PRIEST 
 
 il! 
 
 
 Mi' ; 
 
 Hfl 
 
 I 
 
 i! |ii!
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Professor 
 Richard K, Murdoch
 
 /, 

 
 THE PRIEST 
 
 A TALE OF MODERNISM 
 IN NEW ENGLAND 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "LETTERS TO HIS 
 HOLINESS, POPE PIUS X" 
 
 THIRD EDITION 
 
 THE BEACON PRESS 
 1918
 
 First Impression, February, 1911 
 
 Second Impression, December, 1913 
 
 Third Impression, March, 1914 
 
 Copyright, 1911 
 SHERMAN, FRENCH $ COMPANY
 
 .35-=? 7 
 .^ 
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 Because a piece of fiction has taken Modernism 
 for its subject, it should not be forthwith con 
 demned as a mere manifesto which usurps a prov 
 ince of art for crude ends of partisanship or re 
 volt. Modernism has every right in the world to 
 literary treatment in the forms of fiction or the 
 drama. For if it is the function of these depart 
 ments of literature to set forth the histories of hu 
 man hearts and the crises of human conscience, it 
 is doubtful if they could find in the aggregate of 
 contemporaneous experiences a richer field than 
 Modernism. Modernism began with the scholar. 
 It is ending with the martyr. It first appeared 
 as a movement of critical scholarship concerned 
 with debates as to the date and authorship of cer 
 tain ancient scriptures, and the validity of divers 
 venerable texts and institutions. That aspect of 
 the matter is now subsidiary. To-day the most 
 vital interest of Modernism lies in the conflict 
 the fierce and sombre conflict which it has flung 
 upon many choice spirits of the race; the conflict 
 between sincerity and enforced conformity; be 
 tween ruthless Truth and life's tenderest affec 
 tions ; between the mind that would follow its new 
 light and the heart that would cling to its lifelong 
 loyalties. It is a desolate struggle, fought out in 
 the presence of strange spectators: on the one 
 hand, loneliness, ignominy, penury; on the other, 
 honor, fidelity and the memories of those faithful 
 
 812739
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 ones who have consecrated the hallowed Calvaries 
 of the world. Here surely, where life works so 
 mightily, literature may linger reverently, and 
 may make of these gropings, conflicts, sufferings, 
 a theme that is worthy of her highest forms of art. 
 No apology, then, is needed for the choice of 
 the subject matter of this book. But perhaps con 
 cerning the execution of the enterprise the author 
 should say a word which he is in doubt whether to 
 call an apology or not. At all events, here it is 
 in all frankness. The author's deepest feeling all 
 through the book is for what may be called, in a 
 large sense, religion rather than art; for a faith 
 ful reproduction of a profound spiritual struggle 
 rather than for the technical perfection of the 
 narrative which describes it. He has indeed done 
 his poor best in this latter respect also. He has 
 tried not to forget that he was writing a story and 
 that his conscientious endeavor should be to make 
 it as good a story as was in his power. But hav 
 ing had an opportunity to observe very close at 
 hand many of the interior experiences and some 
 even of the external events herein written down, it 
 has been primary with him to transcribe these ex 
 periences and events with what vividness they pos 
 sess in his own mind, and with what emotion they 
 evoke in his own heart. 
 
 Whatever, then, his falling short of the profes 
 sional fiction-code, this he cannot help feeling, 
 that this book is, in a vital way, true; that the 
 tragic processes on which it lifts a corner of the
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 veil are to-day going on in hundreds of beset and 
 harassed hearts; and that the utterance which 
 these processes find here is above all genuine, above 
 all sincere. In these primitive qualities, too, there 
 may possibly be manifested a certain form and 
 species of art which, perhaps, are somewhat over 
 looked by the rules of the masters and the sched 
 ules of the schools. The author has sometimes 
 beguiled himself with thinking so. But however 
 that may be, this is a chapter of contemporary 
 life that is little known because essentially soli 
 tary, and a picture of present-day reality that 
 gives few outward signs because it lies in that 
 province of experience about which men are most 
 sensitive and most reticent. To such as are inter 
 ested in this deeper side of life, in this profounder 
 region of reality, this modest contribution to the 
 literature of a great movement is respectfully 
 offered by 
 
 THE AUTHOE.
 
 I 
 
 A New England winter lives long, as the world 
 knows, but only those with experience of it are 
 aware how hard it dies. In rural New England 
 above all, the last state of the storm-god's deviltry 
 is worse than the first. Just as it is time for him 
 decently to depart, say about the first week in 
 March, he shows the perversity of the possessed, 
 lashing himself into paroxysms of tempest; fling 
 ing up mighty snow-ramparts in a night ; freezing 
 tight every pond, lake, and stream; and from his 
 frozen fortresses howling mad defiance to the timid 
 reconnoitering of Spring. Then does rural New 
 England look inhospitable indeed. The streets are 
 deserted save for a traveller now and then who 
 plods along with head down, hands in pockets, coat 
 collar buttoned about his mouth, and with a gen 
 eral air of being about a desperately disagreeable 
 business; the bare trees creak in every stiffened 
 joint, and clash icy branches together in the for- 
 lornest of choruses; the white fields stretch away 
 beyond the huddling houses which seem to be shiv 
 ering too; and the dismal hills in the distance ap 
 pear ominously like posted sentinels to keep this 
 cold domain inviolate. 
 
 A stranger of anti- Yankee prejudices approach 
 ing a New England hamlet at such a time might 
 well find confirmation of his personal antipathies 
 in the wild aspect of the scene before him. How 
 
 typical of Puritan austerity these biting winds! 
 
 1
 
 * THE PRIEST 
 
 How suggestive of the harsh unfriendliness of the 
 Pilgrim stock these barriers of snow! How fit a 
 habitation for an unlovely race this forbidding 
 country where the coming of a genial season is so 
 long delayed and its reluctant stay so short ! Un 
 just prejudices these, as we to whom New England 
 is dear, to whom she is or once was, home, are well 
 aware. We know that her heart is not wintry nor 
 the springs of her affection frozen. We know that 
 not all the snow and ice of the three centuries since 
 the Pilgrims came, have chilled the kindlier feel 
 ings of those that dwell upon this rugged soil. An 
 exterior of low temperature their environment may 
 indeed have given them ; but in no hearts that beat 
 live warmer sympathies and more ardent loyalties. 
 But know this as surely, believe it as strongly as 
 we will, plenty there are who do not believe it ; who 
 judging the inner from the outer, and too quick 
 to class together the material and the spiritual, 
 regard the Yankee, his climate, and his soil, as a 
 trinity of inhospitalities, which it behooves warm 
 hearted, comfort-loving men to let alone, and aban 
 don to its fog and chill, its storms and stubble. 
 
 And so saying, we are brought to the opening 
 of our story ; for we are now to become acquainted 
 with a man who, as we take our first look at him, 
 wears every appearance of being in precisely this 
 state of mind. He had got off the evening train 
 at a Massachusetts village, which will figure in this 
 story under the name of Axton, at the time of 
 year we have mentioned, and in the conditions of
 
 THE PRIEST 3 
 
 weather we have described. Having ordered his 
 luggage sent to the hotel was he guilty of a sus 
 picion of a smile as he said that last word? he 
 stood on the station-platform and gazed down at 
 the little town that lay before him. A survey of 
 Axton need not detain him long. He saw near-by 
 the public square, in the centre of which stood a 
 snow-robed pump with a trough for horses; a 
 half-dozen shops; an enlarged cottage which he 
 had been told was the hotel; and one large build 
 ing distinguished by a tower, which he correctly 
 surmised might be the town-hall. Three streets 
 led away from the square, one the main street on 
 which were several substantial, and one or two 
 elegant, houses ; the other two, highways of less 
 pretensions, having houses of comfortable and 
 cleanly aspect, but belonging evidently to tenants 
 of more limited means. Beyond lay open country, 
 terminating in the foot-hills of a distant mountain- 
 range. 
 
 It was none too cheerful a prospect, with the 
 early twilight rapidly deepening into darkness, a 
 bitter wind sweeping through the valley, and dim 
 lights from stores and dwellings falling upon glis 
 tening snow that lay deep about every building. 
 With a shudder the stranger left the station and 
 walked toward the hotel. " How unutterably dis 
 mal ! " he said to himself ; " and I fear the Yankee 
 inhabitants will prove as churlish as their weather. 
 I'll suffer another kind of chill when they find that 
 a priest has come among them."
 
 4 THE PRIEST 
 
 Entering the front door of the hotel he found 
 himself alone in a narrow room that served as an 
 office. In the middle of the floor a stove glowed 
 red-hot; and he approached it, throwing open his 
 overcoat as he did so, thereby discovering the Ro 
 man collar worn by priests. While he was beguil 
 ing the time with gazing rather wearily at the 
 cheap prints on the wall, a door that led to the in 
 terior of the establishment opened, and a sharp- 
 featured man of middle age entered, and without 
 a word pushed the register toward the guest, and 
 held out to him a pen freshly dipped in muddy 
 ink. The priest wrote in a rapid, nervous hand: 
 " Reverend Ambrose Hanlon." 
 
 " Are you a priest? " were the proprietor's first 
 words. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " First one I've ever had here. Goin' to stay 
 long? " 
 
 " So I expect. I have been appointed pastor of 
 the Catholics in this town." 
 
 " Don't say. Hadn't heard nothin' about it. 
 Goin' to build a church? " 
 
 " That is usually the task of a new parish." 
 
 Guarded and even uncordial as the conversation 
 had been thus far, mine host, whose name we may 
 as well know at once was the good old Yankee one 
 of Nahum Cuttle, on receiving the information of 
 the new church, broke out vehemently with: 
 
 " Well, all I can say is, I hope you will make 
 something of those foreigners that have flooded
 
 THE PRIEST 5 
 
 this town ever sense the car-shops was built. 
 There's a bad lot among 'em, I tell you. Don't 
 deny that some of 'em ain't all right; but there's 
 a wicked element there, 'Talians, Poles and He 
 brews, that's formed a Socialist club only 
 another name for Anarchist club, I think and 
 they're promising no end of trouble. They'll be 
 in your congregation, too. Only fifteen or twenty 
 Catholics here, till they came, a year ago." 
 
 " At least I shall not be responsible for the He 
 brews," remarked the new pastor, trying to smile, 
 though his dejection had visibly deepened with 
 every word that Nahum uttered. Then he asked: 
 " In what way are these foreigners threatening 
 trouble?" 
 
 " Lots o' ways," answered Nahum. " Every 
 Sunday they have a meeting, and some scoundrel 
 tells 'em, sometimes in English, but mostly in a 
 foreign language, that this gov'ment's got to be 
 destroyed and all the money divided around, share 
 alike. Then they make speeches against religion, 
 and say all church-folks is fools and all ministers 
 hypocrites. Worst of it is they're organizin' now, 
 and becomin' citizens so they can outvote us and 
 set up an Anarchist town right here in Axton, 
 where our New England forefathers have lived in 
 peace and contentment for two hundred years. I 
 tell you, sir, bad times are comin' to this place, 
 that's all I've got to say." 
 
 " It is quite enough," said Father Hanlon, dis 
 consolately. " At all events I shall want a room
 
 6 THE PRIEST 
 
 for some time; and if you can get supper soon I 
 shall be greatly obliged to you." 
 
 While the Reverend Ambrose Hanlon is sitting 
 down to his first meal within his spiritual juris 
 diction, we may as well become better acquainted 
 with him. As a boy and young man, Ambrose dis 
 tinguished himself by a remarkable proficiency in 
 studies in all the schools that he attended. At the 
 public high school he led his classes during his en 
 tire course; and by his naturally candid and mod 
 est character was a great favorite of both teach 
 ers and fellow-pupils. Entering a Jesuit college 
 at the age of eighteen, he again rose rapidly to 
 class leadership and became marked as the most 
 brilliant student in the school. The black-robed 
 fathers and scholastics who taught him, admired 
 him and coveted him. Frederick the Great is 
 reported to have said that he did not share in the 
 harsh feeling which the Jesuits had drawn upon 
 themselves by their well-known endeavors to se 
 cure the best boys in their colleges for the Order. 
 " Why blame them," said Frederick, " for seeking 
 the most promising subjects? Rulers of states 
 act likewise in drawing to the public service the 
 best statesmen and financiers the kingdom af 
 fords." If we are content with this royal logic, 
 we shall not censure too severely the astute sons of 
 Ignatius Loyola for their pious devices in allur 
 ing young Hanlon to their membership. We will 
 simply state the fact that they did their utmost 
 to get him. One of the fathers, especially skilful
 
 THE PRIEST 7 
 
 in this divine diplomacy, worked himself into the 
 boy's intimacy and friendship. He learned that 
 the youth was intending to enter the seminary and 
 become a priest of the diocese. Then the siege 
 proper began. Gradually and cautiously this 
 man, Father Stockly by name, led Ambrose to 
 perceive the great glory of the Jesuit order. He 
 told him of the Society's long list of saints, among 
 them angelic Aloysius, spotless Berchmans, valiant 
 Xavier, mighty Ignatius. He pictured to the 
 boy's devout imagination, the host of Jesuit heroes 
 in the mission-field, from Jogues and Breboeuf, 
 murdered by the Iroquois, to the Society's young 
 priests who are dying to-day in equatorial Africa. 
 He laid particular stress upon the scholars of the 
 Company, Laynez the wonder of the Council of 
 Trent, de Lugo the Aquinas of moral theology, 
 and Suarez the peer of any theologian that ever 
 lived. He spoke of the present great work of the 
 Order in educating young men ; of its mystical 
 life of prayer and penance; of its unimpeachable 
 orthodoxy and its almost military devotion to the 
 See of Rome ; of its renown without and of its peace 
 and power within. At times he referred to the 
 secular priest's comparative inefficiency; how 
 lonely such a man is ; and with what miserable mat 
 ters the collecting of money and the building of 
 churches half his time and energy are wasted. 
 We cannot wonder that so spiritual and bril 
 liant a boy as Ambrose should be captivated. The 
 Society appeared before him transfigured, glori-
 
 8 THE PRIEST 
 
 fied, the nursery of scholars and the home of saints. 
 He fondly thought of himself as a Jesuit novice, 
 clothed with the habit that had been worn by so 
 great a multitude of holy men. In many an hour 
 of prayer he turned moist eyes to the altar, be 
 seeching his Lord for the grace of some day be 
 longing to the Order that is called of Jesus. He 
 told Father Stockly that he wanted to become a 
 Jesuit, and besought his prayers that so heavenly 
 a favor might be vouchsafed him. For months 
 he thus dreamed and prayed and hoped, in the 
 spell of an ambition that made all else in life in 
 significant and mean. 
 
 But there was a difficulty in the way ; and it re 
 sulted in Ambrose's not joining the Jesuits. He 
 had no near kindred living except his mother and 
 sister, his father, a veteran of the civil war, hav 
 ing died ten years before. His mother was an 
 invalid, and while she gladly and proudly gave 
 her consent to his becoming a secular priest, since 
 in such a state of life he could often visit her, and 
 even have her with him after a while, she would 
 be grievously, perhaps fatally, wounded by the 
 all but perpetual separation which his going to the 
 Jesuits would involve. Still, even this supreme 
 consideration hardly checked the boy from follow 
 ing out his absorbing desire. Father Stockly once 
 gave him a book on choosing one's vocation, in 
 which it was set forth that even should a mother 
 fling herself upon the threshold of her home to 
 keep her son from entering a religious order, he
 
 THE PRIEST 9 
 
 should step across her body and go, obeying the 
 voice of God rather than the appeal of parental 
 love. This narration moved Ambrose profoundly, 
 and he meditated making a similar sacrifice. He 
 mentioned the matter to Father Stockly, who as 
 sured him that it would be a most acceptable offer 
 ing to the Sacred Heart of Christ. But fortu 
 nately he broached the project to his sister Mar 
 garet. Margaret was the younger by two years, 
 but womanhood was in her, and she possessed in 
 consequence a sane outlook upon human relations 
 from which her poor, romancing brother was wo- 
 fully remote. She showed, too, on the occasion that 
 Providence had blessed her with woman's tongue 
 as well as with woman's intuition. By the time 
 she had concluded her vituperation, in the course 
 of which she observed that her brother was a self 
 ish coward even to think of deserting his home 
 forever; that he would be the murderer of his 
 mother if he did such a thing; and that there was 
 more unhealthy rubbish in spiritual books than 
 he with all his learning had ever suspected, the 
 notion of the " great renunciation " had been effec 
 tively driven from Ambrose's distracted mind. 
 They kissed and made up when the storm was 
 passed ; and Ambrose promised his brave little sis 
 ter that he would not murder his mother for all the 
 religious orders in the world. 
 
 But a Jesuit in spirit and desire he remained; 
 and although he entered the ecclesiastical seminary 
 of the diocese, the Society was still his ideal, as
 
 10 THE PRIEST 
 
 his letters to Father Stockly repeatedly declared. 
 This seminary in which Ambrose spent four years 
 was noted as being particularly " safe." That is 
 to say, it was kept sedulously guarded from mod 
 ern liberalism. The Right Reverend Sebastian 
 Shyrne, bishop of the diocese, was a man of both 
 despotic temperament and stringent orthodoxy. 
 From him the seminary professors received their 
 orders, and these orders bore perpetually on his 
 lordship's wish and the professors' duty to fill the 
 minds of the seminarists with horror and hatred 
 for higher criticism and advanced Catholicism. 
 Once when the young professor of dogmatic theo 
 logy ventured to begin a course of lectures on the 
 origins and early history of the sacrament of Pen 
 ance, he was sharply rebuked by the bishop, who 
 informed him that theology must be taught in the 
 good old scholastic method, and that of historical, 
 or, as he called it, " evolutionary " theology there 
 must be none. " Please remember," said the 
 bishop, in concluding his reprimand, " that the 
 master to be followed in my seminary is Thomas 
 Aquinas, not Hermann Harnack." 
 
 " Adolf Harnack, you ignorant booby ! " said 
 the professor to himself as he left the episcopal 
 presence. But the lectures on the history of Pen 
 ance were discontinued at once. 
 
 Thus it happened that for four years Ambrose 
 Hanlon's mind was curtained from the light of 
 modern thought. Not once in all that time nor for 
 some time after indeed, did he dream of the vast
 
 THE PRIEST 11 
 
 structure of theological erudition and critical re 
 search raised by nineteenth century scholarship. 
 He lived and thought in the past and gave over 
 his fine intelligence to the subtleties of metaphysi 
 cal theologizing. At the commencement exercises, 
 which concluded his second year in theology, he 
 read a long paper in Latin on the matutine and 
 vespertine knowledge of the angels. The bishop, 
 who was presiding at the exercises, had taken a 
 rather disedifying nap during the reading of the 
 dissertation; but at the end he congratulated the 
 young author, and advised him to continue 
 throughout life a devoted student of St. Thomas. 
 " The world is running after mischievous novel 
 ties," said the bishop ; " and many there are who 
 are suffering shipwreck from their biblical criti 
 cism and their so-called historical method. But do 
 you, Mr. Hanlon, and all you gentlemen of my 
 seminary, eschew these pestilential pseudo-sciences. 
 They are based on pride and conducted in impiety. 
 Stand fast by your St. Thomas, Suarez and de 
 Lugo ! Let Aquinas be your master, not Hermann 
 Harnack." This last phrase had evidently caught 
 the fancy of the great man, and if he continued to 
 misname the German scholar, few in his audi 
 ence recognized the blunder. 
 
 Not only did this sort of training estrange Am 
 brose from modern life, but it made him positively 
 hostile to it. To him the world was hastening to 
 perdition. The Church was beset by heresy ; the 
 old supremacy of the Papacy was reduced to a
 
 12 THE PRIEST 
 
 shadow; and all-conquering science was in the 
 hands of the infidel. From such a world the boy 
 turned away in bitterness and sorrow. He could 
 not feel himself a citizen of it. If perforce he 
 lived in it, it was only as an alien and antagonist. 
 The true home of his thought and affection was 
 the Middle Ages the Ages of Faith. That epoch 
 he idealized. He pictured it so lively were his 
 enthusiasms and so dormant his critical powers 
 as his Catholic text-books pictured it, that is to 
 say, as a time of unquestioning faith and universal 
 piety. Then all Europe was like a mighty mon 
 astery with the Pope as Lord Abbot, princes and 
 kings his loyal sub-priors, and the common people 
 as a host of lay-brothers spending their days and 
 nights in penance and prayer. How Ambrose, 
 beguiled by this grotesque conception, longed to 
 have lived in those days ! He would have been a 
 Benedictine monk so his fancy ran and would 
 have written a tome or two on the divine attributes, 
 or on the circumincession of the Trinity! Alas, 
 that modernism had spoiled the world ; that church 
 and state were one no longer; that the Inquisition 
 could put down heresy no more; and that a false 
 cry of Liberty had driven from the minds of men 
 the grand old Catholic ideas of obedience and 
 authority ! 
 
 At the end of the fourth year in the seminary, 
 Ambrose was sent to Rome to complete his course. 
 There, as was inevitable, the ideas which had grown 
 in upon him took deeper root, and his severance
 
 THE PRIEST 18 
 
 from modern scholarship became still more com 
 plete. His two years in the college of the Propa 
 ganda he devoted to Thomistic theology and Canon 
 Law ; and he gained with high distinction the doc 
 torate in divinity. Of scientific history he knew 
 scarcely anything; of biblical criticism nothing; 
 and of such sciences as Sociology and Comparative 
 Religion he had barely heard the names. 
 
 Three months after his return from Rome he 
 was sent to Axton. With what reluctance he en 
 tered upon his charge we have seen. Not that he 
 was not zealous. No man could be more devoted 
 to his vocation. But he felt himself wholly unfitted 
 for the practical business of building up a new 
 parish. For money-collecting and all the miser 
 able anxieties connected with stone and mortar, he 
 had a horror. His tastes were dominantly intel 
 lectual ; and his long absorption in study had fitted 
 him for the class-room rather than for the rough 
 shod work that lay before him. 
 
 Such was Father Ambrose Hanlon as, at the age 
 of twenty-seven he entered upon his pastorate. 
 Misgivings thronged upon him as he sat at his first 
 meagre supper in Nahum Cuttle's hostelry, and 
 he was little disposed to check them. How was 
 he to control so untoward & situation? A congre 
 gation of Italian anarchists; a community of hos 
 tile Puritans; a church to be built and paid for; 
 sermons to be preached to people incapable of ap 
 preciating any intellectual appeal; this was the 
 lot in which he, a delicate, dreamy student, had
 
 14 THE PRIEST 
 
 been placed by ill-fortune. He thought of his es 
 say on the matutine and vespertine knowledge of 
 the angels, and of his final examination in Rome 
 when he brilliantly demonstrated that God fore 
 knows the future free acts of men not by the ordi 
 nary knowing-processes of Deity, but by a special 
 kind of divine cognition called " scientia media " ; 
 and a whimsical smile played for an instant upon 
 his lips at the ineptitude of all this for the work 
 before him. 
 
 " Well," said he to himself, " m nomine Domini 
 let me begin it. It is part of a priest's sacrifice. 
 If I cannot succeed I will at least honorably fail. 
 And now for a night-view of my parish." 
 
 " Goin' out ? " asked Nahum, as the priest took 
 his overcoat from the rack. 
 
 " Yes," answered Ambrose ; " you have given me 
 so freezing a report of this parish of mine that I 
 am going to see if the zero weather outside will not 
 warm my blood a little." 
 
 Nahum smiled, not ill-pleased to find that his 
 guest was disposed to be genial. 
 
 "Ever attend a New England town-meetin' ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Never," said Ambrose ; " I was raised in the 
 city." 
 
 " Well," observed Nahum, " we're goin' to have 
 a town-meetin' to-night in the town-hall, and per 
 haps you might find it worth while to drop in. 
 Mebbe there'll be some excitement and mebbe there 
 won't. A town-meetin' is uncertain. Sometimes
 
 THE PRIEST 15 
 
 it's like a Quaker revival, and again it's like a 
 convention of the Molly Maguires. But I rather 
 think you'd better go. Fact is, I advise you to 
 
 go-" 
 
 " Very well," said the priest with an amused 
 smile, " I'll go. If it turns out to be a Quaker re 
 vival it will be soothing, and I am tired; and if it 
 is of the Molly Maguire sort, I shall be glad to see 
 so much excitement in Axton, where I never ex 
 pected to find it." 
 
 So Father Hanlon went to the town meeting. 
 Business was already under way as he entered 
 quite unobserved and took a seat near the door. 
 The proceedings were dreary enough. Should the 
 village school be enlarged? Should Main Street 
 be paved? Should the appropriation for the fire- 
 company be increased? These and a half-dozen 
 other similar questions were debated and put to 
 vote. Drowsily murmuring Nahum's expression, 
 " a Quaker revival," the priest settled himself com 
 fortably for a doze. He was aroused very soon, 
 however, by a strident voice calling, " Mr. Mod 
 erator ! " 
 
 " Mr. Wakefield has the floor," answered the 
 moderator, who was just about to suggest that a 
 motion to adjourn would be in order. 
 
 The man answering to the name of Wakefield 
 stepped from his place to the front of the main 
 aisle and faced the assembled citizens. He was of 
 tall, spare build, of years approaching sixty, and 
 in his cold eye and sharp features one might search
 
 16 THE PRIEST 
 
 long for any trace of the gentler qualities of hu 
 mankind. Evidently greatly agitated, he began 
 in a harsh, high voice: 
 
 " Mr. Moderator and Fellow-Citizens : Before 
 we adjourn I wish to bring up a matter which, 
 while it is not mentioned in the articles of the town- 
 meeting proclamation, is nevertheless of vital con 
 sequence to this community. Up to little more 
 than one year ago our village of Axton, which we 
 all love, was a place where thrived the best tradi 
 tions of New England and Massachusetts. We 
 had scarcely any foreigners among us. We lived 
 in simple tranquillity. We worshipped according 
 to the faith of our colonial ancestors. How ter 
 rible, how menacing is the change that has oc 
 curred in twelve months ! The building of the car- 
 shops has brought among us a class of aliens with 
 whom we have nothing in common, and to whom 
 the traditions of our country and our state are not 
 only meaningless but contemptible. These men, 
 nothing short of anarchists, have now organized. 
 They are conspiring to gain possession of our town 
 government. They are desecrating our Sabbath 
 by revolutionary meetings and blasphemous ha 
 rangues. In a word, they are threatening to de 
 stroy all that patriotism and religion have en 
 deared to us. 
 
 " And now I hear that a Roman Catholic priest 
 is to come here and build a church of his denomina 
 tion. If this ill-omened thing takes place, for- 
 eignism will be established in the midst of us for-
 
 THE PRIEST 17 
 
 ever. We have already been too negligent; but 
 there is still time to save Axton from a contamina 
 tion that is unto death. You men of property and 
 social standing, men of Puritan blood and Pilgrim 
 faith, I appeal to you not to allow the walls of a 
 Roman temple to be raised upon this village soil. 
 Refuse to sell a foot of ground to this follower of 
 a foreign potentate ! The land belongs to us. Let 
 us hold out against every seduction of profit which 
 crafty Rome may put before us, until Rome is 
 baffled and her impertinent priest betakes himself 
 off, defeated by our unanimous and uncompromis 
 ing opposition." 
 
 Trembling and pale, the man sat down amid a 
 stillness as of death. The invective was so utterly 
 unexpected and so entirely novel that the audience 
 seemed for an instant too dazed either to applaud 
 or disapprove it. Just as the citizens were com 
 ing to themselves, as it were, and the clapping of 
 hands began to mingle with a few faint hisses, a 
 voice of marvelous melody and power rang through 
 the hall: 
 
 "Mr. Moderator!" 
 
 "The Reverend Mr. Danforth has the floor," 
 announced the moderator, who had been quite dis 
 concerted by the sudden turn of events. 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Danforth strode forward 
 from a seat near the rear of the hall, until he stood 
 in the very spot from which Mr. Wakefield had 
 fired his shot at Rome. There he turned and faced 
 the meeting. A striking picture he made. About
 
 18 THE PRIEST 
 
 thirty years of age, six feet in height, loosely built, 
 with shoulders of extraordinary breadth, and pos 
 sessing a fine spiritual face, whose great dark eyes 
 were a very mirror of purity and candor, minister 
 Danforth was, beyond question, a highly favored 
 child both of nature and of grace. 
 
 " It is greatly to be regretted," he said, " that 
 Mr. Wakefield has gone outside the proper busi 
 ness of this town-meeting to arouse feelings which 
 are more dangerous, I am constrained to say, than 
 any peril which we are likely to encounter from 
 the car-shops. It is still more deplorable that he 
 has committed the grievous injustice of insinuat 
 ing that a certain branch of the Christian religion 
 is equally menacing with anarchism and revolu 
 tion. That insinuation is intemperate and untrue. 
 I take a second rank to no man here in love of coun 
 try, and I, as well as all other men here, would give 
 my life to preserve it from any foreign or domes 
 tic peril. That there is a peril in certain condi 
 tions around us even here in little Axton I clearly 
 recognize. That furthermore there is a great 
 measure of irreconcilableness between the Ameri 
 can spirit and the tenets of a certain theology, I 
 am fully aware. But gentlemen, these dangers, 
 these obstacles, will be removed by education, and 
 by a proper training in the ideas and ideals on 
 which our republic is based. Arrogance and ha 
 tred and intolerance will never remove them. Teach 
 those who may be out of harmony with our consti 
 tution and civilization what this country means,
 
 THE PRIEST 19 
 
 what its destiny is, and what it has already ac 
 complished for humanity, and I am confident that 
 every honest man, wherever his birthplace and 
 whatever his creed, will love our country from his 
 heart and will defend it as zealously as any patriot 
 that ever fought beneath the flag. There is no 
 un-Americanism so mischievous as that which 
 would despise the foreigners, and hold contemptu 
 ously aloof from those who come to us from other 
 lands. The first dictate of patriotism is that we 
 should go among these people, bear for a while 
 with their alien attitude, and by fraternal and self- 
 sacrificing service bring them to see that our coun 
 try is worthy of their reverence and love. If this 
 nation shall ever die, if the glorious traditions and 
 holy hopes of our fathers shall ever be brought to 
 naught, it will not be because foreigners have over 
 come us, but because we Americans and children 
 of Americans, have been stupid, proud and foolish, 
 and unfaithful to the work passed on to us by our 
 founders, of educating the world in liberty. 
 
 " And as for this Roman Catholic chapel, I trust 
 it will be built upon as good a site as our village 
 affords. I trust that we shall all co-operate with 
 our brethren of that faith in erecting their house 
 of worship. But whatever anyone else may do, I 
 publicly declare that I shall give every service in 
 my power to the Catholic pastor in the difficult 
 work that lies before him. I cannot forget that 
 two patriots of my name and blood lay dead upon 
 the field of Malvern Hill side by side with the
 
 80 THE PRIEST 
 
 fallen heroes of a Catholic brigade. And I know 
 that to-day, were it necessary, the co-religionists 
 of those that fell beside my Puritan kinsmen on 
 that bloody slope, would as gladly go forth to die 
 in the same sacred cause if any danger threatened 
 our country's flag. America for Americans ! Yes, 
 but I greet as my fellow- American and my brother- 
 citizen, every man of good will that dwells be 
 neath the Stars and Stripes." 
 
 A tempest of cheers rose from the throats of the 
 Axton citizens as the young minister took his seat. 
 A score of hands reached out to congratulate him, 
 a hundred felicitations were addressed to him, until 
 what with applaudings and vociferations, the old 
 town-hall had not shaken to such a tumult since the 
 recruiting days of '61. Then at what we are ac 
 customed to hear called the psychological moment, 
 some ingenious body began to let down the stage 
 curtain, which curtain, as it happened, was noth 
 ing less than a huge American flag. Slowly the 
 beautiful banner descended, first its stripes of red 
 and white, then its star-filled field of blue, until in 
 all its thrilling loveliness it gleamed and swayed 
 before the burghers of Axton. Right royally they 
 acclaimed it. Every man was on his feet as though 
 the entire responsibility of the salute depended 
 upon him alone. Finally out of the clamor rose 
 one clear and mighty voice: 
 
 " Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light 
 What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last 
 gleaming? "
 
 THE PRIEST 21 
 
 Beside itself with enthusiasm, the whole assembly 
 took up the melody from minister Danforth's lips, 
 and sang the flag-hymn of the republic in an 
 ecstasy of fervor. Not till the last refrain was 
 finished : 
 
 " And the Star-Spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
 O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave/' 
 
 was there the least disposition to listen to a mo 
 tion to adjourn ; and even as the men left the hall 
 after this most extraordinary town-meeting in the 
 history of Axton, the anthem still lingered on the 
 outer steps and in the street. 
 
 The last man to leave the hall was Ambrose Han- 
 Ion. With a long and loving look upon the em 
 blem of our liberties, he turned and walked away, 
 bearing in his heart a new and auspicious courage 
 and content.
 
 II 
 
 The next morning Father Hanlon was about to 
 set out for Mr. Danforth's residence when two 
 visitors were announced. One of them, the Rev 
 erend Joseph Dooran, Ambrose knew slightly, as 
 he had been a frequent visitor at the seminary 
 while Ambrose studied there. The other was the 
 Reverend Richard O'Murtagh, an Irish pastor of 
 the old school, who had charge of a parish ten 
 miles from Axton. After Ambrose had thanked 
 them for the promptness of their neighborly call, 
 Father O'Murtagh opened the general conversa 
 tion with the remark: 
 
 " Well, me boy, ye'll have a hard row to hoe in 
 the stony soil of Axton." 
 
 " Yes," Ambrose answered, " I expect my share 
 of difficulties. But at all events I think I shall find 
 the non-Catholic people more friendly than I had 
 dared to hope." 
 
 " I don't know about that," was the old gentle 
 man's response. " These Puritans here have no 
 great reputation for friendliness. And as for the 
 church, where would they get any sympathy for 
 it? Didn't their forefathers persecute it? What 
 reason have ye for thinking that the tribe has 
 changed? " 
 
 " The spirit of toleration is growing," remarked 
 Ambrose. 
 
 " No," asserted the irreconcilable Irishman,
 
 THE PRIEST 23 
 
 " the spirit of indifferentism is growing. But that 
 means not toleration but contempt." 
 
 " Father O'Murtagh is right," interposed the 
 Reverend Joseph Dooran, a very small man of 
 quick, nervous manner ; " Toleration, properly un 
 derstood, proceeds from high and religious mo 
 tives. But these people have not enough Christian 
 dogma left to possess such principles. They have 
 so completely lost religion that they are too little 
 interested in it even to attack it." 
 
 " The opinion that you have both expressed," 
 said Ambrose, " has been my own for practically 
 all my life; and I dare say it still retains a hold 
 upon my mind. But I have reason to expect friend 
 liness from the non-Catholics here and I would like 
 to credit them with some little nobility of motive 
 in manifesting it. At all events their motive is a 
 matter of fact and observation rather than of 
 theory. Father O'Murtagh, have you associated 
 much with the non-Catholics of your parish? " 
 
 " Have I what ? " was O'Murtagh's contemptu 
 ous question. 
 
 Ambrose repeated his inquiry. 
 
 " No," was the gruffly spoken answer. " I have 
 not associated with them. We get on better by 
 standing as far apart socially as we do religiously. 
 From time to time they have asked me to address 
 public meetings ; once one of the ministers invited 
 me to preach in his church; at another time the 
 school committee sent word that they would be 
 pleased to have me deliver the invocation at the 
 graduation exercises ; and seven years ago I was
 
 24? THE PRIEST 
 
 offered a place on the board of trustees of the pub 
 lic library. But I told them, one and all, that I 
 had no time for any work outside my own paro 
 chial duties. Hanlon, don't forget this, we Catho 
 lics must not mix with outsiders. That's all there 
 is to it. We must gather ourselves together into 
 a separate body, insisting upon our exclusive pos 
 session of the truth of God. To mingle too much 
 socially, and to mingle at all religiously, with 
 heretics is to open the door to liberalism. We 
 must hold aloof." 
 
 " You cannot deny, Hanlon," said Dooran, 
 " that Father O'Murtagh has expressed sound 
 Catholic theology. You cannot deny that Leo 
 XIII says practically as much in his encyclical to 
 America the * Longinqua oceani.' ' 
 
 " I have not attempted to deny it," Ambrose an 
 swered sharply, vexed, as on two or three previous 
 occasions he had been, by Dooran's patronizing 
 air and his assumption of infallibility ; " but it 
 seems to me that if the open-door policy is dan 
 gerous to Catholicity, the closed-door policy may 
 be carried so far as to be even more dangerous. 
 At least we ought to make it clear that our exclu- 
 siveness is only doctrinal. In all things pertain 
 ing to patriotism and the common good we ought 
 not to lay ourselves open to the charge of having 
 less good will than other Americans." 
 
 " Patriotism is all right in its place," O'Murtagh 
 replied. " There is no fear for our patriotism ; 
 we have proved it often enough. But neither pa-
 
 THE PRIEST 25 
 
 triotism nor any other secular matter should touch 
 upon the Catholic religion, which is not of this 
 world and must not be contaminated with the things 
 of this world. Last year a Catholic Grand Army 
 man died in my parish. The body was brought 
 into the church, and I went out upon the altar to 
 say the requiem mass. As I stepped into the sanc 
 tuary, what should I see but an American flag 
 resting upon the coffin. ' Take that flag out of the 
 church ! ' said I to the sexton. And he took it out. 
 Right enough in its place, it was a secular intru 
 sion in the house of God. The town fell into a fit 
 about it, but small concern their indignation was 
 to me." 
 
 Ambrose Hanlon, as we have said, was the son 
 of a Union soldier. No lesson of his life had been 
 more vigorously drilled into him than the lesson 
 of patriotism from the lips of his veteran father. 
 The lesson had been forgotten, one would be tempt 
 ed to suppose, in those fond dreams of an impres 
 sionable youth while under the spell of a theology 
 which finds itself ill at ease with the present and /\ 
 loves to linger about the grave-stones of the past. 
 But theologies are always academic and artificial; 
 patriotism is an elemental impulse of the blood. 
 It was no decadent dreamer, but the son of a soldier 
 that stood with flashing eyes before the Reverend 
 Richard O'Murtagh. 
 
 " Did you do that thing? " he exclaimed. 
 
 "Did I do that thing?" repeated O'Murtagh, 
 whose long years of domineering authority over
 
 26 THE PRIEST 
 
 the simple people of a country parish had not pre 
 pared him to bear contradiction gracefully. 
 " Didn't ye hear me say I did it? What is the 
 matter with ye? " 
 
 " Father O'Murtagh," said the young pastor of 
 Axton in a quieter tone, " I must say that I regret 
 your action. To me my country's flag is more 
 than merely secular. It is sacred. It is the em 
 blem of a hope and an ideal which are meant by 
 God to be for a benediction to humanity. I be 
 lieve in a truly divine purpose for our country; 
 and the flag as the emblem of that purpose pos 
 sesses a species of sanctity which makes it not only 
 not out of place in the house of God, but most fit 
 tingly at home there." 
 
 " This is simply wild enthusiasm, Hanlon," said 
 Dooran in his loftiest air. " It is absurdity to say 
 that religion and patriotism are in any sense iden 
 tical." 
 
 " Rank liberalism ! " growled the Irishman, ris 
 ing. " I want to be your friend, Hanlon," he con 
 tinued, taking his hat ; " and as a friend and an 
 older man let me give you a warning. Evil days 
 have come upon Catholicity. Liberalism has crept 
 into her sanctuary and has poisoned the minds of 
 hundreds of her priests. No such woe has ever 
 before fallen upon holy mother Church. Her con 
 secrated priests are unfilial to her and estranged 
 from her. They are abandoning that grand old 
 intolerant integrity of faith which has kept Catho 
 licity vigorous, and are flocking after the bias-
 
 THE PRIEST 27 
 
 phemies of higher criticism, modern broad-minded 
 ness and other abominations of latter-day infidel 
 ity. Beware of them, for the sake of your priest 
 hood and your faith. And as for that action of 
 mine which you have so eloquently condemned, let 
 me tell you that it was most cordially approved 
 by Bishop Shyrne, who, thank God, has kept the 
 faith." 
 
 This speech concluded, Father O'Murtagh, with 
 a cold invitation to Ambrose to pay him a visit, 
 took his departure. With him went the diminu 
 tive Dooran holding his head as high in the air 
 as it was possible for one of his stature to do. 
 
 It had not been a pleasant interview, and when 
 Father Hanlon was alone, he walked the room in 
 no little agitation. To be called a liberal ! he, the 
 most rigid of conservatives ! As though he did not 
 detest broad views and higher criticism as thor 
 oughly as O'Murtagh and Dooran possibly could. 
 But these men would drive Catholicity into a cor 
 ner, shut the church up as a cloister, and let the 
 rest of mankind pitch headlong to destruction. 
 They had- lost, so ran his thought, the essen 
 tial apostolic ambition which is not merely to hold 
 what we now have, but to go out and conquer that 
 portion of the world which is not yet ours. 
 
 True it is an abandoned age, hostile to Catho 
 licity and dominated by sinful license in thinking; 
 and revering as its masters unbelieving critics and 
 godless scientists. But the Church must win the 
 world again. She must send out into it apostles
 
 28 THE PRIEST 
 
 and scholars to convince it of her imperishable 
 truth. To stand aloof and make taunting faces 
 at the blind multitudes as they rush to perdition, 
 is worse than folly ; it is a sin against the priest's 
 primary duty of zeal. Yes, this work of re-con 
 verting modern men was the Church's, was his own 
 vocation. And how thrilling a one! Dropping 
 into a chair he gave himself up to his cherished 
 dream of becoming a great scholar; of vindicating 
 Catholicity before the world; of confuting the 
 errors of the age; of pointing out to the men of 
 our time their duty of returning to that invincible 
 Catholic truth which in madness their fathers had 
 deserted. He would study. He would write. 
 Here in little Axton he would begin to lay the foun 
 dation of a larger life-apostolate whose word would 
 go forth beyond the limits of this village, to the 
 state, to the nation, summoning back wayfaring 
 souls to the old, the beautiful, the divine and in 
 fallible Mother Church " Mater Ecclesia." 
 
 Into these high meditations Nahum Cuttle's 
 voice broke harshly, announcing that a visitor 
 awaited the priest in the parlor. Unwillingly 
 Father Hanlon went down stairs to be greeted by 
 a man of about fifty, clad in the dress of a laborer. 
 The new-comer was of tall, sinewy frame, with a 
 merry face, the brightest of blue eyes, and fea 
 tures on which Hibernian nativity was as unmis 
 takably stamped as shrewdness and mother-wit. 
 
 '* Good mornin', yer Reverence," began the Celt. 
 " Me name is Matt. Kiley, and ye're to be our pas- 
 thor, I believe."
 
 THE PRIEST 89 
 
 " Good morning, Matt.," returned the priest with 
 great heartiness, for the sunshine in that honest 
 face fell comfortingly on his heart. " Yes, I am to 
 be your pastor, and my name is Father Hanlon." 
 
 " Well, Father, it's glad I am to see ye, and 
 again it's not glad I am," said Matt., taking a 
 seat in obedience to a gesture from his pastor. 
 " Ye're a young man, Father, and perhaps an older 
 and tougher one would be in less danger of havin* 
 his heart broke in Axton." 
 
 " Now Matt, don't begin with discouraging me," 
 protested the priest. " What is the matter with 
 Axton? " 
 
 " Well, yer Reverence," answered Matt, medita 
 tively, evidently impressed with his high privilege 
 of giving advice to a man of learning ; " ye're the 
 shepherd of the flock, and it's sore and sorry a 
 shepherd is whin he goes back home at night fol 
 lowed by only a sheep or two. It's sore and sorry 
 he is whin he has to tell the Master that the other 
 ninety-nine have run off gallivantin' and won't lis 
 ten to the call home." 
 
 Father Hanlon, smiling faintly at Matt.'s ma 
 nipulation of the parable, said : 
 
 " Well, there is some consolation in bringing in 
 even one. But what is the trouble here? I am 
 dying for a word of encouragement. Nothing but 
 lamentation have I heard since I set foot in the 
 town. One would think these Axton people were 
 heathens." 
 
 " Those of them that are heathens, Father," re-
 
 30 THE PRIEST 
 
 sponded Matt., " should be our own. That's the 
 word, heathens! There's no other name for that 
 wild gang at the shops, and most of them come 
 from countries where they're supposed to be all 
 Catholics. How d'ye account for it, Father Han- 
 Ion, at all? Why, such wild, ragin' hate against 
 God and man ye never saw; and nearly every one 
 of the divvies is a baptized child of the Church." 
 
 " I don't know how to account for it," answered 
 Father Hanlon wearily. 
 
 " They'll break yer heart, Father, I'm afraid," 
 said Matt, looking tenderly at the frail boy-priest. 
 " If ye were one of the sledge-hammer kind I 
 wouldn't mind; but begorra, I think yer heart is 
 twice the size o' yer fist." 
 
 " I hope so," observed Ambrose ; " I have no vo 
 cation to be a pugilist. But go on with more news 
 about this parish of mine." 
 
 " Well," resumed Matt., putting on his amusing 
 air of importance again ; " here's how I figure it 
 out. Ye'll have about twenty-five families scat 
 tered about here that will stand by ye. After all, 
 that's not a bad start. Then there's the gang o' 
 furriners, a couple o' hundred o' thim. Maybe ten 
 out o' the whole pack will do anything for you. As 
 for the rest all ye can pray for is that they will 
 let ye alone." 
 
 " And the non-Catholics, what of them? " asked 
 the priest. 
 
 " They're all right, yer Reverence," was Matt.'s 
 prompt and positive answer. " Barrin' one or two
 
 THE PRIEST SI 
 
 like Squire Wakefield the curse o' the crows on 
 him! they'll be the dacintest neighbors ye ever 
 saw in all yer thravels. Some o' thim, Father, are 
 jools, shinin' jools. Mr. Danford, the minister, 
 upon my word, is a king, so he is. There he is with 
 his rich people and his fine church and his eddica- 
 tion I was in his libry once and the power o' 
 books mos' blinded me and what is he doin' ? 
 workin' fer the bloody anarchis' furriners, no less. 
 And as fer Dorothy Wakefield, th' ould Squire's 
 niece, if she's not an angel in human form ! She's 
 wondherful. She's almost the breath of life to my 
 poor darlin' little girl." 
 
 Here Matt, ceased speaking, and fumbled in 
 his pocket for a handkerchief with which he wiped 
 two great tears from his eyes tears unmistakably 
 of sorrow. 
 
 " Tell me about your little girl," interposed 
 Father Hanlon, " is she sick? " 
 
 The bright face and merry eyes were clouded 
 as Matt, answered: 
 
 " Father dear, she was the light of day to my 
 eyes, my poor little Mary. She went through the 
 high school in one class with Dorothy. The two 
 o' thim were like sisters and were the brightest 
 scholars in the class. But no one was the aqual 
 of my Mary fer handsomeness. It isn't me that 
 should talk like this, bein' her father ; but ask any 
 one in this town about Mary Kiley, and they will 
 tell you that not in the mim'ry of livin' man was 
 there a girl in Axton half so beautiful. But if
 
 38 THE PRIEST 
 
 she was beautiful, Father, she didn't know it. She 
 was too humble to know it. She kept house fer me 
 after her mother died ; and read books and papers 
 fer me; and sang from one room to the other of 
 our little cottage like an Irish lark. It was heaven 
 fer me to look at her. I could hardly believe that 
 this pure angel was my own child. Then came sore 
 misfortune. One day in winter the poor child fell 
 on the ice two years ago it was and ever since 
 she has been paralyzed. All day long I look at 
 her lyin' on her cot and my heart breaks. She is 
 beautifuler than ever. And, Father, listen! She 
 has become a saint. She lives with God. I do be 
 afraid to touch her, she is so holy. The light of 
 heaven is on her face. You will soon see her and 
 will understand these things better than I do. And 
 you will find, Father Hanlon, with all respect to 
 others, that little Mary Kiley is the whitest lily 
 that will be cared for by your hands." 
 
 " I hope my hands may be worthy," murmured 
 the priest. Then rising he laid his hands on Matt.'s 
 head and said: 
 
 " My dear friend, you have given me the word 
 of encouragement that my heart was craving. I 
 have no fear of failure now. When a priest is as 
 sisted by the prayers and sacrifices of a saint, he 
 cannot fail. Your dear child will avail for me be 
 fore God, and will gain by her hidden life of holi 
 ness a multitude of graces for our poor little par 
 ish. It is through such as she that God's greatest 
 work is done."
 
 THE PRIEST 33 
 
 Before Matt, took his leave the conversation 
 took a practical turn again, the burden of which 
 was that Father Hanlon would need a sexton, and 
 that according to all appearances, Matt, was ad 
 mirably fitted for the position, to which he was 
 forthwith appointed. Gratitude was deep in both 
 their hearts as they said good-by, Matt.'s for an 
 earthly favor, the priest's for what he deemed a 
 heavenly one.
 
 Ill 
 
 New England's thin soil has produced hardy if 
 not copious harvests, none more hardy than its 
 Puritan prejudices and prepossessions. For some 
 of which prejudices and prepossessions this 
 American nation can never be sufficiently thankful. 
 As to some others, we must say of them that they 
 were too narrow for an ampler stage of history, 
 and as incapable of guiding the complex society 
 of a great republic, as was Puritan theology of 
 controlling for all time the developments of re 
 ligion. But they die hard, these tenacious New 
 England ideas; for the reason that they die, as a 
 rule, not by assimilation, but by demolition. 
 They sprang up in minds accustomed to a the 
 ology if infallible and predestined certainty, and 
 prone to bring beneath the iron sway of that cer 
 tainty even matters so extra-theological as social 
 theories and political principles. This was natu 
 ral after all. For, given a fixed dogmatic theology, 
 and it is but a step to a dogmatic history, a dog 
 matic philosophy, a dogmatic sociology, these lat 
 ter partaking of the desperate positiveness of the 
 first. And once the dogmatic habit of mind is 
 formed, the watch-word and battle-cry is : " No 
 surrender ! " The thorough-going, consistent dog 
 matist is not a man to be convinced by reasoning 
 or persuaded by the quieter argument of historic 
 progress. He must in his day and hour, be 
 crushed flat by the iron heel of history lest he for- 
 
 34
 
 THE PRIEST 35 
 
 ever obstruct the march of wayfaring mankind, 
 in whose blood are discontent for certainties and 
 boundaries, and a fever for the adventure of the 
 untried and the new. 
 
 One of the prejudices thus held defiantly and 
 with semi-Calvinistic rigor in many Puritanically- 
 tempered minds was this, that the United States 
 was predestined to be the nurturing-ground only 
 of such sons of men as were born upon its soil; 
 that no foreigners should be admitted into the 
 pale, save those whom our strict domestic necessi 
 ties would allow to dribble through our fast-locked 
 gates ; and that if our country had in any sense 
 a world-mission it was to be achieved by displaying 
 our liberties to the gaze of the older nations which 
 might look on only from the safe distance of three 
 thousand miles. But that we should admit aliens 
 upon our stage in tens of thousands, hundreds of 
 thousands, and finally millions, teach them the 
 proper accent and gesture of American freedom, 
 and in a trice entrust them with important parts 
 in the vast drama of the free and sovereign United 
 States " Never," said the man of dogmatic 
 political economy ; " Never," he kept on saying, 
 while the fact thus authoritatively negatived was 
 assuming ever greater proportions ; " Never," 
 some one or other of his class will continue to re 
 peat until dogmatics of every sort are dead. 
 
 This inheritance of consecrated mental inflexi 
 bility was the most notable possession of Amos 
 Wakefield, the only man in Axton honored with
 
 36 THE PRIEST 
 
 the title of Squire. Not bothering his head with 
 theology to any serious extent, he poured the 
 whole contents of his dogmatism into the narrow 
 channel of his intransigeant ideas of politics and 
 the social order. This made the current of his 
 prejudices too swift to be checked or diverted by 
 quiet argument or by the stern actuality of history 
 taking place before his eyes. " No admission of 
 foreigners into the political privileges of this 
 country ! " was his creed a creed which he held 
 with boundless faith, but with little hope and less 
 charity. America, in his view, was to show forth 
 to less favored nations the sight, but withhold 
 from them the taste of liberty, as one might im 
 press upon the mind of a hungry youngster how 
 goodly a thing a ripe apple is by holding it before 
 him, expatiating upon its fragrance, taste, and 
 juiciness, but forbidding him to grasp it with his 
 own hands, and thrust it between his teeth. In 
 thus thinking, Mr. Wakefield never doubted that 
 he was in perfect harmony with Divine Provi 
 dence and the Creator's will. What cared he then 
 for the specious arguments or the vain enthusi 
 asms of miserable men who had lost or never 
 known the ancient spirit of the Puritans? Nay 
 more, what cared he for the criminal policy of his 
 country in calling across the Atlantic to the brain 
 and brawn of Europe, and in bestowing citizenship 
 upon them when they came? This indeed affected 
 his feelings and his temper ; but change in his prin 
 ciples and antipathies it made none. If the vile
 
 THE PRIEST 37 
 
 offscourings of other nations were admitted, let 
 them stew in their own abominations. Teach 
 them? mingle with them? attempt to make good 
 Americans of them ? " Rubbish ! " snapped Mr. 
 Wakefield. " Can you make a balloon out of a 
 bubble? An equal miracle it were to put old-time 
 Americanism into Irish, Italians and Poles ! " 
 
 In support of his principles, it must be con 
 fessed, he had not far to go for argument. For 
 among the foreign workingmen who had swarmed 
 into Axton when the building of the car-shops 
 startled that dear old village out of two and a half 
 centuries of tranquillity, there were several of vile 
 character, and many more of absolutely murder 
 ous ideas as to the nature of social order and civil 
 authority. Of this evil and dangerous minority 
 for the greater part of the new population were 
 simple, thrifty, and law-abiding one Murdock, 
 a downright anarchist, had made himself the 
 leader. Murdock was not without education, was 
 a clever demagogue, and skilful proselyter. For 
 several months previous to the opening of our 
 story he had been holding workingmen's meetings 
 on Sunday, at which violent harangues were made, 
 as host Cuttle had informed his clerical guest, 
 against the iniquity of property, and now and 
 then against the folly and tyranny of even more 
 sacred institutions. Not all these mob-orations, 
 however, were of Murdock's delivering. He had 
 as fellow-propagandists, two or three foreigners 
 as glib of tongue and revolutionary of principle
 
 38 THE PRIEST 
 
 as himself, who addressed their countrymen in 
 their own idiom, and, under Murdock's direction, 
 had so great a success with them as to give the old 
 inhabitants of Axton plainly to understand that 
 a real peril smouldered in the village which might 
 at any moment blaze forth into actual disaster. 
 
 While Squire Wakefield raged and devised vain 
 things against this condition of affairs, the Rev 
 erend Josiah Danforth, minister of the Axton 
 Unitarian Society, set himself vigorously to work 
 to overcome the evil. A few weeks before his 
 speech at the town-meeting in opposition to Mr. 
 Wakefield, he had established a settlement-house 
 among the foreigners, in which evening classes 
 were held and opportunities for innocent recrea 
 tion were afforded free of expense to all who 
 might care to make use of them. Mr. Danforth 
 moreover, exerted himself to gain the confidence 
 of these people by interesting himself in their 
 troubles and ambitions ; by interceding for them 
 on occasion with the superintendent of the shops ; 
 in a word, by lending himself to all that disinter 
 ested and earnest zeal could suggest in their be 
 half. Finally he took a step over which he hesi 
 tated long and at last ventured on with some mis 
 giving. Seeing his foreign friends destitute of all 
 religious ministrations, by reason of which desti 
 tution as he thought, Murdock's Sunday meetings 
 were so well attended, he had abandoned the Sun 
 day evening service in his own church, and gave 
 his Sabbath night to public worship in his own
 
 THE PRIEST 39 
 
 settlement-house. It was the simplest of services. 
 Prayer, New Testament reading, and a brief ad 
 dress on right living the whole not going beyond 
 a half hour and that was all. 
 
 Mr. Danforth's scruple in undertaking this ven 
 ture arose from his inborn horror and hatred 
 of proselytism. He knew that his settlement- 
 house congregation were as far removed from Uni- 
 tarianism as they could possibly be; and he 
 dreaded lest he be thought a wily subverter of 
 their traditional faith. Repeatedly he told them 
 that he cared nothing what their belief was, so 
 that it was honest belief; urged them to remain 
 faithful to the church they thought best ; and did 
 his utmost to drive into their heads the notion, 
 hitherto utterly incomprehensible to them, that men 
 could be fraternally united in spiritual aspiration 
 while hopelessly separated in systems of theology. 
 Whether they grasped this distinction or not, they 
 understood that Danforth was their true and self- 
 sacrificing friend. Soon their shyness and sus 
 picion gave way, and they approached him with 
 considerable cordiality. His classes were well at 
 tended, and his religious meetings brought enough 
 together to satisfy his mind that they were worth 
 continuing. 
 
 But all this only added fuel to the fire of Squire 
 Wakefield's prejudices, the last thing in the world 
 that the fire aforesaid stood in need of. The idea 
 of his own pastor going over to the foreign in 
 vader why, it was treason ! " Treason, Sir,"
 
 40 THE PRIEST 
 
 cried Mr. Wakefield to each male member of the 
 Axton congregation. " It is the desertion of Je 
 hovah's altar by Jehovah's consecrated prophet 
 for the foul idolatries of the Canaanites. It is 
 apostasy from the pure faith of our Puritan 
 fathers." 
 
 These were Mr. Wakefield's expressions in the 
 beginning of Mr. Danforth's apostolate. But 
 when the minister informed his congregation that 
 he felt called in conscience to hold Sunday night 
 services for the foreigners, thereby of necessity 
 abandoning evening worship in his own church, 
 Mr. Wakefield's wrath was too sublime for words. 
 The first shock over, he called upon the trustees 
 of the church to inquire if they did not think the 
 time had come to discharge their unfaithful ser 
 vant. Some of them sympathized with the 
 Squire's opposition to this late project of their 
 pastor, but were reluctant to proceed to radical 
 measures. Mr. Danforth, with all his foolish en 
 thusiasms, they said, was too valuable a man to 
 lose. His sermons breathed the finest spirit of 
 the Gospel, and his spotless life was still more elo 
 quent than the utterances of his lips. Let him 
 be warned, they suggested, but not deposed. Two 
 or three, however, of the trustees, vigorously up 
 held the minister, protesting that he was doing a 
 sacred duty too long neglected, in seeking souls 
 that had no shepherd ; and flatly declared that they 
 would oppose any action that would imply cen 
 sure of so noble and zealous a man.
 
 THE PRIEST 41 
 
 So the matter was dropped for the time being. 
 But Mr. Wakefield's determination to get rid of 
 the minister was not to be shaken. He seized 
 every opportunity of undermining his popularity; 
 he could listen in patience to no good reports of 
 him; he watched his every step if haply he might 
 discover some imprudence or neglect of duty. The 
 Squire had declared war, and his method of wag 
 ing war was not Saul's whose slender mercy spared 
 Agag, but Samuel's, who hacked that last wretched 
 survivor to pieces " before the Lord in Gilgal." 
 
 Two incidents occurred in Wakefield's house 
 hold which were not of a character to mitigate his 
 fury. The first of these was that his son and only 
 child, Richard Wakefield, a young man of twenty- 
 three, had left home after interminable disagree 
 ment with his father, and had gone to work at the 
 new shops, where, so rumor had it, he had become 
 not only intimate with several of the leaders of 
 the workingmen, but a friend and supporter of 
 Murdock. Although this latter point was not a 
 certainty in the public mind, the mere fact of its 
 being spoken of as a probability drove the Squire 
 to an act of characteristic asperity. He tore up 
 his will which bequeathed all his property to his 
 son, and wrote another in which young Richard 
 was totally disinherited. 
 
 The other matter was concerned with Dorothy 
 Wakefield, the Squire's niece, who had lived with 
 him since the death of her father, two years before. 
 Dorothy was twenty-one, possessed a comfortable
 
 42 THE PRIEST 
 
 income from her father's estate, and was conse 
 quently in no way beholden to her uncle. Still she 
 consulted him dutifully in her own affairs, did her 
 best to bring a little gentle pleasure into his harsh 
 life, and bore meekly his infirmities of temper. 
 Dorothy had been raised in the strict and relig 
 ious discipline of an old-time New England home. 
 Her father, the Squire's brother, was a man who 
 joined to a singularly religious disposition, where 
 of the inflexibility of its moral principles and the 
 tender benevolence of its charity were equally con 
 spicuous, a cultivation of mind which would not 
 have been discreditable to a scholar by profes 
 sion. Two lessons he impressed upon his daugh 
 ter's mind with what success we shall see how 
 sacred is duty, and how holy is service. Often 
 indeed he spoke to her of the Puritan traditions 
 of which he was justly proud; but oftener still 
 he reminded her that the best proof of noble an 
 cestry is not contained in tables of genealogy, but 
 in doing one's utmost for the present benefit of 
 the world. Utterly devoid of the feelings of false 
 aristocracy, and convinced that in a democratic 
 society a man's duty is to mingle with the com 
 mon lot and share the common life, he sent Dor 
 othy to the public schools of Axton, and rejoiced 
 to see her romping home surrounded by a group 
 of playmates of all sorts and conditions, who would 
 carry on their games upon his lawn or gather in 
 the music-room of his house for dancing and sing 
 ing to their hearts' content.
 
 THE PRIEST 43 
 
 Mr. Danforth came to Axton only a few months 
 before Mr. Wakefield's death ; but brief as was the 
 acquaintance of the two men, it was long enough 
 to bind them together in devoted friendship. The 
 young minister's fine scholarship and earnest zeal 
 won him instant welcome to Mr. Wakefield's heart 
 and home. " There is a man," he said more than 
 once to Dorothy after Danforth had left of an 
 evening, " who is what a son of the Puritans ought 
 to be. From the past he has received an inher 
 itance of nobility, but he is proving that he is no 
 idle legatee of a worthy name. He is achieving 
 his own nobility by so splendidly living for the 
 present and the future. My little girl must 
 be in her sphere what our young pastor is in 
 his." 
 
 It was natural then that Dorothy and the min 
 ister should be drawn closely together. The girl's 
 veneration for his character and talents was given 
 the warmer touch of sisterly affection by her 
 father's regard for him; and so it came to pass 
 that Dorothy, especially after Mr. Wakefield's 
 death, was a frequent visitor at the rectory where 
 Danforth lived with his mother. Natural, like 
 wise, was it that when the minister began his 
 work among the workingmen, Dorothy should 
 become his enthusiastic ally. Despite the plead 
 ings and reproaches of her uncle to which she 
 invariably gave answer that she knew her father 
 would approve her if he were living she under 
 took settlement-work, teaching a class of Italians
 
 44 THE PRIEST 
 
 in the evening, and visiting the laborers' houses 
 whenever she felt that she could be of service. 
 
 Thereby she became the second of the Squire's 
 domestic afflictions. Of course she was sorry to 
 disregard her uncle's wishes; but she had learned 
 from a better man lessons as to the meaning of 
 her life which convinced her that this transgres 
 sion was a duty. After the first few stormy days, 
 in which she was forced to listen to such phrases 
 as " apostasy from Puritan traditions ; " " dis 
 honor to the name of Wakefield ; " " unaccountable 
 mania to forget your station in society ; " and 
 many others of similar import, the subject was 
 dropped between them, and gradually their former 
 friendly relations were, in great part, restored. 
 But an outbreak of the Squire's ill-controlled tem 
 per was always imminent, and on the morning after 
 the town-meeting it occurred.
 
 IV 
 
 Mr. Wakefield slept but little that night of his 
 public humiliation. Stung to the quick of his 
 irascible nature, he nursed his injury in the soli 
 tude of his chamber until it was in a state of angry 
 inflammation. Probably during even his brief and 
 troubled sleep, as was certainly the case during 
 the long hours that he kept awake, his lips ceased 
 not to utter vituperation of Mr. Danforth and 
 heartfelt wishes for his deep damnation. " I'll get 
 even with that cub of a preacher ! " was his greet 
 ing to the clear, cold morning; and a wild roar to 
 the servant for his hot water, his salutation to the 
 household. Entering the breakfast-room, he paid 
 no attention to the " Good morning " of Dorothy, 
 who was waiting for him there. He went through 
 his meal in silence, pushed back his chair, and thus 
 began his well-premeditated attack. 
 
 " That confounded minister whom you are so 
 devoted to, insulted me publicly last night." 
 
 The color vanished from Dorothy's face, and 
 her voice shook as she answered : " I hope, Uncle, 
 it was nothing serious." 
 
 " Nothing serious ? " barked the Squire ; " I tell 
 you, when Amos Wakefield is attacked and hu 
 miliated before an Axton town-meeting, it is very 
 serious. Danforth, confound him ! told me in the 
 presence of my fellow-townsmen that I had no pa 
 triotism, and plainly implied that I was a fool. 
 
 And why? Because I respect my name and line- 
 
 45
 
 46 THE PRIEST 
 
 age, refuse to rub elbows with the scum of Europe, 
 and will not worship the Pope of Rome." 
 
 " Why, how did the Pope come into it? " asked 
 Dorothy, once more in perfect control of herself. 
 
 " A Roman priest is coming here to carry on his 
 superstitious services among the rabble," said the 
 Squire; "and as a Wakefield, jealous of the fair 
 name of this village, I protested against such an 
 infamy, and besought the citizens not to harbor 
 him or furnish him with facilities for establishing 
 a Romanist community here. I talked straight 
 from the shoulder; and I know the men present 
 were impressed. Then this preacher of yours got 
 up and insulted me, winding up with a lot of rub 
 bish nonsense about the flag and our country, 
 which of course turned all the idiots in the hall 
 against me." 
 
 " Why, Uncle " began Dorothy. 
 
 " Now look here, Dorothy," interrupted the 
 Squire, rising from his chair ; " I am not going to 
 listen to your apologies for Danforth, or possibly 
 to a speech in which you will inform me that it is 
 wicked to hate Rome. I am in no mood now to en 
 dure that sort of thing. What I want to know 
 is, Are you going to continue in your intimate 
 co-operation with an upstart who has publicly in 
 sulted the head of your family, and the nearest 
 kinsman you have living? Is it not clear to you 
 that your family honor requires you to cut loose 
 from him and from all his works and pomps? Am 
 I nothing to you, and is Danforth everything? "
 
 THE PRIEST 47 
 
 " You must know, Uncle, that it is for no per 
 sonal reason that I assist Mr. Danforth's settle 
 ment-work. It is for the sake of the good that I 
 can do. It is because I wish to live a somewhat 
 higher life than one of indolence and vanity." 
 
 " Let that pass," replied the Squire ; " Go on 
 eating macaroni with Italians if you like " 
 
 It was now Dorothy's turn to interrupt. Ris 
 ing from the table and taking a step toward the 
 door, she said: 
 
 " Uncle Amos, I cannot continue a conversa 
 tion with you, in which you so far forget the re 
 spect that is due to yourself and to me. Certainly 
 I should resent any unjust attack made upon you 
 by Mr. Dan forth or anybody else. When I learn 
 the details of the unfortunate incident, I shall do 
 what I think proper in the matter," and with this 
 the door closed behind her. 
 
 Her uncle was after her in an instant. Taking 
 her by the hand, he said : " Dorothy, forgive me 
 if I have been rude. I am overwrought, I suppose. 
 But you must come back and finish this discus 
 sion. I have much more to say to you." To this 
 persuasion Dorothy yielded, and she took the seat 
 she had just left. 
 
 " Dorothy," began Mr. Wakefield, " I have a 
 duty towards you, although you are, in great 
 measure, independent of me; and this duty now 
 calls for plain speaking. You visit Danforth's 
 house a great deal." 
 
 " That cannot be a new discovery," answered
 
 48 THE PRIEST 
 
 the girl. " I have been visiting Mr. Danforth and 
 his mother since before my father's death." 
 
 " But times and persons change," responded 
 Wakefield, with some abruptness. " Will you 
 please tell me if it is from Danforth's that you 
 come on these frequent occasions of late when you 
 reach home at ten o'clock and after? I refer to 
 the nights which are not devoted to your settle 
 ment work, as you call it." 
 
 " Yes," responded Dorothy calmly, " it is." 
 
 " Do you think it becoming," asked her uncle, 
 " to call so often and stay so late at the house of 
 an unmarried man? " 
 
 " Uncle," replied Dorothy, " I resent the hor 
 rible imputation of your question, since whatever 
 your sense of duty toward me, you should have 
 first sought for a reasonable justification of my 
 conduct. You have made suspicion your first con 
 clusion; whereas I think I deserve that it should 
 be your last. In these evening visits I see Mr. 
 Danforth scarcely at all as a rule. He is either 
 out or engaged in his study, and practically all 
 my time is spent with his mother. Besides this 
 explanation, there is another which I would pre 
 fer not to give unless you call for it." 
 
 " I do call for it," said the Squire. 
 
 " Very well," continued the girl, with a trace 
 of hesitancy in her voice ; " I remain later at the 
 rectory than I otherwise should, because Mr. 
 Danforth and his mother usually have evening 
 prayer and meditation at half-past nine, and I
 
 THE PRIEST 49 
 
 like to join them as often as I can, for it gives 
 me help and inspiration that I sorely need." 
 
 If any subtle reproach lay beneath these last 
 words, her uncle failed to see it; for he only 
 looked up at the ceiling and sent forth a long 
 whistle, evidently an expression of astonishment too 
 profound for words. 
 
 " So that's it, is it? " he remarked, more to him 
 self than to her. " The Pharisees were great fel 
 lows for prayer, I believe. 
 
 " Dorothy," he said, turning suddenly toward 
 his niece ; " Danforth is playing on your woman's 
 sentiment and feeling. He wants to marry you; 
 and in my soul I am convinced that it is your 
 money he is looking for." 
 
 " Your suspicions this morning are as baseless 
 as they are numerous," replied Dorothy. " The 
 farthest thought from Mr. Danforth's mind is 
 that of making love to me or to anyone else. You 
 do not know him at all. He is absolutely absorbed 
 in his work and study. And while I believe that 
 the woman who would become his wife would be 
 favored of Heaven, for he is a prince among men, 
 I doubt whether such a woman lives. And now, 
 you must excuse me." 
 
 Once more Mr. Wakefield was alone; and for a 
 long time he remained so, his head bowed upon his 
 breast, digesting his anger as best he could.
 
 Father Hanlon was a procrastinator by nature ; 
 and it was only after two days had elapsed from 
 his arrival in Axton that he set out to call upon 
 the minister to thank him for his speech at the 
 town meeting. In those two days he had acquired 
 and heard much concerning Mr. Danforth. In 
 the first place, he learned that this gentleman was 
 a Unitarian. Hanlon's heart fell when he re 
 ceived this information. He had a horror of Uni- 
 tarianism. Like nearly all Catholics and a large 
 number of orthodox evangelicals, he held the Uni 
 tarians could not be Christians, none deserving 
 that name save those who believed the traditional 
 dogma of the Incarnation. To belong to a relig 
 ion whose sole end and essence was to attack and 
 destroy Christ for so the priest understood the 
 Unitarian form of faith was a disastrous mis 
 fortune, an awful sacrilege. Half in pity, half 
 in fear, Father Hanlon, as he strode through the 
 snow on this memorable night of his interview 
 with his benefactor, whispered a prayer that the 
 good man who had spoken so valiantly for the 
 church, might be led to see the fundamental truth 
 of the Christian Gospel. Perhaps his step 
 quickened as the great hope flashed upon his mind 
 perhaps he, Ambrose Hanlon, would bring this 
 about; perhaps this was the very purpose of 
 Providence in sending him to Axton. " Adveniat 
 regnum tuum, fiat voluntas tua ! " he murmured, 
 
 lifting his pale face to the stars. 
 
 50
 
 THE PRIEST 51 
 
 Another report of the minister had reached 
 Father Hanlon. Mr. Danforth had been holding 
 religious services among the laborers, of whom 
 the majority were Italians, and consequently 
 Catholics. This was disquieting. He should be 
 obliged to call Danforth's attention to the matter, 
 and he feared a quarrel in consequence. The thing 
 must be stopped ; that was plain. But would Dan 
 forth be liberal enough to see the Catholic point 
 of view? 
 
 Thinking of these matters, Hanlon ascended 
 the steps of the rectory and touched the bell. His 
 first visit to a Protestant minister's house, and 
 that minister a Unitarian ! As he heard the bell 
 ring inside a strange feeling of revulsion came 
 over him. It was too bad that he had been obliged 
 to come. He was horribly out of place. Think 
 of a Catholic priest beneath the roof of a cold, 
 rationalistic unbeliever! But he would cut the 
 visit very short. And if Danforth, in the courte 
 ous manner common to these Unitarian ministers, 
 as rumor has it, subtly attacked the Church, he 
 would find that the pastor of the Axton Catholics 
 had courage and science enough to disconcert him. 
 " By the way, what were those proofs of Christ's 
 Divinity we got in Rome ? " The servant took his 
 card while he was recollecting them, and returned 
 in a moment to request the visitor to step upstairs 
 into Mr. Danforth's study, where the minister, 
 just then detained, would join him in five minutes. 
 This was cordial, and Ambrose felt a little less
 
 52 THE PRIEST 
 
 agitated as he stepped across the threshold of Mr. 
 Danforth's sanctum. 
 
 " Mr. Danforth," suggested the maid, " says 
 that you may like to look over his books while you 
 are waiting." 
 
 Father Hanlon did not at once notice the book 
 shelves, though they covered three sides of the 
 large room from floor to ceiling, while books to 
 the number of perhaps a hundred, lay in orderly 
 piles on the floor. His eyes were drawn to an 
 other object, the last in the world he expected to 
 see in a Unitarian house. This was an ivory cru 
 cifix hung against a mat of black velvet above Dan 
 forth's desk. 
 
 " What in the world," was the visitor's almost 
 audible exclamation, " is he doing with that ? 
 Surely Unitarians have no spiritual life, but only 
 a frozen code of cultured behavior, and what 
 relation can there be between that sort of thing 
 and this symbol of the saints ? " 
 
 The crucifix was the sole decoration of the room, 
 except an engraving of Rembrandt's " St. Paul." 
 Father Hanlon stood looking at the sacred sign, 
 his astonishment growing every moment. " Can 
 it be that the man really believes in Christ? " his 
 musing went on. " Is he one of those ministers 
 of whom the number doubtless is large, who are 
 secretly convinced of the Church's truth? " With 
 a prayer once more rising to his lips, he turned 
 to the laden shelves. 
 
 We have said that Ambrose was a student by
 
 THE PRIEST 53 
 
 instinct. Now as his eye ranged along that fine 
 array of volumes, the old, eager love of scholar 
 ship dominated him. With earnest face and eyes 
 shining with a new light, he threw his glance from 
 shelf to shelf, from book to book, hungry for 
 knowledge, aflame with the scholar's sacred desire 
 to know, to know. Here was a section given up 
 to philosophy, the thinkers of ancient Greece 
 standing close to the minds of modern Germany, 
 England and France. Hanlon knew his Aquinas, 
 and felt no doubt that the Angelic Doctor was the 
 greatest of philosophers, compared with whom the 
 " moderns " the " isti moderni " of his sneering 
 seminary syllogism were but blundering pygmies. 
 Still, as he gazed upon the oevres completes of the 
 great French speculators, and the gesammelte 
 Werke of the German critical school, he realized 
 that he ought to know these men, and an uneasy 
 sense came over him of the insufficiency of sneer 
 ing syllogisms as an introduction to Kant, Fichte, 
 Hegel, and their school. 
 
 Here, too, was Literature, embracing the mas 
 terpieces of five languages, the classic tongues, 
 German, French and English. Hanlon had for 
 gotten his Greek, and was innocent of German, 
 and it was with a sigh that he contemplated treas 
 ures at present beyond his reach. History next! 
 and the priest wondered how Danforth could have 
 afforded so lordly a collection. " Religion ! " was 
 the printed card over the neighboring alcove, and 
 Father Hanlon fairly flung himself upon the books
 
 54 THE PRIEST 
 
 beneath it. Here were the German critics whom he 
 was cherishing the desire of refuting, those inde 
 fatigable searchers into the Old Testament and the 
 New, against whom Bishop Shyrne and the semi 
 nary professors had shot so many shafts. How 
 voluminous they were, with their endless tomes of 
 " Handkommentaren," " Einleitungen," and " Er- 
 klarungen." " I'll begin German this very night," 
 whispered Hanlon in an ecstasy of expectation. 
 But what books are these? Catholic theology and 
 Catholic devotion ! In Heaven's name, what sort 
 of man was this Unitarian minister? Here were 
 the thick quartos of St. Thomas' Summa ; near by 
 a numerous set of Papal bulls and decrees ; and 
 filling two shelves, were John of the Cross, Tauler, 
 Ruysbroek, a Kempis and other doctors of Cath 
 olic mysticism. In a maze of astonishment, the 
 priest turned again to the German critics, and 
 took from its place a volume of the Bishop's 
 great foeman, Harnack. He turned the pages, un 
 intelligible to him as they were, with a strange 
 feeling of mental enlargement, as though the sight 
 and contact of so much learning had already given 
 him a scholar's patent of nobility. While he still 
 held the book, Danforth entered the room. 
 
 " My dear Father Hanlon, this visit does me 
 honor. I thank you for it, and cordially welcome 
 you to my house and to Axton. I had heard of 
 your arrival, and was anxious to meet you. I am 
 sure we shall be the best of friends." 
 
 The minister reinforced these warmly-spoken
 
 THE PRIEST 55 
 
 words with a manly grip of the hand, and a look 
 of friendliness which won Father Hanlon on the 
 instant. The priest expressed his gratitude in 
 the lower tone and less vigorous manner which were 
 natural to him, and Danforth said : 
 
 " Let's have a smoke. I have a famous cigar 
 here which I keep only for the elect." 
 
 Father Hanlon did not smoke. 
 
 " Too bad," laughed Danforth ; " but you will 
 not object if I indulge this bit of sensuality." 
 Seating himself upon his revolving desk-chair and 
 blowing a fragrant cloud from his lips with a fer 
 vent " Ah " of gratification, the minister went on : 
 
 " I see you have been looking into Harnack. 
 What a glorious scholar he is! He has a good 
 deal of religion in him, too. I hate a critic who is 
 without reverence. I must confess I take a more 
 radical view than Harnack of the Lucan author 
 ship. I prefer Holtzmann on that point. I pre 
 sume you are inclined to the traditional view ? " 
 
 " The presumption is probably correct," an 
 swered Hanlon ; " but I am not familiar with Har- 
 nack's views on the matter." 
 
 " He aims at proving," explained Danforth, 
 " largely on a study of style, that the third Gospel 
 and the We-sections of Acts were written by one 
 and the same man, Luke namely. Did you ever 
 happen to draw up a comparative table of the 
 Greek vocabulary of the third Gospel and the 
 We-sections ? " 
 
 " No," the priest responded, wondering what in
 
 56 THE PRIEST 
 
 the world " We-sections " were ; " I have not yet 
 done any work of that kind." 
 
 " That volume of the Dogmengeschichte in your 
 hand is the one in which Harnack discusses the 
 origins of Gnosticism," said Danforth. " I wish 
 he had employed the religionsgeschichtliche 
 Meihode somewhat more adequately on that in 
 tensely interesting point. I am inclined to regard 
 Gnosticism as a vast reservoir of ancient ethnic 
 mysticism. Anz has tried to carry back Gnosti 
 cism's origins even to Babylonia, and I think he is 
 on the right track. By the way, have you read 
 Harnack's ' Reden tmd Aufsatze? ' 
 
 Pedantic as all this appears, there was abso 
 lutely no trace of affectation in the young minis 
 ter's manner. These studies were evidently his 
 delight, and he ran on with the technicalities of 
 them, thinking that the guest whom he had sur 
 prised with Harnack in his hand, was as familiar 
 with them as himself. 
 
 " I am afraid that I have unconsciously led you 
 into a false impression," said Father Hanlon, with 
 a frank smile, which did not, however, dispel cer 
 tain indications of embarrassment. " I cannot 
 read German; but if our acquaintance shall by 
 good fortune be long enough, I hope to discuss 
 this literature with you some day, for I intend 
 to begin learning the language at once," 
 
 " Admirable ! " exclaimed Danforth. " It's hor 
 ribly hard, German is, at least I found it so ; but 
 I know you will soon master it, and remember, all
 
 THE PRIEST 57 
 
 my books are at jour disposal. Take any of them 
 you wish, and keep them as long as you please." 
 
 " I will not forget so much kindness," was the 
 priest's cordial acknowledgment. 
 
 " There is one scholar in your Church," said 
 Danforth, " whom I admire from my heart, and 
 that is the Abbe Loisy. I hope you share my feel 
 ing for that splendid student ? " 
 
 " I regret that I cannot think favorably of 
 Loisy," answered the priest. " He is recklessly 
 attacking the doctrines of the Church, and I must 
 say that I cannot tolerate such men." 
 
 " Dear me ! that is too bad," said the minister, 
 a look of distress coming into his face. " Surely 
 you are too hard on him in saying that he is reck 
 less in his studies." 
 
 " I think he is reckless," persisted Hanlon, " for 
 he has been repeatedly censured and warned by 
 the highest authorities in the Church. His disobe 
 dience is wilful and stubborn." 
 
 " But do look at it in another way," argued 
 Danforth, turning his candid eyes earnestly upon 
 the other man. " Consider this lonely student liv 
 ing in laborious solitude, his heart pure, his con 
 duct irreproachable, seeking truth, spending him 
 self for truth, persecuted for truth. Do you for 
 get his sufferings ? Do you think it is for a whim 
 that he incurs disgl-ace and anathema? Why, 
 every feature of that great priest's life is simply 
 glorious. I revere the man." 
 
 " He ought to submit his personal views to the
 
 58 THE PRIEST 
 
 command of authority," was Hanlon's reply, given 
 in a decisive tone. 
 
 " But truth cannot thus be fastened upon us like 
 a bridle on a horse* Truth reaches us by way of 
 reason and conscience, and until reason and con 
 science approve a thing as true, no human dictate 
 can possibly drive it into a free intelligence. Per 
 sonality, Father Hanlon, is the divinity within us. 
 Personality is life. Personality is the soul. To 
 crush that is to commit the most horrible of mur 
 ders. I cannot contain myself when I see God's 
 infinitely precious gifts thrust into shackles by 
 courts, curias or kings. Why, the tears of indig 
 nation burn my eyes to this day, when I think of 
 seventy-year-old Galileo standing up before the 
 Roman Inquisition and forced to speak a lie 
 against his own intelligence; or when I see pure 
 and profound scholars in the Protestant church 
 men like Robertson Smith driven from their 
 posts of teaching by ignorant and despotic bigots. 
 I became a Unitarian because I felt that in that 
 fellowship, whatever the faults of Unitarianism, 
 and they are many, the greatest thing was held 
 to be personality freely growing towards its 
 God." 
 
 Danforth spoke these words leaning forward 
 in his chair, and his wonderful voice rang with 
 passionate sincerity. 
 
 " But, dear Father Hanlon," he continued, as 
 after a moment's pause, the priest remained silent ; 
 " we shall study together. Yes, and since we are
 
 THE PRIEST 59 
 
 Christ's ministers, we shall pray together. God 
 guide us both ! Tell me how you like Axton." 
 
 " That brings me to the main purpose of my 
 visit," said Hanlon, far from being perfectly at 
 ease. " I came to thank you for your noble words 
 at Tuesday's town-meeting. You did me and my 
 people a service, a great service, and with all my 
 heart I thank you. I was present, though unrec 
 ognized, and so know the full extent of your mag 
 nanimous action." 
 
 "Were you really there?" laughed Danforth. 
 " What a pity Mr. Wakefield is so narrow. His 
 brother was the noblest of men. You know old 
 Amos is after me too," the minister had dropped 
 back into his boyish manner " but I don't care. 
 I'm doing my duty in my own way, and it will 
 take more than this honorable Squire to stop me 
 from doing it. You see it's the old trouble be 
 tween the conservative and the liberal " Hanlon 
 did not miss the laugh in Danf orth's eye " I've 
 been trying to do a little work out of traditional 
 boundaries, and the Squire is maneuvering to fix 
 the bit in my mouth." 
 
 " You are meeting the usual fate of innovators," 
 said Father Hanlon with more geniality than he 
 had yet shown. 
 
 Danforth laughed. " I wonder," he said, " what 
 sort of imbecile asylum this world would be but 
 for innovators. Even yet we are far from ade 
 quately appreciating them. Do you know, I think 
 civilization will continue to be semi-barbaric until
 
 60 THE PRIEST 
 
 the word ' apostate ' ceases to be a term of dis 
 grace and becomes a word of honor." 
 
 " That is startling ! " exclaimed the priest. 
 
 " But is it not true? " pursued Danforth. 
 " Why, the word ought to be glorified if only be 
 cause that man has lived " and he pointed to the 
 " St. Paul." " * Apostate ' was hissed into his ear 
 from synagogue and street, by bigots who knew not 
 that Saul of Tarsus was to be the patron-saint of 
 apostates for conscience' sake forever. Yes, and 
 a greater than Paul was an apostate." Dan- 
 forth's voice sank low, as though he were meditat 
 ing with himself. " Jesus was an apostate. And 
 ignorant authority, brutal, hierarchic, conserva 
 tism killed Him for His apostasy, His magnificent, 
 His divine apostasy ! " 
 
 Both men were silent. Danforth's eyes looked 
 towards the floor; Hanlon's, wide opened, were 
 fixed on Danforth. The thoughts of each were 
 profound indeed. 
 
 A bell rang in the room, and Father Hanlon 
 rose, apologizing for his long stay. The minis 
 ter assured him that his visit was all too short. 
 " That is my mother's ring," he added. " She was 
 not aware that I had company, and in case I am 
 not engaged, she summons me at this hour every 
 night for evening prayer and meditation." 
 
 It cost the priest an effort to conceal his aston 
 ishment. 
 
 Danforth looked searchingly at the priest, and 
 continued : " Since you are a clergyman you would
 
 THE PRIEST 61 
 
 be very welcome to our little devotional circle. 
 My mother and I, and sometimes Miss .Wakefield, 
 are all that are present. I would like to have you 
 join us, and my mother would be pleased. But 
 your theology forbids praying with heretics, and 
 I wish you would not feel the least constraint. 
 ' Nulla communicatio cum haereticis in divinis ' is 
 the Catholic axiom in the matter, isn't it ? " 
 
 Who can account for those strange sub-con 
 scious forces which at times fling suddenly into our 
 brains and upon our lips, judgments and resolu 
 tions so foreign to our ordinary thought and tem 
 per, that afterwards we marvel that we have formed 
 them? In some inexplicable impulse of this sort, 
 Father Hanlon said : " Your invitation is an 
 honor; I will attend your devotions with sincere 
 pleasure." 
 
 They went downstairs together, the priest's 
 mind in such a tumult that he took no notice of 
 the radiant pleasure that beamed on the face of his 
 host; and understanding out of Danforth's rapid 
 utterance only a few words to the effect that his 
 mother was a Quaker, and that meditative devo 
 tions were so dear to her. It was the sight of Mrs. 
 Danforth's face which recalled him to wide-awake 
 consciousness. Hanlon had never seen such spir 
 itual beauty on a human countenance. Mrs. Dan- 
 forth was midway between sixty and seventy; her 
 hair was of glistening white; old age had left its 
 usual traces upon her brow; but her features were 
 glorified with a peace and purity that seemed to
 
 62 THE PRIEST 
 
 glow with the light of another world. Father 
 Hanlon held her hand and gazed at her, saying 
 no word to her first greeting, able for the moment 
 only to contemplate that wonderful face, whose 
 loveliness he knew could come only from within and 
 from above. 
 
 " Father Hanlon is going to be a dear friend of 
 ours, mother," said her son. 
 
 " I welcome thee, friend," said Mrs. Danforth, 
 looking full into Hanlon's eyes, whereat the priest 
 understood where Danforth had got the striking 
 candor of his gaze. The sweet voice went on: 
 " It is a happy promise for our friendship that we 
 first greet thee at this moment of our communion 
 with the Holy Spirit. The Lord Jesus cometh 
 with thee, friend, for we two or three are about 
 to come together in His name, and He will be in 
 the midst of us." 
 
 Now for the first time Father Hanlon noticed 
 a tall young woman, who came forward with ex 
 tended hand and a winning smile upon her beauti 
 ful face, as Danforth made the necessary intro 
 duction to Miss Dorothy Wakefield. 
 
 " It is a pleasure indeed to meet you, Father 
 Hanlon," she said. " I hope that we shall see 
 much of you. Your coming is a great gain to 
 Axton." 
 
 Two or three minutes of conversation followed, 
 and then Mrs. Danforth walked to a table in the 
 middle of the room whereon lay an open Bible, 
 before which she knelt. Dorothy knelt at her left,
 
 THE PRIEST 63 
 
 her son at her right, and Father Hanlon was next 
 to him. The priest's conscience smote him sorely. 
 " Nulla communicatio cum haereticis in divinis," 
 ("No joining in worship with heretics") one of 
 the fundamental laws of his church, kept throb 
 bing within his brain. The palliatives that he ad 
 ministered to his guilty soul were that he would 
 silently say Catholic prayers while the others 
 were at their heretical devotions ; that he should 
 never be found here again ; and that at the worst, 
 his coming into this forbidden circle was an act 
 of impulse, not deliberation. 
 
 The voice of the old Quakeress fell upon his 
 ears : " Thus shall you pray " : Hanlon lifted his 
 face and there was great tenderness in it and 
 looked at her, as with downcast eyes she conned 
 the sacred page. After a moment's pause she 
 went on, with a long interval after each word: 
 " Our Father who art in heaven." 
 Here she stopped, her eyes closed, her clasped 
 hands rested upon the book, her head inclined gen 
 tly forward, until it was bowed low, and perfect 
 silence fell upon the group. It was wonderful. 
 Tears rushed into the young priest's eyes, and he 
 too bowed his head. Five minutes ten fifteen 
 and still they meditated. As Father Hanlon 
 for perhaps the twentieth time was thanking God 
 for souls like these, and praying that they might be 
 led to the truth of Catholicism, Mrs. Danforth 
 placed the book before her son, who read with 
 devout feeling the canticle of Simeon:
 
 64 THE PRIEST 
 
 " Now lettest thou thy servant depart O Lord 
 According to thy word in peace. 
 For mine eyes have seen thy salvation 
 Which thou hast prepared before the face of all 
 
 peoples 
 
 A light for revelation to the Gentiles, 
 And the glory of thy people Israel." 
 
 The book was passed to Miss Wakefield, who 
 read in a sweet, full voice: 
 
 " Make ye ready the way of the Lord ; 
 
 Make his path straight. 
 
 Every valley shall be filled, 
 And every mountain and hill shall be brought low; 
 
 And the crooked shall become straight, 
 
 And the rough ways smooth 
 And all flesh shall see the salvation of God." 
 
 When Dorothy finished, Mrs. Danforth said to 
 the priest : " Friend, wilt thou speak a word to 
 our spirit? " 
 
 Father Hanlon closed his eyes, and said, in a 
 voice of quiet earnestness : 
 
 " May the blessing of Almighty God our heavenly 
 Father, descend upon us and abide with us in the 
 spirit of Christ our Lord." 
 
 That night Ambrose Hanlon sat in his lonely 
 chamber till long after midnight, nearer to his 
 own soul, nearer to the heart of ultimate and eter 
 nal Reality than ever in his life before.
 
 VI 
 
 Mr. Danforth's settlement-house was a two- 
 story frame building, standing in a row of similar 
 edifices which had lately been put up for the ac 
 commodation of the laborers at the car-shops. It 
 differed from the surrounding buildings only by 
 being somewhat larger than most of them; by a 
 flag-pole in front which flew the Stars and 
 Stripes on patriotic holidays; and by the inscrip 
 tion " Fraternity House," painted above the en 
 trance. By breaking down the partitions on the 
 lower floor, a hall of fairly ample dimensions was 
 formed, which served the three-fold purpose of 
 reading-room, class-room, and general meeting 
 place. Upstairs there were three class-rooms. 
 The class work comprised principally American 
 history and civics, English and arithmetic. Only 
 boys and men followed the evening courses in these 
 branches ; but on one afternoon a week the girls 
 and women of the neighborhood were invited to the 
 house for helpful instruction in house-wifery and 
 in English. Very few women responded; but the 
 classes for boys and men were almost over 
 crowded. Mr. Danforth, Miss Wakefield, and a 
 Miss Hamilton, daughter of one of the church 
 trustees who had defended the minister against 
 Squire Wakefield, were the hard-driven corps of 
 teachers. Danforth taught history and civics, or 
 as his own phrase had it, history and patriotism. 
 
 Let us look in upon this busy " Fraternity 
 65
 
 66 THE PRIEST 
 
 House," the evening after the meeting of priest 
 and minister. Dorothy is endeavoring to explain 
 the sad mystery of some of our perfect tenses 
 and past participles. " Do, did, done ; " " go, 
 went, gone ; " " run, ran, run ; " and other pro 
 fundities of English grammar she is trying hard to 
 fix in the mind and memory of her pupils. A 
 strange, interesting group, these same pupils! 
 There are twenty of them, ranging from fourteen 
 years of age to thirty-five. Three are Jews, two 
 are Poles ; one is a bright-faced Irish lad ; the rest 
 are Italians. All are attentive. With earnest 
 faces and hard-working brains, now and then with a 
 wrinkling of foreheads, they are following their 
 fair young teacher as she leads them a few steps 
 nearer to Knowledge, that Ideal which stirs the 
 heart of the immigrant to America almost as soon 
 as his eyes catch sight of the Statue of Liberty 
 from the steerage. They revere Dorothy, these 
 Americans-to-be, and are proud of being her 
 pupils. At their daily work they often speak her 
 name with affection, telling of this little incident 
 and that which show her goodness of heart; how 
 she bears with so-and-so, who is miraculously 
 stupid ; how tactfully she corrects their mistakes ; 
 how kind she was to visit some sick child the other 
 day but there would be no end of describing 
 how they spoke of her. She was Saint Dorothy to 
 them all. Had it ever happened that some coarse 
 tongue had made base use of her name well, 
 there were great furnaces in the shops, with doors
 
 THE PRIEST 67 
 
 ever open to fiery caverns within, and through these 
 doors it were not impossible to thrust a full- 
 grown man. It was not for her beautiful face that 
 they loved her. This motive, strong as it might 
 have been, was the least of all. Nor yet was it 
 chiefly owing to her sympathy and patience. It 
 was dominantly because she displayed before their 
 eyes that quality which touches the ultimate ele 
 ments of every human soul, self-sacrifice, gener 
 ous and unpurchased self-sacrifice for others' 
 sakes. Shall we not say that these foreigners 
 were favored of Providence in learning American 
 liberty in this way of Consecration? 
 
 From desk to blackboard, from blackboard to 
 desk goes Dorothy, illustrating the right and the 
 wrong use of the English verb. All minds, as we 
 have said, are intent upon the explanations. But 
 one pair of eyes, particularly dark and brilliant, 
 never leave the teacher's face. They barely glance 
 at her written words and diagrams. They are for 
 her, not for her chalk-lines on a board. The pos 
 sessor of them is Dorothy's brightest pupil, Pas- 
 quale Ciasca. A year ago he came to America 
 from Calabria, a youth of twenty-four. For now 
 two months he has been attending the settlement- 
 school. In another school too he is a pupil, one 
 not so helpful to him Murdock's gang of radi 
 cals. There also he is bright, and is learning fast. 
 Keen, resolute, passionate, he is a man to whom 
 it is more than ordinarily important which influ 
 ence shall predominate that of the Puritan girl 
 or that of the revolutionary demagogue.
 
 68 THE PRIEST 
 
 Dorothy, the preliminary explanations fin 
 ished, tells the class to write five short sentences 
 illustrating the forms of these troublesome verbs. 
 This is no small task for many of her charges, 
 and these duller unfortunates bend over their 
 sheets of paper with more evidence of distress than 
 if they were straining at a windlass to lift a thou 
 sand pounds of iron. As they write, Dorothy 
 walks slowly down the aisles, now checking a blun 
 der just as the pencil is about to perpetrate it; 
 again dropping a word of praise for a difficulty 
 successfully surmounted. When she reaches 
 Pasquale's seat she finds that he alone has finished 
 his five sentences. They are all correct. 
 
 " Good, Pasquale ! " she says. 
 
 " I not good ; you good," answers Pasquale. 
 
 Their eyes meet, the teacher's shining with ap 
 probation, the pupil's filled with something far 
 deeper. 
 
 " You will make-a me good in the Engleesh ? " 
 whispers Pasquale, anxious to detain her. 
 
 Dorothy smiles again. 
 
 Catching her hand and drawing her nearer to 
 him, he adds in a lower whisper that throbs with 
 passion : 
 
 " Make-a me good in everathing." 
 
 " I will help you all I can," answers Dorothy, 
 releasing herself and walking on with flushed face. 
 
 The class goes on with its elementary drudgery, 
 nineteen poor heads wrestling with the dry but 
 necessary intricacies of our English speech. The
 
 THE PRIEST 69 
 
 twentieth head, careless now of mood and tense, 
 is heated with the fires of a south-Italian heart. 
 What dreams is it cherishing? Possibly what 
 wild and vengeful purposes may it not be conceiv 
 ing? 
 
 Toward the end of the hour, Mr. Danforth 
 comes in to consult about something with Miss 
 Wakefield. While they stand near together talk 
 ing in low tones, Pasquale's face becomes not 
 pleasant to look upon. The shadow of an angry 
 scowl falls upon it, and the swarthy features 
 darken with evil omen. Deep in his throat rum 
 bles a litany of Calabrian curses. If Mr. Dan 
 forth is the cause of this change he had better look 
 to himself. There is loose gunpowder in Pas 
 quale's nature, and Murdock is teaching him to 
 play with fire. 
 
 As the minister was leaving Dorothy at the 
 Wakefield gate that night, the girl said in a voice 
 that was not without traces of agitation : " Mr. 
 Danforth, you have warned me before about Pas- 
 quale Ciasca ; but I have laughed the matter away, 
 not wishing to lose a bright pupil, especially as 
 he is in such danger from his associates. Now, 
 however, I must acknowledge that you understood 
 him better than I. I shall make no further objec 
 tion to your dismissing him." 
 
 Danforth answered that he felt greatly relieved 
 that Miss Wakefield had come to this decision, 
 and said that Pasquale had attended her class for 
 the last time.
 
 70 THE PRIEST 
 
 Five minutes later, as the minister was ascend 
 ing the steps of his house, a large stone was hurled 
 close to his head and crashed through the glass 
 panel of the door. Danforth's lip curled in a 
 grim, stern smile. " This is only the beginning," 
 he said.
 
 VII 
 
 Father Hanlon procured the town-hall for an 
 indefinite period for his Sunday services, despite 
 the indignant protest of Squire Wakefield. A 
 temporary altar, easily set up and as easily re 
 moved, was put together upon the stage, and on 
 the young pastor's first Sunday in Axton, he made 
 official acquaintance with his congregation. Matt. 
 Kiley had gone through the parish with the an 
 nouncement of services, accompanied with elo 
 quent praises of Father Hanlon's marvelous learn 
 ing and " cleverness." " Cleverness " was Matt.'s 
 supreme word, the last gasp of an exhausted vo 
 cabulary to express the combination of mighty 
 genius and heroic sanctity. About a hundred 
 people, including nearly a score of children, were 
 present in response to the exhortations of the new 
 sexton who was not inaptly named for an Apostle. 
 Five in the congregation were Italians, all women. 
 Well toward the front sat Miss Wakefield. 
 
 Father Hanlon's initial sermon was simple, 
 winning, and impressive. His sympathetic nature 
 and deep spirituality gave his words swift con 
 veyance from ear to heart. Only as an after 
 thought had any of his hearers ever commented 
 on the rhetorical features of his discourses. He 
 spoke too straight to souls for that. On this 
 morning he gave voice to thanksgiving to God in 
 
 behalf of his people for the grace that had come 
 
 71
 
 72 THE PRIEST 
 
 to Axton in the offering of the Sacrifice of the 
 Mass. He reminded the congregation that though 
 they were a little flock and poor in earthly advan 
 tages, they belonged to the mighty church of his 
 tory ; the church which was already venerable with 
 immemorial age when the sects that to-day dis 
 pute her claims were born. Of this great mother 
 they must be proud. The whole world should be 
 proud of her, since it owed to her civilization and 
 learning as well as the knowledge of the Christian 
 faith. But this debt modern men had forgotten, 
 or knew not of, and therefore their contempt of 
 her. Only for ignorance the world to-day would 
 return to Catholicity ; ignorance of her claims, her 
 sanctity, her history. The priest closed by say 
 ing that in order to give his parishioners a better 
 knowledge of their faith, he would begin on the 
 following Sunday a course of sermons on the 
 marks of Christ's true Church, and would show 
 that these marks belong to Catholicism alone. 
 
 All this was spoken with no shadow of arro 
 gance. Clearly Ambrose Hanlon's conviction was 
 rooted in sincerity that his form of faith was 
 necessary for the salvation of men, and that its 
 intellectual basis was solid beyond peril. While he 
 was reading the Post-communion after he had fin 
 ished speaking, the thought flashed upon his mind 
 that Josiah Danforth was not ignorant of Chris 
 tian, and very probably of Catholic theology, and 
 yet he was a Unitarian, the furthest possible dis 
 tance from Catholicity. A moment's disturbance
 
 THE PRIEST 73 
 
 came with the thought, but it soon passed away, 
 and left Father Hanlon's soul in the peace and 
 pride of undoubting faith. Danforth had not re 
 ceived " the gift of faith," that was all. 
 
 That evening Father Hanlon paid his first visit 
 to Mary Kiley. Her father had not exaggerated 
 her beauty. As she lay on her cot in the neat par 
 lor of the little cottage, and smiled joyously as she 
 took the young priest's hand, her face might have 
 served well for the Madonna of resignation. Pure 
 as snow was that face, its timid eyes brown and 
 large; its sweet smile suggestive of both sanctity 
 and pain. 
 
 " Dear Father," she said in a soft voice ; " now 
 let me say * Nunc dimittis.' At last our divine 
 faith will lift its head in Axton, and all men will 
 see that it is beautiful." 
 
 " My dear child," said Father Hanlon, " I feel 
 sure that this grace has been given to this village 
 because of the merit of your virtue and suffering." 
 
 " Why, Father," protested Mary, and her great 
 eyes looked very frightened, " what are you say 
 ing? If that thought entered my vain mind how 
 should I be saved? " 
 
 " Forget it, then," answered the priest ; " Go on 
 with your holy prayer and holier pain. But the 
 rest of us will have our thoughts." 
 
 " Dorothy was telling me she met you," said 
 Mary. 
 
 Hanlon's face reddened, for the girl's tone and 
 manner were slightly embarrassed as she spoke.
 
 74 THE PRIEST 
 
 Evidently she knew of his indiscretion in a Uni 
 tarian minister's house; and that she was some 
 what shocked he more than expected. 
 
 " Yes, I met Miss Wakefield in Mr. Danforth's 
 house," said Hanlon. " I called there to thank 
 him for his noble action at the town-meeting. As 
 I was about to leave, he, his mother, and Miss 
 Wakefield were going to start their evening devo 
 tions, and I joined them on Mr. Danforth's invita 
 tion. I did not want to appear uncivil, you know. 
 I am afraid you are disedified." 
 
 " I did not know what to make of it when Dor 
 othy told me," answered Mary ; " but I understand 
 it somewhat better now, I think. Dorothy and I 
 love each other as sisters. We sometimes pray 
 together, but I always read the prayers. But to 
 let a minister lead me in devotional exercises I 
 should be afraid of that." 
 
 " I felt bad about it too," the priest acknowl 
 edged, " but circumstances practically forced me 
 to it. Needless to say, I would not do it again. 
 Mr. Danforth is an unusual sort of man." 
 
 " Very unusual," assented Mary, as anxious as 
 her visitor to change the subject. " If only you 
 could convert him, Father ? " 
 
 " There is no promise of that at present," an 
 swered Hanlon. " By the way, what is Miss 
 Wakefield's religion?" 
 
 " She is a Unitarian, and greatly devoted to Mr. 
 Danforth," the girl responded. " But she is a glo 
 rious girl. Her religious nature is deep and earn-
 
 THE PRIEST 75 
 
 est. She has often regretted to me that Uni- 
 tarianism appeals so little to the richer and more 
 ardent and emotional side of our spirit." 
 
 " Does she know anything of Catholicity ? " 
 asked the priest. 
 
 " Yes," answered Mary, " she knows everything 
 about it so far as one outside can know it. We 
 have gone over and over again the claims and doc 
 trines of the Church. Dorothy sees the strong 
 points of our faith, its logical scheme of belief, 
 its power to produce saintly lives, its poetry and 
 mysticism. Often she has envied me the posses 
 sion of so venerable, beautiful, and sustaining a 
 faith. But she says she cannot yield merely to 
 her religious moods. Her intelligence must be sat 
 isfied; and thus far it is not satisfied. Besides, 
 she has what I think is an undue love for modern 
 times and the modern spirit; and she feels that 
 the Church cannot in its present state lead the 
 humanity of to-day. Do what you can for Dor 
 othy, Father. She is a Protestant saint. If only 
 she were in the house of God, how near to Christ 
 and His Blessed Mother she would be ! " 
 
 " I will do all in my power, according to my 
 opportunities," said Father Hanlon. " But do 
 you, Mary, pray and suffer for her." 
 
 " Yes, Father," answered Mary, " and I will 
 pray and suffer for you." 
 
 The priest's heart was uplifted as he left her. 
 He felt humble and joyful. With this dear child 
 interceding for him, how could he fail?
 
 VIII 
 
 To study, to know, was an ambition given a 
 fresh stimulus in Ambrose Hanlon's breast 
 through that interview with Mr. Danforth. He 
 felt his incompetence in all positive and critical 
 sciences. Speculation in the field of metaphysi 
 cal theology he had cultivated; but the facts in 
 the history of theology, the facts in church 
 history, the facts in criticism, with these he was 
 miserably unfamiliar. Now for the first time he 
 perceived the enormous value of the science of 
 facts. Not that he therefore despised the science 
 of syllogisms or questioned its validity as sys 
 tematized by Thomas of Aquin. But the whole 
 modern world was abandoning the high region 
 of speculation and was digging into the rugged 
 soil of reality for facts. It had put these facts 
 together; it had drawn its religion from them; it 
 was using projectiles made from them to assail 
 the fortress of the Church. This the conver 
 sation with Danforth had revealed to him. He 
 saw that if he were to meet men like Danforth 
 on their own ground all his knowledge about 
 angels, and processions in the Trinity, would be 
 useless. These men no longer understood that 
 language. For the Church's sake he must master 
 criticism and modern methods of research, and 
 then show that these are not only not irrecon 
 cilable with the ancient dogmas, but support and 
 prove them. 
 
 76
 
 THE PRIEST 77 
 
 Over and above this, Danforth had humiliated 
 him. He, a Roman Doctor, had been unable to 
 carry on a learned conversation with a Unitarian 
 minister on matters that the whole world of schol 
 arship was thinking about. It was disgraceful, 
 and he felt it keenly. For the first time in his life 
 he uttered criticisms to himself only of his 
 teachers. Why had they kept him in ignorance of 
 positive theological erudition? Six years spent 
 in studying theology, and he knew the tenets of 
 Valentinian and Theodore of Mopsuestia, but not 
 those of Harnack and Holtzmann! He could 
 show that Boethius' definition of Person was not 
 irreconcilable with the Incarnation, but was utterly 
 in the dark while Danforth was talking about the 
 " We-sections " of the Acts of the Apostles. 
 
 There would be an end to this condition of af 
 fairs, he sternly resolved. Confident of his abil 
 ity, and foreseeing that he would have leisure in 
 plenty, he reveled in the delightful anticipation of 
 his studies. How glorious would be his long 
 mornings and his solitary evenings with books, 
 with the mind of the modern world ! And in sum 
 mer he would go into the woods with a learned vol 
 ume, and beneath the trees or beside a laughing 
 brook he would delve into modern wisdom, and 
 find for himself what claim these critics have to the 
 reverence of unbelievers. How kind, after all, 
 was Providence in sending him to Axton! 
 
 His second call on Danforth, made for the pur 
 pose of borrowing books, was on the first evening
 
 78 THE PRIEST 
 
 that he knew the minister would be at home. He 
 was received with fraternal cordiality. Danforth 
 liked him, that was evident. 
 
 " Mr. Danforth," said Hanlon, " I have come 
 for some books. You have shown me that scholas 
 tic theology is not the sum and total of the learn 
 ing that a man who is supposed to be scholarly 
 should possess, and I'm going to begin a course 
 of critical study. If you will take me as a pupil, 
 I would wish no other man as teacher." 
 
 " Father Hanlon," was the minister's joyous 
 response, " I am not only delighted but edified. It 
 is Truth that has caught hold of you, my brother, 
 and you are proving yourself her docile disciple. 
 Poor amateur as I am in the great world of schol 
 arship, I will do all I can to serve you." 
 
 " I want to understand biblical criticism," said 
 Hanlon ; " now give me a start." 
 
 Danforth settled farther back into his chair, 
 and his face suddenly grew grave. 
 
 " Friend Ambrose," he began, after a long 
 pause ; " by the way, let's drop formalities. You 
 are Ambrose to me, and I am Jo to you Jo is 
 short for Josiah. Well, then, let me suggest that 
 you are about to enter on studies which may mod 
 ify your religious views; which may, in fact, 
 bring you face to face with a crisis." 
 
 Father Hanlon smiled. " I have no fears for 
 my faith or my church," he said. " Both in my 
 estimation are established in too solid a rock to 
 be blown away by the winds of new doctrine."
 
 THE PRIEST 79 
 
 Danforth bowed. " My advice then is," he sug 
 gested, " that before reading any critical work, 
 you run through a small volume I have here on 
 ' The Intellectual and Spiritual Dispositions of a 
 Christian Student.' It is not a published work, 
 but consists of three lectures delivered by an old 
 teacher of mine at Cambridge. He was one of 
 God's noblemen; and this book of his should be 
 read I think, by everyone that sets his mind 
 toward Truth." 
 
 The priest looked disappointed. 
 
 " The reason," continued Danforth, " why I 
 recommend this little volume is this. The prob 
 lem of Truth, the problem of criticism, the prob 
 lem of religion, are not so much intellectual as 
 ethical. What state of mind we bring to our 
 studies is a vastly more important matter than 
 the extent of our studies. Intellectual honor, in 
 tellectual chastity, as a great scholar of your 
 church beautifully expressed it, is one of the rarest 
 virtues in this world. Most of us are sophisti 
 cated by prepossessions. We are apt to study 
 not to discover divine Truth, but to pile up sup 
 ports for our selfish systems. Many a learned 
 man who would not tell a verbal lie, is committing 
 mental falsehood all day long. These lectures 
 deal with this feature of study, and I am sure you 
 will like them. You have studied the tract De 
 Mendacio in your moral theology. If I am not 
 mistaken, you will find here some valuable ideas 
 on certain little-known subtleties of falsehood."
 
 80 THE PRIEST 
 
 " I will read the book, since you so highly praise 
 it," said Hanlon. " By the way, you seem to know 
 a good deal about Catholic theology." 
 
 " I am not wholly unfamiliar with it," acknowl 
 edged Danforth. " I have been through most of 
 St. Thomas; and I once informed myself upon 
 your moral system by a fairly thorough reading 
 of Alphonsus Liguori. But I know your mysti 
 cal writers best of all. My inclination for this 
 species of literature I inherited from my Quaker 
 mother. The old Benedictine writers are magnifi 
 cent. But if you will pardon me the Jesuits 
 have ruined Catholic spirituality." 
 
 " The Jesuits ! " exclaimed Hanlon ; " what in 
 the world can you mean? " 
 
 " The old monastic mystics," answered Dan 
 forth, " taught a glorious interior liberty, and 
 pure spiritual prayer. The Jesuits externalized 
 spirituality. With their exaggerated, and to my 
 mind, immoral, insistence, on obedience, they 
 check the growth of personality and prevent the 
 free development of the individual soul. For the 
 normal, natural inner liberty taught by the ancient 
 mystics, they substitute grosser forms of devo 
 tion. They are the foremost advocates of devo 
 tion by arithmetic, novenas and the rest; and of 
 devotion in forms of revolting materialism 
 Christ's physical heart, Mary's heart, and so on. 
 There is no sublimity in their spiritual literature. 
 The same tawdriness, stiffness, and vulgarity ap 
 pear in their architecture ; they ruined that also."
 
 THE PRIEST 81 
 
 Father Hanlon, trained only in Jesuit methods, 
 knew scarcely anything of Benedictine literature. 
 Humiliated at his inability to meet this remark 
 able minister even upon Catholic subjects, he said 
 nothing for a full minute of embarrassment. 
 Then, conscious of how weak he was appearing, he 
 ventured : 
 
 " I hope you admire the genius of St. Alphon- 
 sus. I think he is the St. Thomas of moral theol 
 ogy." 
 
 " No," answered Danforth ; " I almost detest 
 him. Dear Ambrose, you will excuse my candor; 
 but without candor the world would be a sham. 
 We understand each other now too well to be 
 offended by sincere plain-speaking. No, I do not 
 like Liguori. Why, if one followed his treatise 
 on lying, one would become the meanest of trick 
 sters. His theory of mental reservations is so 
 awful an offense against truth as to appear to me 
 almost sacrilegious. That he was an industrious 
 compiler is true of course. But he is destitute of 
 genius; and did not know what an unbiased mind 
 means. Of how low an order of special pleading 
 is his book on the papacy ! Then he was abnormal 
 all through. Do you think a man who lashed and 
 tortured himself as Liguori did; who had so un 
 wholesome an obsession about temptation; who 
 was so diseased with scruples; do you think such 
 a man could have been mentally balanced? You 
 recall that in his advanced old age, when he was 
 nearly ninety in fact, he dreaded going out upon
 
 82 THE PRIEST 
 
 the street lest he see something that would excite 
 sensuality. All this I say while heartily acknowl 
 edging his humility, piety and zeal." 
 
 Father Hanlon had read the works of Liguori, 
 but only as writings to be blindly followed, not 
 keenly criticized ; and as for the features of his bio 
 graphy mentioned by Danforth, he was entirely 
 unfamiliar with them. The hagiography per 
 mitted in the seminary contained no such disedi- 
 fying incidents. He shifted the discussion there 
 fore by saying : 
 
 " No Catholic may entertain such an opinion 
 of St. Alphonsus. The Church has solemnly de 
 cided that he is in all things a safe moralist. No 
 other moral author has received so high an en 
 comium as Pius IX gives Alphonsus." 
 
 " But you cannot tolerate his theory of mental 
 reservation? " questioned Danforth, with painful 
 earnestness.' 
 
 " Moral theology is not a code of highest con 
 duct," answered the priest. " It lays down the 
 minimum not the maximum of ethical integrity." 
 
 " True enough," said Danforth ; " but the 
 trouble with such teachings as those of Liguori on 
 lying and with some of his opinions on theft, is this : 
 they are not applied by the sinner but by the con 
 fessor, the very guardian of morals. He must give 
 the penitent the benefit of them officially and sacra- 
 mentally. Thus laxity is fixed and perpetuated 
 in the very source of the Catholic moral law. If 
 for example, I go out at night to burn down your
 
 THE PRIEST 88 
 
 house, and by mistake I burn down your neigh 
 bor's, the confessor, according to Liguori, cannot 
 bind me, scoundrel though I should be, to restitu 
 tion. Isn't that .abominable ?" 
 
 " I must say," confessed Hanlon, " that this 
 opinion you have just cited has always offended 
 me." 
 
 " The great trouble with moral theologians," 
 said Danforth, " is that they so often misplace the 
 basis of morality. Instead of placing it in the 
 inner character they place it in external law. In 
 stead of listening to the simple dictate of unso 
 phisticated conscience, they regard too much the 
 subtleties of a flexible written code." 
 
 " Authority comes first with a Catholic," as 
 serted Hanlon. 
 
 " External authority is an extremely dangerous 
 thing," the minister responded. " If authority 
 dispenses with the free examination of reason, and 
 supersedes the enlightened exercise of the individ 
 ual conscience, it is an awful thing, the worst pos 
 sible obstacle to the progress of mankind." 
 
 " We stand at opposite poles," the priest said, 
 smiling ; " and the whole world is between us. I 
 am for the submission of individuality to author 
 ity ; you for the reverse." 
 
 " Toward which of our positions is the world 
 moving? " Danforth asked. 
 
 " That is a question the answer to which would 
 not affect me in the least," was the confidently 
 spoken answer.
 
 84 THE PRIEST 
 
 " Well," said Danf orth ; " as I told you the other 
 night, personality is life to me. To suppress that 
 personality is the chief of crimes." 
 
 " But free personality is full of vagaries and 
 absurdities," objected the priest ; " does it not need 
 control? Is it not dangerous?" 
 
 " Dangerous ? " repeated Danf orth. " It cer 
 tainly is. So is intellect ; so is free-will ; so is life. 
 But the danger is the inevitable condition of prog 
 ress. It will be corrected and averted by the es 
 sential soundness of human nature. The dangers 
 of free personality look toward larger life. The 
 dangers of excessive authority look toward stag 
 nation and death." 
 
 " This has been a stimulating conversation," 
 said the priest, rising. " I hope we shall have 
 many such discussions." 
 
 " By all means we shall," assented the minister. 
 " Only by exercise can either mind or muscles grow. 
 Here is the volume I mentioned; and you may do 
 well to take along with it these three books on the 
 present state of Old Testament criticism and the 
 development of Hebrew religion." 
 
 Mr. Cuttle noticed that his clerical guest as 
 he entered the hotel that night, was very much 
 preoccupied, hardly noticing the inn-keeper's salu 
 tation. In a few minutes Father Hanlon came 
 down stairs, with two thick volumes in his hand. 
 
 " Mr. Cuttle," he said ; " please do me the favor 
 of putting these books in the furnace when you 
 attend to your fire to-morrow morning. They are
 
 THE PRIEST 85 
 
 of no use to anybody. You will do this for me? " 
 
 Nahum Cuttle made no answer, but looked with 
 a sorely puzzled face, now at the priest, now at 
 the devoted volumes. 
 
 " I swan, this beats me," he finally said. 
 
 " I suppose it looks queer," said Father Hanlon 
 with a grim smile ; " but as I told you, these books 
 are worthless and are taking up room which I 
 need for other purposes. They are simply lumber, 
 and if they help your furnace fire, it is probably 
 the best service they ever did. I assure you they 
 are dry enough to burn well." 
 
 "Wall," continued Nahum at length; "I'm 
 stumped if I ever see books pitched into the fire 
 before; but as they belong to you it's none of my 
 business, and I'll burn 'em if you say so." 
 
 The priest left the man when this point had 
 been settled, and Nahum stood gazing at the two 
 books left in his hand for a holocaust. Curiously 
 he inspected every inch of the outside of them, 
 spending some moments in a vain endeavor to 
 decipher the title which was printed on a faded red 
 band on the back, and at last he placed one volume 
 between his knees, as in a vise, and cautiously 
 opened the other. His baffled eyes beheld the fol 
 lowing inscription in big black capitals on the title 
 page: 
 
 VEN PATRIS FRANCISCI SUAREZII 
 
 E SOCIETATE JESU SACERDOTIS, 
 
 DE ANGELIS DEQUE ANGELICIS OPERATIONOBUS 
 
 TRACTATUS. 
 
 CUM PERMISSU SUPERIORUM ET REGIO APPROBATU 
 MDCCXII.
 
 86 THE PRIEST 
 
 Hiram gazed at this legend a long time. Then 
 very deliberately he closed the book, put both 
 volumes under his arm, and with sundry head- 
 shakings slowly descended to the furnace room. 
 Thus fell the mighty Suarez and his famous trac 
 tate on the Angels from the pedestal whereon Am 
 brose Hanlon, Roman doctor of divinity, had once 
 placed them. As the ponderous pages curled and 
 quivered, and fell to ashes in the flames, the priest, 
 careless of their fate, was seated in his study, open 
 ing a book of introduction to higher criticism.
 
 IX 
 
 One evening a week after the incidents of the 
 last chapter, Dorothy Wakefield was sitting with 
 Mrs. Danforth, preparing with skilful fingers cer 
 tain decorations that were to be used in an Easter 
 festival for the children. 
 
 " Josiah is more than usually preoccupied of 
 late," Mrs. Danforth was saying. " He spends 
 whole days in his study, and I see but little of him. 
 I trust that he is not in trouble, Dorothy." 
 
 " I know of no reason for his worrying," the 
 girl answered. " The dismissal of Pasquale Ciasca 
 from the school was unpleasant; for the Italian 
 was furiously angry when told to go. But I hope 
 that nothing serious will come of it." 
 
 " My son has enemies," Mrs. Danforth said ; 
 " and I foresee much distress for the poor boy." 
 
 " But, Mother," protested Dorothy, who was ac 
 customed to use that endearing address ; " he does 
 not care for that, and I am sure his beautiful de 
 votion will win over those that now oppose him. 
 His danger is not from others, but from himself. 
 He will overwork if he is not checked by someone. 
 He has absolutely no human interests except his 
 work, his study and " there was wistfulness 
 in Dorothy's voice " and you." 
 
 " I wish he had a greater regard for the domes 
 tic side of life," agreed Mrs. Danforth. " He 
 ought to marry. Every noble man should marry. 
 
 87
 
 88 THE PRIEST 
 
 It is from the homes of such that the leaders of 
 humanity must come." 
 
 Dorothy was silent, and as she bent over her 
 work, the beautiful eyes of the old Quakeress rested 
 upon her tenderly. 
 
 Before either spoke again, the door was flung 
 open and Danforth stepped briskly into the room. 
 He was in a state of joyous excitement; his eyes 
 shone with enthusiasm, a faint glow had crept into 
 his pale cheeks, his face was radiant with a smile 
 of great happiness. 
 
 " Listen to me, women," he cried, striking a 
 mock-heroic attitude, " while I a tale unfold, the 
 greatest scheme that ever was on land or sea. I'm 
 going to start a new national society. I, the 
 obscure minister of this forlorn town of Axton, 
 am going to take wing from my Massachusetts 
 hamlet till I dip my pinions in the Pacific Ocean 
 and the Gulf of Mexico ! " 
 
 His mother smiled. " A boy forever ! " she mur 
 mured. 
 
 " So you have invented an airship," laughed 
 Dorothy. 
 
 " I'm up in an airship just now," said Danforth, 
 dropping into a chair, " and woe to the woman that 
 tries to call me back to earth ! " 
 
 " Once there was a man named Darius Green," 
 his mother remarked. 
 
 "Mother, you are anathema!" cried her son. 
 " Now tell me, are you prepared to go up in an 
 airship with me, or are you going to keep on call-
 
 THE PRIEST 89 
 
 ing me Darius Green? I've got a plan that pru 
 dence, caution, conservatism, and all earth-plodders 
 will laugh at; but enthusiasm will jump into the 
 basket, cut the ropes, and be off towards heaven 
 in a jiffy. Which are you, earth-plodders? Then 
 back I go to my study without another word. 
 Airship travelers? Then will I speak." 
 
 " Speak on," commanded Dorothy ; " to heaven 
 of all places the pastor should be followed by his 
 flock. We are with you among the stars." 
 
 " Good ! " said Danforth. " Then here is my 
 venture. As I understand the American Republic, 
 it teaches mankind an absolutely new kind of patri 
 otism. Patriotism as immemorially understood is 
 simply the blind attachment of the animal to the 
 herd, of the savage to his tribe, of the serf to his 
 clan. There's nothing spiritual in it. It is a mix 
 ture of pride, cupidity, jealousy, revenge and ab 
 original gregariousness. It represents a set of 
 ideas that civilized men cannot possibly love, and 
 cannot possibly die for, except under compulsion. 
 That is point number one. Point number two is 
 that our country and our flag have totally trans 
 formed the patriotic sentiment, have changed it 
 from its very source and origin, and have lifted 
 it into the region of the spirit, into the realm of 
 religion. Our country, based upon the principle 
 of the essential goodness of human nature, and 
 existing for the purpose of developing free per 
 sonality to the utmost, simply consecrates patrio 
 tism, makes it sacred and divine. Love of country
 
 90 THE PRIEST 
 
 with us ought to be not the unreasoning loyalty of 
 a dog to any kind of master, but the sublime de 
 votion of ourselves to mankind, to liberty, to prog 
 ress, to the immortal spirit of man. All these 
 ideals are inseparable from America. America was 
 born beneath their star. She committed herself to 
 the magnificent venture of her democracy because 
 of them. While she prospers they will prosper. 
 If she dies they will sink inta darkness until another 
 America shall be born. Now for point number 
 three. It follows from all this that only that man 
 is a true and intelligent American patriot who 
 cultivates the spiritual qualities of developed man 
 hood which his country essentially represents. 
 But the cultivation of spiritual qualities is neces 
 sarily religious. Let Americans understand that 
 their patriotism is sacred and their religion patri 
 otic, and what a glorious nation we should have! 
 Do you follow me ? " 
 
 " This is not an airship," answered Dorothy, 
 " but an Elijah's chariot." 
 
 " A beautiful compliment, Dorothy, and I thank 
 you for it," returned Danforth. " Well, why not 
 do something," he continued, " to spread this con 
 secrated idea of patriotism? There are alarming 
 signs of national peril in the sky above us. Ideals 
 are threatened. The eternal and spiritual side of 
 life is menaced. We are forgetting our fathers' 
 prayers and hopes. Can we not set this country 
 on fire " here Danforth rose from his chair and 
 walked nervously up and down the room " can
 
 THE PRIEST 91 
 
 we not set this country on fire with patriotism, 
 a new patriotism, a patriotism that knows how 
 to pray, that will count violation of conscience 
 as infidelity to country ? Thinking of these things 
 I have determined to do what I can towards so 
 holy an end. As a beginning I am going to found 
 a society called the League of Conscience and 
 Country. Its purpose will be to inculcate this 
 higher patriotism; its watchword will be Service; 
 its motto : * Obedience to God and loyalty to coun 
 try are one and inseparable.' " 
 
 Danforth sat down and there was silence for a 
 minute. 
 
 " My son," said his mother at length, " it first 
 occurred to me to ask thee if thou hadst suffi 
 ciently consulted thy health and the duties already 
 required of thee. But I will not mention this. I 
 only say: May the divine Spirit abide with thee, 
 strengthen and sanctify thee." 
 
 Danforth rose and kissed her. 
 
 " Blessed art thou among women," he said. 
 
 " I can say nothing now," was Dorothy's re 
 sponse to the young minister's questioning look; 
 " my heart is too full. I can only add my prayer 
 to your mother's." 
 
 " You are both as kind and as encouraging as 
 you can be," said Danforth. " All my wicked sus 
 picions that you might be earth-plodders, I now 
 and forever revoke and disavow. And now I shall 
 go back to my study, and you may discuss my 
 project to your hearts' content. I know you are
 
 92 
 
 going to say nice things of me, and I want to be out 
 of hearing." 
 
 Pausing on the threshold, Danforth turned to 
 his mother and Dorothy and recited these stanzas 
 of Emerson's Concord ode : 
 
 " For He that flung the broad blue fold 
 
 O'ermantling land and sea 
 One third part of the sky unrolled 
 
 For the banner of the free. 
 
 United States ! the ages plead, 
 
 Present and Past in undersong 
 
 Go, put your creed into your deed, 
 Nor speak with double tongue. 
 
 Be just at home; then write your scroll 
 
 Of honor o'er the sea; 
 And bid the broad Atlantic roll 
 
 A ferry of the free. 
 
 And henceforth there shall be no chain, 
 
 Save underneath the sea 
 The wires shall murmur through the main 
 
 Sweet songs of liberty. 
 
 For He that worketh high and wise 
 
 Nor pauses in His plan, 
 Will take the sun out of the skies 
 
 Ere freedom out of man." 
 
 " Dorothy," said his mother when he had gone ; 
 " may I not be proud of him? " 
 
 "Proud of him?" repeated the girl. "Why 
 the angels in heaven are proud of him."
 
 THE PRIEST 98 
 
 They said no more for a long time. When Mrs. 
 Danforth spoke again it was upon some trivial 
 and irrelevant matter. She had seen the great 
 tears fall upon Dorothy's fingers as they worked.
 
 One morning in the latter part of April, Father 
 Hanlon sat at his desk drawing upon a sheet of 
 paper parallel columns containing the reasons for 
 and against the Mosaic authorship of the Penta 
 teuch. Having finished the process, he threw down 
 his pen, and after the manner of most students, 
 began soliloquizing. Let us overhear him. 
 
 " It is simply impossible that this great structure 
 of Mosaic law should have been the product of 
 one man or one age. Think of Moses in the wild 
 Arabian desert laying down the exact measure 
 ments of a temple not built till three centuries later ! 
 Think of him describing the dress of the temple 
 priests, legislating for tithes, offerings and purifi 
 cations which were still hundreds of years in the 
 future! If such a revelation were given him, it 
 would have been absolutely unintelligible to him, 
 and to the poor clans of exiles about him. Then 
 there are David and Solomon, wholly ignorant of 
 Moses* command that sacrifice be offered nowhere 
 except in Jerusalem; for they and the whole line 
 of Judges before them, sanctioned sacrifices in 
 divers parts of Israel. Clearly these Jehovah- 
 worshippers had never heard of the pretended 
 Jehovah-law as to one sanctuary and one sacrifice. 
 Manifestly the law is a bulwark of a later age built 
 to centralize Israel's religion, and thus save it from 
 the danger which very nearly destroyed it amal 
 gamation with the idolatrous worships of Canaan. 
 
 94
 
 THE PRIEST 95 
 
 " And look at the character of some of the pre 
 tended revelations ! Did the infinite Deity speak 
 out of heaven these laws about the fringes of gar 
 ments ; about curing a house of leprosy ; and that 
 revolting ordeal of a suspected woman as described 
 in Numbers? Never again can I believe that. If 
 the Deity made any specific revelations to Moses, 
 I think He would hardly have descended to such 
 puerilities, and said nothing of the immortality 
 of the soul a truth of which the early Hebrews 
 were ignorant in any ethical sense. For their Sheol 
 was an indiscriminate assembly-place of the dead 
 where no retribution or recompense existed. 
 
 " Of course all this does not affect the authority 
 of the Church, though I must say I wish she had 
 discovered this true import of primitive Judaism 
 rather than that modern higher criticism should 
 have first taught it." 
 
 A knock at the door interrupted these reflec 
 tions, and in another moment Father Hanlon was 
 bidding polite welcome to the Reverend Joseph 
 Dooran. 
 
 " Well, Hanlon, how are you getting on ? " was 
 this gentleman's greeting, uttered with that air of 
 " I am the lord of creation," as Ambrose used to 
 describe it. 
 
 " Very pleasantly, indeed," answered Hanlon ; 
 " I like Axton thoroughly." 
 
 " I am sure you have been forced to repent of 
 the liberalism you expressed to O'Murtagh and 
 myself last month," stated Dooran, not as a ques-
 
 96 THE PRIEST 
 
 tion, but as laying down an undeniable fact. 
 " You find your Puritan neighbors pretty bitter. 
 They can't get rid of their ancestral blood." 
 
 " I am more convinced than ever," was Ambrose's 
 quiet reply, "that you men are utterly in the 
 wrong. With very few exceptions, I find the non- 
 Catholics friendly and even cordial. If we were 
 somewhat more tractable and conciliatory our 
 selves, we should get on better. There are others 
 besides Puritans who find it difficult to get rid of 
 their ancestral blood." 
 
 " Absurd ! " pronounced Dooran. " We are con 
 ciliatory enough. These men want to destroy the 
 Church. Do you desire that the Church should 
 assist them by laying her head on the block? " 
 
 " I think it might be well if some of our rev 
 erend, very reverend, right reverend, and most 
 reverend gentlemen, did not hold their heads so 
 high in the air," answered Hanlon. 
 
 " Be careful, Hanlon. Control your liberalism 
 a bit more prudently ; it is an evil hour for Catho 
 lic liberals," said Dooran. 
 
 " By the way," asked Ambrose, " can you tell 
 me why my chief opponents here are not non- 
 Catholics, but principally immigrants from Catho 
 lic countries ? " 
 
 " Freemasonry ! " replied Dooran dogmatically. 
 " By the way, Hanlon, what is that book you are 
 reading? " 
 
 Father Hanlon answered, visibly embarrassed: 
 " Robertson Smith's Lectures on the Old Testa 
 ment."
 
 THE PRIEST 97 
 
 " Is he one of those higher critics ? " questioned 
 Dooran suspiciously, as he picked up the book. 
 
 " Yes," responded Hanlon, as he saw with sink 
 ing heart that Dooran was looking at Danforth's 
 bookplate on the title page. The next question was 
 inevitable : " Hanlon, are you borrowing ration 
 alistic books from a Unitarian minister? " 
 
 " Mr. Danforth is my friend, and a friend I am 
 proud to possess," answered Hanlon. " He is 
 lending me some books on a portion of theological 
 study in which I am deficient." 
 
 " You are going wrong, my dear young fellow," 
 said the lord of creation. " Have you been im 
 pressed with this unbeliever's arguments? " 
 
 " He is not an unbeliever, Dooran," was Han- 
 Ion's hot reply. " Don't calumniate. Even a lib 
 eral is supposed to come under the law of Christian 
 charity. Robertson Smith was a noble Christian 
 according to his light. His life was beautiful and 
 pure. And I don't mind admitting that I have 
 been impressed with his arguments." 
 
 Dooran's next words were entirely unexpected 
 by Hanlon. " May I take the book for a few 
 days? " he asked. " I would like to see just how 
 flimsy a case these critics make out for them 
 selves." 
 
 " I think it is not improper in me to lend you 
 the book," answered Hanlon. " I know Mr. Dan 
 forth would be glad to have you read it." 
 
 So the Reverend Joseph Dooran walked out of 
 Ambrose Hanlon's room with Robertson Smith 
 under his arm.
 
 98 THE PRIEST 
 
 A week later he burst into Hanlon's room with 
 out the formality of knocking. Flushed with ex 
 citement and waving the borrowed volume in the 
 air, he cried : 
 
 " Hanlon, it is magnificent ! I never knew I had 
 eyes in my head till I read this book. It is a reve 
 lation. It knocks our seminary course to pieces." 
 
 " Upon my word, Father Dooran," said Hanlon 
 dumbfounded, "you take my breath away. Is 
 Saul among the prophets ? " 
 
 " I have gone through the book, Bible in hand," 
 answered Dooran, " and I can find no escape from 
 Smith's conclusions. The evolutionary process 
 through which the Old Testament and Jewish 
 religion have passed is as certain to my mind as 
 an axiom of geometry. Lend me some more 
 books, Hanlon, in a hurry." 
 
 Hanlon's conscience gave him a pang. 
 
 " Be careful about this line of reading, Father 
 Dooran," he said earnestly. " I think your con 
 version is somewhat violent, and there may be 
 danger to faith not far off." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " replied Dooran. " Science is 
 science; fact is fact. If faith cannot endure 
 fact " he ended with a shrug of the shoulders. 
 
 " You alarm me," protested Ambrose. " No 
 amount of science can ever weaken the Church's 
 divine authority." 
 
 "I suppose not," returned Dooran; "but just 
 now I am after scholarship. What books are you 
 going to give me? "
 
 THE PRIEST 99 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, Dooran stepped 
 up to Hanlon's desk and scanned the books scat 
 tered there. " These two will suit me," he said ; 
 " Budde's * Religion of Israel ' and Delitzsch's 
 * Babel and Bible.' Good-day," and he was gone, 
 whistling gaily as he left. 
 
 Ambrose stood still for some time, looking grave 
 and troubled. Then he went to his prie-dieu and 
 knelt in prayer that Father Dooran might keep 
 the faith.
 
 XI 
 
 Father Hanlon had noticed that Miss Wakefield 
 was present at his entire course of sermons on the 
 Church. He was not wholly surprised, therefore, 
 when on the day after he had finished the series, 
 he was called to the parlor to see her. He had 
 spoken to her from time to time, but always 
 briefly, since making her acquaintance in Mr. Dan- 
 forth's house; though Mary Kiley was forever 
 talking of her and urging the priest to endeavor 
 to help her towards the faith. The hope that he 
 might give this assistance was uppermost in his 
 mind as he opened the door and greeted her with 
 his usual grave reserve. 
 
 Ambrose Hanlon was a man at whom persons 
 who looked once nearly always looked twice. For 
 it is not so common that we can dismiss it with a 
 glance, to meet a young man of twenty-seven, on 
 whose pale, thin face is set the sovereign stamp 
 of gentle dignity and studious thoughtfulness ; 
 from whose guileless eyes shines a benevolence not 
 to be concealed for all their shyness ; and in whose 
 smile we still may see the sunny heart of an un 
 spoiled boy. Add to this that Ambrose had been 
 studying too hard lately, so that on the morning 
 of Miss Wakefield's visit he looked like an ascetic ; 
 not a harsh ascetic, but a gentle one, with a sug 
 gestion of manly sturdiness in reserve, and we 
 shall not wonder that Dorothy's face bespoke ad 
 miration as she held out her hand in greeting. 
 100
 
 THE PRIEST 101 
 
 " I have not met you often, Father Hanlon," 
 she said, " but I seem to know you well, for Mr. 
 Danforth speaks much of you. I am so glad that 
 you and he are friends." 
 
 " I know you still better, Miss Wakefield," an 
 swered the priest, " for I call occasionally upon a 
 worshipper of yours who seems restless whenever 
 our conversation wanders very far from the sub 
 ject of yourself." 
 
 " Dear, sweet Mary ! " said Dorothy, with a 
 sudden filling of the eyes ; " she is my guardian 
 angel." 
 
 " She is the whitest soul I ever knew," said 
 Father Hanlon. " Her poor little body is hardly 
 material enough to conceal the shining of her 
 spirit." 
 
 " One of your sermons lately was on the holi 
 ness of the Church," remarked Dorothy. " I did 
 not need that sermon, for I know Mary Kiley. I 
 am aware what a saint she is." 
 
 Father Hanlon was silent, perceiving that Miss 
 Wakefield had now come to the purpose of her 
 visit. 
 
 " I attended the entire course of your instruc 
 tions on the marks of the Church," resumed the 
 girl, " and I felt impelled to call on you for a brief 
 consultation. Will you allow me to talk about 
 myself for a moment? " 
 
 " Certainly ; in discussing religion, that is a 
 practical necessity," answered the priest. 
 
 " I think I have strong religious inclinations," 
 Dorothy began. " If I have, the credit is not mine
 
 102 THE PRIEST 
 
 but my father's, who was one of the noblest and 
 most reverent of men. I am a Unitarian, as all 
 my family have been for generations. The Uni 
 tarian spirit and ideal are glorious to my mind. 
 I can never abandon them, I am sure. The free 
 dom of the spirit, the development of personality, 
 the openness of mind, the exalted idea of duty and 
 responsibility inculcated by the best Unitarian 
 teachers, embody for me the highest and purest 
 form of divine faith." 
 
 Father Hanlon felt disappointment. Thig girl, 
 it was clear, had not come for instruction in the 
 catechism. What had she come for? 
 
 " But," continued Dorothy, " there is much in 
 Unitarianism which appears to be inadequate. It 
 has only a handful of adherents. Why is it inade 
 quate, inefficacious? This is a question that I 
 have been pondering for months. Your recent 
 sermons and services gave me some light upon it. 
 We Unitarians do not sufficiently understand and 
 cultivate the human side of religion. The ideals 
 that are up in the sky, the light that falls upon us 
 from above, we see plainly enough. But the sub 
 soil of human nature, the common clay of human 
 needs, we are likely to neglect. The sense of per 
 sonal sin, the meaning of repentance, the warmer 
 religious emotions, the impressiveness of liturgical 
 forms, the closer contact with Christ, the more 
 intimate dealings with God these your Church 
 enforces upon her children with magnificent felic 
 ity and power. Now we could not and would not
 
 THE PRIEST 108 
 
 carry this side of religion so far as you carry it. 
 The typical Unitarian mind could not endure it. 
 But take over some of these vitally human features 
 from the Catholic Church I think we must. We 
 are soaring too high altogether. Some of our 
 ministers, to my horror and shame, are preaching 
 pantheism, or any other sort of ethical paganism ; 
 and I dread the spread of this spirit. We shall 
 be saved from the danger if we learn a portion of 
 the lesson so well learned by your sagacious 
 Church: Keep hold of human nature! Do I l\ 
 weary you ? " 
 
 " Please go on," urged Hanlon, " I see you have 
 something further to say, and I am much inter 
 ested." 
 
 " Yes, I have something further to say," re 
 sumed Dorothy ; " but I fear lest perhaps you 
 think me bold in saying it." 
 
 Father Hanlon reassured her, and she went on: 
 
 " While I think Unitarian Christianity has 
 much to learn from Catholic Christianity, I am 
 equally convinced that you have something to learn 
 from us. The Catholic Church as I understand it 
 is a magnificent memorial and epitome of the past; 
 but it is too prone to overlook the present. It is 
 an incomparable appeal to the mystical side of ^ 
 human nature, but it takes too little account of the 
 ever-progressing rational side of our nature. It 
 has clothed its dogmas in the language of an old 
 philosophy which only baffles the modern mind. 
 It has retained certain theocratic ideas which were
 
 104 THE PRIEST 
 
 natural enough in the Holy Roman Empire, but 
 are grotesque in democratic America. It canon 
 izes the primitive Fathers and the mediaeval school 
 men, but frowns upon the critical research and 
 widening thought of to-day. It is autocratic; it 
 allows no public opinion, it is aloof from the com 
 mon mind of men; it tolerates no views, no project 
 of reform or adaptation, save such as the Pope or 
 the Curia may conceive. In this, too, it stands in 
 vital contrast to our age, which is impatient of 
 autocracies, and demands free expression for the 
 ideas even of a minority, though that minority be 
 but one. I cannot see how the Church can thrive 
 amid growing light and freedom unless it incor 
 porates into its spirit that individual liberty, that 
 hearty welcome of modern thought, that less rigid 
 formulation of belief which are so dear to us Uni 
 tarians. I am speaking frankly, you see." 
 
 *' I would wish you to," said the priest, bowing. 
 " You are going to draw some conclusions, are you 
 not? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Dorothy, a slight tinge creep 
 ing into her cheek ; " and in doing so I know not 
 whether the kind indulgence you have shown me 
 may not be overstrained." 
 
 " You need not fear that," the priest answered 
 her, in a grave, kind voice. " It were well if 
 priests oftener discussed these matters with per 
 sons of your intelligence and spiritual earnestness 
 if they could be found," he added with a smile. 
 You are very kind," said Dorothy, and the 
 
 (C
 
 THE PRIEST 105 
 
 frank look of her beautiful, serious eyes bespoke 
 how sincerely she uttered the words. 
 
 " It is not from to-day or yesterday," she went 
 on, " that I have dreamed of a great, all-conquer 
 ing faith which should win men's minds by its sim 
 ple and unpuzzling creed, and fascinate their 
 hearts by its warmth and solemnity and sincerity, 
 bringing all God's human children into a vast 
 brotherhood of Christ-seekers and Christ-lovers. 
 Such a faith must possess the mystical depth of 
 Catholicism and the rational, modern freedom of 
 Unitarianism. Long ago I listened to sentiments 
 like these from my father, and I have not ceased 
 to develop them by such reflection and study as I 
 am capable of giving them. The day of such a 
 consummation is distant indeed. Darkness and 
 distress and much falling-away must come first. 
 And above all, the way must be broken open by 
 God's elect few, His true prophets, yes and even 
 His martyrs." 
 
 She paused for a moment and then resumed, 
 looking straight at her astounded listener : " I 
 have of late been thinking that you and Mr. Dan- 
 forth might do something towards this glorious 
 end. You are both well fitted for it. Could you 
 not both by studying, preaching, writing, join 
 hands and work toward the coming kingdom? 
 Why not write a book together on the church that 
 is to be? At least why not here in Axton break 
 down some of the walls of division that so shame 
 fully disunite us, and bring us all together now \f 
 and then in a brotherhood of common worship?
 
 106 THE PRIEST 
 
 " I should not venture to suggest such a thing 
 to you for you are a priest of the most exclu 
 sive form of Christianity; and you have been re 
 cently telling us that the marks of Christ's true 
 church are found in the Roman communion alone 
 but for the possibility that you do or will be 
 long to that small band of men in your church, 
 anathematized as liberals, who are doing their 
 utmost to broaden Catholicism and make it the 
 religious home for all mankind. These men are 
 hastening, perhaps more than any others in the 
 world, the advent of the ideal church of the future. 
 For when the most rigid of all churches becomes 
 less ecclesiastical and more humane, the lesser 
 orthodoxies will not long hold out. And this is 
 the end for which noble, liberal Catholics are work 
 ing. If you would help them, and if Mr. Danforth 
 would co-operate with you from the Unitarian side, 
 I am convinced that from your joint efforts, hun 
 dreds, and who knows but thousands, of blind 
 souls would see that the true basis of reunion is 
 not in theologies which will always be at war, but 
 in the hearts of men which are one in the eternal 
 unity of flesh and blood, of joy and sorrow, of 
 prayer and aspiration. For a man of scholarly 
 mind and devout spirit, this seems to me the most 
 thrilling vocation in the world. Is it folly to 
 you? " 
 
 " Miss Wakefield," answered Father Hanlon ; 
 " the idea of a reunited Christendom, of a religious 
 brotherhood embracing all men of good will, ap-
 
 THE PRIEST 107 
 
 peals to me very deeply, as I hardly need to tell 
 you. Anything that I could do towards so great 
 an end, I would do with all my heart. But I be 
 long to and believe in a highly exclusive church, 
 as you say. And I cannot admit that this church 
 will, or can, ever abandon or radically change a 
 single dogma of her creed. Believing this is why 
 I cannot join outright the liberal Catholics whom 
 you admire. For, as I understand them I have 
 not read their writings, I confess these men are 
 calling upon the church to lessen the rigidity of 
 her dogmatic formulas. But, speaking to you as 
 frankly as you have spoken to me, I am every day 
 growing into greater sympathy with the liberals, 
 whom I acknowledge I had always before detested, 
 in their efforts to reform Catholicism in matters 
 of discipline and administration. In concessions 
 to scholarship and to the democracy which is win 
 ning the world concessions to the Zeitgeist, to 
 use an almost consecrated expression the 
 Church is certainly remiss. To this extent your 
 ideal speaks a message to me. Whether it will 
 ever speak a deeper one, I cannot say." 
 
 Soon after, the conversation was at an end. 
 Miss Wakefield went away with mingled feelings 
 in which disappointment and satisfaction fought 
 for the upper hand; Father Hanlon returned to 
 his study to reflect for a long time on this wonder 
 ful Puritan girl, who had come to announce to 
 him a new vocation and a new scheme for a united 
 Christendom.
 
 of idolatry, 
 day e deeply 
 
 the oaiiag Cor Ae stndeatfs bread of fife, that 
 
 if a saaa eat he shall hame etenal fife. The least 
 
 he game to deep; aoae to ittiitahoB; 
 that was little, to his 
 of a ffarhh AH the rest he leserrad 
 r. Erery day frond boat 
 tea, at his desk; aad 
 of tibe old towa clock feu 
 as be still held the book to 
 
 AxtoB be 
 
 finr and ic days 
 his books aad aotes, as he 
 mmd tibere he mnked at 
 
 He Brihrafd Bother to 
 the sJBgpag bodb aboat hai aor to tibe of 
 the trees above h head, so absorbed was he at 
 
 of tibe Pestateach, he caw ia the eoorse of 
 
 e to cjoasider. He was at ^rv^k. OB the JBiew 
 its lafidity , the doctriBal
 
 m it, cad now to 
 
 _ _* ~f f - 
 ? ..-_ : 5 . _ _ :_ _- 
 
 to hha, the fme mjmgt aad th 
 
 for tins fine of 
 
 stady of the ideas and the 
 
 the Jews just pi aw to the . 
 
 Hie fouowed step by step the pragifai 
 
 hope, and read every fine of the 
 
 apocalypses the 
 
 There he learned that ft was the 
 
 SCUTS fll OftCBCBBfl. aBOOD flDHD. 
 
 of the earth. Tarmac to las New 
 
 story; at the 
 t warid; in the 
 
 a_ _ _ * ^Tai *_ ** _ J "A* *B - - -E *_ a^_ aL _ 
 
 UK cany unvcHKs, UMI* u me IOJQUK B to DC 
 
 ear; that *thni gacniaaa shaD not pass sway " 
 
 ophy as aumpted to Hebrew ideas by 
 
 L; and saw ft growing srio dnassa as
 
 110 THE PRIEST 
 
 before his eyes, through the influence of the bap 
 tismal formula which at the first had been merely 
 " into the name of Jesus." But above all other 
 points he selected one as a special object of re 
 search. This was the dogma of redemption, the 
 atonement for the fall of Adam by the blood-satis 
 faction of Christ. This he felt was the corner 
 stone of the whole structure of traditional theology, 
 and he gave his best efforts to exploring the foun 
 dation on which it rested. He fought hard to hold 
 this crucial belief intact. The one text support 
 ing it : " The Son of Man has come to give his 
 life as a ransom for many," he clung to with des 
 peration, refusing to believe the contention of ad 
 vanced critics that it was a Pauline addition to, 
 or at least interpretation of, a saying of the Lord's. 
 But as his mind grew into the method and spirit of 
 criticism, he faltered at the weak support which 
 the life and words of Jesus give to this momentous 
 article of his creed. If the eternal Deity came 
 down from heaven for this primary and over 
 shadowing purpose to offer satisfaction to God's 
 justice for a sin committed thousands of years 
 before, ought not the gospels to be full of it? 
 Should it not be reiterated in Christ's discourses? 
 Yet Christ never once mentioned Adam or original 
 sin; and for all we can gather from the gospels 
 we could not say He had ever heard of either. In 
 the texts which most intimately disclose the mind 
 of Christ, and are most unmistakably genuine, 
 there is no remotest reference to what is now held
 
 THE PRIEST 111 
 
 to have been the essential reason for His appear 
 ing on earth. Was not the dogma an effort at ex 
 plaining that stunning scandal to faith, the Lord's 
 ignominious death? Did it not arise because the 
 early believers simply could not have kept their 
 faith in Jesus if they thought He had no more 
 divinity in Him than to be subjected to a criminal's 
 death? Granted any faith whatever in Him, His 
 first followers must have regarded His death of 
 shame as voluntarily undergone in fulfilment of 
 some vast theurgic scheme. Is it not to Paul and 
 to Pauline semi-rabbinism that we owe the ideas 
 of first Adam and second Adam ; of a race lost by 
 sin and redeemed by blood? Hardly possible as 
 it is to fit these conceptions into the life of Jesus, 
 how natural that they should have arisen in ex 
 planation of his death! 
 
 But if the Gospels reflect the ideas of a time 
 later than Jesus ; if their apocalyptic sections are 
 but transcripts of notions prevalent in Palestine 
 even before Jesus; if the doctrines of the Trinity 
 and of baptism have grown beyond what the 
 authentic words of Christ warrant; if the blood- 
 redemption dogma is the product of theologizing, 
 and not a teaching of the Lord, what was to be 
 come of Father Hanlon's faith? After many days 
 of wretchedness and many hours of prayer, he 
 put this question once to Danforth. The min 
 ister's answer was to refer him to the writings of 
 the liberal Catholics who had contrived a phi 
 losophy of conformity according to which neither
 
 112 THE PRIEST 
 
 the present result of criticism nor their adherence 
 to Catholicism need be abandoned. If they could 
 find a way out of the perplexity, said Danforth, 
 perhaps Hanlon could. Acting on the suggestion 
 the young priest devoted weeks to the reading of 
 Loisy, Tyrrell, LeRoy, and the other leaders of 
 advanced Catholicity. From them he learned 
 methods of interpreting ancient formulas and sub 
 scribing to venerable creeds, which were hardly 
 less amazing to him than the revelations of his 
 critical studies. Baptism means simply the solemn 
 and public initiation into the body of believers; 
 confession and absolution the process by which the 
 sinner, having given signs of penitence, is officially 
 declared to be reunited to the true spiritual church 
 of Christ and communion of saints ; the Trinity, 
 the eternal Spirit as we see it working in diverse 
 ways; the atonement, the uplift to a regenerated 
 life that results from the contemplation of the 
 Lord's heroic death. At modes of interpretation 
 like these, of a creed which rests upon the total 
 denial of private interpretation, Ambrose was at 
 first profoundly shocked. In such a system, he 
 felt, anything might mean anything. It was tri 
 fling with words. It fell far short of downright 
 sincerity. But as he grew accustomed to the 
 thought of these men, he perceived that their 
 scheme of conformity was not without sublimity 
 as well as ingenuity. If the Nicene age could put 
 new wordings upon ancient dogmas, why cannot 
 ours? If doctrine has undergone development,
 
 THE PRIEST 113 
 
 and vast development already, why may we not 
 help it forward to a new development required by 
 science and the modern spirit? Is it not better 
 to make the attempt at least, than to cut loose 
 from the Church, abandon her many helps to the 
 interior life, and throw ourselves into a work of 
 disintegration rather than one of reconstruction? 
 Yes, there was a reason and some species of justi 
 fication for liberal Catholicism; though try as he 
 might, Ambrose could not make it fit his conscience 
 comfortably. Rid it of subtle insincerity he could 
 not ; nor could he avoid thinking that with all the 
 liberal Catholics' horror of separation and schism, 
 they were far more widely removed from the 
 Church, as a teaching church, than were any of 
 the Protestant sects at the time of the Reforma 
 tion. Still he was one with these liberal thinkers 
 of his church in most features of their activity. 
 With them he recognized the need of many reforms 
 within Catholicism, reform in worship, in govern 
 ment, and above all in Rome's attitude to scholar 
 ship and modern democracy. Clearly, if he was 
 to remain a Catholic he must consider himself a 
 member of this modernist party, however he might 
 be distressed by their subscription to the creed in 
 a non-natural sense. 
 
 The clouds about him grew darker, the unrest 
 within his breast deeper with every day. At times 
 he would lift weary eyes from the book on his desk 
 and gaze, now at the crucifix upon the wall, now 
 at two mottoes hung above his table which he had
 
 1U THE PRIEST 
 
 copied from the first book that Danf orth lent him : 
 " He has no right to call himself a child of Truth 
 who will not follow her in meek submission whither 
 soever she leads." " Love Truth as you love God ; 
 not rashly, not violently, not with reckless passion, 
 but calmly, considerately, thoughtfully, with un 
 sullied conscience, with aspiring mind, with inde 
 structible trust." Noble words, and he was doing 
 his best to live up to them. Sincere and candid 
 Truth he was seeking through laborious days and 
 lonely nights; and loving it too with a pure con 
 science, and, at least as yet, with courage. Yet 
 whither was it leading him? Back to what once 
 he was, what once he held with so radiant a con 
 viction? " No ! " tolled like a bell within his heart. 
 Whither then ? No answer came and darkness fell 
 upon his eyes. Whither? Up rough and stony 
 paths he knew; but on what summit he should 
 stand at the journey's end, he could not tell, nor 
 dared to think. 
 
 More than once he left his books open upon the 
 table and went for sheer relief to visit the dear 
 child Mary, that suffering saint. How her words 
 both comforted and pained him! 
 
 " I am blessedly happy, Father," she would say. 
 " Our Lord condescends to comfort me. The 
 Church's holy prayers and Sacraments are life to 
 me. I must try to be more patient till Jesus gives 
 me release, and I behold Him, if I am not too sin 
 ful, face to face." 
 
 One day as he was leaving her, and had said,
 
 THE PRIEST 115 
 
 with a pang of sorrow in his heart : " My dear 
 little girl, pray for me to the Lord who is so near 
 you," Mary, holding his hand, answered: 
 " Father, you are suffering, are you not? " 
 
 " Yes, child," he said ; " but it is a small mat 
 ter." 
 
 " I am sure," said Mary, " that to-morrow, 
 when you say Mass, Our Lord reposing in your 
 hands will smile upon you, and give you His un 
 speakable peace." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Ambrose to himself, as he left the 
 Kiley cottage that morning ; " what can frozen 
 scholarship give in return for what it is so des 
 perately trying to take away? Little Mary is an 
 apology for the ancient ways of the tender Savior, 
 that is unanswerable to all the intellect in tier- 
 many." 
 
 But when he returned to his books, the austere 
 voice of science and truth spoke in his heart as 
 imperatively as before. Promising no comfort, 
 uttering no raptures, holding forth no thrilling 
 joys, it spoke to him its simple word of august 
 authority. How cold and stern were its tones! 
 How firm and unrelenting was its accent! Thus 
 was Ambrose Hanlon divided between head and 
 heart. Thus he passed into that tragic crisis out 
 of which have come both the bitterest cynics and 
 the holiest saints of our humanity. 
 
 His opportunities for discussing his problems 
 with Josiah Danforth had now become rare. 
 Danforth was absent some days of every week 
 lecturing on Christian patriotism and founding
 
 116 THE PRIEST 
 
 new branches of his Conscience and Country 
 League. Great audiences were greeting the 
 young minister everywhere. His discourses, so 
 lofty, so earnest, so mystical, so filled with a 
 sacred love of country and humanity, were arous 
 ing an enthusiasm like that which attends some 
 extraordinary revival of religious zeal. But de 
 spite these occupations, Danforth was affection 
 ately following every development in the mind of 
 his friend. He encouraged him to see that these 
 mental distresses were but the growing-pains of a 
 God-approaching soul. He confirmed his faith 
 in the eternal verities of the all-Holy. He com 
 forted him by showing that his mental emancipa 
 tion was meant for a preparation for some diviner 
 vocation than he had ever known before. In all 
 ways he was a brother to the troubled priest, his 
 stay and strong support. These kind offices 
 touched Ambrose Hanlon's heart with a gratitude 
 which he hardly dared trust himself to express. 
 He came to venerate Danforth as a man of God, 
 and to love him as the best of friends. Through 
 the inspiration that the minister gave him, he be 
 gan at last to perceive joyousness and warmth in 
 the aspect of that Truth which at first had ap 
 peared so destructive and so stern. His natural 
 gentleness of character was steadied and fortified 
 with a firmer sense of integrity than his previous 
 training had been able to give him. Not for the 
 world would he undo the mental and spiritual 
 transformation through which he was passing. 
 He rejoiced in it. But still he suffered. His
 
 THE PRIEST 117 
 
 hours of desolation were many; and looking into 
 the future he could discern no certainty except 
 loneliness and trials manifold. 
 
 His most frequent visitor during this period 
 was the Reverend Joseph Dooran. Unstable in 
 mind as he was unlovable in character, this man 
 had caught indiscriminately at both the fairly as 
 certained results and the merest hypotheses of 
 criticism; bothered himself not at all with any 
 painstaking verification of either; and leaped at 
 one wild jump into the most advanced conclusions 
 and the most radical theories of the critical school. 
 Ambrose, at first alarmed, became simply vexed 
 and bored by Dooran's impetuosity, lack of 
 method, and wholly unscholarly and unreverential 
 attitude of mind. Dooran came regularly to bor 
 row books which Ambrose would have refused him, 
 but that a serious quarrel would have followed the 
 refusal. He disliked to discuss any question with 
 Dooran ; and contented himself now and then re 
 futing some extravagant opinion which had caught 
 Dooran's fancy, and with warning him that he was 
 going about the business of these studies in an ut 
 terly unscientific fashion. Useless all! Dooran 
 continued to be the slave of the latest book he read, 
 the newest hypothesis he came upon. Tempera 
 mentally he was beyond teaching. As a rule, 
 Father Hanlon maintained the traditional views 
 of Scripture and doctrine against Dooran, and 
 now and then silenced him with arguments which 
 were far from conclusive to himself. Still, un-
 
 118 THE PRIEST 
 
 congenial as Dooran was, Ambrose confided much 
 to him. Times were when his overburdened heart 
 sought the relief of sharing if sharing it could 
 be called its hidden sorrow even with this un 
 sympathetic nature. In return Dooran frankly 
 confessed that only by a straining of courtesy 
 could he himself be called a Catholic any longer. 
 Long before he had begun his late course of read 
 ing, he said, he had been thoroughly disgusted at 
 the administrative side of the church. As one of 
 the consultors of the diocese he knew, he declared, 
 how great an influence scheming, sycophancy, and 
 the power of money possessed in the allotting of 
 fat places in fields ecclesiastical; and how little 
 any higher providence had to do with it. He had 
 tried not to yield to this feeling and had purposely 
 cultivated a stringent conservatism, he reminded 
 Ambrose ; but now that he had come to see on how 
 slender a basis not only church-discipline but 
 church-dogma rested, he was going to make no 
 further pretenses, and cared not who knew of his 
 liberal and radical tendencies. 
 
 Ambrose was somewhat apprehensive lest from 
 Dooran's reckless speaking in the presence of con 
 servative priests trouble might arise for both of 
 them. But this was the least of his worries, and 
 neither to Father Dooran nor to the jeopardy of 
 Father Dooran's faith did he give more than an 
 occasional and passing thought.
 
 XIII 
 
 Father Hanlon had free access to Mr. Dan- 
 forth's house and in the minister's absence he 
 spent many hours there amid the treasures of the 
 library. He often attended the evening devotions 
 of the household, and no longer with a smarting 
 conscience. His mind had grown too large now 
 to believe, indeed he was shocked and humiliated 
 that he had ever believed, that it was a sin to kneel ^/ 
 with any of God's children in supplication and /\ 
 worship to the Father of us all. These half-hours 
 of silent prayer refreshed him; and in the pres 
 ence of Mrs. Danforth and Dorothy he found a 
 comfort of which his human nature was sorely in 
 need. 
 
 One evening when they had risen from medita 
 tion, Father Hanlon returned to the library to 
 finish the reading of an article in a biblical ency 
 clopedia. As he descended the stairs half an hour 
 later to leave the house, he found Miss Wakefield 
 in the entry setting out for home. The priest 
 wondered if he should offer to accompany her, as 
 it was now quite ten o'clock. He decided not to 
 make the offer. So far as he was aware, Dan 
 forth never went with her ; and the streets of Axton 
 surely were safe. So with merely a word of 
 good-night, he took the short street leading to the 
 square and Dorothy the broad road on which her 
 uncle's house and in general the better class of 
 residences were situated. Dorothy had not gone 
 
 twenty yards from the house when a man stepped 
 119
 
 120 THE PRIEST 
 
 from the dark roadside and said in a voice that 
 she had reason to remember: 
 
 " Mees-a Wakefield, I must spik to you." 
 
 The girl instantly turned away from the man 
 and called out: 
 
 " Father Hanlon, will you come here, please? " 
 
 In a few rapid steps the priest was at her side. 
 Pasquale Ciasca still stood confronting her. 
 
 " Father Hanlon," said Dorothy, " this man is 
 annoying me." 
 
 " You scoundrel ! " exclaimed Hanlon, stepping 
 up to the Italian, resolved to give battle on the 
 spot. 
 
 Ciasca in all probability could have killed the 
 fragile student had they engaged in combat; but 
 he had no desire to get himself into serious trouble. 
 Implacable as was his native revengefulness, it 
 was also calculating and cautious. He yielded 
 ground therefore before the priest's advance, and 
 dropped into the roadside thicket, leaving behind 
 him a trail of fluent imprecations. 
 
 Dorothy's earnestly spoken gratitude was very 
 pleasing to Father Hanlon. There was no shal 
 low sentiment about it. Simply in his grave way 
 he felt ennobled at having done this refined girl 
 a service, and at having been ready to risk his life 
 in doing it. 
 
 Father Hanlon knew of Ciasca. The fellow 
 had of late become a violent partisan of Murdock's, 
 and was working strenuously among his Italian 
 countrymen to enlist them among the anarchists,
 
 THE PRIEST 121 
 
 or at least to deter them from the practice of relig 
 ion. His success had been only too pronounced. 
 One of his boasts that had reached the ears of 
 Father Hanlon was that he had a larger Italian 
 parish than the priest, though he was the devil's 
 lieutenant, while the priest claimed to be God's. 
 
 As Hanlon was leaving Miss Wakefield at her 
 gate she gave him her hand, repeating her appre 
 ciation of his act, and said: 
 
 " I trust, Father Hanlon, that this kindness to 
 me will not lead to any danger for you. That 
 man is to be dreaded. Will you not take every 
 precaution lest he injure you? " 
 
 He assured her, smiling, that he had not the 
 slightest fear, and took leave of her with much 
 less concern about the matter in his breast than 
 there was in hers. As he approached the hotel the 
 incident dropped from his mind, and he fell to 
 reflecting upon the reading that he had done that 
 night in Josiah Danforth's library. He saw not 
 the crouching figure that waited ahead of him 
 where the street turned into the square. He saw 
 no one except Nahum Cuttle coming out of his 
 front door to put up the shutters for the night. 
 As he was about to make the turn in the road, the 
 earth fell away beneath his feet, the roar as of a 
 hundred cataracts overwhelmed him, and he knew 
 no more. 
 
 The inn-keeper saw him fall, and rushed to help 
 him. " Poor dear man ! " said Nahum, as he ten 
 derly carried him into the house ; " I'd commit
 
 THE PRIEST 
 
 murder to-night if I knew the black scoundrel that 
 did this. Poor dear boy ! " 
 
 On the third day after the assault Father Han- 
 Ion left his bed for a short time in the afternoon, 
 and with Nahum's help went down stairs and sat 
 propped up with pillows in a reclining chair on 
 the piazza. It was a beautiful day in late Oc 
 tober. It had been warm all day; and now the 
 sun was sinking in great billows of clouds that 
 were massed upon the horizon. A brooding ten 
 derness and a profound peace seemed to hover 
 over the earth. It was an hour for great and 
 tranquil thoughts. The soul of Ambrose was in 
 a mood to match this evening prayer of nature. 
 He had been near to death. Death? Was there 
 not solace in the word and thought? Yes, a great 
 and sustaining solace. If he had died, it would 
 have been not only without complaint, but with 
 quiet joy. He rejoiced to find that he had no 
 fear of death. He was not what he once was; 
 his mind had changed, his spirit had grown. He 
 had studied and meditated. He had gone far 
 seeking Truth. But still he was one with God. 
 Still he was a priest. To the divine he was con 
 secrated; to the divine he had been true. He felt 
 that God's Spirit had been leading him ; that God 
 was at this moment comforting him. He looked 
 at the setting sun, at the quiet earth, at the be 
 nignant, all-embracing sky. They all gave 
 answer to his own spirit : " The Eternal Heart 
 and Will are merciful and tender and good." 
 Tears filled his eyes. It had been long since re-
 
 THE PRIEST 123 
 
 ligious emotion had brought him tears. But now 
 the assurance within his heart, the trust that sus 
 tained his soul, the consciousness of deep com 
 munion with One that was higher than he, over 
 came him, and he yielded to the full felicity of 
 this holy hour. 
 
 So absorbed was he in these meditations that 
 he saw not a young woman walking rapidly to 
 wards him, her eyes fastened upon him eagerly, 
 tenderly. Not till she was upon the steps of the 
 piazza did he notice her. 
 
 " Father Hanlon," said Dorothy, " permit me 
 the liberty," and holding his hand in both hers, 
 she bent and kissed it reverently. 
 
 They were silent for a moment. Dorothy was 
 gazing upon him with profound, but fairly con 
 cealed emotion. He looked so utterly forlorn and 
 weak ; his wan face so pure and spiritual ! 
 
 " Father," she said at last ; " I fear you are not 
 getting sufficient care." 
 
 He smiled faintly. " Yes," said his weak voice, 
 " I am very well looked after. Nahum is the soul 
 of kindness." 
 
 " But a man cannot be a nurse," protested 
 Dorothy. " Are you left alone all day long in 
 that lonely room of yours, with no one to give 
 you what you need? " 
 
 " Nahum looks in from time to time," he an 
 swered. " I really have everything necessary. 
 And as for loneliness, a priest, you know, is used 
 to that. It is our portion, and we take it without 
 complaint. We are not accustomed to much at-
 
 124 THE PRIEST 
 
 tention. So please do not exaggerate this trifling 
 inconvenience of mine." 
 
 " I will not exaggerate," said Dorothy ; " but I 
 have every reason to wish to do what I can for 
 you. I was the cause of your suffering." Her 
 voice was nearly beyond her control as she spoke 
 the words. 
 
 " The suffering is not worth mentioning," he 
 assured her. " Such as it is, I consider it a favor, 
 if that which brought it on was of the least ser 
 vice to you." Then with a smile he added : " But 
 my life is charmed, you know. That vocation 
 that you once suggested to me is still before me." 
 
 " Yes," was Dorothy's quiet remark, " it is still 
 before you, and I feel that you will yet under 
 take it." 
 
 Father Hanlon's face was grave again. " I 
 think I am much nearer to it now than I was when 
 you first spoke of it to me," he said in a low tone, 
 scarcely audible to her, as though he were solilo 
 quizing. 
 
 " Do you fear it ? " asked the girl. 
 
 He did not answer for some moments. " I 
 would like to say No," he responded finally, " but 
 of late I have been trying to cultivate Truth above 
 all things, and I fear I must say I do fear it. 
 Heroic men, your great ideal calls for, and I have 
 never believed myself a man of such dimensions." 
 
 " It is war not peace that makes the soldier," 
 said Dorothy. " I think you have shown your 
 ability to rise to the demands of a crisis."
 
 THE PRIEST 125 
 
 " Miss Wakefield," he deprecated ; " I feel hu 
 miliated at your overestimation of a beggarly in 
 cident. But as to the future I would like to 
 strengthen the hands of our Catholic liberals. I 
 would like to break down some of the unnecessary 
 walls of division that stand in the way of Christian 
 reunion. If I ever do make the attempt, I shall 
 be that most to be pitied of all men, a conscien 
 tious priest disgraced by authority, cast off by 
 friends, and a source of pain to those I most love. 
 You spoke a moment ago of loneliness. Ah! but 
 that is loneliness, the loneliness of utter desola 
 tion." 
 
 He relapsed into thoughtful silence. Dorothy 
 looked at him with eyes full of sorrow. 
 
 " Father Hanlon," she said, " it is impossible 
 for you to go on thinking and feeling so. If you 
 allow yourself to get into this condition of spirit 
 ual and mental anguish, your life will be ruined. 
 You cannot endure the strain. If I read your 
 nature aright, you would soon break down com 
 pletely beneath unrest and discontent. You feel 
 too deeply to bear such a burden long. You must 
 act; you must come to a definite resolve. What 
 ever pain such action might bring, it would be far 
 less harmful than the silent inactivity of abiding 
 sorrow. But I must cease speaking of these mat 
 ters now. I have already tried your strength too 
 long, and I must let you rest. Good-by, dear 
 friend. You will allow a Unitarian girl to pray 
 for you? "
 
 126 THE PRIEST 
 
 " I implore her to do so," was the priest's earn 
 est answer. " And may that Unitarian girl her 
 self be vouchsafed the best blessings that God can 
 give!" 
 
 As Dorothy walked away in the gathering twi 
 light, Father Hanlon looked after her marveling. 
 He had never told her of his condition of mind 
 and soul; yet she divined it perfectly. His ac 
 quaintance with her had been brief and far from 
 intimate ; yet in telling him that he could not long 
 endure his present distress, she had revealed to 
 him a side of his nature that he had not himself 
 observed. What intuition she had! What sym 
 pathy !
 
 XIV 
 
 The Reverend Joseph Dooran was seated at his 
 desk reading a book, lent him by Hanlon, on the 
 traces of Gragco-Alexandrian philosophy in the 
 fourth Gospel, when Father O'Murtagh walked 
 into the room. 
 
 " What are you reading, Dooran ? " asked the 
 unceremonious visitor, glancing at the book. 
 " Humph ! more infidelity. Dooran, this kind of 
 business has made you a changed man." 
 
 "Do you think so?" answered Dooran coldly. 
 
 " You have not only been reading rationalist 
 authors, but you have been talking freely, and I 
 may say scandalously, about holy things," con 
 tinued Father O'Murtagh. 
 
 " You are frank I must say," remarked Dooran, 
 his little eyes and harsh mouth expressing angry 
 resentment. 
 
 " I think frankness is what you need," persisted 
 O'Murtagh, not disconcerted in the least. 
 
 " You would like me to confine myself to the 
 penny catechism, and to St. Thomas, from whom 
 we are separated by seven centuries of intellectual 
 progress, I dare say." Dooran put his best sar 
 casm into the words. 
 
 " Seven centuries of intellectual rubbish would 
 be nearer the truth," asserted O'Murtagh. " So 
 you think these modern lads, Harnack and and 
 the rest of them, are greater than the Fathers, 
 
 the Saints, and even the Gospel, do you? " 
 127
 
 128 THE PRIEST 
 
 " I do not care to enter into a controversy with 
 you," said Dooran. 
 
 " Faith, and I don't want a controversy either. 
 The whole parcel of modern criticism is impious 
 folly. It is the insane pride of men who think 
 that God is impertinent because He proposes to 
 their belief mysteries to which their idiotic heads 
 must surrender. It isn't worth a controversy. 
 The best argument against these fellows is to kick 
 them into the street. The best use for their books 
 is to pitch them into the fire." 
 
 So saying, Father O'Murtagh helped himself to 
 one of Dooran's cigars, lighted it and sat back, 
 blowing fragrant clouds into the air, massive and 
 imperturbable. 
 
 " How many of these so-called rationalist books 
 did you ever read? " asked Father Dooran. 
 
 " Diwle a one at all and very few of any other 
 kind," confessed the Irishman unabashed. " Half 
 the crazy foolishness in the world, yes nine-tenths 
 of it, comes from reading. It's faith that men 
 need; they have too many books. Has young 
 Hanlon any faith left in him at all? " 
 
 " Of course he has," responded Dooran. " That 
 is the way with you conservatives; as soon as a 
 man begins to know anything, you yell out that 
 he is a heretic. Good heavens! can no one have 
 faith but a jackass? " 
 
 " Poor man ! " said O'Murtagh, smiling comi 
 cally at his exasperated companion. " Dooran, 
 you are the biggest jackass in the diocese this 
 minute."
 
 THE PRIEST 129 
 
 " O'Murtagh," retorted Dooran, flushing very 
 red under the insult ; " I must ask you to leave my 
 house." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " laughed his big tormenter. 
 " Well, then I refuse to leave." 
 
 " Then I will leave you," said Dooran, rising. 
 
 " Sit down, me boy, sit down," advised O'Mur 
 tagh, waving his hand toward the chair. " Per 
 haps I have come here to do you a great favor." 
 
 " I don't want your favors, sir," said Dooran 
 on the threshold. 
 
 " All right, sir," replied O'Murtagh. " It is in 
 my power to confer on you the greatest benefit of 
 your life, and I came here to do it; but perhaps 
 I had better be going." 
 
 Father O'Murtagh knew his man. Father 
 Dooran had a keen eye to the main chance. Of 
 all persons in the world whose interests he was 
 likely to forget, Joseph Dooran was the last. 
 
 " If you have anything decent to say to me, say 
 it," he remarked. 
 
 " When you sit down I will make my little 
 speech," observed O'Murtagh calmly. 
 
 Father Dooran sat down. 
 
 " I suppose you know that Bishop Shyrne is a 
 very orthodox man ? " began O'Murtagh. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I suppose you know that he despises liberal 
 Catholics?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I suppose you know that he is about to ask
 
 130 THE PRIEST 
 
 Rome for a coadjutor bishop with right of suc 
 cession ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The bishop has great influence in Rome. The 
 man whom he recommends will surely get the ap 
 pointment. You are aware of that too ? " 
 
 Father Dooran was silent. 
 
 " Well then, I have it on the highest authority 
 that he is to request the Holy See to name as his 
 coadjutor, the Reverend Joseph Dooran." 
 
 The gentleman to whom this unexpected an 
 nouncement was made sank down in his chair, a 
 pallor came into his cheeks, and in the stress of 
 his nervousness he began biting his finger-nails. 
 Excitement always brought his incurable un- 
 couthness to the surface. 
 
 " Of course," resumed O'Murtagh, " if Bishop 
 Shyrne hears of your recent reading and manner 
 of speaking it's all up with you. Perhaps by way 
 of no harm, and as though you had no knowledge 
 of what I have told you, you could manage to do 
 or say something that would prove your conserva 
 tive orthodoxy. It would be decisive with the old 
 man just at this time I think." 
 
 Father Dooran rose and held out his hand. 
 " Father O'Murtagh," he said, " you are the best 
 of friends. If I get this appointment, be assured 
 you will be well rewarded for what you have done 
 to-day." 
 
 When O'Murtagh had gone, Joseph Dooran 
 closed the book he had been reading, placed it with
 
 THE PRIEST 131 
 
 three other borrowed volumes, tied them up, and 
 summoned his stable-man. 
 
 " Dennis," he said, " take these books to Father 
 Hanlon to-morrow morning."
 
 XV 
 
 As soon as Father Hanlon recovered from his 
 injury, he busied himself with preparations for 
 the dedication of the humble church which he had 
 built. To his great delight, Bishop Shy me had 
 told him that he would be unable to be present at 
 the dedication. Ambrose felt a repugnance for 
 the elaborate ritual of a pontifical service, and was 
 happy in the anticipation of a simple ceremony. 
 A large number of the non.-Catholics of Axton 
 would be there, for they had come to regard the 
 quiet, cultivated young pastor with great respect. 
 Several of them were regular attendants at his ser 
 vices, drawn by his earnest, unpretending elo 
 quence. For their sakes too he was glad that the 
 bishop was not coming. He dreaded the effect 
 upon them of the grotesque ceremonial of a mass 
 " coram pontifice." 
 
 The building of his little chapel had bound 
 Father Hanlon very closely to Axton. The pros 
 pect of many years with his simple flock pleased 
 him with a great content. Surely, he often re 
 flected, it is best for me to stay with my people. 
 I am helping them. I am doing a certain and sure 
 good. Why, then, venture forth with the liberal 
 Catholics, incur disgrace, abandon this scene of 
 service, and perhaps do more harm than good by 
 openly agitating for reforms which our generation 
 shall not see? This manner of thinking was only 
 a half-solace, however; for that imperious, that 
 
 new, that awful Truth of which he had lately 
 132
 
 THE PRIEST 133 
 
 learned the meaning would not still its voice. But 
 a half-solace was better than none; and as his 
 church took shape before his eyes, he was fain to 
 dwell fondly on his future ministry there; on the 
 children he would instruct; the afflicted he would 
 comfort; the dead over whom he would chant the 
 requiem. It was a sweet and inviting anticipation, 
 and he found his highest happiness in contemplat 
 ing it. 
 
 One evening a fortnight before the dedication, 
 he found on his desk when he returned from over 
 seeing the workmen at the chapel, a note in Bishop 
 Shyrne's own hand, summoning him to the episco 
 pal residence without delay. " I hope he has not 
 changed his mind about coming," said Ambrose, 
 as he turned to his ever ready books. 
 
 The next afternoon he knocked at the door of 
 the bishop's study and entered in response to the 
 high-pitched " Come in ! " 
 
 The priest knelt and kissed the episcopal ring, 
 and said pleasantly: 
 
 " I am glad to see you, Bishop. I hope you are 
 well." 
 
 The bishop made no answer, but took a letter 
 from his desk, handed it to Father Hanlon and 
 said : " Read that and give an account of your 
 self." 
 
 This meant trouble, and Father Hanlon's pale 
 face grew paler. His hand trembled as he took 
 the letter, and a physical weakness came upon him 
 before he read a word. He sat down, though he
 
 134 THE PRIEST 
 
 had not been asked to do so, and read as follows: 
 
 Right reverend and dear Bishop, 
 
 For some time I have thought of writing you on 
 the painful subj ect which I am about to bring to your 
 notice, but refrained from doing so lest I injure a 
 brother priest without sufficient justification. But 
 my conscience will not allow me to keep silence any 
 longer. You, as bearing the chief responsibility of 
 the pastoral office in this diocese, ought to know the 
 matter of which I write ; and I deem it my duty, irre 
 spective of human considerations, to give you the fol 
 lowing information. 
 
 Father Hanlon of Axton, I most deeply regret to 
 say, has fallen into a deplorable state of mind regard 
 ing the faith. He has become intimate with the Uni 
 tarian minister of Axton a thorough rationalist, 
 has done an enormous amount of dangerous reading 
 in books which this minister has lent him, and is now 
 infected with higher criticism, semi-rationalism, and 
 liberal Catholicism. How entirely out of sympathy 
 he is with the traditional theology of the Church you 
 may gather from the fact that he burned two vol 
 umes of Suarez, as books unworthy of a man of mod 
 ern views. This I learned from his own lips. 
 
 It pains me to write this. We all remember Am 
 brose Hanlon as up to a year ago our brightest 
 young man, full of promise, and a man of prayer. 
 He is terribly changed; so changed that I fear the 
 very worst for him. Surely, dear Bishop, this is a 
 matter that you ought to know. Perhaps you may 
 be able to avert the disaster that I fear. 
 
 Trusting that you will understand the spirit in 
 which I write these sorrowful lines, I am 
 Yours with filial respect, 
 
 JOSEPH DOORAN.
 
 THE PRIEST 135 
 
 P. S. I cannot say to what extent Father Han- 
 Ion has had an evil influence on his parishioners; but 
 I cannot help suspecting that his sermons have shown 
 of late a spirit that is far from being genuinely 
 Catholic. J. D. 
 
 As soon as Ambrose finished reading this letter, 
 he laid it upon the desk. He could no more have 
 held it longer in his hand than he could have held 
 a snake. 
 
 " Well, sir? " came the bishop's sharp staccato. 
 
 Father Hanlon, trying desperately to be calm, 
 said after a moment in a low, even voice: 
 
 " I hope the man who wrote that letter was sin 
 cere. I will not judge his motives. I will only 
 say that it would be easy for you to derive from 
 his charges an opinion of me which would be ut 
 terly unjust." 
 
 " A pretty weak defence ! A pretty weak de 
 fence ! " said the bishop with curling lip. " Now, 
 sir," he went on, " answer me these specific ques 
 tions. Did you burn two volumes of Suarez? " 
 
 " I gave them to my landlord, and I think he 
 burned them. I told him to do so," answered 
 Hanlon. 
 
 " Why did you do that, sir? " 
 
 " I will tell you frankly why I did it," was the 
 priest's response. " I spent six years studying 
 metaphysical theology, almost entirely to the neg 
 lect of positive and critical theological learning. 
 I thought that the whole world of the intellect 
 could be packed into the syllogisms of Suarez or
 
 136 THE PRIEST 
 
 of the Summa. Lately I have discovered that this 
 education of mine was scandalously inadequate. 
 I found that I was ignorant of a vast amount of 
 historical work that has been done in modern times 
 in the field of theology. I was an infant, a fool, 
 in the presence of a man of modern education. So 
 angry was I on waking up to this state of things 
 that in a moment of petulance, I took Suarez' 
 * De Angelis ' from my shelf and had it flung into 
 the fire. It was childish, I suppose ; but the provo 
 cation was very great." 
 
 " And what did you substitute for Suarez ? " 
 The bishop's effort not to lose his temper was 
 painfully evident. 
 
 " Biblical criticism and the history of primitive 
 Christianity," replied Hanlon. 
 
 " Biblical criticism ! " repeatedhis lordship con 
 temptuously. " Biblical rationalism out of the 
 books of German infidels, you probably mean." 
 
 " I have read some German authors," acknowl 
 edged Hanlon. " To any man who would become 
 acquainted with modern scholarship in this depart 
 ment of science, the work done by German investi 
 gators is indispensable." 
 
 " Your patron saint, I dare say, is Hermann 
 Harnack ? " sneered the successor of the apostles. 
 
 " I have never heard of Hermann Harnack." 
 
 " Ho ! Ho ! Ho ! You are a fine rationalist 
 never to have heard of the great high priest of 
 infidel criticism." 
 
 " He is wholly unknown to me," said Ambrose ;
 
 THE PRIEST 137 
 
 " though I have read several writings of a name 
 sake of his called Adolf Harnack." 
 
 " Hm ! " said the bishop. " Now what about this 
 Unitarian minister? Is he a friend of yours? " 
 
 " He is." 
 
 "You visit him?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " You read his books ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Do you think that proper in a Catholic priest?" 
 
 " I can see no crime or impropriety in it." 
 
 " Then you must be given a few lessons in what 
 constitutes priestly propriety. Now, finally, sir, 
 to what extent have you spread your new views 
 and your un-Catholic spirit among your people? 
 Answer me on your honor." 
 
 " Bishop Shyrne," replied Hanlon warmly ; " to 
 accuse me of disseminating among my parishion 
 ers any views which would in the least disturb 
 them, is an outrageous injustice. That insinua 
 tion is what makes Dooran's letter to you abomin 
 able and wicked. I preach the Gospel to my 
 people to the best of my power. I am their priest, 
 not their schoolmaster; and I have never uttered 
 in the presence of a single Catholic in Axton, 
 opinions about which students and critics are de 
 bating. I cannot allow you or any other man to 
 make this charge of treachery and dishonor 
 against me." 
 
 " Let that pass," said the relentless prelate ; 
 " you have done enough without it to call for the
 
 138 THE PRIEST 
 
 severest rebuke that I can give. You have not 
 been a faithful priest. You have not been true 
 to your vocation. You have ruined the bright 
 prospects that lay before you. You have pained 
 and disappointed me grievously. You must 
 change at once sir, for you are rushing headlong 
 into temporal and eternal disaster. For the pres 
 ent my orders are these. Remember them and obey 
 them: For the space of six months you will read 
 no rationalist criticism. You must begin to take 
 measures for breaking off your intimacy with that 
 Unitarian minister. And finally you shall not say 
 mass till next Sunday. To-day is Wednesday, and 
 I suspend you for the remainder of this week. 
 Moreover I shall be present at the dedication of 
 your church a week from Sunday. I must look 
 over the ground myself. I will not remove you 
 now from Axton, though I should be amply justi 
 fied in doing so. Your days there, however, are 
 numbered. That is all sir ; please leave the house." 
 Poor Ambrose! He, the soul of fidelity; he, 
 the unstained mirror of honor; he, the guileless 
 youth that invested all men with the virtues of 
 his own heart, a calumniated outcast, a suspended 
 priest! Almost crying aloud for pain he strode 
 the city streets in the fast-falling gloom of the 
 winter night, with his eyes closed to all save the 
 crushing weight upon his own heart. He stumbled 
 into several persons, he was twice under the hoofs 
 of horses at crossings, but he minded not. He 
 neither saw the angry looks of those whom he
 
 THE PRIEST 139 
 
 struck against, nor heard the imprecation of the 
 drivers who had nearly run him down. Nothing 
 he knew except that he was disgraced, that he was 
 foully dealt with, that he was shipwrecked in the 
 mid-ocean of despair. On he walked rapidly, 
 rapidly. The streets into which he had come were 
 no longer the brilliant thoroughfares of trade, but 
 dark and ill-kept alleys. It was nothing to him. 
 Down one gloomy lane and up another, but he 
 could not leave his grief behind. His work gone 
 for naught ! His pure life rewarded with the pun 
 ishment which the canons of the church reserve for 
 the reprobate and criminal! Of what use to do 
 one's duty? Of what avail to bear the sacerdotal 
 burden ? 
 
 Confusedly, sluggishly, it dawned upon him 
 that a man had grasped his arm and was saying 
 something; that he was being pushed toward that 
 door behind which were sounds of revelry. He 
 was quite across the threshold before he came to 
 himself. A huge fellow had him by the arm. A 
 deep voice was saying: " Come in old man, an' 
 drown yer sorrer! Make a night of it with the 
 boys an* gals ! Set 'em up for th' crowd ! " Am 
 brose looked at the man with eyes wild with terror 
 and drew back from him. Then he glanced down 
 the room, his heart racing with the speed of mortal 
 fright. A dozen men were standing at the bar; 
 four or five others, with as many rakish women, 
 were seated at small tables. 
 
 " Come in, honey," called one of the women.
 
 140 THE PRIEST 
 
 " Come on, pardner," said the man beside him, 
 " make a night of it with th' boys an' gals. Come 
 up an' fetch 'im, Liz," he called out to a lewd 
 creature who was sitting on the knee of a grizzly 
 roue. 
 
 " Sure ! " answered the wastrel thus addressed, 
 jumping to her feet and running toward Ambrose. 
 
 With white face the young priest dashed to the 
 door. The man that had led him into the den 
 attempted to stay him; but the sharp knuckles 
 of a small fist struck him full in the mouth and 
 sent him cut and bleeding to the floor. With foul 
 obscenity ringing in his ears and a wild tumult 
 of horrible things raging in his heart, Father Han- 
 Ion ran for his life for more than his life. He 
 jumped into a cab that stood at a corner, men 
 tioned a well-known hotel to the driver, and sank 
 back on the seat, sick, faint and afraid.
 
 XVI 
 
 As Father Hanlon was about to write his name 
 on the hotel register he glanced at the last few 
 names just above his own, and in an ecstasy of 
 joy saw among them in the bold hand that he 
 knew so well, " Josiah Danforth." A hurried in 
 quiry from the clerk brought the information that 
 Mr. Danforth had gone out and would not be 
 back until after his lecture that night. Ambrose 
 ordered supper, which he scarcely touched, looked 
 through an evening paper where he saw the ad 
 vertisement of Danforth's lecture on " Some 
 Higher Aspects of Patriotism," and set out for the 
 hall named in the announcement. He arrived 
 there half an hour ahead of time, and found the 
 great auditorium already so nearly filled that he 
 could only get a place in the second last row of 
 seats. Laying aside his troubles for the time, he 
 looked over the great throng on the floor and in 
 the galleries which ran along three sides of the 
 hall, and yielded himself to the reflections which 
 the striking scene inspired. A crowd always 
 deeply moved him. It conveyed to him some subtle 
 spiritual magnetism. It elevated and thrilled him. 
 It acted upon him as the distant thunder of battle 
 acts upon a charger. He always felt, even when 
 he was merely an indistinguishable unit in such 
 an audience, that he would like to rise before them, 
 pour out his soul in advocacy of some great prin 
 ciple, lead them, control them, consecrate them, 
 141
 
 THE PRIEST 
 
 to the ideal for which he pleaded. He felt this 
 now. How he would like to face this multitude 
 from that stage and unlock the flood-gates of his 
 heart! Justice! He would tell them of it, until 
 they would rise up en masse to take the oath of 
 a new knighthood, pledging themselves never to 
 follow any but a just and righteous cause. In 
 justice! He would sear their souls with words 
 of fire denouncing it, until their latent hatred of 
 wrong, and oppression, and foul dealing, would 
 rise as rises the earth in the irresistible earthquake 
 to bring down every seat of tyranny and every 
 temple of autocracy in irretrievable collapse. He 
 would form in the breasts of these three thousand 
 men and women, a public opinion so pure, so po 
 tent, that before the very look of their eyes, the 
 cruel wielders of irresponsible power would run 
 like rats for cover. Oh! to create in the funda 
 mentally good, but constitutionally indolent hearts 
 of men, this flaming love of the Ideal! this in 
 vincible resolve to uncover hypocrisy and crush 
 to death every one of its crawling species! Oh! 
 to lift this audience and a thousand other similar 
 audiences from end to end of the country, to their 
 feet, make them raise their right hands to God, 
 and utter the vows of Justice, Purity and Truth! 
 Perhaps he would some day do it. A wild hope 
 lit up his heart at the thought, but it died out in a 
 moment as a meteor in the night. Impossible! 
 Impossible ! But how divine a vocation ! Miss 
 Wakefield had once suggested a vocation for him
 
 THE PRIEST 143 
 
 something like this, only now his soaring thought 
 was glorifying and expanding her idea until it 
 shone with a light as far-reaching as the bound 
 aries of the Kingdom of God. 
 
 A storm of applause brought him back to earth. 
 He looked up and saw Danforth walking to the 
 front of the stage. With great love the priest 
 looked at his friend. How noble he was, this Uni 
 tarian mystic! How full of soul those straight 
 forward eyes! How vast a store of saving and 
 regenerating thought behind that commanding 
 brow! In low tones, which, however, traveled to 
 the farthest parts of the hall, Danforth began his 
 address. There could be no intelligent and high- 
 minded love of country, he said, which did not rest 
 upon an adequate understanding of what one's 
 flag and nation represented in the region of the 
 spirit. Prosperity is good, but man does not live 
 by bread alone. Extensive territory is a desirable 
 possession, but mere bigness has no rank in any 
 category of ethics. Freedom of speech and press 
 is a precious blessing, but it is the condition rather 
 than the achievement of national nobility. Only 
 in the order of the Ideal, only in the realm of spirit / 
 may be read the truest and highest message which y\ 
 the shield of our Republic displays to the world. 
 Free individuality, free personality, a free soul; 
 men in love with spiritual freedom ; women devoted 
 to the holiest purposes ; children indoctrinated with 
 the gospel of the Kingdom of Character this is 
 America's meaning, this the light from above in
 
 144. THE PRIEST 
 
 which shines every star and gleams every stripe 
 in our country's banner. 
 
 Thoroughly impassioned with the ardor of his 
 theme, Danforth developed the meaning of con 
 science and the sense of responsibility, showed 
 that in the new patriotism enshrined in this home 
 of liberty, conscience replaced the blind attach 
 ments of lesser patriotisms, was the very altar-fire 
 in the temple of our country, the bond of our 
 union, the hope of our progress, the glory of our 
 strength. " America," he cried, " rejects and de 
 spises the barbaric courage of conquest, but she 
 calls for, lives by, and consecrates the courage 
 of conscience. If some future historian shall ever 
 write the history of our decline and fall, it will 
 not be because our boundless acres have refused 
 to yield their harvests, or our opulent mines their 
 treasures, but because we have abandoned the in 
 tegrity of principle and forgotten how to strive 
 and suffer in the sacred cause of conscience." 
 
 He then gave a masterly analysis of conscience 
 as the inner oracle and true revelation of Deity, 
 and uttered grave warning with the solemn au 
 thority of a prophet against the dangers which 
 threaten to destroy its primacy ordained of God. 
 Conscience in the man of state, in the wealthy 
 classes, in the laborer, in the wife and mother, in 
 the church, he delineated in words of impressive 
 power, words that scorned all fear. He touched 
 upon what he called the " apostolate of conscien 
 tious patriotism," the life of service, help for the
 
 THE PRIEST 146 
 
 weak, assistance for the unfortunate, wise guidance 
 for the immigrant, public movements and out 
 spoken denunciations against subtle treason, or 
 ganized disturbances of peace and justice, and 
 all hypocrisy and the spirit of disdainful aristoc 
 racy. His peroration pictured America as lead 
 ing mankind into an emancipated and regenerated 
 age, wherein the prayers of our founders should 
 be answered, and our flag the symbol of a race 
 that was disciplined to righteousness, profoundly 
 impressed with the sense of its predestined high 
 vocation, examplars of spiritual liberty who bent 
 the knee but to Justice, Truth and Love, and to 
 God who is all in all. 
 
 It was a great triumph. The impress of the 
 speaker and the speech sank deep into every heart. 
 He had set his audience aglow with moral enthusi 
 asm ; he had broken down every sordid barrier that 
 hid the Ideal from their eyes; he had given them 
 a glimpse of the shining stars in the high heaven 
 of the soul of man. Again and again they cheered 
 him. Hundreds rushed to the stage to greet him ; 
 but he had gone. The words of almost religious 
 veneration that were upon every lip he had not 
 stayed to hear. 
 
 A few minutes later Ambrose entered Danforth's 
 room and affectionately embraced him. " Jo," he 
 said, " your prophet's lips have touched the heav 
 enly fire. That speech was a cry from the unseen. 
 It struck into our souls with the inspiration and 
 authority of Divinity."
 
 146 THE PRIEST 
 
 " You are too kind, Ambrose," deprecated the 
 minister; " Do you think it did them any good? " 
 
 " Any good? Why to-night is the acceptable 
 time, the day of salvation for those people," ex 
 claimed Hanlon, quite beside himself with admira 
 tion. 
 
 " Sit down, Ambrose, and we'll have a fine talk," 
 said Danforth. " You have not given me a chance 
 to say how surprised and delighted I am to see 
 you." 
 
 " Jo," said Hanlon, refusing to change the sub 
 ject; " tell me how it feels to make a speech like 
 that." 
 
 " Well," answered Danforth ; " since you insist 
 on talking about the matter, I must say that after 
 the joy of facing an audience such as we had to 
 night, there comes to me a sense of sorrow. 
 Granted that these people have been momentarily 
 lifted up, what will sustain them? It is not enough 
 to preach ideals; you must give people ways and 
 means of holding fast to them. And just here 
 is where I have doubts about the permanence of 
 my work, or of any other earnest man's work. 
 The individual preaches an ideal ; only a system, an 
 organization apparently can conserve it. The 
 mighty strength of the Catholic Church lies pre 
 cisely in this. Its immemorial history, its vast 
 size, its wealth of saintly traditions, all form an 
 incomparable protection for the spiritual treasure 
 of the Gospel. Men may fall away ; prophets and 
 saints may die; but there stands the ancient sys-
 
 THE PRIEST 147 
 
 tern in which the memory of past prophets and 
 saints is kept forever fresh; and a corporate body 
 that never forgets its old saints will never be with 
 out new saints. Ambrose, the more I reflect upon 
 your church, the more amazed I am at its hardly 
 human power and efficiency." 
 
 " Did you ever," asked Father Hanlon, " con 
 sider it probable that you might become a Catho 
 lic? " 
 
 " Never," came the instant response. " I have 
 often looked wistfully toward the ancient faith of 
 Christendom, but I think it impossible that I shall 
 ever feel any call of conscience to join it. Its mys 
 tical resources, its unparalleled power to cultivate 
 the inner life, make me venerate it. But I can 
 go no farther." 
 
 " Let me a little more deeply into your thought," 
 said the priest. " You say that ideals can be per 
 petuated only by a system. You admit that Cathol 
 icism as a conserving system is incomparable, but 
 inadmissible. What system then are we to have? " 
 
 " Ah ! there is the perplexity," answered Dan- 
 forth. " Look at the history of spiritual ideals. 
 They begin with some prophet raised up by God. 
 He arouses the conscience and stimulates the as 
 pirations of humanity. He creates a movement 
 and dies. His message will die with him unless 
 an organization incorporates it and enforces it. 
 The third stage comes when the message is largely 
 lost in the organization; and men confuse this or- ->- 
 ganization with the message. The original living /* **
 
 148 THE PRIEST 
 
 word is then supplanted by outward forms. Ex 
 terior conformity takes the place of interior re 
 sponse, and a new prophet must arise. Then a 
 new system succeeds him, and so the process goes. 
 The Old Testament prophets were replaced by the 
 legalistic system of Phariseeism. Jesus rescued 
 the pure truth of God from the mass ritual and 
 law. His word in turn was incorporated in Cathol 
 icism. Catholicism in its turn was broken up by 
 the reformers. This is the life-cycle of religion. 
 My hope is this: That spiritual power shall be 
 come so strong and pure that humanity will some 
 day enjoy such a succession of prophetic men as 
 will dispense with the necessity of systems of con 
 servation, which sooner or later become systems 
 of destruction. If prophets always lived the or 
 ganization would not be needed. I am hoping for 
 a time when the school of prophets will never be 
 without great teachers and great pupils. The 
 vocation to prophethood will replace the vocation 
 to priesthood. But the prospect of this is sorrow 
 fully and dreadfully distant." 
 
 The two men remained long in thoughtful si 
 lence. Danforth finally said : " Ambrose, you are 
 the servant of a mighty religious system. Its cor 
 porate power re-enforces your work tenfold. As 
 long as you can honestly interpret its belief in the 
 manner of a liberal Catholic, remain in it, strive 
 to purify it, and adapt it to modern needs. Per 
 haps after all it may be the old faith that will pro 
 duce the new race of prophets. Catholicism is so
 
 THE PRIEST 149 
 
 warm and comforting and massively fraternal! 
 With all my love for Unitarian principles, they 
 seem in comparison lonely and cold." 
 
 " Dear friend," said Father Hanlon, " your 
 words find me in a strange mood. I have been 
 rebellious and indignant to-day. Looking upon 
 a personal grievance, I have lost sight of those 
 larger views which you suggest to me. Let me tell 
 you my poor troubles, and give me the benefit of 
 your wise counsel." 
 
 Hanlon then recited the incidents of the after 
 noon. When he had finished Danforth said: " This 
 is very serious. It forebodes, I fear, a persecu 
 tion of you which will destroy your peace of mind 
 and threaten the integrity of your conscience. 
 You ought, my dear Ambrose, to be prepared for 
 the worst. If such a persecution comes, if any 
 authority attempts to annihilate your usefulness or 
 to subvert your character, your duty is to resist. 
 For no man and no cause can you falsify your 
 conscience. For no man and no cause can you 
 throw away your personality, life and vocation. 
 The development of personality, as so often we 
 have said together, is the supreme end of religion. 
 When any particular form of religion contravenes 
 that end, we must abandon that form, however 
 firmly fastened in our affections it be." 
 
 " A hard saying," sighed Ambrose ; " but it is 
 the truth of God." 
 
 " Come, friend," said Danforth, after a period 
 of silence, taking the priest's arm ; " let us look
 
 150 THE PRIEST 
 
 up from the distracting mystery of earth to the 
 divine peace of heaven." So saying he threw open 
 the window and they gazed up at the stars. The 
 night was clear and the sky was lavishly showing 
 forth its wealth of worlds. Beneath lay the city, 
 wearing a look of tranquillity for all the glare of 
 street lights and the frequent clang of cars. 
 
 " Ambrose," said Danforth in a low tone, " can 
 not this land produce prophets as well as free 
 men?" 
 
 " It has already produced one," answered the 
 priest, laying his hand on the shoulder of his 
 friend. " My highest hope for my country is that 
 she shall bear sons who are able to perpetuate 
 your message." 
 
 " It is you, friend," Danforth responded, " that 
 have the really difficult vocation. Providence is 
 shaping your life for suffering. Clear as those 
 stars I see it. When the hour comes, be true to 
 Truth and to the outcast Christ." 
 
 A few minutes more they looked out on the 
 night in silence. 
 
 " Good night," said Father Hanlon. 
 
 " Good night," the minister answered, taking 
 Hanlon's hand, and with their hearts full of un 
 spoken words, they parted.
 
 XVII 
 
 The clouds were lifted from Father Hanlon's 
 spirit by the busy preparations for his church 
 dedication. Heretic, rebel, or whatever else the 
 bishop might be pleased to consider him, at least 
 this new building erected and fully paid for in 
 little more than a year, was a proof that he had 
 not been idle, and that his people loved him. It 
 was, therefore with a goodly measure of joy, even 
 with some sense of mild triumph, that he made 
 ready for the ceremony. Perhaps in the good 
 cheer of the occasion, he might after all be fra 
 ternally forgiven, and restored to episcopal favor. 
 An uneasy feeling lurked in the farther corner of 
 Ambrose's mind that even if so happy an issue re 
 sulted, the future held in waiting, not peace but 
 agitation and calamity. But this dark menace 
 he tried sturdily to repress. Carpe diem! Let 
 him keep this day of his own and his people's hap 
 piness unmixed with fears and evil omens. Almost 
 blithely, then, and with the frequent lilt of nearly 
 forgotten songs upon his lips, he set about the 
 business before him. One stern task he resolved, 
 however, to accomplish as soon as the ceremony 
 was at an end. He would approach Dooran and 
 demand an explanation of his cowardly: letter. 
 Dooran would be present at the dedication, there 
 was little doubt of that; for he rarely missed an 
 episcopal function. And the interview that would 
 take place Ambrose took a grim pleasure in antici- 
 151
 
 152 THE PRIEST 
 
 pating. It would be an interview that Dooran 
 would not soon forget. Had he known of Dooran's 
 coming promotion to the coadjutorship of the 
 diocese, his expectations would doubtless have been 
 of different temper. 
 
 There were a thousand details to look after in 
 connection with the dedication. The poor little 
 rustics of altar-boys had to be drilled in the com 
 plex manreuvres of an episcopal mass ; singers 
 must be procured from other parishes to augment 
 his own scanty and uncertain choir; every element 
 and instrument of the approaching function must 
 be provided and in its proper place ; the ewer 
 and basin for washing the bishop's hands, the holy 
 water vessel and sprinkler, the candlestick and 
 candle to be held beside the missal while the right 
 reverend functionary read or sang the prayers; 
 no end of the things to be thought of and made 
 ready. One detail Ambrose reflected on with some 
 anxiety. Would the bishop put on his vestments 
 privately in the sacristy, or would he, as indeed 
 the ceremonial directed, vest in presence of the 
 people, taking the various sacred garments from 
 the altar? An odd sight, this public vesting of a 
 bishop! While the great man sits facing the 
 people, a priest takes off the shoes of his lordship 
 and puts upon his feet the embroidered slippers 
 of a color corresponding to the church-feast of the 
 day, white, red or purple, as the case may be. 
 Then the bishop thrusts himself into several tunics 
 one after the other, the attending priests all the
 
 THE PRIEST 153 
 
 while serving as his flunkeys. The outer chasuble 
 is at last cast over him, gloves are drawn upon his 
 hands, the fantastic mitre placed on his head, the 
 gilded staff given into his left hand, and like some 
 Oriental potentate, the successor of the Apostles 
 begins his regal procession to the foot of the altar 
 to confess himself a sinner. 
 
 Ambrose heartily hoped that Bishop Shyrne 
 would do all this clothing of himself in the privacy 
 of the sacristy. Many non-Catholics, friends of 
 the young pastor, and through him benevolently 
 disposed towards the Catholic Church, would be 
 present, and if they were to see all this fussing 
 and fixing they would be sorely perplexed, and 
 some of them doubtless irreverently amused. Am 
 brose thought of this until he became quite horri 
 fied at the possibilities of the situation. He was 
 highly sensitive to ridicule ; yet he was to be master 
 of ceremonies and would be the chief flunkey in 
 the business of robing and disrobing the bishop. 
 Would his non-Catholic friends not think him ludi 
 crous? How could he explain to them the far 
 fetched symbolism of the affair? Slight as the 
 vexation was in itself, he became greatly concerned 
 about it and resolved to ask the bishop to vest in 
 the sacristy. 
 
 Last but not least of the preparations was the 
 dinner. Ambrose impressed upon the mind of 
 Nahum Cuttle that Axton Hotel must outdo itself. 
 Nahum, a New Englander to the heart's core, was 
 not easily excited, but excited he became as his
 
 154 THE PRIEST 
 
 young clerical guest enlarged upon the magnitude 
 of the event and the extent to which the reputation 
 of Nahum and of Axton would on that day be for 
 ever enhanced or lost. Covers were to be laid for 
 fifteen, and in order that an aristocratic service 
 be furnished, a chef and two negro waiters were 
 to be brought from the city. The plans for both 
 the secular and the sacred features of the celebra 
 tion were at last perfected, and Father Hanlon 
 sat down to await a momentous day in his life. 
 
 The bishop did not arrive on Saturday evening, 
 much to Father Hanlon's chagrin. It was clear 
 that his lordship wished to spend as little time as 
 possible as the guest of the pastor of Axton. Not 
 until ten o'clock on Sunday morning, within half 
 an hour of the time set for the service, did the 
 Right Reverend Sebastian Shyrne put in an ap 
 pearance. At that hour, when Ambrose had fallen 
 into a fever of anxiety lest he should not come at 
 all, he drove up to the church in Joseph Dooran's 
 carriage, engaged in earnest conversation with that 
 gentleman who sat beside him. Merely nodding 
 to Father Hanlon, he entered the church, and pro 
 ceeded to make preparations for vesting. 
 
 " Bishop," said Ambrose, " may I suggest that 
 you vest in the sacristy? " 
 
 " Why do you ask that, sir? Do you not 
 know that it is unrubrical ? " was the sharp reply. 
 
 " I know it is unrubrical, sir," responded Father 
 Hanlon, a pallor coming into his cheeks ; " but 
 many bishops do it, and moreover there is a large
 
 THE PRIEST 155 
 
 number of Protestants here to-day who would not 
 understand the public exhibition of putting on the 
 vestments, and might be scandalized at it. They 
 are accustomed to a simpler ceremonial." 
 
 There was an unpleasant glitter in the bishop's 
 eye as he retorted in a low voice: 
 
 " I will not tolerate your heresy much longer, 
 sir. Lead the way to the sanctuary at once." 
 
 So the vesting took place before the altar in 
 sight of all; and the simple folk of the Puritan 
 village were vastly amazed at the elaborateness 
 of it. Tears of anger found their way into Father 
 Hanlon's eyes as he assisted the bishop into one 
 garment after another. " Folly and supersti 
 tion ! " he kept saying to himself, and in his soul 
 were great weariness and disgust. He was not 
 helped to a calmer mind by the very evil temper 
 of the chief functionary. " What have you done 
 with my gloves ? Give me that crozier and be quick 
 about it ! Don't stand there like a fool ! " were 
 some of the remarks addressed to him by the 
 bishop, and they stung like a lash. Here he was 
 with a mind emancipated, with a loftier concep 
 tion of religion than any buried beneath this taw 
 dry symbolism, ordered about and snapped at by 
 this ignorant fellow, so far beneath him in all save 
 the brutal accident of hierarchical authority! It 
 was hard to endure it, but endure it he must or 
 aggravate an already painful situation. 
 
 After the gospel had been sung, the bishop 
 preached. He congratulated the people on their
 
 156 THE PRIEST 
 
 new church; praised their hard work and self- 
 sacrifice, and told them that he was proud to have 
 such Catholics in his diocese. Of the hard work 
 and self-sacrifice of that pale, suffering priest who 
 sat before him, not one word ! Of liis nobility, of 
 his zeal, of his purity of motive, not a mention! 
 The bishop next launched forth into the subject 
 of faith. We are living in a faithless age, he said. 
 Infidel scholarship, based on pride, and doomed to 
 perdition, has grown up around us and is attack 
 ing sacred beliefs that are ages old. The simple 
 faithful must be on the watch. They must know 
 their faith and instantly rise up against any man, 
 whatever his wisdom or his position, who tries 
 to seduce and beguile them from the strict, old- 
 fashioned faith of the apostles. Even if such an 
 insidious teacher appear as an angel of light the 
 people of God must greet him with but one word, 
 Anathema ! 
 
 After half an hour of this sort of thing, the 
 bishop, with a side glance at the heart-broken man 
 who had been the target of it all, turned to the 
 altar and unctuously intoned the " Credo." Dur 
 ing the remainder of the mass Ambrose moved 
 about dazed, heartsick, and in the depths of de 
 spair. The door as of a living tomb seemed to be 
 closing in upon him. It was not yet quite shut, 
 however, and a way was still open to an unknown 
 world, but a cold and dark world, from which, not 
 withstanding, some wild call of freedom fell from 
 the distance on his soul.
 
 THE PRIEST 157 
 
 At the end of the mass the stately procession 
 filed into the sacristy, and while the half score of 
 visiting priests were moving about in the crowded 
 room divesting themselves of cassock and surplice, 
 the Reverend Joseph Dooran clapped his hands for 
 silence. Then in a loud voice he announced that 
 Bishop Shyrne was to dine at his house within an 
 hour, and cordially invited all the priests present 
 to join the bishop at his table. 
 
 " Father Dooran," said Ambrose, in an unsteady 
 voice ; " I have made preparations to have the 
 bishop and the priests take dinner with me at the 
 hotel." 
 
 " Bishop Shyrne is to be my guest, sir," an 
 swered Dooran without looking at Hanlon. 
 
 At this moment the bishop himself entered the 
 sacristy. He had been kneeling before the altar 
 for a few moments of prayer. Ambrose turned 
 to him with a very unusual and not a reassuring 
 look upon his face. 
 
 " Bishop," he said, " I am expecting you and 
 the visiting clergy to dinner at the hotel." 
 
 " I am to dine with Father Dooran, sir, and I 
 expect the reverend gentlemen here to go with 
 me," was the bishop's answer. 
 
 " But, bishop, this is not customary. I have 
 gone to considerable trouble and expense to pre 
 pare the hotel for your coming." 
 
 " Can't help it, sir," replied the bishop, looking 
 far from comfortable as he fondled his pectoral 
 cross. The other priests stood listening in amaze 
 ment.
 
 158 THE PRIEST 
 
 " Bishop Shyrne," said Ambrose, in a voice that 
 shook no longer ; " this is a public and deliberate 
 insult to me, and I must tell you, sir, that I regard 
 it, and every decent man must regard it, as a con 
 temptible outrage." 
 
 " I'll attend to you later, sir. Dooran, call your 
 carriage." With this his lordship swept magnifi 
 cently out of the sacristy. The priests of course 
 departed immediately after him, and Ambrose was 
 left alone. Leaning upon the vestment-case he 
 buried his face in his hands, and let his bruised 
 heart have its way. He knew not how long he had 
 stayed there when he heard a low voice, saying: 
 " Father Hanlon." He rose and turned a pitiable 
 face to his visitor. It was Dorothy Wakefield. 
 She held out her hand and said : " Dear, dear 
 friend, I will not intrude now. I only want you 
 to know that I understand, and that I suffer with 
 you." Sweet words ! Like an ointment with vir 
 tue to heal, they fell upon the priest's lacerated 
 heart. He said nothing, he could say nothing, 
 but bent his head and pressed his lips upon her 
 hand. 
 
 Late that afternoon Father Hanlon took a 
 train for the city. Not that he had business there, 
 but he wished to be away from Axton until his 
 mind should be composed. Sitting in the car he 
 went over for the twentieth time the incidents of 
 the day. Would the bishop remove him? or sus 
 pend him? or possibly even send him away to a 
 monastery to do penance in disgrace? It would 
 be hard to leave Axton now. He loved his people
 
 THE PRIEST 159 
 
 and they loved him. And how could he live with 
 out Josiah Danforth? Ah, what a friend he was. 1 
 how noble ; how exalted ; how close to the world 
 unseen! And Dorothy Wakefield? Ambrose felt 
 his troubles falling from his heart at the thought 
 of her. Her face rose up before him and com 
 forted him. He recollected all his meetings with 
 her and reflected longingly on the womanly ten 
 derness of her sympathy, the virile power of her 
 intelligence, the depth and purity of her character, 
 the simplicity and fervor of her religion. She, 
 too, had become a friend, and how beautiful, how 
 precious was that friendship ! But but, what 
 was this disturbing scruple that entered the 
 priest's mind now for the first time? Was this 
 friendship with Dorothy too intimate? Was it 
 dangerous? He had kissed her hand that morn 
 ing. The remembrance of that action startled 
 him, and the blood flew to his face. Yes, the strict 
 standards of priestly austerity condemned him 
 there. He had chosen loneliness, yea, even loneli 
 ness of the heart; he had vowed himself to an un 
 compromising asceticism; he had bidden eternal 
 farewell to human love. Let him beware of this 
 woman! No man was ever more thoroughly a 
 priest than Ambrose Hanlon. Never in his life 
 had he felt even a temptation to complain of his 
 priestly vow. But as he sat there in that speeding 
 train his soul awoke as it were, and found itself 
 in pain. Not that he was in love. The idea was 
 ridiculous. But the mere thought that a new self-
 
 160 THE PRIEST 
 
 consciousness, a subtle and suggestive reserve 
 should henceforth underlie his relations with 
 Dorothy; that he must place bounds and barriers 
 to a friendship that had begun to touch his life 
 with tenderness ; that he must forbid her too close 
 an acquaintance with his thoughts and troubles 
 this pained him, and the pain struck deep. For 
 the first time in his life he recognized that his 
 youthful vow was severe and savage, and that the 
 solitude which it made around him was as nothing 
 compared to the loneliness which it created within. 
 If only his faith were as once it was! But this 
 ultimate support now when he most needed it to 
 be strong, was uncertain and weak. His sturdy 
 and uncompromising belief of other days had been 
 shaken seriously, he could no longer doubt it. 
 Yet he had committed no fault. He had only 
 studied, thought and prayed. His desolate heart 
 had almost refused to go whither the imperious 
 intellect pointed the way; and not till Conscience 
 took the whip in its hand, had he set forth upon 
 the sorrowful journey. What would be the out 
 come? The answer to that question was in dark 
 ness indeed. The young priest closed his eyes. 
 His tired soul turned to his Master. " Jesus," 
 he prayed, " across the ages I send my cry to thee. 
 O Sovereign of human hearts ! From thy throne 
 of kingship in the world of spirits, look on me 
 thy consecrated, who desire to love thee and to 
 live for thee." The aspiration uttered, his sor 
 row took an upward look, and within his soul he 
 felt some faint flutterings of peace.
 
 THE PRIEST 161 
 
 Father Hanlon's setting out for the city had 
 been quite aimless, but having arrived there, he 
 determined to attend evening service in a Uni 
 tarian church. So it happened that for the first 
 time in his life he sat in the pew of a Protestant 
 conventicle. Two motives had led him there. In 
 the first place he was seeking a spiritual message 
 that might bring strength and consolation to his 
 troubled heart. He was in no mood for symbolism 
 and ceremonial; nor cared he aught just then for 
 venerable signs and ancient usages. With still 
 greater reluctance did he shrink from controversy 
 and the spirit of sect. His desire was for an hour 
 of simple worship such as the twelve must have 
 enjoyed who walked with Jesus and gathered about 
 him in the fields by day or beneath the stars at 
 night to speak their lowly prayer and lift their 
 humble hymn to the Father of all. This simplicity 
 of form and this immediateness of access to God 
 Ambrose felt he could best find among the Uni 
 tarians. He had no scruples now in taking part 
 in heretical worship. " Nulla communicatio cum 
 hereticis in divinis," was a thundering axiom that 
 had lost its terrors. Whoever bowed before the 
 Most High, whoever strove to learn the spirit of 
 Christ, was his brother in the spiritual universe; 
 and brotherhood, he believed, was higher and 
 holier than the antipathies of sects and the arro 
 gance of theologies. 
 
 In the second place, he had come to regard the 
 Unitarian fellowship with admiration, even with
 
 162 THE PRIEST 
 
 longing. Its principles of ministering to the soul 
 while permitting perfect freedom to the mind, was 
 naturally attractive to a man who had grown 
 restive beneath an iron orthodoxy which made 
 itself the despot of intellect and the foe of scholar 
 ship. He could not fail, indeed, to recognize the 
 limitations of Unitarianism. It was a church of 
 the few; and he feared that one of the reasons of 
 its remaining so was that it lacked the apostolic 
 spirit, and that its devotional life was thin and 
 poor. Still, there was Josiah Danforth! There 
 was Dorothy Wakefield! More earnest, more 
 prayerful souls, than these two friends of his did 
 not exist. And if they found this form of faith 
 sufficient it could not be destitute of grace and 
 power to sanctify and inspire. Summing the mat 
 ter up Hanlon found that Unitarianism fell in 
 congenially with the state of mind that was grow 
 ing upon him, and was inclined to think that some 
 such form of religion was destined to be the final 
 step in the evolution of Christianity. 
 
 He joined in the beautiful and simple hymn with 
 which the service began. A prayer followed, 
 spoken by the venerable pastor emeritus of the 
 church, a man who must have been nearly ninety, 
 but of whose countenance not all the ravages of 
 age impaired the kindness, tranquillity and purity. 
 His prayer moved Ambrose to the heart. It led 
 him straight into the presence of the Father of 
 Spirits. It sounded like an echo of the prayer of 
 Christ. It lifted him into the abode of the Eterni-
 
 THE PRIEST 163 
 
 ties, and left him at the feet of the world's Con 
 soler. A quartet next sang the Lord's Prayer. 
 As the voices rolled out in full volume at the end, 
 " For thine is the kingdom and the power and the 
 glory," Ambrose confessed that this doxology, 
 textually inauthentic as he knew it to be, was 
 worthy to be joined to the immortal words of wor 
 ship that precede it. After another hymn came 
 the sermon, delivered by the young assistant pastor 
 of the church. Such a sermon as it was ! The 
 young man began with announcing as his text a 
 paragraph from Herbert Spencer's Principles of 
 Biology, adding as a companion text a page of 
 Firdousi. Then thrusting his right hand into his 
 trousers' pocket, off he went into a deplorable dec 
 lamation. The idea of God was his subject, and 
 his purpose seemed to be to destroy every idea of 
 God that was worth anything for religion. God 
 is the formless, vital principle of the universe, he 
 said. God is the name we give to that unknowable 
 hidden life that throbs in sea and sky and star. 
 Creation is an absurdity; the universe is eternal. 
 This the great evolutionary philosophers, and espe 
 cially Herbert Spencer, have irrefutably proved. 
 Thus this strange caricature of a sermon ran on. 
 Whatever other ideas it may have left in the 
 minds of those who heard it, the very last idea 
 it could be accused of depositing there was any 
 worshipful or devout idea of God. The tone in 
 which it was delivered was even more exasperating 
 than its contents. Herbert Spencer was spoken
 
 164 THE PRIEST 
 
 of as the lord of earthly wisdom, whose philosophy 
 it would be primitive barbarism to gainsay. The 
 " old " idea of God was flung out of court with an 
 infallibility of assurance that no pope could pre 
 tend to equal. Belligerence, scorn, intolerant final 
 ity of all this there was abundance ; but for the 
 soul, for piety, not a word. Add to this the young 
 man's flagrant offences against logic, as when he 
 argued that because the universe was big, there 
 fore, it was infinite ; and because it was old, there 
 fore, eternal and we may be able to understand 
 Ambrose's disappointment and distress. 
 
 Deeper in depression than ever, lonelier than 
 ever, Father Hanlon entered his room at midnight, 
 where he knew that not sleep, but continued con 
 flict awaited him.
 
 xvin 
 
 On the very Sunday of Ambrose Hanlon's unto 
 ward experience of advanced liberalism, Josiah 
 Danforth's pulpit was occupied by a Reverend 
 Mr. Snodgrass. Danforth was detained by a lec 
 ture in a town fifty miles distant and he asked this 
 young minister, of whom he knew little or nothing, 
 to supply his place in Axton. Mr. Snodgrass' 
 sermon threw the congregation into a violent con 
 troversy. It declared in substance that the gods 
 of nations and religions were little more than an 
 idealization of what the subjects of these deities 
 conceived to be good and great. One after another 
 of the divinities thus made to man's image and 
 likeness passed away before the rising sun of 
 science; one after another, however fervently wor 
 shipped and magnanimously trusted, descended 
 into the grave along with the civilizations which 
 had produced them. The lesson of this sorrowful 
 religious history of the race is that we must cease 
 to scan the distant sky, must forego our vain 
 building of Jacob's ladders, and confess that 
 the ultimate, the world-ground, is totally beyond 
 the reach of mind or heart. True, we shall 
 always have ideals, shall never be without hopes, 
 affections and aspirations that go beyond our 
 selves ; but for these outgoing impulses of the soul 
 we must build a home on earth, nor trust too much 
 that they shall find mansions in heaven. Do the 
 daily task, strive to be unselfish ; and for the rest 
 165
 
 166 THE PRIEST 
 
 try to be reconciled to darkness and unsolved mys 
 tery forever. 
 
 When Dan forth reached home next day, Doro 
 thy gave him an account of this sermon with in 
 dignation and outraged feeling in every word. 
 " Must we admit," she asked him, " that the church 
 we have so loved has no message for human souls, 
 except that we must be polite and kind and keep 
 out of jail? Has it no living conviction that the 
 soul's desires are destined for immortal fruition? 
 If so, let us become Catholics at once ; for whatever 
 else the Roman church may be, she at least is a 
 teacher of God and of a soul that was made for 
 God." 
 
 Sighing sadly Danforth answered : " There is 
 much to discourage us in the drift of things. Not 
 that I have the smallest doubt of the survival of 
 true religion. That will not die till the heart of 
 the last noble man and pure woman ceases to beat. 
 But we seem to be entering a tunnel in the life- 
 journey of the race. We are in all probability 
 facing an era of desolation, wherein many will be 
 born, will live and die, blind, deaf and dumb for 
 want of a prophet, a Messiah, to unstop the av 
 enues of their souls." He paused, and when he 
 resumed he seemed to be communing with his own 
 soul. " The people are not at fault ; human nature 
 has not lost its Godward impulse. But the school 
 of prophets is vacant. Men are setting themselves 
 up as spiritual leaders, to whom the spirit's in 
 terior struggles, agonies and triumphs are un 
 known."
 
 THE PRIEST 167 
 
 Danforth was still pondering the problem sug 
 gested by Dorothy when Hanlon visited him that 
 evening. The priest at once proceeded to tell his 
 friend about the sermon whereof Herbert Spencer 
 furnished the text. " I was bitterly disappointed, 
 Jo," he concluded ; " because I have grown to re 
 gard the Unitarian brotherhood of Christ's dis 
 ciples as a sort of home for my soul. Your spirit 
 ual literature is so beautiful ; your traditional rev 
 erence for the heart's free converse with its Maker 
 so appealing, that I was fain to think that your 
 form of Christianity would become the last and 
 highest home of faith. But if your leaders fight 
 against the soul of man, they and their cause are 
 lost." 
 
 " Ambrose," said the minister ; " any religion is 
 lost that does not produce saints. The main 
 trouble is that our spiritual life is low. We are 
 losing the mystical sense. We have preachers 
 many, but apostles few. Our Unitarian principles 
 are eternally true. I am convinced of that, and I 
 think you are, to a greater degree than you 
 imagine. But of what good is a mere foundation, 
 if the structure of vitality is not there ? Given our 
 principles and traditions; add to them spiritual / 
 insight, exalted heroism and invincible persever- V 
 ance, and our faith will win the world. Strike ' 
 from our souls the bondage of conventionality ; put 
 into our blood a passion for humanity, and a thirst 
 for the living God and who can withstand us ? 
 My brother, I feel the sense of a divine vocation
 
 168 THE PRIEST 
 
 approaching upon my inmost soul. Vague and 
 formless yet, it will become clear; and I am eager 
 to see it and to live for it. In a general way it 
 is to make the Christ-appeal to modern men. It 
 is turning the light of Christ's divine spirit upon 
 the sufferings, the shams and the brutalities of 
 modern society. It will begin with the soul within. 
 Unless that is right, vain are our dreams of re 
 form, our efforts of philanthropy. But it will go 
 out from the soul into the social and political life 
 of our time; it will attempt a transformation of 
 society based on individual righteousness." With 
 the faintest trace of a smile, he added : " If you 
 think me dreaming, acknowledge at all events that 
 the dream is holy." His features setting into an 
 almost sombre gravity again, he concluded: 
 " Would that you and I might work hand in hand 
 to make the dream come true ! " 
 
 " Jo," said the priest with bowed head, " I fear 
 I must confess that I am afraid of Calvary." 
 
 " Our brother of Galilee," answered Danforth, 
 " shrank from it, too. Yes, even He. But in the 
 supreme hour He conquered the mob, the priest 
 hood and their tortures, and now He rules us from 
 the cross." 
 
 After a moment's silence Danforth said with a 
 smile : " By the way, Ambrose, this information 
 that you have given me, and similar information 
 that I have received about a brother-minister of 
 mine named Snodgrass, are in the highest degree 
 opportune. I am to address the students for the
 
 THE PRIEST 169 
 
 Unitarian ministry at H University next 
 
 week, and I fancy my few remarks will be seasoned 
 with less honey than hot peppers. One of the pro 
 fessors there, a leader, by the way, in this apos 
 tasy from our traditions and from the spirit of 
 worship, thinks harshly of me already. I'm vul 
 gar, he says; a camp-meeting revivalist, and all 
 that sort of thing. But just wait until he hears 
 me scream next week, and I'll bet he'll ring in a 
 police alarm. Ambrose, my boy, don't you enjoy 
 a fight?" 
 
 Danforth was a boy again, and his face glowed 
 at the thought of conflict. Hanlon smiled at this 
 sudden but characteristic turn of his friend's 
 thought, and said: 
 
 " Well, Jo, I am full of Celtic blood and I am 
 the son of a soldier; but I have been * sickled o'er 
 with the pale cast of thought ' lately. It does me 
 good to see you with a chip on your shoulder." 
 
 " The pale cast of thought, if flushed now and 
 then with the red glow of righteous combativeness, 
 will win this world for God and God-like human 
 ity," cried Danforth ; " but one without the other 
 makes a man a weakling or a fanatic. Ambrose, 
 let's take for our colors pale flesh-color and blood- 
 red!" 
 
 *' I'm off to buy my war-paint," laughed Han 
 lon, picking up his hat. " Good luck to your 
 speech, Jo ! " 
 
 Josiah Danforth's speech to the young candi 
 dates for the ministry quite fulfilled his prediction. 
 It was highly seasoned with hot peppers. The
 
 170 THE PRIEST 
 
 gist of it was, they were not sufficiently praying 
 and wrestling with the problems of the spirit. 
 Experience was the world's greatest teacher, he 
 told them. And shall experience in the highest 
 possible category of phenomena the phenomena 
 of soul-growth be disregarded by men who are 
 to give utterance to Christ's thought, Christ's love, 
 Christ's heart ? " How can you dare," he de 
 manded, " speak for Him who consumed His mid 
 night hours in solemn meditation, who wore Him 
 self pale and thin in constant pondering of eternal 
 verities, if you starve yourself upon life's shallow 
 respectabilities, if you imagine that a merely de 
 corous behaviour and an ability to turn a graceful 
 sentence constitute a prophet and an apostle? Of 
 old God's messengers had to possess hearts of fire 
 and souls of mystics; now it appears that a few 
 solemn pedantries philosophy, philology and 
 exegesis are enough." He told them of the 
 glorious possibilities open to their pure and simple 
 interpretation of Christ's religion, and in words 
 that throbbed with indignation he laid before them 
 the increasing signs that these possibilities were 
 not to be realized. His last words were : " Back 
 to Jesus and Forward with Jesus! Look to 
 the divine Hero, who, through His discipline of 
 pain and darkness spoke words that still echo in 
 the heart of humanity. Pray with Him beneath 
 the stars, meditate with Him by the lonely lake, lie 
 prostrate with Him in Gethsemane ; yes, and if the 
 hour comes, die with him at the hands of a brutal
 
 THE PRIEST 171 
 
 mob. And if you are not prepared to do this, 
 leave this place of preparation, and defile not the 
 office of the Lord's apostle with infidelity, time 
 serving and sloth." 
 
 When he finished, the students thronged about 
 him. " This is the birthday of my soul," said one. 
 " Mr. Danforth, in humiliating me, you have made 
 a man of me," said another. " You delivered a 
 message that is sadly needed in this house," put 
 in a third. The professors congratulated him, 
 too, but less heartily, with the exception of the 
 gentleman of whom Danforth spoke to Hanlon. 
 This man left the room without a word to Dan 
 forth, and went straightway to his rooms, not to 
 ring in a police alarm, but to write a letter to 
 Squire Wakefield, bitterly censuring the fanatical 
 pastor of Axton. The Squire was one of the most 
 generous friends of the theological school, and the 
 hostile professor thought he ought to be informed 
 as to the sort of man the Axton congregation was 
 supporting. We need not describe the joy with 
 which the Squire received this communication. 
 He took from his pocket a note-book which bore 
 the heading: " Complaints against the Reverend 
 Josiah Danforth," and carefully wrote therein the 
 professor's gravamina. Squire Wakefield was 
 going about his campaign systematically.
 
 XIX 
 
 About the middle of January Father Hanlon 
 received from the bishop's office two letters that 
 we must mention in this history of his life and 
 growth. The first was a printed card with the in 
 formation that Father Joseph Dooran had received 
 the Holy See's appointment as coadjutor bishop 
 of the diocese with the right of succession. The 
 second contained a small printed pamphlet and a 
 page of type-written matter. This latter docu 
 ment, signed by the bishop's secretary, reminded 
 Hanlon that the semi-annual conference of the dio 
 cesan clergy for the discussion of theological 
 problems would be held on the following Wednes 
 day, and conveyed to him Bishop Shyrne's es 
 pecial command to be present. The accompany 
 ing pamphlet contained an outline of the subject 
 to be debated at the conference. That a bishop 
 should send a personal order to a priest to attend 
 a conference of this kind, is an unusual proceed 
 ing; but when Hanlon glanced at the question to 
 be treated he quite understood the action of the 
 Right Reverend Shyrne. This question was: 
 "The Reading of Prohibited Books." "The 
 priests will be expected," so read the circular, " to 
 explain and defend the decrees and condemnations 
 of the Roman Index from the standpoint both of 
 dogmatic theology and of the practical usage of 
 the confessor." Hanlon smiled as he first read 
 these announcements; but as he reflected further, 
 172
 
 THE PRIEST 173 
 
 his face became troubled. Could he attend the 
 conference merely as an auditor, it would be sim 
 ple enough. He could endure the solemn discus 
 sions of his conservative confreres with more or 
 less equanimity. But he was practically certain 
 that the bishop would call upon him to give his 
 opinion on some aspect of the case so cleverly put 
 that he must either dissemble or speak out his mind 
 and possibly bring on the crisis that he had long 
 been fearing. Closing his eyes, the priest, with a 
 strange sense of being both victim and victor, 
 began picturing to himself the possible events of 
 the conference. In the presence of two hundred 
 priests the bishop would call upon him to declare 
 his interpretation of the binding force of the 
 Roman Index. He saw himself rising to respond. 
 His imagination brought before him with startling 
 vividness his own white, stern face, the living 
 words that would leap from his lips in defence of 
 that which it is a crime to coerce Truth and the 
 Truth-seeking mind of man. Emancipation for 
 the human spirit; the impossibility of maintaining 
 intellectual despotism at an age when every other 
 despotism is dead; the self-vindicating power of 
 science over every vagary and all inevitable but 
 transient errors; an appeal to Roman churchmen 
 to cease their insane hostility to modern civiliza 
 tion ! this would be his answer to the frowning 
 bishop in the chair before him and to those greater 
 bishops in the Vatican who would fain make it a 
 matter of their good pleasure whether intellect
 
 174 THE PRIEST 
 
 shall live or die. In the ardor of his fancy Han- 
 Ion bounded from his chair and walked the room 
 with the words of his great defiance pouring from 
 his lips. In another minute he was soberly smil 
 ing at his impetuosity, and he resumed his medita 
 tions in a more practical frame of mind. 
 
 No matter what the snare the bishop laid for 
 him he would not lie. During these past few 
 months of incessant study the scientific conscience 
 had been growing within him steadily, and had 
 given him a conception of Truth's unspeakable 
 holiness and supreme authority such as he had 
 never derived from either his course in theology or 
 the fervors of his early piety. It was hardly a 
 question of volition any longer. He could as soon 
 jump to the moon as deliberately lie. There was 
 almost a physical impossibility in the way. Truth 
 was Deity in the category of intellect ; and to pre 
 fer before that Deity the good will of Sebastian 
 Shyrne or the comfort of Ambrose Hanlon, was 
 a thing that could find no lodging in his mind or 
 will. The very power of temptation had gone 
 from falsehood. What a gain that was ! 
 " Thanks to Thee for that, O God," he murmured. 
 The sentiment and the prayer were sincere. But 
 he had still to learn, poor youth, the full power 
 of the temptation to be untrue. 
 
 Well, then, he would speak frankly on this busi 
 ness of the Index. If so there was some likelihood 
 that the following Wednesday night would find him 
 a dishonored, disgraced and suspended priest. He
 
 THE PRIEST 175 
 
 had been suspended already, and he still bore that 
 pain in his heart. But that was a private matter. 
 No one knew of it, so far as he could tell, except 
 the bishop, Danforth, and himself. He had not 
 told even brave little Margaret, his sister, to whom 
 he often confided secrets which he withheld from 
 his mother. And besides, the suspension had been 
 for only a few days. But now staring him in the 
 face was public and notorious degradation. Would 
 not his mother die when she heard of it. Mother ! 
 Ah, how much more strongly was he bound to his 
 present life by her and Margaret, by his love for 
 them, by his uttermost care not to hurt them, than 
 he was by the sadly ravelled strands of theological 
 orthodoxy! What if he, son and brother, were 
 about to break their hearts! beyond all healing? 
 Margaret's heart, he reflected, would not break. 
 She would fling herself into the arms of the Am 
 brose she worshipped and would follow him, if so 
 it must be, even into that outer darkness that 
 outer darkness into which of late he often found 
 himself peering with strained and frightened eyes. 
 Perhaps the bishop would send him to a mon 
 astery to do penance for the rest of his life ! Hor 
 rible fate ! Again, Ambrose's imagination set to 
 work drawing pictures. Here he is in this Trap- 
 pist death-hole, a prisoner for life. He ap 
 proaches the harsh Abbot for permission to read 
 a book or two. " Begone, apostate ! No more 
 books for you but the breviary, until by penance 
 you regain the faith which pride of intellect has
 
 176 THE PRIEST 
 
 taken from you." His career is at an end. His 
 mind is doomed to death. And at last Ambrose 
 Hanlon in the body, renegade and heretic, is dead. 
 There he lies in that unkempt corner of the Trap- 
 pist cemetery. Shudder, you who have heard of 
 him, and pass on ! 
 
 " Heavens, this is unhealthy ! " he cried leaping 
 to his feet again, a look of terror on his face which 
 did not wholly disappear until he had been plunged 
 for some minutes into a dust-covered volume of 
 Moral Theology the volume that treats of cen 
 sures and condemnations. " I'm forgetting this 
 department of science," he remarked with a grim 
 smile as he turned a page. Reading on, he came 
 upon the grave discussion of the doctors of the law 
 as to how much of a prohibited book has to be read 
 before one should commit a mortal sin some 
 holding that nothing less than reading a full chap 
 ter would involve the loss of one's soul; others, 
 Liguori among them, maintaining that to peruse 
 even a page would deserve eternal hell. At this 
 Ambrose flung the book away from him as though 
 a snake had lifted its head from the leaves, and 
 whipping out in a bitter tone : " What putrid 
 stuff ! " he fell to thinking again. 
 
 After all, suppose the bishop would order him 
 to a monastery, would he go? The alternative 
 was that outer darkness ! Of a sudden the 
 priest felt defiance and bitterness receding from 
 him, and into his whole being surged the idea, hal 
 lowed by centuries of piety, masterful with the
 
 THE PRIEST 177 
 
 traditions of ages of authority, the idea of Priest 
 hood, of Consecration. In majesty it demanded 
 his submission. He was a priest; he had sworn 
 his vow ; he was consecrated according to the order 
 of Melchisedech forever in aeternum, in aeter- 
 num, forever, forever. It seemed as though the 
 unnumbered host of priests from the beginning, 
 as though nearly twenty centuries of sacrifice, as 
 though the imperial Church, world-wide and in 
 wisdom world-old, had found a voice a voice of 
 what august, what overwhelming potency and 
 that voice spoke within his heart and said : " In 
 the name of ages; in the name of Jesus; in the 
 name of Almighty God, Submit! Submit! Suffer J 
 if need be! Die! Be dishonored! But sur-V 
 render your priesthood never ! " Overcome by A 
 the sublimity, the intimateness, of this tragic and 
 tremendous interior experience, Father Hanlon 
 fell upon his knees and in a storm of emotion which 
 left no one can say how much free exercise of will, 
 he cried : " I will submit. I am a priest forever ; 
 O, Christ, forever."
 
 XX 
 
 It was within five minutes of the time the exer 
 cises were to begin that Father Hanlon entered the 
 conference-hall. His coming was not noticed, and 
 quite unobserved he dropped into a seat near 
 the door. The two hundred priests present were 
 too much occupied just then to advert to him, 
 being gathered in a dense group about the future 
 bishop of the diocese, the Reverend Joseph Dooran, 
 upon whose predestined head congratulations were 
 pouring by the score. " The best possible choice 
 the diocese could have made ; " "I foresaw this 
 from your seminary days ; " " the Holy Ghost has 
 made no mistake this time," were some of the ex 
 pressions of felicitation that Father Hanlon could 
 distinguish as he sat silent and aloof. If the 
 slightest suspicion of a cynical smile came upon his 
 face it was gone in a moment, and his eyes closed 
 as if in profound thought or prayer. 
 
 A hush fell upon the noisy group as Bishop 
 Shyrne, looking in the best possible humor, stepped 
 on the platform. His lordship surveyed his 
 priests with beaming face and said : " Father 
 Dooran, I think it is time for you to begin to take 
 that place of precedence which will soon be canon- 
 ically conferred on you. Please sit beside me on 
 the platform." The hand-clapping was tremen 
 dous as the coadjutor-designate rose to comply 
 with this invitation, and it was not until three ro 
 bust cheers had been given that the applause sub- 
 178
 
 THE PRIEST 179 
 
 sided. " It seems to me," remarked the bishop, 
 " that so striking an expression of good will calls 
 for some acknowledgment. Father Dooran, before 
 we proceed to our discussion of theology, will you 
 favor us with a few words ? " Dooran stepped for 
 ward, greatly agitated, and said in a very unim 
 pressive manner : " Gentlemen, fellow-priests, I 
 am very grateful. Bishop Shyrne, to you above all 
 I am grateful. I will make it my life's greatest en 
 deavor, if it be the will of Providence that I sur 
 vive you, to conduct the diocese in the way that 
 you have shown us. Above all, I will try to imi 
 tate you in your zeal for the purity of the faith, 
 and in your hatred for heresy ; especially that sub 
 tle heresy which sometimes lurks within the sanc 
 tuary itself. If in the exercise of this duty sever 
 ity be called for, I promise you I shall be severe. 
 I heartily agree with you, Right Reverend Bishop, 
 that among our priests we want no higher critics, 
 no readers or purveyors of so-called scientific 
 books, which " here a sudden pallor swept across 
 the speaker's face, and his voice fell so low that 
 the conclusion of the sentence was lost in a thick, 
 hardly articulate utterance. " Gentlemen, again 
 I thank you. This is the proudest moment of my 
 life. God bless you." 
 
 " What is the meaning of that break of his ? " 
 whispered a priest to his neighbor. 
 
 " Oh ! he's excited, I suppose," was the answer. 
 " Dooran is a dumb ox anyhow. Fifty men in the 
 diocese have more brains than he will ever have."
 
 180 THE PRIEST 
 
 Whatever the truth in this latter compliment, 
 it was not lack of brains that brought Joseph Doo- 
 ran's little speech to an inglorious conclusion. 
 He had caught sight of a priest sitting in the rear 
 of the hall apart from the others a priest whose 
 face was pale and thoughtful; whose eyes gazed 
 steadily at the floor. Not for an instant were 
 those eyes lifted ; not for one second did that pale 
 face express hatred, contempt or pity. Yet it 
 was the sight of this man, motionless, impassive, 
 that had brought confusion to Joseph Dooran. 
 
 Bishop Shyrne then opened the conference 
 proper with a short address on the importance of 
 the matter about to be discussed, the reading of 
 prohibited books. He reminded the priests that 
 this was no merely academic question, but an in 
 tensely practical one. Every confessor had many 
 occasions of dealing with it; for the reading of 
 books that had been placed on the Index was grow 
 ing alarmingly in this liberal age. Upon bishops 
 and priests devolved the duty of checking this 
 great evil. Upon their conscience it rested to en 
 force the laws of the Index rigidly. Especially 
 books written by the higher critics must be 
 snatched from the hands of the faithful, must be 
 rigorously kept from seminaries, and must be 
 excluded from the libraries of priests themselves. 
 " Woe to us," he concluded, " if we desert the 
 ancient master, Thomas Aquinas, to follow after 
 Hermann-A- A- Albert Harnack." Great applause 
 from his loyal priests !
 
 THE PRIEST 181 
 
 . His speech at an end, the bishop began asking 
 questions of the priests quite in the manner of a 
 classroom. First he requested one of them to give 
 him an historical sketch of the Roman Congrega 
 tion of the Index. The response to this question, 
 delivered by an Irish pastor who had scarcely 
 read a book since he left All Hallows, was lame, 
 stumbling and incoherent. The old gentleman de 
 clared that the authority of the Index was based 
 on the text : " If thy right eye scandalize thee, 
 pluck it out ; " maintained that we know from theo 
 logical fitness and the analogy of faith that the 
 apostles themselves exercised censorship ; and as 
 serted finally that the perfection of Index legisla 
 tion was brought about by the blasphemies scat 
 tered broadcast at the time of the Reformation. 
 
 " Very good," commented the bishop. " You 
 make a novel and excellent point in bringing for 
 ward that text of Our Lord's. We can hardly 
 doubt that Christ had in mind in uttering those 
 words the scandal that would be caused in the 
 world by evil books. There is, however, another 
 text of the gospel which bears still more directly 
 on the matter. Do you recall it, Father ? " 
 
 The Father could not recall it. 
 
 " Whatsoever you bind on earth shall be bound 
 also in heaven," quoted his lordship. " Surely, 
 that gives us immediately a foundation for such 
 tribunals as the Index." 
 
 At this triumphant exegesis only one man 
 smiled, and the smile could not be called a pleasant 
 one.
 
 182 THE PRIEST 
 
 " Now then," continued the bishop ; " let us hear 
 Father Wilkinson." 
 
 Father Wilkinson, a convert from the Episco 
 palian ministry, stood up to answer the question: 
 Does the Index restrain scholarship and liberty 
 of research? 
 
 " I will reply by making a distinction," Father 
 Wilkinson began. " Does the Index check licen 
 tiousness of thought? Yes. Does it check true 
 Christian liberty? No. Outside the church we 
 see a very riot of opinions. Owing to the abomin 
 able recklessness of critics and would-be scholars 
 the most fundamental articles of Christian faith 
 are denied. Even in Anglicanism, that paltry sect 
 that imagines itself to be the custodian of primitive 
 Christianity, there are men in high ecclesiastical 
 offices who are abreast with German infidels in their 
 sacrilegious denials. Obviously there ought to be 
 some tribunal to-day to say to man's proud in 
 tellect : * Thus far shalt thou go and no farther.' 
 It is the glory of the church to possess such a tri 
 bunal. And in answer to the charge that the In 
 dex is a drag upon scholarship, we have only to 
 point to incomparable names like Augustine, 
 Aquinas, Suarez and Bellarmine." 
 
 " Well done, Father," was the bishop's compli 
 ment. " Surely it is a triumphant refutation when 
 we can place Thomas Aquinas over against Her 
 A- A- Alexander Harnack; when we can balance 
 Suarez with-with-er-er-any other man of Har- 
 nack's school." Again that smile, half contemp 
 tuous, half defiant, on a certain pallid face.
 
 THE PRIEST 188 
 
 So the conference continued, while such ques 
 tions were discussed as : Does the Index bind even 
 scholars? Does the Index-law hold in America? 
 Must confessors enforce the Index? and many 
 others, to all which answers of the most stringent 
 orthodoxy were given ; answers which, if the world 
 adopted them, would destroy a good half of the 
 laborious scholarship of two centuries. During 
 this exhibition of militant obscurantism Ambrose 
 Hanlon had sat silent, his soul tried sorely, but 
 hoping he would not be called upon and that he 
 might be allowed to depart in what peace he might. 
 But Bishop Shyrne was not a man to allow a vic 
 tim fallen opportunely into his hands, to escape 
 unscathed. " Father Hanlon," he called, in a 
 tone in which there was little benevolence, hardly 
 courtesy indeed. 
 
 Ambrose rose, looking somewhat agitated, and 
 gazed straight into his lordship's eyes. 
 
 " Father Hanlon," said the bishop, " how would 
 you answer a man who maintained that however 
 justified in principle the Index is, it has been in 
 practice over-severe, and has in point of fact been 
 a discouragement to scholarship ? " 
 
 " I should find it very difficult to answer him," 
 was the response, in a clear, steady voice. Am 
 brose was master of himself now, and perceived 
 within himself the old joy in intellectual combat 
 in which he had delighted in his seminary days. 
 
 " Do you mean that you would admit the 
 charge ? "
 
 184 THE PRIEST 
 
 " To a great extent, yes." 
 
 The priests, almost to a man, turned to look at 
 the individual to whom these daring admissions 
 came so readily. 
 
 ' You are a fine type of controversialist," was 
 the bishop's sarcastic comment. " Have you ever 
 read a Catholic apologist who conceded in this 
 manner the accusations of heretics?" 
 
 " Never," came the answer ; " but every honest 
 man must regard truth as superior to the cheap 
 exigencies of controversy; and this charge seems 
 to me to be true." 
 
 " Do you regard the defense and good name of 
 the Church a cheap exigency of controversy? " 
 
 " No good name needs to be defended with false 
 hood, sir." There was a suspicion of defiance in 
 the words. Ambrose felt it, and resolved to check 
 his rising temper. 
 
 " So you think," went on the bishop, controlling 
 himself with evident effort ; " that the Index has 
 been tyrannical in its prohibitions. How do you 
 fancy the cardinals who compose that Congrega 
 tion, or the Pope himself, would take such an ad 
 mission from a priest sworn to defend the Church? 
 How do you imagine I, your bishop, ought to take 
 it?" 
 
 " I have answered according to my conscience, 
 sir; all other tribunals are inferior to that." 
 
 " You had better beware, sir, how you set up 
 your conscience, as you call it, against the divine 
 authority of the Church." The bishop, highly ex-
 
 THE PRIEST 186 
 
 asperated, glared savagely at Ambrose, who made 
 no reply. After a painful pause the bishop re 
 sumed his questioning. 
 
 " Now, sir, as a man so devoted, so devoted, to 
 truth, you must have reasons, you must have facts, 
 for the disorderly opinion which you have just 
 expressed. Give us the facts. Why do you hold 
 that the Index has been excessively severe and un 
 just? " 
 
 " The Index and the Inquisition, kindred Con 
 gregations," Ambrose answered in a voice from 
 which all trace of nervousness had disappeared; 
 " began their history with solemnly deciding that 
 the revolution of the earth round the sun was down 
 right formal heresy. Even before that, the fourth 
 of the ten rules laid down for the Index by the 
 Council of Trent practically prohibited the read 
 ing of the Bible by Catholics; inasmuch as it re 
 quired the written permission of the bishop in 
 order that the laity might read the Scriptures in 
 the vernacular. In Italy for one hundred and fifty 
 years the vernacular Bible was absolutely closed 
 to the people; and when, stung by the shame of 
 such a situation, a zealous priest translated the al 
 most forgotten book, he was harried and hounded 
 to desperation by ecclesiastics in high places. 
 While the Pope's temporal power still flourished, 
 the Index was carried out to the full within the 
 Papal states, with the result that ho country in 
 Europe, hardly even Turkey, was in such a condi 
 tion of intellectual stagnation as the pontifical
 
 186 THE PRIEST 
 
 dominions. To-day Catholic scholarship in the 
 field of biblical criticism, the history of dogma, and 
 the comparative study of religion, has sunk to a 
 humiliating depth. I could name for you, sir, 
 half a score of Catholic scholars, all priests, who 
 have locked within their desks manuscripts which 
 they have either been forbidden, or are afraid to 
 publish. Every Catholic student of the sciences 
 which I have mentioned sciences which are to 
 day the battle-ground whereon Christianity is 
 fighting for its very life is choked to intellectual 
 death by the fatal grip of the Index. The result 
 is that we are and long have been as dumb dogs 
 before the assaults of the critics. When Voltaire 
 and the encyclopedists hurled their attacks at 
 Christianity a hundred years ago, they met no 
 Catholic foemen of anything like equal ability. 
 When Renan wrote his life of Christ fifty years 
 ago the Catholic Church could bring forward no 
 scholar to combat him with any hope of success. 
 And to-day when the very students in our high 
 schools know something of the momentous criticism 
 of Christian origins which is proceeding from Ger 
 man, English and American universities, the Cath 
 olic Church forbids even her priests to read the 
 works of these scholars, and seems to have no other 
 defense than a futile syllabus against Liberalism. 
 Not that there are no Catholic scholars. There 
 is a respectable number. But the Index, and the 
 heresy-hunting mania of which the Index is a type, 
 either close their lips before they can speak at all,
 
 THE PRIEST 187 
 
 or ex-communicate them if they do speak. With 
 these facts, sir, which are as solid as granite, I 
 hold and must hold, as did many of the bishops 
 of the Vatican Council, that the history of the 
 Index carries a huge burden of shame and disaster ; 
 and that intellectual repression must cease in the 
 Catholic Church, if the Church in this modern age 
 is not to die." 
 
 The amazement of Father Hanlon's audience 
 at this astounding speech is hardly to be described. 
 The priests looked at one another with questioning 
 wonder on their faces as though they doubted the 
 report of their own ears. Then they looked at 
 Hanlon, who stood in his place calm enough in 
 deed, but with a masterful air about him, like a 
 man who had done his duty and feared not. Next 
 they looked at the bishop. Into his lordship's 
 cheeks had burned two bright red spots ; into his 
 lordship's eyes had come two flames of living 
 anger; upon his lordship's features had been 
 stamped an aspect that was hard and merciless 
 and bitter. 
 
 For half a minute after Ambrose finished, there 
 was silence, forced, tense silence. Then from 
 some part of the hall sounded a soft clapping of 
 hands. 
 
 " Silence ! " screamed the bishop. " If I knew 
 the man that applauded those monstrous senti 
 ments, I would suspend him on the spot. As for 
 you, sir, " Ambrose was not the only one whose 
 cheek grew pale at the sight and voice, for it was 
 pitiably evident that Shyrne was quite beside him-
 
 188 THE PRIEST 
 
 self. " As for you, sir, who have dared to insult 
 your bishop with the infamous falsehoods that you 
 have uttered against the Church of God, I declare 
 that you have the mind of a heretic, the animus of 
 a heretic ; and the world knows that when a priest 
 is perverted to heresy, impurity is the cause of it, 
 a woman is the reason for it." 
 
 Ambrose recoiled from the foul charge as though 
 a fist mailed in iron had struck his face. Impurity ! 
 A woman ! He who was so priestly and so pure ; 
 he into whose mind nothing defiled could find en 
 trance; he whose passion was righteousness, whose 
 religion was the following of Truth and Christ; 
 he, held up before two hundred priests by his own 
 bishop as a licentious scoundrel! Shame and 
 anger drove a crimson tide into his cheeks and 
 throbbing temples ; the place grew dark before 
 his eyes; through his heart shot a pain as from a 
 knife thrust to the hilt. Saying no word, he 
 turned and with unsteady step left the hall. 
 
 That night the door-bell of Josiah Danforth's 
 house rang at an unusual hour for visitors. When 
 the minister answered the summons, Father Han- 
 Ion stood before him. 
 
 " Jo," he asked ; " am I in time for family 
 prayer? " 
 
 That some disaster had happened was clear 
 from his voice and manner. Danforth refrained 
 from questions and said : " Just in time, Ambrose ; 
 mother has this minute called me." 
 
 " Let me join you," said the priest. " I am 
 upset. Terrible things, ugly, dangerous things,
 
 THE PRIEST 189 
 
 have been leaping through my mind, and I fear 
 them. Let me try to find God again in this 
 house." 
 
 " Friend Ambrose," began Mrs. Danforth's 
 greeting ; but there she stopped at sight of the 
 unutterable misery on the young priest's face. 
 Dorothy Wakefield, too, checked her welcome and 
 turned pale. Ambrose spoke some conventional 
 word scarcely audible and Danforth said : " Now 
 mother, let us begin our prayer." 
 
 They knelt down. Father Hanlon covered his 
 face with his hands. Mr. Danforth knelt close, 
 very close to him. The Quaker mother opened 
 the sacred page. " And the high priest arose and 
 said unto Him: Answerest thou nothing? But 
 Jesus held his peace. And the high priest an 
 swered and said unto Him: I adjure thee by the 
 living God that thou tell us whether thou be the 
 Christ, the Son of God. Jesus saith unto him: 
 Thou hast said. Nevertheless, I say unto you, 
 hereafter you shall see the Son of Man sitting on 
 the right hand of power and coming in the clouds 
 of heaven. Then the high priest rent his clothes, 
 saying : he hath spoken blasphemy. What further 
 need have we of witnesses; behold now ye have 
 heard his blasphemy. What think ye ? They an 
 swered: He is guilty of death. Then did they 
 spit in his face and buffeted Him and others smote 
 Him with the palms of their hands." The sweet 
 voice ceased and silence fell. Never in that house 
 of prayer had there been a more profound and 
 moving meditation.
 
 190 THE PRIEST 
 
 For twenty minutes there was no sound. Then 
 Mrs. Danforth placed the Bible before her son. 
 In a tone that thrilled with unusual emotion, he 
 read these two verses: ** Behold the boor cometh, 
 yea, is now come that ye shall be scattered every 
 man to his own, and shall leave me alone; and yet 
 I am not alone, for the Father is with me. These 
 things have I spoken onto yon that in me ye might 
 have peace. In the world ye shall have tribula 
 tion; but be of good cheer; I have overcome the 
 world.* 9 A minute's further silence followed, and 
 Dorothy began the Lord's Prayer, in which afl 
 joined. At the end they stood up with grave but 
 happier faces. 
 
 "You have helped me, even blessed me this 
 night," said Father Hanlon; "and I thank you 
 from my heart," 
 
 " It is the divine Spirit that has blessed and wOl 
 bless thee, my son," said the aged Quakeress, tak 
 ing his hand. 
 
 " Dear Father Hanlon, you have helped us, too. 
 How great a blessing that we can bring our sor 
 rows here to be aided in bearing them by God and 
 one another. Sorrow so highly favored must be 
 intended for some noble and divine purpose." It 
 was Dorothy who spoke the gracious words; and 
 the priest's eyes as they turned to her, showed 
 plainly the gratitude of his bruised heart.
 
 XXI 
 
 Neither suspension nor removal from Axton 
 followed as a penalty for Ambrose's outspoken 
 ness at the conference. The bishop evidently had 
 perceived on returning to a calmer mind that his 
 dishonorable insinuation against the young priest 
 was a tactical blunder and that he could not afford 
 for the time being to add injury to insult. But 
 a crisis was so clearly inevitable that Ambrose 
 derived but little comfort from his temporary 
 tranquillity. Tranquillity indeed he could hardly 
 be said to be enjoying. The storm was so near 
 and so terrible that his happiest hours were 
 clouded with the foreboding of it. Even were 
 there no trouble with his bishop, he was now feel 
 ing more and more the pressure of another trouble 
 from a far higher and holier authority. His con 
 science was in revolt. With the whole administra 
 tive side of Catholicism he was more than out of 
 sympathy; he detested it; he hated its tyranny, 
 its secularity, its incompatibility with spiritual 
 freedom. Yet as priest and pastor, yes, by his 
 very dress, he represented before the world every 
 thing Catholic, Roman, Papal, from the dogmas 
 of Trent to the decrees of the Inquisition and the 
 Index. Worse than this, he was not subscribing 
 to the Roman creed in the official sense of its for 
 mulas. True, he was but following in this the 
 leaders of liberal Catholicism who were forever ex 
 pressing their horror of separation from the 
 191
 
 192 THE PRIEST 
 
 Church, and vindicating their right to remain in 
 it. But unaffected by their arguments, Father 
 Hanlon's conscience kept putting to him the stern 
 question: Is it honorable? Is it truthful? 
 
 One night in his study he took pencil and paper 
 and proceeded to do some spiritual and intellectual 
 book-keeping. Precisely at what points of belief 
 had he arrived? Into what definite condition had 
 his mind and soul settled after these months of ex 
 perience and study? His accounting of himself 
 was the following: 
 
 " What do I think of the present method and 
 temper of ecclesiastical authority? I abhor it as 
 an obstruction in the path of liberty. 
 
 " Of the tendencies of modern Catholic devotion ? 
 Mischievous. The free growth of the individual 
 spirit hindered by machine-piety. Hence no more 
 great preachers or independent laymen. 
 
 " Of the Church's attitude to study? A crime." 
 
 Having written this, he laid down his pencil, 
 folded his arms, and gave himself to profound 
 thought. Taking up the pencil again, and look 
 ing long and earnestly at the crucifix above his 
 desk, he once more set to writing. 
 
 " Do I believe as a reality in the fall of man as 
 theology understands it? 
 
 " In baptismal regeneration ? 
 
 " In the exclusion from heaven of children who 
 die unbaptized? 
 
 " In the blood-redemption of Christ as theology 
 understands it?
 
 THE PRIEST 193 
 
 " In the divinity of Jesus ? 
 
 " In the Deity of the consecrated bread? 
 
 " In the Deity of Jesus ? 
 
 " That the Deity of Jesus, the Trinity as now 
 understood, the sacrament of penance, and the 
 divine origin of the episcopate as distinct from 
 priesthood, were believed by the primitive Chris 
 tians?" 
 
 On the priest's face as he read this list of ques 
 tions was sternness mingled with sorrow. Never 
 before had he so candidly confronted them. They 
 had drifted into his mind often and he had recently 
 been conscious of changing convictions regarding 
 them; but this night he faced them at last on the 
 ultimate ground of Yes and No. Subterfuge and 
 crafty methods of interpretation were flung aside. 
 He was in the presence of Eternal Truth. The 
 All-searching Eye was scrutinizing his soul. He 
 would be as true now as though it were his judg 
 ment hour. 
 
 Slowly he moved his pencil down the page until 
 it rested on the words : " In the divinity of 
 Jesus?" Opposite this he wrote: Yes. Then 
 after every other question he wrote: No. He had 
 come to terms with Intellect. It remained now 
 to make an honorable treaty with conscience. 
 With perfect candor he listened to the insistent 
 demands to which his conscience was giving voice. 
 He must leave the church, it said to him ; he would 
 be dishonorable if he openly professed what he in 
 wardly denied. He could not honestly retain his
 
 19* THE PRIEST 
 
 private interpretation of fundamental dogmas in a 
 church which denies private judgment and rests 
 upon the basis of infallibility, There is no room 
 for hesitation. Leave the church ! 
 
 So spoke the primitive natural nobility of the 
 man. But was there not another side? Had his 
 impulsive sense of honor taken in all the factors 
 of the situation? Had not his conscience need of 
 further enlightenment? There was surely ground 
 for thinking so. Why should not a modern Cath 
 olic interpret dogmas in a new sense? The Nicean 
 definition was new in its day. Doubtless it would 
 have been unintelligible to the first Christian con 
 verts of Palestine. The language of Trent re 
 garding the Eucharist is surely a change from that 
 of the first century Didache. The present form 
 of the sacrament of Penance was unknown to sev 
 eral Christian centuries. Why then may not 
 enlightened Catholics to-day add one more change 
 to many preceding changes? Perhaps some 
 ecumenical council of the twentieth or twenty-first 
 century will state dogmatic formulas precisely 
 as he was now understanding them. Furthermore 
 the liberal Catholics of his way of thinking were 
 not leaving the church, yet they were good and 
 conscientious men. Finally, how can Catholicism 
 ever make the required modification in its creed- 
 statements unless men who see the necessity of 
 these modifications remain in the church, and 
 quietly disseminate their ideas until the whole mass 
 of believers be leavened?
 
 THE PRIEST 195 
 
 Impressive as these considerations were, the 
 inner voice would not be stilled. It said, and kept 
 saying: "But your character will suffer. You 
 cannot play at double-dealing and not be injured 
 in sincerity and honor. You must not trifle with 
 deceit on the plea that in a hundred years it will 
 no longer be deceit. You have a higher responsi 
 bility to your integrity now than to a problemati 
 cal theology of a century from now. Leave, and 
 be a martyr of candor, rather than remain and be 
 a servant of duplicity ! " 
 
 The dawn was already breaking when Ambrose, 
 undecided and perplexed, rose wearily from this 
 contention within his soul, and flung himself down 
 for a brief and broken rest. He felt that in so 
 grave a matter he must have advice ; and it admin 
 istered a kind of sad relief to him that his moment 
 ous decision must be postponed until he should 
 have found some opportunity for consultation.
 
 XXII 
 
 On a day in the first week of March Axton was 
 to elect a selectman to serve three years. The 
 village was governed by three selectmen, two of 
 whom were chosen for two years and one for three. 
 This last, by the fact of his election for the longer 
 term, was chairman of the board, and in general 
 had greater power and influence in the town gov 
 ernment than any other man. Squire Wakefield 
 had held the office for the past three years and was 
 ambitious to be re-elected. More than that, he 
 was altogether confident of re-election. For while 
 his harshness of disposition had made him many 
 enemies, his unquestioned forcefulness of character 
 along with his wealth and social position, over 
 came the unorganized remonstrances against him, 
 and seemed to leave him a clear field. In fact, at 
 the beginning of February, not a single opponent 
 had announced his candidacy against him, and all 
 indications pointed to the Squire's unanimous nom 
 ination, and all but unanimous election. True, 
 there had been a remarkably large registration 
 of new voters from the workingmen's colony about 
 the car shops ; and as these men were nearly all of 
 foreign birth, they could hardly be expected to 
 vote for a man of the Squire's well-known prej 
 udices against the alien. Still these recently nat 
 uralized citizens were to all appearances no serious 
 obstacle to the happy issue of Mr. Wakefield's 
 
 little ambition. They were unskilled in politics ; 
 196
 
 THE PRIEST 197 
 
 they had thus far made no attempt, at least pub 
 licly, to unite upon a candidate of their own ; and 
 above all they were in a considerable minority in 
 comparison with what the Squire would call the 
 respectable voters of Axton. So with election day 
 little more than a month distant, and with only 
 two weeks remaining of the legal time in which to 
 file nominations, the chairman of the Axton select 
 men had no anxiety about so predestined a cer 
 tainty as his triumphant return to office. 
 
 On the evening of the first day of February, 
 however, there assembled in a rude hall in the car- 
 shop district half a dozen men whose deliberations 
 might well have caused the confident Squire an 
 uneasy quarter of an hour. The leader of them 
 was Murdock; another was Richard Wakefield, 
 the outcast son ; a third, Pasquale Ciasca ; the 
 other three were among the cleverest of the restless 
 radicals who acknowledged Murdock as chief. 
 
 " Well, Murdock," Richard Wakefield was say 
 ing, as they took their seats about a small beer- 
 stained table, on which burned a kerosene lamp, 
 the sole light in the large room ; " I have done 
 everything, we have all done everything possible; 
 but we can't beat the old man. I'd give one of 
 my fingers to defeat him at this election, but it is 
 out of the question." 
 
 " You have made a careful canvass of the 
 voters ? " questioned Murdock. 
 
 " I have," answered Richard. " There are in 
 Axton five hundred voters. We can count on one
 
 198 THE PRIEST 
 
 hundred and fifty to do whatever we tell them. 
 After careful inquiry, I estimate that about fifty 
 men will refuse to vote for the governor, because 
 they share his loving son's contempt for him. 
 But of these fifty, perhaps not a single man would 
 support a candidate that represented us. We are 
 the offscourings of the earth, you know. Don't 
 look for a vote for our interests, not one, beyond 
 the boundaries of the shops." 
 
 " That leaves a maximum of three hundred for 
 the Squire," ruminated Murdock. 
 
 " Three hundred," repeated Richard ; " two to 
 our one." 
 
 " Kill some of them ! " exclaimed Ciasca. " Kill 
 ten, twenty, fifty! Dat dog Danfort! Blow up 
 his church. Kill dem ! " he shouted, bringing down 
 his fist with a tremendous blow that seemed likely 
 to shatter the unsteady table into fragments. 
 
 " Pasquale," said Murdock with a smile ; " I be 
 lieve you would do it, and a good service it would 
 be. But we cannot afford such measures now. 
 Let us see if strategy cannot accomplish something. 
 Dick, haven't you underestimated the opposition 
 to your old man? He has made enemies right and 
 left. I am sure more than fifty voters have turned 
 against him." 
 
 " Well," answered the dutiful son of the " old 
 man," " there's one feature of the case that I am 
 somewhat in the dark about. My beloved dad is 
 fighting minister Danforth. He seems to share 
 Pasquale's grudge against him. Now Danforth
 
 THE PRIEST 199 
 
 is a popular man; and the governor's hostility to 
 him will surely lose some votes over and above 
 that fifty, to the dear old duffer. But what is the 
 use talking? We can't get in our man; the ma 
 jority against us is too big. My advice is: Don't 
 nominate a candidate at this election; but work 
 quietly for another year or two, and then we may 
 stand a fair chance of winning." 
 
 " No ! " protested Pasquale ; " we must have 
 a-what you call ? candidate. We fight for him. 
 We mak' speech. We work lak hell. We win." 
 
 " Three hundred votes ! " mused Murdock, too 
 accustomed to the explosions of his Italian lieu 
 tenant to pay much attention to them. " I am 
 sure he cannot poll over two hundred and fifty. 
 We have at the lowest one hundred and fifty. The 
 question of practical politics is, how can we divert 
 one hundred votes from the snob Wakefield? Ex 
 cuse me, Dick, for thus referring to your Daddy." 
 
 " Say what you please about him," snapped 
 Dick. " I'm through with him and I want to lick 
 him worse than you do. But you can't overcome 
 that hundred votes to save your life. A hundred 
 votes is a tremendous figure in a village of this 
 size." 
 
 " Don't be too sure of that. A few deep 
 thoughts are running through my mind that may 
 upset your old man's hopes and realize ours. You 
 say the Squire is fighting a losing game against 
 Danforth? " 
 
 " Yes, a losing game. For while a certain num-
 
 200 THE PRIEST 
 
 ber of Danforth's congregation agree with this 
 father of mine that the minister has too many wild 
 ideas, and associates too much with the unclean 
 herd at the settlement-house; and while others of 
 them are kicking because Danforth has taken up 
 two or three collections in church for his work 
 among us foreigners, still he has with him the ma 
 jority of both pew-holders and trustees. The old 
 man will never succeed in getting the parish to re 
 quest Danforth's resignation." 
 
 " When is the next meeting of the trustees, do 
 you know? " asked Murdock. 
 
 " The first Sunday in March," answered Rich 
 ard. " Their custom is to meet on the first Sun 
 day of every second month." 
 
 " The first Sunday in March," Murdock re 
 peated. " That is two days before election. 
 Splendid! Dick," he said gaily, laying his hand 
 on young Wakefield's shoulder; " suppose we fight 
 on your old man's side for once. Let's give Dan 
 forth a black eye so that the Squire may be en 
 couraged to go after him for a knock-out at the 
 trustees' meeting. The deeper we drive the wedge 
 of this quarrel, you understand, the bigger the 
 result at the ballot box." 
 
 " You are running after a will-o- the- wisp," said 
 Richard ; " but what do you propose to do ? " 
 
 " Leave that to me," answered Murdock. " I'll 
 think out a scheme that will turn aside twenty-five 
 or thirty votes from the Squire if I know anything 
 about politics."
 
 THE PRIEST 201 
 
 " What good will that do ? " was Richard's petu 
 lant question. " There is still a safe majority of 
 seventy-five." 
 
 " But," replied Murdock, with an astute smile ; 
 " there is going to be nominated a third indepen 
 dent ticket since the Squire's enemies won't vote 
 for our man. On this ticket will run an eminently 
 respectable gentleman that word respectable is 
 a great word who will get enough support to 
 give us outcasts of the car-shops a fair fighting 
 chance for the chief office of the town government 
 of Axton. And the name of this independent 
 candidate, this respectable gentleman, who will be 
 the means of victory for us, is Mr. Richard Wake- 
 field." 
 
 " Murdock, what do you mean ? " exclaimed the 
 young man thus honored. " I run against my 
 father? " 
 
 " Oh, have you filial scruples about doing so? " 
 was Murdock's sarcastic question. 
 
 " No, I have no filial scruples," came the sharp 
 reply; "but" 
 
 " Then what's the matter with my scheme? " 
 put in Murdock, no less sharply. " I'll run as a 
 Socialist. The voters disgruntled with old Wake- 
 field will vote for young Wakefield, at least many 
 of them will, of course not expecting to elect you ; 
 they don't want to elect you. But they will vote 
 for you because of their grudge and because you 
 are respectable. Then our solid block of one hun 
 dred and fifty cast for me, for you are all urging
 
 202 THE PRIEST 
 
 me to be a candidate if we are to have one at all, 
 will have a fair chance of deciding the day. Dick, 
 there is only one side to the question. Of course 
 you will run." 
 
 " But I am known to be mixed up with you fel 
 lows," objected Dick, who was instinctively shrink 
 ing from the unnatural position into which the 
 older man was forcing him. 
 
 " Yes," answered Murdock, with the easy way 
 of a man who tosses aside an insignificant objec 
 tion ; " in a general way it is known that you have 
 associated with us more than Puritan prejudice 
 would approve ; but no one outside our own group 
 is aware of how intimately you are bound to us. 
 There is no question that you will poll from fifty 
 to seventy-five votes. - That means that with good 
 fighting we will win. And Richard, my boy, when 
 I am chairman of the Axton selectmen, you will be 
 well rewarded for your assistance." 
 
 The other four men added their importunities 
 to Murdock's, and before the conference closed the 
 nomination papers of Richard Wakefield were 
 drawn up according to law.
 
 XXIII 
 
 One evening, a week after the hatching of the 
 political plot just described, Squire Amos Wake- 
 field sat alone in his library in high good humor. 
 The note-book containing complaints against the 
 Reverend Josiah Danforth lay open on the desk 
 before him, and in his hand was a large sheet of 
 paper well covered with transcriptions from the 
 complaints aforesaid. The Squire, tilted back in 
 his chair, was nodding and smiling at this 
 latter document with infinite complacency. 
 Events were most providentially playing into his 
 hand. The upstart minister's doom was written 
 and sealed; and soon Axton should have got rid 
 of him, and obtained a minister for First Church 
 who should be neither fool nor fanatic, but such a 
 man as was demanded by Puritan proprieties. 
 
 Three nights previously the classes at Danforth's 
 settlement-house had been broken up by a gang 
 of ruffians. On the following night the disorder 
 was repeated, and Danforth himself rather roughly 
 dealt with. Next morning two or three of the 
 trustees called on the minister and besought him to 
 suspend his classes for at least a month. Dan 
 forth refused. He was going to show no white 
 feather to Murdock's miserable mob. Appeals on 
 the ground of " respectability," and " the dignity 
 of your office," availed nothing. So on the even 
 ing just preceding the one on which we have looked 
 
 in upon the Squire complacent and smiling in his 
 203
 
 204 THE PRIEST 
 
 library, the dauntless Danforth appeared before 
 his pupil-comrades at Fraternity House. These 
 pupil-comrades were his friends; and, angered at 
 the happenings of the two preceding evenings, had 
 assembled this night in no mood to give ground 
 before the ruffians who had twice dispersed them. 
 The ruffians arrived again ; the pupil-comrades met 
 them manfully and for the first time in the his 
 tory of Axton, the two village constables, and half 
 an hour later the volunteer men, were frantically 
 summoned to quell a riot. Josiah Danforth took 
 home with him that night a pair of badly discolored 
 eyes, which all the world might see, and a deeply 
 discouraged heart, which only he himself, through 
 a mist of tears, might see. 
 
 The next morning Fraternity House was in 
 ashes. 
 
 Amos Wakefield's thoughts as he sat in his 
 library that night smiling at the indictment of his 
 pastor on the paper before him, may be para 
 phrased as follows : " I think our fast-galloping 
 young minister is knocked out of the saddle at last. 
 He will soon realize that wild runaways and vulgar 
 radicals are not wanted in the Unitarian church 
 or in Puritan communities. In the Salvation 
 Army or in Romanism he may find an environment 
 of congenial folly; but whatever becomes of him, 
 thank heaven his hours in Axton are numbered. 
 In demanding his resignation at the trustees' 
 meeting, I must make the speech of my life. Let 
 me run through once more the headings of my 
 charges against him:
 
 THE PRIEST 205 
 
 He insulted one of his trustees in open town- 
 meeting. 
 
 He is scandalously friendly with the Roman 
 priest here. 
 
 He has descended to vulgar familiarity with 
 foreign laborers. 
 
 He has neglected his duty to his parish: First 
 by abandoning our Sunday night service in order 
 to preach to his anarchist and Romanist aliens; 
 and secondly, by running about the country in the 
 interests of his idiotic league of something-or- 
 other. 
 
 He publicly insulted his brethren in the min 
 istry in a speech at our theological school. (Note : 
 Read the professor's letter.) 
 
 He has imposed on the parish an unwarranted 
 and unauthorized burden by taking up collections 
 for his foolish Fraternity House. 
 
 He has been the cause of and has taken part 
 in, fighting and rioting. 
 
 He has humiliated his congregation by working 
 for his anarchists with so little fruit that the ob 
 jects of his fanatical zeal have just burned his 
 settlement-house to the ground. 
 
 All this proves that Axton First Church has 
 for its pastor a hair-brained zealot, an unbalanced 
 man, an improper minister, and must, therefore, 
 in sheer self-respect take measures to get rid of 
 him. We cannot have this man on our nerves any 
 longer, not knowing what foolish and humiliating 
 venture he will undertake next. It is high time
 
 206 THE PRIEST 
 
 that the congregation return to a normal and 
 orderly religious life under a sane and conserva 
 tive pastor, who will have some regard for the 
 decencies of his position, and at least a small 
 measure of respect for the traditions of our Puri 
 tan fathers. 
 
 " A pretty strong case ! A pretty strong case ! 
 And when I clinch it by warning the trustees that 
 in all probability Danforth will call upon the 
 parish to build a new settlement-house, I think 
 those honorable gentlemen, whose pockets are more 
 obnoxious to argument than their heads, will de 
 cide to recommend to the congregation that Josiah 
 Danforth be dismissed. And I feel sure the con 
 gregation will not disregard the recommendation. 
 For however foolishly some of them worship the 
 ground he stands on, they will see that it is better 
 to send him away and thus bring the trouble to 
 a speedy conclusion, than to create permanent dis 
 cord in the church by retaining him. So, Mr. 
 Danforth, I surmise that we are about to bid you 
 an affectionate adieu." 
 
 Squire Wakefield was still sucking the sweet 
 ness out of this delicious expectation when the door 
 bell rang, and a Mr. Perry, who was the Squire's 
 political manager, was announced. A moment 
 later Mr. Perry stepped into the room. Barely 
 returning Mr. Wakefield's unusually genial greet 
 ing, Perry in notable agitation asked : " Have you 
 heard the astounding news ? " 
 
 " What astounding news ? " said the Squire.
 
 THE PRIEST 207 
 
 " About your son." 
 
 " What about my son? " 
 
 " Then you haven't heard of it. Your son 
 Richard is circulating his nomination papers for 
 the office of selectman. Though he began only 
 this afternoon I understand he has already ob 
 tained the fifty signatures required by law to en 
 able him to stand as candidate." 
 
 " In heaven's name, is this true ? Will he run 
 against his father, against me? " exclaimed Mr. 
 Wakefield, his face drawn and white. 
 
 " It is true, and I don't know what to make of 
 it," answered Perry. " Murdock, too, is to be 
 nominated; and if I could believe your son guilty 
 of so infamous an action, I should say he is en 
 deavoring to split your vote in order that Murdock 
 may win. He must know that he has no possible 
 chance himself." 
 
 Amos Wakefield was silent a long time. The 
 knife had been driven deep. At last he said: 
 " Perry, let us not worry about it. On its politi 
 cal side this thing cannot hurt us. I cannot possi 
 bly lose. In fact, were my election not already 
 certain, this infamous action, as you well call it, 
 would make it so. And in so far as it is a personal 
 sorrow to me I can bear it, as I have borne many 
 other sorrows from the same source." 
 
 " Mr. Wakefield," said the practical politician ; 
 " I fear you underestimate the political impor 
 tance of this matter. In my opinion, sir, we must 
 do everything in our power to keep our support
 
 208 THE PRIEST 
 
 intact, and carefully avoid dissension in our 
 ranks." 
 
 " Well? " queried the Squire, who had been only 
 half listening. 
 
 " Well," insisted Mr. Perry ; " to bring the case 
 right down to particulars, you are endangering 
 your prospects of election by your opposition to 
 Mr. Danforth. It is rumored that at the next 
 meeting of the trustees you will propose that Mr. 
 Danforth be dismissed. If you do that you can 
 expect no support from the minister's many 
 friends. You will lose so many votes by such an 
 action that, to speak frankly, Murdock will have 
 as good a chance of winning as yourself." 
 
 Amos Wakefield turned a cold, stern look upon 
 the manager of his campaign and said in delib 
 erate, level tones, which bespoke an absolute final 
 ity of decision : " Mr. Perry, I intend to propose 
 the dismissal of Mr. Danforth at the trustees' 
 next meeting; and if I am then alive no power on 
 earth will deter me from it. This affair of Dan- 
 forth's has come to a head, and I should fail in 
 my duty if I yielded to expediency, and neglected 
 the timeliest possible opportunity to do a service 
 to my church and my native town. I am ready 
 to accept all the consequences of this action; but 
 I am sure that there are enough voters in Axton 
 who admire courage and conviction, to elect me. 
 I have no fear for the election, sir." 
 
 Mr. Perry made no further remonstrance, for 
 he knew Squire Wakefield too well, and in a few 
 moments he was gone.
 
 THE PRIEST 209 
 
 Mr. Wakefield sat in his library until a late 
 hour. But he studied his brief against the min 
 ister no more, and the smile had departed from 
 his face. A brief had been drawn up against him 
 self by the very hand and brain to which he had 
 given life. This was the indictment which now 
 in the deep night-silences clamored in his ears ; 
 this the disgrace which gripped his heart and 
 pressed into it the agony and bitterness that only 
 a father's outraged heart can feel.
 
 XXIV 
 
 Father Hanlon was off on his tour of consulta 
 tion. He had made provision to supply his pulpit 
 for one Sunday, and set out to take counsel of 
 two or three priests reputed to be among the most 
 learned in his church. His hopes of finding con 
 solation from them were not too high. A sub 
 conscious voice kept telling him that hope was 
 dead. Were it merely a lack of apologetic erudi 
 tion that troubled him, he would be approaching 
 the wise men on whom he was to call, in full con 
 fidence that from their ample scholarship he would 
 obtain the fullest information and the clearest light 
 that Catholic scholarship could give. But his 
 need was too deep for merely academic help. His 
 mind was changed; his mental standards altered; 
 his spiritual outlook wholly, and, as it appeared, 
 hopelessly un-Catholic. He might learn some new 
 form of the argument for Christ's deity. But his 
 very idea of Deity had grown so great and awful 
 that his soul recoiled from the notion that that 
 Infinite could be a wailing infant, a growing Jewish 
 lad, a suffering, struggling, praying man. Like 
 wise these learned doctors might dress up in new 
 raiment the dogma of Christ's blood-redemption. 
 But his moral standards could not tolerate the con 
 ception of one God-person bleeding and dying to 
 placate another God-person, and of the human 
 race coming back into a just God's favor through 
 
 the murder of an entirely innocent sacrificial vic- 
 910
 
 THE PRIEST 211 
 
 tim. His soul, far more than his mind, was un 
 orthodox; and how much harder it is to refashion 
 a soul than to re-convince a mind ! " No hope ! " 
 tolled the voice within ; and No hope ! began to be 
 graven more unmistakably on that pale young 
 face. 
 
 The momentary relief of changed surroundings 
 was vouchsafed him as he left the train five hun 
 dred miles from Axton. His step became buoyant 
 as he walked the streets of a city where all was new. 
 Were these little stirrings of content, he asked 
 himself, merely due to the fresh appeal of an un 
 familiar place? or and something in his heart 
 answered a triumphant " Yes ! " as he put the ques 
 tion or did they arise because this new city 
 where he was alone and free for a few hours, was 
 only an anticipation of a whole new life before him 
 in which he would be alone perhaps, but free for 
 ever? It was glorious to be free! His step 
 quickened at the radiant thought. Then why not 
 be free? Here is the wide world where no one 
 knows you. Above is the spacious heaven where 
 One does know you. Be free ! Relieve this mind 
 in prison, this soul in chains ! Be the free disciple 
 of the Infinite, not the cowardly bondman of Se 
 bastian Shyrne ! 
 
 It was a thrilling interior experience. Two 
 spots of red showed in the thin cheeks. A light 
 of ardor flashed from the dejected eyes. The 
 mobile mouth grew stern. Had he just then stood 
 in a battle column going into a charge he would 
 have looked no different.
 
 212 THE PRIEST 
 
 " Yes," said he to his own soul ; " I will be free. 
 But I must first be right, and I am now trying to 
 be right." 
 
 At the seminary where lived the professor of 
 Scripture whom he was seeking, he had to wait 
 but a few minutes before the celebrated scholar 
 entered the parlor. 
 
 " Doctor," was Ambrose's greeting to the thick 
 set man of fifty, who stood before him ; " I must 
 ask you to excuse me for the moment from giving 
 my name. I have come to consult you on a very 
 delicate matter, and I wish to wait before telling 
 you who I am, until I can see if you can help me." 
 
 " Have it so if you wish. What is your trouble ? 
 Is your faith in danger? " 
 
 Ambrose was naturally somewhat startled at 
 this divining of his condition. Doubtless this man 
 had been consulted more than once in similar cases. 
 Still this immediate approach to the subject be 
 fore them made it easier for him to begin ; and in 
 a few minutes' rapid narration he described the 
 progress of his studies, and the conclusions to 
 which they had forced him. 
 
 " My apologetic for Catholicism," began the 
 professor, when Ambrose finished ; " is on these 
 lines. I see God in the history of the Hebrew peo 
 ple. I see God in the prophets who prepared the 
 world for Christ. I see God in Christ. And I 
 see God in the history of the Church. Outside 
 these events and personalities of history I cannot 
 see God. Therefore, since I believe in God, I
 
 THE PRIEST 
 
 believe in His supreme manifestations in the 
 prophets, Christ and Catholicism. Do you not 
 think that this is sufficient foundation for faith ? " 
 
 " I see God, too, in these providential happen 
 ings," answered Ambrose ; " but that reasoning 
 is too summary. Because I believe in the divine 
 as it appears in the prophets, Christ and Catho 
 licity, must I, therefore, believe in Christ's Deity, 
 the very God-presence in the Eucharist, and in 
 blood-redemption? I see God wherever godlike 
 lives are lived. I see God in some measure in every 
 religion from Babylonian mythology to the Sal 
 vation Army ; but surely that does not bind me to 
 any definite theology ? " 
 
 " The prophets," replied the learned man, 
 " were the highest revelation of God before Christ. 
 Had I lived in their day I should have believed in 
 them as such. Catholicism is the highest revela 
 tion of God now. Nothing can bring me nearer 
 to God than the Catholic religion. Therefore, I 
 believe in it." 
 
 " Does that satisfy you as to the eternal truth 
 of each particular Catholic dogma?" asked Am 
 brose. 
 
 " Yes. If Catholicism be false, we are under a 
 colossal hallucination. It must be true or God 
 would be guilty of having led nineteen centuries 
 into abomination and idolatry." 
 
 "But," objected Ambrose, "millions of people 
 have believed in false religions for a far longer 
 time than Christianity has yet existed. It seems
 
 THE PRIEST 
 
 to me you lay too^much stress or at least put too 
 narrow an interpretation upon that word ' true.' 
 All religions are in a measure true, inasmuch as 
 they help the human spirit to grow toward God. 
 This is their divine, their religious, their eternal 
 truth. But the formulated theologies of these 
 religions are always turning out to be defective. 
 And the duty of every age in the historic evolu 
 tion of humanity is, while holding to the religious 
 truth of the past, to improve upon the imperfect 
 theology of the past. There is no question of 
 God's being responsible for deceiving us. In giv 
 ing Catholicism He gave mankind a spiritually 
 true, that is a spiritually beautiful and helpful 
 religion a religion so true, in fact, in this deeper 
 sense of the word, that the world to the end of time 
 may well devoutly study it. But the fitness of a 
 religion for our spiritual helpfulness is quite a dif 
 ferent thing from the fitness of a theology for our 
 intellectual acceptance. My difficulty is that I 
 have come to believe that theologies must change; 
 and that dogmas must die in old forms to be born 
 in new and freer forms. Had I the outlook upon 
 the universe which the Nicene theologians had, I 
 should have no difficulty in believing that the vic 
 tim of a Jewish mob was the Eternal Infinite. 
 But my outlook upon the universe is other and 
 wider than theirs, since I live in a later and vastly 
 more intelligent age, and I cannot believe in a 
 Deity who thus localizes and as it were, paro- 
 chializes himself."
 
 THE PRIEST , 215 
 
 " I am afraid you are beyond my help," said 
 the professor. " You are in a state of mind not 
 to be improved by any scriptural information that 
 I might give you. So far as I am concerned, if 
 I were convinced that Catholicism were not true, 
 I should fling off the restraints of moral living, and 
 indulge my passions according to my fancy. I 
 should cease to believe in the authority of the moral 
 law, in immortality, or any other basic religious 
 idea." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Ambrose ; " you cannot 
 mean that ? " 
 
 " I do mean it," was the positive answer. 
 
 " Why," protested Ambrose ; " right and wrong . 
 remain if all the theologies in the world were folly. y\ 
 The sacredness of duty, the dominion of con 
 science, the high value of human life, the being of i 
 God you do not mean to say that these eternal V 
 verities graven in the soul of man, depend upon A 
 the accuracy of any Bible, or the correctness of 
 any system of theology? " 
 
 " If I thought Catholicism untrue, these things 
 would mean nothing to me," insisted the professor. 
 
 Ambrose rose, with mingled pity and scorn in 
 his heart for so utterly primitive and barbaric a 
 religious philosophy. 
 
 " I thank you, sir," he said ; " for giving me 
 so much of your valuable time." 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested the other man, " you 
 would do well to see our professor of philosophy. 
 Your difficulties are mainly of a philosophical 
 order."
 
 216 THE PRIEST 
 
 " I am too tired just now," Ambrose answered; 
 " but I am much obliged to you." 
 
 So this was all that the Catholic scholarship 
 could do for him ! This big, sweeping, unscientific 
 apology, as crude as the pretentious scheme of 
 Bossuet's Universal History ; this revolting relic 
 of savagery, that the highest ideals of the immortal 
 spirit of man stand or fall with texts, theologies 
 and hierarchies, were all that a trained Catholic 
 intellect could offer to his truth-seeking soul! 
 Ambrose tried not to yield to the bitterness and 
 disgust that besieged him, for he understood that 
 passion ill associated with the reverent mood in 
 which he should pursue his search for Truth; but 
 his disappointment was so profound, his disillusion 
 so complete, that for the first time in his life he 
 felt tempted to despise the faith of which he was 
 a priest. A system that could so twist a man's 
 mind and so pervert a man's moral judgment, thus 
 surged his rebellious thoughts, should be scorned 
 by every candid soul. It should be pitched into 
 the lumber room of a hundred other decayed theol 
 ogies, a hundred other hierarchal tyrannies, and 
 allowed to obstruct the free growth of souls no 
 longer. 
 
 From these unworthy feelings, however, he 
 prayed to be delivered. It was no time for anger, 
 but rather a time for sorrow. For was it not 
 clear that he had ceased to be a Catholic, and that 
 he had incurred that fate from which training and 
 instinct made him shrink in terror, the " Loss of
 
 THE PRIEST 217 
 
 faith?" Loss of faith! That beautiful heroic 
 faith of earlier days! The faith that placed him 
 in the company of apostles, saints and martyrs ! 
 The faith that had woven into the very texture 
 of his soul the sense of priestliness and consecra 
 tion! The faith of his father, mother, sister! 
 Ah! God, here was the crudest pang; here were 
 Gethsemane and Calvary ! He pictured himself 
 standing before his mother and Margaret in their 
 little home, and saying: "Mother, sister, I have 
 left the priesthood and the Church. I have fol 
 lowed my conscience, but have brought disgrace 
 and a sorrow that only death will heal, to you. 
 I must leave you, for my presence would but keep 
 the wound in your heart forever open, fresh and 
 bleeding. I must go away into a world and a life 
 unknown, and let you live and die in grief. Good- 
 by!" 
 
 Terrifying, overwhelming, the vision rose be 
 fore his inward eye. The mother whose gentle 
 heart had taken such pride in him ; the sister, loyal 
 little Margaret, that so worshipped him, stricken 
 prostrate by his hand! Never! Never! Never! 
 The son and brother, resolute in the power of 
 earth's mightiest affection, replaced the wavering, 
 faltering priest. Suffer? Yes! Eat out his 
 heart in voiceless sorrow? Yes! Ruin his young 
 career? Yes! Live untrue to conscience? Yes! 
 to spare them, Yes ! What after all was this iron- 
 hearted Truth, to demand the blood-sacrifice of his 
 dearest and best-beloved? Must all other ideals
 
 218 THE PRIEST 
 
 be shattered into fragments to obey this one alone? 
 Had Truth all rights, and Charity none? In a 
 conflict between Love and Truth, Mercy and Con 
 science, why had not Love and Mercy as good a 
 claim to precedence as the other two? Whence 
 and why this exclusive idolatry of Truth that 
 bade him desecrate all other altars, even the holiest 
 and earliest that his life had known ? " Mother 
 and Margaret come first ! " his heart passionately 
 protested. " Live in your agony ; die of it ; be 
 what the world calls a hypocrite; but spare them, 
 mother and Margaret ! " 
 
 Yet above these apparently resistless tides of 
 nature shone the persistent Truth-Ideal. With 
 no passion in its tone, no feeling in its accents, 
 it spoke and spoke again its imperious command. 
 And Ambrose seemed to see assembling about that 
 sovereign Form the chosen spirits of humanity 
 men who had abandoned riches and embraced pov 
 erty; men who had seen the doors of home closed 
 in their faces ; men who had gone forth alone into 
 freezing exile and eaten the crust of the outcast; 
 men who had wasted away in dungeons; men who 
 had given their bodies to the rack, the screw and 
 the lash ; men who had mounted the pile of faggots 
 and suffered the torture of devouring fire. Be 
 cause they had loved Truth and shrank not from 
 the martyr's witness against falsehood, had they 
 done these things and lo ! they were God's elect 
 and the saints of her mankind. "Will you join 
 us ? " they seemed sternly to ask Ambrose Hanlon.
 
 THE PRIEST 219 
 
 "Will you join us?" and as the question pene 
 trated to his heart, and spoke its challenge to his 
 will, his conscience and his soul, that other loud 
 cry of wounded nature died away, and he saw and / 
 heard only that the manifestation of Deity called j^ 
 Truth, with these its soldiers and martyrs, and ' 
 from his inmost being arose his answer : " I will ! "
 
 XXV 
 
 Ambrose determined to consult only one other 
 of the three of four men whom he had purposed 
 to visit. After his experience with the professor, 
 he realized that it would do him no good to discuss 
 his difficulties with merely technical scholars. For 
 it was his conscience, not his mind, that needed 
 guidance. His problem was: Can I honorably 
 remain a priest or even a Catholic? To this ques 
 tion erudition could give little or nothing by way 
 of answer. No man, he reflected, could assist him 
 in answering it save one who had passed through 
 a crisis like his own. Such a man he had some 
 hope of finding if the rumors concerning the priest 
 he was now to see were true. For report had 
 lately been current among the priests of that vicin 
 ity that this particular member of their body " had 
 lost his faith ; " " had become a follower of Loisy 
 and Harnack ; " and " had been writing anony 
 mous articles severely criticising the Church." 
 Ambrose made inquiries respecting this delinquent, 
 and discovered that he was pastor of a small coun 
 try congregation, a model priest, a profound stu 
 dent, and possessor of a library of extraordinary 
 value. At least there was a chance that this man 
 was in a position to understand and assist him, 
 and he determined to avail himself of it. 
 
 Not unlike Axton was the village committed to 
 the care of this mysterious priest-scholar; and 
 220
 
 THE PRIEST 221 
 
 Ambrose wondered as he walked toward the par 
 sonage if here, too, a crisis had come to pass like 
 thab which had cast its shadow on the parish priest 
 of Axton. 
 
 The servant led him into the library and said 
 that Father Fleming was engaged with a caller 
 in the parlor, but would be free in a few minutes. 
 
 Ambrose looked about him upon a very world 
 of books. Not only were there closely packed 
 shelves from floor to ceiling, but in the middle of 
 the floor and running the entire length of the room 
 were two book-stacks of nearly a man's height, 
 filled to the last inch. Eagerly Ambrose scanned 
 the titles of shelf after shelf, to discover what man 
 ner of thinking and what fashion of man the roof 
 of this sequestered rectory was sheltering. Orien 
 tal philology was represented by hundreds of 
 volumes, with Assyrian and Old Persian predomi 
 nating. This evidently was the chosen field of the 
 pastor's researches. How odd that such studies 
 should be carried on in a country parish! won 
 dered Ambrose, holding in his hand a splendid 
 edition of the Avesta in the original. Then there 
 were the works of the biblical critics of Germany 
 a collection twice as large as Danforth's ; the his 
 tory of religion and doctrines next, a mass of 
 volumes second only to those on Eastern lan 
 guages. " Not much on philosophy," Ambrose 
 was reflecting, when the door opened and Father 
 Fleming entered. 
 
 " My name is Hanlon," said Ambrose, holding 
 out his hand.
 
 222 THE PRIEST 
 
 " Fleming is mine," was the response, accom 
 panied with a cordial grasp of the visitor's hand 
 and an invitation that he sit down and have a 
 cigar. 
 
 Ambrose declined the cigar, not being a smoker ; 
 and asked if Father Fleming could give him a few 
 minutes of his time. 
 
 " Certainly," was the hearty answer. " I'll 
 light up, and then be at your service. I always 
 enjoy both work and recreation better under the 
 inspiration of the divine weed, tobacco. Had 
 cigars only been known in classical times, I dare 
 say the priestess of Apollo would have uttered 
 her oracles in clouds like these, instead of amid the 
 smoke of incense." Whereat Father Fleming 
 smiled and puffed in great content. 
 
 He was still young, this pastor who cultivated 
 Babylonian and Zend, hardly forty, Ambrose 
 thought, with a sturdy frame, a splendid head, 
 very keen and searching eyes, and a mouth that 
 was well accustomed, one would fancy, to a smile 
 of mingled amusement and pity at the follies of 
 mankind. 
 
 As Ambrose narrated his recent intellectual and 
 spiritual experiences, Father Fleming's face grew 
 grave, and his head bent forward in an attitude 
 of deep attention and deeper meditation. Am 
 brose concluded with mentioning his fruitless visit 
 to the professor. 
 
 " Too bad you went to him," said Fleming, with 
 a gesture of impatience. " He is a baby intellect-
 
 THE PRIEST 283 
 
 ually. He knows more or less of criticism, and 
 I suppose could discourse learnedly of texts and / 
 versions; but of the wider movements of thought, J\ 
 of the new orientation of the religious conscious 
 ness, he knows nothing at all." 
 
 Father Fleming laid aside his cigar, which had 
 gone out, folded his hands and turning a look 
 of great sympathy upon his guest, continued: 
 
 " Let me say, my dear Father Hanlon, that I 
 sympathize with your perplexities and sorrows, 
 but congratulate you on having reached vital and 
 vigorous maturity of mind. The Creator of hu 
 man intelligence wills that intelligence should 
 grow. That we should continue forever jabbering 
 ancient formulas, forever posturing in ancient 
 ceremonies, without once driving intellect beneath 
 them to see what they rest on, of what value they 
 are, and how they fit in with intellectual and ethi- X 
 cal development, is not only the death but the 
 rotting of mind. It is a crime ; and the education 
 that bids us submit to this putrefaction of our 
 God-given capacities, is high treason against God. 
 When I cease to examine intellectually what is 
 given me to accept intellectually; when I mumble 
 with my lips what I refuse to allow my mind to 
 bring to the test of reasonableness and truth; 
 when I stick my head into the dust of the middle 
 age and of the patristic age, so that I may not 
 open my eyes to the modern age ; well when I 
 consent to do that, I shall go to Patagonia at once, 
 live on raw fish, and make a good job of frustrat 
 ing God Almighty's will while I am about it.
 
 THE PRIEST 
 
 " I will speak frankly to you, Father Hanlon, 
 for I like you and trust you. First of all, then, 
 whatever your sorrows, rejoice that you are using 
 the ten talents of your mind. In studying, think 
 ing, examining, you are doing God's will. Believe 
 that; take comfort in that; for it is no small con 
 solation to have God on our side. The old Zoro- 
 astrian faith which I have studied a good deal, and 
 profoundly venerate, conceived the world and life 
 as a field of battle, whereon the God of good things 
 and the god of evil things fought it out. The 
 good God's warriors were good men, wise men, 
 whose duty it was to do battle with ignorance and 
 darkness, and to spread light, knowledge, courage 
 and love. A stagnant life, a life content with the 
 good that was, and destitute of self-sacrificing en 
 thusiasm for the greater good to come, was im 
 possible to the faithful disciple of Zoroaster and 
 Ahura Mazda. 
 
 " The old Persian saint and prophet was right. 
 Stagnation is the chief of sins ; to let intellect die 
 while the forthcoming kingdom is crying for its 
 help, is the most awful and unnatural of suicides. 
 Here is the growing life of this universe which is 
 somehow one with the life of God, swinging on 
 ward, away from darkness toward the light, away 
 from ignorance toward Truth, away from the past 
 to a more splendid future. How monstrous that 
 any man should seek to stay the processes of this 
 divine development ! And a man does seek to stay 
 them, and in his measure succeeds, who will not
 
 THE PRIEST 225 
 
 use his highest gift of mind ; who looks not to the 
 dawn ahead, but to the midnight behind ; who bur 
 rows in ancient caves because his ancestors were 
 cave-dwellers, and snarls angrily at the men of 
 finer and braver spirit who are ascending to the 
 uplands at the call of God. 
 
 " You are not alone, Father Hanlon, in your 
 sometimes sorrowful search for Truth. The saints 
 and heroes of humanity are with you ; the irresis 
 tible life of this universe is with you; the onward- 
 leading Infinite is with you and within you. 
 
 " As to your intellectual positions I will say 
 nothing. They are substantially my own. Now 
 to the crux of your trouble. Can you honorably 
 remain a Catholic and a priest? That question 
 is for your conscience alone; the answer to it can 
 be delegated to no other. I can only tell you what 
 I think about the problem. What I think may 
 mean nothing to you ; but I take it that you wish 
 me to state my position, so that your own con 
 science may have additional data on which to base 
 its final judgment. My position is this: The 
 processes of the diviner life of developing humanity 
 must be assisted by such means as our imperfect 
 world can furnish. These processes are not 
 abrupt. They develop normally and ordinarily 
 by growth, seldom by revolution. As a priest of 
 the church I can help this forward movement by 
 using my office and all the prestige of a venerable 
 religious system to inculcate the virtues of noble 
 character. I am forever preaching conscience, 
 
 lay 
 ish ^/ 
 
 m - A 
 
 ase '
 
 226 THE PRIEST 
 
 love of truth, justice, benevolence, the spirit of 
 service, responsibility, manliness and character. If 
 I speak of dogmas whose present formulation I can 
 not accept, I say nothing of the philosophical 
 terminology of them, and insist only on their value 
 as means of putting us into the mood of kinship 
 with spiritual realities and God. I feel that I am 
 thus living not in vain, and that I am employing 
 such instrumentalities as are within my reach for 
 teaching the religion of the spirit ; and so long as 
 I can continue to do this I see no imperative reason 
 why I should abandon an opportunity for greater 
 usefulness than I could find elsewhere. 
 
 " I have had one or two of my parishioners come 
 to me to say that if they followed reason and con 
 science they must leave the Catholic Church. I 
 have simply told them to study and pray, and do 
 what they believed God wanted them to do. Again, 
 from time to time a few of my boys have desired 
 to become priests. I have discouraged them as 
 strongly as I could, and I have saved some of them 
 from a life which it is more than probable they 
 should have found a misery and a crucifixion. 
 
 " In conclusion, Father Hanlon, let me say that 
 if circumstances should arise, and " here a cyni 
 cal smile came upon Father Fleming's face " cer 
 tain gentlemen seemed bound on making them arise, 
 which would threaten the integrity of my char 
 acter, or menace the development and peace of 
 my soul, I would resist them even to leaving the 
 Church. But if, while still independent and free,
 
 THE PRIEST 327 
 
 I can help the good to become better, the bad to 
 become good, the sorrowful to find consolation, 
 I will do so in my present office, believing that I 
 am thus contributing my mite toward that coming 
 kingdom wherein men will be able to distinguish 
 between the vulgar disputes of theology and the 
 eternal verities of religion." 
 
 A few more questions and answers, a little fur 
 ther discussion of details, and the interview was 
 over. 
 
 As Father Hanlon walked toward the village 
 station, there was less dejection in his manner; and 
 one would say from observing his face that his 
 mind was quiet and his spirit free from at least 
 any grievous agitation.
 
 XXVI 
 
 The early dusk of a winter evening was settling 
 over Alton as Father Hanlon stepped from the 
 train, home again from his quest for light. The 
 comforting thought of home made quiet music in 
 his heart as he approached the hotel ; and his glad 
 content was deepened at Nahum Cuttle's affection 
 ate greeting. 
 
 " Lots o* folks been askin' for ye, Father Han- 
 Ion," said Nahum. ** Someone started the report 
 that you had been taken away from Alton for 
 good and all; and my! but the people of this vil 
 lage were sorry. Some o' your own church mem 
 bers came mquirin', but still more who ain't in your 
 membership at alL An' they all declared it would 
 be a shame to have you leave here. You've got 
 friends here, and if ever you need 'em they'll prove 
 ft, too." 
 
 Some little assurance that he would not leave, 
 that he would remain in this kindly neighborhood 
 of friends, and that he would be happy among 
 them, found itself ensconced in the young priest's 
 heart as he went upstairs to his room, and for the 
 first time in many weary weeks the strain of a song 
 was on his lips. 
 
 As he opened his door he saw a note that had 
 been pushed under it, lying on the floor. Opening 
 the paper the following words met his eye : 
 
 Dear Father, 
 
 Please come to see me at once when yon return. 
 
 MARY KILKT.
 
 THE PRIEST 229 
 
 Not much alarmed about Mary's condition, 
 for she would hardly have written had her illness 
 become notably worse, but considerably puzzled 
 by the novelty and urgency of the request, Am 
 brose at once set out for the Kiley cottage. " It's 
 Father Hanlon, dear," be heard Matt say as he 
 approached the door. A moment later his honest 
 sexton's two rough hands were grasping his slen 
 der one, and in a cheery voice he said : 
 
 " Well, Matt, I am delighted to see you, and de 
 lighted to set foot in this house once more." 
 
 Matt, still holding his pastor's hands, only 
 looked at him with tears streaming from his 
 eves. 
 
 "Matt," cried the priest, his own face becom 
 ing ashen; "what is the matter? Has anything 
 happened?" 
 
 "Come, Father," was all that Matt could say, 
 leading him toward Mary's room. An agony of 
 sorrow fell upon the young priest's heart as he fol 
 lowed. Was it true then that his little saint had 
 given, or was about to give, her white spirit back 
 to God? 
 
 They entered the room. Mary was in a hos 
 pital chair with a blanket about her. " Father," 
 she said, with her infinitely sweet smile, " stand just 
 there; don't come any further." Then her thin, 
 almost snow-white hands threw back the folds of 
 the blanket, she grasped the arms of the chair as 
 though to steady herself, stood up, and walked to 
 the priest, her hands extended to greet him.
 
 230 THE PRIEST 
 
 " Mary," cried Father Hanlon, not only taking 
 her hands, but holding her for a moment to his 
 breast ; " you are cured ! " 
 
 " Yes, Father," said Mary, " miraculously 
 cured ! " 
 
 Her father and Ambrose, who was in a tumult 
 of wonder, gratitude, and awe, led her back to the 
 chair, tenderly replaced the blanket about her, and 
 she began her wonderful story. 
 
 " For some time past," she said, " a strange con 
 viction that I should get well had taken hold of me. 
 It grew deeper and stronger every day until it 
 became an irresistible certainty. I knew I should 
 be cured. I felt that God's will was being dis 
 closed to me. I seemed to be drawing on the re 
 sources of infinite strength, of God's own infinite 
 life. My heart beat quicker at the thought and I 
 imagined that perfect, perfect health was surging 
 through my body. I used to try if those poor 
 paralyzed nerves and muscles would respond to 
 my will, but they did not for a long time. The 
 very day after you left Axton, * Cured ! ' l Cured ! ' 
 ' Cured ! ' kept ringing in my ears. I tried harder 
 to direct the current of the vitality I felt pouring 
 into me, into the nerves that were lifeless. I felt 
 wonderfully, awfully near to God, and in a kind 
 of ecstasy of confidence, I sat up in bed, I stood 
 upon the floor, and God's merciful miracle was 
 accomplished." 
 
 Matt cried softly as his child was speaking. 
 Father Hanlon, whose own eyes were not dry, took
 
 THE PRIEST 231 
 
 her hand when she had finished, and out of the 
 depths of his heart uttered a prayer of thanksgiv 
 ing. His concluding words were : " Father, the 
 healing of broken hearts is also with thee and 
 thee alone. We beseech thee that in this hour 
 while we rejoice that thou hast given back to us 
 who love her, thy child whole and restored, thou 
 wilt visit some desolate and downcast spirit, and 
 heal it with thy own secret, wonderful and abound 
 ing consolation." 
 
 " Father," cried Matt, now sobbing uncon 
 trollably ; " those last words are for me and for my 
 poor, broken heart. God help me ! " 
 
 " Why, Matt," said Father Hanlon ; " how can 
 your heart be broken in this blessed hour except it 
 is joy that breaks it? What in the world do you 
 mean? " 
 
 " Father Hanlon," said Mary, in a low and 
 shaken voice ; " I will tell you what my father 
 means. The life that God has given back is His. 
 It were robbery and sacrilege to spend it for any 
 earthly purpose. I must or this miracle is 
 meaningless, and will turn to my greater condem 
 nation I must henceforth be God's alone. This 
 also was in my thought in those days of confidence 
 preceding my cure; and I promised God the life 
 that He was about to restore. The doctor says / 
 that I shall have regained almost perfect strength X 
 by mid-summer. I shall stay here till then. But 
 in the fall I will enter a sisterhood, and spend my 
 life in a hospital for incurables."
 
 232 THE PRIEST 
 
 A long silence fell upon the three Mary the 
 snow-white mystic; Matt in the agony of father- 
 love bereaved; Ambrose groping toward the dark 
 est crisis of all. The clock ticked on the shelf, and 
 there was no other sound. The winter darkness 
 deepened, and the stars came out in the sky. 
 Rarely had their pure rays shone upon such divini 
 ties of faith, sanctity, and sorrow, as were to 
 gether in that room. Seldom had God led to a 
 common Calvary by ways so different, three of His 
 children whose hearts were bound so closely to one 
 another and to Him. 
 
 To Father Hanlon, walking slowly home that 
 night, the Church of his ancestors, his youth, his 
 priesthood, spoke again the all but irresistible 
 appeal of her incomparable sanctity and mysti 
 cism. Mother of heroes, saints and virgins ; fruit 
 ful parent of mighty souls; nurse and preceptress 
 of consecration and self-sacrifice ; the Church of an 
 gelic little Mary, and of many thousand other 
 Marys in every part of this round earth she rose 
 before the vision of this her priest who had spoken 
 his vows at her altar, and was now wavering on 
 the brink of apostasy, and demanded that he be 
 faithful to his vow and depart not from her, for 
 outside her he could find no beauty, poetry, divin 
 ity, such as had crowned her with centuries of 
 holiness, and assembled about her the unnumbered 
 communion of her saints. Science? What amount 
 of science could tell him so much of God as he had 
 just seen in that lowly cottage? Truth? Ah!
 
 THE PRIEST 233 
 
 had not Mary Kiley beheld essential, spiritual, 
 infinite Truth in a manner and to a degree impos 
 sible to all the academies and criticisms in the 
 world? Let him go back to his early pieties. Let 
 him abandon the scholars to learn the deeper lore 
 of the saints. Let him again spend hours as he / 
 was wont to do, kneeling in mysterious raptures V 
 before the crucifix and the altar. Let him forego 
 the aridities and the perils of vain scholarship, 
 and reascend the mount of tranquil prayer, where 
 his soul would enjoy the saint's vision and share 
 the mystic's peace. N 
 
 The old conflict! would it never end? Were his 
 heart that was for flinging itself into the arms of ^ 
 Mother-Church, and his mind that persisted in 
 straying away from her, never to be reconciled? 
 To-night his heart in the glow of its recent ex 
 perience, had the upper hand. " Perhaps to-mor 
 row," said he to himself, " something will happen 
 to exasperate my intellect as much as to-night my 
 soul has been uplifted." 
 
 There was prophecy in the reflection. On the 
 morrow something did happen, which, following 
 immediately upon his exalted experiences of the 
 night before, startlingly illustrated to Father 
 Hanlon, that contrast of sublimity and puerility v/ 
 which is forever presenting itself to the student of ^ 
 Catholicism. Before narrating the occurrence, a 
 word of explanation is necessary. Bishop Shyrne 
 owned a large vineyard, which enabled him not 
 only to furnish the priests of his diocese with
 
 234 THE PRIEST 
 
 altar-wine for the celebration of mass, but also 
 to sell a goodly portion of the product in the form 
 of table-wine. As, according to theology, the wine 
 used at the altar must be the unadulterated juice 
 of the grape; and as, on the other hand, the 
 bishop's table-wine was treated with divers admix 
 tures, great care was taken to keep the shipments 
 separate. Some confusion, however, in this mat 
 ter, led to the writing of the following letter by 
 the priest who had the superintendence of the vine 
 yard. As we have intimated, Ambrose received the 
 letter the day after his memorable visit to Mary. 
 
 Dear Father Hanlon, 
 
 Ten days ago we shipped you, according to your 
 order, three dozen bottles of wine to be used in the 
 celebration of mass. To my great regret I have just 
 discovered that the wine sent you was, by the mis 
 take of our foreman, not altar-wine, but table-wine. 
 Now while this latter is undoubtedly good wine, it is 
 with us as with all dealers, so treated as to make it 
 one or two per cent, less pure than altar-wine must 
 be, according to theology. It is probable therefore, 
 that our table-wine is not fit matter for consecration; 
 and that consequently it would not be changed into 
 the Precious Blood of our Lord in the mass. If so, 
 of course there is no proper sacrifice of the mass 
 when such wine is used. 
 
 I am very sorry for this humiliating and most seri 
 ous mistake. It is the first time it has happened, and 
 it will be the last. I am sending you today three 
 dozen bottles of genuine altar-wine, and you may re 
 turn the other if you choose.
 
 THE PRIEST 235 
 
 I hardly need to suggest that the masses you may 
 have said with the table-wine must be repeated in 
 order to satisfy the intentions for which they were 
 offered. 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 REV. F. BRINKHOFFER. 
 
 Ambrose's premonition was correct. His mind 
 was shocked as profoundly as last night his heart , 
 had been inspired. What disgusting casuistry ! X 
 What a riot of superstition ! Because one wine was 
 one or two per cent, less purely the juice of the 
 grape than the other, therefore the latter could be 
 changed into the blood of Christ, and the former 
 could not! The supposed infinite Sacrifice of the 
 Mass, that colossal drama in which the whole proc 
 ess of Christ's redemption of humanity is really 
 repeated, depends on this contemptible detail ! 
 And the large-hearted Prophet of Galilee, who de 
 spised casuistry, and scored with the burning words 
 of His wrath the casuists of His day did He at 
 that Last Supper, when He instituted this com 
 munion-meal of His disciples, have in mind the 
 gross, barbaric materialism of this pagan theol 
 ogy? Ambrose flung the letter into the grate and 
 paced the floor in anger. Heart was silent now 
 and mind had the upper hand.
 
 XXVII 
 
 On the Sunday before election-day the trustees 
 of First Church held their regular meeting. 
 Squire Wakefield was present, with implacable 
 resolution in his heart, and the document of in 
 dictment against minister Danforth in his hand. 
 The other trustees, warned of what was coming, 
 looked nervous and uncomfortable. They were 
 unwilling to depose Mr. Danforth ; yet they feared 
 Amos Wakefield, and dreaded permanent dissen 
 sion in the parish. Dissension there would be 
 none, if only the Squire would keep quiet. But 
 to keep quiet, despite the appeals of several of the 
 influential men of the congregation, he absolutely 
 and angrily refused. In his heart at least, what 
 ever might be the case with others, lingered no 
 moving memories of Danforth's sermon of that 
 very morning on the brotherhood of man. On 
 Danforth's downfall he was determined, and he 
 had come to this meeting to accomplish it. 
 
 The Squire began his speech against his pastor 
 with stating the reasons which gave him authority 
 to speak on matters affecting a Unitarian congre 
 gation. He was of Puritan stock, and had in 
 herited through ten generations the faith of the 
 Pilgrims, of which Unitarianism was the normal 
 evolution. He ventured to say that no man in 
 Axton had been more faithful to the parish church 
 than he. He begged the pardon of the trustees 
 
 for referring to the fact, not as a boast but as 
 2S6
 
 THE PRIEST 387 
 
 testimony to the loyalty of his church-member 
 ship, that for years he had contributed one-fourth 
 of the entire income of First Church. He pro 
 tested that it was for no personal reason, but for 
 the good of religion that he was engaged in this 
 present painful enterprise; and besought his fel 
 low-trustees to consider with similar high-minded- 
 ness the undeniable facts that he was about to lay 
 before them. 
 
 Then came the detailed charges against the 
 minister. 
 
 " Finally gentlemen," he concluded, " you can 
 not be blind to this, that if Mr. Danforth be re 
 tained, a dissension will be created in the parish 
 which will wreck it utterly. Dismiss Mr. Dan 
 forth, and whatever the feeling of his partisans for 
 the day and hour, we shall speedily settle down to 
 the quiet and normal life of an orderly Christian 
 congregation. What man, therefore, can question 
 the prudence and far-sightedness of requesting Mr. 
 Danforth to resign? So far as I am concerned, 
 I cannot continue to be a member of a parish 
 which approves and encourages the excesses of 
 a good but unbalanced man. And I give warning 
 that while Josiah Danforth remains minister of 
 First Church, I must cease to be accounted a mem 
 ber, and must not be expected to contribute an 
 other penny to its support." With the offering 
 of a resolution setting forth that the trustees felt 
 called upon to request the pew-holders of the 
 church to vote on the retirement of Mr. Danforth,
 
 238 THE PRIEST 
 
 and that the trustees themselves recommended this 
 retirement, Squire Wakefield was through. 
 
 Among the eleven trustees Mr. Danforth was 
 not without friends; and two forceful and earnest 
 speeches were made in his favor. But the dread 
 of a schism, coupled with one cannot say how 
 much fear of the Squire and apprehension at the 
 v/ loss of his contribution, carried the day, and the 
 Wakefield resolution was adopted by a vote of six 
 to five. 
 
 On the following evening, which was the day 
 before the town election, Mr. Danforth sent word 
 to Father Hanlon to beg the favor of an immediate 
 visit. The priest, since his return, had not been 
 able to see his friend to offer his sorrowful sym 
 pathy on the late troubles at the settlement-house, 
 and on the destruction of the building which had 
 enshrined so many of the cherished hopes, and so 
 much of the apostolic zeal of Josiah Danforth. 
 Of the action of the trustees the day before, Han 
 lon had not heard. 
 
 Entering the minister's study, Ambrose was 
 affectionately greeted, and still holding Danforth's 
 hand, he expressed his fraternal condolence for the 
 misfortunes that had lately befallen. 
 
 " You have heard of the action of my trustees ? " 
 Danforth asked. 
 
 Father Hanlon had not heard, and Mr. Dan 
 forth straightway informed him. 
 
 " Jo," said Ambrose tenderly, " you are not go 
 ing to leave Axton ; you are not going to leave your
 
 THE PRIEST 289 
 
 friends, of whom none is more devoted to you than 
 I, are you ? " 
 
 " Yes, Ambrose," was the answer ; " I am going 
 to leave. Not that I fear fighting out this matter 
 with Amos Wakefield; far from it. But my re 
 maining here, on the supposition that I should be 
 sustained by the majority of the congregation, 
 would involve bad feeling and dissension, two mis 
 fortunes which, as a Christian minister, it is my 
 duty to avert. Next Sunday I preach my farewell 
 sermon." 
 
 " This is a crime," protested Ambrose. 
 
 " If so," said Mr. Danforth, smiling gravely ; 
 " it is an ancient one. Hierarchies, and the equiva- / 
 lents thereof in our non-Catholic churches, demand /> 
 tradition with all its respectability, conformity 
 with all its regularity. The innovator who dis 
 turbs the old, or the dreamer who works for his 
 vision of the new, is a vexatious fanatic who must 
 be silenced. Time was when he was crucified." 
 
 " Ambrose," resumed the minister after a pause ; 
 " I sent for you to-night because I felt a bit lonely 
 and discouraged. Not, I think, because of what 
 has happened to me, but for a deeper reason. 
 Does the horrible temptation ever assail you, to ^ 
 despair of the perfectibility of human nature and f\ 
 of the consequent usefulness of our vocation?" 
 
 " In just that form I have not felt the tempta 
 tion," Ambrose responded. " All history tells me 
 that humanity has grown better, and gives me 
 assurance that the progress will continue. But
 
 240 THE PRIEST 
 
 what does crush me in my darker hours is the 
 agony of slowness with which mankind crawls 
 upward, and the immeasurable time it will require 
 appreciably to reduce the overwhelming accumula 
 tion of wickedness in this world." 
 
 " Yes, that is it," replied Danforth ; " you have 
 expressed it better than I did. It is the weakness 
 of our moral appeal, the colossal power of un 
 righteousness, and the tedious grinding of the 
 mills of God, it is this that hurts, stuns and 
 prostrates one. Now, recently I have had two dis 
 heartening experiences which have thrown me into 
 desolation. The president of one of the societies 
 in the Conscience and Country League, a man 
 whom I regarded as having the highest conception 
 of both conscience and country, has just been 
 unmasked as a profligate and embezzler. And 
 yesterday two of the trustees who voted for Squire 
 Wakefield's resolution against me, acknowledged 
 that their main motive was dread of the higher 
 church-tax which should fall on them if Wakefield 
 stopped his contributions. Yet these men have 
 sat under me Sunday after Sunday as I preached 
 on the ideals of character and Christianity. 
 ' What is the use? What is the use? ' the tempter 
 has been saying to me all day. It is only a tem 
 porary obsession, I know, but it has made me 
 blue." 
 
 " The crowd shouted * Hosanna ' on Palm Sun 
 day and * Crucify Him ' five days later," remarked 
 the priest.
 
 THE PRIEST 
 
 " Ah yes," said Danforth, " how richly are we 
 consoled and strengthened by looking unto Him, 
 the great Prophet of the broken heart ! " 
 
 " The prophet's predestined lot is a broken 
 heart," said Father Hanlon. 
 
 " It is," affirmed the minister ; " yet God grant 
 us the grace to be His prophets ! " 
 
 " Is there anything," exclaimed Danforth ar 
 dently, " more sublime than the death of a man 
 who dies for an apparently impossible ideal? 
 Look at Christ! What egregious folly the re 
 spectability of His day conceived Him to be com 
 mitting ! He had youth, graciousness, every high 
 gift of mind and heart. How respectable He 
 could have been! Yet He fixed His gaze on a 
 vision that to the crowd and to the world was 
 madness. He looked not at the opportunities that 
 lay at His feet, but at the distant kingdom of 
 spiritual freedom, of human brotherhood, of God's 
 benign sovereignty over a regenerated world. 
 How fanatical! Steadfastly He kept His eyes 
 on that divine, far-off ideal ; and to the scandal of 
 common clay, He died for it. Ambrose, let our 
 trials and temptations be what they will, we will 
 live for the folly of that same ideal, and if God so 
 favors us, will, in some sense, die for it." 
 
 A bell tinkled in the room. Danforth rose and 
 said : " Come, dear Ambrose, it is mothers call. 
 Join us at prayer. It may be our last night to 
 gether." 
 
 Mrs. Danforth and Dorothy were awaiting
 
 242 THE PRIEST 
 
 them; and as they knelt down Father Hanlon's 
 heart was heavy with those words in his ears : 
 " It may be our last night together." 
 
 " Yea, the hour cometh," sounded the sweet 
 voice of the Quaker matron, " that whosoever 
 killeth you shall think that he offereth service 
 unto God." 
 
 Not without sorrow, whatever its higher con 
 solations, was the half-hour of meditations that 
 followed. If the light of a "far-off Ideal" 
 shone upon the souls of the little group, the shadow 
 of approaching separation lay upon their human 
 hearts; and human hearts can suffer, though the 
 spirit be at peace. 
 
 Mr. Danforth concluded the exercise with read 
 ing : " This is my commandment that ye love one 
 another even as I have loved you. Greater love 
 hath no man than this, that a man lay down his 
 life for his friends." 
 
 Good-nights were soon said, and Ambrose and 
 Dorothy left the house together. The priest had 
 never accompanied the girl to her home, with the 
 exception of the night that Pasquale Ciasca had 
 annoyed her. But to-night without a request on 
 his part or invitation on hers, it seemed natural 
 even inevitable, to both that he should take his 
 place by her side; and thus together they entered 
 the narrow, unlighted road that led to Squire 
 Wakefield's residence. 
 
 " Father Hanlon," said Dorothy ; " our hearts 
 and our village are to be visited with calamity."
 
 THE PRIEST 243 
 
 "What shall we do without him?" spoke the 
 priest, more to himself than to her. 
 
 " We shall suffer cruelly, for he is become part 
 of us," the girl responded. " But greater than 
 our personal pain will be the misfortune of the sep 
 aration of you and Mr. Danforth. That you or 
 I should lose the presence of a dear friend, is a 
 small matter in comparison with what a great 
 Cause will suffer because you two shall co-operate 
 no more." 
 
 " I confess I was looking only at the personal 
 side of it," said Ambrose ; " what cause do you 
 mean, Miss Wakefield?" 
 
 " The Cause I once mentioned to you early in 
 our acquaintance, after your course of sermons 
 on the church. By the way, it was dreadfully 
 bold of me to speak to you as I did that day. Did 
 you not think then that I was one of those 
 brazen women who are a humiliation to our sex 
 and a terror to yours ? " 
 
 " Not for an instant," protested Ambrose. 
 " Permit me to say that no one could even look 
 upon the countenance of Miss Dorothy Wakefield, 
 and have any such idea." 
 
 Did she draw a little closer to him? Perhaps 
 so. At any rate his heart raced a bit faster for 
 the next minute. But this may have been because 
 he was unused to speaking complimentary words 
 to women ; though this compliment he meant and 
 felt sincerely. 
 
 " We talked that day," resumed Dorothy,
 
 244 THE PRIEST 
 
 " about the inspiring religion that is to come. To 
 that religion pure, free, spiritual, mystical, the 
 Unitarian faith that I love, has priceless elements 
 to contribute. Your ancient church, too, has 
 other priceless elements. Prophets, teachers, and 
 it may be martyrs, are needed to combine Unitar 
 ian freedom and simplicity, with Catholic solidar 
 ity and spiritual richness. This is the Cause I 
 mean. And I believe that the beginning of the 
 divine work could hardly be committed to better 
 hands than Josiah Danforth's and yours. Mr. 
 Danforth has a mystical, shall I say a Catholic, 
 soul. You, of course, possess that, too; but, if I 
 am not bold in saying so, you have come to realize 
 that you have a Unitarian mind. How rare and 
 magnificent an opportunity for you to work to 
 gether. And now the hope is shattered, the dream 
 dissolved." 
 
 They came to Mr. Wakefield's gate, but passed 
 it, silent. 
 
 " I suppose you realize, Miss Wakefield," Am 
 brose at last said very gravely ; " that were I to 
 take part in such a project, I should have to leave 
 the Catholic Church." 
 
 " Father Hanlon " Dorothy's hand rested on 
 his arm for a moment " don't say that. Is it 
 not the answer of opportunities ? If the Ideal, the 
 Cause, appeals to you, you will not think of self, 
 will you? " 
 
 It was a very searching question, and it hurt 
 him. 
 
 " Miss Wakefield," he answered after a long
 
 THE PRIEST 245 
 
 pause ; " I have been terribly upset of late. I 
 must gain a season of tranquillity before I can 
 determine what my future shall be. But your 
 Ideal does appeal to me, to all that is best within 
 me. I have told you this before; but let me now 
 add the prayer that Heaven may grant me the 
 favor of working for this great Cause, and for the 
 hastening of its day of triumph on earth." 
 
 They turned and walked toward her house 
 again. 
 
 " It is strange," remarked Dorothy, " how the 
 lives of you two men are being led forward. Mr. 
 Danforth has been too Catholic/ and therefore a 
 tyrannical faction seeks to destroy him. But he 
 will not be destroyed. Elsewhere, if not here, he 
 will do his great work undaunted. He holds his 
 personality too sacred to allow brute force to 
 annihilate it. You, on the other hand, have been 
 too Unitarian. Hence, a tyrannical hierarchy , 
 may seek to destroy you. I admire you too much 
 not to think that if this crisis comes, you likewise 
 will esteem your life and talents of too divine a 
 value to be crushed and frustrated by despotism." 
 
 They were standing now at her gate. He took 
 her hand and said : " Good night, Miss Wakefield ; 
 and let me thank you for this inspiring conver 
 sation. It sheds new light on the momentous 
 debate that is going on within me." 
 
 He felt a long, warm pressure of her hand. 
 " Good night, dear friend," she said ; " and God 
 direct you ! " 
 
 
 i*
 
 XXVIII 
 
 Election day in Axton, after the most exciting 
 campaign the little village had ever known ! True 
 there had been no public meetings, no speeches 
 from the hustings, no paradings and processions. 
 But intense activity of a far more practical and 
 substantial character there had been to an almost 
 metropolitan degree. The managers of the three 
 candidates had made so thorough a canvass that 
 there was not a voter in the village who had not 
 been approached by at least one petitioner, and 
 his suffrage pleaded for with uncommon ardor. 
 Mr. Wakefield's lieutenants held up before the 
 wavering the absolute certainty and the appalling 
 calamity of Murdock's election if every " decent " 
 man in Axton did not support the Squire. Young 
 Richard's henchmen drilled it into such as they 
 could get to listen, that it was high time Axton 
 disposed of its harsh and conceited " boss." They 
 pathetically pictured the cruel measures of the old 
 man which had driven Richard from home. They 
 maintained that it was reluctantly, and through 
 no desire for revenge, but solely for the public 
 good that the son had entered the lists against the 
 father. And finally they failed not to take ad 
 vantage of Mr. Danforth's popularity to belabor 
 vigorously his arch-enemy, the Squire. As for 
 Murdock, his campaign consisted in holding his 
 phalanx intact, and in bringing all possible in 
 fluence to bear upon the workingmen who had thus 
 
 far held themselves aloof from him. Upon the 
 246
 
 THE PRIEST 247 
 
 village-folk he made no attempt whatever. Rich 
 ard was to take care of that. 
 
 When the polls closed at four o'clock in the 
 afternoon, nearly the entire electorate of Axton 
 had cast their ballots. Within an hour, or at the 
 farthest, two hours from the closing of the polls, 
 it was expected that the vote would be counted and 
 the result made known. No little violence of feel 
 ing had been manifested throughout the day, re 
 sulting, in one or two instances, in personal encoun 
 ters ; and as the time drew near for the official 
 announcement of the contest, the town was quite 
 given over to excitement and anxiety. Some there 
 were who openly expressed apprehension that if 
 the vote should be very close, dark deeds might be 
 done in Axton before nightfall. Others scoffed at 
 the idea ; but in the crowd of perhaps four hun 
 dred men assembled in the town hall to await the 
 returns, there was undeniably a strange, subtle 
 sense of uneasiness. This was undoubtedly due 
 in part to the presence of a full hundred and fifty 
 of Murdock's foreign followers. These men were 
 massed together near the centre of the hall, jab 
 bering vehemently in strange tongues. Conspicu 
 ous in their party was Pasquale Ciasca. The 
 Italian moved incessantly from one to another of 
 his rough associates, his eyes flashing, his hands 
 gesticulating, and his tongue most miraculously 
 active. Many a frowning look, accompanied with 
 guttural compliments, he turned upon the Axton 
 men, and many a cold stare of stern reprisal he 
 got from them. Pasquale would bear watching.
 
 248 THE PRIEST 
 
 The ballots were counted on the stage, where 
 the tellers sat at a long table in full view of their 
 expectant townsmen. The two selectmen, not 
 personally concerned in the fortunes of the day, 
 presided over the process, assisted by the venerable 
 town clerk, and one representative of each of the 
 contestants. Mr. Perry was there for the Squire ; 
 Richard's agent was one of the trustees who had 
 spoken in behalf of minister Danforth two days 
 before; and Murdock's interests were looked after 
 by a clever young Italian of the name of Gazzi, 
 who spoke English perfectly. 
 
 Shortly after five o'clock Mr. Danforth and 
 Father Hanlon entered the hall together. As they 
 pushed their way through the crowd, they received 
 and returned a hundred cordial greetings. " The 
 two best men in the town," said one to his neigh 
 bor. " What a cursed shame that one of them is 
 being turned out ! " was the answer. " Squire 
 Wakefield's day will come," replied number one; 
 " and the fools who aided him against Mr. Dan 
 forth will soon regret their cowardly conduct." 
 
 The two clergymen passed close to Pasquale 
 Ciasca who scowled at them ferociously and mut 
 tered an ugly imprecation. Danforth did not un 
 derstand him, but Hanlon did, and the blood 
 rushed to his face. He felt like having it out with 
 the fellow then and there. " Jo," he said to his 
 friend ; " that fellow Ciasca will be a menace to 
 this town until he gets the thrashing of his life. 
 Only a broken head will teach him decency."
 
 THE PRIEST 249 
 
 " It seems to me," answered the minister, " that 
 he is traveling fast toward just such a fate. Some 
 day one of these raw-boned Yankees will sit down 
 hard on Mr. Ciasca, and there will be an end of 
 his pernicious activity. But what's the trouble 
 among the tellers ? " 
 
 Trouble indeed there seemed to be. Gazzi was 
 pounding the table with his fist, and uttering ex 
 postulations which, owing to the noise in the hall, 
 Danforth and Hanlon could not make out. The 
 quarrel, however, soon arrested the attention of 
 the citizens, and in the ensuing silence every word 
 spoken on the stage was heard throughout the 
 room. 
 
 " Mr. Gazzi," Mr. Hale, the town clerk, was 
 saying : " I request you, sir, to be quiet. Do 
 you mean to incite trouble here ? " 
 
 " I will have justice for my candidate," Gazzi 
 almost screamed. 
 
 " At your desire, sir," replied Mr. Hale quietly ; 
 " we have gone over the figures a second time, and 
 both tallies give the election to Amos Wakefield 
 by four votes over Murdock, his nearest competi 
 tor. Now you demand a third review of the 
 figures. I think you are unreasonable." 
 
 The stillness in the hall had become intense. 
 Murdock's ominious phalanx began crushing its 
 way toward the stage. 
 
 Mr. Mills, the senior selectman present, rose 
 from his chair and said to Gazzi : " The people 
 are impatient to hear the official announcement of 
 the result. I will make this announcement with-
 
 250 THE PRIEST 
 
 out delay. If Murdock wishes an official recount 
 of the ballots, that legal resource is in his hands." 
 
 As Mr. Mills picked up the paper on which the 
 figures were tabulated, and was about to make 
 public declaration of them, Gazzi leaped to the 
 front of the stage, flung up his arms and cried 
 at the top of his voice: 
 
 " Friends of Murdock, they are cheating us ! 
 They are cheating us because we are foreigners; 
 because we are workingmen ! Defend your rights ! 
 Down with the Yankee capitalists ! " 
 
 A roar of wild anger, the roar of a mob in 
 wrath, broke from Murdock's men. " To the 
 stage ! " yelled Pasquale. " Kill them ! " 
 
 A brawny fist shot out and struck Pasquale full 
 in the mouth. In an instant twenty fists were 
 flying into as many faces. 
 
 " Kill! " shrieked Pasquale. 
 
 " Stop this, men ! " pealed a voice of mighty 
 volume from the stage. 
 
 Before the mob stood Josiah Danforth, a living 
 embodiment of commanding power. " Stop this 
 disgrace to Axton ! " he cried. " Stop this dis 
 honor to the flag on the day you have exercised 
 your citizenship ! " At the words he tore from its 
 hangings back of the table where the tellers had 
 been sitting, the Stars and Stripes, and held it 
 aloft. The superb voice rang out again : " Your 
 duty to your country's flag " 
 
 He said no more. Whirring through the air 
 toward him flew a black object which left a thin 
 trail of smoke. A terrific explosion seemed to
 
 THE PRIEST 251 
 
 rock the building, and through the thick clouds 
 they saw the minister prostrate on the stage, the 
 flag fallen across his breast. Into the street 
 rushed the men from the mills, Ciasca in the front 
 rank grinning hideously. The others crowded to 
 the stage. Father Hanlon was kneeling beside his 
 friend, binding up a dreadful wound in his head, 
 and gazing with a look of anguish into unrespond- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 Late that night, without having regained con 
 sciousness, Josiah Danforth died. At his bedside 
 when his spirit sought its larger home, were his 
 mother, Dorothy Wakefield, and Father Hanlon. 
 Grief and human feeling had their way for a while ; 
 and then the three knelt down. Mrs. Danforth 
 put her arm about Father Hanlon's neck. 
 " Brother of my son," she said ; " tell the Father- 
 Spirit what I would say to Him if I could. 
 Thank Him for me for such a boy ; thank Him for 
 my darling's holy life. Yea " here the dear old 
 voice sank to a forced whisper " thank Him 
 for his death." Ambrose said the prayer; and 
 the three bowed their heads upon the bed where 
 the dead prophet lay. " Friend," said the deso 
 late mother to Ambrose, as he was leaving the 
 house, " I have a request to make of thee which my 
 boy would have made had he been able. The peo 
 ple will expect to hear at the final services some 
 word that will bear in upon them the lesson of his 
 life. Wilt thou, his brother, speak that word ? " 
 
 " If my sorrow will permit me to speak it, I 
 will," he answered.
 
 XXIX 
 
 During the time just preceding Mr. Danforth's 
 funeral, there kept intruding into the brotherly 
 grief of Ambrose Hanlon the apprehension of 
 what would happen when the bishop discovered 
 that he had preached the eulogy of a Unitarian 
 minister. When he gave Mrs. Danforth his prom 
 ise to preach he was so overcome by the sorrow 
 of the death-chamber that the magnitude of his 
 temerity did not appear to him. But as in later 
 hours he reflected on the situation, he was startled 
 to see into the grip of what calamity he was yield 
 ing himself. Hardly any other law in the entire 
 system of Catholic precept is more stringent than 
 the prohibition against direct co-operation in 
 heretical services. Were a Catholic layman to 
 join in the prayers and hymns of non-Catholic 
 worship, he would, according to the church's theol 
 ogy, commit a mortal sin deserving of eternal 
 damnation. And when he confessed this sin 
 against faith, he would get a far severer lecture 
 from his father-confessor than if he had acknowl- 
 eged himself guilty of arson or adultery. What 
 then of a priest, who would take part in a Prot 
 estant religious function, not unobtrusively, not 
 as an indistinguishable unit in a great throng, but 
 conspicuously, yes, as a very leader of it? The 
 Catholic conscience of the entire country would 
 shudder at the scandal; the heaviest penalty in 
 
 the church's power to inflict would probably be 
 
 253
 
 THE PRIEST 253 
 
 visited upon him. Degradation that might be life 
 long would not be considered an excessive punish 
 ment for so great a fall, so manifest an apostasy. 
 All day Wednesday with the funeral set for the 
 next morning, Ambrose was confronted with the 
 ghastly crisis which he had long been viewing only 
 as a possibility and at a distance. Here it was 
 face to face with him, and in a more terrible form 
 than he had ever pictured it. At times during 
 the past weeks he had thought that, if at last his 
 conscience would force him to leave the church, 
 his withdrawal would be very quiet. He would 
 simply resign his parish, telling the reason to no 
 one; would retire to some remote place; and amid 
 people who knew nothing of his past, would start 
 life anew. But now the eyes of the nation would 
 be upon his exit. Vulgar newspapers would have 
 great headlines about him. A hideous mob- 
 notoriety would be branded upon him, so that men 
 would point him out in the street and whisper to 
 one another the story of his humiliation. For 
 years and years the Catholics of the country 
 would speak his name with execration. It was ter 
 rible. And as if to put the very crown upon his 
 despair, it was announced in the late afternoon of 
 Wednesday, that the funeral would be held, not 
 at the late minister's house as had been first ar 
 ranged, but by request of the public, at the church 
 over which Mr. Danforth had presided. Thus not 
 a single circumstance was lacking to make Father 
 Hanlon's transgression of the laws of his church
 
 354 THE PRIEST 
 
 deliberate, defiant and notorious. He could not 
 do it! Jo whom he had loved would not permit 
 so great a misfortune to his friend if those cold 
 lips could speak. 
 
 After hours of misery Father Hanlon left his 
 room determined to put himself to the humiliation 
 of going to Mrs. Danforth and telling her that 
 he must revoke his promise. As he approached 
 the Danforth house his cheeks burned with shame. 
 If Mrs. Danforth were to look upon him as a 
 coward would she not be right? Worse than that, 
 would she not be justified in thinking him disloyal 
 to the dead, and as wretchedly unworthy of the 
 friendship her son had bestowed upon him? 
 
 " May the curse of God Almighty fall upon this 
 brutal orthodoxy which creates enmities and de 
 stroys love ! " Savagely the words flew from his 
 lips as he walked along. Language like this was 
 not customary with him; but now he would, he 
 must, indulge the mood of bitterness and wrath. 
 Over his friend and brother who was lying dead, 
 he, Christ's minister, was forbidden to lift his voice 
 in prayer! In the presence of heart-broken 
 friends, he must not tell them of Josiah Danforth's 
 Christ-like life! Looking upon the face of the 
 man who of all men had taught him most of God, 
 he could give no utterance to his gratitude or 
 testimony of his love! And why? Why this un 
 natural, this unreligious silencing of his heart and 
 voice? Because of a bloodthirsty theology that 
 once made it meritorious to burn the heretic at
 
 THE PRIEST 255 
 
 the stake, and still makes it deserving of eternal 
 hell to kneel with him before the Father of all. 
 
 " The wrath and curse of God upon this theo 
 logy, this hellish bigotry, this apostasy from 
 Christ!" 
 
 The fierce words leaped from his lips again ; 
 his face was white with anger; his swift stride 
 carried him on as though indignation were plying 
 the lash upon his back. He passed the Danforth 
 house with hardly a look, rounded the square and 
 re-entered the hotel. Flinging himself into a chair 
 in the solitude of his room, he folded his arms and 
 bowed his head upon his breast. So long was his 
 meditation that the room was dark and the early 
 stars of March were shining in the sky when at 
 last he moved. Lifting his face and gazing stead 
 fastly upward, he murmured : " Jo, dear, great 
 hearted brother, from thy high station in the 
 world of spirits, look down on me to-night. Yea, 
 come near me and minister strength to me that I 
 may be like Christ and thee, and may do Christ's 
 work and thine ! " 
 
 On the morning of Mr. Danforth's funeral, the 
 church-doors had to be closed a full hour before 
 services began. Sitting and standing within the 
 building was the largest gathering its walls had 
 ever contained. Outside, a group assembled at 
 every window, satisfied if they could get but a 
 glimpse at the final rites ; while on the steps of the 
 church stood a score of still later arrivals who, 
 quite unable to see aught of the service, spoke
 
 256 THE PRIEST 
 
 to one another in subdued voices of the holy life 
 and tiie heroic end of him who lay dead within. 
 Ten pews, five on either side of the coffin, which 
 gated in the aisle directly in front of the pulpit, 
 were reserved for Mr. Danf orth's limnl?!** friends 
 and comrades of fraternity House. And these 
 ten pews were filled. A faU score of the swarthy 
 sons of Italy were there, with a lesser representa 
 tion of Poles, Anstrians and Greeks. Their dress 
 was shabby, some displaying starched bosoms, but 
 unadorned with collars; others wearing the gamy 
 clothes in which they worked all day at the shop*. 
 Bat their hearts were right, and as they gazed 
 in mute sorrow at the form of him who had loved 
 them, their eyes bore touching witness that they 
 loved him in retuiu. 
 
 As the boor struck, Mrs. Danf orth entered the 
 j-lmtrii through the chancel, lining on the faithful 
 arm of Dorothy. Then came the Unitarian 
 clergyman who was to offer prayer; and last of 
 all, dad in the black cassock of a priest, Ambrose 
 Hanlon. One of Mr. Danf orth's favorite hymns 
 was sung; the minister, a true friend and disriplr 
 of him who was no more, spoke a touching prayer; 
 and amid absolute stUmess, the very depth of which 
 was a token of the intense emotion of the congre 
 gation, Father Hanlon stepped into the pulpit. 
 For quite a mmute be stood silent, his dasped hands 
 resting on the book-stand before him, his eyes bent 
 upon the coffin beneath. Then he raised his pure, 
 spiritual face, swept the andirncy with a glance 
 and said:
 
 THE PRIEST 57 
 
 " Dear friends, you wffl not expect man y words 
 from me to-day. The life of him we loved, at 
 whose loss the hearts of some of us are breaking, 
 delivered its own high message to us aH so well that 
 the words of no eulogist are needed to repeat it 
 now. Perhaps it would have been better had this 
 pulpit been silent to-day; that we might the better 
 listen to the memories of him within our souls 
 memories that are now all that remain to us of 
 his beautiful, holy and Christ-like fife. But if 
 some message must be spoken, if our common sor 
 row must find a voice ere we lay him to his rest, 
 let the message be an invitation to lift your eyes 
 from this dear form that win move among us no 
 more, to the radiant, gifted, hopeful, prophet- 
 spirit who only yesterday was with us. Look up 
 from these poor elements of mortality, and from 
 the pall of tragedy that enshadows them, to the 
 Josiah Danforth that taught us how God's work 
 should be done, and showed us in his spotless soul 
 what manner of men God's human children should 
 be. Let your gaxe rest upon him as you knew 
 him. Recall the voice whose grave and gentle 
 accents have soothed the sorrows of many of you 
 here, and bidden you to discern in the darkness 
 of human affliction the shining vestiges of divine 
 love and immortal hope; the voice which again 
 pealed out in mighty inspiration its quickening 
 challenge to conscience, its intrepid denunciation 
 of wrong; the voice whose marvelous music has 
 carried its lofty appeal into the souls of thousands
 
 258 THE PRIEST 
 
 beyond the limits of this village, cleansing, uplift 
 ing and regenerating them, and associating them 
 into a new brotherhood of the kingdom of God. 
 Recall his fidelity as a friend; his wisdom as a 
 counselor; his humility as a scholar; his ardor 
 as a patriot; his zeal as a pastor; his sanctity as 
 a child of the Infinite, and co-laborer with Christ. 
 Thus recall Josiah Danforth and thus remember 
 him for your strength and encouragement when 
 assailed by the temptation either to be personally 
 untrue to the highest righteousness, or to lose faith 
 in the nobility of human character. 
 
 " I have urged you to remember him as he lived. 
 Ah! but his heroic and holy death, shall we not 
 forever remember that? That dark hour in Ax- 
 ton; those menacing fires of destructive passion; 
 that threatening of the mob; that roar of venge 
 ance ; that beginning of bloodshed which might end 
 no man could say in what horrors ; and in the 
 midst his fearless presence, his flashing eye, his im 
 perial voice, his holding aloft of our country's 
 flag ; then the nameless calamity, the dastardly 
 explosion, the lifeless form of our hero and martyr, 
 our friend and brother this, though our lives 
 were measured by ages instead of years, we can 
 not forget forever. This glorious death, this di 
 vine generosity of unselfishness, this falling as fall 
 the patriot and the saint how in this he teaches 
 us a last God-like lesson ! May we learn it well !
 
 THE PRIEST 259 
 
 " My brother, the shadow has fallen on us 
 heavily in the loss of thee. But the shadow is ours, 
 not thine. Thou art with the immortal. In the 
 high station to which thou hast been summoned I 
 in the world where no night or twilight falls, thou y\ 
 enjoyest the eternal radiance of infinite Love and ' 
 Truth, the deathless day of the vision of God. 
 We are going forward heavy-hearted in a gloom 
 which is deeper since thou hast left us. May we 
 prove worthy of thy friendship, thy teaching, thy 
 noble word and heroic deed! May we be as pure 
 and prayerful, as gentle and strong yea and as 
 fearless, if thy dread visitation should come to us 
 and we should hear as thou didst, the call to die 
 for duty, for conscience and for God." 
 
 It was with a strange sense of spiritual exalta 
 tion that Father Hanlon took his seat. Not only 
 had he not been overcome with emotion as he had 
 feared ; but he had not been affected in the slightest 
 by the anomaly of his position in a Unitarian 
 pulpit, or even by any anticipations of his coming 
 inevitable punishment. A kind of victorious 
 happiness and thrilling joy diffused itself within 
 his soul, and he felt profoundly at peace. He 
 wondered himself at this interior experience; and 
 the thought came to him, a thought which deepened 
 his content, and trust and hope, that the spirit 
 of his friend was very near, that the great soul of 
 Josiah Danforth was uttering some ineffable greet 
 ing to his own.
 
 XXX 
 
 Two days after Josiah Danforth had been laid 
 away Father Hanlon received the following letter : 
 
 Rev. Ambrose Hanlon: Dear Sir, 
 
 The appalling news of your public participation in 
 a Unitarian service has just reached me. Though I 
 am overwhelmed at this action of yours, which 
 amounts to practical apostasy, I am but little sur 
 prised at it. You have been driving toward heresy 
 very rapidly for some time. My one regret is that I 
 have been lenient with you for so long. Further 
 leniency would only make me share your sin before 
 God and man. It is now time for the utmost severity 
 in my power to inflict. My sentence upon you, sir, 
 is this: You are indefinitely suspended from the ex 
 ercise of all priestly powers. You will at once depart 
 for the Trappist monastery at Mt. Angel, there to 
 remain strictly confined to the monastery grounds 
 doing penance for an indefinite period, perhaps for 
 life. Certainly while I live I will never either take 
 you back into my diocese or recommend you to any 
 other bishop. 
 
 Should you refuse to submit to this order I shall 
 at once take steps to notify the bishops, clergy, and 
 faithful of the country that you are a public apostate. 
 
 Do not attempt to see me. My house is closed to 
 you. Your successor will take charge of your parish 
 by the middle of next week. 
 
 SEBASTIAN SHYRNE. 
 
 Ambrose read the cruel words, let fall the letter 
 from his shaking hands, and buried his head in his
 
 THE PRIEST 261 
 
 arms upon the desk. Who will blame him if the 
 sound of his sobbing filled the room and his 
 stricken heart gave utterance to its pain in groans 
 of agony? He was twenty-nine. He should have 
 before him a long and abounding life, and he was 
 sentenced to death. He had striven and prayed 
 for Truth, honor, a pure conscience, and he was 
 now in infamy. He had come to Axton just two 
 years ago, and the cordiality of the towns-folk 
 had brought forth within his heart the most tran 
 quil content and the most dear hopes he had ever 
 known; and now he was an outcast from all con 
 tent and every hope forever. Mother and Mar 
 garet ! Oh, God, the thought of them turned 
 the knife in the wound and drove it to the hilt 
 again. He started from his chair and paced the 
 room. There was a terrifying change in him. 
 That ashen countenance, those haggard features, 
 that look of wild despair in his swollen eyes, sad 
 token of a heart that was broken and a mind that 
 was stunned to dumb bewilderment, aged him 
 twenty years. Up and down the narrow room he 
 walked, flung himself into a chair, rose and walked 
 again. He was planning nothing, purposing 
 nothing ; he was only suffering ; only beholding the 
 wreck and welter of his dreams and hopes, the 
 irreparable, shattered ruins of his life. 
 
 The necessity of action brought a less agitated 
 mind at last, and he faced the pressing problem 
 which now he had not weeks and months, but only 
 a few hours, for solving: Would he submit and re-
 
 262 THE PRIEST 
 
 main in the church or refuse to submit and leave? 
 Strange persistence of prejudice! The words 
 " apostate," " renegade," and above all " former 
 priest," still struck a chill into his heart. He 
 shrank from the decision that would apply the 
 terms to himself. These sentimentalities were con 
 temptible. He knew it; but he could not hide 
 from himself the fact that they were not without 
 subtle influence upon his judgment. There were, 
 of course, more rational aspects to the situation. 
 He tried dispassionately to compare the alterna 
 tives before him. On the one hand was exile, with 
 all the loneliness of that alien world in which the 
 outcast priest finds himself. He pictured himself 
 working at a desk, teaching in a class-room, and 
 even digging in a trench. The consolation of 
 fidelity to Truth would indeed remain to him ; but 
 his life would be wholly secular and quite remote 
 from those spiritual purposes for which he wished 
 to live. As for his mother and sister, true, they 
 must suffer, whatever his choice ; but incomparably 
 their greatest sorrow, a sorrow unto death, would 
 be visited upon them, if he went forth branded as 
 an apostate priest. On the other hand was the 
 prison of a Trappist monastery, where he would 
 be detained perhaps for years, away from life, 
 work and books and under the vigilant supervision 
 of ignorant monks. But even so he would be still 
 a priest, and member of the church ; he would not 
 inflict the irremediable wound upon his dear ones 
 at home ; and perhaps in a much shorter time than
 
 THE PRIEST 263 
 
 now appeared likely, he would be restored to pas 
 toral duties, and would see gathered about him 
 another little flock, that would in time become as 
 dear to him as his spiritual children of Axton. 
 " Remain ! Desert not your priesthood ! " spoke 
 again and again his traditional faith, his priestly 
 consecration, and that almost ineradicable " Cath 
 olic sense " which the church of Rome stamps upon 
 the soul and infuses into the blood of those that 
 belong to her. That other Ideal, that austere 
 Truth before whom he had uttered the vows of an 
 other loyalty, also appeared to him in this dis 
 tracting hour. But she spoke no word ; only gazed 
 upon him with stern eyes that searched his soul. 
 He looked at Truth; and put his old question: In 
 a conflict of ideas, why give Truth exclusive pri 
 macy? Why incur disgrace and inflict suffering 
 on others because Truth calls for it, though re 
 gard for self and the highest human love cry out 
 against it? What right has Truth to say : " Thou 
 shalt not have other gods before me ! " Further 
 more, perhaps a year or two of quiet retirement, 
 even the enforced retirement of canonical punish 
 ment, might be a help to his soul. It would com 
 pose him. It would give him a better and broader 
 view of his duty. It might show him cogent rea 
 sons against ever abandoning the church of his 
 fathers. 
 
 Tradition, inbred prepossession, massive, mighty 
 Catholicism won the day. Father Hanlon set 
 about the sad task of packing up his books and
 
 THE PRIEST 
 
 belongings, resolved to obey the bishop and become 
 a prisoner of penance. He would not go home, 
 but would write a long letter telling mother and 
 Margaret everything, and would ask them to visit 
 him at Mt. Angel. Then he would take the even 
 ing train from Axton to-morrow to begin his sen 
 tence at once, and meet his fate as soon and as 
 manfully as he could. 
 
 One hour before train-time the following even 
 ing, he set out to say farewell to Mrs. Danforth. 
 He was to tell no one else of his departure. Even 
 Mary Kiley he had not the heart to see. He would 
 write her a letter of good-bye and ask her prayers 
 no more. As he ascended the steps of the dear 
 home of his deepest friendship, he found himself 
 wishing that Miss Wakefield might be there. A 
 pang shot through him at the thought of leaving 
 her without a word. It would be horribly cruel. 
 He saw now how much she had grown into his life ; 
 how precious was her friendship ; how subtly pleas 
 ing had been her presence, her interest in him, her 
 gentle solicitude for his welfare and sympathy for 
 his sorrows. To leave her, and perhaps to leave 
 her with no word of gratitude or friendliness, sud 
 denly made his cup more bitter than he had yet 
 found it. He hoped ardently that she might be 
 within with Mrs. Danforth. How could he treat 
 so heartlessly the sister-spirit of Danforth and 
 himself? 
 
 Mrs. Danforth was alone. Almost the first 
 words Father Hanlon said to her were : " I am
 
 THE PRIEST 265 
 
 sorry Miss Wakefield is not here. I fear I shall 
 not see her now. I have come to say good-bye." 
 
 " To say good-bye, friend Ambrose? " asked 
 Mrs. Danforth in great surprise. " Art thou go 
 ing to leave us ? " 
 
 " Yes ; the bishop has ordered me away," was 
 his answer. He had come determined not to tell 
 Mrs. Danforth the reason of his departure. But 
 she knew too much of his past year's history not 
 to suspect what had happened. 
 
 " This is very sudden," she said. " Is he whom 
 thou callest bishop punishing thee for thy services 
 to my son and to me? " 
 
 Ambrose then told her all, not concealing even 
 the nature of his punishment. 
 
 The old Quakeress was greatly troubled that she 
 had been the cause of such a calamity ; but Am 
 brose protested that she should not thus look upon 
 the situation. 
 
 " It would come anyway," he assured her. " It 
 was inevitable. And as for that last tribute of 
 my love for your son, I do not regret it. I am 
 glad that, since so sorrowful a duty had to be done, 
 you thought me worthy to do it. Both you and 
 our dear one who is gone, I will remember in faith 
 ful affection forever. I know God better through 
 having known Josiah Danforth." 
 
 " I am sure thou hast thought well over thy 
 resolve to submit to this grievous punishment," 
 said Mrs. Danforth, with half a question in her 
 tone.
 
 266 THE PRIEST 
 
 " I have thought over it till I am distracted," 
 was the priest's disconsolate answer. 
 
 " Then I will say nothing to dissuade thee," she 
 said. " My light is not thine, nor thine mine. 
 Follow as the Spirit leads. I shall be even more 
 desolate when thou art gone. And Dorothy will 
 be greatly grieved." 
 
 They rose. Ambrose held out his hand, unable 
 to say another word. The old saint held his hand 
 in both hers, and raised it to her lips. Her tears 
 fell fast as she murmured at the door : " God be 
 with thee ; God be with thee ! " 
 
 Thus closed the history of his friendship with 
 Josiah Danforth. Desolation unutterable closed 
 in about his heart as he thought of it. He was 
 alone in the midst of the valley of death. His 
 friend was dead ; his hopes were dead ; his j oy and 
 zeal and enthusiasm dead, dead, dead. In that 
 Trappist dungeon awaiting him he, too, would 
 soon be dead ; dead in intellect, dead in ambition 
 " Dead in honor ! " cried a startling voice within 
 him. His soul shrank from the accusation, and 
 then yearned to leap forward to respond to the 
 final appeal uttered in his heart : " Live ! Obey 
 Truth ! Be free ! " The inner admonition van 
 ished away. With head bowed and spirit hopeless 
 he made answer : " Too late ! " 
 
 Half an hour later he bade a sorrowful and 
 embarrassing good-bye to Nahum Cuttle and 
 hastened to the station. The train was fifteen 
 minutes late ; and too restless to take a seat in the
 
 THE PRIEST 
 
 waiting-room, he walked the platform with Sor 
 row at hit tide* It was a dark, cold night A 
 storm was near at hand, and already flurries of 
 now were whirled in the wind. Two year* ago 
 almost to the day, he had arrived in Axton on just 
 such A night. How fitting that * storm had 
 greeted him and that another wat bidding lum 
 farewell! The storm of his life that had beaten 
 him prostrate would newr cease. For him no 
 
 more sunshine, nor the ^Ud light of a happy day ; 
 but onlv ruin and mournfulness until the release 
 of death. " Ah! l^hureh ratholie." he said aloud; 
 " how rieh are thv eonsi>1:tuMis. how evushing thv 
 penalties! " 'Y\\c rieli eonsol.-tt ii>ns weir jvi-t . th,- 
 eru-ihing penalties Wgiuuing. He }>.-uiM-,l in lu's 
 w:tlk ;uul lookoii down tow .-ml the village. Tht 
 lu>iue lights twinkled in the w \ndoWS ; the street 
 ljunps burned tliinlv in the wuid. :nd faintly 
 gle.-inn'ng gjunst the night eould be di>eevtiel the 
 ^ilt outlines of the evoss upon his ehureh. H r- 
 
 ehuivh ! " O God," he cried; " this is too much! " 
 
 " Futher Hunlon." ^;\i<.\ :\ voiee beside bun. 
 
 " Miss Wakefield ! " he excla un. d " How gl .- . 1 
 
 thut I tun not to p.-u'l fro\\\ YOU without .> woni 
 of faro well." 
 
 " I Imve been lo Mrs. l>Mnt'orth's." snid l>oro 
 
 thy, speaking rapidly ; " and she told me every- 
 
 thin^. Is it possiMo that voi ;u e ^>in^ to submit 
 to this?" 
 
 Tho hollow shriek of the engine half a mile 
 awav .Bunded in their ears.
 
 268 THE PRIEST 
 
 " Yes, I am submitting," he said in a low voice 
 that she could hardly hear. 
 
 " You must not do it," she cried. " In God's 
 name don't do it. I would not mind the imprison 
 ment of your body, horrible indignity as that is; 
 but your character, your soul, your integrity, 
 intellectual and spiritual, are you going to aban 
 don these by spiritless submission to a bigoted 
 bishop?" 
 
 A great flare of light shone upon them, the 
 thunder of the train made further words useless 
 for the moment, and the huge panting engine 
 stood still at the station. 
 
 " Father Hanlon ! Ambrose ! " cried the girl. 
 " Don't do it. You must not die the death of 
 shame ! " 
 
 He moved toward the train. " All aboard ! " 
 shouted the conductor, and the great driving- 
 wheels began to move. 
 
 Dorothy caught his hand. " In the name of 
 Truth, do not destroy the gifts of God in you. 
 Josiah Danforth cries to you from his hero's 
 grave to carry on his work." 
 
 The train drew on ; all but the last two cars had 
 passed them. 
 
 " Truth " the passionate words fell swiftly 
 from her lips, her hand tightened on his " Truth 
 demands your fidelity, your sacrifice and your 
 life." 
 
 The last car rolled by; the wild wind rushed 
 after it as though racing this mighty mechanism
 
 THE PRIEST 269 
 
 of man ; the snow swirled madly about the station ; 
 and on the platform, careless apparently of the 
 tempest that would soon be at the height of its 
 fury, stood the man and the woman, hand in 
 hand.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUF on the last date stamped below. 
 
 ,^^ * n.< 
 
 MAR' 
 
 " 
 
 GtURl 
 
 E'W 
 
 SEP251$78 
 
 Form L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 

 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A A 000256866 5
 
 i,';--: 
 
 a 
 
 ill 
 
 i!i$ 
 
 III 
 
 
 
 I ! 
 
 !rii: 
 
 nit." 1 
 
 I 
 
 
 iSi 
 
 i>i 
 
 li 
 
 Uii