  thousand 
copies  to  be  made,  that  they  might  be 
available  for  mission  work  among  savage 
tribes  in  various  parts  of  the  world. 
Cardinal  Manning,  too,  was  enchanted 
with  it. 

Father  lyacombe's  journal  recalls  many 
thrilling  experiences.  The  missioners  had 
not  only  to  journey  thousands  of  miles 
under  almost  insuperable  difficulties — 
fording  or  ascending  rivers  in  bark  canoes, 
rushing  rapids,  and  trudging  through 
snow,  or  half-blinded  by  it, — but  they 
had  often  to  face  death  like  soldiers 
going  into  action, — death  from  intense 


cold,  the  mercury  betimes  dropping  to  50 
degrees  centigrade,  which  made  Pius  IX. 
call  them  "martyrs  of  the  cold";  death 
from  starvation  and  amid  loneliness  and 
isolation  far  from  the  outposts  of  civili- 
zation; or  death  at  the  hands  of  cruel 
pagan  tribes. 

Such  missioners  form  the  vanguard  of 
the  Church's  sacred  army,  marching  to 
the  conquest  of  souls  or — to  death!  They 
keep  alive  in  a  self-loving  and  ease-loving 
generation,  enervated  by  wealth  and  lux- 
ury, the  primitive  apostolic  spirit  of 
self-sacrifice,  and  that  virility  which 
Christianity  impacts  to  men  of  strong 
faith.  The  Church  in  all  generations 
has  never  lacked  the  services  of  such 
Christian  heroes,  ever  ready  to  fulfil 
the  divine  mandate  to  "preach  the  Gospel 
to  every  creature." 


My  Prayer. 


BY    A.  K.  C. 

(T\  DEAREST  Lord,  long  is  the  way 

That  leads  to  Thee; 
Bruised  are  my  feet  along  the  path 

Appointed  me; 
Wet  are  my  cheeks  with  bitter  tears 

For  hopes  long  dead; 
Weary  am  I,  yet  are  my  fields 

Unharvested. 

For  in  my  childhood's  happy  hours 

There  came  the  dream 
That  when  the  golden  star  of  youth 

Would  brightly  gleam, 
Within  some  quiet  cloister  home, 

By  holy  vows, 
My  days  would  pass  in  prayer  and  toil 

For  Thee,  my  Spouse. 

But  now.  my  golden  youth  has  passed, 

And  yet  I  pray 
That  Thou,  to  whom  a  thousand  years 

Are  but  a  day, 
Wilt  let  Thy  blessed  peace  and  rest 

My  portion  be, 
W'ithin  the  cloister  of  Thy  Heart, 

Eternally. 


780 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Vogel  and  Binder/ 


BY    A.    OSKAR    KIvAUSMANN. 

AT  the  residence  of  Judge  Ruprecht,  of 
the  Criminal  Court  of  Prussia,  a  few 
intimate  friends  were  assembled,  among 
whom  were  Judge  Amberg,  of  the  Civil 
Court,  and  his  wife.  The  party  might 
almost  be  considered  a  family  reunion. 
The  occasion  was  the  meeting,  after  a 
long  separation,  of  the  two  Judges,  who 
hud  been  schoolfellows. 

It  was  indeed  twelve  years  since  the" 
friends  had  met;  and  now,  during  the 
vacation  of  the  courts,  the  families  could 
spend  at  least  a  week  in  the  same  neigh- 
borhood. Judge  Amberg  had,  therefore-, 
come  with  his  family  to  the  town  where 
Ruprecht  lived,  and  had  taken  rooms  in  a 
hotel;  but,  as  a  matter  of  course,  he  and 
his  wife  were  daily  guests  at  his  friend's 
house.  The  Ambergs  had  lately  given  their 
only  daughter  in  .marriage,  and  their  son 
was  on  a  pleasure  trip  in  Sweden.  They 
were  not  a  little  surprised  to  see  how  trie 
young  Ruprechts  had  grown.  The  girls 
were  nineteen  and  twenty  respectively, 
and  the  son  was  just  twenty-three. 

Dinner  was  over,  and  now  the  three 
young  folks  moved  to  the  piano.  The 
young  man  was  an  excellent  performer 
on  the  'cello;  one  of  the  girls  played  the 
violin,  and  the  other,  was  clever  at  the 
piano.  They  performed  one  of  Haydn's 
trios  in  masterly  style. 

When  the  piece  was  ended,  Amberg  and 
his  wife  expressed  their  delight;  whilst 
Ruprecht  senior  rubbed  his  hands  with  a 
satisfied  air,  remarking: 

"That  is  nothing  to  what  they  can  do. 
To  hear  them  to  advantage,  we  must  go 
to  the  concert  hall.  Here  in  the  parlor 
the  music  is  smothered." 

"Who  shall  say  that  talent  is  not 
hereditary!"  said  Judge  Amberg.  "Your 
children  have  inherited  at  least  some 
portion  of  their  musical  abilities  from  you, 

*    Translated  for  THE  AVE  MARIA  by  J.   M.  T. 


Ruprecht.  Take  care  that  they  do  not 
some  day  play  such  a  prank  as  we  once 
played." 

Judge    Ruprecht   smiled   and    said: 

"I  hope  not.  But  even  if  they  did,  I 
suppose  we  should  have  to  forgive  them 
at  last,  even  as  we  were  forgiven.  And  if 
on  their  tramp  they  found  the  happiness 
of  their  lives,"  he  added,  bowing  to  Mrs. 
Amberg,  "I  think  we  might  well  send 
them  off  with  our  blessing." 

The  two  older  ladies  laughed  heartily, 
and  the  younger  members  of  the.  party 
looked  surprised. 

"Did  your  children  never  hear  of  our 
adventure?"  inquired  the  visitor. 

"No,"  replied  his  friend;  "I  have  never 
told  them  of  it.  I  feared  that  it  might  be 
a  bad  example  to  them." 

Amberg  shook  his  head  and   said: 

"You  are  wrong,  Ruprecht.  There  was 
no  bad  example  in  the  proceeding.  I  do 
not  understand  how  you  could  so  long 
keep  from  your  children  the  knowledge  of 
that  very  uncommonplace  adventure." 

"I  will  give  you  one  reason,"  said 
Judge  Ruprecht.  "I  felt  that  I  could  not 
do  the  subject  justice.  But  if  you  will 
have  the  kindness  to  tell  the  story  of  our 
tramp,  you  will  be  conferring  a  favor,  not 
only  on  the  children,  but  on  me  and  my 
wife;  and  I  am  confident  that  your  wife 
will  also  look  back  to  those  days  with 
pleasure.  But  wait  till  the  liquor  that  I 
have  ordered  is  brought  in.  You  will  then 
be  in  better  humor  for  the  story." 
*** 

"It  is  now  nearly  thirty  years,"  began 
Judge  Amberg,  "since  two  young  men  who 
had  already  made  some  slight  progress  in 
the  career  of  law,  were  seated  together  in 
a  modest  boarding-house  in  the  Weiden- 
strasse  in  Breslau.  Our  hearts  were  very 
sad  for,  of  course,  you  must  have  guessed 
that  the  two  students  were  the  present 
Judge  Ruprecht  and  my  insignificance. 
The  sorrow  that  weighed  us  down  was 
one,  however,  of  which  we  had  no 'need  to 
be  ashamed.  It  was  not  for  ourselves, 
but  for  a  school  friend  and  companion, 


THE  AVE  MART  A 


781 


who  had  just  left  us,  that  we  were" troubled. 

"This  friend,  who  had  been  our  com- 
panion at  the  University,  and  who  was 
now  teaching  in  a  gymnasium,  although 
I  can  not  exculpate  him  from  a  certain 
levity,  was  at  heart,  however,  an  honor- 
able and  good  young  man.  He  had  been 
only  a  short  time  in  his  present  employ- 
ment, which  he  had  secured  with  difficulty, 
from  the  fact  that  during  his  studies  he 
had  lost  his  parents,  and  with  them  all 
his  means  of  support.  Just  when  he  was 
appointed,  he  needed  the  small  sum  of 
fifty  dollars  to  procure  some  necessary 
articles.  Unfortunately  he  fell  into  the 
hands  of  a  usurer,  and  at  the  time  when 
we  were  puzzling  our  brains  about  him, 
his  debt  of  fifty  dollars  had  grown  to 
three  hundred.  The  usurer  demanded  his 
money,  which  our  friend  could  not  pay. 
The  fellow  then  threatened  to  expose  our 
friend,  and  he  was  quite  capable  of  doing 
it.  In  that  case  our  friend  would  be 
instantly  dismissed,  with  no  chance  <of 
obtaining  employment  elsewhere,  and 
thus  his  career  would  be  ended.  He  had 
just  visited  us  with  this  information;  and 
in  taking  leave  he  remarked  that  we  need 
not  wonder  if  before  long  we  should  hear 
that  he  had  put  a  violent  end  to  his  life. 
We  tried  to  dissuade  him  from  such  a 
proceeding,  but  he  declared  that  in  three 
days  the  matter  would  be  decided;  he  had 
written  to  a  distant  relative  for  help;  he 
had  little  hopes  of  a  favorable  answer,  but 
it  was  his  last  and  only  chance. 

"We  were  deeply  touched  by  our  friend's 
predicament;  for  youth  is  by  nature 
compassionate,  and  they  are  most  com- 
passionate who  themselves  have  nothing. 
We  would  gladly  help  our  friend  if  we 
knew  how.  But  Ruprecht  commanded  an 
income  of  only  twenty  dollars  a  month, 
on  which  he  had  to  live  very  sparingly; 
besides,  our  president  required  that  when- 
ever we  appeared  in  court  we  should  be 
dressed  irreproachably;  and  rummaging 
amongst  musty  old  documents  in  the 
halls  of  justice  was  hard  on  clothes.  I  had 
no  one  to  look  to  but  my  aged  mother, 


who  received  a  pension,  which  she  shared 
with  me;  and  my  portion  was  even  smaller 
than  Ruprecht's.  For  economy's  sake  we 
had  hired  a  room  together. 

"Ruprecht  was  always  the  leader 
amongst  us,  and  in  his  after  life  he  has 
continued  a  leader  by  attaining  to  his 
present  high  position.  My  sphere  was  of  a 
lower  order:  I  could  carry  out  a  plan 
far  better  than  invent  one.  It  was  nearly 
dark  that  night  when  Ruprecht  startled 
me  by  saying: 

"'lyook  here,  Amberg.  We  can  help 
our  friend,  at  least  for  a  quarter  of  a  year, 
by  going  security  for  him.  If  we  go  to 
the  money-lender,  tell  him  who  we  are, 
and  endorse  a  new  note  which  he  will 
accept  from  our  friend,  he  will  let  the 
matter  rest  for  another  quarter,  even 
though  he  may  charge  fifty  dollars  more.' 

"And  when  the  quarter  is  up?'  I  asked. 

" '  We  will  pay, '  replied  Ruprecht;  ' and 
in  this  way.  In  four  weeks  the  courts 
take  a  recess.  You  are  a  splendid  singer 
and  declaimer;  and  you  know  that  in  our 
musical  societies  at  college,  where  there 
were  many  good  musicians,  I  was  consid- 
ered a  success  at  the  piano,  especially  at 
improvising.  During  the  holidays  let  us 
change  our  names,  and  visit  the  watering- 
places  of  Bohemia  and  Silesia;  we  can 
thus  make  money  enough  not  only  to 
cover  our  expenses  and  to  relieve  our 
unfortunate  friend,  but  also  to  have  a 
balance  in  our  favor.  We  shall  enjoy 
ourselves  immensely,  help  our  friend,  and 
return  to  our  work  with  the  happy  con- 
sciousness of  having  done  a  good  deed 
which  is  out  of  the  common,  and  the 
thought  of  which  will  be  a  joy  to  us  for 
the  rest  of  our  lives.' 

"I  will  confess  that  the  proposition 
took  away  my  breath.  At  length,  I 
recovered  myself  sufficiently  to  say: 

'"And  if  any  one  should  recognize  us 
on  our  tramp,  and  our  president  should 
hear  of  it,  do  you  know  what  he  would 
do  with  us?  I  need  hardly  tell  you  that 
he  would  demand  our  instant  resigna- 
tion. We  should  be  considered  deceivers, 


782 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


representing  ourselves  as  virtuosos,  taking 
people's  money  under  false  pretences;  and 
even  though  the  motives  be  excellent,  that 
fact  will  never  be  taken  into  account.' 

"My  friend  Ruprecht  on  that  occasion, 
I  will  admit,  'pronounced  me  to  be  a 
goose,  who  had  no  idea  of  jurisprudence; 
and  he  proved  to  me  conclusively  that  we 
•should  be  guilty  of  no  deceit.  We  were 
both  good  pianists  and  declaimers;  a 
number  of  fellows  travelled  the  country 
who  could  not  do  half  as  well  as  we  could; 
and  they  not  only  made  money,  but  more- 
over won  considerable  fame  as  artists. 
Our  president  would  not  discover  us, 
for  he  was  not  accustomed  to  visit  those 
watering-places.  If  we  removed  our 
mustaches  and  dressed  as  artists,  no  one 
would  recognize  us,  especially  as  we 
should  keep  away  from  the  famous  baths, 
and  visit  only  obscure  resorts  in  Bohemia 
and  Silesia. 

"Ruprecht  was  a  famous  disputant, 
who  had  hundreds  of  times  shown  his 
ability  to  convince  an  intelligent  jury.  But 
it  took  him  two  days  to  convert  me 
to  his  point  of  view,  and  to  make  me 
surrender  at  discretion.  If  anything  more 
was  needed  to  make  me  yield  myself  a 
pliant  tool  into  Ruprecht's  hands,  it  was 
furnished  when  our  friend  the  teacher 
threw  himself  weeping  on  our  necks,  on 
learning  that  we  would  go  security  for 
him,  and  declared  that  we  had  saved  his 
life.  No  sacrifice  would  be  too  great  which 
promised  such  a  result. 

"The  preparations  suggested  by  friend 
Ruprecht  were  excellent.  He  at  once 
secured  passes  under  the  names  of  two 
bailiffs — Vogel  and  Binder;  and  as  these 
men  were  acquainted  in  police  circles,  they 
had  one  of  us  designated  as  a  virtuoso,  and 
the  other  as  a  declaimer  and  opera  singer. 

"Ruprecht  proved  himself  equal  to 
every  emergency.  He  had  a  number  of 
tickets  printed  in  different  colors,  with  the 
words  'first  row,'  'second  row,'  'private 
box,'  etc.,  and  a  vacant  space  for  the 
price.  And  he  had  made  another  prepa- 
ration for  our  departure,  of  which  I  was 


unaware  at  the  time.  He  had  a  friend  in 
Breslau  who  was  correspondent  for  a  paper 
published  in  Karlsbad ;  he  induced  this 
friend  to  inform  his  paper  that  in  a  short 
time  the  two  virtuosos,  Vogel  and  Binder, 
whose  reputation  was  world-wide,  would 
make  a  professional  tour  through  the 
Bohemian  watering-places.  I  was  ready 
to  shout  and  dance  when  I  saw  this 
announcement  in  the  paper.  With  that 
prudent  foresight  which  has  not  deserted 
him  to  this  day,  friend  Ruprecht  had 
found  out  whither  our  acquaintances, 
especially  those  of  the  law  courts,  were 
going.  In  those  days  no  one  went  to  the 
Bohemian  baths,  those  of  Silesia  being 
much  nearer,  and  we  learned  that  most  of 
our  colleagues  were  going  to  Berlin  or 
to  friends  in  lower  Silesia. 

"When  we  began  our  romantic  journey, 
we  sent  up  a  fervent  prayer  to  Heaven 
for  a  blessing  on  our  enterprise,  since 
we  were  setting  out  on  a  good  work. 
We  passed  the  frontiers,  and  made  our 
first  halt  at  a  little  Bohemian  town 
which,  I  think,  was  called  Braunau.  In 
reality,  Braunau  was  not  a  watering-place, 
but  merely  a  resting-place  for  people  from 
Prague  and  Vienna.  It  was  an  incon- 
ceivable piece  of  impudence  on  our  part  to 
appear  here ;  but  Ruprecht  remarked  that, 
in  an  affair  like  ours,  we  should  venture 
everything,  unless  we  wished  to  lose  con- 
fidence in  ourselves  at  the  very  outset. 

"The  weekly  paper  of  Braunau  accepted 
in  good  faith  the  notice  in  the  Karlsbad 
journal,  which  we  furnished  it;  and  on 
the  same  day  posters  appeared  on  the 
street  corners  of  Braunau  announcing  that 
the  famous  virtuosos,  Vogel  and  Binder, 
from  Berlin,  would  give  a  concert  in  the 
first  inn  of  the  town.  We  chose  to 
announce  ourselves  as  from  Berlin,  because 
then  as  now  it  enjoyed  a  high  reputation 
as  a  theatrical  and  musical  centre. 

"Friend  Ruprecht  had  drawn  up  the 
programme,  and  was  shameless  enough  to 
demand  a  gulden  [forty  cents]  for  the  first 
places,  and  half  a  gulden  for  the  second; 
there  were  no  boxes.  About  midday  we 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


783 


learned  that  every  seat  in  the  hall,  which 
could  accommodate  about  one  hundred 
and  twenty  persons,  was  taken  ior  the 
first  night. 

"I  was  the  first  to  go  under  fire  with 
a  declamation,  and,  if  I  mistake  not, 
my  piece  was  from  Byron,  who  was  then 
all  the  rage.  Next  followed  a  rhapsody 
from  IJszt,  which  was  quite  new,  and 
not  known  in  Braunau.  I  have  forgotten 
.  the  rest  of  the  programme,  and  know 
only  that  I  had  to  enter  the  breach  first, 
and  that  I  was  terribly  nervous  when  I 
mounted  the  platform. 

"With  pathos,  which  I  surely  overdid, 
I  declaimed  my  little  piece,  and  received 
thunders  of  applause.  Immediately  after- 
ward friend  Ruprecht  dashed  off  the 
Hungarian  rhapsody  by  Liszt,  and  he,  too, 
received  a  storm  of  applause.  To  be  brief, 
our  success  was  immense — " 

"Hold  up  there,  Amberg!"  cried  his 
friend;  "holdup!  You  must  not  minimize 
your  merits;  you  must  not  fail  to  add 
that  the  storm  of  applause  was  most 
enthusiastic  when  you  sang  that  exquisite 
serenade  from  Mozart.  I  thought  the 
house  would  come  down.  The  ladies 
especially  were  beside  themselves,  par- 
ticularly the  younger  portion  of  them. 
In  those  days  my  dear  friend  Amberg 
was  a  handsome  boy." 

This  last  remark  provoked  hearty  laugh- 
ter, after  which  the  Judge  gravely  resumed 
his  narrative: 

"I  did  not  want  to  thrust  myself  for- 
ward too  much,  and  therefore  I  did  not 
dwell  upon  my  abilities  as  a  singer.  Our 
success  was  most  gratifying,  the  receipts 
were  more  than  satisfactory;  and,  best  of 
all,  the  moral  effect  was  brilliant.  We 
had  made  a  big  venture  at  the  first  throw; 
but  we  had  succeeded,  and  our  courage 
and  spirit  of  enterprise  rose  accordingly. 
We  actually  had  the  boldness  to  give 
concerts  in  Braunau  on  the  two  following 
nights,  to  which  the  aristocracy  of  the 
surrounding  country  came  from  miles;  for 
our  fame  spread  rapidly. 

{'l  will  not  bore  you  with  au  account 


of  all  our  proceedings;  but,  with  the 
ladies'  permission,  I  will  mention  two  of 
the  most  important  circumstances. 

"Our  success  was  so  great  that  we 
ventured  to  perform  in  large  towns  that 
were  not  watering-places.  But  we  passed 
by  the  capital  of  Bohemia.  Of  course  we 
also  avoided  such  places  as  Karlsbad, 
Marienbad,  etc.,  where  we  might  possibly 
be  recognized. 

"When  we  arrived  at  Trautenau,  it 
happened  that  at  the  inn  where  we  were 
to  perform  there  was  no  piano,  nor  indeed 
any  store  in  the  town  where  we  could 
hire  one.  But  we  were  informed  by  a 
musical  enthusiast  that  in  a  private  family 
there  was  a  wonderful  instrument  from 
Vienna,  a  masterpiece  of  its  kind,  which 
we  might  be  able  to  borrow.  It  was, 
however,  a  difficult  matter.  The  piano 
belonged  to  a  widow,  whose  husband  had 
lately  died.  The  lady  lived  quite  alone  with 
her  daughter;  and  it  seemed  likely  that, 
on  account  of  her  mourning,  she  would 
not  be  inclined  to  receive  us. 

"It  was  considered  a  risky  thing  to 
ask  this  lady  to  help  us.  We,  therefore, 
took  two  matches,  shortened  one  of  them, 
and  made  an  agreement  that  whoever 
drew  the  shorter  piece  was  to  make  the 
attempt.  As  friend  Ruprecht  was  always 
a  lucky  fellow,  I  of  course  drew  the 
short  piece,  and  accordingly  went  to  see 
the  widow. 

"I  found  the  lady  exceedingly  friendly 
and  gracious.  But  her  young,  amiable 
and  very  pretty  daughter  was  much 
more  interesting  to  me — you  need  not 
blush,  my  dear!"  said  the  Judge,  turn- 
ing to  his  wife.  "In  my  eyes  you  are  still 
the  most  charming  woman  in  the  world; 
and  you  were  really  a  beautiful  girl,  as 
friend  Ruprecht  can  bear  witness." 

"I  will  swear  to  it,"  answered  the 
latter  enthusiastically. 

"The  mamma  of  this  charming  daugh- 
ter," continued  the  narrator,  "expressed 
her  willingness  to  help  a  couple  of  artists 
in  a  pinch;  but  she  wished  to  know  to 
whom  she  trusted  her  instrument,  and 


'84 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


asked  me  to  play  something  as  a  proof  of 
my  ability.  As  I  was  more  of  a  success 
at  singing  than  at  playing,  I  sang  a 
couple  of  melancholy  airs,  which  moved 
mother  and  daughter  to  tears — my  dear 
Paula,  who  always  had  a  tender  heart, 
and  my  future  mother-in-law.  The  latter 
finally  lent  us  the  piano  for  our  concert, 
and  expressed  her  sincere  regret  that  she 
and  her  daughter  were  hindered  by  their 
mourning  from  enjoying  what  she  knew 
would  be  a  real  treat.  I  naturally  has- 
tened to  assure  her  that  on  the  evening 
following  our  public  concert  we  would 
take  the  greatest  pleasure  in  giving  the 
ladies  a  private  rehearsal,  if  they  would 
kindly  permit  us.  I  may  as  well  confess 
honestly  that  I  was  anxious  to  become 
better  acquainted  with  the  young  lady, 
the  daughter  of  the  house.  My  offer  was 
accepted  with  gracious  thanks.  The  piano, 
a  really  splendid  instrument,  was  sent  to 
the  concert  hall ;  and  a  part  at  least  of  our 
success  that  night  was  due  to  the  grand 
instrument,  which,  under  Ruprecht's 
touch,  gave  forth  splendid  music. 

"On  the  following  evening  our  hearts 
beat  more  anxiously  than  at  our  public 
performances.  We  had  by  this  time  got 
over  the  fever  of  the  foot-lights,  and  were 
perfectly  cool  on  the  stage.  The  instrument 
was  returned  to  the  kind  lady;  and  in  the 
evening  Ruprecht  and  I  presented  our- 
selves to  give  the  private  concert.  We  did 
our  very  best;  and  I  flatter  myself  that, 
under  the  influence  of  our  feelings,  we 
surpassed  ourselves  that  night. 

"As  there  are  more  important  matters 
coming  up  in  my  story,  which  will  occupy 
some  time  in  telling,  I  will  not  dwell  on  a 
point  which  is  known  to  you  all.  I  suc- 
ceeded in  winning  a  place  in  the  heart  of 
my  dear  Paula  and  in  that  of  my  future 
mother-in-law.  When  we  took  our  leave 
it  was  with  the  words,  i Auj  Wiedersehen' ; 
and  this  dear  little  woman  uttered  those 
two  words  in  such  a  tone  as  gave  me 
clearly  to  understand  that  I  should  be 
welcome  whenever  I  returned," 

next  weec, 


What  Happened  to  Don  Rodrigo  Melendez 
de  Valdez. 


TRANSLATED  BY  JAMES  YORK,  M.  D. 


COUNT  LUCANOR  conversed  one  day 
with  Patronio,  his  counsellor,  in  the 
following  manner: 

"Patronio,  you  know  that  one  of  my 
neighbors  and  I  have  had  contentions, 
that  he  is  a  man  of  great  influence  and 
much  honored.  It  now  happens  that  we 
are  both  disposed  to  acquire  for  our- 
selves a  certain  town,  and  it  is  positive  that 
whoever  arrives  there  first  will  possess 
himself  of  it,  and  thus  it  will  be  entirely 
lost  to  the  other.  You  know  also  that 
all  my  servants  and  dependants  are  ready 
to  march,  and  I  have  every  reason  to 
believe  that,  with  God's  help,  if  I  proceed  I 
at  once,  I  shall  succeed  with  great  honor 
and  advantage.  But  there  is  this  imped- 
iment: not  being  in  good  health,  I  may 
not  be  able  to  avail  myself  of  this  oppor- 
tunity. Now  I  regret  much  the  loss  of 
this  town;  but  I  acknowledge  to  you  that 
to  lose  in  such  a  manner  provokes  me  still 
more,  as  I  lose  also  the  honor  which  the 
possession  of  ,it  would  give  me.  Having 
great  confidence  in  your  understanding,  I 
pray  you  tell  me  what  is  best  to  be  done." 

"My  lord,"  said  Patronio,  "I  can  under- 
stand your  anxiety  in  this  matter;  and, 
in  order  that  you  may  know  how  to  act 
always  for  the  best  in  cases  like  this,  I 
should  be  much  pleased  to  relate  to  you 
what  happened  once  to  Don  Rodrigo 
Melendez  de  Valdez." 

The  Count  desired  him  to  do  so,  and 
Patronio  said: 

"Don  Rpdrigo  Melendez  de  Valdez  was 
a  knight  much  honored  in  the  kingdom  of 
Leon,  and  was  accustomed,  whenever  any 
misfortune  happened  to  him,  to  exclaim, 
'God  be  praised!  For,  since  He  has  so 
willed  it,  it  is  for  the  best.'  This  Don 
Rodrigo  was  counsellor  to,  and  a  great 
favorite  with,  the  King  of  Leon.  He  had 
numerous  enemies,  however,  who.  through 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


785 


jealousy,  reported  many  falsehoods,  and 
induced  the  king  to  think  so  ill  of  him  as 
to  order  him  to  be  put  to  death. 

"Now,  Don  Rodrigo,  being  «,t  his  own 
residence,  received  the  king's  command 
to  attend  him.  Meanwhile  those  who  were 
employed  to  assassinate  him  waited  quietly 
about  half  a  league  from  his  house.  Don 
Rodrigo  intended  going  on  horseback  to 
the  palace;  but,  coming  downstairs,  he 
.fell  and  sprained  his  leg.  When  his  attend- 
ants who  were  to  have  accompanied  him 
saw  this  accident,  they  were  much  grieved, 
but  began  saying,  half  jocosely,  to  Don 
Rodrigo,  'You  know  you  always  say, 
"That  which  God  permits  is  ever  for  the 
best."  Now,  do  you  really  think  this  is 
for  the  best?' 

"He  replied  that  they  might  be  certain, 
however  much  this  accident  was  to  be 
deplored,  since  it  was  by  the  will  of  God, 
it  was  surely  for  the  best,  and  all  they 
might  say  could  never  change  his  opinion. 

"Now,  those  who  were  waiting  to  kill 
Don  Rodrig6  by  the  king's  command,  when 
they  found  he  did  not  come,  and  learned 
what  had  happened  to  him,  returned  to 
the  palace  to  explain  why  they  could  not 
fulfil  the  orders  they  had  received. 

"Don  Rodrigo  was  a  long  time  confined 
to  his  house,  and  unable  to  mount  his 
horse.  During  this  delay  the  king  ascer- 
tained how  Don  Rodrigo  had  been  calum- 
niated ;  and,  having  ordered  the  slanderers 
to  be  seized,  went  himself  to  the  house  of 
his  former  favorite,  and  related  to  him  the 
slanders  that  had  been  circulated  against 
him;  and  for  the  fault  that  he,  the  king, 
had  committed  in  ordering  him  to  be  put 
to  death,  entreated  pardon;  and,  in  con- 
sideration thereof,  bestowed  on  him  new 
honors  and  riches.  And  justice  was  satis- 
fied by  the  speedy  punishment  of  those 
who  had  invented  and  spread  the  false- 
hoods. In  this  way  God  delivered  Don 
Rodrigo,  who  was  innocent  of  everything. 
Hence  was  his  customary  affirmation 
proved  true — 'Whatever  God  permits  to 
happen  is  always  for  the  best.' 

"And  you,  Count  Luca.riQr,  should  not 


complain  of  this  hindrance  to  the  fulfil- 
ment of  your  wishes.  Be  certain,  in  your 
heart,  that  'whatever  God  wills  is  for  the 
best';  and,  if  you  will  but  trust  in  Him, 
He  will  cause  all  things  to  work  for  your 
good. 

"But  you  ought  to  understand  that 
these  things  which  happen  are  of  two  kinds. 
The  one  is  when  a  misfortune  comes  to 
a  man  which  admits  of  no  relief :  the  other 
is  when  a  misfortune  is  remediable.  Now, 
when  an  evil  can  be  cured,  it  is  a  man's 
duty  to  ekert  all  his  energies  to  obtain 
the  necessary  relief,  and  not  remain 
inactive,  saying,  'It  is  chance,'  or  'It 
is  the  will  of  God.'  This  would  be  to 
tempt  Providence.  But  since  man  is 
endowed  with  understanding  and  reason, 
it  is  his  duty  to  endeavor  to  overcome 
the  misfortunes  which  may  befall  him, 
when  they  will  admit  of  alleviation.  But 
in  those  cases  where  there  is  no  remedy, 
then  one  must  patiently  submit,  since  it 
is  really  the  will  of  God,  which  is  always 
for  the  best. 

"And  as  this  which  has  happened  to 
you  is  clearly  one  of  those  afflictions  sent 
by  God,  and  admits  of  no  remedy;  and, 
as  what  God  permits  is  for  the  best,  rest 
assured,  therefore,  that  God  will  so  direct 
circumstances  that  the  result  will  be  as 
you  desire." 

And  the  Count  held  that  Patronio  had 
spoken  wisely,  and  that  it  was  good  advice; 
and,  acting  accordingly,  he  found  good 
results. 

And  Prince  Don  Juan  Manuel,  consid- 
ering this  a  good  example,  caused  it  to  be 
written  in  his  book  ("Count  Lucanor"), 
and  composed  the  lines  which  run  thus: 

Murmur  not  at  God's  dealings;  it  may  be 

He  seeks  thy  good  in  ways  thou  canst  not  see. 


IF  time  be  of  all  things  the  most  precious, 
wasting  time  must  be  the  greatest  prodi- 
gality, since  lost  time  is  never  found  again ; 
and  what  we  call  time  enough  always 
proves  little  enough.  Let  us,  then,  be  up, 
and  doing,  and  doing  \o  a  purpose. 

•^Franklin, 


786 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


The  Mamertine  Prison. 


FEW  places  in  Rome  are  more  interest- 
ing to  the  devout  than  the  place 
where  Saint  Peter  and  Saint  Paul  were 
imprisoned,  according  to  the  traditions 
and  certain  other  indications  which  can 
not  be  controverted. 

The  old  ecclesiastical  traditions  of  the 
Church  state  that,  just  before  the  end  of 
their  lives,  Saint  Peter  and  Saint  Paul 
were  imprisoned  together, —  in  what  is 
now  called  the  Mamertine  Prison.  During 
Saint  Paul's  first  captivity  at  Rome,  he 
was  allowed  to  remain  in  his  own  hired 
house,  with  a  soldier  who  kept  him.  But 
as  to  the  circumstances  of  his  second 
imprisonment  there  are  less  means  of 
knowing  with  certainty,  save  that  which 
is  to  be  gathered  from  the  ecclesiastical 
traditions.  This  place  of  the  confinement 
of  the  two  saints  is  frequently  mentioned 
in  the  Martyrologies  as  the  prison  in 
which  many  of  the  early  martyrs  suffered 
captivity  and  often  death. 

The  Mamertine  Prison  dates  from  the 
earliest  times  of  Rome,  and,  according 
to  I/ivy,  the  historian,  was  constructed  by 
Ancus  Martius.  By  some,  however,  skilled 
in  Roman  research,  the  lower  and  more 
terrible  part  of  the  prison — that  in  which 
the  saints  were  held  captive  —  is  taken 
to  have  been  originally  one  of  those  under- 
ground granaries,  of  which  there  were 
many  in  Rome  in  ancient  times.  Other 
archaeologists  do  not  accept  this  explana- 
tion. Be  it  as  it  may,  this  prison  was  the 
prison  of  the  earthly  founder  of  the  Faith, 
and  in  itself  is  a  most  striking  example  of 
how  the  Romans  built  for  the  centuries 
and  not  for  a  generation  or  two. 

The  Mamertine  Prison  stands  on  the 
slope  of  the  Capitoline  Mount,  toward  the 
Forum;  and  near  the  entrance  were  the 
Scalae  Genoniae,  by  which  the  prisoners 
were  dragged  forth  to  execution,  or  death 
by  the  wild  beasts.  The  prison  itself 
consists  of  two  vaults,  one  above  the  other, 
constructed  of  large  uncemented  stones. 

There  is  no  way  in,  sa.ve  by  means  of  a," 


small  hole  in  the  upper  roof,  and  by  a  like 
one  in  the  floor,  and  giving  into  the  vault 
below,  without  staircase  to  either.  The 
upper  prison  is  27  feet  long  by  20  feet 
wide;  and  the  lower  one,  which  is  ellifJtical  in 
shape,  measures  20  feet  by  10.  The  height 
of  the  upper  one  is  14  feet,  and  of  the  lower 
ii  feet.  In  neither  of  them  is  there  any 
opening  admitting  fresh  air  and  daylight. 

In  the  lower  dungeon  there  is  a  small 
spring,  which  arose  at  the  touch  of  Saint 
Peter,  and,  according  to  tradition,  enabled 
hkn  to  baptize  his  keepers,  Processus 
and  Martinianus,  together  with  forty-seven 
others  whom  he  had  brought  to  the 
Faith.  The  pillar  is  there  also  to  which 
he  and  Saint  Paul  were  bound.  A  more 
horrible  place  of  captivity  than  the  Mam- 
ertine Prison  of  the  times  of  the  martyrs 
can  not  be  imagined. 

It,  with  a  small  chapel  in  front,  is  now 
dedicated  to  Saint  Peter;  and  over  it  stands 
the  beautiful  church  of  S.  Giuseppe. 


Statues  of  Great  Men. 


The  fashion  of  placing  statues  of 
popular  heroes  in  parks  and  squares  has 
prevailed  for  a  long  time,  and  is  apparently 
not  losing  any  of  the  popular  favor.  It 
would  not  be  so  prevalent,  however,  if 
Rossini's  plan  were  carried  out. 

The  great  Italian  composer  was  waited 
on  one  day  by  a  delegation  who  informed 
him  that  a  statue  of  himself  was  to  be 
executed  in  white  marble,  and  that  it 
would  adorn  the  public  square  of  his 
natal  city.  The  artist  inquired  how 
much  the  statue  would  cost. 

"Twelve  thousand  francs,"  was  the  reply, 

"Well,"  said  Rossini,  "give  me  that  sum 
and  on  state  occasions  I'll  go  and  stand 
on  the  pedestal  myself,  so  that  instead  of 
a  mere  copy  you'll  have  the  original." 

Apropos  of  great  men's  statues,  there 
was  much  in  the  reply  of  Cato  to  the 
inquiry  why  his  statue  did  not  appear 
among  those  of  other  famous  Romans. 
"I  had  rather  men  should  ask  why  my 
statue  is  not  set  up  than  why  it  is." 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


'87 


Belief  and  Practice. 


MORALIZING  on  some  of  the  concrete 
realities  of  the  life  around  him  in 
this  war-mad  age,  a  secular  journalist  is 
moved  to  write: 

How  consistently  inconsistent  we  are,  how 
honestly  and  openly  dishonest,  how  sanely  in- 
sane, and  how  otherwise  contradictory  in  our 
make  up,  we  discover  only  in  our  serious 
moments  and  when  discussing  the  most  vital 
problems  of  life.  In  these  war  times  we  are  all 
"patriotic,"  burning  with  zeal,  ready  to  sacrifice 
everything — that  everybody  else  has;  ready  to 
place  upon  the  altar  every  life  that  is  not  our 
own;  ready  to  labor  day  and  night  in  our  fields 
in  order  that  our  armies  and  our  people  shall 
not  want — potatoes  at  $2.10  a  bushel  and  flour 
at  $16.50  a  barrel,  and  other  things  accordingly. 

The  most  vital  problem  in  the  life  of 
the  individual  is  unquestionably  his  per- 
sonal salvation.  It  is  of  infinitely  more 
import  to  him  that  his  conscience  is 
tranquil,  his  soul  at  peace  with  God, 
than  that  Prosperity  should  lavish  her 
smiles  upon  his  temporal  fortunes,  or 
that  Victory  should  crown  the  efforts  of 
his  country  in  arms.  Yet  it  is  precisely 
concerning  this  supreme  problem  of  life 
that  the  majority  of  men  display  the 
most  flagrant  inconsistency.  To  believe, 
or  profess  to  believe,  one  thing,  and  still 
to  act  in  a  manner  that  is  the  apparent 
result,  the  logical  outcome,  of  a  belief  in 
something  else  entirely  contradictory, — 
this  is  certainly  derogatory  to  the  dignity 
of  our  human  nature;  but  it  is,  never- 
theless, characteristic  of  multitudes  of 
people  in  our  day;  not  a  few  Catholics 
being  among  the  number. 

The  supremely  significant  fact  in  the 
life  of  each  one  of  us  is  the  truth  infallibly 
declared  in  the  rhetorical  interrogation 
of  the  Gospel:  "What  doth  it  profit  a 
man  if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose 
his  own  soul?"  Salvation,  our  personal 
salvation, — that  is  the  one  thing  which 
really  matters;  and  it  is  also  the  one  thing 
concerning  which  very,  very  many  of  us 
display  the  most  downright  inconsistency, 
the  most  glaring  opposition  between  our 
belief  and  our  practice. 


What  is  it  that  we  Catholics  believe  about 
salvation?  To  begin  with,  we  believe  that 
we  come  from  God,  that  we  are  the  work 
of  His  omnipotent  hand,  that  He  is  our 
Creator.  We  believe  and  know  that  the 
sole  end  for  which  we  have  been  created 
is  to  serve  God  here  that  we  may  enjoy  Him 
hereafter.  We  believe  that  God  desires 
nothing  more  than  that  we  should  attain 
this  end;  that  He  longs  for  it  ardently, — 
so  ardently  that  He  sent  His  well-beloved 
vSon,  our  Lord  and  vSaviour  Jesus  Christ,  to 
live,  suffer,  and  die  on  earth  that  we  might 
regain  those  rights  to  heaven  lost  to  us 
through  the  sin  of  our  first  parents.  We 
know  that  the  whole  Church  of  Christ, 
with  its  complicated  yet  orderly  mechan- 
ism, with  its  adorable  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass 
and  its  grace-giving  sacraments,  has  been 
instituted  for  the  one  purpose  of  facili- 
tating this  work  of  saving  our  souls.  We 
believe  that,  unless  we  obey  God's  law  as 
laid  down  for  us  in  His  Commandments, 
we  shall  forfeit  our  chances  of  attaining 
this  our  ultimate  end.  We  know  that  we 
must  die,  and  that  the  moment  of  our 
death  is  the  most  uncertain  of  all  moments ; 
that  our  lives  are,  at  the  very  longest,  very 
short, — insignificantly  so  when  compared 
to  that  other  life  beyond  the  tomb.  We 
know  that  we  shall  die  only  once;  and 
that  if  we  have  the  misfortune  of  passing 
from  this  world  in  the  state  of  mortal  sin, 
then  all  God's  loving  designs  in  our  behalf 
will  be  frustrated;  the  Passion  and  death 
of  Jesus  Christ  for  us  will  have  proved 
futile;  our  souls  will  be  lost  and  irrevo- 
cably doomed  to  everlasting  punishment. 
Everlasting;  for  we  believe,  too,  that 
our  souls  are  immortal,  —  that  they  shall 
never  die. 

The  foregoing  are  very  simple,  very 
elementary  truths;  they  form  the  merest 
A  B  C  of  Catholic  doctrine.  We  knew 
them  all  long  ago.  We  learned  them  at 
our  mother's  knee  when  the  first  rays  of 
reason  were  breaking  over  our  childish 
minds.  We  studied  them  in  our  catechism 
when  preparing  for  First  Communion 
and  for  Confirmation;  and  we  have  heard 


i 


788 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


them  thousands  pf  times  repeated  by  the 
ministers  of  God's  altar.  Yet  simple  as 
they  are  and  well  as  we  know  them,  how 
few  of  us  seem  to  have  realized  the 
one  consequence  that  necessarily  follows 
from  them — that  our  salvation  is  our 
supremely  important  affair,  and  that  the 
one  thing  necessary  in  this  life  is  to  make 
it  a  fit  preparation  for  the  next  one,  the 
endless  life  beyond  the  grave! 

We  call  ourselves  consistent  beings; 
and,  believing  that  salvation  is  the  only 
subject  which  possesses  for  us  any  lasting 
interest,  we  occupy  ourselves  about  every 
other  possible  subject  but  salvation.  We 
know  that  we  must  die,  and  that  our  real 
life  does  not  begin  until  we  have  passed 
through  the  gates  of  death;  and  we  act, 
not  only  as  if  this  life  were  more  important 
than  the  other,  but  very  often  as  if  there 
were  no  other.  We  believe  that  if  we  gain 
the  whole  world  and  lose  our  soul,  it  will 
profit  us  nothing;  yet  we  barter  our 
salvation,  not  for  the  whole  world,  not  for 
the  hundredth  or  thousandth  part  of  what 
the  world  can  give,  but  for  a  few  paltry 
riches,  honors,  or  pleasures,  which,  besides 
robbing  us  of  our  'eternal  joy,  are  insuffi- 
cient to  procure  us  happiness  even  here  on 
earth.  We  believe  that  the  one  question 
we  shall  have  to  answer  at  our  judgment 
is,  "How  have  you  served  God?"  and 
we  live  as  though  we  were  to  be  asked, 
"How  much  money  have  you  made?  Have 
you  always  lived  and  dressed  as  well  as 
your  neighbors?  Have  you  been  highly 
esteemed  in,  society?  Have  you  secured 
honorable  positions?" 

We  believe  that  God  is  our  Creator,  and, 
as  such,  has  supreme  dominion  over  us 
and  all  that  we  possess;  that  we  are  His 
creatures,  and  for  that  very  reason  can  not 
have  with  respect  to  God  any  relations 
that  can  be  at  all  called  rights.  We  believe 
this,  or  say  we  do;  yet  how  often  is  not 
our  daily  life  in  direct  opposition  to  that 
belief!  In  our  daily  life  we  measure  the 
amount  of  service  that  God  should  require 
of  us;  we  specify  in  our  hearts  the  boun- 
daries over  which  He  must  not  come; 


we  grumble  at  the  excessive  rigor  of  His 
law, — nay,  that  law  we  are  continually 
violating.  We  pride  ourselves  upon  our 
common-sense;  and,  knowing  that  to  die 
in  mortal  sin  is  to  plunge  ourselves  into 
hell, — knowing,  too,  that  it  may  very  well 
happen  to  us,  as  it  has  happened  to  thou- 
sands of  others,  to  die  before  we  see  another 
sunrise, — we  lie  down  to  sleep  in  this 
state  of  mortal  sin  as  unconcernedly  as 
if,  for  us,  there  were  no  hereafter. 

We  talk  about  our  common-sense;  and, 
knowing  that  serving  God  is  our  one  ap- 
pointed work  in  this  life,  we  not  only  do 
not  serve  Him  ourselves,  but  we  very  often 
ridicule  those  who  do.  We  smile  at  the 
conduct  of  truly  devout  Catholics,  and 
from  the  lofty  heights  of  our  superior 
wisdom  we  condescend  to  pity  their 
childish  naivete.  Religion,  we  say  —  or 
our  actions  say  for  us, — is,  of  course, 
very  good,  in  moderation;  God  is  all  very 
well  in  His  place;  but  then  we  must  not 
get  too  earnest;  there  is  no  need  of  grow- 
ing enthusiastic  about  the  matter.  Enthu- 
siasm must  be  reserved  for  weightier 
matters, —  money-making,  politics,  social 
triumphs,  or  literary  fame.  We  may  give 
free  rein  to  our  feelings  on  these  subjects; 
but  on  religious  matters  we  must  hold 
these  feelings  in  check ;  otherwise  we  might 
awake  some  fine  morning  and  actually  find 
ourselves  trying  to  become  saints.  Con- 
sistency is  indeed  a  jewel,  rare  enough  in 
all  men,  but  never  so  rare  as  among  those 
Catholics  who,  believing  that  the  affairs 
of  eternity  are  everything  and  those  of 
time  comparatively  nothing,  so  often  live 
as  if  they  believed  the  direct  opposite. 

If  we  really  are  rational,  consistent 
Catholics,  then  the  subject  of  our  salvation 
occupies  the  principal  place  in  our  minds. 
Our  lifelong  pursuits  are  undertaken  and 
carried  out  only  in  subservience  to  this, 
our  ultimate  end.  Our  profession,  business, 
calling,  or  trade  we  look  upon  only  as 
a  means  by  which  God  desires  us  to  work 
out  our  eternal  destiny.  How  many  of  us 
do  so?  How  few  of  us,  rather,  practise 
what  we  believe? 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


789 


A  Diamond  Jubilee  Celebration. 

THE  celebration  of  the  Diamond  Jubilee 
of  the  University  of  Notre  Dame, 
June  8-1 1,  occasioned  one  of  the  largest 
and  most  representative  gatherings  of 
Catholics  ever  witnessed  in  the  United 
States.  Never  before  were  the  capacious 
church  and  other .  buildings  of  the  insti- 
tution more  completely  filled,  nor  did 
its  spacious  grounds  ever  present  a  livelier 
scene.  The  visitors  included  numerous 
prelates  from  far  and  near,  among  them 
the  venerable  Cardinal  Gibbons  and  the 
venerated  Delegate  of  the  Holy  Father  in 
this  country;  many  distinguished  priests; 
scores  of  prominent  laymen;  old  students 
from  almost  every  vState  in  the  Union; 
relatives  and  friends  of  the  present  year 
graduates,  etc. 

The  exercises  opened  appropriately  (on 
the  night  of  June  8)  with  an  illustrated 
lecture  on  "Old  Days  at  Notre  Dame," 
by  the  venerable  Paulist,  Father  Elliott, 
who  charmed  his  hearers  by  his  reminis- 
cences of  Father  Sorin,  the  founder  of 
Notre  Dame,  and  his  first  associates.  At 
the  Pontifical  Mass  of  Jubilee,  celebrated 
on  Sunday  by  his  Eminence  Cardinal 
Gibbons,  the  first  of  a  series  of  sermons, 
all  full  of  interest  and  inspiration  and 
exquisitely  appropriate  to  the  occasion, 
was  preached  by  Archbishop  Mundelein 
of  Chicago;  the  others  were  by  Arch- 
bishop Hanna,  of  San  Francisco,  and 
(at  Solemn  Benediction  of  the  Blessed 
Sacrament,  after  a  sacred  concert  by 
the  famous  Paulist  Choir)  by  the  Very 
Rev.  Walter  Elliott,  C.  S.  P.  The  addresses 
delivered  by  Cardinal  Gibbons  at  the 
Sunday  dinner;  by  the  Hon.  W.  Bourke 
Cockran,  at  the  dedication  of  a  new 
library;  by  Governor  Goodrich  of  Indi- 
ana, and  the  Hon.  Edward  McDermott, 
formerly  Lieut. -Governor  of  Kentucky,  at 
the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  a  new 
chemistry  building;  by  Mr.  Joseph  Scott 
to  the  students,  "old  boys"  and  guests; 
and  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  Chartrand 
at  the  Commencement  (closing)  exercises, 


were  no  less  fitting  and  hardly  less  in- 
spiriting than  the  sermons  in  the  church. 

The  conferring,  of  the  kaetare  Medal 
upon  Admiral  William  S.  Benson,  U.  S.  N., 
a  charming  ceremony,  charmingly  pre- 
sided over  by  Cardinal  Gibbons,  at  which 
the  Hon.  Victor  J.  Dowling  of  New  York 
and  the  medalist  spoke  gracious  words,— 
the  former  expressing  cordial  congratu- 
lation; the  latter,  grateful  appreciation; 
the  blessing  and  raising  of  a  beautiful 
flag,  processions,  reunions,  banquets,  con- 
certs, athletic  games,  etc.,  kept  the  visitors 
interested  and  entertained  every  day  and 
hour.  No  exercise,  however,  we  are  glad 
to  say,  was  more  numerously  attended 
than  the  Pontifical  Mass  celebrated  by 
his  Excellency  Archbishop  Bonzano,  Apos- 
tolic Delegate,  for  the  deceased  students 
and  professors  of  the  University  of  Notre 
Dame.  The  sermon  by  Archbishop  Hanna, 
which  followed,  like  that  of  Archbishop 
Mundelein,  was  characterized  by  lofty 
thought,  depth  of  feeling,  beauty  of  allu- 
sion, and  forceful  expression.  Both  speakers 
paid  eloquent  tribute  to  the  founder  of 
Notre  Dame,  and  showed  how  his  labors 
and  sacrifices  had  been  blessed. 

The  crowning  of  the  celebration  was 
the  receipt  ,of  an  autograph  letter  from 
his  Holiness  Benedict  XV.,  with  a  cordial 
message  from  Cardinal  Gasparri,  Papal 
Secretary  of  State,  congratulating  the 
Very  Rev.  John  Cavanaugh,  C.  S.  C.,  on 
the  great  services  he  has  rendered  to  the 
cause  of  religion  and  education,  and  in- 
voking the  blessing  of  God  on  the  insti- 
tution over  which  he  so  ably  presides. 

"In  the  midst  of  the  trials  of  the  present 
hour  which  press  upon  us  so  heavily," 
writes  the  Holy  Father,  "the  brightest 
ray  of  hope  for  the  future  lies  in  the  special 
care  that  is  being  bestowed  upon  the  edu- 
cation of  youth.  In  this  age  when  young 
men,  to  our  great  sorrow,  are  so  drawn 
by  the  allurements  of  vice  and  the  teach- 
ings of  error,  it  is,  above  all,  by  training 
youth  to  virtue  that  the  life  of  nations 
is  to  be  fashioned  and  directed  in  right- 
eousness and  truth." 


790 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Notes  and  Remarks. 


The  judicious  advice  .annually  tendered 
by  Catholic  preachers  and  editors  to  such 
of  their  coreligionists  as  contemplate  spend- 
ing holiday  weeks  away  from  home— viz., 
to  select  a  watering-place  or  tourist  resort 
within  easy  reach  of  a  church  or  chapel- 
is  again  in  order.  No  practical  Catholic 
will  consider  that  any  number  of  other 
advantages  possessed  by  a  summer  resi- 
dence can  compensate  for  the  signal  draw- 
back of  its  being  too  far  distant  from  the 
House  of  God  to  permit  of  one's  attending 
Mass,  at  least  on  Sundays  and  holydays. 
A  cognate  bit  of  advice  seems  especially 
timely  and  pertinent  for  this  particular 
summer  of  1917.  Our  country  is  at  war. 
Many  thousands  of  our  young  Catholic 
men  will  soon  be,  if  not  actually  on  the 
battlefield,  at  least  in  camp  preparing 
for  the  fighting  that  may  come  to  them 
before  the  Great  War  is  concluded.  This 
being  so,  is  there  any  more  appropriate 
form  of  devotion  for  their  parents  and 
friends  who  remain  at  home  than  attend- 
ance at  daily  Mass?  As  we  all  know  and 
believe,  the  Holy  vSacrifice  of  the  Altar  is 
the  most  sublime  action  that  is,  or  can  be, 
performed  on  earth;  and  petitions  prof- 
fered by  those  who  assist  thereat  have 
an  unusual  guarantee  of  being  heard. 
How  slight  the  inconvenience  it  would 
occasion  thousands  of  Catholics  to  send 
up  these  petitions  in  unison  with  the  cele- 
brant of  the  Mass  morning  after  morning 
throughout  the  year!  Prayers  for  our 
country  itself  and  for  our  loved  ones  who 
are  fighting  under  its  flag  are  especially 
opportune  and  congruous  during  the  pres- 
ent critical  period ;  and  the  Mass  furnishes 
the  most  perfect  form  of  prayer  as  well 
as  the  highest  possible  type  of  sacrifice 
within  the  competency  of  mankind  to 
offer  to  the  Godhead. 

As  the  specific  date  of  the  quarto- 
centenary  of  Luther  draws  near,  not  all 
the  testimony  of  Protestantism's  various 
sects  is  laudatory  of  the  arch-reformer, 


or  condemnatory  of  the  Church  which 
he  vainly  hoped  to  destroy.  'One  of  the 
offshoots  of  Lutheranism  was  Calvinism. 
Although  the  French  reformer  added  to 
and  subtracted  from  the  German's  system, 
Calvin's  doctrine  was  derived  from  Luther. 
That  the  Scriptures  are  the  sole  rule  of 
faith,  that  after  the  Fall  man  no  longer 
had  free  will,  and  that  man  is  justified  by 
faith  alone, — these  and  other  points  are 
identical  in  both  systems.  This  being  so, 
it  is  rather  interesting  to  read  what  an 
organ  of  Calvinism,  De  Heraut,  published 
in  Holland,  has  to  say  of  the  Church 
against  which  the  Rev.  Dr.  Martin  Luther 
revolted  four  hundred  years  ago: 

Whilst  the  war  has  broken  asunder  all  tics 
of  social  life,  as  well  as  those  of  science  and  arts, 
the  Catholic  Church,  and  she  alone,  has  pre- 
served her  international  unity  absolutely  intact ; 
she  has  thus  given  a  brilliant  proof  of  the  solidity 
of  her  organic  life.  In  contrast,  consider  how 
Socialism,  of  which  one  of  the  essential  dogmas 
is  the  international  solidarity  of  the  toilers  of 
the  world,  has  been  shattered  by  the  war,  while 
not  a  stone  of  the  world-wide  Church  has  been 
in  the  least  degree  loosened.  .  .  .  The  outcome 
of  it  all  is  the  fact  that  Catholicity  stands  forth 
as  a  World-Church,  and  Protestantism  as  a  set 
of  national  Churches.  .  .  .  Protestantism  at  its 
very  beginning  made  the  awful  blunder  of 
reducing  the  one  World-Church  into  many 
national  Churches,  standing  apart  from  one 
another,  and  with  no  bend  of  union  among  them; 
each  having  its  inalienable  national  character, 
each  merging  into  a  racial  State. 

Still  more  awful  and  far-reaching  was 
Protestantism's  blow  at  the  principle  of 
authority,  —  a  blunder  which  even  after 
four  hundred  years  is  producing  its  legiti- 
mate effects  in  the  present  World  War. 

Some  novel  and  rather  radical  ideas 
on  the  perennially  discussed  subject  of 
education  are  advanced  by  an  Englishman, 
Mr.  Cluttori-Brock,  in  his  Introduction 
to  Mr.  Kenneth  Richmond's  essay,  recently 
published,  "The  Permanent  Values  in 
Education."  What  has  got  wrong  with 
the  idea  of  education  as  it  is  actuated 
to-day,  Mr.  Clutton-Brock  holds,  is  that 
we  have  seized  upon  it  as  a  mark  of  social 
status.  "But  there  is  nothing  in  the  idea 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


791 


of  education,  properly^  understood,  which 
needs  be  concerned  with  class  distinctions: 
nothing  I  mean  except  fashion.  People 
of  a  certain  rank  or  aspiration  in  society 
send  their  sons  to  the  universities  because 
to  do  so  is  the  hall-mark  of  respecta- 
bility. .  .  .  Education,  in  fact,  is  not  a 
thing  to  be  proud  of  at  all.  One  of  the 
first  aims  of  education  should  be  to  remove 
all  pride  in  it.  The  better  a  man  is  edu- 
cated, morally,  intellectually,  and  aestheti- 
cally, the  less  proud  he  is  of  what  he  knows ; 
for  .the  result  of  his  education  is  to  give 
him  a  thirst  for  knowledge  and  for  doing 
all  things  rightly,  in  which  he  forgets  to 
pride  himself  on  what  he  knows  ^or  on 
what  he  does  rightly;  forgets  himself 
and  his  own  achievements  altogether.  .  .  . 
What  we  need  is  an  education  that  will 
enrich  the  life  of  all  classes, — of  the  poor 
and  stupid  no  less  than  of  the  rich  and 
clever;  and  we  can  not  aim  at  such  an 
education,  or  even  conceive  it,  unless 
we  empty  our  minds  of  the  sense  of  status, 
of  intellectual  as  well  as  social  status." 

Another  thing  of  which  a  good  many 
persons  would  do  well  to  empty  their 
minds  is  the  notion  that  education  is 
synonymous  with  literacy  or  book  knowl- 
edge, and  that  illiteracy  is  identical  with 
ignorance.  As  a  matter  of  common 
observation,  many  a  man  or  woman  who 
can  not  read  or  write  is  really  less  ignorant, 
more  educated  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word, 
than  not  a  few  makers  of  laws  and  writers 
of  books. 

The  beneficent  force  of  good  example 
is  a  commonplace  of  philosophers  and 
essayists.  "Even  the  weakest  natures," 
says  Smiles,  "exercise  some  influence 
upon  those  about  them.  The  approxi- 
mation of  feeling,  thought,  and  habit  is 
constant,  and  the  action  of  example  is 
unceasing."  The  history  of  conversions 
to  the  Church  teems  with  instances  in 
which  the  daily  example  of  some  Catholic, 
uniformly  faithful  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  religious  duty,  has  been,  under 
Providence,  the  effective  external  means 


of  leading  sincere  non-Catholics  within 
the  Fold.  A  Western  exchange  adds 
another  instance  to  the  myriads  already 
chronicled.  The  Catholic  husband  of  a 
non- Catholic  wife  never  neglected  to 
say  his  morning  and  evening  prayers. 
Twenty  years  after  his  marriage,  his 
consort  was  received  into  the  Church. 
Relating  her  experience,  she  said:  "One 
thing  that  helped  me  to  believe  was  the 
example  of  my  husband.  I  thought  that 
a  religion  which  could  get  a  big  six-footer 
to  go  down  on  his  knees  twice  a  day 
must  have  much  more  to  it  than  I  at  first 
believed  possible." 


Out  of  a  page  of  remarkably  good 
editorial  in  the  current  number  of  the 
Catholic  School  Journal,  we  select  a  par- 
ticularly wise  discussion  of  a  certain  type 
of  intellectual  person — the  "dabbler,"  the 
man  who  begins  everything  and  completes 
nothing,  who  starts  (who  starts,  indeed, 
in  all  directions)  only  to  arrive  nowhere. 
But  here  is  the  editorial  itself: 

A  man,  aged  twenty-four,  wrote  down  in  his 
nbtebook  some  things  that  he  hoped  ultimately 
to  know,  and  to  know  well.  The  same  man, 
aged  fifty-four,  looked  the  other  day  upon  the 
yellowing  page,  and  he  smiled,  a  little  pensively, 
a  little-  bitterly.  He  had  had  scholarly  ideals 
and  scholarly  opportunities;  yet  he  had  made 
his  own  no  scholarly  attainments.  His  ideals 
were  all  right,  as  ideals;  of  course  he  knew 
at  fifty-four,  what  he  should  have  known  at 
twenty-four,  that  ideals  don't  amount  to  much 
until  one  resolutely  tries  to  realize  them.  His 
opportunities  were — well,  as  much  opportunities 
as  most  men  will  ever  get.  At  any  rate,  this 
man  of  fifty-four  had  to  -face  the  unpalatable 
fact  that  a  good  many  men,  with  less  brains 
than  he  had,  met  with  considerably  inferior 
opportunities  and  had  really  turned  them  to 
account.  He  realized  too,  a  bit  sadly,  that, 
after  all,  we  make  our  opportunities, — that  the 
man  who  complains  that  he  never  had  a  chance 
really  means  that  he  never  took  a  chance.  Yes, 
his  opportunities  were  good  ones;  at  least, 
they  were  richer  in  possibilities  than  his  use  of 
them  would  lead  an  observer  to  suspect. 

What,  then,  was  the  matter  with  him?  For 
thirty  years  he  had  been  a  dabbler.  He  picked 
at  the  dainties  on  the  table  of  learning  and 
covered  the  cloth  with  crumbs;  but,  for  all  his 
lengthy  sitting,  he  had  risen  with  no 


'92 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


appetite.  He  had  'lacked  system.  At  times  he 
had  read  intensively,  but  only  for  short  times. 
Now  and  then  he  held  a  great  idea  within  his 
grasp,  but  in  a  few  minutes  his  grasp  relaxed. 
He  had  a  genius,  you  see,  for  getting  tired 
easily.  And  he  hearkened  ever  to  some  new 
thing.  Many  books  he  read;  none  he  reread. 
With  countless  ideas  he  had  toyed  and  dallied; 
with  none  had  he  wrestled  all  the  night  for  the 
certain  blessing  at  the  dawn.  And  so  he  could 
write:  "Owing  to  the  lack  of  method  and  per- 
sistence, a  possibility  that  was  in  me  has  been 
wasted,  lost.  My  life  has  been  merely  tentative, 
a  broken  series  of  false  starts  and  hopeless  new 
beginnings." 

It  were  well  if  many  of  our  hopeful  and 
purposeful  graduates  these  days  would 
paste  these  words  in  their  hat  and  ponder 
them  in  their  heart. 


One  of  the  questions  as  to  which  the 
conclusions  of  science  appear  to  be  in 
direct  contradiction  to  the  narrative  of 
the  Bible  is  the  antiquity  of  man.  We  say 
appear  to  be;  for,  as  it  must  be  unneces- 
sary to  remind  Catholics,  all  truth  is  one; 
and,  as  the  story  in  the  Bible  is  inspired 
by  the  Author  of  truth  Himself,  it  evi- 
dently can  not  really  contradict  any 
genuine  truth  of  geology,  archaeology,  or 
any  other  science.  At  the  same  time,  the 
ordinary  Catholic  may  possibly  be  dis- 
turbed or  troubled  when  he  hears  that 
genuine  scientists,  and  Catholics  of  un- 
questioned orthodoxy  among  them,  admit 
that  man  has  an  antiquity  ranging  any- 
where from  ten  or  fifteen  to  twenty 
or  thirty  thousand  years,  instead  of  only 
six  or  seven  thousand,  as  he  has  been  in 
the  habit  of  believing.  That  there  is  no 
occasion  for  being  disturbed  by  the 
apparent  divergence  of  the  Biblical  and 
scientific  stories  is  shown  by  the  Rev. 
J.  E.  Parsons,  S.  J.,  writing  in  the  Irish 
Ecclesiastical  Record.  His  conclusion  is 
reassuring  to  the  non-scientific  and  non- 
theological  general  reader: 

As  the  Bible  makes  no  claim  to  furnish  us 
with  a  chronology  of  prehistoric  times — nowhere, 
in  fact,  in  Scripture  is  the  time  that  elapsed 
from  the  creation  of  Adam  to  Thare,  the  father 
of  Abraham,  computed,  as  it  is  from  the  descent 
erf  the  Israelites  into  Egypt  to  the. 


(Exodus,  xii,  40),  or  from  the  Exodus  to  the 
building  of  the  Temple  (III.  Kings,  vi,  i),— 
we  may  rest  assured  that  science  will  not  dis- 
cover in  the  future  any  data  capable  of  impugn- 
ing the  veracity  of  the  Bible  in  this  matter  of 
chronology,  or  the  historical  character  of  the 
first  eleven  chapters  of  Genesis.  As  Cardinal 
Meignan  has  written:  "It  is  an  error  to  imagine 
that  the  Catholic  faith  encloses  the  existence 
of  man  within  an  interval  of  time  which  can  not 
exceed  6000  years.  The  Church  has  never 
pronounced  on  so  delicate  a  question." 


A  good  analysis  of  a  state  of  affairs 
which  has  engaged  the  attention  of  social 
students  since  the  outbreak  of  the  World 
War  is  presented  by  Dr.  Frank  O'Hara 
in  th%  current  number  of  the  Catholic 
World.  The  writer's  general  problem  is 
"War  Experience  with  Labor  Standards," 
but  the  special  point  we  refer  to  is  his 
discussion  of  the  admitted  increase  in 
juvenile  crime  among  the  peoples  in 
conflict.  Here  is  what  Dr.  O'Hara  has 
to  say  of  a  matter  that  may  soon  have 
more  than  an  academic  interest  for  us: 

The  character  of  the  British  youth  is  being 
broken  down  under  the  strain  of  hard  work  and 
no  relaxation.  Families  are  broken  up,  and 
parental  control  has  disappeared  on  account 
of  the  continued  absence  of  the  father  in  the 
workshop  or  in  the  army.  The  children  are 
earning  wages,  and  they  no  longer  listen  to  the 
advice  of  their  parents.  The  streets  are  dark 
and  there  is  a  shortage  of  policemen,  and  so 
conditions  are  favorable  for  the  commission  of 
crime.  The  imitative  instinct  leads  the  children 
to  play  at  war;  and  the  fruit  vender's  vcar  is  a 
military  train,  which,  under  the  rules  of  war,  is 
subject  to  spoliation.  So  many  things  are  right  in 
times  of  war  that  arc  wrong  in  times  of  peace  that 
the  child's  sense  of  morality  becomes  unsettled. 

Without  borrowing  trouble,  it  seems 
only  the  part  of  wisdom  to  be  prepared 
for  like  manifestations  among  ourselves, 
and  to  remove  them,  so  far  as  possible, 
in  their  causes. 


Bishop  Russell,  of  Charleston,  got  at 
an  old  problem  in  quite  a  new  way, 
recently,  when  discussing  the  present  World 
War  in  relation  to  the  providence  of 
Almighty  God.  He  said: 

I  am  not  one  of  those  who  see  in  the  present 
war  a  reason  for  questioning  the  providence  of 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


793 


God.  On  the  contrary,  to  my  mind  this  war  ex- 
emplifies the  power  and  widsom  of  Go(|.  The 
artist  who  could  carve  a  statue  by  means  of 
all  the  instruments  known  to  his  art  would  do 
nothing  extraordinary;  but  the  artist  who  could 
carve  the  same  statue  with  only  a  jackknife 
would  excite  the  wonder  of  the  world.  So,  if 
Almighty  God  accomplished  His  designs  for  the 
salvation  of  man  by  means  of  good  and  faithful 
creatures  it  would  be  only  what  we  should 
expect;  but  when,  despite  the  evil  machinations 
of  man-  nay,  even  by  using  the  evil  that  men 
do — He  accomplishes  the  salvation  of  souls, 
we  are  forced  to  bow  down  before  His  un- 
speakable wisdom  and  power.  The  crucifixion 
of  the  Son  of  God  was  the  greatest  crime  ever 
committed.  It  wrought  in  God's  providence 
tlie  greatest  good  to  mankind.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  many  souls  have  been  saved  through  this 
terrible  war  who  otherwise  would  not  have 
n-ali/ed  their  Creator's  claims. 

That  is  a   truly   Christian   view  of  life 
and  of  death. 


It  is  stated  by  the  vSpringfield  Repub- 
lican— a  reliable  secular  newspaper,  which, 
however,  does  not  give  the  source  of  its 
information — that  Catholic  missionaries 
in  foreign  countries  have  participated  in 
a  relief  fund  established  for  foreign 
missions  by  non-Catholics  of  the  United 
States  and  Canada.  To  quote  in  part: 

Protestants  of  this  country  and  Canada  have 
given  through  their  field  missionaries  about 
$250,000,  it  has  been  estimated,  to  feed,  clothe 
and  shelter  Roman  Catholic  and  Orthodox 
Church  missionaries  who  were  cut  off  from  home 
support  by  the  war.  In  many  cases  entire 
groups  of  Roman  Catholic  missionaries  have 
had  to  be  saved  from  starvation,  and  money 
advanced  to  protect  their  properties  and  their 
work.  Presbyterians  have  led  in  this  relief;  but 
some  relief  has  been  given  by  the  American 
Board,  the  Baptist,  Disciples,  Methodist  and 
Quaker  societies.  .  .  .  The  Roman  Catholic 
relief  by  Protestants  has  been  given  in  largest 
amounts  in  China,  in  West  Africa,  where  German 
control  has  given  place  to  British  and  French; 
and  in  Syria  and  Anatolia,  where  American 
cruisers  were  used,  by  United  States  Government 
direction,. to  save  the  lives  of  the  French  Jesuit 
and  Marist  priests. 

For  the  sake  of  our  separated  brethren 
more  especially,  we  sincerely  hope  all 
this  is  true.  It  is  the  best  use  yet  made 
of  their  abundant  missionary  funds.  The 


very  suggestion  of  such  a  state  of  affairs 
as  this  statement  brings  forward  ought  to 
make  our  own  people  realize  at  last  that 
they  can  not  do  enough  for  those  hard- 
working men  and  women,  the  missionaries- 
who  are  advancing  the  frontiers  of  the 
Faith  in  remote  lands. 

One  of  those  pathetic  incidents  which 
so  frequently  relieve  the  horror  attendant 
on  the  frightful  massacre  of  contemporary 
warfare  is  related  by  the  Paris  Cruix. 
Shortly  before  the  order  to  "go  over  the 
top"  was  given  to  a  French  infantry 
company  at  the  Somme,  a  lieutenant 
noticed  one  of  the  soldiers  in  a  fit  of 
unusual  silence  and  recollection. 

Struck  by  his  attitude,  the  officer  ga/ed  at 
him  for  a  moment,  and  then  said:  "You,  my 
good  fellow,  are  a  priest,  I  should  think?  We 
are  in  for  a  hot  time  soon,  and  I  should  like  to 
make  my  affair."  Straightway  he  went  down 
on  his  knees  in  the  mud  of  the  trench,  and,  ' 
amid  the  roaring  of  the  shells,  he  bowed  his 
head  under  the  blessing  of  his  soldier.  Ego  te 
absolvo.  .  .  .  The  words  fell  from  the  lips  of  the 
priest,  whose  gesture  of  absolution  seemed  the 
larger  for  the  gathering  gloom.  The  lieutenant 
then  leaped  to  his  feet,  and,  with  a  bold,  shining 
countenance,  after  humiliating  himself  before 
God,  turned  to  his  men  and  said,  "Come, 
mes  enfants,  be  brave!  Forward,  in  the  name 
of  the  Father  and  of  the  Son  and  of  the  Holy 
Ghost."  He  made  a  great  Sign  of  the  Cross- 
but  before  it  was  finished  a  bullet  struck  him 
in  the  forehead,  and  his  act  of  faith  opened  into 
the  vision  of  the  things  to  come. 


A  short  passage  of  England's  reply 
to  the  Russian  Government's  request  for 
a  statement  of  the  British  war  aims  is 
especially  notable.  After  declaring  that 
the  purpose  of  Great  Britain  is  "to  defend 
the  existence  of  the  country  and  enforce 
respect  for  international  agreements,"  and 
"to  liberate  populations  oppressed  by 
alien  tyranny,"  the  Note  asserts  further: 
"Beyond  everything  we  must  seek  such 
settlement  as  will  secure  the  happiness 
and  contentment  of  peoples,  and  take 
away  all  legitimate  causes  of  future  wars." 
Which  is  diplomatic  thought  expressed, 
in  diplomatic  language. 


To  a  Little  Girl  Born  Blind.* 


BY  MARY  II.  KENNEDY. 


of  God,  sweet  little  Anne  Marie! 
Your  baby  eyes,  sealed  by  Him  carefully — 
And  with  a  seal  that  only  He  can  break, — 
According  to  His  pleasure  will  awake 
And  realize  the  blessedness  and  grace 
Of  sight  in  gazing  first  upon  His  Face; 
And,  meeting  His  dear  eyes  in  glad  caress, 
Will  first  from  Him  learn  what  is  Loveliness, 
And  what  is  Beauty,  what  is  Laughter  too. 
Ah,  little  Anne  Marie,  I  envy  you! 
With  eyes  all  pure,  undimmed.  and  undefiled, 
You  will  see  His  eyes  first,— eyes  meek  and  mild, 
All  wise,  all  loving,  and  all  innocence! 
Oh,  will  not  this  be  worthy  recompense 
For  a  brief  darkened  moment  upon  earth? 
Your  God  has  taken  naught  from  you  at  birth: 
He  has  denied  you  sight  but  for  a  while, 
That  He  may  garner  your  first  starlit  smile; 
That  His  may  be  the  first  Face  you  will  see; 
That  He  may  smile  first  on  you,  Anne  Marie. 
Beloved  of  God!     Is  not  this  saying  true? 
Dear  little  girl  born  blind,  I  envy  you! 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 

BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 

XXV. — REVELATIONS. 

FATHER  DOANE!"  cried  Miss  Ray- 
son.  "What  are  you  saying?  What 
do  you  mean?" 

"Sit  down  here  for  a  moment,"  replied 
Father  Phil,  motioning  to  a  bench  near 
the  fountain,  while  Con  turned  to  feed  the 
goldfish  with  some  "crackers"  he  had  in 
his  pocket.  "The  whole  story  will  be  out 
in  a  few  days,  so  I  may  as  well  tell  it,  in 
friendly  fashion,  to  you  here  and  now. 
That  boy  is  Charles  Owen  Nesbitt,  falsely 
reported  killed  in  a  railroad  wreck  ten 

*   Written  before  her  death  at  the  age  of  eleven. 


years  ago,  as  you  have  doubtless  heard." 

"I  know,— I  know!"  Miss  Rayson  was 
pale  and  trembling.  "Oh,  I  have  heard 
the  story,  grieved,  agonized  over  it  with 
my  poor  Madam.  And  you  say — you 
say  —  please,  Father  Doane,  what  is  it 
yqu  say?  Tell  me  all, — for  God's  sake, 
tell  me  all." 

And  then  in  brief,  eloquent,  indignant 
words,  Father  Phil  told  his  breathless 
listener  Con's  story,  as  bit  by  bit  it 
had  been  revealed  to  him,  until  the 
whole  truth  stood  written  as  if  with  the 
finger  of  God  against  the  blackening 
cloud  of  guilt  that  had  darkened  this 
young  life.  And  while  his  good  friend 
talked,  the  yellow-haired  boy,  seated  on 
the  rim  of  the  fountain  feeding  the  gold- 
fish, was  a  confirmation  of  that  truth  no 
doubter  could  deny. 

"  O  my  dear  Madam,  my  poor  Madam ! " 
Miss  Rayson  was  fairly  sobbing  when 
the  narrator  finished.  "Whether  this 
will  mean  life  or  death  to  her,  I  do  not 
know.  She  is  so  old  and  frail  and  broken- 
hearted, I  fear  for  her,— I  fear  for  her, 
Father  Doane." 

"Is  this  villain,  this  Arthur  Nesbitt,  so 
much  to  her,  then?"  asked  Father  Phil. 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  was  the  trembling 
answer.  "There  has  been  coolness,  dis- 
trust, I  can  not  say  exactly  what,  between 
them  for  years.  But  in  his  remorse  for 
the  past,  she  feels  somehow  as  if  it  were 
her  fault, — that  she  is  unjust,  exacting, 
suspicious.  'It  is  my  hard,  evil  old 
heart,'  she  says,  'that  can  not  trust  or 
love.'  And  so  she  is  good  and  generous 
to  this  nephew,  allows  him  a  handsome 
income,  acknowledges  him  as  her  heir. 
He  lives  most  of  the  time  abroad:  and, 
even  without  this  cruel  wrong  to  shame  it, 
it  is  not  a  good  life,  Father  Doane." 

"I  can  well  believe  that,"  was  the 
reply.  "But  perhaps  this  will  make  the 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


795 


revelation  of  his  villainy  less  of  a  shock 
to  his  benefactress.  He  will  make  a  fight, 
of  course;  but  I  shall  be  ready  for  it.  I 
intend  to  put  the  boy's  case  in  the  hands 
of  a  good  lawyer  to-morrow,  with  the 
letters,  the  testimony  witnesses,  to  prove 
his  identity.  Perhaps  it  will  be  well  for 
you  to  prepare  Madam  Nesbitt,  lest  the 
disclosure  come  to  her  too  suddenly,  too 
rudely,  in  less  kindly  ways." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  must, — I  must!"  said  the 
young  lady.  "What  she  will  say,  what  she 
will  do,  I  can  not  tell;  for  there  is  still  a 
strong  spirit  in  her  feeble  frame.  She  may 
be  angry,  doubting,  defiant.  She  may 
take  Arthur's  side  and  defend  him  against 
this  awful,  cruel  charge.  But,  O  Father 
Doane"  (Miss  Rayson's  eyes  turned 
again  to  the  unconscious  Con  feeding  the 
goldfish),  "if  she  could  once  see  that 
boy,  image  that  he  is  of  her  own  dead  son! 
If  she  could  see  that  boy!  I  left  her  only 
an  hour  ago  seated  before  her  own  Charlie's 
picture  in  the  library.  She  spends  half 
her  time  there  of  late.  It  comforts  her, 
she  says,  to  forget  the  dark,  sad  years  of 
their  misunderstanding,  their  separation, 
and  to  remember  him  only  as  the  beau- 
tiful, blue-eyed  boy  who  was  all  her  own. 
Father  Doane"  (the  speaker  rose  in 
sudden  resolve),  "I  believe  every  word  of 
this  story  is  true;  and  she  must  know  it, 
believe  it,  too.  Let  us  risk  the  shock. 
Let  us  trust  to  God,  to  nature,  to  the 
mother's  instinct,  the  mother  heart.  Let 
her  see  that  boy  standing,  living,  breathing 
before  his  father's  picture,  and  you  will 
need  no  law  or  lawyer  to  prove  his  right 
to  his  father's  name  and  home.  You  can 
tell  the  dreadful  story  afterward;  you  can 
bring  your  witnesses,  show  your  proofs; 
but  let  the  boy  speak  for  himself  first, — 
the  boy  of  the  picture,  Father  Doane. 
I  know  the  poor  old  Madam's  longing, 
fancies,  prayers.  I  have  a  plan.  I  see  a 
way  to  break  this  strange  story  gently, 
tenderly,  I  hope  blessedly  to  her.  Let 
me  manage  it  all,  Father  Doane.  Bring 
the  boy  to  Oakwood  this  afternoon  and 
trust  the  rest  to  me." 


Father  Phil  hesitated.  He  was  travel- 
ling in  strange  ways  when  he  had  to  deal 
with  women,  either  old  or  young;  and  the 
thought  of  the  shock  his  story  would 
bring  to  the  feeble,  shaken,  broken- 
hearted old  mother  appalled  him.  But 
Jack's  cousin  was  wise  and  kind  and 
clever,  and  held  a  daughter's  place,  as 
she  had  told  him,  in  the  old  Madam's 
home.  He  would  take  her  advice,  he  would 
bring  the  boy  to  Oakwood  and  trust  to 
her.  .  But  first  he  felt  Con  must  learn  his 
own  story,  which  as  yet  had  not  been 
revealed  to  Jiim ;  he  must  hear  something 
of  the  claim  that  Father  Phil  had  deter- 
mined to  press  without  further  delay. 
He  had  hesitated  to  bewilder  his  young 
protege  with  uncertain  prospects,  but  now 
it  was  time  for  him  to  know,  to  under- 
stand all.  Con  himself  opened  the  subject. 
As  Miss  Rayson  turned  away,  he  joined 
Father  Phil,  his  blue  eyes  lifted  in  per- 
plexed question. 

"You  didn't  tell  her  I  was  Mountain 
Con :  you  called  me  something  else.  Have 
I  got  another  name,  Mister?" 

"Yes,  you  have  another  name,  Con," 
was  the  answer.  "Come  sit  down  here 
on  this  bench  under  the  trees,  and  let 
me  tell  you  about  it.  CON,  the  letters 
on  the  little  gold  clasp  that  Mother  Moll 
took  for  your  name,  stand  for  Charles 
Owen  Nesbitt,  your  real  name,  Con, — • 
the  name  given  to  you  by  your  father 
and  mother." 

"My  father  and  mother?"  echoed  Con, 
with  widening  eyes.  "Have  I  a  father 
and  a  mother?" 

"No,  Con:  they  are  both  dead,  my  boy. 
They  died  when  you  were  a  baby  little 
older  than  Tony.  But  they  left  you  name, 
home,  friends,  a  place  in  the  world  of 
which  you  have  been  cruelly  robbed  all 
these  years.  That  bad  dream  of  which 
you  told  me  was  not  altogether  a  dream, 
Con.  Wicked  men  took  you  off  in  the 
darkness  from  the  smoking,  burning  train, 
and  gave  you  to  Uncle  Bill  and  Mother 
Moll,  so  that  they — these  bad  men — 
might  keep  the  money  and  the  home 


796 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


and  the  place  that  belonged  to  you, 
as  your  dead  father's  son;  and  Charles 
Owen  Nesbitt  grew  up  a  poor,  friendless 
boy,  the  Con  of  Misty  Mountain." 

"And  that  wasn't  never  my  name?" 
broke  in  Con  breathlessly.  "I  wasn't 
never  Uncle  Bill's  boy;  I  was — who  did 
you  say  I  was,  Mister?  Say  it  over  again." 

"Charles  Owen  Nesbitt,"  repeated 
Father  Phil.  "That  is  your  right  name, 
Con.  How  I  found  all  this  out  is  a  strange 
and  wonderful  story  that  I  will  tell  you 
some  other  time.  All  that  you  need  know 
now,  is  that  you  are  Charles  Owen  Nes- 
bitt, and  that  I  am  trying  to  put  you  back 
in  your  own  home,  your  own  place  in  life, 
where  you  will  have  everything  that  you 
have  missed  so  sadly  all  these  years,  my 
poor  boy!" 

"I  don't  want  nothing,"  burst  forth 
Con,  and  there  was  a  passionate  sob  in 
his  tone.  "I  don't  want  to  be  put  nowhere. 
I  don't  want  to  be  no — no  Charles  Owen 
Nesbitt,  Mister.  1  want  just  to  stay  with 
you  and  be  Con,  your  Con,  your  little 
brother  and  pal,  like  you  said  up  on  the 
mountain  long  ago.  Don't  send  me  away, 
Mister;  don't  put  me  back  nowhere  else. 
I  don't  want  nothing — nothing  but  to 
stay — to  stay  with  you.  Just  keep  me  and 
teach  me  and  make  me  good,  and  I'll 
do  anything  you  say.  I'll  wash  the  dishes 
and  scrub  the  floors  for  Mrs.  Farrell, 
and  I'll  sweep  the  church,  and  I'll  tie 
up  Dick  so  he  won't  scare  nobody,  and 
I'll  sleep  in  the  kitchen  and  won't  ask 
to  eat  nothing  but  scraps,  if  you'll  just 
keep  me  with  you,  Mister,  and  not  send 
me  nowhere  away.  Because  I  love  you, 
Mister;  nobody  was  ever  so  good  and 
kind  to  me  before.  Don't  turn  me  into 
Charles  Owen  Nesbitt  and  send  me  away." 

"Con,  my  dear,  dear  boy,"  Father  Phil 
flung  his  arm  about  the  shaking  young 
form,— "you  don't  understand,  Con.  You 
will  have  a  beautiful  home,  dear  boy! 
I  have  seen  it,  Con:  soft  carpets,  shining 
floors,  flowers,  pictures  everywhere;  and 
you  will  be  rich  and  great." 

"Don't  want  to  be  rich;  don't  care  for 


no  carpets  or  pictures  or  flowers."  Con 
was  trying  desperately  to  steady  his 
breaking  voice.  "Don't  want  nothing  but 
to  stay  along  with  you,  Mister,  and  be 
your  Con." 

".And  you  shall  be."  Father  Phil's 
own  voice  broke  at  his  little  "pal's" 
outburst  of  devotion;  "you  shall  always 
be  my  little  friend,  my  brother,  my  own 
dear  boy,  Con.  But  you  can  be  all  this 
even  as  Charles  Owen  Nesbitt,  your  real 
self,  Con.  Let  me  tell  you  how." 

And  Father  Phil  proceeded  to  explain 
how  the  change  in  his  young  pal's  fortune 
would  only  make,  life  better,  brighter, 
happier  for  them  both.  He  pictured  the 
good  that  rich  and  great  men  do,  the 
poor  boys  they  can  help,  the  old  Mother 
Molls  they  can  shelter  and  warm. 

Con's  eyes  began  to  brighten,  and  his 
shaking  voice  to  steady,  as  Father  Phil 
talked  to  him;  but  there  was  no  great 
cheer  in  his  words  as  at  last  he  agreed. 

"I'll  do  whatever  you  say,  Mister,  long 
as  you  don't  give  me  up  and  turn  me  off. 
I'd  rather  stay  your  Con,  but  I'll  h< 
Charles  Owen  Nesbitt  if  you  say  I  must." 

And  so  it  was  that,  a  few  hours  later, 
Father  Phil  found  himself  omv  more  in 
Riverdale,  where  the  quaint  old  homes, 
snow- wreathed  at  his  last  visit,  now  looked 
out  into  bowery  stretches  of  springtime 
bloom;  and  the  shouts  of  the  tennis 
players  echoed  from  the  grassy  courts 
of  lyil's  grandmother,  filling  the  air  with 
merry  music.  But  in  the  beautiful  grounds 
of  Elmwood  there  was  no  sign  of  life: 
all  was  dead  and  still.  As  Father  Phil 
looked  at  the  blue-eyed  boy  beside  him, 
thought  of  the  glad  change  his  coming 
might  bring,  he  breathed  a  silent  prayer 
that  God  would  bless  this  saddened  home 
and  make  all  things  right. 

"This  is  your  grandmother's  home, 
Con,"  he  said,  pausing  for  a  moment  at 
the  ivy-grown  gate.  "It  was  your  father's, 
it  is  yours." 

But,  though  there  was  breathless  wonder 
in  the  glance  that  swept  over  lawn  and 
garden  and  mansion.  Con  only  mur- 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


797 


mured:    "Don't  want   it;    rather  stay  at 
St.  Cyprian's  with  you." 

"But  you  must  remember  what  I 
told  you,  Con.  You  are  your  father's 
son,  and  must  take  his  name,  his  place. 
And  the  poor  old  grandmother  has  been 
grieving  for  years  because  you,  the  little 
baby,  her  own  boy  left,  was  lost  to  her; 
killed,  as  she  believed,  in  the  burning  car. 
You  can  take  away  the  pain  from  her 
poor  old  breaking  heart,"  continued 
Father  Phil,  who  had  his  own  doubts 
and  fears  about  the  coming  interview, 
and  felt  he  must  prepare  Con  for  it. 
"And  you  must  try." 

"Don't  know  nothing  about  grand- 
mothers," said  Con.  "But  I  know  how 
'twas  with  Mother  Moll  when  Uncle  Bill 
hit  her:  I  could  always  sort  of  chirk 
her  up." 

"O  Con,  Con,  my  poor,  dear  Mountain 
Con!"  said  Father  Phil,  hopelessly,  as 
he  realized  the  past  experience  of  Madam 
Nesbitt's  grandson  and  heir.  "May  God 
and  His  good  angels  direct  you,  for  neither 
man  nor  woman  can." 

Then  the  two  friends  passed  up  the 
box -bordered  path  to  the  door,  where 
Miss  Rayson,  who  had  been  watching 
for  their  arrival,  came  fluttering  out  to 
meet  them.  She  led  them  into  a  little 
side  room  off  the  great  hall. 

"Will  you  wait  here,  Father  Doane?" 
she  said.  "No  one  will  disturb  you." 

Then  she  touched  a  bell,  and  a  neat 
old  colored  woman  appeared. 

"This  is  the  boy,  Martha,"  Miss  Ray- 
son  said  to  her  briefly. 

"Fo'  de  Lawd's  sake,  Miss  Eunice!" 
gasped  Martha,  staring  open-eyed  at 
Con.  "Ef  he  ain't  de  berry  spit  of  dear 
Marse  Charlie, — de  berry  spit." 

"Yes,  yes,"  was  the  hurried  answer; 
"but  keep  quiet,  Martha.  Take  him  up- 
stairs and  dress  him,  as  I  told  you,  in  that 
old  velvet  suit  we  found  in  the  garret. 
Arid  —  and  when  I  call  you,  Martha, 
bring  him — to  the  library— to  the  old 
Madam." 

(Conclusion  next  week.) 


The  King  and  His  Three  Sons. 


E  was  a  Moorish  king  who  had 
three  sons.  Now,  he  having  the 
power  to  appoint  which  of  them  he  pleased 
to  reign  after  him,  when  he  had  arrived  at 
a  good  old  age,  the  leading  men  of  his  king- 
dom waited  upon  him,  praying  to  be  in- 
formed which  of  his  sons  he  would  please 
to  name  as  his  successor.  The  king  replied 
that  in  one  month  he  would  give  them 
an  answer. 

After  eight  or  ten  days,  the  king  said  to 
the  oldest  of  his  three  sons:  "I  shall  ride 
out  to-morrow,  and.  I  wish  you  to  accom- 
pany me." 

The  son  waited  upon  the  king  as  desired, 
but  not  so  early  as  the  time  appointed. 
When  he  arrived,  the  king  said  he  wished 
to  dress,  and  requested  him  to  bring  him 
his  garments.  His  son  went  to  the  Lord 
of  the  Bedchamber  and  requested  him  to 
take  the  king  his  garments.  The  attendant 
inquired  what  suit  it  was  he  wished  for; 
and  the  son  returned  to  ask  his  father,  who 
replied,  his  state  robe.  The  young  man 
went  and  told  the  attendant  to  bring  the 
state  robe. 

Now,  for  every  article  of  the  king's 
attire  it  was  necessary  to  go  backwards 
and  forwards,  carrying  answers  and  ques- 
tions, till  at  length  the  attendant  came 
to  dress  and  boot  the  king.  The  same 
repetition  went  on  when  the  king  called 
for  his  horse,  spurs,  bridle,  saddle,  sword, 
and  so  forth.  Now,  all  being  prepared, 
with  some  trouble  and  difficulty,  and 
considerable  delay,  the  king  changed  his 
mind,  and  said  he  would  not  ride  out; 
but  desired  the  prince  his  son  to  go  through 
the  city,  carefully  observing  everything 
worth  notice,  and  that  on  his  return  he 
should  come  and  give  his  honest  opinion 
of  what  he  had  seen. 

The  prince  set  out,  accompanied  by 
the  royal  suite  and  the  chief  nobility. 
Trumpets,  cymbals,  and  other  instruments 
preceded  this  brilliant  cavalcade.  After 
hurriedly  traversing  a  part  of  the  city 
only,  he  returned  to  the  palace,  when  the 


798 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


king  desired  him  to  relate  what  had  most 
arrested  his  attention. 

"I  observed  nothing  unusual,  sire," 
said  he,  "but  the  great  noise  caused  by 
the  cymbals  and  trumpets,  which  really 
confounded  me." 

A  few  days  later,  the  king  sent  for  his 
second  son,  and  commanded  him  to  attend 
very  early  the  next  day,  when  he  subjected 
him  to  precisely  the  same  ordeal  as  his 
older  brother,  but  with  a  somewhat 
more  favorable  result. 

Again,  after  some  days,  he  called  for 
his  youngest  son's  attendance.  Now,  this 
young  man  came  to  the  palace  very  early, 
before  his  father  was  awake,  and  waited 
patiently  until  the  king  arose.  The  king 
then  desired  him  to  bring  his  clothes,  that 
he  might  dress.  The  young  prince  begged 
the  king  to  specify  which  clothes,  boots, 
etc.,  the  same  with  all  the  other  things 
he  desired,  so  that  he  could  bring  all  at  the 
same  time,  in  order  to  avoid  inconvenience 
and  delay;  neither  would  he  permit  the 
attendant  to  assist  him,  saying  he  was 
willing  to  do  all  that  his  father  required. 

When  the  king  was  dressed,  he  requested 
his  son  to  bring  his  horse.  Again  the  son 
asked  what  horse,  saddle,  spurs,  sword, 
and  other  requisites  he  desired  to  have; 
and  as  the  father  commanded  so  it  was 
done,  without  the  least  trouble  or  any 
further  annoyance. 

When  all  was  ready,  the  king,  as  before, 
declined  going.  He,  however,  requested 
his  son  to  go  in  his  place,  and  to  take 
notice  of  what  he  saw,  so  that  on  his 
return  he  might  relate  what  he  thought 
of  importance. 

In  obedience  to  his  father's  commands, 
the  young  prince  rode  through  the  city, 
attended  by  the  same  escort  as  his  brothers ; 
but  they  knew  nothing,  neither  did  the 
younger  son,  nor  indeed  any  one  else,  of 
the  object  the  king  had  in  view.  As  the 
cavalcade  rode  along,  the  young  prince 
desired  that  his  attendants  should  show 
him  the  interior  of  the  city,  the  streets, 
and  where  the  king  kept  his  treasures, 
and  what  was  supposed  to  be  the"amount 


thereof;  he  inquired  where  the  nobility 
and  people  of  importance  in  the  city  lived; 
after  this,  he  desired  that  they  should 
present  to  him  all  the  cavalry  and  infantry, 
and  these  he  made  go  through  their  evo- 
lutions; he  afterwards  visited  the  walls, 
towers,  and  fortresses  of  the  city,  also  the 
district  where  the  poor  lived,  so  that. when 
he  returned  to  the  palace  it  was  very  late. 

The  king  desired  him  to  tell  him  what 
he  had  seen.  The  young  prince  replied 
that  he  feared  giving  offence  if  he  stated 
all  he  felt  at  what  he  had  seen  and  ob- 
served. Now,  the  king  commanded  him 
to  relate  everything,  as  he  hoped  for  his 
blessing.  The  young  man  replied  that, 
although  he  was  sure  his  father  was  a  very 
good  king,  and  had  the  best  intentions  in 
regard  to  all  his  subjects,  yet  it  seemed  to 
him  he  had  not  done  so  much  good  as 
he  might,  having  such  brave  troops,  so 
much  power,  and  such  great  resources; 
for,  had  he  wished  it,  he  might  have  made 
himself  beloved  as  well  as  respected  by  all. 

The  king  felt  much  pleased  at  the  words 
of  his  son.  So  when  the  time  arrived  to 
give  his  decision  to  the  people,  he  told 
them  that  he  should  appoint  his  youngest 
instead  of  his  oldest  son  for  their  king. 
The  choice  was  highly  approved;  and  the 
new  king  reigned  for  many  years,  making 
all  his  people  happy,  and  himself  greatly 
beloved. 

His  Loss. 


There  was  once  a  little  boy  whose  father 
gave  him  two  coins.  He  was  asked  what 
he  meant  to  do  with  them.  He  said  that 
he  should  give  one  to  the  Foreign  Missions 
of  which  he  had  been  reading,  and  keep 
the  other  for  himself.  One  day  he  came 
to  his  father  and  told  him  that  he  had 
lost  one  coin.  "Which  have  you  lost?" 
asked  his  father.  "Oh,  the  one  I  was 
going  to  give  to  the  missionaries!"  The 
father  smiled  at  this,  and  said:  "So  the 
missionaries  were  the  losers,  not  you?" 
And,  taking  back  the  other  coin,  he  added: 
"Now  you  have  lost  your  own." 


THE  AVE  MARIA  7<)<» 

WITH    AUTHORS    AND    PUBLISHERS 


• — A  list  of  new  books  and  reprints  issued 
by  Constable  &  Co.,  London,  includes  "Tribu- 
taries," by  Harold  Begbie.  This  novel  was 
originally  published  anonymously. 

— A  creditable  year-book,  "Des  Peres,"  has 
been  issued  by  the  students  of  St.  Norbert's 
College,  West  Depere,  Wis.  It  is  regrettable, 
however,  that  its  handsome  cover  should  have 
been  put  on  backwards..  But  this  mistake  may 
have  been  made  with  only  a  few  copies,  and  is 
easily  corrected. 

— A  Sister  of  St.  Dominic,  has  compiled  a 
neat  brochure,  vest-pocket  size,  entitled  "The 
Catholic's  Mass  Companion."  Besides  brief 
explanations  of  the  ceremonies  and  rubrics, 
it  affords  definitions  of  certain  terms  connected 
with  the  Holy  Sacrifice.  In  future  editions 
these  definitions  should  be  rendered  more 
exact,  and  the  proofreading  should  be  more 
^carefully  done,  in  order  to  render  the  booklet 
as  popular  as  it  deserves  to  be. 

— Two  excellent  issues  of  the  Australian 
Catholic  Truth  Society  are,  "The  Gilds  and 
Crafts  of  the  Middle  Ages,"  by  the  Very  Rev. 
Aloysius  Corbett,  O.  D.  C.;  and  "The  Cinema 
and  its  Dangers,"  by  Prof.  Max  Drennan.  The 
first  is  an  able  treatment  of  a  subject  whose 
important  bearing  on  present-day  industrial  and 
social  problems  is  becoming  increasingly  evident; 
the  second  is  a  masterly  examination  of  the 
values  of  what  we  know  as  the  "Movies."  None 
who  are  conversant  with  the  facts  will  regard 
Prof.  Drennan's  strictures  as  too  severe. 

—"On  the  Threshold  of  the  Unseen,"  by  Sir 
William  Barrett,  F.  R.  S.,  is  in  the  nature  of  a 
new  edition  of  the  much  discussed  work  which 
he  published  about  ten  years  ago,  dealing  with 
the  phenomena  of  Spiritism.  It  presents  what 
the  learned  author  regards  as  fresh  evidence 
(obtained  independently  of  any  professional 
mediums)  as  to  survival  after  death.  Sir  William 
was  for  many  years  professor  of  experimental 
physics  in  the  Royal  College  of  Science  for 
Ireland.  His  interest  in  the  subject  of  Spiritism 
has  been  personal  and  continuous  for  over 
forty  years. 

— "The  Adventure  of  Death,"  by  Robert 
W.  MacKenna  (G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons),  a  twelve- 
mo of  two  hundred  pages,  is  a  reverent,  though 
scientific,  treatment  of  a  subject  of  universal 
interest.  It  will  appeal  to  readers  of  every  shade 
of  religious  belief  or  no-belief,  and  can  scarcely 
fail  to  convince  any  candid  inquirer  of  man's 
immortality,  of  the  survival  of  the  individual 


personality  beyond  the  confines  of  earthly  life. 
With  no  pretence  of  religiosity,  Dr.  MacKenna 
nevertheless  declares:  "A  well-grounded,  firmly 
established  religious  faith  is  the  best  possession 
for  a- man's  last  hours;  and,  in  the  consuming 
flame  of  religious  devotion  which  kindles  so 
many  illumined  lives,  the  fear  of  death  is 
shrivelled  up  like  a  vagrant  moth." 

— The  Catholic  Laymen's  Association,  of 
Augusta,  Ga.,  has  issued  a  pamphlet  made  up  of 
clippings  from  the  secular  press  relative  to  an 
unpleasant  incident  which  occurred  last  March 
in  Macon, — the  request  emanating  from  certain 
local  bigots  that  Bishop  Keiley  be  withdrawn 
from  the  Memorial  Day  programme  because  he 
was  a  Catholic.  He  was  also  a  Confederate 
veteran,  and  that  circumstance,  coupled  with 
the  well-known  and  glorious  history  of  the 
patriotism  of  Catholics  in  the  South,  gave  the 
newspaper  men  an  excellent  weapon  with  which 
to  deal  with  the  benighted  Guardians  of  Liberty. 
The  Catholic  Laymen's  Association  are  to  be  con- 
gratulated upon  this  ready-reference  pamphlet 
on  a  timely  topic. 

— In  a  preface  contributed  to  the  English 
translation  of  "The  German  Fury  in  Belgium," 
by  L.  Mokveld,  a  well-known  war-correspondent, 
Mr.  John  Buchan  writes:  "Episodes  like  the 
burning  of  Vise  and  the  treatment  of  British 
prisoners  in  the  train  at  Landen  would  be  hard 
to  match  in  history  for  squalid  horror.  .  .  .  The 
atrocities,  etc."  The  author  himself  (page  230) 
refers  to  the  same  "atrocities"  as  "extrav- 
agances"; and  adds:  "I  am  convinced  that  on 
the  whole  the  treatment  of  the  wounded  was 
generous  and  exemplary."  The  book  is  described 
by  the  publishers  (Hodder  &  Stoughton)  as  "the 
vivid  account  by  a  neutral  eye-witness,  who 
chronicles  not  what  he  heard  but  what  he  saw 
during  four  months  with  the  German  troops." 
The  price  of  this  book  is  35.  6d. 

— A  delightful  book  to  the  hand  and  eye, 
"The  Inward  Gospel,"  by  W.  D.  Strapping  S.  J., 
has  a  charm  of  freshness  for  the  mind  and  spirit 
as  well.  Its  eleven  chapters  are  neither  sermons 
nor  essays,  but  rather  expanded  meditations, 
which  leave  room  for  further  development  on 
the  part  of  the  reflecting  reader.  Its  themes  are 
not  too  well  worn,  nor  are  they  merely  novel, 
yet  the  author's  excellent  treatment  of  them 
imparts  to  all  both  freshness  and  mellowness. 
For  example,  "The  Gift  of  Sickness"  is  done  in 
this  distinctive  manner,  as  is  also  "The  Gold  of 
Silence,"  and  all  the  other  chapters  in  greater 
or  less  degree.  Addressed  originally  to  members 


800 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  these'  discourses  will 
make  profitable  reading  for  other  religious  and 
for  the  devout  laity  as  well.  Longmans,  Green 
&  Co.,  publishers. 

— At  the  educational  convention  recently 
held  at  Princeton,  N.  J.,  for  the  purpose  of 
discussing  the  question  whether  or  not  the 
classics  shall  be  eliminated  from  American 
higher  education,  several  speakers  of  national 
eminence  advocated  retention  of  training  in 
the  languages  of  Greece  and  Rome.  We  venture 
to  assert,  however,  that  nothing  said  on  the 
occasion  was  more  germane  to  the  subject  or 
more  illuminating  as  ail  argument  for  the 
classics  than  this  paragraph  written  five  or  six 
decades  ago  by  the  great  Cardinal  Newman: 

Again,  as  health  ought  to  precede  labor  of  the  body, 
and  as  a  man  in  health  can  do  what  an  unhealthy  man 
can  not  do,  and  as  of  this  health  the  properties  are  strength, 
energy,  agility,  graceful  carriage  and  action,  manual  dex- 
terity, and  endurance  of,  fatigue,  so  in  like  manner  general 
culture  of  mind  is  the  best  aid  to  professional  and  scientific- 
study;  and  educated  men  can  do  what  illiterate  can  not; 
and  the  man  who  has  learned  to  think  and  to  reason  and  to 
compare  and  to  discriminate  and  to  analyze,  who  has 
refined  his  taste,  and  formed  his  judgment,  and  sharpened 
his  mental  vision,  will  not  indeed  at  once  be  a  lawyer,  or 
a  pleader,  or  an  orator,  or  a  statesman,  or  a  physician,  or  a 
good  landlord,  or  a  man  of  business,  or  a  soldier,  or  an  engi- 
neer, or  a  chemist,  or  a  geologist,  or  an  antiquarian,  but 
he  will  be  placed  in  that  state  of  intellect  in  which  he  can 
take  up  any  one  of  the  sciences  or  callings  I  have  referred 
to,  or  any  other  for  which  he  has  a  taste  or  special  talent, 
with  an  ease,  a  grace,  a  versatility,  and  a  success,  to  which 
another  is  a  stranger. 


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Remember  them  thai  are  in  bands. — HUB.,   xiii,   3. 

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James  Moloney,  Mrs.  Nellie  Maherly,  Mr. 
Henry  Lanfer,  Mr.  J.  Donahue,  Mr.  W.  T. 
LeMaster,  and  Mr.  Henry  Michel. 

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

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HENCEFORTH  ALL  GENERATIONS  SHALL  CALL  ME   BLESSED.      8T.  LUKE,  I.,  48. 


VOL.  V.    (New  Series.) 


NOTRE  DAME,  INDIANA,  JUNE  30,  1917. 


NO.  26 


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


A  New  Spring  of  Divine  Poetry. 

BY    JAMES    DAY"    (1637).* 


art  my  path:     I  shall  not  goc  awry; 
My  sight  shall  never  faile:    Thou  art  my  eye; 
Thou  art  my  clothing:     I  shan't  naked  be; 
I  am  no  bondman:     Thou  hast  made  me  free. 
I  am  not  pin'd  with  sicknesse:    Thou  art  health 
I  am  no  whit  impoverished:     O  my  Wealth! 

Our  Lady's  Visitation. 


BY    DOM    COLUMBA    EDMONDS,   O.  S.  B. 


HE  mystery  of  the  Visitation 
of  Holy  Mary  has  been  for 
many  ages  past  the  subject  of 
special  commemoration  on  the 
Friday  of  the  Advent  Ember  week;  a 
casual  glance  at  the  Mass  for  that  day 
will  be  evidence  sufficient  of  this  fact. 
But  an  event  so  important  in  the  life 
of  Our  Lady  seemed  to  require  greater 
prominence  in  the  ecclesiastical  calendar; 
hence  through  the  influence  of  the  gentle 
Spirit  that  overrules  even  the  ordering 
of  the  sacred  liturgy  there  originated 
during  the  Middle  Ages  the  welcome 
festival  in  honor  of  the  Visitation  of 
the  Mother  of  God. 

We  are  indebted  to  the  inspired  pen 
of  Mary's  own  Evangelist,  St.  Luke,  for 
the  full  account  which  we  possess  of  all 
that  took  place  on  this  holy  festival. 
When  Our  Ladv  had  understood  from 


*    Transcribed  from  an    old   MS.,   for    THIS   Ave   MARIA, 
by    I..   G. 


the  words  of  the  Angel  that  her  cousin 
St.  Elizabeth  was  shortly  to  realize  the 
joys  of  motherhood,  she  set  out  with 
haste  to  render  those  offices  of  charity 
which  lay  within  her  power. 

St.  Luke  is  silent  as  to  whether  or 
not  Our  Lady  had  a  companion  with 
her  on  her  journey  across  the  Galilean 
hills,  but  it  is  generally  thought  she 
would  not  travel  so  great  a  distance 
unaccompanied.  If  Christian  art  may 
be  trusted  in  this  matter,  St.  Joseph  was 
her  companion  on  the  journey.  Pope 
Benedict  XIV.,  however,  in  his  work 
"De  Festis,"  says  that  certain  writers 
think  St.  Joseph  could  not  have  travelled 
with  Our  Lady;  otherwise  he  would 
have  learned  from  the  salutation  of  her 
cousin  .  the  mystery  of  the  Incarnation ; 
and  this,  according  to  the  Evangelist,  he 
did  not  know  until  the  special  message 
was  vouchsafed  him  by  the  Angel.  The 
time  required  for  the  accomplishment 
of  the  journey  from  Nazareth  to  the 
house  of  Zachary  would  be,  in  all 
probability,  from  four  to  five  days. 

One  detail  mentioned  in  connection 
with  the  Visitation  arrests  our  atten- 
tion; namely,  the  apparent  haste  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  to  fulfil  her  intentions. 
The  Holy  Ghost  has  doubtless  left  this 
fact  on  record  to  indicate  the  fervor 
of  Mary's  charity;  it  was  a  charity 
identical  with  that  mentioned  by  St. 
Paul,  which  urges  and  presses  us.* 

The  Spirit  of  God  was  present  at  the 
greeting  of  Our  Lady  and  St.  Elizabeth. 
The  latter,  moved  by  divine  inspiration, 

*    II.  Cor.,  v.   14. 


802 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


exclaimed:  "Blessed  art  thou  among 
women,  and  blessed  is  the  Fruit  of  thy 
womb!"  The  lowly  Virgin,  filled  with 
the  same  Holy  Spirit,  expressed  her 
joy  and  gratitude  to  Almighty  God  by 
uttering  the  sublime  canticle  known  as 
the  Magnificat.  From  primitive  times 
the  Church  took  up  Mary's  Visitation 
song  and  embodied  it  in  the  evening 
Office  of  Vespers.* 

The  visit  of  our  Blessed  Lady  probably 
extended  over  the  space  of  three  months, 
during  which  period  she  was  employed 
by  God  as  the  means  of  accomplishing 
many  marvels,  the  greatest  of  which 
was  the  sanctification  of  the  Baptist. 
If,  according  to  the  records  of  the  Old 
Testament,  God  blessed  Obededom  and 
all  that  was  his  for  sheltering  within  his 
house  for  two  months  the  Ark  of  the 
Covenant,  what  would  God  not  do  for 
that  favored  household  which  harbored  for 
so  long  a  time  the  Immaculate  Mother, 
of  whom  the  Ark  was  but  a  figure? 

There  are  two  opinions  as  to  whether 
Our  Lady  remained  with  her  cousin  till 
after  the  circumcision  of  St.  John,  and 
in  this  matter  the  erudite  Benedict  XIV. 
allows  perfect  freedom,  f  It  may  be  of 
interest  to  know,  however,  that  there 
are  writers  who  see  in  the  date  assigned 
to  the  festival  (namely,  the  morrow  of 
St.  John's  octave  day)  an  indication  that 
the  Church  does  not  consider  the  visit  to 
have  terminated  until  after  the  solemn 
imposing  of  a  name  on  the  Precursor  of 
Christ.  Should  this  have  been  so,  then 
Our  Lady  must  have  heard  from  the 
inspired  lips  of  Zachary  that  other  noble 
canticle,  the  Benedictus,  which  finds  a 
place  in  the  daily  Office  of  Lauds. 

INSTITUTION. 

The  general  celebration  of  a  festival 
in  honor  of  the  Visitation  dates  from  the 
time  of  the  Great  Schism  in  the  West, 
during  the  fourteenth  century.  Pope 
Urban  VI.,  A.  D.  1389,  being  desirous  of 
putting  an  end  to  the  confusion  which 

*  "History  of  Roman  Breviary,"  Battifol. 
t   De  Festis  B.  M.  V. 


was  then  desolating  the  Church,  turned 
to  the  powerful  help  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin;  and,  in  order  to  win.  her  aid 
more  speedily  in  bringing  back  to  the 
fold  the  sheep  who  had  followed  the 
voice  of  hirelings,  the  Pontiff  instituted 
the  solemnity  of  the  Visitation.  Previous 
to  this  date  the  feast  had  been  kept  by 
the  Order  of  Friars  Minor,  and  it  was 
not  altogether  unknown  in  the  East. 

The  death  of  Pope  Urban  hindered  the 
promulgation  of  the  $ull  establishing 
the  feast  throughout  the  Church;  so  it 
devolved  on  his  successor,  Boniface  IX., 
to  carry  out  the  cherished  project.  Pope 
Urban  enriched  the  feast  with  the  same 
indulgences  as  a  former  Pontiff  had 
attached  to  the  solemnity  of  Corpus 
Christi.*  Besides  which  it  was  part  of 
the  original  scheme  to  observe  a  vigil 
with  a  fast  and  also  an  octave;  but 
these  latter  arrangements  were  never 
carried  into  effect,  and  Pope  Boniface 
was  content  with  advising  a  fast  of 
devotion  only. 

At  the  time  when  the  Visitation 
festival  first  graced  the  calendar  of  the 
Church,  evil  days  had  fallen  on  Europe. 
The  faithful  were  perplexed  as  to  the 
lawful  chief  pastor,  and  the  air  was  rife 
with  dissensions;  but  our  Blessed  Lady's 
help  did  not  fail.  Faith  was  ever  pre- 
served intact;  and  not  only  was  West- 
ern Christendom  reunited  in  fact  as  well 
as  in  principle,^  but  the  heads  ot  the 
Greek  schism  also  gave  in  their  adherence 
to  the  successor  of  St.  Peter.  Thus  the 
Feast  of  the  Visitation  is  not  only  the 
solemn  commemoration  of  a  mystery 
associated  with  the  Incarnation  of  our 
Redeemer,  but  it  is  also  a  standing 
memorial  in  the  liturgy  of  the  restored 
peace  of  Christendom. 

FEAST   IN   OUR   TIMES. 

Even  in  our  own  times  the  powerful 
intercession  of  the  Mother  of  God  has 
made  itself  manifest  on  behalf  of  the 
needs  of  the  Church  at  the  recurrence  of 

*  For  assisting  at  Mass  and  the  Divine  Office. 
f  "Liturgical  Year,"   Gueranger. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


803 


this  same  festival.  It  was  on  the  2d  of 
July,  1849,  that  Rome  was  once  again 
restored  to  the  Sovereign  Pontiffs  in  the 
person  of  Pius  IX.  On  November  24, 
1848,  the  Holy  Father  had  been  driven 
forth  from  the  Eternal  City  by  the  action 
of  the  Italian  Revolutionary  party.  In 
memory  of  his  happy  return  the  Feast 
of  the  Precious  Blood  was  instituted, 
to  be  observed  annually  on  the  first 
Sunday  of  July;  and  at  the  same  time 
the  Visitation  of  our  Blessed  Lady  was 
raised  from  the  rank  of  double  major  to 
that  of  a  double  of  the  second  class. 
This  act  was  but  a  prelude  to  that 
further  manifestation  of  devotion  to  the 
Mother  of  God  so  characteristic  of  the 
reign  of  Pius  IX.,  which  culminated  in 
the  solemn  definition  of  the  dogma  of 
the  Immaculate  Conception. 

DATE   OP   THE   VISITATION. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Visitation 
must  have  taken  place  immediately  after 
the  Annunciation;  hence  its  proper  place 
in  the  calendar  would  have  been  toward 
the  end  of  the  month  of  March.  The 
celebration  of  the  mystery,  however,  at 
that  period  would  have  necessitated 
the  introduction  of  a  new  feast  into 
the  season  of  Lent,  where,  according 
to  an  established  usage,  none  but  the 
most  ancient  and  important  solemnities 
found  a  place.  Even  the  Annunciation, 
for  a  time,  was  relegated  to  the  month 
of  December.  It  is  obvious,  therefore, 
that  the  desire  not  to  multiply  the 
celebration  of  feasts  during  Lent  led  to 
the  postponement  of  the  Visitation  to 
a  date  which  probably  coincided  with 
the  return  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  to  her 
own  home,  after  spending  some  three 
months  with  her  cousin  St.  Elizabeth. 

THE    OFFICE. 

According  to  Pope  Benedict  XIV.,  an 
English  cardinal  composed  the  Office  for 
the  Feast  of  the  Visitation.  The  Vesper 
antiphons  are  taken  from  the  text  of 
the  Gospel  of  St.  Luke.  The  Magnificat 
deserves  special  notice,  as  this  is  the 


anniversary  of  its  first  intonation  by 
our  Blessed  Lady.  Every  day  through- 
out the  year,  not  even  excepting  Good 
Friday,  this  glorious  canticle  forms  an 
integral  portion  of  the  Vesper  Office. 
On  Sundays  and  festivals  solemn  rites 
and  the  fragrance  of  incense  accompany 
the  chanting  of  this  joyous  song.  In 
some  monasteries,  at  the  Vespers  of  the 
Visitation,  the  church  bells  peal  during 
the  singing  of  the  Magnificat. 

In  the  First  Vespers  a  commemoration 
is  made  of  the  octave  day  of  St.  John 
Baptist;  thus,  by  a  happy  coincidence, 
the  celebration  of  the  birth  of  Our  Lord's 
Precursor  blends  with  the  praises  of  her 
who  brought  him  sanctification. 

THE   MASS. 

With  regard  to  the  Mass  —  at  the 
Introit  the  Church  greets  the  Virgin 
Mother  with  the  familiar  words  of 
Sedulius:  "Salve  sancta  -par ens."  The 
Collect  prays  that  the  solemnity  of  the 
Visitation  may  be  the  means  of  procuring 
for  the  faithful  the  gift  of  peace. 

In  private  Masses  a  commemoration 
is  made  of  the  holy  martyrs  Processus 
and  Martinianus,  two  Roman  soldiers 
who  were  converted  and  baptized  by 
St.  Peter  in  the  Mamertine  Prison.  The 
relics  of  these  martyrs  are  still  venerated 
in  one  of  the  transepts  of  St.  Peter's  at 
Rome.  It  is  needless  to  add  that  their 
cultus  on  the  2d  of  July  is  anterior  to 
the  festival  of  Our  Lady. 

During  the  verse  of  the  Gradual,  the 
Church  addresses  Mary  in  joyful  strains. 
The  Virgo  Dei  Genitrix,  with  its  quaint 
and  beautiful  Gregorian  melody,  is  a 
portion  of  a  hymn  especially  popular 
during  the  Middle  Ages.  A  twelfth- 
century  manuscript  of  the  monastery  of 
St.  Gall  combines  this  verse  with  Salve 
sancta  par  ens.  The  Secret  and  the  Post- 
communion  are  not  really  proper  to  this 
feast  alone,  being  used  in  other  Masses 
of  our  Blessed  Lady. 

In  concluding  these ,  notes,  it  may  be 
said  that  this  festival  of  our  Immaculate 
Mother  unites  the  whole  Church,  in 


804 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


prayer  for  peace  and  unity.  Indeed,  it 
has  been  shown  that  for  this  object  the 
solemnity  was  especially  instituted;  the 
faithful,  therefore,  who  desire  to  live  in 
union  with  the  life  of  the  Church  should 
endeavor  to  make  these  intentions  their 
own.  Outside  the  fold  of  Peter  there  are 
darkness  and  unrest;  many  who  have 
hitherto  been  accustomed  to  follow  the 
voice  of  the  hireling  are  dissatisfied 
and  impatient;  the  help  of  Our  Lady 
will  hasten  the  time  when  there  shall  be 
but  one  fold  and  one  Shepherd. 


The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins. 


BY    NUGENT    ROBINSON. 


Xlyl. — A  GRIM  TRAGEDY. 
N  June  the  8th  an  order  was  issued 
for  the  trial,  by  court-martial, 
of  Maximilian,  Miramon,  and 
Mejia.  This  court  was  held  in  the 
Iturbide  Theatre,  the  judges  occupying 
the  stage.  Maximilian  was  not  present, 
owing  to  serious  illness.  Miramon  and 
Mejia  were  called  to  plead  in  person.  The 
judge  advocate  was  Aspiroz,  a  man  of 
subtle  resource  and  fiery  eloquence.  The 
council  for  the  defence  were  the  eminent 
lawyers,  Palacio,  De  la  Torre,  Vasquez, 
and  Ortega.  The  verdict  was  a  foregone 
conclusion.  Only  necessary  formalities 
were  observed  in  the  proceedings.  A 
verdict  of  guilty  was  rendered  with  indecent 
haste,  and  the  prisoners  sentenced  to  be 
shot, — a  sentence  that  was  confirmed  by 
Juarez  and  his  council  on  the  day  it  was 
announced,  the  execution  being  fixed  for 
the  1 6th  of  June. 

The  representatives  of  the  various 
Powers  nobly  offered  every  consideration: 
pledges  that  Maximilian  would  leave  the 
country,  and  never  interfere  in  its  affairs; 
of  alliance  and  assistance  from  those 
Powers;  of  full  indemnity  for  damages 
and  wrongs  inflicted  by  the  Empire;  and, 
finally,  threats  of  fierce  vengeance  if  the 
execution  took  place,  AH  failed.  Blood 


was  demanded;  and  blood  the  govern- 
ment must  have,  let  the  consequences  be 
what  they  might. 

An  heroic  American  woman,  wife  of 
Prince  Salm-Salm,  made  preparations  for 
the  Emperor's  assured  escape,  —  having 
bribed  his  guards  and  every  officer  whom 
it  was  necessary  to  silence.  But  Maxi- 
milian decided  that  his  honor  compelled 
him  to  remain  and  share  the  fate  of 
his  generals. 

.Maximilian  and  Miramon  and  Mejia, 
who  were  to  die  with  him,  were  permitted 
to  spend  a  part  of  their  last  night  together, 
under  guard,  in  a  spacious  room  once 
used  as  a  hospital  by  the'  French  garrison. 
Father  Soria,  faithful  to  his  trust — as  is 
every  priest  of  God, — remained  with  them, 
and  spoke  those  words  of  consolation  that 
our  Holy  Mother  the  Church  utters  when 
her  children  are  in  direst  extremity,  and 
which  never  fail  to  nurture  the  white 
blossom  of  hope. 

The  Emperor  wrote  several  letters, — to 
his  legal  advisers,  to  Juarez;  to  his  brother, 
the  Emperor  of  Austria;  to  his  mother, 
the  Archduchess  Sophia;  and  to  his  wife. 

The  surest  witness  to  his  real  nobility 
of  character,  and  which  he  has  left  to 
history,  is  his  letter  to  Juarez,  the  man  in 
whose  power  it  lay  to  give  him  "sweet, 
precious  life": 

"About  to  suffer  death  for  having  wished 
to  prove  whether  new  political  institu- 
tions could  succeed  in  putting  an  end  to 
the  bloody  civil  war  which  has  devastated 
this  unfortunate  country  for  so  many 
years,  I  shall  lose  my  life  with  pleasure, 
if  that  sacrifice  can  contribute  to  its 
peace  and  prosperity.  Fully  persuaded 
that  nothing  solid  can  be  founded  on  a 
soil  drenched  in  blood  and  shaken  by 
revolutions,  I  conjure  you  in  the  most 
solemn  manner,  and  with  the  true  sincerity 
of  the  moments  in  which  I  find  myself, 
that  my  blood  may  be  the  last  to  be  shed; 
that  the  same  perseverance  which  I  was 
pleased  to  recognize  and  esteem  in  the 
midst  of  prosperity — that  with  which  you 
have  defended  the  cause  which  has  just 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


805 


triumphed  —  may  consecrate  that  blood 
to  the  most  noble  task  of  reconciling  the 
minds  of  the  people,  and  in  founding  in  a 
stable  and  durable  manner  the  peace  and 
tranquillity  of  this  unhappy  country." 

Toward  four  o'clock  the  Emperor,  who 
had  been  striding  up  and  down  the  room, 
suddenly  wheeled  round,  and  with  a  dry 
sob  wrote  the  following  letter  to  his  dearly 
loved  wife: 

MY  BELOVED  CARLOTTA: — If  God  per- 
mit, that  your  health  be  restored,  and 
you  should  read  these  few  lines,  you  will 
learn  the  cruelty  with  which  PAate  has 
stricken  me  since  your  departure  for 
Europe.  You  took  with  you,  not  only  my 
heart,  but  my  good  fortune.  Why  did 
I  not  give  heed  to  your  voice?  So  many 
untoward  events!  Alas!  so, many  sudden 
blows  have  shattered  all  my  hopes;  so 
that  death  is  but  a  happy  deliverance, 
not  an  agony,  to  me.  I  shall  die  gloriously 
like  a  soldier,  like  a  monarch,  vanquished 
but  not  dishonored.  If  your  sufferings  are 
too  great,  and  God  shall  call  you  soon  to 
join  me,  I  shall  bless  His  divine  hand 
which  has  weighed  so  heavily  upon  us. 
Adieu, — adieu! 

Your  poor 

MAXIMILIAN. 

At  6.30  on  the  morning  of  the  igth  of 
June  (a  three  days'  reprieve  having  been 
gained  by  the  Princess  Salm-Salm)  three 
dust-stained,  dingy  hack-carriages  were 
drawn  up  at  the  entrance  to  the  convent. 
Into  the  first  of  these  vehicles  entered 
Maximilian,  after  him  Father  Soria.  The 
Emperor,  pale,  composed,  dignified,  wore 
a  black  frock-coat  closely  buttoned,  and 
a  wide-brimmed  sombrero.  From  Maxi- 
milian's unruffled  demeanor  a  stranger 
might  have  readily  imagined  that  he  was 
about  to  drive  to  the  cathedral  to  assist 
at  early  Mass.  At  four  o'clock  Mass  had 
been  celebrated  and  the  Holy  Viaticum 
administered.  Dr.  Basch,  the  Emperor's 
private  physician,  was  to  have  attended; 
and,  missing  him,  Maximilian  sent  for 
him.  But  the  good  physician,  who  could 
not  bear  to  see  his  master  done  to  death, 


was,  at  the  moment  the  messenger  arrived, 
prostrated  in  an  agony  of  grief. 

General  Miramon,  with  a  padre,  occupied 
the  vSecond  carriage;  and  General  Mejia, 
also  with  a  padre,  the  third.  The  military 
escort  was  enormously  strong;  for  the 
Emperor  Maximilian  was  dearly  loved, 
and  fear  of  attempted  rescue  caused  the 
guard  to  be  out  in  force.  The  grim  pro- 
cession was  formed  thus:  five  mounted 
men  marched  in  advance;  then  followed 
a  company  of  infantry,  composed  of  eighty 
men  belonging  to  a  regiment  known  as  the 
"Supreme  Powers";  next  came  the  three 
carriages  containing  the  victims,  escorted 
by  a  battalion  of  Nuevo  Leon  Infantry; 
and  in  the  rear  a  guard  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  mounted  men  —  Cazadores  de 
Galeana  (or  Sharp-Shooters  of  Galeana). 

As  the  cortege  advanced  to  El  Cerro 
de  las  Campanas  (The  Hill  of  the  Bells), 
the  place  selected  for  the  work  of  death, 
crowds  accompanied  it, — many  shedding 
tears,  many  offering  up  prayers,  the  large 
majority  holding  crucifixes  aloft. 

About  twenty  minutes  brought  the 
victims  to  the  spot  where  they  were  to  cast 
their  last  glances  at  God's  gracious  sun- 
light. Maximilian  stepped  lightly  out  of 
the  carriage,  and,  removing  his  sombrero, 
handed  it  to  his  faithful  body-servant. 
He  ;wiped  his  brow  with  his  handkerchief, 
and  directed  that  hat  and  handkerchief 
should  be  given  to  his  mother.  He  then 
stroked  his  straw-colored  beard,  and, 
twisting  it  a  little,  thrust  it  into  the  breast 
of  his  coat,  buttoning  the  coat  over  it. 
Then  he  proudly  walked  to  the  spot 
where  he  was  to  be  executed,  three  crosses 
having  been  erected  to  mark  the  positions 
to  be  taken  by  the  condemned.  Miramon 
and  Mejia  calmly  took  their  places  beside 
him,  the  Emperor  moving  Miramon  into 
the  place  of  honor,  saying:  "Brave  men 
are  respected  by  sovereigns.  Permit  me 
to  give  you  the  place  of  honor." 

There  was  an  awful  silence.  Maximilian 
looked  very  earnestly  about  him;  then  he 
waved  his  hand,  and  in  a  clear  voice,  sweet 
as  a  bell  in  the  summer  air,  exclaimed: 


806 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"Mexicans!  persons  of  my  rank  and 
birth  are  brought  into  the  world  either 
to  insure  the  welfare  of  the  people  or  to 
die  as  martyrs.  I  did  not  come  to  Mexico 
from  motives  of  ambition:  I  came  at  the 
earnest  entreaty  of  those  who  desired  the 
welfare  of  our  country.  Mexicans!  I  pray 
that  my  blood  may  be  the  last  to  be 
shed  for  our  unhappy  country;  and  may 
it  insure  the  happiness  of  the  nation! 
Mexicans!  long  live  Mexico!" 

Miramon  made  a  short,  soldierly  appeal 
to  his  old  comrades  in  arms;  but  Mejia, 
with  the  stoicism  of  his  race,  said  nothing. 

Three  thousand  men  formed  the  square. 
The  firing  party  —  consisting  of  three 
officers,  and  three  platoons  of  seven  men 
each — now  came  into  position,  at  the 
distance  of  a  few  paces. 

The  Emperor  stepped  forward,  and, 
handing  a  gold  piece  to  each  soldier,  said: 
"Men,  aim  well  at  my  heart!"  And 
to  the  officer  who  begged  forgiveness: 
"Courage!  No  forgiveness  is  necessary. 
You  must  obey  orders." 

The  final  moment  had  come.  Maxi- 
milian's lips  moved  in  prayer.  A  death- 
like silence,  a  ringing  order,  and  eighteen 
guns  were  fired  simultaneously — six  at 
each  victim. 

Miramon  and  Mejia  were  instantly 
killed.  Maximilian  first  received  four 
balls—three  in  the  left  breast  and  one 
in  the  right;  three  passing  through  the 
body,  coming  out  at  the  shoulder. 

The  Emperor  fell  on  his  right  side,  and 
as  he  fell  he  cried  out:  "Hombre!  Hombre!" 
(O  man !  O  man !)  Seeing  that  he  still  lived, 
a  ball  was  sent  through  his  heart,  and  this 
was  the  end. 

XUI. — HOMEWARD. 

The  ghastly  tidings  of  the  execution  of 
Maximilian  came  to  Arthur  Bodkin  in 
New  York,  and  almost  drove  him  crazy. 
For  hours  he  sat  motionless,  as  though 
his  heart  had  stopped  beating;  then  he 
burst  into  a  whirlwind  of  anger,  and  then 
into  a  torrent  of  tears.  His  first  thought 
was  to  return  to  Mexico  and  tackle 
Benito  Juarez  and  Lerdo  de  Tejada. 


It  was  several  days  ere  he  calmed  down 
to  the  resolve  of  repairing  to  Vienna,  if 
not  Miramar,  there  to  learn  the  details 
of  the  grim  tragedy,  and  to  rejoin  his 
friends  Baron  Bergheim  and  Prince  Salm- 
Salm,  and  perhaps — meet  Alice. 

A  lovely  afternoon  in  August  found 
our  hero  in  Vienna,  and  traversing  one  of 
the  picturesque  and  narrow  streets  that 
led  to  the  Imperial  Palace.  Arthur's  first 
inquiry  was  for  Rody  O'Flynn.  The  honest 
fellow  had  duly  arrived,  had  delivered 
his  dispatches  into  the  "heel  of  the  fist" 
of  the  Emperor,  and  had  disappeared. 

Arthur  bewailed  his  own  stupidity  for 
not  telegraphing  his  arrival  at  Havre,  as, 
by  comparison  of  dates,  he  could  have 
held  Rody  in  Vienna.  All  effort  to  trace 
his  faithful  follower  proved  fruitless. 
Could  he  have  returned  to  Mexico  and 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  Mazazo?  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  Bodkin  felt  anxious, 
miserable,  and  worried. 

Here  Arthur  learned  that  Baron  Berg- 
heim was  daily,  hourly  expected;  but 
that  Prince  Salm-Salm  was  awaiting  the 
delivery  of  the  late  Emperor's  body,  which 
the  Mexican  Government,  in  a  spirit  of 
malignant  meanness,  still  detained. 

He  also  learned  from  one  of  the 
chamberlains  that  the  poor  Empress  was 
hopelessly  insane,  and  that  she  would 
allow  no  one  near  her  but  her  mother 
and  one  confidential  servant. 

"Servant!    Miss  Nugent?" 

"I  said  servant.  Miss  Nugent  is  now 
en  conge." 

"Is — is — she  in  Vienna?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no!  She  left  for  England 
some  weeks  ago." 

"Or  Ireland,  perhaps?" 

"It  might  be." 

This  news  disappointed  Arthur,  who 
had  hoped,  with  an  aching  hope,  to  find 
Alice  if  not  in  Vienna,  at  Miramar. 

The  chamberlain  informed  Arthur  that 
it  would  be  necessary  to  report  his  arrival 
to  the  Emperor,  who  was  feverishly 
thirsting  for  details  in  connection  with 
the  hideous  tragedy. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


807 


"In  fact,"  said  this  functionary,  "it  will 
be  necessary  for  you  to  accompany  ^me  to 
Schonbrunn  at  once." 

"I  am  ready  now." 

In  a  few  minutes  Arthur  found  himself 
beside  the  chamberlain,  and  whirling  down 
to  the  palace  from  whence  Napoleon  had 
dictated  terms  to  all  Continental  Europe. 

The  Emperor  received  Arthur  with 
emotion,  bade  him  be  seated;  and  as 
Bodkin  told  his  tale  interrupted  him 
with  many  questions. 

"You  stood  nobly,  sir,  by  the  late 
Emperor,"  said  Francis  Joseph.  "What 
is  your  rank?" 

The  Emperor  made  a  note  of  Bodkin's 
reply,  and  added: 

"  Do  you  intend  to  remain  in  our  army?" 

"I  have  not  quite  made  up  my  mind, 
sire.  Oh,  I— I  want  to  go  home  first — to 
Ireland." 

"An  Irishman?  I  thought  so.  Be  kind 
enough  to  leave  your  address  in  Ireland 
with  the  aid-de-camp  on  duty.  God  bless 
you  for  what  you  have  done  for — "  and 
the  Emperor  waved  Bodkin  away, 

A  telegram  from  Paris,  from  Baron 
Bergheim,  caused  Arthur  to  start  that 
night;  and  thirty  hours  later  found  the 
two  men  literally  hugging  each  other  i-n 
the  courtyard  of  the  Hotel  du  Louvre. 

"Hey!  but  I'm  a  broken-hearted  old 
man!"  cried  the  honest  Baron, — "broken- 
hearted. I'll  never  lift  my  head  again. 
Such  a  noble  fellow!  Such  honor!  Such 
truth!  My  God,  I  heard  the  guns  that 
murdered  him!  I  hear  them  every  morn- 
ing; I  shall  hear  them  in  my  coffin." 

Arthur  saw  the  Baron  off  to  Vienna 
with  a  sorrowful  heart,  and  prepared  to 
leave  Paris.  Never  did  the  city  look  so 
beautiful,  so  attractive,  so  glittering.  It 
was  during  the  height  of  the  Exhibition. 
Napoleon  III.  was  entertaining  his  royal 
brother  of  Prussia,  who  within  three  short 
years  was  to  receive  his  sword  at  the 
surrender  of  Sedan.  Arthur  caught  one 
glance  of  Marechal  Bazaine,  in  gorgeous 
uniform,  riding  down  the  Rue  de  Rivoli 
en  route  for  the  Exhibition.  He  thought 


of  the  fair  fiend  who  was  tracking  the 
Marechal,  and  wondered  if  she  had  yet 
had  sight  of  him. 

Arthur  Bodkin  telegraphed  to  Bally- 
boden,  announcing  his  home-coming,  and 
demanding  tidings  of  Rody  O'Flynn. 

Xlylll. — "BALLYBODEN  ABOO!" 

The  sun  was  setting  behind  the 
Dublin  mountains,  and  throwing  up  the 
glorious  purple  of  the  heather  on  Bray 
Head  and  the  Sugar  Loaves,  as  the 
steamer  "Connaught"  spun  round  the 
East  Pier  at  Kingstown,  and  gracefully 
came  alongside  her  jetty  in  the  harbor. 
The  first  passenger  to  leap  from  the  gang- 
way was  Arthur  Bodkin,  and  right  into  the 
arms  of — Rody,  who  fairly  hugged  him 
like  a  bear  and  literally  howled  for  joy, 
to  the  astonishment  and  amusement  of 
the  people  on  the  jetty.  Bodkin,  having 
tipped  the  guard,  got  Rody  into  the  com- 
partment of  a  first-class  carriage,  which 
the  railway  official  duly  locked;  and  for 
the  seven  miles  to  the  city  the  willing 
and  enraptured  Rody  "discoorsed"  to  his 
heart's  content;  his  amiable  master  burst- 
ing in  occasionally  with  ejaculations  of 
joy  and  uttermost  satisfaction. 

"Bedad  I  was  heart-scalded  intirely  the 
night  I  left,  sir;  but  a  sojer  must 'obey 
ordhers,  and  it's  not  often  a  sojer  gets 
ordhers  from  an  imperor.  I  got  a  packet 
like  a  lot  of  letthers  in  wan  big  invelope. 
And,  begob,  I  sewed  the  invelope  on  to 
the  sthring  of  me  Scapular — the  wan  that 
Father  Edward  gev  me,  that  was  blessed 
by  the  Pope  himself — glory  to  him! — 
in  Room,  no  less.  I  knew  that  no  wan 
could  take  it  from  there,  if  I  was  alive. — 
Murdher!  but  it  bates  Banagher  for  to 
see  ye  agin,  sir! — Well,  I  had  as  fine  a 
mount  as  if  ould  Casey,  Sir  Miles  Burke's 
thrainer,  put  me  up  on  him;  and,  more 
betoken,  an  ordher  on  the  Threasury  of 
Vienna  for  money,  and  a  belt  wid  goold 
in  it.  So  I  set  out  wid  every  eye  in  me 
head  wide  open;  for  spies  were  as  thick 
as  pays  round  Queretaro,  and  hungry  as 
hawks. — Blessed  Vergin!  but  it  raises  the 


808 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


cockles  off  me  heart  for  to  see  ye,  Masther 
Arthur  avid — -Well,  sir,  I  rid  all  night, 
and  had  only  wan  shot  at  me — of  coorse 
from  behind  a  bush,  sir.  'Fire  away,  ma 
bouchalf  I  sez  to  meself  as  I  rid  on,  the 
iligant  baste  undher  me  actin'  like  a  rale 
intelligent  creature.  Me  instructions  were 
to  make  sthraight  for  the  say — -to  Vera 
Cruz,  or  any  other  place  where  there  was 
a  ship.  So  I  held  on  me  coorse  all  the 
night,  and  kem  to  a  soart  of  sheebeen, 
where  I  put  up,  rested,  and  fed  the  little 
baste  and  meself,  shleepin'  wid  wan  eye 
open.  The  same  thing  that  night,  and.the 
next,  arid  the  next,  till  I  kem  to  Vera 
Cruz,  to  the  house  of  a  gintleman  thrue 
to  the  Iinperor,  who  tuk  care  of  me  and 
the  baste,  until  he  put  us  aboord  the 
steamboat  that  was  sailin'  to  Marseilles,, 
in  France,  no  less — 

"Put  us!" 

"Yis,  sir:  sure — sure,  the  little-  baste 
and  meself." 

"The  horse?" 

"Yis,  sir.  Sure,  Masther  Arthur  dear, 
I  wasn't  goin'  for  to  lave  such  a  horse 
to  thim  Mexicos." 

"And  where  is  the  animal  now? — where 
did  you  leave  him?" 

"Bedad  he's  safe  and  sound,  sir,  wid 
his  stomach  full  of  iligant  oats,  in  wan  of 
the  loose  boxes  at  Ballyboden." 

"Ballyboden,  Rody, — at  home?"  gasped 
Arthur. 

"At  home,  sure  enough,  glory  be  to 
God,  Masther  Arthur!" 

"And  you  have  been  at  Ballyboden, — 
do  you  mean  it?" 

"Bedad  I  was,  sir.  I — -I  had  for  to  run 
across,  sir,  and  just  for  a  couple  of  hours. 
And  the  leddies  is  iligant, — -your  darlint 
mother  and  the  young  leddies.  And  I 
seen  Father  Edward  and  got  his  blessin'. 
He's  lukkin'  like  a  twenty-year  ould.  His 
Riverince  was  all  over  Europe,  and  he 
seen  Miss  Nugent,  Masther  Arthur." 

"Where?" 

"Somewhere  in  Roosia  or  Proosia,  sir; 
but  sure  he'll  tell  ye  himself. — -Musha, 
wusha,  but  I  feel  like  leppin'  into  the 


say,  sir,  for  to  see  ye  agin!  The  sight 
left  me  whin  I  saw  ye." 

Honest  Rody  did  not  tell  his  master 
that  he  had  rushed  over  to  Ballyboden  to 
place  the  sum  of  two  thousand  pounds — 
the  amount  of  the  order  on  the  Imperial 
Treasury  given  him  by  the  Emperor 
Maximilian,  who  never  did  anything  by 
halves — 'in  the  hands  of  the  chatelaine, 
assuring  the  delighted  lady  that  it  was 
prize-money  taken  from  the  enemy  by  her 
son;  and  the  only  cloud  on  his  present 
happiness  was  as  to  how  he  should  excuse 
himself  to  his  master  for  taking  such  a 
liberty  and  telling  such  a  "whopper." 

So  anxious  was  Arthur  to  get  home 
that  he  took  the  midnight  train  from  the 
Broadstone  terminus,  dining  at  Burton 
Bindon's,  for  the  sake  of  Rody's  company, 
and  killing  the  rest  of  the  time  at  the 
Stephen's  Green  Club,  where  he  encoun- 
tered "Tom"  Nedley,  "Charlie"  Barry, 
and  a  few  genial  spirits, — all  of  whom 
were  delighted  to  see  him,  and  listened 
with  bated  breath  to  his  description  of 
the  stirring  scenes  in  the  land  of  the 
Montezumas. 

Bodkin  found  his  mother  and  sisters 
awaiting  him  at  the  station;  also  Father 
Edward,  who  solemnly  blessed  him  on  his 
return;  and  the  entire  population  of  about 
three  baronies,  including  the  lame,  the 
halt  and  the  blind.  A  thundering  cheer 
went  up  as  he  stepped  from  the  carriage, 
repeated  at  intervals,  the  many-headed 
taking  "time"  from  Barney  Branigan, 
whose  leathern  lungs  were  the  admiration 
of  the  whole  country. 

When  the  house  party  were  seated  in 
the  conveyance,  Father  Edward  included, 
with  Rody  O'Flynn  on  the  box,  the  horses 
were  unharnessed,  and  the  "boys,"  cheer- 
ing and  laughing,  drew  the  vehicle  up  the 
avenue  and  to  the  hall-door  at  Ballyboden. 

Here  Peter  McCoy,  acknowledged  to 
be  the  most  powerful  performer  on  the 
cornopean  the  Galway  side  of  the  Shannon, 
nearly  burst  his  lungs,  and  the  instrument 
too,  with  the  blowing  of  "Home,  Sweet 
Home!"  followed  by  "I  have  Roamed 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


809 


through  Many  Lands";  winding  up  amid 
thunders  of  applause,  again  and  again 
repeated,  with  "Killarney."  Then  Tom 
Casey,  who  had  delivered  the  address  on 
Arthur's  departure  outdid  himself  on  the 
address  of  welcome  home, — his  allusions  to 
the  direful  tragedy  in  which  Bodkin  played 
a  part  being  in  exquisite  taste,  and  replete 
with  honest  feeling.  Arthur's  reply  was 
simply  a  rush  of  words  from  his  heart. 

There  was  a  grand  spread  in  the  old 
yew-shaded  yard,  where  everybody  sat 
down  on  benches;  and,  to  the  intense 
astonishment  and  unbounded  delight  of 
all  present,  Father  Edward  himself  joined 
in  singing  "The  Wedding  of  Ballyporeen." 

"Well,  that  prize-money  came  in  very 
handily,"  laughed  Lady  Emily  Bodkin  to 
her  son. 

"What  prize-money,  mother?" 

"The  money  you  sent  over  by  Rody." 

Arthur  wondered  very  much;  and, 
fearing  complication,  simply  answered: 

"Oh!" 

"I  towld  Father  Edward,  Masther 
Arthur, — I  did,  sir,  and  he  absolved  me. 
Sure  I  daren't  touch  so  much  money:  it 
would  burn  me.  Besides,  if  I  did  earn  any 
of  it,  wasn't  it  for  the  ould  place,  not  for 
the  likes  of  me?" 

Arthur  on  the  first  opportunity  drew 
Father  Edward  aside. 

"You  met  Miss   Nugent,  Father?" 

"I  did,  Arthur;  and,  my  dear  boy, 
she  is  yours." 

A  wave  of  joy  passed  through  Bodkin's 
heart,  almost  stopping  its  beating. 

"Where  did  you  meet  her,  Father?" 

"At  Aix-les-Bains.  The  dear  child  was 
very  much  run  down  by  her  ceaseless 
care  of  the  poor  afflicted  Empress." 

"And  is  she  still  at  Aix?"  demanded 
Arthur,  visions  of  mail-trains,  channel 
boats,  and  expresses  flashing  across  his 
mind's  eye. 

"No:  she  left  before  we  did,  and  I  do 
not  know  in  what  direction." 

Father  Edward's  words  lit  up  the  face  of 
Arthur  with  a  radiance  that  was  scarcely 
of  the  earth  earthy.  He  would  seek  her 


at  once — the  next  day — and  learn  of  his 
happiness  from  her  own  lips. 

It  was  during  dinner  that  a  note  was 
handed  to  one  of  the  Misses  Bodkin. 

"It  is  for  you,  Arthur,  and  is  from 
Kiltiernan." 

"I  suppose  it's  an  invitation  from  the 
Marchioness,"  observed  his  mother.  "Is 
anybody  waiting  for  an  answer?" 

"Yes,  me  Lady,"  replied  the  servant. 
"The  boy's  on  the  horse  at  the  hall-dure. 
His  orders,  he  says,  is  not  to  dismount, 
but  ride  back  at  wanst." 

"It's  nine  miles  from  here  to  the  house," 
said  Miss  Bodkin. 

"Why,  it's  nearer  twenty,"  retorted  her 
sister;  "and — •" 

Arthur  had  opened  the  letter,  glanced 
at  its  contents,  clutched  it,  read  it  as  if 
he  would  swallow  every  word;  and, 
bounding  to  his  feet,  rushed  down  to 
the  hall-door,  where  the  messenger  from 
Kiltiernan  awaited  the  reply. 

"Say,"  he  breathlessly  exclaimed, — -"say 
that  I  shall  be  over  in  half  an  hour! 
Here."  And  he  handed  the  astonished 
lad  half  a  crown.  "Fly! — 

Can  my  readers  guess  why  Arthur  Bodkin 
of  Ballyboden  was  so  exceedingly  agitated 
upon  the  receipt  of  a  lavender-colored  note 
from  Kiltiernan  Castle?  His  mother  could 
not;  his  sisters  were  dumfounded. 

Here  is  the  letter  that  caused  our  hero 
to  bound  from  the  table  as  if  he  had  been 
shot,  to  rush  down  the  stairs  three  at  a 
time,  to  recklessly  exploit  half  a  crown 
when  sixpence  would  have  done,  and  to 
order  Rody  to  saddle  a  horse  as  though 
to  join  a  sortie: 

Kn/riERNAN  CASTLE, 
Tuesday. 

DEAR  ARTHUR: — Come  over  as  soon  as  you 
can,  and  tell  me  all.    O  my  God,  what  a  terrible 
finale!  Such  a  man!  Such  a  woman!   Such  a  fate! 
Your  old   friend, 

ALICE  NUGENT. 

P.  S.  —  I  arrived  last  night,  and  only  one 
minute  ago  learned  that  you  also  were  at  home. 

Merrily  rang  the  wedding- bells  on  the 
glorious  September  morning  that  Father 


810 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Edward  united  Arthur  Bodkin  of  Ball'y- 
boden  to  Alice  Nugent.  She  came  to  her 
lover  richly  dowered;  for  "Count  Nugent 
and  I,"  Father  Edward  laughed,  "saw  to 
that."  The  Emperor  and  Empress  of 
Austria  sent  presents  fit  for  a  reigning 
prince  and  princess.  Baron  Bergheim  did 
not  forget  them,  nor  did  the  Prince  and 
Princess  Salm-Salm;  while  the  ladies  of 
the  Court,  from  Carlotta's  mother,  literally 
showered  gifts  on  the  ill-fated  Empress' 
favorite  Maid  of  Honor.  In  addition,  the 
Imperial  Austrian  Treasury  forwarded  to 
Arthur,  at  the  order  of  the  Emperor,  the 
sum  of  twenty  thousand  pounds — "for 
distinguished  and  unflagging  services 
rendered  to  the  Emperor  and  Empress 
of  Mexico." 

"Well,  Rody,  what  about  marrying  that 
fair  relative  of  yours?"  asked  Arthur  one 
day  of  his  faithful  friend. 

"Begob,  sir,  I'm  just  thinkin'  she's  half 
a  Mexico.  I'd  rayther  have  Norah  Brady, 
of  Tuppertown  bey  ant,  if  it  goes  to  that." 

Strange  to  say,  Harry  Talbot  married 
Mary  O'Flynn,  having  been  brought  into 
communication  with  her  on  account  of 
her  father's  property  in  the  mine.  Talbot 
is  a  very  wealthy  man;  but,  although 
Irish  to  the  backbone  and  a  thorough 
Nationalist,  has  never  revisited  his  beloved 
native  land. 

Of  Mazazo  never  a  word  was  heard;  but 
of  the  Sefiora,  his  wife,  quite  too  many; 
as  she  became  a  noted  person  in  Paris; 
and,  following  Bazaine,  was  taken  prisoner 
on  the  disgraceful  surrender  of  Metz. 

A  beautiful  altar  of  Mexican  onyx  was 
erected  in  Father  Edward's  chapel  by 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bodkin,  and  at  the  apex  of 
the  exquisite  stained-glass  window  over 
it  shines  out  in  brightest  radiance  a  star: 
"The  Crest  of  the  Bodkins." 

(The  End.) 

THEY  who  educate  children  well  are 
more  to  be  honored  than  they  who  beget 
children;  the  latter  only  give  them  life, 
the  former  make  them  well-living. 

— Aristotle. 


"The  Poet  of  the  South  Seas." 

BY    CHARLES    PHILLIPS. 

THE  majority  of  California's  most 
famous  writers  have  been,  after  all, 
only  adopted  sons  and  daughters  of  the 
Golden  West:  Bret  Harte  was  born  in 
New  York,  Mark  Twain  in  Missouri, 
Joaquin  Miller  in  Ohio,  Ina  Coolbrith 
in  Illinois;  and  so  it  was  with  Charles 
Warren  Stoddard.  He  first  saw  the  light 
of 'day  in  Rochester,  N.  Y.,  on  August 
7,  1843.  But,  like  his  lifelong  friend, 
Ina  Coolbrith,  who  is  to-day  the  sole  re- 
maining one  of  the  oldtime  group  of  Cali- 
fornia's literary  giants,  Stoddard  went  to 
the  Pacific  Coast  when  a  mere  child,  and 
spent  the  greater  part  of  his  impression- 
able youth  in  the  country  that  he  was 
later  to  glorify  by  his  genius.  "I  came  to 
San  Francisco  in  1855,  when  I  was  a  kid," 
he  once  wrote  in  an  impromptu  autobio- 
graphical sketch  (he  was  scarcely  twelve) ; 
"and  San  Francisco  has  been  my  only 
home  ever  since." 

Though  he  Wandered  far,  even  after 
these  words  were  written,  and  hung  his 
broad-brimmed  hat  in  many  a  strange 
corner  of  the  world,  San  Francisco  still 
remained  his  home— at  least  up  to  the 
time  of  the  earthquake  of  1906.  After 
that  he  had  a  sort  of  horror  of  his  old 
home  city.  To  him  it  had  vanished; 
and  the  fire-charred  remains  of  it,  and  the 
new  city  that  rose  over  them,  gave  him 
"the  shivers,"  as  he  often  put  it.  In- 
variably he  fled  back  to  his  sylvan  retreat 
by  the  shores  of  moon-bayed  Monterey. 
It  was  there  he  had  hidden  himself  in  1905, 
wrhen  he  returned  for  the  last  time  to 
California.  Feted  by  the  Bohemian  Club, 
and  lionized  and  hailed  by  all  San  Fran- 
cisco as  the  prodigal  returned,  he  broke 
away  at  last  from  that  hilarious  welcome 
and  hied  him  back  to  one  of  the  dearest 
haunts  of  his  youth,  Old  Monterey,  where 
he  had  chummed  it  with  Robert  Louis 
^tevenson  thirty  years  before. 

The  youthful  days  of  so  shy  and  tender 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


811 


a  soul  as  Stoddard  was  were  bound 
to  be  full  of  the  tragedy  of  childhood. 
"I  was  a  lonely  child,"  he  tells  us  in 
"A  Troubled  Heart."  "Blessed  with 
brothers  and  a  sister  near  my  own  age; 
nourished  always  in 'the  tenderest  paternal 
and  maternal  love;  surrounded  by  troops 
of  friends,  whose  affection  was  won  with- 
out effort,  and  whose  sympathy  was 
shown  in  a  thousand  pretty,  childish 
ways,  I  was  still  lonely,  and  often  loneliest 
when  least  alone.  It  was  my  custom, 
when  my  heart  was  light  and  rny  spirit 
gay,  to  steal  apart  from  my  companions, 
and,  throwing  myself  upon  the  lawn, 
look  upon  them  in  their  sports  as  from  a 
dim  distance.  Their  joy  was  to  me  like  a 
song,  to  which  I  listened  with  a  kind  of 
rapture,  but  in  which  I  seldom  or  never 
joined.  Love,  intense  and  absorbing  love, 
and  love  alone,  was  my  consolation." 

Those  words  reveal  the  quivering,  sen- 
sitive soul  of  one  chosen  for  the  heights 
of  poesy;  and  through  all  his  life  the 
same  wistfulness,  as  of  one  set  apart,  was 
characteristic  of  the  sweet-natured  man, 
despite  his  cheery  ways  and  his  droll  wit. 
It  is  easy  to  imagine  him  (as  he  pictures 
himself  to  us  in  the  opening  of  his  "South 
Sea  Idyls")  a  lad  of  fourteen  sent  back  to 
New  York  to  school  in  1857,  finding  a 
hidden  place  for  himself  in  one  of  the  life- 
boats of  the  ship,  and  lying  there  alone 
by  the  hour  weeping,  often,  for  he  knew 
not  what.  And,  of  course,  from  boyhood 
he  was  an  ardent  reader.  He  knew  the 
Bible  almost  by  heart;  throughout  his 
writings  the  note  of  Scriptural  parallelism 
is  pleasantly  evident.  How  beautifully 
its  chantlike  measures  sound  through  his 
matchless  "Bells  of  San  Gabriel"! 

Two  years,  then,  were  spent  in  Cali- 
fornia, two  years  at  school  in  the  East, 
and  then  once  more  he  returned  to  the 
West.  He  was  a  tall  and  handsome 
stripling  by  this  time.  He  secured  work 
in  the  San  Francisco  bookstore  of  T.  C. 
Beach — a  haven  of  delight  for  such  a 
book-hungry  lad  as  he, — and  he  began  to 
write  poetry  in  earnest.  His  verses  at- 


tracted the  attention  of  Starr  King, 
California's  foremost  citizen  in  the  days 
of  the  Civil  War, —  the  man  who  saved 
California  to  the  Union  in  that  terrible 
crisis.  And  that  generous  soul  patted  the 
young  poet  on  the  back,  encouraged  him, 
and  told  him  to  go  to  college. 

He  went,  but  he  was  frail;  and  his 
studies  at  the  University  of  California 
cluring  1863  and  1864  proved  too  much 
for  him.  Ill  health  prevented  his  grad- 
uation. It  was,  however,  this  same  ill 
health  that  sent  him  on  the  golden  quest 
that  was  destined  to  color  his  whole  life 
and  all  his  writings.  He  went  to  the 
South  Seas  in  1864,  and  discovered,  once 
and  for  all  time,  those  "islands  of  tranquil 
delight"  which  he  was  to  immortalize 
in  English  literature,  and  to  which  he 
was  to  return  again  and  again. 

All  this  time  his  literary  genius  had 
been  steadily  developing.  He  had  written 
his  first  verses  when  only  thirteen  ("they 
were  accepted  by  the  old  Waverly  Maga- 
zine— -to  my  horrible  delight!");  and  he 
had  continued  in  boyhood  to  compose. 
At  the  University,  he  says,  "I  fretted  and 
studied  and  was  'kept  in'  for  my  com- 
positions, which  I  found  were  a  burden 
because  they  had  to  be  written  in  prose." 
But  his  first  trip  to  the  South  Seas,  and 
his  success  in  writing  letters  thence,  gave 
him  his  first  impetus  as  a  prose  writer. 
When  he  returned  home  he  felt  that  he 
was  ready  for  a  journalistic  career,  and 
forthwith  he  took  it  up. 

Journalism,  however,  he  soon  found, 
could  hardly  pay  him  bread  and  butter. 
His  contributions  to  C.  H.  Webb's  "Alta 
California"  charmed  everybody  and  were 
eagerly  published — but  they  were  not 
paid  for;  and  so  it  was  then  with  most 
of  his  writings.  In  a  short  time  things 
became  so  desperate  with  the  ambitious 
young  fellow  that  he  determined  to  throw 
the  whole  thing  over  and  try  something 
else.  He  tried  the  drama — he  became  an 
actor.  He  made  his  first  stage  appearance 
at  the  Academy  of  Music  in  Sacramento, 
playing  "Arthur  Apsly"  in  "The  Willow 


812 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


Copse."  "In  two  months  at  that  theatre," 
Stoddard  tells  us,  "I  learned  more  than  I 
shall  be  able  to  forget  in  a  thousand  years ! " 

His  theatrical  experience  was  a  bitter 
one.  He  hated  it, — his  native  timidity 
was  never  overcome:  he  suffered  agonies. 
He  was  soon  back  at  his  writing;  and 
before  the  year  1867  had  passed,  his  first 
book  had  appeared.  Its  simple  title  was 
"Poems."  In  my  precious  autograph* 
copy  of  that  rare  volume  Stoddard  wrote: 
"This  windfall  of  verses  was  gathered  and 
edited  by  Bret  Harte.  I  am  prouder  of 
that  fact  than  of  anything  in  the  book." 

The  year  1867  was  indeed  a  momentous 
one  for  Stoddard.  It  marked  not  only 
his  formal  introduction  to  the  world  of 
letters,  but  signalized  also  the  most 
serious  step  he  had  ever  taken — his 
happy  entrance  into  the  Church,  an 
event  which  not  only  changed  his  whole 
life  interiorly,  but  eventually  altered 
the  entire  fn'rection  of  his  energies  by 
leading  him  into  the  career  of  a  teacher, 
at  which  so  many  of  his  years  were  spent. 
For  two  years  (1885-1887)  he  was  Pro- 
fessor of  English  Literature  at  Notre 
Dame  University,  Indiana;  and  for  thir- 
teen years  he  held  the  same  chair  in  the 
Catholic  University  of  America,  at  Wash- 
ington. But  this  is  anticipating. 

The  "Poems"  of  1867,  taken  mostly 
from  the  Overland  Monthly — of  which  Bret 
Harte  was  editor,  and  with  whom,  and 
Ina  Coolbrith,  Stoddard  formed  what 
was  called  "the  literary  triumvirate  of 
the  day," — won  unexpected  praise  for  the 
young  poet.  The  success  of  the  book  really 
set  him  on  his  literary  feet,  arid  eventually 
resulted  in  his  making  a  second  journey 
to  the  South  Seas,  whither  he  went  to 
write,  and  saturate  his  soul  in  the  tropics. 
This  time  he  stayed  two  years  (from  1868 
to  1870),  and  during  this  period  he  did 
some  of  the  best  work  of  his  career,  writ- 
ing for  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  the  Century, 
Lippincott's,  the  Galaxy,  the  Overland,  and 
others.  His  poem  "Lahaina"- 
Where  the  wave  tumbles, 
Where  the  reef  rumbles, — 


praised  by  Longfellow,  and  by  him  chosen 
for  an  anthology  as  a  representative  poem 
of  the  tropics, — was  written  on  this  jour- 
ney. Then  in  1872  he  went  once  more  to 
the  islands.  And  in  the  autumn  of  the 
year  following,  the  literary  world  acclaimed 
the  gathered  fruits  of  those  delightful 
wanderings,  in  his  incomparable  book, 
"South  Sea  Idyls,"  a  work  which  at  once 
gave  Stoddard  an  international  reputation. 
It  was  published  simultaneously  in  Boston 
by  the  famous  old  house  of  James  R. 
Osgood  &  Co.;  and  in  London  by  Chatto 
&  Windus. 

In  1873  Stoddard  went  to  Europe.  His 
fame  now  was  such  that  editors  begged 
for  his  writings  at  any  cost;  and  he  be- 
came the  special  travelling  correspondent 
of  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle.  He 
spent  five  years  abroad,  not  returning 
till  1878.  He  travelled  Italy  "from  top 
to  toe,"  as  he  was  wont  to  say,  spending 
much  time  in  Rome,  Venice,  and  on  the 
Isle  of  Capri.  During  this  time  he  wrote 
constantly,  and  wandered  from  one  country 
to  another,  in  the  fashion  of  a  true  pilgrim, 
eschewing  the  ways  of  the  professional 
tourist  and  "getting  under  the  skin"  of 
all  the  lands  and  peoples  that  he  visited. 
He  crossed  the  Mediterranean  to  Africa, 
then  sailed  to  Palestine  and  made  a 
thorough  pilgrimage  through  the  Holy 
Land.  The  fruits  of  those  busy  years  of 
travel  and  observation  "behind  the  wan- 
dering toe"  were  many  and  rich*.  His 
charming  personality,  his  handsome  face 
and  naturally  distinguished  manner,  won 
him  entree  into  the  hearts  of  all.  As  if  by 
magic,  doors  were  opened  for  him  that  were 
closed  to  all  other  travellers.  His  smile, 
his  musical  voice,  his  sensitive  nature, 
ever  quick  to  comprehend,  were  golden 
keys  to  many  a  hidden  mystery  of  those 
far  and  ancient  lands.  His  published 
letters  during  these  years  were  copied 
all  over  this  country,  and  made  his  name  a 
household  word  in  America.  "Mashallah; 
A  Flight  into  Egypt,"  and  "A  Cruise 
under  the  Crescent,"  were  the  choice 
results  of  these  travels. 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


813 


Returning  to  America,  Stoddard  spent 
about  two  years  at  home,  and  then, 
in  1 88 1,  made  his  final  visit  to  the  South 
Sea  Islands.  He  remained  there  till  1884, 
revelling  in  the  life  of  the  tropics  into  which 
he  so  gracefully  and  joyously  fitted,  and 
gathering  new  material  for  future  writing. 
That  he  gle'aned  fruitfully  in  those  strange 
and  enchanting  lands  was  proven  by  his 
successful  "Lepers  of  Molokai,"  published 
in  1885,  and  later  by  his  "Island  of 
Tranquil  Delight,"  which  ran  into  three 
editions. 

The  next  epoch  of  Stoddard 's  life  em- 
braces his  career  as  a  teacher.  For  fifteen 
years  he  held  the  chair  of  English  lit- 
erature in  -two  of  the  Catholic  Universities 
of  this  country — Notre  Dame,  and  the 
Catholic  University  of  America;  and, 
with  the  exception  of  one  visit  to  Europe 
in  1887-8,  he  took  no  rest  from  his  arduous 
labors.  The  work  was  not  always  congen- 
ial. It  was  hard  for  a  man  of  Stoddard's 
temperament — and  one  who  had  all  his  life 
revelled  in  the  freedom  of  a  gypsy,  as 
it  were — to  tie  himself  down  to  the  for- 
malities and  restraints  of  the  lecture  hall. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  were  char- 
acteristics of  Stoddard  that  made  him 
particularly  successful  as  a  teacher.  He 
loved  boys:  he  understood  them;  he 
was  one  of  them.  He  never  grew  up:  he 
was  at  heart  a  Peter  Pan.  His  influence 
on  the  scores,  even  hundreds,  of  young  men 
who  came  under  his  tutelage  was  gentle 
and  far-reaching.  He  taught  them  more 
than  literature:  he  taught  them  the 
language  of  the  heart. 

So  it  is  to-day  that  among  many  of  the 
foremost  literary  men  of  the  country  the 
memory  of  "Dad"  Stoddard  is  affection- 
ately cherished  as  would  be  that  of  a 
dear  chum  of  college  days.  His  sweetness 
of  nature,  his  gentle  kindness,  made  his 
"boys"  his  devoted  slaves.  His  helpful 
criticism  was  ever  at  their  service.  In 
the  generosity  of  his  spirit  he  gave,  gave, 
gave,  —  he  was  forever  rewriting  theses, 
polishing  off  sermons,  touching  up  poems, 
smoothing  over  essays  or  stories  for  the 


flock  of  friends  and  devotees  that  gathered 
around  him.  Practically  all  the  great 
men  and  women  of  his  day  were  his  friends 
and  admirers;  yet  he  remained  always 
the  unspoiled  child,  with  time  and  love 
for  everyone,  no  matter  how  poor  or 
obscure,  who  came  to  him  for  guidance. 
He  freely  spent  himself  for  all,  and  asked 
only  love  in  return.  And  even  when  he 
criticised,  he  did  it  with  the  most  winning 
grace;  and  always  there  was  his  droll 
wit  and  his  slow,  sweet  smile:  "You 
'  can't  swallow  the  ocean  in  one  gulp," 
he  slyly  laughed  up  at  me  one  day  as  his 
fat  old  purple-blooded  pen  slashed  through 
a  "sea  poem"  I  had  submitted  to  him. 
He  made  his  victims  happy  even  while 
he  was  decapitating  them! 

Truthfully  has  it  been  said  that  no 
man  of  his  day  enjoyed  a  wider  friend- 
ship among  the  world's  great  literary 
folk  than  Stoddard.  Bret  Harte,  Mark 
Twain,  Joaquin  Miller  were  his  intimates. 
He  knew  Longfellow,  Holmes,  Lowell, 
George  Eliot,  Charles  Kingsley ,  Stevenson — 
the  list  grows  interminable.  For  Stevenson 
he  had  a  most  tender  attachment,  dating 
from  the  days  when  they  shared  starvation 
together  in  old  Monterey  and  on  Rincon 
Hill  in  San  Francisco, — that  eyrie  of  the 
crags  that  Stevenson  describes  in  "The 
Wrecker"  and  that  is  also  the  opening 
scene  of  Stoddard's  "For  the  Plea'sure 
of  His  Company." 

The  amount  of  work  accomplished  by 
Stoddard  during  his  arduous  teaching 
years  was  tremendous.  His  lectures  on 
English  literature,  carefully  written  out, 
would  have  easily  made  two  or  three 
handsome  volumes.  And  what  treasures 
they  would  be  to-day, — the  story  of  our 
literature  told  in  the  crystal  and  golden 
language  of  Stoddard!  But,  alas!  when 
he  was  done  with  his  teaching,  he  destroyed 
those  precious  manuscripts, — a  "bloody 
deed,"  I  told  him  many  a  time,  that  I 
could  never  quite  forgive.  "Why,  why  did 
you  do  it?" — "The  world  didn't  need 
that  stuff,"  was  his  answer.  "Many 
another  man  has  told  the  story  of  Eng- 


'THE  AVE  MARIA 


lish  literature  far  better  than  I  could." 
During  these  years  of  teaching,  new 
books  continued  to  come  steadily  from 
Stoddard's  pen.  In  1885,  his  famous 
"Lepers  of  Molokai,"  which  has  seen 
^rnany  'editions,  was  published  by  THE; 
AvE  MARIA;  and  in  the  same  year, 
"A  Troubled  Heart."  In  1894  came 
"Lazy  Letters  from  Low  Latitudes"; 
in  1896,  "The  Wonder- Worker  of  Padua," 
a  charming  life  of  the  beloved  Franciscan 
-friar  for  whom  Stoddard  had  the  most 
.fervent  devotion.  "A  Cruise  under  the 
•Crescent"  (already  mentioned)  appeared 
in  1898;  and  in  1899,  "Over  the  Rocky 
Mountains  to  Alaska."  In  1902  he  again 
took  up  his  Californian  pen  and  gave  us 
"In  the  Footprints  of  the  Padres,"  one 
of  his  most  successful  books:  a  third 
edition  has  been  published  since  his  death. 
In  1903  came  "Exits  and  Entrances,"  a 
work  which,  with  his  "South  Sea  Idyls" 
and  "Mashallah,"  ranks  as  his  best.  I 
do  not  think  we  have  in  all  our  literature 
a  more  charming  or  more  valuable  work 
of  literary  reminiscences  than  "Exits 
and  Entrances,"  with  its  first-hand  pic- 
tures (all  done  in  mellow  tones  and  golden 
tints)  of  the  London  of  Dickens;  of  the 
England  of  Shakespeare;  of  memorable 
hours  spent  with  George  Eliot  and  Charles 
Kingsley;  of  recollections  of  Bret  Harte, 
Joaquin  Miller,  and  others.  It  is  in 
this  book  we  find  the  inimitable  "Shot- 
tery  Tryst,"  and  that  wistful  sketch 
of  the  clock-tinker  of  Bloomsbury,  "Old 
Pendulum." 

The  same  year  (1903)  saw  the  publica- 
tion of  Stoddard's  only  attempt  at  the 
novel,  "For  the  Pleasure  of  His  Company," 
a  book  that  is  really  an  autobiography. 
("How  I  did  give  myself  away  in  that 
story!"  he  once  said  laughingly  to  me. 
"That  is  Stoddard  stark-naked!")  For 
this  book  we  have  really  to  thank  his 
friend  Rudyard  Kipling,  who  admired 
it  so  much  that  he  induced  Stoddard  to 
print  it,  —  though  Stoddard  had  held  it 
back  for  ten  years  and  more.  It  was 
Kipling,  too,  who  christened  the  story. 


To  those  who  have  the  "key"  to  this 
tale  it  is  a  revelation;  for  nearly  every 
character  in  it  is  some  famous  Californian 
in  the  disguise  of  a  fictitious  name. 

Finally,  in  1903,  Stoddard's  most  pro- 
lific year,  so  far  as  publication  went, 
"Father  Damien,"  a  sketch,  was  published,; 
and  in  1904,  "The  Island  of  Tranquil 
Delights."  This  delicious  return  to  his 
first  love  of  the  Golden  Tropics  was 
Stoddard's  last  book;  although  during  the 
next  few  years,  in  spite  of  failing  health, 
he  turned  out  a  great  amount  of  writing, 
and  was  not  only  making  ready  to  publish 
new  volumes,  but  also  was  carefully  col- 
lecting his  poems.  Besides  verse  and  many 
short  articles,  these  years  saw  a  fine 
series  of  papers  in  the  National  Magazine 
of  Boston;  and  a  history  of  the  Missions 
of  California,  in  the  Sunset  Magazine, — 
a  history  which,  however,  was  never 
finished;  and  also  a  French  edition  of 
"The  Idyls."  In  France  Stoddard  was 
called  "the  American  Pierre  Loti."  Three 
volumes  that  Stoddard  planned  during 
those  years  —  he  himself  told  me  the 
titles — were :  ' '  The  Friends  of  my  Youth, ' ' 
"Under  Italian  Skies,"  and  "The  Dream 
Lady," — all  to  be  made  from  his  collected 
writings  in  the  magazines,  especially  THE 
AVE;  MARIA.  It  is  doubtful  now  if  these 
books  will  ever  see  the  light.  The  last 
of  all  his  books,  a  new  and  revised  edition 
of  "The  Lepers  of  Molokai,"  was  pub- 
lished in  December,  1908,  a  few  months 
before  his  death. 

Although  Stoddard  published  but  one 
volume  of  verse  during  his  lifetime,  he 
never  ceased  writing  poetry;  and,  as 
I  have  said,  he  made  a  careful  collection 
of  it,  which  is  some  day,  let  us  hope,  to 
be  brought  out  by  Miss  Coolbrith,  his 
closest  friend  and  literary  executor.  His 
last  verses,  found  by  Miss  Coolbrith  and 
myself  on  the  floor  of  his  bedroom  after 
his  death,  were  a  few  pathetic  and  prophetic 
lines  of  prayer  for  sleep  and  rest,  that, 
like  Tennyson's  "Crossing  the  Bar,"  proved 
to  be  the  poet's  final  utterance. 

In  that  little  impromptu  autobiography 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


815 


that  Stoddard  wrote,  to  which  I  have 
already  referred,  the  poet  concluded  thus: 
"I  am  a  Catholic,  and  may  end  my  days 
in  some  Italian  monastery — unless  my 
days  end  themselves  before  I  get  there." 
He  had  always  a  great  love  for  the  followers 
of  St.  Francis.  During  a  visit  to  Italy, 
he  spent  several  weeks  in  one  of  the  quiet 
retreats  of  the  Order.  He  was,  in  fact,  a 
Franciscan  himself,  being  a  member  of 
that  farnous  Third  Order  which  the 
Seraph  of  Assisi  founded  for  people  in 
the  world;  his  most  striking  portrait 
was  that  painted  in  Munich  in  1875  by 
Joseph  Strong,  showing  him  in  his  brown 
Franciscan  habit.  And  though  it  was  his 
desire  at  the  end  to  find  his  last  couch 
within  the  hallowed  walls  of  Santa  Bar- 
bara, kis  dream  was  not  to  be  realized. 
In  the  old  towrn  of  Monterey  that  he  had 
always  loved,  his  days,  alas!  "ended 
themselves,"  all  unexpectedly,  on  Friday 
evening,  April  23,  1909,  after  but  a  few 
days'  slight  illness.  With  a  tile  from  Serra's 
beloved  Mission  Carmelo  placed  under 
his  head  for  his  last  earthly  pillow,  he 
was  buried  in  San  Carlos'  Cemetery  at 
Monterey;  and  there  he  lies,  his  grave, 
marked  with  a  little  marble  stone,  almost 
forgotten  to-day,  and  known  to  very  few. 
To  one  who  understood  the  strange  and 
sensitive  temperament  of  Charles  Warren 
Stoddard,  the  amount  and  variety  of  his 
published  work  is  nothing  short  of  as- 
tonishing. Twelve  volumes  of  the  choicest 
writings  are  to  his  credit,  and  a  dozen 
more  of  uncollected  writings.  He  was 
one  of  those  who  suffered  in  all  that  he 
did.  It  was  not  as  easy  for  him  to  write 
as  one,  reading  the  lucent  flow  of  his 
cadenced  language,  might  imagine.  "Some 
folks  call  me  lazy!"  he  exclaimed  once 
to  me.  "If  they  only  might  see  the  tons 
of  stuff  I  have  written  and  never  published ! 
He  was  a  stylist  par  excellence,  and  no 
more  sensitive  master  of  perfect  prose 
has  ever  written  in  the  English  tongue 
than  he  who  penned  "A  Shottery  Tryst" 
or  "The  Nautilus."  Stoddard  wrote  Eng- 
lish prose  "with  the  godlike  gesture)" 


yet  his  fine  ear  never  would  permit  him 
to  fall  into  mere  metrical  phrasing.  As 
in  his  wistful  personality  his  wit  was 
ever  a  saving  salt,  so  in  his  writing  that 
same  grace  of  unsuspected  humor  ("mus- 
tang humor"  William  Dean  Howells  calls 
it  in  his  Introduction  to  "South  Sea 
Idyls,"  —  "mustang,"  no  .doubt,  because 
it  never  went  in  harness,  and  invariably 
kicked  up  its  flashing  heels  without  a 
warning),— so  in  his  writing  his  humor 
always  saves  the  page,  when  sighing  sea 
and  perfumed  gale,  when  tropic  palm  and 
dusky  love,  begin  to  make  the  brain 
humid  with  their  languorous  beauty. 

Stoddard  was  a  shy  spirit  born  for 
another  planet,  and,  by  some  gigantic 
miscarriage  of  the  machinery  of  the  stars, 
thrust  upon  this  rough  and  alien  earth. 
But  he  brought  with  him,  from  that  un- 
discovered bourne  of  his,  a  sweetness  and 
a  gentleness  that  made  him  all  human. 
(Jack  London  in  his  Alaskan  lingo  called 
him  "The  Love  Man.")  He  was  a  devout 
Catholic,  and  love  was  the  touchstone  of 
his  life.  Long  years  ago,  when  he  was 
wandering  in  the  isles  of  the  Southern 
Seas,  even  the  native  savages  would  run 
to  him  with  love  and  greeting.  The  world 
seemed  to  open  its  arms  to  him  wherever 
he  might  go. 

"Oh,  but  I  am  a  horrible  pagan!" 
he  would  laugh;  yet  his  pure  frankness, 
the  innocence  and  honesty  with  which 
he  spoke  and  wrote,  disarmed  all  criticism. 
There  was  absolutely  not  a  drop  of  prudery 
in  his  whole  make-up.  Beauty  and  purity 
were  one  to  him.  Mark  Twain  declares 
in  his  Autobiography  that  Stoddard  was 
not  only,  "refined,  sensitive,  charming, 
gentle,  generous,  honest  himself  and  un- 
suspicious of  other  people's  honesty,"  but 
"the  purest  male  I  have  known,  in  mind 
and  speech.  An  indelicate  story,"  Twain 
adds,  "was  a  sharp  distress  to  Stoddard." 

The  prismatic  nature  of  the  beloved 
Stoddard  is  revealed  in  a  thousand  lovely 
lights  in  his  prose  and  his  poetry.  "Every- 
thing I  have  written  is  autobiographical,'1 
Ue  said  to  me  on.ce,  when  I  begged  him 


816 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


to  go  to  work  on  a  volume  of  memoirs. 
His  books,  though  they  be  about  every- 
thing else  in  the  world  but  himself,  still 
tell  his  own  story  as  no  one  else  can  tell 
it.  For  the  biographer,  then,  after  he 
has  set  down  this  brief  running  account 
of  the  poet's  life,  there  remains  but  this — 
to  speak  his  word  of  tribute  to  the  memory 
of  his  hero,  and  be  done.  But  to  pay  that 
tribute  is  to  open  one's  heart  to  the  world, 
as  Stoddard  opened  his,  freely  and  with 
the  abandon  of  perfect  affection,  to  all 
who  loved  him.  My  tribute  I  can  utter 
best  in  the  simple  words,  "I  loved  him. 
I  can  never  forget  him."  And  to  those 
words  let  me  but  add  the  poet's  own  plea, 
taken  from  his  little  book,  "A  Troubled 
Heart . "  "  You  who  have  read  these  pages, ' ' 
he  cries  out,— "these  pages  written  from 
the  heart,  after  much  sorrow  and  long 
suffering,  though  I  be  still  \vith  you  in 
the  flesh,  or  this  poor  body  be  gathered 
to  its  long  home, — you  whose  eyes  are  now 
fixed  upon  this  line,  I  beseech  you  pray 
for  me!" 

Vogel  and  Binder. 


BY    A.   OSKAR    KLAUSMANN. 


(CONCLUSION.) 

"T7OUR  months  afterward  I  repeated 
A  my  visit,  when  I  penitently  confessed 
that  I  was  no  opera  singer,  but  a  mere 
prosy  Prussian  law  student,  who  had 
gone  on  that  expedition  for  a  benevolent 
purpose.  Mother  and  daughter  were  well 
pleased  at  this  information;  though  I 
believe  that  Paula  would  have  married 
me  even  if  I  had  been  an  opera  singer." 
At  this  his  wife  bowed  her  head,  and 
held  out  her  hand  with  a  smile.  The 
Judge  continued: 

"We  had  been  rambling  about  the 
country  for  two  weeks;  and,  though  our 
expenses  were  considerable,  we  always 
managed  to  save  something,  and  soon  had 
enough  on  hand  to  meet  our  friend's  note, 
But  we  had  begun  to  like  our  rambling 
perhaps  we  even  thought  of 


replenishing  our  own  coffers;  at  any  rate, 
we  resolved  to  travel  two  weeks  longer. 
Vogel  and  Binder  were  growing  bolder 
and  bolder,  you  see. 

"Heaven  had  protected  us  as  long  as 
we  were  intent  on  a  charitable  purpose; 
but  now,  when  we  resumed  our  travels  for 
mere  gain  and  wanton  love  of  adventure, 
we  narrowly  escaped  the  chastisement 
which  we  merited;  and  it  was  only  the 
extraordinary  impudence — I  can  call  it 
•nothing  else — of  Ruprecht  that  delivered 
us  from  peril." 

"Here,  Judge, I  must  solemnly  protest," 
said  Ruprecht,  smiling.  "Our  help  and 
escape  came  to  us  solely  by  means  of  a 
certain  young  lady,  who  for  a  considerable 
time  past  had  taken  an  interest  in  a 
certain  young  limb  of  the  law;  else  all 
our  impudence  would  have  been  of  no 
avail.  To  all  appearances,  we  should  have 
been  'plucked,' — that  is,  dismissed  from 
the  career  of  law.  Our  president  was  not 
a  man  to  be  trifled  with,  still  less  was 
Judge  Baumgartner,  of  the  Supreme  Court 
of  Appeals.  He  was  known  amongst  the 
younger  practitioners  at  the  bar  as  the 
'General  Code,'  because  he  judged  every- 
thing by  the  letter  of  the  law.  You  and 
mamma,"  added  the  speaker,  turning  to 
his  wife,  "had  to  swallow  many  a  bitter 
pill  on  account  of  the  sternness  of  papa. 
But  resume  your  story,  my  dear  Amberg, 
and  pardon  the  interruption." 

"I  have  explained,"  said  the  latter, 
"that  our  success  had  made  us  bold,  and 
it  certainly  was  brazen  of  us  to  chal- 
lenge Fortune  to  her  face  by  announcing 
a  performance  in  Flinsberg,  a  watering- 
place  in  the  Prussian  territory.  We  were 
on  our  way  back  to  Breslau,  with  our 
pockets  well  filled  with  money,  after 
having  enjoyed  ourselves  to  our  hearts' 
content.  And  what  more  could  we  desire? 
But  the  sword  of  Damocles  was  hanging 
over  our  heads. 

' '  Flinsberg  at  that  time  was  only  begin- 
ning to  be  known  as  a  watering-place,  and 
we  could  not  expect  to  earn  much;  but 
we  counted  rather  ort  the  patronage  of 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


817 


the  neighboring  gentry  than  on  that  of 
the  visitors.  I  remember  that,  we  felt 
rather  melancholy.  We  were  taking  leave 
of  our  free  artistic  life,  our  jolly  tramps, 
and  in  a  few  days  we  were  to  be  trans-  ' 
formed  again  into  sedate  and  respectable 
Prussian  law  students. 

"The  evening  was  a  disappointment: 
there  were  hardly  thirty  persons  in  the 
audience.  Ruprecht  opened  the  perform- 
ance on  a  rather  shaky  old  piano,  and  I 
stepped  out  on  the  platform.  Instinctively 
I.  took  in  my  audience ;  for  the  confidence 
that  I  had  by  this  time  acquired  enabled 
me  to  study  them  whilst  I  spoke.  That 
sea  of  faces,  which  to  the  beginner 
appears  to  wave  to  and  fro,  and  in  which 
he  can  not  distinguish  a  single  counte- 
nance, was  an  open  book  wherein  I  could 
read  the  impression  that  I  made.  But  it 
required  all  my  self-command  to  keep  me 
from  breaking  down  in  my  declamation 
when,  just  in  front  of  me,  I  recognized 
the  'General  Code.' 

"We  were  personally  acquainted  with 
Baumgartner,  and,  alas!  he  was  personally 
acquainted  with  us  too;  for  he  had  been 
one  of  our  professors.  That  he  recognized 
us  I  felt  no  doubt;  I  could  discern  it  in 
the  peculiar  and  sinister  smile  with  which 
he  regarded  me.  He  was  called  the 
'General  Code'  because,  as  Ruprecht  has 
already  explained,  he  was  a  rigorous 
jurist,  who  would  be  delighted  to  see  the 
whole  world  governed  by  the  prescrip- 
tions of  the  Prussian  General  Code. 

"When  the  first  intermission  came,  I 
said  to  Ruprecht:  'Did  you  see  the 
"General  Code?" 

"And  the  wretch  answered,  with  the 
utmost  coolness:  'Yes,  of  course  I  did. 
He  did  not  seem  to  be  much  gratified,  and 
neither  am  I.' 

"'And  what  do  you  think  will  be  done 
in  the. matter?'  I  asked  my  fellow-tramp 
in  alarm. 

"'Oh!'  said  he,  coolly,  'what  more 
can  they  do  than  pluck  us?  It  will  be 
advisable  for  us  to  send  in  our  resignation 
to-morrow  from  tfre  service  of  fet  State, 


or  we  shall  hear  of  the  matter  in  a  way 
that  will  not  be  pleasant.  Our  career  in 
the  law  is  at  an  end.' 

"And  you  can  say  that  so  coolly?'  I 
exclaimed. 

"Yes,  with  all  the  coolness  in  the 
world  I  can  say  it.  I  am  not  in  tin-  least 
alarmed  about  the  future.  What  we  have 
just  been  doing  for  fun  we  can  do  in 
earnest;  and  if  you  only  stick  to  me, 
let  all  the  judges  in  creation  do  their 
worst,  and  what  need  we  care?  You 
see  that  we  can  make  a  better  living 
than  if  we,  were  already  on  the  judge's 
bench.' 

"I  must  confess  that  at  first  I  thought 
this  logic  conclusive;  but  when 'I  came 
to  reflect  on  what  my  mother  would  say 
when  she  learned  that  I  had  become  a 
tramp  musician,  while  she  expected  to  see 
me  a  lawyer,  a  cold  shiver  crept  over  me. 
Most  of  my  family  had  held  offices  for 
generations,  and  I  should  be  looked  upon 
as  a  degenerate  if  I  were  to  adopt  Ru- 
precht's  suggestion.  Whilst  we  were  dis- 
cussing the  matter  a  servant  brought  us 
a  note,  written  in  pencil,  to  the  following 
effect : 

"'Papa  has  recognized  you,  and  is 
wild.  After  the  concert  he  intends  to  call 
on  you  and  force  a  -confession  from  you 
and  your  friend.  Flee  at  once  if  you  can. 
Papa  has  no  witnesses,  and  I  'would  not 
speak  of  this  matter  for  the  world.  Mamma 

will  also  be  silent. 

ELFRIDA. 

"At  the  lower  left-hand  corner  of  the 
note  was  written:  •  'To  Lawyer  Ruprecht. 
Best  wishes.' 

"Yes,  my  dear  Madam,"  continued 
Amberg,  laughing,  "you  should,  have  seen 
the  smile  of  friend  Ruprecht  then,  as  he 
held  the  note  in  his  hand  and  remarked, 
oracularly : 

'"It  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  Provi- 
dence that  the  most  terrible  fathers  have 
the  sweetest  and  most  amiable  daughters. 
This  Elfrida,  daughter  of  the  "General 
Code,"  is  a  pearl  amongst  women.  See 
anxious  she  is  about  u,s,  If  the  old 


818 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


gentleman  had  any  hint  of  it,  I  believe  he 
would  disinherit  her.' 

"I  think  it  is  now  my  turn  to  take  up 
the  thread  of  the  narrative,  "said  Ruprecht, 
"as  the  part  to  come  concerns  me  and  my 
dear  wife;  and  thus  the  children  may 
know  how  it  all  came  about.  Will  you 
permit  me,  my  dear  Amberg?" 

"With  the  greatest  pleasure,"  answered 
the  visitor,  heartily.  "I  have  talked 
myself  dry,  and  now  I  shall  quietly  sip 
my  wine  whilst  you  speak." 

Ruprecht  hereupon  took  his  wife's 
hand,  which  he  continued  to  hold  during 
the  rest  of  the  narrative.  He  then  began: 

"I  had  several  times  met  Miss  Elfrida 
Baumgartner  in  company,  and  had  begun 
to  take  an  interest  in  her.  I  often  reflected 
that  she  was  more  to  me  than  any  other 
woman,  and  I  even  fancied  that  she  did 
not  look  upon  me  with  indifference.  But 
such  a  father  as  the  'General  Code'  was 
enough  to  frighten  any  young  man  from 
seeking  the  hand  of  his  daughter,  especially 
when  that  father  had  the  young  man 
under  his  authority. 

"When  I  received  Elfrida's  note,  I  was 
moved.  I  felt  as  if  the  misfortune  into 
which  we  had  fallen  was  not  so  bad  as 
it  seemed  at  first,  since  I  had  discovered 
that  Elfrida  was  interested  in  my  fate.  In 
the  note  of  warning  we  were  indeed  both 
included,  but  I  considered  that  I  had  the 
first  place.  I  saw  that  Elfrida  was  inter- 
ested for  both  of  us,  but  I  persuaded  myself 
that  it  was  more  than  a  friendly  interest 
which  she  took  in  me.  I  tore  a  leaf  out  of 
my  note-book  and  wrote: 

' '  I  must  speak  to  you  if  possible  this 
evening  in  the  garden  of  the  hotel,  were 
it  only  for  five  minutes.  My  heartiest 
thanks  for  the  kind  warning,  which  I 
shall  never  forget.' 

"I  charged  the  servant  most  strictly  to 
give  this  note  to  the  young  lady  privately. 
Then  we  went  on  with  the  second  part  of 
our  programme,  which  was  received  with 
enthusiastic  applause.  Immediately  after 
the  concert  we  hastened  to  our  room, 
and  five  minutes  afterward  the  servant 


brought  us  a  card,  with  the  message  that 
the  Judge  of  the  Final  Court  of  Appeals 
desired  to  speak  to  us.  We  boldly  sent 
back  word  that  we  had  not  the  honor  of 
knowing  that  eminent  gentleman;  that  we 
were  tired  out  after  the  concert;  more- 
over, we  were  not  accustomed  to  receive 
visits  at  so  unseasonable  an  hour;  but 
that  we  should  feel  highly  honored  if 
the  distinguished  Judge  would  favor  us 
with  his  visit  next  morning. 

"That  such  an  answer  would  not  soften 
the  Judge  we  very  well  knew.  But  what 
of  it?  Our  career  was  ruined;  for  the 
'General  Code'  knew  no  pity,  and  would 
denounce  us  to  the  president.  With  any 
other  man  we  might  have  had  a  chance 
to  explain.  We  would  have  made  known 
our  reasons  for  starting  on  our  concert 
tour;  we  should  perhaps  have  said,  'Pater, 
peccavi,'  and  suggested  that  as  a  penance 
we  be  sent  to  some  remote  provincial  town, 
and  the  matter  would  end  there.  But  with 
the  'General  Code'  there  was  no  defence 
and  no  appeal  to  be  hgped  for;  although 
indeed  he  was  a  member  of  the  highest 
Court  of  Appeals.  Fate  had  confronted 
us  with  the  one  amongst  our  superiors 
with  whom  there  was  least  chance. 

"After  we  had  declined  the  unwelcome 
visit,  I  slipped  into  the  garden,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  Miss  Elfrida  came  out 
through  the  back  door  of  the  hotel.  Her 
room  was  at  a  distance  from  tha.t  of 
her  parents,  and  thus  it  had  been  possible 
for  her  to  meet  me.  We  were  only  five 
minutes  together,  but  those  five  minutes 
determined  our  lives,  and  determined  them 
most  happily.  I  was  now  prepared,  if 
needs  be,  to  suffer  the  worst  blows  of 
fortune.  I  was  the  happiest  man  on  earth. 
I  begged  her  to  meet  me  next  morning  on 
the  same  spot  at  five  o'clock,  because  I 
must  speak  to  her  again  by  daylight;  and 
she  nodded  assent. 

"When  I  returned  to  our  room  and  saw 
my  dear  Amberg  sitting  there  with  such 
a  woe-begone  countenance,  I  could  not 
help  bursting  out  into  a  hearty  laugh. 
My  heart  was  swimming,  overflowing 


'THE  AV'E  MARIA 


819 


with  joy.  But  here  let  me  beg  Amberg  to 
resume  the  story;  for  he  can  better  de- 
scribe the  surprise  that  followed  during 
the  next  few  days." 

"You  are  right,"  replied  Amberg.  "It 
belongs  to  me  to  tell  of  that.  I  do  not 
know  that  I  was  ever  so  much  astonished 
in  my  life. 

"That  Ruprecht  had  a  meeting  with 
Miss  Elfrida  I  knew,  but  I  did  not  ask 
him  what  was  the  subject  of  their  inter- 
view; for  at  his  return  he  wore  a  strange 
look,  and  did  not  seem  inclined  to  talk. 
That  he  had  another  interview  with  her 
next  morning  I  did  not  know.  Neither 
did  he  refer  to  it  during  our  journey  back 
to  Breslau;  'in  fact,  we  spoke  but  little  on 
that  journey.  I  once  asked  him :  '  Shall  we 
send  in  our  resignation  from  the  courts 
as  soon  as  we  arrive?'  And  he  answered, 
with  a  laugh:  'Not  yet;  there  is  time 
enough.' 

"The  morning  after  our  arrival  in 
Breslau  there  appeared  in  the  local  news- 
paper— which  was  read  not  only  in  Breslau, 
but  throughout  the  entire  province, — the 
following  brief  notice  in  the  column  of 
family  news: 

' '  Elfrida    Baumgartner  —  Joseph    Ru- 
precht, engaged  to  be  married.' 

"For  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour  after 
reading  this  notice,  I  sat  with  the  paper 
in  my  hand,  doubting  whether  I  was 
dreaming.  And  yet  the  notice  was  really 
there.  It  could  not  help  being  there;  for 
friend  Ruprecht  had  carried  it  to  the 
printing-office  with  his  own  hands,  and 
had  paid  for  its  insertion. 

"This  sudden  engagement,  of  which 
even  Elfrida's  parents  knew  nothing,  was 
one  of  the  strokes  of  genius  by  which 
Ruprecht  sought  to  ward  off  any  proceed- 
ings that  the  'General  Code'  might  be 
disposed  to  take  against  us.  The  scene 
that  was  enacted  next  day  at  Flinsberg, 
when  the  notice  of  the  engagement  was 
received,  is  one  that  could  be  described 
only  by  the  amiable  daughter  herself. 
The  Judge  of  the  High  Court  of  Appeals 
stormed  at  the  rascally  trick  that  was 


played  on  him;  but  when  Miss  Elfrida 
told  him  that  the  notice  was  inserted 
with  her  consent,  and  that  she  insisted 
on  marrying  Ruprecht,  he  nearly  became 
frantic. 

"For  the  first  time  Judge  Baumgartner 
met  with  opposition  in  his  own  family, 
and  he  very  soon  discovered  that  his 
amiable  daughter  was  possessed  of  the 
same  spirit  as  himself.  In  vain  did  the 
mother  strive  to  mediate.  For  three  days 
he  stormed  and  raved  about  the  house 
like  one  deranged;  on  the  fourth  he 
started  back  to  Breslau  with  his  wife 
and  daughter;  on  the  fifth  he  called  on 
us  at  our  rooms,  and  on  the  afternoon  of 
the  same  day,  without  a  protest,  but 
smiling  and  dignified,  he  received  con- 
gratulations on  the  engagement  of  his 
daughter  to  such  a  promising  and  worthy 
young  man.  He  had  had  the  good  sense 
to  recognize  that  it  would  be  better  for 
him  to  yield  to  the  inevitable,  approve 
the  engagement,  and  be  discreetly  silent 
as  to  our  musical  escapade. 

"Ruprecht's  genius  had  triumphed. 
Two  years  afterward  he  stood  his  final 
examination,  and  then  married  our  dear 
friend.  I  had  passed  my  examination  at  the 
same  time,  and  in  fourteen  days  followed 
him  to  the  altar. 

"And  now,  children,  you  can  see  for 
yourselves  how"  providential  for  us  was 
that  tramp  through  Bohemia;  and  you  will 
understand  why  I  now  propose  the  toast: 

"The  ladies,  Madam  Elfrida  Ruprecht 
and  Madam  Paula  Amberg,  who  proved 
themselves  to  be  saving  angels  to  us  when 
we  were  in  hard  straits:  Long  life  to 
them,  long  life  to  them,  and  once  more 
long  life!" 

In  Holy  Communion. 


BY    SPEER    STRAHAN. 


j^ESU!    at  last  Thy  purpose  lies 
Revealed  more  clear  than  morning  skies: 
Wouldst  give  to  me,  the  sorriest  clod, 
Power  to  be  made  a  son  of  God. 


820 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


At  Memory's  Call. 


BY    PATRICK   J.    GIBBONS. 

I  CAN'T  see  why  the  guide-book  praised 
it  so  highly,"   Mrs.  Joyce  remarked 
to   her   husband,    as   the   side-car   carried 
the   pair   along   the   road   between   Achill 
Sound  and  Dugort. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Joyce  suggested 
that  the  scenery  was  good,  although  wild,  ' 
and  waved  his  arm  in  an  explanatory 
sweep  over  the  rolling  stretches  of  heather, 
now  gilded  by  the  sunlight  of  a  late  after- 
noon in  summer,  and  the  blue  distant 
summits  rising  against  the  horizon  from 
the  plain  of  Mayo. 

"I  suppose  that  must  be  it,"  Mrs. 
Joyce  admitted.  "There's  something  wild 
about  it.  It  makes  one  feel  almost  as  if 
one  were  abroad.  I  don't  think  I  should 
like  to  live  here." 

"No,"  her  husband  agreed;  "we  should 
never  feel  at  home  here.  Somehow, 
one  misses  the  green  fields  and  the  trees 
and  farms.  There's  a  look  of  comfort  at 
home  that  is  entirely  absent  in  Ireland." 

"I  was  just  thinking,"  Mrs.  Joyce 
continued,  "of  some  of  the  villages  round 
us, —  Midhurst  or  Revelstoke, —  the  neat, 
tidy  little  houses,  and  the  nice,  clean- 
looking  people." 

"It  is  indeed  a  contrast,  my  dear!" 
said  Mr.  Joyce.  "But  we  must  remember 
that  it  is  not  altogether  these  unfortunate 
people's  fault.  I  feel  very  sorry  for  them 
vvhen  I  see  the  dilapidated  cabins  they 
live  in  and  the  rags  they  wear.  At  the 
same  time  I  can  not  help  feeling  glad 
that  our  own  lot  is  cast  in  Wiltshire  and 
not  here." 

Mrs.  Joyce  pretended  to  shiver  a  little 
at  the  idea  that  Providence  might  have 
allotted  to  her  husband  and  herself  the 
care  of  souls  on  the  island  of  Achill. 
Then,  after  a  short  pause,  she  pursued 
her  train  of  thought  aloud. 

"It  seems  so  very  strange,"  she  said, 
"that  you  were  born  in  a  place  that  may 


have  been  something  like  this.  Of  course, 
I  have  never  been  in  Ireland  before,  so 
I  never  knew  what  it  was  like.  But  now, 
somehow,  it's  strange  to  think  of  you  as 
a  child  in  one  of  these  villages." 

Her  husband  smiled  as  he  reassured  her. 

"My  parents  were  in  a  humble  position, 
as  you  know,  dear,"  he  said;  "but  they 
were  never  so  poor  as  the  people  here, 
limerick  is  a  richer  county  than  Mayo; 
and  I  thank  God  that  they  could  always 
give  me  good  food  to  eat  and  good  clothes 
to  wear." 

"Anyhow,"  observed  Mrs.  Joyce,  "I'm 
glad  they  left  Ireland  when  you  were  so 
young.  Why,  you  might  have  an  Irish 
brogue  like  that  funny  clergyman  we 
met  in  Dublin,  or  you  might  have  been 
brought  up  a  Roman  Catholic!" 

"Very  true,"  said  Mr.  Joyce.  "And 
then  I  should  never  have  got  my  scholar- 
ship and  gone  to  the  diocesan  college 
or  met  your  father,  and  we  shouldn't 
be  here  together  now.  Indeed  I  have 
much  for  which  to  be  thankful." 

He  sighed  as  he  spoke  and  turned  to 
look  at  a  flock  of  curlew  that  rose  scream- 
ing before  them,  roused  by  the  noise  of 
the  vehicle.  They  had  driven  some  little 
distance  before  Mrs.  Joyce  returned  to 
the  subject  again.  When  she  did  so,  her 
words  showed  that  she  was  regarding  it 
from  a  slightly  different  aspect. 

"It's  strange,  too,"  she  remarked,  "that 
you  have  never  come  back  before  to  see 
the  place  where  you  were  born.  Of  course, 
one  wouldn't  like  to  live  over  here,  but 
one  might  well  come  back  to  see  the  place." 

"Strange  in  a  way,  my  dear!"  replied 
Mr.  Joyce.  "But  I  was  so  young  when 
we  left  Ireland  that  I  have  scarcely  any 
recollection  of  our  old  life  in  Limerick; 
and  I  imagine  that  I  should  not  have 
much  in  common  with  my  relatives  who 
remained.  So  I  have  never  crossed  St. 
George's  Channel  till  now  that  we  have 
come  on  this  trip  together." 

Mrs.  Joyce  was  still  a  little  perplexed. 

"But,"  she  continued,  "did  your  father 
never  pay  a  visit  to  his  old  home?" 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


821 


"No,"  said  her  husband,  "never.  I 
don't  think  he  liked  to  be  reminded  of 
his  life  in  Ireland.  I  remember  once, 
when  I  was  quite  a  little  lad  (whatever 
put  it  into  my  head),  asking  him  whether 
he  had  not  been  a  Roman  Catholic  once. 
Some  of  the  boys  at  school  must  have 
told  me  to  ask  him.  But  I  shall  always 
remember  it,  because  it  was  the  only  time 
I  knew  him  to  be  angry  with  me.  He  said 
nothing,  but  I  remember  the  expression 
of  his  face  and  my  mother  telling  me 
not  to  ask  questions.  Then  afterwards  I 
remember  seeing  her  crying,  though  I 
didn't  know  what  I  had  done  wrong." 

Mrs.  Joyce  looked  solemn,  though  she 
felt  rather  pleasantly  mystified. 

"How  thankful  we  should  be,"  she 
remarked,  "that  they  came  to  know  the 
truth!  His  religion  must  have  been  a 
great  consolation  to  your  poor  father  in 
the  years  after  your  mother  had  passed 
away." 

"It  seemed  everything  to  him,"  the 
clergyman  answered,  "until  the  day  he 
went  to  his  Master.  I  well  remember 
in  his  last  illness  how  I  used  to  go  into 
his  room  and  find  him  praying.  vSometimes 
I  used  to  pray  with  him,  but  at  other 
times  he  appeared  not  to  want  me.  It 
seemed  as  though  he  wished  to  be  alone 
with  the  lyord." 

The  horse  was  walking,  as  the  road  lay 
uphill;  and  the  driver  got  down  from 
his  seat  and  walked  by  its  head.  Mr. 
Joyce  remarked  in  a  lower  voice: 

"There  was  one  curious  thing.  I  re- 
member, a  few  days  before  he  died,  as  I 
was  going  to  his  room,  I  heard  him  making 
a  queer  noise,  like  a  child  crying.  I  couldn't 
make  out  all  that  he  was  saying,  but  I 
distinctly  heard  the  phrases,  'Jesus,  have 
mercy!'  and  'Mary  help!" 

"He  must  have  been  delirious,"  Mrs. 
Joyce  suggested. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  her  husband. 
"But  afterwards,  when  they  had  taken 
him  away  for  the  funeral,  I  found  some 
things  under  his  pillow, — some  cheap 
beads  like  the  ones  we  saw  in  that  shop 


in  Dublin,  and  a  little  medal  with  a  picture 
on  it  of  the  Virgin  Mary.  He  must  have 
kept  them  for  some  reason.  Of  course  I 
burned  them." 

For  some  time  they  drove  on  without 
speaking.  The  sun  sank  a  little  lower, 
and  the  shadows  grew  longer  upon  the 
hill.  A  curlew  cried  in  the  distance, 
and  a  breeze  rustled  softly  among  the 
heather.  Then  these  noises  died  away 
into  a  summer  evening's  silence.  And 
upon  the  silence  there  broke  the  sound  of 
a  bell, — faint,  intermittent,  tenuous.  To 
Mrs.  Joyce  it  brought  the  reflection  that 
the  bell  in  the  church  at  home  had  a  fuller 
and  mellower  peal;  she  wondered  too, 
rather  vaguely,  why  the  bell  was  ringing 
on  a  Thursday,  and  what  sort  of  an 
Evensong  Roman  Catholics  were  likely 
to  have.  To  her  husband  it  brought  a 
different  vision, — the  vision  of  a  little 
room  with  a  dresser  and  a  mud  floor  and 
sods  of  turf  upon  the  hearth;  of  a  man 
whose  laughter  grew  still  at  the  distant 
sound  of  a  bell,  and  whose  lips  moved  in 
words  long  forgotten;  of  a  woman  whose 
hand  stroked  a  little  boy's  head  as  she, 
too,  murmured  something.  And  almost 
the  words  rose  to  his  lips,  and  something 
stirred  in  him  that  he  did  not  understand. 
In  another  minute  he  would  remember. .  . . 

He  started  as  his  wife  spoke  to  him, 
and  had  to  ask  her  to  repeat  what  she 
had  said. 

"I  told  you,  dear,"  Mrs.  Joyce  replied, 
"that,  although  the  evening  is  warm, 
the  breeze  is  inclined  to  be  chilly,  and 
you  should  be  careful  about  leaving  your 
head  bare." 

The  clergyman  looked  absent-mindedly 
at  the  hat  in  his  hand,  and  replaced  it  on 
his  head. 

"Now,  I  wonder,"  he  said,  "why  I 
did  that.  I  scarcely  knew  that  I  had 
taken  off  my  hat  at  all." 


MEN  of  genius  are  often  dull  and  inert 
in  society,  as  the  blazing  meteor  when  it 
descends  to  earth  is  only  a  stone. 

—Longfellow. 


822 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


The  Aim  of  the  €hirrch. 


IT  has  been  well  said  that  learned 
arguments  are  less  needed  nowadays 
than  clear  and  accurate  statements  of 
:the  doctrines,  practices,  and  aims  of 
;the  Church.  The  direct  exposition  of 
Christianity  ruins  beforehand  all  the 
(objections  brought  against  it.  Catholic 
truth  is  its  own  best  evidence:  is  more 
persuasive  than  any  logic  with  which 
the  human  mind  is  able  to  reinforce  it. 
"If  we  follow  the  preaching  of  the  Gospel 
from  the  beginning  to  the  present  day," 
says  the  Abbe  Hogan,  "we  shall  find 
that  clear  statement  and  unhesitating 
affirmation,  supported  by  the  life  of  the 
preacher,  have  done  more  to  implant 
and  spread  the  faith  all  over  the  world 
than  all  the  arguments  and  all  the 
miracles  which  have  been  put  forth  in 
support  of  it."  And  Cardinal  Newman 
remarks,  "some  are  touched  and  over- 
come by  the  evident  sanctity,  beauty,  and 
(as  I  may  say)  fragrance  of  the  Catholic 
Religion.  Or  they  long  for  a  guide  amidst 
the  strife  of  tongues;  and  the  very 
doctrine  of  the  Church  about  faith,  which 
is  so  hard  to  many,  is  conviction  to 
them."  To  believe  in  the  Gospel  implies 
a  certain  condition  of  mind — a  moral 
temper  fitting  the  soul  to  receive,  to 
welcome,  and  to  retain  it.  "Evidence 
is  not  the  sole  foundation  on  which 
faith  is  built." 

If  there  is  one  subject  more  than 
another  on  which  clear  and  accurate 
statement  is  required  in  our  day,  it  is  the 
aim  of  the  Church.  We  have  received  so 
many  temporal  blessings  at  her  hands, 
she  has  done  so  much  for  art  and 
literature  and  science,  that,  unconsciously 
to  ourselves  we  often  act  on  the  suppo- 
sition that  she  has  a  mission  to  make 
this  world  a  more  comfortable  and 
delightful  place  to  live  in;  whereas, 
were  it  riot  for  some  spiritual  good 
beyond  them,  the  Church  would  never 
concern  herself  with  material  things. 
Order,  tranquillity,  popular  content- 


ment,  plenty,  prosperity,  advance  in 
arts  and  sciences,  literature,  refinement, 
splendor,  —  this  is  the  elysium  of  the 
worldling.  And  Christ  declared  that 
His  kingdom  was  not  of  this  world. 
The  Church,  whatever  may  be  supposed 
to  the  contrary,  has  one  and  one  only 
aim — to  save  immortal  souls. 

The  office  of  the  Church  has  seldom 
been  more  eloquently  and  exactly  defined 
.  than  in  a  sermon  delivered  in  Rome  some 
years  ago  by  the  late  Archbishop  vSpalding. 
We  quote  the  passage  as  an  example  of 
the  exposition  so  much  needed  in  our 
day  and  country: 

Christ  did  not  send  His  Apostles  to  teach  all 
knowledge,  but  to  teach  His  religion, — to  teach 
the  worship  of  God  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  in 
lowliness  of  mind  and  purity  of  heart,  as  men 
who  hunger  and  thirst  for  righteousness.  In  all 
that  concerns  the  religious  life  the  Church  has 
the  office  of  Christ,  represents  Him  and  speaks 
with  His  authority;  and  to  enable  her  to  do 
this  with  infallible  certainty,  the  Holy  Ghost  was 
sent  and  abides  with  her.  But  Christ  did  not 
teach  literature,  philosophy,  history  or  science; 
and  consequently  He  did  not  establish  His  Church 
to  teach  these  things.  He  founded  a  Church,  not 
an  academy.  .  .  . 

God  doubtless  might  have  made  known  from 
the  beginning  all  the  truths  of  science;  but  this 
was  not  part  of  the  divine  economy.  .  .  .  The 
philosophy  and  the  science  of  Plato  and  Aristotle 
had  been  in  the  world  for  three  centuries  when 
Jesus  Christ  came,  but  He  made  no  allusion 
whatever  to  them.  He  neither  praised  nor 
blamed  these  great  masters  of  all  who  know.  .  .  . 
He  came  to  bring  immortal  faith  and  shope 
and  love  to  man.  .  .  .  He  denounces  greed  and 
lust  and  indifference  and  heartlessness;  but  He 
does  not  warn  against  the  desire  to  know,  the 
desire  to  upbuild  one's  being  on  every  side, — to 
become  more  and  more  like  unto  God  in  power, 
in  wisdom,  in  goodness  and  in  beauty. 

If  he  who  makes  two  blades  of  grass 
grow  upon  a  spot  where  only  one  grew 
before  be  accounted  a  benefactor  in  his 
day  and  generation,  what  praise  shall 
be  commensurate  for  those  who  in  an 
age  of  doubt  and  yearning  for  spiritual 
realities  do  all  in  their  power  to  afford 
clear  and  accurate  statements  of  the 
doctrines,  practices,  and  aims  of  God's 
unchanging  Church? 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


823 


To  the  Catholic  Laity. 


ON  the  principle,  we  suppose,  that 
good  advice,  in  order  to  be  effective, 
must  be  frequently  repeated,  Archbishop 
Ireland  never  tires  of  exhorting  Catholics 
to  take  part  with  our  separated  brethren 
in  all  national,  moral,  intellectual  and 
social  movements.  He  declares  that 
English-speaking  Catholics  have  got  into 
the  habit  of  being  very  quiet,  and  that  the' 
time  has  come  to  assert  themselves,  and  to 
exert  in  every  way  possible  the  great 
influence  for  good  which  it  is  now  in  their 
power  to  wield.  To  quote: 

There  are  thousands  of  things  to  be  done 
which  priests  and  bishops  can  not  do.  There 
are  thousands  of  things  to  be  known  which 
priests  and  bishops  alone  can  not  know.  You 
are  out  in  the  world.  You  see  what  has  to  be 
done,  and  you  must  do  it  without  waiting 
to  report  back  to  headquarters  that  here  and 
there  some  service  to  religion  may  be  rendered. 
Do  it  first  and  report  it  after  you  have  done  it. 
By  your  example  you  preach  a  hundred  times 
better  to  the  country  at  large  than  we  can 
from  the  pulpit.  Your  'fellow-citizens  will  not 
come  to  hear  us;  they  will  see  you.  And  if  they 
find  in  you  the  true  Christian  faith,  find  in  you 
the  honorable  man,  find  in  you  the  true  citizen 
and  the  devoted  patriot,  they  will  say  that  the 
Church  serves  some  great  purpose. 

Wise  and  true,  earnest  and  timely  as 
are  these  words  of  Archbishop  Ireland, 
they  are  but  a  repetition  of  what  has 
often  been  said  by  other  prelates.  Our 
readers  can  not  have  forgotten  a  famous 
address  by  the  late  Bishop  Hedley,  in 
which  he  said:  "It  is  not  so  much  the 
weakness  of  the  clergy  or  mere  sin  or 
war  or  plague  that  has  so  often  brought 
stupendous  evil  on  the  kingdom  of  God; 
but  the  supineness,  the  cowardice,  the 
indifference  of  a  laity,  who,  had  they 
taken  counsel  and  stood  firm  and  showed 
their  teeth,  might,  over  and  over  again, 
have  stopped  the  beginning  of  troubles 
which  afterwards  grew  to  such  tremendous 
proportions."  But  Bishop  Hedley  did  not 
fail  to  insist  upon  a  principle  so  often  laid 
down  by  Leo  XIII.— viz.,  that  the  laity, 
in  their  work  for  the  Church,  should  ta.ke 
their  direction  from  her  pastorate. 


Notes  and  Remarks. 

The  right  note  is  struck  in  the  opening 
paragraph  of  the  latest  bulletin  (No.  13) 
of  the  World  Conference  on  Faith  and 
Order.  It  reads:  "The  world-wide  interest 
in  the  World  Conference  on  Faith  and 
Order,  as  the  best  means  to  prepare  the 
way  for  constructive  efforts  for  the  visible 
reunion  of  Christians,  is  steadily  increasing; 
and  more  and  more  clearly  it  is  seen  that 
the  task  is  beyond  human  strength,  and 
that  the  immediate  need  is  earnest  prayer 
for  God's  guidance  of  the  movement." 
An  increase  of  interest  in  so  praiseworthy 
a  movement,  and  a  fuller  realization  of 
the  fact  that  its  success  can  come  only 
from  the  Source  of  its  inspiration,  are 
matter  for  rejoicing  to  all  who  bear  the 
Christian  name.  No  Catholic  in  the  United 
States,  we  feel  sure,  will  disregard  the 
appeal  issued  by  the  Commission  appointed 
by  the  American  Episcopal  Church  "for 
an  outpouring  by  Christians  of  every 
communion  and  in  every  part  of  the 
world,  of  prayer  that  God,  through  the 
Holy  Spirit,  will  fill  our  hearts  and  minds 
with  the  desire  for  the  visible  manifesta- 
tion of  our  unity  in  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord; 
and  will  so  turn  our  wills  to  obedience  to 
Him  that,  in  oneness  of  faith  and  purpose, 
we  may  labor  for  the  establishment  of 
His  kingdom  of  peace  and  righteousness 
and  love.  While  our  divisions  still  prevent 
the  bringing  together  in  one  place  of  all 
the  Christians  in  each  neighborhood  for 
united  prayer,  it  would  be  possible  for 
them  all  to  pray  at  the  same  time  and  for 
the  same  purpose." 

The  Commission  requests  all  who  have 
been  baptized  into  the  name  of  Christ 
to  begin  to  prepare  now  for  the  observance 
of  the  eight  days  beginning  with  January 
1 8  through  January  25,  1918,  as  a  season 
for  special  prayer  for  the  reunion  of 
Christendom,  "and  for  the  blessing  and 
guidance  of  all  efforts  for  that  end,  in- 
cluding especially  the  attempt  to  be  made 
in  the  World  Conference  on  Faith  and 
Order  to  bring  Christians  to  such  atl 


824 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


understanding  and  appreciation  of  one 
another  that  the  way  may  be  open  for 
increased  effort  in  the  way  of  constructive 
work  for  reunion." 

It  is  gratifying  to  note  that  the  words 
of  our  Blessed  Lord  at  the  Last  Supper, 
when  He  prayed  for  unity  among  His 
followers,  remain  the  motto  (printed  in 
Greek,  Latin,  and  English)  of  the  World 
Conference  on  Faith  and  Order.  "That 
they  all  may  be  one;  as  Thou,  Father,  art 
in  Me,  and  I  in  Thee,  that  they  also  may 
be  one  in  Us ;  that  the  world  may  believe 
that  Thou  hast  sent  Me." 


The  Knights  of  Columbus,  who  did  so 
much  last  year  for  the  spiritual  benefit 
and  comfort  of  their  Catholic  brethren 
in  the  National  Guard  on  the  Mexican 
Border,  have  already  taken  action  in  the 
matter  of  providing  recreation  centres  at 
all  the  principal  concentration  camps, 
and  furnishing  support  for  chaplains  to 
minister  to  our  Catholic  soldiers.  This 
second  item,  as  we  understand  it,  means 
that  where  the  regular  military  chaplain 
is  not  a  priest  receiving  a  salary  from  the 
Government,  a  supernumerary  chaplain 
will  be  provided  and  his  support  guar- 
anteed by  the  Knights.  That  the  exec- 
utive officers  of  the  Order  realize  the 
magnitude  of  the  work  and  its  urgent  need 
is  evident  from  their  call  upon  the  members 
to  raise  at  once  the  sum  of  a  million  dollars. 
No  one  familiar  with  the  energy  and 
devotedness  that  has  characterized  the 
Knights  in  other  emergencies  will  doubt 
the  speedy  achievement  of  their  purpose. 
*** 

Another  important  matter  of  which  the 
Knights  of  Columbus  are  unlikely  to 
lose  sight  is  the  collection  of  data  show- 
ing what  American  Catholics  are  doing 
at  this  time  to  prove  their  patriotism. 
vStatistics  of  enlistment,  instances  of  prac- 
tical co-operation  with  the  Government 
in  the  execution  of  war  plans,  and  the  like, 
will  be  especially  valuable.  Of  patriotic 
pastorals,  printed  speeches,  resolutions, 
etc.,  there  is  already  a  superabundance, 


The  record  of  what  we  did  rather  than 
of  what  we  said  will  be  most  effective 
when  the  bigots  come  forward  again 
after  the  war  —  they  are  in  silence  and 
retirement  now — and  accuse  us  of  un- 
Americanism,  opposition  to  republican- 
ism, etc.  Among  these  worthies  are  many 
whose  prejudice  is  quite  as  inveterate 
as  their  ignorance.  With  this  class  of 
citizens  Catholics  are  naturally  under  the 
suspicion  of  a  lack  of  patriotism,  on 
account  of  constantly  protesting  that  we 
are  nothing  if  not  patriotic. 


The  most  notable  of  recent  conversions 
to  the  Church  at  home  or  abroad  is  that 
of  the  Rev.  Dr.  John  C.  Cox,  F.  S.  A., 
one  of  the  most  learned  archaeologists  of 
our  time,  whose  books  and  other  writings 
have  often  been  referred  to  and  quoted 
by  us.  A  complete  list  of  them  would 
doubtless  be  a  surprise  even  to  himself. 
He  is  a  recognized  authority  in  every 
field  where  he  has  labored,  and  his  works 
are  praised  as  models  of  industry,  honesty, 
and  painstaking.  Though  particularly 
gratifying,  the  submission  to  the  Church 
of  this  distinguished  scholar  is  no  surprise 
to  us.  A  Ipng  time  ago  we  noted  his 
fairness  in  dealing  with  Catholic  subjects, 
and  his  disposition  to  "tell  the  whole 
truth,"  regardless  of  what  offence  he  might 
give  or  what  blame  he  might  incur.  In 
the  learned  journals  of  which  he  has,  been 
editor,  or  to  which  he  is  still  a  valued 
contributor,  Dr.  Cox  has  repeatedly  ex- 
pressed appreciation  of  the  great  ser- 
vices rendered  to  the  cause  of  historical 
truth  by  Cardinal  Gasquet,  and  the  new 
convert's  path  to  Rome  was  doubtless 
made  clearer  by  light  thrown  upon  it 
by  his  eminent  colaborer. 


To  conserve  the  food  supply  "for  us 
and  for  our  Allies,  and  to  reduce  the  cost 
of  living  to  our  own  people," — this  state- 
ment embodies  the  purpose  of  Mr.  Herbert 
Hoover's  gigantic  task,  for  the  due  per- 
formance of  which  he  asks  the  enlightened 
co-operation  of  all  American  citizens, 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


825 


Needless  to  say,  the  object  is  a  worthy 
one.  The  cost  of  living  has  advanced 
so  much  that  the  actual  law  of  the  land 
seems  about  to  be  invoked  to  regulate 
matters.  The  threat  of  punishment  to  the 
food  speculator  meets  with  hearty  popular 
indorsement,  but  there  is  another  side  to 
the  problem  which  is  not  likely  to  be  so 
warmly  welcomed.  It  is  this, — that  the 
individual  citizen  who  wastes  food  is  a 
menace  to  the  general  public.  On  this 
point  Mr.  Hoover  remarks:  "The  waste 
in  food  amounts  at  least  to  fifty  dollars 
a  year  for  every  family  in  America.  The 
waste  of  a  single  ounce  of  food  each  day 
in  every  home  means  a  yearly  waste  of 
nearly  500,000,000  pounds  of  food.  The 
waste  of  a  single  slice  of  bread  each  day 
in  every  home  means  the  daily  waste  of 
1,000,000  loaves  of  bread.  The  thousand 
million  dollars  of  needless  waste  which 
thus  takes  place  yearly  in  the  households 
of  America  can  and  should  be  stopped." 
This  truth  must  be  driven  home  to  the 
householder.  We  can  not  expect  the  bless- 
ing of  a  bountiful  Providence  when  we  are 
so  reckless  with  that  bounty. 


The  field  for  Catholic  activities  has 
become  notably  enlarged  by  reason  of 
our  country's  entrance  into  the  Great 
War.  In  a  hundred  and  one  different 
spheres  of  social  and  religious  endeavor 
there  are  opportunities  without  end  for 
doing  effective  service  to  such  of  our 
coreligionists  as  have  answered  the  call 
of  patriotism  and  enlisted  in  army  or 
navy.  A  pamphlet  by  Dr.  M.  J.  Exner, 
dealing  with  the  social  evil  in  its  relation 
to  the  army  on  the  Mexican  Border, 
calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  much 
of  the  immorality  attendant  on  camp  life 
arises  from  the  loneliness  of  the  soldier. 
Commenting  on  this  fact  the  Ccntral- 
Verein  declares: 

,Now,  right  here  is  the  key  to  a  most  timely 
and  effective  means  of  combating  the  forces  of 
immorality.  We  can,  all  of  us,  attack  immorality 
by  attacking  and  minimizing  this  loneliness. 
In  all  the  cities  and  communities  where  our 


soldiers  will  be  mobilized  or  stationed,  our 
Catholic  clubs  and  societies  should  make  it  a 
point  to  throw  open  the  privileges  and  social 
and  recreational  facilities  of  their  club-rooms 
or  meeting  quarters.  A  little  judicious  adver- 
tising of  the  fact  that  their  rooms  are  at  the 
disposal  of  soldier  visitors  will  bring  a  goodly 
stream  of  the  boys. 

Lack  of  sociability  among  Catholics 
has  more  than  once  been  condemned 
as  an  all  top  common  error  of  conduct; 
but  it  may  well  be  hoped  that  such  of 
our  people  as  have  the  opportunity  of 
aiding  soldiers  and  sailors  in  this  impor- 
tant matter  may  throw  off  their  lethargy 
or  indifference  and  develop  some  genuine 
zeal  in  so  excellent  a  work. 


The  advent  of  war  and  the  conscription 
which  it  has  necessitated  have  given  a 
new  application  to  the  homely  proverb, 
"What  is  sauce  for  the  goose  is  sauce  for 
the  gander," — the  goose  in  the  present 
case  being  man,  and  the  gander  money. 
In  this  country  where  conscription  is  a 
fact,  and  in  Canada  where  it  promises 
soon  to  become  a  fact,  the  plain  people 
are  reasoning  very  much  as  they  have 
been  doing  for  some  time  in  England. 
The  argument  is  apt  to  take  this  form, 
quoted  from  the  London  Catholic  Times, 
a  journal  that  will  not  be  accused  of 
socialistic  or  ultra-radical  views: 

Men  are  taken  for  the  war.  Why  not  money? 
It  is  glaringly  unjust  and  disgraceful  that  the 
Government  should  allow  certain  people  to 
make  fortunes  out  of  the  necessities  of  the 
relations  of  the  soldiers  who  are  fighting  and 
dying  to  protect  this  country  and  the  property, 
and  wealth  of  the  rich  men  in  this  country. 
What  equality  of  sacrifice  during  this  war 
is  there  in  the  case  of  a  poor  man  who  loses  his 
life  in  the  trenches  and  a  rich  man  who  gains  a 
fortune  at  home  in  his  office? 

That  the  outcry  against  this  inequality 
in  England  has  not  been  without  effect 
is  clear  from  the  statement  of  Mr.  Bonar 
Law,  who  recently  told  the  House  of 
Commons  'that,  if  the  war  lasted  a  long 
time  and  money  could  be  got  in  no  other 
way,  the  Government  would  not  hesitate 
to  conscribe  it  at  once.  Similarly,  we  pre- 


£26 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


sume,  should  the  war  endure  for  yet 
another  year,  our  own  Government  will 
not  hesitate  to  levy  on  wealth  a  tax  that 
will  bring  home  to  the  rich  the  realization 
that  war  means,  for  them  as  for  poor 
people,  genuine  sacrifice. 

The  example  of  Luigi  Conaro  (he  of  the 
sober  and  temperate  life),  who  restricted 
himself  to  twelve  ounces  of  food  and 
fourteen  ounces  of  wine  daily,  and  lived 
to  be  over  ninety,  ought  to  appeal  to 
people  nowadays.  He  inveighed  against 
banquets  as  disgraceful  and  fatal  as  real 
battles;  and  used  to  declare  that,  after 
sin,  overeating  was  the  greatest  evil  in  the 
world.  His  vigor  in  extreme  old  age  was 
so  great  that  he  was  constrained,  he  tells 
us,  to  chant  his  prayers  instead  of  saying 
them  in  a  low  and  subdued  tone,  as  was 
his  custom  in  feeble  youth.  And  this 
amiable  old  Doge  of  Venice  was  no  idler, 
spending  all  his  time  in  the  care  of  his 
health.  Besides  being  an  industrious 
author,  he  was  a  lawyer,  musician,  archi- 
tect, and  agriculturist,  and  did  much  to 
better  the  condition  of  workmen  all  over 
the  country.  He  had  the  reputation  of 
being  one  of  the  best  of  Christians  and 
citizens,  a  most  devoted  husband,  parent, 
and  friend.  He  had  become  famous  long 
before  his  death,  which  was  mourned  as 
that  of  a  benefactor  of  mankind. 

Conaro  witnessed  the  rise  and  spread 
of  the  Reformation,  having  been  long  past 
his  prime  when  Luther  burned  the  Pope's 
Bull  at  Wittenberg.  He  used  to  say  that 
the  three  evils  of  Lutheranism — flattery, 
drunkenness,  and  gluttony — had  all  come 
into  Italy  within  his  memory. 

A  form  of  Catholic  charity  which  in 
the  fullest  sense  "blesseth  him  that  gives 
and  him  that  takes"  is  advocated  by  the 
Queen's  Work, — the  adoption  of  Catholic 
orphans.  Not  all  Catholics  who  love 
children  are  blessed  with  a  family,  and 
many  fathers  and  mothers  whose  own 
children  have  grown  up  and  left  their 
home  would  be  far  happier  than  they  are 


if  childish  prattle  and  laughter  made 
music  in  the  silent  rooms.  As  our  contem- 
porary well  says:  "To  have  a  child  in  the 
house  keeps  one  from  growing  old;  and 
those  who  adopt  a  little  one  find  their  own 
youth  renewed  in  watching  the  budding 
.beauties  of  its  heart  and  mind.  Some 
good  folks  are  deterred  from  adopting  a 
child  by  the  fear  that  it  will  turn  out 
badly  and  inherit  the  faults  and  vices 
of  its  parents.  But  experience  shows 
that  training  is  more  than  heredity;  and 
so,  if  you  take  a  little  one  when  it  is  an 
innocent  babe,  you  can  form  its  heart 
and  mind  according  to  the  ideals  of  the 
Catholic  faith." 

That  the  present  or  the  immediate 
future  is  likely  to  prove  an  especially 
opportune  time  for  the  practice  of  this 
excellent  charity  is  an  obvious  corollary 
of  our  being  at  war;  and  even  if  no  other 
destitute  children  are  added  to  the  numbers 
now  enrolled  in  our  orphan  asylums,  there 
is  abundant  scope  for  the  co-operation  of 
the  charitable  laity. 

The  sudden,  though  not  unexpected, 
death  of  the  Rt.  Rev.  James  McFaul  will 
be  widely  mourned  outside  of  the  diocese 
of  Trenton,  of  which  he  had  been  bishop  for 
twenty-three  years.  A  prelate  of  boundless 
zeal  and  indefatigable  energy,  he  never 
spared  himself  in  promoting  the  interests 
of  religion ;  and  his  death  was  undoubtedly 
hastened  by  his  unwearied  labors.  In  re- 
spites from  routine  work  he  was  always 
busy  with  his  pen;  and,  besides  pastorals, 
historical  and  biographical  essays,  wrote 
many  timely  and  useful  articles  for  the 
daily  press.  An  earnest  arid  practical 
preacher,  he  never  failed  to  make  a  deep 
impression  on  his  hearers.  Besides  his 
solicitous  care  of  a  large  diocese,  Bishop 
McFaul  rendered  inestimable  service  to 
the  Church  by  his  labors  in  behalf  of 
American  Catholic  Federation,  the  im- 
portance of  which  he  was  one  of  the  first 
to  recognize,  and  the  success  of  which  is 
largely  due  to  his  zealous  efforts.  May 
he  rest  in  peace! 


Come  to  Me! 


§HY  Visitation,   Mother  dear! 
Ah,  wilt  thou  come  to  me? 
I  long  like  St.  Elizabeth 
Thy  loving  face  to  sec. 

Across  the  mountains  must  thou  come 
To  reach  my  wilful  heart; 

And  yet  at  thy  dear  Son's  one  word 
Those  mountains  would  depart. 

The  heights  of  sin  and  waywardness 
Keep  thee  from  me  away; 

O  Mother,  ask  thy  Son's  sweet  help, 
And  come  to  me  this  day! 


Con  of  Misty  Mountain. 


BY    MARY    T.    WAGGAMAN. 


XXVI. — WITH  GRANDMOTHER  AND  FRIENDS. 

HE  great  library  of  Elmwood 
was  flooded  with  the  fading 
sunlight.  It  brightened  the 
filmy  folds  of  the  lace,  curtains,  fell  upon 
the  books,  the  statues,  the  tapestries;  it 
trembled  through  the  fragrant  shadows  of 
the  conservatory,  spanned  the  fountain 
with  broken  rainbows,  and  kindled  the 
smiling  face  of  the  boy  of  the  picture 
into  glow  and  life.  But  it  seemed  to  pale 
pitifully  as  it  fell  upon  the  bowed  white- 
haired  woman  that  was  seated  in  the 
cushioned  chair  before  the  portrait,  her 
trembling  hands  clasped  upon  the  gold- 
headed  cane  needed  to  support  her  fal- 
tering steps.  The  mistress  of  Elmwood 
was  not  yet  seventy,  but  sorrow  and 
remorse  had  aged  her  far  beyond  her  years. 
The  worn,  weary  face,  the  sunken,  yet 
restless  eyes,  were  those  of  one  to  whom 
life  had  grown  a  burden  almost  too  heavy 
to  bear.  She  lifted  her  head  at  the  sound 
of  a  footfall  beside  her. 


"Eunice,"  she  said, — "Eunice,  I  feared 
you  were  gone!  You  were  so  long  away 
this  morning  I  grew  nervous,  I — I  am 
nervous  still.  Stay  by  me,  child,  don't 
leave  me  again.  I  feel  as  if  something 
was  coming  upon  me,  —  illness,  death 
perhaps,  Eunice." 

"Oh,  no,  dear  Madam!"  was  the  cheery 
answer.  "The  doctor  was  here  yesterday, 
you  know,  and  found  you  very  well." 

"The  doctor,  poufT!"  said  the  old 
lady,  scornfully.  "What  does  he  know 
of  the  things  that  kill, — breaking  hearts, 
ruined  lives,  darkened  souls!  He  can  not 
cure  them,  Eunice.  He  can  not  give  back 
peace  and  hope  and  love  when  they  arc 
lost, — forever  lost." 

"No,  he  can  not,  dear  Madam!"  (Miss 
Rayson  had  taken  her  stand  behind  the  old 
lady  and  was  gently  smoothing  her  brow 
and  hair.)  "But  there  is  One  who  can." 
"Not  now,  Eunice, —  not  even  if  I 
dared  ask  Him.  It  is  too  late!" 

"Ah,  dear  Madam,  no!  It  is  never 
too  late  for  God's  pity  and  mercy," 
was  the  low  reply. 

"It  is  too  late  for  me,"  continued  the 
old  Madam,  harshly.  "His  judgment 
is  upon  me  rightly,  justly,  Eunice.  I 
have  been  hard,  cold,  pitiless,  unforgiving. 
I  shut  love,  even  the  holiest,  purest,  out 
of  my  heart,  my  life, — a  mother's  love. 
And  I  have  been  punished  as  I  deserve, 
Eunice:  left  lonely,  friendless,  loveless." 
She  paused,  and  then  went  on  more  calmly: 
"I — I  had  a  letter  from  Arthur  to-day, 
asking  for  money  again.  It  is  always 
money,  money!  I  have  been  generous, 
more  than  generous,  to  him.  I  have 
given  him  a  son's  place  in  the  past,  in 
the  future;  and  yet — yet  I  feel  there 
is  no  warmth  in  his  heart-  for  me.  Why 
does  he  stay  in  a  strange  land,  Eunice? 
Why  does  he  not  return  to  cheer,  to 
brighten  my  old  age?" 


828 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


"Because  —  because  he  is  ungrateful, 
unworthy!"  Eunice  broke  out  indig- 
nantly. "Forgive  me,  dear  Madam,  but — 
but  it  is  the  truth.  He  is  all  undeserv- 
ing of  your  kindness  and  affection." 

"Affection!"  echoed  the  old  lady, 
grimly.  "We  won't  call  it  that,  Eunice. 
He  is  the  rightful  heir  to  the  Nesbitt 
fortune,  and  I  treat  him  as  such;  but  it 
is  not  affection,  child.  I  wish  it  were. 
I  have  a  soft  place  in  my  heart  for  you; 
but  to  all  the  rest  of  the  world  it  is  dead 
and  cold, — dead,  Eunice, — dead  with  my 
boy  there.  How  beautiful  he  looks  in 
the  picture  this  evening!  It  is  almost  as 
if  he  were  living,  breathing,  smiling  at 
me.  O  God,  if  I  could  have  kept  him  as 
he  is  there :  no  shadow  on  his  young  brow, 
no  sadness  in  his  eyes,  no  words  of 
reproach  or  bitterness  on  his  lips!  If  I 
could  have  kept  him  like  that,  Eunice!" 

"Dear  Madam,  you  could  not,"  was 
the  gentle  answer.  "We  all  must  change, 
grow  old,  give  place  to  the  children  who 
come  after  us." 

"The  children!  Ah,  yes,  the  children!" 
repeated  the  old  Madam,  wearily.  "I 
have  been  listening  to  their  shouts,  their 
laughter  on  Mrs.  Burnett's  lawns.  How 
they  fill  her  home  and  her  life,  Eunice! 
If  my  boy's  child  had  lived,  it  would  have 
been  different  here." 

"Very  different  indeed,  dear  Madam!" 
The  gentle  voice  hesitated  for  a  moment; 
then,  still  soothing  with  caressing  fingers, 
Eunice  continued:  "I  thought  of  that 
to-day,  when  I  heard  a  story — such  a 
strange  story! — of  a  child  who  had  been 
lost — lost  for  long  years,  like  your  son's 
little  one, — and  was  found." 

"Lost  for  years, — for  long  years!"  re- 
peated the  older  woman,  with  startled 
interest.  "But,  then,  it  was  not  like  my 
loss, — the  awful  wreck,  the  dreadful  fire!" 

It  was  not  often  the  old  Madam's 
gentle  guardian  allowed  these  harrowing 
thoughts,  but  to-day  she  kept  on: 

"This  child,  too,  was  lost  in  a  burning 
railroad  wreck,  even  as  yours,  Madam, — 
lost,  as  all  believed,  hopelessly,  forever." 


"Oh,  impossible,"  said  the  old  woman, 
sharply ;  for  the  conversation  was  stirring 
the  dull  ache  in  her  heart  to  keener  pain, — 
"unless — unless  the  child  was  some  name- 
less beggar,  without  friends  or  family  to 
look  for  him." 

"He  was  not  a  nameless  beggar,  though 
this  loss  made  him  one,"  continued  Miss 
Rayson.  "He  was  born  to  friends,  family, 
fortune,  Madam.  But  he  was  in  the  care 
of  one  both  cruel  and  wicked,  who  coveted 
his  inheritance  and — 

"You  mean — you  mean  the  child  was 
stolen, — stolen  from  the  wreck,"  said 
the  old  Madam,  excitedly,— "  stolen  by 
one  in  whose  care  he  was,  who  coveted 
his  fortune?  Eunice,  Eunice,  what  wild 
story  is  this  you  are  telling?  Whose 
story,  Eunice?" 

But  a  sudden  clamor  in  the  silent 
splendor  of  the  house  broke  upon  the  eager 
question;  the  rush  of  young  feet  down 
the  polished  stairs,  the  sound  of  a  boyish 
voice  in  the  outer  hall — 

"I  won't!"  it  cried.  "I  tell  you  I 
won't  wear  those  shoes,  you  old  black 
granny!  They  pinch  my  feet.  Mister!. 
Mister!  Where  is  my  Mister?" 

And  through  the  velvet  portieres  of 
the  library  burst  Mountain  Con,  flushed, 
breathless,  shoeless;  for  the  pinch  of 
the  satin  pumps  had  stirred  him  into 
rebellion.  But  otherwise  he  was  the 
"boy  of  the  picture"  in  all  his  princely 
array. 

"My  God!"  exclaimed  the  old  Madam, 
starting  to  her  trembling  feet.  "Am  I 
dreaming,  dying,  Eunice?" 

"O  dear  Madam,  no,  no!"  sobbed 
Eunice,  as  she  clasped  the  shaking,  swaying 
figure  in  her  arms,  dismayed  at  this 
abrupt  disclosure  of  her  loving  plan. 

But  the  old  woman  broke  fiercely  from 
her  gentle  hold,  and  caught  startled  Con 
by  the  shoulders, 

"Look  at  me,"  she  panted, — "look  at 
me,  and  let  me  see  if  you  are  living  or 
dead !  Oh,  it  is  my  boy  indeed, — my  boy's 
face  and  eyes  and  hair!  And  yet — yet — 
oh,  what  are  you, — who  are  you?" 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


829 


"I — I'm  Con,"  faltered  the  bewildered 
boy.  "No,  no  I  ain't  either:  I'm— I'm 
Charles  Owen  Nesbitt,  the  Mister  says; 
and  you — I  guess  you're  my  grandmother." 
Eunice,  Eunice ! ' '  (It  was  Con's  strong 
young  arms  that  caught  the  tottering 
form,  even  as  they  had  caught  poor  Mother 
Moll  of  old.)  "Oh,  is  this  true,  Eunice? 
Was  it  my  story  you  told  me, — his — Arthur 
Nesbitt's?  Is  this  my  boy  indeed, — my 
son's  lost  boy,  Eunice?  Is  this  my  boy?" 

"Dear  Madam,  yes,  yes,  this  is  your 
son's  child,  lost  to  you  so  cruelly!  I 
thought  to  spare  you  the  shock;  to  break 
the  news  to  you  more  gently;  to  let  you 
see  him  as  the  boy  of  the  picture,  and 
then  question  him  yourself. —  Here  is 
Father  Doane,  who  found  him  friendless, 
neglected  in  the  Tennessee  mountains, 
who  learned  his  strange  story,  who  has 
all  the  proofs." 

"Proofs, — proofs?  I  need  no  proofs!" 
cried  the  old  Madam.  "My  dead  heart 
leaped  into  life  at  the  sight  of  him,  at 
the  sound  of  his  voice.  This  is  my  boy 
indeed, — my  dead  Charlie's  lost  boy!" 

And  the  old  Madam  flung  her  arms 
about  Con  and  burst  into  the  blessed 
tears  which  told  that  her  heart  had 
indeed  leaped  into  love  and  life. 

"There, — there!"  said  Con!  "Don't 
cry!"  And  the  boyish  voice  sank  into  the 
soothing  tone  that  of  old  had  comforted 
Mother  Moll.  "Don't  cry,  grandmother! 
I'll  be  your  boy,  just  as  the  Mister  says. 
Don't  cry!  You're  all  right.  I'm  here 
for — for  keeps,  if  you  want  .me."  And 
Con,  whose  young  heart  had  been  kept 
soft  and  warm  by  the  one  saving  touch 
of  an  old  woman's  love,  patted  the  withered 
cheek  as  he  had  patted  Mother  Moll's  of 
old.  "Chirk  up, — chirk  up,  grandmother!" 

And  grandmother  did  "chirk  up"  in  a 
way  wonderful  to  see.  It  was  a  straight, 
alert,  wide-awake  woman,  with  fully  twenty 
years  dropped  from  her  age,  who  sat 
with  her  boy's  hand  held  tight  in  her 
own  for  the  next  hour,  listening  with 
flashing  eyes  to  the  story  Father  Phil 
told  her, — reading  Wilmot  El.kins'  dying 


statement,  hearing  the  testimony  of  Uncle 
Bill  and  Mother  Moll;  while  her  eager 
gaze  turned  again  and  again  to  the  boy 
at  her  side, — the  boy  whose  face  and 
eyes  and  hair  and  smile  were  living 
corroboration  of  his  cruel  story, — a  proof 
more  eloquent  than  words. 

"I  believe  it  all,  all,  all,  all,  without 
one  shadow  of  doubt!"  she  said  in  pas- 
sionate decision.  "Father  Doanc,  we 
will  burn  all  these  hideous  papers  with 
their  foul  record.  As  for  Arthur  Nesbitt," 
(the  speaker  tightened  her  clasp  of  Con's 
hand),  "I—I  will  try  to  forgive  him, 
as  you  say,  Father.  God  knows  I  need 
forgiveness  myself.  I  will  not  prosecute 
him.  I  will  send  him  money  to  keep  him 
from  want;  but — but  I  will  never  see  or 
hear  or,  if  possible,  think  of  him  again. 
All  my  life  shall  be  given  to  undoing  the 
wrong  and  evil  he  has  wrought,  and 
atoning  to  my  poor  boy  for  his  unhappy 
past." 

And  that  "grandmother"  kept  her  word, 
none  who  know  grandmothers  can  doubt. 
Perhaps  the  "unhappy  past"  for  which 
she  was  trying  to  atone  was  not  such  an 
unhappy  training  after  all;  for  it  had 
made  Charles  Owen  Nesbitt  a  strong, 
sturdy,  sensible  youngster,  that  all  a 
wealthy  grandmother's  love  and  indul- 
gence could  not  spoil.  And  there  was 
Father  Phil  to  watch,  to  guide,  to  lead, 
in  these  new  ways, — Father  Phil,  whose 
tender  love  and  care  for  his  little  brother 
and  pal  never  failed. 

But  perhaps  that  first  summer  as  a 
"little  gentleman,"  the  heir  and  master 
of  Elmwood,  might  have  been  rather 
awkward  for  Mountain  Con  if  Lil's 
grandmother  had  not  cleared  things  up 
wonderfully.  That  good  lady,  with  her 
wide  experience  of  boys  and  girls,  insisted 
that  Susie  should  spend  her  long  vacation 
at  Oakwood.  And,  with  Susie  and  Lil, 
and  some  dozen  more  grandsons  and 
nephews,  full  of  kindly  and  active  interest 
in  Susie's  "Con,"  it  did  not  take  long 
for  a  bright,  wide-awake  boy  like  Charles 
Owen  Nesbitt  to  fit  into  the  situation. 


830 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


He  had  his  queer  little  ways,  of  course, 
at  first;  but,  as  Susie  hotly  declared  when 
there  was  any  criticism  of  her  protege, 
"You'd  be  queer  yourselves,  if  you  had 
been  stolen  away  when  you  were  babies 
and  had  to  live  with  robbers  and  moon- 
shiners." And  then  followed  narrations  of 
Con's  past  that  lifted  him  to  a  pinnacle 
of  heroism  which  none  of  Susie's  breathless 
listeners  could  ever  hope  to  approach. 

The  "queer  little  ways,"  however,  were 
soon  smoothed  away,  and  in  a  little  while 
Master  Charles  Owen  Nesbitt  needed  no 
protection  or  defence.  The  silent  splendor 
of  Oakwood  woke  into  life  that  rivalled 
Lil's  grandmother's.  The  velvet  lawns 
were  turned  into  croquet  grounds  and 
tennis  courts.  There  was  a  grey  pony  in 
the  stable;  and  Dick,  his  long,  lean  frame 
rounded  into  fuller  outlines,  was  the 
pride  and  boast  of  the  neighborhood. 
For  a  while  Con's  school  was  a  big  sunny 
room  in  the  brightest  side  of  his  home, 
with  dear  Miss  Eunice  as  his  teacher; 
for  grandmother  had  flung  away  her  gold- 
headed  cane  and  was  as  active  and  ener- 
getic an  old  lady  as  any  of  her  neighbors. 

Afterwards  came  busier  days  for  Charles 
Owen  Nesbitt, — wider  scenes,  broader  life 
and  usefulness.  The  friends  of  his  wild 
past  were  not  forgotten.  Peppo  and 
Carita  v/ere  lured  from  their  gypsy  tents 
into  the  management  of  a  cattle  ranch, 
where  Zila  (her  old  grandmother  of  the 
"evil  eye"  having  passed  away)  and 
Tony  are  growing  up  in  Christian  ways 
and  in  the  old  Faith,  to  which  the  little 
gypsy  mother  had  returned  under  Father 
Phil's  guidance. 

And  Mother  Moll?  Con  has  been  true 
to  his  promise.  Up  on  one  of  the  greenest 
slopes  of  Misty  Mountain,  Mother  Moll 
has  a  home  beyond  her  wildest  hopes  and 
dreams,  —  a  long,  low-roofed  cabin,  with 
the  bright  hearth  fire,  the  rag  carpet,  the 
cushioned  rocker,— all  the  simple  comforts 
that  she  asks  or  needs.  Some  day  she 
hopes,  their  punishment  done,  her  wild 
boys  may  come  back  to  her.  Meantime 
she  walks  the  pleasant  ways  of  Misty 


Mountain,  with  the  fur-trimmed  coat  and 
bonnet,  equal  to  Mrs.  Murphy's;  and 
boasts  to  her  listening  gossips  of  her  lad, 
who,  grand,  elegant  gentleman  that  he 
is  now,  never  forgets  her. 

And  at  Christmas!  Every  Christmas 
there  is  high  holiday  at  Misty  Mountain. 
Father  Phil  is  like  a  son  of  the  Manse  now. 
Uncle  Greg  has  softened  with  the  years; 
and  Con,  whose  story  had  stirred  the  old 
soldier's  heart  into  hot  indignation,  blended 
with  not  a  little  remorse,  has  won  a  place 
in  it  all  his  own, — a  place  second  only  to 
vSusie's.  So  at  Christmas  the  old  Manse 
flings  open  wide  its  doors  and  welcomes 
them  all  back  to  its  hospitable  fireside. 

And  the  log  cabin  is  decked  again  with 
Christmas  greens;  and  Aunt  Aline  brings 
out  her  treasures  of  lace  and  linen  for  the 
Christmas  altar;  and  the  voices  of  the 
singers  fill  the  mountain  silence  as  the 
Christmas  Gloria  swells  out  into  the 
night.  But  the  outlawed,  hunted  boy, 
that  once  peered  through  the  window, 
kneels  a  white-robed  acolyte  now  at 
Father  Phil's  side. 

"Who  was  that  fine  young  fellow 
serving  the  Mass  so  devoutly?"  asked  a 
friend  who  was  visiting  Dr.  Murphy. 
"He  does  not  look  as  if  he  belonged  up 
in  your  mountain  wilds." 

"Well,  he  doesn't  now.  Nevertheless, 
he  was  raised  up  here,  and  we  claim  him 
as  a  first-class  product,"  added  the  Doctor, 
with  a  smile.  "That  is  Charles  Owen 
Nesbitt,  the  young  multi-millionaire  of 

N .  Up  here,  though,  we  give  him 

another  name:  it  is  Con  of  Misty 
Mountain." 

(The  End.) 


Mottoes. 


A  vain  man's  motto  is,  "Win  gold,  and 
display  it";  a  generous  man's,  "Win  gold, 
and  share  it";  a  miser's,  "Win  gold, 
and  spare  it";  a  profligate's,  "Win 
gold,  and  spend  it";  a  gambler's,  "Win 
gold,  and  risk  it";  a  wise  man's,, 
"Win  gold,  and  use  it." 


THE  AVE  MARIA  831 

WITH    AUTHORS    AND    PUBLISHERS 


— Under  the  title  "An  Appeal  to  Truth," 
Messrs.  Hodcler  &  Stoughton  have  published  in 
pamphlet  form  a  letter  addressed  by  Cardinal 
Mercier  and  the  bishops  of  Belgium  to  the 
cardinals,  archbishops  and  bishops  of  Germany, 
Bavaria,  and  Austria-Hungary. 

— The  American  publishers  of  "French  Win- 
dows," John  Ayscough's  remarkable  book  on 
the  war,  inform  us  that  it  is  temporarily  out 
of  print.  A  new  edition  will  be  ready  soon;  and 
the-  numerous  orders  sent  through  THE  AvE 
MARIA  will  be  filled  without  delay. 

— The  new  (ninth)  edition  of  "The  Catholic 
Dictionary,"  by  William  E.  Addis  and  Thomas 
Arnold,  revised,  with  additions,  by  T.  B. 
Scannell,  has  just  appeared  in  London.  Kegan 
Paul  &  Co.  are  the  publishers,  of  whom  B. 
Herder  is  the  agent  in  this  country. 

— "Guide  Right"  is  the  title  of  a  pamphlet 
prepared  by  P.  G.  R.  for  our  soldiers  and  sailors. 
It  is  designed  to  safeguard  them  against  the 
temptations  that  surround  the  state  of  life 
upon  which  they  have  entered.  It  delivers 
its  message,  we  must  say,  in  very  plain  language, 
and  it  is  approved  by  ecclesiastical  imprimatur. 
Published  by  the  Central  Bureau  of  G.  R.  C. 
Central-Verein. 

— A  valuable  pamphlet,  the  first  in  a  series 
of  Catholic  Social  Guild  "First  Text-Books," 
is  Virginia  M.  Crawford's  "The  Church  and 
the  Worker,  before  and  after  the  Encyclical 
Rerum  Novarum."  It  is  a  fairly  exhaustive 
treatment  of  industrial  conditions  as  they  have 
been  affected  by  Catholic  thought  and  action 
since  the  immense  impulse  given  to  Catholic 
social  studies  by  the  great  Encyclical  of  Leo  XIII. 
on  the  condition  of  the  working  classes.  This 
brochure  augurs  well  for  further  issues  in  the 
series  of  which  it  is  the  initial  number.  Pub+ 
lished  by  the  Catholic  Social  Guild  of  London, 
and  for  sale  in  this  country  by  B.  Herder. 
Price,  10  cents. 

— The  Pohle-Preuss  series  of  works  on  dog- 
matic theology  (B.  Herder)  is  brought  to  a 
close  with  volumes  XI.  and  XII.  The  first  of 
the  two  (volume  iv.  of  the  special  series 
on  the  Sacraments)  deals  with  Extreme 
Unction,  Holy  Orders,  and  Matrimony;  the 
second  treats  of  Eschatology,  or  the  Catholic 
doctrine  of  the  "Last  Things."'  We  have  so 
frequently  called  attention  to  the  many  excel- 
lences of  the  successive  numbers  in  this  series 
that  we  need  say  no  more  of  these  two  conclud- 
ing treatises  than  that  they  are  up  to  the  high 


standard  set  by  the  previous  volumes.  As  a 
comprehensive  statement  of  dogmatic  theology 
in  its  various  ramifications,  thoroughly  lucid 
and  authoritatively  documented,  the  work  as  a 
whole  deserves  entrance  into  the  library  of  every 
priest  in  the  country. 

— "L'Allemagne  s'accuse,"  by  Jean  De  Beer, 
and  "  De  1'Yser  a  1'Argonne,"  by  C.  Danielou, 
are  interesting  pamphlets  in  the  "Pages  Actu- 
elles"  series  issued  by  Bloud  et  Gay,  Paris. 
From  the  same  publishers  comes  "  Dans  les 
Flandres,"  a  brochure  of  286  pages,  by  D. 
Bertrand  de  Laflotte, — an  exceptionally  readable 
series  of  notes  taken  by  a  Red  Cross  volunteer 
in  1914-1915. 

—The  last  of  the  "Catholic  Monthly  Letters" 
to  reach  us  from  the  British  Catholic  Informa- 
tion Society  leaves,  for  the  moment,  the  subject 
of  the  Great  War  and  deals  exclusively  with 
"British  Catholic  Writers  and  Artists."  That 
it  deals  with  them  illuminatingly  also  may  be 
inferred  when  it  is  stated  that  the  author  of 
this  monograph  is  May  Bateman.  The  Letter 
is  particularly  informing  to  Catholics  of  the 
United  States,  who,  owing  to  the  increasing 
number  of  converts  in  England,  find  it  rather 
difficult  to  know  who's  who  among  their  English 
Catholic  cousins. 

— The  object  of  "Married  Life:  a  Family 
Handbook,"  by  Reinhold  Willman,  M.  D. 
(J.  S.  Hyland  &  Co.,  Chicago),  is  'to  impart 
useful  knowledge,  especially  to  the  married  and 
those  who  contemplate  entering  the  married 
state.'  A  great  many  important  subjects  are 
treated,  and,  though  plainly,  no  less  delicately. 
The  author's  desire  would  seem  to  be  to  give 
his  readers  the  full  benefit  of  his  learning  and 
experience,  both  of  which  we  judge  to  be  ex- 
ceptional. He  is  evidently  a  close  observer  as 
well  as  a  deep  student  and  wide  reader,  and  he 
writes  "as  one  having  authority."  His  common- 
sense  is  shown  in  chapter  xxvii,  which  is  short 
enough  to  be  quoted  entire: 

From  what  has  been  said  [in  reference  to  teaching  sex- 
hygiene  in  schools]  it  will  be  plain  that  those  instructions 
are  not  fit  for  the  schoolroom.  The  school  can  teach  morality 
only  in  a  general  way — and,  of  course,  watch  children  in 
social  and  moral  conduct, — and  see  that  they  observe  the 
ordinary  rules  of  justice  and  decorum. 

The  parents  are  the  ones  upon  whom  this  duty  rests, 
and  who  can  give  children  a  fundamental  training  along 
these  lines.  The  school  can  assist  by  teaching  them  in  the 
ordinary  rudiments  of  life,  based  upon  morality  and  justice; 
thus  helping  and,  in  a  way,  perpetuating  the  work  of  parents. 

Should  the  necessity  arise,  however,  that  children  can  not 
be  instructed  by  their  parents  upon  certain  subjects,  then 
the  services  of  a  physician,  or  one  whom  they  can  implicitly 
trust,  should  be  sought.  The  school  should  be  a  great 


832 


THE  AVE  MARIA 


help  to  parents  in  the  moral  training  of  their  children,  by 
teaching  them  all  respect  for  authority.  But  sex-hygiene 
and  eugenics  are  not  within  the  province  of  the  public 
school;  nor  should  they  be  taught  the  youth  of  any  age 
in  class. 

The  book  is  an  octavo  of  430  pages,  and  is 
provided  with  a  full  index,  which  renders  it 
eminently  useful.  It  impresses  us  as  being  the 
work  of  a  thoroughly  good  man  and  an  excep- 
tionally wise  physician.  Price,  $3,  postpaid. 

— From  the  Encyclopedia  Press  comes  "A 
Memorial  of  Andrew  J.  Shipman:  His  Life  and 
Writings/',  a  substantial  octavo  of  427  pages, 
edited  by  Conde  B.  Fallen,  Ph.  D.,  LL.  *D. 
This  interesting  work  is  a  testimonial  of  the  high 
esteem  in  which  its  subject  was  held  by  some 
three  or  four  hundred  of  his  friends  whose 
names  are  inscribed  in  the  volume's  opening 
pages.  Its  contents  comprise  a  frontispiece  (a 
fine  portrait  of  Mr.  Shipman),  a  series  of  reso- 
lutions passed  by  various  societies  on  the 
occasion  of  his  death  in  1915,  a  biographical 
sketch  (21  pages)  by  the  editor,  and  a  score  and 
a  half  of  papers  contributed  to  the  "Catholic 
Encyclopedia"  and  various  magazines,  with 
several  addresses.  No  reader  of  the  volume  can 
doubt  that  Mr.  Shipman  was  a  thoroughly 
equipped  and  energetic  lay  apostle,  well  deserv- 
ing of  Dr.  Pallen's  characterization — "a  Catho- 
lic layman  without  fear  and  without  reproach; 
a  son  who  proved  to  the  world  an  illustrious 
example  of  the  teachings  and  principles  of  the 
Church."  Price,  $2. 


The  Latest  Books. 
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Obituary. 


Remember  them  that  are  in   bands. — HUB.,   xiii,   3. 

Rt.  Rev.  Julius  Chatron,  bishop  of  Osaka, 
Japan;  Rev.  Paul  Rosch  and  Rev.  John  P. 
Davis,  of  the  archdiocese  of  Chicago. 

Mother  Agnes  Gonzaga  and  Sister  MN  Ignatius, 
of  the  Sisters  of  St.  Joseph. 

Mr.  W.  J.  Fisher,  Mr.  William  Bowe,  Mr.  J. 
Selwin  Tait,  Mrs.  Richard  Dalton  Williams, 
Mrs..  .  Katharine  Wadsworth,  Mrs.  Frances 
Wilson,  Mrs.  Alice  McCue,  Mr.  Thomas  Seery, 
Mr.  William  C.  Foley,  Mr.  Michael  Barry, 
Mrs.  Catherine  Harson,  Mr.  Michael  Flynn, 
Mr.  J.  G.  Wallace,  Miss  Mary  Stutte,  Mr. 
Henry  Stafford,  Mrs.  V.  Macken,  Mr.  Louis 
Ramin,  Mr.  Thomas  O'lloro,  Mr.  H.  D.  Mathew, 
Mrs.  Margaret  Ryan,  Mr.  Frank  Bittner,  Mr. 
Gerald  Maloney,  Mr.  F.  J.  Hake,  Mr.  Thomas 
Phelan,  Mr.  L.  F.  Davis,  Mrs.  John  O'Neill, 
Mr.  John  Hartling,  and  Mr.  William  Brodtrick. 

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


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