PW BOSTONIANA COLLECTION Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2016 https://archive.org/details/fallenprieststorOOmorg - KEY TO DIE ON THE COVER, Designed by J. J, Berry & Co. The right of the capital Key rests upon a decanter marked RUM. The left rests upon the Pope’s hat, or that of ■ his Cardi- nars. 0th er keys are numerous opening to the upper or the low- er world. The Vatican is repre- sented leaning towards the rum bottle. It is under- mined by the dynamite of L. L. L., Li- quor, Lotter- ies and Li- centious- ness. Whe- ther it shall be righted in America by the present upheaval re- mains to be seen. Cath- o 1 ics are said to be as earnest for Mr. Mor- gan’s suc- cess in awa- kening the RomanCath- * olic Church to its duty as Protestants ; and n o n • c h u r c h - goers more earnest than all, as they pay most of the criminal and pauper taxes. The burden at last will rest with the non-church goers whether the church shall go on in its present suicidal course, or at once and forever lift the banner of reform. Agents address Rev. Henry Morgan, 81 Shawmut Avenue, Boston, Mass. PEEFACE TO . SECOND EDITION. I NOW present to the world the final work of my life. My Music Hall lectures won for me a fortune. My “ Ned Nevins^ the News-Boy placed me among philanthropists, and won me the friendship of the Irish. My “ Shadowy Hand ” was but a mother’s hand that led me through “ L?!/e’s Struggles.’’’’ My ’■’‘Boston Inside Out’’’’ provoked three lawsuits, with two attachments upon my church and dwellings, — one for $10,000 and one for $25,000. My “ Fallen Priest, or Key to Boston Inside Out,’’’’ may elicit more extended suits. The first suit was by the quack doctors, whom I had assailed. They withdrew the suit, finding that “Morgan didn’t scare worth a cent.” The second suit was by the gamblers, who, after trial, signed off for their “heirs and assigns forever,” for the extra- ordinary sum of one cent, they paying the cost of court. The suit now pending is by sore-headed Catholics. IS'ot leading Catholics, they are not such fools, though some of them back the suit with their money. A full million could be easily raised in the country if it would but “ crush out Morgan and his church reform.’’^ Alas! poor persecuted Morgan is not easily crushed. He is made of sterner stuff. Better save your money, gentlemen, to reform abuses, check the criminal classes, put a bit upon the licentiousness of your priests, feed and elevate your devoted yet degraded paupers! One of my chief wit- nesses has been spirited away to Europe, with the de- claration that “he will not return until after the trial.” But I have caught him, had him before the magistrate, and kept him upon the rack swearing for three days! So much for the “ Key.” Breakers ahead! There is music in the air! There are sounds whose bass and tenor thunder in unmistakable notes to the church, “ Refoum,” “ Re- form! ” Agents address Rev. Henry Morgan, 81 Shawmut Ave- nue, Boston, Mass. THE PRIEST. FALLEN STORY FOXJNOED ON EACT. KEY AND SEQUEL TO ‘^BOSTON INSIDE OUT/’ ^ooks in ©n« Volume. Book I. — THE STORY. FORTY CHAPTERS. Book II. — CATHOLIC CHURCH IN POLITICS : FOR SALE OR TO LET. Book III. — KEY AND APPENDIX. BY Rev. henry AIORGAN, Author of “ Ned Nevins, the Newsboy,” “ Shadowy Hand; or, Lipb Struggles,” “Music Hall Discourses,” and “ Boston Inside Out.” THIRD EDITION. ELEVEN EXTRA CHAPTERS. Copyright, A. D. 1883. SHAWMUT PUBLISHINO COMPANY, 81 Shawmut Avenue, Boston. r DEDICATED To my Catholic friends throughout the Nation. To you I owe a debt of gratitude. Accept my thanks ; give me your prayers. You have watched my move- ments, said “ God bless you,’' and given me aid and cheer. To you the Church is the choicest object of earth. You tremble for its future. Dark ! dark be the day when skepticism reigns ! That day will surely come if the Roman Catholic Church, in its present teachings and practices, is to be the exponent of Christianity. You agonize for its fate, for the home circle, for your families, your children, and your children’s chil- dren. You see the priesthood standing on the brink, boasting of the impregnable rock and keys, bidding defiance to the noblest public opinion, to law and order, fostering pauperism, beggary, idleness, intemperance, licentiousness, pugilism, and crime ; inviting from an outraged, indignant, skeptical, tax-burdened populace, the already forged French thunderbolts for their own destruction. You are Americanized. You believe in free thought, free schools, and free press. You can recognize other sects and other creeds, especially when they carry ten- fold more weight of intelligence, refinement, moral honesty, loyalty to government, and religious culture than all the pretentious mockery of the arrogant, tyran- ical so-called “ Holy Mother Church.” Copyright, A. D. 1882, by Hbnby Mobsah. PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. Shall the Roman Catholic Church rule America?” will be the American watch-cry for the next ten years. It has already captured the large cities ! The conflict must come : reform is in the air. The truths of my books, " Boston Inside Out,” and this its " Key and Sequel,” will be best appreciated when I am in my grave. Then the church will be cleansed, — eliminated of its assumptions, its arrogance, its indulgences, its image- worship, its miracle frauds, its lotteries, its intrigues in politics, its Sunday liquor selling, — and its priesthood will be purified from intemperance and incontinence. Nothing else will satisfy the three-quarter population, — the non- church-goers, the principal tax-payers, — burdened as they are with the church’s beggary, pauperism, frauds, and crime. What will the public think if I shall prove in this book that the priesthood is cruelly and criminally corrupt ; that " Father Titus,” the hero of my book ” Boston Inside Out,” is not a myth, but an actual fact, and a representative character of a score of other ecclesiastics which I shall describe living, teaching, and preaching in and around Boston, breathing moral contagion and death; IV PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. that politics, and not piety, is their forte and calling ; that to them more than any other cnuse Boston’s downfall is due ; that war to the knife is declared on free schools; that the Boston Latin and High School, costing three quarters of a million, is now nearly empty ; that the twenty- eight parish schools of this diocese, with their military drills, are already breathing threatenings and slaughter, saying, "Let the Yankees beware” ; that Catholic supremacy means supreme corruption ; that Catholics are easily bribed ; that rich corpora- tions choose them for tools by which to cheat the public ; that jobs and junketing are the rule ; that votes " for sale or to let ” might be pasted in their hats daily ; that men who cannot pay one dollar poll-tax for all the privileges of citizenship can pay twenty-five, fifty, and even one hundred dollars every year without compunction for liquor ; that beggary is at a premium, idleness a virtue ; that a man may be elected to the city council who has to borrow a coat to be inaugurated in ; that he is placed on the committee of the treasury, to guard Boston’s $700,000,000, — one who scarcely knows a day-book from a ledger ; knows nothing of double entiy except at the Parker House ; patronizes, with other councilmen and cronies, fourteen cigar stores, eight hotels, besides carriages and car travel, at an expense of $34,000 a year, PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION’. V besides public celebrations and receptions ; that city contracts can bo changed and money squandered by the million with such votes and such voters ; that committees can change contracts without the knowledge or consent of the council ; that nearly $200,000 extra were given to the Moon Island job ; that the enormous sum of $36,000 was given for a pile of rocks that cost but $4,000 ; that $50,000 extra more or less were given for the sewer tunnel ; that by the statement of one alderman against another, $80,000 more were given for engines than for those bargained Ibr by Mr. Corliss, his being warranted, both as to capacity and duration (the favored ones not being warranted at all) ; that money being scarce, certain officials got up a scare at South Boston, — circulating petitions to Legislature preventing pumping in the harbor, — compelling city council to vote in haste to com- plete the sewer, thereby obtaining $1,500,000 more ; that the engines are now idle, and will be for a year or two, salted and rusting ; that the chief men in the obnoxious rings are anxious for re-election ; that some of them were connected with the $60,000 electric-light swindle, some with the Meigs elevated railroad scheme, some with the two-million Charlestown elevated bridge grab, some with the change of plans and contracts on the BacK Bay, costing half a million ; that many of PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. vi . these jobs emanate from one and the same source in Pemberton Square ; that a few thousands for poll-taxes can easily be paid when a few millions are lying loose around ; that men without manhood enough to own their own heads, pay for their own clothes, can follow the political bell-wether like sheep over a fence, can sell or be sold for a dollar ; not possessing an honest dime ; not doing an honest day’s work for weeks or months ; making politics a trade ; getting appointed to the Legislature as retrenchers and reformers; voting for every job, every ring, every clique, every extravagance, except such bills as will enforce the laws ; that such men should not rule unchallenged the grand old city of Boston, — the city of the highest cul- ture, greatest wealth according to its population, and noblest deeds of renown of any city on the continent ? If I shall establish these facts and reform shall be the fruit ; if American Catholics shall stand by me and cheer me on in the future as they have done in the past, — men born on free soil, educated in free schools, knocking at the door of the church asking for change, demanding reform until perma- nent radical reform shall come and the church be redeemed, — then may I sa}^, like Simeon of old, "Now, Lord, lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation.” CONTENTS BOOK I. THE FALLEN PRIEST. PAGE L I. — Father Keenan on the Watch .... 1 II. — Curse of Celibacy 13 III. — Sensation in a Church 25 IV. — Plotting against a Priest 33 V. — Beauty and the Beast 43 VI. — How Nora played her Part 52 VII. — The Trap is sprung 59 VIII. — The Bishop’s Sentence 69 IX. — Beggars and Bummers 77 X — Drinking Scene at Mag O’Leary’s ... 88 XI. — Death of Mike Haley 98 XII. — A Three Nights’ “ Wake ” 109 XIII. — Miracle Wonders 121 XIV. — Mary Mulligan’s Crime 135 XV. — Mary is arrested 151 XVI. — A Mother’s Grief and a Father’s Anger . 164 XVII. — Fearful Night in the “ Tombs ” . . . . 170 XVIII. — Prison or Altar, which ? 178 XIX. — On the Koad to Ruin 185 XX. — What happened at the Dance . . . .193 XXI. — Father Keenan and the Rosary .... 207 XXII. — A Gladiatorial Combat 217 XXIII. — Father Keenan’s Confession 227 XXIV. — Vision of Future Greatness 240 XXV. — Father Leonard’s Temptation .... 249 XXVI. — Kate Ransom’s Agony 261 XXVII. — “I ’ll find her, dead or alive ! ” . , . .275 XXVIII. — Life at the “ Bleeding Heart ” . . . . 289 XXIX. — Abandoned to her Fate 300 IV CONTENTS PAGE Chapter XXX. — Commotion in the Convent . . . .310 XXXI. — A Stolen Interview 328 XXXII. — Gentleman Mike to the Rescue . .341 XXXIII. — House of the Magdalenes .... 351 XXXIV. — The Belle of Beacon Hill .... 362 XXXV. — The Dying Nun . . .' 375 XXXVI. — Father Keenan’s Defence and Denun- ciation 382 XXXVII. — A Midnight Mission 394 XXXVIII. — A Martyr to Truth 409 XXXIX. — Father Leonard and Kate Ransom . 419 XL. — The Last of Earth 429 BOOK II. CATHOLIC CHURCH IN POLITICS : FOR SALE OR TO LET. PAGE Chapter I. — Why I wrote the Book 9 II. — Church Lotteries 18 III. — Burning of the Ursuline Convent .... 25 IV. — Who runs the City of Boston 1 .... 39 V. — How to carry a Catholic Caucus .... 47 VI. — Who control the Daily Press ? .... 53 VII. — Who furnish the Criminals and Paupers 1 60 VIII. — Effect of Catholic Rule - . 67 BOOK III. KEY AND APPENDIX TO “BOSTON INSIDE OUT.” BOOK I. STORY OF THE FALLEN PRIEST; Or, Fruits of Catholic Teachings. CHAPTER I. FATHER KEENAN ON THE WATCH. THE DOVE AND THl HAWK. MARY MULLIGAN RESCUED BY THE PRIEST. No part of Boston has undergone greater vicis- situdes, or passed through so many varying and diverse phases, socially, morally, and architectur- ally, as that precinct which has been known since the town’s earliest infancy as the North End. Formerly the aristocratic quarter, the abode of famous magistrates, statesmen, merchant princes, and other high and mighty ones whose names Bostonians delight to honor, it became successive- ly deserted tirst by the elite^ then by the moder- ately well-off and quasi-fasiiionables, finally by most of these who laid claim to the slightest de- gree of respectability, until the district at last virtually fell into the hands of a class of denizens 2 FATHER KEENAN ON THE WArCH. which can only be fittingly characterized as the rifiT-raff, dregs, and refuse of humanity. The quaint wooden and brick houses, once grand and imposing in their way, are now dilapi- dated, dismal, and forlorn looking enough, wear- ing the unmistakable marks of a dissolute old age in their crumbling walls, sunken doorsteps, broken windows, and in the general air of squa- lor and unthrift which is everywhere painfully apparent to the passer-by. But the march of improvement has already ex- tended to this quarter. The bustling genius of trade and traffic is steadily encroaching upon this realm of vice and crime ; hedging in with mas- sive stores and warehouses of brick and granite what is yet, however, an evil and plague-haunted region; a region of sailors’ boarding-houses, in- numerable grog-shops, and the lowest haunts and resorts of a vicious foreign population, where crime holds nightly saturnalia, lays its schemes of robbery, arson, even murder ; defying, seem- ingly with impunity, the interference of the police. Late in the afternoon of a summer’s day, a few years ago, a man was standing meditatively at the corner of one of those narrow lanes or by- ways which lead from Hanover Street into the most densely peopled portion of the North End. The bustle and turmoil of the day was at its MARY MULLIGAN RESCUED BY THE PRIEST. 3 height. Teams, hacks, horse-cars, and omnibuses seemed mixed in a chaotic but ever-moving mass, flying hither and thither with indescribable din and racket to their various destinations, while the sidewalks were crowded by a living stream of peo- ple of either sex iiurrying home or elsewhere for rest and recreation, now that for most of them the day’s labor was over. To Jerome Keenan, the man who is lounging with folded arms against a buildino: which forms one corner of the street, and who, with thoughtful and somewhat melancholy gaze, is watching the moving throng, the scene possessed a peculiar interest. It may be said that he haunted this particular spot, at least during certain portions of the day, when the crowd was thickest, as now, and when he was not, as was too frequently the case, ensconced in some corner of a drinking-saloon or in his own miserable garret room, sleeping off the eflects of a drunken debauch. To the regular passers-by. Father Keenan, the "silenced” priest, as he was known to his acquaint- ances, had become a flimilia.r figure there. Some- thing there was so marked in his massive form, so impressive in his bearing, an air of so much dig- nity and mental superiority about the broad fore- head and full, flashing gray eye, that even though 4 FATHER KEENAN ON THE WATCH. his countenance was seared and lined by the signs of lial)itual dissipation, it was impossible to pass him by with a casual glance. And thus many had come to know this strange man, perceiving him so often at his favorite post of observation, and exchamjed "reetino^s with him, and passed on their way delighted and charmed by the winning grace and polished courtesy with which he met their salutations. A man evidently trained and bred in a far dif- ferent sphere from that of his present life among the outcast haunts at the North liind was Father Keenan. But whatever his past history, whatever causes had brought him to so low a level, were locked within his own bosom. That he had once been a Roman Catholic clergyman, removed from the priesthood, — " silenced ” for some cause, which perhaps his dissolute habits may have suf- ficiently explained, — was all that was positively known of his former life. Concerning that past life, even when in his cups, he observed the most rigid reticence ; and few among the hardened wretches among whom, either from some strange choice or necessity, he had dwelt for years, had the temerity to hint at or question him upon the tabooed subject. For he possessed certain traits and physical qualities which ever command the respect and fear of the MARY MULLIGAN RESCUED BY THE PRIEST. 5 vulgar. A man of heroic mould, of commensurate strength, and of invincible courage, slow to anger, but when once wrought up to resent an insult or indignity, offered to himself o r to another whose helplessness appealed to his ready sympathies, quick and sure in his vengeance, — such was Father Keenan. And by other and worthier deeds of kindness and charity — by soothing distress, ministering to the sick and dying, by nameless evidences of a sympathetic heart ever alive to the needs of others — the "silenced” priest had endeared himself to his associates, despite his known vices ; which, however, were vices too common to their class to awaken any feeling of reproach in their debased minds. An anomaly indeed was this man, surrounded by a pestiferous atmosphere of vice and crime, living a life of sin and shame, yet preserving so much of the nobler attributes of his lost manhood ; a man fallen indeed, but not, let us hope, utterly degraded and lost ! The crowd continued to surge along the street like the waves of a restless sea, and the silenced priest maintained his attitude of indolent observa- tion, as if he were reading in the flitting faces the pages of a volume which he had conned again and again, but which he was never wearied in perusing. 6 FATHER KEENAN ON THE VTATCH. At times he would start, drop liis folded arms to his side, crane his head forward, and peer into the crowd with an eager, strained, intense gaze, while every nerve and muscle seemed to brace itself as if for a tiger-like spring into the midst of the throng. At such times his eye had encountered a coun- tenance that by a passing likeness had evoked a long-buried memory, which, ghost-like, was for- ever risino^ from its "rave to confront and harass him. It was a memory sweet and hallowed, but pain- ful withal, the memory of a face that had been dear to him in the budding springtime of his life ; a woman’s face whose smiling beauty was as the sunshine to his heart, but which had suddenly de- parted out of his life, leaving no trace or clew to indicate whither it had flown. For years he had sought for that loved counte- nance, haunting theatres, ball-rooms, and the resorts of pleasure and frivolity ; travelling in foreign lands to follow some misleading clew ; and still, even after entering upon holy orders, peer- ing into the fices of vast audiences who hung upon his eloquent words ; and often, as now in the crowded street, feeling hope suddenly revive, only to sink in deeper gloom, as some fancied re- semblance to the one he sought was as suddenly dispelled. MARY MULLIGAN RESCUED BY THE PRIEST. 7 The human tide at length became thinned to a straggling stream, and the priest, wearied of his task, was turning to go to his lodging-place, when two persons brushed by him as they passed into the cross street down which his own way led. One was a thick set, rakishly dressed man of thirty or thirty- five, who, though what might be called tolerably good-looking, was known to Father Keenan as one of the worst characters in the North End. His name was Tim Brady, his occu[)ation that of a bar-tender and " bouncer ” for a notorious house of infamy hard by. His companion was a young girl not more than seventeen years old, modestly dressed, and evi- dently, to the priest’s experienced eyes, a stranger to city ways and sights. As her companion turned into the narrow street * the girl seemed to hesitate and shrink, while she gave him a timid, askant look, as if she felt some disquieting doubt about proceeding in that direc- tion. Father Keenan now first fairly perceived the girl’s face. It was fresh and fair as a daisy ; more than this, there was a sparkling gayety and vi- vacity in the dark, full eye that when in the full play of mirth and pleasure must have lighted up her charming features into positive loveliness. But even in that momentary glimpse he could 8 FATHER KEENAN ON THE WATCH. see that the girl was vain, coquettish, and sim- ple, and that she was just the sort of prey to fall only too readily into the clutches of such a wily hawk as Tim Brady. As he made these observations he heard Brady say, — ”Come along, my pretty one. Don’t yer be a bit afeared. Boston is n’t a country village, yer know, with green fields and straight roads runnin’ be- tween ’em. You ’ve heard of Boston’s crooked and dirty streets, I guess. Well, this is one of ’em; but it’s the shortest cut to where yer want ter go* So come along I ” **And you are sure this is the way to Koxbury, where my sister lives?” the girl asked, somewhat reassured. "Why, there ain’t any other way, you bet,” answered the fellow, taking her arm, and gently leading her a few steps down the street. These words convinced Father Keenan of Brady’s nefarious purpose, if he had had any pre- vious doubts. With a bound he reached the lat- ter’s side. * I shall have to spoil your game, Brady,” he said, in a tone of concentrated earnestness. " Let go that girl’s arm ! At least I will prevent jmu from committing one evil deed ! ” The fellow turned furiously, and raised his MARY MULLIGAN RESCUED BY THE PRIEST. 9 clinched fist ; but when he saw who it was that dared to interfere with him, the intended blow was restrained and a look of baffled hate and fear spread over his evil countenance. " I don’t seek any quarrel with you, Father Keenan,” he said, doggedly. '' Lave me alone an’ I’ll lave you alone. I know my own business, I guess, an’ kin take care of it myself.” "And / know your business, Tim Brady; and this foolish girl shall know it, too I Come, do you not see she is already frightened, and striving to release herself from your grasp? Unhand her at once, or — ” Brady was no coward ; his very business brought him into constant frays ; but he had once felt the weight of Father Keenan’s arm, and he had no desire to encounter him again, single-handed, at least. Therefore, with a savage scowl, he dropped the young girl’s wrist, and with a muttered threat turned hastily away. A few kind words reassured the tremblino: ^irl and quieted her alarm. In answer to the priest’s inquiries, she told him that her name was Mary ]\Iulligan. She had come to Boston to visit a sister who lived in Roxbury. Her own home was in one of the villasfes on the Merrimac River. Ar- O riving at the Maine depot, unacquainted with the city, she had inquired her way of Brady, who was 10 FATHER KEENAN ON THE WATCH.. lounging about the depots had fallen into conver- sation with him, and suspecting nothing wrong from such a good-looking gentleman as she sup- posed him to be, had placed herself under his guidance. Father Keenan was interested and charmed with the girl’s manner. He could not take his eyes from her sparkling countenance. Somehow a tone, a look, or a gesture vividly recalled to his mind that lost one whose imasre had never O faded from his heart through all the years of change and vicissitude which had passed since he had last beheld it. It was the same bright beauty, the same artless grace, but, alas ! he saw in this youthful face the same weaknesses, the same passion for pleasure and frivolities which had caused the wreck and loss of his early love. He accompanied the young girl some distance, and, after seeing her into a less dangerous locality, gave her minute instructions as to her further course, bade her good-by, and thoughtfully re- traced his steps toward the place he called home. Little did the priest anticipate that his life’s lines' would ever cross those of Mary Mulligan’s again. But they were destined to meet many times in the future, to meet amid scenes of pleasure, of sorrow, and sin. His tragic end was even more humiliating than that depicted in these MARY MULLIGAN RESCUED BY THE PRIEST. 11 pages. For the sake of the rising generation, to help riform, to give courage to reformers, I ha'Ve made him more bold, courageous, heroic, and independent than he or any Catholic priest could possibly be while opposed by the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church. If the Catholics have made the North End an aceldama of blood, if the priests set the example of hard drinking, — some of their liquor bills even out of the State being simply enormous, bills that have accidentally fallen into my own hands, — if the priesthood with full reign brings such fruit, what may be the effect of Catholic rule all over the city ? Let us see. The head of police is the Democrat who got thousands drunk at the city’s expense during the Peace Jubilee. Number second is a Catholic editor, whose election caused every Lady Superior and every political nun to clap their hands, strange as it may seem. I may show in this story, if space is allowed, that nuns, — closely veiled, bead-counting nuns, — are the most con- summate of all politicians. They secretly send out the big boss spiders that catch the silly Protestant Republican flies. Who is clerk at City Hall ? Who runs its pol- itics ? An editor of a Catholic Democratic paper, who wrote flaming panegyrics on his own worthy self and won the high position. He is now 12 FATHER KEENAN ON THE WATCH. paid thousands of dollars yearly from the city tax- payers to Catholicise and demoralize public opinion. Whom did he supercede? One of the purest, most temperate, and sagacious of men that ever held an ofEce I In office thirty years, yet not feathering his own nest sufficiently to lift the mortgage on his dwelling I Merchants lifted it, after he had been ruthlessly assailed and turned out by Catholic, Democratic, junket-grabbing, civil service reformers! Hurrah for the Demo- cratic Pendleton bill I Now what is the effect ? Why, it is Pandemonium let loose I Murders and robberies in broad daylight all over the city ! As to the social evil, Boston has become within a few years the Niagara Rapids of America ! The New England maelstrom that sucks in the spent swimmers of every nation. As the daring Capt. Webb swam across the English Channel, dove from msisthead into the deep sea, made his bed for days, nights, and even weeks floating on the wave, dashed through eddies, whirlpools and cataracts, but at last met his fate, at Niagara, so the New England braves swimming in smaller streams of vice at their country homes, meet at last their maelstrom in Boston. Oh Boston I Boston ! Has it come to this ? Angels weep at thy fate ! God of our fathers ! Hold back Thy thunderbolts I Stay Thy ven- geance until men shall repent 1 CHAPTER II. FATHER Keenan’s agony. — curse op celibacy. — mis- step OP HIS LIFE. The meeting with Mary Mulligan, and the im- pression which her fresh and youthful beauty had made upon him stirred, Jerome Keenan’s feelings to their very depths. The sight of her beauty, the strange resemblance the country girl bore to the one whom he had loved and lost, and had vainly sough t*for years, had recalled with painful vividness to the fallen priest the vanished dream of his youth. ” Oh that I had married my own dear Marie I Oh that I had chosen some other profession than the ministry, — chosen medicine, law, politics, — anything but the priesthood ! ” muttered Father Keenan, as he parted with the youthful, beautiful Mary Mulligan. She looked the very image of his first and only love, his lost love, the idol of his soul, the heaven-sent, heaven-ordained fruition of his youthful, passionate, love-inspired heart. He forgot where he was, forgot the busy street and the bustling life that was beating and throb- bing all about him, but walked on with bowed 14 FATHER KEENAN’S AGONY. head, muttering to himself, at times excitedly wav- ins: his arms or beatiii" his brow, all unconscious of the curious regard to which his singular de- meanor subjected him. " Her name was Marie, also,” he said. Strange 1 Her very expression of countenance, too ! Nay, the selfsame dark hair and eyes, fig- ure and walk. How marvellously similar ! Hea- vens ! For an instant I forgot that many years had passed since my Marie left me without a part- ing word, and my heart leaped at the sudden fancy that I had found her at last. Pshaw ! This young girl had not then been born. I believe I must be growing crazy,” he muttered, impatiently. " Some people indeed call me * Mad Keenan,’ and the 'mad priest,’ perhaps with reason, too.” He turned the corner of a street down which his course lay, and paused as if by instinct before a low drinking saloon. "No!” he said, resolutely combating the im- pulse to enter, and hastily continuing his way. " I will go to bed sober to-night of all nights I ” But his resolution wavered before he had taken a dozen steps. He paused again, and seemed to hesitate. " What use to try and fight my tempter, ” he exclaimed, with a despairing gesture : "it always conquers sooner or later; and why should I CURSE OF CELIBACY. 15 struggle against my fate ? What have I to hope for? What matters it to any living being how soon I fill a drunkard’s grave? Who would mourn me? What heart would feel a pang at Jerome Keenan’s death ? What am I but a hopeless, mis- erable outcast, without a single tie that binds me to earth ! Other men have homes, wives, chil- dren, objects to strive and struggle for. But I am a priest, and to the priest these blessings are forever denied.” He struck his forehead with a gesture of bitter- ness and despair. Then, entering the saloon, he strode up to the bar, and, paying no attention to the various greetings of the loungers, all of whom seemed to know him, laid down a piece of money and demanded drink. Without a word or a look to anybody, he gulped down the fiery liquid, and moodily turned away, seating himself in a distant corner of the room, and remained there seated for some time, with his face buried in his hands. The men about the bar gazed curiously at the priest, shrugged their shoulders, and began to comment in whispers on his strange conduct. "Arrah, it’s a touch of the jim-jams he has,” said one. ” Did ye mind how his eyes rolled whin he tuk his liquor? Faith, an’ it’ll take more ’n two good min ter howld Father Keenan whin the divils have got him fair.” 16 FATHER Keenan’s agony. " Give us a rest, Barne}%” said another to the speaker. " Sure it ’s little ye know the praste. It’s not the jim-jams at all. Sure yeVe niver had ’em yerself, or ye ’d know the signs l)etther.” " It ’s in one of his black moods he ’s in, sure,” said Pat Gorman, the bar-keeper. "I’ve seen him sit that way for hours, talkin’ ter 'himself, an’ niver moindin’ a soul, nor sphakin’ ter ennybody, unless ’t was ter ax fur a dhrink.” "It’s a good man is Father Keenan, ennyhow, whin the dhrink ’s not in him,” said another of the group. There was a general chorus of assent to this sentiment, and many instances of the priest’s char- ity and kind-heartedness were recited, while his prowess in various encounters was descanted on with the admiration which personal strength and courage usually excite among men of their stam[). Meanwhile Father Keenan, sitting with head bowed upon his hands, was pursuing the same bitter train of thought, apparently as oblivious of his surroundings as when walking through the crowded streets. As Pat Gorman had said, the priest was indeed in " one of his biack moods” to-day. Life at best wore but a dark, sad aspect to him ; but, recalling as now the bright promises of his youth, the tri- umphs of his meridian period, and the utter fail- CURSE OF CELIBACr. 17 ure and shipwreck of later years, his horizon seemed overhung by a heavy and portentous shadow, pierced by not a single ray of light. " Why do I live ? Why not cast off the weary burden of life at once?” Such was the gloomy tenor of his thoughts. ”To die is to be at peace, — at rest. What care I for the childish superstitions in which I was bred? Those scare- crows and nightmares of the church, — purgatory and everlasting fire. Bah ! I have been too long a priest to fear them or believe in them. Show me the churchman, whether sitting on St. Peter’s throne or occupying the humblest parish pulpit, who, in his secret soul, credits one iota of such delusions, — delusions asserted and maintained in order to enslave the souls of men and weld the iron yoke of Rome more securely about their necks ; all for the glory of the churchy not for the glory of God ! "Yes,” he resumed, returning to the previous thought, "death is nothing compared with the wretchedness of a life like mine. What hell could equal the torments I suffer? I am the meanest, most servile of slaves ! The slave of passions and appetites that torture and madden me. I am no longer a man ; no longer fit to live ! I fall daily, hourly, into deeper degradation. I am de- based and shamed beyond all human creatures I ” 18 FATHER Keenan’s agony. It was terrible, tliis agony of a strong man like Jerome Keenan; a man gifted beyond ordinary men, who had occupied a brilliant position in life, whose name had everywhere been spoken of with love, veneration, and praise, and who had fallen into such an abyss of degradation that he could claim only theives and outcasts, — the very scum of society, — for his associates. Fallen indeed was this man ! Beginning life with high hopes and splendid promises of future eminence, all had come to naught. In his youth, an ardent and enthusiastic temperament, deeply religious withal, had led Jerome Keenan to look forward to a clerical callino^ as the his^hest and noblest of pursuits. He determined to enter the ‘priesthood. It was while at college that an influ- ence beset him that bid fair to seriously interfere with his cherished life purpose. He fell in love, and made no secret of his passion, nor of his re- solution to give up his studies and marry the woman of his choice. But the fates decreed otherwise. He entered the priesthood, took the vow of celibacy, and lost his first and only love. Now how bitterly did he regret that hasty action ! How much had he lost in worldly comforts ! How little had he gained ! Oh that I had married her ! Fed upon hei smiles, been cheered by her sweet voice, enjoyed CUESE OF CELIBACY. 19 the paradise of a happy home, the prattle of lov- ing children ; had something to live for, hope for, die for. But, alas ! I am now lost, forever lost ! Lost in soul, lost in body, lost in reputation, lost to hope, lost and ruined for time and eternity ! ” and he wrung his hands, while tears rolled down his furrowed cheeks as he sauntered out of the saloon and wended his. way along the crowded street towards the dreary attic, his only home. On entering his rickety, tumble-down abode his thoughts, his dreams, his reveries, his solilo- quies were all centred on his first young love and the misstep of his own early life. Marie MeShea was of high family, noble blood, of still higher virtue, and beautiful as the Mary that had just struck his gaze, whose features were recalling all the agony of his youthful despair. For a time in his youth Jerome Keenan, student, curate as he was, had that fond bird of paradise, Marie MeShea, absolutely under his control and in his grasp. She prayed by his side, knelt at his feet, and in the secret confessional poured out all the turbulent, conflicting emotions of her love- inspired being. Young Keenan was happy. He looked upon that weeping, prostrate, young maiden in raptures ; he gazed in ecstacies of delight ; he toyed with her young heart as the ensanguined cat toys with the imprisoned mouse in its paws. 20 FATHER KEEXAN’s AGOXY. Oh, what peril for the warm, throbbing pulse of a young man and student ! Angels fell with less temptation. He played upon the passions of that susceptible, unsuspecting girl as one plays upon a musical instrument. Love was a contagion. Her passions at last became his passions, and Jerome Keenan was ensnared in the toils of undying affec- tion for the idol, yet victim at his feet. But there were bars to his pleasure, — if he married he must forever give up the priesthood. '' Oh, the curse of celibacy ! ” he cried. If she yielded further she was ruined for all time. Happy was she in having friends. They advised her at once to break from his spell, his presence, which she did, and never set eyes upon her charmino^ confessor but once a^ain. The occasion of that fateful meeting may be related hereafter. Keenan took his loss terribly to heart, and be- came despondent and wretched. Instead, how- ever, of quenching his passions, he soon fostered them in other blooming fields of the confessional, until his complete exposure, degradation, and downhill have brought him, an almost total wreck, to this dilapidated hovel of poverty. "Oh, the curse of celibacy!” he cried, wring- ing his hands. "If you dam waters, they rush more furiously ! They even break from lawful channels ! So with human passions; so with the CUKSE OF CELIBACY, 21 priesthood ; they break from the guarded banks of chastity ! They flood the land with sensuality ! ” And Father Keenan was right. Look at the bagnios of Boston, the dance-halls of North Street, the open licentiousness of Pitts and Portland and other streets, too numerous to mention. Three fourths of the inmates and habitues Roman Catholics ! And, oh, horrible sight ! Look at the streams of cyprians passing my own church door ! Ten years ago scarcely one to be seen, now fifty a night I Ten years ago not a dally or barter allowed in the street. Now, scarcely a man can pass without being accosted by these filles. A trade is struck up, price is named, house and number pointed out, and all this right in the eyes of the police and before scores of male lookers-on, all watching the bargain or trade of sin as they watch the prize-ring or the market of the bulls and bears. Thus Boston has become polluted and defiled ; thus morality has been driven out from the city of the Puritans ; thus foreign customs have been introduced, while wholesome laws are relaxed or openly derided and defied. Glance back to the time when that fearful scar- let letter A, with all its terrible significance, was worn, perforce, on the breast of the woman who had sinned against virtue, broken the seventh commandment. 22 FATHER Keenan’s agony. Under Catholic rule the red letter A, though representing a terrible crime, might signify noth- in<>: more than " and be worn upon the breast as a scapular. But with those stern old Puritan men of God it meant the awful crime of " Adultery ! ” There was no escape, no avoiding the brand. She could not hide it from public gaze. It blazed like a birthmark, red and tiery, upon her bosom, proclaiming her dishonor and infamy to the entire community. Youth and innocence could not, then, be blindly contaminated by her artful seduc- tions and fascinations. Her character was known, and, like the leper, she was avoided and shunned. Now you jostle her sisterhood on the streets, in the omnibus and horse-car, at the concert and the theatre, yea, even in the church. Your wives, your sons, and your daughters may meet her at the crowded seashore, at the fashionable mountain resort, and may dance with her in the same set at the summer hop and at the winter ball. Is there no remedy, no legislation, to meet the alarming increase of the " social evil ” here in Boston? Yes, when Catholic laxity in morals, wdien the licentious habits of Catholic nations shall be honestly rebuked by the voice of the priest- hood, and the power of the church itself, and not till then. CURSE OF CELIBACY. ' 23 Look at Boston’s present rulers, mostly Catho- lics or Catholic sympathizers. Never before were junketing, jobbery, and profligacy carried on with such unblushing shame ! “Souls for sale here” is stamped upon the brow of nearly all the Catholic heads of our City Government. “ Souls for time, souls for eter- nity.” “ Roman Catholic votes /b?’ sale or to letJ* Who bids highest? Better pull down the Amer- ican eagle from City Hall, and erect in its stead the three balls of the pawnbroker, — a sign typical of our barter in souls and votes ! Yet in the face of all this, Ex-Judge Chamber- lain, now head of the Public Library, says innocently, “ Catholics are geneially chaste. I found but few arrested and brought before me when I was on the bench.” The judge is in the dark as to the facts. I asked him how he knew what religion criminals professed. He said they were either indifierent or announced themselves as Protestants. Uncle Cook was his authority. Uncle Cook is blinded, also. While professing Protestantism, nay, even assuming American Protestant names, nearly all of these Catholic criminals carry a charm or scapular around their necks “ to keep off the evil spirit, ward ofi* death and judgment.” Nine out of ten of them would refuse to eat meat on Friday, and 24 FATHER Keenan’s agony. there are Catholic harlots in Boston to-day who with superstitious lear wear blessed medals and say their prayers as regularly as the most devout Catholic who ever carried a pair of rosary beads or knelt at the feet of the priest in the confessional, while at the same time they are sunk in the very deepest mire of debauchery and sin. I know whereof I speak. I know the alpha and omega of this subject. I have spent time and money in ascertaining the facts, and for years have made the Catholic question in all its phases my chief study. No wonder when intelligent Protestants allow themselves to bo hoodwinkel that Catholic in- fluence ejects Henry Morgan’s books from the Public Library shelves, refuses him the special card, as author and clergyman, he has a right to receive by the laws of the institution. No wonder when Catholics, having less than one third of the votes, rule the city ; when Prot- estants and non- church-goers are blind to their devices ; when the elite and rich contribute blindly to every charity, cutting their own throats at the same time. Such are the eflects of Catholic rule and in- * fluence in Boston, such the fruits of Catholic teachings. And the same is true of every com- munity where the Church has obtained a strong- hold the world over. CHAPTER III. FATHER Keenan’s early renown. — veiled worship- per. SENSATION IN A CHURCH. TRIP OF THE TOE AT THE ALTAR. Let us go back to the days when Father Jerome Keenan was in the zenith of his fame and renown. Rector of one of the largest parishes, young, handsome, popular, eloquent, he was the idol of the street and the idol of his people, especially the female portion of his parishioners. It was a gala-day at the Church of the Holy Apostles. The occasion was the celebration of one of the grandest festivals of the church, the feast of Corpus Christi. The young pastor had made preparations on a grand scale to celebrate it, with all the edat and pomp of the Roman Catho- lic ritual. Almost for the first time in the history of Bos- ton, the high dignitaries and State officials had condescended to grace the occcasion by their pres- ence. There, in reserved pews, were officials of city. State, and nation. Heretofore, Boston’s cul- tured society had looked down in pity and contempt upon the illiterate "Irish church,” as it 26 FATHER Keenan’s early renown. was called. Now and then they gave it a shilling or a dollar, out of charity or pity, but not out of reverence or respect. But all this was changed under the rectorship of Father Keenan. From the time of his advent, mayors, governors, senators, and judges were fre- quent listeners to the music and the doctrines of the Roman Catholic Church. On the present occasion Father Keenan sur- passed himself in eloquence and in theatrical effect. He astonished, captivated, and enthused the staid denizens of Beacon Street as by a magician’s l^ower. The students of Theodore Parker, Emerson, and Channing were spellbound and en- tranced. They afterward confessed that the per- formance was as good as a first-class drama. Accustomed as they had been to hear cold, theo- logical essays and theoretical dogmas, with icicle logic from icicle pulpits, this was a new revelation. Here was a young man, without notes, brimful of his subject, florid, fiery, passionate, red-hot in doctrine and feeling, all action, all eloquence, all aglow with his theme, a perfect volcano of burn- ing conviction and overwhelming subjugation, let - loose as a tiger upon the unprotected, unresisting lambs of his spiritual flock. The effect Avas electrifying, even to Boston’s cold logicians and free-thinkers. From that hour, mul- SENSATION IN A CHURCH. 27 titucles in aristocratic circles began to turn from derision and scorn to reverence and veneration, and were willing, on the proper occasion, to |)ro- fess conversion, even to kiss the Pope’s toe. From that hour Kornan Catholic coffers were filled with Protestant gold, and Koman Catholic politics and policies permeated every circle of influence. He preached not only upon Corpus Christi, or the Eucharist, but upon other themes, to catch the popular ear. To the Spiritualists he opened the heavens to new visions, and called disembodied spirits from the ends of the earth in answer to prayer. First of all was the Immaculate Virgin, "Mother of God.” She came ail the way from the tomb of Joseph, in Palestine, to grant her benediction upon the Protestant public who had contributed to the funds of the " mother Church.” Some of the more spiritual and visionary in that audience, by faith and prayer, declared that their visual organs were opened, and they actually saw the face of the Holy Madonna with hands extended in benediction. Another saw St. Augustine, and another St. Ann, the mother of the Virofin. Others saw the African saints and bishops of olden time, bereft of their dusky faces, hovering over the altar, chanting with the choir, answering to the chorus, all surrounded with a halo of glory emanating from the spirit world. 28 FATHER Keenan’s early renown. Rarely did spiritual medium or necromancer, with dark lantern and cabinet tricks, ever produce such startling transformations ! The altar, the vestments, the draperies, the pictures and images, illumined by the variegated colors of the darning sunlight from the stained-glass windows, and aided by the exquisite music and the charming voices of the officiating priest and his curates and acolytes, — all conspired to transport the faithful into realms of beatific delight. Not less effective was his description of the tragedy on Calvary. In portraying the agony of the Son of God in the Garden and on the cross, but few trao^ic actors — not even those in the famouo Passion Play, with all the helps of scenery, orchestra, footlights, and stage — could equal him. The giandeurof Catholic ceremonial, the hundreds of flickering candles, the peals of the organ, were all imposing and all in harmony with his tragic theme. The bloody sweat, the piercing nails, the groans, the prayer, the cry, — "Father, forgive,” — the yielding up of the ghost, the death and burial, and glorious resurrection, were all depicted to the life. Corpus Christi was indeed a tragedy. He then descanted on "Purity and Chastity.” His eloquence on this particular subject was mar- vellous , his figures of speech simply magnificent. All the scenes of nature were brought into requisi- SENSATION IN A CHURCH. 29 tion to aid his glowing metaphors. His poetry of diction was not only charming but astounding. The resources of his genius seemed transcendent and inexhaustible. Purity was made doubly pure. The snowflake had not a clearer glow. The icicle had not a speck of dust to tinge the whiteness of its melting drops. Rippling streams from cooling fountains and crev- iced rock babbled more pure, as described in flow- ing eloquence from his mellifluous lips. Crystal pearly drops falling from the azure sky of heaven, untainted by the animalculse of dusty earth, seemed purer by his portrayal. Sunbeams had a richer hue, and moonbeams a sweeter, more enchanting smile of uncontaminated love. The rainbow was perfect purity, before its falling drops touched this terrestrial sphere. The zephyr blew from beds of violets and roses, and the lily of Israel, emblem of the Immaculate Con- ception, was purity itself. Then came ” Priestly Chastity.” Here he ven- tured too far. At the mention of priestly celibacy, there was one person in that congregation who manifested commotion. Those who were sitting near a veiled female form could see her quake and quiver; and more than once her agitated hand seized the edge of the veil, as if to throw it off for some desperate purpose. 30 FATHER Keenan’s early renown. Bat the priest, unconscious of the presence of the veiled personage, descanted in still higher strains on the self-denial and sworn continence of the clergy. " The clergy,” he said, ” are God’s vicegerents ; they indulge in no home relations, no connubial bliss. They neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are as the angels of God in heaven.’’ Alas! and unfortunately for his fame and reputation, he was treading on ticklish ground. Another rustle in that pew, and a stir of marked sensation, when he affirmed, ''They neither marry nor are given in marriage.” Evidently there was a turbulence of passions and of agony in that woman’s breast. "Yes,” he repeated, "they are as the angels of God in heaven. And who would refuse obedience to the angels of God ? Such are the shepherds called to minister to you, the tender lambs of his chosen flock.” At this, the declaration of " the angels of God in heaven,” the veiled form, masked for charity’s sake, could remain quiet no longer. She arose from her seat, and with vehement gesticulations shouted, " Jerome Keenan, that is false I False as the bottomless pit I False as the Serpent, whose child you are. Jerome Keenan, you lie I ” And be- fore the audience could recover from the shock she da-hed out the side door, and was seen no more. Her name was Marie Me Shea. SENSATION IN A CHURCH. 31 Father Keenan was at first nonplussed and dis- comfited. He recognized the voice, knew it was the troubled voice of Marie McShea ! Oh, what a world of thrilling recollections pierced his soul at that eventful moment ! Her upbraidings, en- treaties, anguish, and despair were revived in a twinkling, and with redoubled vengeance. Yet he pitied her, would have given a world to restore her virtue, would have consoled her with all the gifts in his power, for he knew that he was the guilty party. Father Keenan soon recovered himself, however, stating that the disturbance was but the freak of a crazy woman, hoped the congregation would not be alarmed or disquieted ; so he finished his dis- course, holding the audience spellbound. When he descended from the pulpit and came before the altar his toe tripped, and he came near falling. Alas for his hopes ! His friends saw that he had been inspired by some other spirit than the spirit of heaven. If this was the apex, the acme, of his renown, it was also the turning- point to his terrible downfall. Like a rocket had he ascended, and like a rocket must he come tumbling ignominiously down. New England Puritanism, as yet, had not fallen so low as to encourage and condone both drunkenness and licentiousness in the consecrated pulpits of a Puritan city. 32 FATHER Keenan’s early renown. From that hour Father Keenan was doomed. The wild accusations from an excited woman, his flushed countenance, his stumble on the pulpit stairs, started a scandal which gave to the gossi|)- mongers a new topic. As the congregation de- parted, many were the comments and criticisms heard on all sides. The pillars of the Church, its wealth, its aristocracy, and more intelligent por- tion, — the liquor-sellers, — walked in groups to the nearest saloon to discuss the matter. "After all,” said one red-faced rum-seller, " what does it matter to us if a priest is guilty of a crim. con, now and then, or even if he takes a little of the ‘ rale ould stuff’ occasionally to give him inspiration? Why, some of the best songs of the Catholic poet, Moore, were written while under the influence of liquor. We don’t go to church for faith or devotion, we go for policy.” "Yes,” said another, who counted his profits by the thousand, "this church going is a regular part of our business. An Irishman gives us one half of his earnings, and the priest and doctor ' scoop in ’ the other half. ” There was a conflict of opinion regarding the priest’s conduct, some seeming fearful that the bishop would suspend their popular pastor, and the Church be scandalized, others condoning the offence as an amiable weakness. Yet not one voice was raised against the vice of drunkenness. CHAPTER IV. BIRDS OF PREY. PLOTTING AGAINST A PRIEST. A WOMAN AT THE BOTTOM OF IT. "Hold on, Sam Skillins ! What’s your hurry? Is that the way you pass by an old friend, without SO much as a ' how d’ ye do ’ ? ” " Why, bless me ! is that you, Andy ? ” exclaimed the young man addressed, who had been stopped in his hurried progress along the street by a sud- den grasp on the arm, and, on turning, had recog- nized in the first speaker an old friend and chum, "Faith, you are just the fellow I have been look- ing for this week past. I heard you were dis- charged from quod, and, as I said, have been on the lookout for you ever since.” " It was n’t very sharp you were looking, then, my boy, for you brushed by me just now as though you ’d quite forgot ' auld lang syne,’ or didn’t care to remember Andy Luttrell.” "Nothing of the kind, Andy,” said the other, heartily. " I was in such a drive that I did n’t see you, that’s all. You’re the man of all others that 1 wanted to come across at this present moment.” " Well, here I am, then, Sammy, none the worse 34 BIBDS OF PREr. for a year’s taste of the stone jug, and, as ever, very much at your service. What’s up, now? And, above all, is there any money in it?” ''Thousands, my bo3% if you’ve still got the backbone and plenty of nerve to go partners with me in a little game of bluff I’ve been planning,” said Skillins, eying his friend keenly. "You can count on me, dead sure, Sam, if that’s the racket. For why? ’Cause I’m dead broke, and am bound to 'raise the wind’ somehow, or bust ! ” "Then let’s go to McGlinchy’s, where we can talk without being overheard, and I ’ll let you into as nice a little scheme as you could want, with money enough in it to keep your pockets tilled for a month of Sundays.” The two proceeded without further words to the place designated, a well-known drinking re- sort, kept by a famous sporting man, and here, ensconced in a private room, over a bottle of whis- key, Sam Skillins commenced to unfold his plan. It was a plan that a cautious schemer like Skil- lins would hardly have revealed to any one, un- less he had the most perfect confidence in him. Of all men in the world, he knew that Andy Lut- trell could be trusted. The two, though young, had been bound to each other by a long association in criminal projects. At a tender age both had PLOTTING AGAINST A PRIEST. 35 been thrown together at the House of the Guar- dian Angel, a Catholic institution for homeless and wayward boys. Neither of them had ever known father or mother ; but the Church assumed the })lace of a parent in their case, — and a stern and rigid one she proved to be, so far, at least, as to teach her favorite doctrine of blind obedience, enforcing the same with punishments and penances innumerable for the slightest infraction of the rules and ordinances of the institution. But alas for the efficacy of Catholic teachings ! Alas for their much-vaunted hold on the minds and morals of youth ! In the case of these boys, Catholic training had been a dismal failure. Two more cunning and unscrupulous rascals, in their respective ways, were never let loose to cheat and prey on society. Scapulars, holy water, beads, charms, and confession were at a discount, when, at fifteen years of age, they were turned adrift from the asylum, and were told that henceforth they must earn their own living. ^ In less than a year both of these promising youths found themselves sentenced to the Reform School, for theft, during their minority; and the burden of supporting and reforming them was thus transferred to the State. Six months, however, had not elapsed when the fertile mind of Sam Skillins planned an ingenious method of eluding 36 BIRDS OF PREY. the vigilance of guards and keepers, and with his old comrade, Andy, made a daring and successful break for freedom. In vain were rewards offered for their apprehension ; in vain every effort to re- capture the precious pair : they had made good their escape, and the State Reform School beheld them no more forever. On reaching a place of safety, the first thing for the refugees to do was to assume new names and new clothes. The former was accomplished with- out difficulty. Martin Sullivan, as he had been christened at the House of the Guardian Angel, became Sam Skillins, and Terence Driscoll was thenceforth known as Andy Luttrell. Two suits of clothes the young adventurers managed to steal in a country village, and, hiding their old gar- ments in the woods, betook themselves by circui- tous ways to Boston. For a time the boys kept together, working at odd jobs here and there when luck was against them, and they could find no safe opportunity of stealing. Honest labor was not to their taste, however ; and together they planned and executed many schemes of petty thievery, and generally managed to escape detection. This was princi- pally due to Sam’s consummate dexterity ; for his was the thinking head that did the scheming, while the executive part of the programme was PLOTTING AGAINST A PRIEST. 37 usually confided to the ready hands of Andy. At last, however, the latter was caught in the toils of the law, and received a year’s sentence to the House of Correction. The long partnership of crime was thus ruthlessly broken for a time by the iron hand of Justice, and the cronies had now met for the first time since Andy’s release. "It’s as easy as rolling off a log, Andy, my boy,” said Skillins, after he had drawn a brief outline of the plot he had in view. " There ’s no danger, absolutely not the least, you see. It ’s a new line of business for us two, that’s true, cer- tainly, — different from what we ’ve been used to ; but I ’ve been thinking it over, and it seems to me there ’s biowr stakes to be gained and less risk to run than anything we ’ve ever been up to yet. What d’ ye say, old pard ? ” "Why, it’s for you to say, Sammy. I never M)acked water’ yet on anything you ever put up, and I don’t see any reason to now. But half-con- fidence is no confidence, you know. Let’s hear the whole jig. Who’s the blooming fool that’s going to let us bleed him to the tune of five thou- sand dollars, and never squeal for his money?” Skillins did not immediately answer. He had hesitated thus far to name the victim he had se- lected, out of regard for certain prejudices which he knew his partner cherished. If the gaining of 38 BIRDS OF PREY. a large sum of money was not sufficient temptation to override Andy’s prejudices, then his little game was eflectually blocked, and he would have to give it up. Andy, noticing this hesitation on the part of his friend, gave him a wondering look, that had a shadow of suspicion in it, as he said, — "Well, Sam, what are you hanging back for? Spit it out, man ! Who is the gudgeon that’s to make our fortune for us, — and very much against his will, of course? Come, now, it must be some big-bug, or you wouldn’t be so squeamish. ’T ain’t the President, or the Governor, or His Royal Kuibs, the Mayor of Boston, is it?” " No, Andy,” said the other, slowly. "It’s only a — priest ! ” Andy Luttrell’s eyes opened to their widest extent; then he quickly arose to his feet. "A priest 1 ” he exclaimed ; and there was an accent of superstitious horror in the tones of his voice as he repeated the word. "It’s a bad business, Sam,” he went on, with a shake of the head ; " and I ’m fearful it would bring us ill luck for the rest of our lives.” It was less veneration for his religion than a superstitious fear that gave Andy a qualm at this announcement. Less intelligent than his partner in crime, he had never been able to wholly divest PLOTTING AGAINST A PEIEST. 39 his mind of the abject belief in omens, signs, and portents, and the servile veneration for her minis- ters which the Roman Catholic creed inculcates. For example, though depraved and criminal in every instinct, he still wore his scapulars upon his neck, believing that, though they might not save him from prison or his neck from the halter, they would at least preserve his soul from everlasting torment. No matter how hungry he might be, it is doubtful if he would have eaten meat on a Fri- day, except under a dispensation, although his religion would not prevent him from robbing a house, or garroting a man for the sake of relieving him of his pocket-book. Sam Skillins burst into a derisive laugh at Andy’s words. " 111 luck ! ” he repeated. " Humbug ! A priest is but a man like you and me, Andy. And if he, a minister of God, lets his passions and appetites get the better of him, he ’s lower and worse than ordinary men. Now this priest, I know, has a stronger liking for fire-water than holy water; and, more than that, he has an eye for a pretty woman. Yes, he’s one of those men whom a woman can just wind round her thumb, and make him her toy and slave.” "Well, who is this priest?” "Father Jerome Keenan, of the Church of the Holy Apostles.” 40 BIRDS OF PREY. Andy gave a start of surprise. "You are flying at high game, Sam,” he said; but it was evident that his scruples were subsid- ing, and that the greed of gain was gradually surmounting his superstitious fears. " Have you found the woman who is to be the cat’s-paw in this little game of yours ? ” he asked, presently. "That is your part of the biz, Andy,” said Skillins, with a significant look. "There are plenty of women whom we might choose, but there is only one whom we could trust ! ” Andy slowly rose to his feet. There was a troubled look in his face. He knew at once that his artful friend referred to one who was all in all to him, — a fair siren, who, born as some women seem to be, to enslave and captivate men, and lead them willing captives by their Circean charms, was, by a strange contradiction, devoted to the death, if need were, to this rough, hardened mis- creant, Andy Luttrell. Yes, she loved this brute, who had abused aud cruelly beaten her time and again. A mere girl in ye^rs, she had become perfectly inflituated with him. His brute strength, his daring courage, his big, burly trame, somehow supplied to her imagination that ideal of manly power which woman instinctively looks for and admires in the opposite sex. PLOTTING AGAINST A PKIEST. 41 Strange, indeed, that a girl marvellously beau- tiful, delicate and refined by nature, though lack- ing, indeed, high culture, should attach herself to a man of coarse, brutish instincts, like Andy Luttrell ! It was Beauty and the Beast, Miranda and Caliban, Bill Sikes and poor, devoted Nancy, — the contrast between these two. Incongruous, paradoxical, anomalous, indeed, such a connection may seem to be ; but the poet Byron has answered every sneer, and every objection to its truth and fidelity to nature, in those two famous lines, — “ Why did she love him? Curious fool, be still! Is human love the growth of human will? ” For a moment Andy Luttrell did not speak. There was a struggle going on in his breast. The project was more than distasteful to him. He still retained some little feeling, some spark of sensi- bility. Could he surrender, even for a moment, the woman so devoted to him, to the arms of another man, even for the sake of gain? "You mean my girl, Sam,” he said, at last. "You mean Nora Brennan!” "Yes,” said the other. "She is the only one capable of doing what we want. And if you tell her to do it, Andy Luttrell, she would obey with- out a murmur, and you know it.” "Yes, I know it,” said Andy, sententiously. "But — ” 42 BIRDS OF PREY. " I understand your objections,” interposed Skil- lins ; " but they are foolish and absurd. You know that Nora would not look at another man in earnest, and she is a woman that knows how to take care of herself, if any woman does.” Perhaps Sam Skillins, who somewhat envied his friend the possession of such a rara avis as Nora Brennan, may have had some practical proof of the truth of this statement. The two discussed the matter at some further length, and Skillins tinally overcame all his companion’s scruples. How this dastardly plot succeeded will be told in the follow- ing chapters. Meanwhile, poor Father Keenan must watch his laurels. Undoubtedly loose in his habits, and guilty of several misdemeanors, he by these sins lays himself open to black-mail jobs which none but an honest man could repel. A man that can stand up before the courts and before the world, and dare his accusers face to face, dare them to bring on their proofs and do their worst, — this Father Keenan could not do. His vices were too apparent, too public for concealment. " Take us the foxes, the little foxes that spoil the vines.” Little sins eat out the buds of hope. CHAPTER V. NORA Brennan’s devotion. — beauty and the beast, — RESULT OF Andy’s mission. When Andy Luttrell parted from his partner in crime, Sam Skillins, it was to proceed at once to lay their nefarious scheme liefore Nora Brennan and secure her co-operation therein. " It will be no easy job,” muttered Andy, doubt- fully, to himself, as he mounted the stairway to Nora’s rooms. " I ’d rather take a thrashing than drag her into such a plant. But il ’s no use talk- ing : there ’s big money in it, and money 1 want ; and what ’s more, money 1 ’ll have ; and she shall get it for us, whether she will or no ! ” So saying, he opened the door and walked in without ceremony. Nora met him at the threshold. She had heard his footstep, and, with the quick ear of aflection, had recognized it at once. A beaming smile of love and pleasure lit up her briijht, winsome face as she greeted him with a caress, and helped him oft* with his overcoat. "Andy, sure you ’re a darling for coming home so early, when I did not expect you for hours,” she said, after he had seated himself. " See I 44 NORA Brennan’s devotion. There’s your supper on the stove, all hot and ready for you.” " You need n’t have taken the trouble, Nora, for I ’ve already had all I want,” he answered, too in- tent on considering how to break the matter of the plot to her to heed her look of disappointment. Without replying, the girl silently seated herself at a table and resumed the sewing which she had flung aside at his entrance. Andy fidgeted for a moment, shifting his hands and feet restlessly, and at last got up and com- menced to pace the room. " It is n’t much of a place for a born lady like yourself, Nora,” he said, stopping and giving a contemptuous glance around the room. Jt was a small room, scantily furnished indeed, and with none of the luxuries, scarcely a sufficiency of the commonest comforts of life ; but it was exquisitely neat, and everywhere showed the deft, tidy handi- work of woman’s fingers. Nora looked up in surprise at the remark. "I wish it were better, for your sake, Andy darling,” she said, fondly. " As for me, why, it’s good enough for a poor working girl, who must earn her bread by the sweat of her brow, or rather by making shirts at starvation price the dozen.” And she playfully held up the garment she was then occupied with, pointing at the same time to a pile on the table already finished. RESULT OF Andy’s mission. 45 For nearly a week Andy Luttrell had been out of prison, and during that time he had lived on the fruits of Nora’s industry. More than that, during the long period of his incarceration, not a visiting day had passed that the faithful girl had not been to see him, and never with empty hands. Such luxuries as prison rules permitted, and which her humble means afforded, she had supplied him with, and never conveyed by a hint even that she had procured them at the cost of depriving herself of actual necessaries. Probably, in his selfish, brutish way, Andy ap- preciated the love and self-sacrificing spirit of this girl, who, familiar indeed with vice from being born and bred in its midst, and living all her young life among its pestiferous atmosphere, had still some dim, vague longings for a worthy existence, and had. Heaven know^s how, managed to set at naught the many temptations to vicious courses which beset a woman in her unprotected condition, — one, too, possessing such extraordinary beauty as was hers. A true love has been many a woman’s salvation, and perhaps this was the secret which had pre- served Nora Brennan from plunging headlong into the abyss of shame. There was much in her re- lations to Andy Luttrell to which the moralist must take exception, nay, much that must be severely 46 NORA Brennan’s devotion. condemned ; but at least she had ever been true to him ; and it was not her fault, neither was it for lack of constant supplications, that she was not his lawful wedded wife. He had sworn to mnrry her, and it is but justice to Andy Luttrell to say that he fully meant to keep his vow, — that is, when it should suit his convenience, — and in this belief Nora fully trusted. "Well, you sha’n’t work for starvation wages much longer, Nora,” Andy resumed, after a mo- ment. " I ’m going to get to work in a day or two myself. I ’ve been growing rusty for the p?ist year, but shall soon get into the harness again, and try and strike out for us both once more.” "O Andy!” exclaimed Nora, dropping her sewing and springingto his side, while a gleam of joy and delight flashed in her dark eyes. " Do you mean right down, square, honest work? Such work as honors a man ? Work that raises and en- nobles him? Work that he can point to with pride and say, ' I did that with my own strength ; I fashioned this with my own hands ; this money I gained by honest toil?’ O Andy I is that what you mean ? ” And the young girl standing before him with clasped hands, her frame quivering with emotion, her bewitching eyes literally dancing with hope and joy, made a very pretty picture that few men could have resisted. RESULT OF Andy’s mission. 47 Very lovely, very enchanting she looked thus, and Andy Luttrell thought he had never seen her ^o alluring. But her enthusiasm awoke but one idea in his vicious and insensate mind, and that was, "By George! she’s a born actress I She’ll do the job for us as no other woman could. What man, what priest even, could withstand such beauty as that ! Sam Skillins was right I He knows what he ’s about I ” "You do not answer me, Andy dear,” Nora resumed, while the sparkling light seemed to fade from her countenance. And suddenly flingingherself at his feet and lay- ing her clasped hands upon his knee, she continued earnestly, — " Oh, I had hoped and prayed that you would forsake your old habits and calling whim you were free once more. 1 have looked forward to the time when we could hold up our heads with the highest ; when you would turn your back on your old companions, get into some good, honest busi- ness, and leave the old, hateful life behind us for- ever I O Andy, darling, think how pleasant and how happy our lives would then be 1 To have a nice home, to be your own faithful wife, never to feel the worry, the anxiety, the daily and nightly ter- ror of the police; never to dread the coming of the morning’s light, and you away on some dark, 48 NORA Brennan’s devotion. perilous errand that might end in prison and sep- arate us forevermore ! Oh, think of it, Andy I Promise me here and now that you will commence this new life. I will help you with all my strength. I will work my fingers to the bone for you ! Nay, we will both work, and prove that bread earned by honest toil is infinitely sweeter than the choicest luxuries gained by crime I O Andy ! Andy I listen to my prayer I Listen to your own, true and loving Nora, who, above all earthly things, cares only to secure your comfort and happiness ! ” She paused and looked at him, her face aglow with hope, her lips parted in expectancy, awaiting the answer to her impassioned appeal. The man must indeed have been the veriest clod, his heart but a lump of ice, not to have been moved by so much faithful love and earnestness. And moved he was ; but alas ! not in the way the poor girl anticipated. " Never heard such a preacher in my life as you are, Nora ! ” he exclaimed, with a jeering laugh and with a hiccough, for the heat of the room began to act on the liquor he had been imbibing with Sam Skillins, and his brain was far from steady. " Why, I see some new charm in you every day ! Lord ! there’s a fortune in your voice alone, my girl. You talk of work, when you’ve got talents enough to win money by the cartload RESULT OF ANDY’S MISSION. 49 without soiling your pretty fingers with dirty labor ! Work ! I hate the very name ! Neither you nor I were born to work for a living, Nora Brennan ! I never was tauj^ht the delights and virtues of work that you prate so much about. I don’t see it in your light, you see. I was brought up, you know, at a public Catholic asylum, where we boys chiefly learned how to cheat our masters, lie out of scrapes, pick each others’ pockets, and play the mischief generally. When I got old enough to shift for myself, they turned me loose into the streets, and told me to help myself. Well, I have helped myself ever since, — that is, to anybody’s property that I could lay hands on, — and precious good pickings I ’ve found it, oflT and on. Of course, everybody strikes a streak of ill-luck, and I ’ve had mine. But that’s all over now, and I ’m on a lay that’s bound to prove a ten-strike for us both, and I want your help in it.” Nora’s dream vanished with this speech of her lover. She saw he was too thoroughly interested in some new scheme of villany to heed any further words of hers. She sank despondently in a chair, while Andy, drawing closer to her, recounted in a low tone the details of Sam Skillins’s plot against Father Jerome. She heard him patiently to the end, and then she sprang indignantly to her feet. " And you expect me, the woman you profess 50 NORA Brennan’s devotion. to love, whom you have sworn to make yonr wife, — you expect me to play tliis low, vile part of a temptress and deceiver ! ” she exclaimed, her eyes flashing with scorn, hut suddenly filling with tears of grief and disappointment. " Of course I do,” said the ruffian, brutally, stung by her reply. " Where ’s the harm, I ’d like to know. All you ’ve got to do is to play your points up to a certain limit, and then me and Sam Skil- lins will step in and finish the job.” " Sam Skillins ! ” cried the poor girl. "I might have known that such a scheme could come from no brain hut his. O Andy ! if you would only cut adrift from that man I It is he alone who is lead- ing you on to ruin.” "Humbug ! he ’s the best friend I ’ve got in the world. But come, I want your answer.” "Oh, I cannot do it, Andy ! Do not ask me, I implore ! ” "Fudge and fiddlesticks ! You can, and must ! It ’s the last thing of the kind I ’ll ever ask you to do, Nora, and I swear by all that ’s holy, if you please me in this I’ll marry you this day week ! ” The girl started and trembled at this pledge, which was the highest bribe that her lover could have offered her. But the next instant she shook her head. RESULT OF ANDY’S MISSION. 51 ”No, not even for that, Andy, can I soil my soul with such infamy ! ” she said, resolutely. The blood rushed to the ruffian’s face. He sprang to his feet with an oath, and, before she knew it, caught her delicate throat in his rude grasp. "What!” he cried, hoarse with fury, "you dare refuse me anything I ask I You, a girl born in the gutter, whom I picked up out of the streets, dare prate to me about honesty, virtue, and soiling your soul I Drop such patter of the gospel shops, I tell you, — it ’s all flung away on me, — and an- swer me once more, and be careful how you an- swer ; for, if you refuse again, by all the saints in the calendar, i swear I ’ll throw you over and send yon adrift, after breaking every bone in that pretty carcass of yours I Now, what d’ye say? Will you do what I want or not?” Nora Brennan was brave beyond her sex ; but with that infuriated brute standing over her, one hand clutching her throat, the other raised threat- eningly as if to crush her with a blow, and, above all fear of bodily harm, the dreadful, overwhelm- ing threat he had uttered of deserting her, dispelled all her courage, and, at last, half dead with terror and her agonized feelings, the poor girl yielded and gave a reluctant consent to the wishes of the wretch whom she had chosen for her lord and master. . CHAPTER VI. FATHER JEROME BECOMES RECKLESS.— HOW NORA BLAYED HER PART. THE PRIEST FALLS INTO THE TRAP. An almost reckless mood had taken possession of Jerome Keenan. Everything that made life endurable seemed slipping away from his grasp. The air was rife with rumors reirardino- his late c? o Conduct. Friends and enemies alike were canvass- ing the matter. When a clergyman falls from grace, people’s tongues will wag. Envy, like death, ’t is said, loves a shining mark. The priest’s proud and combative nature was aroused, therefore, by all that h(‘ heard. He had grown proud and arro- gant, perhaps by the servility and obsequiousness that surrounded him on every side, and was not prepared to receive with humility the varied com- ments on the recent y? .7 SCO. A few days after the festival of Corpus Christi, a summons came for him to call upon the archbishop. Divining the object of it, knowing that the scandal had reached the prelate’s ears, he had the temerity to send some trivial excuse which was almost tantamount to a refusal to obey. Piobably no other priest in the archdiocese would have dared thus to trifle HOW NOKA PLAYED HER PART. 53 with the archbishop. But Father Jerome felt like a lion goaded by gnats, and was in no humor to humiliate himself or allow his enemies and detractors to witness such humiliation. ”IfI am to fall, so be it,” he said to himself in his bitter mood. "But, if they drive me to extremities, my fall shall be like that of Samson. I will pull the temple down about their ears, and involve bishop, priesthood, and church in one com- mon ruin. But they dare not go too far with Jerome Keenan. The bishop knows what I know, and I know too much, am possessed of too many secrets of the church, have been admitted too often to the inner sanctuary, for Bishop Gilpatrick and his creatures to press the weight of their authority on me.” Such was the spirit that animated Father Jerome at this time. But pride goeth before a fall, saith Holy Writ. Little did the proud priest know all that was in store for him. Little could he anticipate the power and malignity of his adver- saries. To treat so high a dignitary with such scant courtesy as Father Jerome had shown to his superior was to make for himself a most power- ful enemy. It was one of the greatest mistakes of Jerome Keenan’s life, and bitterly was he destined to rue it. No more auspicious time than the present could 54 FATHER JEROME BECOMES RECBXESS. have been selected by Sam Skillins for pursuing his plot of black-mail against the priest. He had familiarized himself with Father Jerome’s habits and mode of life. He had learned by some secret means pretty much all that passed daily in the priest’s household, and had found out, much to his satisfaction, that at this time of trouble and trial Jerome Keenan had taken to himself the solace of the brandy bottle, and was, in short, just in that reckless state to render him likely to fall headlong into the trap set for his unwary feet. Returning homeward one evening from a visit to a friendly parishioner. Father Jerome was accosted at his doorstep by a woman who in most piteous accents begged him for alms. It was a cold, bitter night ; the rain was falling in a steady drizzle, chill and cutting as sleet. Looking at the young woman, perceiving that she was ill-clad, with nothing but an old shawl thrown over her head, and that she seemed to be shivering with cold, the priest’s compassion was quickly aroused. Whether the fact that the rays of the street lamp before his door enabled him to catch a glimpse of her face, and to see that it was a youth- ful and very beautiful one, though apparently pinched with cold and suffering ; whether this fact had anything to do with exciting his sympathies, HOW NORA PLAYED HER PART. 55 must be left to the imagination. However it was, Father Jerome’s hand at once sought his pocket, and drawing out a roll of bills, he pressed one into the woman’s outstretched palm. She was in the act of clutching the money, when suddenly and with a low cry she staggered and sank, half fainting, upon the doorstep. To ring the bell and raise the drooping figure in his stalwart arms was the work of a moment only for the priest to do ; and as his housekeeper quickly responded to his summons and opened the door, he cried, — " Here is a poor girl whom I found fainting with cold and hunger on the doorstep, Mrs. Mahoney. Assist me to carry her into the sitting-room.” This was speedily done, and the unfortunate woman, revived by the warmth of the room, and by some hot drink administered by Mrs. Mahoney at her master’s suggestion, was soon sitting up, quite restored, and began to murmur her grateful thanks for the aid and succor afforded her. "There, my dear child,” said Father Jerome, kindly, " do not trouble yourself to thank me. I will leave you now for a few moments while Mrs. Mahoney procures you dry clothing and gives you some food, of which you seem to stand in need. I will return presently, and then you can tell me your story, and I will see what further can be done to assist you.” 56 FATHER JEROME BECOMES RECKLESS. So saying, the priest left the room, carrying with him the vision of a face of such arch-loveli- ness, that even the beauty of Marie McShea seemed to pale and grow insignificant before it. On returning soon afterward, Father Jerome found his new charge sitting before the open fire- place, alone. She gave him a shy, grateful look, and arose with a modest reverence as he entered. ” Be seated, my child, ’’said he ; and as she obej^ed, he took a chair beside her, and glanced with inter- est into her pale yet inexpressibly beautiful face. One of the priest’s besetting weaknesses was his admiration for a pretty woman. He was no exception to the general rule of the priesthood in this respect. Far from it. Laj^men would be surprised, and perhaps disgusted, to know how largely the topic of woman and woman’s charms enter into the thoughts and ordinary conversation of priests when gathered together among them- selves ; perhaps on the principle that what is de- nied is doubly attractive. The beauty and per- sonal qualities of this and that fair penitent are canvassed with the freedom and indelicacy that the "points” of a racehorse are talked over by sporting men ; and they twit and banter each other about certain female members of their respective flocks in a way that would make the ears of self- respecting husbands, fathers, and brothers burn and tingle if they could but hear them. HOW NOE A PLAYED HER PART. 57 The power given to the priest by the confes- sionul, the close relations which in consequence sul>sist between Catholic women and their spiritual advisers, taught and compelled as they are to re- veal even the most sacred mysteries of their lives to their confessors, the familiarity with which matters pertaining to the sexual relation are re- ferred to between priest and penitent, are natu- rally subversive of native modesty and of that moral restraint which Christian civilization has erected as a bar to the free and indiscriminate in- dulgence of the passions, and which is the very rock and foundation-stone on which our civilization rests. We say this, not to cast a slur upon the priest- hood as individuals or as a class, but in condem- nation of a system which does a pernicious work under a sacred name. All honor and glory to that little band of independent Catholics, those modern Luthers of the church, who, in the face of much detraction and calumny, have dared raise their voices and taken their noble stand against those dogmas and ordinances of the Roman Church which conflict with all enlightenment, all progress, and all morality. Father Jerome, then, we portray as one of the striking fruits of priestly training, made such, less by natural inclinations than by the force of asso- ciation, of precept and example ; and we vouch for 58 FATHER JEROME BECOMES RECKLESS. the truth and fidelity of the portraiture, for he is a study taken from the very life. " What is your name, my child? ” resumed the priest. " Nora Brennan,” was the low answer. ” But what drove you to the street on such an in- clement night as this ? ” he asked. " story, Father, is, I fear, but a too common one,” replied Nora, sadly. And then (as if with great reluctance, and frequently interrupted by her sobs and tears) she told the priest a most harrowing tale of abuse and wretchedness on the part of a brutal husband. This man she acknowl- edged she had once loved (or fancied she loved), but he had soon proved himself one of the cruel- est of domestic tyrants. He made her work for him as long as she was able to work, and then drove her with curses and blows into the streets to beg, while he (too lazy to earn a living) squan- dered the money in low vices. In short, Nora’s artful story, composed of truth sufficient to lend an air of sincerity to its relation (as it was designed to do), had a powerful eftect on Father Jerome. He pitied her deeply, and pity in his case was very near akin to love. In the end the priest pressed some money upon the girl, bade her return to her home, and promised on the next day to call at her house. CHAPTER VII. FATHER JEROME VISITS NORA. — THE TRAP IS SPRUNG. THE PRIEST DEFIES THE PLOTTERS. ^ "Good afternoon, my dear,” said Father Je- rome, as he entered Nora Brennan’s apartment the next day, agreeably to his promise. Nora was sitting by the window, and her sad, tear-stained face lighted up with what seemed a flush of pleasure as her visitor came in. That sad look was by no means assumed for the occa- sion. She had really been crying, and crying in deepest agony, at the despicable part her tyrant was compelling her to play. That part was in every sense repugnant to her nature, and filled her with shame, with grief and remorse. Yet there was but one alternative for the poor girl : either she must carry out the farce to a successful end, or be subjected to her lover’s brutality, and then be deserted by him and left to her fate. Ah ! how powerful is woman’s love ! How true, how tender, how self sacrificing ! It may ^ make her an angel or a demon, a saint or a sinner of the deepest dye ! Lower than the very beasts is the man who would take base advantage of 60 FATHER JEROME VISITS NORA, woman’s affection to drive her to sin and shame through the tendcrest emotions of her soui J The priest noted, with quick compassion, Nora’s sad looks, her drooping form and languid move- ment, as she arose to welcome him. He took her hand and gave it a tender and encouraging ^Dres- sure as he led her back to her seat. "You' have been in my thoughts continually since we parted, my poor child,” said he. " Your sorrowful story has deeply impressed me, and I would do much to make your lot a happier one. Confide freely in me, Nora. Tell me without reserve how I can best help you. To relieve the sorrowing and distressed is one of the highest duties of my office as a priest, and it is a pleas- •ant as well as a sacred duty to me.” " You — you are very, very kind. Father,” mur- mured Nora, trembling and almost overwhelmed ; for the magic tenderness of the priest’s manner, the earnest sympathy with which he spoke, aroused an almost invincible disgust and abhorrence in her heart against the task she had undertaken to per- form. " Oh !” she continued, with a sudden and irresistible outburst of feeling, wringing her hands and breaking into tears, — "oh! that I could tell you all I O Father, that I could pour out all the misery of my heart to you without reserve I Oh ! oh I I cannot, cannot do it ! I cannot, nay, I will not betray — ” THE PRIEST DEFIES THE PLOTTERS. 61 She paused suddenly. Carried away by the intensity of her emotions, the poor girl, in one more word, would have revealed enough to arouse her dupe’s suspicions. For the moment she was on the verge of distraction ; but a smothered sound, seemingly coming from the adjoining room, re- called her instantly to herself and to the neces- sity of controlling her agitation. Nature had almost triumphed over art in that one moment, and the girl felt a terrible fear, and grew pale and giddy as she realized how nearly she had precipi- tated herself into the abyss. Father Jerome, however, had not heard that vague sound, so full of significance to Nora’s ears. Her words seemed perfectly natural to him, although he was surprised at the violence of her emotion. "If any new cause of trouble has occurred, my child,” said he, gently, "I will not ask you to reveal it now, since it seems to distress you so much. But you should remember that I am a priest, and it would be no betrayal of any confi- dence, in the ordinary sense of the word, to tell all your causes of affliction to me. But from what I already know, I can easily surmise that you have been subjected to some fresh outrage on the part of your husband.” Nora bowed her head as if in acquiescence, but did not speak. 62 FATHER JEROME VISITS NORA. " I pity you from the bottom of my soul, poor child,” said Father Jerome, feelingly. 1 must see your husband, Nora. He is a Catholic, is he not ? ” " He is. Father.” ” Then perhaps I may be able to influence him to treat you better, and to become a worthier husband. Yes, I will see him this very day.” " That will be impossible, your reverence,” said Nora ; " for he left home this morning, after taking the money you gave me, and said that he should not return for several days.” " Left home ! ” exclaimed the priest, indignantly. " Left you without protection and without means ! Oh, it is outrageous ! What manner of man can your husband be to forsake a young, lovely, and faithful wife, as I know you must be, Nora, in this cruel and heartless fashion ? It is shameful ! shameful ? ” And Father Jerome bent forward and again took Nora’s little hand in his. "Alas, Father!” she said, with downcast eyes, "it is no new experience to me. Day after day, nii 2 :ht after ni^ht, I have been left thus alone. Ah 1 I fear my husband cares very little for me. His love has long since died out, or he would not treat me so. There are fairer faces than mine, deeper fascinations than I possess, Father.” THE PRIEST DEFIES THE PLOTTERS. 63 She said it with such an air of modest self- depreciation that the priest was inwardly amused, in spite of his pity and sympathy. The idea that any man, possessing such a bewitching creature as Nora Brennan for a wife, coukl be tempted from his allegiance by another woman was the very height of absurdity. In all his varied experience. Father Jerome had never yet met the peer of this lovely girl ; no, not even Marie McShea, he con- fessed to himself, could approach her in those alluring qualities which tempt and fascinate men. The bending, willowy form, the rich tint of the smooth skin, the large, sweet eyes, whose lustrous depths suggested wells of slumbering passion, stirred the susceptible heart of the priest as no woman’s attractions had stirred it since his early youth. "She is a veritable goddess,” said he to himself. "Diana had not a more charming face, Venus no more lovely form ! ” He drew nearer to her, and said in a voice that be tried to render calm, " And yet, in spite of his ill-treatment, you still love your husband, Nora?” " Love him ! ” she repeated, springing to her feet, and, mindful of her odious part, throwing a torrent of simulated passion into her tone. "I hate him I Hate and detest him as man never 64 FATHER JEROME VISITS NORA. was hated by a wronged and outraged woman before ! (God forgive me for the lie ! ” she mut- tered, under her breath.) "O Father, forgive me ! ” she cried, suddenly dropping upon her knees at his feet. "I knew not what 1 said. It was wrong to speak so of my husband. I had no ris^ht to utter such words in a stranger’s ears.” o o "You must not regard me as a stranger, my child,” said the priest, soothingly, and raising her gently. " Henceforth, Nora, you must look upon me as a friend, — a friend ever ready to aid you to the extent of his power. You will think of me as such, will you not?” And he laid his hand caressingly upon her shoulder, and gazed into the eyes that were raised to his, and seemed to see in their depths an answering glance that thrilled him to the very heart. It was a moment full of peril to the priest, — a peril not only to his soul, but to every earthly interest on which he set store. But he was blind to all this ; he was completely in the toils, like another Samson, powerful yet weak, strong, mighty, and towering among men, yet the veriest puppet in an artful woman’s hands. Perhaps, gazing at the siren before him, he thought of the weariness of his life, the sorrows that had crowded it, like a full bowl that runneth THE PRIEST DEFIES THE PLOTTERS. 65 over ; of the tyranny of fate which had snatched this cup of joy from his lips, and made him athirst ever since. He was, moreover, a priest and a casuist, and had learned to stifle the voice of conscience, to allay its sharpest prickings, by a method of reasoning that he would have con- demned as deadly sin in another. Marie McShea was forever dead to him ; there was a void in his heart that yearned for the solace and sympathy that only woman’s love can give ; and here before him was this beautiful woman, looking upon him as a friend and benefactor, and whose soft glances now seemed full of the reflection of that magic “ Light which never was on sea or land.” A wild delirium seemed to come upon him and possess his senses while he gazed, in which mo- ments, perhaps hours, passed by, and left their impress only with such fevered images as flit through a madman’s brain. .A cry, sharp, pier- cing and full of terror, broke the spell of his en- chantment, as Nora suddenly flung herself upon his breast, and, clinging with her arms around his neck, cried, — ” Save me, Father ! save me ! He will kill me I See ! God help me ! It is my husband ! ” And there, standing in the doorway, their faces expressing astonishment, blended with fiery wrath, were Andy Luttrell and Sam Skiiiins I 66 FATHER JEROME VISITS NORA. For a moment not a word was said. Nora, after that startled cry, had burst into a fit of hysterical weeping, more real than affected, for the strain U{)on her nerves had given way at last, and she had sunk into a chair completely overcome. Agitated Father Jerome certainly was at this startling denouement ; but in the face of danger he seemed to recover all his power and energy of mind. Andy Luttrell sprang fiercely toward the priest, and launched forth at him a string of oaths and foul vituperation that would have stunned and shocked even a rum-seller’s ears. Bui Father Jerome calmly waited until he had ceased, and then said, — You, then, are this young woman’s husband?” "Yes, I am that same ; and, if 1 had a pistol or weapon of any kind, I would show you that I know how to avenge this stain upon my honor, priest though you are ! ” answered Andy, with considerable bluster. A disdainful smile played upon Father Jerome’s lips. He looked from one to the other, first at the girl, whose face was buried in her hands, then at Sam Skillins, who stood in the background, re- garding the scene with ill-disguised anxiety, and lastly his gaze came back to Andy. Now, if the latter had been one tithe as skilful THE PRIEST DEFIES THE PLOTTERS. 67 in acting his part as Nora had proved herself to be, the victim of the plot might have been completely deceived. But Andy had unmistakably over- done his role. His swagger, his oaths, his gestic- ulations, were manifestly unnatural, and like a flash the whole scheme was made plain to the priest’s eyes. Still, with that calm, disdainful look, he took his hat and was moving towaril the door, when Luttrell threw himself in the way. ” You don’t get out of the scrape quite so easy as that ! ” he cried, with a threatening gesture. ” Ah ! indeed ! ” said the priest, mockingly. " But I forget ; your wounded honor demands a healing balsam, of course. Well, what price do you set on your lacerated feelings? ” "You’ll pay me five thousand dollars, and not a cent less, or to the bishop I ’ll go and lay the whole case before him,” said Andy. " And thank your patron saint that you are a priest, or it would be blood and not money that this affair would cost you ! ” "Fellow!” said Father Jerome, "do you think to deceive me longer? Were 1 as guilty as you pretend, which I am far from being, I would scorn to stoop to the humiliation of saving my reputation or my life even, by purchasing them at your hands. Not one dollar of my money shall enrich you or reward your silly plot. Now, carry out your 68 FATHER JEROME VISITS NORA. threat, fly to the bishop with your tale, and we shall see who wins the game, you or I.” And so saying, and with flashing eyes, the priest strode resolutely toward the door, crossed the threshold, and descended the stairs, while the two confreres looked on, too confounded to inter- pose any obstacle to his departure. It would have been policy for Father Keenan to have silenced those black-mailers at any cost, — silenced them, as other priests have done. But he was inflexible, and, in consequence, sacrificed his robes and his reputation. The sin of priestly criminality is in being found out, not in the com- mission of the crime. What becomes of the immense revenues of the Church ? Here is a priest, high up in holy orders, who paid $3,000 in hush money; he was guilty; then, finding that thousands more were demanded, in despair he either took his own life or fell by the stroke of Providence. Other instances might be named by the score. No wonder that mortgages of churches are not lifted, when fortunes are spent in covering up priestly crimes. Father Keenan was too proud, too high-spirited ; he resented as an insult the imputation cast upon his honor. One week from that time he would have given thousands. Disabled soldiers cannot fight. He had been maimed in other fields of sin ; this laid him open to attack. CHAPTER VIII. THE bishop’s sentence. — THE LAST BLOW FALLS. — FATHER JEROME IS “ SILENCED.” ” My sin has found me out ! ” Murmuring these words, in the accents of de- spair, Father Jerome sank into a seat and bowed his head upon his hands. His shoulders worked convulsively, his broad chest heaved with his emo- tions. Three days had gone by since the fatal visit to Nora Brennan’s house, — days of anguish, of remorse, and of bitter self-reproach had they been to him. None but his God could ever know the agony of his soul. The panorama of his whole life had passed before him. He recalled every event of sin and folly, — and they had been many. He had scarcely touched food during this awful time, had hardly closed his eyes in slumber. His dark hair had become threaded with silvery streaks, his flashing eye was dull and leaden, his cheeks were hollowed and had lost the hue of health, while his whole frame seemed to have grown lank and shrunken, as if he had undergone some severe and wasting sickness. . What it would have taken long weeks of physical pain and disease to pro- i 70 THE bishop’s sentence. (luce had been accomplished by the mental strain of a few days, the intense soul-torture of one suddenly awakened to the conviction of sin, and overwhelmed by its rushing floods. The story of the scene in Nora Brennan’s room had gone forth garbled, misstated, and enlivened by the most sensational details, and was every- where in men's mouths. Vain every effort to hush up or explain the scandal. Andy Luttrell and Sam Skillins, chagrined at the failure of their plot, had carried out their threat : the bishop had been told all, and much more than had really happened. The prelate had long feared and envied the brilliant Father Jerome, and in his secret soul hailed with delight this crowning act, which secured his rival’s downfall. Rousing himself at length, Father Jerome raised his head, and took from the table an ofBcial-lookino: document sealed with the archepiscopal signet. It liad just been left at the door, but, though divin- ing its contents, he had not yet the courage to break the seal. Now, with a desperate resolve, he did so. Yes. as he had expected, there was the fatal de- . i'ce in proper form, and signed by the bishop, — the decree which removed him from the priest- hood, that set the bans of the church upon him, that took from him all his high honors, his useful- 71 FATHER JEROME IS "SILENCED.” ness, his power and influence, yea, that plucked the very bread from his mouth and left him a befr«:ar and a homeless outcast forevermore. Father Jerome was disgraced, degraded, dishonored ; he was henceforth but a " silenced ” priest. "Oh, I never dreamed of this ! ” he murmured, in a broken voice, looking at the paper with stnring eyes. "I felt too secure, believed that the bishop at least would stand my friend, for his own in- terest’s sake. God in heaven help me, for I am deserted of man ! Let my enemies talk ; I care not for their clamor. But my friends, those who have stood by me through good and evil re- port, who have given me their sympathy and love, and strengthened my hands when they would have grown weak and faltered ! O my friends ! my friends ! my dear parishioners ! What will you say when this last stroke of fortune becomes known? Oh, you will hate and despise your once-loved pas- tor ! Great God ! I shall see those loved faces turned from me in reproach and scorn ; shall see them shrink away as though I were a loathsome reptile, a leper of contamination ! O Holy Mother of God! what is left forme to do? Is there no help? No way of moving the bishop? Shall I go to him, pray on my bended knees for his pardon? Shall I confess all my sin, acknowl- edge all the evil of my heart ; or shall I brave it 72 THE bishop’s sentence. out, — deny, lie, threaten, accuse in my turn, and dare Bishop Gilpatrick to make public this decree? Alas, I know not what to do ! My mind is waver- ing and unstable as that of a child. I cannot think consecutively. Oh, I shall go mad with this terril)le weight of woe ! Pardon, merciful Saviour ! Pardon, Holy Mary ! ” And in the abandonment of his misery he flung himself again into his chair, beating his brow with his clinched hands, tearing at his hair, and moan- ing and groaning like one bereft. Again starting up, he cried, in the words of the Psalmist, "Yes, rny sin is ever before me ! Save me, O God ! for the waters are come into my soul ! I sink in deep mire where there is no stand- ing ; I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me. They that hate me are more than the hairs of my head ; they that would de- stroy me are mighty ! ” Thus he continued for some time to groan forth the agony of his soul, walking the room with wild, disordered steps, throwing himself into a chair, and at times grovelling prone upon the floor in the paroxj^sms of his anguish. In the midst of one of the wildest of these out- bursts there came a low, timid knock at the door. With a mighty etfort he controlled the fever of his mind and bade the applicant to enter, thinking FATHER JEROME IS "SILENCED.” 73 it must be his housekeeper. To his intense sur- prise and indignation, when the door opened Nora Brennan hesitatingly came into the room. "You here, miserable girl!” exclaimed the priest. "How dare you venture upon such an in- trusion ? ” For answer, Nora raised her hands toward him with a supplicating gesture, and then he first no- ticed the extreme pallor and haggardness of her face. It was like the face of one dead ; it was but the ghost of her former beauty that he beheld. Even his own misery was forgotten for the mo- ment in the unutterable wretchedness and speech- less woe written on that countenance. His manner changed. His great heart was stirred, as it was always stirred, Christ-like, in spite of his faults and vices, at another’s distress. He sprang towards her, for she began to sway and totter from weak- ness, and led her to a chair. " What ails you, poor child?” he asked again, compassionately. "I — -I believe I am dying, Father I ” she mur- mured, with a gasping sound. "Dying!” he repeated, springing to the table and pouring out a glass of water which he placed to her lips. The draught seemed to revive her, and in a moment she spoke again, at the same time falling upon her knees at the priest’s feet. 74 THE bishop’s sentence. ' "I could not die until I had sought your par- don, Father,” she said. "I dragg<-d myscdf here, though I was too feeble to stand, to beg and pray you to forgive my wickedness toward you. O Father! I fear I have ruined you, an innocent man.” ''N"o, not an innocent man, God pardon me! ” said the priest, sorrowfully. "Innocent, perhaps I may be, as respects you, poor girl ; but guilty enour, beggars at the back door, beggars in the office, beggars in the workshop, beggars in the store, beggars, beggars everywhere. Beggars for church, beggars for charity, beggars for church lotteries, beggars for cold meat, beggars for hot meat, beggars for old clothes, beggars for new clothes, — misfit or any fit, so long as they can be sold at the pawn- broker’s for one tenth their value. So Ions: as cold victuals and city soup can bring a drink of whiskey, a can of beer, or a bunk at night, so long will the fraternity flourish. Astonishing what able-bodied men a majority of these beggars are ! The maimed, the weak, the sick, the aged do not appear. These are supported generously by the State, or by their friends, when too proud spirited to accept alms. But the ragged army of tramps who infest Boston have both cheek 78 BEGGARS AND BmOIERS. and endurance. They can travel like an Indian, eat like a gormand, drink like a fish, swear like a trooper, and pray like a saint. Some even bless with the sign of the cross the whiskey they drink. Fish and eggs on Friday. Give them meat, they throw it to the dogs. In summer they sleep be- hind wood-piles, on the public Common, in the groves, ill empty cars, and on the W'harves. In winter they throng the various homes, — the Chardon Street Home, the Temporary Home, the North End Home, the Lewis Street Home, — or in the rickety garret homes of those who share their gathered pelf and booty. Professional begging is a fine art ; a profession that requires skill, tact, talent, experience, cheek, and perseverance, also thanks without limit. Par- rot-like words of unbounded gratitude for the smallest favors : " May all the saints and the Blissid Yargin protect yer.” In short, the professional beggar has studied his part like a master actor. He eyes his almoner through and through while repeating his pitiful story. He has a story to suit every occasion. To Mr. Skinflint he tells a tale that would draw tears from a rock : " Oh, sir, won’t ye ba a helpin’ a poor starvin’ man with a sick wife that ba a freezin’ and a dyin’ ? ” To Miss Great Heart he pleads like a seraph : ” And it ’s you that will not sa a baby SCENE AT MRS. o’LEARY’S LODGING-HOUSE. 79 dyia’ ! And wa can’t get no coffin for the darlin’ laatle cratlier ! ” Why, in times past I have had the eyes cheated out of my head by these scamps ! I have given them the last shirt I had for the Sabbath, have taken the coat from my back and given it to them ; then at last found myself duped. The following is of actual occurrence, — a true scene : — Let us enter the lodging-house of Mag O’Leary. Here many of these characters " hang out.” It is situated on Cross Street, North End. "Hello, Mike Haley! Yer just up from Deer Island,” said Pat Mooney. " Yes ; and yer not long up yisself.” " Faith an’ did n’t he git fat on the mush an’ salt air?” remarked Jim Blevins, a big-bodied, North-of-Ireland Orangeman. " Be jabers, it ’s better nor aitin’ the city’s soup up here.” " Is Barney Lynch down yet ? ” asked a rum-soaked old codger. "Didn’t yer see him yerself afore yer came up, last Tuesday?” "Were yer in the scrub-gang, Mike?” "No, I was actin’ as a ma- son’s dark” (hod-carrier). " Yer goin’ to the divil entirely, Mike,” said the husband of Mag O’Leary. " Well, Pat, it’s a good man’s fault to get drunk once in a while.” "It’s dry yer must bo now, Mike, after yer tin 80 BEGGARS AXD BUMMERS. days’ pledge,” continued Mag’s husband. "Yer might till the can, or ax a feller if he had a mouth on him. I had poor luck since yer wint away.” always liked you, Pat, an’ we’ll have a can of stock ale from Murphy’s ; an’ I ’ll sing yer a song ^ whin I come back that ’ll rouse yer courage a little, mebbe.” While Mike is out for the beer, let us take a look around. Of all the streets for fifteen-cent lodg- ings, Cross Street "takes the palm”; of all the women that open their hospitable doors to mid- night prowlers, Mag O’Leary leads the van ; of all the beds for lodgers, packed like sardines in a box, hers seemed the largest, — lodgers squeezed like dates in a bag. Of all the men who live by their wits ; of all who have sworn never to do a day’s work, declaring that the world owes them a living, — now drunk, now sober, now down at the Island, now in jail, now at this house be^o^in^ for food, now at that house begging for clothes, — give us ^like Haley, for all the world. " God is good, and the divil ain’t bad,” was his password on all occasions. Now this man, Mike Haley, was a character in his own way. Once he had been quite respectable ; had a steady job at the Navy Yard, a good wife, and a comfortable home. Pie took to drink, how- ever, and, coming home one night full of bad SCENE AT MRS. O’LEARY'S LODGING-HOUSE. 81 whiskey, he kicked his wife doAvn-stairs, and she died from the efiects of the fall. Mike Avas ar- rested for murder and sentenced to prison for three }"ears. He Avas not even allowed to gaze upon the dead features of his Avife. This Avas a sore bloAv to him, for Mike had a tender spot in his heart Avithal. Mike came out of the jail lu’oken down in spirits. His child, a little delicate girl of six years, had died shortly after its mother. The man had nothing noAV to live for. His ambition Avas gone. The State had supported him noAv for three years. During this time he had done very little Avork, feigning sickness every now and then. It Avas the evening of the 14th of August, the eve* of the festival of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin. To-morrow, on that sacred feast, Mike Haley Avas to be released. The thoughts of "ainino" his freedom once more were in his mind o o all day long. Suddenly he bethought him of what the morroAV was, and, kneeling down by the little iron bed in his cell, he took from' his neck a cord to AAdiich Avas attached a medal of the Virgin, a gift from his mother, and holding it before him, he prayed fervently,— for ^like AA^as a faithful Cath- olic. He had also Avith him a pair of beads and scapulars, given him by Father McGlynn, the Catholic priest who attended the jail. After say- ing his evening devotions, the prisoner fell into a 82 BEGGARS AND BUMMERS. reverie, and the events of his past life flitted across his mind. Ai^ain he irnaijined himself in the little town of Bandon, County Cork. Ilis mother’s form appeared before him in the little rude cabin which was his former home. He heard her sweet voice again as he stood on the quay in Queenstov\^n when he kissed her good-by for the last time and received her admonitions to remain true to her early teachings and never forsake the old faith. All his life-doings came up before him, and at last arrived that dreadful scene which had blasted his life. Alas ! had he come to this? His feelings overcame him, and he burst into a flood of tears such as he had not shed for years. He, a strong man, but of a sensitive na- ture, wept like a child at the recollection of what he had "one through. 'VYhat had he now to live O CD for? Was he not branded with the mark of a felon ? As he passed through the streets the fin- ger of scorn would be pointed at him. People would remark, ''There goes the brute who murdered his wife.” All these things were uppermost in his mind, and the thoughts sickened him. Disgusted with his life, he vowed in revenge to work no more, and sealed the compact by kissing the medal he held in his hands. Oh, how well had he kept that vow I Four SCENE AT MRS o’LEARY’S LODGING-HOUSE. 83 years after we find him as onr sketch opens ; but what a contrast ! Then he was a fine, able-bodied man, the very picture of health. Now gaze upon his rum-suffused countenance, his bleared eyes, and ra2:2:ed garments. All this time he had not worked a day, but always had enough to eat and drink, and a place to sleep at night. He lived by his wits. He was a bum, a beggar. He eked out a comfortable existence, and, as he often re- marked himself, got along better than most men who worked from morning till night. Mike returned in a short time with a flowing can of Murphy’s ” family destroyer.” He placed the beer on a rickety table, and, pulling a chair over near it, he told Pat O’Leary to " dish out ” the stuff while he filled his pipe. Mags husband filled a glass and drank it, saying, with a knowing wink to the crowd, " Pat, be good to yerself, an’ yer friends ’ll like yer the better.” Then, as a mark of respect to the man who had paid for the beer, he filled the goblet brimful and offered it to Mike Haley, who took it eagerly, offering as a toast, " Bad luck to poverty,” to which the com- pany present responded a fervent "Amen.” Mike was treated to a second and third glass, - and after the lapse of a little time was in a mood for singing. After considerable pressing and coaxing by those present he gave the following 84 BEGGARS AND BUMMERS. song in a deep, rich brogue, which, considering his recent departure from the "stone palace,” was quite appropriate : — DEER ISLAND DOWN THE BAY. It was on one lovely night in March I got so awful tight, I took a stroll down Portland Street, ’t was there I had a fight ; , When two policemen came along they had a word to say,— They said they ’d send me over to Deer Island, down the bay. They marched me up to Station Three; ’t was there I stayed all night ; And in the morn, when I awoke, I was not quite so tight. I asked the captain to let me go, as I had no money to pay; “ Oh, yes ! ” he says; “ I will let you go to Deer Island, down the bay.” It was on the first of April I was brought before the judge ; They put me in the prisoner’s dock, that they might have their grudge. The clerk, he read the charge to me. “ Kot guilty,” I did say ; But they proved to send me over to Deer Island, down the bay. The officers swore they' had seen me drunk some fifty times and more ; And the judge, he thought they told the truth, as he viewed my carcass o’er ; SCENE AT MRS. O’LEARY'S LODGING-HOUSE. 85 For an awful pile of whiskey I did daily stow away ; But I guess they will keep me sober on Deer Island ^ down the bay. Deer Island is a pretty place ; South Boston can’t com- pare. The judge, be thought it would improve my health to give me a passage there ; So two months the judge he gave me, and I was sent away In the steamer “ Common Drunkard,” to Deer Island, down the bay. When I arrived on this beautiful isle they marched me to the house ; They shaved my hair close to my head, but never found a louse.i They dumped me into a bath-tub, put on me a suit of sm ; For that is the way they use them all on Deer Island j down the bay. Eight hundred drunkards, bold and true, down on this isle do stay. Working for this good old State, for which they get no pay. Brown bread and mush is plenty : they have it every day Down in the House of Industry, Deer Island, down the bay. On the farm and in the coal pile the boys are hard at work, Making shoes and cutting wood, while the Molls they wash our shirts; But we think we can all stand it until the final day, — A few months wont last forever, — on Deer Island, down the bay. 86 BEGGAKS AND BUjVEVIERS. Every afternoon I paraded, with my hand-cart in my hand, Down to the “ Common Drunkard”; ’twas there I had my stand. The fish and beef I had to haul, all through the mud and clay, Down to these common drunkards, on Deer Island, down the bay. At six o’clock we all turn in, at five we all turn out. Then take our buckets in our hands, — what is in them you can’t doubt. We empty them, wash ourselves, and then we march away. To get our bread and coffee, on Deer Island, down the bay. We go to church on Sunday, to hear the word of God, Which is something we ain’t used to, and it comes al- mighty hard. They think they can convert us, — make us leave our rummy way; But they’ll find themselves mistaken, on Deer Island, down the bay. There are deers on Boston Common, and dears on Port- land Street. They say that rum is so very dear that no one dares to treat. I know the times are mighty hard; but few can pay their way; But what is dearer than them all, is Deer Island, down the bay. JSfow I’ve arrived in Boston, how sober I do feel; ’T is now three times a day I get a good, square, hearty meal. SCENE AT MRS. O’LEARY’S LODGING-HOUSE. 87 And rum and whiskey I leave alone: I find it does not P‘^y; For two months at home is better than on Deer Island, down the bay. And now my song is ended, you will with me agree, That we, poor common drunkards, should at once be all set free. I ’ve served my sentence nobly : I have nothing more to say; So I ’ll tell you all to go to Hull or Deer Island, down the bay. This song suited the company and the occasion. These men gloried in their own shame. They had plenty of piety, but no morality ; they lived by "hand-outs” and "grab-ins.” Those highest in church orders, wearing scapulars, beads, and crosses, could swear the most, drink the most, and steal the most, becoming the heaviest burdens, nuisances, and curses to society. CHAPTER X. A DRINKING SCENE IN MAG O’lEARY’s. EXPLOITS OP BILLY THE KID. RELIGIOUS ROW. — MIKE HALEY FALLS A MARTYR TO THE “ OLD FAITH.” When the song was ended Mike was greeted with cheers of applause, and everyone wanted to shake hands with him. He bore his honors meekly, however, and said he would like to have his "whistle wet” once more. Pat O’Leary then suggested that as Mike had done so well, some one else ought to treat, and perha[)s Mike would sing another song. " Where ’s the can, Pat?” asked Barney Lynch ; "or better still, give me the bottle, an’ we ’ll give Mike a hot noggin o’ punch.” " Gimme you yet, Barney,” said Mike, as the vision of a hot whiskey punch arose in his mind : " I never saw yer behind the bush yet when a poor feller needed somethin’ to warrum his heart.” " ’Pon my conscience, yer right, Mike,” inter- posed Mag’s husband ; " Barney ’s not a bad feller himself in the matter of a drop o’ drink.” As Barney departed, a young fellow bounded into the room with a good-sized canvas bag, which EXPLOITS OF BILLY THE KID. 89 he threw under the table, winking at Mag at the same time. The new-comer was a pretty good-looking fel- low, and wore a dark suit of clothes, brown over- alls pulled over the pantaloons, an overcoat of a brown material, and a slouch hat. From his countenance one could see that he was of Irish descent. Billy Moriarty, for such was his name, or " Billy the Kid,” as familiarly called, was young in years but old in sin. He was now about seventeen, but had run away from home when quite young, and, having a propensity for stealing, he was fast initiated in the li^ht-fin«:ered art after a short sojourn in the dives of the North End. He made his living by sneak-thieving, and although he had done service at both the Reform School, from which he escaped, and the State Prison, he always went back to his old trade. He often boasted of hav- ing received his first lesson in picking pockets at the Reform School. At the State Prison he formed the acquaintance of older criminals, and after serving his last sentence of six months at the, House of Correction, he became shrewder, and was sharper in escaping detection. "Well, Billy the Kid, how does the world use you ? ” asked Pat, when the young fellow had seated himself after warming his hands at the fire, for it was a bitter cold night without. 90 A DRINKING SCENE IN MAG o’lEARY’s. '' Oh, first class, Paddy,” said the Kid : " I ' caught on ’ to a ' square ’ to-night. Come near being nabl)ed by a cop, though, near the Massa- chusetts House, but I dodged into Reilly’s Alley, till I saw a chance to skip ; but I want your ear for a minute.” Pat opened the door to a back room, and the Kid followed and closed the door. " Hush ! ” said he to Pat, when they were in- side. "I 'collared’ a pair of pullets up near the Blackstone Market, an’ if yer think the old codger — I mean that bloody Orangeman — would n’t give things away, we might have a ' lay-out ’ to-nis:ht.” " But iMag ’ll raise the divil : its Friday, yer know,” said Pat. " If yer had brought fish or eggs, now, it would suit her.” " Oh, we ’ll get over that easy enough. I ’ll give her one for herself, and that ’ll pay my lodg- ing for to-night ; and she w’on’t kick on the Friday business, you bet.” The two men came back into the kitchen, and the Kid, pulling out the bag from under the table, produced a pair of nice fat chickens. " O yer little vagabond ! AVhere did yer get such a foine pair of birds ? ” asked Mag, as she cast a covetous glance at the fowl lying on the table. "That’s all right, old woman,” said the Kid. EXPLOITS OF BILLY THE KID. 91 ]\Ir. Benson at the market gave them to me for ofoino; an errand for him.” 0 o Barney returned in a little while, and soon each one had a steaming glass of potheen, including Mag, who remarked, " Well, men, my respects ter ye. If some one did n’t think of me, that big bluster there niver would. I might sit here till doomsday an’ he would never ax to moisten a body’s lips.” This fling aroused her husband, and he retorted, " Get out, yer ould fat cook, }^er. T’ other morn- in’ I was sick as a dog, an’ yer knew it ; and yer tight heart would n’t let yer give a feller nine- pence for an ' eye opener.’ ” This little altercation between man and wife caused the others, who were chatting in groups of two and three, to stop and listen. Mag did not answer the husband back again, for she knew that with what liquor he had in he would, if she roused his ire, thrash her when the lodgers had gone to bed. Fully ten minutes elapsed before any one ven- tured to speak, when Mike, seeing things had calmed a little, ventured : — " \Vhat is this, b’ys? A Quaker meetin’? AYhy ain’t yer sayin’ somethin’? If Pat has no objection, 1 ’ll give ye a song, though I ’m not feelin’ well meself; still, God is good an’ the divil ain’t bad.” 92 A DRINKING SCENE IN MAG O’LEARY’S. ” No, no ; I wont hinder, Mike. Go ahead.” ^'Well, I would like to ax the company what ’ll yez have, b’ys? 'Father Tom O’Neil ’ or ' Don- nyhrook Fair,’ or what? ” Then arose a shout, some hollering the name of this 80112: and that song, until the noise was almost deafening. Pat commanded silence, saying, — " Give us anything yer feel like, Mike, — any- thing, so long as it’s cheerful.” Mike cleared his thro;it, and, after saying " he wanted no noise,” sang, with a voice somewhat unsteady from too much drink, the following ; — finnigan’s wake. Tim Finnigan lived in Walker Street, — An Irish gentleman, mighty odd; He ’d a beautiful brogue, so righ and sweet, And to rise in the world he carried the hod. But you see he ’d a sort of a tippling way, — With the love for the liquor poor Tim was born, — And to help him thro’ his work each day He ’d a drop of the creature every morn. Chorus: Whack, hurrah! dance to your partner, Welt the flure; your trotters shake; Is n’t it the truth I Ve told ye? Lots of fun at Fiunigau’s wake. One morning Tim was rather full; His head felt heavy, which made him shake; He fell from the ladder and broke his skull; So they carried him home, his corpse to wake. EXPLOITS OF BILLY THE KID. 93 They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet, And laid him out upon the bed, With fourteen candles round his feet, And a couple dozen around his head. Chorus: Whack, hurrah I etc. His friends assembled at his wake; Missus Finnigan called out for the lunch. First they laid in tay and cake, Then pipes and tobacky and whiskey punch. Miss Biddy O’Neil began to cry, — Such a purty corpse did ever you see? Arrah, Tim, avourneen, an’ why did you die? Och, none of your gab, sez Judy Magee. Chorus: Whack, hurrah! etc. Then Peggy O’Connor took up the job, — Arrah, Biddy, says she, ye ’re wrong, I ’m sure; But Judy then gave her a belt on the gob, — It left her sprawling on the flure. Each side in war did soon engage, — ’T was woman to woman, and man to man; Shillelah law was all the rage, And a bloody ruction soon began. Chorus: Whack, hurrah! etc. Mickey Mulvany raised his head. When a gallon of whiskey flew at him; It missed him, and, hopping on the bed. The liquor scattered over Tim. Bedad! he revives! see how he raises! And Timothy, jumping from the bed. Cries, while he lathered around like blazes. Bad luck to your souls: d’ ye think I ’m dead? Chorus: Whack, hurrah! etc. 94 A DRIXKIXG SCENE IN :SIAG O’lEAKY’S. Then came a fight for the "Old Faith,” the war of the scapulars. The more drunk the more pious. That hated Orangeman became a mark of special vengeance : he was a heretic. Heretics don’t wear scapulars, say the rosary, hear mass, cross themselves with holy water, and confess their sins. They ought not to stop, to stay, to breathe, to live, in the pious house of Mag O’Leary, AVas she not a devout Catholic? There were the pictures on the walls ; there was a crucifix at the head of the bed, her bottle of holy water on the bureau, and a pair of rosary beads she alwn^s carried with her. Fired with whiskey, it needed but a spark to kindle a terrible conflagration. One word brought on another, and the fight commenced. " T ’m as good as the rest of ye ; an’ I ’ll git to hivin as soon as any of ye,” said Jim Blevins. That started the row. The idea of Jim Blev- ins, an Orangeman, getting to heaven without the help of the Holy Church. Monstrous ! " Yer lie, yer haythin. M^ithout the mark of holy baptism on ye, }^er ’ll go with the rest of yer tribe whin yer die, — to the divil an’ his imps,” replied Mike Haley, rising to the floor. This fling at his people also brought the Orange- man to his feet He made a lurch at Haley, as if to strike. This roused the whole house, every EXPLOITS OF BILLY THE KID. 95 jian seizing a weapon, — one the poker, one a chair, another a stick of wood ; and Mag made to save the lamp. All made a rush for Blevins, who retreated into a corner. At this moment a loud knock was heard on the door. "Hush,” said Mag: "it ’s th’ peelers,” as she rose to open. "Oh, God bless yer I an’ is this you, Father Keenan?” was Mag’s exclamation. "Come in, yer Riverence, an’ shtop th’ fight, or there ’ll be murder alive.” Father Keenan, the fallen priest, himself intoxi- cated, entered, and was respectfully saluted by all present, Avith the exception of the Orangeman, who stood with glaring eyes face to face Avith Mike Haley. "AYhat’s the matter (hie), boys? (hie),” asked the priest, after seating himself, Avith flag’s assist- ance. " This Friday dog has abused the church ! ” "He ’s slandered the holy priesthood ! ” " He says a priest can’t put a man into heaven ! ” " The hay thin pup says he is as good as the rist of us.” " He said, ' To the divil Avith the pope ! ’ ” Avere the cries from half a dozen voices at once, in ansAver to the priest. "I didn’t say that,” said Jim Blevins, turning with a bow toAvards the clergyman. ■ 96 A DPJNKING SCENE IN MAG O’LEARY’S. "Yerdid,” shouted Mike Haley, *'yer infidel pig ! ” I did n’t ! ” retorted Jim. " Yer lie, yer did ! ” ” Yer lie, I did n’t ! ” " Yes, he did ! ” " Yes, he did ! ” "Down with him!” "At him, Mike, we’ll help yer.” "Kill the heretic I ” " Away with him I ” And the fight commenced anew. Missiles began to fly at the Orangeman. Now a stick of wood he dodi^es ; now a piece of coal, which struck him square in the face. As Mike Haley approaches to strike him, cry- ing, " Ye imp of hell, I ’ll fix yer,” Jim parries the blow, and with his other brawny arm keeps those nearest him at'bay. " How dare ye attack the priest ? ” said Mike Haley, as he struck at him again, whiskey giving him coiu'age. " An’ there ’s another for the church, yer thief of the wurrold I ” The hurley Orangeman, as an enraged bull be- fore a red flag, the blood of two hundred years of strife boiling in his veins, from the battle of the Boyne, with eyes glaring fire, lij^s compressed, himself filled with liquor, waiting for the coming blow that carried with it "priest,” "thief,” and "church,'’ drew back as Haley struck ; then, with clinched fist, every nerve in his body quivering EXPLOITS OF BILLY THE KID. 97 with rnge, muttering, "Priest or no priest, church or no church, heke goes ! ” And with all the strength of his giant frame centred in that arm, he deals one sledge hammer blow, that fells Mike Haley to the floor, and there he lies prostrate, bleeding, senseless, nigh unto death. CHAPTER XI. DYING MOMENTS OF MIKE HALEY. FATHER KEENAN AD- MINISTERS EXTREME UNCTION. WIFE’s WEDDING- RING. HIS OLD CHUM BARNEY IN TEARS. Mike Haley was carried to an adjoining room by the husband of Mag O’Leary and two of the lodgers. Jim Blevins had struck him a terrilile blow on the left side of his head, near the temple, and one of his eyes was nearly driven from the socket. It was an awful si^ht ! He was bleeding profusely and still remained unconscious. The occurrence had a soberini? elfect on all present; even the priest, accustomed as he had been to meeting death in every form, was stunned for the moment ; but, rising as best he could, he went to Mike’s bedside, and sitting down, he offered up a silent prayer, and commenced to chafe the wounded man’s hands. The others stood by motionless, some on their knees, waiting for any little sis^n of returnino: consciousness. At length Mike opened his eyes and closed them again. All jiresent could see that the man had but a few hours to live. The Orangeman’s bloAV had been a fatal one. The priest .called to Mag EXTREME UNCTION ADMINISTERED. 99 O’Leary, who had remained terrified in the kitchen, and she came to the door, sobbing as though her heart would break. " Bring me the holy water, my dear child,” said Father Keenan, "and a blessed candle.” Mag hastened to obey his instructions. The priest, now completely sobered off, turned towards the dying man and, bending down his head on the coverlet, murmured, "Oh, that our holy mother the church had not placed her ban upon me ! Oh, that I could hear this unfortunate man’s con- fession, and give him absolution for all his sins ! Would that my hands were not bound by the church, that I might anoint with the chrism and the holy oils his eyes, his ears, his mouth, and hands, and all his senses, for they have grievously sinned ! Oh, that I might kneel before him and administer to him the last rites of the church he has loved so well, and served, in form at least, so faithfully ! that I might give him the holy sacra- ment, of extreme unction ! ” Pat O’Leary, in the mean time, sent a lodger for the parish priest, but he was out. Mike Haley takes a turn for the worse. Father Keenan, silenced as he was, and fearful for the dying man’s salvation, determines, at all hazards, to hear his confession and anohit him with the chrism and the holy oils. He has with him an old, almost worn- 100 DYING MOMENTS OF MIKE HALEY. out, purple " stole,” with little white crosses on the ends. The dying man is sinking rapidly. If the priest who has been sent for does not soon arrive, all will be over. There is a stru^y^ile i?oin<2: on in Father Keenan’s breast. " Will I commit a sac- rilege,” he says to himself, ” if I give this man the last rites of our holy church, or will I commit a greater one by letting him die without them?” While he is thinking on these things Mike slowly opens his eyes and faintly motions for the priest to hearken to his feeble voice. The priest bends his ear close to the man’s lips, and in accents faint comes, ” I want to confess.” Father Keenan hesi- tates no lon<2:er. ” You folks will have to 2:0 into the other room,” he says, "for 1 am going to hear this man’s confession.” In an instant all have left the room, Mag O’Leary being the last to go ; and she closes the door after her and locks it. The priest then takes out his "stole,” and kiss- ing it places it around his shoulders, the two ends falling in front. He then bends close down to Mike’s lips and listens to the sins of a lifetime, rapidly revealed, and hurried over. Then he tells him to make a hearty act of contrition, and raising his hands he pronounces the sacred words of absolution. The confession being over, the priest is ready to EXTREME UNCTION ADMINISTERED. 101 anoint him. He knocks at the door, as a signal for those without to enter. lie then proceeds to anoint with the holy oils and chrism the different senses, — the eyes, the ears, mouth, hands, — saying at each one a short prayer in Latin. Then he re- cites in English the litany for the dying, and those present give the responses : — “ From eternal death,” O Lord, deliver him.” “ From the flames of hell,” “ O Lord, deliver him.” “ From the power of the devil,” “ O Lord, dehver him.” And so on. When this prayer is finished, the dying man motions for a drink, and the priest tells Mag to give him a little whiskey and water. This seems to revive him a great deal, and he calls on Barney Lynch, his old chum, to come to his bedside. ” Barney, ould boy,” said Mike, speaking with efibrt, and reaching out his hand, ” the end has come at last.” " Oc/i, nonsense, man! yer ’ll be . up an out th’morra. Cheer up, man dear I an’ don’t feel so down-hearted,” replied Barney, sitting near the bed, and taking his hand. "No, I dl niver rise agin. I know my time has come. God’s holy will be done ! Barney, 102 DYING MOMENTS OF MIKE HALEY. we Ve been chums together for a lon(j time. We ’ve been on the road together. Together we’ve suffered, — aye, an’ almost starved some- times ; but God was good. An’ yer know that half of what was mine was yours, an’ — ” " Oh, don’t, Mike ! it ’s killin’ me to see yer there,” broke in Barney, as he wiped the blood- sbdns from Mike’s forehead ; " it ’s you that did n’t have the mean ways about yer. Many ’s the time I ’ve seen yer give the bread out av yer own mouth to some one worse off nor yourself. Och hone! It’s no one in this worruld will miss yer but me, yer good, true-hearted sowl, yer.” "Ah! it’s a cowld worruld though I ’m lavin’, Barney ; an’ we ’ve had our own share of all its troubles,” bursting into sobs and groans. "Yes, an’ more too, Mike ; but yer were always so liMit-hearted. Yer voice was enousch to raise a man up that was cast down, an’ make him forgit his trouble. Yer always had a pleasant word for every one, and a bit av a joke an’ a song. Oh, but it was to be, I suppose, that this villain should cross yer path this night I Push over a little, darlin’, till I fix the pillows so yer head will be aisy. There, now, lie back an thry to feel at rist.’ "Barney,” said Mike faintly, as Mag entered the room, "get the scissors an’ cut this bag from my scapulars.” EXTREME UNCTION ADMINISTERED. 103 Barney did so, and Mike, taking the bag from him, opened it and disclosed to view a plain gold ring, very much worn. It was his wife’s wedding- ring. Hannah Haley wore this ring constantly in reverence for the holy sacrament of matrimony. She was a firm believer in the old Irish supersti- tion that, if she was to take it off after the priest blessed it and placed it on her finger, some bad luck would happen to her. On the day which brought her death, while sit- ting in the rocking-chair, the child playing near, exhausted by the morning’s work, she fell asleep. The child sportively took the ring from her finger. That night Mike came home drunk. The reader knows the rest. On her dying bed she bitterly regretted her carelessness, ascribing to the removal of the rins: her terrible death at the hands of her husband. Mike said, ” Yer know, Mag, that Hannah wore this ring Sunday and every day.” ” ’Deed she did, Mike. Heaven grant her rest this night ! ” "She wore it even at the wash-tub, doino: out- side work, scrubbing, and taking in washing, as well as her own, for she wished to save enough to buy, poor thing, a little home we could call ours. An’ saints in heaven I how good she was 1 104 DYING MOMENTS OF MIKE HALEY. Oh, how kind and forgiviii’ I ” Here his voice choked, and he kissed the ring passionately. He commenced again, feebly : " Many ’s the time, when hard up, I have been sorely tempted to pawn it to get a glass or a bite to eat ; but yer know, Barney, I would starve to death before I would part with it.” "Thrue for yer, Mike, yer would rather lose yer life afore yer would part with it.” "She sent it to me in the jail, with a lock of her hair, by Father Keenan. He carried her dying message to me also. She said that, dying, she forgave me.” "Yes, she did, from her heart out,” said Mag, as she stroked the hair back from his forehead. " O Mag, the agony of that mo- ment ! My wife dying with not a sowl near her but strangers ! An’ even in her last words, taken by the otiScers of the law, she took all the blame upon herself.” " Mag, you’ve been a good friend to me,” said Mike, recovering a little; "many’s the night you’ve given me a bite to eat an’ a bed to lay on whin no one else would, an’ I had n’t a red in my pocket, Mag. You ’re from me own place too at home. Oh, if I could see my sweet native place of Bandon once more before I die ! An’ yer knew me father an’ me mother ; yer know how I was brought up. God be good to thim ! They niver dhramed I ’d come to this bad end.” EXTREME UNCTION ADMINISTERED. 105 Then Mag O’Leary, bursting into fits of de- spair, coniinenced to ring her hands and tear her hair, crying, ” O Mike dear, an’ darlin’, don’t yer lave us ! No more yer swate voice we’ll hear sim^in’ the «rood ould souses of Ireland. O alan^ na (darling) , don’t yer lave us ! don’t yer lave us I 0 sweet Virgin Mary, spare him ! Spare him this blissid an’ holy night, an’ raise him up from this bed of suffering and death. Oh, wurrer ! wurrer I What '11 we do at all at all ? ” jNIike sought to comfort her as she swayed back and forth in her agony of grief and sorrow. " It ’s no use, Masr. Don’t feel so bad avourneen, I’m gettin’ weaker an’ weaker ivery minute. Be- fore th’ morrow’s sun is risen I ’ll see my Hannah an’ my little Mamie. Mag, a better woman than Hannah niver drew breath.” "Faith an’ she was. But yer hurtin’ yerself sp’akin’,” said Mag. "Oh th’ villain that I was ! I see all plain now. This is her weddin’-rino;.” And in lower accents to j\Iag, "^lany ’s the time,” kissing it over and over again, " many ’s the time have I come near partin’ with it, but, thanks be to God ! I have kept it safe, 1 have, and I have it still,” sighing and groaning. "Yes, Mike, yer were thrue to her, except when the drink got the better of yer ; but try to be quiet, an’ sleep a little.” " Ah, Mag I when I sleep I ’ll niver wake a’gin. 106 DYING MOMENTS OF MIKE HALEY. An’ I must aise me mind while th’ little time is left me. God be with th’ day 1 placed this ring on her finger in ould St. Mary’s Church ! Father Fulmer, God rest his sowl I was the one who married us. An’ whin we was havin’, says he, *Mike, be good to Hannah, for she is a true and noble woman.’ O Mag ! if I could live me life over again ” (gasping and sobbing) " with — with — with — Hannah an’ — an’ — little Mamie, in our little home once more, an’ — ” But the thou«:ht of such happiness was too much for him, and he sank back exhausted upon the pillow. Mag took the cup containing whiskey and water from a chair near the bedside, and taking the spoon, moistened jMike’s lips three or four times. Again he revived, and after Mag had propped up his head with pillows, she wiped the blood-stains from his forehead and cheeks, for he was bleeding fast, and becoming fainter and fainter as the mo- ments passed. All these little attentions were as angel mercies to the dying man, to this poor, for- lorn world’s outcast. He appreciated them with all the gratitude of his youth and better nature, before rum had made him a fiend. Mooney and Billy the Kid were not wanting in their sympathies. They made every effort to save his life. They hurried to the apothecary’s, and for the doctor ; but dying confession and extreme EXTREME UNCTION ADMINISTERED. 107 unction must take precedence to all earthly phy- sicians. These tender, heart-feeling ministrations from his old chums, in that dark room, lighted only by the flickering ray of a single tallow candle, unused as he had been to such kindnesses, were to him as the revelations of a new heaven just opening to his view. Revived by the liquor, the wounded man made signs to Father Keenan, who was standing at the foot of the bed. " Father, here is the ring you brought to me in the jail from my dyin’ wife, Hannah, yer know.” •'Yes, my dear child; but you must not be speaking too much : it will worry you,” said the priest, touching the wound on Mike’s forehead with his consecrated stole to relieve the pain. "I must speak. Father : with this blood my life is flowin' fast.” " Yer too late, doctor,” said Billy the Kid as the doctor entered ; and sure enough the wound was declared mortal ; and his assailant, Jim Blevins, had escaped. "An’ it’s Jim Blevins what has done it,” cried the dying man ; "an’ may the saints and the Blissid Vargin have marcy on his soul I I forgive him all.” This seemed his dying gasp. Father Keenan, seeing the turn things had taken, bade all in the room to kneel down, and 108 DYING MOMENTS OF MIKE HALEY. commenced again the prayers for the dying, while Mag O’Leary lighted the blessed candle, and placed it in the dying man’s hands. She then went to the bureau drawer and took from it her husband’s habit (shroud) , which had been conse- crated and blessed, and placed Mike Haley’s right arm through the sleeve, in order that he might gain the plenary indulgence granted to those in their last agony, and placed a crucifix on his breast, after holding it to his lips to kiss. In a short while the dying man began to breathe heavily, to writhe and shake violently, showing signs of dissolution. The blessed candle came near toppling over, but Barney Lynch, faithful to the last, caught it, and, placing it again in poor Mike’s hand, went down on his knees, and held it there with his own ; and, although the violent shak- ing of the dying man caused the hot wax to run down upon Barney’s arm and hand, still he bore the pain heroically, and while the tears streamed down his cheeks averted his head, that he might not witness the torture and anguish of the depart- ing soul. When Father Keenan saw that he was going, he seized a crucifix, and placing it before the dying man’s eyes, bade him kiss it, and steadfastly look upon it as he breathed his last. CHAPTER XII. MIKE Haley’s wake. — lamentations of mag o’leary. ROSARY, LITANY, WHISKEY, AND TOBACCO. THREE NIGHTS IN A WAKE HOUSE. Mike Haley was dead. As he had predicted, he died before the sun had risen. He was '^murdered for the ' old faith.’ ” The next thing to be done was to give him a decent wake and Christian burial in consecrated ground. It was decided that he should be buried by the side of his wife in Mount Calvary Cemetery. Mike had bought a grave there some twelve years before, at the time of his first child’s death. He used often to jokingly refer to his owning real estate, of which he held the deed, and when ques- tioned as to where it was he would say, with a merry twinkle of the eye, " Six feet of earth in Mount Calvary Cemetery.” Let us enter the liitle bedroom where poor Mike died. Everything is in contrast to last evening, when he was carried here bleeding and insensible, to die in an awful agony. The floor has been scrubbed nicely, and white ; the paint has been washed clean, and newly washed curtains have 110 MIKE HALEY’S wake. been put up, and a couple of sheets have been tacked in plaits around the walls ; every article in the room — looking-glass, vases, pictures, clock — has been covered with a white cloth or towel. The crucifiK and a picture of the Virgin at the head of the corpse are alone excepted. The bed has been taken down and a catafalque erected by placing some boards upon a table and then tacking sheets in plaits over this, the same as on the walls, allowing the cloth to extend to the floor on all sides. A little table, also covered with a clean towel, has been placed at the foot of the corpse. Upon this table are two or three saucers, some with snufl* in them, one to receive snuffings of candles, and a large five-branch candelabra. Mike is laid out in his own clothes, pants and vest, but no coat. Clean, blue woollen stockings have been pulled on his feet ; and he is further made to look respectable by the addition of a clean white shirt, supplied by Mag O’Leary. A pair of rosary beads have been intertwined in his fingers. A large concourse will attend this wake, for a man from the County Cork is always sure to have a large wake and a large funeral. Pat O’Leary has commenced to shave Mike, while Barney Lynch, Billy the Kid, and Pat Mooney have gone to make arrangements for the noted time-honored Irish festival. One will attend LAMENTATIONS OF MAG O’LEARY. Ill to getting the whiskey ; this being no easy task, there being not much money in the crowd, so the work has been left to the Kid. Mooney will try and arrange with Glancy the undertaker to send some kind of a box, for, as Mag O’Leary said, ” It would be a mortal shame for to let the city bury him, such a good Catholic ; an’ perhaps the haythins would stick his poor ould bones in ground that never was consecrated, and was n’t howly.” Barney Lynch will notify a good many of Mike’s old friends, also his wife’s relations, who cut off all iniimacy with Mike after he came out of prison the first time. Barney also knows where to get enough pipes, tobacco, and matches to last the three nights of the wake. Thus to Mag O’Leary the expenses will be comparatively nothing, while she will got the credit among the neighbors for everything. Loud will be the praises of Mag O’Leary on all sides for her disinterested work of Christian charity. '' Oh, but she ’s the good woman to lay out that man clane an’ daysint, an’ go to ail the trouble an’ expense she has, an’ him not av her own flesh and blood at all, at all ! ” Mag has also had the kitchen scrubbed, and has placed a nice clean cloth on the table. She then tells her husband to fill two good-sized boxes with sand for the men who come in the evening that chew tobacco. 112 MIKE HALEY’s wake. All this has been done long before the neighbors have lieard of the sad alfair. The tenants in the flat above Mag O’Leary, an old woman and her son, have heard the noise, but make no remark about it, as such fights are of common occurrence. The first time they are notified of it is when Pat O’Leary goes up to borrow chairs and relates what took place during the night. During the morning the news of the murder and death of Mike Haley spread like wildfire, for he was well known in the neighl)orhood. Men^ women, and children flocked in to learn partic- ulars. "1 ’m sorry for yer trouble, Mrs. O’Leary, but how did it happen ? ” " Och, my ! who did this das- tardly act?” "Was he shot, or what ? ” "Did he put an end to his own life? ” " Oh, look at the cut in the side av his head ! Was he struck with a club, or what? ” "Did he die without the priest?” " Sure an’ Mike would n’t have touched the hair in a baby’s head : he was so good an’ mild,” cried half a dozen voices. "Jim Blevins, the murderin’ thief, is the man that done it ; an’ it ’s lucky for him I can’t lay my hands on him now, or they ’d be another wake an’ two funerals on the same day,” answered Pat O’Leary. " Oh the dirty ! — God forgive me this blissid an* LAMENTATIONS OF MAG O’LEARY. 113 howlj day ! — but it’s an’ awful deed,” said Mrs. Connors. " It’s plaj^ed out yer must be, Mag,” said Mrs. Murphy : ''up all night.” "Oh, don’t talk, woman, don’t! but it’s a sore time I ’m havin’. But, thanks be to God, he had the priest, even if it was poor Father Keenan I ” " Amen,” was Mrs. Murphy’s fervent response. "Ain’t it too bad that such a foine man ud be throwin’ himself away with the drink.” "An’ a better man niver stood in shoe leather,” chimed in Mrs. Connors : "he’d take the shoes av his own feet an’ give them away in charity.” All through the day crowds of people went to look at the murdered man and find out how he came to his death. During the afternoon the Kid returned, bringing with him a jug of whiskey in the bag mentioned before. He gave it to Pat O’Leary, who, know- ing he had no money, asked him where he got it. The Kid re[)lied by saying, "Take it, Paddy, and ask no questions now ; I ’ll tell yer some other time. One thing at any rate is certain, the boys who come to-night can’t say the same as they said of Nick Reilly’s wake, that ' it was the dryest wake they ever attended.’ Nick’s sister Katie, yer know, is tony. She works in Jordan, Marsh’s, an’ she said she ’d have no whiskey-drinkin’ or pipe- 114 MIKE HALEY’S wake. smokin’. The gang went to the wake just the same, though, on poor Nick’s account, for he was a good feller, Nick was ; but because there was none of the stuff or weed there, it was talked about afterwards.” Barney Lynch and Pat Mooney returned shortly after the Kid, Lynch bringing with him a good supply of pipes, tobacco, and matches. Whether he stole them, begged them, or had them given to him, no one could tell ; but one thing is certain, he never bought them. Mooney said that Glancy the undertaker had agreed to send down a cheap coffin, as he had buried Mike’s wife, and knew Mike well, too. The Kid said if it had been necessary to do it he could have ^collared’ a stiff-box (coffin). Barney Lynch had also notified a goodly num- ber at the West End and other parts of the city, and it was probable there would be a large number there in the evening. Mag’s husband and the trio, in anticipation of this, busied themselves by preparing for the recep- tion of such a number, many of whom would come, not knowing the deceased, but for a glass of "Mountain Dew.” One placed several plates on the table for snuff, tobacco, and matches, another washed a pitcher and several goblets, while a third cut the tobacco. Pat O’Keilly arranged boards LAMENTATIONS OF MAG o’lEARY. 115 upon chairSi making temporary benches, occupying every bit of available space, with the exception of a narrow passage-way leading from the outside door to the door of the room in which the corpse was laid out. ”0 Mike, Mike ! dear and darlin’, will yer spake to me ? O alanna / alanna / What ’ll we do at all, at all? O why did yer die, acuslila^ why did yer die ? Oh ! oh ! oh ! yer gone to yer darlin’ now, yer gone to yer darlin’ now. Oh ! oh ! the cruel blow that laid yer low, that laid yer low ! ” Mag O’Leary, at the head of the corpse, was cry- ing and keening as though her heart would break. The bedroom was filled with women, — neighbors, — who had come in to offer their sympathy, and all were affected to tears by Mrs. O’Leary’s an- guish ; and many joined with her in her lamenta- tions for the deceased. At last, Mrs. Muiphy, her own eyes streaming with tears, went up to Mag and begged of her, for God’s sake, to be calm, saying to her that she would make herself sick. This seemed only to make Mag worse, for she burst again into a fresh torrent of tears, and com- menced anew the lamentations. "Mike, will ever I see you, will ever I see you again? Ma bouchal! Will ever I see you again? Yer said yer’d die afore the sun ud rise, an’ so yer did, an’ so yer did. I know yer happy, yer good ould sowl, yer good ould sovvl.” 116 MIKE Haley’s wake. Mrs. Flannigan, a next-door neighbor, here en- tered, and after kneeling down and saying a silent prayer for the repose of the soul of the dead man, as every one else did who entered the room for the first time, went up to Mag and bade her to hold her peace. "Mag! Mag I Isay. Will yer stop? D’ yer want to be taken down on yer bed sick ? An’ yer up all night. Tut, tut. There now, dry yer tears, an’ sit down an’ rest yerself while I make yer a hot cup o’ tay.” Mag at length became more calm, and was finally induced to lay down and take a nap. Towards evening the house began to fill up rap- idly. Mag was in her accustomed place at the head of the corpse, decked out in a borrowed black - dress, and wore a crape collar, also borrowed for the occasion. She was patiently waiting for a suf- ficient number to be in the room before she com- menced keening again ; for Mag, while really feel- ing sorry at heart, wished to produce a good effect upon the minds of those present, particularly stran- gers. In the kitchen things ’were more animated. jNIen were sitting together in groups of two or three, smoking, and chatting on politics, religion, and labor. Some were telling stories, relating reminiscences of the old country, and every now LAMENTATIONS OF MAG O’LEARY. 117 and then a loud laugh would be heard from some corner. Pat O’Leaiy olBciated as master of cere- monies, assisted by the Kid. One carried around a pitcher full of whiskey, and the other the goblets. Woe betide him, though, who happened to have signed the pledge and refused to take a drink ; he was made the butt for jokes and hits from all parts of the room, and if weak-minded he was glad to escape by accepting a glass, even though thereby he broke his oath to God ; for he must he strong indeed who could resist Pat O’Leary’s ur- gent appeals. The toast almost invariably offered by those who drank was an invocation to the Al- mighty to grant rest to poor Mike Haley’s soul. The whiskey was also passed around among the women, many of whom drank it just as freely as the men, although they refused the first offer and had to be pressed and coaxed, while at the same time their hearts were aching for it. The Kid, with his smooth, oily tongue, was the best person fitted for this task ; and he performed it nobly. The whiskey was passed around several times durino^ the eveniiiij. About ten o’clock Mrs. Con- ners arrived from church, where she had been attending a meeting of the Sodality of the Blessed Virgin. " Ah,” said the Kid, " now ye ’ll catch it, here ’s 118 MIKE HALEY’S wake. the Sodality woman. Good evenin’, Mrs. Conners. Were yer at church ? ” "Yes, thanks be to God, an’ that ’s where yer ought to be yerself, yer young blackguard,” said Mrs. Conners, laughing, as the Kid handed her a glass of whiskey. " No, thank yer. Kid ; sure yer know I never touch a thing.” "Go along with yer. Do take, it’ll warrum yer. Take it from his hands.” All these invita- tions from one who had a " nip ” a short while before, and not being as religiously inclined as Mrs. Conners, in the way of church-going, still were just as good Catholics. They wanted to have her in the same box with themselves, and if they could only get her to take a nip, why they would then be able to gossip about it afterwards. Finally, after many appeals and a great deal of solicitation on the part of the Kid. the Sodality woman consented to take half of what was poured out, first offering a fervent prayer to the Throne of Grace for the repose of Mike’s soul. She then took out a pair of beads, and inviting all in the room to join her, commenced to say the rosary, and all answered the responses. The men in the kitchen, drunk and sober, hearing the prayers, also knelt down at a sign from Barney Lynch. LAMENTATIONS OF MAG O’lEAKT. 119 The prayer, over the talk, noise, and bustle, was resumed again. Many got pretty full before the morning arrived, and were snugly stowed away under the benches to sleep it off. It is strange how many men will forego the whole of a night’s sleep, and sometimes two and three nights, for the sake of a few glasses of whiskey. Taking away the whiskey from an Irish wake would be worse than playing "Hamlet” and leaving out the character who play< the title-role. Not one in ten would sit up all night for friendship and compassion for the bereaved ones if whiskey were omitted. This night was mild in comparison to the second and third, which were like bed am let loose. Fights were continually prevented by the inter- position of the police. It was difficult to keep order even in the midst of the lamentations. "O Mike ! Mike 1 dear and darlin’ ; will yer not spake to us ? Oh ! oh I why did yer die, why did yer die ?” Mag, as head mourner, leads off in the wailing, "Och, poor Mike, yer — yer gone this night !” Then comes the refrain, "Och, poor Mike (hie! hie I). Yes, gone (hie) this night.” " Oh I the blow that laid yer low 1 ” Then the refrain, from all who were sober enough, " Oh I the blow (hie! hie!) that laid yer low,” sound- ing like the chorus of a husking frolic on a negro plantation. Those huskings are sometimes inspired by liquor, but the camp-meetings are not. 120 MIKE Haley’s wake. The negroes at the South at religious revivals and camp -meetings often become excited. They sing and shout, and weep and howl, and dance and clap their hands ; they are transported into ecsta-^ies, sometimes with spasms, hysterics, and jerks, 3^'t there is no whiskey at the bottom of it; their religious convictions are sincere. The Shakers, also, will indulge in religious dances — mainly the ring dance — until they sweat, and puff, and the blood flies to the brain and they see visions of ecstatic delight. However, they are continent, temperate, and they are honest in their belief. The Salvation Army may become offensive in their faith and actions to the cold mountaineers of Switzerland, so as to call out English diplomacy for their protection, yet they are' pure and temper- ate in their lives. But here in cultured Boston, right under the shadow of five colleges, — one the oldest seat of learning in America, — here enlightened respecta- bility is invited to look on and permit this mixture of sentimentality and religious fervor with the lowest debauchery and immorality of thieves and robbers. Such is the Irish wake. We have received many things from Ireland,— Irish whiskey, Irish [)ota- toes, Irish linen, Irish Fenianism, — but nothing **at all, at all” compares with the Irish wake. CHAPTER XIII. MIRACLE WONDERS. CATHOLIC TEACHINGS IN PUBLIC INSTITUTIONS. SALVATION BY SCAPULARS, CHARMS, AND HOLY WATER. ADDRESS BEFORE THE LEGISLA- TIVE COMMITTEE. Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen of the Committee : There is a demand, both in the State House and at the City Hall, for exclusive Catholic teachings in our public institutions. Complaint, with bills and orders, is made that both the juvenile and adult criminals and paupers are compelled to at- tend public worship after hearing Cat'iolic mass. This is a grievous thing, perhaps ; but as they have forfeited their citizenship for tlm time being, become wards of the State, perhaps the tax-payers may have some voice in the matter. All admit that Catholics pay but a small percentage of the taxes, while they have nearly twenty millions of church property and other property in the St;ite untaxed. The State anJ city tax yearly on this would be nearly half a million, — half a million ! to be paid mostly by non-Catholics in rates on tax- able property. If the Church pays the smallest proportion of 122 MIRACLE WONDERS. taxes, does it not furnish the largest proportion of the criminals? Mr. Fraser, of Ward Six, who presented the order to the Common Council, ackuovvledires to a Traveller reporter that seventy out of ninety of the boys in one room at Deer Island — seven ninths — were Homan Catholics; and in rooms where there were from twenty-five to thirty boys, he thinks there were only four Protestants. Now here is a problem. If Catholic teachings have sent these boys to the bad, — three limes as many in the institutions as Protestants, and three times as many Protestants outside as there are Catholics, making a ratio of six to one criminals and paupers, according to the population, — ^.shall the State support and foster such teachings, and nothing but Catholic teachings, at the public expense ? Mr. Fraser says, ”It is somewhat humiliating for a Catholic to be obliged to go to a Protestant service, though the service he non-sectarian.” Do tell ! The public, the honest, straightfor- ward citizens, think that drinking, swearing, steal- ing, begging, lying, playing the pauper, spending half a lifetime in jail and prison are " somewhat humiliaiiwj to say the least ! But the Church, by pandering to culprits, seems to think otherwise, — especially Mr. Fraser, of ADDRESS BEFORE LEGISLATIVE COMMITTEE. 123 City Hull ; and Mr. Mellen, of AYorcester, who in- troduced into the Legishilure an ord^ r for Catholic protection from Protestant influence in public insti- tutions. I give a sample of Catholic teachings. I hold in my hands two books, one the llible ; it is stamped on the brow of the highest civilization in the world ; it has developed the progress of nil ruling nations; it has [)lanted school-, col- leges, philosophy, science, invention, statesman- ship, and the highest style of Christian manhood. This book is not allowed by the Church. The other book is a history of the Virgin’s mira- cles, entitled " The Glories of Mary.” It is canon- ical, authorized by the Church, approved by the jNIost Reverend Archbishop Hughes, of New York. I quote from page 61)9, example 37. A man was devoted to the Virgin : used to go barefooted to visit her every week His wife became very jeal- ous, and suspected him of going elsewhere. Once in particular she attacked him so violently that he took a rope and hung himself ; but, just as his soul was departing, when he could no more help himself, he invoked the help of Mary, and behold, a most beautiful lady appeared, who approached him, cut the rope, and saved his life. Now there ’s a big miracle for you ! And — and — there is a woman in the scrape! 124 MIRACLE WONDERS. Another, page 701, example 40: A wife went one (lay to visit achiircli of the Virgin without the knowledge of her husband. A storm prevented her return that night. She feared, h*st her hus- band should be angry. She prayed to Mary for help. Next morning when she returned she found her husband very gracious. She questioned him, found that the evening before the Adrgin had taken her form and attended to all the little affairs of the household like a servant, — washed the dishes, swept the floor, threw out the slops, I suppose. How very kind, for a woman of her age, — eighteen hundred years old ! The book don’t say whether or not she stopped all night! Another, on page 389 : How to make a bishop. There was a certain man named Udo, in Saxony, who, from his youth, had been so destitute of talent that he was the ridicule of all his school- fellows. Now, one day, being more than usually disheartened, he went to pray to the Virgin. She appeared to him and said, '"Udo, I will obtain for you talents and position for your devotion to me ; I promise that you shall one day be elected bishop.” It was done, and he became bishop, as the Virgin had promised. Now, that Virgin’s act beats the strong-minded women, the advocates of woman’s rights, who want to vote; perhaps to vote by post-office, according ADDRESS BEFORE LEGISLATIVE COMMITTEE. 125 to the Butler plan. They would not, however, select an idiot for bishop^ weak or not weak, though they did make fools of themselves at the State House hissing and sissing at respectable legislators who opposed them. They lost their case, alas ! by their unladylike conduct, receiving the smallest vote for years. Well, how about this idiotic bishop ? Accord- ing to the book, " Whilst he was in bed one night with a wicked companion, he heard the voice of Mary, saying, ' Udo ! Udo ! cease this sinful pas- time ; you have sinned enough.’ ” / Yes ; I should think he had. So the Virgin for- sook him, as all virgins would under similar cir- cumstances. But to call this crime a pastime ” was rather soft impeachment for the transgression of the Church’s high dignitary, — examplar and teacher, sworn by sacred vow and holy orders to perpetual celibacy. Yet that word pastime ” shows exactly the Church’s estimate of the great sin of priestly adultery then, now, and forever. What became of the bishop? Ah, me ! When forsaken of the Virgin’s protection, his enemies arose and seized him and cut off his head, — a terrible warning to bishops and priests nowadays, who indulge in similar unholy j)aslimes'^ I No. 56, page 709 : A priest had his tongue cut out by the wicked Albigensian heretics. On the 126 MIRACLE WONDERS. Feast of the Epiphany, while at mass in a church, before the altar of the Holy Virgin, he prayed her to restore the ton^^ue which he had lost through love of her, that he might sing her praises as he did before. Then, actually, by the authority of Caesar ius and the Vatican, the Holy Virgin did appear, tongue in hand, and with venerable fingers and reverent manipulations did place the tongue in his mouth and he did speak, and, raising his voice, he recited the '' Hail, Mary ” ! AVonderful ! Won- derful ! Mirahile dicta! The mark of the scar was always seen on his tongue. So much for Virgin miracles ! Now for other teachings. I hold in my hand a cord. It is the cord of St. Francis, full of knots and mighty in power. It is worn by pope and cardinals If you are buried with this cord around you, then you gain plenary indulgence and escape purgatory. Wonderful ! wonderful, again ! M^ho would not buy a cord for sixpence to escape purgatory ? Only sixpence for the tow string ! Silk you must not have; it must be tow or hemp, such as hangmen use around the neck of the sinner ! "But it will not save you unless blessed by the priest.” Yes ; I own up. This is the pivot that hinges eternal destinies, — a priest’s blessing ! No matter whether drunk or sober, saint or sin ADDRESS BEFORE LEGISLATIVE COMMITTEE. 127 ner, he has the keys of heaven, and can seal your fate. Ilow accommodating' the Almighty must be to put keys in the hands of a drunken priest ! These articles which I present to you have never been blessed by monk, priest, or pope ; therefore I commit no sacrilege in handling them with levity. If they were only consecrated ! or if I could steal, surreptitiously, a blessing upon them, heaven only knows the potency of their miraculous charms ! These are the scapulars. Scapular means ” shoul- der dress.” They consist of a string and [)ieces of clotli like a pincushion hung upon the neck. Xliey were formerly made from the old habits of monks ; but the}^ soon became so popular, by priestly ad- vertising, that there was not cloth enough to go round. So the Sisters went begging from shop to store for remnants, and have made a ofood thins: out of them’, — twenty-five cents apiece for that which costs nothing. The virtues of the scapulars are very extraordi- nary. The Virgin made this promise to all who wear it : " Whoever shall be so happy as to die wearing this garment shall not suffer in the eternal flames of hell. . . . And if there be any among the religious, or brethren of the Confraternity, who, having departed this life, shall be cast into purgatory, I, their glorious Mother, will descend on the Saturday after their death. I will deliver 128 MIRACLE WONDERS. those whom I shall find in purgatory and take them up to the holy mountain of eternal life.” They have also the power, it is said, of guard- ing against the onslaughts of the Devil and all temporal evils, even to saving a man from drown- ing or fallino^ off a sta^rin^ or ladder. Now, a Yankee would be likely to secure himself by nail- ing the scaffold and the ladder ; to save him from drowning, he would learn to swim ; to avoid the toils of the Devil, he would lead a temperate and moral life ; to escape the plagues of purgatory, he woi^d study anatomy, geology, geometry, trigo- nometry, and conic sectioi^. Study th.Q parabola, hyperbola, and ellipsis! Now if that won’t save from purgatory, what in conscience will save you? There are many scapulars ; I give only two. This scapular is named in honor of ” Oar Lady of Mount Garmel!^^ Innumerable are the indulgences and advantages claimed by the priests for this scapular. It is made of two pieces of woollen cloth, of a dark-brown or coffee color, attached to a double string, so that it may hang over on the shoulders, one piece on the breast, and the other on the back. On one side of the scapular are the initials I. H. S., meaning ^Mesus Tlominum Sal- valor, or, "Jesus, the Saviour of Men.” On the other piece I. M. I., signifying" Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!*^ ADDRESS BEFORE LEGISLATIVE COMMITTEE. 129 I quote from the ''Golden Book of the Confra- ternities” a few remarkable escapes from death and danger : At the siege of Montpelier a soldier was struck by a musket ball and did not sustain the slightest injury, the ball having been stopped by tlie sca[)ular he wore. A cornet of horse, at the siege of Tetin in 1636, was wounded by a can- non ball, which, passing through his left side, tore his heart to pieces. His scapular, which was driven into the heart by the shot, miraculously preserved his life for three or four hours, and enabled him to repent. In 1656, a conflagration in France was immediately arrested by a faithful man who threw his scapular into the flames. The other is the " Redemptorists' Scapulay'd^ It is of five colors, and resembles a needle-book. This brings you even more indulgences than the first. Some of the indulgences as quoted are : — I. Every Friday, an indulgence of seven years and seven quarantines for all wearers of this scap- ular who recite five times " Our Father,” " Hail Mary,” and "Glory be to the Father.” II. An indulgence of thi'ee years and three quarantines for such persons as shall meditate for half an hour on the Passion. III. An indulgence of two hundred days for all the faithful who kiss the scapular and recite a prayer. 9 130 MIRACLE WONDERS. But the greatest miraculous charm is this, the jSt. BenedieCs medal. The following are some of its virtues: 1. It drives from the human body every diabolical work, and where it is placed the infernal enemy cannot approach. 2. It is a pre- servative and antidote against every poison. 3. Against plague. 4. Against thunder. 5. in storms at sea. 6. It is a remedy for disease of the throat, fever, headache, spitting of blood, by applying it to the parts affected. 7. It is an armor against temptation, especially against holy purity. 8. It is a remedy against falling sickness (epilepsy). 9. It brings consolation and strength and relief in life and death to the afflicted, tempted, and the desponding. 10. It frees cattle from sick- ness. IIow it is to be used : "To be worn on the neck or person ; to be placed on the doors of rooms ; to be applied to the parts affected in case of sickness ; to be dipped in the drink of animals.” Marvellous ! marvellous ! Only get the medal kissed and blessed and sprinkled with holy water, then it becomes the great miraculous cure-all we read of in all world-wide quack advertisements. Why there ’s millions in it ! It beats Col. Sel- lers’ eye-water all hollow ! Place it on your cheek where there is a boil or a Main, and both Job’s tormentors and the Presidential aspirant will take to their heels I ADDRESS BEFORE LEGISLATIVE COMMITTEE. 131 It cures not only man, but animals. If your horse is sick, place this consecrated medal in the trough where he drinks, and he is healed at short notice. Well, if it can cure one horse, it can cure tift}s so bring on your fifty horses ! It is the cheapest horse doctor on this planet ! Only fifteen cents to cure the whole lot ! You can find it at the archbishop’s headquarters and at Noonan’s bookstore, with printed descriptions and direc- tions thrown in, — only fifteen cents, — cheap as dirt ! I give the advertisement for nothing, pro hono publico. Call for 8t. Benedict's medal, only fifteen cents. Such are Catholic teachings, intended for our public institutions. Shall a Massachusetts Legis- lature pass the order ? I wait and wonder if com- mon sense, common honesty, and common human- ity have fled the Commonwealth at the beck of a few hungry politicians. Next comes the " rosary." It consists of a string of sixty beads and a cross, — “ fifteen Our Fathers, fifty Hail Marys, fifteen Glorias.” It was intro- duced by St. Dominic about the beginning of the thirteenth century. " It was composed in heaven, dictated by the Holy Ghost, and delivered to the faithful by the Angel Gabriel.” Of course it is canonical. Marvellous are the miracles it has per- formed, even in sceptical America. They fill vol- 132 MIRACLE WONDERS. umes ; it is of universal use, — found everywhere among juveniles, paupers, and criminals; and the priest with the rosary sides for the criminal and against the State every time. Hence Catholic influence among law breakers. But the question is, — 1. Does it make good citizens, build up the State, and promote good morals? 2. Does not the vain repetition of prayers, like the Hail Mary for instance, over and over again, as in the rosary, where that prayer is repeated fifty times alone, and by some over one hundred and fifty times, tend to weaken the intellect? 3. Which leads to the best success in life, for boys, bead counting, or the multiplication-table? An honest trade, healthful occupation, toil that brings present reward, or trusting to priest and scapulars to get you out of prison? Does the State invest in purgatory, or citizenship? 4. Is it not immodest and demoralizing to re- peat, fifty times or more a day, "Blessed is the fruit of thy womb?” Kepeating fifty times a day makes it altogether too familiar ! Too free ! Too much like the oat-and-dog mode of life ! Sacred treasures are hid. 5. Do not questions like the following, taken from the Boston Catechism, lead to licentious- ness ? Questions : — ADDRESS BEFORE LEGISLATIVE COMMITTEE. 133 What is forbidden by the Sixth Commandment ? "Thou shalt not commit adultery.” What else ? "All kinds of sins of uncleanlinesa with another’s wife or husband.” What else ? "All other kinds of immodesties, by kisses, touches, looks, words, and actions.” What is the Ninth Commandment ? " Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife.” What is forbidden by this ? "All lustful thoughts and desires, and all wilful pleasures in the irregu- lar motions of concupiscence.” 6. Do not questions like the foregoing, asked of children less than fourteen in the school, and mul- tiplied a hundred-fold by the priest in the confes- sional, lead to lust and make the Church, what it always has been in every nation where it has com- plete control, the hotbed of licentiousness, enemy of legal divorce, yet the conniver of the most fla- ofrant concubinage that ever cursed the civilized world? 7. In short, does not the Church, through such teaching as this, — now knocking at the State House for aid, — already furnish three fourths of the harlots in the bagnios, dance halls, temporary homes, and asylums ? three fourths of the pugilists, shoulder-hitters, sporting men, blacklegs, drunk- ards, and dead beats in Boston? Ah ! gentlemen, if such are its undeniable fruits 134 MIRACLE WONDERS. now, while holding the balance of power in all the large cities, what will be its arrogance if you grant it State aid ? No ! no ! gentlemen, that cannot be, though there is a call for $15,000 for one institution alone. The Koman Catholic Church, as a political organization, has had its day. Native-born, intel- ligent, aspiring youths are forsaking its mummer- ies by the legion. Political preferment will soon be out of its hands and gone forever. Politicians will then see it, and no more bend the suppliant knee. Then the great mother Church, renovated and redeemed from her vices and intrigues, watched by a vigilant public eye, trustees appointed for all her treasures, lotter- ies and church gambling forbidden, drunkenness, both of priests and people, disallowed, ” Total absti- nence and prohibition ” her watchword, Reform ! Reform ! ” her battle-cry, — then, and then only, will she leap to the front and become champion, leader, and pioneer among the spiritual forces of this great American Republic ! God speed the day ! Amen, and Amen I CHAPTER XIV. SCAPULARS don’t SAVE. — MARY MULLIGAN’S CRIME. — PLOT OF SAM SKILLINS. FATHER KEENAN TO THE RESCUE. ''Opi save me ! save me, father ! I have sinned ! I have sinned terribly, awfully! Oh I oh I oh! may the Blessed Virgin help me!” said Mary Mulliiran, falling at the feet of Father Keenan at Mag O’Leary’s house. Mary Mulligan was the handsomest girl I ever sat eyes upon. I speak from personal acquaint- ance, for I married her at last to the villain who had ruined her ; after that I heard her pitiful story, her crimes and desertion, — heard it from her own trembling lips. Her parents were the strictest of Cfatholics, liv- ing on the Merrimac, owning a farm, furnishing truck and vegetables for a large city. They drove in every Sabbath to church, brought up Mary in the strictest manner under the crosses, scapulars, beads, charms, prayer-book, holy water, and oilers of indulgences for every extra devotion. But Mary was like the squab in the nest, fat and hearty so long as it remained ; but force it from 136 SCAPULAES don’t SAVE. its warm nest, with no wings developed for flying, it drops right straight to the ground, and the cat catches it at the tirbt pounce. So with these Catholic purists : at home, under the paternal roof, they are models of purity ; but let them out into the world to battle with tempta- tions, they speedily jump the track, and tumble like a locomotive down an embankment. They are not educated to practical life ; their devotions are often sentimental illusions, having no practical bearing or stable character whatever. Mary Mulligan is a sample, an actual case ex- actly in point. Leaving home to visit a married sister in Roxbury, she stopped at a restaurant on Eliot Street. Billy the Kid recognized her at once, for in his tramps he had scoured all the Irish villages on the Merrimac. He knew her, but did not make himself known. He knew there were several men in that saloon who would pay heavily for a fresh and handsome bird to their pigeonry. He winked to the bar-keeper, then to the men ; they winked back, and a plot was formed at once. ''An’ it’s a fine day. Miss,” said Pat Mooney. "Yes, sir” (tremblingly). "A very fine day.” Now the ice was broken. " This is Mr. Samuel Skillins, a broker, a gentleman of great wealth and cultur’,” said Pat. "Let me introduce him to MARY mulligan’s CRIME. 137 yer. Mr. Skillins, this is Miss — Miss — what may I call yer name, Miss?” ^'Mary Mulligan,” was the bashful reply. ” Oh yes I beg yer pardon I This is Miss Mul- ligan, Mr. Skillins,” bowing politely as best the thief could. And forthwith a large, full-breasted man, much older than herself, for she was a mere child, be- decked with heavy gold watch-chain and jewelry, dark sparkling eyes, black hair and whiskers, sat by her side, and courting commenced at once. "So you are going to Roxbury, then?” "Yes, sir” (abashed and trembling). "Mother said I must not stop in the city till I found my sister ; but the cars were so late, and I was so hungry, I came in here for refreshments, and must go right along, I must,” starting to go. "Don’t be in too great haste ; take a little sherry before you go. Do you live near the city, Miss Mulligan?” asked Samuel Skillins, as he pulled his chair over to the side of the table on which Mary had eaten her cheap lunch. " No, sir,” said Mary, rising to her feet. She had been so unaccustomed to the society of men that she felt a vague uncertain kind of fear that • something terrible was going to happen to her. " What ! and are you going out of town at this hour, and unprotected ? Do you not know the 138 SCAPULAKS don’t SAVE. dangers that beset a young girl’s path in a great city like this?” " I am going to my sister’s, who is married, and lives in lioxbury. A gentleman whom I asked before comino: in told me that it was not a great distance from here,” replied Mary, glancing ner- vously at the clock, on which the hands pointed to five o’clock, and past. "Well, it is only a matter of fiv^e or six miles,” said Skillins, indilferently, as he lit a fresh cigarette ; " and then it is a country-like place ; the houses are scattered apart, and you could not help losing your way. Why not stay in the city to-night? I can recommend you to a place Avhere you can get a nice room, and then you can go and look for your sister in the morning. But where did you say you came from?” he continued, cast- ing a side-glance at Mary, and drinking in with his ravishing eyes all the charms of this pink of 3"outh and beauty as she stood hesitating under the glare of the brilliant lights just ignited, and tr} ing hard to decide what she should do. "Here’s the sherry. Miss Mulligan; it will warm your heart for the journey, if you must go. How would you like to tend table here and earn a little something? The work is light, only an hour or two, three times a day. You have all the rest of the time to yourself. Wait until morning, you can then decide.” MARY mulligan’s CRIME. 139 " O, what would my mother think, if I did not see my sister to-night ? ” " Pshaw ! jmu might stay here for weeks, and your mother would be none the wiser,” — with a fresh [)idf. "An’ it’s Sam Skillins what is the old hawk that catches the young chickens,” said Pat Mooney, in whispers to his companions, as he saw the poor o^irl hesitatinor. "Another glass of sherry. Miss Mulligan,” said Skil ins, with a sly twinkle to his chums; "it will revive you for your journey.” " Xo ! No, sir ! 1 — I thank you,” complain- ing already of the fumes flying to her head. "Nonsense! Miss. It is not the wine that af- fects you, but you are tired, needing rest. I will show you a comfortable room, which }mucan lock, all to yourself, and will pay tor }^our lodging my- self, if you desire. Now, take my arm, please, and look at the room.” And Mary Mulligan, the beautiful, the happy, the innocent, after many protests, denials, and re- fusals, at last compromises with her conscience, and goes to witness the room. She goes as a fly to the web, a lamb to the slaughter. Something more than crosses, scapulars, and prayer-books will now be needed to repel her from the grasp of that fiend. 140 SCAPULARS don’t SAVE. I have this from her own lips : " When T went to the room, I found it handsomely furni-hed with carpels, tapestry, books, and paintings. Indeed, I said to myself, Mr. Skillins must be rich ; how kind he is to give me his room ! Then how noble to allow me the key, so that I shall be all alone ! ” Both parties to this transaction were perfectly satisfied. There was a key on the inside of Mary’s room, and she felt secure from all intruders, as she could lock the door, leaving the key in it, before retiring. To her this large, richly furnished room seemed as the compartment of a palace. She turned on the gas, and gazed in wonder and astonishment upon the costly adornments. Sam Skillins, also, was happy. He had a secret bolt on the outside of the door, which he quietly fastened. The game was now secure in his hands. Never was unwary bird more easily caged. He is free to do as he pleases, — to sport with his dog, take to his horse, or go to his favorite haunt, the ffamblino: den. Bright and early did Mary Mulligan rise next morning to meet Mr. Skillins at the door. Her life she thought was to be one continual round of pleasures. After waiting on table an hour or two, she was to ride out with Mr. Skillins, smile upon the by-standers show her pretty face to the crowd. MARY mulligan’s CRIME. 141 go to the theatre, opera, dance-hall, and mix in the gayest society. Besides, Mr. Skillins had promised to marry her. What fortunes awaited her? She forgot her pra}^ers, thought not of home, father, mother^ and already despised her poor relations. "Good morning, Miss Mulligan,” said Mr. Skil- lins, as the door opened, and he printed a warm kiss upon her cheek. " Hope you rested well after your fatigue ; you will relish a good break- fast.” "Yes, sir; thank you,” was the modest reply. Mary got through with her duties the first day pretty well for a new hand, and was ready to go riding with Mr. Skillins in the evening. He drove to Hyde Park, and at Brookline ordered a private lunch and wine for two in the hotel. She repelled all undue familiarity on his part, and neither could the many promises he held out of marriage and wealth avail to make her give con- sent. Then in sheer desperation Samuel Skil- lins determined to have her submit to his wishes. He knew a friend of his who would consent to im- personate a justice of the peace, and go through in form a mock marriage. Marriage being over, festivities commenced. Skillins, proud of her beauty, presented his charming Aspasia to the admiration of the public 142 SCAPULARS don’t SAVE. praze on all festive occasions. She, completely giddy, dazed, and delighted with flattering atten- tions, seemed to walk a queen. But the honeymoon was of short duration. Novelties, nonsense, and nuptial felicities gave way to stern realities. Less than six weeks proved him a villain, and her a coquette. JNlary’s palatial home was soon to be no longer hers. Sam Skillins, grown tired of his new-made love, picks a quarrel as an excuse to get rid of her. The bride of a month finds that "not all is gold that glitters.” " Who was that you bowed to in the saloon to- day, Mary?” said Mr. Skillins to his adopted wife, one night in their room, after she had re- turned home from work. " Why, Sammy, dear, that is one of the regular boarders. I got acquainted with him the second day after I went there.” " But you know I don’t allow any gentleman to pay you attentions,” replied Mr. Skillins, in a stern tone of voice. Mary, seeing his rising anger, pouted, while the tears stood in her eyes. " Well, I hope you don’t intend to make a slave of me altogether,” biting her lips as she unfastens her cloak. " A slave of you !” cried Mr. Skillins, jumping up from the sofa, and glaring at her as a tiger MARY mulligan’s CRIME. 143 does on its prey before the fktal spring, — ''a slave of you ! Have n’t 1 given you everything you wished for? Haven’t I showered u[)on you every comfort and enjoyment wealth could purchase? Have n’t I shown you every attention, and intro- duced you to high society? Yet this is your grat- itude ! You repay all by flirting with this young snob ! ” Samuel Skillins had at last exhibited himself in his true colors. He threw off the mask, threw ofi* the sheep’s clothing, and showed the wolf. As for Mary, she was simply astounded. When she tried to make answer her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. Could this be the kind, the amiable, the fatherly Mr. Skillins, who had con- ducted her to this room a few weeks ago ? Could this be the man who had sworn to love, cherish, and protect her? But she would not weep, she would not yield to her feelings or show that he laid frightened her. So mustering all her courage she retorted, "But if you were so very kind and attentive you wmuld not let me work as hard as I have done, and you so rich.” If Sam Skillins w^as angry before, he was ten times more so now. It always takes the last straw to l)reak the camel’s back. He did not like this display of spirit and pluck on the part of his pseudo wife. 144 SCAPULAES don’t SAVE. "What of it? Wasn’t it better for you to be at work than sitting idle in these rooms with noth- ing to do?” And he stamped upon the floor in his rage. " I will not have this flirting ; I will not allow it. I suppose, too, you have had secret meetings with this chajperon. He probably visits the restaurant often during the day ; and a mar- ried woman must needs entertain this libertine with charming conversation. Oh, yes, you ’re a pretty woman, a faithful wife ! ” Then, with all the hatred and jealousy of his passionate nature aroused to its highest pitch, he pointed towards the door and ordered her to " Gro ! ” saying, " I want no more of you ! ” "But where will I go?” asked Mary, as she tremblingly cowers before him. "To the street, where I found you !” he thun- dered, wild with rage. " What ! Do you call your wife a common street- walker ? ” "Wife! wife!” he said, scornfully, "you’re not my wife ! ” "Were we not lawfully married?” she asks, aghast. "No,” he hissed, with all the venom of his bad heart. "I was never legally married to you. The ceremony Avas a mock marriage. Frank Melville is no justice of the peace, and you are free 1 ” MAKY mulligan’s CRIME. 145 A sickening pain enters Mary’s heart, as she groans and shudders : "Ah ! yes ; free, but ruined. Free in the sight of man, but guilty before God and the an«:els.” Then she bethought herself of her wedding ring, and, looking up at him, she pointed to it, and said, with a flush of exultation, "But I have proof that we were married ! ” Samuel Skillins, raising himself to his full height, scowled, and said, "That will avail you little in our courts. Where is your certificate?” "Alas! I do not know, I’m at your mercy ! ” cringing like a whipped child. "Yes, you are! And that mercy is, that you leave this house immediately. Begone ! ” stamp- ing his foot. The villain stands before her unmoved. He is inflexible and as hard as steel. He is used to such scenes as this. And with wealth and power on his side he knows no fear. He has broken other hearts, and now grown tired of Mary Mulligan the beautiful country girl, he is determined that she shall l)e a burden no longer. "And must I go?” completely broken down and throwins: herself on her knees before him. " Oh, no, you cannot mean it, Sam ; you are angry now ! Oh, forgive me,' forgive me for God’s sake, * Oh ! oh ! oh ! ” wringing her hands and tearing her 146 SCAPULARS don’t SAVE. hair in utter cl is pair. " Oh ! oh ! has it come to this? Then give me my things, will you, if I must go ? ” " No ! No ! Not a rag, except such as you wore on your back when you came here,” pointing to the door. With temples throbbing and sick at heart, she takes off the beautiful clothes and puts on her own plain ones. Well, madam, are you going?” " Yes,” answers Mary, with her hand on the door-knob. Suddenly she turns around and says, her voice quivering with emotion, "Samuel Skil- lins, you have wronged me, and now turn me into the street. You are not dead yet, and I am not. Remember there is a just God above who will wreak vengeance on you for all that you have done to me.” Sam with an oath makes towards her and pushes her from the door. And Mary Mulligan found herself suddenly thrust into the streets this cold and stormy night, peimyless, a stranger in a strange city, guilty, condemned, betrayed, ashamed to see sister or mother, and wishing to die. She wandered out of Eliot Street to Washins^ton Street, wrino^ins: her hands and crying, yet striving to conceal her tears and sighs ; then to Dover Street, then to South MARY mulligan’s CRIME. 147 Boston, then hack to Harrison Avenue, where her heart could no longer restrain itself, and she sighed and oried aloud. Many a man that met her that dark and misty night of melting snow would gladly have shel- tered her, but only perhaps to have plunged her soul into deeper degradation. Fortunately she met on Harrison Avenue a shop girl from the countiy, name Jane Meeker. Jane was a Presbyterian, a girl of stern integ- rity and piety. Her prayers were short, but she had great faith in God, and in his word of i)romise. She read that word daily. She was rooted jind grounded in its teachings. When she met Mary Mulligan, weeping in the streets of a great and wicked city, her tears mingling with the falling mists, and her cries rending the heavens, she pitied her, but asked not her creed, as she was a child of our common suffering humanity. "Daughter of sorrow ! child of misfortune ! what is your distress?” said Jane Meeker in tender tones, as she pressed the brow of the weeping stranger. Oh what a thrill of feeling stirred the soul of that betrayed child of hope at the voice of a single stranger friend ! " I am lost ! lost ! dear stranger ! I am ruined for life. I have been cruelly deceived, betrayed. 148 SCAPULARS don’t SAVE. Oh ! T am lost ! lost ! No home, no friend, no hope of heaven ! ” And her cries and agonies began to draw the crowd around her, as Jane Meeker rescued her, and led her to her own pri- vate room. Jane Meeker had just returned from prayer meeting. "1 was a stranger and ye took me in,” had been the theme of the evening. This poor unfortunate girl was that stranger sent of heaven ! A beautiful pearl washed ashore from the turbu- lent ^ea of temptation I Never had Jane belter opportunity for a Christ- like deed. Mary, wet with snow and slush, was completely exhausted, and wild with delirium. Tossing and turning upon the couch and wringing her hands she cried, ” Oh my God ! my God ! I am lost ! I am lost ! Oh, what will my poor mother and my dear sister say? Oh how angry my father will be ! He will disown me ! Oh ! he will disown me !” AYith her hands upon her head, her hair dishevelled, her eyes red from weeping, she looked the very picture of despair. Jane l)athed her forehead, speaking words of sympathy and condolence. ” Oh, my dear friend ! don’t take on so, your sorrows pain me. I will be a friend to you. God will be a friend to you ! He will forgive you; and the angels are your MARY mulligan’s CRIME. 149 friends,” and lovingly she kissed her tear-stained cheek. Mary, after recovering a little — ”Oh dear stranger, how can 1 ever repay you for all your kindness ? ” "Oh, don’t mention it! Oh, do try and be calm yourself. Try and forget your terrible mis- fortunes I ” So saying she made for her a plate of toast and a cup of tea, and after committing her to God in earnest prayer, shares with her a warm and comfortahle bed. Jane Meeker’s character rested upon three things — the Bible, common-sense, and moral rectitude. She was a graduate from our common schools, — a girl of sterling worth. One of a large class of pure and noble working-girls that do honor to a great city. Mary Mulligan was just the opposite, — ignorant, vain, and visionary. She was the fruit of Catholic teachings in the much-mooted parish schools. These girls are no myths of the novel- ist’s fancy, but actual living beings. Next morning Jane advised her to tend the tables in the restaurant as if nothing had happened. She did so for several days, lodging with Jane. One morning she feigned sickness, and did not rise when Jane went to work. Jane suspected some- thing wrong, and returned at noon. She found that her silk dress and rings, and jewels to the 150 SCAPULARS don’t SAVE. amount of $45, were stolen. She at onee informed the police. Now, Mary did not intend to steal them, but, giddy and foolish, she thought to borrow them for a day and catch at the saloon with gaudy trinkets anothiT lover, then return them before Jane arrived home in the evening. Poor, vain, silly girl I We leave her where this chapter commenced, confessing at the feet of Father Keenan in Mag O’Leary’s house. "Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.” CHAPTER XV. MARY MULLIGAN ARRESTED. — LARCENY OF SILK DRESS AND JEWELRY. "Good morning, Mr. Flannigan. How do I look today?” asked Mary Mulligan, addressing the proprietor of the restaurant where she worked, as she sauntered down near the counter, wearing the silk dress and jewelry taken from the room of Jane Meeker. " Why, Maiy, you look charming and bewitching enough to be a bride,” said the proprietor, laugh- ing. " Ha ! ha ! ” said Billy the Kid. She comes out like a butterfly in June.” " Yes, be jabers ! Indeed she can dress fine. She earns her money aisy,” responded Pat Mooney, showing his two arms, one with a cross tattooed upon it, and the other a handsome woman. But she ’s not half as handsome as that woman was when I knew her in my younger days.” "lYell, Pat, have yer had a 'boose’ yet this morning?” the Kid asks of Mooney. "No, Kid,” says Mooney, "an’ it’s dry I am after the night.” 152 MAKY MULLIGAN ARRESTED. " Hush ! ” the Kid says, drawing Mooney into a corner, and taking a stolen gold ring from his pocket. " I ’ll ' shout ’ for the crowd, and give him this in payment.” So the Kid goes over to the bar, and after ar- ranging with the bar-tender, he calls up all hands in the house. "Well, boys, what are you going to have?” Some call for beer, others for gin, and some for whiskey. Various toasts are offered. " Here ’s to yer health.” " Good luck to yer an’ all yer friends.” "May yer get a good wife, Billy ; a good one, a rich one, and a fat one ; an’ if she has no silk dress or jewelry to be married in, I ’ll steal her some.” Mary, hearing the words " silk dress,” " jewelry,” and " steal,” changes color ; a guilty conscience accuses her. She becomes very fidgety, and im- agines all in the place are casting side-glances at her. With a burning blush upon her cheek, she goes into the kitchen, and, putting on her things, she goes out the back way quietly and unobserved, and does not look behind her until she gets into Tremont Street, when she pauses for breath, and looking down Eliot Street and seeing a policeman standing in front of her employer’s, she hurries rapidly down Tremont Street towards the North End. Little does she know that one of the smart- LARCENY OF SILK DRESS AND JEWELRY. 153 est detectiv^es in Boston — a regular sleuthhound — is now almost walking side by side with her. lie wa- in the saloon, saw her leave, and is now upon her track. He thinks she is making for one of the northern depots, as Jane Meeker has told him a lit- tle of her history. He keeps close behind until they arrive in Ilaymarket Square. Here Mary stops and looks around. Feeling suspicious that some one has followed her, she starts into Cross Street, and up the rickety steps into Mag O’Leary’s lodging- house. 'While going up the stairs she also saw a policeman coming down the street. This added to her fright, as she flew to the room of Father Keenan. " O Father ! Father ! ” falling breathless upon the floor. ” O Father, I have sinned, I have sinned griev- ously,” Mary ^Mulligan continued crying, as she crouched at the feet of the silenced priest, her face upon her hands, and the tears streaming from her eyes. Understanding human nature pretty well, for, as a priest. Father Keenan had been brought in contact with all kinds of sufferings, he waited patiently until the storm of sorrow and anguish had spent itself before he ventured to speak. " 'What is it that troubles you, my dear child ?” he asked, after the sorrowing girl had become more calm ; and as he spoke he stroked back the long 154 MARY MULLIGAN ARRESTED. golden tresses from her brow, and his tone of voice was gentle ; for, with all his faults. Father Keenan had a tender heart, and when serving on the mission was always spoken of as being kind, patient, and loving in the confessional. " O Father, why did 1 leave n)y good home, and come to this sinful, wicked city? Oh, if I had only minded mother I would n’t be here to-day ! Oh ! oh ! my heart is breaking I ” And Mary burst again into tears. "My dear child,” said the priest, "how long have you been in Boston, and what has happened to you ? ” "O Father, I am ruined for life ! I am lost, I am lost ! ” Mary answered. "Try and calm yourself, my child. Do you want to confess ? ” "Yes, yes. Father, hear my confession, for I have been so sinful that should I die to-night I would be damned for all eternity.” Father Keenan took from his inner coat-pocket the blessed purple stole, now soiled so much. The sight of it, now that he was sober, brought back memories of better days, — brought back the recol- lection of that day when he came, ordained to the priesthood, from the grand seminary, and cele- brated with a beating heart his first mass. Oh, what a change since that happy day I And all LAKCENY OF SILK DKESS AND JEWELRY. 155 because he had looked upon the wine when it was red.” Kissing the little white cross on the stole, he placed it around his neck, and, turning to his fair penitent, he raised his hand and blessed her in Latin. Then he said, ” Mary, God forgive me, but I know not whether I do wrong or not in hearing your confession. You, poor child, will not go to a regular priest, and, perhaps if this opportunity is let slip by, you will never seek confession again, and an immortal soul will be lost to God : no, I will not refuse.” ” O Father, you have just as much power as any of them ! My mother always taught me, and in school I was also told, a priest once a priest forever, — a priest in heaven or a priest in hell. ” Mary then blessed herself, and said the usual act of contrition. The priest noticed that she had neither her rosary beads or prayer-book with her. After she had finished her devotions, the priest said, ” Mary, you did not use your beads or prayer- book : I suppose you left them where you were stopping.” The girl blushed, and answered timidly, '^No, Father.” "What! You don’t mean to say you came away from home without them ? ” 156 MART MULLIGAN ARRESTED. "No, Father, I had them with me when I came to Boston.” "But where are they, my dear child? You know you should always keep them with you, be- cause if Protestants get hold of them they are apt to commit a sacrilege, and then the sin of that would be on your soul.” " O Father, forgive me ! ” cried the poor heart- broken creature ; "but I know I cannot tell a lie in confession. I threw them away.” The priest stood aghast. "Threw them away, — the holy emblems of your faith ! And they blessed too. Ah, no wonder misfortune came upon you, my child I God has visited you with affliction as a punishment for your profanation of these holy things. Oh, how much penance you will have to do for this ! It will take indulgence after indulgence to blot out the sin. Your .scapulars, though, you always wear, and say the prayers pre scribed.” "No, Father,” answered Mary, trembling all over like an aspen leaf. " I threw them away with the rest. O God, forgive me, for all I have done ! ” And she averted her head that the priest, silenced and all as he was, might not see how shamed and crestfallen she looked. " O child of sin and sorrow ! I know not whether 1 am defying heaven or not by hearing LARCENY OF SILK DRESS AND JEWELRY. 157 your confession. You know, yourself, as well as I do, that it is only the bishop who can absolve a sin- ner in such cases as this. God, give me light and strength and grace,” continued the priest, holding up his small brass crucifix and kissing it, ” to do what is right and just. O God, I would rather die than otfeud thee : let me know what is best for all ! ” lie then asked Mary what she had done since her last confession. ]\Iary proceeded to enumerate how she had broken the difi'erent commandments, until she came to the seventh (Catholic version), "Thou shalt not steal.” Here she hesitated, and the priest seeing her anguish, said, "Tell me all, daughter, tell me all : you know what a crime you commit by concealing a single sin in confes- sion ; and the Chui’ch teaches us that they who are guilty of this great crime will, if they do not repent, go straight to hell.” "O Father,” said iVIary, falling upon the floor, on her face and hands, " this is killing me. Oh ! oh!” The priest thought she had fallen in a swoon, and was going to call assistance, when she raised herself upon her knees again. " Father, I have sinned against God and Heaven by breaking the Seventh Commandment. Oh, can 158 MAKY MULLIGAN ARRESTED. I tell it? Oh, must I tell it? This dress upon my back ! These jewels on my hands 1 They are coming, — the police ! The police ! ” In came two policemen and seized her while upon her knees. "Oh, kind sirs, don’t take me, don’t take me! I did n’t mean to steal them. On my honor, before God, 1 did n’t. I only intended to borrow them.” As the policemen drew near to arrest her, she clung to the priest’s knees, and cried out, "Oh, spare me I For God’s sake, spare me I ” Turning to Father Keenan, "O Father, save me I Save me 1” The cries of Mary Mulligan on her knees before the officers of the law were heartrending. "Come, come,” said the detective, showing his badge : " we cannot stay here all day.” " Oh, my God I Oh, hear me, kind sirs 1 Oh, you, sir,” turning towards the big, burly policeman, " you have daughters of your own : you can sym- pathize with me, you can pity me. Oh, kind sir, intercede for me that I may not go to prison ! My mother, oh, my mother! This will break* her heart ! ” The policemen approached and caught her by the arras. She struggled and shrieked and screamed. "Oh, do not touch me! Do not lay hands on me ! Take me to Jane Meeker’s ! Then I will explain all ! Oh, my foolish pride I Oh, LAKCENY OF SILK DKESS AND JEWELRY. 159 what induced me to put on those things ? May God forgive you your sins, Sam Skillins ! See what you have brought me to !” At the mention of Skillins’s name the detective started, and said, mentally, ” What, can this be another victim of that noted villain?” The policemen had to drag her to the stairs, and her pleadings were most pitiful to hear. ” Oh, do not take me to the cold, cold prison ! I never was in prison ! Oh, believe me, kind sirs, I never stole anything in my life I O Father Keenan, will you not save me ? Will you not save me? You have the power. You have the power. Exercise it, then, O holy Father, in my behalf. Command these men to desist, and they will have to go.” When on the head of the stairs, Mary tore her- self from the grasp of the officers, and throwing herself on her knees, poured out a mournful prayer of supplication to the Virgin. "O good and holy mother, Mary, deliver me. O 'refuge of sinners,’ come to my aid. O my mother in heaven, I have always been faithful to you. I have worn your scapulars. I have said the prayers regularly. You will not see me taken. No I no !” And Mary Mulligan, full of the faith inspired by her early teachings, longed to have the scapulars she threw away, that she might hold them before her as a shield and bid defiance to the law or any- thing else to touch her. 160 MARY MULLIGAN ARRESTED. But neither the power of the priest nor faith in the scapulars could avail her, and Mary was taken to the station-house close by. When on the street, she ceased her cries, fearing to attract atten- tion to herself, but once inside the door of the lock-up she commenced anew : — " Oh, I cannot go in there ! I never stole them ! I never stole them 1 My poor, poor mother I Would that I had never left your side ! ” "Ciiptain,” said the detective to an elderly and, as Mary thought, kindly looking gentleman, "she refuses to tell where she came from, so that I will have to see this Meeker girl and find out where her home is and telegraph to her parents.” " O Captain, do not let him go ! ” said Mary, as she knelt before the officer and caught his hand, upon which she printed many kisses, — " do not let him go. Is it not enough to break my heart with- out breaking my mother’s also ? I am as innocent of the crime of stealing as the babe unborn. But I have been unfortunate. My future life and hopes have been almost blasted forever. But, good, kind sir, if you will let me go I will return home ; I will never come to this city again ; and, O mother, will I not do everything for you, and never disobey you or cause you to get in anymore trouble ? O mother ! mother, dear ! never did I know the value of a mother’s love till now.” LARCENY OF SILK DRESS AND JEWELRY. 161 The captain then made a record of her name, age, crime, and other minor details, but gained his knowledge from the detective, as he could get nothing from the girl but sighs and sobs. A station officer was ordered to place her in as clean and decent a cell as the place afforded. All this was in consideration of her beautiful face, — for even a policeman knows a good thing when he sees it, — and the captain was not insensible to the fact that the fair one before him was possessed of extraordinary beauty for one of lowly birth. Mary, seeing that the captain had cast a pitying glance upon her, thought that, by pleading with him, he might possibly release her, or at least in- tercede for her, so that she might regain her free- dom. Now, much as some people may doubt it, police- men have hearts as well as any one else, but they become hardened by too close contact with sin, misery, crime, and degradation. Mary knelt as before, watching with the most intense anxiety for some sign of compassion, some movement in the features of those before her, — men who see so much of the dark side of life, — to show that her pleadings, almost as if for her life, had not been in vain. Captain, you, I am sure, will pity my dis- tress and misfortune I I see a look of compassion 11 162 MARY 3IULLIGAN ARRESTED. in your eyes for my sufferings.” Here the captain turned away to conceal his emotion. "You have children of your own, and you look as if you had a tender heart. You have a daughter, perhaps, about my age. Your heart, and that of her mother, are set upon that girl. What would you say, — how would her mother feel, — if she was to be cast into a cold, damp cell, to languish for a whole night ? ” The station officer and another policeman then took the sorrowing girl, while still on her knees, and dragged her step by step to the cell. The captain, with her pleadings still ringing in his ears, went into another room that he might not witness the struggle. He would have gladly released her then and there had he dared to, but he knew full well that the law must take its course. In his own heart he believed her innocent of the crime she was charged with, and said so afterwards. " Oh God ! Oh God ! Are you going to put me in that dungeon? ” cried poor Mary. "Hear me. I will do anything you say if you do not cast me in there. Beat, if you will. Nay, rather kill me than have this disgrace come upon me and my name. O men, you have wives, you have daugh- ters, and yet you hearken not to a poor, friendless girl alone in a strange city ! ” And her shrieks and moans rent the air. LARCENY OF SILK DRESS AND JEWELRY. 163 They forced her gently into the cell, and, after shutting the heavy grating door, turned the bolts and locks. iMary, turning round and looking out between the bars, said, " I cannot live and suffer like this. My blood be upon you 1 ” and fell in a swoon upon the little narrow couch that was to be her bed that niMit. O d'he detective then informed the captain of what had transpired, and he ordered a watch to be set, as he feared by the poor unfortunate girl’s declara- tion that she meditated suicide. That night a telegram was sent to Lawrence, and from thence to James Mulligan’s house. Boston, . Your daughter Mary is in the Tombs for larceny. Trial to-morrow morning at nine o’clock. Come. CHAPTER XVI. EFFECT OF THE TELEGRAM. A MOTHER’S GRIEF AND father’s anger. — NIGHT OF SAD LAMENTATIONS. This startling intelligence fell like a thunder- bolt on the Mulliwn household. O Their petted, idolized child a thief! Their bright-eyed, beautiful Mary arrested and dis- graced ! Oh I it could not be I James Mulligan, though American born, was of Irish descent. He was a sincere Catholic, and Mary had been brought up under the strictest tenets of tlmt faith. The family had been pros- perous, and held their heads above their neighbors. But this cruel blow crushed their pride and humbled them to the dust. " Oh, my poor, poor, sinful child I ” cried Mrs. Mulligan, wringing her hands frantically. " Oh, there must be some mistake ; it cannot, cannot be our Mary I We have brought her up to be honest and virtuous : she could not steal or do wrong I Speak to me, James — husband I Comfort me, for heaven’s sake I Tell me that you do not believe it ’s our little Mary I Oh, I should die if our daughter has fallen so low ! ” A mother’s grief and father’s anger. 165 And in her agony of doubt and dread the pool- mother clasped her hands, and fell on her knees before her husband. James Mulligan had sat motionless, with the telegram crushed and crumpled in his hand. No word had he uttered since reading those fatal lines. He had fondly loved this youngest daughter ; her beauty had been his pride and boast ; her dis- grace shocked and grieved him to the core. But being a stern and unrelenting man, he felt he could never forgive her, never see her again. She was no longer a daughter of his, and he cast her out forever from his heart. His wife’s lam- entations had no effect upon him in his present mood. "O James, my husband, why don’t you speak to me?” she continued to plead, seeking in vain to move him. " Has your heart turned to stone ? Why don’t you deny this horrid tale ? Tell me you do not believe it can be our darling Mary ! ” " Ay, but I do believe it ’s her ! ” he exclaimed at last, springing from his chair and striding up and down the room in f?rcat agitation. "No! no! Jamie, for the love of the Holy Virgin, do not say that ! ” cried the distracted mother, catching him by the arm. He flung her off savagely, tuining upon her with lowering brow and clinched fists, while she shrank 166 EFFECT OF THE TELEGRAM. back, fearing that grief had driven him crazy, and that he was about to strike her. " 1 tell you, woman,” he said, harshly, ''that it’s all your fault if the girl has gone wrong. You have petted and pampered her, and sent her to boarding-school and dancing school, while the rest of the children have had to dig an i delve. You’ve turned her silly head with your high-toned notions, made her vain, and fond of finery and frip- pery, and now you see the result ! ” ”0 James Mulligan, can this be you? It’s out of your senses you are, sure ! IIow can you talk like this of poor Mary, she who was your pet? lias your heart turned to gall? Have you no love left for our poor child because she has yielde.l to some terrible temptation? Perhaps she has lost the money we gave her. Perhaps, — O my God ! — perhaps our lamb has fallen into the power of some villain, and has been led into crime to save herself from starvation or worse ! ” This terrible susfijestion seemed to have some effect on the man, for he trembled violently and ofave her a startled look. But he mastered the emotion and again looked stern and unforgiving, as he said, — ” That is no excuse. Mary should have written and explained why she failed to go to her sister Kate’s. She is a deceiver and an ingrate. God A mother’s grief and father’s anger. 167 knows how I have loved her, — loved her as the ap[)leof my eye. But I never indulged her in her idle hincies. That was your work, woman, and bitterly you will rue it, now when it’s too late.” ” Oh, you cruel, heartless father ! How can you talk so, and your daughter in prison ! Oh, then I will fly to her, — would fly this very night, if there were any way to get to Boston ! Mary may have sinned, but she is still our child.” " Go, if you choose, wife,” said James Mulli- gan, ” but do not bring Mary back to my house ; she shall never darken my doors as long as she lives : she has deceived us, pretending all these weeks to be at her sister Kate’s iiiBoxbury. No ! no ! She has made her bed and now she may lie in it. I cast her off forever ! ” " O James, you cannot mean it ! Take back those harsh words ! ” cried Mrs. Mulligan ; but he shook his head resolutely. ''Then may God forgive you, James Mulligan 1 I, at least, will not desert our child. I will seek her, even in prison, and comfort and forgive her, if 3^ou will not. Oh, how can I wait till morn- ing? Oh, how can I leave little Jamie, sick unto death as he is? But God points the way. Jamie is at home and in good hands, but my darling Mary is among strangers, and in a prison cell, for- saken by all,” 168 EFFECT OF THE TELEGRAM. Throughout that drcaiy night the poor woman did not once close her eyes. She could only moan and cry over the name of her daughter. "O Mary, Mary! My poor little lamb. God help you, my darling, alone in jail I O Holy Virgin, mother of God, friend and comforter of the afflicted, give peace to my child’s sinful soul ! Oh, would that the morning would come I Oh, how can I wait? IIow stay away so long from my daughter’s side? " Come, come, children, kneel down here with me, and we will say the rosary to her who was nev( r known to forsake any one who implored her help in time of trouble. " Ah, James, will you not come and join us, too, in our [U’ayer of supplication to the Mother of Sor- rows? MTio knows but perhaps God has sent us this affliction as a chastisement for our sins?” At this appeal the husband was touched, and relented. He cried out, "O Annie, forgive me for being angry ; but to think that this is Mary’s gratitude after all we have done ! ” And that little fomily, all so happy before this sorrow, knelt and prayed to the Virgin to protect their child. Mrs. Mulligan recited the prayers, and the responses were answered, by the others. Outside this little cottage all nature seemed in sympathy with their agony. The moon and stars A mother’s grief and father’s anger. 169 looked kindly down in compassion, and the winds moaned dismally, and the river, flowing silently on, seemed to murmur a fervent Amen to the pleadings of that grief-stricken assemblage. Every whistle of the night freight trains sounded as a call to that distracted mother to hasten to the prison cell of her darling child. The cries and groans of the little sick one in the crib sent a dag- ger through her heart. She asked herself, " O God, have I raised a child for such ignominy as this?” and, bending down, she kissed the child, and tried to soothe and comfort it with tender caresses, as only a heart-stricken mother can do. With tears and vain sorrowings the night slowly wore away to that broken-hearted mother. Now at the bedside of her sick boy, ministering to his wants and comforting him; anon, casting herself upon her knees before a crucifix or a picture of the Virgin, and praying for her absent daughter, the inmate of a felon’s cell. Oh, the agony of that night ! May that poor mother never know another such a night as this I CHAPTER XVII. HARY’s fearful night in the tombs. ARRAIGNED IN COURT. GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? For the first time in her life, Mary Mulligan found herself an inmate of the Tombs, whither ehe liad been transferred in the prison van from the police station. Alone, shut out from all inter- course with her kind, no wonder her soul sickened Avith horror. A tenderly nutured girl, not yet out of her teens, the oigect of deep parental solicitude, — petted, humored, spoiled, indeed, — beautiful and accomplished enough to adorn a high station in society, and yet she had come to this, — a prison cell and a felon’s fate ! Regret, remorse, repentance, — all were working in her soul. She Avas aAvak- ening noAV to a realizing sense of her follj^ deceit, and ingratitude, — ingratitude toAvard her parents and to her benefactor, Jane Meeker. ” Oh, why did I ever leave my dear home ! ” she moaned, pacing the narrow cell, Avhile tears of bitter anguish suffused her face. " Why did I for- sake the teachings of my dear mother ? O mother ! mother ! what will you say when they tell you of ARRAIGNED IN COURT. 171 my dishonor and disgrace? Oh, oh, I cannot bear the thought ! I shall go mad ! ” And fora moment the poor misguided girl gave way to a violent outburst of hysterical grief. The place rang with her cries and shrieks, which at last died away in low, [)itiful sobbings, as she contin- ued, — " xVnd my dear father, who loves me so fondly, what, oh what will he say? How his proud heart will be rung by m}^ conduct ! He will never, newer forgive me. 1 shall never see his loving smile again. He will never fondle and caress his little Miiiy, as he used to call me ; never take me in his arms and call me his pet and darling. Oh, what have I not lost by my sin and folly! Would to heaven I could die right here I Oh, if I could only kill myself, and never look a human being in the face again. O God, pity and forgive me ! Oh, do not let me live to see another day I ” And in her despair she flung herself upon the cold stones of the floor, and grovelled there like a demented creature, careless of the cold and damp, and tearing savagely at her long, beautiful hair in the fearful paroxysm of her distress. How many such cruel scenes of misery and suf- fering have those senseless stones witnessed I If the walls of the Tombs could speak, what fearful agonies might they reveal, what tales of sin and 172 Mary’s fearful night in the tombs. slmiiie, of hoart-rc'iiding woes and grief! What awful crimes, what direful tragedies, and what wofnl social mysteries that never hnd their way into the court records nor are blazoned forthan the police reports of the newspaners 1 As night drew on, the horrors of Mary Mulli- gan’s situation increased tenfold. The daylight bustle ceased. The rattle of carts and teams and the murmur of human voices, which penetrated even to that dtirk and dismal place, gradually died away. The only sounds to be heard were the slow footsteps of an officer in the corridors without, ringing with startling distinctness on the pave- ments amid the deep silence, varied now and then l)y oaths and yells and savage howls proceeding from some drunken or maddened wretch in the adjoining cells. Poor girl I Hard is the heart that cannot sym- pathize with your distress ; callous the soul that can contemplate your terrible situation without pity and compassion I You have sinned, have fallen from woman’s high estate, have bartered woman’s most priceless jewel, sacrificed home, friends, parents, reputation, to indulge a capricious vanity and love of admiration, but bitter and terrible is the atonement before you I And now superstition assumed it’s sway over the girl’s soul. She shivered with fear and dread as AKRAIGNED IN COURT. 173 the stillness became more profound, and the mid- night hour came and passed. Oh, for one hour’s sleep ! Oh, for the power to shut out the horrid visions that beset her imagination ! But con- science was too terribly alive to permit of slum- ber. "Oh, if I could only die!” she moaned, pas- sionately beating her brow. " How can I survive this awful night? Oh, if I could only live the past five weeks of my life over again 1 Oh, why did I not go to my sister's house at once, as mother bade me, and not stop a moment in Boston ? What a silly, wicked girl I was to listen to that artful Sam Skillins. I ought to have known that he was a base deceiver, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, seek- ing only my ruin. Oh, oh, oh 1 what will become of me? I am lost, lost, forever lost I ” Another paroxysm succeeded as she shrieked the last words aloud in her agony of soul ; and flying to the barred door of the cell, she beat upon it until her delicate hands were bruised and bleed- ing, as she piteously begged for some one to release her from confinement. But all in vain. Her cries were unheeded, and at last she crawled to her mattress and fell upon it, exhausted wellnigh unto death. Slowly, slowly the hours passed, mid sighs, and groans, and tears. Suddenly, the light of 174 mart’s fearful night in the tombs. dawn streamed into the cell, and aroused her scattered senses to the thought of what she must soon undergo, — a public trial. "Oh!” she cried, springing wildly to her feet, "how can I face all those people in court; how meet the stern eye of the judge, or the gaze of the curious and unpitying crowd? O Holy Virgin, help me I” — flinging herself on her knees and crossing herself, — "pity and forgive me. Forgive me for forgetting my mother’s precepts, and disi arding my rosary and scapular I Oh, be merciful to me, Holy Mother of God; be merciful and help me I ” Pallid and haggard from Avant of sleep, faint and weak from lack of food (for the poor girl could not eat a morsel of breakfast when it was brought to her), Mary Mulligan at length was led to the dock and heard her case called by the clerk of the court. "Mary Mulligan, you are charged Avith the larceny of clothing and jeAvelry, valued in all at forty-flve dollars. Are you guilty or not guilty ?” Mary, standing in the dock, Avas the cynosure of every eye. Her beauty rendered more inter- esting by the pallor of her features, and the look of pain and fright upon them, struck every be- holder. The spectators, the officers of the court, the judge himself, even the hardened occupants of ARRAIGNED IN COURT. 175 the clock awaiting their turn for trial, all felt that she was no ordinary criminal, and kindly looks were bent upon her, and even words of encourage- ment whispered into her ear. "You must plead to this charge, my child,” said the judge, gently, as Mary hesitated and almost burst into tears. But a sudden courage came to her aid — the courage of desperation — and clasping her hands vehemently together, she cried : — " Oh, sir, I am guilty ! A guilty, wicked, and very wretched girl ! Yes, I took the clothes and jewelry, but as Heaven hears me, sir, I meant to return them at night. I only intended to wear them for a day, and then restore them to their owner. Oh, sir, where is my accuser? Where is Jane Meeker? Do with me as you will, but let me first ask pardon of my benefactor, she who took me in on that night of storm ; who gave me food, warmth, and shelter, and saved me from despair and death when I had not a friend in the world. Let me first obtain Jane Meeker’s for- giveness for my ingratitude and my crime.” As she paused, with her hands stretched out appealingly, and the tears now streaming down her youthful countenance, many of those present were visibly moved. The judge, accustomed though he was to such scenes, felt his heart thrill 176 Mary’s fearful night in the tombs. with pity, and beckoned to the clerk, with whom he held a moment’s consultation, ''Jane Meeker ! ” cried the clerk, as he stepped back to his place. "Is Jane Meeker in court?” he added to the officer who had arrested Mary. "I notified her to appear,” said the policeman. "Ah, here she is ! ” Jane came forward and addressed the judge in a low tone, telling hira^that if it could be avoided she had no desire to have the prisoner prosecuted, and indeed had not authorized her arrest. "I pity the poor girl, your Honor,” she contin- ued ; " pity her too much to wish her any harm. I am now convinced, too, that she did not intend to steal my property, but took it merely in a freak of vanity. She has suffered very much already, sir, and Heaven forbid that I should add to her cup of misery, which is already full to overflow- ing.” Surprised and interested at these words on the part of the principal witness for the prosecution, the magistrate questioned Jane further as to her knowledge of Mar^^’s antecedents, and drew from her the story how Mary had come to Boston to visit her sister, of the trap that had been laid for her in the Eliot Street restaurant, of the mock marriage, and Sam Skillins’s final desertion of his victim. ARRAIGNED IN COURT. 177 "This matter shall be looked into,” said the judge, deeply afTected at the tale ; and, calling a detective, who was in court, he gave him some instructions, saying, in conclusion, — "You will endeavor to bring this man Skillins into court within an hour if possible.” The detective bowed and withdrew. As he passed through the room he cast a significant glance at Mary, who, at the mention of " 8killins,” trembled and almost fell to the floor while holdinof on to the bar. The name of Skillins conjured up a world of horrors to her soul, — her first nimit in Boston, — her first false step, — her gilded prison room, — the wine, — the agony of her first offence, — the mock marriage, — her desertion, — her de- spair and longings for death, — that terrible night of suffering and torture in the snowy street, — all these and more yet, now must she meet this fiend and monster face to face in open court ? CHAPTER XVIII. MOTHER TO THE RESCUE. BRIDE OF AN HOUR. PRISON OR ALTAR, WHICH? At this moment a shriek was heard outside the court-room door. A woman’s voice, in piercing accents, cried to the officer on guard, — "Oh ! tell me, sir; where is my child? Is this the court ? Is my daughter here ? ” The officer looked, and saw a plainly dressed country woman, haggard, pale, with hair dishev- elled, her features convulsed and agitated, standing before him. " Oh, sir ! ” she continued, frantically, "my Mary was the best of girls. She never stole anything in her life. It can’t be her. Yet the telegram said she had been arrested for stealing, and the trial was set for nine o’clock to-day. Oh, I want to see my daughter, sir ! Tell me if she is here. Oh, my Mary can’t be guilty ! No, no, I will not believe it till I hear it from her own lips ! ” " But what is your daughter’s naaae ? ” asked the officer, moved by the woman’s distress. "Mary Mulligan; and a good, honest girl she is, sir; true to her faith, true to her God I Oh, PRISON OR ALTAR, WHICH ? 179 she would never steal ! Tell me, tell me that I am not too late ! Oh, do not tell me that my dear child has been found guilty and already sentenced to jail ! Oh, let me see her ! I must see my child ! ” As that startling cry rang through the court- room, it electrified every heart, and every eye was turned toward the vestibule. The door opened. Another shriek, as the eyes of mother and daughter met in lightning flash across that wide court-room. " Oh, my daughter ! have I found you ? ” ”Oh, my mother! There she is at the door! Oh, let me speak to her I Mother I mother ! ” throwing up her arms from the dock, leaning over the prisoner’s stand. A silence like the hush of death fell on that court-room. As by a spell of enchantment, all were struck speechless, motionless. Not an officer interposed as that aged mother struggled through the agitated throng, and tot- tered, weak and almost fainting, up the long aisle toward the dock. "My child! oh, my dearest Mary!” she cried, the tears flowing over her wrinkled face. " Mother ; dear, dear mother, have you come ; have you come to save me ? ” And Mary, leaning over the railing, wound her 180 MOTHER TO THE RESCUE. fair arms around her mother’s neck until her golden locks swept the gray head of her parent, and their tears flowed and mingled to< 2 :ether. ”Oh, my darling! Oh, my blessed daughter! I feared I should not find you. They told me you had been arrested and would be sent to jail. Oh, I cannot part with you, darling; I cannot let you go to jail! Mary ! Mary, my pet, tell them you are innocent ; tell them you are not a thief ! ” " Oh, mother, forgive me ; I did not mean to steal those things,” pointing to Jane Meeker’s dress and jewelry lying on the clerk’s table ; ” I only meant to wear them once, then put them back again. I would not steal for the world 1 Oh ! oh! do not cry so, mother dear,” as Mrs. Mulli- gan’s tears broke out afresh, and heart-rending sobs agitated her frame. " Oh, say you forgive me, mother! Tell me that you do not believe your Mary is a thief ! ” " No, no ; I know you are not guilty ! ” cried the aged woman, pressing her daughter’s cheek against her withered face, and smoothing her silken tresses, while torrents of tears streamed from her eyes. "I forgive you, my darling! May God have mercy and save you from all harm ! ” It was a rare spectacle. Many afiecting and soul-harrowing scenes has that court-house witnessed. Hearts have been PKISON OR ALTAR, WHICH ? 181 wrung, and souls plunged in misery and despair at the iron mandates of the law ; wives have been sundered from husbands, never to meet on this side of eternity ; mothers have been torn from their ofispring ; sons taken their last farewell be- fore going to meet their doom ; men with hands crimsoned with the blood of their fellow-men have felt the meshes of the law draw about them, and broken down with cries and awful lamentations, as they heard their fate pronounced. These stones have echoed to heartbreaking sobs, wails, and cries ; cheeks have paled, and hearts throbbed with grief and anguish unutterable, time without number, within those granite walls ; but never, perhaps, have they listened to more piteous ex- pressions of human sorrow and misery ; never witnessed such a pathetic scene as this, — a mother and daughter tightly locked in each other’s arms ! Niobe weeping over her dearest and best beloved, in dread that she may be torn from her desolate heart. Who could behold that affecting scene and not feel thrilled to the very depths of his soul ? Forgotten was the grave decorum and chilling etiquette which surround a court of justice, as all gazed with a rapt and absorbed attention upon that mother and daughter. Tears streamed from eyes that had not wept since childhood. Hearts were 182 MOTHER TO THE RESCUE. stirred which had grown hard and callous from long contact with vice and crime. Oh, the power of a mother’s love! Oh, the magic of that "touch of nature which makes the whole world akin ” I But the spell was suddenly broken as the door opened and in walked the detective with Sam Skillins in custody. They approached the judge, and held a brief colloquy with him. "Now, Mr. Skillins,” said the judge in con- clusion, "will you marry this girl whom you have so shamefully deceived and deserted ? ” Sam Skillins found himself in a corner. He saw he must make a virtue of necessity, and yield, and accordingly signified his willingness to comply. But he did so with a mental reservation ; he would get even with the girl who had driven him to this. "I know a clergyman that will marry them, and who will be found at home,” said the detective ; "and if your Honor desires, this matter can be settled within an hour.” And it was so settled. The case was laid over for an hour, and within that hour Sam Skillins and ]\Iaiy Mulligan, accompanied by the detective, came to my house, and I, Henry Morgan, duly married them. Poor Mary, however, was but the bride of an PRISON OR ALTAR, milCH ? 183 hour. No sooner had the wedding party left my house than Sam Skillins departed for parts un- known. It was afterwards ascertained that he had another wife living, and Mary Mulligan found herself doubly betrayed, — she was neither maid, wife, nor widow.' Alas ! that I should have to record it. The unfortunate girl fell beneath the blow, yielded to despair, and soon gravitated to that social level from which few of her sex ever rise. A word concerning marriage. Few Protestant ministers have married as many Catholics as I have done. The question is, were these marriages legal? The above marriage of course was not. The man had committed^bigamy, yet I knew not his character until months afterwards, when 1 learned it from Mary’s own lips. But, on the other hand, suppose both parties were eligible, both were Catholics ; then, according to the teaching of the Church, if married by a Protestant minister, the man and wife are living in adultery and their issue are called bastards. Persons so married are denied the sacraments, and, unless remarried by a priest, are refused the last rites of the Church when dying, and after death are deprived of Christian burial in conse- crated ground. Not only this, but while living they are ostra- 184 MOTHER TO THE RESCUE. cized from friends and relatives, and themselves and their children are subjected, ofttimes, to the most terril)le persecutions, and in some cases family ties are severed. Oh, how much of a great city’s misery and crime lie at the door of the Church ! The Church stands as a Colossus before the hymeneal altar and declares, ''iVb divorce for any cause! No mar- riage except by the priest!^' Yet ifbpens the flood gates of sexual promiscuity as no other Christian sect does, except the Mormons. As multitudes of old were allowed to pass beneath and between the feet of the Colossus of Rhodes, so this colossus bugbear, the Church, looks down upon the teem- ing multitudes passing in and out of broken mar- ital bonds with the indiffeVence of a heathen God. Presume not too much, O Holy Mother Church, too often called "Mother of Harlots,” on the tolerance of a free and intelligent people ! Hark ! Already is heard the first thunder-clap of a religious revolution I CHAPTER XIX. ON THE ROAD TO RUIN. FATHER LEONARD’S DISCOVERY. GOING TO THE DANCE. It was early evening, a dark December evening. Two young girls, whose dress and persons were concealed under water-proof cloaks, the hoods of which were also drawn close over their heads and faces, were hurrying across West Boston Bridge. " We shall be late in spite of everything, Kate,” said one to the other. "I know it. Oh, dear! If it had n’t been for that stupid Sodality meeting to-night, we should have had plenty of time.” ” And if it was n’t for that same meeting I, for one, couldn’t have come at all,” said Nellie Mur- ray ; for you know father and mother won’t let me out of an evening since that ride I took with Frank Barry.” " When you didn’t get home till near midnight? I don’t blame them. You ’d ought to have played your points better, — got back early, — and then they’d never known anything about it, and you could have gone again and again and nobody been any the wiser.” 186 ON THE ROAD TO RUIN. "I shall know better next time, at any rate,” said the young girl, with a short laugh. ” Yes, I think you are learning fast enough,” said Kate. " How skilfully you played it to-night, for instance, just as soon as the exercises com- menced ! What a sudden sickness that was which took hold of you ! How the good Sister ' tumbled ’ to it. And when you told her that you could n’t get home alone, and asked if I, Kate Kansom, might not go with you, as we lived near each other, how accommodatino: the old thino: was to consent ! Oh, dear, how you did 'take her in’ ! ” And the two girls laughed merrily at the success of their strategem. " What would she say if she knew the truth ? ” exclaimed Nell, as they walked on. " Oh, would n’t I catch it, though ? I declare, I believe father would shut me up in a convent, as he ’s threatened to do time and again. Ugh ! I guess if he did, though, I ’d make the Sisters wish I was in Jericho before I ’d been there a month, and be glad to get rid of me at any cost.” And the speaker shook her head defiantly, while Kate laughed immoderately, knowing full well what an adept in mischief her lively friend was, and what unlimited resources she had for making people un- comfortable when she had an object to attain. I promised Father Leonard that I would surely GOING TO THE DANCE. 187 be at the Sodality to-night,” said Kate, after a moment. "He seemed very urgent to have me. I do hope he won’t take it into his head to go there.” "That would be awkward enough, certainly; but you could explain it all right, of course.” "Yes, if he didn’t go to my house and inquire about my illness. That would be letting the cat out of the bag with a vengeance, and no mistake.” "From all 1 hear and observe, it seems to me that Father Leonard feels a great deal of solicitude about you, Katie,” said Nell, roguishly, and giving her friend a playful nudge. "Oh, that’s all right,” retorted Kate, affecting an indifferent tone. "It’s only fatherh/ inter- est he feels, you know. He is my confessor, and father and mother think there ’s nobody like him. Don’t you think he ’s good looking, Nell? ” "Oh, so-so,” answered Nell. "I’ve seen hand- somer men than Father Leonard, though.” "Oh, of course ! There ’s Frank Barry, for ex- ample, who is to take us to the dance to-night, and whom Fr. Leonard considers one of the most pious and promising 3mung men in his famous school, said Kate,” with a significance which made Nell blush underneath the hood of her water- proof. But the subject of good-looking priests and 188 ON THE ROAD TO RUIN. handsome beaux generally — absorbing topics with young girls, as we all know — was not further pur- sued just then, for Nell suddenly exclaimed, — ” Oh, dear ! if it is n’t right down too bad 1 The draw is up, and now we shall never get there in time ! ” Sure enough, as they approached the draw of the brido^e was seen to be moviii 2 :, and a strini? of vehicles and pedestrians were soon huddled to- gether awaiting the slow movements of a heavy- laden schooner, which was passing through. "And we promised to be so punctual,” said Kate Kansom, petulantly. "They Avon’t wait for us, and we shall have our walk for nothing ! ” Nell Murray was about to make some response, when her companion uttered a terrified expression, and caimht her arm, at the same time dras^^ing her closer against the railing of the bridge, and behind a group of belated laborers who were re- turning from Avork. "Why, ’ hat’s the matter, Kate?” demanded Nell, look ag Avonderingly at her friend. " Husk . matter enough. Did n’t you see him ? ” " Hiiii ! ” repeated Nell, looking round and scanning the faces of the people clustered near by. " 1 have n’t seen anybody 1 know. AYhom do you mean ? ” " Sh ! Father Leonard ! There he is, crossing GOING TO THE DANCE. 189 the bridge, just in front of that team. Mercy on us ! He is coming directly toward us ! ” A man of middle age, tall, stately, and whose shaven face, garb, and general appearance indi- cated his clerical calling, was in fact approaching the spot where the two girls, now thoroughly frightened at the danger of their escapade being discovered, stood shrinking and trembling. Their evident trepidation and efforts to escape recognition attracted the priest’s attention. He stopped abruptly, regarding them keenly and sus- piciously for a moment. But it was impossible, in the semi-obscurity, to penetrate the disguise of the water-proofs, and the priest turned slowly away, determined, however, to keep the two females in sight, for their sus- picious conduct had aroused his curiosity. He felt certain that they were afraid to be seen by him for some cause. \Yhat if they should [)rove to be members of his flock? It was clearly his duty to ascertain if such were the fact. As the draw at last slid into place, Father Leonard passed on with the delayed crowd, but cast quick glances right and left, until he once more dis- covered the }mung women. Kate and Xell were unaware, however, that the keen eye of the priest was upon them. They had lost sight of him in the crowd, and their momen- 190 ox THE ROAD TO RUIN. tary apprehensions vanished and were forgotten as they arrived at Bowdoin Square, where they found Frank Barry awaiting them at a place agreed upon. "I was afraid you couldn’t manage it, girls,” said he, as taking an arm of each, he escorted them across the square. You must thank Xell for carrying out the scheme, Frank,” said Kate, laughingly. *'If she can’t manage to pull the wool over people’s eyes, nobody can.” And thereupon she proceeded to relate how her friend had feigned a sudden attack of sickness, as an excuse for leaving the Sodality meeting, where their unsuspecting parents imagined they were at this moment, imbibing wholesome moral and religious instruction. Frank Barry had excited Nellie ^Murray’s im- airination bv describingr a dance which he had attended at a celebrated "free-and-easy” West End dance hall, which was run by a prominent Catholic. He had painted the place and the attractions of the dance in such glowing colors that the young girl was eager to have him take her and her "chum,” Kate Ransom, some night to participate in the festivity. The two girls were unmistakably a little wild and wayward, but as yet they were pure and GOING TO THE DANCE. 191 innocent. Little did they know that this night of harmless frolic, as they considered it, would mark a turning-point in their lives ! A turning-point, not for good, but for evil. The downward path lay before them, in all its alluring attractiveness. Oh, that some friendly hand would interpose to save them ! Oh, that thoughts of parents, home, relatives, friends, would bid them pause and re- flect ere they crossed the threshold of that dance house, or embarked in that Avhich Avas to prove to them a fatal dance of death ! But it was not to be! Arriving at their destination. Concert Hall, so called, they found a large crowd entering ; and amid much pushing and struggling Frank and his pretty companions at length reached the hall Avhere dancing had already commenced. Little did they think, hoAvever, that their esca- pade had been l)etrayed. Father Leonard had not for a moment lost slight of the two girls. He had followed them to the very entrance of the dance hall. But not till they Avere passing up the stairs could he obtain a glimpse of the features of the two girls, Avho, feeling secure that they Avere no longer in danger of being recognized, threAv back the hoods Avhich concealed their faces. The priest recognized them Avhile standing on the sidewalk. His first impulse was to rush through the crowd 192 ON THE ROAD TO RUIN. and forcibly compel the girls to return to their homes ; but oiher thoughts deterred him from doing this. He disliked to be seen in such a place, and, moreover, feared his motives might be misconstrued and his profession and church be scandalized. No ; he would wait until the morrow and pri- vately admonish the wayward girls, or perhaps reveal their conduct to their parents. Which course to pursue he could not decide that night. Shocked and disturbed, the priest therefore turned away, and thoughtfully pursued his homeward way. The result of his reflections and what happened at the dance that night will be told in the next chapter. CHAPTER XX. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE DANCE. “GENTLEMAN MIKE.” MARY MULLIGAN AGAIN APPEARS All unconscious that they had been watched and followed by the strict and severe Father Leon- ard, Kate Ransom and Nell Murray soon found themselves in the midst of the gay and festive throng of dancers. Unaccustomed to such a scene, widely different effects were produced upon the mind of each of the young girls. To Nell, who was thoughtless and fond of ex- citing amusements by nature, the clash of the orchestra, the whirling figures of men and women, the rush and stir as fifty couples circled around the hall, keeping time to the rapid measure, and enjoy- ment seemed pictured on ev^ery countenance, set her own blood dancing wildly through her veins. Kate Ransom, however, was more sedate and reflective than her friend. She possessed an intu- itive delicacy and native modesty, which, now that she perceived the true character of the place and the free manners of its patrons, made her un- easy and anxious to depart at once. 194 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE DANCE. " Oh, I am so sorry we came, Xell ! ” she whis- pered. " I wish we were safe at home. Even the Bodality would be better than this.” Nell turned upon her in surprise and indigna- tion. " Why 3mu silly goose ! ” she exclaimed impa- tiently. What in the world has come over you all of a sudden? You were wild to come when I first proposed the subject.” " But I had no idea that the hall was such a place as this, Nell, or that we should meet such people. Some of these women are positively dis- gusting, and the 'way the men act with them is perfectly scandalous.” " What a little Puritan she is, is n’t she, Frank?” said Nell, with a derisive laugh, to her companion. *' Who would have thouorht of such a criticism O from you, Kate Ransom? Dear me! Anyone can see it ’s a case of sudden conversion. I was not so far out of the way after all when I hinted at Father Leonard’s solicitude about you, Kate. The good priest must have been laboring quite earnestly with you of late. I suppose the next thing we hear, you will be a candidate for holy orders.” Nell’s raillery produced its intended effect : Kate bridled at the imputation. She a candidate for holy orders, forsooth I No, indeed I The ** GENTLEMAN MIKE” AND MARY MULLIGAN. 195 world and its pleasures were too alluring as yet for her to embrace the sacred calling. 'I he time might come when she would be only too happy to seek the [)eace and retirement of the cloister ; to shut out eveiy vestige of the exterior world, — its vapid joys, its deceptive hopes, its miseries, its sorrows, and vain heartburnings for the uninter- rupted calm and sweet holy beatitude — as it had been pictured to her in the eloquent language of Father Leonard — of a conventual life. Yes, in the dim future the time when she would lono: for O this might come, but it surely had not yet arrived. Somehow a quick reaction from her previous feelins:'? set in ; her first reluctance to rem;iin vanished ; her pulses began to beat to the swift inufic ; her heart throbbed. Like Xell, she com- menced to feel the inspiriting influence of the scene before her, and, from lono^insr to mingle in it, was soon induced to accept a partner whom Frank Barry introduced to her as a friend of his, and in another moment had entirely forgotten her mis- ffivinofs in the intoxicatins: delisrht of the dance. Kate was a superb waltzer. Her figure was graceful and lithe as a sylph’s. Every sway and turn revealed an exquisite taste and a refined ele- gance. Her face, youthful and charming at all times, was now rendered positively lovely by the rich flush mantling her fair cheek and the flashing 196 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE DANCE. nidiance which excitement lent to her usually soft and gentle eye. Kate’s partner was a reckless, dashing spendthrift, the only son of a wealthy liquor dealer and leading Catholic politician. The father’s name generally heads the list of every veil-advertised charity, fair, and money-raising scheme devised for the glory and good of his church, of which he is a princi})al pillar. The son's ambitions lie in another direction, however. Wherever a boat-race, horse-trot, cocking- main, or prizc-Hght is in progress, Mike Lawler is sure to be found in its midst, spending and gambling his money away like a ])rince of the royal blood, but always maintaining such a quiet and undemonstra- tive bt'arinsr that he has come to l>e known about town by the mahriqiiet of "Gentleman Mike.’’ Despite this lamb-like designation, however, Michael Lawler possessed attributes that should propt*rly place him on the black-list of society, among the human wolves and tigers who seek their prey by stealth and cunning, and gorge and fatten on the tenderlings of the flock. Beneath his gentlemanly and handsome exterior lurk raging passions thajt have defiled many a home altar, led many a ewe lamb astray, and plunged hai)py households in a grief and despair darker and deadlier than was ever cast by the shadow of a new-made grave. "gentleman mKE” AND MAKY MULLIGAN. 197 Utterly ignorant of the character of her part- ner, Kate Ransom yielded herself entirely to the voluptuous enchantment of the dance. She forgot where she was, — forgot time and circumstance. She seemed to be flying on angel wings, wander- ing in heavenly space, like one of Milton’s seraphs, to the accompaniment of divine harmony. The man beside her took on the form of some radiant being, — an archangel he apj)eared to her un- chained imagination. Never had she felt the sway and fascination of the waltz like this ; never had she danced with one who seemed so perfect a master of the art ; but never, though she knew it not, was her soul’s salvation in such deadly peril as now. The spring had been set, the snare laid, and already the fowler was preparing to seize upon his prey. Meanwhile the two had become the cynosure of all eyes. Such a handsome pair, such perfect dancing, had never been S(>en in that hall before. "Gentleman Mike” was known to most of the habitues of the place ; but inquiry was rife regard- ing his lovely companion, and comments passed from lip to lip that would have brought the blush of shame and indignation to Kate's pure cheek, if she could have heard them. "Who the deuce is she?” queried a rakish-look- ing young fellow, who was standing apart among 198 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE DANCE. the spectators, addressing his remark to the mas- ter of ceremonies, who chanced to be at his elbow. "Give it up,” said that worthy, shrugging his shoulders. " Never saw her here before. A mighty fine-looking girl ; and my eyes I Can’t she waltz though?” "It would be a bonanza in your pocket, Dan, to get her to dance here regularly,” returned the other. "Better try it on, old man! Wouldn’t the boys turn out en masse, though, just to see her, lettinsf alone the chance of 'havino: a flino: ’ with such a partner? There ’s millions in it I ” "I’ll have a talk with Gentleman Mike about it, you bet ! ” said Dan. " You could afford to stand a pretty solid figure on it, too,” observed the first speaker. " I sup- pose she ’s some new conquest of Lawler’s. She looks like an innocent, don’t you think? By the way, where’s the Mulligan to-night? She does n’t seem to have put in an appearance as yet.” "No. ' OfiT her base ’ again, that ’s all,” was the sententious answer. "Drunk, eh?” " Worse than that. She’s got one of her pious fits on again. Came to me to-day and said she ’d been to confession, consequently had sworn off dancing, drinking, and everything else, and was "gentleman mike” and MARY MULLIGAN. 199 going to reform this time for good. It ’s only the third time within a month she ’s played us the same trick.” " Why don’t you give her the sack, and done with it, then?” " Oh, you know how it is yourself, Charley,” said the master of ceremonies, signalling to the leader of the orchestra to stop the music on ol:>- serving that Kate and her partner had ceased dancing at last, and were retiring from the floor. "You see Moll is still a mighty handsome woman, and she ’s the best dancer, barring this young un, we ever had here. There ’s no danofer of her cut- ting us altogether, for we pay her good wages for * leading otf,’ — better than she can get at any other dance-house in town, at any rate. We find it pays to wink at her flighty turns, for she ’s always sure to come round all right after she ’s been to the priest, got absolution, and feels free, I s’pose, to go at it again with a clear conscience, so to speak.” " Well, it would n't be a healthy thing for Mike Lawler if Moll should take a notion to pop in to- night and see him ' spooning ’ with this new flame, eh, Dan? ” remarked the other, with a wink. " I ’m afeard there would be some hair-pulling, for Moll is badly Dnashed’ on Gentleman Mike for a fact, and it makes her downright mad if he 200 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE DANCE. SO much as looks at another woman. But, Lord be good to us ! ” the man broke off excitedly, as a sudden eommotion arose in a distant part of the room toward which most of the people began at once to flock, " there ’s Moll Mulligan at this very moment, and she ’s going at them hammer and tongs ! Make way there, gents and ladies ! Leader, strike up for a quadrille instantly ! ” And with these hurried adjurations, the master of ceremonies tore across the room to prevent by his presence and authority a scene that he evi- dently had good reason to fear would result disas- trously for the good name — Heaven save the mark ! — of his establishment. Kate Ransom had suddenly become conscious of the attention of which she was the subject. Grad- ually the various couples on the floor had yielded to fatigue or curiosity, ceased dancing, and had ranged themselves in groups about the room, leav- ing the centre entirely to Kate and her partner. On perceiving this, the young girl with a deep blush abruptly paused. " Gentleman Mike ” at once eomprehended the cause of her confusion and dismay, and quickly escorted her to a seat as far removed from the general crowd as possible. ” I must express my deep gratitude for the pleas- ure you have afibrded me. Miss Ransom,” he said, gallantly, as he seated himself beside her. " I hope "gentleman mike” and MARY MULLIGAN. 201 you will not think it idle flattery when I say that your waltzing is peifection itself.” "I fear you are fishing fora compliment, sir,” said Kate, smiling and blushing, but at the same time inwardly pleased. " At all events, I think your dancing merits an equal amount of praise. It really seems as if I had never danced until to- night.” He 1)0 wed low at the flattering insinuation, and, gently taking her hand, — " 1 may then hope for a repetition of the favor when you have rested sufficiently?” he said, in- quiringly, fixing an admiring look upon her lovely countenance. "Oh, not to-night! Never again in this place I ” she returned, quickly, all her former feel- ing of aversion revivins:. He looked at her keenly and saw that she was very earnest and sincere in what she had said. It revealed that she was what he had at first doubted, — an innocent and virtuous girl, who had been merely beguiled, by ignorance or false misrepre- sentations, into visiting the dance-hall. " My young friend Barry should not have brought you here. Miss Hansom,” he said, seri- ously. " I shall take him to task for doing so. And here he comes now with Miss Murray, to take you away, apparently, for I perceive they have 202 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE DANCE. donned their outer garments, and Frank has your cloak. I wish you might not consider it rude if I begged the privilege of seeing you home,” he added, in an appealing tone. But at this moment, and before Kate could make any reply, a woman suddenly sprang before them, — a woman frantic and furious. It was plain that she was in a state bordering almost on mad- ness, and with a cry Kate shrank before the hand that she saw was uplifted as if to strike her down. But the blow did not fall. Something in the terrified face of the shrinkin