THE-HAND'OFMERCY 
 
 REV* : RICHARD *W* ALEXANDER 
 
Class JiJCXl&$ 
 
 Book , H 5 
 
 Copyright^ 1 
 
 .50 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 
 
Zhe Ibanb of flDetc^ 
 
THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 "For every one that asketh, reeeiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth; and to 
 him that knocketh, it shall be opened." — St, Matthew, vii, 8. 
 

 4. 
 
 TLhe 1ban6 of /Ifoerqp 
 
 BY 
 
 Rev. RICHARD W. ALEXANDER 
 
 Author of lt A Missionary's Note-Book" etc. 
 
 WITH A FOREWORD BY 
 
 Rev. WALTER ELLIOTT, C.S.P. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 P. J. KENEDY & SONS 
 
 Printers to ike Holy Apostolic See 
 
 1914 
 

 Copyright, 1914, by P. J. KENEDY & SONS 
 
 NOV 27 1914 
 
 ©CI.A387686 
 
FOREWORD. 
 
 ^TMIESE narratives of the journey from 
 -*- darkness to light are the fruit of zeal 
 for souls, for in writing them the author was 
 inspired with a desire of extending God's 
 kingdom: They were called stories when 1 
 first printed, because they were thrown into 
 an orderly shape for clearness ' sake, and 
 also to give room for a modest and wholly 
 justifiable setting of conversation and scene. 
 They are, one and all, a true report of the 
 events and the processes of thought leading 
 to reception into the Church. Indeed some of 
 them might be likened to the work of a con- 
 scientious interviewer of the public press. 
 The moment they began to appear — most 
 of them in the Missionary magazine— they 
 were unanimously hailed as an advance upon 
 previous brief narratives of the sort, a more 
 vivid exhibit of facts, and a superior literary 
 force. They are a perfect mingling of the 
 outward and inward itinerary from error to 
 truth. 
 
6 FOREWORD 
 
 Catholics everywhere took them up as their 
 chart of exploration into the realms of en- 
 quiry among their non-Catholic friends. 
 They have been fruitful of many, very many, 
 conversions. As to earnest seekers after 
 truth, the reading of the graphic, realistic, 
 sympathetic, and often very pathetic narra- 
 tives, has given the signal for the last step 
 or the first step toward the light. No Cath- 
 olic who has read them is so humdrum as 
 not to experience a deepening of love for 
 Christ and His Church, a quickening of zeal, 
 a stimulant at least to the duty of praying 
 for conversions. The feelings attached to 
 holy faith are stirred to delightful activity, 
 and the sequel is the doing of something for 
 making converts, saying something, giving 
 good books, watching the mental states of 
 outside friends for good opportunities. Who- 
 soever reads these " tales' ' — where all the 
 persons are real, all events have actually hap- 
 pened, all inner crises have, in awful reality, 
 existed — must envy the convert-maker his 
 noble vocation, and in God's due time be also 
 led to strive for souls. Not a few have al- 
 ready emulated Father Alexander in re- 
 cording in this style the workings of divine 
 grace. 
 
 As in all real life so in that of traversing 
 
FOREWORD 7 
 
 the border-land between error and truth, 
 there is an infinitude of variety. No two of 
 the conversions here recorded are alike or 
 nearly alike; Anything so divine as conver- 
 sions must be immune from monotony. 
 Therefore there is a perpetual charm of 
 novelty in this book in spite of its dealing 
 with the same points of departure and of 
 arriving, the pilgrimage on the same well- 
 trodden road to Catholicity. Every class 
 of life, from the penitent cleansed of utter 
 filth to the soul of guileless youth, from the 
 millionaire in his palace to the pauper in 
 the almshouse, is here introduced in typical 
 cases of conversion. The author's oppor- 
 tunities for acquiring the facts have been 
 exceedingly fortunate, and a poetical tem- 
 perament — so many times manifested in the 
 atmosphere breathed upon the narratives, 
 has aided in clothing these records with ex- 
 quisite literary beauty. 
 
 Experience proves that converts make the 
 best convert-makers. St. Paul's standard! 
 appeal to the Jews was the story of his 
 own conversion, linked to that of the rejection 
 of his Master by His own people. Reading 
 of battles makes soldiers. Reading these 
 struggles against prejudice, self-interest, 
 vicious tendencies, cruelty of family and 
 
8 FOREWORD 
 
 friends, struggles of heroes often ended by 
 a miraculous victory, makes converts and 
 trains convert-makers. 
 
 And how well done they are, how beauti- 
 fully done ! How true the fancy that clothes 
 the events and sets forth the actors in these 
 dramas of most real existence ; a fancy that 
 is the many-colored livery of the Holy Spirit. 
 May the same Holy Spirit spread this volume 
 far and wide, and long continue to guide its 
 author in collecting and publishing other 
 such narratives ! 
 
 Walter Elliott, C.S.P. 
 
 Apostolic Mission House, 
 Brookland, D.C. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Foreword 5 
 
 The Hand of Mercy 11 
 
 "My Boy" 17 
 
 "Dominus Est!" 27 
 
 "James Ignatius" 37 
 
 A Mother's Memory 51 
 
 During the Night 63 
 
 The One who was Silent 73 
 
 Through the Sacred Heart 78 
 
 Zuliema : A Story of Darkest Africa 88 
 
 An Important Science 104 
 
 The Chaplain's Story 116 
 
 The Strength of the Weak 122 
 
 Two Sinners 126 
 
 Fruition 134 
 
 The Organist 139 
 
 The Light of His Eyes 146 
 
 Into the Kingdom 151 
 
 The Major's Promise 162 
 
 The Stolen Rosary 170 
 
 March Seventeenth 175 
 
 9 
 
10 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Boy's Convert 185 
 
 His Earthly Throne 202 
 
 The Man from Kerry 213 
 
 "God Called Me" 220 
 
 The Badge of the Sacred Heart 238 
 
 The Divine Magnet 243 
 
 "Better Things" 249 
 
 The Master's Goodness 254 
 
 The Eleventh Hour 262 
 
 Her Recompense 268 
 
 "He Came unto His Own" 280 
 
 Inspirations 284 
 
THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 THE HAND OF MERCY. 
 
 PiURING the past summer I had the 
 -"-^ privilege of meeting a brother priest, 
 whose delightful personality and high cul- 
 ture, as well as unobtrusive goodness, im- 
 pressed me in a most striking manner. He 
 was one whose words carried conviction in 
 the simplest conversation, and I had many 
 delightful chats with him the week we spent 
 together. Our talk turned one evening on 
 the mercy of God toward sinners and the 
 value of intercessory prayer. 
 
 At this point he stopped with a smile. 
 
 "I should like to tell you of an experience 
 of mine," he said, "but it is so unusual and 
 so liable to be disbelieved by many, that I 
 very rarely mention it. Of its truth, how- 
 ever, I am as firmly convinced as I am of the 
 fact that we are sitting here together." 
 
 Needless to say that I urged him strongly 
 
 11 
 
12 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 to continue, and after some hesitancy he con- 
 sented, with this remark: 
 
 "I know, Father Alexander, that you will 
 find it extraordinary : but I want to state in 
 the most emphatic manner that it is entirely 
 true, and there are at least three living who 
 will testify to the circumstances having oc- 
 curred. ' ' 
 
 "All things are possible where God's 
 mercy to sinners is involved, " I replied. 
 "You make me more anxious to hear the cir- 
 cumstance. ' * 
 
 "Well, then," he answered, "here it is, 
 with no embellishments — only the simple 
 facts. It happened about two years ago. Un- 
 usually fatigued one evening, after a busy 
 day's work in my pastoral duties, I retired 
 about ten o'clock. I fell into a sound sleep. 
 Suddenly I was awakened by a knock at my 
 door. I sat up, wide awake. It was repeated, 
 and I called out: 'Come in.' There was a 
 light in the room, somewhat dim, but distinct 
 enough to see the young man who entered, 
 closed the door behind him, and turned to- 
 ward me. I recognized him as a young friend 
 of mine who was studying for the priesthood. 
 I had not seen him for six months, but knew 
 he was at the Seminary, and a most pious 
 and fervent fellow. 
 
THE HAND OF MERCY 13 
 
 "I noticed his extreme paleness, and it 
 occurred to me that he had come late to town, 
 arrived at the house and, disturbing no one, 
 came directly to my room. 
 
 "I was partly prepared for the remark 
 which followed: 
 
 " i Father, I want to go to confession.' 
 
 " 'All right,' I said, and I sprang 
 up, slipped into my cassock and took my 
 stole. 
 
 " There was a small kneeling bench, or 
 prie-dieu, and a chair close by, and I 
 motioned him toward them. As I seated my- 
 self I looked him full in the face. It seemed 
 that the resemblance to the young cleric I 
 mentioned came and went, puzzling me not 
 a little. 
 
 "I heard his confession, gave him absolu- 
 tion, and, although the whole circumstance 
 was unusual, coming at night to my room and 
 at that hour, I said nothing more and dis- 
 missed him with the usual 'God bless you.' 
 As he closed the door I heard the clock in 
 the hallway strike two; its tones were un- 
 usually vibrant. I looked at my watch; it 
 also pointed to two o 'clock. 
 
 "I sought my pillow and fell asleep im- 
 mediately. I rose at my usual hour, and 
 said my Mass with no thought of the oc- 
 
14 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 currence. Shortly after breakfast I met 
 one of the other priests. 
 
 " 'It was unfortunate about that sick call,' 
 he said. 
 
 " 'What about it?' I remarked. 
 
 " 'Why, the poor fellow was dead when we 
 got there. 9 
 
 "I looked at him. 
 
 " 'Who was it V I asked. 
 
 " 'Mr. X ■; he died of gastritis in 
 
 twelve hours. He is the brother of young 
 
 X who is studying for the priesthood 
 
 in our Seminary. I am afraid he was a hard 
 case, too, poor fellow*.' 
 
 " 'What time did the call come?' 
 
 " 'Between one and two o'clock this morn- 
 ing. ' 
 
 "Instantly my experience, or whatever you 
 wish to call it, came to mind. I told the cir- 
 cumstance to my brother-priest, also that I 
 thought it was the young cleric himself who 
 came to my room. He was astonished. 'He 
 never ceases to pray for that brother, who 
 is rather wild,' he said. 'But, Father, you 
 had better go to the house and verify your 
 experience. ' 
 
 "I went to the house and paid a visit of 
 condolence to the family. They brought me 
 to the remains. When I looked at the dead 
 
THE HAND OF MEECY 15 
 
 face of the young man, I recognized my 
 penitent of the night before — the puzzling 
 resemblance to the young cleric was ex- 
 plained. 
 
 '"Oh, Father! if he only had had the 
 priest!' was the cry of the sorrowing mother; 
 'his brother, who is studying for the priest- 
 hood, prayed for him day and night. He 
 knew he was a little wild!' 
 
 "And then the tender fulness of God's 
 mercy broke upon me, and I realized that the 
 prayers of the young Levite who had offered 
 himself to the service of the altar had ob- 
 tained the grace of conversion and reconcilia- 
 tion with God for the brother who had passed 
 away. 
 
 " 'Bo not weep,' I said to the mother. 
 'God has been merciful to your son's soul. 
 I feel sure his brother's prayers have won 
 his salvation. ' 
 
 " 'Oh, Father, do you think so?' was the 
 cry. 
 . " 'I do,' I said fervently. 
 
 "The vision of that white face in the night, 
 and the memory of the absolution I had pro- 
 nounced, passed before me. My heart grew 
 full of a sentiment of awe and gratitude to 
 which I could not give words. 
 
16 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 "But I left that mother comforted." 
 
 # # # # # 
 
 There was silence for a moment as the 
 Father finished his story, and a great rever- 
 ence and confidence in God's mercy rose up 
 in my own soul: To me there was nothing 
 strange in it. I felt that it was true. 
 
"MY BOY." 
 
 TT was a sad call the Humane Society's 
 -*- Agent had that day — a call to an alley, in 
 a poor, but quite respectable neighborhood. 
 A woman, lonely, self-supporting, but re- 
 served as to her own affairs, had died in a 
 little room, high up in a tenement house. 
 
 There was unfinished fine needlework on 
 a table near by ; every appearance of respect- 
 ability and even taste, in the meager furnish- 
 ings of her poor room; and the mark of 
 gentle blood in the delicately cut features of 
 the little orphaned boy who sat terrified in 
 a corner, at a distance from the bed on 
 which his dead mother lay. His face was set, 
 and his brown curly hair lay uncombed on 
 his forehead. His eyes were red with weep- 
 ing, and his chin rested in his hands as he 
 leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at 
 everything with the look of one who had 
 never before seen death. 
 
 "That's the boy," whispered a neighbor, 
 "he doesn't understand. He is only six years 
 old, you know. The only child." 
 
 17 
 
18 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 "Come here, my boy," said the Humane 
 Society's Agent. 
 
 The boy rose slowly, and came over to 
 the Agent, who reached out his hand. The 
 small fingers were laid in it, and the blue, 
 swimming eyes looked steadily into the man's 
 kind face. 
 
 "Mother's dead," said the child, solemnly. 
 "She hated to leave me alone. I have no- 
 body now." 
 
 The sweet voice, the neglected look of the 
 little lad, went strangely to the Agent's 
 heart. 
 
 "What is your name, my boy?" asked he. 
 
 "Arthur Maxwell, and I'm six years old; 
 and father is dead, too: I — " he added, as if 
 a fresh sorrow had made its way back to his 
 memory. 
 
 The Humane Society's Agent was a kind 
 man. His duty had not hardened him. He 
 was strangely drawn to the little fellow, who 
 showed marks of gentle training and better 
 days. 
 
 "Would you like to come with me to night? 
 It is lonely here for a boy. I'll bring you 
 back to see mother tomorrow." 
 
 For answer the small chap threw his arms 
 around Mr. Benjamin Brown's neck, and the 
 Humane Society's Agent felt a throb of gen- 
 
"MY BOY" 19 
 
 uine love stir his heart as he pressed him 
 close, and thrilled with the joy of the soft 
 cheek laid against his own. 
 
 "Will you come, Arthur?" 
 
 "Sure!" said Arthur, smiles breaking into 
 the blue eyes as he wiped away the tears 
 on his sleeve, and took possession of his new 
 friend's hand. The two or three women who 
 were present nodded their approval. Mr. 
 Brown said a few words about the funeral, 
 finding there was not a single friend or rela- 
 tive to step forward to bury the poor woman, 
 who had evidently worn out her life trying 
 to prolong that of her little son and to keep 
 them both from the charity of the city. 
 
 Mr. Brown learned, too, that Mrs. Max- 
 well was a Catholic, and although he was a 
 staunch Presbyterian, he did not hesitate to 
 give orders that she should be buried in the 
 Catholic cemetery with all the ceremonies of 
 the Church. In fact he called on the parish 
 priest himself to see that this was done. He 
 found out that Arthur was the only child 
 of his mother, who had come to poverty no 
 one knew how. She had not been long in 
 the locality, and was evidently well born and 
 well bred ; this was further evidenced by the 
 papers she left behind, among which were her 
 marriage certificate and the records of the 
 
20 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 boy's birth, and bis baptism in an English 
 Catholic church six years before; The priest 
 inquired keenly about the Humane Society's 
 intention relating to the boy. 
 
 Mr. Benjamin Brown frankly acknowledged 
 he had designs himself on the little lad. 
 
 "You see, Father,' ' he said, "I am a 
 bachelor, but I have lost my heart for the 
 first time in my life, and it is to that boy ! I 
 want him — I want to adopt him and give him 
 a home and make him happy.' ' 
 
 "But," said the priest, "how will you do 
 that? Don't you live in bachelor's apart- 
 ments?" 
 
 "I do," said Mr. Brown. "Still I want that 
 boy!" 
 
 "But you can't take him there," responded 
 the priest. "It would be out of the question, 
 Mr. Brown. To be sure he has no one to 
 claim him at present, but no Society would 
 approve of his going to you under the cir- 
 cumstances. Don't you see it yourself?" 
 
 "I want that boy," said Mr. Brown. "I 
 want to care for him, educate him, give him 
 a college course and a start in life, and you 
 must tell me how to secure him, Father. I 
 tell you I have lost my heart to him." 
 
 The priest could not help smiling at his 
 earnestness. 
 
"MY BOY" 21 
 
 "Beally, Mr. Brown, you deserve to have 
 him since you are so attached to him. I 
 know of one way: Take him to the Catholic 
 Orphans' home, and place him formally in 
 the care of the good Sisters, with the under- 
 standing that as soon as he is able to go to 
 college you will be at liberty to send him. 
 But it must be a Catholic college — remember 
 that. The boy's parents were Catholics, and 
 he is a baptized member of the Catholic 
 Church. His mother died in my parish, and 
 I am bound to see to this. You would not 
 want to tamper with his religion, would you? ' 9 
 
 "Never, Father," said the man. "I*m 
 square, if I'm anything. I will take your ad- 
 vice. You will give me a letter to the Home, 
 will you not?" 
 
 "Most certainly," said the priest. 
 
 So it happened. When Arthur's mother 
 was laid in her lonely grave, the little lad 
 was taken to the Orphans' Home by Mr. 
 Brown. It cost poor Arthur, who had grown 
 to love his benefactor, many bitter tears when 
 he heard he was to leave him, and almost 
 stabbed the heart of Mr. Brown. But the 
 good Sisters opened their arms and hearts 
 to the sobbing boy. 
 
 "Don't cry, Arthur," said Mr. Brown. 
 "Be a man! I'll come to see you Sunday, 
 
22 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 and bring you a train of cars and a picture 
 book." 
 
 Arthur brightened up. 
 
 "Will you? A really train of cars, with a 
 choo-choo, and a cowcatcher, and a bell?" 
 
 "Yes, all that, and a big book." 
 
 i i Hooray ! ' ' said Arthur, smiling: ' ' Hurry 
 up Sunday, Uncle Ben; hurry up!" And 
 leaving him still smiling and waving his 
 hand, Mr. Brown departed, relieved, yet 
 wishing he had some way of keeping this 
 small bit of sunshine nearer to himself. 
 
 He was as good as his word. On Sunday 
 he arrived at the "Home" with a large par- 
 cel, in which were the picture book and the 
 train of cars. Arthur was radiant. He was 
 neatly dressed, his curls brushed, and his 
 eyes were like stars. He was happy and 
 had a thousand things to tell his "Uncle 
 Ben." The coveted parcel was examined, 
 and it was good to see the little fellow's 
 delight. 
 
 So it went on, Sunday after Sunday, for 
 six long years. The boy grew a sturdy fellow, 
 yet ever gentle and devoted to his "Uncle 
 Ben. ' ' He knew no other name for him. The 
 Sisters reported him remarkably pious and 
 religious for a boy. And now, in his twelfth 
 year, "Uncle Ben," whose love for the boy 
 
"MY BOY" 23 
 
 had never diminished, looked for a college in 
 which he might begin his course. 
 
 "It must be a Catholic college," he mused. 
 "I gave my word to the priest." 
 
 We can judge from this what manner 
 of honorable gentleman was Mr. Brown; So 
 it came to pass that Arthur was sent to a 
 Southern college under the care of a great 
 religious order, his beloved "Uncle Ben" de- 
 fraying all the expenses of his wardrobe and 
 tuition. 
 
 The years passed on. Arthur was a grate- 
 ful boy. His letters, sent regularly, were the 
 one great joy of his so-called Uncle Ben, who 
 watched his progress with pride and hope. 
 Now and then Arthur would speak of his 
 happiness in his faith, and in fervent words 
 would express the wish that his benefactor 
 knew something of the one true religion. But 
 Uncle Ben would only shrug his shoulders 
 and say: "It is enough for me to be a good 
 Presbyterian. ' ' 
 
 Arthur's graduation day came. Uncle 
 Ben was there, proud of his boy. There was 
 something noble and pure, and altogether in- 
 scrutable in the appearance of the young man 
 — something that rather awed Uncle Ben, he 
 could hardly say why. After the exercises 
 Arthur and his benefactor took a walk under 
 
24 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 the college trees. Uncle Ben praised him for 
 his fine record. Then came the question: 
 
 "What do you want to make of yourself, 
 my son?" 
 
 Arthur paused. Placing his hand on the 
 arm of his adopted father, he looked him 
 straight in the face, while his eyes brimmed 
 with unshed tears. 
 
 "Uncle Ben, a lifetime would be too short 
 to thank you for all you have done for me. 
 My heart swells when I think of your noble, 
 generous goodness. I can never, never re- 
 pay you." 
 
 "Tut, tut," said Uncle Ben, hastily, but 
 deeply touched; "Don't say that. You 
 have been a reward in yourself, Arthur. My 
 greatest joy in life these fourteen years has 
 been your affection, your gratitude, and 
 your success; but your real life is ahead of 
 you. What shall it be?" 
 
 "Uncle Ben," said the young man sol- 
 emnly, "day and night have I thought of it 
 these two years past. It is no hasty 
 notion. I may disappoint you, for you can- 
 not look upon it as I do ; I shall be a priest 
 of God, and pray for your conversion." 
 
 Mr. Brown became ghastly pale, stared at 
 him, and then sank down upon a bench near 
 by, without a word. 
 
"MY BOY" 25 
 
 We cannot portray the scene that fol- 
 lowed. It was continued the next day, and 
 it was long before Arthur obtained permis- 
 sion to follow his desire. He won, however, 
 and although his heart bled at the wound 
 he gave his benefactor, he was strangely ex- 
 ultant. It was decided he should remain and 
 go into the Seminary. A pale, broken look- 
 ing old man wrung his hand in silence a few 
 days later, as he boarded the train going 
 North, and Arthur noticed that he did not 
 
 once look back. 
 
 * * * # # 
 
 That was some years ago. Yesterday — 
 only yesterday — Mr. Brown called to see me. 
 He had a photograph in his hand. 
 
 "Father Alexander," said he, with a note 
 of pride in his voice; "I want to show you 
 m y b°y> Arthur. He was ordained a priest 
 last Saturday and said his first Mass on Sun- 
 day, and said it for me; and he has sent 
 me his photograph." 
 
 I looked at the photograph; it showed a 
 tall, slender figure, with the pure eyes, open 
 face, and Eoman collar of the young priest. 
 It was good to look at. I told him so, and 
 his gratified flush assured me that my praise 
 was music to his ears. 
 
 "You may be proud of him, Mr. Brown," 
 
26 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 I continued. "And he said his first Mass 
 for you? There is no danger of your re- 
 maining out of the Catholic Church long 
 now. Get ready to come in." 
 
 He smiled. "I guess you are about right, 
 Father, though I've held out a good while. 
 It broke me all up when he wanted to be 
 a priest. I have got over that now, and I 
 am glad. I have seen a good deal of your 
 cloth, Father, in my position, and the Catho- 
 lic priest is God's noblest work. I honor 
 him. Won't you give me a book to read? 
 I want to know what your Church teaches." 
 
 I gave him "The Faith of Our Fathers." 
 He promised to read it. 
 
 He will come back, reader. I ask your 
 prayers that it may be soon. Uniting with 
 the prayers of his adopted son we may bd 
 sure that heaven will not delay the moment 
 of grace for this good man, who has glorified 
 his life by his noble and unselfish kindness 
 to a desolate orphan boy. 
 
 "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall 
 obtain mercy." 
 
"DOMINUS EST!" 
 
 HPHE white-capped nurses of the great 
 -*- hospital in the city's suburbs had as- 
 sembled in their auditorium for the evening 
 lecture, which was always given by some 
 noted specialist. Among them was a slender 
 girl, who had put on the neat uniform of the 
 probationer that very day. She was tall, 
 with clear, fair complexion, abundant auburn 
 hair, and earnest dark blue eyes. She had 
 moved about all day like one in a dream ; 
 silently performed, with all her soul, the 
 various tasks assigned her, and one could 
 see that her heart was in her work. 
 
 In the afternoon the good nun who had 
 charge of the training school placed some 
 text-books before her, gave her an allotment 
 of study, and asked her how she liked her 
 work. The answer was enthusiastic. 
 
 "Why, madame, I love it!" 
 
 "I am very glad," said the nun; "but you 
 must not call me ' madame,' you must say, 
 'Sister'!" 
 
 The girl flushed: "I beg your pardon," 
 
 27 
 
28 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 she said. "I never met religious ladies be- 
 fore, and I did not know how to address 
 them. ' Sister ' is a beautiful word, if it is 
 not too familiar." 
 
 "We are sisters to the whole world," re- 
 turned the nun, "and our work in the hos- 
 pital brings us very close to the world; that 
 is, the greater part of the world, for there 
 is more suffering in it than pleasure!" 
 
 "It was this part of the work that attracted 
 me," said the girl; "I do want to become 
 useful to suffering people, and I mean to 
 leave nothing undone to qualify myself 
 thoroughly for the noble profession of a 
 trained nurse." 
 
 "That sounds well," said the nun, "keep 
 to that ideal, follow instructions, and you 
 will attain your wish." 
 
 "I would like to ask a question," the girl 
 faltered. 
 
 "And I will be glad to answer it," said 
 the nun. 
 
 "You know I am not a Roman Catholic. 
 Will I be permitted to worship God as I have 
 been taught at home?" 
 
 "We never discuss religion in the train- 
 ing school," said the nun. "You are here 
 to study medicine — the human body and its 
 ills. Only, in case of a patient requesting a 
 
"DOMINUS EST!" 29 
 
 nurse to bring a minister of religion, she 
 reports to the head of the department, and 
 then leaves the matter in her hands. The 
 head of your department is myself, and I 
 always shall be glad and ready to assist you 
 in any doubtful matter. You are free to 
 practice your own ideas of religion without 
 remark or intrusion. And now, Miss Golden, 
 here is the text of tonight's lecture. You 
 will find it well to be prepared for Dr. G — . f ' 
 Smiling, the nun pointed out the books, 
 and left the girl to her studies. Stella bent 
 her head over her book, and applied her- 
 self assiduously to her task. At the time of 
 the lecture that first evening we find her 
 seated with her class listening with rapt at- 
 tention to the learned physician, who was one 
 of the most eminent specialists of the day, 
 
 Two busy years passed by. Miss Golden 
 saw many things in that Catholic hospital 
 which opened new vistas of thought to her 
 mind. Naturally reverent, she looked with 
 admiration at the unselfish work of the 
 Sisters who conducted the vast work of the 
 Institution, envied their skill, and tried to 
 acquire their self-control and calm readiness 
 for emergencies. There was no change in her 
 religious attitude — she rather prided herself 
 
30 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 on that fact. She seldom attended any ser- 
 vices in the hospital chapel. Her love of 
 beauty, however, impelled her occasionally 
 to go to Benediction. She loved the flower- 
 decked altar, the singing of the nuns, the 
 reverent attitude of those who prayed, and 
 she bowed with them when the little silver 
 bell announced the Benediction. A sweet, 
 restful peace stole over her soul at these 
 moments, and she found herself saying: "I 
 wish I could believe that God was there 1" 
 
 In the discharge of her duties Nurse Golden 
 saw how weak were human supports when 
 pain or sickness racked the frame. How sad 
 were the deaths of those who had no hope 
 beyond the grave ! How terrifying were the 
 last moments of those who had placed them- 
 selves beyond spiritual assistance ! 
 
 No one ever brought up the subject of re- 
 ligion, but she observed everything. The 
 girl had a heart that yearned for a living 
 faith — for a peace of soul that should abide 
 with her and help her, when her time came, 
 to die like some of the poor Catholic patients : 
 who looked with the all-seeing eyes of the 
 spirit into the great Beyond, and saw there 
 everlasting joy, and the beauty of God and 
 His saints. She was faithful to her work, to 
 the duties of her profession, and had already 
 
"DOMINUS EST!" 31 
 
 begun to look forward to the future that 
 would open to her after her graduation. And 
 according to her light she prayed. 
 
 One day a Catholic patient who was under 
 her care received the Holy Viaticum. Nurse 
 Golden arranged, as she had been taught, the 
 white pillows and counterpane, the little 
 table with its crucifix, candles, holy water, 
 etc., beside the bed. She left the room 
 while a priest, attended by a nun, adminis- 
 tered the Holy Sacrament, and when he 
 passed back again to the chapel she returned 
 to the bedside to extinguish the candles and 
 remove the table. The patient's eyes were 
 closed, the face was full of rapt devotion. 
 Nurse Golden looked at her, deeply im- 
 pressed. Then, moving lightly around the 
 bed she disarranged the counterpane, and 
 from one of the heavy folds there fell Some- 
 thing, snow-white and round, that fluttered 
 to the polished floor beneath the bed. 
 
 A strange tremor seized the nurse. She 
 gazed on the little white Object. It drew her, 
 and scarce knowing what she was doing, she 
 fell on her knees and gently picked up the 
 Sacred Host with her fingers. 
 
 Hardly had she laid It in the palm of her 
 hand when a marvelous thrill passed through 
 her soul, and with it — Faith. It was the 
 
32 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 Lord! She knew it. Nothing now could 
 change that belief. She knew it. 
 
 Then instantly came a fear; 
 
 "I should never have touched It!" 
 
 Hastily she arose, opened a chest of 
 drawers in the room, and laid the Sacred 
 Host on a pile of clean, snow-white linen. 
 
 Hurriedly, and with strange thrills quiver- 
 ing through her body, she glanced at the 
 patient, who had not moved, and then went 
 swiftly to a Catholic nurse who stood at the 
 medicine press outside. 
 
 "I have touched the Lord!" she whispered, 
 her face tense and her eyes glowing: "He is 
 in there still ! ' ' 
 
 The Catholic nurse stared at her. Was 
 Nurse Golden out of her mind? What on 
 earth was wrong? Sometimes the poor 
 nurses were over excited and exhausted in 
 their strenuous life, and became feverish. 
 
 Then Nurse Golden explained — the words 
 rushing from her eager lips. The Catholic 
 girl drew back in terror. 
 
 "Why, Miss Golden!" she said in awed 
 tones. "You should not have dared to touch 
 the Blessed Sacrament! Oh, let me go at 
 once for Sister!" 
 
 Nurse Golden stood in the doorway, her 
 eyes fixed on the dresser, her heart throbbing 
 
"DOMINUS EST I" 33 
 
 wildly. In a very few moments the chap- 
 lain came hurrying down the corridor, and 
 accosted her excitedly. 
 
 "What is this I hear, Miss Golden? You 
 lifted the Blessed Sacrament from the floor? 
 And you a Protestant? You, who do not be- 
 lieve in the Blessed Sacrament?" 
 
 "I believe now, Father! I know. I have 
 touched the Lord!" she said. 
 
 She fell on her knees, and pointed to the 
 dresser. The priest opened the drawer — 
 there lay the Sacred Particle. His face 
 flushed. He took the stole from his pocket, 
 placed it around his neck, lifted the linen 
 towel on which the Particle reposed, and 
 silently and reverently carried It with down- 
 cast eyes to the chapel. 
 
 There was subdued excitement among the 
 nurses and Sisters when Miss Golden ex- 
 plained her act, and what followed it in her 
 soul. And there was more excitement when 
 the chaplain declared he had placed only one 
 Host in the small pyx, and that he was posi- 
 tively sure of the matter. Again and again 
 he reiterated this assertion, and held to it 
 in spite of the ventured suggestions of others, 
 that there might have been two Particles. 
 
 "Impossible in this case," he said: "I had 
 only one communicant, and I brought only 
 
34 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 one Host. I am positively certain of this 
 fact. Nothing could convince me to the con- 
 trary. ' ' 
 
 "Where did the other Host come fromV 
 No answer came to this oft-repeated ques- 
 tion: But Miss Golden asked to be instructed 
 in the Catholic faith, was baptized, and in 
 time made her first holy Communion. Her 
 devotion to the Blessed Sacrament was in- 
 tense. She could hardly speak of Our Lord 
 in the Holy Eucharist without tears. The 
 miraculous answer to the question was her 
 conversion — the only member of her entire 
 family a Catholic. She continued her course 
 in the training school, graduated with honor, 
 saw that a successful future was awaiting 
 her, and with the good wishes of all, she 
 left the hospital. 
 
 •R? ^r *7v ^K* ^n* 
 
 Five years passed away. It was Easter 
 Monday morning. Sunlight filtered through 
 the stained glass windows of a well known 
 convent chapel, and lay in glory on the tall 
 lilies that bent toward the Holy of holies. 
 Mass was going on, and the sweet voices of 
 the nun-choir trembled on the fragrant air. 
 How beautiful are the words : 
 
 "Regnum mundi et omnem ornatum saeculi 
 contempsi! contempsi! (The kingdom of the 
 
"DOMINUS EST!" 35 
 
 world, and its pleasures, I have despised — I 
 have despised/ 7 for the sake of Our Lord.) 
 
 A single voice was singing now : 
 
 "Quern vidi, quern amavi — {"Whom I have 
 seen, Whom I have loved") And from the 
 center of the marble nave a veiled figure 
 rose from her knees, and advanced to the foot 
 of the altar. 
 
 A group of vested clergy surrounded the 
 crimson-robed celebrant as he turned to her, 
 and holding up the white Host that once 
 had thrilled her to the very core of her being, 
 paused. In the breathless hush came the 
 clear sweet voice : 
 
 "In the name of Our Lord and Saviour, I 
 Sister Estelle of the Blessed Sacrament, 
 vow and promise to God, Poverty, Chastity, 
 Obedience, Perseverance." 
 
 Could one mistake the voice? Could one 
 mistake the slender figure, the pale, spirit- 
 ualized face? There was rapture in the 
 tone — a note of triumph in the sweet words 
 
 of immolation. 
 
 * # # # # 
 
 Happy Nurse Golden! What sweeter 
 Lover could have enthralled you? What 
 more precious chains than the vows could 
 have fettered you? What safer home than 
 "the cleft of the rock, the hollow places of 
 
36 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 the wall" figuratively spoken in the Scrip- 
 tures of the cloister, where the white dove of 
 the chosen soul may fold its wings, close to 
 the Tabernacle forever? 
 
 Aye, forever! He shall fold you in His 
 arms until the day declines and the shadows 
 fall, and then there will meet you the virgin 
 band, who follow the Lamb through all 
 eternity. 
 
"JAMES IGNATIUS." 
 
 A True Stoky. 
 
 l4 TT7ELL, James Ignatius, how do you 
 " feel this morning?" said the cheery 
 voice of the great surgeon, as he stopped at 
 a little white bed in the children's ward of a 
 certain hospital. 
 
 "Fine, doctor! Eeady for a prize fight!" 
 said a sweet boy-voice, and a pale, spiritual 
 boy-face from its white pillow smiled a weak 
 greeting*. 
 
 Gruff Dr. Storm always stopped at James 
 Ignatius ' bed. He had been head surgeon at 
 the hospital for a number of years, and for 
 four of those years he had passed the bed of 
 little James Ignatius daily. The nurses said 
 (and so did the staff) that James Ignatius 
 was the only one who had the inside track 
 of the doctor's heart. If they dared, his 
 medical brethren would have teased the iron 
 man about his favorite, but no one could 
 with impunity be merry with the doctor. He 
 was like a bronze statue — interested in none 
 
 37 
 
38 , ^THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 of the amenities of life, but an authority in 
 his profession. To see him in his surgeon's 
 white gown handling a scalpel, touching the 
 human body with the sure, delicate touch of 
 certain knowledge, laying his slender, steel- 
 like fingers on muscle and tissue, vein and 
 bone with the artistry of a master, was a 
 sight his fellow-surgeons hung upon with the 
 delight of enthusiasts. 
 
 James Ignatius had been long in his hands 
 — a bright little lad, full of grit and endur- 
 ance, who smiled when his blood was flowing, 
 and who looked upon Dr. Storm as an arch- 
 angel in human form, because, although he 
 had not been able to twist his crooked spine 
 into shape for walking, he had given him the 
 use of his hands, and had dulled the pain from 
 which he had never known a minute's free- 
 dom since he remembered anything in all 
 his thirteen years of life. 
 
 Dr. Storm despised pet names. At the 
 beginning the nurses called his patient "poor 
 little Jim." Then came the first operation, 
 when the lad was obliged to feel the knife 
 without an anesthetic, and the doctor, even 
 with a woman's gentleness, had to hurt him 
 sorely. 
 
 The lad, with great drops of sweat stand- 
 ing out on his pale face, smiled bravely and 
 
"JAMES IGNATIUS' ' 39 
 
 cried out, in a boy's language, "Bully for 
 you, doctor! you know how to hurt a fel- 
 low!" The ghost of a smile circled the set 
 faces surrounding the operating table, even 
 in Dr. Storm's eye appeared the shadow of 
 a twinkle. After that the doctor always 
 called him James. 
 
 The boy liked it, and when the good 
 Bishop came to the ward one day, wearing 
 his golden miter and carrying his crozier, 
 and confirmed a number of the patients, 
 James asked to have "Ignatius" added to 
 his name. 
 
 "You see," the little fellow explained, 
 "he was a soldier and he had to lie in bed 
 like me, for weeks with a bad leg, and he 
 never growled. I want to be a soldier like 
 him!" And so after his Confirmation day 
 he would answer to no name but "James 
 Ignatius." 
 
 There was an innate purity and refinement 
 of soul in this little crippled lad that shone 
 on his remarkable face. Every one who 
 looked at him once looked again. He had 
 delicate, but masculine features. His broad 
 forehead was crowned by chestnut hair, cut 
 short. His eyes were large and blue; nose 
 and chin were strongly chiseled, but the mouth 
 was sweetness itself. No one could see 
 
40 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 James Ignatius smile without relaxing, and 
 his laugh was so musical and ringing that 
 it was contagious. 
 
 He lay in bed quietly, except when the 
 nurse picked him up and placed him in a 
 large reclining chair and wheeled him to the 
 window, whence he could see the hills and the 
 country in the distance. He had a keen ap- 
 preciation of the beautiful, and with the pre- 
 cocity so often met with in afflicted children 
 he had a maturity of mind beyond his years. 
 
 Reading was his favorite occupation — 
 reading far in advance of his age. Scott, 
 Shakespeare, the New Testament, a Kempis. 
 It was amazing to see these volumes in his 
 transparent fingers, and to hear James Ig- 
 natius talk about his favorite chapters. Of- 
 ten Dr. Storm and he would have a passage- 
 at-arms on the reading of the day, and the 
 doctor would be stirred to wonder at the boy's 
 cleverness and mental development. To 
 James Ignatius this strong-faced doctor, 
 with his six feet of height, his firm hands, 
 his gruff voice, was an object of adoration. 
 The great blue eyes kindled with unmistak- 
 able lovelight whenever the doctor ap- 
 proached him. 
 
 The day Dr. Storm did not speak when he 
 passed James Ignatius' bed was a day of 
 
"JAMES IGNATIUS" 41 
 
 languor and drooping for the little lad, and 
 by degrees the doctor came to know it and 
 to fall under its spell. James Ignatius found 
 there was a gentler tone for him, a thrill in 
 the firm handclasp, even a smile on the cast- 
 iron face, which fact evoked all the love and 
 hero-worship of his boy-heart. 
 
 At last as he grew slowly worse, and the 
 doctor sat by his side, finger on his pulse, 
 the boy broke through the crust of the re- 
 pressed heart of the man, and confidences 
 flowed from one to the other! The old, old 
 story of human love — that great, calm, beau- 
 tiful, peerless love called friendship! 
 
 James Ignatius told the doctor how hard 
 it had been for him to see other boys leaping 
 and romping over the hills at out-door sports, 
 and asked him why God had decreed it so. 
 And Dr. Storm, falling back on his long- 
 forgotten Catholic instruction in years gone 
 by, told him that Providence was always 
 right, no matter what it seemed like — easy 
 or hard. And James Ignatius asked the 
 doctor if that was his religion ! For once in 
 his life Dr. Storm lost the incisive, crisp 
 speech that was so characteristic of him. 
 His faltering was not unnoticed by James 
 Ignatius. 
 
 "Doctor," he said, "do you think God 
 
42 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 troubles Himself much about a poor little 
 boy like me? Nobody cares for me but 
 Him, and yet " 
 
 The tone went to the '.mail's heart and 
 stirred the depths of his strong nature. 
 
 " Don't you think I care for you, James 
 Ignatius? Am I not your friend?" 
 
 The blood rushed to the boy's pale face. 
 Great tears stood in the blue eyes. He took 
 one hand of the doctor between both of his 
 and impulsively kissed it. Silence fell be- 
 tween them, a silence that was eloquent to 
 both, for both understood. The great 
 scientist, with his fertile brain, his vast 
 learning, and his starved heart, and the frail 
 boy, lonely and suffering, were glorified in 
 this seemingly unequal, strange, yet entirely 
 comprehended friendship. 
 
 Oh ! Friendship, how sweet thou art ! Let 
 the heart but once, in its long years of throb- 
 bing, find thee in thy beauty and thy 
 strength, be it in man or woman or child, 
 is it not a glimpse of lost Eden? What is 
 the mad ecstacy of love in its brief passion 
 to the white blossom of a friend's devotion — 
 to the tenderness of a friend's hand-clasp, 
 to the sweetness of a friend's affectionate 
 words? Blessed is he who has found a friend 
 — bands of steel are not strong enough to 
 
" JAMES IGNATIUS" 43 
 
 clasp him to one's self or hold him to one's 
 soul forever ! 
 
 And Dr. Storm, with that closed and 
 barred heart that had never unlocked to 
 man or woman, found himself melting before 
 the worshipful love of a little child! 
 
 James Ignatius told him how great and 
 good he seemed to him; what power he had 
 to heal, and how close he must be to the 
 great God who created all things, when he 
 could handle the flesh and bone of his fel- 
 lows, and make whole those who were 
 maimed. 
 
 "But, James Ignatius, I haven't made you 
 whole yet, and I fear I never can," said 
 Dr. Storm. 
 
 "I don't count, doctor," said James Ig- 
 natius. "I never was straight or whole, like 
 other boys. I would have to be made over 
 again! I am of no use." 
 
 *Yes — you — are!" said the doctor. "You 
 have more grit and more patience than half 
 the men in this hospital*. I often say to 
 some of them when they whimper, 'You 
 ought to see James Ignatius suffer!' " 
 
 The boy's transparent skin was suffused 
 with a delicate flush at the doctor's praise. 
 Such words rarely fell from his lips. 
 
 "I don't see any use of complaining," 
 
44 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 said he. "You help me a heap, doctor, and 
 when I suffer the most I say: 'Lord, I'll suf- 
 fer all you send me if you keep suffering 
 away from my good doctor V" 
 
 "Do you really say that, boy?" 
 
 "Every day, doctor. I tell the Lord I'm 
 willing to bear every pain and ache that 
 comes if He doesn't send any to you!" 
 
 And then Dr. Storm remembered his per- 
 fect health these past years, and wondered 
 if James Ignatius ' prayers had anything to 
 do with it. He was silent so long that the 
 boy feared he was offended, and so expressed 
 himself. 
 
 ' i Offended ? Good heavens, boy ! how could 
 I be? I was thinking that you had perhaps 
 been saying my prayers before the Lord all 
 these years. I have never had a minute's 
 pain, and never had a minute 's time to pray 
 for myself." 
 
 "Oh, doctor! do you never pray?" 
 
 "Not much, my son." 
 
 "And how do you expect God to take care 
 of you?" 
 
 The question was incisive, and the doctor 
 flinched before the clear blue eyes. His re- 
 ligion was his profession, and it was true 
 that his knees rarely bent in prayer. He felt 
 reproved. 
 
"JAMES IGNATIUS" 45 
 
 James Ignatius slipped his thin little hand 
 into the firm, strong one of the doctor and 
 said : , 
 
 "I'll ask God to let all your kind deeds to 
 people be your prayers, and then I'll pray 
 more and more that your life may be good 
 and happy. But, doctor, you must speak to 
 Him yourself sometimes. He will always 
 hear you!" 
 
 The doctor rose hastily and said his time 
 was up— but he smiled his rare smile into 
 the eyes of the boy, like a flash of light from 
 behind a storm cloud. James Ignatius lay 
 still and thought. Could it be possible that 
 his idolized doctor never prayed to Our 
 Lord, -and to His sweet, spotless Mother, 
 whom he loved so much ? Impossible ! And 
 then he slipped his hands under the covers 
 and with closed eyes said his rosary for Dr. 
 Storm, while the nurse tip-toed past and 
 thought he slept*. 
 
 Dr. Storm's heart became like wax in the 
 hands of James Ignatius. He did not know 
 how it came about, but he found himself tell- 
 ing him of his early life, of his struggles, of 
 his bitter experiences, of the death of all he 
 loved, his gradual cynicism and absorption of 
 his soul by his profession. To all of which 
 James Ignatius listened gravely, never by 
 
46 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 a wrong word jarring on his mood. And in 
 the few minutes' talk of every day by that 
 little bed the strong man found the simple 
 old faith of his childhood and the beliefs of 
 his youth. 
 
 James Ignatius brought him back to God, 
 and the great surgeon learned again how to 
 pray from the guileless yet stern admoni- 
 tions of the dying lad. 
 
 Yes, the crippled boy was dying now. All 
 the resources of science had proved vain and 
 useless, and Dr. Storm confessed himself 
 vanquished as he looked at the thin face and 
 saw the light of the blessed vision in the eyes 
 of the patient-martyr. 
 
 It was Holy Week. In the days that suc- 
 ceeded Palm Sunday James Ignatius grew 
 worse. Dr. Storm was sterner than usual, 
 more unsmiling, as such men are when their 
 hearts are stirred. His short visits to the 
 little fellow's bed became more frequent, and 
 on Holy Thursday morning he left word that 
 a wine glass of milk and stimulant should 
 be given to James Ignatius every three hours. 
 The boy had no inclination to talk to any 
 one but to Dr. Storm, though a faint little 
 smile always appeared when any one did a 
 kind act for him. 
 
 Another lad who was a patient in the ward 
 
"JAMES IGNATIUS" 47 
 
 often sat by his bed, and thus relieved the 
 nurse when she went elsewhere. James Ig- 
 natius shared his dainties with this little 
 chum, Dickie, who was not blest with much 
 wisdom or wit, and who greedily accepted all 
 the good things that came his way. He had 
 given him everything eatable that kind 
 friends had sent him during Holy Week, and 
 Dickie quietly carried everything away to a 
 certain hiding-place, where he secretly de- 
 voured them at leisure. Oranges, bon-bons, 
 fruits of all kinds disappeared, and the nurse 
 flattered herself that James Ignatius would 
 never perish of starvation, at least. James 
 Ignatius said nothing when he saw his gifts 
 appropriated, and it goes without saying, 
 neither did Dickie ! 
 
 The good priest who attended him and 
 gave him the last Sacraments had laid 
 particular stress on the fact, that it was 
 Holy Week, and when he gave him Holy 
 Viaticum spoke touchingly afterwards of 
 our dear Lord's sufferings on Good Friday 
 — His agony on the cross, His sufferings 
 for poor sinners, for those who never 
 prayed, and who would not be benefited 
 by His death! The words clung to the 
 memory of James Ignatius. If he could 
 fast from all food on Good Friday, and, unit- 
 
48 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 ing with the suffering Saviour, ask Him, 
 dying, to bless Dr. Storm for all his good- 
 ness to a poor little boy that was crippled and 
 of no use to any one! His generous soul 
 sprang to the thought! He did not realize 
 his weakness ; he did not know it would has- 
 ten his death! The spirit of an apostle 
 burned within him, and the single desire of 
 saving the doctor's soul dominated his 
 whole being. Hence when the glass of stim- 
 ulant and milk was offered him every three 
 hours he would simply say, "Put it down, 
 nurse; I'll wait a minute," and when her 
 back was turned he beckoned to Dickie, who 
 swallowed it with one gulp. 
 
 Weaker and weaker he grew — but was he 
 not fasting like his dear Lord, to save a soul ? 
 Dr. Storm came in several times that Good 
 Friday morning, his heart torn at the pinched 
 look of the sweet little boy-face. He could 
 not understand the increasing weakness of 
 James Ignatius, in spite of the constant stim- 
 ulation. He spoke to the nurse, he saw the 
 empty wine glass, but he never dreamed of 
 questioning vacant-faced Dickie, who sat un- 
 moved at the foot of the bed, in apparent pa- 
 tience and devotion. 
 
 Good Friday was passing. James Igna- 
 tius had tasted nothing all day. Nature could 
 
"JAMES IGNATIUS' » 49 
 
 hold out no longer, and at one o'clock it was 
 apparent that the little fellow was in his 
 agony. The priest came to his bedside and 
 found Dr. Storm seated there, fingers on 
 pulse, watching the life ebbing from the one 
 creature who had found a way to his hungry 
 heart. The big blue eyes of the dying boy, 
 fixed on his friend's face, still held the love 
 that animated him when he offered fasting 
 and pain for the doctor's conversion. 
 
 As the clock struck three the change came. 
 The doctor did not stir, but he saw between 
 the spasms the lips of James Ignatius move, 
 and, stooping low, he caught the words, dis- 
 jointed and trembling: 
 
 1 i Dear — doctor — I f -f -asted for — your— 
 soul — like Jesus — did on Good — Friday!" 
 
 And then, with an expression of ineffable 
 sweetness, the tortured body gave up its white 
 soul, and paradise opened to poor, crippled 
 James Ignatius! 
 
 The doctor rose with a face as white as 
 marble. He pressed the eyelids shut, laid 
 the thin little hands on the breast and turned 
 away. With an intuition that was almost like 
 a revelation he saw the whole tragedy: 
 James Ignatius had starved to death for his 
 salvation. He turned to Dickie, who was 
 
50 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 wailing loudly. One glance made the boy 
 cower. 
 
 "Did you take his medicine V 9 
 
 "It was only milk and stuff !" wailed 
 Dickie ; 6 6 and he gave it to me every time ! ' J 
 
 "Well, you killed him — that's all!" said 
 Dr. Storm in a voice of thunder, and strode 
 out of the ward. 
 
 He locked himself in his room. On his knees 
 the great surgeon wept as few men weep, 
 and registered a vow that the sacrifice of 
 James Ignatius should have its recompense. 
 The grandeur and beauty of the little crip- 
 ple's soul, the wonder of his love, the great- 
 ness of his Good Friday offering again and 
 again overwhelmed him. He prayed with 
 all his being, and as he prayed he felt the 
 gentle spirit of the boy hovering near, bring- 
 ing him strength and purpose: Dr. Storm 
 arose a new man — a fervent Catholic Chris- 
 tian ! 
 
 # # # # # 
 
 James Ignatius was buried with Solemn 
 High Mass. The mourners were but two — 
 poor, simple Dickie and Dr. Storm. 
 
A MOTHER'S MEMORY. 
 
 "VTOT long after the beginning of my minis- 
 -^ try — very many years ago, as you may 
 suppose — I was visiting a brother priest in 
 Baltimore. 
 
 He asked me to help him in the confessional 
 ' during a busy season, and I consented. 
 
 "Many of my people are negroes/' he 
 said, "but I think you will not be sorry for 
 that when you make friends with them in the 
 box. ' ' 
 
 "Negroes!" I said. "I have yet to dis- 
 cover their fervor. They are very emo- 
 tional. ' 9 
 
 ' ' Not overmuch ! " he replied. ' ' They love 
 to sing — but so do the angels, for that mat- 
 ter! Given fair instruction they are fine, 
 reliable Catholics. I have no discount to 
 make in comparing them with the whites. 
 To be sure, they are a subject race, despised 
 by many whites, often feared and detested. 
 Others patronize them, spoil them, laugh at 
 their foibles, and forget their striking quali- 
 ties. But taken all in all they are good peo- 
 
 51 
 
52 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 pie, submissive, and, religiously considered, 
 are the fairest prospect for our Catholic mis- 
 sionary field, second to none ! ' ' 
 
 So we chatted about the blacks and their 
 spiritual and other traits until far into 
 the night, incidentally comparing notes about 
 their social and domestic qualities, and even 
 those intellectual ones which cross their re- 
 ligious state. 
 
 The work in the confessional, always con- 
 soling, was especially so with the negro-peni- 
 tents that time. It seemed to me I had the 
 "lion's share' ' of them! In fact, few others 
 came to me. I revelled in their simplicity 
 and sincerity, I was heartsick at the sidelights 
 of misery that were revealed. 
 
 One evening I had heard the last confes- 
 sion, and was about to leave the box when, 
 glancing between the curtains after my last 
 penitent had gone, I saw a man rise in the 
 middle of the church. He looked toward 
 me, and doubtless noted that the last benches 
 were empty for he left the pew, made a 
 genuflection, and started toward me. 
 
 Bending the knee was evidently new to 
 him, for it was anything but rubrical, but I 
 could not help noticing a peculiar grace in 
 his reverence to the altar. I watched him. 
 He was under the full glare of the large cen- 
 
A MOTHEK'S MEMORY 53 
 
 tral chandelier as he stepped along the mid- 
 dle aisle. I know a handsomely built man 
 when I see one, and that negro, black as my 
 cassock, was an ebony Apollo! Tall, well- 
 knit, with a fine head and broad shoulders, 
 the swing of his body was full of elasticity 
 and grace, It seemed to me he was about 
 twenty -five years old, becomingly and neatly 
 but not stylishly clad. As he advanced, he 
 kept his face turned toward my corner and 
 I saw that his features were almost regular 
 for a negro, and wore an expression that 
 was grave almost to dignity. 
 
 He halted squarely in front of me, for 
 I had drawn back the curtains of my box, 
 and looked at me with a half smile of ex- 
 pectancy and reverence, as if wishing me to 
 say the first word. 
 
 "My son, do you want to go to confes- 
 sion?" I said. 
 
 "Most suttingly, suh, I do for a fac' suh, 
 but I hardly know how to go 'bout it, suh." 
 
 His voice was remarkably sweet and deep, 
 his accent strongly African, but I will not 
 venture to reproduce his dialect entirely, 
 which I afterwards found was that of the 
 Cotton Belt. 
 
 I stepped out of the confessional, shook 
 hands with my bashful penitent, and invited 
 
54 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 him into the sacristy, for I saw he needed 
 some instruction on the method of making his 
 confession and no doubt on other points of 
 our holy Faith. When I gave him a chair, and 
 placed him at his ease by a few kindly words, 
 I asked him to tell me all about himself. 
 
 "My name," said he, in his soft Southern 
 tones, "is Jefferson Stewart. I was born in 
 the City of Baltimore. My mother was tali, 
 very dark, and very strong. I was her only 
 child. My father died before I knew him. 
 My mammy often talked of him, and when 
 she said her prayers, with me kneeling at her 
 side, she always made me say, 'God rest my 
 father's soul, Amen.' Three times I had to 
 say that. And I can look back even to my 
 third year and mind the tears trickling down 
 her face: But suh" (I had quite a time 
 making him call me "Father," he evidently 
 thought it too familiar and hence disrespect- 
 ful) "but, suh, I mean Father, many and 
 many a time my good mammy took me to 
 this very church, and brought me to that 
 railing out there, and made me say over and 
 over, out loud, my childish prayers, while 
 she fixed her eyes on the altar and seemed 
 to see God! Then when I stopped for want 
 of something else to say, suh, she would 
 turn to me and whisper: 'God is right heah, 
 
A MOTHER'S MEMORY 55 
 
 Jefferson! He's a-lookin' from that little 
 Doah down into youh little heart!' and I 
 would tremble lest the good God saw some- 
 thing there He didn't like. Again she would 
 say. as we stood at the foot of this church: 
 ' Jefferson, chile, look around at dis grand 
 House of God! In dis heah church yuh father 
 and me was married, and heah you was 
 baptized a little, po' baby! You was bap- 
 tised a Cath'lic heah, a true Roman Cath'lic, 
 and doan you nebber forget it, and, if any 
 nasty Meth'dists or Baptists ask you to jine 
 their 'ligion when you git growed up, tell 'em 
 you are a Cath'lic, a Roman Cath'lic, and 
 that's the only 'ligion that's God's.' " 
 
 •w* *«• *3\* *n? •n? 
 
 I suppressed a smile at the epithet my 
 black man bestowed on our non-Catholic 
 brethren, but he did not see me in his fervor. 
 Then I asked him about his prayers — did he 
 remember them? 
 
 Yes! 
 
 His mother (it was always his mother) 
 taught them to him. And then, like a little 
 child, this tall, fine fellow went on his knees 
 and said the "Our Father," "Hail Mary" 
 and "Creed," with numberless little mis- 
 takes, which he repeated like a little boy 
 when I corrected them. 
 
56 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 I cannot forget his simple fervor and his 
 intense religion. Then he sat down again. 
 
 "My mammy, suh, was a free woman, 
 Father, " he began, "and always carried in 
 an oilcloth purse in her bosom a printed 
 paper with her name on it, her free-papers 
 as she called them. I have seen her show 
 them to the constables who sometimes stopped 
 her on the streets. 
 
 ' ' She had to work hard, and scrubbed and 
 cleaned a number of offices. We lived with 
 a colored Catholic family, in an alley full 
 of our people. I often went with my mother 
 when she was out working. One of her of- 
 fices was along the waterfront, and one eve- 
 ning while she was working at her sweeping 
 she sent me for some sand to strew on the 
 floor. It was a summer day, and I went over 
 to a pile of sand that lay heaped up near the 
 river. Mother knew the black man who 
 watched there and told me he would give 
 me some in a can. I got the sand, carried it 
 to her, and ran back to talk to the man. 
 
 "I found a black boy of my own age, and 
 we began playing tag out on the long wharf 
 where several schooners lay moored on the 
 river. A man soon began loosening some 
 ropes on one of the vessels and as we passed 
 he called to us: He was a low-browed, evil- 
 
A MOTHER'S MEMORY 57 
 
 looking man — a white man, of course. When 
 he saw us he shouted : 
 
 " 'Here, you youngsters, get aboard and 
 help to haul this rope in, and I'll give you 
 each a penny/ 
 
 "We raced each other to see who should be 
 first to take up his offer, and I thought how 
 proud I should be to give my mother my first 
 earnings that evening! So we jumped 
 aboard, and were instantly caught up by 
 two other fellows, carried down below, locked 
 in a room, and told we would be killed if we 
 made the least noise. We huddled together, 
 shivering in speechless terror. Soon we 
 heard the rushing back and forth of hurried 
 feet overhead and felt the upward and down- 
 ward motion of the boat. We were afloat and 
 going, God knew where ! 
 
 1 ' Oh, how we wept in that dark room ! Oh, 
 how my heart broke to think of my mother, 
 my poor, dear mammy, hunting for me, 
 her lost boy, her only boy, never to see me 
 again ! ' ' 
 
 He stopped, overcome. The pathos in that 
 negro's voice would have put to shame the 
 tenderest, deepest feeling expressed by a 
 cultivated white man, and I felt my heart 
 swell in sympathy, for I knew he was telling 
 the truth. He went on : 
 
58 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 "Soon everything was quiet, and we poor 
 little darkies put our arms around each other 
 and wept ourselves asleep. When it was day- 
 light we were taken on deck, given something 
 to eat, and found ourselves sweeping out to 
 the ocean. 
 
 "We were taken to Charleston and there 
 sold at auction to different planters. I re- 
 member my purchaser before he bid for me 
 thrusting his fingers into my mouth, bending 
 all my joints, trying my eyes, my teeth, my 
 hearing. One man bid a hundred and fifty 
 dollars, but I was sold at last for two hundred 
 and twenty-five dollars, and was delivered 
 over to this buyer. I was now a slave! I 
 did not dare resist, but went passively wher- 
 ever I was told. 
 
 "How lonely I was, living in the silent 
 country with three hundred slaves, toiling 
 from dawn to dark. How I pitied them with 
 their strange ways, their poor cabins, their 
 wild stories and their religion! How dif- 
 ferent from Baltimore! And, oh, how I 
 pined for my poor mother ! 
 
 "I never saw her again. 
 
 "Almost the first thing that happened was 
 a dispute about me. The family I was sold 
 to was half Methodist and half Baptist, the 
 
A MOTHER'S MEMORY 59 
 
 father holding to the Methodists, the mother 
 to the Baptists. 
 
 "They argued hot and strong with each 
 other to possess me for their religion. They 
 quoted the Bible — lots of it. The bigger 
 children laughed, but took neither side. Now 
 I was a bold little darkey, and I waited for a 
 lull in the dispute. I wanted my chance, for 
 my dear mother's words were ringing in my 
 ears. 
 
 "At last there was a moment's quiet. I 
 mustered up all my courage and stood in 
 my bare feet and my little shirt and pants, 
 my hands in my pockets, and called out: 
 'The Methodists and Baptists are both 
 nasty. I am a Roman Cath'lic, that's what 
 I am! It's God's only true religion!' 
 
 "When I got through, and before they got 
 over their surprise I thought I had better 
 say it again, because it didn't sound loud 
 enough the first time. So I planted my feet 
 firmly and fairly yelled out my good mammy's 
 words. And, suh, I felt them deep down in 
 my heart, and I would have said them if 
 those people killed me, as indeed I thought 
 they would! Not at all, suh. First they 
 stared, and glared at me, but I stared back. 
 Then two of the big girls giggled, and the 
 children laughed, and after a while the old 
 
60 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 folks laughed, and there was a shout all 
 around. 
 
 "They made me tell them all I knew. I 
 said my prayers three times over during my 
 story. I told them how I was stolen, and 
 about my poor mother, and I think my mis- 
 tress was kind-hearted, for she said: 'You 
 poor little nigger, no one shall touch you ! ' 
 
 "I never had any real trouble after that 
 day about religion. The people were good 
 enough to me — but I had hard work, and I 
 often hankered after my mother, and never 
 forgot my prayers. When they wanted me 
 to go to camp meeting I said 'No' so fierce 
 that they let me alone. You see, Father, it 
 was my mother's words! She had stamped 
 them on my heart, and although I knew not 
 one thing about Cath'lies, I knew she was 
 right, and anything different was wrong. 
 So I stuck to my mother. When I was grown 
 I took up with a fine girl, but she was so 
 savage a Baptist that I quit her. I never 
 saw a Cath'lic, never heard of any in reach. 
 I have been a working man all my life, and 
 always poor. 
 
 "After the war I was free, so I went to a 
 lighter in a little cotton port, and got a chance 
 of working my passage to Baltimore. My 
 whole heart was set on getting to Baltimore 
 
A MOTHER'S MEMORY 61 
 
 and finding my mother. I got here a week ago, 
 Father. I began to hunt for my mother, but ' ' 
 (here his voice broke and his big chest 
 heaved; he couldn't go on for a few moments) 
 "everything is changed. I couldn't find any- 
 thing as I remembered them in the docks, the 
 streets, or the alleys. I found an old auntie 
 who remembered my name when I told her. 
 She took me by the two hands and looked 
 up into my face while she cried: 'You? 
 Jefferson Stewart! You? Yes, indeedy, I 
 'members you' pooh mother, my child. Your 
 mother broke her heart and died when she 
 couldn't find you ! She pined and pined, and 
 when the priest cum to her poor bed an gib 
 herde Blessed Saviour, I was there, an' she 
 turned to me and says: "Rachel, if ever you 
 meet my poor boy on this earth, tell him his 
 mother watches over him day and night" — 
 and den that night she died! I don't know 
 where they buried her, for it was the war 
 times and such things was done in a hurry. ' 
 "It was a hard blow, Father, a hard blow! 
 I could only bow my head and take it. But 
 then I thought I must get to the church my 
 mother loved and be a good Cath'lic, for 
 that's all I can do to please her. I had a 
 lot of trouble finding this church. It is much 
 changed, but here I am. When I saw you out 
 
62 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 there in that box I wanted to speak to you, 
 and ask you to help me to be a good Oath 'lie 
 like my mother, so that I can see her some 
 
 day in heaven. Will you help me, Father?" 
 
 # # # * # 
 
 Need I tell you my answer? My heart 
 went out to that child-hearted, big, black 
 man ! I saw how the grace of God had come 
 to him through that poor, old, hard-working 
 mother. Her teachings, her influence had 
 guarded his life and shaped his pathway to 
 me, and I gave him all I could of instruction 
 and assistance day after day until I left him 
 a true, fervent, practical Catholic! Where 
 he is now I know not, but I firmly believe that 
 his life is one that his mother in heaven is not 
 ashamed of. 
 
 Oh, Christian mothers of the present gen- 
 eration, do you thus impress piety and faith 
 on your children? 
 
 Learn a lesson' from this lowly negro 
 mother and her stalwart son: 
 
THE FAITHFUL FRIEND 
 
DURING THE NIGHT. 
 
 TVfOT long ago, passing through an Eastern 
 "^ city, I visited a priest of my acquaint- 
 ance. I was asked to wait a little while, and 
 as my business was not important, I picked 
 up a book on the table of his study, and was 
 soon absorbed in it. He entered the room 
 shortly, and apologized for his delay, but I 
 waived the apology, knowing that a priest is 
 always busy in the service of the Master, and 
 needs no excuse. I noticed, however, that he 
 seemed pale and somewhat nervous, and 
 remarked the fact, adding that it was Sun- 
 day evening, and no doubt the day had been 
 unusually strenuous, As for myself I was 
 about to take the train for a distant city, 
 and wanted to have a pleasant chat with my 
 friend as I passed near his vicinity. I had 
 two hours before train time. 
 
 "You are right, Father Alexander," he 
 said, "I have had a very strenuous day! It 
 began at two o'clock this Sunday morning, 
 and lasted straight along till Vespers this 
 afternoon !" 
 
 63 
 
64 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 " Since two o'clock this morning ?" I 
 echoed in surprise. 
 
 "Yes. I'll tell you all about it. I think 
 I ought to give you my experience — some 
 good may be done by the recital.' ' 
 
 "Do, Father," I said. "I really want to 
 hear it." He settled back in his chair and 
 began : 
 
 "I was late in the confessional last night 
 (we always are on Saturday nights, thank 
 God), and I was pretty tired; my head was 
 scarcely on the pillow before I fell sound 
 asleep. It only seemed a minute or two, 
 until the telephone, which is right at the 
 head of my bed, woke me up with a furious 
 ring. I stretched out my arm and caught the 
 receiver. 
 
 i l ' Hello ! ' was the call — ' are you Father 
 So-and-So?' 
 
 " i I am, ' was the reply; 
 
 " 'Well, Father, this is the Municipal Hos- 
 pital. We have a terribly sad case here, a 
 fallen Catholic. She is going to die— and 
 pretty soon — and the party who brought her 
 told us she ought to see the priest. It's such 
 a sad case we could not help calling you up, 
 although the time of night is unearthly. She 
 will not live much longer.' 
 
 " 'Why didn't you call me earlier?' I said. 
 
DUEING THE NIGHT 65 
 
 " ' Because she did not seem to be in dan- 
 ger. She has taken a sudden turn, and the 
 doctor says she will only last a few hours. 
 Will you come, Father?' 
 
 " 'Of course I'll come,' I said. I got into 
 my clothes as fast as I could, took the holy 
 oils, and went into the darkened church for 
 the Blessed Sacrament, then started. 
 
 "Well, Father, it was the darkest night of 
 the season. I was a little uneasy as I went 
 my lonely way, but I had a ' Companion, ' you 
 know, hidden in my breast. I felt that I was 
 about His business, and that He would pro- 
 tect me. 
 
 "I got to the hospital, where the lights 
 were low and all was silence and as I passed 
 the big hall clock it struck three! They 
 knew me there. I had no need to speak, un- 
 til I met the nurse who seemed to be waiting 
 for me. She came over at once. 
 
 " * Father,' she said, 'it is a case of acute 
 scarlet fever. The girl cannot speak. She 
 is an unfortunate; The elder woman who 
 brought her here and paid for her liberally 
 in advance said she was a Catholic. She also 
 said that she often thought she suffered bit- 
 ter remorse of conscience for her life. We 
 did not think she was in danger until an 
 hour ago.' 
 
66 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 " 'Let me see her/ I said in a low voiee. 
 
 ' ' The nurse went ahead, stopping suddenly 
 before the door of a room. 
 
 " 'You must go in here, Father, and put 
 on the gown we wear where there is con- 
 tagion. Everything is ready. ' 
 
 ' ' I had been there before ; I divested myself 
 of my coat, slipped on the white gown re- 
 dolent of disinfectants, and putting my pyx 
 case in the pocket of my breast and the stole 
 around my neck, went out quickly. 
 
 a i There,' said the nurse; 'number 49.' 
 
 "I entered. The door was closed behind 
 me. I saw a beautiful girl of about twenty- 
 three, with long black hair tossed on the 
 pillow. Her face was free from the eruption, 
 but her throat and neck and arms were 
 terribly inflamed. She opened her large 
 brown eyes and scanned me as I approached 
 her. 
 
 "'My child, ' I said. 'I am a Catholic 
 priest. I have come to help you to make your 
 peace with God. See my stole!' and I lifted 
 up the little violet stole I wore. As she recog- 
 nized it a dreadful expression of horror 
 passed over her face! She threw up her 
 hands, a terrible sound came from her lips. 
 She shook her head, and I saw that the demon 
 of despair had possession of her. Oh, 
 
DURING THE NIGHT 67 
 
 Father ! I determined that the devil of Judas 
 should not have her ! 
 
 "Inwardly calling on God's Mother, the 
 pure Queen of heaven, I pleaded with the 
 miserable creature. With all my heart I as- 
 sured her of God's mercy — truly, if He had 
 not intended to save her, He would not have 
 sent me here. No use! She looked at me, 
 and her great, terrified eyes had the agony 
 of a lost soul — her lips uttering dreadful 
 sounds that were not words ! But there was 
 no softening of the awful lines of her face. 
 At last she flung herself against the wall, 
 turning her back to me. I was desperate. I 
 seized her by the arms and turned her to- 
 ward me. 
 
 " i You shall not be damned,' I cried. 'It is 
 God's will to save you. Listen, poor child. It 
 will be so easy. I will make your confession. 
 You will answer with your eyes, your head, 
 your hands. It is the evil spirit who tempts 
 you! Come! God and His sweet Mother 
 Mary, our blessed Lady, will help you. This 
 is the May time — don't you remember?' 
 
 "I kept on in such words, with inward 
 prayer all the time, until I saw the poor eyes 
 soften. By degrees I felt that God's grace 
 was winning the battle. 
 
 "She made her confession, Father. It was 
 
68 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 hard work for us both, but when I gave her 
 absolution the peace that settled on those 
 contorted features made my eyes moist and 
 my throat swell. I anointed her. I did not 
 give her Holy Communion — she could not 
 swallow. But the rest the Lord's mercy al- 
 most forced upon her! I had scarcely 
 finished when I saw the awful gray shadow 
 stealing over her face: I went to the door 
 and called the nurse. She knelt down and I 
 held the sacred pyx in my hand before the 
 dying girl. She seemed to feel the presence 
 of Jesus, for when the cold sweat was gather- 
 ing on her forehead she opened her glazing 
 eyes, and fixed them upon it. Her agony was 
 terrible. 
 
 "When the end came at last her face 
 settled into a look of such peace that again 
 that choking feeling came. I thought how 
 near she had been to the awful Abyss ! 
 
 " 'It is all over, Father,' whispered the 
 nurse. 
 
 "I made the sign of the cross over the 
 lifeless body and left the room. It was more 
 than an hour since I had entered, and the 
 strain was telling on me; the perspiration 
 was standing in great beads on my forehead, 
 I was shaking all over. I stood a moment 
 wiping my brow, and pulling myself to- 
 
DITKING THE NIGHT 69 
 
 gether, when I heard the sound of suppressed 
 sobbing in a room close by. The door was 
 ajar, and I felt impelled to enter. I saw two 
 small beds, and upon them were stretched 
 the gasping forms of three little children: 
 a boy of about seven, a girl of five, and a baby 
 (I knew not the sex), apparently about three. 
 Kneeling on the floor between them was the 
 mother, evidently, and from her came broken 
 sobs. 
 
 "She felt my presence. Turning, she 
 stretched out her arms in alarm over the 
 little cots with an appealing gesture, like a 
 mother-bird spreading wings of protection 
 over a helpless nest of little ones, and looked 
 at me with a startled gaze! When she saw 
 over my white gown the stole which I had 
 not removed, and the black guard which held 
 my pyx case, a look of intense joy came into 
 her face. 
 
 " ' A priest of God ! ' she cried. * Oh thanks 
 be to His holy Name ! 
 
 ■*' Father,' she said, turning to me still 
 on her knees, with a transfigured look on 
 her tear-stained face; 'God has sent you! 
 They are all dying of diphtheria — all I have 
 — my little babies ! These two are innocent, 
 they will go in their baptismal robes! But 
 my boy is seven ! Give him absolution ! He 
 
70 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 lias been to confession at home, Father — lie 
 is good, and lie knows right from wrong. 
 Thank God ! I am satisfied now: I know all 
 is right when the priest is here V 
 
 " ' I will give the boy conditional absolution 
 and anoint him,' I said — and I did so. Be- 
 fore I finished, the two little ones had died, 
 and before I left the room, the boy had passed 
 away; The poor mother closed their eyes, 
 whispering ' Thank God' amidst her tears, 
 and the nurses led her away as I went to 
 change my clothes. 
 
 I was unnerved. The contrast between the 
 two scenes was so great! There was that 
 poor girl, God's mercy almost forced upon 
 her, barely escaping an awful eternity. Here 
 were those three innocent children, all the 
 world to their heart-broken mother, and she 
 was thanking God they were taken in their 
 innocence ! How little we know of the ways 
 of the mighty God! The mother knew the 
 babies were better off. She was a Catholic 
 Christian. God's will was her will! What 
 a lesson! But the other death-bed! Once 
 that girl was innocent, too. Perhaps some 
 fervent prayers on her First Communion day 
 — perhaps the pursuing pleadings of a heart- 
 broken mother— perhaps the memory of the 
 celebration of Our Lady's month — a hundred 
 
DURING THE NIGHT 71 
 
 such seeming trifles had brought God's 
 mercy to her erring soul ! The mercy of God. 
 Oh! it has no bounds. None can sound its 
 height — its depth! 
 
 "When I got home after all this, I found 
 it was nearly time for the six o'clock Mass. 
 I said it, and tried to take a much needed 
 rest. But those scenes were before me! I 
 preached at the late Mass, and I made my 
 sermon on my visit in the darkness of that 
 early Sunday morning to the hospital. There 
 was no need of other subject. I saw the peo- 
 ple breathless in their attention. I saw then} 
 wipe the tears away. I knew they under- 
 stood. After Mass, the sacristy was thronged 
 with them. 
 
 " ' Father!' they whispered, 'that poor 
 girl! Won't you say Mass for her soul!' 
 and they pressed their offerings upon me. 
 Twenty-five dollars they left on the sacristy 
 table for Masses for her soul ! 
 
 "I thought how the dew of the Holy Sac- 
 rifice would penetrate her purgatory, and help 
 her toward heaven, and I thought again of 
 God's unspeakable love for His creatures! 
 Oh! the love of God! the mercy of God! Is 
 it not overwhelming?" 
 
 He stopped. We were both silent*. There 
 are moments of deep emotion that come into 
 
72 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 our lives, when even an audible breath jars 
 on the intensity! I arose as I glanced at 
 my watch. I had barely time to make my 
 train. I gave him my hand with an almost 
 inaudible good-by, and we parted. But dur- 
 ing the night as I lay in my berth, listening 
 to the measured rhythm of the wheels on the 
 steel tracks, the vivid narrative of my priestly 
 friend came before me, and I saw in imagina- 
 tion the two death-beds in which he was God's 
 minister and the archangel of His mercy! 
 And this was the lesson : Can we ever doubt 
 the goodness of our blessed Lord, or His 
 love for those whom He has redeemed and 
 paid for with His precious blood ! 
 
THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT. 
 
 GTRANGE stories are told by hospital 
 *J chaplains of God's astounding mercy to 
 poor sinners. Almost without apparent rea- 
 sons, souls that seemed beyond redemption 
 are saved before one's eyes. Miracles of 
 grace are enacted that make one thrill with 
 awe and reverence, and the love of Christ for 
 His creatures becomes at times so manifest 
 that we fall on our knees, almost frightened 
 in presence of the supernatural. 
 
 A brother priest, a friend of mine, is chap- 
 lain in one of the most prominent hospitals 
 in the country. He had been there for many 
 years and was a striking figure as day by day 
 he went around the various wards and private 
 apartments, doing God's blessed work in his 
 gentle persuasive way. His hair was snow- 
 white, but his figure was erect and well-knit, 
 his clerical dress faultless, and he was most 
 impressive in his manner of offering prayers. 
 Many a one, listening to his deep sonorous 
 voice, devoutly and slowly enunciating every 
 sacred word, went away with his petitions 
 
 73 
 
74 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 to God stamped on their souls — a help to 
 their future perseverance. 
 
 One day I visited him in his apartments. 
 He seemed so pre-oecupied that I asked the 
 cause. 
 
 "Well, Father Alexander," he said, "I am 
 standing silent, as it were, before a case of 
 God's wonderful mercy today. 
 
 "Downstairs, a man has been bed-ridden 
 for some months. When he came to the hos- 
 pital I tried to find out what religion he pro- 
 fessed, or if he had any at all. He would 
 not speak a word. He seemed impatient of 
 my presence, and even turned away his head 
 irritably when I went near him: After in- 
 numerable attempts to awaken his interest, 
 I gave up the task, begging the Sisters, who 
 never fail to elicit some signs of gratitude 
 or appreciation, to find out something about 
 this silent patient. They were unsuccessful. 
 Even to the doctors this man barely replied 
 in monosyllables — and soon was left severely 
 alone, although every effort was still made 
 for his comfort and assistance. 
 
 "Month after month passed by, but no 
 impression was made on the poor fellow and 
 at last his disease became so offensive that 
 it was all one could do to stand for any 
 length of time at his bedside. Again and 
 
THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT 75 
 
 again lie was spoken to about his soul. He 
 never gave an answer or made any comment, 
 no matter how impressive his visitor might 
 be. After a while only a few w r ords, or a 
 prayer, with an aspiration, was said by those 
 who could not bear to see him die without one 
 word concerning his soul or the life to come. 
 
 "Six months had passed unavailingiy, or 
 so it appeared. The man seemed stolidly 
 indifferent. Few had heard him speak. 
 - "But this morning one of the nursing 
 Sisters passed his room. Something im- 
 pelled her to enter and give him a kindly 
 greeting. Then she asked him if he wanted 
 anything. 
 
 " 'Yes,' he said very distinctly. 'May I 
 have a drink of water?' 
 
 " 'Certainly,' said the Sister. She at once 
 went and returned with a glass of fresh 
 water. 
 
 "He thanked her, and while she raised his 
 head and assisted him to drink, she ventured 
 to say, as he tried to swallow a little: 'How 
 refreshing that water seems to be to you! 
 That is the way baptism is to an immortal 
 soul! Of course you have been baptized.' 
 
 " 'No,' said the sick man, 'I have never 
 been baptized. I don't belong to any Church. 
 If I did, I would belong to yours.' 
 
76 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 " ' Would you wish to be baptized a Catho- 
 lic V asked the Sister eagerly. 
 
 " 'If I could I would/ he replied. 'No on§ 
 ever asked me.' 
 
 " 'Why, I thought you had been spoken 
 to repeatedly about religion/ said the nun, 
 amazed. 
 
 " 'I didn't understand,' said he wearily. 
 
 " 'But you understand now,' said she. ' You 
 want to be baptized, so that you may reach 
 heaven ! ' 
 
 " 'Yes, that's what I want.' 
 
 " 'Wait a minute,' said the Sister. She 
 came quickly to my room and amazed me by 
 telling me that No. 46 wanted to be baptized. 
 I sprang to my feet, and stole in hand went 
 to his room. 
 
 "In an instant I saw the shadow of death 
 on his face. 
 
 " 'You want to be baptized, my son?' I 
 said. 'You believe all the Holy Catholic 
 Church teaches?' 
 
 " 'I want to be baptized. I do believe, ■ 
 came distinctly from his lips. 
 
 "I seized the glass of water the Sister had 
 brought him. It was nearly full. I poured 
 it over his forehead, baptizing him in the 
 name of the Father and of the Son and of the 
 Holy Ghost! As I said, 'Thanks be to God,' 
 
THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT 77 
 
 and turned to the Sister, who was beside me 
 with a towel in her hana, she said: 'Look, 
 Father V 
 
 "I turned to the bed; the man was gasp- 
 ing ! In one second he was dead ! ' ' 
 
 "How long ago was that?" I asked. 
 
 "Less than an hour. And now, Father 
 Alexander, can you tell me how that man 
 received the grace of the Sacrament of Bap- 
 tism, or how was it that the Lord's mercy 
 lingered about him, refusing, as it were, to 
 leave him until his soul was saved? These 
 are the endless questions I ask myself as I 
 minister day by day to the countless cases 
 that come into this great hospital. What are 
 the hidden causes of all these marvels ?" 
 
 We were both silent. At last he said : 
 
 "Many wonders will be revealed at the 
 Judgment Day ! But the greatest of all will 
 be the mercy of God." 
 
THROUGH THE SACRED HEART. 
 
 CHE was an old lady of seventy, a convert 
 ^ for many years. I had known her for a 
 long time, and held her in high esteem for her 
 virtue, piety and intellectual gifts. She had 
 hosts of friends and was an unusual person- 
 ality, carrying her years like a queen, and 
 her stately figure, with its shapely head 
 crowned with abundant snow-white hair, gave 
 gracious evidence of her age. 
 
 One day I said to her rather unexpectedly : 
 "Madame Thirza, you have never told me 
 the circumstances of your conversion. You 
 know I am always on the lookout for mar- 
 vels of grace .that might instruct and edify 
 others. I know the world is full of them if 
 we only looked about us. God's hand is not 
 shortened, nor is His heart less loving as 
 time rolls on. Do tell me what made you a 
 Catholic." 
 
 A faint blush overspread her venerable 
 yet delicate features, and it seemed to me 
 her eyes grew moist and tender. She said : 
 
 78 
 
THROUGH THE SACRED HEART 79 
 
 "You are right, Father Alexander. His 
 heart never grows less loving: God was very 
 good to me, and I will tell you all about it. 
 
 "Fifty years ago I was a bride, a happy 
 girl of twenty. My husband was a nominal 
 Catholic and I was a strict Baptist. I don't 
 know how we ever grew to be so fond of 
 each other, but we were a most devoted 
 couple until his death. My husband never 
 spoke of religion, and at that time took such 
 .matters very lightly. I was distressed at 
 this, and after a while I ventured to take him 
 to task for it, as he never went to church; I 
 even tried to bring him over to my way of 
 worshipping God. I wanted him to become 
 a Baptist, a church member. He did not 
 seem to understand me for a w^hile, but when 
 it broke on him he gave a hearty laugh in 
 the most disconcerting manner, and, taking 
 both my hands in his, he looked me straight 
 in the face and said: 
 
 " 'Why, little girl, don't you know it is 
 as impossible for a Catholic to change his 
 faith and be sincere as it is for him to change 
 his color? There is only one true faith, little 
 wife, as there is only one sun, and although 
 I am a bad Catholic (God forgive me!), I 
 never could be of any other religion. ' 
 
 "These words made a deep impression on 
 
80 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 me. If there were only one true faith, was I 
 quite sure it was my faith? My husband, 
 careless and easy as he was, had the most 
 profound conviction that the Catholic religion 
 was the only real religion. If he were right 
 (and I never knew him to make a mistake in 
 matters of thought or intelligence), why 
 should I not try at least to find out some- 
 thing about that religion, and if there were 
 flaws in it, which would be very apparent to 
 a disinterested party (so I thought in my 
 ignorance), I could argue a little about it. 
 
 "I was really in earnest, and being of a 
 religious turn of mind, and very anxious to 
 convert my husband, I determined to go into 
 the enemy's camp and look around for myself. 
 I was trembling at the thought of meeting 
 the i Scarlet Woman of Popery/ but I loved 
 my husband dearly and hoped I was striving 
 for his soul. 
 
 "My husband was a traveling man, and 
 often was absent for two or three months 
 at a time. This was hard for us both, but 
 we consoled ourselves with the hope of better 
 things ere long, and as he wrote me every 
 few days without fail, and told me where to 
 address my letters, looking for the mail be- 
 came my most engrossing occupation. Un- 
 til, one night, I had a strange dream. 
 
THEOUGH THE SACEED HEAET 81 
 
 "My husband had been away two weeks, 
 and I received his letters regularly. In the 
 last he wrote some closing phrase which told 
 me that his faith, though crusted over by the 
 distractions of the world, was still there, un- 
 dying and strong. All day I thought of his 
 words. I forgot what they were exactly, 
 but that night I had a strange dream. 
 
 "I seemed to be wandering alone in a 
 dark cavern. I touched the rocks on either 
 side; they were cold and rough. The pas- 
 sage was narrow, the path was uneven. I 
 was continually stumbling. I walked on 
 blindly, getting more and more weary at 
 every step, wondering when I would reach 
 the end. I had some vague idea it was my 
 soul's destiny, and that I was going through 
 earth's pilgrimage to God, but the cavern 
 seemed interminable ; my hands were sore and 
 bleeding from the rough walls of rock I was 
 obliged to feel on each side in the darkness, 
 and my feet were aching and burning. 
 
 "Suddenly the thought flashed through 
 my tired brain: 'Am I on the right road?' 
 I seemed to have set out bravely, fully con- 
 vinced I would reach my destination, but now 
 I was almost exhausted. In my dream I fell 
 on my knees with my arms outstretched and 
 prayed aloud: 'Oh Lord, give me light to 
 
82 THE HAND OF MERCY j 
 
 know the right path ! ' Suddenly a great 
 brilliancy suffused the far distance. I saw a 
 cross in the midst of it, and beneath it as it 
 were on some high mountain, a noble edifice. 
 Standing in front of it was a glorious and 
 beautiful Figure, with eyes that pierced my 
 very soul. One hand pointed to His breast, 
 which seemed to be a quivering mass of liv- 
 ing light; the other hand pointed to the cross- 
 crowned edifice. I tried to spring forward, 
 but fell on my face and awoke. 
 
 "I need not tell you the impression that 
 dream had on me. I was not in the least 
 superstitious, nor, as a usual thing, bothered 
 by the foolish vagaries of sleep; but I was 
 haunted day and night by the vivid picture 
 that was revealed to me as I knelt with out- 
 stretched arms in that dark cave and cried to 
 the Saviour for light. I did not dare to tell 
 that dream to any one. It seemed too sacred 
 to gossip about. I would not tell my minister, 
 and I could not write it to my husband. 
 
 "One day I was shopping, and passed the 
 door of a Catholic church. It was in the 
 heart of the busy city — the only Catholic 
 church of prominence in the district. It is 
 now torn down, but even when I pass the 
 site I bow my head. I glanced at the open 
 doorway, and with a guilty feeling I entered. 
 
THROUGH THE SACRED HEART 83 
 
 It was a vast aisle of gloom. The Gothic 
 arches lost themselves in vagueness, the altar 
 looked far, far away, and the church seemed 
 deserted save for a few bowed forms that 
 did not pay the slightest attention to any- 
 thing around them. I advanced half-way up 
 the aisle and stood doubting and trembling. 
 I had never been in such a place before. I 
 was drawn onward by an invisible force. I 
 saw a crimson star flickering, trembling in 
 space. I followed it, and stood beneath it. 
 I found it was a richly decorated lamp sus- 
 pended from the roof. I looked around, half 
 frightened at my temerity. I was standing 
 before a long, low railing that extended across 
 the church. Suddenly a figure robed in black, 
 with a peculiar square cap, came from a door 
 within the railed space. He raised his cap 
 as he knelt before what I now know is the 
 altar. I stood terrified lest he should recog- 
 nize me as an intruder and order me out of 
 the place. I felt I deserved it. 
 
 "But he arose, and, coming to the railing, 
 courteously asked me in a low voice if he 
 could serve me in any way. I think my 
 embarrassment told him I was an outsider, 
 for when I answered hesitatingly, he asked 
 me if I would not come to the house. I 
 dared not refuse, but followed him bewil- 
 
84 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 dered, and only recovered breath when I was 
 ushered into a neatly-furnished little parlor, 
 where I was courteously handed a chair. 
 The priest had asked no questions, and now 
 looked at me benevolently, waiting for me 
 to speak. I hardly know how it happened, 
 but I raised my eyes and saw on the w r all 
 a picture of the Saviour with one hand on 
 His breast, the other extended. My dream 
 rose up before me, and I cried out to the 
 priest, pointing to the picture: 'Oh, sir, 
 what does that mean?' 
 
 "In a few words he explained the mean- 
 ing of the Sacred Heart. I told him my 
 dream. My heart was unlocked. I gave 
 voice to all my doubts, all my desire to ex- 
 plain away my husband's faith, and, in fact, 
 made an entire confession of everything that 
 was in my heart and on my mind, ending 
 with the unaccountable impulse to enter the 
 church as I passed that day. He listened 
 patiently and gravely. 
 
 " 'I knew you were not a Catholic when 
 first I saw you, my child,' he said, 'and I 
 cannot but believe that God has special de- 
 signs for you. We won't discuss that to- 
 day — but, since you are so anxious to con- 
 vert your husband, I will give you a book to 
 read — a book that will tell you everything 
 
THEOUGH THE SACRED HEART 85 
 
 that Catholics believe, and, in fact, their 
 whole religion. It won't take you long to 
 read it. If you desire any explanations I 
 am nearly always at home in the afternoons, 
 and I place myself at your service/ 
 
 "Saying this, he arose and took a small 
 paper volume from a bookcase and handed 
 it to me. It was a i Little Catechism.' I 
 thanked him as I rose to depart, gave him 
 my address, and left his house w T ith such a 
 feeling of peace and serenity that I felt 
 like singing aloud for joy; I had no wish 
 to become a Catholic. I was only delighted 
 to think I had actually spoken to a minister 
 of my husband's religion and he did not de- 
 nounce my desire to convert him. 
 
 "When I went home I took the first op- 
 portunity to read the little book. I was 
 amazed at its simplicity and reasonableness, 
 and then at its tone of conviction, at its 
 clear decision, at its self-evident statements 
 — facts that only needed thought and un- 
 prejudiced judgment to affirm their cer- 
 tainty. I finished the little book at one sit- 
 ting. Again I read it, and it was not long 
 before I had to yield to its truth. 
 
 "The days passed. My husband's letters 
 came regularly. Everything went on as 
 usual, but within my soul it was as if a new 
 
86 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 world had burst upon my vision. When my 
 husband returned for a two-weeks' rest, he 
 noticed a change, an unaccountable some- 
 thing, but I was determined to hold my 
 peace until I could tell him all. 
 
 "Six months went by; my husband had 
 gone again, and in the meantime I had 
 visited my friend, the good priest, and was 
 being instructed in the faith. I will not tire 
 you, Father Alexander, by going into fur- 
 ther details, but the next time my husband 
 came home I asked him to take a walk one 
 evening. We went, to his astonishment, to 
 the rectory, where my good father and in- 
 structor was waiting, and while my husband 
 stood dumb in surprise he announced that 
 I was to be baptized conditionally next day ; 
 that I was to make my First Holy Commu- 
 nion the following Sunday. And then I said 
 to my husband: 
 
 " 'Will you not come with me!' 
 "He was overcome, but before we left the 
 house he had promised. He kept his prom- 
 ise. We received Holy Communion to- 
 gether, and until his death he never failed 
 in the practice of his religion. He died like 
 a saint, after a long, weary illness. A nun, 
 the teacher of my children, knelt at his bed- 
 side saying the prayers for his departing 
 
THROUGH THE SACRED HEART 87 
 
 soul, and when he passed away she closed 
 his eyes and said to us as we wept there : 
 " 'Do not sorrow; he is with God.' 
 "That was many years ago, Father, but 
 my faith has never faltered; my dream has 
 been realized; I found the light through the 
 love of the Sacred Heart.' ' 
 
ZULIEMA. 
 
 A True Story of Darkest Africa. 
 
 T T WAS an unusually pleasant day in tlie 
 -*■ island of Zanzibar, and one of the young 
 officers of the British Army, in garrison on 
 the coast, determined to get a boat, sail to 
 the mainland, and spend the day hunting. 
 He got his guns together, and employed one 
 of the natives to row him across. 
 
 Cautiously they entered the bush. They 
 had not proceeded far when they heard 
 through the gloom of the tropical foliage the 
 unmistakable growling and yelping of jackals 
 and hyenas. The officer caught the yellow 
 sheen of their round, vicious eyes, and fired 
 several times. They heard the patter of 
 swift flying feet and the yelps dying away in 
 the distance, before he and his native ven- 
 tured to push on. 
 
 When they penetrated a little farther into 
 the bush they found several of the animals 
 dead, and one or two disabled. But to their 
 amazement, they saw that there was a rough 
 
ZULIEMA 89 
 
 canvas sack in the midst of the dead wild 
 beasts. It was tied securely at one end, and 
 evidently had been dragged out of the earth, 
 which was excavated for a foot or two, as if 
 intended for a grave. The sack seemed to 
 move. The officer, cutting the string from the 
 end, disclosed the warm body of a young 
 child, a girl of about eleven or twelve years 
 old. It was doubled up in the sack like so 
 much carrion. When the air touched the 
 body, especially the face, convulsive twitch- 
 ing showed that life was still present. The 
 officer and the native tried to restore con- 
 sciousness, and were rewarded by seeing the 
 girl's eyes open, look at them wonderingly, 
 and then close. The little form was so 
 emaciated that it was barely skin and bone, 
 and utterly helpless. The officer could get 
 little satisfaction from the native, and stood 
 bewildered, not knowing what to do. Sud- 
 denly a sweet-toned bell pealed in the dis- 
 tance, and the native said the sound came 
 from the house of the Sisters who took care 
 of poor children. The information was an 
 immense relief to the officer, who ordered 
 the native to take up the little black skeleton 
 in his arms, and they made their way toward 
 the sound of the bell, which was still pealing 
 the mid-day Angelus, 
 
90 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 It was Christmas Eve, and the convent 
 was in a state of preparation for the mid- 
 night Mass. The little black children were 
 in great excitement, carrying articles to the 
 chapel, and cleaning up the various living 
 rooms, while the nuns in their dark habits 
 and white veils were superintending affairs 
 in all directions. That night the class of good 
 children who had been under probation for 
 a year, and had been thoroughly instructed 
 in the Catholic Faith, were to be baptized, 
 and then they were to begin their prepara- 
 tion for the reception of the other Sacra- 
 ments. The devoted women who had given 
 up home and associations most precious to 
 Catholic hearts, and had come into these 
 wild, equatorial regions for the love of 
 souls, enduring all sorts of terrible hard- 
 ships to win the African children to Christ, 
 had established there a sort of orphanage 
 and school. They received with open arms 
 the wretched creature that was brought to 
 them. The young officer was astonished that 
 no questions were asked, no fee mentioned; 
 and he was filled with admiration and rever- 
 ence for the good Sisters who showed such 
 beautiful, unselfish charity. 
 
 When he told the story of the finding of 
 the sack in the open grave dug up by wild 
 
ZULIEMA 91 
 
 beasts, the Sisters explained to him that no 
 doubt a caravan of slave dealers had found 
 this child unable to continue the journey 
 with the rest of their captives, and, as the 
 British Government very stringently pun- 
 ished those who killed the natives, they must 
 have been afraid to murder the poor girl 
 outright. So they buried her alive, trust- 
 ing to the wild beasts to dig up the shallow 
 grave, and devour the living, half -conscious 
 body. This would have been the case but for 
 the timely arrival of the officer. 
 
 He finally took his departure, much im- 
 pressed with all he had seen and heard. 
 
 The little girl was bathed, fed, and put 
 to bed, with one of the nuns watching over 
 her. When she revived, nourishment was 
 carefully administered, until she was able 
 to speak. Her dialect, however, was unin- 
 telligible to the Sisters. They realized that 
 she must have come from a great distance, 
 and trusted to the natural quickness of some 
 of the natives in grasping the different lan- 
 guages and dialects to interpret her account 
 of herself when she had become better. 
 
 In the meantime the preparations for mid- 
 night Mass continued. As the hour neared, 
 the child fell into a sound sleep, and the Sis- 
 ter seeing this, left her to go to the little 
 
92 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 chapel for Mass, The simple altar was dec- 
 orated with great care, and the children to 
 be baptized were clothed in white, with white 
 veils on their heads. 
 
 Mass had begun; The sound of the little 
 organ and the hymns of the children awoke 
 the stranger. She started up, and clothed 
 in her night-gown made her way to the place 
 whence the sounds came. Trembling, she 
 gazed in wondering awe from behind a ped- 
 estal on which was St. Joseph's statue. Her 
 quick eye took in all the beauty: the lighted 
 candles, the green leaves, the flowers, the 
 vested priest, the Sisters, the white-robed 
 children black like herself! It was a vision 
 of heaven to her untaught soul. She fainted 
 away in rapture, and there they found her 
 on the floor, and carried her back to bed. 
 
 She soon recovered, and was able to be 
 about. Clothed in the simple garments of 
 the black children she watched and listened, 
 and her worship of the nun who took care 
 of her was most touching. She followed Sis- 
 ter Frances like a dog, scarcely uttering a 
 sound, but her large, expressive eyes told 
 the story of her gratitude. 
 
 Ere long the nuns were surprised to hear 
 her utter words and sentences in the dialect 
 they used, and before many weeks she could 
 
ZULIEMA 93 
 
 make herself understood. She responded 
 to every word that was said. She was a 
 most attractive child. Her features were 
 pleasant, her skin deep olive, her teeth even, 
 and her smile charming. Her hair was rather 
 straight, and her figure now rounding out, 
 was erect and full of grace. Evidently she 
 was of a better class than those around her. 
 
 At last she told her story to Sister 
 Frances. She was the daughter of a princess: 
 • Her mother and father ruled one of the 
 tribes in the interior, some eight hundred 
 miles away, and they were all happy until 
 a band of wretches attacked their little set- 
 tlement in search of slaves. The men of the 
 tribe, headed by her father, had gone far 
 off into the bush that day to slay a man- 
 eating lion that had killed several of their 
 number, and on their return they were sur- 
 prised by the men of the caravan, who fell 
 upon them and slew them before the eyes of 
 their weeping wives and children. Then they 
 selected the finest looking of the women and 
 children, tied them together, and drove them 
 like cattle ahead of the caravan through the 
 wilderness, toward a port where they would 
 be sold into slavery. 
 
 The sufferings of these poor creatures 
 were indescribable. Zuliema said that her 
 
94 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 mother refused to eat, and tried to bear up 
 stoically. She was of finer physique than 
 some of the others, and held out longer. 
 Corpses of the dead strewed the way as they 
 passed. But there is a limit to all human 
 endurance, and at last the princess ' fine 
 frame yielded to the awful privations of the 
 terrible journey. She grew weaker day by 
 day. Her dragging steps retarded the Arabs, 
 who finally determined to kill her. The 
 brutal wretch who claimed her and Zuliema 
 for his share of the slaves, seeing one morn- 
 ing that she was unable to walk another step, 
 took the butt end of his gun, and beat her 
 brains out before the eyes of her shrinking, 
 terrified child. Zuliema gazed like a fasci-; 
 nated bird on the dying face of her mother, 
 and then fastened her bitter look on the mur- 
 derer as if she would burn him with the 
 intensity of her hate. For a moment the 
 man shrank, but ordering the body of the 
 princess to be thrown to the vultures, he 
 placed the weak, starving child on one of the 
 camels, determined to get rid of her at the 
 first opportunity, as she was too emaciated 
 to sell. They were nearing the British gar- 
 risons, so he did not dare kill her. The very 
 next day he tied her naked in a sack, hur- 
 riedly dug a two-foot grave, and spread the 
 
ZULIEMA 95 
 
 earth loosely above it, trusting to the jackals 
 and hyenas to do the rest. The caravan was 
 hardly out of sight when the officer who had 
 come for a day's hunting shot the wild beasts 
 and found the sack. 
 
 It was a fortunate rescue for the little 
 princess: The days passed happily. The 
 scene she witnessed that Christmas night, 
 her first glimpse of the convent chapel, re- 
 mained like a vision of paradise. As the 
 .truths of Faith were unfolded to her bright 
 mind she longed for baptism. But the good 
 Sister Frances, knowing how deeply rooted 
 is savagery in the African nature, kept her 
 under instruction and surveillance for a whole 
 year, until the next Christmas came around. 
 
 Zuliema was an unusual child. She bore 
 herself proudly, as became a princess. She 
 developed an early maturity, and she com- 
 manded the respectful homage of the other 
 children — all unconsciously. Orphan though 
 she was, and hundreds of miles away from 
 her people, she adapted herself to her sur- 
 roundings, became happy with the good Sis- 
 ters, and a valuable help in all the works of 
 
 the mission. 
 
 # # # # # 
 
 Very early one morning, two days before 
 Christmas, when the Sisters were praying 
 
96 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 in the chapel, a great noise and tramping 
 of feet were heard without. Horses were 
 neighing, and men were calling. There were 
 cries of distress mingled with those of com- 
 mand, and loud knocking was heard. It was 
 soon explained. Not far away there had 
 been a skirmish between some robber- Arabs 
 and the British soldiers. Humanity obliged 
 them to bring the wounded to the shelter 
 of the convent, where it was known that the 
 Sisters had medical and surgical skill, and 
 never refused aid to the suffering. Several 
 men were carried in, and were placed on cots 
 in the school house. The Sisters busied 
 themselves with washing the wounds, and 
 binding them up with lint and linen. Al- 
 though they knew these men were robbers 
 and murderers, they knew also that they 
 were made in the image of Christ, and had 
 a claim on His servants, to whom all races 
 and colors were alike. The English soldiers 
 departed full of admiration for the Sisters. 
 Not one of their number was hurt; 
 
 Sister Frances became busy as the day- 
 light advanced, and she called Zuliema, one of 
 her best aids, to bring water, sponges, and 
 linen to dress the wounds of the man who 
 was, apparently, the worst injured of the 
 party. 
 
ZULIEMA 97 
 
 Zuliema obeyed. But as she gazed on the 
 countenance of the wounded Arab, she gave 
 a fierce, smothered cry like that of a 
 wounded animal. Sister Frances saw with 
 horror that her face became distorted, her 
 eyes flashed fire, her breast heaved. All the 
 savage in Zuliema ? s nature came back. With 
 a spring she flew at the man, and with both 
 hands clutched his throat in an attempt to 
 strangle him. 
 
 The Sister seized her wrists, and tried to 
 quell her passion with a stern look. 
 
 Zuliema hesitated. 
 
 "He killed my mother !" she cried then. 
 "He beat in her face and head, and laughed 
 at her cries ! He kicked her when she died, 
 and kept on kicking her ! He threw her body 
 to the big birds with raw necks, and they ate 
 her while she was yet alive! My mother! 
 My poor mother!" 
 
 Sister Frances shuddered. She knew it 
 was true. But she held Zuliema 's wrists, 
 and said in a voice deep with feeling and 
 power : 
 
 "Zuliema is a Christian now. Zuliema 
 wants to be baptized. Christ forgave His 
 enemies on the cross. Zuliema must forgive 
 her enemy.' ' 
 
98 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 The savage fire in the girl's blood burned 
 in her cheek, and flashed from her eyes. 
 
 "He killed my mother I" she said. 
 
 Sister Frances, with strong hands, kept 
 fast hold of her wrists. The wounded man 
 opened his eyes, and the terror in them 
 showed that he recognized her and had 
 heard enough: Sister Frances forced the girl 
 before her until the door was reached, then 
 gently pushed her outside, saying: 
 
 "Zuliema will not be baptized this Christ- 
 mas." 
 
 The door closed. The poor girl fled to the 
 chapel, there to ponder over her outburst 
 of revengeful rage, and cry out at last in 
 deep contrition her prayer to Jesus Cru- 
 cified. 
 
 The day passed on. Another of the girls 
 helped Sister Frances with the wounded. 
 The next morning several of them were 
 ready to depart to their people, but the mur- 
 derer of Zuliema 's mother lay suffering. 
 Sister Frances avoided Zuliema, feeling sure 
 that the impulsive girl was fighting her sav- 
 age nature, and that grace would conquer. 
 
 The second day before Christmas Zuliema 
 came, downcast and humble, and threw her- 
 self at Sister Frances ' feet. Her heart was 
 breaking at the thought of not being bap- 
 
ZULIEMA 99 
 
 tized. Must she wait another long year? 
 No! She had struggled and struggled to 
 forgive her enemy, and, with God's grace, 
 she had succeeded. 
 
 Sister Frances knew what an admission 
 that was: Long experience with the natives 
 had made her know that these savage people 
 never forgive. Christianity appeals to them 
 in a thousand ways — they yield to its sweet, 
 persuasive doctrines until the meaning of 
 forgiveness is explained to them, and here- 
 in is their stumbling block. 
 
 For a savage to forgive his enemies, to 
 cease pursuing them until an eye is taken 
 for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a 
 life, is cowardice — contemptible weakness. 
 Sister Frances knew this, and knew that a 
 princess of the savage blood had fought her 
 nature long and valiantly before she could 
 make this avowal. 
 
 "My child," she said, "if God has given 
 you the grace to forgive your enemy, and 
 you want to be baptized on Christmas Eve, 
 I will give you entire charge of him. I will 
 see how sincere you are, Zuliema, and if 
 you are faithful to grace, you may win his 
 soul also. Now go and dress his wounds 
 and pray God that you do not fail." 
 
 Zuliema shuddered: Then, making the 
 
100 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 sign of the cross, she went to the room where 
 her enemy lay. He cried out with terror 
 when he saw her, for he knew that the cus- 
 tom of the people demanded his death. But 
 she came in quietly with her sponges and 
 basin, and when he shrank away she told 
 him not to fear, that she was no longer his 
 enemy. Even then he was not sure ; but her 
 deft fingers removed the bandages tenderly, 
 the cooling sponges allayed his fever, and 
 the fresh bandages soothed his aching 
 wounds. 
 
 Zuliema did not speak much. Her thoughts 
 worked with God's grace, and each moment 
 a fresh blessing seemed to help her. Over 
 and over again that day she relieved the 
 sufferer. When Christmas Eve came Sister 
 Frances saw that grace had indeed achieved 
 a complete victory, and told her she would be 
 baptized. 
 
 Joy filled the girl's heart. The white dress 
 and veil that had been taken away from her 
 were restored, and she was clothed in them, 
 with her companions. The chapel was decked 
 in all the beauty and light that she had seen 
 a year before when it broke on her enraptured 
 vision like a glimpse of paradise. 
 
 The midnight Mass was over, and the 
 young catechumens were baptized. Zuliema 's 
 
ZULIEMA 101 
 
 soul became as white as snow, a living temple 
 of grace. When all was over, she went to 
 the side of her enemy, and ministered to him 
 with such a beauty glowing in her eye and on 
 her cheek that he ventured to speak to her, 
 and ask her the reason. 
 
 This young apostle told him her joy, ex- 
 plained to him the Faith, and, knowing he 
 was going to die, never ceased her efforts 
 until he, too, asked for baptism, and was 
 made a Christian and heir to God's kingdom. 
 
 He died soon after. Zuliema knelt at the 
 bedside of her mother's murderer, praying 
 for him, wiping the death-sweat from his 
 brow, and giving him her own little crucifix 
 to kiss. Such was the miracle grace had 
 wrought*. 
 
 After the Arab's death, Zuliema resumed 
 her duties and in due time made her first holy 
 Communion. Then the Sisters, knowing the 
 customs of the natives, and that she was of 
 age, spoke to her of marriage. She shook 
 her head : 
 
 "My God does not want me to marry,' ' 
 she said. 
 
 The Sisters were surprised. It was never 
 heard of that the young girls of their mission 
 refused an eligible husband, and the ^VTiite 
 Fathers always saw to it that such should be 
 
102 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 provided for their young converts. But they 
 said nothing, and Zuliema went about her 
 work unhindered. 
 
 Some months afterwards the White 
 Fathers (as the missionaries of the congre- 
 gation of the Holy Ghost are there called) 
 came that way with their Bishop. The latter 
 was a distinguished man of God, and full of 
 zeal for the African missions. In speaking 
 to the Sisters, he told them he had it in mind 
 for a long time to gather some of the native 
 girls, and found a congregation of black 
 Sisters, who would do immense good work 
 for their people. He had met some incipient 
 vocations, but no one yet who could act as a 
 leader. He needed a foundress whose quali- 
 ties of mind and heart, and whose bearing 
 would command respect, whose virtues would 
 urge her companions to heroic deeds of love 
 for the benighted Africans. 
 
 Sister Frances told the story of Zuliema. 
 Of her heroic struggle with her native pre- 
 judices, of her refusal to marry, of her 
 princely blood, and of her unusual virtues. 
 She was brought to his lordship, the Bishop. 
 Instantly he recognized the helper he had 
 sought for — the foundress of his new Order. 
 
 To Zuliema it was the crown of her hopes. 
 She knew that the Sisters never had seen 
 
ZULIEMA 103 
 
 their way to receive any of the native girls 
 into their Order, and she never heard of a 
 society of negro nuns. So she wept for joy 
 at the Bishop's feet, and readily acquiesced 
 in all his plans. 
 
 The Bishop organized the Congregation of 
 native nuns, made Zuliema the Mother Su- 
 perior, and soon she had around her a com- 
 munity of negro novices, full of fervor and 
 zeal. They taught the African children, pre- 
 pared them for the Sacraments, and in their 
 humble convent gave forth the education and 
 good example they had received from the 
 English Sisters who came from distant 
 Europe. 
 
 As far as we know this African princess 
 still lives. And we ask our readers to pray 
 that in the far-off Dark Continent she may 
 continue for years to come to work for God's 
 glory, and the good of her people. 
 
AN IMPORTANT SCIENCE. 
 
 Xp LAMING posters were visible all over 
 t** the little town. At the corners small boys 
 with bags strung across their shoulders were 
 thrusting big-lettered dodgers into the un- 
 willing hands of the passers-by. Some looked 
 at them curiously and put them in their 
 pockets ; some flung them into the gutter af- 
 ter tearing them to shreds. 
 
 "Escaped Nun Will Give a Lecture ! Hor- 
 rors of Convents Told ! ' ' 
 
 Such was the purport of the posters and 
 dodgers that flooded the little borough of 
 McK one autumn day in the year 19 — . 
 
 Many of the townsfolk were disgusted, but 
 many more, through curiosity, went to the 
 lecture and listened to the fraud in woman's 
 clothes, who dared to utter the nameless false- 
 hoods that over and over again have been 
 relegated to the dwelling of the father of lies. 
 In the audience was a curious married 
 woman, who had been persuaded by a friend 
 to hear what the creature would say. It would 
 pass an evening, anyway, as amusements in 
 
 104 
 
AN IMPOETANT SCIENCE 105 
 
 the place were rare. She listened, aghast and 
 open-mouthed, to the lecture, and, of course, 
 brought home one of the slanderous pam- 
 phlets always on sale at such gatherings. 
 
 Next day the so-called "escaped nun" had 
 vanished, but the husband of the woman, 
 hearing his wife speak with horror of the 
 Catholic Church, took the pamphlet and read 
 it as far as his disgust permitted. Flinging 
 it down, he cried out : 
 
 "It's all a darned lie — a base lie!" 
 
 "How do you know?" demanded his wife. 
 
 "Know? I know this. In our mill I have 
 worked for years beside a man, a Catholic 
 Irishman. I know him intimately. He is 
 clean, honest, industrious, upright. I know 
 all his opinions, and I know if he thought the 
 Catholic Church was like this filthy trash he 
 would not stay in it one hour. He hasn't a 
 great amount of education, but he has a lot 
 of keen common sense; he has good ability, 
 and is a sober, pure, religious man. I tell 
 you I have watched him all day long for 
 years, and I know it ! If the Eoman Catholic 
 Church was what is represented here, he 
 would not hesitate a minute to stand up and 
 denounce it, aye, and leave it instantly. 
 That's what I know," said the excited man. 
 
 "Perhaps," argued his wife, "he does not 
 
106 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 know all the inside work in his Church. You 
 know the priests are very clever, and it is 
 their business to keep the people in ig- 
 norance, " 
 
 " Well, they would not keep me in ignorance 
 long!" thundered her husband. "I'd get it 
 out of them! And now I think I'll try it. 
 I'll go to that Catholic priest and take him un- 
 awares, and if he and the Irishman are right, 
 I'll give in to them. Where does that priest 
 live? 5 * 
 
 "Good gracious," said the wife, "you 
 wouldn't speak to a Popish priest?" 
 
 "That's just w T hat I'm going to do," said 
 her husband. "I don't believe a word that 
 she-devil said, and no decent people would 
 believe her book. I am going to headquarters 
 to find out a few things for myself. I can 
 soon see where they pull the wool over your 
 eyes." 
 
 a- 
 
 'Do think about it first. Be careful," said 
 the wife, regretfully, knowing by experience 
 that arguing with her spouse was a fruitless 
 effort. "People will think you are turning 
 Catholic if they see you." 
 
 "People be hanged! Let them think what 
 they please. I believe in a square deal and 
 I'll bet on my Irishman every time," he 
 finished, smiling grimly. 
 
AN IMPORTANT SCIENCE 107 
 
 So he went that night to the rectory of the 
 Catholic priest. He told the priest the cir- 
 cumstances of the morning, of his argument 
 with his wife, of his disgust with the "es- 
 caped nun" pamphlet, and of his friend the 
 Irishman in the mill. On mentioning his 
 name the priest smiled and said : "I know that 
 man." 
 
 "His example has taught me more than 
 twenty sermons could have done, sir." 
 
 "He is just a consistent Catholic," re- 
 turned the priest. "But I am glad to see 
 you. I will answer every question, and will put 
 all the information you wish in your hands. 
 There is no inside track in the Catholic 
 Church. Priest and people are bound by the 
 same laws. They are an open book to all, 
 and no effort is made to keep the people in 
 ignorance. Suppose you come to my office? 
 There are two good men there now who visit 
 me regularly in the evening for the purpose 
 of being instructed preparatory to their ad- 
 mission to the Catholic Church." 
 
 "But," quickly said the visitor, "you must 
 not misunderstand me — I have not the slight- 
 est desire or intention of becoming a Roman 
 Catholic. Nothing would induce me to be one. 
 I am simply a lover of truth, and I want to 
 
108 THE HAND OF MEBCY 
 
 know if those things I mentioned are false, 
 and if my friend at the mill is deluded? ' 
 
 "Just as you say," said the priest. "It 
 is not at all necessary for you to come, but 
 I thought you might take a seat and listen to 
 their questions being answered for this eve- 
 ning: Afterwards we could talk it over. You 
 see, I have an appointment with them just 
 at this time." 
 
 "That is another side of the matter," said, 
 his visitor. ' i I have no objections to listening 
 to them. Perhaps they have the same ques- 
 tions to ask that I have, and I don't forget 
 that I am asking a favor. I will go with you, 
 sir, for this evening. ' ' 
 
 The priest led the way to a smaller room, 
 where two men were seated at a little table. 
 The priest gave a kindly nod to them, handed 
 a chair to the visitor, and, going to the table, 
 sat down with the two men. In a short time 
 all three became oblivious of the stranger, 
 who, however, had become extremely in- 
 terested in the instructions of the priest, and 
 listened to every word. After about an hour 
 the priest arose and dismissed the two men. 
 
 "Now, sir," he said pleasantly, "let us 
 have our little talk. ' ' 
 
 1 ' Not to-night ; Father, ' ' said the man, i i I 
 have heard enough to think about for a while. 
 
AN IMPOETANT SCIENCE 109 
 
 I will thank you if you will allow me to come 
 back the evening you appointed for those two 
 men, and if you will also allow me to put 
 some questions and join in their contro- 
 versy. ' ' 
 
 "With the greatest pleasure," returned 
 the priest. "I was going to suggest that 
 very thing. ' J 
 
 "I wish you would let me buy one of those 
 little pamphlets," he said, pointing to a pile 
 " of catechisms on the table near by. 
 
 "Please accept one," said the Father. "I 
 would not think of selling you a catechism. 
 This is the first book of information about 
 the Catholic Church — although you say you 
 never intend to be a Catholic. ' ' 
 
 "You are right," said the visitor. "A 
 Roman Catholic would have no show in my 
 house." 
 
 "Well, you are honest and square," said 
 the priest, "and I admire those virtues 
 heartily. But come the next evening without 
 fail, and prime yourself with all the objections 
 and questions you can hold. We'll answer 
 them all. Good-evening." 
 
 The priest pleasantly showed the visitor 
 out, and he went away quite satisfied that he 
 was going to be treated squarely, and no ef- 
 fort would be made to "turn" him. 
 
110 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 His wife was curious, but she had to be 
 satisfied with his answer that he was going to 
 sift the thing to the bottom, and was going 
 again, as he wasn't through. He dropped the 
 subject, and nothing was said about it. At 
 last his wife forgot it completely. He left 
 the house certain evenings of the week, but 
 always returned in an hour or so. His home 
 life became pleasanter than before. 
 
 Where did he go? For three months he 
 went to that rectory. He listened to the 
 priest, he joined in the questions asked by 
 the two men who were always there, he 
 started objections, he pointed out parts of 
 the catechism that he wished explained, and 
 when the priest said to the two men that he 
 thought they were sufficiently instructed in 
 the faith, they answered that they were fully 
 convinced and were ready for the next step. 
 
 "Then," said the priest, "I will baptize 
 both of you next Sunday and may God bless 
 you and give you perseverance!" 
 
 They rose and said, " Good-night." 
 
 But the visitor lingered. When the two 
 men left he said: 
 
 "Father, why didn't you ask me what you 
 asked them?" 
 
 "You?" said the priest, in assumed sur- 
 prise. "Why, you told me that you would 
 
AN IMPORTANT SCIENCE 111 
 
 never be a Catholic! That was the positive 
 understanding. You came simply out of 
 curiosity to learn the truth — not to join the 
 Church." 
 
 "I must join it now," said the man. "I 
 am convinced it is the only true Church. ' { 
 
 Needless to say, he was gladly welcomed 
 into the Church, was baptized and received 
 the Sacraments. His changed appearance 
 could not keep the secret long, and when his 
 wife heard he had really become a Catholic 
 her indignation, and even fury knew no 
 bounds. Not content with upbraiding him, 
 she brought the elders of her Church to ex- 
 pose to her poor, benighted husband the awful 
 errors of Romanism and to remove the spell 
 the priest had lain upon him. They came 
 and surrounded his chair when he sat down 
 to rest after his hard day's work in the mill. 
 Kneeling on the floor, they lifted up their 
 hands and voices in most piteous appeals to 
 the Heavenly Father to break the shackles 
 of Popery that bound him and "peel the 
 scales" from his eyes. 
 
 Their efforts were entirely unsuccessful. 
 The good man went his way, happy in his 
 new-found faith, and more than ever friendly 
 to the good Irishman at the mill, who had not 
 the least idea that he was in any way the 
 
112 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 cause of this remarkable conversion. At home 
 he parried the ridicule, and then the distress 
 of his wife so pleasantly that she stopped 
 allusions to the matter, for she was de- 
 votedly attached to him. Watching him 
 closely, however, she saw that his new relig- 
 ion had made him a better man. And as no 
 remarkable excitement occurred in her own 
 place of worship — in fact after a week the 
 "defection" was not even noticed — she began 
 to take courage. She realized that a Roman 
 Catholic, especially when he was one's hus- 
 band, was just as noble and devoted a man 
 as any one else. 
 
 A year passed by. The husband was a 
 fervent convert. All words about religion 
 had ceased between him and his wife. He 
 prayed and he waited, but he said nothing. 
 One Sunday afternoon they passed along the 
 street taking a walk together, and found 
 themselves in the vicinity of the church of his 
 baptism. 
 
 "You have never shown me the inside of 
 a Catholic church yet," said the wife. "Are 
 you afraid I ' ' 
 
 "Why, my dear," said her husband, in 
 surprise, "it never occurred to me that 
 you would be interested. Will you come 
 now?" 
 
AN IMPORTANT SCIENCE 113 
 
 "To be sure," was the answer; "as well 
 now as any time. ' ' 
 
 They crossed the street and entered the 
 vestibule of the church, where they found the 
 pastor in cassock and biretta walking up and 
 down reading his breviary. He stopped, held 
 out his hand to the lady, and welcomed her 
 cordially. They were evidently well ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 On seeing the amazed look of the man^ both 
 laughed. Then the wife said joyously: "Do 
 you think you are going to heaven without 
 me? Don't you think the example of your 
 Catholic life has had some influence?" 
 
 Still the man stared without a word. 
 
 "Mr. Y , this is an appointment with 
 
 your wife," the priest explained. "I have 
 been instructing her for some months, and 
 as she begged me to keep it secret to sur- 
 prise you, I complied with her wish. She is 
 to be baptized this afternoon and received in- 
 to the Church. Everything is ready. Let 
 us go in." 
 
 The delighted husband was moved to 
 tears. He could only look his happiness; 
 words seemed denied him. Silently he fol- 
 lowed. Surely that day there was joy in 
 heaven when husband and wife knelt before 
 the altar — now one in faith and in love and 
 
114 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 one in heart. Their children- — and the fam- 
 ily was large — followed them after some 
 time, and all were baptized Catholics. 
 
 Such was the story of this conversion told 
 me by a brother-priest a few months ago. 
 He was the one who instructed and baptized 
 these several converts. And then he said: 
 
 "Now, what was the primary cause of all 
 these conversions? Was it some well-written 
 book dealing with Catholic doctrine? No. 
 For the miserable ' escaped nun' pamphlet 
 was the first book that started the inquiry. 
 Was it a powerful sermon— a series of lec- 
 tures, eloquent and convincing? Was it even 
 the instructions of the priest? No. For some- 
 thing had gone before, silently, powerfully, 
 day by day. What was this influence? It 
 was the good example of that poor Irishman 
 in the mill, in his greasy overalls, with grimy 
 hands and face. Had you asked him to give 
 you a definition of the infallibility of the 
 Pope or the indefectibility of the Church, he 
 might not have given you a classic answer 
 —but he was a past-master in the most im- 
 portant of all sciences — the science of good 
 example." 
 
 He is dead now, that honest, pure, sober, 
 clean-speaking, religious man, but his ex- 
 ample of what the true faith produces in a 
 
AN IMPORTANT SCIENCE 115 
 
 man who has to work hard day by day in 
 the midst of demoralizing influences brought 
 forth the silent admiration of a fellow- 
 worker, led to his conversion, his wife's con- 
 version and the baptism and restoration to 
 the Catholic Church of their six children. 
 How little did that "escaped nun," with her 
 wretched falsehoods, dream that a poor 
 Irishman in the mill would tear down, with- 
 out a word being uttered by him, not only 
 her shaky fabric of lies, but all the logic 
 of the "elders of the Church," and win to 
 the sweet yoke of Christ eight precious souls, 
 who were by his humble example to taste 
 eternal salvation. 
 
 How many there are who could draw souls 
 to the light as he did! How many could 
 exert silently yet surely the tremendous in- 
 fluence of good example! 
 
THE CHAPLAIN'S STORY. 
 
 TTISXTING the chaplain of a famous hos- 
 * pital— he had been stationed there many- 
 years — the conversation turned on God's 
 great and wonderful mercy to wandering 
 souls in their extremity. 
 
 "Let me tell you, Father Alexander/' he 
 began, very earnestly, "of an extraordinary 
 case that came under my own observation; 
 it will prove how true are your words — that 
 God's love surpasses all understanding, and 
 it may encourage any doubting soul you meet 
 always to trust in Him. 
 
 "We had an ambulance call about ten 
 o 'clock one night from the railroad company, 
 saying that a man had been knocked down and 
 injured by a train. Instantly the ambulance 
 dashed off to the scene, and in less than half 
 an hour it returned. The surgeons and 
 nurses were ready and went out to meet it. 
 When the door was opened a man stepped out 
 of the ambulance and, although he looked pale 
 and dazed, he walked into the corridor ! 
 
 116 
 
THE CHAPLAIN'S STORY 117 
 
 " i Where is the patient?' asked the sur- 
 geon. 
 
 " 'Here I am!' said the man, looking at 
 him. 
 
 " 'But I thought it was a railroad acci- 
 dent,' said the surgeon. 
 
 "The resident doctor, who accompanied the 
 ambulance, said: 
 
 " 'This is the man who was knocked down 
 by the train. He must be examined.' 
 
 "At the prospect of ' something doing' the 
 doctors busied themselves and led the way 
 to the operating room, the patient walking 
 with them. 
 
 "Little was said, but when they entered 
 the white-lined room, with its white tables, 
 white belongings, dazzling with electrics, the 
 patient said: 
 
 " 'What are you going to do to me?' 
 
 " 'We are going to examine you carefully 
 to see where you are hurt; have you any 
 pain?' 
 
 " 'I cannot say; I feel dazed. But first I 
 want to see a Catholic priest. Is there one 
 around?' he said to the Sister in charge of 
 his case. 
 
 " 'There is one in the house,' said the 
 Sister stepping forward. 
 
 "'Could I see him?' 
 
118 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 " 'Of course you can.' 
 
 " 'I wish you would give us a chance to 
 find out what is wrong with you/ said the 
 surgeon, 'we will help you on the table.' 
 
 " 'You won't cut, or probe, or do anything 
 till the Sister comes back, will you?' 
 
 " 'No, if you say so,' said the surgeon. 
 'Perhaps there is not much wrong. Come, 
 now!' 
 
 " 'Yes, there is,' said the patient. 'I'M. let 
 you look, but I must see the priest before you 
 do anything.' 
 
 "He walked to the table, while the Sister 
 left the room to search for me. It was be- 
 tween eleven o'clock and midnight, but of 
 course T arose and went at once: When we 
 arrived at the operating room, the surgeon 
 said : 
 
 " 'Father, we have examined this man from 
 head to foot and there is not a scratch ©n 
 him, not a bone displaced. He is still calling 
 for you, so we will wait until morning for a 
 more thorough examination. Sister will give 
 him a room where he can be comfortable, and 
 I hope he will have a good night's rest.' And 
 the surgeons, laying aside their instruments, 
 left the room. 
 
 n 'Father, thank God you have come! I 
 need you very much. Thank you, Sister. ' I 
 
THE CHAPLAIN'S STORY 119 
 
 made a motion to the Sister and she left to 
 give directions about the patient's room. 
 
 "I was a long time with the man! How 
 my heart went up in thanksgiving to God for 
 him! I heard his confession, which he made 
 with most edifying sentiments and then I 
 sent for the Sister. When she came I said to 
 her: 
 
 " ' Sister, I am going to give this man the 
 Last Sacraments; will you get the things 
 ready?' 
 
 "She looked her amazement, but she only 
 said : 
 
 " 'His room is ready, Father; don't you 
 think he had better come to it? It is not far.' 
 
 11 'Yes,' said the patient. 'I would rather 
 do so.' He seemed to stagger, and she called 
 an orderly. 
 
 " 'Father,' said the Sister to me, 'do you 
 think his case is so serious?' 
 
 " 'Something impels me to give him the 
 Last Sacraments,' said I, 'it may be a special 
 grace; God's goodness is past all compre- 
 hension. ' 
 
 "She said no more and while the orderly 
 was assisting him to bed we went to the 
 chapel, whence I brought the Blessed Sacra- 
 ment, while she carried the lighted candle 
 through the long corridors to the room of this 
 
120 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 unusual patient. He was anointed and re- 
 ceived Holy Viaticum with extraordinary fer- 
 vor, and when I gave him the last blessing he 
 crossed himself and folded his hands rever- 
 ently. When all was over, and I had prepared 
 to leave for the night, he turned to me and 
 said : 
 
 " 'Oh, Father, how can I ever thank God 
 for this night ! I think I can sleep now;' and 
 I saw a tear steal down his cheek. 
 
 "We bade him good-night or rather good- 
 morning, for it was long past two o'clock; 
 and then left him. At seven o 'clock the nurse 
 met me and said the surgeon sent this word : 
 
 " 'We are going to that accident case in an 
 hour ; give him a light breakfast if he wants 
 anything, and tell him we will make a more 
 thorough examination when we get there.' " 
 
 "I went with her to the patient's room. He 
 was lying in a stupor, and entirely uncon- 
 scious ; the orderly said he had never spoken 
 or moved since he bade us good-night. On 
 examination it was found that his brain had 
 been injured by the fall and, in the opinion 
 of the specialist who was summoned, he 
 would never regain consciousness. 
 
 "And he never did! 
 
 "For nine days he lay there without one 
 glimmer of reason. Various remedies were 
 
THE CHAPLAIN'S STORY 121 
 
 proposed — some were tried, but without the 
 
 least effect. On the ninth day he died ! 
 
 " God's tender mercy again! God's great 
 
 and boundless love ! And then I recalled the 
 
 night he walked into the operating room and 
 
 insisted on seeing the priest. If he had not 
 
 done so then, his last chance would have 
 
 vanished. 
 
 # # * * * 
 
 "Some days afterward, a lawyer and a 
 priest came to the hospital and asked for 
 a certain patient. We had never heard the 
 name, but, on being shown the photograph of 
 the one for whom they were searching, I 
 recognized the man who had died unconscious 
 after making his peace with God. He had 
 given an assumed name which his relatives 
 had never heard. He was of a fine family, 
 but had lived a rather wild life for some 
 years. The lawyer was his brother, the priest 
 his uncle. "When I told them of the grace 
 he received before his death, and of his fer- 
 vent reception of the Last Sacraments, they 
 joined with me in thanking God." 
 
THE STRENGTH OF THE WEAK. 
 
 TS THEEE a truism more true than the 
 -*- fact that we get weary of well-doing as of 
 everything else ? As life goes on we discover 
 its inexorable weariness, and unless the Mas- 
 ter sustain us we fall by the wayside ! Even 
 in our missionary life we know it is His sus- 
 taining Hand that gives success to the ef- 
 forts we make, and often He confounds us 
 by making use of the weakest means to 
 humble our self-sufficiency. 
 
 So said an experienced and devoted mis- 
 sionary to me one day — a man as learned 
 as he was holy. His words impressed me 
 deeply; He went on further: 
 
 "I remember preaching a mission one 
 autumn in a small town. I had one assis- 
 tant — a delicate, sickly man (since dead), 
 who by right should have been retired. But 
 his burning zeal refused to believe he could 
 work no longer, and as I was robust and 
 strong I was willing to bear the brunt, and 
 relieve him of all the hardships. In my con- 
 ceit I supposed mine would be the greater 
 fruit! 
 
 "One morning my assistant looked more 
 
 122 
 
THE STRENGTH OF THE WEAK 123 
 
 ill than usual. He was ghastly pale, with 
 two hectic spots on his cheekbones, and 
 seemed scarcely able, after Mass, to drag 
 himself from the sacristy to swallow a cup of 
 coffee. He went to his room to lie down at 
 once, for he was to give the eight o 'clock in- 
 struction. I asked him if he felt able for it. 
 He replied : ' Oh, yes ; I have often felt worse. ' 
 
 " At the proper time he crawled downstairs, 
 and appeared on the platform erected in the 
 church. 
 
 "He gave a solid, practical sermon, but it 
 was evident that he was making a great ef- 
 fort. I saw him wipe his brow several times 
 with his handkerchief, an unfailing sign of 
 his physical weakness. He was obliged also to 
 shorten the time allotted to the eight o 'clock 
 instruction, and no sooner was it over than 
 he hurried to his room again. He met me 
 on the way, and said in a grieving voice : 
 
 " 'Oh, Father, what a useless " assistant' ' 
 I am! Here I was obliged to cut short the 
 shortest of the sermons. I felt so weak and 
 dizzy ; once I had to stop long enough to beg 
 God secretly to help me through. "What a 
 pitiful excuse of a helper I am ! ' 
 
 "The poor man shook his head despair- 
 ingly. 
 
 " i Don't be distressed, Father/ I said, 
 
124 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 thinking of my own robust health, with a 
 secret pleasure that I could talk for two hours 
 without fatigue, ' The Lord accepts the good 
 will every time. Go and rest a while; Con- 
 fessions won't begin till ten o'clock' He left 
 me with a sigh. He had done his best, and 
 it amounted, so he thought, to nothing but 
 failure. But God chooses the weak to con- 
 found the strong, as I soon found out. 
 
 "That afternoon a gentleman called and 
 asked to see the missionary who had given 
 the eight o'clock instruction that day. My 
 assistant, when he heard it, said there must 
 be a mistake; the instruction was too short 
 and unimpressive to bring any one to the 
 rectory. However, he went down to the re- 
 ception room. As soon as he entered the gen- 
 tleman arose and greeted him. He was an 
 educated man of fine presence. 
 
 " ' Father, ' he said, 'I am so glad you have 
 come down. You attracted me every time you 
 spoke, and this morning was the climax. I 
 am a great sinner. I have not been to my 
 duty for thirty-five years. I have never had 
 peace of soul, but when my conscience goaded 
 me unbearably, I went from one church to 
 another wherever a mission was held in hopes 
 that my heart would be touched by some ser- 
 mon. Never in all these years have I met 
 
THE STKENGTH OF THE WEAK 125 
 
 the man God intended to convert me until I 
 heard you ; and this morning when I listened 
 to your inspiring words — when I saw you, 
 pale and weak, uttering those fiery denuncia- 
 tions of the procrastinating sinner, your 
 whole heart in your words, I felt I must speak 
 to you, and ask you to hear my confession!' 
 
 ' i Thus he spoke to my sickly assistant — 
 the man whose voice scarcely carried half 
 down the church. More, this was the one man 
 in the congregation whom the pastor had 
 specially mentioned he hoped would profit 
 by the mission. God had given this man's 
 soul to my broken down assistant! 
 
 "Need I say he went to confession, and 
 received Holy Communion with wonderful 
 fervor? He attended every sermon during 
 the mission, and the edification he gave to the 
 people of the parish was stimulating*. He 
 visited my assistant every day, and never 
 seemed to tire of his advice or his presence. 
 
 ' ' I need not say that the consolation he gave 
 him, and the lesson then given me, were both 
 marked down in the record of that mission. 
 No doubt, to many who read this, the fulness 
 of God's promise will rise to strengthen the 
 weak and to make the strong realize that 
 no matter what may be the labor, God alone 
 giveth the increase." 
 
TWO SINNERS. 
 
 /^LANG! clang! clang! The hospital ambu- 
 ^-^ lance, with its galloping horses, dashed 
 through the streets on a hurry call. Every- 
 where the right of way was given them, for 
 the throngs in the street knew that life or 
 death hung on the swift and unobstructed 
 path of those rushing horses. I stood at the 
 hospital. window to wait their return, for I 
 had heard the call, and knew I would be 
 needed. 
 
 "What is it?" I asked the office employee. 
 
 "Two men with crushed skulls, Father — a 
 fall of slate where they were working. They 
 may not be alive when the ambulance reaches 
 them!" 
 
 6 ' Poor fellows, ' ' I murmured. My thought 
 was : what about their desolate homes, their 
 wives and children — and most of all their im- 
 mortal souls! 
 
 I could not leave the spot, but paced up 
 and down the corridor. Very soon the am- 
 bulance dashed into the courtyard; the doc- 
 tors and orderlies ran out. Tenderly the 
 
 126 
 
TWO SINNERS 127 
 
 two helpless men on their stretchers were 
 lifted to the elevator, and in a few minutes 
 they were on their beds surrounded by the 
 doctors. 
 
 I was close by. The senior surgeon paused, 
 after a swift, searching examination, and 
 looked at me. 
 
 "Skulls fractured, Father, in both cases. 
 Little hope!" 
 
 Quickly the necessary sterilizing and ban- 
 daging of the wounds were completed, stimu- 
 lants given and nurses installed. 
 
 I stood there, waiting for a conscious 
 moment. There was not a sound from the 
 patients but stertorous breathing; both were 
 oblivious of suffering for the time being; 
 They were young men — scarcely more than 
 twenty-eight. They had been working side 
 by side in the trench, when the earth loosened, 
 and with a crash they were crushed down, 
 and slate and shale heaped on them, burying 
 them in a living grave. As quickly as pos- 
 sible their companions dug them out. They 
 were brought unconscious to the hospital. 
 No one knew their religion. 
 
 Suddenly one stirred, and his tongue was 
 loosed. Oaths and curses fell from his lips ! 
 I bent over him, took his hand, tried to talk 
 to him, but all I said w T as unavailing to stop 
 
128 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 the flow of blasphemy. He was half con- 
 scious, crazed by suffering. As his voice 
 grew louder, his fellow sufferer opened his 
 eyes. He heard and knew what his comrade 
 was saying. 
 
 "Stop, Jim!" he muttered feebly. "Say 
 'Lord, have mercy on me!' " 
 
 "My son," I asked, "are you a Catholic?" 
 
 "Yes, Father," he said feebly. 
 
 "I am a priest. Won't you make your 
 confession? You are dangerously hurt." 
 
 "How long will I live, Father?" said he. 
 
 "Not long, my son. We must lose no time. 
 When you make your peace with God, you 
 will feel easier. God is good." 
 
 I was interrupted by a terrible oath from 
 the other bed. It startled me, and made my 
 blood run cold to hear such words from a 
 dying man. 
 
 "Poor Jim," said my penitent. "Father, 
 he doesn't know swearing is a sin. He has 
 no religion, but he is such a tender-hearted 
 fellow. He tried to save me" — he gasped out 
 the words. 
 
 "But your confession, my son?" I said, 
 fearing his strength would go. I nodded to 
 the nurses— they left. At once he tried to 
 bless himself, and without much assistance 
 made his confession, which was punctured by 
 
TWO SINNERS 129 
 
 the curses of his half -conscious comrade. At 
 every curse my poor penitent said, "Lord, 
 have mercy on him," and resumed his con- 
 fession. I was touched and astonished at his 
 truly Catholic spirit, his piety and charity. 
 But it made me shiver each time to hear the 
 oaths that came out distinctly but unmis- 
 takably from the dying lips of that other 
 stricken man, so soon to appear before 
 God. 
 
 I gave my poor penitent absolution, and 
 anointed him. His sufferings became ex- 
 cruciating. I recalled the nurses, and the 
 surgeons who came in gave me a look which 
 told me the end was not far off. The young 
 fellow fixed his glazing eyes on me. I tried 
 to whisper words of hope and contrition and 
 began the prayers of the Church for the dy- 
 ing. 
 
 Still at intervals came the awful muttering 
 and cursing from the next bed. At last there 
 was a fearfully distinct curse and my poor 
 penitent, with a strong effort, said quite dis- 
 tinctly: "Have mercy on poor Jinr." I 
 stopped and whispered, "Pray for him when 
 you see God, my son!" He looked at me — 
 I saw he understood. 
 
 It was an incredibly touching scene — a dy- 
 ing man praying for another dying man! — 
 
130 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 one penitent, one obdurate, like the malefac- 
 tors on Calvary ! 
 
 I began the solemn prayers of the Church : 
 "Depart, oh Christian soul, in the name of 
 God the Father. " There was silence in the 
 room now, broken only by the death rattle. 
 The breathing came faster. The sweat stood 
 on his forehead. I raised my hand for the 
 last absolution, and as I said the final words 
 the poor crushed creature gave forth his soul 
 to his Maker. The attendants waited a few 
 minutes — then drew the sheet over the white 
 face. 
 
 I turned to the other bed. An aged man 
 stood beside it. 
 
 "Are you a relative ?" I said. 
 
 "I am his father, " was the reply. 
 
 "What religion does your son prof ess !" I 
 asked. 
 
 "He hasn't any, that I know; we are Meth- 
 odists." 
 
 "Is your son baptized?" I said. 
 
 "We don't baptize. I don't think he cares 
 enough for any Church to join it." 
 
 Just then the injured man started up in 
 his bed and tried to speak. I saw from his 
 eyes he was conscious: 
 
 "I want his Church, ' ■ he cried, * ' his Church 
 
TWO SINNERS 131 
 
 is the only one. Don't you see him there? 
 That's what he is saying!" 
 
 A feeling of awe crept over me, over the 
 father and the nurses as they looked in the 
 direction he indicated. I felt that God was 
 working a miracle of grace before us. Had 
 that poor man whose eyes were just closed 
 to this world, besought God for his comrade 
 — for "poor Jim"? It seemed like it. 
 
 "My son," I said, taking his hand, "don't 
 you want to meet your comrade in heaven? 
 Don't you want to go there? If you do you 
 must be baptized and believe in the Holy 
 Catholic Church — the only true Church." 
 
 "I do!" said the poor fellow, his eyes still 
 fixed on a spot at the foot of his bed. 
 
 "Do you want to be baptized and become a. 
 Catholic Christian?" I said, marveling at 
 the evident supernatural interference — al- 
 most visible to our senses. 
 
 "I want to be baptized," he said firmly 
 and distinctly. 
 
 "You are sorry for all the wrong you have 
 ever done, and especially for the curses and 
 oaths you have ever uttered?" 
 
 "I am! I am!" he cried, and sank back 
 with tears rolling down his cheeks. The sur- 
 geon laid his finger on his wrist. 
 
 "Do you wish to be baptized?" 
 
132 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 "Yes, oh yes," he murmured, his voice 
 growing weak. 
 
 I put on my stole, seized a glass of water 
 and placing a folded towel on his pillow, I 
 avoided the bandages and baptized him. 
 
 Oh, the marvel of the Sacraments! His 
 expression changed, his convulsed face be- 
 came tranquil; his heavy breathing became 
 quieter. His eyes opened, and I almost 
 fancied that a slight smile was in their depths 
 as he fixed them on the foot of his bed. I 
 am as sure as I live that the comrade who had 
 just passed into eternity obtained this poor 
 man's conversion— had besought God's grace 
 for him and was waiting to bring him as a 
 trophy to the feet of the divine Saviour ! 
 
 I looked at the man. The lips were grow- 
 ing white — I knew that he was dying. I be- 
 gan the "Our Father," and his lips tried to 
 frame the words; I began the act of contri- 
 tion, and his agony grew visibly, but the 
 words of prayer came in snatches from his 
 lips*. I said the l ' Credo. ' ' He tried to follow 
 me. He was still conscious ; I raised my hand, 
 I gave him the last absolution, and, quickly, 
 like the last spurt of a dying candle, the 
 spark of life went out. 
 
 He had died a baptized Catholic — that man 
 who had been brought to the hospital cursing 
 
TWO SINNERS 133 
 
 and swearing most terrible oaths an hour be- 
 fore! All was over. Both of those souls 
 were in Eternity! The one (no doubt of it) 
 had pleaded with God for the other, and his 
 prayer was granted. 
 
 We left the room in silence, but all felt 
 that the supernatural had been there before 
 our eyes. Christ the Redeemer who died be- 
 tween two sinners on Calvary, and who would 
 have willingly saved both, had not permitted 
 here that one of His erring but ignorant sons 
 should be a castaway, because the voice of 
 pleading arose in his behalf. He was saved. 
 Both were that day within the threshold of 
 paradise ! 
 
FRUITION. 
 
 TT WAS summer in the foot-hills of the 
 -*- Adirondaeks. Visitors were coming and 
 going. Among them were a charming old 
 lady and her two lovely daughters. This 
 amiable and sweet old person was of unusual 
 piety and goodness. She loved God and her 
 neighbor — was a devout reader of the Bible, 
 and was devoured with zeal for the salva- 
 tion of those wandering souls that were not 
 members, like herself, of the " enlightened' y 
 Protestant Church. 
 
 More than anything else, she was full of 
 pity for poor "Papists," those precious 
 souls whose misguided pastors led them 
 through devious ways to perdition. In her 
 sincere zeal she pondered over their misfor- 
 tune, and almost felt herself to be a proph- 
 etess sent by God to warn them of their 
 danger. 
 
 The more she dreamed, the more anxious 
 she became for an opportunity: She was 
 oblivious of the beauty of the grand old 
 mountains, the royal woods, the crisp piney 
 
 134 
 
 
FBUITION 135 
 
 odors of the hills, and the delights of their 
 wooded pathways. Her only thought was 
 Eeligion! — how could she place some soul 
 on the right path to heaven? 
 
 Her opportunity came ! The Catholic pas- 
 tor of the vicinity had a mixed congregation 
 of French-Canadians, to which race he him- 
 self belonged and although his church was 
 fifteen miles away from the town where our 
 venerable lady stayed, she determined to pay 
 him a visit and state her "mission"! He 
 received her cordially, and from common- 
 place topics they drifted to religion. 
 
 "Do you know," said the lady, with all 
 courtesy and gentleness, "I have been think- 
 ing much of you, since I saw you in your 
 church? Forgive me if I say that I grieve 
 that one so intelligent should be led away, 
 with all his people, from the purity of the 
 Gospel (as we read it in the Bible), to the 
 errors of Eome!" 
 
 "And are you so sure of that, madame?" 
 said the priest. 
 
 "Indeed, I am, or I would not dare to in- 
 troduce the subject! Feeling myself so en- 
 tirely right, I do not think it presumptuous 
 in me to acknowledge this strong, unquench- 
 able desire to see you right, too. I feel it is 
 an inspiration — a light, even a MISSION 
 
136 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 from the Holy Ghost, to guide you to the 
 Lord Jesus." 
 
 The priest respected her evident sincerity. 
 He knew it would be useless to begin a con- 
 troversy so he said, mirthfully : 
 
 "My dear madame, I believe you to be en- 
 tirely sincere in your desire to convert me. 
 If you can convince me that I am wrong, I 
 am most willing to listen. But on one con- 
 dition. ' ' 
 
 "Name it, my dear sir!" said the de- 
 lighted lady. 
 
 "Have you ever heard of a prayer called 
 the 'Hail Mary'?" 
 
 The lady reflected. 
 
 "Yes," she said. "I had a little maid in 
 my family, a French-Canadian orphan, who 
 was a pious Eoman Catholic. When I asked 
 her if she prayed, she told me she said the 
 'Our Father 9 and the 'Hail Mary.' I never 
 interfered with her. I consider that all 
 prayers have some good in them ! ' ' 
 
 "So they have," said the priest. "And 
 now, since you have heard of the 'Hail 
 Mary' I promise that I will listen to your 
 'mission,' if you promise me that you will 
 say or read that little prayer every day till 
 we meet again. Will you promise?" 
 
 The old lady was so eager to convert the 
 
FRUITION 137 
 
 affable pastor that she gave her word*. She 
 actually gave her word to say the "Hail 
 Mary ' ' every day I 
 
 And then she poured out her mission with 
 all the fire of a prophetess. The substance of 
 her speech was that he was in darkness. He 
 must come forth from that darkness by study- 
 ing the Bible and preaching it alone ; then he 
 and his people would see the light, and leave 
 the shadow of death for life everlasting. 
 - The priest listened attentively, never in- 
 terrupting, and courteously promised he 
 would certainly think of what she had said, 
 and would pray for the light of the Holy 
 Spirit in all his undertakings. 
 
 "And now," said he, "I have redeemed 
 my promise. I have listened to you. It re- 
 mains for you to fulfil yours. You will daily 
 say that prayer, the "Hail Mary'?" 
 
 "I certainly will," said the poor old lady, 
 delighted that the priest seemed so favorably 
 impressed. "I hope to call soon again!" 
 
 The priest politely showed her to the 
 door, and as she passed out of sight, he said 
 smilingly to himself: 
 
 "The good God will pity your sincere, 
 well-meaning efforts, my dear lady, and you 
 will be saved anyway, because you are work- 
 ing according to your lights. That 'Hail 
 
138 THE HAND OF MEKCY 
 
 Mary' is going to take root somewhere, and 
 bear its fruits to the Church ! ' ' 
 
 He was right. The dear old lady never 
 called again: She passed away to the pres- 
 ence of God, still dreaming of the Holy 
 Spirit's message. She was in good faith, and 
 so she was judged by a merciful God. But 
 she never forgot her promise to say the 
 "Hail Mary" every day. 
 
 And now behold the fruits. After her 
 death, strange to say, an unconquerable 
 yearning seized her eldest daughter to know 
 something of the Catholic Church: She 
 found the opportunity to inquire and her in- 
 quiries led her to be instructed and to be 
 baptized. She is now a fervent convert. Her 
 younger sister is inclining the same way, and 
 there is little doubt that she, too, will follow 
 in her footsteps. Ere long the heartfelt wish 
 of her departed mother will be fulfilled — al- 
 though in a manner far different to that 
 which she anticipated. Out of the darkness 
 she will come to the true path, that ever leads 
 to light. 
 
THE ORGANIST. 
 
 O EATED in the garden of a seminary for 
 ^ theological students in a far away city, 
 one evening, the conversation turned on the 
 value of kindness. I was speaking of the 
 human heart and its unfailing susceptibility 
 to gentle deeds, also that kindness brings its 
 own reward. My listeners — a fine group of 
 young men, all ecclesiastical students — were 
 drinking in, with eager pleasure, the fruits 
 of my missionary career. A few random 
 words of acquiescence, a few light comments 
 on personal incidents occurred — and then 
 there was a lull. I looked around. The beauty 
 of the evening was entrancing. The summer 
 was waning, and the full foliage of the trees 
 everywhere shaded the quiet seminary 
 grounds. It was after supper and we were 
 gathered in a pleasant spot where flowers 
 grew and a fountain trickled from a high 
 spray into one basin after another in musical 
 drops. Some birds were twittering good 
 night. A faint star appeared in the blush of 
 the sunset and in the distance we heard the 
 
 139 
 
140 THE HAND OF MEBCY 
 
 deep notes of the organ. The other students 
 were practicing in the choir of the church. 
 
 The distant music of the organ brought to 
 mind a reminiscence of the long ago — of my 
 own seminary life — and I told the students 
 so: 
 
 "What was it, Father!" 
 
 "Do tell us!" they cried with one voice. 
 
 I looked at the earnest, manly faces beam- 
 ing above the Eoman collars — and felt they 
 would profit by it. 
 
 "The organ makes me think of it — and it 
 is all about a little act of kindness," I began. 
 "Many years ago our class — twelve of us — 
 were ordained deacons. We had looked for- 
 ward to this step in our priestly career with 
 intense joy. It was the emphasis of our 
 severance with the world, an entrance into 
 the privileges of the sanctuary. We all had 
 strong vocations, and our priestly professors 
 had spared nothing to foster them. So when 
 we were deacons we reverently rejoiced in our 
 privileges, among them that of our prox- 
 imity to the Blessed Sacrament. We could 
 open the Tabernacle of the Holy of holies; 
 we could expose our blessed Saviour in the 
 ostensorium for Benediction, and again re- 
 store Him to the tabernacle when Benediction 
 was over. We each took our turn at this 
 
THE ORGANIST 141 
 
 privilege. Need I say that our strong faith 
 was made stronger and our love for the 
 Eucharistic God increased by the closeness 
 of our contact with Him? 
 
 "A whole year passed by. No one noticed 
 that one of our number had never knelt with 
 the priest for Benediction. He was our or- 
 ganist. A pale, delicate fellow with a heart of 
 fire; mortified, holy, exact, saintly. He was 
 too good to ask any one to give him a turn, 
 and so he played the organ each Benediction 
 and sang the chants of the Church, while, 
 naturally, he yearned to kneel at the foot of 
 the altar and exercise the privilege of his 
 ordination. One day it struck a companion 
 
 of mine that Mr. Z had never been in the 
 
 sanctuary. 
 
 "He said to me: 
 
 " 'Look here! have you noticed that Mr. 
 
 Z never gets a chance to serve as deacon 
 
 for Benediction? It is nearly a year since 
 we were ordained, and we've all had two or 
 three turns, while he has not had one. It is 
 my turn this evening. I'm not much of a 
 player, but I think I can get through the 
 music if I practice a bit beforehand. I'll go 
 this minute and make the offer. ' 
 
 " 'Go ahead, Mr. Brady!' I said. 'I wish 
 I had thought of it.' 
 
142 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 ' ' The kind-hearted fellow went to Mr. Z- 
 
 and asked him if he would like to serve in his 
 turn at Benediction. 
 
 " 'God bless you, Mr. Brady/ said Mr. 
 Z . 'But who will play the organ?' 
 
 " 'I'll try,' said his fellow-student with a 
 manly blush. 'I'm out of practice, but just 
 have the plain chant and I guess I'll get 
 through. You have never yet served at 
 
 Benediction, Mr. Z . And I know you 
 
 want to. ' 
 
 " 'Want to?' burst out Mr. Z . 'Of 
 
 course I want to! I have just longed — just 
 longed, I tell you, to be so close to the Sacred 
 Heart. I have sighed with "wanting" when 
 I saw you fellows, one by one, open that 
 sacred door, and place the Divine Saviour in 
 the monstrance and kneel so close to adore 
 Him! Want to? Why, Mr. Brady, you have 
 done me such a kindness that I will never 
 forget it ! ' 
 
 " 'Why in the world didn't you ask some of 
 us to change ? ' Mr. Brady blurted out, feeling 
 a twinge of remorse all through his being 
 for the thoughtlessness of the class that had 
 thus starved the devotion of this beautiful 
 soul. 
 
 " 'Oh, I couldn't ask for such a favor,' he 
 replied in a low voice, 'Every one values it 
 
THE ORGANIST 143 
 
 as much as I do. I would not be so pre- 
 sumptuous as to ask. ' 
 
 "Mr. Brady looked at him. Never had he 
 seemed so frail, so white, so spiritual: His 
 great dark eyes were the only vivid features 
 in his face — and he was awed, he knew not 
 why, in his presence. 
 
 "Mr. Brady played for Benediction that 
 
 night and Mr. Z served as deacon. We 
 
 students, who had heard the story, watched 
 him. His face glowed like an angel's as he 
 opened the tabernacle door and placed the 
 Blessed Sacrament in the ostensorium. Such 
 reverence, such absorbed devotion, we seldom 
 witnessed. With the stole about his shoulder, 
 over his white surplice, he might have been 
 taken for a St. Stephen or a St. Lawrence. 
 At the foot of the altar with clasped hands, 
 he knelt, and his eyes never left the Sacred 
 Host. It seemed as if his hands were re- 
 luctant to place the monstrance in the veiled 
 hands of the priest at the Benediction. When 
 it was over, and he restored the Host to 
 the tabernacle, the same light was on his 
 countenance. We remarked afterwards that 
 he looked as if his heart's desire was 
 satisfied. 
 
 "This was Sunday: I lost sight of the 
 circumstance until I met Mr. Brady on Wed- 
 
144 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 nesday evening. His face was serious and 
 his voice trembled. 
 
 " 'Did you hear about Mr. Z V he 
 
 said. 
 
 " 'No!' I exclaimed, 'what about him?' 
 
 " 'Seriously ill! He went to the hospital 
 this afternoon.' 
 
 " 'You don't say! I never noticed his ab- 
 sence.' 
 
 " 'Oh! he is one of those quiet fellows that 
 slip out of sight,' said Mr. Brady with a 
 sigh. 'He never tells anything.' 
 
 "At once we both recalled the scene at 
 Benediction only three days before. 
 
 " 'I'm mighty glad I gave him my turn,' 
 said Mr. Brady as he walked away. 
 
 "Mr. Z died on Saturday like the saint 
 
 that he was, strengthened by the Sacraments. 
 There was dismay in the seminary. Before 
 he died he asked for Mr. Brady, and when the 
 big-hearted fellow stood over him, tears 
 
 running down his cheeks, Mr. Z said to 
 
 him in a low tone : 
 
 " 'I expected this breakdown, Brady. It 
 is just as well, for I am neither strong enough 
 nor worthy enough to make a good priest. 
 But I will never, never forget that if it had 
 not been for you, these poor hands of mine 
 would never have had the bjessed privilege 
 
THE OKGANIST 145 
 
 of holding the sacred body of my Lord. Pray 
 for me, old friend. ' 
 
 "In an hour he was dead. Mr. Brady 
 couldn't stand it. It was a grievous affliction. 
 When all was over he came to my room, laid 
 his head down on the table and sobbed out : 
 " ' Thank God I was once kind to a saint!' 
 "In June the eleven of us deacons were or- 
 dained priests. Not one among us but felt 
 that Mr. Z was hovering over us — per- 
 haps extending hands of blessing that were 
 not anointed with the chrism of priesthood, 
 but consecrated by the touch of that one con- 
 tact with Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament 
 the Sunday he served at Benediction." 
 
 'TP TT Tf* rnF W 
 
 Deep silence had fallen on the students. 
 Twilight had crept on and the moon was up. 
 Its white light chastened and spiritualized 
 their features. I saw that the good seed had 
 gone down deep into their hearts. 
 
 Just then the bell rang. We arose and went 
 toward the chapel. No one had spoken. 
 There was no need for words, 
 
44 
 
 THE LIGHT OF HIS EYES. 
 
 TT OW marvelous are the ways in which 
 
 ■*-*- God brings the forces of His power 
 and tenderness to bear on human souls I" 
 
 Thus said a good Jesuit to me not long ago. 
 
 "Let me Tell you a little incident," he 
 continued. "It happened a few years since 
 and was told me by one of the participants. 
 
 "It was in the days now past when we used 
 bicycles. One of our younger men, by no 
 means an expert, was cautiously wobbling his 
 wheel along directly behind an elderly man 
 who was about as poor a rider as himself. 
 Suddenly the elder man's wheel dashed 
 against a cart at a crossing. The wheel over- 
 turned and was smashed, while the prostrate 
 man received in his face the full force of a 
 broken spoke, gouging out an eye, which lay 
 on his cheek, a bloody and hideous spectacle. 
 Immediately, before the crowd gathered, the 
 priest sprang from his wheel, and ran to 
 assist the prostrate man. He found that the 
 poor man was more stunned than hurt ex- 
 cept for his face, and his eye, which was a 
 
 146 
 
THE LIGHT OF HIS EYES 147 
 
 terrible sight. Having brushed off the dust 
 and mud, he took a clean handkerchief from 
 his pocket, and giving it to the first small boy 
 at hand — and they were at hand in a trice — • 
 told him to wet it at the nearest hydrant. The 
 boy wasn't ten seconds gone, and came back 
 with the dripping handkerchief. The priest 
 carefully wiped the blood from the eyeball 
 and, raising the eyelid, forced back the ball 
 into its socket. He then tied the wet hand- 
 kerchief over the eye, and around the head. 
 The man was much shaken, and the priest ad- 
 vised him to go to the nearest doctor. On 
 finding that the injured man could walk, he 
 started him on his way, and mounted the 
 wheel to continue his own journey. 
 
 "As he went along, the thought occurred 
 to him that mayhap he had been too hasty. 
 What did he know of surgery, or the replac- 
 ing of an eyeball? Suppose blood poisoning 
 should set in on account of his unskillful act ! 
 Suppose the man should die! He blamed 
 himself for not taking his wheel and hunting 
 up a surgeon. But, he then reflected, he did 
 the best he knew how — and his motive was 
 pure charity. He had never seen the man 
 before, so he left him to God and went about 
 his daily work. 
 
 "Next day he read a greatly exaggerated 
 
148 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 account of the accident. He was landed as 
 a hero, and the gentleman in question was 
 described as one of the well-known, highly 
 respected citizens of the town. The latter was 
 reported to be completely out of danger, and 
 his eye saved. Not anxious for notoriety, the 
 Father took good care to keep the matter as 
 quiet as possible. He remembered, however, 
 that the man to whom the accident had hap- 
 pened was a noted bigot, a Puritan of the 
 bluest type. 
 
 "A prayer rose to his lips, however, that 
 the Lord would have pity on that poor man's 
 soul. 
 
 "Time passed, a year at least, and the ac- 
 cident was forgotten, when one day the priest 
 in question was called to the parlor of the 
 rectory. An elderly, dignified gentleman who 
 wore glasses, arose to greet him. Taking a 
 folded white handkerchief from his breast 
 pocket, he displayed a name in the corner 
 of it. 
 
 "■'Is that your name, Father V said the 
 visitor. 
 
 "The priest looked at the handkerchief in 
 astonishment. It was his name without doubt. 
 
 " 'Yes, sir,' was the reply, 'but how did 
 you come into possession of my handker- 
 chief V 
 
THE LIGHT OF HIS EYES 149 
 
 " 'Do you remember a bicycle accident 
 about a year ago in which you figured, to- 
 gether with a smashed-up party and his bicy- 
 cle? You put a man's eye back into its socket 
 as deftly as if you had studied surgery all 
 your life ! ' 
 
 " 'Why,' laughed the priest, 'now that you 
 mention it, I remember it. Are you the suf- 
 ferer?' 
 
 " 'I was the sufferer,' said the man, 'and 
 were it not for you I would be blind to-day. 
 You did the job so quickly and so well that 
 there are left behind no ill effects worth men- 
 tioning. When I showed my eye to a special- 
 ist he was amazed at the completeness of the 
 job, and when I told him I lost track of you, 
 he said I owed you my sight, and perhaps my 
 life. 
 
 " 'But I had the handkerchief you tied 
 around my head, and your name was there in 
 full. I wasn 't long in finding you out, and I 
 found your house pretty soon, too. I have 
 been visiting your church, attracted by my 
 desire to see you, and have been listening to 
 your sermons, and to those of the other* 
 Fathers here. 
 
 " 'My mind was enlightened, my heart 
 touched. I went to one of the priests, and 
 having been instructed, I have lately been 
 
150 THE HAND OF MEBCY 
 
 received into the Church. I repressed my de- 
 sire to talk to you, wishing to wait until I 
 could tell you that you had given sight, not 
 only to my eyes, but to my soul. I am a 
 Catholic now, and to you I owe the light of 
 my eyes, and the light of faith. Moreover, 
 my family — wife and children- — are all under 
 instruction, and will follow me into the 
 Church. Your act of charity, and this white 
 handkerchief which revealed your identity, 
 were the means God gave me to see the light. 
 I have come this morning to tell you the whole 
 beautiful story, and to thank you. ' 
 
 "Need it be said that the priest blessed 
 God, who had made him an instrument in so 
 remarkable a conversion ? How little we know 
 of the influence we exercise by our simplest 
 words and works of charity upon those we 
 meet ! ' y 
 
THE TENDER PHYSICIAN 
 
INTO THE KINGDOM. 
 
 HPHE other evening, a priest of my acquaint- 
 -*- ance called for a social visit, and as tie 
 was obliged to leave early, I took my hat and 
 went a short distance with him. The night 
 was fine, and the moonlight beautiful: 
 
 Our conversation turned on the conversion 
 of the famous theatrical manager, Henry E. 
 Abbey, who was attracted to the Church first 
 by noticing the clear, business-like methods of 
 her beliefs, especially by the system and order 
 evidenced in her mission- work: "No falter- 
 ing, no doubting; she speaks with authority, 
 and no unbiased mind can fail to be convinced 
 of her truth !" 
 
 "Speaking of the stage,' ' said my com- 
 panion, l ' let me tell you a a story of another 
 member of the stage fraternity, who was con- 
 vinced of the truths of religion by watching 
 the results of believing them in others." 
 
 "By all means," I replied. "Go ahead." 
 
 "Well, it came about this way. One of our 
 Fathers gave a mission in a certain city about 
 five years ago. As he is one of the ablest and 
 
 151 
 
152 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 most powerful preachers we have, the church 
 was crowded every night. The end of the 
 mission came. The final sermon was on the 
 sacrifice of Christ on Calvary and the all- 
 powerful efficacy of the Mass. It was a mas- 
 terpiece, and the people, deeply impressed 
 with the magnificent explanation and appeal 
 to their souls, filed slowly out of the church, 
 while the priest remained a few moments in 
 the sacristy. 
 
 "As he stood there, a young lady of great 
 beauty and distinguished appearance pre- 
 sented herself at the door. 
 
 "She advanced at once to the missionary, 
 and said: ' Father, I would like you to say 
 a Mass for me, but,' she added doubtfully, 
 'I am not a Catholic, and I am an actress; 
 will that make any difference?' 
 
 " * Certainly not, my child,' said the priest, 
 moving toward a chair, 'of course I will say 
 a Mass for you.' 
 
 "He turned, but the lady had gone— with 
 a scarcely audible, 'Oh, thank you!' 
 
 "True to his promise, the priest said the 
 Mass for the mysterious lady, thought of the 
 matter a good deal, and then, because other 
 important things claimed his attention, for- 
 got all about it. 
 
 "Four years passed. The good Father 
 
INTO THE KINGDOM 153 
 
 had given many missions and travelled many 
 hundreds of miles. At a long distance from 
 the city where he had met this lady, he ar- 
 rived late one evening at another city where 
 he was to give a Retreat. With the usual 
 crowd he passed out of the railroad station, 
 and made his way to the church where he 
 was due that night. He was a complete 
 stranger in the city. He delivered his open- 
 ing sermon, and then retired. 
 
 "The next morning after his Mass at 7:30, 
 the porter informed him that a lady was 
 waiting in the parlor, most anxious to see 
 him. 
 
 " 'It must be a mistake,' he said, 'I have 
 no acquaintances here:' 
 
 "But being assured that there was no 
 mistake, he hurried to the parlor, for he had 
 no time to lose. The moment he opened the 
 door he recognized the lady whom He had 
 met four years before in the city of X — — -, 
 hundreds of miles away, and who had asked 
 him to say a Mass for her. He was amazed, 
 remembering that she was an actress, and 
 a non-Catholic. 
 
 " 'I ask your pardon, Father, for troub- 
 ling you so very early, Vshe said. 'I saw you 
 and recognized you in the train last evening, 
 and heard that you came here to this church. 
 
154 THE HAND OF MEBCY . 
 
 Fearing I would miss you, I made an early- 
 start. Can you spare me a few moments, 
 Father? I have something to tell you that 
 I can tell no one else/ 
 
 " 'For anything connected with his priestly 
 duty, a priest simply has to have time,' said 
 the Father, motioning her to a chair while 
 he seated himself. 
 
 " 'Thank you, Father, ' said the lady. 'I 
 have been an actress for a number of years, 
 and have had splendid success. I was a 
 member of the opera in the city where you 
 preached that mission four years ago, and 
 I am the star of the principal theater in this 
 city. I need not tell you my name, or that 
 no one knows or believes that I would ever 
 come to see a priest. I have everything a 
 human heart can long for; youth, wealth, 
 praise, love. Yet I am not happy. I have 
 felt a longing for something, I know not 
 what, for a long time past. I have no re- 
 ligion, and have been looking among my 
 companions of the stage, curious to learn 
 their inward thoughts. They live as I do, 
 enjoying travel, change, excitement, and the 
 too-free-and-easy life of the stage fraternity. 
 But in all these past years I have found but 
 one who told me she was happy: 
 
 " 'This is a young girl beginning her 
 
INTO THE KINGDOM 155 
 
 career at the foot of the ladder, so to speak. 
 One day I talked to her quite a while, and 
 I asked her if she really had a happy heart. 
 Her smile was so sincere that I could not 
 doubt her words. I have watched her, pried 
 into her conduct day and night, and soon 
 learned that she lived a retired life com- 
 pared with ours. She did not attend our 
 frequent, and sometimes unseemly and wild 
 orgies after a season of success, although 
 she was a lovely, kind-hearted, beautiful 
 girl. I also found out that although she had 
 many male admirers, she kept them at a dis- 
 tance. Then little by little I became aware 
 that her life was one of absolute purity in 
 word and deed, and that I could bear no 
 comparison with her. I learned that she 
 was religious, and I determined to find out 
 what was the religion that kept her like a 
 lily in the midst of dissipation. When I next 
 saw her, after many hours of thought about 
 it, I said to her: 
 
 a i "You are very correct and reserved. 
 Is it because of your religion? What is it?" 
 
 " ' "I am a Catholic, madame," was her 
 reply. i "I attend to the duties of my 
 church, and that is my salvation and my 
 happiness.' " 
 
 "*! thought over her answer, and deter- 
 
156 THE HAND OF MEKCY 
 
 mined I would find out something about the 
 Catholic religion. Your mission was going 
 on at the time, and I knew the Catholic! 
 church, so I slipped away one night from 
 my noisy friends and went right over to 
 where you were preaching. Unfortunately 
 it was the conclusion of the mission, so I 
 had no chance to profit by it. But I listened 
 breathlessly to all you said about the great 
 Sacrifice of the Altar, and the thought en- 
 tered my mind that perhaps you could say a 
 Mass for me — the great effects of which you 
 so masterfully explained, and so warmly 
 commended to the Catholic people. Fright- 
 ened at my boldness, I went to the sacristy 
 where I was directed to find you, and asked 
 you to say the Mass. Do you remember V 
 
 "I had listened without a word to this 
 outpouring from a soul whose sincerity I 
 felt, and who was drawn to God by the mag- 
 netism of His divine Heart; I looked at the 
 speaker. She was a noble looking woman, 
 still young and attractive, and of those easy, 
 distinguished manners that are given to all 
 whose stage career is successful. 
 
 " 'Do I remember, my child?' I said 
 heartily. "I remember distinctly. I said 
 the Mass for you next day. For a long time 
 I remembered you, and then — ' 
 
INTO THE KINGDOM 157 
 
 " 'And then/ she interrupted, 'you nat- 
 urally forgot. That is not all. The good 
 God did not forget. Not a day has passed 
 in all these years that something did not 
 impel me to pray in my own way that I 
 might see you again. My prayer has been 
 heard. Here I am. I ask you to give me 
 instruction, and receive me into that Church 
 which is so Godlike in its pure and holy 
 doctrines.' 
 
 "My heart overflowed with joy. At once 
 I began to instruct and prepare this chosen 
 soul for reception into the Catholic Church. 
 Although she had never received religious 
 instruction, the task was not hard. Her na- 
 tive intelligence, her quick apprehension, 
 and above all her intense desire, made the 
 work easy. Before I left the place I had 
 the happiness of baptizing her, of giving her 
 the Sacraments, and of placing her on the 
 road to a holy Catholic life. She con- 
 tinued in her profession, and is very suc- 
 cessful in it. But with success generally 
 comes a sacrifice; and God required it, not 
 from her, apparently, but from another. 
 
 "A year later I was in another city, giv- 
 ing a mission in a certain parish. The pas- 
 tor, during conversation, spoke of his visits 
 to a hospital nearby, and of a young woman 
 
158 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 who had been crippled by an unfortunate 
 fall. 
 
 " 'She is a marvel of patience and in- 
 telligence/ he said, 'and although she can 
 move only on crutches, she is the life of 
 the place. Sometimes when the convales- 
 cents are moody or discouraged, she gets 
 up a little "Punch and Judy" show, or helps 
 the Sisters with music and song. I wish 
 you could meet her.' 
 
 "My curiosity was aroused. I went to the 
 hospital. I asked the good Sisters about this 
 patient. At once they beamed with pleas- 
 ure, and launched forth into eulogies of 
 praise. They led me to the convalescent 
 ward, and I saw in the distance a young 
 woman seated in the midst of a little crowd 
 which parted as I approached. She smiled 
 without the least embarrassment, and pointed 
 to her crutches : 
 
 " 'These wooden friends of mine, Father, 
 must be my apology for not rising,' she said 
 with a charming grace, 'but I know you are 
 Father So-and-so. I have seen you often, 
 and have heard much of you, too.' 
 
 "She had the face of an angel, with fair 
 hair, and eyes like the blue heavens. I stared 
 at her for a moment, I was so amazed. The 
 other patients had slipped away, and the 
 
INTO THE KINGDOM 159 
 
 Sister who was with me had given me a 
 chair. I found that we were alone. 
 
 " 'You have seen and heard of me before?' 
 I said, in surprise. ' Where, my child? And 
 you know my name? How is this?' 
 
 "She folded her hands, which were very 
 white and shapely, and with a beautiful smile 
 on her face, she was silent for a moment. 
 The act and the silence suggested something 
 I could not grasp at once, and then like a 
 flash it occurred to me. 
 
 " 'Have you ever been on the stage V 
 
 " 'Yes, Father.' 
 
 M 'How does it happen that you are here?' 
 
 "'I tried to save some of my companions 
 from danger, and in doing so I fell. I shall 
 never be better,' was the quiet answer. 
 
 "My heart went out to her in pity — so 
 young, so beautiful, perhaps a long life be- 
 fore her, and her lower limbs useless. She 
 read my face, and answered my thoughts. 
 
 " 'You are sorry for me, Father. Do 
 not pity me. I am very happy. Being poor, 
 I had no place to go, until these dear Sisters 
 offered me a home in this hospital. Once, 
 some years ago, I offered myself to God if 
 He would bring to the Faith a noble woman, 
 also an actress, who is now, thanks be to 
 His mercy, a fervent Catholic. But I did 
 
160 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 not think then it would be this kind of an 
 offering — a cripple for life ! Still, I am sat- 
 isfied and happy, for she can do much good, 
 much better than I could with my poor 
 talents. ' 
 
 "A light broke upon me: 'It is Madame 
 C !' I said. 'I baptized her, and re- 
 ceived her into the Church/ 
 
 " 'Yes, Father. She told me all about it,' 
 said the cripple, fervently. 
 
 " 'And you are the girl whose life behind 
 the scenes won her to the Faith! And I 
 find you here, in this condition!' 
 
 " 'Yes, Father. I am the poor girl she 
 condescended to say was the first cause of her 
 conversion. I shall never forget her kindness 
 and graciousness.' 
 
 " 'But how is it you are here? Why has 
 she not helped you?' 
 
 " 'She has helped me, Father. She does 
 not know how my accident happened. She 
 w T as far away, in a distant city. She only 
 knows that I have retired from the stage, 
 and am ill. She would do anything for me, 
 she said/ 
 
 " 'How did the accident happen V I con- 
 tinued. 
 
 " 'A trap-door was open behind the scenes, 
 and I knew others would be going that way. 
 
INTO THE KINGDOM 161 
 
 I undertook to close it, and lost my balance. 
 It was a dreadful fall, but another girl, who 
 heard me cry out, was close behind, and if 
 I had not fallen, my fate would have been 
 hers. At first I had hopes of recovery, and 
 it was a bitter blow when they broke it gently 
 to me that I would never be well — that I 
 must give up all my aspirations. But, 
 Father, is it not better to suffer and pray 
 that one gifted soul may become perfect, and 
 closer to God, than to lead an indifferent life 
 in perfect health?' 
 
 "What could I say? Here was the great 
 love of which Christ gave the example. I 
 arose, deeply touched. I laid my hands on 
 the little actress's head, and prayed God to 
 bless her, and to bless that other actress who 
 had been led by her to the kingdom of the 
 faith. I have never seen either of them since." 
 
THE MAJOR'S PROMISE. 
 
 TT WAS Decoration Day. In a beautiful 
 -*- cemetery amid flowers that were heaped 
 upon the graves of brave soldiers who had 
 died for their country, surrounded by wav- 
 ing banners and flags, and men in the uni- 
 form of the United States Army, within view 
 of a vast crowd of men and women who stood 
 in silent sympathy, a Catholic priest raised 
 his voice and told his listeners what patriot- 
 ism meant, and what heroism stood for in 
 this great land of ours. In glowing words he 
 lauded love of country, and the men who died 
 to save their country. As the audience lis- 
 tened many a tear was dashed aside, and all 
 heads were uncovered as he spoke the words 
 of Benediction, and the prayers of the Church 
 for the eternal rest and glory of those who 
 had given up their lives to save home and 
 fatherland. 
 
 On the outskirts of the crowd an Army 
 officer stood with uncovered head. He was 
 a man of middle age, and the stripes on his 
 uniform and a cane in his hand showed he 
 
 162 
 
THE MAJOR'S PROMISE 163 
 
 had seen service on the field. He was hand- 
 some and erect, and when the crowd dispersed 
 and the priest came near him, he raised his 
 hand in military salute and smiled gravely. 
 
 The priest smiled also, and stopped to 
 speak to him. After a few words the officer 
 said: 
 
 "I believe you are a Catholic priest? " 
 
 "I am, Major," was the reply. 
 
 "I am not a Catholic, and have no desire 
 to be one, but — I love my country. I have 
 shed my blood for her and would do it again. 
 I knew there would be service in the ceme- 
 tery, since it is Decoration Day ; and because 
 this one is near my home, I came to take part 
 for the sake of the brave men lying under 
 the sod." 
 
 The priest raised his hat and extended his 
 hand. 
 
 "I honor you, Major, and I salute you with 
 respect! You are too young for the Civil 
 War — did you serve in the Cuban War?" 
 
 "Yes, sir! I was in three fights. I almost 
 lost this leg at Santiago. It has been crippled 
 badly ever since!" 
 
 "You are very erect for a cripple!" said 
 the priest pleasantly. 
 
 "So I am told," said the officer. "I owe 
 my life, as well as my leg, crippled though 
 
164 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 it be, to the good nursing and devoted atten- 
 tion of the Sisters, who had charge of the 
 hospital in Cuba into which I was carried. 
 
 "I tell you, sir!" said the Major, and his 
 fine face lighted with enthusiasm, " those Sis- 
 ters were like the angels of God to us, as we 
 were rushed in, bleeding and helpless and 
 dying from the field! The one who took 
 charge of me never seemed to rest, never sat 
 down, never was off duty. Day and night she 
 was there. I have wondered since if she 
 ever ate or slept! She pulled me through, 
 however, and I'll never forget her as long as 
 the breath is in this body. When I was dis- 
 charged, and able to get about with a crutch, 
 I wanted, naturally, to get home: But before 
 I started I said to her : ' Sister, I am leaving 
 the hospital and returning to the United 
 States ; I must thank you for all your kindness 
 to a stranger, also that I am an officer in the 
 United States Army, and possess some influ- 
 ence with our government. Now if I can do 
 any favor for you or for your convent, I 
 wish you would mention it right here. I 
 would like to serve you: ' 9 
 
 " ' Thank you, Major,' she said with a 
 smile ; ■ I do not think you can do any favor 
 for us. We serve the sick and wounded, any- 
 where, everywhere — whenever our nursing 
 
THE MAJOR'S PROMISE 165 
 
 and poor services are needed. We do not 
 expect any reward, although it is good of you, 
 and noble, to offer it to us.' 
 
 " 'But, Sister,' I persisted, ' won't you let 
 me do something personally, even to please 
 you — some little thing!' 
 
 " ' Would you wish to please me?' said the 
 Sister, earnestly. 
 
 " 'I would do anything for you, Sister,' I 
 cried eagerly — 'only name it!' 
 
 " 'Then,' she said, 'promise me, that when 
 you get home, at some time or other, you 
 will go into a Catholic church, and stay there 
 for a few minutes. Do this on three differ- 
 ent occasions. Choose your own time. Sim- 
 ply pay three short visits to a Catholic church 
 in memory of what I have asked you.' 
 
 " 'Why, that's too easy!' I said. 'But let 
 me assure you there will be no religion in it. 
 I will keep my promise only in order to please 
 you.' 
 
 " 'That's all I ask,' said the Sister. As 
 she extended her hand I reverently took it and 
 said goodby. 
 
 "I came home, and being a retired officer, 
 and quite comfortable, life went on smoothly 
 for some years. I forgot all about my prom- 
 ise. One day, however, as I sat on my porch 
 in the evening, I saw a number of people pass- 
 
166 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 ing by, all in one direction. I asked where 
 they were going. I was told the Catholics 
 had a mfssion in their church on the next 
 block. That's a Catholic church, I thought — 
 and suddenly my promise to that good Sister 
 came up before me, and seizing my cane and 
 hat, I thought I would go, too, and redeem 
 the first third of my promise. 
 
 "I went and heard a splendid sermon that 
 set me thinking very seriously about the des- 
 tiny of man. I was much impressed. The 
 next night I went again, and thus fulfilled 
 the second third of my promise. I learned 
 a good deal about the Catholic Church, and, 
 although I have no desire to be a Catholic, 
 I am much more enlightened about her claims 
 than I ever expected to be." 
 
 He paused here and the priest said: 
 "That was your last visit, Major?" 
 "Yes. I couldn't get into the crowded 
 church the next night, which was the last of 
 the mission. So although I started to fulfil 
 the last part of my promise to that good Sis- 
 ter, I did not succeed — through no fault of 
 mine: Then Decoration Day came — the me- 
 morial day of every true soldier — and I came 
 in here, heard you speak, Father, and find 
 myself talking to you and telling you my his- 
 torv. ' ' 
 
THE MAJOR'S PROMISE 167 
 
 They were walking slowly toward the ceme- 
 tery gate. 
 
 "It is early still, Major, and our rectory 
 is quite near," said the priest. "Come and sit 
 on our porch and rest a while. You may have 
 fatigued your lame foot by all this standing, 
 and you need some rest before you start 
 homewards." 
 
 The Major went willingly. He was tired, 
 and glad to sit down somewhere. Besides, he 
 liked this young priest, and was nothing loth 
 to talk to him. On the porch, seated and com- 
 fortable, he began to speak of religion. The 
 priest was astonished to find he had a child- 
 like, earnest nature to deal with ; want of in- 
 formation, and some bigotry had given to the 
 Major the harsh ideas of the Catholic Church 
 that are so often met with, but gradually he 
 had come to see that he was mistaken in some 
 things, and perhaps other matters he doubted 
 might be also satisfactorily explained. 
 
 After an hour's conversation he arose. The 
 priest said pleasantly: 
 
 1 ' Our church is just at hand. Suppose you 
 go and make the last instalment of your prom- 
 ise to that good Sister! There were three 
 visits to a Catholic church promised, were 
 there not, Major?" 
 
 "There were three visits," said the Major, 
 
168 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 seriously, "and there is no reason why I 
 shouldn't finish off this memorable day. I 
 will 'burn the mortgage,' so to speak, by the 
 entire cancellation of my debt of promise. 
 Where is the church? I will go!" 
 
 The priest led him to a side door, opened 
 a pew in front of the sanctuary, and left him. 
 
 What silence in this holy place ! The little 
 ruby lamp swinging from the ceiling; the 
 altar with its white linens ; the vases of lilies 
 on each side of the sacred door shedding a 
 fragrance that reached even the Major. All 
 these things affected him strangely. He had 
 never been so close to the Holy of holies be- 
 fore: Soon a strange peace filled his heart — 
 the vivid sense of a Presence ! The hour for 
 which the nun in distant Cuba prayed had 
 come. God's grace came forth from the tab- 
 ernacle and struck the upright heart of 'the 
 soldier as the lightning struck Saul on his 
 way to Tarsus. 
 
 He believed ! An hour passed. The priest 
 returned. The Major was still there. But 
 he rose and followed his new friend. When 
 they were outside the sacred precincts, the 
 priest looked at the Major. His fine face was 
 full of reverent joy. 
 
 "Father," he said, "I am a Catholic! Will 
 you instruct me? That good Sister knew 
 
THE MAJOR'S PROMISE 169 
 
 what she was doing when she asked me to 
 visit Christ in His temple.' ' 
 
 Need it be said that the priest accepted his 
 task joyfully? The days passed by. The 
 Major was instructed, was baptized, made his 
 First Communion, and is now a fervent con- 
 vert. 
 
 Blessed be Jesus in the Most Holy Sacra- 
 ment of the Altar! 
 
THE STOLEN ROSARY. 
 
 C UNSHINE and balmy breezes, sweet with 
 ^ the odor of spring blossoms, made the 
 May afternoon like a dream of lost Eden. 
 The Southern city of Eichmond was all astir 
 in the beautiful weather; the streets were 
 filled with active men and gay women, who, 
 with alert steps and faces that reflected the 
 cloudless sky, were on pleasure or on business 
 bent 
 
 On one of the side streets stood a little 
 Catholic church. As the sun went down the 
 doors stood wide open, and passersby could 
 look in from the pavement, and note the 
 altars, beautifully adorned with long white 
 tapers and vases of fragrant flowers. There 
 were two altars, one of which was crowned 
 by an exquisite marble statue of the Blessed 
 Virgin, with a halo of electric stars over her 
 head. 
 
 The fragrance of roses floated down the 
 aisles and out into the street, and ap- 
 pealed delightfully to the senses of a young 
 girl who was passing. She looked in, and 
 
 170 
 
THE STOLEN ROSARY 171 
 
 impelled by curiosity, hesitatingly entered. 
 She had never been in a Catholic church be- 
 fore, and remembering all the dangerous 
 things she had heard of the ways of ' ' Roman 
 Catholics," she slipped into the pew nearest 
 the door, so that in case of danger she might 
 instantly escape. 
 
 There was only a small congregation pres- 
 ent, and all seemed so earnestly engaged in 
 their devotions that she found herself un- 
 noticed. She breathed freely, and began to 
 listen to what was said, for the whole church- 
 ful was repeating at certain intervals some 
 sentences of prayer over and over again. She 
 discovered they were led by a single voice 
 far away, and she located what she thought 
 was the minister, at the foot of the shrine, 
 where the marble Madonna stood like a 
 vision. 
 
 In vain she tried to catch the words that 
 were so often repeated; only these came to 
 her ear : 
 
 "Holy Mary, Mother of God— !" 
 
 Over and over again they fell on the air, 
 and while more words were said, they died 
 away in an indistinct murmur. Uncon- 
 sciously she murmured them herself: "Holy 
 Mary, Mother of God!" 
 
 Suddenly her eyes caught a broken chaplet 
 
172 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 tying in the pew before her. She had no idea 
 of connecting it with the prayers she heard, 
 but it was a curiosity, and stealthily she 
 snatched it up and slipped it into her pocket. 
 Noticing a stir among the people, she hur- 
 riedly arose, and fled into the street, quite 
 excited at her own bravery in entering a 
 "Popish church" without meeting opposition 
 or challenge, and determined to make an 
 interesting story of the whole adventure that 
 night among her friends. 
 
 Sure enough she detailed the episode to a 
 a party of young people that evening, told 
 graphically of her visit to the church, and 
 the scene she beheld, and as some refused to 
 believe her, she drew out the broken rosary 
 to prove her story. The "superstitions of 
 the benighted Catholics" were commented 
 upon, and the rosary was passed from hand 
 to hand in curious examination. 
 
 The party dispersed. The girl, taking the 
 chaplet, went to her room at last to retire 
 for the night. She threw the beads on her 
 dressing-table, and then with a sigh of relief 
 that she could pray to her Heavenly Father 
 without such Popish mummery, fell on her 
 knees to say her night-prayers. Strange! 
 They had left her mind ! Nothing could she 
 utter but: 
 
THE STOLEN EOSARY 173 
 
 "Holy Mary, Mother of God!" 
 
 Again and again did she begin the always 
 familiar words of prayer. Her memory was 
 a blank. She could not continue — no words 
 would come but "Holy Mary, Mother of 
 God!" Startled and worried, she tried 
 again, with the same result, and finally had 
 to abandon the effort in disgust and affright. 
 
 "It is that old Catholic rubbish that has 
 bewitched me ! ' ' she cried, and threw herself 
 on the bed. But she could not sleep; she 
 tossed on her pillow. Over and over and 
 again the murmur of the words in the little 
 church came to her unwilling ears. 
 
 The morning found her nervous and jaded 
 from want of sleep and the strain on her 
 mind: She tried to perform her usual duties, 
 but again, like the restless moan of the sea, 
 came the words, as if a far off multitude were 
 saying them, "Holy Mary, Mother of God!" 
 
 Half sick with conflicting emotions, she 
 waited until evening. Then in terror and in 
 secrecy, she thrust the broken chaplet into 
 her pocket, and made her way to the Catholic 
 church, to leave the miserable thing where 
 she found it. 
 
 She reached the church — no one was there. 
 Hurriedly she entered the pew where she had 
 found the broken rosary, threw it down, and 
 
174 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 turned to flee with a relieved heart, when her 
 eyes rested on the marble Madonna, with its 
 pure, exquisite face, and its "meekly folded 
 hands." 
 
 "Holy Mary, Mother of God!" fell from 
 her lips unconsciously. And then came the 
 stroke of grace. The scales of prejudice and 
 heresy dropped from her eyes. She believed ! 
 The Mother of God was a reality! Christ's 
 Church was a haven of peace founded on a 
 rock! Her soul had been actually pursued 
 by grace. Mary, the Mother of God, had 
 won another convert to her divine Son's 
 Sacred Heart! She became an earnest 
 Catholic, and lived and died an example of 
 that fervor which wins and amazes, while it 
 fills us with admiration. 
 
 Oh, blessed Mother of God! Thy fair love- 
 liness is a part of the beauty of paradise. 
 Let some little ray fall on the children of 
 Eve, bereaved of thee, that those who know 
 thee not may find thee, and finding thee 
 love thee, Holy Mary, Mother of God! 
 
MARCH SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 IN MY mail one morning, came the fol- 
 lowing letter addressed to "Rev. Rich- 
 ard Alexander:" 
 
 "Dear Rev. Father: 
 
 "We are sending to your address a man- 
 uscript which was found amongst the papers 
 of the late Rev. J; J. C, pastor of St. James 9 
 Church, who died January 11, 1910. Our 
 convent is located in this parish, so they 
 sent it to us to be forwarded to you, as it 
 was the evident intention of our Rev. Pastor 
 that we should do so. It was written in 
 lead pencil. We have taken the liberty of 
 copying it in ink, and herewith transmit it 
 to your care. That the contents are abso- 
 lutely true, we know, and we wish to have 
 it published only to show how tenderly God 
 deals with upright souls, who sincerely de- 
 sire to know the truth. Please do not mention 
 our name, nor the town where the occurrence 
 took place. 
 
 11 Yours in the Sacred Heart, 
 
 "Sisters of ." 
 
 175 
 
176 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 I read this letter with interest, and then 
 unrolled the manuscript. It was with a 
 feeling of reverence that I followed the rec- 
 ord of a conversion full of God's love and 
 mercy, and thought of the joy the good priest 
 felt when he met this ransomed soul so soon 
 after he had brought her to God — so close 
 together were their deaths. May this narra- 
 tive touch many a doubting heart ! Here is 
 his manuscript, exactly reproduced: 
 
 "It was in the afternoon of St. Patrick's 
 Day, in the year 1909. I went to the barber- 
 shop for a shave, as I intended to spend the 
 evening with a neighboring priest. While 
 there, my housekeeper sent a messenger to 
 me asking me to come home as soon as 
 possible, as there was an urgent sick call by 
 'phone: The call came from a nursing Sister 
 of Si Francis, who was at the house of a sick 
 lady, a non-Catholic. She begged me to come 
 at once, saying that the lady was very low; 
 she wanted to be baptized a Roman Catholic, 
 and die in the Faith ; that this was a favorable 
 opportunity as her family was very preju- 
 diced, and not thinking her condition as ser- 
 ious as it was, they were absent, leaving her 
 to the nurse 's care. 
 
 "I hesitated a moment, because the location 
 of the residence was beyond the limits of my 
 
MAECH SEVENTEENTH . 177 
 
 parish, but the Sister urged me, saying that 
 their parish was German, and that an Eng- 
 lish-speaking priest could handle this case 
 better. I consented then, and went to the 
 house, taking with me the Blessed Sacrament. 
 Two Sisters met me at the foot of the stairs, 
 kneeling for the blessing. They whispered 
 to me that the lady was entirely prepared, 
 instructed and ready for the Sacraments. I 
 went into the room, and after some con- 
 versation, found all as the Sisters had said. 
 The lady was a remarkably favored soul, full 
 of faith, and yearning for the Blessed Sac- 
 rament. She was about forty-four years old ; 
 came from a wealthy Southern family, was 
 highly educated and cultured, a graduate in 
 music, art, etc. Her religious training had 
 been in the High Episcopal Church, and she 
 had been a zealous church-woman, organist 
 and Sunday School teacher. During her resi- 
 dence at times in a village where there was 
 no church she would often gather an assembly 
 at her own house, read the Bible, and talk 
 of God to them, being careful to warn her 
 audience against the superstition and idolatry 
 of the Eomish Church, which called on Mary 
 the Virgin at almost every breath. Her min- 
 ister had been a frequent visitor here during 
 her illness — bringing her much consolation, 
 
178 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 and the 6 Lord's Supper.' Noticing that his 
 services were not of the highest Episcopal 
 rites, she suggested to him to bring some 
 candles and ' wafers' from a Catholic supply 
 house nearby, and said that she would be 
 pleased to have her little son act as one of 
 his acolytes. To all this the minister had 
 tolerantly acceded. 
 
 "I asked her many questions; found her 
 well-instructed, and quite ready for con- 
 ditional baptism, for Confession, and recep- 
 tion into the Catholic Church, all of which she 
 ardently desired. Her firm belief in the 
 Real Presence was most remarkable ; her one 
 desire was to be a Roman Catholic and re- 
 ceive Holy Communion. When I told her 
 that I had the Blessed Sacrament with me, 
 her joy knew no bounds, and she implored me 
 not to delay. I went into the adjoining room, 
 where the non-Catholic nurse, the two Sis- 
 ters, and her little son were, and brought 
 them into the sick-room, that all might wit- 
 ness the whole procedure. They heard her 
 ask once more for the Sacraments, and wit- 
 nessed my ministrations of the same. When 
 I left her, after a long visit, her heart was full 
 of joy, which manifested itself on her beau- 
 tiful countenance. 
 
 "As for myself, I was full of wonder and 
 
MARCH SEVENTEENTH 179 
 
 thanksgiving. "When I left the room I asked 
 the Sisters how this strange conversion had 
 occurred. One of them replied as follows: 
 
 ' ' l Father, I will tell you all about it. Surely 
 it is God's mercy, and Our Lady. It did 
 not happen all at once. Last May there was 
 a call by 'phone to our convent saying that 
 
 at No. , on a certain street, there was a 
 
 sick lady who wished one of the Sisters to 
 come and see her and render her some ser- 
 vice, as just then she could not get a suitable 
 nurse. I was sent. At first I went three or 
 four times a week. Soon she found a nurse. 
 After that, I went only when she sent for me. 
 She seemed to like me, and said she looked 
 anxiously for my coming: Nearly always 
 we conversed on religious subjects, especially 
 on Holy Communion, and our dear Blessed 
 Mother. I taught her the "Hail Mary," and 
 gave her a medal. One afternoon she was 
 very much depressed. Her minister had 
 brought ' i Communion ' ' to her that morning. 
 She told him how devout her feelings were 
 after receiving, to which he answered: "You 
 must not think that this is Transubstantia- 
 tion, or what Romanists call the Real Pres- 
 ence; it means only a remembrance of the 
 body and blood of Christ." She was startled, 
 and told him she always received fasting, 
 
180 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 because she believed she received Christ's 
 true body and blood. Then he said if she be- 
 lieved that she was very near being a Eoman 
 Catholic, and she would be a traitor to her 
 Church ! I tried to console her by saying that 
 her minister told the truth; that what he 
 brought her was not Christ's body and blood; 
 that the Holy Catholic Church alone has the 
 Eeal Presence of Our Lord, and that our 
 priests alone can give real Holy Communion 
 to the faithful, and bring it to the sick, 
 etc. 
 
 " 'For a moment, I felt that my emphatic 
 words shook all the religious principles in 
 my poor listener. She burst into tears, and 
 said : ' i Sister, you must tell me more ; and I 
 want to hear what you believe about the Vir- 
 gin Mary." I did not say much more, but 
 we sent her Catholic literature : The Faith of 
 Our Fathers; Truth, and The Missionary 
 from the Apostolic Mission House, "Wash- 
 ington, D. C. She also read Eev. Eichard 
 Alexander's Note Booh of a Missionary. 
 The Missionaky particularly penetrated her 
 with the deepest reverence for Eev. Father 
 Doyle and his noble missionary priest- 
 writers: Still, human pride and prejudice 
 would not yield to grace. She refused to 
 open her heart to a Catholic theologian for 
 
MARCH SEVENTEENTH 181 
 
 fear he might convince her of the "terrible 
 truth !" 
 
 " ' After she read those precious articles in 
 Truth written by Rev. Wm. McGarvey in 
 September and October, 1908, viz: What is 
 the Real Difference Between Catholics and 
 Protestants? she became very uneasy, and 
 consulted her minister. His answer did not 
 satisfy her troubled soul. Shortly after- 
 wards he was called to another pulpit, and 
 he never visited her again. 
 
 " 'When her friends found our literature 
 in her hands they said with horror that she 
 was on treacherous ground. They begged 
 her to throw away these books as deadly 
 poison ; not to allow the serpent to tempt her 
 from the religion of her youth, or she would 
 lose God's grace and her immortal soul. 
 
 " 'Recounting this to me, she said that she 
 was so full of doubt and anxiety that she 
 could no longer pray, except the little prayer 
 I taught her — ' ' Hail Mary, full of grace. ' ' It 
 was always sweet to her. She wanted to 
 know more about the Blessed Mother, yet was 
 afraid to give herself up to grace. She 
 thought she would wait until her health im- 
 proved. We redoubled our prayers for her 
 in our convent, for we had become deeply 
 interested in her. 
 
182 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 " ' After Christmas she asked me to help 
 her to prepare for a journey South to a pri- 
 vate Protestant hospital to which her husband 
 had been advised to take her, and place her 
 under the care of a specialist: She went. 
 That evening, I complained to our dear 
 Blessed Mother: "Are you going to allow 
 this soul to be lost?" I said to Our Lady, 
 "Dear Mother Mary, we are praying our 
 hearts sore for that soul, and you are allow- 
 ing her to go to a Protestant hospital to die ! 
 Now, you must take care of her ! ' ' And Our 
 Lady surely did. 
 
 " i After some weeks the patient was 
 brought home. The special treatment was a 
 failure. She sent for me at once, but I did 
 not go until to-day — the seventeenth of 
 March. I knelt beside the bed clasping her 
 cold hands in mine, for I saw she was near 
 the end. And she whispered this story to 
 me: "Dear Sister, you are right; you have 
 been right all along. I believe in all the doc- 
 trines of your Church; I have long since 
 known them, but my pride kept me back until 
 our sweet Blessed Mother came to my as- 
 sistance ! ' * 
 
 " ']■■ I started; for devotion to Our Lady was 
 one of the points that made her stumble. She 
 went on : 
 
MARCH SEVENTEENTH 183 
 
 " ' "I don't know whether it was a dream 
 or a vision, or what; but one morning about 
 nine o'clock, I was lying awake on my bed. 
 I was alone, and perfectly conscious. The 
 March sun was coming through my window, 
 when all of a sudden a beautiful lady was 
 standing close to my bed, leaning a little 
 forward toward me, looking at me. I could 
 not utter a word. Her eyes were like bril- 
 liant stars. It is impossible to describe her. 
 She was more than beautiful — graceful, ma- 
 jestic. Something that could not be imagined 
 in this world. She said in a sweet, low voice, 
 ' I am the Blessed Virgin Mary;' then: 'and 
 I am the Mother of God! My Son does all 
 things*.' She paused. I cried: ' Mother! 
 Mother! I want to belong to you' — but she 
 was gone ! She did not come in by the door, 
 nor did she go out that way. I did not see 
 her come or go." 
 
 " 'The patient then pleaded for me to 
 send for a priest as soon as possible. She 
 wanted to be baptized a Catholic and receive 
 the Sacraments. Our Lady had extinguished 
 her pride, and God's grace overflowed her 
 soul. This is the way, Father, it all came 
 around.' " 
 
 Thus ended the Sister's narrative. The 
 priest's manuscript continued: 
 
184 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 "Now, Father Alexander, I need not tell 
 you this was the happiest St. Patrick's Day 
 of my life. This favored soul lived only a 
 few days. I was called to her bedside once 
 more, and she breathed forth her pure spirit 
 with these words on her lips: 'My Jesus, 
 mercy.' " 
 
 Jfr Jim Jfa Jfr M, 
 
 *3^ "Jv* *7T *w ^T" 
 
 I laid down the manuscript of this dead 
 priest with a feeling akin to awe. They had 
 met in the great Beyond, and no doubt were 
 enjoying God's blessed Presence! They had 
 seen our Blessed Lady, and were singing her 
 praises I 
 
 How true it is that grace and light never 
 fail to come to the sincere and upright of 
 heart. 
 
THE BOY'S CONVERT. 
 
 DID you hear that, Walt?" 
 " Hear what 1" 
 
 "There's some one crying in that old 
 house." 
 
 "Ah, go on! You're kiddin': Nobody 
 lives there." 
 
 "But I heard some one, sure." 
 
 "Let's go and see. If you're foolin' me 
 you'd Better watch out!" 
 
 "I ain't foolin\ Come on!" 
 
 The two boys, who were passing a lonely 
 part of the suburbs, where only a few 
 broken-down shacks were visible, went cau- 
 tiously toward a low frame building that 
 looked like a deserted stable. On tip-toe 
 they slipped to the back and looked in a 
 window whose broken panes were stuffed 
 with rags. As they looked a deep groan 
 seemed to come from the place. It was 
 broad daylight — three o'clock in the after- 
 noon — yet both boys grew white with fear. 
 
 "I told you so," whispered Jack. Walter 
 said nothing. 
 
 185 
 
186 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 "Are you afraid, Walt?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm afraid! Don't let's go any; 
 further, Jack." 
 
 "Yes, we will! Let's make the sign of the 
 cross and knock at the door." 
 
 "Well, you knock, Jack." 
 
 Both boys made the sign of the cross. 
 They were Catholics, faithful pupils of the 
 parish school, and they were about thirteen 
 years old: If anything, Jack was the 
 younger, but that he was the braver was 
 evidenced by his boldly knocking at the 
 door. 
 
 "Come in, for God's sake, whoever you 
 are!" was heard in a muffled, sepulchral 
 voice from within. 
 
 This was too much for Walter; he turned 
 and fled like a deer down the deserted road, 
 not stopping until he reached the paved 
 street, where he paused, panting for breath. 
 He could see the little house indistinctly now. 
 There was no sign of Jack. Quite aware, 
 however, that Jack could take care of him- 
 self, and being too cowardly to call any one 
 lest he might be blamed, he loitered about, 
 wondering what had happened. 
 
 And Jack — what became of him? 
 
 When he made the sign of the cross the 
 second time, fear left him, and without look- 
 
THE BOY'S CONVERT 187 
 
 ing around for Walter, he pushed at the 
 door. It swung open without difficulty. At 
 first it was so dark that he could not dis- 
 tinguish anything, but as his eyes grew ac- 
 customed to the gloom, he made out a bed in 
 the corner, and on it the form of a woman. 
 Her thick, white hair was straggling round 
 her face, her lips w^ere cracked and dry, 
 while her eyes seemed to burn him with their 
 intense glow. 
 
 "Oh, little boy," she cried, "won't you get 
 me a drink of water? I am dying of thirst." 
 
 Jack picked up a cup that was on the chair 
 beside her, and ran out to a pump he re- 
 membered seeing near the place. In a min- 
 ute he was back. The poor creature sat up, 
 seized the cup eagerly, and drank the water 
 without stopping until it was all gone; then 
 with a sigh she laid the cup on the chair, 
 and closed her eyes. 
 
 Jack looked at her. She seemed old and 
 miserable: Poverty was stamped on all 
 around her. A little stove, a chair or two, 
 a table, a wooden box that served for a cup- 
 board, and a rag carpet beside her bed — this 
 was the furniture of her home. He took it 
 in at a glance. 
 
 She opened her eyes and said to Jack 
 feebly : 
 
188 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 "You're a good boy — may God bless you! 
 I have been sick these two days not able to 
 get out of bed, and not a soul has come near 
 me. I was pretty well till then, able to cook 
 a bit and help myself, but when the cold 
 ketched me, I could only lie here and groan. ' ' 
 
 "That's what Walt and I heard when we 
 were passing," said Jack. 
 
 "Was there another one?" said the old 
 woman. 
 
 "Yes, but Walt got scared, and made 
 tracks," said Jack smiling. 
 
 "What's your name, little boy?" 
 
 "Jack Brown, ma'am." 
 
 "Well, Jack Brown, you have the blessing 
 of a poor old woman, whose husband is in the 
 poorhouse; but she wouldn't go while she had 
 even this roof over her head. I want to die 
 at home, poor as it is." 
 
 "Haven't you got any children, or any- 
 body to help you?" said Jack. 
 
 "Neither chick nor child. I am a lone 
 creature sure enough, but if I was only on 
 my feet I'd never want. I eat next to noth- 
 in' and I make myself a bit of tea when I'm 
 hungry. ' ' 
 
 "I'll get my mother to fix you something," 
 said Jack. "She's fine. But Mrs. — you 
 didn't tell me your name." 
 
THE BOY'S CONVERT 189 
 
 a- 
 
 'I'm Mrs. Moss; my name is Ellen, 
 and I'll be thankful to your mother if she 
 can send me something to keep the life in 
 
 me." 
 
 "Well," said Jack, "I'll have to be going. 
 Walt will be lookin' for me. I'll be back, 
 Mrs. Moss, to-morrow, sure. Ain't you 
 afraid all alone by yourself here ? ' ' 
 
 "No, son — nobody ever comes here. I 
 never have visitors and I never want them. 
 Oh, if I only could get up! Could you get 
 me another cup of water? I don't seem to 
 need anything else. I'm dried up inside." 
 
 Jack looked around, found an empty pitcher 
 and taking the cup and pitcher, filled both 
 with water, and brought them in. The poor 
 creature looked her gratitude: Tears coursed 
 down her withered cheeks. 
 
 "Don't cry, Mrs. Moss," said Jack cheer- 
 fully. "I'll be along early to-morrow, and 
 maybe mother will come too; she's pretty 
 busy in the morning, but I'll bring you some- 
 thing before school. Goodby!" 
 
 "Heaven bless you!" said the old woman, 
 as Jack carefully closed the door. Once out- 
 side, he gave a big whistle, and with his hands 
 in his pockets skipped down the road, whist- 
 ling all the way. Soon Walter came from be- 
 hind a tall sycamore tree. 
 
190 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 "What did you see, Jack?" he said in an 
 awed voice, his eyes round and scared. 
 
 "Oh, you baby!" said Jack scornfully. 
 "You're a reg'lar sissy. Nothin' but a poor, 
 skinny old woman sick in bed that wanted a 
 drink of water. Didn't you ever see anybody 
 sick in bed? You're a scared-cat, Walt" — 
 and Jack grinned. 
 
 "But you were afraid, too," said Walter. 
 "You said you were:" 
 
 "I was for a minute. Anybody would be, 
 hearin' such groanin', but we both said we'd 
 go in, and when I looked round for you, you 
 had kited down the street on a Marathon! 
 You went like mad, Walt, and that's a fact! 
 But she's a poor old woman all right, and 
 I'm going to ask mother to let me bring her 
 something to eat. She's awful lonesome." 
 
 "I bet on you, Jack," said Walter ef- 
 fusively. "Nothin' the matter with you, 
 Jack. But there's our Tom beckoning to 
 me across the street," and, rather relieved, 
 Walter skipped off to his brother. 
 
 Jack went home and told his mother. 
 Charitable Mrs. Brown said she would have 
 some hot broth ready on the stove next day, 
 and when he came home from serving Mass 
 (for Jack was a faithful altar-boy), he should 
 take the little bucket, bring it to Mrs. Moss 
 
THE BOY'S CONVERT 191 
 
 before school, and tell her his mother would 
 be there during the morning. 
 
 Mrs. Brown was a plain, good Catholic 
 woman, with a house full of children and a 
 husband who worked in the neighboring mills. 
 They were comfortable enough while he had 
 steady work and, grateful to God, she never 
 refused to share all she had with those poorer 
 than herself. The account the lad gave her 
 of old Mrs. Moss touched her heart. Next 
 morning, when Jack came home from serving 
 Mass, he found the little granite bucket on 
 the kitchen stove, and carefully carried it 
 to Mrs. Moss: He found her extremely 
 weak, but she greeted the boy gladly. 
 
 "Lord bless you, boy! I see you are as 
 good as your word. Tell your good mother 
 I won't be long in this world, and if she has 
 a spark of kindness, to come to see me. I 
 didn't close an eye last night. It was hard, 
 lyin' here, starin' into the darkness." 
 
 "I'll tell her," said Jack, as he poured out 
 some of the hot broth, and helped her trem- 
 bling hands to hold the cup. 
 
 It was stimulating and strengthening. The 
 old creature sipped it greedily, and begged 
 for more. Jack gave it to her, and as she 
 seemed to be able to hold the cup now, and 
 told him she was "a heap better," he said 
 
192 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 he would go ; but, ' ' she must drink it before it 
 got cold." His mother would come for the 
 little vessel. Then he was off, with a hop and 
 a skip, whistling down the street, not know- 
 ing that his act of charity was diffusing its 
 holy joy all through his innocent being. 
 
 Mrs; Brown visited the poor woman that 
 day, and found everything just as the boy had 
 described it. She had rallied considerably, 
 owing to the nourishing beef tea, and while 
 Mrs. Brown tidied up the room and gave her 
 some clean linen she had brought she listened 
 with maternal pride to the old woman's 
 praises of Jack. 
 
 "Yes, he is a good boy; I haye eight of 
 them, six boys and two girls. The girls help 
 me considerably. Jack, being the eldest boy, 
 keeps an eye on the younger ones." 
 
 "What wouldn't I give to have a child 
 of my own now?" said Mrs. Moss. "But the 
 Good Man took them all." 
 
 "The Good Man," was an expression 
 rather new to Mrs. Brown's Catholic ears. 
 She knew her patient was not a Catholic; 
 but she said nothing. Mrs. Moss with quick 
 intuition, resumed: 
 
 "I suppose if you had known I was a 
 Lutheran, you wouldn't have much to do 
 with me. Aren't you a Roman Catholic?" 
 
THE BOY'S CONVERT 193 
 
 "Yes, we are Catholics, thank God. But 
 it makes no difference what religion a poor 
 sick neighbor belongs to, if I can do a good 
 turn for her. God Almighty is Our Father, 
 isn't He?" 
 
 "Yes," said the woman, "hut my Church 
 never bothers about me, and after I got my 
 poor husband in the poorhouse because he 
 was paralyzed, they never gave me a penny. 
 Our Church is mostly for the rich," she said 
 bitterly. 
 
 "We mustn't talk about that," said Mrs. 
 Brown. "I'll send Jack with broth or a 
 couple of eggs every day, and maybe you'll 
 get around again, and we might get some 
 light work for you. I am so busy at home 
 that I can't promise to come often, but I'll 
 do what I can. ' ' 
 
 "I'll never forget you!" cried Mrs. Moss, 
 "I'll love you to my dying day, and I'll bless 
 that fine boy of yours, and pray that the 
 Saviour may make him a fine man." 
 
 Mrs. Brown smiled, and declared she would 
 have to go, to look after the dinner at 
 home. Placing some milk and some good 
 bread and fruit at the woman's bedside, she 
 left the miserable home in a better condition 
 than she found it, and departed, loaded with 
 blessings from the sick woman. Thank God 
 
194 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 for the beautiful cliarity of so many of our 
 people ! They have nothing superfluous, but 
 they share all they have with those poorer 
 than themselves, yes, and they teach their 
 children the nobility of generosity to God's 
 chosen poor, irrespective of creed! How 
 often they put the wealthy to shame, as Christ 
 did in the case of the poor widow of the 
 Gospel! 
 
 After this Jack brought beef tea early 
 every morning, or if he went in the after- 
 noon he brought more solid food in a little 
 basket. Then he usually found Mrs. Moss 
 up and seated in an old armchair by the win- 
 dow watching for him. Her face would light 
 up as he approached, and a shower of bless- 
 ings greet him. Jack began to like the old 
 woman and to take pleasure in visiting her. 
 One morning he found her gasping, her eyes 
 fixed, her face deathly white. Jack was sure 
 she was dying. His first thought was "the 
 priest/ ? but remembering his mother had 
 said she was a Protestant, he thought it 
 would do no harm to say some prayers. So 
 he knelt down at the bedside and began aloud 
 the act of Contrition, then the acts of Faith, 
 Hope, and Charity, the "Our Father" and 
 the "Hail Mary" — the simple prayers of a 
 child. When he paused he saw she was bet- 
 
THE BOY'S CONVERT 195 
 
 ter, that her face was assuming a more 
 normal expression. He pressed her to take 
 some of the hot beef tea and assisted her to 
 do so. She revived, and when he left her 
 she was more herself. She told him she had 
 these bad spells at times, and knew they 
 were weakening. Jack, boy like, didn't know 
 what to say. So he said nothing and kept 
 quiet about his scare. 
 
 When he went next time it was in the 
 afternoon, and Mrs; Moss was sitting by the 
 window in her old chair. Her face told Jack 
 how welcome he was, and when she shook 
 hands with him, he perched himself on top 
 of the store-box, and pushed his cap on the 
 back of his head. He had lost all sense of 
 shyness and spoke to her quite freely. She 
 was by no means bad-looking when she was 
 "fixed-up," as Jack called it, and to-day, 
 with her clean dress and apron, her white 
 hair, which was unusually abundant, rolled 
 softly away from her forehead, her brown 
 eyes sparkling with the pleasure of seeing 
 him, she was good to look at. Boys know 
 these things as well as grown-ups, and Jack 
 felt a sort of pride in his patient. 
 
 "Jack, my boy," said Mrs. Moss, "I can't 
 get those fine prayers you said the other day 
 out of my head. I never knew any prayer 
 
196 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 but the Saviour's own prayer, 'Our Father 
 which art in heaven.' Where did you learn 
 them all !" 
 
 "Why, I say them every day. I learned 
 them at school. JVe say 'Our Father who' — 
 not 'which/ Don't you know the 'Confiteor,' 
 and 'Angel of God,' and '0 Sacred Heart'? 
 But I forgot, you're only a Lutheran! What 
 a pity!" and the boy's face was full of such 
 genuine concern that the poor woman couldn't 
 be offended. 
 
 Instead, she humbly said: 
 
 "Maybe, it is a pity, Jack, but it's all I 
 was raised to. We didn't know much about 
 religion in our house. Would you mind say- 
 ing those prayers again for me?" 
 
 "No, indeed," said Jack, glad to be of some 
 definite use. He took off his cap, knelt down, 
 reverently blessed himself, folded his hands, 
 and began the act of Contrition; and then 
 the other prayers he had said before. Old 
 Ellen watched him closely; His eyes were 
 cast down, his mind absorbed in what he was 
 doing. When he got through, he blessed 
 himself, scuttled up on the box, curled his 
 feet under him, secured his cap, and in a 
 different voice said : 
 
 "Aren't they fine prayers? They are as 
 
THE BOY'S CONVEBT 197 
 
 old as the Catholic Church, and that is the 
 Church that Christ founded. " 
 
 "You seem mighty sure, Jack," said old 
 Ellen; "who learned you all that?" 
 
 "Why, it's in my catechism," he retorted, 
 "and I heard it in instruction class; I've 
 made my First Holy Communion. I'm thir- 
 teen years old, you know. ' ' 
 
 "I don't seem to know much about it. I 
 never heard tell of the things you have so 
 glib on your tongue." 
 
 Jack was touched. He only saw an old 
 woman — ages older it seemed than he was, 
 and she actually did not know the prayers 
 his little brothers said every day, and had 
 no religious teaching at all. What a terrible 
 state of ignorance! Why, he, he could help 
 her! 
 
 "Say, Mrs. Moss, look here," said he with 
 animation, "I'm going to bring down my 
 catechism, and my prayer-book, and I can 
 read them to you." 
 
 "Oh, my good boy!" cried she, "will you 
 really? Won't it be a great bother to you 
 instead of going to your play? But, oh, I'd 
 like it mighty much. I often wonder if the 
 Good Man in heaven ever thinks of a poor 
 body like me!" 
 
 "If you mean our blessed Lord," said 
 
198 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 Jack, lifting his cap, "I never heard Him 
 called such a name as you say; but if you 
 mean Him, why, He loves people like you. 
 The older they are, the poorer, the sicker, 
 the more He loves them, I know that for 
 sure. Mother says so, and the Sisters say 
 so, and Father Alexander says so ! I'll bring 
 down my books to-morrow ; so be ready, Mrs. 
 Moss!" and Jack skipped down from the 
 box and was off. 
 
 Jack was as good as his word. Next day 
 he brought the little catechism and read from 
 the first page on through several chapters. 
 The poor woman constantly interrupted him 
 with questions, and he answered them cor- 
 rectly. He felt he was doing something for 
 a human soul. The missionary instinct was 
 there and he followed it as the Wise Men 
 followed the Star. 
 
 He never missed a day now. He went 
 through the catechism, at least the Command- 
 ments and the Sacraments, and no pupil had 
 a more earnest teacher, nor ever had a teacher 
 a more eager pupil. Old Ellen was slowly 
 seeing the light. God's grace was coming 
 to her poor benighted soul. At last she said : 
 
 ' ' Jack, do you know what I've been think- 
 ing all these days?" 
 
 "No," said Jack, "what is it?" 
 
THE BOY'S CONVEET 199 
 
 "That it is time for me to be baptized and 
 become a Catholic." 
 
 "Do you mean it?" said Jack, jumping up. 
 He had not realized all the thoughts and in- 
 trospection that took place in old Ellen's 
 mind and heart during the long hours he 
 was not there. 
 
 "I mean it and I want it!" 
 
 "Then," said Jack, "I've got to bring 
 Father Alexander to you." 
 
 "Bring whoever you please. I am long- 
 ing to feel the Lord's presence." 
 
 So Jack came to me. 
 
 I was amazed when I heard the particulars 
 I have described; and made all haste to visit 
 poor Mrs. Moss. I saw at once, although she 
 was creeping about doing her own little 
 chores, that her hold on life was precarious. I 
 questioned her, and found that my altar-boy, 
 Jack Brown, had really and truly brought 
 this soul to the door of the Church! She 
 was his convert, and there was I, within a 
 few squares of this poor creature's wretched 
 home, unconscious of her existence. She 
 begged me to baptize her, as she had not been 
 baptized even in the Lutheran Church, and 
 I promised I would next day. Then I visited 
 Jack's mother, who told me all she knew 
 about the case: how she had straightened 
 
200 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 things up at Mrs. Moss's house, how she had 
 sent Jack every day with nourishment, and 
 who now promised that she would go again 
 and fix up for the Baptism. 
 
 The next day poor old Ellen was baptized. 
 Jack stood godfather, and he was as rever- 
 ent as an angel. After a few more visits, I 
 gave her First Holy Communion. Jack was 
 there and read the prayers of thanksgiving 
 when I left. 
 
 It seemed as if God had prolonged her life 
 only to complete the salvation of her soul. 
 She grew visibly quieter and weaker after 
 her reception of the Sacraments, and one 
 afternoon I administered Extreme Unction. 
 Jack was present. I could see by his serious 
 boyish face that he was deeply impressed. 
 Her loving worship of the little fellow was 
 touching. It made her happy even to see 
 him in the room. Thinking it wiser not to 
 take chances in her condition, I gave her the 
 last absolution, and a few words of comfort, 
 and told her I would be there early next 
 morning: 
 
 I went after Mass and found Jack on his 
 knees at the bedside. The little fellow did 
 not stir as I opened the door. One look was 
 enough. Old Ellen was dead. Her face was 
 as white as marble, her eyes were closed, 
 
THE BOY'S CONVERT ^ 201 
 
 and a tender smile, like a mother's, was on 
 her lips ! One would not know her, so peace- 
 ful and sweet was her countenance. Her 
 abundant white hair was pushed back on her 
 forehead, and lay on the top of her head; it 
 gave a wonderful dignity to her serene fea- 
 tures, as if she wore a silver crown. Jack 
 looked up, and said, with a big sob choking 
 his voice : 
 
 "Father, she died as I came in. She just 
 kind of smiled and said: 'God bless you, 
 Jack,' and then she shut her eyes. I couldn't 
 believe she was dying. Is she really dead, 
 Father?" 
 
 I put my arm around the little apostle. 
 
 "Yes, Jack. She is dead and in heaven, 
 and, my boy, you have been the big help that 
 got her there!" 
 
 We learned from the authorities at the 
 poorhouse, or county-home, that her husband 
 was dead ; so we buried poor Ellen with High 
 Mass, and gave her a place in our Catholic 
 cemetery. Jack and I were the only 
 mourners who stood beside her humble grave. 
 
HIS EARTHLY THRONE. 
 
 TT WAS the mission time, and after my 
 -*- sermon I had come from the church to the 
 rectory. As I passed the parlor I saw an 
 elderly lady standing there alone, as if she 
 wished to speak to some one. I addressed 
 her and gave her a chair. 
 
 She was a woman whose kindly face bore 
 an expression of serene content and mother- 
 love, with the lines of sorrow sweetened by 
 religion: She was no longer young, but her 
 bearing commanded profound respect and 
 deference. After a few commonplace re- 
 marks about the sermon, I waited for her to 
 speak. 
 
 "When I hear of God's goodness to the 
 world, Father, " she said, "I cannot help re- 
 viewing the events of my own early life. 
 They were so remarkable, so filled with divine 
 mercy, so unusual in their trend, that they 
 were evidences of the purest goodness and 
 love of God, and worthy of being recorded 
 for the edification of the skeptical and the 
 worldly. I want to tell you something about 
 them. Have you time to listen?' ' 
 
 202 
 
HIS EARTHLY THRONE 203 
 
 The address and language of this sweet 
 old lady charmed me. I took a chair and bade 
 her tell me her story; I was interested al- 
 ready. 
 
 She then mentioned that she was a con- 
 vert ; her husband had died but recently. God 
 had blessed them with thirteen children, all 
 of whom had done well and were faithful in 
 their duty to God and to her. 
 
 "During all those long years, Father, " 
 she said, "my husband and I were lovers. He 
 never seemed to think I was growing old, 
 and his courtesy and devotion were the light 
 of my existence. When he died that light 
 went out, and I, too, would have died were 
 it not for my faith — that faith given to me 
 through so much tribulation. 
 
 "I want to tell you, Father, that I am the 
 daughter of a Methodist Bishop, reared in 
 strictness, and saturated with the Bible. I 
 was well educated and given the best that the 
 old-fashioned days could offer in solid home 
 training and academy instruction. Roman 
 Catholics, however, and their creed, were the 
 6 scarlet woman' of horror, in my mind — I 
 knew none of them, and if I accidentally 
 touched one, I felt contaminated: Bigotry 
 in those days was more bitter than it i? now. 
 
 "My life was happy and peaceful. As I 
 
204 THE HAND OE MERCY 
 
 grew near twenty, I met my future husband. 
 He was a young lawyer, one of our neighbors, 
 bright, clean, ambitious. My heart went out 
 to him in answer to his love. In time we 
 were married by my father and no young 
 couple ever began life with more enthusiasm 
 and devotion than we: I was willing to go 
 anywhere as long as he was at my side, and 
 so I agreed — almost without a pang, in the 
 greatness of my love for him — to leave my 
 home town, my family and my friends, and 
 go to the West with him and his father's 
 family to seek wealth and fame. His father, 
 too, was a lawyer, and they were deeply 
 affectionate and devoted to each other and 
 to the new daughter-in-law. 
 
 "We were going to live on a ranch, and 
 they had made negotiations, investing every 
 penny they had in a perfectly beautiful and 
 immensely fertile piece of land adjoining 
 a flourishing town — land that came up to 
 the very doors of an old-time adobe church 
 —a Catholic church, of course. 
 
 "And here the blunder was made that 
 brought sorrow and misery and bitterness 
 on our lives and threw us into poverty. How 
 those two bright lawyers, my husband and his 
 father, took such steps without acquiring all 
 the information necessary to their negotia- 
 
HIS EAETHLY THRONE 205 
 
 tions, is a mystery to every one to this day; 
 but as it happened, I must believe it to have 
 been one of the inscrutable dispensations of 
 Providence. 
 
 "We took possession of the land, caring 
 nothing for privations. We built ourselves 
 a house and barn and prepared the ground. 
 How happy I was ! I went singing about my 
 work; my strong young hands counted the 
 daily inconveniences of life as nothing when 
 I looked forward to the evening return of 
 my beloved husband — to his hearty greeting 
 and embrace. And then my approaching 
 motherhood sent a rosy glow over the whole 
 world. We were so happy that we cared 
 nothing for the rumors and reports that now 
 and then reached us about the title to our 
 land. 
 
 "Suddenly a heavy cloud fell upon us like 
 a thunderbolt — " 
 
 She paused in her narration, and we were 
 both silent. I was becoming deeply inter- 
 ested, and did not say a word, wondering 
 what was next. She soon continued her 
 story. 
 
 " Father,' ' she said, and her eyes glowed 
 and her cheeks flushed, "I can speak of it 
 calmly enough now, but in those days I was 
 like a lioness in fury and indignation. One 
 
206 m THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 day the United States marshal served a 
 notice on us that we were on the land of the 
 Catholic Church. The treaty of Guadaloupe- 
 Hidalgo, by which the Mexican War was 
 ended, guaranteed all church property. Be- 
 cause we had built on church land (a fact of 
 which we were unaware) our house, our barn, 
 our ranch were church property. The priest 
 of that Eoman Catholic church claimed all. 
 We were beggared if the Eoman Catholic 
 Bishop and his priest won the case: We 
 were formally sued for trespass and ordered 
 off the land. You may be sure our two law- 
 yers — my husband and his father — contested 
 every inch. 
 
 "The suit was long and bitter. The days 
 were full of trouble, misery and forebodings. 
 Euin was staring us in the face, for every 
 cent my husband and father-in-law had had 
 been expended in the buildings and imple- 
 ments for farming, and in the preparations 
 they had made for a prosperous settle- 
 ment. How I hated the Eoman Catholics! 
 The name priest or bishop, was enough to fill 
 my whole soul with anger. 
 
 "Under these circumstances my first child 
 was born. I felt that a new responsibility 
 had come to my husband and myself, and now 
 that poverty was hanging over us the sweet 
 
HIS EAETHLY THRONE 207 
 
 joy that should have come with my baby. was 
 chilled with apprehension. 
 
 "My love for my husband, my sympathy 
 with his troubles, absorbed my whole soul, 
 and he appreciated my devotion. Father, 
 can you imagine how we felt under such 
 circumstances? Could you blame me that 
 I hated everything Catholic?" 
 
 "Indeed, my dear friend," I replied, "I 
 could hardly imagine a position more trying. 
 It is truly a wonder that you ever became 
 a Catholic." 
 
 "Ah! Father, you are right," she rejoined, 
 ' ' and that is what makes my conversion, and 
 that of my dear husband so miraculous. Let 
 me tell you how it came to pass, and you 
 will praise the Lord with me and under- 
 stand my desire to make known to the world 
 the wonders God wrought in my behalf. I 
 used to go over to the village on little er- 
 rands, and often when I was lonely I took 
 my infant in my arms for a walk in the gay 
 sunshine, although my heart was aching. I 
 always had to pass the adobe church. I 
 did so with my face averted. 
 
 "Once I glanced at it with a sort of curi- 
 osity — for there was no one to see me, then 
 I stared at it inquisitively, then went around 
 it to discover something to mock at. But, 
 
208 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 instead I found a grace and humble beauty 
 about its proportions that I hated to ac- 
 knowledge. The door was always unlocked, 
 as I found one day when I cautiously tried 
 it, and I passed in. I could see nothing — 
 it was so dark. I fled hastily. But I 
 thought about it constantly — at home, at my 
 work; when I awoke ,at night, something 
 drew me with a force I could not understand 
 to the door of that hated little Catholic 
 church. In vain I tried to grow angry, as- 
 suring myself it was treason to my husband 
 and his family to harbor a thought, even a 
 curious thought — about a place of worship 
 — especially this place which was bringing 
 misery and trouble upon our young lives. 
 It was useless. When my husband and the 
 men went to work I would leave the baby 
 asleep with its nurse, and walk quickly down 
 the lane until I came to the church. I would 
 look at it, walk around it, meeting no one. 
 At last one day I boldly opened the door 
 and again walked in. 
 
 " A cool silence filled the place. I saw 
 nothing but a bright red star half way to 
 the ceiling at the upper end. There was not 
 a sound; I went on, trembling. Near a por- 
 tion that was railed off I saw one or two 
 Indian women squatted on their heels, their 
 
HIS EARTHLY THRONE 209 
 
 hands clasped, their eyes fixed on a little 
 door on a long white table hung with white 
 linen. They never heeded me — never even 
 turned their heads. 
 
 "I sat down on a bench and looked long at 
 that door. And then, Father, a strange sweet 
 peace came over my troubled spirit, an over- 
 whelming sense of the nearness of God, like 
 the touch of a strong and soothing hand. 
 Father, I believed. I knew the Lord was 
 there. In one instant the prejudices of years 
 fell off like scales. All my life's traditions, 
 all my horror of the superstitions and idol- 
 atry of the Catholic Church fell away like 
 ashes. A miracle had been wrought in me. 
 Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament had drawn 
 my tired heart to His divine breast, and — 
 I was a Catholic — a believer in the Blessed 
 Eucharist. 
 
 "It seemed to me that I could linger there 
 forever, drinking in the comfort my thirsty 
 soul was longing for. Troubles, heart aches, 
 poverty, the pending lawsuit, my husband's 
 anger, my own bitterness, all, everything was 
 swept away by the torrent of sweetness the 
 Divine Presence poured into my soul. The 
 red lamp shed its crimson glow on the mo- 
 tionless women, on the white altar, on my 
 bowed head. I fell on my knees and 
 
210 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 my heart cried out, 'My Lord and my 
 God!' " 
 
 She stopped ; the tears had gathered in her 
 eyes. My own heart had risen like a lump 
 in my throat: Oh ! the goodness, the yearn- 
 ing love of our dear Lord — but I said noth- 
 ing. She continued: 
 
 "Father, do you not wonder that I say 
 that my conversion was a marvel? It began 
 then and there, forever. I left the church 
 with the peace of faith singing in my heart. 
 Secretly I hurried home, my burdens lifted. 
 Again and again, as the days passed, I re- 
 turned. I learned to pray. 
 
 "But I did not dare to tell my husband 
 and father-in-law. They were absorbed in 
 their trouble. The litigation in the United 
 States courts was raging furiously; and at 
 home the words Eoman Church, priest, 
 bishop, lands and treaty, were sounded in 
 tefms of execration from morning till night. 
 How could I dare to say that for weeks 
 I had been daily visiting that church, and 
 the altar where I firmly believed my God 
 reposed day and night? How could I do it? 
 
 "The suit ended; we were beaten and 
 ejected. 
 
 "With money I had we managed to tide 
 over the crisis, to get on our feet again, 
 
HIS EARTHLY THRONE 211 
 
 and life went on, while I, speaking to no one, 
 sought out the little church and found my 
 consolation, my peace, in kneeling before the 
 altar — the altar of that religion whose min- 
 isters I had heard had robbed us and driven 
 us into the street. I could not think of it — 
 it did not seem to trouble me there. The 
 Lord Himself held me in His arms, and spoke 
 to me in the depths of my soul. i Daughter,' 
 He said, 'I am thy God who dwells here on 
 this altar, and My religion is the Catholic 
 religion and none other.' 
 
 "It did not surprise me; I was not agi- 
 tated ; I knew it was true ; no argument was 
 needed; I knelt and adored; my heart cried 
 aloud, Yes, Lord, I do believe! 
 
 "I went about my home with a new joy 
 in my heart. I had been taught by God 
 Himself. Not a doubt remained. 
 
 "But the making known of my belief ! Oh, 
 Father, it was a long struggle — an agonizing 
 struggle — between God's grace and my hus- 
 band and father-in-law. They fought harder 
 for my soul than they did for the ranch. I 
 shudder when I look back to it all even now. 
 I was forbidden, yes, hindered, from ap- 
 proaching that little church so dear to me. I 
 suffered all that a woman could suffer for her 
 convictions, but my heart was so full of calm 
 
212 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 and peace that I bore it all with serenity; nay, 
 gladness. Even my husband marvelled, for 
 it was long and bitter. 
 
 "The Church won, even as she did in the 
 legal suit, and in the end God shed the light 
 of faith on my dear husband's soul. He 
 abjured Protestantism and joined me. It 
 took time and prayer and patience and long 
 suffering. 
 
 "During this I had never spoken to a 
 priest. At last I stole away to San Fran- 
 cisco, found one, and was received into the 
 Church: My husband followed. Our thir- 
 teen children have all been baptized: My 
 life has had its share of trials, but my Faith, 
 the heavenly comfort of my religion, has 
 supported me all through, and will I know 
 support me to the end. Tell me, Father, 
 
 is not my story a marvel of grace V 9 
 # # # # # 
 
 Her eyes were wet, her face glowing as 
 she finished. She looked like one of the 
 saints of old. I felt like kneeling for her 
 blessing— this holy woman in the world, 
 whose life had been a beautiful record of 
 God's lavish grace corresponded to amid the 
 vicissitudes of the ordinary life. She had 
 done angels' work in the guise of common 
 things. 
 
THE MAN FROM KERRY. 
 
 \ LONG time ago, a young Irishman from 
 *£*• the County Kerry enlisted in the Eng- 
 lish army and was sent with his regiment 
 to the Crimean war. He was a hot-headed 
 fellow, warmhearted, devoted to his country ; 
 in fact, wildly enthusiastic when Ireland was 
 even mentioned, and brave to a fault. 
 
 On one occasion, however, a party of pri- 
 vates of whom he was one became noisy over 
 a game of cards, and got into trouble. They 
 were put in irons for the night, and when 
 morning dawned, Cormac and his comrades 
 were brought before their colonel, fined, and 
 dismissed with the stern reprimand military 
 obedience demands when army rules are 
 broken. 
 
 After their punishment they were sent to 
 their barracks, but first they were ordered 
 to cheer for the Queen. Cormac foolishly 
 refused, and for this second misdemeanor he 
 was flogged for contempt. He did not utter 
 a word, but took his medicine like a man! 
 Released, he went back to his company burn- 
 
 213 
 
214 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 ing with indignation and shame, and with a 
 bitter heart determined to leave the army as 
 soon as his time was up. This he did, re- 
 turning to Ireland, and although he loved 
 his native sod, the memory of what he con- 
 sidered an outrage on his manhood rankled 
 so deep that he set out for America — the land 
 of the free — as soon as he could get together 
 the money for his passage. 
 
 His soldier-life had lessened his hold on 
 practical religion, but not on his faith, for he 
 always said he was a Catholic: When he 
 arrived in America, he devoted his whole 
 energy to the accumulation of a fortune and 
 the building up of a home. Early and late 
 he worked, giving no time to God or to the 
 needs of his immortal soul ; but he prospered, 
 was successful as the world goes, and looked 
 about for a wife. By God's mercy he mar- 
 ried a good Catholic girl, and gathered a 
 family abo'ut him who were all baptized and 
 reared Catholics. Their father never went 
 to church. This was a source of great pain 
 and sorrow to his devoted wife and 
 daughters. 
 
 Once the pastor of his parish called to see 
 
 him, and Mr. C , acutely conscious that 
 
 he was not living according to his convic- 
 tions, nor in acknowledgment of the faith of 
 
THE MAN FEOM KEKRY 215 
 
 his childhood, told the priest that he did not 
 mean to bother about religion as long as he 
 was honest and humane, a kind husband and 
 parent. He intimated to the pastor that he 
 would be thankful to be "let alone !" 
 
 His poor wife, mortified and ashamed, tried 
 
 to excuse him to the pastor, but Mr. C 
 
 cut short her excuses, bidding her not to med- 
 dle, that he meant every w T ord he said. 
 
 The pastor took his leave. "Nothing can 
 be done, except by prayer," he said. 
 
 From thenceforth mother and daughters 
 besieged heaven with prayers for the father's 
 conversion. Especially did they have re-i 
 course to the Sacred Heart The months 
 passed by and no effect was visible; the 
 father was more obstinate than ever, and 
 even found fault when the family went to 
 church at any other time than to Mass on 
 Sundays. 
 
 One autumn an unusual "cold snap" oc- 
 curred. Many persons were unprepared for 
 cold weather and were taken ill. Among 
 
 them was Mr. C . Although he fought 
 
 desperately against his illness he was obliged 
 to go to bed, and pneumonia set in. When he 
 was prostrate and the physician had an- 
 nounced the gravity of the case, his favorite 
 little daughter with tears besought him to 
 
216 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 allow her teacher, who was a Sister in the 
 parish school, to visit him and pray for his 
 recovery. To please his little girl the man 
 consented. When the two Sisters of Mercy 
 
 entered the room Mr. C received them 
 
 kindly, but told them they must not talk to 
 him about religion. He said he would die 
 as he had lived, though they could pray all 
 they liked ! 
 
 The Sisters saw he was not going to re- 
 cover, and one of them begged him to allow 
 her, as a favor, to pin a Sacred Heart Badge 
 on his breast. He made no objection, and 
 then the Sisters knelt down, and, surrounded 
 by the broken-hearted wife and family, said 
 the Litany of the Blessed Virgin for the 
 recovery of his health. In their secret hearts 
 they prayed more for the recovery of grace 
 
 for his poor soul ! Mr. C lay quiet with 
 
 his eyes closed, apparently unmoved; When 
 the prayers were over, the Sister arose and 
 going to the bed, took the sick man's hand. 
 
 "Good-by, Mr. C . I am sorry that 
 
 one of my own countrymen should want to 
 die without the Sacraments !" 
 
 The simple directness of the sentence, and 
 the almost tearful earnestness of the speaker, 
 struck home to the sick man's heart. 
 
THE MAN FROM KERRY 217 
 
 "One of your countrymen V ' he echoed. 
 "Are yon an Irish woman, Sister ?" 
 
 "I am from the County Kerry, not far 
 from your mother's home, where you were 
 born," said the nnn. 
 
 A strange light shone in the sick man's 
 eyes. He grasped the nun's hand and held 
 it while his face worked convulsively. 
 
 ' i God help me, Sister ! " he said, as the love 
 of country awakened the embers of faith 
 under the crust of years. "No one will ever 
 say I refused a Kerry woman anything she 
 asked me." 
 
 "Then," said the Sister, seizing the mo- 
 ment when nature helped grace, "in God's 
 name go to confession and make your peace 
 with Him. The land of our birth must never 
 have a record of one of its sons refusing to 
 see a priest on his deathbed. Go to confes- 
 sion this night and we will storm heaven for 
 your precious soul!" 
 
 "I will, Sister! I will!" cried the man. 
 "Send the priest to me!" 
 
 The Sister gave a glance at the daughter 
 who had brought her to the bedside. The 
 girl fled from the room, and with a breathless 
 agitation and excitement I could not at first 
 understand, burst into my study: 
 
218 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 "Oh, Father, come, come to my papa! He 
 is going to die and he wants the priest l" 
 
 I sprang up instantly, grasping my oil- 
 stocks, and followed her. The scene that met 
 my eyes in that chamber almost moved me 
 
 to tears. Mr. C was lying back on his 
 
 pillows, his hands clasped, his eyes closed, 
 while tears trickled down his sunken cheeks. 
 The two Sisters were softly reciting the 
 Rosary, which was answered by the weeping 
 wife and children. When I entered he 
 stretched out his hands : 
 
 "Father, do you think God will forgive a 
 poor sinner who has not bent his knee for 
 thirty years? " 
 
 "Indeed He will, my son! There shall be 
 joy in heaven because of what you have said,, 
 more than if ninety-nine just were singing 
 God's praises, when you return to your 
 Father's house:" 
 
 It was surely a, case of God's infinite 
 patience and love, the positive answer to 
 prayer, and the happy accident of the good 
 nun mentioning the Irish home that was en- 
 twined with the roots of his heart. He was 
 a completely changed man, a true penitent, 
 and received the Sacraments with edifying 
 devotion. He died in a few days, peaceful 
 and resigned, the good Sister who had been 
 
THE MAN FROM KERRY 219 
 
 so truly his friend reading the beautiful 
 prayers of the Church for the dying. The 
 little badge of the Sacred Heart which they 
 took from his breast when his heart was 
 stilled, is a precious relic in the family, and 
 devotion to the Sacred Heart is most fer- 
 vently observed by mother and children, 
 whose faith is strengthened more than ever 
 by this wonderful conversion. 
 
 loving Heart of Christ, may we ever 
 cling to Thee, and in all our anxieties and 
 trials may this be the prayer of our souls : 
 
 " Sacred Heart of Jesus! we place our 
 trust in Thee." 
 
"GOD CALLED ME. 55 
 
 TTTE who have lived our lives in the Church 
 * r of God know little of the struggles and 
 falterings of those who have found the truth 
 after many years. No romance, no tale of fic- 
 tion, can surpass in pathos, interest, or 
 wonder, some of these life stories. I heard 
 one from the lips of a recent convert, and 
 she has allowed me to reproduce it, suppress- 
 ing names as much as possible. I shall give it 
 mostly in her own words. 
 
 It was a beautiful evening, and we were 
 seated on a wide veranda in full view of a 
 range of Pennsylvania hills that rose up 
 against the sky, eternal and sublime in their 
 immutability. The peace and calm were in- 
 describable. I think my narrator felt this as 
 she unfolded her story. With great sim- 
 plicity she began : 
 
 "You have asked me, Father Alexander, 
 to tell you something of my life. I am glad 
 to do so. Some lives are stranger than fic- 
 tion, and I think my life has been unusual, 
 at least in its varied incidents. If any one 
 
 220 
 
"GOD CALLED ME" 221 
 
 had told me in the long ago that I should ever 
 recount them to a Eoman Catholic priest in 
 the security and friendship with which I am 
 now speaking to you, I would have treated 
 that person as an inventor of myths and 
 fables." 
 
 She smiled and then continued: 
 "I was born in Edinburgh, Scotland. My 
 mother was born in Queensferry, eight miles 
 from Edinburgh, in the house which is de- 
 scribed in the first chapters of Robert Louis 
 Stevenson's novel, i Kidnapped.' She was the 
 sixth child and only daughter of her parents. 
 Her father was minister of the Kirk in 
 Queensferry for thirty-seven consecutive 
 years, and was known as 'the gude minister. ' 
 He was a most devout man, a deep student 
 and a learned scholar. With his six sons he 
 educated 'six sons of gentlemen,' in all that 
 phrase implies in Great Britain, and my 
 mother was educated with them like a boy. 
 Latin and Greek, French, German and Italian 
 were her daily portion from early childhood ; 
 ancient and modern history ; the grammar, of 
 course, of all the languages besides English, 
 and something of the sciences. But, as she 
 hated mathematics, these were dropped as 
 soon as she had courage to rebel. Her mother 
 (my grandmother) was also the daughter of 
 
222 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 a minister of the Kirk and had been also 
 largely educated by her father, but from the 
 age of fourteen to nineteen she attended the 
 'Miss Primrose Boarding School for Young 
 Ladies/ a famous finishing school described 
 in one of Miss Ferrier's novels. 
 
 "My grandmother was an exceptionally 
 fine musician, and also had a beautiful, well- 
 cultured voice. My mother had the advantage 
 of this education and played excellently ; her 
 voice was sweet and tender. My grand- 
 mother was extremely devout, well fitted to 
 be the daughter of one minister and the wife 
 of another, noted in their generation for 
 piety and scholarship: I am going into these 
 details, Father, to show that a religious 
 strain is often a matter of heredity. 
 
 "My father was born in London. His 
 father was the son, grandson and great 
 grandson of a long line of merchantmen — 
 that is, shipowners, who traded with foreign 
 countries (India largely). My grandfather 
 was a younger son, and became a civil en- 
 gineer and a 'Koyal Geographer'; — making 
 maps for the government. He was one of 
 the pioneers in the railroad field, and sur- 
 veyed the first railroad in Spain. My 
 brother, who was in Spain last year, says 
 they are still using their first equipment in 
 
"GGD CALLED ME" 223 
 
 some places. Grandfather might have died 
 a railroad king, but he lost his wife in child- 
 birth, with their child, and in Eis sorrow gave 
 up all his interests: He bought an estate in 
 Queensf erry and retired there with a widowed 
 sister. He gradually became morose and ec- 
 centric, although sought out by celebrities 
 for his extraordinary knowledge on all sorts 
 of subjects. Louis Agassiz often stayed 
 several weeks at 'Boss Hill,' while, too, Her- 
 schel and a long list of others came. So my 
 father and his four brothers had a far 
 broader education than their tutor or their 
 grandfather gave them out of books. The 
 boys were educated at home. 
 
 "My father and mother knew each other 
 as children and w r ere married young. Two 
 years after their marriage, or shortly after 
 I was born, they removed to Liverpool, where 
 my two brothers were born: There were 
 only three of us, one girl (myself) and two 
 boys. In Liverpool the kirk was at a great 
 distance, so my mother, who liked the An- 
 glican Church service, went to the nearest 
 church, and in it my two brothers were bap- 
 tized. My father, when he inherited his 
 share of the paternal estate, came to America 
 on the invitation of his two brothers and be- 
 came a cotton broker, but he was ruined in 
 
224 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 the Civil War. We had all come to America 
 when I was only nine years old. 
 
 ' ' They called me a precocious youngster, 
 and I guess I was, for I really had no child- 
 hood, being the constant companion of my 
 highly educated grandmother. I read the 
 Bible before I was five and wrote well, as 
 my copybooks show. I was better versed 
 in religion than fairy tales. I was especially 
 fond of the Psalms and knew many of them 
 by heart; their sonorous rhythm attracted 
 me more than anything I knew. I often 
 think how strange and mature I must have 
 seemed to the school children of those days ! 
 I went to the grammar school with girls of 
 sixteen and had a wider knowledge of Euro- 
 pean history than was then taught in the 
 high school. All this was home training 
 and inheritance, and thus I had no tendency 
 to self-conceit, which was frowned down at 
 home as insufferable. As it was, all I knew 
 was just my natural life, and it never oc- 
 curred to me that others were different. I 
 hated the schools, and I hated being there 
 with boys. I didn't care to make girl friends 
 because my mother was my 'chum,' and I 
 rarely felt the need of another. 
 
 "As it is of interest to trace an inherited 
 tendency to religious devotion, so it is to 
 
"GOD CALLED ME" 225 
 
 look back to my first knowledge of anything 
 Catholic: 
 
 i i Cardinal Newman mentions finding in an 
 early school book his initials, surrounded 
 by a rosary, although at that time he had 
 never seen or heard of a rosary. My first 
 recollection of realizing the existence of the 
 Catholic Church was when I was twelve 
 years old. I had the early impression that 
 i Catholics ' were entirely beneath social 
 recognition, and I remember with what a 
 curious feeling I came to regard a lady I 
 used to meet every morning on my way to 
 school. Whatever was the weather, I al- 
 ways met her. She had attracted me from 
 the first, because she had the look of my 
 grandmother, a perfect gentlewoman, quiet, 
 dignified, gentle, calm and unhurried. I 
 asked questions about her, for I began to 
 love her. I discovered to my amazement 
 that she was the mother of a big, bluff elder 
 in the Presbyterian Church which we at- 
 tended, but that she was a Catholic, a con- 
 vert to the Roman Church. Every time I 
 saw her I would say to myself, 'Oh! how, 
 and why, did you, lovely woman, come to 
 believe in the Eoman Catholic Church?' I 
 had an idea that one had to be born a Eoman 
 Catholic. 
 
226 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 "Then I remember going one day with 
 another girl into a Catholic Church. It must 
 have been some great feast day. It was in 
 the summer, and we pushed through the 
 crowd until in some way we got into a gal- 
 lery and looked down on the altar. I re- 
 member a bell ringing and the people bow- 
 ing low, and I saw a man near me strike 
 his breast. I was filled with wonder and 
 awe: I wanted to go away and I wanted to 
 stay. I did not tell my mother where I had 
 been. There was a large monastery in the 
 town, Franciscan, and also a convent. As I 
 grew older I used to meet the quiet, gentle- 
 faced nuns on the cars, and I used to wish 
 I was a nun, to be out of the changes and 
 perplexities of this world. 
 
 "For my troubles began early enough. 
 At thirteen I looked eighteen; at fourteen 
 a man of twenty-eight was my suitor. 
 
 "About this time my mother had grave 
 cause to dislike the action of the Presbyterian 
 Church, so she left it and, to my great satis- 
 faction, went to the Episcopal Church. I had 
 known no other until we came to America, and 
 I disliked the bare Presbyterian service. So 
 my mother and I were confirmed together 
 when I was about fifteen. Now, although I 
 went to church every Sunday and liked the 
 
"GOD CALLED ME" 227 
 
 service, I found I had nothing left of the 
 religions devotion I had imbibed from my 
 grandmother. My head was full of company 
 and having a good time. I graduated from 
 high school at sixteen, and put in all my time 
 cultivating my voice and taking dramatic 
 lessons; for I had made up my mind to go 
 on the stage. When I was between nineteen 
 and twenty, the one friend of my life for 
 whom I cared quarreled with me about it. 
 But I got letters to influential people and 
 went to New York. I got a part in a D'Oyley 
 Carte opera company, but almost immediately 
 I met the one whom I eventually married, and 
 he persuaded me to give it all up and go 
 home. This I did. 
 
 "We were married in 1882. When I mar- 
 ried, although I did not at first love my hus- 
 band as I did my former friend, yet I cared 
 for him sincerely, and was absolutely true 
 to him in thought, word and deed. After the 
 children came, I had no other ambition in the 
 world than to be a good wife and mother. I 
 bore six children in ten years ; two little girls 
 died in early infancy, but I took my brother's 
 daughter when her mother died. She was 
 then three years old. I have raised five 
 children. My oldest boy was a difficult char- 
 acter, with a violent temper. At fourteen he 
 
228 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 enlisted in the navy. It was an overwhelming 
 grief to me, but it was best. 
 
 "I fretted over this and many other things, 
 for my life was not smooth. Then a friend 
 asked me if I would like to go with her to 
 make a retreat A retreat? I only knew it 
 meant some place where for a few days I 
 could be alone and not be obliged to speak to 
 any one. The retreat was at Kemper Hall, 
 a large boarding school conducted by the 
 Sisters of St. Mary, an Episcopalian sister- 
 hood. Father H , of the Episcopal Order 
 
 of the Holy Cross, was the conductor, and 
 there I heard for the first time the doctrine of 
 the Eeal Presence, the Seven Sacraments, 
 the importance and necessity to the spiritual 
 life of sacramental confession, prayers for 
 the dead, the invocation of the saints and that 
 the Episcopal Church was ' truly Catholic. ' 
 
 "Father H -'s meditations were deeply 
 
 spiritual. I fairly devoured his teaching. I 
 made my first confession, and returned home 
 like one recreated. At the close of that re- 
 treat, June 24, 1899, I offered my life to Our 
 Lord in the Blessed Sacrament of the altar 
 — I laid my will there. I took the mother of 
 St. Augustine as my patron, and vowed my- 
 self to a life of devotion for my son and all 
 my children. 
 
"GOD CALLED ME" 229 
 
 "Each year after that I went to retreat. 
 Every month I went to confession. I took 
 upon myself all sorts of ' works' and, in fact, 
 went beyond my strength. In August of 1899 
 I was seized with violent illness, terminating 
 in nervous prostration. I was six months in 
 my room and six months in a sanitarium. 
 
 "I came home to find a very distressing 
 state of affairs, which changed the whole 
 complexion of my life. Had it not been for 
 my love and devotion to our blessed Lord I 
 must have lost my mind. I began going 
 every day to my church, where I prayed as 
 never in my life before. Finally (at my age) 
 I went to a business college, studied day and 
 night, and was soon able to take a position 
 as secretary and stenographer. Only God 
 knows all my mental anguish during those 
 months! Before going to my work I went 
 
 to church each morning, so that Father B 
 
 (he is now in the true Church) could have a 
 daily ' celebration. ' Episcopalians are afraid 
 to say 'Mass.' Every evening I went in and 
 knelt before a little altar where the Blessed 
 Sacrament was supposed to be reserved. I 
 was one of a mere handful who believed in 
 1 Catholic teaching,' and Father B be- 
 came my confessor, director, and friend. 
 
 "When Father H first taught me 
 
230 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 the Catholic doctrines of his creed, he stren- 
 uously impressed on his hearers that the 
 Episcopal Church was Catholic, in spite of 
 her Protestant name, and presented his- 
 torical and theological arguments to prove 
 it. Yet, even in the first ardor of my ac- 
 ceptance of Catholic doctrines, my mind was 
 so full of argument against the claims for 
 Catholicity made by the Episcopal Church 
 that I had continually to fortify myself with 
 literature proving its Catholicity. I myself 
 — the real Ego — was never convinced, but 
 I forced myself to accept the proofs pre- 
 sented because Father H and Father 
 
 B , my learned confessor and director, 
 
 accepted them. I felt that it would be rash 
 presumption to doubt where these learned 
 men, my teachers, accepted. 
 
 "Sometimes the doubts were so strong' 
 that I had to cry out for special help. You 
 may remember I told you of the special 
 visit Father H— — made to me. I told him 
 all my doubts and questionings without re- 
 serve. I again forced Ego to accept his 
 answers, but Ego was never convinced. 
 
 "To my mind, the very first note of Cath- 
 olicity was wanting from the Episcopal 
 Church. A Church to be Catholic must be 
 one. Hence, in all the years I accepted and 
 
"GOD CALLED ME" 231 
 
 practiced Catholic doctrine, I had to 
 strangle my doubts of the Catholicity of 
 the Episcopal Church. Sometimes I really 
 thought the doubts were forever dead — 
 then perhaps a heated Anglican argument 
 for, revived to more active life than before 
 all my doubts against. I can say in all sim- 
 ple truth that no one ever tried harder to 
 be loyal to the Episcopal Church than I. I 
 have lately been re-reading Cardinal New- 
 man's ' Apologia/ and I find that all un- 
 known I have trod the same path as 'the 
 noblest Eoman of them all.' I may say 
 further : In all the years which have passed 
 since I accepted Father H- 's presenta- 
 tion of Catholic faith I have never read a 
 single anti-Anglican book. Everything I 
 read was entirely pro-Anglican, and my 
 weekly diet w T as The Living Church, from 
 cover to cover. 
 
 "But within the past eighteen months I 
 removed to the great Western city which is 
 now my home. I knew there were only a 
 few Episcopalian churches where there was 
 ' Catholic service,' without this fact seriously 
 disturbing me, until I made the change from 
 
 the devotional surroundings Father B 
 
 had so persuasively fostered. Arrived in 
 the city, I was like a bird without a nest. 
 
232 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 I tried faithfully to continue the life of de- 
 votion on which Father H had started 
 
 me and which I had followed without break 
 throughout more than a decade of years. 
 But in my new home the necessary environ- 
 ment was not supplied by the Episcopalian 
 
 Church. Father H had taught me that 
 
 confession was necessary to spiritual growth 
 (and who dares deny it who once has prac- 
 ticed it?). In this city one scarcely dares 
 speak the words, 'the Eeal Presence.' Only 
 a ' memorial. ' Baptism a necessity? i That's 
 one of the High Church clergy fads.' (I 
 heard the rector of a large and fashionable 
 church say this in the course of his sermon 
 the last time I was in an Episcopal church.) 
 "I often thought of the hours I had spent 
 in the silent darkness before an altar on 
 which a red light perpetually burned; but. 
 no Episcopal church in the city allowed 
 'such Romish practices.' The hours thus 
 spent in the years past had helped me in 
 many a trial of sorrow or perplexity. Do 
 you wonder then that in my hunger and lone- 
 liness I went to the Catholic Cathedral and 
 knelt for hours where I Jcneiv without doubt 
 my dear Lord dwelt in His Sacramental 
 Presence? But I was not present at a single 
 service of any kind. I did not speak to a 
 
"GOD CALLED ME" 233 
 
 single human being. I read no i Roman lit- 
 erature/ and the Anglican ' Treasury' was 
 my only prayer-book. 
 
 "I had no more idea of leaving the Epis- 
 copal Church than you have of leaving the 
 Catholic Church at this moment, Father. I 
 only went to the Cathedral to worship my 
 dear Lord in His Sacramental Presence as 
 I had been taught by Father H— — and 
 other Anglicans. On one Saturday after- 
 noon, July 3, 1909, I went to the Cathedral 
 to rest. My business life had been for some 
 time exceedingly and unusually difficult, and 
 in my domestic life were many perplexities; 
 How I craved confession and more even than 
 this — direction ! How I needed these spirit- 
 ual helps ! So I went on this afternoon, the 
 end of a particularly trying week, and knelt 
 for a long time before the crucifix, close to 
 the beautiful altar dedicated to the Sacred 
 Heart, and, looking up, I realized what a 
 help to our poor, weak understanding are 
 the representations of our dear Lord. I 
 looked up into that tender face and saw those 
 outstretched arms, and I could almost hear 
 the voice, 'Come unto Me all ye that are 
 weary and heavy laden,' as I gazed into that 
 pain-stricken face and thought of what He 
 bore for me. 
 
234 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 "I knelt on, taking no note of time — not 
 praying much, but just comforted. Later in 
 the afternoon I went and sat in the first pew 
 in front of the high altar, still not praying 
 much or thinking much, just peaceful and 
 comforted, like a tired child in its mother's 
 lap. Almost idly I watched the people come 
 and go, young and old, men and women, 
 girls and boys, rich, poor and the large mid- 
 dle class — all represented in the procession 
 of humanity who come to lay their cares, 
 sorrows, hopes, desires, whatever these may 
 be, before their Friend, who is always ready 
 to listen. 
 
 "At last a distinct thought stood out in 
 my mind. In what other church could one 
 see such a procession — a church where no 
 service is going on? 
 
 "The shadows lengthened, the priests left 
 the confessionals, the church was empty. 
 Empty! with the all-pervading Presence! I 
 was conscious of nothing else. No, I cannot 
 explain it any further or tell any more ex- 
 cept that I knew God's will for me, and with 
 the Blessed Mother I said: i Behold the 
 handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me ac- 
 cording to Thy word.' 
 
 "That was my conversion.. 
 
 "When it began to grow dark, I went 
 
"GOD CALLED ME" 235 
 
 slowly down the long aisle ; and so home like 
 one in a dream. I said nothing. I ' pon- 
 dered it in my heart.' The next day, Sun- 
 day the fourth, I went as usual with the 
 children to the Episcopal church. The 
 bishop of the diocese made a stump speech 
 for tariff revision. I have no time in my 
 busy life for politics, so I cannot say just 
 what the point was about which he was so 
 wrought up, but it is the simple bald truth 
 that his sermon was about tariff revision, 
 and that he asked his congregation to offer 
 their intention for a ' proper revision of the 
 tariff/ How I thanked God that He had 
 called me home! The last Sunday I was in 
 an Episcopal church the rector of a large 
 and fashionable congregation made a furious 
 onslaught on the ■ fads' of the 'High Church 
 clergy' and with the remark I have previ- 
 ously quoted in relation to baptism. 
 
 "I think you will see from this that no 
 human being converted me to the Catholic 
 Church. After I had spent the time of lei- 
 sure of my month's vacation testing the 
 reality of my conversion in various ways, 
 
 I wrote to Father B , my late confessor, 
 
 who was one of the 'seventeen' to enter the 
 Church at the same time. Through him I 
 had the privilege of receiving my instruction 
 
236 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 from the chaplain of the S Convent. 
 
 I was received into the one true Church in 
 the convent chapel on December 23, made 
 my first communion Easter morning in the 
 same dear place, and was confirmed in the 
 Cathedral on Pentecost. 
 
 "You remind me that I must not expect 
 to find no difficulties. Our dear Lord suf- 
 fered in and for His Church, and can I ex- 
 pect to find no thorns? Ah, no! I did not 
 leave the Episcopal Church because it was 
 hard. I left because God called me and 
 showed me the living, breathing body of 
 Christ on earth, and I could not then be con- 
 tent with an automaton, however skilfully 
 constructed: But no one can see what I saw 
 until one has been on both sides. 
 
 i i I believe the day will come when all who 
 have the grace to accept the fundamentals 
 of Catholic faith in the Episcopal Church 
 will embrace the whole truth in the Catholic 
 Church. The largest proportion, by far the 
 larger proportion, of people and clergy in 
 the Episcopal Church are thoroughly and 
 entirely Protestant, and when this Protestant 
 affiliation is accomplished for which so many 
 are working, the only logical thing for those 
 who love the Catholic faith is to come home. 
 
"GOD CALLED ME" - 237 
 
 It seems to me that the Bishop of F has 
 
 a vision of this. God give him grace ! 
 
 " Never since July 3, the day of my con- 
 version, have I had one scintilla of doubt, 
 not a moment of wavering, of hesitation. I 
 am as sure that God called me as I am that 
 I live. Therefore, nothing of the careful and 
 exhaustive instruction I received from the 
 deeply spiritual and learned priest, under 
 whose guidance it was my great privilege to 
 be placed, seemed either strange or difficult. 
 The ' differences' between the Anglican teach- 
 ing I had received and Catholic doctrine and 
 practice were taken up one by one, and all 
 my innumerable questions answered to my 
 fullest satisfaction. 
 
 "A recent convert wrote to me that I would 
 miss the 'incomparable liturgy' of the Epis- 
 copal Church. I expected to miss, not only 
 the Mass in English, but the hymns, etc. 
 It is only the simple truth that I miss nothing 
 in this ordinary sense of the word. I am 
 perfectly satisfied and content, and this does 
 not admit the possibility of a sense of loss." 
 
THE BADGE OF THE SACRED HEART. 
 
 n^HE sunset came, like a glory, into the 
 -*- open windows of a pretty suburban home 
 in West Philadelphia, and, like a mockery, 
 enveloped with a rose-glow the form of a 
 white-faced, middle-aged woman who stood 
 near the waving lace curtains with a telegram 
 crushed in her clenched hands. The stamp 
 of agonized mother-love was on her face, 
 and she raised her tearful eyes to the glow- 
 ing sky with a cry on her lips: 
 
 "0 God, let me get there in time!" 
 
 Then, with quick movements, she began 
 preparations for the journey of hundreds of 
 miles through the night, to the bedside of her 
 son: 
 
 This was the telegram: 
 
 "Your son is dying. Pneumonia. Come 
 at once. Head-nurse, City Hospital, Hamil- 
 ton, Ohio." 
 
 In the City Hospital at Hamilton, two 
 nurses with pained faces stood by the bed- 
 side of a finely-framed, handsome boy of 
 about twenty-three, who was gasping for 
 
 238 
 
BADGE OF THE SACRED HEART 239 
 
 breath in the throes of pneumonia. One nurse 
 held her finger on his pulse, the other was 
 taking his temperature. Their eyes met, and 
 said plainer than words: "No hope!" The 
 doctor came in again and prescribed more 
 remedies, with the air of one determined to 
 fight a hopeless case to the bitter end. 
 
 In the boy's ravings the words, "Mother! 
 Mother! I am so sick!" were continually 
 on his lips, as if the thought of her brought 
 relief ; and that mother was rushing through 
 the night to see his dying face as fast as 
 steam could carry her. Then came words 
 that told his religion. He was a Catholic. 
 The hospital was a non-Catholic institution, 
 but all creeds were welcome. 
 
 There was one solitary Catholic nurse. She 
 had just entered the room ; she looked at the 
 patient's chart and at the pale face on the 
 pillow. Her practiced eye saw the lines of 
 death, and hurrying to the head-nurse she 
 asked if the patient had seen the priest. He 
 had; and a load was taken from her heart. 
 Rut she thought of the mother who was jour- 
 neying to that bedside, and her sympathy 
 went out to her. She knew, according to 
 human reckoning, that she would never see 
 him alive. 
 
 Strong in her faith, that Catholic nurse 
 
240 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 lifted her heart to the Heart in whom we 
 never trust in vain. 
 
 "Sacred Heart, " she prayed, "I place my 
 trust in Thee! Save him for his mother!" 
 and going to the deathbed she took a Sacred 
 Heart Badge from her own bosom and fas- 
 tened it to the breast of the patient. No one 
 uttered a protest ; they knew that ' ' Miss Sny- 
 der was a Catholic," and that the patient 
 was one also. 
 
 That night she sat beside him waiting for 
 the end. How she prayed that his mother 
 might come ! How she listened to the broken 
 words of "poor O'Brien," and heard him 
 mutter: "Mother! Mother!" until her heart 
 was sore! And there was no mother near 
 to wipe away the death-damp, to moisten 
 those blackened, parched lips*. No one but 
 a stranger! No wonder every tender chord 
 in her heart was touched, and her earnest 
 prayer went up in pleading to the pitiful 
 Heart of Christ for the poor mother who at 
 that time was sitting, dry-eyed and tense, 
 in the flying train that was nearing the city 
 where her boy was dying. 
 
 Midnight came. The boy's hand groped 
 over the coverlet, and touched the Badge of 
 the Sacred Heart. It stayed there. Again 
 the nurse's prayer went upwards. A few 
 
BADGE OF THE SACRED HEART 241 
 
 struggles! A quiet breath! The crisis was 
 passing. The nurse scarcely breathed. Then 
 there was a better breath — a slight improve- 
 ment; the pulse became stronger! He was 
 gradually coming back from the grave. He 
 would live! Thank God! Oh, the glad re- 
 lease from the strain! It was almost too 
 much! 
 
 Morning came. The weary mother arrived. 
 Her boy was alive, and she was told that he 
 would live. She broke down and wept for 
 joy. When she was calm she was taken to 
 his bedside. He did not know her yet, and 
 her heart almost broke when she saw the 
 ravages disease had made, but he steadily 
 improved from that time, and she never left 
 him. When some days had passed he told 
 her he had found the Sacred Heart Badge 
 on his breast, and said to her : 
 
 "Sick as I was, Mother, I felt it there.' 9 
 
 The nurse who waited on him faithfully 
 shook her head when the doctor said: "My 
 man, you owe your life to this little nurse.' ' 
 
 She was not a Catholic, but she said to 
 Miss Snyder, who had placed the Badge on 
 his breast: "It was not the doctor, nor was 
 it myself, but the Sacred Heart of Christ!" 
 
 Then she procured a Badge for herself and 
 wore it continually. To a friend of hers, who 
 
242 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 came to the hospital for a serious operation, 
 she loaned the sacred emblem, and when the 
 operation was over, the patient said, on re- 
 turning it : 
 
 "I cannot tell you the strange effect of 
 this little Badge ; it gave me courage. I feel 
 as if it brought me through. Get one for 
 me ; I will pay anything for it. ' ' 
 
 The head-nurse asked for a Badge for her- 
 self and one for her mother, and both wear 
 them constantly: Through this non-Catholic 
 hospital the love for the Sacred Heart is 
 spreading silently and steadily, in ways only 
 the dear Master knows. 
 
 The happy mother departed with her con- 
 valescent boy, and the nurses, believing with- 
 out knowing it in the mercy of the Sacred 
 Heart of Jesus, are steadily moving toward 
 His greater love and faith. Lovers of the 
 Sacred Heart, pray that these souls, 'and 
 many more, may be gathered to the tender 
 Bosom of the Good Shepherd. 
 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD 
 
THE DIVINE MAGNET. 
 
 XTEAES ago, in the environs of Salt Lake 
 ■*■ City, a young girl of fourteen, the 
 daughter of Brigham Young, strolled one day 
 near the now famous Beehive. She had seen 
 her father from afar and noted a stranger 
 with him. She was a bright, graceful girl, 
 and one of her father's favorite daughters, 
 and when he smiled and beckoned she sprang 
 to meet him. 
 
 1 ' This is my daughter Martha, " said the 
 so-called prophet. "And daughter, this is 
 a Catholic priest, Father Walsh. " 
 
 The priest bent his kindly eyes on the girl, 
 and she, extending her hand looked long into 
 his face. A quiver passed over her features ; 
 she was visibly moved at the appearance of 
 the stranger, but she said not a word. 
 
 Dressed in his black cassock, tall and well 
 built, with a finely-chiseled, clean-shaven 
 face, something went forth from his coun- 
 tenance that thrilled the girl like an electric 
 arrow. She bowed her head, but she never let 
 the stranger out of her sight. 
 
 243 
 
244 THE HAND OF MEBCY 
 
 Brigham Young led the priest to the as- 
 sembly of the elders, at which were gathered 
 throngs of the people. These assemblies 
 were then held under a grove of beautiful 
 trees, called the " Bowery, " a spot now oc- 
 cupied by the wonderful Tabernacle and the 
 Temple of the Mormons: He mounted the 
 platform where the apostles and elders of 
 the Mormon Church were seated. There, in 
 a few well-chosen words, he told the people 
 that the visitor was a Catholic priest, a rep- 
 resentative of the great Mother-Church of 
 Christendom, and a man possessed of more 
 than human power. The news quickly 
 spread, and in a short time crowds of men, 
 women and children gathered in close to hear 
 the stranger speak. 
 
 Father Walsh made an earnest talk in 
 which he said he had come to Utah, and par- 
 ticularly to Salt Lake City, to gather the few 
 Catholics together and minister to their 
 spiritual needs. He did not fail to improve 
 the opportunity of explaining the rock-foun- 
 dation of the Catholic Church, and her claim 
 on the world, and ended with an exhortation 
 to all Christians to think of their immortal 
 souls. 
 
 Martha never took her eyes from the 
 speaker as she sat among the young people 
 
THE DIVINE MAGNET 245 
 
 near the platform. Father Walsh left the 
 place later, thanking Brigham Young for 
 the courtesies extended, and when Martha 
 looked up into his face as he turned to go, 
 he placed his hand upon her head with a 
 silent blessing. 
 
 From that moment the girl's heart yearned 
 toward the Catholic Church. But she was 
 carefully watched. She was fond of reading, 
 and was given any book and every book save 
 one that might explain or even mention the 
 Catholic faith. The atmosphere of the Bee- 
 hive repelled her. Often she stole away to 
 St. Mary Magdalen's church for Benediction, 
 and hiding in some remote place she would 
 gaze with rapt wonder on the brilliantly- 
 lighted altar and the Sacred Host enthroned 
 there*. She felt the wonderful attraction of 
 the Blessed Sacrament. 
 
 "Oh!" she cried in her soul, "it must be 
 God. My heart tells me so ! Oh, if I could 
 only know something about it ! " 
 
 But she dared not speak. She went regu- 
 larly to the Beehive and prayed, but the skies 
 were like brass. Her soul was frozen. 
 
 The years passed by; she continued to steal 
 to the Catholic church to pray, always dread- 
 ing to be found out. In her heart she said, 
 "Some day I will find what the Catholic 
 
246 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 Church teaches! Heavenly Father, bring 
 me to the true religion V 9 
 
 A graceful, attractive girl like Martha 
 could not long be without admirers, and she 
 was wooed and won by a good man, a Mor- 
 mon, who married no other woman. After 
 the birth of two children, her husband died. 
 Her heart still yearned toward the Catholic 
 faith, but she always held back from meeting 
 those who might have assisted her in her 
 inquiries. 
 
 Walking through the streets of Salt Lake 
 City one day with her two little children, she 
 saw Archbishop Allemany. Like a flash the 
 memory of the tall stranger who had ad- 
 dressed her people, years ago, came back to 
 her, and she paused and looked at the prelate 
 with such an intense gaze that he, too, stopped 
 and asked what he could do for her. She 
 was well dressed, of course, and her children 
 also. Evidently it was not a case of poverty. 
 She blushed deeply and in her embarrassment 
 murmured, "I am a Mormon V? The Arch- 
 bishop smiled, and placing his hands on the 
 curly heads of the children, blessed them, 
 and raising his hat, passed on. 
 
 She continued her walk abstractedly: On 
 her return home she felt that the crisis had 
 come ; she could no longer remain away from 
 
THE DIVINE MAGNET 247 
 
 the Church that was drawing her with ir- 
 resistible strength to itself. 
 
 She had not lived this long without hear- 
 ing harsh things and cruel things about the 
 Catholic religion. She had heard the usual 
 falsehoods, the stereotyped slanders, but her 
 heart flung them to the wind. She only be- 
 lieved that there was an altar in that Church 
 and Christ dwelt there. The Blessed Sacra- 
 ment was the Divine Magnet that drew her 
 soul. She resisted no longer ! 
 
 She had never spoken to a Catholic since 
 the good priest had stood beside her father, 
 Brigham Young, and addressed the people 
 at the beginning of his mission in Salt Lake 
 City. She had never met a priest, never 
 read a Catholic book, but she had heard that 
 every one must be baptized in order to be 
 saved. 
 
 Eestless and disturbed, she took her two 
 children to a Catholic church one day. She 
 knelt far away from observation, praying 
 to God to let her find the light. The pastor 
 was inspired to speak to her. He addressed 
 her courteously and asked her if he could 
 serve her. In a half -frightened manner she 
 asked if her two little children could be 
 baptized. He invited her to the rectory, and 
 there skilfully drew from her all the story, 
 
248 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 wondering at the infinite goodness of God. 
 Knowing that the Mormons did not believe 
 in the baptism of children, he told her gently 
 he must be assured the children would be 
 reared Catholics. With whom could she place 
 them? Then came the cry of her heart: 
 
 < < Oh, sir ! Couldn 't / be a Catholic ? ' ' 
 
 Here was the moment of grace ! God's min- 
 ister seized it. 
 
 "Most certainly, my child! I will instruct 
 you myself. " 
 
 He did so. Martha, the daughter of the so- 
 called prophet, Brigham Young, received in- 
 struction like an eager child in the doctrines 
 of Catholicity, and with her two little children 
 was baptized in the Holy Catholic Church. 
 In due time she received the Blessed Sacra- 
 ment of the Eucharist, that Magnet of souls 
 toward which her heart had been so irresist- 
 ibly drawn. She lives to this day, a fervent 
 convert, and never tires of giving praise and 
 thanks to God who called her to Him in her 
 innocent girlhood, and kept her desires alive, 
 until at last, at the foot of the altar, she 
 found peace t 
 
"BETTER THINGS." 
 
 THE telephone rang loudly in my room. 
 "Well?" I asked. 
 
 "Are you Father so-and-so?" 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "This is the X Hotel." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "My husband is very ill. Can you come 
 to the Hotel— Room 400?" 
 
 "I will come at once." 
 
 The voice was feminine, beseeching, and 
 full of sorrow: The hotel was one of the fine 
 hotels of the city. 
 
 I took the holy oils and set out on my 
 mission. I found the lady to be a refined, 
 educated woman, a good Catholic, the wife 
 of a Southerner high up in a railroad com- 
 pany. He was of no religion, but had a kind 
 and liberal heart, a gentleman, and a most 
 courteous one. No matter how busy he was, 
 if some poor timid little Sister asked to see 
 him, and begged some favor of transportation 
 for the poor, or for the Sisters, the pass was 
 always given, and in answer to her gratitude 
 he would only say, "Pray for me and mine." 
 
 249 
 
250 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 Needless to say the promise was fervently 
 given. And now he was stricken, ill unto 
 death ! 
 
 "Oh! Father, he is so good and kind I can- 
 not see him die, or let him die outside the 
 Church ! 9 ' cried his wife. 
 
 I asked her if she thought he objected in 
 any way to her religion, if he was at all 
 bigoted. 
 
 "On the contrary, Father. He said only 
 yesterday that he couldn't help thinking of 
 those good little Sisters who used to come to 
 him for free transportation for a thousand 
 charitable purposes — for missions of charity 
 or mercy, and he was wondering what was in 
 their religion that made them so self-sacri- 
 ficing. He has always given me full sway 
 in the practice of mine. I have prayed for 
 him all our years together that he might be 
 of the Faith before he dies: Because of these 
 sentiments I sent for you." 
 
 "Is he worse than usual now?" I asked. 
 
 "I don't think so; I cannot give up hope. 
 May God spare him to me!" 
 
 "Let me go to his room. Introduce me for 
 what I am — a Catholic priest," I said. 
 
 "Let me see if he is strong enough," was 
 her answer. 
 
 She went into the adjoining room. In a 
 
"BETTER THINGS" 251 
 
 few minutes she returned with a joyful coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 "He says he will be extremely pleased to 
 see you, Father." 
 
 We entered the room of the patient — a man 
 a little beyond middle age, with a fine, pre- 
 possessing face and a splendid head crowned 
 with iron-gray hair. He reached out a finely- 
 formed hand, and smiled a greeting. 
 
 "I have often met gentlemen of your cloth, 
 Father," he said, "when I had the advantage 
 of you. Now you have the advantage of me. ' } 
 
 "I would be sorry to have the advantage 
 of such a man as you are," I said, heartily; 
 "You deserve well of every one who has 
 ever met you." 
 
 "My wife thinks that, Father. But I 
 never heard any one else say so on such short 
 acquaintance." 
 
 "It isn't my profession to flatter," I said, 
 "but it seems to me a higher Voice than 
 either your wife 's or mine has led me to you. 
 I mean to have a chat with you as only a 
 friend can have with a friend." 
 
 Just then, as if God's finger had moved 
 visibly, the trained nurse entered and said the 
 wife was wanted at the telephone. Both left 
 the room. I was alone with the sick man, and 
 I seized the opportunity God gave me. I 
 
252 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 spoke boldly of his soul, of the absolute 
 necessity of religion, of the meaning of the 
 judgments of God. He listened, and when 
 he spoke I felt that a miracle of grace was 
 working in his heart, for he said simply that 
 he had been thinking it over for a long time ; 
 he believed all the mysteries of religion; he 
 was convinced that the Catholic Faith was 
 the only true, logical faith. He watched his 
 good wife, had listened to her, and he had 
 seen those Sisters of Charity and Mercy 
 spending their lives for the betterment of 
 others. The motive must be sublime, founded 
 on absolute truth. 
 
 "Father," he said, "when those little nuns 
 looked up at me with tears of gratitude in 
 their eyes for a simple pass on our railroad, 
 and told me they would pray for me, I felt 
 as if some power was protecting me and keep- 
 ing me for better things. Do you know I 
 have never been baptized in any church? I 
 would like you to baptize me." 
 
 "Gladly will I do so," I rejoined. "Shall 
 we wait until to-morrow? I can tell you 
 more about our holy religion then." 
 
 "I know enough about it to want to be 
 baptized. Do it now, Father. Call my wife. 
 It will rejoice her heart to see me made a 
 Catholic Christian." 
 
"BETTER THINGS" 253 
 
 As if in answer to the request, his wife 
 entered. 
 
 i ' Mary, the Father is going to baptize me, ' ' 
 he said simply. 
 
 His wife burst into tears — tears of joy. 
 It took only a few minutes to baptize this 
 good, straightforward, sincere man, and I 
 never saw such peace and content on a human 
 face as settled on his when the ceremony was 
 over and I said good-by. 
 
 1 ' Come to-morrow, Father. There is some 
 more to be done," he said as I left. 
 
 How I pondered on the infinite love of 
 God on my way back to the rectory ! It was 
 the prayers of his wife and the reward no 
 doubt of his charity to those good Eeligious 
 that obtained the grace of conversion. 
 
 But the next morning the papers had long 
 columns about the railroad magnate who had 
 been ill for some days at the X Hotel. 
 
 He had died during the night! 
 
THE MASTER'S GOODNESS. 
 
 T HAD come from a visit to the city, where 
 -*- I found a young clerical friend about 
 leaving for the West to regain his lost health. 
 I was grieved. His zeal and usefulness were 
 unbounded, and the few years he had spent in 
 the ministry gave promise of an apostolate 
 worthy of a hero of Christ. While I was 
 with him I could not but be impressed with 
 his cheerful optimism, which rode down all 
 adverse appearances. He was determined 
 to get well and return to his work. But my 
 heart misgave me as he told me he had been 
 chaplain to the City Pest House and the 
 Tuberculosis Hospital. 
 
 He had labored untiringly and without a 
 thought of danger, and with the assurance 
 that he was taking all possible care against 
 infection, that he was immune. 
 
 Suddenly he awoke to the fact of the ap- 
 proach of the insidious " white plague.' * In- 
 stantly his Bishop had ordered him to Color- 
 ado, where, physicians declared, he might 
 shut off the danger and recover what he had 
 lost. A new volunteer was appointed in his 
 
 254 
 
THE MASTER'S GOODNESS 255 
 
 place, and my young friend was relieved of 
 the fear that his dear patients might be 
 neglected. 
 
 I looked at him with dubious eyes ; he was 
 so frail and now and then a tell-tale cough 
 was in evidence. But he had youth and hope, 
 and with a silent prayer I encouraged him: 
 Heroes are scarce in this selfish world ! Here 
 was surely one! Before we parted he told 
 me one of his experiences. I could find no 
 greater incentive to trust in the Heart of 
 Christ than the story which fell from his 
 lips. Let me quote the young priest's words : 
 
 "Father Alexander," he said, "I have had 
 some strange experiences in the Pest House 
 and Consumptives' Hospital, but this one 
 happened only a week or two ago and is still 
 fresh in my memory. I was called to the 
 'phone by one of the nurses at the Pest 
 House. A smallpox patient, a Catholic, was 
 very low and had not received the Sacra- 
 ments. 
 
 "I instantly changed my clothes, took the 
 usual precautions, and went to the church, 
 where I placed the Sacred Host in my pyx 
 and started for the hospital. When I ar- 
 rived there I went to the patient, who was 
 perfectly conscious but had every appearance 
 of a dying man. I heard his confession, ex- 
 
256 THE HAND OF MEEGY 
 
 horted him to patience and resignation, and 
 told him I would give him Holy Viaticum 
 and then Extreme Unction. He was calm 
 and resigned. When the table was prepared 
 and I opened my pyx, I found to my amaze- 
 ment there were two Sacred Hosts, quite de- 
 tached from each other. Now I was positive 
 I had only taken one from the Tabernacle at 
 home, absolutely sure of it. There was no sign 
 of their having adhered to each other. Both 
 were quite perfect and it seemed impossible 
 they could have been lifted from the ciborium 
 together. 
 
 "I was so distracted that it took me several 
 seconds to collect myself and administer the 
 Last Sacraments to the poor dying man. I 
 did so, however, and when I gave the final 
 blessing to the poor fellow he seemed to have 
 but a few hours to live. 
 
 "But I could not overcome my mental dis- 
 turbance over the presence of the second 
 sacred Particle that remained in the pyx, and 
 on a venture I asked the nurse if there was 
 any other Catholic in the house. 
 
 " 'No, Father,' was the reply; ' there is 
 no one else.' 
 
 "I turned to leave the hospital and had 
 reached the door. As I was about passing 
 through, the porter who opened it said: 
 
THE MASTEB'S GOODNESS 257 
 
 " 'Did you see the new patient who was 
 brought in last night, Father V 
 
 1 ' ' Why, no, ' I replied. ' A Catholic ? ' 
 
 " i Nobody knows what he is, for he has 
 never spoken. He doesn't look like a Cath- 
 olic; he was fixed up too fine! He isn't a 
 poor man, that's sure,' and the man smiled. 
 
 "I was about to go on when some impulse 
 arrested me. 
 
 " 'I'll see about him,' I said in a low tone, 
 for I carried the sacred pyx. 
 
 "I went to the office and inquired, learning 
 that a strange man, a gentleman by his dress, 
 was brought there quite insensible. He had 
 been picked up in the street, and the lookers- 
 on, judging from his inflamed face, thought he 
 was intoxicated. An examination by medical 
 experts at the police station proved that it 
 was a case of smallpox, with high fever. At 
 once he was hustled into the Pest House am- 
 bulance and hurried off. He had a valuable 
 watch and a diamond pin, plenty of money 
 and his clothes were of the best material, but 
 there were no papers — nothing that could 
 identify him: He had not spoken or unclosed 
 his eyes since he came. 
 
 " 'And, Father,' said the office man, 'they 
 say he is an awful sight. You would not know 
 
258 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 whether he is a white man or a negro. It 
 is the worst form of black smallpox ! ' 
 
 " 'I must see him,' I said*. 
 
 " 'I don't think there is much use/ said the 
 clerk. 'No one knows anything about him, 
 and as he is entirely unconscious you can't 
 give him religious rites, for there is no mark 
 of religion about him!' 
 
 "The impulse within me was too strong 
 to resist. 
 
 " 'I want to see him,' I persisted. 
 
 " 'All right, Father; just as you say!' and 
 he led the way down the corridor, with its 
 pungent smell of iodoform, and pointed to 
 a closed door. 'In there, Father.' 
 
 "I knew the place. It led to a room where 
 hopeless cases lay, never again to see the 
 outside world. I opened the door of the 
 passage and found the room. The door was 
 ajar. The light was dim, but I could see that 
 the man was alone: He was breathing 
 heavily. The nurse was pacing the hallway. 
 
 "The patient was indeed a terrible sight! 
 His face was so swollen that it was hardly 
 human and in the dim light would not be 
 recognized by his closest friend. I stood 
 beside the bed. There was no sign of life 
 save that heavy breathing. 
 
THE MASTER'S GOODNESS 259 
 
 " 'My friend/ I said in a distinct voice, 'I 
 am a Catholic priest. Are yon a Catholic V 
 
 "With a qnick flutter the eyelids moved. 
 There was a flash of intelligence and they 
 dropped shut. Just then the orderly entered, 
 saying respectfully: 
 
 " ' Father, he is unconscious. He will die 
 in this stupor. The doctors say there is not 
 the slightest hope!' I motioned him away. 
 
 " 'My dear friend,' I said to the patient, 
 'I think you are conscious. If you under- 
 stand me, and wish to go to confession and 
 Holy Communion, I have the Blessed Sacra- 
 ment with me: Let me know by pressing my 
 handp and I took the swollen hand in mine. 
 Instantly I felt a strong pressure. I turned 
 to the orderly. 
 
 " 'The man is speechless, but he is con- 
 scious,' I said, 'and I mean to hear his con- 
 fession. Stay outside until I call you.' 
 
 "The orderly gave me an incredulous look, 
 but obeyed and closed the door. I began by 
 telling the poor sufferer that I would make 
 his confession and he must press my hand. 
 It was touching and almost drew tears from 
 my eyes, the effort he made to respond. I 
 was perfectly satisfied. When I told him I 
 had Our Lord with me, he tried to extend 
 his poor swollen tongue to prove to me his 
 
260 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 desire to receive Holy Communion, and when 
 I gave him the Blessed Sacrament, a great 
 tear rolled down his face. There was a glass 
 of water near, and I assisted him, with spoon- 
 fuls, to swallow the Sacred Particle. When 
 he did so I anointed him, scarcely finding a 
 healthy spot for the holy oil: 
 
 "All this time his eyes spoke the most piti- 
 ful language ever seen in a human face. 
 
 "My feelings almost overcame me. I 
 never thought of contagion. I gave every con- 
 solation of the Church to this poor, speech- 
 less, disfigured Christian, and left with the 
 conviction that another soul would soon be 
 in paradise. I knew now the destination of 
 the second sacred Host, so strangely placed 
 in my pyx. When I returned to the rectory 
 I changed my clothes and bathed^ while my 
 mind still ran on the strange circumstance. 
 
 "Next day the telephone rang about noon. 
 It was from the Pest House. 
 
 " 'Father/ said the office man. 'I thought 
 you would like to hear about the stranger 
 you saw yesterday. He was a respectable man 
 
 — a man of property from A . His friends 
 
 were almost crazy when they heard he was 
 here: He was a good Catholic and went to 
 his duty every week. They said he often 
 told them he prayed every day he might not 
 
THE MASTER'S GOODNESS 261 
 
 die without the priest. When they found out 
 that you were with him, they wept with 
 gratitude. He died an hour after you left. 
 The remains were sealed in a lead casket 
 and they sent a special hearse for them just 
 now. I thought you would like to know about 
 it,' said the clerk. 
 
 " ' Thank you/ I said, 'and what about 
 the man I was sent for?' 
 
 ' ' ' Oh, he is better. He will get well, ' w^as 
 the reply. 
 
 "I hung up the receiver. How strange it 
 seemed! That good man, lying helpless, 
 speechless and unknown, dying of a dread 
 disease, and yet passing into eternity with all 
 the helps of holy Church! The Sacraments 
 administered by a priest, who did not know 
 of his existence until the marvelous and 
 puzzling appearance of a second Host in his 
 pyx impelled him to seek him out. 
 
 i ' Oh, Heart of Christ, how could we fail to 
 trust in Thee ! ' ' 
 
 *7r *«* tF *w 'f? 
 
 The young priest paused. We were both 
 touched: I grasped his hand. 
 
 "God-speed your journey," I murmured. 
 "Come back well. We need you!" 
 
THE ELEVENTH HOUR. 
 
 13 ASSING through the long lines of beds 
 -*■ in a western hospital I found an in- 
 telligent looking man of middle age lying 
 on one of them. I had been on a sick call, 
 and was about to leave, but before doing so 
 I generally look about to see if any other 
 patient needs a priest. Unfortunately, 
 sometimes they have not the grace or the 
 courage to ask for one. The face of this 
 stranger attracted me. I asked a nurse who 
 he was. 
 
 "A Protestant preacher, sir," said he. 
 "He has come down pretty low when he 
 has to be taken to a ward in a City Hos- 
 pital!" 
 
 " Where does he- belong?" said I. 
 
 ' * Somewhere out West. But he has a few 
 friends. They bring him magazines and 
 books:" 
 
 When I returned to the ward I went to 
 the stranger, and saluted him pleasantly. 
 
 "I suppose you know I am a Catholic 
 priest," said I, "but I always like to say a 
 
 262 
 
THE ELEVENTH HOUR 263 
 
 friendly word to those who are suffering, 
 even if they are not Catholics. " 
 
 "I am not a Catholic,'' said he. 
 
 "I know that," said I. "But we are both 
 ministers of the Gospel, and in that way we 
 are not strangers!" 
 
 He drifted at once to other topics, spoke 
 fluently and well of the events of the day, 
 and showed such an intelligent grasp of 
 affairs in general and particular, that I felt 
 quite interested in him and said so. 
 
 "It isn't often one meets a man like you in 
 a hospital ward ! I have been very agreeably 
 surprised. I sincerely hope you will soon 
 recover. May I call to see you again?" 
 
 ' i If you wish, ' ' said he. "I have not many 
 friends. Life is made up of many bitter 
 things — such, at least, has been my exper- 
 ience, but pray for me ! ' ' 
 
 I left. As I pressed his hand I said, i ' Trust 
 in God! He is our best friend — and never 
 forsakes us. You know that. Good-by!" 
 
 I went again to the hospital. My friend 
 seemed worse each time. He was seized with 
 dreadful shivering fits. He trembled from 
 head to foot. The very bed shook. It was 
 distressing to look at him. I could not get 
 him out of my mind. One day, going to see 
 him, I met a man at the hospital gate. 
 
264 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 "You seem interested in Mr. P ," said 
 
 he. 
 
 ' < The Protestant minister V ' said I. " Yes; 
 He is such an intelligent man! I feel quite 
 sorry he grows worse ! ' ' 
 
 "Protestant minister !" he ejaculated. 
 "Why, he's only a renegade Catholic, who 
 went West, lived wild, and turned to preach- 
 ing eventually for a living! He thinks no- 
 body knows him here, but in his younger 
 days he was a fairly good Catholic. He 
 hasn't long to live, poor fellow. I go there 
 to see a friend of mine, and he knows I know 
 him!" 
 
 I didn't say a word, but hurried to the 
 ward. The poor man was in one of his ter- 
 rible nervous fits, shaking as if he had an 
 uncontrollable chill. The perspiration was 
 standing out on his forehead and rolling on 
 the pillow. The shadow of death was on his 
 face. I sat down on the chair close beside 
 him, and taking his clammy hand, I said: 
 
 "My friend, you are going to die, and you 
 know I am a priest. You, too, are a Cath- 
 olic. I want you to make your confession. I 
 will help you all I can, ' ' and I took my stole 
 out of my pocket*. 
 
 He looked at me despairingly. Then he 
 turned his face away. 
 
THE ELEVENTH HOUR 265 
 
 "What!" said I, "you are going to refuse 
 this last grace?" 
 
 "Father," said he, "there is no salvation 
 for me. I have been a traitor of the deepest 
 dye. I have disgraced my family. I have 
 broken my mother's heart. I have left the 
 Church of my childhood and railed against 
 it in public and private. I have been blacker 
 than Judas, because I have betrayed all that 
 I loved with greater knowledge and with 
 bitter malice." And just then another one of 
 those uncontrollable chills seized him, and lest 
 he injure himself some of the orderlies came 
 over and held him down. 
 
 When he became quiet, I spoke to him 
 calmly and soothingly. His frank acknowl- 
 edgment had all the effect of confession on 
 his soul. It broke through the rigid barriers 
 of pride and despair. It was enough. I saw 
 my opportunity and I availed myself of it 
 with all the tact I possessed. The result was 
 that he poured out his soul in a flood of hum- 
 ble and unreserved confession. It was like 
 the rushing of many waters, and when it was 
 gone it left his soul purified from all stains 
 and in peace. A sweet holy calm seemed to 
 possess him. He lay there as a sleeping babe 
 might. While I administered the sacred unc- 
 tion, great tears rolled down his cheeks, and 
 
266 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 when I was through and was placing my stole 
 and oil-stock in my pocket, he opened wide 
 his eyes and with a look of ineffable joy 
 and confidence he said : 
 
 "God is good. No truer word did you ever 
 utter, Father, than when you said He was 
 our best friend." 
 
 I warmly pressed his hand and turned to 
 go. As I looked around I saw the burly 
 negro orderly, who with difficulty had held 
 the sick man's feet a half hour before, lean- 
 ing on his mop, silently and reverently watch- 
 ing the whole proceeding; for it was in the 
 open ward. I took my departure, promising 
 to return next day, and on my way home 
 marvelled at the goodness and mercy of God, 
 who had sought out this wandering sheep 
 and brought him back to the pastures he 
 had deserted. I went back early next morn- 
 ing, but the weary stranger had gone to his 
 rest, the prodigal, had found his Father. 
 Death had come in the night. 
 
 As I glanced at the empty bed, I saw a 
 crippled, merry-hearted Irishman beckoning 
 me to his corner. 
 
 "Father, ye did a good work for that poor 
 fellow," said he. "He died in peace and 
 quietness, and I think happy, and thankful 
 to the Almighty. But the black man ye saw 
 
THE ELEVENTH HOUR 267 
 
 moppin' up the flure said it was the i powerful 
 little cotton-plasters' ye put on his hands 
 and feet that quieted him down, and gave 
 him the happy death. Maybe, Father dear, 
 youll have his soul on the strength of them 
 same 'plasters'!" 
 
 "True to the sunny Isle you came from, 
 Patrick," thought I, "mingling a joke with 
 the keenest suffering!" 
 
HER RECOMPENSE. 
 
 HPHE sunshine shone brightly one morning 
 -*- into a great hospital ward in the city of 
 St. Louis. Weary sufferers raised their 
 heads from their pillows, and eyes dim with 
 pain grew bright as they watched it gild 
 the white beds. It crept over little tables, 
 where here and there a vase of flowers 
 bloomed, and over the pillows, where suf- 
 ferers, too ill to note it, lay silent with 
 closed eyes. 
 
 There were beds, too, with screens around 
 them, which meant that the long, last journey 
 was close at hand, but the sunshine gilded 
 them too, though the occupants noted it not ! 
 Nurses in pure white uniforms glided noise- 
 lessly here and there, doctors went gravely 
 from bed to bed, giving hope and comfort to 
 many hearts. The sunshine flooded all and 
 made the sad scene less sad, less painful. 
 
 There were nuns there, too, with chastened 
 faces and tender touch, with gentle voices and 
 kind eyes, and weary lips smiled when they 
 stood at their bedsides: There was one of 
 them now standing at the pillow of a pale 
 
 268 
 
HER RECOMPENSE 269 
 
 invalid, wiping the sweat of agony from her 
 forehead and holding a little crucifix to her 
 willing lips every now and then. She was 
 not dying, unless you call such agony for 
 fifteen years a constant death. These were 
 but paroxysms of torture from her crippled 
 spine, which came and went and left her help- 
 less. 
 
 * ' Poor Bessie, ? ? said the nun. ' ' It is so hard 
 to see you suffer and not be able to relieve 
 you, unless you want the hypodermic." 
 
 "No, Sister, no! Am I not expiating for 
 poor Charlie ! Poor boy ! If he only knew ! ' ' 
 said the invalid, whose face was resuming 
 its normal expression now that the con- 
 vulsion was over. 
 
 " If he only knew ! ' ' murmured the nun com- 
 passionately ; and she held a restorative to the 
 white lips of the patient, smoothed her pil- 
 lows, and bathed her forehead and wrists. 
 
 "Sister," said Bessie, "I suffered this 
 way nearly all night. Something seemed to 
 say, 'Take courage, God will not forsake 
 your poor brother!' I bore it all, offered 
 it all to my Saviour on the cross for poor 
 Charlie." 
 
 "Blessed are they who suffer and hope, 
 Bessie," said the Sister, softly. "You have 
 been with us for fifteen years, and your one 
 
270 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 thought has been of that unworthy, reckless 
 brother. His conversion will surely be your 
 reward. God will not let such faith and 
 patience go without recompense. ' ' 
 
 " Don't call him unworthy and reckless, 
 Sister. He never meant to be either. When 
 he was a little, curly-headed fellow he used 
 to get into every kind of mischief, but he al- 
 ways came to me. I can see his black eyes 
 flashing with temper, and hear him saying: 
 'Bess, you're the only friend a poor kid has. 
 If they don't stop naggin' me, I'll run off. 
 But I'll never forget you, Bessie.' They 
 were hard on him, Sister — father and mother 
 were — and he did run off, and once in a while 
 he'd write a letter on the sly and tell me 
 where to answer. I used to beg him not to 
 forget his night prayers at least, and to go 
 to Mass, but then I got this fall and was 
 crippled, and he never wrote but once after — 
 only once in these fifteen years. He said he 
 didn't believe in religion any more. That 
 church and praying were for women, and 
 he'd leave me to do his share. Then, Sister, 
 I promised God I would suffer all the agony 
 of this awful back and never murmur if He 
 would bring Charlie around. Since I have 
 been in this blessed place it has been easier. 
 He is never a minute out of my mind." 
 
HER EECOMPENSE 271 
 
 "How many rosaries do you say a day 
 for him, Bessie, besides all the suffering?" 
 
 "Well, Sister, as I have nothing else to 
 do I say the fifteen decades twice in the morn- 
 ing and twice in the afternoon, and a few 
 other little prayers between the pains." 
 
 "God bless you, dear," said the nun. 
 "Keep on suffering and praying. Put me 
 in your prayers too, Bessie — I need them." 
 
 "Is it you?" said Bessie, incredulously. 
 "Never a prayer do you need. Taking care 
 of all of us, and of the like of me, from 
 year's end to year's end. You'll go right up, 
 Sister," and she tried to motion with her 
 twisted hand and arm toward the blue sky. 
 
 The nun laughed softly ; then straightening 
 the covers and giving a pressure to the hand 
 that held the worn rosary, she went on her 
 round of duty. 
 
 Poor Bessie had indeed suffered and 
 prayed for fifteen years. She offered it all for 
 Charlie, her wild and only brother, who had 
 drifted from the Church and was some place 
 in the wide world — Bessie knew not where. 
 But the marvellous faith of the poor cripple 
 was so vivid that every one was interested in 
 her, and her piety, patience and resignation 
 made every one love her. 
 
 She had a remarkably sweet face and a 
 
272 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 soft, winning voice, and the doctors and 
 nurses who succeeded each other year after 
 year looked on her as a prodigy, and did 
 everything skill and science could suggest, 
 even though unavailing, to help her condition. 
 She never murmured when they told her after 
 an unsuccessful operation or an agonizing 
 examination that nothing could be done. 
 She only smiled and said: "Well, I don't 
 mind; I'll suffer for poor Charlie." 
 
 Those fifteen years of torture were an 
 apostolate for one, single soul. A daily ser- 
 mon was preached from that hospital cot, 
 which was a silent but powerful incentive to 
 many a discouraged heart to keep on with- 
 out wearying. The Sisters felt Bessie's good 
 influence in the hospital. Because she was 
 incurable and without money or friends, 
 they took tendqr care of her, and she loved 
 them with all her soul. 
 
 One day the superior came to me with a 
 paper in her hand. 
 
 "Father Alexander," she said, "I wonder 
 if this could be Bessie's brother? It is a 
 Pittsburg paper that has found its way 
 somehow to St. Louis, and here is an account 
 of an accident case — a man whose name is 
 given as Charles Horton. He was taken to 
 Southside Hospital. The name struck me. 
 
HER RECOMPENSE 273 
 
 Charles Horton! Would it be worth while 
 to inquire?" 
 
 "It certainly would," was my reply. I 
 thought a minute and said: "Suppose you 
 write to the Sisters in Pittsburg. They visit 
 the hospitals and would make inquiries; If 
 good is to be effected we must go about it 
 quietly. } ' 
 
 Her letter went that day, giving an ac- 
 count of Bessie, and asking the superior to 
 ascertain if the man had a sister, also what 
 his sentiments were. Nothing was to be said 
 to Bessie till information was obtained. 
 Nearly two weeks elapsed. We were giving 
 up hope and were glad Bessie knew nothing 
 about it, when the superior came to me. I 
 knew by her face that there was news. 
 
 "Here is the reply to that letter, Father 
 Alexander. Let us tell Bessie at once. I 
 will do so, while you read the letter. It is 
 quite a document." 
 
 She departed. I learned from the letter 
 that the Sisters in Pittsburg had gone at 
 once to the Southside Hospital, a non-Cath- 
 olic institution, and were received very 
 kindly; They found that a man by the name 
 of Charles Horton was there. When told 
 that two Sisters of Mercy were inquiring 
 for him, he was extremely unwilling to see 
 
274 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 them, and only after much urging consented 
 to have them enter his room. 
 
 He was weak and miserable, and evidently 
 not far from the end, but his manner was 
 barely civil. He declared that he was not a 
 Catholic, and seemed so ill at ease that it 
 was distressing to talk to him. Finally the 
 Sister spoke of the letter from St. Louis, 
 asking him if he had not a sister there. In- 
 stantly his face changed, and he held out his 
 hand. 
 
 "Yes, oh, yes, I have! How do you know? 
 Is she well ?" 
 
 "She is praying for you, searching the 
 world for one word about you. She loves 
 you as much to-day as when you were a 
 curly-headed little fellow, telling her your 
 troubles. " 
 
 The hard face softened more. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "that's Bessie. That's 
 just like Bessie ! How she would hurry here 
 if she knew!" 
 
 "But she cannot come. Don't you know 
 that she hurt her back fifteen years ago, and 
 has been crippled ever since? Don't you know 
 that she cannot move out of bed, hut suffers 
 terrible agony of the nerves and muscles? 
 And don't you know that she lies there, f 
 sweet and patient, offering it all for ' Charlie, ' 
 
HER RECOMPENSE 275 
 
 begging the Lord to bring him back to the 
 Church of his boyhood?" 
 
 " She suffers?" said the man: "God help 
 me ! She was the most innocent girl that ever 
 lived ! She has been suffering fifteen years — 
 for me? 0, Bessie, my little sister!" said the 
 poor fellow, tears rushing to his eyes. 
 
 The nun soothed him. 
 
 "Because she loves you so much she has 
 begged God not to let her die, but to increase 
 her pains, that your faults might be ex- 
 piated and you brought back to the Church. ' ' 
 
 "Faults!" he cried. "Sister, they are 
 crimes! I have been committing crimes for 
 twenty years ! I have led a wild life ! I have 
 never thought of God except to curse His 
 name ! But now — now I feel as if my heart is 
 broken. Can I see a priest?" 
 
 "Indeed you can," said the nun. "But 
 oh, how you should thank this dear sister for 
 this grace. Be comforted. We will send a 
 priest here at once. Let me place this Sacred 
 Heart badge upon you. We will go home to 
 our convent. All the Sisters will pray for you 
 — and, poor fellow, we will write to Bessie." 
 
 He held the Sister's hand as she rose to go 
 after a fervent prayer at his bedside. Then 
 promising to return next day, the Sisters left. 
 Before leaving the hospital they telephoned 
 
276 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 one of the Fathers of a neighboring monas- 
 tery: 
 
 Later that evening the convent telephone 
 rang. It was the Father who had gone to 
 the hospital. He wished to tell the Sisters 
 that poor Charlie was a most sincere peni- 
 tent, that he had made his confession, re- 
 ceived the Sacraments, and was prepared 
 for and resigned to death. He begged the 
 Father to ask the nuns to return. There was 
 joy in heaven and earth that night over the 
 sinner's return to God. 
 
 Early next morning the Sisters went to 
 the hospital. Charlie was still living, but 
 fast approaching the dark river whence those 
 who embark never return. He smiled 
 faintly, laying his hand on the little badge 
 of the Sacred Heart. 
 
 "Tell Bessie it was her prayers,' * he whis- 
 pered. "Tell her I felt that she was pray- 
 ing for me. I die happy, a penitent 
 Catholic.' ' 
 
 The Sister gave him her crucifix; he 
 looked long at it, held it tightly. After the 
 prayers for the dying were said the Sisters 
 returned home to pray. 
 
 At noon came the message from the priest 
 who attended him : 
 
 ' ' Charlie died at eleven o 'clock. I was with 
 him and gave him the last absolution. He 
 
HER RECOMPENSE 277 
 
 was conscious, and said to me, 'It was Bes- 
 sie's prayers. Tell her I died happy.' " 
 
 ■M. 4fr *&0 Jg. Aim 
 
 *7v" *7r *K t "«• *Jr 
 
 I found myself so absorbed in the closely 
 written pages of this long letter, that when 
 the superior came into the room I did not 
 hear her. 
 
 "Father Alexander, Bessie knows. I told 
 her what was in the letter, and she is as 
 radiant as an angel. Won't you go to her, 
 Father? She wept with joy and excitement, 
 but she is calm now." 
 
 I went to Bessie's bedside. It was true. 
 Her face was angelic, her soft, dark eyes 
 were full of heavenly light, her delicate face 
 was rosy with joy. I never saw a counte- 
 nance more beautiful — she seemed rather of 
 heaven than of earth. 
 
 "Oh, Father Alexander !" she cried; "God 
 has been so good to me! Charlie has come 
 back! We will both be home together. 
 Oh," she said solemnly, "I have nothing 
 more to do now; I hope I'll go home soon. 
 Bring Our Lord to me and anoint me." 
 
 I was startled, but I would not show it. I 
 said: 
 
 "You are excited, Bessie; you must wait 
 God's will. He has indeed been good to you. 
 Won't you stay with us and offer your 
 thanksgiving to Him?" 
 
278 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 "I cannot/' she said. "My mission is 
 ended. My heart longs to see my Lord and 
 tell Him my gratitude.' ' 
 
 "Well, then, Bessie, to-morrow morning I 
 will bring Our Lord to you, and if you are 
 worse I will anoint you." 
 
 "Thank you, Father," she said, simply. 
 
 I went on my round of duty, but try as I 
 might, I could not keep my thoughts away 
 from Bessie. They told me her sufferings 
 that night were excruciating. She bore them 
 with sweetness, almost with joy. Now and 
 then she would say with a sigh, "Will morn- 
 ing soon be here? Our Lord is coming!" 
 
 It was Sunday morning: I went early to 
 her bedside. There was no mistake now— 
 Bessie was dying. Her face was white as 
 marble, and her pinched features told of 
 her sufferings: A table was ready. Some 
 of the nuns and more of the patients knelt 
 there, while I gave her Holy Viaticum and 
 anointed her. When I was leaving she tried 
 to clasp her poor little twisted hands to- 
 gether, and whispered, "Come back, Father; 
 it won't be long now." I went back as soon 
 as possible. She was sinking rapidly, but 
 the pinched features had disappeared, and 
 her face glowed as it did when the news of 
 her brother's conversion first reached her. 
 
HEE BECOMPENSE 279 
 
 Every one was impressed by the beauty of 
 her countenance, and yet death was upon it, 
 too. I read the solemn prayers of the 
 Church, so majestic and so consoling. As I 
 paused I heard her say, softly : ' ' Only fifteen 
 years! So short a time for such a great 
 reward !" 
 
 In an instant that long stretch of days and 
 nights came before me, with their torture and 
 their weariness, and I felt something rising in 
 my throat which threatened to choke my ut- 
 terance: "Only" fifteen years. "Onlyl" 
 
 She was dying now. Her eyes closed, and 
 as the last faint gasps succeeded each other, 
 the silence was intense. Suddenly her eyes 
 opened wide and a beautiful smile passed 
 over her face*. It faded into marble white. I 
 raised my hand in absolution and then, and 
 as if it were so ordained, it seemed as if 
 every church bell in the city began to ring. 
 Sweet, loud and strong the Sunday chimes 
 pealed forth. The effect was electrical. It 
 was like a paean of triumph. 
 
 Bessie was dead! Her apostolate for one 
 single soul was over. Sister and brother were 
 with God. 
 
 I shall never forget the beauty of that 
 death-bed. 
 
"HE CAME UNTO HIS OWN." 
 
 T T WAS the Christmas time of 1910. High 
 -*- up in the mountains of Western Pennsyl- 
 vania, a little mining town called Whitney 
 nestled among the hills. The miners and 
 their families lived poor and simple lives 
 from year to year. In the early morning the 
 hardworking father and brothers took their 
 frugal breakfast, and with their tin buckets 
 and little lamps on their caps, made their 
 way to the shaft, and went down deep, deep 
 into the bowels of the earth, there to dig and 
 delve all day for the dusky diamonds that 
 glitter in our grates and warm our homes. 
 In the evening, black and sooty, and covered 
 with coal dust, these tired men emerged from 
 the living darkness to go to their homes for 
 a well-earned rest from toil. Some of them 
 took the night-turn. It made little difference 
 when they went down into the shaft, but it 
 was more fatiguing and perhaps more dan- 
 gerous to work at night. The faculties, 
 maybe, are not so keen, the grip on pick 
 and shovel less firm. 
 It was only a week after Christmas when 
 
 280 
 
"HE CAME UNTO HIS OWN" 281 
 
 the good pastor of this little village, who 
 had taken care of the happiness and spiritual 
 needs of his flock, drew breath after the 
 fatigues of the strenuous Christmas and New 
 Years' celebrations. The children had been 
 made happy by simple gifts, their elders had 
 flocked to the little church; the evergreens 
 still hung about the altar. The pastor was 
 thinking of these things one early morning 
 after Mass and breakfast, as he slowly drove 
 his horse and buggy along the snow-covered 
 road. The hills were bleak, the fields white and 
 frosty. Not a creature was visible. The 
 horse suddenly turned into a path not often 
 used by the pastor in his journeyings. He 
 did not check him. Suddenly there loomed 
 up before him a wagon moving slowly. 
 Something about it arrested the priest's at- 
 tention. He drove faster, and soon came up 
 with it. It was covered with heavy black 
 oil-cloth, and the priest recognized the am- 
 bulance of the mines. 
 
 He alighted from his buggy and called to 
 the driver. 
 
 "Any one in there?" he said, pointing to 
 the ambulance: 
 
 "Why, yes, there's a man we are carrying 
 to the Latrobe Hospital," answered the 
 driver. 
 
282 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 "What happened?' ' said the priest. 
 
 "Got his legs crushed in the mines last 
 night — but he'll be all right when we get 
 him there. They'll fix him up!" 
 
 "I'll just look in at him," said the priest, 
 and as the driver did not seem anxious to stop 
 or delay, the priest tied his horse to the am- 
 bulance and let it follow, while he went in- 
 side to the patient. 
 
 A man was lying on a stretcher, seemingly 
 in great pain. The Father recognized one 
 of his parishioners. 
 
 "Thank God, Father," he said. "I am 
 glad to see you. I'm hurt bad." 
 
 And he was, poor fellow! 
 
 At once the priest urged him to go to con- 
 fession so that even if he were "fixed up" at 
 the hospital, it would be comforting for him 
 to feel he had made his peace with God. 
 
 In low whispers the consoling Sacrament 
 of Penance was administered, while the 
 mine-doctor and the driver sat in front, 
 and the ambulance drove slowly down the 
 snowy road. The priest gave absolution, 
 said a few encouraging words, told how the 
 Child of Bethlehem had come on earth to 
 redeem His own this Christmas-tide ; and left 
 him with his blessing, and with the promise 
 to visit him at the hospital. 
 
"HE CAME UNTO HIS OWN" 283 
 
 Then with kindly greeting, he left the am- 
 bulance, got into his buggy, and went his way 
 — pondering on the mercy of God, the tender- 
 ness of the blessed Saviour who had sent him 
 this early morn, in the Christmas tide, to 
 comfort and aid a poor crushed human crea- 
 ture, one of His own whom He had come to 
 redeem. 
 
 The ambulance went on its rough way, 
 along the weary road to the hospital. When 
 it arrived there,* the doctor and the driver 
 went to lift out the poor patient and take him 
 to the little cot prepared for him. 
 
 The man was dead. 
 
INSPIRATIONS. 
 
 " T^ATHER ALEXANDER," said a gray- 
 
 -*- haired missionary to me one day. 
 "You are getting to be a famous story-teller. 
 Why don't you tell the brethren the value of 
 Inspirations? The mistake of putting aside 
 a desire to do something that has just come 
 into the mind, because it is not in the usual 
 routine, or because it may inconvenience the 
 person to whom it is suggested. Some act 
 of supererogation, so to say. Now, there is 
 an idea to write about!" 
 
 "But, Father," I ventured, "I don't think 
 I catch your meaning!" 
 
 "If I illustrated it by personal experience, 
 would you take it up?" 
 
 "I would, indeed," I said warmly. This 
 was a priest who had grown gray in the mis- 
 sion field — one whom I venerated as a saint. 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you," said he, leaning back, 
 and folding his hands thoughtfully. "About 
 two weeks ago I was sitting in my room writ- 
 ing. It faced a noisy street All day long, 
 trolley cars, wagons, carts, and people passed 
 
 284 
 
INSPIRATIONS 285 
 
 by in a continuous stream. I rarely went to 
 the window. I wrote at my table, and I said 
 my Breviary walking up and down. The city 
 noises had ceased to be a distraction to me, 
 and my prayers were as fervent as when I 
 was in church. That afternoon I was writ- 
 ing a letter and had come to a stop; sud- 
 denly a thought came to me: Go to the win- 
 dow ! I hesitated a moment. It was not my 
 wont to appear at the window, but the thought 
 urged me : Go at once ! 
 
 "I sprang to my feet, and went to the 
 window. I saw a crowd. A trolley car had 
 stopped in front of our door. Mutterings 
 were heard like summer thunder far away, 
 and I saw dozens of men trying to hoist the 
 wheels from a crushed human form. The 
 car had been emptied, and they succeeded. 
 When the white face of the man appeared, in- 
 stinctively I snatched my stole that was on 
 a chair and, raising my hand, gave him con- 
 ditional absolution, and (if he were a Cath- 
 olic), the plenary indulgence in articulo mor- 
 tis. It was the work of a minute or two. Then 
 I saw men lifting him up, and carrying him 
 directly to our door. I rushed downstairs. 
 The door had been opened, and the poor man 
 lay on the floor in the vestibule while the mor- 
 bid crowd was shut out. 
 
286 THE HAND OF MEECY 
 
 "They made way for me, but all was over. 
 He was dead. The car wheels had gone over 
 his breast. I looked at him. He was one of 
 my own parishioners — a good man, who had 
 been to confession to me only a week before. 
 ' Father,' said one of the men who carried 
 him, 'he was breathing when the car wheel 
 was lifted!/ 
 
 " 'Yes,' said another, 'he breathed while 
 we were carrying him in here. It was the 
 nearest place and he is a Catholic.' 
 
 " 'He is one of my penitents,' I said, 'and 
 he is safe with God. May his soul rest in 
 peace V 
 
 " 'Amen,' said they all, with their hats 
 removed; 
 
 "Then came the doctor, the coroner, the 
 friends ; and all the attendant confusion. He 
 cared little, the poor, crushed being, who had, 
 through God's inspiration I verily believe, re- 
 ceived the last absolution and plenary in- 
 dulgence. Had I waited, had I neglected the 
 inward voice, it would have been too late." 
 
 I said nothing, but my thoughts were busy. 
 He went on. 
 
 "Sometimes, after lunch, I pass through 
 the sacristy, making a visit to the Blessed 
 Sacrament. Often I am tired, and want to 
 go immediately to my room to rest. The 
 
INSPIRATIONS 287 
 
 thought comes often : Look out in the church. 
 I dare not 'down that thought' with the ex- 
 cuse: 'If any one is at that box, he has come 
 out of hours and doesn't deserve to be 
 heard.' I'm afraid to say that. I go and 
 look out in the church. Sometimes I see a 
 form shrinking into a pew at the door of the 
 confessional. I go down and find a strayed 
 sheep, man or woman, who has not been to 
 the Sacraments for ten, fifteen, twenty-five 
 years. Ah! my daily prayer is: From the 
 neglect of Thy holy inspirations, deliver me, 
 O Lord! I never put them aside." 
 
 "Father, do you think inspirations like 
 that come to every one in the ministry?" 
 
 "I certainly do, until the spirit of God is 
 unheeded, and then the opportunity to save 
 souls is taken away, and given to another. 
 Never neglect the quick impulse to do a cer- 
 tain good thing that is in line with your 
 work. Be habitually in humble readiness for 
 God's work, and God's work will always 
 come to you. It is lying around everywhere. ' ' 
 And here the gentle old man smiled; 
 
 We were both silent, for a few minutes, 
 when he suddenly started: 
 
 "Do you know I think somebody wants me 
 now?" 
 
 "Hardly," I said, "at the unusual hour 
 
288 THE HAND OF MERCY 
 
 of 11 :30 in the morning. Every one is think- 
 ing of luncheon.' ■ 
 
 "I'll go and see," he simply said. 
 
 I was his guest. I arose and followed him 
 downstairs into the sacristy, and as he walked 
 down the aisle to his confessional, I saw a 
 figure crouching in a pew. The priest en- 
 tered the confessional; the figure did the 
 same. I knelt at the foot of the altar, mar- 
 veling, and praying that the inspirations of 
 God might never find a closed door in my 
 heart. 
 
 When I met him an hour afterward, at 
 luncheon, he said: " Write up that talk we 
 had this morning, Father Alexander; I had 
 another proof just now that the voice of in- 
 spiration is ever with us priests if we only 
 follow its whisperings. " 
 
 I have written up the talk. I pray God 
 that it may bear fruit. The opening of the 
 New Year is a good time to begin. 
 
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