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1 2 3

MICROCOfV

BBOIUTION TiST CHART

(ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2)

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A >1PPLIED IN/MGE

'653 East Main Street

Roctiester. Neai York 14609 USA

(716) 482 - 0300- Phone

(716) 288 -5989 -Fax

Rt. Rev, Alexander MacDonald, D. D.

t. H

STRAY LEAVES

TRACES of TRAVEL

•

^■>\\>-

•Cs'-

>/■

RT. REV. ALEX. MacDONALD. D.D.
■naop OP vicToiUA, b. q.

NEW YORK
CHRISTIAN PRESS ASSOCUHON

BOLD FOB THB PROPAGATION OF THB FAITH :
PRICE, 11.00.

CHRISTIAN PRESS ASSOCIATION

PUBLISHING CO.

1914

CONTENTS

Thb Sound or Anothbr Sea 7

Thb Diary op a Pilgrim 9

On the misty Atlantic i6_24

London and Paris 26-36

Paray le Monial 3Y_43

Geneva, Berne, Interlaken 48-53

Milan and Venice 54

^°™« 56-58

Florence and Genoa 69-63

Loordes.... Qi-71

Jottings of a Trip in Scotland 72-95

RoME-A Christmas Reminiscence 96-104

The Roses op Assisi 106-107

Prom New York to Naples 108-130

From Naples to Cairo 131-140

Through Spain 141-154

LouRDEs Revisited 165-160

A Few More Stray Leaves and Traces.... 161-170

MY FELLOW PILGRIMS.

THE SOUND OF ANOTHER SEA

Breaks upon mine ear
The sound of another sea,

Linking far with near —
That far how near to me!

Echoes jut of the past.
Wave-sounds from the shore,

Woven in dreams at last
Of days that are no more ;

Days that ebbed away

By the side of another sea.

When h'fe was young and gay,
And all its ways were free.
—Victoria, B. C , January i, 19 lo.

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

Wednesday, June 2, 1900

I E leave Montreal in a great downpour
of rain — a perfect deluge. In spite
of the rain, there are many gathered
on the pier to see us off. There is mutual wav-
ing of handkerchiefs, and exchange of fare-
wells. The ram descends in torrents, type and
token of God's manifold blessings, so at least
we pilgrims are fain to look upon it. As our
ship frees herself from her moorings, and
glides into the stream, one fond pilgrim is
overheard remarking that Montreal is weeping
over our departure. And such copious tears as
they are, too!

Last evening at eight, we ail met at the Ca-
thedral, St. James's, to assist at Pontifical
Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. The
great church, modelled on St. Peter's at Rome
—one-Iialf of its length and one-eighth of its

10 THE DIARY OF A PILGHIM

cuKc content»-was thronged. The Arch-
bishop gave the Benediction, and afterwards
from h.s throne addressed the pilgrims in
French. He looked every inch of him a
Bishop, and spoke with great dignity and
sweetness, in a rirh, clear voice. He 'seems
well fitted to rule the Church of QkI in Mary's
City-the great Catholic city of Montreal.
which, with its grand churclu's. its splendid
educational and charitable institutions, makes
the pilgrim prouder of his Faith and of his
country.

We reach Quebec at 7 p. m. Carriages-
cabs, caleches. and vehicles of all sorts— are in
readiness to convey the pilgrim partv to the
Chapel c ' the Ursulines. Here for 'the first
time m Canada Mass was oflFered in honour of
the Sacred Heart. The Ursulines of Quebec
were fotmded by the Blessed Mary of the In-
camation-the first religious foundation in
Canada. They are a cloistered Order. From
behind their gratings the nuns sing, in their
sweet voices, the Benediction Service, which is
preceded by a stirring address in French to the
pilgrims. At nine we are back on board
There are ringing cheers from the shore, and
hearty cries of bon voyage. On the ship, many

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 11

of thf pilgrims join in singing a French chan-
son, with its lively chorus. " Bon soir. mes
amis, bon soir!" Scarcely has the last note
died away when the ship's bugler breaks out in
the familiar strains of Auld Ung Sync. vVc
slip our moorings, and are off.

Down the river we glide .swiftly in the still-
ness of the night. On either bank is a fine
stretch of fertile land studded with picturesque
villages, and dotted with the houses of les
habitants. Now it lies as if asleep, wrapped
in the mantle of night. We see but in shadowy
outline the Laurentian hills, rising out of the
darkness. What a majestic river is this St.
Lawrence! There is nothing like it in Amer-
ica—in all the wide world. The scenery on
the Hudson is very pictures(|ue in places, and
somewhat more varied, perhaps. But one
misses there the fine expanse of open country,
with its setting of mountains, and the river
itself lacks the breadth and grandeur of the St.
Lawrence.

* ♦ ♦

1% THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

Pentecost Sunday, June 3.

Nine or ten pilgrims have joined us at Que-
bec. We are now ninety-two in all, including
twenty-three priests. There is also another
priest on board, who is not a pilgrim. It is the
feast of Pentecost, and all the priests say
Mass. There are Masses all the morning at
two altars— such altars as men hastily im-
provise on board ship— from 4.30 to 10. The
space between decks, forward of the saloon,
has been turned into a chapel. Around about
most of the pilgrims have their staterooms.
At the seven o'clock Mass, celebrated by
Father Pichon, S. J., director of the French
section of the pilgrimage, the Veni Creator
is sung with fine effect. Some of these French
Canadian priests and several of the lay pil-
grims, too, have splendid voices, trained in the
music of the Church.

In the afternoon we assemble in our chapel
to sing the vespers of the day. Several of the
lay pilgrims, men and women, lend their voices,
and the ship resounds with the strains of the
divine psalmody, the Veni Creator, and the
Magnificat. What fine voices these French
Canadians have, and how well they know the

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 13

chant of the Church! Even the lay pilgrims
sing the psalms and hymns in Latin, recite
with us the Litany of Loreto in Latin, and
seem to understand every word of what they
sing or say.

In the evening at eight there is service in
English. We sing two hymns :— Nearer My
God to Thee, and, Come Holy Ghost. Many
of the French priests and lay pilgrims join us
in singing. Father Kavanagh, S. J., director
of the English-speaking pilgrims, gives an in-
struction on the mission and work of the Holy
Ghost. This is followed by the Rosary in
English, and Night Prayers in French. Every
day we say the Rosary together, in French at
330 p. m., and in English at 8.30. Every day,
too, hymns are sung to our Blessed Lady, the
Ave Maris Stella and her own canticle of the
Magnificat being our favourites.

All day long we steam down the St. Law-
rence, hugging the southern bank. Early in
the afternoon, the mountains of St. Anne are
seen in the distance. They rise to a height of
from two to three thousand feet, back of the
hills that border on the river. Their summits
and shoulders are white with snow. It forms
a pleasing contrast to the blue of the river, and

14 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

the green of the fields that lie at their feet.
By this time all trace of tears has been wiped
away from the face of the June sky, which
smiles benignantly upon us. It is glorious
weather.

Monday, June 4.

We have passed Gaspe, and are in the Gulf.
To the south, Bird Rock is dimly seen. Our
passenger ''.t — ^already a long one — has re-
ceived an addition during the night. Two
Hirds, the smaller a sparrow, boarded the ship,

-ost likely before we were yet fairly away
from land. They are objects of much interest
to their fellow-passengers. The larger bird,
which the sailors take to be " a howl " (as one
of them expresses it), proves, on closer and
more careful scrutiny, to be a hawk. Jack-
tar is not an ornithologist. His acquaintance
with the feathery tribe seems to be confined to
a few aquatic birds, such as seagulls and
Mother Carey's chickens. As for land birds, it
is probable that he doesn't even " know a hawk
from a handsaw." much less from " a howl."

The presence of the birds on board gives

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 15

rise to not a little speculation. Why hath the
sparrow left its cosy nest and the hawk its home
on the dry land, to roam over this waste of
wa ers? Some say that the birds are stealing
a free passage to Newfoundland. Others
sagely taking into account how ill-assorted the
pair are. reach a more likely solution of the
pu..lmg p.obl The hawk, they say. sal!

breaks '" ^^^'^ ^^^ ^^ ^-^ Hself a
breakfast. The sparrow was already abroad
on s,mdar m,ss:on bent. Chased by the pirate
of the air and having a natural dislike to be-
come tood for its hungry pursuer, instead of
gettmg something to appease its own hunger

foir^^'K"'"^'. ''" *'^ P^^^'"^ -^^'P' ^^o-iy

Nevvfoundland the birds leave us and fly land-
ward. But whether the smaller was inside

By ro.30 a. m. we are abreast of Cape Ray
As we steam by Channel, otherwise known as

the Flf' n'' """ ^''''^ '^' "^^-^^'^^ hulk of
the Elder-Dempster liner. Montpellier. wrecked
here some weeks ago. Even the good ship
Vancouver m,ght be cast away on these cruel

16 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

rocks, as was her sister ship, the Chicago, on
the rocks of Kinsale. This is the thought that
comes to one's mind as one gazes on the
stranded ship. But the smiling June sky,
radiant with sunshine, chases it quickly away,
and we breathe a prayer to the heart of Him
who rules the wind and the waves.

We are now fairly at sea, and our ship has
made her first bow to the Atlantic rollers.
This token of homage old Neptune claims, nay
compels, from every ship that presses upon his
bosom and feels the throbbing of his mighty
heart. And full many a one of those who go
(i ./n to the sea in ships, is, in like manner,
made to pay tribute, and never a one but
grudges the payment. But the theme is too
painful to dwell upon.

Tuesday, June 5.

A little before noon Cape Race is on our lar-
board quarter, and in an hour or two more we
catch our last glimpse of Terra Nova. The
weather is still fine, and the sea comparatively
smooth. At 9 p. m. a large number of the pas-
sengers gather in the saloon to hear a lecture

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 17

on the causes that led to the war in South
Africa. The lecture is by the Rev. Mr. Philips,
an Anglican minister, who has spent seven
years as missionary among the blacks and half-
breeds of the Transvaal. He arraigns the
Boer Government severely for its treatment of
the natives. The truth of what he says is
confirmed by Father Kavanagh, in seconding
the motion for a vote of thanks at the close of
the lecture. He remembers quite well when a
boy at Stonyhurst hearing the Jesuit Fathers
returned from South Africa, recount what they
saw and heard of the oppression of subject
races by the Boet - — H tale they then told,"
he says, "has been . ^old here to-night"
Precisely at ii o'clock the sound of the whistle
warns us that we have at last run into the in-
evitable fog. The dismal tooting is kept up
at intervals of one or two minutes during the
rest of the night.

>f * *

Wednesday. June 6.
A good deal of motion in the ship; fewer
passengers at the breakfast table. Still Masses
are celebrated from 5.30 to 8, and several of

18 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

the priests and lay pilgrims receive Holy Com-
munion. In the afternoon, fogs again steal
upon us. They gather around our ship, these
mists of the mighty Atlantic, and envelop her
as with a shroud. They come and go at inter-
vals during the afternoon, forcing us to slow
down and at times come to a standstill, so great
is the danger of collision with an iceberg or an
incoming ship. There is nothing for it but to
wait for the fog to lift with such patience as
one can command. We pace the deck, or
withdraw to our staterooms and there listen
idly to the murmur of the waves as they beat
against the ship, or brood on the mystery of
the sobbing sea.

Thursday, June 7.

From noon yesterday till noon to-day we
have covered 316 nautical miles, and are now
a little more than half way across from Que-
bec to Liverpool. The log reads at noon:
Day, 7; lat., 30.06 N.; long., 38.36; distance
run, 316 miles. Remarks: Moderate winds,
choppy sea. The reader will please bear in
mind that this is from a ship's log, and that

THE DIARY OF A PILGKIM 19

the "remarks" are to be understood in a
strictly nautical sense. These "moderate"
winds of ours would pass on shore for some-
thing between a very stiff breeze and a moder-
ate gale. And as for "choppy " seas, the At-
lantic is not exactly a pond, though sometimes
irreverently described as such by the fellow
who has never crossed it, and this choppy sea
makes our big ship reel and tumble about like
a n,an slightly more than "half seas over"
There is a deal of sickness in consequence.
Some are unable to leave their beds. Others
manage to crawl on deck, but onlv to ne there
in chairs, silent and sullen, or mope about with
a most woe-begone appearance. Even your
genial rover of the seas, who has been across a
score of times and assures you that he is not
the least bit sick, is not half so gay and talk-
ative as he was yesterday and the day before.
You see there arc degrees and stages of seasick-
ness, and one passes through a great variety of
less or more painful experiences before the last
stage is reached. Over that final act of the
nautical drama (which to the heartless onlooker
IS too often comedy, but to the chief actor, or
rather suflTerer. is in the last degree tragic) we
willingly let the curtain fall. Many drink sea-

It? M

to THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

water, glass after glass of it, and believe that it
relieves them, or keeps them from falling sick,
as the case may be. I fancy I can hear some
one say as he reads this that the remedy is
worse than the disease. But I am quite sure
that the one who says so has never been seasick
— perhaps never been to sea — in his life.
* « *

f ;

Friday, June 8.

This morning, in spite of the rolling of the
ship, Masses were sa''d and several of the pil-
grims received Holy Communion. There are
but few English pilgrims ; including cleric and
lay, not more than a dozen out of the ninety-
two. I say English rather than English-speak-
ing, and in contradistinction to French, as
many of the French pilgrims speak English
fluently.

There is little to break the monotony of a
sea voyage. One day is just like another.
You wake in the morning, rise, go through the
same little round, turn in at night. Each day
you seem to be just where you were the day
before. The same voices call out to you
" from the vasty deep." The same sea-waves

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM n

lift their crested heads, shake their flowing
manes, and sport and gambol in all the wild
abandon of their unbridled freedom. And
your vision is ever bounded by the same nar-
row horizon. Anything is welcome that breaks
this sameness, the passing ship, or even the sea-
gull that wings its way over the water We
have met few ships. The smoke of a steamer
-of two of them, indeed.-vvas descried yes-
terday morning, and about sundown a big ship
under shortened sail was seen beating her way
to wmdward.

Saturday, June 9.
One pilgrim, who has been well enough up
till now, ,s so sq->amish to-day that he dare
not wnte even half a dozen lines for fear of
consequences. This " leaf." therefore, is all
but blank.

Trinity Sunday, June 10.
The sea still runs "choppy." it has been
our worst night since we came on board-
rocked in the cradle of the deep." but with

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

no gentle hand. The rocking continues this
morning, and Mass is said by Father Pichon
and one or two other priests under considerable
difficulties. In the afternoon vespers are sung
in the saloon, and in the evening, after the
Rosary, there is a sermon in English by the
Rev. Father Sloan, Pastor of Fallowfield. in
the diocese of Ottawa. This is a very distress-
ing day to many of the passengers. There is
longing for the repose of smooth waters and
from four in the afternoon eager eyes are .-can-
ning tht distant horizon, in front of us, for a
sight of land. At six it is sighted—a vast rock-
in the form of a cathedral, known as the " Skel-
ligs," and by ten we are steering straight for
the Fastnet Light which flashes its welcome
rays upon us at intervals of a few seconds.
The anger of ocean is fast subsiding, the stars
are out. and the Irish moon looks down up
us from a cloudless sky. It is the feast of tl
Most Holy Trinity, and to-night, as in all th
nights since His creative hand hung those orbs
in space, "The heavens proclaim His glory,
and the firmament of heaven shows forth the
work of His hands."

* *

THE DIARY OF A PILGKIM 23

Monday, June ii.

T have spoken o^ Mas5*s said under diffi-
culties There are difficulties and difficulties.
V^ hile I wrs serving Father Kavanagh's Mass
at 8 o clock this morning, voices pitched in a
high key came from a stateroom hard f)v
Th,s IS what the voices said-needless to sav
the .wner. were neither pilgrims nor of the
household of the faith :

Male voice : " Open the porthole "

Female voice, from an adjoining stateroom,
shnll, as ,f in anger: "Do you command?
Are you 'boss'?" (The bedroom steward
alone may open the porthole).

Male voice: "Mine is open."

Female voice (sarcastically) : '• Don't fall
rough.

We are now in St. George's Channel. On
^r nght but not in view, is the coast of
Wales. On our left the coast of Ireland is
Plamly v.s.ble. With a pair of glasses we can
see cottages, churches, and the green, green
fields of Erin. We shall be in Liverpool about

Zu^l'^n '"""'^^' ^^''' I ^'" "'^'l this
batch of leaves " which have at least the meric

t4 THK DIARY OF A PII^ORIM

of continuity. Others to follow will neces-
sarily be scnttered and disconnected—stray
leaves blown about by every wind of travel.

* « «

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM ao

"St

Paris, Monday, June i8.
E reached Liverpool a week apo to-
day. It was about ten a. m. when
we entered the Mersey, havinjj
l)een detained by fog for sonic time at the
mouth of the river. The famous docks of
the city, stretching i„r six miles on the
left bank of the Mersey, as you enter, were
lighted with electricity, pre.senting a brilliant
spectacle. At ten the next morning we were
on our way to London by the Great Western
R. R.. which runs through some of the finest
parts of England. Rural England, at least
what we have seen of it. is highly cultivated
and very beautiful. The country traversed h\
the Great Western trains, from Liverpool to
London, is one vast park— great grassy plains
on either hand, with here a river, and there oc-
casionally a mountain, and every^vhere rows
of trim hedges and the majestic oaks of Old
England. We pass through smoky Birming-
ham, and from the railway catch a glimpse of
the twin towers of Christ's Church. Oxford,

86 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

\l ' -i!

both places fraught with remindc-s of the illus-
trious Cardinal Newman.

In London, we stay for tl e j:;,cater pi.c of
three days. Our hotel is har ! I \ Westm nster
Abbey. We visit the famous abbey moie than
once, and each time with mingled feelings of
admiration and sadness— admiration for the
noble temple itself, and sadness for the change
that has come over it. and the uses to which it
IS put. The hour is half-past ten in the morn-
mg and the Canons of Westminster are chant-
ing their office. Decorous and sweet is the
music of their voices, but it grates upon the ear
as one thinks of those old monks of St. Bene-
dict, who so often here offered the Holv Sacri-
fice, and made the vast edifice resound with far
other and more solemn music in the centuries
long gone by. Here rest the sainted bones of
Edward the Confessor, in the magnificent
shnne prepared for them by the founder of the
abbey. Henry HI, in the thirteenth century
Yonder is the tomb of the ruthless Cromwell
and a few steps beyond it, Charles Darwin,'
naturalist an^. agnostic, lies in death. Over
against the monument of the martyred Mary
Queen of Scots, rises that of her roval cousin
and murderess, Elizabeth. The place is full of

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 27

these painful contrasts, though fragrant still
with memories of its glorious past— a past
which, however, bid,, fair to renew itself, at
least in u measure, for England and her peo-
ple. Is it not a token of this " second spring •
that the Faith which built Westminster Abbey,
and which people once fondly thought \vas
dead and buried in England, past a!! hope of
resurrection, is now building an even more spa-
cious temple to the Most High, not many hun-
dred yards from the historic abbey, the new
Catholic cathedral of Westminster.

Back of what was once the high altar of the
old abbey is the Coronation Chair, with, be-
neath it, the historic Stone of Scone, on which
the Scottish Kings used to be crowned for long
ages before the days of Bruce. Now the mon-
archs of England sit in the chair on the day of
their coronation. Queen Victoria sat in it
twice, once when the diadem of the greatest
empire of the earth was placed on her girUsh
brow-she was still in her teens-and a seco .d
time, sixty years after, on the occasion of her
Diamond Jubilee. One other, more vouthful
but of low degree, sat in the royal chair
since-aye, and slept in it too.' so our
guide tells us. A boy from the neighbouring

>l i

«8 THE DIARY O^' A PILGRIM

schools was dared by his mates to spend a night
alone with the bones of the mighty dead, and
the ghosts of the Royal Chapel. He did so,
slept in the Coronation Chair, and boylike cut
his name and the record of his nocturnal ex-
ploit in the wood on which Royalty has been
enthroned since the days of the First Edward.
Many are the sights of London. But we
pilgrims are not sightseers, though of course
we do not travel with our eyes closed. Dur-
ing the two or three days that v e were in Lon-
don, several places of historic interest were
visited, among others the famous Tower. As
for myself, I went not much about, having
spent in all six days in London on the two for-
mer occasions that I was in the city. I paid a
visit to an old classmate of v 'n the Propa-
ganda, who is new Canon , ,a, rector of
St. James's, in Spanish Place. From him I
learned that there are altogether about one
hundred Catholic churches in London, most of
them somewhat small of size, and that they ar-
so situated that the Holy Sacrifice o. the Mass
is oflFered up every Sunday within ten minutes'
walk of any Catholic home in the va.st city. On
the Feast of Corpus Christi I assisted at the
Solemn High Mass and Procession of the

■I

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM «9

Blessed Sacrament in the Brompton Oratory
The church of the Oratory is easily the finest
Catholic church in London. It is modelled on
the great church of St. Philip, in Rome, and
IS distinctly Roman in every detail. Here New-
man preached those thrilling sermons which
drew Thackeray away from his novel writing
and Macaulay from some favourite haunt in
the literary circles of the city. The echoes of
that wondrous voice seem still to linger in the
place. Newman's figure in white marble
larger than life, fronting the street that runs by
the Oratory, arrests the steps of many a passer-
by.

Between England and France, the distance is
not great, if you reckon it in miles, but it is
leagues and leagues if you measure it by dif-
ferences of race and national characteristics
The English Channel, with its swift tide and
fretful sea, severs two entirely different peo-
ples. We cross from Folkestone to Boulogne-
sur-Mer. Boulogne is a quaint old-world
town, and a favourite resort of tourists We
make but a short stay, and push on to Paris.
Our way lies through an undulating country
well-wooded and well-watered, with here and
there a great stretch of pasture-land, where

i :!!i

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

flocks of sheep are grazing and shepherds with
their dogs are keeping watch. This part of
France does not appear to be as highly culti-
vated as are the parts of England that we
have seen ; but the scenery is more diversified.
By ten o'clock at night the electric light on the
summit of the Eiffel Tower is visible afar,
and we know that we are nearing Paris.

We arrived in Paris last Friday night. We
leave it next Wednesday morning. What shall
I say of the City on the Seine, the gay and bril-
liant capital of I'rance? I will say frankly that
I don't like it — that I would rather live in Lon-
don with its dullness and fog, than live in Paris
with its gaiety and sunshine. Why.^ Well,
perhaps because I am dull myself, at least in
the sense of not being gay — certainly not be-
cause I love the fog, for I do dearly love the
blue sky and the light of the blessed sun. Per-
haps, again, it is because I don't understand the
I'>ench tongue or French ways as I understand
the English tongue and English ways. But
most of all, I think, what I dislike about Paris
is its godlessness. The evidences of it are on
every hand. The Londoner has at least the
good sense to hide his irreligion, if he is irre-
ligious. At any rate, he does not wear the

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 31

badge of his irreligion in the streets. The
Parisian, who is irreligious, parades his irre-
ligion and seems to glory in his shame. I have
seen less of London than of Paris— too little
of either, indeed, to enable me to form a just
idea of their condition. But certainly the lat-
ter city seems to be the more godless of the
two.

Religion there is in Pari^, and piety, too,
much more of it, I have no doubt at all, than
there is in the city on the Thames. But it hides
itself in church and home; the stranger in the
streets sees little of it. Take the matter of Sun-
day observance. Public opinion and the law in
London make people respect, at least out-
wardly, the Lord's Day; public opinion and the
law in Paris make people do t^2 very opposite,
at least as far as the force of custom and ex-
ample and the spur of business rivalry can
bring this effect about. Last Sunday in Paris
almost all the shops were open, and people went
about their work as on an ordinary week day.
Paris does not keep the Sunday, though many
Parisians doubtless do. Is there no warrant
for the inference that Paris has ceased to be
Christian ?
This is a land of contrasts, and Paris is em-

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

' ill

i i

I A

phatically a city of contrasts. Piety and god-
lessness, virtue and vice, are here more sharply
contrasted than in any other city on earth. "If
the devil reigns in Paris, Cjd is. perhaps, better
served there than anywhere else; good and
evil alike find their supreme expression; 'tis
Babylon and Jerusalem both."

In the grand churches dwells the deepest
piety ; godlessness is rampant without. We are
in Notre Dame Sunday, during the Procession
of the Blessed Sacrament. What a splendid
spectacle! The music how heavenly! Boys
with angel voices make the stately edifice ring
with the grand old chant of the Church.
Troops of boys and girls, the boys with lighted
torches in their hands, the girls clothed in spot-
less white and bearing great bunches of roses
which shed their fragrance far. march in the
long procession. At the end, the Eucharistic
Lord, from His throne over the high altar,
blesses the assembled multitude. It is all so
solemn and so soulstirring. We pass out from
the church, deeply moved. The street is almost
blocked with worldly traflfic. and men— two
soldiers and two civilians— are playing cards
under the very shadow of Notre Dame.

Sunday morning, the pilgrims went in a body

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 33

to Montmartre-the priests to say Mass. the
^y pilgrims to hear Mass and receive Holy
Communion. The basilica which the piety of
Catholic France has erected to the Sacred
Heart on Montmirtre is truly a splendid struc-
ture. Built on a lofty eminence, it dominates
the cty which seems to lie quite at one's feet
Five thousand boys from the seminaries of
France received Holy Cor imunion at Mont-
martre that morning. As one watched tier
after tier of them at the high altar eat of the
Bread of Life, with every mark of pietv and
devotion, one felt that there was hope for the
future of the Church in France. And yet at
least to human seeming, how gloomy is the
outlook! One of the lay pilgrims, a very de-
vout French-Canadian, told me after we left
Montmartre that morning of a talk he had with
a Parisian matron the day before. She had
^|vo children-the regulation number, for in
i' ranee, as statistics show, the deaths all but ex-
ceed the births. She sent them to Mass. she
said, though she did not go herself, remarking
that no harm would come of their going She
sent them to the godless State school, because
they would not get on so well in the world
she thought, if they went to the Christian

■m

Ju^

i n

i ■

I m

84 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

Brothers' school. There is reason to fear that
many of the mothers of France are to-day like
t'lis Parisian dame— solicitous about the things
of this world, and neither knowing nor caring
for the things that are above.

At dinner, in the restaurant at Boulogne on
Friday, only meat was served. We asked for
fish, but could get none. At lunch, in our own
hotel here at Paris the same evening, again no
fish. True, the railway restaurant at Boulogne
and the hotel at Paris cater to the travelling
public. Rut do not the French themselves
travel? And if, in travelling, they eai fish on
Friday, will not fish be forthcoming when
asked for? I have said that Paris does not
keep the Sunday— at least the Sunday rest ; I
fear that France does not keep Friday, or keeps
it but very indiflferently. I speak as one less
wise and under correction. ..iit putting this
and that together, I cannot buL conclude that
there is a dreadful decay of faith in France. It
does not seem possible that the France of the
Catholic Missions, the France of our Lady of
Lourdes. will be lost to the Church. But if she
is to be saved to God and Church, it will be so
as by fire. Another chastisement, cutting
deeper into the nation's life than that of 1870,

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 35

must first bring to her knees, and to the very
dust m penance, the Eldest Daughter of the
Church.

I am at the end of my chapter, and not a
word about the Exposition. I have visited
he grounds but once, and then viewed them
from the Eiffel Tower, midway to the top
The buddmgs. which stand on both banks of
the Seme are certainly very grand. Thev
seem to be more spac:.,us. upon the whole,
than were those of the Chicago E.xposition.
But they do not stand by themselves and
apart, as was the case in Chicago; you do not

the s,ght so beaufful as was that of the White
City on the shores of Lake Michigan. The
v'cw to be had from the Ferris Wheel at
Chicago was. I think, finer than that which
you get to-day from the Eiffel Tower at

^'oiC^^:T ^' ^-'r ' ^° '^

, t, . r , ^-^Position from without. But
what of the Paris Fair from within? That
you must learn, if at all. from some one else
I paid but a flying visit to one of the build-

have"nn''T " ""''''' "' ^"'"^^ °^ -h>^h
I have now but a very confused notion. I

have no faculty for seeing things, as your en-

THK DIARV or A PILGRIM

thusiastic sightseer has. and can find no s..rt of
pleasure m the pr.K'ess. To me it is all a
weanness of spirit-and a weariness of the
flesh mto the bargain. Xon satiatur oculus
v.dendo. says the Wise Man-the eye is not
sated w,th seeing. To which one ,nay ad<l
'n view of the special circumstances of the
case, sed fatigatur corpus ambulandcK-but the
body is fatigued with walking.

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 87

Geneva, Sunday, June 24. 1900.

[E left Paris last Wednesday morning,
and arrived at Paray le Monial a
little before six in the afternoon.
All day we traversed a land of great fertility,
nch ,n grain fields, for the most part open
and level, m places picturesque. The sea-
son here is at least six weeks earlier than at
home. Already the grain is ripe or fast
npenmg in the fields, and the people are busily
at work making their hay and gathering in
the harvei

Paray le Monial is situated on the banks of
a small stream, in the Department of Loire-et-
Saone, in the very heart of France. It is a
town of not more than 4,000 inhabitants,
quiet with the quietude of all country places,
quaint with the quaintness of almost all of
the old-world towns. No smoke of factories
darkens its sky, no sound of worldly traffic is
heard in its streets. You hear instead the
song of birds in the morning, the pealing of
bells, and all day long the pilgrim's hymn. A

If,

M THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

deep peace, a sweet and restful tranquility,
broods on the place which the Prince of Peace,
the Lord of the Sacred Heart, has chosen for
His sanctuary.

The Chapel of the Sacral Heart, attached
to the Convent of the Visitation, must seem
commonplace enough to the ordinary traveller.
It is smaU of size. and. as seen from without,
very plain, very unpretentious. Witliin is a
wealth of votive ofTerinffs from every land.
Consecrated banners, wrought in silk and gold
and richly embroidered, are ranged around
the walls, and the light of manv lamps falls
upon the high altar where Our blessed Lord
revealed His heart to the lowly X'isitandine
and whence He still dispenses His grace.

All day Thursday and far into the night
pdgrims keep pouring in from all parts. \ll
night long the Chapel is open, and the stream
of mcoming and outgoing pilgrims is as the
flow and ebb of a mighty sea. At two in the
mornmg of Friday. Feast of the Sacred Heart
the Masses begin. They continue at all of the
eight altars until ten. at most of them until
twelve, yet not one-third of the priests in
Paray le Monial with the great International
Pilgrimage can say Mass this day in the

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM S9

sanctuary of the Sacred Heart. They must
needs go elsewhere, to the basilica, to other
churches or chapels.

At ten o'clock Solemn High Ma.ss is cele-
brated ,n the basilica, the Vicar-Gencral of
Pans f)cinp the celebrant. The Hisho,, of
Autun. Cardinal Perraud. occupies the throne
on the gospel side, for Paray le Monial is in
h.s jurisdiction. In the .sanctuary are several
prelate-s and dignitaries, among others Arch-
bishop Corrigan of \ew York, and as manv
pnests as can find standing room. The church
•s hteraly packed with pilgrims, vet manv
housands have been unable to gain' entrance
In the nave, directly in front of the main altar
are ranged the banners of the various pilgrim-
ages, some thirty or forty in all_I cannot give
the exact number. Hither they have been
borne by pilgrim ban.Is from all charters of
the globe, from many countries u{ Europe
from As,a from Africa, from .America. North
Wd South, and from the i.slands of the far
Pacific Ocean. Conspicuous among them is
our own Canadian banner, with its almost Hfe-
s.ze image of Our Lord revealing His Sacred
Heart in the centre, and ranged along the l>or.
ders the heroic founders of the Church in

40 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

■illi Ml i

Canada, Laval, Champlain, Maisonneuve. Bre-
boeuf, Mary of the Incarnation, Marguerite
Bourgeois, and the foundress of the Ursulines
of Quebec. A little beyond is unfurled an-
other American banner, which proudly claims
a place here to-day by a right peculiarly its
own. It is the banner of Catholic Ecuador
the Republic of the Sacred Heart. Inscribed
on it, in letters of gold, which first were
written in blood, are the words of the martyred
President, Garcia Moreno, as he fell by the
hand of the assassin. Iddios ne meure— God
dies not. At the Credo all are on their feet,
and the priests in the sanctuary and in all parts
of the basilica pilgrim voices from • lany lands
smg in unison the time-honourea Confession
of the Faith " once delivered to the saints "—
in the chant of the Church and in the language
of the Church, the Creed of the Church
Catholic and Apostolic. It is a most impres-
sive and most solemn scene, one never to be
forgotten.

Thursday night the pilgrims made the Way
of the Cross by torchlight in the great garden
adjoining the basilica. The garden itself was
brilliant with lights, and at each station the
arch-priest attached to the basilica delivered a

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 41

discourse in French, of some five or ten
minutes. In the intervals between stations the
vast multitude joined in singing the hymn of
Catholic France, with its pleading refrain,
Sauvez, Sauvez la France. On the afternoon
of Friday the basilica was again packed to
hear the sermon of Father Couper, one of tlie
first preachers of France, and to assist at the
International Act of Consecration to the Sa-
cred Heart. It was indeed a red-letter day
in the City of the Sacred Heart. From earliest
dawn the streets were lined with pilgrims in
picturesque costumes and gay with banners,
the Papal colours and the banner of the Sacred
Heart ever holding the place of honour. As
the sun went down and darkness fell upon the
scene, the celebration was brought to a close
by a great torchlight procession through the
streets.

That night, in the hotel of the Sacred Heart
hard by the Chapel of the Visitation, the Cana-
dian pilgr- -s were introduced to General
Charette, sometime leader of the Pontifical
Zouaves, and Admiral Cuverville. of the
French Navy. Both made short speeches
brimful of Gallic fire, and of loyalty to the
Sacred Heart and to Holy Mother Church. O

■lj

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

that France had many such high-souled, God-
fearing men among her leaders and coun-
cillors !

There were many pilgrimages at Paray le
Monial, and many people represented there.
But it is quite safe to say that the pilgrimage
which represented the Catholics of Canada cut
the greatest figure and claimed the greatest
share of attention. This it owed not to its
numbers; numerically it was one of the small-
est. Nor was it the rank or dignity of its mem-
bers that won it a foremost place : it was made
up of plain priests and humble lay people,
many of them from the remote rural districts
of the Province of Quebec. But the Catholics
of France saw in the vast majority of the pil-
grim band that gathered round the Canadian
banner the descendants of the men and wo-
men who went forth from France three cen-
turies ago to found a new France on the banks
of the St. Lawrence. And as they heard tliem
sing their hymns in French to airs that have
been familiar to generations of pious French-
men, and saw how they still hold fast, with
unswerving fidelity, the Faith of their Fathers,
the Faith of Old France, their hearts went out
to them as they went out to the members of no

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 48

other pilgrimage there. Most of all was this
made manifest yesterday morning as we
gathered in the sanctuary at Paray le Monial
to sing for the last time before leaving the
hymn of the Canadian pilgrims. Mr. Rivet,
organizer of the pilgrimage, who has a rich'
strong and most musical voice, sang the solos,
and all joined in the chorus. The emotion of
many present found vent in tears, and copies
of the hymn were afterwards eagerly sought
for. This particular hymn, one of two, was
composed while we were in London, by a
French Canadian Sister who has entered a
convent there. I subjoin a copy of it, with an
English translation, which one who looks at it
without reading might mistake for verse, but
which is really only a rude rendering into
English, line for line and almost word for
word, of the original :

Cantique des Pelerins Canadiens
a Paray le Monial.

^rl-

44 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

(AIR: PITIE, MON DIEU.)

Des bords lointains de la Nouvelle France,
Du Canada, Maitre, nous accourons;
O Roi des rois, a Vous notre allegeance.
A votre Coeur, nous nous consacrons.

Coeur adorable,

Foyer d'amour,

Le pays de I'erable

Est a Vous sans retour.

II.

Peuples, debout! le Maitre nous appelle,
Rallions-nous autour du Sacre-Coeur ;'
II faut au monds une seve nouvelle:
Aliens tous boire aux sources du Sauveur.

Coeur adorable.

Nous voici tous,

Nous venons, Coeur aimable,

Chercher la vie en vous.

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM
III.

Nos maux sont grands, nous sommes bien
coupables,

Mais Vous. mon Dieu. vous etes toujours
bon;

Vous avez fait les peuples guerissables,
11 leur suffit de Vous crier: Pardon!

Coeur adorable,

Qui nous aimez,

A la terre coupable,

Coeur divin, pardonnez.

IV.

Coeur de Jesus, que tous les coeurs soient

votres.
Au Cher pays, en la France, en tous lieux!
Par votre amour, unis les uns aux autres
Nous serons forts et nous serons heureiix.

Nous voulons etre

A Vous, Jesus ;
Prenez nos coeurs, bon Maitre,
Et ne les rendez plus.

Daignez benir notre chere Patrie,

Tous nos foyers, nos Pretres, no's Pasteurs;

■i'!

46 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

Et que tou jours, de Jesus, de Marie,
Les Canadiens soient loyaux serviteursi

Coeur adorable,

Gardez toujours
Au pays de I'erable
La foi des anciens jours.

Hymn of the French-Canadian
Pilgrims at Paray le Monial.

From the shores of far New France,

From Canada, Lord, we come;

O King of Kings, we swear fealty to Thee,

And to Thy Sacred Heart we consecrate our-
selves.

Adorable Heart,
Fountain of Love,
The Land of the Maple
Is Thine forevermore.

Hark, ye peoples ! the Master calls us.
Let us rallly round His Sacred Heart,
The world needs the sap of a new life;
Let us all go and drink at the fountains of the
Saviour.

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

Adorable Heart,
Behold us all here,
We come, O loving Heart,
To find life in Thee.

III.

Great are our sins, our souls are stained with
guilt.

But Thou, my God, Thou art ever merciful,
In Thee is healing for the Nations;
Enough that they cry out : Forgive!

Adorable Heart

That lovest us ;

Pardon, Heart Divine,

The guilt-stained world.

IV.

Heart of Jesus, may all hearts be Thme
In our own dear country, in France, in every
land !

Bound together by the bonds of Thy love
We shall find strength and happiness.

Thine, O Jesus,

We would be;

Take our hearts, dear Lord,

And make them Thine for ever.

48 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

Deign to bless our dear Country,
Our Homes, oui Priests, our Bishops;
And may Canadians ever be
Faithful Servants of Jesus and Mary!

Adorabb Heart,

Always conserve

To the Land of the Maple

The Faith of our Fathers!

We reached Geneva last night and are leav-
ing to-morrow morning for Berne. Geneva
is a beautiful city, situated at the head of the
lake of the same name. The atmosphere is
wonderfully clear here to-day and the sun

shines out of a cloudless sky. Afar oflF

though it seems not far, it must be some score
of miles away— the snowy summit of Mont
Blanc is distinctly visible. All around are
Alpine peaks. The city is full of historic in-
terest. Here Calvin preached his gloomy
creed and ruled with an iron rod. Here, too,
the very opposite of Calvin i i every way, that
sweetest and most lovable of Saints, Francis
of Sales, wielded episcopal authority over a

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 49

devoted flock His spirit seems to breathe in
the peace and calm of this June day. One
can even fancy that one hears the accents of
h.s gentle vo.ce calling his sheep away from
earthly pastures to heavenly ones, guiding
hem ever onward to the Great Shepherd of
tl^ sheep. ,n the fold upon the everlasting

I '

tfi

50 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

Lucerne, Wednesday. June 27.

I HE parts of Switzerland that are ca-
pable of cultivation seem to be even
more fertile than the parts of France
that we have passed through. Both the hay
and grain crops are heavier, at least this year,
and the vine thrives marvellously on the hill-
sides of this beautiful and romantic land. For
beautiful it is and romantic, this land of bright-
blue skies, and snow-capped mountains, and
leaping cataracts, and sylvan glades, and smil-
ing valleys.

We spent Sunday at Geneva, and stayed two
or three hours at Berne Monday on ou. way
to Interlaken. Berne is the national capital.
Its most notable buildings are the Federal
House of Parliament and the Lutheran Ca-
thedral. Tl e latter dates from the beginning
of the i.qt'n century, and to this day bears about
it tokens of the Faith that* first set it up.
Berne is the German word for " bear." The
city takes its name " de bellua caesa," as an
old monument bears witness, from a bear hav-

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 51

ing been slain on the site ^.herc It stands,
rhence the bear is the emblem and heraldic
decoration c.f the Swiss capital. You can't
turn m any direction v.ithont runninjr across
the figure of a bear. The poor beast is drawn
«n every conceivable shape and tortured into
every conceivable attitude. One is reminded
of the fable of the Lion and the Man. as told
by Newman. There are bears couchant. bears
passant, and bears regardant. There are old
bears and young boars, big l,ears and little
bears bears climbing trees, bears standing on
^e,r hmd legs, bears hugging each other, and
bears makmg faces at each other. And to
crown all. the city maintains four huge live
bears and several young ones in an enclosure
about twelve feet below the level of the ground
They are shown to every visitor who crosses
the stone br.dge that spans the Aar river, on
the banks of which Berne stands

Interlaken. as the name implies, is situated
between two lakes. It is an ideal summer re-
sort a very paradise of tourists. It is hemmed
m by mountams on every side. On the east.
Jungfrau hfts her snowy summit to the skies
Jungfrau (pronounced yungfrau) is German
for virgm. And a tall virgin she is. this

t ■ 1 .,

«t THE DIAHY OF A PILGHIM

Maiden of the Snows, ever holding her head
erect some 13,000 feet above the level of the
sea. She always wears her white mantle, and
for apron a great glacier. On the evening of
our arrival she had on a cap of cloud, and
some time during the night further shrouded
herself in a veil of mist. Nor would she lift it
as we went away, eager though we were to
catch a glimpse of her morning face.

Between Interlaken and Lucerne the scenery
IS uninterruptedly grand. Mountain, lake, and
Alpme river quickly succeed one another, hut
without sameness. The most remarkable feat-
ure of this route is the over-mountain railway.
The train climbs an Alpine hill from i.joo to
1.500 feet in height, and makes its way
down on the other side. Our train was
divided into three sections, each section of
which was pulled by a powerful locomotive.
The M'hcels revolve on cogs set in the rails.
At one time the train is on the verv edge of a
precipice, with a sheer descent of several hun-
dred feet; at another, an overhanging clifT
threatens to fall down on top of it and smash
It mto atoms. Now it seems to be on the verge
of dropping into a lake hundreds of feet be-
low; the next moment the dense Alpine forests

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 59

hides even the heavens from one's view. It i,
a thnllmg experience, and one feels a sense of
relK f once it is fairly over.
♦ • ♦

^iia

64 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

';!! 5

Rome, July 6th, 1900.
'T is more than a week since last I put
pen to paper. We were then at Lucerne,
amid the eternal hills. We are now in
the Eternal City. Into this short space much
has been crowded — too much even to touch on
here or give in barest outline. There is the
sublime scenery of the Alpine Passes between
Lucerne and Como, with the passage through
the great tunnel at St. fothard's. There is
Milan with its marvellous Duomo. " a dream
in marble." as some prose poet has pictured it.
There is the vast plain of Lombardy, stretching
for miles and miles from the foot of the Alps
to the Mediterranean, the garden of Italy, as
Italy is the garden of Europe. Then there is
Venice, Queen of the Adriatic, the city of doges
and of gondolas. The doges are dead; we
visited the church where monuments in marble
and in bronze enshrine their ashes and perpetu-
ate all that now remains of their former great-
ness—a fugitive and fitful memory. The gon-
dolas are still there, with their graceful, swan-

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 55

like shape and movement— just such as they
were in the days when the Republic of Venice
was mistress of the seas. There, again is
Padua, with its shrine of St. Anthony, whose
mcorrupt tongue still witnesses to the power
with which this " trumpet of the Gospel " her-
alded Christ and Him crucified. There, too is
Loreto, with its Holy House, where the Word
was made Flesh— a most gracious shrine.
Lastly, as we hasten Romeward. midway be-
tween Ancona and Rome, amid the Umbrian
hills, yet another shrine draws us to itself—
Assisi. where live the memories of St. Francis
and the spirit of St. Francis— live, too, as
fresh and fragrant as are the blood-bedewed
roses that bloom on thomless bushes in his
garden, where he fought the good fight against
temptation and won for the men of all time the
Pardon of the Portiuncula.

Those of us who spent Wednesday in Assisi
did not reach Rome until a late hour that night.
Imagine our surprise and almost consternation
when we were told that all the pilgrims were to
be received in audience by the Holy Father
at eleven the next (yesterday) morning. We
had counted on being at least a day or two in
Rome before the audience took place, and we

If'"

«6 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

were not ready. We ran about for two or
three hours in the morning, buying medals,
etc.. to be blessed— I with no little difficulty,
getting English gold for the cheques containing
the Peter Pence offering of our diocese, some
two thousand one hundred and fifty francs.
By eleven o'clock we are at the Vatican, and
half an hour afterwards Pope Leo enters
the Sala Clementina, borne on a chair, amid
the ' evivas ' of the assembled pilgrims. There
are two pilgrimages, the Brazilian, ranged
along one side of the great hall, and the Ca-
nadian along the other. First the Pope re-
ceives the Brazilians, then the Canadians. He
is carried in his chair right around the hall, in
front of the pilgrims who line the sides. To
each he gives his hand to kiss; to each his
blessing and some gracious token of tender-
ness— a word, a smile ; to all. at the close, the
Apostolic Benediction. Pope Leo is of course
changed since I saw him last, sixteen years
ago; the white hair is scantier and whiter still,
the lines on the face are deeper, the hands
are more tremulous, the voice has lost its res-
onance. But the light of the coal black eye
is not dimmed, there is more of pathos in the
voice, and the whole face has melted into ten-

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 57

derness. There has come into it a gentler and
more winning look, which one likens to the
mellowness of ripe fruit when it is ready to
drop from the tree. This fruit is surely meet
to be gathered, one says to oneself, yet none
but the Master's hand may pluck it from the
stem.

The scene in the Sala Clementina, at the
c ose of the audience, as the aged Pontiff
blessed the pilgrims. I will not attempt to de-
scribe^ I shall never forget it. and no one who
was there ever can forget it. When the Pope
raised himself on his chair and stretched out
his hand to give the Apostolic Benediction
there was a stillness as of death throughout the
vast hall--a stillness soon broken by sobs, for
tears filled the eyes of all that were there, and
many wept aloud. The first words were spoken
'n distinct though somewhat low tones, but as
the last words, in nomine Patris et Filii et
^piritus Sancti. were being uttered the Holy
lather himself broke down completelv The
voice grew husky with emotion, the eyes
closed, and great tears rolled down the aged
cheeks. Leo XIII felt that he was blessing
for the last time these faithful children of his
from the two Americas, and we felt that never

ffl

58 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

in this life should we look upon his face again.
I must close abruptly, without as much as
one word about Rome itself — Rome to which
I have come, not merely as a pilgrim from
afar to a holy place of pilgrimage, but as a son
comes to his mother after long years of separa-
tion. For Rome is to me the mother of my
soul.

* « «

I If
I I

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 59

Genoa, FRroAv, July 13.
I E left Rome Tuesday at 2 p. m., after
a stay of six days, which was all too
short. For one could spend months
and months in Rome and still not see a tithe of
what is worth seeing, or even begin to be weary
of a place so rich in all that sages have thought
and poets have dreamed of and artists have
wrought and martyrs have bled for and saints
have loved. We leave Rome with regret- feel-
mg as all must feel in whom there is a spark of
Divme Faith, that it is the Citv of the So-^! to
which, m the words of the poet, " the exile of
the heart " must forever turn.

The run from Rome to Florence is made in
five or six hours. Florence, the city of flowers.
IS built on both banks of the Arno It is a
beautiful rity much frequented by tour-
ists. It n he birthplace of many of Italy's
greatest sons, of Dante, of Michael Angelo. of
Oahleo. Here Savonarola lived and preached
and wielded an influence more potent than that
of any civil ruler. We saw, in one of the pal-

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

aces of the Medici, the chapel where he spoke
his last words to his brother monks, just be-
fore he was led out to be burnt at the stake in
the Piazza of the Signoria. hard by. Here,
too, first saw the light of day one who was
the opposite of Savonarola in many ways, the
sweet and gentle Philip Neri. Rome, the' city
of his adoption, of which he became the second
Apostle, is still filled with the fragrance of his
saintly life.

From Florence we come by rail to Pisa,
and thence the same day to Genoa. From
Spezia to the latter city, the railway, skirting
the shores of the Mediterranean, is one series
of tunnels. In the intervals between tunnels
we catch glimpses of as beautiful and pictur-
esque scenery as one could wish to gaze upon—
a background of hills, rising in many places ab-
ruptly to a great height, sloping vineyards,
groves of olive, clusters of fruit trees, and. in
front, the waters of the Mediterranean, clear as
crystal and mirroring in their depths the fleecy
summer clouds that float in the blue above.
Over all, like a great dome over Nature's own
Cathedral, is the sky of Italy.

"Genoa la Superba "—Genoa the Superb
—the Genoese call this city by the rippling

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 61

Mediterranean, and well they may. It is in-
deed, superb. In its marble palaces could be
entertained to-day, in princely fashion, all the
princes of the earth. It is the richest city of
the peninsula, the great mart of the Mediter-
ranean, the Liverpool of Italy. From the har-
bour, where float the flags of all nations, the
city resembles a vast amphitheatre, tier upon
tier of tall buildings rising one above another.
Lven the urchins in the street are proud of this
queenly city. In the higher part of the town
away up among the hills, near the marvellous
Campo Santo, a group of them stood talking
rapidly, and to me unintelligibly, in their own
Genoese dialect, as we passed by. " Che lin-
giiaggio parlate voi altri ? " I asked somewhat
bluntly. " Noi." says one of the number, with
a sweep of the hand whidi took in the other
members of the group, and then pointing
proudly with his finger to his breast. " Noi
siamo Genovesi— We are natives of Genoa."

That Campo Santo, by the same token, is one
of the wonders of the world. Trul- ho dead
of Genoa dwell in marble halls, ad thi. city
of the dead is a miracle in marble Every
monument is a work of art. The pose of that
hgure. how graceful and natural ! Those faces

m THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

in marble and bronze, how life-like are they!
The dead seem to live in them again, and to
look down at you with their solemn eyes from
the other world.

» i

IS.

We loved that hall, tho' white and cold
Those niched shapes of noble mould

A princely people's awful princes,
The grave, severe Genoese of old.

— Tennyson, " The Daisy."

Quieti et Memoriae — you meet it every-
where, this terse and beautiful epigraph. Re-
calling the memory of some dear departed one,
it breathes a prayer for that rest after which
the human heart ever hungers here below —
that rest which we look for " where beyond
these voices there is peace."

For full nine hundred years, from 900 to
1,800, Genoa maintained herself an indepen-
dent Republic. Already six centuries had
rolled over this Old World Republic when the
boldest of her sailors embarked at Palos on his
voyage of discovery. " Were it not for him
we might all of iis to-day be — Indians," is the
curious thought that coines to one of the pil-
■^ms as he gazes on the massive monument.

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 63

near the railway station, which bears the Ice-
end in huge letters :

A CHRISOFORO COLOMBO LA PATRIA

Ah, those might-have-beens of an unborn past!
It is bootless to speculate upon them.

t ■

64 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

■ ill!

Ljurdes, July 19, 1900.
jOURDES is a small town in the dio-
cese of Tarbes, Hautes Pryenees,
picturesquely situated on the right
hank of the river Gave." I quote the words
from a booklet which purports to be " A Short
Account of the Apparitions and Miracles at
Lourdes." We arrived here from Toulouse
about five o'clock on the afternoon of the
day before yesterday. It had been a very
hot day in the cars, but all covered with sweat
and dust as we were we went straight in pro-
cession to the Grotto of Our Lady, without
waiting to go to our hotel. There, on our
knees before the statue, which smiles down
sweetly upon us, as did erstwhile the Virgin
Mother for whom it stands, upon the simple
peasant girl of the Pyrenees, we recite the
Rosary and sing the Magnificat. All about us
throngs are kneeling in prayer, and there are
signs of a subdued excitement, for just five
minutes before our arrival a young girl who
had suffered severe injuries by a fall three

THE DIARY OF A PILGBIM «/,

y«rs ago, and was carried thither in her little
carnage, a few hours before, was seen to rise

Ifter'the? """vTu- ^'" "'■■"•'^ '-<'>" "or
after the cure did she report at the Bureau des

ronstatations Medicales,

The words that I have ,|uoted at the head of
th.5 page were written twenty-four vcars aeo
by an Enghsh priest who vi.si.ed the shrfnT

that Lourdes ,s a sn.all town. The old town
of Lourdes ,s^ mdeed, small, jus, a bi, of a vil-
tt I '"'""'' "■" "'= ""^ Lourdes

of the Gave, over against the famous Grotto
has pretens,ons to rank as a city. I, has ts
banks, ,ts public buildings, its electric ca

are almos, wholly of a devotional character
hoWs and boarding houses without numtr

And e, twenty.s,x years as;o, jus, two years
before our Enghsh pries, wrote his account,
there was not, as an old inhabi.ant told us a
^one upon a stone of the modem, and, for the
most^par,, handsome buildings that one sees

Nature has lavished her charms on this fav-

66 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

oured spot. Nothing is wanting of all that can
please the eye or st:othe and rest the mind in
natural scenery. Lofty hills in front and in
the rear, some bare and bald, others clothed
with forest to their very tops; in the back-
ground, the snow-clad peaks and spurs of the
Pyrenees; at your feet a narrow valley, stud-
ded with stately trees and carpeted with green-
sward : and ever in your ears, though the < ye
wearied with gazing, should seek repose, <lie
rushing waters of the Gave. Surely a filling
entourage for this most gracious of ali our
Lady's shrines!

The waters of the Gave, how swiftly and
noisily they flow, flinging themselves passion-
ately upon the rude rocks that would stay their
onward course ! The murmur of the Gave has
been in my ears from a boy, for I seemed to
hear the rushing of its waters when in boy-
hood's days I lingered over the pages of Henri
Lasserre's fascinating story of the wonders of
Lourdes. And to-day as I sit on the bank and
gaze down upon the swift stream that flings
itself into the Adour to mingle finally with the
waters of the mighty Atlantic, the Gave of my
boyish dreams is a reality. It is something
more. It is an emblem at once and a sermon —

THK 1)1 AKV OF a PILGRIM 67

in emblem of rhc surging^ multitude of pi|.
.. .s u-h.ch ever keeps streatning to the Grotto
oi our Lady, flowing hither from the ends of
the earth; a sermon on the true purpose of life
Jjee how this eager mountain stream. like a
thmg of hfe. runs joyously to its rest in the
hosom of the great ocean! Not less surely
was ,t meant by Nature to find there its repose
than we are meant by the Author of Nature to
find our repose in Ihm. Yet we linger by the
way and lo.ter. while the Gave leaps onward,
oh how swiftly and how surely! to its goal
and the home of its rest.

But the Gave has not alway. been at this
point the deep, narrow, noisy stream that it is
i-'iay. Once v r-arncd at will over its rocky
bed. niakin.r i„r t ; If ._, wider and more spa-

r'l

•tout stone walls fence
i vrow channel, and it
• 'he wild beast of the
•'^ind iron bars. In

i-'j, 1

'''■■■- path.. ay >:,
It in and c n'lne '■ c
frets and n,; , s
forest when rT.pri^r
these hot Julv .;,,--

and swifter, fed I y vhe melting snows of the
Pyrenees. But on that February day. forty-
two years ago. it was a feeble and mild-man-
nered stream. Bemadette and her two little
companions crossed the main stream by the

l.e Gave runs deeper

■ fc .r

f ■

68 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

stone bridge. But a narrow side channel still
separated them from the Grotto in the rocks
of Massabielle, where was plenty of the drift
wood they were in search of. Stooping down
slowly to pull off her shoes and stockings with
a view of wading this stream, Bemadette
heard a noise as of a sudden gust of wind.
" It was a calm grjy day. and not a twig of
the poplars was stirring, yet she felt certain
that she had heard the rush of air. She
stooped down again, and again the mysterious
current startled her. This time the child
looked up towards the niche-shaped cave. To
her amazement a clear bright light issued from
the aperture, in the midst of which stood a
woman more wondrously beautiful than any
one Bernadette had ever seen, or could have
imagined. She was clad in white, with a long
white veil falling over her shoulders; a blue
scarf encircled her waist and reached to her
knees, and upon either bare foot waj a gold-
coloured rose." I am quoting from my little
book. But the story has been often told and
is trite now, thoup^h it can never be common-
place.

The number of pilgrims who visit Lourdes
yearly is estimated at two hundred and fifty

THE DIARY OP A PILGRIM 69

oer the sun. The two ends of America are
w.de enough asunder, yet .he fact of Tr ^
ng from the same continent is a real C bt

S whl"^ """ T fellow-pilgrimrfrom
Braz.1 whom we meet here at the shrine of our

a«t Tn Z "'V'^"' '* P""^ '^ "^-'^ and
agam m the aud.ence chamber of the Vatican

• ♦ •

70 THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM

LouRDEs, Saturday, July 21.
I VERY DAY since our coming here has
been for us a day of prayer, and, at the
same time, a day of rest-rest for body
and for soul. There is something in the very
atmosphere of Lourdes which inspires devo-
tion and invites repose. Every morning the
pilgrims assist at xVlass in the Grotto and many
receive Holy Communion. We all of us take
our places, too, in the procession of the Blessed
Sacrament, and at night, in the torch-light pro-
cession. This morning at ten o'clock we had
Solemn High Mass in the Grotto, with a
Canadian as ceiebrant, Canadians as ministers
at the altar, and Canadians as singers. The
service was. of course, in the open air, and
very solemn and impressive it was. While we
joined in the chant of the Mass. the wind in
the trees around about us seemed to sing an
accompaniment, and the hoarse-sounding Gave
lent its deep bass voice as it sped on its way to
the ocean.

To-morrow at eleven o'clock we bid adieu

THE DIARY OF A PILGRIM 71

to Lourdes. With Lourdes our pilgrimage

:v"enin.1 ''"•f' ^'^'^ ^'^ ^^ ^^ ^-d^
evenmg, our p,lgr,m party breaks up. Some

717 "^ '°^ ' "^^°"' others'wil, s"
from Liverpool on the following Thursday

Ireland. Belgium, or of France itself, before
urnmg^e. steps homeward. Of this numb
s the present wnter. But here at Lourdes as
have said, our pilgrimage ends. And so

Lady by the soundmg waters of the Gave let
-e send after its fellows this last leaf from
The Diary of a Pilgrim.

iii

JOTTINGS OF A TRIP IN SCOTLAND.

jEAVING Liverpool with its din and
smoke behind, we begin our journey by
rail, through the northwestern part of
England toward the Scottish border. It is
near the end of July, and the weather, for Eng-
land, is hot. But coming as we do direct from
the stifling heat of Paris, we find it cool by
comparison. We are travelling by fast express,
and can catch but passing glimpses of the towns
and hamlets, the broad farms and comfortable
homesteads, of Old England. Now we are
dashing through one of the many manufactur-
ing towns with which the land is studded.
There are long rows of red brick houses, with
here and there a huge chimney belching forth
black smoke. The next moment we are once
more in the open country. On either hand as
far as the eye can reach, are great stretches of
farmland and green pastures where cattle are
grazing. The grain is ripening in the fields,
and ever and anon there comes, through the

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND 73

open window of the car, the sweet savour of
new-mown hay. As we go further north the
country grows more rugged. Dark ravines
open at our feet, and shaggy hills frown down
upon us. By three o'clock we have passed
Carlisle, once the great stronghold of England
against the fierce incursions of its warlike
neighbour to the north. Soon after we cross
the border and find ourselves on Scottish soil
it IS the land of our fathers-
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood.
Land of the mountain and the flood,—

a land of stirring memories and teeming with
romance. It is not without emotion, there-
fore, that we enter it for the first time Nor
does the dense Scotch mist into which we run
before reaching Edinburgh damp our enthusi-
asm m the least-though we should not be able
to say as much for our persons were we ex-
posed to it but for a moment.

We spend the Sunday in Edinburgh. That
droll Frenchman who writes under the pen-
name of Max O'Rell, defines a Scotchman as
one who keeps the Sabbath and everything
else he can lay his hands on! Well, at any

; .

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND.

rate he keeps the Sabbath, and that is more
than many a Frenchman does. For the people
of Edinburgh the Sunday is still emphatically a
day of rest. To a Protestant gentleman from
Toronto who had just come from Paris him-
self and put up at the same hotel with us, we
remark upon the contrast between the Parisian
Sunday and the solemn quiet of the Scotch Sab-
bath. " Quite so," he says. " but you should
have been here yesterday while the Labor Pa-
rade was passing through the streets. You
would have seen one after another of the men
dropping out of the procession in a state of
beastly intoxication. In all the time that I was
in Paris I saw no single instance of such drunk-
enness." He had come away from Paris
greatly edified, and was leaving Edinburgh ut-
terly disgusted and horrified at what he had
seen. Sobriety was more to him than Sunday
observance. And yet human frailtv mav ac-
count for drunkenness, and palliate it at least
in part. But the violation of the Sunday has
Its root cause, it is to be feared, in a spirit of
contempt for the ordinances of the Christian
Religion.

Edinburgh is not only the capital of Scot-
land, but the queen of Scottish cities. There

W ¥

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND. Tg

are few finer cities, indeed, in all the world
Its broad and well paved streets are kept scru-
pulously clean. The buildings, almost all of
them of granite, are tall and stately. And the
site with .ts picturesque setting of hills is su-
perb On one of these hill,,, west from Prince

tori r "'. ,x"'' "°"'"""'' ^'""ds the his-
toric Castle hke a grim sentinel guarding the
approaches „, the City. Climbing the hilf and
^menng by the draw-bridge, we see, among
other .nterestmg relics of the past, the Chapel
of the samtly Q„een .Margaret, and stand Yn

urr r "■' '"■'""=<' "^^y 5'"='" '°ok

""tf ' T"'''' '" "'■^^'o- ='"') "here
«as bom Janjes the Si.xth of Scotland and the
r.rst of England. In another room hard bv
we gaze upon the ancient Regalia of Scotland,

erS- ' ™"°"' """^ =•"" ^-'°- P^«-
The run from Edinburgh to Glasgow bv rail
■s made ma little more than one hour 'ou'
route hes through Lanarkshire, famed for fe
coal mmes and iron foundries. Glasgow, with
popula,on of over one million, is the second
city of the Empire. Unlike Edinburgh it has
no pretentions to beauty. Still, it L or^
fine streets and very beautiful parks, t coT

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND.

tains, too, not a few notable buildings, and
there are in and around it many places of
great historic interest. Its water supply,
brought from Loch Katrine, thirty miles dis-
tant, is not surpassed perhaps by that of any
other city in the world.

Early in the morning we leave Glasgow for
Oban by boat. Steaming down the Clyde, we
get a good view of the docks and of the ships
both great and small th.nf are a-building on
either bank. A few miles down the river is
Douglas Castle, and a little beyond, on the sum-
mit of a rock 260 feet in height, rises Dum-
barton Castle, famed in Scottish story. We
touch at Greenock and Dunoon, and thence
make for Rothesay, the capital of Bute. On
our left, as we near the Bute shore, we see
Mount Stuart House, the seat of the Marquis.
Leaving Rothesay, the steamer runs up the
Kyles or narrows (from the Gaelic caolas, a
strait) of Bute, round the northern end of the
island, and down the other side towards Ardla-
mont Point on the mainland. The scenery on
this strait is very fine, wooded mountain, loch,
and glen blending their varied beauties into
one picturesque whole. Rounding Ardlamont
Point, we steer straight for the harbour of

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND. 77

Tarbert. on the coast of Kintyre. Away to the
south, and but dimly visible in the haze, is the
island of Arran. From Tarbert we proceed
up Loch Fyne to Ardrishaig. 180 miles from
Glasgow, at the head of the Crinan Canal
Th,s canal, which connects Loch Fyne with
Loch Cnnan. and is nine miles in length, runs,
for a great part of the way. along the base of
forest-clad hills.

By this time, unluckily for us, it has begun

ram heavdy. which mars our enjoyment of

h est of the trip to Oban. As the boat stops

for the openmg of the locks of the canal, we

'ze tha we have left the Lowlands behind. I„

a 1 ttle boy who has shoes on (shame on him »)
folovvs us from lock to lock, selling milk by
he glassful to the passengers. The children

as to say. What do we care what these En-
gl.sh strangers say or tl.,,), „. „s." But the
2-«^t I spealc to .hen in C.e;ic. they grow
^y of me. and the p... VftK. g,rls look as if
they were ashamed to be seen n their ^; re feet
Leaving Crinan. the . este-a : r-^^inus of
the canal, we have on oui right the -alnlanc'

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND.

of Argyle; on our left are the islands of Jura
and Scarba. Between the two is the famous
whirlpool of Corryvrechaf. the roar of which
may be heard at a distance of many miles.
Away in the west, beyond Ross of Mull, lies
far-famed lona, with Ulva dark and Colonsay

And all the group of islets gay
That guard famed Staffa round.

Presently we descry Dunollie Castle, once the
chief stronghold of the Lords of Lorn, and
soon after land in Oban.

Oban has been called the Charing Cross of
the Highlands. And such it is in the sense of
being the great distributing centre for tourists
and travellers by rail or boat. But in every
other sense how unlike is this quiet little town,
with its cosy harbour and crescent beach, where
the wavelets play at hide-and-seek with the
pebbles, to the bustling railway station in the
heart of the biggest and busiest of all earth's
cities? During the summer months this cosy
harbour is crowded with pleasure yachts from
all parts of the world, and the hotels that line
the pebbly beach are thronged with tourists
from every land.

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND. ^g

For Oban is a dainty place
In distant or in nigh lands.

^^ t»wn delights the tourist race
i-'ke Oban in the Highlands.

ZrTf^T' '" ^" '^'' ^" ^^'^ ^^harming re-
sort on he shore of the western sea

.. Ir T '" '.!'' "'''' '""'■"'"^ ^^-^ ^^ke the

si^s^rr-ii:j-^-^'^'och

v^uMit Is on our ncht a^i «r«.
steam out of OI,an I'.av and make fnrJ
I Ji'hf MM f», ^ ^""^ Lismore

island of that name. Thencv <,,,. ,

through tlK^ Sound of Munrw"^^
Poinf Ti -^rdnamurchan

you have the n,„u„,a,„s of M„|| o„ the one

.and, a„,l on the other ,h„« of „i,„y m'^,";

surpassmply grand. Here on the Mone„

w:is:frir;,^:;'r"^'-'-^''"'''"

Scott's well In ' ''^'"^"'"^ ^^^"^ «f

the lines "" '"'"' "''^^ ^^^'"^ -'^h

;: Wake. n,aid of Lorn." the minstrels sung
Thy rugged halls. Ardtornish run^ ^'

And the dark seas thy towers that lave

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A TRIP IN SCOTLAND.

Heaved on the beach a softer wave,
As 'mid the tuneful choir to keep
The diapason of the deep.

Near the other end of the sound is Tober-
mory (Mary's Well), the chief seaport of
Mull, a very pretty town, in whose land-locked
harbour ships of any tonnage find securest an-
chorage. This port has for us a very special
interest, as we have reason to believe that
from hence our grand-parents sailed in the
dawn of the century to make for themselves a
home, beyond the stormy Atlantic, in what was
then the wild woods of Nova Scotia.

All day long, from early morn till set of
sun, we follow our sinuous course through the
sounds and lochs and bays of this western sea,
calling here or there to land or take on pas-
sengers. After leaving Torbermory while
rounding Ardnamurchan Point, and until we
gain the shelter of towering Scaur-Eigg, a per-
pendicular cliff some five hundred feet high at
the southwestern extremity of the island of
that name, we are in the open Atlantic, with
no land to the west of us nearer than America.
North of Ardnamurchan lies Moidart, where
Prince Giarlie landed on the 25th of July,

A TRIP IX SCOTLAND.

81
'745. and whence after manv vvn«^ ■

broken man. ^ ^ ' ^ ^°P^^^'^ ^"^

From Eigg vve cross over to Ari..,V

deck of a steamer, it is far from being as fer
tWe as the district that has been namecf - ftel ,"

rpofo^tf'^- ^"^P-^^P-hereTnoo
spot on the western coast of Scotland where

land, having on our leff h , ^ , "'^'""
R,™ I ^ " '"^ islands of EiVo-

Rum, and Canna. and i,, from of u, the so, ff
ern extremity of Skve <;„
Sound of Sleaf I„5 • " "'^ '"'" "«
of Lochalsh h gThe l^:^ ''"°'"' '"^ '^^'^
Skye ,i„ we reach pireit"'™" ^"'1 "'
The s„n shines bright and L ?" Z?'

is dive sified l1 T"^' " ^^ «""" »» 't
' '"'" °"^' ""^ «■' Sound of Raasay. O^

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND.

the Skye shore, near the little island of Holm,
is to be seen the entrance to a cave famed as
one of the hiding places of the unfortunate
Prince Charlie. Presently we pass out of the
Sound of Raasay and enter the Minch. On
the left. Ijeyond the northern promontory of
Skye, some of the Hebridean Islands are
visible in the dim distance. Behind us the
mountains of Skye rise in gloomy grandeur.
As one gazes upon them, there comes to one's
mind these words of MacCrimmon's Lament,
done into English by Sir Walter Scott :

Farewell to each cliflF, on which breakers are

foaming,
Farewell to each dark glen in which red deer

are roaming;
Farewell lovely Skye, to lake, mountain, and

river —
Return, return, return, we shall never.
(Cha till, cha .11, cha till sinn tuille.)

Gairloch has a fine hotel — with prices to
match. It is a charming place, this quiet ham-
let by the sea, but lonely withal. For here,
away up north, one has that sense of isolation,
of being cut off from the great world, which
is itself twin-sister to the feeling of loneliness.

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND.

8t3

Achnasheen , Fielrl <.( iU t- • • ^ ^

by rail In f hVT r ^'""''"'^ ^"^^ whence
Dart of !u f '' ^'''" "^''^^ the road runs
larche: '.'• '"^' ^^^^^'^^ a fine forest oi
arches, which seem to be rebt^ri .

juniper , re, b„. are vcr, ,:^ at 1 ^ c;:

upon a ,„ch S ;, : ::'"' °' =• ^'"J*"

<.eur or ,,,e 4^ci r,f :::

Where the .rd Q„ I;,'™:;,?'"'""',
placed Wilderness hath

M,ngle, heir echoes with the eagle', crv

«■■

f !

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND.

For -re more fittingly than here by Loch
Maree, on some lonely mountain peak, could
the Queen of Wilderness set up her throne?
Here, in sooth, are pathless glen and mountain
high and torrents flung from cliffs. And the
very spirit of Desolation seems to brood over
the place. You may travel miles on this loch
without seeing a single human habitation.
Steep mountains, bare of trees and even of
vegetation, shut it in on all sides. The loftiest
peak in Ruadh Stac Mor, which rises to a
height of 3,309 feet; but there are several
other peaks almost as high. Half way up the
locn is a summer hotel for tourists, v/here
Queen Victoria stayed a week something more
than a score of years ago. Over against this
hotel, near the other side of the loch, is a
wooded islet, called Isle Maree. on which
may be seen the ruins of a monastery, "in
days of yore." says our guide book, " an oasis
of learning in the desert of heathenism."
Tradition has it that the waters of a well on
this little island (mayhap another Tobair
Moire or Mary's Well!) cured insanity— a
tradition which the gentle Quaker poet Whit-
lier has embalmed in these lines :

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND.

Calm on the breast of Isle Maree

A httle Well reposes:
A shadow woven of the oak

And willow o'er ft closes
And whoso bathes therein' his brow,

V\ ,th care or madness burning,
Feels once again his healthful thought

And sense of peace returning.

Lifes changes vex. its discords stun,

Jts glaring sunshine blindeth-
And blest is he who on his way

That fount of healing findeth!

I suspect that Loch Maree is an English
corruption of the Gaelic Loch MairiXt
Mary or Mary's Loch). The monks t^re
ZZ :;"f ^"'^^^ ^--^ ^J-nts of the

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND.

the hardy Highland sheep are grazing. Once
the summit of the ridge is gained, it is down
hill to Achnasheen, where we take the train
for Inverness. Our way for several miles lies
through a wilderness, but all at once wc come
upon a lovely strath, in as high a state of culti-
vation as any district we have seen in the Low-
lands or even in England. It hoks all the
more beautiful i)y contrast with the barren and
desolate ref^ion through which we have just
passed. The name of it I cannot for the
moment recall. But the valley itself as I saw
it. with the bloom of summer ujion it. and the
light of the westering sun, is vividly present to
my imagination.

Inverness, at the mouth of the River Ness,
is, after Edinburgh, the handsomest city n
Scotland. Prof. Blackie sings its praises in
the following sonnet :

Some sing of Rome, and some of Florence: I
Will sound thy Highland praise, fair Inver-
ness;

And till some worthier bard thy thanks may

buy.
Hope for the greater, but not spurn the less.
All things that make a city fair are thine,

A THIP IN SCOTLANB.

R '. , "' ^"'' el'ns. and valiant n,on, who shine
Bngh es, ,„ Britain's glory roll, and stand

swtr"^ Of her l«,nds-wide-circ,in.
Of rich^green slopes a„,l ,.„„,, e„,p„rplod

Icn pie and tower are thine, and castle,l keep
And^an,p,e stream, that roun.i fair gardened

Rolls its majestic current, wreathed in smiles.

Scotland, as a glance at a map of the globe

-Nova icotia Up here at Inverness, during the

.e7,;T'm t'^V'''^ '^"'■«''' '-'^ '■•"'-

h dav is a. i, ?'""' "^ ™" "f J™^' -h™
hi i- ? °"^'''- "'^ ^'"^ *«s no tnore

and at no t,me of the night does its light fade
=>v;ay altogether from the northern sky

/S' C' '™'" '"^^"-"^ - Culloden
deS" ^" "\^'^" "<« that "field of the
dead so fraught with saddening memorie!
to every Highlander. memories

Leaving the capital of the Highlands, we go

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND.

by boat to Fort W'iniam through the Ca
donian Canal. This passa ;e is sixty-two miles
long. There are twenty- four miles of canal,
and thirt^ eight of natural lake, namely. Loch
Ness (24 miles). Locli Oich (4 miles), and
Loch Lochy (10 miles). On these lochs and
along the stretches of land between them the
scenery is of surpassing beauty. On either
side is a ranf? of purple hills rising in places
to a great height. Now they clr .,e in about us
as if to dispute our passage. The next moment
they fall bacK and form into line in the rear,
keeping ward over the great highw.iy of waters
that cleaves the land of the Scottish Gael in
twain and weds :wo seas together. And now
Ben Nevis (4,406 ft.) looms afar off on the
left, lording it over all the hills. At his feet
and under his very shadow stands Fort Wil-
liam, known to the ola folk as An Gearristan.
Along the plain below rolls the Lochy River
till it empties its waters into Loch Linnhe.
Those glens that lie at the foot of the moun-
tain range northeastward from Ben ITevis are
Ruaidh and Spean. along the rivers of the same
name. And this is Lochaber, " synonym for
an ex'le's wail." Children we of these sad-
eyed exiles, is it any wonder that our hearts

A TRIP IX SCOTLAND. 89

H. I uT ''"'''''-' '" ''' ''''' "" '^' heather,
clad h.lls now rising before us? Even we

of the third ;er.r.ntion. still feel within us
someth.ng of their heart-hunger for the old
home they loved so -.vell^the hea-t-hunger
vh.ch ottnd a voice and still finds an echo in
that saddest of sad refrains.

Lochaber Loc!,aI,er. Lochaber no more.
Well maybe return to Lochaber no more.

The Highlands, and the islands on the west
of Scotland, arc to-day but sparsely populated.
A hundred years ago these lovely straths and
g^ns were fill.d with people. Even the braes
and moorlands, now so bare rnd barren
yjelJed a frug.I livdihood to a hardv race of'

sTmnle T r"^\^^-^^^ ^-- and tastes most
imple. To-day whole districts are given over
to sheep and deer.

In Highland glens 'tis far too oft observed.
That man ks chased away and game preserved.

So wrote the Hon. John Bright, in blunt but
honest Enghsh fashion. More pathetic is the
tale of deso.aion as told in Gaelic verse-in

A TKIF» IN SCOTLAND.

linrs of exquisite tciuliTiicss and l)cniity— by
one who is a native of those kIoiis and " to the
manner horn "—one who has in our own day
siuressfnlly wooed the llij,'hlan(l Muse " *manj»
the honnie Fli^hland heather "--Maeleod, the
spirited hard of Skye. I .|ii.,ie two (.r three
stanzas fron) his poem, Anns a Ghleann 'san
KoI)h Mi Oj;:

Tha na fardaii heatt "n an fasaich
Tsir an d'araicheadh na seoid,
Far'ni hii eliridheil fuaini an ^'aire.
Knr'ni hu chairdcal iad niun hhord;
Far a fhaij^dieadh c<»ij^reach haigh,

Apis anrach i)oehd a Ion;
Ach oha'n fliaijjh iad sin's an am so
Anns a' ghleann's an robh mi eg.

Oiaochail madinnn ait ar n- "ge

ATar an ceo air hha> r na.-.i heann,
Tha ar cairdean 's ar hirhd-eo!ais

Air a fojjradh hhos -s thai!:
Tha cuid eile dhuihh nacli ghtais.

Tha'n na caJal huan fodh'n fhod.
'Bha gun uaill. gun fhuath. gun anthlachd,

Anns a' ghleann's an rohh iad og.

A TKIP IN SCOTLAND. 91

Mo shc.aidh I.is ^raci, ciiairteig.

I-c.^ach liniailKu^apuscos:
Alnntricann.I.I, ,„i Vliiai -is

'.V a,„ •|,hi iHKuhaillcaclul nam b.>~
•Nii.'"ratIiij,Mn.,ms^r„ Vcann.

Affiis fcas^'ar fann ., I,,

H'einomhiannaMMsanamsin
Annsa'ghleanir.sanr.,l)|, mio^r.

The soHR .as 1k.,„ ,|,„, ,•„,„ p j.
a l.r -nto nnx.I K„„is„ ,.„ ,,n,JscotZ
uit .t has lost sonu-what in the rendering The
foregoing stan.a. run thus in the translation:

Now in ruins are the (Iwelhn's.

^Vhcre ance hve.l a gallant dan
The.r's was aye the friendly welcome

I heir s was aye the open han';
There the stranger antl the puir'

Found a place at the f.re-en' •
Now alas! there's nane tae greet them

In my bonnie native glen.

Like the mist upon the mountain
Youth's glad morn (,f promise died

And our kinsfolk and accjuaintance '
They are scattered far and wide-

W A TRIP IN SCOTLAND.

Some of them are sleepin' soun'
Neath the shadow of the ben,

That were ance baith leal and hearty
In their bonnie native glen.

But now fare ye weel each fountain,

Each sweet dell an' grassy brae.
Where fu' aft the kye I herded,

In my boyhood's happy day.
When life's gloamin' settles down,

An' my race is at an en',
'Tis my wish that death should find me

In my bonnie native glen.

Wherever you travel in the Western High-
lands you hear Gaelic spoken. And ever as it
strikes upon your ears, there arises within you
—at least if you happen to be a Highlander
yourself— the question, Will the old tongue
live on here amid the bens and glens that have
echoed with it since immemorial time ? Or is it
doomed to die out in this its ancient home ? It
is hard to say. For my own part, I believe
Gaelic will be spoken in the Highlands so long
as there are Highlanders there. But I don't
know how long that will be. Certainly they
are far fewer to-day than they were at the be-

A TRIP IX SCOTLAND.

ginning of the last century AnH th.

peopling of n,e Highiirr ha : «re:::r

Perhaps rather than fdt-bv tJl.t'^T^T
ready quoted, in the fo„o!rg1iL,'r ''^'' ="■

'S bidh fhathast a cairdean

Mar bha iad bho chian,
An' duthaich nan ardbheann

An aite nam fiadh ;
Gu curanta' laidir,

Gu blath-chridheach fial,
S an comhradh gach la
Ann an canan nam Fionn.

in trH'^n^'f''' ^'"^""^^ '^^'^ a'so survives

HiS::^t;^;-s::t7f^-^^^^

aij «^eJts mdeed, are note4

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND.

wherever they are found. But while the
people there give of their Highland cheer to all
who visit them, they have a particularly warm
place in their hearts for " muinntir America,"
their kinsmen from across the seas.

Leaving Fort William, we go by boat on
Loch Linnhe to Oban. The boat calls at
several places, among them Ballachulish, at the
entrance to Loch Leven, whence we get a
glimpse in the distance of Glencoe. Even on
this bright summer's day the narrow pass,
hemmed in by frowning mountains, looks
gloomy and dark— fitting theatre for the black
and fearful tragedy that was enacted there.

From Oban we return to Glasgow through
the Trossachs, part of the way by rail, part
of the way by boat on Loch Lomond and Loch
Katrine, and part of the way by coach between ,
the lochs. The whole country through which
we pass is classic ground, familiar to every
lover of Scott. To describe the scenery of the
Trossachs. therefore, after the exquisite word-
painting of it in prose and verse that we have
from the pen of Sir Walter, were as " wasteful
and ridiculous excess " as

A TRIP IN SCOTLAND.

To pld refined gold, to paint the lily,
To add a perfume to the violet.

»s

are tolltan ! '^l' ""'^ *' ^°'""" ''«»»
Queen. The whole Empire mourns, and the

poittui: e' oVr ctr !-' "•""'■'■'^'

that is now ended, ^ '' ^'°"°"^ "'en

"Her court was pure; her life serene:
God gave her peace, her land reposed;

In her as Mother, Wife, and Queen "

ROME.

A Christmas Reminiscence.

^T is not often I am in a reminiscent
mood. Even should the mood come
upon me. I can seldom indulge
it. In this, work-a-day world the cares
and duties of the present crowd out the
memories of the past. But ever as the
blessed season of Christmas comes round the
mind is in a measure freed from the tyrant
grasp of the present. And at the approach of
this festival mine loves to go back, swiftly
overleaping the.barriers of space and time, to
the dear old City on the Tiber, where I spent
five of the happiest years of my life. I can
remember as distinctly as though it were yes-
terday the day when first I set foot in Rome.
It was toward the end of October, 1879. The
sun shone out brightly from the deep blue of
the Italian sky, and the soft, balmy breath of
summer still lingered in the air. From early
morning we had traversed a land of almost

ROME

ideal loveliness, now skirting the shores of the
sparklmg Mediterranean, now dash tag ' ,1
v,^as and vineyards where the air was'latn

-sw,;Tk":rntf ""'^«^- ^"-^

""-ly sinking in the west as we oassefl
Civita Vecchia, the seaport of Ro„,e, and sp d

RoZ T "'™'"^'' "•' "^^-y - te of the

Roman Campagna. Soon the Alban H III

oomed up in front, while the line of sea-coa

etching away on the right was fast falg

from the view. There, where the Tiber flii^gf

Home, fa4, L^t^rsS' 7t^
knows m the far distance, Carthage, Ron Js

Im rf ' '"'' """^ y^ ''- - "dive
opum studiisque asperrinia belli "

And now we are within the city walls the
tran draws up to the depot, and I step ^h

one wh!" ; r"'-^" ""' "■'■"' '"e feehngs of
one « ho sets foot in a strange city ■ for Rom.

JWy, IS and always will be the capital of

Christendom, the centre from which Ca^e

he lights of Catholicity over all the earth ttd

the ho„e of the pilgrim from every land

One who goes from America into Europe

ROME

realizes that to have crossed the Atlantic is not
merely to have left one part of the habitable
globe and gone into another. It is a passing
from the New World into the Old, in almost
every respect a different world from the one
that is left behind. And in no place as at Rome
is it brought home to one who crosses the ocean
that the Atlantic is not the only gulf that di-
vides these two worlds. Rome is the typical
city of the Old World, or rather is the Old
World in miniature. There all its most strik-
ing characteristics meet as they do in no other
European city. There you may study old world
customs and the old world life in its many
phases, old world art and architecture, and
above all those old-world monuments and ruins
around which gather a thousand historical as-
sociations. Here rises the Palatine Hill, the
original site and centre of the embryo mistress
of the world, where tradition places the dwell-
ing of Romulus, and where later stood the
gorg'^ous palace of the Caesar-, whose ruins
still atttst its old-time grandeur. Below is the
Roman Forum which once rang with the elo-
quence of Cicero, and traversing it from north
to south, the Via Sacra or Sacred Way. At
one end of the Forum is the Mamertine Prison,

ROME

where LT. I H "'' "'^^^^^^^--^ ^"ngeon.
sTriHn ^ ''P''"' "^y P^g^" R"'"e were

strangled or starved to death, and where st.ll

ex,sts^he spring which, according to trlditi^^^^^
^t. Peter, imprisoned here under Nero mi
raculously caused to flow in order to baptt

ine L-oiosseum, nearly one-third of a

arf4 hi ^' r""'"'^- ""^- '•" 'he

tnousands of Christian .nartvrs foucht the
g~d %ht a„„ won the crown.' A c„afn p t

^" hasTL:"* ""'' '""" '"' «"' -■

AnH U I *^°'°'^^""' R""'e shall fall.
And when Ron,, falls, with it shall fall ihe

Bat I should never end if I were to speak of all

AntiruTr" °f '"'"• '''^'" and Christian

Wween the ancent and the modern world

The Rome of ,o-day is not the Rome of
twenty years ago. The tourist who wandered

'^^. ?,i. I

100

ROME

and mused among the ruins in and around
it then would scarcely know it now, so vast
IS the change that has come over it. Your mat-
ter-of-fact modem man, who scowls at an-
tiquity and lives in and for the present only,
would say that the change has been greatly for
the better. Streets have been widened and
straightened, numberless new ones have been
opened, and the wide space east and south of
the Esquiline Hill, once studded with vener-
able ruins, is now occupied by rows of huge
brick buildings, inferior in make and unsightly.
In a word, the old Rome, amid whose magnif-
icent ruins still abode the genius of Antiquity,
has all but disappeared, and the new Rome, a
third-rate modern city, shorn of much of its
historical interest, has usurped its place.
" Rome in twenty or thirty years," wrote Mr.
Frederick Harrison recently in the "Fort-
nightly Review." " has become like any other
European city— big. noisy, vulgar, overgrown,
Frenchified and syndicate-ridden."

Rome, Rome thou art no more

As thou hast been !
On thy seven hills of yore

Thou sat'st a queen.

ROME

101

Newman had written of it, on visiting it for
the first time in Jie early thirties of last cen-
tury: "And now what can I say of Rome,
but that it is the first of all cities, and that all
I ever saw are but as dust (even dear old Ox-
ford inclusive) compared with its majesty and
glory? " It has certainly since then lost much
of its charm for the tourist and the anti-
quarian. But the majesty and glory that so im-
pressed Newman— these no spoiler's hand can
pluck from the brow of the queenly city on the
Tiber.

It is not merely the glamour antiquity
throws around it that makes Rome a centre of
attraction. In the wotidrous works of art gath-
ered into it from every side, in the number
and magnificence of its churches and shrines
m the prestige it possesses as the capital of the
Christian world for eighteen hundred years, it
stands peerless among the cities of the earth
Anything like a detailed account of the art
treasures in the Vatican alone would fill
volumes. Almost every church in Rome, too
and every palace, has its works of art, its
pamtings, mosaics, and sculptures, of priceless
value. And as for the churches, no words can
fittmgly describe them. " They could not have

lOS

ROME

been in any place but Rome, which has turned
the materials and buildings of the Empire to
the purposes of religion." The exterior, save
in the case of the large basilicas, is not strik-
ing; their beauty, like the glory of the king's
daughter, is within. St. Peter's, of course,
stands apart from and above them all. a world
of wonders in itself. Thr first visit does not
reveal its vastness nor the e.xc|uisite grace
and delicacy of its proportions. It is only by
visiting t again and again that one can so
to speak, take it all in, if indeed one can
ever do so. There is this peculiarity about it,
too. that it has what, for want of a better
word to convey the idea, I am tempted to
call a climate of its own. In winter, when
Kv)me is swept by the tramontana. a penetrat-
ing and chilling wind which blov/s for days
at a time from the snow-capped Apennines,
making life scarce worth living in the fireless
apartments of the Roman dwellings, you will
find warmth and comfort within St. Peter's.
And in vain will you seek amid the shady
groves of the Roman villas for a tithe of the
delicious coolness that dwells within the
charmed circle of its walls all through ihe
broiling heat of the summer months in Rome.

ROME

108

Eternal Lny? Ir September. 1870. Victor
Emmanuels troops entered Rone by the
breach of Porta Pia ami uith tU.- •

the ol(l-t,me Christmas and the old-time Faster
went out. The fiithf,.) v ^ '-^sier

a Mery Christmas since. The Pope used to
p oceed m person to celebrate the midnight
Mass a St. Mary Major's, where is preserved
the Cr.b .n wh,ch che Infant Saviour was laid
->" the mght of His Nativity. With the ex-
cept.on of the Easter celebrations, it was ^he
most ,mposmg ce-emony that could be wit-
nessed at Rome in those days. The Saviour's
Cnb ,s a ways borne in procession through the
hurch of St. Mary Major's on Christmas Kve
In som. of the churches, and even in private
houses the scene of the Christ ChiUrs birth in
Bethlehem .s represented in a wonderfully ar-
t.st.c and hfe-hke way. One of these repre-
sentations. which are got up mainly for the chil-
clren ,s to be seen in the church of Santa Maria
m Aracoeh. situated on the Capitoline Hill
where once stood a temple of Jove. Hither we
students of the Propaganda used to wend ou
way. durmg the days within the octave of
Christmas, to listen to the " children preachers

104

ROME

of Aracocli." These little ones, from five to
ten years of age, standing on a platform facing
the Christmas Crib, lifted their fresh young
voices in gree g and prayer to their new-
bom King. It recalled the scene described in
Matt. 21:15.16: the children crying in the
temple, " Hosanna to the Son of David," and
Jesus saying to those who would rebuke them.
" Yea, have you never read, Out « f the mouths
of infants and sucklings thou has perfeaed
praise."

THE ROSES OF ASSISI.

N The Ave Maria, of February 8, 1908,
the noted Danish writer. Johannes
Jorgensen. tells of a visit to Assisi, and
rnakes this passing alhision to the singular
phenomenon also alluded to in The Diary of a
Pilgrim: "Then there n the rose garden
where the hushes are strangely flecked as if
with spots of blocxJ." When the present writer
stood beside this little plot, in the early days of
July. 1900. the nxses were n(.t in bloom— it was
past their season in Italy-but the bu* ■ es were
in leaf, of course. Strictly spealcing, it is not
the bushes that bear the flecks of red. but the
roses and the leaves. The impression made
upon one is not soon effaced. It looks for all
the world as if those leaves had been sprinkled
wuh blood. Here and there a leaf seems to
have caught a drop, a few. two or three, which
left a crimson stain, while most show a fleckless
green. But this is not the most striking phase
of the phenomenon. It has passed into a prov-

106 THE ROSES OF ASSISI

erb that there is no rose without its thorn,
though Mihon, in a flight of fancy, found in
our lost paradise.

Flowers of all hue. and without thorn the
rose.

But under the lovely sky of Italy and under
the shadow of the Umbrian hills, in fair As-
s.si, famed forever as the birthplace and earlv
home of the Poverello. grow roses without
thorns. The writer felt the bushes with his
hand, and proved them thornless. What is
more, our little pilgrim group, of whom some
have smce gone on their long pilgrimage, were
told on that July day, seven years ago, by the
Prior of the Franciscan Monastery, a true son
of Samt Francis if appearances count for
aught, that time and time again was the ex-
periment made of transplanting those bushes,
and that they grew up with thorns and with
stamless leaves. Here is the legend, if legend
that can be called, which Nature seems to
vouch for, copied from a leaflet, enclosing a
spray of the rose leaves now brown with the
years, which the writer brought with him
from Assisi :

THE ROSES OF ASSISI 107

" One bitter winter's night. S. Francis being
sorely tempted by the devil to lessen his aus
tent.es. overcame the evil one by throwing him-
self mto a thicket of briers, and rolling himself
m .t till his body was all torn and bleeding
At the same moment the briers were changed
mto rose trees in full bloom, and a heavenly
brightness shone around, and angels came to
lead S. Francs to the Church of the Portiun-

Pertn " ''"^''^^^' '^^''^' '^ ^im in
Person accompanied by His Mother and a

heaven,3. host and granted him the Indulgence
of the Portmncula. The miraculous rose
bushes have no thorns, their leaves are stained
w.t spots l^e blood in May. and can be seL
•n the Garden of the Friary adjoining the
Portmncula at the village of Santa Maria degli
Angel^wh.ch .s close to the Station of AssL

FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES.

December io, 'o8.
' E leave New York at noon. It is a
perfect -a inter's day— the air cold and
crisp, the sun brightly shining. There
are all manner of craft in the North River, or
Hudson, and our big ship makes her way
among them with leisurely dignity. On our
starboard is Jersey City; on the port side, the
buildings of Old Manhattan raise their giant
forms, fearfully and wonderfully tall. Pres-
ently we pass by the statue of Liberty, and
leave the great metropolis of the New World
behind. A marvellous city is New York,
marching forward with gigantic strides to the
forefront of the world's cities. Even now it
IS second only to London, and in ways not a
few ,t is first. We pass out of the roar of its
traffic, away from its teeming, busy life, and
the restful ocean takes us to its heaving
bosom.

" Our next port of call is Boston," says one
108

FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES 109

passenger to another standing near him, just as
we are getting out to sea. " Not at all," re-
joins the other, "this boat doesn't call at
Boston." An officer of the ship, who is stand-
ing by, is appealed to. and he bears out the
first speaker. The news is received with
siirpnse amounting almost to consternation
Hardly one of the passengers knew of this
change in our programme of travel. Back
to Boston: it is like going back home again!
liut to Boston we steer our course. Off Cape
Cod miles and miles out at sea, men are fishing
in their dories. We pass within fifty yards of
one. but so intent is he upon his work that he
does not as much as cast one look at us. \fter
a httle we pick up our pilot, and begin thread-
ing our way through the narrow entrance to
i>oston harbour.

December n.
Our ship is docked at Charlestown We
go ashore, take an " L " road c2t at City
Square, and speedily reach Boston. Our
friends in the city, to whom we bade farewell
a few days before, are almost thunderstruck
at seeing us. They can scarce believe their

110 FROM NEV^ YORK TO NAT^LES

eyes. We seem to have dropped upon them
from the skies, or rather to have been spirited
back through space from the ocean. A few
words clear up the mystery. Next morning
(Saturday) we say an early Mass. and hasten
back on board. But the good ship " Cretic "
IS in no hurry to put to sea. She hngers for a
full hour beyond the allotted time. We could
not have missed her if we tried.

December 12.
It is snowing heavily as we steam slowly
out of Boston harbour. We drop our pilot,
and at noon have the lightship abeam. At
las we are fairly under way, but so thickly
falls the snow that we move along at little more
than half-speed, and the steamer's whistle
keeps blowmg as in a fog. After an hour or
two we run out of the snowstorm, and the
whistlmg ceases. A tugboat inward bound
towmg three huge barges, is the last object we
descry this' day. for darkness soon settles upon
the scene. ^

This evening I sit and listen dreamily to the
50ft accents of the Italian tongue. One or two

FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES 111

rhintV^^"^" passengers are Italian and the
and song. It ,s twenty-five years since I dwelt

rara:^:h''"^^'"^'"^^"^^'^"-^"

ear and those .nmntable gestures the eye as
fannharly as if it were but yesterday. What a
wonderful thing is „,en,ory! How'it hrrdges

•'St etch .' I "', 'T'' '^^ P"^^'^ P'-^^^^^' -"d
forms of thmgs long passed away.

Vedi Napoli e poi Mori." This mv

nriie' vT"^"^''^'-- "See Naples
Vesuv.!. • .>'°\^PP'-«^^'^ Naples. Mount
Vesuvius rises ,n the rear, and beyond it is
the little town of Mori The nriv^L^
i<! " «:«^ \T 1 . ^ original saying

's, See Naples and then Mori." But as i1
happens that " mori " is also the imperative o
the verb monre "-" to die." a play upon the

then die -as if no place ei.e worth seeing
were left in all the wide world. ^

• « «

118 FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES

December 13.

Our first Sunday at sea, the third of Advent.
We have passed from the region of snow and
sleet, and the change is welcome. The morn-
ing breaks bright and clear, and as the day
wears on it grows distinctly warmer. The sun
shines out of a cloudless sky and the air is
balmy as in a June day. While I write the
thermometer out on the promenade deck shows
56 degrees in the shade. Frost and snow are
things of the past— things of the land we have
left behind.

Not having a portable altar, we are unable
to say Mass. There are more than seven hun-
dred persons in the steerage, mostly Italians
seeking " la bella patria "—their own lovely
homeland. I arrange with the captain to have
a service for them at 3 p. m. The second-class
saloon being too small, we hold the service
under an awning on the deck. Dressed in
cassock and with my rochet on — for the very
first time— I kneel upon the main hatch and
say aloud in Latin the Rosary and Litany of
the Blessed Virgin, which they all answer i.i
the same tongue. These people, I may re-
mark by the way. are all taught from child-

FROM NEW YORK TO VAPLES 113

hood to say those prayers in the language of
the Church. Prayers over. I address them a
few words in Italian, the season and the oc
casion furnishing a theme. Exiles are we
from home, seeking a fatherland afar, and
One has come down from that fatherland
to raise us up and to lead us on. As we cross
the sea of life, not always calm and untroubled
as the one we sail to-day. we must pau>e from
tmie to tmie to lift up our eyes and fix them on
the eternal truths that shine like stars upon
our pathway. We must prepare for the advent
of the Sun of Justice, and from the lesser
lights turn our gaze longingly to the bright
nionung Star that heralds His rising. Such
IS the sum of what I said, but I must own that
It sounds much better in this English summary
than It did in such poor Italian as I could
muster.

December 14.
At noon the log reads :

Lat. Long. Weather Remarks

41-34 56.28 Ereshgale: W SW

Dis. 317 SW. S. S. W.. rough

quarterly sea.

Average Speed: 13.49

114 FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES

We have run into a storm, or it has run in
upon us. " Fresh gale " means a wind blow-
ing 5c or 60 miles an hour. But our ship is
very steady. Still there is a good deal of
motion — of that queer, all-round, uncertain,
miserable motion so apt to induce sea-sickness.
My companion, though he has been so seldom
to sea. is a better sailor than I. As for me, I
feel that I could very easily be quite sick if I
wanted to. But I don't want to, and up to a
certain point one can fight this sickness off.
My chief occupation all day is fighting off sea-
sickness. The wild winds, the wailing sea-
V aves, the reeling, staggering ship keep telling
me it is of no use ; that I had better crawl into
my berth and give up the uneven struggle. But
I hold out in spite of all of them. As I write
this in the steamer's library at 6 p. m. the bat-
tle is still on and the issue somewhat doubtful.

December 15,

The battle is fought and won — thanks to
the abating of the storm and a calmer sea.
The weather to-day is fine and warm — 58 de-
grees in the shade. It was 68 degrees yester-

FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES 115

day and the mugginess of the atmosphere
made ,t unpleasant. For me. indeed, it is
never too pleasant on board ship. I have an
uneasy feehng that the n,ost one can hope for
IS a truce, and that the battle with sea-sickness
may have to be fought over again at any
moment. Under such circumstances writing is
not easy.

The sea, the deep mysterious sea, with its
changeful, elusive hues and its passionate
moods! The do.ninant mood. I fancy, is
melancholy. The sea lifts up its voice only to
weep, and every sea-sound dies away in a sob
or a wail. When the crested waves break into
foam, what are the spray drops but the tears
of the salt sea.' It not only yields a grave to
the countless millions that are buried beneath
Its waters, but weeps for them ever, and chants
over them an unending requiem. And its lone-
Imess IS beyond words. Mid-ocean seems the
native home of solitude— a solitude that the
passing ship leaves unbroken. What a tale
this lonely, moaning sea could tell of the men
who have sunk into its depths. " unknelled, un-
coffined. and unknown! " But till it gives up
Its dead, that tale shall not be told.

116 FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLKS

Decembhr i6.
Late last evening I sat talking m the smok-
ing-room with a Protestant gentleman from
Minneapolis. Some years apo he visited the
Holy Land, and I was interested in the account
he gave of it. He dues not seem to have been
much impressed by the country itself or its
sanctuaries. " The most beautiful sight I saw
in the Holy Land." he declared with evident
sincerity-. " was the face of a nun." It was not
the physical, but the spiritual beauty of the
face that struck him and imprinted itself upon
his memory. A beautiful soul beamed out
from it— a soul made beautiful by close com-
munion with God. •' I will feed on God," says
Alexandrine in A Sister's Story, not knowing
very well at the moment what she means. But
she did feed on God. and became beautiful as
an angel, with that beauty which never can
fade. If we would be truly beautiful let us
feed on God the Uncreated Beauty, ever an-
cient and ever new.

• ♦ *

FROM NKW YORK TO XAPLKS 117

December 17.
Hou- shall we feed r,n God? First by
prayer. Xot as c.miplctelv is the fish im-
mersed in the sea or the bird in the air as
the soul is in Co<i. for He is everywhere,
and m Him ue live, and move, and are "
Every time uc hreathc we drink in the fresh
Every time we breathe we drink in the fresh
air to renew the life of the hodv; every time
we pray, if we pray arij^ht. we draw down
the grace of God to -ive new life to the soul
And as when a man ceases to breathe we know
that the life is |2:one out of him. so when a man
ceases to pray ue may know that his soul is
dead within him. Hut ihere is anotl^cr. a more
literal and yet more wondrous way of feeding
on God. and that is Holv Communion " I
am the Bread of Life." and a-ain. " He who
eats Me shall also live bv Me." " \s the hare
m winter." .says St. Francis of Sales. " grow.s
white by feeding? on the snow, so the soul ^rows
white by feeding on this Heavenly Manna "
T he science may be at fault, but the thought is
true. " It IS the boast of the Catholic Church "
observes Cardinal Xewman. "that she can
keep the young heart chaste, because she gives

118 FKOM NEW YORK TO NAPLES

Jesus for food and Mary for nursing-mother,**
I am quoting from memory, and do not vouch
for the exact accuracy of the quotation.

December i8.
Last night we passed the first two of the
Azores. These islands were discovered by
Portuguese navigators about the middle of the
fifteenth century, and still belong to Portugal.
They number nine in all, and have a popula-
tion of some 260,000. About noon we sight
Pico, the third of the group, and steam by it for
hours, at a distance of six or seven miles off.
Though we have sunshine at sea. it 's rpJning
and misting ashore, and we fail to get a good
view. However, I have counted as many as
seven little villages where the snow-white cot-
tages form into clusters on the sloping shore.
These islands are of volcanic origin, and the
conical peak of an extinct volcano seems to
have given its name to the island we are pass-
ing by. It is visible for a moment or two, and
we catch just a glimpse of it as it peeps out of
a cloud. But it is a ccy peak and hastes to
hide itself beneath its veil of mist.

FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES 119

December k).
T have learned that the mountain we passed
yesterrlay rises to a height of 7.460 feet, and
slopes to the sea at an angle of 40 rlegrees.
The bare head of it. iipliftetl al)ove its bed of
cloud, and outlined against the blue sky, with
the sun shining full upon it. is still vividly be-
fore my imagination. Xo human eye wit-
nessed tile volcamc uphcavel which cast this
mountain peak up into the clouds out of the
bosom of the sea. Hut Captain Tillard of U.
M. S. " Sabrina " was eye-witness, in 181 1, of
the rise and e.xtinction of an island in the
neighbourhood, which reached a height of 410
feet and was swallowed up by the sea after an
existence of 119 days.

For more than a week we have held our
lonely way on the ocean, no sail seen, no smoke
of steamer on the far horizon. The sea gulls
alone bear us company, whether the same birds
that followed us from the first, or fresh re-
lays from the pastures of the deep, no one can
tell. Birds of ocean, foster-children of the
wandering sea. their home is on the rolling
wave, their haunts no man may know. But
the same Providence that feeds the sparrows

120 FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES

on the dry land gives food to these rovers on
the wilderness of waters.

« * >»

December 20.

Our second Sunday at sea. I say the
Rosary and Litany in the second cabin, where
there are a number of Italians. I also give
a short instruction. A wee mite of a boy. with
the coal black hair and dark complexion of the
South, keeps eyeing me curiously the while, as
if wondering how one who looks so little like
a countryman can speak the language.

Ever since we got fairly away from the
American coast we have had summer weather,
the thermometer ranging from 50 to 70 de-
grees. The temperature of the water has been
even higher. One day it was 72 degrees ; this
morning it was 62. The Gulf Stream i^ here
at its widest. Only the short day can bring
home to us the fact that we are at the winter
solstice.

FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES 121

December 21.
To-df V the k rgei gulls that haunt the sea-
shore an ! I'cst in thj rocks are abroad. They
are tokens that the land is not very far away.
Sometime to-night we reach Gibraltar, but
must lie outside till morning, for no ship can
enter the port of that grim fortress save in the
clay.

Xow that our ocean voyage is nearing its
end. our thoughts turn back to the loved ones
we have left behind. The uppermost feeling
in my own mind at the moment is gratitude,
first to God for all His goodness, and next to
the many friends, whether personally known to
me or not, who have so generously given of
their means and freed my mind from all anx-
iety on that score. I feel that I owe them
more than can be put in words. May the peace
of God and His blessing abide with them al-
ways, and may He, in His own way and in His
own good time, repay them a hundredfold.

This batch of notes was mailed at Gibraltar.

FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES

December 22.
I AST night we reached Gibraltar and
dropped anchor in the bay. It was an
impressive sight when first we came in
view of land. On our right lay Morocco, on
our left Spain, and the lights on either shore
became visible about the same time. There are
not many spots even on this goodly globe of
ours where one can see two continents. The
night was lovely, the air almost I)almy, the
stars were all out— ever so many more stars
than can be seen at home— and we stood long
on deck and gazed our fill at the splendour of
the night. Truly the skies declare the glory of
God and the firmament of heaven shows forth
the work of His hands.

This morning, about 8.30, most of the first-
class passengers landed in a tender. It was
good to feel one's foot once more on terra firma

122

FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES 123

—and surely if there is firm footing on earth it
is the Rock of Gibraltar. The place I will not
attempt to describe ; that were quite beyond me.
Enough to say, and certainly not too much,
that the panorama which lies before one from
half-way up the mountain— we had not time to
go all the way— is one of the grandest that
anywhere unfolds itself to the eye of man.
And the city is full of interest. Tt is the meet-
ing-place of two continents, the free mart and
seaport of all nations, the most famous strong-
hold of the greatest empire under the sun. One
could wish if one had time, to study the vari-
ous types of humanity that gather here. By all
odds the most striking is the turban'd Moor,
with h- ,wart features, his impassive face, his
pictu'. costume, his gait and carriage' not

lackm^ .u dignity. We enter the prmcipal
Catholic Church, rather a fine building, and are
happily able to assist at Mass. We see the
Bishop for a moment, an Italian Benedictine, a
native of Siena, a ve y genial and pleasant
man. By eleven we are back on board, and by
noon are steaming around Barracks Point and
entering the Mediterranean.

1«4 FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES

December 23.
We have made our best run— 348 knots from
noon yesterday till noon to-day. Our ship,
though a splendid seaboat, is not speedy, and
these two last trips has fallen behind her sched-
ule. .-\n expert engineer, sent down especially
from London, has joined us at Gibraltar, and
we are now making better time. Smooth seas
sunny skies, and a summer temperature have
made this latter part of our voyage extr-mely
pleasant, and yet we long for its end. or rather
we long to reach our goal. Several of the pas-
sengers left us at Gibraltar, others joined us
there. It is the way of life, which is all sum-
med up m a coming and a going and a passing
away. In truth we do but get glimpses of one
another as we pass through it. How short is
al that comes to an end ! " We have not here
a lastmg city, but seek one which is to come "

December 24.
Sardinia's snowy mountain tops fringing the
southern sky.

The line comes hack to me from school days,
as I gaze on those mountain-tops, bare and

FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES 126

rugged and snowless to-day. Sardinia is one
of the largest islands in the Mediterranean It
has a population of more than 700...00. Once
one of the granaries of Carthage, and later of
impenal Rome, it is now in great part untilled
and barren. The natives are more like Span-
K.rds than Italians, though the island I)elongs to
Jtaly In certain districts of the i.torior the
people speak the Latin tongue, which serves
o confute the received notion-never more
than a wretched half-truth, and not even as
rnuch-that Latin is a dead language. What,
he language of the Church Catholic a dead
language ! Not vhile she lives, and the eternal
years of God are hers.

Christmas at sea; Christmas without the
^onted Christmas cheer; Christmas far from
home and friends. But so were Marv and
Joseph on that first Christmas night in Bethle-
hem, far from home and friends. And. please
bod. we are going to land in Naples to-mor-
row m time to celebrate the Christ-Mass

1«6 FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES

•■

December 25.

Before daylight this Christmas morning we
are on deck, where we linger most of the time
till our ship is docked in Naples at 10 a. m.
The approach to the city from the sea is very
grand. In the gray dawn we discern the light
on Ischia, which shows far out at sea. As day
creeps on, the outline of Vesuvius becomes
dimly visible through the morning haze. We
pass some islets, then Pozzuoli and other sub-
urbs of the queenly city. The sun is now full
ri.sen ; 't is

Morn on the waters, and purple and bright

its light illuminates the lovely bay, gilds the
heights of Sant' Elmo and the roofs of Chiaia.
which curves beneath. The docks and shipping
lie further on, and beyond them rises the giant
form of dread Vesuvius. Little wonder that
lovers of panoramic scenery go into raptures
over this scene. If it is not " See Naples and
die," at any rate it is " See Naples and never-
more forget." The words of the well-known
boat song come unbidden to one's lips:

PROM NEW VOKK TO NAPLES 1^7

O dolce NapoH !

O suol beato !
Ove sorridere

Vuole il create;
Tu sei r impero
Deir armonia;
Santa Lucia. Santa Lucia!

O lovely Naples !

Favoured ground,
Where smiling Nature's

Charms abound ;
The native home
Of beauty thou :
Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia !

It takes a deal of ceremony to get a big ship
like ours docked, and a deal of patience to wait
on an empty stomach for the word to land. At
last we are ashore, through the custom-house.
and on our way to the Convent of the Soeurs
de L'Esperance, No. lo \ia Santa Teresa,
Chiaia. We say Mass at 11.30 a. m. in the
Church of St. Teresa hard by. which, with the
adjoining monastery is in the hands of the Dis-
eased Carmelites. In the afternoon we take a
walk on the esplanade, which runs along the

ill

'In

h
i

128 FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES

bay, visit the Aquarium, mount the hill to Sant'
Elmo, and from that commanding height gaze
upon the city, the bay, and the broken ranges of
mountains that stud the coast. The native
band of Chiaia, a great but inharmonious con-
cert of crowing roosters, awakens us next
morning long before the dawn, and by 10.30
we are getting our last glimpse of cloud-capped
Vesuvius from the window of the Romeward-
bound train.

December 26.

The country through which we pass for the
first hour or two after quitting Naples does not
yield in beauty or fertility even to the plains of
Lombardy. Every foot of it is tilled; the
tillage is intensive as well as extensive. Here
the vine is trailed on great rows of trees, the
wide spaces between being now green with all
manner of vegetables, while the stately Italian
pine lends an added grace and dignity to the
landscape. As we go further north, the broad
plain narrows into valleys hemmed in by bare
and lofty mountains, with here a village cling-
ing to a rocky slope, and there a lone monastery
crowning a rugged crest. By noon we reach

FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES 129

Casino, and presently admiring eyes are raised
to the giddy height where the great abbey of
that name, famed in story, lords it over all the
land.

As straws show how the wind blows, so very
little things serve oftentimes to bring racial and
national characteristics into clear relief. Thus
over a plot of green in the public garden at
Chiaia. I read these formidable words of warn-
ing: I TRASGRESSORT SAR \NNO PU-
NITI A NORMA DI lAlGGE, which may be
rendered: TRESPASSERS SHALL BE
PUNISHED ro THE LIMIT OE THE
LAW. We simply and bluntly say : Keep ofif
the grass! Again, a railway ticket, on which
with us are sometimes found the words, Not
transferable, bears here the blazoned legend.
La cessione e punita a termini di legge. that is
to say, The transfer is pimishable in the precise
manner laid down in the law. On the other
hand, the attempt of some Italian railwav offi-
cial to ape your bluff Englishman, in rendering
a notice graven in letters of bronze on the win-
dow of our carriage, E pericoloso sporgersi—
It is dangerous to put one's head out of the
.window, comes to grief in this ludicrous fash-

180 FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES

ion, similarly cut in bronze, Don't stretch out I
Ecco Roma f We have finished our journey.
Monday afternoon (Dec. 29) I saw Cardinal
Gotti. This (Tuesday), evening I go on re-
treat at the Lazarist Mission House near
Montecitorio, where I made my retreat for the
priesthood twenty-five years ago. Sunday
(Jan. 3) is the day fixed for the consecration.
There is a hastening of events, as one chapter
of life firavvs to a close ; and hastily I dose this
last paragraph.

!(,1

■ii. !

FROM NAPLES TO CAIRO.

Wednesday, January 20. 1909.
jE leave Rome by the 10 a. w. express
and reach Naples at 14.30. Yestcr-
<lay we came to Rome from Assisi
At Term I bouft^ht a hmch basket which con-
tamed (I) a paper napkin. (2) a knife. (3) a
loaf of bread, (4) a cake of sweetbread, (c)
two slices of meat. (6) a couple of slices of
sausage. (7) salt. (8) a bit of chicken, (g)
toothpicks. (10) a bottle- of wine. (11) an
orange. ( 12) a piece of cheese. ( 13) some wal-
nuts-all for two francs. J question whether
there is any other country in the world where
you could buy so much food for so little
money.

A facchino. or railway porter, at Naples,
plays us a scurvy trick. We hand him over
our luggage at the station, and tell him we
want to get a carriage to take us on board
the Regina Margherita. After a moment's
thought, he tells us it is but two minutes' walk
and he will take us on board for four fianc^

181

18« FROI^f NAPLKS TO CAIRO

which we think rather too much, hut agree to
give. lie leads us along dirty streets for at
It-ast ten minutes, and fetches up finally at a
landing place, where he and sundry hoatmen
engage in a war of words, to which vehement
gesticulations lend a sanguinary aspect— all cal-
culated to impress us with the dimcttlty of get-
ting to our .steamer. Presently he motions us
to step into one of the Ix.als. which we. in our
innocence, do in fear and trembling, while he
quickly makes off. lint the boatman will not
budge till we have paid him four francs. Then
he quietly rows us round a ship, and i\p to a
dock, where, to our <^iirpri.sc and crrcat disgust.
we behold our Rcgina ^rargherita cosily
moored! Two N'eapolitan ragamuffins extort
further tribute for carrying our trai)s on board.
" For ways that are dark and tricks that are-
vain " seems hardly the word, and I leave the
reader to finish the sentence.

Thursday, January 21.
We awake this morning in the Strait of
Messina, scene of the late frightful catastrophe.
On our right, but at some distance, is the city

FROM NAIT.KS TO CAIUO VM

of that name. n,uc fair as fou citi.s arc. „ow
a corpse, torn an.l clisfi^n.rod. with ilu- lidit of
I'fe^oneontof it. Farther np the Strait. ..n
our left. ,.s ruined Rcirffio. At a first glance the
n.nis are not seen. I.nt closer scrutiny, with the
help of a pair „( ^.lasses, reveals them One
very lar^e I,„i!.hn,r in the upper part of the
town ,s still on its feet. In n,any cases the
v^alls are left sUnuhu^r. unite witnesses of ,he
mm within an.l without, F eannot <liscern a
s.ngle church tower or steeple in all the
str,cken cty. By ten o'clock we are off Cape
Spart.vento rSpIif-thc-win<l ). the toe of the
Itahan hoot, an.l hy twelve the ! tst of the tall
'■lis of Southern Italy has faded awav on the
horizon.

Great is Italian reverence for that which has
^een and ,s. an admiral.lc sentin-.ent in its wav
but one which tends to conserve in beine
thm^s that are aiul .ni.^^ht not to he. I-or ex-
ample I was awakened this morning at five
o clock by a rattling noise which I took to be
due to some iron fastening having become

Ioo.se. I .roped my way on deck, but < ould

nothing. Meet

him what made the

't is the slceriiifT-

see

ing one of the stewards, I asked

noise.

E il

g-gcar." he made

temon
:insw(

and

184 FROM NAPLES TO CAIRO

suggested that I could get a room on the lower
deck where the noise would not be heard
Going on deck after daylight I found the
clatter was caused by a bolt, which kept the
rod of the steering-gear in place, having too
much play. The ship's smith was busied hard
by with mending a windlass, and I drew his at-
tention to the matter. He eyed me in mild
wonderment, and with a characteristic shrug
of the shoulders, said. " E sempre stato cosi-
It has always been like that." So there you
are! Hundreds upon hundreds of passengers
have been robbed of their sleep by the clatter
of this bolt, but what of that? The nuisance
must go unabated, because-E sempre stato
cosi !

P. S. I must set on record the fact that
the thing has since been remedied: for the
future, passengers in stateroom No— of the
Regina Margherita may rest in peace '

Friday, January 22.
All the afternoon we are chased by a thun-
derstorm. but manage to keep ahead of it We
do, however, get the wind that goes with it
and there is a deal of motion in the ship, and

FROM NAPLES TO CAIRO 185

a deal of squeamishness in certain stomachs.
By eight o dock we have left the storm be-
hind, and by ten have abeam the light on a
little island off Crete, or Candia, as it is also
called. We think of St. Paul and the hard-
ships he endured along this coast while he was
on h,s way to Rome. Tl,e Cretans of his time
seem to have been a pretty bad lot, for he
ates " a prophet of their own " as saying that
they were " always liars, wicked brutes, lazy
belbes. and vouches for the truth of the in-
dictment. But there must have been some
good ones among thon. for he made many con-
verts there, and gave his beloved discipleTitus
to be their f . Bishop.

Saturday. January 2^.
I've had an interesting talk with two Fran-
ciscan Fathers, one the Visitor-General of the
Order, the other the well-known American au-
thor. Paschal Robinson. VVe are now within
ten hours' sail of Egypt-Egypt old in story, of
which the Sphinx is fitting emblem, land of
many riddles yet unsolved. We shall reach
there before dawn to-morrow.

136 FROM NAPLES TO CAIRO

Wednesday, January 27,

Back on board the Regina Margherita, and
on the way to Jaffa (Joppa). Early Sunday
morning we land at Alexandria, say Mass in
the Franciscan Church there, and at 11 a. m.
take the train for Cairo, which we reach
some three hours later. The distance is about
140 miles. We are traversing perhaps the
most fertile tract of country in the world,
along the delta of the Nile. It is one vast
plain as far as the eye can see, from edge
to edge of the horizon, green with growing
crops of wheat and cotton. On all sides are
groves of acacias and lines of stately palm,
while long caravans of camels, passing parallel
to the line of railway, lend an added pictur-
esqueness to the landscape. Egypt, to the in-
tellect a land of mystery, is to the eye a land
of beauty — land of the evergreen. And yet
one misses the snow-capped mountains which
make of Italy, and still more of Switzerland,
a fairyland of romance. Here it is always
summer, and the crops keep growing perenni-
ally; as many as four crops are raised in the
year. Little rain falls, and the tiller of the
soil would wish it were less than that little,

FROM NAPLES TO CAIRO 1S7

for the waters of the Nile irrigate the land,
and it is the hot sun out of a cloudless sky that
favours growth. I have said the tiller of the
soil when I should have rather said the owner,
who is generally a Jew or a Turk. Your Arab
Fellah gets his pittance of four piastres (about
twenty cents) a day, and is better off with that
than he was before the English came in, when
the Khedive sent his servants to take heavy
toll of the ripened crops.

The Arab subdued the Copt, lineal descen-
dant of the ancient Egyptians, and was in turn
subdued by the Turk. He is a picturesque
figure, with his white turban or red fez, his
flowing robes, his sandalled, oftentimes bare,
feet. The women are veiled up to the eyes,
with a curious covering on the nose, which
seems to serve no particular purpose and is
certainly not an ornament. The young of the
male sex are for the most part of a pleasing
appearance. But with advancing years the
features of these people take on a hard and
somewhat repulsive look, half of submission.
half of hopelessness, not unlike that which one
sees in the eyes of that much abused beast of
burden, the ass. which for six decades of cen-
turies has borne the whips and scorns of his

ifll

I !
!■! liil

il, :

188 FROM NAPLES TO CAIRO

master, man. It is the fatalism of the race
that finds expression in that look— the feeling
that it is of no use kicking against the pricks
of a relentless destiny. And so the Arab goes
his way, bearing the burden of life sadly
but submissively. His whole philosophy is
summed up in the one word malesh (a as in
** ma," e as in " edge," both vowels long drawn
out,) which is forever on his lips : " It doesn't
matter" — nothing matters in a world where
so much is amiss and so little can be mended.
We spend two days in Cairo, during which
we visit Matarieh, Old Cairo, the citadel and
famous mosque of alabaster, the museum with
its mummies, and the pyramids. At Matarieh
is the well of sweet water which gushed forth,
tradition has it. when the Holy Family came
into Egypt, and the sycamore which gave them
shelter. The present tree is more than three
hundred years old. At Old Cairo is shown the
site of the cottage in which dwelt the Holy
Family. It is in the crypt of an ancient basilica,
the style of which bespeaks the fifth or sixth
century. The place is in the hands of the Schis-
matical Copts; it was the daughter of the
Coptic priest who unlocked the door for us.
In Old Cairo one sees the Arab in the primeval

FROM NAPLES TO CAIRO 139

environment of the unchanging East. All is
primitive here. Bedouin and Jew, camel,
donkey, and goat move along pell-mell, jos-
tling one another in the narrow, crooked, foul-
smelling streets. I would not advise a visit to
the market-place just before dinner— it might
spoil one's appetite. There is some very ancient
dirt in Old Cairo — and some that is not so an-
cient. Newman says somewhere that no dirt
is immortal, but he is speaking of another sort
of dirt, and, anyhow, he never set foot in this
Egyptian town, laved but washed not by the
waters of the Nile.

In striking contrast to the lowly ass, is that
other beast of burden, the lordly camel. With
what lofty disdain it sniflFs the air as it looks
down upon its mean environment— pigmy man
mcluded. It is a proud creature— proud even
of the hump on its back. It has been tamed
by man after a fashion, but not subdued, and
its eyes belie the obedience that it outwardly
yields to its puny master.

Rome, March 9, 1909.
We returned from the East a couple of
weeks ago, and are now getting ready to leave

140 FROM NAPLES TO CAIRO

for home. We are to sail from Southampton
for New York on the 31st. Of our visit to the
Holy Land I write nothing now ; I may later,
but life is uncertain. Of Egypt I might have
written more, but my notes are lost, as ill luck
^ould have it, and I write from memory.
Had not those notes been lost — in some such
way we used to put it in boyhood's days when
spinning sgialachan by the fireside — this letter
had been longer.

THROUGH SPAIN.

WO things led me to leave the " Sax-
onia " at Gibraltar, and journey
through the Spanish peninsula. I
wanted to go to Lourdes, and I wanted to
drink in the memories of St. Teresa, Spain's
chief est glory, at the fountain-head. At
Algeciras, right across from Gibraltar, I set
foot for the first time on the soil of Spain. The
train for Ronda was waiting, and I stepped
on board. The railway passes through
a wild, mountainous region, rich in traces
of the Moorish occupation. At Ronda T
said Mass in the chapel of the Little Sis-
ters of the Poor. One of the Sisters was
from Dumfries, in Scotland, and one from our
own Quebec. I asked them how they came to
be in Ronda. and they said they were like
soldiers and had to go where they were sent.
The Little Sisters have their houses and
do their Christlike work in many parts of
the world. Wherever the Catholic Church

141

THROUGH SPAIN

is, where the Cross of Christ points heaven-
ward, there they are at home.

Andalusia comprises the four old Moorish
Kingdoms of Jaen, Seville, Granada, and
Cordova. It is the most fascinating province
of Spain. The scenic beauty of mountain
and valley soothes the mind, while the soft
languorous climate steeps the senses in rei)()se.
To th" voluptuous Mohammedan Andalusia
was well worth fighting for. .\nd long he
fought and fiercely ere he gave it back finally

to the sons of Spain.

* ♦ *

The region from Ronda to Seville is wonder-
fully fertile. So indeed is nearly the whole of
Spain — land of the vine and the olive, land of
com and wheat, land of clear blue skies and
brilliant sun. Seville, on the banks of the
Guadalquiver, is a city of great interest, pos-
sessing a wealth of historical associations.
It has passed through many vicissitudes from
the time of the Romans down. The long dom-
ination of the Moors has stamped an oriental
character upon it. I said Mass at the Convent

THROUGH SPAIN

148

of the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
founded by the famous Mary Ward. The
Sisters are commonly known as the Loreto
Nuns, and in Spain as " Las Madres Ir-
liindesas."" They teach a day school in Seville,
and have a Ixjanlinjj school outside the city. I
met one who said she was connected hy ties of
kinshij) with the family o( St. Teresa. She
wrote for me in Spanish a sayinj? of the saint,
which shows she was human enough to hate
Seville because it was so hot : " Whoever
suffers the heat of Seville with patience ha.s
done penance enough." It seems a pity the
human element should have been almost w'holly
eliminated from our Lives of the Saints. The
run of those that have come down to us, es-
pecially from medineval times, are little more
than an abstract of the heroic virtues practised
by the saints and the miracles performed by
them. The servants of God are set up on a
pedestal so high and so far away that we feel
as if we could never hope to get near to them
at all. And yet they had their humai side, to
us intensely interesting, for. to apply n a good
sense what was first written disparaj;ingly.

One touch of nature makes the whole world kio-

* ♦ ♦

144

THROUGH SPAIN

At Seville I visited the monastery of Dis-
calced Carmelites founded by St Teresa. The
present one was built by St. John of the Cross
in a difTerent locality from that of the original
monastery, because the situation of this latter
one was found to l)e unhealthy. Over the
grille is a wooden cross erected by Si. John,
the faithful co-worker of St. Teresa, a man of
lofty spirit kindred to her own. I was shown
an autograph letter of his. bearing date March
28, 1586. The handwriting is very legible.
Of St. Teresa's own relics there are the fol-
lowing: (i) an autograph letter, signed
" Teresa of Jesus," the name being spelled
as written, not " Theresa," which follows the
French " Therese; " (2) a bit of the hair shirt
worn by the sain*; (3) a medicine bottle used
by her in her last illness — which shows her to
have been human to the end; (4) a lar- white
woolen mantle that she wore, the r itle of
her Order; (5) one of her slipper, now so
richly embroidered that the original cannot l)e
seen; (6) last and far the most signal relic of
all, the autograph original of the Interior
Castle, or Castle of the Soul, perhaps her
greatest work. The handwriting is somewhat

throi:gh spai.v ,45

peculiar, and the text not easily read, because
m many cases the syllables are separated
1 his priceless autoprapb is in an excellent state
of preservation, bound with heavy plates of
gold. It came into possession of the monas-
tery. the nuns told nie. through one of the first
novices of the community, her father, a gentle-
man of high social standing, having received
It from a Carmelite priest who was intimate
in life with St. Teresa.

The Father Prior of the Discalced Carmel-
ites at Seville, who speaks English well, having
spent some years in England as a missionary
gave me i story handed down bv tradition in
the Carmelite 0-der. It shows' at once the
terms of loving familiarity on which St. Teresa
lived with Our Lord and her ready wit The
convent at Burgos, in the north of Spain, was
her last foundation. She feared to go there in
mid-winter because of the cold, but Our Lord
reminded her that He was tlie source of all
warmth. The roads being all but impassable,
she and her companions suflFered great hard-
ships, and at one place were nearly drowned in

146

THROUGH SPAIN

the waters of a stream that had overflowed it»
banks. Gently complaining to her Divine
Spouse, she was told that these were favours
He reserved for His friends. " That,'" she re-
joined. " is why your friends are so few ! "
" She was very saucy with Him," said an Irish
nun at Madrid, on my r citing this story.
The playful sallv finds its proper setting and
balance in tho • t>ther words of the saint that
we read in her Foundations, ch. xxxi : " O
my Lord, how true it is that you repay with a
cross those who do you a service! But what
an inestimal)le treasure that cross is to those
who truly love you. were it but given them at
once to realize its value ! And yet, they would
not have sought to possess themselves of the
treasure, the price to be paid seeming at the
moment too great." So hard is it for us to
bear what presses here and now upon us, even
when we are quite persuaded that every trial
is a crucible for the minting of heaven's gold.

4i 41 *

I did but pass through Madrid on my way
to Avila. The city is modern, having none of
the quaintness of other Spanish towns. The

TIIKOIGH SPAIN

147

Loreto Xuns have a convent and school in the
outskirts. Even the little tots must speak Knjj-
Iisli. A crnirse at this convent is jjreatly de-
sired for their daii^^diters l.y Spanish mothers
sitice Princess X'ictoria cartie to j,liare with
Alfonso the throne of Spain.

Alioiit midway hetvveen Madrid and \vi|a,
with great rid^t's ..t rock al)ove and around it.'
•stands the palace of the i'.scorial. built hy
Philip the Second, husband >^i Marv Tudor
It compares with the pyramifls of Kgyin in
size and soIidit> It is at once a palace, a
monastery, a church, a.id a mausoleum. There
are not in all the world more jjor^cou, tombs
than those that here enclo.c the ashes of the
kings and .|ueens of Spain. I,, the treasury of
the monastery I saw the little statue .--'the
Blessed Virgin before which Pope St. I'uis V
!)rayed during the battle of Lepanto. Queon
Khzabeth IT has decked it with a crown o»
hrdhants. In the library, among mauiscipt,
of priceless value, are four of the autograp!
writings of St. Teresa, the Rook of the Fn-.m-
dations, the Manner of Visiting Convents, the

148

THROUGH SPAIN

Way of Perfection, and the Life by herself.
All these were collected, not without difficulty,
by the royal founder of the Escorial, who died
sixteen years after St. Teresa, in 1598.
* Ai *

Avila, famed evermore as the birthplace
and home of St. Teresa, is situated in the
centre of the province of that name, west of
Segovia and south of Valladolid. The hill on
which it stands ri.ses out of an undulating coun-
try to the north, and, on the south, overlooks
a broad plain which stretches away almost as
far as the eye can see to a range of mountains
known as the Sierras of Avila. The waters
of the Adaja river bathe the foot of the cliflFs
to the west. On the southwestern slope of the
hill, facing the wide extent of meadow land and
the distant mountains, stands the old home
of St. Teresa, enclosed within a Dominican
monastery. Here one is shown the room
where she was born, now a chapel in which the
Blessed Sacrament is kept. Here also, but
some feet under the ground— for old things
have a way of sinking into the earth—, is the
little garden where, a child of seven, she played

THROUGH SPAIN 149

at being a nun. and with her brother, four
years her senior planned to seek the crown of
martyrdom among the Moors. *' We settled "
she tells us, " to go together to the country of
the Moors, begging our way there for the love
ot God. that we might be beheaded there -
I ran away." was the naive excuse precocious
piety gave her mother. " because I wanted to

dying'' '""^ '"' '""""' ^° '^'' ^^ith«"t

* * *

Avda .3 httle changed since Teresa de
Ahmr.da and Rodriquez de Cepeda stole
softly along ,ts c bbled streets and left its lofty
portals behind, m the gray dawn of that sum-
mer s day. some four hundred > ears ago The
stones smce woni by many feet, are the same
«^at they trod; the stout walls that defied
Moorish assault still look proudly down upon
the stranger that enters at the gate. Out-

whth r"' "" *"^ ^^''^'-'^ houses

which are fragrant with the memories of St

other the Monastery of the Incarnation The
latter stands on a hill a few hundred yards to

150

THROUGH SPAIN

the north of the town. There Teresa first
made her vows, and there she Hved for twenty-
seven years, three of which she was Prioress.
Among her reHcs there are ( i ) a Httle water
jug, (2) a crucifix borne by her when she went
forth to found new convents, (3) the key of
her cell, (4) a document concerning the dowrv
of a religious, signed by the saint and the four
nuns who established with her the new foun-
dation. I sat in the chair, by the side of the
grille, where St. Peter of Alcantara and St
Francis Borgia conversed with her on spiritual
subjects. It was there that a nun, happening
along one day, found herself and St. John of
the Cross raised above the ground in an ecstasy
of contemplation. The quick-witted Teresa
put it all on her companion. " See," she said,
" what comes of talking with Father John ! "
* * ♦

St. Joseph's of Avila. now known as the
Convent of St. Teresa, is on the east side, just
outside the walls, but within the town limits.
It was the saint's first foundation, the be-
ginning of the Reform. Here are several
relics, among others a tambourine on which

THROUGH SPAIN

151

the saint used to play. Her body lies in-
corrupt at Alba de Tormes. where she
died. The morning I went to say Mass at St.
Joseph's, I was accompanied by two lilnglish
ladies, a mother and daughter, Anglicans both.
very High Church, and very much interested
in all that related to St. Teresa. They knelt
to the Blessed Sacrament on entering, and as-
sisted at Mass with every mark of devotion.
We afterwards spoke with the nuns at the
grating. They showed us the relics of their
holy foundress, and bade us be sure to visit
the chapel built by her in connection with her
first foundation. I had told the mother the
night before of the sweet odor I perceived
when, at the Escorial. the Augustinian Father
had opened the glass case that contained the
four autograph writings of St. Teresa. Just as
we entered the chapel I felt the same sweet
odor, and asked the mother if she perceived it.
"Yes," she said, "but it is a very elusive
odor." A nun at Seville had spoken to me of
the odor exhaled by the relics of the saint,
and had said that some perceived it but others
didn't, and that even to the same person
it was perceptible at times, at other times

152

THROUGH SPAIN

not. It seemed to me something like the odor
of incense, and yet I am quite sure it was not
that. I was much impressed with the fact that
it was the self-same odor I perceived in those
two widely distant places.

He * *

At the hotel in Avila I met an American
lady who had not visited her native land in five
years. She was so takci with Europe, she
said, that she thought she should never cross
the Atlantic again. Perhaps the recent terrible
happenings may have made her change her
mind. The conversation turning on St. Te-
resa, I said I looked upon her as being, after
the Blessed Virgin, the greatest woman saint
that ever lived. My American friend believed
she must yield the palm to St. Catherine of
Siena. And truly the latter may contest the
palm in the outer world of action. But I was
thinking rather of the inner world of the
spirit, where piety rears " a building
of God, a house not made with hands."
No one has thrown clearer or more
copious light upon the things of that inner
world than the author of " The Way of

THROUGH SPAIN 153

Perfection " and " The Castle of the Soul."
For the rest. *' star dififers from star in bright-
ness," and it is not for us, short-sighted and
dim of vision as we are, to say which shines
with the greatest lustre. Stars there are. too,
in the firmament of the Church that have never
swum into our ken. We shall see them when
we have passed hence, even as those who pass
to the other side of the globe behold the South-
em Cross.— Mrs. Hemans's lines on that bril-
liant constellation come to one unbidden : they
are put in the mouth of some son or daughter
of Spain :

Thou recallest the ages when first o'er the main
My fathers unfolded the ensign of Spain.
And planted their faith in the regions that see
Its unperishing symbol emblazoned in thee.

Shine on— my own land is a far distant spot.
And the stars of thy sphere can enlighten' it
not,

And the eyes thai I love, though e'en now they
may be

O'er the firmament wandering, can gaze not
on thee !

* * 4i

104

THROUGH SPAIN

On leaving Avila I visited Valladolid. To
me the most interesting place there was the
Scots College, once a home of the Jesuits and
their house of studies in the days of the great
Suarez. Here many of the men who kept the
torch of faith burning in the Scottish High-
lands during the dark night of persecution re-
ceived their education for the priesthood. The
Very Reverend Alexander MacDonald, V. G.,
who died at Mabon, Cape Breton, in 1865. left
Valladolid for Lismore, Scotland, in 1816, as
the college records bear witness. It was from
him I got in baptism the light of faith.

I slept at San Sebastian on my way to
Lourdes. Of my visit to that famous shrine I
write elsewhere.

LOURDES REVISITED.

Victoria, B. C, August, 19 14.
visited Lourdes again in May of the
present year. Much water had passed
under tlie old stone bridge that spans
the Gave since last I gazed on that swirling
stream, and listened to the hoarse music of its
voice. Lourdes has grown a great deal in
these fourteen years. The old town has wid-
ened its bounds on the right bank of the river,
and on the left the low meadow land is covered
with shops and hotels. These, indeed, may be
said to make up the town. In the shops, as I
also noted when last I was there, the wares
are almost wholly of a devotional character—
a fact that gave rise to the following incident.
The joke that gives it point is at mv own ex-
pense.

I left my soap at Saint Sebastian, the last
town in Spain ere you cross into France.
It may be needful to tell the reader that the
traveller in Europe has to carry his own soap.

166

' !

106

LOURDES REVISITED

T wanted to buy that necessary article in
I.oiirdcs. but did not know where to get it.
The stores that lined the streets on either side
seemed to offer nothing but beads, medals, stat-
ues, etc. What was worse, I could not for the
life of me recall the French word for soap. I
tried to get at it through the Italian " sapone."
Cutting off the final vowel, I entered the near-
est store, and boldly asked for " sapon." The
salesmaid at first looked puzzled. But on my
repeating the order, her face broke into a
smile of comprehension. Quickly she sped to
a c(jrner of the store, and thence brought me
a tiny statue of St. Paul ! " Sapon." no doubt,
sounded more like " Saint Pol '* than like the
elusive " savon " that I had tried in vain to get
hold of. Going into another shop, where a win-
dow bore the legend " English and German
spoken." I asked for soap. They told me the
girl who was to wait on English-speaking cus-
tomers had not yet joined the staff. I inquired
in Italian if they knew that language, and to
my great relief was answered in the affirma-
tive, and directed to a little shop down a near
street, where I bought an excellent piece of
soap that is still in my pc ^session.

Man has wrought many changes in Lourdes.

LOURDES REVISITED 157

Only the works of God remain unchanged.
The Gave flows merrily on. singing its way to
the sea. Round about are the eternal hills,
which change not. The grotto in the rocks of
Massabielle still looks out over the hurrying
river, even as Our Lady, from her (|uiet niche,
smiles down upon the ever flowing and ebbing
multitude at her feet. How mighty has been
that tide of pilgrimage since last I knelt before
the statue of Our Lady there! Dav by day.
month by month, year by year, it 'keeps re-
newing itself, flowing ever onward like the
leaping waters of the Gave.

I reached Lourdes on the eve of Saturday,
May 10. and stayed there over Sunday. The
great Swiss national pilgrimage was there, in
eight trains: a pilgrimage from Metz in two
trains; a mixed pilgrimage from Strassburg, in
two trains; the seventeenth pilgrimage from
Namur in three trains; the ninth national
Bavarian pilgrimage in two trains; and the
ninth Austrian, also in two trains. There were
m all some fifteen thousand pilgrims, of
many nations and many tongues. But one was
the faith that drew them thither; one the de-
votion. And one was the hymn they sang in
unison in the marvellous torchlight procession

Ifi8

LOURDES REVISITED

that night. I stood watching it as it wound its
way down the great oval pathway through the
meadow of Lourdes. The spire of the stately
basilica that stands over the Grotto, the grand
facade, and the Church of the Rosary beneath,
were all ablaze. Then ten thousand pilgrims^
a very torrent of movinjj lights, poured into
the pathway, circled slowly round it, sway-
ing and singing as they passed along. The
sounds that rose upon the night air, under the
listening stars, were as the voices of the sea.

A thought that saddens comes to me as I
write these words, after three short months.
Many, many of the men who walked side by
side in that procession have ere now met face
to face on Euroi)ean battlefields. Man is part
beast, and part ar^^el. The angel is of God,
the beast of the earth, earthy. And the beast
tlint is in man, true to its nature, fights its fel-
lows; the angel can but weep over the fallen
and the slain.

What a sight that was of sick and suffering
humanity before the statue of Our Lady in
the rocks of Massabielle! It seemed as if all
the ills that poor human flesh is heir to were
brought together there. One had not the heart

LOT'RDFS REVrsITFD lag

to ask favour'- for oneself, so piteous was the
spectacle of so much misery unrelievcrl. For
out of the thousands that yearly seek a cure at
Lourdes but few are made whole. \'et all are
renewed in spirit, and strengthened to be»r
their ailments with Christian resignation. It
IS not that they want faith: it is rather that
God does not will to free even those who have
faith from all evil here below. "It is ap-
pointed unto man once to die." Through many
tribulations, through the gates of death itself,
we must enter into the Kingdom of God, King-
dom of endless ages, whereon, as St. Augus-
tine so beautifully expresses it. "sits the un-
troubled light, and the peace of God that
passeth all understanding." Meanwhile in
patience we shall possess our souls.

A year ago one came to Lourdes, a girl from
a town in France, sick beyond all human hope
of recovery. She had a complication of mala-
dies, including consumption in its last stage
Her doctor, an unl^eliever, deemed it madness
in her to undertake the long jo -ney. But go
she would. He told her. if she were cured he
himself would go with her next year to
Lourdes. They were both of them there the

100

LOURDES REVISITED

Sunday I was there — she to thank Our Lady
for the wondrous favour, he to ponder upon
the superhuman power that wrought it, and to
find, let us hope, healing and peace for his soul.

In a corner of France, amid the foothills and
under the shadow of the Pyrenees, Lourdes lies
sheltered with its holy shrine. Afar it lies
from the madding strife that now ravages and
reddens with blood many a fair field that was
white unto harvest. Let us pray Our Lady
that the war may soon be over — that He who
chid the wild waves on the sea of Galilee may
now stay the fierce onset of angry passions,
and bring a great calm.

A FEW MORE STRAY LEAVES AND
TRACES.

I HE passage from \ew York in Gib-
raltar took twelve clays. The " Sax-
onia " is sl..\., |,ut sure and stcadv.
There was little .sea-.u-Kn- ss. and le- . cmse
for it, but sniall-p.,x 1,1,^^ m,ii :,: ii,e steer-
age our first (lay at sea. T'..' tlMld— for a
child it was that showed the rcrul .v,inpt.)nis
—was at once placed in the i,olatiun ho^iital.
We all had to be vaccinated, and iw " .-i..a
onia" steamed into the harlxxir < f lunchal,

Madeira, flying the yellow-jack, ''here «

however. little fear of infectioti anu^PK our
fellow-passengers in the first cabin, as became
apparent the night before we made port.
There was a dance on tin- deck, which we
were all invited to join. Conspicuous on the
list of dances that lay before each ijassenger
as we sat down that evening to the dinner table
was " the vaccination waltz ! '• Next nit»rning
a pathetic little wooden box, roughly carpen-
tered, was landed at Madeira. It contained the

161

16S

A FEW MORE STRAY

remains of the little child which had died in
port — not of small-pox, which had turned out
after all "o be chicken-pox — but of two hard-
boiled eggs administered by a fond mother dur-
ing convalescence. So at least the story ran on
board ship, though I fancy it was just made up
to free us the more completely from appre-
hension.

Madeira is one of the loveliest islands of
the sea. The waters around it are of the deep-
est blue, and' its sloping fields of the richest ver-
dure. Funchal, the capital city, is on the
shores of a winding bay. The houses spot-
lessly v/hite, the roofs red-tiled, form a pleas-
ing contrast of colour with the green of the
fields and the tropical tree- ^ ound about them.
Madeira belongs to Portugal. The inhabitants
are almost all of them Catholics, and very
devout. The storm of persecution that so lately
burst over the mother country has spared this
distant daughter in her sea-girt home.

Quitting the boat at Gibraltar, and passing
by rail through Spain and the south of France,
I reached Rome before the middle of May.

LEAVES AND TRACES 163

Rome is greatly changed since I knew it first,
and changed, I am free to own. for the better.'
New streets have been opened, old ones
straightened and widened, and all the streets
are fairly well kept. The city has taken over
the magnificent Villa Borghese, and turned it
mto a park, to which access is given, out of the
very heart of Rome, from piazza Barberini,
along a broad highway, acmss the Pincian Hill
The deep valley beyond is bridged by a lofty
embankment. No city is more favoured than
Rome m its parks and fountains.

Rome is greatly changed, too. spiritually,
and for the better. There is more of devotion
in the churches : more of respect, or at least of
outward respect, for the pilgrim in the streets.
In Rome ecclesiastical things are pretty much
as they have always been. There is a saying
familiar to the theologian, Communia vilcscunt
—common things are held uncominonly cheap.
What so common as the priest in Rome!
None so poor as to do him reverence. Even a
bishop on occasion does not fare much better.
Apropos of this T have been told a story, which
to quote the well-worn Italian saying, Se non

164

A FEW MORE STRAY

e vero, e ben trovato — if not true, is a clever
take-off, and may serve to point a moral.

Last winter there was a grand function in
the Sixtine Chapel. The Holy Father was
there, and the place was packed with people.
They kept pressing forward in their eagerness
to get near the Pope. At last the papal guard
turned their backs to the multitude, and held
them there. A belated Cardinal tried to force
his way through, but couldn't. Taking one of
the guard by the shoulder, he told him who he
was and that he had to get by. " Oh, pardon
me, your Eminence." cried the soldier, greatly
taken aback, " I thought you were only a
Bishop!"

I 1^

The public consistory of May the 28th,
viewed simply as a pageant, was well worth
waiting for. Cardinals and bishops, in their
scarlet and purple robes, lined the front seats,
and the elect Cardinals, in gorgeous panoply,
brought up the rear of a long procession. The
ambassadors to the Holy See and the heads
of the old noble families of Rome, were con-
spicuous in seats specially reserved for them.

LEAVES AND TRACES

165

But what struck one as without parallel in so
august an assemblage was this singular cir-
cumstance: a peasant from Riese sat in the
throne of Peter, and three other peasants from
Riese, two sisters and a niece, who bore about
them all the marks of their peasant ancestry,
occupied the place of honour in a tribune hard
by. It was the apotheosis of democracy.
The like had never been seen at the Papal
Court, at lea.st since the swineherd Sixtus, the
fifth of that name, refused to receive, when
dressed as a fine lady, the mother whom he
afterwards welcomed when she came back to
him in her peasant costume.

It is not easy to gain admittance to a papal
consistory, and thereby hangs another tale.
From immemorial time the noble Roman fam-
ilies have a sort of prescriptive right to a large
number of admission tickets, which they use
in part themselves, and in part, it is said, ofifer
for sale in the hotels of Rome. These are
eagerly bought up b^ tourists and travellers,
who are largely Protestant. Hence it comes to
pass that while a bishop often cannot get a
ticket for an attendant priest, hundreds of

106

A FEW MORE STRAY

Protestants and unbelievers hold prominent
places at the consistory. The story is of the
time when Pasquino (whence our English
"pasquinade") entertained the Romans with
his clever satirical skits. They took the form
of cartoons, and were placed during the night
at the foot of a statue to which all Rome was
wont to take its way to amuse itself of a morn-
ing. After one of the public consi.stories, this
is what greeted the eye of Rome. Two young
men are hurrying to the Vatican. Some curi-
ous passer-by bids them the time of day, and
would know why they hasten so. " We are on
our way." they say. " to the Vatican, to the
consistory." " But where is the use of your
going; you can't get in." "Oh, that's all
right," rejoin the confident pair, " we turned
Protestant yesterday ! "

On leaving Rome I visited Assisi, fraught
with memories of St. Francis and St. Clare.
Loreto, also, with its Holy House, and from
Ancona crossed to Tersatto. near Fiume, where
the Angels first set down the House of the Vir-
gin when they came with it over the sea. I
recrossed the Adriatic to Venice in an .\ustrian

LEAVES AND TRACES 167

boat. Four of us slept in one small stateroom
packed like sardines. I could barely squeeze
into my berth, and passed the night in dread
lest the big burly German (known to be such
by his gutturals) who occupied the upper berth
should fall through and quite flatten mc out.
My sympathies have always been with the un-
der dog, and henceforth will be more than ever
— for I was the under sardine !

We came to Venice in the early morning
when the newly risen sun had turned every-
thing into gold. There she sat a queen upon
the waters. Small wonder that one Joseph
Sarto should have pined, and pines still, in his
prison-palace of the Vatican, for this old home
of his on the sea. which it is his inclement des-
tmy never more to set eyes on. Venice is a
city without streets. In.stead there are canals
and corridors— canals where glide the swan-
hke gondolas, and corridors between the
houses, so narrow that people living on oppo-
site sides may shake hands across.

While I sat writing the last paragraph the
hfe of Pope Pius the Tenth was slowly ebbing

168

A FEW MORE STRAY

away. He was passing to the better world,
where the wicked cease from troubling, and
the weary are at rest. He had fought the good
fight, he had kept the faith. He had laboured
while yet it was day, knowing that the night
Cometh when no one can labour more. His
was a truly simple and apostolic life. He had
a single eye to the glory of God and the good
of his fellow-man. If ever there was one who
could say that he sought not the office, but
that the office sought him, he was the Pope
whose loss we mourn. He has done an endur-
ing work for God and the Church, and has left
an inspiring example of a life untainted with
worldliness and fragrant with faith and good
works. Eternal rest grant to him, O Lord, and
let light perpetual shine upon him !

I spent a night in Domodossola just beyond
the beautiful Lago Maggiore, in the Italian
Alps. Here the Rosminian Fathers have a col-
lege for boys, largely attended. A unique fea-
ture of the museum is a room filled with la-
belled specimens of the different kinds of stone
taken from the great Simplon tunnel — an al-
most endless variety. Beyond the Simplon, on

LEAVES AND TRACES 169

the Swiss side, the train, which is driven by
electricity, passes along the side of a precipi-
tous mountain. An Alpine river winds its way
two thousand feet below. From the window
of the train I caught a glimpse of a flying
aeroplane, about midway down. Far beyond
on the other side the eye rested on great fields
of untrodden snow. The valleys of Switzer-
land are for the most part so narrow that it
is easy to get a good view of the wonderful
mountain scenery.

At Berne I had just time to pay a visit to
my old acfiuaintances — I dare not say friends
— the bears. There are as many as seven of
them now in the underground enclosure across
the Aar river, the cubbies that I saw on my
first visit having grown into bears. I bought
one or two specimens of the beast in wood, and
saw many more that would have made inter-
esting additions to my former repertoire —
bears painting, bears playing cards, bears play-
ing the piano, bears working in wood, bears
smoking long German pipes, bears nursing sick
bears, and bears rejoicing in the birth of cub-
bies!

170

A FEW MORE STRAY

From Bcrnc I passed to Strassburg, from
Strassburg along the banks of the Rhine to
Cologne, and from Cologne to Aix-la-Chapelle,
known to me from schooldays as a place where
peace treaties were signed. Peace then
brooded on the land, a land of plenty, smiling
with promise of a rich harvest. But on every
hand were soldiers, and the whole nation ap-
peared to be cast in a military mould. What-
ever the ;.atcome of the terrible war into which
Europe is plunged to-day, the future historian
will record and lay due stress on this signifi-
cant fact, that Germany led the world in war-
like preparation, and that other nations did but
strive to keep pace with her.

The return voyage, on the Empress of Brit-
ain, was almost without incident. «Jne day of
storm we had, in mid-ocean, when our big ship
was tossed about and great seas broke over
her. A day or two later, on the banks of New-
foundland, an iceberg was sighted almost di-
rectly ahead. It looked ghostlike as it loomed
up out of the haze, and the air for miles around
was chill as winter. I left the ship at Rim-
ouski, about sunrise of a July morning, close
to the spot where her sister ship went down a
few weeks before with almost every soul on

LEAVES AND TRACES 171

board. At Rimouski I took an eastbound train
to my old home, feeling, as I never felt before,
the force of Sir Walter's undying lines :

Breathes there a man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land !
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turned
From wandering on a foreign strand.

WORKM MY THK
■T. HBV. AI.BXANOBR MmDONALO. D.D^

Bi.te» .1 VI..,rU. B.C.
Th« Sy»lioi of thm AportI— .

A VlndlctUon of t»H« Ap«>Htoltc Authorship of th» Crmi

on tb« Llnw of Catholic Trtdltlon. By Rt. Riv. Aimx.

Macbokau). D. D.. BlBhop of \ ictorla. B. C. 12mo. 377 pp.

Cloth, net, 1.25; full moroct<o, net, 2.00

"A splendid ^orkr—FrrlfMiaittirat Hevieic.

" In point of orljclnallty 11 ml brllllaut Mchlevement one of
the moMt notahle bookn that Iiuh come to u ri'vlewer'8 deok
In many a ^lay."— Catholic Knord.

" I am too much lmpre«wd by the oumulatlv*. Htrength
of It to stand off an a doubting critic to Hud |x>fuilble flawa."
Rt, R«v. Da. MacNul, of St. (Jeorjce. N. F. L.

"A splendid example of critical scholarship "—r»«
Ouidon.

" We have read It twice, parts of It ..ftener. We are of
the opinion that If some of those wIk» felt callnl upon to
review It had done the same they would hardly have come
to the conclusion with reHiKM't to It which thev seem to
have reached. Dr. MncDonuld's splendid blsf.ry of the
Apostles' Creed has a fresh Interest now for Its closlnu
chapter dealing with the name Catholic' and when and
how It came to be the distinct title of the Church."— Hev.
L. A. Lambebt. LL. D., In S\w York Freeman'), Journal.
"The author, n brilliant alumnus of the Koman Seminary
of Propaganda, and a highly appreciated contributor ti)
several Catholic periodicals. Is at once a metaphysician and
a scholar. His refutation of Harnack's theory concerning
the Creed bears the impress of the twofold quality of his
subtle and searching mind. We believe the refutation In
question is complete."— Mgr. L. A. Paquet, of Uvul
University.

"It Is a relief to come across a work like Bishop
MacDonald's Symbol of the Apostles, after the dreary watt*

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of academic discussions that centre about this well-wora
eonfossion of Christian faith."— Very Rev. Dr. Shahan. Im
The Catholic Univeraity Bulletin.

"The Htudent, be he a Roman Catholic, or a catholic-
minded Presbyterian, or an out-and-out disciple of John
Calvin, will read Dr. MacDonald's Symbol of the Apostles
with interest and not without profit."— T/ie Presbyterian
Witnefis.

"The Symbol of the Apostles by Dr. MacDonald is a
work of great erudition, and I congratulate the publishers
on the way they have executed their part."— N. C. Matz,
Bishop of Denver.

A work of great merit and standard erudition.— Most
Rev. Dr. Begin, Archbishop of Quebec.

A contribution of the highest value to the historic aspects
of our belief.— Bishop MacDonald, of Charlottetown, P. E. I.

It is a learned work and should be in the library of
every priest and educated layman.— Bishop Horstman, of
Cleveland.

A scholarly and edifying book.— Tfce Catholic Columbian.

Based on original research and built up by critical
acumen and masterly scholarship.- Tfce Catholic Record.

Dr. MacDonald shows a very full and accurate knowl-
edge of the early writers whose works have a bearing on
the subject . . . . and by a process of keen and logical
reasoning, builds up a new defence too solid and strong foi
the artillery of historical criticism.— Tfce Cross.

Bishop MacDonald has given us in this volume a palnstak

Ing sr:.olarly work from a point of view nol

so much In evidence In the present day discussion of th<
subject as that which It opposes.— Tft*' HomUetic Monthly

The book Is well indexed, and there is a list of th«
authorities consulted in its preparation. His readers wil
thank him for yielding to the request to add the ver;
satisfactory closing cliapter oa the Catbolic name.— ffc
Boston PUot.

-Most

Th« Symbol in Srm onM.

A TOriBB of Twenty-tlve Short Sermons ou th,. Article.
^ tf Cr^eU. By Rr. Rkv. a.^x. M;.rooNAi.D. D. D. V>mT
214 pp.

net. UHi

"Its chapters are pregnant with thought The

r.? ,?' J^" ^''"^' *'^^"' '^^"°"''« '^n'l con,plete."-7-fce
Catholic Transcript.

" It Is lucid and easy in style, concise in arrangement, and
magnetic in Its erudItion.--7'/,e. Catholic licgi^tc.

"This work is all it professes to he. It ml«ht .iNn In.
styled excellent sermons ou the Apostles" Creed;-*,.
Church Progress.

"We recommend this volume to our readers for their
use and as u most appropriate gift to the lni|ulring
Protestant."— r^e Catholic Record.

"We think that this volume of Dr. MacDonald's will
take a high place among works of this class. Altogether
In matter and method, these sermons are well suited hotli
to serve as sources to which preachers can have recourse
and models for their own nork."-Thr Jfomilctir Monthly.

The Sacrifice of t he Mass.

"This Is a book of the highest merit, and one that
should be in the hands of both the clergy and laity."— Tfce
Catholic Columbian-Record.

"Three chapters are headed: 1. The True Idea of
Sacrifice, U. History of the Sacrificial Idea In the Mass
3. The Si.erlflclal Idea in the Mass. A careful analysis of
each chapter precedes the w..rk, and an appendix of quota-
tions Is added."— rftr Sarrcd Heart Review.

"Theologians will find this book luminous and interert-
ing.—The Pittsburg Catholic.

"This cxplanaticn sets the reality of the sacrifice of tb*
Mass in a new light and defends it agaiust the more or
less rationalist theories that have been recently broached.
No doubt this book, like the Symbol of the Apostlet, will
excite comment." — The Canadian Mettenger of the dccred
Heart.

" To us the most luminous part of it seems his discussion
of the Last Supper and its relation to the Cross. We
are all so prone or so Impelled by our limitations to rej^ard
truth as if it were a set of separate texts, like people walk-
ing in a wooded country where they can only see small
spaces one by one, that the- most helpful writer Is he who
jOiides us to an eminence where we can see that things
we thought diverse are but one or parts of one whole." —
The Casket.

"A second reading has deepened the first impression. I
really think you have made a valuable contribution to
theological science."— Right Rev. Dr. MacNeil; Bishop of
St. George. Nfld., in a letter to the author.

"The Sacrifice of the Mass," by the Rt. Rev. Alex. Mac-
Donald, D. D., is "an historical and doctrinal Inquiry into
the nature of the Euchpristic Sacrifice." Within the compass
of six score pages Bishop MacDonald gives a succinct,
scholarly, and adequate demonstration of the fact that the
traditional Catholic conception of Holy Mass as being
Identically the same Sacrifice primarily offered at the
Last Supper and on the Cross- -a conception attested to by
•X cloud of witnesses throughout the centuries — Is the very
truth. As in the author's previous works, " The Symbol
of the Apostles " and " Tf mbol in Sermons," there is in
this volume abundant eviuence of many-sided erudition,
trenchant logic, luminous exposition, and that suggoi-tlve-
ness of reserved power which stamps the work of the well-
e((ulpped scholar. The book is brought out in neat and
attractive form by the Christian Press Association, New
York.— Ave Maria. Fine cloth binding, net 1.00

B«Htfon« Onaationa of th« Day. Vol. I.

ne^ 1.00
Volume I. 203 pp.. is a book of five essaj and two

"Zrr 'T""' °' ^*^ ^•"'^°' QuestionlT,ieVirZ
Birth-Mary Ever a Virgin-The Asaumption of the Virain
Mary, and Bridginy the Grave. "

•• Every student of theology will be stimulated by the book

• " LT T'^KT'' «* ""- ^-™ '^^ >--ed !uUho;

»an.I Itr . "'*''' " ""*" '^«*^ ^"'J « «'«de acquain-
tance with purely secular llterature.-Ca/Ao/ic World

"Simple and direct are his books, but what a world of
toil they repre. -nt. » * Thoy are. indee testimonies to a
devotion to Sacred Science, and they are also beyond .pL
tlon proofs of a many-sided erudition which is as edlf 1^8
as it Is Instructlve.-CafAo^K- Record. euirying

CathT.lT'""'"' !!''' ^'"'■'^ unreservedly to our educated
Catholic laymen."— TAe Uuidon.

" In forceful presentation of solid arguments and .resh-
ness of color given to oldtime questions they the esLays)
are equally meritorious."-4t;r Maria. ^^

Rali^loaa Qneatjona of the Day. Vol. H.

Dr. MacDonald discusses the Symbol in the New Testn,
-^^nt-The Discipline of the Sreret-The EthlalZp^Z

Drummond on "Natural Law in the Spiritual World.") and
The Imagination. 223 pp. cloth „,,; j Jj

" It is in the firm mastering of those permanent truths-
infnTi'f "• P'^'^^'P'^' ^»^-»°« 'ind human, the clear insight
^!?. H ,T°^°^ ««^ bearings, together with the practical
metuod of their application to certain subjects now occupy-
ng mens mind-it is in these qualities here in act, scJulo
that constitute the permanent worth of these essavs ♦ • .
set forth with the author's characte-lstlc precision, per-
spicuity, and beauty of dkrion."-^,..,.,/„..,,v-«, /eer.nr

"Treated with a dignity and .sureness sadly wanting in
the work of the apologist, o-tsl.le the Church who have

taken tli^ht ho iguominiuusiy befure the uusluughtH of tilt
' higher criticism.' • • ♦ Few present day writers on
Catholic topics are clearer or more satisfying than Dr.
MticDonaUl"—The Pilot.

Pension* One««ion« of «he Day. Vol. 111.

SoMK Modernistic Theobies and Tendencies Exposed,
By the Rt. Rev. Alexandeb MacDonald, D. D. Vol. III.
12ni(). 329 pp. net, 1.00

VonWntH'. The Gospel Narratives; Are They Really
Dlscrt^pant? The Catholic Encyclopaedia and the Higher
Criticism — Alleged Process of Evolution — F'alse in Name and
ill Fact— The Bible and Modern Dlfflcultles— The Bible tind
the Higher Criticism— Biblical Dlfflcultles— A Novel with u
I'urpo.se — History and Inspiration — ^The Firmament — The
Atonoinent — God's Foreknowledge of Moral Evil — ^The Date
of Our Lord's Birth. — Mgr. Duchesne and the Date of
Nativity — The Holy House of Loreto — The Materials of
the Holy House — ^The Assumption of the Bles.sed Virgin
Mary and a Charge of Modernism — ^The Assumption of the
Blessed Virgin Mary — Papal and Concillar Infallibility —
St. .VuRustlne and Evolution — The Apostles' Creed — A
Critique in the Dublin Review — The Eucharistic Sacrifice-
Grace the Life of God in the Soul.

M editationa oa the Bleaaed Virftia.

From the German of Rev. Francis Gabrlni, S. J. New
edition carefully revised by the Rt. Rev. Alexander Mac-
Donald, D. D., Bishop of Victoria, Canada.

This book will fill a long-felt want and may be used dur-
ing the mouth of May at the evening devotions. Each
Meditation Is divided into Three Points. This plan will be
found convenient for priests who have to preach or speak
on the Blessed Virgin. It will not be difficult for them to
find. In such a variety of matter what they are in quest of;
and since the division is already made, and the matter
already In order, they can have no further trouble thnn to
develop, a little more, the matter furnished them in these
pages. For religious this book will fill a niche that has
long been vacant.

Bound In cloth and contains 384 pages : net, $1.00

THE HOLY HOUSE OF LORETO

A CRITICAL STUDY OF DOCUMENTS AND TRADITIONS

BT THK

RT. REV. ALEX. MACDONALD, D. D.

Bi8iior or VicTOKiA. B. C.

" We have had frooiient occasion to comment In these
columns on the nianj slJed erudition, the tiencliant Iol'U'
an, the luminous exjiositlon which chnracteri/e Ulshoi*.
MacDonalds aiioloKetic work «enorully. and hav«. ex-
pressed o»ir apiireciation of niucli of the material Ip the
present volume. It will accordlnsly he sufJioient to re-
mind onr readers that neither Canon Chevalier in his
work, nor Father Thurston, in his article "Santa <'as'i '•
In the "Catholic Encyclopedia," has said tlie last word
as to the authenticity of the Holy House. The hook 1..-
fore us cannot be disposed of by any suiwrcllious assinnp-
tlon that "scholars no longer doubt that the Holy House
is a pious fraud."— The .Vve M^^xhia.

" Every lover of Our Lady and of tradition wih wel-
come Bishop MacDonald's work, which forms a powerful
protest against the Iconoclasm, which, under the name
of sclentltic criticism, Is attempting to destroy well
grounded traditions by arguments which are mere hv-
potheses."— The Catholic Review.

"Bishop MacDonald id an uncompromising defender of
the ancient tradition concerning the Holv House of
Loreto. He takes issue both with Father Thnrston's
S^T "'ri? ^'^^** **^"^^ °^ <^»"o° Chevalh r, on whose hook
Father Thurston evidently drew in the prepartion of his
article. The polntf- at issue are well set f(,rth in Hlshon
MacDonald's book, The Holy House of Loreto "—
The Catholic Educational Review.

" Catholics all over tne English-speaking world will hall
with delight this masterful vindication of their devotion
to Our Lady of Loreto. The learned Bishop in this book

puts a qulptiis on thoso Kentlcnu-n who tlionglit they ha<l
proven that thy translation o( the Holy llouw of Loreto
was a myth." — Thk Westebn Catuouc.

•'There is no doubt that the arsumentH which the
learned Hlshop murHhals lu defence of the Holy llovise.
cannot he lightly Het aside. All lovers of the veneralile
Hhriue ot the Blessed Virgin will he thankful to ilu- Hi.
Ilev. Rlshop for his vigorous and spirited defence, and
even those who disagree with him on sclentllic grounds,
Would do wrong to shut their eyes t<» the force and so-
lidity of the argumeutB brought forward.'"— TuE iOc-

CLE8IA8TICAL REVIEW.

li!

i 1^

" It has long been a pious tradition that tlie liouse tlio
Holy Family lived iu at Nazareth was miraculously trans-
lated to Loreto. These pilgrhnages have been made for
centtirles and wonders done by Ood's intervention and
(Jur LadyVs. lilshop MacDonald has. In a bt>ok of 40<)
pages, vindicated the faith that i« in him as to the
reality of the Holy House of I.oreto and at the same time
completely routed <'anon Chevalier's assertions to the
contrary or doubt-castings on the i>Ious belief of ages."—
(Utiiouc Register and Canadian I<:xten8Ion.

" ni-shop MacDonald'.s leamtHl treatise, based on docu-
mentary pvidenco as well as personal observation. In itjp-
port of the miraculous transljition of the home of St.
Joseph iind the r.lossod Virgin is highly interesting.
Tl s latest contribution to ilarlan literature can not fall
to «> very welcome and pleasing to d(>vout clients of the
Mother of (Jod everywhere." — The Catuouc Light.

"Rlshop AlacDonald's .^tudy of the documents and
traditions of Loreto, are wide and comprehensive. He la
a firm believer in the history of the Holy House and his
book is a thorough .iiiswer to the skeptics .ind modernists
who are influenced by the hypercritical views of the day.
To all interested in the .sacred shrine the book will prove
of very great interest." — The Tablet.

" This History of the Holy House of Nazareth will be
appreciated."— The Pittsbuboh Cathouc.

TXheii (•iiiion riu-valU.r'M " \otr..-l»aiiic .1.- I.on.tf,. " nn-
penml evory on.. i.rHen.lInK to l>.> a • .scholarlv hiHtor-
lan thought to Justify l.ls clal,,, by «h„utii,« tl.a't L..ro to
was now as .l.a.l ax a doornail.

On.. ..f tlu,f stron^Tsl joints van that prior to tho
transl:.iioi. ..r tlu- Holy llousi.. no i.ii^riiij to Xazai"th
Het.n.s to have luenfion..,! It. To on,, who known an v"

d..clsh.. \\ ,o eoul.l uo to Lor.to and ut.t Hpt-ak of tl,"
I ons.. stan.lInK up un.l.'r th.- roof of n ,. |,.,sliU- v
.smuiarly. who could hav. uon.- to Na.arot a d a vJ
r..ma,n.-,l sll..„t al.out th.. Mou.s..V Thl.s prohal Iv «a v.^
u' ar«u.ii,.nf Its .um- for fh..vall..r an.l his fri.M. Is
who, stran«.> as It may swm, ,u.v..r thou-ht it iv„r i,'
While to >is,t ..lth..r Xazareth or I.:;..,.; IS la .!

holr attack : which. Ilk., th.- staff of a mo,l..,n arlu ' ly

Macl.onal.l. He was absolutely fandllar with Nazar.-t
and Lurcto vi>|fin;; ,b,.u. n.ore than .u.c... though I... ,1
ve acr..ss the Atlantic in Anthfonlsh: and he brln;;s out
he iuiportant fact that th.. House was in the crvpt oj
th.. Nazareth Church, that it was in contact witi the

Holy tamily. an.l that a v.-ry careful exandnati..n woMd
have been r.'.|uir..d to .ILstin-iiish it from ili-m S.-e-
oiidly, he shows that before the translation pii-riins'spoke

' .Hr. !"V^' "'"' *'"' *'"''''''' Xwf'i^^'- .••■^ the llolv House.
«iid Ihirdly. that since the time of the fransjatini, a part
that was spoken of by tli« pil^'riuis no ion;, .• eMsts in
Nazareth, and liu.t its site nv.s a place .w vacant
AKa n in dealing with Canon Chevaller-s assuiwi.ion that
the t hurch of .St. Af-,ry in f„ml„ Luunti. exist in;; b,.fore
th,. .late ..t translath.n. must \,v i.h.ntifi...| with the
in!!*' Vm"**?; ^ "''"'"■^- f""''>«i"« I'i'ther Ks.-hbach. how
wo ' VMr„n- ■' *" '''''''"'*" ""^' ^•"""^^•ti"" '•-•»•..«» the

My warmest congratulations for your scholarly and
ill my view, successful defence of th,. beautiful ami tiiii,-'
orSzareTi?*""" ""^ ^^^ ""'''^"'^ trau.slation ..f the Ili

CARDINAL BEtJIX.

Quebec.

I \

A SKBIBS or SMALL BOOKS FKOM THE WKITIlfOS OF

i<T ALI'HUN.*' S LIOL'OKI. K.lli.d by

Rt. R«v. Alex. MacOonald, O.D.
TAITINO ON OOI). WALKINJ} WITH (;()I),
KIK'J WITH (J01>. VO»KIN(} F«)K HOD

Ir. at and hainly form tli«^f deoply dtnotlonal work*
are muly for the public. Hinhop MacDonald hoH made a
Judicial HPh'ctlon of tho moHt utrlklnR trea .net- on the
'ovi. of n.)d. tho little Iwoks. well bound and cheap are
sjiltiihio for viMltH to the Blensed Sacrament. Trivate He-
tr.'iifs and H,KH?laI devotions, etc. They will be highly aiH
jire>i,it<Ml l»y Iwth young and old.— AVirarfc Monitor.

Th.'so little books dral with the various phases of the
«|.lrltu!il life and imi,: out tht way to attain perfection.
Tlu-y can Ih» uswl with profit for spiritual reudlnR both by
the laity and by religious.— r,/<*o/<c Bullrtin.

'iliwe dellKhtful and very helpful little works will prove
veritable treainures to all who art honestly trying to save
their souls.— H>«/cm Cathulir.

'Hie subjects are well chos-n and follow a natural se-
quence, viz., Importance of Salvation. Eternity, Death,
llell. Love of Jesus, etc.. etc.— Tfte Catholic Timet, Liver-
pool, England.

These are charming little works and will do much In
promoting the greater glory of God. The Cbristlan Press
iilw.iys make the book and the price with the Intention of
leach' -I the greater numbe's.— r/kc Tablet.

r.lsho,, MacDonald has In these neat and attractive little
l><»<.lvs gatliored In a very small compass much of the very
essence of the numerous writings of this great Doctor of
the Church, ani hence deser.e a wide circulation.— TAe
FJxponent.

Black Silk Cloth net ..30 Seal, limp, gold edges net .30

Genuine Morocco, gold roll, red under gold edge*

net §1.00 postage extra 3c

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Publishing Companir

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